2 Works by gone_fishin
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Summary
“I don’t get much fresh fruit,” the Avatar says, while Zuko watches him split the peel with deft fingers. He does not apologize for the way he eyes Zuko’s hands, and Zuko does not apologize for giving him ample reason to. The curve of the fruit could match his smile, with the way he beams, teeth a little crooked. Zuko watches still, and grinds his own together like a millstone.
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Eluding capture, secret and masked in the monsoon-humid shadows of Ba Sing Se, everyone thinks that Zuko turns his head a little too quickly at every flash of yellow in the corner of his eye.
A spirit, an Avatar, and a dance of indecisiveness on the fence of impulse.