Several months and 3,875 words later, here is chapter two. Finally.

Those of you who are familiar with me as an author know very well that I take forever to update. That being said, I hope I don't disappoint you with this chapter after an aggravatingly long wait.

Can I just say that I love writing for Toph? I had a friend back in high school who was basically the Toph of my group of friends, so I always channel her personality while writing parts with Toph. XD

I'd like to quickly mention that I have a small section on my profile page that I'll be dedicating to my playlist for this fic. If you're interested, you can check out what music I usually listen to while writing this fic as a whole, or specific parts of it. Seeing as this is a heavily music-based story, I felt it was necessary. I'll add more songs as I go along.

This chapter has been beta'd by the lovely Akiame9. Give her lots of love and such. :D

Warning: Will contain shounen-ai, yadda yadda. That's why you're here, right?

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar-everything except this story idea belongs to Mike and Bryan.

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By the time the Earth Kingdom Marching Invitational rolled around two weeks later, the only thing Sokka had been able to figure out was what school his "crush" attended. The hot drummer guy was from Fire Nation Academy-he was on the field along with his drum majors and color guard captain during the award ceremonies the night of that first competition. So, scratch the only; Sokka knew what school he went to, and that he was the percussion section leader.

But still, that wasn't much. The trumpet player let out a small groan as he leaned back in his bus seat. He had a lot more recon to do.

"You've done that about fifty times in the last two minutes," Toph said from next to him, taking the earbud out of her left ear. "It's getting kind of annoying."

"Sorry," Sokka muttered, resorting to staring sullenly out the window. He could feel his best friend's sightless gaze aimed in his general direction, and it burned with questions that didn't need to be asked aloud. "I'm kinda hoping to run into that guy tonight...," he said idly.

Switching off her iPod, Toph stored it in the pocket of her cargo shorts dangling from the hangar next to her. "I hope you do too, because honestly, you're no fun when you're busy emoing in a corner," the young percussionist stated bluntly, punching the tanned teen in the arm. "'Sides, you need to have a good relationship for once. Anything is better than dating some floozy flute player." As much as she tried to restrain herself, Toph couldn't help but snicker when Sokka let out an even louder groan than his previous fifty.

"Spirits, don't remind me," he urged, running his fingers along the buzzed sides of his head. A year and a half back, he'd briefly dated Yue, the mayor's daughter. But about two weeks in, a bunch of drama about her father trying to set her up with Hahn and other things of such nature became a bit too much for Sokka to handle—that, and he had just begun questioning his sexuality, suddenly finding that some of the guys in his band looked a little too good in uniform—so he broke it off rather quickly.

However, this was definitely no time to be marching down memory lane. By the time the bus was rolling and on its way to Earth Kingdom High School two towns over, Sokka had already lost himself in his own musings. Would he really see that guy again? He felt so silly being unable to banish the percussionist from his thoughts for more than ten seconds. Shouldn't he be focusing on the show—the fact that they were due to perform in three hours' time, and he had so many things to improve on since their last competition? When they watched their performance video in class the Monday after, Sokka noticed so many things he had done wrong; he missed a step-off after the two-set hold in third production, his trumpet went flat on a couple notes during the ballad…not to mention his entire section just couldn't stay together in drill formations. He would never hear the end of it from Hahn, the bastard.

"You're such a disgrace, Sokka; you need to take control of your section like a real leader."

Shaking his head and wishing for his self-depreciating thoughts to somehow fly out through his ears from the motion, the brunet instead tuned in to the subtle drumming of Toph's thumbs on her thighs. Once a percussionist, always a percussionist, he supposed. "Hey," he spoke up, gaining the instant attention of his best friend. "Is EKH actually competing today, or are they just the exhibition(1)?"

Toph folded her arms behind her head and lazed back in her seat. "I think they're competing," she said after a few moments of deep thought—though it surely didn't look like it, from her laid-back posture. "I wouldn't worry, though; just 'cause it's their turf doesn't mean they'll do well. Their drum line sucks." The blind girl couldn't hold back the snort that escaped her turned-up nose. "Your boyfriend's line is much better."

