"Don't be a baby." Asami twists Iroh's hair viciously enough to leave stretch marks on his face. "It hurts to be beautiful."
It's his own fault. She's the only person he knows in Republic City who can make a proper topknot. When he sees himself in the mirror, not a hair out of place, knee-length formal coat with its gold silk lining gleaming, he knows he looks great.
But when he sees Bolin—jacket unbuttoned, Pabu draped around his neck—scarf down a platter of moon cakes before pulling him laughing onto the dance floor, he knows Asami was wrong.