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Sokka never wears a seatbelt.
He says it’s stupid to wear one. He comes up with the worst excuses whenever he gets in the car as to why he won’t wear a one, like “if you get hit head on, it’s more dangerous to be wearing a seatbelt because it’ll break your ribs”.
Zuko always looks at him, so awfully concerned, says that “broken ribs are much better than being dead, Sokka”.
Sokka shrugs and throws his feet up on the dash. He knows it’s dumb and it’s childish but he doesn’t see the point in trying to save himself. If a car totally rams into him, he’s dead either way. There’s no use trying to stop it. How would a piece of fabric help?
Zuko says he’s toying with death, Sokka brushes it off and doesn’t think too much about it, because maybe he is. Sokka’s thought about dying a hundred times over, thought about a thousand specific scenarios of how he’d go out. He makes lists in his head, organizing the deaths from most to least painful. He plays “would you rather” with his friends and every question is between two ways to die. Burn alive or drown, be crushed by rocks or jump off a building.
They always laugh at him, joke about how he’s so morbid, and Sokka laughs with them, because yeah.
He doesn’t know why he’s so obsessed with death. He just is. Because what’s gonna be the thing that takes him? Falling asleep one night and not waking up? Mass shooting? Heart attack? Drowning? A fire? A car crash?
Now Sokka’s halfway through the windshield of his car, wondering why he’s not dead, having the shuddering thought that he’s going to be late for work.
Everything passes in a blur.
Sokka remembers blinking his eyes open and everything looking fuzzy, a horrible ringing sound in his ears. He remembers trying to breathe and everything hurting, everything fucking hurting. His head, his arm, his ribs. He remembers trying to move, not being able to, and giving up. Because if this is how he dies, he’s not going to fight it.
He remembers sirens and EMTs asking him stupid questions that he somehow couldn’t think of the answers to. He just blinked at them, wondering why they’re trying so hard to save him.
He assumes there was an ambulance—he doesn’t remember. Then Sokka’s in a hospital bed and doctors are looking over him. He’s back to himself, but not really. They tell him he has a concussion, his skull is fractured and his arm and three ribs are broken. Three ribs. Sokka can’t help but laugh—isn’t that ironic?
He stares at the scratchy hospital blanket and wonders if Zuko would’ve been sad if he died. Why didn’t he die?
Sokka doesn’t get it, how is he alive? He was going 80 miles an hour on the highway, he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, why didn’t he just fucking die?
Zuko stayed over at Sokka’s last night and left this morning, even though he doesn’t have work today. Sokka felt like shit, his brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up, but he didn’t stay home and he didn’t ask Zuko to stay. He shouldn’t have let him leave, he should’ve called Zuko once, twice, however many times it took for him to turn around and come back and fix Sokka’s fucking brain.
But Sokka didn’t ask Zuko to stay, he didn’t call, because there’s always something with him, always a problem that someone has to deal with. Sokka can’t ever just be okay.
And besides, what would he have told Zuko? I think something’s seriously wrong with me but I don’t know what it is and I need you to fix it. Can’t say that.
The nurses ask Sokka if he has someone he can call. His head hurts like hell and he’s about to say no but then he realizes they have all his records, they can call his dad or Katara and he does not want to deal with them right now. He really just wants Zuko.
So Sokka nods and the nurses bring in a phone—his got totally shattered in the crash—and Sokka calls him.
“Hello?” Zuko’s pretty voice says on the line, seeming somewhat annoyed. Sokka knows how much he hates random calls from unknown numbers.
“Hi baby, I know it’s a bad time but could you come pick me up?” Sokka asks, toying with a loose thread on the blanket.
“Sokka?” Zuko’s voice is suddenly more upbeat, like he’s happy to hear him. “Uh, yeah sure. Not a bad time. Are you at work? …What’s going on?”
“I just—I didn’t want them to call Dad or Katara, I want… I want you here,” Sokka mumbles, not answering either question. He just wants Zuko to get here and give him a hug, kiss his stupid face and tell Sokka he’s gonna be okay. Sokka wants to hear it, even though he won’t believe it.
Zuko’s silent for a moment, anxiety creeping into his voice. “What’s going on, Sokka?”
