Work Text:
Trouble in your eyes
Oh, Katara was so screwed. And it all started because of Toph, damn her. Toph being the embodiment of chaos incarnate that she is, decided it would be a fantastic idea to transfer her idea of having Aang practice on moving tiles to the rest of the group. When Katara had fallen victim to Toph’s antics, she’d tripped and ripped her skirt.
Which was fantastic, just another thing she needed to deal with. After she’d yelled at Toph, she’d rummaged around for a sewing kit. When she finally found one, she went out and sat on the steps, grumbling in frustration.
She was so worked up that she couldn’t get the thread through the needle and then poked her finger and yelped in pain.
“Shit!” she swore and stuck her finger in her mouth.
“Katara? Are you ok?”
Katara whipped her head around to see Zuko tilting his head at her from above the steps. Her face flushed and she attempted to compose herself.
“Yeah, yup, I’m fine, just fine,” she stuttered. Zuko came and sat next to her on the steps.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before,” he said with a slight smirk on his face. Katara’s face flushed and she rolled her eyes, mock glaring at him.
“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled. Zuko let out a slight chuckle and Katara couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He so rarely laughed out loud. Katara wished he did it more.
“What’s going on?” he asked, eyeing the sewing kit next to her. Katara rolled her eyes and huffed.
“I fell and ripped my skirt, courtesy of Toph,” she said. Zuko winced in sympathy.
“Ah, yeah, she got me earlier,” he replied, rubbing his arm. He frowned, looking at her poked finger. “Um, I can, uh, help you,” he said, hesitantly. “If you want.” He rubbed the back of his neck, one of his nervous tics.
Katara blinked at him in surprise.
“What?”
Zuko’s face flushed. He made a vague gesture towards her skirt.
“With your skirt, I mean, I could help you mend it.” Katara looked at him somewhat incredulously.
“ You know how to sew?” she asked. Zuko looked at her in confusion.
“Well, yeah, I mean,” he said, shrugging. “3 years at sea and I was a refugee for a while.”
Katara’s face grew warm.
“Oh, right.” She looked down at her skirt and then back at him. “You don’t have to really--”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said hurriedly. He reached for the sewing kit and threaded the needle with ease. He hesitated before reaching out for her skirt though. “Only if you’re ok with this, of course.” He looked up at her with earnest golden eyes and Katara felt her chest tighten.
“Um, sure, I guess,” she stammered. Then she looked shyly at him. “Thanks, Zuko.” He gave her a warm smile that lit up his whole face and Katara melted a little bit.
Zuko scooted closer to her so their knees were almost touching.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, hesitantly.
“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. He gave her a small smile once again before bending over and beginning to mend her skirt. Katara took this opportunity to watch him, to watch his brow furrow in concentration, his large hands that shot flames were the same ones handling the needle with care. He bit his lower lip as he concentrated, his tongue sticking out the slightest bit.
Katara unconsciously tracked the movement and then jolted herself back to reality. And she was suddenly very aware of how close Zuko was to her, how she could feel his body heat radiating from him, their knees brushing against each other.
But it was fine, Katara assured herself. They were friends. Friends did nice stuff for each other all the time, right? So what if he was sitting mere inches away from her? So what if his hesitant offer to help her, while awkward, had been endearingly sweet? So what if he looked really fucking cute while he bent over the fabric of her skirt-- oh no.
Oh, Katara was in so much trouble.