Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sokka’s pretty sure his house is haunted.

Now, Sokka’s a practical guy, alright? He knows there’s no such thing as ghosts. They’re not real; all those wackjobs with night vision cameras are just sad souls trying to scare themselves into feeling something. Ghosts aren’t real.

But Sokka would swear on his life that his house is haunted. And the worst part? Aang doesn’t believe him. Aang, spirit bridge extraordinaire, is skeptical. Sokka’s pretty sure he’s well and truly lost his mind.

Because here’s the thing as well, right, even if ghosts are real– which they’re not– Sokka doesn’t understand why he in particular is being haunted. He’s been a perfect house guest! Ever since Aang asked him to move in, Sokka has been on his best behaviour. He keeps his room tidy, he does all the laundry without being asked, he even puts the TV remote back where it’s meant to go instead of shoving it between the couch cushions. So if there was an unhappy ghost here, what’s his problem? Or her problem; ghosts can be any gender or whatever.

Stumped, Sokka deals with this problem the way he knows best: he plans and organises and analyses. He’s even proud of his work– until Katara finds it.

“Sokka?” her voice floats hesitantly from his room. 

Sokka pauses crinkling his chip bag to respond with an eloquent “Mmph?”

“Why do you have a crazy man conspiracy theory board under your bed?”

Oh, no. Sokka knows just the one she’s talking about. 

Last weekend, when Katara and Aang had been off volunteering at the zoo or whatever they were doing, Sokka had treated himself to a little craft store trip. Sue him, can’t a guy enjoy his gluesticks and ribbons from time to time? He’d had big ideas about creating a sculpture collage thing– he’d seen one like it in the window of the gallery down the road. It was gonna be massive and colourful, really capture you and draw you in–

Anyway, he’d gotten distracted. Left the shop without even a pair of scissors. Instead, he’d walked in and scuttled over to the big ‘SALE NOW!!!!’ signs, immediately drawn in by the massive bulletin board. Such potential! He could stick things in it! So, of course, he had to buy the thumb tacks to go with it, and then he noticed the red string, so that had to be added to the basket too. He’d been trying to get Katara to watch ‘Always Sunny’ with him, and was having visions of himself as Charlie; tortured genius artist kinda thing, y’know?

Katara said he missed the point of the show.

Well, by the time he’d filled his basket he couldn’t afford anything else, so he figured he’d put the collage-sculpture thing on the back burner and focus on this bulletin board idea.

He wasn’t even planning to use it immediately, honest. He’d meant to use it as a planner, sketch out some ideas and pin them up. Gift it to Katara maybe, if it didn’t work out.

But then, that very evening, it happened again. See, Sokka had settled into this place by now. He’d been there for a few months, helping Aang pay rent while his flatmate was away. He knew where the floors creaked and what the place sounded like when it was settling. He knew the sound of the pipes when the neighbour was showering, and he knew that the upstairs neighbour’s vacuum made a weird whining sound. 

But in the last few weeks, he’d been hearing… other things. Banging, from seemingly nowhere. Footsteps in the hallway. Doors, opening and closing. And when he’d go to investigate, there’d be nothing there.

It was starting to unnerve him. Was he hallucinating? Was he sleeping enough? Was somebody breaking in? But then Aang had begged him to watch that new paranormal documentary thing with him, and Sokka had agreed, and then he just couldn’t seem to shake the thought out of his head. Was the house haunted?

Frankly, coming back with his craft supplies, he’d forgotten all about the ghost. He unlocked the door, dumped his bags on the couch and wandered into the kitchen to scavenge in the fridge. But there was this funny hissing sound, and when he turned around, all the stove burners were turned on and lit up.

Now, Sokka knew for a fact, they were off when he’d left. He’d had a bagel for breakfast, hadn’t cooked anything on the stovetop, and went out shopping nearly right after. He’d locked the door behind himself , for Christ’s sake. 

And this wasn’t one of those stoves that could just turn on. It was old fashioned; you had to switch on the gas, push the little clicker thingy, and then light it with a match. A match! It was like Aang was a hundred and twelve years old.

Alarmed, Sokka had turned off the stove, and looked around suspiciously, in case there was somebody still in the kitchen. He grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer and then, toeing his shoes off quietly, crept towards the hallway. Methodically, he checked every room, throwing open each door and brandishing the knife. Nothing. There was nobody in the house.

Thoroughly freaked out, Sokka went back to the kitchen to find his comfort salami in the fridge. He eyed the stovetop warily, and scuttled back into the living room as fast as he could.

From there, the ‘crazy man conspiracy theory board’ really just emerged fully formed like Athena from his thigh bone or wherever it was. He hadn’t been listening when Aang explained all that myth stuff. He set it up on the floor and started scribbling ideas, things that the sounds could be. ‘Pipework?’ ‘Evil Jake from next door >:(‘ ‘Katara being mean’ made the list, but eventually he couldn’t ignore the word lingering in the back of his mind. He wrote ‘ghost’ in big letters, except he spelled it wrong, so it read ‘GOHST,’ but by that point he’d already stuck it to the board and wrapped the string around it so it wasn’t like he was gonna redo the whole thing. 

Putting it into words really led him down a rabbit hole, and the next thing he was going around the house taking photos of the ‘scenes of the crimes’ and borrowing his neighbour Toph’s printer to print them out. And then he had the laptop open to the wikipedia page for poltergeists, and was reading into exorcisms and parapsychology research, and finding old newspaper clippings of deaths in the apartment complex. There was only one, some old man 6 floors up. Possible, but Sokka doubted it. The footsteps didn’t shuffle enough for an old man.

Finally, as he was running out of space on the board, a thought occurred to him. He didn’t know much about the guy who’d lived with Aang before him. To cover all his bases, he wrote ‘prev roommate: painful death?’ and then ‘Aang secretly axe murderer????’ and considered writing a will and testament, just in case Aang found this and decided to exact his revenge.

Feeling paranoid and jumpy, Sokka decided to call it a night. He was suddenly afraid of his own creation (this must have been what Dr Frankenstein felt like) and shoved it under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind. 

He was being ridiculous. There was no such thing as ghosts. 

Still, Sokka turned on all the lights and double checked the deadbolt before going to bed. And when Aang came back, he made sure he was extra nice to him. Just in case.

And now Katara had found the board.

“Uh, that’s nothing. Just some fun, for, like, the kids and stuff, y’know?”

Katara raised one eyebrow. “Sokka, you’ve written ‘Aang secretly axe murderer’ and then drawn a little doodle of– is that meant to be Aang?”

“Obviously, it’s meant to be Aang!”

“What’s this stuff coming out of his head?”

“That’s the light reflecting off of his shiny scalp, obviously,” Sokka huffed.

“It’s actually quite a good doodle, Sokka,” came Aang’s appreciative voice from behind him. 

Sokka whirled around. “I don’t really think you’re an axe murderer. But if you are, like, I’m totally cool with that. Everybody needs… a hobby,” he trailed off and made a face, not entirely happy with his defense. He didn’t want to belittle this whole murdering busines, what if this was Aang’s passion or something? He might kill him for being patronising.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Aang said pleasantly. “Thanks for your support.”

