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“You know,” Zuko said, hands on his knees and eyes lit up playfully, but looking every bit as exhausted as he ought to have been, “You're a much better sparring partner than you let on.”
Sokka huffed out a quick laugh before collapsing onto the floor. They'd discarded their swords twenty minutes ago for a good old-fashioned fist-fight, and before that Sokka had been practicing deflection and camouflage while Zuko sharpened his target practice. Sokka was the target. “It's my best kept secret. Most people wonder what good I am as a non-bender. They see my beauty,” Zuko laughed at that and Sokka let out a fake whine, as if to reprimand him, “My brains. But they never see that I'm a triple threat until the end.”
“What's the third bit? Bluffing?”
“Sorry, but that's a verb, so it doesn't even fit the scheme. It's brawns, obviously.” Sokka would have flexed his arms to complement the statement, but his muscles were exhausted and his body was jelly. He felt like one of those custards they'd eaten that time at Toph's house. Soft and prone to wobbling. But he stood up anyway, bracing himself carefully. “Okay, well, now's the next part.”
“The next part?” Zuko looked incredulous. “What are we going to do, scale a mountain? I'm not even up for a friendly game of tag right now.”
Sokka sent him an equally confused and surprised look, up straight all of a sudden at the shock. “What're you talking about? I meant first aid, obviously. Y'know, healing?”
That didn't seem to sink in with Zuko, whose gaze was still wide-eyed and processing. Sokka tried to give it time, gave it a good few minutes before his patience wore thin and he stomped half-heartedly (and swallowed the immediate groan, because after all that evasive maneuvering before his feet were aching). “What's with you? I thought with all that honor talk you'd understand this much.” For a second Sokka thought Zuko tensed, and worried that maybe that was a still a sore spot for him, some place their budding friendship wasn't ready to address, but then he realized Zuko was just testing his muscles as he stood upright himself.
“Well, I mean, usually we had servants do that.”
“Sorry to say you'll have to settle with me, bud.”
“You're- you?” Spirits, Sokka was going to run out of patience soon. They'd spent all that time sparring, and this was literally the easiest part of it, but Zuko wasn't absorbing or understanding a single word. Sokka knew Fire Nation customs were weird, especially the customs surrounding royalty, but it seemed impossible for something like treating your sparring partner to be so outrageously out of Zuko's comfort zone. For Sokka, it was common sense, even if he'd grown up sparring with cloth bundles instead of real people. It was just the right thing to do. Maybe this wasn't even a Fire Nation thing, maybe it was a Zuko thing. After all, it was only recently that he'd even decided to join Team Avatar and hitch his hopes with the good guys. This might just be one of the many things that former villains had to learn – like smiling, or laughing in a way that didn't sound sharp and bladed. But looking at Zuko now, still staring at him, he had a good idea it was the former.
“Listen,” Sokka said, walking to grab the rucksack he'd left towards the edge of the clearing. “This isn't really a uniquely Water Tribe custom, but it's easier to explain it that way. Water is about push and pull, and these principles follow us in our lives. For sparing, it's the same – give and take. Injury and assistance. You hurt me, you bandage me. I hurt you, I bandage you. It isn't really that difficult.”
He brought the supplies over and motioned for Zuko to sit down (at which Zuko grimaced, because he'd basically just willed himself up, and though Sokka could sympathize he really didn't care). As he was unpacking, he tried explaining what each ointment did, which bandage suited which injury, and all that, but Zuko sort of snorted and made a face like it was child's play. Of course. He was raised as a nobility, despite his recent track record as a former (and now current?) traitor of his country and bloodline. Sokka flushed indignantly and pouted. “Well if you know so much, go ahead and tend to me first.”
He expected Zuko to fluster and thankfully, he did, a little, to match Sokka's own blundering. At first Zuko's touch was tentative, grabbing at Sokka's hands even though there wasn't anything to heal there, trying to get a feel for it before doing some actual work. But Sokka wasn't feeling generous, so he swatted away Zuko's hands and motioned to some actual injuries. When they'd been playing that wonderful game of hide-and-fireball, Sokka had accidentally scratched himself on some tree branches. The cuts weren't deep, but to be safe they should be disinfected and bandaged. And Zuko set about doing just that, the light sting of alcohol hitting Sokka's forearm where the deeper cuts had rooted themselves. He hissed and Zuko shushed him. “Stop being so whiny.”
