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~~
Zuko loves his mother.
She is kind, and gentle. Voice and hand never raised to strike.
In a world- in a home - that often feels like danger lurks in every corner, she is the one piece of constant comfort that he has. She is safe.
Until she isn’t.
It doesn’t seem like a dangerous question.
But Zuko has pondered it back and forth in his mind since his lessons that morning, overhearing the idle gossip of his teachers as if they think anyone below their height must not be able to hear.
About bloodlines, and candidates, on the strengths of noble houses and the eligible daughters of similar age.
Zuko knows about the arranged marriages, but it has always seemed like such a far away thing, something he just didn’t need to worry about. And as much as the prospect seems scary, a small part of him has always hoped it would mean getting a friend .
But they do not make it sound like that. Their words twist and cackle, more like they are describing pretty jewels to be bought at auction instead of people, and Zuko’s discomfort grows with every conversation heard. Things like servient, quiet, petite , float around in his head until he wants to bolt out of the room.
He hasn’t had much interaction with girls to begin with, other than his sister and her friends, and they do not install much confidence in his ability to coexist, considering how bad his discomfort is around them.
Zuko’s only other source of people his age is with his sparring partners, other young boys from noble families that take instruction from swordmasters and firebenders alike. And while he wouldn’t hold any of them in his mind as a friend, there is a camaraderie and companionship that comes from being beaten down by ruthless teachers.
Survival of the perfect, and falling short does not suffice.
And it doesn’t occur to him to think any differently about a single one of them, until he missteps one day and trips, careening sideways toward the ground and bracing for an impact along unprotected ribs before a hand catches him partway.
A vice of a grip on his bicep that hauls him back up quickly and rights him, and his sparring partner blinks wide-eyed at him as he lets go. “Keep going, they didn’t see.”
It is hushed and strained, and Zuko doesn’t hesitate to return to form and continue, muttering a thanks to the other boy and praying mentally that truly no one noticed as they continue through the moveset.
But no one steps in to discipline, and his anxiety eases as he once again finds his feet, gaining confidence with every repetition. They are exhausted at the end, they always are, but when the order of dismissal is shouted out Zuko can’t help but breathe through a small smile.
His sparring partner, Dairin, smiles right back and shoots him a quick wink before sheathing his practice blades and heading to the armoury stacks to store them.
And it is that quick motion, the flash of teeth returned and the bit of knowing behind warm brown eyes, that freezes Zuko to the spot.
He doesn’t know why, has no idea what the sudden rush of blood to his cheeks is for, or the nervousness that flutters in his belly, but he stifles it all away as he rushes to store his own equipment and head back to the palace.
Zuko is still overwarm when he returns, both from the heat of a long summer day, and the exhaustion of lessons, so he seeks out the expansive gardens to cool off in the shade before the rest of his family returns as well.
But heading towards the pond finds himself with company.
His mother sits on one of the intricate marble benches, hair loose down her back as she tosses out grains to the turtleducks, and Zuko’s nerves calm instantly at the sight. She turns towards him as trots up to her, offering her arms to him for a quick hug before patting the bench at her side. “You are back quickly.” She hands him a palmful of seeds to throw before gazing back out at the ponds. “Your lessons went well?”
Zuko hops onto the bench, legs dangling in relief as weight is finally taken off them. “As much as they ever do.” His mother clears her voice at his grumpy tone, and he sighs before amending. “I did not get in trouble, so I think my teachers were pleased.”
He almost did, though.
Flash of teeth.
Warm brown eyes.
A strong hand around his bicep.
The kindness of protection.
Zuko’s fists tighten on his pant legs, and he bites into his lip as he tries to bring his thoughts back to order, but the only thing he can think about is the endless gossip about his marriage prospects, and if…
If-
He doesn’t know why, but the question seems dangerous.
But this is not his father, who does not tolerate curiosity within the palace, who does not tolerate children speaking for the most part.
This is his mother, who has always been safe, who gives him the space to laugh and cry whenever he needs.
And it is that trust, that allows his teeth to give way to words. “Do I have to marry a girl?”
