Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Asami narrowed her eyes, gazing at the sun as it dipped below the horizon. Her fingers twitched restlessly around the cup of coffee she cradled in one hand. With a distant gaze, she lifted the cup to her lips, taking a sip and wincing as soon as the tepid liquid touched her tongue. The coffee was scalding hot when she got it from that quaint café, now its warmth, or lack thereof, is a stark reminder if the hour that had slipped away.

5th Street. She was so sure this was the fifth time she’d be rounding this corner now. The afternoon wind blew, making Asami curl a little into herself. It wasn’t cold per se but the cool weather here in Republic City was felt like a refreshing embrace compared to the eternal summer and dry winds in the Fire Nation.

Lifting her other hand, Asami checked her watch. It was almost six in the evening. Her dad was going to be so mad. She’d told him she was just going to drive around while they waited for the movers to arrive. The agreement was she was going to be home before sunset.

Home. 

She and Hiroshi had gathered their belongings, packed them up together with the rest of their lives and moved to Republic City. Future Industries was expanding. It was always the plan to keep moving forward. The tower had been in construction for almost five years. It was her father’s dream to establish the heart of his company at the place where tradition and progress collided. He was going to change the world and they would be starting here at a new place. A new home.

Even from where she stood, the towering edifice of Future Industries loomed over the surrounding buildings, a sentinel of what is yet to come. In the center of Republic City, a testament of her father’s hard work rose majestically.

It was her mother’s last masterpiece.

Her heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of admiration and regret . She wished her mom could see this. She wished she and her dad could share this with Yasuko.

She stayed standing there for a moment and just let herself feel and embrace her emotions. The past year had been the hardest for her and Hiroshi, both having different ways of coping, of moving on but a mutual understanding of moving out and starting fresh. Asami was more than willing to do so. There were more things to hate than to love in the Fire Nation. She was happy to take what she needed and leave all the rest behind. 

Asami shook her head to ger out of her own musings. She studied the block where she was sure she parked her bike. She bit her lip staring intently at the empty lot, as if her ride would magically appear. Sighing in defeat when it didn’t, she tossed the cup of coffee into a nearby trash bin.

She was lost. She was never good with directions. Wandering around on your first day in a new city was a bad idea. It was even a worse one when you have a gala to attend to in… she checked her watch… in two hours.

She blew out a long breath, releasing the weight of the moment. With renewed determination, Asami tried her best to retrace her tracks. 

5th street. The café was a few blocks from the opposite side. She took a deep breath and tapped her fingers absentmindedly against her cold coffee, trying to decide which way to go when something sparkling caught her eye.

Green eyes darted to the direction and found a glint of gold peeking from between the drapes of an old, weathered storefront. Asami tilted her head in curiosity. She turned to see the sun had almost set and yet the golden sparkle seemed to be persistent. It was like it had a life of its own, beckoning for Asami to come and take a closer look.

She hesitated for a moment. She didn’t remember passing by this old-looking shop from all the times she remembered walking down this block. She looked up to the sign that said Souls Of Time.

Asami found herself walking in, the door groaning in protest from its obvious old age as she pushed it open.

The interior was dimly lit with the faint glow of oil lamps and candles. She couldn’t tell if the candles were scented because the air smelled of old paper, polished wood, and worn leather.

Among the long shelves by the wall were a variety of old things— tarnished and polished silver trays alike, porcelain vases with cracks and chips, faded tapestries, and leather-bound books. How old, Asami couldn’t tell.

But there, nestled in a tiny nook by the back of the room was the object that had caught your eye. There was no oil lamp nearby, but a small crack by the window let just the right beam of sunlight for it to glow.

Drawn to it, Asami found herself walking slowly toward the pedestal, her heartbeat quickening with an inexplicable sense of anticipation. It was a small golden watch. 

She reached out, fingers brushing against the cool metal. Upon closer inspection, the glass was cracked but the bezel was in pristine condition. The gold case shone with the remaining sunlight as she turned it over. At the back was an inscription that read: ‘Always with you. -A’

Turning it over once more, she stared at the timepiece’s face. Her brows furrowed in confusion that was auickly replaced by curiosity as realization dawned on her— the hands remained still, frozen in time. 

She remembered the shop’s name. Souls of Time. How fitting. Or ironic. Maybe it was both, she decided.

A smile crept up Asami’s lips. The watch might have been broken but Asami felt its spirit lingering within. But there was something else in it— a pull Asami couldn’t deny, an irresistible call whispering to her very soul as if the watch was begging to be restored and worn like it was meant to be. Her fingers itched— no, ached— to bring it back to life.

Some things find you when the time is right.

She searched the pedestal for a price tag but found none. She turned back and looked around to look for the shopkeeper. She didn’t notice anyone when she walked in a while ago. She looked over at the cashier but nobody was there. She was about to ring the service bell when she saw a display of black and white photos in a cardboard box on the counter. 

Once again, like in a trance, Asami felt the stranger, electric pull. She found herself holding the very first photo. It captured a couple in their wedding attires, standing on the front porch of a simple bungalow. A ‘SOLD’ sign on their far left was caught in frame.

Asami couldn’t help but smile at the newlyweds. The picture was black and white and yet Asami felt warm looking at it. Then she felt her chest tighten. There was something about the photo. Maybe it was the atmosphere inside the shop, or the couple smiling back at her like they knew her. 

She stared at the groom and his bright gray eyes. A strange familiarity in his gaze. Then she shifted to the bride’s blue eyes. It felt like the warmest blue eyes she had ever seen. Wait a minute, how did she know the color of their eyes when—

“That’s Aang and Katara.”

Asami let out a startled ‘shit, fuck’ as her head snapped up to the sound. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted her. Feeling the sudden stillness, her breath was momentarily trapped in her throat. The moment her eyes met the pools of endless blue staring right back at her, she was instantly pinned where she stood. She couldn’t move.

As their eyes locked, a flicker of surprise danced in those depths of blue, crooked grin faltering slightly . The girl, as if appearing out of thin air, now stood at the other side of the counter. Her hair was down, long chestnut locks carelessly tucked under a baseball cap. She wore clear glasses with a thick black frame, contrasting shary with her simple plain white shirt, with short sleeves that exposed sun-kissed arms. She looked young, likely Asami’s age. 

Asami’s eyes narrowed as she regarded stranger, a sense of déja vu washing over her as if she’d met this girl before. Her heart beat so hard she thought she could almost hear it.

“Uhm,” the girl  cleared her throat, “is there something on my face or…?”

Asami jolted back into reality, eyes fluttering when she realized she was staring at this stranger.

”Oh, uhm no,” Asami said quickly, “There’s nothing on your face. W-well, except your glasses… they’re in your face. But your face is fine.” She shook her head at her rambling, “Sorry. Hello. I was just uhm…” she gestured vaguely at the cardboard box and shrugged helplessly.

“Staring intently at black and white photos for five straight minutes?” The girl supplied with amusement in her voice.

Asami let out a short huff of laughter. “Yeah, exactly that. Although I think it was more like two minutes.”

Asami’s brow knitted in confusion as she gazed at the girl through her glasses, a startling revelation dawning upon her—there were no lenses at all. She chuckled, “I wonder if things would be a bit clearer if I wore glasses like yours.” She ended with a raised brow.

In an instant, the lop-sided grin was back on the other girl’s face. “Oh you noticed these are fake, huh?” She removed the glasses with one hand and made a peace sign with the other before poking both fingers through the non-existent lenses. “I was just trying them on.”

Without the thick frame on the girl’s face, Asami felt like she definitely recognized this girl but she couldn’t put a finger on where and when she’d seen her. 

Then blue eyes flickered down on the counter and a frown formed on her glassless face. “Sorry, but uhm, you’re gonna have to pay for that.” She stuck out an index finger to point to Asami’s hand.

When Asami looked down, she let out a louder “shit, sorry” as she realized she had a vice grip on the photo she was holding, scrunching it up at the edges. She immediately loosened her fingers and tried to smooth out the piece of paper but the creases did not go away. 

“Nah don’t worry about it. That one’s not really an antique. Although it’s like fifty years old. It’s still a good photo…” the sweet raspy voice from the other side of the counter said. The girl’s voice  trailed off as Asami tried her best to smoothen out the piece of paper. She paused her futile attempt at fixing the photo when she noticed the magazine stand on her right. A newspaper headline caught her eye: “Councilman Tarrlok Endorses Northern Water Tribe Chief Tonraq Waters for Senator.” 

Below it was a photo of a guy with long hair in formal water tribe attire. He stood next to a behemoth of a man smiling with all teeth, arms around a petite woman. Her lips were curled up but her eyes were somber. She wore a sad smile. The last person on the photo was of a young girl Asami surmised was her age. Her hair was up in a high ponytail at the back with two smaller ones in the front that perfectly framed her tan face.

Asami was hit with the sudden realization but she quickly hid her surprise as she pretended to pay attention to whatever the other girl was saying. 

“…they’re like a power couple. True soulmates.”

Asami’s eyes snapped and looked back up to meet blue eyes once again. “You believe in those?” She asked softly, her voice steady but careful. “Soulmates?”

“Of course!” The other girl answered without hesitation then her eyebrows furrowed for a moment and she pursed her lips into an adorable pout. Not that Asami was looking. “Well, I haven’t gotten my mark yet but I’m really hoping it’s something cool.” She flashed Asami with her rows of white teeth.

Asami couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her lips. “I’m guessing all these couples in the photos are soulmates?” She gestured to the cardboard box. “You seem to know a lot about Master Aang and Master Katara.”

“Ah,” The tan girl nodded slowly, grin never leaving her lips. “So you do know them. They got their matching scars from being struck by lightning. Can you believe it? Lightning. Aang’s scar was on his chest and Katara’s on her back. Not at the same time but at the exact same location. Phew.”

Before Asami could say another word, the girl stepped closer to the counter and lifted another photo. “Here,” she handed it to Asami, “Kuruk and Ummi. They lived in the time of war. Their marks were bullet wounds. Did you know he got his mark from his first tour? Ummi was the medic, then. He asked her out the moment he was consious. But Ummi didn’t get her mark until they were married. My boy wasn’t wasting any time. I guess if you know, you just know. You know?” 

The girl let out a forlorn sigh. “Kuruk died fighting in the war. He was very young. But at least he married the love of his life.”

A pause.

“I guess he took his shot and aimed true.”

Asami huffed a surprised snort that she quickly stopped. “You did not.”

There was that grin again. Before Asami knew it, there was another photograph in the growing pile in her hand. 

“Yangchen and Kavik. See those burn marks?” A dark finger landed on the photo, right by the Air nomad’s neck. “Kavik has the exact same patterns on his upper right arm. You know some people say they weren’t really romantic with each other because theories say Yangchen might have been asexual. But they were each other’s lifetime companion. Platonic soulmates. Best friends for life.” 

Asami stared at the photo, her eyes fixed on the curve of the Air nomad’s neck. The scar stood out boldly, even in black and white. She absentmindedly arched her posture, feeling the lingering pain on her back. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, trying her best to cast aside the haunting memories from six months ago.

Her gaze drifted to the guy in the photo. He was dressed in Water tribe garments. There was this weird feeling in Asami chest that she couldn’t shake. It was subtle when she saw Katara. She’d felt it staring at Ummi. It was like staring in a mirror and seeing someone else’s reflection.

The girl on the counter carried on before Asami could mull it over.

“Speaking of best friends,” another photo was stacked on Asami’s hand, “Kyoshi and Rangi. This is them on their way to the dance. They look so cute, I can’t even.” She let out a dreamy sigh.

The photo in question depicted a driveway where a tall and slightly tan young girl held hands with another girl her age. The taller girl’s eyes were filled with warmth and gentleness while the shorter one held a fierce and intense gaze. But the one thing in common is that they both looked happy. All the couples in the photos looked happy.

“Legends say they were roommates.”

Asami let out another surprised laugh before looking up to find the other girl’s eyes filled with mirth and wiggling her eyebrows. She stopped herself from rolling her eyes but let another chuckle escape her lips. “So, what were their soul marks?”

“Well, Kyoshi was electrocuted.” The girl answered without pause. Asami’s eyebrows raised to the top of her head. But why was she surprised when Aang and Katara got theirs from lightning. 

The girl let out a chuckle. “I know right? All these marks are so extreme and life threatening. Come to think of it, they seem to all be related to fire.” She looked to the side in thought before shrugging and nodding towards the photo in Asami’s hand. “Rangi rushed and held Kyoshi trying to save her. They share the same scars on their hands.”

Asami hummed in response, looking at the happy couple captured in the photo. How were they able to take it? Hit by lightning. Getting shot. Being electrocuted. Burned. Just so they could be sure they found their soulmate. What if they didn’t? What if they did and lost them? And what if getting the soul mark meant losing something else? Someone else.

Her back itched, something Asami didn’t want to acknowledge but had been making its presence known since this morning. She rolled her shoulders. “Do you think it will hurt?” She looked up to meet blue eyes. “When you get your mark?”

The tan girl looked down at the photos and hummed, going still for a moment. “Do you think it’d matter?” She asked back. “A flesh wound, a deep one, a gnarly scar. I would gladly take in the pain and proudly wear the mark if it means finding my soulmate. I mean falling in love is one thing but finding the one that compliments your soul perfectly is on a whole new different level. Won’t it be interesting to find who that person is?”

Asami felt her jaw go slack. She’d never looked at it that way before. Not in the glass half-full kind of way. Well, not after witnessing one of the greatest love stories of all time in the shape of her mom and dad, only for it to be taken away in the blink of an eye.

”Do you?” She felt the words escape her lips, her voice barely a whisper.

”Hm?”

Asami looked up to meet blue eyes. “Do you want to find your soulmate?”

The girl held Asami’s gaze and smiled. “I do.” The answer came so easily. She sounded so sure. 

”Aren’t you scared?” Asami’s voice dripped with irritation, annoyed at how confident this girl was. “What if it’s something traumatizing? What if it hurts you not just physically but in a way you can’t possibly fathom?”

The girl regarded her for a moment, her gaze unwavering as she held Asami’s. “I may not know how I will get my mark but I know who I’m waiting for. I’m waiting for my soulmate. It’s funny, I have a feeling it is going to hurt. But I also know it’s going to be worth it.”

There was something in this girl that made Asami curious. It was in the way she talked about these old couples, their stories, their scars and how happy she was talking about them. Like she was talking about herself. Like she felt how they felt, experienced the kinds of love in different lifetimes. And she hadn’t even gotten her mark. Yet. It almost made Asami want to feel hopeful.

Almost.

The ring from the bell by the door pulled Asami out of her stupor. A burly man in a black suit and tie entered the shop and looked at the counter. “There you are!” 

The tan girl sighed. “Busted.”

“We’ve been looking all over for you!” The man crossed his arms. “Your dad is going to kill us if we run late for the gala tonight.”

The girl’s shoulders slumped, then she removed her cap and glasses. “So much for a disguise,” she mumbled. Then she straightened up and met Asami with bright blue eyes. “Oh right. Those photos are twenty-five cents each. Just leave the payment on that box. It’s an honesty shop.” 

She started walking around the counter as she talked. “And that watch? I wouldn’t get that if I were you. It might be broken beyond repair and you don’t wanna waste a penny on it.”

Asami couldn’t help but chuckle despite herself. “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “maybe I could fix it. I’m pretty good with my hands.”

The girl stopped midway through the door and looked at Asami with her brows raised. 

Asami’s eyes widened at the realization of how her words might have sounded. The girl let out a full on laughter, throwing her head back and even holding a palm against her stomach. 

Then when her laughter died down, she flashed Asami another grin. “Maybe you could fix it. With your hands. Which you are good at.” She drew out each phrase. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She took another step, almost out the door. “But if not, at least the design on that watch is… Timeless.”

The last thing Asami saw before the girl was out of her sight was a toothy grin and a wink for good measure.

This time, Asami did roll her eyes but a smile stayed on her lips as she took out her wallet and looked for bills.

Chapter Text

Asami’s patience was wearing thin. She’d been standing at the curb for what felt like hours. The scale model felt heavy in her fingers, the result of many restless nights spent building it. Her free arm was raised, trying to flag down any passing cab. The breeze from the morning air made her shiver. The sky was gloomy and the weather was cold. She cursed the weatherman for yet another incorrect forecast. It looked like rain was going to come down any second. She felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up against the chill as another breeze blue beneath her neatly tight bun. She briefly contemplated if she should just wear her hair down today.

At that moment a taxi cab appeared, cutting through the traffic in the busy street. Asami stepped forward, raising her hand a little higher and holding her scale model tighter, ready to claim her prize. She watched the cab turn on its blinker and slow down in front of her. It stopped at the curb just a few feet past where she stood.

With a breath of relief, she secured the tiny building in her grip before making her way over. She wasn’t even able to make one single step when a flash of ginger hair came barreling past, bumping into her shoulder in the process and almost knocking the model from her hand. Before she could call out the person for being so rude and demand an apology, the petite woman was already wrenching the cab’s door open and quickly sliding into the backseat without hesitation.

“Fucking asshole.” She muttered under her breath. She took one long breath through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth before holding her hand up again in a futile attempt to flag down the occupied cabs passing by.

After a few minutes, another taxi was slowing down. She started walking toward it, eyes fixed on the prize, tired legs moving as fast as they could. She stood where she calculated the car would pull over.

And then, just as her fingers were a mere inch away from the car door, a tan hand appeared beside hers. Out of nowhere.

Asami looked up to find a woman in a black trench coat, dark sunglasses covering her eyes, short and  choppy brown hair framing her face. She held a bouquet of white flowers on one hand while the other was stretched out to the direction of the taxi’s door. For a split second, their fingers brushed and Asami felt a jolt of electricity travel down her spine, causing her to falter in her step.

At the briefest contact, she watched the tan fingers flex and tighten at the door handle. And realization came down in Asami’s mind. Someone was about to steal her cab.

"No!" She blurted, a little too loudly, as if she could somehow claim ownership of the moment. This was not happening again.

The stranger shot her a glance, brow arched and rising from the rim of her sunglasses. That was when Asami noticed a bandaid on the edge of her eyebrow. 

"Are you serious?" The woman asked with an incredulous tone, mocking the urgency in Asami’s voice.

“Excuse me but,” Asami said, her voice breathless. “I had my hand up. The cab obviously stopped for me.”

“Not true,” the woman replied with a steady tone, already twisting the handle. “I was here before you. Get your own ride.”

Asami scoffed and looked at the woman up and down, sizing her up. “Well, that was because you’re wearing sneakers. I would’ve gotten here faster if I weren’t wearing heels.”

The woman’s lips turned up into an amused smirk. “Not my fault you can’t use those long legs properly.” She let go of the handle to gesture at Asami’s lower limbs.

Asami stared at her incredulously. The nerve. The audacity. 

"Well, I saw it first," Asami snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I had my hand up.” She repeated petulantly.

The woman raised an eyebrow and huffed a short laugh and just stared at Asami’s hand as if she had just insulted the very idea of taxis.

 "That doesn’t matter," the woman said, almost condescendingly, then turned back to the waiting cab and wrapped her fingers around the handle once again. "It’s about who got here first."

"You are unbelievable," Asami muttered under her breath, but she was stepping closer and holding her hand out to reach for the handle again. She gripped whatever remained in the door handle tightly, ignoring the feeling of time standing still at the contact of their fingers. It felt warm and strong and— the stranger let go as if she got burned. The force of the recoil was so strong, it knocked Asami’s hand off the handle as well.

The stranger squared her shoulders and turned to Asami fully but not before letting out a frustrated sigh. Her free hand took her sunglasses off, revealing her stormy blue eyes. “Listen lady, we’re all busy people here. We all got places to be and I’m in a—”

The woman paused as blue met green but Asami was already holding her breath the moment she caught a glimpse of those familiar pools of ocean eyes. For a split second, neither of them moved.

And then, just like that, it clicked. The voice, that unmistakable velvety tone—familiar, yet foreign. Haunting. Her once long hair was cut short; much shorter as it fell just above her shoulders. Something about the way the morning light cast shadows on her face, more lined and obviously older. But those eyes— those eyes still had the ability to pin Asami into place and make want to drown in them.

They stayed locked on Asami’s and she watched a flurry of emotions dance in them: surprise, recognition, confusion, then a flash of something Asami didn’t want to name took shape in those deep blue eyes. She almost missed it but there was no chance she would, not if she’d been expecting it. 

The woman in front of her blinked as though she were emerging from the same trance Asami was in. But she doubted that was the case.

As blue eyes opened, the expression gave way to something kind that had the unmistakable warmth she had grown so used to. It was the look she had not seen in years. The one look she didn't know she had been yearning for. It gave her heart a whole new kind of flutter. She felt a vice grip on her chest but it tightened in the wrong kind of way—like her heart was being wrapped in barbed wire. 

Perhaps it was because the one who had that look had changed. What she had gotten used to was now a faint and distant memory. But that same gaze held an intensity that made Asami feel like no time had passed at all.

“Asami Sato,” the woman said, breaking the silence and snapping Asami back into reality. Her voice was sure and steady and a tiny smile formed in her lips. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of guilt and dread surging through her veins. Memories of that summer flooded her mind— longing looks, lingering touches, warm laughter, tender smiles, hearts breaking. She almost reached out instinctively, but stopped herself just in time.

“Korra,” she whispered, unable to hide the way her name slipped from her lips like it had never left. 

Before other words could escape her lips and cause her to spiral into an impromptu rambling that may or may not include an apology, another stranger quickly pried the taxi door open and got into the backseat. Asami stared in disbelief as she watched the car drive away. She scoffed before muttering a quiet series of curses under her breath. 

“I see you’re still eloquent as ever.”

Asami snapped her head up to find the small smile on Korra’s lips turned full, a genuine one that reached the eyes and almost teasing. Somehow it even looked and felt warmer, something Asami thought she didn’t deserve being graced with. Her blue eyes shone impossibly brighter, putting the sun to shame. 

“When did you get back?” Korra asked, her tone soft and full of curiosity, surprising Asami. Not a ‘Where have you been?’ or a ‘What took you so long?’ or a ‘Why did you leave?’

Asami hated the gentleness in Korra’s voice, hated the easy smile on her face, hated the way her chest tightened just looking at those soft blue eyes. 

She cleared her dry throat. “I uhm… I got back six months ago. I’ve been trying to establish a start-up.” She lifted the scale model in her hand. “I hope this one’s my big break.”

Korra’s gaze fell to the tiny building. “Oh, so you pushed through with architecture after all?”

Asami let out a short chuckle. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath, “Just trying to honor my mom’s memories,” then shrugged, “or some—“

“Or something.” Korra said at the same time. The fact that Korra remembered made Asami’s lips part in surprise. She looked up to find blue eyes already fixed on hers, playful and teasing. She felt her lips tug up into a smile and the next second they were both chuckling. It felt familiar. It felt like—Asami shook her head internally, not wanting to entertain those thoughts.

To her relief, Korra stayed on topic and pushed, “So which one is it?”

She let out a long breath and bit the inside of her cheek. “Bit of both, I guess? I don’t really know at this point.” 

When Korra tilted her head at her, Asami gave a wry laugh. “I just wanna get through today and hope for the best. My presentation is in…” she lifted her hand to look at her watch, “…an hour.”

She missed the way Korra’s gaze lingered on her wrist then quickly trailing up to her shoulders and over them, muscles in her jaw clenching very briefly.

“What about you?” Asami asked in a hurry. “If you’re here on solid ground, then the plan to be an outer space chef didn’t work out?”

Korra threw her head back and laughed. The action made her short hair sway with each shake from her shoulders. Asami couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her lips at the sight. 

“No, that was a shitty plan.” Korra shook her head with a smile. “I realized it is, in fact, rocket science so I had to unfortunately ditch that crazy dream. I am, however, building other stuff. Less complicated than building rockets and coming up with recipes that won’t explode in space. Woodworking.”

“A woodworker,” Asami breathed out. “Huh.” She tilted her head and Korra raised a brow. Before she could stop her brain, it was already drawing pictures in her head: Korra’s hands, calloused and strong, holding a hammer, a chisel. She imagined the woman before her in a dirty apron, stained with paint and wood shavings. She pictured how the chaotic energy Korra always had would turn into focus and calm once she got lost in her craft. It somehow made sense.

“It suits you, I think.” Asami said after a moment. “I didn’t expect you to be a woodworker but somehow I’m not surprised.”

“Yeah?” Korra perked up.

Asami nodded. “You always had a way of making things…fit.”

Korra let out a stunned laugh and Asami’s eyes widened, belatedly realizing the double meaning behind her own words.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She rushed out. “It sounded better in my head.”

“Oh, I bet.” And there it was— that grin. The one that made Asami weak in the knees all those years ago. It took one full second for her to realize it still had the same effect on her. She had to grip her scale model tighter, trying to find an anchor and to not melt tight then and there.

She would have held eye contact if it weren’t for the wiggling brows that made her roll her eyes. It was the only way to be able to look away. 

“Charming as always.” She said as flatly as she could but deep inside her chest, she meant it.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Korra’s tone was light and teasing and Asami barely stopped herself from saying back Korra’s ‘Oh, I bet.’ Instead, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. But she didn’t fight the smile that tugged at her lips.

“You know,” Korra’s voice made her look up. Her gaze gravitated towards blue eyes like it always did. This time, Asami caught a hint of hesitation and shyness. 

But the ocean remained locked on the forest, calm and steady, not quite engulfing but just gently lapping at the shores. “Out of all the places to run into you, the bus stop wasn’t on my list. If I’d known I’d find you the moment I stopped looking, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

The words were meant to be teasing. Korra said them with lightness in her tone and a playful smile on her face. But the way Korra’s jaw tightened briefly and beneath the smile hinted at something heavy. And the words, no matter how subtle, hit Asami straight to the heart. 

A surge of guilt rushed through her body. It gripped her chest in a way that suffocated her with overwhelming weight.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. With the air entering her lungs, she gathered all the courage she could muster. “Korra, I’m… I’m so sorry… The way I left, I didn’t—“

“Hey,” Korra’s voice was so, so gentle it almost hurt. “You don’t owe me an apology. We were just kids back then. It was a long time ago. Things change, people change and all that.”

She paused and tilted her head at Asami. “Although, I can’t say the same for you.” 

When Asami raised a questioning eyebrow, Korra smirked. “You’re still a slowpoke. I guess all that practice and training you joined me with didn’t pay off. You would’ve gotten to that cab first if you didn’t slack off the past ten years.”

Asami could tell Korra was deflecting but she did not dare call her out. She would have easily done so if they were back when they were seventeen, back when things were easy, when she didn’t feel so scared, when she didn’t have the tendency to bolt every time she felt an attachment to something. Or to someone.

So she brushed it off with a huff of laughter and decided to just play along with it. “If you weren’t trying to steal my cab, I would have gotten it.”

Korra’s eyebrows raised and Asami smirked in return. “Okay, first, it was not yours to begin with.” Korra gave her a stare. “And second, if there’s any thief here, it was little Miss Weasley who stole your cab and got away with it. Literally.”

Asami let out a surprised laugh at the name, remembering the short ginger woman who, also literally, bumped into her minutes ago. “So, you saw the whole thing and you didn’t even think twice about doing the same thing.” 

Korra’s eyes went wide and stared at Asami with her mouth slightly open. “What—the cab stopped closer to me! If anything, that other woman stole my cab!”

Asami raised a challenging brow and held her chin up. “I had my hand up.”

“I got to it first.”

Asami’s eyes narrowed at Korra who did the same in defiance. After a beat, Asami shook her head and let out a low chuckle.

“You are impossible.”

“Impossibly charming?”

Asami let out a scoff with a playful eye roll. “I can’t believe you called her a Weasley. With an attitude like that, I don’t think she deserves to be one.”

“Well,” Korra shrugged, “I mean Ron stole that flying car. It definitely runs in the blood.”

Asami chuckled. “Imagine the howler Molly would send her.”

Korra let out a short laugh. “What do you think her name would be?”

Asami hummed in thought and Korra waited patiently with an amused smile. “She looks like an Ellie. What do you think?”

Korra straightened up and put her empty hand on her waist. With her best effort, she said her next words in a British accent that Asami thought could compete with Dick Van Dyke’s. “Eleanor Weasley! How dare you steal that muggle’s taxi cab! I am absolutely disgusted! What in Merlin’s name were you thinking! Take that taxi back and apologize. With a very sincere apology.” 

“…and don’t forget your sunscreen!”

The two of them burst out laughing. The moment the sound echoed through the air, Asami was reminded of too many memories from years ago— in that little cafè near the shop, at the park, in the library, on the basketball court during practice. When Korra laughed, it was always bright and unbridled, infectious and full of warmth. She always laughed with her whole heart.

But hearing it again after so long, there was something bittersweet about it. It was heavy with the weight of regrets—words Asami regretted saying, words she regretted not saying, words she wished she’d listened to. 

If only she’d stayed.

