Chapter Text
Zuko Leaves A2Z
No one in possession of social media could claim not to have heard: the famous (even occasionally infamous) brother/sister duo is no more.
A2Z, made up of siblings Azula and Zuko, were the darlings of the tween pop music scene when they began releasing music as a duo at ages 13 and 15, respectively. Over the years, they’ve matured with their music, having their share of publicised meltdowns, dramatic image changes, and explosive relationships, but through it all have stuck it out and stuck together. Then, this weekend, it was announced that they had decided to go their separate ways.
Zuko, the elder of the two, has come out publicly in the past about his struggles with anxiety, and had recently left his sister to carry the last date of their scheduled world tour due to “stress”.
This Saturday, Phoenix King Records released an official statement that left the world reeling:
After five incredible years Zuko has decided to leave A2Z. Azula will continue as a solo artist and looks forward to the forthcoming concerts of her world tour and recording her first solo album, due to be released later this year.
Zuko says: "My life with A2Z has been more than I could ever have imagined. But, after five years, I feel like it is now the right time for me to leave the band. I'd like to apologise to the fans if I've let anyone down, but I have to do what feels right in my heart. I am leaving because I want to be a normal 20-year-old who is able to relax and have some private time out of the spotlight. I know my sister will always be my favourite person in the world. I know she will shine and make the most of her solo career.”
Azula says: “I’m obviously sad to see Zuko go, but I respect his decision and send him all my love for the future. The past five years have been beyond amazing; we've gone through so much together, and he’ll always be my big brother. I will continue to make music and look forward to stepping into the limelight on my own. I'm looking forward to recording the new album and seeing all the fans on the next stage of the world tour."
Ozai, head of Phoenix King Records and Azula and Zuko’s father, says: "I would like to say thank you to Zuko for everything he has done for Phoenix King Records. Since Zuko was born I have grown very, very fond - and immensely proud - of him. I have seen him grow in confidence and I am truly sorry to see him leave. As for Azula, fans can rest assured that she is a powerhouse and a spectacular performer and will only flourish now that she has been given the space to do so on her own.”
As for the rest of us, we’re left with one question on our minds: What will Zuko do now?
Related Articles:
Why Zuko Has the Makings of a Great Solo Star
26 Touching Memorials A2Z Fans Set Up to Mourn Zuko's Departure
Azula Alone: The Pop Princess Shows No Signs of Missing Her Brother in Australia, Her First Solo Show Since Zuko’s Departure Was Announced
Zuko Is Leaving A2Z, Here are 40 pictures of Zuko With Small Animals To Soothe Your Tears
Reactions to Zuko Leaving A2Z From His Sister, Ex-Fiancée, and More…
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z ✓ @zukohere
Thanks for the memories.
5 yrs ago 56.4k likes 124k retweets 78.5k replies
zuko updates @ zukoa2zupdates
Today, Zuko went out to his local bakery, got some sweet buns, and then on the way home decided to STICK A RUSTY KNIFE IN MY HEART WHAT THE F U CK
5 yrs ago 3.4k likes 1.4k retweets 324 replies
zuko updates @ zukoa2zupdates
SAY SIKE I’M FUCKING BEGGING YOU SAY SIKE
5 yrs ago 2.2k likes 345 retweets 589 replies
did zuko look hot today @didzukolookhot_today
DID ZUKO LOOK HOT TODAY AS HE RIPPED THE STILL BEATING HEART OUT OF MY CHEST PULLED THE RUG OUT FROM UNDER MY FEET AND LEFT ME A SOBBING MESS?? PROBABLY!!!
5 yrs ago 24.2k likes 35.4k retweets 324 replies
A2ZUpdates @a2zupdates
To everyone in our mention unfortunately this is not a joke. Zuko has decided to leave the band. All we can do is support Azula and Zuko going forward. - Kori xx
5 yrs ago 12.4k likes 234k retweets 1.5k replies
witch better have my money @localbiwitch69
i’m crying because Zuko left a2z but i’m ALSO crying because zuko referenced fall out boy in his goodbye tweet and i’ll probably never know if it was intentional or not
5 yrs ago 34k likes 754k retweets 345 replies
gluten free bae @maybeassbutcanbeouralways
just called in sick to work for an emotional health day…. i haven’;t stopped crying since i heard. nothing makes sense anymore
5 yrs ago 869 likes 128 retweets 24 replies
Annie Suza @ anniesuzabuzzfeed
my coworkers are building a shrine of Zuko photos and lighting candles… someone’s playing zuko’s acoustic version of ‘born lucky’ over the speakers… the whole office is in mourning
5 yrs ago 4.5k likes 7.6k retweets 278 replies
Zuko pulls his hood tighter around his face, keeping his head down. This was a stupid idea. The latest in a long line of them, actually. It’s weird that he’s doing this. It’s weird that he’s here. This was a terrible idea, and he should just leave.
“Uh… hi?”
Zuko startles, spinning around to face the source of the noise.
A guy about his age, with rich brown skin and honestly inconsiderate facial structure, steps out of the shadows and towards him. His hair is shaved on the sides and pulled back into a haphazard bun, and he’s wearing a KYOSHI tour shirt with the sleeves cut off. His arms, toned and curving with lines of muscle, are on display, accented by bands of thick, tattoo-ed lines. He’s flushed, and sweaty as his lips pull up in a lopsided half-grin in greeting. His long fingers are spinning a single drumstick back and forth across and around his knuckles in a steady movement that Zuko’d call hypnotic if the guy’s eyes didn’t have a monopoly on that particular attribute. Not to be gay, but jesus Fucking christ.
“…can I help you?” the guy says, when Zuko just gapes at him.
Zuko… can’t remember why he’s here.
The guy frowns, then places the drumstick between his full lips and teeth and makes a series of hand gestures that might be the sign language equivalent of what he’s just said. The motion of his hands snaps Zuko out of his stupor.
“Uh, sorry.” Zuko rubs at the back of his head. “Long day. I’m, uh, I’m here because… I wanted to talk to the band?”
“Ah,” the guy says, around the drumstick, glancing at the door he’s just come through. “Uh, no offence dude, but how’d you get back here?”
