Chapter Text
“What do you guys think of my new bag?” Sokka says gingerly, shouldering a mildly ostentatious emerald backpack as his locker clicks open. He frowns, “I wasn’t sure whether or not to wear it today.”
“You sound like it’s your first day of kindergarten,” Katara quips, an eyebrow arched despite having been the one to convince Sokka to purchase the bag in the first place. Unsurprisingly, she succeeds in getting a rise out of her brother, his insecure frown faltering into a scowl, and he raises an accusatory finger, ready to blurt out defenses.
“Well, I think it looks lovely,” Toph pipes up, interrupting the two, a cheshire grin stretching across her face.
“Thank you! Finally, someone appr–” and his expression falls again. “Why do you feel the need to do that?”
Aang can feel his mouth twitch upwards at the exchanges. He adjusts the strap of his own bag, reaching his hand around to rummage through the contents he had haphazardly packed the night before. In the dark. Half-asleep. Surely that won’t come back to bite him in the arrow, right? Positive thinking, Aang remembers, that’s what Gyatso always says. He blindly hesitantly gropes about for his Chemistry textbook, subconsciously muffling the histrionic retorts Sokka’s shooting at Toph and Katara (the former is not winning). This rather perilous—and, no, that isn’t an exaggeration at all—moment is precisely when Aang’s ears pick up on an all too familiar greeting that’s accompanied by a squeak-snuff noise, a harbinger of a particular short-haired Sophomore—Suki.
“Suki!” Aang beams, all woes forgotten. His friend has that effect.
She smiles back, sharp yet undeniably fond. “Missed the bus, I had to run all the way here,” she tells them, flicking a strand of hair that’s made its way to the front of her face.
Sokka looks appropriately baffled. “You ran,” he echoes, “from your house—your house that’s, what, thirty minutes away—all the way here?” Suki nods, cocking her head to the side innocently.
“You are insane. Genuinely.”
“That means a lot, thanks.”
“I love when Suki channels her inner Usain Bolt,” Toph mutters, nodding approvingly.
“At this point, it's Usain channeling his inner Suki,” Katara says, snorting at Sokka’s bewildered expression. Aang murmurs an amused agreement.
The girl in question abruptly turns over to Aang, pulling out a thick, red book from her bag and handing it over to the boy. “I forgot to give this back last week, my bad.” She rubs her nape sheepishly, and Aang waves her off, telling her not to worry about it—as if he hadn’t been doing just that before her arrival.
And then, the harrowing chime of the bell.
It’s Chemistry, the fourth class of the day, and Aang is not excited.
He doesn’t have anything against the subject, it’s just that he’d much rather… not. But he can’t do much about that, considering he’s currently standing in the classroom, waiting for the seating arrangements to be announced.
A woman of bronze skin strides in, a hijab wrapped around her head and a black laptop case hanging from her shoulder. There’s a glare on her face that looks as if it’s never wavered, and a distant part of Aang’s brain questions why he has to take Chemistry. His thoughts, however, are interrupted by the teacher (or at least that’s who Aang assumes she is) slamming her fist onto a desk. It’s loud. Very loud. And once she’s triumphantly obtained the class’ cognizance—by a rather unnecessarily violent method, Aang decides mutely—, she dives into an introduction to Year 10 Sciences and all that really fun stuff that Aang is definitely paying attention to. Albeit, what does get him to stop zoning out is when she begins going through the lab partners.
“Aang Gyatso, and,” she pauses, and so does Aang’s breath, “Zuko Sozin.”
Zuko Sozin ends up being a tall, lanky Japanese boy who looks like a nudge could knock him down. Aang is vibrating with exuberance, and he’s a bit worried that might scare the boy off, but he’s excited. He’s really excited. He’s never seen this guy before, so that must mean he’s new, which means he doesn’t know anyone or anything, and, in conclusion, he has no friends—and it’s Aang’s solemn duty (that’s fancy for he really wants to) to befriend everyone ever.
Zuko, Aang notes, has straight ebony hair that partially covers a bit of his face but doesn’t quite manage to hide the glaring blemish that runs from his left eyebrow, through his eye, and just above his jaw. Aang shudders to think of how someone must get something like that imprinted on their face, but he doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t let his gaze linger; he knows what it feels like when people gawk at scars, especially ones with disconcerting inceptions. He does, however, introduce himself, paying the fact that his name was already said during roll call no mind.
“Hey! I’m Aang! Gyatso. As in Aang Gyatso,” he exclaims, like a normal person who has never been overexcited a day in their life. “And you’re Zuko! As in Zuko Sozin!”
He’s not rambling. He’s seriously not. And Zuko definitely doesn’t look like he would like to be absolutely anywhere but here. In front of Aang. The same boy who isn’t getting a response right now.
Everything’s going totally fine.
He scratches his ear awkwardly and Zuko stares back, his face a striking representation of the distinct vibes a cemetery exudes. “So,” he begins rather gracelessly, “we’re paired up.”
Silence.
Well, if Zuko doesn’t like talking, then that’s okay because Aang can do enough talking for the both of them. Maybe he just doesn’t know English, but it doesn’t matter all that much, and when they finally get their first investigation assigned, he’s not all that worried.
Zuko, it turns out, is a pretty good lab partner. Despite the taciturnity, he follows the instructions well enough, which makes it apparent that he actually listened during the introduction to the equipment. Sure, neither of the two boys are particularly prodigious, but what they hand in at the end of class actually mostly resembles the goal they were meant to achieve, which is a first for Aang.
So, like, hurrah!
“Twinkletoes, you heard about the new kid?” Toph demands as soon as Aang sits down at the table they’ve picked out in the cafeteria.
“Apparently he can’t talk,” Katara informs them, taking a bite out of her sandwich. “Wild assumption to make if you ask me,” she adds, furrowing her brows. “I mean, I don’t think anyone here actually knows any factual information about him. Let the guy breathe, even if he does it quietly.”
A crinkle can be heard as Aang opens up his paper bag and pulls out his lunch, and Sokka speaks up, his voice a bit muffled from the food he’s still chewing (“Spirits, Sokka, you are disgusting.” says Katara).
“He has this huge scar. It covers, like, half his face,” he adds. “It's, uh, kinda unsettling.”
And that’s when Aang's brain finally connects the dots, his fork pausing half-way to his mouth. “Oh, are you talking about Zuko?” His eyes brighten. “He’s my new lab partner!”