“You're not one to talk. Quite literally last night you refused to let Toph brew the tea because she didn't do it correctly, and then when you finished making the tea you complained it tasted nothing like your uncle's.”
“That's not whining. That's appreciating fine tea-making.” Zuko deliberately pressed down on one of Sokka's cuts with a cotton ball this time, the alcohol a sharper pinprick of pain than before, and Sokka swatted at him again but missed. Apparently this soft-core torture had revived some of Zuko's spirits. Great. That said a lot about his character. When he was done disinfecting, Zuko placed some bandages down with a much more gentle touch, and then paused. “What's next?”
“I'll have Katara ice my bruises later, so I think – oh, split lip, duh. There should be some ointment for it.”
Zuko nodded, cleaning the blood off first carefully with a cloth, and then grabbed a tub of ointment. “With my hands?”
“Yeah, with your hands, what else-” Sokka clamped his mouth shut when he realized what Zuko really meant. He'd be touching his lip. Which Sokka wouldn't have even really thought about until Zuko made it abundantly clear that this was (apparently) something of concern. But why? Zuko had cut his lip with a particularly good punch that sent Sokka back a few steps, so it was only right that he tend to it. That's how it was. Spirits, why did he have to even question it? That made it weird, that made Sokka stutter and blood trickle into his face like he was shy about something so natural and sensible. Which he wasn't, obviously. Spirits.
Clearly Zuko had finished with his own internal dialogue before Sokka, because he leaned forward and dabbed at Sokka's split lip with the ointment. He was careful, again, and Sokka wondered if it was because tending to a sparring partner was so foreign to him, or if it was because he'd spent so long using his hands to inflict pain that he was afraid of messing things up when he needed to use them to heal it. And he was chewing his lip, and commenting on other minute injuries that he noticed now that he was up close and personal and completely in Sokka's space, having inched the rest of his body forward as well. There was a cut above Sokka's eyebrow, a singed ear that he might have to inspect. Then he was looking down, multi-tasking as he applied the ointment, and reflecting upon the hits he'd landed and the injuries Sokka might have sustained where he couldn't see. Like that one jab to his stomach that had knocked the breath out of him (that Sokka had returned to Zuko, along with a sweeping kick that toppled Zuko onto his back) or when he'd heard Sokka trip on something earlier on, wondered if maybe he'd twisted or pulled something that would need attention. All of a sudden, Zuko's ramblings fading out, Sokka realized how hot his hands were – a part of it was definitely the fact that they were still cooling down from the training, but another part was Zuko's innate body temperature as a firebender, the way Sokka could almost feel (if not just imagine) the humming of energy under each touch, only skin separating him from raw heat. They were both sweaty but only now did it seem to actually matter, the way Zuko's hair was pressed against his forehead in silly directions, the blood still in his face and a shine in his eyes to match the gleam on his skin.
Sokka's body jerked while his mind continued on, counting the minute differences and touches in the same way Zuko had been counting his minute injuries. “Y'know what, I think I'm good, so that's enough.”
“What?” Zuko pulled back, but didn't leave that space of just too close, eyes wandering in hopes of catching Sokka's for better understanding. But then he just set his jaw and knit together his eyebrows. The second Sokka caught that look and groaned, because that meant one thing. Zuko had taken that as some sort of challenge. “Just let me take care of you, I can do it.”
If these were different circumstances it might have been adorable, but Sokka was all of a sudden too aware (and now, that adorable comment ringing in his head, acutely aware) of his own responses to this situation and he wanted to run away from them. So he once again swatted Zuko's attempted touches, scooting backwards and insisting he really didn't need anything else. He was all healed up all right, no more bandages for him, in fact, he could go another round right now, maybe do that mountain scaling Zuko had mentioned earlier. Zuko wasn't buying it anymore than Sokka was meaning it, and his sincerity about the whole matter was very low.
“I'm not incompetent. I know how to do this.”
“Yeah, that's not the – I mean, it's my turn now, okay? You did enough, and now I got you covered. Seriously.” Clearly this new turn was more convincing, because Zuko put down his hands and shrugged.
“Fine, I guess.” There was a hint of resistance in his voice, like a child who had been denied a toy, a reluctance in his movement that made Sokka smile. He hid it quickly before Zuko saw it and took it as another challenge.
