[ No, teaching had never been his metier; he'd lacked the right patience for it. But watching Korra futz around the bright kitchen -- Korra who'd once regarded the utensils as just a collection of nameless things, who'd once moved through the house like a whirlwind, leaving stacks of unread books on the coffee table, and coats over the couch back, balled socks in the middle of the room, and lightly crusted tea mugs that could stagnate on the table for days -- he feels like he's sitting with a stranger. ]
[ In many ways, he is. She's clearly moved past that youthful clutter and upheaval that once defined her life: her energy is bright and fierce as ever, but it's no longer that hair-trigger of a lightning flash. It burns quiet and steady now, like a well-lit fire that will still be simmering in the morning. It makes Hei feel self-conscious. He knows damn well he might not be welcome, that he has come back to life at much too short a notice for her. ]
[ But there's no point in apologizing now. ]
[ He doesn't flinch at her words. But there is a tiny wrenching sensation in his chest. Keeping his dipped, he focuses on clearing his plate, quick but neat, like someone pressed for time but who nonetheless wants to savor every bite. ]
[ Quietly, between a lull, ]
I ... thought of you like that. When I was away. Relaxing, for a change.
[ Sometimes, watching the stars, he'd hoped that she wasn't grieving, that she was instead keeping her hopes up for his return. Other times he'd found himself wondering if she'd find comfort elsewhere -- maybe with her friends and family, or with someone new. Someone worthy of her, whom she could enjoy a happy life with. ]
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[ In many ways, he is. She's clearly moved past that youthful clutter and upheaval that once defined her life: her energy is bright and fierce as ever, but it's no longer that hair-trigger of a lightning flash. It burns quiet and steady now, like a well-lit fire that will still be simmering in the morning. It makes Hei feel self-conscious. He knows damn well he might not be welcome, that he has come back to life at much too short a notice for her. ]
[ But there's no point in apologizing now. ]
[ He doesn't flinch at her words. But there is a tiny wrenching sensation in his chest. Keeping his dipped, he focuses on clearing his plate, quick but neat, like someone pressed for time but who nonetheless wants to savor every bite. ]
[ Quietly, between a lull, ]
I ... thought of you like that. When I was away. Relaxing, for a change.
[ Sometimes, watching the stars, he'd hoped that she wasn't grieving, that she was instead keeping her hopes up for his return. Other times he'd found himself wondering if she'd find comfort elsewhere -- maybe with her friends and family, or with someone new. Someone worthy of her, whom she could enjoy a happy life with. ]