Chapter Text
Asami closed her eyes, letting the sea breeze wash over her face, warm and wet with salt.
She had just ended a long-term relationship—six years with the same man. There was no great betrayal, no screaming matches or broken glass. Just a slow, mutual exhaustion.
So she gave herself permission to disappear. A long vacation, a clean break, two months without contact with the world she used to live in.
She chose a small island on the other side of the planet from the city she once called home—Duskreef Island. She had stumbled upon it one night while scrolling through social media. The beaches, the forests, the impossibly blue ocean—all of it looked like something out of a dream. But what really caught her attention was its reputation as a diving destination. The underwater photos were mesmerizing.
So she booked a flight to the nearest city, then a ferry out to the island. Her phone had been in airplane mode since takeoff—no messages, no calls, no interruptions.
Except, of course... the tourists.
The chatter was relentless.
Waves crashing over the deck? Screaming.
Seagulls flying overhead? Screaming.
Dolphins breaching the surface? Screaming.
With a sigh, Asami retreated back into the cabin. She hadn't realized until too late that April marked the beginning of peak season. The ferry was packed to the rails with travelers. She had picked the wrong time for a peaceful escape.
When the sun dipped low and painted the sea in shades of fire, the ferry finally docked. Islanders lined the harbor, waving and shouting to welcome the incoming crowd.
Someone bumped hard into her shoulder—before she could even see who it was, she was swallowed by the tide of bodies.
Thankfully, the private concierge she'd booked was standing in an easy-to-spot location, holding up a sign with her name printed in bold letters.
He helped load her suitcase into the trunk of the car and drove her to the island's most luxurious resort.
Her suite was spacious, with a floor-to-ceiling window that looked straight out over the ocean. Tiny specks of light dotted the water—fishing boats drifting beneath a sky freckled with stars.
For the first time since she arrived, Asami felt peace settling in.
She soaked in the bathtub, then slipped into bed. The exhaustion from the journey caught up with her all at once, dragging her swiftly into sleep.
So far, the trip wasn ' t so bad.
She didn't leave the hotel until the following afternoon. Slipping into a bikini and a sheer cover-up, she put on her sunglasses and sun hat, grabbed a book, and walked to the island's most famous beach.
The golden sand was already covered in tourists from all over the world. Children ran shrieking across the beach, kicking up footprints in every direction. One of them accidentally knocked over a boy's sandcastle, and tears immediately followed.
Asami managed to find a relatively quiet patch of sand and laid out her mat. She stretched out, determined to enjoy her sunbath in silence, hoping to turn her pale skin a pleasant, sun-kissed bronze.
The sun soaked into her, seeping deeper and deeper into her limbs. She felt like butter slowly melting into the sand.
She rolled onto her stomach to let her back have its turn in the sun. Opening her book, she flipped to the page marked with a ribbon and tried to let the words drown out the noise around her.
She had just begun to lose herself in the story when a sudden, sharp chill ran up her spine and into her skull.
Startled, she jerked her head up.
A group of kids with water guns were chasing each other across the beach, spraying wildly. Cold water had splashed across her back—and onto her book.
"Hey!" Asami shouted, frowning.
"Sorry!" they called, already running off.
She closed her book and lay there a moment longer, but the mood was broken. So much for a relaxing sunbath.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon. The clouds were on fire. The sea, too, was burning.
Asami gathered her things and began walking along the shoreline.
No matter what else happened, she was certain of one thing—she would fall in love with this view.
Not far ahead, a lighthouse stood tall on the reef, gilded in gold by the setting sun. It looked solemn and still against the fiery sky.
But in truth, the lighthouse was the only still thing around.
This spot, after all, was known as the best place on the island to watch the sunset and the lighthouse in one frame—tourists weren't about to miss it.
They scrambled for the best angles, eager to capture themselves against the unique backdrop, phones and cameras clicking nonstop.
Asami regretted leaving both her phone and camera back at the hotel. Sure, she would have more chances to photograph this place, but each sunset was different. This one would never come again.
"Hey."
A voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned—and stopped.
The woman standing behind her had the kind of eyes that made you forget what you were doing.
They were the color of the sky. Of the sea.
Then again, maybe the sea just borrowed its color from the sky, Asami mused.
"You here alone?" the woman asked casually.
Asami blinked. "Um... yeah."
"Want me to take your photo?" she offered, lifting the camera that hung from her neck with a grin.
Asami gave her a once-over: short hair, easy smile, loose T-shirt and shorts, a pair of flip-flops worn smooth at the heel.
The camera looked like it had been through a few lifetimes.
"You local?" Asami asked.
"Yep. I'm Korra." The woman extended a hand. "Saw you standing here for a while. Figured you might want a picture to remember it."
"Asami Sato," she said, shaking Korra's hand. "Thanks. I'd love one. This place is unreal."
"Let me see what I can do," Korra said, already setting Asami's things aside and gesturing her toward the best angle. She gave a few quick pointers on where to look, how to stand, when to smile.
