[ Again, those words, that could be anything from a confession of mourning to an accusal of intrusion. His bones feel watery; the room tilts as a sense of displacement creeps over him, as if he's outside of himself, looking in. He's often felt that way, in Korra's world. As if he's superimposed on the scene, playing a role but not really feeling it. He'd never been capable of functioning as a man in the world of ordinary men -- job, car, house, wife, 2.5 children. He'd never felt like he'd been absorbed by Korra's intimate circle. He was always apart -- a killer, a curiosity, a volatile element. ]
[ Now that isolation is not even quantifiable. ]
[ He watches Korra's hand tremble. There's a humming tension in the air, scraping at the strings of his nerves. He doesn't let it show -- but he can't bring himself to come closer. Instead he ends up leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, eyes skimming the periphery in an instinctive sweep for exits and entry points -- but also for lover-spoor. ]
[ Three years. What if she's moved on? Life isn't some fairytale, true love eternal, my heart will go on, blah blah. What if she'd found someone else? Someone better? What if his reappearance is just a nuisance, a reminder of unhappier times? ]
[ Better to have it out, if that's the case. ]
[ He keeps his gaze dipped, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the counter. ]
Maybe ... I should've sent you word, first. Given you time to get used to the idea. But -- [ A pause, an exhale, as if he's forcing down an ugly clutter of emotion within. ] I needed to know if you were okay.
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Date: 2014-12-03 01:28 am (UTC)[ Again, those words, that could be anything from a confession of mourning to an accusal of intrusion. His bones feel watery; the room tilts as a sense of displacement creeps over him, as if he's outside of himself, looking in. He's often felt that way, in Korra's world. As if he's superimposed on the scene, playing a role but not really feeling it. He'd never been capable of functioning as a man in the world of ordinary men -- job, car, house, wife, 2.5 children. He'd never felt like he'd been absorbed by Korra's intimate circle. He was always apart -- a killer, a curiosity, a volatile element. ]
[ Now that isolation is not even quantifiable. ]
[ He watches Korra's hand tremble. There's a humming tension in the air, scraping at the strings of his nerves. He doesn't let it show -- but he can't bring himself to come closer. Instead he ends up leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, eyes skimming the periphery in an instinctive sweep for exits and entry points -- but also for lover-spoor. ]
[ Three years. What if she's moved on? Life isn't some fairytale, true love eternal, my heart will go on, blah blah. What if she'd found someone else? Someone better? What if his reappearance is just a nuisance, a reminder of unhappier times? ]
[ Better to have it out, if that's the case. ]
[ He keeps his gaze dipped, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the counter. ]
Maybe ... I should've sent you word, first. Given you time to get used to the idea. But -- [ A pause, an exhale, as if he's forcing down an ugly clutter of emotion within. ] I needed to know if you were okay.