Chapter Text
“So,” Sokka says, looking at the man standing in his living room. Stiff as a board, arms folded in front of himself, even after the handcuffs are removed.
Zuko. Sokka’s new roommate. That’s what he likes to call it, even if that is a rather big misinterpretation.
Being roommates often contain consent on both parts. This situation does not. Zuko is enrolled in the program Sokka works for. The one where he has to reintroduce them to society over the span of the last three months of their prison sentence.
The individuals who get to participate are chosen during a selection process by the program and prison. They pick the ones they are afraid of losing once they are released.
It’s still a rather new project, dating only 6 years back. Sokka has worked here for the last 2 years.
With the job comes the 3 bedroom apartment with a holding cell for the prisoner as the only special feature. It’s Sokka’s home. As part of the payment. They are supposed to live together while Sokka eases them into the real world again.
Zuko is his 9th roommate. The rest benefited from the program, but they had less problems than Zuko. They were more socialised. More well rounded. Easy to spend time with.
During their stay, most of them got familiar with Sokka’s friends and family. That, too, is a part of the program. Of course they agreed, Sokka won’t force them into interacting with his “work” if they weren’t comfortable with it.
They are alone now. Sokka and Zuko. The men from the prison, who made sure Zuko got here, said their goodbye and left.
By Zuko’s feet are a small back, containing some of his prison clothing, Sokka knows, and probably some personal belongings. It shocks Sokka each time, that a persons whole life can be put into that small back. They all have the same.
This is only the second time they meet. The first didn’t go very well. Sokka was sent to do an evaluation on Zuko after he was picked. To see it they could be a match.
Zuko was mostly silent and looked at anything but Sokka. He called him Sir, which left a bad taste in Sokka’s mouth. But nonetheless he was polite, respectful and not at all like the files Sokka had read prior to their meeting.
What really threw Sokka of his game, was the way Zuko reacted when Sokka tried to reach over the table and shake his hand.
Zuko flinched. Hiding his face with his cuffed hands. Even if that reaction was illogical to Sokka, he bets it made a lot of sense to Zuko. After, Sokka was showered with apologies in a hoarse voice that would have sent Sokka to the floors if not for the situation.
That’s when he saw the scar. Dark red turning into a more faded one, and covering half of Zuko’s face. Over his eyes and ear. The long hair doesn’t grow around that area.
Sokka decided on an instant to keep a good amount of space in between them, moving slowly. It made him mad. Not at Zuko. But the fact that someone or something had hurt him enough to react the way he did.
Their first conversation was stale. Zuko answered with only one word at a time. Yes, no. Yes and then maybe. Looking at anything but Sokka. Calling him Sir once more. The rage in Sokka’s stomach was all too much, still he agreed to take Zuko in.
After he called Katara, not to tell her about Zuko’s reaction, that was confidential. She was only to know if Zuko decided to tell her when or if they were to meet.
Instead he complained: “I need to help him… But Katara, he is so hot!” Sokka knew back then this would somehow be his downfall.
But in the two days he had to figure out if Zuko was the right candidate, he couldn’t get the man out of his head. The sharp jawline, long black hair falling over his eyes and shoulder, some of it pulled into a knot at the back of his head. The bangs fell into his face. Like he was hiding his scar. That scar. It hunted Sokka that night.
Sokka gathered more information on Zuko. Reading his files again. Asking the prison guards about him.
Zuko, as it shows, are nothing like the files about his arrest. He insulted quite a few policemen in his attempt to escape. Is described as violent. As someone that destroys everything he comes past. Like the big warehouse he burned to the ground. Not checking if there was anyone inside. Or so the files says.
What Sokka finds peculiar is the way the guards talks about Zuko. A conflicted man.
He keeps his mouth shot, head down, uses the correct way of addressing the staff from day one. Some of the inmates can’t adapt to it. Keeps to himself. Not participating in anything unless it’s mandatory.
And then there is the contact. With others. He is all self preservation. Like the hands coming up instinctively. Always standing at a safe distance.
It sounds crazy to Sokka. Why would someone actively hurt people one moment and the next be that docile? Maybe he was only showing signs of violence to escape?
Something bothers Sokka.
And thus, Zuko was approved by the program and prison. Let into Sokka’s care.
“So,” Sokka says again, clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Zuko tenses even more.
”This is my place,” Sokka forces the words out, sounding as cheerful as he can, it’s easy for him.
”Your place for the next three months too.”
Silence. Zuko's eyes are glued to the floor. To his ankle with the electronic bracelet. The one that tracks his every move. Making it a possibility to leave the front door as it is. A normal door. To give the illusion of a life on the outside. Cheap tricks.
”You are allowed to use the living room as much as you like,” Sokka continues when he doesn’t get an answer, looking around at the three seater couch, book case and TV on the opposite wall. Sokka is in love with nick nacks and they are all around. Stuff from his days on the water as a kid. Bones, stones, pearls. A picture of his hometown is hanging above the couch. Plants are placed sparsely, but not really thriving. Zuko doesn’t look.
