Chapter Text
In retrospect, Zuko should have taken the high tide as a sign. He really should stop trying to procrastinate on work.
Zuko had been going for a walk down the beach twice daily since he arrived at Ember Island, and he was loath to give up his perfect streak. The beach adjacent to his house was about a mile in length, but that was too short for Zuko. He would scramble around the base of the nearby cliff to get to the next beach, which ran for another four miles. He usually only made it about halfway up that one before turning back, but if he was feeling particularly determined, sometimes he did the whole thing. It was easy to make the trek when the tide was low and Zuko could walk on the sand most of the way. This evening, however, the tide had been particularly high, and Zuko had had to wade through to attempt his usual sojourn.
If he had been wading slowly and carefully, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament. Alas, Zuko had been walking gingerly, trying to avoid any submerged rocks. Instead, he had delicately slipped his foot onto the top of something slippery, and it wriggled and took a chunk out of his foot.
Zuko hops out of the water, more shocked than in pain. A woman about fifteen years his senior, who had been admiring the waves, spots his surprised expression.
“Something bit me,” he says faintly, surprised at the amount and brightness of blood bursting from the top of his foot.
“Oh,” the woman says with a sympathetic grimace. “A stingray.”
Zuko watches as blood continues to blossom onto the sand around his foot. He dimly remembers that stingrays are a problem on this beach, but he’s never even seen one before. He realizes that he has no idea what to do.
“Have you ever been stung before?” the woman asks.
“No.”
“You need to get hot water on it,” the woman says. “I’ll go get the lifeguard. I saw one down a ways.”
Zuko offers a shaky thanks and limps after her. They are at the very far end of the beach, so Zuko decides that the fastest way for him to get help is to take matters into his own hands. The woman walks ahead of him, but she is not running, so Zuko keeps pace with her fairly well. He hobbles along the edge of the water; he’s not sure seawater is great for a wound, but it has to be better than sand, right? It doesn’t really hurt yet, but he knows the longer he walks on it, the worse it’s going to be.
Finally, he sees the woman approach a lifeguard seated in what looks like a dune buggy of some sorts — Zuko is terribly uninterested in cars, so maybe it could just a particularly sporty golf cart for all he knows. At any rate, the lifeguard revs the engine and rolls over the sand to reach Zuko, who stops walking. Once the cart stops, Zuko hoists himself into the passenger seat.
“Hey there,” the lifeguard says casually. “Stingray?”
“Uh, yeah,” Zuko says. “I think so.” He’s a little embarrassed to admit that his first thought was that he had been bitten by a tiny shark. He still hasn’t entirely ruled it out, but it seems unlikely at this point.
“What’s your name?”
“Zuko.”
“Hi, Zuko. How old are you?”
Zuko frowns. The lifeguard must be around his age, and yet he’s talking to him like he’s a child.
“Twenty-six,” Zuko says petulantly. Hm, maybe he does look childish; he certainly sounds like it.
“You allergic to anything, Zuko?”
“Uh, no. Not that I know of,” he amends. Maybe he’s allergic to stingrays and he’s about to make an unpleasant discovery.
“Well, don’t worry, man. We’ll get some hot water on you and you’ll be all good in no time.”
The cart rolls to a stop under the lifeguard tower.
“See that bench over there?” the lifeguard points. “Why don’t you hop down for me and I’ll meet you over there with some hot water.”
Zuko realizes as he hops down onto the sand that the calm he feels is a little too good to be true. His legs are trembling slightly as he lowers himself out of the cart. He doesn’t quite have the mental focus to figure out how the low door opens, which is concerning. Zuko might not be very mechanically inclined, but he should certainly be able to figure out how to open a door on what feels like a glorified go-kart.
Zuko sits down on the bench, which is really just a wooden plank buried in the sand, and sticks his foot in the hole that has been dug out beneath it. He can see now that the blood on his foot isn’t gushing nearly so much, but he’s still too nervous to inspect it closely. He can’t shake the stabbing sensation he felt — he knows logically it was a stingray, but he’s still a little afraid that there will be a tiny shark tooth embedded below the surface.
The lifeguard returns with a bundle of gauze, a plastic bag, and a large, blue bucket.
