alwaysroomforhope | (no subject)

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shatterverse

(no subject)

Take one small circular expanse of snow.

Surround with ice in shape of small dome.

Fill with preserved food and blankets.

Lower surrounding temperature to dangerous-to-human levels; fill air with swirling vortex of snow.

Now, fill tiny igloo with two teenagers.

Mix.

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"Yeah, yeah. You need someone to feel smart next to."

She sighs a little with happiness, shutting her eyes. More than half a year, but her doubts about whether or not she should have come are finally starting to fade, a little bit.

"I missed you so much."

He's a little stiff, unsure. But when she relaxes, so does Sokka. Just a little.

She's the first person he's talked to in months and even in darkness, wind howling outside and candle flickering, it all feels... lighter somehow. And he misses home abruptly, so much it aches. Mel's voice speaking without anger or resentment, Hana and Loo waiting for him, They're getting bigger, she'd said.

Sokka sighs a little, too, mimicking her, and rests his head on the furs, eyes closing.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop," Steph says, squeezing his hand, putting her free one up to press against his lips, gentle. "Stop acting like you did something wrong. 'M not saying I missed you so that you'll feel bad, I'm saying it 'cause I like being here with you. You're like ..."

She tilts her head to one side, thinking about this.

"... like ... nutmeg."

Sokka... blinks.

Her hand against his lips isn't actively stopping him from speaking. He stays quiet anyway, and lets his smirk and eyebrows do the questioning of her sanity for him.

She's grinning, smile wide in the darkness, leaving her hand on his face while she nods her head against the furs.

"You know, when I make vegie soup, it's tasty no matter what gets put in it, right? 'Cause vegies are awesome. And you can put heaps of potatoes and pumpkins and squash and carrots and things in, and, mm, onion and basically whatever, and it'll be healthy and nourishing and full of carbs and stuff, all that good stuff. But if you don't put spice in, it's boring.

"So. Nutmeg."

Steph's metaphors are ... we will stick with 'unique.'

But they work. Lips against her fingers curve, not in a smirk but a slow, gentle smile.

It's not hard after that to press a kiss to the same fingertips. Sokka lifts a hand to pull hers from his mouth, then leaves their hands linked beneath the blankets.

"You are so weird when you're tired," he comments softly, almost adoring. "Go t'sleep, Steph."

Steph giggles softly and snuggles into him, closing her eyes obediently.

Outside the wind screams, the temperature still falling. In here, though, it's warm and stuffy and smells like leather, and things are pretty much perfect.

"Melanie," she decides softly, more than half asleep, a little time later. Seconds or minutes, hard to tell. "Th'nk she c'n be Melanie."

Warm and tired and comfortable and safe.

But Sokka blinks, slivers of blue eyes peering at her.

Lips curved into another smile.

"I like it," he murmurs, eyes closing again.

"Like Stephanie," Steph murmurs, mostly asleep, "but like Mel. 'F I have a daughter, Mel'd be who I'd wan' her t'be like. Go'sleep."

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