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“I do it for the love. Bunk bed flow, always one level above. Drake said that.” Sokka announces one night, while opening his hundredth browser tab, "Just thought you'd want to know."
He can’t see Zuko roll his eyes, because Zuko’s exactly a few feet above him on the top bunk, but he knows that he is. Because only Sokka would say ‘Drake said that’ in the same tone a sane person would say ‘Gandhi said that’ or ‘Socrates said that’. It drives Zuko so, so crazy.
“Sokka how far are you into Professor Kuruk’s assignment?” Zuko asks, even though he suspects that Sokka doesn’t even have the book open. He’s on Buzzfeed for sure, maybe even Miniclip playing some silly flash games.
Zuko hates flash games. Sure they’re the only games that work pretty well for him, because you know, lack of depth perception messes him up on a lot of other games. But there isn’t any honor in moving around squawking pixelated animals to the tune of elevator music and racking up an arbitrary number of points for not doing anything even remotely intelligent. Fruit Ninja on the other hand. Now there’s a game a man can be proud of. It’s about reflexes.
“Oh that? I’m done.” Sokka’s voice comes from below, all nonchalant, and easy-going. Oh, fuck you.
“You’re what now ?”
“Oh sorry you’re grammarly-ness, I’m finished .” Sokka does his best impression of Zuko’s raspy voice, “Turkeys are done Sokka. People are ‘finished’.”
“Wait. How. You.” Zuko sputters, “I’m only on chapter three ! You’ve been streaming Katy Perry all night. Distracting me. Asking me stupid questions. And you’re done-i-mean-finished??? ”
“She helps me think. I told you.”
Zuko just groans, and slams his laptop shut, lying back on the bed. This is just what it’s like. Rooming with Sokka, the idiot who’s also a genius. The reason why Zuko has hot and cold stuck in his head at all hours of the day.
Because Sokka just has to push all of his buttons, all the time right? He’s the guy who uses up all the hot water. Never cleans the rice cooker. And stocks the fridge full of nothing but caprisun. Then he has the nerve. The nerve . To ask Zuko not to subsist on diet coke and ramen. Like he’s one to talk.
And now? Now Zuko’s going to fail his assignment. How did he get here? Oh yeah, that was actually, sorta kinda, or well no more or less completely, his fault.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was orientation week. ‘O-week’ as the seniors called it. It was the time when freshman scrambled to find friends and attached to the nearest human person who would talk to them and didn’t seem like a complete creep. Cliques formed. Lifelong friendships were forged on the basis of ‘what’s your major’ and ‘oh cool yeah me too i’m from new jersey’. And among the throngs of young hopefuls, there he was. There was Sokka. His name tag had the name written on it in such big, bold letters, it was impossible to miss.
He was chilling with some bald kid near the sign-up table for ‘Drama club’. He was wearing a bright pink t-shirt that said ‘Women Up’ . And laughing like anything. He looked like the kind of guy who frequently laughed so hard that milk came out of his nose. He was patting the bald kid on the back, maybe he had just told a joke. Zuko’s eyes were drawn to his feet. No. Oh god, no. He was wearing crocs .
“Hey buddy, you gonna sign up or what?” Sokka asked.
Zuko approached the table, he finally got a good look at the bald kid’s name tag, under ‘my name is…’, it read AANG :). Because of course it did.
Zuko cleared his throat, as he often did when he hadn’t actually said anything out loud in a while, “Yeah.”
“Great!” Aang smiled, “What’s your name?”
Aang reached into his pocket and pulled out a role of name tags, “You should really have one of these you know. Sokka do you have a pen?”
Sokka pulled a pen out of his pocket. Well no. He pulled pens out of his pocket.
He turned to Zuko, “Red, green, or blue?”
“Black.” Zuko said automatically, “I mean. Red. Red is fine.”
“I mean. I might have black?” Sokka dug into his other pocket, “Here ya go.”
