Chapter Text
The Republic City hall rose tall and steady, overlooking the city, its marble steps worn smooth by decades of footsteps. If one was to step inside, they would be welcomed by cavernous halls alive with the hum of people who went about their days. Secretaries in neatly tied sashes darted from one end of the corridor to another, clerks were bent over their desks in the atrium and citizens ran their errands— greetings echoed here and there, a laughter from a courier boomed by the front desk, followed by the squeak of a cart piled high with scrolls.
Along the walls, portraits of the old Avatars and the new one watched quietly as life pulsed beneath them. Copper lanterns glowed in their alcoves, spilling warm light over marbled floors where city officials lingered in clusters, sharing news and trading gossip in voices far too casual for the formality of the building as the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted in from the courtyard, carried inside by the wind every time someone opened the great front doors.
Down one of its quieter wings, a modest door waited. Its brass handle was dulled from use, the edges of its frame chipping as if more hands than could be counted had pushed it open. Beyond that door was an office, humble compared to the grandeur of the bigger offices on the floors above it. The floors were tiled in pale stone that reflected the morning light spilling through the wide windows.
Bookshelves hugged the walls, neat but weighed down by thick volumes on orphan care and child protection policies, public orphanage reforms and eldercare programs and the psychology of grief and resilience. There were lighter reads, too, wedged between journals about preservation of culture— weathered recipe books from the Fire Nation, a guide to raising hippo-cows and a dog-eared novel about The Cave of Two Lovers.
Little trinkets dotted every available surface of the office, small knick-knacks gathered over the years. There was a whistle shaped like a fish, a wooden top, several animal figurines carved in clay and a pressed flower in a glass frame among other things. None of them were valuable, but each looked as if they were treasured. The whole space felt as though it had absorbed laughter, amused sighs and late-night musings, live-in and warm.
At the center of it all was a desk, an organized clutter of scrolls, open folders and a cup holding a now lukewarm tea. Papers filled with careful handwriting stretched across the wood, next to them, a framed photograph of a family was perched and beside it sat a small wooden turtle duck, its face etched and redrawn so many times its features had become more cartoonish, but not any less happy.
Behind the desk sat Secretary Yoon Jeonghan, his gaze focused at the world beyond the glass of his window. The trees surrounding the city hall had shed their leaves, carpeting the streets in reds and oranges. He watched them scatter on the autumn wind and he couldn’t help but think about how, when he was younger, he wasn’t quite fond of the season— the air used to be too sharp for his liking, the crunch of leaves beneath his boots tickling his ears in ways he didn’t like. But in the four years that passed, he had grown to love autumn for the very reasons he didn’t like it before.
His eyes fleeted from the orange litter of leaves on the ground until it snagged on a figure weaving past the gates of the city hall, breath hitching. There, moving swiftly through the crowd, was a silhouette he knew too well— broad shoulders and solid build hidden underneath dark red robes that flared with every motion, the fabric lifting like fire as it caught the autumn breeze. He ran with purpose, clutching a slip of paper in one hand as his thick hair, unruly, bounced in time with his stride.
The chill in the air had already begun to stain the man’s cheeks in that familiar pink that Jeonghan loved, the sight alone tugging something deep in his chest. How ridiculous it was, truly, that even after all the years that passed, after all the changes and growth and miles traveled, something as simple as watching Choi Seungcheol could still undo him.
Jeonghan imagined, as though his ears could pick it out from the distance, the crunch of dry leaves surrendering under the firebender’s boots, their rhythm carrying him further, closer and closer to him. He hauled himself upright when the crowd had swallowed the other man, the last flicker of his robes vanishing past the throng.
His chair scraped softly against the floor, already hearing the familiar cadence of Seungcheol’s footfalls resounding through the walls of the city hall. The sound rolled closer and deeper, breaking the stillness of the hallway outside his office. He rounded his desk, leaning against the edge of it as he crossed his arms and bit back a grin threatening to curl at his lips.
Spirits, he already knew.
Jeonghan didn’t have to wait and see what the paper Seungcheol was holding— today was the day, the day the firebender, and quite frankly, everyone in their circle, had been waiting for; even his own mother had been biting her nails for weeks with anticipation and worry.
Four years of grueling work, he marveled, of sweat and bruises and scars that wouldn’t ever fade, of sparring sessions that left sore muscles and lectures that left a puddled mind. Four years of missions in and out of the city, tests that challenged one’s bending and character and resolve and loyalty. Four years of drills before dawn, policies studied after dusk and of swallowing failures to rise sharper and stronger the next day.
