Archive of Our Own

Sokka might not be an element-bender, but he’s the best emotion- bender Zuko’s ever seen, Zuko muses as he trips after his best friend, winding through the streets of Ba Sing Se’s Lower Ring. All it had taken was a dear little smile and a “Please, Zuko? For me?” and Zuko followed hopelessly to the ‘best market in Ba Sing Se.’ 

“They’ve got fried chicken-lizard!” Sokka cries, grabbing Zuko’s hand to tug him towards the vendor with the enticing scents. Zuko’s heart thumps hard against his chest at the contact. “We’ll take two!”

The vendor is a pretty young woman, about their own age. Zuko stays half a step behind Sokka, attempting to hide his scar behind Sokka’s head. He’s not sure it works. Either way, he glances up through his eyelashes in time to see the vendor ignore him entirely in favor of smiling at Sokka. 

Sokka leans forward, elbow on the cart counter. The woman giggles. Zuko sighs. Of course. 

Sokka and the woman finish whatever haggling-courtship-ritual combination they’re doing, and when Sokka turns to hand Zuko’s food to him, Zuko pulls out his coinpurse without a word. 

“Oh, Zuko, you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Zuko says, and shrugs. As quickly as he can, he pulls them away from the vendor to the middle of the square. Every time they go out, Sokka finds someone to flirt with. And Zuko knows he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in a volcano at winning Sokka’s heart, but that certainly doesn’t mean he has to be happy when watching his best friend make moves on every available woman in the market. 

“Is your chicken-lizard okay?”

Too late, Zuko realizes he’s been gnawing on the food with a vicious determination as he imagines snatching Sokka from all the women vendors and bundling them both away to Ember Island— somewhere they could stay alone together forever. Zuko makes an effort to stop massacring his snack. “Yeah, it’s good.” 

“Good!” Sokka says, smiling brightly, and the rest of Zuko’s irritation is washed out by the blankness of Zuko’s mind in the face of that blinding smile. 

...

Zuko’s been pining after his best friend for multiple years. He knows how to hide it, passing his blushes off for heat or embarrassment; ducking away from Sokka whenever it becomes too intense just to be in his presence. 

Therefore, Sokka does not figure it out. 

However, the next day at the market, Sokka gets flirted at by an inordinate amount of pretty young women, always responding in kind, and Zuko’s irritated huffs and constant tugs at Sokka’s sleeves start to make the man take note. 

“Are you tired?” Sokka asks. Zuko smiles. Sokka cares for his health— it makes him feel a bit better already. 

“No,” he says. “Just—” 

But there’s no good way to end that sentence. He should have just taken the easy out. 

“Sore from training yesterday?” Sokka questions, with a playful jab at Zuko’s ribs. “No, wait— important meeting this afternoon?”

“I’ll be fine,” Zuko says, because he will. He will deal with his horrible flares of jealousy, and his temper. He has to. Because Sokka will eventually find someone to be serious with, and deserves someone to be serious with, even if he’s far too straight to ever find that with Zuko. 

Starting right now, actually. “She seemed nice,” he says, of the woman at the beadwork stall moments earlier.

“She was probably just flirting with me to get me to buy something,” Sokka says with a shrug. 

“Oh. Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t be. It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, why flirt with them when I can hang out with you?” Sokka says. 

And though that sentence sends sparks to Zuko’s heart, Sokka accompanies it with an arm around Zuko’s shoulder in the bro-iest way he possibly could touch another man. Zuko’s sparks fizzle and die. 

“Right,” Zuko says. 

...

But the problem is— Sokka won’t stop picking up on it, now. Zuko tries so hard to stay out of the conversation Sokka’s having with the lady with the flowers in her hair— he really does! But halfway through, Sokka appears to cut it short, bidding her goodbye and turning back to Zuko. 

“What gives? I thought you were happy to be here.” 

“I was!” Zuko insists. Then he corrects, “—am.”

“Right, that’s why you were glaring at me when I tried to make smalltalk.” 

“Flirting,” Zuko says. That was definitely flirting.

“You don’t like my flirting?”

Zuko shrugs one shoulder. He wouldn’t mind if it was directed at him. 

“They’re just... always flirting with you,” he says, instead of admitting anything concrete. 

