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Sokka poked his head into the airship dining hall as he passed. Most of the crew from the B-shift had already eaten. There were a handful of stragglers at the back of the room, clustered around the tables nearest the kitchen where they could harass the cooks through the half-window while they finished their preparations for the next shift’s dinner rush. Otherwise the room was empty, easy enough for Sokka to give the occupants a once-over.
No Zuko.
They were only a few hours underway, but by the time Sokka had gotten settled into his own room Zuko had wandered off. He sighed and set off for the ladder leading up to the next deck. Sokka had started with the Fire Lord’s suite—a long shot, really, because why would Zuko ever make it that easy for him? Then he’d looked through the meeting rooms, the lower deck lounge, and the bridge, at which point the airship captain’s patience for the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador’s penchant for asking forgiveness for intruding before permission to enter in the first place had begun to run thin.
They should be approaching the Earth Kingdom mainland soon, replacing the featureless ocean views with a few more hours of interesting scenery before it was time to sleep. From there it was straight on the Ba Sing Se, and with their current speed and Sokka’s general disinterest in rising early, he was kind of expecting to be landing before he finally managed to get up for breakfast. All in all, a quick airship flight to Ba Sing Se wasn’t exactly a luxury cruise, but. Well.
Zuko had asked him, specifically, if he’d like to accompany him, and…
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be reading into it too much. Technically, the Earth King had extended the invitation to all of them. Katara and Aang had already written to confirm that he’d see them there. Even Toph had been invited, despite her obvious disdain for most of the Earth Kingdom’s high-society functions, and her standing threat to be a disruption to any fancy party that will have her. It wasn’t like it was all that special that Sokka had been invited to come along, since they were traveling from the same place, and it only made sense, logistically, but the embarrassing little corner of Sokka’s brain that had been nursing a crush on Zuko for years had latched onto the idea of him and Zuko going to a party together and refused to let go.
A few hours trapped on an airship with nothing better to do wasn’t exactly a vacation, but they so rarely found the time to take a break that Sokka was going to make the most of it. They were scheduled to greet the Earth King soon after they arrived, and then Zuko’s schedule would be booked up with meetings and visiting his uncle.
Sokka’s schedule was busy with his own appointments, never mind seeing Katara for the first time in months, so they wouldn’t have a better chance than now to spend time together, just the two of them. He’d had the kitchen make him a picnic before they left the Fire Palace, which had only taken a little bit of begging and a promise to find someone to cover one of the chef’s girlfriend’s guard shifts next week so they could take a holiday of their own. He’d brought wine. He was going to—whatever, just very casually suggest a friendly evening between two pals, it wasn’t like…
Well, he definitely wasn’t going to make a move or anything, as Katara’s letters had been increasingly badgering him to. It was just going to be a relaxing and friendly guy time picnic, maybe later this evening, up on the viewing deck where it was nice and private and the moon could hang near-full, casting soft glows over all of Sokka’s very thoughtfully arranged treats and wine in a totally not romantic sort of way.
Yeah.
He’d resigned himself to having to comb the whole ship from top to bottom when he’d run into Ming. She was standing stiffly in that not-quite-hovering way she did whenever she was trying to do her job subtly, usually reserved for whenever Zuko got annoyed with her breathing down his neck and ordered her to stand down. She locked eyes with him and hooked a thumb down the hall without Sokka even having to ask. He grinned and nodded his thanks as he passed.
The viewing deck was empty, the lights turned low besides the glow of the setting sunlight through the window. He glanced over it as he surveyed the dimly lit room, and the empty benches bolted to the floor at the back, where he’d seen a few of the crewmembers take their breaks before.
Still no Zuko.