'Boyfriend? Yeah, I wish,' Sokka thought. "Good to know," was what he ended up saying aloud. He opened his mouth to say something else, mostly pertaining to said Fire Nation Academy drummer, but Hahn's arrogant tenor commanded silence and attention from the entire bus.

"Listen up, guys," he said much louder than was necessary. Sokka winced; he thought his ears might be bleeding slightly. "We have to unload and get to practice as soon as we get there. Guard, finish whatever hair and make-up you need to here on the bus, because we don't have time to fool around before show. Battery, if any one of you drops a stick in show again, I will personally hang you from a tree by your toenails. The rest of you, get down to business the second you get off this bus. Make this performance better than the disaster last time." The conceited drum major paused his speech to pointedly glare at all of his peers, lingering just a little too long on Sokka, who returned the leer just as intensely. "That's all for now."

Everyone waited until Hahn sat back down in his front-row seat before resuming their idle chatter and whatnot. The trumpet player crossed his arms and pouted, much like a child denied an extra cookie at snack time. "What the hell's his problem? He's had it out for me since we were kids. Spirits…"

The cheap pleather of the seat cushion squeaked in protest as Toph shifted her butt a bit. "He's just jealous," she supplied nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Even I can see that, and I can't see."

"Dunno what he has to be jealous of," Sokka muttered, voice laced with doubt and contempt.

Toph didn't reply—the tanned teen figured she'd gotten sick of his "emoing." No surprise, there; truth be told, he was getting sick of it himself. But everything seemed to be stressing him out lately, like doing well in show, being a good section leader, putting up with Hahn and his constant male PMS, graduating this year, crushing on a guy he didn't even know. Why couldn't high school be over already?

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He must have dozed off amidst his angsty inner monologues, because the next thing he remembered, Sokka woke up choking on copious amounts of hairspray that couldn't possibly be good for anyone's health. His eyes swelled and involuntary tears made themselves known, prickling in the corners of his sockets. Letting out a cough, he covered his mouth and nose with a sweaty hand.

"I swear they're trying to give us cancer," the young percussionist next to him said, her voice nasally from plugging her nose.

"I couldn't agree more," Sokka finally said after hacking up a lung. "The color guard is single-handedly contributing to global warming,"

There was a pregnant pause before both band geeks burst into laughter, followed by Toph punching her older friend in the arm affectionately. "There you go, Snoozles; I was wondering when you'd start saying lame and funny things again."

Sokka wanted to be mad, even a little bit, but with the genuine flash of her pearly whites, he just couldn't. But of course the fun was short-lived, interrupted once again by Hahn's oh-so-important announcement.

"All right, guys. Get to work! We have forty-five minutes to practice!" he yelled to the entire bus as one third of the band scrambled to slip on their uniform jackets and get the hell off the giant yellow vehicle. Sokka and Toph were among the first people outside, upon which moment they had to split from each other. They exchanged wishes of good luck and Toph left with the drum line as Sokka stood idly by, waiting for the rest of the trumpet section to disembark from the other two buses.

"We need to work on a few measures in the middle of the closer," Sokka instructed once the other nine trumpet players accumulated around him. They traveled together to retrieve their instruments from the equipment truck, then they set right to business. The senior had them form a three-by-three block and proceeded to perfect their playing, using every single available second to improve his section's musicianship—even picking up his own trumpet to play along, fixing some of his personal playing errors as well. By the time the band was called back together, Sokka felt very proud of his section. They got a lot of work done, and he was sure this show would be a definite improvement.

He held his trumpet still in front of his face as he stood at attention with the rest of the ensemble. His crystal blue eyes glanced around every which way—not out of anxiety, merely to take in his surroundings. They still had to spend another five minutes or so in the end zone, waiting for their allotted time to step on to the field of competition.

