Archive of Our Own

I understand why they couldn’t stay, he thinks to himself irritably at breakfast, stabbing a piece of fruit with a chopstick.

What did I expect? That they were all going to, what, live here? Fucking ridiculous, he thinks as he stares unseeingly at the latest stipulation of war treaties that he’s supposed to approve.

It’s idiotic that I’m so torn up about this, he thinks as he sits in the throne room, silent but for the crackle of the fire. I got my throne, I got my honor, I got what I wanted!

He repeats this to himself as he goes through the motions every day.

I got what I wanted. I got what I wanted.

As if that’s supposed to make things better somehow.

He has his throne back, but he also has bags under his eyes that he’s having to cover up with powder, because spirits forbid the populace, still mutinously unconvinced of the value of peace, notice signs of weakness in their new Firelord. He lives letter to letter and hates himself for it, because damn it, he’s supposed to be stronger than this! He went sixteen years without any friends and he turned out fine, so why is this cropping up now?

Okay, maybe he didn’t turn out exactly fine.

He survived, is the point.

The days are lonely, by himself. Busy, but lonely. He never anticipated how hard it would be to try to cover up all the unhappy memories made in the palace with new ones until he was actually there, with every friend he’d made on the other side of the world and his uncle in another country, and him, by himself in an empty palace, alone except for his sister and his father, whom he doesn’t see but still lies awake thinking about at night.

He’d forgotten how big the palace and its royal apartments are. Too big for one person.

Sokka writes. Every night Zuko will stand out on the balcony, trying not to step on the crane flies that skitter around his feet, and he’ll read that day’s letters. Often it’s a bundle, or one extremely long one, and the hawk will have been struggling under its weight when it finally landed, exhausted.

Dear Zuko, he writes. You wouldn’t believe what a mess things are. Or I guess you would, you’ve probably seen it yourself, but it’s really difficult trying to restore harmony to the world, funnily enough. I think Aang’s getting a little discouraged. I guess he thought everything would be smooth sailing after he defeated Ozai.

Dear Zuko, We heard about your newest edict. Katara says it’s a good idea. We checked in with Kyoshi Island. Apparently the leaders aren’t that keen on the idea of getting back into geopolitical affairs. Suki’s working on it. We’re going to head to Toph’s parents’ next, which should go great after she ran away twice and since they’re such reasonable, understanding people.

Dear Zuko, We stopped in a field full of flowers tonight. Really bright pink ones. Aang made like a dozen flower crowns. I’m still finding petals in my hair.

Dear Zuko, We got run out of the last town we visited.

Dear Zuko, The weather’s been hot—

Dear Zuko—

And Zuko writes back. His letters are shorter. He’s not sure what to say, so to make up for it he tries to put as much emotion and truth into what he does say as he can, admits: I fucked up today, really bad, and The palace is too empty, and I forgot how insincere nobles are. I almost wish I were back at the Western Air Temple, with you, with everyone. Things were simpler.

He wonders where Mai is, and if she and Ty Lee are happy, wherever they are, because they are surely together. Wonders if she ever wonders about him, and then he has to stop himself from wondering because that chapter is done and there’s no use reopening old wounds. The two of them were a thing, and there was something there even among all the misunderstandings and bitterness, at least at some point. That is all he needs to know now.

Sleeping is hard. The shadows in his rooms made by all the luxurious furniture make him twitchy and paranoid after spending years either sleeping in a small, spare ship’s cabin or out in the open. Five people could probably fit in his bed, the sheets are made of the finest silk, and still he can’t get comfortable. Maybe it is because, like everything else—the empty palace he wakes up in night after night, the lifelong, lonely task stretching out ahead of him—it is too big. More practically, it may be the nightmares, but he pushes thoughts of those down whenever he can because who would it help?

Many nights he gives up and goes outside on the balcony. He looks at the stars, and the moon if it’s out, and tries to clear his mind. Instead he’ll think of his uncle insisting on teaching him how to navigate using the stars—You never know when you will be in need of a skill like this, Prince Zuko— or standing in a war balloon with Sokka—My first girlfriend turned into the moon. Sometimes he’ll stay there until the first rays of the dawn start turning the sky grey, his loneliness feeling like thorns stuck in his chest.

That’s rough, buddy.

He sends a messenger with a hefty amount of gold and a couple of guard escorts to a small house in the Earth Kingdom. He would send an apology too, but he doesn’t know what to say. Sorry for stealing your ostrich horse after you helped us for free, I’m actually the Firelord now, so here’s a lot of gold to make up for it? He almost laughs, but then the muted panic he feels so often now sets back in and he remembers himself, and watches the messenger leave in silence.

And, because that seems to be all he can think about these days, he thinks back, tries hard to remember how he felt sitting beside her, to prove something—he doesn’t know what. Was he distracted by her eyes, her soft, sweet voice? Maybe the curve where her neck met her shoulder? Did he experience a flush, or a shiver, or a pull in the pit of his stomach, maybe a warmth in his chest, a whirling feeling in his head?

It was a long time ago. He can’t remember.

This is all moot, anyway. Just idle speculation.

He similarly analyzes how he felt on the ferry to Ba Sing Se. How did he feel when he was asked to join the Freedom Fighters? For a brief span of time, he had a connection he’d made all on his own, not through his destiny trying to capture and then to aid the Avatar. That had felt nice, in a way. Was he swayed at all by Jet’s attentive eyes, the coaxing tone in his voice? Maybe the sauntering, confident way he moved? Did Zuko’s skin pleasantly prickle when he turned to find him watching his movements?

Probably. He thought so, at the time. And then it all went to shit, and he started to second guess. Was any of it real? Or did he just latch onto the first person to show interest in him for him regardless of his identity as the prince of the Fire Nation and magnify that strangeness into something he didn’t really feel? He wasn’t exactly in the best emotional state at the time. (Like he ever has been.) Maybe he had simply had trouble placing this new feeling of almost-friendship and jumped to conclusions. After all, it’s not as if the guy was making romantic overtures to him. And Zuko had been stubbornly opposed to forming any lasting connection with him, for many reasons. It made no sense at all for feelings of those sort to manifest, no matter how charismatic Jet was.

But deep down, no matter how much he yells at himself, This is dishonorable, this is wrong, no matter how furiously he tries to bury it under his focus on his work, he feels the truth with every beat of his heart: It was real. It was real. It was real.

But it doesn’t matter now, he tries to reassure himself, because now he’s dead. And then he instantly feels horrified at himself and has to go distract himself with plans for the repurposing of the Fire Nation’s military equipment.

The problem with being the Firelord is that unless you want to endure weeks of endless dinner parties thinly disguised as opportunities for noble families to present their marriageable daughters as suitors, with all the court maneuvering and awareness that your hosts are making a bid for influence on the throne that come with them, it is very hard to meet people. And by people, Zuko means friendly, attractive people about his age that he could theoretically use to gauge whether he is—whatever.

Not that it matters, obviously it doesn’t matter, he’s not, he’s not—he isn’t—he can’t even think it, that’s how not that he is, clearly. The very idea is shameful. He’s angry at himself for letting it distract him for so long.

I miss having you around. It’s weirdly hard to find someone who can spar with a sword. And no one here appreciates my sophisticated sense of humor the way you do. Besides, I can’t handle having my only friends besides Suki be my sister and two twelve-year-olds again. Two fourteen-year-olds. Whatever.

He can hardly be blamed for not paying much attention to this back when he was in exile. He had other things on his mind. How was he supposed to know that one day he would wish he’d paid more attention to every feeling of maybe-attraction he’d ever had? Besides, it’s not as if people in any of the ports at which they docked were eager to throw themselves at a scarred, exiled firebender. With apparently a less than appealing hairstyle, although he still doesn’t think it was really as bad as Sokka said in his teasing. He’d asked Katara what she’d thought of it once. She’d stalled for a minute, then taken a deep breath and taken on a determined expression as if about to express herself whatever the obstacle, and then Toph had rescued her by chiming in jokingly, “I thought it looked great!”