He huffed and shook out his knee, then started toward the room at the back. He fidgeted with this sleeve. His gaze slid back to the window without permission, and Sokka glanced away, then back, uneasiness creeping into the back of his mind. Which was silly, because he didn’t mind heights. The view from an airship wasn’t so different from the view from Appa’s back. It was smoother, even, certainly more comfortable, and a lot warmer, so he didn’t know why the window kept snagging on the edge of his mind, crawling uncomfortably beneath his skin like an itch. It was just… the Earth Kingdom, and a normal sunset… and...
And...
They were nowhere near Wulong Forest. There was a storm brewing to the north, and so they’d swung much further south to avoid a turbulent flight. The air was calm here, only the faintest hum of the engine through the floor. The landscape was flat beyond the window, none of the pinnacle mountains Wulong was known for, just endless fields of grasses and rolling hills. It looked nothing like it, except the glancing light of the sunset on the horizon, and the hum beneath his boots—
Sokka didn’t realize he was backing away until he hit the training room door, the soft rattling of the metal latch shaking him like the buckling of a catwalk. His heart leapt embarrassingly at the sound, and he gripped the doorframe to steady himself, gasping shakily.
There was a training room beyond the viewing deck, meant to be a place for the crew to exercise during long flights. Many of these old passenger ships had been originally commissioned during Ozai’s reign, stopped halfway through construction, and converted to passenger ships instead. It left strange remnants of the past in their layouts, like the heavily padded armory turned training rooms, and the converted gunnery decks turned viewing lounges. The sound beyond the door was faint—so quiet that he wasn’t even sure how he heard it, except that it was all his brain could seem to focus on, like a pinhole shutter narrowing on that one single point.
Logically, he knew that it was Zuko. He often practiced his firebending when he had a lot on his mind. He was probably preoccupied with his coming meetings with the Earth King and nobility. He was probably planning out whatever socially awkward greeting he was going to meet the Earth King with. Maybe if Sokka really strained to listen, he’d hear him testing the words stiltedly under his breath, like he’d once caught him doing for the turtle ducks in the palace garden when he was getting ready to meet with Sokka’s dad.
But right now all Sokka could focus on was the light flashing beneath the door, and the whoosh of the flames. The thump of his feet striking the mat seemed louder even than the sudden thundering of Sokka’s blood in his ears. He drew back from the door, squeezed his eyes shut. He half expected the whistle of the wind in his ears, tugging at his clothes, and his skin crawled with the absence of it, something not-quite-right.
He made the stupid mistake of glancing back at the window, at the calm sunset bathed landscape. The whole field looked ablaze with the light, and Sokka’s stomach rolled. Spirits, they were high up. His palms were sweating, and—he couldn’t hold on like that. He scrubbed them against the front of his robe, willing them to stop shaking. His heartbeat ratcheted. His lungs felt thick, like trying to breathe smoke, gasping shallow breaths. He needed to... get a grip, literally, he needed to—
He needed to be… somewhere else. Not here. Anywhere else. Preferably on the ground, not hundreds of feet in the air, dangling from a catwalk, he—
Oh, spirits, he was going to be sick. Sokka made a dash for the door.
Zuko had given him one of the nicest rooms on the upper deck, which had been very kind and thoughtful. Sokka crossed the room in three quick strides and slammed the blinds closed, breathing harshly, hands shaking treacherously. He swore when he mashed this thumb in the hinge, then stumbled toward the tiny en suite bathroom. It was really more like a closet with a tiny metal sink next to the door, but it was better than having to share the head with the rest of the passengers and crew. Sokka collapsed more than knelt by the toilet, fighting nausea.
Sokka thumped his head against the wall. This was not how today was supposed to go. He was supposed to find Zuko, and not freak out, and they were supposed to have a good time, and he was supposed to have an evening for himself, for once, for once. He was not supposed to be curled up dry heaving in a glorified closet, trying to pretend that he couldn’t feel the engine’s thrumming through the floor.
