Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Azula’s the last one to come over. She rolls her eyes as soon as Sokka opens the door. “Aren’t you all being awfully dramatic?”

He steps aside to let her in and she shoves past him anyways, sweeping over to the couch and perching on the arm next to Mai.

Ty Lee has been a little weepy since she arrived, even with Mai on one side and Suki on the other, and she starts crying again when Azula says something Sokka can't hear.

He heads back into the kitchen. It’s small, and packed with cooking utensils, some hung on the wall where the cabinets and drawers ran out of room. He’s had the same two barstools since he moved in: one that wobbles wildly in all directions that they dragged down from Hakoda’s attic, and one that creaks when someone thinks about sitting on it that he found by the dumpster in the alley on move-in day.

“Azula’s here,” he says. Aang gracefully dismounts the wobbly barstool and Katara awkwardly slides off the creaky barstool, cradling her stomach.

“You’re a grown man,” Katara snaps, “Buy new furniture.”

Sokka lets it slide. They’re all stressed right now, and Katara’s been a complaining machine since she got pregnant. Gestating a human being is hard.

Besides, she’s all bark and no bite.

He follows Aang and Katara out into the living room. Toph’s in the beanbag chair (another one of pregnant Katara’s mortal enemies) with Iroh on the phone, and puts it on speaker when Sokka says, “So what did Ozai say?”

“Well Father says Zuko’s dead to him, obviously,” Azula says, “He’s cut off, and he’s not allowed back in the house, and he has to give me his car keys…”

“But how is Ozai going to prove it was Zuko?” Sokka asks, and Azula’s laugh tinkles like a bell.

“Ozai doesn’t need proof,” Azula says, “Who else could have, or would have done this?”

Sokka should have figured Azula would be no help. He opens his phone, refreshes the news article hoping for an update, but the timestamp remains 3 hours ago.

BREAKING: Alleged Insider Trading Exposed In Unconfirmed Email Leak

Ozai’s PR team must be busting their asses.

But no one’s heard from Zuko since the news broke. It’s not like Sokka thinks Zuko’s in any danger because of Ozai. Not when he does his deep breathing and reminds himself that this is real life.

It’s just. Zuko has been known to be somewhat emotional sometimes. Dramatic. Even if years of therapy have helped him even out considerably since adolescence. The fact that he hasn’t answered the phone or even opened any texts… Sokka’s not a fan.

He opens and closes every app in his Social folder. Zuko hasn’t even posted anything.

A knock on the door jolts him out of his worrying, and into a deeper state of panic as his stomach drops out. For a second, no one moves. Then Aang opens the door and screeches, “ZUKO!”

The two of them awkwardly shuffle in, Aang a head taller but still wrapped around Zuko like a spider monkey. Sokka leaps forward to join the hug and almost topples the three of them.

“It’s been three hours,” Zuko says, but Toph is barreling across the room, and she does manage to topple the lot of them.

“Where were you?!” She shouts, landing a punch square on Zuko’s arm.

“OW!” He wiggles away from her. “I was at the movies! I turned my phone off.” Zuko sits up, looking sheepish. “I kind of figured there would be fallout.”

“Oh there’s fallout, alright,” Azula says.

As soon as Zuko’s standing he gets an armful of weepy Ty Lee, and Mai comes to hover near them both. “I’m okay,” he says, “Really. I’m a big boy, I knew what I was doing.”

Zuko’s been distracted for the past week, speaking in vague riddles and always looking to philosophize about morality. When Sokka read the headline today everything had clicked.

But now he looks... better. Present, grounded. Letting Ty Lee hang around his neck while Toph describes in gruesome detail all the things they thought could have happened to him.

Zuko turns his phone on, chagrined to find not only ten million missed calls from all of them but also twenty million missed calls from his mother. He goes into the spare bedroom to call her back and there’s a beat of silence once the door shuts before everyone starts talking over each other.

Katara cuts through the din with a piercing whistle. “I’ll order some pizzas,” is all she says, and the chatter resumes.

Zuko can stay with Sokka, obviously, in Aang’s old room which has been sitting empty save for some boxes. Azula can bring his stuff from the house, and Ty Lee volunteers herself and Mai to help.

Zuko comes back out into the living room ten minutes later and rolls his eyes. “Why do you guys look like you have a plan?”

Zuko agrees easily to crashing with Sokka, and is only slightly reluctant to hand over his keys to Azula. Sokka suspects it might have more to do with her grinning like the Cheshire Cat than any second thoughts.

Toph’s pestering Katara for pizza tracker updates while Aang and Suki chat in the kitchen. Sokka sits next to Zuko on the couch. “You doing okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Zuko tells him, bumping into his shoulder. “I’ve definitely had worse days.”

Katara orders a mountain of pizza, an appropriate choice knowing this crowd, and Sokka shimmies in for a slice of pineapple. Zuko’s working on a slice of pepperoni, a little unusual for Zuko but it’s probably been a long day.

Sokka can’t help but notice him go in for a second and third slice. Not like he’s judging - Sokka’s already had five slices by the time Zuko reaches for number three. It’s just so nice to see Zuko eating. Nice to see him unrestrained.

The girls call from the street and everybody except for Katara troops downstairs to grab a bag or a box. Sokka has always thought of Azula as some kind of literal demon, but at least she remembers to bring Zuko’s art supplies.

When everyone’s settled upstairs there’s another flurry of activity around the pizza. Sokka made sure to save Ty Lee some slices of pineapple out of Pineapple Person solidarity, and Mai makes a big show of bemoaning the fact that she’s dating a monster who likes horrible pizza, declaring Suki her only girlfriend.

Zuko goes in for slice four after he stashes all of his bags in the spare room and changes into track pants. Sokka shouldn’t even notice him grabbing slice five, since Sokka’s in the kitchen grabbing drinks.

Everyone stays until late, even though Zuko is obviously fine. It’s harder to get together as adults, and Sokka thinks everyone else might also miss being kids and living in each other's pockets. Not that they don’t maintain a series of interconnected group chats and texts. It’s just not the same sometimes.

Azula leaves first, offering Toph a ride home. Suki, Mai, and Ty Lee follow suit shortly after. Katara hangs back to fitfully tidy Sokka’s apartment. “You’re sure you’re fine?” She asks Zuko for the fifteen millionth time, but he smiles as he waves her off.

“I’m sure, Katara. I promise.” Zuko says as Aang steers her out the door.

The weirdest part is, Sokka believes him. He watches Zuko snag one last slice of pizza as he stashes the boxes in the fridge, and thinks Zuko hasn’t seemed this comfortable in a long time.

***

The day after that is Friday and Sokka stays home from work. He and Zuko vegetate all weekend, getting takeout and letting Katara serve them a big family meal at her house on Sunday.

But when he goes into work on Monday he wonders if he might have made a mistake.

Sokka’s leg is bouncing, and he taps his phone screen to illuminate it the second it fades to black. There’s not even actually anything to be worried about. Zuko’s an adult. An adult who’s taking this family banishment surprisingly well. Not that never seeing Ozai again is anything less than a blessing.

“Sokka!” Sokka jumps.

He grins sheepishly at Yue. “Yes?”

“Yes?!? Sokka, I’m in the middle of talking to you and you’re a million miles away!” She’s being loud enough to stir Huu out of his daily 11 AM desk nap, but Sokka sees his phone screen dim out of the corner of his eye and cannot stop himself from tapping it to illuminate it.

When Sokka looks back up from his phone, Yue does not look pleased. “You can go home,” she says, and Sokka can’t tell if she’s being kind or being threatening. Yue is the coolest boss ever.

“I can’t take two days off work in a row because my friend is going through something,” Sokka says, the same reasoning he used to drag himself out of the apartment this morning.

Yue gives him a look that questions how much work he’s even doing, and he shuffles through the papers on his desk guiltily, looking for something to occupy himself.

His phone buzzes on his desk with a text from Zuko and Sokka gasps out loud. “His dad texted him!”

“Go.” Yue says, and Sokka chooses to interpret her tone as that of a supportive friend and not someone who is 110% done with Sokka’s shit today.

Sokka texts that he’s on his way as he files out of City Hall, practically sprinting all the way to his apartment. He slams open the door but is not met with immediate disaster.

Instead he finds Zuko in the kitchen, pitting cherries with a reusable straw. “I saw these at a produce stand today,” Zuko says, “I thought you could make that cobbler you made last week.”

Sokka feels like he’s in bizarro land. “What did the text say?!”

“Oh, I haven’t read it.” Zuko says, “I figured you would want me to wait for you.”

Sokka appreciates the gesture, but is dying of some horrible combination of anticipation and bewilderment at Zuko’s serenity. Zuko towels off his hands and opens up his phone, and Sokka finds himself crowding into Zuko’s space to peer over his shoulder.

It’s not like Sokka had expected Ozai to come pounding on their apartment door or anything. There haven’t even been any updates with the SEC investigation, not that Sokka’s borderline obsessive Google searches have revealed. But it fills Sokka with a giggly kind of nervousness to imagine Ozai hunched over his smartphone, typing out a text.

Your cell will stay in service until Friday, at which point Azula will come collect it.

It’s uncharacteristically dry for Ozai, who Sokka knows to be as campy as a Disney villain, especially when torturing his children is involved.

But a peek at Zuko reveals him to be taking it well, continuing to pit cherries.

Sokka’s not sure what to do. It almost seems like there’s nothing he can do. He opens a cabinet and grabs the flour, the sugar. “Can you preheat the oven to three fifty?” He asks.

It’s quiet as Sokka whisks the dry ingredients together but Zuko gets a text when he starts streaming in the melted butter. “Iroh’s going to add me to his cell phone plan,” Zuko announces, and Soka hands him a baking dish to spread out the cherries in.

Zuko picked the same day Iroh’s general manager had a baby to go ahead and get disowned, and Iroh’s been frantically trying to arrange someone to cover for him at the shop so he can be with his nephew. More than once, Sokka’s overheard Zuko on the phone assuring Iroh that things really are okay.

The cobbler’s in the oven shortly after that and Sokka follows Zuko into the living room, setting a timer on his phone.

Zuko flops onto the couch and Sokka elects to give him space, plopping into the beanbag chair. Zuko can be elusive with his feelings when he feels like he has to be. It makes Sokka uneasy that plenty of times in the past Zuko has been "fine" only for them to find out that was Very Much Not The Case The Entire Time.

Zuko’s spent years trying to win Ozai’s favor by any means necessary, and he’s spent years on top of that unlearning that behavior. Sokka sneaks a look at him, head tipped back against the back of the couch, relaxing, his hair falling away from his face, revealing his scar.

There’s a strong possibility, Sokka thinks, that Zuko’s already been through the worst of it. That maybe this isn’t another trial in the neverending hellscape of his childhood, but rather the end of the line. He’s an adult now, and Ozai has conveniently severed himself from Zuko’s life. Handed Zuko his independence on a silver platter.

“What?” Zuko says, and Sokka realizes he’s been caught staring.

“You look good,” Sokka says, and then he pauses, “I mean, you look like you’re doing good. Not to say you don’t look good but -”

Zuko laughs - a surprised, delighted laugh - and cuts him off, “Sokka, it’s okay. You’re right, I’m good.”

“I’m glad,” Sokka says. And because he’s nosy and can’t help himself he says, “Was this text, like, closure?”

Zuko’s face darkens. “There won’t be closure until I'm reunited with my sword collection.” He says, and when Sokka realizes he’s joking he laughs for like a whole minute, with a slow breathless recovery. Zuko’s his favorite joke-teller. Sokka almost just died.

“You did not almost just die,” Zuko tells him and he motions for the remote, turning the TV on to some miscellaneous reality cupcake competition show.

“On the bright side, if anyone can sneak 25 priceless swords out of a heavily secured building, it’s Azula.” Sokka says offhandedly.

“Oh, she brought about half of them,” Zuko says and Sokka says, “What?”

Zuko shrugs. “They weren’t all in my room. Some of them are in the family armory.”

“The family what? Zuko! How many swords are in this apartment?!”

“Ten, and two daggers. And a set of throwing knives.”

Sokka’s jaw drops open. “Uh, may I see them please?”

Half an hour later when the cobbler timer goes off, Zuko is taking pictures of Sokka holding the swords in various super cool poses to send to the group chat, and they’re taking turns describing the pictures for Toph. Some more nicely than others.

“Stop telling everyone what’s wrong with my form,” Sokka whines once the cobbler’s cooling on the counter and he finally checks his phone. Zuko smirks at him, perched expertly on the wobbly barstool. He makes it look like an art.

“I kept telling you to bend your knees and widen your stance.” Zuko says, but Sokka knows it’s just so their friends can most accurately make fun of him.

Sokka grabs a pint of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer. “I can’t believe I made you cobbler.” He says. “You’re a jerk.”

“I did the dirty work,” Zuko says, holding up his red-stained fingers, “But thank you for making me a cobbler.”

Sokka is weighing the pros and cons of bowls, but Zuko dips a spoon right into it when the cooling timer goes off. Which doesn’t mean it’s cool, as Zuko quickly finds out. He takes a quick bite of ice cream to cool his mouth down and grins at Sokka. “This is amazing!” He says, mouth full.