“They let me in,” Zuko says, instead of explaining the bit about the extremely recognisable scar that gets him in pretty much everywhere.
“Right,” he says slowly, and lets the stick fall out of his mouth before catching it without looking. “Look, not that we don’t like to meet our fans—”
We? Zuko blinks. He’s in the band? Zuko maybe should’ve looked up literally any details beyond when and where their next performance would be.
“No, I’m not. I’m not a fan,” Zuko says, then quickly backtracks when the guy raises a single eyebrow. “Not that—I’m not not a fan, it’s not like I don't like your music, to be honest I’ve never listened to any of it, not that I wouldn’t like to! I’m sure it’s fine, good even, but it’s just. Not my thing? I’m definitely not, like, stalking the band, I promise I just wanted—”
Luckily, someone comes bounding down the stairs to put Zuko out of his misery.
“Sokka!” a voice cries, coming from a person who Zuko— thank fuck —actually recognises from when he googled ATLA a week ago. “Katara says there’s a chocolate fountain in the greenroom, I told you this was a—oh hey.” The lead singer (Zuko really should’ve written down his name—Egg? That’s stupid, no one names their child Egg—though this is the music industry— fuck, what if it’s Egg?), whose avatar had come up in the google search, head shaved and distinctive blue arrows on his head and arms, stills as he’s about to spring himself off the bottom step. Apparently those arrows are actually tattooed onto his skin. Wild. He tilts his head to the side, appraising Zuko. “Fan?”
“Apparently not,” the other guy, the hot one (Sokka?), replies.
“Um, hi.” Zuko steps forward, pushing back his hoodie unthinkingly, unprepared for the way both of their eyes widen, simultaneously, in recognition. He gives an awkward half-wave. “Uh, Zuko here.”
There’s a beat of silence in which they both stare at him, before arrow head (Egg?) exhales, awestruck, “Yeah, we know who you are.”
Sokka, as he’s apparently called, gapes at Zuko. “…Katara’s gonna lose her fucking mind.”
“Uh, I don’t know who… that is.” Zuko frowns at him, before shaking away his own confusion. "But, uh. Yeah, uh… Zuko. Here. I said that already. I’m. Hi? I just, um, came to say sorry.” Fucking hell, this went so much better when he practiced in the mirror. “I… figured it was better to do it in person? I, um, know my record label—and I—stole your song and really fucked you guys over. That was wrong, and I’d like to make it up to you.”
A beat, before Sokka blinks. “Oh.”
Arrow head looks between them for a moment, before giving an emphasised shrug. “Hey, no hard feelings.”
Zuko stares at him for a long moment, waiting for a punchline that doesn’t come. Finally, he blinks. “… wait, really?”
“Really,” Arrow head says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was a dick move, but we got a lot of free publicity off of it, and eventually money, so. I dunno. I guess it’s your call, Sokka?”
Sokka looks at Zuko for a moment, before letting out a long breath that flutters through a strand of hair that falls in front of his face. “I suppose you’re forgiven.” The drumstick is back to twirling around nimble fingers. “Would’ve preferred an apology back when I was broke as fuck and some shit I’d written and posted on Soundcloud was suddenly on the pop top 40, but it doesn’t even break top ten evilest shit music industry assholes have pulled on us, really.”
… he wrote it?
Zuko would have come to apologise much earlier if he had known that.
Arrow head smiles at Zuko. “Can’t believe you came all the way... wild. Anyway, yeah, my guy. We’re cool.” He tilts his head, thoughtful. “Though if you want, you really should apologise to Katara. She’s the one who was—is?—most upset about it. You can come back to the green room with us! There’s a chocolate fountain.”
He grabs Zuko’s arm and pulls him back the way he came, and Zuko stumbles slightly, but lets himself be dragged, leaving Sokka to follow behind them.
This is… nothing like what he was expecting.
Pop Duo A2Z Are Accused of Stealing Hit Song “Fight Fire With Fire” From Local Band
If you hadn’t heard of ATLA before this week, you aren’t alone. The three part alt-rock group only has a few thousand plays on Spotify and one released EP, but they’ve been gaining traction in the twittersphere after a slew of loyal fans took to Twitter following the release of “Fight Fire With Fire”, A2Z’s latest single.
CONTINUE READING >>
A2Z Official @a2z
New single “Fight Fire With Fire” out now!! You guys aren’t prepared for this heat 🔥 #ffwf #a2z
6 yrs ago 689k likes 345k retweets 234 replies
katara’s bitch @ atlalesbian29
uhhhhhhhhHHhh. does this shit sound
familiar to Anyone else, or… #ffwf #a2z
#atlastolensong #a2zstolefromatla
6yrs ago 350 likes 198 retweets 87 replies
could a depressed person make this
@ jebug
they. BARELY. bothered changing the lyrics
a Little?? what the FUCK?? #ffwf #a2z
#atlastolensong #a2zstolefromatla
6yrs ago 421 likes 267 retweets 189 replies
the teo is scalding @ mechteo
@ATLA come get y’all song #ffwf
#a2zstolefromatla
6yrs ago 457k likes 1.8k retweets 421 replies
Soon, the hashtags #atlastolensong and #a2zstolefromatla began trending, with members of the band tweeting in response.
stream ‘la luna’ and support my beautiful incredibly talented girlfriend @ nocturnalsonofagun
stop linking me a2z shit… when i want to listen to soulless pop music i’ll ask.