And now, it looked like the trials had finally bore fruit.
The glint of triumph Jeonghan had seen on Seungcheol’s face as he charged through the gates spoke volumes more than any official announcement ever could. It was obvious that the other man’s efforts and sacrifices had paid off. The thought made Jeonghan’s chest swell with something warm and devastating, like he was the one holding the victory paper, like he was the one who had wrestled fate into yielding to his whims.
He pressed his palm against the desk behind him, steadying himself as the footsteps neared, closer and closer, his heart growing tenfold when the door swung open with a bang that rattled the frame, revealing Seungcheol, whose robes were wrinkled from the run. His hair was a wild mess on top of his head, strands sticking to his temples as his chest heaved.
It was almost jarring to see him like this and not the pristine Seungcheol he had grown accustomed to in the last years— clad in the dark and crisp police uniform. It fit him like it had been designed solely for him alone, the tailored jacket hugging the breadth of his shoulders, the insignia on his collar glinting, the reinforced boots polished and shiny. Clad in the uniform, Seungcheol was the image of discipline and authority, someone the city looked up to and believed in.
But the man in front of him now, disheveled and flushed, eyes alight with something raw, wasn’t the polished police officer who had garnered a sizable fanbase; no, this was someone else, someone Jeonghan remembered fondly. This Seungcheol, messy and breathless, reminded him achingly of the boy from Republic City University— the one who laughed too loudly, the one who led dumpling heists, the one who called him snowflake with a boyish and smug grin; the one who had thrown himself on the ground to protect Jeonghan from falling on his very own cliff of self-sabotage.
“Good morning, Jeonghan-nim,” Seungcheol said, his voice pitched with ridiculous formality. He straightened his posture, running a hand through his unruly hair as though that would make him more presentable before dipping to a bow with practiced solemnity. “I apologize for barging in like this. I know I should’ve requested a meeting three days prior, but I fear that containing this will cause my chest to burst… and we can’t have that, can we?”
Jeonghan only arched a brow, staying quiet as the firebender contorted his face into what could only be described as the worst attempt at remorse he had ever witnessed— mouth trembling, brows scrunched tight and eyes wide with an exaggerated flare. The other man was many things, but none of it was an actor. Looking at him now, acting, reminded Jeonghan once again of his performance so many years ago; at that time, seeing it had his heart clenching, but recalling it now, almost had him in stitches.
I thought we were friends, Jeonghan! How can you call them on me?
“I have some bad news,” Seungcheol intoned gravely, though his lips twitched as if he was seconds away from breaking character. Jeonghan indulged him because he was born to, and remained quiet, waiting patiently without bursting into a fit of laughter. “I’ve just been promoted. Lieutenant Choi Seungcheol, at your service, Secretary for the Minister of Social Welfare, Yoon Jeonghan.”
“And that’s supposed to be bad news?” He inquired, allowing himself to smile now as the other man stood straighter, sparing him an impressive salute.
“It is for us,” Seungcheol replied, round eyes glistening as he talked with a pout on his mouth. Jeonghan only nodded, wordlessly urging him to elaborate. “Angel, it’s going to be catastrophic! The end of days, one might say, the collapse of domestic bliss! First of all, we need to reschedule date nights— gone are the days of spontaneous midnight noodle runs! Second, morning cuddles? Reduced to rare weekend privileges. Third, no more me dragging you out of bed with love songs! And lastly? You’ll have to sleep knowing your beloved Lieutenant might be summoned at dawn, leaving you tragically alone with only that beloved turtle duck of yours!”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes, chuckling as he watched the other man pace back and forth, looking as if he was truly affected now.
“You’re acting as if we’re incapable of making time for each other,” he murmured, heart jumping when Seungcheol finally stood still in front of him, the firebender’s performance faltering. “Do you not remember the civil service exam? I had to go back home and study there because we were each other’s biggest distractions. We were miles apart, yet we somehow managed despite the stress and the distance and the… everything.”
Seungcheol’s grin slipped, his face softening into something that looked dangerously close to tears. His eyes shone with that stubborn, boyish sincerity that always left Jeonghan reeling. And spirits, Jeonghan’s fingers itched to reach out, to dote on him, to smooth down his hair and cradle his cheeks until the firebender’s pout turned back into a smile. But he stayed where he was, terrified that one wrong move would tip the world over.
“And besides, you’ve made sacrifices for me… more than I deserved, probably. If I could count the number of times you bent over backward just so I could carry on with what I needed to do…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if the list was endless, and perhaps it was. “I think… I can sacrifice a bit of cuddle time if it means helping you achieve your dreams.”
