Chapter Text
The thing about Zuko, which only his uncle knew, is that he grows his hair for more than tradition and expectations.
—
Zuko remembers his father’s flames. Their searing heat, the confidence behind his grip.
He remembers the cruel pain in the arena, and the dizzying, seizing anguish afterward during a quick snatch of consciousness, when he could finally recognize what the rough drag over his scalp was for. Little care had been given to his bandages, or to the heavy tears he shed for having this, too, taken from him.
The next time he woke, it was to his discarded hair left on the floor next to his bed.
Over a decade later, and he can still remember how many times it took him desperately crying out before anyone came to him. He had cried until he heaved and his blistered skin cracked, until his vision swam and it felt like he was being engulfed in fire all over again, because in that moment he understood.
A skin graft hadn’t been needed. He boarded his ship with still weeping skin, a desecrated scalp, and resolutely dry eyes.
Out of all the things packed for him, the razor was the first thing that found its place on his new bedside table.
He understood.
—
Three weeks before he found Aang, Zuko looked into the mirror and granted himself permission.
It was disrespectful, he knew, and the private show of arrogance preyed on his heart enough to make his hands tremble. But as he stared, Zuko couldn’t help but bask in the quiet comfort of calling it a phoenix tail again, just this once.
For the first night after three years, he emerged from his room with his head free of little haphazard cuts, and the persistent furrow between Uncle’s brows had finally cleared.
—
Sokka touches his hair with ease, without a second thought, and Zuko ignites.
With time, he starts to understand.
Sokka, he learns, does too.
— — —
The look on Sokka’s face as soon as he opens his door makes Zuko snap back before he can even open his mouth.
“Shut up.”
“Go on,” Sokka says, delightedly smug, “regale me with how you’re feeling right now.”
“Tired,” Zuko grouses, and glowers when he’s stopped from barging in by a grinning Sokka, who just wordlessly gestures for more. His smirk is insanely irritating, but also unfortunately infectious, and Zuko has to wipe at his mouth to push down his own smile threatening to break free. “Hungry,” he adds, and then more pointedly tacks on, “cold.”
“No you’re not,” Sokka tuts, and cackles as the finger he digs into the side of Zuko’s arm gets slapped away. “Well, maybe two out of three. But cold is definitely not one of them, sunshine.”
Zuko rolls his eyes and lets out an angry puff of air, but says nothing in response. Despite his frazzled hair and flushed face, his easy stance and loose limbs betray him; he looks for all the world like he’s just stepped out of the guest house rather than having spent the entire day outside. Even his crown piece seems to have sagged from the warm relief of being properly bundled for the weather, with how it’s slightly askew in his mussed topknot.
Actually, Sokka thinks, Zuko makes for a rather pretty picture like this, out on his doorstep in his too-light coat and poorly concealed gratification.
He still has that tepid scowl on his face, but the fire inside flickers over Sokka’s shoulder to play with the gold flecks in his eye and smooth over the curves of his cheekbones, revealing the rising emotion there—seconds later, Zuko cracks, and the whisper of a smile finally overtakes his features. It’s just a tight uptick of the corner on his right side, with his lips pushed out the tiniest bit from pressing his tongue against the back of them, but it’s the type of smile Sokka likes getting the most.
His appreciation must be obvious then, if he’s being gifted with the delightful image of what Zuko looks like right before he’s willing to accept a compliment.
Sokka smiles back, and steps aside to invite him in.
“I definitely thought you were going to tear it off once we ended up back at the city center.”
“I wanted to,” Zuko chuckles, but it comes out more like a groan. “But then we spent the rest of the day at the fishing docks, and I didn’t feel like burning myself in the foot by messing with the coat.” He does now though, fingers fly over the coat buttons and his boot laces so he can toss everything off in the entryway, before stretching his arms straight up and back with a hum, obviously happy in having his full range of motion back.
Sokka watches as the crown piece gets flicked onto his center table, and snorts. “Then you’re welcome for me intervening to save you before you went out there. Otherwise we would’ve had to ship you back home as an ice block and wait for you to thaw out—” he stills suddenly, and snaps his fingers together in devious excitement— “wait, that could be our next export! Selling Fire Lordsicles!”
He gets a brutally judgmental look thrown back at him in response. “That’s stupid, Sokka. There’s only one of me.”
“Royalsicles,” Sokka easily amends.
Zuko scoffs and turns away, choosing instead to try to tame the windblown disaster of his hair than pay attention to him. “You’re so annoying. How would you even convince anyone from the Fire Nation to come down here? They’d hate the cold.”
“I thought you fire lot could handle it though?” Sokka needles, and snickers when he succeeds in getting Zuko to glare at him again. “Maybe I’ll just keep refreezing you then, since you seem to have no issue in visiting all the time.”
Zuko pauses, and very carefully keeps his gaze trained on the cracking fire even as he’s dragged down to the pelts around the pit, before he finally, quietly says, “yeah, well, I have incentive to come.”
