[ He jerks his gaze away, an edgy movement that tears across the veil of repose. He can tell Korra is heartened by his enthusiasm -- or least the lukewarm iota of it. He wonders how she'd react if she knew he can enter into these conversations just as if they mean anything to him -- more easily, maybe, because they don't. It is true he is gripped by a paranoid dread at the idea of the baby. But it is like preparing for an enormous chore. He feels disturbingly little of anything else, aside from stress at his inability to manifest the correct fatherly excitement. ]
[ He hopes Korra doesn't find out. He's going through the motions of happiness with her, buoyed by her incredible confidence and cheer, a parasite clinging to a sleek, beautiful animal. There's a wistful pride in watching her, sure: knowing she'll be the sweetest mother in Republic City. But he's afraid he won't be able to go on hiding his detachment, the way he's been hiding it all along, once the baby is here. ]
[ He hopes the floating numbness doesn't last. How terrible, for a baby to feel nothing emanating from the father, but a sense of cool obligation. ]
[ He tries not to think about it. Goes to the fridge, stares as if dissatisfied into its interior, then pulls out a jug of mango shake and pours a glass. His mood doesn't last, and he butts up against Korra next to the counter, quiet and affectionate in a bodily way. Reminding himself he can feel something -- because everytime he thinks about losing her, it tears away at his heart, small piece by piece. ]
[ Quietly, ]
You're being careful, right? No undercooked meat. No heavy lifting. [ He means using a whole washing machine as a dumbbell, not hefting around a bunch of Air Babies ]
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Date: 2015-02-28 01:48 am (UTC)[ He jerks his gaze away, an edgy movement that tears across the veil of repose. He can tell Korra is heartened by his enthusiasm -- or least the lukewarm iota of it. He wonders how she'd react if she knew he can enter into these conversations just as if they mean anything to him -- more easily, maybe, because they don't. It is true he is gripped by a paranoid dread at the idea of the baby. But it is like preparing for an enormous chore. He feels disturbingly little of anything else, aside from stress at his inability to manifest the correct fatherly excitement. ]
[ He hopes Korra doesn't find out. He's going through the motions of happiness with her, buoyed by her incredible confidence and cheer, a parasite clinging to a sleek, beautiful animal. There's a wistful pride in watching her, sure: knowing she'll be the sweetest mother in Republic City. But he's afraid he won't be able to go on hiding his detachment, the way he's been hiding it all along, once the baby is here. ]
[ He hopes the floating numbness doesn't last. How terrible, for a baby to feel nothing emanating from the father, but a sense of cool obligation. ]
[ He tries not to think about it. Goes to the fridge, stares as if dissatisfied into its interior, then pulls out a jug of mango shake and pours a glass. His mood doesn't last, and he butts up against Korra next to the counter, quiet and affectionate in a bodily way. Reminding himself he can feel something -- because everytime he thinks about losing her, it tears away at his heart, small piece by piece. ]
[ Quietly, ]
You're being careful, right? No undercooked meat. No heavy lifting. [ He means using a whole washing machine as a dumbbell, not hefting around a bunch of Air Babies ]