6yrs ago 4.5k likes 68k retweets 329 replies
stream ‘la luna’ and support my beautiful
incredibly talented girlfriend
@ nocturnalsonofagun
wait ur telling me @a2z stole the music +
some lyrics to a song i wrote about missing
my dad when i was 15??? y’all really just
digging up shit on soundcloud now?? didn’t
even have enough taste to steal a good song
smh #ffwf
6yrs ago 6.2k likes 2.3k retweets 743 replies
stream ‘la luna’! @kataratheguitargirl
This is Shocking. This is why small bands have such a hard time getting a foot in the door! Anytime we have something good, some privileged, light-skinned children born to parents in the music industry steal it! They stole my brother’s song, which he wrote (1/2)
6yrs ago 6.5k likes 9.4k retweets 245 replies
stream ‘la luna’ @ kataratheguitargirl
(2/2) about our father joining the Military out
of High School and being called back to
active duty after our mother died! They
completely perverted its meaning and it’s
disgusting. #ffwf @a2z #a2zstolefromatla
6yrs ago 3.2k likes 234 retweets 463 replies
stream ‘la luna’ and support my beautiful
incredibly talented girlfriend
@ nocturnalsonofagun
bold words from someone who had a zuko
poster in her room in highschool
6yrs ago 435 likes 568 retweets 431 replies
stream ‘la luna’ @ kataratheguitargirl
shut the Fuck up, sokka
6yrs ago 6.2k likes 487 retweets 212 replies
stream la luna!!!! @ aangatla
not cool, guys. @a2z #ffwf #a2zstolefromatla
6yrs ago 7.2k likes 25k retweets 437 replies
Phoenix King records have yet to release an official statement.
Only one of the girls looks up when they open the door to the green room. She’s Sokka’s sister, obviously—the resemblance is immediately clear—and she drops the speared marshmallow she’d been holding into the chocolate fountain with a look of shocked distaste as her eyes lock onto him.
“Uh. Hello.” Zuko clears his throat in the heavy silence. “Zuko here.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.” She scoffs, straightening. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Okay, yep. That’s the reaction Zuko was expecting.
“Whoa, okay, tone shift,” says the other girl, sat behind the angry one. She’s got her head tilted back, shaggy black haired fanned out against the back of the couch, eyes closed and a bass slung across her lap, her fingers ghosting chords along the neck. “Who the fuck is Zuko?”
“Uh… I am?” Zuko says hesitantly, giving a little wave. Not that she looks up to see it.
“Hugely informative, thank you,” she deadpans, eyes still closed. “Anyone else?”
“Zuko,” Sokka chimes in, brushing past Zuko and sauntering over to the chocolate fountain, stabbing four strawberries onto one prong. “Teen heartthrob from back in the day? One half of Azula and Zuko, from A2Z? The brother-sister pop duo? Really, really shitty music but it was more about the eye-candy factor.”
Back in the day? Zuko makes a face. He’s twenty-five.
“No fuckin’ clue.” She shrugs. “I’m a little gay for that boyband shit.”
“Is anyone gonna tell me why he’s in my fucking green room?” says the angry girl, who hasn’t stopped glaring at Zuko. He's not exactly sure which of the two girls is the 'Katara' he's meant to be apologising to, but knowing his luck, it's her.
“Um, I just wanted to—apologise.” Zuko fidgets. Arrow head crosses over to the angry girl and presses a kiss to her cheek, before stepping around her to give Zuko an encouraging thumbs up from behind her head. “I know it’s no excuse, but I didn’t know it was your song when we… stole it. All of our songs were written for us and given to us to sing; I didn’t know where any of them came from and I didn’t care. That was wrong, and what our label did to you was wrong.”
“You’re right. It was.” She tosses her long braid over her shoulder. “We done here?”
“Katara,” Sokka says, leaning back against the couch. “You could be like. Even ten percent less of a dick.”
Scoffing, Katara turns to look at him, gesturing towards Zuko aggressively. “What, so you’re fine with him making millions off of stealing your song?"
Millions is a stretch, Zuko thinks but doesn't say.
“I mean, yeah? I don’t want people to know I wrote that shit, it’s embarrassing.” Sokka shrugs. “I got my hush money out of it, I’m good. Plus, the original song totally glorified the military, and was pretty sexist? And when I first played it for you you said, and I quote, a monkey with a tambourine could have written a better bridge.”
“Not the point, Sokka.” Katara huffs, then glances at her bandmates. “So you two are okay with it.”
“To be fair, I don’t think I was part of the band for this? Or I wasn’t paying attention.” The other girl shrugs. “Either way, yeah I’m cool. Mostly because I don’t give a fuck.”
“Katara, he did come all this way to apologise,” Arrow head, through a mouthful of chocolate and pretzels, warbles. “And he’s not part of the evil empire anymore.”
Zuko frowns. “The evil…?”
“Phoenix King Records,” explains Sokka, “y’know, ‘cause they steal music from independent artists and sign people to restrictive, soul-crushing contracts and dictate their musical direction, rob them of their individuality to make mass-produced easily consumable sludge and then run them into the ground from a constant cycle of touring and recording and press bullshit. That whole shtick.”
“Oh.” Zuko nods. “That’s fair. That’s… why I left.”
Katara rolls her eyes. “So why are you really here? What do you want from us?”
“Oh, um. Nothing, really.” Zuko falters. “I was in town and I heard that you guys were playing tonight, and… I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do.”
The room falls more or less silent, Katara’s eyes boring into Zuko like she’s trying to catch him in a lie, and the other three people in the room otherwise occupied with the chocolate fountain.
“Well that was unnecessarily dramatic,” says the other girl at last. “Hey One Direction, you like bananas? We’ve got a pile here no one’s gonna eat.” She taps against the table, next to a plate of banana slices. When Zuko looks at her, he notices how her eyes have a strange glaze to them, and don’t seem to focus on anything, which is… odd. Unless she’s on drugs, he supposes. This is the industry for that, after all. “Grab a fork.”
“Um.” Zuko glances around the room. “What?”
“Katara and I are both allergic.” Sokka nods in her direction. “Aang here,” he punctuates the words by slapping the Arrow head’s thigh (ohhh, Aang. Not Egg), “read an article about bananas inducing migraines and refuses to eat them any day we have a show, just in case, and Toph—that’s Toph, by the way—thinks they’re gross.”
“The texture is awful,” Toph confirms. “And the stringy bits? Fucking disgusting.”
Katara has, at this point, moved to sit next to Aang, and he turns to feed her a chocolate-covered strawberry as she sits down. She doesn’t seem to have any further objections to Zuko’s existence (seems to be ignoring him altogether, in fact) or his inclusion in sharing the chocolate fountain. Zuko, well. Zuko doesn’t exactly love bananas, but he feels uncomfortable refusing the offer. Sokka pats the spot next to him on the couch, and grabs the plate of chopped-up bananas as Zuko sits slowly.
