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Following from @elvisqueso
Mature content
"What would I know? I was asleep, too. And my hair is very nice, like always," Sokka pouted, somewhat glad to have the distraction nevertheless. He pulled his— now free— knees back up to his chin, affording him a 100% boner coverage.
Seeing Zuko smile at him like that from the floor wasn't helping with anything. Or, helped the wrong thing wayyy too much. He really though he ought to look away, but he found he couldn't tear his eyes from a Fire Lord that looked, for the fragile moments between sleep and self-awareness, like nothing more than someone's exhausted lover.
Sokka regarded his friend anew, with a tilt to the head and a heart that best slow and heavy.
"You sort of startled yourself awake there. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?" is the gist of what Sokka wanted to communicate, except that instead of saying any real words he just grunted a little.
Heedless of Sokka's ongoing revelations, Zuko turned to peer out into the courtyard. The sky was just starting to pink with the coming dawn, and the morning mist was gathering over the pond. The moon was still visible, and Zuko got the absurd notion that it was grinning cheekily at him.
Shaking his head, he stood and stretched his arms up over his head, raising onto his toes with a satisfied groan and then relaxing back down again. They'd need breakfast soon, but more pressing was what they'd learned so far in the scrolls.
"We're almost through all of these," he said, gesturing to the chaotically organized piles on the table. "What was it you said before? There's spiritual fault lines?"
Something niggled at his brain about that. He'd never crossed into the Spirit World himself, but he knew Uncle had. Was it possible to slip between these cracks and fall right in? And how did the Kemurikage factor into all of this?
This post may contain content not suitable for all audiences.
Mature content
He woke through the night just once.
A breeze had picked up. Zuko, shielded by the back of the couch, didn't stir, but the cool air brushed Sokka's cheek, gently moving his hair along. He opened his eyes.
He looked down. His legs had slid as they went limp with sleep, and so, apparently, had Zuko.
He was on his side, cozied between the back cushion's and Sokka's errant leg. It had extended, blocking Zuko from the edge of the couch, which would really be fine if he weren't facing it.
His breath was slow and warm on the thin fabric that covered his inner thigh, nose pressed to a spot that sends jolts up his bones.
Zuko had pulled his thigh into a hug in his sleep. One arm was thrown over the top of it and curled down to burrow between Sokka and the couch, calf hooked onto calf. His jet black head was way too close to his crotch. His hand was way too close to his ass. Zuko's naked shoulder rose and fell and caught in glowing moonlight. Sokka's boner was considerable. He was done for. It was so over for him. That was the Fire Lord. The Fire Lord!
He tried to redirect the bristle of panic towards emergency action, bracing his arms to scoot back and slip away.
Sleeping Zuko did not like that. Sokka watched in horror as he made a little noise, tightened his hold, and nuzzled back into place.
Well, fuck! What kind of friend was he being? Who would come save him? Where was his trusty cushion?! On the floor. Too far away. It had slipped and fallen because it was too soft and silky. Like Zuko's hair. He looked up praying for strength. He remembered the inner courtyard to his right. He saw the moon.
Something in his gut dropped.
There she was, so clear in the sky. The something turned to cloying shame and raw guilt. For the first time in his life he cursed his earthly desires. Steeling himself, he shut his eyes real hard, and prayed his cry for help.
By his third round of apologizing, his unwanted excitement had half died down, and he thought he just might make it through even if Yue didn't answer this time, which was, of course, the perfect time for the familiar sensation of her presence to wash over him.
It was confusing. She wasn't upset. He was relieved. He dug a bit deeper, untangling the difference of him and her, listening, probing—
His eyes snapped open. With an accusatory look, he pointed at the moon.
"You think this is funny?!" he whispered at it. "I can't believe you! I'm losing my mind here! I can't just— I can't carry on like this! Come on!"
Zuko was dreaming.
Some part of him knew it was a dream; that didn't happen often. Usually, when he dreamed, they consumed him like a rabbit-snake swallowing a lizard-mouse. He'd twist and morph, changing into something Other than himself, yet more truly himself than anything else he'd been. Visions that were memories and fears and hopes overlaying and mixing like a blur of watercolors would saturate his senses; his dreams always felt impossibly real. When he awoke, after he dreamed, it was usually with a cold sweat and a hollow feeling in his chest. He hated dreaming.