Sokka squinted at him. “Are you an axe murderer?”

Aang only tipped his head from side to side consideringly.

After a pause, Katara hefted the board and started marching towards the door. “I’m throwing this out, it’s useless and taking up space.”

“Hey!” Sokka yelped and scrambled towards her. “You don’t even live here, how do you know what takes up space? Plus,” he grabbed the board and pulled it protectively towards his chest, “I put a lot of effort into this.” He stuck his nose in the air. “It’s art.”

Katara snorted. “I wonder how they’re still paying you sometimes.”

“I think Sokka’s a good art teacher,” Aang piped up.

“Why, thank you, dearest roommate and possible axe murderer. See,” Sokka pointed accusingly at Katara, “that’s what friends are supposed to say.”

“We’re not friends,” Katara said with a flat stare, but she was smiling. Sokka knew she was going to drop it.

Jumping on the opportunity, he changed the subject. “Still want that Japanese take-out?”

After a month, Sokka decides to bring it up with Aang again. Aang’s setting out solitaire (Sokka’s dropped the axe murderer theory, but he has his suspicions about reincarnation because– really? Solitaire? In this day and age?) but gives Sokka his full attention when he says, “Have you… heard anything strange lately? Around the house?”

“Is this that ghost theory again?” Aang asks.

Sokka groans. “It’s not a theory, I was covering all my bases, alright? It’s the scientific method!”

“Whatever you say,” Aang agrees. “But ghosts are real, Sokka.” He looks earnestly into Sokka’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re coming to terms with that– but they’re nothing to be afraid of! They’re just– not here, is all.” He shrugs. “I would know if they were.”

Sokka makes a face. He’s not entirely sold on this ‘I can commune with the spirit world’ business from Aang. Still, the kid seems to believe it, and who is he to burst his bubble? “You ever thought about setting up a medium business? Make a bit of money out of this communication thing?”

Aang tilts his head as he considers. “Maybe– though I don’t think I’m the business type. My old roommate knew more about that than me. His dad ran a business.”

Sokka perks up. “Who was your old roommate? You never really talk about him.”

“Oh, he was a super nice guy. Really polite, but I got him to joke eventually. Kept everything so neat and tidy.”

“What, and I don’t?” Sokka bristled. Aang looked pointedly at the four mugs left on the coffee table. Sokka deflated and picked them up sheepishly, bringing them into the kitchen. “Why’d he leave? Did you not get on?”

“He went to Australia, I think? Or maybe Japan. Or Canada. Or Venezuela. Or maybe it was South Africa–” Aang scrunched up his nose. “There was some bust up with his family and he just left really abruptly. I kept his room open for a month, but he never responded to my texts so I figured he’d moved on.” 

Sokka nods his understanding. “All the better for me, I guess.”

“But there are no ghosts here, anyway,” Aang continues. “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I am not–!” Sokka exclaims. Aang grins cheekily at him. “I was only considering all the options, I wasn’t scared .”

“So fearless you researched exorcisms? I saw you practicisng your salt circles.”

Sokka felt his ears go pink. “Shut up. I was curious.” He turned the TV on to avoid any more remarks from his irritating little friend.

After a while, he blurted out, “So, you haven’t heard anything?”

Aang shook his head. “Just the pipework. And you arguing with Katara.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. Maybe he was just hallucinating it all.

The noises don’t stop. In fact, Sokka would almost say they get worse. 

It’s been weeks now, and it’s driving him up the wall. Aang can’t hear a thing, but every Tuesday, at exactly 11:52 in the evening (which, by the way, what the fuck?), Sokka hears a bang against his window. He rushes over, throws it open, and there’s nothing there. Just the gravel about three floors down. He’s considered the possibility that there’s somebody throwing rocks at his window, and dismissed it– nobody can throw with that accuracy three floors up. He’d tried it himself. There is not a single plausible explanation.

Resigning himself to his fate as a lunatic, he files it onto the board as more evidence of the ghost.

He still hears doors banging, but only when Aang’s away. Which, honestly, makes it scarier. One time, he chases the sounds down the corridor, swinging into the kitchen right after the footsteps and swears he sees a foot just before the front door slams shut.

He locks and bolts the door, and then shoves the armchair in front of it.

He considers freaking out about the whole thing– really going off the deep end. Calling the police, looking for a new apartment, getting ‘experts’ in. In the end, he decides it’s not worth it. His students have big projects coming up, and he can’t afford to be getting distracted by a so-called ghost. They need him. 

Plus, the way he sees it, the thing hasn’t actually done any harm. If it is a ghost, and he is being haunted (because he’s pretty sure it’s him, not the house. If it was the house, Aang would be experiencing the same thing), it’s only some noises, and he’s pretty sure he can explain away the movement in the corner of his eye as sleep deprivation. Nothing to be really worried about.

Armed with this new determination, the next time his window bangs at 11:52 on a Tuesday, Sokka jumps up and flings it open, sticking his head outside. There are no cars in the parking spaces below, but he shouts out “Hey! Dude!” and waits for an answer.

Obviously, there is none. Suddenly feeling quite stupid, he continues, “I can’t afford to fix these glass panes and Aang would kill me if I cracked them. Or, I guess,” he tilts his head, “Katara would do it for him. Either way… could you, like, bang a little softer? Or throw a little lighter or whatever it is ghosts do to communicate? Just be, like, gentle.” He waits, feeling the cool spring breeze on his face. It’ll probably rain soon. Inexplicably, he keeps talking. “I don’t know what your problem is, but like, if this is something you need to do, I get it. If it’ll put you to rest or whatever, keep going, I guess. Not bothering any– well, it is bothering me, a little bit, but I don’t sleep ‘till late most nights, anyway, so it’s not a hassle. So, like, you keep doing you, and I keep doing me, and all’s well, right? Just don’t… hurt me or anything, y’know, it’s–”

“Oi!” comes a voice from below, interrupting his rambling. His downstairs neighbour Toph is poking her head out the window. “Are you talking to the fucking moon again, Sokka?”

“No.” he glares, and then remembers she can’t see him. “I’m…meditating.”

Toph snorts. “You? Meditating? Please.” Theres’s a pause. Then she says, “I know a good psychiatrist if you need, Snoozles. She’ll actually talk back too, y’know the moon can’t hear you?”

“Oh, bugger off, you weasel.”

Toph laughs again. “I’ll drop her number in with your mail.”

After that, Sokka finds himself less bothered by the haunting. He doesn’t get up as much anymore to chase the footsteps, and when he does he opens it with a “You get a two second head start!” or “Ready or not, here I come!” Turning it into a game has really helped, he thinks, and he almost feels like he has a friend in this ghost. They’ve come to an agreement.

