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~~
Sokka had spent so long despising fire, he had never expected to feel any other way about it.
Because it is terrible.
Because it destroys.
Because it takes everything from him every chance it gets.
His mother, and his father in many ways in the wake of it.
Yue.
The world.
Freedom .
It isn’t until Aang has to begin firebending, until he sees it in the hands of someone he trusts, that the rush and snap of flame doesn’t tense his shoulders.
His grudge still remains ironclad, they are still on the receiving end of fire during fights often enough to ensure that, but…
And then Aang lashes out, an accident, it was an accident, he didn’t mean to-
But Sokka is tense once more, arm around his sister as she tries to heal the blistering skin on her hands.
And it takes days, weeks, of reminding himself that Aang is still learning, that he would never do that kind of thing on purpose, would never hurt Katara .
He can let it go. He will let it go.
Sometimes he thinks if he looks long enough into the dance of their campfire he is going to start screaming.
~~
Zuko is something else entirely.
They had spent so long at odds, as enemies, as ridiculous rivals in a world imploding , that Sokka had mostly forgotten what the Prince really is .
Sokka has always enjoyed precision. A plan executed down to the wire, something satisfying in the art of perfection.
So he can’t help the flutter, the held breath, when he watches Zuko and Aang move through forms.
Because Zuko is perfect. Stripped down to his pants, muscles taut and flexed as he moves through each one, strength for the purpose of constant accuracy.
Fire dances with them both, but Aang’s is messy, more whimsical, prone to thinning into the breeze and losing part of itself along the way.
Zuko’s roars.
As if it breathes with him, a living thing coiling in on itself, hotter and hotter as it follows his movements. A complete extension of him, and it is beautiful in all of the most dangerous ways.
Sokka watches, captivated, grim, feeling the searing heat of it even from where he sits, and the rumble of the ground when they finally finish and Zuko sends the twisting fire into the dirt in front of him to extinguish it.
Sokka wants to break the perfection.
Zuko is so contained, it’s so obvious how much he really holds back, and Sokka wants to see the destruction he knows he is capable of.
Sokka wants to shove him over. Knock him off balance and into the dirt.
He wants to see him annoyed, see him angry, see the perfect streak of fire blaze in every direction as he snarls up at him.
He wants to see the fire curling from his lips, he wants to-
He wants -
Sokka doesn’t know
what
he wants.
~~
It is still hard to trust.
Not just Zuko, but the fire itself.
Except, the more he watches, the more he understands.
The more Zuko speaks, the more he really understands.
Sokka’s father is not perfect. He is not , but he would never -
He can’t help catching glances at Zuko’s scar from time to time. He can’t help the pang of heartbreak every time he startles him when he walks up on his bad side.
He can’t help but think.
Why do you not hate it as well, when this is what it has done to you.
~~
It is useful, at the very least.
To have a firebender around, on nights like this.
Pouring, miserable, freezing.
Camped out under a stony outcrop, with Aang and the girls already bedding down for the night, while Zuko and himself take the first watch.
Zuko volunteers to get firewood, and Sokka is certainly not going to argue, so he puts himself to work in arranging a pit for it, and spreading out their soaked clothes. Zuko returns with armfuls of sopping wood, stacking them neatly into the space Sokka made before kneeling down beside him.
Sokka can’t stop the way his shoulders tense when Zuko rests a hand on him, using him for balance as he leans forward and takes a breath.
Sokka has never seen it up close, has never heard the sharp whine of air as it tightens, a second before a gout of flame roars from his mouth.
Zuko holds it, and holds it, long enough to dry the wood, long enough to light the wood, before he finally cuts off and takes a few panting breaths to collect himself.
He’s still holding Sokka’s shoulder.
Grip still warm, and getting warmer, tighter for a second before he does let go and settles back beside him.
And it’s not as if Sokka isn’t grateful, even as he fights against the stuttering of his heart, the way his mouth refuses to work for a moment as his mind is nothing but a flash of golden eyes and white hot flame mere inches from his own skin.
Trust is not the right word.
Anticipation .
He is not ungrateful, though, says as much when he turns slightly to face him, and Zuko just nods, lips quirking a bit. A smile contained.
And Sokka thinks.
Let loose.
Let me see it.
Be what you are.
Be the beautiful thing that I know you are.
~~
His new fascination does not get any better through the Boiling Rock heist.
