Chapter Text
It’s too much. His eyes burn from a combination of the stage lights and the tears gathering in the corners. His breath comes in little ragged gasps, throat closing tight as the urge to cry creeps up on him. He’d stumbled. He’d lost his footing on the stupid three-quarter turn and he’d thrown his arms out to catch his weight. It looked sloppy and, by the way everyone abandoned him center stage, he knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Zuko,” Zhao sounds disappointed. It’s not disappointment in Zuko. It’s disappointment in himself, because Zhao should know by now not to expect anything from Zuko. It’s a sigh that says he’s wasting his time trying to make Zuko anything better. It’s a sound Zuko’s heard hundreds of times from hundreds of people.
Zuko grits his teeth, pressing his lips together to keep them from wobbling too hard. He knows he’s a problem. He knows his footwork is sloppy. He knows his voice can be weak at times. He knows he’s slow, and he regularly forgets appointments in his packed schedule. He knows that Zhao must shuffle him to dress rehearsals, interviews, fan meets, personal trainers, dieticians, makeup artists, and stylists. He knows he’s only made it this far because he’s a pretty omega. He knows that he is ZUKO, but he also knows he’s just Zuko.
And Zuko needs to be anywhere but here.
Zuko takes a tentative step back as Zhao turns to the choreographer, berating the woman for not ensuring that Zuko knows the dance well enough to do it in his sleep. He takes another step back as she raises a complaint which Zhao does not take lightly. When the man moves to ruin the woman’s whole career, ensuring she’ll never work in showbiz again, Zuko bolts.
He runs with no direction in mind other than away. He can’t face the judgement he’s going to get. He was so stupid to think he could do an entire headlining tour. He can’t go back to the hotel, or the tour bus, or his green room. He can’t continue to blindly run through the halls, Zhao would soon be asking the staff to keep an eye out and he’d be dragged back soon enough. He needs a way out.
Zuko pushes through a set of double doors, slamming into the metal with a grunt before it gives way. He stumbles outdoors, squinting against the sun. His eyes dart around, heart hammering in his chest. He distantly realizes he’s in the receiving lot. The people around seem to be too preoccupied with parking and unloading the trailers to pay him any mind.
Zuko slides off the dock and jogs through the lot, head on a swivel. He dodges out the way of a forklift throwing an apology over his shoulder as he continues to move. He’s looking for a place to hide, just for a bit. His sight catches and he skids to a stop, turning his entire body to look. There’s a passenger side window open on one of the trucks.
He sprints for it, judging the distance as he goes. He pumps his legs a little harder as he gets closer. He vaults from the first step grabbing ahold of the windowsill. He scrambles to haul himself through, wincing as the toes of his heels scuff the side of the truck. He hopes it’ll buff out.
“Tui and La!”
Zuko freezes, still hanging halfway out the window. He lifts his head slowly, dreading what he’ll find. What he comes face to face with almost has his grip slipping, sending him right back out the window and flat on his ass. Luckily the driver catches his arms before that can happen and Zuko is left staring into, hands down, the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes he’s ever seen. They look just as surprised as he feels.
Zuko gapes for a moment, eyes roving over the man greedily. They’re attractive, and Zuko wasn’t ready for it. He can’t do anything but file away the sight of a strong jaw sporting a neatly trimmed beard. Thick biceps, flexed to hold him steady, stretching the sleeves of a T-shirt almost to the limit. There’s a dark band inked around one of them, a complex mess of jagged lines and bold shapes. The T-shirt continues to struggle, stretched taut against a broad chest, the company logo slightly misshapen by the bulk of impressive pecs.
“I’m not a thief!” Zuko shrieks, finally gaining function of his mouth. He squeaks as the man jolts back in surprise, the hold he still has on Zuko’s wrists pulling him further into the truck. He flails for a moment, breaking the man’s hold so he can catch himself on the ground. His legs are still dangling out the window and he’s pretty sure his ass is in the man’s face. Zuko’s so thankful he’s at least wearing nice underwear when his skirt flips up.
“Ok,” The man says slowly.
Zuko’s eyes widen as large hands wrap around his waist. His jaw drops for the second time as he’s hoisted up, manhandled until he’s facing up right, and plopped into the passenger seat. He watches as the man leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What are you?”
