Only If For a Night(MxM)

Late night talks

Trigger warning for transphobia

It was a Saturday night in the middle of April. Jet was with Zuko in his own personal kitchen. Half of the third floor has been converted into a lavish apartment for the teenager.

It was one of those nights that time didn't seem to apply, the clocks never seeming to move and a longing for something unknown aches in everyone's chest.

Jet sat at the breakfast bar with his laptop in front of him. Every feed from the building was up on the screen. No one would be getting past Jet.

Zuko padded barefoot from his bedroom, across his living room to the kitchen. Jet wouldn't have noticed what the teenager was wearing on any other night, but tonight was different.

Baggy gray sweatpants set low on his narrow hips and a tank top shirt with slit sides that curled in, showing off his lean body and pale skin.

He moved like a dancer, fluid movements in perfect uniform, lithe, silent steps, and specific placement of his feet that made it look like he was performing just for himself.

Jet didn't watch with his eyes, but every other sense followed the teenager around the room behind him. The click of the stove being turned on and water poured into the tea kettle, the opening of the cupboard, and two glasses being removed from the shelf. A shuffle through half-empty boxes of tea, then the smell of oolong and another tea that Jet couldn't remember the name of, but knew it was several hundred dollars for a pound of it. The few times that Jet had interacted with Zuko's eccentric uncle, Iroh, he had learned that the older man was a tea aficionado.

The water in the kettle boiled, the shrill scream of the pot the only noise in the room.

Zuko methodically poured the water into the cups and put in the tea bags.

Without a word, he set the oolong next to Jet and climbed on the counter.

In the beginning, Jet found it rather strange that the teenager would perch like a cat in the weirdest places, countertops, crouching on footstools, curled in the bathtub reading a book. Now, in the year that he'd known Zuko, Jet found it rather endearing.

Zuko sat on the counter a few feet away from Jet, knees tucked under his chin, expensive tea untouched at his side. His shaggy haircut hid the left side of his face, but nothing could cover up the blooming red scar over his eye. Jet hadn't been informed about the cause of the injury, and he figured it wasn't his business. Of course, he wanted to know, but his self-control was just strong enough that he didn't ask. But just barely.

They didn't speak for a while. They didn't need to, for it was a night when time didn't exist.

The refrigerator clicked on, the hum and crackle of the ice maker startling them both.

Zuko was the first to speak.

"I just finished a five thousand word essay on the complications of mitochondrial transference in parents of Jewish descent." He rested his cheek on his long legs, staring out the window.

"I'm not even going to go into a biology major. I'm going for business." He spat out the word business with more disdain than Jet thought possible.

Jet didn't know what to say. This wasn't the first time Zuko had vented to him; he had found that keeping quiet and letting the teenager work it out for himself worked the best.

" Mama's pregnant." He said soberly. Jet glanced up and was ready to give congratulations, but the look of dread on Zuko's face stopped the words on his tongue.

" Papa was over the moon. He said he hopes it's a worthy heir this time." Emotion threatened to spill over from his eyes, but his voice was monotonous and void of care.