These Things Unsaid (слэш)

[Zuko blinks. “It doesn’t matter if I’m dead?” That might very well be true, but it still…hurts. A lot.
Sokka waves Zuko’s question away with an annoyed flick. “Of course it matters if you’re dead,” he huffs, exasperated and reluctantly fond in a way that has Zuko’s shoulders dropping. “It just doesn’t matter what you say now.”]
 
After shared letters and shared wanting and one perfect day—after fire and burning, battles lines drawn and hands extended and rejected in the cold of the North—what can there be left to say?
Or,
When dreams and longing and what-could-be break against the reality of war and what-is, where can Sokka and Zuko go from there?

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