Except, maybe he'd dug himself a deeper hole, because now he'd have to find something to do with his hands. Well, obviously he'd been bandaging, but spirits did that feel like the wrong thing to do when Zuko was being particularly pliant and receptive today. He didn't dwell too much on what felt like the right thing to do. If that's how it was, he'd just have to lie in that hole eventually, so he fiddled with some cotton bandages and cleared his throat in an attempt at authority. “So, Zuko. Where to?” Zuko laughed a bit at the awkwardness in Sokka's voice. “Oh, sorry, let me try again – Honorable Prince Zuko, to which ailment should I, your humble servant, first attend?”
Now it was outright laughter, loud and galloping like an ostrich-horse. “That's unbearable,” he managed between laughs, before resting his hand on his side and twinging. Sokka felt like making a quip, something along the lines of apologizing for not being a properly educated servant and lacking basic servant-y skills, but he shoved that away upon deducing that 1) it was a terrible quip to begin with and 2) Zuko had clearly sustained some sort of injury in his side. Which, after Zuko hastily attempted to mask that pain with some more (albeit now stilted) laughter, Sokka realized had become some sort of new challenge.
“I saw that,” he said, and he swore for a second Zuko looked like prey. He'd never seen that look on his face, not even now that he was reformed and all. Zuko had always been the predator, and to think he'd slip out with some weakness of something so trivial made Sokka ecstatic. It was nice, seeing these new sides of Zuko, the more childish bits of him. They'd all been journeying and fighting for so long, whether they were on the right side of it or not. They'd grown up so fast it almost felt like those childhood years had never happened. These glimpses were an affirmation: underneath it all, they were still kids. They hadn't lost it yet, not even now, preparing to fight the fucking Fire Lord. Okay, Sokka cut off that train of that and lunged for Zuko instead, because he didn't need the Fire Lord and pressing martial problems to interrupt the moment.
“G-get off me!” Zuko said, and Sokka shook his head, trying to get his hands to Zuko's side but Zuko kept jerking away and grabbing at his wrists.
“You're injured!”
“Well, so were you, but you wouldn't-”
“That wasn't-” Zuko stopped grappling with Sokka while the other tried to solidify his thoughts. Though Sokka really wasn't solidifying his thoughts so much as stalling, because now Zuko was totally pliable and he doubted he'd have another opening. Also, he didn't exactly want to solidify his thoughts, because that was a can of spider-worms. He pulled up Zuko's shirt a bit to look at where he'd been hurt, and though Zuko made a noise of protest it was half-hearted at best. Sokka thought gleefully for a moment that maybe he'd been the victor of their little challenge, but then his mind was taken somewhere else.
Namely, how, as he had said before, Zuko was totally pliant. His skin was really warm, just like before, and he wasn't doing anything like he had been moments ago. His hands were fallen at his sides and he was just watching Sokka, as Sokka pointedly examined his injury because Zuko totally couldn't catch him looking elsewhere, like his arms maybe, or his neck, or spirits all the other places that suddenly seemed so intriguing. But it was weird, having high-strung honor-bound Zuko fall back into Sokka's touch and let him take command for a bit, pushing down at his side to search for the main source of the problem. It was probably weird for Zuko too, to relinquish control, especially when apparently this entire ordeal wasn't customary to him like it was to Sokka. Having someone else fix your injuries was humbling.
“You kind of got me there when we were swordfighting, and with your boomerang, and also when we were wrestling... You really favor attacking your enemy's left side, don't you?”
“That feels subtly like an insult, but I'll take it considering I hurt you so bad.”
Zuko looked to the side and huffed. “Don't get ahead of yourself, it's not that-” He sucked in a sharp breath when Sokka deliberately pressed down on a sore spot, and decided not to continue that thought unless he intended to have his body betray him some more.
“I don't know that there's much I can do. You're definitely bruised and there might be a strain, but either way that's up to Katara.”
“I should have tried harder to not get hurt,” Zuko said, and when Sokka raised his eyebrow he backpedaled, “It's not that. Your sister and I are on better terms now, I think. But I'm not totally sure.”
“Whatever it is, she's not going to refuse you. You're a bit of a key component to the plan, what with training Aang and all. You're kind of too important to leave injured.”
Zuko's eyes widened. “Oh,” he said, like he was surprised, and then looked down bashfully. “Thanks?”
And that was when Sokka being achingly aware again of just where he was. Practically sprawled in Zuko's lap, hand still resting on his side like he had meant to move it away but forgotten (his subconscious gave conclusive evidence otherwise, though) and still extremely inside what normal people would consider personal space, much less a banished prince. So, that was alarming, but he couldn't find the will to make his body move. So he just leaned back a bit and bit the inside of his cheek, in thought. “Maybe there's something to reduce the swelling?”
