Archive of Our Own

As Sokka laid on the ground, he ran his hands through the grass, as if petting Aang’s dog, Appa. It's a soothing feeling while his friends argue about who’s sending him peonies to his apartment room once a week. He didn’t find it to be a big deal. He knew he was beautiful and he knew he was a handsome man, so it only felt right to have a secret admirer. But this was a lie. He was jittery. It felt nice to have someone like him, and like him so much they kept sending him flowers, the whole thing felt like it was straight up from a pastel indie film. Sokka didn’t want to have his friends know this though. He wanted to remain cool, nonchalant, about the whole situation.

“It must be that girl who can do all those acrobatics from our chem class! She always asks about Sokka!” Toph says, wildly moving her hands by her face. Sokka shuttered at the thought of that girl sending him flowers. Sure, she was pretty, but the way she could bend her body seemed inhuman, and Sokka didn’t want to date an alien. Well, not yet at least.

Katara seemed to have the same reaction to the idea. “No, I won’t even consider her. She hangs out with Azula, which can’t mean good news. It might actually be Haru. Have you seen the way he tries to act cool by crossing his arms,” Toph says a quiet “no” as Katara mimics him and tries to raise one eyebrow up, “whenever we pass by? And-and the jokes he tells! He’s trying to mimic Sokka’s style to impress him!” Sokka can’t argue with that one, but it doesn’t seem that likely, with how much he talked about Katara and how she should be a politician or someone who talks a lot. Sokka didn’t really pay attention to Haru’s gush sessions about Katara after the five minute mark.

Aang didn’t offer any new people to the batch of “who done did it?” and instead agreed or disagreed with each new person offered up. Sokka tried not to weigh in. He didn’t want to let on how excited he was, because he knew his voice would crack and reveal everything to them. He just continued to run his hands up and down the grass, wondering who was such the romantic to send him the flowers.

He imagined the small bouquet that was sent last Wednesday. It was a pure pink one this time, as last week had been a mix of yellow and pink peonies. These had smelled strongly, and the flowers were soft in an odd sort of way. There was a light dusting of pollen spread among the flowers, giving it a glowing golden shimmer that he had noticed when he had closely inspected them in case of a note. The first batch he had gotten were just white peonies - sent only three weeks ago - with a note attached that read: “I think I’m secretly in love with you.” So far, there were no new notes. Before the first bouquet had been left on his apartment doormat, there had been one single peony that was yellow at the base of the petals which cascaded into a gentle baby pink at the end of the petal. The flower was so gorgeous that Sokka would look at it every moment he got between studying. The flower had officially died last week, and to Sokka’s embarrassment, he got a little weepy over the poor thing. He had begged Katara to bring it back to life. Instead, she pressed it into Sokka’s favorite book.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed something bright pink falling. He pushed his upper body to swivel to the side to see what was happening. Maybe secretly he hoped it was his admirer dumping a billion peonies to show their undying love. Instead it was the girl with the long braid who could do acrobatics shouting something at Azula, who was trying to cover her laughter with a hand over her mouth. The girl got up and started pointing directly into Azula’s face before sitting down by their goth friend. What was her name again? Zay? No that couldn’t be right. May? Yeah, that was it, but was it MAI or MAY? He wasn’t sure. Nor did he care that much.

He was brought out by his thought process of hearing Azula’s strange cackle. She was pointing directly at him. The girl with the braid was pounding her fists on the ground and shaking her head. Sokka started to feel that sinking pit in his stomach. It felt like he was on full display for them. Even the goth girl had her scary eyes tacked onto him like a sniper. Zuko was the only one not looking at him. Instead he was picking at grass and letting it loose to the wind. And suddenly that sinking pit in his stomach was replaced by anger.

Sokka turned his back to what he had dubbed as, “The Fire Girls plus the Jerk.” He began to fiddle with his earring, a tiny boomerang. Those eyes, all those eyes were still on him, he could feel it.

“Aang, I don’t get what you see in Zuko. He’s just as bad as the others, and he’s so rude! Last week he had the audacity to argue with our professor! Who even does that?” While there was nothing wrong about arguing with professors— Sokka actually did it a frequent amount himself— there was an air of something vile that didn’t sit well with him.

“You’re too judgemental Sokka. He’s actually really nice when you talk to him,” Aang beamed.

“Oh yeah, ‘when you talk to him.’ You guys have shared what, four words maybe?” Sokka replied, tugging his earring more as his brain was flooded by Zuko. The kid was infuriating! At the beginning of last year, he tried to humiliate him and the rest of the gaang in every way possible.

“He’s said more than four words!” Aang shouted indigantly, placing a hand over his heart overdramatically. “He’s said 43! I’ve counted.”

“Well, la dee da, I didn’t know you two were so close,” Sokka said. Toph snickered and Katara remained silent on the issue. “If you remember, he’s locked you in the chemistry lab before! For no good reason either! You can’t just trust him and proclaim him to be good-”

“Who’s good? Or, who’s not good?” Zuko’s baritone voice interrupted his usual monologue of how they couldn’t trust the kid. Sokka’s face puckered up and suddenly his mouth went totally dry. He couldn’t just stop his rant when he was about to get to the good part, but he could see Aang’s outwardly cheery exterior drop in the slightest to warn him not to say anything rude.

But he couldn’t help himself. “You. You’s not good.” Immediate regret hit him at full speed. He couldn’t believe how dumb he sounded. He gave a quick smack to his forehead and felt the rising embarrassment lift to his throat. Not hot and boiling, but instead it clenched at his vocal cords and filled his ears to a light buzzing sound.

Toph bellowed out a laugh and hit Zuko’s caffs. “No no, you’s good Zuko.” She continued her laughing fit, letting her head fall onto Katara’s shoulder.

There was a tension that passed between all them (except for Toph of course). “Sokka, do you want to walk with me and Zuko to class?” Aang asked.

“No way,” Sokka shot back without missing a beat. He wasn’t going to fall into Aang’s trap of forcing niceties.

Aang got on his knees, clasping his hands together. “Please Sokka. You always walk with me, you can’t break tradition.” In fact, Sokka could, and he was about to before his oh so loving sister jabbed into his side with her elbow.

Between gritted teeth, and trying to get up before Katara could lay another blow onto him, he said, “Fine.” What else was he supposed to say.

Aang jumped onto his feet, swinging his arm around Sokka and then Zuko’s neck to bring all their faces close together. “Flameo hotman, lets go!” He set the ungodly fast pace that made the casual arm slinging into a choke hold as the two other boys followed behind.

It was mostly quiet between them if Sokka didn’t count Aang’s constant rambling about one of the environmental classes he was taking. So it was basically silence. He could feel Zuko’s eyes land on him before they began to wander off to look at something else before returning to Sokka. It was weird, he knew it was weird. It felt so unsettling but he tried to suppress the feeling just to make it through the five minute walk.
They were coming up onto a speedy descent of Sokka’s classroom, which he was grateful for. Until he remembered that he and Zuko shared the class. It was fine, Sokka told himself. They didn’t have to interact anyways. Zuko would stalk to the back of the classroom and Sokka would sit in the third row right in the middle so it wouldn’t completely look like he was a nerd. It was fine. This was fine, he thought.

