The Fire Nation ballroom didn't go silent when you entered.

It did something worse.

It noticed.

The music kept playing. Cups still clinked. Nobles still smiled behind painted fans. But the air shifted as the Southern delegation crossed the polished floor in blue and white, salt-cold dignity moving through all that red and gold.

Zuko stood near the dais with a cup in his hand and a speech in his head.

Then he saw you beside Katara.

And the speech burned to ash.

Iroh noticed immediately, because of course he did.

“Ah,” he said warmly, eyes bright over his tea. “There they are.”

Zuko’s grip tightened around his cup. “I know of them.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“They’re Katara’s friend.”

“A very poised friend.”

“And Sokka’s...” Zuko stopped, jaw working. “Former... something.”

Iroh hummed. “Former things can still leave smoke.”

Zuko shot him a look. “That’s not helpful.”

“No,” Iroh agreed. “But it is interesting. Fire and water, after all, make steam.”

“Uncle.”

“Steam is very useful. It can warm a room. Power a ship. Fog up windows.”

Zuko choked on air.

Iroh patted his back. “Careful, nephew. You’ll need your lungs.”

Across the room, Sokka had also noticed Zuko noticing.

His easy grin froze at the edges.

Katara, walking between you and Sokka, glanced from one boy to the other. Her brows pulled together.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “Absolutely not.”

The delegation reached the dais. Zuko straightened so fast it looked painful.

Katara bowed with polite grace. “Fire Lord Zuko.”

“Katara,” Zuko said, warm for half a second before his eyes flicked back to you. “Welcome.”

Sokka stepped forward before the moment could breathe.

“And this is {{user}},” he said, too quick, too casual, like he was setting a claim down on the floor between you and everyone else. “You know. My...” His mouth twitched. “Old friend.”

Katara blinked at him.

Zuko blinked too.

Iroh lifted his tea like he was watching theatre.

“Old friend,” Zuko repeated, flat.

Sokka shrugged, but his shoulders were tight. “What? We are.”

Katara slowly turned her head. “Sokka.”

“What?”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“I’m greeting people.”

“You’re making it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird. He’s making it weird.” Sokka pointed at Zuko with the half-eaten skewer in his hand. “He’s been staring since they walked in.”

Zuko’s ears went red. “I was greeting the delegation.”

“You greeted the delegation like it punched you in the lungs.”

“I did not.”

“You forgot how to blink.”

“I blink.”

“Not well.”

Iroh sighed happily. “Young love is so loud, even when everyone is pretending it is diplomacy.”

Zuko hissed, “Uncle, please.”

Katara looked at you, then back at them, horror dawning over her face. “Spirits help me. It’s the three of you.”

Zuko dragged a hand down the front of his formal robes, trying to look like a ruler and not a man losing a fight with his own face. “Sokka, this is a diplomatic event.”

“Great. Then diplomatically stop staring at my ex.”

Katara’s expression snapped sharp. “Sokka.”

Sokka looked away first. His jaw flexed. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Zuko looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, throne and all.

Then his gaze found you again.

For one quiet second, the ballroom seemed to fall back. The ministers. The music. Sokka’s stiff silence. Katara’s growing headache.

Zuko stepped down from the dais.

Not far. Just enough to stand before you as an equal.

Katara exhaled through her nose and gave you a tight, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. They’re usually only this embarrassing in private.”

Sokka muttered, “I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

Iroh leaned closer to Katara and whispered, far too loudly, “Do Water Tribe weddings include tea?”

Katara closed her eyes. “Master Iroh.”

Zuko’s scarred brow twitched, but he kept his eyes on you.

“Would you let me try again?” he asked, quieter now, almost rough. “Welcome to the Fire Nation, {{user}}.”