Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’re sitting in Korra’s backyard and you don’t know why because it’s hot and the summer air is making your hands sweat and your socks are sticking to your toes and it’s actually really uncomfortable. She’s sitting down and leaning against an apple-less apple tree smoking a cigarette and her lips are puckered around the end and every time she takes a drag her collarbones become more visible. She’s in a baggy white t-shirt and it keeps slipping off her shoulder and you’re trying not to stare, but then you notice there’s a cut on her knee that’s speckled with gravel and blood.

“What happened there,” you ask pointing at the cut.

Her eyebrows crinkle a little bit and her big blue eyes are squinting and you think she looks way too fucking cute, “Oh, I tripped. At least I think—honestly it could’ve been anything—the point is my knee made contact with the ground.” She takes another drag still looking at you with her impossibly blue eyes. You squirm a little bit because there are patches of light coming in from between leaves and branches and it’s making her eyes glimmer a little bit and she looks beautiful with smoke flowing around her face.

“You should probably get it cleaned up,” you say nudging her bicep and you flinch a little because you sometimes forget how muscular she is.

She shrugs and tilts her head in your direction, “Maybe, it’s not that big of a deal.” Korra taps the end of the cigarette with her thumb and you watch the little bits of ash float to the ground like snowflakes. She goes to put it back in her mouth but you pluck the cigarette out from between her fingers and bring it to your lips as you smile at her. You try not to think about how you can taste chap stick or how kissing the cigarette is kind of like kissing her, so you take a long drag and breath out slowly and you watch the smoke stream past your lips.

She’s giving you a lopsided grin and her front tooth on the left side is slightly crooked, but it’s barely noticeable, and she has a dimple under her right eye and your heart is suddenly beating a little bit faster.

You don’t know when exactly you started to have feelings for Korra, she’s been your best friend since elementary school and you have always done everything together. When you look at her you think of climbing trees and warm beaches and shoplifting and sneaking into movies and bike rides and ice cream. You think that, even as a young girl, she was a force to be reckoned with; headstrong and impulsive and so brave and carefree and wild, with messy hair and scrapes and scratches and chewed up fingernails.

And it was kind of like one day she touched your arm or your hand or she looked at you a certain way and suddenly everything was different. Suddenly you were looking at her lips all the time and you noticed the sway of her hips and how her smile made you feel like you were going to throw up but in a good way. And you always knew Korra was really pretty, but then she became more than that; her eyes became your favorite color and when she touched you you thought your knees would give out and her laugh became your favorite sound and you wanted to be the one to induce it. When you’re with Korra everything feels right and you think about her more often than you should and you smile when she sends you text messages and you kind of just always want to be around her.

She takes the cigarette out of your fingers and smokes the rest of it and then she crushes it under her shoe. She taps her foot against your calf and gets up off the ground, “Come on, ‘Sami, it’s getting way too hot out here,” she says as she wipes her hands on the back of her shorts and extends a hand out to you. You take her hand and she helps you up in one fluid motion and she makes it look—like—ridiculously easy.

You follow her across the yard and through the sliding glass doors that lead into her living room. You’ve always liked Korra’s home because it actually feels like a home and it looks sort of old fashioned and it’s just all around nice. The walls are completely wood paneled except for a section that’s made of stone for the fireplace. There’s one couch and a love seat adjacent from each other and a coffee table in the middle and in between there’s a side table with—what you can only describe as—a stereotypical lamp. There are pictures lining the walls, mainly of Korra because she’s an only child, and there are old family photos and paintings and it’s a little hazy from the afternoon sun and it’s just comfy.

Korra plops herself on the couch and she’s half on it and half dangling; her right arm and her right leg are hanging off the side and her fingers are just barely grazing the carpet. You sit yourself down on the ground next to her and she starts to twirl a strand of your hair around her index finger and she looks so serious and she’s pouting a little bit and you wonder what she’s thinking about.

“Hey, ‘Sami?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s it like to be in love?”

The question kind of catches you off guard and you want to tell her it’s like jumping off a swing and its exciting and terrifying all at once, and you can’t really go back once you’ve let go. You want to tell her it’s blue eyes and a loud laugh and sneaking out with a beautiful girl but you don’t say any of that.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you say looking at the ground as you pull on a small bit of the carpet. And you think it’s the end of the conversation but—

“Well, how do you know you’re in love?”

You look at her for a second trying to predict what she’s getting at, but Korra has never been predictable and she more or less says whatever is on her mind so even though she’s your best friend you have no idea why she’s asking.

“You know you’re in love when you put the other person’s happiness above your own—at least I think,” and when you’re done talking she’s giving you this look like she wants to say something else.

“Why,” the rest of the question is there on the tip of your tongue, you’re not sure if you want to hear the answer, but you ask anyway, “do you think you’re in love with Mako?”

Korra throws her arm over her face and you can see her smiling and blushing and being really cute and you wish that you were the one to make her act like that—but you’re not, because she’s with Mako and she’s your best friend.

“No,” she mumbles out and you let out a breath you never really realized you were holding, “I mean I really like him, but—I don’t know—love seems a bit extreme. But maybe I am—y’know—falling for him.”

Your chest kind of aches when she says that and there’s a small lump in your throat, but you knew this would come, you know that she’s with Mako and she has been for a few months now. And it doesn’t really matter whether you think they’re right for each other or not because Korra’s happy, or at least you think. But they fight a lot and Korra sometimes calls you when she’s fuming and she goes on about how infuriating he is, but she stays with him.

So, you ignore the ache in your chest and you say, “Well, you’ll know when you actually are in love, alright?” You give her the best smile you can muster and she goes back to playing with your hair and part of you wishes that being around Korra wasn’t this easy.

You and Korra are sprawled out on the couch and her legs are resting in your lap and she’s tracing patterns on your palm.

“Hit me with a fun fact, Sato,” she says giving you a goofy grin.

“All the clocks in Pulp Fiction are stuck on 4:20,” you say laughing a little bit because it’s actually really funny. Korra is giving you a really confused look and it seems for a second she doesn’t believe you. But then she bursts out laughing and you smile at the sound because it’s smooth and loud and when she laughs her entire body shakes and her eyes squint a little bit.

“Ok one more,” she says to you.

“Alright, it’s illegal to burp or sneeze during a church service in Nebraska.”

Korra’s laughing again and it’s so light you can’t help but laugh with her. But then you hear her front door opening and she leans up a little bit to see who it is. You hear Bolin talking—or shouting—about how who knows what. He and Opal walk into the living room and he’s still talking and Opal is looking at him with complete adoration and love and all that sappy shit, but it makes you happy because they’re good for each other. Opal walks over and hugs you from behind the couch and Bolin throws himself next to you and he’s huge, but he still manages to squeeze himself into a comfortable position without completely crushing you.

“What have you guys been doing,” Opal asks as she sits on the couch’s armrest.

“Absolutely nothing,” you say giving her a sarcastic smile.

Bolin puts his hand over his heart and makes a face, “And you didn’t even wait for us.”

You shove him and then you feel Korra scramble off of you and run back towards the front door. You peek over the couch and see her throw her arms around Mako’s neck and he has his hands on her hips and you feel sick all of a sudden. Opal is looking at you funny and Bolin is oblivious and Korra is kissing Mako and you just don’t really want to look at them right now.

“Yeah but we’re providing you with beer,” Korra says from behind you.

“Well we’re providing you with company,” Bolin says.

“I don’t know, Asami was good enough company.”

“Ouch, rude.” Bolin says laughing and Opal is still looking at you funny. Korra sits next to you and Mako sits on the floor between her legs and she’s running her hands through his hair and they’re smiling at each other and you think it’s really gross.

“I’ll go get the beer,” you say, to no one really and you get up as quickly as possible. You make your way into the kitchen and put both your hands on the green counter top and hang your head and take deep breaths.

You don’t really have anything against Mako, and maybe if you didn’t have a thing for Korra you would like them together, but that’s not really the case is it? You try not to be around them together because it hurts a little too much, and you notice when he does things that Korra doesn’t like. Sometimes he plays with her hair and you know she hates that unless her scalp is being scratched and his arms are too long to fit perfectly around her shoulders or waist.

You run your fingers through your hair and take one more deep breath. You grab the case of beer out of the fridge and walk back into the living room. Korra and Mako are sitting together on the love seat and Opal is sitting on the back of the couch and Bolin is sitting between her legs. Opal is putting rubber bands in his hair and it’s actually really cute and not gross. You put the case of beer on the coffee table and sit on the couch and you sit facing away from Korra and Mako with one leg tucked under you.

Bolin is opening your beer for you and Mako asks, “Give us a fun fact, Asami, Korra told us the ones you told her earlier.”

“Yeah,” Bolin says excitedly, “tell us a really weird one—or something gross—or dirty—or all of the above!”
“Alright,” you say laughing, “a pig’s orgasm lasts 30 minutes.”

The room is really quiet and Bolin’s face is scrunched up and Opal has stopped playing with his hair and you grin as you take a long drink from your beer.

“That’s amazing,” Bolin says quietly after a few moments.

“I dunno, man,” you hear Mako say behind you, “a thirty minute orgasm sounds tiring and a little stressful.”

“Are you crazy?!” Bolin is throwing his arms around and you’re wondering how he hasn’t spilled his beer yet or how he hasn’t pushed Opal over, “That would be incredible, oh my god.”

“No way, the reason an orgasm feels so good is because it only lasts a little bit, and it’s kind of, like, not something you feel all the time, ya know? It’s like the less you feel something the better it is when you do feel it.”

“No, Mako, but listen—a thirty minute orgasm. Thirty minutes! You can’t tell me that wouldn’t be amazing!”

“No,” Opal says, “Mako has a point.”

“My own girlfriend betraying me for my brother!”

“It’s alright Bolin, we can just blame Asami for tearing us apart,” Korra says and you can hear her smirking.

You whip your head around and raise an eyebrow at her, “Listen you guys asked for a fact; a weird, dirty and gross one, I might add.”

“Some friends you are,” Bolin pouts and Opal pats him on the head and you’re really happy that you’re friends with them because they’re actually really great.

You’re laughing and you hug Bolin’s head to your chest, “We love you Bolin,” and you kiss the top of his head and ruffle his hair.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says but he’s smiling and he pulls away from you to “fix” his hair. You really do love him though, he’s like your little brother and he’s the exact type of comic relief you need in your life. He always knows exactly what to say and when to say it when things seem wrong and he’s so childish and full of life you just have to smile when you look at him.

Korra suddenly gasps dramatically and leans forward in the couch, “Oh my god, Opal, you wanna hear about the time Asami almost got suspended in elementary school for rigging a swing to go all the way around.”

You laugh because Opal is looking at you in shock and because you remember how scared you were. Not because you were going to get in trouble but because Korra broke her left arm in three places, but she refused to cry because she didn’t want you to feel bad and she continuously told you that it was her fault, not yours.

You watch Korra tell the story excitedly and her eyes look like swimming pools lit up at night and the small indent of the dimple under her eye looks kind of like the curve of her lips. At this point the only thing you can focus on are her smiles lines that gently parenthesize her mouth and her crooked front tooth. You’re not really paying attention to what she’s saying, but then Opal is nudging your arm with her leg and Korra is looking at you with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah,” you say, “I felt so bad about her arm breaking that I cried when I saw her in her blue cast, and for, like, two weeks she had to tell me, ‘It’s not so bad, ‘Sams,’ and, ‘Don’t worry it was my fault.’”

You hope that you said the right thing and that Korra doesn’t notice that you weren’t paying attention. And you let out a breath because she’s laughing and you relax a little bit, but you see Opal looking at you funny again.

Bolin starts talking about the time you built makeshift racecars out of paint cans and planks of wood, but it’s hard to focus because you’re watching Korra again. She’s looking at Mako and her cheeks are rosy and they’re touching each other in three different places. His arm is around her and his index finger is drawing circles on her bare shoulder and suddenly you don’t want to be in the room anymore.

“I need a cigarette,” you mumble trying to get out as quickly as possible.

You make it outside and you take the cigarette from behind your ear and light it with shaking hands, you take a drag and breath in deep with a hiss and close your eyes. You feel like someone is dropping bombs in your stomach and all you’re being left with is debris and it’s not cold outside, but you’re shivering and you’re trying really hard to get Korra out of your head. You hear the sliding door open but you don’t look to see who is it because you’re scared it’s going to be her.

Opal loops her arm through yours and rests her head on your shoulder.

“You know,” she says, “you can’t keep hiding this.”

It makes you freeze because—yeah—you kind of thought she knew, but she never really said anything and hearing her say something out loud is a little nerve wracking.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say taking another drag.

Opal snatches the cigarette out from between your lips and crushes it on the ground, “Listen, Sato, you might be able to hide it from everyone else, but you can’t hide it from me. Don’t play dumb, because you’re not.”

The afternoon sun is setting an orange glow around you and it’s warming your pale skin. You love Opal, you always have. She started going to school with you when you were a sophomore and she was a freshman and you guys sort of just clicked. You have only been friends for two years but she has the ability to read everyone and she’s a no bullshit kind of person so it’s—like—really hard to lie to her.

“I can’t very well tell her, can I?” You say looking at the sky instead of her.

“You can. But you won’t.”

“She’s happy, Ope. All I want is for her to be happy. I’m not going to take that away from her.”

“But what about you?” Her green eyes, that are so similar to your own, are looking straight into you, and for a second you’re afraid she somehow has the ability to read minds.

“If she’s happy then I’m happy.”

“I told you not to bullshit me.”

“It’s not entirely a lie,” and it’s true, yes you’d like to be with Korra, and it hurts to see her with someone else. But she seems happy, and really that’s all that matters—sort of.

Opal sighs next to you and hugs your arm a little tighter, “I’m sorry, ‘Sami.”

“Don’t be,” you say resting your cheek on the top of her head. You hear the sliding door open again and you look behind you to see Korra clumsily walk outside. She’s smiling and her cheeks are tinted red and she walks over to you and wraps her arms around your neck from behind. Your breath hitches a little and you relax into her and you already know that Opal is giving you that look again, but you don’t care.

You think that you’d let your heart break a thousand times over just to see Korra smiling like that again, even if it’s not because of you.

Eventually you make it back inside the house and everyone is sitting on the floor laughing and smoking and drinking. You’re a little tipsy and your face and stomach feel warm, but you feel better than you did before.

There’s a slow tune aching from the radio, by The XX, you think, and it’s a song about goodbyes. The room is hazy and your beer is kind of warm, but it’s the summer after high school and Korra’s head is in your lap and you can’t tell if she’s asleep of just really relaxed. The sunlight is streaming in from the windows and, for a moment, you think this summer is going to be the best you’re ever going to have.

Chapter Text

The drive to Korra’s house is really short—actually—it’s so short you should probably walk instead, but you like cars and driving, even if it is for two minutes. You live in a snobby, gated community and the only people you can really tolerate are Opal and her family. Korra lives in the neighborhood next to yours and it’s more middle class, but you like how peaceful it is. The suburban town you guys live in is quiet and sort of sleepy and everything is close by; the city is also—like—right there.

You park your car in Korra’s driveway, and you frown a little bit because your all black car is going to be left in the sun, but—whatever. You walk to the doorstep and knock three times, and you can hear really loud, muffled music from outside. Korra swings the door open and—shit—how are you not supposed to have feelings for her? She’s in a torn up pair of boyfriend jeans rolled up messily at the bottom and a flannel that’s a little too big on her, and the sleeves are rolled up to her forearms, and it’s unbuttoned at her chest exposing tan skin. Her hair is pulled up into a spiky ponytail and her hair is so short some strands in the front and on the sides are coming out; the rest is being held back by bobby pins. She also has paint all over her hands and on her shirt and—well—it’s kind of everywhere, really. Korra has a lit cigarette hanging lazily out of her mouth and another one tucked behind her ear and you realize she was in the middle of creating something.

Ever since her accident Korra has suffered from panic attacks and nightmares and she gets really depressed sometimes. She really didn’t know how to deal with it, but then she started painting and running and it really helps her. Sometimes she really gets into it and it always makes you happy watching her face because she’s so concentrated and serious and it’s like she’s not even in her head anymore.

“Hey, ‘Sami,” she says quickly as she walks back into the house with Naga trailing behind her.

You don’t say anything, because she won’t hear you anyways, and you follow her back into her bedroom. Her room is painted white and her sheets and pillows are completely mismatched. All her clothes are basically piled into the corners and her shoes are strewn about, but you notice that she has canvases and sketches in charcoal kind of all over the floor. There’s a medium sized canvas sitting on an easel next to her window and it’s a half finished painting of what looks like the sky but it’s really good.

Korra goes back to painting, she has a paint brush in one hand a palette in the other and she’s blowing smoke around her face and her hair is falling out of the hair tie and you’re honestly just mesmerized by her. She paints roughly, splotching the paint and leaving imprints of the bristles on the brush, but her eyebrows are furrowed and her face somehow still looks soft. Korra is painting with pinks, and purples, and very pale yellows and orange, and it reminds you of a sunset from her backyard.

You can tell she’s been chain smoking because there’s a water bottle on her windowsill half filled, with cigarette butts floating inside it. She has paint smeared on her chin and jaw, and there are splotches of charcoal on her nose, but you feel lucky that you get to see Korra like this. It feels almost intimate, and like a secret because you’re sure not even Mako sees this quiet and serious side of her. You probably shouldn’t—but you hope no one ever does, you want to be the only one who sees Korra; silent and pensive, with ice blue eyes narrowed in concentration and hands white at the knuckles from the solid grip she has a her brush.

The music is still blaring and it’s some punk band singing about cocaine, and the room is hazy from the smoke, but Korra is leaning on one of her legs and her elbow is tucked into her side. She stops painting and sets everything down, then she pushes all her stray hairs out of her face. She picks up a remote and turns the music down significantly, and twirls around to face you, she has a sad look in her eyes but you know better than to bring it up or ask.

“Sorry about that,” she says sort of quietly as she sits down next to you on her bed.

“S’okay,” you say rubbing her back because it always makes her feel better.

She sighs softly and rests her head on your shoulder, “I just needed to let stuff out, you know?”

“You don’t have to talk about it, Kor.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, “Thanks, ‘Sami,” she says and she kisses your shoulder and for a second you don’t really know what to do. It’s friendly—you know that—and it’s chaste, but her lips are warm and soft and for a second her nose tickles you. But it’s over really quickly and you already feel your face getting hot.

Korra’s laughing and she says, “You know Naga growls at Mako?”

You smirk a little bit and it makes you happier than it should, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah—like—he tries to pet her and she, just, kind of grumbles at him. And, like, whenever he’s around, she gives him the stink eye.”

“I didn’t know dogs could give the stink eye.”

She shoves you a little bit and her eyes are wide and her eyebrows are raised, “Seriously ‘Sams, she gives him dirty looks.”

“Maybe she’s trying to tell you something,” and you say it jokingly but also not.

“You think?”

—Yes—“Of course not.”

“I dunno,” she says laughing. Korra flops herself backwards on her bed and stares at the ceiling. “I had a nightmare again last night,” she says quietly.

“I’m not going to ask you what it was about,” you say as you turn to lie on your stomach and prop your chin on your arm so you’re facing Korra.

She hums and smiles sadly and it breaks your heart a little bit, “Why would you? You already know what they’re about. They’re always about the same thing.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“Asami, I’m not going to call you in the middle of the night!”

“You know I was awake anyways,” you say and she looks away from you, “look, you’re the strongest person I know—hell—you’re probably the bravest too, but don’t ever be afraid or ashamed to ask for help. Especially from me, you should know better than that.”

Korra scoots closer to you and she’s inches away. You could count her freckles and eyelashes if you look long enough and you can easily smell her; cigarettes, coconut shampoo, and toothpaste.

“You know,” she says quietly and you can feel her breath tickling you cheek, “you’re the best, Asami. I dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You probably would’ve broken every bone in your body by now without me around.”

“That’s a fucking lie! I broke my arm in three places because of your demonic swing set invention.”

You hide your face on the bed behind your arms and groan because you truly do still feel bad about it, but Korra is laughing at you. She tries to shake your shoulders but you’re not budging and you keep replaying the image of her falling on her arm. Her big blue eyes welling with tears, cradling her arm refusing to show anyone what happened, but still assuring you it was fine, even though her voice cracked and shook.

You feel Korra’s warm breath on your ear, “I may have broken my arm, but I’ve got the coolest scar, ‘Sami.”

You groan again because—really—Korra isn’t making you feel any better.

“’Sami, listen,” she says, “every time I see it, it reminds me of how insanely fucking brilliant you are. Even at nine years old you were incredible. The scar reminds me of you every time I look at it, it reminds me of my best friend in the whole entire universe. Hell—the multiverse too!”

You peek out from under your arm and Korra is looking at you with a playful glint in her eyes and she’s giving you that goddamn lopsided grin, “There she is,” Korra whispers, and you can’t help but laugh. You look at her left arm and there’s a five inch, pale scar running along her forearm, and you run your finger along the indented skin, remembering how Korra promised you’d be the very first person to sign her cast.

“Do you even know what the multiverse is?” You ask raising an eyebrow at her.

“No, but I’ve heard you mention it before.”

“At least I know you pay attention when I’m talking,” you say laughing.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbles at you, but she’s smiling and giving you that look that makes your head spin. You feel kind of like there’s flowers growing inside of you and there’s a jump in your chest, and you realize you’ll never be able to get Korra out of your head. She’s leaving footprints and traces of herself in the creases of your brain and you don’t really think there’s a way to get her out, and you don’t think you want to.

Everyone decides they want to have a bonfire at the beach, and you kind of hate the sand and wind, but everyone is so excited you’re willing to sacrifice your comfort. You get elected as designated driver because Mako can drive but he doesn’t have a car, Opal is too scared to drive, and Bolin never learned. There’s also Korra; she won’t get in a car unless you or her parents are driving, so, by default, you have to drive.

Mako, Bolin, and Opal are piling blankets and firewood and an assortment of substances into the car but you see Korra sitting nervously by her front door. You walk over and sit beside her; her hands are shaking and you can see she’s trying to take deep breaths. She’s anxious and you know that talking to her doesn’t ever really help, so instead you take her hand in yours and rub her knuckles with your thumb. It’s the only thing you know really helps.

When you first saw Korra have a panic attack you had no idea what to do and you tried to talk to her, but it made things worse. After a few minutes she ended up just grabbing your hand and you held onto her because you were so scared, eventually she felt better and her grip on you loosened. Since then you’ve learned to just hold her hand and wait for it to pass. And, since everything, she’s gotten better—a lot better—and she actually gets into cars, even if it’s a rough ride. But, you’d walk everywhere with Korra if it meant making her feel better or making her feel safe, because you know she’d do the exact same for you.

Eventually Korra looks at you with a tired smile, “It’s all good, I’m fine.”

“Korra—“

“’Sami, I promise.”

You hear Mako slam the trunk and then he’s yelling, “Come on let’s go!”

Korra gets up slowly and makes her way to the car and you follow close behind, and you’re nervous because you don’t want her to do anything she’s not comfortable with. Mako is in the passenger seat and the look on Korra’s face screams panic so—

“Mako sit in the back,” you say.

“What why?”

“Just do it.”

“But—“

“Mako!” You say narrowing your eyes because—what the fuck—he acts like he doesn’t know Korra doesn’t like cars, and really you’re just about ready to leave him behind.

He puts his hands up and takes off his seatbelt, “Fine, sorry, shit.”

Korra gets in the car kind of clumsily with shaking hands and she rests her elbow on the door and takes deep breaths. You reach over to the glove compartment and pull out a pack of cigarettes and light one up for her.

She gives you a small barely present smile, “Thanks,” she says as she takes a long drag and pushes her hair out of her face.

Opal climbs over the center console and grabs Korra’s face and kisses her on the cheek dramatically, “Love you Kor!”

Then Bolin follows right behind her and does the same, “Yeah, we love you!”

“Well she’s my girlfriend,” Mako says and he tries to do the same but Korra shrugs him off without saying anything.

Suddenly the car is tense and no one is saying anything and Bolin and Opal are looking at you, but you really have no idea what to say or do. You feel bad because you’re a little happy Mako was rejected, because—really—he’s acting like a prick. But—whatever—you start the car and pull out of the driveway, you drive slowly and you keep an eye on Korra the whole time.

About halfway down the street Bolin lurches forward, all the way to the front seat, and starts fidgeting with the radio.

“Bolin,” you say because Korra is already nervous enough, “can you—just—please—“

“Asami,” he’s whining and you’re ready to just let him do whatever he wants, “I need my slaps.”

You swat his hand away and Opal pushes him back into his seat.

“Put your seatbelt on, I am not getting a ticket because of you.” You watch him pout from the rearview mirror, “anyways, Korra is navigator and DJ so she chooses the music.”

Korra takes her iPod out of her pocket and she plays Anniversary Song by Glocca Mora and Bolin groans, like, really loudly from the back seat. Korra chuckles at him with the cigarette hanging from her mouth, and really you’re just happy she’s calmed down at least a little, but her hands are still shaky and she’s clenching her fists in her lap.

You reach over the center console and give her hands a squeeze, and you’re about to let go but her hand squeezes back and she’s holding on to you tight. For a second you can feel your pulse in every part of your body and you forget how to breathe, and her hands are surprisingly soft and warm and they’re also smaller than yours. You spare a glance in her direction and she’s looking out the window, but you wish you could see her eyes and how they look like they’re freezing over and you wish she was smiling. But you let her hold your hand and you pretend she feels the same way you do, and you pretend Mako isn’t in the backseat, and for a second your heart feels a little better.

The song ends and Feel Good Inc. starts playing and Bolin squeals and Mako shoves him and Opal looks at him like it’s the first time. You look at Korra and she’s finally smiling at you and she’s still holding your hand, and—honestly—you hope your heart doesn’t beat out of your chest. Her hair is blowing around from the wind and the afternoon sun is reflecting off her eyes and her eyelashes look three shades lighter. Bolin starts singing the first part and he’s so bad and you’re trying not to laugh then he’s leaning into the front of the car.

“Come on Korra,” he says happily and he turns the music down so it’s easier to hear her.

Korra rolls her eyes, but she sings the chorus anyways and it’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever heard, you think.

“Windmill, windmill for the land, turn forever hand in hand, take it all in on your stride, it is sticking falling down.”

Then Korra’s looking at you and she’s smiling and some of her hair is stuck on her lip, but her eyes are so fucking blue—

“Love forever, love is free, let’s turn forever you and me, windmill, windmill for the land, is everybody in?”

Then Bolin is shouting, “Spit some fire, Asami!”