“The kitchen is off limits for now. Rules, you know.” Mostly until Sokka can trust him with the knives. It’s always like this. Easing the participant into it. At this, Zuko gives a small nod.
“Yes, Sir,” It sounds absolutely awful. In Sokka’s mind, he is too young to be called Sir. Logically, he knows it has nothing to do with age, but being 27 and having a man a year older than him calling him Sir is not something he likes.
“Sokka,” he says, as softly as he can muster. To his surprise, Zuko lifts his head, gaze darting around Sokka's head, like he’s avoiding making eye contact. Eventually, they lock eyes.
Something uneasy is displayed in Zuko’s.
“Call me Sokka,” he says, not wanting it to sound like an order, he adds: “Please.”
That effectively shuts Zuko up, his mouth snapping shot from whatever he was about to say.
“Good,” Sokka mumbles, reminding himself that he is a professional. He has an education, knows how to help people on their way out of the system. Stay professional, he messes in his head.
“Let’s try again. I’m Sokka. I will help you for the three months you are staying here. When you are released, you can of course contact me any time. I’m here. And I want to help you make the transition as easy as possible, yes?” Zuko looks at him, face blank. Like none of it reaches his ears or gets processed.
“The front door has sensors, so please don’t leave without permission. I lock it, but only to keep outsiders, well, on the outside, you know. Physically you can just unlock it yourself and leave, but-“ Sokka points to Zuko’s ankle, his trouser leg a bit higher, showing the bracelet, “I reckon you stay here.” He receives a nod from Zuko.
”Yes Si- Yes.” A near thing. Zuko bows his head.
“I’ll show you the rest of the apartment, come on.” For a moment, Sokka considers reaching out and taking Zuko’s back. He has done that with other inmates. Like playing pretend, as if it’s a nice hotel stay, even if they both know what this is.
With Zuko, though? He stays a good few feet away.
Sokka points towards the kitchen, an arch leading to it from the living room. Next, he leads Zuko to the hall, pointing to his own bedroom, but doesn’t open it. That’s Sokka’s. The only somewhat private room in his entire apartment.
Then he shows off the combined office and craft room, telling Zuko to use it whenever he wants. It’s filled with paintings, easels and all sizes of canvases. Sokka is not a mastermind when it comes to painting but he enjoys the fun of it.
There is a guitar on the wall and an old violin that belonged to his mother.
Sokka doesn’t know if he is imagining it, but he feels like Zuko’s gaze lingers just a bit longer on the violin.
Some of his roommates have taken to using the room immediately, others wait a bit. Sokka leaves the door open, welcoming.
The last room is Zuko’s
“Yeah, sorry about that, but you know, rules,” he tries with a shrug and a smile in Zuko’s direction. Zuko doesn’t respond.
The door is thicker, made of metal. On the outside is a lock and a small hatch in the middle of it.
Zuko eyes it with no less interest than the rest of the apartment. At this point, Sokka wonders why he is this apathetic to the life happening around him. Well, as long as Sokka stays at a distance, that is.
With a small pat to the door, Sokka says:” I have to lock you up during the night. But don’t worry, you have your own bathroom and there is a small snack box on the desk.” It usually helps, even if the inmates are used to being locked up.
”Thank you, Sir,” It rolls off Zuko's tongue before he catches himself. For a moment, he freezes, then he corrects it: “Thank you.”
“No worries.” Trying to play it off with a smile.
When Zuko doesn’t move to enter the room, Sokka leads the way, wondering why Zuko waits.
The room is small. Containing a twin bed, with blue bedsheets, up against the farthest wall, under the window with a windowsill big enough to sit in. Sokka has put a blanket and some pillows up there, to make it more welcoming.
Metal bars goes verdical across the window, still making it possible to open it. He sees Zuko’s gaze stop there for a second, before moving on.
The desk is clean, waiting for Zuko to add his own personal touch, not that he probably has much, but some is better than none.
On the shelves are some books and a picture of water. Sokka knows it’s not for everyone, but if he can share his love for the ocean, he is going to.
And anyway, this is Zuko’s, he is allowed to remove the picture.
A plant, that is barely alive, stands on the highest shelf. Zuko's attention lingers on it.
By the bed is a small closet, way bigger when Zuko has only five outfits, all looking the same. Dusty grey. Loose. Washing him out. Sokka reminds himself that now is not the time to fawn over the man. Not when he has a job to do and said man is staying as far away from him as the room allows without it looking suspiciously.
“The bathroom is in there,” Sokka nods towards the only other door in the room.
“Thanks.”
“First week, we only focus on getting you settled, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Silence. Sokka is hanging around for a beat then: ”Next week we will start the work. Do you need me to go over the plan with you, or would you like to wait?” A shrug is all he gets.
“So wait?” Sokka guesses, a bit lost by the lack of response.
