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Inspired by this artwork. Thank you to a commenter who found it!
Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe was never a heavy sleeper. No matter how hard he tried to be, no matter how exhausted or spent he was, any little noise woke him up. Maybe it was left over from his years as the only male figure in his village after their dad left to fight in the war, charged with watching over his baby sister after their mom had been ruthlessly taken from them, when any little bump in the night could have meant severely bad news. Maybe it was residual emotional baggage from his time on the road with his friends leading up to the war, sleeping in the safest spot they could find and staying up to keep watch so no supplies were stolen and any ambushes thwarted.
Tonight, however, he had no qualms about waking up at an ungodly hour. Tonight, he was content to watch the man beside him sleep, all hard edges softened in only the way a deep slumber next to someone who made you feel safe could bring on.
Sokka had woken from his slumber in the middle of the night to find he was face to face with the fire-bender he’s so recently fallen in love with, legs entwined, nestled in luxurious blankets and silk sheets, breaths intermingled between them. Sokka couldn’t help but to smile to himself, feeling the ever present desire to reach out and touch his lover, the need to affectionately caress him, even if he was asleep and wouldn’t know it. He reached out and placed his hand on the fire bender’s cheek, calloused thumb running over his ragged scarred skin. Even in his deep slumber, Zuko responded to his touch with a gentle hum of content that made Sokka’s heart ache with love.
Spirits, how did he get so lucky? Zuko was just so……pretty. Too damn pretty for his own good. Even in his slumbering state he made Sokka’s head spin by how breathtaking he was; long black waves spilled over the sheets behind him, perfect porcelain skin nearly glowing in Yue’s light falling between the curtains, handsome face relaxed as he gently snores. Sokka did all he could to commit the sight to memory. He would capture the moment with paint on canvas if he thought he could get away with it. It was always a wonder to Sokka how he managed to court the beautiful man before him, how he managed to get so lucky in love.
Sokka wanted nothing more than to waken him with kisses peppered all over his being, head to toe, enough to smother him and make him complain. For now, heart soaring in his chest, Sokka decided to settle for gently caressing his cheek, fingers lazily tangled in his hair, scarred skin right beneath his palm.
Sokka never shied away from being affectionate near his lover’s scar; instead opting to be extra gentle with it, to smother it with love of the most tender kind, whenever he could. He would pepper it with sweet kisses, caress it affectionately, lovingly nuzzle the scarred skin with his nose. When he had to sneak away before the fire bender woke, he would place a gentle kiss to his cheek, right over the rough skin of the scar…
The scar…that was very…hand shaped.…
The scar that blurred into his hairline, harsh finger-width scarred skin between wisps of black hair, red skin contrasting alabaster.
Sokka’s chest tightened painfully as the rest of his body went icy cold. Did the room get darker?
Had his father….. Had Ozai put his hand directly to Zuko’s face and burned him?
No way Zuko had been burned that up close and personal. To the face. At his own father’s hands? Surely not even Ozai himself could permanently disfigure his first born, the crown prince. Surely he couldn’t have been that evil, that soulless.
In truth, until now, Sokka refused to put much thought into the why or the how of the scar. He couldn’t dwell for too long on the background of the scar; it set his chest alight with primal rage for his lover. The warrior only knew what he could piece together from the vague information Zuko had let slip over the five years they had known each other. It came from Ozai, on that fateful day Zuko spoke out of turn during a meeting when he was thirteen years old. That was all the fire bender was ever willing to say on the matter. He would always change subjects, skillfully distracting Sokka in whatever fashion he knew he’d get away with.
But now, in the private moonlit chambers of Fire Lord Zuko, in the stillness of the night, Sokka’s stomach sank to impossible depths with the realization that he might have missed an important detail regarding his secret lover’s past.
He just couldn’t believe anyone could scar a child’s face like this.
Much less a so-called father.
He had always assumed Zuko failed to redirect or block a fire blast, that made sense. He was only thirteen when he’d gotten scarred. Thirteen year old boys make mistakes, they mis-step, all the time. Missing a step in training, especially fire bending training, could be detrimental. Deadly, even. Sokka understood that more than most, especially after Aang had mishandled fire and hurt Katara so easily, so quickly, and on accident, too. Sokka still remembered her sobs.
Now, as Sokka’s hand goes clammy with realization, he was coming to terms with the fact that the scar’s history was much more sinister than he’d realized. The longer his hand lie on the scar, fingers aligned nearly perfectly between leftover wisps of hair between shiny scarred skin, the more nauseous he got.
Zuko stirs suddenly, amber eyes sleepily fluttering open to meet Sokka’s, his easy, sleepy lopsided smile finding its way to his lips. Suddenly, his face went cold with panic, rapidly blinking the sleep away.
Only then did Sokka realize his own eyes were leaking silent tears onto the bed beneath him.
“What’s wrong?” Zuko whispers, hands immediately reaching out for the warrior and settling on his chest, right over his breaking heart. “Sokka?”
“Did he….he really burned-is it a hand?”
Zuko, despite the grogginess from mere seconds ago, grew serious. Sokka heard Zuko’s breath catch in his throat.
“What?”