You kind of don’t want to go along, you’d much rather listen to Korra and watch her smile and be all cute and shit, but Opal is nudging your shoulder from behind you and Korra is shaking your hand around and—well why the fuck not.

“Laughing gas these hazmats, fast cats, lining them up like ass cracks, ladies ponies, a the truck, it’s my chocolate attack. Shit, I’m stepping in the heart of this here, care bear reppin’ in the heart of this here, watch me as I gravitate, Haha haha ha…”

You finish the verse and Korra is ‘oh-ing,’ and Bolin is shouting ‘damn,’ and Mako is being all broody—but whatever you don’t really care about what’s bothering him. You look at Korra again and the sky behind her window is brushed with shades of pink and orange and the sun is setting; and it looks kind of like her painting. Her profile is silhouetted by the sunset and she’s so beautiful you kind of wonder how Mako ended up being with her. Yeah—Mako is good looking and all—but he’s socially inept and kind of a dick sometimes, and they’re always fighting, and really you think Korra is too good for him. When you think about it, though, you don’t think anyone is good enough for Korra, because she’s too good to be true. You think about that poem by Sylvia Plath that says, “I think I made you up inside my head,” and part of you thinks it has to be about Korra. You know she’s real, but even so she’s hard to believe. You look towards the road and the expanse of sky in front of you, and you think that Korra ran a paintbrush across the sky when you weren’t looking to make the world look like more beautiful than it actually is.

You finally make it to the beach for the bonfire and it’s really windy and really cold, but Korra is a human heater and Opal is a saint who brought—like—six blankets. You choose a little area and Mako starts the fire within a minute, which you think is kind of insane, and Bolin is already pulling drinks out of the cooler he lugged out. Opal and Korra are sparking and you’re a little upset you’re the designated driver because everyone else is drinking and smoking.

You sit as close to the fire as you can and you wrap a crazy soft blanket around yourself and drink your coke—and you feel really fucking lame. Korra flops herself next to you, and she kind of gets sand everywhere but her eyes are droopy and she has a lopsided grin plastered on her face and her hair is kind of sticking up. She starts scooting closer to you and eventually she wedges herself under the blanket and you put your arm around her and hug her close because—wow—she’s impossibly warm. She smells like coconut, smoke, and weed and her nose is a little red from the wind, but she’s smiling and calm and you feel warm and at ease with her beside you.

Mako is standing off to the side giving everyone dirty looks and he keeps looking at Korra—and holy fuck—you just really hope he’s not going to start something. Opal and Bolin are messing with a stereo they brought with them, but Bolin found marshmallows so really Opal is the only one doing anything. Eventually, she gets it to work.

“We did it,” Bolin shouts flinging marshmallows everywhere and his mouth is full so you can barely understand what he’s saying.

“Would you please chew your food?” Mako huffs.

“Chill, bro, its all Gucci.”

Mako rolls his eyes and he’s still being obnoxious so, whatever. Opal plays Mr. Polite by The Jungle Giants and it’s a cheery indie tune, and Korra’s face lights up when she hears the first couple of seconds. She’s instantly up on her feet on she’s jumping on Bolin’s back and he looks confused and his face is covered in marshmallow fluff and Opal is snorting with laughter. Mako walks away towards the water and you don’t care because he has no reason to be pissy, but Korra is being goofy and cute and she’s really high and so is everyone else and you feel good.

Opal walks over behind you and wraps her arms around your neck, and kisses you on the cheek.

“I get it,” she says in your ear.

“Get what?”

“Why you like her.”

“I get it, ‘Sami. She’s one of the greatest people I’ve ever met, she’s fucking gorgeous and her body—Jesus fuck—and she loves. She loves so hard and so fiercely; she’d do anything for anyone. Her worst enemy would have a tear in their shirt and she’d give them the clothes off her back. She’s a pain in the ass and moody as fuck, and impulsive and messy and she smokes too much—she’s flawed. That’s what makes her so great. She’s imperfect.”

You don’t say anything because you don’t really know what to say, and because—yeah—Opal is completely right, but she doesn’t get to see Korra like you do. You get to see under her skin and what her bones are made of, and you know how unbelievably brave she is despite everything that’s happened to her. You like Korra because of what and how she is, and there’s no way of really describing her and the look in her eyes.

“Thanks, Opal,” and you don’t really know why you’re thanking her, but you do it anyways. You watch Korra ride around on Bolin’s back while he runs around the fire and they’re whooping and howling, and Korra looks so happy your chest swells a little bit.

Then, Bolin’s back is to the ground and Korra is under him and you and Opal can’t stop laughing and your stomach hurts from laughter because Korra is trying really hard to get out from under Bolin.

“Bolin, get the fuck off of me—why are you so huge—oh my, god.”

Really, you would help her, but the situation is too hilarious, and Bolin isn’t moving and he just looks really confused and there’s sand stuck to his face because of the marshmallows and they just look ridiculous. Korra eventually scrambles out from under him and she’s doubled over with her hands on her knees gasping for air.

“Some help you guys are!” She shouts, and you would say something back, but you can’t breath.

Korra is looking around and then she says, “Where’s Mako?”

Suddenly nothing is funny and your stomach drops, “Oh—uh—he went by the water,” you say, and you hope she doesn’t notice the change in your mood. Before you can say anything else she’s walking towards the water to find him and Opal is giving you a look again, and Bolin is still sitting on the ground with a confused look on his face.

You take another sip of your coke and stare into the fire. Opal is helping Bolin up off the ground and they make their way over to you and you sit sandwiched in between them and both their heads are resting on your shoulders. You down the rest of your coke and there’s another indie song playing by The Shout Out Louds that you don’t know the name of.

“Shoot us with a fun fact, Sato,” Bolin mumbles.

“Rats and horses can’t vomit.”

“How about one that’s not totally gross?”

“People say ‘bless you’ when you sneeze because your heart stops for a millisecond.”

You look at Bolin and his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is moving up and down a little like he’s talking to himself, then his eyes go wide.

“Oh my god,” he says, “it makes so much sense.”

“Oh, Bolin,” you say, “I love you, you adorable little goof.”

“What about me?” Opal pouts.

“I love you too, you tiny person.” You laugh because you know Opal gets annoyed at being called small. But she is, she’s even smaller than Korra, but you also know not to really mess with her too much. When you first met her you thought she was a dainty little dancer, but one day you took kickboxing classes with her and it turned out she had been trained in martial arts as well as ballet.

You hear sand shuffling around behind you so you turn and see Korra and Mako walking and his arm is around her and her head is tucked into his chest and you feel sick all of a sudden. Korra sprints towards you guys and throws herself into you, Bolin, and Opal’s laps.

“Did you miss me?” She says smirking at you and her eyes are watery and red from the weed and they look sleepy and her lips are kind of chapped and you forget for a second why you felt sick.

Then, she’s looking at the sky and her eyebrows are scrunched and she kind of whispers, “The sky is really clear tonight.”

You look up and—wow—she’s right. The sky is clear and you’re kind of far enough from the city that you can see the stars better than usual. You feel someone pulling the collar of your windbreaker down and suddenly you’re lying next to Korra and her face is centimeters away.

“What constellations do you know?” She says still looking up.

You look up and you see four stars aligned, “Okay you see there,” you say pointing.

“Asami,” Korra deadpans, “Do you know how many stars there are? You could be pointing anywhere.”

Your mouth goes dry and you panic a little bit when you realize you’re going to have to get really close to Korra. You scoot in closer and there’s sand—well—everywhere and it’s getting into your shirt and pants and shoes, but your cheek is touching hers and if you turned a little bit your lips would brush against each other. You feel your face getting hot and you hope that the fire makes it hard to see.

“Ok,” you say quietly, “close your right eye and look where I’m pointing. You see those four stars aligned?”

“Yeah.”

“You see how it kind of looks like a cross? That’s the Cygnus constellation, and it’s supposed to be a swan.”

“Wow,” she breathes out, and you smile.

“And you see over there—that little cluster?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s Lyra, it’s supposed to be a harp.”

“What’s the story behind that one?”

“I don’t really know it in detail. But Apollo gave his son, Orpheus a lyre—a harp essentially—and Orpheus played it so well, that everyone was kind of amazed by him. He fell in love with this woman named Eurydice, but she died, and he was so heart broken that he went to the underworld to go find her. But there was a condition; that he couldn’t look back at her on the way back to the world of the living. But, at one point he couldn’t hear her behind him and he looked back, and he lost her again. I forget what happened after—but Orpheus died, and Zeus placed his lyre in the sky. There’s a poem told from Eurydice’s perspective and there’s one part that says, Why did you glance back?/ Why did you hesitate for that moment?/ Why did you bend your face/caught with the flame of the upper earth,/above my face?’”

She’s quiet and she’s not saying anything and you’re kind of worried you’ve been talking too much and that she really didn’t want you to go into that much detail and—

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you’re trying really hard not to think about how warm she is, or about how you’re touching and how really there are only a few layers of clothes between you—

“Hey ‘Sami?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you think the universe is going to end?”

“Um—well—there’s different theories. One of them is that the universe will just collapse into itself after it’s done expanding, because—right now as we’re speaking—the universe is getting bigger and bigger. And it’s kind of like a balloon, you blow it up, and when you let the air out it contracts. There’s another theory that says all the stars will just burn out and ultimately everything will just freeze. So—“

“No, Asami,” she’s turned on her side to face you and she’s so close. The fire is casting shadows that are dancing across her face, and the orange flames are illuminated in the icy blue of her eyes.

“How do you think the universe is going to end?”

“Oh. I don’t—I’m not sure.”

“I think it’s weird,” she says, “all these scientists have all these theories and stuff and—you know—they may or may not be true because they’re theories. But if you ask someone how they really think the universe is going to end, they don’t know. They can tell you what a scientist thinks, but they can’t tell you what they think.”

You don’t really know what to say because you think that Korra is smarter than you will ever be. You can spew facts and tell her the history of everything and you can show her how to take an engine apart and put it back together, but you can never think like she can. She questions and wonders and doesn’t take just any answer to anything and she’s always so right.

It doesn’t matter what scientists think because you’re certain the universe starts and ends with her, and once Korra is gone everything will be too.

Chapter Text

“Ow! Fuck, Korra,” you say as she pokes what you think is a nerve with the needle, “it doesn’t need to go that deep.”

“Look, ‘Sami, I’ve done this before. I’m pretty sure I know how deep it’s supposed to go,” she says poking you like three times in a row.

It’s another one of Korra’s great ideas. She just bought India ink, and you don’t have any tattoos so she figured she would give you a Stick ‘N Poke. Usually, you think things through, but Korra had an almost two liter bottle of Skyy, and you’ve had—like—five shots already, so your judgment is sort of impaired. Korra has had just as much to drink as you, so really, this is probably the worst idea and you hope the tattoo doesn’t look totally horrible.

“Look, Asami, you need to hold still okay,” she says laughing.

“I’m not even moving!” You’re pretty sure you’re not at least, but then again the ground has been unsteady for the past ten minutes.

“Asami’s not moving,” Opal says without looking at anyone. She’s just lying on the ground in the middle of Korra’s living room, sprawled out like a starfish, and she hasn’t really said anything in the last half hour.

“Look who decided to show up,” you say giggling and Korra is laughing with you and—“Ow! Korra! That wasn’t even close to where it’s supposed to be!”

“Look, Asami, I’m sorry I don’t live up to your standards.”

“Oh shut up.”

“How are you guys still functioning,” Bolin says poking his head up from behind the couch, “it’s like three in the morning and you guys are just talky talky talky.”

You and Korra look at each other for a second because Bolin is so drunk you can’t really understand what he’s saying and it’s not three in the morning, it’s—like—ten at night.

“What the fuck?” Korra says and you both break out into fits of laughter.

She pokes you a few more times in some really tender spots and then she says, “Alright, all done,” and she’s got a goofy grin on her face and she looks really fucking pleased with herself.

You look at your ankle and—actually—it doesn’t look too bad. It’s a crescent moon about the size of a quarter on the inside of your ankle and you can see the little pin-points of ink, but you suppose that that’s the point of a Stick ‘N Poke.

“It’s not too bad,” you say.

“Jesus—fuck, Asami, it’s a work of art!”

“Settle down Kat Von D, it’s my turn now.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna give you one.”

She gives you a stoic expression and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, “Look, ‘Sami, I love you to death and all, but you’ve never done this before—“

“Korra, it’s literally poking you with a needle. I’ve been sitting here for the past hour watching you do it, I think I can manage.”

She looks at you for a second with her head tilted to the side; her hair is sticking up in some places and her eyes are sleepy and somehow more blue that usual, “Ok,” she finally says, “let’s do this.”

You roll up her pants leg and trace a quarter and then a nickel to get the crescent moon to look not-totally-fucked-up. You would never admit it to her, but you’re nervous, you don’t really want to stick Korra with a needle, but she’s drunk and willing and she also just did the same to you. You take a deep breath and dip the needle in the ink and poke her and she doesn’t even flinch. So you go again; dip and poke, dip and poke.

“Does this not hurt you or make you uncomfortable or anything,” you ask because every time she poked you you flinched or twitched or something.

“Not really.”

“Huh…”

“I’ve been through worse pain,” she says and she’s got a sad, far off look in your eyes and you know what she’s thinking about and you wish she wouldn’t. Then she’s giving you a goofy look again, “Plus I’m kind of—like—really drunk, so it’s numbed down.”

“You’re a dork,” you breathe out—a little thankful that she kept talking, but you keep dipping and poking. The song playing in the background is relaxing and slow and you think it’s about being lost, but you’re not sure because Korra is staring at you. The corner of her mouth is twitched up and her eyes are droopy and a bit bloodshot and her tank top is really tight, but you’re trying to concentrate on tattooing her. She’s looking at you like she’s never see you before; head tilted to the side falling onto her shoulder and she looks like she wants to tell you something.

“What,” you say finally.

“Nothing.”

“Korra.”

“Honest!”

“Korra.”

“She’s thinking about me,” Mako says. You forgot he’s in the room, and he’s lying on the couch with a beer resting on his chest and a smirk on his face.

You really don’t want to feel bitter but—fuck it, yes you are. It hurts to see the way they look at each other and when he touches her you have to turn away. You want, so badly, to be happy for Korra, but you can’t find it in you, and it drives you crazy that you can’t just get over it.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t like her and sometimes you hope that you’ll wake up one morning and be fine with just being her friend. Then there are times when you think the feelings are going away and that you’re getting over her, but then she smiles her gorgeous fucking smile or she says something that makes you think you’re going to fall in love with her, and you can’t imagine feeling any other way. You think that maybe part of you actually wants to have feelings for her, and if you asked Korra she would tell you that it had something to do with soul mates and destiny. But, when you see Korra and Mako together you find it hard to believe in anything besides how real the ache in your chest is.

“Shut the fuck up, shark brows,” she grumbles and then you hear Opal snort and Bolin is giggling and Mako is scowling.

You keep poking her and you’re getting tired because you have to go over the lines like three times to make it look decent, “This is going to take forever,” you say.

“It’s the price you pay for art.”

“This is a fucking prison tattoo.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not art,” she says smirking.

“You guys are sketch as fuck,” Opal says sitting up on her elbows.

“No we’re not!” Korra says and she’s pouting and she looks really cute and you don’t want to be obvious so you look at Opal instead.

“You guys are tattooing each other with sewing needles stuck to pencils, this is the definition of sketch.”

“Well you’re hanging out with us so that makes you sketchy too.”

“At least we know they could survive in prison,” Bolin says poking his head up again.

“What the f—what are you talking about,” you say.

“Oh, come on! You guys have seen all of Orange Is The New Black at least three times and now you have prison tats, you could definitely survive in a women’s prison.”

“I think I could survive,” Korra says.

“You’re insane, there’s no way,” and you can’t really believe this conversation is happening because knowing Korra, she would get arrested just to prove to everyone that she’s right.

“No,” Bolin says, “she definitely could, I mean in second grade she started that gang, remember?”

“Ok, but a group of seven year olds is different than actual women.”

“Awh, come on ‘Sami, have faith in me,” she says and she’s giving you puppy eyes and jutting out her bottom lip.

“Wow,” Opal says, “you guys really are fucking sketchy.”

“I could survive prison,” Korra says and you kind of believe it, because she’s lived and survived through so much already, “I can live through anything I want to live through.”

It’s two in the morning and Bolin is rolling two joints and Mako is asleep and Opal is curled up with Naga in her dog bed. Korra’s head is resting on your shoulder and she’s humming The Moon Song and it’s so lovely and you can feel the vibrations of her voice throughout your body.

“Hey, ‘Sami?” She says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck is Evil Dead your favorite scary movie?”

“What do you mean,” you laugh, “and why is that so surprising all of a sudden?”

“Because there’s no scare factor,” she says lifting her head up to look at you, Bolin is lighting up and takes two hits then passes the joint to Korra.

“That’s not the point though, out of all the horror films I’ve seen it has the best character progression.” You watch Korra let the smoke float out of her mouth then she inhales it back in through her nose and it’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen her do. Then she passes the joint to you.

“Yeah but, horror movies are all about the scares, a scary movie can’t be good if it’s not scary.” You take two hits and you feel lighter and more relaxed already.

“Korra’s got a point,” Bolin says as you pass the joint to him.

“You don’t even like scary movies, you cover your eyes the entire time,” you say giggling.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have an opinion,” he’s pouting and taking a really big hit at the same time.

“Look,” you say, “my point is, just because it’s not scary doesn’t mean it’s not good. Plus, I don’t scare easily so it makes it almost impossible to find a movie that’s scary enough. But Mia’s development as a character is incredible in Evil Dead. Like—she goes from being helpless and half dead to ripping her own arm off just to survive.”

Bolin is looking at you blankly and then—“Well, I think Paranormal Activity is a good movie.”

You and Korra groan and Opal is laughing and Bolin looks simultaneously confused and upset.

“As entertaining as listening to you guys is,” Opal says, “pass the joint over here because I’m sobering up and I can’t have this conversation unless I’m under the influence of something.”

“Oh my god,” Bolin whispers, “In another reality none of us are friends.”

“Ok, yeah, please pass the weed,” Opal dead pans.

“No really! Listen to me! In another reality we’ve never even met,” then he gasps and covers his mouth with his hand, “We might not even exist.”

Opal takes like four big hits and basically finishes off the joint, and you and Korra are laughing because Bolin is having an existential crisis.

“Guys, I don’t want to not be friends with you!” Korra is snorting and Bolin is on the verge of tears and Opal looks completely flabbergasted, “This isn’t funny, guys!”

“Bolin listen,” you say still laughing, “In this reality and universe we are friends, so fuck the other ones. And in this reality I’m letting you pick the music we listen to right now, so is that better?”

He sniffs a little and looks at you with the saddest eyes, “Yeah, you’re the best ‘Sami.”

“I know,” you say laughing and patting him on the back.

Korra is still laughing and she’s wiping tears from her eyes, “That was incredible.”

“We’re lucky he didn’t cry,” Opal mumbles.

Korra reaches towards her coffee table and lights up another joint, she rests her head back against the couch and you watch the smoke stream past her lips. You have the sudden urge to kiss her neck because it’s exposed and tan and smooth. She turns her head towards you, “Open your mouth” she says.

And you’re confused because she takes a hit then—holy fuck—she’s so close to you. Her lips are ghosting over yours and she’s so close and your hands are shaking and Opal is smirking at you. She’s not even two inches away and she has a cluster of freckles on her nose that look like Orpheus’ lyre, then she’s blowing smoke into your mouth and her blue eyes are lidded and sleepy and red.

You inhale the smoke, but you want to pull her neck and you want to kiss her and taste her tongue and run your hands through her hair and touch her like Mako gets to. It’s hot in the room and Korra’s hair is sticking to her forehead and you can feel the heat radiating off of her and you don’t care, you just want your limbs to be tangled with hers because you’ve never been looked at the way she’s looking at you. Your arms and legs feel tingly and your head is light, but everything is spinning and Korra is so unbelievably close and you’re blowing smoke right back into her face.

Then she’s gone too soon, and you miss her heat and her smell and the way her eyes burn holes in your skin. She’s leaning forward on her hands and knees reaching for the bottle of vodka and her tank top is riding up and you can see the skin on her hips. You dig your fingers into the carpet because you’re not sure if you can take it for much longer because you feel the need to just touch her and you don’t really care who is in the room anymore. Korra leans back again and then brings the joint up to your lips and you inhale.

The room is spinning and you feel like if you stand up you’ll float away and your arms and legs don’t feel like they belong to you and you remember that Korra doesn’t belong to you either. She’s throwing the bottle back and taking big drinks and your heart beats faster because Korra is drunk and high and content and she’s smiling at the ground, and this is your best friend. She’s broken and she’s been put back together sloppily, and sometimes she cries and sometimes she laughs and she gives really great hugs and smells like smoke, coconut, and chap stick.

Bolin is playing a slow song with a strong bass and you feel it everywhere in the room and you lean your head back and there’s a soft voice filling the empty spaces around you. You open your eyes and Korra is standing with the bottle in one hand and the joint hanging out of her mouth. She’s swaying her hips and her fingers are running through her hair and every movement is excruciatingly slow. You dig your fingernails deeper into the carpet and you’re hanging on for dear life because Korra is right there; face flushed, hips moving in painstaking circular motions, and so drunk and young and fucking beautiful. Her blue eyes are flashing and she drops the empty bottle and her arms are crossed over her head and the bass is dropping and her hands are all over her body and—fuck.

Your chest aches because you can’t touch her and you’d rather have someone give you a Stick ‘N Poke under your eyelids than have to watch any longer, because with every movement she’s breaking your heart. And she’s dancing like there’s no one else in the room and it seems so private you think about looking away, but you think you’ll die if you do. Your skin feels too hot and the room is too hot and Korra is too hot and you think you might be on fire.

You look over and Opal is staring and so is Bolin so you don’t feel so weird but then you feel jealousy boil in your stomach because you don’t want anyone else to see her. You know it’s stupid and Opal and Bolin are together, but you want this to be a secret and you want to be the only one that sees and remembers this. You want to take a picture and never show anyone else and you want to be the only one who knows her flushed face and tan skin and the orbit of her hips and the loll of her head when she moves. Everything suddenly revolves around Korra and all eyes are on her and she doesn’t even realize it or see it, because her eyes are closed and you think she might be somewhere else, maybe it's somewhere better and your chest aches because it’s somewhere you’re not. 

You’re in Korra’s bed, pretending to be asleep and the sky is turning purple because the sun is coming up. You can hear her stumbling around the room and moving things around and you want to turn over and talk to her, but you have butterflies in your stomach and part of you is afraid that if you look into her blue eyes you’ll be submerged underwater and you won’t be able to swim back up. You pretend to stretch and turn over enough to see her; she’s putting on a pair of shorts with her back turned to you and you quietly let out a breath. But then she’s pulling her shirt up and you can see her back, muscular and beautiful and scarred.

Pale bits of raised, puckered skin are peppered across her back and your stomach churns thinking about everything Korra had to go through. You remember Bolin talking about another reality and you think that in some other universe Korra was never hurt, and maybe in that other universe you’re not friends with her and that’s fine because Korra is ok.

She starts tracing the little scars scattered across her body and you want to get out of bed and hug her, you know they serve as nothing but reminders of what happened.

“You okay?” You ask.

Korra wraps her arms around her naked upper body and its endearing because confident and cocky Korra is suddenly modest and self-conscious, “I’m fine,” she whispers not looking at you.

“You’re not, but you don’t have to talk about it.”

She turns her head a little bit and you can see her profile silhouetted by the blue light coming in from the window, “I hate it.”

“What?”

“My scars, what happened—all of it.”

You sit up and get a good look at her. She’s still drunk and she has dark rings under her eyes—most likely from lack of sleep, you think—and she’s struggling to stay upright and you know she’s probably especially sensitive right now because she’s still a little high.

“There’s nothing wrong with your scars, the only thing wrong is how you got them,” you say quietly.

“They just remind me of everything, and I don’t want to remember.” She grabs a tank top from nearby and pulls it over her head.

“Remember what you told me about the scar on your arm? The one you got from when you broke it on the swings? What does it remind you of?”

“You and being a kid and swing sets and flying for a few seconds.”

“You know what your other scars remind me of?”

“What,” she says turning around and looking at you. Her arms are still wrapped around her body and her eyes look so sad that your stomach drops.

“They remind me of how strong you are, and how no matter what you don’t give up. You’re so incredibly strong and brave—so fucking brave, you shouldn’t be ashamed of what happened. You should be proud you made it.”

“It’s hard,” she says, her voice quiet.

“I know—I mean—no I don’t—but—I understand it’s not easy, I won’t ever know what you’re going through, but I see you, and I know it’s hard. It might take a while and it might not, but one day you’ll look at your scars and you won’t be afraid.”

It’s true that you’ll never know what she went through, or what she is going through, but you saw what it did firsthand and you cried with her and you watched her push everyone away and you watched the fiery blue in her eyes fade. But, you also watched it spark back to life and burn brighter than ever and you watched her fight to live. You saw the damage it did and you saw the after effect and you heard her screams after a nightmare and pushed her wheelchair when she couldn’t walk. You don’t know what she went through, but you saw it.

She’s looking at you with sad, bloodshot eyes and her hair is tied up and she looks so small contracted into herself. You open your mouth to say something else but then her arms are around your neck and her head is tucked into the crook of your shoulder. She doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t need to, because you’ve learned over the years that Korra isn’t good with words, but she’s good at showing how she feels, and you know she’s saying thank you or something along those lines. You hug her back and you don’t say anything but you’re saying you’ll never leave her and that you’ll be there for her no matter what. You tell her she’s your best friend and the girl you’re going to fall in love with, even though you’ll never admit it.

“Come on, Kor,” you say, “let’s go to sleep.”

She let’s go and curls up under the sheets beside you and you lie on your side facing her and she’s facing you and her eyebrows are furrowed.

“You know,” she whispers, “I don’t think Bolin knows what he’s talking about.”

You snort, “You just figured that out?”

“No,” she says pushing you a little and smiling, “I mean what he said about another reality. He said we wouldn’t be friends in one of them.”

“Well we might not be, you never know.”

“No, I know. I know we would be.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that Korra—“

“Asami,” she says looking at you seriously, “in any type of reality where there is an Asami and Korra, we are friends. I know that for sure.”

You look at her for a second because maybe she’s still too drunk or high to make sense, but she looks too serious and too adamant.

“How do you know?” You ask quietly.

“Because I do. Wherever there is an Asami and Korra we are friends—best friends—not just regular friends. And if we’re not then that’s how I think everything ends. It all ends because in some fucked up reality Asami and Korra never met. That’s my theory.”