“Yes, please,” Again, his voice sounds so rough, like he is straining himself.
”Do you want to be alone or-“ Yes this is probably the most socially awkward person Sokka has yet to share his apartment with. But also the one that might need it the most.
“Can I?” It’s the first question.
”You can do whatever you want today. I mean, sure we have a plan, but as I told you, this first week is for you to readjust.”
”Yes.” Zuko is looking somewhere above Sokka’s head. “I mean- please, yes please. I would like that.” The shock value at the many words leaving Zuko must be clear on Sokka’s face, even if he tries to scold it into a smile.
“Then I see you at dinner? Or like, whenever you feel like it, right?” Zuko agrees
To give him some space, Sokka retrieves into the living room. Slumping against the couch, fumbling for the TV remote before turning some mind numbing shit on
xxx
Zuko doesn’t close the door to his room. When Sokka is done cooking, has set the table and brought the soup and bread from the kitchen to the living room, he goes to get Zuko.
He had half a hope that he would emerge by himself upon hearing the table being set or Sokka talking to himself, which is something he does rather a lot, only having figured out to what extent after starting this job and having roommates.
It must be something he picked up at university after living by himself. When he asked his dad and Katara they told him that he only did it when he was in a hurry as a kid. Now it’s kind of constant. He has to tone it down a bit but a habit is a habit.
xxx
“Goodnight,” Sokka says, standing in the door, looking at Zuko, who sits at the desk, doing nothing. Sokka has to figure out what kind of hobbies he has. The guards said he spent most of his time just staring out into nothing or reading. Maybe he has a lively imagination? Or maybe he doesn’t like to attract any attention.
“Goodnight,” Zuko parrots. Sokka lets his eyes linger on the long black hair that has been taken out of the top knot. Not the time, he reminds himself.
“I have to lock the door. If you need anything-“ Sokka motions to the bottom on the inside of the door, “That sends a signal straight to me. I’ll be here as fast as I can, okay?”
It’s always a weird feeling, one that Sokka might not get over, locking another person up for the night. Punching in the code on the keypad. Having that power. He does not like it. But it’s a part of the job. And he likes the whole helping part. So he makes do with the weird feeling it gives him.
That night he contemplates how someone related to a famous crime organisation can be so docile. So submissive, even. Zuko has at no point tonight tried to initiate anything, whether it is watching a movie, suggesting what they should eat or even starting a conversation.
He pretty much makes himself invisible. Sokka can’t imagine what must have happened for him to become like this.
xxx
On the third day, Sokka notices why the bed is so neatly made in the morning. Zuko must get up before Sokka, as to not get found out, but this morning, he is not.
Sokka stops after having knocked on the door, on his way inside the room.
The blinds are not drawn and the bed is empty. For only a second Sokka wonders if Zuko is in the bathroom, before spotting a person in the tight space between the bed and the shelves. On the floor.
Curled in on himself, in fetal position, Zuko is sleeping on the floor. His hair is down, framing him. Still in his prison clothes. All of it. Pullover and trousers. Socks also.
Two options fight for Sokkas attention. The first includes waking up Zuko, of course at a distance. But he risks scaring him. Why Zuko chooses to sleep on the floor when Sokka has provided a perfectly fine bed, he doesn’t know, and with the slow progress he is making at becoming someone that Zuko can trust, he doesn’t expect to gain the knowledge any time soon.
The second option is leaving. Shutting the door behind him and pretending not to know. That’s lying. Not stying true to the purpose of Zuko’s stay.
And thus Sokka opens his mouth.
“Zuko?” The man on the floor stirs. Slowly raising his head, hair falling around him. In a daze his eyes lands on Sokka. Then his eyes- or rather his good one, the one without the burn- widens, the other stays, and it’s the first time Sokka considers the fact that it might not be in a “working condition”.
”Shit- Fuck, I’m so sorry, Si-” Zuko bits his own tougue. He scrambles to get up, then sitting on his heels, head low.
“Sorry…” This one is not louder than a whisper.
The sight sends ice in Sokka’s stomach. What the actually fuck is he witnessing?
All instincts tell him to get closer, to run a soothing hand over Zuko’s back, because the man is not breathing regularly anymore. That, though, is the worst thing he can do.
It leaves Sokka to sink to his knees too. Being at eye level with Zuko, all while Zuko still messes sorry every now and then.
“Hey, hey, it’s totally fine. All good.” Sokka keeps his voice down. Forcing on a smile that he hope helps, even if Zuko is not looking at him.
”It’s fine, Zuko.” Oh, that might be the first time he actually says Zuko’s name out loud, because Zuko’s head snaps so quickly towards him that he might get a whiplash.
For a moment, it’s like Zuko forgets his principles about looking Sokka in the eyes. This way, Sokka notices that his eyes are some weird kind of golden and brown. Searching. That’s what Zuko is doing. Searching for an answer. As to why. Not that Sokka can figure out what the question even is.
Is it because he doesn’t like his name?