The erratic darting back and forth of his irises stilled, however, finding a target to lock onto.

It was him…right there on the field, in his crisp and sleek black uniform, accented with the familiar red stripe down the pant leg. The uniform jacket hugged the drummer's broad shoulders, red and gold accents draping off his frame and threading through the fabric. The black strap of his shako rested just below his mouth—he probably could have bitten down on it if he shifted those tightly-drawn lips just a smidgen. His drumsticks struck the heads of his instrument so quickly that they looked like blurs from Sokka's vision. The tanned boy made a mental note that this guy played tenor drums.

The Water Tribe teen was so enraptured by the scarred percussionist that he almost hadn't noticed the Fire Nation Academy's show had ended, and it was just about time for his own band to march their way across the turf. Sokka made sure to angle his head straight forward, standing perfectly at attention, but still regarded his crush with unwavering focus. If only Sokka were that attentive during show; he couldn't help but admire the completely stoic and concentrated look creasing the beautiful marred face of the quad player.

The female drum major bore a striking resemblance to the current object of Sokka's affection, he noticed vaguely as he watched the competing ensemble head off the field in perfect unison. For the most blissful of moments, lovely amber eyes met his curious azure stare. Suddenly, Sokka's navy blue and white uniform felt just a little too hot and suffocating for his liking. The second was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and the trumpet player found himself marching mechanically past each stark white yard line with the rest of his band.

He halted his steps at his beginning drill spot for the opener, standing as the starting point for the small arc his fellow trumpet players would soon form. For some unexplained reason, Sokka felt a sudden burst of…he wasn't sure he'd call it confidence, maybe determination? Drive? The burning desire to blow this show out of the water, prove just how good he was—good enough for drummer boy—sent red-hot adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was totally going to rock this performance. He watched with anticipation as Hahn rose to the podium. His left foot twitched as the conceited drum major began the count-off.

'I'll show 'em,' were Sokka's final thoughts as he raised the metal mouthpiece to his lips and tooted the first note of the show.

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It wasn't until about an hour afterwards that Sokka felt he could breathe normally again, versus gulping oxygen into his lungs. He couldn't help his excitement, though. The show was amazing—at least from his standpoint. He had hit every step perfectly, articulated every note flawlessly and with purpose. Not even grumpy old Pakku had anything bad to say to him following the performance. He was supposed to be looking for his friends, but Sokka was currently waltzing on cloud nine, leaving the entire world behind. He was so high in the sky that he hadn't realized he ran head-on into another individual until he fell onto the concrete, nursing a now surely-bruised butt.

"Guh, sorry about that," the tanned boy muttered lamely, feeling too embarrassed to even spare a glance at the guy sitting opposite him on the ground.

"It's all right, my fault," said a velvety, yet slightly raspy voice in response. The boy rose swiftly to his feet, proceeding then to offer a pale hand to the trumpet player. "Here, lemme help you up."

"Thanks, I—"

Sokka was mere centimeters away from grabbing the guy's hand when his jaw suddenly dropped to the ground. Staring right down at him, with the dark scar and shaggy black hair and honey eyes, was drummer boy. Sokka swallowed hard before taking a too-tight grip on the extended limb. He was surprised at the ease with which the Fire Nation Academy student pulled him to his feet. Their hands stayed clasped together for a little longer than was necessary; Sokka thought that if he let go too soon, his legs would turn to jelly and he'd fall right back down on his ass.

The pale boy allowed his toned arm to fall lazily to his side. "So, you go to WTH?" he asked, noticing the shorter male still had his tell-tale uniform pants on.

Sokka was definitely not used to looking up at people to converse. Now that they were standing face-to-face, he realized that the percussionist was indeed taller than he, by a few inches. "Yeah. We just call it Water Tribe, though. WTH is a pretty shitty acronym," he replied with his trademark goofy grin, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. His comment earned a light chuckle from the other musician.