Sokka bites his lip. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but he is thinking, mind churning with some idea. Zuko winces. Sokka’s smart, and it’s too likely he’ll come to the correct conclusion, and then it’ll get weird. “Just drop it, Sokka.” 

“Is it ‘cuz it’s always me?” Sokka muses, instead of dropping it. 

“I’m fine, drop it. Maybe I was a little tired, okay? I did have those meetings yesterday; they went on so long—”

“Aw, Zuko, why didn’t you say something? We don’t have to keep walking around; let’s take the train back and we can rest!” 

“That would be good,” Zuko says, mostly relieved that Sokka’s finally dropped it. “I’d still be up for a game of Pai Sho, though, if you are.” 

“Anything for you, buddy,” Sokka says, with another blinding grin, and Zuko trips over his too-long incognito-cityfaring robe. 

...

They play Pai Sho, and Sokka charms— flirts— the servant sent by their upper ring Ba Sing Se host into giving them something fun to drink, even though they’re under the legal drinking age here (a laughable concept, really, considering Zuko is the current Fire Lord) and Zuko doesn’t mind that bit of flirting, considering the payoff. When they’ve had just enough to feel pleasantly warm, Zuko narrowly wins the Pai Sho game, and Sokka graciously concedes defeat and summarily flops over to rest his head in Zuko’s lap. 

Zuko is fine. This is fine. Sokka does this all the time, and Zuko’s used to it. (Is Sokka able to hear Zuko’s heart trying to escape from his chest?) 

“Is there anyone you’re interested in?” Sokka says, and Zuko’s heart stops.

“Wh. What?” 

“You know.” Sokka waves his hand around. “To flirt with.” 

“I...”

Sokka is not deterred by Zuko’s lack of meaningful responses. “I know I’m the chattier of us two, but those girls would take interest in you, too, if you wanted to flirt with them.” 

“No.” Zuko shakes his head. “It’s not just because you’re chatty, it’s because you look good and have a winning personality—” oh, fuck— “uh, you dumbass. Everyone knows that.” 

“You think I look good? And have a winning personality?” Sokka asks delightedly, and Zuko tips his face up so Sokka can’t see his cheeks flaming red. 

“Only when you’re not being such an egotistical— yeah! And I don’t— all the girls say you look good, I’m just repeating—”

Zuko gives up on speaking after that. He’ll only dig himself into a deeper hole if he continues. 

“Well,” Sokka says, “you also look good, and you also have a winning personality, once someone gets past the prickly exterior, you grump. If you offered the slightest smile, everyone in Ba Sing Se would be falling at your feet.” 

Fuck. 

Zuko doesn’t light the rug on fire. But it’s a close thing. 

“So. Anyone you’re interested in?”

Zuko shrugs. “I’ve seen a few people I’d flirt with.” There was an attractive man juggling swords in the market’s central square. Zuko wonders if challenging someone to a swordfight is an appropriate flirting technique— probably not; it hasn’t worked so far.  

“Dude! You should totally flirt with them, it’s fun!” 

“Maybe,” Zuko sighs. About as likely as a Lotus moon on the Solstice, but maybe. 

...

And then Zuko’s problems take a dramatic left turn for the worse. 

Sokka is off doing Sokka things, and Zuko is walking through Ba Sing Se’s upper ring without his long robe of look-away-no-Firelords-here. He passes a shop— it’s got an emblem outside declaring the owner to be from one of the outer districts of the Earth Kingdom, but Zuko can’t at the moment recall which one. Must have moved here recently, because the shop doesn’t have a single crack or spot of grime in its facade. 

“HEY!” 

Zuko whips around. 

“YES, YOU!” 

Zuko walks back to the shop owner, brushing down his robes and carefully skimming his hands over the hilts of his swords in the process. “Can I help you, sir?”

“You can go back to your spirits-cursed nation!” the shopkeeper yells, and Zuko’s eyes widen. People aren’t normally brave enough to curse him out, and the shopkeeper doesn’t appear to have any backup. 

“I’m here by invitation of your King,” Zuko sneers at him, because he has never been and will never be above pettiness. If Sokka was here, Sokka would pull him away gently and calm him down. Sokka is not here. “Take it up with him.” 

