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The Earth Kingdom felt different without the weight of war pressing down on every street corner.
Ba Sing Se had its walls and its rules and its polite officials who spoke like they were reading from invisible scrolls, but the air carried a softer tone now. Vendors laughed loud. Kids ran without glancing over their shoulders. The canals reflected lantern light instead of smoke.
The Gaang had been in the city for three days, long enough for Sokka to memorize the route from the royal guest quarters to the palace meeting hall, and long enough to start pretending that he did not notice the way Zuko’s eyes followed him when he spoke.
Long enough to start failing at pretending.
They were here to meet with the Earth King about border repairs and resettlement and that whole mess of “who technically owned what” after a century of Fire Nation occupation. Zuko had insisted on coming in person, even with a stack of advisors begging him to send diplomats instead. Aang said it was brave. Katara said it was responsible.
Toph said it was a spectacular way to torture yourself in public.
Sokka kept telling himself he was only watching Zuko because it was his job. He was an important Water Tribe guy now, with a boomerang and a reputation and an annoying habit of being placed in charge of things. Also, Zuko was the Fire Lord, which meant Sokka should keep an eye on him.
That was the story.
It had nothing to do with the way Zuko’s shoulders went tight when a councilman raised his voice, or how he rubbed two fingers against his wrist when the room got too quiet, or how his gaze softened, just briefly, whenever Sokka made the Earth King snort-laugh by accident.
It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that Sokka wanted to be the reason Zuko looked care free more often.
Everyone else apparently had eyes. And ears. And a complete lack of shame.
Katara started it, casual as anything, while they were leaving a morning meeting that had included five maps and one very stern lecture about “proper forms of address.”
“We should eat in,” she said, like they were discussing the weather. “The palace kitchen offered to let us use their space. It might be nicer than another formal banquet.”
“That sounds great,” Aang said immediately. “Cooking party.”
Sokka opened his mouth to suggest they could also, you know, sit down somewhere and let someone else do the cooking, because they were guests and there were actual chefs who had trained for this, but Suki slid her hand into his and smiled sweetly.
“Perfect,” Suki said. “Sokka can help Zuko. Zuko wants to learn more about Water Tribe food, remember?”
Sokka stared at her. “I do not remember that.”
Zuko’s head snapped up. For half a second he looked panicked, like he was about to refuse on principle, but Katara’s expression had that calm, dare-you-to-argue look she used on stubborn people and angry spirits.
“I said I wanted to,” Zuko managed, voice a shade too careful. “If Sokka is willing.”
Sokka’s brain did something unhelpful, like replaying the word ‘willing’ as if it had a second meaning. He cleared his throat.
“Sure,” he said, aiming for casualness and landing somewhere near strangled. “I’m a delight in the kitchen.”
Toph snorted. “This is going to be a disaster. I want front row seats.”
The palace kitchen was enormous, bright with clean stone and copper pots hanging in orderly rows. The head cook, a round woman with a sharp eye and a sharper cleaver, gave them a quick lesson in what they were allowed to touch and what would earn them a lifetime ban.
Aang and Katara were shuffled to one side with vegetables and a very firm instruction to chop slowly. Toph claimed the job of taste tester and immediately started terrorizing the spice rack. Suki hovered nearby, perfectly content to peel and chat and occasionally look at Sokka with that smug little “I planned this” expression.
Zuko and Sokka were left at the main counter with a basket of ingredients and a list of dishes that somehow combined Earth Kingdom staples with “a few special requests.”
The special requests were, without question, Iroh’s doing.
“Kelp leaves,” Sokka said, pulling a jar out of the basket. “Who put kelp leaves on the menu? Those are a crime.”
Zuko’s mouth twitched. “Are they worse than the fermented bean curd I was told to try?”
Sokka looked up, surprised into a smile. “You tried that?”
“I did,” Zuko said, like he was confessing to a felony. “I regret it.”
Sokka laughed before he could stop himself. Zuko’s shoulders eased a fraction, and Sokka hated how much relief he felt at that tiny change.
They started with something simple: rice and fish steamed with ginger, an Earth Kingdom technique with Water Tribe seasoning. Zuko handled the knife like a weapon. Sokka tried not to stare at his hands, the neat precision, the faint white lines across his knuckles.
“You’re doing fine,” Sokka said.
Zuko’s knife paused. “I am not.”