It took Sokka a moment to realize that the persistent tapping was coming from the door to his bedroom. He was half-convinced the sound was just in his head, some ominous rattling of the walls, the phantom sounds of airship catwalks buckling under his and Toph’s combined weight, until it came again. He’d been so busy focusing on the world’s most pathetic meditation—‘breathe in, breathe out, don’t throw up, grip the edge of the toilet like your life depends on it, somehow convince your treacherous heart that your life does not depend on it, breathe in, breathe out’—that he almost didn’t register the sound.
He peeled his eyes open and glared at the toilet bowl, willing whoever it was to just go away, because he was really, truly not up for visitors right now. How… long had it been, since the viewing deck? His fingers were stiff, and as soon as he focused, the ache in his knee made itself known, stabbing pins and needles prickling down his calf. Hours, it must have been, with how awful he felt.
The knocking stopped, and then the door knob rattled. Sokka swore under his breath.
He’d say that Fire Lord Nosey was getting a little too forward about marching around the private quarters on his own ship, except that that wasn’t really fair, because this was Zuko, and Zuko had no reason to think Sokka would turn him away.
Maybe he’d see the bedroom was empty and assume Sokka wasn’t in, and then he’d give up and go away, and he won’t have to see him like this, and Sokka won’t have to explain—
“Sokka?” Zuko called from the bedroom, hesitantly, concern edging into his voice. Sokka heaved a shaky sigh and thumped his head against the wall.
“...in here,” Sokka admitted.
It only took a moment for him to appear in the doorway. Zuko was wearing a different set of travel robes, a looser fit than the Fire Lord’s robes he often wore around the palace. His hair was slightly damp like he’d showered after his workout, curling on the edges that weren’t pinned up by his crown.
The confusion on his face quickly tipped into alarm when he spotted him on the floor. Zuko was at his side in an instant, one hand on his elbow to steady him, even though he was competing with the bathroom wall and the toilet for that little honor. Sokka huffed and squeezed his eyes shut, because this was just… great. And exactly what he needed. And not at all humiliating.
“Sokka, you look terrible,” Zuko said.
“Thanks, buddy,” Sokka said miserably.
Zuko made a face. “No, that came out wrong. I just mean—is everything okay? Are you sick?”
Sokka could have lied. He could have made some excuse, and told Zuko that the last of his sea prune stores from home must have gone off. He could have fed him the world’s most unconvincing lie, and said that after years of flying on Appa without incident, the smooth sailing of the airship had made him airsick.
“I just…” Sokka said. Spirits, this was stupid. This wasn’t the first airship he’d ridden on since the war. This wasn’t even the first airship he’d ridden on this year, so why now? Sokka squeezed his eyes closed. “I was looking for you, on the viewing deck. And, um, the viewing deck…”
Sokka didn’t know how to explain in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous. It was just a passenger ship, wasn’t even a war ship. He wasn’t in danger. He’d already closed the window, and still he felt a little bit like his lungs weren’t filling properly, like the anxiety he’d felt peering over the side at the sunset-washed fields below them had packed into a hollowed out piece of his chest. It was stupid, they weren’t going to crash, he wasn’t going to fall, so why was he so… so...
Sokka dared a glance at him. Zuko’s expression softened with understanding, from worry to gentle concern.
“I’m fine,” Sokka insisted, and because his body was apparently not on the same page as his brain, his voice wobbled embarrassingly. Zuko’s hand was a warm weight on his back. His touch drew back just barely, and then his blunt nails began tracing small circles over Sokka’s spine.
“Are you going to throw up?” Zuko asked.
Sokka thought about it. The crawling nausea that had settled into his stomach hadn’t gone away, but it hadn’t gotten any worse, either. He peeled his forehead off the cool metal of the wall and shook his head slightly.
“Then you should move somewhere more comfortable,” Zuko said.
“I’m comfortable here,” Sokka said.
“I’ll carry you,” Zuko said, managing to make the offer sound more like a threat. Somehow a little snort fought its way through the leaden anxiety in Sokka’s chest.