This, of course, does not stay the shopkeeper’s anger. He hefts one of his wares in his hand— a rotund glass bottle with a cork stopper. It’s filled with a clear liquid with a single flower in it. A perfume? Hah. 

The shopkeeper begins a magnificent tirade against the Fire Nation— about how they’re all dirty, rotten evildoers. Nothing Zuko hasn’t heard before. He resists the urge to shout back character attacks against the shopkeeper for a very brave few seconds, then goads, “Are you going to throw a perfume at me?”

Yes. 

The answer is yes. 

With a yell, Zuko blasts it away with a jet of fire, and it shatters on the cobblestone streets. It shatters in a puff of purplish gray smoke. Disgusting. What was so flammable in it? “You’re going to have to try harder to hit the Fire Lord.” 

Unfortunately, the shopkeeper does try harder. 

Zuko finds himself dodging and blasting away bottles of perfumes— they all shatter weirdly, exploding in colorful plumes, and Zuko starts concentrating harder, making sure to aim them away from storefronts and people— though most people have fled the scene, at least one of them to grab a nearby Dai Li. After one sends off rainbow sparks, Zuko frowns and looks up at the shop awning. 

Sha Gang’s Magical Potions

“Huh,” Zuko says aloud, and that’s when one explodes on his shoulder. 

...

“Fire Lord! Are you okay?” someone asks, and Zuko comes back to himself. The shopkeeper is in earthen cuffs, being led away. Zuko is kneeling on the street. Someone is fussing over his shoulder, which currently has a shard of glass in it. 

“Yeah, I’m— ow.” 

“I’m a doctor,” the person fussing over his shoulder says. He tugs the shard of glass out and replaces it with a wad of gauze. “I have a special cleaning and numbing poultice I can apply—”

“Just wrap it,” Zuko says. It was a pretty small shard, and Zuko’s not bleeding that much. Lucky it was warm in Ba Sing Se and Zuko hadn’t ruined any robes with this. 

“I should take you back to my hospital so we can check the effects of the potion—” 

“I feel fine,” Zuko says. “Thanks.” He feels more than sees the final tug on his wrapping and the doctor tying it off, and shrugs his shoulder away. “Who was that?”

“He’s new,” someone says, and Zuko refocuses— there’s a crowd around him, several layers deep with people. Everyone here to see the spectacle. “I never liked him.” 

“You liar, Kyeme,” someone else says to her. “I was the one who said he was bad news. You said—” 

“Great,” Zuko says, and twists away from the doctor reaching out to his shoulder again. “I’m leaving. I’m sure the Dai Li can handle him.” 

“Fire Lord— we have to apologize for his behavior. Anything from my shop you want—” 

“Leaving,” Zuko repeats, and all but runs away. 

...

Despite the summer heat, Zuko intends to put on a tunic that covers his shoulder as soon as he gets back to the rooms. No need to worry anyone. It doesn’t really hurt anymore, luckily. Unluckily, one of the servants sees him before he makes it in to change. 

“Lord Zuko!” 

“Hi— I’m just—”

“Oh, Lord Zuko, your shoulder—” she runs up to him. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

“Just some time to myself,” Zuko says, irritated. Everyone wants to help him out. He’d honestly prefer Toph socking him in the injured shoulder and her particular brand of disrespectful disinterest than this. 

“I’ll walk you to your room—”

“Alone,” Zuko cuts in. “I want to be alone.” 

“I’ll bring you a drink.” 

“You do that,” Zuko grits out, and resolves to not open the door for anyone once he’s inside the rooms. 

...

Zuko undresses, pulls the crown from his hair, and throws on the same robe that everyone ignored him in at the market. To be honest, he doesn’t quite want to be alone— he wants Sokka. And Sokka’s not here— his meetings are over; he’s probably in the market getting lunch. Maybe Zuko can catch him for lunch and share today’s adventures with a more effectively sympathetic party. 

So, Zuko leaves via the window. 

Ba Sing Se Upper Ring hospitality apparently means putting honored guests on the second floor, so Zuko slides down a stone pillar helpfully ornamenting the house and scurries off to the train station. He plans to get a ticket to the Middle Ring, guessing Sokka’s stuck around since that was where his meeting was.

