Chapter Text
Katara's dreams have always been incredibly vague.
She's an idealist, plagued by sweeping, spiraling daydreams that carry her away from her work and sway with her emotions. She can imagine anything if she lets herself drift, floating in beautiful waves of grandeur. Illusions, fairytales. Ideas. Desires.
But when it comes to what she sees at night—covers drawn, eyes fluttering shut—she can never seem to grasp anything concrete, slipping through her fingers like warm droplets of water. They're abstract at best, and nonsensical at worst.
They don't usually repeat themselves, either, up until recently.
For the past week, the final days of summer leading into her junior year of college, Katara has dreamt of a tornado. A gigantic, whirling, catastrophic thing that swallows everything in its path. But it always stops just short of her, like she's exempt from its wrath. It never gets too close, and she stands unmoving, waiting for it to wreck her just like all that came before.
But it never does, and she always wakes up, heart beating horrifically in her chest.
She has no idea what it means, and she's starting to wonder if she even wants to.
"Rise and shine," a loud voice calls, startling Katara awake from where she is … face down on her desk. Damn.
"Huh?" is all Katara manages to get out as she rubs at her eyes, taking in her surroundings, trying to regulate her pulse after the scare. What she's met with is her brand new office in the journalism building, bright with the rays of the falling sun, and her older brother, Sokka, terrorizing her as per usual.
"Your favorite brother is here!"
"You're my only brother," Katara croaks, rolling her eyes as she squares her shoulders. Her laptop is still open, and a dozen pages are scattered around the desk, highlighters and pens uncapped. She almost shivers at the sight, hoping she wasn't dozing off long enough for any of those to dry out. "What are you doing in here?"
"Well, I swung by your apartment and you weren't there, so I figured I'd check the next best place," Sokka shrugs, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot, and only then do Katara's eyes fall on the cardboard cup tray in his hands. "I brought coffee."
Katara beams immediately, and they can both tell that it's a satisfactory trade off for the invasion of space.
Katara had acquired the keys to her new workspace over a month ago, a new perk that came with the title editor-in-chief of Ba Sing Se University's multimedia digital newspaper, The Monument. EIC was usually a role that fell upon the hardest working senior on the newspaper staff, but her continued dedication, undeniable writing skill, and somewhat neurotic organizational tendencies had made it extremely easy for Professor Pakku to make an exception.
The graduating class didn't seem to mind having a junior as their EIC either, showering her with celebratory praise and a night out at the sushi place right off campus. There wasn't a single person who could deny just how much she deserved this, and how perfect she would be at her newfound responsibilities.
Sokka had tried his best to let her do her own thing, knowing just how important this was to her, but they hadn't seen each other in days—with Katara doing her best to get her affairs in order for the first staff meeting of the year, and him helping the new arrivals at his residence hall move in.
Being a resident assistant was Sokka's own stressful job, trying to guide the underclassmen through the rough adjustment to college life.
TLDR: sibling time was very much needed.
"Double shots of espresso?"
"Duh," Sokka says, handing her cup over as he sipped at his, humming with content because of his own over-caffeinated drink. They were both pretty heavy coffee drinkers, to a somewhat alarming degree. If one of them was sad, the other was sure to show up with two cups in tow, ready to attack the world from behind the lid of a latte.
"I take it you've been here all day?"
Katara glances around her mess of an office, decorated like someone's Pinterest board manifested itself spontaneously. The fairy lights were probably overkill. "Only since seven."
Sokka stared at her hard. "Katara. It's almost six."
"Oh, that early?"
"Katara."
"Okay, okay," Katara says, waving him off as she drained the contents of her cup. Jesus, how had she finished it that fast? "I get it, but you know how busy things are about to get! I'm still trying to outline our sections for this year, and I have to get ready for my first meeting as EIC. It's kind of a train wreck."
The look on Sokka's face softens marginally, seeing the nerves reflected in his sister's face as he sighs and knocks back the rest of his own coffee. Like brother, like sister.
"I get it, trust me. You want a plan for your plan, a schedule for your schedule. I've been there."
Katara raises a brow, thinking of the strict welcome week itinerary he'd been outlining for the boys in his building a few days ago. "Did you ever leave?"
"Shut up, I'm trying to be nice to you right now," Sokka laughs, absentmindedly checking his phone to see if he's gotten any new notifications. "I'm saying that you need to relax. I know that we're both built kind of high strung, but you've got this! You know what you're doing, and nobody has ever worried their way into a solution. You've been here for eleven hours, and you're not even actually writing for the paper yet."
He has a point—Katara hasn't even touched the draft for her first column of the year, or texted Haru back about his idea for a story on the state prison being built thirty minutes away. He was fairly proactive when it came to writing, and she hoped that as her assistant editor he would help her hold down the fort when the semester inevitably began to poke holes in this inflatable raft of an organization.
She'd spent the entirety of the day drafting interest forms and applications, communicating with current staff members, and making sure that each section of the paper wasn't over-saturated. Way too many people wanted to have a podcast this year. Like, way too many.