“Okay man, here’s what we’re gonna do. First, I’m gonna stop the bleeding,” he says, applying a pad of gauze to Zuko’s foot. He quickly wraps it up with blue bandage tape, pressing lightly to seal it in place. “Now, put your foot in this bag, and I’m gonna add some hot water. As hot as you can stand it, okay? The hotter the better.”
Zuko dutifully follows instructions, holding the bag open around his foot before the lifeguard tips the water in. Immediately, Zuko’s legs starts shaking uncontrollably, his hands clenched around the sides.
“Too hot?”
“Yes,” Zuko gasps.
“Okay, hang on.”
The lifeguard grabs another bucket nearby and pours in warm, but not hot, water.
“Better?”
Zuko nods, but speaking seems too difficult. It’s not that he is in unspeakable pain, more that he has finally realized that he is in pain. The eerie calm he had felt has been violently ripped away, and the remaining adrenaline makes his heart pound frenetically in his chest.
“Scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”
“Well, I’m still talking to you, so it can’t be that bad.”
Zuko says this as if someone else is in charge of his brain. It is a reflex — show no pain, show no weakness — but he’s honestly having trouble keeping focus now. Nearby beachgoers are giving him curious looks. One even wanders over to offer to help as the lifeguard slowly adds more hot water to Zuko’s plastic bag. The lifeguard jovially makes conversation with him while Zuko tries to focus on keeping his face as neutral as possible.
Once the interloper is gone, the lifeguard grabs a clipboard.
“Okay, Zuko, so we’re putting your pain down as a six, is that right?”
At this point, Zuko would give his pain an eight, but he doesn’t want to admit to it, so he just nods.
“Zuko, spelled Z-u-k-o?”
“Yes.”
“Last name?”
“Sozin. S-o-z-i-n.”
Spelling seems very difficult at the moment. The lifeguard asks for a phone number and Zuko gives it, thankful that this information can be retrieved automatically from his brain. The lifeguard asks him to repeat the last two numbers and Zuko can barely do it.
The walkie-talkie on the lifeguard’s hip crackles to life.
“Okay, Zuko. I’ve gotta go check something out real quick, but I’ll be back to give you more hot water, okay? Just take some deep breaths, man. I’ll be right back.”
Zuko nods faintly and watches as the lifeguard hops into his cart. Zuko’s muscles clench as he tries to ignore the pain, but with each passing second it mounts higher and higher until Zuko can’t stand it anymore.
He wrenches his shirt up to his face, trying to cover as much as possible. He already hates how much strangers stare at him — one of the many downsides of having a large scar across his cheek— but to cry in public is too much to bear.
Zuko takes deep, gasping breaths as the pain throbs in his foot. He’s not sure why he’s crying so much. Sure, it hurts, but he’s going to be fine. Objectively, he knows this. He’s clearly not allergic to stingrays, he’s being treated by the lifeguards, and he’s staying nearby on the beach. Everything will be fine.
But everything doesn’t feel fine. The searing pain feels amplified by his solitude. He desperately wants the lifeguard to return. He shouldn’t feel so abandoned by a stranger, but Zuko’s got a whole mess of abandonment issues. All of his most painful memories were accompanied by a loneliness so terrible, it always overshadowed the physical ache.
For once in his life, Zuko is thankful that he has panic attacks, because he can clearly see that he’s having one now. Unlike the rest of his panic attacks, this once hasn’t been triggered by something psychological, so it’s easier to identify the signs. His hands are so numb he can barely move them. He struggles to breathe even though he’s out in the fresh air. His legs are still shaking from adrenaline. He can observe these symptoms with just enough rationality to know what is happening, and recognize that it will pass eventually. But fuck, his foot really hurts.
The rumble of the cart signals the lifeguard’s return. Zuko tries not to twitch too much and hopes his eyes aren’t red from crying.
“How you holding up, man?”
“Uh, is there more hot water?”
“Sure thing, man.”
The lifeguard fetches another bucket and he resumes adding hot water in slow increments.
“How’s the pain now? Still at six?”
“Um,” Zuko stutters. He doesn’t want to admit it being worse than a six, but he figures it’s not a good idea to lie to someone who, while not exactly a medical professional, has at least dealt with this problem before. “It went up while you were gone.”
“Ah, sorry, man. Should’ve given you more hot water before I left. How high is it now?”
“Now it’s okay,” Zuko says, feeling calmer. He can finally notice the look of concern on the lifeguard’s tanned face.