Their laughter was settling down into quiet chuckles and soft smiles. Asami wanted this moment to last longer. She wanted to ask how Korra had been, how she was doing, how her woodworking was coming along, ask if she’d gotten her mark yet. At the thought, an undeniable heat shot up her back, reminding Asami of the scar that had long healed but hadn’t faded since she’d gotten it.

As if to dispel an imaginary ache, she inadvertently rolled her shoulder. Clearing her throat and letting out a long sigh, she looked up at Korra. She bit her lip, “Well, I’m glad Ellie stole my cab. I wouldn’t have run into you otherwise.”

When she looked at Korra’s expression, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Her eyebrows were raised slightly, the band aid lifting up with the action. She should ask about the story behind that later, if only to make their conversation last longer. She watched Korra open her mouth as if to speak but she closed it back as if she had changed her mind last minute. 

Saying something like that was safe, right? She just wanted to let an old… friend know she was glad to run into her. She didn’t mean it to sound like she was trying to chat her up, let alone flirt with her.

Korra chuckled before settling into a soft smile. “It’s good to see you, too, ‘Sami.”

Asami’s smile faltered for a quick second and she did everything in her power to school her expressions. 

But her heart stuttered all the same. 

That damned nickname.

She hated it. Hated the way it sounded from Korra’s lips. Hated the fact that even after all these years, this woman before her still had the power to make Asami weak in the knees with just a simple nickname.

She cast Korra with what she hoped was a neutral smile. “I’m loving the hair, by the way.”

No, she was not flirting. But Korra had the audacity to blush and look sheepish and so, so adorable. The pink that graced her cheeks, albeit very briefly, and the way she absentmindedly twirled a strand with her fingers were doing things to Asami.

“Thanks,” Korra mumbled, still looking away. “You’re looking snazzy, as always.”

Asami snickered but hid it with a smile. She was always better at taking compliments, even if they involved archaic terms.

Her heart sank a little when she realized this conversation might be coming to an end. Should she ask about the band aid on Korra’s brow? Should she ask Korra to coffee? To Catch up? Did she deserve that? Did she have the right? 

“Oh!” Korra’s voice pulled Asami out of her own dilemma. When she looked up, Korra was stepping out onto the curb with her hand held high.

Asami turned around to find another empty taxi slowing down to a stop in front of them. Korra walked over and opened the door to the backseat.

“Here,” Korra breathed out. “Take this one so you make it to your presentation on time.”

Right. The scale model. The presentation. Asami was so busy trying to come up with not-so-flirty-things she should do just to keep talking to Korra that she forgot about her presentation. 

“What about you?” She asked. “We can share. Where are you headed, anyway?”

Korra looked down at the bouquet of flowers in her hand and bit her lower lip, contemplating the offer. Asami’s eyes wandered down at the muscle trapped between white teeth before remembering herself and looking away. If Korra noticed, she didn’t say a word. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Korra said after a beat. “I think I’ll just take the bus. She can totally wait.” She held the flowers a little higher as if making a point.

The gears turned in Asami’s head.

Flowers.

She.

Korra was on her way to someone and she’s bringing her flowers. 

Something foreign surged through Asami’s chest and her smile tightened. 

“O-oh, okay.” She managed to say. “Sure, of course. If you say so.”

The taxi driver honked impatiently and startled Asami, making her miscalculate her next step over the raised curb. Next thing she knew the world was tilting in her vision.

She closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable impact.

But then, she felt strong arms wrap around her waist. She opened her eyes to see she was being pulled upright in one swift motion.

When she turned, she found blue eyes already looking at her. Korra was standing right in front of her, holding her up. She was so close, Asami could make out the freckles on her cheeks and forehead. And her eyes were so, so blue, Asami could just drown in them.

Korra cleared her throat and eased off her hold. “I think you need to get rid of those heels.” She stepped away but not before making sure Asami was stable on her feet.

“I think…” Asami said breathlessly, “you’re right. And thank you for not letting me faceplant on the pavement.”

“No problem at all.” Korra got back onto the curb and put her free hand into her pocket.

Asami smiled tightly. “I should probably go.”

“Yep. Good luck on your presentation. You got this, ‘Sami.”

Asami gave one final nod before getting into the cab. Once inside, it was then she felt the heat on her cheeks. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and confirmed she was, in fact, blushing.

She should have known her carefully built walls didn’t stand a chance against Korra. 

The unstoppable force against the immovable object. 

One lop-sided grin. One impractical nickname. Asami was a wreck and Korra was the wrecking ball.

Chapter Text

The city had passed by in a blur while Asami had half her mind counting how much time she had left before the bidding began. The other half was a battle between thoughts of Korra and the disastrous result those thoughts had led: a once perfect scale model that now had a barely hanging roof. 

She’d stupidly raised the wrong hand in her desire to wave goodbye at Korra. She’d winced as soon as the audible clunk of the model against the car’s roof echoed inside the vehicle. 

She closed her eyes and prayed to all the spirits that there wasn’t any visible damage. She was already running late and the last thing she needed was a broken scale model. It was admittedly old school but it was going to be the centerpiece of her presentation. 

She held her breath and slowly opened one eye as she turned to look. Her heart sank when her worst fears were confirmed. The model’s roof was askew and clinging from the rest of the structure.

Opal had gone ahead to ‘check out the competition’ as she’d phrased it. So, Asami had let her business partner know about the dire situation.

Opal, bless her soul, had swiftly procured the necessary materials to fix the model but not before berating Asami about how she was so late and how the hell did she break the model. The phone call had ended with the promise of lunch. Asami’s treat.

As soon as the taxi stopped by the building’s driveway, Asami had swiftly but carefully gotten out so as not to deal further damage to her scale model.

The click of her heels echoed in her ears as she power-walked to one of the corners of the lobby where Opal waited with some wood glue. 

“It’s a long story,” Asami breathed out before Opal could even ask. She plopped down on the chair across from her friend after gently putting down the scale model on the table between them.

Asami checked the time— eighteen minutes before the bidding started. They got this. 

With steady hands, Asami delicately applied glue on the base of the roof before slowly aligning it with the building. She pressed the two pieces together with patience and precision, making sure nothing was out of place.

Then, a shadow fell across the table.

“A scale model? How old school. Don’t you know everything’s digital these days?”

The voice was unmistakable. That arrogant, annoying tone could only belong to one person. 

Nathan Cooper. His family name was a dynasty that was known in the fields of tech, engineering, and construction industries. He was the kind of person that screamed money, privilege, and entitlement. He had never had to work for anything in his life. He didn’t need to knock on doors for opportunities, they opened for him. And if it didn’t, he probably bought his way in. 

His so-called successes were achieved either because of his father’s influence or from the hard work of the people under him. But he always took credit, acting like each one was the result of his brilliance. It was the very reason Asami left his firm and decided to start her own.

Asami straightened up and turned, clenching her jaw and taking everything in her power to suppress a groan, a scoff, an eye roll all at the same time.

The infuriating smug smirk that painted Nathan Cooper’s lips was the first thing she saw. He stood there, hands in his pockets, like he owned the place. In his mind he probably did. 

He wore his usual perfectly tailored suit with shining cufflinks Asami was sure had his name’s initials engraved on. His matching luxury watch glimmered under the lobby’s lights which also shone on that too-dark-to-be-natural quiffed up hair Asami swore was permed a week ago. He probably spent hours in the best salon money could buy just to have it straightened out like today. He was the perfect personification of a trust fund baby. Hell, even his Adam’s apple was probably made out of the silver spoon firmly lodged in his throat.

The way his gray eyes scanned the model sitting on the table made Asami’s blood boil. He was always ready to find something wrong with her projects, her plates, her models ever since college. It didn’t help that Nate was one of the presenters in today’s bidding.

“Sato,” Nate nodded, eyes lingering on the model before flitting towards Asami. “I’m surprised to see you here since you know…” The bastard had the nerve to shrug nonchalantly, “…you haven’t won a bid since you left my company.”

Asami managed a tight-lipped smile, “You mean your father’s company.”

The smirk on Nate’s face faltered for a second but that was also the amount of time Asami’s satisfaction lasted because Nate let out an amused chuckle. “Well, my father has built an empire instead of self-sabotaging and tearing his company down like Hiroshi Sato.”

He spat out the last word and it felt like venom in Asami’s veins. She felt her nails dig into her palms by how hard she was clenching her fists. She hated the way he could get under her skin so easily.

A soft touch on her shoulder pulled her out of her own rage. 

“Let it go, Asami,” Opal said softly.

“Ah. Beifong.” Nate said as he looked over Asami’s shoulder. “How’s the investment in Sato’s little firm going? Is it still going? From what I hear, it is very nearly gone.”

The asshole laughed as if he was the funniest guy in the world. 

“You should have stuck with me, Beifong.” He shook his head slowly while clicking his tongue before continuing, “instead you slammed it up with a Sato of all people. She’s gonna pull you down with her, I’m calling it now.”

“Oh?” Opal started stepping  forward. Asami could practically feel the heat emanating from her best friend. This girl was small in size but her fury was bigger than anyone Asami had ever met. 

It took Opal two full strides to be face to face with Nate. She was craning her neck just to meet him eye to eye. She was small but she stood tall without an ounce of fear in her fiery gaze. Asami bit her lip to stop herself from smiling at the way Nate seemed to brace himself  like he was going to be punched in the face by the sweet, innocent woman in front of him.

Opal held out her index finger but not to point at the man in front of her. “Hold on a sec,” she held her finger straight up and closer to Nate’s face. Asami coughed to disguise a laugh at Nate’s almost cross-eyed face.

“Let me just…” Opal trailed off as she made dramatic gestures of patting herself, putting her hands inside her blazer and slacks’ pockets one after the other. “Hm, I can’t find it.”

She turned back to Asami, “Hey, Asami have you seen it?”

Asami snorted, already knowing where this was going. “Seen what, Opal?”

“The single fuck I got to give this guy,” she pointed a thumb over her shoulder, “so he can shut his mouth and be on his merry way to spending daddy’s money on his perfect little hair.”

Opal turned around and faced Nate once more. With one last pat on her breast pockets, she sighed. “Oh, look at that. There’s none. Looks like I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.”

Opal emphasized every word with a step in Nate’s space, making his perfect posture falter as he took an unsteady step backwards. 

Piercing green eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you tired of doing this, huh? Is this all you got? Trying to make us feel small. Picking on those you think are weaker than you. Is that all you can take on?”

Nate opened his mouth, but Opal didn’t give him a chance to interrupt. She continued, her eyes never leaving his. “Well, guess what? You can try taking us down all you want but you’ll never win. You know why? Because you can have all your father and your father’s father’s money but you can never buy personality. All that pile of cash is deeper than yours.”

Asami wished she could take a picture of Nate Cooper’s stunned face. He was turning red in the face. His mouth opened but closed as he had nothing to say and he looked like he might cry.

He let out a scoff. Then, as if nothing happened, he put on his annoying smug grin. “I’ll see you ladies at the bidding.” 

“Great. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure talking to you.” Opal rolled her eyes before going back to where she sat minutes ago. She inspected the scale model, making sure it was intact and sturdy.

“I wouldn’t bother fixing that if I were you,” Nate called over his shoulder while walking away.

“Hey, Nate!” Opal exclaimed, getting his attention. When he turned around, Opal put a hand in her pocket, “Look, I found it.” 

With a deliberate motion, she lifted her hand out of her pocket slowly. She raised it up in the air and extended it towards Nate, her middle finger sticking out.

***

“Good morning, everyone,” Nate greeted the room. He stood at the podium with his presentation flashed on the giant screen behind him. 

“I’m sure I don’t need any introduction,” he chuckled but no else did so he disguised it as clearing his throat instead. “I’m here to present my vision for the proposed Republic City Cultural Center.”

He clicked a button on the tiny remote he was holding and the screen flipped to the next slide.

“Bigger. Better. Modern.” Nate kept his gaze forward. “A masterpiece of form, function and innovation designed by yours truly.”

The room fell silent. Then after a beat, a collection of murmurs were heard from the people. There was a mix of skepticism and confusion in the panelists’ eyes.

Asami watched Nate’s face contort into confusion. When he turned around, his expression went into shock then panic.

The current slide showed an obviously incomplete design. The proportions were off and misaligned. The color scheme was a mess, some with actual color and some in grayscale still. 

Nate fumbled with the remote. “Uhm, hold on a moment… this is not…” he let out a nervous laugh as he pushed what looked like random buttons on the device. When nothing happened, his eyes frantically searched the room, begging to be rescued. 

A petite woman who was sitting in front, stood up and rushed towards the podium. She was dressed in a sleek dark pantsuit. Her short hair swayed with each step. 

Asami sat at a good distance from the front but she’d recognize that ginger bob anywhere.

Pathy Nolen. She was Nate Cooper’s secretary, now fiancee. Funny, because if the personification of a spoiled rich kid had a wife, it would be Pathy with an ‘H’. And now they were getting married, having gotten their soul marks a week ago.

Asami resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It wasn’t because they looked good together, but they made sense together, however unpleasant. The two most annoying people in Asami’s list had somehow found each other and ended up together.

She pushed the bitter thoughts aside and watched the both of them fumble with the remote control. Nothing was happening, until the presentation on the screen seemed to have a mind on its own and started flashing slide after slide.

It was just a jumbled mess from there and Asami almost grimaced at the secondhand embarrassment. Well, almost.

She saw one of the panelists sigh and press her fingers against her temples as if she’d had a long day and it wasn’t even noon.

The woman, the only woman among five panelists, sat in her chair with her back straight but not rigid. Her gaze fell forward, clearly paying attention to the presentation. She would occasionally look down and write something on her notes, perhaps silently scrutinizing each proposal.

Asami couldn’t see the panelist’s face properly but she could tell she was tall from the way the top of her head pops out just a little higher than the rest of the panel. Her long auburn hair was down, flowing freely over strong shoulders.

“Would that be all, mister…” The panelist trailed off. “…my apologies, I don’t think you mentioned your name but this proposal is from Cooper & Co… Corporation?”

Her voice was firm and calm but every syllable carried weight that made the room even quieter. Even Asami’s heart skipped a beat upon heating it.

“Co-correct.” Nate confirmed with a shaky voice. He cleared his throat. “Nathan Cooper of CCC.”

For a beat, Asami watched the panelist just stare at Nate whose composure faltered and went stiff. He was probably sweating bullets inside his expensive suit.

The panelist broke eye contact and wrote something down on her notes. “That would be all Mister Cooper.” She said without looking up.

***

“My name is Asami Sato and I will be presenting on behalf of Timeless Design Collective,” Asami’s voice was steady but her palms were clammy under the scrutinizing eyes of the panel.

One panelist in particular made her unusually nervous. They didn’t announce who was going to be at the table. The only information they gave was that there were going to be five chairpersons they would be presenting to.

But the rumor that STI was going to be one of them spread across the industry like wildfire. Companies big and small, unknown and famous, architects and engineers from all over the world had joined the bid.

And the rumors were true. Asami did not so much as spare a glance at the other panelists. Her eyes immediately locked on the nameplate in front of the woman before her: SolariTech Innovations.

STI was the revolution in the world of construction and energy. Whether it be a tower, a bridge, a hospital, or a stadium, the company’s mission was to integrate sustainable technology seamlessly into every aspect of each project. 

The company, led by engineer and architect Leonidas Solari, was the pioneer in harnessing solar energy and incorporating it in construction.

Their biggest and most ambitious project yet, Targon City, an entire technohub powered by SolariTech. The concept revolved around the Sun and Moon, day and night. 

This project would have the name of anyone involved forever etched in the architecture world. 

And Asami wanted in.

Asami held the STI representative’s gaze for a beat before holding her chin up higher. “Our design honors the cultural heritage of Republic City while embracing the future with advanced designs and materials.”

She clicked on the first slide to reveal the sleek rendering of the proposed structure.

“The building,” Asami continued as she stepped out of the lectern and walked closer to the panel’s table, “draws inspiration from the traditional elements of the four nations.”

Another slide revealed a specific part of the building. “This open and elevated area here has high ceilings and giant windows that will let natural light and airflow in. It is suspended by neatly concealed supports so it gives the illusion of floating. It’s a big enough space to hold a room for meditation and reflection.

“And over to this wing, it has curved and reflective surfaces. The walls are designed to have translucent stones that will diffuse light to mimic the sea. It’s a perfect space to hold workshops from water tribe traditions like healing practices and hunting demonstrations.

“Moving on to the next wing, the floors are designed with rich marble in mind. These here are solid stone pillars, and the walls are made of dark granite and clay. To make this part of the center more immersive, there is a space specific for kids and adults alike for clay workshop.

“The next wing is bold and dynamic in design with polished steel and bronze for the walls that will reflect hues of the Fire Nation. It mostly consists of sharp angles and metallic surfaces. At the center is a forge that will display interactive displays and exhibits of metalworks, combustion engineering and other Fire nation techniques.”

Asami paused and looked to the side to where Opal waited for her signal. Asami nodded and Opal hit the light switch.

The entire room dimmed except for the area around the panel’s table. Opal came walking with the very scale model they fixed hours ago and handed it over to her business partner.

Asami carefully placed the model at the center of the table. Once she deemed it secured, she gently wrapped her fingers around the opposite sides of the building and started pulling it into opposite directions.

With a soft click, it split open in half to reveal a smaller version of the photos flashed in her slides minutes ago. Although it was just a scale model, no amount of details from the rendered version was left out.

And to add the cherry on top, Asami flipped a switch and the model lit up to give a better view of the structure’s interior.

At the very center were four pillars that each represented one of the four nations. The pillars stood by their respective wing, the ones presented a while ago. Above them was a dome that was transparent, making it the entire building’s focal point.

It served as a giant skylight, giving way to a breathtaking view whether it was day or night. The material was infused with intricate, glowing patterns that would adapt with the time of day, symbolizing the dynamic flexibility of the structure.

She smiled in satisfaction as she watched the panelists stare at her scale model in awe and excitement.

Although, the STI representative’s expression remained unreadable. She caught a hint of a smile on the woman’s face as she wrote something down on her notes.

Asami took a deep breath before asking one particular panelist with confidence, “Are there any questions?”

Chapter Text

“I’m gonna check out the expo downstairs,” Opal said as she walked beside Asami. “Kuvira’s friend has a booth. I promised her I’d visit. You’re welcome to come while we wait for the results.”

Asami paused for a moment to think about Opal’s invitation. She felt confident and satisfied about how their presentation went but she couldn’t shake the ounce of anxiety left in her nerves.

“Hey,” Opal nudged her by the shoulder. “You nailed that proposal. Even that chick from SolariTech seemed impressed.”

The panelist had asked questions during Asami’s presentation and Asami had answered all of them confidently. She and Opal had stayed to see a couple more proposals but Asami’s attention had mostly been on the woman. 

She would jot down notes and occasionally ask questions. Then there were times she just sat in complete silence, posture unwavering, and it somehow made her more terrifying. 

She looked a couple of years older than Asami, give or take. She donned a dark brown suit, almost golden under the hall’s lighting. It beautifully complimented her long orange locks that fell freely behind her. Her matching golden eyes, high cheekbones and expression so sharp it could cut through the thickest tension, made eye contact intimidating.  

She did not introduce herself. She sat there behind the ‘SolariTech Inc.’ nameplate and it was enough to know there was no need for an introduction. There was something in the way she carried herself. Effortless. Striking. It was no surprise some of the presenters looked so nervous under her gaze. Her aura exuded an air of authority and purpose. She was here for business. 

Asami sighed. “I know. It’s just… there are four other chairpersons and twenty three other bidders. Not to mention Cooper’s one of them.”

Opal snorted. “You can’t possibly think he’s gonna win this time? His presentation was a total disaster!”

“Bigger. Better,” Asami said in the lowest tone she could do.

“Modern.” The business partners said in unison before bursting into laughter.

“I can’t believe that’s his slogan,” Asami said between chuckles.

“I bet he didn’t even come up with that one,” Opal chuckled. “But then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

Asami settled into a smile. “You know what, let’s go to that expo. I could use the distraction. Maybe I’d even buy something for myself.”

She looped an arm around Opal’s. “What kind of expo is it anyway?”

“I think Kuv said something about furniture.”

***

Their elevator ride was uneventful, save for Nate ignoring them and taking one of the lifts just for himself and his secretary. Asami did not have enough caffeine in her system to pick a fight. So, they quietly made their way down but not without sharing an annoyed eye roll.

The expo hall buzzed with energy, the scent of rich and earthy scent swimming in the air. Stalls and booths sprawled in every direction, each showcasing a variety of different products crafted by designers, artisans, carpenters. Asami’s mind drifted of its own accord to a certain blue-eyed woodworker.

She glanced around, her eyes drawn to various pieces like luxurious sofas, expensive carpets, dining tables. Every piece begged for attention but something inside Asami seemed to pull her elsewhere, tugging at her focus. Her heart started to race as she continued to look around some more. Her eyes didn't just wander mindlessly this time, they searched with purpose. Booth after booth, her eyes scanned the hall, as if trying to will the very woman in thoughts into existence.

It happened in an instant— a familiar laugh, vibrant and unmistakable. It was a laugh she hadn’t heard in what felt like forever but it was the laugh she would recognize anywhere. 

Asami turned and her racing heart skipped a beat because there, standing near a display of wooden pieces of furniture, was Korra. 

But before her heart could jumpstart itself back to its regular beat, there was something else that made Asami’s pulse stop altogether. Korra wasn’t alone. 

The woman beside her stood a couple of inches shorter than Korra. Clad in a flawless dark charcoal gray suit, she wore it with elegance that embraced her form with precision. Underneath the blazer was a black silk blouse with its upper buttons undone. Her trousers are high-waisted and perfectly tailored, following the lines of her lithe form, and tapering down to her black, polished— Asami tilted her head, observing the footwear that looked like a pair of tactical boots. It seemed out of place, but this woman wore it with an effortless grace, making the whole ensemble work.

Her deep crimson hair was tied up in a neat ponytail. It was the last thing Asami noticed. That color would have stood out if Asami wasn’t so focused on the other woman with chestnut hair. 

The redhead playfully nudged Korra with her elbow and said something that sent them both into a fit of laughter. The way Korra’s eyes crinkled at the corners sent a violent pang into Asami’s chest. It was a familiar ache, an ache she’d felt before all those years ago after graduation. An ache she refused to acknowledge. She had thought she’d forgotten about it but now it was back with a vengeance. 

The laughter jostled Korra and made her body turn a little more into Asami’s direction. That was when she saw it. The flowers Korra was holding this morning. She felt her heart plummet, a heavy weight setting deep in her stomach. The next second, she might as well had stopped breathing when Korra lifted the hand that was holding the flowers and extended it towards the woman.

“—elloooo you okay?”

She snapped her gaze away and blinked rapidly. Opal stepped in front of her with raised brows. “You okay?” Her friend repeated.

“Y-yeah,” Asami managed to breathe out. She cleared her throat. “Just a little tired. Do you mind if we go grab some coffee first? Get some energy flowing.” She said, swiftly taming the tempest brewing in her chest.

But Asami’s eyes betrayed her because they involuntarily lifted up and gazed over Opal’s shoulders. As if her heart sinking wasn’t enough, she felt it shatter into tiny pieces when the woman accepted the bouquet and held it close to her nose with a wide smile.

She missed the way Opal’s brows furrowed deeper as her friend turned around, curious about what had drawn Asami’s attention. 

It was the moment a third person came into view. She was taller than the other two. She wore a more casual set of clothes—jeans, a hoodie under a jacket and a pair of chucks. Her raven hair was put up in a neat braid. Asami recognized her as Opal’s adoptive sister, Kuvira.

She watched the way Kuvira greeted the two women. There was familiarity in the interaction, like they had known each other for a long time. Like they were close friends. Which could only mean one thing—

“Oh! There they are!” Opal exclaimed before turning to Asami. 

No. It couldn’t be.

“Let’s go say hi.” Next thing she knew she was being dragged to Korra’s direction.

Asami wished the ground beneath her would just open and swallow her alive.

***

“What the hell took you so long?” Kuvira said in lieu of a greeting. “There were like three customers and I didn’t know the prices on these things.”

Korra rolled her eyes at her friend. “I had to get the flowers.” She gestured to the bouquet in Katarina’s hands. The redhead lifted the flowers and waved them teasingly in Kuvira's face with a mischievous grin.

Kuvira let out a scoff with a playful eye roll. Then she narrowed her green eyes at the flowers. “Did you pick these flowers after they got run over by a bus or something? There’s more stems than petals.”

“No,” Korra huffed, “As a matter of fact, I got them at a flower shop called Say Anything. It was intact before a bus got involved. And also the three hundred other people on it.” 

She grimaced at the memory of having to squeeze her way inside the bus she took an hour ago. It was so crowded that with a simple jolt, Korra feared she might swap faces with whoever was closest to her.

She’d tried everything to protect her precious flowers. But alas, the bus lurched forward and the lady in front, next to? beside? her had not been prepared for the sudden change in momentum and had lost her balance. Fortunately for her, Korra was there to keep her from tipping over. Unfortunately it was at the cost of petals and leaves which felll helplessly from her bouquet. 

“For what it’s worth, I think these lilies are beautiful,” Katarina said, grinning, which caused Korra to do the same. 

***

“Hey Kuv, Korra,” Opal greeted as they approached the booth.

Asami trailed just a step behind Opal. She watched the trio turn in their direction but her mind swirled with the redhead’s words and how Korra seemed so pleased by them.

These lilies are beautiful.

She scoffed internally. There was that feeling again, gripping her chest with a vice. She knew didn’t even have the right to feel this way. Of course Korra had moved on. Of course she had found someone else. Who was this woman? Why did Asami feel like she’d seen this woman before?

“‘Sami?” A voice broke through the air, light and familiar. 

Asami stepped out from behind Opal and was greeted with blue eyes, a hint of surprise dancing in them. Forcing a smile, she said, “Twice in one day, huh?”

Korra’s eyes widened slightly, then her lips tugged up and she let out a soft chuckle. “I guess the universe has a sense of humor.”

Asami gave a dry chuckle. Running into Korra again today was the last thing she expected. She got a feeling of déja vu, transporting her back years ago when they first met. The same words said but in a lighter setting. Now the words weighed in her chest like stones, the meaning behind them heavy like lead.

For the past few hours, Asami had been going through her head about the things she would say to Korra. For the past ten years, she’d been haunted by the things she should have said to Korra. 

And now, how could she tell Korra she’d missed her? How could she explain the reason she left was because she cared for Korra? How could she explain that running into Korra now felt like an accident and an inevitability?

The universe did have a sense of humor. A twisted one.

“You two know each other?” Opal’s voice pulled Asami out of her reverie. She turned to confirm but Korra beat her to it.

“Yeah, we go... way back.” Korra’s voice floated through the air, delicate and unsure. 

With a flicker of uncertainty, blue eyes darted towards Asami. Korra’s brows arched ever so slightly. In those pools of ocean laid a silence that did not ask a question nor for help. It was something else.

Realization hit Asami and she inhaled a quiet gasp. The gesture was a quiet encouragement. Korra was letting her take control of the narrative, leaving it up to Asami what to say. What not to say.

Ball is in your court.

Asami’s heart ached in her chest. After all this time, Korra hadn’t changed. Considerate, sweet, tender Korra was still the same.

Asami swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat but to no avail. So, she cleared it instead. She carefully picked her next words, “Y-yeah uhm… we met in high school. S-senior year.”

She risked a glance at Korra and found her wearing a small smile. A smile that conveyed a silent approval, gratitude, relief. 

Asami turned to Opal and gave her a tight-lipped smile, hoping and praying to the spirits her friend would leave it at that. She held her breath when Opal looked at her sideways and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She pursed her lips more firmly.

“Riiight,” Opal drawled, her narrowed eyes lingering on Asami before shifting her attention back to Korra. “Anyway, we came to check out your booth. Kuv has been on my ass since yesterday.” 

Asami let out a relieved sigh. Opal definitely knew something was fishy and Asami was sure her friend would soon be on her case, probing for answers with her relentless curiosity. But she was grateful her friend let the matter lie in peace. For now.

“I promised Korra I would help sell something!” Kuvira shrugged.

“Oh, so now I don’t have a choice but to buy?” Opal folded her arms, an amused eyebrow raised.

“You get to pick from all these pieces of furniture!” Kuvira gestured to the booth behind her with both arms. “Your choices, ma’am.” She emphasized the ‘s’ in ‘choices with a wink.

The sisters went into their usual banter. As their voices faded into the background, Asami found herself ensnared by blue eyes once more. She held it for a beat, her lips curving into a tentative smile. Korra returned it and before Asami could cherish the moment, blue eyes widened and Korra shook her head as if getting out of a daze.

“Oh, right,” Korra cleared her throat and gestured to the woman with fiery red locks, “this is Kat. Kat, this is—” 

“Asami Sato,” the woman, Kat, was already extending her free hand towards Asami with a polite smile. “Katarina du Couteau. Your presentation was nothing short of remarkable. I specifically loved the way you integrated modern and traditional designs for each nation.”