"Kind of like FNA, especially when people pronounce it 'effin-ay.'" Both boys couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous names of their schools. Someone had surely given them stupid names on purpose, right? "I'm Zuko."

"Sokka," the trumpet player said, his grin not faltering in the slightest despite the fact he thought his insides were going to explode from sheer happiness. After two dreadful weeks of knowing virtually nothing about this guy, at least now he knew his name. "I, uh…was actually gonna go get something to eat when we collided. Wanna tag along?" he asked, hoping to whatever spirits up there he didn't sound too awkward. Truth be told, he wasn't actually heading for the concessions, but now that he was at least on first-name basis with his crush, there was no way he would subject the poor guy to Toph's incessant teasing this early on.

"Sure, I was headed there, too," Zuko said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The walk to the concession stand was pretty quiet and uneventful, but Sokka didn't mind; this was the first time he was ever able to really look at the other boy up close. Zuko was a lot lankier than he thought a percussionist should be, but he was also sure that there was not a single ounce of fat on that tall, pale-skinned musician. He was deliciously muscular and toned, that much Sokka could tell just by his arms. He had drummer's chops.

"So…what do you play?" Sokka asked for the sake of casual conversation, despite already knowing Zuko's instrument of choice. He didn't want to seem like a stalker or something. He also hoped the other didn't notice the slight cracking of his voice with that question. Stupid puberty or something.

Zuko flexed his right hand. "Quads," he said nonchalantly. "And you play trumpet, right?"

Sokka started. How did Zuko know what he played? Surely he hadn't actually known; it was just a lucky guess, right? It wasn't like Sokka was really an extraordinary person worth paying much attention to half the time. "Y-yeah," he all but choked out. "You're looking at first chair and section leader," he tacked on, a nice little toot to his own horn.

"Neat," Zuko said as they both came to a stop, waiting in the long line for food and drinks. "You're a pretty good musician, so that's really no surprise."

Sokka couldn't decide what made him blush more—the amazingly wonderful compliment or the charming half-smile tugging at the drummer's lips. "Thanks. I guess you've seen my band on the field, huh?"

They both took a few steps forward as the line progressed. "Yeah. I really like your guys' show. Into the Abyss is what it's called, right?"

"Yeah," Sokka nodded, his thick wolf tail bobbing slightly. "It's definitely my favourite of all the shows I've played. What's your guys' show?"

"It's called Radiant Dawn. Our instructors Lo and Li chose it at the request of my dad," Zuko said. He ran a hand through his dark, messy locks. A less-than-pleasant expression befell the pale boy's face for a few moments, but before Sokka even had a chance to take much note of it, it was their turn to order.

"Hi, I'm Song, what can I get you guys?" the cheery brunette asked from behind the counter.

"Can I have a large lychee tea, please?" Zuko asked, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"I didn't peg you for a tea person," the tanned teen said, a light smile in his clear blue eyes that matched the one on his lips.

Zuko paid Song exact change and took his steaming post-consumer paper cup, ignoring the dreamy look the girl was shooting his way. "I lived with my uncle for a while; he owns a tea shop, right around here actually." The percussionist paused for a moment to sip his tea, the liquid warming him as it went down. "I used to hate it, but it grew on me, I guess."

"Excuse me! Did you want to order something, too?" Song interrupted, her gaze locked on Sokka.

"Oh, sorry!" the addressed boy apologized hastily. "Um, do you have any dried sea prunes?"

"No, we don't. We have dried moon peaches, though, if that's all right," Song offered.

"Sure, that's fine." The trumpet player exchanged some cash for the bag of fruit, telling the nice girl to keep the change before heading back toward the bleachers with Zuko.

"Sea prunes. Really?" Zuko asked somewhat incredulously as he sipped his lychee tea with the hint of a grin.

