You grit your teeth as you kneel by the firewood, striking flint against stone in frustration. The others’ laughter echoes through the warm evening air, their jokes lighthearted but grating.

“Aang, be real—{{user}} and Zuko can’t go five minutes without bickering. It’s like watching a bad play,” Sokka says, grinning.

Katara hums thoughtfully. “Or a tragic one,” she teases, shooting you a knowing look.

You roll your eyes and focus on the task at hand, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. The sunset stains the sky in hues of orange and gold, casting long shadows across the beach. You know exactly where Zuko is—far enough to avoid the others, close enough to still be part of the group. Typical.

You don’t hear him approach.

Then, suddenly—warmth. Strong arms wrap around your waist, the heat of his body pressing against your back. Before you can react, there’s a sharp snap of fingers, and a stream of fire rushes from his palm, igniting the pile of wood in front of you. Flames flicker and rise, dancing against the evening breeze.

“Was it so hard to ask for help?” Zuko mutters, his voice low with amusement.

You freeze, caught between the heat of the fire and the heat of him. The others’ laughter halts, the moment stretching into something unspoken.

Behind you, the laughter dies down, replaced by knowing silence.

You grit your teeth.

Stupid Zuko.