The light washes across his skin, warmth less. He raises his head slowly, eyes fixated on the figure a little ahead, cloaked in light so strong the image seems to flicker in and out of sight. Sokka can't see her, but he knows she's there.
Though the light around him shifts and changes, the world has gone still. The moment is breathless- a space of time just before he breaks the surface of water, when the world comes back in a rush of sights and sounds.
"Hello?"
He gets too his feet, slowly, deliberately. He doesn't want to show the confusion in his face, doesn't want this to be a mirage or wishful thinking. He wants to be calm, unfazed- as if things hadn't changed, as if she had never left—hadn't died.
He walks towards her, eyes fastened on his goal alone. He seems calm, oddly detached, like this is happening to someone else, in a different world. And it must be, because when a person dies, they die. End of story.
"Yue?" He doesn't know why his voice sounds surprised.
She looks down at him, troubled and somber, so different from the girl he remembers. She used to be serious, yes, and seemed stuck between what she knew and what she wanted, like a rock in a stream, powerless to change the path of the water(and yet, she did change things for herself, didn't she?). In the quiet moments when everyone else sleeps, he still sees Yue: silver hair and the ghost of a carefree smile.
He turns away, unsure and scared, hoping he doesn't lose those recollections of her. It hurts to see her.
"This is just a trick of the light, swamp gas. I hit my head running away last night…I'm going crazy."
The excuses dry up, vanish on his tongue. He turns back, knowing she's still there.
He knows it, knows that this is real, this is reality, he prays that she's real. He drops his arms from the defensive stance they were in. Suddenly, he feels so vulnerable, like a child stumbling on his first steps, crossing that leap into safe, caring arms.
"You didn't protect me."
It's a simple statement, blunt and direct. There isn't any anger, not quite regret, just disappointment.
He can't imagine anything worse.
It's strange hearing those words from her, in her voice. They hang in the air between them, echoes of what he had told himself so many, many times.
He remembers a hand in his, so light it seemed weightless- like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to earth, the only thing keeping her there.
"Your father told me to protect you," he said, voice fierce and rough with determination and a certainty he didn't have. He squeezed her hand tighter- he won't let her go. He can't.
But he does. She slipped away.
"…I think about her all the time."