Their hands brushed as he took the pen. And Zuko immediately felt his cheeks heat up. Because yeah, Sokka was just that good looking that even the crocs weren’t enough to negate his sheer power. He took a sticker from Aang and wrote his name. In shaky, rather soft letters: Z uko . The space between the ‘Z’ and the ‘uko’ looked stupid, and was large enough to fit a whole extra letter. But it was too late for that now.
“Zuko, huh? Nice name.”
So that was it. Zuko, huh? Nice name . These were the words Zuko was gonna die from.
Roughly six hours later, when he moved into his dorm room and found Sokka waiting for him, already having put up posters and claimed one of the desks. That was when his fate was sealed.
“Hey roomie, top or bottom?” Sokka asked.
“ Huh? ” Zuko glanced at the bunk beds, right . God, okay. Thank god. And then his mind started going a thousand miles an hour.
What would be better? Top or bottom? Sure, sleeping on the bottom, it would be easier to get in or out in the morning. But then. He’d have to be in view of Sokka all the time. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. Top would be a pain in the neck. The ceiling height was definitely an issue. Zuko wasn’t that tall. But he would probably hit his head if he tried to stretch out or something. But on the bottom bunk, Sokka would always be there . The top bunk, that was the only way.
“I’ll take the top bunk.”
It was possibly the worst decision he ever made.
Because not only was Sokka always there anyway. But often, Sokka would climb up the ladder and spend like, an hour, just chatting with him. He would throw things, like paperback books, or candy, or water bottles, at Zuko while he was just sitting at his desk. He would forget to put in headphones and blast mid-2000s pop music. The entire soundtrack of High School Musical . And the full collected works of Carly Rae Jepsen . And being on the top bunk? Yeah. It didn’t help at all.
Plus there was the ever present issue of ceiling height. Zuko had banged his head more times than he could count. He had nearly careened off the ladder climbing down in the morning, when there was construction work going on outside and the building shook. He didn’t think this was how he would go. Death by bunk bed. But it was starting to get real fucking likely.
Then there was also, essentially, the issue of Sokka. Specifically, Sokka and girls. The fact that he was always out with them. And apparently went to a lot of phi-delt parties. But that he never brought any around the dorm. Zuko silently believed it was his fault.
Because of course Sokka would never ask Zuko to vacate the premises so he could hangout with some girl. Because Zuko didn’t have anywhere to go. Certainly not for an entire night anyway.
He was just here. In the top bunk. A silent spectre haunting Sokka’s dating life. And Sokka was just there. In the bottom bunk. A very much not silent spectre haunting Zuko’s academic life.
But back to the present. Back to Professor Kuruk’s assignment. And the day spent in their respect bunks. And the ever present croon of one Katherine Hudson Perry.
Before Zuko knows what’s going on...it’s Sokka on the ladder. Then it’s Sokka cross-legged on the top bunk. Facing Zuko, sitting just by his outstretched legs.
“I come in peace.” Sokka smiles, “Here.”
Sokka takes Zuko’s laptop, “Let me read it to you. It’ll go by real fast, I promise.”
“Okay.”
Sokka opens the laptop, “Password?”
“I’m not telling you my password!”
“Mine is boomerang . Have fun. Knock yourself out. Just don’t mess with my memes folder or i’ll kill you.”
“Pai sho.” Zuko says softly, “No spaces.”
“What’s that?” Sokka asks.
“It’s a board game my Uncle likes.” Zuko finds himself explaining before he can stop himself. If it’s about Uncle, he can rarely stop himself.
Sokka types it in, and then opens the reading assignment on a new tab. Sokka loves opening new tabs. It’s like a disease. Then he starts reading.
Zuko likes the sound of Sokka’s voice. He likes it so much that he has to strain to pay attention to the words. And not to Sokka’s voice and his face. To Sokka in general, in fact. He notices that Sokka hadn’t commented on his lock screen or desktop wallpaper. The first: a picture he took on the streets of Japan, a fairly recent trip with his Uncle. The second: a picture of him and his mother at a farmer’s market on a sunday morning. Not so recent. That’s kind of Sokka, not to mention it.