“You don’t have to,” Sokka said. He wasn’t really sure how long he’d been kneeling on the floor in the dark. Actually, he wasn’t even sure what time it was, whether he was cutting into Zuko’s evening or his sleep by—by being this way. His left knee protested when he tried to wobble to his feet, and Zuko ended up catching him around the waist anyway. “Sorry. I’m fine. You don’t have to do all this. I can take care of myself.”
“I want to,” Zuko said. “If that’s okay. I mean, if you want me to go—”
“No,” Sokka said, a little too quickly. He bit his tongue, annoyed with himself for sounding so needy, but Zuko only looked relieved.
“Sit down?” Zuko suggested.
He was tempted to protest. He should crack a flimsy joke to deflect the uncomfortable weight of Zuko’s concern, but his head felt like it had been packed with cotton, and he couldn’t find the words. He’d been lost in his own head before, but now he was swinging back around to feeling too exposed, trapped like a bug in a glass, and the scrutiny didn’t make the anxiety crawling in his stomach any easier to tolerate.
Except sitting was probably going to happen whether Sokka wanted to or not, considering his knee was making its opinion of the last couple hours very clear. He limped over to the edge of the bed and curled his fists in the sheets.
Sokka took a shaky breath. Zuko didn’t even comment on the size of Sokka’s luggage, which was composed of a perfectly reasonable three trunks. Two and a half, really, because one of them was sort of small and was mostly stuffed with gifts from the Fire Nation for Aang and Katara and Toph, and anyway, a lot could happen in a three day trip and Sokka liked to be prepared.
Sokka could see on his face that he was tempted to tease him about it. The fact that he was taking pity on him was probably a testament to how awful he looked. He felt awful, uncomfortably clammy and bone-tired in a way that he had no right being, considering he’d wasted the whole evening on the floor. While Zuko’s back was turned, he made a daring escape to limp the sink basin to splash his face and wet the back of his neck, though it was probably too late to really salvage his dignity. His eyes felt puffy. He didn’t even want to look in the mirror.
Zuko made a dissatisfied sound at the trunk he was rifling through and moved on to the next. He finally managed to find what he was looking for in that one, making a mess of Sokka’s careful packing in the process. Zuko pressed a sleep robe into his hands, a soft and warm one that he didn’t actually remember packing. Sokka was too tired to argue. He shuffled uncomfortably back to the bed. Zuko trailed after him like a turtle duckling, torn between giving him space and privacy to change and—ugh, being there for him and stuff, Sokka guessed.
“Do you need…” Zuko started, and Sokka didn’t even want to know what kind of help he was about to offer there, because if it had anything to do with helping him dress he very well might die. Zuko cut off mid-sentence instead, brow furrowing, and caught Sokka’s wrist.
“What happened to your hand?” Zuko asked.
What…?
Oh. There was a mottled purple bruise stretching down the length of his thumb, swollen and crusted with blood where the edge of his nail had torn. He hadn’t even noticed it before—his hands had just felt numb, earlier, limbs shaky with adrenaline—but as soon as he glanced down the bruise throbbed in protest. He winced.
“I think… I shut the window on it,” he said. He felt strangely defensive as he added, “It was an accident. I hardly noticed it.”
Zuko hummed.
There was a tiny first aid kit fixed with a little clasp under the sink—he’d become well acquainted with it, during his stint on the floor. Zuko seemed to know it was there, because he fetched it without having to search. Sokka wondered, vaguely, how different the layout of an airship like this was from the ship Zuko had spent his teen years on. Or maybe the Fire Lord’s chambers were similar, just bigger, and that was why he looked so comfortable moving around Sokka’s room, peeling him off the floor and fetching bandages.
