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And They Were Roommates

Chapter 6: Wicked words

Notes:

Im not ready to say goodbye yet, but here is the final chapter. This is the one I am most proud of. I'll see you at the end!

Enjoy!

(Chapter title is from Gooey by Glass Animals, the song also written below)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Oh no. 

Oh no no no no no. 

Zuko bolts upright, groaning out when a sharp pain hits his temple. He puts his cold hands up to it, soothing the throbbing for a temporary moment.  It comes back as he tries to focus on details from last night, growing increasingly frustrated when bits and pieces of memories pop into his mind, wanting to throw something when the most cohesive memory is kissing Sokka. 

Cold lips from the night air pressing into his, making him soar higher rather than bringing him back down to earth. It was warm, the rush of adrenaline made his skin hot and his smile wider, his laughter heavier and his cheeks redder. Sokka felt cold, but he was warm in all the right ways. 

Sokka. 

That was his name. Sokka was Katara’s brother, and Sokka was also his roommate. Sokka made him smile, and he was a shoulder to lean on, but he also inflicted pain. He’s two different people, one covered by a veil and another out in the open. One with malice, another with sympathy. One with selfishness, and one with generosity. One evil, one good. One sweet, one sour. Two sides of the same coin. One polished and the other green with weather and traversing the bumpy roads of life. Different but not separate. 

And now that Zuko has it all figured out, now that he knows who Katara’s brother is, and now that he is presented with the truth of the past few weeks, he asks himself the ultimate question. 

Who is the real Sokka? Who is the one that Zuko wants, and who is the one that Zuko fears? Which one is the valued head, and which one is the tail that gets kicked to the curb

But aren’t they the same coin? 

Before last night, before this understanding happened, he had wanted Sokka, his roommate, just for him. He was a pretty man who made him smile and laugh, a pretty man who taught him longing and patience, a pretty man who listened and talked and made him feel. And that was who he kissed, the pretty man. 

But he was also a person he had to stay distanced from, for fear of drowning or burning or bruises on skin. Zuko feared Sokka, the old Sokka—the original Sokka—as much as he does now. He never disliked him then, but he’s unsure if he dislikes him now. 

Because wasn’t Sokka also the one who made him smile and laugh through a screen? Wasn’t Sokka always being a caring person who listened and contributed to a useful conversation, albeit through a veil? Didn’t Sokka have to know his own mistakes, because Zuko made them apparent?

Stupid, stupid, stupid . How could he be so stupid?

Zuko never wants to leave his bed. He wants to bask in the morning daylight, clenching his sheets as he remembers every moment with Sokka, online or not, and every mistake Zuko would have made to make himself drift away. 

Sokka, Katara’s brother on Twitter, had gradually grown distant as well. He stopped taking interest in conversation, and barely even talked about his roommate. 

Which was Zuko. 

He fucked up. He really, really fucked up. 

It hurt so bad he could cry. He leaned forward, gripping his sides and only being able to grab onto rough leather, and buried his head into his comforter. He wanted to cry, he really did, it would have felt so good to let it out, but he couldn’t. He caused this pain on himself, so it would be a waste to drown in misery. It's better to face his demons. He’s hidden for so long, might as well start dealing with them now. 

Zuko mumbled and scorned as he stumbled out of bed, cringing with yesterday's uncomfortable clothes still on him, shifting into strange angles from sleep. He grabs a towel and comfortable clothes, slipping out of his room with them clutched close to his chest. 

The apartment is empty, cold, and unoccupied. The morning sun filtering through the shades would be the perfect lighting for waking up after falling asleep on the couch, or brunch meetings with a light clattering of silverware and giggles accompanied with gossip. The dust that flies and taints the air so beautifully would be a perfect background for someone whose eyes are brighter than the sun itself, and that squint and crinkle with domestic smiles and hearty laughs. It's quite a shame the space is never used, and the air is always thick and piercing, not light and airy. 

He takes a brisk shower, only to wash the day-old grime and sweat off of him and to detangle his hair, and to mainly thoroughly brush his teeth to get rid of the dry taste of alcohol and borderline bile in his throat. His head is still pounding, a ring of pain around the perimeter of his forehead, and he downs the last of his painkillers with the water foaming from the faucet. As he wipes the dribble of spit from his chin, he closes the loudly running tap just in time to hear the front door open, keys jingling and footsteps starting and stopping sporadically before the sound of crushing cushions signals that Sokka had sat on the couch.