“It’s fine,” Sokka says again, when the eye contact continues.
”I really am sorry. I know- I should be sleeping on the bed- I know…” He trails off, looking at anything but Sokka.
“Are you more comfortable on the floor?” It might be bold to ask Zuko anything that directly, considering the last few days of him keeping everything close.
“I- What?”
“If you are, we are going to find a solution,” Somehow Zuko looks nearly offended.
“I don’t need-“ But his voice gives up on him.
”Need or deserve?"
“Huh?”
”Do you not need a bed on the floor, or do you not deserve it? There is a difference.” Sokka asks carefully.
“I never- I said no such thing- about deserving-“
”No, but I’m asking,” pulling the authority card is not Sokka's favourite thing to do, but he needs Zuko to be well rested.
Zuko freezes. Throat bobbing as he swallows, loud.
A sharp intake of breath. Hands taking a hold of the trousers fabrics. Then: “I’m not comfortable on the bed, Sir,” Very mechanic. Well, Sokka should have seen that one coming. Now is not the time to correct Zuko.
“We could move the bed frame up against the wall. The apartment is unfortunately not big enough to store it any other places, but then we could place the box madras on the floor, how does that sound?” Wondering out loud, Sokka hopes that Zuko will participate in the brainstorm.
”It’s the tight space I like, Sir- or I mean- Not Sir?” He fumbles through it. Hands getting white at the knuckles from the tight grip on his trousers. Nose scrunched up a bit.
“I see,” Sokka nods, “Well I have an old single person futon in my closet somewhere, will that do? We can put it in that spot?” Sokka points to the small space Zuko is currently holding up in.
“I don’t want to cause you any problems…” God, this man is going to be the end of Sokka. He knew he was taking in more than he might be able to handle with only two years of experience, but why hasn't anybody worked with Zuko on his anxiety? Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? So clear, looming around Zuko at all times.
Maybe someone has been helping him. Sokka saw, somewhere in his files, that he had a lot of psychological evaluations. They didn’t go into further details about the stuff Sokka was allowed to see.
He hopes that they hide the fact he has gotten help. But that means that his anxiety is better now, Sokka doesn't want to see it full blown.
“You don’t. Get ready, alright, then I’ll be back in a jiffy with the futon, yes?”
A small nod.
Zuko takes his time in the bathroom. Sokka has a suspicion that he might be calming himself down. When he got up, his body was all stiff, whether it was from sleeping on the floor or the panic that flows in him, Sokka can’t tell.
While he is gone Sokka places the futon in the tight space, dragging the pillow and blanket from the bed onto it. Making it look nice before leaving to get started on breakfast.
When Zuko emerges, his voice is weirdly clear as he thanks Sokka, and takes a seat at the table.
xxx
With the other roommates, Sokka has made it out of the apartment with them within the first week. With Zuko though? Yeah, that is not going to happen. It’s like Zuko finds safety in his own room and somewhat in the living room. He tolerates when Sokka asks him to watch a movie, do a puzzle or help out with chores. But he escapes as soon as he is aloud.
Sokka writes his report. There is no time estimate for each goal, but the 8 that came before Zuko was so eager to enter the real world again. Not Zuko.
He talks to his boss. She tells him to take it slow. That this case is going to take a bit longer. That the prison thought him a lost cause, so if Sokka manages to change Zuko even a bit, it’s considered progress.
Having people over might not happen in the foreseeable future. That means Sokka has to lock Zuko up whenever he wants to visit his family or friends, which he is allowed to, of course.
Still, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
He calls his dad and Katara too. Not going into details, but just explaining that it might take a while before they can meet his new roommate.
It’s a weird couple of first weeks, nearly as having a ghost or an unwanted guest around.
Sokka explains the plan to Zuko one afternoon when the credits roll over the TV. The whole time, Zuko remains silent. Listening. Or zoning out, Sokka is not sure.
The plan, as Sokka explains it contains: Socialising Zuko. That being with Sokka and maybe with others.
Leaving the apartment, going shopping, doing stuff he would have to do on his day to day.
Volunteering at the centre, helping with something, anything really, a goal Zuko might not reach. He grimaces as Sokka says it.
Managing a budget. Looking at apartments and going jobhunting.
Cooking, when Sokka can trust him with a knife. Not that Zuko is deemed dangerous during his prison stay, but Sokka likes to know the inmates before handing over a potential weapon.
Sokka knows it’s simple things, but the participants are chosen because they have shown signs that they might have some difficulty with it on their own. Getting overwhelmed after years and years locked away from society. Being behind walls. Having a silent day to day. Sokka has dealt with many anxiety attacks over the span of two years.
After that, Zuko has a couple of days where he retreats more to his room.
Sokka tries to see the positive things rather than the failure to keep Zuko in the living room, because Zuko looks at his book case when Sokka cooks.
When he enters the living room with the dinner, Zuko freezes, like he does every time Sokka enters the room. He decided yesterday to make more noise to warn Zuko that he is coming, so he is whistling.