Zuko sat close enough that their knees were brushing and took Sokka’s hand in his. He leaned down slightly, so that Sokka could feel the warmth of his breath on his fingers. It was dark with the window closed. He could have opened it for a little more light, but Zuko didn’t ask. He hadn’t even lit the lamps, other than the small one sitting on the bedside table. The weak glow was comforting, just a small pinprick of light, easily doused if he wanted to. Sokka closed his eyes and heaved a steadying breath, grateful that Zuko hadn’t asked to light the rest, more grateful that he didn’t need to make a fool of himself, admitting that he wasn’t really sure he could stomach any more firelight than this right now.
“So. Does this happen often?” Zuko asked quietly. He didn’t look up, but Sokka knew he wasn’t talking about the cut on his thumb.
“No,” Sokka said.
Really, this never happened to him, not like this. Normally he’d just get anxious in that itchy sort of way where his brain won’t turn off, and he’d spiral, and then he’d make a stupid excuse and make a run for it. Normally he’d just calm down on his own, in private, but he’d tried that and his heart was still pounding like he was moments from collapsing through the floor, and his hands were still shaking like he was barely holding on, and it had been hours.
“I don’t know why today…” Sokka tried, the words wobbling dangerously. “Ugh, this is… embarrassing.”
Zuko’s fingers tightened slightly around his wrist, and Sokka forced himself to look up. For a second he was sure Zuko was about to say something placating, blah blah, ‘there’s nothing to be ashamed of’, even if he was making a huge deal out of nothing, when it had been years and he’d been managing perfectly well all this time, and still suddenly he felt like the thrum of the engine was buzzing beneath his skin, burrowing into his chest and shaking the very core of him and for what, for no reason because it had been years and he still wasn’t over it—
“This happens to me all the time,” Zuko said plainly, killing those self-deprecating protests in his throat.
“That’s… different,” Sokka said.
“How?” Zuko asked. It was obviously a challenge, but it didn’t sound like one. His voice was quiet and thoughtful, the way Zuko sometimes got when a little sliver of his uncle’s influence shone through the cracks. The gentle tone of it chaffed for some reason. Sokka scoffed and tried to pull away from Zuko’s grip, but his fingers only tightened around Sokka’s wrist.
“I don’t—you have… good reasons,” Sokka said, but the excuse felt clumsy in his mouth even as he said it. Zuko rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to argue. The fact that he wouldn’t even dignify that with a response made Sokka shift uncomfortably, unsettled by the doubt creeping in, and then annoyed by it. Of course Zuko had every reason to be upset. What had happened to him was awful, and he was still hurting. He had a constant reminder on his face, and here Sokka was, just… just…
Zuko cut a glance at him, and damn him, he knew Sokka too well, because his gaze was sharp and no-nonsense, and all those little arguments fizzled and died before he could draw the breath to make them. The phantom hum of the airship engine seemed to buzz in the silence. Sokka drew a shaky breath.
“Fine,” he said tightly. “Maybe it’s a little similar. Kind of. Abstractly, if you squint—”
Zuko swiped at the cut on his hand with a bit of gauze, cutting him off. The astringent smell of the alcohol hit his nose a moment before the burn. Sokka hissed through his teeth. Zuko just hummed, an apologetic little sound, the thumb of his other hand tracing gentle circles against Sokka’s wrist. He was a bit rough, but not unkind, cleaning the cut and applying a small bandage to it.
His other hand was unbearably gentle, not just holding him still, but holding on, too. Tears sprang to his eyes, and Sokka forcefully swallowed them down. Not because Zuko would mind, or think less of him. He’d probably think it was just because it hurt, even though Sokka knew that wasn’t it. He just had a feeling that if he got started he wouldn’t be able to stop again, and he was tired and embarrassed enough as it was. Zuko glanced at him like he could see through him anyway, but he kindly didn’t say anything while Sokka turned his head and blinked rapidly at the ceiling. He packed the rest of the first aid kit away.
“Lay down,” Zuko said. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
“Fine,” Sokka said. There was an edge of exasperation in his voice, and Sokka clung to it, because it was the safest emotion he’d felt in hours, and he was desperate for the normalcy of it.
