As Ty Lee moves toward him in her green robes and her seven pounds of make-up, Zuko finds himself noticing that Ty Lee doesn't just walk anywhere. She seems perpetually stuck between a race, a dance, and a gymnastics routine.
Ty Lee stops inches from his face. She never did understand the concept of personal bubbles.
"Your crown thingie's all crooked," she tells him.
With a sinking feeling, Zuko knows where this will end. "It's fine."
She shakes her head so emphatically her braid slaps him in the face. "Nope. It's just awful. I'll fix it."
His throat seizes. "No, don't--"
But it's too late. Her hands are in his hair, her fingers scraping his scalp, and his face uncomfortably close to her cleavage. He is unconditionally grateful that Mai is distracted for the moment.
“Done!” she chirps, backing away, her smile glittering in the middle of her parchment white face.
The smile stays for exactly three seconds. Just like the hair.
He feels the gold flame tilt far over to the left. His bangs fall in front of his face. And he swears he feels several locks tangle together of their own accord.
Ty Lee sighs. “Too bad. It looked so good for a little bit.” She shrugs, and her optimism is infuriating. “Oh, well. Later, Zuko!”
“It is Fire Lord Zuko,” he growls as she bounds away.
“Hey, Fire Lord.” Mai’s low, throaty drawl fills his ears, which promptly turn pink when she runs her nails along his neck, lightly tugging on the fallen strands. “Nice do.”
His head falls forward. "I hate my life."
The ornament clatters to the ground.