Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts, more or less, with Sokka, eleven days into his most recent stay in the Fire Nation, pulling a sleep deprived Fire Lord onto the roof of the palace with him.

“Is there-” Zuko wheezes, as he hoists his body up onto the eaves. “A reason we couldn’t’ve had this conversation at ground level?”

“Not particularly.” Sokka shrugs, holding out a hand to help Zuko to his feet. “But c’mon, has being Fire Lord really destroyed your sense of adventure that thoroughly?”

Zuko glares at him. “It’s just-” He grabs Sokka’s hand and pulls himself up, exhaling. “Dangerous?”

Sokka rolls his eyes and begins shuffling around the roof; the view’s better on the other side. “Bold words from someone who once stood on top of a mountain screaming at lightning, trying to get it to strike him.”

From behind him, sounding distinctly unimpressed, Zuko says, “I’m pretty sure I forbade my uncle from telling you any more stories about me. And you from requesting them.”

“You did,” Sokka says, “we didn’t listen.”

Zuko grumbles ineffectually about ‘traitors’ and ‘what’s the point of being Fire Lord if no one listens to me anyway’, but Sokka doesn’t have to look behind him to know he’s smiling.

They reach the part of the roof Sokka likes best, from which you can see out over most of the city, and beyond it, into the ocean. He sits, and Zuko joins him, taking in the view.

“You know, back home, we have the selamiut, sky dwellers who paint the night sky to lead spirits into the afterlife. The spirit realm.” Sokka says, after a minute of silence. “Your asshole cities drown out the stars, but for us, the stars go on as far as the sky is wide, and the selamiut paint beautiful, glowing colors in the sky. Course, I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical scientific explanation for the lights, we just don’t have the technology for me to figure it out yet.” He says, with a smirk aimed at Zuko’s outline in the dark.

Zuko chuckles and turns to look at him, face barely lit. “I think I’ve seen it. My uncle used to call it the celestial lights. Back when, well, when I didn’t care what he had to say. And I didn’t want to take the time to appreciate anything beautiful.” He puts a slow emphasis on the last sentence, golden eyes looking directly into Sokka’s.

“Right, forgot you spent all that time in the South Pole.” Sokka exhales, leaning back onto his forearms and looking back out onto the city. “This is as close as I’ve found to the view back home. I can see the stars, and the colored lights of the city. Not exactly the same, and you know, it’s still the Fire Nation, so, gross, but near enough. It calms me.”

“Makes sense.” Zuko says, a weird inflection in his voice.

Sokka inclines his head, raising an eyebrow as he regards his friend. “It doesn’t calm you?”

“I mean,” Zuko sighs. “Sure.”

Rolling his eyes, Sokka nudges Zuko with his shoulder. He knows Zuko well enough to know what that hesitation means. “Lemme guess, it reminds you of all the innocent lives who were caught in an endless war that your family profited from, and your responsibility to the world, and all the people counting on you not to fuck up, and yada yada.”

“Uh. Yeah, actually.” Zuko says, in a weird tone, and Sokka turns to grin at his profile again, only to find Zuko still looking at him. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Nah, I just speak angsty Fire Lord fluently.” Sokka teases. “Anyway, that actually ties in with why I brought you up here; I got a letter for you today. An official correspondence from the Chief’s Council of the Southern Water Tribe, as a matter of fact.”

Zuko leans back on his palms, legs swinging slowly over the edge. “Sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is.” Sokka grins. “They used the fancy parchment, and everything. Unfortunately, I left it in my quarters, so I’ll just paraphrase.”

“Or you could give it to me when we get back?”

“No, I like my way better. From the distinguished and important Hakoda, Chief of the Southern Water Tribe.” Sokka begins grandiosely, clearing his throat. “Dear His Majesty Lord Hotman, sorry to hear you’re still stuck in your very embarrassing and shitty job as ruler of the hot garbage nation.”

Zuko smiles, that specific way he does that Sokka has learned to interpret as Zuko’s way of laughing at his dumb jokes. “That’s nice of him to say.”

“Right? Anyway, we heard you were managing to strong-arm the team of genocidal morons you call ministers into going against decades of hot garbage nation tradition by not being murderous shitty fascists. Love to hear it! Keep up the good work.”

“You sold your paraphrasing short.” Zuko teases. “This sounds exactly like an official correspondence from the head of your nation to mine.”

“I’ve got a good memory for these things.” Sokka kicks his leg to the side, bumping Zuko’s ankle. “Stop interrupting. Anyway, to help you in your efforts to make your hot garbage nation not shit for the first time in anyone’s, other than Aang’s, memory, we’re giving you a gift. The most valuable member of our tribe, the genius tactician whose skills and battle prowess ended the hundred year war, our future chief, Sokka the Wise, will be appointed the official Ambassador for our tribe, and assigned to the palace indefinitely. Though we are, of course, heartbroken to part with him, we-”

Sokka’s gaining steam, but is cut off by Zuko’s sudden, viselike grip on his forearm. He turns to look at his best friend, whose face is partially committed to at least seven different emotions. “Sokka, what…”

Sokka smiles. “I wrote to my dad, like, the day after I got here.” He shrugs. “I know you’re literally the only person in the world who can do this stupid, noble job, but it’s not fair that you have to do it alone. So, I decided that you don’t have to anymore.”

“But, Hakoda…”

Sokka waves him away. “Is neither an unhinged war criminal nor a sheltered puppet of the secret police. He’s, like, one of the most competent leaders anyone’s seen in a while.  And dad’s in his prime! He won’t need to be replaced for decades, yet. And, honestly? Our village is really small.” Sokka looks out onto the sprawling city below them. “I want to help with reconstruction, and I’ll still be part of the planning process, but we don’t need more than a couple people to smooth out the bumps and make the big decisions, and I don’t want to take Bato’s job. Besides, did you know some people here think the entire Southern Water Tribe was wiped out during the war? We could use some representation on this side of the world. Plus, I really couldn’t ask for better political training than untangling your nation’s messes, and my sheer existence is bound to piss off some fascists, so that’s always a fun bonus.”

Zuko’s quiet beside him, and Sokka glances at him. He’s still staring at Sokka, obviously trying to wrap his head around what he’s saying. “But you- you hate it here.”

“I absolutely do.” Sokka nods. “Even when it’s cold, it’s hot, and the food is weird, no one can dance for shit, and pretty much everyone I meet thinks Water Tribe people are backwards savages and insists on talking to me like I’m a particularly stupid child? I haven’t told you about that yet, actually, it’s annoying and I want to outlaw it.” He shakes his head, slightly; he’s getting sidetracked. “Anyway, the Fire Nation sucks iguana-monkey balls, we all know it. But every day you’re Fire Lord, it sucks a little less. Sometimes, when it’s just you and me, I even start to like it a little. But if you work yourself to death before your mid-twenties, it’s just gonna go right back to being garbage.”

Zuko still doesn’t look convinced, so Sokka huffs. “Look, Toph is bringing metalbending to the world, Suki’s training the next generation of Kyoshi Warriors and leading her village, Aang is doing his Avatar shit, and Katara is using him as a free ride and excuse to pick fights with every asshole she can find. Everyone has their thing.” He grins easily, shrugging. “You just happen to be mine.”

“You…” Zuko’s eyes are shining with an emotion Sokka can’t identify. “You’re-” He falters for a moment before throwing his arms around Sokka’s neck.

Sokka, ever the pragmatist, steadies them with a firm grip around a tile and a foot rooted in a crevice before Zuko can unbalance them both and send them hurtling off the building. Then, he hugs Zuko back. He smells like ginseng and campfires. He usually does.

When Zuko pulls away, his face is flushed and he’s beaming wider than Sokka’s seen in a long time. “I-” Zuko exhales. “I’m not good with words.”

“None necessary.” Sokka smiles back at him. “So, do I get the job?”

“Are you kidding?” Zuko raises the one eyebrow he has. “You just want to be an Ambassador? I’m giving you a promotion. You’re the official Advisor to the Fire Lord. The Senior Minister. The head of my cabinet. Whatever job that badgermole-faced slimeball who keeps passive aggressively explaining policy and tradition to me has; I’m pretty sure only I outrank him.”

Sokka pretends to consider the offer. “Hmm, I might be able to work with that. Can I have an office?”

“You can have a city.”

Laughing, Sokka holds out his hand. “Meet you in the middle? A nice big room and access to the Fire Lord’s personal training area. I’m not sparring with anyone else in this place, pretty sure they’d slip and ‘accidentally’ decapitate me.”

Zuko grips his forearm, a warrior’s handshake that Sokka taught him ages ago. His eyes are an intensely bright gold, even in darkness. “Deal.”

Sokka runs along rooftops, only a block or so behind his quarry. He grins to himself; it’s fun, the rush that comes with hunting, and he’s only gotten better at it since returning home after the war. The rough, tiled roofs of Caldera City are child’s play compared to running along icy tundra and leaping to and from slabs of floating ice; one wrong move and you’re submerged in ice water, a much more terrifying fate than falling off one of these buildings.

It’s the middle of the night, and Yue’s a sliver of a crescent above, but she always lights his way. He picks up the pace, not wanting to lose- oh, there we go. Up ahead, he catches a tell-tale glint, and changes directions as his prey takes a sharp right.

Sokka catches up on the roof of… something, honestly his knowledge of Fire Nation architecture isn’t great. Probably a temple? Whatever; it’s tall enough he won’t be seen by people walking by as he creeps up behind his target. The night air is cool, and they’re at the edge of the lake, which further lowers the temperature. It’s still hot, but vastly more comfortable. Somewhere, cicada-owls are chirping.

He slinks up carefully, and as he does, wraps one arm around the uppermost part of the pagoda, bracing himself.

“So this is why you look so tired all the time,” Sokka says, as way of announcing his presence.

Zuko flinches, and jerks up from where he’d been crouching on the top ridge of the building. He spins around to face Sokka, stumbling back. Sokka, who had more or less been expecting (read: hoping for) this exact reaction when he crept up behind him, uses his rooted stance and anchored arm to counterbalance as he grabs a fistful of Zuko’s black shirt to pull him back from the edge. Once he has Zuko steady, he pulls the strip of black fabric with eyeholes cut out of it- really, Zuko- from his friend’s face.

“Oh no, we can’t go on the roof, Sokka, oh it’s dangerous, Sokka.” Sokka mocks, flicking Zuko’s nose. “Hypocrite.”

“Sokka, I-” Zuko gapes, looking at Sokka’s expectant face, then down to the hand Sokka has tangled in his shirtcloth, then back up. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been following you since the women’s shelter.” Sokka says simply, raising his eyebrow. “The real question is: what are you doing frolicking around the city in the middle of the night?”

“You-” Somehow, Zuko’s jaw manages to drop even lower. “I didn’t- you’ve been following me?”

“What, like it's hard?” Sokka snorts, then, when Zuko looks no less stunned silent, continues, “Dude. My people are hunters, remember? I’ve tracked adult wolverine-caribou, you really think I couldn’t sneak up on your noisy ass?”

“I- I am not-“ Zuko protests weakly.

“Maybe not by Fire Nation standards,” Sokka shrugs. “Still wouldn’t last a day in the South Pole.”

Zuko is quiet for a moment, obviously still trying to process what’s going on. “Sokka, you-” He glances down again, and back up, but not quite meeting Sokka’s gaze. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

He’s always been such a terrible liar.

“Oh, cool,” Sokka says. “‘cause it looks like someone’s been periodically stealing from the Fire Nation dickheads who were previously war ministers and are now just regular ministers who shout about reverse-oppression and refuse to pay their fair share of taxes. Specifically the ones who have been blocking our initiatives to redistribute funds towards at-risk communities. And then, y’know, running around the city in a vigilante outfit distributing that stolen money to the poor. In particular, charities and shelters for at-risk youth, women, and refugees. Which, while very noble, would be absolutely fucking insane for the Fire Lord to be doing. So I’m glad it’s not that.”

“You, uh.” Zuko scratches at the back of his neck. “You noticed that, huh.”

“Yeah, Zuko, I noticed.” Sokka sighs. “Now I say this as your best friend, with all the love in my heart: what the utter flying, firebending fuck. Is wrong with you.”

“I just wanted-” Zuko starts, but Sokka realizes he isn’t done.

“And the fucking swords, Zuko! The dao swords! Are you shitting me?” He throws his arms up, releasing his hold on Zuko at last as he gestures emphatically. “You are a firebender. One of the most powerful ones anyone’s ever heard of! You can breathe fire. In a city full of firebenders. And you think to yourself, gee, how should I defend myself inconspicuously as I prance around as a masked vigilante, so people don’t immediately guess my identity? I know! Let me use the same stupid swords that are inherently associated with me, that’ll throw them off the scent! I’m surprised you didn’t just slap on your Blue Spirit mask and have ‘Fire Lord Zuko’ embroidered on your fucking shirt!”

There’s a flush high on Zuko’s cheeks, and he looks away. “Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?!” Sokka cries. “Do you understand what would’ve happened if you had been caught? How much good work would be undone?”

Zuko nods slowly, “I know, trust me, I know, I just-”

“You couldn’t stand by while people were condemning others to suffer and die for their own greed and self-interest, I know, I know.” Sokka huffs and sits down on the roof, eyes looking down at the slated tiles and consequently misses the incredulous expression on Zuko’s face at his words. “Dipshit.”

Zuko sinks beside him slowly, stretching his legs out beside Sokka’s. “Are you… mad?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Okay.” Zuko says softly. He fidgets next to Sokka in silence for a while, before clearing his throat and saying, “In my defense, it’s never been confirmed that I was the Blue Spirit. Aang told you, I’m guessing.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Katara actually; Aang told her.” He scoffs. “Not that I couldn’t’ve figured it out, you being such a drama queen obsessed with obscure theatre productions, and whatnot. Not to mention the aforementioned fucking swords.” Sokka looks at his friend, and chuckles. “You know, when Aang told us the story, and when we started seeing the wanted posters up around the Earth Kingdom, I always imagined some dashing rogue with a heart of gold, so.” Sokka kicks at Zuko’s leg, with a bit more force behind it than usual. “At least I was right about that.”

Zuko makes a weird, half-strangled noise.

When Sokka looks at him, Zuko’s already looking back, eyes wide and searching. “You, uh, you know you’re the only person who’s figured it out. The Kyoshi Warriors don’t even know.”

“That is literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sokka groans, palms coming up to drag against his eyes. Maybe when he opens them again, one of the most important people in the world to him won’t be such a noble, self-sacrificing moron anymore. “Lunatics have tried to assassinate you twice already, Zuko, twice. And you decide to go galavanting off, alone, without telling anyone where you’re going?”

“I can take care of myself.” Zuko huffs.

Sokka removes his hands from his face, turns to Zuko, and punches him as hard as he can in the arm.

“Ow!”

“You deserved that.”

Zuko glares at him, rubbing his bicep. “You’ve been spending too much time with Toph.”

“You,” Sokka points accusingly at him. “Are an idiot. The only reason I am in this stupid city is to prove to you that you don’t need to take care of yourself. Or do ridiculous, stupid shit without telling anyone! Zuko, you are surrounded by people who care about you and want to help you, and you are never a burden to them.”

Zuko, hand still on his arm, looks away. “I know, Sokka.”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you’re surrounded by people who care about you and want to help, and you’re never a burden to them.”

Zuko makes a face. “Sokka, I’m not a child-”

“Then don’t act like one.” Sokka stares him down. “Say it. Or I’ll push you off the roof.”

Huffing, Zuko glares out over the lake. “I’m surrounded by people who care about me and I’m never a burden to them.”

“You’re never a burden to me.” Sokka insists. “Say it.”

After a moment, Zuko gives in. “I’m never a burden to you.” He repeats, voice soft.

“There, was that so hard?” Sokka gets to his feet, and holds out his hand for Zuko. When Zuko accepts it, Sokka pulls him to his feet, then pulls him in further, his grip tight around Zuko’s hand, the two of them nose to nose. “If you ever pull some shit like this again. If you ever sneak away to do reckless shit on your own, you ever make me walk into your room and find it empty and give me a fucking heart attack thinking you’ve been abducted ever again, I will murder you. I’m pretty sure I have diplomatic immunity.” Zuko's staring, shocked, into his eyes, then quickly looks away, down somewhere around Sokka's chin. Sokka brings his free hand up, placing his forefinger under Zuko's jaw and tilting the soft skin upwards until Zuko's forced to meet his gaze again. “Or, worse: I’ll tell Iroh. And Toph.”

Zuko's eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed and his breathing is sort of ragged- he's pulled Zuko in close enough that Sokka can feel the short breaths on his skin, can see the individual flecks of color in Zuko's eyes -what's visible beyond wide pupils, anyway- softly lit by the street lamps below. Zuko swallows roughly, and Sokka's eyes flick to the movement of muscles in his throat; good, so he's sufficiently shaken. Sokka releases him at last, satisfied the threat’s sunk in.

“Okay.” Zuko says, voice a little rougher than usual. “...no more midnight vigilante runs. I promise.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow, arms crossed against his chest. “Um, that’s not what I said. I said no more midnight vigilante runs alone, and you need a better disguise.” He shoots Zuko a wicked grin, suggestive of all manner of illegal shenanigans.

Zuko flushes, looking dazed for a second, before his lips slowly turn up in a smile.

Sokka settles into his new job easily; it’s fun, in its way. A lot of it is bureaucracy, and arguing with ageing fascists, and digging through centuries of Fire Nation laws and decrees for loopholes that might allow them to overturn insane laws Ozai passed while off his tits on his own power, but the good parts outweigh them easily. For one, Sokka does all of that next to Zuko, sitting at his right hand (he would’ve preferred to sit on his left, has had a tendency towards that side of Zuko since he realised the extent of the damage around his scar, but Zuko insisted; it’s significant, to sit at the Fire Lord’s right hand, and Zuko wanted everyone to know exactly the position Sokka held). When they have to do a deep dive of old Fire Nation documents, they do so over a few cups of sake in Zuko’s room, laughing about ridiculous things they find (for example: in a small Fire Nation village on the coast, it’s illegal to whistle outdoors). And Zuko has begun to look better for it, which is an added bonus. He gets more rest, even with the time spent laughing with Sokka well into the night, and he smiles more often.

Sokka loves schedules, and thus settles easily into the strict one he follows in his role as, well, as Official Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe, Minister of the Fire Nation, First Minister of the Fire Lord’s Cabinet, Chief Advisor to the Fire Lord, etc., etc. Honestly, Sokka wouldn’t be surprised if Zuko had tacked on a couple more titles when he wasn’t looking. Most mornings he begins with a run, or, if Zuko’s morning is free, they train together, or spot each other while exercising. Then, depending on the day, he either spends time working with Zuko, or finds something to occupy his time while Zuko hears petitions from citizens, and intercepts him afterward so they can walk to the cabinet meetings together. Then he and Zuko have lunch, and then they meet with the Fire Sages, and then the advisors, and then any other political figures who’ve managed to book face-time with the Fire Lord (and his best friend, who likes to sit in and make them uncomfortable). Then he and Zuko have dinner, and usually spend the evening in Zuko’s room.

When he thinks about it, he does spend a lot of time with Zuko.

It’s not that Sokka doesn’t have other friends; he prides himself on having charmed more than half of the kitchen staff, and his friendship with Suki means he had an instant in with the Kyoshi warriors assigned to Zuko’s personal detail (even if they do know way more embarrassing stories about him than he'd like). There are plenty of people in the palace he could hang out with. It’s just that Zuko’s his favourite.

He doesn’t even look up when Sokka falls into step beside him as he leaves the throne room. The room is basically irrecognisable from the terrifying space it used to be; it's been completely redone, with massive windows now letting in the light Ozai fought so hard to keep out, and Zuko doesn’t sit behind a wall of flames to greet his subjects. In fact, he sits on a very comfortable seat (he refuses to call it a throne) atop a pile of furs Sokka brought him from the Southern Water Tribe.

“Anything good?” Sokka asks, as they walk down the hallway together.

Zuko takes thorough notes of all the petitions he gets, for better or worse. “Um, there’s a woman on the west coast who wants to sell me a sacred hyena-ferret.”

Sokka laughs, the noise echoing in the vast halls. “What makes it sacred?”

“Well, it was born with a single patch of red fur right here,” Zuko taps at his scar. “So obviously, it’s a sign from the spirit world. A sign of what, I don’t know, but it's a hyena-ferret, so it can't be good.” He looks up at Sokka at last, and blinks, slowing to a stop. “You’re wearing the clothes I bought you.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Sokka tugs at the collar of his brand new Fire-Nation robes (in Water Tribe blue, obviously, he’s not a complete sellout, no matter how smooth their silk is). “I caved. It’s fucking hot.”

Zuko seems to be feeling the heat himself, a flush on his cheeks. “You- you’re meant to wear a tunic under this.” He says, fingers pulling at the traditional vest-thing Sokka’s wearing, a copy of Zuko’s. His knuckles brush against the skin of Sokka’s chest, and it sends a weird shiver down Sokka’s spine; he must be more ticklish than he thought.

“And deprive the world of these?” Sokka says, flexing his biceps. “I don’t think so. Plus, like I said. It’s hot as fuck.”

Zuko gives him a long, judgemental look, from his, still flexed and very bare, arms, to where the two halves of the vest-thing meet somewhere around Sokka’s third rib, and all the exposed skin above it. He supposes it’s not exactly appropriate Fire Nation attire, in the strictest sense, but one of the perks of outranking literally everyone in the country but his best friend is that Sokka can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Agni help me.” Zuko mutters, then turns around and keeps walking. They turn the corner, the door of the cabinet room coming into view, and Zuko immediately freezes mid-step.

“Oh, fuck, I left my-“ Zuko starts, but is cut off when Sokka pulls out a stack of parchment from his side bag and holds it out for him. Zuko stares at the parchment, then up at Sokka.

“On your third and fifth work days you go straight from sparring with me to hearing petitions, and you always forget to bring your notes for the cabinet meetings with you in the morning. So I brought them.” Sokka says simply, then, with his other hand, pulls out the little baggie of jian dui he’d convinced the kitchen to make him. He holds those out for Zuko, as well. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you forget to bring snacks, either. You can’t book a full day of hot garbage duties without eating.”

Zuko gapes at him, slowly taking a jian dui from the bag. “Thank you, Sokka.”

“No worries.” Sokka shrugs. “’s what I’m here for. Shall we?”

Zuko nods, slowly, and follows Sokka into the cabinet room.

It used to be the war room, and everyone inside was a war minister, or one of the two child-soldiers related to Ozai. Now, it’s a cabinet room (and like the throne room, now has windows- what was it with Ozai and sitting in dark rooms?) and every day there’s a new collection of officials inside, as and when they’re necessary to whatever the scheduled discussion is.

Today it’s public works, so some of the representatives from the city council are sat around the table. That’s another thing about the Fire Nation- meetings begin when Zuko enters the room, so everyone always gets there early.

Fifteen minutes or so into the meeting, a councilman, Sokka honestly didn’t bother learning his name after he started muttering about people ‘leeching off the government’, decides to speak up. “There is a matter to be discussed, Lord Zuko, regarding your ‘Culture District’.”

“I trust everything is going smoothly?” Zuko asks.

The Culture District, which they’ll come up with a better name for at some point, Sokka’s sure, is a pet project of theirs. During Ozai’s rule, multiple city blocks in Caldera had been devoted to training soldiers, with several buildings devoted to teaching interrogation techniques, starving and conditioning their own troops, and borderline-torturous physical training. It had taken all of about thirty minutes for Toph and Haru to utterly demolish it. They’ve since cleared the debris, paved over the rubble, and drawn up plans for a spacious avenue of museums, libraries and cultural heritage centers for all four nations. It’ll have a sprawling lawn in the middle of the road, and pavilions for outdoor concerts and traditional dances. Eventually. Right now it’s just another thing they’ve only just managed to stop arguing about.

“Well, yes and no,” the councilman says, “the park and lawns are well underway, and we’ve begun building the foundations for several structures, however, it seems there was a miscalculation in the amount of materials that would be necessary to complete the crown jewel of the district, that is, the art and culture museum Minister Sokka… drew up.”

Sokka, who had been doodling in the margins of his notes, stills in his seat. That’s not a tone that bodes well; that’s the ‘this entire venture is ridiculous’ tone. It’s a familiar one; this is something like the eighth time some ‘unforeseen hiccup’ has arisen with the Culture District, because most ministers, governors, and advisors didn’t agree with Zuko’s decision to raze a military base and put museums and libraries in its place. Sokka looks forward to their faces when Zuko presents his proposals to do away with university tuition and legalise same-sex marriages.

“No matter,” Zuko says, still writing something in his own notes, “we have funds left over to acquire additional materials. Could we have someone in the purchasing department double-check their totals according to the numbers Minister Sokka supplied?”

The entire room falls silent, as its inhabitants glance awkwardly between the councilman who had been speaking and one another. Sokka looks up from his parchment at the sudden quiet, Zuko doesn’t. “Is there a problem?” he asks in a detached voice.

“Lord Zuko,” the councilman begins hesitantly, “no offence meant to your… friend,” Sokka feels his eyebrow raise at the way he says ‘friend’ as if that’s Sokka’s single qualification for the job. Which, sure, it may have been the deciding factor as to why he was given the position, but that doesn’t mean he’s unqualified. “But perhaps he could benefit from an assistant. To double-check his numbers, as you say, before they’re submitted. To ensure this doesn’t happen again. After all,” he continues, obviously emboldened by the fact that no one’s stopped him yet, which he takes as a sign that he’s being agreed with by the majority of the people in the room, rather than that same majority watching to see if Zuko will throw him in jail for impudence, “it’s one thing to build an ice hut. Quite another to construct an actual building.” He grins, self-satisfied, as if expecting a pat on the back.

The only sound in the room, apart from the councilman’s obnoxious voice, has been the steady scrape of Zuko’s brush against parchment, which makes the silence even more pronounced when he stops writing.

Fire Lord Zuko looks up slowly. “Excuse me?” His tone is even, but his voice is dangerously low, and his gaze as sharp and cold as the steel of his daos.

Sokka watches the blood drain from the councilman’s face. “Well, your lordship, just that-”

“Tell me, councilman Qin, what did you do in the war.” Zuko asks, deceptively casual.

“I, um,”

“Because I don’t remember seeing military experience on your record, despite you coming of age somewhere around the time I was born,” he says, setting his brush down gently, “managed to buy your way out of service, I assume? Or perhaps you invented some injury. Well, Minister Sokka was fifteen when he fought in the Hundred Years’ War. Fifteen when he devised and implemented strategies that allowed us to end Ozai’s tyranny.” Zuko stares, unblinking, at the councilman, who seems to shrink smaller with every syllable. “He led armies, he negotiated peace, and he brought together masters from all four nations, without whom we might all be slaves under Ozai’s fascist empire. He invented new forms of technology and weaponry and revolutionized transportation.”

“He is the smartest person in this room. By a wide margin.” Zuko finishes, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You can rest assured, councilman, that whether he’s planning construction with traditional Water Tribe materials or our more simplistic resources, he can check his own math.”

The councilman doesn’t speak again, and Sokka has to fight back the world’s smuggest fucking grin for the rest of the meeting.

When the meeting is finally over, and everyone’s left the room, Zuko finally relaxes with a long, weary exhale. “Have I mentioned recently how glad I am that you’re here?” He says, more than asks, turning his head towards Sokka. “I’m just so tired of being second-guessed by these people. The exact same ones who were complicit in every atrocity my father ever committed, it’s… it makes me want to scream.”

Sokka looks at him, empathetic. “You could always fire them all and start over.”

They’ve had this conversation before, and the ‘spirits, I wish’ is perhaps even more apparent on Zuko’s face than the times preceding. “Yeah, I’m trying to not be the kind of Fire Lord that fires everyone that disagrees with him.”

“I know, I know.” Sokka sighs. “Waiting for them to die it is, then.” He tilts his head back, groaning. “You’d think one of them would’ve kicked it by now.”

“It’s inconsiderate, really.”

Sokka grins at Zuko, who laughs, softly.

“I can’t believe you just said I was the smartest person in a room full of like. Every powerful person in this city.” Sokka says, awe clear in his voice. “Even if they are assholes who refuse to die and leave us alone.”

Zuko huffs, suddenly very interested in his notes again. “I mean. It’s true.” He says quietly.

Sokka doesn’t know how to respond to that sincerity, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Also, well.” Zuko glances hesitantly at Sokka. “I’m aware that I implied Qin should’ve fought in the war, and was a coward for not enlisting. Obviously, the fewer people enlisting to commit war crimes, the better, it’s just. You know. Considered dishonourable to deliberately dodge service, or it was, but I know I shouldn’t’ve-”

Sokka throws a bit of charcoal at him to get him to stop.

When the Fire Lord gapes at him, half surprised and half amused, Sokka shrugs. “Zuko, it’s fine. I know you weren’t actually singing the praises of the Fire Nation war machine. You questioned his masculinity and loyalty to the Fire Nation in front of everyone, which at least one idiot tries to do to you, like. Every single week. It’s about time you gave a little back to them.” He taps his foot against Zuko’s leg under the table. “You might get some ministers bitching about your ‘clear favouritism’ tomorrow, though.”

Zuko smiles a little, obviously pleased. “As long as you’re not upset by what I said, I honestly couldn’t give a fuck.”

“Are you kidding me? I would’ve cheered if it wouldn’t’ve immediately undone everything you’d just said about me being a badass genius. And did you see Qin’s face? When you pulled out your ‘supreme leader’ voice? I think he pissed his pants.” Sokka grins, playfully, his ankle still pressed against Zuko’s leg. “I thought you weren’t that kind of Fire Lord.”

“I’m not, but Azula was.” Zuko brings his hands up to massage his temples. “After hearing the way she spoke to people, and ‘people’ includes me, my entire adolescence, I can pretty much do it on command.” He leans back in his chair, and pulls out the remnants of Sokka’s jian dui. “Anyway, he shouldn’t’ve spoken about you like that. Racist piece of shit.”

“Hey, no arguments here.” Sokka says, popping one of the jian dui in his mouth. Through chews, he warbles, “Besides, you’re hot when you defend my honor.”

Zuko snorts out a laugh at the joke, or he chokes on his food, Sokka is too distracted by the letter peeking out from the bottom of the pile in front of him to know which, exactly. The visible part of it says ‘tribe’.

“Hey, is this…” Sokka starts, pulling the letter out. Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, it reads. “Why is there a letter for me in the cabinet room?”

He looks up at Zuko, whose face is a bright red. Maybe he was choking? “Um, m-“ Zuko clears his throat. “Might’ve been a mix up? Or someone didn’t think to deliver it to you directly and just put it here because they knew it’s where you’d be.”

“Huh. Guess so.” He flips over the letter, and immediately recognises the wax seal along the opening. “Oh hey, it’s from the Northern Water Tribe.” Sokka pulls out the small bone knife he keeps in the wraps around his left forearm, and uses it to slice through the seal.

“You keep a knife in your sleeve?” Zuko asks, in his trademark ‘what the fuck, Sokka’ tone.

Sokka sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re always armed, Mr. Human Incendiary Device. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Fair point.”

Sokka turns back to the parchment and begins to read.

Sokka, son of Hakoda, Chief of the Southern Water Tribe,

I hope this letter finds you well. The years since the end of the war have been hectic and uncertain for everyone, but we have finally settled into the new way of things. As such, matters for which we had not been previously able to make time have finally been given adequate consideration. Shortly after the new year, the Northern Water Tribe Council passed a motion to enshrine a festival of celebration into our calendars every winter, on the anniversary of the Fire Navy Siege all those years ago. This festival commemorates not the defeat of the Fire Nation, as we are now at peace with our Western allies, but the sacrifice by our Princess Yue to save her people and the world.

The Festival of Yue, Spirit of the Moon and Heart of the Northern Water Tribe, will be a way of honouring her life, and celebrating the peace she made possible. We would like to invite you to conduct the opening ceremony for the inaugural festival. I will speak as well, and can conduct the ceremony if you have other obligations, but I think she’d like you to do it.

As we haven’t had a chance to speak since the siege, I wanted to take this opportunity to say how proud Yue would be of everything you, and your friends, have accomplished. In another life, I know I would’ve been honoured to call you my son-in-law.

Sincerely,

Chief Arnook of the Northern Water Tribe.

“Sokka?” Zuko says softly, after anywhere between a minute and a year of Sokka staring at the letter in his hands.

He feels like the floor has fallen away beneath him, and he’s drifting through the air, away from his body, away from everything.

“Sokka.” Zuko’s hand, a gentle pressure, on his, brings him back down to earth. Sokka blinks at the letter, then looks at Zuko. Concern is clear in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Sokka folds the letter up, slips it into his pocket. “Fine. You don’t need me for the budget meeting, do you?”

Zuko stares at him. “….No?” he says, even though they both know he does.

“Okay.” Sokka nods once, twice. “Okay I’m just gonna- okay.” He says, and his feet take him out of the room.

Zuko finds him that night, back against a tree, knees curled up to his chest.

He looks up as Zuko approaches slowly behind him, creeping in the shadows. “I can hear you, you know.”

“I was trying not to disturb you.” Zuko says, coming into view and looking sheepish.

“Like I said,” Sokka grins, but it feels strained, even to him. “Not a hunter.”

Zuko just… stands there. Like he wants to say something, but has no idea what.

After a while, Sokka looks away from him. “You gave me a weird room, you know,” he says softly. “This wing isn’t meant for visiting dignitaries, and I have access to the royal family’s private garden.” Where he’s been sulking for the better part of the night.

“Well, it gets lonely in the palace, sometimes.” Zuko says, and it’s unclear whether it’s Sokka’s loneliness he’s referring to, or his own. After a moment, he continues, “I know you like to talk to her. I thought you could use a space to do that, away from prying eyes.”

“Right.” Sokka sighs, moving away from the tree to lie back on the grass. After a second, knowing Zuko would think he’s intruding otherwise, he pats the ground next to him in a silent invitation.

Zuko moves to the ground slowly, coming to rest inches away from Sokka. They sit in silence, eyes on the night sky. Yue- the moon- is nearly full.

“A few days ago, when I went to oversee the textbook changes in the schools? I saw all of these kids and it just… we were all so young, Zuko.” He exhales. “She was so young. Every day I see myself in the mirror, and I’m taller, and broader, and my voice is different, and I can't help but think... she’ll never get that. I’ll never know how she’d look in her twenties, or as a mother. As a grandmother, with laugh lines.”

“And then,” Sokka continues, “I think about how much I’ve changed, and how far I’ve come. But I’m still here. Fucking. Talking to the moon. And it's not like I want to forget about her, but remembering just hurts, and I-” Sokka exhales, slowly. “I just- can’t understand why I still feel like this, after all this time.”

Sokka doesn’t like to dwell on pain of the past, and he doesn’t like to burden other people with his feelings. He doesn’t really know what to expect, opening up like this to Zuko. He just. Knows that Zuko makes him feel comfortable doing so.

After what must be minutes of sitting in silence, watching Sokka stare at the night sky, Zuko finally speaks.