“You’re so bossy,” he grumbled, tossing the covers back and crawl-limping his way up the bed, an awkward shuffle with his aching knee, “and stubborn, and—oh, spirits, what are you doing?”
“Scoot over,” Zuko said, brooking no argument. He crawled into bed after him, while Sokka made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, grasping the blankets tightly, along with the last of his dignity.
Zuko slipped his arm around Sokka’s back and settled in, dropping his head down on his shoulder. He was so warm, and his arm was a solid pressure against his back. This close, the smell of plum blossom and spices was enough to drown out the metallic, oily scent that seemed to cling to the airship walls.
Usually he was so stiff and awkward, but he melted into Sokka’s side like he knew just how much Sokka needed it, those stupidly soft, spidermoth silk robes draping between them. Sokka felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest for an entirely different reason, now.
“Your, ah. Your crown is poking me,” Sokka whispered, because Zuko was too close, he couldn’t handle it. His head was a warm weight on his shoulder, and Sokka could practically feel that warmth singing down his arm, pooling in his chest, thawing the jagged spears of anxiety that had bloomed on the viewing deck like ice. It felt nice, and perfect, and oh, spirits, Sokka’s eyes were prickling again. Nope, better that he make some excuse, and Zuko would sit up, and—
“Oh, sorry,” Zuko said tiredly. He leaned forward just long enough to pull the pins out of his hair, and then it was warm weight and soft, silky hair on his shoulder. Sokka swallowed, trying to force the lump of emotion back down his throat. It wouldn’t budge.
“Is this okay?” Zuko asked.
Zuko’s hand slid under his knee, tentatively like he was giving Sokka the chance to push him away. Sokka made a soft sound in the back of his throat, surprised by the sudden heat cutting through the old ache. He blew out a shaky breath and let himself relax into the warmth of his touch.
“Yeah. Um, yes. Thank you,” Sokka said. He swallowed. “Sorry I’m so…”
He made a vague gesture, and then let his hand drop. He felt stupid for overreacting, and stupid for ruining Zuko’s evening, but…
But the worst part was that this was helping. It was like all the tension had sapped out of him, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. He was still mad at himself for ruining his date—his friend hang out plan—but that was a distant, more familiar frustration.
“Sokka,” Zuko said after a long moment. “We don’t have to talk about it, but… you’d tell me, if there was something I could do to help, right?”
“Yeah,” Sokka said, throat suddenly too tight. “Sorry, I just—I’m not good at this.”
Zuko just squeezed his knee, infinitely gently, and nodded.
“I’d noticed,” he said, and just as wryly added, “but obviously I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’m always very reasonable and forthcoming.”
Sokka huffed a laugh, despite himself.
“I know, okay? And, um. This helps,” he said. “So just… thanks.”
Zuko hummed, and awkwardly patted where he could reach, twice, before he clearly thought better of it and pulled his hand back again. It was such a Zuko move that fondness flooded through him.
He could feel himself calming. The tight, squeezing feeling in his chest was almost entirely gone as his heartbeat slowed to normal, and he was probably going to fall asleep before he managed to salvage the evening.
“Did you eat anything?” Zuko asked.
“Did I eat anything while I was curled up in the bathroom like a nautilus shrimp?” Sokka asked.
Zuko snorted, then squeezed his shoulder apologetically.
“Stupid question,” he admitted. “Okay, let me up. I’ll get you something.”
He didn’t want Zuko to leave. Sokka’s fingers tightened on his sleeve, almost involuntarily. He let go just as quickly, but the damage was done. Zuko shot him a concerned look. Ugh, spirits, how embarrassing, not only was he a mess but he was a clingy mess. Sokka cleared his throat awkwardly, casting around for an excuse.
“There’s food, already,” Sokka said. He flapped a hand at the corner by the desk, where his picnic supplies were taunting him with their foolish optimism. They might as well not waste it, considering he clearly wasn’t getting any action—any friend action tonight. “Help yourself. I’m not really… I don’t think I can eat, right now.”