Sokka gingerly scoops out a bite and blows on it, and then scoops up some ice cream. It’s super good, definitely worth the mouth burn that Zuko keeps risking, and they lean side-by-side against the counter, spoons in hand.

What Sokka said earlier was true, Zuko looks incredible. Wearing one of his nerdy dragon shirts and track pants, hair all over, bare feet, standing in the kitchen with him eating cobbler out of the pan.

They finish the cobbler like that, and Sokka puts the dish in the sink to soak before they fall back onto the couch together, just in time for the next episode of the show they've been half-watching.

Baking and reality TV is pretty much a regular weekday for Sokka, but Zuko being here to yell at the TV with him and experience that just out of the oven joy with him is amazing. Everything seems better with Zuko around, and Sokka only obsesses over how to tell him that through most of the episode before he says, “It’s nice of you to be here,” because he’s an idiot and he’s been thinking of the best thing to say for so long that his brain is fried.

But then he says, “I’m glad you’re here. Seriously. I love spending time with you.”

Zuko looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his face. He bumps their shoulders together and mumbles, “I love spending time with you too.”

The credits roll on screen and Sokka heads to bed, grinning all the way to sleep that night.

***

They’re at the market hovering over a table of produce when Zuko says, “I should get a job.”

Sokka’s not sure what prompts it. Maybe the fact it’s been two weeks to the day since he unofficially moved in. Sokka sets down the eggplant he’s been inspecting but Zuko remains steadfastly interested in the onions he’s holding.

“You can, if you want to,” Sokka says, and picks the eggplant back up, grabbing a bundle of greens. “You don’t have to, though.”

He’s not actually sure about Zuko’s financial situation. Ozai cut him off, sure, but he could have his own money saved up from… ambient wealthiness. Money osmosis? Sokka’s no economist.

But Sokka’s been living on his own since Aang moved in with Katara two years ago and he doesn’t need help with the bills or anything like that. It’s actually been great just sharing the space with someone else again, having someone to eat dinner with and watch TV with and go on impromptu market trips with.

Zuko tucks the produce in the bag as Sokka hands over some cash to the vendor.

“I want to,” Zuko says as they’re walking away. “I want to do something to put on a resume.” Zuko’s been taking ten billion classes a semester since he graduated from the weird prep school he and Azula attended, and must have some kind of degree already because Sokka’s will never forget the excruciatingly formal graduation party he and Aang had to rent tuxes for. Currently enduring a full load of summer classes, he’ll finish his masters in Art Conservation after fall semester.

Zuko just shrugs, so Sokka knocks their shoulders together. “We’ll check out some job listings when we get home.”

After the groceries are away they settle into the living room. Zuko snags the beanbag chair so Sokka stretches out longways across the couch.

An hour later they’re still halfheartedly scrolling through job search websites when out of nowhere Zuko says, “I could always just do internet porn or something,” and Sokka nearly drops his phone on his face.

He says, “What, like, be a camboy?” and Zuko turns so red so fast Sokka thinks he might actually explode. But he doesn’t say no.

It’s Sokka’s turn to blush, suddenly overwhelmed by the unbidden mental image of Zuko on his laptop screen, some kind of grainy low-light webcam situation, wearing - Jesus, Sokka. Wearing something respectable and decent. Don’t be a pervert.

If he didn’t know Zuko, if they weren’t best friends, Sokka would probably pay anything for Zuko’s content. Suddenly the idea doesn’t seem so wild and Sokka’s mouth is very, very dry.

Sokka clears his throat. He says, “Well, that’s a valid career choice, too.”

Even after all these years Zuko can be hard to read, but Sokka thinks he said something right. Zuko visibly relaxes, dropping his head back onto the couch, dark mop of hair brushing Sokka’s side.

The timer on Sokka’s phone goes off and he says, “Sorry! Sorry!” as he dislodges Zuko’s head and bounds into the kitchen.

The tart is set when he takes it out, but that hasn’t been the problem. Sokka inspects the crust carefully before setting the baking dish down and turning off the oven.

He’s finagaling a cooling rack out of his overstuffed cabinet when he heads the creak of Zuko climbing onto the dumpster barstool.

He lets out a low whistle when Sokka turns around with the tart, picking up his elbows so Sokka can slide the cooling rack onto the counter in front of him. “The Finance Department better watch out,” Zuko says because he’s a good friend that has let Sokka serve them this tart for dinner every night this week.

It’s the Planning Department’s turn to through the monthly City Hall brunch and Sokka’s sole goal in life, at least until this upcoming Monday, is to show up the Finance Department’s spread from last month.

“Probably can’t do internet porn and keep eating everything you make,” Zuko says.

Zuko’s kept up eating basically everything Sokka puts in front of him, which has definitely been a little uncharacteristic, but it’s been so nice. Watching Zuko have the things he wants, seeing his quiet wonder at having something good not be ripped away from him, even something as simple as another one (or two) of Sokka’ blueberry almond scones. Or three.

Sokka keeps his voice light as he says, “That’s not true. That’s it’s own genre.” And he turns around to grab two plates to keep himself busy.

Zuko’s quiet when Sokka turns around, posture stiff. “Is it? A thing?” Zuko asks, and Sokka’s brows knit together in confusion until it clicks.

Oh.

“Yeah, it’s totally a whole category of online content,” Sokka says, aiming to sound like a worldly sex-expert type rather than someone speaking from extensive personal browsing experience.

Zuko seems to notice Sokka looking at him, regarding him carefully across the kitchen island. He clears his throat. “I did not know that.” He offers Sokka an awkward twitch of a smile and then looks away.

The tart should cool for longer, but that’s never stopped Sokka before. Custard clings to his knife and steam rises as he carves out generous slices. He eases them out of the pan, supporting each slide on either side with his fingers, ignoring manfully how much it burns, ow, fuck!

It’s still too hot, so Sokka blows on his plate as he comes to sit on the wobbly barstool. He breaks some crust off of the edge of his slice and pops it in his mouth. He thinks he finally nailed it.

Beside him, Zuko is hashafashada-ing around a full bite of tart, steam rising from his mouth. He grins at Sokka after the first bite. “Did you nail it?”

Sokka can’t help but beam back at him. Zuko had been a fan of Monday’s attempt (not enough color on the vegetables), Tuesday’s try (a jagged crack right down the center of the tart), and yesterday’s version (almost perfect but with a dry and lifeless crust), but Sokka basks in the praise of today’s tart anyways, warm glow of pride intensifying when Zuko grabs a second and third slice.

Zuko shuts himself up in his room after they finish the rest of the tart. It’s unusually quiet out in the living room without him sprawled out all over Sokka’s space, working on homework or showing Sokka funny videos on his phone.

He calls through Zuko’s door that he’s going to bed and then falls into his nest of blankets to watch Netflix.

***

Sokka manages to forget all about their conversation until he gets home from work the next day. He’s just popping in to change and grab Zuko, but Zuko’s nowhere to be found when Sokka lets himself into the apartment and toes out of his work shoes.

He follows the glow coming from the door of Zuko’s room, and then stops dead in his tracks. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

Sokka hadn’t thought anything of Zuko’s instagram stories today, rows of fabric at the fabric warehouse, shelves of glittering glassware at the thrift store, a cronut and elaborate latte at the bakery.

And he hadn’t thought anything about Zuko texting him and asking for permission to rearrange the spare room a little bit. He had texted back “dude ofc” and returned his attention to the meeting he was in.

But now, all of Sokka’s boxes of junk are pushed against one wall along with the mattress Zuko’s been sleeping on. The better part of the room is draped in rich fabric, reds and golds blooming from the far corner, some kind of lushly draped lump in the middle that Sokka assumes is a chair.

Zuko beams at him, turning from whatever he had been fiddling with and dragging Sokka into the room by the wrist. “What do you think?” he asks, and adjusts the red velvet draped over the chair when he adds, “I mean, it’s not done yet or anything. I just started today -”

“It looks amazing,” Sokka says. Zuko never does anything by half and this is no exception. He’s got a mismatched collection of lamps all over, the lighting bright but soft. Inviting.

Something glinting catches his eye, a silver tray peeking out of a cardboard box, which upon further inspection is full of ornate platters and bowls. The kind of grandma stuff Sokka skips right over at the thrift store but collected here together it’s different, a burnished silver and porcelain monument to this intensely sexy sense of excess Zuko is managing to convey with a couple of swaths of fabric and a handful of lamps.

Sokka’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Are you ready to go?” He asks Zuko. “We’re meeting everyone at seven.”

He hears Zuko’s “Just gotta put on my shoes!” as he retreats to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and heading to the fridge. When he reaches for the filtered water pitcher, which is always full now that Zuko lives here, bless, he’s not expecting to see a bakery box. Through the little plastic window he can see no less than half a dozen donuts. He abandons his glass on the counter and retreats to his room.

Sokka strips off his work clothes quickly, throwing on the closest shirt and pair of pants from the floor. He levels himself a look in the bathroom mirror as he re-ties his topknot. Keep it together, Sokka!

It was a much easier task when Zuko was just eating a lot for his own comfort and nourishment. Of course Sokka wasn’t going to get distracted by that (too frequently). That would be weird.

But buying boxes of donuts, setting up a filming space? It’s a bridge too far into Sokka’s kinky territory for Sokka to keep his cool very easily.

Zuko deserves the space to eat whatever he wants, Sokka tells himself. He ignores the little voice in his head that whispers he doesn’t want Zuko to stop eating like this and maybe if Sokka acts like everything is normal he won’t.

When he’s done in the bathroom, Zuko’s waiting for him by the door. The gang’s usual bar of choice is only a couple of minutes from Sokka’s apartment, so they start walking.

It’ll start getting cold in earnest soon but today it’s warm and the sun is golden, reflecting off the windows of the storefronts and the cars parked along the street. There’s a cool breeze and Sokka presses closer to Zuko, knowing he’s a baby that hates the cold but is also a doofus that has elected to only wear a short-sleeved tee shirt tonight.

It’s one hell of a look, Sokka will admit, practically painted on and tucked into cuffed jeans. But he knows for sure Zuko’s chilly when he leans into Sokka’s arm, flashing him a quick smile.

Sokka flicks his eyes over Zuko’s face, the quirk of his lips, his shaggy hair falling over his forehead.

Sokka wants to reach up and brush the hair out of Zuko’s eyes. He’s so caught up in the thought that he doesn't notice he’s tripping over a crack in the sidewalk until suddenly his feet are no longer on the ground, and Zuko’s arms are around him, hauling him up.

He feels solid and warm and Sokka mourns the loss of contact once he’s deposited back on his own two feet.

Zuko sticks close by him after that, but thankfully Sokka manages to avoid making a giant ass out of himself on the rest of the way to the bar.

Suki’s waiting outside the door, leaning up against the red brick. She bounds over to them when she spots them, hugging Zuko and then Sokka like they haven’t just all seen each other last weekend.

“Waiting out here for your girlfriends?” Sokka asks, and Suki nods, looking back over her shoulder like Sokka has the power to summon them.

“Aang and Katara are already inside,” she tells them, and Zuko squeezes Sokka’s arm before ducking into the bar.

Suki returns to her original spot against the wall and Sokka posts up next to her, feeling the gentle heat of the sun-warmed bricks through his shirt.

“Looks like living together is working out,” Suki says lightly, but when he glances over at her, her face says she knows.

He wonders if he can tell her Zuko’s ruining his life without going into any detail, but then scolds himself for being dramatic. Zuko is his best friend. His best friend who is clearly going through a lot right now. He needs Sokka to support him, not obsess over how many donuts just so happen to be in the fridge.

Six! His awful brain screams. There are SIX donuts in the fridge!

Sokka groans, letting his head fall back against the brick.

“That bad?” Suki asks with a laugh.

“It’s just that-” but then something knocks past Sokka and into Suki and by the time he gets his bearings he looks over to see Ty Lee hanging off Suki, planting a big kiss on her cheek. Mai’s not far behind her, and sidles up to Suki’s other side, nodding at Sokka in greeting.

Ty Lee works down the hall from him in the Parks and Recreation department, and she happily briefs him on all the drama on her side of the hallway as they make their way inside.

The girls head off to the bar but Sokka can see Zuko at the table with Aang and Katara, next to a drink that is clearly Sokka’s. It’s a blended fruit monstrosity that Jet would have totally given Zuko shit for ordering, even knowing it’s for Sokka. And he can tell Jet made his drink because right under the sweet punch of the fruit is the burn of what is definitely too much alcohol.

His sister is tucked up under Aang’s arm and he greets them both with a wave. Aang’s in the middle of a story about the baby racoon they’re rehabilitating at the shelter. Not standard operating procedure for a dog shelter but there’s no universe where Aang leaves an injured baby animal in an alley.

He’s wrapping up by the time the girls sit down and Suki says, “So, Katara, how’s the shower going?”

Which launches Katara into a tirade. Gran Gran’s decided to fly out for the shower and now everything has to be perfect, as if Gran Gran isn’t always incredibly proud of Katara no matter what.

It’d be annoying but Sokka knows how nervous Katara is about being a good mother. She’s going to be fantastic, of course, but there’s no telling her that. She always has to come around to things on her own.

