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Sokka had been barely holding it together all day, though he’d been doing an admirable job of convincing everyone otherwise. To the rest of the mourners he appeared stoic and accepting—a foil to Katara, whose cheeks were never dry of tears and who spent the funeral with her head on Aang’s shoulder whenever she wasn’t hugging family or friends or the merest acquaintances.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day and he knew it. It was in the way he constantly felt seconds away from exploding—into what, he wasn’t sure. Tears, probably, or a rage, possibly—but it could be hysterical laughter too. Or maybe it was a literal explosion and he’d go the way of Combustion Man.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day and Toph could sense it. It was in the way Sokka’s voice was a bit too deep—perhaps subconsciously matching his father’s pitch—and in the way he moved—too sluggish, like he was dazed, or half asleep, and he kept pausing at strange moments and holding his breath before he would continue whatever he was doing.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day, so when the last mourner left Toph went to Sokka. She found him standing alone in Hakoda’s bedroom. Nobody had gone through it yet; Toph noted Hakoda’s worn leather boots sat by the bed, where they’d been ready for him on the morning he didn’t wake up and every morning since. Sokka was staring at a small fire in the hearth. For a man who prided himself on his fire building skills, this one was rather half-hearted.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day so while Toph greeted him in her typical fashion, she made her voice softer than usual. “Hey, Snoozles.” She stood just inside the doorway, but he didn’t immediately react beyond raising his hand to run over his hair.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day so it wasn’t surprising to either of them when he let the silence stretch too long before he answered her. “Hey, Toph.” He turned to look at her.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day and he knew it. He knew it because of the way everything seemed too much. The air was too cold and kept freezing his lungs, but the fire he built was too warm. All of the respectfully lowered voices had still been too loud. The food had tasted too much like ash, although nobody but him had seemed to notice.
Sokka had been barely holding it together all day and it was all too much to handle. Even now, as his eyes finally met Toph’s, she looked too beautiful: the contrast between her dark hair and pale, smooth face was like a starless midnight above a pristine snow, and her large, jade eyes shone like twin moons in the weak firelight. She looked like a rescue: like an anchor in this hellish storm; like solid ground after drifting, lost at sea.
Sokka had been barely holding it together and he was about to fall apart. Staring at the impossibly beautiful face of his best friend, Sokka heard a choked sob and only distantly realized that it came from him. Toph was at his side the next moment, already opening her arms for him, and he wasted no time in collapsing against her. Despite their difference in size, Toph was strong enough to bear nearly all of Sokka’s weight. She held him tightly and he squeezed back, pressing his face into her hair. His chest felt tight; he hadn’t taken a breath since the strangled noise that brought Toph to him.
“I got you.” She said softly, uncharacteristically gentle, and Sokka lost it. He let the explosion happen and all of his grief came flooding out as he cried into Toph’s steady shoulder.