“One, to the Middle Ring,” Zuko says to the teller.

The man glances up at him. Zuko’s come to expect and appreciate a brusque form of customer service from the ticket salesmen, so when this one breaks into an inviting smile, Zuko’s a little taken aback. 

“Of course,” the man says, and starts the transaction. “Where are you going?”

“Middle Ring...” Zuko repeats. 

“Where in the Middle Ring? Exciting plans? Lunch date?”

“Two silvers and a copper, right?” Zuko asks, ignoring him.

The man takes his money and gives back a ticket, handing it gently to Zuko instead of slapping it down on the counter. “Come back soon, sir!” 

“I... probably will...” Zuko agrees faintly, and gets on the train, pulling his hood lower than usual. At least he wasn’t recognized as the Fire Lord— not everyone knows the Fire Lord has such a visible scar. 

The train ride is agonizingly long, because someone tries to strike up a conversation with him. Zuko gives short, one-word answers, but they don’t seem to deter them at all. 

“Oh, that’s where I’m going, too!” they say, leaning into Zuko’s space. Zuko huddles closer to his corner. “Would you like to walk around with me?”

“I. Just realized this is my stop,” Zuko says, as the train screeches to a halt, even though it isn’t and he’s a twenty minute walk away from where he thinks Sokka is. Even so, he hops off the train and darts away. 

There are pedal-carts near the train station, and even though they charge far too much for their wares, Zuko waves one down and hops in. “Can you get me to Lulai Market?”

“Of course,” the driver says. 

“How much?”

“For you? One silver piece.” 

Which... is actually a decent price. Zuko hands it over without complaint. 

“If you’d like, I can give you the full city tour,” the driver offers. 

“No, thanks. Just to the market.” 

They get to the market, and the driver drops him off— “I’ll be here anytime you need a ride.”

“Uh. Thanks.” 

Why is everyone acting so strange around him?

The market itself is yet another perilous journey. Zuko suspects if he asks enough shopkeepers, he’ll figure out where Sokka went, so he steels his nerves and turns to the closest one. “Hey, uh, did you—”

“Hey, handsome,” she says. 

Zuko reels. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” she says, and sits up, leaning on her counter. “Looking to buy something?”

“No, actually, I’m looking for a friend named Sokka. Did he come by here?”

She shrugs. “I get a lot of customers. Don’t remember most of them. I’d remember you, though.” 

“Oh. I, um. Are you sure you didn’t meet a WaterTribesman— maybe he flirted with you?”

“Oh, who cares about him? You’re much cuter.” 

“I’m— I’m looking for him.” 

“He’ll turn up eventually,” she says, soothingly, and lays a hand on Zuko’s arm. Zuko yanks his arm away. “In the meantime, is there anything you want? I’ve got some necklaces— they’d compliment your eyes beautifully. This one especially.” She grabs a necklace and holds it up to Zuko’s chest. 

“I’ve gotta look for my friend,” Zuko says. “Bye.” 

And for the fourth (fifth?) time today, Zuko runs. 

...

Something is wrong. 

Normally when things are wrong, Zuko is being chased by someone with a sword or command over an element. Maybe an archer, to switch it up a little. 

That is not what is happening. Instead, it seems like every person in Ba Sing Se has decided to try to confess their undying love for Zuko. 

The necklace-seller was only the start. As Zuko goes stall to stall, the sellers get more... overt in their advances. 

“Hello, I’m looking—” 

“Hi!” the shopkeeper chirps, flushing a deep red. “Um, did you want a pastry?” 

“Sure,” Zuko says tiredly. “Whatever you think is best. Can I get some information?”

“Of course! I know everything around here.” 

“Could you tell me if someone named Sokka passed through here? A Watertribes... are you listening to me?”

The woman breaks away from where she’s leaning on the counter, gazing dreamily at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you see a WaterTribesman come through here?”

“Oh, about ten minutes ago,” she says. “Do you like fruit jams?”

“Sure.” 

“You’ll love this,” she says, and turns away to grab a pastry. 

“Do you know which way he went?”

“Hmm?”

“The WaterTribesman.” 

“Oh, off towards Hoki’s shop,” she says a little derisively. “You should avoid her— just stay over here, with me.” 