Asami shook the extended hand with what she thought was a firm enough grip. She noted the equally strong grip with soft but calloused fingers. 

“Thank you,” Asami furrowed her brows, “I apologize but are you one of the bidders? I don’t think I remember you presenting.”

Katarina gave a soft laugh as their hands parted from the handshake. “No, I’m not. I work for SolariTech. I’m uh…” She trailed and narrowed her striking green eyes seemingly contemplating her next words, “Leo’s secretary.”

She heard Korra snort, prompting Katarina to roll her eyes playfully. Asami bit the inside of her cheek. Before she could dwell on the fond interaction, she saw something that made her heart lurch in her throat.

It ran vertically down the left side of Katarina’s face. The jagged line of pale, silvery skin cut through her otherwise flawless complexion. The scar began its journey just above her left brow, etching a shiny mark where hair once flourished, and continued its path down, lingering just below her sharp green eye.

“More like a glorified secretary,” Korra said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, glorified handyman.”

Korra gasped in mock offense, her eyes widened in playful indignation. “You take that back. A handyman is a very noble occupation.”

“So is a secretary.”

Asami heard the exchange, but the words drifted past her. Her mind swam. She dared to steal another glance at Korra and her eyes immediately locked on the bandaid resting just above the woodworker’s brow. Up close, Asami could also make out the light makeup carelessly applied but failed to conceal a forming bruise just below her eye.

Her chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. She felt like a mere fly on the wall in this conversation and she was not liking it. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, fighting hard to steady herself. 

“Mister Solari is in attendance? I heard he fell ill a few weeks ago.” She said in an attempt to shake off the things weighing in her chest. Or perhaps just to put an end to the antics of Korra and Katarina, whatever it was they were doing.

It seemed to work as Katarina once again turned to her. There was a lingering glint in her green eyes when she looked at Asami. She was starting to hate that shade already.

Katarina let out a soft melodic laugh. Asami decided she hated that sound, too. “No, the old man couldn’t make it today but he’s fortunately on his way to a speedy recovery. He sent in the next best thing—his daughter, Leona.”

Katarina frowned and looked at her watch. “And I should probably get back to my boss before she sends me back to Noxus. We’ll catch up later?” She gave Korra a lingering look, a smirk dancing on her lips. Asami scoffed to herself, adding that look to her growing list of things she hated about this woman.

Korra gave an affirmative nod and Asami quickly recovered from her loathing right before Katarina turned to her, smiling. “Good luck on the bidding, Miss Sato. Just between you and me, Leona prefers traditional designs over modern bullshit. Her words, not mine.”

She leaned in closer to Asami and in a conspiratorial whisper she said, “You didn’t hear that from me.” 

With a final nod, Katarina walked away. Opal and Kuvira had long since been lost in the tiny booth, with the older sister showing Opal each one of the pieces for sale. 

“How have you been?” Korra was the one to break the silence.

Asami didn’t look at the woodworker. Her gaze was absentmindedly fixed on a small table with vase on top, a lone chair at one of its sides. 

“I’ve been…good,” she lied. “Opal and I started this architecture firm and we have no idea what we’re doing. After Future Industries was bought out… I decided I’d try to build a company of my own.”

Asami put on a tight smile, too tight to be real. She knew Korra could tell. So, she did what she did best— change the topic. “How about you? These all look really amazing.” She gestured to the booth. “What got you into woodworking anyway? I thought you’d be a basketball star by now. Or a writer or a poet.”

Avoiding eye contact, she stepped into the booth and came closer to the small table. She needed something to distract herself. She mindlessly took the vase and pretended to inspect it. It felt heavy in her hands and it looked old. She noted the small chip at the mouth before placing it back on the table.

“Well, basketball was just an extracurricular for me. And I only wrote our classmates’ lit homework and essays for fun. You know that.” She heard Korra’s voice from behind. Her tone was light and teasing but Asami couldn’t help but feel guilt at every word. She did know that. They had talked about it, talked about the future. Their future. 

“I guess I’m also honoring my mom’s memory,” Korra was beside her now but the proximity was not what made Asami turn.

When she saw blue eyes, there was a somber smile that Asami could feel in her chest. She didn’t think it was physically possible to feel someone else’s emotions but it was like she could feel Korra’s heart breaking. 

“Senna…” Asami couldn’t even say the words. They are stuck in her throat.

Korra nodded slowly, “She passed after graduation. Cancer. It was too late when she got diagnosed. There was nothing we could do. I mean we did everything we could but… Yeah, it wasn’t enough.”

“Korra.” Asami wanted to hold Korra’s hand, wrap her arms around her and give her a hug. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. “I’m so sorry,” was all she could manage.

I should have been there for you.

“Don’t worry about it.” Korra waves a dismissive hand. “I’m doing fine. She left me a house and a feral cat, so.” She finished with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, a feral cat?” She clarified, raising a confused brow.

“Mmhm.” Korra nodded.

“Your mom owned a… feral cat?”

“No,” Korra shook her head. “I don’t think she owned the cat. I think the cat came with the house. Or the house came with the cat. She was lurking around the bins at the back of the house. Poor thing was skin and bones when I found her. I started leaving food at night and would find the bowl empty in the morning. She was very shy and guarded at first but I guess nobody could resist my charm.” Korra beaned with her crooked grin and wiggled her eyebrows.

Asami could only roll her eyes playfully.

“Now she’s my landlord, acting like she owns the place and I’m just her tenant.” Korra chuckled and earned a similar one from Asami. 

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” Asami said after a moment, her voice soft and gentle.

Korra’s mouth parted slightly and Asami smiled wider, seeing the recognition in blue eyes. 

Korra’s lip curled into a gentle smile. “Well, Naga is very responsible. She’s a great landlord who takes good care of her tenants. In fact, she cares so much about me that she comes home bearing gifts. And sometimes I wake up in the morning with her gifts on my bed.” 

Asami huffed out a laugh. “It’s not a decapitated head of a horse, is it?”

Korra let out a boisterous laugh. “She’s not much of a hunter, let alone a mafia boss. She brings me different things, depending on her catch of the day. Sometimes it’s candy wrappers, cigarette butts, dried leaves. One time she brought home a sealed paint brush set, and the price tag was still on it. I have no idea where she got those from.”

Asami chuckled. “Maybe you were an artist in your past life.”

“That’s nice to think about.” Korra fell silent for a moment. “In a different life I could be careful and patient enough to create masterpieces with delicate hands instead of clumsy ones that are good at breaking stuff.”

Before Asami could argue, tell Korra she was the most gentle and caring person she knew, tell her everything, tell her how she felt, Korra turned to Asami. “What about you? What do you think you’d be in an alternate universe?”

Yours.

Asami cleared her throat and looked away. Then she held her chin and squinted her eyes, pretending to think. Pretending this easy way of talking to Korra like nothing ever happened was not doing things to her already battered heart. “I think I’d be a florist.”

“Huh,” Korra tilted her head and gave Asami a once over. The architect did everything in her power not to squirm under Korra’s gaze. “I could totally see that.”

“Y-Yeah?” Asami managed to breathe out. She got so lost in blue eyes so quickly she forgot what they were talking about.

“Of course. I could picture it. You, memorizing all sorts of flowers and their meanings and totally not judging every customer with their choice of roses.”

Flowers. Right. She didn’t even know where the idea came from but it was the first thing on the top of her head.

Korra folded her arms and shook her head slowly. “Those are carnations, you imbecile. No, no, no! White roses are for weddings or a funeral, not for Valentine’s day!”

Asami scoffed, looking at Korra incedulously. “I do not sound like that.”

“Who said I was trying to sound like you?” Korra’s grin only grew wider when Asami rolled her eyes. 

Then softly, Korra asked, “Do you think we’d meet there?”

Asami raised an eyebrow in question.

She watched as Korra let out a long sigh before looking away. “In another lifetime, do you think our paths would cross? In your flower shop or maybe at one of my exhibits?”

The lighthearted question hung in the air, but the silence that followed made Asami’s breath catch in her throat. The way Korra asked, her voice unguarded and vulnerable. But there was a certain look in those blue eyes. And Asami knew. That somber gaze carried the weight of countless different ‘what if’s’ and ‘what could have been’s’. Korra looked at her with eyes that held a flurry of emotions and Asami was certain she could feel all of it. 

Yes, she wanted to say. I would find you in all lifetimes, or die trying.

But it was too late to say it now, wasn’t it? She let out a long sigh as she held Korra’s gaze for another beat. “I think—”

“Think we should be getting back?” Opal emerged from the booth. “They’d be announcing the winner soon.”

Asami loved Opal, she really did. But sometimes her friend just had the worst timing. “Of course,” she gritted out. “Did you get anything nice?”

Opal beamed. “Uhuh. I got this minimalist desk that folds to save space. It’s perfect if you live alone. You should totally get one.”

“Sure,” Asami smiled tightly at her oblivious friend. “Thanks for paying. You are such a good friend.” Then to Kuvira, “Put it on Opal’s tab.”

“Wait, what—”

“They are made to order. We’ll let you know once they’re ready for pick up.” Kuvira grinned before going back inside the booth.

“Thanks, Kuvira.” Asami called out, then smiled innocently at Opal who was still flabbergasted.

She heard Korra chuckle causing her to turn to the woodworker. She drew in a long breath as her gaze strayed to Korra’s lop-sided smile. Realizing she was staring again, she snapped her head up, quick enough to catch Korra doing the same. When their eyes met, they shared a shy smile.

A throat was cleared, causing them both to jump as if getting caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. Opal stood there with a raised eyebrow, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips. Asami swore she might maim her beloved friend. She decided she would do that later. For now, she glared at her instead.

“Don’t worry about it, Opal.” Korra spoke in a comforting tone. “It’s on the house.”

Asami snapped her head to Korra. “No, you can’t—”

Korra’s hand was up in an instant, interrupting Asami. “I can and I insist. You’re our first customers today. First sale for free is always a lucky charm for the business.”

Asami opened her mouth to argue but Korra raised an eyebrow in defiance. With pursed lips, she sighed in acquiescence, to which Korra grinned triumphantly.

“I’ll work on it tonight so you can have it within the week.” Korra added.

“You don’t have to rush,” Asami assured. “Take your time.”

“I always do,” Korra replied with a wink and Asami could have died and risen back to life then and there.

They settled in silence, not comfortable but not uncomfortable. Maybe because Asami felt the conversation was coming to an end and if it was up to Asami, she’d talk to Korra all day. 

But that wasn’t the case, and she really did have to go. Mustering up whatever courage left within her, she drew a breath before looking Korra in the eyes. “I’ll see you around?”

For a split second, Korra just stared with wide eyes. Asami waited with bated breath, hoping Korra remembered. It was a long shot but what did Asami have to lose, anyway?

Korra’s lips curled into a smile. “I’m counting on it.”

Asami wasn’t sure if her heart was still working properly as she and Opal made their way to the elevators. She didn’t remember getting on the lift, didn’t remember if she pressed the right button. 

She watched the button to the correct floor light up as Opal pressed it. 

Ah, so she did forget. In her defense, she was so busy reminding her lungs to breathe.

“So,” Opal drawled slowly, “Korra, huh?”

“Shut up.”

The lift echoed with Opal’s cackle.

***

“What the hell happened to you?” Kuvira asked with a bemused smile. “You look like you ran a marathon.”

Katarina held out a finger, gesturing for a minute. Her hair was sticking to her face and her breath was ragged. “Might as well have. I ran all the way down here.”

Kuvira raised her eyebrows. “You know there’s this thing called an elevator, right? You just get on, press a button, and stand there.”

Katarina straightened up, breath almost even. She rolled her eyes before letting out a huff. “I forgot I still had these.”

She held out her hand that was holding the bunch of flowers.

Kuvira laughed loudly as she took the bouquet, or what was left of it. “Thanks, this bundle of sticks would definitely compliment our display. In fact, it will go well with this tattered vase.” She deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Katarina whined. “I was in a hurry.”

Kuvira took the vase from the small table in front of the booth. She looked at it, then to the flowers, then back at the vase. Coming to a decision with a shrug, she carelessly tossed the flowers into it. 

She put the vase back on the table and stepped back. With her hands on her waist, she tilted her head and chuckled at her handiwork. Katarina groaned which only made Kuvira laugh harder.

“If you wanted to help so badly, you should just buy something,” Kuvira said as she took the flowers out of the vase. “Can’t even handle flowers properly.” She grumbled.

“Please,” Katarina scoffed. “I’m Noxian. I grew up in war. I don’t do flowers.”

Kuvira just rolled her eyes. “Are you gonna buy or not?” 

“Did Korra leave you in charge?” Katarina said in lieu of an answer.

Kuvira hummed. “She was suddenly not feeling well. I’m taking over the booth today.”

“No wonder there’s no customers.” Katarina muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said sure, I’ll be your customer.” Katarina strutted inside the booth. “Leo might like something in here.”

Kuvira huffed. “There’s nothing fancy in here.”

Katarina smiled to herself. “Contrary to popular belief, my boss is not that hard to please.”

Chapter Text

“The Republic City Cultural Center will be designed by…” Mayor Raiko paused to open the envelope that held the bidding’s results.

Asami felt the tension on her shoulders as she held her breath. She couldn’t resist looking over at Nate’s table where he sat with her fiancé. As if waiting for Asami to do so, Nate was already smirking at her. She wanted to wipe that smug look on his face but she felt this uneasy feeling begin to swell in her chest. 

The muscles in her jaw clenched as she shifted her gaze forward. The tension coiled within her and Opal mumbling beside her didn’t help settle her nerves. It only added to the unease that gripped her heart.

“…Oh Raava and all the mighty spirits whom I prayed to every morning in the ass crack of dawn,” Opal pressed her palms together and closed her eyes tightly. “Please let us win this thing. If we don’t, I swear I’m gonna quit being vegan and buy the first Louis Vuitton bag I see today.”

Asami let out a long sigh. “You were vegan for like, two days, Opal.”

“That still counts!” Opal countered.

“And I don’t think promising to buy expensive bags will scare the spirits.” She gave her friend a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up. It’s how I cope.” Opal grumbled.

Asami could only shake her head. Her attention was once again drawn to the stage. Mayor Raiko cleared his throat as he lifted the paper from the envelope.

“The winning proposal is,” he took a moment to raise his gaze, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, landing somewhere close to where Asami was seated. When he found what he was looking for, the mayor smiled, “Cooper and Company Corporation led by Director Nathan Cooper.”

For a moment, Asami just stared. Then blinked. She barely registered the sounds of clapping coming from her left side, the side where Nate and Pathy should be. She kept her gaze forward and blinked again. Opal was muttering beside her. 

“Fucking Cooper,” Opal whispered harshly. “When we were fixing our model, he said not to bother. I fucking knew it. This bidding was rigged.”

From Asami’s peripheral vision, she could make out Nate rising to his feet and bowing to the crowd in an attempt to show his humility. But the self-satisfied grin on his face revealed anything but. His fiancé stood beside him, beaming with joy with her hands coming together in a rhythmic applause. The sound echoed through the quiet hall, everyone else sharing the same surprise with the results, yet the couple remained untouched by the wave of disbelief. It grated against Asami’s ears.

Still, she kept her eyes forward. 

She kept it forward when Nate came up to their table. 

Her jaw clenched as Nate said, “Better luck next time, Sato. No hard feelings.” He paused to chuckle. Then, “Oh and Beifong? I hate to say I told you so, but, I told you so.”

Asami’s hand shot out to Opal’s wrist when her friend sprang to her feet at lightning speed. She wouldn’t give Nate that satisfaction. She caught a glimpse of Nate flinching and giving a nervous chuckle before turning in his heel and sauntering over to the podium.

Composure intact, Asami stood up, fixed her blazer by pulling on the lapels, and started to walk towards the exit. The sound of Opal’s grumbling and heavy footsteps echoed behind her, her presence more felt than seen.

With a resolute but heavy heart, Asami stepped through the threshold and left the hall.

On the other side of the hall, Leona sat at one of the tables, witnessing the whole thing. The executive exchanged a knowing look with her bodyguard, eyebrow arching in question. Katarina offered a nonchalant shrug, prompting Leona to shake her head.

“What’s next on my schedule?” Leona asked after a beat, a teasing smile on her lips and a brow arching in mischief.

For a couple of seconds, Katarina just stared with wide eyes at her boss. When Leona’s other brow joined the raised one, Katarina’s eyes widened further as she realized the question was meant for her.

“Right, I’m also your secretary,” she let out a fond eye roll, her fingers deftly retrieving a small notebook from her inner jacket pocket. With little grace, she flipped through a couple of pages before stopping at the correct one. “You have a three o'clock meeting with the mayor for our building permits. Other than that, the rest of your day is cleared.”

Leona beamed at her friend, joy and pride sparked in her amber eyes. “You’re getting good at this,” she said matter of factly.

Katarina let out an exasperated breath. “You pay me well enough.”

“Sometimes, I think I pay you too well.”

“Hey!” Katarina let out a dramatic gasp. “I fill two roles. In fact, I can do more stuff than ten of your security team can or can’t. If anything, I deserve a raise just for that.” With a huff, she crossed her arms over her chest before letting her body sink into her chair.

Leona let out a short chuckle. “That, you do.” She rose to her feet and adjusted her immaculate suit. “We have three more hours. Let’s go say hi to— hey, isn’t that Korra over there?” She directed a finger toward the exit.

Katarina snapped her head towards the direction and saw it was, without a doubt, Korra walking out the door. “Yeah, it is. What is she doing up here?”

“Let’s go find out,” Leona declared as she strode ahead, her loyal friend-slash-secretary-slash-bodyguard trailing closely in her wake.

*** 

“Korra!”

The woodworker winced at the sound of her name. In her mind, her plan was simple, tell Kuvira she was feeling under the weather then slip in and out of the bidding without anyone noticing. But it was no surprise Katarina’s eagle eye would find her. She should have thought of a better plan. In fact, she shouldn’t have gone here at all.

“Heeeeyyy,” she drawled, forcing a smile as she spun around to greet her friend. Her eyes widened in surprise to also find Leona smiling her way. She quickly schooled her expression and straightened up. “Miss Solari, hi.”

“Please, just Leona,” the older woman implored.

“Right,” Korra chuckled.

“What are you doing here?” Katarina raised a skeptical brow.

“W-well, I was just uhm…” Korra shrugged as if it was enough of an answer. Katarina raised her brow further and Korra sighed. “I was just checking out the bidding. Call it professional curiosity.”

When all she got were two pairs of raised eyebrows, she shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, since my mom was in the same field. Well, initially at least, before she got into furniture design.” She put on a teasing smile. “I’m intrigued about SolariTech’s standards in architectural designs.”

Leona chuckled briefly. “If you were early enough to catch the results, Cooper’s design was…” She frowned in thought, choosing her next words with utmost care like she always did. “I am honestly wondering where the inspiration came from.” Then came a low murmur, “…or lack thereof.”

Katarina huffed a laugh. “That’s one way of saying you didn’t like it.”

“Oh, I hated it.” Leona spoke in a hurried whisper. It only sparked a louder laugh from her bodyguard.

“Come on, boss,” she said as she called for the elevator, “let’s take a look at that table I was telling you about. Korra will tell you all about it.” She looked over her shoulder expectantly, “Right, K?”

“Hm?” Korra looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah sure. Absolutely!” She said, unsure of what she just agreed to. Her sudden answer made Katarina’s eyes narrow. Catching a glimpse of her suspicious friend, Korra quickly hit the elevator button again and stared at it as if the lift would come faster. She prayed it would before she gave herself away.

Korra let out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors finally opened. With a determined step, she got on and smiled tightly as she waited for Leona and Katarina. 

Silence filled the space as the doors closed but she could feel Katarina’s burning stare from beside her. The air thickened with anticipation and when it looked like Katarina was about to share her  thoughts, Korra’s voice cut through the moment. “Which one did you like?”

Both Targonian and Noxian women snapped their heads to her. “I-I mean,” her voice faltered slightly as she cleared her throat, “which design did you like?” This time she addresses Leona directly.

The CEO tilted her head. “Is this also part of your professional curiosity?”

“Uhm,” Korra’s voice faltered. “It’s more of a… personal curiosity.” She said slowly.

The CEO hummed in thought, taking time to decide whether to answer or not. After a pause, “All of them had potential. A lot were more promising than the winner.” Her eyes remained fixed on the doors. The silence that followed told Korra it was all Leona was willing to say. 

But when the doors opened, the CEO halted in her tracks, “There is one, however, that stood out to me.” Korra waited in anticipation, unconsciously holding her breath. “I specifically liked Asami Sato’s proposal. She carried herself well and I can see she had a deep understanding of her design and its true purpose. But I felt like something was lacking. Like her heart wasn’t in it.”

Leona hummed before stepping out of the lift. Meanwhile, Korra just stood there, frozen. She felt relieved that Leona liked Asami’s proposal. That already spoke volumes. But something else tugged on her chest. What did Leona mean when she said Asami’s heart wasn’t in it?

Just as her thoughts began to spiral, as sudden, firm nudge broke through the haze, pulling her out of her reverie. Katarina had an amused smile beside her before going up to the doors to stop them from closing.

“You coming or what?” Katarina mused, hand firm on one of the doors.

Korra just shook her head and stepped out of the elevator.

***

In front of Korra’s booth, there was a tall guy clad in an expensive looking suit. Beside him, stood a petite woman with a ginger bob that caught the light, creating a vivid contrast against the display.

As they drew near the booth, Korra’s ears perked up for the possibility of a customer. She was close enough to catch snippets of what they were talking about.

“This is a nice idea,” the ginger said. They were looking at the foldable table on display. “It’s very ideal for small spaces.”

The guy in the suit scoffed. “It’s ideal for lonely single people, you mean. I bet the one who designed this doesn’t have a soulmate. They were the nerd nobody wanted to be friends with in high school.”

The guy turned to inspect the table and Korra recognized him as the guy who won the bid. “Can you even eat properly on this table?” He scoffed again. “A dinner table is supposed to be big and modern. I bet they never even had a proper dinner with anyone.”

Korra squared her shoulders, ready to defend herself and her design but Leona beat her to it.

“You know, there are many people who have no one to share dinner with,” the CEO spoke with a weight that seemed to have come from experience.

“Or they’re just vain and selfish.” The guy said before turning to their direction and his eyes widened in recognition. 

“Ah!” He beamed and adjusted his suit. “You’re the representative from SolariTech, right? Miss… I’m sorry, you never introduced yourself. Or I didn’t catch your name. Are you Leonidas’ secretary?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Please send my regards. I would have loved to discuss the Targon City project and potential partnership with him. Tell him I hope he gets better soon.”

He delved into his jacket and retrieved his wallet from its inner pocket. Withba swift motion,he pulled out a piece of card and extended it towards Leona. “Here’s my business card if SolariTech ever wants designs for their future projects.”

His confident smile faltered ever so slightly when Leona just stared at the offered card. Katarina took that moment to snatch it from the guy’s hand. The guy wore a shocked expression and had the audacity to look offended by the bodyguard’s action.

He opened his mouth, a hesitant breath escaping as Katarina stared at him with her fierce gaze. “E-Excuse me, but I was talking to—” he paused and turned towards the CEO and waited for an answer to the unspoken question.

“Leona Solari.”

With a grateful nod, he shifted back to Katarina. “I was talking to Leona Sola— hold on,” His head snapped back to Leona, eyes in disbelief, “Did you say Solari?”

“Yes,” Katarina answered for her boss. “You were talking to Leona Solari. First born of Leonidas Solari, interim CEO of SolariTech and heiress to the Solari empire.” She gave the guy a pointed look before stepping in front of Leona who was fighting the urge to roll her eyes at her bodyguard’s overprotective nature. “You will do well to remember that, Mister Cooper.”

“R-right, of course,” Nate stammered. He took a small step back, before looking over Katarina’s shoulder to address Leona. “I look forward to working with SolariTech in the future, Miss Solari.”

Leona’s lips curled into a polite smile. “And I look forward to your proposals, Mister Cooper. I hope you come up with more… inspired designs.”

Cooper beamed, missing the true meaning behind the CEO’s words. “I’ll be working day and night.” 

He turned to the ginger beside her and draped an arm around her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us, my fiancé and I will be taking our leave. Enjoy the expo, Miss Solari.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to give this table a second chance, pretty boy?” Korra remarked, her voice fierce and unyielding. “It seems to suit your personality. What was that you said? Vain was it?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. 

Nate narrowed his eyes and raised a brow, “And who might you be?”

Korra forced a smile, eyes crinkling exaggeratedly. “I am the owner of this booth. I also happen to be the designer and maker of this table.” She gestured to the piece of furniture. “You know, we market this table for self-love. I can make you a polished one so you can see your reflection while you eat.”

Nate’s jaw dropped to the floor, then his mouth closed and opened like a fish out of water. Korra heard Katarina snicker behind her while she caught a glimpse of Leona valiantly fighting back a smile by biting her lower lip.

“That won’t be necessary,” the ginger beside him spoke. She snake an arm around Nate’s and gingerly put her other one against his chest. “Babe, don’t we have a lunch date with your father? We better get going.”

Nate’s defensive form deflated as he looked at his fiancé lovingly. “Thanks for the reminder, babe.”

With a polite smile, Nate turned to Leona. “It was nice meeting you, Miss Solari. Though, I would have prefered a more…” He deliberately looked over the booth and then to Korra before shifting back to Leona, “…appropriate setting. Please don’t hesitate to call CCC. I have my personal number on the card if you need an architect or anything of that nature for that matter.”

Leona gave an equally polite nod. “My secretary has your contact.”

Katarina made a gesture of lifting the card between her fingers for Nate to see. He gave a tight smile before walking away with his fiancé, hand in hand.

“What did I miss and who was that asshole looking jerk?”

All heads snapped to the source of the unexpected voice. Kuvira stood behind them with raised eyebrows in question.

Korra rolled her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” She hissed. “I told you to man the booth.”

“I had to pee. Where the hell have you been?” Kuvira huffed. “I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

“W-well, I’m obviously feeling much better.” Korra shrugged but stumbled over her words. “So, now I’m back. Can’t I do that? I own this booth after all and considering the fact that we’ve only had one customer so far, I couldn’t leave you alone for more than an hour.” Her eyes darted everywhere, avoiding eye contact. 

She stopped her rambling when she saw the empty vase on the table. She frowned, “Where’s my flowers?”

Kuvira held her palms up and shrugged. Katarina gave an apologetic smile. Korra’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “They were so pretty when I got them,” she whispered under her breath with a pout.

Leona chuckled. “Why don’t we all go grab some lunch, hm? My treat. We can grab fresh flowers on the way back.” 

On cue, Korra’s stomach grumbled. She looked over at each of her friends with a grin that was too wide. Before her friends could flee, she shoved Kuvira by the shoulders and held Katarina’s hand. She kept her smile as she looked at Leona before making her way towards the exit, both green-eyed women in tow.

As they walked, there was a sudden pull in her chest, as though something had gone wrong. It felt a little like disappointment, maybe something like worry, but more like frustration. But she quickly brushed it off with the idea of free food lifting her spirits up.

***

“Fuck me sideways.” Asami let out a frustrated sigh.

She and Opal were at the hospital. As soon as they had left the bidding, their foreman called to inform them there had been an accident in one of the sites near Yue Bay. There were no major injuries but there were a couple of workers who got hurt. Most of them were working overtime and one of the crew missed to tighten a scaffolding brace, causing it to collapse.

Accidents happen. That was what the foreman said. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but if anyone was to blame, it was the client’s cheapass budget. They had to make do. The firm needed projects; the workers needed jobs.

Asami’s grip around the pen in her fingers tightened as she signed a check. She was settling the workers’ hospital bills when she got the email. Her landlord increased her rent. It was the fourth increase this year and without winning any bids, she wouldn’t be able to afford it and keep the company afloat at the same time.

“Could this day get any worse?” She muttered under her breath as she handed over the check to the cashier.

“Yeah, about that,” Opal said from behind. Asami whipped her head to see her business partner smiling sheepishly.

Asami pinched the bridge of her nose. “Opal, just tell me.”

Opal closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. “The client declared bankruptcy and fled.”

Asami blinked slowly, trying to process what Opal just said. “What.”

“I can’t reach them anymore,” Opal pointed to her phone, her expression turning into a mask of concern and regret.

“Fuck.” Asami hissed. She walked over to the hallway’s wall and slumped back against it. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples with her fingers.

“I can ask mom for another loan.” Opal offered.

“No,” Asami sighed, eyes still closed. “Su has helped us enough.”

“We can always ask your dad—” 

“Absolutely not!” Asami’s eyes snapped open to find a startled Opal. She let out a long breath. “I need to do this, Opal. I put myself in this spot so I have to get myself out of it. I need to see this through.” She paused and let out another sigh. “Even if it means doing it alone.”

