The Height of Synesthaesia

The thing about Zuko was that wasn't exactly your typical antagonist-turned-hero kind of guy. It wasn't as if Aang was able to beat some sense into Zuko—although, really, that should have been sufficient. The point is that Zuko's revelation didn't exactly come in the form of one glorious epiphany. It came to him through struggling with finding who he really is time after time again.

At first glance, he was the angry jerk of an exiled prince of the Fire Nation. But if you took the moment to look past that, you'd see that he wasn't so much evil as he was horribly misguided. You'd see the tumult behind the subtle quivers of his voice when he first joined team Avatar. And if you looked past that, you'd see his frustration at being judged for his every action. But he buried this all under apathetic frowns and glares, polished to perfection by the years.

Contrary to popular belief, Zuko did not suck at making tea. In fact, he was quite okay at it. But he is awful at making jokes.

And beneath his commendable domestic-housewife skills, the horribly misguided frustrated seemingly apathetic angry jerk of an exiled prince was, in fact, as prone to emotion as the next guy.

And he was quite expressive.

And that was what Toph liked about Zuko.

In her opinion, he was the most poignant member of their group.

Yes, Zuko. No, not Aang, with his undying cheer. No, not Katara, with her perpetual optimism. No, not Sokka, with his endless jest.

The higher class is regarded for their unwavering poise and façade of self-assuredness, and that was something Zuko could not hide from her.

Toph could practically taste his conviction when he first surrendered himself. She saw the underlying uncertainty that marred his words and his actions the first few days with them.

In her mind, she saw the small smile in voice when they've begun to accept him. To everyone else, it seemed that he was more or less at ease with them.

But Toph knew better—she always did. When it came to Zuko at least.

She knew he was choosing his words carefully, she knew he was weighing his circumstances when he discreetly shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

From fifty feet away, Toph could hear his heart palpitating as he went through the firebending stances. She heard his movements slice the air, his fire making very small cackling noises. His stances have loosened, they weren't quite as rigid as they were when he was using his abilities out of rage. Now his movements were concise and controlled with the confidence one gets when having passed the test from the ancient dragons.

She smelled the sweat and dust the coated his skin after a long day of training.

"How did it go?" she would ask, even if she knew the answer.

She asked so she would feel the light, contented fluttering of his heart when he would reply, "Good." And then he would walk away, until Toph could no longer sense his presence.

Sometimes, Toph liked to think it was because of her that butterflies had made themselves at home in his stomach. But even her wishful, twelve-year-old mind, knew that was a lie.

There were days when they'd enjoy each other's company, spilling bits and pieces of their lives to one another. It was more Zuko than Toph, to be honest. It was her way of coaxing him out of his shell.

His voice would be thick with longing when he would mention his mother. And she could hear the bittersweet smile tugging at his lips when he would speak about his girlfriend.

Mai. Toph wasn't particularly good with names, but hers stood out. She had never felt Zuko's voice to be filled with such strong emotions, most of them positive ones.

He was beaming when he told her of Mai's treachery to Azula to ensure his safe plight from the Boiling Rock. He even liked her nonchalant sighs and the cold stare she gives everyone else, but only because they would return to a glinting amber once her eyes reached his.

Toph wanted to shove a finger to the deep recesses of her throat and gag.

Sometimes, he would be embarrassed, and she could feel the heat emanating from him when he felt he had divulged too much. As if her twelve-year-old brain would be able to wrap itself around his sixteen-year-old babble.

Contrary to popular belief. Toph never felt the urge to touch Zuko's face.

But she felt that she knew him. She understood him. And she felt she understood him better than anyone.

Which is why it was so hard for her to be in the room adjacent to his when Mai helped him put on his robes. Because she could feel the deep regard they had for each other. Because she didn't need sight to see their adoring gazes.

Which is also why it was okay for her to be just a face in the crowd, cheering him on as he accepted his crown. It was this sort of recognition that he craved. It was this sort of encouragement that he needed. The years he has spent in exile had taught him not to simply disregard the interests of those he ruled over.

Which is why it was alright that she never got a proper field trip. He was an open book to her, for the most part. Because he was susceptible to smallest changes in emotions, and she never missed a beat.

It was alright that he never noticed her the same way she noticed him. Because his beautiful golden eyes blinded him to the subtle, indistinguishable blush that crept it way to Toph's cheek whenever they were close to each other.

And she was twelve, and he was sixteen, and it would never have worked.

Author's Note: So that was just a little bit of drabbling that I thought of before going to sleep last night. Toph doesn't socialize the way normal people do, and so she has to relate to them in a different sense.

The point is that even though she had the capacity to understand Zuko's emotions, their age difference would never have allowed it to work. That, and you know, he was like madly in love with Mai.