Ursa shoots him a look of surprise, before she chuckles gently. “Well, not right now . You are only a child still, there are many years yet before you will be betrothed. And there are many that would suit, I’m sure you will find someone you like.” His mother’s brow pinches a bit, eyes drifting to the stone walls as she takes a slow breath. Zuko is unsure about her tone, but her tenseness dissipates as she once again reaches for more birdseed.
His jaw works, and he fiddles with his fingers for a moment before he tries again, to have her understand. “No I… I mean does it have to be a girl .” His nerves catch his throat, squeaking the words out of him as he continues. “I don’t think I like-”
A hand grips his forearm, shooting down with such speed it snatches him in a blink, and Zuko gasps as long nails bite into the soft exposed skin when he is wrenched sideways to face his mother.
“Do not say that.” Ursa’s voice is a hiss, face dark and eyes furious as her hold tightens. “Do not ever say that Zuko, not to anyone .” She cuts a glance around the garden, eyeing the entrances before pointing at his face. “Listen to me, whatever wayward thought it is you are having, you cannot have , it is forbidden. It is punishable by death , do you understand?”
Zuko shrinks back, eyes wide and stinging both from the pain of her nails in his skin and from the weight of her disapproval. “Yes!” He half falls back as she lets go, not realizing until too late how hard he was trying to pull away until he nearly slips off the bench entirely. He catches himself on his elbow, a brighter spot of pain as it hits the stone, but it’s barely a blip compared to the rest of his body, seizing up in panic he struggles to take in a shuddering breath.
“You will never speak of this again. Promise me.” His mother’s brow pinches, face grim as she stares him down and waits for his nod before continuing. “Who is it?” He has never heard her use a tone like this, icy and irritated as she leans close.
“No one!” Zuko is actively crying now, and he can’t stop the sting in his eyes or the burning of his tears as they slip down his cheeks. His chest aches, and he shakes his head at the disappointed look his mother favours him with. “There is no one, I just- it was just sparring practice and someone helped me, it doesn’t matter, I-”
“-Then you will spar with teachers only from now on, and privately within the walls of the palace.” Ursa moves to stand, dusting off her robes.
His eyes widen, still not comprehending completely but horrified at the prospect. “But Mom, I-”
“-Go to your room Zuko, I will send your dinner to you, and feign an illness.” His mother’s words are sharp, back turned as she strides away. “You cannot be present at the table looking like this.”
Zuko is frozen, watching her back as she leaves, heart pounding in distress as he tries to understand her fury and cannot find where he misstepped.
The long walk to his room does not bring him any clarity, and he studiously avoids the gaze of guards he passes in the hallway, hoping they will not see his state.
The door closing behind him feels at once like safety and like imprisonment, and he falls back against it as his eyes begin to sting once more. He lets his body fall, sliding down to sit and hug his knees to his chest as he quietly cries into the dim space.
After a moment, his eyes catch the bit of red right in front of him, and he turns his arm to see the jagged red lines in the skin, left from the grip of his mother’s nails. It did not break skin, but it has left it raised and irritated, with the hints of coming bruising underneath, and Zuko buries a sob against his knee as it begins to replay in his mind.
How he has managed to ensure his own isolation even further than before, and the prospect of any form of friendship has been ripped from him entirely.
He still doesn’t know when he stepped wrong.
He still doesn’t know how he seemed to lose his mother in a split second.
~~
No one questions it.
And Zuko spends the coming years with nothing but private tutors and instructors, inside the prison of his home.
For the few excursions he is allowed, he is chaperoned by guards, under instruction to ‘keep the heir within eyesight at all times,’ under the guise of being for his safety, but he knows better.
Knows since his mother had taken him to a public execution, mere weeks after their conversation in the gardens, to people convicted of homosexuality.
Zuko hadn’t even known that it had a name.
But he had watched in horror as the stake was piled high with timber and kindling, and a young man with tawny coloured hair had been tied to it, face already bruised and bloodied.
And yet, even as the guards stepped forward into form, he remained defiant, face held high and spirit unbroken, eyes scanning the gathered crowd even as flames licked towards his feet.
Zuko’s body had frozen when their gazes caught, and he had found himself unable to break it as the man held to him. Green eyes watched him right back, as if he could sense it, as if he knew .
Zuko gripped his own forearm, feeling the ghost of bruising as sense memory overrode truth. As if through the roar of flames and the thundering of his heart, words still flew across the space between the two of them.