Sokka’s pulse fires up, and he can feel the heat bleeding into his cheeks. Zuko plants his elbows on the table and presses his hands tight over the curve of his jawline and his ears, as if to warm them up, but Sokka can see his bright flush peeking out over his fingers. He breathes out a small laugh, and decides to act.
Throwing all of his weight against Zuko’s side, he buries his head hard into his shoulder—just to be irritating, of course, not at all to hide his rapid heartbeat—and hums in thought. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I promise I won’t let you freeze and sell you off to make a quick buck.”
“Thank you, that’s all I could ever hope for,” Zuko returns, calculatingly polite as he spares a glance his way. “Your benevolence is very appreciated, Councilman Sokka.”
Sokka’s nose immediately wrinkles. “Ew, don’t Fire Lord at me in my own home.”
Zuko chuckles and Sokka looks up to watch, only to straighten at the view. With his scarred eye shut completely and only a sliver of gold peeking out from the other, he seems tired but content, and a rush of heady warmth makes Sokka’s vision briefly swirl. He takes his fill of looking, eyes tracing along the slope of Zuko’s nose, the ridges of his scar, and the slight part of his mouth as he lets out soft sleepy breaths.
“You didn’t have to come over if you’re tired, you know. I would’ve understood,” he says, with only a hint of wonder. Zuko doesn’t say anything, but his lips do quirk up in amusement. Angling his head so his ear sits more comfortably in his palm, he turns and stares right back.
Sokka thinks he may need to rethink his private ranking of his favorite Zuko smiles.
And this one’s going straight to first place.
Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and pointedly taps two fingers against the back of one of Zuko’s hands.
“Hello? Attention to hotman,” he calls, ducking a little to catch Zuko’s gaze and force him back into the conversation. It works; he straightens up with a few firm blinks, then tries hard to appear like he wasn’t about to fall asleep at the table. Sokka snorts. “Hey, stop tuning me out and go to bed. You look like you’re dead on your ass right now.”
Zuko just groans at him. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to warm my ears back up.”
“A whole firebender,” Sokka says in disbelief, “sitting in front of a whole fire, and you’re telling me your ears are still cold? Are you seriously not warm yet?”
“I am warm.” Zuko doesn’t bother in keeping his eyes open anymore. He closes them with an annoyed huff and nestles himself into his palms. “It just feels nice.”
“Sure, sure, whatever you need, bud,” Sokka laughs. Zuko scrunches his brow and decides to ignore him.
But then the sound of shifting fabric makes him look over, just in time to see Sokka reaching out with open hands and a fond smile. The pads of his fingers slide underneath the line of his jaw until they’re stopped by his own hands, and after a persistent poke, he drops them so that Sokka can push his palms over the curve of his head. Thumbs rest against his earlobes, fingers digging gently into his phoenix tail, and Zuko sucks in a breath.
“Sokka—”
He hums, and lightly sways Zuko’s head from side to side. “Does this help?”
It’s different this time, weightier, far more intimate, but Zuko freezes against Sokka’s hands for only seconds before he sighs and sinks into the touch. “Yeah. How are you so warm? Your hands feel like mine on a normal day back home.”
“Well, I have been inside for the whole evening,” Sokka replies, and grins at the disgruntled look he gets. “One of these days you’re going to finally listen to me when I tell you that growing up here means I run hotter to stay warm.”
“Stop stealing my thing,” Zuko grumbles. He’s pretty proud of how quickly he came up with literally any response while essentially turning to goo in those hands, especially when he’s rewarded with another of Sokka’s deep laughs.
“Sure, consider me like a frozen firebender, except way cooler than any regular firebender.” Sokka chuckles at his own joke as he lightly drags his nails over Zuko’s scalp, and then really starts laughing because— “Ha! Get it? Cooler? Because I’m from the Water Tribe? Hey—”
Zuko makes sure his groan is loud enough to drown out anything else Sokka tries to say. “Agni, you’re so lame.”
He falls back in an attempt to get away, but a few of the fingers in his hair get caught in a tangle that he didn’t bother to get rid of, and his head yanks from the accidental trap. With a yelp, his hands shoot up to latch onto Sokka’s wrist. “Okay, ow.”
“Sorry!” Sokka rushes, and scoots closer so he can wiggle his fingers free. “But dude, you seriously need to comb this. It’s a mess.”
“Yeah, because you made it a mess,” Zuko complains. Feeling out the state of his hair, he just sighs in defeat and carefully tries to remove his ribbon without pulling on any more strands. “The wind ruined it, and I’m sure tucking it into the hood after that just made it worse.”
“Yup, nope, it definitely didn’t help.” Sokka winces in sympathy when one tug on the ribbon looks particularly painful, and he gets up to grab a comb. “Here, let me help.”
Zuko sighs out a thank you, but when he reaches out to take it, Sokka just shoos him away and plops down behind him. He peeks back over his shoulder at him in surprise.
“Uhm,” he says, and repeats it far more indignantly when Sokka pushes his head forward and begins gathering up his knotted hair. “I can brush my own hair, Sokka.”