Seungcheol’s face crumpled into the most exaggerated pout Jeonghan had ever seen, then came the wail.
“Have you ever thought about me? Less cuddle time will devastate me, angel! Do you know what it does to a person when he has to wake tragically unkissed?” Seungcheol bemoaned, his expression a picture of a man in pain; Jeonghan chuckled, cheeks warmed by the firebender’s blatant adoration. “My spirit will wither, my training will collapse, my fellow officers will wonder why their lieutenant looks so haunted! And you think a little less cuddle time is not a big deal?”
“I can always make it up to you in the evenings,” he replied, tilting his head to the side and stifling a giggle when the firebender visibly perked up. This was a place of institution, and sure, he had told the other man time from time again not to bring his antics in the great walls of the city hall, but today was a special day; a little flirting wouldn’t affect the citizens of Republic City.
“I’ll be tired from work and I have to wake up extra early—”
“You have the stamina,” he breathed out, swallowing hard when Seungcheol clicked his tongue and shook his head in an attempt to hide that smug smirk of his. The tips of the firebender’s ears were red, eyes smoldering with a little too much wanting that Jeonghan was compelled to put a halt to the coquetry he had started. With all of his sincerity, he pushed himself away from his desk and stood inches away from the other man. “I am proud of you.”
Something in Seungcheol brightened at that, his eyes closing for a brief moment before falling down to his knees. Jeonghan exhaled quietly, watching the other man look up at him with so much veneration that Jeonghan could feel his heart hopping like a wild rabbit underneath his chest. His surname had automatically come with respect and admiration, he had grown up being looked at with wonder and amazement, but not with this much love, not with this much shine.
“I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Seungcheol said, taking Jeonghan’s hands and bringing it close to his mouth, placing kisses on the waterbender’s knuckles. They didn’t usually do this, not anymore, public displays of affection, not when Jeonghan had become a part of Republic City’s government and not when Seungcheol donned his badge. But on rare instances like today, they would shed their titles and just be. “I could have done it all by myself, that’s the truth. But it would’ve taken me so long and it would’ve been tougher. Thank you for making everything easier and bearable. Thank you for quizzing me and for dueling with me, for cooking me soup and for cleaning my wounds, for listening to me ramble about my day and for… angel, for allowing me, a hot mess with a banging bod and a tragic childhood into your life.”
“There’s no need to thank me. I love you, that’s why I do the things that I do for you,” he murmured, allowing himself to cradle the firebender’s face and run his thumbs against his cheeks. Jeonghan’s vision blurred, a ball of emotions wedged on the base of his throat. “Besides, mom and dad would spite me if they find out I’m not taking care of their favorite firebender.”
“I’m not their favorite. They’re just saying that because I convinced you not to throw your future away,” Seungcheol grumbled, shifting closer so he could wrap his arms around Jeonghan’s waist, cheek pressed on the waterbender’s stomach. Jeonghan pinched the firebender’s arm and received a guffaw, loud enough for some passerby to whip their heads in the direction of Jeonghan’s opened office door— he gave them an apologetic smile, fingers carding through Seungcheol’s hair.
“Mom is already at the orphanage decorating with the kids for your celebration and dad took the day off to cook your favorite smoked sea slug. Trust me, they’re not just saying it because you saved their wayward son,” he assured, tugging slightly on Seungcheol’s hair to tilt his head up and hold his gaze. The other man allowed himself to be handled like that, cheeks rosy and mouth parted. Jeonghan had a feeling he wouldn’t be walking right for the next few days if the smolder in the other man’s eyes was any indication. “And I know it’s a joyous and special day, but I need you to get up from the floor now. People are looking, Lieutenant.”
“Permission to kiss the living daylights out of you, Secretary Yoon?” Seungcheol asked as he did what he was told, towering over Jeonghan whose breath hitched. The day had just started and there were too many documents to read and sign, but wrapped in his lover’s warmth, all had been forgotten.
“Close the door and I’ll let you do more than just that,” he murmured, wearing a smile that was meant for Seungcheol alone. And with the gracelessness of a man who had always worn his heart on his sleeve, the firebender scrambled to shut the door.
The lock clicked, soft and final.
Jeonghan had once thought his life would be a series of paths chosen for him. And Seungcheol, on the other hand, had once thought his life would be walked alone. Yet here they were, together. And as Seungcheol’s arms closed around him, Jeonghan decided right then that autumn was now his favorite season.