[ From Hei, it's not sentiment or flattery. Just a statement of fact. ]
[ He keeps pace with her, feet moving in unhurried complement, like they are two estranged twins reunited in the street, who haven't spoken in years but remember the intimacy of the womb. The city is filling with the first wave of early risers: vendors, shopkeepers, factory workers, students. Everyone seems wrapped up in the arms of their beloved -- or at any event, their current squeeze -- except for him and Korra. ]
[ Avoiding her eyes, Hei feels, again, the intense unfair awkwardness of the situation crashing in on him. The life he'd carved out for himself here is a shambles. He doesn't know where Yin and Mao are, or what he plans to do. All his career he's had back-up plans, contingencies, second-third-fourth-tenth options. But now he's cut off, adrift. Is this what being homeless feels like? Out in the world with no particular place to go? ]
[ As he gives way to this thought he passes a real homeless man crouching against a wall. A pang of annoyance creeps in, and he narrows his eyes. Of course he isn't fucking homeless. Nor is it the first time everything in his world has swung upside-down. It doesn't make it easier, but so what? He's always lacked the sense that self-pity requires -- the feeling of entitlement, the expectation that things should be better. ]
[ They could be worse. He might've been flung into his real homeworld. ]
[ His eyes drink in the sight of Korra. A glass half-full. His fingers itch to curl around her hand, quiet echoes of habit meeting affection. Instead he settles for drifting a few inches closer, letting the gap between them unfurl into a warm, private place, while the public, open world buzzes loudly around them. ]
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Date: 2014-12-04 11:32 pm (UTC)[ From Hei, it's not sentiment or flattery. Just a statement of fact. ]
[ He keeps pace with her, feet moving in unhurried complement, like they are two estranged twins reunited in the street, who haven't spoken in years but remember the intimacy of the womb. The city is filling with the first wave of early risers: vendors, shopkeepers, factory workers, students. Everyone seems wrapped up in the arms of their beloved -- or at any event, their current squeeze -- except for him and Korra. ]
[ Avoiding her eyes, Hei feels, again, the intense unfair awkwardness of the situation crashing in on him. The life he'd carved out for himself here is a shambles. He doesn't know where Yin and Mao are, or what he plans to do. All his career he's had back-up plans, contingencies, second-third-fourth-tenth options. But now he's cut off, adrift. Is this what being homeless feels like? Out in the world with no particular place to go? ]
[ As he gives way to this thought he passes a real homeless man crouching against a wall. A pang of annoyance creeps in, and he narrows his eyes. Of course he isn't fucking homeless. Nor is it the first time everything in his world has swung upside-down. It doesn't make it easier, but so what? He's always lacked the sense that self-pity requires -- the feeling of entitlement, the expectation that things should be better. ]
[ They could be worse. He might've been flung into his real homeworld. ]
[ His eyes drink in the sight of Korra. A glass half-full. His fingers itch to curl around her hand, quiet echoes of habit meeting affection. Instead he settles for drifting a few inches closer, letting the gap between them unfurl into a warm, private place, while the public, open world buzzes loudly around them. ]