In all the years that he’s fiddled with it, Sokka has never offered to actually do anything with his hair. The thought of him taking care of it for Zuko now sends his heart racing.
“Course you can,” Sokka says. He grabs a handful about halfway down Zuko’s back and starts to work the comb through the tangles below his fist. “But doesn’t it feel nice to have someone else do it? Wait, do you do your own hair back home?”
Zuko fights against his hold to shoot him a hard glare. “Uh, yeah. It’s my hair, why would I need anyone else to do that?”
“Huh. Interesting.”
He sounds as if he wasn’t expecting that answer, and Zuko twists around even more to look at him in offense. Sokka just rolls his eyes and pushes on his cheek to get him to face forward again. “Hey, it’s a valid question! I thought it was a thing for royalty to have royal hairdressers or whatever nonsense to help you guys get ready.”
Zuko thinks about all the attendants he did have when he was younger, and then thinks about the last time his hair had been handled by anyone other than his uncle. He crosses his arms. “Yeah, well. Not me.”
“You’re really good at styling your hair then,” Sokka returns as he brushes. A remarkably easy observation, and yet it does more to tingle down Zuko’s spine than the tines of the comb do. He shifts a little, caught off guard by the compliment.
“It’s not that impressive,” he mumbles. “Usually it’s just putting some of it up in a topknot to hold the crown.”
Sokka makes a noise behind him. “No, I mean when you do it for events or celebrations. You do more to it then, like with those little ornaments and jewelry things. It’s cute.”
“Oh.”
Zuko’s face flushes, and his palms warm. With his inability to keep his hands to himself, it makes sense that Sokka knows his different hairstyles, but Zuko never expected him to actually remember them, let alone find them—cute. His pulse stutters, and he fumbles to think of a good response. “Uh, your hair always looks nice too. I like the braids.”
Sokka chuckles at the attempt and runs a hand from the crown of Zuko’s head down his neck to stifle any instinctive prickling before he digs his thumbs underneath the bulk of hair and hefts it up in his fist. Zuko shivers at the drag of fingers over his skin, and again when the free hand rests on the back of his neck, with a pinky poking just under the collar of his tunic.
“I could braid your hair, if you wanted,” Sokka says, idly tracing his nails along the edge of Zuko’s hairline. “Your hair’s thick enough that it would probably save you a lot of tears while you’re here.”
“I thought braids had special meanings in the Water Tribe. Wouldn’t that be weird while I’m here?” Zuko asks, and forces his eyes to stay open despite the pleasant sensation of those fingers playing over him.
Sokka lets out a small laugh and shifts closer. He needs to spread his legs apart more, with one knee resting on each side of Zuko’s hips so that he can sit comfortably, and Zuko zeroes in on the feeling of being anchored between his thighs. “Yeah, but braiding your hair to keep it out of your face isn’t unique to us. It’s usually just the smaller braids around the face that signify anything.”
Zuko leans back, just a little, to better soak up Sokka’s warmth, and he hums. “What do yours mean?”
“You know what they mean,” he says with a smile. But when Zuko just turns to look curiously at him, his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, are you serious? You don’t know?”
“No?” Zuko’s right eye squints in confusion. “I know about the wolf tail thing, but I never knew the braids meant anything. Uncle was the one who finally told me they did.”
Sokka’s surprise makes him drop Zuko’s hair so that he can sprawl sidelong him, curling his body around one of his crossed legs and leaning on his hands so he can get a better look at his face. His hip digs into the side of Zuko’s thigh like this, and Zuko’s gaze drops to take in all the points where they’re connected. “Really? Does Iroh know what they mean?”
Zuko shrugs. “I don’t think so, otherwise he probably would’ve talked about it. Uncle wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to educate like that.”
“That makes sense,” Sokka nods absently. He looks at Zuko like he’s in thought rather than actually seeing him. “They can mean different things to different tribes, depending on where the braids are and what they look like. Have I really never told you what they’re for?”
Zuko glances down at the hand that now rests on his leg and laughs, a little breathlessly. “No, you haven’t. For a while after my coronation you would just show up with a new one. Katara too, although I did eventually find out her new style is because she’s married.”
Sokka smiles and taps a thumb against his knee. “Yeah, that one’s true. She’s always liked her hair loopies though, so she kept those. Hold on—”
He hoists himself up so he can crawl around to sit back in front of Zuko, and scoots close enough that his knees have to rest on top of Zuko’s for them both to have enough room. Having him and his smile here—distantly, Zuko thinks about how he wouldn’t have to lean very far if he wanted to kiss Sokka right now, and he gets a little lightheaded at the thought.
He—they had been so close earlier.
“Okay, let me start off by saying that not only can braid meanings differ by location, but they can also change based on your role in the community,” Sokka says, and then gives a self-conscious shrug. “Sometimes it’s a gender thing too, like with Katara’s marriage braids, but you’ll see more of that up North.”
Zuko swallows down his urge and gives a quick nod.