Zuko grabs the towel and begins to pat his hair, mindlessly opening the door as he does so. A familiar beat starts up once he does so, but disappears when Sokka leans his head around to see where the noise came from. He turns around fully when he sees Zuko, a thud from a phone hitting the couch. 

“Hey,” Is all the bastard says, with a smile meant to be the equivalent of a warm hug in blistering wind. But all it is is a shot to the heart that twists and wraps around it, daring for it to pound too heavily or blood would ooze out from being cut by the string. Zuko feels the wounds burning and opening the more that Sokka stares, feels them grow even though they should fade as the haunting smile starts to falter. 

“Hi,” Zuko whispers out because it's all that he can manage. His voice is even more horrible than it already is, raspy and threatening from not being used. He throws the towel back into the bathroom, slipping from the vanity and onto the floor, before slowly walking over to the kitchen. His headache still hadn’t subsided, and the nausea only got worse after seeing Sokka, so it takes him a minute just to be able to grip onto the fridge for balance. 

Sokka clears his throat as Zuko grabs a bottle of water, chugging half of it in a matter of seconds. “I brought Camila’s. Carbs help with hangovers.” He nods his head to the counter, where a telling white paper bag sits untouched. While it would be the most inviting sight in the world to Zuko, the thought of eating with his dry lips and dehydrated body is not the most appealing. 

“Thanks but no thanks. I don’t exactly have an appetite right now.” Zuko leans his forehead against the cool door of the fridge, sighing in relief when the minimal condensation soothes his migraine. Every headache he's ever had combined is nothing in comparison to being hungover. 

"Did you take any painkillers?" Sokka asks just for the sake of conversation. Zuko nods even if Sokka can't see him behind the column that supports the ceiling and connects to the peninsula, because it's all that he's able to do. The couch seems inviting, a haven from the hell he's put himself into, but the demon he's spawned rests upon it, silently banishing him from any comfort. 

The familiar beat that Zuko heard coming outside the bathroom starts up again after a moment. Zuko lifts his head in response to it, memories of last night filtering in, before a rush of sweat and closed eyes and confidence that he never knew possible come rushing back once the chorus begins. 

"Mind my simple song, this ain't gonna work

Mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy smirk

I can't take this place, I can't take this place

I just wanna go where I can get some space."

It's laced with freedom and confidence and whatever Zuko isn't experiencing right now. It's fun and laughter and pointing middle fingers up into the air. It's bright and loud and colorful, everything that life should be because it's just that. It's life. It's giggling with the people who are there for you even though they don't know your story. It's having a clean slate when the board was filled with powdery chalk that so desperately needs to be washed away. It's waking up in the morning without a care in the world and bouncing up to get the day started because you have everything to look forward to. That's what this is. This is everything. 

The way Zuko sees himself dancing alone, singing words that he memorized years ago. The way that he moves like he knows that this is everything, even in his drunken state. It's all so freeing. A portion of Zuko was able to leave the past behind for a few hours. He was able to be himself, arms in the air shouting and laughing with Toph, all captured by Katara's shaky hand and posted to her Instagram story. He wants to be just that, a little bit of himself that's aided by alcohol to become something completely original and alive. 

"Shit!" Sokka swears out suddenly, eyes wide and suddenly on Zuko. The music turns off and the adrenaline starts rushing in, and the shout makes Zuko jump back. "Fuck, you scared me. Shit, sorry dude." He huffs for a moment, Zuko lightly scanning his eyes over the expressions of panicked Sokka and memorizing any part of him he hasn't seen already. His roommate gestures to the open spot on the couch next to him after another huff and a second of silence. "Here, come sit."

The grip Zuko has on the armrest is deadly, white-knuckled, and daring, but it grounds Zuko to stay in the present and not to reminisce on something that he isn't. He focuses on the flashing images on the T.V., the sitcom that Zuko never got around to watching, airing reruns with mocking laugh tracks at horrible puns caused by a poorly written plot and dialogue.  Even though he has many negative things to say about it, the show distracts Zuko from his thoughts and the man who has a deathly grip on his heart. The outdated outfits of the characters remind him of Mai's "retro-slash-vintage" style (in her own words), the fake smiles and audiences laughter are sickly similar to that of Ty Lee's bubbly and constantly optimistic personality, and the one character who seems to be the only one with an attitude and who represents actual human emotions is strangely reminiscent of his sister. 