"Okay, maybe you're right," Katara conceded. fiddling with her straw. She had barely slept the night before, thinking so hard that she was sure her thoughts would bust their way through her skull and out into the world. "This is just a really big year for me, you know?"
Sokka nods. "Of course I know. But you have to let the year actually happen before you freak yourself out, yeah?"
Katar's eyes linger on her color coded and dauntingly full planner, blinking at her on her too-bright screen. "Yeah."
The older of the two stretches, grinning easily as his sister shuts her computer. "You know what you need, right about now?"
Katara's eyes dart up in alarm, hands fiddling with her hair. "Please don't say a party."
"A party!"
"Sokka, no."
"Sokka, yes! Come on, it's the Saturday before classes, you know every frat is throwing."
"Shouldn't you be concerned about the, like, thirty boys that are all going to be losing their minds? Or throwing up everywhere?"
"God, do not remind me," Sokka shudders, both of them recalling last year's welcome week, where one of the freshmen got himself locked out, and vomited on the spare pair of slippers Katara kept at her brother's the second Sokka opened his door. A dark day for everyone involved, truly. "Nobody wants to talk about Yackfest."
"Sorry to re-traumatize you, but it's probably going to repeat itself!"
"Not if I have anything to say about it. This wave of kids is pretty chill."
Skepticism bleeds onto Katara's face, but she decides not to press him on it. "I don't feel like going out."
"Oh, come on. You're just gonna go back to your apartment and binge Gilmore Girls, driving yourself into an anxious spiral until you inevitably start working again. I know, because that's what I would do, and you're my mini-me."
"I am not," Katara huffs indignantly, even though he's spot on, and they're both workaholics. "And you know that that's a sensitive topic right now. They're taking it off Netflix!"
The once setting sun is taking its final bow, dipping below the horizon and taking its graceful light with it, sky burning indigo. Sokka's facing the window behind her, catching the final glow of the day, faded golden highlights revealing themselves in his dark brown hair. Suki had done a damn good job on helping make his impulsive hair choice come to life.
"Rory will still be there for you to project onto tomorrow, Katara. You need a break. Let me give you one."
Deep down, she knows that he's right. If she's not careful, she'll end up with deep discolored eye bags and a head stuffed with a feeling she can't quite shake out. There's a comfort in knowing that she has someone to fall back on, always trying to find a way to help lighten her load. If nothing else, there will always be Sokka.
Capping all her writing utensils, she smiles softly. "Fine."
The shriek of excitement that Sokka lets out nearly startles Katara right out of her chair.
📰
Katara isn't big on parties. She doesn't mind drinking or dancing, but there's only so much appeal to a bunch of strangers jumping to horribly mixed playlists, sweating intensely and trying not to fall over each other. She has better things to do with her weekends, usually.
Her roommate, Jin, disagrees. She claps her hands in excitement when Katara announces that Sokka is forcing her out, dropping her book onto the couch cushions. It's clear that she's having her own relaxing night in, trading her contact lenses for her glasses, pimple patches decorating her face.
"I have the perfect top for you to borrow! Come here!"
Katara has known Jin since their freshman year, where they met in a gen-ed English course. There, they'd learned about their unique but mutual passions for writing: Jin as a screenwriter, and Katara as a journalist. They'd spent far too many nights together on shared documents, giving each other feedback for their assignments, laughing through the stress of their newfound college workloads.
Now they're roommates, still beyond fond of each other, and somehow even more stressed.
Jin's sense of style is also fairly similar to Katara's, if not with more earthy tones. They trade clothes constantly, to the point where it's starting to get hard to tell whose stuff is whose.
"I thrifted this yesterday, and honestly I was thinking of you when I bought it," Jin says, handing her a brown halter top with a beautiful pattern of flowers and spirals, blue and white accompanying each other. It is, in fact, the exact kind of thing that Katara would love to wear.
"Wow, this is so cute," she gushes, holding it up against her chest as she looks in Jin's full length mirror attached to her wall. "I love it!"
"I knew you would. You have to wear this."
Katara nods, twisting her wavy brunette locks up with her free hand to envision what she's going to do with her hair, and what kinds of accessories would go well with this. She's already got her sights set on a slightly too-short black skirt with hearts sewn into it.
"I'll come back so you can tell me what to do with my makeup."
Jin nods as she ushers Katara in the direction of her own bathroom across the apartment. "Mkay!"
The apartment isn't all that big, with an open kitchen-dining-living room situation going on, but their rooms are both a good size in comparison to the dorms, so she doesn't take umbrage with it. It's decorated with some of Jin's paintings, a bookshelf, and the comfiest couch that a hundred dollars could buy. She likes to think that it's cozy.
Katara walks into her mess of a bathroom and grimaces. She has a bad habit of getting a little messy and out of sorts when it comes to her personal spaces, a disorganized chaos awaiting her. She always manages to straighten it out, but it only takes a an hour to undo a day's worth of cleaning.
Her various makeup and skincare products are littered across her counter, begging for her attention, and she silently wills herself to ignore them as she gets dressed.
By the time she's changed, the panic slowly starts to set in. The whiteboard planner on her wall had stared her down as she'd walked past it to grab her skirt, and the subtle feelings of self-judgment rolled in immediately after, like not working through the night was the greatest crime she could be committing.
