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He finds them by the seaport town of New Amsterdam as he walks out of the embassy with a wallet heavy with credits. It’s the night of the Midnight Madness Festival and the entire town is out to celebrate.
New Amsterdam is alight with lampposts flickering with fire like fireflies suspended in glass jars, the planet’s five moons all align in the sky, bright and full like precious pearls of the ocean.
It’s dark out, the longest night of the year.
Zuko hears the laughter first, loud and lively and picked up by a breeze. He looks up to see the Avatar running abreast the Carina Canal, a hand held onto Katara’s as she runs a few steps behind him. They’re both dressed in blue and white, Katara’s skirt billowing in the wind.
For five years he’d swept these paths and streets like a stranger, uncertain of his destination every time he stepped a foot off his spaceship and onto their shores. But Aang and Katara ran rings around the routes like its roads were written in their veins.
For five years he’d walked across the salt-rusted bridge, stared at the coloured homes with their balconies bursting with peonies and petunias. Could name the local begger, could recite the seventy-two pages of her rich seafaring history; could not hold the sunlight onto his skin like these sun-kissed children.
Zuko skirts close to the edges of the sandstone buildings, avoiding the crowds clustering on the cobblestone roads. There are stalls set on the sides selling knick-knacks. Sea-prunes and ocean-seeds in oyster shells, electric toys that sing and light up the colour of the moon, jewellery and gems abound.
Trailing behind Aang and Katara is Toph. She’d swapped her usual green to adorn an attire of teal blue and by her side are two other girls, one taller than the trio with a face painted like a Kyoshi Warrior and the other with a shock of white hair in contrast to her tanned skin.
Not long after he sees Sokka, tall and sure and deep blue. He’s set in dark navy pants, warm winter sweater and a bright jean-jacket on top. When he sees him; Zuko follows.
He ends up in the town square lit by moonlight. An orchestra plays on the steps and the townspeople are dancing enthusiastically. A community in harmony with one another, gentle smiles on their faces, a bright spirit in their soul; their beloved full-bellied moons blessing them with great fortune.
Zuko watches from a dark alleyway, hidden between the vernacular homes that is littered with thistles and weeds. There are children poking their heads out from the windows to look down below the courtyard, holding onto ebony claves and setting a beat with the music.
“He-yah!” the dancers all scream in unison once the cymbal beats. The crowd claps to the rhythm and Aang is stomping his feet, hands too happy to hold onto Katara’s to let go.
Sokka is dancing in the centre, bowing and holding out a hand to the girl with the painted face. She laughs but takes it and Sokka whisks her around the square.
Zuko observes as Sokka skips, his long legs somehow graceful for once and watches him take his jacket off, warmed enough by the bodies he is surrounded by. Sokka throws it up into the air and Zuko watches it land on some poor old soul’s head.
Sokka’s dance partner throws back a laugh, a hand hovering just above her bottom.
A single breeze blows by, much stronger in the alleyway. Zuko looks skyward at the blinking stars and shivers but the cold doesn’t bother him any more than a stifling heat.
He touches his mask consciously, takes out a cigarette but fumbles with stiff fingers. He curses and bends to pick it from the stone floor, tries to light it but the chill takes his flame away. Zuko tries again; leans his body onto the side of the building and drags a puff.
So;
While smoke and ash choke his lungs, the southerners liberate theirs with laughter.
He should go now.
Or perhaps in a minute.
In an hour.
It’s good to stay and see what happens sometimes – if only to stop him from going to the bathroom, to avoid the mirrors, to stare at all that he has flushed away.
“He-yah!” The crowd yells again and now they are all holding hands. The group skips around in a spiral, the music leading to a crescendo but muffled to Zuko’s ears. Faster and faster they all turn.
He digs into his pocket for a few pills to swallow.
From his position on the ground he can see the lived-in terrace apartments across from him. A couple stands out on their small balcony, bathed in a gentle golden glow from the candles inside their dining room, a stark contrast to the moonlit square below.
The two partners are leaning on the chipped baluster, soft and warmed and aureate with light like the sun, watching the musings of the townspeople.
Candle-lit and good company; the couple smile at one another and lean in for a kiss. Zuko looks away; blushing and uninvited. An intruder; a foreigner he has always been. He takes a puff.
He’s lost the Avatar and his gang now. It’s probably time he takes his leave.
Zuko throws the butt of his finished cigarette onto the floor to stamp it out. He bends to pick up the rubbish.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Sokka’s voice; as clear as the crystal channels of Caldera, drifts by. Warm among his right ear.
Zuko stumbles backwards. He hears Sokka’s laughter, golden and joyful.
He scowls at having been taken by surprise.
“Now I know you’re stalking me,” Sokka says, grinning like he’s won something. He brings with him a sliver of moonlight.
Zuko scoffs and goes to take another cigarette from his pocket. He’s just about to put it into his mouth when Sokka’s hand wrap around his wrist. He stares at the contact, never noticing how impossibly large those hands were against his own. He yanks his arm away, a warning for Sokka not to touch him again but Sokka latches on.