“Sometimes, people make choices, and we don’t get a say.” Zuko murmurs, into the night air. “And even though it’s the the right thing, what they do, it still hurts. And I think…. I think we’re allowed to be upset with them.”

Sokka winces. “I’m not-”

Two fingers come to rest on his wrist, a gentle pressure that both grounds Sokka and seems to communicate an understanding reflected in Zuko’s eyes. “But it’d be okay. If you were.”

He exhales. “I think when people make these noble sacrifices, if we never allow ourselves to be upset with them, it’s hard for us to move on from the pain. You’re allowed to be angry that she left a hole in your heart. That she made a decision and you have to live the rest of your life with the pain of it. You can love her and acknowledge that she hurt you with her sacrifice.”

Sokka's never told anyone, but somehow, Zuko just... knows. Knows that Sokka doesn't just feel sad about Yue. He feels angry, and guilty that he's angry, and powerless, and guilty for making things about him, instead of her, and- guilty. He feels so guilty.

Sokka breathes. He feels the cold, damp grass against his back, and the humid air of the night sticking to his skin. He hears Zuko’s steady breaths next to him.

“I was holding her, when she died,” he says finally, “and then her spirit rose up and it was… she wasn’t dead anymore, but she wasn’t alive. And then she was gone.” Sokka takes a deep breath. “I still dream about… the moments in between. When she was cold in my arms and all I could think was that it was my fault, and I should’ve tried harder to stop her. I’ll never forget what that felt like.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” Zuko insists quietly. He lets the statement hang in the air for a few moments before continuing, “I’ve realised, in life, there are our destinies, and then there are the choices we make. And they influence each other, and work together to shape our lives. Yue giving her life to become the moon spirit was her destiny, from birth. But it was also a choice she had to make; no one could’ve made it for her. She was loyal to her people, but she was also a teenage girl. I’m sure she was scared. And you gave her the strength to do what she had to do, to save all of us. You did what you had to do, which was be there for her, at the end.”

Breathing starts becoming harder, like there’s a crushing weight on Sokka’s chest. “I wasn’t,” he tries to say, the words catching in his throat, “I mean, I wasn’t- I begged her not to. She was so calm and I just- didn’t want her to go.”

“And she needed that too.” Zuko says without hesitation. “Someone to say how unfair it was, when she couldn’t. Someone who loved her, and who will always love her, not for what she did, but for who she was.”

Sokka feels the tears sliding down his cheeks, makes no effort to wipe them away.

After a while, Sokka sniffs. “When’d you get so good at this, Mr. ‘that’s rough, buddy’?”

It shocks a laugh out of Zuko that rings out into the night. He laughs like Yue used to: like he’d forgotten he could. When Yue laughed it was soft and musical, like hearing gentle notes played on a bone flute; Zuko’s laugh, on the other hand, is coarse but steady, like a saw driving through the ice. There’s beauty in both. They both remind Sokka of home.

“I’ve spent a lot of time with my uncle since then,” Zuko says lightly, “and I… I know how it feels.”

Sokka turns to look at Zuko, considering everything he’s said. He looks away, embarrassed it’s taken him this long to make the connection. “Your mother.”

Zuko hums his agreement. “It’s not the same, because- she’s still… but even though she’s alive, and I know she loves me, in a way, I’ll never get her back.”

Sokka hasn’t really thought about Zuko’s mother, being out there, within reach but a veritable stranger after all this time. With a new life that makes her so much happier than the one she had before, and a new family on top of it. It can’t be easy for Zuko, knowing that.

“I bet she’s so proud of you.” Sokka smiles softly.

“You think Yue isn’t proud of you?” Zuko counters, tone light. “After everything you’ve done?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question, but he considers it anyway. “I think she’d be happy that I’m finding happiness,” Sokka says, “that I’m here. That I’m with you.” Yue would love the idea of Sokka working to ensure an era of peace. And Zuko, with his sense of duty and loyalty, the way he needs to do what’s right even at the cost of his own happiness… yeah. She’d like Zuko.

Zuko’s lips part in shock at Sokka’s words, then slowly grow into a smile. “I’m happy I’m with you, too.” He says quietly, like he’s confessing something. Classic Zuko, acting like he has to admit to enjoying the company of his friends.

Sokka smiles at him, and then leans his head back into the grass. “Sorry for unloading all of this on you, man,” he says quietly, “just with the letter, and everything-”

“Sokka…”

“No, I mean. You’re the Fire Lord, you have more important things to worry about than-“

“Sokka.” He turns his head, and Zuko’s propped onto his elbow, staring intently at him. “Nothing’s more important.”

Sokka gives a little chuckle, feeling awkward, because what does that even mean?

“You told me it’s okay to ask for help when I need it. That goes both ways.” Zuko continues, not looking away from Sokka.

Sokka waves him away. Zuko asking for help with the twenty-thousand Fire Lord things he has to do on any given day and Sokka making Zuko listen to him whine about his ex-girlfriend aren't even vaguely in the same sphere of priorities. “That’s different.”

“It’s really not.” Zuko insists. “Sokka, your problems are just as important as mine, and I want to be there for you when you need me.”

“Okay, but, like, objectively, your problems take precedence, because you run a country-“

“Sokka.” Zuko glares at him. “Your problems are just as important. Say it.”

Oh c’mon. Sokka raises an eyebrow, unamused. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” Zuko says sternly. “If you don’t say it, I’ll approve Minister Kamei’s request for a strict dress code for Fire Nation officials and then no one will be happy.”

Cold. “Fine.” Sokka huffs. “My problems are just as important as yours.” It's not as if he actually believes it.

"I'm always here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need me." Zuko's eyes bore into Sokka's, looking at once forceful and pleading. "Say it."

The truth in Zuko's words is so overwhelmingly clear, when Sokka looks into his eyes. He looks like the only thing in the world he wants is for Sokka to understand what he's saying. "You're always here for me." He manages to say, embarrassed at how weak his voice sounds, even to him.

“And you’re never a burden to me.” Zuko says with conviction.

“I never said I-“ Sokka starts, trying to reclaim a little dignity, but falters at the look in Zuko’s eyes. “…I’m never a burden to you.”

Zuko smiles, soft and pleased. “Just so long as you know.”

Sokka manages to roll his eyes, and looks away so Zuko can’t see whatever expression his face is making; he has a suspicion it’s not very dignified.

Even with the embarrassment that comes with the knowledge that Zuko can, apparently, see right through Sokka, he feels better than he has all day. The weight on his chest has eased, and Zuko’s arm is a comforting pressure against his own. It feels like peace.

Katara’s coming.

Sokka practically skips on his way to the courtyard; the last time he was this excited to see his pain-in-the-ass little sister, his leg was broken and she was propping up a half-dead future Fire Lord.

Sokka hasn’t seen Katara in months, and, though he'd never admit it, he's really missed her. She’s going to be in the Fire Nation for nearly three weeks, because of some waterbending blah blah blah, Sokka honestly wasn’t listening (Zuko had read her letter aloud to Sokka and Iroh during one of their Pai Sho games, and Sokka tuned him out after confirming Katara had written back and accepted Zuko’s invitation), and Sokka already has a list of things he wants to show her in the palace and the city beyond.

He’s running a little late to receive her, having gotten sidetracked drafting an aggressively passive-aggressive rebuttal to one of his fellow ministers’ latest diatribe on the importance of maintaining Fire Nation ‘traditional values’. This means he misses the beginning of the spectacle.

There are fire dancers, and ribbon-twirlers dancing with long trails of blue, iridescent ribbon. Along the steps, someone's laid out a plush, deep-blue carpet and covered it in flower petals. A band is playing a song Sokka vaguely recognizes from his childhood, and a woman is singing in traditional Water Tribe dialects. In the middle of it all stands Zuko, wearing a very formal hakama in a rich purple, decorated with red and blue embroidered detailing, the perfect middle ground between Fire Nation and Water Tribe clothes. 

“Uh.” Sokka says, stepping into place beside Zuko, who’s wringing his hands tightly and exuding tension from his pores. “What’s all this?”

“What?” Zuko flinches away from him, and Sokka doesn’t need to be Ty Lee to read his nervous aura. He’s practically vibrating. “Oh, a reception. For Katara’s arrival.”

Zuko makes an aborted hand gesture in the air, and somewhere behind them, butterfly doves are released. They circle above as someone plays a beautiful melody on the kugo harp. Fountains Sokka doesn’t remember existing in square basins bracketing the steps up to the palace begin to jet water into the air in time with the music.

Sokka is twenty years old, well into manhood, and he absolutely does not pout. Much. “I didn’t get a reception when I arrived.” Zuko had met him at the docks at sundown, alone, and they’d spent hours walking through the city together, taking the long way up to the palace. Not a butterfly dove in sight.

Zuko’s eyes flick back to Sokka. “That was different.”

Well. Fine then. Just because Sokka isn’t in the Fire Nation on official bending business, no, he’s just here to make sure Zuko doesn’t have a mental breakdown and die of his own stupidity-

Katara comes into view, and Sokka forgets his irritation with the Fire Lord in favour of rushing at his little sister. He’s grown enough, in both height and muscle, that he can pick her up easily, and spins her around as she swats at him and yelps about wanting to make a dignified entrance.

When he puts her back down, however, her eyes are shining, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

It’s been eight months since they’ve seen each other. It’s the longest they’ve ever gone, and Sokka frowns when he sees that she’s actually changed a little. Lost a bit more baby fat, and she’s wearing her hair differently. Katara seems to be looking for differences too, as she appraises him.

“Spirits, when are you going to stop growing?” Katara groans at last, smirking up at him.

“When are you gonna start.” Sokka counters, and she punches him in the arm.

He slides swiftly into her personal space, putting her into a headlock. Screw Fire Nation formality; she may be the best waterbender alive, but she’s still his little sister, and he drags his knuckles back and forth along the top of her head, messing up her hair.

“Sokka!” She cries in protest.

He’s expecting the wave of water that slaps him in the face, but that doesn’t mean it stings any less.

She gets splashed, too, even as she wriggles free, and the two of them stand, water dripping from their faces, chuckling softly as Zuko approaches.

“Uh, hey Katara.” He mutters, nervously. “Welcome to the Fire Nation, it’s really nice to see you again.”

“Zuko!” Katara cries, bypassing his multiple walls of awkwardness to pull him into a hug. “You look great!” She says as she lets him go.

“Uh, thanks.” Zuko bows, for some reason. When he comes back up, his face gives the impression he’s not even sure why he did it. He clears his throat. “Um, we’re really excited to have you! It’s hard to tell the difference between real waterbending scrolls and forgeries made for profit, but if we actually have ancient waterbending texts-”

“They could help us preserve our culture, and maybe teach me a thing or two.” Katara finishes with a smile.

Ohh, right. The exploration of Ozai's secret chambers had recently uncovered a cluster of tunnels and crypts beneath the palace that housed, well, mostly skeletons, but also texts from the Earth Nation and Water Tribes. Zuko had mentioned it, as well as continuing excavations in search of Air Nomad artifacts.

“I could use some food before we get started though,” Katara adds, “I didn’t pack snacks for the trip over.”

“Of course!” Zuko hurries to say. “I had the kitchens prepare a meal! The finest in Fire Nation delicacies, and I asked them to tone down some of the spices; I know which ones you don’t like.”

The smile that’s been plastered to Sokka’s face since he first saw his sister falters; when he arrived, on their walk up to the palace, Zuko had just dragged him down some twisting alleyway for what he called ‘the best streetfood in the city’. There had been no special meal from the kitchens, and Zuko hadn’t warned Sokka about the spiciness, just laughed as Sokka chugged water after two bites of his precious ‘fire noodles’. Sokka had enjoyed the evening, in fact it was the first time he’d seriously considered staying in the Fire Nation long-term, but still. Why does Katara get all the special treatment?

He follows behind the two of them as they walk back up to the palace, talking animatedly, and tries not to sulk.

Sokka goes for a run when he wakes up the next morning, watching the sun rise over the edge of the volcano. He sits on the edge longer than normal; why, he doesn’t know. But by the time he gets back, the palace has been awake for a while, and when he decides to check in on his sister, he’s greeted by the sight of Katara, leaning against a wall in her robe, watching a team of men unloading a stack of not-quite-identical mattresses.

He slowly walks up behind her. “What’s… going on?”

Katara starts, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Oh, hey.” She turns back to watching the men. “All I said was I had a little trouble sleeping last night, and suddenly Mr. More-Money-Than-He-Knows-What-To-Do-With decides to buy me a new mattress.”

Sokka nods, slowly. “Okay, so that explains one of them,” he says, “what about the other fifty?”

Katara snorts back a laugh. “So I can compare and see which one I like best.”

“Ri-ight…” He drags the word out, then glances at his sister. “I should’ve warned you; Zuko’s fucking crazy. Not Ozai or Azula crazy, just like. Has no idea how to behave like a human person sometimes.”

“Noted.” Katara hums to herself. “I’m mostly letting him do it so we can jump on them.”

“I was thinking build a fort.”

“Ooh, good call.”

The day after that, Sokka is walking down the steps of the palace when he meets a train of people carrying large wrapped parcels. He approaches the woman carrying a scroll, checking off the parcels as they unload them. As she turns, he recognises her. “Jiayi?”

“Minister Sokka,” she says, bowing, “you like your new clothes, I see.”

Jiayi was the tailor who custom-made Sokka’s new, weather-appropriate wardrobe, as commissioned by Zuko. Everything he’s wearing is a Jiayi creation, in fact. “Like doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m so glad I got the set; I’d be dying in this heat with the clothes I brought with me.”

“Well I’m glad I decided to dye more blue fabric, and make a sample sized collection.” Jiayi says with a smile. “Made it much easier to accommodate when the Fire Lord requested another wardrobe be sent up as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I-” Did Zuko buy him more clothes. Honestly, that boy-

“I just hope they fit alright.” Jiayi continues, apparently not hearing Sokka’s flustered interruption. “I don’t like working with just measurements without a physical body to fit garments on, especially if I’m tailoring for a woman.”

Ohh. He bought Katara a summer wardrobe for the weeks she’ll be in the Fire Nation. Nice of him. Sokka grins at her. “You’re so talented, I’m sure they’ll fit beautifully.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, smiling as she blushes, and continues on his way.

It isn’t until a governor comments on Zuko’s absence, four days later, that Sokka realises he hasn’t seen his friend since Katara arrived. In his defence, he has been busy with his latest budget proposal, and he was inspired by the fountains at Katara’s arrival to start sketching some new ideas for water powered technology. He’s been basically living in his workshop (a spacious and well-lit room, Sokka’s not entirely sure what purpose it served before, that Zuko had cleared out and filled with work benches and any materials Sokka deemed necessary for the creative process); he can get a little... distracted, and single-minded, when it comes to inspiration for new projects.

“Fire Lord Zuko sends his apologies,” the messenger had said, bowing low, “he’s occupied with official business with Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Again?!” The governor squawks, looking around the table. “The Fire Lord has not deigned to join us in days." Has it really been days? "He calls himself the leader of this great nation, and yet he’s shown us such disregard? Maybe he should be Lord of the Water Tribes, since he’s showing such clear favouritism for their people over his own.”

Sokka sighs and sets down the stick of charcoal with which he’d been absently running calculations for a water-powered generator he’s been brainstorming. “We don’t have a lord, and no one person rules over both tribes, Governor.” He gives him a little wave. “Also, if this absence was about him favouring people from the Southern Water Tribe, wouldn’t I be with him?”

The governor’s mouth clamps shut. “My apologies, Minister Sokka,” he bows his head respectfully, “I had forgotten you were here.”

He’s not the only one, apparently.

Sokka waves away the governor’s apology, and takes a moment to wonder at the weird feeling in his chest, and the lack of smug satisfaction that usually comes with verbally shutting down the puffed-up Fire Nation gentry. It’s probably because Zuko’s not there to share in the smugness. Sokka decides that must be it, and then lets himself be distracted by one of his fellow ministers thinking that Zuko playing hooky means suddenly everyone will be on board with his plan to formally criminalise dancing. With Zuko gone, Sokka’s the highest ranking official in the room, which means all decisions go through him, and he actually has to pay attention to everything that’s being said, no matter how idiotic. So it’s no surprise Sokka’s in a strangely bad mood for the rest of the meeting.

After the meeting, Sokka still feels… off. So he heads to Zuko’s private courtyard.

Slightly smaller than the gardens reserved for the royal family, it’s one of the only parts of the palace that’s remained essentially the same under Zuko’s rule, partially because Ozai, according to Zuko, basically never used it. He thought he was untouchable, so it’s not like he spent a lot of time practicing, Zuko had said with a shrug and roll of his eyes, and who would he deign to spar with? Everyone was below him.

Zuko uses it to practice, and, true to his word, shares the space with Sokka. Usually they’ll go a few rounds if they have the time, but Zuko’s obviously preoccupied, so he isn’t counting on a sparring partner. Instead, he does sets of pull, press, and sit ups, and rounds of lifting handheld weights, until the strange fog in his mind clears.

Around mid-afternoon, while the sun is still burning bright in the sky, he decides he’s had enough and heads towards the kitchens in search of lunch.

Halfway there, he turns a corner and sees Katara, sat on a decorative bench under a portrait of some Fire Lord or other. She’s slumped over, head in her hands, muttering to herself.

“Uh, Katara?”

She whips her head up. “Sokka! I was just-” Katara blinks, recoiling. “Ew, nobody wants to see- where’s your shirt?”

“It’s hot outside, Katara. I know you live in the crypts, but some of us have spent a couple hours in the sun today.”

Katara scrunches up her nose in distaste. “Is that why you smell like armpit?”

“I smell like warrior sweat and victory, fuck you.” He wipes some of the sweat from the tip of his nose, before glancing around. “Uh, why are you waiting outside Minister Xú’s chambers?”

“Oh, uh.” Katara jumps to her feet. “I’m not. I was on my way to the kitchens; I missed lunch.”

Ahh. Sokka grins at his sister; he knows exactly what’s going on here. “Really. Going which way?”

“What?”

“Which way are the kitchens from here, exactly.”

Katara huffs. “I know where the kitchens are, Sokka.”

“Doesn’t mean you know how to get there.” He grins. “Of course, I could always show you, but since you’re so familiar with the palace layout...”

She glares at him, arms crossed against her chest. Sokka smirks down at her. After a moment, she grunts in frustration. “Fine! I  must’ve gotten turned around, and I’m not sure how to get there from here. Show me.”

“Please?”

Katara inhales agressively through her nose, like she’s fighting the urge to kill him, right then and there. “Please.”

“Of course! I was heading there anyway.” Sokka says smugly, and laughs when Katara tries to kick him as he struts past her.

He’s still walking a few steps in front of her when Zuko comes around the corner in front of him, freezing mid-step when he sees Sokka.

“Sokka.” His eyes flick to Sokka’s torso, then back up to his face. “…hi.” He says, slowly. He looks sort of… weird. Not shocked, exactly, but something close, and a red flush is growing high on his cheekbones. “Wh- Katara!” Zuko’s eyes widen, almost fearfully, as she steps into place beside Sokka.

“Hey, Zuko,” Katara says, “Sorry, I know I was supposed to be back with snacks, but I got kind of lost looking for the kitchens.”

Oh sure. She’ll admit she was lost to Zuko.

Sokka opens his mouth to regale Zuko with tales of his sister’s incompetence, but when he turns to look at his friend it slowly shuts again. Zuko… looks like he’s having some kind of… episode?

He’s flushing a bright red up to the tips of his ears, until his scar actually matches the rest of his face. His eyes flick from Sokka to Katara rapidly, like they can’t decide where to look. “Oh, right, um,” he croaks, “food! Yeah, you wanted. I mean, I thought. Lunch. Yes.” He clears his throat. “I could. They make me food. I’ll tell them. Food.”

What the fuck. Is wrong with Zuko. Sokka feels a sudden urge to check him for a fever, or maybe he's having an allergic reaction to something?

“Your hair looks nice today Katara!” Zuko blurts out suddenly, his first full sentence since he turned the corner. “Um, I mean to say. I’ll. Have the kitchens make you something. For lunch.”

Zuko turns on his heel and marches away towards the kitchens without looking back.

Oh.

Oh.

Sokka’s a fucking idiot.

Sokka may be the stupidest person alive. He’s going to have to track down Chong and let him know there’s a new contender for the title.

Zuko’s in love with Katara.

Of course.

Sokka had always suspected there was something between them, back when they were teenagers, but then Zuko and Mai got back together and he’d forgotten about it. But now Mai’s with Ty Lee, and Zuko… is in love with Sokka’s baby sister.

It all makes sense: the over-the-top welcome, the way he’s been glued to her side, an overeager wreck since she arrived. And all the special treatment! Going out of his way to make sure she’s comfortable, shirking his official duties to spend time with her; he’s obviously trying to court her, in that awkward, overcompensating-Zuko way of his. Sokka’s not really sure how they go about courting people in the Fire Nation, but he’s not surprised it involves spending ridiculous amounts of money and effort. If Zuko’d bothered to ask, Sokka would’ve told him that in the Southern Water Tribe, courting rituals are a lot less complicated.

Sokka should laugh. It’s funny, right? He’ll be able to tease Zuko for months about it. But. For some reason, he doesn't want to? Something in him… is… almost. Uncomfortable? No, not. Unhappy? Or. Hm.

Maybe it’s that his best friend is into his little sister. That’s normal, being protective of your sister. But he’s had more than enough time to get used to having a friend who’s into Katara, after all these years with Aa-

Oh, right.

Aang.

Katara’s still dating him, right? She talks about him all the time, but then again, he is their best friend, and the Avatar. His name would come up in conversation, no matter what. But… surely she would’ve told Sokka if they had broken up. After all, she was the first to know when he and Suki called it quits. Or, okay, technically Zuko was the first person he told, but Katara was a very close second. Maybe she did tell him, and he just wasn’t listening? Or maybe she didn’t, and Sokka feels bad for Zuko, being in love with someone who’s unavailable. That would make sense. That’s probably it.

Whatever it is, it completely ruins Sokka’s mood. When they get to the kitchens, they’re already making a batch of the crab dumplings, Sokka’s favourite, and he eats them all without tasting a thing.

Chapter Text

“So. Theoretically, if we were to create structures that would raise the water level in specific rivers, we could use the downward motion of water to push against a spinning apparatus, which would turn these thin wires within the area.”

“Right.” Eito nods slowly. “…why?”

Sokka groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Because, when you move metal within the area of attraction between these special kinds of iron ore, it generates a type of energy, it’s- it’s kind of like lightning, but controlled.”

“Okay.” Eito says, like he’s humouring Sokka. “But why would you want this… lightning.”

Sokka sighs. Eito means well, he really does. He’s Zuko’s personal… whatever (Zuko point-blank refuses to call anyone a servant, but Sokka doesn’t know what else to call someone whose entire job is doing whatever Zuko wants), the latest in a long line. The first had been an asshole, apparently, the second had tried to kill Zuko (long story), and the sixth and eleventh had been in love with him to the point of obsession. The rest, according to Zuko, had just been varying degrees of incompetent and annoying as hell. Eito’s alright, comparatively, but if you ask Sokka, anyone who signs up to wait on one person hand and foot is gonna be at least a little odd. And Eito’s just a teeny bit too enthusiastic about Fire Nation royalty and propriety for Sokka to be wholly comfortable around him. Regardless, with Zuko gone, Sokka’s commandeered Eito as a stand-in for him to bounce ideas off of. So far, it’s not going well.

“To power things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know, things that need power!” Sokka huffs. “It’s a working theory, but if we could generate power and energy, the possibilities are endless.”

“But… can’t we just lightning bend instead?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Sure, Eito, go ahead and bend some lightning for me.” He stares at the man expectantly, an eyebrow raised. “The point is that we don’t need active human interference to make this work. The equipment runs by itself, with the right factors in place.”

“Sure.” Eito nods again, then squints down at Sokka’s notes. “So, where do the komodo-chicken feet come in?”

Sokka looks down at his drawing, then turns it upside down so he can see what Eito’s seeing. “That’s not- ugh.” He throws his charcoal down. “You’re not very good at this, Eito.”

“My apologies, Minister Sokka.” Eito gives a little nod of the head; a mini-bow. “What does the Fire Lord usually say when you present ideas to him?”

“Okay, well, I don’t present them so much as make him listen while I work through problems aloud. He usually just nods and smiles at the right moments.” Sokka says, wincing his eyes shut as he massages his temples.

Eito doesn’t respond, so Sokka opens his eyes again; the guy’s just standing there, nodding and smiling. It’s… eerily reminiscent of Joo Dee.

“No, don’t-” Sokka shakes his head slightly. “Please don’t do that. Ever again.” Eito bows deeply, which they’ve asked him not to do at least a thousand times, but can’t quite seem to train out of him. “When did you say Zuko would be back, again?”

“The Fire Lord asked me to have the kitchens prepare a mid-afternoon meal for his and Master Katara’s return.”

It’s at least early evening at this point. “Well, I’m sure they’ll turn up soon. The chances of both of them being kidnapped or murdered is pretty low,” he says without thinking, and winces at the expression of abject horror on Eito’s face, “I mean, um. You’re good to go, Eito. Thanks for the help.”

Eito nods, still looking a little shaken. “It seems like a brilliant idea, Minister Sokka.” Eito lies obligingly, bowing low before he excuses himself from the room.

Sokka exhales, and goes back to rubbing at his temples. He’s gotten too used to having Zuko around as a sounding-board for his various projects, obviously. He can’t remember the last time he brainstormed something without Zuko in front of him, nobly pretending to have a single fucking clue what Sokka was talking about. Well, no point fixating on it- he’s perfectly capable of running tests and experimenting with this power source without an audience.

He’s begun packing up his notebook and sketches when Katara and Zuko burst into the room, arm in arm, Zuko’s laughter ringing through the otherwise empty space.

Sokka frowns, without really knowing why. It’s just that- well, it used to be Sokka was the only one who could make him laugh like that. Not that it matters.

“Sokka!” Katara exclaims, through chuckles. “You’ll never guess what Zuko and I saw at the Hoguera Market today!”

“You guys went shopping?” Without me? He tries not to glare at Zuko, who not two weeks ago said that the day he and Sokka spent shopping together was the first time in his life he’d ever actually enjoyed a market.

“We didn’t really plan to,” Katara shrugs with a smile. “Zuko was showing me around some of the cultural ‘hot spots’ -his words, not mine-” Um, they were Sokka’s words, a pun he was very proud of when he told it to Zuko, who had rolled his eyes and chuckled. And now he’s just claiming the pun as his own? Is this what Zuko courting Katara is gonna be like? Him taking credit for Sokka’s jokes? “And giving me a bit of a historical tour of the city, and we walked through the market on the way back.”

Zuko nods, smiling at Katara, then Sokka. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take her to Ascua Market, I knew you’d want to show her around your favourite.”

Sure, yeah, that’s… why he would’ve been upset. But now he’s not. Upset. Close one. Sokka gives a strained smile and lets them tell him all about the performer who claimed his pet fish could waterbend. He makes sure to laugh at all the appropriate times, even if nothing strikes him as particularly funny.

The two of them invite Sokka on their excursion to the lake the next day, but Sokka declines. He knows when an offer's made out of a sense of obligation, and makes the excuse that their little shopping adventure reminded him of some things he'd been meaning to pick up.

Sokka makes his way to the Ascua Market; he doesn't need anything in particular, but shopping always cheers him up. And maybe he wants to prove to himself that his entire life doesn' revolve around Zuko. He wanders the aisles, browsing disinterestedly, feeling distracted. He thinks of the way Zuko laughed with Katara. He supposes, if Zuko wants to settle down this early in life, he deserves to be with someone that will make him laugh. Though Katara's not very funny- everyone knows he's the one with the jokes, in the family. But if Zuko, for some reason, thinks she is, then that's great. There is, however, the ever-present Aang problem, that refuses to let Sokka just be happy for his best friend and his little sister. Everytime he thinks about them together he gets this weird sinking, clenching feeling in his gut and he knows it's because he feels bad for Aang. Maybe he should try to set Aang up with someone, or do some kind of boys' trip, once Katara and Zuko make things official.

Sokka's examining a set of silver rings, while smugly remembering the time he made Zuko laugh so hard he fell off his bed (top that, Katara), when it starts.

“Well, if it isn’t the Fire Lord’s Water Tribe lapdog,” a voice says, “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him off his leash before.”

Sokka turns at 'Water Tribe'; there's a guy, a little taller than Sokka, in tacky, over-embellished robes, standing behind him. Sokka snorts. This is far from the first time some asshole with a chip on his shoulder has tried to talk shit to Sokka, or Zuko, or any of their friends. It's incredible, how many people are dumb enough to think they could succeed where an insane Fire Lord with once-in-a-lifetime special fire powers, or a literal evil genius twice as powerful as the Fire Lord, failed. Sokka smirks. "Well, the leash didn't really go with this outfit, so."

He moves away, and the guy trails behind. "Hey, I just wanted to say I think you're an inspiration. If a non-bender, not to mention someone like you, from a little village no one cares about filled with illiterate, inbred snow-people can somehow con his way into the Fire Nation palace, anything's possible, right?"

Sokka grins, turning around. "Do I know you?"

The man's eyes narrow. "My name is Mung Hui."

"Okay." Sokka nods, his arms folded across his chest. He lifts a hand, encouraging Mung Hui to continue. "So do I know you?"

Mung Hui steps a little closer. Not yet within arms reach, though. "My family were weapons manufacturers. You know, weapons? Those things civilised people use to teach your kind manners."

"Aah." Sokka recognises the name at last. "Implying someone else is uncivilized when your family refused to pay taxes for generations is a little hypocritical, don'tcha think?"

"The so-called 'Fire Lord' thinks he can get away with bankrupting my family just because other people are too weak and lazy to provide for themselves-"

Sokka tilts his head. "Wait, are we talking about reparations now? Because that's just what happens when you build an empire off the suffering, subjugation, and exploitation of others. Reparation funds go to affected Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation citizens as well as Water Tribe, by the way." He thinks. "And 'bankrupt' and 'less rich' are completely different things, my guy. But if you have a complaint, Fire Lord Zuko takes petitioners every day. Make an appointment."

He turns again, and resumes strolling, away from the market. If this guy decides to be an idiot and actually try to physically fight Sokka, he'd rather not damage some poor craftperson's stall while teaching Mung Hui exactly how bad of an idea that is.

"How did you get your job?" Mung Hui calls, following close behind. "Get on your knees for the disgraced prince?"

"Man I wish." Sokka says, without blinking. "Have you seen those piercing gold eyes? I mean, c'mon."

Mung Hui pauses for a second, before- "Maybe your people were just trying to get rid of you, the village idiot." He says. "Or does it make you a traitor, serving an empire built on the bones of your family?"

"Funnily enough, both." Sokka answers, voice chipper.

"You think you're such a big man, don't you?" Mung Hui chuckles, breathing down Sokka's neck. "If it weren't for the Fire Lord's favour you'd be just like the rest of your people, living like savages in your little ice huts. I always wondered why anyone would choose to live in the worst places in the world, but seeing you people up close, I get it. If I looked like shit and smelled like piss, I'd hide away in the snow, too."

Wow, this guy is really trying it. Which definitely means Sokka should not fight him. Anyone who wants to fight this desperately is probably trying to trap Sokka into something, and he learned his lesson with Azula a long time ago. And besides, the Mung family was treated with relative lenience when Zuko started making changes, mostly because he was more focused on prosecuting war criminals than war profiteers. Once Sokka has a little chat with Zuko, things will be much less comfortable for this dickhead. Regardless, Sokka doesn't dignify his words with a response.

"I guess it makes sense, that Zuko's so fond of you and your kind. He betrayed his own family, turned his back on his people, and disgraced the Fire Nation. It's only a matter of time before we take back this country, and then I guess the little traitor can run away to the South Pole. You know, it really is a shame the true Fire Lord didn't finish the job all those years ago, it would've saved us a lot of time." He laughs, crassly, as Sokka slows to a stop. Obviously aware that he's finally found a sore spot, Mung Hui digs in. "I got to watch the Agni Kai, you know. It was hilarious. The way he cried like a little bitch, and screamed like a girl. From that moment, the whole country knew that a weak, spineless coward like Zuko would never be fit to rule."

Right.

Yep.

“Oh, man.” Sokka chuckles, finally turning back to face him. “Those are the ones, right there.”

Mung Hui raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“Those are the words you’re gonna regret.” Sokka says, and punches him in the face.

“Katara?”

“Out here!” She calls from the balcony.

Sokka trudges across the room, careful not to drip on Katara's nice carpet. Technically, this room is reserved for visiting royalty, but, seeing as it's Katara, Zuko made an exception. “Okay, I need your help with something, but you need to promise you won’t be mad, and you can’t tell Zuko.” He calls back, as he peeks his head around the door. The balcony is beautiful; open-spaced and containing huge, flowering plants, some very comfy chairs, and… Zuko. Fuck. “Oh.” Sokka says. He really didn't expect the two of them to still be together, this late in the evening. “Zuko’s… here.”

“And I’m already mad.” Says Katara, staring him down from where she’s leaning over a table, looking over some documents. Next to her, standing awfully close, is Zuko, who looks like he can’t decide if he’s amused or also angry. “What did you do.”

“Okay, I promise it looks worse than it is.” Sokka says, stepping onto the balcony and, by extension, out of the darkness of Katara's room and into the glow of firelight.

Some of the color drains from Zuko’s face when he sees him, and Katara drops her brush. “Sokka, what the fuck?!” She cries, rushing towards him to place a hand on either side of his face, hands much gentler than her tone.

“It’s fine! It’s mostly not my blood.”

“Mostly not your- your nose is broken!”

“Yeah that’s- ow-” He groans, as she experimentally touches the bridge of his nose. Behind her, Zuko is hovering awkwardly, looking like he might be sick. Sokka can’t remember the last time anyone had a normal wound around him; maybe the guy’s afraid of blood. “That’s what I need your help with.”

“Spirits help me.” Katara groans, and ushers him into one of the chairs. She sits on the little table in front of him, and pulls her water out from its flask. As the water begins floating in the air around them, she pauses, eyes flicking down and settling on what Sokka had been trying to hide. “Why are you holding your side?”

“Um.” Sokka swallows. “I sprained something?”

“Sokka, move your hand.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Sokka.”

“Ugh.” He groans. This is going to be unbearable. “Okay, I -maybe- got a little bit. Stabbed.”

“You were stabbed?!” Zuko shrieks, sounding distinctly undignified. It occurs to Sokka this is the first thing he’s said since Sokka appeared.

“Only a little!”

Katara looks like she might enter the Avatar State. “There’s no such thing as being a little bit stabbed, you-” She visibly takes a deep breath, and swats his arm away, inspecting the wound. “It’s not deep.” Her hands find the gash, and the familiar-but-still-unsettling sensation of magic healing water stitching his body back together begins to travel across the skin.

“Like I said.” Sokka huffs, waving his hand dismissively. “It was only a little bit. I’m basically fine.”