“Zuko.” He greets dumbly, still reeling at the fact he was moved so easily. His blush gets deeper as the man lets out a quiet huff of amusement.
“Alright, Zuko, why are you trying to climb into my cab?” They ask, quirking an eyebrow.
“Uh,” Zuko drones, because that question was combined with a smile. A smile that was kind of lopsided, or maybe it looks lopsided because one of his fangs is crooked. Anyway, it slows Zuko’s processing power by a significant amount and he has to struggle to remember why he’s out here in the first place.
“I’m slacking off?” Zuko tries, scent glands tingling as the man huffs another amused laugh.
“You’re asking me?”
“No! I mean, I’m just--” Zuko waves his hands about, searching for something to save himself from this embarrassment. He feels like he’s going to die from how much he’s blushing right now, it can’t possibly be healthy. Eventually he concludes that there’s no good way out of this situation and lets his hands drop into his lap.
“I’ll just go.” Zuko says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. He scoots to the edge of the seat, hand going for the handle. All he gets is a hollow sounding thunk as the handle pulls but the latch doesn’t disengage. Blinking, he tries it a couple more times. His shoulders hike as the man laughs behind him.
“I’ll unlock it.” He comments, snickering at the expression on Zuko’s face. “I’m not kicking you out, you know. Far be it for me to stop someone from slacking.” He says, leaning back in his chair.
Zuko watches as the alpha reaches out and presses the lock button. The sound of the mechanism shuttering offering a way out. He looks out the window, his gaze trailing across the lot and back to the arena where Zhao was probably waging a war path to try and find him. Shrinking away from the door, Zuko chances another glance at the man, who’s gone back to idly swiping away at his phone screen.
Turning in his seat to face forward, he brings his knees up to his chest. He wraps his arms around them and buries his face in his knees. The undirected panic from earlier is gone. The sheer oddity of the situation he’s found himself in knocked him out of it. He should be good enough to go back to work then. It’s the thought of stepping on stage again, even in front of an empty arena, that keeps him in his seat.
He used to be confident about this. Back when he was touring with Jet and the Freedom Fighters. He used to be able to bounce onto the stage, twirl, twist and shimmy without giving a damn. Back when he and Jet were still together. When neither of them were ultra famous and they were playing in bars and venues that could hold three hundred people max. That was before he went platinum. Before Jet started appearing on the cover of rock magazines. Before Zuko was offered modeling contracts. When they were supposed to be the power couple. He doesn’t know where he went wrong.
Zuko’s not sure how much time he spends wallowing into his knees, but the truck driver has left him alone the entire time. The thought brings to light the fact that he’s in a car with someone he knows absolutely nothing about. Turning his head to press his cheek into his knees, Zuko takes the time to observe the man.
He’s older, Zuko thinks, tracing the faint laugh lines around his mouth. His hair is a riot of braids, colorful beads, and lose strands of hair pulled back into a wolf-tail. His eyebrows are heavy set, and his nose is long, a little wide, and slightly crooked like it may have been broken at some point. The way he leans back in his seat exudes an air of confidence that’s both natural and commandeering. An alpha comfortable in his status.
“Need something?” He asks, looking at Zuko out the corner of his eye.
“No,” Zuko says quickly, “thanks. For letting me stay, I mean.” He finishes, his shoulders creeping up to his ears.
“Don’t sweat it. Anyone desperate enough to attempt diving through a tractor window obviously needs a break.” The man says, turning to face Zuko more fully.
“Yeah,” Zuko runs a hand through his hair, “it was a lot.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Zuko looks up at them again. They’ve put aside their phone, focused solely on Zuko. It’s so attentive that he feels a little intimidated for a moment. He eases out of the ball he’d curled into, biting his lip as he thinks over his words.
“There’s a lot to do, and everyone always seems like they need something from me. This is only the first show of the tour, and I’m already screwing things up. It needs to be perfect, but I’ve never been perfect!” Zuko stresses, his hands flit about aimlessly before he crosses his arms over his chest. He clutches at his forearms for grounding, all of his anxiety about this tour coming back to him at once.
“Does it have to be prefect?” The man asks. He holds up a hand as Zuko recoils in horror. He gives a fond shake of his head, continuing before Zuko can snap at him.
“Give me a second,” He huffs, “you’re the artist?” His smile widens at Zuko’s tiny nod.