This time, though, he was at least partially lucid. He was outside of his own body, looking down at himself as he walked down endless hallways. He was looking for something, but he was opening the wrong doors. Frustration built up in the him that watched. There was a knowing in the back of his head about where he was supposed to be going, and every wrong turn made him madder with himself. Don't you see? he cursed himself. Idiot. Don't you know like I know that you're looking in the wrong place?
Scene change. He watched himself as a boy, throwing peas to the turtle-ducks. His mother had told him to use peas instead of bread because bread was actually bad for them. He'd been wracked with guilt for days at the time because he thought he'd been making the turtle-ducks sick. Little-him leaned over the water to make sure the turtle-ducks were eating. Suddenly, a hand reached out of the water and pulled him in.
Scene change. He was in a forest he'd never seen before. Watcher-Zuko was tucked behind a tree, gripping it for dear life. He watched himself stumble through the foliage. He was calling for something, or someone. His voice cracked, shattered on pleas that were always going to be unheard. Zuko gripped his tree tighter.
Scene change. Sokka was standing on the edge of a boiling volcano. He was saying something to a Zuko who was staring deep into the lava. There was calm in this scene, then a sudden sense of unease. Something was watching them both, something was going to spring—
Zuko jolted awake with a gasp. He'd gotten tangled in Sokka's legs somehow and in trying to sit up, he ended up getting more tangled and tumbling off the couch with a thud.
"Ugh," he moaned, blissfully unaware of Sokka's preceding crisis. "How long was I out?" He looked out the window to find the Moon glowing cheekily in the sky. The lamps were probably half-done. It had been a few hours at least. Zuko shook himself, shrugging off the groggy feeling of waking up and turning to find a very rumpled Sokka. He smirked.
"You should see your hair," he said.
This post may contain content not suitable for all audiences.
hakoda borrowed it and forgot to give it back <3
"This says that there's energy lines across the whole planet and volcanoes are where it's released," Sokka announced, tossing the scroll aside and picking up his slightly cooled cup of before receding back into the plush hold of the sofa. "Spirit energy, I guess?"
It was all just too nice to really focus. Nice snacks, sweet tea, damningly cloying sleepiness. He burrowed further into the cushions, bringing his knees up into a little ball, nuzzling into fabric so fine his hair slid away instead of tangling.
"Zuuuuukoooooooo. I don't think I can read anymore. My eyes are blurry."
He yawned.
Zuko raised his brow, taking in the sight of his friend rolled up like a pill-bug on the couch.
"We can't stop now. There's so much more to go through—" Zuko looked at the scrolls still on the table. Really, they only had the one about the warlord era left to read, but it was the principle of the thing.
And Zuko was still reading on the Kemurikage. The scroll was verbose, outlining a complicated history of spirits, secrets, and sorrow.
The spirits of grieving mothers, the scroll described, vengeful and terrifying. The tale was entwined inseparably from that of the old warlords, so much so that Zuko wondered if he really did need to read the other scroll after all.
Despite himself, though, he nearly popped his jaw with an answering yawn of his own. And maybe his vision was getting a little blurry.
He leaned back on the couch cushions, sinking slightly into them. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few moments...
Sleep claimed him quickly, and he slowly slid over until his head rested right next to Sokka.
"Sure," said Sokka, plopping down on the couch opposite, arms spread over the back cushions. "If it'll help us keep awake. Do you still make it yourself, or do you, like, ring a little bell?"
He quirked one eyebrow at Zuko's second disrobement of the day, having to look away when, rather than hunching down to sort through scrolls, he stretched to the skies like a puffin seal, then arched his back like a tiger shark.
What was going on with him? This sort of thing had happened a million times at camp, back when the threat of the end of the world loomed over their little teenaged heads. Surely his hormones would run less rampant nowadays. Surely he shouldn't be casually reaching for a cushion to casually place on his lap and bring his legs up into a more maneuverable cross-legged situation, but here he was anyways! Great! How dignified!
This was just like that one time he was awaiting Suki and instead got the Extremely Horrified Zuko Special. Except not at all, he guessed. That had been rather... unsubtle. If anything, it had gotten wholly turned around! Taking his clothes off all willy-nilly.
Sokka didn't do undershirts. So, when his old wounded pride and his competitive streak brought to him the thought that well, two can play this game, the thing he undid was his warrior's wolf tail, pulling at the ribbon with a swoosh.
There! That hadn't felt stupid at all.
Not at all.
