Chapter Text
It’s been a long day, full of travel to and from the airport and introductions and Katara threatening to remove Zuko’s spine if he breaks Sokka’s heart, so obviously a nap is warranted.
When they wake up, the late afternoon sunlight is slanting in through the blinds, casting bright stripes across the bed. Sokka sighs, kicking the sheet down. He’s sweaty, but somehow it’s not uncomfortable. The fan whirs beside him. He opens his eyes blearily. “I want to cuddle you but it’s too hot.”
“It’s never too hot for cuddling,” Zuko mumbles without opening his eyes.
“It’s too hot,” Sokka repeats, but he groggily lifts his arm, reaching for Zuko’s hand in the space between them and resting it on top of it so that their fingers touch the mattress in between each other. “I think I’ve lost my sock.” He sits up blearily, hunting around in the sheets, which are a tangled mess, and then at the space between the bed and wall. “What is this?”
He pulls it out, a tiny radio.
Zuko opens one eye, squinting. A ray of sunlight crosses his face, illuminating the tips of his hair, lighting up the eye it crosses strangely.
“Ohh. So that’s where that went.”
Zuko makes a small sound of amusement, and Sokka pokes him. “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. Don’t forget, I’ve lived with you for nine months. I know the only things you can consistently find are your wallet and your shoes.”
He flicks it on, fiddling with it until the static turns into something recognizable. It’s country music, a man singing something about his girl and his truck, and how his guyness means he’s incapable of relating to his girlfriend’s love of shopping or penchant for saying “I love you,” and—you know, if Zuko keeps laughing like that, he’s probably going to strain something.
“Of course this is what it gives me,” says Sokka. “And during Pride Month too.”
He flops back down half on top of Zuko. The sunlight is making the bed too warm in certain places, and their skin is sweat-sticky with the heat, but he can’t find it in himself to move. Zuko nobly restrains his laughter long enough to clumsily press a kiss to the soft underside of his jaw, but Sokka can still feel him giggling in the short puffs of breath against his neck and the motion of his palm resting on Zuko’s belly.
The sunlight fades into a velvety purple through the blinds, and the lights stay off, the room fading into dimness. There’s a strip of yellow under the door from the hallway.
After dozing for a while, Sokka sits up and stretches, sighing. He looks down at Zuko, who’s lying quietly on his side, watching the mattress without really seeing it, his expression peaceful.
“Have you ever seen fireflies?”
They shuffle outside. The backyard is a grassy lot, filled with the flowers of weeds, dandelions and small purple and white clusters. There’s uneven parts in the lawn, some more dirt than grass, and dark trees at the back of it where Sokka’s family sometimes sees deer come through. The fireflies blink in and out of existence all around them. Cupped in Zuko’s hand, the firefly looks so odd, so unremarkable so close up.
Zuko tilts his head at it, plainly fascinated, and jumps when another one lights up right next to his face.
“So what do you think?” says Sokka. “Worth the trip?”
Zuko lets the bug go, the two of them watching it light up as it flies away. He finds Sokka’s hand with his own. “Absolutely,” he says.