The only time he gets spooked is one Sunday morning while Aang and Katara are camping. He stumbles into the hallway, stretching, and mutters a ‘morning, Ghosty’ on his way to the bathroom. He swears he hears a chuckle, and then the front door close, but he’s already locking the bathroom door behind himself so he’s not really sure. He rubs his eyes and turns into the mirror, and lets out a (very manly) scream. 

Across the mirror, written in blood, is ‘GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.’ Leaning in to inspect, Sokka realises that it’s not blood; it is, in fact, his own red window paint that he keeps under the sink. 

“Jesus,” he says to the empty kitchen as he makes coffee later. “Bit dramatic, wasn’t that? No need to be rude, man.”

He doesn’t mention it to Aang or Katara when they get home. He’s worried Katara would check him into the psych ward if he did.

Still, he thinks about it later. There was a little smiley face in the corner, small enough that he didn’t notice it until Aang asked him why he was painting on the mirror. For some reason, he doesn’t want to wash it off.

Chapter Text

Zuko was in crisis. Prolonged crisis. Unending, infinite crisis. Crisis so awful, he could feel the world tumbling down around his ears. This was the end. He was never going to be the same again.

He stared into the bubbling depths of his beer– fitting, really. The liquid looked a bit like magma; bubbling, fiery pain to wreck his already ruined life.

The glass slid out of his grasp and he startled, glancing up into the face of the bartender. “Go home, kid,” she told him, not unkindly. “That old man over there’s looking for you.” Zuko twisted around, nearly falling off his stool. Perhaps he had drunk a bit more than he intended, and Father always said decorum was–

There it was again, that shooting pain through his chest. It had been two months since The Incident, shouldn’t he be over it by now?

Sure enough, in the corner, Uncle Iroh was patiently stirring a mug. Wherever he’d managed to find tea at this hour, Zuko couldn’t be bothered to wonder. Iroh waved, so Zuko stood up with a sigh and wobbled over to him.

“Time to return to our beds, eh, Zuko?”

Zuko inclined his head. “Sorry to make you trek so far to get me, Uncle. I should have returned home sooner.”

Iroh waved his hand dismissively. “We all need liquid heart occasionally.” Zuko waited while he finished off the last of his tea. “Shall we, nephew?”

Back in his uncle’s house, Zuko sat down heavily on the couch and stared, unseeing, at the blank TV screen in front of him. He could hear Iroh pottering, and heard the distinctive click of the kettle turning on.

Another blink and Iroh was pushing a warm mug into his hands. “Drink up. It’ll help you in the morning.”

Zuko looked into the steam rising up from the mug and observed his own watery reflection. He looked tired, even through the haze. 

“Nephew,” Iroh started kindly, “what are you planning to do? I have said you are welcome here whenever, and that is true; I only ask for your own mind.”

Zuko kept staring into his tea, and took a small sip. He mulled the question over. What could he do? Get a job? Go back to college? Marry someone? They all seemed like big steps. He just wanted to sit, for a while.

He shrugged, a small movement. He felt quite small, in Iroh’s warm living room. “What can I do? I cannot face– I can’t do it again.”

His uncle hummed. “You overestimate the weakness of your soul, Zuko. You are made of stronger stuff than that.” Zuko disagreed, but kept that thought to himself. “The answer will come.” Iroh patted his knee and moved off, leaving him to his tea.

Three weeks later, cursing the universe as he proved his uncle right yet again, Zuko was booking a flight back home.

He huffed angrily as he settled into his– really quite comfortable– seat on the plane. Iroh had insisted on upgrading him (“What are all these airline points for if I do not use them?”). He felt… conflicted. Not about the business class seat (well, not anymore); more about his general return. Stepping foot on home soil meant facing The Incident head on.

Good thing he wasn’t on home soil yet.

Worse, he didn’t know if he had anyone to return to. His father was no longer his father, he’d made that much clear, and Zuko had thrown his phone out of his car window in a fit of rage on the highway– so he couldn’t contact Aang to see if his room was still free for him to return to. It had been four months, to be fair. He wouldn’t blame him if Aang had found someone else to split rent with.

The flight was long and awful and made his head hurt, but he managed to stay perfectly cordial with the Uber driver, and rattled off the address of Aang’s apartment. When he arrived, he stood in the gravel parking lot for a minute, staring up at his old window.

Through the glass, he could see a man about his age. He was sitting at a desk, scribbling away, dragging his hands over his ponytail every so often. He was quite striking, Zuko thought, but he was sitting in Zuko’s room. Eventually, he got up and shoved the window open, letting the breeze in. Zuko heard him as he walked back into the apartment, shouting for Aang.

So apparently, that was that. His friend had moved on. No place for Zuko to slot back into.

He turned around and lugged his suitcase back over the gravel. To his surprise, the Uber was still there. The woman gave him a shrewd look as he clambered back into the backseat. “Do not let your sight define your heart. There is much space left for you to bloom in this life.” Zuko stared at her through the rearview mirror. “I see great love in your future. Connection and reconnection. You must be willing to open again, like the poppy. Allow the sun to shine on your face.” Zuko continued staring. They’d lasted two hours from the airport without a word, and now she was monologuing his future? “Remember, five stars on the app, please,” she continued, when Zuko said nothing. “Auntie Woo. Five stars.”

Zuko decided the safest option was to keep his mouth shut until they reached the hotel. He could feel anger bubbling up, hot and fast. Was he that replaceable? Aang could just– forget about him like that? And who did this woman think she was, telling him to keep his heart open? She didn’t know a thing about him.

But this woman didn’t deserve him snapping at her. She may be strange, but some people were just like that. He had been working on redirecting his misplaced anger, with Uncle’s help, and he could keep it up. He could last the five minute drive to the closest hotel.

Once he’d finally, finally reached his rooms though, he could feel it. Anger, and a little bit of hurt. An almost choking fear underneath it all. 

It was only– how could Aang do that? He knew, he knew Zuko was going through a rough patch. He’d been there for all the phone calls, all the times Azula had come banging on their door, laughing and laughing through the wood. He’d answered the door when Father’s– Ozai’s– secretary came knocking to deliver Zuko with a copy of his will, his new will, that specifically withdrew any acknowledgement of his relationship with his son. Aang had– he’d sat with Zuko through all the tears and panic attacks, and now, finally ready to return and step tentatively into his life again, Zuko was forgotten? Left behind?

He couldn’t keep doing this. He could not survive on his own, again and again. He had no father anymore, no friends, since Mai and Ty Lee no longer associated with him after his ‘betrayal,’ and most importantly, no sister. Or rather, no sister in the way that mattered. She was there, physically, out of his life and into the– institution, but she hadn’t had the role of ‘sister’ in his life for a long time. Nuisance and nightmare, maybe; storm and sinkhole, but not sister. 

And– it had been Aang who’d pushed him to make that call, hadn’t it? Aang and Katara. They’d sat him down, and they’d told him it would help, it would make it better, letting them take her away would be good, for himself and Azula. Clearly, they were wrong. Better for them, maybe, finally some peace and quiet, but for Zuko? His life was ruined. He had nothing now, not even them.