What about when he was thirteen, that daughter of the war minister he’d sat next to once at a dinner? Princes weren’t supposed to show much emotion, were supposed to be calm and unruffled and definitely not embarrassed, but her hair was very shiny and her laugh was very cute. He’d tried to keep his expression unreadable but even if he was blank-faced, he distinctly remembers the heat in his face and how mortified he’d been to be blushing. That one definitely counted. That had been before he was banished. Maybe the emotional and mental strain he’d been under those few years had messed with his mind, because he never had to deal with this before being banished. Obviously this is just a leftover symptom of stress, because before being banished he never, ever would have thought even for a moment about a guy that way—

But. Shit. What about that play he’d seen when he was eleven or so, Linger under the Cherry Blossoms? He definitely remembers being especially fascinated by the male romantic lead. That probably counted too.

He stops in his tracks where he was walking in the hall and clenches his fists. He failed again. He wasn’t supposed to consider this anymore, damn it.

That night, instead of standing on the balcony to wallow in his own loneliness and stare moodily at the moon, he sneaks past his guards and goes to sit by the turtle duck pond. They’re not swimming now, and he’s not sure where they are, but he knows they’re nearby and that soothes his troubled mind enough that he falls asleep leaning against a tree trunk. For once, he has a pleasant dream. He can’t really remember it when he’s rudely awakened by the palace staff panicking over the Firelord being missing, but he’s pretty sure it was something to do with his mother.

Yeah. So. This is kind of awkward, but—Suki and I broke up. I don’t know how else to say it. It wasn’t horrible, just uncomfortable, and we’re still friends, so it’s fine. So just so you know, you don’t have to tell me you’re sorry or anything, because it wasn’t like, an acrimonious breakup or anything. Like I said, we’re still friends, and we’re going to stay that way, so don’t worry... Just thought you should know.

And Jin. Sometimes he thinks about her, wonders what she’s doing, hopes she’s not still upset at him. Wonders if she’s heard the news, and if enough of that news has reached far enough to the lower rings of Ba Sing Se that she is able to see a picture of the new Firelord’s face, or hear a description, and if she recognized him and if so, what she thinks of him now. Does she hate him? Does some of the affection she showed him still linger? Is she confused? It must be hard to swallow, knowing that you unknowingly dated the prince of your enemies.

He was even willing to risk discovery for her, using his firebending just to make her happy, and in the end all he did was run away. He stares at his desk, not really seeing the pile of scrolls waiting to be read on it. He was supposed to be proving his own heterosexuality to himself, right?

This is just making him feel worse.

His friends visit. Aang tackles him with a hug when they meet, and he staggers a little. Katara hugs him too, albeit a little more calmly, squeezing gently as if afraid he will break, and he wonders if she is remembering the newer scar on his chest. Toph punches him in the shoulder. (The guards jump to attention and look ready to intervene for a few seconds at that.) But someone is missing.

“Where’s Suki?” he asks curiously as Sokka hugs him.

“She’s traveling in the Earth Kingdom with the Kyoshi Warriors,” Toph calls back to him as she pulls down her pack from Appa’s saddle.

“She was going to request to work jointly with the Fire Nation troops you have trying to fix things, though, so you might see her soon. She said she might come to visit you,” Sokka adds, and Zuko, who can’t see his expression because they’re still hugging, is relieved to hear that he sounds normal and not awkward or sad when discussing his ex-girlfriend. “So how are things here?”

They let go, and Zuko answers as he looks around at them, all of them—well, most of his friends—finally right there in front of him. But then Sokka tosses an arm around his shoulders and asks him another question, and Zuko realizes he’s supposed to be inviting them inside.

Sokka’s arm stays around his shoulders as they walk into the palace. It’s a little unorthodox for a Firelord, walking up to the palace in full formal robes with a commoner’s arm around his shoulders and surrounded by a troop of grinning, dusty teenagers, even if one of them is the Avatar, but Zuko ignores it. He’s a little unconventional as far as Firelords go anyway, and his chest feels warm for the first time in months.

A little later, when the others are distracted by conversation, all of them lounging in one of the palace’s many reception rooms, Sokka disappears briefly and returns with a bag. He sits back down next to Zuko and pulls out a few scrolls. He hands them to Zuko. “I wrote these over the last couple weeks,” he says with a smile. “I realized they weren’t going to reach you before we got here, though, so I thought I’d just bring them to you myself.”

Zuko takes them, says, “Thanks,” and feels his face heat like an idiot when their hands brush.

He reads them later when he is alone in his too-big bed, only a candle nearby creating a pool of light in the darkness. He adds the scrolls to his collection, in a chest next to his bed, neglecting the urge to simply fall asleep holding them or stuff them under his pillow, which is what he really wants to do. But he’s not quite at the level where his pride could take that.

Yet.

They tell him their plans. Aang is going to continue traveling around, doing his Avatar duty to restore balance to the world in the shaky aftermath of the war. Katara and Sokka are going to return home to the Southern Water Tribe, to assist in the rebuilding and with the incoming flux of immigrants from the North. Toph is going to return to the Earth Kingdom and open up a school. And though Suki is not there, they relay her plans to him as well: Kyoshi Island has agreed to take an active role in the peacebuilding effort. Suki is to travel with the Kyoshi Warriors to the most battered places in the Earth Kingdom, and to act as advance aid until the Earth Kingdom can muster up some more of its scattered troops.

Zuko is surprised to learn they want to separate. The four of them had seemed a unit, a set—one without the others seems...wrong. How could they want to be alone? He has spent a year alone, and all it has gotten him is silence and worry. But then Katara talks wistfully of seeing her father and Gran-Gran again, and Toph a little jokingly of going to see how the Earth Rumble VI tournament has been progressing without her mastery, and Zuko realizes that this may have the simplest explanation in the world: they are homesick.

Ironic, how he once wanted nothing more than to return home, and all he wants now is to go with them when they leave.

The day before they all leave, Sokka and Zuko go shopping. Or, well, Sokka and an anonymous guy in a cloak go shopping. Zuko didn’t much feel like being the Firelord while they were supposed to be strolling through the Caldera and having a nice time, so he’s wearing a cloak with a hood. And he’s ditched the guards, although he thinks they may just be giving up on him at this point.

“This is really going to work?” says Sokka skeptically, tugging a little at the hood.

Zuko swats his hand away. “Trust me. They never look that close.”

Sokka shrugs. “Well, okay.”

They wander through the marketplaces, stopping every few shops to check out the wares.

At one point Sokka stops suddenly, grabbing Zuko’s sleeve. “Look.”

“What is—” starts Zuko and then pauses, his attention also caught.

It’s a collection of swords, polished and gleaming, and he hesitates, torn between wanting to see the rest of the street and the desire to go inside. The two of them are so collectively hopeless for swords that he suspects if they go in, they won’t come out for several hours.

They look at each other and then go in anyway.

By the time they come out it’s late afternoon. The crowd is a lot more dense, and they briefly get separated several times before wising up and linking arms.

It’s purely for the sake of practicality, Zuko argues to himself, control yourself.

But honestly, even this slight contact of their skin makes him feel so high that he thinks he almost understands what airbenders must feel like when they fly. And when their arms slip so that their hands are linked instead—“Is this okay? I mean, like, I don’t want to lose you—” says Sokka a little shyly, a little awkwardly; “Yes, it’s fine,” says Zuko, equally embarrassed—it’s even worse. Even better. Whichever. Either way, he’s probably right on the verge of losing his grip on sanity. And his no doubt very visible blushing is not helping matters.

Neither one of them says anything, but Sokka’s humming a little too loudly as they stop to look at another display. Zuko’s heart nearly beats right out of his chest. Their hands feel sweaty, and he’s not sure whose sweat it is. Maybe it’s both of theirs. Their fingers are laced together so snugly that he wonders if Sokka can feel his thundering heartbeat through his hand.

He steals a glance at Sokka’s face. He’s smiling, eyes unfocused instead of on the ceramics they’re both pretending to look at, and the sun, beginning to set, is catching his face in a way that makes his hair turn to gold and his skin glow.

Oh, fuck, Zuko thinks.

That night, he closes his eyes, thinks of all the experiences and how they made him feel, mentally sets them in a row side by side, and thinks, What can I make of this? What does this mean?

And the answer is right there but he’s not quite ready to look at it. Not yet.