He likes Sokka so much these days, that it’s almost possible to forget how annoying he can be. Especially since all those annoying things. They honestly pale in comparison to just being allowed to hangout with him. Free of charge. Roomie privilege.
He knows Sokka’s waking habits. His sleeping habits. His study habits. He gets to wake up and walk with him to class. Sokka taught him how to ride the bus to get off-campus. That day at the mall by Parkside is still a highlight. Sokka holds his hand when they cross the street. Zuko thinks that maybe he does that with everyone, but it’s still nice.
Then of course there’s the conversations between bunks. They talk right up to the point where they’re both asleep. About everything and nothing. Zuko doesn’t remember half their conversations in the morning. He doesn’t have nightmares either, for some reason. Because he knows just a few feet below him, there’s Sokka. For whatever reason that’s stupid comforting.
He finishes the reading thanks to Sokka that night. And Sokka hands him back the laptop, actually reaches out to ruffle his hair--which is something Zuko doesn’t let anyone do ( anyone except him ), says “goodnight” and descends the ladder again.
Zuko relives the touch a thousand times in his head. Except in his head it ends with more than a touch. In his head Sokka kisses him on the forehead and he says it, almost the way he really did say it but with more, more of something. Goodnight . And he says his name. Goodnight, Zuko .
Oh shit. Oh god, oh shit. I’m in love with him.
A week later Zuko wakes up and bangs his head on the ceiling. This time, rather hard. The scream probably wakes up Sokka and he runs to the ladder, which is wet for some reason (caprisun?), slips, falls backward, and hits his own head on the floor.
God we’re idiots.
They both sit in the kitchen after, holding frozen vegetables up to their heads--for the pain.
“You wanna switch?” Sokka asks.
“Hmm?” Zuko considers, “Nah I like my major a lot.”
“The bunks.” Sokka explains, “You keep hitting your head.”
“You’re taller.” Zuko points out.
“I actually wanted the top bunk.”
“Why?” Zuko asks, “Why would you want that?”
“You know me. My personal vendetta against gravity.” Sokka laughs, “Katara and I had bunk beds too. She never let me have the top one. It's like a bed. But tall! Come on. Be a friend. Switch with me.”
Oh. As a favor to him then.
“Okay.” Zuko lowers his frozen packet of peas to the table, “Sure let’s swap then.”
The switching process itself is relatively simple. They don’t even bother to swap out the sheets. Because they’re college guys, and putting on a fitted sheet on a bunk bed with that kind of ceiling height in the picture. Not worth it.
Sokka just waits until it’s night. And he climbs up the ladder into Zuko’s bunk. The top bunk. Zuko’s still at his desk. But three hours later he climbs into the bottom bunk. Which, to be real and truthful, still smells an awful lot like Sokka, and snack food, and is doing nothing for his raging crush on the guy.
So that’s one problem solved. Or so Zuko thinks. The real problem happens when Sokka drinks.
He normally doesn’t. Zuko knows that. But that night he comes home and he’s clearly tipsy. And Zuko’s already been in bed for an hour. But he knows that Sokka is not going to survive climbing up the ladder in this state. He’s just not. They could switch back, just for one night.
Zuko says as much, explaining, as best he can, to a giddily happy Sokka, that he should sleep in his old bunk again.
What he doesn’t expect is for Sokka to look at him like that , and say, “Oh. I didn’t think--”
Then he gets into the bunk with Zuko still in it . And it’s a twin sized bed, so there’s not much room. And then they’re face to face. And Zuko’s brain is no longer working. Because Sokka is here. He’s so close. Zuko’s wearing his pajamas that Uncle bought for him, the ones that are light blue with dancing penguins. This is not happening. This is not. Repeat not. Happening.
“God, you’re pretty.” Sokka says.
???????
He reaches out to ruffle Zuko’s hair.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sokka yawns, “It’s so soft. It’s always so soft. I don’t get it. What’s your secret.”
Zuko’s gonna regret it, he’s gonna regret it for the rest of his life, that he’s in this situation and all he can say is, “Jasmine oil.”
“Oh okay.” Sokka nods, as if this is a totally and completely normal occurrence, “Goodnight, Zuko. Love you.”