Sokka is silent as well, something that Zuko allows himself to at least note. One quick, innocent glance lets him know that Sokka was also paying attention to the show, and if it was for the same reasons Zuko was acutely interested to know. He still felt eyes roaming his body, small looks, and diversion of eyes in Zuko's direction that seemed extremely obvious in comparison to what they were probably aimed to be. The tension and the weight of the air sets in with the dust suddenly, squashing Zuko's shoulders and making his skin feel hot and itchy. Sokka shifts as well, apparently being affected much more compared to Zuko. 

Yet after a minute, Sokka clears his throat.

“I see you’re wearing my jacket,” Sokka points out. Zuko looks down after a confused look crosses his face, realizing that after his shower, he had mindlessly put the jacket back on (but could you blame him? It smells like cologne and it's warm and fuzzy on the inside). He thinks, after a second, that it's quite an obvious statement, possibly spilling over into a dangerous teasing area that they haven’t reached yet.  But then he realizes that playful banter is useful for getting out of awkward situations, and this is most likely Sokka’s escape. Zuko can play along for a bit, even if he's nowhere near up for it. 

“Well, yes. I woke up with a jacket around me, and so I wore it.” Zuko also points out the obvious, a slight lift in his tone to emphasize the joking manner. If he comes off too harsh, he'll never forgive himself, and if he's mistaking Sokka's conversation starter as something he's genuinely upset at, it'll only lead to disaster. 

“Yes but I see you’ve changed, so you would have had to take the jacket off, and then go and put it back on again.” Zuko’s stomach sinks with the realization of being caught, and the sex appeal that comes with the way Sokka smirks and leans his head in Zuko’s direction leaves his cheeks on the brink of burning. “So, therefore, you are purposefully wearing my jacket.” 

Zuko sucks in his lips and squints at Sokka in a menacing glare for the purpose of intimidation while he figures out how to make a comeback, which seems to fail miserably with how Sokka raises his eyebrows up and down with a wide grin. Words are on the tip of his tongue, but he’s running out of time until he either loses (when it became a game Zuko has no clue) or the silence devours the two of them alive. 

“If I see a fuzzy, comfortable jacket that smells nice draped around my shoulders, you bet your ass ,” he pointed at Sokka's chest for added effect, the tip of his finger grazing the fabric of the loose tank, “I’m going to wear the shit out of it.” He thinks he's won, that he can lean back and cross his arms with a pointed glare and celebrate his small victory. 

But Sokka’s sinister smile makes his stomach drop in all the wrong ways once more. “You think I smell nice?” It comes off rolling off of Sokka’s tongue, heavy but tone lifted in amusement to accompany the smile that Zuko loves and hates at the same time, never knowing when the coin will flip in his favor. The strings around his heart turn black, they tighten so much it begins to turn blue before it bleeds out. Zuko looks around the room for assistance, even though he knows he won’t find any. He takes a sip of his water to stall his response. 

After a minute of contemplative silence, Sokka is still waiting for an answer, apparently trying to revel in his “victory”. Zuko inhales. “Well,” he begins, bringing a hand that was previously pressed to his lips in thought back down to his lap. He shrugs, “Yeah, I do.”

It wasn’t meant as a joke, and it doesn’t seem to render to Sokka as one. Zuko’s throat goes dry at the way chapped lips part, and he takes another sip of his water as he glances away. The air is thick, the weight of needing more banter and light laughter becoming increasingly unbearable. Sokka sighs after a moment, and Zuko looks over to see he has his head leaned back into the cushions with a hand covering his face.

“We should really talk about that stuff, shouldn’t we?” Sokka breathes out muffled, peeking in between his fingers to look at Zuko before slapping his hand down to his thigh. The sudden eyes on him startle Zuko and his cheeks threaten to visibly burn once more, but he dismisses the feeling as he glances at the floor. 

“Talk about what, me enjoying how you smell?” Zuko tries to joke. It doesn’t work. They’re well beyond the point between where words mean nothing and the point where they begin to hold emotion and vulnerability. 

