Sokka surveys the room. It's been a long time since he last visited. How long? He recognises the olive green flooring, remembers how hard it is without touching. Not more than a few years have passed yet memories crawl out of their hiding places. Bits of information tucked away resurface.

Yes... he turns to the wall. They had stood there, in front of two fans. Hands on hips, watching him like he was a puppy chasing its tail.

It was when he hopped across the floor, hand tied to his foot, that he accepted what happened. He'd been defeated by a girl.

Not just any girl.

Laughter rings in his head. How foolish he must have looked. No. How foolish he had been. None of them giggled until he was flat on his front, unable to keep a straight face any longer. He still feels ashamed of his behaviour, even now only joking about it with the person who played along before knocking sense into him.

Sokka's hand falls onto his shoulder. Yes. She jabbed her fan there. Then he lost his temper and kicked at her, only for her to duck and use his own strength against him. He returned to his feet without a plan and it was all too easy for her to catch his fist, make him lose his balance, and swing him around as if he weighed nothing.

And look where it got him.

Now they were married.

Footsteps. He chuckles.

"Fancy a dance lesson?" he asks.

She responds with a smirk.

Sokka turns to face her. She wields a single fan while he holds its twin, now part of a sword. And then they run towards each other, different yet equal.

"Just like old times, right, Sokka?"

He laughs. "Just like always."