“You’re doing us a favour, really. We’re no-waste people; we didn’t know they’d be giving us this spread or we would’ve told them no bananas. Alas. Here—”
Sokka spears a piece onto his prong, and leans over to turn it over in the fountain, inspecting it to make sure it’s adequately coated in chocolate before nodding his head approvingly and holding it out for Zuko. His free hand is cupped under the prong, and he looks at Zuko with a smirk just this side of encouraging. “Try it.”
He’s not. He’s not feeding him a chocolate covered banana, surely.
But Sokka doesn’t move to actually hand him the plastic fork, so Zuko, thinking he’s somehow slipped into an alternate dimension where gorgeous drummers offer to feed him chocolate-covered fruit like it’s no big deal, leans forward and opens his mouth. Sokka doesn’t look away as Zuko’s mouth closes around the food and slides it off the fork, and neither does Zuko.
When he’s swallowed, Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Good?” Zuko nods, still not looking away. “You’ve got a little…” He reaches out with his hand, a calloused thumb brushing along Zuko’s bottom lip.
Zuko’s pretty sure his heart stops.
This. This can’t actually be happening. The hottest guy Zuko’s ever seen didn’t just feed him, and isn’t now touching his mouth. Surely. Maybe Zuko fell and hit his head.
Really hard.
“Chocolate.” Sokka grins, and then brings his thumb to his own lips, sucking the smear of chocolate away. Zuko’s mouth goes dry.
What the fuck.
“ Sokka ,” comes Katara’s voice, a reprimand in and of itself, interrupting whatever hallucinogenic trance Zuko’s slipped into.
“ Wha-at ?” Sokka huffs, in a mocking approximation of her tone.
The two of them share a series of exaggerated facial expressions, a silent argument, before Katara rolls her eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to my brother. He always gets like this before a show.”
“Fuck off, you don’t know me—”
“Speaking of, we’re on in twenty, so if either of you two, specifically the narcissist I’m related to, want to, I dunno—get dressed? Now’s the time.” She glances to the side. “Toph, need anything?”
“Uh, yeah, could you do that fuckin’, weird, braided, mohawky thing again?” Toph asks, waving her hand in a circular gesture around her head. “Worked well with my target audience last time.”
Zuko glances around, confused. He didn’t think they would care about demographics here. “Target audience?”
“Thirsty sapphics,” Sokka says simply, around a mouthful of food. It’s objectively gross. But he’s somehow still probably the hottest thing Zuko’s ever seen. Unfortunate.
Everyone begins to move, muttering about pre-show checks. Aang and Sokka both shuffle into a side room, Aang doing lunges across the floor as he goes, and Katara moves to sit behind Toph and begins twisting and braiding her hair, periodically pulling bobby pins from her pocket. Zuko sits quietly on the couch, not feeling like he can leave but definitely feeling like he shouldn’t be in the room, trying to eat enough banana pieces to be polite but not all of them in case they were being polite about not wanting them. It’s slow going; he really doesn’t like bananas.
A bored looking guy with a lanyard pops his head in a bit later. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
“Thank you ten,” Zuko responds instinctively, mid-chocolate dip, then freezes, looking back up. “I mean. Um. You weren’t talking to me.”
“Thanks Martin!” Aang reappears with a laugh, and lanyard guy leaves again. Aang turns to look at Zuko. He’s wearing a short black denim romper now, the top half left unbuttoned, and has begun adding wings of bright blue liner—matching his tattoos—to his eyelids. “I mean, if you wanna go out, I wouldn’t say no to a night of vocal rest.”
“Shit, can he play the bass? I’m happy to just fuckin’ sit and eat chocolate all night,” Toph adds.
“Alright nerds,” comes Sokka’s voice, and Zuko turns to see he’s also put on eyeliner and a light trail of glitter along his cheekbones. Jesus fucking christ . “Let’s rock this bitch.”
The girls stand, and it becomes clear that they’ve all dressed for a theme: black denim and glitter. From Aang’s romper and glittering boots, to Katara and Sokka’s juxtaposed outfits—she’s wearing tight sparkling leggings and a black strappy top; he’s wearing a glittery sleeveless top—just this side of sheer—and black ripped jeans. Toph stands, and straightens her clothes as Katara pulls a bit of fluff off of the back of Toph’s sparkling blazer, hands smoothing down the back of her shoulder.
“Zuko, you’re welcome to stay here,” Aang says, finishing up his own eyeliner. “Finish the bananas! Relax. Or you can watch from the wings, I don’t know if you like our music.”
“What’s not to like?” Sokka says grandly, with an exaggerated wink.
Katara links her arm with Toph’s, leading her around the table. The two of them walk out the door, Aang following close behind. Zuko gets to his feet, then startles when Sokka comes up behind him, a hand on the small of his back.
“Stick around, yeah?” he murmurs, a hair’s breath from Zuko’s ear, then pulls away with a conspiratorial grin. “We put on a hell of a show.”
With that, Sokka strides out of the room, leaving Zuko frozen in place, wondering what the good fuck just happened.
Zuko stays, because he’s curious but admittedly mostly because he’s gay, and watches from the wings.
He gets a few strange looks, but no one questions his presence as he watches ATLA start their set.
The stage goes dark; a buzzing, electric silence, thick and heavy with barely-contained anticipation, falls over the assembled crowd.
A steady, pulsing beat fills the air—Sokka’s drumming—as the rest of the band stands, motionless, illuminated for a brief second as the spotlight flashes on each of them in turn, on-beat.
It builds, then finally breaks—Katara coming in with a slide of notes that cuts through Sokka’s beat, then Toph’s heady bass, and finally Aang begins to sing.
And they’re… incredible?
Not really Zuko’s usual type of music, but there’s something so magnetic about the way they play together, and interact on stage. Dancing around each other, feeding off of the energy from the audience. Their chemistry and dynamic are seamless and natural, like they were born to play together.
