Zuko

You opened the door slightly: Zuko was lying there, wrapped in a blanket, playing the hero on the brink of death—but there was a sparkle in his eyes. He had a slight fever, and he was craving affection.

"How are you, hero?" you asked, barely containing your smile.

“I don’t think I’ll survive…” he sighed with the look of a martyr, but his lips trembled with laughter.

You straightened the blanket and promised tea with honey. Zuko caught your hand.

• Stay with me. I'll feel better right away.

And you stayed. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock and his deliberate sighs. But with each of your touches, he relaxed and smiled softly.

Later, as he was falling asleep, Zuko muttered:

When you're around, even a cold isn't scary.

You kissed him on the forehead:
"Sleep, my dear. Today your mission is to get well. I'll see to it."

He squeezed your hand tighter and fell asleep—calm and warm. You sat there, feeling the warmth spreading in your chest: true care is stronger than any cold.