A light tapping on his shoulder woke him up from the daze he didn’t realize he was having. He was in front of the open door, and there was no longer a weight around his neck which meant Aang was no longer there to make him place nice. “Uh, we’re here,” Zuko said. His voice was soft, almost sounding unsure of what he was saying.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sokka shrugged him off and tried to casually speed walk to his favorite seat in the class. He loved this seat because it had enough people that he could people-watch when he got bored but also gave him his space to spread out his things. It was a paradise he didn’t experience in most of his other classes. There were few people, no more than 20 and that’s the way the teacher liked it too. Most people also didn’t like taking Ideas of War because: 1. it wasn’t a required course and 2. war depressed most people. Sokka actually liked the class. Not in a sadistic way, but because the professor was a close family friend. He used to work in the military with his father until a bomb had gone off and shrapnel ripped his arm to shreds. Bato (Sokka was the only one allowed to call him that in class) went over the ins and outs of war, what led to the most recent war they were fighting, and how reconstruction would occur, and whatever else was to be in the lecture that day.

Sokka loved this class. He wanted to be an ambassador for his small island and to perhaps make it to some great big world leadership position. It was a dream he had crafted for himself so he could get his dad out of deployment when he was younger. He held onto the dream, and that’s where he’s going. To be someone.

Something clattered to the ground. It was loud and slightly deafening since he was so close to it. He whipped around to find his notebook and his pencil case strewn about on the floor. The culprit who caused this disaster was Zuko. The boy shook his head and got down on his knees to start picking up Sokka’s things. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He outstretched his arm to hand Sokka back his things, to which he snatched up quickly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sitting in the back?” Sokka spat. Zuko’s eyes twitched in the slightest and he sneered. He wiped Sokka’s spit from his cheek and sat down in the chair next to his.

“I can’t see anything from back there.”

“That’s not my problem-”

“Sokka, sit down, class is starting,” Bato called out. Sokka fell into his seat and tried to close himself off to Zuko as much as possible. He hit the record button on his phone and Bato began to draw out a line and was saying something, but Sokka couldn’t listen. All he could hear was the soft hum in his ears growing louder and louder.

Thankfully, Zuko was quiet. His presence was still a bother however. Every shift of his hand, every time he would look up, every single movement, no matter how slight, put Sokka more and more on edge. He almost wanted to wrap his hands around his skinny neck and throttle the man. But he decided not to. Not because he was truly a decent person, but more so because he feared his sister or Aang going ape shit on him.

Instead of making a permanent end to the jerk, Sokka decided it was time to people watch. But he’d already seen these people and their habits millions of times now. Nothing was new. One girl with ponytails twirled her pen, another scraped at the paint that was peeling off the wall, and a boy picked out the grime from under his fingernails. It was all the same.

He let his eyes drift over to Zuko. The left side of his face had a scar curling around his eye, wisping just slightly below his cheek bone, and swooping over to cover his ear, trailing down the side of his neck. The scar covered half the left side of his face, and it was hard to ignore. Sokka had never allowed himself to stare at this part of his face, since he found it rude, and at least wanted to give the guy some type of respect. His scar for the most part was pink, flaring to be darker shades as it neared his eye, which reminded him of the peonies he had received.

Then he was raising his hand to graze at the scar, as if magnetized to it. Zuko turned his head and caught his gaze. Sokka was frozen, caught in the act of going to touch him. Before Zuko could possibly murder him or before Sokka could scream from embarrassment, he vaguely registered that Bato had finished his lecture.

In the rush of people standing, the two boys still sat, staring at each other. Sokka felt like his lungs were being dragged out from his body by Zuko’s eyes alone. He should put his hand down, he should leave, and run as far as he can, that’s what he’s telling himself. But there’s something that continues to draw Sokka’s hand closer and closer to the scar. He brushes his thumb under his eye, cupping Zuko’s jaw with his hand.

“Your scar reminds me of peonies,” Sokka says without even thinking. He traces the small white swirls with his thumb, feeling the smooth yet almost soft texture that resembled his new favorite flower.

A loose grip envelops his wrist, and tugs him away from the scar. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.” Zuko’s voice comes out as a raspy whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka starts to say. “I really didn’t mean to, I-”

“It’s fine. Let’s forget that it happened.” Zuko’s grabbing his things, not even bothering to put them into his bag. He’s off before Sokka can even explain himself. How could he even explain himself? Just tell him that he wanted to suddenly touch what was probably physically and emotionally painful to the guy? Tell him that when he wasn’t being a totally jerk, he was actually really pretty? Tell him that he reminded him of a damn flower? That would be weird and was a guaranteed ticket to getting his ass kicked.

Sokka finally grabbed his stuff, trying to casually march himself out of the classroom. He was going to walk Toph back to her dorm as was customary as he was worried someone would try to kidnap the blind girl. Yes, she could totally hold her own against anyone, she was probably the strongest person he knew, but he still felt like it was his duty to make sure she got back safely.

They met in the courtyard like they always did. They walked almost in sync as Toph held Sokka’s hand like they always did. Today though, Sokka didn’t try to fill the silence with asking mundane questions about how her day was. He was hyper focused on repeating the moment between Zuko and himself over and over again in his head. Everytime he did, each moment, each shift, became more and more clear. Zuko had let out a soft sigh when he touched his scar. Sokka’s eyes hadn’t been looking right at the scar as he caressed his face, but more into his eyes. Each little thing he and Zuko had done in that short moment became slowed down, forcing him to see everything he had tried to ignore when he saw Zuko. How his left eye was a cloudier, golden hue than his right, how red freckled down to his jaw. He grasped his bag between his hands tighter. He didn’t want to know any of this. He didn’t want to know Zuko’s face in great detail. But a part of him wanted to trace that scar again and trace the rest of his face.

He led Toph to her room and was grateful she didn’t try to chew anything out of him. The whole situation left him slightly confused and it was only growing more confusing the more he thought of it.

He didn’t go straight to his apartment. He wandered around the campus before heading back to the entrance where he left his bike. It wasn’t anything special, it had actually been his dad’s before Sokka took off with it to school. It was old and more often than not, on hills the chains would pop off of the gears. But it reminded him of how his dad would balance him carefully between the handles of the bike and take them around the island. That was when Katara was still a baby, and his mom was still around to take them to the park. He remembered everything being cold, but it was made better when both of his parents would wrap him in layers of puffy wind resistant clothes. They still biked even when Sokka thought the chains would snap from the bitter cold. Now it was warm, and the bike made strange creaking noises whenever it went over a bump. He didn’t mind though.

As he biked along the river, he tried not to think of Zuko. When he did, it was sparked by something red flashing along the path. Sokka didn’t have any reason to be thinking of him so much. It was just one small interaction. Sure it was awkward as hell, but that wasn’t even what he was thinking about. He could only think about Zuko’s face. Zuko’s eyes.

