Chapter Text
“...Chef Sokka.”
That’s – that’s –
A unified scream went up from the audience.
That’s
my
name.
“Congratulations, Chef Sokka,” Piandao was saying, but Sokka could scarcely hear him over the roaring of a hundred voices, all erupting with joy, all for him.
I won.
There were more words coming from Piandao, and from the judges’ table, and from the producers, but Sokka couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear anything over the thrilled cheers filling the studio, over the sound of his name being yelled from a dozen different directions.
I won.
Someone must have called cut, because suddenly the audience surged forward, the crowd flooding forward into the competition kitchen and surrounding him. Sokka was only half-conscious of them; he felt utterly untethered, so light that his feet were no longer touching the ground, like he was about to float right up into the blinding lights of the studio ceiling.
I won.
“SOKKA!”
It was Katara’s voice, shrill and wavering on the edge of tearful. Before Sokka could even spot her, he was smacked with the full force of her body as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Even then, words didn’t come, and Sokka’s brain was so backed up that it took a good five seconds before his body caught up, hugging Katara so tight he lifted her clean off the ground.
“Congratulations, son,” he heard Hakoda’s choked-up voice say from somewhere in the crowd surrounding them. Sokka pulled away from Katara and – yeah, okay, the sight of his father’s eyes brimming with emotion, coupled with the proud squeeze of his hand on Sokka’s shoulder, might have brought a few tears to Sokka’s own eyes against his will.
He was supposed to be saying something. Right? “I’m…” he attempted, not even sure where the sentence was going. Sokka was everything, all at once, emotions pumping nonstop through his veins, threatening to overtake him and send him spiraling off into a haze of unconscious bliss.
“Sokka!” came Aang’s voice, and then the man himself was pulling Sokka into a bear hug. “I’m so glad it was you, I knew you could do it!”
I did it.
“I need to call your grandmother, she’s been watching, I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you,” Hakoda was saying, voice cracking as he turned away before Sokka could see his eyes spill over.
Katara had no such reservations. Tears were freely streaming down her face as she pulled away from him, looking Sokka straight in the eye for the first time. “I can’t believe my idiot brother is the best chef alive,” she said, letting out a watery laugh at her own revelation.
“Shut up,” Sokka said, finally finding his words. But he didn’t want her to shut up, not really. He wanted to hear that simple fact repeated over and over again again.
I’m the best chef alive.
A tiny sliver of Sokka’s mind was conscious of Zuko, still standing just a few feet away from him. The unleashed audience was parting around his unmoving figure, neglecting the second-place chef for a chance at a piece of Sokka’s attention. The smile had vanished from Zuko’s face, replaced with something resembling resignation, and the dejected expression was just a small chip in Sokka’s exuberance.
“Sokka, it’s your grandmother,” Hakoda said, pressing his own phone against Sokka’s face, rightfully distrustful of the current capabilities of Sokka’s hands.
“Hi, Gran-Gran.”
“Sokka! I’m so, so proud of you!”
Sokka laughed, unable to stop the hot, happy tears from running down his face. “Thanks, Gran-Gran.”
“You were so impressive today, I never doubted you for a second! You are absolutely unstoppable – ”
The rest of her words were drowned out by about a dozen other screaming voices, crowding Sokka from every angle, outstretched hands thrusting forward scraps of paper for autographs, microphones for comments, phones for selfies. None of it was processing; Sokka could barely think, except to echo the thought to himself, over and over and over again.
I’m unstoppable.
More than ever, that felt absolutely true.
Sokka’s phone was suddenly burning a hole in his pocket.
“Hang on, hang on, I just need to…” Sokka said to no one in particular, momentarily ignoring the mass in favor of tugging his phone from his pants. There were already about a hundred notifications, but Sokka barely even saw them. Nothing else mattered, not really; the only thing on earth that Sokka cared about right now was –
@meatandsarcasm
I WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Out of the corner of his eye, Sokka vaguely noticed Mai crossing the studio floor and coming to a stop in front of Zuko.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You were amazing,” she told him. Sokka scarcely absorbed it, hands shaking as he repeatedly hit send.
@meatandsarcasm
I WON.
@meatandsarcasm
holy sh*t
@meatandsarcasm
i’m the best chef alive
@meatandsarcasm
me.
@meatandsarcasm
i’m the BEST CHEF ALIVE!!!!!!!
“Whatever,” Zuko muttered.
@meatandsarcasm
and i used your trick, too!
“Can you take this back? Someone’s blowing your phone up. Something about…”
@meatandsarcasm
the one with the cherries and pepper!
“...cherries and pepper?”
@meatandsarcasm
now you have to let me take you out on a real date – i’m not taking no for an answer!
Mai’s words didn’t register until after Sokka had already hit send. But when they did, they hit him like a frying pan to the face.