Zuko stares at him, the colour completely drained from his skin. Sokka realises that the hand he’s waving is covered in blood, and sheepishly lowers it.

“Zuko, light please?” Katara commands.

Zuko seems to realise, at the same time Sokka does, that he’s sucked all the fire out of the lanterns around them. Without taking his eyes off of Sokka, he bends the flames back into their rightful places. “Sokka, what happened.” He says quietly. “Was it….”

He doesn’t seem able to actually get the words out, but Sokka knows what he’s thinking. An assassination attempt. As if Sokka qualifies as important enough to be ‘assassinated’ rather than just plain ‘murdered’. “I got into a fight in the marketplace.” He huffs. “I was outnumbered.”

Katara, finished with his very minor flesh wound, glares at him. “You picked a fight with multiple people.”

“He picked a fight with me!” Sokka exclaims. “How was I supposed to know he brought backup?”

“And ‘he’ would be…?” Zuko says, voice dangerously low.

“Um.” Sokka fidgets, glancing at Katara; he vividly remembers the last time these two lunatics decided to go on a vengeance roadtrip. “Just some asshole, and his asshole friends. They got in a couple lucky shots- and what kind of jackass pulls a knife in a perfectly respectable fistfight, really- but, and you both just gotta trust me on this, I definitely won.” Sokka had been the only person to walk away, rather than hobble or crawl, so stab wounds aside, he thinks he did okay.

Katara puts her magic healing hands on either side of Sokka’s nose, and snaps it back into place so hard his vision blurs.

“Ow! Fuck-” he all but screams, “Katara!”

“You deserved that.” Katara says, and then the soothing, healing sensation begins travelling through his nose, replacing the pain completely. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You could’ve been killed.” Zuko adds.

“You should've sent someone back to the palace to get me, instead of walking here with a stab wound-"

“Of all the stupid, irresponsible-”

“I mean, fuck it, really, I’ve always wished I was an only child-”

“-are never going out without a chaperone ever again-”

“-even consider the consequences of your actions-”

‘-call me the reckless one-”

“-only for you to bleed to death in some Fire Nation alley, you stupid fuck-”

“-would do to me?!”

Sokka, whose head has begun throbbing, only catches pieces of the two of them talking over each other as they scold him in unison. Spirits, these two together is going to be insufferable.

“Hey, I was just trying to mind my business and do some shopping.” Sokka says defensively, as Katara finally pulls her hands away. He twitches his nose experimentally; feels fine. Nothing like having a magical little sister to patch you up. “It’s not like I was looking for a fight.”

“And yet they always seem to find you.” Katara rubs at the bridge of her nose. “So either someone was colossally stupid and decided to jump the second most powerful man in the Fire Nation, obviously without realising who you were, or you threw the first punch.” She pauses, seeming to consider her own words, and then reaches for both of his hands, inspecting the split skin of his knuckles like one might a misbehaving pet.

Sokka bites his lip, sheepish. “Okay, yes I- but he totally egged me on!”

“Sokka…” Katara says, warning clear in her tone, even as she heals the scrapes on his knuckles. "You aren't a teenager anymore. You have to be above alley fights with idiots."

Hypocrite. “Okay, sure Katara, next time I'll just let people go around saying Zuko is unfit to rule because, at the ripe age of thirteen, he didn't want to fight his dad to the death in ritual combat." Sokka snaps. "That it was funny watching-" His eyes flick to Zuko, whose expression he can't quite read. He inhales a steadying breath. "He knew what he was doing. He wanted a fight and I made him regret that."

Katara sighs, eyes softening and looking at once very, very tired. “Okay.” She glances at Zuko. “This is your problem.”

And then she stands up and walks back into her room.

“Wow, her bedside manner just gets worse with age.” Sokka jokes, as Zuko moves to kneel in front of him.

“Sokka, you-” Zuko’s hands are on him now, holding his face as his eyes scan for further damage. He swallows, roughly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Get stabbed? Tell me about it.” Sokka grins. “However, punching Mung Hui was not only necessary, but a genuine pleasure.”

“Mung Hui?” Zuko groans. “Sokka, he’s not worth your time, let alone your blood-“

“It’s mostly not my blood!”

“You were stabbed.” Zuko says forcefully. “And for what? Because a pompous, spoiled thug said something about me? I appreciate you trying to defend my honour, but-”

“Whoa whoa- who said anything about defending your honour?” Sokka smirks at his friend. “You can defend your own honour, and it’s hardly gonna suffer from a shitty comment from Mung Hui, of all people. But my honour? If I let someone, anyone, speak like that about someone I care about? Pshh.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Forget about it.”

“Oh, so this wasn’t about me at all, then?” Zuko says, with a soft smile.

“Nope, all about me and my honour.” He says. “Maybe like, a tiny bit about you. But mostly about me.” Sokka pauses, considering. "Though, as always, the offer to kill your dad is still on the table. Toph, Suki and I have thought of like, twenty equally painful ways that would never be traced back to us."

It's honestly more like fifty at this point, including several variations of 'hunt him for sport'.

"Noted." Zuko chuckles softly, then drops his head forward slowly, exhaling like a substantial weight has been lifted from his chest. His forehead comes to rest against Sokka’s lightly. “Your nice new robes are covered in blood.” He says softly. “Not to mention-“ His thumb finds the rip in the fabric and brushes the recently healed skin of Sokka’s side, sending a weird sensation through Sokka’s body. Like a tickle, or being shocked by static- maybe a heightened sensitivity from the healing?

Sokka chuckles. “Luckily I have, like, a thousand more where these came from.”

Zuko huffs out a laugh. It feels nice, sitting like this with his best friend. Was he irritated with him? He can’t imagine why. Sokka’s not sure if it’s the blood loss or the adrenaline wearing off but there’s a tranquility in the air, a rightness to the world.

At least, until Katara’s voice shouts from inside, “Alright you two!” And Zuko leaps about a foot in the air, putting as much distance between them as possible, presumably in case Katara makes good on her threats to just drown Sokka and get it over with, and he gets caught in the crossfire. “You both need to eat; Sokka, get changed and meet us in the dining room, and try not to get yourself killed on the way.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but she did just fix up his basically-a-scratch stab wound, so he doesn’t argue, just shoots Zuko a grin and a wink as he leaves.

It’s not that Zuko’s spending all his time with Katara. Sure, he’s postponed basically every meeting he could, and ditches a lot of the ones he can’t, leaving Sokka to fend for himself, but he still makes time to hear petitions, and oversee developments. He just. Spends less time with Sokka. Which is fine! But Sokka’s… not sure what he used to do, when he didn’t spend all his time with Zuko. Which is pathetic to admit, even just to himself. He also very quickly realises that everyone who lives at the palace works at the palace, and has other shit to do besides entertain a bored Water Tribesman.

He spends a lot of time just practicing trick-shots with his boomerang, honestly.

But there are still occasional moments like these, at least.

“-tell her so; must she not then be answered?’ asks Zhu Yingtai,” Zuko reads, “and Emperor Liang responds, ‘there is no woman's sides can bide the beating of so strong a passion as love doth give my heart; no woman's heart so big, to hold so much; they lack retention’-”

Sokka snorts. “You should read this play to Katara; I bet she’d love the implication that women have tiny, weak hearts.”

Zuko hits him on the head with the manuscript, which is rich, given that he was just griping about how Sokka’d probably gotten a head injury from his scuffle the other night. Sokka makes a little noise of protest from where he lays, head in Zuko’s lap.

Zuko likes to read to him from plays, which isn't as weird as it sounds. He got into the habit of doing dramatic readings for Toph, and blatantly, cruelly, refuses to do the silly voices Sokka knows Zuko uses when reading to Toph for him, but it’s an enjoyable experience nonetheless. Zuko started insisting on reading to Sokka a while back, claiming that staying up until the middle of the night working on his myriad projects somehow ‘damages’ Sokka’s eyesight (this is usually when Sokka asks Zuko to kindly leave the scientific hypotheses to him) and that he needs a break from reading sometimes. Which is obviously nonsense, but Zuko’s voice is rather nice to hear words in, and Zuko usually baits Sokka into being a captive audience by bribing him with snacks and scalp massages. It’s nice, that they feel comfortable enough around each other to just do stuff like this. He knows a lot of guys would be way less okay with another dude’s head in their laps.

“The whole point is Zhu Yingtai proving him wrong about his assumptions about gender, and power dynamics, and the nature of love.” Zuko huffs defensively.

“Oh.” Sokka says, as Zuko’s hand finds its way into his hair again. “Kinda like me and Suki!”

Zuko chuckles. “Sure. Like that.” And then he goes back to reading.

Sokka’s proud to say he’s never fallen asleep like this, though it is a struggle; Zuko’s voice is strangely calming, for being so rough, and the motion of his hand in Sokka’s hair and the warmth of the midday sun don’t exactly help. He can’t imagine how mercilessly Zuko would mock him if he did though, so he resists even dozing. Zuko knows Sokka well enough to read him plays with a little bit of poetry to them, or even better, poetry and comedy, which makes it easier to stay awake.

Zuko’s flipping the page to the next scene when the clearing of a throat comes from a ways in front of them. Sokka opens one eye to see Eito, in a deep bow, having just crossed the bridge over the little pond. It's... kind of weird, seeing someone else in these gardens. They're reserved for the royal family, which means only Zuko and Sokka ever use them. Iroh likes to play pai sho in the grass, when he visits, but other than that it's usually just. Them. Zuko's working on some project with the other gardens in the palace, the ones technically open to members of the general public, but that have been closed for almost two months as Zuko directs the work.

“You requested to be informed the moment Master Katara was back from the spa, my Lord.” He says obligingly.

“Please, Eito, I’ve asked you to call me Zuko.”

Eito bows again. “My Lord Zuko.”

Zuko exhales, just this side of exasperated. “Close enough.” He nudges his thigh, moving Sokka’s head with it. “Alright, get up. Duty calls.”

“Pretty sure ‘spending money on Katara’ doesn't qualify as an official duty in the Fire Lord handbook.” Sokka gripes, but sits up.

Zuko snorts. “Well, if there were a Fire Lord handbook, the official duties would mostly be ways of emotionally terrorising your own family, so probably for the best I’m straying from tradition, huh?”

Eito, who had been walking back over the bridge, visibly stumbles mid-step.

Zuko turns to Sokka and whispers, “Too dark?”

“I mean, I thought it was funny.” Sokka murmurs back as he makes a face. “Maybe next time wait until the kid who thinks Fire Lords are ordained by Agni himself is out of earshot, though.”

Zuko nods. “Noted.”

Sokka finds the two of them in the gardens, after covering for Zuko at yet another cabinet meeting. They’re having a picnic, with various Fire Nation and Water Tribe finger foods and pastries half-eaten around them. Zuko once surprised Sokka with a picnic like this, with food he had made himself and Iroh's special 'Koibito' blend tea. It feels less special, now.

“Oh, there you are, Sokka.” Katara says. “There’s some mochi left, if you want some.”

Of fucking course Sokka wants some, what kind of stupid- Sokka wills himself to breathe. He’s been on a strangely short fuse for a while. “Zuko, you missed another budget meeting.”

Zuko waves him away. “I have the rest of my life to argue with old men about whether or not forcing them to pay taxes constitutes a heinous disregard for Fire Nation traditions. I only have three weeks to spend with Katara.”

He smiles at her then, and she smiles back. Gross.

“As someone who spent fifteen straight years with her, lemme tell you, it gets old fast.” Sokka says as he sits down at the edge of the picnic blanket, and Katara throws a cold noodle at the side of his face. “Eugh,” he groans, flicking it away, “so what are we talking about?”

“Zuko, who would never get sick of me,” Katara says pointedly, glaring at Sokka, who sticks his tongue out in response, “was just about to show me something.”

Zuko clears his throat, eyes shining in amusement as he looks between the two siblings. “There’s a young girl on the coast,” he says, reaching for one of his scrolls, “her family has lived in the city of Rán Qǐ for generations. It was one of the main ports where Fire Navy ships docked during the war, after coming back from raids on the Water Tribes.”

Katara nods slowly. “…okay?”

“She’s a waterbender.”

Sokka freezes, halfway through chewing his mochi. He looks at his sister, who looks equally stunned. “She…”

“As far as I can tell, her parents weren’t benders. But I sent envoys to speak with the family, and now that the war is over, they were more willing to talk. They allowed us to make a copy of this portrait. These are her grandparents. ” He holds it out for both of them; in it is a man and a woman, the man, distinctly Fire Nation. The woman is darker, and has features that are all too familiar.

“She’s Water Tribe.” Katara exhales.

“Apparently her grandmother managed to escape when the ships docked in Rán Qǐ. She had to hide who she was, and didn’t like to talk about her previous life, so even her family doesn’t know which Tribe she came from. But she-” Zuko clears his throat. “She obviously made a life for herself, in the Fire Nation. Had a family.”

“Had?” Sokka asks, quietly.

Zuko looks down. “She… didn’t live to meet her granddaughter.”

Katara takes the photo with gentle hands, staring at it like she wants to commit it to memory. “What was her name?”

“Amka.” Zuko says gently. “Her son’s name is Kaito, which is a Fire Nation name that means the ocean, or the sea. He named his daughter Nallinik, apparently it was one of the few words he remembered his mother saying in her language.”

Katara inhales sharply, looking at Sokka, tears already welling in her eyes. Sokka says it for her. “It means ‘love’.”

“Oh.” Zuko says quietly. “I.. I didn’t want to presume, but I thought you might like to meet her. She’s a few years younger than us, and she seems eager to learn more about where she came from.”

“Of course.” Katara nods, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah, of course I- I’d love to.”

“And, well, beyond that, I-” Zuko rubs at his neck, hesitant. “I started thinking about all the years this nation spent abducting and hunting people from the Water Tribes, and I- I wanted to make sure they weren’t forgotten.” He glances at Sokka. “We’ve already included a history of atrocities committed against the Water Tribes and Air Nomads in all Fire Nation textbooks, and have plans to build a Water Tribe Cultural Centre within the city. This week, I drafted a commission for statues honouring the lives stolen from the Water Tribe, as well as the Air Nomads; memorials to sit in the middle of the Culture District, as well as the Palace.”

“That…” Katara swallows, smiling softly. “That sounds amazing, Zuko.”

He smiles at her. “And I was thinking, about all the missing records for so many Water Tribe people, and how we don’t know much about the massacres of the Air Nomads beyond the fact that it was a genocide. And, well, they were nomads, weren’t they? So maybe there are more people, like Nallinik, descendants of the survivors who’ve been hiding who they are, or aren’t yet aware of it.” He frowns. “I’m still… not really sure how I would go about finding them, but if even a handful of people are out there, somewhere, able to airbend, probably without even knowing-”

“So, what, they only deserve to know their heritage if they’re benders?” Sokka interrupts, and there’s that short fuse again.

“No, of course not.” Zuko says, eyes wide. “But even a single airbender would make Aang feel so much less alone.”

Sokka closes his mouth, embarrassed he didn’t think of that.

“Even if they can’t bend,” Zuko continues, “They deserve to learn about their culture.”

Katara nods, slowly. "So, what are you proposing?"

"Nothing, yet." Zuko shrugs. "I think any discussion we have about this should involve Aang. I don't want to get his hopes up if we don't find anyone, but I also don't want to go about this the wrong way. I was hoping you could talk to him...?"

"Of course." Katara smiles fondly. "I'll put it in today's letter, and we can just... see how he feels."

It's the first time either of them have mentioned Aang, at least, in front of Sokka. Neither of them seem guilty, but Sokka can't get the mental image of the poor, heartbroken Avatar out of his head. Well, at least with this new little project of Zuko's, he'll have something to distract himself.

Sokka makes a point to carve out what time with Zuko he can, whenever he can, and is… sort of successful. Katara, for whatever reason, always makes her excuses when Zuko invites her to spend time with the two of them, so the main issue is coming up with reasons to hang out with Zuko, which was never something he used to have to think about. Usually, he’d just invite himself over, or show up at Zuko’s quarters whenever he felt like it. Now, he’s slightly terrified he’ll barge into Zuko’s room and Zuko and Katara will be in there. Together. And Sokka’s really not sure he’d survive seeing that. So he makes appointments, for lack of a better word, and tries to sufficiently distract Zuko with enough Urgent Fire Nation Business that he won’t bring up Katara.

They’re sitting in Zuko’s stupidly big and extravagant room, which is ridiculously confusing to get to, hidden in the palace as it is. This used to be a sort of… library and gallery space, Zuko had explained, the first time he’d invited Sokka over, it housed relics and scrolls from the other nations; gifts given as tokens of appreciation, and peace. My grandfather turned it into a room for weapons and armour storage, and my father burned off all the paintings on the wall. Obviously, Zuko didn’t want to live in his father’s old room (he’d had the walls broken down and turned it into a meditation garden), and his childhood bedroom was declared not befitting the Fire Lord’s station, so the room that had once existed as a tribute to peace and international harmony seemed like as good of one as any.

When Sokka first stepped into the room, a few months after the end of the war, it felt… lonely. Almost haunted, honestly. An empty room with freshly painted walls, a single bed, and a table. The palace decorators had been itching to repaint it and adorn the walls with gold and flame motifs or whatever passes for decoration in the Fire Nation, but Zuko couldn’t decide how he wanted it to look, so the walls stayed blank. There was nothing in it that felt like Zuko. But now, after years, it finally feels like it belongs to him, and like he belongs in it.

There’s probably a metaphor for his rule over the Fire Nation in there somewhere.

But it’s true; the walls are adorned with paintings Iroh has sent him, maps that Sokka’s drawn, a piece of driftwood that curves like lightning that Aang found and gave him, and metal sculptures from Toph that range from gravity-defying beautiful pieces of art, full of movement, to subtly pornographic blobs. The sheer silk fabric that canopies his bed is radiant, and shines every colour under the sun as the light hits it in different ways. There’s an ornate tea set on a small table under the window, adorned with two dragons, one red and one blue, circling each other on a green teapot, accented with gold details; colours from every nation.

The glass case beside Zuko’s work table houses Mai’s first collection of knives (she’s since fashioned new ones), a fan from Suki, a traditional whale-bone Water Tribe hair pin from Katara, coins with the flying boar Beifong crest on them (relics from before the Earth Kingdom currency was centralised, and Sokka knows- they didn’t come cheap), a skirt of bells from Ty Lee’s old circus costume, one of Sokka’s first attempts at forging a new boomerang (it took him a long time to get the balance right), the mask Zuko’s mother made for Azula when she and Zuko were children and wanted to re-enact their favourite plays, and, in the middle of it all, the charred remains of Aang’s first staff, bought from an antique trader who found it, years ago, on the side of a volcano.

Zuko likes to say he keeps pieces of his friends near his workspace, where he can see them; a reminder of his duty to all four nations, instead of just the one. But Sokka thinks it’s more simple than that; after everything that’s happened, the Fire Lord likes to keep his family close.

“I keep telling them-“ Zuko huffs, aggressively striking through a draft of an announcement, ink blotting in the margins. “If Katara reads a single official document calling her ‘the Avatar’s paramour’, we’ll have another war on our hands.”

Sokka snorts. If things work out for Zuko, they’re going to have to have the Fire Lady conversation sooner or later, and spirits help Zuko when they do.

He wonders why Zuko hasn’t asked him for advice when it comes to Katara. She’d probably murder him if he even thought of asking Sokka’s permission to court her, but he is her brother. You’d think he’d at least want his opinion. Although, knowing how awkward Zuko can be, maybe it’s not that surprising. And when Sokka thinks about it, the prospect of hearing Zuko wax poetic about his love for Katara makes Sokka feel a little nauseated. So maybe it’s for the best.

“If the two of you had your way, she’d be Katara, last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe, the most powerful waterbender in the world, the only non-firebender to win an Agni Kai, and saviour of the Avatar, and then her head would never fit through another doorway again.”

“I mean.” Zuko shrugs. “It’s not as if those things aren’t true.” He makes a little thoughtful noise. “Thinking about it, if it weren’t for her, I probably would’ve died from my wounds when I redirected Azula’s lightning. So we can tack on ‘saviour of the Fire Lord as well.” He chuckles, softly.

Well. If he likes Katara so much, why doesn’t he just marry her, Sokka thinks, before realising, oh. Right. That’s… what Zuko’s trying to do, isn’t it?

“Well, if it weren’t for Katara, you wouldn’t’ve had to jump in front of a fucking lightning bolt, so it was also technically her fault you had the wound in the first place.” Sokka flinches at his own words as soon as he says them; he’s grateful Zuko was there to put himself between Azula and his sister, he always has been. So. What the fuck was that?

Zuko either doesn’t hear the weird bitterness in Sokka’s tone, or decides to ignore it in his haze of lovesick, poetic waxing about how wonderful Katara is. Whatever it is, he just laughs, “Well, she did also win a fight I never could’ve, so I still think the title fits.”

Rolling his eyes, Sokka rolls over where he’s sprawled out across Zuko’s bed, supposedly reading through a grant proposal. “Well, my sympathies to all the parchment-makers in the Fire Nation. If everyone gets their full titles, we’ll have to use a whole scroll just to introduce Katara, and Avatar Aang, youngest airbending master in history, youngest Avatar to master all four elements, merciful defeater of Fire Lord Ozai and bringer of peace to the four nations, not to mention Toph Beifong, greatest earthbender of all time, youngest earthbending master,  inventor of metalbending, first earthbender to bend a meteor,”

“Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, master of all existing martial arts styles, chosen by the spirits, military strategist, inventor, and mastermind behind the fall of Fire Lord Ozai, the first non-bender and outsider to serve as a Fire Nation Minister, future chief of the Southern Water Tribe.” Zuko finishes for him. When Sokka doesn’t respond, he looks up from his scroll, unimpressed. “Or are you choosing now to be humble?”

Sokka gapes for a moment. He is… still not used to the straightforward way Zuko just. Talks about Sokka like he’s just as important and impressive as the master benders he calls friends. No one else does, and. Well. It’s one thing to stick it to some racist asshole in a council meeting, it’s a whole other story when it’s just the two of them. Sokka rolls back over so he doesn’t have to look Zuko in the eye. Unfortunately, he misjudges the amount of space remaining on the side of the bed, and falls to the floor with a thump.

“Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe,” Zuko deadpans. “Only certified genius in all four nations who routinely injures himself through his own stupidity.”

“I resent that.” Sokka says, though it’s muffled, from where he’s facedown on the floor. He sits up, still clutching the grant proposal, though the piece of charcoal he’d been using to make notes must have fallen under Zuko’s bed. Flipping back the blankets, he sticks his head under the bed, and finds more than a stick of charcoal. There’s a box there, too.

Zuko, Sokka is more than aware, is meticulously organised. A childhood of playing the perfect prince, combined with years living in cramped quarters aboard a military vessel, have culminated in a room where everything has a designated place. And under his bed seems like… a weird place for anything to be. The part of Sokka that drank cactus juice and licked random goo off cave walls, that horrible curiosity, takes over. He pulls it into his lap; it’s much heavier than he expected.

“Do you think our friendship can survive me finding a weird sex toy under your bed?” Sokka asks absently as he pulls the lid off the box. “Time to find out.”

“A weird what?“ Zuko’s voice comes, distracted, before he cries, “Wait, Sokka, don’t-“

But Sokka already has.

In the box, on top of a crimson pillow, is his space sword. “...what.”

“Surprise?” Zuko says weakly.

His space sword. The sword he spent an entire night forging. The sword he’d lost four years ago, as he’d watched it fall (appropriately) towards the earth and out of sight. He’d recognise it anywhere- the deep black of the blade, the gold-plate inlay, the gold filigree white lotus in the grip, the balance as he holds it in his hands. This is his sword.

Sokka drags his eyes away from it, looking up at Zuko.

Zuko, whose blush is high on his cheeks. “Um.”

“Why is my space sword under your bed?”

Zuko rises from his chair and moves to kneel in front of Sokka. “It’s, uh, your birthday present?” He hesitates, hand rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “We finally got past the land disputes over Wulong Forest, so I sent in an excavation and cleaning team. It took a few months, but they found it. No sign of your boomerang yet, but. Still looking.”

Sokka gapes at him. “But…” The sword feels lighter in his hands than it did before. “Why?”

“I know, I should’ve given it to you right away, but it’s not long until your birthday, and it was too perfect a gift not to hold onto it a little longer.” Zuko says, not meeting his eye. “I am sorry, though, for not-“

“No, I mean.” Sokka says. “Was there another reason for an excavation and cleaning team to be in Wulong Forest?”

Zuko frowns. “Uh, no?” He says. “It’s basically just a bunch of scorched earth and broken rocks. I went down there with Toph a couple times, to direct the search; it’s really nowhere anyone is going to want to live for a long time. We might put a plaque up, eventually, but..."

“So you hired them just to find my sword?” Sokka, as a Fire Nation minister and chief advisor to the Fire Lord, should probably not approve of Zuko’s use of royal funds. It’s the only coherent thought that’s entered his brain since he opened the box, slightly hysterical though it is. “Why?”

Zuko blinks at him, surprised and confused, like it was the last question he was expecting. “Because I thought it’d make you happy?”

He says it so simply, like that should’ve just. Been obvious to Sokka.

Sokka flings his arms around Zuko, almost pitching them both over onto the floor as he does so. He hugs his best friend as tightly as he can, trying to convey his gratitude that anyone cared enough about Sokka, Sokka, the non-bending, self-proclaimed ‘meat and sarcasm’ guy, to hire a team just to look for his dumb sword. In his arms, Zuko’s whole body softens on an exhale, relaxing into Sokka’s touch. His arms come up to wrap around Sokka, a hand tracing circles along Sokka’s shoulder blades.

After admittedly longer than he’d normally hug Zuko, Sokka pulls away. He stares at his best friend, who looks inordinately pleased with himself, strands of his hair falling from the bun he’d thrown it in, blush high on his cheeks and sincerity in his eyes, and all he can think about is resting his hand on one of Zuko’s perfect cheekbones and pulling him in and kissing him until he can’t breathe, until the fire in Zuko’s lungs fills Sokka’s, messing up his hair even further-

Wait.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- Sokka scrambles to his feet, grip tight around the sword as he pulls it to his chest. Zuko looks up at him, head tilting in confusion, and it’s adorable. Fuck. “You- thanks, buddy.” Buddy. “I’m gonna put it in my quarters, so I can’t lose it again, and go to sleep because Katara wants to get an early start tomorrow and I haven’t picked out an outfit yet so goodnight!” He blurts, not pausing for breath, and Zuko says something in response, he’s pretty sure, but Sokka’s out of the room so fast he honestly doesn’t register it.

Muscle memory takes him back to his room, where he drops his sword on the floor as soon as he closes the door behind him; it survived a fall from an airship and four years buried in dirt, it’ll be fine. There’s a weird sensation in his palm and, looking down, Sokka realises his grip on the sword was around the blade. There’s a cut across the skin of his right palm, blood welling along the edges. Sokka, still not entirely capable of coherent thought, reflexively brings his hand to his mouth, sucking the blood away as his legs stagger towards the bed.

He’d wanted to kiss Zuko.

He, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, wanted to kiss Zuko, his best friend and Fire Lord of the Fire Nation. Like, a lot.

He’d wanted to kiss him because Zuko spent sprits only know how much time, money, manpower, and effort searching a decimated rock forest to find some shitty sword Sokka made when he was 15. He even got Toph to help. Sokka’s made new swords, objectively better swords with perfected balance, and Zuko knows this. But he’s only ever had one sword made out of a meteor, one sword that felt like a true extension of himself, and Zuko found it for him. Because he’d wanted to make Sokka happy.

And, if he’s being honest, Sokka had wanted to kiss Zuko because when he’d opened the box, the candlelight in the room had begun to flicker, then brighten, lighting Zuko’s face in a warm glow. There was a blush on his cheeks and he had looked so soft and… gorgeous. Well, Zuko’s always gorgeous. Everybody thinks so. People can’t take their eyes off him when he walks down the streets, and Sokka’s spent an exhausting amount of time trying to get it through to Zuko that they aren’t staring because of his scar, or because he’s the Fire Lord, but because he’s hot, in more ways than one, and everyone knows it.

But not everyone gets to see the sides of Zuko that Sokka does. The vulnerable sides; the soft, late-night Zuko, hair slipping from its ties, eyes warm, walls down, without the weight of the world on his shoulders. The easy way he is with Sokka, the smiles that are just for him.

“Oh, fuck.” Sokka says, into his empty room.

It dawns on Sokka, the next morning, that the words Zuko said to him as he tripped over himself trying to flee the room were probably something along the lines of ‘Sokka you moron you’re not meeting Katara in the morning, you’re supposed to be reviewing the submissions for the Art and Culture Grant with me, which was your idea, you fucking idiot’.

Or at least that’s what Sokka assumes, when a steady knocking drags him out of bed and he opens the door to his quarters, still in his nightclothes, and comes face to face with Zuko. Zuko, who’s dressed and smirking, his eyebrow raised expectantly. The realisation of what day it is and where he’s supposed to be hit him like a ten-ton flying bison.

“Fuck.” He says, instead of greeting Zuko, stumbling back into his room and diving behind the panels dividing his wardrobe from the rest of the space.

“So you did forget.” Zuko calls teasingly, as Sokka rummages through his clothes. “I thought I’d come get you a little early, just in case.”

Sokka trips pulling on his trousers, but manages to get the rest of his robes on without injury, and hurries back into the room, where Zuko’s sitting on his bed.

Actually. Probably for the best that the words ‘Zuko’ and ‘bed’ stay out of the same thought processes for a while.

“I can’t believe I forgot, I’ve been looking forward to this for months-“ Sokka mutters, crossing the room to grab a tie for his hair from the bedside table. “My schedules all fucked up, I’m having trouble concentrating, I don’t know what the fuck-”

“Sokka.” Zuko, who has been watching him with pure, unbridled, amusement, suddenly stills, eyes narrowing. “What happened to your hand?”

“Huh?” He had been gesturing with both hands, and thus brings both up for inspection. Oh right. “Oh, I gripped my sword too tightly.”

Exasperated, Zuko rubs at his temples. “Sokka, I gave it to you last night, how have you already managed to injure yourself? And since when do you not know how to hold a sword?”

“That’s not important right now.”

Zuko sighs, the long-suffering sigh of a hypocrite who’s pretending he’s never accidentally injured himself with his own weapon, which Sokka knows for a fact is bullhorseshit. “Sit down, I’ll wrap it for you.”

Sokka groans. Not the time, Zuko. He finds the tie for his hair on the floor next to his bed, and after he’s bent down to pick it up, raises his head to see Zuko glaring affectionately at him. Which he didn’t know was possible to do, but there you are. “Dude, it’s fine, we’re gonna be late-”

“The proposals aren’t set to start for another hour, Sokka.”

Sokka stills, tie in his mouth and hands halfway to his hair. “You call that a little early?”

Zuko shrugs, looking wholly unapologetic. “I left us time to get breakfast together. Sit.”

Sokka does, and Zuko gives him a stern look that clearly says ‘and stay there’ before standing and walking to Sokka’s bathing room. He comes back with something in each hand, and sits beside Sokka again. He sets a roll of gauze on the bed, and Sokka spares a moment to wonder how he knew where Sokka keeps the horde of various first aid supplies Katara forced on him. He shrugs the thought away; it’s not as if he doesn’t know where everything goes in Zuko's room. He holds out his hand expectantly, and Sokka places his palm into Zuko’s. Zuko takes a second to hold the damp cloth in his hands up to his mouth, breathing on it slowly. When he holds it to Sokka’s skin, slowly wiping away dried blood, it’s pleasantly warm.

Sokka, against his better judgment and instincts of self-preservation, watches Zuko while he cleans the wound. Dark lashes on pale skin, soft, pink lips frowning slightly as he mutters about Sokka’s carelessness. He’s beautiful, Sokka thinks, and it doesn’t feel like a revelation. Zuko’s hands are soft against Sokka’s skin, holding him with surprising tenderness.

Zuko reaches into his pocket and pulls out the jar of honey Katara had packed, and uses two fingers to spread it along the gash. Sokka hisses as the slow stinging sensation builds along his palm.

“Sorry.” Zuko frowns, pulling his hand away and wiping the leftover honey away with the wet cloth. “I was trying to be gentle- my hands aren’t really suited to it, I guess.”

“No no, it’s not-“ Sokka clears his throat. “The honey just stings a little. Your hands are perfect.” Fucking Tui and fucking La, Sokka. If Zuko weren’t holding his hand captive, Sokka’d use it to slap himself. “I mean. Um. You’re, uh, really good at this.” Sokka comments quietly, when Zuko begins wrapping the gauze around his palm.

Zuko exhales a laugh, looking up at Sokka with a smile that hits him like a punch in the gut. “I spent my formative years teaching myself to fight with two swords at once, and on a ship commanding people to attack me in the name of training. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Sokka grins, and Zuko’s breath stutters, infinitesimally. Sokka wouldn’t’ve noticed he weren’t so pathetically fixated on his every movement. He blinks at Sokka, for a moment, and then looks back down at his hand, and continues carefully covering it.

Wow, Sokka is the worst person in the world. Here his best friend is, helping him out by wrapping the self-inflicted gash in his hand, and Sokka’s fixating on his breaths. All he can think about is the soft pink of his lips, the way his eyelashes fan across his cheeks, the fact that even his scar is pretty, in its way. It’s as much a part of him as everything else. Sokka tries to pull his eyes away from Zuko’s face, but ends up watching the motion of his hands; the callouses and scars on his long fingers - and spirits, when did Sokka start to care so much about hands?

Zuko finishes wrapping and ties off the gauze, then leans in and, for one- insane- moment, Sokka thinks he’s about to kiss the wound. He’s pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

But then, obviously, he just tears the gauze with his teeth, because why the fuck would he kiss Sokka’s hand. Zuko’s lips brush the skin of his palm though, and Sokka isn’t sure if it’s a firebender thing or just Sokka's fragile grip on his own sanity, but it sends a spark racing through his skin and straight into his heart. If it does send a real spark, it’s unfortunately not enough to just kill him and get it over with, so he’s still sat there, heart pounding like a fucking war drum, with Zuko’s warm breath on his skin.

Zuko pulls away, and smiles at him, and there it is again, that horrible voice in his head that tells Sokka that kissing him would in any way, shape or form be a rational thing to do that wouldn’t somehow send Sokka’s entire life into chaos. His lips just look so soft.

“That should do.” Zuko says, smiling, hand still cupped around Sokka’s. “At least until you can get Katara to heal it properly.”

Hearing Zuko say her name effectively rips Sokka out of the hypnotic spell Zuko’s stupid pretty eyes have him under, and he pulls his hand away. He’s been so caught up trying to process his attraction to Zuko, he completely forgot that Zuko is actively courting his little sister.

Spirits, Sokka, get your fucking shit together.

He clears his throat, bracing his hands on his thighs. “Right, well, you said something about breakfast?”

Zuko seems a little thrown by the sudden change of subject, but responds with a fond grin and a teasing, “You really do think with your stomach,” so probably doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on Sokka. Thank the fucking spirits.