Because he never expected Zuko to come with him, to start.
But it had been impossible to leave him when he had been caught trying to take Appa. When he had been the subject of pain and exhaustion from glinting gold eyes.
Even moreso on the balloon, when Zuko had corners him, arms crossed and jaw tight. “Do not make me the reason you do not come back.” But it isn’t anger, or disappointment, that Sokka sees.
Fear .
Zuko, standing on a war balloon en route to the most impenetrable prison in the world, with nothing but a half-baked plan on finding a man who may not even be there, looks Sokka directly in the eye and is afraid.
Not of where they were going, but of being the cause of Sokka’s death. Of being the one to come back without him.
And Sokka’s jaw clenches, eyes darting to the side as he shrugs a shoulder. “I have to try.”
Zuko nods. “I know.” And his hand hits Sokka’s shoulder again, warm, hot , from the fire he’s been bending into the engine of this thing. “And I have to make sure I don’t lose you.”
And Sokka can feel the burn of his hand, the burn of his words , and is grateful for the whip of wind in the open sky to cover the rush of blood that floods his cheeks at them both.
~~
They have a plan.
Of sorts.
Not the best, but it is something at least.
And Sokka is a slowly dying thing in here, because it has been hands in hands, sides against sides, there for eachother at every turn and it is doing viciously painful things to Sokka’s already bruised heart.
Locking Zuko in a freezer is wild at best, but he trusts him enough to allow it.
He shouldn’t have trusted himself though, because Zuko smirking up at him, fire mingling with his breath as he pins Sokka with a look, and it is enough to make him want to punch a wall.
“Yes, I have.”
Getting pulled in, hidden, listening to the guards chatter with Zuko pressed close, wanting nothing more than to shove him against the cell and-
He wonders if he would be angry.
He wonders if the flawlessness would finally break.
But he is distracted at least, as the gossip carries in from outside, heart pounding against the what-ifs.
Zuko listens, quiet and oddly soft against him. “It's your call, Sokka.”
And Sokka thinks.
You are so much more beneath the absolute of your perfection.
And.
Would this place be anything but a melted pool of metal, if you actually let go?
~~
Escaping is both worse and better.
Zuko jumping, trusting , and Sokka hanging onto him iron tight as he hauls him into the cable car, eyes wide in horror as his brain does not let go of the image.
Zuko, in open sky, above an endless volcanic pit.
But there is no time to give him shit for it. To say he’s not about to lose him either .
Because Azula is up there with them, and Zuko keeps slicing her fire with his, shielding Sokka with arcs of burning orange, and suddenly it's as if he finally understands.
The heat of it roars, singing across his skin, and this is not the time or place for Sokka to be breathless, to be wanting , to look at Zuko and think.
How hot would you burn, if I asked you to?
~~
The fall of Ozai leaves a wake of absolute chaos behind it.
But for the first few days, at least, everything is just…
Quiet.
And for Sokka, it is equally painful.
Broken leg notwithstanding, he is being doted on, on palace grounds. Kept in an infirmary with Katara flitting about and snapping, and he tries very hard not to be angry with her.
But learning to be still, is not a simple thing. Being hunted, being a hunter, running constantly, is not something you drop overnight.
And boredom is hard to alleviate when you can barely move.
His saving grace is Zuko.
Injured, gravely, but on the mend, and equally bound to the small hospital wing of the palace. He recovers faster though, bones healing slower than tissue, but he is impossibly stiff and sore for days on end.
And grumpy .
It shouldn’t be funny, it shouldn’t be fucking delightful everytime the doors open in the morning and the nursing staff starts their work, to catch the pinched golden gaze from across the room.
It does nothing to dissuade the aching want that has burned a hole inside Sokka, to have the firebender gingerly cross the room to sit with him when they’re gone. It's a bit of a thing they’ve discovered, that sleeping alone is incredibly uncomfortable, and it might be the middle of the morning but Sokka is already feeling the pull of his medicine and the pain grow distant, and he can tell from Zuko’s quiet sigh that he is in the same boat.
Sokka can’t move, leg braced and slinged to the fourpost on the bed, but Zuko just shuffles closer until his hair brushes against Sokka’s shoulder, and he drags a blanket over them both.
Zuko is out first, most of his symptoms are simply exhaustion, and Sokka can feel the telltale slump as he relaxes against him and his breath evens out.