Cherries and pepper.
Sokka looked down at his phone, at the message above his last.
The one with the cherries and pepper.
And before he could stop it, Sokka had a sudden, horrifying thought.
What if...
No.
It could be a coincidence. It had to be. Sokka had made the recipe on national television, he’d even joked about the combination with the judges. It was well within the realm of possibility that some other chef was texting Zuko about the round, or some viewer was tweeting about it, or something, or anything besides the conclusion that Sokka’s mind was barreling toward. Because it couldn’t – he couldn’t – he wasn’t –
Mai’s words hung in the air like smoke.
No.
It made no sense. It was utterly ridiculous. It was complete insanity. It was downright impossible. There was absolutely no way Zuko was the Blue Spirit. Sokka was a smart guy; if the two men were one and the same, he would have known it from the start. He would have had to be an idiot not to. Besides, Zuko was a good guy, and he had better things to do than masquerade as Sokka’s love interest online. It was laughable to think he’d ever sink that kind of time into someone like Sokka.
So, no. Zuko wasn’t the Blue Spirit. He couldn’t be. Sokka was positive.
Panic firmly set aside, Sokka turned to face Zuko.
But one glimpse of the terrified look on his face was enough to send Sokka’s certainty shattering.
No.
It was incomprehensible. Zuko and the Blue Spirit were two poles at opposite ends of Sokka’s planet, and there was absolutely no way, no way, that Sokka’s world was collapsing before his eyes, sending those two people crashing at his core. There was no way.
But if that was true, why was Zuko staring at him like he’d been caught standing over a corpse holding a cleaver?
No.
Answering the question was simple. Sokka knew that. But now, the thought of confirmation flooded his body with dread. Because if all the evidence meant what he thought it did…
Well. He wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Zuko stood rooted in place before him, face frozen in abject fear. The raucous crowd around them had faded to the background, so the only thing Sokka could concentrate on was the increasingly incriminating silence from Zuko’s barely parted lips. No acknowledgement, no denial, nothing.
Maybe he thought Sokka was acting crazy. Or maybe he was just waiting for Sokka to inevitably put the very last of the pieces together.
Sokka looked down.
No.
Just seconds ago, he’d felt light as air, ready to drift off into the atmosphere. Now, it was as if he’d been chained to an anchor and tossed into the waves, left to sink until he drowned in the depths.
Because there, clutching tight to Zuko’s phone, was the hand Sokka knew better than his own.
Zuko was the Blue Spirit.
Needless to say, Sokka’s feelings were a little all over the place.
To start, there was confusion. Because, why? Why? Why had Zuko created some fake anonymous persona to communicate with him? Why hadn’t he just talked to Sokka like a normal person? And why had he kept up this facade for so long? What could he possibly have to gain from all those late-night conversations with his rival? Sokka couldn’t find any explanation that made sense.
And then there was betrayal. These past few months, he’d told the Blue Spirit everything, from the food he was making to the feelings he was having, things he’d never dream of telling anyone else in his life. Zuko had shined light on some of the deepest, darkest parts of Sokka, and for what? To create a distraction? To get a leg up in the competition? For his own amusem*nt? Every possible conclusion only added to the hurt.
And underlying it all, there was a deep, heavy sadness. Maybe because, just this once, Sokka believed he’d made a real connection. He’d been gullible enough to believe he’d found someone who seemed to understand him better than anyone else ever had. It was the kind of connection that he’d dared to wish would lead to...well. All the things you were supposed to do with the someone special in your life. But apparently while Sokka had been fantasizing about building a life together, Zuko had just been playing with him; Sokka had been falling for someone who had never existed at all.
It all churned together in Sokka’s stomach as he stood gaping at Zuko, who’d still failed to utter a single word in his own defense. Sokka felt his whole body growing hot, blood replaced with boiling gasoline, fists coming to clench at his sides.
Sokka had never been the best at processing his emotions.
Now, they collided in his gut, building off each other’s heat, searing Sokka alive from the inside, joined in one molten mess that forced just one feeling to the surface: burning hot anger.
“No.”
The growled word jolted Zuko from his silence. “Sokka, I can explain – ”
“No.”
Sokka’s fist was flying toward Zuko’s face before he realized it’d left his side.
“You’re filming this, right?” shouted a voice from far away, but rage was roaring too loud in Sokka’s ears for the words to make sense. All he could feel was the rush of air against his hand, and then arms closing around him, yanking him backwards, away from Zuko, who hadn’t even thought to flinch.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hakoda was yelling as he dragged Sokka away from Zuko. Aang, looking absolutely floored by this turn of events, had Sokka’s other arm locked in both of his with a strength Sokka didn’t know he’d had.
Sokka didn’t answer, too intent on breaking free to speak. Fury was shifting the duty of decision-making to his musculoskeletal system, meaning any rational thought Sokka might have produced was squashed by the need to give in to his fists and swing.