“Will you just come? Please?” Sokka asks, sounding pathetic and awfully codependent.
“Of course, where are you?” Zuko asks, clearly trying to keep his voice even.
Sokka grimaces. “The hospital—I’m okay, don’t worry, and it’s okay if you were in the middle of something, you can get me tomorrow, it’s okay, or I can just uber home.”
“Fuck,” Zuko says softly, and Sokka can hear sort of fast, almost panicked, shuffling. “No, I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon, okay? What happened? You’re alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Is he?
“Can you tell me what happened so I don’t lose my mind on the drive over?” Zuko huffs a laugh, even though Sokka knows that Zuko finds all of this anything but funny.
Sokka chews at his lip. He doesn’t want to tell him. He takes a breath. “Car accident.”
Silence.
Sokka blinks at the wall. “…Zuko?”
“You’re okay?” Zuko asks, voice all wobbly.
“Yeah, babe. I’m okay,” Sokka replies, sighing. He feels awful.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you,” Zuko says and Sokka wants to cry. He hasn’t cried at all since the crash, is something wrong with him? It really feels like there is.
“Love you too.”
Sokka drops the phone back in its holder, ending the call.
Zuko’s there 10 minutes later, in fucking sweatpants (something Zuko wouldn’t be caught dead wearing out in public) and Sokka’s hoodie, and Sokka lets out a wet laugh. Zuko’s hair is a mess and he looks so worried and Sokka wants to fucking bash his head against the wall because he’s the reason why.
Zuko walks over to Sokka’s bedside, not saying anything and pulling him into a hug. Sokka winces but wraps his arms around Zuko as Zuko cradles Sokka’s head, being very gentle with the man, like he’s fragile. Sokka’s hands fist in Zuko’s dumb hoodie and he nuzzles into Zuko’s shoulder and he loves him so much.
Zuko moves away, grabbing Sokka’s face between his hands and kissing him. It’s chaste but long, Zuko somehow pouring every ounce of emotion into it.
Zuko pulls away, just holding Sokka’s face, looking him in the eye. He looks so worried.
He sits in a chair beside Sokka’s bed, scooching closer to him. Zuko grabs his hand, kissing every knuckle then holding Sokka’s hand against his lips, staring at the blanket and clearly collecting his thoughts.
Sokka inhales as Zuko moves their entwined hands down to rest on Sokka’s thigh. “I was being dumb, I just wasn’t focused on the road—”
“Do you know how fucking lucky you are?” Zuko says as Sokka blinks, his voice more stern but there’s no real bite to it. He takes a shaky breath, gold eyes looking into Sokka’s. “Do you? You could’ve died.”
Sokka swallows. “Yeah.”
Zuko raises his eyebrow, almost disbelieving. “‘Yeah’? I know you have some sort of fucking thing about death but why are you so calm? Do you want to die, Sokka?”
Sokka blinks.
Does he? Yeah, he thinks about death a lot. Probably more than normal, but it’s not like he’s going to kill himself. Still, a lot of the time death seems… honestly tempting. Like it’d be easier than all of this.
Sokka doesn’t know how to answer so he shrugs and he doesn’t look at Zuko because he can barely take it. He can’t take it and his heart hurts and he doesn’t know if he’s felt anything besides nothing in months.
“Fuck, Sokka,” Zuko whispers, dropping Sokka’s hand and moving his up to hold his forehead. “Fuck, how long have you wanted to…?”
Zuko swallows, looking up at Sokka with nervous eyes.
Sokka purses his lips. He tries to think, when did his weird obsession with death start? “I… don’t know. A few months?”
Zuko’s eyebrow raises and he blinks, lips parted. “A few… shit, Sokka, why… why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers, clenching his hands resting in his lap.
Sokka really didn’t think it was a big deal. He didn’t want to be a bother, didn’t want to annoy his sweet, caring, perfect boyfriend. Because Zuko deserves Sokka at his best, and Sokka is not at his best, but he can pretend. He’s damn good at that.
“I’m sorry,” Sokka whispers back instead of admitting any of that, because it feels like all he can say. He gnaws at his split lip—probably not the best idea but he finds he doesn’t care.
“No, you… it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Sokka looks over at him then, Zuko’s eyes all furrowed and sincere. Sokka blinks.