“You are,” Sokka insisted. “Your slices are even. Mine look like they were attacked by a very determined turtle duck.”
Zuko huffed, quiet amusement. “I have seen you carve meat with a boomerang.”
“That was artistry,” Sokka said defensively. “Also survival.”
“Sure,” Zuko said. His gaze flicked up, caught Sokka’s, held for a heartbeat too long.
Sokka’s stomach did a slow flip.
Across the kitchen, Katara bumped Aang’s shoulder and whispered something. Aang’s grin grew so wide it was practically illegal. Suki looked like she was biting her tongue to keep from laughing.
Toph, of course, did not bother being subtle. “Just kiss already,” she called, loud enough for the head cook to glare at her.
Zuko’s face went red instantly, spreading up his neck and into the tips of his ears. Sokka nearly dropped the ginger.
“We are not,” Sokka blurted.
Zuko spoke at the same time. “We can’t.”
Toph made a rude sound. “Nobody asked if you could. I said you should.”
Katara snapped, “Toph,” but her tone lacked any real heat, which was a betrayal of the highest order.
Sokka tried to recover his dignity, which had fled the scene and probably taken a train to Omashu. “Ignore her. She enjoys chaos.”
Toph leaned back on her palms like she owned the palace. “I enjoy honesty.”
Zuko set his knife down with excessive care, like if he moved suddenly the whole counter might explode. “We should focus on cooking.”
Sokka nodded too fast. “Right. Cooking. Food. Normal friend things.”
Zuko’s eyes flickered, something pained and hopeful tangled together, and Sokka had to look away before he did something stupid with his mouth.
They got through the meal, somehow, despite Toph “accidentally” pushing them into each other every time she passed, despite Suki offering help only to mysteriously vanish whenever Zuko stepped back, despite Katara’s pointed reminders that “teamwork” was important and Aang’s cheerful humming that sounded suspiciously like a wedding march.
The food turned out good. Better than good. The head cook looked impressed, which might have been the proudest moment of Sokka’s life besides inventing submarines.
At dinner, Zuko sat between Sokka and the Earth Kingdom ambassador, forced into polite conversation about trade routes while Sokka watched him work through it, jaw tight, hands folded so neatly it looked painful. Every time the ambassador leaned too close, Zuko’s breath went shallow.
Sokka wanted to kick the ambassador into the nearest canal.
Instead, he leaned in and murmured, “Your tea is going to get cold.”
Zuko blinked, startled. “What?”
“Drink it,” Sokka said, softer. “You’re forgetting to take a moment for yourself.”
A muscle in Zuko’s cheek jumped. He lifted the cup, took a steadying sip, and his gaze met Sokka’s again. Gratitude, quiet and raw, sat heavy in his eyes.
Sokka’s chest ached.
After dinner, Toph cornered him in the hallway, because of course she did. She blocked his path with the confidence of someone who never had to worry about walking into people.
“You’re moping,” she said.
“I am not moping,” Sokka argued. “I’m walking with intense purpose.”
“You’re walking with intense cluelessness.” Toph tilted her head, listening. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s doing that annoying thing where it speeds up when you say his name.”
Sokka’s face went hot. “That’s not proof of anything. My heart speeds up for many reasons.”
“Like danger,” Toph said. “And kissing. Same thing for you, apparently.”
Sokka groaned. “Toph, please.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to be dramatic. “Listen. You think he doesn’t like you because he acts like a cat that got trapped in a bucket every time feelings come up. News flash. He likes you.”
Sokka scoffed automatically. “No, he doesn’t.”
Toph’s expression turned flat, the way it did when someone said something especially dumb. “I sit there and I listen to him at night. The walls carry sound. The floor carries vibration. He talks to himself when he thinks nobody can hear.”
Sokka swallowed. “He talks about me?”
“He argues with himself about you,” Toph said, and her bluntness softened just slightly, like she was annoyed at the world for making it complicated. “He keeps saying he doesn’t deserve you. He keeps saying he can’t want you because wanting things makes people leave or get hurt.”
Sokka’s throat tightened. “He didn’t say that.”
Toph’s mouth curled. “He did. He has a very dramatic sigh, by the way. You should tell him to stop. It’s obnoxious.”