Zuko gave Sokka a mildly withering look. "The servant's bell is medium-sized, actually. It's connected to that rope over there," he said, nodding to a corded pull-rope on the wall. Of course, Sokka had no reason to know this. Still, the reminder of how alienating his lifestyle was from that of his friends jarred him.
Even though he'd just sat down, he got up and pulled the rope twice. Within moments, a servant was at the door and, with a few detailed requests, they were off again.. Zuko preferred to actually make it himself, still. Even if he couldn't make it as well as Uncle, there was something about tea made by his own hands that comforted him.
He turned around to find Sokka's hair flopping down into his face. It was always strange to see him without the iconic wolf-tail. Zuko caught himself staring a little too long, turning over and again the two images of Sokka: one with tail up and one with tail down. He cleared his throat and turned back to the pile of scrolls, a slight burn to his cheeks. He picked up the one about volcanic activity and tossed it to Sokka.
"We better get into these," he said, a little too gruffly. Picking up the one about the Kemurikage, he settled back in to read only to pause when the servant came back with the tea things. He'd chosen a black oolong to help keep them awake; it was a sharper, more sweet tea that even his limited palate could appreciate. On the tray, too, were an assortment of scones: peach, apricot, and lemon. Very soon, the aroma of oolong surrounding them both.
Zuko had moved over to the same couch as Sokka to keep everything within reach; he poured Sokka a cup, grabbed himself a lemon scone, and picked the Kemurikage scroll up again. He tried not to notice the feeling of Sokka's body heat next to him.
Ridiculous, he chided himself.
"Sounds nice," Sokka said, uncurling his back. He stretched his arms forward, then up-- left, right-- until he'd cracked away enough exhaustion from his bones to allow him to spring to his feet. "Goodbye, honorable Firelord Senzou. Until never! I hope."
The palace was quiet as they made their way back up the architectural decades. Early night seeped in from open stairwells and inner courtyards, stars sleepily blinking awake. The moon was waxing crescent. Yue blinking awake, too. At least that's what it felt like to Sokka.
He stretched his hand up to the sky as he walked, shutting his eyes for a little bit, remembering. She had become dust in his arms. Sokka had frozen in panic. Something so, so deeply wrong, his heart stopping and then hammering twice as fast, except: She was there. Floating over the water, made of ribbons of moonlight.
Every night he remembered, and every night she was there. He hadn't been able to kiss Suki in front of her, ever. Even though he knew he wouldn't ever be able to kiss Yue again. Had it really been a kiss? So light, just air on his lips? The doubt had never really mattered. He couldn't kiss Suki at night. She didn't deserve that, and she knew it.
These days she didn't bother with talking to him.
Things were quiet as the made their way to Zuko's rooms. Sokka had an air of melancholy about him that seemed to dowse him from his usual bright sparks to cool embers. Zuko wondered if it was because of the night. The moon was overhead. Didn't he say once that his girlfriend had turned into the moon...?
Zuko's rooms were of the same kind of ostentation typical of the rest of the palace. Lit by a series of ornate paper lamps, there were carved mahogany moldings, gilded impressions in the walls, a painted ceiling depicting scenes from Fire Nation history. The furniture was plush, polished, and decadent. The study was the only place where Zuko could escape the opulence. While the study still had dark wood, ornate carpets and a seating set soft enough to sink into, it was far less obnoxious. A sliding door opened to a wide balcony overseeing one of the inner-gardens, letting in a well-needed breeze.
Dumping the scrolls on the low table by the couches and tossing his robes over onto one of the chairs, Zuko stretched and popped his back before settling himself down on the red cushions.
"You want some tea?" He asked Sokka. Hot leaf juice or no, it would help to clear his head.
i hate it here im gonna [remembers suicide jokes are bad for mental health] find the Avatar and restore my honor
Then, everything changed
atla hyperfixation come back... get me out of here i miss my cats 😭😭😭
buzz cut era
My boy... baby baby boy....
"Ack! That's good, but... owch." Sokka rubbed his knee, the scroll having unfortunately sailed right onto one of his stretched nerves. He continued with, "I thought I wouldn't need my knee braces for this," and other such mutterings.
But Zuko seemed as far away as Aang in his Avatar statd on the ancient large-scale of things, halfway into the Spirit World already.
Should it worry him? Sokka didn't know. He did know Zuko was much more easygoing when he had other people to help with whichever insurmountable task he was on. He knew he liked to see him smile, unguarded, pleased, more than he liked seeing him all scary-like.
