Sokka sat on a bed.
To tell the truth, it wasn't just any bed. It was larger than his tent back home. It had scarlet sheets, and pillows embroidered with gold thread. Everything was silk, and the finest quality. It was softer than a cloud. It was perfect.
That didn't make it special.
It wasn't a 'his' bed. It was an 'ours' bed.
He loved that bed. He loved being in that bed with another warm body. He loved the way the perfect silk sheets smelled in the morning, and the way that the pillows always faintly held that same smell. He loved waking up on that bed of clouds and being deliciously sore.
He loved all of it.
Sokka looked around a room.
Still not just any room. It was spacious. Even the smallest nick-knacks cost more than his village had ever owned in their entire lives. It was a spotless room. Servants would scuttle in and out, picking up the smallest piece of trash.
That didn't make it any more special than the richness of the bed made it special.
It wasn't 'his' room. It was an 'ours' room.
He loved that room. It held the bed. It held the mirror that he secretly loved, because he could see the way they looked together. He loved it because it was sanctuary. It was where they were 'we'. He loved how perfectly his lover fit in that room.
He loved all of that.
Sokka looked down at himself.
He was a 'just'.
He was just a peasant. He was just a man. He was just funny.
He didn't belong in a bed with silk sheets and gold pillows. He belonged in a sleeping roll that still smelled faintly of the animal he skinned for it. He didn't belong in a place with servants and riches. He belonged in a tent, in the cold, working for everything he owned. He didn't belong in a place that was more beautiful then anything he had ever seen. He belonged out in the wild, roughing it, cracking jokes.
He hated that.
Zuko saw a bed.
He just saw a bed.
Zuko saw a room.
He only saw a room.
Zuko saw Sokka.
Sokka was rough and raw. He was caramel and chocolate in a sea of cream and rose. He was laughter in a room of silence.
That made him special.
Zuko loved Sokka.
Sokka was his calm in a storm. Sokka was joy, when he was drowning. Sokka was what kept him balanced, what kept him happy. Sokka was what he looked forward to, and what he dreamed of, and what he wished for, and what he cherished.
That made him perfect.
When he saw the bed, he wanted to see Sokka in it. And then he loved it.
When he saw the room, he wanted to hear Sokka's laugh in it. And then he loved it.
Zuko and Sokka lay on the bed.
Sokka lay on the silk sheets and the gold pillows and felt unworthy.
Zuko looked down at his lover and felt unbelievably lucky.
Sokka couldn't see.
Zuko showed him the mirror.
Sokka stared at Zuko.
Sokka sat on a bed.
He was enveloped with an 'ours' and he belonged.
Sokka saw a room.
He saw a 'we' and he belonged.
Sokka looked at Zuko.
Zuko looked at Sokka.
They loved it.