As if on cue, her phone lights up with a notification from Sokka, asking what she wants from their favorite burger place so that they won't be heading to a party on an empty stomach. It draws her out of that negative funk immediately, smiling. Sometimes, she swears he has a sixth sense for things like this.
Katara stares at herself in the mirror, the stark tan lines from an entire summer on the beach still visible on her shoulders, and can't deny that she looks pretty damn good, much better than whatever disoriented state she'd been found in an hour ago.
Jin helps her with her makeup, letting her try her new blushes, and effortlessly adds sharp but short wings to the corners of Katara's eyes. By the time Katara is smacking her lips with lip gloss, she feels a thousand times more like herself, or at least a carefree version that she can slip into the shadow of for the night.
Sokka enters the apartment with his spare key, and the girls can hear him enter from where they're hunched over Jin's sink.
"Kataraaa," he calls. "You ready yet?"
"Almost," she yells back, finally deciding that her hair looks best down. Jin claps her hands in excitement as she steers her towards the living room, giddy like she's going out herself.
"I present to you," Jin starts, using a deep announcer voice. "Katara!"
Sokka claps as his younger sister does a little twirl, dramatically wiping at his completely dry eyes. "Look at you, all grown up."
"You're a year older than me."
"You're a baby," Sokka says, ignoring her. He picks up their takeout bag and gives it a shake. "I got extra fries for you, Jin."
Jin beams. "Have I ever told you that you are always welcome in our home?"
"You called me a freeloader last week."
"Water under the bridge."
The trio sit at the wobbly, asymmetrical dining table as they eat, catching up with each other and expressing their thoughts about the upcoming semester. Despite his demeanor, Sokka needs this night as badly as Katara does, with the stress of his senior year as a physics and mechanical engineering double major pressing down hard on him.
Katara's not too bad at math, but her brother is a genius at it, rattling calculations off the top of his head and bolting up at night with new crazy ideas to take to the lab. She's always been the writer, with flowy paragraphs and compelling prose, as well as hard-edged, engaging news articles. They contain multitudes.
Jin is also gearing up for a whirlwind of work in her own field, having scored an internship with a BSSU alumnus leading a small team of writers through the process of creating a short film. She's going to be spending a lot of nights sitting on the floor of Katara's office hunched over a screen, writing, rewriting, and stressing over every draft of whatever she creates.
Their hyperfocused work synergy is going to go fucking crazy, though.
For a second, the ghost of Katara's anxiety washes over her, thoughts drifting back to her desk full of incomplete tasks. Part of her yearns for it, craving productivity, and the rest of her preemptively tenses at the idea of it. She has so much work to do.
Sokka's phone buzzes repeatedly on the table as he shoves a fry in his mouth, and he picks it up to immediately tap out a response at the speed of light.
"Whossat?" Jin says as she chews through the last portion of Katara's gigantic burger that she couldn't finish on her own. She's kind of nosy, but Sokka has never seemed to mind. They're friends due to their mutual love for Katara, creating a weird close-but-shallow bond. Jin leans over, looking down at Sokka's screen.
"Suki, I asked if she's bringing her pen—and then a couple of the guys back at the dorms have been blowing up my phone. Nothing to worry about, though."
"What happened to this group of underclassmen being chill?" Katara smirked.
"I said chill, not that they wouldn't have a thousand questions for me. This is pretty typical of them."
Katara tries to remember her first experience in the dorms, how anxiously she'd drilled their dad to make sure that she had everything she needed and didn't violate any of the rules. Eventually that stick had come out of her ass, but she was wound a smidgen too tight when she'd first gotten here, too.
"Have you chosen your favorite yet?" Jin asks, snagging one of Sokka's fries just a second faster than he can deflect.
"I do not pick favorites."
A beat of silence.
"There's this one kid with the coolest tattoos, man. Sophomore, pretty social. He's probably the one I'm the least worried about, honestly."
Both Jin and Katara smile at the admission, because this is a yearly occurrence. This is Sokka's third year as an RA, and he has yet to go without attaching himself to one of the boys he's monitoring, taking them under his wing, then getting emotional when they either moved out or got passed on to another RA.
"Well I hope he realizes he doesn't have to hang out with you out of obligation," Katara quips, getting up to wash her hands. "Since you're such a massive loser."
"Say that again and you're uninvited from D&D night."
Katara squawks. "Sokka, no! I spent a week on my character! It took you forever to weave her into your campaign! Don't be a dick!"
"I'm just saying, don't throw stones from glass houses, loser to loser," he shrugs, moving toward the varied alcohol selection above their fridge. "Anyway, it's shot o'clock. What poison do we have on deck, ladies?"
Katara rolls her eyes, but procures three tiny shot glasses anyway.
📰
The Uber ride to the frat house of choice is pretty enjoyable for Katara, the weight of her day slipping off her shoulders like an ugly cardigan. Tipsy chatter flows free as they converse with their driver, who is enthusiastic and cheery. Anyone would be with tonight's conditions, a bunch of college kids all too eager to get wasted at the tail end of summer, meaning a ton of rides for drivers.
