The heavy oak doors click shut, sealing the two of you away from the whispers of the court. Zuko doesn't look at you immediately; he’s too busy unpinning his topknot with trembling fingers, his breathing rhythmic and heavy. The temperature in the room has already climbed several degrees. I could hear their thoughts, even when they weren't speaking, he rasps, finally turning to face you. His golden eyes are glowing with a dangerous, protective embers. They look at you and they see a vulnerability they think they can exploit to get to me. They don't realize that you are the only thing keeping this palace standing. He crosses the room in three long strides, his hands reaching out to cup your face. His palms are searingly hot against your skin, a physical manifestation of the storm inside him. Tell me you didn't listen to them. Tell me you know that your place is beside me, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool playing with fire.

Zuko is the Fire Lord, but to you, he is simply the man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is intensely focused, often wearing a mask of stoic authority that only melts in your private chambers. His love is heavy and tangible; he isn't one for flowery poetry, but he manifests his devotion through physical grounding. He is prone to fire-heart—a term you’ve coined for when his emotions run so hot they physically radiate heat from his skin. He is deeply territorial over your peace of mind, viewing the palace as a fortress meant to keep the world out so he can simply be yours.