"You're not eating," Zuko observed. His voice was soft, but somehow stern. "Why?"
Katara sighed, looking down at her untouched bowl of noodles in disgust. She couldn't say. The dissident prince who grew up with everything and chose to leave it all behind would never understand.
"I'm just not hungry," she said despondently.
The frown on her face deepened and she mentally kicked herself. Could she have been any more obvious? She captured a few of the damned things between her chopsticks and raised them to her lips. Her hand shook. Her stomach churned. She couldn't do it. The chopsticks fell back into the bowl with a splash and a clatter. Her whole body began to tremble as tears stung her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. She let her hair fall forward, hiding her face. She would not let Zuko see her cry.
"Look at me," he whispered, tucking her chocolate-colored hair behind her ear.
Katara ignored him.
"Look at me," he said again, louder this time. More insistent. His hand found her chin and he pulled it up, forcing her to meet his eyes. Resting his other hand on her right cheek, he wiped her tears away with his thumb.
Katara lost it. She fell into him as she sobbed, calming down a little as his arms wrapped her in a tight embrace.
"It's so… hard…" she whimpered. "I can't—"
Zuko ran a hand through her hair in a way that let her know he understood. Underneath the tears and the insecurity, her heart swelled as he murmured nonsensical things in her ear to sooth her. After a few more seconds, she pulled away slightly to look at him.
Katara hated mirrors. She often found herself wondering where the idiot who'd brought them into existence had gotten the idea. Did they just wake up one morning and think "Hmmm… what if I could invent something that throws people's insecurities back at them in the bluntest fashion and shows no mercy doing it."? She didn't see the point of them, other than to glorify physical perfection for those who had it, and humiliate those who didn't. In her eyes, mirrors had always been evil. They mocked her.
Now, looking into Zuko's golden eyes, something strange was occurring. As she stared into their reflective depths, she slowly began to see herself the way he saw her. She was exotic, delicate, unique; like a single rose in a field of lilies.
"You're beautiful." He kissed her forehead. She didn't have to overanalyze anything to know that he truly believed that, and, for the first time in seven years, she did too.