“Find anything interesting?” Sokka asks, not really expecting an answer, but slowly Zuko lifts his hand and pulls out a book.
“Can I borrow this?” Zuko holds up a copy of The Outsiders. It’s stupid, really, but the rush in Sokka's veins makes him nearly high on the success.
Zuko asks his first question. Asks for the first thing. Sokka counts that as a massive success. It is. He just knows.
“Yes, of course,” eyeing the book, he breaks into a grin, “good choice. Totally a banger of a book!” It comes out a bit too enthusiastic, but what is he to do, when Zuko picks one of his favourite books. He has tried to tone himself down so as to not scare Zuko too much, but now some of it seeps through the cracks.
He really can’t stop the grin spreading on his face. Zuko looks a bit puzzled at that. Good eyebrow shooting up, because Sokka has noticed that he only has one, eyebrow that is.
Most of the time, he tries to put that aside, the gnawing feeling of something bad looming around the corner. If he gets Zuko to open up about his scar, he has to be ready.
The opportunity for a conversation is right there. Being held in front of Sokka’s nose. Dangling and teasing. He Grabs it. Reaching for a way to close the space between him and Zuko.
Sokka usually fits in everywhere he goes. People naturally graduate towards him, it’s strange to have a person that does everything to get as far away from him as possible.
He wants to show Zuko that he is right here, ready to be someone to lean on. That’s what he does. What most of his jobs contain. And that part he likes. To be someone for another person.
Zuko’s hard front is still pushing him away.
So, yes, Sokka grabs at the chance of a real conversation.
”I really like that one,” he tells Zuko. He hasn’t had many chances to tell him much about himself as Zuko flees as soon as dinner or movies are done.
“Have you read it before?” he continues, when Zuko is not answering, looking down at his hand holding the book, like it might open up and swallow him whole. Slowly, his frozen body thaws, turning slightly towards Sokka.
”Uh-“ the hoarseness in his voice from the first day has made a comeback.
“Yes, I have,” he is not adding the ‘sir’, Sokka counts it as a win.
“Cool. Rereading good books is just super nice. Like you already know what is going to happen but still, you are so excited for it to happen, you follow?” To his surprise, a small, the smallest really, of tugs happens in the corner of Zuko’s lip, making Sokka’s stomach loop around itself. Yeah, definitely a bad idea to pick Zuko.
“I do.” A conversation is happening. A real one. Not like during dinner where Sokka first had to drag anything out of him and lately has left the dinner time for silence so as to not pull too hard.
“I hope the second time is just as good,” placing the pan with the rice dish, he uses the table as an obstacle to stop himself from moving closer to Zuko, even if his instincts want to. Take it easy.
“It-Uh, not my first time rereading it,” the words are slow and clumsy.
“My uncle, it’s his favourite book too. So- naturally I read it too. Many times actually.” This is happening, it really is. Sokka has a hard time containing all the energy going through him. God, this is exactly what he has been hoping for since Zuko arrived last week. For him to mention his family is wild. Sokka just knows. Being the son of a crime lord. Mentioning one's family is not something that must be easy.
“Oh, what can I say, your uncle has impeccable taste,” this time around, the smile is not one Sokka can stop. Good thing the table is keeping him at a distance.
Sokka’s next move might be daring. Balancing on the dangerous ground of Zuko fully retreating. Give a finger, take an arm. That’s Sokka. He knows. He also knows that’s why he usually is so good at his job. Because he doesn’t take a no for a no, when people just need a push. But Zuko is so out of his league. It's nice that the boss thinks Sokka is ready for the more difficult cases, but he might be in over his head this time.
“Would you like to watch the movie with me after dinner?” Zuko looks between the book and Sokka, blinking slowly.
”There- There is a movie?” He sounds nearly like he regrets asking. Like he could take back his own words.
”Yes, and it’s hella pretty. Like the sunrise scene is so good.”
”Okay.”
“Okay?”
”Yeah.”
Zuko puts the book away in his room and returns for dinner, where they eat in silence. Sokka doesn’t mind. They had their first real conversation about something other than the rules or how Zuko sleeps at night.
Sokka has forgotten about the fire scene. The one where the church burns down.
Zuko, who has been sitting on the other end of the three seater couch during the movie, seeming somewhat relaxed, tenses up the moment he seems to remember what is about to happen.
When Johnny is in the hospital, burns on display, Zuko looks away. Sokka pretends not to notice, but the way Zuko nearly stops breathing is concerning.
Yet again, Sokka is reminded about the big scar taking up nearly half of Zuko’s face. He wonders, not for the first time, if Zuko grew out his hair to hide it or if it was already long when whatever happened to him, happened.