The lifeguard is very handsome, even with the slightly goofy uniform all the lifeguards have. He is wearing a huge panama hat to shade himself from the Ember Island sun, and his sunglasses cover a good portion of his face. But his jaw is cut sharply, and white teeth flash when he speaks, and that’s more than enough to pique Zuko’s interest. The bulky windbreaker and board shorts are not exactly form-flattering, but the man still looks perfectly muscled. The tanned calves and forearms that peek out from the uniform are daydream-quality. Zuko wishes sometimes that he wasn’t quite so easily swayed — life might be slightly easier for him if he didn’t swoon at an exposed wrist like some sort of Victorian socialite.
It gets worse. The sun is dipping low enough on the horizon that the hat becomes unnecessary, so the lifeguard goes to set it down while he fetches more hot water. When he returns, Zuko tries not to stare. The man doesn’t seem to notice Zuko; he’s busy trying to gather his cropped hair to make a little ponytail, revealing a shaved undercut. Zuko’s mouth goes dry.
“Okay, Zuko,” the man says cheerfully as he kneels next to him. “How we doing?”
“Better,” Zuko says. “Maybe like a three now?”
“All right!” The lifeguard sounds pleased. “You should be good pretty soon then. Don’t worry,” he adds, seeing the look of worry on Zuko’s face. “I’m not kicking you out. Stay as long as you like.”
Zuko eyes the horizon, where the sun sinks even lower.
“Aren’t you going to be off duty soon?”
“Yeah, but it takes a while to shut things down. I’ll keep bringing you water until you can walk. Don’t worry man, I got you.”
“Thanks,” Zuko says, embarrassed. “I feel really stupid.”
“Don’t. This happens literally ten times a day.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. This beach has hella stingrays. On the weekends, we can get like fifty incidents in a day, easy.”
“Oh,” Zuko says, surprised. “And hot water is really all it takes?”
“Well,” the lifeguard hesitates, rubbing the short fuzz on the side of his head. “It might still be swollen for a few days after. But yeah, for pain hot water is the way to go. Unless you’ve got something stronger at home. I’ve seen guys go to the hospital for stings though. You don’t need to, of course, but it hurts like hell from what I’ve been told.”
“Yeah,” Zuko says, thinking of his uncontrolled sobbing and swearing when the lifeguard had been gone. “It’s not fun.”
“Shoot, I forgot to ask, but do you live around here? Is there someone who can come pick you up? You should be able to walk soon, but it might be more comfortable if you don’t.”
“I’m staying a half a mile down the beach,” Zuko says.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Can anyone come get you?”
Zuko scowls.
“No.”
“Want a ride?”
“Are you allowed to do that?” Zuko asks, confused.
“Sure, I’ll be off duty in…” the lifeguard scans the horizon — “like half an hour. My boss won’t mind if I drop you off as long as I bring the cart back.”
“I can walk.”
The lifeguard shrugs.
“If you say so. Look, I gotta go bring the cones in and take care of stuff around here. Why don’t you dump that water out and I’ll get you a fresh batch. You can take off whenever you’re ready.”
He leaves again and Zuko tries not to stare at how the last golden rays of sun kiss his skin. Zuko sighs and sloshes his foot in the hot water. It really does feel much better, but although he’s grateful for the respite in pain, he feels a strange emptiness, too. He realizes with a jolt that other than the woman who had helped bring him to the lifeguard and the lifeguard himself, Zuko has not spoken to another human in almost a month.
He had done this on purpose. He was on a mission in Ember Island: to finally finish his manuscript. It felt so unbearably pretentious to say this out loud that it made Zuko very glad he had exiled himself to the beach house he had inherited from his mother. He usually rented it out during the year, but the loss of income from summer renters wouldn’t be a huge problem. Although Zuko often feels guilty about his inherited wealth — and for the systems in the world that allowed his family to amass such an obscene fortune — he thinks that perhaps it has been karmically balanced with all the other shit that’s happened in his life. He had given up most of the fortune already, but he had kept the beach house as his last link to his beloved mother. Everything else had been his father’s, and Zuko had been more than eager to throw his share away. Besides, Zuko wasn’t even sure his father was really dead — a part of him assumed that his father had faked his death somehow to escape impending criminal charges. Zuko certainly wouldn’t put it past him.