He fought the urge to sweep all the benign little trinkets off of the hotel table and smash them to the floor. Instead, with shaking hands, he pulled back the covers and got into bed. He counted his breaths, and closed his eyes, and slept. 

He dreamed of the man he’d seen in the window; of those ink-stained hands and broad shoulders.

He woke up jetlagged. Zuko had always been a morning guy, but now the sun was high in the sky and he was utterly baffled as to what day it was. Not only that, but breakfast had ended fifteen minutes ago, apparently.

Needless to say, Zuko was irritated. With the world, in general.

He decided to unpack, do something useful with his day after missing such valuable time this morning. Right at the bottom of his suitcase, his hands brushed something sharp and cold. He frowned, and reached in again, fumbling around with it until he pinched it successfully and pulled it up.

It was his key– the key to Aang’s flat. He stared at it for a second, and thought about what he’d seen the day before; the man in the window. 

Well, if Aang saw fit to replace him, he wasn’t just going to idly sit by. He was going to pay them a visit. The hotel was only a short walk away, after all.

The complex was quiet when Zuko arrived. He supposed that made sense, Sunday’s had never been hopping in this part of town anyway. He made it up to Aang’s place and paused outside the door, listening. It was quiet inside, until– footsteps. Only one pair, and then soft mumbling. Just as Zuko went to put his hand on the doorknob, there was a crash and a muffled curse. The footsteps retreated back to the other side of the house, accompanied by what sounded like angry muttering now.

Zuko opened the door and slipped inside. It was invasive, he knew, but– he was curious. He just wanted to see it, once. His old home. The first place he could really call ‘home.’ 

It looked the same, if a bit messy. Obviously this new roommate guy wasn’t the tidiest. There were mugs piled up on the coffee table, and what looked like paint supplies stuffed in a corner. 

Zuko wandered through the apartment, as quiet as possible. He couldn’t help but feel like a criminal– although, he was technically trespassing, wasn’t he? Ah well, Aang would forgive him. Probably.

He resisted the urge to peek into his old room, he was pretty sure he could hear the new guy in there, shuffling around and still muttering to himself. Instead, Zuko crept past and pushed Aang’s door open. There was nobody there.

Huh, Aang must have left for the weekend. He used to do that, from time to time, hiking or camping or something. Obviously the habit hadn’t left him.

He looked around Aang’s room, lovely and neat– the same way Aang had always kept it. Something told him the new guy’s room wouldn’t come close to being this clean. His heart gave a soft pang when he saw the little figurines on Aang’s desk; Zuko had picked them up while on a business trip with Father months ago. He’d seen them and thought of Aang; little Tibetan monks all doing different poses. He didn’t know a thing about it, but Aang was always talking about the history and significance of the monks– so he’d bought them. Aang had been delighted, and Zuko, despite himself, was pleased to see them still there.

He closed Aang’s door, and slipped back down the hallway. Right in front of the door, he put his foot on the wrong board and winced at the incriminating creak. In a panic, he rushed out the door and slammed it behind him. 

He was just turning the corner to the stairs when he heard the door open and a male voice call down the corridor, “Hello?”

Zuko kept going, and didn’t slow his hurried pace until he was back at the hotel.

Well, that was creepy of him. He wouldn’t do it again, though. That would be wrong. 

Zuko goes back to the apartment. 

He doesn’t mean to, really, his feet just take him there after a particularly difficult interview. He’s taken to keeping the key with him, it makes him feel safer. A small part of him still thinks he could just, call Aang. Sort things out.

A bigger part doesn’t want to admit he’s failed on his own. Asking for help is admitting defeat.

He lets himself in and looks around. The place is silent; he doesn’t think anybody’s home.

Struck by a sudden vindictiveness, Zuko makes his way over to the bookshelf and starts flipping random books upside down. Then, still feeling inexplicably restless, he shoves the couch over a few inches, just enough to notice. He turns the brightness down on the TV, and then makes his way into the kitchen.

The place is surprisingly clean, all things considered. The counters are wiped down, the dishes are all put away; admittedly, not how he’d do it and therefore the wrong way, but the place isn’t so bad. Zuko decides to…help out.

He first flips all the glasses upside down, to stop them gathering dust (everybody knows that– who even is this guy that doesn’t know basic house keeping?) and then opens the fridge.

He nearly faints. Somebody’s left the meat on the top shelf, and shoved all the fruit in on the bottom. The fruit should go with the veg in the drawers underneath the shelves, and the meat has to go on the bottom. Speaking of, why is there so much meat? Unless Aang’s no longer a vegetarian, there is no way one person eats this much meat. Disgusted, Zuko rearranges the fridge. Then, for shits and giggles, he takes the ketchup and barbecue sauce out (barbecue sauce???) and sticks them under the sink. He smirks imagining the new guy searching frantically for them, running his hands through that long hair of his, mussing it all up.

Satisfied, Zuko leaves and locks the door behind him. He may be acting like a dick, but he doesn’t want the house to get burgled. He’s not that cruel.

On his fourth visit back, Zuko runs into Toph. He’s creeping down the stairs, after slamming a few doors and running back and forth while the new guy was trying to nap. As soon as he heard him shuffle out of bed, he made a run for it.

“Woah!” Toph exclaims as he nearly bowls her over. “You could have killed me, you careless bastard.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I– Toph?”

“Zuko?” She laughs incredulously. “I thought you were dead! Aang replaced you and everything!” Zuko winced. “Or,” she continued, sensing his discomfort, “didn’t replace you and just had to split rent with someone. Have you met him, is that where you’re coming from?”

“Well…” Zuko is at a loss as to how to explain himself. “I haven’t exactly… told anyone I’m back.”

“Ha! You’re sneaking around the place like the weasel I always knew you were.” Zuko shrugged. That is, unfortunately, exactly what he was doing. “Why don’t you come back to mine? Help me put groceries away and catch up?”

Zuko nodded, already trying to take her bags from her. In true Toph fashion, she only pulled them back aggressively, stubborn as ever.

Toph’s flat had always been lovely. It was exactly the same layout as his and Aang’s had been, but smaller, meant for one person. She always had flowers on the windowsill, saying the smell helped her know the place was clean (whatever that meant– Zuko had learnt a long time ago not to question Toph).

Today, she orders him to put on the kettle while she starts opening cupboards and putting her groceries in. Her organisation style makes Zuko wince, but to each their own, he supposes. Except his replacement. That guy can go fuck himself, who puts meat on the top shelf ? 

Without being asked, Zuko peruses her shelves until he finds mugs and tea, the kind he’d forced her to buy months ago– the real kind that Uncle would approve of.

“So,” she says when they finally sit down, “why were you sneaking around Aang’s place?”

Ah, yes, Zuko had forgotten how insufferable she was. “No reason.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re lying. I can feel it.” She waggled her fingers on the table.

“You cannot, that’s ridiculous. But,” Zuko decided to cover all his bases, just in case she could tell he was lying, “I just want to kinda…see what they’ve done with the place. Y’know, meet the new guy by proxy. But nobody was home.” He was testing if she really could tell he was lying.