The day before they all leave they’re all a bit quiet at dinner, except for Aang, who is trying to fill the silence with cheerful chatter. Maybe they’re dreading separating from each other. Zuko knows he is. He’s doing his best not to stare foolishly at Sokka where he’s sitting across the table from him, but it’s hard, and he gets caught once or twice, which is when he feigns nonchalantly looking at the wall hangings behind Sokka. He’s pretty sure Sokka doesn’t buy it, though, because he smiles at him whenever he catches, his eyes warm. Whatever, Zuko thinks, giving up trying to pretend to himself that he feels nothing. He can’t believe what’s happening. He feels a little out of control because the rush of feelings and the desire to just reach across the table and take his hand is overpowering. But he can handle it. This is fine.

It’s not fine. He’s freaking out. It feels like everything inside his head is on fire.

He’s especially freaking out the next morning when they’ve all gone through their preparations for casting off and are standing out in the misty palace courtyard. Sokka is standing next to him and their shoulders are brushing, a flash of warmth against the chilly morning air, and Zuko doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want any of them to go, but especially Sokka, doesn’t want to go back to staring at the sky on the balcony all night again and not having anybody to have a friendly spar with or sneak out of the palace with or just talk to. But he doesn’t say that.

Instead he hands up the last pack to Aang in Appa’s saddle, pats the bison, and clears his throat. “Well...have a safe journey.”

“Thanks, Zuko,” says Aang, jumping down and smiling at him. “This has been great. Thanks for having us.”

Zuko does his best to smile back but is not sure he succeeds. “You’re welcome. You know all of you are welcome at any time.”

Aang hugs him, a going-away hug to match the one he gave him on the day they arrived. Katara hugs him too, squeezing a little more tightly this time. Toph pushes him gently a little and says, “Take care, Hot Stuff.”

“You too,” Zuko responds. He’s had more hugs during their little vacation than he probably had during the entire six years between his mother’s disappearance and finding the Avatar.

The rest of them climb into the saddle. Zuko turns and finds himself face to face with Sokka.

They look at each other for a moment. Zuko is not sure what Sokka is thinking, his eyes roving contemplatively over his face, but he hopes Sokka doesn’t spot the longing and unhappiness he’s feeling. He does his best to keep his face neutral.

Suddenly Sokka lunges forward and throws his arms around him, and Zuko blinks, surprised, before hugging him back tightly, sure that this is the last hug he’ll get from him in a while. They are now almost the same height, and Zuko resists the urge to shiver as Sokka hooks his chin over his shoulder. He could probably stay like this forever and remain happy.

“I’ll write,” says Sokka without letting go. They’re pressed so close that Zuko can feel the intake of breath Sokka takes.

“You do that,” says Zuko, and reluctantly lets go.

Sokka climbs up into the saddle.

“Yip yip!”

Zuko raises a hand in farewell, watches them wave, keeps his eyes on them as they grow smaller and smaller and then... they’re gone. And he’s standing by himself in a misty courtyard in the early morning, left with the dull, empty, “What do I do now?” feeling that comes with the return to normalcy.

Mai, Jet, Jin. Assorted strangers throughout the years. Sokka.

It’s more than obvious what’s happening.

He’s suddenly gripped with horror. A shiver runs down his spine and his blood runs cold.

It is at this moment that he knows: he is fucked.

He’s doing his best to act as if everything’s normal, but he can tell he’s failing. His advisors have twice asked him pointedly during meetings what he thinks of what was just said, which he knows is stuffy old noble talk for Fucking pay attention, you’re supposed to be running the country, you foolish child. He keeps snapping at people and he’s spending much more time locked up in his rooms than usual.

It’s not as bad as being banished, not as bad as losing his mother or being a traitor to the Fire Nation, but he’s still wishing it would all just go away.

Besides, this makes no sense. According to all known laws of government, there is no way that questioning his sexuality should be able to distract him from running the country. Its relevance to the world is too small to take up so much of his time. The sexuality crisis, of course, comes anyway, because sexualities don’t care what Firelords think is impossible.

Hey Zuko, I haven’t heard back from you in a while. Are you okay? You’re really worrying me. Reports from the Fire Nation say you’re fine, but you’re not talking to me. Did I do something wrong? If I did, please tell me so that I can fix it.

Zuko goes to write, the brush hovering over the paper, and realizes in resignation once again that he has no idea what to say. His new realization still has him dazed and slow, and he feels somewhat as if this is a dream. Every action seems slow, magnified, and ten times more emotional.

But Sokka being upset with him, no, Sokka being upset at all is a much worse possibility to contemplate than having to choke out something resembling normalcy, so he writes anyway.

Sokka, he writes, and then pauses before taking a deep breath and continuing. I’m sorry I haven’t been writing. A lot’s been going on and I just need a little time to process some things. You did nothing wrong.

His pulse has picked up just from this, just from making the briefest allusion to the inner turmoil he is feeling. Fuck, he thinks feverishly, and wants to laugh hysterically and then cry. He doesn’t know how to deal with this.

That is all he feels his fragile state of mind at the moment can manage, so he hesitates before closing the letter and then attaches it to a diagram of a new machine some of the palace engineers were working on. Something to improve communication over long distances, with lots of wires and things Zuko doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t enclose any explanation for the diagram, but he knows that Sokka will understand and appreciate it, that this is the kind of thing he thinks is interesting. He knows that Sokka will look at it and get the message that Zuko didn’t write: I saw this and I thought you would like it. Please don’t worry, I am still thinking of you.

Fall isn’t quite in full swing yet, but there is a suggestion in the weather and the passing of days that it is just around the corner. Zuko can feel it in the way there is slightly less sunlight each day, sensing it in his bones, in his blood, the way only a firebender can.

It’s been a few weeks, and he’s doing his best to keep up a facade of not being about to burst out screaming and set everything on fire, and he’s still probably not doing that great, but it’s the best he can do. The Fire Nation needs someone to lead after a century of world war. It is his job, and he can’t jeopardize the lives of millions of people because he’s having a little sexuality crisis.

Fuck.

He tries not to think about it.

But, paradoxically, he kind of wants to talk about it. But the problem is, who would he tell? He normally tells Sokka about these kinds of things. Not sexuality crisis–related things, but—well, most things.

He reads the letter again, feeling his heart leap. Uncle is… coming home? He feels a grin break over his face in spite of everything. He had tried his best to assure his uncle that he hadn’t needed him close by, that he should be free to go and run his tea shop in the Earth Kingdom if that was what he wanted, but he can’t help being selfishly glad to hear the news even though Iroh has only been gone for a few months.

When Iroh arrives, he hugs him tightly, and Zuko feels a little of the tension of the past few weeks melt out of his shoulders, allowing himself to just close his eyes and be comforted. Still though, he doesn’t deserve—Uncle shouldn’t have to—after everything—

“Uncle,” he says, voice a little uncertain and rusty. “What about your tea shop?”

“I can have a tea shop just as easily here as in Ba Sing Se,” says his uncle gently but firmly, holding him at arm’s length to smile at him, and Zuko feels weak with relief.

So, Sokka writes teasingly in one of his letters. Heard you were looking for an ambassador from the Water Tribe. Think I’m qualified for the job?

He has been expecting an ambassador. He’s been expecting one from the Earth Kingdom and one from the Northern Water Tribe too. The world’s leaders had figured that a return to whatever the world had sort of looked like before the Fire Nation attacked might increase the stability of the fragile peace. And in any case, he admits, it would probably greatly comfort the other nations to have one of their own in the Fire Nation, keeping tabs, as it were.

Zuko stares at the letter, barely daring to entertain the possibility. The idea of having Sokka here, full-time? That was surely a pipe dream.

But he writes back with an affirmative anyway.

This doesn’t mean anything, Zuko tells himself firmly on the morning of Sokka’s arrival. I have no feelings for my friend whatsoever.

He has decided that it will be more beneficial for both him and his country if he simply does not think about it anymore. And by it, he means—nothing. He means nothing. There is absolutely nothing for him not to be anxious about. He is fine. Nothing can distract him from keeping the Fire Nation together and functioning as part of a new, peaceful world.

He goes a little earlier than needed to meet Sokka’s ship. Yes, okay, maybe it wasn’t quite necessary to go right to the docks, especially with the full contingent of ever-present guards and nobles and the palanquin and whatnot. He’s pretty sure most Firelords would just wait near the palace, wait for the foreign dignitaries to come to them. But this is the first return of foreign diplomats to the Fire Nation since the war. Of course he has to make sure to be as welcoming as possible, to do his best to convince the world that the Fire Nation really has changed, and will continue to change. This is special.

