First fanfic! Yeah! I go the idea for this from my Creative Writing class. We were supposed to describe an interaction between two people in the class without using names or direct dialouge and see if anyone could guess who it was. This got me thinking on doing something like that for Avatar... and here is the result. All of these will be centered around the coughlovecough relationship between two people. This first one is Kataang, from Katara's POV.

Disclaimer: If I owned Avatar, do you think I would even bother with Creative Writing class? No way! I'd be too busy making sure that there would be some Kataang-ness!

She doesn't know when it started. She can't pinpoint the exact moment that she felt it. She doesn't know when he stopped being a little kid in her eyes and turned into a grown man. But never too grown. His voice has changed, but she still can here that child-like wonder in it sometimes, especially when he's talking to her. He talks to her a lot, and his eyes light up, and he's not the Avatar anymore. He's just a boy. She gets the feeling that he only wants to be a boy. Then again, she gets a lot of feelings.

She doesn't know when that feeling started. That feeling. She could sense it in him the moment he opened his eyes when she pulled him from the iceberg. And now she can sense it in herself. She doesn't want him to realize that she can tell that it's there. This feeling. She's afraid for herself, sure, but she's afraid for him, too. Afraid that it's a fling and it's not real. Afraid that it's that deep friendship that's so often mistaken for love. Because she knows that his love is real; it will last forever. And she has this feeling, but she's not sure how long it will last. She wants to find out on her own. She'll give it two weeks. No, that might not be long enough. She'll give it a month, and if it hasn't gone away by then, she'll tell him. She promises herself this.

But that one month turns into two, then three, then four, and she can't take it anymore. Her heart breaks every time that she sees him fall, but when she hugs him, she must tell her wandering mind that they are only friends. She doesn't want to break him any more than he's been broken.

Sometimes she pretends that he's her younger brother. Sisters and brothers don't like each other like that. She would never like her older brother like that. She also knows that sisters don't stare at their brothers while they swim around in their bathing suits. But she can't help herself. She just does it. He's gotten stronger over the last four months, and become toned. He doesn't have muscles as much as her past crushes had, but she likes that sort of skimpy-muscular look in a man. Or maybe she likes that look because that's what his look is.

She knows that he looks at her, too. She tries to hide her blush, but she's not sure that she's very good at it. She likes it when he gives her loving looks and smiles at her with his beautiful gray eyes. She doesn't want those moments to end, and those moments just make her want to come out and say it. She loves him, but she won't tell him. She can't tell him. He doesn't know what love is. He can't possibly be in it. Yet she doesn't know quite what it is either, but she can identify it as the feeling that forms in the pit of her stomach whenever he's around.

It becomes harder and harder to avoid the questioning glances that he gives her whenever she's in deep thought, thinking about him. She doesn't know if it's because they're getting closer and he knows her better, or if it's because she's thinking about him more. If she was a gambling woman- which she's not- she would have to bet that it was the second one- but since she's not a gambling woman, she's never going to say that anyway.

She knows that when they say that they love each other, they say it in a sibling way. She also knows that when they say that they love each other, they mean it in a boyfriend/girlfriend way. She doesn't know when she started meaning it that way, but that's what it means now. She thinks that he's always thought of it that way. She also thinks that whenever she gives him a kiss on the cheek, she used to mean it in a friendly, encouraging way, but now she's not so sure. She knows what she wants it to mean, but she'll never admit that to anyone, much less herself. So when she kisses him on the cheek, she means it in an in-between way, because she's moved past the point of saying that this feeling that she has is just a passing phase. She's moved on to denying that it even exists.

She denies it, and she becomes colder to him. She doesn't do it on purpose, but he notices, and her brother notices. He doesn't understand why, but her brother's had enough girlfriends to realize exactly what is going on.

She does this for a while, until she wakes up one night. She doesn't know why she wakes up, until she hears the muffled sobs coming from the river. She knows it's him, by instinct. She's only heard him cry once or twice before, but she will never forget the sound. To her, it's worse than the screams of pain that echo from those lost in the war. It's worse than the sound of her own tears. It's worse than the sharp crack that her waterbending makes, letting her know that she's taken someone's life. But what makes the sound almost unbearable is knowing that she caused it. So she'll just have to drown it out with her own tears, because anything is better than listening to him cry.

She realizes that she's only hurting herself by not telling him. She's hurting him, too. She realizes that soon enough he'll think that she doesn't love him because she shuns him. But that's not true. She shuns him because she loves him. And suddenly, she realizes that that makes no sense at all.

She finds him one night sitting and staring out at the stars above their heads, painting a picture against the black canvas of the sky. She can't really tell what the picture is, but he's always told her that it's a work of genius, and she's always believed him without question.

She cautiously sits down next to him. He doesn't say anything. He keeps his head down and doesn't look at her. She knows he wants to look at her as much as she wants to look at him. But since he's not looking and there's no one else around, she lets the stars look on as she looks at him unabashedly.

He asks her, irritatedly, what she wants from him. She's already hurt him enough. She's ignored him. She's taken his soul and crumbled it into pieces so small that he can't even figure out how to put them back together. She has his heart, his soul, his mind, his spirit, his body, his life. What more could she possibly want from him when he has nothing more to give?

Her confidence rises as she hears him say the word "heart." She tells him that she doesn't want anything from him. He raises his head and looks at her curiously. She continues on, saying that she has something for him. She says that since she has his heart, his soul, his mind, his spirit, his body, his life that it's only fair that he gets her heart, her soul, her mind, her spirit, her body, her life.

He stares at her, as though he doesn't believe what he's heard. She leans over and whispers in his ear that she means every word. He's locked into a deep trance, mesmerized by her every move, and she thinks that it's quite possible that he didn't hear what she whispered at all.

She pulls back and touches his cheek lightly, feeling his breath catch in his throat. And from the moment that her hand brushes against his skin, she's not entirely sure if she's breathing either. Suddenly she doesn't know what to do. He's caught her in his snare, and she can't get out. She isn't so sure that she wants to.

She shuts her eyes for a moment and opens them, the snare released. She gently, timidly, scoots closer and presses her lips lovingly against his.

And then there is nothing.

There is just him and her. She can feel him pressing back lightly, his arms coming around her waist. She doesn't know where he learned how to kiss like this, though she suspects that it isn't the fact that she is kissing a good kisser, but the fact that she's kissing him, that makes her fall into heaven.

She knows, in this instant, that she's found love. She knows what it is. It's a five-foot-five childish teenager with light blue arrows laid on top of soft skin. It's a pair of humble gray eyes that radiate kindness and understanding. It's a smile so wide that it could stretch across the stars. It's two hands that can do so much harm, but never want to. It's a touch here, a hand holding there. It's a midnight walk in the moonlight, a head on a shoulder. It's a warm kiss on the coldest day, a hug in the night. It's a deep appreciation, a feeling. She knows that the only way to understand love is to experience it.

She doesn't know when it started. She can't pinpoint the exact moment that she felt it. But she can remember the first time that they both felt it together. She can remember when she gave her heart, her soul, her mind, her spirit, her body, her life to the boy with the arrow on his head.

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