We are the same.
~~
His mother disappears.
In the dead of night, she is gone, entirely untraceable.
Someone Zuko had once thought was the only person he could trust, his only friend, before that image had been shattered with a single sentence.
He wonders if it is because of him.
~~
He is angry.
It is his one constant, his one anchor, to be fueled by a rage that builds endlessly inside him.
Betrayal of his mother, and then his father .
Once again saying the wrong thing, the wrong moment, once again not understanding consequences until his face sears with white hot pain, burning not just skin and tissue but bits of his spirit seem to turn to ash with it.
He is banished, set on an impossible mission, but he refuses to stop until it loses that moniker.
It cannot all have been for nothing. He cannot have gone through all of this for nothing .
His Uncle is patient, and kind, and does not ruffle no matter how badly Zuko lashes out.
The same way his mother had been, once.
At night, he walks out onto the privacy of the darkened ship deck, and lets the coolness of the ocean breeze whisk away the burning that returns in his dreams.
At night, he stares at his forearm and drags his own nails down the pale skin until the marks reappear, and watches as they redden and blotch across the canvas of himself.
At night, he blinks up at the stars, and attempts to focus with an eye now blinded and blurry, but no matter how hard he tries to forget it, the green eyed stare of a doomed man on a pyre watches back.
We are the same.
~~
Hunting the Avatar changes him in every way.
Getting out into the world , makes him realize more than ever how sheltered he had become.
How other nations do not operate under the same rules as his own.
It isn’t until Ba Sing Se, until the Jasmine Dragon, where he first experiences it.
His Uncle is in the back, working on some new herbal blend, when two customers come and take a seat at a booth. Zuko thinks nothing of it, snatching a couple menus from beneath the front desk as he nears them, but stops entirely short as he catches a glance.
The two men sit across from one another, chatting idly and smiling, and holding hands .
The sight of them there, entirely at ease with palm on palm, and a closeness that couldn’t be anything other than intimate, sets every alarm Zuko has blaring in his head. His gaze darts around the restaurant, terrified at the reaction, but no one else seems to pay them any mind.
His confusion is overtaken by terror, and he backs away before he is noticed, heading back to the bar and busying himself with washing up.
Iroh returns after a few moments, and apparently must notice the exuberance of cups being assaulted with a dishrag, because he taps Zuko on the shoulder. “Everything alright?”
Zuko stiffens, clearing his throat but not looking up from what he is doing. “There are customers. The booth in the middle.”
“And you have left them unattended in favour of stripping the glaze off pottery?” Iroh’s voice remains quiet, but faintly amused.
“I can’t serve them.” Zuko can barely do this , he can already feel the holes being poked in his rigorously kept armour, and if he thinks about them for too long he knows it will shatter completely.
He cannot see another person die from this.
Whatever his Uncle reads in his tone is enough to stave off any argument, and Iroh disappears to serve them without a word.
It isn’t until later, when they are bedding down to sleep, that the silence is broken by careful words across the room from him. “It is not against the law here. This is not the Fire Nation.”
Zuko’s chest seizes, at once with relief and panic as he struggles to come up with any response that wouldn’t condemn himself. He takes a breath, remaining silent in the wake of his turmoil, and turns his back to stare at the wall.
He thought that would be the end of it, and despite knowing sleep is not something he will get tonight, he at least closes his eyes to try.
And then they shoot right back open as Iroh speaks once more, gentle and quiet enough to get Zuko’s hackles raised in defense. “And it was not always banned in our home, either.”
It is those words that haunt him for the rest of the night, of all the what-ifs, of green eyes, of a hand on his bicep stopping his fall.
Of a wink that set his blood ablaze
Zuko curls up around his forearm, digging his nails into his skin once more, and for the first time in a long time he allows himself to cry.
~~
Joining team Avatar is not something he had ever envisioned himself doing, but his growing understanding of the world makes it the only possible choice.
His father is weaving destruction, is weaving an apocalypse , and he has to be stopped.
Aang needs a teacher, and Zuko did not spend a decade in intolerant tutelage to be left unskilled. And it is easy to forget the rest, with the end of the world approaching with every passing day.
They do not, understandably, warm to him quickly.