Toph nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you just call Aang?” Ha, gotcha. No weird spidey-sense powers. “Tell him you’re back; I think he really missed you.”

Zuko shrugged. He didn’t really have an answer to that one either. Somehow, it felt wrong. And, in all honesty, he was still a little hurt. He didn’t want to call Aang.

Toph grinned. “Oh, I see.” Zuko panicked slightly. What did she see? He hadn’t said anything. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not–!”

Toph was grinning wider now, mischievous. “You are, you’re jealous of Aang.”

“Of Aang? What for?”

“That he gets to room with that hunk of a guy upstairs!” Zuko stared at her, gobsmacked. “Oh, please. I know he’s hot, I can sense it.” 

“Enough with the sensing Toph,” Zuko scoffed, “you’re not a naked mole rat.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“He is hot! And you’re jealous!”

“I’m not– that’s stupid–” Zuko huffed. “Fine, he’s a little hot.”

Toph made a victory fist. “Yes! Say I’m right about everything.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Say it.”

Zuko crossed his arms.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

There was a lull as they each took a sip of their tea, Zuko contemplating these new accusations from Toph. The guy was attractive, from the little that Zuko had seen of him, but God, he just knew he was annoying. From his…everything. The stuff he left around, his constant muttering– because that was another thing he’d noticed, the guy could never seem to shut up, even when he was in the house alone. 

“Were you coming out of your old apartment when I passed you?”

“No!” Zuko squeaked.

Toph just hummed, taking another sip of her tea.

“Look,” Zuko sighed, “I’ve only done it once or twice–” That was a lie, but she didn’t need to know the full extent of his B&E habits– “and it’s just a bit of fun. I still have my old key, so I just let myself in and move things around.” He shrugged. “Bewilder them a bit, see if I can spook the new guy.”

“Hey, listen, I’m not about to judge you for your law-breaking– that would be hypocritical.” Now it was Zuko’s turn to look doubtfully at her. “Honestly, that’s funny as hell, Sparky. Classic prank.” She leaned in and punched his shoulder, hard. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“Thank you?” Zuko said. “I think?”

“Oh, hey! Why don’t we step it up a notch?”

Hesitantly, Zuko asked, “What do you mean?”

“If it’s the new guy you’re trying to spook– his name’s Sokka, by the way, he’s not so bad actually– I can tell you when he’s home alone! Here,” She reached under the table and pulled out a drawer, “I have his schedule.”

“You–what? Why?”

“Curiosity.” Toph shrugged. “Plus, I think he thinks you’re a ghost– ham it up a little bit! Do all those poltergeist things, like footsteps and door banging. Oh! You should rig up the radio to just go off at random times–”

“I’m not doing that,” Zuko interrupted.

“Boring. Still, there’s a lot of potential here. And Aang’s away some weekends– I can text you and let you know!”

From a moral and ethical standpoint, Zuko should say no. This Sokka guy was innocent, just somebody who needed a place to stay.

But Zuko was still slightly pissed off about being replaced, and he kinda wanted to scare this guy away. If Sokka thought the place was haunted, Zuko could move back in again, no hassle. And it looked like it would give Toph a good laugh, and really, who was he to deny her?

So, grinning, he punched his new number into Toph’s phone.

He got over the guilt quite quickly, all things considered. It was all a bit of fun, no harm done. Plus, he got a kick out of the guy’s screeches from time to time; he always did these funny little coughs and lowered his voice afterwards. Zuko didn’t know who he was trying to impress; the guy was home alone.

The only time he felt doubt was a few weeks after he’d started throwing rocks at Sokka’s window at 11:52pm exactly, every Tuesday. He’d come up with that himself– mildly irritating, mostly odd– the perfect prank. His aim was almost perfect, too– he’d stand in the shadows, semi-covered by the bushes, and throw a single rock from the gravel driveway at Sokka’s window. Then, he’d nip behind the bush, snicker to himself, and wait for maybe ten minutes before sneaking away, unseen.

This night, though, he hears the window open, and Sokka’s voice shouts, “Hey! Dude!”

‘Dude,’ Zuko mouths to himself incredulously. Who does this guy think he is?

Somehow, as Sokka spends the next five minutes rambling about…well, Zuko’s not quite sure what he’s rambling about, actually. Something about gentleness and windowpanes, maybe? Whatever it is, Sokka makes it sound compelling. He sounds so genuine, with this twinge of awkwardness underlaying his words, and Zuko can’t help but lean around the bush slightly to catch a glimpse of him. 

He’s leaning halfway out the window, eyes fixed in some middle distance, fingers tapping away at the window edge seemingly without his notice. He’s wearing a soft t-shirt, and as he tilts his head, Zuko catches a glimmer of gold around his eyes– he wears glasses. The delicate, these-only-come-out-at-home kind of glasses.

Zuko’s heart stutters in his chest.

The man is drop-dead gorgeous. I mean, Zuko had figured from that glance he’d gotten back in the beginning, but to see Sokka here, whole and alive as he rambles to– to Zuko, basically, since he seems to think Zuko’s a ghost– he’s completely enraptured. 

When Toph sticks her head out of the window below and nags Sokka until he closes his window again, Zuko finds himself strangely disappointed. Then, with a jolt, he realises Toph is looking right at him– well, in his vague direction– and smirking. ‘I can sense it…’ she mouths and sends him a wink before shutting her own window.

Zuko scowls and brushes leaves out of his hair as he stands up. Still, he picks smaller rocks to throw at Sokka’s window next time, and all the times after that. Wouldn’t want the poor man paying Aang for repairs, that’s all.

After that, Zuko visits the apartment more frequently than he’d like to admit. Sokka’s taken to speaking to him when he hears Zuko’s pottering about the house, and it feels…friendly. Kind. Almost…intimate, if Zuko were to think too hard about the ‘goodmorning’s and pet names.

Which he’s not. Thinking hard about it. He’s still trying to scare the guy, that’s all. Lure him into a false sense of security. There’s no…fondness involved.

He proves this to himself by writing on the mirror with Sokka’s stupid window paint (who buys that?) to mimic blood. 

Even then, he can’t help but add a little smiley face in the corner. He imagines Sokka’s own smile when he finds it– and then frowns at himself. This is getting ridiculous.

He stuffs the paint away and creeps out of the bathroom, just skirting around the corner when he hears Sokka stumble out of his room. Horrendously, he hears himself chuckle when Sokka calls him ‘ghosty,’ without a hint of worry in his voice.

That evening, after a long, silent sulk as he watched the sun set slowly, Zuko knocks on Toph’s door.

“Toph,” he says, when she opens it, “I think I’ve got a problem.”

She cackles, rather evilly, in Zuko’s opinion, and ushers him inside. “It’s Sokka, isn’t it. You’ve bit off more than you can chew, Sparky.” She looks far too delighted with his predicament.

Zuko only moans and drops his head into his hands at the kitchen table. “There, there,” she pats him on the head patronisingly, “I’ll make you some tea, you emotionally constipated squirrel.”