Sokka is special, whispers a voice in his head which he quickly squashes down. He’s had quite enough of this, so he will just have to make it go away. He and Sokka will continue to have merely an easy friendship, and Zuko will not nearly spontaneously combust every time Sokka’s eyes settle on him. Right. That is exactly how it will go.

When Sokka gets off the ship he controls himself for about two thirds of the walk towards him and then actually starts running and throws himself into Zuko’s arms. He laughs sheepishly into Zuko’s shoulder and starts saying something, probably something important, but Zuko is a little distracted trying to hold onto his last vestiges of heterosexuality and doesn’t really catch it.

Sokka’s arrival in the palace shakes things up more than Zuko anticipated. For starters, he has a lot of ideas about how to rearrange the palace, and Zuko, tired of being reminded of unhappier times by settings identical to those of his childhood, is more than happy to go along with them. Along with his ambassador duties, he also finds the time to draw up detailed plans of how exactly to improve the organization of the guards’ quarters, because honestly, Zuko, they’re kind of a mess, I’m surprised you didn’t notice, and to determine exactly how they should redecorate the dining room.

“This is what we should do,” he says. We. Which is a word that causes Zuko to nearly give up on trying to make whatever-this-is go away. It sounds...nice.

They spend a lot of time cloistered in Zuko’s rooms, plowing through their paperwork together, and Zuko’s guards, wary at first, have resigned themselves to just letting Sokka in whenever he appears. Sokka’s influence as a foreigner may be a little unusual. But at this point Zuko is too frazzled by recent developments and too elated at Sokka’s presence to care.

Let the nobility whisper, he thinks stubbornly. I don’t care.

His nightmares haven’t abated, but they’re a little easier to face now that he doesn’t feel so alone.

But see, the thing is that the feelings themselves aren’t difficult, Zuko breaks his own rules about ignoring recent developments to muse one day while they’re walking in the newly redesigned gardens. It is the easiest thing in the world to watch Sokka smile at the sight of a hummingtoucan and feel warm from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It is natural, instinctive, and comfortable.

It’s dealing with the implications of those feelings that is the problem. Absolute monarchs may be uniquely afforded some leniency when it comes to situations like this. But in this unstable political climate, he’s not sure he can afford to need leniency.

What is he supposed to do?

He considers talking to Sokka, not about his feelings for him, but just in general, and his stomach lurches. No. Not doing that. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Sokka rejected him for this.

He considers talking to his uncle. That idea sticks a little longer than the previous one. If Uncle had forgiven him all he’d done even after Zuko had betrayed him, surely he could forgive this as well, right?

But still he hesitates.

Maybe...maybe it would be best to continue keeping it a secret. For now.

So instead, he decides to take a trip to the royal library.

He scours every corner, sneaking in and losing sleeping hours—not that he slept much anyway; at least now he’s doing something productive—so as not to arouse anyone’s suspicion, and finds next to nothing. In one text there is a brief reference to “sexual perversions,” but that is about it.

Great, Zuko thinks in irritation, shoving the thing back where it came from and looking around, searching for a corner he has not yet examined. This is impossible. At this rate he might come across some relevant information by the time he’s fifty.

No, it’s time for a new tactic.

Once again, he sneaks out of the palace at night. He’s not really sure where he’s going, but he’s got some idea of where to start.

He travels quickly, making his way to the few neighborhoods in the city that are still awake. The streets there are crowded but dim as people talk and laugh, light spilling out through the open doors of the buildings on either side. This is the home of the capital’s nightlife.

There are still enough people milling about outside on these streets that he’s not too worried about standing out, but he’s careful anyway, sticking to the shadows as he makes his way through the streets.

Okay. There it is. He’s almost there. He can see the doorway, see people inside laughing and talking, there’s music coming from somewhere, he gets a glimpse of two men dancing together and—

He turns around and runs away, footsteps still soundless but his heart pounding.

He sits up in bed, frowning to himself. Why did he run? He’s survived explosions, nearly drowning, nearly freezing to death, countless battles, a lightning bolt to the chest, and he can’t pluck up the courage to even enter a fucking gay bar. He pulls the pillow over his face and yells into it. Then he rolls over and smothers his face in the sheets instead.

He hates himself.

“So, now that Omashu has returned—Zuko, are you even listening to me?”

“Hm?” Zuko looks up from his grumpy contemplation of the breakfast table.

Sokka’s frowning at him. “Are you okay? You’ve been...really spacey lately.”

“I’m fine,” says Zuko, trying to rearrange his expression to look more neutral and less murderous.

“Is it those war reparations?”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re ‘fine.’” Sokka squints at him. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, but he tries his best. “I’m just...tired.”

Luckily for him, Sokka accepts his answer, although he doesn’t look like he really buys it. “Uh huh. Well, okay. Just know that I’m here for you, all right, buddy? If you ever want to, you know. Talk about something.”

Something he’d forgotten is that just as Sokka is technically the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador, the Earth Kingdom will also be sending diplomats. He is forcibly reminded of this by the arrival of the Earth Kingdom ambassador, a noblewoman named Chu Ming. She’s a tall, black-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She’s efficient and to the point, and working with her is easy enough except for the fact that she keeps a little more of a watchful eye than he would have preferred. Not on the Fire Nation; no, there, he has nothing to hide. It’s the way she watches him during meetings and banquets that bothers him, as well as the way she regards Sokka with unusual focus. Maybe it’s because Sokka spends almost all his time in or near the palace instead of at the newly constructed Water Tribe embassy. Or the fact that he and Sokka are nearly always within speaking distance of each other, and usually closer. Or maybe it’s that Zuko keeps getting distracted staring at him…

Yeah, on second thought, it could be a lot of things.

Sometimes, when they’ve burned themselves out on work but are too wired to go to sleep, they’ll just sit up in Zuko’s rooms. On one of these nights, Zuko is lying on the floor, playing with a candle flame as his eyelids droop, while Sokka is sitting nearby, carving something.

“There!” says Sokka triumphantly, brushing off a few shavings of wood. He pushes the thing excitedly into Zuko’s hands, and Zuko quickly drops the flame so as not to burn it. “Tell me what you think.”

Zuko examines it. “Is it a…” It’s kind of crescent-shaped, with a curvier bit coming off one end, and a round thing on the top—he has a moment of recognition. “...turtle duck?”

“Yeah!” says Sokka, grinning. “You recognized it! See, I wasn’t sure whether I would get the beak exactly right, but I guess it turned out pretty good after all.”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, smiling as he turns it over in his hands. He laughs a little. “I like it.”

But when he tries to give it back, Sokka pushes it back into his hands. “It’s for you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” says Zuko, trying very hard to keep his face from heating up. “Thank you.” He smiles down at the carving, holding it gently, and looks up to find Sokka staring at him with wide eyes and a peculiar expression on his face. “What?”

“Uh, nothing.” Sokka coughs a little and looks away. “So, uh… how about those paintings Katara sent us, huh?”

He slips out again that night, because he set out to do something and he’s going to do it, damn it, and again he makes his way through the city, gets close to the door, and—

Runs away.

He can’t do it.

“Nephew,” Iroh begins over their daily cup of tea the next morning. “Has something been bothering you?”

Zuko looks up from glaring at his teacup. “Uh—no, Uncle. I’m fine.” He realizes that the table underneath his hands is smoking and quickly smothers his hands in his sleeves.

“I understand, Nephew. But you know, if there is something on your mind, it's not shameful for you to express it. I know that you have many more responsibilities now. But the pot that releases no steam will eventually boil over.”

“I know, Uncle,” he says quietly. If he was going to confide in anyone about this, it would be his uncle, and for a moment he yearns to speak his mind so much that he teeters right on the edge of blurting it out and ruining everything. But he reins himself in and swallows, and to cover it up takes a gulp of tea quickly.

His uncle is watching him, frowning in concern, and it makes Zuko think uncomfortably of the way Iroh watched him during his years in exile. Zuko hates to have his uncle think that he is no longer comfortable confiding in him, but what can he say?

He goes to meetings, does paperwork, listens to reports from around the nation. He spends time with Sokka. And then at night he tries again.