"Are you kidding? I love sea prunes!" Sokka exclaimed through a mouthful of moon peaches—probably not the best impression to leave his love interest with, but hell, he was hungry. "My mom used to stew them for dinner all the time." He swallowed his food as a look of nostalgia etched across his facial features. His mom's stewed sea prunes were the best in the world. Gran-Gran's were good, sure, but they didn't even compare.

"Does she not make them anymore?" the pale teen asked as the two weaved through a crowd of band geeks, aiming to claim an empty spot just a few rows down.

Sokka's steps suddenly felt much heavier as he trotted down the concrete steps, his gaze narrowing in on the bag of moon peaches in his grasp. "My…my mom died a few years ago…," he admitted quietly as he lowered himself onto the cold metal bleacher next to Zuko. His fingers tightened on his snack, so much that the digits started to go all numb and tingly. He was only brought out of his stupor when he saw a pale hand on top of his much darker one.

"…I'm sorry to hear that," Zuko replied just as quietly as Sokka had spoken. "My mom's not around either…so I guess we have that in common."

Sokka was taken aback by the other's confession, but he felt slight relief at the revelation. "Heh…I guess so."

Their conversation was much lighter after glossing the topic of their mothers. Sokka learned that Zuko lived with his father and a younger sister (who actually turned out to be Fire Nation Academy's drum major; Zuko had laughed when Sokka said that she looked kind of scary, saying that was a pretty astute assumption). He found out that he was into martial arts (particularly Nothern Xiaolin kung fu) and fighting with twin swords. He was a senior, and turned 18 in July before the school year started—something about custody issues between his dad and his uncle caused him to repeat a year.

In return, Sokka shared that he also lived with his dad and younger sister, that he had been practicing with a sword for a couple years, and that he was a senior as well, though he was still 17—18 in December, though! He made sure to point that out with extra emphasis, drawing forth a few chuckles from the paler kid. He was about to regale Zuko with the details on the time he broke his leg jumping off the roof of the house when the two of them were interrupted.

'Spirits be damned, what is with all these interruptions?' Sokka thought somewhat bitterly.

"Zuko, come on. Awards are in twenty minutes," commanded a stern, feminine voice from a few rows up. Sokka recognized her as Zuko's sister (who he now knew as Azula).

"Coming," came the drummer's exasperated reply as he finished off his tea. "Gotta go, Sokka. Duty calls," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Wait a sec, before you go," Sokka said, digging through his pockets for his phone. He let out a small, "Aha!" when he found it and yanked it out. "Here, smile!" He snapped a picture, then frowned at the image that popped up on the screen. "I told you to smile."

"Drummers never smile for pictures," Zuko joked as he took a photo of Sokka as well. They exchanged phones, keying their own numbers into the other's cellular device. Once everything was entered and saved into their respective contact lists, they switched back their phones and Zuko leapt from his seat to catch up with his horrifying sibling. "See you, Sokka! Text me!"

The tanned boy could only wave frantically until the shaggy-haired teen was up the stairs and out of sight. An endearing grin lit up his entire face as he stared down at the photo displayed on the screen of his cell. His heart fluttered, beating madly against his ribcage. He was finally getting somewhere, and he prayed to the Spirits that he wouldn't do anything to screw up what was starting out to be a beautiful friendship.

And for now…just friendship was okay with Sokka. Relationship stuff could come later.

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(1) I just wanted to make a quick note about exhibition performances, for anyone who isn't familiar with the term. Sometimes the school/organization hosting a specific competition will only perform for entertainment and not actually compete. It has happened several times, though, in the competitions my band went to that the hosting band would also compete.

Another quick note about drummers not smiling-my boyfriend likes to say that. He was on drumline when we were in high school/band together. XD

Also, about Zuko being lanky but muscular...there was a guy on my school's drumline who was thin as a twig, but ridiculously ripped. That's kind of how I imagine Zuko to be.

Anywho, thanks for all the love and support thus far, everyone! I promise it'll get a little more interesting later on, especially now that Sokka and Zuko have met and stuff. Stay tuned.

Until next time,
Chibi