“How much for the pastry?” Zuko asks, planning on doing just the opposite. 

“It’s on the house,” she says, blushing fiercely still. “Come back sometime?”

“No promises,” Zuko spits, and snatches the pastry and the little bag it’s in. She’s written her address on the outside, and Zuko’s so shocked that he turns around to catch a glance— she’s mouthing come see me! at him. 

“Fuck,” Zuko says, rubbing his temples with one hand. He can feel a headache forming already. 

He tries the pastry. It’s okay. 

...

Zuko is led on a wild goose chase around the market with little effect. Meanwhile, not only are the shopkeepers blatantly flirting, but people on the street keep stopping him to tell him they love his gorgeous eye color. Twice, people have gotten into squabbles over him— “I saw him first!” No amount of redirection on Zuko’s part has stopped these squabbles yet. 

And worse, Zuko’s getting a sinking feeling about exactly what that Magical Potion man had been selling. 

Shouting at a growing crowd, “Stay away from me!” has only the opposite effect— two well-muscled young men jump to his side. 

“You heard him,” one of them says self-importantly. “I’ll protect you, sir, don’t worry—”

“You stay back, Ban, you’re not even anyone’s type—”

Zuko vaults a bench and ducks behind a fountain. Agni above. Maybe he should just wait for Sokka back in the rooms— 

“Zu— Lee?”

“Sokka?” Zuko gasps, wary. That’s Sokka, but, fuck, what if this weird potion effects—

“Buddy!” Sokka says, grinning, and Zuko slumps with a sigh. Good old hopelessly straight Sokka. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you until later!” 

Someone is walking up to them with a single minded focus on Zuko, and Zuko winces before grabbing Sokka tight to his side. Maybe if he just—

“I just wanted to say, I love your hair!”

No luck. “Thanks,” Zuko grits out. 

“Seriously, how do you get it to do that?”

Sokka, looking back and forth between them, speaks up when it’s clear Zuko really doesn’t want to. “He uses, like, ten different kinds of product on it. It’s a fascinating ritual.” 

“It’s soooo silky,” Zuko’s latest admirer says, reaching out to touch his hair, and Zuko growls and dodges away, hiding behind Sokka. Sokka takes the cue. 

“Hey! That’s rude!” 

“I just wanted to—”

“C’mon, Zuko, let’s get away from this creep,” Sokka says, and tugs Zuko away, glaring back at the person. Zuko follows as close as he’s physically able. “Sorry, man.” 

“Have you eaten yet?” Zuko says. “I’ve got a story.” 

“Not yet. You gonna share it over lunch?”

“Yeah.” 

“Does it... does it have something to do with your new friend back there?” 

“You have no idea,” Zuko says, and hustles them both to the most abandoned hole in the wall place he sees. 

...

Sokka looks like he’s starting to get it when the waiter completely ignores him in favor of trying to open up some sort of flirty banter with Zuko, then offers plum wine on the house— placed in front of Zuko, with a glass pushed towards Sokka as an afterthought. 

“Is he bothering you?” Sokka mutters as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. 

“It’s... it’s not just him,” Zuko says. “Sokka, this is going to sound insane, but—”

...

“Holy shit,” Sokka says, sipping at the plum wine that’s evidence of this whole disaster. “Also, wait. Are you bandaged up under your robes there? Zuko.” 

“It was such a tiny scratch!” Zuko complains. “I’ve had worse.” 

Sokka rolls his eyes. “I know you’ve had worse, Zuko, that’s not the point. Is your shoulder okay?”

“It’ll be all healed up by tomorrow.” 

“Good. That’s good. Aphrodisiac, huh. Are you sure you’re not just smiley today?” 

“Do I look smiley?” Zuko says, frowning. 

“Well, no. I’m just, you know, exploring all the possibilities. One of which is the fact that you are, in fact, a hot commodity.” 

“Sokka.” 

“Sorry, sorry. I believe you. What do you want to do?”

“Make it stop,” Zuko complains— just in time for their waiter to come check on them. 

“Everything all right?”

“Just perfect. Thanks,” Sokka says. 

“If you need anything,” the waiter says to Zuko, “just ask.” 

