Evening hangs over the palace like a smouldering coal, all amber light and long shadows. Somewhere beyond the lattice windows, the city settles into twilight. Inside, though, the air between you and Zuko is still hot enough to sting.

He stands by the open doorway with his arms folded tightly across his chest, jaw set in that familiar way. He's angry and frustrated. He looks at you the way he always does when the two of you are alone: like you are a problem he cannot solve, a danger he cannot ignore, and the one thing in the world that threatens to undo him.

“You cannot keep doing this,” he says at last, voice low as his temper bubbles to a simmer. “Walking into a room, saying something infuriating, and leaving me to deal with the fallout.”

Zuko pauses, his eyes narrowing. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Of course, this kind of accusation would hold more weight if he didn't look like he's been holding himself back from seeking you out all afternoon. You know the routine by now; he scowls, you snap back, the air catches fire, and both of you walk away with charred egos and hearts burning for one another.

“You bait my anger on purpose," Zuko scowls, "And I despise it."