[ Hei's smile of thanks is short, a crook at the edges of his mouth that doesn't touch his eyes. Duplicity is second nature for him and he can spot it likewise in others. Same goes for lies and flattery. Asami is capable of none of those things. Like all Korra's friends, her candor is innate; good manners prompted by a sincere wish to get along with him. So he doesn't read into her compliments the way he would with a fellow Contractor. ]
[ Instead, with a quiet neutrality, ]
She made me breakfast when I ... came back.
[ He doesn't mention whether it tasted good or bad. The meal was besides the point. The real novelty -- the surrealism -- was watching Korra cook something edible. Realizing, with a lurch of disorientation, how much time had passed for her, while for him, just the sight of her made it curl up and vanish in a puff of smoke like a piece of burnt paper. ]
[ Keeping his gaze on the cup, wafting with aromatic steam, he turns it slowly in his hands. After a beat, something distant, almost wistful, glasses his eyes. In the next blink, he shakes it off. Rolls his shoulders, and there's a muted crack, like something's sliding back into place. ]
[ When he fixes his gaze on her again, there lurks, past the mildness, a needle-sharp curiosity. ]
You must have spent time with Korra. When I was gone, I mean. You seem close now.
[ For once, it's not loaded with subtext. In his all-encompassing ignorance, he does believe they're just intimate friends, in that warm, unfussy way some women can be. ]
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Date: 2014-12-30 04:49 am (UTC)[ Instead, with a quiet neutrality, ]
She made me breakfast when I ... came back.
[ He doesn't mention whether it tasted good or bad. The meal was besides the point. The real novelty -- the surrealism -- was watching Korra cook something edible. Realizing, with a lurch of disorientation, how much time had passed for her, while for him, just the sight of her made it curl up and vanish in a puff of smoke like a piece of burnt paper. ]
[ Keeping his gaze on the cup, wafting with aromatic steam, he turns it slowly in his hands. After a beat, something distant, almost wistful, glasses his eyes. In the next blink, he shakes it off. Rolls his shoulders, and there's a muted crack, like something's sliding back into place. ]
[ When he fixes his gaze on her again, there lurks, past the mildness, a needle-sharp curiosity. ]
You must have spent time with Korra. When I was gone, I mean. You seem close now.
[ For once, it's not loaded with subtext. In his all-encompassing ignorance, he does believe they're just intimate friends, in that warm, unfussy way some women can be. ]