At any rate, Zuko could rest comfortably on the remainder of his money for quite some time, which meant the only things stopping him from actually finishing his novel were his own emotional hangups. They were many: his fear of rejection, his pursuit for perfection, his difficulty trusting others with important decisions. Zuko supposed it wasn’t fair to say he hadn’t spoken to anyone in his month on Ember Island — he called his therapist and his uncle weekly to check in — but he hadn’t talked to anyone in person. He barely left the house unless it was for his daily walks, and he was getting all his groceries delivered. Zuko had hoped that solace would help him focus, but being left alone with just his thoughts wasn’t working out too well.
Once the sun has truly set, Zuko decides it’s best to head home. He tries standing and his foot seems able to bear weight. He wishes he could leave a note to thank the lifeguard, but Zuko’s pockets are empty except for his keys and his phone. The beach is mostly deserted now; the afternoon had been unusually cool and windy, and now it is too dark to play in the surf. Zuko limps along the sand, trying to tilt his foot so it doesn’t get too dirty.
He makes it about fifty yards from the lifeguard tower before his foot starts to throb. The pain escalates quickly, and with it comes a burst of panic. Zuko can see his house in the distance, but it looks impossibly far away now. The stabbing pain in his foot increases with every step, and his breath comes in short, shallow gasps.
Bright light illuminates Zuko from behind, and an engine hums as the lights grow brighter.
“Need a ride?”
Zuko is too weak to refuse. Zuko struggles to hoist himself into the cart, and the lifeguard grabs his arms to help steady him. Once Zuko has settled into the seat, he lets out a hiss of pain.
“That bad?”
“Fuck,” Zuko grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
The lifeguard sets the cart in gear and they roll across the sand. Zuko tries to will the lifeguard to drive faster — his foot throbs with every bump — but the lifeguard continues to drive at a sedate pace. Zuko pants agains the pain, tears stinging his eyes.
“You know,” the lifeguard says cautiously, his eyes fixed on their path. “My sister is training to be a doctor. She told me that crying is actually really good for you. Lowers your cortisol levels, so your body actually feels less stress. I don’t know if it’s true, but she’s the smartest person I know so…”
Zuko is in too much pain to feel embarrassed any more. Tears spill down his face as he sobs, the sound mixing with the hum of the engine and the thrum of the ocean. He cries like a child, unable to catch his breath at the force of his gasps. The lifeguard says nothing, but Zuko isn’t sure he would really even hear it over his own pitiful weeping. After a few minutes, his crying abates — he does feel better — but the physical pain is just as sharp. He grips his uninjured leg tightly, clenching and unclenching his muscles as he tries not to wriggle out of the cart.
“Okay, Zuko,” the lifeguard says as they approach the end of the beach. “Which one is you?”
“That one,” Zuko points, grinding his jaw through the pain. “White steps.”
The cart rolls to a stop and the lifeguard hops out, extending his arms to Zuko. Zuko balks.
“You’re not carrying me.”
“I don’t mind,” the lifeguard says easily.
“I can just hop over.”
“On sand?”
Zuko scowls. Trying to hop over the short, sandy stretch that led to the steps of the house would certainly land him flat on his face.
“Fine,” Zuko grits outs.
Zuko hasn’t been carried since he was a child, and he will never admit it, but it feels pretty nice. Zuko can tell that the lifeguard is well-built. Zuko knows that he might not look it, but he is heavy. One of the few ways Zuko actually took care of himself was staying in shape, so each of his limbs was densely packed with muscle. From the feel of it, the lifeguard carrying him is built the same way. Were he in less pain, Zuko might even find it rather enticing to have a man be able to pick him up like this. As it is, however, it takes everything for Zuko not to cry again as the man sets him down in front of the gate. Zuko unlocks it with shaking hands.
“Are you really all by yourself?” the lifeguard asks in a worried tone. “No friends in town you can call to check on you?”
“No,” Zuko confirms. Tears are forming again with alarming speed.
“Look, I gotta bring this cart back, but would it be okay if I came by later? Just to make sure you’re doing alright.”
“You’re off duty,” Zuko points out.
“I know. It’s my time. I want to spend it to make sure you’re okay.”
Zuko really should just head straight for more hot water for his foot, but this gives him pause.
“Why?”
The lifeguard looks embarrassed.
