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It’s already happened by the time Sokka realizes it.
It’s not like falling for Yue, seeing her breathtaking beauty and demure charm and being instantly smitten. Knowing he couldn’t have her but wanting anyway, feeling almost desperate with the infatuation.
It’s not the kind of moment he had with Suki, who was breathtaking more in the literal sense when she flipped him to the ground and pinned him there, smirking down at him and daring him to say another word, and he knew he was gone for her.
Falling for Zuko wasn’t an instantaneous thing. Sure, once he lost the ponytail, stopped chasing them and started smiling more he had noticed certain… attractive qualities about him. Sokka has eyes, okay? And if it had been hard to ignore the well defined muscles from intense training he had simply chalked it up to admiration.
But no, falling for Zuko had been a slow thing. Like an intricately laid plan or the painstaking details of a blueprint. A careful buildup. Something that needed to be timed correctly. Something he hadn’t even realized was happening until he was face to face with him after they’d won, broken and bruised and asleep in a recovery bed.
He looked so small like that. Zuko wasn’t supposed to look small , he thought, before wondering when exactly he had spent so much time cataloging how Zuko was supposed to look at all.
He found himself checking him over for new scars before he even realized he was doing it, much the way he would have fussed over Katara. Besides the obvious bandaged one on his chest he didn’t see anything else that hadn’t already been taken care of, and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Since when had so much of his own wellbeing been dependent on Zuko’s?
But it wasn’t a new thing, not really.
He knows Zuko, he sees himself in Zuko. The same reckless driving spirit that gets him into as much trouble as it gets him out of. The deep amount of respect and love he has for his friends, even if he hides it behind a prickly exterior.
He had saved Katara’s life. He was in that recovery bed in the first place because he put his own life on the line to save Sokka’s sister - someone who had refused to even given him the time of day until recently.
He’d always been so worried about restoring his honor, but Sokka thinks Zuko is one of the most honorable people he knows.
He goes to adjust the crutch he’s leaning against - Katara hadn’t been able to fully heal his shattered leg - and the scrape of the wood against the floor wakes Zuko.
His eyes fly open wildly as if he’d still been in the midst of battle in his dreams, and he breathes heavily for a moment before his eyes settle on Sokka. And then he smiles - one of his soft, shy ones - and Sokka knows how to name the fluttering feeling in his stomach.
His voice is more raspy than usual from disuse, but Sokka thinks hearing his name from those lips is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
“Sit,” he says. “You’re hurt.”
And Sokka can’t help but laugh a little, gesturing at the setup Zuko has for himself. Bandages and balms and mysterious tinctures, his hair hasn’t been brushed properly in days and his robes are still littered with scorch marks and singes. And he tells Sokka to sit, worries about him.
He sits, if only to be closer to Zuko.
“Thank you,” he says. “You saved my sister.”
Zuko looks away.
“It’s my own sister’s fault I had to save her in the first place.”
Sokka places a hand on his jaw, smoothing away a bit of soot and gently turning his face to look him in the eyes again.
“You’re kind of an idiot, you know that?”
His words are scolding but his tone is playful. Zuko understands, by now, that this is how Sokka shows affection. He can tell by the way the smile returns to his face. Barely, but it’s there.
Sokka drops his hold from Zuko’s face to place it on top of his hand instead in a way he hopes is comforting. In a way he hopes Zuko interprets as how much he cares.
Slowly Zuko flips his palm up flush with Sokka’s, entwines their fingers like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to touch him like this. Blushes slightly when Sokka doesn’t pull away.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Sokka says, and squeezes his hand.
It doesn’t feel like enough to convey the amount of emotion trapped in his chest, doesn’t feel sufficient in expressing how much he’s discovered Zuko means to him.
He wants to scream it in the way he’s used to doing with his feelings, wild and powerful and important. He wants to take Zuko’s face in his hands and kiss every tiny scratch and imperfection until he knows in his bones how much he is loved. He wants to hold him forever, slow and unending and never enough.
For now, he holds a cup of water to his lips to help him drink. Smooths his damp hair away from where it’s sticking to his skin. Doesn’t let go of his hand.
They have time.