“Well, that’s the problem. Isn’t it?” Opal said in a soft whisper. “You always want to do things on your own. But you’re not alone, Asami.” Opal stepped in front of her friend. “It’s not just your name in the company, it’s mine too. And as your business partner, of course I want what’s best for it.” She paused again so that Asami would meet her gaze. When she finally did, “But I’m your friend first. I want what makes you happy.” She raised a brow. “You don’t always have to do things on your own, Asami.”

Asami clenched her jaw. She met Opal’s unwavering gaze. She let out a long breath and looked away. Her expression grew thoughtful, thinking back to when things were easy. She deflated further as the tension on her shoulders released. Her quiet acquiescence made Opal’s face soften. In the stillness of the moment, their eyes met, a soft smile blossomed between them, a silent understanding shared in the quiet air.

“Baby!” Both women whipped their heads to the voice that echoed through the hallway. Bolin was running towards Opal, and before she could protest, she was wrapped in a bear hug. “I heard what happened. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no big injuries.” Opal struggled to say. “Everyone’s safe. You can let me down now.”

“Oh thank spirits!” Bolin breathed out as she put Opal down. “I was so worried.” Then he turned to Asami, “I’m sorry about the bidding Asami.”

Asami gave a tired smile. “Thanks, Bo. We still have another chance.” She turned to Opal, determination in her eyes. “Targon City is our ticket out of this. Go big or go home.”

Opal’s smile widened. They always said that when they were still in the early days of brainstorming about the company. Their company. They were in this together. 

Go big or go home.

“Did you say Targon City?” Bolin tilted his head. “Like the solar powered city? SolariTech?”

Asami and Opal shared a glance. “Yes,” Asami started slowly, “what do you know about it?”

“Well, Iasur didn’t say much about it.” Bolin gave a nonchalant shrug. 

“You know Iasur?” Asami asked quickly.

“Yep,” Bolin nodded. “He had planned Targon City long before he retired, like, five years ago. He commissioned an architect, it was one of his students. Sarah Parker or something. She never finished the blueprints and the project got on hold. So now it has been passed down to his son. And get this,” he leaned in and beckoned for Asami and Opal in a come hither gesture. Both women leaned in hesitantly until Bolin was satisfied.

With a furtive glance to his left and then to his right, his eyes narrowed in concentration. When he deemed the coast was clear, he leaned back into their impromptu huddle to say the next words in a whisper, “That architect had only ever completed one design. It’s a house called Aurora and it’s here in Republic City.”

With a satisfied smile, Bolin stood straight, both women following and breaking their little circle. 

“I have so many questions right now,” Asami said, throwing a disbelieving look at Bolin.

“And you can ask them all over lunch but not here. I hate hospital cafeteria food.” Bolin turned on his heel and started to walk away. “Let’s go to that new cafè, I’m starving!”

Opal shrugged when Asami gave her a pointed look. With a shake of her head and another sigh escaping her lips, Asami trailed after the couple.

Chapter Text

“So, how do you know Iasur Solari?” Asami asked after finishing a bite of her pasta, her voice filled with curiosity.

“Varrick knows him,” Bolin said, his words muffled by the hearty meal he was devouring. Opal cast him a warning look so he quickly swallowed before continuing, “He’s a fan of our movers. Remember when we shot a mover in Targon? He accommodated us and all of the crew.”

Asami nodded slowly, processing the information while she poked at her food. “And what else did he say about the Targon City project?”

Bolin’s knife and form hovered over his plate, he looked at his steak in contemplation before setting his utensils down. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “He wanted a specific architect to design the whole thing, nobody else. The Stairway to the Gods he called it. It was supposed to be a single tower and not an entire city. Highest one in all of Runeterra.” He cut a piece of steak and pierced it with his fork. “That architect was his student. Kinda like the teacher’s pet. She went away after graduation then came back and became his mentee. He spoke of her like she was his prodigal daughter.”

Asami’s brows furrowed in curiosity, her fork gently dropping on her plate and her meal forgotten. “Did he mention why the project was never completed?”

Bolin shook his head after another bite. “No. I mean not the specifics. He did say the architect was working on two projects at the time: one being the tower and the other was Aurora.”

“So if Aurora is here in Republic City,” Opal joined in, “there’s a big possibility that the architect is from here.”

“Mmhm,” Bolin hummed after taking the last bite of his steak, “I ‘en gechu ‘er ‘fyou won?”

Asami could only give Bolin a perplexed look, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“He said he can get us there if we want.” Opal said without looking up, twirling her fork casually before taking a bite. At Asami’s raised brows, Opal just shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Asami found herself fondly shaking her head. Maybe that was what soulmates meant—understanding each other in the noise, in silence, and occasionally even gibberish made sense.

She banished the thought away by clearing her throat. She flicked her wrist to check the time on her watch. It was only one in the afternoon. She got a napkin and gently dabbed at her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Opal raised an eyebrow.

Without answering, Asami turned to Bolin. “You can just give me the address and I can go check it out.” Then to Opal, “My afternoon is clear, so.” She finished with a shrug as if it would help make her point.

“So,” Opal let out an exasperated sigh. “You take the rest of the day off. Maybe take a nice, long bath with those bath bombs I gave you. Bolin and I can go check out the house. I’ll take a look and find out what’s so special about it.”

“Bolin just got back, I don’t want to interrupt your quality time together.” Asami protested weakly.

“Oh, it’s totally fine. We can make a date out of it. Right babe?” Opal gave Bolin a pointed stare. Her boyfriend quickly nodded in approval, having his mouth full and not able to speak.

“Go home, Asami,” Opal sighed. “I can take it from here. We’ll regroup in the office tomorrow and discuss our next strategy.”

Asami held Opal’s gaze for a beat before sighing in defeat. A long bath sounded nice, anyway. Tomorrow was another day.

***

The expo hall had only been open for a few hours but the entire room was already buzzing with people, attendees and exhibitors alike. The energy from yesterday still lingered, excitement filling the air. 

Amidst the noise of customers trying to haggle and the clamor between casual onlookers, Korra was unpacking her products with Kuvira.

“Was it your back yesterday?” Kuvira asked as she pulled a table from the push cart and neatly unfolded it in front of the booth.

Korra hummed in question and Kuvira rolled her eyes. “When you said you weren’t feeling well. Was it your back again?”

“Oh,” Korra breathed out. “No, it’s…” She paused what she was doing, hesitation in her voice. Then, she sighed in a soft exhale. “It’s my damn scar. The pain has been flaring up since last week. It’s hurting like it hasn’t healed at all. It’s like I just got it. It’s driving me crazy.”

Kuvira grunted as she lifted another piece of furniture to add to the display. “You think it has something to do with your soulmate?” Korra raised an eyebrow. “I mean it has to, right? What if they’re here in this building?” She gasped dramatically. “What if you passed right by each other and you didn’t even know?”

Korra let out a long sigh. “Just help me unpack, Kuv.”

“How does it work anyway?” Ignoring Korra’s request, Kuvira continued her rambling. “How do you know? Do you, like, meet and just show each other your scars? How instantaneous is it? Do you know right away at first glance? Or do you have to look multiple times?”

Korra huffed an exasperated breath. “Do I look like I know, Kuv?” She raised both eyebrows at her friend. “I’ve had my scar for five years and I live alone with a cat.”

“What if they’re ugly?” Kuvira deadpanned.

Korra stared blankly at her friend. “Seriously?”

Kuvira raised both shoulders in a dramatic shrug. “What? You’re not curious at all about what they look like?”

“Maybe you can answer your own questions when you get your mark,” Korra grunted as she lifted a small ebony table.

That made Kuvira shut up. Korra could hear her grumble while she lifted furniture with more force than necessary. It should have made Korra feel bad for her friend, but she couldn’t help but find Kuvira’s scowl amusing. 

Unfortunately, Korra’s relief didn’t last long because Kuvira quickly recovered and decided to move on to another topic.

“Where did you really go when you left that morning, then?” She asked in a more serious tone. 

Korra turned to look at Kuvira. Her back was to Korra, and she was still emptying the cart and arranging the display on her side of the booth, each item carefully placed. If Korra didn’t know better, she would brush it off as Kuvira’s small talk. But she knew better. She knew Kuvira wouldn’t let this go until she was satisfied with an answer.

Korra sighed as she picked up another table. There was no point lying. “I went to the bidding, okay?”

She heard Kuvira grunt. “Okay.”

When it was followed by silence, Korra turned completely and found Kuvira meticulously arranging the final pieces of furniture, moving it here and there until she was satisfied. When she was, she brushed her hands together to get rid of the dust on her fingers.

Korra narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’re not gonna ask me why?”

Kuvira turned around. “Oh, please,” she said with a scoff. “You know I don’t just jump to conclusions. I will build a mecha suit with a giant cannon. I will let it shoot me in the sky and I will totally land in a full split.” 

Korra closed her eyes and sighed. Kuvira might appear like she didn’t care but she and Korra had been friends since college. She was the one who told Korra she could be in the basketball team and join the theater guild at the same time. ‘A girl version of Troy Bolton,’ Kuvira had commented. The teasing hadn’t died down until now.

Kuvira was there after college, even when their plans looked like they would be going their separate ways. But fate had other ideas. The accident. Her mother returning. Her father reaching out. Senna’s last will. The house. Through it all, Kuvira had been there.

If there was one person who knew Korra better than she knew herself, it would be Kuvira. She caught herself in a flurry of emotions, both adoring and resenting the way Kuvira could read her like an open book. She absolutely hated how Kuvira’s conclusions were on point. Every single time.

Korra smiled tighty. “Okay, pray tell what you have come up with this time,” she gritted out.

“Let’s see,” Kuvira put her chin between her thumb and index finger in mock thought. “You went there to see someone you know.”

Korra groaned, burying her face into her hands as she saw her friend’s smirk widening.

“I’m sure as hell it wasn’t because your mom was a short-lived architect. All the puns intended.”

“May she rest in peace,” they said in unison.

“Anyway,” Kuvira quickly resumed. “It couldn’t have been Kat because we already had plans for lunch together.” She put on a more serious expression as she started slowly pacing in front of the booth. “Not Leona because you’re not that close.” She stopped in her tracks. “Not Opal even if you had a crush on her when we were in college.”

“Hey, I did not have a crush on Opal,” Korra crossed her arms.

“Yeah? Are you gonna invite your sister, Kuvira? Is Opal coming to visit, Kuvira?  Can I come to Zaofu with you, Kuvira?” Her friend mocked. “I was worried you were gonna fall in love with her without even meeting her in person.”

Korra’s scowl deepened and she let out a loud scoff.

“It’s okay. I totally get it. My sister’s hot. She gets that from me.” Kuvira wore a sly smile, reveling in self satisfaction.

“You’re adopted.”

“And I’m still hot,” Kuvira quipped. “It runs in the genes even if it’s a different one.” She gave a pointed stare. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t change the subject.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Korra held her palms up and shrugged in a gesture of innocence.

“Ha. Nice try.” Kuvira folded her arms over her chest and faced Korra. “That leaves us to one other person.”

Kuvira’s all-knowing smile made Korra’s cheeks flush. She could feel the unwelcomed heat creep up her neck, paint her face and her ears in a furious blush she wished Kuvira wouldn’t notice. But the evil grin on her friend’s face said otherwise. Korra was going to get busted.

“That blonde guy with a stick up his ass.”

Korra’s eyes widened in surprise, then her expression quickly morphed into something in the lines of disgust, offense and sheer disbelief.

The sudden flash of a camera jolted Korra back to reality. She blinked a couple of times so her eyes could regain focus but she quickly rolled them in annoyance when she heard the boisterous laughter coming from Kuvira.

“You should have seen your face!” Kuvira said in quick bursts. “Oh my spirits! This is gold!” She said in between laughs as she tapped away on her phone.

“I fucking hate you.”

Kuvira wiped a tear away as her laughter died down. “You love me.”

Korra let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling dramatically as she stepped into the booth, leaving a grinning Kuvira in her wake.

She sat on one of the chairs and felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and her heart clenched when she saw the caller ID. 

Dad.

Without hesitation, she tapped the reject button. Her fingers tightened around the device as she squeezed her eyes shut. Another incessant buzzing pierced the silence, making her eyes snap open. Her thumb immediately tapped on the red button when the same contact name illuminated her screen.

After a beat, a shadow loomed over Korra and she looked up to find Kuvira standing by the booth's entrance, arms crossed and wearing that stupid smirk on her face. But the smile wavered for a moment, green eyes fixated on the phone Korra.

“What.” Kuvira’s gaze shot upward, and in that fleeting moment, Korra caught a glimpse of hesitation and surprise flickering across her features. She silently berated herself for the voice that was laced with unexpected fury.

Kuvira inhaled deeply, a moment of contemplation hanging in the air as she weighed her next words. Korra prayed to the spirits Kuvira did not notice the internal battle she just went through. But green eyes met blue in a quiet exchange, Kuvira’s brows rising in a silent inquiry. Korra’s eyes shimmered with the unspoken answer as she gently shook her head, a silent plea.

Kuvira let out a long sigh and let another moment pass. Then with a steady voice, Kuvira broke the silence and asked, “So, tell me about Sato.”

Korra let her head fall onto the table with a resounding thud, a deep groan escaping her lips. The melodic sound of Kuvira’s laughter echoed inside the booth and Korra felt a sense of relief. Relieved to not talk about her dad. But the relief was instantly replaced by a creeping dread at the inevitable topic of her first love. 

Kuvira was going to have a field day over it.

***

“So, tell me about Aurora,” Asami muttered without looking up from her drafting board. Her fingers danced gracefully over the paper, pens and triangles scattered on her desk.

“Good morning to you too,” Opal sang in a melodic tone. When Asami just hummed in acknowledgement, Opal chuckled. “What’s with the mood? The bath bombs didn’t work?” 

Asami lifted her head up to find Opal with raised brows, amusement in her face. She sighed. “Sorry. The bath bombs were great.” She put the triangle square and pencil down. “It’s just…nerves. There’s a lot at stake. I don’t wanna fuck it up. I don’t wanna let everybody down.”

Asami averted her gaze, and Opal smiled at her friend in understanding. She understood the weight Asami’s words carried, and she knew who exactly Asami was referring to when she said everybody.

“Hey,” Opal said softly, taking a step closer, “I know.”

Asami smiled gratefully before leaning back in her chair and entwining her fingers together on top of her table. “So, what did you find?”

“Well, Aurora is a house.” Opal declared.

Asami’s eyebrows shot up slowly and her lips pursed in a tight smile. “Opal, tell me something I don't already know.”

“No, I mean it’s an actual house with actual people living in it.” Opal explained. Her hand went into her brand new Louis Vuitton bag and pulled a piece of paper. “Nobody was home when we got there but,” she placed the paper on Asami’s table, “I didn’t come back empty handed.”

Asami sat straight on her chair and reached for the paper. With furrowed brows she skimmed through what was written. She looked up, “Room for rent?”

Opal nodded. “Your apartment’s lease is gonna be up soon. Your landlord just increased your rent. Again. So,” she held her arms and gestured to the paper cradled Asami’s hand, “this is the solution to your problems. Not all of it but most of it.”

Asami bit her lip, gaze drifting back to the flyer once again. The rent was half the price of her current one. The ad promised a spacious room. The house came with a fully equipped kitchen (not that she knew her way around one), full bath, and an indoor garden, all the more piquing her curiosity.

“You can take the day off tomorrow and check it out.” Opal said as she started to make her way toward the door. Pausing at the threshold, she looked over her shoulder. “It’s like the universe is on our side for once.”

Without waiting for a reply, Opal made her exit, leaving Asami to ponder on a decision that was probably the easiest she’d had to make in a long time.

***

The address Bolin gave was not specific. Apparently the part of town where Aurora was built had no house numbers, even the flyer didn't have one. But Opal’s directions were simple. Turn left, go three blocks, go past the bridge and lastly, another left. The house should be at the end of the street. ‘It’s the only white and green house. You can’t miss it,’ Asami remembered Opal’s words.

Yet she had passed a total of three bridges and no green house in sight. There was no sign of Aurora, no big wooden gate, no remarkable house. They all looked the same—beige bungalows with white doors. She’d circled again and found nothing but more frustration. 

Asami stopped at a corner and lifted the visor of her helmet. Her bike’s engine rumbled beneath her, the steady pulse the only thing grounding her at the moment. She pulled out her phone to finally swallow her pride and call Opal. She pressed the power button but the screen remained dark. She pressed it again. And again. Nothing. Her phone was dead and useless in her hand. She let out a long breath. She’d forgotten to charge it last night. Great.

Keeping the visor wide open, Asami decided to go on. Something in her gut told her to turn but it was almost too late. She took the next corner a little too fast, more annoyed than focused, when someone stepped off the curb.

With a surge if adrenaline, her reflexes kicked into high gear as she pulled on the brakes. The bike skidded to an abrupt halt and Asami’s heart lunged before the rest of her did. The tires caught just enough grip to keep her upright and on her bike, stopping inches from the person’s knees.

And there she was.

Korra.

Wearing one of those henleys Asami wouldn’t admit stealing one or two, sleeves rolled, hair in a delightful disarray. It was messy in a way that looked like she hadn’t meant for it to be perfect—but somehow it still was. 

Asami’s heart squeezed at how she could easily recognize Korra after all these years. 

***

Korra stood there, stunned. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, could hear it pounding in her ears. What idiot driver would turn a corner without the slightest hint of caution? In a split second, there was a flash of memories—perched on the back of a motorcycle, her arms wrapped around a slender waist she could almost feel , wind in her hair, the thrill, the rush of adrenaline—it sent a shiver down her back, or particularly through the scar on her back.

It had been doing that a lot lately, and it annoyed Korra. It annoyed her so much, just the thought of it made her jolt back to reality. She narrowed her eyes at the driver and they widened in recognition.

One chance meeting was acceptable. Korra did her best to be as friendly as she could. She even used that nickname for good measure. 

The second one, Korra kept everything within arms reach which almost went out of hand because she couldn’t help but ask about meeting each other in another life. So what if she desperately wanted Asami to say yes? So what if she made an excuse to leave her booth, on opening day, just to go and support her ex…situationship? So what if she wanted to know what Leona thought of Asami’s designs? 

She wasn’t some bitter ex. There wasn’t even a relationship in the first place. It had been years. She’d moved on. But she couldn’t forget. Couldn’t forget that night in the rain. Couldn’t get the way her voice sounded out of her head. Couldn’t get past the memory of green eyes looking straight at her when she said those words.

Yeah, Korra couldn’t forget. And why did she have to see the ghost of her memories in the flesh today of all days? Korra wasn’t sure if she’d dreamed or dreaded this moment. Probably the latter. Most likely.

What a weird sense of humor the universe had. It wasn’t even funny anymore. First, her dad was reaching out again and Korra still didn’t want anything to do with him. Then, a client who ordered in bulk decided to declare bankruptcy and flee the city. 

And now, her .

She was here on her bike looking like a total bombshell in her leather jacket as if she’d stepped straight out of Korra’s dreams. Or nightmares. She sat on her bike like it was her throne, and the streets were her kingdom. To be fair, she looked like a queen. And she royally broke Korra’s heart.

Snapping out of her trance, Korra let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Jesus Christ, Asami. You nearly launched me into the next life.”

“Korra,” Asami said just as breathlessly. “You trying to die dramatically? Again ?”

Korra scoffed. “You still competing for Republic City’s worst driver?” She crossed her arms and she caught Asami’s eyes dart to her biceps. Interesting.

With an elegance befitting a royalty, Asami took her helmet off. And of course, she would flip her hair in just a single graceful motion, allowing it to cascade down her shoulders and effortlessly look perfect. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Asami killed the engine. “I would’ve preferred running into you more metaphorically and not literally.”

Korra tilted her head. Did she just— her lips tugged up into a teasing smile. “That your idea of a pickup line? Vehicular manslaughter?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Gee, Asami. Do that again and you’ll owe me dinner. And if I live that long, maybe even a movie.”

Two can play that game.

Asami chuckled. “You know I’m a safe driver.”

Korra nodded and hummed. “My broken wrist says otherwise.”

“It was an accident!” Asami scoffed. “You’re still holding that against me?” She raised her brows at Korra.

Korra let out an incredulous huff. “You made me miss half my season in senior year!” Korra held the wrist in question up as if to make her point clearer. “People were counting on me, Asami. I think I’m entitled to bring it all up.”

“And I helped in your recovery,” Asami answered quickly. “At least it wasn’t a hit and run.”

“You sure about that?” The words came out so fast, Korra wasn’t sure if she’d said it in her head or out loud. The sharp intake of breath said it was the latter.

Asami sighed and closed her eyes, the unspoken words and true meaning behind them hung in the air. “I said I was sorry.” When she opened them, she fixed her gaze on Korra. “For today and,” she swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving blue, “for all of it. Senior year. For leaving.”

There were a thousand things Korra wanted to say, then. A thousand more she wanted to ask. One burning question stayed etched at the forefront of her mind. But if she started now, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop. She was scared she was going to open up old wounds that she spent so much time and effort and money on junk food mending. She was terrified of the same thing happening. Again .

Be like a bamboo, Tenzin had said. Bend when you can, until you can. Tenzin was mostly talking about patience, then. But Korra had applied that principle in so many situations, getting herself out of unnecessary trouble more times than she could count. But even bamboos broke. She’d had a long day. Had a long week. And she didn’t want to snap and take it out on Asami and look like the bitter ex. 

Gathering up the strength to smile, “What did I say?” She shrugged, trying her best to appear casual. “Water under the bridge.” She chuckled, “Just maybe don’t make a habit of giving people near-death experiences, yeah?”

“Thought you wanted to see what the next life would look like? Maybe you’d be a photographer there, who knows?” Asami said with a teasing smile.

“Oh, there were flashes, alright,” Korra huffed, shaking her head. “I just saw all my lives flash before my eyes.”

They shared a bout of laughter. For a moment, the tension in the air eased up, giving both of them a moment of reprieve. And when Korra turned to look back at Asami, she couldn’t deny the familiar ache in her chest, bitter and sweet. There was an emotion that surfaced in Asami’s expression and Korra almost wanted to just throw caution out into the street and get lost in forests of green. 

It could have been Korra’s imagination or a trick of the light but Asami was looking at her—no, through her like she could see Korra’s very soul  and Korra's entire body was responding in kind. It was like seeing Asami for the first time. Or seeing Asami in a different light. And for a split second, something between them flickered to life. The shiver she felt moments ago was nothing compared to the chill that coursed through Korra’s bones. She felt the scar on her back ignite, demanding for recognition she had long ignored.

She watched green eyes widen, as if Asami was reading her mind and was experiencing everything at the same time.

Korra was the first to break eye contact. It couldn’t possibly be. She cleared her throat, “I’m not in a hurry to find out.” When she looked at Asami again, her lips were still slightly parted. She swallowed thickly, “I do have a cat to take care of. And speaking of, I really have to get home and take care of said cat.”

Snapping out her trance, Asami blinked. “Oh, right,” she licked her lips and Korra cursed internally for not being able to stop herself from following the action. “I’ll… see you around?” 

“Looking forward to it,” Korra answered pit of habit. Like the way they used to. So much for keeping things within arms reach.

With a final nod and a smile, Korra turned on her heel and resumed her walk home. She passed by a few houses but they were all in a blur. Her mind was still reeling from the intensity of that thing she shared with Asami. Whatever that thing was.

With a determined shake of her head, she tried to get her bearings. She didn’t even notice she was already standing by the gates of her house. She blew out a breath through her mouth and was about to pull out her keys when a rumble of an engine caught her attention.

When she turned around, she found Asami pulling up. Engine killed. Helmet off. Hair flipped. Korra’s heart following suit, much to her dismay.

And if it wasn’t enough, Asami looked up at her with a million dollar smile and the organ in question was in a losing battle at this point. 

But Korra wouldn’t admit defeat. She crossed her arms, made sure to deliberately flex. A satisfied smirk bloomed into her lips when she got the desired effect, green eyes darting towards the muscles in display. “You following me or something? You know for someone who left, you have a habit of haunting the memories of the people you rejected.”

Asami’s eyes widened, a flash of surprise and hurt and guilt danced between green eyes. “Wha—no, I wasn't following you.” She cleared her throat and looked away. “And I didn’t reject—” she snapped her gaze back to Korra with a defiant raise of her brows. “You know what? How do I know you are not following me ?”

Korra could only chuckle. She pulled out her keys and dangled them up in the air. “Because I live here?”

Chapter Text

Asami’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she power-walked her way to the grand entrance of the gala. She was multitasking, currently taking off the oversized earrings that dangled dangerously with each hurried step. She quickly tossed them into her clutch and silently cursed herself. 

The movers arrived late and she didn’t have enough time to put together an outfit. So, she threw on the first thing she saw and realized a little too late that those earrings did not go well with her chosen ensemble. 

She looked at the watch and clicked her tongue in annoyance. She had grabbed the watch from the shop and it was still broken. She walked faster, almost running towards he entrace. She was so late.

She wasn’t even fully inside the grand hall when she spotted him.

Hiroshi Sato, leaning casually against a marble column with his hands inside his pockets looking like he walked straight out of a Bond film playing the villain who dealt illegal weapons. A smirk formed on his lips when their eyes met.

“Well, look who decided to finally show up,” he said as Asami approached. “You’re only thirty-eight minutes late this time. New record.”

“It’s called being fashionably late, dad,” Asami said as she kissed his cheek. “The movers were late. I had to improvise. I hope I look pleasing enough.” She twirled to show off her outfit. 

Hiroshi gave her a slow once-over, fond smile on his lips as he nodded. “I think you have to give the movers a thank you card because you look like someone who charges admission just to stand next to.”

Asami smirked. “Guess I’m lucky I got my fashion sense from mom, then.”

Hiroshi gasped dramatically. “I have a sense of fashion. Just look how handsome I am in this tux!”

It was Asami’s turn to assess her dad’s outfit. “I don’t know, dad.” She tilted her head, “Come give me a spin.”

Hiroshi did so and Asami chuckled. “Alright, alright. You don’t look so bad.”

Hiroshi chuckled and offered his arm. “And you look like a scandal waiting to happen.”

“That was one time.”

Hiroshi raised an eyebrow.

Asami sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, the champagne spilling wasn’t my fault. My wrist slipped. Accidents happen.”

“Mmm. I’m sure the security footage tells a very different story.”

“Probably. But I looked great in it.”

Hiroshi laughed, and for a second Asami forgot the rest of the world and how unfair she thought everything was. This was their thing—late entrances, fast talk, and finding each other in rooms too full of people pretending not to care. It was her, her dad, and her mom. Now, it was her and her dad. But her mom always said to enjoy every moment, and that was what Asami would do.

“Thanks for waiting,” Asami said quietly.

“Always,” her dad replied, just as softly. “Besides, you bring the fun.”

“And the drama.”

He smiled. “That too.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Try not to create an actual scandal this time. We just got here.”

“No promises,” Asami whispered back, smiling. “But if I do, I expect you to help me escape.”

“Kitchen door is the fastest way out.” He patted the arm that was wrapped around his then winked, “I’ve checked.”

Asami put a hand up to cover her laughter.

***

“Ah, the Sato’s.” A man greeted them at the threshold. He was dressed in traditional Water Tribe garments and Asami recognized him as Councilman Tarrlok. She’d read the paper, Republic City Herald, before leaving the antique shop earlier this evening. Not because she was curious about someone else from the Water Tribes, but because she wanted to be updated on the news and current affairs.

“Councilman Tarrlok,” Hiroshi said as he extended his hand, “thank you for inviting us tonight.”

Tarrlok shook Hiroshi’s hand. “Please, the pleasure is all mine. Republic City is honored to be the new home of Future Industries.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you for letting us build our headquarters here.” Hiroshi said as they let go of the handshake.

Councilman Tarrlok’s gaze drifted to Asami. “And you must be Asami,” he offered his hand. “Welcome to Republic City.”

Just as she always practiced, Asami put on her most polite smile and shook Tarrlok’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Councilman Tarrlok.”

The councilman smiled, “How are you settling in by the way?”

Asami stole a glance at her father who gave a subtle shrug and a raised brow. Not a warning but one that said ‘go easy on him.’ Hiroshi gave one last smile before stepping away to greet a guest.

That was the only permission she needed before she looked back at the councilman, lips curving into a smile. “We haven’t settled in, actually. The movers from the city were late. Not a great first impression in my opinion.”

Tarrlok chuckled. “A city never moves on time. But it moves with purpose.”

She held his gaze for a beat longer than she intended, then she nodded slowly. “Nice line. You use that on voters or just daughters of CEOs?” 

“Only the clever ones.” He looked away to greet one of the guests that passed them by. Asami took the moment to search for her father. She’d found him immediately, shaking hands with a guy she didn’t recognize.

“Your father’s investment changes this city. But power doesn’t always come from the checkbook. You’re going to hear a lot more than that in this city.” Tarrlok continued, then paused to nod at another guest. “Influence.” A smile. “Legacy.” Another nod. Then he looked back to Asami. “But what matters most is leverage. And timing.”