“I don’t know, man. I’m not trying to make it weird. Just… I dunno, most people are assholes to me all day, and you weren’t. And if it were me all alone, I’d like having someone come bring me a burrito or something.”
Zuko hesitates for a moment before a spasm of pain demands his attention.
“Okay, I’ll leave the gate unlocked,” he says, hopping up the stairs as he grabs the railings. “But you don’t have to —“
“What kind of burrito do you want?”
“You don’t have to —“ Zuko repeats.
“I’m getting al pastor. You like al pastor?”
“Sure,” Zuko says, slightly exasperated. His foot is killing him, but he just can’t bring himself to be rude to this man. He knows he will have to recount this story to his uncle when he checks in with him, and it would be too shameful to admit that he had been less than grateful to this kind lifeguard.
Zuko hears the cart rumble back up the beach as he hops frantically across the house. He tracks sandy footprints across the smooth floors until he stumbles into the bathroom, scrambling to turn on the water. Even though he’s wearing a pair of regular shorts, he sits down in the tub, feeling the water slowly seeping into the fabric. The hot water helps, but he starts weeping again anyway. It’s partly because of the pain — it still really, really hurts — but it’s more than that. His mind keeps replaying the injury: the sudden, unexpected stab to his foot, the fear when he was left alone and in pain. It’s a horribly familiar feeling, and he finds himself clutching the scarred side of his face as memories swirl inside his head.
The pain ebbs slowly, and Zuko’s emotions quiet. He’s feels tender and bruised, suddenly aware just how pitiful he must look: fully clothed and half-submerged in the bathtub, alone and trembling slightly. He slowly gathers his wits about him. He might be alone, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take care of himself.
Gingerly, he steps out of the tub and drains it. He decides the sandy floor can wait, and he hops around the house to gather his supplies. He struggles to swap out his now-soaked shorts, and he tugs on a clean shirt and swim trunks. He programs the hot tub outside to as hot he can, and he swallows a few Ibuprofen for good measure. He had had enough foresight to remove his keys and phone from his pockets before submerging himself in the bathtub, and he brings them outside with him as he soaks his foot in the roiling hot tub.
He debates calling his uncle but decides against it. Iroh would worry, and really, Zuko was fine. A little hungry, perhaps, but he would find some leftovers in the fridge to heat up once his foot hurt less. Zuko was just fine on his own.
A half hour passes, and Zuko stares up into the inky black night. He thinks about all the final edits he needs to make to his writing. He’s starting to worry he won’t ever really be done with it, or worse, that he doesn’t want to be done with it. Because what will he have once he’s put the story out on the page?
Distracted by his own thoughts and the hum of the jacuzzi jets, Zuko doesn’t hear the gate below swing shut. He does, however, hear the shuffling of feet up the stairs and panics slightly.
“Hey, man, it’s me! How’s the foot?”
Zuko gapes. He had not entirely forgotten the lifeguard’s promise to return, but he hadn’t quite believed it either. He can see that the man has changed into a cerulean sweatshirt that highlights his piercing blue eyes. Zuko is momentarily stunned into silence.
“Al pastor burrito from Mama J’s,” the man says happily, thrusting a bag into Zuko’s hand. “Best in town.”
“Mama J’s?”
“Yeah, you been there before?”
“Never heard of it,” Zuko admits.
“Technically, that’s not the name. It’s a bar-restaurant hybrid. I don’t remember the bar’s name, but Mama J serves food inside. And her al pastor is the best. Need anything before I dig into this? Because I’m starving.”
“I’m good,” Zuko says faintly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“I think I did,” the lifeguard says with a smirk. “You’ve never had Mama J’s before! Forget your foot — this is a mission of culinary education!”
Zuko’s stomach rumbles faintly. The burrito does smell delicious, and the aftermath of Zuko’s ordeal has left him rather hungry. He takes a bite and catches the man staring at him.
“Well?”
“It’s delicious,” Zuko admits.
The man gives Zuko a grin that makes his stomach clench. It’s going to be really hard to eat the rest of this burrito in the presence of someone so mind-bogglingly handsome.
The man seems unperturbed, however, and starts to wolf down his own burrito. His table manners leave a lot of be desired, but it makes it a little easier for Zuko to eat. Good to know this man isn’t perfect.
