The walls of their stuffy dormitory look like blank sheets of bristol board from where Zuko and Aang are sitting cross legged on the floor. Zuko eyes the incense smoldering idly on the bureau. The ceiling resembles a construction paper cutout. Outside their room, the hallway is quiet. The last time Zuko felt like this, he was staring through an antique kaleidoscope in his uncle's tea shop.

When he tries to stand up the ground switches places with the wall. It's something like living in a funhouse mirror. He catches his weight and sits back down before he hurts himself.

"I didn't know you were such a lightweight," Aang teases. His mouth morphs into a blinding smile that shows all his teeth. "Don't worry!" he says with a wave of his wrist. "You're gonna be totally fine."

Zuko wants to believe him, but he can't stop wondering why it isn't socially acceptable to hold hands. The colors in the room are brighter, more saturated, and the adrenaline in his blood is igniting like a trail of gasoline.

"Sorry," Zuko says, although he can't think of anything that's his fault. "I don't know what to do."

There's only a few inches of space between their folded knees, and when their knuckles brush Zuko flinches like he's been burned by the intimacy.

Aang places his palms on Zuko's thighs. "It's okay to want closeness," he reassures him with a squeeze. "I really wanna get close to you." His voice drops at least two octaves and he stares at Zuko like he's starving. "Can I keep touching you?"

Zuko shakes his head and Aang slides in gracefully behind him. "Wait," Zuko blurts when Aang starts kneading his shoulders. Back to chest, through all the layers, warm quickly climbs to scalding. "What are we doing?"

"We're just rolling," Aang says while Zuko watches with blown out pupils as the incense drips ash onto the tablecloth. "Remember?"

There's something like aboriginal chanting blasting from Aang's laptop speakers. Zuko is hot, but not uncomfortable. His flesh folds like clay in Aang's hands as he works the tension from his neck.

"You're on fire," Aang breathes behind his ear. "And you're shaking."

The faded t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. Aang tugs on Zuko's collar, fingertips dancing around his jugular. "You should take this off," Aang suggests. "Pretty please."

Zuko clutches his knees in a vice grip and nods. Aang tracks each muscle as Zuko twists out of his shirt. The perimeter of his body is vibrating in a halo of golden light. His jaw tenses and when his teeth touch he realizes that he is trembling, all over.

"Hey, Zuko?" Aang asks, voice soft as honey. He takes his seat back across from Zuko so they can see each other properly. "Don't clench your jaw, okay?"

"I'm not clenching my jaw!" Zuko snaps. The urgency of his own voice startles him.

"Alright," Aang concedes, pressing his fingers to Zuko's lips.

When his jaw slackens Aang slips a thumb into his mouth. Zuko tongues the intrusion on autopilot, ignorant of his own reaction until after the first suck. The onslaught of humiliation bounces off a buffer of MDMA and Zuko talks with his mouth full, unashamed.

"I was clenching my jaw," he confesses at last.

"I should have bought lollipops," Aang amends. He rubs Zuko's tongue with his thumb and encourages him to hollow his cheeks. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good." Something in his gut rearranges as Aang retracts his digit with a wet pop. "Like-I wanna kiss you?" His flesh is hot as lava and his pulse thrums with pent up chakra.

Aang offers an ear splitting grin before leaning forward. "Awesome."

He presses the smile to Zuko's mouth and licks his lips. The first contact is like a bolt of electricity blossoming from the base of his neck. Zuko surges forward, fingers scrabbling for Aang's cheeks. Their tongues connect and resolve to never release. When Aang brushes down the front of Zuko's shirt his nerve endings light up like a city after midnight.

"Wow," Aang says excitedly. He slips out of his shirt holes and tosses the article of clothing across the room in a hurry. "You're really hot." Zuko's face turns firetruck red while Aang roams casually across his chest. "Do you workout?"

Zuko sputters when Aang bows to lick the sweat trickling down his navel. "I used to do martial arts," he admits shakily. "But I'm out of practice."

Aang bounces in place, thumbing over Zuko's nipplies with his breath in his throat. "There's so much I want to do with you," he marvels. "To you."

Zuko swallows his pride and knocks their foreheads gently together. "Let's do it."

Aang raises an eyebrow and chews on his bottom lip. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea." Zuko claws helplessly at the carpet. "I just think we should wait until we're both sober."

The silence stretches on for long enough that Zuko buckles. The last time he cried was when he almost burned to death in an apartment fire. That was a long time ago and this is a lot different, but the familiar feeling of terror comes rushing back.

"You're really beautiful," Aang tells him breathlessly. His eyes dilate and gloss over like ink dropped in water. "I'm gonna hug you now, okay?"

Zuko freezes up when Aang wraps his arms around him: tender, soft, and skin to skin. He's gasping for air even though they haven't moved from the space between their beds. Aang isn't shy about pressing his nose into the crook of Zuko's neck.

"I like you, Zuko. A lot." Aang threads his fingers in his hair. "And you smell really good." He inhales deeply. "Like pomegranates. Do you like pomegranates?" Aang's eyelashes flutter against his collarbone. "I use your shampoo when I run out and it always smells like pomegranates."

There's a new looseness in his limbs and peace in his belly; everything that's right in the world rolled into one moment.

"Don't use my shampoo," Zuko complains, leaking tears down his back. "You don't even have hair."