She’s looking at you so seriously you think maybe she’s right. It makes no sense but she believes so strongly that—fuck—maybe it’s true, maybe Korra has the secret to the end of everything. She turns over and away from you.

“Goodnight, Asami,” she says, “and thank you.”

“For what?” you whisper.

“I don’t know. For everything, for being my friend, for being you and for not giving up on me.” In a matter of seconds her breathing deepens and she’s asleep, but you’re more awake than you’ve ever been.

You reach down to your ankle and trace the crescent moon Korra tattooed. You smile because it’s a piece of Korra permanently etched into your body, and there’s a piece of you etched into hers. You don’t really care if it looks ugly or sloppy or anything like that because you have the memory of Korra etched into you as well. You have the image of her; with her tongue poking out of her mouth as she sticks you with the needle and her blue eyes flashing in your direction and the sway of her hips and her crooked tooth and Orpheus’ lyre mapped across her nose. You have her blowing smoke into your mouth and her laugh and her smell and all the beautifully profound things she’s ever said.

But, it doesn’t matter if you have memories because you have the real Korra, breathing deep and snoring lightly, her stray hairs illuminated by the light coming in from the rising sun. You have Korra, and maybe it’s not in the way that you would like, but she’s here and she’s safe and she’s your best friend, no matter what reality you happen to be in.

Chapter Text

Korra dragged you into the city so that you could go record shopping. Of course, she couldn’t go just anywhere—she had to go to Amoeba, but you don’t really care that much, it’s just getting into the city that’s kind of a pain in the ass.

After getting off the subway at the wrong stop and walking about a mile, you, Bolin, and Korra finally get to Amoeba. It’s not a small, hole-in-the-wall record store—it’s actually the complete opposite—it’s huge. At the front there are metal detectors and monitors and bag check in’s and—like—six checkout counters. The entire left side of the store is for vinyl and the right side is for CD’s and at the right side next to the entrance there’s a small stage for acoustic shows. It’s a fucking huge store and it has just about every type of music you can think of and—really—it’s impossible to walk out empty handed.

As soon as you walk in Korra makes a beeline for the vinyl and you and Bolin decide to just browse and fuck around.

“I don’t even listen to any specific music,” he says throwing his hands in the air.

“Yeah, well, Korra loves it here and coming here makes her happy. Besides, maybe you’ll find something you like.”

He looks at you with wide eyes, “You think they have Beyoncé?”

“I’m like 99.99% sure they do,” you laugh because Bolin really loves Beyoncé and that’s all he actually listens to besides the radio, but you think it’s really cute, and you just really love him. He’s such a simple, happy-go-lucky person and he’s so easy to be around.

You make your way through the aisles thumbing through each record, and you recognize some but probably not as many as Korra would. Some of the sleeves are dusty and frayed and they smell musty and old and they feel soft under your fingertips.

“So,” Bolin says beside you, he’s leaning on a box of records with a strange look on his face, “How are you doing, Salami?”

He’s looking at his fingernails and you raise an eyebrow at him because he’s doing that thing where he gets nervous or is hiding something and he tries to be smooth about it.

You put a hand on your hip, “Ok, what’s going on?”

His green eyes go wide and he put his hands up, “Nothing! Honest! I just wanna know how you’re doing.”

For a second you’re ready to chew him up, but he looks sincere enough and usually it’s easy to tell when Bolin is lying. So, you think—for now—that he’s being honest.

“Look,” he says slouching a little bit, “It’s just we haven’t gotten a chance to really talk for a while, you know? There hasn’t been any Asami and Bolin one on one time.”

He looks a little deflated and kind of like you just told him Santa isn’t real and you feel bad for thinking he was up to something, but he has a point. You and Bolin have been friends just as long as you and Korra have, and you’ve been so preoccupied you kind of forgot to spend time with him. He looks so sad and disappointed and you feel guilt start to bubble in our throat.

“I’m sorry,” you say slumping a little and dropping the act, “it has been a while hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly kicking at the ground.

“I’m good, though,” you say, “How about you, Bo?”

His eyes light up and he perks up—like a lot—and he’s more cheery than normal, and his green eyes have a playful, childish glint to them, “I’m great!” He says kind of loudly, “Opal is amazing—like—really amazing, ‘Sams, she’s just—wow—you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” you smile.

Bolin looks at you funny and then he’s smirking at you, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, and he looks so smug you kind of want to smack him.

“Bo. I’m not stupid, what?”

“Oh nothing,” he’s straightening his back and walking with his chin up high and he looks so ridiculous that you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed.

“Listen, Bo, I’m your ride, so unless you wanna walk home, you better spit it out.”

“I’m sorry! It’s just—like—I can see it on your face, you like someone or there’s someone you have your eye on or something. I mean—maybe I’m wrong—but sometimes you smile at nothing and I do that when I’m think about Opal.”

Fuck—“It’s nothing like that, Bo. It’s just—I don’t know—everything is good right now.” And you feel it, the fear settling in your bones and stomach. You feel panic in the tips of your fingers and you want to run away but you can’t. You think you might have saved yourself but who knows really, you just kind of hope Bolin doesn’t linger on the topic too long. You like to pride yourself in hiding things that need to be hidden (unless you’re hiding something from Opal, in which case you’re fucked) and Bolin is a little clueless.

He gives you a look like he’s analyzing everything you just said, then he puts his arm around you, “Oh, well that’s good, you don’t need anyone in your life in a ‘romantical’ kind of sense. I don’t think there’s enough of you to go around anyways, and I don’t feel like sharing you with anyone, we barely get enough time together as it is.”

You smile because Bolin is so cute and you just kind of want to hug him all the time and he’s such a big teddy bear and he’s a really great friend. “Don’t worry, Bo,” you say, “I’ll always make time for you—at least I’ll try harder to.”

“Great!” He says throwing his fist in the air.

You keep looking through the records and you don’t really bother keeping an eye on Korra because she takes record shopping very seriously and you don’t feel like getting in the middle of that. But part of you wishes you were alone with her so that you could watch her and see her eyes light up when she sees something she recognizes. Korra loves talking about music and books and art and movies and she gets so passionate and her eyebrows scrunch and there’s a vein in her neck that pokes out and her voice gets loud and she gets so enthusiastic. Sometimes you bring up topics that you know will get her excited just so you can listen to her voice and so you can watch her eyes get stormy.

Bolin is talking about Opal and you can practically see hearts floating around his fucking head because he’s so in love with her and as you’re thumbing through the ‘S’ section you see Sigur Ros. You get excited because you and Korra really love them and you’re certain she doesn’t have any of their albums on vinyl and you find ‘Valtari’ and ‘Takk…’ and they’re the only two copies so you snatch them while you can.

“What’s that?” Bolin asks.

“It’s Sigur Ros, me and Korra love them and she doesn’t have them on vinyl so I’ll just buy them and surprise her or something.”

“She’s not going to let you buy her anything.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t have to know I have them until I pay and then she’ll have no choice.”

He smirks at you, “You sneaky sneak,” he says knocking your shoulder with his.

You really do have to be sneaky about it though because Korra doesn’t like it when people pay for her. It’s not a pride thing or anything like that, she just doesn’t want anyone to “waste money on her,” but she pays for people in a heartbeat no matter what.

You remember going to a small bookshop in the city and Korra had her eye on Cat’s Cradle but the book store was small and the books were overpriced and she didn’t really have any money. You offered to buy the book for her, but she said no and you practically begged her to let you pay but she stubbornly refused. So, you didn’t pay but you got her the book (it was the first time you’d ever stolen anything, but you saw the look on Korra’s face when she realized she didn’t have money and you really never wanted to see her look like that again) and she punched you in the shoulder and laughed and kissed you on the cheek and she said it was the dumbest and coolest thing anyone had ever done for her. A week later you went to the bookstore and left fifty dollars on the counter because you felt guilty, but you didn’t tell Korra that. So, in order to actually buy her anything you have to hide it until you walk out of the store.

“Can we go look at the CD’s and see if they have The Jonas Brothers?” Bolin asks, and you start laughing really hard because it’s not something you really expected to hear.

“Yeah, sure,” you wheeze out and you have to take a moment to collect yourself.

You walk with Bolin to the CD section and you get to looking. You go to the most obvious place first, which would be the pop section, and you’re looking in boxes on the floor under the racks and shelves and Bolin is looking everywhere it can possibly be.

“It’s not under ‘J,’” he says.

You poke your head out from under one of the racks, “Have you checked ‘T’? Maybe they included the ‘the’ for some reason.”

He runs both hands through his hair, “You’re probably right.”

About five minutes later you’re still on the floor and Bolin has looked through the ‘T’ section about seven times.

“Ok,” you say, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that maybe it’s filed under ‘B’ for ‘brothers.’”

“I don’t know,” he huffs, “I’ll look, but I really doubt it’s going to be there.”

You look through a rack and laugh because you find Hilary Duff’s first album but not The Jonas Brother’s. “Hey, Bo. At least we haven’t been looking for nothing, look what I found,” you say holding up the CD case.

“You know,” he grins from under a rack, “the first concert I ever went to was a Hilary Duff show.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I really loved her and Mako knew, so he saved up a bunch of his money and bought me tickets to see her. It was actually really fun, and I bought a poster and the movie for the concert and Mako hated it. At least I think he was pretending because I saw him singing along a few times.”

It’s hilarious and you picture tiny Bolin and Mako at a big concert and Bolin being so happy and excited and Mako being his usual miserable self.

“It’s hard to believe Mako would go to something like that,” you mumble.

“I know he’s difficult sometimes and—like—I know he can be a douche, but he can be really great sometimes. It’s just—I don’t know—that part of him doesn’t come out as often as it used to. I know you guys have never really gotten to know each other, but he’s not so bad.”

You, Bolin, and Korra had always been friends but Mako had never done anything with you guys when you were kids. He had his own stuff going on and he and Bolin were polar opposites so you never really bothered getting to know him and Korra didn’t really either until high school. It just confuses you how someone as sweet as Bolin and someone so—well—someone so much like Mako could be related in anyway.

“I found the Back Street Boys but no Jonas Brothers,” you laugh, “Maybe they have it under another genre?”

“What other genre could they possibly be under?”

“We can check rock?” Bolin gives you a what-the-fuck look, but at this point you’ll check the entire store before you give up because you’re determined.

You and Bolin are on your hands and knees looking under a rack and—

“What the fuck are you guys doing?”

You poke your head out and see Korra carrying a few records in her arms,

“We’re—uh—looking for something.”

“Well what is it?”

Bolin pops his head out, “Top secret. Bolin and Asami only.”

Korra raises her eyebrows at you and you shrug.

“I fou—Ow!” Bolin hits his head on the rack and Korra is laughing and you’re a little worried because he actually hit his head really hard so you pull him off the floor.

“I found it,” he says rubbing his head and handing you the CD in all its glory.

Korra is still laughing and she takes the CD out of your hand and then starts laughing even harder, “You guys were looking for the Jonas Brothers? Is this what happens when I’m not around, oh my god.”

“No,” Bolin pouts, “We also found Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Kesha, The Back Streets Boys and Hilary Duff.”

“What a discovery,” Korra deadpans, “anyways, I found what I was looking for, are you guys ready?”

“Yeah let’s get out of here,” you say hiding the two records you plan to buy for Korra, and it’s an odd feeling; you feel like you’re fourteen again, adrenaline pumping through your veins and fear settling in your knees because you’re stealing a book from a little shop for your best friend.

Bolin is like a child, you decide, he needs nourishment and sugar or else you’ll lose him completely and he’ll have a meltdown. After walking out of the record store he started complaining about his legs hurting, then being hungry, then being thirsty, then being tired. He was going to complain about something else but Korra smacked him on the back of the head and said, “If I hear another goddamn complaint I’m going to leave you in this fucking city and the homeless people can eat you for lunch and then dinner and then breakfast because you’re so fucking big you’d last them a month.” He didn’t really say anything after that but he hugged Korra and kissed the side of her head when she decided on stopping at a coffee shop.

It’s a cute little thing that’s half indoor and half outdoor and it’s wood paneled with chalkboard signs and lights hanging from the ceiling made from mason jars and it’s quiet and the people are friendly. You order for Bolin because there’s no way you’re letting him have any caffeine and you get yourself a double espresso because you’re going to need it and Korra gets herself a latte. You all sit down outside because it’s sunny and it’s a nice afternoon and Korra really likes the fresh air and Bolin is too loud for indoors.

“What records did you buy, Kor?” Bolin asks as you hand him his hot chocolate.

“Sufjan Stevens, The Wonder Years, The XX, Waxahatchee, and La Dispute.”

“Never heard of them, but I bet they’re great!”

You laugh as sip your espresso, “Speaking of,” you say, “I got you these.”You reach under the table and pull out the two records from the bright yellow bag and the look on Korra’s face gives you butterflies and you think your face is going to split because you’re smiling so wide.

“No fucking way!” She says and she gently takes the records out of your hands. She holds them like they’re the only ones in the world and she runs her fingers across the cover like there’s a secret etched into it and she’s trying to figure it out, and you can’t help but notice how soft her eyes look even when there’s passion burning blue in them. Korra is so passionate about everything she does and it’s contagious and it makes you fall in love with whatever she’s talking about. You go to art museums with her and she goes on and on about how pretentious art and artists are, yet she looks at paintings with such admiration and longing that you know she loves them for what they are and not what people want them to be.

You asked her about Van Gogh one time and she told you his paintings were overrated, but he as a person was underrated.

“I mean don’t get me wrong his paintings are nice and beautiful and colorful, but they’re nothing special. What’s special is what he was trying to do with the paintings. He was such a sad person that all he wanted was to create something that would bring joy to other people's’ lives. He didn’t want to be the best or anything, he just wanted to make people happy. That’s real art, ‘Sami, getting people to feel something.”

Korra looks at you with a soft expression and a smile tugging at her lips, “You really should not have gotten me anything, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” you say taking another sip, “They’re not just for you, I want to listen to them too.”

“Thanks, ‘Sami,” she says.

“What’s so special about this band anyways?” Bolin asks as innocently as ever but with the way Korra looks at him you’d think he insulted her mother.

“Okay, since I love you I will explain. Sigur Ros is an Icelandic band and I don’t know about you but I don’t know a fucking word of Icelandic, but somehow they make me feel like I’m dying or being born again or taking my first breath or seeing the stars for the first time. Just their sound brings out so much emotion it’s incredible how they do it. Now these two albums in particular are amazing, because Takk…is like the end of a movie, its bittersweet and triumphant—but Valtari—Valtari is like the end of everything.”

Korra leans back in her chair and she’s smiling into her coffee cup and her eyes match the color of the sky and her foot nudges your leg every once in a while because she can’t ever seem to keep still.

“So I should listen to them?” Bolin says, and you’re laughing and Korra is looking at him with her eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Bo, you should listen to them.” She deadpans.

You watch her take another drink of her coffee and you can see the dimple under her eye peeking out from above the rim of the cup and her eyes flicker in your direction and they remind you of street signs blurring past you on the way home; unreadable and gone in an instant.

You park your car in your driveway and drag your feet through your front door. Your house is fancy and modern and all the crap, but it’s not homey and sometimes it doesn’t seem like anyone really lives in it. It’s big, but you don’t see the need for six bedrooms for only two people, especially when no one is ever really home anyways.

It’s—like—nine at night so you’re sure your dad isn’t home yet because he never gets home earlier than midnight but you don’t really mind because you’re awake until really late anyways, so it’s not like you don’t get to see him.

You climb up the stairs to your bedroom and the throw yourself face first into your bed and you try to push out the thought of Korra’s head on your shoulder on the subway ride home and the way she held onto your arm and her smell and her eyes and her smile. You’ve tried so hard to get her out of your head and no matter what you do it doesn’t seem to work, and part of you is afraid that you’ll get over her but you think you’ll never feel the same about anyone else ever again.

Korra makes you feel alive and more like yourself and she makes you laugh and sometimes she makes you cry but you always think she’s worth the pain afterwards. But you don’t know if you can handle it for much longer because it’s getting harder to just be her friend. You think it’s funny because you promise yourself you’re going to move on but you can’t even believe it sometimes, because how do you forget someone who is unforgettable?

You think about her in the bookstore you stopped at on the way home, and her face how she ran her finger down the spine of a book she loves. How she gingerly picked up every book recommendation left behind on the bookshelves. How she smiled at the description, her eyes downcast and shimmering with the words on the notecard reflected in her irises. How the lines in her forehead deepened when she saw The BFG, and the small smile that danced across her lips when she remembered all the times she read it. You think about her loopy handwriting and how she left behind at least a dozen recommendations and how she went on and on about how brilliant the writing in Lolita is and she wished she could touch words.

You think about how much easier it is to sleep in her bed with her beside you and how soothing the sound of her breathing is and how the smell of coconut and smoke lulls you to sleep. You think about smoke billowing around her face when she smokes cigarettes and how her lips kiss coffee mugs and how she leaves behind chapstick stains—sometimes you think about putting your lips right over them just to give yourself the illusion of kissing her.

Sometimes you imagine the smooth roll of her hips when she’s dancing and the shape of her hand when she paints and the small hairs that fall out of her ponytail.

You think about her in your car because there’s a burn in your passenger seat from the time she dropped her cigarette, and she leaves bobby pins lying around your room and you keep them in a little box. Sometimes you think she’s left fingerprints on your bicep because that’s where she puts her hands and eroded the handle in your car from all the times she’s gripped onto it. How can you forget her when she’s left traces and footprints everywhere in your life?

There was one time you really tried to get over her and you dated a handsome boy with kind brown eyes and nice hands. He touched you so gently with feather light fingers but they felt heavy on your skin because they weren’t tan and his fingernails were too clean.  His hands felt like hands and not like conductors that jolted you with electricity and his voice was soft but he couldn’t sing and his laugh wasn’t loud enough. His eyes weren’t fiery and icy at the same time and his hair wasn’t untamable and his dimples were in the wrong spot and his hands never felt right on your skin because they were too cold. He wasn’t Korra, and that’s what you’re afraid of.

Sometimes you think about her and Mako together and the way she smiles when you mention his name or her rosy cheeks when he’s around and how he puts his hands on her hips and how every part of you aches at the sight. You wish things were different and you wish you were fine being her friend. You wish that you could listen to songs about blue eyes without picturing her and that you could close your eyes and her smile wouldn’t be there and that maybe you could fall asleep with ease. You get sleepy and your eyes drift shut, but she’s always there and she’s ingrained into the fabric of your existence and maybe she’s right and there’s no universe where you exist without her.

You think maybe you gave a piece of yourself to her. You’re not sure which part but you know it’s crucial and you feel incomplete—maybe she is that part and without her you’re not whole.

Chapter Text

The dirt under your feet is dry and it crunches every time you take a step and it’s creating little clouds of dust around your feet. There are leaves and branches covering the sun, but there are rays of light coming in from between gaps so you still have to squint your eyes. Korra has been kicking a rock along the trail for the past three minutes and she hasn’t really said anything, but she doesn’t have to. You’re ok with the silence because when you’re with Korra silence is as good as words, in a comfortable kind of way.

You’re a little thankful for the silence, because Korra is wearing a t-shirt but she rolled the sleeves all the way up past her shoulders and she has a tribal tattoo and gorgeous arms. She tied her shirt at the bottom so you can see the tan skin of her hips and lower abdomen and her chiseled muscles. Her abs remind you of the beach and the eroded rocks on the cliffs; nothing but smooth straight lines. She’s wearing cut off shorts and chucks, and you’re trying really hard not to stare at her legs. But, they’re strong and you guys are walking so her calves flex every time she takes a step, and you don’t want to look at her face because the glow from the leaves on the trees makes her look so soft. You—like—really love the way her messy hair glints with flecks of gold with the sun hitting it.

So, you look down at the ground and watch the dry dirt float around her shoes and the orange dust is sticking to them and making them look faded. You let the sound of rocks crunching under rubber soles fill the space between you and Korra.

“’Sami?” You look up at her, and her eyes are a startling blue against the earthy tones surrounding you and it looks beautifully unnatural and otherworldly.

“Yeah?” She doesn’t say anything, but then she’s smirking at you like the corner of her mouth is being tugged by a string.

“Race you.” Then she’s taking off in a sprint, leaving a trail of orange dust behind her.

Your feet start moving before your brain really processes what’s happening, and you can already feel your shorts chafing the inside of your thighs and the armpit of your shirt is starting to stick to your skin.

Korra is fast—like really fast—but you’re taller and your legs are longer so you’re sort of evenly matched, and you’re right behind her and you can feel dirt clinging to your already kind of sweaty face. Korra looks back, but she’s not looking at you, she’s looking past you and you turn around but you don’t see anything but clouds of dust and a lonely trail—but the look on her face says otherwise.

Korra looks back when she’s running sometimes and you wonder if there’s something she’s running away from. You hope that—whatever it is—it doesn’t catch up to her, because sometimes her blue eyes get round with fear and panic and she looks small. Maybe she’s running away from the past or maybe she’s running away from herself—hell—maybe she’s running away from life and maybe she’ll never stop. You don’t know, and you don’t think you ever will. But you’ll run alongside her because you never want her to face anything alone—you never want to face anything without her.

You remember when she ran away for three weeks after she started walking normally again. At the time you thought maybe the grey walls and white sheets of the hospital made her lose it, or maybe it was how everyone looked at her, like if they looked too hard she would crumble and float away with the wind—you never really asked why she left. But her favorite movie now is Into The Wild and you think it’s because it reminds her of when she left, and maybe she left because she needed to find herself—figure things out on her own. You never really had to worry about it because she came back.

When you saw her again for the first time her hair was cut shorter than you had ever seen it. She cut her hair like she was cutting away the past hoping to forget everything. Trying to get the image of shattered glass, painted red with blood, forming constellations on the dark pavement of the street where she crashed, out of her head. Sometimes you think about her hair, and how she keeps cutting it, like she’s afraid if it grows back she’ll be back in a wheelchair.

But, now her icy eyes are looking straight into you and there’s orange dust billowing around her and she’s sort of smiling. Then she’s running faster and she’s getting smaller and the distance between you is getting bigger. Your stomach drops because the look on her face says, “You’ll never catch me,” and a big part of you thinks she’s right, because she’s moving at the speed of light and every time you reach out for her all you get is debris that sticks to your fingertips.

You watch her get farther and farther away from you and you’re trying to keep up, and you hear her loud laugh kiss your ears as it disappears with the wind and you leave it behind. You feel like she’s leaving you again and you start to panic so you pick up your pace and push harder even though you feel like your legs might fall off or collapse from right under you.

You used to think that summer represented childhood; after all, that’s what your English teachers always told you. But now you’re not too sure, because Korra got into her accident during the summer and you grew up more than you ever wanted to. Maybe summer is the time for collapse because that’s what everyone did two years ago. The summer when Korra abandoned her body and became an empty house, long forgotten, with crumbling walls and a foundation that threatened to give out, and you wonder if she ever fully returned—or maybe her windows are just cracked now.

She’s here, though, and you won’t let her disappear like last time. You’ll run with her and chase after her because the scariest thing you’ve had to imagine is life without your best friend. So, you pick up your pace and hope that the orange dust doesn’t swallow her whole.

The grass is soft and it’s tickling your ear and you’re probably going to find some in your hair later, but the sun is just above the tree line and Korra is humming, soft and smooth, and there’s a light breeze caressing your skin. She’s lying on her back watching the clouds roll by, and you’re watching her because she’s endlessly fascinating and you prefer the blue of her eyes over the blue of the sky.

The trail led you to a small clearing in the trees that’s sort of a hidden park, with green, trimmed grass and wide open sky, and it’s quiet and you don’t think you’ve ever been more at ease. The only sounds are coming from the planes that fly over the clearing every five minutes. Korra is picking grass, when you hear the rumble of a plane, flying overhead away from the airport.

“Where do you think that one’s going?” She asks

“Egypt.”

“Why Egypt?”

“I’ve always wanted to go.”

She’s quiet for a few moments and her eyebrows are kind of scrunched because she’s probably thinking, and her eyes are so blue with light passing through them and her hair is in her face and you just want to run your hands through it—

“Who do you think is on it?” She mumbles, looking down at the blade of grass she’s pulling apart.

“A man who got married not too long ago and his toddler son and his wife,” you’re watching the plane fly right past you as it cuts through a cloud.

“What are they gonna do in Egypt?”

“The man’s entire family is there, and they haven’t met his wife or son, so he’s going to introduce them.”

“What do you think will happen?” Korra has her bottom lip caught between her teeth and there’s some grass in her hair and she has dirt underneath her fingernails. She has a few band-aids on her legs and her elbow (from falling most likely because Korra is extremely clumsy, but you think it’s endearing) and her freckles are so much more visible under the sun. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone look so young and full of life.

“I think that the dad will cry a lot, because his mom is seeing his son for the first time, and she’ll tell him that the boy looks just like him. And she’ll say that his wife is beautiful and that his father would be proud. I think something like that will happen.”

“That’s too realistic ‘Sams.”

“Well you asked me a question and I answered,” you grumble.

“My turn,” she says sitting up straight, “I think there’s some super cool, kick ass spy on the plane and she’s going to Italy where she pretends to be with this guy, but really people are after her. But, they end up getting together even though he’s a total dork—“

“Korra. That’s the fucking plot of The Tourist.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is!”

“Well, you didn’t even let me finish,” she says flopping backwards onto her back, “I was going to say that he’s a total dork and there are…”

“Go on,” you say raising an eyebrow.

“Uh—dragons coming after them?”

“That wasn’t even clever, funny or creative.”

“Yeah well,” she says pointing to the sky, “That cloud looks kind of like a dragon, I’d might as well incorporate it into my story.”

“It’s not your story, it’s The Tourist.”

“Nothing is ever good enough for you.”

You laugh and lie down next to her on your stomach. She’s pointing at some cloud and her hands are catching the light and the beams of sunlight are streaming between the gaps in her fingers. She’s smiling and you can see her dimple and her eyes are squinting a bit, but you’re just so happy that Korra is here and okay.

You remember when she got hurt and nothing was really the same. Your Korra; who used to do too much—climbed too high, ran too fast, laughed too loud—couldn’t do anything after the accident.

You remember pill bottles, fluorescent and overwhelming, and Korra lying on her back; her face void of anything,defeat and fear evident in her eyes. Her voice croaked and her hands never stopped shaking and her fucking wheelchair. And her legs. Her legs that remained dead still, holding her down to the chair with the weight of the memory of what happened. How could you ever blame her for leaving?