They eat mostly in silence. When Zuko finishes, the lifeguard stands to take the ball of foil from him and walks into the house to throw it away. When he returns, Zuko flushes.
“I realized I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Sokka,” the man says with a grin. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Zuko.”
“I remember.”
“Right,” Zuko says, flushing. “Er, thanks for the burrito. What do I owe you?”
“Nah, it’s cool.”
“I insist.”
Sokka eyes him for a moment with an evaluating expression. Zuko feels his heart flop in his chest.
“I’ll trade you for it.”
“Trade?”
“I’ll take a beer and some company,” Sokka says with a slow smile.
“Oh,” Zuko stutters. “Uh, sure. Beer’s in the fridge.”
“Awesome,” Sokka says eagerly. “Want one?”
“Okay.”
Zuko tries not to panic. He feels rusty from his lack of human interaction, although honestly he wasn’t all that great at it even when he was seeing people on a daily basis. He has certainly never figured out how to talk to someone as good-looking as Sokka. Zuko finds it ironic that even though he is attracted to both men and women, he isn’t good at talking to either.
Sokka returns, beers in hand, and plops down onto the edge of the hot tub. He sticks his feet in the water as he hands Zuko a can.
“Foot feeling better?”
“Yeah. Not much pain now.”
“That’s good.”
“Sorry about earlier,” Zuko blurts.
“For what?”
“You know… crying like a crazy person.”
“Eh,” Sokka says with a wave of his hand. “Happens all the time. The worst are the guys who get mad at me because they can’t just man up and cry like they’re supposed to.”
“Most people think it’s ‘manning up’ by not crying,” Zuko points out.
“Which is some heteronormative bullshit,” Sokka scoffs. “Nothing wrong with a good cathartic cry.”
Zuko says nothing, staring at the swirling water. He tries to remember the way Sokka had wiped salsa off his face with his bare hand to keep the powerful attraction he feels in check.
“So what’s with the house?” Sokka asks, looking around the yard as he sips his beer. “You like, famous or something?”
“Uh, no,” Zuko says, which is mostly the truth. Some might argue that his father Ozai was infamous as an immoral tech tycoon, but Zuko himself was not well known. The most fame he had achieved was anonymously publishing pieces in the local paper.
“Super rich?” Sokka continues to guess. “Housesitting? Illegally squatting while the owners are away?”
“My mom left me the house when she died.”
Something complicated happens to Sokka’s face that Zuko doesn’t quite understand. He can tell, however, that he has made things weird. He always makes things weird.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Sokka says finally, his face slightly pinched. “I, uh…I lost my mom, too.”
He rubs the back of his head, blinking rapidly. Zuko feels something tighten in his chest.
“Sorry,” Sokka says, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t really… I don’t really talk about her much, and…”
His voice cracks and his shoulder hitch.
“Someone really smart told me today that crying is good for you,” Zuko offers quietly. “And pointed out it’s very manly to cry.”
Sokka huffs a laugh.
“Sounds like a good dude,” Sokka says with a watery smile.
“Yeah, he seems cool,” Zuko agrees.
Sokka lets out a deep breath and fixes Zuko with a full grin that makes him feel slightly dazed.
“I’d say this evening is a very fair trade for a burrito,” Sokka says.
“I don’t know about that,” Zuko mumbles. “That beer is like a month old and I brought up my dead mom and made you cry.”
Sokka snorts.
“Yeah, well, it’s better than hanging out at my place.”
Zuko freezes.
“Are you… safe at home?”
Sokka goggles at him, slightly incredulous.
“Whoa, it’s nothing like that! I just live with my sister and her boyfriend is in town. They’ve been making googly eyes at each other all week.”
“Oh,” Zuko says, flushing. “That… doesn’t sound fun for you.”
Sokka shrugs.
“I mean I like Aang — that’s her boyfriend— and I love my sister, but I think they want some privacy. Ugh. As if I needed another reminder that I’m single as fuuuuck.”
Sokka flops down onto his back. Zuko is extremely glad Sokka can’t see the blush on his face.
“Doesn’t an Ember Island lifeguard have plenty of opportunities to meet people?” Zuko says, carefully avoiding mentioning any specific gender.