When they finally reach their destination, the driver (whose name Katara cannot remember right now) reaches back to dap Sokka up, and her brother hands him a ten, just for having "amazing vibes."
"Five fuckin' stars," Sokka says, leaving his review on the app as the car pulls away. "That is an angel in a Toyota Camry."
Katara nods. "I could feel it. He's got like, an energy."
If they were agreeing about something as subjective as aura, they were adequately buzzed, for sure.
The party is already in full swing as they enter the backyard, the two of them walking right in because it's a coed fraternity. Even if it weren't, Sokka's got a pretty good repertoire with a couple of Greek life members, so they'd probably be fine regardless.
Someone's wheeling around a cooler full of drinks, and it doesn't take long before Katara winds up clutching an aluminum can. She doesn't bother looking at what it is—she's resigned herself to the fact that she is going to drink it either way.
There's plenty going on inside the house too, and when Sokka confirms that Suki is inside, they enter through the backdoor to join her.
It's a massive three-story, brimming with people. All things considered, it's chill for a frat: meaning that there are six people in line for the bathroom already, and someone is yelling BONG'S UPSTAIRS, ASK FOR ELIJAH, over a 2000s pop playlist.
Incredible stuff, really.
Katara feels a tap on her shoulder and whirls around, her bangles and bracelets jingling as she comes face to face with Suki.
"Looking for someone?"
"Suki!" Both siblings reach forward to hug her, and she laughs breathlessly at how hard they squeeze. Katara and Sokka are both pretty physically affectionate, but it's on another level when they're under some kind of influence.
"Good to see you too—can I breathe, though?"
Katara eases up as Sokka continues to cling, his touch lingering a few seconds too long. Katara's a little too far gone to read into the dynamic her brother has with his ex-girlfriend, but even she can tell that it strikes a chord in the both of them as they pull away.
Suki clears her throat, looking away and pretending that she didn't notice. Sokka tries not to blush, fighting a voice crack. He punches her in the arm for good measure. "You never get a chance to breathe as long as we're around."
"That is very true," she laughs, brandishing a pen from one of her many pockets. "Here you go, I got you your own so you can stop begging to hit mine all the damn time."
Sokka honest to god tears up as she places it in his palm. "Oh my god, I love you."
"Save it, Romeo." They both seem to brush past the elephant in the room, and Katara isn't in the business of prying tonight. That's a sober activity.
It takes Sokka net zero seconds to take a deep inhale, smoke exiting his mouth as he groans. "I'm saved."
Between finishing their respective drinks, sneakily trading hits off the new pen, and dancing, the mood in the room shifts up into something delightful, Katara allowing herself to dance freely.
At some point, she ends up in conversation with a stranger wearing her hair in two braids, speaking enthusiastically with her hands about something that Katara can barely understand. She still giggles and allows her space to be invaded anyway.
She's not entirely sure where her brother and Suki are, but she also knows that neither of them would leave without her, and they can't be too far.
The pair make their way out into the backyard, where the stranger's friends are splitting a joint—and how can Katara say no to an offer like that? She's supposed to be letting loose, remember?
She steps over littered cans and cups, crushing her own drink that she'd just finished and adding to the waste, then immediately picks it up, vowing to find a recycling bin in the kitchen on her way out.
The group that are congregating together acknowledge her kindly, and don't bother with names, much to Katara's delight. She can't pretend to be any more sober than she actually is, and that includes learning names of people she will never meet again.
A laugh spills out of her throat as one of the strangers starts imitating the fraternity president, a guy who is notoriously kind of an asshole, and it takes her far too long to calm down, smile still wide on her face. She is crossed.
"Mind passing that?"
Katara turns to her left where a guy has silently materialized. She hadn't even heard him walk up to her, let alone notice how close he'd gotten. Under other circumstances, she'd have been pretty alert, but this guy was sneaky.
"Sorry," Katara apologizes, still smiling as she hands him the joint, their fingers brushing against each other. Electricity courses through her fingertips and down her spine.
She takes him in—he's tall, with a grown out buzz cut, eyebrow and ear piercings, and a smooth shirt of some kind, jacket hanging off his arm—and tries not to stumble at the sight.
Belatedly, she realizes that he's got tattoos—long blue arrows decorating his head and any exposed skin.
Oh, she thinks, word so loud in her head that she's scared he can hear her thinking it. He's really cute.
He's cute, and he's staring. Katara's hands quickly find strands of her hair, lightly tugging with a giddy kind of anxiety. The boy just smiles.
"Hi," he says, taking a long drag. He hands the J to the next person waiting on it. "I'm Aang."
Aang. Immediately, Katara puts forth whatever shred of coherence she has left, determined to let that be the one name she doesn't forget tonight.
"I'm Katara," she says back, putting on her million dollar smile, looking up at him through her lashes. "It's nice to meet you."
"Katara," he repeats. "Very pretty name. What brings you out here?"
It takes everything in Katara to not literally kick her feet. Cute stranger thinks her name is pretty.
"What brings any of us anywhere?" She considers braining herself on the nearest tree trunk as she processes what she just said, cheeks darkening with a blush. What the fuck am I talking about right now?