Sokka stared at the polished floor, seeing nothing. The pieces slid into place in his mind, all the small moments he had brushed off as Zuko being Zuko: the way Zuko hovered near him without actually touching, the way he flinched at compliments, the way he looked relieved when Sokka teased him, like humor was a rope he could hold onto.
Sokka’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “What am I supposed to do?”
Toph jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “Go say something. Stop waiting for the universe to do your job.”
Sokka started to protest, but Toph raised a hand. “No. You are the universe in this scenario. Go.”
He did not go right away.
He tried, actually. He made it as far as the guest wing and then slowed, nerves crawling up his spine. Confessing feelings was supposed to be Sokka’s thing. He was good at bold. He was good at big speeches and goofy confidence.
He was not good at the possibility of making Zuko’s world heavier.
He hovered outside Zuko’s door longer than he should have, staring at the wood like it might offer advice. Light flickered beneath the gap. There was movement inside, soft and restless.
Sokka lifted his hand to knock.
A voice broke through the door, sharp and strained.
“I can’t,” Zuko said, and it sounded like pain. “I can’t keep doing this, Uncle. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”
Sokka froze.
There was another voice, low and gentle. Iroh. Sokka could not hear the words clearly, only the calm cadence.
Zuko’s reply came fast, breathy. “It’s not just the meetings. It’s everything. They look at me like I’m supposed to fix a hundred years in a month. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. I keep thinking about all the people I hurt and all the ways I failed, and I can’t make it stop.”
Sokka’s chest went tight, like a fist had closed around his ribs.
“I want,” Zuko said, voice cracking on the edge of a panic he was trying to swallow, “I want things I don’t deserve. I want him. I want to be near him. I want it so badly it makes me sick, and I can’t. I can’t drag him into my mess. I can’t be the reason someone else gets burned.”
Sokka’s hand dropped to his side.
Silence followed, heavy and shaking, and Sokka could picture it without seeing it: Zuko pacing, fingers clenched, breathing too fast, trying to fight a war that was inside his mind.
Sokka backed away from the door with careful steps, like any sudden sound might bring attention to himself.
Back in his own room, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his boomerang, because that was what he did when his brain refused to cooperate. He thought about grand gestures. He thought about the way Zuko flinched at attention, the way his shoulders tightened under the weight of expectation.
A grand gesture would look like pressure.
Zuko did not need pressure. Zuko lived in it.
Sokka needed to do this in a way Zuko could appreciate.
Something small, private. Something that said I am here without demanding Zuko carry some weight.
He planned for two days, because he was still Sokka, and planning was how he calmed down. He bribed the palace staff with compliments and a promise to share Water Tribe recipes. He convinced a gondolier to let him rent a small boat and keep quiet. He borrowed lanterns from a storage room and nearly fell off a ladder trying to hang them.
Suki helped without teasing, which was its own kind of support. Katara brought fresh flowers and did not comment on the way Sokka’s hands shook. Aang offered to make the lanterns glow with airbending tricks until Toph told him to stop being so obvious and go distract the guards.
Toph, predictably, said, “If you mess this up, I’m throwing you into the water.”
“Comforting,” Sokka muttered.
“It’s love,” she replied.
The evening arrived gentle and warm. The canal water held the last of the sunset like melted gold. Lantern light bobbed along the edges as the boat rocked in place, anchored just far enough from the main walkways to feel hidden.
Sokka waited, pretending he was not waiting, hands busy arranging simple dishes he had cooked with the palace kitchen and, yes, with Zuko the first day, because that mattered. Steamed fish with ginger. Rice. A small plate of dumplings the head cook had grudgingly approved of. Tea that would not get cold because Sokka had learned, apparently.
Zuko arrived with an escort of two guards and a political advisor who looked deeply suspicious of the water. Sokka stepped forward quickly.
“Thanks,” he said, and kept his tone light. “I’ve got him. This is…informal diplomacy.”
The advisor opened his mouth.
Zuko lifted a hand, jaw tight in that Fire Lord way. “Leave us.”
The advisor hesitated, clearly weighing obedience against panic. Zuko’s eyes sharpened.
“Now,” Zuko said.
The advisor bowed and retreated with the guards, though he kept glancing back like he expected Sokka to steal the Fire Lord and sell him to pirates.
Sokka waited until they were out of earshot, and only then did he let himself really look at Zuko.
Zuko looked exhausted. Not the normal tired, not the “long day of meetings” kind. The kind that sank into your bones and made you feel like you were always one breath away from falling apart.