“Hair loopies are really common for girls everywhere, though if you’re a princess or hold some high position they can end up being more elaborate.” Sokka frowns, lightening quick, before continuing. “Men often have simpler braids on our right side, since we usually keep our hair up in our wolf tails until we decide to grow it out.”
He points at the first braid in his wolf tail, that starts closest to his right temple. “Becoming an adult in my village gets you a braid. After a while, you can choose whether you want to keep wearing it, but a lot of people like to leave it in.”
Sokka then runs a finger down his second one, and absently clacks his nails on the beads threaded throughout. “We’re big on community and what we do for each other, so the second one can signify things like our roles. Warriors put bands in to highlight that, and I know some of the healers here have started using a new type of rock to make beads for their braids.”
“Water tribesmen can do whatever they want with their hair. Sometimes they only wear one braid or more or none at all—it’s up to them, although you’ll usually see people’s hair done up for events and things. I guess it can probably be confusing for someone who’s not used to seeing them, but it’s pretty cool to see how people like to show off their tribes.” He smiles, but then his lips purse in thought. “Although if you have an important role like my dad, you usually just keep them in all the time. Dad’s braids have warrior and chief bands, which are important to him and to us.”
Suddenly, he winks at Zuko. “Though the lighter blue sinew in his hair is for Bato.”
Zuko flushes, and clears his throat so he can quickly get out, “what’s the third one for?”
Sokka grins and tugs the band out of his hair so it falls around his face. He ruffles it a little to shake it out, the beads lightly clacking together, and sweeps it over one of his shoulders. Zuko admires the length; it’s arguably as long as his, though the waves make it appear shorter, and it’s thick enough to completely hide Sokka’s shaved sides unless he moves it around. He looks handsome like this, strangely vulnerable with his hair down, and Zuko always feels fortunate at the fact that he gets to see this sight as often as he does.
Sokka works at his hair to carefully pull the first braid free and holds it in front of his face. With it out of the wolf tail, Zuko can better see the line of colorful wraps on it.
“So, adulthood braid.” He then picks up the other two braids and waves them one at a time in Zuko’s direction. “My second one is the same as my dad where it’s for my warrior status, just without the chief beads, and the third one honors my respected achievements for the community.”
At this, Zuko’s eyebrow rises in intrigue. He thinks of everything Sokka’s done that could end up being commemorated in a braid, and comes to the conclusion that there’s not nearly enough hair on his head for all of them. “Is that one that people work to get then? Like a prestige thing?”
Sokka chuckles and leans forward so he can brush the ends of his braids against Zuko’s nose. “No, not really. This one’s because of the things I’ve invented, but people can get them for anything, and even then it’s still up to them if they want to wear it.”
His hand is swatted away, making Sokka grin as he keeps explaining. “Signifying braids aren’t really like medals. It’s more of a respect thing, to recognize people in the community. And I really only wear my three braids because Dad wears two, and as the son of the chief I want to look different.” He shrugs, then gives a ferociously smug smirk and leans in closer to say, “besides, I’m a respectable guy.”
Zuko just huffs and pushes Sokka and his ego away from him. “Respectable people tend to be modest about their achievements, you know.”
“And I’m modestly explaining why I deserve to show off!” Sokka crows, happily waving away Zuko’s complaint. “I deserve all three of my braids!”
“You’re going to end up with a head full of them then, apparently,” Zuko snarks back, inadvertently voicing his admiration, and Sokka laughs.
“That’s why we have hair ornaments,” he sings. “Ones for family members, ones for war or trade achievements, and ones for all of my other extensive list of achievements!”
Zuko ignores Sokka’s second dumb attempt at self-flattery. “Family members?”
“Oh, yeah. The first braid is also for that.” The braid is picked back up so he can point at each band as he lists people. “Gran-Gran’s bead at the bottom, dad’s, mom’s, and then Katara’s. The wraps are for Bato and Aang—”
“Aang?”
“Uh,” Sokka pauses in judgmental surprise. “Yeah? Remember when he married Katara? That makes him part of my family?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Zuko snaps, but he can’t take his eyes off the dark orange yarn wrapped in Sokka’s hair. It stands out in stark relief against the other varying shades of blue, and suddenly—embarrassingly, Zuko swells with jealousy at how the orange can look a little red, if he squints his eye. “So it’s also a family thing, and you can keep adding to it?”
Sokka’s fingers lightly run from the top of the braid and down, over each wrap and bead, and twists the end between the spaces of his fingers before letting it go. Zuko recognizes the habit; it’s something he does often when he’s lost in thought, even when it’s up in his wolf tail, and he startles at the revelation of the weight behind it.
His eyes jump to the bare stretch of braid above Aang’s spot, and he burns in wondering.
“Do friends ever get a bead or…anything?” he asks, quietly.
It seems to be a good question, because Sokka tilts his head as he considers the thought. His eyes jump away from Zuko’s after he asks though, and he chews on his lip the longer he thinks. “Probably, for some families? We…don’t though, which is why Bato and Aang didn’t get a place until they married in.”