But Suki’s piping up and offering to help, earning an excited squeal from Ty Lee and a glare from Mai when she inadvertently volunteers her girlfriends too.

Sokka keeps his mouth shut, already roped into doing most of the cooking and attempting to avoid doing any extra work.

“You know where to find me if you need anything,” Zuko puts in with a rueful smile, but Sokka knows he’s already on call for Aang’s pre-parental freakouts.

Zuko’s playing it surprisingly cool for someone who spent the better part of the day assembling adult video supplies. Sokka tries his best to follow his lead, laughing and smiling like normal, but he takes the first opportunity to slip away to the bar, as soon as their glasses are empty.

Sokka’s got his elbows on the bar, waiting for Jet to finish pouring Zuko’s draft when the door to the street BANGS open, and Sokka calls, “Hey, Toph,” without turning around.

Toph settles in next to him at the bar. She shouts “Barkeep! Liquor!” in Jet’s general direction, even though he’s only about two feet away from them. Judging by the way she grins when Jet grumbles under his breath but starts making her drink anyways, Sokka thinks she might have heard him clinking around within speaking distance.

“You’re being weird,” she says after a few seconds of silence, turning towards him like she’s on the scent of something new to make fun of, but not if Sokka’s actually upset about something.

“What?” Sokka says, wincing when his voice comes out high and insincere, “I’m, like, totally normal.”

Toph frowns, obviously leaning more towards concern.

Sokka wants to slink back to the table, away from Toph’s superhuman powers of perception. But he waits for her to get her drink and walks towards the group with her anyways, even though they’ve been coming here for years and Toph can navigate this bar as well as anyone else.

As soon as she sits down Toph says, “Sorry I’m late. Us real teachers had to stay after school for a meeting.”

Sokka hides his smile behind his drink as Suki says, “I am a real teacher. You had to stay because you’re the science content chair.”

“Someone has to care about these kids,” Toph says, but her deadpan is slipping into a grin.

Suki throws a balled-up straw wrapper at her, laughing.

They get another round of drinks, and Toph calls for a round of shots to be brought over to the table. Sokka hasn’t eaten since lunch, and doesn’t last for too long after shots, finding himself too warm and too wavy all at once.

He leans heavily into Zuko’s side who pulls back to look at him with a fond smile and a “Time to head out, huh?”

Sokka lets himself be pulled up from his seat with a wide grin. He keeps a hand on Zuko’s arm as he doles out his goodbyes, reaching out to ruffle Toph’s hair and getting punched in the side for his troubles.

He’s not even that drunk, just happy to see his friends and happy to be heading home with his best friend. He’s always liked Zuko best.

Sokka tells him as much as they head out of the bar, stepping into the twilight as the final rays of sun recede. “I’ve always liked you best, Zuko.”

He’s on Zuko’s scarred side but he can see that his skin flushes red all the way down his neck.

The cool air outside of the bar cuts through the worst of the swimming feeling in Sokka’s head, and he rolls his eyes when Zuko says, “How are you even thus drunk right now?.”

“I'm not drunk,” he says, draping himself over Zuko, “You know you’re my favorite.”

“Come around to the other side if you’re going to chatter,” Zuko says, peeling Sokka off and manhandling him to his left. Sokka does, giving Zuko the confusing second-hand run-down on Ty Lee’s office gossip, even though he can’t remember anyone’s name.

He lets Zuko shush him and pull him into a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and blinks for a couple of seconds at the menu before realizing he can’t read it because it’s in Japanese.

Which is how Zuko orders for both of them now, exchanging words for a couple of minutes with the older woman behind the counter.

It’s tiny inside, the whole restaurant not much wider than the counter itself. The walls are deep red, the one behind the counter an elaborate collage of newspaper and magazine clippings, likely reviews. Zuko sits on the tiny waiting area bench and Sokka leans against the wall next to it, tipping his head back to enjoy the soft lighting and the quiet music playing from a radio on the counter.

He sneaks a look at Zuko, who’s busy scrolling through his phone, face illuminated blue. He watches as Zuko reaches up absentmindedly to tuck some hair behind his ear.

Sokka must be more drunk than he thinks, with the powerful way his stomach swoops at the sight.

But then Zuko’s being handed two bags over the counter and they’re shuffling back out into the street. It’s not until they’re back in the living room, Sokka finding something to watch while Zuko unloads the bags, that he realizes how much Zuko bought.

They settle in together on the couch, Zuko handing him one of three steaming containers of soup, and opening up two styrofoam containers of rice balls on the coffee table.

Sokka breaks apart his take-out chopsticks and cracks open the lid to his soup as the show starts up in the background.

“I told Katara I’d help her with the shower games while you were at the bar,” Zuko tells him around a mouthful of noodles, looking a little bewildered at what a shower game is.

Sokka’s pretty sure most people don’t plan their own baby showers, but it’s not exactly like Mom is here to step in and help. The least he, Dad, and Bato can do to pick up the slack is follow orders.

She’s being a lot more relaxed than she was about her wedding, at least. He tells Zuko that, grinning as he slurps his noodles, which are delicious.

“Do you remember?” Zuko says, “Two days before the wedding when we found out the wedding favors had a typo?”

“And we stayed up all night hot-gluing ribbons to the sides of the candles to hide it?” Sokka knocks their ankles together, “Of course I remember.”

Zuko’s knee bumps into Sokka’s and Sokka says, “I’ve lived here for years, how have I never known about this place?”

“It’s one of Iroh’s favorites.” Zuko says with a shrug.

“Any news there?”

Zuko shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a ball of rice off the coffee table. As soon as he pops the last bite in his mouth he’s reaching forward for the second container of soup, piling two rice balls on the lid.

All at once, Sokka’s memories from earlier come thudding back into his skull, slicing through his pleasant buzz.

The spare bedroom redone as some kind of sexy curtain warehouse, the half dozen donuts suddenly screaming in the fridge. Sokka blinks and the empty soup container is no longer future recycling but something illicit, something he shouldn’t have noticed but can’t unsee.

Definitely time to go to bed.

Sokka stands, feeling absurdly guilty, and says, “Well, I think it’s time for me to hit the old dusty trail.”

Zuko looks at him like he’s a weirdo, which is warranted, but turns the TV down a couple of clicks and says, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be up, either.”

The rest of that soup and four rice balls longer, Sokka’s hideous brain screams, and he holds out the other half of his own soup to Zuko, who shrugs and accepts it.

Sokka high-tails it to his bedroom and slips under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in the dark and trying to think about anything else, and failing monumentally.

***

The next morning, Sokka wakes up to Zuko in the shower and the bakery box empty in the trash.

He’d berate himself for noticing but he hasn’t had enough caffeine to moderate his inner monologue, and as he grinds up some coffee beans and heats up the water he wonders idly if Zuko would notice if Sokka left him here and got a second apartment.

He feels some fondness kicking up in his heart at the thought of Zuko, No-Cake-At-My-Own-Birthday-Party Zuko, eating whatever he wants because it just occurred to him it won’t affect his worth as a person, but it leaves a bad aftertaste in his mouth when he thinks about how many birthdays Zuko probably didn’t have cake at.

The water turns off and Zuko, weirdly averse to drying off in the bathroom regardless of how many times Sokka suggests it, drips through the apartment to the second bedroom with his towel tied around his hips.

“You’re making coffee?” Zuko asks, and when Sokka looks up to collect his praise as Coffee Hero Of The Morning he’s greeted with the realization that Zuko’s a little bit thicker around the waist, doesn’t have quite as much bone showing through his skin.

“Coffee. Yes.” Sokka says, brain suddenly empty but for the newly softening contours of Zuko’s torso in the early morning light. “I can make breakfast too,” Sokka offers, glancing around the kitchen. “French toast? Scrambled eggs?”

“Sounds great,” Zuko says, “Let me get dressed and I’ll help you.”

Zuko could burn water, but Sokka puts him to work chopping up veggies and fruit. He waits until the last slice of French toast is in the pan to beat the eggs in the same bowl, Sokka is a Dish Wizard, and he tosses handfuls of veggies into the pan as Zuko divides the fruit up onto plates.

A couple minutes later they’re settling down onto the couch with coffee and plates of breakfast. Zuko must have had the donuts last night because he’s eating with gusto this morning. “This is amazing, Sokka,” he says around the last of his eggs, before starting in on his french toast.

Sokka mumbles something about local produce and is eternally, cosmically grateful that his phone pings with a text just then, even if it turns out to be an itinerary text from Katara.

“You're coming to the flea market with us later, right?” Sokka asks.

“Mmmhmm,” Zuko nods, chipmunk cheeks full of French toast before swallowing, “Why? Did Katara send out the itinerary?”

“We have plenty of time to get ready, though,” Sokka says, which turns into too much time spent playing Smash and then tripping over each other in the bathroom and the hallway as they try and get ready at the same time.

Sokka brushes his teeth and does his hair at warp speed to give Zuko enough time for his elaborate skincare routine in the bathroom, and he’s ready moments before Zuko, peeking out the window to see if Katara is pulling up.

“You should bring a jacket,” he calls behind him into the apartment. “It looks cloudy.” Sokka can’t make out what Zuko shouts back but rolls his eyes anyway, feeling safe in the assumption it was sassy.

Katara’s SUV is pulling up out front when Zuko exits his room, looking unfairly sexy in his striped shirt, dutifully carrying a jacket in his hands. No, Sokka tells his brain, He doesn’t look sexy. He looks like a stupid mime.

A sexy mime, his idiot traitor brain pipes up, and then Katara lays on the horn and they’re grabbing keys and reusable bags and scooting out the door.

“Hey, guys!” Katara says when they tumble in the back seat, like she wasn’t just trying to wake up the entire neighborhood.

“Sokka, it’s noon,” she says, turning back to the road and shifting the van into drive, “I think everyone’s awake.”

They're listening to something acoustic and warbling, which means Aang has the aux cord. Sokka bats at the back of Aang's seat. "Let me put something on."

Before Aang can move, Zuko groans and Katara snaps, "Absolutely not!"

"It was one time," Sokka says, "And it was five years ago."

It's only about half an hour to the flea market, a yearly affair hosted by the senior center a couple of towns over, but it's still too long of a ride to spend the whole time rehashing High School Musical 2 Soundtrack Incident.

Sokka lets it go, and the Sad Guitarist In The Woods Power Hour warbles on.

At some point between last night and this morning, Zuko read an entire encyclopedia's worth of information about baby shower games. He has notes on his phone he's scrolling through as he talks to Katara, and he has opinions.

Katara looks like she's biting back a smile as he goes on, "Also no baby food tasting," Zuko says.

"Alright," she says.

"And no diaper game."

"Obviously." Katara's hold on her faux serious expression slips for a moment. Sokka peeks over at Zuko's phone. The scroll bar is so tiny. He's just getting started.

"Zuko," Aang says, "Are there any games we can play?"

"I'm glad you asked," Zuko says. "I made a baby quiz."

"You what?" Sokka bats at Zuko's arm, "Can I see it? Let me see it."

Zuko hands his phone over. Sokka scrolls through the quiz (multiple choice) and takes careful breaths through his nose to keep from laughing. "This is perfect," he says finally, handing Zuko's phone back to him.

“It better not be inappropriate,” Katara warns.

Sokka waves her off. “It’s perfect, stop worrying.”

Katara lets them off the hook in favor of merging into the exit lane, flipping her blinker on as she slides over.

There’s large stretches of rolling grass once they exit the highway, a steady blur of green dotted with farms.

“Look at the cows!” Aang says, pressed up against the window.

Sokka tugs at Zuko’s sleeve. “Cows, Zuko!”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “I’m right here, I can see the cows,” but he leans over anyways, into Sokka’s space. He’s warm and solid, leaning heavily against Sokka’s side.

The senior center isn’t too far from the cows, and soon they’re pulling off the road and being directed by a teenager in an orange safety vest to park in a field. There are tents set up all over the parking lot, and some tables spilling out into the grass.

Katara spots a table full of artsy wooden baby toys and ambles out of the car towards it, Aang hovering behind her the whole way.

He and Zuko set off in the opposite direction, aimlessly wandering aisles of tents and tables, until Zuko grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs him urgently forward.

Zuko drags him all the way to the front of a coffee cart and orders a latte, turning to Sokka for his order.

Sokka says, “Black coffee” and Zuko turns around to tell that to the person in the cart, and tacks on a couple of pastries. He holds out the paper bag to Sokka while they wait for their drinks, and Sokka peeks inside to see a croissant and an eclair before politely declining.

Zuko’s got his croissant in one hand and his latte in the other as they browse the market. Sokka stops to buy a jar of wildflower honey, hearing while he pays the vendor when Zuko fishes around in his bag for the eclair.

Sokka refuses to watch him eat it, reading the blurb on the side of the honey jar instead. “Wow,” Sokka says, clutching his coffee cup in one hand and white knuckling the jar in the other, “This family has been keeping bees since 1894.”

“Hmmf,” Zuko says around a mouthful of pastry, and Sokka takes a long, fortifying drink of his coffee.