Their parts are distinct, but not separate; Katara’s fingers float along the neck of her guitar, the undercurrent on which the music rides, smooth and ever-changing. Her voice, when she backs up Aang, or on the songs she takes lead vocals, is like a flowing stream, soft, fluid and gentle, until at once it isn’t, and the water crashes down, heavy and compelling as she effortlessly carries the songs through their crescendo.
Toph’s bass grounds them, and her. Compared to her bandmates, she’s practically motionless—she stands, stance fixed and firm, shredding through some of the most complicated bass riffs Zuko’s ever heard like they’re nothing. She takes a solo at one point and tilts her head, and glazed-over eyes, towards the hundreds of screaming fans. Her lips pull up, wolfish, a kind of ‘watch this’ grin as she tears into the notes. Where Katara’s voice is unassuming and gentle, with a depth that sneaks up on you until you’re already under a cresting wave, Toph’s is just as gritty and grounded as the rest of her, with an undeniable power behind it.
And then there’s Aang, soaring above them all. A ball of constant motion, he has to be at least six-foot-three, if not taller, and with a not insignificant amount of muscle bulking up his frame. And yet, he flits around the stage like he weighs nothing at all, like a little kid who’s just discovered the concept of jumping on the bed. And his fucking voice. Zuko didn’t know it was possible to do some of the things he does vocally. His range is ridiculous, bringing a solid bass to some songs, and an enviable falsetto to others. Not to mention, his charisma is tangible. The winning smiles, the easy banter, the little asides in between songs—he has the audience eating out of the palm of his hand.
The three of them are some of the most talented, captivating performers he’s ever seen.
And he knows this for a fact, because he manages to notice all these things about their various styles and talents, while Sokka is right there, playing, the entire time, and anything that manages to tear Zuko’s focus from him, even for a moment, has to be pretty fucking impressive.
Because holy fucking shit, Sokka.
He’s just the drummer. No one ever notices the drummer.
He is—quite literally—the background music for the main event. That’s what a drummer is.
He doesn’t even sing, for fuck’s sake.
And yet.
Zuko can’t explain it—there’s just something about the way he plays; Zuko can’t look away. Sure, he’s hot, but that barely scratches the surface. It’s the way he moves, the way he plays; never bogarting the song or overpowering the others, but still unfaltering and solid, the beating heart of the band. He’s never been so aware of the drum beat, the way it leads the other instruments, sets the tone of the song, the speed, the direction. And when the rest of the group hangs back, lets Sokka have a solo—Zuko’s never heard anything like it, certainly not from the drums.
Undeniable musical prowess notwithstanding, Sokka is, admittedly, so attractive it's a little annoying. He obviously let his hair down before going on stage, and it’s much longer than Zuko thought, falling around his shoulders in shining curtains, whipping through the air as the motion of his body punctuates the beats he pounds into his kit. Not to mention his fucking arms. Like someone breathed life into cut marble; moving, tensing, flexing hypnotically with the rhythm. Sokka spins his drumsticks into the air and around his fingers as he plays, little flourishes and tricks that only emphasise his mastery over his instrument.
There's a moment, during one of their songs towards the end of the set, when Aang holds his mic out into the crowd, and they all stop playing. Sokka looks out past the stage lights, whole body still, as the crowd all sing together, picking up where the band left off. His face is flushed and sweat-slick, and lit up like the sun. Breathless and beaming out into the crowd, Sokka's... there aren't words for how beautifully happiness sits in his features. His smile widens, before he tosses one of his drumsticks into the air, catches it easily, and meets his fans at the end of the verse with pounding, exhilarated enthusiasm.
Before Zuko knows it, they’ve played their last song, and Aang and Katara are stumbling, grinning through their exhilaration, back to his side of the wings. When they’re out of the stagelight, she tugs on his hand and pulls him in for a kiss. He dips her, catching the sound of her delighted giggles in his mouth, and the body of her guitar in his hand. Righting Katara, and making sure her guitar is settled comfortably against her back, Aang says something that Zuko can’t hear over the noise of the crowd, but it has her laughing, bright and open. It’s a little awkward to watch—the easy, comfortable delight of two people in love doing something they love together—but Zuko tries not to let that show in his face as Aang turns to spot him in the shadows.
Aang’s face lights up when he sees Zuko. “You stayed!” He glances at Katara before saying, “Come back with us, you can tell us what you thought of the show!”
“Um.” Zuko meets Katara’s eyes, uncertain, as the elated smile fades from her face. “I’m not sure…”
“Sweetie, give us a sec?” Katara says, and Aang pulls his arm from around her waist, presses a kiss to the top of her head, gives Zuko a little wave, and bounds away down the hall.
Then it’s just Zuko and Katara, and the sounds of people milling around the venue beyond them. Katara makes a reluctant noise, scuffing the toe of her heeled boot against the floor.
“Look, I’m—” Katara starts. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. You didn’t have to come all the way out here to apologise, and I appreciate that.”
“Oh,” Zuko says, unsure what else he could respond with. “I think I deserved it, really.”
“I mean,” Katara says with a hint of a smile, “you did, and most likely still do, profit from a terrible industry. And don’t think I haven’t seen the interview.”
Ah fuck. The interview . “You…” Zuko swallows roughly. “You saw that.”
“We’ve all seen it.” Katara rolls her eyes. “You were a dick, you know.”
“I know.”
She inhales slowly. “But you don’t seem to be one anymore, so.” She lets out the breath. “I’ll do you a favour.”
“Um,” Zuko says eloquently, because he didn’t… ask her for one?
“Pre-show nerves manifest in different ways for all of us. I get sort of. Intense. And single-minded. Aang is just like, a ball of energy, and Toph says fuck about three times a minute, and usually needs something to punch. Sokka…” She looks Zuko right in the eyes. “Sokka got really bad stage fright when we started doing this, and he compensates with an honestly irritating amount of overconfidence. Usually it’s just Toph, a lesbian, me, his sister, and Aang, my boyfriend. So there’s not really anything for him to aim that overconfidence at. But today, you were here. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“I… think so?” Zuko says slowly. “Or—no?”