“What are you thinking about?” She says quietly as she plays with a strand of your hair.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. I know you better than that, Sato.”

“I dunno, it’s—I don’t wanna bring it up.”

“Just tell me,” her eyes are kind and understanding, “Whatever it is, I won’t care.”

“I was—I was thinking about when you ran away.”

“Oh,” she’s quiet and her eyes are downcast and you knew it was a bad idea to bring it up, but she’s so insistent.

“I understand—now at least. I mean—I get it—you needed to pull an Alexander Supertramp.”

“I hurt a lot of people. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t left—“

“I don’t.”

“’Sami—“

“I mean—yeah, it hurt—but you got better. I don’t know where you went or what you did, but it made you okay. Seeing you hurt was worse than you not being here.”

When she was in the hospital she looked at you with so much hurt, it looked like her eyes were stained glass in an abandoned church, blue and shattered and heart breaking. She told you she was tired, and you could see the bags under her eyes were carrying fifty pounds of sleep deprivation and nightmares.

You found her one day, prodding at her legs and screaming at them in fits of rage and frustration.

“Move! Why won’t you fucking move?! Please!”

Korra screamed with fear and agony etched into the lines of her face, and she begged you for days to give her answers.

“Please, Asami. You know everything; please—just—just tell me why this happened. Tell me why I can’t move my legs. Why can’t I fucking get better?!”

She clung onto your arm and your heart broke seeing her so lost and confused, “I’m sorry, Korra, I—“

“Asami, please,” you could barely look her in the eyes because they were beautiful and tragic like the death of a star, “Don’t tell me you don’t know. I can’t—please don’t say it.”

All you could do was tell her you were sorry, and you didn’t have it in you to tell her you didn’t know why. You didn’t want to destroy whatever hope she had left in her.

Korra’s eyes are flickering across your features, “What are you thinking about?” You ask.

“How cool my best friend is, and I’m wondering why you bothered to stick around.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—I was a mess for so long, I treated everyone like shit, and then—then I just left. I know I hurt you, I just don’t get how you ever forgave me.”

“You never needed to be forgiven.”

“Why do you do that?” She says quietly with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“You just—you try to pretend everything is fine and act like I didn’t hurt you. Why aren’t you mad? Why are you still my friend?

“Because, you’re my best friend. You always have been. You always will be. What you did—you just—you needed that, why would I ever be mad about you needing to get better?”

The look she’s giving you is making you squirm, but she’s lying back down on her side, facing you, and she’s inches away. She looks so beautiful surrounded by grass and a blue sky, with her sun kissed skin glowing and the small constellation of freckles on her nose.

For a second you think she’s looking at your lips, but it’s probably just your head making things up, because Korra is so close and you can smell coconut and smoke.

“You know,” she says softly, “There are these bugs called Mayflies, and they only have a lifespan of 24 hours. I read somewhere that they don’t have a purpose, all they do is reproduce and form groups so they can dance together.”

“How can they not have a purpose?”

“Technically, they don’t have a purpose. I don’t think that we’re here for no reason. I mean—if a Mayfly has no purpose then why would you or me. If they are here for no reason then so are we. Everything in the world—maybe even the universe—serves some kind of purpose. Mayflies look beautiful and they dance, I think that should be enough. I mean—like—all humans do is fuck everything up, but that doesn’t mean we’re not important, just look at how beautiful everything is. And Mayflies—Mayflies don’t fuck anything up, they just…are.”

She’s looking down and she looks serious, “You know, ‘Sami, sometimes I think you’re kind of like a Mayfly. You don’t ever fuck anything up, and you’re just—I don’t know you’re just you. You’re just this beautiful being who makes everything better—I mean—obviously one day you’re going to do something fucking incredible because you’re you. But, part of you is like a Mayfly and you don’t really need some grand purpose, because you’re enough as you are.”

“Korra—“ Then she’s looking at you and your breath kind of catches in your throat, because Korra, your Korra, after so many years, still manages to steal your breath. She’s so close you could kiss her if you wanted to—just lean in an inch or two and your lips would be touching hers.

“I—“ I think I’m in love with you, “—you’re the best, you know that?”

You wish you could tell her everything; because the words are there, ready to float past your lips. You want to tell her that when you’re with her you feel entirely like yourself and that your chest feels like it’s going to explode if you don’t kiss her soon. You’re okay with being a Mayfly as long as she’s dancing with you.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sato.”

Korra’s room is hazy because she just sparked, and you’re lying on the floor with your feet propped up on the side of her bed. Naga is a few feet away snoring contentedly and Re: stacks is playing through Korra’s speakers. Her head is on your stomach and you’re running your fingers through her hair.

Her curtains are closed, but the sun is setting, so it’s casting an orange glow around the room. There’s smoke billowing around Korra’s face and you feel so at home. You feel like lying on her bedroom floor, listening to music, and smoking is exactly where you belong.

You feel like her head belongs in the crook of your neck, and your fingers belong in the gaps of hers. You want to think your lips mesh perfectly with hers, and the length of your arms are perfect for wrapping around her. You wonder if the beat of your heart matches the rhythm of hers.

She brings the joint to your lips and you take a hit.

“Hey, ‘Sams?”

You let the smoke stream past your lips, “Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite poem?”

“Scheherzade by Richard Siken.”

“Do you know it by heart?”

“Some of it,” You say taking another hit. She takes the joint out of your mouth and brings it to her lips.

“Tell me.”

“Alright. Tell me about the dream where we pull dead bodies out of a lake/and dress them in warm clothes again. I don’t remember the middle by heart, but the end is like—tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us./These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.”

Korra blows out a cloud of smoke and turns her head to look at you. Her eyes remind you of lighthouses, shrouded by fog when there’s smoke floating all around her

“That’s nice, ‘Sami.”

“What about you?”

“It’s one I read online a while ago called St. George’s Eye.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“I—uh—I only know part of the beginning, but it’s like—Yesterday, I clipped down my wings/I didn’t like them, they hurt,/the way they scraped against the cave; I was too wide for it’s walls/or else there was too much treasure lining it’s floor—/goblets  and gems, coins and coronets—/so, I said/either the gold goes, or I do./I think I went.”

She’s looking away from you and she brings the joint back to her lips and closes her eyes.

“Why’s that your favorite?” You ask quietly, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I—uh—“ She turns her head to look at you, and she looks so scared and vulnerable, and you realize she’s opening up old wounds. She’s peeling back skin and exposing jagged bone, and you kind of regret ever asking.

“After the—uh—my accident, I think I lost a piece of myself—like—I think I clipped my wings. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to.”

She smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Thanks, ‘Sami.”

You feel your stomach turn and you’re trying to swallow back the guilt you feel rising in your chest and throat. You don’t know why you asked, you should’ve known not to—

“Stop that.” Korra is looking at you and her blue eyes are serious and her face is hard.

“Stop what?”

She doesn’t answer, instead she gets up and walks over to her speaker and starts fidgeting, then Burning Love is playing and she’s grinning at you in her crooked type of way. Korra walks up to you and pulls you up to your feet, then she’s spinning you around and the music is louder and her eyes are so fucking blue.

“Come on, ‘Sami,” she says laughing and twirling and dancing to the beat of the music.

You stand and just watch her because she’s silhouetted by the light coming through the curtains and there’s smoke drifting around the room still. Her hands are in the air and she’s spinning and swaying and laughing, you can’t peel your eyes away from her.

For a moment, at least, it’s just you and her. The rest of the world is silent and non-existent, and all there’s left is Korra, and her blue eyes, loud laugh, and crooked grin. You don’t want it to end, you don’t want the moment to go away, and you don’t want anyone else, all you want is Korra swaying and spinning and laughing.

Then, it’s over, and she’s walking towards you. She’s grinning and her eyes are glazed and red from the weed, the icy blue of her eyes looks stark against the bloodshot whites and you can’t look away. You don’t want to let go of her gaze, so you grip onto it for dear life, and you feel like if you look away you’ll disappear, or she’ll be gone and you’ll realize all this was nothing but a dream.

Her hands are grasping your cheeks and her eyebrows are furrowed, “Stop it.”

You can feel her warm breath brush across your cheeks and she’s so close now, “Get out of your head, stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do, ‘Sami.” Then, she’s pulling your head down and—oh god—your foreheads are pressed together and her eyes are closed. You could kiss her, your head is a little hazy and everything is in slow motion, but you could lean down a little more and kiss her. You look down at her lips and they’re slightly parted and they look soft and pink and—no.

You wrap your fingers around her wrists and try not to lean into her touch or kiss her palm. Her eyes open and your breath hitches, but then she’s laughing, loud and throatily, and she’s swinging you around, and you’re both spinning around her room. You’re knocking things over and bumping into furniture but you’re laughing and she’s laughing. Her face is flushed and rosy and you want to bury yourself in her smile lines and get lost in her eyes.

Korra’s laugh is making your knees weak and she’s enveloping you in everything she is. Your chest aches, but it’s not painful, it’s like Korra opened up your veins and she’s swimming through your bloodstream. She’s carving her name into the part of your brain that wants to forget her, eventually the letters will scar, but her name—she will still be there.

No matter how many times you deny it or try to convince yourself otherwise, you know you love Korra. You didn’t always love her like this, you used to love her like spring and swing sets and climbing trees in the summer and saving earthworms and sleepovers and braiding hair. Now, you love her like summer and soft lips and smooth curves and silhouettes and sneaking out just to see her smile. You love her in a way you never thought you would, because when you see a crooked tooth and smiles, band aids and scrapes and dirty fingernails, you think of her.

You might not ever love anyone the same way—you know you’ll never love anyone the same way, because the only eyes you ever want to look into are hers and the only place you want to put your hands is in the dip of her hipbone.

She’s laughing in your ear and she’s throwing her head back, and you know; you’re going to have your heart broken by her, but you can’t imagine anyone else doing it.

Chapter Text

You’ve been driving for a few hours now, and you’re on the highway in the middle of nowhere, basically. The road is long and straight and it’s surrounded by open fields; painted with shades of yellow and the grass reminds you of the bristles of Korra’s paintbrush.

All the windows are down and it’s late enough in the afternoon for the sky to be casting an almost orange glow around you. Korra is sitting beside you, her feet propped up on the dash, her hair blowing around her face and a smile dancing across her lips. She has her hand stuck out the window and her head is thrown back, with her mouth agape mid-laugh, and you know you should be watching the road, but you can’t help but look at her.

Mako, Bolin, and Opal are sitting in the back seat, tangled up in each other, their hair windblown and cheeks rosy from laughter. Maps by The Front Bottoms is playing loudly from your speakers, and you’re tapping your hand on the steering wheel and bobbing your head. Korra is singing just as loud and she’s clapping along.

“You say I hate you, you mean it, and I love you sounds fake, it’s taken me so long to figure that out. I used to love the taste I would do anything for it, now I would do anything to get the taste out of my mouth. And you’re so confident, but I hear you crying in your sleeping bag.”

And then everyone is singing and her laugh is ringing in your ear.

Korra turns her head to look at you and you swear everything stops. The wind stops blowing, the car stops moving, your blood stops pumping and your lungs stop working. Her eyes flash like lightning, and they feel just as deadly looking right through you, and then they’re gone.

She reaches into the pocket of her flannel and pulls out a joint, she lights it and then she’s blowing smoke out the window and shouting the words to the song. You want to grab her by the collar and pull her into a kiss, you want to kiss her so hard her lips bruise and you want to make them turn the color of a thunderstorm. You want to say, ‘fuck it’ and you want to let go of the wheel and let everything happen on it’s own.

“If the roles were reversed you could’ve seen me sneaking up, sneaking up from behind.”

Despite everything, you feel amazing because there’s warm air tickling your skin and there’s a glare in your sunglasses, but it’s making everything look hazy and surreal, and everything is brushed with gold.

You probably look like an idiot smiling to yourself but the world is so beautiful and so is the girl sitting next you; with her dirty shoes on the dash and her laugh sending shivers down your spine. Her flannel is falling off of her shoulder and it’s exposing a bit of her tan shoulder. She’s running her hand through her hair when Opal leans forward and takes the joint from her. Then Mako is wrapping his arms around Korra from the back seat. She’s smiling with her eyes downcast in a shy expression you’ve only seen on her a few times and he’s kissing her neck and—

You look away because you’re starting to feel that familiar ache in your chest that you wish you could forget. You’ve gotten used to it, because you remember someone telling you one time, that in order to stop hurting you have to accept your pain. You suppose it’s true, but you accepted the pain a while ago. So you’re just kind of wondering why you feel like you’re going to die whenever you see something—anything—that reminds you of Korra. But, then again, everything reminds you of her.

Sometimes you think the pain has subsided, but then you remember it, like a rock stuck in your shoe, and it’s uncomfortable and frustrating and that’s when you start to feel hopeless; because you don’t think you’ll ever get rid of it.

You look in the rearview mirror, and Bolin has his head stuck out the window and he’s whooping and yelling. Opal grabs him by the neck of his shirt and pulls him towards her. They’re smiling into a kiss and Opal’s fingers are tangled in his hair and you smile because they’re so happy and in love and so, so full of life.

Mako is groaning and making a disgusted face but—whatever. Korra turns around towards the backseat and takes the joint from Opal, while she’s making out with Bolin.

Korra is looking at you with a smirk on her face; her eyes are glimmering and there are shadows cast across her face, and the dimple under her eye looks deeper and so do her smile lines.

You feel your mouth twitch up into a smile and you watch Korra kiss the joint, lips puckered around the end—but Bolin is screaming. You look in the rearview mirror again and his entire upper body is hanging out the window; he has his hands in the air like he’s trying to catch the wind and—maybe you should stop him. But—no—you don’t want to.

Because, there’s a song by The Smith Street Band playing, and Bolin is screaming at the top of his lungs, and—for once—Korra is relaxed in a car, and she’s singing and so happy.

“But what I wouldn’t give to be young dreaming and ten again…”

And, normally, you don’t like singing, but you can’t help the laughter bubbling in your throat and the excitement building up in your fingertips or the way Korra looks when she’s laughing.

So, you sing along with her, “And when I was a boy, I thought I was a fish, and I still love the ocean like when I was a kid, but lately I have come to the conclusion, that I’m disappointingly, probably human.”

You look beside you, and Korra is taking her seatbelt off, and you’re pretty sure you’re hallucinating or—fuck, maybe she is. Just as you’re about to panic and stop her or—you don’t really know—she sticks half her body out the window, just like Bolin. They’re both whooping and yelling and you hear Korra shout, “Come on, ‘Sams, faster!”

Fuck—maybe you’re both hallucinating, but you press your foot harder against the gas pedal and you’re pushing 80 mph.

Korra’s hitting the roof of your car and she’s telling you to go faster, and your speed is climbing and you’re almost doing 100mph. You’ve never felt more alive in your life, and the wind is whipping your hair around and the warmth of the sun is kissing your skin and—yeah—you wish Korra was kissing you instead, but you’re smiling anyways.

Korra has her hands raised in the air and her head is thrown back and her eyes are closed and you think—just maybe—she’s letting go of everything for a little while.

“We ducked back in our alleys and pretended to hate out tans. And told each other one day we’d all look back and smile.”

Maybe she’s letting the wind sweep everything off of her and she’s letting it carry it all far away from her. You don’t know, and maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe all that matters right now is that Korra is carefree and she’s being a teenager and doing stupid shit like she’s supposed to.

You think that maybe she’s not a dragon like in that poem she told you about. Maybe she’s a paper plane and her wings are creased. Maybe with the wind blowing around her it’ll straighten her wings so she’s not grounded by the memories of everything that’s happened to her. You’d like to be the wind, you’d like to blow air under her to help keep her up, but with the way she’s hanging out the window, she’ll fly in the opposite direction you’re going. And, that scares you more than anything.

“And last night I kissed a girl that I met at a bar, which is momentous given how things are. We made out all morning and slept in the afternoon…”

But right now, she’s looking at you in a way you don’t think you could ever describe, because it makes you feel like you’re going to turn into the wind. It makes you feel like every part of you is going to disappear—like you’re going to die.

“It’s time to clean up, start a band, get back on the road again. Stay sober and appreciate my friends. So I’d like to say thank you to every single one of you for everything.”

And—fuck—if the feeling you get when you look into her eyes is what it feels like to die, god, if it doesn’t kill you, you’ll pray for death.

By 9pm, you could hear Korra’s stomach growling over the music, and Bolin started complaining about his stomach starting to consume itself. So you got off the highway and made your way to a small town you can’t remember the name of.

Once you get out of farmland, the streets get shorter, and it’s summer so the sun hasn’t set all the way and everything is cast in shades of blue. The town feels lonely and old with its empty roads and it’s dim, flickering streetlights and you wonder what it’s seen in its time; how many people have just wandered through and not even bothering to learn it’s name.

Korra is beside you and she's staring out the window, her elbow resting on the door and with her head leaning against her hand. Under the yellow streetlights her eyes seem brighter, and sometimes you want to drown in them, but right now you feel like going for a swim.

Eventually, you find a Denny’s, and it’s desolate except for the occasional person over the age of old as fuck, and the waitress who is only a little bit younger than you. The look on her face makes you think she’s seen far better days, because her eyes are barely open and she keeps picking at the same hangnail on her right middle finger.

You get seated at a booth, and the plastic on the seat you’re in is cracking and ripping and someone has carved their, and someone else’s initials into a heart on the table. Even though you’re next to a window, there’s nothing really to look at besides a sleepy and empty road. In the table over, there’s an old man sitting by himself with a cup of coffee and you feel a little sad for him and you wonder why he’s alone.

It freaks you out a little bit because being alone scares you, and you don’t want to be familiar with a cup of coffee, and empty chair, and a lonely restaurant and—no.

You’re not alone. Korra is sitting beside you and she’s looking out the window with a distant expression on her face. Bolin and Opal got kid's menus and they’re solving a maze—at least you think that’s what they’re doing. Mako is next to you sitting at the edge of the booth, and he’s looking at the menu like its written in hieroglyphics, and it’s honestly kind of amusing.

You nudge Korra’s arm with your elbow, “You good?”

Her eyebrows furrow, then her face lights up, and sometimes you think she has the sun inside of her because she looks so bright, “All good in the hood, Sato.”

Your heart beats a little faster but—“Good, just checking,” you grin.

“What the hell!” Bolin slams his crayon on the table and Opal is laughing and the waitress looks really annoyed.

“Bo, could you kindly shut the fuck up, or at least tone it down?” Mako says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, let him live, shark-brows,” Korra’s rolling her eyes and suddenly you’re really, really uncomfortable because you somehow ended up seated between them.

Mako’s leaning in close to Korra and he’s completely invaded your personal space, “I’m sorry, you got something to say, princess?”

“Eat me,” she sneers.

“Oh, trust me, babe, I’d love to.”

You put your palm over his face and push him back to his side of the table, “Ew.”

Bolin slams his crayon on the table again, “Oh, come on!”

“Jesus—fuck—Opal, what’re you doing to him?” Korra laughs.

“Kicking his cute little ass in tic-tac-toe.”

“I dunno how she does it!” He huffs, and pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’ll get over it,” Opal says patting his cheek.

“You have to start in the middle or the corners,” you say to him, “that way you start with an advantage—at least—that’s what my mom told me, and it’s always worked for me.”

“Well, ‘Sami,” Korra smirks, “you are the genius.”

“Hardly,” you laugh.

“Shut up,” Opal rolls her eyes then kicks you under the table.

“Ow, Opal what the f—“

“Are you guys ready to order?” The waitress says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone sound so void of any emotion.

You just order french fries, because you’re not that hungry, Opal orders some sandwich, Mako gets breakfast food and Korra and Bolin order the entire fucking restaurant and some milkshakes—not that you expected anything less from them.

“Coming right up,” the waitress mumbles and as she’s turning around you can see her rolling her eyes. Korra sticks her tongue out at her and you laugh and push her a little bit.

“Behave,” you whisper in her ear, “who knows how miserable she is, cut her some slack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says taking a sip from her coke. Korra always bites the straw before she takes a drink, and you’ve always been mesmerized by the way she catches the straw between her teeth and then smiles before she seals her lips over the end. It’s one of the things you love about her, and you’re not sure why. But, sometimes you wonder if Mako notices it, and if his heart beats a little faster just as she puckers her lips.

You know Korra is beautiful—you’re pretty sure everyone knows that—but you’ve always found small things she does to be the most beautiful things about her. Maybe, it's because you’ve known and loved her for so long, or maybe it’s because you’ve had enough time to notice the way her hands and eyes catch the light or the fluid sway of her hips that remind you of the rise and fall of the tide.

You think, that if Mako doesn’t see the little details, he’s a fool, because yes, Korra is beautiful, but—fuck—to say she’s only beautiful for her looks is an insult at best.

But, Mako has his arm resting on the back of your chair and his first two fingers are stroking Korra’s cheek and it hurts so much. You don’t want to, but you hate the way she’s leaning into his touch and the smile that’s tugging at her lips. You hate the contrast between his skin and hers because it reminds you too much of what it would look like if you were with her. And, you hate that you hate it. You don’t want to feel like this, you don’t want to feel helpless or hopeless and you want to be happy for her.

You’re just not sure you have it in you.

“I need to pee,” you say under your breath as you push Mako out of the booth.

“God—fuck—Asami, chill, I’m getting out,” he says scooting out.

You push your way past him and stumble towards the bathroom, there’s a lump in your throat and you can’t swallow it down and suddenly the air is too thick. You throw the door to the bathroom open and set your hands on the sink with your head hanging between your shoulders. The counter is cold and it feels good and you concentrate on that and your breathing instead of the pain in your chest and the image of Korra smiling at Mako—

You lean your back against the wall beside you and take a deep breath, you run your hands through your hair and you will the stinging behind your eyes away. You close your eyes and try to get the feeling in your chest to dissipate, but no matter what you do it’s always there—she’s always there.

The bathroom door creaks open and you don’t bother to see who it is.

“’Sami?”

Your eyes fly open and—“Bolin? What the hell are you doing in the girls room?”

He smiles sheepishly at you, “Eh, fuck social constructs, gender is fluid. Besides, we’re in a Denny’s no one really has the energy to stop me.”

“I guess,” you laugh.

“You okay?” He says leaning against the wall beside you.

“I’m completely fine Bo, you don’t—“

“Don’t say it ,’Sami. I’m going to worry about you, because if I don’t then who will?”

“Bo—“

“No just listen. I know something’s not right, and I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you can’t just close yourself off, y’know? I mean, you can always talk to Korra—“

“No I can’t,” you shake your head and smile sadly at him.

His eyes are so green and they remind of new leaves in the spring—rebirth. It makes sense, because Bolin reminds you of youth and innocence and being a kid and happy and—you don’t know. You look at him, and you have hope, because so does he. You think, if he can see the good in things, so can you.

Bolin’s eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

“I—it’s just—it’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I probably wouldn’t really get it anyways, if you can’t figure something out, I don’t think anyone can.” He slaps his hand over his face and groans, “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot—I mean—I didn’t mean it like that—“

“Bo—“

“I’m probably not helping at all, Opal should’ve come to talk to you instead—“

“Bolin!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s fine, I’m glad it was you who came.”

He puts his arm around your shoulders and you rest your head in the crook of his neck, he’s strong and warm and he makes you feel safe and loved.

“I love you to death, Sato, you know you can talk to me whenever you need to.”

You wish it was that easy, but it’s not. You want to tell him everything, but you can’t. You wish you could tell him how you feel about Korra, how you don’t want to let her go, because you’d rather be miserable and have hope than be happy and have nothing. You’d rather hold onto false hope than give up, because you know the only way you’ll ever stop loving Korra is if you give up—fully. You’re not willing to do that—you’re not willing to give up thirteen years of friendship, and you’re not willing to give her up.

You smile sadly at him, “I know.” Fuck—you wish it were true.

Korra and Opal are doing cartwheels in the parking lot and Mako and Bolin are smoking a joint against the trunk of your car. Korra’s laugh is etching its sound waves onto your eardrums so you never forget the sound and her blue eyes have a yellow glint in them from the reflection of the streetlights.

“Ow—fuck,” she says on the ground while Opal doubles over in laughter next to her. You feel your mouth twitch up in an almost smile because Korra always seems to do that to you. You reach behind your ear and bring the cigarette to your teeth.

“Hey, Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me a light, please? My lighter's in the car.”

“Yeah, I got you,” he smiles.

He walks over and brings the lighter to the end of your cigarette with one hand cupped around the end. You take a long drag and your eyes flutter closed and you feel calmer than you did before.

“I get it,” He says suddenly, taking a hit from his joint.

“What?”

“I know what’s been bothering you.”

You can feel your eyes get wide and the panic start to settle in your stomach, you hadn’t even really told Opal, and an irrational part of you thinks she said something to Bolin but—no. Opal would never do that, and maybe you underestimated Bolin, maybe he’s not so childish and naïve, and maybe he’s more perceptive than he makes himself out to be.

“What do you mean?” You bring the cigarette back up to your lips with shaking hands, and you hope he doesn’t notice—but really who knows with him.

“Korra. I know how you feel about her.” He looks so serious he doesn’t even look like the same person anymore.

You peek over his shoulder and Mako is leaning on the passenger side of the door watching Korra with a smirk, and your stomach lurches.

“Don’t worry,” he says looking in Opal’s direction, “I won’t say anything—to anyone.”

“Thanks, Bo,” you mumble.

“I know how you feel.”

“How could you? I mean you have Opal—“

“I’m not talking about Opal.”

“Then what—“

“I was in love with Korra too, y’know?” He turns his head to look at you and he looks so sad. It’s something you’ve never been used to—seeing Bolin sad, it’s just not something you associate him with.

“What?” You breathe out.

He looks away from you again and takes another hit, “For a while. I started to like her in middle school, and then we got into high school—it was—she’s Korra. It’s hard not to fall in love with her.”

Bolin is about to take another hit, but you put your hand over his to stop him. His hands are rough and scarred, but they’re sturdy and warm. You always laughed when he held hands with Opal because her hands are small and dainty and delicate, and his are—well—not.

“How come you never told me?”

He smiles sadly at the ground, and he doesn’t look at you, and it breaks your heart a little bit, “I never really told anyone. She broke my heart.” You can hear his voice wavering and he looks at you, and the pain it caused him is evident.

Bolin breathes in sharply through his nose, and rubs his face up and down with his hand, “I know she didn’t mean to—but, she did. She loved me, but not in the way I loved her.”

You open your mouth to say something, but what is there to say? He understands you, and you understand him, and he’s moved on but the pain is still there for him.

