Dear Zuko,
I'm writing you this letter because I'm too much of a coward to say any of this to you in person. Hell, I'm not even planning on sending this.
Well, here it goes.
I like you. A lot.
More than a lot, actually. I think it could be love.
And I'm so fucking scared.
You were my first best friend. We fought every day in kindergarten because you would keep stealing my toy boomerang and I would keep stealing your lunch snacks. But every single day, I looked forward to seeing you, even if it was only to fight. You had me hooked early on, I guess. And later, we became friends in elementary school.
Then, the accident happened. After what happened with your parents, your mother passing and your father's reaction, you refused to talk to me. Middle school was the worst without you, Zuko. You would hide your face and run whenever I would try to talk to you. You were scared. We both were. All I wanted to do was hug you and tell you that you were still my best friend no matter what you looked like, no matter what anybody did or what anybody said. But you closed me off. And it hurt so fucking much because I knew you were in so much pain without anyone to tell you that you didn't do anything wrong.
In high school, though, we reconnected. It was hard at first, but soon enough you started opening up. I got to see the real you underneath all of those layers you had built up. And what I saw was fucking amazing.
You're so determined. When something isn't right, you work at it until it's done and it's done correctly. I've never seen someone so hell-bent before. You're a fighter, Zuko, and you're going to get yourself out of this town and you're going to make such a great life for yourself. And it's amazing watching you on your way.
You're loyal. Remember when I told you that Jet was giving me shit freshman year? He was teasing me about how much time we spent together, and how you actually hated me and talked behind my back. You beat him up no questions asked and got detention for a month. You told me that on your honor, we would always be friends, no matter what anyone said, no matter whatever assholes came our way. We joked about it for the longest time, but in all honesty, that was the best thing that anyone's ever done for me. And I'll always thank you for that.
You're not just a tough guy, though. Inside of you, there is a heart made of something far more precious than gold. You care. You're vulnerable. And no one gets to see that side except me. I know that no matter how hard you build up those walls, there is a person behind them that is just as scared and hurt and confused as the rest of us, if not more. And I am so glad I get to know that side of you, that you haven't shut me out. You're so fucking special to me. I would do anything to keep you from getting hurt.
This part is embarrassing for me to put in words. But I think you're adorable. Please do not take this the wrong way! (Although, how could you? You're not actually reading this.) When you wear those hoodies with the too-long sleeves, when you stick your hands in your pocket or bite your lip or SMILE. I lose it. God forbid you ever laugh because when you do, I fucking get dizzy with butterflies. I need to stop being so funny around you because it's not good for my health.
Sometimes, when you're having a rough day, you ask me why no one ever likes you. You ask how come no one has ever taken you on a date or felt something special for you. You blame it on your scar. When this happens, there is so much I want to say to you about how wrong you are. I can't answer as to how other people act, but I've always liked you. I've always loved you. I want to be able to hold you, hug you, kiss you, fall asleep tangled up with you, date you, play with you, fight with you, defend you, hold hands with you, cry with you… Okay maybe not cry. Because that's unmanly.
I find myself thinking about all the fucking time and sometimes my chest actually hurts because I know I can't do any of these things without ruining our friendship. I can't kiss you when your father acts up, or kiss all along that beautiful scar to remind you how beautiful you are. I can't hug you the way I want to when I'm having a hard day, and I can't hold hands with you in public just because I fucking feel like it.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm not going to lose you because I love you too much.
And that is why you will never read this letter.
Love,
Sokka
Zuko stared at the piece of paper in his hands, not knowing what to do. He had found it while absently snooping in Sokka's drawers when he went to go take a shower. He was shaking, his eyes watery and his hand over his mouth. He couldn't comprehend that Sokka felt this way about him. That anybody could.
What was he supposed to do? What would he say? Even if he somehow found the strength to stand up and put it away again, he couldn't stop the tears or the disbelief from showing on his face. He couldn't suddenly not make his eyes puffy or his sleeve dry.
At that moment, Sokka reenters the room drying his hair with a towel and wearing an old tshirt and pajama pants. He's smiling at first, ready to bust out a joke he had spent all shower working on, but then he sees what Zuko is holding on his bed. He sees the look in his eyes and he just fucking knows. Dropping the towel, he grabs the paper from his hands and rips it in half, grabbing it again before Zuko jumps up and restrains him. "Sokka! P-Please-"
"You weren't supposed to read that. No one was. Th-that was for my eyes only!" He rips it again, quartering it.
"STOP IT SOKKA! Listen to me! Stop!"
The younger turns around, seeing that not unlike himself, Zuko looks frightened out of his mind, shaken, with tears freely flowing. Inside, Sokka feels broken. He's done this to his best friend. He's ruined everything. They're going to graduate without saying another word to each other and go away to college and never see each other again. He's ruined everything. He's failed.
"Y-You weren't… I wrote that b-but I didn't mea-"
"Don't fucking tell me you didn't mean it Sokka, because you did. You meant every word of it."
They stare at each other, lost. Sokka feels anger starting to flicker inside him. "So what if I meant it? What the fuck does that mean now, huh? It doesn't mean shit because-"
"Stop it right fucking now, Sokka, and listen to me. Listen good, okay?" Zuko takes the ripped up letter from Sokka's balled up hands. It's wrinkled and torn, but not unsalvageable. He hadn't prepared anything to say in response, so he just opens up his heart, something he can only do when Sokka is around. "When I was reading that, I couldn't believe that anyone could feel that way about me. My best friend. The one I trusted."
Sokka turns away, shamefaced. But Zuko pulls him back.
"The one I trusted. The one that had my back through all the bullshit that's happened to us. The one who's made me laugh, which apparently I need to stop doing because I still need you, Sokka." He allows himself a small smile and puts a hand on Sokka's shoulder. The touch almost burns for the other. "The one I've fought with over stupid shit so many times. The one I can't stand to see upset or angry because it pains me. Right here." He puts his other hand over his heart. "The one I want to give the fucking world to and more."
"Don't fuck with me Zuko." Sokka wipes his eyes. Although he knows that Zuko is being genuine, everything in his being has been fighting this reality for so long that he can't bring himself to face the truth of it as it stares him in the face, searching for an answer.
"Sokka, I love you." Zuko takes the hand that was on Sokka's shoulder and places it on his cheek, wiping away one last tear before pulling him close and kissing him.
When Sokka feels Zuko's lips on his own, finally, he wants to break down. After all of these years keeping silent and trying to hold on, he has what he needs. At long last, he can wrap his arms around Zuko and lean into him, savoring the pressure of their lips together. And Zuko holds Sokka tighter as if to say "You're not going to lose me. I'm right here."