He’s almost relieved when they bump back into Aang and Katara at a table selling homemade soap, but they’re discussing sulfates when Sokka and Zuko join them and it’s all pretty lame.

“There’s someone selling maps over there,” Aang points, and that grabs Zuko’s attention.

After Aang drags Zuko off to look at a dozen boxes of rolled-up maps, Sokka follows behind his sister as she drifts toward a tent with stacks of paintings underneath.

She flips through one of the stacks, pausing for long enough at a duck in a bonnet that Sokka thinks he might have to step in. Thankfully she keeps going looking through the paintings, and Sokka's free to wander off to the other side of the tent.

A gold frame catches his eye, tucked behind a couple of paintings, and when he leans the pictures out of the way he sees the frame, ornate burnished gold, contains a mirror that stands maybe three feet high.

Sokka can imagine it in Zuko's room, a perfect complement to the dramatic red fabric, and he decides instantly he's going to buy it.

The $90 price tag does little to dissuade him, and he lets the little tattooed lady running the tent wrap the mirror up in kraft paper so it makes it home in one piece.

Sokka's watching her tie the whole bundle up with string when he's hit with an unwelcome mental image of Zuko making content in the mirror, reacting to his softened edges or even reacting to his exaggerated soft curves later on down the line. Zuko, striking against the dark backdrop of red fabric, showing-

"Sir!" The lady has the mirror wrapped and held out to him, looking a little concerned but mostly annoyed.

"Sorry!" He says, sheepish, taking the mirror. He joins Katara outside of the tent, who flashes him a questioning look.

He doesn't dare dwell on the mirror he's holding as he watches Katara dig through tubs of kids books, and forces himself to get pretty invested in Katara's search for the perfect nursery lamp.

It's almost time to find the boys when she finally settles on one, not happy with the shade ("You can buy a new shade, Katara") but pleased with the wide, heavy base she's confident the baby won't easily knock over.

“I need a favor,” Sokka says as they’re walking to the designated meet-up spot.

He’s carrying the lamp she found for the nursery, and her tote bag of books, and she looks at him appraisingly. “Yeah? What do you need?”

“I want to get the boxes out of the spare room,” Sokka says, blushing for some unknown reason. He wants to make sure Zuko knows what a positive addition he’s been to Sokka’s life. Zuko doesn’t belong squished into nooks and crannies. He deserves space. “I’m sure dad will let me put them in the attic.”

“I’ll drive you,” Katara says, “I need to pick up the crib from dad’s house anyways." She's giving him a weirdly searching look when she says, "Does tomorrow work?"

"Tomorrow sounds good."

He spots Zuko like a beacon in the churning crowd. He and Aang are standing near the spiced nut cart, paper cones of nuts in hand.

Sokka and Katara make their way over. Aang slides an easy arm around her shoulders, holding out his nuts in offering.

Zuko sidles up next to him. He also extends his nuts in offering, and Sokka declines. Sokka isn't very fond of the trope of healthy food slathered in sugar and butter, he would rather have something legitimately healthy or junk food that's not lying to itself.

They pile back into the car, stowing his and Katara's haul alongside Aang's pile of weird smoked bones. "They're for the dogs at work," Aang says when Sokka eyes them wearily. Sokka knows his way around soup bones, but these things are brown and crusty and weird.

The drive back feels shorter than the drive out, and they make it back just in time for lunch.

"Do you guys want to grab something?" Zuko asks, but Katara shakes her dinner.

"I need a nap," she says and Sokka believes her, isn't sure how she manages entire shifts at the ER all round and waddly and cranky like that.

Katara drops them off and Sokka trails behind Zuko up the stairs to the apartment, mirror in hand.

Zuko is already talking about what to do for lunch, tossing out take-out options and then shooting down his own suggestions because of the plastic involved.

"Pizza doesn't come in plastic," Sokka says, and he's not sure why he was expecting Zuko to say no. It's not like he can read Sokka's mind, which is already spinning in circles wondering how much Zuko will eat.

Sokka calls it in to the little pizzeria around the corner, and when he hangs up and turns to face Zuko, he can feel his nerve about the mirror situation slipping away.

He blurts out, "I saw this and thought you might like it," surprising himself as much as Zuko, and he grabs the mirror from where it's leaning against the wall by the door and thrusts it toward Zuko.

Zuko looks at him questioningly before untying the string around the package and gently nudging the kraft paper out of the way, letting it fall to the floor.

He looks at the mirror for a long time. Sokka can see Zuko's good eye moving rapidly over the mirror, flicking around the flame and occasionally sneaking a look up at Sokka.

"I thought you could use it for your videos or something," Sokka says, stomach-churning embarrassment starting to creep in at Zuko's silence, "I thought it matched your whole set up."

Sokka takes deliberate breaths, focuses on calming his own tumultuous emotions in order to give Zuko enough time to process.

Eventually he looks up at Sokka, and his face says it all. Sometimes Zuko is absolutely floored when people are nice to him, and it's an expression Sokka can spot easily.

He sets the mirror down and moves towards Sokka, "Thank you," he says before moving in for a hug.

He's only two or three inches taller than Zuko but when he wraps his arms around him he feels so small

They walk to the pizzeria after that, side by side in the sunlight, and Zuko looks surprised to find Sokka ordered two pizzas, just for the two of them.

"So we can have leftovers," Sokka explains.

He's sure they will, but Sokka himself is a 4-5 slice on average guy, and just wants to make sure there's enough pizza for Zuko to take his five slices again. If he wants to.

Not that Sokka wants him to eat five slices of pizza or anything. He just wants Zuko to have the option. Can't bear the thought of Zuko hungry or disappointed.

When they get back in and settle onto the couch, Sokka tells Zuko he doesn't care what he puts on.

Sokka tries to find anything to grab his attention on his phone, a quick scroll down a news site, his social media timelines, the RTS fishing game he's been obsessed with.

It's hard when he's hyper focused on Zuko, relaxing back onto the couch and reaching for a box of pizza as the opening credits to Love Amongst The Dragons play onscreen.

Once the movie's over and they're tidying up, Sokka pretends he knows how many slices Zuko ate by seeing how many are missing and subtracting his own 6 slices.

***

Monday morning at work, Sokka is unreasonably smug. He’s been up since 4 AM prepping veggies and rolling out crust, but his roasted vegetable tart is the talk of the Monthly City Hall Brunch.

“I totally showed the Finance Department,” he crows to no one in particular, the Finance Department themselves standing in a cluster on the other side of the Rec Hall far out of earshot.

“Your feud with Hahn is getting out of hand,” Yue says.

“This isn’t about Hahn,” Sokka says, but he's been asking people if his tart is better than Hahn’s quiche from last month.

Most people said it was, so Sokka has no idea what Yue is talking about. Clearly the feud is going very well.

He Snaps Zuko a blurry picture of the corner of his head and the drop ceiling of the Rec Hall. “The tart is a hit!”

Moments later he gets an equally haphazard picture of Zuko’s forehead, “Ofc!!!! It & you are great!!” He’s outside, the sky big and blue behind him.

Sokka feels so unreasonably pleased with himself it’s only minorly nauseating when Hahn strides over, glowering over a sensible slice of tart.

“Sokka.”

“Hahn.”

“Your tart is… Edible.”

“Just something I threw together,” Sokka shrugs, and Hahn narrows his eyes.

Sokka's phone buzzes again, another Snap that he taps to open it.

They must be at the park with the duck pond Zuko likes, over by Sokka's favorite samosa place.

Zuko's using the cat filter he's obsessed with, natch, and it looks like he's trying not to laugh for long enough to snap the picture, eyes shining and lips quirked into a half-smile.

Sokka's heart skips a beat, and he has to concentrate so hard on not taking a screenshot that he almost drops his phone.

Sokka's basically useless for the rest of the day, practically floating through two meetings with a steady stream of Hahn can kiss my ass/ZukoZukoZukoZuko/Seriously fuck Hahn though floating through his head.

When he gets back to his desk to an email from the Finance Department that three of his purchase orders have been pushed back on a technicality, he can only laugh, and snap Zuko a picture of his computer screen with a couple knife emojis thrown in.

“Can you believe Hahn?” Sokka calls as he walks in the front door, tossing his keys in the bowl and taking off his shoes.

“What about him?” Zuko calls back.

“He denied my paperwork because he’s jealous trash,” Sokka tells Zuko, as if he hadn’t been snapping Zuko the entire saga, blurry pictures of his work computer screen and all.

“He is jealous trash,” Zuko agrees, fiddling with something on his laptop, eyes not leaving his screen.

Sokka drops down onto the beanbag chair, “Thanks for helping me test the recipe. I couldn’t have kicked that much ass without you.”

Zuko’s eyes are still flicking around his screen when he says, “Well, you make a good tart.”

“Wanna take a break?” Sokka asks, “Grab some dinner?”

That finally gets Zuko to look up. He considers it for a moment and then says, “I could eat.”

Sokka ducks into his room to shuck his work button-up and slip into sneakers.

Once they're walking down the street, Zuko doesn't seem to be paying any better attention. He nods at every dinner option Sokka tosses out, and eventually Sokka steers them into the line for his favorite Cubano food truck.

It's not until they're halfway to the ordering window that Zuko says, "I filmed a video today."

"That's awesome!" Sokka forces himself to say, even though his entire brain is an ocean of images of what exactly Zuko filming a video entails, "How did it go?"

Zuko goes quiet for a while again, and they have their sandwiches in hand when he says, "I don't think it went very well."

Sokka winces sympathetically, knocking their shoulders together. He steers them to a bench and flops down, Zuko following suit.

He's not expecting Zuko to say, "I think I just need more practice."

He looks over. The sun has long since disappeared behind the buildings but it's not dark yet, and Zuko is holding a sandwich the size of his head.

Sokka tries to ignore the giddy patter of his heartbeat. Sokka tries to tell himself he's neutral about any potential online entertainment career Zuko might have. He's not positively dying to see Zuko's spin on the same kind of content Sokka watches almost daily.

"Practice filming, or…?" Sokka trails off, unsure. Zuko's been getting some fantastic practice eating. "Being filmed, being casual."

Sokka's gotten off to plenty of videos in his time that haven't exactly had Oscar-worthy performances, but somehow he thinks that might not be very comforting, or appropriate.

He does know that anything Zuko’s put this much thought and time into is going to work out, though, and that’s what he ends up saying, “You’ll hit your stride, dude,” and then takes a huge bite of sandwich so he can’t keep talking.

When they're almost back to their apartment, Zuko's phone beeps with a new text and Zuko says, "Huh."

"What's up?"

"Iroh's got someone to cover for him at the shop next weekend," Zuko says, "He'll be here next Friday."

"He can stay with us," Sokka offers, "You can bunk with me."

It's a little bit of a scam on Sokka's part - no one likes to play Pai Sho as much as Iroh - but also Sokka is itching for a distraction from all of the filming, everything that's getting way too sexy way too fast.

***

Very quickly, Sokka finds out it was false hope that Iroh coming out to visit would distract Zuko from filming. For one thing, Zuko is pretty impossible to distract. And even worse, Iroh's visit seems to have given Zuko the sense that he needs to hurry up and get all of his practice in before Iroh comes.

Sokka comes home every day to find Zuko stretched across the couch or beanbag chair fussing with editing software on his laptop and boundless embarrassment at getting a half chub looking at whatever's in the recycle bin.

"I think I'm starting to get the hang of this," Zuko tells him Thursday afternoon, and Sokka doesn't look over to see if Zuko looks stuffed or to see what he can see on his screen. He also avoids the kitchen, cannot bear to see an entire pastry box folded up in the recycling bin like yesterday.

He drags Zuko out to the store, feeling weirdly compelled to buy new towels for the visit. The set (more like assorted collection) he has are from college, the cursed random possessions that result from communal living.

They're heading out the door on Friday afternoon to pick Iroh up from the airport when Sokka finds Zuko standing in the doorway of the spare room.

Sokka approaches slowly, "Everything okay?"

"I think it might still look…" Zuko makes a wavy motion with his arms and Sokka peers over his shoulder into the room.

They had stashed most of Zuko's filming stuff in Sokka's closet, only leaving behind the most innocuous of things.

But even though lamps are normal and most people own some, seven of them clustered on the floor seems… Unusual. And they had left most of Zuko's fabric where it was on the grounds it took Zuko hours to get everything hung up.

But the sight of it is still enough to get Sokka's blood pumping, so it must be… Sokka thinks back to Zuko's wavy hand motion. Yeah, that.

They're late when they leave, and Zuko's room has been stripped so bare it looks like a spare room again.

Sokka navigates Hakoda's car carefully onto the highway, riding the on-ramp lane until it ends, blinker clicking the whole time while Zuko grinds his teeth in the passenger seat.

"You're supposed to get up to highway speeds," Zuko tells him for the third time.

"I'm doing 55," Sokka says, motioning to the speedometer, the dial hovering just above 50. "That's the speed limit."

Trucks, mini vans, and an ancient rattling station wagon zip around them.

Zuko browses through the CDs in Hakoda’s glove compartment, eventually popping in Weather Report and skipping every song after about two minutes.