“Yeah, I meet a lot of parents who have lost their kids and people who get caught in rip currents,” Sokka says grumpily. “But even if I did meet someone cool, we are super forbidden from hitting on anyone. We’re supposed to be hyper vigilant all the time. The only reason I could come over here to help you out is because you got stung after my shift was over.”
Zuko blinks.
“Wait, what?”
“Oh,” Sokka says looking a little abashed. “Technically, I had just gotten off-duty when that lady approached me to tell me you got stung. I was gonna just leave you with my partner, Jet, but then he’s kind of a flake and he took off, so I just hung around and covered for him.”
“But I was out there for like an hour! He made you cover an hour of his shift after you were done?”
“Yeah, and normally I would be pissed, but I ended up with the better end of the deal. Now he owes me big for not ratting him out to our boss, which means he has to trade me for a Saturday shift and those are the worst. Plus, I got to meet you. Now I’ve got al pastor in my belly and my feet in a hot tub. Could be worse!”
Zuko fights a smile.
“Want another beer?”
“Sure. No, don’t get up,” Sokka adds quickly as Zuko makes to stand. “No way am I letting you walk around on that yet.”
“I’m fine now,” Zuko shouts at Sokka’s retreating form. “I looked it up and it says it should only hurt for sixty to ninety minutes.”
Sokka looks at his watch.
“Then you’ve got ten more minutes of me annoying you!”
Sokka returns again and they clink their cans together.
“You’re not annoying me,” Zuko says finally. “It’s… nice. Having someone else around.”
“You live here alone then? This house is huge.”
“I don’t normally live here,” Zuko explains. “I just came for the summer while I’m… working.”
“What do you do for work?”
Zuko hesitates.
“Are you a secret drug lord?” Sokka asks with a grin. “Mad scientist? A wealthy widower with a dark and mysterious secret?”
Zuko’s face twists into a grimace.
“Guess I really look the evil part, huh?”
Sokka looks horrified.
“No! No, that’s not what I meant! Zuko, I —“
“It’s fine,” Zuko lies.
“No, dude, really,” Sokka pleads. “I didn’t mean anything like that. I…”
Sokka bites his lip, taking in Zuko’s defensive stance. Zuko tries not to scowl, but he was never very good at hiding his feelings.
“I don’t really trust rich people,” Sokka admits finally. “I grew up… well, I didn’t really know we were poor but it was pretty obvious we didn’t have a lot. And our whole community just kept getting fucked over by all these companies just trying to make money off of our lands and… I guess I still have a hard time thinking anyone rich really deserves what they’ve got.”
Zuko turns to face Sokka. He’s usually not one to forgive people for hurting him — experience has proven that people who hurt him once are willing, and often eager, to do it again — but he can see the remorse on Sokka’s face. His blue eyes gleam in the dim light of the moon.
“Seriously, I wasn’t trying to be a dick,” Sokka says sadly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Zuko repeats, surprised that it’s not a lie this time. “Rich people suck.”
Sokka’s eyes flit to the house.
“I know,” Zuko says with a wry smile. “I suppose I can’t really complain. But I agree with you, and my family definitely got more than their share. And not by playing fair, either.”
“Well, you don’t seem so bad,” Sokka says, still looking slightly shamefaced.
“I’m here to work on my novel,” Zuko admits. “There, am I as much of a rich douchebag as you thought?”
He tries to play it off as a joke, but Sokka looks interested.
“What kind of novel?”
“Um,” Zuko says, suddenly shy. “Fiction. Sort of a coming-of-age story, I guess.”
“How much have you written?”
“Almost all of it, actually. I’m supposed to be finishing it this summer, but I’ve been slow.”
“Can I read it?”
Zuko swallows heavily.
“Uh, I’m not sure… I’m not really ready to show it to anyone yet.”
“That’s cool,” Sokka says brightly. “Wow, that must have taken a lot of time. A whole novel!”
“It’s not a big deal,” Zuko mumbles.
“Yeah, it is. That’s awesome, man. And hey, I know it sucks you got stung, but now you’re gonna be off your feet for a few days. Maybe you can work on it more?”
“…That’s a really good point.”
“And then can I read it?”
Zuko eyes Sokka with suspicion.
“Why do you want to read it?”
Sokka shrugs.
“I’m bored,” he admits. “I need something to distract me from my sister and her boyfriend, remember? Nothing like a good book to take you away from a bad time.”
“What if it’s a bad book?”