“Yes, it is. It’s my stupid fucking brain thinking all these things,” Sokka purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows. How does Zuko not get that?
Zuko’s eyebrow raises and he blinks, inhaling. “No, sweetheart, that’s… that’s not your fault. You can’t control how you think, not when it gets like this. No one can,” Zuko says, cocking his head slightly, looking at Sokka like he’s willing—begging him to believe it.
Sokka doesn’t know what to say so he just nods, even though he doesn’t believe it. He’s actively always thinking about death, how is it not his fault?
“We’re gonna figure something out, okay?” Zuko grabs Sokka’s hand, squeezing it, and Sokka finds he can’t do anything but nod again.
The doctors set Sokka’s arm in a cast. They say there’s not much they can do about his skull or ribs, those will heal on their own.
They keep him there for the rest of the day and Zuko spends it all with him. They watch whatever’s on the TV and only talk about things that have nothing to do with any of this. Nothing to do with car crashes or hospitals or Sokka’s increasingly concerning mental state.
Zuko calls Katara to tell her what happened. She scolds Sokka and gives him a bunch of directions for what to do to heal best, but Sokka isn’t paying attention. He loves his sister, but he can’t deal with her nurse spiel right now. Zuko talks to Katara in the hall and Sokka can’t help but think he’s telling her that something’s wrong with him.
The doctors keep him at the hospital another day, just to make sure everything’s healing properly, even though Sokka thought he’d be on his way home once Zuko got there.
Zuko has to go to work and Sokka spends practically the whole day sleeping, waiting for Zuko to come pick him up in the evening.
It’s dark out when Sokka’s discharged and Zuko helps him to the car, buckling Sokka’s seatbelt for him like he doesn’t trust Sokka to do it. Sokka doesn’t trust himself either.
Zuko drives them back to Sokka’s apartment and he doesn’t say anything but Sokka kinda wishes that he would. He’s holding Zuko’s hand, resting them together on Zuko’s thigh, looking out the window and wishing he lived farther away so that they could drive for longer, so that Zuko wouldn’t leave.
They get to Sokka's apartment and Zuko’s about to turn the car off to walk Sokka to his door but Sokka doesn’t want Zuko to leave him alone.
“Wait, can we…” Sokka starts, Zuko turning to look at him as he’s about to turn the ignition off. “Can we just sit here for a bit? I’m not ready to go in yet.”
Zuko chews his lip and nods, leaning back in his seat and glancing over at Sokka.
“Will you talk? Just… about something. Anything,” Sokka mumbles, looking down at his lap and feeling stupid for such a weird request.
Zuko grabs Sokka’s hand, squeezing it and causing Sokka to look up. He’s met with Zuko’s smile, so pretty and full of love, and Sokka has no idea what he did to deserve it.
“Yeah. Let’s see, uh… oh, today at work Jin accidentally ate Jet’s lunch from the staff fridge and he totally flipped out on her. And it was just a yogurt cup, he got so mad at her,” Zuko says as Sokka smiles. “He was all like ‘how would you like it if I ate one of your weird salads?’ and Jin rolled her eyes at him like ten times in the span of one conversation. She told me she’s gonna buy him a fucking yogurt cup and bring it to work tomorrow so he won’t hate her for the rest of his life.”
Both men huff a laugh, Zuko rubbing the back of Sokka’s hand with his thumb.
Zuko tells Sokka more weird, honestly boring stories but Sokka loves hearing them. He just loves hearing Zuko talk, it helps to get his mind off things.
After a bit, Zuko shakes Sokka’s hand. “Ready to go in yet?”
Sokka bites his lip, oh still split. It’s bleeding now, has he been chewing on it a lot? He licks the blood off, looking up at Zuko. He remembers yesterday. Not asking Zuko to stay, not calling him, and he thinks maybe it’s worth saying this time.
“I just… don’t want to be alone,” Sokka frowns, glancing up at Zuko. He’s met with his boyfriend’s furrowed brow.
“Yeah, I was gonna come in with you. Of course,” Zuko says, blinking in response.
Sokka hums, his leg bouncing. “I mean, yeah. But just… for a bit? Like just to drop me off?”
