At just past 2 on a Friday afternoon, Mai finds herself staring into the prettiest pair of eyes she’s ever seen. They're brown, with specks of grey, and she's never seen anything like it.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hell, she wasn’t even supposed to be at the shop. But Zuko had begged her to cover for him after scoring a date with Katara (finally, Mai thinks, it took him long enough), and one thing had led to another, so she’d graciously come in to take his shift. (He definitely owes her, though: she’d really been looking forward to spending her afternoon watching the newest season of The Umbrella Academy.) It doesn’t help that her bangs cling to her forehead in sweat, but when the weekly shipment of flowers comes in and you’re the only employee on duty, you end up carrying a lot of heavy boxes underneath the rays of the sun.
Mai had been in the back room unpacking her order of daisies when the front door chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. “I’ll be there in just a min—!” she’d called, but the rest of her sentence promptly dies on her lips the moment she lays eyes on the person standing by the counter.
So yeah, that’s how she finds herself stunned into speechlessness by the pretty girl in front of her, whose head is cocked slightly in a mix of confusion and amusement. Mai’s brain races to form actual, coherent words, to say anything, when the stranger speaks. “Are you okay?”
“Um.” Mai hates herself. She clears her throat, and finally, she can talk normally again. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, just checking,” the girl says. Then, after a pause: “Is Zuko here?”
“You know Zuko?” It’s only the surprise that surges through her, that propels her to continue conversing.
“Yeah,” the stranger replies. “He’s usually here when I come by.”
“Oh. Right.” Mai thinks she must be going stupid. If this was the stranger’s usual time, of course she would know Zuko. “I’m covering for him; I normally take morning shifts. He’s—actually on a date right now.”
For some reason, the girl snorts at that. “Did he finally ask Katara out?”
“You know Katara?” Mai thinks her head might explode as she scrambles to process all this new information.
“How could I not?” The girl rolls her eyes. “He never shuts up about her.”
It’s so in-character for her friend that before Mai can stop herself, a tiny laugh escapes from her mouth. “That’s Zuko for you.”
The girl grins at that, and she sticks out her hand in greeting. “I’m Ty Lee.”
“Mai.” She swears she feels a spark where their hands touch, right before they pull apart.
Suddenly, she remembers that the girl - Ty Lee - must’ve come in with a purpose. “What did you need help with?” she asks. “Anything Zuko can do, I can do better.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Ty Lee shoots her another grin. “I don’t think I need help, though? I just really like coming in every week and looking at all the pretty flowers you have here. Sometimes, I get them for my apartment. I-”
And before Mai knows it, Ty Lee has launched into a whole tirade, pointing out the various types of daffodils and violets and daisies and tulips and azaleas Mai spent hours meticulously arranging around the store, rambling about their beauty and how much she loves them. Ty Lee’s hands move in rapid fire along with her words, and as she points at the respective bouquets she adores, Mai doesn’t miss the ripple of muscle under her shirt, further illuminated by the sunlight peeking through the window.
Mai hangs on to her every word.
Finally, Ty Lee stops, as if she’d realized the long-windedness of her ramble. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, slightly out of breath. “I just really love flowers.”
“It’s okay!” Mai rushes to reassure her. “I love flowers, too.”
“You do?” Ty Lee’s eyes widen. Then, she facepalms. “Wait. Of course you do, or else you wouldn’t be working here. I just—”
“I think you’d really like the fire lilies,” Mai interrupts, pointing at the orange flowers sitting in the glass display. They remind her of Ty Lee: energetic and warm, just like her. (But of course, she doesn’t tell Ty Lee that.) “They’re a nice pop of color and would go great with your apartment, I bet.”
“Really?” Ty Lee says in interest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mai replies. Ty Lee is smiling, and as she turns to leave, she honest to god winks. Mai’s lesbian heart can’t take this.
It’s only hours later, when she’s already home from her shift, that she realizes she’d forgotten to ask for Ty Lee’s number.
—
Mai has always loved flowers.
As a child, she remembers running through the garden behind Azula and Zuko’s house, fingertips grazing the pretty petals on each and every flower. She remembers begging her parents to start a garden of their own, diligently doing research on the best flowers for beginners, and carefully picking out the seed packets at the store all on her own.