Zuko nodded, still not looking at Sokka, and finally Sokka's body jerked up and out of the way, leaving him rummaging through his supplies like suddenly they were the most interesting thing. Not Zuko, sheepish and surprisingly childish at times and really good at fighting, Zuko who had wormed his way into Sokka's heart as a friend (friend, he said in his mind, because maybe he needed to be reminded), Zuko who... no, nope. Not Zuko, not even in the slightest. The ointments and the bandages and the disinfecting alcohol and the stitching supplies? That's what really got him going. Definitely.
When Sokka pulled out a tube of something that looked sort of familiar and instinctively felt like the right thing for the job, Zuko lurched forward. “I'll put it on myself,” he blurted, and Sokka complied, because it wasn't a challenge anymore. Now they were both sort of tip-toeing around each other, because maybe just now the atmosphere had decided to change, even though Sokka had been feeling it before like an old man's knees predicting the weather.
Sokka decided to finish putting on the ointment from earlier that Zuko had tried for him, so he wouldn't just be sitting idly. He was sure if he did, nothing for his hands or eyes to focus on, he'd end up wandering back to Zuko. Which he did anyway, of course, because he was an innate multi-tasker. It was a blessing and a curse. Zuko didn't roll up his shirt to put on the balm, instead slipping his hand underneath the cloth, which struck Sokka as weird. Zuko wasn't shy with his body. Up until they went into the deeper part of the trees, he hadn't even been wearing a shirt, and had only put one on because he didn't want to get needless scratches everywhere. Or at least, Zuko wasn't regularly shy with his body, and if this weird tense feeling hanging in the air said anything, this was a situation out of the regular.
“So, who do you usually train with? Or, did you, I mean.”
Zuko's stance softened, glad to have conversation to distract him from the previous awkwardness. “I practiced a lot with Azula when we were little, but then she sort of. I don't know. Anyway, after that it was my firebending teachers. And then, after I was – when I was on the boat, it was anybody who could firebend, really.” He paused and looked a little embarrassed. “It wasn't as good-natured as this, most of the times. For a while, it wasn't about getting better. It was about releasing stress.”
“C'mon, you didn't have any other outlets?”
“Like what?”
“Like shopping, or. I don't know. Things that help you shake it off. Didn't you have a girlfriend?”
“This might sound strange, but my girlfriend didn't exactly visit me during my exile. On a boat. Hunting the – Aang.” Zuko, satisfied with his work, wiped the rest of the balm on his shirt and laid back on the palms of his hands. “It was a boat full of men. Uncle's idea of stress relief was pai sho and tea, and well, I didn't really appreciate it in the same way I do now.”
“What about dancing?” Zuko raised his eyebrow and Sokka blubbered on, his mouth running ahead of him, a behavior that had suddenly become so typical around the firebender. “Music? C'mon, I saw you and Aang's little dragon dance. I dare say the prince has rhythm!”
“That wasn't-” Zuko laughed a little, shifting his voice from indignation to jest easily. “Uncle actually had a horn. He liked singing, too. But I don't dance.”
The way he said it with finality, it sounded like a challenge. Sokka was about ready for another bout of challenges. “Who says?”
“Nature. It's one of those things I'm not meant to do, like airbending, waterbending, earthbending... you get it.”
“You don't need to be the Avatar to dance.” Though, after seeing what Aang had demonstrated in that little cave dance party, it probably didn't hurt to have his twinkle-toes. And his enthusiasm. While Zuko had certainly warmed up (no pun intended) he didn't seem the kind of guy just yet to jump on a stage and dance his feelings out. But who knows, maybe that might have helped. Sokka almost laughed, thinking about it. Imagine how different their lives would have been if Zuko had just danced that first day, danced his way down the steel walkway of his ship and pranced right on over to the good side? He could do a little step, a shimmy, then twirl into Sokka's arms, and... spirits. Back on track, Sokka. This was about ending the hundred year's war with dance, which suddenly seemed the least absurd thing in Sokka's mind, considering it's sharing space with some fantasy where he and Zuko...
Okay, he needed to shut that thought away before he opened his mouth and justified the strange look Zuko was giving him right now, having been left out of this little mental escapade.
When Sokka didn't say anything else, Zuko shifted. Almost looking impatient. “So?”