And fails. Again.

All right, look, he thinks to himself in frustration as he speeds away from the place, flitting from shadow to shadow and evading the uneven spots in the road, his chest tight with shame—maybe this isn’t that important after all. It is a bar. Would that really be the best place for...what is it he’s looking for? Education? Belonging? It’s not as if he’s—trying to pick someone up or—or anything like that, he’s not—

He doesn’t know. Maybe it’s just the desire to see someone else who might be like him, so that he knows that he’s not losing his mind, so he’s not alone in this.

He’s on his way back to his rooms, probably to glare at inanimate objects some more and fail to get any work done as he panics internally and accidentally sets things on fire, when he’s accosted by Ambassador Chu Ming.

“Firelord,” she says and bows. “I was wondering if you might spare a minute of your time. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” Zuko says, and they walk together to one of the smaller rooms used for diplomatic affairs. Zuko’s on edge. Maybe he’s going to finally find out why she’s been watching him so closely, although he thinks he might be able to guess. He feels himself tensing against his will.

“Firelord,” she says once the door has been closed and the attendants dismissed, and he’s surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. Her voice has gone from formally detached to intense and urgent, and she’s frowning at him, and in her eyes there is—empathy? “I’m telling you this not as an Ambassador of the Earth Kingdom, but because I believe I can help you.”

He stares at her uncomprehendingly, trying to keep calm, his mind awash in panic.

She holds his gaze. “Would I be correct in guessing that there is a romantic relationship between you and the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador?”

He chokes on nothing, his face heating up immediately. Shit shit shit shit shit, she did notice—

“Absolutely not!” he sputters. “How could you even ask something like that? I never—you can’t just—how dare you imply—” He freezes as the word “between” registers a few seconds late—she also thought Sokka had a crush on him?—before gathering himself with effort in the few seconds of dead silence and saying in a somewhat strangled voice, “There is platonic respect between myself and the Ambassador, nothing else.”

“I see,” she says, but she looks away at the wall and sighs a little, frowning. She is silent for a few moments. “Firelord Zuko,” she says abruptly, sounding determined and as if she’s come to a decision. “I am speaking to you because I believe we have something in common. Back in the Earth Kingdom, I have a lover.” She pauses to adjust her sleeves, the first hint of nervousness he’s seen from her. “A female lover.”

It hits him like a stampeding komodo rhino. For all his failed attempts to find somebody who might understand—instead, that someone has come to him. “Oh,” he says.

“I admit I’m not fully familiar with how this works in the Fire Nation. But in the Earth Kingdom, it is frowned upon. Most elites don’t survive the kind of condemnation that being open brings. I don’t know if you realize, if it’s not too bold to say, but you’re being incredibly obvious.”

“Obvious,” he echoes, stunned.

“If you continue your relationship, you must learn to become more discreet.”

“I—I’m not—we don’t—” he tries, stuttering, and then stops. Nothing has prepared him for this. A royal court upbringing never told him what to do when confronted with this naked honesty. If he had been somewhere else, on the run from the Fire Nation, back in a waiter’s uniform in Ba Sing Se, maybe it would have been easier. But he’s not, and he feels the weight of his crown like an anvil.

He coughs and tries again. His voice comes out raspy and small. “We’re not together.”

She looks surprised, but recovers quickly. “I assumed, from the way the two of you acted around each other...My apologies.”

She thought Sokka had acted smitten around him? Zuko’s heart jumps in spite of himself, but he pushes the feeling down.

“I’ve seen many of my friends become outcast due to being careless. I remember being in your position, young and—I could not stand by and watch the same thing happen to somebody else. I apologize for making assumptions. I know this must all feel very abrupt.”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, numb.

“I understand that politically, we each have our own nation’s interests to consider. But about this, if you need an ally, you can reach out to me. You, and your...friend,” she finishes kindly.

“Thank you, Ambassador,” he says. Is this real? Maybe he’s dreaming. It’s too surreal.

She stands. “It can be hard, being gay in our world,” she says quietly, sounding a little unsure at this brief moment of vulnerability. He jolts a little, looking up at her as her hand lands on his shoulder awkwardly. “We have to support one another.”

She starts towards the door, and one thing she said sticks in Zuko’s mind. “Ambassador...” he says, wiping his shaking, sweaty palms on his robes. “I’m not gay. I...I am bisexual.”

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, and he trips over the words a little. He’s acutely aware of his racing heartbeat. I will not faint, I am the Firelord, I can handle this, this is nothing—

For a moment she simply stares at him with her hand on the door, looking guilelessly bewildered. Then she appears to have a realization, and she half-smiles at him. “So was I, at your age. It’ll take time to completely accept yourself.” She opens the door. “Good day, Firelord.”

The door swings shut behind her.

Did that really just happen?

That evening finds him working out his frustrations through training.

Is he gay?

He works through his katas systematically, watching the fire light up the dusk.

No. He’s not.

He puts a little more power into his movements, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his nose.

But neither is he straight.

This is going to kill him. He can’t live like this, with everyone thinking he’s something he’s not. He has to take charge of this himself, deal with it on his own terms. He can’t keep bottling this all up, one of these days he’s just going to explode—

He stares up at the ceiling as he lies in bed, turning Sokka’s misshapen turtle duck over and over in his hands. He wants to tell someone, has to tell someone, but it could go wrong so easily. Maybe it’s destined to go wrong no matter what he does, as so many things seem to do around him. As it appeared to go wrong with Ambassador Chu. Would Sokka reject him as a friend? Would he...leave?

He screws up his face.

And his uncle? If he reacts badly, Zuko will be left with no family members in the world who don’t despise him, which is an extremely depressing thought.

Then he considers the ones who aren’t there. How would they react?

The rest of his friends? They’re an accepting bunch, but how far that would go, he has no idea.

His father—He probably would have burned a lot more than half his face if he’d known this.

Azula—he shudders to imagine the taunts, the increased cruelty, maybe even with her in her current ill state—it wouldn’t be pretty.

And his mother…

Would she be horrified, to know that her son was queer?

Would she still love him if she knew?

They’ve snuck out of the palace again, this time to see a play. The play was pretty good, but the part that Zuko is enjoying most is the leisurely walk through the city with Sokka as they return to the palace. Their shoulders are bumping as they walk, and Zuko is listening to Sokka list the pros and cons of the finale, and all seems right with the world.

They make their way back slowly, the dusk deepening around them. Zuko’s sort of itching to hold Sokka’s hand and is saved the deliberation of whether or not taking his hand would be weird when Sokka links their hands anyway.

Zuko laces their fingers together and feels lighter than air when Sokka squeezes his hand back a little. This might possibly be a good day.

They sneak back into the palace. Or well, ostensibly they sneak back in. Zuko’s half convinced that the guards are just pretending they don’t see them to humor him.

They go back to Zuko’s rooms. Neither of them really wants to separate yet, but it’s late, and they end up lying around on the furniture, not saying anything. Not needing to.

Eventually Zuko sits up and pulls out his topknot, meaning to brush his hair. It’s getting long, growing past his shoulders, and he thinks maybe he’s just going to let it. It is a pain to brush though.

“Here, let me,” Sokka offers, holding his hand out for the brush, and they sit on the floor. Zuko’s feeling drowsy and content, and Sokka’s very gentle with the hairbrush, humming quietly as he works. He thinks he might actually just fall asleep right here.

“I feel like we’re having a sleepover or something,” he mumbles.

Sokka snorts. “I guess so. But for it to be a sleepover we’d actually have to, you know. Sleep over.”

Zuko’s pretty sure there’s an obvious response to that—We could, you know. You can stay, if you want—but he’s paralyzed by fear. Asking your crush to sleep over with you? It’s not that far outside the bounds of platonic friendship, but there’s only one bed. Zuko would probably do something embarrassing like accidentally sleep cuddle Sokka, because of course he would, and then their friendship would be ruined and he would probably just die after that because there would be no point, and then the entire Fire Nation would implode and it would be all his fault, he’d have failed everyone again and—

Oblivious to the visions of apocalyptic mayhem filling Zuko’s mind, Sokka sets the brush down and runs his fingers through Zuko’s hair. “There. Perfect.”

Zuko’s pretty sure he’s dead at this point. There it goes. His heart is gone.