“You love me?” Zuko asks tentatively, how drunk are you .
“Yeah of course I do.” Sokka’s closed his eyes now, and he’s thrown an arm around him.
“You mean--I. As a friend, right? Because.”
“That too.” Sokka says softly, “I don’t have that many friends.”
That’s stupid. Sokka has loads and loads of friends.
“You have lots of friends.”
“S’not the same. Don’t. Like you listen. Ya know.”
Zuko does the only brave thing he’s probably done in the past nineteen years of his life. He touches Sokka’s cheek with his thumb and he edges forward, so they’re close, almost hugging. He can feel everything, the heat of him. His breath smells like pringles. But not of alcohol, as if he hadn’t even had that much. Sokka’s eyes flicker awake briefly and he leans his face into Zuko’s shoulder. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It’s perfect .
They’re still. Just a minute more. Then Sokka’s asleep. He’s long gone. Zuko’s wide awake. But so is he. But he was long gone much before.
When Zuko wakes Sokka’s at his desk, laptop open, and he’s typing.
He turns when he hears movement, “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die last night. You know I can barely climb up there sober.”
“Oh. No problem.” Zuko answers.
Okay then. We'll just ignore it.
Sokka still holds his hand when they cross the street. He still ruffles his hair whenever he gets the chance. He pours a bowl of cereal out for Zuko every morning. Cereal first, then milk, even though Sokka himself does the opposite with his own bowl. Milk first. Then cereal . Chaos demon that he is.
He starts walking him to classes that he isn’t even taking. He’s waiting for him, leaning against the wall outside of lecture halls. When they're in the common areas he lets Zuko sit beside him and puts his arm around where Zuko is sitting. It's alarmingly familiar. But maybe that's just how Sokka is.
Two weeks after the bunk-sharing incident. Sokka hands him a photograph.
“It was under your pillow.” Sokka explains, “Can’t believe it’s really you.”
“Am I that hard to recognize without the scar?” Zuko asks, a little angrily. I didn’t expect this from you.
“No. It’s not that. You’re smiling.”
Oh.
“I smile in pictures.”
“Sure ya do.”
“I’ll smile when there’s something to smile about!”
“Look, um.” Sokka looks awkward all of a sudden, “There’s a party on saturday. I know you don’t usually go to stuff like that. But if you want. I mean. I'd like it. Do you wanna come with me?”
Zuko says yes without thinking. Because hey, it’s almost a date. He regrets it the entire week after. He dreads it. He hates parties. And people. And people at parties. And Sokka probably knows other people there right? He won’t just hang around with him the whole time? Stupid!
On their way there, Sokka holds his hand while they cross the street. But he doesn’t let go until they’re right outside the door.
When the door opens Zuko sees it’s just Aang, Katara, Toph and Suki. What kind of party is that? This is just a group of people that Zuko likes.
“Happy birthday.” Sokka says, as a way of explanation, “I hope this is okay.”
Oh. Birthday. My birthday.
“How’d you know it was my birthday?” Zuko asks the group.
“Sokka told us.” Aang explains, “So I made a fruit tart with your name on it.”
“I got you a cool rock from the geology lab.” Toph explains.
“You stole something!” Katara turns on her.
“How’d you know it was my birthday?” Zuko asks Sokka.
“It’s the date on the photograph, isn’t it? That was your seventh birthday right? And that would make you...twenty today.” Sokka says smugly, clearly he’s proud of himself.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything!” Aang interrupts, he gets out a lighter and lights the single candle sticking haphazardly out of the fruit tart, “Just blow it out and make a wish, okay? And don’t ask for something you’re gonna get anyway. Like passing your classes.”
Zuko looks right at Sokka as he’s blowing it out. He wonders if Sokka knows he’s wishing for him.
It’s a night in early spring when Zuko wakes up in a cold sweat. He thinks of Sokka, just a few feet above him. He’s right there. Right there . And he wants, he wants more than ever. He remembers the dream. The feeling of fire. The touch of his father’s hands. He wants to scream.