Zuko hates those words, “we should talk”. It’s ambiguous yet ominous at the same time, as if it's a bad thing, which in one situation it is, while in another it isn’t. No one enjoys confrontation. It's like being cornered into doing something with no escape, unbearable and inescapable. It's terrifying that someone can have that power over you with just three words. Yet sometimes confrontation is necessary, to end something toxic or just to communicate and save something neither person knew was slipping away. The words in themselves, the duality that they can hold, is what makes Zuko despise the phrase. 

“That…” Sokka plays it off for the sake of awkwardness not consuming them whole, leaving them dry-mouthed and unable to utter a single word, “and other stuff. Like…” Sokka trails off defeated and searching for words, swallowed by the sharp-toothed monster that is the atmosphere which continues to hunt both of them and what little they can continue to cling on to. It prowls at the edge of the cliff, growling and biting on the fraying rope of commonalities and communication. When it snaps, they both will fall to their doom. 

“Like?” Zuko urges on, for the sake of not falling once again. 

“Like,” Sokka huffs out trying to find the words, “Like the Twitter messages and the coffee hour and the kiss. That stuff.” 

Yeah. That. 

Zuko swallows and nods, running his hand through his hair just to busy himself with something other than the empty water bottle. Sokka turns down the T.V., the remote clattering loudly on the coffee table. Zuko watches it teeter, and then rock to a stop on the finished wood. The man in front of him has now completely turned to face him, and Zuko does the same, getting comfortable in bending his legs and pulling them on the cushions. Zuko leans his back into the headrest, while Sokka props one elbow onto the back of the couch. Sokka looks up at the ceiling as if in silent prayer, before looking back down and pointedly avoiding Zuko’s gaze. 

Sokka takes a breath (and Zuko’s glad because he’s sure as hell not talking first) and fiddles with his hands, thumbs and forefinger pinching the flesh of his palm before he fists them into his lap and raises a determined gaze at Zuko. He’s thrown off by the intensity of it. 

“Zuko, I just want to start by saying that I really, really do like you. Like, a lot. Like a lot , a lot." Zuko's cheeks finally burn and he grins despite himself. "It was never a lie or something I played off of just for you to talk to me online. Since the moment I saw you, catching me shirtless in the kitchen,” they both lightly giggle, the air lifting, the sun-speckled dust rising, “I found you attractive and I took a romantic interest in you.” It's stated slowly and awkwardly as if Sokka has to digest every single syllable as he begins to preface everything. 

Sokka talks with his hands and his mouth turns up when he says something awkward, and Zuko knows that it itches to fly to the back of his neck. There’s a light blush on his cheeks, and this is how Zuko knows that he’s being genuine. The worries don't magically disappear, the thoughts and fears still reside somewhere deep in his chest, but at that moment Zuko can smile lightly and look and Sokka fumbling over words and overexpressing himself. It's cute, adorable even, and while Zuko idolizes Sokka to be seen to express himself so easily with internal difficulty, especially for someone who seems to wear their heart on their sleeve, he can't help but be drawn in even closer. The strings loosen and are instantaneously replaced with a cool to combat all of the warmth, and it's not freezing or a forbidden cold touch. It's a light breeze of wind on a scorching summer's day, a kiss on the cheek after lips become cool with ice pops. It's all so wonderful in the way his heart clenches, wrapping itself around the blazing strings and trying to extinguish it. 

“Romantic interest, hmm?” Zuko raises his eyebrows while sucking in his lips to hide his grin. Sokka gives him a dead glare, and Zuko allows himself to let out a laugh because if that blush was real then Sokka wouldn't give a shit about what Zuko does at that moment. And he's right. He knows he's right. Because Sokka softly chuckles with Zuko, eyes squinting and bright and like they were never meant to hurt at all. Alive and roaring like the sea. Speckles of foam flying into the air with each bubble of laughter and every rise and fall of a chest. The strings unravel, falling, dropping, descending, into the depths of his stomach, dark and untraveled, where they can rest for eternity in peace.

“Yes, a romantic interest, don't fucking patronize me.” Zuko giggles again. “But serious talk for a sec? I really do like you. Everything I said online I wouldn't have actually said to you. I got caught up in the anonymity of social media and being a coward and not talking to actual you.” He takes another breath, "I don't want… I don't want you to think what I said is what I think of you—what I only think of you. But it's true. I thought those things—still do—and I know that makes me a douche but if you were able to know even a small portion of the feelings that I do have of you, then it was all worth it.” 