Sokka pays him no mind, humming along to the portions of songs Zuko lets play and cheerily ignores him when Zuko starts nagging about how he'll have to speed up if he wants to get over in time.

They make their exit, but all in all it's a tense twenty five minute drive to the airport.

It's a maze of concrete after they get off the highway, and maybe Sokka has to circle the perimeter of the airport twice before he finally manages to catch the turn lane to take them to arrivals.

Sokka lets Zuko out on the curb, goes to circle the parking lot a couple of times so they don't have to pay for parking.

When he spots them coming out of the big glass doors, Sokka pulls up to the curb and gets out to help Zuko with the bags.

Iroh pulls Sokka into a bone-crushing hug before they all tumble into the car.

Sokka lets them out at the apartment to drive the car back to Hakoda's house.

When Sokka makes it back to their building, he can smell Iroh's cooking from the hallway. His stomach grumbles as he pushes open the door.

Iroh and Zuko are in the kitchen, perched on the barstools with bowls and chopsticks in hand.

"Sokka!" Iroh booms, "Please, eat!"

Sokka doesn't have to be told twice. He grabs his own bowl out of the cabinet and ladles in a generous serving of noodles.

When he turns back to the counter Zuko's got an empty bowl in front on him and he's giving Sokka big sad eyes.

Sokka rolls his eyes but grabs Zuko's empty bowl and returns slides it back onto the counter gently, full to the top.

Iroh's got this smug look on his face, a little knowing grin, and Sokka dives head-first into his noodles to avoid having to deal with that.

Sokka even hangs in there for the first two rounds of Sake, but has learned over the years that he's no match for Iroh in a drinking contest.

He's asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, only stirring when Zuko crashes into bed next to him.

***

The next morning, it's clear Iroh's on vacation from the unbuttoned Tommy Bahama shirt he's wearing.

Sokka didn't notice Zuko get out of bed, but he and Iroh are out on the balcony with empty cups of tea by the time Sokka drags himself into the living room, fumbling for the coffee maker.

Zuko slips inside when he sees him and sidles up next to him, “Make me a cup too?”

“Of course,” Sokka says, already having measured out enough beans for two cups. “Did you guys want to grab breakfast, or-?”

When Sokka looks up from the coffee maker, Zuko looks a little bashful. “He has, like, a whole day planned. We’re meeting Azula for brunch.” Zuko scratches the back of his head, “Come with us. I want you to come with us.”

“Alright,” Sokka says. He and Zuko have fallen into a natural pattern of spending most of their time together since Zuko moved in, and it hadn’t even occurred to Sokka that Iroh’s presence could change that.

Iroh heards them out the door and into an Uber, and it turns out Iroh knows the Uber driver from when he lived in town like twenty years ago, and Zuko and Sokka spend the whole ride slipping each other furtive smiles as Iroh chats with their driver. “And your daughter? Oh! She’s thirty five now? A granddaughter? Congratulations.”

Azula’s waiting for them outside of the restaurant, arms folded up and expression unimpressed as Iroh exits the car one millimeter at a time, sharing an extended farewell with their driver.

“Uncle, we have reservations,” Azula calls.

That finally gets Iroh out of the car and he stands for a moment on the sidewalk in front of them, regarding them. “Well? What are you waiting for?” Iroh asks, “We have reservations.”

This weird little bistro, Sokka knows, is Azula’s favorite. The menu is in French and Sokka can probably figure out what most of it says but his retinas are burned by the pretension when he tries, so he slides his menu on top of Zuko’s and says, “Order for me.”

Zuko ignores him because Sokka does this every time they come here but Iroh is giving them that look again, like he knows something they don’t.

He and Zuko both get buckwheat crepes with creme fraiche and roasted vegetables. Azula gets an elaborate stack of strawberry crepes and picks a couple strawberries off the top, poking a little at the filling with her fork.

It surprises Sokka that Azula is willing to tag along on their next errand. Sokka and Zuko squish into the back of her car, which is just Zuko’s old car, and Iroh stretches out in the front.

“Enjoying the back seat, Zuzu?” She grins, and Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you have your own car, Azula?” Sokka asks.

“Of course,” Azula says, “But I had this brought from storage for our outing this morning.”

Zuko flips her off, mostly good-natured, from the backseat. She beams.

Up front Iroh tries to hide a fond smile.

Iroh directs Azula into a dilapidated underground parking garage, leading them down the block slightly and then up two narrow flights of stairs, into a quiet tea shop Sokka had no idea existed. Seriously, what is it with Iroh and knowing about places in this city Sokka has yet to discover despite having lived here his entire life?

Iroh chats with the old couple behind the counter, and Sokka stays tucked between Azula and Zuko. The two of them are glued to their phones, clearly used to Iroh’s ability to open up pocket dimensions or whatever he does.

“Kids!” Iroh calls from the front of the store, “This is the best tea in the state! What would you like to order?”

The walls are covered in watercolor artwork, almost definitely done by hand, and Sokka looks around for a menu on the wall or even pictures of teas he could pick one out based on, but there’s nothing and he settles for giving Zuko his most pitiful look. Zuko rolls his eyes. “You want the usual?” He says to Azula, and she nods without looking up from her phone.

Zuko heads towards the counter, and says something or Iroh that earns him a sharp rebuke from Iroh, and Zuko looks chagrined as he heads back to Sokka and his sister.

Sokka finds out within two minutes of the blender flicking on that Zuko made some questionable choices in ordering tea, and is treated to hearing Iroh attempt to explain away Azula and Zuko’s terrible taste in tea to his friends.

They troop up to the counter to collect their orders. Azula takes her hot water with lemon with a little humph of thanks, and Zuko apparently ordered himself and Sokka some kind of green smoothie with little bobas at the bottom.

It’s honeydew flavored, cold and thick and sweet, and Zuko finishes his before they’re done walking Azula back to her car.

Sokka slides the remaining half of his drink over to Zuko while Iroh’s distracted saying his goodbyes to Azula. It’s not that he couldn’t finish it if he had to. It’s just. Some undefinable itch inside of him compels him to do it, the same uncomfortable feeling that has him wait to make sure no one is watching them.

Azula peels out of the parking garage, and Zuko hunts around for a trash can for his second empty cup.

Whatever Iroh has planned next is apparently walking distance. He starts off down the sidewalk and after a beat Sokka and Zuko follow him.

Iroh leads them to a tiny storefront tucked beside an Optometrist that Sokka recognizes instantly. Katara frequented Aunt Wu for fortunes for years, back before her mortgage and pregnancy and a steep decrease to her divination budget.

"We're getting our fortunes told?" Sokka asks.

"More like dropping in on an old friend," Iroh tells him.

With the way Wu runs out from behind the counter and launches herself at Iroh, old friends might be a little bit of an understatement.

Iroh speaks to Wu quietly, and Sokka can't understand the language but follows Zuko's lead by making himself scare, squeezing into the furthest corner of the store to inspect the shelves of incense on offer.

Sokka watches Zuko struggle to deliberate between sticks of Dragon’s Blood incense and cones, until Iroh calls them over for introductions.

“Hello,” Sokkka offers a polite wave but tries to hang behind Zuko. He always got the sense Katara wasn’t Wu’s favorite customer, and he’s hoping she won’t recognize him and make the connection.

Zuko says something to Wu in Japanese, though, and steps forward, fishing for a couple of bills from his pocket. Wu waves his hand away and motions for him to sit at a little round table in the corner. She lights a couple of candles and then joins him, reaching out across the table for Zuko’s hand.

“Well I don’t have to look very hard to see that you get your good looks from your uncle,” Wu says, throwing Zuko a wink.

Zuko and Iroh share an identical blush, starting high at their hairlines and reaching all the way down to their necks.

Wu continues to examine Zuko’s hand, running a light finger over the lines of his palm, making a quiet noise of contemplation.

“I can see you have known great suffering,” Wu says, and Sokka can see Zuko nod, hanging on every word. Sokka tries incredibly hard not to roll his eyes, as if Zuko’s history of suffering isn’t permanently burned onto his face.

“But it seems like all of that is behind you now,” Wu tells him, bringing Zuko’s hand closer to her face and adjusting her glasses.

“This would be a good time for you to start a business venture,” Wu says, and Zuko turns around to catch Sokka’s eyes, expression awed.

“And what is this here?” Wu says, running two fingers down the middle of Zuko’s palm. “Hm. It seems there will be much growth and expansion in your future.”

Wasn’t there more oxygen in here just a second ago? Suddenly Sokka can’t breathe. He doesn’t even notice Zuko get up from the table until Zuko’s herding him out of the shop while Iroh and Wu share a lingering goodbye.

When Sokka looks over at Zuko, he’s staring at his palm. He looks up, reddens slightly at having been caught in the act and says, “Fortunes are kind of dumb, huh?”

Yes. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, fortunes are so very dumb.

But Sokka understands the importance of supporting local business, and Wu seems to understand the importance of telling Zuko he should go after the things he wants. Also, the rest of Sokka’s thoughts are being shoved to the side of his brain as growth and expansion growth and expansion circles through his head on an endless loop.

So Sokka says, “No, they’re not dumb,” and after a moment he says, “But it sounds like you’ve gotta start posting your videos soon.”

Zuko must have already been thinking that because he nods, decisively. Sokka idly wonders if Wu would have charged if she knew she was dispensing business advice.

Iroh joins them on the street and says, “How does some lunch sound, boys?”

“I, uh-” Zuko looks between Sokka and his uncle for a moment before he says, “I forgot something,” and darts back into the shop.

Which is how Sokka finds himself posted up against the brick wall outside of the shop with Iroh. “I never pegged you for the fortune type,” Sokka says.

Iroh gives him a rueful smile, looking a little caught out. “I do not think it’s possible to know what the future has in store,” Iroh says, “But I do think it’s always worth checking in to see if it might include Wu.”

Iroh winks at Sokka, but then his face grows more serious, “But in some cases the truth is plain to see, and you don’t need someone like Wu to tell it to you,” Iroh says.

Of course he’s talking about Zuko. Who else?

It’s not like Sokka doesn’t think he’s got it bad for Zuko. Oh no, he’s well aware. He starts to tell Iroh that he would never want to make Zuko feel uncomfortable or pressured when Zuko himself exits the shop, looking a little puzzled.

“What did you forget?” Sokka asks.

“What?” Zuko says.

They eat lunch at one of the two tables in the little ramen shop Zuko’s brought him to before, and when they head home after that, Iroh proudly produces a stack of DVDs from his luggage in the spare room.

Sokka heads to his room to let them bond, boots up his laptop and calls Aang, flopping onto his bed.

“Get on GTA,” he tells Aang, waiting for the customary seven thousand pop-ups to clear out of his laptop before he tries to open the browser.

It’s late enough for Aang to be done his shift at the shelter, but Sokka can hear Katara in the background, “Who is that? Is that Sokka?”

"Yes," Aang sighs at the same time as Sokka screeches, "Put me on speaker! Put me on speaker!"

There's a beat and then the ambient sound coming from Sokka's phone changes, becoming louder and more hollow, "Am I on speaker? Can you guys hear me?"

"You're on speaker," Aang says.

"Hi, Sokka!"

"Hey, Katara," Sokka says, "Would you like to play GTA with me and Aang?"

Aang groans. Katara is the very best out of the three of them at Grand Theft Auto and is never shy about making sure they know it.

Katara, by virtue of being good at pretty much everything, has been kicking Sokka's ass at video games for as long as she's been old enough to harass him to hand over the controller.

"As much as I would love to absolutely destroy the two of you at GTA, I'm on my way to prenatal yoga."

Sokka hears some shuffling, a noise that has to he them kissing that he complains loudly about, and then some keys jingle and a door shuts.

Sokka's asleep by the time Zuko slips inside his room, rouses slightly at the sound of the door creaking, Zuko shuffling across the carpet.

"Hey," Sokka whispers as Zuko slides into bed.

"Hey," Zuko whispers back, and Sokka is transported back to a million sleepovers over the years, to whispering late at night with Zuko, trying to be quiet so they don't wake Dad or Bato or Katara.

"Iroh asleep?" Sokka asks. It sounds quiet out in the living room.

"Yeah, he went to bed hours ago," Zuko says, "I just wanted to watch Love Amongst The Dragons one more time."

Once Zuko settles in next to him, Sokka drifts right back to sleep.

It feels like only moments later he's woken by an obnoxious alarm on Zuko's phone.

"C'mon," Zuko rasps, poking Sokka in the side, "We have to see Iroh off."

Iroh's taking an Uber to the airport, and not because Sokka traumatized him with his driving no matter how many times Zuko insists. They wait with him out on the sidewalk, the sky an inky blue.

Sokka stands blearily beside Zuko, focuses really hard on not falling back asleep where he stands.

Zuko flutters around. After the third time he makes sure Iroh has everything, Iroh gently tells him to relax.

Zuko does not relax, but the Uber shows up shortly afterwards.

Iroh wraps Zuko in a long hug, saying something in his ear Sokka doesn’t catch, either because it was in Japanese or because Sokka is falling back asleep standing up.

He hugs Sokka next, tightly, and whispers, “Thank you for taking care of my nephew.”

