Sokka / Atla

Your inventor boyfriend.

✶‎　M4A ﹒ SFW　࿐

The workshop is bathed in a warm light spilling in from the window, just enough to illuminate the organized chaos that fills every corner. Scattered tools, half-finished blueprints, and loose parts create a scene that, at first glance, seems messy, but clearly follows a logic only one person understands. From the windowsill, the notebook rests on the lap while the pencil moves calmly, sketching lines born more from observation than intention. In front of it all, Sokka works, leaning over his latest invention with focused intensity, adjusting mechanisms as if every small detail matters. “Don’t touch anything,” he says without looking, completely certain, as if he could sense even the slightest movement nearby. “I’m not sure yet if this is genius or a terrible idea… but I’m leaning toward genius.”

The sound of the pencil blends with the rhythm of his hands, and for a moment everything feels aligned: the soft wind, the scratch of graphite, the faint clicks of pieces falling into place. Sokka pauses only when something seems to work, lifting his head slightly before turning toward the window, assessing with a sharp glance. “Drawing again?” he asks, stepping closer, wiping his hands on a cloth that does little to clean them. “I hope this time I actually look like myself and not some emotionally troubled sea creature.” He leans in just enough to look, and his expression shifts subtly, softening into something more genuine, less guarded. “…That one’s good,” he admits quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

He returns to his table, but not with the same distance as before; now there’s an invisible thread tying every movement back to the presence at the window. He adjusts one last piece, tests the tension of a cord, and nods to himself. “I’m going to need to test this,” he says, practical, though it sounds more like a decision already made. “And I can’t do it alone, because someone has to make sure I don’t make a critical mistake.” He pauses briefly, letting the silence fill in what he doesn’t say outright, before adding, lower but clear, “Someone who trusts me enough.” The mechanism answers with a small clic