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They’re flying by moonlight by the time they stop to make camp. It’s warmer here than it was in the Western Air Temple, without the stark canyons making wind tunnels of the empty temple rooms. Appa settles with a heavy sigh, tired from a long day of flying.
The distant sound of the ocean crashing against the rocky shore had drifted in on the wind as they flew, but now the only sound is the occasional ladycricket chirping in the tall grass. They’d set down with their backs to the forest, far away from the open beaches, the stretches of sand where a Fire Nation airship might spot them.
Zuko is helping Toph back down onto solid ground, both stiff from sitting so long. Katara is already unloading their rations, throwing bags down for Suki to catch. Aang shushes Appa, petting his nose lightly as he snuffles around the camp, looking for somewhere to graze.
Sokka hops out of Appa’s saddle, boomerang ready in his hand. He shifts his grip and feels the edges dig into his palm, trying to squeeze out some of the tension that had been building on the flight over. He can feel it fizzing underneath his skin, drops of water hissing in a too-hot pan. He heads straight for the trees.
“I’m checking the perimeter,” he says, before anyone can stop him. He has more energy than he knows what to do with. He needs to walk. He needs to be sure that it’s okay for them to stay here for the night—maybe even longer, if Aang’s firebending training demands it.
No matter what Sokka does, he can’t keep their family together. And now Azula is close, and even after splitting up, they’d barely managed to escape last time, and Zuko trying to hold them off had nearly—
So he just… he needs to check.
When he returns the camp is silent, aside from the low rumble of Appa’s breathing, the quiet rush of the wind stirring the grass. His mind’s awake, but his body is tired. There’s nothing else for him to do, now, even if he wants to stay up. He’d seen no sign of any Fire Nation soldiers in the forest, or of the locals for that matter, too remote for any real risk of being discovered by travelers. Sokka counts the lumps of blankets and bedrolls as he walks, like he always does when he’s the last one to bed.
He stops. He counts again.
His heart skips, thumping faster when he only counts four people. He whirls around, searching for some light, or sign of who’s missing, or where they’ve gone—
Sokka relaxes when he sees the shape of someone curled up next to the unlit fire. He’d missed them in the dark, huddled perfectly still. Now that he’s looking closer, he can see where the last lump of bedding has gone, dragged over for him to sit by the burnt-out fire pit.
Zuko’s face is soft with sleep. He’s still upright with his knees pulled in and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks peaceful, but it can’t be comfortable resting like that. Zuko’s out like a light, though. Sokka crouches down next to him, quietly, and Zuko doesn’t even stir.
“Zuko,” Sokka whispers.
He brushes his knuckles over Zuko’s slack cheek, the one that isn’t pressed against his knee. Zuko startles just a bit at the touch, sucking in a quiet breath. The little confused hum he makes is adorable. Zuko leans into his hand as soon as he realizes it's him, and Sokka melts.
“Hey, buddy,” he says. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m…” Zuko’s voice is rough with sleep, low in the quiet, “You missed dinner.”
He’d missed more than just dinner. The moon is high in the sky by now, their campfire nothing more than ashy coals. It’s fine though. They’d left a lot behind when Azula attacked them at the air temple. They’d split their supplies further when they separated from Dad and the rest. It’s not… Sokka’s not hurting, or anything, skipping dinner tonight. It’s not like he’s so starving that he can’t wait until breakfast.
Anyway, checking the perimeter, making sure they were safe, was a lot more important.
“Just…” Zuko scrubs a hand over his face. He unfolds his arms and legs, moving stiffly like his limbs have fallen asleep. There’s a little bundle sitting in his lap, wrapped up in a red towel. He picks at the edge of where it’s loosely knotted at the top, and the whole thing unfurls.
Sokka stares at the bowl, settled neatly in the middle of the wrapping, with a set of chopsticks balanced on top.
“What’s this?” Sokka asks. It’s a stupid question. The bowl is obviously filled with rice and little chopped up bits of vegetable, too small to identify in the dim light.