Iroh climbs in the car and waves at them until he’s out of sight.

Zuko stays rooted to the sidewalk, watches the car disappear down the street. Sokka watches him through drooping eyelids, and then lets Zuko herd him back upstairs and deposit him back into bed.

When Sokka wakes up again, the sun is shining and Zuko is sprawled out on the couch, doing something on his laptop.

"You up for breakfast? Brunch?" Sokka asks.

"Mmhmm," Zuko hums, not looking up at Sokka.

That's not the response Sokka was expecting. "Whatcha got there, bud?" He asks.

"I'm making the site now," Zuko says, and Sokka has no idea what he's talking about until everything comes crashing back to him all at once. That site.

"How's it going?" Sokka asks, trying his best to sound casual.

Zuko groans. Sokka makes his way over to the couch and peeks at the screen. He’s on FansOnly. Sokka wills himself to melt into the floor, and when that doesn’t happen he takes a moment to pull himself together.

It’s not that he thought Zuko would be doing this on some random .biz site buried deep within the internet. It’s just that he hadn’t realized he would be so accessible.

Sokka lets his eyes drift a little further down.

Blue Spirit. He/him/his.
No profile picture.

"Well what's the hang-up?" Sokka asks.

"I don't know what to use for my picture," Zuko says. Zuko being unable to complete a project because he can't figure out the smallest detail is blessedly familiar, a life raft Sokka can cling to in the sea of oh fuck I'm gonna have to subscribe oh fuck I'm gonna have to make a fake email oh fuck.

“Just look through your camera roll,” Sokka says. “Give me your phone, I’ll pick one out.”

Zuko hands his phone over already unlocked and Sokka scrolls through his pictures, past an inordinate amount of pictures of food and selfies he recognizes from Snapchat and Insta.

The Snap from the other week with the cat ears catches his eye, just as breathtaking today as it was then. “Use this one,” he says, handing Zuko’s phone back to him.

Zuko raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t protest.

Sokka heads into the kitchen and pulls out bread flour, yeast, and his digital scale. He doesn’t venture back into the living room until his loaf has started its first rise.

By then Zuko’s laptop is laying on the floor and he’s scrolling through his phone. When he sees Sokka he says, “Did you mention brunch?”

“I never stop mentioning brunch,” Sokka says, “But we’ve gotta be back in an hour so my bread doesn’t overproof.”

They end up deciding on takeout to make it back in time, and Sokka gets dressed while Zuko calls their order into the little cafe.

Some of the trees that line the street are already starting to turn yellow. The first Harvestfest meeting of the year is tomorrow. It’s warm enough out today as they walk down the street in their tee shirts, but fall is right around the corner.

Sokka follows Zuko into the small cafe, and posts up with him near the pastry case while they wait for their order to be bagged up.

The illuminated shelves are lined with treats right out of a picture book, flaky pastries and giant cupcakes and big perfectly triangular slices of pie.

“So when does your site go up?” Sokka asks, shoving his hands into his pocket.

“It’s up,” Zuko says, and then approaches the counter to grab their food, two big paper bags of it.

They each carry a bag on the way home and Sokka’s surprised by how heavy his bag is, can only see a brown cardboard container labeled “pancakes” on top and a cardboard container shoved vertically down the side.

Once they make it back upstairs, Sokka heads to the kitchen to shape his loaf and preheat the oven while Zuko sorts out their bags of takeout.

He hands Sokka his sweet potato and sausage bowl and Sokka surveys Zuko’s little mountain of brown recycled containers, face apparently betraying his curiosity because Zuko says, “I wanted the combo but I couldn’t decide on a pancake flavor so I got an extra short stack.”

“Good idea,” Sokka says, shoving a big bite of food into his mouth to keep from saying anything else.

The combo Zuko got turns out to be pancakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and a clamshell container of breakfast meats. Sokka turns the TV on and tries to get unreasonably invested in this episode of House Hunters to avoid watching Zuko plow through his brunch.

He alternates between eggs and hashbrowns at first, and they’re gone before Sokka finishes his bowl. Zuko flips the top on his container of meat as Sokka heads into the kitchen to put the bread in the oven.

When he gets back to the living room, Zuko’s got both pancake containers on his lap and is working through the top container.

It’s hard not to watch him. Sokka wonders if it’s possible that Zuko might be unusually good at eating. Zuko pushing bite after bite of pancakes past his lips, loading up his next bite before he’s done with his first.

“Three bedrooms? In that neighborhood?” Sokka forces out as Zuko goes in for the second container of pancakes, nestling it inside of the first.

Sokka's own food is finished, and he retreats to the kitchen to put his trash in the recycling bin and check on his bread.

Zuko's finished eating by the time Sokka ventures back in, and he busies himself with making sure all of Zuko's containers get put into recycling. Unfortunately, that takes all of thirty seconds.

Back in the living room, Zuko seems a little quiet. He's leaning back on the couch, head tipped back, breathing kind of loudly.

Sokka flops down onto the couch. Next to him, Zuko starts to sit up to grab his drink but grimaces and falls back against the couch. He brings a hand to his own stomach, giving it a gentle rub.

Sokka can just make out the barest hint of a belly pushing itself against Zuko's shirt, especially when he moves his arms and the fabric pulls taut against his abdomen - Sokka's definitely not imagining things. Zuko looks stuffed.

Zuko tries to shift on the couch but stills and lets out a little huff. His breathing picks up when he tries a second time, both hands coming to rest on the little dome of his stomach.

Sokka's blood boils. Zuko's too full to move.

That's just a horny exaggeration, he tells himself. If there was a fire or something, Zuko would be fine.

But he's too full to move comfortably. Sokka's been watching Zuko's appetite build since he moved in, has seen Zuko overindulge more often than not these days. But to eat until it starts to hurt? Until he has to sit back and let his body process everything he's shoved in his mouth?

Sokka focuses on breathing, tries to think about anything else to avoid popping a boner.

Right under the sweeping current of criminally sexy thoughts Sokka's having is the urge to take care of Zuko. Sokka wants to help him, wants to get his hands on that tiny little swell of stomach and see if he can help.

The crush he's had on Zuko since forever gets worse with each passing day, and it's currently intensifying with every one of Zuko's labored breaths.

Sokka escapes to his room. It’s probably better for Zuko to fend for himself than be creeped on for being a little full.

A little full? Sokka’s terrible brain shouts, and he grabs for his laptop, intending to immerse himself in a game until he’s not thinking about Zuko how breathtaking he looks with that beginner tummy on him, until he’s not thinking about how breathtaking Zuko would look with even more padding.

But Sokka accidentally opens the browser instead of launching any games, and stares at his screen wondering what it’s like to be a good person before he sighs and navigates to FansOnly. He contemplates browsing through a couple of pages of recommended profiles, if only for the plausible deniability of having stumbled onto Zuko, but he bites the bullet and types Blue Spirit in the search bar.

Zuko’s the first result, that sunny picture of him cropped into a little circle, next to Member >1 Week, 2 Subscribers.

2 Subscribers? Already? Sokka’s stomach does a jealous somersault and it’s almost like he’s watching himself in third person as he opens a new tab, and starts to create a new email address.

Email address? He looks around his room for inspiration. Window. Door. High School Musical Poster. Boomerang.

Boomerang. Perfect.

Soon enough [email protected] is signing up for a FansOnly account, and his eyes scan the room again as he tries to come up with a username. TroynGabriella4ever isn’t taken, thankfully, and Sokka starts to enter his credit card information.

This is not a good idea, Sokka’s brain chirps as he navigates back to Zuko’s profile, cursor hovering over “Subscribe”.

Zuko hasn’t posted much, just a couple of pictures and a short video. Sokka fumbles around his nightstand for headphones.

The video is the same thing Sokka retreated to his room to escape. Zuko’s full, maybe a little less full than he is today, and he’s shirtless in the red-draped chair in the red-draped corner of his room.

You can see his scar a little, but he’s mostly angled with his unscarred side toward the camera, leaning back in his chair. It’s easy to see how stuffed he is without any fabric to obscure the view. The rounded curve to his gut is obvious, especially when he’s leaning backwards like that and playing it up.

On the screen, Zuko rubs his hands over the little swell of his belly, which looks firm and unyielding to the touch. How much did he eat? How much is in there? Sokka feels rabid, like he would do anything to get his hands on that round little dome.

It’s only 45 seconds, but Zuko shifts on his chair towards the end of it, and lets out a pained groan. The sound goes straight to Sokka’s dick, and he cranks the volume on his laptop and starts the video over.

Sokka’s mesmerized by the way the video looks, Zuko lit up bright by his barrage of lamps, a spot of sunshine against the dark background, drawing Sokka’s eyes to the center of the screen, the center of the action. At the 40 second mark, Zuko shifts in his seat again, and groans again, and Sokka wonders if he’s imagining the tinge of pleasure to it, the layer of something very sweet lingering right underneath the pain.

Sokka’s hand toys with the waistband of his pants. He slips a couple of fingers in, slips his whole hand in. The video loops. Sokka lets his eyes slide shut as he runs his fingers lightly along the length of his dick, keeps up the feather-light touches while he listens to Zuko’s harsh, stuffed breathing.

This time when the groan comes back around, Sokka’s lost in the sound of pained breathing, lost in the feeling of his hand on his dick, and it startles him with just how turned on Zuko sounds.

The video restarts. Sokka could come from just this, from just listening to the sound of Zuko being overstuffed, of having to deal with the consequences of consuming enough food for two, maybe three people.

His eyes snap open. This? This is what’s happening out in the living room, this is Sokka’s very best friend on the planet, and this was almost certainly a terrible idea.

Sokka’s not going to unsubscribe, but he promises himself he’ll never go to this website again out of sheer force of will.

He snaps his laptop shut and takes a 45 minute shower.

He pulls out his phone after he’s done toweling off, and shoots out a quick text to Suki. Embarrassing crush on Zuko v overwhelming today - please send help. He follows up with 911 suki pleeeeeeease and throws on a HALP at the end for good measure.

A couple minutes later, there’s a light knock on Sokka’s bedroom door. Zuko pokes his head in, and Sokka is simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see him up and moving around again. “Mai asked if we want to go out for dinner with her and the girls? Are you up for it?”

That’s a better question for Zuko, who can't possibly be up to eating again, let alone hungry.

"Yeah, of course," Sokka says, "Just let me get dressed."

Fifteen minutes later he finds himself down on the street with Zuko, waiting for Mai's car to pull up. Sokka's not sure if Mai offered to drive them, or if Zuko requested a pick-up because he's in no condition to walk halfway across town.

He's wearing track pants, Sokka realizes, eyes doing a quick sweep of Zuko's outfit. He forces his eyes to keep moving, doesn't let them land anywhere but Zuko's face.

Zuko glances down the street before turning his attention back to his phone. Sokka's standing on his scarred side, but his shaggy hair obscures most of Sokka's view. He can see the jagged line across Zuko's cheek where the scar cuts across.

Sokka's touched his scar before - the first day Zuko came to school without the bandages on, and a couple more times since then on accident, or in passing.

He wants to reach out now and touch Zuko, to feel the softness of his skin and the firmness of his stomach.

Maybe dinner is a bad idea.

But it's too late to turn back. Mai's car is speeding down their street, screeching to a halt in front of them.

Sokka's squished in between Suki and Ty Lee at dinner, and grateful for the distraction. He hears Zuko's order and can't imagine he's got any room left for a double order of fries let alone the pulled pork sandwich he asked for.

Sokka says, "I'll have the same," after not listening to what Suki orders, and he picks at his salad disdainfully until it's time to leave.

Sokka crawls into bed as soon as he gets home, but doesn't close his eyes for hours.

***

Sokka doesn’t get to run many meetings. Sokka has to attend upwards of two or three meetings a week, but he doesn’t get to run many meetings.

The City Planning department has run Harvestfest for as long as the city’s been chartered, and Yue was more than happy to hand the reins over to Sokka when he displayed the slightest bit of interest.

All of the permits and permissions have been in place since the Spring, and once a year Sokka reserves the big meeting room on the third floor and holds a general interest meeting. The city foots the bill for the festival, but volunteer labor is hard to come by. It’s a delicate balance between convincing coworkers to blow off work, but also spend a whole day outside in the cold in November.

His phone buzzes during his presentation, and he glances down at the table. There’s an icon he doesn’t recognize, and a notification he can’t quite read.

During a particularly lengthy slide transition he checks again. Blue Spirit has a new post!

Fuck. It’s like there’s no escape.

The powerpoint and presentation are recycled from last year, which was recycled from last year at the time. Sokka details food truck parking spots and which volunteer positions are still unfilled, only half focusing on the task at hand.

Thankfully the general interest meeting in and of itself is mostly an excuse to get out of work, and no one seems to notice Sokka unraveling at the front of the room.

“We’ll need someone at the pumpkin pile to make sure everybody only takes one,” Sokka says, wondering how to turn notifications off. “And last year we lost a kid in the haunted maze, so I’m thinking we’ll maybe send an additional volunteer in there, just to help the little ones.” Did he post a video? Does FansOnly even have text posts?