She snorted. “Did you rehearse that?” She couldn’t help but ask. She’d met enough politicians to know that all of them are just selfish pricks with ulterior motives.

He smiled. This time, Asami noted the absence of warmth. “I don’t rehearse. I pick the right audience.”

“I’m not even old enough to vote, Councilman,” Asami said, turning her head to grin at her dad who was making his way back to them.

“It’s not about votes, Miss Sato. Remember,” Tarrlok said, following her gaze, “leverage and timing.”

Asami narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but before she could ask what the councilman meant, he spoke again. “Mister Sato,” he greeted as Hiroshi approached, “I see you are quite popular tonight.”

“Just greeting old friends and acquaintances,” he smiled. “I grew up here, after all.”

“Did you ever consider going into politics?” Tarrlok asked. “You’d have support. I’d make sure of it. We could use another sharp mind like yours in the government.”

Asami couldn’t help the snort that escaped her lips. She knew she and her father shared the same sentiment about politics.

Hiroshi was more graceful, however, letting out a short chuckle. “I don’t know about that, Councilman. I don’t think I can be a politician and a public servant at the same time. I’ll just stay in my lane and continue revolutionizing transportation and industrial machinery in the comforts of Future Industries tower.”

Tarrlok smirked, “So you’ll stick to making money instead of headlines?”

Hiroshi finished the drink Asami didn’t notice he was holding. “I’ll stick to doing the things I’m passionate about, Councilman—sixteen-hour days surrounded by egos and incompetence. If I wanted more of that, I’d just buy a senate seat and not run for one.”

Tarrlok let out a chuckle that sounded more like a scoff. Asami bit her lip to stop the stupid smirk forcing its way to her mouth. She raised a brow at her dad who only gave a nonchalant shrug. 

“If only it were that easy,” said a voice behind Asami.

She turned around and found herself face to face with a towering muscular man with broad shoulders and tan skin. With his height and frame, he could easily be the largest person in the room. He wore a modern attire but the patterns embroidered into the linings and cuffs told Asami where he hailed from. That, and the information she got from the paper.

“Chief Tonraq,” Tarrlok welcomed. He reached out a hand. The man met him halfway, their palms going past each other to grip the other’s forearm instead.

“Councilman,” Tonraq greeted as he let go.

“I’d like you to meet Republic City’s newest industrialist,” Tarrlok turned and gestured over to her dad. “This is—”

“Hiroshi Sato,” Tonraq interrupted. “CEO of Future Industries.”

Before Asami could raise a questioning brow at her father, Hiroshi straightened up and subconsciously tugged on the lapel of his suit jacket, a faint smile tugging up his lips. “Chief Tonraq Waters, frontrunner in the senatorial race.”

“You two are acquainted?” Tarrlok wore a bemused smile.

“You could say that,” Tonraq answered before turning to Asami. His steely blue eyes made her heart beat faster, not because of how imposing he looked but because of how much he reminded her of one particular girl she met a few hours ago. “And you must be Hiroshi’s daughter.”

Quickly schooling her expressions, Asami extended a hand. “Asami Sato. It’s nice to meet you, Chief Tonraq.”

His massive hand engulfed Asami’s but the warm, gentle squeeze surprised her. “You know, my daughter is around your age. She’s a senior at Republic City High. I would love to introduce her,” he turned and looked around and chuckled, “if only I knew where she was.”

“Korra snuck away again?” Tarrlok said in an amused tone.

“I’d be more surprised if she didn’t at this point.” Tonraq shook his head and let out a sigh. 

“And the missus?” Tarrlok followed up.

Tonraq paused for a moment, his expression tinged with what looked like surprise then hesitation. But it quickly turned into another smile, then he waved a hand. “Ah, Yarra is at home feeling a bit under the weather.”

Tarrlok gave a sympathetic look. “Send my regards. I hope she gets better soon.”

“Will do,” he nodded. “Thank you, Councilman.” Once again shifting his attention to Hiroshi, he held his chin up. “I was actually hoping to speak to you privately, Mister Sato.”

Asami noticed the flicker of uncertainty in her father's expression, a silent battle raging within him as he weighed the decision to accept or refuse. As their gazes met, the unspoken question lingered in the air. ‘Will you be okay on your own?’ Hiroshi’s eyes said.

Her father knew she hated going to these things. Hated it more now that her mother was not there to join in her gala mischief and party shenanigans. But it came with the fame and fortune her father worked so hard for. 

She smiled lovingly at her dad. And with the softest nod she could manage, she gave the quiet acknowledgement. “I’ll be at the bar.”

When her father raised a warning brow, she  rolled her eyes. “No alcohol, promise.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” her father called out as she started to walk away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said over her shoulder.

***

“For the third time Miss Waters,” the bartender said over a long sigh, “we don’t serve alcohol to minors.”

“I’ll be eighteen in three weeks!” Korra argued. She was sitting atop one of the stools by the bar, trying to get something to drink that wasn’t soda or juice. She and her father arrived separately, what with Korra sneaking away hours before the gala. Her mother was at home because she ‘wasn’t in the mood for handshakes and fake smiles.’

The bartender let out another sigh. “Then you can come back in three weeks, Miss Waters.”

She spun her stool once, and when she was back facing the bar, she put on her best puppy eyes. “What if I use the ‘my father will hear about this’ card?”

An exasperated sigh. “Your father instructed us to not give you any alcohol.”

“Ugh,” she groaned before dramatically bumping her forehead on the bar. “Worth a shot.”

With her limited view, she could see someone sit on the stool beside her. She could barely hear the chair give out a small squeak, as the person swiveled slightly. Without lifting her head, she glanced sideways, as far as her eyes could go, and saw the hem of a red dress with a slit high enough to expose smooth, pale thighs. Her interest didn’t last long because she was too busy moping, audibly filling her lungs with air and making sure her shoulders rose as high as they could before letting out another dramatic sigh.

“I see you have a habit of pretending to be someone you’re not.” The voice alone was enough to make Korra snap her head up. She did it so fast, she felt a little bit dizzy. She wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse as soon as her eyes refocused because the familiar pools of green that met her made her lungs forget to breathe. 

Burgundy lips smirked. “First a shopkeeper, and now legal age.”

Korra was staring. She knew she was but she couldn’t help it. How could she if this girl was sitting beside her looking like that. Her raven-black hair flowed like ink that bled into a waterfall cascading into shoulders kissed by a flame burning red in the form of her silk dress. And her eyes. Her eyes were so, so green and looking at them felt like watching the Northern lights for the first time. But to be gazed upon by her felt more rare than witnessing colliding particles of electrons and atoms in the night sky. 

Korra watched manicured eyebrows rise slowly, the smile on ruby lips faltering at the same time. Snapping out her trance, she blinked rapidly and let out a loud huff. “Hi,” she said too fast and too loud. The sound made Asami pull back but her lips curved inti an amused smile. Korra cleared her throat. “I mean hey, it’s you.” 

The smile on the girl remained but it turned into something bemused for a moment before widening into a grin. “No glasses this time?”

Korra let out a surprised laugh. “You know how that went.”

The girl chuckled and the sound was music to Korra’s ears. “You should work on your disguises better.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Korra said, subconsciously swiveling in her chair.

The girl tilted her head and paused, giving her a once-over. “Maybe you should cut your hair.”

Korra hummed. “I’ll keep that in my options next to dying my hair pink.”

She earned a laugh and she quickly added it to her list of favorite sounds.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Korra offered. “A virgin vodka sprite perhaps?”

Asami raised a brow and looked over to the bar. The bartender sighed and did not hold back from rolling his eyes. “It’s just sprite.”

Another chuckle and Korra’s heart might be having arrhythmia, she wasn’t sure. The girl smiled to the bartender, “I’ll have one on the rocks.”

“Make that two,” Korra said quickly, holding her fingers up in a peace sign. She turned to the girl as the bartender prepared their drinks. She held out a hand, “I’m Korra Waters by the way.” 

“Asami,” the girl replied with an easy smile and gaze so steady it made Korra’s chest feel too small. 

When their fingers touched, something shifted. Something deep. So deep, Korra felt it in her very bones. 

Her palm was warm, elegant, her grip firm but gentle. But there was energy—something unspoken. A current. A pulse. Like the moment before lightning struck, when the world held its breath. Asami held her gaze for a second longer than she had to. And Korra held on to her hand for just a moment too long. Green eyes widened ever so slightly and the hand that was holding Korra’s tightened for a split second.

Asami let go first. And Korra was disappointed but at the same time relieved. Because she didn’t know if she would have been able to let go. She wasn’t sure if she would have been able to stop herself from saying something stupid. Something like I’ve been waiting for you and I didn’t even know it.

Asami cleared her throat. “Y-You always introduce yourself with your last name?” It could have been Korra’s imagination but she thought she heard a tremble in Asami’s voice.

She swallowed then forced a chuckle, hoping her voice wouldn’t give away the nerves in her body. “Sorry, force of habit. That’s how we are raised in the Water Tribes. My ancestors didn’t have last names and my father fought hard to pass a law that would let us have last names. To honor our ancestors before us, and for our children to carry the names of their ancestors before them. Or something like that. I’m rambling,” she chuckled nervously, “you wanna get outta here? I know a spot.”

Asami blinked slowly. Once. Twice. And Korra winced internally, berating herself for the word vomit that somehow ended up in something suggestive. But before she could backpedal, take back the offer and hide away in the spirit world where her ancestors were surely smacking their heads, Asami chuckled.

“Sure,” her velvety voice said. “Even though that sounded terribly improper.”

Korra could feel her lips turn up into a wide grin. She turned to the bar to see the bartender approach with a glass in each hand. “Put it on my tab, Chuck.”

The bartender sighed, the action made the ices in the glasses clink together. “It’s Thieram,” he grumbled but Korra was too busy leading Asami to one of the grand hall’s balconies.

***

“Are you sure we can go out here?” Korra heard Asami say from behind. 

“Of course, we can,” Korra assured, tugging on a velvet rope away from its pole. She looked over her shoulder and grinned before carrying on. She led Asami to a corner then ducked behind velvet curtains and slipped through a quiet side door that led to a stone balcony.

“Tada,” Korra said in a singsong voice.

The balcony itself was dark, the velvet rope by the door clearly a sign that no one was allowed through. But that was why Korra put it there in the first place. She’d attended enough galas here to know the secret spots to hide away or sneak out to without anyone noticing. That, and because it was one of the places that reminded her of home.

“Wow,” Asami breathed out beside her. 

“Yeah,” was the only reply Korra gave before stepping further until she reached the railing. 

The city lights glimmered in the distance, but here, under the silver hush of moonlight, everything was still. If Korra closed her eyes, she could pretend she was in the Northern Water Tribe—salt air and blizzard winds, the cold, the smell of seal jerky and firewood. She could pretend she was still that child sitting by the fire enjoying her grandmother’s stories then falling asleep in her father’s lap. 

“So,” Asami said beside her, looking out over the skyline. “Senator’sdaughter, huh?”

Korra snapped her head to the side, mouth slightly ajar. When Asami just raised a brow and gave her a look, Korra sighed. “He hasn't won yet.”

Asami chuckled. “Your royal frostiness, then?”

Korra blinked. “What?”

“You,” Asami pointed at Korra, “are the daughter of a tribal chief. That technically makes you a princess.”

Korra groaned and buried her head in her hands. “Please don’t call me that.”

Asami tilted her head. “Your royal frostiness or princess?”

Korra lifted her head and glared at Asami sideways, earning a chuckle.

Asami rested her arms on the balcony railing, the silk of her gown brushing against the stone. The breeze tugged gently at her hair, and Korra watched as a few strands caught the moonlight.

“It’s really beautiful out here,” Asami said, looking up at the sky. 

The breeze picked up slightly and this time, it made Asami catch the helpless strands with her fingers and tuck them behind her ear. Her profile was still turned towards the sky, eyes distant and thoughtful. At this angle, and with the stubborn hair out of the way, Korra could see a clearer view of her face—silver light kissed skin, turning her into something ethereal. She thought ’beautiful’ was not enough to describe the view.

Then, there was that strange feeling in her chest once again. This time it was louder. Insistent. This couldn't be what she was thinking it was. No. It was too early, wasn't it? To soon to tell. She didn't even have her mark yet.

She forced herself to look away and brush those thoughts aside. She looked up, too, mirroring Asami. “It’s even more beautiful before dawn, when it's darkest.” She said softly, somehow scared to disturb the silence of the balcony. “There’s no noise. It's just… you and the sky. It reminds me of home. There, look,” she extended a hand and pointed towards the sky with her index finger, “that’s Orion’s Belt. In the North, you can see it clearly, the whole Orion constellation.”

Asami looked in concentration, eyes following the general direction of where Korra was pointing at. “It’s those three dots, right?”

Korra gave an affirmative sound and Asami hummed in thought. “I never really liked Orion. It’s…” her brows furrowed, “a waist of space.”

Korra stared at Asami blankly. Then blinked. Once. Twice. Asami’s gaze was still towards the sky but the smirk on her lips was visible even through the dark.

Korra huffed a short laugh. “Oh, my god,” she breathed out.

Asami turned to look at her then, and Korra’s heart did that thing again when Asami flashed her perfect white teeth in a shit eating grin.

Korra shook her head and chuckled, also to snap out of it and get a grip. “That was terrible.”

“I think it was funny.”

“Well, I give it three stars.”

They shared a glance for a beat before bursting into laughter. Korra got lost in it once more. Everything felt natural. Easy. Like she’d known this person all her life. A person she’d just met.

When their laughter reduced to lingering smiles, Korra swallowed. “You know, in our tribe, we believe the stars are related to the spirits. The spirits say the stars remember us. Thay every bond is written in light.”

Asami was quiet for a moment before she chuckled, “You’re one of those everything-happens-for-a-reason types, huh?”

Korra shrugged, “I am from the Water Tribe. It comes with the spiritual territory.”

“Well,” Asami said, turning back towards the sky above the city. “I don’t really believe in soulmates. I don’t think there’s one perfect person out there waiting for someone else to complete them like a missing puzzle piece.”

Korra turned too, eyes trailing up the dwindling stars. “Maybe. But I don't think soulmates are about perfection or completing each other. It's not about finding your ’better half.’ I mean, shouldn't you be whole and complete before finding someone who deserves you?”

Asami glanced at Korra and raised a brow. “So, it's still about choice, then? I thought the spirits chose for us.”

“It’s about recognition and I think the spirits nudge us,” Korra replied. “The stars mark the places where we’ve already met our soulmates–somewhere, sometime, in a different life. We just find our way back and the spirits help us recognize that bond.”

Asami’s gaze lingered on Korra a little longer, her expression unreadable. “You actually believe that?”

“I do,” Korra said without missing a beat.

Asami looked back up at the sky. “Then I hope the stars or the spirits know what they're doing,” she looked back at Korra with a small smile, “for your sake.”

Korra’s bottom lip was trapped between her teeth from holding herself back. Until said lip tugged up, its confines no longer able to contain the grin from spreading across her face. “They brought me here, didn't they?”

A pause. Then Asami smiled, still small but real. “Maybe they did.”

Korra knew she should perhaps visit Kya or maybe even Master Katara with how fast and hard her heart was beating. She felt like the organ wanted to burst out of her chest and take residence in Asami’s palms. 

Before she could do something stupid like offer it herself, the door to the balcony burst open. And there stood Narrik, the personal bodyguard her father had assigned since the start of the campaign.

“Korra,” he said breathlessly. “Your father has been looking for you all evening.”

She sighed. She hadn't been able to sneak out for long because of him. “There goes my secret spot,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll be out in a minute.” When Narrik didn't budge, she raised a brow at the bodyguard.

Narrik nodded and made his way out the door. She let out another sigh as she turned back to Asami who was still smiling with her brows raised in question. “I guess that's your cue to go back,” she mused.

“Mmhm,” Korra said with pursed lips, disappointment unfurling in her chest. Then she looked up at Asami, realizing then she was taller than her. “Will I see you again tonight?” She asked in a hopeful voice.

Asami hummed, eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I don't know. Maybe we should leave it to fate. Let the stars decide and whatnot.”

Korra exhaled a small laugh. Then with her cocky, lopsided grin, she said confidently, “I’ll see you later, then.”

Asami gave a playful eye roll but she met Korra’s gaze and smiled, “Looking forward to it.”

Chapter Text

“Korra lives in Aurora.”

Opal blinked, her oat milk latte frozen mid-air. “Okay?” She said slowly before taking a sip from her cup.

Asami stared blankly at her friend, one eyebrow raised.

“Ok,” Opal repeated. “So, were you able to get the room?”

Asami let out an indignant scoff. “Did you not hear me?” She said in frustration. “ Korra lives in Aurora . I can’t take the room.”

Opal took another sip, longer this time before setting her cup down carefully. “Okay, dramatic pause aside — why the hell not? Aside from the fact that the rent doesn’t require blood sacrifice, living in it will also potentially help save the company. And besides, you get to live with someone you already know. Win-win if you ask me.”

Asami grimaced. “Because...” She paused and inhaled deeply before blurting out her next words in one single breath, “Korra was the thing in high school I told you about.”

There was a long, deliberate silence.

Then, “ Oh. ”

“Yeah.”

“ Ohhh. ”

“Opal.”

“Oh my Raava , this is delicious,” Opal grinned, leaning forward like she’d just been handed front-row tickets to a melodrama. “So what, you walked up to the gates and Korra opened them, and you were just like, ‘Oops! My bad for ghosting you in high school, can I borrow your guest room?’”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Did you ask if it came with free emotional baggage and haunted memories?”

Asami gave her a flat look, tongue pressing against her cheek. “I deserved that.”

“You do,” Opal said brightly, sipping again. “Please, do carry on and quench my thirst.”

Asami sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I bumped into her. Literally with my bike. Well, almost.” She sank into her chair and released another sigh. “We chatted. She brought up stuff from high school. I said I was sorry, she said it’s all water under the bridge then we laughed about seeing a glimpse of our next lives and—” 

She cut herself off, her mind replaying that moment . Those few seconds of staring into an endless blue that captivated Asami all those years ago. There was something in those eyes that drew her in, ensnaring her whole being, her very soul. She had wondered, in that fleeting moment, if Korra felt it, too. 

“And what?” Opal asked. 

Snapping back into reality, Asami cleared her throat. “She, uhm… She said she had to feed her cat. So, she went ahead and left. I had a hard time finding the address but when I got there, Korra was there. And that’s when I found out.” She blew out a long breath, puffing her cheeks in the process. “She didn’t slam the door in my face, but she didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat either.”

Opal sighed. She rested her cheek against her palm, her elbow on the table. Her expression softened and was no longer teasing. “What exactly happened after that?”

***

“ Because I live here?”

Asami stared at the wooden gates behind Korra, then at the keys jingling in the air, then back at the gates. Behind them, she could see the top of the house peeking. Whites and greens. Aurora.

Korra lived in Aurora.

“Oh.” Asami heard herself say, still staring at the house behind Korra.

A tan hand waved in her face and Asami blinked back into reality. Her gaze shifted focus on Korra who had her brows raised in amusement.

“You alright?” Korra asked, a bemused smile forming on her lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Asami's laughter erupted unexpectedly, teetering on the edge of madness. The ssound made Korra’s brows furrow in confusion. 

Asami cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just,” she couldn’t help but chuckle again, “that’s kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

Korra only offered a tight smile at Asami’s futile attempt at self deprecation. Then Korra cast her serious gaze. “What are you really doing here, Asami?”

Asami sighed, the grip on her helmet tightened briefly before loosening entirely to pull something out of her jacket pocket. She unfolded the piece of paper and held it in the air for Korra to see. “I was looking for a room.”

Korra blinked once, then turned around to look at her house as if she herself was in the wrong place. Then she barked a short, dry laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I swear I didn’t know,” Asami said quickly. “I just… I’ve been looking for a place because my rent’s gone up again. Saw the flyer and thought it was just luck.”

Korra scoffed softly. “Luck.”

Asami watched Korra’s expression carefully. The woodworker was looking up to the sky. She followed the woodworker’s gaze to find dark and heavy clouds. It looked like it would rain. When Asami looked back at Korra, she could see the storm of emotions reflecting in those blue eyes. They stood there for a beat and Asami saw the two versions of themselves shadowing the air between them: the teenagers who used to sneak out after curfew, sitting in a tree–their tree, dreaming big and reckless. Playing pretend. Until it wasn’t. Hiding feelings. Until they couldn’t. And then the silence of a goodbye that never came.

The silence stretched out. Asami stood there, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or take it as a sign from the universe that it was time to turn around.

“I can keep looking,” Asami offered, voice careful.

Korra shifted her gaze back at her. She looked like she was weighing something heavy—resentment, maybe. Or regret. Asami could see the hesitation in her eyes. She looked at Asami like she was a problem she didn’t want to solve, a fire she didn’t want to put her hands in again. Burn or learn. Asami scoffed to herself.

Then Korra sighed. “You can come see the place.”

Asami’s eyes lit up. She opened her mouth to speak, to say thank you, to say she was sorry, to ask for another chance but Korra beat her to it.

“That doesn’t mean it’s a yes.” She was looking up at the sky again, then back to Asami. “I haven’t decided if it’s worth the risk.”

Asami gave a small nod. “Fair.”

“I can’t show it to you today. It’s…” The muscles in Korra’s jaw tightened. “You can come back Saturday and check it out.”

“Okay,” was all Asami could manage. She was grateful she couldn’t say anything else, afraid of saying the wrong thing again. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Right,” Korra nodded sharply. “And uhm…” her hand shot up to rub the back of her head, a thing Korra did when she was either nervous or shy. Asami’s eyes wandered very briefly to the muscles flexing in the woodworker’s biceps but very quickly shot up to Korra’s when she continued. “Forecast says there will be a thunderstorm soon. So, uhm… stay dry.” She moved to open the gate but she paused at the threshold. Without looking back, she said, “I’ll be right here on Saturday. Waiting for you.”

As the doors clicked shut, Asami felt something inside her chest shatter.

***

“She hates me, Opal.”

“Oh, you don’t know that.” Opal waved a dismissive hand.

“I disappeared without a word after she confessed her love.” Asami deflated in her chair, arms crossed. “I was a coward.”

“Babe, you were the blueprint for cowardice.” Opal smirked when Asami shot her a glare. “Soul marks aside, you could have at least said goodbye in person. She wrote you poems and you just… evaporated.”

“How did you know about the poems?” Asami straightened up in her seat.

Opal laughed. “I didn’t. I do know  you still keep those cute little notes and judging by your reaction, I was right that those were from Korra.” She laughed harder when Asami groaned into her hands. “Aww, look at you blushing! She poured her heart out on sticky notes and you couldn’t even say a proper goodbye.”

Asami groaned into her hands. “I was eighteen! I didn’t know what I wanted. I already had my mark, she didn’t.  I didn’t know how to handle it. I was scared.”

Opal softened a little, but only a little. “I get that. I do. But you’re not eighteen anymore, Asami. Hell, you’re running your own firm now. You could have done it in Zaofu, or anywhere else for that matter. But you chose to come back and do it in Republic City. And if you’re really trying to rebuild your life here, maybe that starts with not running every time the past knocks.”

Asami stared at her fingers, calloused and smudged with ink. “I can’t just show up in her space like nothing happened.”

“Good,” Opal said. “Then don’t pretend nothing happened. Show up like something did. Like it still matters. This is our best shot at saving our firm. And who knows, you might just have one with Korra, too.”

Asami looked up, she felt something raw inside her chest. “You think she’d even let me?”

Opal raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t slam the door, right?”

“No.”

“Then that’s not a no.” She leaned back with a smirk. “Take the room. Face the fire. You either get burned or you learn.” She shrugged, “Best case is you do both.”

Asami blinked. “…How is both getting burned and learning the best case?”

“Oh come on!” Opal threw her hands in the air. “I was trying to find my inner Iroh. A thank you would be nice.

Asami let out huff, but her face instantly softened. “Thank you, Opal.”

“You’re welcome.” Opal replied, sipping her coffee with satisfaction. Then she gave Asami a stern look. “You have until the weekend to get that room, Asami.”

Asami groaned but grumbled a reluctant ‘yes’ anyway.

***

Asami’s heels clicked on the floors of Republic City Hall as she walked gracefully down the long corridor, clutching a manila folder on one arm. She was running on fumes today. She had woken up restless, twitching and turning the night before trying to get some sleep. She didn’t know if it was the thunderstorm that kept her awake, or the thought of the possibility of living with Korra. Alone. Together. She could still feel her heart pounding in her chest.

She would see Korra again tomorrow. No, she would see the place tomorrow and with that, she would also see Korra. And her heart didn’t know what to do but do somersaults like it was the star of the circus.

She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, the effort calming her only a little. She pushed through the frosted-glass door to the public records office, flashing a tight smile at the overwhelmed clerk. “Hi, I want to submit a request for archived building permits and ownership history,” she held out the folder, “can you see if there’s anything about the place in this document?”

The clerk blinked, adjusted his glasses before taking the folder and got back to whatever he was doing. “Our systems are currently down. This will require manual search and retrieval in the public records microfilm and paper archives.” Without looking up, he said, “This will take up to two weeks to process.”

Asami sighed. “Right. Thank you.”

She watched the clerk pile the folder on top of the others already stacked on his desk. When there was no reply after a few beats, Asami decided to go back to the office and get on with her day.

When she got out of the room, she froze.

Across the hall, just outside the mayor’s office, stood a tall man in a pressed gray suit, silver at his temples, and a wolfish smile that hadn’t dulled since the last time she saw him. 

Nathaniel Cooper. Senior.

The man who had capitalized on Future Industries’ downfall, buying out her father’s company and had taken all her father’s tech patents. Publicly, he had “acquired” a controlling stake. Privately, he’d broken them. Cold. Calculated. Profitable. Future Industries tower now stood at the heart of republic city with the CCC logo slapped like it was mocking everything her dad stood for.

He turned—caught her staring.

“The last Sato standing,” he said, loud enough to turn a few heads. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

She stood taller, spine like steel. “Nathaniel.”

“Here for another building permit?” he asked, walking toward her with a leisurely arrogance that made her want to throw the folder in her hand. “I heard about your latest project.” He clicked his tongue. “Such a shame about that client. Let me know if you need help finding a new one. I’m sure I can ask some of my friends.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said coolly. “Just here for some records.”

“Always refusing help. Just like your father,” Nathaniel said with a condescending smile.

That landed.

Asami stepped forward, jaw tight. Before she could say a retort, the doors to the mayor’s office opened. As the figure emerged, her eyes grew wide with a spark of recognition.

“Ah, Miss Solari,” Nathaniel greeted, drawing Leona’s attention to him. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Mister Cooper,” Leona acknowledged with a leveled expression. Then, she turned to Asami and smiled. “Miss Sato.”

Catching herself in a surprised state, Asami quickly straightened up. She held out a hand. “Miss Solari.”

Nathaniel chuckled loudly, making Asami falter in her spot. “Hm, this kid is always so polite.”

Before Asami could retract her hand, warm fingers wrapped around it and gently squeezed. Asami looked up to find Leona still smiling at her. When the CEO let go, Asami subconsciously stretched her fingers before relaxing back to her side. The feeling lingered on her skin, warm and buzzing.

“You two know each other?” Leona inquired, tilting her head at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel let out another chuckle and the sound was too sharp, too loud, just a beat too late. “Not just know. Her father and I go way back.” He turned to Asami with a smile that got on her nerves. “We were friends like no other.”

Yeah, right. If Asami could only roll her eyes, she was sure they’d do a full orbit and drop out of her head. But she was her father’s daughter, and like her father she was a master of keeping her emotions in check. Asami didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. She kept her face stony and unreadable.

“Asami,” Nathaniel continued, “I told you to come visit anytime. You’re always welcome.”

Asami managed a tight-lipped smile. “I have been busy with the firm.”

“Right, right. Your firm.” He chuckled again. Asami bit the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood. “We were on our way to lunch.” He turned to Leona, “Would it be alright if I invite Asami? She’s like a daughter to me.”

Leona met her gaze, a brow lifting slightly. There was a certain glint in her green eyes that made Asami’s heartbeat quicken. Those green eyes shone with a quiet curiosity as if daring Asami to say yes to Nathaniel’s invitation. And Asami would. Really. She would love to know more about the CEO, the elusive daughter of Leonidas Solari, and maybe get some more information on Iasur’s tower. If it weren’t for this man standing between them wearing the fakest smile Asami had ever seen. 

“I would love to,” She finally answered, looking at Leona with her lips curled up. The smile disappeared quickly as soon as she turned to Nathaniel, poker face back on in an instant. “But I’m afraid I have to finish some designs. So, I really have to go.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to argue because that was what he did. He would insist until she said yes. This asshole was just an older version of his spoiled brat junior. They thought they could get anything they wanted.

“Of course.” Her saving grace came in the form of Leona interrupting the old man. And Asami was so grateful, she could kiss the taller woman on the mouth. “Timeless Design Collective will also be bidding for the Targon City project, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Asami nodded. “We will.”