Zuko sits back up and glares at her. “You don’t make it right.”

“Listen, do you want it or not?”

“Fine,” Zuko waves a hand and melts back into his puddle of hair. 

“So,” Toph says, some time later, after Zuko has exhausted all other subjects he can possibly think of, “It’s his shockingly good looks and winning personality, is it?”

Zuko makes an embarrassed sound. “He just sounds so nice in the mornings, Toph! And the way he says my name–” Toph bursts out laughing.

“How does he know your name?”

“Ok, fine, the way he calls me ‘ghosty,’ and–” Toph laughs louder. “--stop laughing– now I can’t even go back and pretend to be a poltergeist anymore, because he’s not scared, so the whole exercise is pointless, and now I’ll never see him again!” Zuko’s hands had been gesturing emphatically but now he dropped them with a clunk onto the table. “What am I going to do ,” he moans.

“Just say hello, Sparky, it’s not so hard.”

“What, ‘Oh, hello, you don’t know me but I’ve been breaking and entering into your house for the past few weeks, and I think I’ve fallen for you, will you go on a date?’ He’d call the police, Toph.”

Toph shook her head. “You’d be surprised,” she said mysteriously. 

Zuko squinted at her. “Do you know something? You talk to him all the time, Toph, why don’t you introduce us?”

“No can do, buckaroo. Gotta do it yourself.”

“You just want to watch me fuck it up, don’t you.”

“Yep!” Toph grinned unashamedly. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had in years. Don’t ruin it for me now.”

Zuko picked up his coat and scowled at her. She’d ‘sense’ the scowl, he was sure. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Sparky!” Toph followed him to the door. “I’ll tell him you said hi, then, shall I?”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “Absolutely do not. I’d rather die.” Toph just cackled again. “You’re a bad friend, Toph Beifong. I’ll see you in hell.”

“Not if I see you first,” she called and slammed the door behind him.

She was useless and embarrassing. 

Still, Zuko did feel lighter. The world wasn’t such an awful place and everything would be alright. He nearly had his own apartment, he just had to sort a few things out with the realtor, and he would stop visiting Aang and Sokka’s place. It wasn’t good for any of them, and he needed to move on. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

Zuko’s eyes snapped open the next morning, a stray memory flashing through his mind.

The world was an awful, cruel place and he was never going to have a good day again.

He’d left his favourite hoodie in Sokka’s bathroom. He’d taken it off to avoid getting paint on it, and then left it there, folded neatly behind the door.

He groaned. Looks like he was going back.

Chapter Text

Sokka figured he was doing pretty well, all things considered. Him and Ghosty were basically besties, as he saw it, and Aang hadn’t asked him to move out by reason of insanity yet. 

So yeah, things were good.

Oh, and Sokka was starting to suspect that Ghosty was not, in fact, a ghost.

See, that same day that he’d cleaned the paint off his mirror, he’d decided to get a headstart and clean the rest of the apartment. It took an embarrassing amount of time to find the hoodie, folded nicely in the corner behind the door. 

Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it. It looked soft, well-loved, and certainly wouldn’t fit Aang. And he knew for a fact it wasn’t his, either. On an impulse, he buried his nose in the fabric. 

It smelled…gorgeous. Whoever’s hoodie this was, they had a fantastic brand of laundry detergent, and an addictive cologne. Sokka pulled it away from from his face to squint at it suspiciously, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He was blushing. He was blushing from the smell of a hoodie. Good God.

He folded it up quickly and hurried back into his room, putting it on top of his dresser. The next time he heard Ghosty, he’d just…mention that he had it. Offer it back, that sort of thing. And who knows, maybe he’d finally meet Ghosty.

It had occurred to Sokka, maybe twice, that he might be experiencing a specific brand of Stockholm Syndrome. This random guy was basically breaking into his house and pestering him, which he could probably stretch into harassment in a court of law if he really wanted to, and yet, here Sokka was, hoping he could meet this intruder and introduce himself. He just seemed like a nice guy, alright? Breaking and entering aside, he had a warm laugh and a sense of humour, and sometimes he would just come in and clean, which was really quite helpful.

Sue him, Sokka just thought they’d get on. He was intrigued, so there was no backing out now. He was in it for the long run– he was going to meet Ghosty on pain of death.

It all came to a head when Aang came back.

“Hey, Sokka, can I talk to you about something?”

Sokka swallowed his spaghetti nervously. If Aang wanted to talk to him about something, it was probably going to be an uncomfortable situation. He was going to ask him something terrible about Katara, like ‘what’s her favourite colour for this scarf I wanna get her’ or ‘do you know any nice restaurants Katara would like,’ or something bizarre like ‘do you think we should adopt this bison they sent an ad about in the mail?’ “Yeah, of course, dude, what’s up?”

“So, I just got this text from my old roommate, Zuko. He’s back in the country, apparently.” Oh no, Aang was asking him to move out. “Turns out he threw his phone out the car window which is why he never texted me back.”

“Mm, happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah, well, he wants to meet for coffee tomorrow?”

Sokka considered the best way to phrase his thoughts. “Listen, if you want me to move out so he can have his old room you’ve gotta give me a little more time so I can–”

“No! Of course not, Sokka!” Aang looked horrified. “That would be so rude of me, no, I don’t want you to move out.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sokka breathed a sigh of relief. “It was hard enough to find this place in the first place. I don’t think I could do it again.”

Aang nodded and finished off his food. “So, wanna come with me to coffee tomorrow? I think you guys would get on, I mean, I hope you would. Zuko’s the kind of guy who holds a grudge but– I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Sokka looked at him skeptically. “It will! You’ll become instant best friends, I know it. So, ten o’clock?”

“Ten o– it’s a Saturday, Aang, that’s sleep-in day. I didn’t even say yes, how do–”

Aang was already skipping out of the room with his empty plate, a bright grin on his face. “It’ll be a great start to your day!”

Sokka grumbled into his spaghetti about do-gooders and yoga people before he sighed and resigned himself to setting an alarm.

Ghosty came for his hoodie that night. Or, Sokka’s pretty sure he did. In the interest of complete honesty, it might have all just been a very vivid dream.

Sokka sleeps very heavily, you see, and he also sweats ‘like a man interrogated,’ as Suki put it. She also told him if he kept a shirt on and stopped rolling himself in the duvet like a caterpillar he might solve the problem. Sokka decided not to take her advice.

Which is why, when he heard a thump and a muffled curse from the direction of his open window, he did not sit up in bed and brandish his fists with a manly ‘who’s there!’ He instead opened his eyes and stared directly at the figure frozen in front of his window and let out (it was not a whimper, okay, it wasn’t) a manly noise of surprise, rolling desperately around to release himself from his cocoon. The figure, to its credit, seemed just as shocked to see him. 

“Please don’t kill me, you can take whatever you want, except maybe that shell thing in the corner ‘cus I got that for Katara’s birthday and I can’t really afford to replace it, so–”

The figure shook its head frantically. “No, I– I just– I think, I left something–” Oh, so the figure was a man. A man with a nice voice.

