Chapter 4: The Thong Question
Sokka’s brain was a wagon with its wheels ripped off, axle-deep in mud. Every thought he tried to form just spun, stuck, throwing up more mental filth. The thong. The thong. The question. The thong. They swirled in the steam, inseparable.
Zuko waited, his expression unreadable. The water lapped at the scarred skin of his chest.
“They’re what?” Sokka finally croaked, his voice an octave higher than intended. He cleared his throat, desperate for purchase. “I mean. Obvious. Right. Yeah, they’re not exactly… subtle.” He forced a laugh that sounded like a dying goose. “Katara’s about as subtle as a tidal wave. And Dad… Spirits.” He ran a wet hand over his face, the heat unbearable. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him my intentions regarding the Southern Water Tribe ambassador were strictly professional and centered on continued diplomatic partnership,” Zuko said flatly, reciting what was clearly a rehearsed line. Then he winced, his shoulders sinking a fraction. “It was a stupid thing to say. He just smiled. It was a knowing smile, Sokka. It was worse than if he’d shouted.”
Sokka could picture it perfectly. Hakoda’s quiet, patient amusement. The man had a sixth sense for this. He’d probably known about Sokka’s hopeless crush since the war ended. A fresh wave of mortification washed over him, almost as hot as the spring.
“And Uncle,” Zuko continued, his gaze fixed on the swirling steam between them. “He didn’t suggest it. He stated it, as if it were already decided. ‘The Firelord and Ambassador Sokka will, of course, share the summit’s premier guest suite. It promotes inter-nation harmony.’ Then he winked.”
A startled, genuine bark of laughter escaped Sokka. “He winked? Iroh winked?”
“It was horrifying,” Zuko said, but a corner of his mouth twitched. The shared moment of absurdity was a lifeline, and Sokka clung to it.
“Okay,” Sokka said, trying to marshal his thoughts away from the distracting line of Zuko’s hip just beneath the water’s glowing surface. “So they’re meddling. Annoying, but not exactly new. Why’s it… why’s it a question you need answered?” He held his breath.
Zuko was silent for a long time. The only sounds were the gentle lap of water and the distant, unseen waterfall. His gold eyes, when they met Sokka’s, were stripped of their usual guardedness, revealing a familiar, deep-seated uncertainty. It was the look he got before a difficult Agni Kai, before admitting a fault. It was vulnerablity, raw and unadorned.
“Because I need to know if they’re seeing something that isn’t there,” he said, his voice low. “Or if they’re just seeing it before I’ve… before it’s something I can actually have.”
The air left Sokka’s lungs. The mud in his mind hardened into solid, terrifying ground. Zuko wasn’t asking about their families. He was asking about the space between them, right now, in this steaming water. He was asking about the balcony. About the long haul.
Sokka’s mouth was desert-dry. “What do you think they’re seeing?”
“Don’t,” Zuko said, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. He looked away, toward the shimmering trees. “Don’t make me say it if you’re just going to deflect. You’re the tactician. You see the whole field. You tell me.”
It was a challenge. A plea.
Sokka’s heart hammered against his ribs. The years of jokes, the shared dinners, the easy touches that had recently begun to feel like live wires—they arrayed themselves before him like a map. He thought of Zuko’s hand covering his on the stone. The private spring. The thong, which now seemed less like an accidental provocation and more like a… choice. A very specific, confidence-fueled choice Zuko would never make for just anyone.
The water suddenly felt insulating, a secret blanket over the trembling truth.
“I think,” Sokka started, his voice steadier than he felt, “they’re seeing two idiots who’ve been orbiting each other for a decade.” He took a shaky breath. “I think they’re seeing that the best part of my day is the five minutes I bully you into taking a break. I think they’re seeing that you only laugh for real when it’s just us.” He pushed on, the words coming faster now, a dam cracking. “I think my dad is smiling because he knows I’ve been in love with his daughter’s grumpy firebender best friend since I was nineteen and dumb, and I’m somehow even dumber about it now.”
There. It was out. Hanging in the jasmine-scented steam like a confession made to the spirits.
Zuko had gone very still. Not the rigid stillness of his Firelord persona, but the absolute stillness of a hunter listening for a heartbeat in the underbrush. He turned his head back slowly. His eyes were wide, the pale scar stark in the moonlight.
“You…” Zuko began, then stopped. He swallowed. “Say that again.”
“Which part? The idiot part? I can expand on that.”
“The last part.”
Sokka’s courage, a fleeting and fragile thing, wobbled. But he saw it—the hope, bare and unshielded, in Zuko’s expression. It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“I’m in love with you, Zuko,” Sokka said, the simplicity of it shocking him. “I have been. For years. It’s why I took this job. It’s why I stay. It’s the worst-kept secret in two nations, apparently, except from you.”
The hum of the hidden waterfall filled the silence that followed. Zuko stared at him, his breathing shallow. Then, he did something utterly unexpected.
He laughed.
It was a soft, disbelieving huff of air, followed by a deeper, real laugh that shook his shoulders. He dropped his head forward, his damp hair curtaining his face. “Uncle was right,” he murmured to the water.
“Right about what?” Sokka asked, his heart now in his throat.
Zuko looked up, and his smile was small, awed, and entirely for Sokka. “He told me, last year, that some paths are only unseen because we are walking on them. I thought he was talking about trade routes.” He shifted through the water. The movement brought him closer, their knees brushing on the smooth rock beneath. “I have also been… dumb. For a long time.”
“Yeah?” Sokka whispered, the world narrowing to the inch of space between their faces.
“Yes.” Zuko’s gaze dropped to Sokka’s mouth, then back to his eyes. The usual dry tease was gone, replaced by a solemn, burning intensity. “I thought my feelings were another kind of duty. A debt to your loyalty. It took me years to understand it was just… you.”
He lifted a hand from the water. It dripped, glowing faintly in the spring’s luminescence, and hovered beside Sokka’s cheek. A question.
Sokka leaned into it, closing his eyes as Zuko’s palm, calloused and so warm, cupped his jaw. The touch was electric, a completion of the one on the balcony.
“So,” Sokka breathed, opening his eyes. “What are the Firelord’s intentions regarding this Southern Water Tribe ambassador?”
Zuko’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. “Extremely unprofessional,” he murmured, and closed the distance.