In fact, she’s always considered plants to be better companions than people. For starters, they didn’t expect or want conversation, and they certainly didn’t care about who she was. When her father had started his campaign for governor, she’d been molded into the perfect girl—one that kept her head down, never spoke, and played the part. Ukano may have wanted her to be the picture perfect daughter, but the flowers? All they needed was some water, some sunshine, and a little bit of care.
She thinks that’s why, for the longest time, she had also been drawn to Zuko. Zuko was the one person who didn’t expect things from her; even Azula’s companionship was a double-edged sword, always ready to strike at any sign of weakness. And when their mother died, each of the siblings processed their grief differently: Azula took off to travel the world, and Zuko took to Mai. The few months of their romantic partnership had been intense—too intense. In the end, though, they’d realized they were only using each other to run away from their feelings. (And, as it turned out, Mai didn’t even like boys anyway.)
Despite their history, Mai’s still grateful for their friendship. Their shared love for all things botany—and Iroh’s advice that Zuko find an outlet for his anger—had led to the opening of Jasmine Dragon. Slowly but surely, their customer base has grown; from the regulars that she knows by name, to the occasional newbie that stumbles upon their store, she loves being able to introduce the magic of flowers to people—to see them view the plants in wonder and awe, the same way she does.
So yeah, Mai loves running the shop. And now, she has another reason to love her job: Ty Lee has walked in again, wearing only a sports bra and leggings, her hair thrown in a loose ponytail. It’s the third morning shift she’s shown up to since they first met, and Mai’s stomach does backflips.
“Hi,” Ty Lee says sweetly, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. “What kind of bouquet would you recommend for two people celebrating their first year together?”
The answer comes to her easily; after all, she knows flower language like the back of her hand. “Carnations are perfect for 1 year anniversaries,” Mai tells her. “What color would you like?”
Mai’s pretty sure she knows the answer before Ty Lee even says it; the fuschia scrunchie in her hair and the magenta Apple Watch on her wrist are a dead giveaway. “Pink.”
Carefully looking through the display of carnations, Mai makes sure to pick the brightest, pinkest bunch. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Their hands brush as Ty Lee hands over her credit card, and Mai feels like she’s on fire.
“So,” she says, suddenly desperate to fill the silence, to find an excuse for Ty Lee to stay longer, “what do you do?”
“I’m a ballerina,” Ty Lee answers. “We have morning workouts before practice.”
“Oh.” Mai purposely looks away from Ty Lee’s exposed midriff. “I used to dance actually, as a kid.”
“Yeah?” Ty Lee’s eyes sparkle with interest.
“I wasn’t any good, though,” Mai clarifies quickly. “It was just something my parents wanted me to do, as their perfect poster child.”
“I see.” Ty Lee’s voice is unusually gentle, and Mai looks up to see the girl watching her with a wistful smile. “Maybe you should try again—for fun this time.”
“Yeah,” Mai says. “Maybe I should.”
(Later that night, she finds her old ballet shoes and tutu, stuffed into the depths of her closet. She quickly shuts the door closed, but she thinks about it.)
—
It’s like clockwork: At 9 AM sharp every morning, Ty Lee comes in, asking for a new bouquet. Some are for work parties; others are for friends who need cheering up. Sometimes, Ty Lee buys them for her own apartment; she runs late to her workout one day showing Mai pictures of her plants, all lined up one by one on the windowsill. “They’re like my children,” Ty Lee says fondly, and Mai is entranced.
A month after their first meeting, Mai starts adding in extra flowers to her bouquets. (If the flowers she purposefully chooses all symbolize some form of love or longing, well, Ty Lee doesn’t have to know that.) Today, she weaves in the peonies that had just come in over the weekend, and they’re ready on the counter by the time Ty Lee arrives.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be charging me extra?” Ty Lee asks (yet again) as Mai rings up the transaction.
Her answer (yet again) remains the same. “No, usual price,” she says. “They’ll go great with the curtains you bought last week.”
“I think so too.” Ty Lee’s smile is wide and radiant, and Mai thinks about it for the rest of the day.
Zuko, of course, offers no help: when Mai finishes describing the sheen of Ty Lee’s long brown hair and the way her smile starts out hesitant, but eventually stretches wholeheartedly across her face, he simply laughs and shakes his head. “You’re hopeless,” he tells her.