Zuko’s still riding that high. The high of Sokka saying the feelings are mutual. The high of Sokka blushing and being awkward and laughing with mirth. The high of Sokka . It takes him a moment, but he is able to register the fact that Sokka was never afraid of Zuko, never disliked him or drifted away, but was rather afraid that he himself would be their downfall. He was afraid that the strange yet specific compliments would come off as rude and insensitive to Zuko, and that not talking respectfully to one another would lead to their demise. And while Zuko wants to appreciate every word that Sokka is saying and listen with full understanding and optimism, that toxic part of his brain that feeds off of conflict growls in hunger. 

“I appreciate that,” Zuko gulps after a minute, “I never took it the wrong way, don't worry. Just… online you and in person you are very different people and personalities. It’s hard to know which one is genuine. 'Cuse, while you seemed—and I’ll put it in your words—head over heels for me over messages and tweets, I wasn’t the only one in your picture.” Sokka’s face falls from a wide grin to somber and sunken. 

“The girls and the dudes after Friday parties I’d almost run into by morning The instance with the coffee da- coffee hour.” He wanted to call it a date, but did they ever really decide that it was a date? A hangout, with their friends, as friends, that would have led them to their doom. “It just made me feel like I had no chance. I’d just… be that person you saw before going on a run. Nothing more, no matter how much I wished for it. I started to dislike you as a person, as a friend and roommate. I never really stopped romantically liking you though, and I guess that just made it worse.”

“Worse how?” Sokka asks quickly, a guilty, gentle look on his face. Zuko wants to wipe it away, because none of this was Sokka’s fault. Maybe the “date”, but everything else was all Zuko. His fucked up past, his childish emotions, his naive behavior. It was all the cause of this spiral that he’s slowly descending now. The string snakes back up, almost as if it's in reverse, wrapping itself slowly back around Zuko’s heart. He can feel that it's painted blue, and stains everything that it touches until his insides are cold and bright.

“Worse in the sense... that I got worse.” The loops loosen before tightening, sickeningly slow, edging his destruction. “Confidence, social life, physical symptoms. The nightmares and sleep and everything were a big thing. I was really tired. I am really tired.” Zuko manages to laugh a little bit, despite everything. 

“What happened that night?” Sokka says, and Zuko can see tears pricking his eyes. He doesn’t know why, but that sight makes Zuko hurt more than he has in the past couple of days combined. There's a deadly grip, his heart turns black, blood dripping down the strings turning them from cyan to indigo to a deep crimson. 

“The... nightmare?” Zuko raises an eyebrow. Sokka nods, slow and tired, yet eager to comply. Zuko takes a gulp. “I-I’m not good at talking about that stuff.” He shrugs defensive, his heart finally collapsing under the pressure, the glass shattering into small pieces, the sound of them clattering in his stomach never sounding in Zuko’s ears. 

“Another time, I don’t-” he cuts himself off with a huff, “talking is good, but I’ve done a lot of talking, and I’m going to be doing even more. I’d prefer to leave the really traumatic shit for another day. I can’t-” The tears come fast, he pushes them down, they can’t resurface, not now. Now he’s being interrogated, forced into something he can’t escape. 

Zuko licks his teeth to focus on something else, pushing his hair in front of his face behind his ear and leaning his elbow against the back of the couch, supporting his head. He waited for Sokka to say something, his eyes getting caught by where Zuko just tucked his hair. 

"We don't…" Sokka started after a minute, taking another gulp of air. "We don't have to talk about that stuff if you don't want to. I don't want to push you to talk about stuff when it's already hard. I'm never going to be able to relate, but I just hope I can try to understand. This isn’t meant to be quick and easy. We can take it slow." 

Sokka reaches out a hand, the one not resting on the couch, and offers it to Zuko. He stares at it for a moment, eyes raking over calluses and lines creasing palms that look perfect and comfortable yet ominous and dangerous at the same time.

Zuko slowly and gently slides his hand towards Sokka’s. Their fingers turn up toward the sky and they measure the temperature and weight of their hands against each other before they intertwine. The string suddenly unravels and falls with such speed Zuko becomes sick, but he has a hand to hold which steadies him.

We can take it slow. 

