A/n: It took me longer than I'd like to admit to get these screen shots for my thing cause Tiktok is a pain.
The first time you see it, you genuinely think it’s a rock.
Not even a nice rock. It wasn't smooth or polished or even remotely symmetrical...just… a lumpy, uneven piece of stone hanging from a leather cord that looks like it lost a fight with a dull knife. One side is thicker than the other, the edges are jagged in places, and there’s a very obvious crack running through what was probably supposed to be the center.
Then you look back up at Sokka.
He’s standing there in the middle of your shared apartment in Republic City, shoulders squared like he’s about to go into battle, hands awkwardly shoved behind his back like he doesn’t trust them not to betray him, and his face. His face is so serious it almost makes you laugh.
“…what is that?” you ask carefully, tilting your head.
Sokka immediately bristles. “Wow. Okay. Great start. Love the enthusiasm. Really feeling the support here.”
“I’m asking,” you say, stepping closer, squinting at the object in his hand. “Because it looks like something you dug out of the street...."
“It is not from the street,” he snaps, offended. “I went all the way out past the lower ring to find that rock.”
“…you’re not helping your case.”
He huffs, dragging a hand down his face before thrusting it toward you with a kind of stubborn determination. “It’s a betrothal necklace.”
You freeze then suddenly the air shifts, just slightly but it's enough that everything suddenly feels heavier, quieter, more real.
Your gaze drops back down to the necklace in his hand, and this time… you look properly.
The uneven carving suddenly makes sense. The shallow grooves, too shallow in some places, too deep in others, form a pattern you don’t recognize at first… until you realize it’s meant to be flames. Crude, messy flames curling around the center.
You swallow.“…you made this?” your voice comes out softer than you meant it to.
Sokka exhales sharply, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah. I mean...obviously. You think I’d buy one? That’s not how it works.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “The guy’s supposed to carve it himself. Tradition.”
Carefully, like approaching something fragile, even though the stone itself is anything but delicate.
“It’s…” you pause, choosing your words very, very carefully. “…very handmade.”
“Wow,” he deadpans. “I’m framing that compliment.”
“I’m serious!” you protest, though a smile tugs at your lips. “It’s just....Sokka, this is terrible craftsmanship.”
“I KNOW,” he blurts, throwing his hands up. “Do you think I don’t know that? I broke three tools, I almost lost a finger, and some old guy tried to charge me extra because I was ‘butchering the art of stone carving.’ I get it, okay? It’s not perfect.”
You’re laughing now, unable to help it, but there’s something warm blooming in your chest, something that makes your eyes sting just a little you had to blink a few times.
Every stubborn attempt to keep going anyway.
“You made this,” you repeat quietly.
“Yeah,” he mutters, glancing away. “Spent like… two weeks on it. Which, for the record, is two weeks of my life I will never get back.”
Your heart squeezes, a few tears slip free.
“And,” he continues, voice dropping just slightly, “you don’t have to take it. I mean...obviously. No pressure. It’s just a thing. A tradition thing. Cultural. Symbolic. Not a big deal.”
You step into his space, close enough that he finally looks at you again.
“It is a big deal,” you say softly.
You reach out slowly, taking the necklace from his hand. It’s heavier than you expected, rough against your fingers, warm from where he’s been holding it.
“The design,” you murmur, tracing the uneven carvings. “It’s supposed to be fire, right?”
He nods, a little sheepish. “Yeah. I figured… you know. Firebender. Flames. Symbolism. I’m very deep like that.”
You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head.“It’s crooked,” you add.
“And I think this side is thicker than the other.”
“I—yes, okay, thank you, I’ve noticed—”
He stops, completetly still now. “…what?”
You look up at him, smiling softly, eyes bright, tears gathered in the corner. “I love it,” you repeat, more firmly this time. “Because you made it. Because you tried. Because you kept going even when it was hard.” Your fingers tighten slightly around the stone. “Because it’s yours.”
Sokka stares at you like you’ve just hit him with a brick.
Emotion flickers across his face. Shock, disbelief, something softer underneath that he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “…it’s still really ugly,” he says weakly.
“Yeah,” you agree immediately. “It’s awful.”
He lets out a strangled laugh.
You step closer, lifting the cord slightly. “Put it on me.”
His breath hitches, eyes wide watching you.“Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly serious again, searching your face. “Because once I do this isn’t just....this means—”
“I know what it means,” you interrupt gently.
Silence stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken and then slowly he nods his head.
His hands are careful, so much more careful than you expected from someone who just admitted to nearly losing a finger as he reaches behind your neck, tying the leather cord securely into place. His fingers brush your skin, warm and a little rough, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
When he pulls back, the stone settles against your collarbone.
You glance down at it, then back up at him.
“Well?” he asks, suddenly nervous again. “How does it look?”
You tilt your head thoughtfully.“…like a rock.”
He groans. “I walked right into that.”
You grin, stepping forward and grabbing his tunic, pulling him down just enough to press a quick, firm kiss to his lips.
When you pull back, his brain is very clearly not functioning.
“It looks perfect,” you murmur.
And this time, he believes you as he leans down to pull you in for another kiss.
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