Mai rolls her eyes. “Sorry that we can’t all have girlfriends like you.”
Zuko laughs again. “Katara wouldn’t be my girlfriend if I flirted like you do, by giving her flowers she doesn’t know the meaning of.”
“Well, let’s hear your expert flirting tips then, genius.”
“Speaking of girlfriends,” Zuko changes the subject, “Katara wants to meet you. Are you free this weekend?”
“Meet me?” Mai furrows her brows in confusion. “What for?”
“Because you’re my friend?” He nudges her. “Come to brunch with us. Please?”
It’s only because she loves Zuko that she agrees, and come Saturday morning, Mai finds herself on her fifth cup of coffee, sitting in a diner with Zuko and his girlfriend Katara. Katara has also brought along some of her friends—Mai thinks their names are Aang, Sokka, Toph, and Suki, but she isn’t completely sure.
“It’s so nice to meet you!” Katara’s sunny demeanor is a stark contrast to Zuko’s mopey tendencies, and Mai wonders—once again—how they ended up finding each other. “Zuko’s told me a lot about you.”
“Has he?” Mai narrows her eyes at him, and he shrugs, as if to say, leave me out of this. “Only good things, I hope.”
“It’s awesome that you and Zuko run Jasmine Dragon together,” Katara continues. “You must get some interesting customers.”
“Not really?” Mai shrugs. “Just your typical plant lovers, with a weirdo here and there. Nothing special.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Zuko says, with a sudden mischievous smirk on his face. Mai kicks him under the table in warning, but he ignores her and continues on. “What about your attempts to flirt with Ty Lee?”
“Zuko!” Mai exclaims angrily, glaring at him as fiercely as she can. To his credit, his smile falters, and a look of guilt flashes in his eyes.
“Ty Lee?” A light voice interrupts their impending argument, and Mai looks across the table to see Suki with a brow raised in interest. “You know Ty Lee?”
“You know Ty Lee?” Mai’s anger momentarily resides at this revelation.
“She dances at my studio,” Suki explains. She laughs suddenly. “I guess I should’ve realized where all those flowers were coming from.”
“Maybe you could go visit her?” Katara suggests. “I’m sure she’d like to see you.”
“I could get you signed in and everything,” Suki adds. “You’d just have to let me know when you’re visiting.”
“....Oh. I—” Mai hesitates, trying to process this bizarre turn of events. Then (perhaps against her better judgment) she nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
She ignores Zuko’s look of triumph for the rest of brunch.
—
The first thing Mai notices when she arrives at the studio is the vase of hydrangeas sitting on the front desk. They’re fresh, having just been plucked a few hours ago, and she can’t help but smile.
“Name?” The receptionist, a soft-spoken girl with white hair, asks her, looking up from her computer.
“Mai,” she answers.
“Ah.” A look of recognition passes over the receptionist’s face. “Suki mentioned you might be visiting today. You can take a seat and wait for her, if you’d like.”
Awkwardly, Mai settles in one of the hard-backed chairs, and within a few minutes, Suki emerges, hair tied up in a messy bun.
“Mai!” she exclaims, waving excitedly. “Thanks, Yue,” she says to the receptionist, and then beckons Mai forward.
“We’re preparing for our spring show right now,” Suki explains as she leads her past the practice rooms. “So you’ll see a lot of teams rehearsing.” Mai can hear the muffled thumps of upbeat music as they continue their walk, and through the transparent glass, she watches one of the dancers gracefully lift her leg up in the air.
“Ty Lee’s troupe is scheduled for the stage today,” Suki tells her. “You’re just in time to see her solo.”
A single light illuminates the stage when they arrive, quietly taking a seat near the back. Ty Lee’s standing underneath the spotlight with another woman, who’s gesturing grandly in what Mai assumes to be some sort of critique. Ty Lee nods, gently dabbing the sweat on her face with a towel, and then the woman walks off, leaving her alone on the stage.
“Ready?” someone in the background calls, and Ty Lee gives a silent thumbs up in return. Taking a deep breath, she kneels to the ground, head bowed. The air is heavy with anticipation, and even Mai holds her breath, unsure what to expect. Then, the first melodic notes drift from the speaker, and the piece begins.
