for zutara month 2017, day fourteen, drinking games

very slightly less shitposty because i had to make room for the feels. behold the glorious (ish?) conclusion to this two shot.

Completely obliterating the curve for her organic chem final despite having an epic hangover and a sprained ankle very nearly makes up for the fact he doesn't call her.

"You didn't even give him your last name," Toph points out. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she suddenly lunges forward in a lightning round of jabs that pushes the sandbag back a few inches. Despite the effort her breathing remains even as she bounces back. "I don't think you can blame this one on him, Sugar Queen. And I'm all for blaming guys."

Truer words have never been spoken. Finishing the wrapping on her knuckles, Katara says, "My turn with the sandbag next."

A few weeks into the next semester the Epsilon Kappa House catches on to Toph's cons.

There's not much they can do about it besides banning Toph and, by extension, Katara from attending their parties. Of course Toph and Katara only find that out when they're told to leave at eleven at night during a kegger. Defiant to the bitterest end, Toph backs out of the house with both middle fingers raised. It's a beautiful moment.

"Home?" Katara asks. It's cold as balls out. The miniskirt she put on isn't helping matters. Even if she did spend two hours getting ready, this isn't worth it, and she wants to go watch Netflix until she passes out.

Cracking her neck, Toph says, "No. We're going to the Lambdas."

Which is almost a worse idea than wearing a miniskirt in February. "No," Katara says. She wants to sound firm, but it's ruined by her teeth chattering. Irony is somewhere in an Inuit girl being cold. "Toph, no."

"Toph, yes."

Lambda's a fifteen minute walk to the exact opposite end of Greek Row. Technically they're outside of Greek Row. A shadow frat. The kind that has all the best rumors about blood sacrifices and dead pledges and raging parties. Mysterious. Dangerous. Sketchy as fuck.

Somehow she's a little surprised that it's taken them until their junior year to make it here. Eventually they were bound to run out of frat parties to crash on account of Toph's schemes. Maybe she should be grateful.

There's a party going on. There's always a party going on.

Within minutes Toph's set up her usual arm wrestling game. It's her favorite mostly because no one can beat her. Katara needs about eight shots to handle the music, the crowd, and the ever present scent of smoke. Also she might be resenting Toph for this. Just a little.

Katara walks into the dining room, or what she assumes is the dining room, keeping to the edges as she tries to make her way toward the kitchen. She glances through the crowd mostly because she's curious what's holding sway over a good twenty drunken college students. That's how she sees the love of her life and the jerk ex boyfriend of her past down shots of vodka. They slam their shot glasses down on the dining room table in the same moment. Everyone erupts into drunken cheers. There's a sizeable pile of shot glasses next to both of them.

The love of her life has the decency to notice her staring at him. He looks like he just got hit with lightning. "Katara?" he asks. It's almost a yell, but he's got a way of softening it. That's another thing she likes about him. Feeling a little dizzy with the fact that he noticed her and remembered her name, she lifts a hand in a half wave and smiles.

Meanwhile, the ex leans closer to the love of her life so he can see her. "Katara?" he yells. There is no softening. The jagged line of her eyebrows brings back bad memories.

"Fuck off, Jet."

Without waiting for a response, she starts shoving her way through the crowd again. Heart beating in her throat she waits until the next round of cheers goes up and her hand's closed around an opened bottle of tequila. Not much of a consolation but she takes it. Has to take it.

Knocking back nine shots in quick succession, her brain finally processes that she could've gone and dragged Toph out. Pulled the "I'm your best and only female friend you have to walk home with me so I don't die" card. Now that the buzz has taken the edge off, she wonders if she should still do that, or if maybe she should go back to the dining room.

The decision is made for her.

She's staring into her tenth shot when Jet comes swaggering up and into her space. "Hey, baby," he says. Between the dining room and here, he managed to find a toothpick, which he's chewing on. When they were dating she always thought he must have a whole pack of them hidden on him.