When Zuko’s gaze flicked over the lanterns and the boat and the quiet water, his shoulders tensed, instinctively suspicious.
Sokka raised both hands. “No ambush. No secret meeting with the Earth King. No surprise wedding.”
Zuko blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Sokka grinned, because humor was a rope. “Relax. It’s just dinner.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed, but the tension in his shoulders shifted, uncertain and wary. “Why?”
Sokka could have made a speech. He could have done something dramatic. He could have blurted everything out, loud and brave.
Zuko deserved bravery, but he also deserved gentleness.
Sokka stepped closer, careful to stop at a distance that did not crowd him. “Because you’ve been carrying a lot. Because you keep forgetting to care for yourself. Because you act like you’re not allowed to have nice things.”
Zuko’s breath caught.
Sokka’s voice lowered. “Because I wanted to spend time with you where nobody expects you to be anything except…you.”
Zuko swallowed hard. His gaze dropped to the food, then to the water, like he needed something steady to look at.
“You shouldn’t,” Zuko said, and the words sounded rehearsed. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”
Sokka’s smile faded, into something softer. “Zuko, you don’t get to decide what I waste my time on. I invented a boomerang plan for taking down a war balloon. My standards are not high.”
A quiet, startled sound slipped out of Zuko, half laugh, half breath. His shoulders loosened a fraction.
Sokka took it as permission.
“I heard you,” Sokka said gently.
Zuko went still, like a deer hearing a snapping twig. His eyes shot up, sharp with fear. “What do you mean?”
Sokka did not move closer. He kept his hands visible. He kept his voice calm. “I heard you in your room. The other night. I wasn’t trying to. I stopped outside your door because I wanted to talk to you and I heard you and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I did what I always do. I planned.”
Zuko’s face drained of color. Shame flashed fast, hotter than anger. “You shouldn’t have listened.”
“I know,” Sokka said. “I’m sorry. I backed off as soon as I realized. I’m not here to use it against you or make you explain. I’m here because you said something and I can’t pretend I didn’t hear it.”
Zuko’s throat worked. His hands clenched at his sides, then loosened, like he could not decide what to do with them. “Sokka…”
“I like you,” Sokka said, plain and honest. “A lot. More than is reasonable. More than is convenient. It’s been slow and confusing and annoying and I’ve been pretending it’s not happening because you’re the Fire Lord and I’m, what, the guy who makes dumb jokes and accidentally starts wars with his mouth.”
Zuko’s eyes widened slightly, dampening at the edges.
Sokka breathed in, steadying himself. “You said you don’t deserve me. That you can’t drag me into your mess. I’m going to be really clear because I don’t want you guessing. I am already in this. I choose this. I choose you.”
Zuko shook his head once, quick and desperate. “You don’t understand what it’s like. Everything I touch turns into responsibility. Everything I do feels like I’m making a choice that could hurt someone. My father taught me that love is a weapon. Azula taught me that affection is a trap. I don’t know how to want something without feeling like I’m stealing it.”
Sokka’s chest tightened, and the urge to fix burned in his throat. He pushed it down.
He took one step closer, still leaving space. “You don’t have to know how to do it perfectly. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to stop being scared before you’re allowed happiness."
Zuko’s voice cracked. “You deserve someone…better.”
Sokka snorted, because he could not help it. “Have you met me?”
Zuko’s mouth trembled like it wanted to smile and did not know if it was allowed.
Sokka softened his tone again. “You deserve someone who stays. Someone who tells you the truth and also reminds you to eat your rice. Someone who doesn’t treat your pain like it’s a reason to leave.”
Zuko’s breath shuddered. “We can’t. Our nations…”
“Our nations are healing,” Sokka said firmly. “The war is over, and the mess is real, and people are angry, and there are disputes and treaties and meetings that make me want to scream into a pillow. I’m already helping you with it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Zuko’s eyes squeezed shut for a second, like he was fighting a wave of panic. When he opened them again, they were bright.
“It’s too much,” Zuko whispered. “I’m too much.”
Sokka’s voice turned steady, certain. “You are not too much. You are a person who survived a lot and you’re trying, every day, to be better. That’s not too much. That’s…brave.”
Zuko’s shoulders shook, just once, like his body could not decide if it wanted to break or hold. He looked down at the lantern light trembling on the water.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, small.