Leona smiled wide enough to show her front teeth. “I will be looking forward to what you come up with.” She turned to Nathaniel. “Shall we?”

Nathaniel gestured with his hand and Leona walked ahead. He followed suit but stopped just beside Asami. “I have to say, you have the same fire your father had,” he paused then sighed, “it would be a shame if your firm gets the same fate as Hiroshi’s so called empire.” 

He walked away chuckling and Asami felt her fingernails dig into her palms.

***

“CCC Acquires Future Industries After Satomobile Scandal Rocks Sato Legacy”

The Republic City Herald
August 18, 2015
Business & Politics, Pg. 2

Satomobile Scandal Ignites Firestorm: Future Industries in Freefall After Fatal Crash

By Shiro Shinobi, Senior Correspondent

Republic City — A devastating highway pile-up last week during a heavy thunderstorm, reportedly caused by a malfunction in a Series-9 Satomobile, claiming six lives and leaving dozens injured, including newly elected Senator Tonraq Waters’ daughter, Korra Waters. The incident threw Future Industries into a crisis a year into settling in the city.

According to Chief Beifong, the vehicle spontaneously caught fire due to a flaw in its energy cell insulation. The blaze quickly engulfed surrounding vehicles during morning rush hour on Main near Harmony Park. Witnesses described the explosion as "instantaneous" and "unescapable." With torrential rain creating slick roads and limited visibility, the fire caused panic among nearby drivers. The storm hindered emergency response teams as the fire spread rapidly—ironically fueled by the same high-efficiency battery cells once marketed as “the clean fire of the future.”

Pressure to issue a recall grew on Future Industries in a matter of hours. By the following morning, emergency memos leaked from inside the company revealed knowledge of the defect dating back months—sparking outrage from consumer safety groups and families of the victims.

The revelation led to a full-blown media and shareholder frenzy, culminating in the company’s board ousting key executives and freezing production lines. CEO Hiroshi Sato’s daughter, Asami Sato—once heralded as the future of the company and also helped design and test the Raalis Core—has not issued a public statement since the buyout. She had left weeks before to study abroad and there are no news of her return.

In a dramatic turn, billionaire industrialist Nathaniel Cooper Sr. , CEO of Cooper & Co. Corporation, announced a “rescue acquisition,” acquiring a controlling stake in Future Industries for an undisclosed sum late Friday night. Cooper, a longtime friend of the Sato family, stated in a press release that he intends to “restore consumer trust and technological integrity” to the once-revered brand.

Critics call the buyout opportunistic. Former employees call it a betrayal.

And for the families affected, the burn hasn’t stopped.

Chapter Text

The house was still.

The kind of still that only existed in early mornings. It was the only thing Korra loved this time of day—when the city hadn’t quite woken up, and the light didn’t know what it wanted to be yet. She stood at the kitchen counter in her white tank top and flannel pajama pants, watching steam rise from her coffee like it had something important to say. Like maybe just give the room to someone else.

She leaned a hip against the counter, mug warm in her hand, and tried not to think too much. But it was the only thing her mind could do.

She had thought putting up flyers would speed up finding a tenant. She should’ve just asked around, found someone through a friend, someone harmless and boring and deeply uninterested in her past.

Instead, of all the people in Republic City, she got Asami. 

Her mind took her back to what happened the other day.  She’d run into Asami again, or technically Asami ran into her. Despite everything, despite herself, she’d let Asami look at the room. 

But to let her move in? 

She sipped her coffee and stared at the sink. She wasn’t angry anymore. Not really. Anger had burned out years ago, too hot to last. What was left was more like scar tissue—dull, familiar. She could handle that. She could handle Asami moving in. Totally. She’d survived worse. 

She took a deep, calming breath and turned toward the living room, coffee in hand. She should at least clean up before her potential roommate arrived.

But who was she kidding? She’d already decided the moment Asami showed her the flyer.

***

Asami removed her sunglasses and placed them on top of her head, brushing up some of her hair in a makeshift headband. She checked the time on her watch. 7:48 a.m. 

It was probably too early. Korra might still be asleep. She stood there in front of the house, leaning on her car as she took in the sight before her.

Aurora was tucked behind high wooden gates like it was hiding from the world. Upon closer look, the front of the gates had twin carved totems, one on each door—stylized representations of the moon and ocean spirits. Tui and La.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself off her car and walked towards the stairs that led to the gates. She knocked thrice and waited a few beats. 

Then, there were footsteps—heavy but steady, no rush. 

Asami straightened up as if bracing herself for impact, her heart racing. Then the doors swung open, and the world jolted off its axis.

Korra stood there. She was barefoot, in a white shirt and pajamas, her short hair tied in a loose knot, like she hadn’t expected company and didn’t care to pretend otherwise. The years had changed her—more muscle, more restraint in her posture. Ink peek from where her shirt’s sleeve did not cover. Tattoos. Those were also new. But one thing did not change—those glacier blue eyes still froze Asami in place.

The broom in Korra’s hand lowered slowly. “You came.”

If it was like old times, Asami would have said something in the lines of ‘that’s what she said,’ but alas it wasn’t. She cleared her throat instead, trying to find her footing. Maybe test the waters in a different way than dirty jokes and suggestive remarks. 

“You’re awake.” Asami cocked her head a little, an uncertain smile tugging up on her lips. “I thought mornings were evil.” 

She earned a chuckle, much to her relief. 

“They still are,” Korra placed the broom against the nearby wall and opened the gates completely, “but we didn’t really discuss a time so I figured you’d come first thing in the morning.” 

Once the gates were open, Korra gestured with her hand, “Welcome to my humble abode.”

With a grateful smile, Asami stepped inside. Her food crunched softly against gravel and the sound made her pause. Humble didn’t begin to describe the sight that greeted her.

Stone paths curved through a courtyard framed by aged wood. Its curved, sweeping roof—light sea-green tile with iridescent glaze—bowed gently to the sky, catching the sunlight like a calm ocean at dawn. The eaves, shaped like gentle waves, extend outward in fluid arcs. 

The house opened around them—not in the grand, imposing way of Northern Tribe palaces, but in a way that felt... patient and gentle. Rather than steel or concrete, the walls are clad in smooth white stone and river-polished driftwood, weathered into natural curves and soft lines.

Above, a retractable ceiling gave a glimpse of the sky, letting the sunlight seep in, painting the inside with golds, oranges and yellows. Asami could imagine it glowing at night with the moon casting its gentle light into every shadowed corner it could touch.

And right in the middle of the courtyard, a Banyan tree stood, lanterns hanging by its branches. At its feet was a small pool, its edges lined with pale stones and delicate ice lilies that looked well-maintained just like the tree.  Beneath the banyan’s shade is a small tea table, raised slightly above the pond on dark, polished wood. A copper kettle sits quietly on an embedded warming plate, tea cups sat upside down around it. 

She took in every detail her eyes could see. The home didn’t reject the modern world—it simply chose not to let it define it. Republic City roared just beyond the walls, but here, inside Aurora, there was only stillness. This piece was shaped by centuries of water rather than tools, and with the hands of a true master. 

No wonder the Solaris were obsessed with Aurora, and the brilliant mind behind it.

*** 

“Wow,” Asami said, eyes doing another scan of the courtyard. “It’s like stepping into another world.”

Asami had always had a curious mind. There was something about the way she saw the world that left Korra speechless. The first time she watched Asami create a sketch from scratch, she was mesmerized. She had this pencil—sleek, matte black, with a tiny gear etched near the eraser. Of course she had a custom pencil. She twirled it between her fingers, eyes narrowed, mouth slightly parted in focus. Her hair was a little messy, not her usual immaculate look, and she kept tucking a lock behind her ear, over and over again. Korra had wanted to reach out and do it for her, just to see if she'd lean into her hand. 

The sketch came alive under her fingers. Lines curved and intersected with the elegance of a bending form. There was flow. Purpose. Soul. She wasn’t just creating walls and roofs—she was making something breathe. And that was merely a treehouse; Korra could only imagine the wonders if it were an entire building.

She chuckled, more at the memory. “You haven’t seen your room yet.”

Asami turned to her, that same teasing smile that used to undo Korra. “ My room?”

Korra rolled her eyes but returned the smile. She hadn’t meant to slip, so she did what she knew best. Deflect. “I have people lined up with deposits ready if you don’t want it.”

“No!” Asami said quickly. “I mean don’t give it to them. I want it. Please, lead the way.” She gestured with her hand and Korra bit her lip to suppress a smirk as she walked ahead.

“How was the traffic, by the way?” Korra asked without looking. She groaned internally at her feeble attempt at engaging in small talk. But she just couldn’t stand this strange tension she was feeling. Like if it got quiet for just a second, things would end up being awkward and whatever this thing they were sharing would break.

Asami offered a weak laugh. “It was terrible… but not as bad as my nerves right now.”

So, it wasn’t just Korra. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or worried. She took a deep breath and put on her signature smile before turning to Asami. 

“Well,” she stepped aside with a gracious sweep of her arm, “welcome to Aurora. Where the traffic can’t hurt you, but I might.”

Korra had meant it as a joke. Because it was the only way she coped these days, making light of every situation. It was her shield, her armor, even when it meant dancing around the person who had shattered her heart long ago.

Asami laughed again, and the sound made Korra smile—not out of forgiveness, exactly, not yet at least, but something adjacent. For now, that was the direction she wanted to go. Keep things light and simple. Keep her guard up but not too high, just enough to protect her heart.

She led Asami through the curved wooden corridors, the peaceful hush of the house wrapping around them.

“As you can see it’s an open space,” Korra said, gesturing around. “I kept everything as it was when I got the house. You’ll have access to pretty much everything. No shoes, no yelling, and absolutely no crying over exes. It disturbs the tea spirits.”

“Good thing I’m not your ex,” Asami quipped, hands clasped behind her back. “Just your high school mistake.”

Korra snorted. “Wow. You’ve gotten better at jokes.” She can totally work with this.

“I’ve had years of guilt-ridden silence to practice,” Asami murmured while she removed her Chucks.

Korra hesitated—just a breath—and then shrugged. “Well, at least you didn’t lose your dramatic flair.”

She showed her the kitchen next, small but bright, hardwood floor cool underfoot. It came fully equipped—gas range, fridge, microwave, and Korra’s favorite, an espresso machine.

“Wait,” Asami said slowly. “Is that…?”

Korra froze. The air around her went stiff, like it was holding its breath, or maybe Korra was. She knew that tone all too well. That curious, amused lilt Asami got when she found something unexpected. Korra turned around too slowly to be casual and followed Asami’s gaze. A furious heat rose up to her cheeks as she realized what the Asami was looking at.

Asami grabbed the lumpy, seafoam green object from the counter and turned it over in her hands. It was vaguely bowl-shaped, with one side noticeably thicker than the other and a sad attempt at glaze that had run down into murky swirls of brown and green.

“Oh spirits,” Asami breathed. “It is .”

“No, it isn’t.” Korra blurted out. She prayed her expression didn’t give her away but she could feel her face heat up even more.

“It is ,” Asami said, grinning now. “This is the bowl I made in that pottery class when we were in high school! The one you made fun of for looking like it had ‘melted in a fit of existential dread.’”

“Never seen it before in my life,” Korra said smoothly, crossing her arms over chest and quickly unfurling them.

Asami held it up triumphantly. “There’s an ‘A’ carved in the bottom!”

Korra huffed. “Coincidence. A very common letter. Could be anyone’s.” She turned around and started to make her way out of the kitchen, and hopefully out of this embarrassment.

She heard the soft pads of feet following her. “You’ve kept it.”

“I absolutely have not.”

“Korra. That bowl was so ugly, Mrs. Meacham gave me a sympathy B+ and told me I was ‘brave.’”

“Well, that’s why I made it into a pot because I didn’t think it was safe to hold my noodles.” She turned around and crossed her arms over chest once again. This time, she kept them there. 

Asami gently set it on the table between them. “You moved to a whole new house, and you brought this . You packed it.”

Asami’s tone wasn’t teasing nor accusing. It was laced with a hint of hope. Korra stared at it like the succulent might grow legs, kick its way through the bottom of the bowl and scuttle away if she blinked. It didn’t. She sighed and finally looked up. “I didn’t mean to keep it.”

Asami looked at Korra then, eyes softening, lips parting just slightly. That smirk disappeared, and Korra saw something gentler take its place. She ran her thumb along the uneven rim. “But you did.”

Korra nodded, trying to play it cool, failing entirely. “This stupid bowl just... stuck around.”

Asami stepped closer, close enough that Korra could see the little flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough that the scent of ink and jasmine hit her like a memory. “I’m glad it did. Even if it’s hideous.”

Korra smiled despite herself. “You’re still not allowed near it.” She grabbed the little pot and placed it back on the counter.

“Why not?”

“Because if you break it now, I’ll have to pretend I don’t care, and I’ve been practicing that for years .”

Asami laughed. “We can put it in a sacred corner. We can make an altar. It might be haunted since I was the one who made it.”

“It is haunted,” Korra said seriously. “It leans toward you when you lie.”

“Oh great. So now we’re both being judged by a cactus.”

Korra rolled her eyes playfully. “Come see the damn room.

They both padded out of the kitchen, silence stretching between them, soft and intimate, until Korra cleared her throat and gestured toward the hallway. “The room is on this side. Spacious. South-facing. You’ll get the best light.”

They walked together, close but not touching. Asami’s fingers brushed the wooden paneling like she was remembering more than she let on.

“This place feels like…” she started, then stopped.

“Home?” Korra offered.

Asami looked at her, really looked. “Yeah. And that scares me.”

Korra opened the door to the room. It was simple—matted floor, low bed frame, view of the courtyard. Asami stepped inside, lips parted in awe.

“It’s perfect.”

“I know,” Korra said. “Try not to ruin it.”

Asami turned, eyes stinging. She swallowed hard and tried to hold back ten years of things she wanted to say. “Are you sure you want me as your tenant?”

Korra chuckled, then glanced sideways. “You still overthink everything?”

“Only when it involves you.”

That pulled something taut in the air again. Not quite tension—more like gravity. Korra clearly did not want to address it, this mammoth in the room. So Asami would just go along with it, whichever way Korra wanted it to go. But Asami would be lying if she said the dancing around wasn’t killing her. She should stay away from that haunted cactus.

Korra looked away once more, tongue pressing into her cheek. “You know, part of me always thought… if we saw each other again, it’d be fireworks. Screaming. A door slammed in your face.”

Asami’s smile turned rueful. “And instead it’s...”

“This.” Korra gestured vaguely to the space between them and a small part of Asami thought they were finally going to talk about it. “A weird, quiet ache. Like I’m still trying to figure out if I missed you or if I just never stopped being mad.”

Asami leaned back, mirroring her. “And I’m still trying to figure out if I want to make it up to you… or stay out of your way.”

“Why not both?” Korra said, a flicker of a grin returning. “You always were good at multitasking.”

They both laughed—but it faded quickly, replaced by that same hovering silence. Heavy. Intimate. Unfinished. She could see the muscles in Korra’s jaw tighten. She could see the hesitation in those blue eyes. 

Then, as if reluctantly coming to a decision, Korra sighed. “You want tea before we go over the lease?”

That got Asami’s attention. “You’re making me sign a contract?”

“I’m not letting you back into my life without terms. Fool me once and all that.”

Asami winced. She deserved that.

***

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the lounge area, tea steaming between them. The couch was on the floor—no, part of the floor. It rested low nd inviting, upholstered in a warm ivory fabric that showed wear in all the right places. Throw pillows in washed-out tones of rose and green leaned lazily at its corners—carelessly curated. A single knitted blanket with water tribe patterns, clearly handmade, was folded but never too neatly. It smelled faintly of pine and hearth smoke.

The centerpiece was a wooden table level with the floor itself, smooth and rectangular, set with a half-used candle, and what seemed to be music sheets. Asami fought the memories of tan fingers gliding through piano keys, sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce. From flawless Debussy to made up tunes. Korra played the piano like the keys were an extension of herself, like it was the easiest thing in the world. They all sounded nice, but not as beautiful as the laugh coming from the person playing the instrument. She pushed them away to the back of her head. It was no time for reminiscing.

Korra slid the contract across the wood. “I drafted this yesterday. Just in case you were serious.”

“I was,” Asami said quietly. She took the folder. “I still am.”

Korra didn’t answer, just watched her as she read.

It started off standard—monthly rent, maintenance expectations, shared kitchen duties. But then the personal clauses kicked in.

Clause 9: “No talking to Korra before tea unless someone is actively dying or bleeding.”
Clause 10: “Tenant must not disappear mysteriously without notice. Violations will incur emotional damage charges.”
Clause 11: “No stealing of shirts and hoodies.”

Asami blinked. “For the record, you told me to keep that hoodie.”

“Yes, I remember,” Korra said, sipping her tea, “Those henleys though? Dark gray and blue ones?”

Clears throat and looks away to hide her guilty face. She looked at the clauses again. She read the last one out loud.

Clause 11: “No singing Fire Nation ballads past midnight.” 

Asami raised an eyebrow.

Korra sipped her tea. “You hum when you're tipsy. It’s haunting.”

“I do not hum.”

“You hum and sway.”

“You said it was charming.”

“I lied. Cactus leaned.”

Asami laughed, despite herself, then looked at the paper again. “Do I get to propose amendments?”

“Only if they’re written in the same dramatic tone.”

Asami flipped to the back and, with a smirk, began scribbling.

Clause 12 (Proposed): “If Korra is sad, grumpy, or brooding again past midnight, Asami is allowed to bring two blankets and sit in stubborn silence until feelings are confessed or the tea runs out.”
Clause 13: “Korra is not allowed to pretend she isn’t still hurt. Asami is not allowed to pretend she doesn’t care.”
Clause 14: “On any day the past feels heavier than the furniture, ice cream must be shared in the living room. No exceptions.”

Korra read them over in silence. The last one made her pause. After a while, she nodded. “Approved. But clause 14 has to go both ways.”

Asami met her eyes. “Deal.”

Korra just stared again in silence, but eventually, she reached into the back pocket of her pajamas and pulled out one more page.

“I didn’t add this to the contract,” she said, voice low. “Because I wasn’t sure if I could trust it.”

Asami unfolded the page.

It was just one line:

Clause 0: If we try to be friends again, it has to be real.

The paper trembled in Asami’s hands. “I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

“I know,” Korra said. “But saying sorry and staying... they’re not the same.”

“I’m here now.”

Korra gave her a long look. Then, with a small, cautious smile, she said, “Unspoken rule, no more apologies or I’m gonna start charging guilt tax.”

Asami huffed a short laugh. “Understood.”

Korra tapped the line with her finger. “Then sign it.”

Asami reached for the pen. She exhaled. The tip of the pen kissed the paper—and then, from the hallway, came a noise. A regal mrow , followed by the unmistakable thump of something being dropped with both authority and flourish.

They both turned.

A white cat strutted into the room, tail bent at a sharp, distinctive angle, brown and blue eyes narrowed with disapproval and, somehow, gentle amusement. She moved with the certainty of royalty in the form of a feline.

Asami blinked. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” Korra said, already sighing. “Naga. She’s the cat I told you about. And if she’s here, that  means she has opinions.”

Naga stopped in front of the low table and deposited her offering with theatrical precision: a warped, half-charred sandal wrapped in a ribbon of old kelp.

Asami stared at it.

Korra groaned. “Spirits, not the sandal again.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Asami whispered, not looking away from the footwear.

“She dragged that out of a fire pit six months ago. I thought she’d buried it.”

Naga looked pointedly at Asami. Then at the sandal. Then back again.

Asami’s lips twitched. “Is this... for me?”

“She accepts you,” Korra said flatly, as if translating divine prophecy. “You may now join the sacred ranks of the Aurora Household.”

“I’m being hazed by a cat spirit.” Asami leaned forward, picked up the sandal with the reverence due an object of dubious holiness, and set it gently beside the lease. “Do I... need to keep this?”

“She’ll know if you throw it out.”

Asami nodded seriously. “Then it goes on the altar. Next to the Ugly Bowl.”

Korra let out a laugh, surprised and a little warm. “You’re really going to sign this thing, aren’t you?”

Asami looked down at the contract, then at the warped sandal, and finally back at Korra. “If your landlord approves, I’d be a fool not to.”

She signed.

The pen left the page with a flourish.

Naga meowed in satisfaction, circled once, and promptly curled up in the basket of fruit on the kitchen counter like her work here was done.

“Guess it’s official,” Korra said, voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” Asami replied, watching her. “I guess it is.”

Korra rached over and pulled the paper toward her. “Month-to-month. I don’t do long-term commitments anymore.”

Asami nodded, accepting the hit without protest. “That makes two of us.”

Korra hesitated, then softened—just a little. “I meant in housing. Don’t flatter yourself.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at Asami’s lips. “You sure you’re not just keeping escape routes open?”

“I’m always prepared to evacuate,” Korra said, flipping the page and tapping the spot for initials. “Fire hazard, emotional hazard—same difference.”

Asami leaned back in the chair, the contract now legally binding but somehow less important than the way Korra’s voice kept shifting—cool, then warm, then somewhere in between.

Asami glanced up, fingers resting on the edge of the contract. “This house is... incredible, by the way. I mean, the bones, the symmetry, the way the light moves through—someone really knew what they were doing.”

Korra looked around the room, eyes softening in a way Asami hadn’t seen in years. “Yeah. My mom designed it.”

Asami blinked. “Wait—your mom as in Senna?”

“Mm-hmm.” Korra’s voice was quiet now, thoughtful. “She had the designs when she was back in Targon. When she came back here, saw this empty lot with the little banyan tree and bought it. She revised the designs so the house could be built around the tree. Said she wanted to make something that would hold a life, not just shelter it. Something to remember her by.”

Sarah Parker or something . Bolin, that idiot. It was Senna Park all along.

Asami turned her gaze around the space again, as if seeing it for the first time. The warm lines, the deliberate flow between rooms, the sense of calm. She looked around again, slower this time. The soft archways, the wide windows, the way light curved around corners instead of cutting through them.

It made sense now. “I didn’t know she was an architect,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, well,” Korra said, setting the tea down, “there’s a lot you didn’t know.”

Asami flinched—just slightly—but didn’t look away. “I want to.”

Korra studied her. Something flickered across her face—suspicion, maybe. Or worse: hope.

“Well,” she said finally, “you’ve got four walls, a roof, and a contract with my name on it. I guess that’s a start.”

Asami tried not to let the warmth in her chest show on her face. “I’ll take it.”

Korra stood, stretching her arms overhead, and the quiet moment unraveled as gently as it had begun. “Don’t go reorganizing the pantry. I know how you get.”

“No promises,” Asami called after her, fingers brushing the edge of the signed paper.

She didn’t say it out loud, but this time, she planned to stay.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet in a gentle way like a water that ran deep.  Sunlight pooled against the warm wood floors, a breeze tugged lazily through the open windows, and somewhere in the courtyard, a wind chime let out a thoughtful little sigh. 

Moving in was quick. Asami didn’t have much stuff to bring. ‘Just emotional baggage’ she’d joked, earning a playful eye roll from Korra.  She had clutched her set of keys as she’d said goodbye to Korra and drove home with a smile on her face. She’d slept soundly, the anticipation of seeing Korra when she moved come morning the last thought in her mind.

Asami had arrived just a little after nine only to find the house empty save for a note on the fridge that said Korra had gone out to deliver orders to the Farmer’s Market and that she’d be back before dinner.

With her bottom lip jutting out as she had maneuvered her suitcases, three to be exact, and dragged them to her room — her room now, still unfamiliar, still echoing with newness. She had stepped in, expecting the same bare corners and soft echoes she'd seen yesterday.

But something had changed.

Near the window, sat a small table. It was round with carved legs and a smooth, lacquered top that shimmered slightly in the light.

Asami blinked, a smile tugging up her lips. It was the table Opal had ‘purchased’ from the expo days ago.

A small box was propped against the tabletop. Its color was something darker, a stark contrast against the wood of the furniture. Curious, she lifted the lid and nearly laughed out loud at the familiar color and shape of what was inside.

It was a wooden batarang keychain, matte black and perfectly ridiculous. It was heavy enough to feel real and although it was smaller than the real thing, it was carved with care that bordered on obsessive detail. She rolled her eyes as she realized it was the 1989 version.

There was a note under it, written on a scrap of lined notebook paper in Korra’s unmistakably messy hand:

Welcome home, Batman.
– K

Asami stared at the gift for a long moment, a half-smile lingering on her lips, helpless against the warmth rising in her chest.

Korra used to call her The Dark Knight back in school — part-mocking, part-affectionate. It had started after Asami had disappeared for three days during winter break only to show up in the blackest leather jacket with bruised knuckles, a smashed phone, an even more broken piece of junk of a car or what was left of it, and no explanation. She hadn’t needed to explain. Korra had only asked ‘where’s your cape, Batman?’

She let out a soft laugh at the memory. 

Shifting her gaze at the table once more, a small card caught her attention, handwritten in equally messy but confident print:

Figured you’d want somewhere to put your tea while you stare dramatically out the window.
– K

Asami let out a breath — something between a laugh and a sigh. Of course Korra would remember. How did she do that? How could Korra manage to show she cared even without saying it directly? And why in the world did Asami deserve it?

She bent slightly beside the table, running her fingers along the wood grain. It was beautiful, understated, and just a little whimsical. Handcrafted by hands she knew the feeling of. She’d wondered if those fingers still felt the same. Strong. Warm. Sure. Safe.

With another sigh, Asami clipped the keychain to her ring of house keys and set them gently on her nightstand. In the quiet glow of the room, she smiled — full and real and unguarded — for the first time since arriving.

She sat by the table for a long moment and just stayed there. There was plenty of time to spare until Korra got back. She pulled out a notebook and made a list: The Roommate Doctrine . 

She tapped the end of her pen against the desk and then began to write in her crisp, exact handwriting:

Things To Do As a Good Roommate

1. Replace the milk when it runs out.
   – Even if it’s that weird oat kind Korra likes. Just buy it. No lectures.
   
   
2. Do your share of cleaning.
   – She hates dishes in the sink. You hate laundry scattered in the hallway. Compromise.
   
   
3. Cook dinner once a week.
   – Keep it simple. Nothing that makes you think of old nights or that one birthday you celebrated with her. (Avoid spicy food.)
   
   
4. Avoid lingering glances, especially on those biceps.
   – You're here to live, not suffer. NO OGLING.
   
   
5. No late-night nostalgia spirals.
   – You're not seventeen, anymore. This is not a movie. She’s not yours.
   
   
6. Don’t read too much into the batarang.
   – It’s just a joke. A housewarming gift.
   
   
7. Keep your distance emotionally.
   – Close enough to laugh. Far enough not to bleed. NO FLIRTING.
   
   
8. Don’t fall in love again.
   
   
   

Asami stared at that last one for a long time. She didn’t cross it out. She didn’t add any more. She just closed the notebook, gently, like sealing away something fragile. Then she laid down, staring at the ceiling while the morning sun wrapped itself around her in silence.

***

It was well into the afternoon when Asami found herself wandering the house, barefoot, fingertips grazing walls and shelves. She hadn’t meant to snoop — she wasn’t snooping — but the place asked to be seen. And so, she looked. Every corner told a story. A handmade ceramic bowl in the kitchen, filled with small polished stones. A shelf of old, mismatched mugs. Asami recognized the one Korra had made from their pottery class. She had a similar one in her new room holding her pens and markers. 

There was another room across from Korra's. It was an open area that looked like a second living room. She scanned the books with broken spines and worn corners, some with dog-eared pages. There was an old guitar leaning in the corner like it had stories to tell, some of it Asami had heard what felt like a lifetime ago. It had a strap patched with thread that looked like Korra might have sewn it herself. Beside it was a Steinway upright piano, scuffed and loved and used .

She ran her fingers through the guitar strings, the rich sound reverberating through the open space. The room had no real decorations but the walls carried sound. It felt like it was built to echo . Looking at this little nook, it was Korra , somehow, in every line — low-maintenance but deeply specific. Grounded and inward and stubbornly tender, like a fortress that chose to be soft in secret.

On the small table near the window sat a thick stack of papers. Half-finished music sheets. Chords. Melodies. Bits of lyrics jotted down in margins.

Asami reached for one, then hesitated. But her fingers brushed the edge anyway, gently flipping the top page.

Korra’s blocky, sure strokes—but with that signature quirk: she always wrote her treble clefs backwards. Asami used to tease her for it when she’d found one of Korra’s music sheets. Korra had claimed it was ‘just how her brain hears it.’

Asami smiled despite herself, tracing the small, reversed clef with her finger. She skimmed the page. The lyrics weren’t finished. But they carried a rhythm.

“Clear blue water

High tide came and swept you in

And I could go on and on, on and on and I will

Skies grew darker

Currents swept you out again

And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone”

Asami’s throat tightened. It could be about anyone. But then, the thought of Korra writing songs about someone else sent a different kind of pain through her chest. 