Zuko deflates, and then immediately tries to hide it. He’s not sure why he’s so disappointed in the answer, since it’s not like Toph or Suki are represented either, but—
Sokka tugs lightly on some of the hair that’s escaped to fall down his front, and smiles. “Don’t tell Katara, but Gran-Gran kinda hates it that Aang’s bald.”
Zuko jerks in surprise. “What?”
“Like, she gets it because he’s an airbender and that’s their thing, but she’s constantly complaining about how nice he’d look with a head full of braids around his arrow.” Sokka sighs and fondly rolls his eyes. “I swear she’s totally in love with the idea.”
“Aang could get a braid?”
Sokka’s grin settles back down into a soft smile. “Yeah, he could. His bands would look a little different though.”
“Because he married in?”
At that, Sokka—pauses, and his eyes trail all over Zuko’s face. He starts to rock himself slightly, with his knees rhythmically pressing into Zuko’s own, as if he’s trying to decide what his next move should be. His hand eventually drifts to the hair on Zuko’s left side so he can pull out more over his shoulder, then slowly cards his fingers through the long length. “That, but he could get one even before he and Katara got married if he wanted. Partners can wear one, even if they’re not Water Tribe.”
He does one last slow drag through Zuko’s hair before bringing a finger up to rest it against his left temple, next to the edge of his scar. “It’s usually a single braid here on this side of the head.”
Zuko stops breathing. “Y-yeah?”
Sokka’s gaze seems stuck on where his finger is, and he nods distractedly. But then he picks up the hair there and starts to carefully section out three smaller strands. His fingers go back to running through them afterward, taking care to keep the groupings separated.
“Usually,” he begins, and Zuko has to lean in to better hear him, “when a braid is being done by someone else, the braider will think about positive thoughts so they can get woven in. Lover’s braids are the same way, except the focus is on their partner and the relationship, and any wishes for their future as a way to strengthen their bond. It’s kinda a selfish thing, honestly, but it’s sort of something we’ve always done—it’s like betrothal necklaces up North I guess, except this is more like for dating. Once people get married though, the braid usually switches over into a family braid.”
As he talks, his hand eventually comes to a stop until he’s just holding the three sections in his palm. After a moment, in a controlled act of nonchalance, he starts slowly braiding Zuko’s hair.
He doesn’t look over to see Zuko’s reaction, instead watching his progress to make sure the braid starts off right, though Zuko isn’t sure if this is necessary or just deliberate. All he knows is that he doesn’t like it. He desperately wants Sokka’s eyes on him, to get a full view of what might be hiding within, to see if Sokka is suddenly having just as much trouble keeping his nerves calm as he is.
“Like?” His voice doesn’t seem loud enough to even fill the small space between them, but he knows he was still heard from the way Sokka jumps. He’s looking then, staring straight at Zuko with a blush rising high on his cheeks and his hands twisting just out of Zuko’s periphery.
“Thoughts like?” he presses.
“Like—” Sokka clears his throat. “Like…giving thanks for their health, and a wish for them to stay strong and healthy, both today and every day after. To share that strength in the relationship, like I—the braider will too, to weather any obstacles and be supported in their life path with a steady hand and heart behind them. To acknowledge their patience, with the hope that they always remember to give that to themselves, to each other, and to their community.”
He stumbles over his words at first, but then gains confidence. They sound like they’re familiar to him, as if they’re safe territory, but Zuko’s body erupts in excitement anyway; he sparks from the top of his head, where he can feel the start of the braid moving at his temple, and down through his fingers and toes. His hands bury themselves into his tunic to ground himself.
Sokka shifts and cocks his head, and the sudden intensity in his expression makes Zuko’s mouth go dry. “To know that their love and commitment is known, honored, and returned. That this—the braider takes pride in their love and kindness, and…declares that they will carry this privilege with them for the rest of their life.”
Without meaning to, Zuko chokes on a gasp. These sentiments don’t seem to have been performed before.
“This braid, and these thoughts, are a testament to our—their unity, their dedication to themselves and each other, and that—” Sokka pauses to suck in a deep, rattling breath. He almost sounds like he’s about to burst, as he stares into Zuko. “That you know how much the braider really does love you back.”
Zuko feels like he’s falling, like he’s soaring, like he wants to reach out in return, but is too overwhelmed to even think of where to start.
When Sokka gets close to running out of hair to braid, he pinches it at the end to keep it from unraveling, then seems to flounder. His face is completely flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, and he keeps bouncing his gaze from Zuko’s quietly stunned face and back to the braid. He’s biting his lip too, and Zuko tracks how his teeth indent into his bottom lip with blistering yearning.
Finally, he moves the braid for Zuko to see.
He inhales sharply, and Sokka clears his throat again.
“I—when they’re done, the braid can be secured with some sinew or a bead. It’s up to the couple, really, but then—” he moves it out his line of sight, and Zuko shivers at the feeling of the rest of his hair being swept back before the braid is carefully tucked behind his scarred ear. He’s frozen, stuck staring at the high point of Sokka’s cheekbones, and his mouth falls open a little when Sokka rests his wrist on his shoulder and doesn’t let go of the braid.