“You’ve been here before!?” Sokka exclaimed. “When? What did you leave here?”

“The– I– y’know, it doesn’t really matter,” the man amended and started climbing back out of Sokka’s window. Very slowly, Sokka started to put the dots together. Man, here before, left something behind…

“You’re Ghosty! Oh, my God! You’re here!”

“Um.”

“You left your hoodie in the bathroom, yeah, I saw! That was kinda rude, man, actually, like that really freaked me out.” Sokka couldn’t help the grin creeping onto his face. Ghosty was here! It was like meeting a long distance friend! “But I liked the little smiley face, that was nice.” Ghosty had stuck his leg back inside Sokka’s room and was no longer trying to leave, but he still looked a little apprehensive. “And I noticed your stones got smaller, on my window! That was cool of you, man. Although, the whole set up really spooked me, y’know, like I really thought I was going crazy for a few weeks there–”

“Uh,” Ghosty interrupted, “do you have my hoodie? It’s just, I really want it back, it’s my favourite?”

“Yeah, man, of course! I left it on top of that dresser.” Sokka stuck one hand out of the duvet to point. Ghosty nodded hesitantly and headed over. 

Just as he was picking it up, he turned towards Sokka and the streetlight came in through the open window to catch his features. Sokka could only stare. He looked– kind, most of all. He had this striking scar over one of his eyes, and this little furrow between his brows that Sokka just knew he could smooth over with his thumb. And he was frowning, slightly, with these lovely lips that Sokka just wanted to–

Okay, time to stop staring. Sokka cleared his throat.

Ghosty hurried back to the window and stuck one leg out. He turned sideways, halfway, so that he wasn’t quite looking Sokka in the eyes and brandished the hoodie. “Uh. Thanks. Nice to– meet you?”

“Yeah, you too! Come back soon! Or– I mean, you could use the door next time?”

“I do?”

Sokka squinted at him. 

“Like, I use the door to get in? That’s why it bangs?”

Sokka absentmindedly scratched his side and Ghosty’s eyes tracked the movement. Sokka’s pretty sure he licked his lips. “Then why’d you come in my window?”

“I– didn’t think about that. Sorry,” Ghosty said stiffly.

Sokka waved him off. “No that’s fine– do you– do you have a key? For the door?”

Ghosty eyes widened. “Bye!” he announced, and was gone, disappearing out the window.

Sokka sat up in alarm. How did he do that? Was he alright? He didn’t want to be responsible for the death of an attractive man breaking into his bedroom.

Slumping back down, Sokka rolled over and dragged his hands over his eyes. He was so, utterly, fucked. Katara would lose her mind when he told her he was head over heels for the ghost, who was actually just a trespasser, who’s name he didn’t even know, and who might actually still be a hallucination. Oh, he was never going to live this one down.

Aang, as promised, woke him up at half past nine, full of energy. Sokka wanted to strangle him.

“It’s going to be so fun! You and Zuko are going to get on like a house on fire, I just know it. And then–” Sokka nudged Aang out of the way to reach his beloved toaster. Aang didn’t even stop talking. “-because I’ve got this whole plan, right? If you and Zuko like each other, you can share a room! And I know we don’t have another bed for him, but I used to have sleepovers all the time, so it’ll be like a sleepover!”

Sokka turned around to glare at him. “Are you asking me to share my bed with a stranger?”

Aang deflated. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Listen,” Sokka sighed, feeling suddenly guilty, “we’ll have a chat and see what we can work out, okay? If he’s desperate, we can put him on the couch.”

Aang’s grin was back in full force. “That’s so sensible, Sokka!”

The coffee shop wasn’t far from the apartment, but they still managed to be late. Aang dragged Sokka the whole way, and then didn’t even give him a chance to look at the menu before dragging him over to a table in the corner. When Sokka finally got a chance to look up at the table, his heart dropped out of his chest.

It was Ghosty. Sitting at the table, looking stiff and awkward, and somewhat nervous, was Ghosty, who’d broken into Sokka’s room last night and had hoodies that smelled like heaven. Zuko. Aang’s roommate.

Sokka could only stare. He was even more attractive in the light of day. His hair was longer than Sokka’s and looked soft, pulled back from his face. He still had that little furrow in his brow, but his frown was more pronounced now, almost irritated. Nothing like the soft, confused thing Sokka had seen the night before.

“Sorry we’re late! Sokka wouldn’t–” Aang started and Zuko looked up sharply. 

“You brought your roommate?”

There was a painful silence as Aang looked confused. “Yeah, I figured–”

“No, it’s alright, I can come back another time,” Sokka interrupted, stepping away from the table. “You guys should bond, and stuff.” He took one last longing look at Zuko, whose cheeks were now bright red and whose frown had turned into more of a glare.

And who was also making to stand up. “No, I’ll go, I shouldn’t have– I’ll go. You guys…” he trailed off and waved his hand slightly at them, trying to get up and push past Sokka. 

Sokka grabbed his hand. “No, really, it’s alright.” Zuko met his eyes and then dropped his gaze to where Sokka had loosely circled his wrist. He didn’t say anything, but he seemed mortified. “Really,” Sokka said again, softly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Zuko’s own golden ones; in the morning sun they seemed molten, liquid. They were the most alive things that Sokka had ever seen. He wanted to paint them, he wanted to frame them, he wanted to look at them for the rest of his life. “It’s alright. I’ll go.”

After another few seconds where neither of them moved, Aang cleared his throat. “This is hella weird, guys. Have you met before, or something?”

Zuko finally looked away and opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. Sokka jumped in for him. “Yeah, he’s been haunting me,” he said cheerfully and carefully tugged Zuko back towards the table. 

“It wasn’t–” Zuko started to defend himself as Aang turned to him in astonishment. “Yes,” he sighed, “I was haunting him.”

“But it’s fine, it’s more than fine,” Sokka explained, “Because it’s leagues better to find out that you’re ghost is a real, attractive person and not a hallucination!”

Aang looked at him, mouth agape, and then at Zuko, who had gone red again, but was looking down at the table shyly. “I never said you were crazy, Sokka, that would have been really mean.”

Sokka waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, bleeding heart. You thought it though.”

“Well, Katara might have suggested it…”

Zuko interrupted, “Can we get back on topic?”

Aang nodded brightly and steepled his fingers in front of his chin, mimicking a Very Important Businessman. Sokka thought it looked ridiculous. “Yes, of course. I was just saying to Sokka that I believe he can share his bed until we find a cot or something for you, because I’d just feel terrible–”

“That is not what I said, Aang!” Sokka cried after glancing at Zuko, who’d blushed beet red again. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to– to intrude,” Zuko was saying stiffly. “I’ve been staying in a hotel, and I’ve nearly got a flat myself, so it’s really all–”

“Nonsense,” Aang waved him off. Sokka tried to communicate his great distress to Aang through his eyebrows, but he was pointedly looking at Zuko instead. “We’d be happy to have you. I know it must have been pretty hard for you these past months, and I don’t believe in kicking my friends out on a whim.”

