It was Jin who initiated it. It was she who straddled his hips on the small couch in her small living room, covering his lips with her full ones, fingers swiftly undoing the black dress shirt that smelt of coffee beans and various syrups that were used in the lattes. It was she, who pushed his shirt off of his firm shoulders as he pressed up against her frame, allowing the leverage to get the shirt off, his mouth opening to allow her to deepen the kiss.

It was Jin who raised her arms above her head as he hastily removed the green baby-t, she throwing the clothing aside with a flick of her wrists as she claimed his lips again; one of his hands grabbing a full breast, teasing and taunting the pink nipple as she grazed her nails down his chest, down, down, down to….

It was Jin who stopped. It was she who pulled away when she smelt her on his body. When she tasted her on his lips. When she saw her marks on his body. It was Jin who looked at Zuko, her eyes boring into his, her cry of pain in her hazel orbs. It was she who cried, not even daring to rest her head on his shoulder, not wanting to feel his sympathy for his damned mistake, no, not mistake; betrayal.

“ Stop.” She said. He looked at her and he tried. He tried to say something, he tried to cup her cheek, whisper it would be okay.

But he couldn’t. Because he knew there was nothing to rectify what he had done. So he embraced her, he took her sobbing body into his arms and held her close. He buried his face into her honey-scented hair and tried to fight back the urge to cry.

“ I can’t….” And as if it was a contagious disease, he began to cry too.

It was Zuko who initiated it. It was Zuko who initiated their pain. It was he who couldn’t stop.