"No," she says. Narrowing her eyes up at him, she dares him to try fucking with her. They both know how that ended last time.

Jet's chewing pauses. "Baby," he says. "God, you look pretty tonight. Pretty as a picture." Low, coaxing, to match the way his hands reach for her hips like he's going to pull her closer. It worked so many times during their short relationship.

Now it just ends with him stumbling back and swearing at the tequila in his eyes. Katara's just tipsy enough to find it funny. Hilarious, even. One of her hands reaches out to grasp the counter to keep herself from collapsing to the floor in helpless giggles.

Someone's at her back. Hands cup her elbows and lift her from her half collapsed position. Katara tips her head back and glimpses a firm mouth and dark scar. That's enough to let herself fall back into him. He doesn't even stumble back, just takes her weight and redistributes it, so mostly she's tucked under one of his arms. Clutching at his tee with one hand, she says, "I think the tequila was spiked."

Briefly she comes to. It's cold on her legs except for where there are hands gripping her thighs. She's wearing a leather jacket that smells like everything wonderful. Her face is mushed into the back of someone's neck. Toph's voice says, "I can't believe she passed out on you."

It's four am and she's in her bed. She's still wearing his jacket. "It's like Romeo and Juliet," Katara moans. Her mouths feels like fuzzy caterpillars and she's pretty sure if there was anything left in her stomach, she'd puke. Again. If she puked. Honestly, she can't remember if she puked. "Only with frat parties."

"Katara, they die at the end."

"I'm pretty sure I'm dying now."

An unknown number calls her three days later. Normally she wouldn't bother answering but she's waiting to hear back about a study abroad application so she picks it up with a cheery, "Hello, Katara Foster speaking!" Like a fucking well adjusted person who didn't get blackout drunk three nights ago.

"I'm sorry it took me this long to find you but Katara I don't know how to use Facebook and your blind friend made me go on a spirit quest with her in exchange for your number except it wasn't your number it was your brother's? Because our spirit quest sucked. I ended up having to go break your dad out of this biker bar with him, and then there was a riot, and now we all have matching tattoos. I might have told your dad about carrying you home. I think he expects me to marry you. And it's a little soon for that but maybe we could at least do dinner while we're both sober?"

"You're the reason everyone's been disappearing?" That's not what she meant to say. Something scathing and witty would've been nice. Or at least a solidly aggravated oh my god.

An awkward silence. A cough. "Yes?"

Reaching up, Katara pinches the bridge of her nose. Inhaling deeply, she tries to sort through everything that brought her here, to this very moment. Fighting a lost cause, as they say. "Let me... Let me get this straight. You went on a spirit quest? With Toph?"

"Yes."

"And went on a roadtrip with my brother?"

"Yes."

"And got matching tattoos with him and my dad?"

"Yes."

"All to get my number because you couldn't figure out Facebook?"

"...yes."

Finally it comes. "Oh my god." The relief at saying it almost matches the sheer aggravation that comes with it. "I can't believe you— What kind of— Why would you do that?"

There's no hesitation in him. "Because I like you." Maybe he's thinking she'll ask him why—and she's not going to ask, she has a feeling it involves her being pretty, like it always does with guys—because he says, "You're strong, and kind, and smart. You can't hold your liquor and you're friends with a conwoman and you stuffed snow down my shirt as part of some weird courtship ritual. You don't take my bullshit. I like you."

Weirdly there's this kind of burny pressure behind her eyes. Almost like she's about to cry, which is ridiculous, because why would she cry over something like this? Except the burny feeling is only getting worse.

"You like me?" she says. It comes out sniffly and awful and she kind of wants to punch herself in the face.

"Yes," he says. By now he should sound exasperated because she's been ridiculous this whole conversation but instead he sounds almost soft. Tentative, like he wants to treat her gently, as he says, "Yes, I like you."

"What's your name?"

"It's Zuko."