He carried his bike up his apartment stairs, not even breaking a sweat like he used to when he was a freshman. Upon reaching his door, there were two single peonies waiting on his doormat.
There wasn’t a second wasted to pick up the newly left flowers, he even dropped his bike to the ground for them. He drug his bike into the apartment with him, having his hand holding the flowers lead the way into the room.

He sat down at his little table, opening the blinds so he could get better light. They were white, or, wait, upon closer inspection, they were a very very light pink, bordering on white. Zuko’s white whispering scar lines came to mind. They were ever so light, no one could pick it up if they weren’t looking close enough. He shook his head and tried to focus on the flowers again. There was no note attached once again. There was a subtle feeling of sadness over this fact bubbling up inside him, but once he looked at the flowers again, it quickly subsided into giggles.

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On Thursday and Friday, Zuko had sat next to him again. Not really, since he sat one seat away from Sokka, but it felt just as close to sitting next to him. It was an odd thing. Sokka could feel Zuko’s eyes skirt over him at the beginning and at the end of class, but didn’t try to start a conversation. Sokka was sort of glad he didn’t, but it left him feeling as if something in both their worlds had shifted since Wednesday. Sokka didn’t bring up that Zuko was now sitting next to him with the others. Surely Aang would blow this way out of proportion and declare them to be buddies now. Which wasn’t the case. At all.

Toph had noticed his increased anxiety. He couldn’t admit it, but he was always searching for Zuko in crowds, the courtyard, classrooms, anywhere he could pop up. Somehow, in her Toph way, she knew in some capacity what was going on. She declared that she was forcing him to come with her to the best tea place in the city and also was going to force him to relax. Sokka didn’t resist when she dragged him there because he needed something to distract him from the past three days of weirdness.

When they entered, he wondered if Toph knew this wasn’t at all a tea place. The shop was filled to the brim with flowers, some still growing in their pots and some soaking in water as fresh bouquets. As they made their way through the shop, Toph amazingly dodging all the plants. He wanted to ask her what was going on, but she stopped him.

There was a counter with an old man behind it. Behind him, there were two chalkboards detailing their extensive tea collection. The old man lit up upon seeing Toph and Toph herself was smiling ear to ear. “Hey ya geezer, you know what I want already,” she said. The man chuckled and grabbed a square type mug, decorated with small mushrooms running along its side. “And this guy right here wants a cold earl grey type of tea or whatever.”

Sokka couldn’t argue with what she chose for him, since he probably wouldn’t know what to get himself. He stood there awkwardly for a second, waiting for Toph to say or do something until she elbowed him. “What?” he asked.

“You’re paying today. I paid for your lunch last week,” she said. Sokka sighed and dug around his bag to fish out his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to the old man.

“Your change is-” but Sokka cut him off.

“It’s fine, keep the change.” The man smiled and began to gesture to his mugs.

“Is there any cup you would like to drink from?” Sokka let his eyes scan each individual mug before he pointed to a tall one that was painted red. The man let out a laugh and picked it up. “My nephew loves this mug,” he said tenderly.

Toph grabbed a seat at the end of the counter and swung her feat onto one of the chairs next to her. “So, how you doin’ Iroh? Keeping up with all these dumb flowers?” The man picked up the electric kettle and began to pour the water into Toph’s cup.

“I’m holding up just fine with the plants, my dear,” he began. He opened a drawer and put two small dried flowers into the cup and sprinkled some sugar on top of said flowers. “Even better now that my nephew is here to help at the shop again.”

Toph nodded her head and let out a soft, “That’s good,” before she was holding out her hands awaiting the cup Iroh had.

He placed it into her hands and said, “be careful, it’s hot.”

“I know, I know,” Toph replied. It reminded Sokka of how his dad would make soup for him when he was sick as a kid. It wouldn’t be all the hot, lukewarm in all honesty, but his dad would always tell him it was hot. His heart ached to have one of those sick days with his dad again.

Iroh went into a back room before returning with a pitcher of amber tea and creamer. He poured the tea into Sokka’s mug, following it with two spoonfuls of creamer. The man reached for the cabinets above him, pulling down a vanilla bean and a sprig of lavender. He took a small knife and cut the bean in the middle, and then ran the knife against the side, tipping the powder into the mug. He followed up by putting the lavender into the cup as well, stirring the tea up with it. Iroh handed the mug over to Sokka.

For a moment he gazed into the mug, watching the creamer and the tea swirl around until they met in the middle and mixed together. He could hear Iroh and Toph begin to talk but once again, all he could hear was a faint buzzing in his ears. There was an ebb and flow to the drink that Sokka couldn’t pull his eyes away from. The mug only enhanced the beauty, giving it a spark of fire, even though the drink was cold. Splotches of red and pink mixed together on the mug, illuminating the darker tea. For a second his mind flashed to Zuko. The colors of his scar mixed together at the end of their flow, there was that dusting of white. In a way, Zuko’s scar was like the cup. Not only in color though. They both held this swirling of a golden-brown hue, making it the most striking feature inside the red swirls.

“This looks like his eye…” he whispered out, but everyone heard it anyway. There was only a beat of silence before Toph and Iroh’s conversation struck up again.

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Swinging his legs back and forth, Sokka kept writing and rewriting his paper’s introduction. It was Sunday evening and he had put off writing the intro paragraph for Bato’s class for a week. Bato had been assigning him war research papers since he started at the university, before he was officially Sokka’s professor. Sokka found it rewarding to write papers and have Bato critique him, adding each paper to his portfolio about the war and different proposals on how to end it. He had the habit of waiting until the last day to finally write the introduction, as it was always easier to write the rest of the essay first. But today he was stuck more than ever.

He took a swig of his drink and threw his head back in frustration. Iroh chuckled and continued to arrange the now dried off mugs. Sokka had now decided this was one of his favorite places in the city. It was quiet, it smelled nice, he was surrounded by flowers instead of idiots, and Iroh gave solid advice, and he made some amazing tea. Sokka had returned to the Jasmine Dragon on Saturday, and spoke to Iroh for a few hours. They played Pai Sho during Iroh’s lunch break, and Sokka was beat in under ten minutes. And then he asked for another round. And he lost again. And another time for good measure.

This time he had no time to engage with Iroh. He felt like he was running out of time to write the essay, even though it was only five in the evening. He wanted to be done and over with it so he could play Pai Sho again.

The bells attached to the door rang out and soft footsteps entered the tea shop. Iroh took off his apron and patted Sokka’s arm. “I’m going on break, but I’ll be the back ready to play Pai Sho when you’re done. My nephew is here to get you more tea or anything you want,” Iroh said. Sokka looked up quickly, and smiled and nodded to the man.

Sokka returned to his paper. Behind him, he heard snipping of scissors. They were methodical sounding and had a rhythm to them.

Minutes of snipping occurred, until the footsteps hurried past Sokka, behind the counter and into the back room. Words were passed between the two employees, but he wasn’t listening at all to their conversation.

Who Sokka assumed was Iroh’s nephew returned to start shuffling things around on the counter. It sounded almost nervous. Like the kid was indecisively reorganizing the mugs, putting one somewhere and then putting it somewhere else before doing it a few more times.