She picked up the paper with shaking fingers and sat on the piano bench. She set the page gently on the stand and touched one key. Her fingers flexed as they hovered above the next key. She didn’t play it. She couldn’t .

She let out a long sigh before turning around on the bench. She looked around again. This was Korra’s space. Korra hadn’t mentioned anything about off limit areas in the house but Asami felt like she was trespassing somehow. Not on a room, or even a song—but on something of Korra’s that Asami didn’t deserve to have a glimpse of.

She stood, too quickly. The bench gave a small creak of protest. Guilt coiled cold and low in her chest.

She gently set the page back where she found it, smoothing the corner where her hand had trembled.

Then, as if the very air were watching, judging her for seeing too much, Asami quietly stepped back and out of the room.

The cold was instant as she stepped out and into the courtyard. She stood there a moment, taking in the quiet. She wasn’t sure if it was the weather or because it was just warmer in the room from which she came. She would bet a fortune it was the latter.

Then the mailbox flag through the little window at the gates caught her eye — a little red signal tilted up like it had been forgotten.

She padded outside and opened the wooden mailbox. A few envelopes were inside, she grabbed all of them and walked back inside. She flipped through the envelopes — utility bills, a flyer for a metal sculpting, something handwritten on cream-colored paper... and one with a seal that stopped her cold.

Office of the President

Her fingers tightened slightly.

She swallowed hard before turning the envelope over.

Tonraq Waters

She stared at it, heart slow and heavy in her chest. She could remember the headlines in the paper and on television. 

The gates creaked open.

Asami turned quickly, walking back toward the living room, already slipping the mail back into its stack — already smoothing her expression into something neutral.

Korra emerged from the wooden doors,  sunglasses tucked into her shirt collar, balancing a paper bag and a potted plant. Casual, effortless, a little sunburnt. She had always looked so much more beautiful when she’d just been touched by the sun. The weight of the sunglasses was enough to tug Korra’s shirt down just enough to reveal tan collarbones. Asami swallowed thickly, her throat going dry. 

Doctrine number 4 , she scolded herself. 

Unaware of Asami’s internal battle, Korra looked up and smiled when she saw Asami on the porch. “Hey,” she called. “I swear I was gone five minutes and you already took over the house.”

Asami held up the stack of mail with a tight smile. “I figured I’d be useful.”

Korra followed into the living room, her smile fading the moment she saw the top envelope. Her hand stilled as she reached for it.

Her jaw tightened. “Great.”

She tossed the mail on the floor table like it burned her before struggling to remove her shoes.

Asami hesitated, biting her lower lip. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Korra didn’t look at her, busy untying her shoelaces. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to.”

Silence stretched. Asami watched Korra groan in frustration as she failed to untangle her laces. She stood up straight and with shoes still on, she padded to the kitchen and put the potted plant and paper bag on the counter.

“I didn’t even know you two were speaking,” Asami said carefully. 

She’d seen Korra mad and she had the tendency to pretend everything was okay, to bottle it up until she couldn’t anymore. And the memory of that night forces its way into Asami’s mind. Shaking hands. Vulnerable eyes. Unshed tears until the dam broke and they fell freely. She remembered the way Korra leaned in to Asami’s touch as she wiped the tears away. How Korra tucked herself further into Asami’s embrace. How they fit into each other’s warmth like they belonged there. She remembered the surprise she felt to discover how someone like Korra—strong, unyielding, radiant– could fit perfectly into her arms. If it was up to Asami, she’d never want to see Korra’s light dim like that again.

“We’re not.” Korra ripped the paper bag open, an assortment of herbs scattering on the counter. “He calls, leaves messages. And now this,” she scoffed. “He sends letters. From his office , no less. Guilt writes well.”

Asami nodded, slow and cautious. “And you never respond?”

Korra gave a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s the idea.”

The moment teetered on the edge of something heavier, but Korra didn’t let it fall. She grabbed a bundle of rosemary. “You want to help me put these away or just stand there looking like the dark knight?”

Asami blinked. “You… still call me that?”

Korra glanced back. “Only when you deserve it.”

There was a flicker of a smirk — guarded, but real — and the walls between them shifted just a little. Not down. But thinner. Progress.

Asami followed her, past the envelope on the table, past all the old fractures they hadn’t named yet, and into the kitchen, where the light poured in like it had nothing to hide. The silence in the house was thick— not angry, not hostile, but tight around the edges. Korra busied herself at the sink, aggressively rinsing the herbs she had taken out from the paper bag.

Asami hovered near the stove, arms folded. She sighed.

Finally, she said, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Korra didn’t look up. “I just got back.”

“Yeah, and the tension in here could cut through the basil. Let’s go grocery shopping. You’re low on everything except emotional repression.”

That earned a sharp breath — not quite a laugh. Korra glanced sideways. “Was that supposed to be charming?”

“Just practical. I want to cook something tonight, and your fridge is a wasteland.”

Korra narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a trap, is it?”

“What, like a ‘grocery-run totally-not-a-date-feelings-confession-and-maybe-talk-about-our-daddy-issues via oat milk aisle’ trap?” Asami asked without blinking.

Korra blinked. “...That specific phrasing feels suspicious.”

Asami chuckled. “I just thought we could do something normal. Neutral territory.”

Asami just shrugged and raised an eyebrow. 

Korra wiped her hands on a towel. “Fine. But I’m not letting you pick out the snacks. If you try to sneak five packs of fire flakes into it, I’m gonna up the rent.”

“I have money to spare,” Asami said, already walking to grab her bag.

***

Asami had, in fact, already snuck three bags of fire flakes into the cart, hidden under a bag of bok choy and something green she pretended to know the name of.

Korra caught her mid-fourth.

“‘Sami.”

Asami froze. Korra hadn’t meant to use that nickname. If it had an effect on Asami, she was good at hiding it.

“What?”

“I can see the flaming badger mole on the label.”

Asami looked down. “He’s... discreet.”

Korra shook her head. “This is a two-person household now. We need balance. "

Asami leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s exactly why we need both fire flakes and vanilla ice cream.”

Korra smothered a laugh. “Spirits, I forgot how annoying you are when you’re smug.”

“And I forgot how bossy you get in produce aisles,” Asami shot back, tossing in the fire flakes anyway. “Honestly, it's comforting.”

Korra paused. This time, the expression on Asami’s face betrayed her, looking surprised herself like she didn’t  mean it to come out so soft. So... close.

They both stared at the cart like it might fill the silence for them.

Then Asami cleared her throat and nudged Korra’s shoulder with her own. “We still need rice.”

Korra nodded, grateful. “Lead the way.”

They didn’t talk about the space between them. Not directly. But it was there in the way Korra grabbed the wrong kind of soy sauce on purpose just to hear Asami scold her gently. In the way Asami let Korra linger too long in the spice aisle without rushing her. In the way they both stopped walking when they passed the frozen cakes freezer—like they were remembering something, or trying not to.

She pushed the cart with her usual casual authority, while Asami floated from shelf to shelf. 

Korra stopped by the non-dairy milk aisle, examining labels like she was negotiating an international treaty.

“Are you really comparing oat milk right now?” Asami asked, deadpan, as Korra weighed two jars in her hands.

“I’m comparing sugar content and ethics, yes.”

“It’s beige water , not a philosophy.”

Korra shot her a withering look. “You put ranch on everything. Your opinion on food ethics is invalid.”

“Ranch is a unifier.”

“It’s a red flag .”

Asami laughed — actually laughed — and Korra couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at her mouth in response. It was like muscle memory. The teasing, the rhythm of it, how easy it still was to argue about absolutely nothing.

Asami hadn’t said anything about the keychain but she saw it hanging from Asami’s set of keys when she locked the gates before they left. Korra was fine with it. Fine with this. It would be nice to have something normal for once. And although Asami was her ex…something, she was her friend first. Her best friend. That would never change.

They reached the produce section, and Korra picked up a bundle of green onions, inspecting them like she knew what she was doing.

“You’re holding them upside down,” Asami muttered.

Korra flipped them the other way. “They look the same!”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You like it.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. A warning. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They locked eyes over the green onions — a beat too long, something electric flickering under the fluorescent lights.

Korra was the first to break it, clearing her throat and turning back to the cart. “You’re paying.”

Asami snorted. “I literally gave you a deposit and an advance yesterday.”

“And you said you had money to spare.”

Asami gave an exaggerated sigh and pulled out her wallet.

But they were both smiling now — not wide, not easy, but real. Like something old and stubborn had quietly survived them both. Or maybe they had survived it . Progress.

***

“I’m just saying,” Asami declared, peeling a carrot with excessive determination, “you don’t have to julienne everything. Some of us appreciate a rustic chop.”

Korra, halfway through dicing scallions with almost surgical precision, didn’t even look up. “And some of us appreciate not breaking our teeth on poorly disguised vegetable cubes.”

Asami tossed a carrot end into the bin with a dramatic sigh. “It’s just soup.”

Korra slid her knife through another scallion. “This was why your noodles always clumped. Lack of discipline. I bet your pancakes are flat like your apologies.”

Asami froze mid-slice.

Korra blinked. “Wow, okay. “ She laughed awkwardly. “That came out harsher than I meant.”

Asami looked up at her. “You’ve never even tasted my pancakes.”

“You left before I could,” Korra said—so quietly it nearly got lost in the sound of the stove clicking on. “Maybe this time I’d be able to finally try them.” She doubled back, hoping it was enough to recover.

“Tomorrow, then.” When Korra looked up, Asami was already grinning at her. She returned the smile before looking away because she didn’t want to find out how long she could stare at those green eyes without breaking. Spoiler alert, she wouldn’t last a minute.

The silence after was light but careful. Measured. 

Korra reached for the pot. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. They were doing so good in this date-not-date-dinner-with-an-ex-but-not-an-ex. She was doing so well at dodging, she could probably compete with Neo. “Anyway. You’re stirring. I’m on seasoning.”

“Is that because you don’t trust me with spice levels?” Asami asked as she stepped beside her.

“Yes. Your paprika is too loud .” Korra huffed as she moved. Their arms brushed as they stood at the stove, and neither moved away.

Asami stirred, slow and focused. “Come on, live a little.”

“Not for long if you put too much again.” Korra said it casually, but her hand tightened around the white pepper shaker.

The soup started to steam. It smelled like ginger, garlic, a little bit of paprika and more of the weight of everything they weren’t saying.

Asami glanced sideways. “You used to hum when you cooked.”

“I stopped,” Korra replied, jaws working tightly.

“Why?” Asami was still stirring absentmindedly but her heart was starting to pound in her chest.

“Didn’t feel like I had anything to hum about.”

Asami stopped stirring, her mind involuntary flashing memories of the music sheets from this afternoon. The silence that followed was heavy. A flurry of emotions stirred inside Asami’s chest. She ignored all of them. She didn’t want to push. She didn’t want to disturb the current peace they had going. 

Korra reached for the miso paste, her fingers brushing Asami’s on the jar. This time, neither pulled back. For a long second, they stood like that—close enough to fall into something, but still clinging to the edge. 

But then, Korra was once again the one to pull away. She stirred the soup, her breath looking as calm as the expression on her face. Unaffected. Then she reached up and turned off the burner.

“Soup’s done,” Korra said, breaking the moment if there was even one.

They served it into mismatched bowls, sat at the low table in the lounge, and ate in silence—it wasn’t not awkward, but it was companionable. Comforting.

“Thanks for the keychain by the way. Although I would’ve preferred Bale’s version of the batarang.” Asami said as she started on the dishes.

“You’re kidding,” Korra said, one eyebrow arched. “Bale? Really?”

Asami smiled with the smugness of someone who’d absolutely waited years to have this argument. Well, that was because she had waited years. “I think it’s time you learned the truth. Christian Bale is the best Batman.”

Korra straightened up like she’d been personally insulted. “ No. Absolutely not. Bale sounds like he’s chewing gravel and emotionally constipated. It’s a wonder he didn’t damage his throat doing the role.”

“He’s brooding , ” Asami defended, rinsing the bowls with more force than necessary. “It’s iconic.”

“It’s concerning,” Korra shot back. “Michael Keaton had actual mystique. Plus, eyebrows. You can’t trust a Batman without good eyebrows.”

Asami laughed. “This is your criteria? Eyebrow game?”

“And emotional depth,” Korra added, leaning in. “And gadgets. Keaton’s Batmobile actually looked like something out of a weird dream. Bale’s was just a tank. No style.”

“Oh, please,” Asami said, gesturing broadly. “The Tumbler was a triumph of engineering. You just like your Batman campy.”

Korra gasped. “ How dare you. ”

“You probably like Adam West.”

“I love Adam West,” Korra said, now standing on principle. “He had a shark repellent spray. That man was committed.”

Asami flicked her wet fingers at Korra, effectively hitting the woodworker with drops of water in the face. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re wrong,” Korra said, smiling as she took a paper towel to wipe her face. “But it’s cute that you’re trying.”

Asami rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Alright then. Let’s settle this.”

Korra narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Asami nodded toward the lounge area. “We each pick one Batman movie. We watch both. And then we let Naga decide.”

Korra glanced to the corner where Naga was licking a suspicious fuzzball with no care of her surroundings.

“She’s clearly Team Keaton,” Korra said confidently.

“She brought me a burnt sandal,” Asami replied dryly. “Her judgment is not beyond question.”

“Exactly,” Korra said. “A perfect neutral party.”

Asami shook her head, chuckling. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you argue.”

Korra froze. Blinked.

Asami realized what she’d said a half-second too late. 

There goes Doctrine number 7 .

The air stretched between them—too long for just teasing, too short for a real confession.

Korra cleared her throat, the tip of her ears darkening with a nice shade of red. “Keaton it is, then.”

Asami gave her a look. “Deflection noted.”

Korra pressed play.

The movie started.

Neither of them paid attention to the first ten minutes—too aware of how close they were, how the lines between banter and honesty kept blurring, how the silence between arguments sometimes said more than the words themselves.

And somewhere around Batman’s first brooding rooftop scene, Naga leapt onto the couch, climbed into Korra’s lap, and sneezed directly on the popcorn.

“A vote for chaos,” Asami said softly, smiling.

Korra looked down at the cat, then at Asami, then back at the screen.

“Fair,” she said. “That’s pretty on brand for both of us.”

Before Asami could agree, a phone rang somewhere. The sound was muffled and seemed to be coming from inside the couch. She followed the familiar ringtone, searching under the cushions until she was able to grab her phone. She glanced at the screen. Her face shifted immediately—expression tightening.

Korra noticed the change instantly, her teasing fading. “Everything okay?”

Asami answered without replying, her voice cool and clipped. “Joon?”

Korra leaned subtly, watching Asami with the same quiet alertness she used when reading a thunderstorm’s arrival before anyone else felt the wind.

“Gone?” Asami repeated into the phone, lips thinning. “When did you last see him? ...Two hours ago? And he didn’t take his phone? Or his driver?”

There was a pause. Asami’s brows knit, but there was a flicker of something else under the concern. Familiarity. Not panic—just recognition.

“No, don’t alert anyone. I'll handle this.” Her voice dropped an octave—flat, resigned. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Korra leaned in a little closer. “What’s going on?”

Asami covered the bottom of the phone. “My father went ‘missing.’ Again.” She added the air quotes with her free hand.

Korra blinked. “Again?”

Asami gave her a small, tired smile. “He does this sometimes when I ignore a call and he tries to get my attention by being overly dramatic.”

There was a beat. Then Korra muttered, “So that’s where you get it from.”

Asami rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

She clicked back onto the call. “Yes, Joon. I’ll go get him. Tell the staff not to panic.”

She hung up and pocketed the phone with a sigh.

Korra’s arms were folded, her concern now shaped into something more grounded. “Do you want company?”

Asami shook her head gently. “No. It’s better if I go alone. He listens to me. Eventually.”

“You sure?” Korra cocked her head.

Asami gave her a small smile—warm but frayed. “I’m sure.”

Korra didn’t press, to Asami's relief. But the way her eyes searched Asami’s face said she wanted to.

Asami moved to stand from the couch, Korra doing the same without realizing it. “Don't wait up for me. I'll be back tomorrow. We still have to watch The Dark Knight.”

Korra gave a mock salute. “I will be ready with counter arguments why Keaton's 'I'm Batman',” she said the words with the deepest voice she could do, "is the best."

Asami let out huff of laughter and shook her head. She slipped on her coat, made her way into the courtyard and out the gates.

And just like that, the house fell quiet again.

Except for Korra, standing still in the middle of the courtyard, brow furrowed—not with suspicion, but worry. Not for Hiroshi, but for the woman who still carried his chaos like an old scar tucked under black leather jackets.

Chapter Text

Hiroshi was exactly where Asami expected: the half-renovated tea house in the hills. He’d bought it two years ago on a whim and declared “a personal sanctuary for guilt detox and not-so-secret hideout for brewing the best tea and innovations.”

Asami had let her father be. After his forced retirement and Future Industries’ acquisition, the two of them had different ways to cope. Her father’s idea of moving on was buying properties in the outskirts of the city, most of them empty lots and abandoned warehouses. This one was a tea house destroyed by the very thunderstorm on that fateful night. 

Asami assumed it was just another phase. Apparently, the phase was still phasing.

She parked her car at the bottom of the gravel path, next to an old moped that had definitely not passed inspection in a decade. The building was mostly intact—its wooden eaves newly sanded, windows open to let the scent of steamed herbs out into the cool night air.

She climbed the steps quietly.

Inside, the front room was scattered with parts—copper pipes, gears, wire spools, and what looked suspiciously like the steampunk version of Chip and Mrs. Potts. 

A soft hiss and click echoed from the back room.

She followed it.

Her father stood in front of a heavily modified tea machine that appeared to be connected to a foot pump and a repurposed heater. His glasses rested atop his gray hair, messy and sooty like a mad scientist if it wasn’t for the safety goggles, two pairs of gloves, and a scarf over his mouth that made him look more like a bandit.

Asami crossed her arms. “So. This is your idea of subtle.”

Hiroshi flinched—just a little—then turned around with exaggerated calm. “Asami. How lovely to see my only daughter. You brought proper shoes this time.”

“I always bring proper shoes.” She scoffed. “You just build things that ignore footwear.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. He just looked more ridiculous in full view. “I wasn’t complaining when you played with all those Legos and kept leaving them on the floor.”

Asami let out a fond eye roll. “You’re still working on this?”

He nodded before lifting the goggles and offered her a small, sheepish smile. “The tea’s almost ready.”

Asami looked past him at the metal contraption currently brewing something that smelled like jasmine and ozone. “Is that... infused with voltage?”

“It keeps the leaves vibrant,” he said.

“Or caffeinated into a new plane of existence.” She took a few steps to have a closer look. “You just might open a portal to the spirit world.”

“I am so going to patent this,” he said with a proud grin, earning a light chuckle from Asami. He gestured to a stool. “Sit. You came all this way.”

She did, slowly. Her legs crossed, posture perfect. “Joon said you went missing. Again. You’re gonna give your oldest friend a heart attack. He thought you’d been kidnapped.”

Hiroshi chuckled. “Technically, I was — by inspiration.”

He poured her a cup. The tea steamed with an unnatural shimmer. She took it, despite herself.

They sat in silence for a moment.

He glanced over at her. “The parts you need for that car you’re restoring are waiting for you at home.”

Home. Asami didn’t answer right away. She drew in a long breath through her nose. Since she got back six months ago, her dad had been trying to convince her to stay at the estate. He would pretend he was sick, needed help in the garage, couldn’t find a missing tool, even tried the puppy dog eyes through FaceTime. But Asami has always seen through him and his plans.

It wasn’t that Asami didn’t want to. She just couldn’t bring herself to go back there. Not yet. Not when everything reminded her of too many memories. They weren’t painful nor sad. In fact, they were the happiest ones. But they were the kinds of memories that made her heart ache to think about.

She swallowed through a dry throat.  “I’m swamped with work.”

Hiroshi hummed as he sipped his tea. “That’s not what Opal said.

Asami paused. Her eyebrow raised slowly and her eyes narrowed. “And what did Opal, my extremely loyal best friend who swore fealty to me, say to my father?”

There was a pause. Then her dad grinned. “You’re busy moving in with Korra.”

Asami sputtered, almost spitting out her tea which was surprisingly not bad considering how it was made. She’d have to have another sip later when she was sure her dad was done teasing.

Hiroshi handed her a paper towel. Then softly, he said, “That’s brave.”

Asami exhaled, not quite a sigh. “I don’t feel brave. I just feel... like I ran out of ways to pretend I didn’t miss her. But I can’t exactly tell her that. Not after everything.”

He looked down into his own tea. “Funny how the most complicated things are the ones we try hardest to simplify. Then again, sometimes we tend to complicate the most simple things.”

Asami hummed in agreement. She didn’t know which category her situation fell into. She decided on both.

“She’s still angry,” Asami said with a sigh. “But she’s also still stubbornly kind. Very much so. And I don’t really deserve it.”

Hiroshi smiled sadly. “No one who’s ever tried to be better thinks they deserve a second chance. That’s what makes them worthy of one.”

She stared at him for a long time. The weight of the words settled heavy in her chest like a ball with its chain wrapped around her heart then thrown into the sea. The earnest look in her father’s amber eyes also told her he wasn’t just talking about Asami. He was also talking about himself.

She looked around the chaotic room, trying to steel herself. “You’re going to turn this place into a robot, aren’t you?”

“Only partially.”

She took a sip of tea. She let the liquid settle on her tongue before swallowing. Her eyebrows raised. “Okay. That’s actually... good.”

He looked smug. “It’s the voltage.”

She rolled her eyes and stood up. “Come home. You’re stressing the entire staff. And if you keep disappearing, I’m going to start tagging you like a wild otter-penguin.”

He stood too, gathering a few tools into a bag. “Only if you go penguin sledding with me.”

Asami smiled faintly. “Mom would’ve installed lasers by now.”

He gave a nostalgic nod. “Yes. With good reason. Also, she would’ve asked me to make a wine machine instead of tea.”

Asami chuckled. “I think that would sell faster than your SatoMobiles.”

“ Our SatoMobiles,” Hiroshi corrected before taking another sip. “They are ours. Always remember that.”

Asami pursed her lips and looked down at her cup.  “ Were .”

“Asami.”

“Dad.” 

Hiroshi looked at her with furrowed brows and somber eyes. Then his expression shifted into something hard and determined. “I’m gonna get Future Industries back.”

Asami bit her lip. She wanted to believe her father. She wanted to call him out and say it had been ten years. She wanted to be mad, to challenge him, ask him why he gave away the company he worked so hard to build. 

She sighed and opted for teasing instead. “From this tea shop?”

Hiroshi smirked. “There could be a secret room here where secret meetings are held by secret people.”

Asami narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You’re not planning an espionage are you?”

Hiroshi chuckled and sipped the last of his tea. “Tell you what,” he put the cup down, “you don’t have to come home with me if you help me fix that motorcycle parked down the path.”

Asami scoffed. “You mean that charming moped that looks like it’s from the 1920s?”

Hiroshi nodded as he stood up. “That’s the one.” 

Asami did the same and Hiroshi started gathering his tools and put them into a leather bag. “We can catch up. Tell me how awkward you are being roommates with your ex.”

Asami groaned and grumbled a “she’s not my ex” under her breath. But her father heard it all the same and laughed out loud.

They left together—steam rising from the half-built machines, fading into the night.

***

It took them until dawn to get the moped’s engine running. It would have been easier if Hiroshi didn’t insist on using tools from the same era as the bike. It would be fun, he said. And it had been fun. It had been a long time since Asami and her dad bonded over something they both loved doing.

Hours and cups of tea Asami had lost count of later, the moped was as good as new if it travelled back in time to where it belonged. Asami had called Joon to pick up Hiroshi and make sure her dad went straight home.

When it was her turn to go back, she’d stopped by for wild berries on her way.

She was going to make pancakes just like she’d promised the night before. 

The house was quiet when she arrived. Asami padded into the kitchen, tying up her hair lazily.

She checked the fridge. No notes.

Korra must still be asleep. It was no surprise since the sun wasn’t even up yet.

She turned on the tap, tested the temperature for a second—and then paused. Her coat still smelled like tea. And solder. And her father’s chaos.

She sighed.

She’d shower first. Then cook. 

She made her way into her room to grab her towels but a quick scan revealed they weren’t there.

Without thinking—without even glancing down the hall—she walked toward the bathroom.

Aurora had a way of being quiet enough to trick you into thinking you were alone.

She nudged the bathroom door groggily.

It opened.

All the way.

Steam billowed out, curling dramatically into the hall.

And there, standing at the foggy mirror— skin still damp, back turned—was Korra .

Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, bare feet planted confidently on the tile. Another towel hitched low on her hips. 

And sprawled across the entirety of her muscled back, sweeping from shoulder to waist in elegant, ancient ink, was a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, it was Raava— raw and alive and breathtaking in every sense of the word. It coiled in almost luminous ink between her shoulder blades, wings unfurling in perfect symmetry. And lower still — Tui and La , the moon and ocean spirits, inked in rich blue and black, swirling into an intricate design that pulsed with subtle spiritline marks.

But it didn’t stop there because Asami could only see half of the Koi fish. The other half travelled even lower and hid under the fluffy towel covering tanned hips. Asami almost felt jealous of the measly cotton that got to wrap snugly around Korra’s lower half.

She hadn’t realized she’d been staring. Ogling . Her entire being was frozen but the thought of how low the entire tattoo went behind Korra’s back made her fingers around the door handle tighten.

Korra turned slightly at the sound—eyes wide, not yet registering what was happening.

Then she did .

And chaos ensued.

“ Asami! ”

“ Oh my—sorry! I didn’t know—you—I thought no one—!”

“Door—! You didn’t knock?!”

“You didn’t lock it!”

Korra lunged for another towel with one hand while simultaneously trying to cover about twelve square feet of exposed, mortified dignity. She didn’t know which was to turn around until she settled on turning toward Asami. Tan fingers gripped the face towel toward a toned chest like a vice.  “Spirits!”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Asami cocked her head to the side.

“ASAMI!”

Realizing she’d said it out loud, Asami snapped out of her thoughts, feeling heat rise up to her cheeks. She turned around with military precision and marched backward out of the room like she was deactivating a bomb. “I didn’t even see anything!”

“You saw everything! ”

“Okay, yes, I saw a lot, but— artistically! ”

The door slammed shut between them.

Silence.

Then Korra’s voice, muffled but still indignant: “You can’t just walk in on someone’s post shower nudity and call it artistic! ”

Asami pressed her forehead against the wall and groaned into her hands.

“I’m making pancakes,” she muttered. As if it would make anything better.

Inside, Korra was furiously toweling off, still red from the ears down.

Outside, Asami was even redder.

She hadn’t just seen the tattoo—she’d seen Korra. Raw and unguarded, vulnerable in a way she rarely let anyone see. And the tattoo… she’d seen it in one of Korra’s notes back in high school. 

She knew what it meant to Korra.

And now she was going to have to make eye contact with Korra after this.

In the same house.

Possibly while having pancakes together.

From inside the bathroom, Korra’s voice floated out, slightly more composed, “You’re not allowed to reference this without a written agreement and emotional hazard pay.”

“Agreed,” Asami called back. Then added, under her breath, “But the Koi fish were really cool.”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

She fled back to the kitchen. She’d just take that shower later.

And behind the bathroom door, Korra stood in the steam, heart pounding, towel clenched in both hands. She scoffed, processing what had just happened. Then one quiet, mortified smile tugged at her lips.

***

Morning light was seeping through the windows in the kitchen. The stove hissed softly. Asami was at the counter, sleeves rolled, doing her absolute best to pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen.

She flipped a pancake. Fluffy and perfect golden brown just like the recipe described. But her hand was trembling slightly.

Every time she blinked, she saw it again.

Raava, coiled across Korra’s back like a guardian.

Tui and La, twined at the bottom of her spine in perfect balance, the ink dark and steady.

And Korra , standing in steam and silence, looking over her shoulder with that maddening, entirely unbothered slanted smile.

The pancake landed slightly off-center. Asami cursed under her breath and reached for the next ladleful of batter.

Behind her, she heard the soft creak of wood and the scuff of bare feet. She didn’t turn. But she felt the smirk before she heard it.

“I was going to come help,” Korra said. “But then I remembered how you flip things when emotionally unstable.”

Korra leaned against the counter, freshly dressed in sweatpants and a tank top that did absolutely nothing to help Asami’s internal dignity. Her damp hair was tied in a lazy knot, and she looked every bit like someone who’d just walked out of a dream designed to punish Asami for her mistakes.

“I’m fine, ” Asami said through clenched teeth, flipping another pancake a little too forcefully.

“Really? Because you bolted out of the bathroom like you saw a ghost.”

“You were naked !”

“Half.”

Asami finally turned, whisk in one hand like a weapon. “And tattooed! Where did that even come from?”

Korra shrugged, unabashed. “Got it after high school. It looks awesome . Doesn’t it?”