His grin only widens. "Fair point."
They don't say anything else, still taking turns on the dwindling joint being split between five people. The other three are still talking, but Katara can't bring herself to care. All she can think about is how close Aang is, close enough that she can feel his body heat and smell his warm, citrusy cologne.
And god, he is so cute.
"So," he says as the joint dies, getting smushed somewhere in the grass by the girl that brought her out here in the first place. "Can I get you a drink?"
Every single nerve in her body lights up. "Yes, please."
Aang leads her back inside to mix her some kind of cider-sprite-vodka combination. She only knows this information because she's fixating so hard on his hands, the ones that had held hers so gently just a moment ago to make sure she was following him.
He hands her the solo cup as he leans back against the marble counter. "For you."
"What a gentleman," Katara snorts, taking a sip to smother the heat crawling around in her stomach. She doesn't even recoil at the taste, though it is evidently horrible.
Despite how packed it should be, there's a wide berth of space around the two of them, as if Aang had parted the sea of people around them intentionally.
"Good?"
Katara licks her lips teasingly and scrunches her nose up. "Maybe hold off on applying for any bar tending jobs."
Aang's laugh is light and airy, yet rolling and deep. Clouds passing over a cold river at the beginning of spring.
"Way to kill my dreams, Katara. I'm wounded," he says, clutching his chest in fake pain. "Guess I've gotta find a different way to impress you besides my mixing skills, huh?"
She nearly shudders at the sound of her name in his mouth, how it curls off his tongue like it's wrapped in ribbon and silky soft. She wishes he could listen to him talk forever.
"You may have to step your game up just a little bit."
Someone squeezes past them to grab something off of a kitchen counter, forcing Katara forward towards Aang. His hand immediately curls around her waist, keeping her steady as the party-goer vanishes just as quickly as they had come.
Aang's hand is warm and strong, fingers flexing absently against her bare skin.
Katara looks up nervously, locking eyes with Aang as they press up against each other.
"Hi," she says, trying to calm herself down.
"Hi," Aang says back, voice unbearably soft as he stares down at her. She may be pretty drunk and a little high, but all these mannerisms are indicating that something is happening here.
Katara moves back a bit, but Aang's hand doesn't drop from where it holds her steady, like she needs some kind of anchor. Honestly, maybe she does.
"I, um, never asked what brought you here," Katara says, tucking her hair behind her ears as she desperately tugs on any conversational brain cells that haven't gone on vacation.
"What's brings any of us anywhere?" Aang grins, mimicking her. "My friend dragged me out."
"Not much of a party guy?"
"No, I am," Aang laughs, plucking the solo cup out of Katara's hands to finish it for her, somehow knowing that she has no intention of drinking any more. It's smooth as hell. "I was just hoping to unpack and unwind, a little."
"Well, you got the unwind part, at least?"
"Yeah, well, I was thinking more like playing video games—but it's pretty hard to say no to her once she gets going," he continues. He leans forward just a tad, mouth grazing Katara's earlobe. "But I can't say that I regret meeting you here."
Ohhhh myyyyy fuckingggg goddddd.
With an impressive amount of willpower, Katara manages not to shiver in his hold, dragging her hands up and down her arms. The bass blasted speakers don't have a damn thing on how loud her heart is pounding in her chest, drowning out everything besides the sound of Aang's voice. The giant house feels tiny, now.
"Feeling's mutual," she murmurs, suddenly regretting forfeiting the easiest way to hide her blushy awkwardness.
Katara isn't that bad of a flirt, usually. At least she doesn't think so. But she's never had a real boyfriend, and definitely never traded banter with someone as attractive as Aang. The silver balls dotting his eyebrow glint in a pretty way, and she finds herself floundering for words.
"Did this hurt?" Her hand finds its way to his face, rubbing the space right next to the piercing, skin and eyebrow hairs soft beneath her fingers. He doesn't seem to mind.
"Not really, but I have a pretty high pain tolerance. I didn't even realize the needle had went through, at first."
"Wow," Katara says. Hot, for some reason. "Well aren't you badass."
"On occasion," Aang shrugs. It is not lost on her how he has yet to let go of her waist. "I mostly got it because I kind of have a baby face. I want people to take me more seriously."
"Do they?"
"Hm?" He leans closer to hear her better, craning his neck downwards and pulling her in as the music's volume increases.
"Do they take you seriously now that you have the piercing?" she repeats.
"Oh, god no. Everyone always wonders what kind of parents would let their twelve year old do this to his face."
Katara can't help but laugh, because she gets it. While Aang is incredibly attractive and tall enough to climb, his gray eyes are big and round, and he's got a gummy kind of smile. It's clear he's growing into his face, though, and he definitely looks his age.
Instead of conveying this articulately, Katara simply says, "I like your face," and leaves it at that.
"I like your face too, Katara."
They continue to talk as the party rages on around them, lost in conversation about everything and nothing at all. She learns that Aang is a sophomore and a transfer student, which throws Katara slightly—she'd assumed due to his stature and confidence navigating the place that he was one of the brothers that lives in the house. Not to mention that he's actually younger than her.