Sokka scrunched up his face. “What?”
“I'm not the king of conversation here, but I think this was leading to you, asking me to dance.”
“Oh,” Sokka said. He didn't really understand why Zuko was being so straightforward. On top of that, he didn't understand how Zuko could be so straightforward about something he was reluctant to be the same about. “Do you want to dance, then?”
“Nah, we're sweaty,” Zuko said.
Sokka frowned. “Excuse me?”
There it was. That familiar glimmer in Zuko's eyes, and suddenly Sokka felt himself getting ready. For what? Scaling a mountain? “If you really want to dance, you're going to have to make me,” he said, now up and a few steps away, his sudden agility surprising after all their previous exercise. Sokka wasn't about to be one-upped, so he jumped forwards.
“You think I can't?”
“And you think you can?” At this Sokka scoffed, holding a hand over his heart in mock pain.
“Ouch, did you hear that? I'm heart-broken.” He wanted to dance with Zuko so badly it eclipsed everything else. The jelly of his body. The protest of his limbs. The sound of his heart thumping in his chest in a wild rhythm, like a warning alarm. He'd tripped a wire and now he was stumbling forward, parrying and lunging and trying for something impossible. It wasn't about Zuko dancing (well, wasn't only about that, though it would feel nice to win one of Zuko's many challenges). It was about Zuko, and getting closer, and his heart rushed blood to his face and coursed raw energy through his body as a testament to that.
Sokka stepped forward and his mind flashed back again to that night in the Fire Nation in the cave. A little dance party. Kids playing horns and string instruments, howling and hollering with excitement. A forbidden thrill. In the midst of war there were many things which were forbidden, but sometimes the unspoken rule was a little bit of a fun was high up on that list. That and dancing, at least for the Fire Nation. He thought in the back of his mind that Katara couldn't be mad at him for loosely copying her and Aang's dance. She couldn't see him doing it, and besides, he was putting his own spin to it. Hands closed in fists like he was readying a punch. Movements less fluid, a little more jerky and heavy-footed (because Sokka could dance, but he couldn't dance as well as his sister and Aang, that was too unfair a comparison).
And for a bit, Zuko didn't even realize that their fight was a dance, that their steps were to a rhythm outside of battle. Without even meaning to, his body played to it, letting Sokka take lead and motion govern. Then Sokka stepped in close and Zuko side-stepped and the rhymthm was lost, and it suddenly became extraordinarily obvious that Zuko had been dancing. Dancing to an unheard music, and he still lingered in it even after Sokka's blunder, taking some delicate steps around him.
“That wasn't dancing,” he said, and he knew the second the words left his lips he'd essentially conceded defeat. “You tricked me, that's not fair-”
Sokka twirled around grinning, adding a dramatic flair to it. Zuko was the fire and drama guy, Sokka was the sarcasm and meat guy, and now he'd taken a little bit of Zuko's charms. Found himself letting the silence cut off Zuko, letting it stew. Their little dance had pushed them both, anyway, left them just as tired as before and even hotter for it. Fire and drama. Sokka liked the sound of it as it rang in his head, liked the way Zuko looked at him as he made peace with Sokka's win and gave him a small punch to the side. The left, Sokka noticed, because Zuko took defeats with grace but not without little reminders. Sokka favored the left, and he often had terrible quips but voiced them anyway (they should hear the ones he doesn't voice), and he thought too haltingly of fighting and too longingly of Zuko. Ok, so Zuko didn't know that one, maybe it was just the universe taunting him through Zuko's eyes. A little twinkle placed with tease in the wide one, and with accusation in the one surrounded by scar. You love Zuko, it posited.
Yeah, Sokka said back to the universe. That's a solid hypothesis.
And like that the exchange between he and the universe was over, and Zuko's eyes were his again, and they were back where they were. On the ground, sweaty, clumsily bandaged. Really thirsty for some water.
Sokka grabbed at a waterskin and tossed Zuko one too. He paused and turned around, putting back on a wayward smile. “Wait, should I have checked that for poison first?”
“That's a myth,” Zuko said, pouting. Not all palaces, Sokka thought, and chuckled to himself.
“Ok, so what have we got off our list? We trained, we danced. How's the rest of that go?” He snapped. “Now we just need to conquer.”
Zuko groaned. “Your jokes at monarchy grow worse and worse.” He said jokes long and high, because he was right, and Sokka's jokes were devolving into less of humor and more of brain vomit.