And it is a nothing thing, to lean his head down to rest on top of Zuko’s, to feel the warmth of him pressed along his side.
And he thinks.
You are too kind to burn as bright as you are capable of, or this palace would not be standing anymore.
~~
Recovery is slow, and then the moment it is done it seems as if it were simply a blink.
Because the end of the war is not simply the cease of battle.
It is Zuko, coronated, beautiful , standing above his citizens and speaking to them all.
The new Firelord- still exhausted, Sokka can see it no matter how he hides it- smiling in relief at the conclusion of his harrowing youth. At the freedom to finally protect his citizens, and broach peace between every nation.
No simple task.
But Sokka watches, a cavernous feeling in his chest as something painful claws in and refuses to shake free.
And he thinks.
Maybe this is what all of what you contain is for. To breathe life back into your homeland.
And.
Maybe none of it was ever meant for me.
~~
Life continues.
And life is a mess.
Returning home to the Southern Pole is like stepping into a dream.
One he has had plenty of times, on nights where he would quietly wake up in tears at reality, but this time it remains.
He hugs Kanna so tight he mildly worries he is hurting her, but her hold is just as strong, and she rocks him just as she did when he was small. The feel of it seeps into every inch of him until his voice chokes, and he buries his face into the hood of her coat as he can’t stop the rush of tears that follows.
She doesn’t comment, she just continues to soothe him, humming lightly as her mitten runs along his back.
She feels much smaller than she used to.
~~
Days pass.
Months.
But the village is filled more than Sokka can ever remember.
People returning from outposts, from where some had fled to the Earth Kingdom, warriors returning for the first time in years.
So building, and rebuilding, has to happen.
It is a distraction, at least, and Sokka is able to keep his hands busy, to exhaust himself during the day.
At night, he dreams of fire.
Of living, breathing, flames, passing inches from his face.
Of golden eyes meeting his across a courtyard.
Across a prison.
Across an ocean .
Of colourful fire, dragon fire , twining around them both, close enough to scorch but the pain never comes.
It is just heat, filling out the hollow ache inside him with such dizzying relief he can’t take it .
It is a nightmare, and not.
It is waking up to the reverse of what it used to be. Being safe in his home, that no longer feels worthy of that name, and stifling his tears in a fur pelt.
It is feeling that dragon fire at night, and thinking.
Burn me to ash. It would be kinder, than having to live with what I never got to have.
~~
And then it is years.
Nearly two, before the avoidance Sokka has been maintaining is brought to a head.
Because Aang and Katara and Toph all leave. They all visit, they tell him where they’ve been and who they’ve seen and no one knows .
Katara might have a guess, every time she returns from the Fire Nation and says. “Zuko is doing well, he asked about you.” She is more gentle about it as the months wane on, not prodding but careful. “He really wants you to visit.”
“Maybe next time.” Even though they both know it won’t be. “When I'm not so busy.” Even though they both know he’s not.
But then the ice is cut from under him a few weeks later, when he wakes up to an elegant hawk swooping into his igloo and landing on a chair with a shrill noise.
And he feels his heart bottom out as he reaches for the little tied missive, unravelling it with only a slight shake to his fingers.
To Sokka,
I hope you are alright, and Katara has not been lying to cover up that you were crushed by an igloo and just doesn’t want to tell me.
I had hoped to ask in person, but since we haven’t had the chance, this will have to do.
Consider this your formal invitation.
I have reached out to delegates around the nations to sit on a council, and I would like you to consider the position as well. You have always been an excellent strategist, and your experience and traditional knowledge would be a great addition here.
Please consider this, and even if you don’t want the position, I still want you to come.
I miss you.
-Zuko
~~
Dawn is just peeking up when he stumbles out of his igloo, still shoving clothes into a bag as he rushes across the village to where Aang is just popping out of bed with a yawn.
“I need to borrow Appa.”
Sokka doesn’t know what look is painted on his face, but Aang just raises a brow as he takes him in, head tilted. “Are you… okay?” The airbender has had a growth spurt in the last year, putting them nearly eye to eye, and the concern in his friend's gaze is crushing .
“Just for a couple days, and I will send him back.”
Aang nods, and something flits across his expression before he stifles it.
“Whatever you need.”
~~
It is frigid in the sky.
Sokka forgot about this, it has been so long since he’s been up here.
But the wind whips hard, stinging against his face as they fly, but it keeps him awake at least.
