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How he managed to get quite so much sand in his boots Sokka will never know. While his friends shed their day clothes and the day’s troubles in favour of the ocean surf of the sheltered bay he sits on the warm beach, unlacing them, pouring an avalanche of tan grit into little pyramids between his feet. He watches, fascinated, as the grains roll down their sides, forming a perfect smooth surface.
“You coming Sokka?” Zuko’s voice cuts through his fixation, and Sokka jerks his head up to find its source.
He looks up at Zuko just in time to watch as he slips easily out of his own boots, untying the sash at the waist of his royal robes, letting them fall into a soft heap of red and gold silk at his feet. He steps away from them casually, pulling the pins from his hair and the crown from his head, dropping them almost carelessly on top of his discarded robes.
Sokka stares transfixed at the gnarled scar on his chest, now pinkened with age, the hard muscles of his shoulders beneath soft, pale skin, and the thick, raven black hair that falls from its constraints to whisper behind his ears, kiss his collar, brush his shoulder blades. Zuko pulls delicate fingers through his hair, fanning it out with a soft sigh to its loose, untidy splendor in a manor that would certainly be considered scandalous in court, where everything and everyone is to be perfectly presented at all times. Sokka had always found that custom unnecessarily restrictive, though now he can perhaps finally see its value – he, for one, could never be expected to get any work done with Zuko looking like that.
He meets Zuko’s eyes, and it’s abundantly clear to him that while he’s been watching Zuko, so too has Zuko been watching him. In a moment of uncharacteristic conceit, Zuko cocks his head and flashes him a smug grin, dashing off to be swallowed by the waves. It might be the wind playing tricks on him, but Sokka is sure he can hear him laughing.
Sokka snaps his mouth shut with frustration. He hadn’t even realized he had let it fall open, his lips softly parted, eyes following Zuko’s every move like some love-sick kid. He throws his boots down onto the ground, wriggling free of his clothes with a huff, sprinting belated into the warmth of the waiting tropical waters. He catches up to Zuko quickly, who casts him a glance and a grin over his shoulder. Sokka’s skin burns red with the heat of indignity, and he plunges beneath the surface of the churning blue water, taking shelter under the waves, swimming the final few meters between them.
Sokka comes up for air beside Zuko, slicking the hair from his eyes and the water from his face, letting the slight breeze cool and soothe his damp skin.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it isn’t polite to stare?” Zuko teases.
Sokka chuckles. “It’s just, you look so…” He isn’t quite sure what to say. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Zuko like this before, but somehow, it must always have escaped him, just how beautiful he had become. He reaches with gentle fingers to brush dark strands that cling to Zuko’s cheek behind his ear, threading his fingers into the think hair gathered at the nape of his neck. He remembers once, it must have been years ago now, in a particular moment of weakness, having placed a gentle kiss there. How the ends on Zuko’s hair had tickled his nose at that.
“Things have really changed a lot since we met, huh?”
“Yeah.” Zuko murmurs. “Yeah, they have.”
And he smiles.