Aside from Ty Lee who’s smiling at him and shaking the entire room with her leg bouncing on the ground, and Yue who is wearily watching his meeting fall apart at the seams, no one is even paying attention.

“I guess that’s all I have today,” Sokka says. “But Harvestfest is next month! Let your supervisors know you’re volunteering now.” Everyone is shuffling around, packing up, chatting. “I’m serious, if you somehow ‘forgot’ a meeting and let me know the day of Harvestfest, you’re dead to me.”

“Sokka!” Yue snaps.

“Sorry, sorry. You’ll be dead to the whole Planning Department.”

Ty Lee hangs back as Sokka packs up his computer and turns off the projector.

“Harvestfest is going to be so fun!” She says, and she’s not wrong.

Harvestfest fucking rules, has always been Sokka’s favorite city-sponsored activity since he was a kid chasing a screaming Katara through the haunted maze (or a teen, screaming and getting chased through the haunted maze by Katara).

This year should be great - they have more local businesses and farms setting up than ever before, and they didn’t forget to reserve the Port-a-Potties this year, and Sokka’s not sure whether he should disable notifications or figure out how to mute them when he’s at work. And at home. What does he type into Google, how to make my phone understand when it is and is not an appropriate time to look at my best friend’s online porn?

“Are you okay?” Ty Lee asks him, smile tinged with concern.

“I’m just a little distracted.” Sokka tells her, and she nods, obviously thinking he's stressed about Harvestfest.

“Did you bring lunch today? Want to eat together?”

She follows Sokka back to the Planning department so he can stash his laptop and grab his lunchbox.

After a trip to the Parks Department for Ty Lee’s lunch they settle at a table in the back of the cafeteria, fluorescent lights and the din of chattering coworkers helping to drag Sokka out of his head and into the real world.

Sokka’s got a random assortment of junk from the kitchen for lunch today - an apple, a banana, a handful of chocolate chip cookies wrapped up in wax paper, and a whole cucumber.

Ty Lee, on the other hand, pulls a sectioned-off Tupperware out of her lunch box, and Sokka notices the palm-sized portion of chicken cubes, and half of the container brimming with vegetables.

“Suki packed your lunch today?” Sokka asks.

Ty Lee grins and spears a floret of broccoli with her fork. “She packs my lunch every day. Mai’s too!”

Sokka bites into his cucumber, considering. Breaking up with Suki had been a mortifying ordeal of detangling their attached lives, a terrible experience of admitting defeat and an exploration of the fact that some things aren’t sustainable after college.

And it was supposed to be awkward on paper when she started dating some of their friends, should have made hanging out as a group weird and hard, but the three of them are such a good match it’s always been hard for Sokka to be anything but thrilled for Suki. He even got wine drunk at their housewarming party and cried about how happy he is for them - Aang and Zuko had to drag him out to the car.

Ty Lee chatters about her plans for the baby shower, obviously excited. Sokka’s not sure Hakoda’s house is big enough for all the decorations she bought.

“Are you exited to be an uncle?” She asks.

Sokka’s extraordinarily exited for there to be a little baby hanging around, very excited to meet his nephew and have Katara stop being on some constant pregnant rampage, but he hasn’t actually given much thought to being an uncle. To being Uncle Sokka.

It’s pretty cool, though, he decides, and Ty Lee beams when he tells her he’s excited.

“You’re going to love it,” she says, “I have four nieces and five nephews! It’s great!”

Sokka always forgets that Ty Lee is one of six - it’s hard for Sokka to imagine Ty Lee as anything other than a ball of energy, like a human person with parents and siblings.

Sokka has to submit meeting minutes from this morning before the week’s out, and has two purchase orders to put in, and has a stack of paper half the size of his body to shred, but he spends the rest of his shift restlessly opening and closing apps on his phone, reminding himself that opening FansOnly at work crosses a number of lines he’s trying not to cross.

And somehow, running to the bathroom to check Zuko’s site seems even worse than taking a peek here at his desk. It seems like he’s doing something wrong.

At home, Zuko’s surrounded by books and notebooks on the couch, the plate of cookies Sokka made last night beside him.

Sokka hangs his keys on the key hook, starts to unbutton the top buttons on his shirt, tosses himself down on the beanbag chair. “Art Conservation?” Sokka asks.

Sokka himself had limped through his own last semester of college, terribly afflicted with senioritis and skating through on his brains alone.

“To think I thought Conservation 1 was going to kill me.” Zuko says, turning the page in his book and reaching for another cookie.

“Is it the same professor?”

Zuko groans, “Yes.”

“Nothing’s due tonight, right?” Sokka asks. Zuko shakes his head. “Well how about we take a break for dinner?” Sokka says, “Let me just get cleaned up first.”

Sokka grabs a change of clothes from his room and heads into the bathroom, locking the door and avoiding his own eyes in the mirror.

He turns on the shower spray before he opens his phone, and hesitates with his finger over the FansOnly icon.

The post from earlier is a text post, and Sokka feels sweeping waves of relief and disappointment, in that order.

Hey! Blue Spirit here!
Thank you to those who have already subscribed.
I’ll be posting new content every day!
See you tomorrow!
~Blue <3

Sokka eyes flick to the subscriber count. 15 subscribers?!

Don’t be a dick, Sokka tells himself, jealousy flaring hot in his gut. This is Zuko’s new job and/or artistic outlet, not an excuse for you to see him naked.

Sokka takes a freezing cold shower, gasping for breath when he first steps under the spray. His teeth are chattering by the time he steps out of the bathroom, and he bundles up in sweats and a hoodie before heading into the kitchen to call out dinner possibilities to Zuko.

Zuko comes into the kitchen to help him chop up veggies while Sokka gets the water going for some pasta, trims and cubes some chicken thighs.

His pan sauce starts to split while he’s waiting for the vegetables to finish cooking, so he dashes to the fridge to grab the pint of cream he keeps on hand for pan sauce and whipped cream emergencies. It only takes a dash, and some vigorous stirring, but the sauce comes back together. It’s not until Sokka’s sliding the pint back into the fridge that he thinks, Now this would make one hell of a video, and almost re-routes the heavy cream right into the trash can.

Zuko gets to the TV before he does, so they eat dinner watching a documentary about early man, and it’s easy enough for Sokka to get distracted, lulled into a trace by the dry British accent explaining something about soil samples and carbon dating.

After Zuko comes back into the living room with his third bowl of pasta, Sokka decides he can't watch any more of this and still manage to keep his mouth shut.

He slinks into his bedroom and burrows under the covers, careful to leave his phone and laptop far out of reach.

***

That weekend, Sokka finds himself at the thrift store with Zuko.

They're flipping through racks of clothes when Sokka says, "You're a medium, right?"

Zuko hesitates. "Yeah, kind of." He says, "Medium still fits for right now."

Sokka nods, goes back to browsing, but he looks up sharply when Zuko says, "I think I should be getting stuff in large," and after a pause he says, "It's not like I'm getting any smaller."

Sokka's not having much luck finding any clothes, so he wanders off to books and housewares. There's not much over there besides a bitchin' lava lamp, and he carries it back to Zuko.

"Check it out!" Sokka thrusts the lamp forward to Zuko and the liquid inside makes a sloshing sound.

"Check this out!" Zuko says, and he holds up a bowling shirt with a red dragon running across the front.

Sokka's eyes go straight for the tag. XL.

He's stunned. They've never discussed this thing Zuko's doing, outside of the one time Sokka told him it was an option, and how here Zuko is grabbing clothes two sizes up.

Sokka's dying to know what his plans are, but will certainly die if he hears them.

They check out, and head across the street to the cafe.

The barista waves at Zuko when they approach the counter. "Hey!" She says, "Just the usual?"

"Two, please." Zuko says with a smile and a gesture to Sokka.

Which is how Sokka finds himself carrying a large latte and a plate with two pastries to the table.

The latte kicks ass, and the Danish is passable, but Sokka can tell just by picking up the scone that it's too dense for his liking, and he's never really been a fan of blueberries to begin with.

He slides his plate over to Zuko, who's almost finished with his scone, and Zuko flashes him a grateful smile.

Sokka sips his latte while Zuko finishes up. "Is it alright if we hit the market on the way home?" Sokka asks, "I could use some stuff for the shower, and we could pick up something for dinner."

There's a couple of market stalls on the way home, and Sokka stops for a couple dozen eggs and some bundles of spinach. Sokka grabs two loaves of crusty bread and they begin the trek back to the apartment.

The soup comes together easily, and they flop onto the couch together with bowls and hunks of bread. Zuko keeps popping back and forth to the kitchen tp grab more bread, more soup, more bread.

When Sokka goes to put his bowl in the kitchen sink, there's less than half of one loaf of bread left on the counter.

Sokka goes to bed.

***

It’s spitting rain outside, and they’re crowded on Hakoda’s stoop. Sokka tries to rebalance the stack of trays in his hands to fish his keys out of his pocket. Zuko’s watches him from behind his own pile of foil-wrapped trays, and makes a show of rolling his eyes at Sokka before he just rings the doorbell.

Mai swings the door open, which is a little disorienting, but Sokka’s just relieved to be able to drop his trays on the coffee table and stretch out his arms. “Thanks, Mai.”

It looks like Ty Lee’s been hard at work - the house is absolutely covered in blue crepe paper streamers, no corner or doorway untouched. He can see through to the dining room, Ty Lee with blue streamers draped around her neck, Suki holding the ladder and on tape duty.

Mai pulls Zuko into a hug as soon as his hands are free. Sokka grabs a couple of the trays to take into the kitchen, but he hears when Mai says, quietly, “Loved the newest video.”

Some of the foil slips off the top, and Sokka fumbles the tray momentarily. He hears Zuko say, “You don’t think the editing was too choppy, do you?”

He sneaks a look at Zuko, expecting him to be blushing but instead he’s absolutely beaming.

Sokka walks into the kitchen, trays in hand, and completely zones out.

Is he supposed to be paying attention to the editing? Zuko spends a lot of time putting those videos together - is he a bad friend if he doesn’t appreciate the technical aspect? Isn’t he a bad friend already, considering the whole secretly subscribing and accidentally jerking off a couple of times thing? Or does Mai care deeply about the editing in all sexy online content she consumes?

It scares the daylights out of him when Bato claps him on the back, and they both have to scramble to make sure Sokka doesn’t drop everything on the floor.

“You okay, son?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sokka says, depositing his trays on the counter. “Just a little distracted.”

Bato gives him a pointed look, letting Sokka know he thinks he’s full of shit but willing to go along with whatever Sokka needs to tell himself.

Sokka brings the rest of the trays into the kitchen, stashes what he can in the fridge and arranges anything room-temp on the counter.

He finds Dad and Gran Gran upstairs in Katara’s old room, still painted the bright teal she had begged endlessly for and hated as soon as it was on the walls. They’re sitting on her bed, huddled over something, and Sokka pokes his head into the room.

“What’s going on?”

“Come here,” Gran Gran says.

He steps forward - she’s holding a small wooden rattle, and she holds it out to him. “This was mine when I was a baby,” Gran Gran tells him, “And I gave to Kya for you two.”

Sokka turns the dark wood over in his hands, examining the carvings.

“I knew your father would have kept it.”

Dad looks that special kind of misty that he gets about Mom, still to this day.

“Katara will be here any minute,” Sokka tells them, gently, “I’m gonna head downstairs and start getting some stuff ready.”

Gran Gran joins him in the kitchen not long after that, and she’s happy enough to boss him around until everything is ready and waiting.

The house is decorated, Zuko’s got a whole game station set up in the corner of the living room, and he sneaks into the kitchen and starts poking around at some of the covered trays.

“It’s not time yet!” Sokka tells him. Sokka shoos him away with a dish towel, "It'll be ready in like five minutes."

But Gran Gran is either working with or against Sokka, it remains to be seen, and shoos Sokka out of the way with her own kitchen towel to station herself in front of the trays and fix Zuko a plate.

"No one goes hungry if I can help it," Gran Gran tells them, winking at Zuko.

Zuko's not going hungry, is the thing. Sokka got a little carried away with trying to get the perfect crust on a waffle this morning, and Zuko happily ate all 5 reject waffles, and had 2 more waffles after Sokka perfected his technique.

Zuko looks incredibly pleased, though, standing in the kitchen popping hors d'oeuvres in his mouth.

It's been proper sweater weather lately, and the crimson sweater Zuko's wearing is tight across his abdomen, revealing the slight roundness to Zuko's sides, the slight curve of his tummy.

Now that he's starting to fill out, Sokka can't believe how good he looks. His jawline is softer, cheeks fuller. He smiles more.

Sokka rearranges the trays Gran Gran pillaged Zuko's snack from and takes her bannock out of the oven and her stew off the stove.

A bunch of Katara's work friends are there, as well as some distant-yet-local cousins. Everyone crowds into the kitchen when the food is served.

He and Zuko end up squished in the food line between Toph and a rowdy group of Katara's friends, all likely parents themselves and delighted to be doing something on a Saturday that isn't a child's birthday party. There's even a halfhearted cooler of beer and wine coolers tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It's a party.

