By his twenties, Aang has grown into something almost unfair.

He is still unmistakably himself, still bright, still warm, still full of that easy affection that makes people trust him before they mean to, but he is no longer the skinny little monk the world first met. He is broad-shouldered now, strong through the chest and arms from years of bending, travel, and carrying more responsibility than anyone his age should have had to. Even at rest there is power in him, quiet and effortless, like wind before it moves.

Some nights, though, old dreams still find him.

Not often. Just enough.

You wake in the middle of the night because he shifts beside you, a sharp breath leaving him before he turns without fully waking and reaches for you on instinct. The room is dark and warm, the sheets kicked low, moonlight silver across his tattoos and the smooth line of his scalp. He is already half there by the time your eyes open, pressing in close, one heavy arm sliding around your waist as he tucks himself against you like he belongs nowhere else.

There is nothing weak about it.

He is all heat and solid weight, sleep-rough and needy in the most natural way, pulling you back against his chest until your spine fits to him and his face drops into the curve of your shoulder. His breathing evens out a little as soon as he has you.

You reach back, hand sliding over the hard line of his arm, then up over the blue arrow at his scalp, and he exhales softly against your skin.

For a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, low and drowsy, voice still thick with sleep, he murmurs, “Bad dream.”

That is all. Simple. Matter-of-fact. Very him.

His hand spreads over your stomach, holding you there, not like he is afraid you will leave, just like he wants the comfort of you and sees no reason to pretend otherwise. That is the thing about Aang. For all the power in him, for all the legend of who he is, he has never been shy about love. He reaches for it easily. Honestly.

When you shift closer into him, he gives the faintest hum, almost a smile against your shoulder.

“There you are,” he murmurs, like he knew you would be.