“I know I moved on,” he says finally looking at you, “I love Opal, I really do—so much. But, I don’t think it’s possible to love two people in the same way. I think—that whether you move on or not—it’s always going to hurt. I still love Korra, I always will, but sometimes looking at her smile hurts. I’d never leave Opal for her—ever, because I think Opal and me are soul mates. But, sometimes I look at her and I remember how it felt when she ripped my heart out.”

He puts his arm around you and rests his cheek on the top of your head, “Look, ‘Sami, I don’t know if her and Mako are going to last—Korra doesn’t talk about her feelings and neither does Mako. Maybe they’re just fucking each other for the hell of it—I don’t know—but I’ve seen the way you look at her. I know that what you feel is real, and I know Mako is my brother, but I’m on your side. You know Korra better than anyone, and I think you love her more than anyone else ever could—better than Mako or me ever could. Just be careful.”

You lean into his side, “I’m trying, Bo.”

You watch Korra under the streetlights and the moon and the stars, and you can’t help but think they’re all watching her, wondering how anyone could be so beautiful.

She’s filling you with life, but sometimes it gets overwhelming because it seeps into your lungs and it feels like you’re drowning and you don’t know if it’s you or the color of her eyes that’s to blame.

You’re trying to get past the urge to kiss her or hold her hand or stare too long but it’s getting harder and harder. She’s planting trees in your stomach and your initials are carved into the branches alongside hers. You’ve tried drowning the forest out with vodka and burned it to the ground with cigarettes. You know ashes bring life but you’re hoping it all stays dead because you don’t like the feeling of tree branches pushing their way past your throat; you don’t want her to see your names carved into the center of a heart.

You don’t want her to know and you want to keep her far away from the cavity between your ribs because you don’t think you can handle her sneaking her way in there anymore than she already has. But, you don’t want to lose her, you don’t want her to seep through the cracks between your fingers like water. You’re more afraid of losing her than you are of her hurting you.

Korra is a paper plane and with every passing moment she’s flying farther and farther away. And, you’re a little ship, trying to keep up, slowly sinking and drowning in water the same color as her eyes.

Chapter Text

The sun—you’re pretty sure—is going to burn off your flesh at some point. You decided to lie out by the edge of the lake in a folding chair; you figured you’re so pale you could probably use some sunlight. You sort of underestimated how hot it actually is, and at this point you figure you’re going to get a third degree burn before you get even a little color in your skin. But—whatever—it’s worth a shot.

Mako is in the water, about twenty feet in, with his butt stuck in the middle of a neon pink inner tube, with his arms, legs, and head hanging off the edge. About thirty minutes ago he was drinking a beer in the middle of the lake, but he hasn’t moved for a while. He’s either 1. Asleep 2. Died of a heat stroke, or 3. Too drunk to move. You should probably check on him to see if he’s still breathing but you can’t really bring yourself to move because—if you’re being honest—you don’t really care. And, chances are, he’s still alive. Besides, there are three other people perfectly capable of checking up on him.

Opal and Korra are in the lake, seeing who can hold their breath the longest, and neither one of them has really won yet, but it’s fun to watch them argue and splash each other.

You basically had to tear your eyes away from her all morning because she’s in a bikini and her body is—like—ridiculous, and honestly, how are you expected to not stare at her? She’s all smooth curves and hard muscles; from the dip of her waist to the slope of her shoulders and neck, and her stomach is all gentle canyons outlined by soft shadows. She’s been self-conscious about her back, but you see it as a valley surrounded by small hills of muscle, her scars are cracks in the mountains and jagged lines that look like lightning bolts striking the ground.

You smile because she seems so at home in the water, it’s like an extension of herself, she makes it look alive. But then again everything seems more alive when Korra’s around.

Bolin is cooking hotdogs on the little grill you all packed, and you’re not sure he knows what he’s doing, you’re just happy the hotdogs were pre-cooked, but you’re not going to tell him that.

You hear dirt crunching under feet from behind you, “Hey ‘Sami, here have a hot dog, they’re made with love and affection and also my sweat and blood and tears.” Bolin says and he has a hand over his heart and he’s staring off into the distance.

“Thanks, Bo,” you laugh.

“No problem, why aren’t you swimming?”

“Didn’t really feel like it.”

He hums, and you’re enveloped in a comfortable silence as he sits on the ground beside you. The sound of splashing water and Korra’s laugh fills your ears. And—yeah—it’s grossly hot, but you’re having fun and it feels nice to be away from everything at home.

The gentle ache in your chest is still there like the raw flesh left behind after losing a tooth. You want to prod at it to hopefully ease the ache, but the more you poke the worse it gets.

But—like—every time you look at Korra you feel like it’s the first time you’re seeing her and maybe it is, someone once told you that people are malleable and ever changing. So maybe every time you look her you’re seeing a different Korra, and maybe you fall in love with her all over again. You don’t really think you mind it all that much.

“Hey, Bo?”

“Hm?” He’s looking up at you from the ground; his eyes big and green like spring and he’s smiling at you, and you’ve never really appreciated how good looking Bolin actually is. He has a strong square jaw and he has deep dimples on each cheek and full pink lips. Bolin has a round button nose and a sweet laugh and firm hands. He’s strong and safe and always seems to put people at ease, and you realize, that under different circumstances, you could love him.

Maybe if you hadn’t grown up together and if he wasn’t with Opal. Maybe if Korra lived somewhere else and you never met her. Maybe if the universe hadn’t decided that in a world where there is a Korra, you are in love with her.

“Do you really believe that you and Opal are soul mates?” You ask him quietly.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Why though?”

“What do you mean why?” He laughs.

“Why do you think that—“

“No, ‘Sami, I don’t think we’re soul mates, I know we are.”

“Ok—well—how do you know then?”

“Because I do.”

You throw your hands in the air because Bolin is a literal pain in your ass, “Oh, come on, Bo—“

“Ok, ok!” He says and he’s smiling at the ground and blushing a little bit, “I’ve known since the moment I laid eyes on her. I knew I would love her forever. She makes me want to be better—when I’m with her I am better. That’s how she’s different from Korra. With Korra, I wanted her to love me, to notice me, to want me. But with Opal—with Opal, I don’t care if she loves me, it’s—like—her being in my life is enough, because I know we’re meant to be together. I’m not saying that in a creepy way, of course, if she didn’t want to be with me I’d respect it. But, it’s—like—when I look at her, I feel like I’m home, that’s something I’ve never really felt before.”

He laughs, “Plus she’s really cute so it’s fun to think I’m meant to be with someone like her.”

“So you—um—you knew from the beginning?”

“Yeah, but I think there are different types of soul mates. With me, I knew right away. But I think you can be just friends with someone your entire life and be soul mates with them. And I think there are times where you don’t see it until—BAM! It hits you and everything makes sense. Because—I mean—realistically, Opal isn’t going to be the only person I’m going to be with, there are going to be others after this. But she’s it. She’s the last person I’ll be with. She’s endgame for me.”

You kind of look at him for a second because how the fuck is this goofball a such wise romantic. It’s like a whole other side to Bolin no one ever really gets to see, and you wonder if this is what Opal sees all the time when he’s not being a dork, that maybe this serious Bolin is ultimately the reason she fell in love with him and—

“If it makes you feel any better, ‘Sams, I think you and Korra were made for each other.”

“What,” you breathe out.

“I mean—there’s not really a way to put it into words, but I see it. You take care of each other and you understand each other. It might not happen now, but it will. I know it will, you love her too much for her not to realize you guys are meant to be together.”

You smile softly at him, “Thanks, Bo.”

“No problem, ‘Sami,” He gets up and kisses you on the top of the head, “Now if you don’t mind I’m going to push Mako out of the inner tube.”

Then he’s gone and so is your smile. You wish you believed him, but there’s a tickle in your ribs that’s warning you not to get your hopes up. You know that if you start to believe what Bolin says, everything will be ripped right out of your hands, because that’s what always seems to happen. It’s like whenever you get your hopes up, or you think things are going to go your way, the universe decides otherwise and you lose everything.

But then there’s Korra, planting flowers in your ribcage and swimming through your veins and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. She’s carved her name into your teeth so that the only name you’ll ever taste is hers, you want to get rid of them so bad but you’ve never really liked the taste of blood. And—sure—it hurts, but it’s hard to let go of anything involving Korra.

You know that what you need to do is move on. You don’t know how you’ll do it, but you don’t really have a choice. It’s getting harder though, because you’re sure she’s sewn herself into your existence, and you don’t have it in you to cut the threads.

You close your eyes and listen to the sound of Korra’s laugh and you wish she wasn’t so out of reach.

There’s water everywhere and it’s cold, your eyes shoot open and Korra is standing there with the cooler raised above your head, and—who would’ve guessed—it’s empty. Your entire body tenses up because—wow—she dumped cold water on you and your chest is heaving and there’s water all over your foldable chair. Granted, it’s probably your fault for falling asleep completely exposed—but still.

“Korra,” You say slowly.

“Yes, Asami?” And she has a shit eating grin on her face and you don’t know whether your angry or turned on, because she’s blocking out the sun and there are rays of light outlining her and she looks ethereal.

“You have five seconds to go get me towel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” She smirks.

You’re trying to shake off as much water as you can, and you’re just kind of lucky it’s so hot and the sun is drying you. But you also have really thick and really long hair so it’s probably going to take hours to dry—

The sound that comes out of your mouth doesn’t even sound human because it’s so high pitched and loud. This time, the water Korra dumps on you is ice water that still has un-melted cubes in it. It’s so cold it feels like little needles are prickling your skin and your chest is heaving because—fuck—it’s so cold.

All you hear now is the sound of Korra laughing, and before you can really think to do anything else she shouts, “I’ll race you, ‘Sami, and if you catch me you can dump ice water on me.”

Then she’s running off into the lake and you’re slightly confused but you run after her anyways.

She has a head start—of course—but you like to think you’re a fairly strong swimmer. But Korra is a far better swimmer than you could ever hope to be, but you keep at it regardless; kicking your legs, extending your arms, and breathing just like you were taught to. You think you’re doing well and catching up so you chance a peek and she’s a few feet in front of you.

Korra is ahead of you and you feel like you’re chasing after her again, except this time there’s no orange dust and no wind for her to float off into—this time it’s the spray of clear water and it’s threatening to hold you back. It’s pulling you farther and farther away from her.

You feel like you’re fifteen again, pushing Korra in her wheelchair, watching her slip right out of your grasp like the water she’s using to get away from you right now. And you realize, you’ve always been behind her. You were behind her when she needed someone to push her, and you were behind her when she learned to walk again and picking her up when she fell. You were behind her as she raced you; making sure she stayed safe, and you were behind her when she was hanging out the car window and threatening to fly away.

You’re behind her now—just in case—she may not need you now, but you’ll be there if she needs someone to catch her or put the broken pieces of her back together, even if the shards cut your fingers. But maybe you’re behind her more for yourself, maybe you’re chasing her because you’re afraid she’ll get away from you again.

Then she stops, just a few feet ahead of you.

“Why’d you stop?” You pant.

“’Sami, we’re literally in the middle of the lake,” She says pointing behind you. You look back and—shit—she’s right, you can barely make out everyone on shore.

You laugh, “I guess we—“

Then Korra is spitting a stream water in your face and laughing and you splash her as much as you can without going under the water because it’s kind of deep. And you think about what Bolin said earlier, about looking at your soul mate and thinking that you’re home. You never really believed in that kind of stuff, but looking at Korra and her sun kissed skin and bright blue eyes and her freckles forming every constellation you can think of, you can’t think of anything but how whenever she’s around you feel like you’re where you belong. Korra makes you want to believe in the idea of soul mates and maybe that’s enough for you, maybe you don’t have to believe in that kind of stuff to be in love with Korra—but, fuck, if it doesn’t make sense now. You think that if you’re going to love her forever you want to be alive the entire time.

“You think it’s possible to live forever?” You ask.

She smiles at you and it’s the smile that makes you think she knows things no one else does, like she knows all the secrets of the universe but she won’t ever tell anyone, “I think everyone lives forever.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—ok—forever is until the end of time right?”

“Yeah…”

“Well—but—who determines when the end of time is? We do. Time is different for each person. We live until the end of our timeso—technically—we all live in our own little forever. I don’t know—I mean—maybe I’m not making sense, it’s kind of stupid—“

“No it’s not.” You say, and Korra suddenly looks shy and sheepish and you’re not used to seeing her lack confidence, “Listen Korra, you’re one of the smartest people I know and—“

She’s so close now, practically inches away and she’s bobbing in the water maybe if you just—

“—don’t ever think you’re stupid, or that anything you say is stupid, because you’re brilliant—“

Korra is getting pushed closer to you, if you brushed your lips against hers you could blame it on the water or on your wading. There’s no one around—you could do it.

“—you’re going to do something incredible someday.”

You could count her eyelashes, draw a map of the stars on her face and find the different shades of blue in her eyes. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her lips are parted and—there have been so many times when you’ve wanted to kiss her, but now you’re alone, utterly and completely alone with her. You’re not sure but you think she’s looking at your lips and you’re looking at hers, if you just leaned in a little bit—

“Thanks, ‘Sami,” she says, and it’s quiet and breathy and you feel her breath tickle your face, “We should get back.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel it in the tips of your fingers and the end of your toes and for a moment you think she can feel it too. You think your heart is going to collapse under the weight of everything you’re feeling and—fuck—that scares you. This whole time you’ve been trying to save yourself from getting hurt, but now you’re jumping in front of cars and playing chicken on the train tracks, just to get a glimpse of what could be.

Then she’s gone and swimming away from you, like she has so many times before, and you go after her. But why does it feel like you’re chasing a shadow?

It’s about three in the morning, and everyone spent about two hours trying to put a tent together, but they refused your assistance because, “Look, ‘Sams, we need to know that we can survive without you.”

They can’t.

As soon as you finished building the tent, Bolin and Opal crawled under a pile of blankets and passed out. But you’ve been trying to sleep for a while now, and you’re not sure where Korra and Mako are; they went off on their own a little bit after the tent was done being put up.

Maybe you’re nervous because they haven’t come back yet, and that’s why you can’t sleep. You didn’t really pack much so you’re lacking in the flashlight department—really, you only have two, and you have one of them and you’re sure Bolin is cuddling with the other one. But worry is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach and you’re kind of thinking of worst-case scenarios; the worst being they’re dead from a number of things.

You know you’re overreacting, and you know they’re probably fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re getting anxious. You turn over onto your side facing away from Bolin who’s lying next to you and you huff a little bit, because—fuck—you don’t want to be so worried but you are. Mostly because Mako is an idiot and if Korra suddenly isn’t feeling too great he won’t know what to do, or maybe they got into a fight and Korra got upset and ran off and got lost—she can’t be alone. She gets bad when she’s alone. Maybe you should get up and—

The dirt and leaves outside are rustling and you’d never admit it out loud, but you kind of feel like you’re in a horror movie situation and you’re so tempted to wake up Bolin or Opal. Bolin is bigger and heavier so you figure if there’s a serial killer or something you could push Bolin on top of them to slow them down a bit. You love Bolin, but—honestly—you’re not ready to die.

“Shhhh—Mako—shut up I think everyone is sleeping,” you hear Korra laugh, and you let out a breath because honestly you’re just glad she’s okay.

“You think they’ll hear us if we—“

Korra is giggling again and it’s all breathy and you body goes numb for a second.

“Mako…” You hear her gasp and moan and you clench your eyes shut because it’s all too real now. You hear every moment; every sigh that leaves her mouth, every gasp and moan and the rustling of leaves under bodies.

It’s getting so hard to breathe, but you can hear Korra breathing heavy just fine and you feel a sob pushing it’s way past your lips, but you don’t want anyone to hear—they can’t hear; Korra can’t hear.

But she’s moaning again and you clamp your hand over your mouth and you’re trying so hard to breathe through your nose but it’s ragged and painful. You feel like there a little shards of glass poking you in the chest, maybe that was every bit of hope shattering and now the pieces are ripping holes in your lungs.

Your entire body is shaking while you’re holding back sobs and you’re certain something is broken and it can’t just be your heart, because you’ve never felt anything this painful. Maybe everything inside you snapped in half, maybe you’re dying.

You don’t know what will kill you first; the ache in your chest that’s getting worse with every breath, or the curve of her lips right before she smiles. You don’t know which you’d prefer right now, because all you can see is that smile happening because of someone else.

Korra is so much brighter than the darkness that threatens to consume her, but right now it’s swallowing you whole because she’s shining her light into the mouth of the boy she’s with. She’s not touching you but you can still feel her hands all over your body—but not like real hands—like ghosts you wish were real, and her fingers are tearing holes in your skin and you’re drowning in so much blue. All you can see are his lips on her skin and their sighs being in sync.

You grip your hands over your mouth tighter and the tears won’t stop and they’re burning trails on your face and all they do is remind you that she doesn’t love you. You choke back a sob and—fuck—why can’t you stop shaking. You’re trying to keep a hand over your mouth and your other hand is gripping the blanket and your fingers are cramping, but any pain is better than this one.

The stars are watching their tongues leave track marks on skin. Maybe the moon thinks their bodies look celestial under it’s light, but you don’t think you could ever see it that way. To you, it’s the end of summer and the beginning of the end, it’s holding back tears and eyes squeezed shut, it’s pain in the cavity of your chest and trying not to wake anyone up while you cry.

You wonder if Mako’s tongue tastes chap stick and smoke and if it’s his favorite flavor, and you wonder if he loves how warm Korra’s skin is and if he kisses all her scars so she knows she’s beautiful. You wonder if he loves her like she deserves.

You want to hate Korra, you think that hating Korra would be easier than loving her. You want to be angry with her, but you can’t, no matter what you do you can’t be mad at her or hate her or anything. You’re too fucking in love with her.

Everything is quiet for a moment and you take a long, shaky breath and try to calm down, and you’re just so tired. You’re not too sure how much more you can take of this.

You feel Bolin turn over and lie on his back and you freeze.

“I’m sorry, ‘Sami,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” You rasp.

Then you feel his hand on your arm and your reach behind you to hold onto it. You hold on tight, because you feel like you’re losing yourself, you grip onto his hand, because right now he’s the only thing keep you from sinking completely.

You think about what he told you about soul mates, and you think it’s all shit. Maybe Bolin believes it, but you never could, because there are things you think and things you know. You know you’re going to die at some point, and that will be the end of your forever. You know Korra is touching Mako and he’s touching her. You’d love to think Bolin is right, maybe for his sake more than yours, and you want to think Korra is right about the universe. You want to think Korra could love you. You want to think everything will be okay. But you don’t know everything.

You take a deep breath and shut your eyes and ignore the empty feeling in your chest, and you try to get the image of Korra out of your mind, and her smile and her eyes and her freckles and her hands and scraped knees.

This thing—the feelings you have for Korra—whatever they are, they’re getting out of hand. It started at the pit of your stomach; a little itch you could ignore if you wanted to, but then it grew and started getting caught in your heart strings, and you tried so hard not to think too much of it. But then it got bigger. Now it’s taking up the space in your lungs and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. It’s getting tangled in your veins and pushing it’s way past your flesh and it hurts so bad you think your skin is going to tear. It’s woven into your ribcage and wrapped around your heart so tightly you think it’s going to stop it from beating.

Can you hear a heart break if there’s no one around to see it?

It’s generally calm. You haven’t said much all day; you haven’t really been up for it, but the looks Bolin keeps giving you are making the lump in your throat get bigger and you feel like you might throw up. You know he wants to talk to you, and maybe you’d like to talk to him, but you don’t have it in you—not right now.

You’re sitting at the edge of the lake where the dirt isn’t completely wet, but you can still put your feet in the water. The sun has set and there’s a feeling of impending doom washing over you—yeah—it might be a little dramatic, but everything seems permanent. Not like death but like a goodbye or like the sun setting. It’s a different kind of permanence you can’t quite put your finger on, the kind of permanence where you can’t tell whether something is beginning or an end—hell—it could even be both, but you’re not sure.

And you’re not sure why you feel like this, well—yeah—last night keeps replaying your head and it feels like an eyelash stuck in your eye, you’re trying to get it out, but the more you try the worse it gets. But you’ll live; you’ll endure; because you always do.

It’s getting harder when Korra is always there, in everyone and everything; she’s stuck in your peripheral vision forcing you to turn your head every time you think you hear her voice. You’re not sure what you’re feeling for her anymore, sometimes it’s like you’re nostalgic about someone you’ve never met, or like you’re pointing to someplace on a map but not knowing exactly where it is. Maybe you’re just looking for her because she’s there and not at the same time.

You take a long drink from your beer and inwardly cringe because—in all honesty—beer is fucking gross. The sun disappeared beyond the tree line and the sky is black and blue and—yeah—it’s dark, but you still feel warm and for a moment you kind of forget everything. Kind of.

You think about Korra. Not about how she makes you feel: just Korra. Your best friend and the girl you love—maybe forever, but you’re not too sure yet. You think about her blue eyes and loud laugh and crooked tooth and how you’ll never see anyone the same way. Maybe it’s because you’re a teenager, things are always so innocent and carefree when you’re young; you think love is the same thing. Maybe it’s because she’s—well—she’s her. You decide you can’t move on, you’d never be able to, but then which way to do you go?

You hear muffled voices and you turn around, you think you hear Korra, but you’re not sure. But then you hear them walking towards you and you see Mako and Korra and neither one of them looks too happy.

“This isn’t you,” Mako says kind of loudly.

“Oh I’m sorry what is ‘me’ then?”

“You’re—you—you always—“

“What, Mako? I always fuck you when you feel like fucking? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Yes—No! I mean—“

“So because I don’t feel like fucking you, I’m not acting like me?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” He’s shouting now and Korra is getting in his face and you’re not really sure what to do because you don’t think they really know you’re listening or even in the general vicinity.

“Fuck you, Mako.” She says quietly this time.

“So you yell at me, pick a fight, and act like a bitch, and it’s my fault.”

“You’re such a dick,” And she’s walking away into the woods and you didn’t notice before but your hands are clenched into fists and your heart is racing.

You scramble up to your feet and walk in Korra’s direction, “Nice one, jack-ass,” you mutter to Mako on your way over.

You push your way past roots and branches in the thick of the tree line, and it feels like every other time you’ve gone looking for Korra; you know there’s no way you can come out of this unscathed. You feel like it’s already hard enough trying to catch up to her; you have thorns in your feet from all the other times you’ve chased after her. There are vines snagging your wrists trying to hold you back but you’ll kick and scream before you ever let anything keep you from getting to your best friend.

After you trip on at least three different rocks you make it to a small clearing near a cliff that faces out towards the water. It’s already dark, but you’re just lucky it’s a full moon so you can see at least a little bit. You stumble past a bush and you see Korra; sitting on the ground with her legs dangling over the cliff.

“Hey, ‘Sami,” she says quietly.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I fell about a million times coming over here, and you’re the most graceful person I know and I only heard you stumble a few times. It was an easy guess.” She doesn’t face you or even turn around slightly to look at you, she’s just staring out towards the water.

You walk towards her and sit beside her, but you don’t say anything. You look out towards the water and—wow—you weren’t expecting that. It looks like the sky has spread to the ground, or like the water is a mirror of the stars. The water is so still and clear that everything is reflected, and if it weren’t for the tree line, the sky would look never ending.

“I know,” Korra whispers, and you turn to look at her, and you’re so glad it’s dark because she has been staring at you and you can feel your blood rushing to your face. You hear a song playing from where everyone else is and it’s loud enough for you to hear the lyrics.

“I woke up from a nightmare last night,” she says looking back towards the water, “And I decided to go for a walk and I kind of stumbled across this place. I know what you’re going to say, I know you want me to wake you up after a nightmare or something, but I can’t always be dependent on you.”

Yes you can—

She looks down at her hands and starts picking at her fingers, “You don’t deserve to always have someone leaning on you.”

“Korra—“

“I need to learn to do things on my own. I can’t always expect you to save me.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you say quietly.

She looks at you with the moon reflecting in her eyes and you see so much. Her eyes are the color of lightning and you see the blue from the northern lights and the ocean in them, and you think she’s hiding galaxies in her irises.

“How did I get so lucky to land a best friend like you,” she says, and she gives you her crooked grin and you feel the knot in your chest tighten because you’ve never seen anything more beautiful or painful.

You give her a small smile, the most genuine one you can muster despite the aching in your chest.

“What’s wrong?” She says.

You smile at her again, but this time you know it’s sad, “I don’t mind you leaning on me. It—like—it lets me know you’re not hiding or running.”

She stops smiling and looks away from you, and you think of everything you wish you could tell her. You’ve written letters, but you burned them because it made everything you felt too real, you regret it a little bit now, maybe they would make it easier to explain everything.

Your chest hasn’t stopped aching because you have memories in your head where Korra loves you, you don’t know where they came from because they haven’t happened, but you fucking hate them. You hate that you see yourself with her so easily, because it’ll never be that easy.

I’m sure you’re still singing, but I’ll bet you’re still just a bit out of key.

“I’m always running, ‘Sami.”

With that crooked smile pushing words across your teeth.

“The universe caught up to me once,” she says, “I won’t let it catch me again.”

You were a storm that never rolled in.

She puts her head on your shoulder and you rest your cheek on her head. You take a deep breath and let her presence put you at ease.

I’ll bury your memories in the garden, and watch them grow in the flowers in spring. I’ll keep you with me.

She’s been running since her accident and you wish she would stop because she’s leaving you behind and maybe she doesn’t even know it. Your legs are getting tired and you don’t know if you can keep going when she’s always in motion. The wind is pulling you in different directions, you’re sinking and she’s flying away, and the water is holding you down.

You think about kissing her now more than ever, you don’t know if you’re willing to risk your friendship, but you don’t know if you can take anymore of the pain. You can’t see her with Mako anymore, you can’t see his hands on her body, and the image of his lips dragging across her skin makes you think you’ll never feel anything more painful. With a broken leg you can put on a cast on it to fix it, but if you break something on the inside there’s no bandages to help you out.

You’ve tried cutting her from your veins because she’s gotten herself tangled in there, but you’ve started bleeding out and you can’t cut anymore without losing yourself completely; you’re not willing to do that. But you’re afraid if you pull her out you’ll lose her for good.

You can’t lose her.

“You don’t have to run alone,” you say.

She sits up and looks at you—or your lips—no, she wouldn’t do that, but you’re looking at hers and you’re leaning in a little bit, and you don’t know why you do it.

“I can’t ask you to follow me, ‘Sami.”