But Zuko knows what it is, to not trust, and he is diligent. He earns their favour little by little, broaching short conversation when he can and trying his best not to show how completely out of his depth he is with this.
He doesn’t want to broadcast too loudly, that this is the first time he has ever had friends.
It is easy to be useful, if nothing else. Both as Aang’s teacher, and as a firestarter for camp, and settling as an extra watch for the night. He is doing well , he is doing everything right , he is not at all struggling with a piercing blue gaze and haughty expression being tossed his way by a certain Watertribe sibling.
Sokka does not so much fall into friendship as fall into bickering, and he spends so much of his time talking Zuko in circles he gets half dizzy with it.
He becomes this inescapable thing, laughing bright and easy over an evening meal, stretched out and warm like a lazy cat beside the fire.
Sokka is beautiful, which means he is dangerous.
And sometimes Zuko stares at his sleeping form a little too long during watch, and has to grip his fingers into his own forearm to stop himself from reaching out to touch.
It ends up being his downfall entirely one day, when Sokka comes with him to forage some wood, and Zuko doesn’t hear him walking up on his deaf side before a hand slips to his wrist.
Zuko’s reaction is so instant , so visceral , he can almost feel the points of manicured nails digging in as he whirls in place. The stack of kindling falls from his arms to tumble into the dirt between them as he rips his arm away. “Don’t.”
Sokka stares back, wide-eyed as he pauses. “What happened? How did you get that bruise?” He takes a half step forward but stops entirely when Zuko shrinks back in response.
“Don’t worry about it.” Zuko bends to pick up what he dropped, stuffing it back inelegantly in his arms and striding back towards camp without another word.
~~
And he should know better, than to think the matter was settled.
Because Sokka is stubborn at his core, and smart as a whip, and it is barely two days after that Zuko is back on watch, knees curled to his chest as he watches the flames of their campfire, and tries not to see the glint of green between the sparks.
So he freezes entirely when he glances over to find Sokka sitting up and staring right back at him.
And not just at him, at his fingertips bent tight into the already bruised skin, a quick biting pain that keeps his focus as he tries to stop from falling apart.
But he feels himself tear at the seams anyway, worse after a moment when Sokka wordlessly stands and carefully steps towards him before levering down to sit at his side. And then there are fingers at his elbow, slipping down his forearm to shove his hand off before gently pulling it away from Zuko and to his own chest.
Zuko’s breaths quicken as his panic rises, blinking unseeing into the fire as he feels fingertips carefully trace the border of the bruise before sliding further to lace into his own.
Sokka’s voice is barely a whisper, and the heat of him radiates into Zuko’s side as he leans into him, entirely unaware of how the contact steals the air from his lungs. “What happened.”
Zuko screws his eyes shut, willing this to all be some terrible dream. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly it does.” Sokka’s thumb runs gently over Zuko’s knuckles, tagging onto the lethal weapon of his careful tone.
“It doesn’t matter.” Zuko repeats, shaking his head and opening his eyes, trying and failing not to memorize every detail of the feeling of palm on palm, wrists pressing pulses into one another. “It was a long time ago, I don’t even remember, it just-” His breath shudders out of him, cracking through his ribs almost painfully.
“Something bad happened.” Sokka’s gaze is pointed when he manages to look at him, sharp and intelligent, and Zuko’s jaw clenches as he fights not to speak. “Something worse than this?” Sokka uses his free hand to tap beneath his own eye, indicating Zuko’s scar.
Zuko can feel his eyes burn, and wants nothing more than to rip away and run, escape the conversation, escape the danger, the way his body is ringing with sharp alarm, but something stops him.
He has spent so long, trying to escape it, and for what. What fear of his own destruction does he have to hold onto, when the entire world is standing in the same path?
“Something worse than anything.” It is a whisper, and the bravery to say even that drains so much energy Zuko feels exhaustion hit him full force. And it's as if his mind cannot hold the shields against it anymore, as memory comes back in a blast, no matter how he tries to flinch away.
Because Sokka’s eyes are silvery blue and bright, orange glancing off of them in the fire as he watches Zuko from inches away.
The image shifts.
Green stares back for a moment, but shifts to something else entirely before he can pull it back.
Because it is a warm brown gaze and a wink, and-
“Keep going, they didn’t see.”
But someone did.