If he’s going to tell someone, he’s willing to go it alone. It’s not the first time most of the world might be disgusted by him. But all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to gather more information.

“So, Ambassador,” says Zuko during another one of their meetings.

She looks up at him expectantly.

He steels himself. It’s still a little hard to say aloud. “You said I could count you as an ally.”

She sets down the scroll she was holding, her expression softening. “Of course, Firelord.”

He grips the table’s edge a little too hard. “I was wondering...if you perhaps knew of any others like us. I would like to speak to them. Undercover, of course.”

“Ah,” she regards him thoughtfully. “Most of those I know remain in the Earth Kingdom. But I have heard some travelers to the Fire Nation speak fondly of a certain establishment...the Jumping Dolphin Squid Tavern, I believe it’s called. It operates, I think, as a community gathering place as well as an organizing spot.”

“I see,” Zuko says.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Is that all you wanted to know, Firelord?” prompts Ambassador Chu mildly.

He hesitates. He should reiterate his circumstances to her. She’s gotten him all wrong…

“Ambassador, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” he begins, frowning, “I’m not gay, I am bisexual. I’ve questioned this for months. I struggled with it for ages. But that’s only made me more sure.”

She frowns at him. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Firelord. There...isn’t any such thing.”

Well, that’s just great, Zuko fumes that evening, once again in disguise. He stomps down the street, looking at the signs of the establishments he passes. Ambassador Chu acknowledged that she had understood what he said, but appeared to believe that what he must have meant was code for being “still stuck in the early, unsure stages of realizing one is gay” and that he’d “find his way in the future eventually”—and now he may have gotten on the bad side of the only person with the capability to expose him. He doubts she would do that, but all the same. Maybe not his most well thought out plan to start that discussion. But Zuko’s well used to believing in things that everyone else believes don’t exist. Like the Avatar, which he was clearly right about. So he’s fine. Obviously. Ambassador Chu doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He can figure this out for himself, thank you very much—

What if she’s right, though? an insidious little voice whispers in his head. Like you’ve ever seen proof that people like you exist. You’ve never seen anybody else. Maybe it is just a stepping stone, it’s not real—

And he promptly mentally burns that voice to a crisp and presses onward. He doesn’t have time for this.

He stands in front of the establishment, staring up at the sign. There is, true to the name, a picture of a jumping dolphin squid on it, and the words are a little faded. He looks at the door. It’s closed, not like the bar, which makes things even harder.

He reaches for the door and hesitates. What does he want with this place? He doesn’t fucking know.

But he’s been trying to do this for days and failing every time. This time, he will not fail.

With a surge of courage, he yanks the door open and bursts into the room. The door swings around and bangs against the wall, and some people clustered around the door stare at him in surprise.

“Um,” he says. “Sorry.”

They go back to their conversations.

The room is crowded and warm, full of people talking and laughing boisterously. There’s a counter at one side of the room and multiple tables shoved into a space too small for them, each with people are gathered around it. One of them is set against the wall directly opposite him, and the people gathered around it are watching something on the table and laughing.

He stiffens a little as the door swings shut behind him, but no one notices him again. He stands still for a moment, his palms clammy, before squeezing his way between two men and making his way into the middle of the room. He looks around. The crowd is made up of people both young and old, of all genders, and they’re all just… laughing and talking together? He’d expected something more... low-key, he guesses. A quiet room, people talking in hushed undertones, not this—celebration. Everyone here looks happy.

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

He slips between people, not really knowing what he’s trying to do, and then catches a glimpse of the back table. It’s a game of pai sho. He stops. He never really liked the game much, or was any good at it for that matter, but it’s familiar and he decides that going to watch will give him a couple of minutes to figure out what it is he wants to do here. He joins the small crowd.

After a moment a voice from his left says, “Hey.”

He turns, startled. A girl about his age with her hair tied back waves at him.

“Um,” he says. “Hello.”

She’s got her arm slung around the waist of the girl next to her, who is speaking to another girl on her left. “Are you new here?”

“I guess you could say that,” Zuko replies cautiously.

“I’m Shizuki.”

“Li.”

“Welcome to the club, Li,” she says and gestures grandly with her free arm to the rest of the small room with its worn furniture and unadorned walls. “You’ve happened upon the Firelord’s palace of gay establishments.” She sounds earnest.

Zuko looks around at the room filled with smiling people and compares it to the palace’s many empty rooms and thinks that, despite its shabbiness, maybe this might actually be better. “I’m sure,” he says.

“It’s a nice place, though. I mean it,” Shizuki adds seriously. “You can put the hood down if you want, you know. Nobody here’s going to out you.” She peers curiously at his face, and he hopes that the hood keeps him enough in shadow that she won’t recognize him.

“I understand,” says Zuko, fumbling a little, “I’m just…”

“Not comfortable yet?” she says sympathetically, “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.”

He nods mutely, and silence lapses for a few moments as she gets briefly distracted by the next move in the game of pai sho.

“That looks like a risky move,” she says to no one in particular, and then asks him, “So, you here with a friend or boyfriend or anything? I ask because you look kind of lost. You can stick with us if you want.”

“No,” says Zuko, carefully, “I’m not here with a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or anyone.”

“Oh, so you’re bi,” says Shizuki with slight surprise. “I’m gay. But anyway, we were just about to go get drinks, right, babe?” She turns to the girl she’s holding by the waist, who has been watching the game with a frown, leaning against Shizuki.

Zuko is still reeling somewhat from the unexpected mildness of her response when the girl turns to Shizuki and asks, “What?”

“Oh, uh, this is Li,” says Shizuki, appearing to catch on to her girlfriend’s confusion when she looks at Zuko curiously. “And Li, this is my girlfriend, Tao Zu.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Tao Zu, her frown clearing a little.

Zuko makes to respond in kind but is cut off by Shizuki saying cheerily, “He’s new around here, like us.”

“Where are you from, Li?” Tao Zu asks, examining him.

“I’m—” Zuko begins, but is cut off yet again when someone bumps into him from behind, knocking him forward a little. He supposes it was only a matter of time. The place is very crowded, after all.

“You want to sit down somewhere?” says Shizuki with a sheepish grin.

“We’re from the outer islands,” says Shizuki brightly. “Came here because—well—there’s better opportunities, and we kind of needed a fresh start. Big city, you know?”

“Yeah—” says Zuko, but he barely gets a word in edgewise before she launches back into conversation.

“We’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Found this place yesterday, and bam, here we are. Never knew there were so many of us around here. It’s pretty weird. But in a good way! In a totally good way. It’s so much nicer to know you’re not alone, you know? Especially when—yeah.” She stands up abruptly. “Hey, I’ll go get us drinks, all right? You guys stay here.”

“I can pay—” Zuko starts, but she waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Be right back.”

She makes her way through the crowd, and Zuko stares after her, feeling somewhat like he’s suffering from conversational whiplash.

“So where did you say you were from?” says Tao Zu, and he turns back to her.

“I was born here, in the Caldera. I’ve just...never come here before.”

She nods pensively. “I see.” She scratches behind her ear. “Since you’re a native, maybe you can answer a question for me? I hate to bring it up so abruptly, but we’re kind of in a tight spot.”

“Okay.”

“We’re having a little difficulty finding work around here,” she says, looking away at the wall. “I was wondering if you knew of any kind of network among us or something, maybe a friendly business owner who might be willing to hire a couple of people down on their luck. Or even just one of us would be great. We kind of left home...abruptly.” She looks at him as if expecting him to understand.

He frowns. “I’m sorry. I don’t know of anywhere like that. I’m actually...I didn’t know, until recently, that I was...bi. So I don’t really know anyone.”

She smiles at him for the first time. “I understand, Li. I’m bi too. And I think all of us remember what it was like at first.” She scratches at a spot on the table with her fingernail. “We thought things would be better around here. Easier. And in some ways it is. But in other ways…” She shrugs. “It’s not so different.”

Should he ask her? Would it be prying? But when is he ever going to get another chance?

“So you’re bi,” he says awkwardly.

She looks up from the table. “Yes.”

“Did you ever get people telling you that you weren’t…” He searches for the right word. “Real? That you were lying?”