He feels awful for suggesting the movie for only a half second, before remembering the look on Zuko’s face. That, and the fact Zuko too knew what was coming when he accepted the offer.
xxx
When Sokka has to go shopping, he apologises for locking Zuko up. He offered for him to tag along, but Zuko shook his head.
xxx
One thing Sokka has noticed about Zuko is that he changes his clothes everyday. Going between the dark and light grey version of the prison uniform. Probably to signal that he is not wearing the same clothes everyday.
Taking a shower right before or after breakfast is also a routine.
Sokka has asked Zuko to put his bin with dirty clothes in front of Sokka’s bedroom door whenever he needs it cleaned. There is only one washer and dryer in the apartment, and it’s hidden away in Sokka’s bathroom.
At first, Zuko seems uncomfortable leaving it there. Whenever he does, he informs Sokka followed by an apology.
When he only owns five sets of clothing, he has to wash rather often if he wants clean and dry clothes to wear.
Sokka tells him it’s no problem. Really. And he means it.
If the inmates have their own money, they are more than welcome to buy their own clothes. Most of them do when they figure out that it’s allowed. Often Sokka lends them some normal clothes on their first shopping trip so as to not make anyone, inmate nor citizen, uncomfortable.
Zuko has not mentioned anything since Sokka told him about it.
He seems perfectly comfortable in the grey sweatpants, pullovers and T-shirts.
Sokka considers offering it again, but that would lead to the next problem. That they are near the end of Zuko’s second week here, and he has yet to leave the apartment.
Small steps, Sokka reminds himself, as he calls Katara that night after having locked Zuko up for the night. Small steps.
Her voice is a blessing. Without telling her too many details, he starts to vent about the situation.
xxx
Zuko speeds through the book. The movie night was a breaking point in their relationship. Instead of hiding in his room, sitting on the futon, Sokka finds Zuko on the couch, book in hand, halfway through.
It’s not something he expects, and therefore not making any sound as he enters the living room. Zuko tenses up, hand mid-flipping a page hovers in the air.
”Hi,” Sokka says, putting as much warmth into his voice as he can and Zuko’s body restarts.
“Hi,” he returns, picking at a grey strand from his prison uniform, he continues: “Is it okay- that I sit here?” He sounds so uncertain. Like he expects to be asked to leave. Eye contact is a nonexistent thing.
”Yes, totally. My couch is your couch, remember?” Sokka says, wanting to lighten the mood. Zuko nods once and reluctantly returns to his book.
Sokka has never seen someone sitting so stiff on furniture meant for relaxing. He does not comment on it.
Instead he browses his shelf with switch games. He picks Zelda, breath of the wild, then pops it into his switch, standing in the dock, ready for him to grab the pro controller.
”Mind if I join you?” Sokka asks, motioning towards the other end of the couch. He expects Zuko to say something like: it’s your couch or just shrug, maybe leave, but instead Zuko nods and a small smile finds its way to his lips. It’s unsure, but it’s there.
“Cool! Thanks. I promise to wear headphones,” Sokka grabs them on the way over to the couch, “It’s kind of annoying when you are concentrating and others are playing video games at full blast, right?”
“I guess,” Zuko mumbles, mostly towards the book.
“Let me know if it's annoying, okay?” Sokka nods at the TV, “then I’ll switch it to handheld,” Sokka dumps down on the couch, making sure to sit furthest away from Zuko, still he sees the way he tenses up. Now is not the time to comment. Small steps. Small steps.
And as far as small steps go, this is a huge one. The two of them spent time together for the second day in a row.
Sokka turns on his bluetooth headphones and starts the game. He is in Kakariko village, riding on the big white horse. Mostly he just does quests that need to be done for a 100% complete. The defeat of Ganon happened long ago.
At some point, in his peripheral vision, he sees Zuko looking at the TV. Book left in his lap, a finger tugged in between the pages.
Sokka lets it go unnoticed.
The next couple of days, he joins Zuko on the couch. Quickly, Sokka figures out that if he sits there first, Zuko leaves the room. Therefore he leaves to go to the bathroom or paint for a bit, giving Zuko space to get settled.
When he returns, Zuko sits on the couch, reading. With every time Sokka finds him, the small smile becomes less uncertain.
Zuko reads fast, only using three days to get through the book. That’s when Sokka finds him looking for a new one. He puts the old back on the shelf and browses for a while.
”This one. Uh, is it okay- for me…” It’s not exactly a real sentence that makes sense out of context, but Sokka understands.
”Another great one, yes of course. Be my guest.” This time he doesn’t remind Zuko about his sharing principle.
While Zuko hurries through the second book, Sokka plays Zelda. Sometimes, Zuko forgets about his book and loses himself in the scenery in Zelda.
The fourth time it happens that day, Sokka allows himself to ask.
”Would you like to try?” He wiggles the pro controller in Zuko’s direction, but he doesn’t see it. Frozen in place. Eyes forward, caught in the act of looking. Just looking. Book left in his lap. Like that in itself is a crime.
Then he blinks, once, twice, three times. Coming back to Sokka, turning his head. A mortified look is plastered on his face. Mouth drawn in a thin line and his good eye is wide open.