Zuko’s brow somehow furrows deeper. He squeezes Sokka’s hand. “No, to stay. For as long as you need me. If you want me to.”
Oh.
Sokka sniffs and he doesn’t know why his heart hurts. “Yeah, I-I do.”
“So… it’s okay if we head to your apartment? Together?” Zuko asks and Sokka nods, Zuko replying with a smile.
Zuko turns the car off and helps Sokka to his apartment, up two flights of stairs. Normally, zero problem. But it is a bit hard with a concussion and just everything overall hurting.
So Zuko helps him up and unlocks Sokka’s apartment with his own key, holding the door open for Sokka. Sokka would normally make a comment or joke about Zuko being a gentleman, but he finds he’s too tired and his head hurts too much to even try.
“Bed or couch?” Zuko asks, still holding Sokka’s hand. Sokka hums.
“Bed. Wanna cuddle you properly,” He mumbles, why is he so tired? He’s been sleeping all day.
Zuko kisses the top of his head. “M’kay. You head in, I’m gonna get you some water.”
Sokka nods, shuffling into his bedroom. He sits on the side of his bed, Zuko entering the room not long after. He sends Sokka a smile, placing a big glass of water on Sokka’s bedside table.
Zuko moves towards Sokka, standing in front of him and smoothing out his hair.
Sokka looks down at his clothes, frowning. He’s never wearing this shirt again. “I’m still wearing my hospital clothes. Or the clothes I got into the crash in, I guess.” He shrugs as Zuko leans down to kiss his forehead.
“Let’s get you changed then,” Zuko grabs one of Sokka’s big shirts and some sweatpants from his dresser, walking back over to him.
Sokka stands and Zuko helps him with his pants, pulling the sweatpants up. Then he pulls Sokka’s shirt off, throwing it across the room and sorely missing the hamper.
Sokka huffs a laugh, Zuko sighing dramatically. He looks back down at Sokka with a smile, gently running his hands over Sokka’s bare waist. Zuko’s staring at Sokka like he’s the only thing in the world, moving to press kisses to his forehead before leaning away.
“You’re so beautiful,” Zuko’s eyes trace Sokka’s face and Sokka smiles, even though he feels anything but beautiful right now. He feels like a disaster, a total fucking wreck, but it’s nice to know Zuko still likes him, even when he is a mess. Is that sad?
“You’re the beautiful one,” Sokka sends back, because he really is. Zuko smiles and rolls his eyes and kisses Sokka, and Sokka moves a hand up into Zuko’s hair, just wanting to kiss him forever. He feels good when he’s with Zuko. He wants Zuko to make him forget about everything, forget about his dumb fucking brain for a minute. Sokka fully intends to get Zuko to do just that, but then Zuko’s pulling away. Sokka whines and the other man laughs before helping Sokka get his shirt on. Zuko then heads to Sokka’s wardrobe to steal some of his pajamas and change out of his own work clothes.
“Go drink your water and lay down,” Zuko instructs.
Sokka frowns but listens to his boyfriend, climbing under the covers and grabbing his glass of water, taking a few big sips. It doesn’t do anything to ease his headache, but the coolness of the water is nice.
Zuko changes into one of Sokka’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, and maybe Sokka’s staring, but you really can’t blame him. Zuko then climbs into bed, pausing and looking over at Sokka. “Hey, we should eat before we go to bed. Are you hungry? ”
“Nooo,” Sokka whines, grabbing for Zuko and pulling the man towards himself. “Just stay.”
Zuko huffs a laugh, wrapping an arm around Sokka’s shoulder. “Okay.” He presses a kiss to Sokka’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”
Sokka huffs a laugh. “Mentally or physically?”
“Both.”
How is he feeling? Better with Zuko. He’d be a wreck if he was alone right now. But everything fucking hurts and he thinks he still might want to die so seems like he’s not feeling too hot after all.
Sokka shrugs in response because he doesn’t want to say any of that. He grabs Zuko’s hand, tracing along his pale fingers and knuckles. The arm that’s set in a cast is annoyingly heavy and itchy and sinks into the mattress on the other side of him.
Zuko doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t know you were… going through shit. Mentally.” Then quieter, but still audible, “I should’ve noticed. I’m upset with myself that I didn’t.”
Sokka shakes his head. “No, don’t be. I’m good at… dealing with it myself.”