Sokka went to take a sip from his tea only to find it empty. He looked up, about to ask for another cold earl grey. His words caught in his throat though. Zuko was behind the counter, moving mugs this and that way.

“You work here?” Sokka asked all too quickly.

Zuko was still looking down at the mugs but he nodded in confirmation.

“You’re Iroh’s nephew?” Zuko nodded again. “You work here? In this shop?”

Zuko finally looked up at him. He pulled at his own hair and looked right into Sokka’s eyes. “Yes! I said yes didn’t I?” he yelled out.

“Actually, you didn’t. You just nodded,” Sokka said.

Zuko narrows his eyes and lets his hands drop to the counter. Sokka expects him to yell or threaten to kick him out, but instead Zuko laughs. Laughs in the breathy way, the way that was quiet and understated. Sokka feels his heart twist a moment before he wills the feeling to go away.

Sokka doesn’t go back to writing his paper and he doesn’t order another drink. He stares at Zuko, and continues to stare even as the boy fiddles with rearranging things in the cabinet. He couldn’t stand the silence in the shop. It felt almost on the verge of being painful. “Soooo,” Sokka starts up, “you like math?”

Zuko briefly stops what he’s doing before continuing. “No.”

“Oh. What about science?”

“No.”

“How about writing? Poetry! Everyone likes poetry!”

“No.”

“Then you must like tea,” Sokka says confidently.

“No.”

“Come on! Are you ever happy? Don’t you enjoy things?” he threw his hands in the air. Talking to Zuko was like talking to a brick wall. But even Sokka knew talking to a brick wall would be more enjoyable.

“I’m never happy.” Zuko turned around, his eyes narrowing once again on Sokka. The room wasn’t tense like Sokka expected. Instead there was a light feeling, and he could feel his head begin to spin. None of this made sense. Zuko didn’t make sense. The guy could be so unhappy and glum but Sokka was still weirdly drawn to him. He lessened his squinting and let out an exasperated sigh. “I guess that’s not true. Flowers are… pretty,” he whispered the last part out.

There! Something they could both agree on! “Yeah! They’re all like whoosh! And bam!” He put his hands together and shot them straight in the air to mimic a plant growing.

Zuko shook his head. “No, they’re more like,” he started to wiggle his body and opened his hands like a clam shell above his head, and said, “pop!”

Both of them started giggling and continued their terrible impressions of flowers. It crossed Sokka’s mind for a moment of how weird it was for them to bond over plants. The thought however was left behind quickly when Zuko tried to do a plié, or whatever it was called, that sent both boys into laughing fits.

Zuko broke their fits of laughter by leaning over the counter, getting closer to Sokka than he had ever before. Sokka was only taken aback for a moment before also leaning in.

“You got a favorite flower then, Mr. Unhappy?” Sokka asked.

The scarred boy shrugged and shifted his eyebrow up. “Not really. What about you?”

Sokka started to spill out into a giggling fit as he leaned back into his chair. He looked up at the ceiling, adorned with star lighting hanging down in all variations of colors. “Yeah,” he finally sputtered out between a giggle. “Peonies.”

More giggling incapacitated him before he could even breathe, let alone say something else. “Peonies,” he repeated. “Zuko, peonies, are where it's at.” Sokka sat up straight before leaning into Zuko’s personal space. He glanced at Zuko’s scar. He had tried not to, but it had drawn him in again, there was no way he could not look at it. He couldn’t not look into the murky golden eye. Once again, before he could stop himself, he started to trace the scar again with his index finger. He fluttered his fingertip right under his eye and traced back to cup at the side of Zuko’s face. “Can you see? Out of this eye?” he tapped his cheek gently.

There was a shaky inhale of a breath that Sokka noticed in a heartbeat. “Not really. It’s-” but he cut himself off before he finished. He grabbed Sokka’s wrist. This time his grip was tighter, but not by much, and he didn't pull away from Sokka’s dancing fingers. “I’ll tell you about it later.” And he let go, and turned to return to his sorting duties.

Sokka finally found the courage to write after an hour of staring at Zuko’s face when he was helping customers and staring at his back while he made tea. It was methodical at how he would stare at him. When he was taking orders, Sokka shifted down to make it look like he was looking at the chalkboards or whatever else was interesting. When the boy turned his back to him, he openly stared, not trying to be discreet at all. He had watched the way his hair moved, fluid and almost silk like. When he couldn’t stare anymore without feeling like Zuko was catching on, was when he started to write.

He slipped out of the Jasmine Dragon thinking about the conversation they had. “I’ll tell you about it later” repeated in his mind like it was a scratch on his vinyl of a brain.

“I’ll tell you about it later. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ll tell you about it later,” Sokka repeated to himself while biking back to his apartment in the twilight hour. It was his new mantra, his new promise that was made to speak again, and the whole thing was his.

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“It’s Wednesday,” he repeated to Toph for what was probably the seventieth time that day. He was trying to speed walk them to her dorm so he could get to his apartment to look at the new flowers that were guaranteed to be there, but he also sped so he could see Zuko. Maybe he could even find out if his secret admirer had bought the flowers from the Jasmine Dragon.

“I know Captain Boomerang! It’s all you’ve been talking about today!” She pulled away from his hand and tried to out walk Sokka. He jogged after her, grabbing her hand, and basically pulling her into the building.

The second they entered, Toph kicked him out as fast as she could. He didn’t mind though. He raced to get his bike and make it back to his apartment. The thrumming in his veins, in his fingertips, was unmistakably excitement. Not only was the peony waiting for him at his door, but Zuko was waiting for him at the Jasmine Dragon. Zuko had promised him a free tea — which he had to beg Zuko for — if Sokka would help him study for his statistics exam today after classes.

While it wasn’t anything more than a study session, Sokka couldn’t help but feel like it was something more, that it was leading to something more. And sure, he had lied that he knew anything about statistics - who could blame him? He learned it in high school - and at best, he was mediocre at the subject. But it was going to be fine! He was sure something would come back to him while he was helping out.

For the past two weeks, they were spending more and more time together. They sat together in Ideas of War, passing notes to each other, and quietly telling each other jokes when they were supposed to be taking notes. Zuko eventually joined the gaang for lunch, and wasn’t even scared away by Katara and her dagger-like stare.

It was easy for Sokka to be around Zuko. They were dumb together, in a way that reminded him of when he was a kid and didn’t know any better. But Zuko was also tender and caring. Sokka couldn’t help but open up to him. He told him about his mom's death, told him about how it hurt to see his dad off when he was deployed, how he always felt like an outsider, and always in Katara’s shadow. Zuko had even shared how he had a difficult relationship with his father, and how he tried to be the most flawless son in the world for him, but it never worked out. They were together in feeling lost, but feeling lost together. It gave Sokka some much needed relief.

The more he thought about Zuko, the faster he peddled. Pulling up to his apartment, he almost hit an old woman walking her dog, but he couldn’t be bothered to lose any more time to properly apologize. He dumped his bike in front of his building and ran up the stairs just to see his new gift. On his doormat, just like the past eight weeks, there they were.