She suddenly looks tired. “Yes. I have. Lots of times.” She looks him right in the eye—or at least she tries, under the hood. “Don’t believe them, Li. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He feels a weight he hadn’t even known was there drop off his shoulders. He’d had no idea how badly he’d needed to hear that.

“Thank you,” he says clumsily. “I really—thanks.”

She smiles at him warmly. “You’re welcome. When I first realized, years ago, I had an older friend who was there to tell that to me. So I’m glad I could help. We all need someone who gets it.” She drops her gaze, and her smile fades. “Of course, I don’t know where she is now. I thought she might have come here. But we haven’t found her.” She laughs a little. “Of course, it’s a little hard to search for her with our limited resources. We didn’t have a lot of time to prepare before we... left.”

“By which she means we got kicked out,” says Shizuki baldly, setting three drinks down on the table, and Zuko jumps a little. “It wasn’t pretty. And now we’re here—no jobs, dishonored—but that’s life, I suppose.”

He unconsciously starts to lift his hand to touch his scar before catching himself and setting it back on the table. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I think that you being true to who you are means you have plenty of honor.” He didn’t even know he believed that until he said it. But he has to—he went through so much to get his honor back—this couldn’t possibly compromise it. It can’t.

“Thanks. But don’t worry. I don’t believe in looking back too much,” says Shizuki, pushing one of the drinks towards him. “I appreciate it. But what’s done is done.” Her smile is a little strained, however.

“He’s right, though,” says Tao Zu in a tired tone, and Zuko gets the impression they’ve had this conversation lots of times. “You’re still just as honorable as anyone. I mean it.”

Shizuki shrugs. Tao Zu sighs.

“If I had the power to change it, I’d make it so everyone understood that us being queer doesn’t mean we’ve lost our dignity,” Tao Zu says, voice quietly passionate. “If I was—the Firelord, maybe, I’d fix it—fix everything.”

“But darling, you’re not,” says Shizuki sadly. “The Firelord doesn’t know or care that we even exist.” She shrugs, her expression shuttered. “All we can do is—move forward.”

Zuko feels a chill steal over him. They have no idea.

Conversation with them is a little awkward, but easier than he expected. It is odd, though—he can finally talk freely about what he’s feeling. But now he has to hide his name and face. There’s no area of his life where he can be truly honest.

By the time their conversation is winding down, a few hours have passed, and he realizes abruptly that he’s been gone for much too long. He didn’t expect to spend so much time here.

They bid him goodbye, and he turns to leave, but remembers—

“Hey,” he says, “where are you staying right now? So if I run into anyone who’s hiring, I can send them your way.”

He’s pleased, but a little surprised, that they tell him their address, because during the entire three hours, he still hasn’t taken off the shifty-looking hood.

The next day, he orders someone from the company that supplied most of the new plants in the gardens to hire Shizuki and Tao Zu in one of their flower shops in the city. The man is sent with strict instructions and paid off not to tell them exactly who sent him.

This time, he is in charge. This time, he does not have to worry about being burned or kicked out of his home by anyone. I should trust him, he berates himself furiously. Uncle has never given any indication that he would condemn me for this. Even after everything that happened during the war, he still loves me. I know he does. I shouldn’t keep this from him. I don’t want to keep this from him.

But with all he’s gained and all he’s realized he had all along comes the consciousness that he has that much more to lose, and spirits help him but he’s afraid. He’s afraid and he doesn’t know what to do and it’s killing him slowly, he just knows it—

He paces around in his room. He wants to tell someone close to him. Something within him feels compelled to. Every time he’s around people it threatens to burst out of him, and he wants to say it so bad, needs to say it—

He ends up wandering the palace. Its emptiness is even more obvious at night. There are long stretches of time where the low conversations of the guards fade out and the only sound is that of his own muffled footsteps.

His feet take him unknowingly to his uncle’s door, and he stops. It’s the middle of the night. But he’s tired of waiting.

He knocks.

After a minute or so he hears footsteps, and his uncle answers. “Zuko?” he asks, looking a little alarmed, and Zuko considers what a mess he must look, with his eyes bloodshot and his hair mussed, wandering the palace barefoot in the middle of the night. He pulls Zuko gently inside by the elbow. “Nephew, what’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something,” says Zuko, stumbling over his words a little. His mouth is dry. His head is spinning, and he can’t tell if it’s from the lack of sleep or the fear. He thinks he might throw up. “I…”

His uncle is giving him his full attention, his brow creased in worry.

Zuko teeters on the edge. His heartbeat pounds. His face burns. This is the moment that may change everything.

And with a rush of cold fear, he pushes himself over the edge.

“I’m bisexual.”

His uncle’s eyes widen, and to his horror Zuko feels his eyes fill up with tears. “I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His uncle grabs his shoulders, and Zuko braces for a hit—

But he’s been pulled into a hug.

“Zuko,” says his uncle, his voice thick, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

Zuko stands stiffly in shock, his chin awkwardly pressed against his uncle’s shoulder. “Y-You’re not...upset?”

“No, of course not.”

“I thought you might…” He gasps a little, trying to hold back the sobs, relief coursing through him and making him feel weak. “...not...love me anymore.”

“Nothing could ever make me stop loving you,” says Iroh firmly, sounding on the verge of crying himself. He squeezes Zuko a little tighter. “And I am glad that you felt you could trust me with this. I will never stop loving you, Zuko. Not for this, or anything.”

Zuko sniffles a little. “I…” Another wave of tears take him over, and he buries his face in his uncle’s shoulder. He’s pretty sure that his tears are soaking through his uncle’s shirt, but Iroh doesn’t seem to care.

And even after all of this, Zuko still finds himself back where he always seems to be, sitting on the balcony with Sokka, the two of them hip to hip on the bench as Sokka cheerfully talks about the latest developments in the Southern Water Tribe and the geopolitical implications of improving relations and Zuko listens. Despite Sokka’s blithe chatter, he throws Zuko furtive, concerned looks every now and then.

“You keep glancing at me,” Zuko says abruptly.

“Well, you just seem...different today. I’m glad to see you looking happier.” He stares at Zuko contemplatively. “Is whatever was bothering you through now?”

Zuko considers this. “Yeah,” he concludes, surprised at his honesty. He does indeed feel lighter. At least somewhat.

“Okay.” Sokka throws an arm around Zuko’s shoulders. “I gotta say, I’m glad to see that beautiful smile of yours again.”

Zuko flushes deeply. “Uh.” He leans into Sokka a little despite himself. “Um. Thanks.” He pauses awkwardly, freezing with his face heating up. What is he supposed to say in response to that? He should pay that compliment back, right? But how is he supposed to do that? There’s a host of things he loves about Sokka, but he doesn’t know how to compliment people!

“Zuko? Did I make you uncomfortable?” Sokka starts to pull his arm back from around Zuko’s shoulders. “I’m sorry—I just thought—

“No!” says Zuko, and Sokka freezes, looking surprised. Zuko tugs Sokka’s arm back down around himself and Sokka relaxes a little. “No, I just...I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to tell you…” He feels lost. “I think…” He makes a noise of frustration. “Why is this so hard!”

“Zuko? It’s okay, man. You kind of look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”

“It’s not okay! I want to tell you how wonderful I think you are, but I don’t know how!” he explodes in frustration.

Sokka’s face turns from concerned to radiant. “Oh, yeah?”

“I, uh— he stutters as he realizes what he just said. Oh well, might as well be hanged for a sheep pig as a sheep piglet—“Well, yes!”

Sokka laughs a little, squeezing Zuko’s shoulders lightly. “Don’t worry. I understand. I think you’re pretty wonderful, too.”

The next day brings a surprise. Zuko is supposed to be looking over trade agreements but is thinking about Sokka—so a standard morning, then—when a servant enters the room and informs him that a visitor has arrived: the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors is currently in the reception room.

He jumps up immediately. He’d known Suki was probably coming, but forgotten—and here she was at last—he hadn’t seen her in nearly a year—

He hurries to the aforementioned room and stops in the doorway. There she is—sitting on a chair, looking travel worn and tired, in her familiar Kyoshi Warrior uniform—her hair is longer. Her face is a little less round.

So is his, probably.

She looks up and sees him, and her face breaks out into a smile. “Firelord Zuko.”

Instead of answering, he steps forward and hugs her. She hugs him back.

