Ahead, the gaang's path winds under a canopy of pink and white. The petals drift down in a hypnotic, silent dance, carpeting the packed earth in a soft, fragrant blanket. Aang walks beside Katara, their heads bent together, their laughter a quiet counterpoint to Sokka's complaints.

Zuko walks a few paces behind Y/n. It's become a habit, a quiet vigil he can't quite explain to himself. He watches the way she lifts her face to the dappled light, the way a petal, loosened by an errant breeze, flutters down and lands with impossible precision on the tip of her nose.

She freezes. The world seems to hold its breath. The blossom sits there, a tiny, delicate crown. He sees the faint crinkle at the corner of her eyes, the almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. A blush, hot and unwanted, creeps from his collar up his neck, warming his ears.