Chapter Text
Rain at nighttime somehow feels like a solace.
Water drummed against the rooftop, while the sky rumbled before breaking into brief flashes of light, like veins across the dark.
Once, lightning had terrified him.
That was from before; his heart had been full of anger, his soul heavy with guilt. Every thunderbolt had carried the image of his father, then it shifted to his sister.
But lately, no…perhaps two summers ago, that image changed. Now, there was an odd calmness in him whenever lightning split the clouds; the junction of time—when the first light would spark in the heavens, then, the sound of thunder, menacing and strong, it reminded him of her.
The thunder echoed like her earthbending—the ground trembling underneath her dainty feet; thunder was the reverberation of her laughter, the plain genuineness of her persona.
The lightning…spirits above, he could see the likeness of her eyes in the raging sky. He could see her in it. In the brightness, in the luminescence.
It should have disturbed him. Well, it did, somewhat, but not enough to make him look away. Couldn’t shake her away. Because to look away would mean letting go of her image, and he refused to.
Toph Beifong lived within his mind.
Much like his thoughts of her, they were stubborn and...lovely.
Damn.
Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn
He thinks she’s lovely.
The same girl whose hair he used to mess, the wild little girl who had clung to him and would chatter his ears off.
However, she still clung to him.
The last summer they were together, she had already grown, though she felt small in his arms. Her body had changed in ways he did not dare dwell on. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, it had startled him, electrified him.
His senses were in the smell of her hair under his nose; jasmine and a hint of spice from the red pinecones. Her voice, loud, a thunder, “Missed ya, flameboy!” and the feel of her embrace, warm and tight.
When she tilted her head up, as if to meet his gaze—but it couldn't be, she would never know what it’s like to see anyone’s eyes or face, as much as she wouldn't know how her eyes were so much like lightning.
Zuko had barely recognized wild little Toph.
He hadn’t understood what he felt then.
But now, he wished he had held her longer, held her more tight. He wished he had told her he had missed her too.
This wouldn’t do.
It was no longer enough to imagine her in lightning strikes and thunderstorms. He needed to see her. And what reason was more sensible than that? She could not write, after all—there was no harm in a visit.