Zuko makes the executive decision to tell the trade agreements to go fuck themselves for a brief period of time, and he, Suki, and Sokka, once they have all been warmly reunited, spend the day catching each other up on their respective lives and walking in the palace gardens.

A week later, Suki is leaving the next morning. Sokka is briefly absent, and Zuko decides to take one more risk. It’s necessary, he reminds himself nervously, if he wants her permission to try to ask out her ex-boyfriend. And even more importantly, he just wants her to know.

So he tells her.

She sits there for a moment, quiet, her head tilted. “I didn’t know there was another word for that.”

“What?” says Zuko nervously.

“Kyoshi liked men and women too,” she explains, smiling a little. “On Kyoshi Island, it’s something to be respected. We say a person is like Kyoshi when they experience attraction that way.”

It is Zuko’s turn to be surprised. “It’s...respected?”

“Yes.” Suki nods. “Kyoshi was a legend, a hero. When we say someone is like Kyoshi, it’s a compliment. I’m proud to be like her.”

“Oh,” says Zuko. “It’s—you’re— This was not the response he expected. “You are... too?”

“Yes,” she says simply.

He sighs, confused but pleased, his thoughts whirling. “This is very fortunate, I guess.”

“A mutual coming out,” she notes, and laughs. “I’d say it’s a sign of good luck.”

“Thank you,” he tells her sincerely. “For telling me.”

“Thank you,” she says seriously. “On Kyoshi Island, this is easy. I know it’s not that way here.”

They smile at each other, and he finds the courage to forge ahead.

“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he begins. “About Sokka.”

Suki raises an eyebrow, smiling a little. “You want my permission?”

“Why does everyone somehow know about this?!” he says in exasperation. “It’s not like I go around shouting it from the rooftops!”

She laughs again. “You’re not a subtle person, Zuko.”

Zuko huffs. He really isn’t, is he? How has he managed to keep this secret for so long? “Okay. Whatever. I. Um...are you…”

She puts her hand on his shoulder, her expression earnest. “Hey. We’re not dating anymore, Zuko. We are very good friends. But you're not infringing on my relationships, as it were. If you want to ask him out, you should do it.” She quirks an eyebrow, smiling a little. “I give you my blessing.”

Zuko feels himself sag a little with relief. “Well. Thank you.”

She pats his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you think…” He hesitates. He has tried not to think about this part before. “Do you think he’s okay with...do you think he’s like us?”

“Well,” says Suki with a sigh, but her eyes dance with merriment, “I think that’s something you need to ask him.”

“Sokka,” he forces out, his heart pounding. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Sokka stops and looks back at him curiously. “Uh, okay. Aren’t we talking right now?”

“Yes, but this is different,” Zuko says nervously. They’re in the middle of the hedge maze in the gardens. There’s no one around but them.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Zuko steels himself, drawing in a deep but shaky breath. Just say it. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together these past few months, and I wanted to tell you that I really like you. And to ask you if you would like to. Um. Go out on a date, with me, sometime.”

There, it’s done. It was probably a good idea not to come straight out with I think I’m in love with you, that definitely would have come on too strong, notes some part of his brain in dazed detachment. He’s afraid to look at Sokka’s face.

Which is why he’s so surprised when Sokka says, “Yes, I’d love to go out with you!”

Zuko looks at him, stunned. Sokka’s grinning. “Wh—uh—really?”

“Yeah!” He raises an eyebrow. “If you didn’t ask me soon, I was going to ask you! I mean, we were pretty much getting there already, right?”

“You were? We were?” says Zuko blankly, unable to believe this is really happening.

“Zuko, we are literally currently holding hands.”

Zuko looks down. Huh. So they are. Funny how that had come to feel so natural he had barely even noticed it. “Oh.”

“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” says Sokka, half in exasperation, half in fondness. “I thought you were flirting with me too.”

A light goes on. “So—that time when you said that my smile was beautiful—

“Yes,” says Sokka in exasperation.

“I thought you were just being nice.”

Sokka bursts out laughing. “That’s not—Zuko—I was—

“Yes, I know now,” interrupts Zuko, embarrassed, but unable to keep himself from smiling. “And I was. Flirting with you, I mean. Or at least, I guess I was unintentionally. I’ve liked you for a long time, but I didn’t think you liked me back.”

“Well, I do like you back. Very much.”

“Okay. Well. That’s good,” says Zuko, knowing he sounds awkward but not caring because he’s so happy the entire garden could have caught on fire right then and there and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Three days later, he finds the courage to reverse the original proclamation made by his own great-grandfather criminalizing same-sex relations decades and decades before Zuko was even born.

You’ll never get to hurt anyone like this ever again, he thinks viciously to his long-dead great-grandfather as he tears up the original document, which was miraculously still intact after all this time. The paper is exceedingly fragile and it doesn’t take much, but he crushes it so tightly in his fist his knuckles turn white.

And it’s such a little thing in the face of everything they’ve done, isn’t it? Millions and millions of people dead, and they still weren’t satisfied. They still had the sheer cruelty to enact and enforce laws like this, on their own people even. They didn’t even really care about uplifting the Fire Nation. They only cared about themselves.

He’s decreed that anyone discriminating on the basis of sexuality or gender will face first a fine, and then jail time if the activity continues. It’s the least he can do. The nobles surrounding him seem at once baffled and suspicious. But he doesn’t regret it.

Maybe he can’t undo every wrong his family ever committed. Maybe he can’t do anything about the fact that the horrible legacy he is heir to will always taint what he leaves behind.

But he sure can try.

The Firelord has a duty to stand by their people, to protect them. All of them. And maybe his father never understood that, but Zuko does. The proof of it is clear on his face, and will be until the day he dies.

After crumpling the thing, he burns it, and watches the ashes fall to the ground.

The next day, Ambassador Chu stops him again, in a manner reminiscent of their first private meeting.

Wary at first, he waits once they are alone for her to speak.

He’s not expecting her to say, “Firelord, I believe I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” says Zuko, surprised.

She looks him right in the eye. “I overstepped my bounds when I attempted to tell you what was in your future. It was presumptive of me to put my assumptions over your own words, and for that I would like to apologize. I should not have dismissed your identity so quickly. Living in the world that we do…” She pauses, appearing to try to collect her thoughts. “Being under fire for who you are constantly, the way people treat us, it affects us in many different ways. One way, I suppose, is that we become more critical of one another. We feel afraid, so we decide we have to determine who is ‘us’ and who is ‘them’ in order to protect ourselves, with very strict interpretations of each. This is the reality that society has imposed on us. I gave into that when I should instead have realized that you being who you said you were didn’t mean we couldn't stand together, and for that I am sorry.”

Zuko stands there, surprised into speechlessness for a moment. “I accept your apology, Ambassador,” he says at last. Unable to quell his curiosity, he says, “What made you change your mind?”

She sighs, seeming to lose a little of her formal air. “Well, I realized that it was quite hypocritical of me to tell you that my ideas about your sexuality held more weight than yours, and I decided I should reconsider. It is my regret that I didn't listen sooner.”

“I’m glad you did, Ambassador,” says Zuko, and he continues sheepishly, remembering Shizuki and how he’d been surprised to encounter a gay person who was accepting of him—how he shouldn’t have been—“and I think. That perhaps that fear of each other is a two-way street anyway.”

This is only a brief reprieve, Zuko tries to remind himself during one of his bouts of wakefulness during the night. This upturn in his fortunes won’t last. It never lasts. Something will go wrong. It is only a matter of time.

But every day he and Sokka spend together seems better than the last, and his uncle is home again, and the letters from his friends keep faithfully coming, incredibly, and he doesn’t have the energy anymore to do anything but enjoy it. Many things seem to be improving. The royal apartments, for instance, are still too big, but at least it’s not just him anymore.

His foot is asleep where it’s trapped under Sokka’s leg, and he shifts a little.

“Hmm?” says Sokka, mind clearly on the verge of swimming back to waking. He’s become a light sleeper. All of them did during the war.

“Shh,” murmurs Zuko, rubbing his back gently. “Go back to sleep.”

Sokka sighs and falls quiet.

Zuko moves a little closer, presses his head to Sokka’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. The bed is warm, and he’s tired, so tired. Maybe he can pretend things will be all right for a while. Just for a little while.

Maybe for once he can rest…