“I haven’t been to a concert in a long while, but I always enjoyed learning the performer was human. The beauty of concerts is that they’re there in front of you. That they can stumble, their voice could crack, and they could keep going.”
Zuko stares at the man for a flabbergast moment. That can’t possibly be right. They’re called idols for a reason. There’s no way people want to see him being him. That’s it, he’s in the car with a crazy person.
“Who are you?” Zuko splutters out. His expression must be some ridiculous cross between horrified and disgusted because the man bursts into laughter.
“I’m Hakoda.” He finally introduces himself, chest bouncing with his chuckles.
“Well, I don’t think you know about preforming, Hakoda.” Zuko sniffs, turning away. He’s aware it’s kind of rude, given he’s been invading the man’s space for however long. Then again, he’s always been a bit of a brat.
“I’ve never had anyone complain.” Hakoda quips.
Zuko furrows his brow in confusion, lips pursing in a pout. It takes him a second to get it, but when he does his eyes blow wide. He turns a glare on the man, a scowl slashed across his face. The irritation he feels at the man having the gall to throw an innuendo at him is offset by the heavy dusting of red across his cheeks. Huffing, Zuko clicks his tongue and turns away. He hunkers into himself, cheeks growing warmer as Hakoda let’s out a deep guffaw.
“Alright, what happens if you mess up? Gonna cancel the tour?”
“No!” Zuko protests, throwing his arms up. He could never do that. Thousands of people have already bought their tickets. He has to perform; they all came for him.
“Good, I’d be out of a job if you did.” Hakoda says with a little nod. He tucks a leg under himself, leaning forward to prop an elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “What’s the worst then?”
“I fall off the stage, break something, and have to cancel the tour anyway.” Zuko says almost immediately. He doesn’t actively think of the worst thing that can happen, because it inevitably ends up happening anyways. His luck has always been shitty, and no amount of prepping for it has helped in the past. Why be right and still disappointed when he can be unpleasantly surprised.
“Then what?”
“What do you mean then what? You’d be out of a job.” Zuko says flummoxed.
“I can always get another contract.” Hakoda shrugs, “You, though, after you heal, you quit music?”
“No!” Zuko gasps in horror. He could never quit music. He loves it.
“Then you do another tour.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“Sometimes it is.”
Zuko sits back in his seat to ruminate. Was he making this a bigger deal than it is? Nothing ever seems simple, but can he make it simple. It’s not like he hasn’t cancelled a show before. Not like he’s never broken a bone. Both were disheartening events, but he’s still here. He’s still making music. So what’s he really afraid of?
Before his revelation can come to fruition, Zuko glances out the window and notices the sky growing orange from the sunset. His panic strikes him full force, and he chokes on his next breath, shooting upright. Zhao is going to kill him. He won’t even have to worry about the tour because he’ll be dead.
Cursing he scrambles for the door. He stumbles realizing the steps are much higher than he thought. A hand catches the back of his shirt before he can fully hit the ground and only lets go when his feet are steadily under him again. Embarrassed by being caught for the second time, Zuko spins around to face the alpha looking down at him.
“Can I come back tomorrow?” Zuko asks, because he wants to thank Hakoda. For catching him. For letting him hang out. For talking to him. Of course he can’t say any of that right now, but if they can talk again, then maybe. He’d been hoping that he didn’t seem too eager, but judging by the grin stretched across Hakoda’s face he failed miserably.
“I won’t be here tomorrow.” Hakoda says, much to Zuko’s detriment. “I could give you my number though, if you really want it.” He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners as he teases the younger.
Zuko should be offended by that, instead he just shoves a hand out expectantly. He tries not to vibrate with excitement as Hakoda places his phone in Zuko’s upturned palm. He navigates to the contacts and puts his information in, waffling over the contact name for a little bit. Ultimately decides to just go with his name and occupation. He shoots off a quick text to himself and passes the phone back.
“Goodbye.” Zuko says briskly. He spins on his heel and flees before he can make any stupid overtures. Zhao is incredibly pissed when he makes his reappearance amidst the frazzled venue staff. He hopes he won’t be too sore for the show tomorrow based on the many times Zhao made him run the set, but it’s not his fault he can’t focus. He keeps thinking about the unread text message on his phone and wondering how long he should wait before reaching out.