Lit by the stars, she seems to glow.
Zuko leans over, the picnic blanket wrinkling under his efforts, and presses a kiss to her collarbone. Her eyelashes flutter open so delightfully.
They've worked so hard for this, this, peace and quiet and the calm of the night sky above them. The Avatar can fight for the whole world; he can afford to be so magnanimous.
Zuko doesn't care to be so, kissing Katara full on the mouth with only the stars as other witnesses. She is the only drive he needs, her and warm nights beneath constellations he knows as easily as breathing.
They have earned this, this, easy nights and happily sharing breaths as the sky marches on above them. They deposed a tyrant who couldn't be a good father if his life depended on it. They fought through personal emotional complications. They fought each other.
And now Zuko lays next to Katara on a grassy hill overlooking the caldera he rules, and he kisses her until she is as pliable as the element she bends.
Their happiness is this, this, making their corner of the world better, bit by bit and day by day, until the frustration grows and they steal away in the night to keep their love burning as vibrantly as the element that Zuko bends.
Their joy is this, this, the dew-soaked grass, an old picnic blanket, and a sky full of starlight.