The thought of eating anything had him missing the safety of the bathroom floor, a little.
“Will you try?” Zuko asked. Sokka huffed.
“Fine,” he said.
Zuko peeled a musk clementine for him. The flavor was mild, maybe a little early in the season to count as sweet. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating anything substantial right now, but Zuko looked so pleased and relieved to see him eating that he choked it down for his sake, anyway.
“What’s all of this for?” Zuko asked, after he’d dragged the basket over and settled back on the bed with him.
Ah. He’d been hoping Zuko wouldn’t ask. Sokka felt himself flush, glancing over the formidable spread of food. He kept pulling wrapped package after wrapped package out, looking more and more bemused. Sokka crushed back the impulse to grab his hands to stop him, or maybe just snatch the basket away entirely. Maybe he’d gone overboard. Actually—yes, he’d definitely gone overboard, what was he even thinking? He was a mess.
“It’s… it was for you,” Sokka said. That made Zuko’s eyebrow climb even higher, so he hastened to add, “I mean, for us. For… ugh.”
Sokka scrubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t quite bear to peel his palms away after, so the next words came out a bit muffled.
“I just thought that we’ve both been so busy lately, maybe it would be nice to relax while we have the chance. Which, clearly, is going just… super well. So,” Sokka said, sounding pained even to his own ears. He grimaced, then tried on his best dismissive face instead, “Maybe we can both just forget this happened, instead.”
“Were you going to ask me on a date?” Zuko asked.
“I was technically going to ask you to join me for some quality guy time,” he said.
“…Guy time.”
“Just two pals—” Sokka insisted.
“With a romantic picnic and wine,” Zuko said.
“—hanging out,” Sokka finished, voice pitched just a little too high to be strictly casual.
Zuko was smiling at him, clearly teasing, but not unkindly. Sokka drew a short breath, because if he didn’t know any better he’d say he looked… not just amused, but fond and a little wondering, maybe a little exasperated, even, by Sokka’s quick deflection. He glanced back down at Zuko’s hands. He was peeling another musk clementine, shredding little bits between his fingers, almost nervously.
Oh, spirits, was Zuko nervous? Was Sokka nervous? He couldn’t even tell anymore, too wrung out from earlier to register any more than a cautious flicker of hope in his chest.
“If I had asked you on a date,” Sokka asked carefully, with a mild and casual air that definitely didn’t match the hope fluttering in his stomach, “and I’d done it in a very cool and normal way, without the whole breakdown on the bathroom floor part… would you have said yes?”
“I’d say yes right now,” Zuko said without missing a beat, “bathroom floor and all.”
“You… oh,” Sokka said. Bathroom floor and all. Huh. That—that was…
Sokka tilted his head up, intending to risk another glance in Zuko’s direction, to gauge his reaction.
Zuko kissed him.
He gasped at the warm press of lips against his own, the soft brush of Zuko’s hair draping over his cheeks. It was sweet and undemanding, but just like everything Zuko did, Sokka could feel his conviction. He didn’t lean away until Sokka did, and even then only by inches, enough to catch Sokka’s eye and smile.
It was overwhelming, knowing that Zuko had seen him like that, that he’d pried him away from a toilet, and even that hadn’t been enough to chase him away. It was—good, and kind of scary, and definitely too early to be thinking these things, but…
That feeling bloomed uncomfortably in his chest, warm and a little nerve-wracking, that Zuko knew him, had seen what he could be like, and still wasn’t running. Maybe that was the point. Zuko had said himself that he could be just as bad, but Sokka hadn’t even batted an eye, because he cared about him, and he wanted him to be happy.
Sokka put a hand on Zuko’s knee, steadying himself.
“Let’s, uh… let’s do this on the ground next time,” Sokka said a little faintly.
“Next time,” Zuko promised.