Katara sighs, impatient. “The flirting. He doesn’t mean anything by it—he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, most of the time.” She rolls her eyes, but looks at him softly. “He has a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Zuko feels the flush of embarrassment flood his cheeks; he didn’t think he was being that obvious.
Katara smiles kindly at him, before she turns away towards the stairs, then pauses on the bottom step. “We’re headed to the bar with our opening band. You should come.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, but the invitation feels genuine.
Whoever pre-show Sokka was, he’s left the building by the time Zuko makes it back into the green room. Gone are the sultry looks and warmly flirtatious grins, and instead there’s a firm arm slung around his shoulders with unearned ease, a smile of fond camaraderie, and an exclaimed “Zuko, buddy!” He's already changed back into his clothes from earlier and tied his hair back up; Zuko tries not to mourn the loss of the mesh top.
"So, what'd you think?" he says, eagerly. "Did we kill it, or did we kill it?"
"That was really impressive," Zuko says, honestly, if not a little awkwardly. He can smell Sokka—a little bodywash, a little deodorant, mostly sweat. It shouldn't smell anywhere near as nice as it does. He bites down the impulse to tell Sokka he's never seen a drummer so effortlessly capture attention. Zuko can see Katara watching them in the table mirror, as she takes off her makeup. He doesn't like the soft pity in her eyes. "You guys were amazing."
Toph, splayed out across the couch in a sports bra with her bass slung across her lap, snorts. "You sound very enthusiastic."
"No, I mean it, I—I don't usually like rock music." Which is true; everything he's ever heard is just—noise. A lot of clamouring and screaming and Zuko's never understood the appeal. Their music, however. "But I loved your set." His gaze shifts to Aang as he walks out of one of the dressing rooms, pulling a sleeveless hoodie over his head (god forbid anyone in this band cover up their arms). "Aang, your voice is incredible."
Aang beams at him, while Sokka makes an offended noise. "Nobody ever appreciates the drummer." He scoffs lightly, giving Zuko a teasing shove out from under his arm. "Oh sure, it's all about Aang since he happened to be born with a six-octave range. Did he have to learn how to play anything? Nope. You know there are forty drum rudiments I had to learn and still practice daily? He just opens his mouth and whatever comes out, comes out. Fuckin' singers."
"Oh, are you self taught?" Zuko asks, because he had been wondering and it gives him an excuse to keep his eyes on Aang. "That makes sense, actually—on some of your sustained belts I could see your extrinsic neck muscles moving, and your vocal chords are a little thicker than they should be on your top notes." A beat passes wherein Aang's cheerful features still in confusion. "Just—uh, little things, you obviously are just naturally really talented so, uh, never needed vocal coaches. Um." He glances sideways; Katara's reflection has a single eyebrow raised at him. This is why he needs to fucking think before he just starts speaking. "Sorry, that's—that was rude, you don't need me telling—"
"No, no." Aang waves him away, smiling. "You're right, I've never had any coaching, I just—do vocal warm ups and stuff I learned when I was a kid. Am I doing something wrong?"
Zuko swallows, uncomfortable. "Not wrong , just. If you change your technique a little, you're a lot less likely to strain yourself or mess up your voice. Not that—not that I think you will , just—"
Sokka, probably recognising Zuko's tendency to tangle himself in politeness when he can't make himself stop talking and/or inadvertently insulting people, interrupts easily. "So, what I'm hearing is you're offering to give him some pointers." He walks past his sister, flicking her on the side of the head as he goes. "Aren't you glad you didn't kill him on sight? He's gonna teach Aang how to sing."
Katara rolls her eyes. "Aang already knows how to sing," she huffs, but catches Zuko's eye in the mirror again, and gives him a small smile.
"Now that we've saved Twinkles' vocal chords from an early grave, are we leaving sometime this century?" Toph pipes up. "Because if I don't get some food in me soon, I'm gonna start eating instruments. And I'm starting with the drum kit," she says, and Sokka makes an offended noise.
The four of them start moving again at that, discussing bar options and maintaining a constant, teasing stream of critiques of each other’s concert performance. They sweep Zuko up easily into their whirlwind, not bothering to ask before whisking him off and into the sticky warmth of a summer night in LA.
Zuko’s never experienced anything quite like this in his life.
To be fair, he doesn't have anyone in his life he could call an old friend—he only has one person he could comfortably call a friend ,full stop. Maybe two if you count Mai, but she was always Azula’s friend first, and their relationship was nothing more than a mutually beneficial publicity stunt. He liked her well enough, but never got to spend enough time alone with her to really define her as friend, exactly.
Regardless, it’s immediately clear that Aang, Toph, Katara and Sokka are friends, even family, before they’re a band and Zuko spends the first… hour? At the bar, squished into a private booth between Aang and Toph, just… experiencing their dynamic. Sokka and Katara argue across the table, but it’s fond and teasing, instead of thinly veiled aggression. Aang easily walks the tightrope between keeping the peace and egging them on. Toph, it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realise, is blind, and has a wicked, sometimes dark sense of humour. She’s got this no-nonsense temperament that’s an unexpected addition, but strangely complimentary, to the chaos of her personality. The four of them take turns telling Zuko increasingly ridiculous and embarrassing stories about each other, going all the way back to early childhood in the case of Katara and Sokka.
Zuko used to hate it when Azula made any allusions to his various inadequacies over the course of their shared childhood, but Sokka and Katara just laugh or gripe ineffectually while the other tells stories most people would find mortifying. They’re strange, this little band, but Zuko finds himself more at ease, surrounded by their raucous noise and storytelling, than he has in a very long time.
“—with so much confidence, like it wasn’t the stupidest thing ever to leave a human being’s mouth—”
“Oh c’mon, just because he has the sense of humour of a wet sock—”
“—says he’ll give him full use of the name, as long as he gets royalties—"
"It was a goldmine waiting to happen!"
"—he gets kicked out for the evening, and most sane people would've let that be the end of it, but oh no—"
Sokka leans forward on his elbows. "Okay, this is the good part, shut up Katara. So. Senior pranks. A time honoured tradition."