“Putting it behind the ear signifies new love. It’s a promise, to treasure the new relationship and protect it, this way.”
Heavy silence then falls over them, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the soft creaking of ice settling in the nighttime cold. Sokka still hasn’t looked away from the braid or his hand, staring at it in open amazement, and Zuko—
Zuko feels unmoored.
He thinks back, all those years ago, to those scant moments after his coronation where he allowed himself a chance to breathe. Sitting in that fading candlelight, he thought about what peace could look like for him, after he righted enough wrongs to feel like he was finally making progress. He imagined, sometimes, how easily his happiness could come in the form of seeing leather gloves tossed on his desk, or possibly from a breezy laugh pressed against his cheek, or—especially, from a pair of confident and weirdly-tanned hands slipping into his own.
He had dreamed then, sucked underneath private desires of wanting to find out all the places his own hands could be welcomed, from sliding up strong arms and shoulders, to running through curling hair, to finally learning what those smiles felt like underneath his fingertips.
As he stares at Sokka, and he stares at the braid, Zuko realizes that no, he feels tethered.
Sokka makes him feel like he’s allowed to be selfish.
And those hands hold in them the unshakable knowledge that he won’t ever be turned away.
He reaches out without a second thought, teasing out the hair at Sokka’s left temple to begin sectioning it into three strands. Sokka jerks, his wrist even bouncing on Zuko’s shoulder, and he rears back like he’s suddenly crashed back into the moment. Zuko falls with him to keep the hair in his hands slack without letting go, and he starts to braid.
The muscles in his fingers spasm every time they brush against Sokka’s face, and he now understands why Sokka couldn’t look at him when he had first started. Zuko feels like he’s stumbling, his hands just as clumsy as the tidal wave of thoughts he tries to wade through. There’s so much bottled up, so much he can’t hold onto anymore, so much he wants to share—
“Hair is really important to us,” Sokka finally breathes out, and he sounds awed. “Not anyone can really touch it, unless they have good intentions.”
Zuko’s hands freeze in their weaving, and he flushes hot in embarrassment. “Should I not—”
“It’s not fair,” he murmurs, “that you got to hear mine, and I can’t hear yours.”
“Sokka,” Zuko shakes out. Everything he’s ever wanted to say rushes to his tongue. “I—you—Sokka, there’s—you make me feel like I can handle anything, even when other people try to push back against the things I want to do, and I love it, I want to be there for you like that too. You make me feel better than Appa—wait, no I mean that you make me feel like I’m flying, and it’s better than any trip I’ve taken on Appa—”
Zuko lets out a shuddering exhale and tries to reorient himself. His mouth is running faster than his mind, and it’s making him frustrated. Sokka’s words had come so naturally, seemingly without any need to rehearse them, but he feels like he should have practiced saying his thoughts out loud more, so that he wasn’t getting so stuck in the jumble of trying to share all them at once.
“I like you so much—you’re so smart too, that it’s kinda frustrating sometimes how you can take one look at something and see all of its potential so quickly, and then your tangents—even when you’re complaining, I know it just means you’re passionate about it. Although I never understand half of the things you say but I don’t care, because I like seeing how excited you get anyway. I like being that person you can come to, and I always want it to be like that. And your voice. I like that I can make you laugh so hard until you do those weird high-pitched hiccups when trying to catch your breath—okay, that sounds like I’m making fun of you, but I’m not. I want to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life—”
Despite the still-amazed look on his face, Sokka starts to snicker softly, and all of Zuko’s confidence goes up in smoke.
With a long groan, he flops forward to hide into the back of his hands still in Sokka’s hair. “Don’t you dare start laughing.”
“Oh? But I thought you liked the sound of me laughing?”
“Not when it’s at me,” he moans, then knocks his forehead against Sokka’s clavicle when he hears him stifle a snort. “Shut up.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m always laughing at you,” Sokka genially says, and retaliates by rubbing his chin into Zuko’s cheek. “And hey, I’m just admiring your natural skill in giving speeches! You should give me pointers.”
“I hate you. So much.” Without lifting his head to expose his red face, Zuko blows a hard gust of heated air into the curve of Sokka’s neck. “I’m trying.”
“I know, I know!” Sokka actually does let loose a laugh this time, and grins at the deep frown he gets when he lifts Zuko’s head up. “You’re doing good for your first try! Don’t stop!”
Zuko glares at him. “I’m starting over.”
He moves to hook a finger into the top of the braid to unravel it, but before he can Sokka snatches his hand up with a loud noise of complaint, and firmly brings it back down to where he had left off braiding. “Uh yeah, absolutely not. You’re doing just fine, Zuko, I mean it. Keep going.”
“Except I’m messing it up.”
Sokka rolls his eyes, but his smirk is overwhelmingly affectionate as he smooths his thumb over Zuko’s knuckles.
“I like it,” he says. “Besides, this isn’t the only time you’ll get to do this. You’ll get more practice at it, don’t worry.”
