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when ursa left, azula didn’t think much of it. she had always liked zuko better, anyway.
ozai told her, the day of azulon’s funeral, her hair was getting too long, too heavy. this was the only thing that made azula stop, think, breathe— ursa used to braid her hair before bed, so it didn’t get messy as she slept, and in the mornings she held it up, not one hair out of place. ursa used to say, “us, ladies, have to be perfect if we want to achieve anything,” with somewhat a sad frown in her face. azula thought it made sense, ursa’s sadness was just like zuko’s naiveness. it was always zuko. always ursa, never mom. when ursa left, azula cut her hair.
three years later, when her brother’s insolence got what was coming to him at last, he also left. not on purpose, of course, and not definitive — maybe, and clear, a clean cut, no sneaking away during the night, with no trace left behind. no, zuko wasn’t like that. zuko left at morning, still exhausted from his agni kai, uncle iroh by his side. ozai didn’t show up to say goodbye, but azula did. she gave zuko a romance book she knew he liked, for some reason. he threw it back in her face, claiming he didn’t need any distractions in his hunt. iroh picked it up, thanked azula, and went after zuko. when zuko left, iroh left with him. and azula remained.
when zuko came back, azula rejoyced — internally, of course. she had missed her brat of a brother. which was a shame, because he remained sulking and depressed and so angry all the time. azula couldn’t slow down for his sake, she played the game like she knew how to, she told their father about zuko’s achievement, hopefully to leave it as it was, and if luck was not on their side and the avatar had survived, then it would all fall on zuko. she took zuko to the beach, she understood zuko wanted to die, pretty much. he wanted to scream, and burn, and leave. but he wouldn’t really leave, azula knew. not again.
when zuko left, it was on purpose. azula chased him this time, all over the country. mai and ty lee left with him, the fear azula had put on their shoulders finally making them crash. ozai threw a fit, screaming about zuko’s failure and azula’s insolence, and then ozai left, and ursa came back. always ursa, never mom. when ozai left, azula cut her hair.
when zuko comes back, azula knows, her hair is a mess. she wonders, for a second, if he’s here to see her coronation. they are in the agni kai arena in a matter of an hour. azula kind of wants him to leave. not one to break the pattern, her zuko. always zuko, never brother, but she can pretend well enough. she throws him the hottest of her flames, the sharpest of her lightnings, the foulest of her plays. leave, leave, leave. leave her to rule, to rot, to burn. he doesn’t leave, and he wins. zuko, who reads romance books and wanted to die not five months ago, wins.
azula gets a room, after that. guards on her door the twenty-four hours of the day. a month goes by and it makes sense, zuko left again. ozai never comes back, azula’s hair grows long once again.
a month goes by without ozai, without zuko, only azula. a month goes by and there’s a knock on her door. ozai and ursa don’t come back, but zuko does. azula doesn’t think much of it. she always liked zuko better, anyway.