"You shut up, it's my story." Katara throws the burnt end of a fry at him. "He had special library access because of his dissertation, and just had to drag Aang into it, and the two of them spent all night turning the main librarian desk into a fake weed store, complete with props and a massive, custom-printed banner, just in time for campus tours the next morning."
Toph, who's been snickering lowly for the entire story, starts outright laughing. "Oh c'mon ," she chortles. "Wan Shi Bong's. It's funny."
Katara rolls her eyes. "It's infantile."
"Oh, sure, because there's nothing babies love more than drug puns."
"It was pretty funny," Aang says through a grin.
"Wow, you're never allowed to tell that story again." Sokka rolls his eyes at his sister. "Who the fuck says 'weed store'? It's called a head shop, you fucking narc."
"Sorry I was a little busy with med school, not all of us had time to hang around head shops 3-D printing bongs to hide around a sixty-year-old librarian's desk—"
"It's called multitasking and having a life—"
Still chuckling, Aang turns to look at Zuko as the siblings gripe at each other. "Anyway, the lifetime ban wasn't just for Sokka. I mean, at that point he had like eight days left before graduation, just wouldn't've been worth the effort. That specific library was restricted access only, and Katara and I had ours revoked too. So I started going to the Main Library, which was by the student union, and on my walk there one day there was this guy in front of the union handing out flyers for a battle of the bands at this local bar." He pauses to take a sip of his drink, then continues. "We were too late to get on the roster, but we wanted to scope out the local music scene, and who just happened to be opening the show but The Blind Bassist herself."
He makes a dramatic gesture as he smiles at Toph, who must feel his gaze, because she makes a face. "It sounded cooler when I was seventeen."
Zuko, for his part, raises an eyebrow. He asked 'so how did you guys all get together' at least forty-five minutes ago, and this is the closest he's gotten to a real answer to that question.
"Obviously she won, you've heard her play," Aang continues. "Just one girl and a bass guitar. Absolutely decimated the competition. And Sokka had been going on and on about how our sound was missing something crucial, and all the best songs had a bassline, so we had her come in and audition for us."
Toph raises a single eyebrow, and leans towards Zuko, just slightly. "They auditioned for me."
Zuko huffs out a laugh, then turns back to Aang. "So the three of you knew each other before college, obviously."
"Sure did." He nods. "I moved into their neighbourhood when I was twelve, and we've been friends ever since."
"As for me and Katara, my parents found her on the side of the road when I was little, and at first we thought she was like, a really ugly cat? Bu— ow, fuck you too—" Sokka grunts, as his sister very obviously kicks him under the table. He sighs, put-upon. "Obviously, I have known Katara since she was born. Somehow, the genes that combined to make all this—" he gestures to the length of himself, "also made... whatever's going on there," he says, open palm gesturing in a circle towards the general area of Katara's face.
Katara shrugs. "Practice makes perfect."
Zuko laughs, light and contented, along with the rest of them, and leans back into the booth. It's... bizarre, because he's known these people for less than twelve hours, but still. He feels like he could get used to this.
Sokka knows his bandmates really, really well. In his sister's case, he has known her all her life. And because of this, Zuko will always wonder. That first night, that first bar, when Zuko noticed Toph starting to check the time on her phone, and Aang beginning to yawn, did Sokka notice it too? Did he purposely flag down the waiter the moment Katara left to the bathroom, so that when she returned and didn't sit back down but instead yawned, inclined her head toward the group and said, "I think it's time to head out," he'd be able to look up and say, "I literally just ordered a plate of nachos"?
Either way, Katara had no intention of waiting for his order to arrive, and had quickly corralled the rest of the group into leaving with her. All except Zuko, who, against his better judgment and instincts of self-preservation, offered to stay. Katara'd given him a significant look, but rolled her eyes, impressively conveying 'it's your funeral' silently, and the three of them had said their goodnights, leaving him and Sokka alone.
Was he trying to spend time with Zuko alone?
"I'm glad you're staying, dude." Sokka had grinned across the table at him. "These are some of my favourite nachos in this city, and they're definitely the sharing kind."
And Zuko was forced to look at Sokka, because there was nowhere else left for him to look.
It was bad, earlier, when Sokka was watching Zuko like he wanted to eat him and feeding him things dipped in chocolate.
It’s worse now.
It’s worse because Sokka is painfully earnest as he tells Zuko about how he, Katara and Aang started a little band in their garage and never thought they’d get anywhere near where they are today. How he retells the story of the three of them, discovering Toph in the battle of the bands with so much pride in his friend that it really doesn't matter that Zuko just heard basically the same story an hour earlier. Zuko sits across from him and just... takes him in. The little things: Sokka uses any utensil as a makeshift drumstick, spinning and flipping his plastic fork around the spaces between his fingers as he rambles, seemingly without noticing he’s doing it. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he has this way of smirking that makes the hairs on Zuko’s arms stand up. He fingers the edge of his necklace sheepishly every time Zuko compliments him. He seems to have a dozen or more different laughs depending on the situation, and Zuko has, admittedly, had a couple drinks, but thinks privately he'd happily sit and watch until he could categorise each of them.
It's worse because he delights in trying to make Zuko laugh, telling shitty jokes and making shitty puns and his entire face lights up when Zuko chuckles back at him. He criticizes Zuko's music taste, or lack thereof, without any real judgment behind it; seems to delight in just giving Zuko a steady stream of music recommendations that Zuko will absolutely forget come the morning, but it seems to make Sokka happy just to share his opinions with a willing audience. Because he jumps up to help the waiter who’s balancing their drink refills and nachos, drowning in cheese, covered in jalapeños, and stacked so high it easily constitutes the second-most impressive thing Zuko's seen in a long time. The first-most grins conspiratorially at him, and snatches the two of them a pile of napkins from the next table over.
Because he wants to learn about Zuko's life, but doesn't ask about famous people he's met or parties he's been to; he asks Zuko why he got into music like he cares.
It’s worse because Sokka talks to Zuko like he’s interested in what he has to say.
“I mean, did you always wanna become an international icon and then disappear off the face of the earth?” Sokka waves a nacho at him. “Cause, I mean. Respect.”