When they've finally had enough of being squished into a corner of the kitchen, Aang leads them upstairs to a secluded den, where it's evident that Elijah With The Bong had been posted up before. The space is deserted now, surprisingly, and Katara tucks her feet underneath herself as they sit on the carpet.
He shuffles over to a mini fridge in the corner, and grabs them both a bottled water.
"Thanks."
"Anything for the lady."
Aang exists with this easy kind of confidence that Katara finds painfully enticing, like he's got wings. He speaks without any kind of hesitation or inhibitions, and everything about his movements is extremely calm. She wonders distantly if he'd grown up like this or learned that kind of tranquility and grace with time.
They sit in easy silence, residual marijuana smoke smell wafting through the air as they attempt to sober up. Normally, Katara would try to fill the space, but it feels so fragile, thrumming with tension and forcing her mouth shut. The air around them feels alive. She has never wanted to kiss someone she barely knows this badly.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, Aang's warmth overrides her senses.
"Katara," Aang says, voice oddly hoarse as though he's been shouting and not with the same hushed sweetness she's grown accustomed to. "I really want to kiss you."
Angels start singing. Katara is one hundred percent there is a hidden choir somewhere, harmonizing from underneath the couch, maybe.
"Well then, what are you going to do about it?"
The random surge of confidence buzzing in between the spaces of her ribcage can probably be attributed to the alcohol, but she mentally pats herself on the back, anyway.
Aang's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he takes action, hand cradling the side of her face, head tipping forward. Their bodies gravitate towards each other like magnets, and he's close enough that his warm breath ghosts over her mouth. Nothing can stop the pull between them.
FLASH!
Except for the distinct shutter-click of someone's digital camera. They both whip their heads around, blushing wildly.
"Yo, say hi to the digi!"
Katara is going to kill everyone in this house, and then herself.
Aang just laughs loud and carefree, shifting his body towards the stranger instead of her, pulling her close like they're posing. What the fuck?
Katara remembers that there is a camera and smiles obligingly, throwing up a peace sign as he wraps strong arms around her shoulders.
This is why she fucking hates parties. Nobody understands the art of a meet cute! This is an anti-romantic climate. There's a process to this, and the program just got force stopped by a stranger who can't read the damn room. Seriously, come on! If two people are in a completely empty room, faces half an inch apart, in what world do you disturb them?
Aang turns his mouth to her ear as the impromptu photographer laughs, being called back downstairs to get pictures of someone else. "Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine," Katara leans back, voice dripping with annoyance. "I've always wanted to be accosted for a photo mid-kiss. I can cross this off my bucket list."
"Really?"
"No, that was sarcasm. Maybe we should both drink some more water."
The boy laughs like she's said the funniest thing ever, obediently twisting the cap off his water as he stares at her with something just shy of adoration. Katara's stomach stirs.
Aang reaches over, large hand kneading her bare thigh comfortingly, as if to physically display his apology. To reassure her that the interruption changed nothing—they're both still here, and they both still want.
As if the universe is taunting her, Katara's phone starts buzzing, lighting up with Sokka's name. Goddamn it!
"Who's that?"
"My brother. He's probably wondering where I am."
"Ah," Aang says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So I guess it's time to go?"
Katara nods solemnly, trying to stamp out the fire in her stomach that burns with the urge to sit her ass down, ignore Sokka and place herself in Aang's lap, rocking forward to give them both some kind of relief as their mouths go slick with spit.
She would follow through if she didn't know that her brother would flip this house on its head to find her. In other conditions, it's sweet. Right now, it's a cockblock, and she's slightly annoyed.
"Alright," Aang smiles, moving to his feet and holding his hand out for her to take. "I'll walk you downstairs."
It is the shortest trip down any staircase Katara has ever experience, honestly. Even with Aang intentionally slowing each step to hold her hand for a second longer, they inevitably reach the bottom, where the crowd has considerably dwindled. How long had they been up there?
"So," Aang says, still gripping her fingers gently.
"So," Katara responds.
Ask for my number. Ask for my Instagram. Fuck it, I will redownload Snapchat if it means that you won't disappear after tonight. Ask me for anything. Ask.
Aang opens and shuts his mouth, the most unsure he's been all night.
"I had a lot of fun with you." Someone shoves past Aang, bee lining for the bathroom. He barely moves.
"So did I." More than I usually do.
He stares for a second longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, feather-light and barely even there. Somehow, it still burns anyway. "Get home safe, Katara."
Wait, what? What the fuck?
"I—"
"Katara!"
Katara whirls around so hard that she fully smacks Aang in the face with her hair, still clinging to his hand.
Suki catches her by surprise. "We've been looking for you! Sokka's pacing up and down the street out front. He's kind of tweaking."
"Like, a normal amount, or he's going to green out?"
"Only slightly worse than usual," she shrugs, smiling fondly. Katara kind of wants to ask about what the hell is going on with them, but she's too preoccupied.
"Right. We should probably get going, then."
Suki nods, only now acknowledging Aang's presence and proximity to Katara. Her eyes flit from his face, to Katara's, to their joined hands. "Do you need a second?"
