[ Hei is aware of Mako's attention. But the young man -- (except he's not young anymore, is he? They're the same age now) -- is easy to ignore. Korra would be easy to ignore too; he'd been ready to walk out of the house like an apparition, to melt into the city and retrace old haunts, old faces, old routes. Republic City has gotten a facelift in his absence, but that doesn't mean everything's changed. A full night's reconnaissance will allow him to get his bearings. Especially when everything else is so disorienting. ]
[ That's the plan. At least until Korra's hand closes on his arm. So he's forced, even through the fabric of his clothes, to feel the heat of her skin, its mute hypnotic thrum. His gaze meets hers -- and for a moment he's unsteady inside, out at sea, his lungs aching and his head swimming. ]
[ For one miserable moment, he wants nothing more than to stay. Here in this airy little house where he'd once known affection and the routines of something like home; in the kitchen where dustmotes would float silently in the morning sun's rays as he'd fix breakfast, Cat dawdling like a creampuff around his ankles, Korra sitting across the table with her ridiculous bed-hair and crumbs in her eyes, absorbed with a monosyllabic grumpiness in her tea, or sprawled the dark futon where he and Korra once fucked so ravenously, and were so confidential and warm together under the electric blanket that generated a lazy coziness in the winter evenings, her soft heap of hair tickling his face, getting into his nose, his pillow, little strands glued like dubious presents to his skin when he'd pad into the bathroom in the mornings. ]
[ But that goddamned trip to the Enterprise, the chance to see the stars, had changed everything, put them both through so many changes that he doesn't know if they'll regain their balance now. ]
[ His expression doesn't soften. But his fingers are gentle as they close on her wrist, plucking her hand off. He squeezes, almost imperceptibly, then lets go. ]
I'll figure something out. [ He always does. ] But it's better if I'm not in the way right now.
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Date: 2014-12-04 12:41 am (UTC)[ That's the plan. At least until Korra's hand closes on his arm. So he's forced, even through the fabric of his clothes, to feel the heat of her skin, its mute hypnotic thrum. His gaze meets hers -- and for a moment he's unsteady inside, out at sea, his lungs aching and his head swimming. ]
[ For one miserable moment, he wants nothing more than to stay. Here in this airy little house where he'd once known affection and the routines of something like home; in the kitchen where dustmotes would float silently in the morning sun's rays as he'd fix breakfast, Cat dawdling like a creampuff around his ankles, Korra sitting across the table with her ridiculous bed-hair and crumbs in her eyes, absorbed with a monosyllabic grumpiness in her tea, or sprawled the dark futon where he and Korra once fucked so ravenously, and were so confidential and warm together under the electric blanket that generated a lazy coziness in the winter evenings, her soft heap of hair tickling his face, getting into his nose, his pillow, little strands glued like dubious presents to his skin when he'd pad into the bathroom in the mornings. ]
[ But that goddamned trip to the Enterprise, the chance to see the stars, had changed everything, put them both through so many changes that he doesn't know if they'll regain their balance now. ]
[ His expression doesn't soften. But his fingers are gentle as they close on her wrist, plucking her hand off. He squeezes, almost imperceptibly, then lets go. ]
I'll figure something out. [ He always does. ] But it's better if I'm not in the way right now.