Zuko still looked highly uncomfortable, but managed a hesitant, “Thank you. It hasn’t been–” he glanced at Sokka, who did his best to look intrigued in a reasonable way, and not an ‘I’m obsessed with you please tell me everything about your life’ way. “Well, you know. Uncle helped me out. I just had to get my head in the right place.”

Aang nodded sagely. “I’m gald you were with someone who was looking out for you, Zuko. Katara and I were really worried.”

Zuko just nodded again, somehow more awkward than he’d been before. His uncomfort had reached potent levels, and Sokka was pretty sure he could feel the tension in his bones . “You guys want coffee? On me, I’ll pay, you want a latte?” He jumped up and scanned the menu. “Cappucino? Iced mocha?”

“Just a tea, please.” Zuko said, and managed a smile that looked more like a grimace. 

“Hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows for me!” Aang recited and Sokka nodded quickly, scurrying off.

Whew, he needed to control himself. This man had been through a lot, clearly, these past few months. Enough to throw his phone out of a car window. Sokka knew some of the story from Katara, since he’d winkled it out of her during that period that he suspected Aang of being a possible axe murderer. His sister had had a psychotic episode, and when Zuko had gone to his dad for help he’d refused to acknowledge it, so he’d checked her into a facility himself, which then brought the wrath of his father down on top of himself and now he didn’t have any family to speak of fondly. It sounded like the plot of a movie. 

Point is, Zuko didn’t need Sokka throwing himself at him, he needed a place to stay. Which Sokka was more than willing to give him, knowing that this was the ghost he’d been making friends with this whole time. It was kind of comforting, in a way– Sokka felt like he already knew the guy. He’d be more than willing to share his bed, even, but his enthusiasm would probably not be… the best approach.

After ordering their drinks, he took his time idling with the sugar packets before heading back to the table. He was going to be cool and relaxed about this whole thing, and not ask for any more than a tentative friendship.

Zuko looked up and smiled at him when Sokka sat back down, and there went his dreams of being suave and reserved. Oh, he was so fucked.

“Aang was just insisting that I move in, and sleep on the couch or something. Will you tell him that’s a ridiculous suggestion? You seem like a sensible guy,” he said and only stuttered once. Sokka felt a rush of fondness.

“Why, thank you, I am a sensible guy. And my senses are telling me you should move in with us.” Oh, wow, way to play it cool, Sokka. “If you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. Or, like, you could share my bed, if you wanted to, like, I don’t mind.” Sokka wanted to bang his head against a wall. What happened to being relaxed about it? “I can even sleep on the sofa, or we can put those pillow things up like a little barrier if you’re uncomfortable, or I’m sure Aang has like a yoga mat or something, but I mean–” Why wouldn’t he just shut up , “I don’t mind having you, I mean, it would be a pleasure–”

“Oh,” Aang announced, with a twinkle in his eye, gaze flicking from Sokka’s rambling to Zuko’s blush, accompanied by a little smirk. “I’ve just remembered I have a thing. A very important thing I have to go do right now.” He threw his hot chocolate down his throat and winced at the heat. “Why don’t you guys stay and finish up and then you can come back to the place later? Or, even better, Katara and I are going out for the day, so you guys can have the place to yourselves!” And then, to Sokka’s unending mortification, he winked.

“Well,” Sokka said when Aang had left. “Um.”

Zuko was just looking at him, smirking. He had a decisive mischievous glint in his eye that made Sokka’s throat dry. “So, you want me in your bed?”

Sokka buried his face in his hands. 

“It’d be nice to be there officially, I guess,” Zuko said, so Sokka looked up to find him looking out the window. He looked thoughtful. But more importantly– he’d been in Sokka’s bed?! “The apartment,” Zuko clarified hurriedly. “I’ve never gotten into your bed, that would have been weird. Well– not weird, I just mean–” He took a breath. “And you know I never got rid of my keys. You’d have to reorganise the fridge, though, that was an atrocity.”

Sokka chuckled, and looked down at his hands. “I started putting things in weird places just to bait you, after a while. I kinda wanted you to keep coming back.”

Zukko smiled. “It worked, then. As long as–” Sokka watched as the furrow returned. “I mean, I was breaking into your house for, like, months on end. You don’t– mind?”

Sokka shrugged. “I got used to it. I wasn’t as alarmed as I should have been, probably. Oh, man, you should see the conspiracy board, you’d love it.”

“Would I?” Zuko raised his eyebrows. 

Sokka nodded. “Come on, let’s go now! I’ll show you what we’ve done with the place,” he added with a wink.

Zuko got up and brought their mugs over to the counter. “I was a waiter, for a while,” he explained. Sokka couldn’t wait to find out more. He knew he was in this for the long haul; he could feel it. If Zuko let him, he’d never let him go.

About a hundred yards away from the apartment, Sokka finally worked up the courage to entwine his hand with Zuko’s. Zuko turned to him, smirked, and then draped his arm over Sokka’s shoulder.

Oh yeah, this was gonna be a good one.

***

[epilogue.]

Zuko woke up, warm and content, to sun streaming in through Sokka’s curtains. Their curtains. He was still getting used to it.

Sokka was asleep next to him, snoring gently with his mouth open. He had stopped cocooning himself, but now he had managed, once again, to sprawl over the entirety of the bed, leaving Zuko with no option but to curl into him. Not that he minded.

He snuck out of the room as quietly as he could. Aang and Katara were away again, volunteering for something or other, so he and Sokka had the weekend to themselves. Zuko yawned, and opened the fridge, pulling the bacon out of its rightful place on the bottom shelf, a concept that Sokka had finally come around to. He cracked a few eggs, put the bacon on to sizzle, popped the toast in the toaster– then looked around into the living room. Grinning to himself, he sidled up to the bookshelf and started flipping the books upside down.

When Sokka shuffled very loudly out of their room, making incoherent noises about meat, Zuko scurried back into the kitchen before he could notice anything. He pressed a kiss to Sokka’s forehead and darted back to the stove, but Sokka caught him around the waist and pulled him back for a proper kiss.

“Yuck,” Zuko mumbled against his mouth, but kissed him again. “Brush your teeth.”

“Not until after breakfast,” Sokka said, pulling mugs out of the cupboard that Zuko had put them in when he’d moved in. “Or else I’d have to brush them twice. I’m being water efficient.”

Zuko rolled his eyes and dished out the eggs and bacon onto two plates, while Sokka got the coffee machine up and running. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Sokka only grinned at him; that brilliant, joyful smile that took Zuko’s breath away every time he saw it. He knew he’d made the right decision moving in.

Sokka found the books a few days later.

“Zuko!” he screeched, “I’m sick of this shit!”

Zuko cackled, throwing the book he was reading down on the sofa and running towards the front door. Toph would give him safe harbour, she always did.

Oh yes, he’d definitely made the right decision.

[fin.]