Ty Lee's shudders are all too evident in the cool wind on their way back. Azula doesn't slow down to walk by her side, to share some of the heat always glowing under her skin. She keeps her back perfectly straight, her pace perfectly even and her eyes on the path leading down the hill towards the beach house.
At the shore, the waves rise and fall in repeated crescendos, never losing their rhythm. When they break against the sand the roar drowns out Mai and Zuko's hushed conversation, but as the sea draws back to catch its breath the voices always resurface. Mai's laughter clings to Azula's back, husky and low, without any edge of sarcasm. Zuko's whispers pool in Azula's footsteps, sickeningly tender. She tenses her arms and curls her fingers, summoning tiny sparks of lightning but not releasing them. The electricity pinches her nerves.
The thrill of victory is already long gone. It was a small one to start with. Seeing Chan's house and party in ruins was satisfactory enough, but not something to be remembered as legendary. She doesn't think about that now. There are other thoughts on her mind; more itching and bothersome.
There was something there, at that party. Something just out of reach, like a message written with invisible ink but without instructions on how to make the letters appear. Something in the feet of the dancing couples, in the quirk of an eyebrow, in the tangible tension. There was a game going on, but no one had bothered to tell her the rules. Nothing she did got the right, predicted response.
Azula sweeps her hair off her shoulders. It doesn't matter. By the end of the evening she had introduced her own rules, and that's what really counts. This feeling lingering in the pit of her stomach, this incomplete anger, is irrelevant.
She leads their little group past silent, sleeping houses, past the looming shadows of rocks lining the path. The cottage is a warm, homely glow balancing on poles over the water. Its insides are a hodgepodge of useless trinkets and non-matching cushions, but from the outside it looks as dignified as a small wooden house can ever hope to be.
Lo and Li are still up. There's a small supper ready, several dishes arranged in the main room on the first floor. Azula isn't interested. She dismisses the servants and sets off up the stairs without another word, gesturing impatiently for Ty Lee to follow.
There are no lights in their shared bedchamber. The lamps are filled with oil, but not lit. The sliding doors to the balcony are open so the cool night air can replace the day-heat, the curtains swaying in the breeze. Snake-like shadows sway along on the floor, mimicking the fabric's every movement. The ceiling weighs dark and heavy on the room. The sky outside is strewn with stars.
"Oh, wow!" Ty Lee runs through the room, braid bouncing on her back. She steps outside, breathes in deeply and contentedly, and half walks, half twirls over to the railing. "Azula, you should come out, too. The stars look amazing from here!"
Only half an hour ago she claimed to be freezing; now she laughs as the wind ruffles her bangs and tugs the skirt up her thighs.
Azula stays inside. She's seen the stars a thousand times.
The mirror above the dresser is a sample card of different shades of darkness, her face a pale oval floating in the middle. Around her reflection, formless shapes flicker over the glass. It's only a trick of the light, but her eyes are still drawn to the indistinct figures, staring at them until they seem to melt together with her own face.
A dry knock of wood as Ty Lee walks back into the room and shuts the sliding door behind her breaks the spell. Resolutely, Azula turns from the mirror. She lifts her arms and flicks her fingers once in the direction of each lamp, shooting small, controlled flames at the wicks. They all hit their mark.
"Ty Lee." Azula doesn't raise her voice but she makes it sharp and clear, like the crack of a whip. "My hair."
Sitting down, she holds a hairbrush out, expectant, demanding. She lets the slim metal handle slide out of her grip a little too soon, so that Ty Lee has to lunge forward to catch it. Her features a mask of indifference, Azula faces the mirror. She doesn't glance to the side.
Ty Lee has strong, lethal fingers, but their touch is soft and tender, gently stroking the bangs off Azula's forehead, tucking them behind her ears.
"Did you have fun at the party?" she asks, undoing the hair tie and ruffling down the tresses on top. Azula's scalp smarts when the roots bend in new directions, but Ty Lee finds the right parting, puts every strand in its place.
"By the very end of it."
"And you didn't have any fun at all before that?"
There's a smile playing in the corners of Ty Lee's mouth, a teasing glint in her eyes. Azula is taking off the heavy necklace and she puts it down carefully on the dresser before her, running her fingers over gold and precious gemstones, the metal warm from her skin. The feel of its weight lingers around her neck. She reaches toward a small tower of tiny, folded towels, taking one from the top and shaking it out with a snap.
"If you have something to say, then do so. You're wearing on my patience."
When their eyes meet in the glass, Ty Lee shifts her gaze.
"I just," she starts, swallows, and continues with an appeasing smile. It's not an unpleasant sight. "I saw you and Chan leave for a while together."
With a towel between her lips to remove the lipstick, Azula can't answer. The material is soft and white, with a sweet-smelling scent of perfume. She takes her time wiping off the makeup, following the arch of her upper lip, leaving it paler, less striking. Once she's done, she drops the towel on the floor.
"He was a huge disappointment."
When both of them are silent, she can hear the waves even with the doors and windows closed. Ty Lee tilts her head. There's no trace of pity in her expression, only offence.
"Boys are stupid, aren't they?"
"So are most girls."
It's said lightly, with a quirked eyebrow as though it's a joke, and Ty Lee picks up on it the way she's supposed to; with a laugh.
"Everyone's stupid compared to you. But it's different with boys."
Before she knows it, Ty Lee has bent down, face on level with Azula's. Her cheek lightly touches Azula's ear. Her breath is warm and a little damp on Azula's neck. She has the same sweet-smelling scent as the towels, with a tinge of sweat underneath. It's not an unpleasant smell.
"Anyway, you don't need them. You have me."
Azula glances up into the mirror and finds that she's smiling. She didn't notice until now.
"So in other words: you consider yourself better than every man in the Firenation? That's a bold thing to say."
"Do you mind?"
"No. What I do mind is the fact that you haven't begun brushing my hair yet."
Ty Lee has her flaws, but she's obedient and her hands are steady. The bristle doesn't graze skin once as she brushes Azula's hair in long, fluid strokes, from the roots to the ends, never losing its rhythm.
"Your hair is so pretty."
Her voice is a murmur, almost lost in the mass of pillows, curtains and blankets filling the room. Azula doesn't answer. She leans back until she feels the smooth skin of Ty Lee's bare midriff against her shoulders, until she feels the undersides of Ty Lee's breasts against the top of her head. Outside, the ocean beats away at the shore, the roar of frothing waves reaching them like sighs through the walls. In the mirror, their smiles mimic each other.
With a flick of the wrist, Azula turns the lights out.