Sokka is a good friend. He prides himself on that. No matter how Katara feels, he’s going to be supportive of Zuko trying to find his happiness. Spirits know the guy could use a little happiness, and Sokka’s not going to let a poorly timed, unreciprocated little smidgen of a crush on his best friend get in the way of that. He just needs to clear his head. He’s been spending too much time with Zuko, obviously, and just got caught a couple inconvenient feelings. He’s never let go of feelings before, but there has to be a way. He eventually comes to the conclusion that no one knows more about letting go of attachments better than the monks, and resolves to try things their way. Not the vegetarianism, obviously. But meditation, he can do that. In theory.

He sits, cross-legged, in the middle of Zuko’s private courtyard.

And he meditates. Or, tries to. He’s done it with Aang a couple times before, and tries to remember what he’d told Sokka to do. He doesn’t fight to keep his mind blank, but instead lets thoughts appear and drift out of his head easily. Lets thoughts of Zuko drift out of his head easily. He breathes steadily, focusing on each inhale and exhale. He feels the mid-morning sun begin to beat down on his shoulders. He is aware of everything, and therefore aware of nothing. That sounds right.

Sokka inhales slowly, and tries to make sense of himself. He had wanted to kiss Zuko. He still, if he thinks about it, wants to kiss Zuko. This is a problem. In order to solve a problem, you must first get to the root of the problem. So when did he start wanting to kiss Zuko? When Zuko gave him his space sword. But. Well, when Sokka thinks about it, maybe that was just the logical progression of something that had been long established. Sokka’s always acknowledged that Zuko was attractive, not thinking anything of it. Spirits, even Toph knows Zuko’s attractive. But, thinking back, maybe Sokka’s been attracted to Zuko for a while.

Sokka’s known he isn’t solely attracted to women for a long time, so it’s not a huge leap to hypothesise he might’ve also been attracted to Zuko without realising it. He inhales, and thinks. Thinks of the way Zuko’s smile lights up a room. Thinks about his laugh, and his eyes, and the way he blushes with precious little provocation. The curve of his mouth, the way he laughs so easily with Sokka. The lines of his muscles, the cut of his jaw, the way he concentrates when he's firebending, controlling such a powerful element without hesitation or second guessing, just power and intensity. Imagine if that same intensity were focused elsewh-

Okay. Time for those thoughts to drift away.

Sokka re-centres himself. So when did the attraction start? Must’ve been recent, for Sokka not to have noticed until now.

An image, unbidden, waltzes into the forefront of Sokka’s mind. Zuko, crouching on the floor of the cooler in the Boiling Rock Prison, bracing well-muscled arms around himself and letting out a breath of flames. The memory continues, of Zuko pulling him into the cooler. He had been listening through the crack to the guards’ conversation, but he lost focus for a moment with Zuko stood close behind him, his hot breath on Sokka’s neck a stark contrast to the freezing air around them. Then he’d heard the words ‘war prisoners’, and forgotten anything else.

Oh Tui and fucking La.

Five years. He’s been attracted to Zuko for five years, and he’s just realising it now?!

Yep. Definitely gonna need that ‘stupidest person alive’ title from Chong. Actually, a very long trip through the Earth Kingdom, by himself, far away from Zuko is sounding really good right now.

Okay, focus Sokka. How do you fix this. How do you stop being attracted to your best friend. Just breathe. Think it through rationally, it’s what you’re good at.

Maybe it’s best to start with an alternative. Some other gorgeous Fire Nation citizen who is attracted to men, and isn’t attracted to Sokka’s sister. Actually, doesn’t even have to meet that criteria. Just has to be someone Sokka can focus on instead of Zuko. Someone, anyone, more attractive than Zuko.

Someone… more attractive. Than Zuko.

Anyone.

Anyone at all.

Sokka, eyes still shut tight, frowns. Why can’t he think of- surely there must be- hm.

Can he really not think of a single person he finds more attractive than some neurotic, melodramatic weirdo with a scar covering a third of his face?

“I must be hallucinating.” Comes Zuko’s voice. “Are you meditating?”

Sokka peeks open an eye. Zuko’s stood in front of him, in casual robes, his hair thrown half up, strands of it framing his jaw. The morning sun gives his skin a warm glow, and he has that soft smile he reserves for Sokka on his face and fondness and mischief light up his eyes.  Fuck.

Nope. Not a single person.

“I was.” Sokka responds, irritated. Irritated with Zuko for being devastatingly handsome, and irritated with himself for being so distracted with thoughts of Zuko that he actually managed to sneak up on him, for once.

“Sokka, in still, quiet contemplation.” Zuko raises his eyebrow. “I know I literally just saw you, but I can’t picture it.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Sokka deadpans. “They should call you the Joke Lord.” He pulls himself up to his feet. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Zuko shrugs. “Katara’s copying the waterbending scrolls right now; not much I can really do to help.” He looks down at the spot where Sokka had been sitting. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought you might want to go a couple rounds. It’s been a while.”

Sokka perks up. What better way to return to normal, platonic feelings for Zuko than to engage in normal, platonic activities with Zuko. “Good idea, doing it while Katara’s not around.” He teases, “Wouldn’t want her to see me make you cry.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, apparently deciding he’s not going to dignify that with an answer, and turns to hang up his Fire Lord robes and pull the gold flame out of his hair. They each have a designated side of the practice area, so they don’t mix up their weapons (thought it’s fairly easy to tell them apart, with Zuko favouring dao swords and Sokka preferring jian). Sokka walks to his side, stretching his neck and shoulders. They’re barely in the first weeks of summer, but the weather has already become uncomfortably hot most days. He can feel the sun and humidity making his clothes heavier, sticking to his body in the way he hates, so he pulls his shirt off his head in a swift motion, tossing it to the side and onto the handle of a long spear.

Behind him, there’s a clamour of metal.

Sokka turns to see Zuko picking up the rack he’s just knocked over, naginata and kunai scattered on the ground and a furious blush on Zuko’s cheeks. Sokka, for once, resists the urge to tease him; he’s not sure exactly how the burn on his eye affects his depth perception (and whatever effect it might’ve had on his combat abilities he’s obviously corrected for), but he does know that some jokes are off limits. It’s not Zuko’s fault he walks into things sometimes.

Sokka pulls out one of his swords, letting it slice through the air in wide arcs as he adjusts to its weight. This is exactly what he needs. A reminder of how things between him and Zuko should be, and a nice, physical activity to clear his mind. He’ll be back to normal in no time.

He turns around to see that Zuko’s shed the outer layer of his robes, leaving only trousers and a sleeveless tunic, one arm braced across his chest as he stretches.

Tui and La, his arms.

Sokka doesn’t know what’s wrong with him- objectively, he’s pretty sure his arms are more well-muscled than Zuko’s; he has more free time to train, and he’s naturally built a little bigger. And yet he feels himself swallowing down an appreciative groan as Zuko leans to pick up his swords, biceps flexing as his hands clench around the hilts. Every move makes the light catch different curves along his arms, trailing along paths of muscle.

Right, focus Sokka.

Zuko stands in front of him, rolling his neck, then absently flicks both swords up and back, letting them flip up in twin arcs before he catches them again.

Focus, Sokka.

He inhales, willing his thoughts to clear as he shifts into his stance. It’s just sparring. Swordbending, he thinks with a grin. If there’s one thing he can be normal about, it’s this.

He absolutely cannot be normal about this.

Sokka can’t believe he thought sparring was a platonic activity. Didn’t this use to be a platonic activity?

He can’t fathom how he spent countless hours watching Zuko swing out his dao swords like they’re extensions of himself without ever considering how mind-shatteringly attractive he looks doing it. He twists and bends lithely through the air, panting breaths echoing in the silence of the courtyard as he and Sokka circle each other. His face is flushed, strands of hair falling around his eyes and he’s so pretty it throws Sokka completely off his rhythm. His stance is a mess, his timing is off, his strikes have half the force they normally would.

Somewhere, somehow, Master Piandao is deeply ashamed of him.

Luckily, and at the same time, frustratingly, after all this time spent training and sparring together, Sokka realises, he knows Zuko’s body really well. He knows that seeing a certain movement of muscles in his shoulder means Zuko’s going to feint with one arm and swing with the other. He knows that a clench of his calf means he’s going to step a certain way, in a specific direction. And Zuko knows him just as well. It feels like they’re moving with each other, as opposed to against, a dance Sokka wasn’t aware they were doing before. All this means that even though he’s halfway through a complete mental shutdown, he can still hold his own against Zuko.

Or, so he thinks.

“You’re distracted.” Zuko says, as he pins Sokka against the wall with the blade of his own sword, and Sokka wishes any number of the attempts on his life over the course of his twenty years of existence had been successful. He would’ve been spared this, and he would’ve been grateful for it. Zuko’s eyes bore into Sokka’s, breath warm against his skin. His voice is hoarse and his breath comes in uneven bursts and his tongue darts out to wet his lips and Sokka can’t handle any of this. “This is easier than usual.”

Oh.

Okay, motherfucker, let’s play.

Zuko may be the hottest thing Sokka’s ever seen, but he’ll die before he lets him think he’s the better swordsman.

Sokka exhales, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, and elbows Zuko in the stomach.

As his friend recoils, wheezing a little, Sokka stretches out his neck and follows him. They circle each other slowly. Usually, Zuko likes to wait for Sokka to attack first, but he surprises him by spinning into a strike, bringing his sword around to slice at Sokka, who blocks it easily. Their swords cross again, and again, Sokka pushing Zuko backward into the outer circle of the courtyard.

He notices Zuko beginning to move, and reacts without thinking as Zuko spins backwards to strike at his exposed back. Sokka tosses the handle of his blade up, lets it flip through the air and catches it in a back guard against Zuko’s strike. He smirks at Zuko as the clash of steel echoes in the air.

Zuko falters for a second, obviously not having expected the move, and Sokka takes the opportunity to push the sword Zuko’s struck with away and swing his jian back around to knock the other out of his hand.

Now, Sokka may be a bit biased here, but in his experience, there’s no sweeter sound than a dao sword clattering to the ground.

“You’re right,” He says breathlessly, “This is easier than usual.”

Zuko huffs, stepping back to switch sword hands. Of course, being insufferable, he imitates Sokka’s toss by flicking his sword up, left-handed, as he turns away, catching it with his right behind his back as he finishes the turn, facing Sokka again with his dao resting on top of his shoulder. Sokka’s mouth goes a little dry. Show off.

“I,” Zuko exhales, using his free hand to push the fallen hairs out of his face (spirits). “Am going to enjoy wiping that smirk off your face.”

Sokka shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy trying.”

Their swords meet again, clanging together as they swing and strike at each other, Sokka having to duck as Zuko nearly cuts his head off, and Zuko lurching back as Sokka tries to spill his intestines across the stone floor.

On a whim, Sokka spins away from Zuko and, as he whips around, crouches just enough to swing at Zuko’s ankles. Zuko, bringing his leg up to avoid the blade, overbalances. He stumbles backwards, falling flat on his back. He holds on to his dao, but Sokka steps hard on it, stopping him from picking it up. He’s about to gloat, but Zuko doesn’t give him the chance; he lets go of the sword and does a spinning kick to swipe Sokka’s legs out from under him. Sokka hits the ground, hard, and his sword falls out of his hands and clatters to the ground.

Sokka twists around, sliding into a lunge and reaching for his jian, but is stopped by a blade that swipes out, just inches away from his outstretched hand. He stills as Zuko turns his sword in his grip, the flat of it coming up to rest against the underside of Sokka’s jaw. A slight pressure, and Sokka’s head is tilted upward until his eyes meet Zuko’s.

His cheeks are red, his breathing heavy, the gloating smirk on his face faltering as Sokka looks up at him through his eyelashes. After a moment, Zuko breathes out, voice distant, rather than smug like Sokka expects, “Round one to me.”

Sokka thinks for a second, before leaning further onto the edge of Zuko’s blade, feeling the metal press against his throat. He knows that, rationally, Zuko could never think Sokka would actually purposefully cut his neck on Zuko’s sword, but his instincts against hurting his friends mean he isn’t inclined towards rational thinking. And he’s right; when he sees what Sokka’s doing, Zuko’s eyes widen and his grip on his sword loosens immediately. Sokka can feel the moment the pressure eases against his neck. He brings his forearm down, hard, against the blade. The wrappings on his arm soften the blow, and the sword clatters out of Zuko’s hand.

Sokka tackles the now-unarmed Zuko to the ground easily; he’s trained with him often enough to know exactly where his centre of gravity is.

Zuko tries to roll away from him when they hit the ground, but Sokka’s faster, pulling him into a headlock, forearm braced against his neck. “I know you can’t see it,” Sokka says, into Zuko’s ear. “But I’m still smirking.”

Zuko grunts, and jerks forward, flipping Sokka over him and attempting to get his arm in a lock, but Sokka was expecting this exact move, and uses Zuko’s momentum to flip them over again, twisting his hand around to break Zuko’s hold on him as he goes. He shifts into a seated mount, knees on either side of Zuko’s chest as each of Sokka’s hands pins one of Zuko’s wrists.

“Round one to who, again?” Sokka grins breathlessly, blowing the strands of hair that have escaped his wolf tail out of his face.

The fog of exertion and fighting instincts clears as soon as he meets Zuko’s eyes, which is also when he realises he may have. Made a mistake.

Zuko’s breathing heavily too, the gold of his eyes a thin ring around a wide, black pupil. Spirits he’s pretty like this, hair fanned out around him, face flushed from exertion, soft pink lips parted slightly. Sokka could get used to this view.

He used to love getting pinned like this by Suki, feeling her weight on him and the power in her thighs as she held him down. As Zuko squirms, just a little, underneath him, he’s seeing the appeal of being the one doing the pinning. And his horrible traitor of a brain wonders if Zuko likes being pinned as much as he used to.

Sokka’s not sure how long he stares into Zuko’s eyes as he sits on top of him, but it still feels abrupt when Zuko wrests a hand free and shoves at Sokka’s chest.

“Okay, okay, you win, now get off.” Zuko huffs, no longer meeting his eyes.

Sokka lets go of the other hand and lets his weight shift to the side, moving off of him. Fuck, he definitely went too far with that one. “Shit, I- did I hurt you?” His body tries to reach out to and back away from Zuko, simultaneously. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s-“ Zuko rolls to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants. He clears his throat. “What if Katara came in? I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.”

Oh, of course.

The wrong impression. Wouldn’t want the love of your life finding you rolling around with her older brother, right?

Right.

“Yeah, I get it.” Sokka forces out a laugh, arms slung over his knees. “No worries.”

Yep. That went well.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Sokka flinches, and takes a surprised step back. It’s been a long day, and the last thing he was expecting was to be ambushed in his room. He looks at Katara, sat on his bed, arms crossed against her chest. “I’m pretty sure I locked my door when I left.”

Katara gives him a very clear ‘don’t change the subject’ look. “Are you?”

Yeah, he has been.

It had been hard, growing up with a sister with magic powers, and feeling so painfully ordinary in comparison. For all his feigned bravado, it took a long time for Sokka to realise that just because he wasn’t a bender, didn’t mean he didn’t have something important to contribute to their little gang, to the world in general. He’d spent so much of his childhood being so painfully jealous of Katara, but sometime between finding Aang in the ice and defeating Ozai, he finally managed to get over it. And he hadn’t been jealous since, that is, until he realised he had feelings for Zuko. And Zuko, of course, has feelings for her.

But that’s not Katara’s fault.

And he’s been avoiding her because he can’t trust his bitterness not to well up, making him do or say something he’ll regret. Not to mention, Zuko’s just oblivious enough that Sokka can hide his feelings from him; he has a sneaking suspicion Katara will be able to see right through him.

“No?” Sokka says eventually, trying to look confused and offended by the accusation. “I have a very important job, Katara, I’ve been busy.”

She narrows her eyes at him, looking for the lie. “Zuko takes time off.”

“Well, if both Zuko and I take time off, then Minister Shima is in charge by default, and when I say he’s the least terrible of Zuko’s ministers, I mean he’ll only immediately start stealing from the Fire Nation reserves, instead of trying to re-institute martial law.” Sokka huffs, crossing behind his privacy panels to change into his nightclothes. “So it’s either I spend time with you, or Zuko does.” And we all know which she’d choose.

When he emerges, Katara’s moved from his bed onto the fur Sokka has spread across the floor. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s running Sokka’s comb through it. She looks up at him and raises an expectant eyebrow. He rolls his eyes, around a smile, and goes to sit on the bed behind her.

They don’t really talk about it, because they only admit to liking each other if one of them is close to death, but it’s a long standing tradition between them. And, in the years since the war, when they’ve been apart for a while, they always make time for it, though they never really plan it in advance. Usually, Katara just finds a quiet moment, unties her hair loopies, and sits unceremoniously in front of Sokka, already halfway through the opening sentence of whatever she’s decided they’re going to be talking about.

Sokka remembers the first time he helped their mom with the complicated ceremonial braids, and Katara remembers the first time their mom braided her hair like this. There’s not always time to do it, but it makes both of them feel closer to their mom, their tribe, their culture. And, of course, each other.

Here, in the Fire Lord’s palace, it feels good to bring out this bit of home. Plus, Katara came prepared with an assortment of snacks, so it all just feels pretty perfect.

The conversation stays far away from Zuko, which is kind of odd, seeing as they’re in his house, but Sokka can’t say he isn’t grateful. They talk about Toph, and the girl she won’t admit she’s dating, and Suki, and the girls she happily admits she is. They talk about Teo and Sokka’s latest collaborations, made possible by months of extensive sketches and calculations sent back and forth by carrier hawk. They gossip, and laugh, and speculate, about each of their friends, but never Zuko. And after a while, Sokka starts to fidget. Then realises: he really wants to talk about him.

“So,” Sokka feels brave enough to say, when Katara finishes recounting her and Aang’s latest mission and they fall into silence. “Zuko’s really pulled out the stops to impress you.”

Katara laughs softly, as Sokka separates a section of her hair into pieces. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She begins peeling a lychee from one of the bowls. “I mean, he could’ve just asked me, I didn’t need a big production; not like I didn’t see it coming. And I mean, of course I know what a good person he is, and you guys are best friends! I can’t think of anyone better.”

Sokka clears his throat. “Don’t you think he’s being a little over the top, though?”

“I’m having flashbacks of you volunteering for a suicide mission to impress Yue’s dad. Love makes people a little crazy.”

Love. Spirits, she’s saying the ‘l’ word already. And obviously, she doesn’t know about Sokka’s… predicament, but he doesn’t know how she can possibly just disregard the obvious problem. “What about Aang?”

Katara bites around the lychee seed, asking distractedly, “What about him?”

“Don’t you think you should. I don’t know, tell him about all of this?” Breaking the Avatar’s heart. Sounds like a great plan. But someone has to, and Sokka has a sinking feeling that when Zuko and Katara dance off into the sunset, that person is going to be him.

Katara snorts back a laugh. “Sorry I didn’t put out a bulletin to alert the masses. Anyway, Zuko said he’d asked him for advice at some point, so he definitely knows already.”

Sokka gapes, trying to wrap his head around that piece of information. “And he’s…. okay with it?” Sokka says, hesitant.

Katara turns around, and a strand of hair slips from Sokka’s fingers as she looks up at him, eyes soft. She smiles up at her big brother, “Of course,” She says. “The air nomads believe that true love between people is way more important than all the little details.”

Wow, okay. Aang is a much bigger man than Sokka could ever be.

“Hey, speaking of Sifu Hotman, do you think you could find something to distract Zuko with tomorrow?” Katara asks. “Not that I don’t enjoy being whisked off to strange locations to have favours from the Fire Lord heaped upon me, but I’m not making as much progress with the texts as I’d like.”

"Uh, sure." Zuko. Who he's also been avoiding.

Katara hums to herself a little, as the two of them otherwise fall silent. After a while of humming as Sokka braids (and unbraids, and rebraids, the braids aren't really complicated enough to take multiple conversations' worth of time, but they both pretend not to know that), Katara lets out a whistle. "Do you ever just- stop and realise how our lives have changed? I mean." She gestures around the room. "You live in the Fire Nation palace. You live in this room in the Fire Nation palace."

Sokka snorts. "Yeah, if you would've told me that at fifteen..." He shakes his head. "Life is weird. But, I mean, we used to basically live on a ten-ton magical monster, so I guess weird is relative."

Katara chuckles, then sighs. “I could never live here.” She says, then groans dramatically. “I can’t believe how often I’m going to have to visit, now.”

“I know, it’s really the worst place on earth.” Sokka chuckles.

“But you’re staying.”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka shrugs. “You know.”

“I do.” Katara hums to herself. “Do you think if we hadn’t been born into a war, we could’ve belonged in the South Pole? Travelled a little, sure, but at the end, gone back home and stayed there.”

Sokka tugs at one of the braids he’s worked into her hair. “Hey, we’ll aways belong in the South Pole. Besides, there’s still time to go back home and stay there. We’re not at the end, yet.”

“True.” She agrees softly. “But I have a feeling you and I won’t be settling down there for a very long time.”

Sokka sighs. “Maybe not. But it’ll always be home, y’know? And you and I are absolutely gonna end up living in igloos across from each other, shouting from across a snow path about whose grandchild is better.” He pokes her in the arm. “Sure, yours will probably be a crazy powerful bender, but we both know bending doesn’t come with intelligence, they’ll be dumb as a rock, and mine will be a master strategist and inventor.”

“Maybe your grandchild will be the crazy powerful bender, and mine will be the master strategist non-bender.”

Sokka considers it. “That would be, admittedly, hilarious. I guess I could grow to love a bender.” Oh, the irony. “As long as they’re better than your shitty, weird-looking grandkid.”

“Spirits, I can hear the arguments already.” Katara laughs quietly. “You really wanna grow old in the South Pole, having the same fights you’ve already had a thousand times with your little sister?”

“I mean, assuming I don’t die young in a heroic blaze of glory?” Sokka teases. “Can’t think of a better way to grow old than at home, with my family.”

Katara exhales, sinking back into Sokka’s knees. “Me neither.”

In the end, he chickens out of spending the day with Zuko, and instead dumps a stack of all the things Zuko's been putting off reviewing, signing, or looking through since Katara arrived into Eito's arms.

"Give these to Zuko, will you?" Sokka says, with his most winning smile. "Please."

Eito, the top half of his head visible behind the stack, intercepted by Sokka on his way out of the kitchens, looks slightly terrified. "Um. Can I ask what these are, Minister Sokka?"

"Just all the shit he's been putting off while he tries to win over my sister. And tell him Sokka says it needs to get done." Sokka rolls his eyes. "Seeing as Katara's too oogie over him to just tell him she needs some space and time to do her work, I have to find something to distract him with all day."

"Right." Eito says slowly. "With all due respect, Minister Sokka, I can think of several things the Fire Lord would rather you distract him with than a mountain of paperwork delivered by his manservant."

"Well, we can't always get what we want, can we Eito?"

Eito blinks at him. "I... suppose not?" He worries his lip for a second before blurting out, "Is everything alright with you and the Fire Lord, Minister Sokka?"

"Of course." Sokka says immediately. "Why, why wouldn't it be?"

"I just." Eito's face has turned a really interesting shade of red. "I haven't been asked to have food sent up to you and the Fire Lord in many nights, and it's." He clears his throat. "It's just that, before you moved in to the palace Lord Zuko was... decidedly less happy. I'd like to see him... continue to be happy. Sir."

"Please don't call me sir, Eito." Sokka says reflexively, even though mentally he does note Eito used Zuko's actual name, just then. "I would've thought he was especially happy lately."

Eito shrugs. "More... nervous? I think." He makes a knowing face. "I'd assume he's about to ask a very important question, if I had to guess."

Sokka doesn't know what his own face does, in that moment, but judging by the look in Eito's eyes, it's not good. Nor subtle. "Just take him the papers, okay?"

"Of course, Minister Sokka." Eito seems to consider bowing with the stack in his arms, before thinking better of it. "I didn't mean to overstep."

"You didn't." Sokka smiles at the kid, as best he can. "Just, y'know. A lot of stuff going on right now."

Eito smiles kindly, the most sincere smile Sokka thinks he's seen from him in the entire time he's known him, and then walks off towards Zuko's room.

Sokka is hard at work in his room, diving headfirst into his generator idea, when he's summoned to the public gardens. A palace employee he only vaguely recognises leads him down the twisting hallways, before they stop in front of grand, double doors. The employee bows, and Sokka thanks them, before pushing open the doors and striding inside.

It's. Beautiful.

Little streams and ponds line the walkways, as well as aesthetic little bridges and awnings. The space is bigger than Sokka remembers, and he follows the path- all lead to the middle, he's fairly sure- until he sees Zuko, just steps away from the gazebo at the centre of the gardens.

The fireflies and lightmoths are out, dancing through the air. Zuko’s on a bridge, eyes closed, while flames circle lazily in the air around him, reflected in the shining waters of the ponds, streams, and waterfalls Zuko’s had built.

He’s wearing a formal hakama, in a deep blue. It’s a stark contrast to his pale skin and the flickering golds and oranges in the air around him. His hair is half-up, pinned with one of the whalebone hairpins from Sokka’s tribe. Zuko looks perfectly in his element, surrounded by these tiny, beautiful, harmless flames, with nature in balance around him. He's… breathtaking.

Sokka steps out from under the flowering branches he's been standing shock-still under, finally tearing his eyes away from Zuko long enough to glance upward, where the moon is nearly full.

“You see this shit?” Sokka asks Yue in a whisper. In the dips and craters of the moon’s surface, he can just about make out her laughing face. “I know. I’m fucked.”

When he gets close enough, Zuko turns towards him, and the smile he breaks into makes Sokka feel light-headed. "Sokka," he exhales, "I wanted you to be the first to see the new garden. There are koi fish in the ponds, and I saw a little rabbit-frog, it's everything I wanted, I-" He spins around, taking in his work while Sokka drinks him in. Every movement, the way light catches on different parts of him. It's like he's glowing from the inside out, like he's moving in slow motion, and all Sokka can do is stare. “Do you like it?” Zuko asks, eyes shining in the firelight.

Sokka thinks he might love it. He takes a step onto the wooden bridge. “It’s… incredible, Zuko.”

Zuko looks around, hands fidgeting at his sides. “Do you think Katara will like it?”

Sokka stops in his tracks. Oh right. Katara. “Yeah man,” He says, watching Zuko survey the area, obviously looking for flaws in this immaculate display. “She’ll love it.”

“I wanted to show her that life can be beautiful here.” Zuko says softly, turning around to meet Sokka’s eyes. “I know it’s not home, and I know you- both of you- have a lot of negative feelings and memories when it comes to the Fire Nation. But as long as I’m alive, I’m going to do everything I can to make it somewhere you can feel safe, and loved. There’s a lot of potential for life and beauty in the Fire Nation, when you nurture it instead of destroying it.” Zuko exhales, looking down into the water. “I just hope Katara can see that.”

Sokka takes it all in. This is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen; he, for the first time, understands what Aang meant when he talked about the dragons' fire. There is so much beauty in flames, when they're in balance. There is love, and safety, and comfort in fire; home is intrinsically linked with the hearth, after all. Katara deserves all those things. Zuko deserves all those things. And if they can find them with each other, well. Sokka's feelings don't matter, in comparison to the happiness of the people he loves.

“She said she needed to finish up a letter after dinner.” Sokka says finally, voice tight. “If she knows you’re waiting for her out here, I’m sure she won’t be long.”

Zuko nods, a bit above Sokka in the middle of the bridge. He motions towards where he’s standing, “Do you want to wait with me?” He says, smiling gently. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you recently.”

Sokka’s honestly surprised he’d noticed.

"No, I'm." He says carefully. "I'm just gonna head to bed."

He turns to walk away, but is stopped by a hand on his arm. When he looks behind him, Zuko's eyes are soft, but concerned. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'm always okay." Sokka forces himself to smile. "Just a bit tired is all. G'night Zuko."

Zuko smiles down at him. "Night, Sokka."

Chapter Text

The way Sokka sees it, he has two choices.

He can tell Zuko he’s pretty sure he’s in love with him. He can just- come right out and say it. The thing he’s been actively fighting all week, those stupid words, he can just let himself say them and whatever happens, happens. Worst case scenario, Zuko laughs at him. Best case scenario, Zuko realises he also has feelings for Sokka. And breaks Katara’s heart. If she’s- is she in love with him? She has to at least reciprocate the feelings, so it- it wouldn’t be pleasant for her, even if it isn’t a heartbreak. Definitely enough to have Sokka feeling like a piece of shit (and at risk of drowning) for a good long while.

Or, he can quit his job, that he really likes, because being around Zuko like this is borderline unbearable. He can leave the Fire Nation altogether, maybe see if Toph or Suki wants a roommate, or if Aang wants to nurse their bruised hearts together.

Both options suck, so.

Sokka takes the third option, which is to do nothing, but pretend he’s doing something. Basically, he starts making lists. He lists all the pros and cons of telling Zuko how he feels, of leaving the Fire Nation, of telling Katara how he feels, of writing Zuko a bunch of love poems and fleeing the country, of summoning Aang and Haru back to the palace to distract Katara with until she discards Zuko and Sokka can pick up the pieces, etc., etc.

He makes a list of ‘reasons Zuko should be with Katara’, and a list of ‘reasons Zuko should be with me’. The former is a lot longer than the latter; Zuko and Katara have… a lot in common. They’re both ridiculously powerful benders, they’re both single minded, intensely stubborn, lunatics sometimes, Katara could give Zuko an heir to his throne (which, ew, but it is true), and so on and so forth. Basically the only thing Sokka puts on the second list is ‘I think I make him happier than she does’, which is subjective at best.

Sokka makes lists, commits them to memory before immediately destroying them, tries to avoid the people he loves- mostly unsuccessfully, because he does still have a job to do- and actively fights not to show how stupidly, irrevocably, painfully enamoured with Zuko he is with every breath he takes.

It’s fine. It’s completely fine, except Sokka’s probably dying.

He’s now hyperaware of how often he touches Zuko, how much he’s always touched him. A tap on the arm, a hand on his shoulder, a teasing tug of his hair- are these things he’d just do when Zuko’s around, or is he doing them because he’s into Zuko? Sokka has no idea. And he touches him without thinking, which means he’s already done it by the time he realises that maybe he shouldn’t’ve, and then he gets to sit in terror for a few seconds while he wonders what would happen if Zuko looked up at him, while Sokka was tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Would he be able to tell?

Sokka has no fucking clue how to function as a human being who has feelings for his best friend. Is this how Aang felt, all those years ago? How did he get anything done? How on earth did he manage to topple a super-powered dictator with all of this- inconvenient nonsense- clanging around his head?

“Sokka?” Zuko says, one mid-morning, interrupting what is probably the fifth consecutive minute of Sokka having an internal meltdown after unthinkingly brushing a couple of crumbs away from just under Zuko’s lower lip. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you.”

Sokka blinks. “Oh, sorry, just- um. Thinking about how hot it is!” Sokka lies, and not well, given the way Zuko looks at him. C’mon, Sokka, cover. “Um, just- well, the sun heats things so well, it has to have its own energy, right? But that energy must travel primarily in the form of light, obviously, which is why we can see during the day and- anyway. Just thinking of the potential of harnessing energy from the sun.” He improvises, though… that might actually be something to think in more depth about, later.

“…okay.” Zuko nods, smiling softly. “As always, I’m just gonna pretend I followed any of that.”

“Good call.” Sokka shakes himself a little. “Anyway, sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Nothing really. You tuned out for my nervous ranting about whether or not I should’ve hosted a separate celebration for the Arts and Culture grants, instead of tying it in with the Star Festival, and just general anxiety about Fire Nation citizens questioning my choice to put so much money into the arts, and other nations’ suspicions that I’m going to steal the work of their best and brightest for the Fire Nation.” Zuko says in a breath, then shrugs. “Nothing you haven’t heard before.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the Rising Star Festival.”

Zuko sighs. “It’s a corny name, Sokka.”

“It’s a perfect name, you just don’t want to admit it because you didn’t think of it first.”

“We’re not renaming a Festival that’s been around for centuries-”

“Not with that attitude, you’re not.”

“You’re exhausting, you know that.” Zuko says, but he’s smiling. “Anyway, on top of everything, uncle still hasn’t written to say whether he can come or not, though I’m really not sure if having him here would make me more or less anxious, honestly-”

“Oh, right.” Sokka had completely forgotten. “Sorry, um- he did actually.”

“Huh?”

“Uncle Iroh wrote to me a couple days ago, told me that this year’s- uh, whatever the Earth Kingdom equivalent of the festival is, I forget- is looking like it’s going to be really busy, apparently the parade is only a block away from his shop this year, and he wants to be on hand to make sure things don’t get too crazy.” Sokka says sheepishly, “I should’ve told you, sorry, I forgot about it with- uh, the stuff going on. Preparations for the festival, and whatnot.”

Zuko raises his eyebrow. “Uncle wrote to you instead of me.”

“He, uh, thought it’d get to me faster? Because I get less mail than you do, I guess.”

Snorting, Zuko rolls his eyes. “Or he just stopped bothering to pretend you’re not his favourite.” He deadpans. “Ever since you came up with your little ‘fool move’, or whatever-”

“Excuse you, it is called the Fool’s Gambit, and it’s the first-”

“First new Pai Sho strategy to be officially acknowledged by the elder game-makers in over forty years,” Zuko says, in that voice he does when he’s mimicking his uncle. “Yeah. I know. Agni knows I’ve heard enough about it from the two of you.” He rolls his eyes again. “It’s fine, he’s just the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father, why wouldn’t I mind him so obviously preferring you over me.”

Zuko’s tone is teasing, so Sokka counters, “Oh that’s rich, coming from my usurper as heir to the Southern Water Tribe chiefdom.” He lowers his voice a little, until it’s a gruff approximation of his father’s. “Your friend Zuko really is such a polite, generous young man. He’s going to make a great leader; the Fire Nation should be proud to have such a compassionate, level-headed ruler.” Sokka snorts back a laugh. “Level-headed. You.”

“He said that?” Zuko beams, a little proud flush on his cheeks. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about getting his approval. Comforting.”

…approval? Oh, right. Sokka’d actually gone a couple minutes, there, without thinking about the impending Zuko-Katara union. He clears his throat. “Um, anyway,” Sokka says, “the festival’s gonna be fine, Zuko. All the preparations are ahead of schedule, and you have me and Katara to help out if things go to shit. It was a great idea to showcase the young artists and performers in the festival, and it’s all gonna be fine.”

“And if I accidentally fuck something up and cause some kind of international incident?”

“Then yes, I am willing to kill you.”

Zuko huffs out a laugh. “Not really where I was going with that.”

“I’m still willing.” Sokka teases, squeezing Zuko’s hand. Which. He probably shouldn’t’ve done. He pulls his hand away, clearing his throat. “Seriously, Zuko. You’ve hosted festivals before, and you’re gonna have to do it again. It’s much more likely that some assassin tries their luck than you mess something up and start another world war.”