Despite himself, Zuko looks up from their little private scene of rubbing thumbs and twitching fingers and tosses a warm and hearty smile Sokka’s way, eyes bright with appreciation and contentment. Sokka looks up too, blinking for a moment before grinning all the same with a breath. The bile in Zuko’s throat becomes bearable, his headache subsiding, the nausea giving him a break before everything overwhelms him once again. He feels cold, nice and protected. It's a simple thing, respect for boundaries, but it's more than Zuko's felt in a long while. It might be toxic, unsafe, inescapable, but all those words have fled his mind in this very moment. He wants to take a picture, cherish this forever, but he supposes its best to be left with his memorie, to reflect on without a flash tainting the image. 

"Honesty is really important to me," Sokka says after a minute. His words are caught in his throat too, and Zuko finds comfort in it. "And if we're being honest… none of those one-night stands were real. There was no... passion or emotion in it. It was just- sex." 

Zuko nods, but he catches Sokka's eye. He stops abruptly, finding that dullness that comes with secrecy. "But there's something more," Zuko says gently, but it holds so much power that Sokka gulps and is forced to hold a nervous gaze before it falls to their still holding hands. Zuko squeezes. 

"I guess there was something… because I wanted there to be. I wanted passion and feeling and want, and I didn't get that from-" Sokka cuts himself off, drawing his hand away, looking ashamed. 

"You didn't get it from me." Zuko says simply. 

"And it was fake and horrible and not the real thing." Sokka explodes. Zuko runs hurtling back. "Because the real thing—the real thing has smiles and laughter that isn't caused by shots and parties. The real thing has want and not need. The real thing is holding each other and kisses on foreheads and basking with coy smiles and giggles in the afterglow." Sokka takes a breath. His feet have been firmly planted on the floor, caused by his flying heart rate and disposal of everything. He looks defeated, and while Zuko is tense in his corner, he has an ounce of sympathy left. 

"And I never got the real thing." He says softly. "The real thing doesn't need passion. Passion makes it work, but it's not necessary. The real thing… The real thing is love. It's tender and gentle and soft and everything that life should be. It's domestic with mornings cooking breakfast and evenings huddled together on a couch. It's laughter both day and night." Sokka gulps again. Zuko eases his muscles. "It's life. And that's what I want. I want the passion and the power, but I crave the tranquil and domestic." 

For the first time in the entire ordeal, Sokka finally looks over to Zuko. He offers a light smile, which Sokka huffs with a smirk at, rolling his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Zuko traces his thumb around the flesh of his palm, looking down and simply reflecting. 

"We're similar that way," Zuko mutters without looking up, and he hears and senses a head-turning his direction, yet he keeps his focused gaze. "We already know what we have in common, I guess you could say that makes us compatible, but that's something rare you never find in many people. Some only want one side of the stick, the pleasure without any strings attached. I understand those people, the fear of commitment, not wanting to limit yourself to someone and putting yourself in a box, fearing becoming manipulated and having no escape. I know because I've been there, so it's hard; for me and other people who fear being harmed while in any sort of relationship.

"But that's not what I want anymore." Zuko finally lifts his eyes, catching Sokka looking at him with an approving smile, filled with joy, appreciation, understanding, and everything Zuko should take as a sign to be unafraid. "I want exactly what you want." 

Time doesn't stand still like Zuko wants it to. His stomach isn't liberated from the constant sinking and turning that he needs to be unchanged from. A spark doesn't ignite. Tension doesn't rise. They simply sit there, staring at each other with quickened heart rates and imploring eyes. Zuko can sense Sokka wants to itch closer just as much as he does, but he remains where he sits. A question still isn't answered. And Zuko will be damned if he doesn't get it out.  

"The girl. On Friday." Sokka's Adam's apple trembles. "Was that not…" what you wanted?

Sokka is silent. Zuko's stomach churns so hard he leans to grab onto the arm of the couch to steady himself, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth when the bile dares to spill up. Sokka mistakes it for his handover acting up, turning quickly and ready to jump up to stand should Zuko lose control. The headache is painful and unbearable, filled with the thought that Sokka found what he wanted, and Zuko was too late. 

"Answer the fucking question." Zuko hisses out with the hell of his hand pressed into his temple, tears daring to spill over. This isn't what should have happened. The pain. The hurt. It should have been Zuko. 

"It was," Sokka breathed out. Zuko scoffs and looks away. He blames Sokka for leading him on in a hopeless search for something unattainable, but he himself is the reason for the fall. The culprit and the victim all in one. He caused this horrible spiral that only he descends- 

"But it wasn't the right person." 