“It's okay, you don’t have to ask, Korra, you’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyebrows are furrowed and her lips are parted and—fuck—she’s so close, and you don’t know if you’ll get the chance to be with her like this again. She leans in really quickly and—

Korra tucks her head in the crook of your neck and wraps her arms around your shoulders. You’re holding your breath and your chest aches now more than ever. To believe you thought she would actually want to kiss you, to be with you—she has Mako, why would she want to be with you?

“I know something is wrong, ‘Sami, and you don’t have to tell me—I won’t force you to do that. I just want you to know I’m sorry you’re so sad. I know that there are some things that can’t be helped, but I’m always here for you.”

You close your eyes and take a deep shuddering breath. You can’t tell her everything, and she’s right, some things can’t be helped, and maybe it’s taken you this long to realize that.

Even the moon looks sad at this point, because you know how much it’s probably seen and how lonely it is. It’s probably a silly thought, you know it is, but you feel for it. You read somewhere that the sun and the moon were lovers, but now they’re destined to always be apart, and you don’t know what’s worse; never being able to see someone you love or seeing them, but with someone else.

You can’t have me. No you can’t have me.

You wrap your arms around Korra, and you hold onto her as tight as you can. You’re scared the universe will rip her from you—that gravity will get in way and pull you apart. You can’t have her, that much is clear, but you’ll fight to keep her beside you.

You’ll move forward, but you won’t move on.

Chapter Text

You’re sitting in the back of your car with the trunk wide open and you’re facing a mountain range with the sun setting behind it. The clouds are tinted pink and they fade into orange the closer they are to the horizon, but you can’t look at it without thinking about how much everything hurts right now. It’s not quite physical or emotional, it just—well—it just hurts. It’s a soreness you can’t pinpoint or rub away and it’s everywhere all at once.

It’s on your shoulder, where Korra rested her head the night before, and it burns and stings and you know she bruised everything underneath and you just want it all to go away. You’re certain that if you cut open your chest, everything that you’ve tried to keep hidden would be black and blue. You’re also sure that if you cut open Korra you’d see the sky you’re looking at now and maybe some bits of shattered glass left over from all the times before.

You lean your head against the side of the car and breathe in deep, but even the air brushing against your lungs hurts far too much. You hear footsteps coming from the other side of the car but you don’t bother turning your head to see who it is. But you smell the distinct scent of coconut and cigarettes and you feel a sharp ache in your chest when you breathe in.

Korra hops into the trunk and sits beside you with her legs dangling off the edge. She doesn’t say anything, but you can feel her sharp blue eyes on you.

“Hit me with a fun fact, Sato,” she says quietly.

“The sky is only the color it is because of the atmosphere, if it wasn’t for that we would see a black sky all the time,” you whisper without looking at her.

“’Sami?”

“Hm?”

“’Sami?”

“Yeah,” you say, but you still don’t turn your head. You don’t want to.

“Asami Sato, can you fucking look at me?”

You look down at your lap and sigh, then you turn to face her. You wish you hadn’t because her expression is pained and scared, she looks like a little girl who lost her mother at the store and you feel guilt wash over you because you did this.

Her eyes flicker across your face and you wonder what she’s looking for. There’s a part of you that hopes she looks for you like you look for her, because you see her in everything that looks askew because of her messy hair and crooked tooth, and sometimes you think you can hear her humming in the wind. Maybe she looks for you in those things. Or maybe she can’t find you at all and that’s why she looks so lost. Maybe the both of you are lost.

“There she is,” she whispers, “Can you please tell me what’s been going on with you?”

You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and you’re searching for some kind of excuse—anything to get her to forget about it—but you can’t even make any sound come out of your mouth, “I’m sorry,” you say, because it seems like the only thing to say lately.

“Fuck, ‘Sami,” she says and she rubs her hands up and down her face. The sky is orange and pink and there’s a soft light outlining her profile. The light touches her in ways you never could, it wraps itself around her and she wraps around it. It lines her smooth forehead and the arch of nose and the slope of her upper lip. You don’t think they’re different at all.

“I just—I wish—“ She says looking towards the mountain range, “I wish I knew what made you sad. I wish I could make it all go away,” she looks at you and her eyes are mixed with orange and she’s slouching a little bit and her legs are swinging back and forth.

“You know, sometimes I wish it was just you and me, sounds nice doesn’t it? Hell—sometimes I think it is just you and me, and I don’t think it’s so bad. I mean—yeah we have everyone else, but—I don’t know—with us it’s different. I don’t know I’m probably not making sense right now.”

You watch her, with the light breeze pushing her hair in front of her face and her eyelashes looking lighter with the sun shining on them. Then you hear her breathe out a laugh and she starts singing very softly, almost not at all.

“You and me, you and me, nobody baby, but you and me.”

And you smile a little bit because Korra can be disgustingly cheesy sometimes and you actually really love that song.

“If the stars don’t shine if the moon won’t rise if I never see the setting sun again, you won’t hear me cry this I testify, please believe me boy you know I wouldn’t lie, as long as there is you and me.”

Then her laugh is ringing through your entire body and you feel it resonating through you and the sound hides in the marrow of your bones where you can sometimes feel her burrowed away.

“You’re not allowed to be fucked up ‘Sams, I’m the one who’s fucked up. But I can see it on your face—I know you feel alone, I’ve been there. But I’m here, if that’s any consolation.”

“Korra, I don’t—“

“Don’t lie to me ‘Sami,” and she’s looking you in the eyes and you can’t help but feel like she knows you all too well.

“After my—uh—my accide—you know. I felt alone, and when I came back, I thought I was fine, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t like I was alone exactly, it was like looking through a screen door—it’s still like that sometimes. I could still see and hear everything, but I was still separated—disconnected from everyone. That was the hardest part, you know, that I was so close to being a part of something—but I wasn’t.” She looks down at her lap and whispers, “You don’t have to feel like you’re looking through a screen, ‘Sami, I’ll always hold the door open for you, you have to know that. I won’t leave you behind.”

You realize it then, that being young and in love is such a fleeting thing, and even now it seems like the longest and hardest thing you’ve ever experienced.  You were always told that love was simple—that you would know, and the other person would know, and that it would all work itself out. You’re not so sure anymore. For a while you thought you were the one making it complicated, and maybe you are. Or maybe people make love out to be something it’s not—yeah—that makes more sense.

You know it can be beautiful—you’ve seen it, felt it—but it’s painful and ugly too. You’ve read books that compare love to sunsets painted pink and they say it’s like stars peppered across the endless expanse of the universe. No one ever compared it to the sound of snapping strings or the feel of raw exposed flesh. Nothing prepared you for your trembling hands, grasping for something to keep you grounded, while her hands grasped at his skin. Nobody warned you about silent sobs cutting through the empty space in your bedroom, jagged lines ripping through tense air like a dull razor. No one could have prepared you for Korra.

But everything is so fickle: the sky, the trees, your feelings, your eyes—not in the way they look, but in the way they see. It was—like—one day you could see her and the next day she was gone. One day you saw her as bruises; the color of thunderstorms and splinters in the summer and climbing trees in the spring. Now you see her as wind blowing through hair and a single crooked tooth and eyes that are too blue and gentle curves and freckles and cigarettes and coconut shampoo. Everything is fickle, even you—even Korra.

She’s sitting beside you, but you don’t dare turn to look at her. You keep your eyes fixed on the setting sun, disappearing behind mountains that seem infinite. But you still see her there like you always do; in the corner of your eye and wedged into the creases of your brain.

Then you feel it—a tickle on your pinkie—her finger ghosting over yours, inching closer and you feel the warmth of her skin on yours. Her little finger curls around yours like a garden growing over a building, and you feel the life—the electricity emanating from her like lightning in the summer. Her hand wraps around yours and you think she’s going to leave traces of sunlight on your skin in the shape of fingerprints

Your existence is mixing with hers and you no longer see an end to either of you. It’s just you and her and your hands connected and starting fires in places you didn’t know had the energy left to burn. You wrap your hand around hers and hold on tight, because she said she wouldn’t leave you behind, but you don’t know if she can see how fast she’s moving. You don’t think she can see you struggling to keep up, struggling to keep her close, struggling to keep her safe.

You got over loud noises a while ago. Every fourth of July you would have panic attacks, and sometimes Korra would sit through them with you, she would keep you distracted, make you feel safe. Now the sound of fireworks only makes you flinch and flames stopped carrying the sound of screams. You got over your fear of loud noises a long time ago, but you’re not sure if Korra has gotten over the sound of loud crashes or scraping metal or shattering glass. So whenever you feel like you’re going to break, you make sure you get away from her so she doesn’t hear.

But Bolin bought fireworks because it’s the fourth of July and he has a thing for holidays no matter how pointless and you’re not home yet so you stopped at a concession stand and bought the biggest box they had, which made Bo very very happy.

Korra is lighting fireworks in front of her face with the joint that’s caught between her lips and the fuse is sparking and making her face glow. You can see her leaning into the yellow light with a smile playing at her lips, and it all seems to happen in almost slow motion.  You and I is playing and you feel nostalgia settling in your bones.

Without you there’s no reason for my story, and when I’m with you I can always act the same.

You can see the blue of her eyes flashing from the sparks coming from the lit fuse and glints of white from her teeth when she smiles. Her joint is clasped between her front teeth and her tongue is pushed up against the end. Her hair is windblown and messy and totally and utterly Korra; wild and untamable and beautiful.

Everything from Korra’s laugh to the song playing reminds you of flashlights under blankets and sneaking away to the bathroom in the middle of class to talk and rooftops and hot pavement.

You and I will never get to sleep when we’re up all day…

It’s funny—everything always seems to lead back to her.

Korra sets the firework down on the ground and pulls her shirt over her head and slides her shorts off. She’s giggling and running through the explosion of red, green, and blue sparks, and Bolin, who is also in his underwear, is squealing at a higher frequency than you thought possible and jumping around with Korra. Opal is spinning around with sparklers in her hands and a joint between her lips.

Forever yeah we’re together, we can make it better. You and I we’ve never felt so right, that just might be just what I need to get me through the night.

You can suddenly see the fire in everyone’s eyes and you think about how much time you have left. There is so much time for everything—for growing up, for being smart, for going to school—all that bullshit. But it all feels so limited. It’s—like—you have the rest of your life to do life, but you only have right now to live You only have right now to be young and stupid and free, because—after this—real life starts.

You pull off your shoes and yank off your jeans, and as soon as you get them off your legs you start running in Korra’s direction. You pull off your shirt in one fluid motion and throw it to the side. She’s an arm's length in front of you and you wrap yourself around her and jump and you feel the smooth vibration of her laugh in her chest and her hair tickles your nose a little bit.

Suddenly you can feel her all around you; in the grass tickling your toes and the air of the night warming your blood. You don’t know if you’ll ever be free of her, she’s in your body, but it seems like she’s seeped into everything around you too. Sometimes it feels like her blood is coursing through the roots in the ground, flowing like water through the earth. Her presence is everywhere all at once and she’s not going away. She’s the sound of rain in the spring, soothing and sweet and the boom of thunder in the summer, exciting and larger than life. She’s everything you never thought possible.

Without you there’s no reason for my story, and when I’m with you I can always act the same.

You’re on the ground beside her and everything feels light even though you’re surrounded by dark. But Korra’s eyes are like lighthouses flashing in your direction every so often, offering some sense of hope and security, you know you’re sinking and being pulled under the water, but you’re so close to her. You feel like if you can make it to her you’ll be okay, everything will make sense.

She sits up beside you and grabs your face in her hands. Her eyes are droopy and bloodshot and she smells like grass and smoke and her fingertips feel gritty on your cheeks. Her chest is rising and falling and her eyes are flickering across your face, and all you can hear is the crackling of the firework and the song playing loudly behind you. But Korra is smiling at you, and a shadow is playing at her crooked tooth and all you want is to feel her—really feel her.

Korra pulls your face forward towards hers and her hot lips are pressed up against your forehead and all you can find in yourself to do is clutch onto her biceps.

“Come on,” she breathes out, “We’re gonna get you out of that beautiful little head of yours. Race you.” She smirks at you for a fraction of a second and then she’s off; running into the growing expanse of dark, half naked and laughing, and all you have is the soft padding of feet to guide you towards her.

You’re running blindly and you think this is kind of how it feels to be around Korra, you don’t know where you’re going or where you’ll end up, and it’s scary, but—fuck—if it’s not fun and exciting.

But you don’t hear her feet hitting the ground anymore and it’s eerily quiet. You can’t see anything and you don’t know where you are and you start to panic. Suddenly the night is too thick and it feels suffocating, panic is rising all around you and—where the fuck is Korra? You turn around frantically to see if you can see anything and—

“’Sami? You’re okay.” Korra’s voice is hushed and soft and so comforting and it feels like home—but not exactly home, it feels familiar and safe, like walking down a street you’ve been on a thousand times before. You know it so well you’ve memorized every crack and chip in the sidewalk, and how many steps it takes to walk down.

Korra’s hands are on your shoulders and she slides them down your arms and she’s so warm that you shiver against her touch.

“Remember when you were scared of the dark,  ‘Sami?”

“Yeah”

“You still scared of it?”

“Sometimes?”

“Why?”

You smirk even though she can’t see you, “The unknown.”

Her laugh is too loud for how dark it is and you jump at the sound of it, “’Sams, what’s the point of anything if you know what’s going to happen?”

“Yeah but—“

“What am I gonna do now?”

You can’t see her, but you feel her breath on your face and you can smell smoke and grass and…Korra.

“I—I don’t know.”

You can feel her ghosting right in front of you. She puts her palm on the nape of your neck and pulls you down towards her.

“Are you scared now?” She breathes into your ear.

“No.”

“I am.” She says and you feel her move away from you and you miss the warmth and sunlight that emanates off of her even in the pitch-black night. You can hear the fear in her throat and it’s laced with uncertainty and a childlike hesitancy, something completely unlike Korra.

“Of what?” You whisper.

“I—it’s just—“ You hear her take a deep breath, “Asami—I—“

“Korra?”

“Asami…”

You wish you could read her mind, you wish you knew what’s running through her head and what’s bothering her. You wish a lot of things.

“Look, Asami—“

“Korra, ‘Sami, where the fuck did you guys go?” You hear Bolin’s booming voice cut through—well—you don’t know. It wasn’t tension between you and Korra exactly; it was more like words hanging off the tip of your tongues. His voice cut through everything left unsaid, and you wish he hadn’t because deep down you know she had something important to say.

“We need to go back,” She says, and you can’t pinpoint the exact tone of her voice.

You stumble back to the car and the sparks and the laughter and reality. A smooth song is playing faintly and it leaves a sad feeling in your throat and Korra is standing beside Mako and her pinkie is hooked around his; and you remember when her fingers touched yours. She looks at Mako and you get a sharp pain in your chest because they’re smiling at each other, and as you’re about to turn away, she looks back at you. But Mako is there again, and she looks at him like she’s never seen anyone like him before.

He smiles at her, but you look at her differently and that bothers you more than anything else. You don’t think Mako looks at her like he should. Sometimes it seems like he’s too confident about the future, too sure of himself, too sure of Korra. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that everything is so temporary, it’s like he forgets how temporary Korra can be.

Sometimes she runs and you have to let her go, and maybe he just tries to forget that, but you never will.

You know she’s always there like the stars during the day or the sun at night, but even the phases of the moon are temporary. He’s not holding on tight enough and you think that if she felt for you what you feel for her, you would hang onto her for as long as you could.

You often think that he treats her skin like a stranger’s sheets; replaceable and unfamiliar and only good for writhing bodies with the lights turned off.

He hasn’t found solace in her ribcage where you would burrow yourself if you could. Does he feel her warmth? Does he feel her all around him and her presence in everything?

You watch her fingers intertwine with his and you hope he doesn’t take everything that she is for granted.

The freeway is long and empty, but not in a sad kind of way. It’s empty like a park in the middle of the winter and it’s almost peaceful. Everyone is asleep except for Korra and there’s a slow song by Bon Iver playing on the radio, but she’s been quiet for the most part and you know she’s probably lost in thought.

She’s smoking a joint and the window is down just a crack, but the summer air is hot and dry and everything is soft and yellow from the streetlights. Korra’s eyes are bloodshot again, but you kind of love the contrast of blue on red. Her feet are propped up on the dashboard with her knees bent, and you’re trying really hard to focus on the road and not her.

But you can’t get your mind off the glow of her eyelashes under streetlights, or the way her dirty fingernails pick at grass or the dimple under eye that becomes a valley when she smiles. You can’t get your mind off the way Korra sighed Mako’s name and the way she looked at him—their fingers intertwined, her expression full of content, and the way your eyes met hers—that look was never meant for you.

There’s something at the back of your head nagging you and telling you to just let everything out, to tell her everything, but you’ve never been good at expressing your feelings, not feelings like this. You have your mother’s face but not her bravery, and you have your father’s mind but not his heart—you have Korra but not in the way you’d like. You suppose that’s the problem: you’re not what you need to be.

She’s humming to the soft tune of the song and for a second it just feels like you and her again. You think about what she said earlier, and how nice it actually would be if it was just you and her, you wouldn’t mind if it was like that just for a little bit, then maybe it would be easier to tell her everything. But that’s not the way it is, because there’s Mako, and there’s Mako and Korra, you love her, but you won’t ruin what she has.

“What are you thinking about?” You hear her say softly.

You shrug, “Nothin’”

“Oh, come on, tell me.”

“I—“ I’m in love with you— “I’m thinking about how lame you are.”

“You flatter me, Sato,” she deadpans.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That one's easy; you.”

Your heart stops a little and you’re trying to act like you don’t notice, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And you ignore the drop in your stomach and all the feelings that are suddenly becoming too overwhelming.

“What?” You whisper, you try to look at her but she’s looking out the window with soft fluorescent lights lighting her up every few seconds.

Korra turns her head to look at you and she looks so serious, “Yeah.”

Then she’s furrowing her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side and you’ve got that feeling in your stomach and chest. And she’s giving you that look again, the one you can’t read or place, “You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you?”

And you’re opening your mouth to say something but you’re in shock. She turns away from you again, “Your eyes are the brightest green under streetlamps.”

She looks down at her hands almost sadly; you can tell she’s deep in thought and it looks like she wants to say something else.

“I—I’m gonna sleep.” You feel a little disappointed but also relieved and—

She rests her head on the center console instead of the window and she takes your hand and tucks it at the base of her jaw. Then you feel it, the swelling in your chest and your flesh feels flimsy against your bones and her skin feels like fire under yours. She touches you gently, with soft hands, but she still feels like she could start wildfires all over your body, but it’s not unpleasant, it’s one of the nicest things you’ve felt.

You stroke her hair like how she always wants you to, and you run your fingers down the base of her jaw and back up.

You thought being this close to her would help you understand, but it just seems scarier, more confusing. Korra is the smell after a terrible storm and the sun breaking through overcast skies. Sometimes everything feels like the faint glow from your alarm clock when it’s far too late to go to sleep, but then there’s Korra crashing and tearing through the night like the sunlight that eventually streams in from your window.

She’s a map with no labels and a highway with no exit and running in the dark and grass under your feet. Sometimes you’re scared the feeling will go away and sometimes you’re scared it’ll linger. You don’t know what you want anymore.

Chapter Text

“Do you have a light?” Korra mumbles. She has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and she’s been rummaging through her pockets for the past two minutes.

“Yeah,” you dig into your bag and pull out an orange lighter. You lean over the table to light the cigarette for her, but she wraps her hand around yours and you’re trying to keep your breathing steady so she doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” she says all muffled and you look up and she’s staring at you and—fuck—you wish you could read her face, and you’re trying so hard not to look down at her lips.

“No problem,” you say quietly and you sit back down but you miss the contact and you want her hands wrapped around yours again.

You’re sitting outside because it’s a nice day, and there’s a red umbrella over you and it makes Korra look warmer than she normally does. She’s looking into the window of the coffee shop you’re at and she looks so soft and sweet with the summer haze surrounding her and you watch her bring the cigarette up to her lips again. There’s a slight breeze blowing in your direction so you catch a waft of smoke but you don’t really mind all that much.

You used to hate the smell of smoke; it carried with it the memories of your mother you’ve always wished you’d forget, but then Korra changed everything. Because of her the smell of smoke is summer heat and warm beer and messy hair and hazy rooms tinted yellow and orange. The smell of smoke is you and Korra under a fruitless apple tree and Korra’s feet on the dash and dancing on carpeted floors.

But you can’t help think of your mom. You got through her death as much as you were expected to. The memory of her is a crack in the wall plastered over—the only problem is you can still see evidence of the crack being there when the sun hits that spot in the right way.

“’Sami?”

You shake your head a little bit because you zoned out, “Yeah?”

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Oh—uh—I was thinking about my mom.”

“What about her?” She says leaning forward, putting her elbow on the table and propping her head in her hand.

“She loved summer.” You say, and you run your finger along the edge of your cup of coffee.

Korra hums at you and smiles a little bit, “It’s funny because she loved summer but she always reminded me of spring.”

You give her a funny look and she laughs a little bit while tapping the end of the cigarette, letting bits of ash fall to the ground.

“She wore lots of floral prints and flowy dresses and her perfume was flowery,” she says scratching her leg.

You feel the corners of your mouth turn up in a smile, “She did,” and you take a long sip of your coffee. Usually, when someone brings up your mom, you fall into this sad state, and you think about how much you miss her smile and her laugh and her slender hands and the way she loved to braid your hair. Sometimes, you get sad because you can’t quite remember the sound of her footsteps or which hand she used to write or how her voice would sound when she sang.

Korra is giving you a strange look and her head is cocked to the side and she’s holding the cigarette up to your lips.

“Korra?” You ask.

“What are you most afraid of?”

“What do you mean?”

“What scares you, what’s the one thing that just the thought of makes you feel like crawling out of your skin and hiding?”

You think about how you’re afraid of forgetting; but there are some things you wish you could claw out of your memory and tear out of your head. And you think about your mom and how broken your dad was after she died—how broken you were.

“Losing people,” you say quietly, “losing everything—I don’t know—being alone.”

Korra hums at you and finally brings the cigarette up to her lips.

“What about you?” You ask.

She pulls the cigarette out of her mouth and takes a deep breath, “Being alone.” She looks down at her knee and starts picking on a hole in her jeans, “We’re not so different, ‘Sami.”

“I don’t know, Korra, I don’t think we are.”

“How do you mean?”

You want to tell her it’s in the way she laughs and how it’s like the rustling of leaves and the light trickle of water, or in the way she sees the world through a different perspective; magnified and up close yet still far away. You want to tell her you could never be as beautiful as her. But you don’t.

“You eat mayo, you fucking weirdo, we could never be similar in anyway, ever.” You say.

And she’s laughing really hard, and you laugh with her. You’d love to hear her sigh your name—breathless and slow—but hearing her choke it out between laughs might already be your favorite sound.

“Fuck, ‘Sami,” she breathes out with a smile on her face, and she takes a sip of her tea—which you’re pretty sure is already cold.

She starts absentmindedly scratching some kind of design into the table and you just watch her for a second. Korra’s fingernails are in a perpetual state of dirty, which you’ve never really minded all that much. The light breeze is blowing hair her hair around her face, but she’s so concentrated in whatever she’s carving into the table that she doesn’t bother moving it out of the way. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and her tan skin is faded white around her teeth because she’s biting so hard, and her eyebrows are scrunched together and you feel yourself smiling at the sight of her.

“How’s your dad?” She asks without looking up and you almost forget to answer because her tongue is poking out of her mouth.

“He’s good, he’s been working a lot.”

“I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Like I said,” you laugh, “He’s been working a lot, he’s working on some new top secret thing, so he comes home late and leaves really early.”

“Well,” she grunts as she pushes extra hard into the table and you really want to know what the fuck she’s doing, “tell him he owes me a game of chess.”

“You suck at chess,” you say into your cup of coffee.

“Yeah—well—he doesn’t know that.”

“Yes he does.”

“Look, ‘Sami, I’ve got to beat him at some point.”

“He’s a genius so, no I don’t think so.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she smirks.

You cross your arms over your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, “Alright Queen Elizabeth, what the fuck are you doing, over there?” And you try to lean forward to catch a glimpse but she puts her hand over the carving and smiles.

“Never show your work until it’s finished; rule number one.”

“Rule number one of what?”

“Look ‘Sami I don’t make the rules I just follow them.” She mumbles at you.

“No, I’m pretty sure you do make the rules.”

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were zoning out and not talking.”

“Ouch,” you laugh putting a hand over your heart, “words hurt, you know?”

“My ass,” she mumbles, then she claps her hands together to get the dust off.

“Let’s blow this joint,” Korra says in a funny kind of accent you’ve never heard before.

You laugh at her and get out of your chair, but before following you look at the new carving on the wooden table. You smile at yourself because Korra is ridiculous and it says, “Korea & Salami,” in jagged, rough letters, and it’s carved deep into the table. You run you finger over the words and feel the indentations and the lost layers of wood, and you think about how long it’ll take for the words to disappear completely.

You think you’ll have to shed your skin to get rid of Korra completely, too.

 There’s something about the night that puts everything into perspective; how tiny and insignificant you are—or may seem—compared to everything else. It’s not exactly cold and your hands are a little sweaty but Korra is lying down next to you and the heat radiating off of her is making you shiver.

And—sure—the gravel you’re lying on is uncomfortable and it’s poking your spine but you’ve never been more at ease or relaxed, because the sky is clear and Korra is beside you and you’re on your roof and it’s one in the morning. Don’t Think Twice by Bob Dylan is playing softly on the radio and you feel Korra tapping her fingers along to the plucking of the guitar.

“Bob Dylan’s voice is so fucking ugly,” She laughs.

You smile and look up at the sky, “It is. But his songs are nice to listen to.”

“True.”

You’ve been looking for shooting stars for the past twenty minutes because you’ve never actually seen one before, but you’re starting to lose hope because you’ve never actually been lucky with these kinds of things.

“You can’t look for them, you know.” Korra whispers into your ear.

“Look for what?”

“Shooting stars. If you go looking for them you’ll never see ‘em. It’s kind of like playing Where’s Waldo, except Waldo is an even bigger asshole than he normally is.”

“Fuck Waldo,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” then she shouts, “Fuck you Waldo!” And she’s laughing her loud laugh, but you’re panicking because someone is definitely going to call the police.

“Korra, please shut the fuck up, I live in waspy neighborhood.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs, “I couldn’t help it.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” you whisper, elbowing her.

You make yourself comfortable but your arm is touching Korra’s and you’ve touched her like this before—hell—you’ve touched her so many times, but it feels different. You’re counting layers of clothes—two layers—and you remember in physics learning about objects never actually touching each other, so if you could count atoms you would, and if there was a way to remove them from that space you would.