So he sits, in the biting cold, with a letter rustling in the wind between his hands, and reads over and over and over .
I miss you.
~~
It is unfamiliar, the place he lands in.
So much of the city has changed, the outer walls of the palace carved out to let people in, to expand into markets and merchants quarters, and Sokka passes the busy fray of early morning as he sails over top of them.
Appa lands neatly in the sandy courtyard, knowing better than Sokka would, where to go. And Sokka slips off the side to land on legs that feel like jelly, before reaching up to pet his cheek. “Thanks buddy. Take a break, and head back when you want to, alright?”
Sokka turns towards the palace, feeling on edge, feeling on stage , as he carefully makes his way upwards.
Because it is not as if they were expecting him, it's not as if he sent a reply back, he just brought himself here .
But he knows where to go, and he makes his way past guards and staff, who all give him a quick nod as he passes, and heads to the throne room.
Except.
It's not a throne room anymore.
There is a sprawling oval table in its place, ornate and sectioned into desks, with one higher than the others that he assumes must be Zuko’s.
Assumes, because Zuko is currently standing in the open center and speaking to an older man holding a stack of ledgers.
He has grown as well. Taller, hair longer, shoulders broad in his Firelord mantle, and Sokka quietly watches for a moment and ignores the steady increase to his pulse and the ache in his hands, before he steps closer and into view.
Zuko stops, almost mid sentence, and his arms fall to his sides as he stares. “Apologies, I… excuse me.” The man makes a curious noise in response, but Zuko apparently can’t be bothered to answer because he crosses the space in a couple strides and crushes Sokka in his arms.
Sokka holds him just as tight, breath rushing out as heat sinks in.
He had forgotten this.
No.
Not forgotten.
He had shoved this away, and tried to ignore it.
The cold , that he has felt. The hollow, aching, biting chill, that hasn’t left him alone a single second since he went home to the Pole.
And it had very little to do with the temperature.
But the relief in the contact is so instant, so strong, it takes everything he has not to burst into tears at the feel of it.
Because Zuko is a furnace.
Always has been, but now more than ever, Sokka wants to curl up around him and just soak it in for a few hours.
“You came.” Zuko’s voice is raw to his ears, and guilt hits him full force as he remembers the letter once more.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
He feels the bone crush of his ribs, giving way beneath the vice of Zuko’s arms, and he thinks one must scrape against his heart, for the sharp rip of agony he feels at the words.
“Yeah. I did.”
~~
Council is interesting.
He falls into it fast, once he has quarters squared away and paperwork signed.
Zuko was right, at least, that his knowledge would be useful, and often it is very satisfying to splay a plan across a couple desks and work it out down to the last letter.
And if he gets a small thrill at catching Zuko’s eye in victory every time?
Well.
The Firelord is just as beautiful as he has always been, and twice as contained.
It drives Sokka mad, sometimes. To know the words that are curbed in light of diplomacy, and to know exactly what Zuko would say if given the freedom to do so.
He catches his eye in those moments too, raising a brow in offering.
Because Sokka is not the Firelord, and he does not have to choose his words so carefully, so he can say what Zuko is holding back if he wishes.
Mostly Zuko just gives him a slight shake to his head, but every once in a while Sokka gets the tiny nod, the permission to let loose, and he is more than happy to play attack dog for him when the need arises.
He settles into it, for a couple of weeks, too busy getting caught up to do much else, so it is with no amount of surprise when he settles for a night, to hear a wrapping sound from his door.
And even more surprise, to swing the door open and find Zuko on the other side. The Firelord is dressed down, hair loose and crown absent, robes askew as if he just tossed them on.
“Zuko?” Sokka is suddenly very awake, eyeing his friend where fire has pooled into his hand as a makeshift torch. “What’s wrong?”
Zuko’s jaw tenses, eyes red rimmed as he clears his throat and gestures vaguely. “Can I-” He cuts off, gaze darting behind Sokka quickly, before returning to him with a quiet sigh.
And Sokka gets it, instantly.
The hollowness behind the golden gaze.
The hope.
The desperation for a long ago comfort.
Sokka says nothing, but he reaches forward, fingertips finding Zuko’s and slipping forward along his palm, beneath the small held flame that Zuko extinguishes instantly.
Not quick enough, though.