Sokka pulls his hand up to where a light shone. In the stark white light his skin looks pale, unhealthy next to the tan of Sokka’s own. There are purple bruises dug into his wrist, a gift from the bounty he was delivered today.
He watches Sokka frown but say nothing. Zuko pulls his arm away again, anger effervescing in his stomach.
“Come dance with me,” Sokka says instead.
Zuko shakes his head and takes two fingers to kiss his thumb, ‘no’.
Sokka smiles, “come on, grumpy pants,” he teases. He holds out a hand for Zuko to take.
I’m not your girlfriend.
Sokka frowns as he reads Zuko’s Info-Pad, “I never said you were.”
There are other people who you could dance with.
“Yes, but I want to dance with you the most,” Sokka explains like it’s the most obvious answer in this entire overwhelming universe. “Come on,” Sokka says. “Don’t be weird about it.”
I’m not. You don’t owe me anything.
Sokka looks taken aback, rebuttals, “I also never said I owe you anything.”
Zuko stares at him; an ill stomach, ill for a long while.
Last time was a mistake –
He scratches that, rewrites. Scratches that out too, rewrites.
Repeat.
A hand grabs at the edge of his Info-Pad. “Look Zuko,” Sokka starts. “I’m not asking you for a lifetime of commitment. Not even a day of commitment.” Sokka smiles down at him, irradiant by moonlight.
Zuko thinks he feels some of his shine too. He backs himself into the stone wall as Sokka edges closer. All of a sudden the crowd fades and all Zuko could see are those bright blue eyes staring patiently at him. “Just for tonight,” Sokka whispers all the while looking at him like he held together the sacred five moons in the sky.
It’s too much.
He feels too small. The moons highlight the blood on his ruined jumper. He is a visitor here. He treads these pathways but leaves no trace.
“Please,” Sokka says, impossibly striking.
Self-conscious, Zuko writes; I’m filthy.
“Never,” Sokka reassures as he takes off his overworn sweater to give to Zuko. “As to not scare the children,” he says and point to the red stains on Zuko’s clothes.
Zuko accepts it. It’s too large on him but warm from the residuals of Sokka’s heat. “Thanks,” he tries to say but it comes out too harsh.
Sokka smiles; genuine like a child and Zuko doesn’t deserve.
Sokka offers and Zuko takes.
Promises; just for tonight.
Repeat; just for tonight.
%%%
He pulls Zuko into the centre of the storm. Dances to the tambourines, the drums, the beat of the clapping and laughs gently at the awkward boy before him. That’s okay, he thinks. He can dance around Zuko like Zuko was his sun.
He takes one of Zuko’s hand, palm touching palm and lifts it up into the starry night; enamoured by how the moonlight peers through their fingers. He’s warmed by her soft white glow.
Sokka drops Zuko’s palm once their arms are fully extended and quickly grabs onto Zuko’s other hand. Palm touching palm again and pushing it up; tall into the night sky, never once a moment without holding onto Zuko’s flesh.
He thinks about the face behind that mask. Zuko’s sharp jawline, his thin lips pulled into a constant snarl. How Sokka wants to kiss away his frown, how he wants to illicit a short shallow gasp from his throat. “Take off the mask, Zuko,” Sokka says.
He watches Zuko look around and then shake his head.
“Everybody here is either dunk or in love… Or both,” Sokka explains. “No one will be paying attention to us.” He dashes closer to Zuko, so close if he leaned just a little more he’ll taste the sweet fruit.
The mask comes off. Gold eyes and pale skin stark in the moonlight.
“Tui and La,” Sokka says as he places a palm over Zuko’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful,” he repeats.
Zuko dips his head; embarrassed and Sokka laughs a loud. He dances around Zuko, both hands full of Zuko’s own.
“Come on, grumpy pants,” Sokka teases. “Just follow me,” he says as he pulls Zuko close and quickly kisses him on the lips. He watches the beginnings of a shy smile find a home on Zuko’s face.
He dances on tiptoes into the night and worships Zuko like some holy rite.
Just before midnight he steals Zuko away from the crowd. Flushed, windswept cheeks and a slightly smiling Zuko.
“Kiss me,” Sokka says as he pulls Zuko like the moon pulls on the sea. “Be my Midnight Madness.”
Hesitant, his inactions reveal so much. Of a lifetime of flames licking his skin; but still as brave as a boy in the skin of a lion.
%%%
“Kiss me,” Sokka murmurs and Zuko hesitates. “Be my Midnight Madness.”
He is pulled closer to Sokka. Could now smell the sea-breeze that Sokka wears. Zuko stares up at the southern stars; thinks about how it all looks the same.
He takes a plunge into the sea, the golden glow of the lampposts reflected into the canals reminding him of the suns he seeks. Unmoored, whichever way is up and left or down and right; the struggle of being so numbingly emotionless yet so entirely emotional at the same time.
Gravity gone.
A stranger’s hands tonight.
He kisses Sokka.
%%%
Sun beam through venetian blinds; the day after.
He couldn’t tell you which were the bruises beaten into him and which were kissed so tenderly they bloomed.