“Absolutely,” Zuko says. “I will definitely do that.” 

“Can I get you more wine?”

Zuko sighs. 

“Still on the house, I promise. Just for you.” 

Sokka is making eyes at Zuko from behind the waiter, and Zuko shakes his head fondly. Yes, they would like free drinks, it seems. “Yes, thank you.” 

“I’ll be back soon.” He vanishes. 

“Dude,” Sokka says. “You could get so much free stuff.” 

“I’m the Fire Lord, Sokka, I’m not exactly destitute. I don’t need free stuff, I need people to stop acting so— affected.” 

“Right, yeah. Wait, who’s getting affected?”

Zuko thinks. The servant. The teller. The driver. The shopkeepers. Passers-by. Those friends in the crowd. The... the doctor also seemed overly friendly, now that he thinks about it, though the potion must have gotten stronger over time, and isn’t that an unnerving thought— that the effects aren’t done growing. In fact, the only person who hasn’t been weird is... 

...Sokka. 

Huh. 

“Most... people...” Zuko says, instead of admitting that the one person he’d like to flirt with is so painfully, horribly not interested in him that a spirits-cursed aphrodisiac potion couldn’t change that. 

“We’ll fix it,” Sokka says, grabbing Zuko’s hand and holding it tight between his own. “I promise. Whatever it takes.” 

He stares into Zuko’s eyes and smiles so wide that Zuko has to smile back, even though his latest revelation has his heart cracking in two once again. 

...

Sokka pays— “Least I could do; you seem to be having a bad day,” he says, and Zuko offers a huff of laughter— and then they set off down the road. They take back alleys and questionable shortcuts, managing to avoid most people. Those they don’t avoid tend to make a beeline for Zuko before Sokka gets in their way. 

“This is exhausting,” Sokka frowns. “Didn’t know love potions could be such a curse.” 

“Love is a curse,” Zuko says. 

“Aw, cheer up, you emo bastard, we’ll have this fixed soon and you can go back to glaring at shopkeepers while I flirt with them.” 

“I’m so excited,” Zuko says drolly, but he’s not even being sarcastic. 

They make it to the prison, somehow. Sokka decided the best place to start his investigation was with the potion salesman, and Zuko followed Sokka, and now they’re here. 

“Look,” Sokka’s saying to the prison guard, “this is very important, so maybe—”

“Absolutely not!” the guard says. 

Sokka glances over at Zuko, currently hidden behind the doorframe. He waggles his brows in an incredibly obvious manner that usually means Hey, mind doing your Fire Lord thing and making things happen for us? but in this case, Zuko thinks he, to his incredible dismay, has a different weapon. 

“Hi,” he says softly, striding out— he even throws the hood off his head so he’s entirely visible. 

“...Heyyyyy,” the guard says, switching his focus immediately. 

“Do you mind letting us in? We’ll be quick— it’ll be like we were never here.” 

“I can do that,” the guard says breathlessly, and Zuko is rewarded with the sound of jangling keys. “Do you need an escort? I can escort—”

“I need to do this alone,” Zuko says, frantically motioning Sokka behind him into the cells. “Can you stay here and make sure no one comes in to find us?”

“Absolutely!”

“Thank you,” Zuko says, and ducks into the cells with Sokka. They dash out of earshot, and Zuko pauses to groan and curse the spirits. 

Sokka tries and fails to hold back giggles. 

“This isn’t funny, Sokka.” 

“It’s a little bit funny. I’m sorry. You looked so... you looked like you’d just taken a bite out of a pom-lemon.” 

Zuko sticks out his tongue at him. “I feel gross.” 

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with, huh?”

...

But the potion salesman isn’t useful. 

He doesn’t seem to have antidotes to any of his potions. And, what’s more— he’s not immune to the effects. 

Zuko gets a few sentences into the interrogation before fleeing and letting Sokka handle the rest. 

“Time to go?” he asks when Sokka returns. Sokka nods. 

“I think the next step is to talk to... herbalists, maybe. They always have cures.” 

“Seems good,” Zuko says. “Maybe we should try and get one who isn’t... who’s immune.” 

“Great idea!” Sokka says with an uncomfortable laugh. Zuko gets the sentiment— all the herbalists he’s met are approximately a century old, and the idea of any of them falling prey to the potion’s effects are— well. 