Sokka can feel the warning sting of it against the back of his hand, and the press of heat from Zuko’s skin where it had been held. Zuko’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t retreat, and when Sokka grips his wrist and pulls with a nod, the relief that washes over his face has guilt turning to tar in his veins.
He doesn’t try to apologize, no matter how sorry he is.
He doesn’t want to invite the why .
But he can do this .
He can lead Zuko to his bed, and pull him straight down into it.
He can get him held tight in his arms, Zuko’s back to his chest, legs tangled.
He can let the feeling of rightness wash over them both, muscles easing the moment they contact, as if the alignment of their bodies is enough to erase even the worst of nights.
Zuko’s exhale shudders, and Sokka swears he can feel the ache of it in his own chest as he tightens his hold. His hand is caught in Zuko’s shaking one, as the rasp of his voice splits the silence. “I don’t sleep. Sokka, I can’t remember the last time I woke up and it wasn’t -”
He cuts off, and Sokka can feel the climbing speed of the breaths against him and the sound of a throat tightening at the end has something viscous and wounded settling in his belly. “I know.”
Because he does. Of course he does.
He also can’t remember the last time he woke up and it wasn’t terrible .
So it isn’t so much a guess, as a certainty, when Sokka asks. “What do you dream about.”
“The ocean.” The instant give of it is telling enough, even with the words still hoarse and strained. “Not.. drowning, but being pulled under. So far down that all the light disappears, and it is just black and-” Zuko shifts, leaning more heavily against him. “I am alone. And when I wake up-”
“-it's the same.” Sokka finishes.
Zuko’s air leaves him in a rush, and Sokka doesn’t have to see him to feel the small nod.
Sokka doesn’t let the quiet stretch, and reaches a hand to one of Zuko’s and draws it a little further from them on the bed, leaving his fingertips running lightly on the softness of his forearm. “Make a light.”
Zuko’s head tilts. “Now? Or…”
“Both.” Sokka doesn’t stop, stroking along the veins beneath the delicate skin where wrist meets palm.
He is rewarded for his insistence with the pulling force of a firebender inhale, before a flame whines into existence in Zuko’s palm. Just a small one, and it barely dances in the stagnancy of Sokka’s quarters, but the light and heat entrances Sokka instantly.
Sokka runs his fingers up once more, this time he curls around the back of Zuko’s hand and threads them through, and listens to Zuko’s huffed laugh. “Do not let me burn you.”
“You won’t.” It is a game of almosts, though. Because Sokka can once again feel the warning bite of near scorching against his fingertips, where they rest beneath the little flame. “Do this, in your dream. Make a light in the dark.”
Zuko sighs, partially amused as he answers. “I did, a couple times. When I woke up in a panic and lashed out. Still have the scorch marks on my ceiling.”
Sokka hums a laugh despite himself, jostling them lightly. “Continuing our running tally of property destruction.”
I miss you.
“But you should. Burn away the dark.” Sokka hooks his chin over Zuko’s shoulder, and pretends not to notice when the flame sparks brighter for a breath, heat a split second away from blistering before it recedes back.
“It’s not that easy.”
And Sokka thinks.
It would be. If you were any less kind. If you were the selfish prince you were always supposed to be.
But he doesn’t broach it.
And it isn’t long before the flame dissipates into nothingness again, as Zuko’s concentration breaks when he slips into sleep.
Even this is blissful, a balm on all his long festering wounds, and Sokka curls minutely tighter around him. All the hollowed parts of him sing out in relief, as warmth finally settles into the eroded cracks, and it is as easy as breathing to bury his face against Zuko’s neck and follow him down.
And he thinks.
You have shackled yourself in every direction, to prove you are not him.
And.
Burn the ocean.
~~
It isn’t a spoken thing between them.
The routine that falls in the wake of that night.
But it is a simple offer, in either direction, and impossible to refuse after the siren song of actual rest .
Sokka is already in the palace, having taken over Iroh’s wing, and the convenience of it means that neither sleeps alone again. They trade off which room they end up in, and Sokka is vehemently delighted the first time he sees the blackened stone on Zuko’s ceiling, true to his word.
And it is more than just missing him.
More than the distant longing he has held for so long.
It is the understanding, that only they share.
And it is more than it ever was, now.
It is catching each other’s eye across a feast table, an office, a councilroom.
It is becoming the team they used to be, the two headed monster finally let loose with actual power at its disposal.
