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He’s burning.
His skin feels too tight, too hot, sweat beading off his forehead and neck just for it to evaporate in the heat. The sun is heavy on his back, searing his skin. His blood is a fast, rhythmic beat in his ears.
He is 15.
He is 15 again and standing in the achingly familiar spirit oasis. The grass is wilted, smoldering, black. The pond where Tui and La swim is bubbling— boiling, he realizes— steam rising and swirling in the air. He watches Tui swim in circles with La, around, and around, and around. He can’t help but stare at the scar marring the side of her scales.
The sun above him roars and thunders, flames whipping out, then crashing in on itself. There is lightning in his veins, thrumming down into his limbs with static, a war drum in his chest. He is drowning in fire.
A gentle breeze blows through his hair, caressing his jaw, cheeks, and embracing him. He swears he can still smell her.
“Sokka.”
Sokka whips his head around, searching through the oasis for any sign of Yue, a flash of white, blue, something.
“Yue!” He cries.
Sokka stumbles towards the pond as the wind picks up. The smell of iron and salt reaches him; he feels bile rise up his throat and reluctantly he looks down, light refracting off the water and leaving spots dancing in his vision. He knows what he’ll find. But it doesn’t stop the way his limbs feel like lead.
Sokka blinks and he’s 15 standing on Crescent Island, lava rushing around him, burning, burning, burning.
In front of him stands Zhao. Sokka can’t hear him over the thunderous sun, the lava crackling and popping. He can’t feel anything but the drum in his chest, static in his veins, blood boiling, bones turning to ash.
Zhao swings his arms wide with a pompous, manic grin on his face, spittle flying from his mouth. Sokka can’t hear him but his body reacts all the same. His heart kicks up into overdrive, threatening to beat out of his chest.
Between one blink and the next, a towering blue stag is behind Zhao. It stares into Sokka’s soul, and he knows it sees all of him; all the intimate, dark, sticky parts of him he never wants to see the light of day. He freezes, stops breathing, his heart skipping beats. The stag’s very presence is overwhelming. And Sokka knows intrinsically that this being is ancient, older than Tui or La, as old as the universe itself. It weighs down on him from all sides, pinning him in place.
Sokka watches transfixed as Zhao conjures a flame from his fist, and he knows where this is going, just like with Tui, but is helpless to look away. All he can do is lock his knees and hope he doesn’t collapse.
The flames slide cleanly through the stag’s blue fur. A brilliant scarlet pours like a waterfall out of its neck, a large puddle forming in seconds. A monochromatic darkness falls over them.
He’s cold. Freezing. The sun that was loudly roiling above him cools near instantly, flames licking out of existence and becoming nothing more than a smoldering rock. The lava and magma that were freely flowing stops and hardens into obsidian. It’s as if all heat vanishes into a vacuum as soon as the stag’s neck is cut. Distantly a thought forms— Agni. The deity of fire and the sun.
Sokka has the ocean in his abdomen, eddies churning in his stomach, waves crashing into his ribs like the rocks at the bottom of a cliff. He is drowning, sinking.
A flash of red from his periphery catches his attention.
Zuko.
No matter what he does, his mouth won’t move, his larynx frozen and still. His throat is swollen shut.
Helpless, he watches. Zuko glides over the rocks and obsidian, his movements graceful, his head held high. Fire Lord Zuko. His crown glints in nonexistent light, his robes impeccable, hair falling over his back without a strand out of place. Zuko comes to a stop in front of the still bleeding stag, his robes dragging through the blood. His head turns over his shoulder and Sokka can see his beautiful golden iris glowing.
He’s drowning.
Zuko stares impassively back as he starts to break into golden light, fireflies scattering around the stag.
The sun roars.
Sokka jerks up with a choked gasp clawing at his throat. He heaves a breath as he turns onto his shoulder, grasping at the silk bedsheet, trying to ground himself into reality. Zuko, Zuko repeats in his mind. He flips his head around to stare at the fire-warm body next to his, breathing deep in sleep, hair a mess and head pillowed by his arm.
Sokka is 25, in Caldera, and in the Fire Lord’s bed.
Sokka runs a hand through his loose, sweaty hair. He stands up slowly, careful not to wake Zuko, and makes his way to the balcony across the room. The air is cool against his feverish skin, goosebumps raising along his arms. He leans heavily against the railing and looks up at the full moon, an empty void in his chest.
If he tries, he can still feel Yue’s ice-cooled hands sliding from his chin to cup his jaw, her last words still branded into his mind. Could feel the weight of her disappearing from his arms. And though he could recite her words from memory, he’s beginning to forget what her voice sounded like. The thought sends a sharp ice spike through his heart, freezing him down to his bones.
He knows she would not want him to still be mourning ten years after her death, would not want him to be projecting his fears and grief onto the warm body in the bed behind him.
Sokka knows. He tries. Some days, it’s easy— stargazing on a full moon with Zuko by his side, a warm reminder of what he has now, and where his future lies. Other days, he can’t look at the moon without feeling the melancholy settling into his bones and weighing him down by what could have been.
Where would she be, had she not sacrificed her life at 16 for her tribe, family, the world?