"Volcano map," Sokka announced, and put the scroll on his lap next to the one who had attacked him. "Volcano... geology. I guess this was the volcano shelf. Oh, wow. Magma goes right to the center of the planet! That's crazy. I wonder how it stays so hot. Tec... nic plates. Ookay. I guess this was next to the silverware shelf. Or something."
Zuko swiped the scroll from Sokka's fingers and placed it on the correct shelf (at least, he was pretty sure it was the correct shelf).
"That's close," he said. "See if you can find a map of the volcanoes in the Fire Nation. I think we'll need one."
His fingers were going dry from sifting through all the parchment and dust; his eyes were getting blurry— he could barely focus his left eye at all. By the time they'd found a scroll on spiritual activity and the warlord era each and managed to put all of the other scrolls back where they belonged, Zuko'd had to relight the torches twice.
Something like satisfaction settled in Zuko's mind. It was a nostalgic feeling, having a lead to chase. He ignored the warmer feeling of Sokka's presence beside him. No distractions, he chided himself.
"Alright," he barked, standing up and clapping his hands, "let's take these up to my rooms. I have a study we can work in."
One last cold shiver ran through Sokka's core as the ancient Fire Lord made himself scarce. Then, there was just the creepy tomb, disarrayed shelves, and Zuko, pretending he had not just cut the circulation to Sokka's entire arm.
"Right," he echoed, rubbing the spot that was definitely going to bruise later.
He watched Zuko's robe billow into the air without really knowing what it was that he was watching. Silken crimson waved in the stale air, suddenly emptied, folded in on itself to flutter down to Sokka's feet.
In its wake crouched Zuko, arms bared, the back of his neck covered only by wisps of black hair.
He looked paler. He had lost some muscle, even, and Sokka wondered just how much of a Fire Lord's work is spent in bleak, dark rooms like the one they were in.
He didn't mind the tomb, he realized. Not right then. Not the old emperor's ashes, or his ghost, or the mess he had made of his precious shelves-- and he really should be feeling very sorry, and spooked, and guilty, but Zuko's robe had brushed the bare skin of his leg and it really was the softest thing that had ever touched him.
He really should be helping Zuko pick those scrolls up.
"Right," he told himself, frowning, and took three odd steps to go crouch amongst the paper.
They shuffled through the scrolls that way: crouched side by side with the heat from the torches lightly warming their backs. Occasionally, Zuko's arm would brush against Sokka's and warm him further. He didn't let himself dwell on that feeling very much.
The work was monotonous, but kept him focused. He always functioned better with a target; with a mission in mind, he wouldn't have time to drown in everything else he was supposed to be doing. He wouldn't have to think about the problems with the council, or the tension with Mai, or how far away Uncle was (or the way Sokka's presence put a static in his chest that he hadn't felt since those first, rose-tinted days with Mai). All that mattered— all that could matter— was finding his mother.
"This one looks promising," he said, eyes scanning the first several inches of the scroll in his hands. "It's about the Kemurikage." Rolling the scroll back up, he thrust it into Sokka's care and returned to rummaging.
It’s been a hard day bro can you pet me
Senzou spoke lightly: two words, simple knowledge, that nevertheless fell upon them with ten times the force of the scroll avalanche.
"She is," he said.
Sokka felt like Zuko was about to rip his arm off.
"You should also get the scroll on the Kemurikage," Fire Lord Senzou continued, impervious, and, man. Sokka really hated ghosts. "They were far different from the stories you may know. Do not die in the Spirit World, Fire Lord Zuko. You have a nation to run when you return."
And he was gone like he had never been there in the first place.
"Why'd he have to say friend like that," Sokka muttered.
Sokka said something but Zuko didn't hear him. All that rung in his ears were two words, a mirror of the confirmation given by Senzou:
She's alive, she's alive, she's alive.
She's alive and in the Spirit World. Sokka was right, and Zuko offered, quietly and sincerely, a "thank you" to Yue.
His fingers ached from how tightly he had been gripping Sokka's arm, and prying them back off was more difficult than expected. He shook himself and turned to the pile of scrolls on the floor.
"The warlord era, volcanic activity, and the Kemurikage. Right."
In a jumble of motion, Zuko removed the outer layer of his robes, leaving him in his under-shirt and pants and freeing himself of those over-long sleeves. He descended upon the scrolls: picking them up, glancing at them, then placing them on the shelves in some way resembling categorically if they weren't the scrolls he was looking for.
