perfect places

theadamantdaughter‌:

last

Fuck. He was hot. She was definitely in trouble.

Every time he touched the console, shifted gears, turned the steering wheel, her attention shot straight to his arms. There was no hiding how she appreciated him— the way his forearms flexed with the slightest application of strength, the assured grip of his hands. Her heart jumped to her throat when she thought of those hands on her waist.

Yep. Trouble.

It was ridiculous that she liked watching him drive; idiotic that she smiled at his confidence and felt her stomach flip as he picked a spot, mentioned his house, walked and welcomed her to his Sunday spot with a gorgeous smile.  

“You come here often, then?” Katara teased, dipping her shoulder with a playful laugh. “Every Sunday?” 

She enjoyed the color that blossomed on his cheeks, how it spread to his ears. She made herself swear on all that was sacred that she would not randomly, accidentally, or coincidentally bump into him here. Ever.

As they entered—with Zuko very respectfully holding the door and letting her pass in front of him—a chipper waitress greeted them and led them to 70s-style booth against the windows. It was sunny out, filling the spot with a warm glow. Zuko’s eyes flashed a pretty, honeyed color and Katara flipped her menu up in front of her face before she got caught staring.

“So, you live out in the country…” she prompted, wondering if she’d ever have the chance to see his place. “…or just far enough to have a bit of space and a driveway?” Katara’s blue eyes peeked over the menu at him. “Any roommates?”

Zuko looked up in time to catch the flash of her eyes, and the answer that had been forming in his mind fled momentarily. She was so easy. No ulterior motive to conversations, no hidden agendas, no subtly prodding to try and get him to slip up so she could hold information over his head later. She just… made conversation. Like a normal person. Conversation to which he should answer soon.

“Ah—my family has a house in the country,” he admitted. “But I don’t live there. Haven’t lived with them for years, actually. I live further out to the edge of the city.”

He lowered his gaze back down to the menu in his hands, though he didn’t need to look at it; he already knew what he wanted. A fond smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “No roommates, luckily. It’s my uncle’s old place. He has a cafe not too far from here and moved into an apartment above it. But, he’s owned the other place for years now, so he let me move into it.” It wasn’t a fancy affair, just a small, single story rancher with two bedrooms, but it was all his and he didn’t have to owe anything to his father to live there.

A young waitress different than the one who seated them came by. She had volumes of dark hair pulled haphazardly into two thick braids on either side of her head, and a tattoo of a white deer with a few words in simple Hanjul script running down her arm.

“Your usual?” she asked Zuko brightly, not even bothering to look up as she was already writing it down.

“You know me, Ming,” he replied. “Thanks.”

She nodded, then finally looked up and spotted Katara. “Oh! I almost didn’t see you there,” she said, laughing. “I’m not used to seeing Zuko come in with anybody anymore.”

Zuko slid his gaze over toward the wall, feeling embarrassed heat rise in his cheeks. “Come on…”

Ming grinned and waved vaguely at him. “You know I think it was for the best, anyway. We’ve talked that to death. But! What can I get you?” Her pen hovered over the order booklet as she looked at Katara, expectant.

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