Zuko takes a breath, rubbing at Sokka’s shoulder. “No, you’re good at hiding it.” And yeah. Sokka just didn’t want to say it. “…I don’t like that, Sokka.”
Sokka frowns, turning to look at Zuko, the man biting his bottom lip, looking back at him.
“I don’t like that you hide shit. I-I want you to tell me, obviously, I’m your boyfriend, I want you to feel like you can tell me things. But it’s okay if… if I’m not that person. I just want you to talk to someone,” Zuko grabs Sokka’s hand, looking down at it. He inhales, rubbing the back of Sokka’s hand with his thumb.
Sokka doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t deserve Zuko. Sokka’s been the fucking worst boyfriend, he knows that.
“You’re so good to me, Sokka,” Zuko starts again, inhaling. And oh. “You’re always there when anything comes up, you always know what to do. You always make me feel better. I wanna… be that for you, too.”
“Zuko…” Sokka whispers, squeezing his hand. He wants to tell Zuko that of course he’s that for him, he’s everything and more. But Sokka doesn’t know how to put it into words. He’s trying, he’ll think of something to say, but his head fucking hurts and he just needs a second.
“I think you should see a therapist,” Zuko says softly. Sokka meets his eyes, eyebrows raising as he inhales.
“…You think it’s bad enough for that?” Sokka whispers, Zuko staring back at him. Is he really that fucked up? He didn’t think so—he just thinks about death a lot. That’s not so abnormal, is it?
“It’s not… there’s no measurement, baby,” Zuko says through a small breath, eyebrow furrowed slightly. “No baseline. You don’t have to be struggling like, the most, to go to therapy. Plenty of average people go, who aren’t dealing with mental illness or anything, they just go to talk to someone.”
“Oh,” Sokka mumbles, looking down at their duvet. Well, technically Sokka’s duvet. When did it become theirs?
“I think… I think it’d help,” Zuko says softly. “I want you to feel better.”
Sokka gnaws on his lip. “I didn’t… think it was that bad.” Is he really that bad?
Zuko takes Sokka’s hand, pulling it up to kiss the back of it. “It’s not, my love. It’s good that we’re catching it now, so it won’t get worse. I don’t want you to feel like…”
Zuko doesn’t finish and Sokka swallows.
“…Can I ask you something?” Zuko asks softly after a moment, jaw tightening.
Sokka nods as Zuko picks at a hangnail. “Yeah.”
“Just…” Zuko bites his lip and Sokka holds his hand to stop him from picking at it. He inhales, all shaky. “You have to tell me honestly. Have you ever… thought about suicide?”
Zuko looks up, locks eyes with Sokka, and Sokka blinks. He inhales. Because yeah. But he doesn’t want to kill himself, he’s not going to, he’s never made a plan or anything. He knows he won’t do it. But he has thought about it, and he doesn’t want to lie to Zuko.
Sokka nods slightly to which Zuko blinks, expression faltering. Sokka quickly tries to save himself, he doesn’t need to be put in a mental hospital, Jesus. “Not like actively planning out how I’d kill myself and intending on actually doing it, I-I promise. I’ve thought about it, yeah. But I’m not going to, I promise.”
Zuko purses his lips, nodding slowly. His breathing is all weird and shaky and Sokka suddenly feels bad for telling him. He didn’t mean to make him upset.
“Hey,” Sokka says softly once Zuko’s eyes start welling up with tears. He squeezes Zuko’s hand.
“I’m just… I’m sorry I didn’t notice, Sokka,” Zuko’s voice cracks. He rests his forehead on Sokka’s shoulder, turning his head so his nose hits Sokka’s shirt.
Sokka shakes his head and swallows, kissing the top of Zuko’s head. “Don’t be. I don’t even know what there was to notice. I guess I’m like, pretty fixated on death, but I don’t know if there’s even anything else. I dunno, but it’s okay.”
Zuko doesn’t say anything, and Sokka knows he’s beating himself up so hard over this. Sokka rubs the back of Zuko’s hand with his thumb, their fingers still entwined. “Zuko, baby. It’s okay.”
“‘S not,” Zuko mumbles. Sokka moves so Zuko’s forced to lift his head back up, but he stares at their sheets, not at Sokka.