“No hard feelings if it’s not your thing,” Sokka starts, to ease the mood.
”But, you seem interested.” He holds up the controller again.
“I can show you how to play, if you haven’t done it before, or like, you can just fool around and do the good old trial and error, yeah?”
No answer.
“You definitely don’t have to,” He reassures Zuko, losing hope that this will work. But then, ever so slowly, Zuko nods.
”I haven’t played Zelda in years,” he admits, and wow, that’s more than Sokka is hoping for.
He collects details about Zuko like they are treasures. Of course it’s for his report, but if he is being honest with himself, he really wants to get to know the man he is currently living with.
Sokka has always done that. With everybody. Because it makes them feel seen. Feel good. And he likes to make other people smile.
It started when Katara’s now fiancé, Aang, got bullied for being younger than the rest of the student body back in High school. That’s when Sokka became friends with him, doing his utmost to remember stuff about him. It was easy. Especially when it made Aang smile.
Sokka places the pro controller on the middle cushion, offering it to Zuko.
”You used to play Zelda?”
“Yes- Twilight princess.”
“What, seriously, that’s so hard for no reason.” Apparently, it’s the right thing for Sokka to say. It gives Zuko the courage to reach out and take hold of the controller.
”I was not very good.” He looks between the TV and Sokka as he admits it.
“How old were you when you played?” Sokka wants to know and adds a:” You unpause on the plus icon.” The game starts in the middle of a valley, Link on a horse.
“13,” Zuko says as he tries out the different buttons, jumping of the horse, then fighting with the grass, putting away the sword, jumping and-
“Are you sure this is Zelda?” Zuko surprises Sokka by asking. Until now, every question has been calculated. This just leaks out of him, but he is too preoccupied by figuring out the controls to notice. Good to know. Games are a thing Zuko apparently likes.
“Yes, I mean it’s called Zelda, breath of the wild. Pretty sure that defines it as a Zelda game.” Sokka can’t look away as Zuko’s hard facade slips off in front of him. If only for a little while, the man behind the many apologies and avoiding eyes are alive.
“Then why can he jump?” It’s not supposed to be funny, but the serious tone is weirdly endearing. The laughter building up in Sokka wants out, and so he lets it.
”I didn’t say it to be funny,” there is a scowl on Zuko’s face, but his gaze is glued to the TV. Still, Sokka laughs.
”That’s priceless,” Sokka says when he is calmer.
“Why?” Zuko is riding the horse again. Around and around the map he goes. Exploring.
“It just is,” Sokka ends up saying, then relaxing onto the couch.
After 15 minutes, Zuko hands the controller to Sokka again. His gaze lingering a bit, before he drags it away. Returning to his book, Sokka notices that he doesn’t read as fast, eyes on the TV most of the time.
The next day Sokka announces that he is going to read a book, but if Zuko wants, he can play Zelda.
That’s how they end up spending the rest of their day. Zuko learning to play the game and Sokka reading.
“I’m nearly done with my safe file, but that's not really what’s important here.” Sokka tells his dad over the phone that night.
“I’m considering starting a new game for him,” Hakoda has a smile in his voice as he says it’s very kind of Sokka.
Kind is one way to put it. Another would be desperate. For Zuko to open up.
Sokka thinks he saw a glimpse of the real Zuko when he handed him the controller for the first time. The “Then why can he jump?” Question.
Wanting so badly to connect with Zuko, one way or another drives Sokka to delete his years old safe file after midnight.
In the morning, after breakfast, Sokka tells Zuko that he is going to paint for a couple of hours, offhandedly mentioning that Zuko can play Zelda again if he wants. By now, Zuko can turn on the device on his own. Sokka hopes the new game screen is a nice surprise.
It is not.
A knock on the door only 5 minutes later makes Sokka turn around. He is halfway through the process of colour matching, holding the pencil in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other when he sees Zuko by the door.
One hand desperately holding on to the door frame, turning white.
The way Zuko’s head is lowered, like he is ready for something he doesn’t want to happen. But nonetheless ready. Sokka has a feeling he knows exactly what that is.
”Zuko?” He asks, and the shear sound of his voice makes Zuko crumble, then shy away. Yeah, Sokka is right. Has been the whole time. Someone, at some point in Zuko’s life, has been too heavy handed with him.
In slow motion, so as to not scare Zuko more, Sokka puts down his mug and pencil. The movement still makes Zuko’s breath hitch. Okay, too quick.
”I’m sorry- I’m- I didn’t mean to-“ The words are a big tumble, wanting out all while Zuko slowly backs away, now that he has Sokka’s attention.
“I promise- I-“ But his breathing is speeding up, making it hard for him to talk.
All Sokka can do, while Zuko gets further away, letting go of the door frame and backing up against the wall in the hall, is staring. One movement might send Zuko flying. Possibly outside the door.
