"Okay, Zuko, which came first: the Great Depression, World War II, the Industrial Revolution, or the invention of the telephone?"

"The Depression." Zuko answers quickly.

I survey my boyfriend, certain that he knows the answer but simply doesn't want to use his brain at the moment.

Zuko is lying on my bed with his hands covering his face. I'm sitting on it, leaning against the whitewashed wooden footboard with our history book propped in my lap. My deep blue comforter is rumpled and shifted from us switching positions every so often. Gran Gran won't like that.

"Actually, the telephone came first. Back in 1876." I tell him.

"Ah." Even from that single syllable, I can tell that Zuko is beyond bored with studying. But it's too much fun to see him annoyed, so I decide to push him just a little more.

"And who invented the telephone?" I ask Zuko warily.

"Come on, Katara, we've been studying for over an hour!" he protests.

"Just tell me who invented the telephone and we'll be done for tonight." I promise, my tone sympathetic. Clearly I've gone too far.

"Screw the telephone!" Zuko yells, throwing his hands in the air. They land on either side of him so that he is now spread-eagle, his outstretched arms and legs leaving very little room for me on the bed.

I spot Zuko's cell phone lying next to him. "All right, be my guest. Would you like me to leave you two alone?" I ask, a smile sneaking up to my lips.

Zuko recovers his face with his hands and makes a disgruntled noise that is halfway between a snort and a growl.

I jump off the bed and walk over to my desk to put my book away.

"You know, I think that was a new record." I say, re-zipping my backpack.

"What was?" Zuko asks, as if dreading the answer.

"You went almost an hour and a half without getting agitated," I commend Zuko. "That's the longest study date we've ever had." I lean over him with a grin.

Zuko uncovers his face and I can see him trying to fight back a smile. "I wouldn't call this a date." He says.

"Oh?" I crawl on the bed next to him. "What would you call it, then?"

"This is juvenile labor," Zuko turns his head to face me. "With a gimmick."

"What gimmick do you speak of?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"You." Zuko gives me that sweet smile of his, the one he only uses when he's being completely genuine. I can't help but smile back.

Zuko reaches out to me and tucks a strand of unruly hair behind my ear. I shift closer to him so that our noses are almost touching. Zuko's golden eyes get that dreamy, yet pondering look in them that they always do whenever we have a moment like this. I wish they would stay like that forever.

When Zuko's lips touch mine, I close my eyes and reach out for him. Zuko's hand that had been resting against my cheek moves down my body to my waist and pulls me toward him. I feel Zuko's muscular chest underneath his thin shirt and suddenly I want to yank it over his head. It seems like Zuko has the same idea, because he retracts his hand and fingers the hem of his shirt.

Just as I'm about to do the same, a loud, shrill sound erupts between me and Zuko, and we break apart. I struggle to focus on the sound and not on the hunger I see in Zuko's eyes. Then, the hunger is replaced by annoyance. His gaze shifts from me to a little black rectangle lying between us, and I realize what the sound is. It's the voice of Zuko's younger sister, Azula. She's screaming, "Pick up the phone, dum-dum!"

Zuko raises himself to a sitting position, picks up the phone, and lifts it to his ear.

"What?" He drawls.

"Where are you?" Azula's voice echoes from the phone so loudly that even I can hear it.

"You don't need to know." Zuko pants.

There's a brief silence, then Azula attacks the speaker with full force. "Are you having sex?"

"What?"

"Is your penis inside some slut's vagina?"

"No!"

"So it's a guy's ass then."

"Shut up, Azula!"

"I bet it's Haru."

"Azula!" Zuko roars. For once, there is no feedback from the phone. "My sex life is none of your business! But for the record, I am not having sex and I am straight!"

There is a brief silence, then Azula pipes back up. "I was just calling to let you know that you were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago, and Dad is pissed." The phone call ends with a click and Zuko's hand falls into his lap.

I prop myself up on my elbow and run my hand down Zuko's smooth, muscular arm from his shoulder to his elbow.

"I have to go." Zuko says, but I can tell that he doesn't like those words.

I bring myself to a sitting position and smile at him. "Okay."

Zuko looks at me with burning golden eyes, then the next second he has me pinned to my bed, his tongue tracing mine. I run my hands through his thick black hair and down his chest to his abdomen.

Just as I get a hold of Zuko's shirt, he pulls away from me. I look at him, confused and slightly annoyed. He flashes me a roguish smile and I arch one eyebrow. Then Zuko dips back down, pecks me on the lips, and rests his head next to my ear.

"Alexander Graham Bell." He breathes.

Before I can compute what Zuko has just said, he rolls off of me, grabs his backpack, and walks swiftly out of my room.