we are all just stars that have people names

we are all just stars

93 percent stardust

We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins,
carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains.
93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames,
we are all just stars that have people names.

-nikita gill

-----

Sokka can't sleep.

It's not like this is something new, but it's getting really goddamn annoying to close his eyes every night and stare at the inside of his eyelids until eventually he gives up and goes to look at the stars. Every time he thinks he's ready to fall asleep, his mind starts running in circles again – the war, his father, the failed attack, guilt, guilt, guilt.

At least the stars are pretty. He's found a new place to watch them from – a little outcropping that hangs out over the vast expanse of the ocean. It's tall and terrifying, and being up here makes Sokka feel significant, somehow.

He's lying on his back, staring up at the constellations, when he hears rustling in the bushes behind him. He's immediately on edge, boomerang in hand, crouched and ready to attack.

"It's just me." It's Zuko's voice, and Sokka relaxes. A month ago, he would have kept his guard up and reminded Zuko about what a jerk he was. But Zuko's been nothing but kind (and honestly kind of adorably awkward) since he joined them, so Sokka's pretty sure he's not about to be pushed off the cliff.

"What are you doing up here?" Sokka asks. It's meant to sound like a demand, but it comes across as curious.

"What are you doing up here?" Zuko replies. He crosses his arms over his chest, then drops them to his sides, then moves them in front of him like he's not quite sure where they should go. "I come out here every night."

"Oh." Sokka scoots over and gestures to the ground next to him. "I didn't know, sorry."

Zuko shrugs, moving cautiously toward Sokka and settling down on the grass. Sokka studies the scar that covers half of his face – ridged and red, interrupting Zuko's otherwise smooth, fair skin. Then he realizes he's staring and quickly looks away, focusing on the starry sky instead.

"It's okay," Zuko says quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He glances at Sokka, then gestures to his face. "Everyone stares."

"I didn't—that's not what..." Sokka puts his hands up defensively, then sighs and drops them. "Sorry."

Zuko shrugs. "I know it's ugly."

"It isn't," Sokka says quickly. Zuko makes a face like he's raising an eyebrow, except he doesn't have an eyebrow on that side, just marred, red skin. "It's badass."

"Badass," Zuko says slowly, then shakes his head and rests his chin on his knees.

"Yeah," Sokka says, crossing his legs under him. "Scars are cool. I got a sweet one when I fought off a dolphin piranha that attacked our fishing boat one time. Check it out!"

By the time embarrassment catches up with him, he's already pulled up his shirt to show Zuko the round, bite-shaped scar just below his ribs. He sits there for a second, cheeks pink as Zuko stares at him, then quickly tugs his shirt back down and crosses his arms over his stomach.

"I don't like my scars," Zuko says quietly. He doesn't elaborate, just stares up at the stars.

Sokka's brain takes too long to catch up to his mouth, so before he can think better of it, he asks, "How'd you get it?" Zuko's shoulders tense and Sokka mentally smacks himself. "Sorry, that's not my—"