He swooped down and cradled the new flowers in his arms. There were only two of them this time, both a deep red. Attached to them, finally, was a note. On the cream colored paper, there was a handwritten note of: “You make me happy.” It was simple, but it made Sokka’s heart stretch into his stomach and encompass the whole of his body. He stood to admire the two flowers and again, Sokka thought of Zuko. This had been happening ever since he caressed his face. Last week when he had received the peonies, he immediately sent a photo of one over to Zuko, saying that it reminded Sokka of him. It was white, and had a dash of yellow lining the petals, which made him instantly think of his eyes. Wonderful eyes that I should be staring into right now, he thought.

He didn’t dare leave behind the flowers at his apartment, something in his brain compelled him to bring them. They were too pretty to be left behind.

Riding his bike into town felt like he could finally breathe, finally allow himself to outwardly be excited. Someone was in love with him, truly and utterly in love with him, and it made him giddy. And he might be in love with the person sending him the flowers, and maybe, just maybe, he was also in love with Zuko. The thought sent a wave of nerves up his spine, transpiring and evening out to that low hum in his ears. He could be secretly in love with him, that was okay, wasn’t it? Maybe this would stay his private thought for a while. Or forever. He wasn’t sure yet.

As he came upon the tea shop, he could see Zuko serving an elderly couple through the window. Just seeing him sent another jolt up to Sokka’s spine, increasing the volume of the hum that droned in his ears. He latched his bike to a tree, letting it fall over, as he didn’t have time to even balance it, since that would be wasting time he could be seeing Zuko.

The Jasmine Dragon was packed this afternoon. Mostly old people lined each available table, playing games of Pai Sho. Iroh was at one, putting down a few coins to put in the betting pot. Sokka snickered, knowing that Iroh was probably going to wipe the floor with them.

Like the good boy he was, Sokka stood in line, hopping from foot to foot. He tried to hide behind the person in front of him so he could try to surprise Zuko. There was nothing he wanted more than to see Zuko’s face, which he could envision going from caught off guard, to slightly annoyed, to trying to suppress a smile, which would end in another one of his heart wrenching breathy laughs.

The person in front of him moved to the side, striking up a conversation with some other old person. Sokka sprang to his feet, and added jazz hands for extra jazzy effect. “Sneak attack!” Sokka yelled.

Zuko’s eyes widened, then they became very pointed, but it didn’t last long before he was tightening his mouth to keep his frown, but like he predicted, it broke into a soft smile and into an even softer laugh. “You’re not very good at scaring people Sokka,” he said. He turned his back to Sokka, making someone’s tea.

“The point wasn’t to scare you! But aren’t you glad I’m here?” he shouted. There was no need to yell, but his excitement was pouring out, spilling out, popping out of him.

Zuko shook his head and handed an old man a mug. “I guess,” he snorted.

Sokka moved to the only available chair that was by the counter. It had the perfect view of seeing Zuko’s side profile while he worked. Zuko was unmistakably and undoubtedly beautiful in every way. That was just an added bonus to the guy. Sokka had learned that he was softer than he let on. He found out that he had fostered ducks for a while, and if he wasn’t a good guy, then who was? Zuko was perfect.

The boy moved with precise action, not taking a moment to even look for anything, not even for sugar. Sokka’s eyes got lost in watching his movements. It was mesmerizing. He looked like he was dancing.

Eventually, the crowd of elders gathered around Iroh’s table, challenging the man to another game of Pai Sho, and by the sounds of it, adding even more money to the betting pool. Zuko snorted and handed Sokka the red mug filled with tea. “Uncle has never lost a game of Pai Sho.”

“Hey, don’t try to distract me,” Sokka quipped.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. I didn’t pay for the tea. I didn’t actually mean you had to give me a drink for free, I was just joking, man.” Sokka was starting to get out his wallet when Zuko grabbed his arm and pulled him away from his bag. Zuko glided his hand down to hold Sokka’s, and intertwined their fingers together loosely.

“It’s on the house,” he whispered. Sokka tried to ignore the heat radiating off of Zuko’s hands. It was a comforting warmth, one that reminded him of when his mother would hold his hand as they walked to school together. It felt safe and familiar. Sokka tried to ignore how soft he sounded too. It was like he was telling him a secret and maybe he was. There was an odd sincerity that lined his tone, and Sokka tried not to make a big deal about it. “Since, you know,” Zuko coughed out. “Since you’re helping me with stats.”

Shit. Sokka had almost forgotten. “Yeah, stats!” he cheered out. He had no idea why. He wasn’t looking forward to doing statistics.

Zuko smiled and let go of Sokka’s hand to go to the backroom. Sokka was trying to quickly recite in his head anything he could remember. No such luck. There was nothing there. This was going to be a disaster, he was going to look stupid in front of Zuko! He couldn’t let that happen. Sokka wanted him to respect him, not look down on him, not -

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt his flowers begin to fall from his hands. How could he almost forget about those too? He held them in both hands now, gripping them so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Zuko returned with his binder and leaned over the counter, shifting so he could rest his elbows on said binder.

“Where’d you get those?” Zuko asked.

Sokka glanced up at the boy and then back down to his own hands. “I don’t know. Someone leaves them every Wednesday for me at my apartment,” he said. Why did it feel like a crime to tell him this? It felt like a secret he was finally telling, but one he feared Zuko would judge him for.

Zuko picked up the note that had fallen to the counter, and inspected it carefully, raising it ever so slightly to his right eye. “‘You make me happy.’” he opened his mouth to say something else but stopped before he could.

Before Sokka could stop himself, - which seemed to be a recurring theme when he was around Zuko - he was handing him a peony. “How about you take one? Since you make me happy,” he said.

Zuko took it, ever so slightly shaking. “Okay,” he whispered out. He set it to the side of him and opened up his binder. Sokka watched as his hands carefully sorted through papers, organizing them to the side, watched the way his hand fiddled with a pen, every moment of movement was smooth. He looked up again to Sokka. “You ready to start?” There was a small smile that reached even his eyes. It was a tender moment, except for the part where Sokka had to tutor him in something he had no idea how to do.

“Yeah, totally!” he tried not to choke on his words.

It was just problem after problem he ran into. He was going into theories he hadn’t thought about since his senior year of high school. There was something about predicting how economies would react to a crisis and due to how many people were in the countries, that was also how it would affect the economy? Sokka wasn’t sure what he was reading at all. But he gritted his teeth, and said the first thing that came to his mind, and pointed widely as if that was going to help his point. Zuko nodded his head and jotted down whatever Sokka was saying, and asked questions - which Sokka was ill-prepared to answer, but did his best anyway - and smiled, and said things were starting to make sense. Every once in a while, he would have to take someone’s order, but he returned as quickly as he could. Eventually, studying became goofing around, which became mindless rambling of whatever popped into their heads. The elderly people had gradually left the shop, some still lingered to play Pai Sho with Iroh. That didn’t bother either of them, it meant less distractions from each other.