“Hey,” Sokka says softly, letting go of Zuko’s hand to rub at his back. “It is. You didn’t know, how were you supposed to?”
“Because I’m your boyfriend!” Zuko pokes himself in the chest, looking up at Sokka with wide eyes. Sokka blinks, surprised by the sudden outburst. “I’m the one who’s supposed to notice. Because what the fuck would I have done, if you…” Zuko starts tearing up, voice all choked, “if you died in that accident and-and maybe you would’ve survived if I had noticed what was going on and forced you to wear a fucking seatbelt.”
“Zuko,” Sokka’s heart breaks. He pulls Zuko into a one-armed hug, casted arm hanging heavy and unhelpful beside him. Zuko returns the hug, easily wrapping his arms around Sokka. He’s so gentle, barely putting any pressure on Sokka’s body because of his ribs. “You can’t think like that. I’m here, okay?”
Zuko shakes his head, gently cradling the back of Sokka’s and crying so gently, like if he cries any more he’ll hurt Sokka.
“I don’t want you to die.”
His voice is so raw and hoarse, like he’s been scraped clean, left out for just Sokka to see. The words send a sharp, unnameable pain to Sokka’s heart.
“Oh, Zuko. I’m not gonna. I didn’t,” Sokka says softly, nuzzling into his boyfriend, and he somehow believes his own words.
“You almost did.”
Sokka sighs, rubbing up and down Zuko’s back. “There’s no point thinking about what could’ve happened. I’m here. That’s what matters right now.”
“I love you,” Zuko mumbles, and Sokka can’t help but smile.
“I love you so much. C’mere,” Sokka pulls away a bit, cradling the scarred side of Zuko’s face with his hand. He presses their foreheads together, Zuko still crying softly. “So much. So much it hurts sometimes.”
Zuko laughs a bit at that, to which Sokka smiles.
“You’re gonna feel better, baby,” Zuko sniffs, kissing Sokka’s cheek. “We’re gonna figure something out, okay? We’ll figure something out and you’ll be okay, it’ll all hurt less.”
“So, for our dog, I’m thinking the name Boomerang,” Sokka shoots Zuko a grin from the passenger seat, seatbelt across his body.
Zuko sends him a look. “First of all, what dog? Second… Boomerang?”
Sokka pouts. “Boomerang’s a great name for a dog.”
Zuko rolls his eyes with a smile. “Let’s focus on getting me moved into your apartment first, maybe?”
“Probably smart,” Sokka hums, looking behind him at Zuko’s cardboard boxes overtaking the backseat and trunk. They’re finally moving in together. Well, they’ve already been living together for around a month now, but Zuko didn’t want to move all his stuff in and create so much new change for Sokka. That all happened a few weeks after the car crash, when Sokka’s depression got worse. That’s what his doctor ruled it as which… makes sense.
After the accident, Sokka started seeing a therapist, and it was really good for him to talk through things, but all the thoughts weren’t getting any better. So Sokka got prescribed anti-depressants, but they made it even worse. He’s much better on the meds he’s on now, but the first one he tried was a disaster.
Sokka didn’t get out of bed, didn’t go to work, didn’t eat, slept through entire days. He needed Zuko, and Zuko knew that, so he brought a suitcase of stuff to Sokka’s and basically moved in then.
Zuko made Sokka food, held him as he cried, reassured him no one was in their home, he was safe. Made sure Sokka took his meds, cuddled him until he fell asleep, got him out of bed in the morning. Zuko was perfect. Still is, he’s always perfect.
And now Zuko’s moving in for real and Sokka couldn’t be more excited. He can’t fucking wait to wake up with Zuko every day for the rest of his life, make him bad coffee and stay up watching movies, get home from work to his boyfriend’s pretty face. Try to show him a modicum of the love he feels for him, how grateful he is for him.
Sokka glances at Zuko in the driver’s seat, reaching over and squeezing his hand. Zuko sends him a smile back, lifting Sokka’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it.
Sokka always wears a seatbelt now. He doesn’t even think about it when he gets in the car anymore, just buckles himself in, because he has a reason to. When he’s with Zuko, he doesn’t have to think about himself. Zuko makes everything better, makes everything hurt less.