Freshen up.

That was all Sokka wanted. Not glory, not heroics, not another near-death experience on the back of a flying bison. Just a moment to breathe.

After Aang’s breakdown, the ride through the sky, and the less-than-friendly welcome from the Kyoshi Warriors, his nerves felt like overstretched bowstrings, ready to snap at the slightest touch.

So here he was.

Washing his hair.

Not properly, of course. Nothing about this trip had been proper. He crouched near a stone basin in the guest quarters, scooping up cold water with his hands and dragging it through his dark hair. The usual tight warrior’s knot was gone, leaving his hair loose, damp strands clinging to his neck and face.

He was shirtless too, which only helped his situation.

The air bit at his skin, sharp and cold, turning each breath into a faint cloud that drifted away like a ghost. Water trickled down from his hair, sliding along his jaw and dripping from his chin, landing softly back into the basin below.

And somehow, despite everything, he looked… good.

Annoyingly good for someone his personality

You stood in the doorway, silent as a shadow. A proper Kyoshi Warrior did not announce their presence. They simply existed, unseen until they chose otherwise.

Sokka, unfortunately, was not trained for that kind of thing.

He turned.

And nearly jumped out of his skin.

For a split second, his whole body tensed like the ground had just betrayed him. His eyes widened, shoulders jerking, hands hovering awkwardly over his chest.

“Someone needs to put a bell on you."

He muttered, his voice uneven as he tried to recover whatever dignity he had left.

Another puff of breath escaped him, visible in the cold air.

He shifted, clearly unsure what to do with his arms now. Cross them? Drop them? Pretend this was normal?

Water dripped from his hair again, tracing slow paths down his face.