“Comforting.” Zuko says dryly. “What would I do without you, Sokka.”

What indeed.

Beyond the impending celebrations, Zuko seems to have suddenly become aware that, although there are only four days left until the Star Festival, there’s only a little more than a week left before Katara’s scheduled to leave for the Earth Kingdom (and she's already stayed a week longer than she was meant to). As such, his last tether to sanity and rational behaviour breaks completely, leaving him in a free fall of obsession and lunacy.

It starts like this: Sokka is summoned to the dining room, where an older man and Zuko are surveying the length of the table, which has been filled with elaborate, ornate, hairpieces in a variety of shapes, colours, and sizes, each sparkling with precious stones.

“Sokka!” Zuko looks up when he enters. “What’s Katara’s favourite colour?”

“What?” Sokka stares at the scene before him. “How should I know?”

Zuko blinks at him, unimpressed. “Uh, she’s your sister?” He rolls his eyes. “Azula’s tried to kill me half a dozen times and I still know her favourite colour is pink. I mean, she doesn’t like to admit it, but it is.”

“Okay, damn, sorry for being such a shitty brother I guess.” Sokka huffs. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“Because it ruins the whole surprise?” Zuko says dryly. “I want to get her a hairpiece to wear for the Star Festival, and I was thinking a jade piece would look nice, and be traditional, but if she doesn’t like green I could go with a sapphire, or even a ruby.”

He looks at Sokka expectantly. Sokka, who is now in a much worse mood than he was when he entered the room. “I dunno, she’s not super picky. Whatever’s fine.”

Zuko sighs, slow and exasperated, and levels Sokka with a look. “I know, Sokka, okay? You’re not exactly subtle.” He huffs, while Sokka’s heart stops beating, and drops down into his gut.

He- he knows?

Sokka stares, horrified, back at Zuko, who continues, “I know you think I’m being ridiculous, and over-the-top, and wasting a bunch of time and money trying to win over Katara when she already likes me, but this is important to me. This is something I need to do, and I really don’t think it’s too much to ask that you support me on this?”

Oh. Thank the spirits, for a second there- Sokka exhales, roughly. “Sorry. I just- sorry.” He swallows. “Um, blue. She’d like something blue, because then she can match it with Water Tribe stuff. She’s. Practical. Like that.”

“See, was that so hard?” Zuko shakes his head slowly, rolling his eyes, and starts inspecting the various blue options.

It only goes downhill from there, really.

That afternoon, Zuko decides to start learning the traditional Southern Water Tribe dialect. He spends twenty minutes lecturing Sokka about the necessity of preserving culture and tradition, which is a bit rich, seeing as they’re Sokka’s culture and traditions. Later that night, Sokka finds him with a small pile of bone flutes, spirits only know how he got them, trying to teach himself Water Tribe lullabies.

The next morning, Sokka overhears Eito telling someone, in a sing-song voice Sokka has never heard from him before, that Zuko has been spending a lot of time in the forge lately, and seems to have taken a special interest in jewellery making. Whoever he’s with grumbles something in response; Sokka can just about make out the words ‘doesn’t count’. Evidently, buying Katara ridiculously expensive hairpins isn’t gonna cut it; Zuko’s trying to make something, too.

Sokka answers more questions about Katara in the days leading up to the festival than he ever has his life. Zuko stops bothering to ask himself; Sokka will be sorting through paperwork, or sketching prototypes, or just trying to eat his fucking lunch in peace, and some random palace employee will come up and ask him about Katara’s favourite food, animal, flower, book, smell, emotion, whatever the fuck.

Later that day, Sokka walks into the main outer courtyard to see Zuko directing a team of men pulling a massive, towering chunk of white stone across the floor. He turns around and walks right back out.

Okay, so maybe he’s been stalling.

Every day, he wakes up and thinks, I have to do something about this. But, shockingly, there doesn’t seem to be a perfect time to interrupt important event preparations to make things supremely awkward and difficult for two of his favourite people. Go figure.

But, the day before the Star Festival, Sokka decides to tell Katara.

It seems like the easiest option, and being in love with her new boyfriend probably isn’t even the worst thing she’s forgiven him for (he still remembers the night they had a big fight when Sokka was twelve, and he cut half of her braid off while she slept- she really did try to drown him, that time), so he’s optimistic she’ll forgive him this, too. Maybe it’ll help ease some of the crushing weight from his chest.

Even if she does try to kill him, or worse, looks at him with those sad eyes that make Sokka feel like he's nine years old again, telling Katara is a thousand times less terrifying than telling Zuko.

So, when his morning meeting gets out an hour early (they actually agreed on something, for once), he sets out to find his sister. Qiuyue, one of the Kyoshi Warriors assigned to Zuko’s guard, says she saw Katara on her way to the red dining room, so Sokka makes his way over.

It’s kind of a weird place for her to be, Sokka considers as he walks. The dining rooms are referred to by colour and vary in size and capacity; the red one is the middle ground between an informal dinner between Zuko and a couple other people and a formal meal with anywhere from fifteen to thirty guests. They really only use the red room when the whole gang is back in town, and it’s kind of out of the way from the main rooms, anyway. Maybe she’s using the extra table space to do her transcribing?

There’s a door to the dining room, and then a small passageway with yet another door that opens to the main hall, for no reason Sokka can find, but that’s Fire Nation architecture for you. When he gets to the second, smaller, unnecessary door, though, he hears… music? And laughter? He presses his ear against it- that’s definitely music and laughter.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, and when he steps inside, he sees the long dining tables have been set aside against the wall, leaving a wide, open space in the middle of the room. Eito is standing against one wall, hand-cranking a large music box thats trilling out a slow, soft tune. There’s some crotchety old dude looking impatient against the other wall, holding a stack of papers. Sokka vaguely recognises him from the various meetings they had to plan the Star Festival; he’s some sort of event coordinator envoy sent from Ba Sing Se University. Zuko had invited the various art and creative departments from various prominent universities to set up info booths along the main plaza. Presumably, this guy’s come ahead to make sure the amalgamation of festival, grant award ceremony, and university recruiting drive runs smoothly.

But more importantly, in the middle of the room are Katara and Zuko, laughing and- well. Not dancing, but obviously trying to. Eito’s calling out steps, and Katara and Zuko are giggling, and stepping on each other’s feet, and Sokka really, really doesn’t want to be in this room right now.

Unfortunately, the moment he thinks that is the exact moment Eito spots him. “Minister Sokka!” He chirps, hand stilling mid-crank.

Katara and Zuko both whip around to look at him. Zuko’s hand stays on Katara’s waist, and hers doesn’t move from his shoulder, and neither of them jump apart or look guilty, so it really is only Sokka who feels like he’s caught them doing something indecent. Zuko does look vaguely unhappy, obviously not pleased at having been interrupted.

“Uh, hey guys,” Sokka manages to say awkwardly, “what’s up?”

They look at each other, then back to Sokka. “Practicing the enbukyoku for the Star Festival.” Katara says simply.

“Ah, right.” Sokka’s foot scuffs at the floor. “The boring Fire Nation dances. The same six steps over and over, plus intermittent spinning. So easy a Katara could do it.”

Katara glares at him. “Well, apparently hard enough that a Zuko can’t.”

“But-” Sokka glances at Zuko, brow furrowing. “We learned it together last year, remember Zuko? Before the summer solstice?”

Zuko’s face twitches, a little. “I must’ve been… distracted. Or something.”

“Distracted.” Sokka says, with a knowing smile and a huffed-out laugh. “Weren’t we all.”

Sokka honestly doesn’t remember whether Zuko was a particularly good dancer, or not. The dance instructor, Xiu Mei, was a beautiful, graceful, flexible envoy from one of the outer islands of the Fire Nation. She was Sokka’s focal point as he tried to impress her with his dancing, and when that (obviously) failed, he asked for private lessons. He spent the week leading up to the solstice thinking of nothing but her, and learned multiple styles of dance in the meantime. Sokka’d just broken up with Suki, and, after the festival for the solstice had wrapped up, he and Xiu Mei spent a fairly mind-blowing weekend together. At the time, he considered it a week of effort very well spent.

Now, with Zuko’s hair in a low bun resting against the nape of his neck, an embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks and dusting his collarbone, just visible from under his robes, a thousand Xiu Mei’s wouldn’t turn Sokka’s head.

How things have changed.

And… how they haven’t. Sokka realises, with sudden clarity, that Zuko’s trying the same thing with Katara. Dance lessons. Lots of close proximity, and touching, and spinning while looking into each other’s eyes. Pretending not to know how to dance is a good con, if you can pull it. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He gives them an incredibly awkward wave, about to turn to leave, but Katara’s voice stops him.

“Wait, Sokka, since you’re-” She glances up at Zuko, and her face makes an expression that Sokka doesn’t understand, but obviously is meant to communicate something to Zuko. “Since you’re already here, maybe you wanna give it a go? Teaching Zuko, I mean.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Are you implying I’m a better teacher than you?”

She glares back at him. “I don’t have a lot of practice dancing. Most of my experience is going along with whatever Aang was doing at the time.” She huffs, untangling herself from Zuko. “So in this one, specific, circumstance, you might be better equipped to teach him.”

“A better teacher and a better dancer.” Sokka whistles. “You’re just full of compliments today, Katara.”

Katara rolls her eyes, and Sokka glances at Zuko. It’s one thing to pretend to not know how to dance to get some quality time with a girl. Getting stuck ‘learning’ how to dance from her brother, though, that’s not what Zuko signed up for. But Zuko just looks back at him, a little hesitant, but no trace of the ‘oh shit I fucked up’ Sokka expected to see in his eyes. And Sokka may be dumb sometimes but he’s not an idiot, he’s not just gonna let an opportunity like this pass him by. He steps further onto the floor.

The nameless man, the event coordinator, juts into view. “Fire Lord Zuko, I really must insist- there are still many things to be double checked and confirmed before the festival.” He glances between the three of them. “This seems like an unnecessary waste of what little time we have left.”

Sokka stops, a foot away from Zuko, who had been reaching out a hand for Sokka to take. Oh. Cool. Fuck you too, random guy Sokka doesn’t remember the name of.

“Oh, c’mon.” Katara, who, no matter what she claims, still has that knee-jerk reaction of telling older male authority figures precisely where they can stick their insistence. “What will people think, if the Fire Lord doesn’t dance at the festival? This seems like a very necessary waste of time, to me.”

Nameless dude who hates Sokka personally makes a sour face. “In my experience, the host of such an occasion rarely has enough time to dance.” Why is this guy even here?

Katara levels him with a significantly unimpressed look. “You know, for someone so invested in planning a party, you’re really no fun at all.”

“A few more minutes can’t hurt.” Zuko says simply, but without room for argument, taking Sokka’s hand. “Besides, I promised Hou Liu a dance last time she was here, would you really have me offend the matriarch of such a powerful family?”

Sokka quirks an eyebrow. “So, what, I’m the only thing standing between you and an international incident?”

Katara snorts out a laugh. “Agni help him.”

“You really can’t dance?” Sokka asks Zuko quietly, as he pulls him in, hand coming to rest on Zuko’s waist instinctively. If Zuko actually needs lessons, Sokka should probably be teaching him how to lead. But Sokka doesn’t know how to follow, so that would mean Zuko dancing beside Sokka, as opposed to with him. And Sokka’s not trying to waste this opportunity.

Zuko raises his eyebrow. “False modesty has never really been my thing.”

“Sure, but, you do tend to understate your abilities.” Sokka says, lifting their clasped hands into the proper position as Eito begins turning the music box, and the tinkling of notes fills the echoing room. “I’m thinking of the time you breathed fire then turned around and said you were just ‘pretty good’ at firebending.” Maybe, if he just keeps talking, he can drown out the voice in his head that’s reciting a laundry list of reasons why this is a terrible idea. It’s just a dance. People dance with other people all the time.

Chuckling, Zuko lets Sokka adjust his posture, and line up their bodies properly, with a leading hand on his waist. “In my defence, I am objectively the worst firebender in my family.” That is, technically, true. And it’s just as terrifying a fact as it was when they were teenagers. “And I really can’t dance.”

“Okay, well, dancing’s just a conversation, really.” He starts moving, leading at the slowest pace he can. Sokka gives Zuko his best grin. “C’mon, Fire Lord. Talk to me.”

“I-” There’s a high flush on Zuko’s cheeks, and he stumbles against Sokka’s careful steps.  His eyes tear away from Sokka’s and his head angles down towards the floor, eyes desperately tracking the movement of Sokka’s feet. Oh, okay, he really can’t dance. “Okay?”

“C’mon, we’ll start with the basics.” Sokka tries to get Zuko’s movements to sync up with his own. “Back, side, side, front, side, side, back, side, side-”

Zuko steps on his foot. “Shit, wait, okay-”

“It’s the same steps over and over, Zuko.” Sokka grins. “Right goes back, left goes side, right goes side.”

“My left, or-” He steps on Sokka’s foot again, and then tries to step sideways with his right foot over his left, legs twisting together and almost toppling him over. Sokka keeps his hand steady on Zuko’s lower back, so he doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“Your left.” He watches the aggressive concentration on Zuko’s face, like it’s the most important thing in the world, getting this simple box step right. “Left goes front, right goes side, left goes side, and we’re back at the beginning.”

“Ugh, I,” Zuko chews his lip, frustrated. Sokka tries not to stare. “I don’t think I speak this language.”

“Okay, then forget talking.” Sokka keeps the steps in time, as Zuko trips over his own feet while Sokka moves him backwards. Like his inability to hold a conversation with strangers, or tell a joke properly the first time round, it’s way more endearing than it should be, this simple task that Zuko’s terrible at. “Fight with me.”

Zuko’s head flicks back up. “What?”

“Just- don’t worry about the steps, okay?” Sokka says, quietly. “It’s just like sparring. Feel where I’m going, and mirror my movements. I move, you move. I’m striking towards you and you’re dodging. Think of it like a fight.”

Zuko’s expression is skeptical, and his head sinks back down, watching for Sokka’s steps again, but he stops stumbling, at least.

It takes a couple of minutes, but Zuko starts to get it.

Unsurprising, really; firebending, no matter what anyone (Zuko) tries to argue, is basically just aggressive dancing. Which means Zuko has experience picking up choreography, whether he knows it or not, and easily settles into the repetitive steps once he (finally) finds the rhythm. When he realises he has the steps, his eyes lift from his feet and up to Sokka’s face.

“Oh.” Zuko says, and somehow that one syllable contains more than Sokka can understand. He starts to smile. “You were right; it is like fighting.”

“I mean, a little slower.” Sokka laughs breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded, lost in the colours of Zuko’s eyes.

“And nicer.” Zuko agrees.

“Yeah,” Sokka inhales, “nicer.” Exhale. “Think you can handle a spin?”

Zuko pulls a face. “Sounds a little advanced, but I’ll try my best.”

Sokka raises their clasped hands, and uses his hold on Zuko’s waist to push him through the turn, under Sokka’s arm, and brings him back into their original positions.

“Oh, beautiful technique.” Sokka teases. “See? You’re a fast learner.”

Zuko chuckles softly. “Obviously I should’ve just asked you to teach me in the first place.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for years,” Sokka gloats, keeping the step pattern but beginning to lead Zuko in a circle around the floor, “anything Katara can do, I can do better.”

“Oh really.” Zuko grins. “So if I trip and break my nose, you can use waterbending to heal it?”

“Don’t be a dick.” Sokka huffs, startling a laugh out of Zuko. It rings out, echoing in the silence around them. “Obviously, no, but if you do decide to trip, I’ll catch you so you never break anything in the first place.” He spins Zuko around with one arm, pulling him in so Zuko’s shoulder blade is flush against the right side of Sokka’s torso. He holds him there, leading them around in a circle. Their eyes meet.

“Hm.” Zuko smirks. “I guess that is better.”

They keep dancing, Sokka throwing in twists and spins as he leads Zuko around the room. He gives little corrections as they go, showing Zuko how to hold his arms when he spins, telling him to step between Sokka’s legs when he moves, as opposed to towards them. And for the first time in days, the weird ache in his chest goes away. There’s no worry about one-sided affection, or hurting his sister, or ruining one of the best friendships he’s ever had. There’s just him, and Zuko, and the easy way they move together.

“Okay, now both arms up-” Sokka says, and pulls at their clasped hands until they’re above Zuko’s head. He spins him once in place, then pulls him forward and moves him so he’s spun around Sokka’s body while Sokka stands in place. Zuko likes spinning, obviously, because he lets out a little laugh as he goes, and when Sokka’s got him back around, spinning him in place once more for good measure, he’s flushed and smiling widely. From there, he’s in the perfect position for a move Xiu Mei taught him. Sokka lifts both of their hands up, and pulls his arms back, bending at the elbows so he’s pulling Zuko closer, then lets his hands trail down either side of Zuko’s shoulder blades, back down to his waist. Their bodies are flush together now, Zuko’s arms resting naturally atop Sokka’s shoulders. Zuko’s arms relax from there, one wrapped around Sokka’s shoulder, with his hand resting around the base of Sokka’s neck, the other gripping his forearm.

He keeps them spinning to distract himself from how close Zuko is. Sokka remembers, reluctantly, that he’s supposed to be teaching Zuko, not just staring into his eyes, and spins him outwards, then back in, until he can dip him low. “Okay, so keep your right arm around me, right foot back, and let go of your left arm and lean,” Sokka narrates the dip, and Zuko goes easily.

Sokka had been intending to say more words, probably, but they catch in his throat as his eyes meet Zuko’s again. There's something about looking at Zuko's stupid, perfect features from above that makes Sokka's head spin. Not to mention the way Zuko's letting Sokka take some of his weight, trusting him to hold Zuko up with a single arm steady around his waist.

“Uh.” Sokka manages, eventually, “So, um, this is a dip, you know, you can hold it for as long as you want, if you, um.” He clears his throat. “Wanna be dramatic. Just like, try to match it up with the…” Sokka trails off, as he becomes aware of his surroundings. “Music?”

Except, well, there isn’t any music.

Sokka pulls Zuko back up, spinning him out distractedly as his eyes scan the room. There isn’t any music, because Eito isn’t turning the music box, because Zuko and Sokka are alone in the room. It’s… completely empty.

“We- where did everyone go?”

He looks back at Zuko, who’s already looking at him. “Dunno.” He shrugs. “Guess they left.”

Cool, so three adults left, and the music stopped playing, and Sokka didn’t notice any of it. A lifetime of devoting himself to being a hunter, warrior, and protector, aware of his surroundings at all times, all rendered fucking useless by a few minutes dancing with Zuko. And Sokka thought he couldn’t sink any lower.

“Oh.” Sokka looks around the empty room, as if a second glance will reveal them hiding under the fucking tables. “I guess we should-”

Zuko tugs on the hand still linked with Sokka’s, pulling him around until they’re face to face again, and places his hand back on Sokka’s shoulder. “Show me that turn again, where you pulled me in against your side and then led me around a few steps.”

He’s moving, stepping like he’s following, even though Sokka’s not leading. Sokka stumbles momentarily, but catches up, hand finding Zuko’s waist again, and takes over moving them around the floor, though- “There’s no music.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he hasn’t stopped smiling. “Just do it, Sokka.”

“Yessir, Mr. Fire Lord.” Sokka teases, and decides to take his time getting to the turn; they’re dancing, music or no. He might as well make it last.

He’s spinning them both around together, keeping the steps but moving in a tight circle, when Zuko starts humming. Quietly at first, but then slowly louder, a soft, slow melody that’s perfectly matched to the time signature of their dance.

He spins Zuko outward, watches for the smile that lights up his face before he pulls him back in. “I didn’t know you could sing.” Sokka says softly.

Zuko smiles. “I can’t.” He breathes out a laugh. “And I’m not going to. But I’ve played instruments; I can carry a tune.”

“Huh.” Sokka doesn’t even try to suppress his smile.

Zuko goes back to humming, slower than before, and Sokka slows their steps to match unconsciously, until they’re just stepping together slowly, in a small circle. Zuko’s hand slides from its perch on Sokka’s shoulder, down around his shoulder blade, which pulls them even closer together. Zuko’s head turns, and so does Sokka’s- he can feel the skin of Zuko’s cheek brushing against his, and the humming vibrates against his jaw. It sends a shiver down his spine, and a warmth spreading deep in his chest. He inhales shakily, and tries not to let his steps falter.

Zuko’s humming is smoother than his speaking voice, and pitched lower. The song is slow, and sweet. It sounds traditional; Sokka wants to ask Zuko where he learned it, whether it was from his mother or some old play only Zuko’s ever heard of, but he can’t seem to get the question out. There’s something in melody that Sokka can’t bring himself to interrupt.

So they just move, slowly, together.

He can feel the press of Zuko’s chest against his own, the vibration of his low humming against Sokka’s ear. Sokka should, by all rights, be freaking out. But he’s…  he’s reminded of something Katara told him once, when he had, quietly, asked her how it felt to stop rain from falling. I just felt… calm. Like it was something I was meant to do. Like it was what my body was made for. He thinks maybe his body was made to fit into Zuko’s like this. How could he be anything but blissfully calm, doing what he was born to do.

A minute passes, or maybe an hour, before Zuko says quietly, “Dancing’s never come this easy to me before.” Sokka can feel the smile against his skin.

Sokka’s instinct is to be, well, a bit of an asshole, and point out that they’re really not dancing at this point; what they’re doing is barely a step up from swaying. But that would shatter- whatever this is, and he’s been experimenting with the concept of tact in recent years, so instead he just smiles, and says, “Well, it helps to know your partner.”

“Makes sense.” Zuko says, pulling away just enough to look into Sokka’s eyes. “Sometimes it feels like you know me better than I do.”

“Right, well.” Sokka bites his lip to keep from saying, does Katara? and tries to focus on not ruining this moment. “I’ve seen you bend, and watched you handle your daos, enough to know that you,” he lets go of one of Zuko’s hands, uses the other to twirl him around in a tight circle, “like spinning.”

Zuko chuckles, grinning widely at Sokka. “Is it that obvious?”

In lieu of response, Sokka builds up momentum by spinning their bodies together, then lets go of one hand, throwing Zuko out with the other, so he spins out at double-time, and with a snap of his wrist spins him back in again. It’s as fast as they’re gonna get, with their current time signature, and it catches Zuko off guard. His hand comes out to steady himself, flat against Sokka’s chest, over his heart. He laughs breathlessly, eyes coming up to meet Sokka’s. Zuko’s breath catches on huffs of laughter, and his eyes- Sokka thinks, hopes- flick down to his mouth.

This is it, Sokka. You’ll never get a better chance.

They breathe, together. Sokka doesn’t think their lips have ever been this close; it would be nothing, nothing at all, to kiss him. To close that fraction of distance.

A couple of inches, and Sokka’s entire life changes.

He pushes at Zuko’s waist, spins him back out, until there are two arm lengths between them. It doesn’t feel like enough. No matter how he feels about Zuko, he is not the person who tries to kiss his sister's boyfriend. He could never be that person. So Sokka bows, and tries not to look Zuko in the eyes. He can’t be sure what he’ll see there, so he doesn’t want to see it. “And that’s how it’s done.” He says, voice hoarser than he’d like to admit, then lets go of Zuko’s hand and bows, so he has an excuse to stare at the floor.

“Uh- thanks.” Zuko says breathlessly, then clears his throat. “You know, I think you’re right,” he says, as Sokka straightens, “You are better than Katara. Just- don’t tell her I said that.” He grins at Sokka then, like they’re co-conspirators in this big secret of Sokka’s dancing abilities.

Sokka… Sokka needs some air.

Sokka needs to find his sister.

“Actually, I was coming here to talk to Katara, I should go find her- I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?” Sokka blurts out, not really waiting for a response as he strides out of the room as fast as he can without actively running away.

He all but throws open the second set of doors, and Eito nearly jumps a foot in the air in shock. “Wha- oh!” Eito startles. “Minister Sokka! May I compliment you on your dancing?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.” Sokka huffs, and Eito’s face furrows in confusion. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Oh, she left a bit before I did, I was trying to keep the music going before I realised you didn’t need it.” He says, with a smile that’s a bit too knowing for Sokka’s tastes. “I didn’t see where she was headed.”

“But you saw her leave.” Sokka presses. “Did she look upset?”

“….no, she was smiling?” Eito says slowly. “The guy she was with didn’t look too happy though, the event planner who thinks the Fire Lord takes orders from him, as opposed to the other way around?”

Sokka considers emphasising to Eito that Zuko tries very hard not to give orders, actually, especially not to visiting officials from other nations, but figures it isn’t worth the time it’d waste. “Uh, thanks Eito. I’ll try to find her myself- if you see Katara, just… let her know I’m looking for her?”

“Of course.” Eito bows with a smile.

It takes a few minutes, but he finally finds Katara in the cabinet room.

It wouldn’t’ve been elegant, but in his defence, the words ‘Katara I need to talk to you I think I just had a Moment with your boyfriend, and by the way I’m also in love with him’ had been on the tip of his tongue. That is, until he realised there was someone else in the room with her.

Katara’s sat at the head of the table, lounging in Zuko’s seat. A few seats down, the crotchety killjoy from before is bent over a clipboard. Sokka would bet good money that when the two of them entered the room, she made a beeline for the Fire Lord’s chair and dared the man to say anything about it. That’s Katara for you.

“Hey Sokka.” She says, as she crosses something off a list. She glances up at him, and Sokka knows his sister well enough to read the look in her eyes that very clearly says thank the spirits, I will murder this man if I have to spend five more minutes in his presence. She doesn't look upset with Sokka, though, so the two of them must've left the red dining room before the dance had strayed out of platonic territory. So there's that, at least. “We’re finishing up, just gimme a sec.”

The older man looks between the siblings, with an indignant facial expression that very clearly says he is nowhere near finishing up. “Miss Katara, it is expected that the Fire Lord review all the necessary preparations for such an event. We have several prominent faculty members and donors in attendance, the latter of whom need to be appropriately provided for. The Fire Lord assured me-”

Sokka tilts his head. “Miss?” He interrupts, simply, lazily, but with enough authority underneath it to shut him up. Old guy looks up at him, obviously irritated, and Sokka glances at his nineteen year old sister, lounging in the Fire Lord’s seat. “Sorry, Katara, I didn’t realise your title had changed in the last thirty seconds.”

Old guy looks like he’d rather chew glass than be in this room, right now. “Master Katara,” He grits out, bowing low. “With all due respect, as you are not the Fire Lord, I don’t think you have the authority to sign off on some of these- excuse me!” He protests, as Sokka leans over and snatches the paper out of his hands.

“She doesn’t; I do.” Sokka says simply, eyes scanning the page. “Actually, most of this would be better cleared with Eito; he’s been running point on the festival, and he can show you which rooms have been allocated, and put you in touch with the company providing the equipment, tables and chairs and whatnot, if you’re so worried there won’t be enough.”

“You want me to discuss these matters with the Fire Lord’s servant.”

“He’s not a servant, and I just told you he’s been integral to the planning process.” Sokka looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Or you could always just take my word for it. Your call, really.” He reads until the end, flipping the page to make sure there’s nothing on the back. Exhaling, he meets the man’s eyes again. “Your estimates bring you fifty gold pieces over your allocated stipend.”

Old guy stutters. “Excuse me?”

“I have a good head for numbers.” Sokka smiles at him. “And I have been in at least a meeting a week for two months planning this spiritsforsaken event. Your total is over budget.”

“We-” Old guy clears his throat. “There was an issue with the catering.”

Sokka takes a deep breath, and looks at his sister, eyebrow raised. She shrugs back at him, which is all the permission he needs. Sokka turns back to old guy, smiling with more teeth than strictly necessary. “You seem to be under the impression that Fire Lord Zuko needs to be bothered, constantly, by your little list. You’re undermining his authority and presuming to have a claim on his time. You, obviously, think whether or not a bunch of old rich people have somewhere to sit is the Fire Lord’s problem. It’s not. There are dozens of other people whose literal job it is to handle all of this, and expecting the Fire Lord to cater to your every concern is either blatant disrespect for the office he holds, or narcissism. As a courtesy, I’ll assume the latter.” He exhales. The amount of people who like to pull obnoxious power plays and take advantage of Zuko’s fear of abusing his position by treating the fucking Fire Lord like their personal secretary is honestly getting annoying. Sokka’s always willing to tell them to fuck off, though, even if Zuko isn’t. “If I sign off on your extra fifty gold pieces, will you leave him- and us- alone.”

Old guy opens his mouth, then shuts it again. Finally, looking like it physically pains him, he bows. “As you say, Minister.”

“Well alrighty then.” Sokka chirps, with a wide smile, snatching the brush from Katara’s hand, scribbling his name at the bottom, and holding it back out for him. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in the Fire Nation.”

Old guy bows again, contempt clear in his eyes, and leaves the room.

“That looked fun.” Katara pipes up, once he’s gone. “Was that fun?”

“I honestly thought it’d get less fun, all the times I’ve had to remind people three times my age that I basically run this country, but the shine still hasn’t worn off. ” He grins, falling into the chair beside her.

“You basically run this country.” Katara deadpans, with an unimpressed look.

“I mean,” Sokka gestures vaguely. “Sure, Zuko technically runs it, but I outrank everybody else, and he says yes to all of my ideas, so yeah. Basically.”

Katara rubs at her nose. “The two of you running a country, together,” she groans, “what a terrifying thought.”

“Excuse you, we’re doing a great job so far.” Sokka snips, then pauses. “Actually, that does… tie in with what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Katara sits back in the chair, brow raised. “Okay?”

Sokka finds himself at a complete loss as to what to do with his hands. The left one has apparently developed a weird nervous tremor in the past couple of seconds. “It’s… kind of. Unpleasant? To talk about.”

“Every conversation I have with you is unpleasant.” Katara says easily, without venom.

Sokka rolls his eyes, but decides to ignore that. “Like, okay, I- I should’ve told you earlier, I just didn’t know how, and it never seemed like the right time, and I didn’t want to upset you-”

Katara’s brow furrows, as she recoils, just a fraction, in her seat. “Upset me?”

“Well, yeah.” Sokka fidgets. “I know you’re not gonna be happy about it, and that’s completely fair, I just- I don’t like keeping secrets from you. Even secrets you don’t necessarily want to hear.”

“Oh.” Katara says, with some gravity, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, I know what this is about.”

“You… do.”

“I figured it out a while back.” She tilts her head, thoughtfully. “Well, I heard someone mention it in passing.”

“They- wait, does everybody know?” Sokka pales. He thought he was at least being kind of subtle.

“I don’t know about everybody, but if you thought it was a secret you obviously underestimated the palace gossip chain.” Katara chuckles, dryly. “I mean, I can’t say I was thrilled when I heard about it, you know, she did try to kill all of us, but.” Sokka freezes, mouth halfway open in a response. Wait… what? “I do think Zuko’s doing the right thing, beginning an era of peace with forgiveness. Even if I, personally, can’t forgive her, not yet, or… maybe ever. I respect that she had her trauma, and doesn’t deserve to rot in a jail cell for her methods of coping with it, as fucked up as it may have been.” She exhales, and obviously, travelling with Aang the last few years has mellowed Katara a bit.

But more to the point, fuck. “Oh.” Oh, this is an entirely different, equally uncomfortable conversation he’s been putting off having with his sister.

When he and Zuko had made the decision, months ago, Sokka had vowed to break the news to Katara in person. Then, of course, the mess he’s currently drowning in pushed it to the back of his mind. And, well. Now that they’re talking about it, bringing up the Zuko thing would be insensitive, and feel like a cop-out. He inhales, and tries not to feel like he’s been granted a stay of execution. Funny, given the circumstances.

“I’m… I’m glad you see it like that. I know it’s hard, thinking of Hama out there somewhere, but I really think…” He trails off, watching the sinking, shocked expression seep through Katara’s features, as she stares back at him. Sokka falters. “Or was that. Not what you were talking about.”

It takes her a few seconds to find her voice again, before she cries, “I was talking about Azula!” An aggressive gesture accompanies the words. “You’re rehabilitating Hama?!”

Sokka grimaces. “We’re rehabilitating. …both of them?”

Katara gapes at him, about fifty different types of incredulity and anger flitting through her expression. “Azula, I can understand, she’s Zuko’s family, but Hama, Sokka, what the fuck.”

“What’s the difference?” Sokka says. When Katara continues to look at him like he’s crazy, he sighs. “You just said you couldn’t condemn Azula for living with her trauma the only way she knew how. Hama was locked up for decades, and who knows what they did to waterbenders back then. She was put in a horrible position, dehumanised and forced to watch her friends and family slowly killed, and she found the only way out. And sure, she was bitter and angry and lashed out at the wrong people, but so did Azula?” He takes a breath. “We wanted to help both of them, regardless of who their family is.”

“But she-” Katara protests, “She’s dangerous, Sokka.”

Sokka levels her with a look. “Azula’s fire is twice as hot as Zuko’s and she tries to electrocute him basically every time she sees him.” He thinks about it. “Aang drowned half a Fire Nation fleet singlehandedly at the Northern Water Tribe! We’re old enough to stop pretending they didn’t all die, right? We’re there, now?”

Katara rolls her eyes. “That was different.”

“Sure, but they’re still dead.” Sokka says simply, then sighs. “Look, she’s in the Northern Tribe. She’s with our people, the people she wanted to protect. And we’ve found bloodbending can be really useful for healing people.”

“You’re letting her teach-”

“We would, if anyone wanted to learn. There’s still kind of a stigma about it, but.” Sokka shrugs. “I mean, c’mon. It’s only even possible on the full moon. And any gift from Yue can’t be all bad.”

Katara looks away from him, obviously in a huff. He reaches out, and places a comforting hand on his sister’s arm.

“What Hama did to innocent people was monstrous. But bloodbending isn’t.” He says quietly, because he has a feeling that’s what she’s most upset about, right now. “I mean, if you ask me, all bending is pretty fucked up when you think about it, but it’s not inherently good, or bad. Being able to bloodbend doesn’t make- anyone- any worse of a person than being able to waterbend. Or firebend, for that matter.”

Katara inhales shakily, and looks back at her brother, eyes narrowed. “I don’t like wise Sokka.”

He grins at her. “I could say something stupid, if it’ll make you feel better.”

She makes a little face, like she’s trying not to smile. “It might help.”

“Um.” Sokka tries to come up with something. “What if the reason we can’t walk through mirrors is because our reflection blocks the way?”

Katara blinks at him. “What.”

“I dunno! It was the first thing that came to mind!”

She laughs, softly, in disbelief. “You run a country.”

“Hey, you wanted me to say something stupid, I said something stupid.” Sokka grins, then feels his expression soften. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk to you about Hama before we made the decision.”

“No, you-” Katara clears her throat. “You were probably right to. And it’s the right thing to do, whether I like it or not.” She takes a deep breath, then nudges him with her elbow. “So. Uncomfortable conversation over, wanna grab some lunch?”

“Oh, um.” Sokka pushes out his chair, and wishes more than anything he could just spend time with his sister without feeling painfully guilty. “I, uh, already ate, and I’ve got tons of work to do. But I’ll see you later, yeah?”

