kataang fluff ੈ✩‧₊˚

little things (kataras pov)

       After you know somebody for a long period of time, you begin to notice an abundance of little things about them. Things that other people either take for granted or don't recognize entirely.

Sometimes these things are physical. For example, most people wouldn't notice that on Aang's left shoulder, there is a pale birthmark that resembles a lopsided tear. They also wouldn't note the light grey flecks that swim around in his eyes. Or how when his hair grows out, it turns a gorgeous dark auburn color in the sun. After all, I'm probably one of the only people to ever get close enough to him to notice that he smells faintly of sweet mint.

However, there are also little quirks about them that define their personality. For Aang, this can be seen whenever he leads the ants out of our house with little bits of fruit pie, because he can't bear to kill them. I'm probably the only person who has seen that happen. Nobody ever notices how when Aang laughs, it's like he's breathing happiness into the air. Or how he gets up early in the morning to watch the birds drink from the fountain in our lawn.

Then, there are the deeper things. Things that you only know about them because you've built a bond that's so strong, they're comfortable with revealing them. Like how Aang stares at the moon when it's full, his minding swimming with thoughts of how he should have been able to stop Admiral Zhao from killing the moon spirit. Yue's face haunts his dreams on those nights. I can safely say that nobody else knows that. I'm also pretty sure that I am the only one who has seen Aang collapse in misery as the thought of the lost air nomads overwhelms him. That only happens when we're absolutely and utterly alone. With me, his defenses crumble and the grief of his fallen people claw at his insides like a wild animal that has been waiting to be freed. Those are the things that I wish I never had to endure. The screams that echo around the bedroom as he awakens from another nightmare, the tears that fall down his face like the surge of water following a bursting dam.

But those things don't define him, because when I see those stormy eyes, or notice the parade of ants following a trail of sweets down the hallway, I remember that Aang is not his paralyzing grief. Aang is the sound of lighthearted laughter. Aang is the smell of crisp air and mint. Aang is the sight of a sunrise casting shadows on songbirds. And most importantly, Aang is mine.