“Sokka!” Katara cried out, joy replaced by terror as she watched Sokka struggle against Hakoda’s grasp. “What are you – ”
“Let me go,” Sokka snarled, halfway dislocating his shoulder with the force he was using to escape from his father’s grip.
“Walk away,” Hakoda bellowed through gritted teeth. There was an anger in his voice, one Sokka hadn’t heard directed his way since he was a teenager. “There are cameras everywhere.”
And so there were.
Something in Sokka’s brain awakened at that. Hakoda was right; not only was every camera in the studio turned his way, but every cell phone in a fifty-foot radius was upright, recording every moment of his meltdown.
And there, among all eyes on him, was Zuko.
Zuko, who even after all that hadn’t moved so much as an inch. Who was staring at Sokka with eyes so dejected it was as if he’d already accepted the punch Sokka was dying to throw. Who looked like he was the one who’d just had his heart run through a shredder.
Pummelling him wouldn’t solve any of Sokka’s problems.
He needed to leave.
Sokka went limp, the hands on his arms rushing to prop him up as all the air left his body at once. His legs felt barely workable, but Sokka tried to find and force himself upright.
“Walk away,” Hakoda repeated in a harsh whisper.
Sokka yanked his arms free of Hakoda and Aang.
Shot Zuko one last glare.
Then turned and walked away.
He needed to leave, and he needed to do it now. The studio was still in a state of commotion, so even with all eyes on him, Sokka somehow managed to disappear into the crowd unnoticed. His hands needed something to do besides decorate the walls with holes, so as he stormed through the studio halls, he tore off his smock and tossed it aside, knowing the costume department would find it eventually but barely caring if they didn’t. Stripping down to his undershirt did nothing to make him feel any less antsy, overwhelmed, and above all, furious, so he yanked his hair from its competition-grade ponytail and dug his nails into his scalp, hoping the pricks of pain on his head would distract him from the knife in his back. Even from this far away, the linoleum floors were still echoing with hundreds of confused voices wondering what the hell had just gone down, and Sokka’s skull felt seconds away from going the way of JFK.
How had he been so f*cking stupid? He was an adult, and yet all it took to turn him into a lovestruck teenager was a single message. Just a kind voice at the other end of an anonymous account, and Sokka would have told him anything in the world if it meant getting a red heart in return. Zuko must have sensed how mortifyingly easy Sokka was to play, how embarrassingly desperate Sokka was for affection, and exploited it for all it was worth. Sokka had cracked open his chest, made the goddamn incisions himself, only for his heart to be amputated clean out of his body by someone who never would have touched him without a layer of latex in between. Someone who’d never given one single f*ck.
The door out to the street met not his fist but his heel, kicking so hard the door did a full-180, slamming into the wall beside it. This wasn’t the main entrance, but rather a side door that Sokka knew was meant for sneaking the most famous actors into the studio without drawing any attention out on the main street. It opened out into a nondescript alley, complete with fly-ridden dumpsters and murky water pooled in unfixed cracks in the concrete, which all felt pretty appropriate given Sokka’s current mental state. He picked a direction at random; he didn’t need to go anywhere, he just needed to leave, put this whole miserable day behind him and never look back.
He’d just done the mental coin toss – left, left looks good – when he heard the metal door squeaking open again.
“Sokka.”
It was the last voice he wanted to hear right now.
“Leave me alone,” Sokka muttered. If the words weren’t loud enough for Zuko to hear, the unfaltering movement of his feet away should speak loud and clear.
“No.” He sounded winded, like he’d just sprinted through the studio to catch up. “Sokka, you need to listen to me.”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” Sokka called out over his shoulder, doubling his pace. There was no conversation to be had right now.
Suddenly he felt a hand claw at his shoulder, jolting him to a stop. The irony wasn’t lost on Sokka; all those nights he’d spent praying to have that hand all over him, and now…
“I said, leave me alone,” he repeated, whipping around to yank himself free of Zuko’s grip. Laying eyes on Zuko for the first time felt like a slap in the face. From the disheveled state of his lopsided ponytail to the frustrated set of his lips to the burning desperation behind his eyes, Zuko was a mess, and yet...Even now, he was heartbreakingly beautiful, and Sokka hated it, hated it just as much as he had the first time they’d met.
“No,” Zuko repeated firmly. “Just – let me explain. Please.”
“What’s there to explain?” Sokka snapped. “You lied to me.”
“Okay,” Zuko said breathlessly. “Yes, I know, I wasn’t telling you the whole truth, and that was wrong – ”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
“Not telling the whole truth?” Sokka echoed, biting back a manic laugh. “Zuko, you straight-up lied to me. For months. Do you realize how f*cked up that is?”
