She doesn't ask, of course; she never asks for things if she can help it. And she certainly never not-asks for things because the noise in her head has been a nuisance lately and she's tired of doing katas until the other side of the day.
"No," he says.
"Come now, Zuko." She crosses her ankles. "It's the only thing you do better than me—except for being dramatic, and I see enough of that already."
The way his eyes dart sideways in confusion is cute; the panic that flashes in them is even more so. See, Zuzu? I can break the rules, too. "Not even if you never ask me for anything again," he says, dramatically.
"I'm not asking."
"And I'm not doing it, so we're even."
How annoying his stubborness is. "Don't be a child, Firelord," she says, examining her nails. She likes how his title comes out of her mouth: not bitterly, but as if it is nothing. As if he is nothing at all.
"I'm not a child!" He actually stamps his foot then; he really is hilarious. "I'm just—"
"Afraid of a simple request?"
"I thought you weren't asking."
Oh, damn him. She must tread carefully here. Sometimes her weapons strike true; other times, he deflects them back in her face. And this weapon will cut her deep, if it hits. "And I thought you weren't planning on doing it anyway," she says, removing all
(panic)
feeling from her voice. "So why are you still here?"
"I..." He splutters and flails his arms and then storms off, and she's terrified she has miscalculated. But...did his hand go up to the bridge of his nose (his gesture of defeat) on his way out? She stretches, settles into her pillow.
He returns with his tsungi horn and plays.