“Your scar. It’s hand shaped. It’s shaped like a hand.” Sokka whispers numbly, almost deliriously, beginning to pull his hand away from the firebender’s scar. It felt like a sin to touch it suddenly, as if the scar was still so hot it burned his palm. He did not want Zuko to associate him with such a traumatic mark. “It’s- a hand. It’s his hand. Zuko. Wh-How-”
Panicking, Zuko grasps at his retreating wrist, holding the warrior’s hand firmly on his face. He loved that Sokka wasn’t afraid to love him there, to pepper kisses across the rough scarred skin, to caress his cheek with the gentlest affection he’s ever known. It made him feel so loved his heart could combust. If he let Sokka remove his hand now, would he ever feel that again?
“Zuko…” Sokka sniffled. “I always thought you miscalculated a fire blast, or you weren’t, like, quick enough to dodge something, or-like-“
“He put his hand to my face and set it on fire.” Zuko rasps out, eyes distant for a brief moment, as if remembering a memory. The empty look sent a spear straight into Sokka’s heart. It nearly knocked the wind out of him.
He imagines Ozai, tall and muscular and so much larger than life, towering over a defenseless thirteen year old Zuko - a thirteen year old Zuko begging for mercy, no less - hand lit on fire, eyes shining maniacally. Surely the vision will haunt him in his own nightmares like he knew they haunted his lover. No wonder he woke up gasping for air sometimes.
Sokka went green in the face. An audible gulp cut through the silence as Sokka swallowed the bile that rose in his mouth.
“Like… on purpose?”
Zuko nods, scooting closer to his lover in bed. For his own comfort or to comfort Sokka, he wasn’t sure. His lover looked as miserable as Zuko felt.
“Your dad… touched your face and set you on fire?” Sokka asks, lip quivering. The room felt like it was spinning. His only anchor was the hand Zuko held firmly in place on his own cheek. “Like- Ozai literally-“
“Yes. Uncle said he held it there for half a minute. I don’t…really remember anything but the smell.” Zuko whispers, like a confession. “And then I woke up in the infirmary, and Uncle was there, and my- Ozai… he was gone.”
Sokka sniffles, running his thumb along the scars edge. How could someone do that to anyone? Much less their child. Much less Zuko.
Zuko, who had the biggest heart yet the worst hand dealt to him. Zuko, who loved his friends so unconditionally and always tried so desperately to be there whenever they may need him, no matter the stakes. Who carried the weight of a centuries long war on his shoulders that he had little to do with, as he tried his damndest to lead his nation towards a better future, a kinder future, an honorable future. Zuko, who bravely took on the sins of his family, and set out to redeem his name, to right every wrong.
Zuko, who deserved to be handled with the softest hands, the utmost affection, the gentlest care. Who deserved to be loved as fiercely as he loved.
Zuko, who deserved to be protected, not punished.
“What the fuck?”
“Sokka.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sokka says, almost accusing as he chokes on a sob he didn’t know was there.
Zuko shushes him, grabs Sokka’s face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping tears away.
“You never asked.”
Sokka feels miserable, being comforted when he should be doing the comforting. He really never asked? It’s not Iike the topic was casual dinner conversation; Hey love, what’s your most traumatic memory you can dig up? Tell me about the one where your heartless father disfigured your face. Can you also pass the fireflakes?
“Cause you never said he deliberately burned your face.” Sokka cries, hands shaking. “I mean- Ozai literally-“
“It was a long time ago.” Zuko says, unsure what else he could say, eyes distant once more.
Nearly a decade has passed since that fateful day of the Agni Kai, yet Zuko’s eyes flashed as if it happened yesterday. Sokka felt him begin to tremble, and pressed harder against him in a desperate attempt at comfort.
“Zuko.”
“It’s fine,” He tries to say, but his voice breaks and gives him away. His eyes well with tears, unshed from years of burying the memory. His jaw is set, but his body is violently shaking now, reliving the memory. “It’s in the past.”
“And here I was complaining that my dad left us behind to selfishly fight in the war,” Sokka whispers, his stomach sinking further. “-and your dad literally did the worst thing imaginable. To your face. On purpose. To teach you a stupid lesson?”
Breath shaking, Sokka reached out and pulled Zuko to his chest, encircling the fire bender in his arms. Zuko obliges, trying his hardest to keep the tears at bay as he buries his face into his lover’s tunic.
“It’s okay, I’m o-“
“Stop comforting me, I need to be comforting you.” Sokka sniffles, pulling his lover impossibly closer. Maybe if he could just hold Zuko close enough he could make him forget that memory, that nightmare.
“I’m so sorry,” Sokka continues, burying his face in the fire bender’s hair. “I’m never gonna let anyone lay a hand on you again. No one is ever going to hurt you. I swear it. I swear, Zuko. They’ll have to kill me first. I promise.”
Zuko lets out a quiet sob, almost unheard, as he clutches Sokka’s tunic desperately.
All these years of fighting for his life, figuratively and literally, and he never shed a tear over it. Crown princes don’t cry. Fire Lords especially don’t cry. He was simply a child who spoke out of turn and got what he deserved, after all.
“Zuko, I swear to you.” Sokka keeps murmuring, face nuzzled into his hair, pressing desperate kisses to his scarred temple. “Tui and La, I won’t let anything like that happen again.”
But here, in his lover’s protective embrace, safe in his chambers, he fell apart for the first time since his mother was taken from him. Something deep within him finally pushed over the edge, some emotional dam broken, letting a lifetime of fighting and loss, of grief and pain, of heartbreak and disappointment - all spill out at once.
Sokka would be damned if he didn’t catch it all, didn’t kiss it all better.