Would she have run away like Gran Gran had, to live her life the way she wanted? Or would she have become nothing more than a Chief’s wife, bending under the weight of their misogynistic traditions and customs?
Sokka doesn’t know what is worse, her having sacrificed herself at only 16, or for her to have still been alive but not living, forced to marry a man she didn’t love, in a tribe where she is nothing more than a woman to handle childcare and housework.
He aches for her, for a life she could’ve had, should have had. He doesn’t know whether to curse himself for not being able to do anything, curse Zhao for having existed, Iroh for putting the thought into Yue’s head, or all of the above.
In the end, it was her choice. But he can’t help the bitter resentment that fizzles up inside of him sometimes, the grief that he carries with him.
Arms snake around Sokka’s waist and he startles. A fiery warmth settles on his back, comforting and feeling like home, like the hearth in the middle of the igloo he shared with Katara and Gran Gran.
“Hey,” Zuko’s breath whispers against his neck, lips just barely grazing his skin. “Are you okay?”
Sokka shivers. The instinctive yes, I’m fine jumps to the front of his mind, but he stops himself. “I…”
Zuko is patient, content to lean against Sokka with breaths still heavy from deep sleep. He takes his time to sort through his thoughts, trying to find the courage to speak.
“I had a nightmare.” Is what he settles on.
“Oh?” Zuko’s lips and breath are warm against his neck. He gives a small kiss.
“It was about Yue. And you.” Sokka turns in his hold, sinking into the embrace, his head laying on Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko hums.
“You turned into the sun.”
Sokka closes his eyes and listens to Zuko’s breathing, his steady breaths calm Sokka’s heart and mind. He knows it’s an irrational fear, just a projection of his own past. But his subconscious still forces it upon him, afraid that another person he loves will once again leave him, with nothing he could do. Helpless.
Zuko huffs a laugh through his nose, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not touched by Agni, so I don’t think I’ll be turning into the sun any time soon.”
Sokka rolls his eyes, “Yeah, laugh it up, Sparky. Not like I’m telling you about my terrible, horrible dream fueled by trauma.” He can feel Zuko’s grin against his head. It makes him feel the slightest bit better.
“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I don’t mean to make fun of you. How can I make it better?”
Sokka gives a noncommittal hum, lifting his head to look into Zuko’s eyes. They glitter in the moonlight, his face relaxed and soft, the pinch between his brows that mar his face daily no longer there. He’s beautiful. Sokka trails a hand up Zuko’s shoulder into his soft hair, running his fingers through to get rid of any knots. Zuko leans into his touch, grabbing his other hand to press a gentle kiss to his palm, gazing into Sokka’s eyes with adoration glaringly apparent.
It fills the void in his chest with a gentle warmth. No burning or boiling. No drowning. He’s safe, Zuko is safe, and isn’t going anywhere.
He leans up slightly onto his toes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. When he leans back he catches Zuko chasing after his lips.
“Just you being here is enough.”
Zuko’s eyes linger on his lips for a moment too long before he looks back up with a shy smile, just a quirk of his lips. It falls after a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Sokka deliberates, staring and switching between Zuko’s eyes. “I just… wish I could have done something,” Zuko’s brows crease in understanding, his head tilting slightly. “I don’t know. Every time I remember that night, I’m reminded of my own shortcomings,” Sokka sighs and looks back out at the stars. “If I was stronger, or less of a coward—”
“Hey,” Zuko grips Sokka’s chin and forces him to look back. “Don’t say that about yourself. You are one of the bravest people I know.” Zukko’s frowning, his grip light but firm. “You are strong. Don’t sell yourself short.” Sokka stays silent, knowing Zuko isn’t done yet. The way he quickly bites the inside of the corner of his lip tells him that he’s mulling over his words.
“There was nothing you or I— or anyone else— could have done in that moment. Some things are completely out of your control.” Zuko strokes his thumb against the underside of Sokka’s lip. “Yue made her choice, Zhao made his. You are the only thing in life that you can control.”
Sokka sighs through his nose and looks up at the sky, knowing that Zuko is right. It doesn’t make it easier to hear.
“I know… I know that grief isn’t easy or predictable. It’s something you carry with you your whole life,” Sokka looks back down into his eyes. “You just grow around it.” Zuko’s hand moves to cup his cheek, wiping away a tear Sokka hadn’t realized fell.
Sokka sniffles and gives a small, choked laugh. “You sound like your uncle,”
Zuko smiles softly, sadly, eyes shining. “That’s a compliment.”
Sokka lets out a shaky breath and grips Zuko’s hand on his face. “Thank you.”
Zuko moves to give a lingering kiss on his forehead, holding him close for a long moment. His lips trail down his face, leaving small kisses in their wake. Sokka closes his eyes and basks in the warmth and love.
“Come back to bed.” Zuko whispers against his mouth.
They walk in a comfortable silence back to the Fire Lord’s bed, Sokka’s hand clenched around Zuko’s. He knows, in his soul, that he would never want to be anywhere but here, safe and warm and loved in Zuko’s arms. He would follow him to the ends of the earth, into fire and brimstone. He knows that Zuko would keep him safe, and he too would protect Zuko’s back with everything he has. Sword and shield. Give and take.
When the day comes when he has to part with his other half, Spirits have mercy on the soul that has to drag him away.