Zuko paused, then nodded. “I – yes, of course I do. But, Sokka – ”
“But nothing. Okay?” Because now that Sokka started, he didn’t think it was possible to stop. “You played me. You made me think you actually cared about me. You made me start to feel like – ”
Something shifted in Zuko’s eyes, and Sokka slashed the thought in half before his tongue could put it to words. Zuko didn’t need to know the true extent of what he’d put Sokka through. The obvious was enough.
“Well. It doesn’t matter,” he finished. “None of it ever mattered. I get that now.”
“That’s not true – ”
“Oh, really? And how am I supposed to believe anything you say anymore?”
Zuko recoiled as if he’d been burned. Sokka knew he was being unnecessarily cruel, knew he should just walk away, but weeks of pent-up pain were bubbling to the surface, and he just didn’t have the energy to hold the words back anymore.
“Did you think it was funny?” Sokka asked, because, truly, he was curious now. “Standing me up that night? Bet you and your stupid friends got a real kick out of that one.”
“Of course not – ”
“You humiliated me, you know that?” It was true, and now it was the only thing Sokka could feel. Humiliation. “I don’t think anyone in my life has ever made me feel more sh*tty. So congrats, man. You really won that contest.”
“Sokka – ”
“And I told you everything. I mean – Christ, I told you my recipes, I told you my strategies.” Sokka shuddered to think of just how honest he’d been with Zuko. “I really made it easy for you, didn’t I?”
“Made what easy for me?”
“Spying on me!” Sokka yelled. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? Sweet-talking me into spilling my guts just so you’d have a shot at beating me?”
Zuko’s face contorted in horror. “Is that – is that really what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Sokka spat.
“Sokka,” Zuko said softly, mournfully. “The reason I kept messaging you – it wasn’t because I was trying to cheat at this stupid competition. It was because I liked – ”
No.
Sokka’s body moved before he was aware of it, cutting off the sentence before the words had a chance to take root in his mind. Zuko was silenced with a huff as Sokka shoved his body against the concrete wall, fisting his smock to keep him pinned in place there.
“Don’t.”
There was no way in hell he was letting Zuko finish that sentence.
Because that was the worst timeline of them all, wasn’t it? The possibility that all of it, every word of it, had been real. That Sokka really had been swept up in a whirlwind, once-in-a-lifetime romance, and that Zuko had been right there with him. That there actually was something indescribably rare between them, the kind of thing that could have kept them bound for life.
That it was all real, and it was something Sokka could never have.
Because they were Zuko and Sokka. Rivalry was built right into the script.
Zuko was eyeing him fearfully, like he was afraid Sokka was about to start throwing punches again. But he didn’t move; he let Sokka hold him there, accepting whatever consequence was to come.
Sokka...didn’t quite know what that would be. He didn’t actually want to hurt Zuko, even after everything Zuko had done to him. What he wanted was to sink down into the cracks of the concrete and forget he’d ever existed in the first place; maybe then it would feel less like his entire body was being torn in half. He wanted to erase Zuko altogether, all the hope and the heartbreak, the animosity and the friendship, the very memory of his existence. He wanted Zuko to be a stranger, not someone whose face made Sokka’s bones turn to sand.
That face was staring at him now. Sokka knew it, every pore of it, even if he’d never admitted it to himself out loud. He knew the jagged pattern of his scar’s edge, the tense lines of his brow, the anxious clench of his jaw. Sokka knew those eyes and, f*ck, he knew that mouth. He wished he didn’t still want to know it a little better.
(The quietest voice in Sokka’s brain, the one he wanted to beat with a crowbar, whispered that maybe what he wanted was to whisk Zuko away to someplace no one would ever find them, and get to know the taste of the word baby on his lips when there wasn’t anyone else around to hear it.)
Something was shifting in Zuko’s face, like Sokka’s silence was starting to stifle his fear and spark something bolder.
“Sokka…”
The metal door burst open with a clang.
“There they are!” a voice yelled, and Sokka turned to see a crew of cameras spilling out of the studio, rolling the tape on whatever was going down between Sokka and Zuko.
And that was just it, wasn’t it? The cameras were always rolling.
Which meant that if Sokka even thought about choosing Zuko, the world would know. He’d lose his job. He’d end his own career. He’d never again know a moment of peace.
And taking a chance on an almost-love like this just wasn’t worth that risk.
Sokka gave Zuko one last look before releasing his smock and letting him fall free against the concrete wall. Zuko opened his mouth again, maybe to say something more, but Sokka didn’t have it in himself to hear it.
So he turned and walked away.
Even as he retreated, he could hear Zuko begin to shout at the crew to back off, give him some privacy, but Sokka didn’t turn around. Because behind him was everything he’d ever wanted, and every reason why it was something he could never have. And he didn’t think he could bear to see it disappear in his rear view one last time.
So Sokka left.
