Chapter Text
It’s the first time he’s seen her in eleven years. His head practically falls off at the speed of his double-take.
The grocery store lighting is shoddy at best, and the leafy greens are half-wilted in a way that vastly contradicts the peeling “Fresh organic veggies!” signs plastered everywhere. In his defense, he has more refined supermarket taste than this; he just so happened to forget to buy celery at the farmers market last weekend, and the local grocery chain seven blocks from his apartment is a last-ditch effort to make dinner at a reasonable time.
He certainly never thought he’d see her bristly walking through the Herbs & Spices aisle at 8pm on a Wednesday evening in the late summer of god-knows-what-year.
His first thought hits him like a punch to the rib: She looks the exact same.
And then: Still so damn beautiful.
Later, he’ll claim to have moved on from the sighting quickly, grabbing his celery and a two-pack of deodorant and walking out the door without a hitch. He should have sprinted the entire seven blocks home, locked his door behind him, and meditated until he forgot his own name.
Instead, Aang freezes like a dog caught with a shoe in its mouth.
She stands in front of an array of shaken peppers, arms crossed, back impossibly straight as her eyes flicker across the price tags. Her black hair is in a neat ponytail that stops between her shoulder blades. She’s wearing a black long-sleeve top that stops right before her wrists and leaves her collarbones bare. Dark gray slacks cover her impossibly long legs, but they’re clearly tailored well enough to leave everything and nothing to the imagination all at once.
He drags his gaze back to her face. She’s chewing on her bottom lip.
Aang thinks he might pass out.
He could text Zuko. He should text Zuko.
Aang runs over the text in his head: Hey! Just ran into your scary long-lost sister about two-thousand miles away from home. I know it's been a decade since you last heard from her. Want me to say hi?
Just then, her head begins to turn in his direction, and Aang whips his body around before she can catch a glimpse of his face.
He drags his hand across the light stubble along his jaw, suddenly thankful for having shaved yesterday. The hoodie and sweatpants he dons suddenly seem ill-fitting, cheap. Trudging along towards the front of the store with hands full of essentials, he can only hope she didn’t notice him. At least not until he’s wearing something better and has figured out something clever to say to her after all this time.
This is ridiculous, he thinks, quickly shoving his purchases into a small paper bag at checkout. I can just say hi. It shouldn’t matter.
His last memory of her seeps through his mind unbidden. Her hair was shorter then, jagged and crisped at the ends. She had yelled some obscenities at him, some unkind words he hadn’t hesitated for a second to throw back at her. He remembers it all with an unsettling clarity: the pleading twist of her mouth, the crack of her voice, the string of sorrys he had thrown her way only to fall on unforgiving ears.
He slides his wallet back into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. It matters.
Aang stops right outside of the sliding doors, holding the paper bag to his side. The sidewalk is slick from the light rain that threatens to ruin his walk home. His left hand fiddles with his phone, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He really should text Zuko.
Hey! Got time to talk?
It’s innocuous enough not to freak the guy out, he decides. He’s about two seconds away from hitting send before he feels an impatient tug at his leg.
Aang looks down, half-expecting someone’s rabid teacup dog chewing on his sweatpants. Having moved to the city three months ago, he learned quickly how to be desensitized to things like piss covering the sidewalk, taxi drivers without the fear of God in them, and insane chihuahuas with pink lace collars.
Instead, he finds an adorable, demanding fist attached to a pink-cheeked toddler.
“Hello?” the child skews her eyebrows impatiently when he doesn’t say anything.
“Uh- hi,” he says, looking around for any nearby adults. “Where are your parents?”
“I have-” she hiccups, pulling at his sweatpants again and tucking her black hair behind her ears. “Only have a mommy.”
Behind him, the doors slide open. A familiar voice echoes sharply across the damp concrete. “Akina!”
He freezes. Oh, fuck.
The child jumps to move in front of him, hiding behind his tall form with a mischievous giggle.
The woman clicks her tongue disapprovingly before addressing him. “I am so sorry, please excuse us. She’s in this big running away phase and…”
Aang turns around, trying his best to maintain the friendly smile on his face.
“Hi, Azula. It’s good to see you again.”