The sting of Aang not inquiring further about seeing each other beyond this interaction is lingering, a small pang in her chest as she drops their hands, looking at him. "No, I'm coming. Have a good night, Aang."
Aang blinks, schooling his slightly shocked expression into a soft smile that makes Katara ache. "You too, Katara."
And with that, it's done, Katara turning her back to him as she and Suki step on sticky hardwood flooring, wading through the remaining sea of people. The taste of regret is strong in her mouth, and she wishes she still had the water bottle that Aang gave her to wash it out.
The night air is cool on her skin as they exit the frat house, and it's only then that she realizes just how warm it had been inside, a haziness that hung around them like a blanket. Katara can breathe easier now, mind slightly clearer.
"Oh, thank god."
Sokka speed walks over to them, still tense. "Where were you? Why weren't you answering your phone?"
Katara swallows, avoiding his overprotective gaze. She hates worrying Sokka. "Sorry, I was busy."
"With what?"
She knows that he's not accusing her of anything, or even truly upset. He just wants to make sure that she's okay, but it's too overwhelming for her right now, brain all out of sorts. Mentally, she's still up in that den, laughing and warm all over.
"Sokka," Suki says, tugging on his arm. "Lay off her, okay? We're here now. That's what matters. Call the Uber."
Silently, Katara thanks Suki a thousand times over. If anyone can rein her brother in when he's on a tangent or anxious spiral, it's her.
It only takes five minutes for the car to arrive, and when they realize that it's the same driver as before, both Katara and Sokka grin wildly, exclaiming YO! as if they know this man personally and not from a drunken thirteen minute car ride a couple of hours ago.
The three of them pile into the backseat, with Sokka in the middle, allowing both girls to slump against his shoulders with fatigue. For Katara, a bone deep tiredness is setting in, while Suki is likely just faded. The car radio blares a song that Katara loves, and she tries not to think too hard about a firm hand on her hip, or lips just a hair away from hers. The road slopes beneath them, and Katara's thoughts silently fade into nothing.
📰
When Katara rejoins the land of the living, she's face down on her bedsheets, hair strewn across her face and in her mouth. She doesn't remember the process of getting here. Drunk-Katara had enough sense to wipe off her makeup and change into shorts and a t-shirt, but she has no idea how she managed it. The night before is so blurry—most of the night exists only in puzzle pieces, unclear and deconstructed.
She hasn't drank like that in a while. The last time she did … it had been far less pretty—before, during and the morning after.
She unlocks her phone and immediately opens her camera, staring back at puffy cheeks and tired eyes. All things considered, it could be way worse.
Which is what she thinks until Haru starts calling her.
Oh my god. I can't even have a hungover day off? On a Sunday? Fuck this.
She picks up on the third ring, yawning. "What."
"Good morning to you too, 'tara." Haru is probably in the newsroom right now, if the sound of the loud ass printer humming in the background is any indication. "Rough night?"
"I am not in the mood for small talk," she bites, though she knows he can hear the affection in her tone. "Honestly, I think I might still be drunk."
"I am beyond jealous," he says, tapping away at something on his computer. He's got those aesthetically pleasing jelly keys that people use in ASMR videos, and it soothes Katara's soul to listen to. "But I just need to update you on something real quick before you go back to sleep."
Sleep? "Wait, what time is it?"
"Uhh," Haru says, wincing. "7:30?"
"Haru."
"Hey, in my defense, you're usually up by now! You've fired off SOS texts at 5 a.m. from the office. You've bribed the janitor to let you stay after hours."
These are both true pieces of information, and she desperately wishes they weren't so that she could cuss him out. She relents though, running her hands over her comforter.
"What's up?"
"Jet is—"
"Tell Jet to go fuck himself," she says immediately, mouth running on autopilot as she squeezes her eyes shut. She needs a glass of water and some ibuprofen so bad right now.
"Katara."
"Sorry, I'll let you finish."
Haru starts again, still typing furiously. "Like I was saying, Jet really wants that open podcast spot we have left in the Arts and Culture section. He's been blowing up my phone about it."
"Ah, I see," Katara nods, despite knowing that nobody can see the motion. "Well in that case, tell Jet to go fuck himself."
Haru laughs. "Oh my god."
"I mean it! What the hell does he know about arts and culture? Absolutely nothing! He will take his spot as managing editor of the campus life section or he can quit. I don't care."
That's only partially a lie, to be honest. Regardless of how she feels about him, especially given their past…entanglement, Jet is a fantastic writer, and they can't afford to lose him. He's also one hundred percent charismatic enough to snag one of the open pod spots, but she needs the editors to all be free enough to put out fires in their designated sections and mentor the on-boarding class. If Jet is stretched too thin with recording, hosting, editing, and transcribing a podcast every week, it falls on Haru, Katara, and the seniors to take on the extra work. And while Katara would do anything for the success of the paper, she can only handle so much.
Besides, she doesn't need favoritism allegations. She's already working twice as hard, being the first female EIC in six years, and the youngest at that. This is not something up for debate.
The world could use less male-hosted podcasts, anyway. Especially ones hosted by emotional terrorists.
