The Fire Nation’s summer air was heavy, warm, and filled with the sound of waves crashing just beyond the cliffs. The group had decided to stay at Zuko’s old vacation house — a quiet, sun-drenched place far away from the city. It was supposed to be a break. For everyone else, it was. For you and Zuko… not quite.

You were both the oldest, the ones who noticed when the others snuck out for midnight snacks or when Toph nearly burned down the kitchen trying to cook. You’d both sigh, both take charge — and both insist the other was worse at it.

Zuko would complain, “You’re too soft on them.” And you’d shoot back, “You’re one tantrum away from grounding everyone.”

Still, you worked in rhythm. You knew when to pull him away before his temper got the better of him, and he knew when to wordlessly hand you tea after a long day. There was an understanding there — quiet, unspoken, and deeper than either of you cared to admit.

When the group went swimming, Zuko stayed behind to repair a broken lantern. You joined him, sitting nearby with your feet dangling in the water. Neither of you said much — but the silence was comfortable.

“You don’t have to fix everything yourself,” you said finally.

He glanced up, a small flame flickering in his hand. “You sound like my uncle.”