“Your dinner? There was... there was supposed to be a dumpling, too,” Zuko says. He glances down at it, embarrassed. “That was… I wasn’t looking. Momo’s really quick.”
Sokka laughs. Zuko makes an apologetic face at him, then down at the bowl like he’s apologizing to it, too. Sokka eases down onto his knees on the bedroll. He kicks his boots off to the side, and then slides up next to Zuko.
Even if it’s warmer here than the air temple, Zuko radiates heat. He shivers involuntarily, just being near him. Zuko smiles and shifts a little closer, and Sokka can’t help himself. He slides his fingers through Zuko’s hair, pushing the soft strands back behind his ear. Sokka leans in and kisses him, a little awkwardly around the bundle pressed between them. Zuko’s lips are sleep-warm and soft, and he touches Sokka with such gentle care that he can’t even bring himself to push for more, perfect as this is. Zuko sighs against his lips as Sokka pulls away.
“Did you eat already?” Sokka asks quietly.
“We all did,” Zuko says. He doesn’t sound accusatory, necessarily, but the words still seem a little pointed. Sokka chuckles and holds up his hands in surrender.
“All right, all right,” Sokka says. He reaches out to take the food, hands brushing over Zuko’s. “Thank you for saving me a bowl.”
“Wait,” Zuko says, and Sokka pauses.
Zuko flattens his palms over the sides of the bowl. He makes a quiet little sound, almost a sigh, then breathes deep. His chest rises and falls, steady. The backs of Zuko’s hands warm beneath Sokka’s, cast-off heat from his palms. It feels like holding his fingers over a hot wok, like he can feel the fire pit heat of it burning just under Zuko’s skin. Zuko glances down, to their hands, and then up again. He meets Sokka’s gaze in the darkness, golden eyes flashing in the moonlight. He holds his gaze for a long moment, as the silence pools between them like honey.
Zuko huffs, a little puff of heat that whisks away on the breeze, and the rice begins to steam.
“There,” Zuko says softly.
Zuko leans into him a little as he passes the bowl over. He sounds tired, voice pitched low. Sokka eases the bowl out of his hands, and Zuko just closes his eyes and sighs when he takes it. He pauses for a long moment before he opens them again, blinking slowly, eyes half lidded, eyelashes dusting against his cheeks. A little curl of fondness lights up in Sokka’s chest, winking like a firefly in the darkness. He slides his fingers under Zuko’s chin, ghosting his thumb over his cheek.
“You can barely keep your eyes open,” Sokka says. “Go lie down.”
Zuko hums in agreement. He doesn’t get up, though, or ask for his bedroll back. He moves closer. He slides an arm around Sokka’s waist, rests his cheek on Sokka’s shoulder. He shivers again, and Zuko makes another sleepy sound. He shifts, until Sokka’s back is pressed to his front, his arms wrapped around Sokka’s middle.
Zuko takes a slow breath. The air warms again, but this time when Sokka shivers he just hums, pleased. Sokka turns his head slightly. All he can see like this is the side of Zuko’s face, the top of Zuko’s head, the tips of his dark hair spilling over Sokka’s shoulder. Zuko closes his eyes, lets himself relax until his weight is pressing into Sokka’s back.
He hums again, and for a moment Sokka thinks that’s all he’s going to get, that Zuko’s falling asleep right here, propped up against Sokka’s back. He drifts for a moment, in the easy silence, picking around in his bowl. He’d saved Sokka his favorite parts, a little pickled tomato-carrot, a fatty slice of hippo cow jerky, all mixed into the crunchy bits from the bottom of the pan.
Zuko sniffs and tips his head down against Sokka’s shoulder like he’s fighting sleep. His voice is so quiet, barely a whisper when he speaks again.
“I’ll wait. To sleep,” Zuko mumbles into the shoulder of Sokka’s robe, “...I’ll wait for you.”
Sokka just smiles and nods, because he knows.