He climbs up the ladder, maybe just to see him. Just the sight of Sokka alone might be enough to make him feel better.
But Sokka’s already awake. He’s on his phone. The glow of it splashing across his face. Shining across his blue eyes. He puts it down immediately. And he knows. He just knows.
“Hey. You want to bunk with me?” Sokka asks.
Yes. More than you can ever know.
"Wouldn't that--I don't know it wouldn't be weird?"
"'Course not. C'mere." Sokka opens his arms. He doesn't need to say it twice.
It’s so much easier to fall asleep, cuddled against Sokka’s side. In the warm circle of Sokka’s embrace.
“Goodnight Zuko.”
Zuko’s halfway to dreamland already, “Mhmm. Goodnight baby.”
In the morning, he doesn't remember saying it.
The spring show of the Ember Island Players, the school’s drama group, is Legally Blonde, the musical . Zuko has a brief speaking part, as Law Student #3. To put it lightly, it’s not a starring part. He doesn’t even get to sing.
But Sokka’s brought him flowers after the show anyway, “You were great.”
“I didn’t even sing.” Zuko takes the flowers, they’re red roses, interesting .
“That’s okay. Maybe later. You could sing for me?”
“For you?” Yeah, pretty much anything.
“Yeah. For me. I would say right now but I have a party to get too. And not the fun birthday kind.”
“Take me with you.” Zuko says, like a crazy person.
“You hate parties.”
The thought of some girl hitting on you’re at a party where I’m not there will kill me faster than having to make small talk with 50 strangers.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I get it. I’m not that cool.” Zuko admits.
“Come on.” Sokka takes him by the hand, “No one’s cool. They’re all just pretending.”
There’s music at this party that’s loud and unfamiliar. It makes his headache. There’s red solo cups. People making mixers out of mountain dew and cheap vodka. There’s a couple making out in a corner. And a group of nerds, wait his group of nerds, playing cards against humanity in a big circle. And of course, loads, and loads, of strangers.
Sokka knows everyone. And though he’s not let go of Zuko’s hand is kind of dragging him through the party, Zuko feels incredibly left out. As Sokka carries on genial conversations with nearly everyone he meets, drunk or not. Zuko’s starting to think this was a mistake. And a big one.
A girl comes up and throws her arms around Sokka and she practically cackles, “Who’s your friend?”
I hate people. Zuko barely hears Sokka’s reply over the din.
She kisses Sokka on the cheek, and Zuko hates people even more.
“Who was that?” Zuko asks, when she was gone.
“Just a friend. I think we had a lab together last semester.”
“Do you kiss all your friends?” Zuko asks, uncomfortably loud, to be heard over the music.
“No.” Sokka’s laughing, “You want to dance?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay. I figured.” Sokka drags him over to the couch, and they both sit down, “You know if you’re uncomfortable. We can leave.”
“What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?!” Zuko asks, visibly uncomfortable.
Sokka squeezes his hand, “I’ll get you something to drink. Non-alcoholic. Don’t worry.”
Sokka being gone and being alone on a stranger’s couch in a strange apartment is really not good. He feels so physically uncomfortable that he wants to collapse under the surface of the Earth. But of course he’d rather die than leave. Zuko’s never been so pleased that he’s nearly deaf in one ear. He hates this music.
Sokka returns, red solo cup in hand, “Here. Maybe you’re dehydrated.”
Zuko takes a sip, “Thanks.”
Sokka looks at the people dancing. The drinking games going on by the kitchen counter. The mess of the place. He looks back at Zuko.
“I’m not really feeling it anymore. Let’s go back.” Sokka takes the cup back from him.
Oh thank god.
On the way back Sokka’s holding his hand again.
“Why. Uh. Why weren’t you feeling it anymore?” Zuko wonders, kicking a pebble in his path.
“You weren’t having fun.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked to go with you at all! I should have just gone home.”
“Why did you even wanna go?”
Well, this is an uncomfortable silence.
“Why did you wanna go? Seems stupid to me.”
