ive had this unfinished fic sitting in my wip folder for six months and cant seem to go any further with it even tho i liked the set up. :( i dont think i'll ever finish it, but i hope its fine to share it anyway. really just zuko being introspective, romantic, and dumb. not gonna post on ao3 or anything, so warnings, i guess brief mention of child abuse, otherwise i dont think anything else. it's zukka, in case there was even a need to mention that. not beta'd. (notes at the end)
When Zuko was eight, he tripped over his own two feet playing and fell directly into a small table, upon which sat a decorative vase––a royal heirloom nearly two hundred and fifty years old, delicately painted with Fire Nation imagery around the lip, and two strong, winding dragons wrapped around its center, engulfed in flames––and, to his horror, watched the antique wobble precariously for several seconds before finally tipping and shattering into so, so many tiny shards across the floor. He would never forget the sound of it, as beautiful as it was sickening in its sharpness and volume, the echo of it reverberating throughout the massive, empty hallway of the palace.
Azula had immediately run to tell on him, and he had chased her frantically, fruitlessly, hoping to stop her before she could. Even barely on the cusp of seven years old, their father’s influence had already begun to twist her mind, peeking through in moments of gleeful cruelty that, to this day, Zuko wishes he’d been able to prevent, no matter that he, too, had only been a child.
Ozai’s punishment came swiftly. It was a quiet, calm thing most of the time––his father’s hatred––hidden behind a polite but distant smile; on occasion, though, his lips would curl in disgust, his eyes would harden, and he’d reveal his true nature.
The lesson Zuko was supposed to have learned was never quite clear to him. But, unwittingly, he had learned something. It was his crash course in fragility.
The vase, delicate and beautiful, broken so very easily. His sister’s moods, playing with him carefree one moment, merciless and callous to him the next. His father…
Really, nothing was ever as fragile as his father’s temper.
Back then, he still loved the man, respected him, idolized him even, and believed body and soul that the punishment fit the crime. Zuko had been careless, so perhaps, really, his father wasn’t being cruel; he was enacting justice, even if Zuko was too young to understand how.
Now, at least, he knows better. But still, lessons ingrained from childhood linger––that first thought when something happens, one that must be continually checked, acknowledged even when one knows that it’s wrong.
It’s why Zuko is so deeply afraid of this new, complicated, delicate… thing he’s found himself in with Sokka.
Sokka’s always been an affectionate person, so he isn’t so naïve to think something’s been there, unspoken, between them this whole time. But somewhere along the way, he started to notice a shift.
It was in the way Sokka’s hand always managed to find a home against him. Squeezing his shoulder in reassurance, staying there, warm and heavy, for several moments after. Placed lightly at the small of his back as he moved past. Fingers wrapped around the crook of his elbow to drag him away to a late lunch. A brief, tingling brush at the nape of his neck, where tiny wisps of his hair had stuck to skin with sweat after a sparring match. (He’d thought about that moment for days and days.)
The backs of their fingers barely sliding against each other as they walked side by side through empty hallways at night, Sokka unable to remedy his insomnia and Zuko restless from nightmares. That was all it was, at first. It happened sometimes. They walked. They commiserated. They almost-touched.
But then one night a pinky hooked around his own, hesitantly, loosely, as if the act itself was a question. And Zuko answered silently, gently turning his palm and lining each and every finger up with Sokka’s, then twisting them, sinking them between the gaps, pressing his fingertips against Sokka’s knuckles.
It felt right as soon as he did it.
Sokka had walked him back to his room that night, thumbed at his wrist, gazed right into his eyes, through him, and so slowly, so softly kissed the corner of his mouth. It had stirred up so many things in Zuko’s chest that the moment his door closed, he’d collapsed back against it, pressed a hand to his throat where he was trying to swallow his own heart, make it go back down where it was supposed to be instead of rising up to suffocate him, and tried not to set anything on fire.
The thing is––the thing is––
They don’t talk about it.
Sokka smiles at him, all gooey-eyed and warm. He expects his own face does some interesting things right back. They hold hands. They hug, far longer than is normal for friends. They kiss.
Oh, do they kiss. Zuko could kiss him forever, really. Sokka’s very good at it, and the more they do it, the more he seems to find just the right way to tilt their heads, the spots on his jaw and neck that make him shudder where Sokka holds him in place. Sokka breathes through his nose, and it comes out a warm puff against his cheek, and Zuko melts and––
And they don’t talk about it. They don’t really do any of it in front of other people, either, but Zuko doesn’t know if that’s out of courtesy or out of a desire to keep it secret.
It’s unnerving, not knowing, but Zuko doesn’t want to ruin a good thing by being careless, and whatever this is, this unnamed thing, it feels fragile.
Like that vase, he thinks. Beautiful, delicate, easy to shatter.
He imagines what might happen if he tried to ask. What is this? What are we? Do you have feelings for me the way I do for you? Is it okay that I think about you all the time? Can we do this forever? But the risk seems so insurmountably high. What if this means nothing to Sokka? A fling? A doomed summer romance? And what if it does mean something? What if it means everything? What does that mean for their friendship? What does it mean for their futures? What if it doesn’t work out? What if things change? What if, what if, what if.
He can almost hear his own heart breaking; it sounds a lot like ceramic smashing into pieces against a hard, polished floor, the echo deafening.
I love him, he thinks. He didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident.
It was probably inevitable.
...
[notes: sorry i ended it at such a horrible spot, i wrote a few more lines but it was leading up to plot that i hadn't written and felt like an even worse place to end it.
the plan for this was going to lead into a kintsugi metaphor. i've seen the concept talked abt before lots of times with regard to the avatar world, specifically the fire nation and zuko, so i realize it's a little odd to start off with zuko breaking something and it being a huge mistake, because of course the vase could be repaired, yes? if someone had taken the time and effort to put the pieces back together, to be patient and kind with the original piece while mending but not hiding the breaks. but in my mind, if kintsugi is a part of the traditions in atla-world cultures like the fire nation, i can't imagine it would extend to the fire nation royal family during the eras of sozin, azulon, and ozai. these fire lords didn't tolerate weaknesses; didn't accept or find beauty in imperfections. the vase zuko accidentally destroyed, ozai likely would have just ordered servants to dispose of it.
i'd planned to have zuko and sokka spend some time together, for zuko to really kind of settle in to the idea that he wasn't ever going to ask for more, and that he'd always stop sokka if he thought he was going to ask for more, simply because he was afraid of shattering what they have now. it definitely puts a bit of strain on their relationship, which is opposite to what zuko wanted. it forces him into an emotional conundrum; there is no 'staying this way forever'; it's either move forward, or let go.
he chooses option D, run away. to ba sing se. to uncle. who just so happens to own a very successful teashop. with many teapots and teacups. some of which have an interesting golden lightning pattern in them that zuko likes. so it's through a very deep and constructive conversation (with absolutely no hidden metaphors whatsoever *wink* we all know iroh is always very straightforward) that zuko learns that it's fine if things break, it's not the end of the world, because if you are willing to put in the time and effort and love, you can mend breaks, and make something different, not better or worse, but still beautiful, from the broken pieces. the risk is worth it.
so when sokka shows up in ba sing se, pissed, after chasing him down for some answers, zuko is ready to own up to his feelings. if their relationship falls apart, then it falls apart; they can always pick up the pieces and forge something new if that happens. not that zuko ever needed to worry about it in the first place.]