“It is because I, a lowly peasant-”
“Ok, enough. Don't you have anything better to say?”
Sokka took another sip from the water skin, pouring some down his back to cool off more. Not too much though. Waste not, want not. “I'm hungry?”
“For fruits?”
“For meat.”
Zuko nodded. They converged there, at their hunger for meat, and continued drinking water. Zuko pooled some into his hands and splashed it into his face, waterskin tucked under his arm as he smoothed back sweaty hair. Water and sweat no longer distinguishable. Sokka looked, because Zuko wasn't paying attention, and mostly because in the quiet (not a silence struck with competition, but a silence for refueling and drinking water and thinking) he'd left himself room for a wandering mind. Again. He drank water to keep from speaking thoughts that belonged unspoken.
“How about you?”
Sokka tilted his head. He hadn't expected Zuko to be the first to speak. Had expected himself to blurt something out and start a strange conversation. As usual.
“Besides sparring. You were traveling with Aang and your sister for months. They're benders, and now – well, they're together, right?” Even more surprising. Zuko was actually perceptive of that commonly obvious fact, that Katara and Aang had somehow fallen in with each other. (In love). Actually, on second thought that wasn't so surprising, because that would make him one more who knew where Katara and Aang still remained the two who didn't (or who couldn't, not yet, not until the war was over and won). “And they're kids. You're childish, sure,” Sokka almost choked on his water and Zuko smiled a bit, “But even then.”
“Relief? Poetry, art, swordsmanship.” Zuko looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. Sokka was only half-kidding. He'd only really started indulging himself in that stuff after training under his master. And even then, it was in passing, and what he made could seldom be called art. Though his poetry was kind of good (especially when written in the light of the moon). He didn't want to admit that he spent a good amount of time hunting birds or other small animals rather poorly, or rearranging their sleeping packs and supplies, or cleaning Appa's toes. He'd done a lot more, obviously, but he wanted to impress Zuko all of a sudden. He couldn't think of anything, though, so he drank some more water.
“What do you write poems of?”
“I don't know. Nature.” He bit his lip. “It's embarrassing.”
“Why, did you write something you can't tell me?” Zuko said it with suggestion, raising an eyebrow and smiling lop-sidedly. Sokka fumbled with the cap for his water skin.
“So what if I did?”
Oh shit. Spirits. Did he land himself another challenge? If this included physical activity, Sokka's heart would give out. He really couldn't go for another fight-dance. Zuko just shrugged, looking tired enough himself. “You can't tell your friends?”
“I can't tell you,” Sokka blurted. He'd stopped reminding himself. Friend. Zuko was his friend, Zuko wasn't his war-forbidden dance, wasn't his fire and drama. He wasn't his. It ached, just small and precise enough like a dart to his heart to surface above the other aches and dip down again just as quickly.
For a moment Zuko's face tightened. “Right.” It came out flat and hurt, but he marred it up with a hardness. Old habits die hard. His face stayed tight, stayed pinched and his eyes stayed averted. He clutched his waterskin in his hand like a memory. Can't let it fly away. The universe threw that twinkle into the space between them, this time only accusation and prodding. That was the challenge, and Sokka looked at it warily.
He stepped forward. He was bad at ignoring challenges, despite all his uncertainty and all his running away. Sokka's feet carried him forward like this was another part of an elaborate dance, or a muscle memory from training. Running through the forest, avoiding fireballs. Fireballs suddenly seemed so fond. “I meant, I can't tell you.” He was just repeating himself, and Zuko was clearly frustrated by it, and didn't move to face him.
“You already said so. I get it.”
“No,” Sokka said, changing his voice to try to convey it better. “It's you. I can't tell you.”
“I know,” Zuko said, finally turning around, and Sokka was there, back in that too close space and he'd already leaned in in anticipation. Because spirits, he was bad at ignoring challenges, and besides the one the universe had taunted him with Zuko was looking at him with eyes challenging him to change what he was saying. But he'd run out of words so he made do and changed what he was doing. Kissed him.
Zuko grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back. Sokka just let himself be pushed, because his legs were jelly and he was completely spent. “You know you taste like ointment, right?”
Sokka gaped. “Is it bitter?”
Zuko's grip loosened and that post-practice flush was back for a different reason. “Sweet,” he muttered, and Sokka's heart jumped. It was cliché but it was the truth, and if his throat wasn't so tight with previous anticipation it would have found home there, between his words and Zuko's. “Bittersweet.”