Every now and then, they would intertwine fingers as they were talking, and come loose again, only to return to each other. There was something so fragile and beautiful about this, that he was afraid of something, even if it was something small, would break their little dance apart. Of course something did, or someone did. Iroh was patting Zuko on the back, telling him he could take his break now. Zuko looked sheepishly, and jumped over the counter to sit next to Sokka, but they didn’t continue what they had been doing. They settled into some light conversation about video games, though it was mostly Sokka talking, since Zuko hadn’t played as much as Sokka had.

Zuko’s eyes were distracting him once again. He would fall out mid sentence just to bring all his attention to those golden eyes. He couldn’t help himself. The conversation hit a lull, and he knew it was time to ask again. “Sooooo,” Sokka drew out, “tell me about your eye?” It was a simple question, but he knew that it carried a lot of weight. “I mean, if you want to.”

His face was neutral for a moment before he dropped his head into his hands. “What is there to say about it?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka admitted. “I just want to know,” it came out softer than he planned it to. Now he was looking down into his own hands, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. Sokka felt a hand ghost over the side of his face, before it tucked a loose piece of hair behind his ear. He looked up to see Zuko looking off to the side, but he could see his face fully again.

“Well,” he started, “it’s blurry. Really, really blurry to see out of. If I close my eye,” he trailed off, before shutting his left eye all the way, and continuing, “I can see you better. You’re crisp. You’re no longer a ghost. Like you’re actually here.” He turned to Sokka, still one eye closed. The tiniest of smiles played at his lips, and Sokka returned the small smile back.

Sokka put his hand over Zuko’s left eye. “How’s this? Am I still a ghost?”

Zuko nodded. “No. I mean, you’re good. Not a ghost,” he sputtered out. Sokka began to pull his hand away, only to have it gently be brought back to Zuko’s eye. “I want to see you clearly. For another minute. Please,” it was soft, it barely even passed his lips as words, more as a breathy plea.

Sokka nodded. He cupped his eye and wondered if Zuko hated his scar, if he thought it was ugly. Sokka hoped he didn’t. It was just another part of him. Another intricate small piece that made the whole of Zuko, and that was beautiful. Every single part of him, flawed, shiny, new, or old, was beautiful, Sokka thought. It was all meant to be.

Zuko pulled away to reveal both his eyes. They were twinkling, bright, and awe inspiring. “There,” he paused, “finally got a good look at you.” He laughed. Not a breathy laugh like he usually did, but one that came from his chest.

Zuko’s laugh punched all the air out of Sokka’s lungs. It was beautiful, he was beautiful, and Sokka almost couldn’t stand it. He stood up suddenly from his chair, tipping it over to fall on the floor. He dropped to the floor to haul it up, and he could feel Zuko’s fingertips brush gently against his arm, and he tried to ignore the electricity that it sent up his body.

“Dude, I just totally remembered I have a - a huge essay due tonight. Like, it’s crazy how much I have to work and I definitely should start working on it now because it’s due tonight and I hate having to do things you know? So, yeah! Essays! Projects! Eyes! That’s all wonderful and weird stuff, but-” he was rambling. He was aware that he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop.

Another laugh erupted out of Zuko again and Sokka felt his throat close up a little at his own embarrassment, but also because of how cute he had sounded - not that he would admit thinking that.

The feeling of being watched was creeping upon him, and Sokka became painfully aware that everyone was looking at him. He held both his hands to the side of his face, trying to shield himself in any possible way. “I should be going. I am going. Yes. I am now leaving.” Sokka shuffled backwards while Zuko walked right behind him, crossing his arms, and letting himself giggle without trying to hold any of it back.

Sokka pushed the door open and reached blindly to unlock his bike. Zuko leaned on the door frame and watched as he frantically tried to pick open his own lock. “Sokka,” Zuko said. He whipped his head to face Zuko, his face completely flushed. “Go write your paper.”

It was simple. It wasn’t even an order, maybe not even a suggestion, and it certainly wasn’t flirting, but Sokka nodded. He was going to write a fake paper for Zuko and it was going to be the best fake paper in existence for some fake class.

He mounted his bike, almost falling off of it. “Also, Sokka,” Zuko paused for a moment. Sokka looked back at him and tried to will his blush to subside. “You’re not very good at statistics.” And Sokka fell off his bike.

Zuko laughed and gave him a half-assed wave before going back into the shop.

------------------------

Tap. Click. Snip. Tap. Tap. Click. Snip. Snip. Click. Snip. There was no rhythm to the sounds that flooded Sokka’s head. It was Friday, and the day was fading into a late afternoon. Sokka was trying to draw - admittedly he had no talent, but he still tried - the peony he held in his hand. It was the red one he had received on Wednesday. He tapped his pen against the counter, drew a line before becoming unhappy, and clicking his pen. Iroh tended to the flowers, giving them new water, trimming their deadheads, and whatever other things flowers required.

Of course Sokka was at the Jasmine Dragon for tea, but he was also there for Zuko; that was obvious to anyone. Zuko wasn’t here yet though. He had planned that out on purpose. Sokka knew Zuko was at the skate park with Aang, each boy trying to show off in some way or another. He wanted time to try and draw Zuko a flower just because… well because he wanted to. He didn’t need a reason to. He was in love and he could (sort of) comfortably admit it to himself.

“You need to loosen up or your drawing will always be lifeless,” Iroh chided from behind. Sokka sighed and banged his head on the counter a few times. He knew the man was right, but he couldn’t just do that. It wasn’t easy for him.

Twirling the flower in his hand, he tried to find if there was an easier place to start. There was not. It was the same flower after all. The same flower that his mystery person left for him. The same flower that made him think of Zuko and their shared favorite red mug. It was still the same flower.

Iroh sat next to Sokka, and quirked his head to the side. “Did you know a red peony means honor or respect? I used to give them to my nephew after he ran away from home.”

Sokka whipped his head to Iroh. “Flowers have meanings? And what do you mean Zuko ran away from home? When? When did he come back?”

Iroh shook his head. “You have so many questions for someone so observant.” Sokka buried his embarrassment down to his toes, and stared at Iroh for any more explanation. The old man sighed. He methodically rubbed his knuckles, as if to ward away any joint pains. Sokka had seen his father do the same after winter days, claiming that the cold made his hands hurt after he spent the day shoveling out their elderly neighbors driveways for them.

“Zuko’s father is not a forgiving man, and Zuko is…” he paused and took a deep breath, “was very scared. They had never seen eye to eye. My nephew was - is - a sensitive soul, always caring. After his mother passed, my brother became more violent and unyielding in his ways of punishment.” Iroh took in a shaky breath. “Zuko ran when his father burnt him - that’s where his scar is from. My nephew came to me and he’s never returned to my brother...” Another pause struck him and he began to stroke his beard. “He’s much stronger now. He has found his inner strength to be his own person and finally accept himself fully.”

Sokka sat awestruck at Iroh. “I didn’t know.”

Iroh smiled and shook his head. “My nephew is very secretive, he does not want anyone to worry about him.”

