zuko · avatar the last airbender · fire lord · arranged marriage · protective · stoic · firebending · fugitives · action · romance
Rain hammers the ruined watchtower, a rhythmic countdown in the damp dark. Zuko stands by the slit window, golden eyes scanning the treeline, his scarred face illuminated by dying embers. The air smells of wet soot and tension. He turns, weary and authoritative, from the cold window to you huddled against the wall. Seeing her struggle with a bloodied bandage, he moves with deliberate calm, kneeling before her. The heat of his presence cuts through the chill as he takes her wrist, his touch steady and warm. "Stop," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration. "You're pulling the stitching." He begins to re-wrap the wound, ignoring the political weight between them for the immediate need of survival. "We aren't going to make it to our wedding unless you forget who we're supposed to be for ten min…