They took a handful of shots, and when they finished, Asami flipped through them on the camera's tiny screen.
A few of them were—honestly—kind of fantastic.
"You're actually pretty good at this," she said. Of course, even if the photos had been terrible, she would've thanked her anyway.
"Obviously," Korra smirked.
"But I didn't bring my phone. How are you going to send them to me?"
"No worries. Come with me." Korra led her a little further down the path to a small pop-up stall tucked under a tarp. A friendly-looking guy inside waved at them.
Asami glanced at the sign hanging overhead:
PHOTOS – $5 EACH
Korra turned to her. "My buddy Bolin can print them for you."
Asami's smile dimmed. "Wait... five dollars a photo?"
"Yup."
That's when it hit her. Korra wasn't just a friendly local. She was a local looking to make money.
Asami felt duped—fooled by her easygoing charm and good looks.
"I don't want prints. Just send me the digital files," Asami said.
"Can't do that," Korra replied flatly. "Not unless..."
"Unless I pay?" There was a flash of contempt in Asami's eyes.
Korra shrugged. "Five bucks a shot. Figured someone like you could spare it."
"I can. That's not the point. You're a scammer."
"Hey, I—"
But Asami was already turning to leave.
The sun disappeared beyond the sea, and the lighthouse light blinked on.
After dinner at the hotel, a waiter mentioned that most tourists liked to spend their evenings at the night market.
It was a lively little street, lined on both sides with tightly packed stalls, and the gaps in between filled shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists.
Asami was gently swept forward by the current of bodies, her eyes scanning the rows of vendors. There were local snacks, colorful island clothing, and all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs.
Nearly every sign boasted the same bold promise: "Handmade."
She paused at a stall selling woven goods, immediately drawn to a bright, eye-catching shoulder bag. But the moment she picked it up, the illusion shattered. It was pretty, sure—but the stitching was coarse, the weave uneven in places. This wasn't the work of skilled hands, but a factory's churned-out product dressed up as authentic craft.
If this was the norm here, it explained the sameness that tinged the market—mass-produced, passed off as handmade. That likely included Korra's stall, too.
Asami spotted her at the far end of the street.
Korra was still dressed as she had been earlier, except now she wore a pair of worn-out sneakers instead of flip-flops. She was standing behind a display of jewelry. Nearby, the mouthwatering aroma of grilled fish curled from a food stall, run by none other than Bolin, the same man who had printed photos earlier.
Korra was in the middle of pitching to a customer.
"This necklace is handmade. Very delicate design."
The tourist seemed convinced. After a bit of haggling, they walked away with the necklace.
Korra looked up, scanning for her next customer—and saw Asami.
Her expression flickered with surprise... and then the smile vanished.
"Looking for something?" she asked, voice cool and businesslike, none of the earlier warmth remaining.
Asami picked up a bracelet. "Is this really handmade?"
Korra hesitated. "Yes."
The words came slower this time. The smooth sales pitch that had come so easily before now caught in her throat.
"It doesn't look like it," Asami said. "The workmanship's pretty rough."
Korra's jaw tightened. "If you're not interested, please move along."
"Or maybe you'd prefer a nice grilled fish instead?" Bolin chimed in helpfully from the side.
"No thanks," Asami replied flatly, walking off without another word.
It had taken less than a day for the island's glossy veneer to start cracking.
She'd come expecting natural beauty and honest, down-to-earth people—Not throngs of tourists and vendors chasing quick profits.
All she'd wanted was to relax in the sun and feel the sea breeze on her skin. Instead, this place felt over-commercialized, almost soulless. Maybe she'd set her expectations too high.
She considered cutting her vacation short. But... she hadn't tried everything yet. Especially the one thing she was looking forward to the most—diving.
Well, she thought, at least the scenery really is beautiful.
On her second morning waking up on the island, Asami didn't find golden sunshine streaming through her window. Instead, thick clouds blanketed the sky, and a steady drizzle tapped against the glass, showing no signs of stopping.
Weather like this usually kept the tourists indoors. But for Asami, that was the perfect excuse to go exploring. No crowds. No noise. Just the sound of rain and waves.
She threw on a light, hooded jacket over her T-shirt and stepped out. A bit of rain wasn't going to ruin anything.
She followed the same path as the day before. A few figures still dotted the shoreline, standing quietly as the waves rolled in over their feet, then retreated again, over and over.
The lighthouse—her stopping point yesterday—loomed in the distance. In the rain, it looked lonelier than ever. Asami took out her phone and snapped a photo. It was a completely different scene from the sunset the evening before.
She kept walking along the trail, and soon, a small dock came into view, probably used only for supply boats. To her surprise, even in weather like this, someone was still working, hauling heavy cargo, bag by bag, off a docked freighter. And there was only one person doing the job.
The worker heaved a woven sack onto her shoulder, slowly straightened up, and trudged toward a waiting truck. With a loud thud, the bag landed in the cargo bed.