Zuko falters. Why did he want to be in the industry, anyway? “My mom. Um, she was an actress. Not a famous one, but she loved theatre, and did a few musicals before she married my father. She would take me and my sister to the theatre all the time. And at home, we’d put on shows for her. Azula was the actress, really, I was pretty bad at it. But I—I’d sing, and my mom just looked so proud. She came to every one of my talent shows, sat in the front row. When we lost her I—I just wanted to feel close to her. She always loved when Azula and I performed together, most of all, so.” He pauses. “It made sense at the time. I loved music, even if I didn’t love the music we were making.”
It’s not the conversation he expected to have over a basket of greasy nachos, but it comes easily, talking about this with Sokka. It feels like they've known each other a lot longer than a few hours. “It was nice, watching you guys perform tonight.”
“I’m glad!” Sokka beams, and it warms Zuko down to his toes. “You liked our sound?”
“Yeah, actually. But that wasn’t the only reason,” Zuko explains. “I mean, obviously you guys all love each other. And you have fun on stage together, which was... refreshing to watch. But it’s also really obvious how deeply you connect with your songs. You really love music, and performing. It’s nice.”
Sokka hums around the straw of his cocktail. “You don’t love it?” He laughs, seemingly at himself. “I mean, that would explain why he quit, Sokka, you idiot.”
Zuko laughs. “It would.” He looks down again at his hands. “I dunno, just. The rush I’d get when I performed, when a crowd was cheering for me, when I sang and it was like nothing else mattered. I realised I hadn’t felt it in years.”
“And you haven’t tested whether you can get it back? That feeling,” Sokka clarifies. “I mean dude, I know that feeling. For me, it’s hitting those perfect beats, feeling the vibrations in my soul, just—you’re right, it’s a love for the music. I’d chase that feeling to the ends of the fucking earth.”
Shrugging, Zuko grabs a nacho. “Honestly? I barely even sing in the shower anymore. I think I’m just meant to move on, you know? Find something else to do with my life.”
Sokka looks at him for a second, then hums his agreement. “Maybe.” He takes another drink before saying, “Gotta admit, I’m kinda disappointed none of the conspiracy theories about you were right.”
Zuko raises his eyebrow. “Conspiracy theories?”
“Yeah, man,” Sokka says. “You were actually an AI they were testing out that started malfunctioning, you were brainwashed by the secret police to be a sleeper agent in their war against democracy, you assumed a false identity and’ve been hiding in plain sight, working at a tea shop—”
Zuko, who has been chuckling, grins at Sokka. “Oh, that one’s true, actually.”
“You’re kidding.” Sokka leans forward, obviously intrigued. “I mean, I guess your hair’s long now, but you’d think the scar would be kind of a dead give-away. No offence, obviously, you fucking rock it, but.”
“Oh, the guy from that band?” Zuko deadpans. “Yeah, I get that a lot. His scar’s on the other side, though.”
“And that works.”
“Every time.”
Sokka throws his head back and laughs, exposing the long line of his throat and Zuko's proud to say he only stares for a second before forcing his gaze back down to the table.
“I am curious where you’re getting these theories, though,” Zuko says, when Sokka’s laughter has subsided.
“Oh, I googled you on the way over,” Sokka says simply. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an off-limits topic in case there was a danger of me putting my foot in my mouth and destroying any hopes of you ever talking to me again. The conspiracy theories are basically the only thing that comes up under your name after all this time.”
“Really?” Zuko wonders. Okay, ‘all this time’ is a bit of a stretch. He's only twenty-five . “That’s. Bizarre.”
“Do you not google yourself?”
Zuko’s brow furrows. “Why would I?”
“Curiosity? Vanity? Masochism?” Sokka shrugs. “I once found an entire Reddit thread that claimed the order in which I wore other bands’ t-shirts proved I was a member of an underground race of lizard people indoctrinating the youth into socialism. Like, uh yeah, I fuckin’ wish I was. I dunno, it’s fun.”
Zuko's never been on a real date in his life. Kind of pathetic to admit, and admittedly his uncle might disagree, but both he and Jin have agreed that their singular, failed attempt doesn't count.
He likes to think, if he were to date someone, it'd feel like this. The thrum of nerves under his skin never goes away, but Sokka's exuberant storytelling keeps him from noticing it, most of the time. They share food, and stories, and just... enjoy each other's company. Even Sokka's stupidly attractive face gets a little easier to look at, with time.
Okay, so he can't have Sokka. He'd be out of Zuko's league even if he didn't have a girlfriend (and Zuko is, predictably, too preoccupied with delighting in the simple pleasure of spending time with Sokka to wonder why he doesn't mention her once, the entire night) so her existence really just helps his stupid heart understand the uselessness of hoping for anything between them. Which is fine. Honestly, he could use another friend; Jin's not nearly as nice to him as Sokka is.
The night ends, because it has to; time might seem to slow when Sokka's in front of him, laughing at something Zuko's said, but for the rest of the world it trudges on, same as it always has. Sokka pays the bill with an easy, “Working at a tea shop can't pay that well, and I am a rockstar, y'know,” waving away Zuko's protests that he was, actually, famous once and does still have more money than he knows what to do with.
There’s a car waiting for Sokka outside, and he insists on driving Zuko as well. “I like to walk when I can, but this city's fucking terrible for it. Car’s electric though, so that's something,” Sokka says, by way of explanation.
They drop Zuko off first, and he gets all the way to the awning of the hotel’s entrance when he hears Sokka shout his name. He turns around, and Sokka’s leaning out of the window, looking tired, but softly so. He smiles at Zuko with a simple, heart-stopping fondness.
“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” he calls, and Zuko can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
It wasn't a date, Zuko thinks, as he waves back. He stands and watches until the car disappears, then turns back to walk into his hotel. It still felt like one.
In the morning, when he wakes up, he'll realise he doesn't have any reason to ever see Sokka, or any of the band, again. He doesn't even have any of their phone numbers, he'll think helplessly, and he will stare up at the ceiling of his hotel room and feel the loneliest he's felt in years.
For the moment, though, he strides across the lobby, feeling a warm lightness deep in his chest and whistling a tune he can't name.