They sat together in silence. Sokka thought about Zuko and his heart swelled with pain for him. It wasn’t till Iroh was dabbing his face with a napkin did he realize he was crying. He wiped his heavy tears from his cheeks. “Can you tell me peony meanings?”

Iroh smiled and got up. He returned with a yellow, white, and a pink peony in his hands. He handed Sokka the yellow one and began. “The yellow peony represents the sun - light and joyful. Not as romantic as the others,” he chuckled. “White is a representation of embarrassment, a type of shyness. Though, the yellow peony can mean that as well, and so can a light pink. Funny how shy these flowers are.”

There was a pause as Sokka took those two flowers in his hands and inspected them. “The pink signifies a pure romance. A way to show true adoration and love - one might use this one at their wedding.” Iroh tucked the pink one behind Sokka’s ear, letting it rest to cover some of his left eye. “Maybe these are your flowers to show you love him.”

The older man got up from his chair and returned to tending to his flowers. Sokka still sat, looking at all the flowers in his hands. Zuko’s face and laughter flashed through his mind. Each time their hands brushed against each other, each time Zuko’s eyes lit up with joy, each time they whispered something dumb - Sokka thought about it all. He gazed back down into the flowers and wondered how these small things could represent so much and reflect his own feelings for Zuko in their petals.

Sokka wanted to share these with Zuko, share them and tell him how much the boy meant to him through each flower's meaning. Tie a memory to each flower and adore the boy he was in love with by recounting each memory with each petal. And then, and right then, in his small silly stupid brain, it all clicked. He stood and walked out the door, and stared at the store front.

Peonies. Peonies at his door. Jasmine Dragon. Jasmine Dragon selling flowers. Zuko. Zuko works at Jasmine Dragon. “Oh my god, he’s-”

------------------------

Sokka paced around his bedroom. He knew - well, he was definitely sure - that Zuko was the one leaving the flowers at his doorstep. How did Zuko know where he lived though? Which building was his, which floor he lived on, which door it was - how did he know? Only his friends knew. Katara, Toph, Suki, Aang - Aang! That little bald headed devil was friends with Zuko before anyone else was. Did he know all along that Sokka’s secret admirer was Zuko? Did he help Zuko plan it all out?

“That rat!” Sokka shouted. He couldn’t believe Aang was possibly a co-conspirator. Well, actually, he could, it seemed like something he would do.

He wasn’t going to confront Aang right now though, since it was already eleven in the evening, and he knew the bald rat was going to be asleep already since he just loved getting up early to meditate with Katara - what a bunch of nerds. It gave Sokka time to scheme up a plan to wrench information out of him.

He could always buy information from Aang, or just straight up ask him a billion times till he broke, but this almost felt like a secret mission. Felt like Aang had been a spy, a double agent, a - his thought process was broken by the sound of knocking on his door.

Sokka stood in his room for a moment, not daring to move or even breathe. Who could even be knocking on his door? A neighbor asking for sugar (unlikely, but neighbors were chaotic evil at times)? A courteous burglar? The knocking came again, at quick rapid succession, louder this time. Sokka grabbed the knife he kept beneath his pillow and tiptoed across his dirty laundry and across the floor of his small apartment.

Squinting his eyes, he peeked through the peephole to find Zuko. Without a second thought, Sokka unlocked and swung his door open, a comically large smile splitting his face in two at the sight of the beautiful boy. “Zuko!” He whisper-yelled.

Zuko broke out a small smile, but his eyes were darting back and forth from each end of the hallway in a nervous manner. “Can I-” before Zuko could even finish asking, Sokka was pulling him into his place.

He swept his arm across, showing his shabby apartment with great gusto. “Welcome to my humble, terribly designed home! What brings you here tonight?” He turned back to Zuko. “And how did you get my address?” In reality, of course he knew, but he couldn’t let Zuko know that he knew yet.

Zuko picked beneath his scar, avoiding Sokka’s eyes. “Aang gave me your address a while ago. And - and I couldn’t sleep. I had a - a nightmare.”

A heavy silence cracked between the two. Sokka felt his smile leave his face in an instant. There was something unspoken about how horrible this nightmare was, Sokka knew.

“Well,” he started softly, “I have a really comfy bed that you can crash on. I promise it's monster and bad dream free. A special offer, just for you.” Zuko nodded and once again, a very small, faint, smile graced his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was still sweet.

Sokka led him to his room, and hoped to any god that Zuko would ignore the clothes on the floor. Zuko plopped himself on the bed and stared down at his folded hands that he kept in his lap. Sokka haphazardly threw his knife onto his bedside dresser, and began to frantically pick up his clothes and shoved them into the bathroom shower, shutting the door as if that would hide his shame. He decided to boil some water and make some Jasmine tea, because he knew that was Zuko’s favorite, and maybe he had bought it just in case Zuko ever came over.

Once the tea was made, he returned to his bedroom, to see Zuko still in the same place, with the same haunted face. Sokka kneeled down in front of him, and gently cradled one of Zuko’s hands into his, wrapping it around the mug. They held that position for a few seconds - Sokka holding Zuko, and Zuko holding the drink. Eventually, Sokka released him and Zuko took a careful sip.

There on the floor, Sokka took in how Zuko looked. His hair was disheveled - more than usual - and his clothes were clearly just thrown on, as he was wearing a pink shirt that used to be neon, gray sweatpants, and two different types of socks - one was shorter than the other, and the longer one had fat cats on it. Sokka would have found all of it cute, but he knew it was a panicked last minute choice of clothing.

“What did you dream about?” Sokka asked. He finally pushed the question out of his throat. It sounded raspy, like there was sand stuck between each sound.

“My dad. The burn. My mom.” The words were solid - if words could be solid. No hesitation in saying any of it, just stating facts. Zuko looked up from his hands, and met Sokka’s eyes. “And you.” His voice broke a bit.

Sokka scooted closer, gently placing his hand on Zuko’s knee. “I didn’t know I was nightmare material.” Sokka hoped that was funny and not an awful time to say that.

Zuko let out a snort and shook his head, his eyes slowly making their way to land on the dresser. “Best believe it. But…” he sucked in a breath between his teeth. “But I wish you were in it longer. You were trying to protect me. It was… it was nice.”

Nothing else was said, and Zuko took another sip of his tea. Sokka laid his head on top of his hand that was still resting on Zuko. For those few moments, nothing seemed awful. It felt calm, it felt loving, it felt natural between them.

Sokka took the cup and placed it into the sink, taking time to rinse it off and think of how he could care for Zuko. He wasn’t sure exactly how to, but he was going to do it and make him feel loved.

Zuko was laying on his side, curled up and staring at the bedsheets he was crumpling and uncrumpling with his hands. Sokka walked to the other side, and laid beside him, trying to carefully not disturb him. Zuko didn’t acknowledge Sokka’s presence. He was more quiet than usual. It reminded Sokka of how he used to be - not as open, as if he was trying to keep everything to himself.

“Sokka,” Zuko finally said. Sokka snapped his eyes open. He didn’t realize they were starting to close. “Can you tell me a story to put me to sleep?”

