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Ty Lee had a rule: no sleepovers. Not after nights like this.
Not after Azula.
But somehow, she always broke it.
The soft pulse of indie pop played in the background of Azula's dimly lit apartment—playlist looping from the pregame two hours ago that had turned into an afterparty of two.
Ty Lee sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, sipping from a half-empty wine glass. Her lipstick was smudged, her mascara was a little too imperfect for someone who wasn't crying, and her thighs were still bare beneath one of Azula’s oversized shirts.
Azula leaned against the fridge, barefoot, drinking straight from the bottle. Her hair was down. It was never down.
“You’re staring,” Ty Lee murmured.
Azula didn’t blink. “You’re in my shirt.”
“I always wear your shirts,” Ty Lee shrugged. “You said I could.”
Azula’s gaze flicked downward, dark and unreadable. “You’re not just wearing it. You’re in it.”
Ty Lee slid off the counter, letting her bare feet hit the cold tile. “You know, I keep one of your hoodies at my place too.”
Azula’s eyebrow twitched. “Why?”
She smirked. “Because I like how it smells.”
There was a pause—too long to be innocent.
Azula walked past her, brushing shoulders on purpose. Ty Lee followed. The air felt hotter than the spring night outside.
They ended up on the couch, too close again. Wine forgotten. Knees touching. That place between their thighs slowly pulling them into something neither of them said aloud.
And then Azula said the thing.
“I don’t want anything serious.”
Ty Lee laughed too sharply. “Are you serious?”
Azula tilted her head, annoyed but still drawn in. “Why does that sound like a punchline?”
Ty Lee looked away, pulse jumping.
Say you don't want nothing serious
Are you serious?
'Cause you've been acting kinda curious
Am I delirious
Cause I think that you kinda like when I like when you wrap your hands around me
And I think that I kinda like when you like when I roll my eyes and talk sweet
Azula didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Ty Lee knew the pattern.
Friday nights.
Shared cabs.
Kisses that lasted too long to be platonic.
Hands on hips. On thighs. Around her neck.
Then silence until the next time Azula called.
“Stop pretending this is normal,” Ty Lee said, voice lower now.
Azula’s lips twitched, close to a smirk, but not there. “It’s not not normal.”
Ty Lee leaned in, almost like a dare. “Everybody knows we don’t just talk.”
Azula kissed her.
And that was the problem.
Because it wasn’t just a kiss.
It was the kind that left you drunk.
The kind that stole your breath.
The kind that started fights and ended friendships and made your knees shake at the worst possible time.
They collapsed into each other—bodies tangling in rhythm they knew too well. The couch creaked. Fingernails scraped skin. There was a gasp that wasn’t fair, wasn’t casual, wasn’t just friends.
Clothes half-off. Tongues wet and desperate. Nothing restrained.
And then—quiet again. Bare skin against bare skin. Ty Lee curled into Azula’s side, heart too loud in the stillness.
“You keep saying we’re just friends,” she whispered. “But…”
You say we're just friends
Friends don't fuck on weekends
Hold you when you're sleepin'
Leave you feelin' lalala, lalala
Don't have their, clothes in your apartment
Take you home from the bar and
Got you feelin' lalala, lalala
Azula shifted but didn’t speak.
“Do you ever think about how many times we’ve done this?” Ty Lee asked, voice featherlight.
Azula’s fingers ghosted down her spine. “Enough that I stopped counting.”
“Me too,” Ty Lee admitted. “And that’s what scares me.”
*****************
The next morning was cruel. Sunlight poured through the cracked blinds, and the smell of coffee didn’t hide the ache in her chest.
Azula was in the kitchen again, same as always. Ty Lee wrapped the blanket around herself and leaned against the doorway.
“I’ve gotta get going soon,” she said, eyes not meeting hers.
Azula poured the coffee but didn’t offer it.
“Okay.”
Just okay.
That was all she ever said when Ty Lee left.
Ty Lee crossed the kitchen. “This thing between us…”
Azula raised a brow. “Don’t.”
But Ty Lee kept going. “I’m not sure if we’re stupid or just… addicted.”
Azula met her gaze with fire. “Don’t turn this into a conversation. You hate talking about it.”
Ty Lee stepped closer, nearly toe to toe. “Because I already know the answer. I know you’ll say we’re friends. But friends don’t—”
Azula caught her chin, fingers gentle. “Don’t what?”
Ty Lee stared. Shook her head.
Somewhere in-between these sheets we get
More into this
And sometimes it seems like our common sense
Is incompetence
'Cause I think that you kinda like when I like when you're touching on my body
And I think that I kinda like when you like when I’m acting kinda naughty
Azula kissed her again—hard, desperate, like she didn’t want her to finish the sentence.
They didn’t leave the apartment that day.
*******************
It kept happening.
Every time Ty Lee tried to walk away, Azula pulled her back.
Every time Azula tried to build walls, Ty Lee knocked them down.
They weren’t dating.
They weren’t friends.
They were something else—messy, real, unsustainable.
One night, after another party, Azula showed up at Ty Lee’s apartment unannounced. Wet hair. No makeup. Baggy hoodie.
Ty Lee didn’t ask why.
They kissed before Azula even said hello.
And later, tangled in Ty Lee’s bed, Azula murmured, “I hate how much I want you.”
Ty Lee froze. “Then why not just want me?”
Azula didn’t answer.
Everybody knows we don't just talk
Get more lost in every line we cross
You say we're just friends
Friends don't fuck on weekends
Hold you when you're sleepin'
Leave you feelin' lalala, lalala
Don't have their, clothes in your apartment
Take you home from the bar and
Got you feelin' lalala, lalala
******************
The final straw came quietly.
Ty Lee came home one night after a date. A real date. Not Azula. Not mess.
But Azula was on her doorstep.
Ty Lee didn’t speak. Just let her in.
“You’re different,” Azula noticed.
Ty Lee nodded. “I’m tired.”
Azula looked away. “You kissed someone else?”
“Yes.”
Azula’s eyes darkened.
Ty Lee stepped forward. “You don’t get to be mad. Not when—”
Azula crashed into her.
But Ty Lee pulled away this time.
“You don’t love me,” she whispered.
Azula flinched.
“You love what I do for you.”
Azula didn’t deny it.
Friends don't fuck, yeah
Leave you wondering
Where their love is
(Friends don't fuck on the weekends)
Ty Lee backed away. “And I can’t keep wondering where your love is.”
Azula looked at her like she was breaking. “Don’t go.”
But Ty Lee smiled sadly. “I’m already gone.”
**********************
Azula sat on the bed after the door clicked shut. The hoodie Ty Lee always stole lay crumpled on the floor.
She didn’t pick it up.
She didn’t cry.
But her hand lingered on the spot where Ty Lee had kissed her goodbye.
Friends don't fuck