It is quiet moments in the dark, of Zuko saying. “I will do anything, not to see my people afraid.”
And Sokka knows it is something else as well.
That there is a young boy still, standing up for the lives of soldiers and being punished , being burned , and that Zuko never wants someone to be where he was.
But Sokka has long since learned, that not all fire is equal.
Has long since learned, that Zuko is every exception.
~~
Whether or not the council picks up on the odd relationship between the two of them, Sokka is not sure.
But he is certain they can see the tactical advantage of how they work together, regardless.
And some days are simpler than others. Some days he simply listens, and offers advice, and doesn’t rip into traders that deal with the families of old blood.
Some days, he doesn’t jolt out of his seat as if lightning has struck him, the second he sees a hand drift towards a blade at a man’s hip.
Sokka is over his desk in an instant, and the resounding shock as the room finally takes notice almost covers the sing of metal as a dagger is unhilted.
He can get there in time to stop it, but he shoves forward just fast enough to get between, and the horrible thunk of a blade hitting his shoulder sounds, pain ripping in a second after as it pierces through the leather of his armour.
Sokka is facing away, so he doesn’t even register the face of the would-be assassin.
All he can see is Zuko, staring up at him in horror as he catches the flinch and grunt as Sokka buckles.
Zuko, wide-eyed, expression morphing into something else entirely. Fury burning into something volcanic.
Zuko cracking, air tightening in the room in anticipation as it waits, as he waits.
And Sokka thinks.
I missed you.
And.
I love you.
And.
Burn the fucking ocean.
Sokka looks him in the eye, the split second of reaction he can have, and smiles.
And Zuko slams a foot into his own desk, renting it in half as he steps clear through and tugs Sokka into his reach before thrusting out a hand.
The fire that engulfs the man is not just hot.
It's orange for the briefest moment before it blazes white, air screaming as it rushes to feed the flame. It grows louder, brighter, so hot Sokka can’t look directly at it, at the man so instantly dead it's as if he never existed in the first place.
He looks at Zuko instead, at the flames erupting from a point between his fingers, and the sparks flitting between his teeth as he tries to reign himself back.
Still .
And for what .
And Sokka has abruptly had enough, ignoring the bite of pain from his shoulder to lean forward and press his chest to Zuko’s side. His teeth graze along the clenched jaw as he speaks, nudging his nose into Zuko’s cheek. “ Make a light .”
The sound of the roar that rips through the firebender is so deafening that Sokka can barely hear it. But the rumble of it shakes the floor beneath him as Zuko opens his mouth and the tidal wave of flame adds to the jet of it from his palm.
It goes and goes, white hot and blinding, screaming as the seconds tick on, before it finally dies out. Zuko heaves breaths against him, and Sokka pulls back to look, knowing his face is nothing but soft admiration and no small amount of triumph.
Zuko’s eyes are blazing, face blood-flushed as he pants out of a mouth still smoldering and sparking.
He is a mess .
The type of violence and beauty that belongs to gods , and Sokka can’t stop himself from grabbing his jaw and kissing him.
It is a finally moment.
His body sings, pain ignored in light of the searing mouth against his own, fire on tongue that does burn, but it’s so worth it. Zuko makes a desperate noise into his mouth, gripping Sokka’s shirt and pulling him in harder, and Sokka can do nothing but press into him and chase the taste of inferno.
Parting from him is a task, but Sokka can’t shake the need to see, and turns to find the destruction left in the wake of Zuko’s anger.
It had been pinpointed, at least.
But the person who had been standing there is not just dead but gone . Not even enough ash to be collected.
The impressive part is not that, however.
It is the floor beneath.
Cut marble, stone , burned so hot it had pooled up at the surface, now forming odd crystal-like structures as the components struggle to reform.
The council is silent. Most pressed back from their desks to the outer walls for safety, and it is not fear that paints their faces.
Shock , flits about the room like a panicking bird. People who have only ever known Zuko as this , the Firelord, the diplomat, the carefully contained.
People who had not spent cold, miserable, nights in the wilderness with him.
People who had not gone to war with him, who had risked what they both had.
And Sokka thinks.
None of you understood the person who has been sitting amongst you everyday.
None of you knew what he is truly capable of.
He smiles, eyeing the melted marble and easily taking the weight when Zuko leans into his side, pressing a kiss to his temple in victory.
A flawlessness broken.
A darkness burned away.
~~