“I once hate-read all of the Twilight books after I broke my leg.”
“…Oh, Spirits, that sounds awful.”
“It was,” Sokka says cheerfully. “But it was kind of nice to have something to be mad about that wasn’t just being stuck at home with a broken leg while my friends got to go outside.”
“You’re really optimistic, aren’t you?”
“No way! I’m a realist,” Sokka says with passion. “And I know that sometimes life really sucks and the only way out of it is through it. Or around it, if you’ve got a good distraction I guess.”
Zuko smirks and turns to stare out at the ocean. The two of them sit in silence, listening to the waves crashing along the shore as they nurse their beers. Sokka’s phone buzzes a few times, but he ignores it. Finally, he heaves a sigh and pulls it out of his pocket.
“Everything okay?” Zuko asks.
“Yeah, just the surf thread.”
“Of course you surf.”
Sokka flashes him a toothy smile.
“Yeah, but I’m pretty terrible. Grew up in the South Pole,” he adds to Zuko’s skeptical look. “Not a lot of surfing down there. But most the lifeguards here surf on their off days, so I’m trying to learn. Seems like there’s a good swell tomorrow morning.”
“You have tomorrow off then?”
“Yeah, and the day after. Do you mind if I swing by to check on you? I don’t know if you need like, groceries and stuff, but I don’t mind bringing some by if your foot still hurts.”
Zuko stares at Sokka, taken aback by his thoughtfulness.
“Too much?” Sokka asks, looking sheepish.
“What?”
“Oh, uh,” Sokka stammers. “My sister likes to call me the ‘plan guy.’ Sometimes I get an idea in my head and I just… start planning. Some people find it kinda off-putting though. Y’know, because I get all up in their business. I can overstep sometimes. If you want privacy to work, that’s totally cool. I didn’t mean —“
“Sokka, it’s okay,” Zuko says, trying to stem the flow of Sokka’s words. “I don’t want to put you out, but you’re welcome to come by if you want. You don’t even have to check up on me. You can just chill out here.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” Zuko shrugs. “What kind of evil rich person would I be if I didn’t share?”
Sokka groans.
“I’m not going to live that down, am I?”
“Honestly, my uncle would be thrilled if I wasn’t moping around here by myself. And maybe I’ll actually be productive if there’s someone else around.”
“Your uncle?”
Zuko feels his face heat.
“He was my guardian after…” Zuko trails off. He decides he doesn’t want to get into his messy family history just yet, so he pivots. “He’s my closest family and he worries about me.”
“Well, you can tell him you’ve got a certified lifeguard checking up on you now.”
“Or at least, I’ve got a certified lifeguard coming by to drink my beer.”
“And watch sports on your TV,” Sokka says, jerking his head to the flat screen visible inside through the huge glass windows. “Seriously, how big is that thing?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a football fan. I can’t deal with that being on all afternoon.”
“I’m from the South Pole, remember? Hockey fan,” he says proudly. “And it’s not football season even if I did want to watch it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Zuko says honestly. “But you’re welcome to watch TV here. Probably beats watching your sister and her boyfriend… what was it? Make ‘googly eyes’ at each other?”
Zuko sits up. He pulls his foot from the hot tub, bright pink from the heat. He takes a few tentative steps before he notices Sokka beside him, arms slightly outstretched in case Zuko falls. Normally Zuko would flinch at being offered help, but Sokka looks so serious that Zuko feels something else squirm in his gut. He tries not to analyze it too much as he makes his way slowly to the house.
“You okay for the night?” Sokka asks as he rinses out the empty beer cans.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You’re good to drive?”
“Yeah. Hey, can I get your number? I’ll give you a head’s up before I swing by so I don’t interrupt you if you’re in writing mode or whatever.”
Zuko feels butterflies as he puts his number into Sokka’s phone.
He just wants to use your TV and your hot tub, he reminds himself.
But maybe he’ll be shirtless in the hot tub? a hopeful voice whispers in his head.
Sokka leaves with a grin and a promise to come by after he’s done surfing in the morning. Zuko limps up the stairs to the master bedroom and flops onto the bed. He’s slightly relieved his foot is achy, because it distracts him from the arousal that curls in his belly every time he remembers Sokka’s smile, or how strong Sokka’s arms had felt when he had carried him.
All in all, Zuko had had worse days.