She may not have retained any of her ballet knowledge from the past, but from the second Ty Lee snaps her head up, gaze dark and brooding, Mai is hooked. She pushes herself off the ground, spinning wildly until Mai is dizzy on her behalf. But Ty Lee is as graceful as ever, expertly pulling herself out of the spin and flinging her arms in the air, one muscled leg stretched behind her. As the music speeds up, so does she; every movement, every transition, flows perfectly from one to the next, and Mai can only stare in awe.
Simply put, Ty Lee is a work of art.
A few minutes later, or a few hours later for all Mai knows, the music returns to its moderate tempo; in turn, Ty Lee’s movements become softer. Slowly, she shifts back to her starting pose, and the auditorium is quiet for only a second before the air rings with applause—screams and cheers from Ty Lee’s fellow troupe members, as well as Suki and Mai from the audience.
Suki gestures for Mai to follow her to the stage, and Ty Lee’s eyes widen when she spots them walking over. A light blush colors her cheeks, and Mai’s pretty sure her own cheeks are red as well.
“You didn’t tell me Mai was coming!” she exclaims to Suki, who merely laughs.
“Surprise,” Mai says weakly. And before she knows it, Ty Lee’s thrown her arms around her shoulders, wrapping her in a hug.
Mai’s never been a fan of hugging; as a child, she’d only let Zuko do it—and even then, she wouldn’t always say yes. But Ty Lee’s embrace is so gentle, so soft, that she can’t help but lean into it. Her hair smells like vanilla, and her touch feels like home.
If Mai wasn’t in love already, she certainly is now.
—
She starts giving her roses.
Ty Lee comes to the shop every morning, and every morning, her bouquet of flowers is there, ready on the counter. But no matter what color or type of flower she requests, there’s always an extra red rose, slipped in with the rest.
“You have to let me pay for them,” Ty Lee tries to argue, but Mai refuses. So Ty Lee leaves, with more roses than she knows what to do with.
Mai learns that Ty Lee’s dance for the spring show is supposed to represent the four major elements of life: Fire comes first, fierce and blazing in its intensity. The air fuels the flames, spreading further and faster until it meets water—its greatest rival. They fight, fight, fight until the last spark disappears, retreating back into the earth, ready to start the cycle all over again.
“What element do you think you’d be?” Mai asks her one afternoon. They’re at the annual cherry blossom festival on their rare day off, and it is hot. Ty Lee’s swapped out her usual sports bra and leggings for a strapless floral romper that emphasizes her toned arms and legs. while Mai sticks to her typical all-black leather jacket/jeans combo, bearing through the heat.
Ty Lee stops in her tracks to think about it. “Hmmm,” she finally says. “Maybe fire? I’ve always loved the quiet power that it has.”
“Me too,” Mai agrees. “Or maybe I’d be water.”
“Maybe,” Ty Lee says in amusement. They fall into a comfortable silence, walking down the riverside and admiring the newly bloomed cherry blossom trees. Mai watches one of the blossoms that’s come loose from the branches gently fall down towards her, catching it cleanly in the air before it can land on the ground.
“Here,” Mai says abruptly. Ty Lee turns to look at her, and before she can have any second thoughts, she hands the blossom to her. “For you.”
An intrigued Ty Lee slides it into her hair. “How do I look?” she asks.
Like everything I could ever want, Mai wants to say. But instead, she settles for a shrug. Instead, she says: “It looks nice.”
Ty Lee’s resulting smile sparkles like the sun, and it takes all her willpower not to look away.
—
(That weekend, Suki lets her into an empty practice room. Mai stares at herself, dressed in her old leotard—one that still miraculously fits, even after ten years— and doesn’t recognize the reflection that stares back at her.
Slowly, she sinks into a pirouette. Her knees shake a little as she bends them, and something stirs in her chest.)
—
Ty Lee is kind of having the worst day ever.
For starters, she’d forgotten to set her alarm. As a result, she had missed Mai her first morning visit to Jasmine Dragon in five months, which had then proceeded to throw everything else off balance. Rehearsal, usually her safe space, had gone terribly: she’d stumbled through a sequence she should’ve picked up easily, and eventually Kyoshi had just asked her to take the rest of the day off.