Toph grabs a plate off the recycled paper stack and hands it right over to Sokka. "You better not put anything green on here," she says, but Sokka takes her plate and smiles. He put extra cayenne in the cheese balls just for her, and loads her plate up with a third of those and one of everything else that isn't a fruit or a vegetable.

Zuko, beside him, is tossing a couple of everything onto his plate, ending up with a veritable mountain of finger foods with no room left on his plate for the scoopables. Zuko, momentarily, looks distraught but Sokka swoops in, handing Zuko his own plate. "Use this, and give me the full one. We're gonna go sit down."

Toph has her hand in the crook of Sokka's arm as he leads them into the living room. It's a little quieter in here, and he hands Toph her plate. Her fingers find the cheese balls first and she grins, "Sokka! You made my favorite!"

"Of course." Sokka says. He also made spinach puffs for Ty Lee and kept the chives off the mini quiche because he knows how much Mai hates them.

Zuko gets back and Sokka slips into the kitchen to fill his own plate, mostly stew and bannock, but he tosses a couple cheese balls on in case Zuko runs out and wants more.

When Sokka gets back to the livingroom he's treated to the sight of Zuko with two very full plates in front of him on the coffee table.

Zuko finishes his two plates and starts passing out copies of his Baby Shower Quiz, and Hakoda follows him through the crowd, distributing a hastily assembled handful of pens and pencils. Sokka thinks he sees a crayon in there.

"Okay," Zuko addresses the group, "No cheating!"

Katara's tucked up under Aang's arm on some dining room chairs, right in the middle of a sea of pastel-wrapped presents. She's reading over her own copy of the quiz with an arched eyebrow.

"Want to share a paper?" Sokka asks Toph.

She shakes her head. "Sparky sent me a Google Form."

"Question one," Zuko says, "What was the average birth weight of a baby last year?"

"One pound," Toph tells her text to speech, and Sokka decides he's not going to copy off of her.

"Alright, second question." Zuko says, "On average, how many ounces of food does a newborn baby eat in one day?"

"One pound," Toph tells her text to speech, but her composure breaks when Sokka fails to stifle a giggle beside her and she giggles along, until Katara shoots them the look and Sokka has to elbow Toph in the side.

"How many bones does a baby have?" Zuko asks the room at large.

"Twelve." Toph says into her phone.

Katara almost loses it at, "What day is the most popular day for a baby to be born?"

Toph tells the text to speech app her own birthday and even Zuko laughs after that, and he's pink in the face and giggling throughout the rest of the quiz.

"Okay, now if everyone could join me in the kitchen for our next game, Properly Affix The Car Seat Harness To The Baby."

There's a big poster of a baby taped to the kitchen wall that Sokka was able to surreptitiously print alongside Harvestfest posters, and Zuko passes out a stack of Y-shaped car seat harnesses he spent the better part of yesterday cutting out.

One of Katara's coworkers is up first, and the other nurses start to heckle her as soon as her blindfold is secured and she's turned loose in the kitchen.

Sokka glances around for Zuko, and finds him over by the counter, loading up a plate with cheese puffs and bannock.

Sokka heads over, drawn in by the sight. "Shower's going well," Sokka says.

Zuko grabs a mini quiche right off the tray and nods, "Looks like Katara's having fun."

It looks like she is, sitting in a kitchen chair strategically close to the Shower Game action, failing to hide a smile behind her hand when one of her coworkers walks right into the wall.

Everybody piles back into the living room for presents. Aang sits next to Katara and dutifully writes down everything she opens, only occasionally looking puzzled. "Nipple… shields …. Okay, got it."

Most of the chairs in the house got dragged into the living room and there's a tightly packed ring of people around Katara and Aang. Zuko and Sokka are standing behind the clump of people, almost halfway into the kitchen.

The proximity seems to suit Zuko, who had a full plate of food when Katara started opening presents and has currently drifted back into the kitchen, piling his plate with more finger foods.

"There's cake, too." Sokka says, half a warning.

Zuko just grins. "Great!"

Katara cries a little when she opens the rattle, and Sokka's own eyes get a little misty when he spots Hakoda crying a little bit too, trying to hide behind Bato.

After presents, Gran Gran grabs a knife and appoints herself the Official Cake Cutter. Sokka wonders if her only motivation for cutting the cake is to scowl at anyone who requests "just a small piece, please" because that's exactly what she's doing.

But Gran Gran does dutifully cut small slivers for Katara and her nurse friends, for Suki and the girls. Toph gets a corner piece, as usual.

Zuko had to hurry up and finish his plate to jump into the line forming for the cake, and Sokka gets in line behind him. When it's his turn, Gran Gran doesn't even give him a chance to request a small piece, cutting him off a big chunk of cake that Zuko accepts with a big smile.

Sokka receives a similarly sized piece, albeit with less ceremony, and finds Zuko sitting alone on the stairs with his cake. Sokka slides in next to him.

The cake is good. Moist without being too dense, and the frosting is light but not too sweet.

Zuko's eating slowly beside him, taking small careful bites, and Sokka feels the most irrational jolt of panic rush through him.

At the last big party, which would have been Azula's birthday back in July, Zuko would have still been on his no-cake-for-me bullshit, would have been eating slowly so he could throw his food away when everyone else was finished.

But a closer look reveals that's not the case today. Zuko's not slipping back into old habits, Sokka realizes, but he's starting to get full.

Like, visibly full. There's a roundness to his tummy under his red sweater that isn't usually there, a slight dome

It's only noticeable because Sokka knows to look for it, but now Sokka has to force his eyes away, up Zuko's form to where he's eating cake he's clearly too full to be eating and fuck that is not any less distracting.

Mai wanders over to where they're stationed on the stairs. "Hey, guys." If she sees Zuko's swelling tummy or noticed the fact he's been eating more or less since he arrived, she doesn't say anything.

Suki isn't far behind Mai, and after a couple of minutes Ty Lee bounces over to find them.

“How’s Harvestfest going?” Suki asks.

Zuko works through his cake while Sokka rattles off his to-do list for the upcoming week: confirm all of the farms and food trucks, start hanging flyers up around town, clean up the park across from City Hall.

By the time they’ve taken most of the decorations back down and are heading out the door, Zuko looks nothing short of dead on his feet. Gran Gran plies them with a stack of Tupperware containers full of leftovers, and Zuko dutifully accepts them, even though he looks like the last thing he ever wants to think about is food ever again.

It’s a good thing Katara is giving them a lift home, because it looks like Zuko isn't necessarily faring well enough to make it to the bus stop, let alone brave the bumpy hour-long bus ride across town.

***

Sokka's not too old to go out to the bars for Halloween, but Harvestfest preparations have him completely exhausted and he's just as happy to stay in this year.

It's also getting closer and closer to Katara's due date, and Sokka's fallen into the habit of having a minor heart attack every time his phone rings or buzzes.

Sokka's patio overlooks a semi-busy street, but it's part of the route of the Halloween Bar Crawl. The Gang hasn't participated since college, but Sokka buys a couple of big bags of candy and queues up a Halloween party playlist on his bluetooth speaker.

Toph comes over, and she sits outside with Sokka and Zuko, on lawn chairs on the balcony. There are a couple of groups of people wandering the street, some in elaborate costumes, but there are also a couple roving packs of dudes in sports jerseys.

“Candy.” Toph demands, and Sokka tosses a couple of mini Snickers at her.

Zuko stands up and leans over the side of the balcony. “I like your costume! Do you want a Kit Kat?”

Sokka stands up to see the costume in question, some guy in an orange jumpsuit and a terrible black wig. He thinks it’s the Dragon Ball show Zuko was still highkey obsessed with when they met in middle school. “That’s a great Naruto costume,” he tells Zuko, who scrunches up his eyebrows and gets ready to correct Sokka before realizing he’s being messed with and pelting Sokka with a piece of candy that Sokka unwraps and pops in his mouth.

The bowl of candy doesn’t leave Zuko’s lap after that. He throws candy down to anyone in a costume that walks by, but eats a piece for every piece he throws, and Sokka finds himself grateful he had the presence of mind to buy four bags of candy. Even though he felt like a sexual deviant in the store, hesitating before grabbing a third bag and then a forth bag, knowing where most of the candy is going to end up anyways.

“Who has the candy?” Toph says, and Zuko tosses a couple of pieces at her.

“If you guys are hungry, we should figure out dinner.” Sokka says.

Toph decides they’ll have Mexican, and wants something on the third menu Sokka reads out loud to her. The chicken fajita she settles on sounds good, and Sokka decides to get the same thing. He turns to Zuko, who’s rustling around the half-empty bowl of candy in his lap.

“What do you want?” Sokka asks, scanning the menu, “Fajitas? Enchiladas?”

“Sure,” Zuko says, casually.

Sokka heads inside to call the restaurant and grab another bag of candy. He stops by the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror.

“Get it together, Sokka.” He tells himself, but his reflection just stares back at him.

Zuko can’t even be that hungry, is the thing. Sokka knows Zuko spent most of the week working on an important paper, and had to film and post two videos today. Sokka huddled in the bathroom at work to watch both videos: half a dozen jelly donuts jelly donuts, dressed as a sexy little dracula, and a whole pizza dressed, improbably, as a Ninja Turtle, complete with the little polyester eye mask and everything. Sokka knows from the cardboard in the recycle bin that it was a large from Ralph’s around the corner, which is basically a medium anywhere else, but it was still a whole pizza, and the Zuko in the video had looked absolutely stuffed, unlike the Zuko on his patio that’s trying to kill Sokka with his whole Why Not Both routine.

Stepping back out onto the balcony, Sokka sees it was a good idea to bring out another bag of candy. Zuko’s got an empty bowl in his lap, and Sokka would wonder where he puts it, but it’s getting easier to see where it’s all going, especially on days like this where Zuko just doesn’t seem to stop eating.

At first, when Zuko was stuffed, the convex curve of his tummy could have been a trick of the light, some kind of optical illusion. But Sokka can see now where all those donuts and pizza and candy from today have rounded out Zuko’s midsection considerably. It’s kind of hard to spot in his baggy tee shirt until he leans to the side to grab the new bag of candy from Sokka, pulling his shirt taut against his midsection.

Sokka can even see the indent of his belly button through the thin fabric of the shirt he’s wearing.

Sokka grabs the food when it arrives, and starts distributing takeout containers.

It's hard not to watch Zuko, alternating between entrees, and Sokka stares down into his own fajita.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink," Zuko says, "Anyone else need anything from inside?"

"Liquor!" Toph says.

"Yeah, liquor." Sokka seconds, even though he knows he'll be sleeping in his chair after a couple of drinks.

Dozing off is not currently Sokka's worst case scenario. Getting caught gawking at Zuko as he shovels bite after bite of takeout into his mouth is the worst case scenario.

Once the door shuts behind Zuko, Toph says "Stop being an asshole and tell him you like him."

"It's more complicated than that," Sokka says.

Toph throws a Kit Kat at him. "No, it isn't." She says, "You're just an idiot."

"Be that as it may," Sokka says, and Toph glares in his direction, "I don't want him to feel pressured into anything just because he lives here."

Toph looks unimpressed, but her face softens when Sokka says, "I just want what's best for him."

"Which you think is what? Pretending you're not in love with him? That's what Zuko needs?"

Sokka shrugs helplessly, even though Toph can't see it, and then the glass door slides open and Zuko steps back out onto the patio.

He looks back and forth between Toph glowering and Sokka pouting for a couple of seconds and says, "I was only gone for two minutes, guys, what the fuck?"

Zuko's got the emergency vodka Sokka keeps in the freezer for pie crust and passes the bottle around the patio.

Sokka doesn't necessarily give the bottle back once it makes it to him. He passes it to Toph when he asks, and always makes sure to take it back afterwards.

The more liquor Toph gets in her, the more she wants to throw candy at the passersby.

Zuko's all too happy to help, and even though her aim leaves something to be desired Toph can throw with terrifying velocity.

Sokka overshoots sleepy drunk and lands right on maudlin drunk mess, and sits on the patio with the bottle in hand, pouting as Zuko and Toph giggle and heckle the bar crawl crowd.

Zuko glances back at Sokka but does a double take when he sees him drunk and glowering, and melting into his chair.

"Woah, buddy!" Zuko says, "Time for bed already?"

Sokka would like to spend the rest of his life drunk and cranky on his balcony, but he can feel the sleepiness pulling at his eyelids, making his head so heavy.

He let's Zuko haul him up out of his chair and only drags his feet a little on the way to his room.

"Are you okay?" Zuko asks as he supervises Sokka getting into pajamas without falling down. "I feel like you were fine half an hour ago."

Sokka shrugs. He wasn't fine half an hour ago, he was freaking out over the subtle plumpness of Zuko's stomach. Now he's freaking out over the subtle softness and too drunk to manage his disappointment at not being able to grab

Sokka falls into bed and Zuko fusses with his blankets for a minute, making sure Sokka's all covered.

He straightens up and seems to be debating rolling Sokka onto his side.

I'm not that drunk, Sokka tries to say, but what comes out is, "I love you."

Zuko smiles, good eye crinkling up, and pats Sokka's leg through the blanket. "I love you too, buddy."

Fuck, Sokka thinks, and then abruptly falls asleep.