Chapter Text
The one thing that bothered Sokka about Zuko, the fencing team captain, was just how…touchy he was. It seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for two seconds. During practice, he was always going around and correcting people’s forms and stances by just…pushing their limbs into place, or gently taking their wrists or hands to show how the technique should look and feel. After practice, he would clap people on the shoulders and tell them good job, or go for side-jabs or ass-slaps. He once tickled Aang into total submission right in the locker room, both of them bare as the day they were born. Sokka, of course, was not exempted from this treatment, and he didn’t really so much like it.
He
craved
it.
It took him weeks to admit that he envied Zuko and his easy familiarity with the other members of the fencing team. He wanted to be able to just…let loose and not care what people might think of him. But that’s not how he grew up. He’d always had to be the man of the house, and that meant he had to put on a tough face and take a firm hand. Yeah, he was funny—hilarious, even—but he drew a line with others and rarely let them cross it.
But Zuko just sort of skipped right over it on day one, and ever since then Sokka wrestled with an unpleasant, coiling sensation in his gut whenever Zuko was nearby. That sensation which told him that the happy chemicals his brain made whenever Zuko touched him were shameful and wrong, and that he should not want to put his hands on Zuko’s tense shoulders, or wrap them around his narrow waist, or ruffle his hair. Men didn’t do those things, they put each other in headlocks and bumped fists or chests. They didn’t hug each other or drape themselves across another man’s lap. They didn’t cuddle.
Which was all to say, Sokka didn’t do those things. But becoming friends with Aang and being on the same team as Zuko made him long to change. To reach out. Holding back was agony, some days.
“Hey! Good job today,” Zuko said, putting his hand gently on Sokka’s shoulder as they walked back to the dorms from the gymnasium. Zuko’s smile was bright and genuine. Sokka’s fingers twitched.
“Thanks,” he said, instinctively brushing off Zuko’s hand, then hating himself for it, then hating himself for hating himself. “I think I'm finally getting the hang of the saber.”
“When you remember to loosen up your wrists,” Zuko said with a cocky eyebrow quirk, clearly enjoying having spent the last forty minutes disarming and humiliating Sokka in front of the rest of the club (he hadn’t been the only one). Moments like these reminded Sokka that Zuko
was
a man just like him, that maybe he
could
reach out like he was used to. But then Zuko snaked his arm over Sokka’s shoulders, leaning into him just a bit too close. Crossing right over that boundary. Sokka’s fingers twitched harder. “Don’t stress about it. I started on saber, and it took me ages to get the turn right. I think you’re better than I was when I was a beginner.”
“You really mean it?” Sokka asked, skeptical. Zuko nodded.
“I do,” he said. “I wouldn’t just gas you up, Sokka. I think you have a lot of skill and potential, you just lack training. How about attending Piandao’s workshop over Fall Break? The club will sponsor it.”
He was too close. His breath was in Sokka’s ear, and his body was pressed up to Sokka’s arm. They would be tripping over each other if they weren’t accustomed to automatically correcting their balance. Sokka sighed ruefully and gave in to his twitching fingers. He wanted Zuko’s touch, and he wanted to touch Zuko in return. He reached up and clapped Zuko on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Zuko blinked in surprise as Sokka moved his hand down to his waist, pulling them closer together.
“I’ll think about it,” Sokka said, and then jerked his head towards the student union building. “Now come on, let’s grab something to eat. I’m starving.”