Chapter Text
In the end, they don’t make it to Ember Island.
This is no tragedy.
By the time that Sokka’s finished visiting his family in the South—and wormed his way out of Kanna’s care and Hakoda’s watchful eyes—and when Zuko finally squared away his work as Fire Lord, it’s well into the rainy season. Even if they did go, they would’ve spent their vacation stuck inside. And while they both agreed that there were some benefits to that situation, in the end they decided against it. After everything, they needed space. They needed to breathe.
Dear Sokka, Zuko wrote, I have a better idea.
In the end, they met each other halfway. The place is called Haibin—a seaside resort in the Southwest corner of the Earth Kingdom. In the summer, the place crawls with Earth Kingdom nobility and rich merchants. They crowd the beach, crowd the restaurants, crowd the inns, crowd the streets of the small town.
In autumn, the place empties out. With the swathes of tourists gone, the town hums with the locals. Stores close early. Some of the inns close down entire wings.
Sokka and Zuko love it. There’s no one around to stare at them. They eat at a cafe in peace. They sip coffee on the balcony of their room and look at the ocean—the waves higher and more rough than in summer. At night, they tangle together, hands on the curve of each other’s hips, lips on the lines of the other’s collar bones, fingers in hair, heads tossed back with pleasure. When they wake, they watch the sun rise out the window and hold each other close under their bed sheets.
In the afternoon, they walk along the shore; smooth stones under their feet. Overhead, gull-flies call. The air is cool and thick with the smell of salt and seaweed.
At one point in their daily walk, both of them wrapped in light furs on top and their pants pushed to their knees, Zuko jumps up on a washed up log. He walks the length, arms out, teetering with each step. When he reaches the end, he jumps off and throws his head back, expecting to see Sokka behind him doing the same.
Instead, Sokka stands there, his head cocked and a wide grin across his face.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Does there have to be something?”
Zuko frowns. “You’ve got that look.”
Sokka scoffs. “I do not.”
You do, Zuko starts to say, but before he can, a wave washes high up the beach and washes around his mid-calves. The cold is a sudden and unpleasant shock. Zuko tenses and shudders until the waves washes back out, pulling the coarse sand and shells with it.
Sokka lets out a laugh, high and light. “Come on,” he says, “race you to the boulder.”
Before Zuko can reply, Sokka’s running ahead, his head thrown up to the sky. The sun shines brightly, even though it’s heat is distant. Zuko starts into a sprint after him, his feet sinking slightly in the sand and his face stinging with the cool air.
This, he thinks, this will be a memory one day. He’ll hold it close to his chest and never let it go.
I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood