#yokka

‘Councilman Sokka?’ a voice creeps in from the cack between his door and its doorframe, and it makes Sokka sit up straight, abandoning the pen he’s been clicking for the past – he glances at the clock – two hours.

It’s his assistant, one of the office boys he’d decided to take under his wing, the hat atop his head tilted the wrong way. The boy isn’t that much younger than Sokka himself, but then again, Sokka is the youngest member of the Council.  He lets out a sigh of relief.

‘Ming,’ says Sokka quietly. ‘What are you still doing here? Don’t you want to go home and rest?’

‘Well… I could ask you the same thing, Councilman,’ says Ming, taking a tentative step into Sokka’s office. He grimaces. ‘You have to meet with the rest of the Council tomorrow morning to discuss the whole… You know, bloodbending law. Though I really don’t see what there is to discuss.’ The last few words tumble out of his mouth like children into a playground, and he turns red the moment he realises what he’s said.

‘Don’t apologise,’ says Sokka, easily reading his assistant’s expression. ‘I agree with you. But it’s procedure – we have to make sure everyone agrees before we pass any new laws.’

Ming tilts his head to the side. ‘But everyone will agree, won’t they?’

Sokka shakes his head dejectedly. ‘That isn’t the main issue here, Ming. The Earth councilman wants to arrest anyone that’s showcased the ability to bloodbend as a safety measure, even if said person does not bloodbend after the law is enforced.’

A frown draws Ming’s brows together. ‘I see what he means, but… Doesn’t that sound unfair? You and won’t let that happen, will you?’

Sokka hangs his head, eyes falling from his assistant’s face to the pen he has lying on his desk.

‘Normally, when a councilperson is deemed ineligible to pass laws, the Council would have to turn to the Avatar, as an impartial mediator.’ Sokka’s words drag on his tongue, and he refuses to meet Ming’s gaze.

‘Why would that even be an issue, though? Neither you nor Avatar Aang would let that kind of injustice fly,’ says Ming, crossing his arms.

Sokka lets out a heavy sigh, massages his temples and shuts his eyes. ‘You forget. My sister, Avatar Aang’s wife can bloodbend. We don’t have protocol for when the Avatar can’t be relied upon to be impartial, Ming.’

‘Oh,’ is all Ming can say. ‘I see.’

Sokka lets the silence stew between them, their breathing being the loudest sounds in the room. Finally he cracks his knuckles, works out the kinks in his neck. ‘Well, anyway – you need to be up and ready for the meeting, too. You’d better get home,’ he says gently, directing a smile at his assistant.

Doubt fills Ming’s eyes. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Councilman? Because – I mean, I know this isn’t the norm, but if you need someone to talk to, sir, I can – I can stay,’ he says, and there’s kindness shining in his eyes that gleams even through the semi-dark.

A smile prances onto Sokka’s lips, and the sight of it calms his assistant somewhat. ‘It’s okay, Ming,’ he says, gently, shaking his head. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. Just – go home and get some rest, alright?’

Ming bites his bottom lip, looks uncertainly at his superior. ‘If – if you’re sure –’

‘I’m sure,’ urges Sokka, and he bids Ming goodnight. His assistant leaves the room with a little bow of his head, and his absence, quite suddenly, hits Sokka like a wave summoned to shore at full moon.

He’s alone.

Almost.

He pushes his chair away from his desk, trails a hand along the polished mahogany of it. His lips are pressed together and his eyes are fixed on the single strip of light he can still see on the floor, and his heart beat has increased in volume.

His fingers still shake when he pulls the curtains aside.

‘It’s a full moon tonight,’ he murmurs to himself. Once the curtains are fully out of the way, he’s able to see it – a perfect circle of moonlight, spread out on his carpet like a welcome he’s long anticipated.

It only takes him a few seconds to full throw the French doors open, and he knows moonlight doesn’t carry with it the kind of heat that sunlight does, but still, somehow, he feels warm.

He takes a deep breath.

A minute later, he has his shoes off.

A few breaths later, he’s seated in the middle of the circle of light, eyes cast upwards towards its source.

He never asks, but whenever he hears people describe the night sky, too often he hears them use only two words: midnight blue. Sokka doesn’t agree.

Maybe it’s because he’s spent so much time staring at the night sky over the past few years, maybe it’s because you tend to see the smallest of details when you’re looking for a piece of your heart.

Or maybe it’s because the night sky isn’t just the sky to him – it’s the home of someone he’s tried and failed to push out of his heart so many times over the last few years.

He clears his throat.

He doesn’t do this very often, doesn’t stare up at the tinges of red amongst the deeper hues of blue and purple that make up a place he knows he can never reach and pour his heart out, but. But when he does, he finds that he always sleeps better, always wakes up with his burdens lightened just the slightest.

Most of the time he doesn’t even care that this was probably all silliness and wishful thinking. This – this always makes him feel better.

So he smiles, and he speaks.