If you fold road maps in half the distance doesn’t seem as bad, but there’s no way to fold the space between you and Korra, those molecules will always be there no matter how many times you fold it over. And you know that distance is there but you feel so close, so maybe a layer of atoms isn’t so bad.

Then you see it, it’s a silver lining cutting through the sky, a small tear that rips through the night and disappears as quickly as it came. It’s a beautiful sight, but you can’t help but be saddened by the falsity of it. The fact that they’re not actually stars shooting across the sky, and the fact that a death of a star is either sad and slow until it fades into nothing or it’s violent and destructive.

“It’s kind of sad isn’t it,” you mumble.

“What?”

“That they’re not actually stars. Like—we spend our childhoods thinking that they are, and then we grow up a little bit and we find out that it’s all a lie.”

Korra breathes out a laugh and tilts her head to the side to look at you, “What’s in a name?”

“Are you quoting fucking Shakespeare?”

“Ignore the fact that he was a misogynistic pig for a second; he had a point.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says turning on her side and propping herself up on her elbow, “Who cares what they’re called? They could be called—like—shit streaks of the sky and still be fucking incredible to look at. And—you know—they may not look as nice from up there, but down here—fuck—down here it’s one of the greatest things in the world. Who cares about technicalities when we can just—like—see things as they are?”

You look at her and you still can’t believe how incredible she is, and you’re starting to realize she’s too smart for her own good, and you don’t think anyone will ever be able to figure her out.

Her bones are made of stars—you think—turned to powder and molded into pillars. Sometimes, when she seems too good to be true, you want to pick her apart and put her back in the sky, so then maybe you’ll understand her a little better. Or maybe she’s not meant to be understood at all.

You never really liked the feeling of pens on your skin, sometimes they hurt and sometimes it tickles but in a weird way—like—someone could be drawing on the back of your hand but you’ll feel it in your shoulder. You don’t like the feeling of pens on your skin but you don’t mind when Korra is on the other end.

Jesus Christ by Brand New playing from the speakers, and Korra has been drawing some geometric design on your arm for the past hour and she’s almost completely covered your forearm. And you’re lying on your side on the floor looking up at Korra who is hunched over with your arm in her lap, and you’re so sleepy but somehow she’s making you feel more awake.

Your room is warm and the carpet is kind of scratchy but you’re okay.

“Hey, ‘Sami?”

“Hm?”

“What happened between you and Iroh?”

You freeze a little bit because you kind of avoid talking about him—about everything that happened. It wasn’t—like—a bad breakup, but you left him without explanation, and he was nice enough to accept a few mumbled words and an ‘I’m sorry.’

“Oh—um—“ You want to tell her about his hands. How they were too big and pale and how his fingernails were too clean.

You want to tell her about how you would go to the movies with him and he’d put his arm around you and he’d run his finger up and down your arm, and how it drove you crazy. He was so gentle and sweet and kind but every touch felt foreign and—just—wrong.

You’d go home and smell him on your clothes and it wasn’t a smell you wanted to bottle and it didn’t feel like walking down the street at dusk or coming home to tousled sheets. It was just a smell. Not like Korra, who smells like familiarity and the closest you’ll ever get to home.

His eyes were too much like autumn and not enough like a summer sky and you couldn’t stand not seeing blue when you looked into them.

“It just didn’t work out,” you say quietly.

“Why though?” And she’s stopped drawing on your arm and she looks almost sad but you don’t know why.

“We weren’t right—it wasn’t right, or at least it didn’t feel that way.”

Korra puts the pen down and lays on her stomach and she rests her head on her arm and she’s only a few inches away from you, but even under the yellow tint of your bedroom lights she looks beautiful.

“Did you love him?” She whispers

You did love him, but not like summer or cigarettes or the haziness of a drunken afternoon, but more like the beginning of winter and high school and short days that turn into long nights. Because you never want the summer to end, no matter how slow it is, but the winter turns sad and cold after a few months and then you start looking for the beginning of spring.

“Yeah,” you say, “I did love him.”

“I don’t get why it didn’t work then,” and her eyebrows are scrunched like she’s actually trying hard to understand, and you really wish you could tell her the truth.

“Sometimes it’s not enough, Kor. It—just—it didn’t work out.”

“Were you sad about it?”

You don’t miss him exactly; you miss the contact, the affection. And though his hands weren’t the hands you were looking for they were hands all the same, and maybe they were too gentle but you didn’t mind the way they felt on the skin of your hips and the lines they drew on your bare stomach. If there’s one thing you miss it’s the way his lips grazed your collarbones and how his nose would brush against your jaw. It makes you feel guilty that you don’t really miss him, but you can’t help it.

“I was a little bit sad, yeah. But not anymore.”

“You know—I—nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“It’s—just—sometimes I don’t think it’s really working with Mako.”

You’re trying not to be hopeful, you’re trying so hard not to be hopeful because she’s your best friend and that’s how she’s talking to you; as her best friend.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, and—fuck—it’s so hard to not get your hopes up.

“Like—sometimes it feels great, you know, and sometimes he’s really nice, but then sometimes he acts like such an asshole and I kind of—like—I wonder what the fuck I’m doing with him.”

“Do you love him?” And you whisper it, almost like you’re hoping she won’t hear because you’re so scared of the answer.

“I don’t know.” She’s looking down at the ground and you wish you could just get some sort of straightforwardness from her. This game that you keep playing is getting too real and too painful and you’re so tired of the pull in your heartstrings and how you constantly feel nauseous.

“How do you not know?”

“I just don’t, alright?”

Fuck—it’s late and you know you shouldn’t be this angry but you can’t help it anymore, “Korra, it’s either you do or you don’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is!” Neither one of you is lying down anymore and there’s a tension between you that you’ve never felt and you haven’t felt so out of control in your life. It’s like everything is falling apart from right under you and you’re going to be suffocated under the wreckage of everything you’ve tried so hard to keep up.

“Why do you even care so much?”

“I—“ shit, “ I don’t—“

“You obviously do!” Korra’s face is flushed and you can see the confusion in her eyes but everything is coming out all at once and you can’t stop it, “What’s been going on with you?”

“I—Nothing—“ You can’t look at her anymore, something will slip and she looks so fucking beautiful when she’s angry like looking at a hurricane from space.

“Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“No! Of course not—“

“Then stop playing!” She shouts, and she just seems so desperate, you almost want to tell her everything. Almost.

“Korra—just—“

“Forget it, I have to pee.”

Then she’s storming out the door and you feel a prickling behind your eyes because you let everything get so out of hand. You lost control and you snapped, and now you know there’s nothing to do but make a choice, because you can’t keep going like this. You can’t keep hiding.

You’ve been running along a creek your whole life, trying to keep up with the little things that float by. And you decided to let Korra go, and like a leaf she sailed through the water, but now you’re running, frantic, trying to catch up, but she’s too far ahead now. You might not ever catch her.

Chapter Text

You can’t just let her go, you decide, you can’t just give up on her, not after everything, so you follow her out because you’re not ready. So, with careful steps, you walk out of your bedroom and into the hallway.

For a moment you wish the carpet would swallow you whole, or that the walls would collapse around you. Maybe your heart will give out, or maybe you’ll shed your skin and hide behind the cage you’ve made from your jagged bones. But none of that happens, and you reach the bathroom door. You could walk away, you could forget anything ever happened—you could forget Korra ever happened. But you don’t. You raise your fist to the door, but it almost feels like you’re not doing it, like Korra has your entire body tied to strings and she’s pulling you along.

You rest your palm against the door and lean up against it with your cheek pressed against the cold wood. Korra is in there, but you’ve fucked up so badly—like—what the hell do you even say to her?

“Kor?” You say quietly.

You don’t like the sound of forks scraping against plates; you don’t like the sound of a bad engine, and you hate the sound of crackling wood, but you hate the sound of Korra’s silence more than any of it.

“Korra, please, come out?” You whisper into the crack in the door.

“Can I just stay in here—is that okay?”

“Yes, yeah, of course.” You slide down to the ground and you keep your head leaned against the door and you can hear Korra shifting on the other side and you want so badly to see her or comfort her—anything.

“Why are we doing this, ‘Sami?”

You pick at the skin on your fingers and look at the imprint of the carpet on your knee, “I don’t know,” you whisper.

“We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“We are.”

“Then why am I here?”

“I don’t know, Korra, you tell me.”

“No, how about you tell me why you’re suddenly so defensive and—and why you’re so interested in my relationship.”

You take a deep breath and lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, “It’s because you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, well, I also know when you’re bullshitting me so stop it.”

“Korra—“

“Just tell me. Please.”

“It’s just—Mako is—“

“What about him?” She whispers.

Fuck it, “I don’t think he’s right for you and—“

“’Sami—“

“No just let me get this out—“

“’Sami it’s fine, that’s enough for me, you don’t have to keep going.”

“What—“

“That’s all you had to say. You know, your opinion matters more to me than anyone else’s, what you think is important and—like—our relationship is more important than a guy.”

You open your mouth to say something but you don’t. It’s funny, you think, you can be right next to someone and they can feel so far away, but now, with a door separating you, you’ve never felt closer to Korra. There have been moments under white sheets, with your hands acting as pillars and hair floating around your face when you felt so close to her, with only the light streaming from a flashlight separating you. The shadows that played across her features were enough for you then. But for once you don’t feel like the one who’s trying so desperately to understand.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna come out?”

“No, I think I like it better when I can’t see your face.”

“Asshole,” you laugh and your nose is nudging the door a little bit and you feel so close to Korra knowing she’s right there on the other side of it.

“It’s easier this way,” and she sighs it out like she’s telling a secret to her pillow in the middle of the night and you can almost barely hear her, but you catch the words before they disappear completely.

“What is?”

“Talking. It’s—like—I don’t know. There’s something about not being able to really talk when you’re looking at someone and—like—suddenly everything becomes scarier, and sometimes your eyebrows scrunch together and you look so sad.”

“What does that have to do with talking?”

“Sometimes I wonder if things would’ve been different if I had said goodbye to you, before I left. But I knew that if I saw the look on your face I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it and I know your eyes look greener than they usually are when you cry.”

“Korra—I—I don’t really get what you’re talking about.”

“I never told you, but I came back because I didn’t want to leave you behind and because the universe meant for us to be friends and who am I to fuck that up? And—I—I couldn’t stand the thought of your eyes getting too green because of me, I didn’t want to be the one to make you sad.”

You want to tell her she could never make you sad, you want to tell her she’s never hurt you or made you cry, and you want to tell her that she hasn’t fucked that up. You can’t do that, you love Korra, but you won’t lie to her to make her feel better. She’s never touched you for real—but she’s all over you, you’re sure her lips have stained your forehead and shoulder and her fingerprints are scattered across the skin stretched over your bones.

“It’s okay.” You say, because she’s almost apologizing and you’re almost accepting and you’re almost to the point of understanding her—everything is almost, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“’Sami?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you really break up with Iroh?”

“I didn’t love him like he loved me,” you whisper, not like a secret, but like admittance. But she’s not answering you, and you wish she would because suddenly the door separating you feels too thick and too dense and too in the way and—

The door swings open and Korra’s knees are in your face but you get up and—fuck—sometimes her eyes are a sighing breeze and sometimes they’re crashing waves and sometimes they’re summer and winter all at once, but right now they’re just blue; Korra blue. They’re bright and beautiful and your favorite color and—just—Korra’s eyes.

Then her arms are wrapped around your neck and the smell of smoke and coconut is everywhere all at once and her nose is pressing into the space right under your ear and—yeah—her hair is kind of in your mouth, but it’s okay. So you wrap your arms around her middle and hold her tight because she’s everything you never want to lose.

She’s sunscreen on damp skin and sand sticking to your knees and the ladybugs that get caught between your fingers during the summer. She’s your first missing tooth and the beginning of the hot days and she’s your favorite place and your best friend and you never want to lose her again.

The day is uncomfortably hot but Korra wanted to go for a drive, and the inside of your nose feels dry, and the steering wheel is burning your fingers and the palms of your hands. But Korra has her feet up on the dash again, right where they belong, you think, and when she gets out you know you’ll see scuff marks but you don’t quite mind because they’re the remnants of Korra being close. There’s a sad song about being in love and not wanting to let go playing, but everything is good.

She has a cigarette caught between her fingers and she’s blowing smoke in a nostalgic kind of way that reminds you of when you were little and trying to keep bubbles up in the air.

You’re both in shorts and the sun is burning your thighs and the air is hot and blowing your hair around which—yeah—kind of annoys you, but the roads are empty and Korra is so—just—you don’t know anymore. For a while you thought she was perfect but you’ve come to realize how unfair that is, and how she is anything but and that’s what makes her so her.

You watch Korra push her hair out of her face and smile into the sunlight, and you notice how everything about her is slightly askew; her front tooth, her nose from the time she broke it playing basketball and the scar that runs down her forearm. Her t-shirts are always falling off her shoulder and her laces are never tied just sloppily tucked into her shoe and when she wakes up in the morning she always has the imprint of the bed sheets lined into her face.

“Hey, ‘Sams?”

“Hm?”

“Knock knock.”

“For fucks sake, Korra, really?” You say rolling your eyes, but your smile is giving you away.

“’Sami, knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Etch.”

“Etch who?”

“Bless you.”

You look at her for a second because it’s the dumbest joke you’ve ever heard in your life, and you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of laughing but—fuck—the joke is so stupid it’s funny. So, you press your lips together and try to hold it in but Korra is smiling at you real big, and she’s so goddamn sure you’re going to laugh you can see it on her face.

“Just let it out ‘Sami,” And she has a shit eating grin and it’s really not helping, “Come on Sato let it rip!”

And you let the laugh out in a burst of air and Korra is throwing her head back in that one laugh that you love. The one that makes your fingertips itch and makes your ribcage tighten around your heart.

“You’re a dick,” You laugh.

“Aw, but you love me, look how cute I am, how could you resist.”

“Shut up,” You mumble but—god—you hope she doesn’t see the blush that’s starting to dust your cheeks and neck, “We need gas.”

You pull into the station up ahead and before you have the chance to get out Korra basically dives out the window and gets the pump going for you. You’re picking at some loose leather on your steering wheel when Korra walks up to your window and rests her chin on her crossed arms.

“What,” You say because you’ve seen that look before and it can’t possibly be anything good.

“I have an idea,” she smiles and the corners of her eyes are crinkling and her dimple looks really cute under the afternoon sun.

“Of course you do.”

“Let’s steal something, one last time, ‘Sami, before it’s not cute anymore—“

“It’s never been cute—“

“Ok, but we’re still young and can get away with it.”

“What the fuck, Korra, I’m not going to jail for this—“

“You won’t go to jail the worse that will happen is you’ll get a ticket.”

“Yeah and how am I going to explain that to my dad?”

“You won’t have to because we won’t get caught—“

“Korra.”

“Asami Sato, come on I’ll take the blame and everything, let’s just do it!” She looks so excited and she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet and she’s smiling so wide that—fuck—

“Alright.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, but I’m not going to do the stealing, I call look out.”

“Fine,” she groans, “Keep the car running so we can make a quick getaway.”

You quirk an eyebrow at her because she’s fucking ridiculous and you can’t really believe she convinced you to do this.

“Let’s go before I change my mind.”

You get out of the car and you’re already regretting agreeing to this, because your knees feel too loose and your palms are sweating and your hands are shaking but Korra looks so happy—no—you’re not going to back out now.

Korra walks into the Quick Stop and the bell dings when she steps inside, and the person behind the counter is some young kid maybe a little younger than you that looks so sleepy you think you might fall asleep just by looking at him.

You walk towards the beef jerky isle and Korra is thumbing through candy and dragging her finger along the cardboard containers with a smirk on her face and the white fluorescent lights are reflecting in her eyes. If you weren’t so annoyed and paranoid you think you’d fall in love with her a little bit more.

She nudges the end of a Snickers bar and her eyes flicker in your direction and your heart stops a little bit, but she’s smiling in her lopsided way. Korra’s putting the candy bar in the waistband of her shorts and she’s covering it with the hem of the faded black shirt she’s wearing. You sneak a look over at the kid at the counter and he’s not paying any attention so you feel a little bit more at ease than you did before, except the look that Korra’s giving you is making your chest tighten and you feel like she has your heart balled up in her fist.

Korra turns her head and—“Run!”

You don’t really think, you just move. You weave around the aisles and you don’t bother looking at the kid behind the counter and you’re sure you’re knocking over a bunch of stuff and—yeah—you’re usually more graceful, but there’s no way in hell you’re getting caught for something so stupid.  Then Korra is in front of you and you’re only a few feet from the door and your heart is racing and you’re not sure but you might be having a heart attack—or a panic attack—you don’t know.

Korra throws herself into the glass door and it swings open and just as you’re stepping through the threshold, the door hits the wall and swings back and catches your foot midair. Then you’re on the ground holding yourself up with your hands and your hand stings but there’s no time to check if you’ve broken something, and Korra is already opening the passenger side of the car.

You push yourself off with your left foot and all of a sudden you think doing track in high school paid off, and—honestly—you’re still too scared to look back. The car is ready to go and Korra already has a grainy garage song playing loudly, and as you’re running she kicks the driver’s side door open.

There are only a few feet left and you basically dive into the driver’s side and you step on the pedal before you even close the door and your heart is beating so fast and you’ve kind of forgotten to breathe and you’re looking behind you to check for—what the fuck.

Korra has her head thrown back and you’re pretty sure she’s laughing because she’s gasping and choking for breath and the kid from the counter hasn’t even moved, so you’re kind of wondering why you had to run.

“Korra, what the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry, ‘Sami,” she wheezes out, “I couldn’t help it, you just looked so nervous!”

“Wait—“ You swerve onto the side of the road and turn your body to face Korra because—really—what the fuck?

“Look it was a mean joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it. But it feels good doesn’t it? Your adrenaline is pumping and—and—wait, you’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding,” she says and she’s reaching over and she takes your hand in hers, and it’s so warm and feels so right, but you feel it all the way up to your shoulder. Then you remember why you never gave up on her. It’s because of the way her eyebrows furrowed when she saw you were bleeding, and how her laughter stopped and the feeling of your hand in hers. It’s the way she left—but not really, and the way her dimple looks when the light hits her face just right.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” You say quietly, and she takes the hem of her shirt and wipes off the blood and—yeah—actually, it does hurt, but you don’t let it show, you never really do. You just watch her with her eyebrows scrunched together trying to clean you up as much as she can.

“There,” she mumbles to herself then she brings your hand up to her face and she kisses the inside of your palm, softly and barely and so gently you think you could cry.

She looks up at you and she looks confused almost and her mouth is slightly parted and the sunlight coming through the windshield is tinted orange and you never want her to let go of your hand. You want to feel her lips burning their print into your skin and you never want to forget the way they brushed against your fate line, or how her nose just barely touched your pinkie.

The pad of her thumb is rubbing circles around the cut in your hand and her eyes are so fucking blue you almost feel sad looking into them but you never want to stop, and there’s something about the way her hands ghost over your skin before she actually touches you. And there’s something about the way she smiles into her lap and how her eyes crease at the edges when she’s laughing.

She’s only about a foot away, you’ve thought a lot about kissing her, and you’ve thought a lot about telling her everything and you want to let everything spill out and you don’t want to stop until there’s nothing left to say.

“We should go,” You say, because you know if you stay for any longer you won’t be able to stop yourself from doing something stupid.

“Yeah,” she says and she leans her head against the window and you remember all the times she’s done that.

There was that time Weezer was aching from the radio and the roads were empty except for the shadows coming from the streetlamps, and she promised you forever and you smiled at her even if it wasn’t the kind of infinity you were looking for.

Korra’s house is hazy and hot and smoky. Everything is brushed with shades of yellow and there’s some upbeat punk song and it’s fast paced but the day has been so sleepy all you can really do is sit and listen. All you’ve really done for the past few hours is smoke weed and drink warm beer that tastes a little bit like pee, but everyone is loafing around and Korra is absentmindedly tracing the outline of your hand on the floor.

You’ve been sparing glances in her direction and you can feel the space between you start to shift, it’s not so dense and it doesn’t feel like an inescapable fog, but more like a thin film of smoke. Maybe it’s just the alcohol, or maybe it’s the weed, but you feel a newfound tenderness in Korra’s touch, and you can still feel the warmth of her lips on the inside of your palm.

Bolin and Opal are napping on the couch beside you in tangle of limbs that looks to be the perfect image of an innocent summer, and for once you’re not envious, you’re happy. Because—yeah—the days have been melancholy and long, and sometimes the grass growing between the cracks in the sidewalk makes you think there’s so much more than quiet in this suburbia, but you’d rather be bored with friends than seeing everything there is to see alone.

You pull a cigarette from behind your ear and light it up, you take a drag and your head lolls back and the smoke streams out of your mouth through puckered lips. Korra plucks the cigarette out from between your fingers with a small curve to the right side of her mouth, her bobby pin smile. You can’t help but think back to the beginning of the summer when you sat under Korra’s apple tree chain smoking and bonfires and stars and long drives. You think nothing has been simple yet there’s never been a simpler time.

You look over and Korra is staring at the ground, blue eyes drooping and eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey,” You say quietly and she stops tracing the veins in your hands that she always said looked like lightning bolts.

Her eyes flick up in your direction and she breathes out a small laugh through her nose, “Hey.”

“What’s on your mind, lady?” You say resting your head in the palm of your hand.

“Nothing—I—just—“ She’s twiddling her fingers and her eyebrows are still scrunched.

“What is it?”

“’Sami, just—thanks.”

“For what?”

She shrugs her shoulders and you laugh because she suddenly looks timid and you wonder what’s gotten into her all of a sudden.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” She says tilting her head to the side and you smile at how cute she can be.

“Shut the hell up. Come on what is it.”

“Asami, I—“

“Korra, can you come here,” Mako shouts from the kitchen and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” She shouts and she gives you a smile that you know means I’m sorry, and you watch her walk away.

You lean back against the couch and rest the back of your head on the cushion while you take a drink of your gross beer.

“She likes you, ya know,” Bolin mumbles.

“What?”

“Korra. It’s a little obvious.”

“She’s with Mako,” You say quietly while you run the tip of your finger over the lip of your bottle.

“And you were with Iroh.”

“That was different, Bo—“

“Was it?”

You look at him for a second and your eyes flicker across his face looking for any kind of uncertainty, “She doesn’t feel the same, Bo.”

“’Sami, you’re a genius, but man sometimes you’re clueless, and that’s saying something coming from me.”

“It’s not—“

“Just talk to her, trust me on this.”

“Trust you?” You laugh, “Never.”

He puts his hand over his heart and makes a face like he’s looking off into the distance, “You wound me, my dear lady!”

“Love you, Bo,” You say getting up and you ruffle his hair.

You walk down the hallway towards the kitchen, and it’s all so familiar you could walk through her house blindfolded. You walk through the afternoon haze that shrouds the hallway and you run your finger along the wall and across picture frames and you pass over the creaky floorboard that you’re sure you loosened when you and Korra dropped a fitness ball.

And you think of all the times you walked down the hallway and when you wandered aimlessly through it waiting for Korra to come back. You know she’s been broken and pieced back together, but it’s who she is, and now she looks like stained glass windows under sunlight.

There’s a shuffling of feet on linoleum, you think, and you stop walking. You think you should turn around and talk to Bolin again, hell maybe talk to Opal, maybe you’re in over your head or Bolin is just too nice to tell you the truth. But--no, you’re just gonna go talk to Korra. You hear what you think is sharp breaths getting caught between teeth, you’re not too sure. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of your head and anxiety is bubbling in your stomach but you keep going. You walk into the kitchen and you see her.

Korra and Mako.

You see her with him and he’s kissing her neck and her hands are tangled in his hair and his hands are touching her skin but it feels like they’re wrapped around your throat. And you decide that, yes, Bolin was wrong. Everything you hoped for was wrong, to think that there was even a possibility of her feeling the same was just a setup for disaster, you were doomed the moment you laid eyes on her all those years ago. But after so much how do you recover from something like this?

All you can see now are the markings his teeth will make and how she’ll wear them around with her bobby pin smile flashing in everyone’s direction. You see her lidded eyes and her mouth agape and how she sucks air in through her teeth, but you don’t see her, not anymore.

That tender ache in your chest has turned into something else entirely now.  It makes you want to tear open your skin and get Korra out of all the places she’s made homes for herself, you want to rip out the taste of her name and how it feels rolling across your tongue and you want to light matches in your throat so you never have to say it again.

You thought you could do this, you thought you could handle the pain but it’s everywhere all at once and you wish it would stop. You wish a lot of things. You wish you could pry her fingers off your heart because you’re not sure how long it’ll keep beating with the hold she has and you wish the universe never put you in a world where she exists. Because—yeah—you know you’re meant to be friends, but you can’t imagine knowing her and not loving her, and loving her is making you pray for anything other than this fucking torture.

You take in a sharp breath but it doesn’t feel like breathing anymore, it feels mechanical and necessary and empty—so fucking empty. It’s like the more you try to push Korra out of you the more she takes with her.

Her eyes wander in your direction and she starts to push Mako off of her but you’ve seen enough.

“Asami,” Her voice cracks like the window you broke playing catch, and you’ve come to realize you’re both just as broken. You think you’re both chips of glass from the same window, held together at one point but now too scratched to ever really be pieced back together.

You walk out back through the hallway and you feel a stinging behind your eyes and you wipe away your tears like if they stay any longer they’ll stain your skin. And you walk past Bolin and he says something to you but everything feels like you’re underwater, not drowning, just drowned out. You forgot your shoes and the ground is still warm from the sunlight and you think of Korra.

She used to be hot pavement and the tender soles of your feet after a day of playing barefoot in the streets, but the thought of her now is more like second degree burns and scarred over flesh. Everything sort of aches now; more like tiredness than anything else.

You’ve been trying to keep the pieces of you and her together, but your hands are cut raw and the small shards left behind are in your blood stream. They’re ripping you apart from the inside out and now you’re tired of fighting.

You know the summer is coming to an end—the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer and the green grass is going to start browning. Your sun kissed skin will pale, and this place won’t smell like sunscreen on damp skin and you’ll feel the breeze and think about how you remember this place. How you lost and grew up and fell in love, and you’ll sing the tune of it like a song you grew up with; unfamiliar but still familiar.

Chapter Text

You suck in a deep breath and hope to god you can keep it together. The pain isn’t even pain anymore it’s dull and too familiar, like the hole in the fence you’re too big to fit through now. You shut your eyes because you can already feel the ground collapsing from under you; everything you built to hide what you’ve really been feeling is going to crumble, and the ugly foundation is going to show itself. Long beams splintering at the corners, cracking under so much weight and dust collecting from everything you could never say. Everyone will see it.