Zuko spins over with wide eyes. Now is when time stops. This is where both their hearts halt in welcome tension. This is what it should have been the first time. 

Sokka pours himself out. His voice like thick and rich wine slipping slowly into a glass. "You're that person, Zuko. You're who I want, who I've always wanted. It took me forever to realize it, because I was looking for what I wanted to feel. And then once I got it, it was all wrong." He takes a breath. Zuko never moves, his broken heart breaking more in the best ways possible. "It wasn't with you. And that's what I want."

Sokka leans forward, gently bringing a hand up to Zuko's cheek. Zuko doesn't flinch, tears falling out of his eyes that are wiped away by Sokka's thumb, the edge of his scar being traced with love.

"I want you." 

I want you. 

You, you, you, you, you.

That's the mantra in Zuko's mind as he rushes forward. The words he tries to speak silently as he kisses Sokka. As tears fall and hands rake in hair. As arms wrap and giggles spill over. As bodies are pushed backward and fingers trail.

You, you, you, you, you. 

I want you. 

And isn't that what everyone wants? To be wanted?

"Speak in full sentences next time you idiot," Zuko mutters against a tanned neck he never knew he'd be so close to. But now that he is, he can't get enough of it. Cheeks and jaw lines and lips and necks are peppered in kisses, domestic laughter that they spoke of coming true and filling the air. It's raw and new, and that's what makes it oh so sweet. It's bright orange and sprinkled in dust, but desperate hip-grabs and kisses that dare to leave marks make it red. Crimson and alarming. 

But Zuko is loving the way that red feels with Sokka right now. 

"I want you too," Zuko says breathlessly, coming up from the underside of Sokka's chin to successfully talk to him with eye contact, though he continues to get distracted by the bright purple work he's created. He lays his hands on Sokka's shoulders, sitting up straight. "I really do. I love this. This is great, wonderful even, and I really want this." He gestures down, and Sokka laughs. If Zuko wasn't red yet, he sure is now.

Zuko would have never known this if the universe didn't decide to give him a break at this very moment, but Sokka's eyes are gorgeous when looking down at them. His pupils are blown until they make the cerulean turn navy blue. It's beautiful. All of Sokka is beautiful.

"But not right now." Sokka smiles up at him, that smirk Zuko knows all too well. It makes his stomach flip for all of the right reasons. His heart soars higher than it's had in the past three minutes. 

"Not right now." Zuko pets brown hair because it's what he's wanted to do for so long. It's addicting. All of Sokka is addictive. 

"This, us. I'm willing to try it." Dangerous words with an effect that can change everything, yet Zuko doesn't care. Nothing matters right now except for the preservation of this. Of them. 

And he has to be right and Sokka has to agree because they stare at each other forehead to forehead, nose to nose, and Sokka nods. He kisses the top of Zuko's head and he nods. Emphatically and with enthusiasm that Zuko can't help but laugh and giggle in joy. 

“I’m so glad I got to kiss you properly,” Sokka laughs after they pull away, “I would have hated myself if I never got this.”

“Yeah, well you better not get sick of this anytime soon.” Zuko replies, flattening Sokka’s hair because it's so pretty. Everything about Sokka is so pretty. 