Sokka nodded and propped his head up with his hand. “There’s these two spirits - Tui and La. The moon and the ocean. Each night, Tui comes up to the sky to gaze upon La and the rest of the earth. She watches all those that bask in her gentle glow. And each night, La asks her how she became so beautiful. Tui never answers, and asks him how he became so beautiful.” Sokka takes in a deep breath. He can remember his mother telling him this story after his nightmares. He can remember how she ran her careful fingers through his hair. He can remember how she would imitate the oceans sounds. He can remember how his father would always play La, and how lovingly he looked at his mother. He can remember it all so crystal clear.

“They’re in love. It’s unspoken, but they love each other. They’re so in love, that La tries to reach up every night to hold her and she tries to hold him back. It’s been that way since the beginning of time. But they grow frustrated that they can never touch. She’s with the stars - she’s part of the stars - but she wishes to be with her love.

“One day, La devises a plan.” Sokka clears his throat, and begins in a low voice, “Tui, I wish to hold you and be with you forever my love. I cannot take being so far from you. Let us create a physical form to be together forever, so I can hold you each day and be in awe of you.” Sokka coughs into his hand before continuing. “So they do. They finally meet, finally hold each other, before Tui is dipping into him, letting her spirit combine with his. They fuse and un-fuse to create their physical forms. They become koi fish, and they circle and dance together. They push and pull the tide together in their dance. They’re the happiest spirits in the world because they’re finally together. And still, each night, La asks Tui how she became so beautiful, and she asks him the same. It has been that way for thousands of years, and it will continue to be that way for thousands of years, till the end of time. They’re in love. It’s unspoken, but they love each other. And they’re so in love, that they’ll always be in love.”

Sokka yawns, and looks down at Zuko. His eyes are closed, but he gives a small nod. “Just like us,” Zuko says.

Sokka can feel his heart begin to race. He lets his hand brush through Zuko’s hair. He doesn’t complain, so Sokka continues. “Yeah… just like us.”

Even with how fast his heart and brain are racing, it’s easy to let his eyes flutter shut. Sokka of course made sure that Zuko was asleep first before he could indulge himself in sleep. There’s something amazing about knowing that he’s right next to the boy he loves. Before sleep fully overtakes him, Sokka whispers, “How did you become so beautiful?”

------------------------

Burning. Something is burning.

Sokka’s first thought and only thought is that his apartment is on fire and he’s going to die in it.

He springs out of bed to check on the kitchen. Maybe he left the stove on? Maybe he did some sleep cooking? Why did the universe hate him so much?

Rounding the corner to the stove, he sees Zuko running water over a pan, and waving his free hand around to attempt to clear out the smoke. Sokka lets out a quiet scream - from happiness or fear that his house almost burned down, he’s not sure. Zuko spins around to face him. His face is flushed and only a small ringlet of honey encases his pupils.

“What are you doing up?” he yells in mock anger.

“You were going to burn down my apartment!” Sokka gestures to the pan and to the smoke twisting and twirling around. Zuko doesn’t respond and instead turns back to scrubbing the pan. Sokka tries again, softer this time; “What were you trying to make?”

The scarred boy grumbles under his breath and a blush overtakes his cheeks. “I was trying to make a stupid grilled cheese for you… I know you like them but…” Sokka giggles over Zuko and his flush reaches his ears. “I’m not very good at cooking!” he yelps.

Zuko scrubs the burnt pieces of what Sokka assumes used to be bread into the sink. Sokka watches in odd fascination - how Zuko will scrub with the brush and rinse everything under boiling hot tap water, and then lather everything in an ungodly amount of soap, and repeat the process over and over again. He finds it almost homey, like when Sokka would find his parents making breakfast together, whispering sweet secrets into each other's ears, as his mother would envelope his father in her arms as he cooked. Sokka wanted that. He wanted to recreate that moment with Zuko.

So he did.

He loosely draped his arms over Zuko’s hips and rested his chin onto his right shoulder. Zuko became stiff, all movement falling from his limbs. “Sooooo,” Sokka drawled out. He began to sway his body, gently coaxing Zuko to follow his lead.

Zuko let his head fall onto Sokka’s shoulder, staring up at the ceiling. Shaky fingers wrap around Sokka’s. They’re rough and calloused, but warm to the touch. “You have a lot of flowers.” Zuko all but whispers.

“Yeah,” Sokka starts. He interlaces his hand with Zuko’s and pulls him into a spin. He places a hand back onto Zuko’s hip and continues his dancing sway. “My most favorite person in the world gave them to me.”

“Y-yeah?” He can see a smile creep up onto Zuko’s face and Sokka himself feels a smile break onto his own.

“Yeah. And I don’t have the courage to throw them away. I like them too much. They remind me of -”

“You’re beautiful,” Zuko cuts him off. Sokka lets out a breathy nervous laugh, and lets his eyes close. “Don’t laugh! I’m telling the truth!”

Sokka shakes his head and presses closer to Zuko. Sokka’s heart is hammering excitedly and loud against his chest, and he wonders if Zuko can feel how frantic it is to be this close to him. Distantly, in a far part of his brain, he can feel a faint fast pattern in Zuko’s chest against his own.

“And I’m telling the truth too,” Sokka finally says. He opens his eyes to see Zuko staring down at him. He brushes a piece of hair that had fallen over his scarred eye. He can see petals upon petals lining his face, his eye becoming a small pollen galaxy inside. It’s beautiful, just like him. His black hair juxtaposes his face in an entirely new ways. Zuko’s right side of his face is just as beautiful. It’s sprinkled with small blemishes that add to his darkening blush, but his skin is just as smooth as silk - Sokka notices this because his tracing each freckle and small acne scar with his finger tips, as if forming a constellation on his face. He’s gorgeous.

Sokka rises ever so slightly on his tippy-toes, crooking his head so that his nose brushes against his cheek. “It’s unspoken, but I’m in love with you,” he whispers into Zuko’s good ear. He presses his face against Zuko’s cheek, noting how natural it feels to be this close, and gives Zuko a soft kiss.

He ever so slightly pulls away to look back up at Zuko. Zuko is completely pink. “You look just like a peony,” Sokka says in between giggles.

Zuko shakes his head and rests his forehead against Sokka’s. “Well you look like one too.” They begin to sway again, Zuko’s hand more confidently placed onto Sokka’s shoulders, rubbing small circles into his muscles. He gives Sokka’s hand a small squeeze before returning a small kiss onto Sokka’s nose. “It’s unspoken but…” Zuko’s voice hitches a bit. “I’m so in love with you, Sokka.”

A surge of relief and happiness is sent up Sokka’s spine, which returns that familiar hum to his ears. He runs a careful hand through Zuko’s hairs, gently picking out the knots and smoothing his hair back down. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a red peony lose one of it’s petals, and Sokka can’t help but to think that maybe that's a metaphor or some kind of sign. But he can’t bother to think of what, and instead pulls Zuko closer - if that’s even possible - to himself. The moment is perfect. It’s divine. He can’t even think of letting Zuko go after this. So he promises himself that he won’t.