“Asami?” Bolin says with concern woven in between syllables.

“Please, Bo,” you managed to croak out.

“’Sami just—“

“Asami!” And the voice manages to rattle the column of your spine and it stitches the back of your throat closed. You shut your eyes because you’re not ready, you’ll never be ready, you want everything to freeze over, you want a comet to hit earth and vaporize you so you don’t have to go through this, you want to have Korra leave and never talk to you again. You want it all to be over.

“Korra,” Bolin says, “I don’t think right now is—“

“I just need a second—“

“Korra, seriously—“

“I need to talk to Asami, Bolin!”

“It’s fine,” you say, “Bo, it’s fine.” You turn around and his round eyes are furrowed at the brow. He looks like protective love and his eyes feel like a hand over your chest in the car, when the driver steps on the brakes a little too hard.

“Okay,” he nods his head, “Call me if you need me, alright?”

You haven’t looked at Korra, your eyes haven’t even glanced in her direction. Because you know that if you see her—if you see her blue eyes and freckles and messy hair you’ll lose it. Your heart will shatter after all the time you’ve spent piecing it back together.

“’Sami look—“

“Korra don’t, there’s nothing to explain alright just go back to Mak—“

“No! I’m not gonna go back, look, it’s over between me and him alright?”

You shake your head because—well—what the fuck? “What are you talking about?”

“Asami, I know that you like Mako, I see the way you look away when I’m with him and how whenever I mention him your eyes fall and you’re not you—“

“Wait, Korra—“

“Just listen to me—“

“No! Korra, you fucking idiot,” you laugh.

“Look, I just want you to be happy I don’t care about my relationship with Mako, I care about you being happy, as long as your happy nothing else really—I mean—nothing else really matters.”

She’s looking at you under the glow of the pink sky and everything is yellow and hazy and slow like the entire summer has been. Her stray hairs are illuminated by the sunlight, and there’s a scar on her cupid’s bow that you never noticed before.

You think about the freckles on the back of her neck and shoulders and how they’re faintly dusted across her tan skin, and how her eyes catch sunlight and how sometimes you can’t seem to look away from them. How she dances whenever there’s a song playing and how her feet drag lazily across pavement.

You realize nothing is worth losing that

You may hurt for a while and it may feel like dying, but—fuck—if she’s not worth it. So, yes you’ll ache out of selfishness because a life without Korra is too dull and diluted.

But, this moment, with her so close you can smell cigarettes and coconut, you can map out the stars on her skin and pin point the freckles in her eyes. She’s overwhelming and everywhere at once and—fuck—you know for a fact she’s looking at your lips and—

“Fuck it.”

Your hand is on her cheek and your fingertips are brushing up against her hairline and you feel her breath on your face and you can’t take it anymore. You lean down and everything hits you at once, her lips, her scent, and her hands are in your hair and her body is pressed against yours. And—fuck—she’s kissing you so desperately and gently at the same time and she tastes like cigarettes and Chap Stick.

You think your chest is too small for everything that you’re feeling right now, there’s not enough space for the way your heart is beating and the flowers you once hated, the ones growing in the creases of your chest, have started pushing up against your bones. There’s a sharpness that’s spreading to your fingertips and everything is swelling and you feel like nothing is real. Like you’ll open your eyes and none of this will be real.

Her hands are on your jaw and she’s running her finger along your bottom lip and your foreheads are pressed together and you can’t help but laugh, because your lips feel like a car crash and shattered glass now that you’ve felt her on them. But the air feels too sharp in your lungs and the pavement doesn’t feel warm or like summer under your feet anymore, so with her hands on your face you clutch onto her wrists because you know that this is going to end soon.

You don’t know it like you know everything else; you know it like a feeling. Like when you’re on a road trip and you feel it coming to an end, you know the feeling of bittersweet adventure and memories stained like polaroids at the back of your mind.

“What the fuck is going on?” And your stomach drops at the sound of Mako’s voice; harsh and slurred and husky with pain and sadness rolled into one. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, or anyone for that matter so you stare at a scuff in the concrete and you wonder what it was that caused the mark. Was it you or Korra dragging something you shouldn’t have been playing with? Was it Bolin knocking something over? Or Naga? You know it’s a mark of childhood, something you’ll never experience the same way again, it’s a remnant of a thing long gone. But at least you have the memories of it.

“What the fuck is going on?” Mako says again, but this time angry and bitter.

“Mako,” Bolin says hushed and gentle, “come on, bro, just leave them alone for right now.”

“Them? Oh, yeah right, that explains everything! Get the fuck off of me, Bo!”

“Chill, Mako!” And you look up and Bolin is trying to push Mako back inside and Korra has tensed up beside you.

“Get your hands off me!” Mako pushes Bolin and everything you were scared of begins to play out right in front of you.

“Mako! Stop! You’re acting out of pocket!” There’s a dark thing tickling the lining of your stomach and it’s consuming all the sunlight around you.

Then Mako is swinging at Bolin and you hear the crack of skin against bone and Bolin is yelps and there’s blood smeared on Mako’s knuckles and his chest is heaving but you can see the regret spread across his face like a fog.

“Oh, god. Bo, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” but Bolin is covering his face and there’s blood seeping from the cracks in his fingers.

“No, it’s not—fuck—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, I just—“

“Mako, it’s fine.”

“No, shut up, it’s not, I’m sorry—I—I’m sorry.”

Mako sits on the ground beside Bolin and his long arms wrap around Bolin’s broad frame and your heart aches for them. Because if it weren’t for you, this wouldn’t have happened, if you hadn’t parted your lips and breathed the truth of everything into Korra’s mouth, nothing would be broken. You don’t know if you can put it back together this time around.

“I have to go,” and before anyone can say anything you’re walking away, you know Korra is calling out to you, but—fuck—haven’t you done enough already? 

You haven’t really left your house in a few days. Korra and Bolin tried to come by, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door for them. You haven’t looked at your phone and you haven’t tried to talk to anyone.

You’ve burrowed yourself in a sea of white sheets that have gotten tangled around your knees and you think of all the times you and Korra have laughed under them. With sunlight filtered between tiny cracks making her look soft and young, and how she laughed at the way her hair stuck to her face and how the shadows played at her lopsided smile. You feel that ache in your chest again, but it’s not painful anymore, it’s nostalgic, like the pain you feel in your ankle when it gets cold because you broke it when you were eleven. It’s a pain not so different from remembrance.

But, then you hear a knock at the door and—fuck—you hope it’s not Korra, you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to ignore her for. So, you make your way through the hall and down the long staircase and you feel like your knees will buckle from right under you any second. You look through the peephole and—Mako?

You open the door slowly, because, if you’re being honest, you feel guilty and you don’t even want to look at him, but you owe it to him to hear what he has to say.

“Hey, Sato,” He says quietly, and you don’t even recognize him. His eyes are softer and they remind you a bit of Bolin.

“Hey.”

“I—uh—is it alright that I came by? I mean I know Korra and Bo have tried to see you, but I just wanna talk. I—uh—I didn’t really think you would open the door for me actually.”

You smile softly at him, because you can see it now; he loves Korra. You doubted it before, but you see it in the way he says her name and how his usually hard expression softens at the thought of her.

“Come on, we can go for a walk,” you say as you step out the doorway.

He follows you down the street and he kicks a pebble and stares at the ground and he’s awkward as ever. As good looking and confident as he is, Mako has never been very good with people, at least anyone besides Korra or Bolin.

“I—“

“Look, Mako, before you say anything, I’m sorry. Okay—“

“Asami, just—you have nothing to be sorry about. Listen, you didn’t—you didn’t ruin anything alright? I know we’re not close or anything, but I’ve known you long enough to know that you apologize for everything, and that—that you always blame yourself. So, don’t.”

“I just—“

“Hold on, let me finish, before you say anything, okay?”

You nod your head, and you’re a little in shock because you’ve never seen this side of him. You feel guilt start to bubble in your throat because maybe this is who Korra fell in love with. This gentle Mako that shares the same kindness as Bolin, whose features have softened and presence isn’t so rough.

“Korra did break up with me, right after you saw us. It was abrupt and spontaneous and I tried to talk to her, but she—“ he takes a deep breath and turns his head to look at you, “She was more worried about you. She said that she had to break up with me, that we didn’t work very well together anyways, and that it wasn’t really fair to anyone that we were together. I—I let her go because I was so surprised.” You watch him walk slowly with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped, and you don’t say anything.

“I know I can be a dick, I don’t know, I’m just like that sometimes, I guess. I do love her, though,” he looks at you and the corners of her mouth are upturned slightly in the saddest smile you’ve ever seen and the sunlight is reflecting in his eyes and it looks so bittersweet..

“It seemed like I didn’t, I know we fought a lot and stuff, but—I don’t know—with her everything seemed better she kinda made me want to be better. I know that you know what I mean, I see the way you look at her, it’s the same way I do. It’s hard not to love someone like her.” And he breathes out a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mako.”

“Asami, I told you not to be sorry, be anything, but don’t be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry about, alright? If anything I should be sorry. I lost it. I—“ He closes his eyes and looks away from you, “It just hurt, ya know? I shouldn’t have hit Bo, and I shouldn’t have yelled at anyone. I should’ve known better. I could feel her pushing me away, I knew it was coming I just—I just didn’t want it to happen. Without her I feel kind of broken and not totally together, like there’s something missing.”

You want to agree with him, you want to tell him you know exactly how he feels, that nothing without Korra seems whole, but maybe broken is what you need to be, what you’re meant to be. There have been pieces of you missing for so long, how can one person be the answer to that? Maybe broken is just what you are.

“You know,” you say “It’s funny, the natural order of everything is brokenness. Like—sand is broken down rock and dirt is broken down life, so being broken is natural. It’s funny that people try to put everything back together with paved roads and sidewalks, and trying to make everything look as orderly and together as possible when that’s not how the world really works. It’s kinda funny.”

He breathes out a laugh again, “She loves you, I think. I was mad about it before, but not so much anymore, because I can see why. You know how to make her happy, you know how to talk to her, what to do to make her feel better.”

Mako shakes his head and smiles, “I don’t think I could ever be like that with her, not because I don’t want to, but because she already has someone who does it all perfectly.”

For a moment you believe him, you think Korra needs you and you need her, but the rational part says that’s not right, that you don’t need her to live or be happy.

“Humans—us—we’re just a mixture of chemicals and jolts of electricity,” you tell him, “and all of that makes us feel that tickle between our ribcage. I understand how the brain works, and I know that we’re all just a bunch of nerves strewn together under skin stretched over bone. But, I’ve never understood why when I look at Korra it feels like so much more. She makes me feel like so much more than myself. She hurt me just by smiling but it also felt like a Band-Aid. All I’ve ever wanted is to make sure that she’s okay. But, now I—I think I need to make sure I’m okay. Like—I’ve spent years pining after someone I assumed didn’t feel the same and—it just—it broke me.”

“I know,” he says softly, “And I’m sorry, because I didn’t help that. I saw the way she looked at you and I was spiteful and arrogant and angry. I wanted her to look at me the way she looked at you. I should’ve broken up with her a long time ago.”

“It’s okay, Mako, you don’t have to be sorry. We do what we have to so we can feel better, and sometimes it hurts other people, but it’s how humans are, I guess.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” you say, “I guess it doesn’t.”

You look down at the pavement again and you count the cracks that have flowers growing in between them.

“I’m—uh—I think I’m gonna head back home, if that’s alright. Bo, doesn’t know I’m here. I’ll see you later?’

“Yeah,” you smile softly, and you keep walking because you’re not quite ready to go home yet.

“Hey,” you hear Mako say behind you.

“Yeah?” You turn around to look at him and he’s smiling wide and you notice laugh lines etched into his cheeks and carved into the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not so bad, Sato.”

“Neither are you.” He nods at you once with that smile still dancing on his lips and then turns around and starts walking back.

It’s a warm afternoon but there’s no one in the streets and somewhere far off you hear a dog barking and probably some birds ruffling around in a nearby tree. For a second you think this place is as good as any, but then again any place is good as this. Maybe you need time and maybe you need to get away. Maybe you need to think and maybe you need to learn how to be without Korra, you need to write a new definition of happiness, one where her name isn’t involved. You need to learn not to need her.

You see a ladybug crawling across the sidewalk and you bend over to pick it up. It balances on the tip of your finger then flies away to who knows where, which is maybe where you should go as well. Not forever, but for a little while.

You thought you’d be all right with being a mayfly but you’re not so sure anymore, because purpose shouldn’t be a person, hell, maybe purpose shouldn’t even exist, but you need to learn to exist without being needed by someone else. You don’t want to be a purpose and you don’t want someone else to be yours.

You can talk about space and the universe and alternate realities, and you can talk about the stars and light and poems and paintings. You can spew facts out of your ass and tell her everything you’ve ever read in a book. You can try to impress her with music and art and literature, and you can leave your fingerprints on her forearms and leave bobby pins all over her floor. But none of that really changes anything. None of that will erase the pain you both have felt. None if it will get rid of the aching beneath your ribcage that sings the beat of a song not meant for you and Korra.

Chapter Text

Someone is ringing the shit out of your doorbell and you’re sure if you were in a cartoon your head would be blowing steam. But, when you swing the door open ready to commit murder, you see Bolin standing there with his tongue poking out of his mouth looking so concentrated on continuing to make your life hell.

“Bolin,” You say, slowly and deliberately because you want to make sure her knows how not okay everything he’s doing is.

He ‘pfts’ you and your eyebrows raise so much you think they’ll fly off your forehead.

“Don’t give me that look, Sato, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“Number one, it’s too fucking early, number two, no one under the age of forty says that.”

“Well you haven’t been around for so long I’d might as well be forty by now, you’re in no position to argue anyways, we need to talk.”

“About?”

His eye lids droop and his eyebrows flatten and he looks so bored with you it’s almost comical and you’d laugh if it wasn’t so early, “Just let me in and feed me, you owe me that much.” Then he’s pushing his way past you and he heads straight for your kitchen.

You follow him and then watch Bolin rummage through your fridge like he lives with you.

“So,” you start, “what exactly do we need to talk about?”

He pokes his head up from behind the refrigerator door and squints his eyes at you, “You know what I’m here about; stop acting like you’re clueless.”

“Bo, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s actually everything to talk about. I’m not letting you run away from this. One of my friends ran away once and I’m not gonna let it happen again.”

Your stomach drops because you forgot that Korra is Bolin’s friend too, that when she left you, she left everyone else as well, that he loved her at one point and you see a bit of yourself in the green of his eyes.

“Okay,” you say quietly, and you sit down at the table and he joins you with a spoonful or peanut butter hanging out of his mouth.

“Look,” he says scooping another spoonful of peanut butter out of the jar, “you don’t have to listen to me, you probably wont, but I know what you’re thinking, ‘Sams, and running away isn’t going to fix this and it’s not going to make it any easier. You probably don’t want to hear it, but you need Korra and she needs you.”

“No, I don’t—“

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We all need different people okay, without people we’re not really anything, we’re just organisms on a giant rock floating through space. You don’t want to believe it but we give each other meaning and something to live for.”

“I don’t need someone else to give me meaning,” and the words leave your mouth sharp and intentional and you see Bolin’s features soften into something sad and worrisome and it reminds you of the look people gave you when your mom died.

“She really fucked you up, didn’t she?”

You don’t answer his question you just look at the magnets on your fridge and listen to the ticking of a nearby clock.

“Sami, you keep thinking like that you’re never gonna be happy. You’ll never admit it but you need her, I know you need her, if not in a romantic way then in a platonic way.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah I do. Because I need you. I need Korra too, and Mako and Opal, I need all of you—sure in different ways, but either way, I need you.”

You don’t say anything to him because you don’t really want to believe that he’s right. You’ve spent so long trying to convince yourself that you don’t need her, but you kind of do. You need her—not in a way of needing her to keep on breathing, she’s not your air, or your reason for life, she never has been—but more like, you need her because with her everything is easier. She brings ease into everything and makes life brighter. Maybe you thought you needed her to live before, but you’ve come to realize that her in your life is just—well—right. You don’t need her like air; you need her like a kid needs a nightlight, like something to keep you safe.

“For a genius, you can be an idiot a lot of the time, ya know,” he mumbles.

“I’m taking offence.”

“Just being honest, okay.”

“Doesn’t make your honesty less offensive.”

And he gives you soft smile and you see adoration streaked across his features and—shit—you realize he really is being honest. Everything he tells you is true and you remember Bolin had almost nothing for so long. He treats you like safety sometimes and maybe its because you’re older and his mother is gone or maybe its because you both understand loss, you’re not too sure.

But, you’re beginning to understand necessity, and that’s okay. It’s okay to need people and it’s okay to find meaning in them. You thought finding purpose in a person was unfair, but why is it so bad? If you can find it in things you can find it in people and maybe that’s better than nothing at all.

“I hate it when you’re right,” you breathe out and then you laugh because Bolin is so smart and aware and you wish more people saw that side of him.

“I’m always right, people just choose not to listen to me.” He’s playing with his fingers and he looks like a little kid with his bottom lip jutting out, “I’ve missed you, ‘Sami. You don’t—you don’t have to listen to me or anything, I just want things to be right; and you and Korra are right. I need you to know that. There’s a lot of things that don’t make sense, but you guys do, you make each other happy.”

“The problem with making someone happy is that one day you don’t,” you whisper kind of like a secret you’ve always been too scared to tell and you know he sees the insecurity you’ve worked so hard to mask.

“Come on ‘Sami, you’re way smarter than this!” And he’s putting his face in his hands and his shoulders are slumping and you can tell he’s getting fed up with you. Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want him to get completely frustrated and give up on you because you know that he’s right and you just don’t want to admit it.

“That’s how life is,” he sighs, “you gain and it’s great and you lose and it sucks and it’s shitty but that’s how it all works. You’re just gonna give up because of the possibility of it not working out? You’re smart as hell, ‘Sami, but not even you can tell the future.”

Then Bolin is getting up from his chair, and he gives you a sad look and he walks over and ruffles your hair the same way you’ve always done to him, “See ya around, kid.”

You rub your face with your palms and—fuck—you kind of just don’t want to deal with anything anymore. You walk outside to your backyard and you hear water trickling into your pool and the rustling of leaves. The concrete feels cooler under your feet and you know it’s the end of the summer, and you’ll mourn it like the passing of the day. Even if nothing turns out the way you want it to, you’ll remember stars and cigarettes and luke warm beer and dancing and hazy, slow days and love.

And Korra.

Your lovely Korra.

Though everything has tried to push you apart there’s something that continues to inch you back to her. And—god—you never believed in the universe controlling things or anything being meant to be, but you feel like you’ve known her since the start.

Not just the start of you, but the start of everything, since the first particle that came from the expansion of the hot pinpoint that was the beginning of time and space.

To you, it seems like the entirety of the universe has waited for the moment you realize that, yes; this is how it’s supposed to be.

You can do this, you think. You’re standing on Korra’s doorstep and it’s been a week since everything happened, and you’ve had time to think, to sort out your thoughts and try to plan what you want to say, but nothing is helping the nauseous feeling you have in your stomach. It feels like water trickling backwards up your throat and kind of like you’re going to throw up and you know your hands are sweaty so you’re hoping you don’t have to make any kind of physical contact.

“Alright,” you breathe out, and you knock on her door. It feels like an eternity, like the time between seconds has gotten longer, or like one of those dreams where no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to run fast enough. Then the door opens and it’s more like everything has stopped all at once.

You’ve noticed that with Korra, everything is slowed down, like you could wrap yourself in each moment spent with her and tuck yourself away in it.

“Hey,” she says, and you hear her voice and there’s a feeling in the middle of your chest that’s feels like something is filling up all the empty space inside you. It spreads through the cracks in your ribs and the space that separates your lungs and it feels like warm sunshine on your arms when you’ve just stepped outside. It’s inexplicable and full and it makes you want to never hear another sound again because nothing will ever make you feel the same.

“Is it alright if I come inside?”

“Seriously?” And she looks almost hurt by your question, “You’ve been my best friend for more than ten years, you practically live here, and you’re asking if you can come inside?”

“I just—“ and you’re sure you look like a goddamn fish because you’re just kind of opening and closing your mouth, “I’m coming in.” You push past her and you take a deep breath because—fuck—you’ve never been more nervous in your life.

“Come on,” she says, “it’s too nice outside for us to stay in, I need a cigarette anyways.”

You follow her out to her backyard and you sit beside her under the fruitless apple tree and you remember the last time you sat there with her. How you stared at her lips puckered around the end of a cigarette, and now the lines of her lips are etched into the skin of yours. It feels like you’ve been molded to fit her perfectly, like now there’s no going back because you tasted her and you don’t want to know the taste of anyone else. It’s like you look at her now and you feel like her name is the only one you ever want to feel rolling off your tongue.

There’s no one else, you realize. There can’t be anyone else, not any more.

After everything you’ve been through you’ve forgotten how easy it is to just be with Korra. How silence isn’t deafening or thick and it doesn’t feel an uneasy settlement, instead it’s the subtle comfort between quiet breaths and slow heart beats, and it’s bursts of air catching in your throat after loud laughs.

Hearing her take a deep breath was always enough—it’ll always be enough, because you came to realize a long time ago that words have always been too small for the two of you. They’ve always lacked and been insufficient and they’re never right and you know she deserves so much more than words.

“’Sami I—“

“Shut up. Just—let’s just sit for a second.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “yeah okay.”

You hear the end of her cigarette burning every time she takes a drag and you think of how it’s all over. You’re right back where you started and you know it hasn’t been that long, but it feels like you’ve lived a lifetime this summer. Like everything you could ever possibly feel has been felt, and some of it sucked but you’d feel it all over again. You’d repeat the new cracks in your fragile foundation, the one that has threatened to give out so many times, you’d pull every string in your heart, burn down all the forests in your stomach and re-grow the flowers between your ribs. You’d do it again because you feel more like yourself than you ever did before.

When you breathed your secrets into Korra’s mouth, you showed her everything you couldn’t show anyone else and suddenly nothing was as heavy as it was before. You don’t feel like you’re going to crumble anymore because now she knows, and you think that no matter what happens, you’re glad it did.

“I don’t regret anything,” you say and she looks at you and her pupils are wide and dark and sad and you wish you could look in and see what’s behind them. “I’m not going to give you a speech and I’m not going to take anything back or apologize or anything like that. I’ve done enough, I think.”

“I’m—uh—I’m sorry,” she says picking blades of grass and her nails are dirty like they’ve always been and her hair is tied up and there are bits falling out of place near her ears. “I don’t really—like—remember when I started liking you, it was before Mako, maybe even before before Mako—I don’t know. I was scared, ya know. I didn’t want to fuck anything up, I was afraid of making a mess of everything again. And—look ‘Sami I’m an idiot, and I did what I do best and I ran because that’s all I really ever do.”

“Korra—“

“Let me finish please, I—just—I need to get this out,” her brows are furrowed and she’s looking at the small pile of grass she’s created.

“For a long time nothing made sense, or at least it seemed like things were dragging on without any sort of reason, and that was okay. But, I spent a lot of time questioning why—trying to understand things that didn’t need to be understood. But when I’m around you it’s kind of like none of that really matters. I don’t question—not because all of a sudden I found a reason—because everything seems all right. You make everything a little more okay. You always have, and it was you I came back for and it’s you that keeps me from spiraling out of control again.”

“I’m not—I’m—“ you take a deep breath and Korra’s scent is so familiar and strong and safe that you realize no matter what happens you’re going to be alright.

“Korra, I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. You’re my best friend, you’ve always been my best friend, you’re always going to be my best friend, nothing is gonna change that. But—but we don’t know what we’re doing.”

You look at her and her eyebrows are scrunched and her eyes look sad and her lips are parted almost like she’s going to say something. Even after months she looks the same under the speckled light that filters between the gaps in the leaves.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, and it’s not really what you were expecting—well—you don’t really know what you were expecting.

“Time, I think. It’s—I just—fuck—“ you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms and you see spots of purple and blue form and fade behind your eyelids.

“I get it—“

“No, Korra, you don’t. I just really like you—I mean—I more than like you, I—“

“Shut up, I get it, you don’t have to say anything.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, and you think there’s a secret hidden in the creases of her smile lines, and there’s something in the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs that makes your heart stop for a second and you kind of have to catch your breath because it’s one of your favorite things.

“So what do we do from here?” You ask, flicking a bug off your leg.

“Wait.”
“You don’t have to, Kor.”

“I know I don’t have to, I want to, you’re worth it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“Nah,” you laugh, “you can make it up to me or something.”

“Anything for you.” She says with her crooked grin.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh. And it feels good, because you’re both kind of broken, roughed up around the edges; torn and frayed, held together with tape and bandages, and if her bones come apart you’ll sew them together because you know she’d do the same for you.

You turn to look at her and she looks so soft and the afternoon is so slow and you want to put your hand over hers; hold it for a second and run your thumb over the smooth ridges of the skin stretched over her tendons, but you also really want to kiss her. Like—really want to kiss her.

“Korra?”

“Yeah, ‘Sami?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“The first time not good enough for you?”

“You’re a dick.”

“How sweet. You can if you can catch me,” and just like that she’s on her feet and sprinting away from you, and you follow close behind.

She’s running like she always has, but this time it feels different, she’s not so unobtainable this time it’s more like you know she’s going to let you catch her. You’ve spent so long following a path of dust trying to get some sort of hold on her, you’ve tried so hard to understand her and figure her out; but she’s not a puzzle.

She looks back at you and you swear to god she winks at you and her hair is all over the places and it’s tinted gold by the sun and her shirt is rippling against the air blowing against her body. You reach your hand out and just barely graze her shoulder and you hear her laugh and it’s loud and hard and the best sound, probably your favorite—well—everything about her is your favorite, really.

But she speeds up and she’s just out of reach again and your throat burns and there’s a rock in your shoe but you’re smiling.

People aren’t meant to be caught, you think.

You walk down the street you spent the summer on. Your feet are bare on the pavement and it’s warm, but not like the start of summer, more like stepping in the shade after the hot sun has been shining on the ground all day.

The taste of Korra’s name is on your tongue and the sun is going down and you’re smiling because you don’t have her, you never did—no one did, really—and you’re okay with it. Because you think that this is more than you and that it’s not just luck you made friends with the messy girl and it’s not because of luck that she decided to love you back. So, you kick at a pebble on the ground and you wonder how the universe managed to come up with someone like her, and how it managed to bring her to you. Then you laugh because—fuck—this summer really has been the best you ever had.