When she finally arrives at Jasmine Dragon a mere twenty minutes before Mai’s shift is scheduled to end, she almost wants to cry: her bouquet is still on the counter, waiting for her. Mai looks at her with mild surprise in her eyes, which quickly switches to concern as she pays for the flowers.
“Are you okay?” Mai asks softly, and despite her bad mood, Ty Lee can’t help but smile.
“No,” she replies, “but I will be.”
The bouquet does make Ty Lee feel a little bit better; she inhales deeply as she walks home, the familiar scent of the red rose wafting pleasantly through her nose. But there’s still a pit of exhaustion in her stomach, and she doesn’t even realize someone’s standing in front of her, waving frantically until he says her name. “—Lee. Ty Lee!”
“What?” she jumps, rapidly blinking to see none other than— “Zuko! Hi.”
“Hey, Ty Lee,” Zuko looks amused. “It’s been a while.”
He’s not wrong—almost half a year has passed since she changed her routine and started dropping by Jasmine Dragon in the mornings. It’s been five months since she first met a certain tall goth girl whose eyes alone told hidden stories; a girl whose stoic demeanor prevented most people from seeing the love that flowed through her veins.
The girl who has completely captured Ty Lee’s heart.
“I like the bouquet,” Zuko jolts her out of her reverie, pointing to the flowers in her hand. “Did you ask for the rose? It doesn’t usually go with the annual flowers.”
“No,” Ty Lee shakes her head. “Mai always adds extra flowers to my bouquets, and lately, she’s been really into roses. It’s nice of her, don’t you think?”
“Hmmm.” Zuko’s got a strange expression she can’t decipher, and she can’t help but feel nervous. “What?”
“It’s just that….” he trails off, then laughs. “In flower language, red roses mean true love.”
Oh…...oh. For several moments, Ty Lee can only stare in stunned silence. Then, as if someone’s turned her brain back on, she startles. “Wait! I—I need to—”
“You can probably make it there before she leaves,” is all Zuko says, and then she’s off, running as fast as she can, exhaustion all but forgotten.
It’s a miracle that Mai’s still there, talking quietly to a customer when Ty Lee arrives, panting heavily. At the chime of the door, she turns, eyes widening when she sees who it is.
“Ty Lee? What are you doing here—?” Mai never gets the chance to finish her question before Ty Lee’s lips are on hers.
It’s a quick kiss, but nonetheless filled with months of anticipation and pining and a mutual understanding, as if to say, finally. When they part for air, Mai’s smile is wider than Ty Lee’s ever seen it, and her eyes sparkle with pure, unadulterated joy. It feels right—it’s everything.
“Fun fact,” Ty Lee says faux casually. “Did you know that red roses symbolize true love?”
Mai’s eyes widen, and then she grins. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Well then,” Ty Lee says, plucking the rose from her bouquet and offering it to her. "Would you go on a date with me?"
—
It goes like this: their first date—their first real date—unsurprisingly takes place in a botanical garden. Mai’s eyes light up the moment they walk in, and Ty Lee thinks she could spend hours listening to her describe her favorite flowers in detail. To Mai, flowers are art. To Ty Lee, Mai is art.
It goes like this: Ty Lee and her troupe’s spring show goes off without a hitch, and Mai is the first one on her feet as the theater explodes into applause. She’s so inspired that at dinner, she shyly asks Ty Lee to teach her how to dance again, to which her girlfriend eagerly accepts. Slowly, Mai re-familiarizes herself with first, second, third position, backed by Ty Lee’s gentle smile and encouraging words. Slowly, the studio becomes her home again—their home.
It goes like this: Zuko insists on having double dates, and many happy afternoons pass with Mai, Ty Lee, Zuko and Katara sitting in coffee shops and going to art museums, laughing at nothing and everything. Zuko has never seen his friend so happy, and when he tells her so, Mai can’t even be bothered to come up with a snappy retort.
It goes like this: for the girls' one year anniversary, Zuko and Katara close down the flower shop and spend all day decorating it. They have a picnic under the stars, and Mai gasps when she spots the ring in the middle of her cupcake; by the end of the night, they’re both crying.
It goes like this: Mai loves Ty Lee, and Ty Lee loves Mai.
What more could they ask for?