Because at once he is a child again, staring out to the pyres, to a green eyed man staring him down before his eyes catch the person being strung up behind him.
Dairin, so beaten and bloodied he is almost unrecognizable, and tiny in comparison to the adults being trussed up beside him.
Zuko, breathless with horror, watching as his friend’s hands are tied above his head, watching him shake his head and cry, and beg them to stop. “I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything-”
And Zuko can’t stifle the gasp, taking a step forward before he is snatched back, his mother’s hand once again digging into his forearm, clawing in as he tries to struggle. “This is the consequence. He was caught with another, and you are lucky it was not you. Even those of noble blood are not exempt from our laws.” Whispers it into his ear, hissing the words as her grip tightens further. “Now do you understand?”
But Zuko still doesn’t, he has no idea why such a law would exist in the first place. Why anyone would torture and kill people over something that seems so harmless.
His gaze comes back to the green eyed man, who stares intently at him, even more so as the screams of the others rise behind him as they are engulfed in flames. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound as his clothes and skin begin to burn, and his eyes don’t break contact until the fire cuts them from view.
And all at once he is back in his own body, and the only colour eyes he can see are piercing blue, as Sokka holds his gaze with a worried look, hand tight in his own. “Zuko?”
“I had a crush on a boy, once.” The words are startling to hear out loud, and even as he says them it sounds like a stranger to his own ears. “My mother ensured he was caught with someone else, and forced me to watch as he was burned alive.”
He can feel the way Sokka freezes beside him, and braces for an impact he assumes is coming.
But none does.
“Burned ali- why would they do that?! ” Sokka’s hand tightens in his, horror etched across his face in sharp difference from his normal look.
“It is the law. It's illegal in the Fire Nation.” He says it evenly, the fact that it truly is, even as acknowledging it pains him.
Sokka huffs. “And nowhere else. It isn’t even considered different in the Water Tribes, and the Earth Kingdom as well.”
Zuko laughs despite himself, looking skyward to the stars and for once seeing nothing but twinkling dots in the expanse. “I know.”
We are the same.
And there was more to the look than just that, now that he has let himself remember.
Because the recognition is easy to spot in hindsight. That man knew who he was .
We are the same. And you are the only one who can fix this.
Zuko lets his breath sigh out of him, eyeing the still dancing flames that are beginning to sink towards the coals. “My father can’t win, Sokka.” He pauses, fear tangling with a bitter hope he refuses to let go of. “He can’t . Because I can’t live in a world where it is illegal for me to exist.”
The words leave him with the last of his bravery, and he closes his eyes against the onslaught of his own discomfort.
But he only remains like that for a moment, before there is a hand on his jaw, and his eyes shoot back open to turn and find Sokka leaned mere inches away. “Me neither.” The shock of proximity is burned from him in an instant, replaced with the roar of his heartbeat in his ears as he is pulled across the tiny divide and into a kiss.
It is a barely there thing, a whisper of lips on lips so softly careful he can’t take it . Tears slip from him to burn in quick lines down his cheeks, and his free hand shoots up to grab Sokka’s wrist to part them before he shatters apart entirely.
It is a still moment between them, a breath captured in time, eyes locked in a blue on gold stalemate before Sokka nods and lets his weight shift more heavily into Zuko’s side.
And what a strange thing it is, to feel the press of someone against him, the lightning zip of skin on skin as Sokka continues to run mindless lines along the edge of the bruise. The gentle lean of his temple against Zuko’s as he sighs quietly. “Don’t do this.”
Zuko’s jaw works, ignoring the implication as he swallows against a cresting tide of emotion in his throat.
But Sokka doesn’t leave it, doesn’t take his silence for an answer and tightens his fingers in Zuko’s to force his attention. “I think… there are enough people in the world that are determined to hurt us. We don’t need to help them do it.”
Zuko can’t force himself to speak for a long moment, breaths shaking from him like wounded things as he feels the coolness left in the wake of Sokka’s lips on his.
But Sokka doesn’t push again, doesn’t do anything more than curl tighter into his side and continue to hold his hand.
And that is enough.
“Okay.”
~~
blue and green
fresh eyes on me, I'm young again
all thanks to men with bite-sized lifeboats
I'll fix your smashed up head
-imogen heap