There’s something weird in Katara’s eyes, as she gives him a slight smile. “Sure, Sokka. See you later.”

Sokka doesn’t see Zhiruo often; she’s usually employed by the Fire Nation ballet, and various theatre companies, but on special occasions like these, she comes to dress Sokka. Has done since he was fifteen, which is, objectively, fucking ridiculous. Someone as qualified as she is, who dresses and makes up the most talented performers in the country, hired for the night, when all she really does is put some stuff into Sokka’s hair to make it shinier. The first time the concept had been proposed to Sokka, as a teenager, he’d been thrilled. Over the years, though, the joy was quickly replaced by guilt.

He had tried to apologise for it, once, and she’d looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

“Usually, I have to deal with at least a dozen emaciated egomaniacs who think they know more about hair and makeup than I do,” Zhiruo had said, in a dazed voice, “I’m going to help you into your robes, spend two minutes on your hair, and then attend a gala in the palace, and I’m going to get paid twice as much to do so than I do in a week at the ballet. And that’s with my new ability to charge more because I’m on retainer for the Fire Lord’s household.” She’d smiled at him, then. “This is the best job I’ve ever had.”

He’d stopped feeling as guilty about it, after that, but he still thinks it’s a waste of her talents.

“Zhiruo!” He greets her with a smile on the eve of the Star Festival, pulling her into a hug.

“Minister Sokka.” She gives a small bow, when he lets her go. “What new and exciting thing are we doing with your hair, tonight?”

Zhiruo, like Eito and most of the palace staff, had a bit of trouble adjusting to not having to bow and scrape before Sokka and Zuko, like she would have before with Ozai and Azula. But she caught on much quicker than the rest of them, and thoroughly enjoys teasing him about having had the same hairstyle all his life. Last time she was summoned, she had taken one look at Zuko’s shoulder-length hair and immediately pretended to weep with anguish. Sokka had laughed so hard he’d actually been the one crying, as Zuko did a terrible job of pretending not to be offended until Sokka’d explained the joke.

Usually, Sokka answers with some elaborate hairstyle he absolutely doesn’t have enough hair for, but tonight he responds, slightly sheepish, “Is there any sort of- makeup magic you can do to make me look… better?”

Zhiruo frowns slightly, eyebrow raised, as Sokka sits in front of his bedroom mirror. “Better?”

“Yeah, I dunno, just-” Sokka huffs. “I really don’t know anything about makeup, but I just- I wanna look good, tonight.”

“…okay.” Zhiruo says slowly. She meets his eyes through the reflection. “Good in what way?”

Sokka sighs, frustrated. “Just like, a little bit of an extra- whatever. Enough to turn a head, maybe.”

She gives him a look that’s eerily Katara, just pure, unfiltered, patronising judgment. “As if you don’t turn them enough already?” She scoffs, then, before he can even commit to the pleading eyes, raises her palms in surrender. “Okay, fine, sure, we’ll see what we can do.”

Sokka hasn’t had someone put makeup on his face in years, and he’s still not great at just sitting still and having things poked at his eyes, but he manages it. Zhiruo lines his eyes with kohl, and puts something on his cheek- and collar- bones so they catch the light, and something else on his chin and the edge of his jaw, to define his jawline. She spreads a cream on his lips, just a shade pinker than the skin there. It only takes about five minutes, but when Sokka looks at his reflection in the mirror, it’s a vast improvement.

“Oh wow, I’m kinda hot.” Sokka says, appraising himself as he turns back and forth, trying to see his face from every angle. He glances at Zhiruo’s reflection, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “Right? You gotta admit, I’m a little bit hot.”

Zhiruo is old enough to be his mother, so obviously Sokka isn’t expecting much, but the way she scoffs still kind of stings, until she follows it with, “Minister Sokka, let’s not pretend we don’t both know you could roll out of bed, throw on a burlap sack, and still have a dozen women falling at your feet.” She rolls her eyes. “If anything, the makeup makes you a danger to society.”

His grin gets that much wider, and he wiggles his eyebrows as he says, “So, you’re saying I’m hot.” Zhiruo rolls her eyes, and picks up the cream she uses in his hair, before pulling it out of its wolftail.

“You’re not exactly my type, Minister Sokka.” She says, combing her hands through his hair before braiding it back, and tying it up again. Zhiruo pauses for a moment, before pulling a single strand out of the braid and letting it fall across his face. “But if you want to turn a head, believe me, it’ll turn.”

She assesses her work again, before jerking up, just slightly. “I almost forgot.” She reaches into one of her bags, and pulls out a dark blue box. “The Fire Lord asked me to give this to you, he said it’s for you to wear, tonight.” Zhiruo bows, and sets the box down on the table, in front of Sokka.

It’s tied up with a deep purple ribbon, and Sokka opens it with careful fingers, lifting the lid to look inside.

It’s… a hairpin. It’s beautiful, shining silver, in the twisting shape of cresting waves, inlaid with tiny, clear jewels that catch the light as Sokka turns it, and make the waves look like they’re moving. It almost reminds Sokka of Zuko’s crown, but of course the crown piece is simpler, more traditional, without the intricate, twisting lines. “It’s beautiful.”

“He also said to say, ‘sorry it’s not your favourite colour’.”

Sokka lifts his head. “What?” He glances back at the hairpin in his hands. “What does that mean?”

“I- I’m not sure, Minister Sokka.” She looks at him, confused. “That was all he said.”

Not Sokka’s favourite colour? Does Zuko even know what Sokka’s favourite colour is?

It seems like a clear reference to their conversation earlier in the week, when Zuko was agonising over jewellery choices for Katara. But… Sokka has no idea what to make of it. Katara gets a carefully selected, thoughtful piece of traditional jewellery, that probably symbolises her inevitable rank within the Fire Nation. This hairpiece doesn’t look traditional; Zuko probably saw the wave and thought ‘Water Tribe’, and didn’t bother asking Katara what Sokka’s favourite colour is. So is it… a dismissal? Zuko’s way of saying ‘you’re important to me, but not as important as your sister, don’t get ideas’? Or maybe, the optimist in Sokka chimes in, it’s his way of telling Sokka that he hasn’t forgotten about him just because he’s showering Katara with gifts. An acknowledgment of the awkward position he’s put Sokka in, while courting his sister. Even optimistically, it’s obviously a token of friendship, when Katara got a romantic gesture. Zuko couldn't even be bothered to deliver it in person; Sokka imagines, without wanting to, Zuko presenting whichever piece of stupidly expensive jewellery he bought to Katara. That nervous half-smile on his face, his eyes watching for a response.

Sokka sighs, as he hands the hairpiece to Zhiruo, and lets her pin it into his wolftail. This is gonna be a long night.

On his way from the living quarters to the main halls, where the invite-only portion of the festival is being held, Sokka stops to take another appraising look at himself in one of the huge mirrors. Apparently, buried somewhere in all the tomes Katara’s been sifting through, there had been illustrations of traditional formal robes worn by envoys from the Water Tribes in the Fire Nation. More practical for the heat than their clothes from home, but still inherently Water Tribe, rather than Fire Nation. Zuko had commissioned Jiayi to recreate some of these robes for Sokka and Katara to wear to the Star Festival, or so it has been explained to Sokka. Another fun surprise for him, delivered by someone who isn’t Zuko.

Sokka’s not sure where Katara is or how hers turned out, but he does, admittedly, love the look of his robes. As comfortable as Fire Nation clothes are, even in Water Tribe blues, they never feel quite authentically him. These, however- Sokka turns, admiring all sides of the robes- these feel right.

The combination of new clothes and makeup feel like armour, protecting and preparing Sokka for the night ahead. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to happen, or what he wants to happen. Maybe for him to take one look at Zuko and feel only friendship for him. Or to find someone, anyone, pretty and willing to distract Sokka from the pile of anxiety-inducing garbage his life has become. More than anything, if he’s being honest, he wants Zuko to take one look at Sokka and realise he’s been courting the wrong sibling.

Yeah, right.

Sokka nods at his reflection; if nothing else, he looks good. He looks like himself, just. Polished a little. Enough to give him the confidence to keep moving down the hall, towards a room he knows contains Zuko somewhere inside it.

In the weeks leading up to the festival, it had been suggested, by Sokka in fact, that if Zuko was so worried about people suspecting the Arts and Culture grants were biased in favour of Fire Nation citizens, or were in some way a ploy to steal away talent from other nations, or whatever nonsense kept Zuko up at night, it might be a good idea to dress in colours not affiliated with any nation. Black, white, or grey robes would establish Zuko’s position as a neutral supporter of creators, no matter where they came from or which nation they decided to use the grant money in.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

However, when Sokka, halfway down the stairs to the platform overlooking the main ballroom, takes one look at Zuko standing on the landing below and chokes on his own tongue, he’s forced to reconsider.

Black. Zuko, apparently, decided on black robes.

Black, impeccably tailored robes, that seem to skim along the lines of his body, highlighting every curve of muscle. The dark fabric is such a stark contrast to his usual red, making his paler skin sing. It brings out the colour of his eyes, and the line of his jaw.

Sokka can’t decide if he thinks Jiayi should be deported or given a medal of honour.

He stands, frozen on the steps, just. Watching Zuko talking to Eito, heads bowed towards each other as they survey the floor below them. Sokka couldn’t find the words to describe how fucking good Zuko looks in black if he tried. His brain manages to make its way through ‘fancy-hot and dangerous’ before it gives up completely.

“Sokka?”

Sokka flinches and turns to look behind him. Katara is descending the stairs, in her new robes.

There’s something about these ancient Water Tribe designs that gets to Sokka. They just look so… right. Like a piece that’s been missing from their lives in the Fire Nation. Like home. And seeing Katara in them… he thinks about the woman Yue never got to be, and this woman in front of him, who Katara almost didn’t get to be. The year leading up to Sozin’s comet (and honestly, every year since) contained so many terrifying moments; any one of them could have meant she never got to be this person. That Sokka never got to see her be this person.

In that moment Sokka forgets that Katara is, technically (upsettingly), his competition, because she’s his baby sister, and she looks so beautiful, and so grown up.

“Katara.” Sokka chokes out. Is he going to cry? That’s embarrassing. “Look at you.”

“Look at you!” She smiles, and it lights up her whole face.

“You’re wearing makeup!”

Katara laughs. “So are you!” She stops moving on the step above his, so they’re at eye level. “It looks great.”

“You look…” Sokka gestures vaguely at her. “You’re, like, a real person! What happened to my snot-nosed, bratty little sister?”

“Eh, she’s in here somewhere.” Katara teases, then her eyes flick over his shoulder. “Wow, Zuko!”

Sokka turns back around and sees Zuko, already watching them with a smile, and it’s possible he’s gotten more attractive since Sokka last saw him thirty seconds ago. Fuck, black looks good on him. Zuko’s eyes meet his, and stay there as Sokka, somehow, manages to walk down the stairs. His brain is entirely focused on the way Zuko’s lips are parted, almost in shock, the flush painting his skin. Zuko’s hair is shinier than usual, his eyes somehow brighter. He’s the kind of beautiful poets write about. He’s so hot Sokka might pass out.

“Hey.” Sokka says, head clouded over, as he reaches the bottom step.

“Hi.” Zuko exhales, smiling. It’s worse, up close. Someone’s put something that sparkles and catches the light along Zuko’s cheekbone. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something else, then shuts it again, shaking his head minutely. Zuko gestures vaguely between their faces. “We match!”

“What?” Sokka says, grinning. He has no idea what Zuko’s talking about, but then again, he’s not even sure he could reliably remember his own name, right now.

“The hairpin.” Zuko laughs. “It suits you.”

“Oh.” Sokka’s hand raises, absently, to his hair, where he knows the wave is sitting. If he's just noticing that his gift for Sokka technically matches the flame of his crown now, he definitely didn't mean it as a romantic gift. Good to know. “Yeah, thanks for… giving it to me.”

The sound of a throat clearing, that doesn’t come from Zuko and therefore Sokka can’t understand what else is possibly making it, registers in Sokka’s ear. Then, “Looking good, Zuko,” someone says, voice ringing with amusement.

Oh right. Katara’s also here.

Zuko’s eyes slide away from Sokka, and onto his sister. “Katara! You look incredible.” He glances back at Sokka, grinning. “You both do.”

“Well, we have you to thank.” Katara says. “And thank you so much for the hairpiece, really, you didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to.” Zuko insists, glancing back at Sokka.

“Seriously, though, you should wear black more often, it really suits you.” Katara’s elbow nudges Sokka in the side, and he flinches, pulling his eyes away from the way Zuko’s lips move when he talks. “Don’t you think, Sokka?”

The panic Sokka feels in that moment is all-consuming, like he’s been caught stealing, or, comparably, checking out his sister’s future husband. “Uh, yeah.” He tries to not to sound like someone who wants to spend the rest of his life looking at Zuko. “Y’know. You’ve looked worse.”

Zuko looks confused and amused at once, then expectant, like Sokka’s supposed to say something else.

Sokka glances at Katara. “Uh, so. We ready to go?”

Katara gives him a weird look, so he looks back at Zuko, who shrugs. “Uh, sure? I just need to help Eito run interference on a couple of last minute schedule changes, but I’ll see you both at dinner?” He nods at the siblings, then shuffles down the stairs, leaving them to survey the ballroom decorations.

With Zuko out of the way, Sokka notices that the party’s already started. Anything that happens inside the palace is strictly invite only, for security purposes, which means lots of familiar faces; government officials and gentry mingling below them as the musicians tune up and begin to play. More importantly, Zuko was standing in front of a gold tray of fancy glasses on a table next to the balcony. Oh thank fuck. Alcohol. Sokka grabs two glasses, and turns to hand one to Katara.

She’s staring back at him, like he’s an extremely annoying puzzle she can’t quite figure out. It’s…unnerving. Sokka squirms as she takes the glass from his hand, the expression never leaving her face. After a moment, Sokka blurts out, “What?”

“What is wrong with you?” She manages to both ask and scold, simultaneously.

“What?”

She nods her head slightly, in the direction Zuko’s just disappeared. “He looks great.”

Sokka balks. “So?”

“…so tell him?” Katara says, in a tone that clearly says she thinks Sokka is an unredeemable moron.

“Why should I tell him?” Sokka stares at his sister, bewildered and defensive. “You tell him, if you wanna jump his bones so much.”

Katara makes a face. “I think it’d mean a little more coming from you.” Her brow furrows as she appraises Sokka. “You know, since I don’t think I’ve heard you give him a compliment since I’ve been here?”

“I didn’t realise you were so invested in Zuko’s self esteem.” Sokka says, looking out over the slowly filling ballroom to avoid meeting his sister’s eyes.

Katara scoffs at him. “Not everyone shows affection by insulting each other, y’know. Some people like being complimented every once in a while.”

“Well, he’s got you to fawn over him, doesn’t he? I balance it out. Wouldn’t want his head to get too big, the crown’ll start to look dumb.” Sokka gripes, taking a long drink from his glass. Sokka has yet to find a type of alcohol he actively likes the taste of, but it does have its benefits. And he could use something to calm him the fuck down, tonight.

“Nice, Sokka. Really nice.” Katara snorts, shaking her head slowly. “No wonder he likes me better,” she says, lightly.

Sokka chokes on his drink.

She stares at him, astonished, as he splutters, hacking and wheezing. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you lately?”

“Nothing, I-” Sokka coughs. “-it just went down wrong, that’s all.” The burn in his throat reminds him of the time he accidentally swallowed rose thorns, which. Not a moment he particularly wants to think about right now. He glances back out over the floor. “Oh, you know what?” He clears his throat. “There’s Qiuyue, I wanted to talk to her about perimeter sweeps tonight,” It’s not a bad excuse, as they go. He spent the better part of the day double-checking security measures with the Kyoshi Warriors and palace guards.

He starts walking, Katara on his heels, and spirits, he just needs a fucking second to himself-

“Um, what’s up?” He says, turning back towards his sister.

“What?” Katara frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You’re following me.”

Katara stares at him. “So?”

“So, I’m gonna go consult my security team. You’re not on the security team.”

Rolling her eyes, Katara scoffs, “Why, is there some big secret I’m not allowed to know? Measures in place in case I change my mind after five years and decided to end Zuko’s destiny once and for all?”

End his… what? Whatever. “I guess I just missed the part when I invited you to come along.”

Katara’s eyes search his face. “Oh, you’re being serious.” She says after a moment, blinking. “Wow, okay, sorry for presuming that one of the two people I actually know at this party might not want to abandon me the moment we walk down the stairs.”

Oh spirits, now he’s done it. “Katara-”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, you are my fucking brother, but that hasn’t stopped you from avoiding me since I got here, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.” She glares at him. “I mean, spirits, Sokka, it’s been like pulling teeth, just trying to spend some time with you.”

“What? We see each other all the time!” Sokka protests, but if he can hear the lie in his voice, Katara sure as fuck can.

She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, that’s bullhorseshit and you know it. When I told you I was coming to stay, you said you had a list, an entire list of stuff you wanted to show me around the city.” She jabs at his chest with her finger. “And what I got instead was weeks of you being cagey, and pissy, and weird, moping around and refusing to look me in the eye.”

Of course she noticed. Obviously, he can't hide things from his sister, but something deep and stupid in Sokka tells him to keep trying, anyway. “I- I told you I’m stressed because of work-”

“Okay, well, I guess you need to quit this fucking job.” Katara crosses her arms over her chest. “Or, you could cut the crap and tell me what’s actually wrong with you.”

“I-” Sokka looks away. He can see Zuko across the room, smiling obligingly in a group of ministers. His heart clenches in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong, Katara. Sorry your busy schedule of Zuko buying you shit hasn’t left a lot of time to go sightseeing with me, I guess.”

Katara stares at him for a moment, then massages the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. I’m gonna go see if Mai and Ty Lee are here yet. If you manage to pull the stick out of your ass, lemme know.”

She stomps off, down the stairs, leaving Sokka to ponder his own newfound self-destructive tendencies in peace.

At dinner, Sokka sits at Zuko’s right hand, as usual, while Katara is sat at the other end of the massive table, with the other visiting dignitaries. On the upside, she can’t glare a hole through his head at this distance. However, there is still the ‘sitting next to Zuko for a three-course meal’… part. Which honestly may be worse.

He tries to make polite conversation with the ministers and officials around him, avoiding looking at Zuko directly, even when he’s talking to him. Zuko’s leg keeps brushing against Sokka’s, under the table. It makes Sokka feel like his skin is vibrating. Their arms brush against each other, occasionally, and Sokka flinches every time. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so severely thrown off in his life, and he’s just… existing next to Zuko. It’s pathetic. At least, when he was fifteen and stupid, he was delusional enough to think he had game, and had confidence going for him as he made a fool of himself for Yue.

It doesn’t help that he has no fucking clue if he’s trying to keep his distance from Zuko, or try his luck flirting with him. The former seems impossible, the latter feels like a betrayal of Katara. What he wouldn't give to have figured this shit out before she came to visit.

By the time the food begins to arrive, Sokka wants to give up on the festival altogether, crawl into bed, and try to be a normal person in the morning.  At least food’s a reliable distraction. Sokka watches as the staff reach over Zuko and the rest of the ministers, setting down ornate bows, full of a mixture of beautifully arranged food. Everyone gets one, that is, everyone but Sokka.

“Hey, uh-” Sokka looks around; the waitstaff is moving further down the table now. “Sorry, I think you guys skipped me?”

One of the people in an apron bows low. “Apologies, Minister Sokka. We find it’s easier to serve the meals efficiently and without incident if we begin with the standard meal, and then bring out the amended dishes.”

Sokka blinks at the server. “Oh. Okay. Uh, thanks?” They bow again, and scuttle away as Sokka turns to Zuko, leaning over slightly to stage-whisper, “Why am I getting an amended dish?”

“Oh, it’s the salad.” Zuko nods down at his own plate. “It has dragon fruit in it, so the kitchen’ll substitute it for you.” That… doesn’t really clarify anything. Sokka keeps staring at him expectantly, until Zuko gives him a significant look in return and continues, “Because you’re allergic to dragon fruit?”

“…no I’m not?” Sokka says. “I’ve never eaten dragon fruit in my life.”

Zuko frowns. “Yes you have. Remember, you told everyone about the time you and Toph scammed some guy out of everything in his bag, which included some pink fruits with white insides and black dots? And you thought it was rotten, and Toph dared you to eat it anyway, so you did, and your mouth swelled up?” Zuko makes a leading gesture with his hand. “That sounded like an allergic reaction to me, so I asked a fruit vendor at the market and he said you’d eaten dragon fruit. It’s not very common, but it has been becoming more popular in the upper class circles, especially for special occasions like this, so I made sure the kitchen staff knew not to put any in your food when you moved in.” Zuko shrugs. “I assumed you would’ve realised you had a fruit allergy sometime in the last five years, but apparently not.”

Sokka stares at him, brain scrambling to remember the last time he and Toph were anonymous enough to run around scamming people. “Sorry, when did I tell you about this?”

“Uh.” Zuko purses his lips. “Before Sozin’s comet, um… oh, you had just tried to cut your own hair, and there were a couple of strands that you cut a little too short that kept falling out of your wolftail into your eyes, I remember.”

“Cut my…” Sokka trails off, trying to remember, before it hits him. “Hey, no, I didn’t try to cut my hair, you and Aang accidentally set that barn we were squatting in on fire trying to recreate the fire dragon show we saw at that festival. My hair was singed, and I had to cut the ends off.”

“Oh.” Zuko shrugs. “Okay, so the day Aang and I set that barn on fire.”

Even ignoring the fact that Sokka’s hair apparently looked so stupid that Zuko remembers it instead of straw walls being engulfed in flames around them, Sokka is. Kind of taken aback. “That was such a long time ago, dude.” He says, as a plate is set in front of him, dragon fruit-free, and he turns to thank the server. Turning back to Zuko, he raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise you paid that much attention to food allergies.”

Zuko smirks, just this side of fond. “Sokka, I still remember which of Appa’s paws you preferred to sleep on. I’m pretty sure I committed every single thing you said during that year to memory.” Which. Okay. Why? Zuko chuckles as he reaches for his chopsticks. “Oh, and before you ask- I had them make a special salad for Katara too. I figured the allergy probably ran in the family.”

“Oh, well.” Sokka stares down at his food for a few moments. Makes sense; Zuko pays attention to Sokka because Sokka is the fastest route to Katara. He doesn’t know how he keeps letting himself forget about this shit, especially since every time he remembers again, it feels like someone’s taken a knife and scraped against the undersides of his rib cage.

“Glad I could help make things more comfortable for Katara.” Sokka says finally. When he doesn’t respond, Sokka looks back at him; the Minister on his other side is talking quasi-aggressively to Zuko, gesturing with his utensils.

Sokka sighs, and tries to tune everything else out as he starts in on his food.

It’s not that Sokka’s never been around a drunk Zuko before. There have been plenty of times- festivals, and parties, and nights in Zuko’s room because having the reins to what is, essentially, an empire purchased through blood and cruelty, thrust at you from the age of sixteen is exhausting, and Sokka likes to help Zuko unwind, when he can. But he was never in love with Zuko, all those other times. Or, maybe he- probably- was, but he didn’t know then. So, smiley, soft, earnest, drunk Zuko, who probably wasn’t given a single hug from the ages eleven to sixteen and subsequently forgot know how to ask for them, and who adjusts for this by being the most handsy drunk in the four nations, is something Sokka has never had an issue with before.

He remembers, vividly, a time wherein the two of them had polished off a bottle of huangjiu over a stack of budget reports and Zuko had just. Folded himself around Sokka from behind, arms wrapped around Sokka’s waist, chin tucked into his shoulder, and read the report Sokka’d been having trouble deciphering (it was from a more remote village, where they haven’t yet fully made the switch to the widespread, simplified Fire Nation characters) aloud from there. If he did that now, Sokka’d probably go into cardiac arrest. But at the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it, just let himself soak into the warmth of Zuko’s chest. The quiet rumble of Zuko’s words against his ear.

Sokka shakes the memory away and tries, again, to focus on whatever whoever’s standing in front of him is saying- he looks important, and spirits, Sokka is bad at his job- as Zuko’s hand, which he had placed on Sokka’s lower back to lead him through the crowd, shows absolutely no sign of moving. Zuko hasn’t even properly been drinking. As far as Sokka can tell, he’s only had a glass over the course of the dinner, which, he supposes, could’ve been much stronger than Sokka was aware. Maybe Zuko started early? Did a round of shots with Eito before Sokka and Katara came down? Unlikely, but Sokka can’t imagine another reason why Zuko hasn’t stopped touching him for half an hour.

When whoever’s been speaking finishes whatever he’s been saying and shuffles away, Zuko leans in to murmur, “how long before everyone’s too drunk to notice us sneaking out, do you think? Seems like all the fun’s happening outside the palace,” directly into Sokka’s fucking ear.

Sokka’s entire body flinches, and he spills the drink he’s been holding. “Oh, shit-”

“Sorry,” Zuko, thankfully, has put some distance between the two of them. “That’s my fault.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Sokka glances at the now empty glass. He’d mostly been holding it just to have something to do with his hands; after an excruciating dinner he’d decided that sober Sokka is a trustworthy Sokka. Tipsy or drunk Sokka might do something he can’t take back. “Um, I’m gonna grab a refill- I’ll bring you back one.”

“Oh, that’s-” Zuko starts, but Sokka’s already moving through the crowd.

It should be harder for him to lose himself within the throngs of people; he’s a grown ass man, and taller than most of them, and one of the small handful of people wearing blue, instead of red or gold or green (or spirits forbid, fucking black). But he is, at his core, a hunter. When he doesn’t want to be noticed, he isn’t. He winds through the groups easily, ducking and dodging until he’s on the other side of the massive room, hoisting himself up the staircase in search of fresh air and breathing room. No one stops him to ask for his opinion on tariffs, or the dissolution of the military complex, or whatever the fuck. He swipes a plate of finger-food, sinks into the shadow of a pillar, and tries to figure out his next move. Zuko’s the one with all the fancy speeches to make, and grant recipients to introduce. Katara’s pissed at him, and she’s probably off talking shit to Mai and Ty Lee, so it’s not like anyone will be looking to spend quality time with Sokka, tonight. It’d be a waste of Zhiruo’s handiwork, but he could slip out now, spend the night feeling sorry for himself alone in his room, or, less depressingly, go out into the streets of Caldera and try to lose himself in the festival.

Sokka tilts his head back against the cool stone behind him, and remembers the summer solstice festival the year before. It seems like a lifetime ago, when he was freshly, actually single for the first time after years of back and forth, on and off, with Suki as they tried to coordinate schedules and chase that intense love they’d felt when they were young and the world was ending. He’d been looking forward to showing off for Xiu Mei, whisking her around the dance floor and proving to himself that his love life wasn’t completely doomed. He’d spent an embarrassingly long time scanning the ballroom for her face.

He never found Xiu Mei (it turned out she had not, in fact, received an invitation to the celebration inside the palace), but Zuko’d found him. The two of them had snuck out and spent the night watching fire dancers and light shows, comparing noodles from various street vendors and dancing, terribly, in crowds too big for anyone to recognise them. On their way back to the palace they’d been mistaken for performers, and were sidetracked for an hour while Zuko put on a fire show for a group of awestruck children. They’d watched the sun rise over the palace together. If Sokka’d not been so fucking caught up in a woman he’d never see again, he could’ve told Zuko then. When he pulled Zuko down some side street, Sokka could have held onto his hand, maybe tugged him closer and kissed the laughter from his lips. Back when the only thing he would’ve had to worry about was Zuko rejecting him.

He’s not sure how long he stands in a corner, thinking and making his way through the plate, but soon enough, the chatter begins to die around him, a weird hush falling as the music starts to get louder around them. Sokka blinks himself out of his memories, and shuffles with the crowd to see what’s going on. Looking out onto the floor below, he sees a procession of couples, circling each other in the first dance of the evening, and obviously everyone else has stopped to watch. In the middle of it all are Zuko and Katara, spinning around and smiling at each other.

The sapphires in Katara’s hairpiece catches the light as she moves, her dress twirling around gracefully. She’s the right height for him, and the contrast of their skin tones looks nice together. She just… fits better than Sokka ever would. He can’t imagine he’d look anywhere as natural, sliding around a dance floor with the Fire Lord. In fact, their movements look so textbook perfect, it takes Sokka a minute to realise that Katara’s the one leading the dance. He has to snort out a laugh at that; typical Katara. And, Sokka supposes, he admittedly did a pretty terrible job of preparing Zuko to dance with women properly.

Despite the unconventional roles, they look good together. They look right together.

Sokka exhales. Yeah. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

Sokka breathes deep into the night air, and tries to figure out when, and why, his life got so complicated. Why his type seems to be people who are out of his league and just out of reach.

The worst part is, Zuko wasn’t always this ridiculously unobtainable. If Sokka had just tried something sooner, he might’ve had a shot. Zuko’s attracted to men, Sokka knows that much, after Zuko had confided in him about his little… Jet adventure.

Fuck.

One more thing he and Katara have in common, Sokka supposes. Disgusting thought, but there you are.

Regardless, Sokka’s not so blind as to not recognise that he and Zuko definitely had a moment, when they were dancing. But what does- what can- that mean? If he’s into Katara, and into men, it’s not exactly surprising that he’d be at the very least passively attracted to Sokka, who is essentially a male version of Katara. But so what? Finding someone attractive and getting caught up in the moment of a slow, spinning dance, the entire purpose of which is to manufacture romantic undertones, isn’t enough to break up a happy couple.

Sokka sighs, and lets his legs swing out into the air, looking out into the lights and sounds of a city in celebration. The roof seemed like the perfect middle ground, somewhere he can sit alone feeling sorry for himself and still experience a bit of life and joy. Sure, it’s predictable, but only to Zuko, and he sure as fuck isn’t gonna come looking for Sokka anytime soon.

“All that time practicing,” A voice, Zuko’s voice, comes from behind Sokka. Which, yeah, he tempted fate with that one. A couple seconds later, and Zuko’s standing next to him on the slats, then crouching to sit beside him. “Then when the moment comes, my dance partner is nowhere to be found.”

Sokka turns to look at him, and his breath catches in his throat. If there was any justice in the world, Zuko would’ve become uglier in the last half hour. When in fact, with the pink glow of his cheekbones and soft way his hair has started to fall in wisps around his face, he’s somehow, aggravatingly, even hotter. Honestly, Sokka would’ve settled for even a notch or two less gorgeous, just so he’s easier to look at directly. Or easier to look away from. Same difference, somehow.

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Seemed like Katara was more than happy to fill in in my absence.” He says, aiming for a teasing tone, and landing somewhere around jovially bitter.

“Mhm.” Zuko hums his agreement, shuffling close enough that Sokka can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He must’ve had more to drink; he always becomes a human furnace when he’s drunk. It’s not ideal, being so close to him on a Fire Nation summer night, but Sokka doesn’t move away. “I think she was grateful.”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka huffs. “I definitely pissed her off, so makes sense she wouldn’t want me around spoiling the fun.” He glances at Zuko, whose eyes are tracking the trails of light from a fire dragon display in the courtyard below. “Don’t you have official Fire Lord business to be doing?”

Zuko shrugs; Sokka can feel it against his shoulder. “In a bit.”

“How long is a bit?”

“Long enough to sneak away.” He nudges Sokka. “Figure out where you ran off to.”

“Well, you found me.” Sokka gestures absently. “I just needed some air.”

Zuko lets out a long exhale. “Yeah.”

Sokka’s not really sure what he’s agreeing with, and more likely than not, neither does Zuko. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Enough.” Zuko chuckles. “We did shots.”

“Did you now.” Sokka raises an eyebrow. “We being…?”

“Me. Mai. Ty Lee. Katara.” Zuko huffs out a laugh. “She’s a lot of fun, you know? I didn’t know that, before. We have… so much more in common than I thought.”

Sokka, absently, considers throwing himself off the roof. It wouldn’t be the most dignified way to go, but it’d be significantly less painful than this conversation.

“Hey, you know-” Sokka starts, voice coming out rougher than he intended. He clears his throat. “You put a lot of time and effort into this festival. You should go enjoy it.”

“Eh,” Zuko lets his head sink down onto Sokka’s shoulder. Yep. That would be the shots. “There’s only one thing I really want to do.”

“…which is?”

Zuko lifts his head up, looks at Sokka. “I’m doing it.”

Sokka glances around. “You like sitting on roofs that much-”

Zuko rolls his eyes, like Sokka’s teasing him. “I’m spending time with you.” He smiles, and Sokka feels dizzy. “I know we’ve both been busy lately, I just. I miss being just us. Something’s felt… off. Y’know?”

Sokka tries not to groan. The entire point of suffering in silence was to not make the people around him unhappy. But now Katara’s mad at him, and Zuko’s… saying shit like this. Sokka owes both of them an explanation, he knows that. He’s just not sure can physically give one. He sure as fuck can’t right now, with Zuko looking at him with those fucking earnest eyes, like now that he’s acknowledged a problem, he wont rest until he’s fixed it.

This is, incidentally, exactly the kind of shit he’d been hoping to avoid by running away to the roof. “I mean.” Sokka clears his throat. “We can hang out anytime, Zuko. Seriously, you should go enjoy the festival-”

“Why? You’re the best thing here.” Zuko cuts him off, staring out into the streets, alight and raucous below them. He turns to look at Sokka, that determination coming out in full force. “You know that, right?”

Sokka tries not to scoff too exaggeratedly. “Well, you did a pretty shitty job of planning a festival if I’m-”

“Not the festival.” Zuko asserts. “The Fire Nation.” He says it simply, obviously blissfully unaware of how, to a pathetic, delusional person, that could be misconstrued as a declaration of love. Sokka’s stupid heart starts banging pots around in his chest, making itself known. “My life here- my life, in general, is just. Weak tea. Without you.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “…weak tea.”

“Sure, y’know, like- the flavour’s there, sort of, but it’s not the same, or as good. It’s not how it should be.”

Despite every single aspect of this moment causing Sokka physical pain, he has to laugh. “A tea metaphor. Really.”

“My uncle is a bad influence.” Zuko says, before giving him a little lopsided grin. “Though his proverbs are usually better than mine.”

Sokka laughs, and looks back at him, trying to process… whatever that was.

So maybe it could be a declaration of love. Not the kind of love Sokka’s looking for, exactly, but the kind of love he feels for Aang, and Toph. It’s… a step in the right direction?

There are some things that have always been true. Zuko is anxious, and overthinks everything, and takes things too seriously. He doesn’t have enough faith in himself. He has scars, inside and out, a strong tendency towards self-sacrifice, and sometimes he gets buried under the weight of everything he’s inherited. But Sokka makes him smile. Sokka makes him laugh. Zuko’s life, in his own words, lacks flavour when Sokka’s not in it. He’s happy with Sokka, because of Sokka. It was true when they were teenagers, and it’s true now.

Zuko needs him. He really, truly, needs Sokka in his life. Is it so crazy to think he might want him, too?

