A/N: Well hello, hello. This is my first time writing for this ship, but noting as I've shipped them since I was twelve, I figured I'd honor them with some fanfiction. Also, my best friend ships zutara. What can I say? I am weak.

.: Coffee Stains :.

.: Prologue :.

She'd be lying if she said his scar isn't the first thing she notices. And she's never been one to lie. The second thing is his voice. It comes out in a sort of rasp, each vowel and syllable granulating as it passes his tongue and leaves his lips in octaves that rise merely a nuance above silence.

He says his name is Zuko.

Scribbling it on the side of the plastic to-go cup with a black sharpie, she gives a short and weary sigh. "Anything else I can get for you?" she asks him. His eyes, a fervent golden color, seem to grin at her. But the rest of him is solemn, serious. He shakes his head no.

She tells him the price. Tells him to wait.

And he smiles at her. Smiles.

She doesn't understand a lot of things in life, and this stranger surely is one of them. For he comes in twice, perhaps thrice a week and orders all sorts of odd, cumbersome concoctions. Mocha decaf macchiatos. Chai cappuccinos with double shots of espresso. Vanilla raspberry lattes with chocolate almond milk. Extra whipped cream. Sometimes sprinkles. And the funny thing is that he never finishes the beverage. She's seen him before, she now realizes, he just takes a couple of sips, makes a face, throws out the drink, and leaves. She'd be peeved to take his order if it wasn't for that hefty ten dollar tip.

Gosh. What a waste of money.

For a moment, she stares at him. Unapologetically so. Because his scar—a red, ugly thing marring the skin around his left eye—seems to contradict his gentle demeanor. His ripped jeans juxtapose the prim polo shirt he wears, and the hoodie that practically buries the other half of his face makes it seem like he's trying to hide the more appealing aspects of him. And yet his smile is warm. He's made of all sorts of contradictions, she supposes. He could be just another regular dude if it weren't for his scar and his clothes and his tedious orders.

"One decaf triple shot espresso with coconut flavoring coming right up," she says after ringing his order up on the cash register.

"Thank you," he says, handing her some cash, tip included.

And the final thing she notices, is the bruises on his knuckles and his wrists. She has to swallow the gasp in her throat, for the bluish purple markings appall her. He must not have noticed her reaction, because he takes his change, drops it into his jean pocket, and smiles again.

Without another word, Katara goes to start his drink. They don't speak another word to each other.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading the prologue! Please leave review/follow/fave/show your support somehow. Chapter one will be coming soon. Have a good one! My tumblr is natiwati, should you wish to contact me there :)