...

The first herbalist is a bust. A scammer, actually. She is not immune, and she does offer mint-rosemary leaves as a cure-all. 

Zuko rolls his eyes and steals some from an Upper Ring garden in case she’s right. It doesn’t work. 

Any other herbalists are easily a train ride away, and there’s simply not enough time in the day before the trains stop running. Zuko and Sokka ride back to the Upper Ring on the penultimate train that direction, then devise a plan to get back to the rooms— the plan is mostly that Sokka causes a distraction while Zuko slips in. 

It works well enough, and soon they’re relaxing in the relative security of their rooms, waiting on a late dinner that Sokka will collect. 

“What if it’s permanent?” Zuko says. “That would suck.”

“Yeah, it would,” Sokka agrees. “But don’t worry. We’re gonna fix it.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to show my face in public again. I’d have to ban all the servants from the palace.”

“We’d figure it out. You and I.” 

“You figure everything out,” Zuko says hopefully. 

“Exactly. You’ve got Sokka, Master of the Plan, on your side. How could this go wrong?”

Zuko smiles. He considers saying, “I’m glad you’re not chasing after me like some love-drunk lunatic,” but decides against it. “I believe you.”

Even if Sokka can’t love me, I’m glad to have him on my side. 

...

The second and third herbalists aren’t immune to the potion. 

“Who is immune?” Sokka mutters, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Is anyone?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “You are.”

“O-oh. Yeah. Well, anyone would be immune after figuring out how much you love eating fried fire-onion,” Sokka blusters back at him. 

Zuko shrugs. He can admit his shortcomings— and he doesn’t want to pursue this particular topic any further, lest Sokka figure out Zuko’s feelings for him. 

“Maybe it’s about knowing me?” Zuko suggests instead. “Maybe if you know me well enough to... to have formed your own opinions about loving me, maybe you’re immune.” 

“That could be it,” Sokka says, “but we don’t know any herbalists, so maybe you should just stand outside while I try to get you a cure for an aphrodisiac.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” Zuko agrees. 

For the next herbalist, he lurks outside the door while Sokka tentatively pushes inside. This one has an absurd amount of plants growing all over her shop— Zuko trusts her. 

Voices float back from the open doorway. 

“...think is an aphrodisiac, yeah.”

“How strong?”

“Well, everyone’s been falling in love with him the instant they see him.” 

“Everyone?” the herbalist asks, but there’s only a laugh in return. Zuko imagines Sokka is scuffing his feet, or has his hand rubbing the back of his head— one of his embarrassed tells. 

“...two days now.”

“Most wear off on their own, but at different lengths of time. Who was the seller?”

“Oh, uh... wait, let me ask.” 

Sokka runs out to Zuko. “What was the guy’s name?”

“Sha Gang,” Zuko says. 

“Great, thanks,” Sokka says, and runs back inside. “Sha Gang.” 

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “I know him. Good-for-nothing scammer.” 

“The potion worked...”

“Love potions are supposed to help those they serve, and your poor friend sounds very far from helped,” the herbalist argues, and Zuko nods furiously in agreement, even though neither herbalist nor Sokka can see. “Luckily, he has terrible potions. One to three more days will rid the boy of his effects.” 

“That’s great news!” 

“There’s even better news, though,” the herbalist says. “Aphrodisiacs are most powerful when their user is experiencing unrequited love. If it were to prove requited... well, it would shield him from all but the most banal effects.” 

“Ah. Hah.” 

Zuko winces. One-to-three days of waiting, and he’ll be free of this mess. That’s enough. 

“You were helping him with this investi...” 

The words fade out as Zuko begins to pace back and forth in front of the shop. He catches a few. 

“...would do anything... best buddy.” 

“...a gold piece for my... pay themselves, you know...” 

Sokka emerges from the shop, presumably a gold piece lighter. “Hey, so—” 

“I heard some of it,” Zuko interrupts. “One-to-three days.” 

“Oh. Yeah. One-to-three days.” 

“Let’s get back to the rooms, huh?”

...