If Zuko could just- give him a sign. Anything, anything at all to let Sokka know that he was a contender, that Zuko could develop feelings for Sokka, could want him back. Something worth risking their friendship, and his sister’s heart, over.

“So?” Zuko needles, playfully giddy from the alcohol and festivities. “What’s your life without me?”

Sokka blanches. He can’t just tell Zuko that he loves him. It’d be a terrible idea, and the thought of it makes Sokka feel like he’s swallowed his own heart. But at the same time, exhaustingly, it feels like the only thing in the world he wants to do.

His mind races, desperately grasping for an even vaguely platonic response, and, in the sticky summer heat, Zuko’s endless reserves of warmth radiating over his skin, the word that comes out is, “Cold?” Fuck.

Zuko’s breath, and smile, stutter a little, as he stares back at him. And for a brief second, it seems like Zuko might…

Kiss me. Sokka thinks, with everything he is. C’mon, just once. I’ll tell you everything, just kiss me once. Just so I know how it feels. I’ll never ask for anything again.

But Zuko doesn’t.

He grasps nervously at the back of his neck, instead. “I’ve- um. I have to announce the grant recipients soon, and they’re waiting for me to start the fireworks show,” Zuko says, sounding weirdly apologetic. “We can’t be out here long.”

Okay? “Right, yeah.” Sokka clears his throat, and decides not to comment on the ‘we’. Sokka could stay on the roof all night, and only a couple of people would notice or care. “Well. Shall we?”

Sokka lurches to his feet, and resists the urge to hold out a hand for Zuko. Better to avoid any and all physical contact at this point.

Of course, he’d forgotten to account for the fact that Zuko is. Not sober. So when he tries to pull himself up, he doesn’t find his footing as easily as Sokka had, and stumbles, just enough for Sokka to instinctively pitch forward and grab his waist to steady him. Zuko’s hand finds his shoulder, and he grins, a small, self-deprecating thing.

Sokka shakes his head. “I think we’re gonna have to pass some edict banning you from rooftop adventures from now on.” He gripes, letting go of Zuko. “Kinda defeats the purpose of having an entire security team dedicated to making sure you don’t get murdered if you’re just going to fall to your death anyway.”

Zuko shrugs. “I’m not worried,” he says easily, “you’re always here to catch me.”

Sokka doesn’t have a response for that, so he gives a weird, strained smile, then turns and starts walking, carefully, along the eaves, back towards the entrance down to the palace below.

They walk in relative silence, save Zuko’s humming, which Sokka’s trying to ignore to preserve his sanity. The noise of the party starts to drown it out anyway, the closer they get, until there’s just a single ornate door between them and the rest of the world.

Zuko opens it, and steps through.

“Hey, um,” In a moment of bravery, and/or stupidity, Sokka catches Zuko’s sleeve, watches him turn around slowly, curious. “Are you…. happy?”

Zuko’s face melts into a smile, lazy like a summer day. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this truly, simply, happy in my entire life.”

Oh.

As Sokka inhales, and the two fingers pinching the hem of Zuko’s sleeve release the fabric, Zuko’s easy smile starts to turn down. “…you’re happy, right?”

“Of course I am.” Sokka says, and hopes the lanterns and glow coming from the ballroom that have Zuko lit so beautifully are casting his own face in enough shadow that Zuko can’t see the lie in Sokka’s smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The smile creeps back in, and Zuko squeezes Sokka’s outstretched hand with his own. “To be continued, yeah?”

Sokka exhales. “Yeah.”

In his defence, Sokka does try to go back to the party. He watches Zuko give his speech, and announce the fireworks, and all he can think of is how Zuko’s grown into his role, and how dedicated he is to leave a legacy of peace, beauty and equality. Sokka could never have predicted, all those years ago when some shouty, violent coloniser beat his ass in front of his family and friends, that they would end up here. Sokka’s- fuck. Sokka’s really proud of him. The crowd breaks into applause, as the group of young artists line up on stage, and Zuko steps off the other side, and into Katara’s arms. She’s beaming proudly as she hugs him, and fuck, maybe Sokka does need to be drunk for this.

Spirits only know how many hours later, Sokka wakes up, head filled with sludge and a churning in his gut, to a steady stream of light stabbing through his window and into his brain. The bright Fire Nation sun, hovering over the city skyline, has obviously declared war and vowed to give Sokka the indignity of a slow and painful death. Makes sense, given his allegiances lie so clearly with the moon. It is slightly unusual for the sun to have woken him up, though, because his bedroom window doesn’t face east.

Sokka lurches to his feet and staggers to the window, shutting the curtains tight before hobbling back to bed. It may be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Back in the refuge of the soft, warm bed, facedown against the pillows, Sokka feels like he can breathe again. It takes a second, before his head shoots back up (a motion he immediately regrets).  His window doesn’t face east.

Zuko’s does.

His head whips around fast enough to send a steady throbbing through his brain, looking around the room. He’s… alone? Unless-

Sokka pats gingerly at the massive expanse of fluffy blankets and bed around him, searching for another body between the sheets, and coming up with nothing.

His brain really isn’t doing well, with the hangover, and the light, and the vaguely familiar but unexpectedly foreign surroundings.

This probably explains why it takes him a solid minute of freaking out, looking for Zuko, to realise that he is not, in fact, in Zuko’s room.

It’s the wardrobe in the corner that clues him in; it’s overflowing with blue clothes.

Ohh. He sinks back down into the covers. He’s in Katara’s room. Explains why he kind of recognises it, but not really. Hazy snippets of memory start coming back, if he really reaches for them. Stumbling, alone, through the palace, and deciding the comforts of his bedroom were absolutely not worth the extra flight of stairs and two consecutive long fucking hallways it would take to get there, so he’d just bunk with his sister for the night.

At the time he’d prepared some heartfelt, drunken apology for being a dick, full of compliments and all the love being absolutely shitfaced makes you feel for your sibling whose boyfriend you are trying to steal. And yes, he’d prepared an apology for that, too.

It hadn’t turned out to be necessary, because the room was empty when he staggered in and threw his drunk ass on the bed.

Halfway back to unconsciousness, Sokka’s brain shakily, and with no small amount of effort, musters the coherence necessary to focus on two crucial facts:

  1. He spent the night in Katara’s room.

  2. Katara, obviously, did not.

Chapter Text

Sokka thinks, all things considered, he handles the not-mystery of where Katara spent the night pretty well.

First, he grabs one of the pillows, smothers his face with it, and screams. He lays there, pillow on top of his face, until sleep drags him back down.

Then, when Sokka wakes up again, an unknown amount of time later, he considers his options. Because, very seriously, if he has to spend any amount of time around Katara and Zuko in the honeymoon (afterglow) period, he will lose his fucking mind. It’s really a shame he’s a) hungover and b) not in his own room, because he’s pretty sure, under normal circumstances, he could be packed and on the first boat out within an hour.

Sokka needs a new job. Maybe even a new identity.

Ba Sing Se University keeps inviting him back to lecture again, maybe he can see about a more permanent position on the faculty. Or, he could hunt down Teo; collaborative invention would work a lot better if they shared a lab. There's always Suki, he considers. He could bum around Kyoshi Island for a while, spend some time with his best friend and a bunch of hot warrior women. There are worse places to nurse a broken heart. Or, maybe he could find Toph, see if he can convince her to just. Hit him really hard with the biggest rock she can muster. Worst case scenario, he dies. Best case scenario, it gives him amnesia or mild brain damage and he can forget these feelings altogether. Wipe out five years worth of memories and just start fresh, a clean slate. Doesn’t sound so bad.

Sokka sighs, and moves the pillow away so he can stare up into the canopy of Katara’s bed. He doesn’t want to leave the Fire Nation. Which is a revelation in and of itself, but. Well. He likes his life, and his job. He likes feeling useful, and he likes being able to represent his people, and make sure that they are never overlooked or undervalued. He likes being able to dismantle oppressive structures, and hold the Fire Nation accountable for its imperialist history. He likes being able to take some of the pressure off of Zuko, who should never have been given so much responsibility at sixteen fucking years old. He likes spending his time exploring the city, or sketching plants in the gardens, or trying every horrendously spicy food the Fire Nation has to offer, with Zuko right there beside him.

Spirits, when did things get so complicated. What he wouldn’t give to go back to a time when he could just exist, and do his job, and spend time with his friend and/or his sister, without feeling like someone has a stranglehold around his heart.

He kind of feels like crying.

He kind of feels like throwing up.

He blames both on the hangover.

Sokka considers his options. Leaving Katara’s room and entering the outside world would mean encountering other people. People who would, inescapably, confirm once and for all that what he thinks happened last night, happened. And then Sokka’s life as he knows it changes forever. Then again, if he stays in the room, Katara will, eventually, return to it. Or worse, someone will come to move her things into Zuko’s room. So either way, he’s going to have his suspicions confirmed, sooner or later. All he can do is hold on to these last few minutes, maybe even hours, before has to face the facts.

While he’s thinking about this, curled around one of the pillows and cocooned in blankets, the door to the room opens. A steady stream of soft, grumbling noises accompanies Katara as she moves towards the bed, before she falls silent. “Sokka?”

“Mhrg.”

A long pause, and the sounds of shoes being discarded on the floor. “I’m guessing you also feel like your brain is trying to kill you?”

“Mgh.”

“…move over.” Katara says simply, and Sokka obligingly, but with some difficulty, shuffles his body to make space for her. He can’t look her in the eyes, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  “…why are you in my room?”

“Passed out here last night.” Sokka responds, barely recognising his own voice, as Katara flops onto the bed beside him. “Mine was too far away.”

Katara snorts out a laugh. “Well, maybe if Zuko didn’t need you like. Five feet away at all times you wouldn’t have to walk so far.”

“Mrh.” Sokka hums, face down. He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t have to ask. “Where’d you sleep, then?”

“Zuko’s.” Katara mutters, into the blanket. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. “I made it to breakfast, though.”

Sokka will be forever proud of himself for not doing something truly embarrassing in that moment, like puking all over Katara’s bed or breaking down in tears. Though honestly, it’s mostly because he very simply does not have the energy. “Good for you.”

“Actually, you know Zuko’s shadow, Eeto?”

“Eito.” Sokka corrects, without really registering what Katara’s saying. Sokka’s world is crumbling around him, and she’s talking about Eito. Eito.

“Yeah, him.” Katara grumbles. “Do you get like. A racist vibe from him at all? Like he doesn’t like Water Tribespeople?”

“Eito?” The question pushes through the fog of self pity and despair, because what the fuck? Sokka pushes the covers down to squint at his sister. “He offers to test my food for poison at least once a week. Gonna go with no.”

“Really.” Katara hums, obviously processing. “Huh.”

Dammit, now Sokka’s intrigued. “…why, did he do something?”

“Not really?” Katara huffs, turning slightly so one of her eyes can fix on Sokka. “Just like, when I came out of Zuko’s room this morning, he was obviously bringing Zuko breakfast, and I’m pretty sure there were two portions, but he told me the food was for one of the ministers.”

Sokka frowns. “Why would he be taking food to a minister? He’s Zuko’s… whatever.”

“That’s what I was wondering.” Katara frowns. “He was looking at me like I’d personally wronged him, and he was… kind of… for lack of a better word, bitchy?”

Sokka raises a single, skeptical eyebrow. “Eito. Was bitchy.”

“Well, when I asked him if he was bringing the food for us and offered to take it in, he said ‘I didn’t bring it for you’,” she says, mimicking a distinctly bitchy tone, “and then he said something like, ‘if you want breakfast you can go to the kitchen and get it, I don’t work for you’.”

Sokka sits up slightly. Or, raises his head as much as he’s currently able. “There is no way in fuck Eito said that to you. He like, lives and breathes proper etiquette, and you absolutely outrank him.”

Katara shrugs. “Maybe he hates women?”

“He’s best friends with Qiuyue, the Kyoshi Warrior?” Sokka frowns. “I have a really good sexism radar, and I’ve never gotten that vibe from him.”

“Huh.”

Sokka considers it. “Maybe he just hates you, personally.”

Katara manages to, in her obviously exhausted and hungover state, move enough to kick Sokka in the knee. “I’ve been nothing but nice to him.”

“Still. He obviously picked up bad vibes.” Sokka shrugs. “I knew I liked that kid.”

“Whatever.” Katara huffs, turning her head back into the pillow. “Maybe he was just in a bad mood.”

The two of them fall into silence, as a question claws at the back of Sokka’s mind. His sister is hungover. Very hungover. Sokka curses internally; fuck. He has to ask. “So, um.” Sokka clears his throat, hand coming out from the covers to poke Katara’s shoulder. “About last night.”

“I’m trying to sleep, Sokka.” Katara grumbles. “If you’re gonna stay, you need to be quiet.”

Sokka ignores her. He may be stupidly, painfully, embarrassingly in love with Zuko, sure, whatever, but before any of that, he is Katara’s older brother. “I’m just trying to make sure you… weren’t too drunk.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, enough that Sokka wonders if she's fallen asleep, before Katara rumbles out, “Why.”

“Just.” Sokka huffs. “I don’t want you to think I’m judging, or intruding, you know, it’s all. All good. But we were all drinking, and, you know, just because you didn’t say no doesn’t meant you were capable of saying yes.” The words are bitter on his tongue; he really doesn’t want to be having this conversation. But if Zuko took advantage of his sister, well. In love with him or not, Sokka knows all of his weaknesses and blindspots, and will be kicking his teeth in. “Just tell me that you… acquiesced? To everything.”

Katara lifts her head up from the pillows, squinting at him very unattractively. “Sokka, what the good fuck are you talking about.”

Sokka groans. “Look, I’m not- It’s your body, you make the choices. And I know you guys,” He falters, punctuating the words with a vague hand gesture, “I mean, obviously Zuko’s been. Y’know. Wooing you, or whatever you wanna call it, and there’s a natural progression of that sort of stuff. But we were all drinking last night, and I just wanna. Make sure he was… a gentleman? Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s entitled to… you know.” He drags a hand across his face. “Please don’t make me say it. I just want to make sure you weren’t…. pressured into anything.”

He peeks out behind his hand, and Katara’s staring at him with a slack-jawed expression. She looks like she’s lost all capacity for coherent thought.

“Sorry, um-” Katara blinks, a little violently. “I think I’m still drunk?” She rubs at her eye. “Just to clarify- you think Zuko and I. Slept together last night. Because he’s been. Wooing me, and that’s the natural progression of our- my and Zuko’s- romantic relationship. And you are concerned about that.”

“No, I mean, it’s totally fine if you did!” Sokka manages to get out, despite the painful churning in his gut. “Whenever you feel like taking that step, it’s completely up to you.”

Katara stares at him. “… I. I can’t believe I have to say this, but nothing happened between me and Zuko last night. Nothing has ever happened between us.” She shakes her head, slowly. “He, Mai, Ty Lee and I went back to the private gardens once the festival started winding down. After the girls left, it was just easier to pass out in his room.”

“Oh.” Sokka tries to fight the smile. He tries really, really hard. “Well, like I said. It’s your body, your decision to make. No judgment, just trying to look out for my little sister.”

Katara’s still staring at him, the cogs in her brain obviously working overtime (she has a very obvious thinking face, given that she does it so rarely). After a few moments, she shakes her head slowly, a sort of crazed glee lighting up her eyes. “I thought you’ve been acting weird!”

Sokka frowns. “What?”

“I mean.” She grins, a little manic, and with a hint of something distinctly evil, then clears her throat and visibly tries to reign in her facial expressions. “I thought you've been acting weird, since I got here, but obviously you were just.” She snorts back a giggle. “You were just giving me and Zuko alone time. Because Zuko’s wooing me. You were being a good friend. To your ol’ pal Zuko.”

“Yeah, I…” Sokka trails off; Katara’s face is doing some really weird things. Her mouth looks like it can’t decide what emotion it’s trying to convey, and her shoulders are trembling slightly. “Are you okay?”

Coughing, Katara gives him a thumbs-up. “Yep, just. Wow I am still so drunk from last night! Crazy.” The grin is back in full force. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask; I saw a bunch of bound books in your room last time I was in there, they looked important?”

Sokka frowns at the topic change. “Uh, the poetry books?”

Katara bites her lip, nodding slowly. “Is that what they are.”

Sokka has the distinct feeling he’s being mocked. “Yeah, Katara, there are things to read in the world other than waterbending manuals. In fact, they’re signed first editions by some of my favourite poets. Zuko found them for me.”

“Did he really.” Katara’s got her entire bottom lip between her teeth now, looking distinctly unhinged. “And, you have this set of keys in a glass case on your bedside table? What are they for?”

“How much snooping around my room did you do-”

“They’re right there! Anyone can see them, I’m just wondering why you have a set of keys by your bed that obviously aren’t for opening any doors, because they’re in a display case.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “They opened Zuko’s cell at the Boiling Rock. He kept them, and our armbands- that’s the leather the keys are on- and gave them back to me as a present to commemorate our friendship.” Katara stares back at him, stars in her eyes like all her wildest dreams have just come true. She is so fucking weird. “Anything else? Want me to explain where the pillows and curtains came from, too?”

“Nope.” Katara smiles, eyes wide and lips pursed tight. She’s just full of strange, unattractive facial expressions today. “That’s it. Since I’m being wooed by Zuko, it’s just nice to compare the gifts he’s giving his platonic friends. That’s all.” Sure, by all means. Rub it in. Katara seems to think for a moment, then huffs, her face finally settling on an exasperated glare in his direction. “Fuck’s sake, Sokka. I wanted to go back to sleep, but I’ve-” She giggles, again. Sokka wonders how much alcohol, exactly, she had last night for her to still be feeling it this strongly. “I just realised I need to write to Toph and Aang right now.”

“How is that my fault?”

She grins, shaking her head slowly. “Uh, first law of siblings? Everything is your fault.” She pushes herself off the bed, slowly righting herself until she’s standing, looking down at Sokka, looking way too delighted for someone who had been complaining about a hangover not five minutes ago. “I am so glad I came to visit, Sokka. I think I’m going to be talking about this trip for the rest of my life.”

Well wonderful. Sokka will be trying to forget this particular visit for the rest of his, so won’t it be fun to have her constantly reminding him. Sokka rolls his eyes, and turns back over. If she’s not going to sleep in her bed, Sokka sure as spirits is.

After the painful growling of his stomach wakes him up, and he’s splashed some water on his face and cleaned up the dregs of kohl left around his eyes, Sokka staggers down the halls of the palace in search of food. Luckily, the gold dining room isn’t far; hopefully someone will be eating (lunch? dinner?) there already and he can ask the kitchen staff to whip something up for him.

When he finally makes it to the room, someone, somewhere, must want to apologise for the shit the universe has put Sokka through these past weeks, because the table is piled with food. He’s so distracted by the voice screaming at him to fill his stomach that he doesn’t realise he’s not alone until he’s got bun in his mouth and a bowl of noodles tucked into the crook of his arm.

A sound comes from the other side of the table, and he looks up to see Zuko, whose head is rising similarly.

Sokka walks into a chair.

This probably hurts. A lot. The back of it digs into his gut, and makes Sokka feel like last night’s sake might make a reappearance.

But Sokka, really, barely notices.

Zuko’s hair is down.

Zuko never leaves his hair completely down. It’s always a bun, or a half-up half down combo, maybe an occasional ponytail if they’re sparring, but not this, never this. He’s looking up at Sokka, through his eyelashes and behind a curtain of hair. His eyes are blinking blearily, like he’s adjusting to the light and the general sensations of being alive, his lips parted slightly. He gives a little half-grunt, half-moan of a greeting.

Sokka silently chokes on an inhale. Or, he hopes it’s silent.

He often thinks of Zuko as pretty. It has everything to do with bone structure, and the shape of his eyes, and the slope of his nose, and the softness of his lips. He’s a pretty guy, simple as that.

Pretty is not, however, anywhere near the adjective Sokka wants to use right now.

Zuko yawns, and leans back, a hand coming up to drag through the mass of black hair, pushing it up and away from his face, with absolutely no regard whatsoever for Sokka’s wellbeing. Sokka’s throat goes dry; Zuko looks like a painting. Zuko looks like a deity. The muscles in his arms flex with the motion, and it’s a testament to how fucking shocking it is to see Zuko’s hair loose that Sokka’s just now realising he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Sokka’s spent a lot of his life deliberately disregarding and occasionally antagonising the spirit world. This is, most likely, its way of getting back at him.

“Morning, Sokka.” Zuko says, in a low, rough, fucked-out voice that Sokka can feel in the base of his spine.

A weird, tinny clanging coming from somewhere around Sokka’s feet informs him that he’s dropped his chopsticks.

He all but throws his bowl down on the table, grappling for the utensils before he straightens back up. Zuko’s just. Watching him, with lazy hooded eyes, like now that he’s fixed on Sokka, looking away would require too much effort. This just. Isn’t fair. It’s not fair, and Sokka doesn’t deserve it. Sokka is a good person. Well, y’know. He’s a good enough person not to deserve this kind of vindictive, targeted violence from the universe itself.

“Morning.” Sokka manages to croak out, dropping himself into his chair. “You look like shit.”

Zuko snorts. “You’ve looked worse.” He says, and fuck, Sokka really can’t get used to that voice. “Not by a lot, but.” The side of his mouth curves up with the words, and Sokka would just like to take this moment to sincerely apologise for whatever spirit he offended, and beg for its forgiveness.

Zuko lifts a spoonful of the soup in front of him to his lips, and swallows it with a moan of contentment that grabs hold of something deep in Sokka and pulls, hard. Sokka, who had been attempting to eat a piece of meat, misses his mouth completely.

Zuko meets his eyes again, his eyebrow raised expectantly.

“What?” Sokka says, voice a little helpless, suddenly terrified he’d done something monumentally embarrassing, like moan in response. Then he realises he’s got a chunk of pork suspended between chopsticks and just- resting against the the corner of his lips, so maybe the embarrassing train has already left the station.

“I said, where did you go last night?” Zuko asks. “No one could find you.”

“Oh, um.” Sokka grimaces, and, with a bit of concentration, manages to successfully place the food he’s trying to eat in his mouth. “Around, y’know. Thought I’d see a bit of the city.”

Zuko nods, slowly, like he’s processing. “Alone?” The without me? is implied. Which is fair; all of his drunken adventures into Caldera have, up to this point, included Zuko.

Well, you see, I was kind of worried that if I spent another second around drunk you, or had to watch drunk you interact with my sister, I might actually spontaneously combust. Sokka swallows roughly. “Um, I thought you’d. Want to spend as much time alone with Katara as you could, since she’s leaving soon.”

Zuko makes a little ‘fair enough’ face. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, y’know.” Sokka clears his throat. “It seemed like a great festival, you should be proud of what you put together.”

“Wasn’t just me.” Zuko mutters, drinking deep from his soup. He makes a little scrunched up thinking face, and looks back up. “Have you talked to Eito today?”

Sokka shakes his head. “Haven’t seen him.” He thought he might've caught a glimpse of him, earlier, on his way to the dining room, but whoever it was, they sped around the corner before Sokka had even finished registering their presence.

“Hm.” Zuko frowns. “I think he’s mad at me?” When Sokka just raises an eyebrow in response, Zuko continues, “I tried to compliment him on his work with the festival this morning, and he just said ‘thanks’, bowed, and walked away.”

“Wow, harsh.” Sokka lets that thought roll around in his otherwise empty head for a moment. “Did you like, accidentally murder his entire family, or something?’

“Hey,” Zuko says, defensively. “Coming from Eito, that’s practically a ‘go fuck yourself’.”

“No, I know, that wasn’t sarcasm.” Sokka says around another mouthful of meat and noodles. “That’s his version of spitting in your face.” He thinks about it. “Actually, Katara said he was kind of a dick to her too, this morning. Maybe he’s just crazy hungover like the rest of us.”

“I didn’t know Eito was capable of being anything but painfully polite.” Zuko pauses, spoon halfway to his lips. “Is it weird that I’m kind of proud?”

Sokka shrugs. “I’ll be proud when he manages to call you by your first name without looking like he wants to cry.”

Zuko chuckles, and looks at Sokka with soft, amused eyes. A comfortable silence descends, as Sokka’s priority becomes filling his stomach. Then, suddenly-

“Agni, I’m so out of it, I didn’t even ask-” Zuko shakes his head slowly. “Did you like your present?”

Sokka squints at him. “My… the hairpin?”

“The painting.”

Sokka blinks. “The- what?”

“The painting.” Zuko repeats, as if the second time will make it clearer. “I asked for it to be sent up to your room last night, did you not see it?”

“Oh.” Sokka relaxes, picking up more noodles. “I haven’t been back to my room yet, but I’ll take a look at it later.”

He’s struggling to get a good pinch of noodle and meat between his chopsticks, and it takes him a minute to realise the silence they’ve fallen into isn’t an easy one. He looks up, to meet Zuko’s stare.

He looks more alert than he has their entire conversation, gaping at Sokka with a strange expression.

“What?”

“You…” Zuko opens his mouth, then closes it. “What does that mean?”

Sokka finally manages to wrangle the food, and pops it into his mouth. “What does what mean?”

“You didn’t sleep in your room?” Zuko says, faintly. “So you… slept somewhere else?”

“That’s generally what that means, yeah.” Sokka raises an eyebrow, as Zuko looks no less… honestly, Sokka can’t recognise a single emotion on his face, it seems to be a pretty dense mixture of all of them. “What’s not clicking?”

Zuko makes a quiet noise, eyes dropping down to Sokka’s chest. “You’re still wearing your clothes from last night.”

“Yeah.” Sokka nods, slowly- how out of it is Zuko? “Because I haven’t been back to my room to change yet. Food was pretty much my only priority. I know it's not exactly dress code, but since we have the day off I figured I'd be safe from Minister Kamei.”

Zuko’s just. Staring at him now. Mouth slightly open, but in a distinctly less attractive way than before.

“What?”

“I just-” Zuko’s mouth opens, and closes, again, and his features settle into a familiar expression. It’s the look he gets when he knows what he’s about to say is going to offend someone, and he’s trying to figure out how to phrase it so they don’t start shouting at him. It’s never been aimed at Sokka before, though. “Where did you sleep, then?”

Sokka, briefly, considers telling Zuko it’s none of his business. Then he realises how ridiculous an impulse that is. “I crashed in Katara’s room. It was closer than mine.”

Zuko lets out an inhale that shakes his chest, giving Sokka a grin. “Oh.” He chuckles. “You had me worried.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Worried.”

“No, not-” Zuko scrambles. “Not worried, I mean, I know you’d- I mean, um.”

Sokka grins back at him. “It’s okay, you can say it. You were afraid I’d passed out in a bush or a fountain somewhere, right? I promise, I did nothing to sully my lofty position in the Fire Nation court.”

Zuko nods, eyes a little shifty. “Uh, yeah. You got me.” He says, awkwardly, and stops meeting Sokka’s eyes altogether, suddenly interested in his soup again. “I was just. Worried about having to do damage control.”

“C’mon, you know me better than that.” Sokka teases. “Besides, I think we both know I’m not the messy drunk of the two of us.”

Zuko looks up, so Sokka can see him roll his eyes. “One time, it was one-”

“What was it again? I mentioned I was craving some moon cakes, and you-”

“I was trying to impr-”

“You decided to break into a bakery, through the fucking skylight-”

“Are you ever gonna let-”

“‘It’s fine, Sokka. I’ll be in and out, and I’ll leave money, so it's not really a crime'.” Sokka says, in an admittedly weak imitation of Zuko’s voice. Zuko, for his part, looks way too amused for someone Sokka’s attempting to shame. “How much money, did you end up leaving? After you fell through the skylight?”

Zuko’s obviously trying to suppress a laugh. “Way too much, apparently.”

“Because you have no idea how much it costs to fix a window, because a few months working customer service were nowhere near enough to cure you of your ridiculous rich kid tendencies.”

“Uncle always handled the money!” Zuko protests, but he’s laughing.

“Yeah, well, just remember that night the next time you think I might do something embarrassing while drunk.” Sokka says, chuckling. By this point, Zuko’s dissolved into giggles. It’s probably mostly because he's still partially drunk, but it makes something flutter in Sokka’s chest to have made Zuko laugh, all the same.

They sit, and eat, and laugh, and for a while, it feels just like nothing’s changed at all.

By the time Sokka finally makes it back to his room, he’s forgotten all about Zuko mentioning a present waiting for him.

But there it is. A large rectangular shape, wrapped in opaque silks, in the space between the hallway and Sokka’s room, where a guard stands throughout the night, in case of emergency. Sokka carries it into the room, trying not to get too caught up thinking about it.

Well, he supposes, he got to spend a few hours without overanalysing every single thing Zuko does, that’s enough of a break. He pulls at the ties around the fabric, lets it fall so he can survey the painting.

Oh.

(“Any artists in particular stand out to you?” Zuko had asked, as they reviewed their notes together.

Sokka had hummed. “I dunno. A couple, I guess. I really liked the girl who painted the weird shit, the, um- her ideas about colours, and lines, and the suggestion of shapes meant to evoke different thoughts and feelings depending on the viewer. Seemed like she had a lot of potential, and a really unique way of approaching art. Her stuff was incredible.”

“Wait, um,” Zuko trailed off, looking through the stack of artist profiles and pulling one out. “Her? Jin Ae? I must’ve zoned out when she talked about thoughts and feelings.”

“Oh, no, it was in the essay she submitted with her profile. I skimmed it while we waited for the next one to show up.” He shrugs. “She rushed through her presentation, I figured she wasn’t really representing her work as well as she could’ve.”

“Ah.” Zuko had nodded. “Yeah, she seemed really nervous.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, well,” Zuko had placed the profile to the side. “One proposal approved. Twenty-four more spots to fill.”

Sokka startled. “Oh, I didn’t mean, I mean. The presentation was supposed to be a major prerequisite, we don’t have to-”

“My grant, my rules.” Zuko shrugged. “Time has taught me that just because someone has trouble articulating their ideas in front of others, doesn’t mean they’re bad ideas. Even if I don’t… really understand how a bunch of blurry not-shapes are meant to make you feel, I can appreciate what she’s trying to do. Her work was beautiful, so what if she gets stage fright?” He had looked at Sokka then, in that way of his. Like Zuko knew everything Sokka was thinking, without ever having to ask.

Sokka had felt the corner of his mouth, weakly, turn up in a hesitant smile.)

It’s one of Jin Ae’s paintings, that much is obvious. Sokka recognises her hand in the brushstrokes, and the thick layers of paint. Without noticing he’s doing it, Sokka steps back, taking in the entire canvas. He wonders, absently, why Zuko chose this painting. Zuko, who has trouble connecting with abstract art. Presumably, he bought it because Sokka loved the artist, and it matches the overarching ‘Fire Nation’ colour scheme, and therefore constitutes a nice bit of art for Sokka’s wall.

It’s a flurry of twisting, jumping, rich reds and yellows, set against swatches of cool, dark tones, like wet stones, or heavy fog at dusk. Like a night too cold to stay out in, and a fire kept awake too long.

Sokka stares at it.

It’s like he’s fifteen again, living for months with the knowledge that the weight of the world fell on the shoulders of his baby sister and two children. Fifteen and desperately clinging to a schedule, because it was the one thing he could control, the one thing he could do to help. Watching them train, and laugh, and say and do the stupidest shit in the world, the kind of stuff you only say and do when you’re too young, and way too powerful, and convinced of your own immortality. Fifteen and looking at these kids and wondering which of them he could bear to lose, because there’s no way he could convince himself that they’d all make it out of this alive, and asking spirits he barely believed in to let them lose him, instead.

Fifteen, and sitting up, late into the night, finally talking with someone who understood.

Zuko knew what they were walking towards, more than anyone. Zuko had seen death and destruction, knew from experience that childhood innocence was not the impenetrable armour you’d expect it to be. And finally, finally, there was someone else to help shoulder the burden. Sokka had made him shake on it- Katara, Toph and Aang were going to survive the war. No matter what the two of them had to do.

Fifteen, looking into the eyes of someone he’d called an enemy, and feeling some of the crushing weight lift from his chest.

Sokka looks at the painting and sees the dying embers of a campfire, and his heart aches.

“The thing is… I’m in love with my best friend. I think…. I think maybe I’ve been in love with him for a while. But he’s… he’s in love with my sister. And she likes him back, even if I don’t think she sees what I see in him. But, I mean. That doesn’t matter, really. They’re two of my favourite people in the world and I couldn’t live with myself if I got in the way of their happiness. I just don’t think I can be around them, either of them, for a while. So I need a goodbye gift, and this is really the only thing I could think of.” Sokka inhales shakily; he really should probably not have said all that to a stranger, but this is the fourth bookshop he’s been in today, and he’s stretched thin as it is, and it all tumbles out before he can stop himself. Whatever. He rubs at his eye. “Is there any way there’s maybe a copy in the back?”

The bookseller looks at him with soft, pitying eyes. “Let me make you some tea.”

“What?” Sokka frowns. “Oh, thank you, but that’s- that’s really not necessary.”

She leans against the counter, staring at him intently. She’s somewhere between his dad and gran-gran’s age, face cracked with smile lines. “You’re in love with your best friend who’s in love with your sister. Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

Hesitating, Sokka looks away. “No.”

“Then sit down, I’ll make you some tea, and you can talk to me.”

The old woman gestures to the two mismatched armchairs under the shop window, and disappears behind a beaded curtain. Sokka, because he has nothing else to do today but scour bookstores for an obscure illustrated manuscript of Love Amongst the Dragons that’s been out of publication for twenty years, and because he’s just realised that this random old bookstore lady is the first person he’s told about his feelings for Zuko, sits.

She emerges a minute or so later, tea tray in hand. She sits delicately on the armchair and places her hands on either side of the kettle, warming it. “What’s your name, young man.”

“Um.” Sokka falters. “Wang?”

“My name is Ima. Nice to meet you. So.” With a determined set to her mouth, she looks at him through spectacles. “Tell me about him.”

Sokka chews on his bottom lip. “There’s not much to tell, really.”

Ima smiles, kindly and knowingly. “I’m sure that’s not true.” The steam begins to rise from the spout of the kettle, and she removes her hands from the sides. “If it helps, you’ll be bringing the memories of young love back to an old woman.”

“Well.” Sokka clears his throat, and looks out the shop window. There are a handful of Fire Nation citizens milling along the winding alleyways, and he watches them absently. “He’s… ridiculous. And stubborn, and a total drama queen. And weird, and awkward, and I used to hate him. But now he’s one of my best friends in the entire world, and I just. Y’know.”

“Is he handsome?” A scraping sound pulls Sokka’s gaze from the window, and he looks down to see Ima’s hand slowly pushing a cup of tea across the table towards him.