“Never,” Sokka half-laughs, half-sighs out. “Not in a million years.”

~~~~~

Zuko crouches down in his closet, pulling out the box he never thought he'd open, but insisted on bringing when he'd moved. It's small but heavy, so he pushes it with his feet until he's able to get it onto the hardwood floor and pick it up to place on his vanity. He grabs the scissors he brought from the kitchen, and with a deep breath tears into the tape. 

The first item wrapped in bubble wrap and parchment paper, placed on top with extreme delicacy, is a framed family portrait. His mother looks healthy and well, his father like a respectable upper-class working man, and Azula looks like a typical young lady in a pleated dress on top of her mother's lap. While it seems so far away, as if he's a completely different person, Zuko knows that who he was so long ago with his father's hand on his shoulder is the same person as who he is now. 

Although it's painful and distant. It's his past. It's his family. And it's something he should preserve.

He sets it down on his vanity, creating a pile of things he wants to move into the living room. 

The next is the same shape as the first one, but the picture is of  Lu Ten, his sister, and him building a sandcastle at the beach house their family used to own, with Iroh in the water beckoning them to come and join him. Smiles and waves are caught in place by the off chance that his mother decided to snap a picture. Another is of Katara, Toph, Yue, Suki, and him at a picnic in the campus park, with wide smiles and raised champagne glasses at Aang behind the camera. He puts the one of his family in the pile but takes the photo of his friends out of the frame and gently folds it to fit in his wallet. 

The final wrapped frame is of Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee. He remembers taking the photo on an old camera he found in their attic, and the group had decided to go to the country club and do a photoshoot. None of the pictures had come out as Zuko wanted. They were so staged and unnatural, but this moment he was lucky enough to capture, and he framed it out of pride. It was the three ladies sitting on the edge of the fountain in the driveway to the club, lost in conversation with heads leaned back and eyes wide in attention. It was how they were naturally, and Zuko loved it. This one would be moved into their bedroom. 

At the bottom of the box is the journal Zuko kept from his recovery. Only a few pages were filled, and they were half-assed attempts of being able to jot down everything in his mind and get it over with so his therapist would be happy with the little he had done. There were scribbles of frustration on other pages, sketches and mantras of all the ways Zuko was pathetic. He shifted it to the side of the box, not having a place for it just yet. 

Two more items remained. A cheap paper admission ticket for a carnival and a long velvet box. These were both memories from Jet. The ticket came from their first date. They decided to visit the traveling carnival that had come to town that week, and they only had one ticket remaining. Jet had told Zuko to keep it, and so his hopeless romantic self did. 

Zuko rips it with no remorse, tossing it into the garbage with a lingering memory of flashing lights and the taste of nicotine at the top of a Ferris wheel that leaves as soon as the stray pieces of paper fall into the bag. 

The velvet box opens with a restraining creak, the black, glass heart necklace shining inside. A gift that was given on an anniversary, whose only purpose served at a fidget when fights broke out. 

Zuko tosses it in the trash as well but keeps the velvet box. Inside he places a photo-booth strip, images of Sokka and him smiling and making goofy faces before a tender kiss at the end. It's cheesy, but Zuko loves cheesy, and he loves Sokka. 

He pulls his phone out from his jean pocket, opening his contacts app. There he scrolls down to the letter T , and finds who he’s looking for. 

As the ringing drones in his ear the sound of the door opening registers in Zuko’s mind. Sokka has come home from his run, blowing a kiss to Zuko from the entryway from where Zuko peaks his head out of the door and rolls his eyes in a playful manner. 

He got ‘the cute’. 

“Zuko?” A surprised voice, light and airy, wafts into his phone, pulling him from his own revelation. 

“Hi, Ty Lee,” he huffs out, a high pitched giggle on the other end. A screech, a call to someone in the distance.

It's time. He’s ready. 

“It’s been a while.” 

Let go.

Notes:

Hello all you beautiful people. I'm currently crying while writing this, because I am not ready to let this fic go. You have all been so supporting throughout the entirety of it, and I appreciate your patience with me. This fic helped me to connect with the community, grow as a writer, and gain inspiration for future projects. This was the constant in the many changes of my life. This is what I looked forward to after long days, and also what I procrastinated on in fear it would go so quickly, which it did.

I would love to give a very special thanks to @freckledsokka over on Tumblr for allowing me to use the silly little idea that transformed into the fic it is today. Thank you so much for continuing to support me, and sharing your gorgeous idea to Tumblr where it ended up with someone as unsuspecting as me.

I would also like to thank my two best mutuals who have supported this from pretty much day one— and even before then. Please check out @betrothedzukka and @hello-yue-here. I love you both so much, and I have no clue what I'd do without you guys allowing me to bounce ideas off of you, and you hyping up my fics so much. Please go check out both of their writings, they are both incredible.

And finally I'd like to thank you. The reader that may have been here from day one. Or the person who binge-read my entire fic in a day. You are who got me here. You are the reason I kept writing. You are the reason I will always write again. Because you all make me feel wonderful.

And now, it is with my greatest pleasure to announce I will be writing a Greatest Showman zukka-centric atla AU. Filled with circus acts, yueki and mailee, angst, character development, and everything you should expect in a Zukka fic. I have no clue when it is coming out, but it will come out, and I will put my greatest effort into it.

So I guess this is goodbye for now. See you all later.

Notes:

They're idiots your honor.