“One thing I,” Zuko starts, inadvisably, once they’ve gotten back to the rooms. He’s penning a letter to the Earth King, letting him know he’s caught a stomach bug of some sort and will not be available for their next few meetings.

“What?” Sokka asks. 

“Well, one thing I wondered— did she tell you who was immune?”

Sokka laughs uncomfortably. “No, she did not.” 

“Oh.” 

“Hey, um. I know you’re working on that letter, but— who’s your love? Maybe we could fix this faster and you could go to your meeting.” 

Zuko shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Why doesn’t it matter? You don’t want to be cooped up here for one-to-three days.” 

“No, I don’t, but— it doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Why?”

Zuko glares at Sokka. “He’s straight. Fuck off.” 

“Oh.” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, Zuko.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m dealing with it. I’ve— I’ve been dealing with it. Once this thing is over—”

“Oh, Zuko.” 

“Everyone falling in love with— whatever.” 

This is the problem with Sokka: he draws words out of Zuko, unbidden, just by being kind and listening. Zuko would confess murders to Sokka. Zuko would, apparently, nearly confess his love for Sokka to Sokka. 

“Oh. Did you see him while the potion was... active?”

Zuko freezes. 

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Zuko makes some strangled noise of assent. If Sokka keeps asking, there’s no way to play it off. Years of unnoticed pining down the drain over one stupid potion. 

“Man.” Sokka gathers Zuko up in a hug, and Zuko lets himself be gathered— it’s very comforting. “Anyone who doesn’t love you is an idiot.” 

“He can’t help it,” Zuko says. 

“It’s hard to believe straight people exist,” Sokka scoffs. “Not when there are so many beautiful people of all genders out there.” 

“Honestly,” Zuko mumbles. “Wait, what?”

“I said what I said.” 

“Did you imply you weren’t straight?”

“You knew this,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes.

“No, I didn’t,” Zuko says, gaping at him. 

“Yes you... wait. You thought I was straight?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zuko says. 

“Come on,” Sokka says with a little grin. “Well, there you have it. Maybe your mystery guy isn’t so straight after all. Maybe you just assumed.” 

But... that’s worse. 

That’s so much worse. 

“So you’re attracted to men,” Zuko whines at him, unable to stop himself from speaking and entirely fed up with the fairness of the universe, “and you’re still so unattracted to me that you’re immune to an aphrodisiac? That’s not fair, Sokka.” 

And then Zuko’s brain catches up to his mouth. “Um, I mean.” 

“Zuko!” Sokka shouts, and then lunges to pin Zuko down when he makes a valiant effort to leave this conversation via the window as quickly as possible. “What! The! Fuck!” 

Well, there’s nothing left to do but double down. “It’s a cosmic joke! Lucky to be born; no luck left for life, that’s me!” 

“No one’s immune,” Sokka says, as if talking to a small child. “I was... I was humoring you, okay? No one’s immune.” 

“Sokka...” 

“You honestly believe I haven’t—” Sokka cuts himself off with a small chuckle. “Look, Zuko, I... the potion didn’t affect me. That’s true. It makes people fall in love with you, and I— I just have to say it. I was already in love with you.”

“You love me?”

“Yes.” 

“Spirits above, Sokka!” Zuko says, and nearly tackles him in an effort to kiss him. 

The moment his lips meet Sokka’s, every latent spark flares to life in his chest. The moment he realizes Sokka’s begun to kiss back in earnest, fire roars in his heart and in his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” Zuko says, breaking away for breath, resting his forehead against Sokka’s. “You never said.” 

“You didn’t either!” Sokka squeaks. 

“I thought you were straight!” 

“Clearly not— oh, fuck,” Sokka says, as he accidentally elbows over the inkwell and splashes ink all over Zuko’s letter. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s fine,” Zuko says, putting the inkwell upright again and pushing the mess off to the side. “I don’t think we’ll need that letter anymore.” 

...

“That’ll be four silvers and two coppers,” the teller barks at Zuko as if Zuko has personally ruined his day. 

“Thank you very much, sir,” Zuko says, gladly handing over the money. Sokka takes their tickets. 

“You just love being yelled at, don’t you?”

“Ba Sing Se Train customer service is the best,” Zuko replies. He kisses Sokka’s cheek. “All thanks to you.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too.”