“Yeah. Seems stupid to me now too.” Sokka looks at him shyly, “I should have just gone home, you know. With you.”
Zuko wants to tell him. I wish you had.
“I guess. I guess we still could.”
When they get back to their room it’s hella awkward. Zuko just sits on the bottom bunk. And Sokka puts his stuff down on his desk. He changes into his pajamas in full view of Zuko, and Zuko does his best not to look. Not to look at him that way.
They’re fire engine red, but just plain. Flannel. Which is weird. For some reason, Zuko’s always thought of Sokka as blue .
“Were you drinking?” Zuko asks. He knows Sokka wasn’t.
“Just a little.” Sokka admits.
“Then you can’t. You should--I mean.”
“Okay, alright.” Sokka gets in with him.
They’re facing each other again. Except this time, for once. They’re both wide awake.
“You should at least change out of your jeans. That’s gotta be uncomfortable.” Sokka points out.
“I’m good actually.”
Sokka pulls his hair tie out, letting his hair flow free, “Suit yourself.”
He’s beautiful. Blindingly beautiful like this.
“You know what you asked before.” Sokka reaches out to cup Zuko’s cheek in his hands, “Well the answer still stands. I don’t kiss all my friends. But...”
Please. Then all of a sudden, Zuko wonders if he'll be bad at it.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Just. I mean. I’d like to. It’s just. I--um, haven’t kissed anyone in three years. I think. I could have forgot.”
Sokka shakes his head fondly, “Dude come on, it’s like riding a bike. Besides, it's you I want. No one else.”
He kisses Zuko. A soft brush of lips on lips. But that’s not enough, so Zuko kisses him back, a real kiss this time, and he grabs Sokka’s loose flowing hair. And fuck it all, he lives his dream.
He feels it as he’s kissing Sokka. Everything he feels for him. You stupid asshole, with your caprisun and your crocs. I hate your stupid hair and your stupid laugh. I hate the way you play Katy Perry all the time and sing in our shower.
He feels Sokka slip his tongue into his mouth and he hates him even more. Clean out the rice cooker once in a while why don’t you...Ohhh...or maybe not...rice can wait. Rice can wait.
Because kissing Sokka is not playing around. He’s very engineering major about it. Varying the pressure against Zuko’s mouth. Intertwining their every limb and getting better and better every second. And you know what? Zuko does remember how to do it. Finally some justice in this world.
Kissing is like riding a bike. Who knew. Zuko actually can’t ride a bike. He just never has. But it might make sense. Just maybe.
“Sokka.” Zuko stops him, “I need to ask you something.”
“I’m all ears.” Sokka kisses him again.
“What is this?! What do you want?”
“You.”
“But how?”
Sokka kisses him on the cheek, “I want to date you.”
“You do?”
“Coffee on the quad. Study dates in the library. I’ll buy you good sushi. Not the crap they have on-campus.”
“You eat that stuff all the time.”
Sokka kisses the underside of his jaw. Oh. “Only the best for you, baby.”
“What-what else?”
“You can be my boyfriend if you want?” Sokka kisses him on the mouth, achingly sweetly.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s see. You can wear my clothes if you’d like to.”
“That’s a girl thing.” Zuko snaps.
“You don’t have to.”
“No. I’m gonna.”
Sokka wraps his arms around him, and kisses the top of his head, “You can call me baby like you did that night.”
“I--I did what?”
“S’okay. I thought it was cute at the time.”
“I’m not cute. Do not call me that again.”
Sokka sniggers, “Okay, I feel you. I thought it was fearsome . Threatening. Shiver me timbers man. The whole deal.”
“Shut up. You’re the cute one.”
“What was that?”
Zuko kisses him, because he can now, and then he nestles into Sokka’s chest, “Nothing. Just. From now on. You can bunk with me.”
“You can bunk with me, what ? Come on. Please. For me… ” Sokka squeezes him tight.
Zuko groans, “Really?”
“Really really.”
Every word comes out reluctantly, but with love, that’s entirely accidental and 100% more sentimental than Zuko feels he has any right to be.
“You can bunk with me...baby...Any--anytime.”