Zuko’s heart trips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sokka breathes. “You’re not getting rid of me any time soon, Zuko.”
The fire deep within his core flares throughout his body, and Zuko ignites.
“Do you have any yarn?”
He says it before he even registers what’s coming out of his mouth, and he only catches on from the way Sokka suddenly looks like he’s dangling in shock. He winces, and waits for the second flash of embarrassment to hit—that feeling where he’s pushed too fast and without thought again, leaving him wishing he could rewind time—but it never comes.
Sokka seems to simmer in the depths of the question, as if he’s turning over every word and syllable to piece it together in a way that makes sense. Zuko knows that’s how he works; Sokka thinks, while he dives in headfirst. He’s gotten better at it, from all the years of being the Fire Lord and having a master strategist as his best friend, but there are still times when he indulges himself in his innate need to just snap into action.
Zuko figures that this, certainly, can be one of those moments.
He guides Sokka, wraps his fingers around the wrist still holding onto the braid in his hair, nestles their joined hands into his neck, and he asks again. “Sokka, do you have any yarn?”
Sokka overflows with joy.
Grinning wide, his eyes crinkle so hard they’re close to shutting, he giggles, and he darts forward to cradle Zuko’s jaw and press the sweet sound of his glee into his temple, right next to the start of the braid. Swallowing down a relieved gasp, Zuko drinks in his elation and reaches out to touch too. He revels in how he can rub his hand up Sokka’s side and his neck, where he can feel the thrumming beat of Sokka’s pulse point under his thumbs, and he exhales hard at the absolute satisfaction that fires through him.
Suddenly, Sokka pulls away, looking frantic as he whips his head around to search the room.
“Babe,” he says, easy as daylight, and the cascading swell of delighted buzzing in Zuko’s ears nearly drowns out anything else he says. “Shit, I don’t have any nearby!”
Zuko rasps out a laugh and lets the hand not holding onto his own braid fall to rest on Sokka’s chest. “The thread? Sokka, it’s okay. Can’t we just get some—”
It only takes Sokka a fraction of a second to cast a glance down at his shirt and scrutinize it, before he’s picking up one of the hanging tassels there. Jamming the bead at the end between his teeth, he yanks his head up, snapping it free, and Zuko watches, stunned, as Sokka carefully picks at the freed yarn from his shirt until it’s a long piece left on his leg. He then takes the bead from his mouth and holds it up.
There’s a pause, where he seems to turn suddenly bashful, and he only briefly meets Zuko’s gaze before he closes his eyes. Bringing the bead back to his lips, he gives it a quick kiss.
The heat of Zuko’s blush leaves him feeling like he’s pinned underneath it.
Though considering how bright Sokka’s own cheeks are, he’s comforted to the point of almost giddiness in knowing he’s at least not alone.
“Okay,” Sokka says. He takes a moment to thread the bead through Zuko’s hair to rest it at the base of the braid, and then picks the yarn off his thigh. “Zuko, help me out here. Usually all of this is prepared beforehand so it’s not as awkward, and we’re kinda doing this totally backwards, but whatever. Here, wrap this around my fingers a couple of times.”
Zuko’s hand shakes terribly, but he does as asked and loosely wraps the yarn around his two pointer fingers.
“That’s good,” Sokka whispers, and then—with a deep breath, he raises his bound fingers and presses his lips to the back of them. This time, he doesn’t look away or close his eyes, and Zuko’s breath stutters at the shining wave of emotion that peeks through his half-lidded gaze.
Sokka pulls his fingers away long enough to explain, “doing this to seal my commitment,” before he goes back to placing tiny kisses all over the yarn. He seems lost in it; like he’s trying to kiss so much more than every wish and hope that was already woven into the braid, and the sight is so surprisingly sweet that it makes Zuko’s eyes prick.
After a final lingering kiss, he brings his fingers to Zuko’s lips, and his nerves overwhelm his voice when he asks, “now, you?”
A burst of sparks fire off in Zuko’s stomach as he looks down at the yarn. They haven’t yet shared a single kiss, or even a conversation on what it would mean to date at this point in their lives, to evolve their friendship and their touches into something much more. But Sokka is looking at him with such strong, unwavering adoration that, right now, Zuko can’t care to think about anything other than the fingers in front of him.
Gently holding the wrist in his hand, he tucks his thumb over the rest of Sokka’s fingers and leans in to kiss the yarn and the skin around it.
The immediate gasp from Sokka is so loud, it startles Zuko into glancing up at him.
He’s fallen closer, as if in an aborted attempt to bring him into his own kiss, and the look on his face makes Zuko pull back a little, overwhelmed—his breath hitches then, when Sokka’s eyes fall down to his mouth.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Zuko rushes forward to place a firm kiss onto Sokka’s fingers, shoving in every thought and hope and all those enduring desires he’s ever had right into that navy blue thread. He thinks about how he can draw Sokka’s smile from memory—and has, over and over. He recalls all the nights where he stared across his bed and dragged his hand over the empty spot next to him, wondering if Sokka would be fine with red pillows or if he’d prefer blue. He recounts how many times Sokka has touched him, how many times he’s touched his hair, how many times he’s wanted to pull him in and kiss him, deep and endless.
