They were all dead now, drowned in the frigid ink-black waters of the Northern Water Tribe.
They talked a lot of shit about him behind his back, but they were loyal and brave. He didn’t want to think about Uncle, so he backtracked to the subject of realizing that maybe he didn’t love his father. He turned onto his side, pressing his palm against his chest and willing his heart to beat more slowly. No matter how disrespectful Zuko was, Uncle treated him kindly. He helped him navigate the scary new world outside the fire nation. He cared for Zuko in his feverish state when his burn became infected. He was the only familiar face after his banishment.
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She didn’t know how to tell him that she missed him. Even her usual insults didn’t carry the same sting. She must have missed him all these years. He could tell by the softening edges of her voice and the way she smiled softly when she thought he wasn’t looking. And she loved him too, just not so obviously. He would never want anything bad to happen to her. She was harsh and ice-cold yet quick to anger. She had been trying to kill him since as long as he could remember. He loved Azula, in some twisted unhealthy way. His father never gave hugs nor kindness, only cruel words and sharp glares. Every time he thought about her he felt small and scared. It had been so long since someone had held him. He could vaguely recall the affection of her hugs and the soothing kindness in her voice. It was in part because he hadn’t seen his father in so long and in part that he had forgotten how love feels. It was a slow realization that had taken him sixteen years to come to.
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