"Tell him his request is denied. If he wants to put up a fight, tell him to come to me directly instead of trying to dance around the traditional approval process. End of discussion."
"Yes ma'am," Haru says. "I knew you'd be a good EIC. You're already bossing people around, and the semester hasn't even started."
"Shut up," Katara murmurs as she sinks into her sheets, hand thrown over her eyes. "I'm too tired to say something witty. Pretend I said something witty."
"You got it, boss. Get some rest, okay?"
"I was getting rest before you woke me up with Jet's bullshit. How is that we're not on speaking terms and he still manages to ruin my mornings?"
"He's got a talent, for sure. I'll let you nap it off, though. Bye, Katara."
"Bye."
When she hangs up, she sits in silence for a moment, manicured nails scrubbing at her face. She's exhausted, but unnervingly alert, and can't decide if trying to sleep is even worth it at this point.
She shoots a text to Sokka, knowing there's a 5% chance that he's awake, and a .00001% chance that he is both awake and functioning.
Me
7:41 a.m.
you know how i'm your little sister who loves you
like loves you so much
and who you love back
so much
7:42 a.m.
please bring me a matcha from the jasmine dragon
if zuko is working tell him to make it STRONG
if azula is working just walk out
7:45 a.m.
also a breakfast sandwich would be nice
asiago-jalapeno bagel please
i love you
please. i am going to die. please.
Once she feels that she has adequately conveyed her point, Katara allows her head to drop back to her pillow, not even bothering to look at her notifications.
—
Katara wakes up again a couple of hours later, the sound of chatter in her living room being what rouses her. She drags herself out of bed to find the source of the noise, Jin and Sokka laughing at something on the brand new unmounted TV.
"Well, good morning, sunshine!"
Katara grunts at her brother, eyes darting around curiously.
"Your bagel and matcha are on the counter."
Finally, her face brightens. "You're a hero."
"Damn right, I am!"
Katara drags herself through her morning routine, albeit at 11 in the morning, later than she's used to waking up recently. She showers and splits her hair into two cute little braids, leaving face framing pieces beaded at the front like always. She wanders back out into the common area, only barely feeling like a shell of a person now. Her headache is still present, but it's no longer unbearable.
She plucks her breakfast off the counter and takes a sip, pleasantly surprised. It's really good—she doesn't understand how Sokka can say that it tastes like grass. "Zuko?"
Sokka nods. "He said Azula would be coming in later, though. He was not happy."
"Is…is he ever?"
"Good point," Sokka adds, nudging Jin in the side. "Hey, remember when you dated that guy?"
"We went on one date and talked for like, three weeks. Can everyone please let that go?"
"No," the siblings answer in unison as Katara joins them on the floor.
As they eat their breakfast, Jin navigates through their streaming subscriptions with the Roku remote, rubbing her cold toes against Katara's bare legs for warmth and finally choosing a show.
"Dude, seriously?"
"What?" Jin says, taking a sip from her water bottle. "They're taking it off Netflix!"
Lorelai Gilmore laughs humorlessly at something that her parents have to say to her onscreen, and Sokka sighs.
"Did Suki get home okay?" Katara asks, tearing off a piece of bacon for Jin to eat.
Sokka goes very still. "Um, kind of?"
Both girls stare at him with confused looks, turning their attention away from the show. "Kind of?"
"I mean…she got to…a home…okay…"
Katara squints before gasping, pointing an accusatory finger at Sokka as he plays with his ponytail. They even share nervous tics, good god. "Suki spent the night with you, didn't she?!"
Sokka groans. "She crashed at mine. Nothing happened."
"But you wanted it to," Jin says with a smirk, eyebrows raised suggestively.
"Both of you stop talking, it doesn't even mean anything."
"For her, or for you?"
Sokka stares at the floor, picking off stray threads in the carpet. "It doesn't matter."
Katara desperately wants to dig into this further, whether it be her investigative instincts or affection that nags at her. She barely understands why they broke up, let alone why they bothered to stay friends if they were just going to dance around whatever residual flames are sparking between them every time they're together.
But she lets it go, for now, simply because she knows they're both too hungover for this to not result in tears, yelling, or both.
Their collective attention inevitably shifts away from the sore spot, and Katara moves to Jin's bathroom to grab some pain medication, head still throbbing.
As she downs the pills with sink water, her phone buzzes with an Instagram notification, surprising her. Katara rarely ever opens the app.
[katara.swt]: aaaannngg has followed you!
Katara the previous night comes rushing back in stunning clarity—or rather, memories of Aang do—vivid and bright and warm. A blush starts creeping up her neck immediately as she recalls their almost kiss, the fervid desire bleeding off of them both.
God.
"Katara, you good in there?"
"Yeah, are you trying to overdose on ibuprofen?"
She huffs, broken out of her trance by the shouting. "Both of you need to bring your volume down at least five notches."
She unlocks her phone as she exits the bathroom, pressing on the notification. His account is private, but that is undoubtedly Aang. Her brows furrow as she zeroes in on his display name: a tornado emoji.
Before she can think too hard about it, she hits follow back, and immediately clicks it off.