She looks smaller and younger than her five years standing in the doorway, pouting and grumbling that it's too cold and she hates the rain. Zuko sighs, he was just falling asleep when she'd barged in there and he has half a mind to call their mother or a servant, anyone who will quiet her and let him go back to sleep.
But the lightning crashes, Azula cries, and he's pulling back the covers.
"Get in. But don't tell Mother or Father, you're supposed to be sleeping in your own bed," he whisperes. "And they'll blame me."
"Mother never blames you for anything," she retorts. Lightning crashes again, and Azula grabs onto him.
"It's okay." He pats her head comfortingly. "Now go to sleep, the storm should be over by morning."
When the lightning crashes next, they've both fallen asleep.
(she screams, tears streaming messily down her haggard face, lightning crashes as she exhales blue fire with every breath; Zuko casts one last glance and turns away in silence, but her screams follow him even after they've left)