Zuko shares it all.
When he finally pulls away to catch his breath, he’s strangely exhausted in the most exhilarating way. He looks up for what to do next, but the tenderness in Sokka’s grin leaves his heart stuttering. It’s contagious, like his happiness always is, and Zuko feels his own lips stretch into a warm smile.
Sokka shifts—Zuko finds that he’s practically forced himself half into his lap, with Sokka’s free hand curled around his thigh to stabilize him—and he carefully maneuvers the yarn through the hole in the bead, then begins wrapping it around Zuko’s hair. With every pass of it around the braid, Sokka’s smile grows larger and larger, until he’s nearly vibrating by the time he secures the bead and knots the yarn. Then, with a reverent hand, he gently tucks the braid back behind Zuko’s ear and lets go.
As he fixes his hair back to how it naturally falls, Zuko feels more the brush of it along his neck and collarbone than he does against his scarred ear, but he can still sense the weight of the braid there, and he loves it all the same.
“Sokka,” he says, and chokes out a happy noise when Sokka’s eyes flit to his. Suddenly, he’s hit with a ridiculous urge—it’s definitely not the right time, he knows, and will probably ruin the floating sensation of the moment, but none of that stops him from still raising his brow and teasing in false astonishment, “since when were you such a hopeless poet?”
And Sokka’s face undergoes a flurry of emotions; his mouth drops open in shock as his face scrunches in exasperated disbelief, seemingly too affronted to give a proper answer, but then he’s laughing, both into Zuko’s face and the space between them, loud and astounded and happy. His hands fly up to cup Zuko’s jaw in his hands with an amused shake of his head, and then he pulls him forward into a kiss.
Zuko gasps, hard, and falls into the blazing feeling of Sokka’s lips on his.
There’s no hesitancy in it; Sokka kisses him like a dam has broken, like he’s finally getting the chance to indulge in something that has been kept from him for so long. Zuko can taste his desperation as well as his devotion, and he can only hope that Sokka feels how much he also burns, all the way up from his inner fire and into their kiss.
An arm wraps around his waist to pull him in even closer, until he’s pressed tight against Sokka and the staccato beat of his heart, as the first kiss melts into the next and then more after. Zuko never wants it to stop, he wants to keep going, with his mouth perfectly fit against Sokka’s, until he loses count of how many kisses have been shared between them.
He loves the feeling of Sokka’s stubble scratching along his bottom lip and his cheeks, and he loves the firm, confident shift of Sokka’s mouth against his, he loves Sokka—
Their near kiss earlier wouldn’t have been like this, he realizes.
When they had both finally recognized what was happening between them, they enjoyed the teasing thrill of teetering just on the edge of naming what they were, but there hadn’t been understanding like there is now, where Zuko knows as well as breathing how much Sokka really cares and loves and wants. He gives so much passion, like a part of him is still somehow afraid that Zuko is going to pull away, even after everything. His lips are an unrelenting force that leaves Zuko clutching on for dear life, and he eagerly rises to the challenge to give just as much back, to make it clear Sokka knows too.
The first, fleeting lick against Sokka’s mouth forces from him a dizzying gasp. Every single one of Zuko’s nerves sing from the noise, and he does it again and again between his kisses, hand clenched tight in his hair, until those lips part and Zuko can dive in to take his fill. He moans at the slide of Sokka’s tongue against his, and kisses him even deeper when he starts to feel a rising grin against his lips.
Even through his clothes, Zuko can feel the searing heat of his touch, across his back and in his hair. It’s sweet, it’s intoxicating, it’s anchoring, to be so held like this.
They can barely pull themselves away from each other before they fall back in for more—one more kiss, one more smile pressed into the other’s cheek, one more giddy laugh shared between their mouths—but eventually, as Zuko brushes his hand over Sokka’s jaw while catching his breath, he catches sight of his fingers still pinched around his own braid in Sokka’s hair.
His happy hum breaks into a grin, and he rubs his fingers around the start of it. “Do I get to do the same thing for yours?”
Sokka shines in response, looking so thrilled that he firmly kisses Zuko again just to release some of his excitement, and he continues trailing smiling kisses all over his face as he yanks free another tassel on his shirt to drop it into Zuko’s waiting palm. His hands settle on Zuko’s waist, but they don’t stay there for long.
With him sitting in his lap, Sokka can reach everywhere. His fingers play over Zuko’s hips and up his sides, smooth over his shoulders, down his chest, and to his thighs, leaving behind a breathtaking, encompassing heat that stokes Zuko’s already raging inner fire—it’s perfectly distracting, but he doesn’t bother in pulling those hands away, and Sokka doesn’t bother with stopping, even when he tugs lightly on the end of the braid to pull his attention back to his face.
“Yeah,” Sokka whispers, leaning in for one more kiss and a quick, affectionate run of his hand over his lover’s braid hidden in Zuko’s hair.
“My turn.”