Their relationship was built on cherry blossoms petals.

It could drift away like cherry blossom petals.

They are so fleeting, they wither and die so fast. And Azula feared that she and TyLee would just as well. She didn't want to lose TyLee, but she couldn't see herself being able to keep her either. TyLee was warm and kind, friendly and bubbly. Azula, herself, was cold and stoic, intimidating and unapproachable. She thought that perhaps TyLee deserved someone better than she. Someone more chipper and easier to love.

TyLee was a cherry blossom and she was a rose. Roses have thorns and rougher parts to annunciate their beauty and keep people well away.

TyLee was silk and she was velvet. Velvet, rich and dark but not as light and inviting as silk.

She wanted to be silk too. She wanted to be a cherry blossom.

And so she tried to force it.

To be exactly who she wasn't.

For a time she could almost pretend that it had worked. For a time she could almost pretend that she was kind and caring and worth caring for. For a time she could pretend that she was compassionate and loving. Maybe if she kept it up it would be real. But in truth it was awkward and uncanny and probably only served to push everyone away.

Because now she wasn't a cherry blossom nor a rose but something in between, some undesirable hybrid that was meant to blacken and wither. A cherry blossom had companions, many of them lined up in the same tree. A cherry blossom attracted cherry blossoms. Even a rose had company alongside others on the rose bush. Even if they only spit venom and half-truths at each other. Even if they were prickly and hard to love, they were so in sets. In trying to become a cherry blossom, Azula had no common ground with anyone.

She couldn't see herself getting that back. She no longer had the will if she were being perfectly honest with herself. She couldn't quite remember how to be who she was before. She couldn't quite remember if she was truly anyone at all.

She wanted to become a cherry blossom to keep the one she had.

In doing so she lost her cherry blossom.

In doing so she was alone.

Broken.

Broken until it became a comfort to be so. There was no risk of falling when she was already at the bottom. At the bottom with no one and nothing, where flowers of any kind refused to blossom. Where it was only dirt and rock.

And sometimes if she looked up she could see those soft delicate petals drifting down. A glimpse at what she had once had. What she had pushed away.

She could hear TyLee laugh, but it wasn't for her nor with her. She had a new girlfriend, a cherry blossom like herself. But a real one. Not a rose with petals painted pink. A real one. This girl liked to dance, she was elegant and sweet and took TyLee into twirls and spins. They fluttered through the air as cherry blossoms ought to.

But never touching the ground where Azula remained alone.

When she was a child she would burn the flowers that weren't as pretty as the others. She would burn the ones that grew alone. The ones that were out of place. She would preen the bushes of their blemishes. And perhaps she—an abomination, hybrid sort of monstrosity—ought to be purged as well. It would be as simple as lighting the flame and standing still as it edged closer, licking at her petals.

Yes.

She ought to do that.

And so she did.

She lit the hem of her robe and watched it burn away. Watched the flame creep up her arm until it smothered. Just as she was angry when her mother stopped her from burning the palace garden, she cried out in anger when TyLee suffocated the flames on her sleeve.

She doesn't know why TyLee had bothered. TyLee liked the pretty flowers. The ones with pristine petals and soft pastel hues. She liked her new woman. Her cherry blossom. Her real cherry blossom. So why would she bother with a withering half-rose, half-cherry blossom? Azula thought that she might just want them both.

But she can't have a bouquet.

Azula didn't want to be part of a bouquet.

TyLee reached out and stroked her hair, her delicate petals. Her eyes were as soft as usual and Azula thought that maybe this whole time, she was making problems where there were none. That TyLee hadn't wanted her to change at all. That if she hadn't gone and tried to be exactly the opposite of Azula, then she wouldn't be there down at the bottom.

She couldn't help it, she cried. Cried tears as genuine as her laugh had been fake. As true as her peppy façade was forced. For it she found herself in TyLee's arms, trying to get a handle on herself. Not quite succeeding. At least she wasn't alone.

Miserable.

Broken.

Hurt.

But not alone.

She hoped that being held so closely meant that TyLee had chosen her over the other. Azula wouldn't hold her breath, things didn't come easily to her anymore. Love never had in the first place. TyLee brushed a few tears off of her cheeks. For once she thought that maybe it might, if only she could stop overthinking it. And she vocalized such.

"You wouldn't be Azula if you didn't over think things."

Somehow hearing her say it was comforting.

Because with it the last of that ridiculous false-self fell away.

She was Azula again. She was a rose. She was velvet.

And finally it set in that perhaps she didn't have to be anything else at all. That she was meant to be a rose just the way TyLee was meant to be a cherry blossom. It finally set in that TyLee wanted a rose instead of a cherry blossom. TyLee wanted velvet instead of silk. That TyLee wanted cynical, stand-offish, and controlling Azula.

It set in that perhaps TyLee could ignore the thorns, or work around them—maybe carefully clip them off. That she could get around them and see the petals, vivid and red and worth a few pricks and cuts. So she let TyLee hold her and tell her pretty things. Pretty things that very well could be true. Pretty things until being a rose finally felt acceptable.

Right.

TyLee was a cherry blossom.

Azula was a rose.

And suddenly that was okay.