She pulled down her hood and wiped the rain from her face with a towel.
Asami slowed her steps. Only then did she realize—it was Korra.
Korra paused for just a moment to catch her breath before heading back toward the ship to retrieve more cargo.
Eventually, she lifted the last load. Her clothes were soaked through, rain and sweat plastering her hair to her face.
Two men emerged from a small shack at the dock. One of them handed her a few crumpled bills—maybe fifty dollars, probably less.
Korra took the money in silence and shoved it into her pocket.
She hadn't even walked away yet when the men began talking loudly behind her.
"Labor that cheap on this island now?" one of them scoffed.
"She's drowning in debt," the other one snorted. "She'll do anything that pays."
Asami could tell Korra had heard them—her shoulders flinched, just barely.
She thought of the Korra she'd met yesterday, all grins and swagger, hustling tourists with that easy confidence. But this? This was someone else.
Island weather could change the scenery, could it change a person?
Or... had she just misunderstood her completely?
Asami didn't know what came over her, but she stepped off her planned path. She followed Korra down a narrow side trail. They passed through a small grove of low trees and came into a row of worn-out warehouses.
Suddenly, Korra stopped and turned around. Her blue eyes locked onto Asami.
"Are you following me?" Korra asked.
Asami froze. Then she replied."I'm just out for a walk."
"In the rain?" Korra arched a skeptical brow.
"You know how crowded it gets when the weather's nice. I prefer quieter days."
"Well." Korra shrugged and turned back around. "Feel free to wander around. I'm home anyway."
Asami blinked. "You... live here?"
"Yep." Korra yanked open a creaky metal door and gestured inside. "You wanna come in? Dry off a little?"
Asami hesitated. The doorway looked dark and cold.
"...Sure," She finally said.
Korra felt along the wall and flipped a switch. A dim, yellow light flickered on, illuminating the sparse interior.
The warehouse had no windows, only concrete walls that sealed in the dampness. Near the entrance sat a folding table and two mismatched chairs—one of them half-buried under a tangle of clothes. Toward the back was a plain cot with a plastic storage bin acting as a nightstand, tucked up against the wall.
"Sorry it's... kind of a mess," Korra muttered. She cleared off the spare chair and slid it toward Asami.
"How long have you been living here?" Asami asked.
Korra peeled off her soaked jacket and hung it on a nail by the door. Underneath, she wore a white tank top, the fabric clinging to her skin, rain and sweat indistinguishable. Her arms were strong, sinewy—built from labor, not leisure.
"About three years," she said.
As she turned back around, she noticed Asami's gaze drifting toward the table. Her eyes had landed on something else.
Korra followed her line of sight. The camera. And the photo—the lighthouse at sunset, with Asami.
"I—uh—look, I'm sorry," Korra said quickly, grabbing the picture. "I didn't mean to be creepy. I just thought this one turned out... perfect. So I printed it. Without asking."
"It is a good one," Asami admitted.
Korra hesitated, then held it out to her. "Here. It's yours. Consider it... a peace offering."
Asami took the photo, then looked back up at her, arching an eyebrow. "You're not going to try charging me for it, are you?"
"If you insist, I won't say no," Korra said with a crooked smile. "But no—no strings attached."
Asami slipped the photo into her bag. "To be honest, I thought you were the kind of person who just... hustles tourists."
Korra gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. Most of the time, I am. Like you saw. Those necklaces I sell aren't really handmade. Just cheap stuff. Nobody's got time for that anymore. Real artisans are getting harder to find."
"That's sad," Asami said quietly. "Some of those crafts deserve to be preserved."
"There's a workshop in town," Korra offered with a shrug. "The real deal. If you care about that sort of thing, they'll even teach you how to make it yourself."
"That actually sounds kind of nice."
Outside, the rain dripped steadily from the eaves, pooling into a small puddle by the door. The drops landed with gentle splashes. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Asami broke it. "I heard diving is pretty big on the island. Ever thought about being an instructor?"
Korra’s body tensed for a split second. She looked up slowly, eyes gone hard.
"That's enough," she said, her voice had gone cold. "You've been here long enough."
"What?" Asami blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. She sensed she'd hit a nerve, though she didn't know why.
Korra stood. "You heard me."
Asami rose to her feet, confused. "I didn't mean to offend you—"
"You didn't offend me," Korra said. "Just go back to your luxurious resort."
"You know where I'm staying?"
"We always know," Korra muttered. "Who's got money, who's likely to spend."
"So that's all I am to you?" Asami asked, her voice tightening. "Someone you size up and think, 'Hey, maybe I can squeeze a few bucks out of her'?"
"What else would you be?" Korra snapped. "A friend? You're a tourist. You come, you go. The only reason you matter to me is because I might make some money off you."
The words hit harder than Asami expected. She took a breath.
"Fine." She reached into her pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and slapped it down on the table.
Then she turned and walked straight out into the rain.
After all that, she thought, Korra really was just another money-hungry street vendor.