How the fuck did his boss think he was ready for this? The others had some anxiety, yes, but never like this. It was more in the lane of: What if society doesn't want me, they were not a panic attack and the thoughts of being abused.
With Zuko it’s very different. But Sokka is not about to give up on him. Not now. Not when they have sat on the couch together.
Briefly he wonders how such a pretty man can be this broken. Even if it was Zuko who had deleted his safe file by accident, Sokka would not ever think about laying a hand on him.
Words are his best hope now. To get through to Zuko who is sliding down the wall, like getting smaller will provide some kind of safety. His hands are grabbing at his shirt, wrinkling this way and that, restlessly.
“Zuko?” Nothing reaches him.
“Hey. Hey, Zuko,” making his voice softer doesn’t help either.
“I’m sorry,” that finally gets Zuko’s attention. The trembling stops. Like he is frozen in time. Slowly, very slowly Zuko lifts his gaze, finding Sokka’s eyes.
”I’m sorry,” Sokka repeats, because he is in over his head here, and he is at fault.
On the first try, no sound leaves Zuko's mouth. He schrunches his nose, something Sokka has taken notice of, then tries again.
”What?” It’s barely a whisper, but Sokka sees his lips move.
“I wanted you to play from the beginning. I deleted my own safe file yesterday. You did nothing wrong. Okay. Nothing.” Because Zuko seems more calm, or at least isn’t shaking, Sokka takes careful steps towards him. At that Zuko becomes ramrod straight.
Sokka leans against the door frame into his room and lets his body glide to the ground to be at eye level with Zuko.
“I did it. And I’m sorry. I thought you would be happy, but I must have left my brain under my bed this morning. I should have told you.”
There are no tears in Zuko’s eyes. Sokka wonders if he can even cry out of the damaged one.
For a while, they stare at one another.
“Does that mean-“ Zuko swallows, “You are not mad at me?”
“No,” Wanting to reach out and touch Zuko is a strong instinct. Sokka tugs his hands into his pants pockets. Still, Zuko whispers a small apology.
”For what?”
“Overreacting…”
“I think you are reacting according to your previous experience, aren’t you?” There it is. The question he should probably not ask, but needs to. It will undoubtedly make everything easier if Sokka knows for sure.
If Zuko could stare holes into the floorboard he would. That’s how hard he stares to avoid Sokka’s eyes. Luckily for Sokka, he can’t.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer. I understand.” Giving him an out is not the easy choice. If Sokka is to be professional, and he is, it’s the right choice. But it nags at him. The want to know what happened to Zuko.
It still doesn’t make sense to Sokka, why the son of the most wanted criminal is acting like this. And then- and then it does. Like the pieces fit together in his brain.
He can’t be certain. Not for sure. But it must be something like that. His father.
And then, ever so gentle, Zuko reaches out. Zuko. He closes the distance with his outstretched hand. Holding it towards Sokka, who is just staring at it. His own hands still tugged away.
Zuko’s hand is placed at Sokka’s knee, reminding him how close they are. It shakes a bit and doesn’t stay for long.
Sokka is not quite sure what just happened when Zuko’s hand retreats again. Leaving a warm spot on his knee.
Somewhere in Sokka’s brain, he knows. Knows why Zuko reached out for him. To be the one closing the distance. To test if Sokka would hurt him.
To see what it’s like. Not to be hurt.
He might be right, for Zuko lifts his gaze, finding Sokka’s.
”Aren’t you going to hurt me?” It sounds so bold. Laying it on the table like that. Like it’s a normal thing to say.
Hair falling over his shoulders, framing his face with the searching expression.
“No. Never.” Sokka assures him, as he tastes bile in his mouth.
“Don’t say that,” voice small, but eyes hard for the first time, “don’t- you can’t promise that.” It takes Sokka a moment to understand the underlying meaning.
“Hey, hey, no, no, no. I won’t go around and hurt you. What- No, that’s not going to happen. No. Absolutely not.” None of the others has accused him of this. God, he is going to call his boss as soon as he gets the chance. Ask for advice. Tell her that he is going to see Zuko through this.
He wants to see what lies beneath the mask. Beneath the fear and the hurting. What he has gotten small glimpses of. A person willing to live and enjoy himself. Someone that asks a sarcastic question when his attention is elsewhere. That person, that’s the one Sokka wants to see.
“You don’t know that.” It’s like Zuko says the final decision. Like that’s the truth. And maybe it is. For him. The truth.
“I am not,” Sokka repeats in the calmest voice he can muster.
“And I am sorry. I really should have told you.”
Golden brown eyes find blue. Looking without searching this time. Just looking. And then it’s there. So suddenly it nearly scares Sokka. The trust. Shining vaguely in Zuko’s eyes. But it’s there. And Sokka latches onto it.
God, he is pretty. Sokka needs to get his shit together. The man is having a panic attack and Sokka is thinking about how attractive he is. This is going to be the death of him. He might as well call Suki, telling her what a mess he is. Not as much as Zuko, but a mess nonetheless.