“You have no idea.” Sokka groans, cradling the cup of tea between his hands. “Like, he shouldn’t be, I guess- or at least there are- features, of his face, that should make him less attractive, but I honestly forget they’re there, sometimes. The whole,” Sokka gestures vaguely to his own face. “Y’know, everything is just- words can’t describe. And believe me, I’ve tried.” He inhales. “He’s just- have you ever met someone you think you could spend your entire life just. Watching? Everything he does, the way he smiles, the way he laughs... I don’t know how to explain it. And sometimes he’ll look at me, and it’s like I’m the only person in the world who matters. But that’s just- the kind of focus he gives everything. He’s so passionate, and genuine, in everything he does.”

Ima hums softly, nodding her head as if encouraging him to continue.

“He laughs at my jokes.” Sokka says quietly, looking into the steam. “And he listens, really listens, when I talk. He treats me like I’m important, and… I don’t know. Things just feel right with him, and easy.” Sokka inhales. “He’s been through, and lost, so much. He’s been hurt by the people who were meant to love him, and he spent so much of his life consumed by anger and bitterness but- he’s good, and he’s kind, and-” Something catches in his throat, and Sokka clears it. “He’s just so easy to love.”

Sokka raises the cup to his lips and takes a long sip from the tea. It’s Jasmine, because of course it is. “When I think about my future, he’s right there with me. Every time.”

“But you still want to say goodbye to him.”

“Yeah.” Sokka sighs. “I mean, no. Just- he’s been through a lot, and so has my sister. I want them to be happy.”

Ima raises an eyebrow. “And you don’t deserve happiness?”

“Not at the sake of theirs.”

Ima sighs, and for a few moments, they sit, silently drinking their tea. “You know, books have been kind of an acquired taste for me,” she says simply, after a while, “I didn’t really care to sit down and read when I was a young girl.”

Sokka glances around the shelves of books surrounding them, not really sure where this is going but willing to humour his new volunteer therapist. “But you- you own this place, right?”

Nodding, Ima smiles softly. “My best friend, Shiori, was the reader. I wanted to go out and have adventures, not read about them. But over the years, I became more and more willing to just sit, and watch her read. She used to sit in these- impossible positions, a book held above her face. I learned how to draw just to give myself an excuse to watch her do that for hours.” She sips from her cup. “Of course, I didn’t know I was in love with her for a very long time. No one told me you could be in love with a woman, as a woman, and by the time I realised, I had already gone and gotten myself a suitor. His name was Lee. Nice man, smart and attractive, though not terribly funny. He was a good man, and he treated me well, but I never felt as strongly about him as I did about Shiori. But I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, and anyway, back then those sort of… relationships were illegal in this country.”

“So I married Lee, and we moved to his home village, and the day I left, Shiori gave me her favourite book, the one I’d seen her read and reread a thousand times. She was going to the Earth Kingdom, to study at Ba Sing Se University, the first time either of us had left the Fire Nation. She said it was her turn to have an adventure, and my turn to read about one.” Ima chuckles softly. “My husband was not a very interesting man, but he was good to me. I was…. not unhappy. We made a life with each other for several years, until he enlisted in the army and was killed in action.”

“Oh.” Sokka says at last. “I’m sorry.”

Ima’s smile turns bittersweet. “It was a long time ago.”

“But, you and Shiori…?” Sokka says, fully invested at this point.

Taking another long sip, Ima waits a moment before continuing. “After my husband died, I decided to move back to the city I grew up in. While I was packing I found Shiori’s book, which I’d never been able to read, all those years of trying to forget my feelings for her, but I was equally incapable of just giving it away. I finally read it.” Ima shrugs. “Honestly, it wasn’t really my kind of story, too many complicated names and invented languages. But Shiori had written something on the very last page. She wrote that she loved me, and that she always had, but she didn’t want to get in the way of my happiness. She just wanted me to know.”

Sokka gasps, leaning forward. “She loved you back, all that time?”

“She did.” Ima nods. “I’ll always remember one line in particular: ‘I used to hate your husband, because he was taking you away from me, but I came to realise no one can be taken if they don’t want to leave’.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to leave. I made myself say goodbye to the love of my life, and have regretted it every day since.”

“But-” Sokka stammers. “You didn’t try to find her again?”

“Shiori never reached Ba Sing Se. Her ship was sunk by the Earth Kingdom Navy for flying Fire Nation colours.” Sokka’s heart drops into his stomach as the woman sets her now-empty tea cup down. Ima sighs, and looks Sokka dead in the eyes, a seriousness in her face that wasn’t there before. “I learned a long time ago that life is too short and too precious to be ruled by something as silly as fear. If you’ll take an old woman’s advice, the pain of rejection fades with time. The ghost of a what-if will haunt you until the day you die.”

Sokka. Sits. And tries to process. “You-“ He starts. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.” Ima says simply, reaching out to pat the back of his hand. “Tell him how you feel.”

“But, my sister-”

“You’re thinking too much about what will happen once you tell him.” Ima asserts, cutting him off. “Shiori didn’t write me that note because she wanted to break up a happy couple; she expected nothing from me in return. She just knew that love is never better left unsaid. You love him; tell him.” Ima shrugs. “It’s really that simple.”

“But-“

Ima levels him with a stern look, and his protest dies on his lips. “Love given with expectations, or worries, or hesitations, is not love.” Ima asserts, rising slowly to her feet and gathering the tea cups and kettle onto the tray. “If you really love this man so much, saying the words will come easier than breathing, and without overthinking or worrying about what he’ll say, or about your sister, or any of that other nonsense. It’ll just be the truth.” She lifts the tray, and pauses. “And I’ll ask around after your book. Someone will have a copy.”

“I-” Sokka falters, as he gets to his feet, understanding the dismissal for what it is. “Thank you?”

Ima nods, and turns to walk back behind her curtains. Sokka, still feeling a little unsteady, staggers back and out of the shop. He makes his way back to the palace slowly, head muddled with Ima’s story and thoughts of Zuko, and Katara, and all the what-ifs in the world.

The little bell on the door rings again, and Ima sets down the tea set and walks back into the front of the shop.

“Well, you’ve certainly had an interesting day. Who was that I just saw leaving?”

Ima chuckles, leaning against the counter. “Just another lost child I took the liberty of putting the fear of Agni into. In my favourite way.”

Shiori pauses where she’d been setting their lunch on the table. “That was a rhetorical…” She blinks back at Ima. “You gave the ‘the love of my life died tragically without knowing how I felt’ speech to Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe?”

Ima’s brow furrows. “Who?”

“Sokka of the-” Shiori gapes. “The man who just left wearing blue Water Tribe robes.”

“He said his name was Wang.”

“That could not have more obviously been Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. You know, The Sokka. The Fire Lord’s best friend. The Avatar’s best friend. Inventor, statesman, strategist- we have some of his published experiments, and map revisions, in the shop. We sold the Avatar’s charity calendar last year, remember? He was three of the months.” Shiori says, gesturing significantly. “He’s the second most powerful person in our country?”

Ima wrinkles her nose. “You know I don’t keep up with politics.”

Shiori stares at her for a few moments. “…you are the most aggravating person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“That’s hurtful.” Ima says, as she moves to kiss her wife’s flabbergasted face. “And you wonder why I always kill you off at the end of the story.”

“I-” Shiori blinks, watching Ima sit down in front of the food she’d brought. “What did he say?”

Ima opens a little box of rice and grabs a set of chopsticks. “He’s in love with his best friend, the poor-” she starts, but is cut off by the spluttering noise Shiori makes.

“He’s in love with Fire Lord Zuko?!”

“I don’t know, maybe?” Ima shrugs. “He might have other best friends.”

“… I want a divorce.”

“That’s easy enough, we’re not technically married.”

“You just had a heart to heart with Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, who is apparently attracted to men, and all you can tell me is that he maybe is in love with Fire Lord Zuko.” Shiori says, shaking her head as she slowly begins to unpack her lunch. Eyes narrowing, she looks at Ima, who meets her gaze, happily chewing away. “Anything else I should know?”

Ima chews slowly, enjoying Shiori’s reactions to what she had thought was a fairly mundane conversation. “Nothing I can think of. Oh, though I suppose you might know who she is, as well- apparently this Sokka’s best friend is in love with his sister?”

“Katara?” Shiori chokes on her food. “He’s in love with the Avatar?!”

Sokka doesn't see much of his sister, the days following the festival. He doesn't see much of anyone really, other than ministers and governors and Zuko, occasionally, still running around looking for the two or three things in the Fire Nation he hasn't yet bought for Katara.

Katara's been in a good mood, Sokka knows, even though he barely sees her. The glimpses and moments he manages to catch of her, she always looks either really pleased with herself, or is giggling behind her hand. It's like the glow of a new relationship, which wouldn't bode well for Sokka, if Zuko weren't still constantly freaking out about winning her over. Sokka tries to ask her about it, one day, and she makes up some obvious lie about one of the Kyoshi Warriors having told her a good joke. Then she gets a weird look in her eyes, and tells him she's just remembered she needs to write Suki a letter, immediately.

He thinks she might be avoiding him, honestly.

He knows Eito is, though he can't figure out why- it's admittedly low on Sokka's list of priorities -he starts losing track of the exact amount of times he's been walking and seen Eito heading his way, only for the kid to spin on his heel and run in the other direction the moment he notices Sokka. According to Zuko, it seems like his bad mood is lasting past the initial hungover period. Maybe he's having problems at home. Or maybe Sokka's not the only one whose having troubles with his love life.

Not that Sokka has a love life.

Mostly he has a ball of stress and indecision that's collected in his gut and keeps him awake at night, and the words of an old bookstore owner haunting what little sleep he manages to get.

Sokka’s nails dig into his palms, mind replaying the words ‘the ghost of a what-if will haunt you until the day you die’ on an endless loop.

The last of the ministers leaves the cabinet room, and then the two of them are alone. Sokka glances at Zuko, who’s determinedly scribbling away next to him, staring at the parchment under his fingers like it contains the answers to all the universe’s problems.

Sokka takes a deep breath. He’s practiced what he was going to say. He told himself he was going to be cool about this (even as a voice in his head, a Katara-sounding voice, reminded him he’d never been cool about anything in his life). He tries to calm his breathing, and steady the frantic beating of his heart. This is Zuko. Zuko knows about Sokka’s fear of inadequacy, the suffocating role of protector that Sokka struggled to fit into since he was eight years old. He knows that Sokka still has nightmares about a palm slipping from his grip, about not being fast enough, strong enough. Not being enough, full stop. Zuko’s seen the parts of him Sokka’d rather keep hidden. Sokka’s seen those same parts of Zuko.

In the grand scheme of things, what’s one more confession between them?

“I’m gonna ask her.”

Sokka blinks, eyes still fixed on the side of his head, so they meet Zuko's eyes the moment he looks up. Zuko shrugs, looking a little sheepish. “I mean, I think it’s time.”

“Oh.” Sokka nods, slowly. “You’re gonna. Katara. You’re gonna ask her.”

Zuko falters. “What, you think I shouldn’t yet?” He glances down at his parchment. “I keep trying to come up with things she’d like, ways to impress her; I’m running out of ideas.”

“Well.” Sokka has no fucking clue what to say. “She does leave soon.”

“I know, I just-” Zuko’s eyes skim his own writing. “Oh, here- I thought I could name the library we’re building after her.”

“You... what.” Sokka asks, faintly, sure he's somehow misheard.

“She likes books, and she’s really enjoyed working with the texts in the crypts, I thought it’d be fitting.” Zuko frowns, looking back up at Sokka. “Or do you think it’d seem like too much of an empty gesture?

Sokka stares at him. Well. It's official. Zuko's gone off the deep end. “… how about this, you just change it from ‘Caldera City’ to ‘Katara City’ and call it a fucking day.”

“You think she’d like that?”

Sokka's left eye is developing a funny twitch. “That was a joke.”

“What?” Zuko’s expression goes a little crazed, in the corners of his eyes. “Oh thank you, that’s very helpful.”

“Seriously, dude.” Sokka holds up his hands, placating. “I know overthinking is pretty much all you do, but you are really overthinking this.”

“I’m running out of time, Sokka.” Zuko insists. “There’s only so many things I can give or buy or do for her, until I just have to- have to ask her, and I- what if she says no?!” Zuko’s voice is tilting towards frenzied. “I mean, I have done some terrible things, she would be completely justified in saying no, and then- then what do I do? What do-”

Oh spirits. “Zuko.” Sokka interrupts him sternly.

Zuko’s eyes, glazed over in the panic he’s working himself up to, settle absently on Sokka’s. Sokka inhales, and makes up his mind.

“Okay, listen to me.” Sokka scoots his chair over, until he can brace a hand on Zukko’s knee, look him dead in the eye. “You are… the best person I know. You have grown, and changed, and sacrificed, and you are a good person, Zuko.” Zuko fidgets a little, glances away. “You are kind, and generous, and… stubborn, in the best way.” Sokka asserts, and watches Zuko roll his eyes, exhaling a laugh. “I’m serious! You don’t let anything get in the way of you doing what’s right. Even when that thing is rational, adult choices or instincts of self-preservation.” Sokka teases, and watches as Zuko turns to meet his eyes again.

“You’re thoughtful, and funny- not, you know. On purpose. But you are!” He grins. “Katara… thinks the world of you. We all do. And nothing you did when you were young, and confused, and hurting, is ever gonna change that.” Sokka inhales, and tries not to hope Zuko recognises what he's saying for the declaration it is. This may be the closest he ever gets to telling him how he feels, but it's about Zuko, and his happiness. It’s not about Sokka. “So just ask her, okay? She’s gonna say yes, and it’s way past time you stopped overthinking and let yourself be happy.”

“I…” Zuko stares back at him, awe in his eyes and breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sokka presses. Zuko nods, smiling, and Sokka pats his knee. “Great. Time to be brave.”

Time to be brave.

Sokka pauses, halfway through pulling away from his friend. “Zuko, I-” He looks into those shining eyes, the softness there. He inhales, forces himself not to look away. “I think it's time I went back to the Southern Water Tribe.” He deliberately doesn't say home, because home these days seems to be wherever this ridiculous firebender happens to be. Which is, y'know. The whole problem.

“Oh.” Zuko says simply, looking back at him. He pauses for a moment, obviously thinking. “Okay, sure.”

O-

Okay sure.

Okay sure?! The easy, casual way Zuko says it effectively throws Sokka right out of the pit of self-sacrificing melancholy he was ready to spiral down. Okay sure. He just talked Zuko down from a panic attack about gifts for Katara, and all he gets for quitting his job and leaving Zuko to run a country alone with a team of aggravating morons on various points on the sliding scale to fascism is an okay sure. Maybe he didn't hear him right? “You- you’re cool with it?”

“Of course.” Zuko gives him a look like that should be obvious. “I mean, c’mon, give me a little credit. I didn’t expect to keep you trapped here forever. If you want to go back to the Southern Water Tribe, I'm all for it.”

Well. That’s a fuck of a lot of internal turmoil for absolutely nothing. And jokes on him for thinking he was necessary to the palace. To Zuko. Sokka supposes he did talk himself into a job pretty easily, makes sense he could talk himself out just as fast.

“I could ask Uncle to come up, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, he likes breaks from the shop now and then, and I think he finds it funny to confuse the ministers.” Zuko hums thoughtfully. “I think a month should be enough to get things in order, if that’s not too long to wait? That way we can still be here for the summer solstice, and then leave afterw-”

“Wait, we?” Sokka interrupts, and Zuko blinks at him. “We who?”

“We… you and I?” Zuko says, as one of the Kyoshi warriors, Ji-So, leads someone into the room. Ji-So nods at the two of them before returning to her post, as the person she’s led in bows deep in Zuko’s direction, and holds something out for him. “What, am I not invited?”

Sokka stares as Zuko takes the parchment from the messenger, eyes skimming the writing.

“You? Want to come?”

Zuko looks back up at him. “Don’t you think I should? Introduce myself to your dad?” He turns towards the messenger. “Thank you, Hien.” She bows as Zuko stands up, hands running along his robes. He gestures with the parchment. “Apparently Governor Niko is requesting an audience.”

Cool, sure, whatever. “You’ve met my dad.” Sokka says lamely.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, but not as…” He glances at the random messenger, still in the room and waiting expectantly. “You know.” He does a weird little thing with his eyebrow, which is obviously meant to convey something he doesn’t want to say in front of a random palace employee. And then Sokka gets it. Hakoda’s never met Zuko as his future son-in-law. Of fucking course. “And if you’re going to visit anyway, I’d like to come along.” He smiles at Sokka. “We should stop by the Earth Kingdom on the way back, it’s been too long since we’ve seen Suki and Toph. But right now I should see what Governor Niko wants.”

“Wait, Zuko,” Visit? No wonder he didn’t care that Sokka was trying to quit his job, he’d completely misunderstood. “I-”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure he just wants to complain. No reason to cut your breakfast short. I’ll see you later, and we’ll figure out the details, yeah?” He smiles at Sokka, nods to Hien, and in a matter of seconds they’re out the door.

Sokka lets his head fall, forehead first, onto the table. Why can’t anything. In his life. Be easy.

“Sokka!”

Sokka groans internally; he had specifically come out to the gardens to stay out of the way while Zuko treated Katara to a special dinner of Water Tribe delicacies. In fact, Sokka had suggested the meal. He'd watched from the sidelines as Zuko frantically placed orders for various ingredients, had even suggested specific vendors he knew carried the good stuff. There's a little shop, tucked into an alleyway in the heart of Caldera City, and the things they do with squid are incredible. He'd told Zuko that if he mentioned Sokka's name, he'd get the fresh catch, cooked precisely the Water Tribe way. Because he'd finally understood; there was no 'what if' for him. He knew exactly what would happen if he told Zuko how he felt. Who wouldn't choose Katara, over Sokka? It wouldn't be worth the trouble. So he stepped aside, once and for all, and helped Zuko plan something she'd love.

He'd wanted it to be perfect for Katara, and Zuko. They deserved a perfect dinner, and a perfect night.

Just like Sokka deserved to be as far away from the dining room as he could possibly be, without having to leave the palace, or country, hence hiding out in the gardens. He’d thought he had another hour alone, at least, before he'd have to retreat to his room, hide inside and try to savour the last night before Zuko and Katara became ZukoandKatara.

He turns, and sees Zuko running over one of the bridges with the same enthusiasm as Aang does basically everything, that is to say, at least four times as much as Sokka’s ever seen Zuko show for anything. “She said yes!”

Ah. Fuck.

“She said yes!” Zuko repeats, near-shouting at this point. He’s beaming from ear to ear, shining with happiness, so much so it’s kind of hard to look at, directly. “I mean, I don’t know why I thought she’d say no, I was just so scared, but she was so nice about it, she only laughed at me twice, no, three times, but she said yes!”

Right. Cool. So. That’s. Yeah. “Oh.” Sokka says, as Zuko looks at him like he expects Sokka to be vibrating with joy, too. Or at least had anticipated a slightly more upbeat reaction than the cold monotone that accompanies your best friend shattering your heart in front of your eyes. “That’s… really great, Zuko.”

Zuko’s smile falters, and fuck, Sokka’s such a piece of shit. He’s ruining, like, the happiest fucking moment of Zuko’s life with his own stupid, selfish feelings. “You… don’t seem happy.” Zuko says, concern in his eyes.

“I am. Really.” Sokka doesn’t recognise his own voice as he says it. “I’m just tired. Really, that’s amazing, Zuko.”

The smile tugs at his lips again, so maybe Sokka isn’t such a buzzkill, after all. “I want to show you something.”

Oh, Sokka would really rather he didn’t.

“I know it’s way too early for a necklace, but I. I made this.” Zuko holds out his hand. “I’ve only ever forged dao swords before and… I mean. It’s not perfect.”

In his palm is a long silver bead, with tiny cutouts that swirl around it, forming cresting waves and minuscule flames. Zuko made this? It’s beautiful, and Sokka feels like crying.

“Oh.” He tries to keep his voice steady, and turns back at the papers in his hand, pretending to read whatever’s on the top page. “Looks good.”

“Um.” Zuko falters. “I can make another one! I just- I mean, Katara said sometimes in your tribe they used braid beads to symbolise commitment to a partner? I know they’re usually carved from bone but I. I just thought. I mean… if you don’t like it?”

“Zuko, seriously.” Sokka forces himself to meet Zuko’s eyes, lost as they look. “It’s really nice.”

“Right.” Zuko stares at him for a few moments, as if expecting him to say or do something. “Um, well,” He clears his throat, finally, “I don’t really know the custom? Who puts it on?”

Spirits, Sokka just had to be the one person in the entire Fire Nation who could explain these things to Zuko, didn’t he. “Usually the guy would, but if you don’t know the braids I’m sure Katara could do it for you.”

“Oh.” In a span of about a minute, Zuko’s expression has gone from delighted, to unsure, to… hurt? To hesitant, to deeply confused as he stares at Sokka. “It’s just- did. Do you not want to braid it in?”

Why the fuck would Sokka want to do it. “Uh, well. I guess you wouldn’t know, but it’s a pretty intimate custom. You guys should be alone when you do it.”

“I-“ Zuko blinks. “What?”

“I mean, it’s a you and Katara thing. I can clear out, give you guys your space.” In fact, he’ll probably leave the Fire Nation entirely, see if he can convince Suki to let him mope at hers for a month or ten.

“But.” The confusion takes on a distinctly different quality; Zuko’s looking at Sokka like he’s the stupidest person alive. “Sokka, I think it’s gonna be pretty hard to braid this into your hair if you’re not there.”

“Seriously, I don’t know why you’d think-” Sokka stops. “Wait, what?”

“I mean it’s sort of… attached to you?” Zuko says slowly, like he’s explaining a simple concept to a toddler.

Sokka is. Incredibly confused. “Why would you braid it into my hair?”

“…because we’re dating?”

Something deep and crucial to the basic functions of Sokka’s brain shifts out of alignment, like a gear that falls out of place and jams the whole mechanism to a grinding halt. “We- what?!”

“Did you hit your head?” Zuko asks, eyes full of concern. “Have you been drinking cactus juice again? Katara told me-”

“What do you mean, we’re dating?!”

“Sokka, we’ve been dating for weeks!” Zuko groans, looking at once exasperated and confused. “Does that word mean something different in the Water Tribe?”

Does that word mean something different in the Fire Nation?! “You think we’re dating. As in, together. Romantically. You are romantically interested in me. Me.”

“Sokka, a few nights ago we sat together and I told you I’d had feelings for you since the Boiling Rock!” Zuko says, matter-of-fact, like it’s no big deal, like it’s something Sokka should just know, rather than a life-changing revelation that has the skies opening and the sprits descending upon them and Sokka rethinking every moment of the last five years of his life. Zuko stares at Sokka like he’s searching for a sign of recognition. “I’ve known I was in love with you since the fourth day after the cherry blossoms bloomed, last year? I told you!”

“Fuck off, you absolutely did not-”

“You told me that, Zuko.” Shouts Katara’s voice from somewhere behind them, Sokka doesn’t look to find out where, exactly. “Right after you used twenty words to describe Sokka’s smile.”

Zuko pales, opening and closing his mouth like an elephant koi. “But- you-” He stares at Sokka, obviously trying to process this information. “I?”

After a second, Zuko blinks, as if shaking himself out of a trance. The shock and confusion on his face shifts into full-blown panic. “Wait, do you not know I have feelings for you?” He startles, takes a single step back. “Do you have feelings for me?!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t think to check before you asked me for my blessing.” Katara snorts. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Absently, Sokka hears the retreating steps of his sister, so at least she’s giving them privacy. The fewer witnesses to Sokka’s mental breakdown, the better.

“Let me get this straight.” Sokka says to Zuko, who looks like he’s going through the five stages of grief simultaneously. “You told Katara, for some reason. You found the time to learn jewellery making and hand-crafted a personalised, traditional courting bead, but you never thought to, at any point, actually tell me you were interested in me?”

“Um.” Zuko says, his voice weak and his eyes dazed. “In my defence, I’ve been told it was really obvious.”

“Not to me!” Sokka cries. “I’ve spent the last week losing my mind trying to figure out how to tell my best friend I’m in love with him!”

Zuko stares at him, lips parted in shock. “…you are?”

“Maybe! I don’t know, I might also fucking murder him.”

Sokka’s… not really prone to pacing, but he doesn’t know what to do with his body, fidgeting abortively as his mind works overtime trying to sort through weeks of conflicting information and assumptions. Finally he just flops to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the garden.

Zuko, as ever, follows suit, sinking slowly to sit facing Sokka.

“Okay.” Sokka says, when his brain manages to start working at about half-capacity, a massive improvement from the last couple of minutes. He holds out his hands, palms down, willing the world to right itself. “Okay.” He meets Zuko’s eyes. “Okay, so what the fuck has been up with your obsession with Katara?” Nothing makes any sense. Why would Zuko be courting Katara if he- supposedly- had feelings for Sokka? Unless it was his last attempt at going after the sibling he really wanted, as opposed to the one he was settling for, Sokka’s brain supplies.

“I haven’t been obsessed,” Zuko protests, lamely.

“You’ve been losing your royal mind trying to impress her.”

“Well, can you blame me?!” Zuko cries, then exhales, looking resigned. “Sokka, I need you to understand something.”

He looks at Sokka, then, as if waiting for permission to speak. Sokka, eyes still a little crazed, makes a waving ‘continue’ gesture with his hand.

Zuko sighs, looking down at the grass beneath them. “When I first met Katara, she was just… an obstacle. A barely-competent waterbender that stood between me and the Avatar. I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. Time went on, and, as you kept evading me, I resented you both, but I hated her. I… didn’t think a non-bender was much of a threat, so I saw her as solely responsible for keeping the Avatar away from me. The Avatar had to be captured alive, but Katara… there was a time that I was so desperate, I would’ve tried to kill her without hesitation. And then, I joined you all.”

Sokka braces himself. He can sense where this is going. And sure he… he’s man enough to admit that he’s in love with Zuko, but he’s not sure his sense of self-worth can take so blatantly being the second choice.“Hey, you don’t-” Sokka tries to stop him, but Zuko shakes his head.

“No, listen. I was trying so hard to get you all to like me, but Katara in particular. She saw something in me, in the Crystal Caves. Something worth saving. Something good. And I threw it back in her face. I got Aang killed. And she hated me for it. And I deserved that.” Zuko exhales, dropping his head into his hands to drag his hair away from his face. “And then, I finally got her to trust me enough to let me help her search for the man who killed your mother.”

Right. Yep. The days he and Katara disappeared together and came back hugging. Any idiot could’ve guessed that was when he fell for her. Sokka winces, preparing himself for what’s coming.

“On that ship, in the middle of the ocean…” Zuko takes a steadying breath. “She bloodbent a man to his knees. Right in front of me!” He gestures wildly, punctuating each word. “You know, we were told stories about bloodbenders when I was growing up? Stories meant to scare children into being obedient citizens, and not wandering around after dark. I didn’t know it was actually possible! My uncle hadn’t even heard of anyone being able to do it. And then this girl, who I had once thought about killing, who still fucking hated me, just. Did it. Right there. Like she’d been doing it for years. I… I didn’t sleep for a week, Sokka.” He looks up, directly into Sokka’s eyes. “Your sister fucking terrifies me.”

Right.

Okay.

Not… what he was expecting.

When Sokka doesn’t respond, too shocked to move, Zuko continues. “I mean, obviously, we’re friends now, she’s like a sister to me. But… being my sister has never exactly negated terror.” He chuckles, though it’s dazed. “And then, there I was. Trying to- to take you away from your tribe. Presuming to be good enough for you, even after everything I’ve done. And if you being so blatantly out of my league, with your…” He gestures, haphazardly, at Sokka. “Everything, wasn’t daunting enough, you’re Katara’s older brother? I know how protective she is of you, and I just. I went a little crazy, I guess.”

Oh, and Sokka’s brain was doing so well.

“Wait so.” He tries. “This whole time, you’ve been…”

“Trying to convince the world’s most powerful waterbender that I’m good enough for her big brother?” Zuko says, with a self-deprecating grin. “And to be honest, you haven’t really been that helpful.”

“I thought you were courting her!”

Zuko freezes, a look on his face like he’s just been smacked over the head with a perfectly aimed boomerang. “What.”

“I mean,” Sokka gestures ineffectually. “You were trying so hard to impress her, I just assumed…”

Zuko stays, shock-still, for a beat, before he begins to laugh. Full bodied, breathless laughs that have him doubled over in front of Sokka.

“You-“ He manages to get out. “You honestly thought-“ Zuko wheezes. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“It’s not funny! You made me jealous of Katara! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I was jealous of Katara? I’d made progress, Zuko.” Sokka huffs, as Zuko’s laughter fades to giggles. “Dick.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, eyes still shining with amusement. “Trust me, I’ve only ever cared for her as a sister. Agni, I could never do that to Aang, even if…” He chuckles. “I’ve never even considered- I mean, she’s not exactly my type.”

Sokka’s raises an eyebrow. “Okay, well, visually, she’s the female version of me, so watch yourself, Fire Lord-“

“She’s not a man, Sokka. And even if she were, she’s not you.” Zuko smiles. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re... frustratingly gorgeous, and your smile has made me lose focus in more meetings than I'd like to admit, but I don’t just love you ‘visually’; you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met. You make me want to be a better person, and you make me feel comfortable just being myself, all at once. I could listen to you talk about any one of the million things you’re passionate about for the rest of my life and consider it well spent.”

He pauses, smiling softly at Sokka, who moves his hand from his side to smack Zuko’s knee with the back of his palm. “Keep going.”

Zuko grins, and grabs the hand, intertwining their fingers. “You keep me sane. You make me laugh. You’re there for me, when I need you, and I want to be there for you. I want to make you happy. You’re my first thought when I wake up, and my last before I go to sleep. You’re just… you’re everything, Sokka.”

He hums softly, unable to look away from Zuko. “That was a pretty good speech.”

Shrugging, Zuko says simply, “You should’ve heard my one about falling in love with you under the cherry blossoms.”

Sokka’s eyes narrow. “Next time you’re about to stumble off a roof, I’m just gonna let you fall.”

Zuko laughs, eyes fond. He’s started to rub circles along the back of Sokka’s hand. It feels nice.

Sokka could probably use some time to process, and definitely has more questions, mostly ‘what the fuck’ and ‘are you fucking kidding me’ and ‘no seriously, what the fuck’ repeated ad nauseam, but he can ask those later. There’s only one question that matters to him, right now.

Sokka looks down at their tangled fingers, “So,” he says slowly, “if you really thought we were dating, didn’t you think it was weird we hadn’t kissed yet?”

Zuko’s breath hitches, only just audible in the quiet of the night. “I… didn’t know how quickly you got to that sort of thing in the Water Tribe. I wanted to be respectful.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “That, and I had this pretty vivid mental image of Katara finding us in a compromising position, thinking I was taking advantage of you, and bloodbending me to rip my own dick off. I thought it was probably best to keep my distance.”

“Wow, you really are scared of her.”

“Completely rational fear, she’s terrifying.”

Sokka huffs out a laugh, then looks at Zuko. They’re slowly gravitating towards each other, the distance between them getting smaller with every second. Sokka’s eyes meet Zuko’s, then trail down to his mouth. “So what’s stopping you from kissing me now?”

“I mean,” Zuko smiles, mere inches from Sokka. “Your sister’s still in the palace.”

“I’ll protect you from the big, scary waterbender.”

“Oh yeah?” He can feel Zuko’s warm breath against his skin. His voice is a low, coarse whisper. “Cause you did just say you’d let me fall off a roof.”

Sokka smirks. “Convince me otherwise.”

Zuko, rather effectively, finally makes good on his favourite threat: he wipes the smirk right off of Sokka’s face.

In the rare moments when Sokka had let himself imagine what it’d be like, actually getting to kiss Zuko, he had promised himself that he would make it the best kiss Zuko’d ever had. It’d be a sweeping, romantic kiss, the stuff of legends. The kind of kiss where sparks fly and the world stops turning. With Sokka’s not inconsiderable experience kissing, and the single-minded focus he gives to things he’s passionate about, he’d blow Zuko’s mind.

The moment Zuko finally kisses him, though, Sokka immediately forgets every plan he’d made, every technique he’d mentally bookmarked. Zuko’s kissing him, and there’s not a single other thought in his head.

It’s light, at first, hesitant, like Zuko’s still not sure, somehow, that he’ll be allowed this. That first press of lips, though, sets every nerve in Sokka’s body alight, and a swooping sensation fills his chest, like flying and falling and dancing and laughing, and Sokka surges forward, chasing the feeling. Zuko makes a weak noise, and melts into it.

When he regains his mental faculties, later, he’ll hope that it was as good for Zuko as it was for him, because as soon as Zuko’s mouth is on his Sokka can’t imagine kissing anyone else ever again. Who else would kiss Sokka like it’s the only thing he’ll ever want to do, like it’s what he was meant to do, like their mouths were made to fit just so. Like he owns him, and belongs to him, at once.

As first kisses go, it’s a fucking revelation.

It’s like all the tension leaves his body, and is immediately replaced by different, better, wonderful tension. Sokka smiles into the kiss, because how could he not? And Zuko’s smiling too, Sokka can feel it in the shape of his mouth, and he’s pretty sure it’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.

Sokka pulls away, just slightly, meaning to say something, probably, before Zuko chases his lips with a soft whine that sends a shiver down his spine. His mouth parts, and then there’s his fucking tongue, wet and hot and- fuck.

Zuko presses his body tight against Sokka, like he wants to make a home inside Sokka’s chest. His arms come to brace around Sokka’s shoulders, hands trailing circles against the shaved hairs at the back of his head, eliciting a moan that Zuko happily swallows.

Sokka’s hands press flat against Zuko’s lower back, pulling him close, as close as he fucking can.

Minutes, hours, a lifetime later, Sokka comes up for air, dizzy and ecstatic and breathless. He looks up at Zuko, watches his eyes flutter open, skin flushed and lips shining, looking like he’s slowly waking from the best dream he’s ever had.

He’s also in Sokka’s lap, which Sokka didn’t notice happening, but isn’t going to complain about.

Zuko’s eyes, with visible difficulty, focus on Sokka. “…you’re laughing.”

Sokka can’t stop smiling, even as he asks, “Am I?”

“Yeah.” Zuko’s smile is pushed out with his breath, the light of it spreading through his face. It’s the kind of smile Sokka wants to bask in for the rest of his life. “Is something funny?”

“No,” Sokka says, even as his chest trembles with silent, elated, breathy giggles. Oh. He’s giddy. His smile spreads even wider as he pulls Zuko back in. Zuko doesn’t resist, just sinks into the curves and planes of Sokka’s body like he belongs there. Zuko lets his forehead come to rest against Sokka’s, smile never faltering. “I guess you just make me happy.”

Zuko’s breath shudders just a little, and he brushes his nose against Sokka’s. Sokka lets his words hang in the air for a moment, waiting for a response, before pinching expectantly at his hip. Zuko chuckles, softly, like he knew what Sokka wanted, and deliberately didn't give it to him. “You already know how happy you make me.”

Their noses brush again, then Zuko tilts his head and lets his bottom lip brush against Sokka’s. Sokka chases the motion, not quite kissing, just half-catching his lips, a gentle tease.

Sokka smiles, and murmurs, into the space between Zuko’s lips, “Tell me again.”