Sokka swallowed the urge to promise the world. He did not need the world. He needed a hand.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Sokka said. “We can do it slowly. We can do it one dinner at a time. You can tell me when it’s too much, and I’ll listen. You can have bad days. You can have panic attacks. You can have all of it, and I’ll still be here.”
Zuko stared at him like he was trying to decide if it was real.
Sokka held his gaze, unflinching, because Zuko deserved someone who did not look away.
After a long moment, Zuko exhaled, shaky and thin. “You planned this.”
Sokka’s mouth tilted. “I planned the lanterns. I planned the boat. I planned the menu.”
Zuko’s brows pulled together. “You didn’t plan what you just said.”
“No,” Sokka admitted. “That part just fell out of me.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by water sounds and distant city noise.
Zuko moved first, hesitant. He lifted a hand, halfway, like he was asking permission without words.
Sokka’s heart kicked hard in his chest. He did not grab for Zuko. He simply offered his own hand, palm open.
Zuko’s fingers touched his, light as an unspoken question.
Sokka let Zuko choose the pressure, the pace, the closeness.
Zuko’s hand closed around Sokka’s slowly.
Sokka’s voice dropped to something quiet and sure. “Eat with me?”
Zuko blinked, like he had expected a demand and received a kindness instead. His lips parted. A faint smile finally broke through, fragile and real.
“Okay,” Zuko whispered.
They sat together on the boat, shoulders angled toward each other, lantern light reflecting in their eyes. Sokka served Zuko first, because he knew Zuko would not do it for himself. Zuko watched him with a look that hurt, tender and disbelieving.
Halfway through the meal, Zuko’s breathing slowed. The tight set of his jaw softened. He started to talk, not about treaties or responsibility, but about the taste of ginger and how the palace cooks were frighteningly efficient and how he missed home even when being home felt like a burden.
Sokka listened. He laughed when Zuko made a dry comment. He kept his hand under the table where Zuko could reach it if he wanted.
Zuko reached for it more than once.
When the food was gone and the tea was warm, Zuko stared out at the water and spoke without looking up. “You’ll regret this.”
Sokka leaned back, letting his shoulder brush Zuko’s gently, a question in the contact.
Zuko did not pull away.
“I regret lots of things,” Sokka said. “Choosing you isn’t going to be one of them.”
Zuko’s throat bobbed. He turned his head, finally, and his gaze was unguarded. “You’re really staying.”
Sokka’s grin came soft, not cocky. “I’m literally helping you rebuild peace. You’re stuck with me.”
A laugh broke out of Zuko, small and surprised, and it sounded like relief.
Sokka’s chest loosened, like something inside him finally unclenched.
Zuko’s fingers tightened around his hand, grounding himself. “I can’t promise I’ll be…easy.”
Sokka squeezed back. “Good. Easy is boring.”
Zuko shook his head, smile lingering. “You’re impossible.”
“True,” Sokka said. “And you like me anyway.”
Zuko’s expression turned shy. He took a breath, steady this time, and his thumb brushed over Sokka’s knuckles.
“I do,” Zuko admitted.
Sokka’s heart thumped hard, but he kept his voice calm, because Zuko needed calm. “Good.”
Zuko’s gaze dropped to Sokka’s mouth, just for a second, and Sokka felt the pause, the choice.
Sokka stayed still. He let Zuko decide.
Zuko leaned in slowly, careful, like he was approaching something sacred. The kiss was gentle, more breath than heat, the kind of touch that said I am here.
When they pulled back, Zuko’s eyes were bright and a little stunned, as if he had expected the world to punish him and instead it had offered him warmth.
Sokka rested his forehead lightly against Zuko’s, laughing under his breath because he could not help it. “Toph is going to be unbearable about this.”
Zuko huffed a quiet laugh. “She already is.”
Sokka’s smile softened again. “We’ll deal with it together.”
Zuko’s grip on his hand tightened, steady, real. “Together,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word, like he was letting it settle into a place inside him that had been empty for too long.
The lanterns bobbed. The water carried them gently. The city hummed in the distance, alive and healing.
For the first time since the war ended, Zuko looked like he could breathe.
Sokka stayed beside him, not as a grand gesture, not as a savior, not as a promise that everything would be easy.
Just as proof that he was determined to keep his promise.