Asami turned back to the stove. “It does,” she mumbled.

Korra grinned. “You checking out my back, Sato?”

“You traumatized me.”

Korra stepped closer. “Funny. You’re the one who walked in.”

“You didn’t lock the door!”

“You never used to mind seeing me half-naked.”

Asami dropped the spatula with a loud clatter.

Korra burst out laughing, then grabbed it off the floor and handed it back to her. “You’re lucky I like your pancakes.”

“You haven’t tasted them yet.”

“I’m optimistic.”

Asami turned away again, hiding a smile. “Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s the only way I get to see that little wrinkle in your brow. The one that says you want to kiss me and strangle me at the same time.”

Asami turned sharply. She briefly thought about just grabbing Korra by her tank top and just kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the same as strangling, but the same difference. It would prove Korra right. But she’d bet her entire company it would shut Korra up. 

She still had an ounce of self control left. And pride. So she played it cool with a scoff. “You’re imagining things.”

Korra looked entirely too pleased with herself. “Sure I am.”

There was a long pause. The kind of pause that sits on the edge of something bigger.

Then Asami held up a plate. “Pancakes. Sit down and eat before I change my mind.”

Korra did, cheerfully.

Asami sat across from her a beat later, biting into a berry. She could definitely handle this back and forth between them. She’d just scratch out doctrine number seven later. “Next time you forget to lock the door, I’m not looking away.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. “That a threat?”

Asami smiled over her coffee mug, calm again. But her eyes sparkled dangerously.
“No. Just a fair warning.”

Her gaze may or may not have lingered on the grin that graced Korra’s lips. Asami would neither confirm nor deny.

Might as well remove doctrines four and five, too.

***

Korra had genuinely complimented Asami’s pancakes saying they were the fluffiest she’d tried. Separating the whites from the yolks, whisking them into a foam and folding it back into the batter was a game changer. Asami would forever be grateful to Carlos Sainz.

Korra had already finished three pancakes and was on her way to a fourth. Things were settling into something teasing and comfortable when a knock came from the front gates. Three sharp raps. Confident. Unapologetic.

Korra paused mid-sip of her tea.

Asami raised a brow. “Are you expecting anyone today?”

Korra smiled. “Naara is dropping by.”

She stood, still smiling, and walked barefoot to the lounge area to put on some slippers. 

Asami stayed behind, her mind spiraling with unwelcome thoughts and fighting with everything in her power not to follow Korra to the door.

Naara. Could it be the same girl from high school? How many Southern Water Tribe women were named Naara? Probably just the one.

She listened to the creak of the hinges, then—

“Oh. Hey.”

A voice answered. It sounded light, cheerful, and vaguely familiar. Definitely feminine. A bit nasal. “Told you I’d drop it off early!”

Asami’s heart dropped into her stomach. She quietly set her mug down and stood, just as Korra returned... carrying two long planks of smooth, carved dark wood under one arm and a small bundle of pink paint samples in the other.

Behind her was a woman—tall, broad-shouldered, and… very visibly pregnant .

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said with a wide smile, brushing a leaf out of her curly hair. “I just didn’t want to leave the stuff outside.”

Korra stepped back inside, grinning. “Asami, remember Naara? She’s an old friend from the south. And—”

“—Her very ex ,” Naara said cheerfully, rubbing her belly. “But that was, like, two lifetimes ago.”

Asami blinked. “Oh. Oh !”

Naara put a hand on her waist. “So, you are the mysterious roommate slash pancake artist.”

Korra choked on her tea in the background.

Asami huffed a short laugh, flustered. “I—yes. I mean, I made pancakes. Today. For Korra.”

“Aw,” Naara said, swooning. “Romantic breakfast. How cute.”

Korra coughed. Loudly. “Okay, goodbye , Naara.”

Naara handed her the last bag—small metal brackets and instructions folded like a map. “There’s more at the center, but I wanted to give you a head start. The baby’s gonna be a girl. She should nap in style.”

Korra smiled warmly. “You got it. I’ll make sure it’s strong enough for midnight tantrums.”

“I’m counting on you.” Naara winked at Asami. “Take care of her.”

And with that, she waddled off with a wave and the grace of someone who’s been pregnant and deeply unbothered for months.

Korra closed the gates, set the rest of the materials on the table, arranging them as if making sure everything was complete.

Asami approached carefully. “Wow, she is really pregnant, huh?” She said, trying to sound as casual as she could as if she wasn’t jumping to conclusions minutes ago.

Korra turned around. “Yep. She’s due any day now.”

Asami’s jaw dropped. “And she’s still walking around carrying planks of wood and visiting exes in the morning?”

Korra raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Korra crossed her arms. “Why did you think she dropped by?”

Asami could feel her face heat up. Korra’s other brow joined the raised one. Asami sighed and grumbled, “I thought she was showing up to seduce you.”

“ While pregnant? ”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant! ”

Korra smirked. “I told you. You’ve got a type : catastrophizing.”

“You’re so smug right now.” Asami walked back into the kitchen.

“She commissioned me for a crib, Asami. For her  baby. With paint samples.”

Asami whisked the leftover batter aggressively and scoffed when a little bit splattered on her shirt. “She wasn’t exactly the ‘settling down’ type in high school.”

“A lot can change when you find your soulmate.” Korra’s voice sounded nearer but softer.

Asami turned around to find her sitting back at the dining table. She opened her mouth to say something, anything but closed it back up, words dying in her throat. She returned to her task, the batter looking more runny by the second.

Korra appeared beside her, leaning forward slightly, eyes glittering. “Jealousy. Huh.”

Asami groaned, face in her hands. “I’m going to flip the rest of the pancakes onto the floor.”

Korra laughed, and when she stepped close enough to nudge Asami with her shoulder, it was soft. Familiar. A little too warm.

“Don’t worry,” she said, teasing, “you’re already my favorite person who’s barged in on me half-naked.”

Asami groaned louder. “I hate you.”

Korra grinned, “You wish,” before stepping back and resuming her breakfast.

Asami stared at the batter on the counter, bubbles popping one by one as if laughing at her. She rolled her eyes and took the mixing bowl to dump it in the sink.

When she turned around, there was movement at her feet. She looked down and there was Naga, in her pristine white fur, trotted by with perfect timing, dragging the very towel Asami had come to retrieve from the bathroom an hour ago.

She dropped it ceremoniously at Asami’s feet.

Asami glared at her. “You did this.”

Naga blinked slowly, bent tail twitching. She opened her tiny mouth into an exaggeratedly long yawn. Then—

“Mrow.”

Chapter Text

Korra was late. First day of school and she was running late. It may or may not have something to do with staying late at the gala the night before, gritting her teeth through conversations about scholarships and future plans, will she follow her father’s footsteps or continue with a professional career in basketball. And maybe she’d spent the better half of the night looking for the girl in the red dress and razor-sharp emerald stare.

Now, hungover on adrenaline and three hours of sleep, Korra jogged across the crosswalk, earbuds in. Her duffel bag thumped against her back as she crossed over to the school’s side lot. The opening game was next Thursday, and Coach Bumi will be naming the team’s new captain today, whom they all knew was going to be Korra Waters.

Spirits? High. Energy? Chaotic.

Which is why the sound of a rapidly approaching vehicle didn’t register until the very last second.

“HEY!”

Too late.

Korra spun around to see the white blur racing toward her.

The motorcycle swerved hard, managing to avoid hitting Korra—but Korra had already yeeted herself sideways to avoid collision, landing hard on her wrist with a dull, crunching thud .

Then silence.

The bike’s engine cut.

“…Oh my god,” the driver said, jumping off the motorcycle.

Korra laid on the pavement, teeth clenched, eyes shut tight. Then when she released the breath she was holding, things began to register one by one.

Pain. Air. Ground.

Korra opened her eyes to the pale blue sky and the sound of absolute panic.

“Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no —”

She blinked up and staring down at her was the very girl from the gala, crouching beside her moped like someone caught in a felony.

Asami.

Korra could only stare, air stuck in her throat as the next moments happened in slow motion— Asami, despite the obvious panic in her voice seconds ago, removed  her helmet in one fluid motion with infuriating grace. With the blue sky in the background, jet-black hair spilled free like ink on water, tumbling over her shoulder in flawless waves. As if cued by the spirits, a breeze picked up and caught the strands, lifting them just so, before she flicked them back with practiced nonchalance.

Time stopped. Korra blinked.

She couldn’t decide which was more beautiful, the girl in the red dress from last night or this girl in simple jeans and a leather jacket. Both were stunning all the same. And not in a normal oh she’s pretty kind of way. This was otherworldly. Emerald eyes, sharp cheekbones, a ruby-painted mouth with the hint of a smirk like she knew exactly the effect she had.

Korra forgot how to breathe. She forgot how legs worked. She forgot language.

“Are you okay ? I didn’t see—You—You darted—Why would anyone run across a—Are you—Korra?”

Korra blinked, snapping back to reality. She moved to get up but groaned, her hand lifting on its own to cradling her other wrist. “You almost killed me.”

“I braked !” She gestured wildly with both hands. “Your reflexes are terrible.”

“You sound really sorry,” Korra winced when she moved her right hand.  “I think you broke me.”

“I didn’t even hit you—”

“You almost did, which is emotionally the same!”

Asami dropped to her knees beside her, breath short and oh so close . “Let me see.” She offered both palms.

Korra pulled her wrist away. “It’s bad. It’s bad. Owowowowowowww.”

Her voice cracked a little. Not from the pain—but from the knowledge that her starting game, where they were going to announce her captain, finally , was probably gone.

Asami didn’t move from where she was kneeling. “Please just let me see. I can take you to the doctor.”

“Not on that evil machine,” Korra grumbled then whimpered in pain.

“I can walk you to the school’s clinic.”

“Was that the new girl?”

Korra whipped her head to the new voice. 

A crowd was gathering. Phones were out. Someone whispered, “She hit Korra?”

“She hurt her? At the beginning of basketball season?”

Bumi was going to scream.

Asami looked up, flushed and breathless, then glanced around. “They’re looking at me like I killed you.”

“You might have,” Korra muttered. She winced again as she sat up straighter. “This is my shooting wrist after all.”

Asami let out a long sigh before standing up on her feet. “Do you want me to take you to the nurse or not?”

Korra looked up and she was met with eyes so green, she briefly questioned her entire existence. Had she indeed passed away and went to heaven because this goddess before her did not belong here with mere mortals..

Someone else said, “Korra’s wrist. She’s toast. We’re toast.”

And suddenly it wasn’t about Korra or Asami. It was about the team. The season. The headlines. Korra’s stomach twisted again — not just from the pain. She looked at the gathering crowd then with a sigh she held out her good hand.  “…Yes.”

She ignored the electric feeling that rushed through her veins. It felt a lot like the night before. Like recognition . Something deep. Primal. Like her bones remembered this feeling. LIke finding something she didn’t know she was looking for.

Warmth bloomed between their palms and spread like ripples on a still lake. The air shifted. A quiet hum vibrated in her chest, and for one suspended second, Korra swore the world tilted toward this woman like a compass pointing home .

And then—just as quickly—she walled it off. Too fast. Too intense. Definitely not real. Unlike the pain in her wrist which was making itself known as it throbbed . 

This was just adrenaline. It had to be. Besides, it could be in her head. Her mind was playing tricks at her. 

She yanked her hand back casually, cradling her wrist once again before she could overthink it.

***

Ten weeks. That was what Kya said. Korra had torn a ligament. It did not require surgery, thankfully, but it did require significant immobilization and would take ten weeks to fully heal. 

Korra was still captain but she couldn’t feel an ounce of enthusiasm no matter how hard she tried. She would miss a good number of games until Kya cleared her to play.

She’d checked her calendar and the schedule of games. Best case scenario, she’d be good as new before winter break. And the first game she’d be able to play was against the Southern Water Tribe Otter-Penguins.

They were the defending champions. Korra’s former team before transferring to Republic City High junior year. It was a close one last year, but they fell short and lost by two points in overtime. And the newly appointed captain was none other than Naara Rivers—Korra’s ex .

Now here she sat on the bench in the gym, her wrist wrapped, braced, and knee bouncing restlessly. She glared at the wall while the basketballs bounced without her.

Across the gym, Asami stood awkwardly near the bleachers, arms crossed, trying to ignore the whispers.

“Rich girl thinks she can just mow people down.”

“She probably bribed her way in. ”

“She’s got that ‘I can buy you, your friends and this school’ vibe.”

Korra’s jaw ticked. An Idea popped into her head like a lightbulb moment. Then she stood, crossed the gym, and stopped right in front of her. “They think you ruined the season,” Korra said.

Asami didn’t flinch. “And you don’t?”

“I think you're a disaster on two wheels,” Korra said. “But no. Not entirely.”

A beat. Then, casually—too casually—Korra added, “I have a plan.”

Asami crossed her arms. “This ought to be good.”

Korra smirked. “Do you trust me?”

When Asami just stared, searching each of Korra’s eyes, Korra pulled up her smirk into a wide grin and wriggled her eyebrows. Asami scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully.

“I can’t believe I’m saying I do.”

“Atta girl.” Korra winked before setting her water bottle down and said loud enough for the whole gym to hear. “So, how about I give you a tour of the campus?”

Asami looked up, startled.

Korra smirked before propping one foot on the bleachers and resting her injured wrist very carefully on her knee, leaning in closer to Asami before drawling out,  “Baby.”

The gym went still.

Asami blinked. “...What?”

“Go with it,” Korra muttered, keeping the smile on her face.

Asami raised a brow. “That’s your plan?”

“Do you have a better one?”

A long pause. Then a slow, impossible smile spread across Asami’s lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a menace with an engine.”

They held eye contact a beat longer than necessary—and the gossip changed direction like a current flipping tide.

Now, they were the It Couple. And neither of them quite knew what they’d just signed up for.

***

Day Two of the ruse and it was already spiraling.

Korra sat in the cafeteria, lunch tray untouched. She scanned the room casually—until she saw Asami walking in. Black blazer fitted like it was tailored. Slight scowl. Hair pulled back like she couldn’t be bothered, but the effort was obvious.

Korra looked away.

Too late.

Asami spotted her and made a beeline across the room, plopping down beside her with practiced ease. The table got quiet. Very quiet.

Asami leaned in. “You’re glaring. That doesn’t scream ‘we’re madly in love.’”

Korra blinked. “Sorry. I was trying for ‘ simmering attraction, deeply repressed .’”

Asami took a fry from Korra’s tray and popped it into her mouth. “Well, you’re just radiating ‘ emotionally constipated .’"

Korra tried not to laugh. Failed. “You’re really good at this fake girlfriend thing.”

“I was raised on melodrama and PR,” Asami replied. “Trust me, I know how to sell a relationship.”

Korra tilted her head. “You had a boyfriend before?”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

Asami paused, then smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Just... you’re kinda killing it.”

Asami arched a brow. “You sound surprised.”

Korra flushed. “I’m complimenting you, Sato.”

Asami leaned back with a sly grin. “Careful. That sounded real. ”

Korra glared—but not really.

The whispers were different now.

“They’re cute, right?”

“I think they’re actually dating.”

“Did you see the way Asami looked at Korra like they’re the only people in the room?”

***

They walked into school together the next morning.

Korra had shown up outside the Sato estate twenty minutes early, slouched on her old scooter, helmet under one arm and gawking at the huge house in front of her. She knew the Satos, she knew Future Industries, but she was still surprised at the size of the mansion complete with butlers and chauffeurs.

“You’re not letting me drive?” Asami had asked, glancing at her moped.

“You’re on a one-week ban. No vehicular manslaughter before 8 AM,” Korra replied.

So now, here they were — walking across the quad side by side, under the scrutiny of every roaming eye, every cluster of whispering students.

Korra casually slung her arm over Asami’s shoulder as they passed the front steps.

Asami stiffened.

Korra felt it. “Relax. It’s for the crowd,” she said lowly, not quite looking at her.

“I wasn’t un-relaxed ,” Asami lied.

They were barely two feet past the library when a junior snapped a photo and whispered not-so-subtly, “Power couple.”

Korra snorted.

Asami muttered, “You owe me a cappuccino.”

“I brought you one.” Korra nudged her elbow. “It’s already in one of those fancy Stanleys in your locker. Don’t say I’m not committed to the bit.”

They made it to the hallway outside their math class, where the swarm finally thinned. Asami’s locker stuck. Always had. Korra knew this because this was hers last year. She usually just jammed her knee into it until it gave. But she’d learned the trick to it before graduation.

Korra watched Asami struggling with the lock, and without a word, pressed her palm against the locker above Asami’s shoulder.

The locker lean.

She kept her smirk and waited for Asami’s reaction, but she miscalculated Asami’s height. So when the taller girl turned, Korra froze, blinking stupidly as green eyes, far too close, pinned her in place.

Korra cleared her throat, pulling away and muttered, “Let me.”

One twist of the latch at the perfect angle and it popped open.

“Thanks,” Asami said, and Korra didn’t miss the hoarseness in her voice.

Korra leaned her back against the lockers, still keeping the air casual, but her eyes had that searching edge — like she was waiting for Asami to bolt, or call it all off.

Instead, Asami surprised her.

She turned slightly, stepped closer. Lifted her hand—and smoothed the edge of Korra’s hoodie collar, a small gesture, intimate in a way that made Korra’s mouth go dry.

“There,” Asami said. “Wouldn’t want the illusion ruined by sloppy fashion.”

Korra blinked. “R-right. Illusion.”

They stood there for a beat longer than they should have, the noise of the hall dimming like it was underwater.

Then the bell rang. Harsh. Final. Snapping the moment clean.

They walked together to school the rest of the week.

***

The gym was packed the next Thursday.

Banners rippled from the rafters, the bleachers thundered with noise, and the marching band was already half-hoarse before the second quarter.

It was opening night .

Korra sat on the bench in full uniform — number 14 jersey over her hoodie, wrist still taped tight beneath the cuff, legs bouncing with unused energy.

She hated this.

Not the game. Not being benched, even.

She hated watching them lose like this.

Sloppy passes. No spacing. Hana kept forcing threes that bricked off the rim. Kimi was yelling plays no one was listening to. Down twenty at the half. Spirits.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, barely hearing Bumi bark behind her. The lights buzzed overhead. Her knee bounced faster. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t be here tonight. What was the point if she wasn’t playing? But she was the captain, she was there to support her team, boost morale. But how could she do that if they were losing miserably. On opening night. At a home game.

She let out a frustrated sigh at another turnover. She was about to roll her eyes when something tugged her attention sideways.

From the front row of the bleachers—just close enough to feel deliberate—Asami leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

She was wearing Korra’s away jersey. The real one . The extra she’d left “ by accident ” in Asami’s locker.

The sleeves were a little long. The collar too wide on her. But it worked.

It worked too well.

Asami caught her staring. She winked and mouthed, “ You owe me popcorn .”

For the first time that night, Korra smiled — actually smiled—and sat back. Her foot stopped bouncing without her realizing it.

Next to her, Bumi muttered, “You and Sato official?”

“Oh,” Korra said, trying to keep her face neutral. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She looked out at the court. Then at the scoreboard. Two minutes to halftime. No miracles coming.

And yet…

Korra’s shoulders dropped. Relaxed. The knot in her chest loosened. Because yeah, the team was absolute trash tonight. And yeah, her wrist still ached when she turned it too fast. And yeah, she should’ve cared more about the game.

But right now, the prettiest girl in the gym was wearing her name across her back like it meant something.

And she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything else.

***

Late Saturday afternoon filtered golden through the trees behind Korra’s house, the sun casting soft shadows across the cracked pavement of the backyard basketball court. The hoop was worn, the paint was faded, and someone—probably Korra—had scrawled " No Blood, No Foul " in chalk near the three-point line.

Asami adjusted her grip on the basketball like it might explode. It was her first time at Korra’s. They figured she should also come visit since Korra always went to the estate to “ pick up ” Asami so they could walk together to school.

If she noticed the absence of Korra’s parents, she didn’t comment on it. She didn’t think they were on that level. Yet.

So she focused on the task at hand. “Remind me why I agreed to this,” she muttered.

Korra, tying her hair up, grinned from the free throw line. “Because we’re a fake couple. This is fake bonding. Don’t you want people to believe you secretly know how to dribble?”

Asami gave the ball a pitiful bounce. It immediately rolled away from her feet.

Korra tried not to laugh, failed, and ended up with an embarrassing snort.

But Asami was not amused. “This is deeply humiliating,” Asami said flatly, retrieving the ball.

“It’s also adorable. C’mere.” Korra stepped behind her. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees a little. Stop looking like the ball owes you money.”

The small touch on her shoulder, however soft and brief, sent a jolt of shiver down her back. It felt like her scar was igniting with cold ice, starting from the shoulder blade and travelling down in excruciatingly slow speed. But the feeling was gone as soon as Korra’s hand lifted. 

Asami kept her eyes on the ring. “The Satos own companies, Korra.”

“And none of them are in professional sports. Yet. Okay—now try again.”

Asami bounced the ball. It made a sad thunk .

Korra circled around in front of her, spinning the ball onto her finger like it was nothing. “Alright, now I’m gonna show you a move. It’s one of my  favorites . It’s fast, flashy, gets your defender off balance—”

“Oh,” Asami nodded, serious. “I’ve read about those. The ankle-shaker .”

Korra blinked. “The… what now?”

Asami’s brows furrowed with an expression that was slowly losing confidence. “You know. When you shake your ankles? You do it fast so the enemy goes down and you get past them to score a goal.”

Korra doubled over laughing. “That is not what it’s called. And we shoot baskets !”

“Well, it should be,” Asami scrunched her nose and sniffed. “Ankle-shaker is very descriptive.”

“It sounds like a cocktail.”

“I’d drink it.”

Korra huffed another laugh before tossing her the ball. “Alright, Ms. Shaker. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Asami caught the ball with both hands, a proud smirk forming on her lips. Then with a deep breath and brows furrowing in focus, she walked towards the end of the half court and stood at the “ No blood, No foul ” scribble. She dribbled once. Twice. Then she ran fast, ball cradled with both hands, stopped just in front of Korra and made a wild attempt to cross over, shaking her ankles as if jogging in place, then moved toward the basket. She tripped on her own foot on the second step, and landed with a flump on the blacktop, hair in her eyes and pride slightly scuffed.

Korra rushed over, laughing. “You okay?”

Asami groaned, flat on her back. “If anyone asks, I was injured defending your honor.”

Korra offered her a hand. “Fake couples don’t get hazard pay.”

Asami took it—and didn’t let go right away. She’d held Korra’s hands countless times now and the feeling was somehow always new every time. Warm. Strong. Sure.

They stood close. Closer than fake required.

Korra’s breath hitched. “You’re… actually not bad.”

“I just invented a new move,” Asami deadpanned. She gestured a shooting move with her empty hands and raised a confident brow at Korra.  “The reverse flop.”

Korra smirked. “At least you know what flop means. Next week we work on your jump shot.”

“Next week?” Asami echoed, eyebrows raised.

“I mean… if the bit’s still going.” Korra’s voice softened. “If you’re still in.”

A pause.

Then Asami said, “I’m in.”

And for a moment, the court was quiet. The ball rolled lazily to the edge of the pavement, the sun caught in the netting of the hoop like it didn’t want to leave.

Neither did Asami.

Chapter Text

It was another Saturday at Korra’s house, five weeks of braced wrist, lingering touches and longing stares that made Asami question which was real or not.

They’d walk to school most days, sometimes when it rained, Joon would drive and pick them up. She’d drop off Korra first, waiting for the athlete to go inside before asking Joon to take her home. Sometimes, when they stayed late in school because of practice, she’d drop Korra at her house and Asami would take notice of the porch lights remained dark most of the time. 

Asami could count with one hand the number of times Mr. and Mrs. Waters were at the house. And those times, the Chief was always in a hurry to leave and Korra’s mom kept to herself, carrying a bottle of wine before disappearing into their bedroom.

She never asked. Never had the courage to. And Korra seemed to not want to talk about it, anyway.

They built some kind of routine. They’d walk to school, hold hands, arms over shoulders, wink at each other. They’d go home, sometimes Hiroshi invited Korra to dinners which the athlete always accepted. 

Over the weekends, Asami would hang out at Korra’s or Korra at Asami’s. No sleepovers. Yet.

It was Korra’s turn to host.

The Waters’ residence was not as big and luxurious as the Sato estate but absolutely gave off that quiet, undeniable “ my family has generational wealth and at least one vacation property ” kind of rich. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was built to impress : a sleek, modern structure with wide glass windows, clean stone facades, and a front door so heavy it practically demanded a butler—even though none ever appeared. 

Another weekend at the Waters residence. Another weekend of an empty house, save for the staff which comprised a total of two people– the family chef who cooked mostly just for Korra because Asami had learned her parents were too busy to join her for meals, then there was Narrik. But she’d rarely seen the bodygaurd these days. Korra’s dad needed the extra security in his campaign.

It wasn’t that big a house but the emptiness inside made Asami feel like it was bigger than their estate.

Today it was just the two of them. Narrik was busy with errands for the campaign and Chef Terry was off duty. 

And so here they were, dressed in aprons and toques. Chef Terry wouldn’t mind, Korra had said.

The kitchen was magazine-perfect: polished stone countertops, double ovens, and appliances that looked more like futuristic artifacts than tools. The kind of place meant to be admired, not used. And if it was used, it should only be done by a professional.

Which made it the worst possible location for two eighteen-year-old rich kids to decide they were going to cook enchiladas “ from scratch. ”

After a productive “training” in Korra’s backyard court, with Asami already learning how to do a proper jump shot, Korra had suggested they try to cook dinner themselves instead of the usual takeout from Narook’s.

Korra had apparently found one of her grandmother’s recipes written in a piece of paper tucked inside a cookbook in their library. She’d shown it to Asami and convinced her to do a quick convenience store run.

“Okay,” Korra said, holding the recipe card between two fingers like it might spontaneously combust. The piece of paper shook between her fingers which were poking out of her wrist brace. “A quarter cup at a time.”

Asami was standing at the counter, furiously stirring a pot of white goo making it splatter all over the stove. She held a ladle over the pot and slowly poured more sauce.

“A thin stream, ‘Sami. It’s supposed to be a thin stream.”

Asami grunts at the nickname, one Korra had given her one day out of the blue, saying she should call her girlfriends something unique, something that only Korra was allowed to use. She’d argued it was impractical because it was basically saying her name with one less syllable. Korra thought it was cute and stuck to it.

“Blend it really well.” Asami’s back was turned but she could see Korra’s wrist brace over the pot, pointing at the sauce. She gave a mindless “ uh-huh ” while she kept stirring.

“Blend it or you’ll burn it. ‘Sami, that’s not right.”

“Okay, well,” She turned to Korra and glared, “that’s because I’m ladling and stirring and you’re just standing there. This was your idea. Why am I the one doing all the work?”

Korra raised her injured hand. “As you can see, I’m only able to hold the recipe. Now is not the time to lose focus, babe.”

Asami scoffed more in frustration than at the pet name. Or maybe it was the other way around. She felt her cheeks flush but she blamed it on the simmering pot in front of her.

And Korra, who was completely unaware of the butterflies inside Asami’s chest, was focused on the card in her hand. “Now’s the time to sprinkle in the chili pepper flakes.”

“We’ve already done that,” Asami stirred the pot with more force. There was a pause beside her and a quiet “ oh ” which prompted her to look up. 

Korra’s eyes were furrowed and intently then looked to Asami. “Well, what number are we on?”

Asami stopped stirring. “Oh my god, Korra. Is this not your grandmother’s recipe?”

“Yes, and now I’m sharing it with you!”

Asami suppressed the urge to sigh as she scooped more white sauce to add into the pot. 

“Try to keep up, ‘Sami.”

Asami didn’t even try to stop the groan that escaped her throat. Deciding against talking and just focusing on the sauce, she stirred some more.

Korra bristled beside her. “Oh, here we are.” A bag of shredded cheddar cheese was held in front of Asami. She raised a brow at Korra. “Step four: ‘Fold in the cheese.’”

Asami blinked then stared at the cheese. She was still stirring. Then she looked blankly at Korra, who was already wearing an expectant look. Asami stared back at the cheese that looked too orange to be real cheddar then finally back at Korra with a very real expression of confusion, squinted. “What does that mean ? What does ‘fold in the cheese mean’?”

Korra shrugged and let out a scoff. “You fold it in. Duh.”

Asami huffed a chuckle through gritted teeth. “I understand that. But how? How do you fold it in, Korra? Do you fold it in half like a piece of paper and drop it in the pot? Or what do you do?”

“Asami,” Korra sighed sagely as she shook her head, “I can’t show you everything now, can I?”

Asami scoffed and went back to stirring. “Well, can you show me one thing?”

Beside her, Korra sighed. “Okay, here’s what you do.” So Asami paused to look at Korra who gestured with her braced hand. “You just…” She pointed to the pot using the recipe card, “…fold it in.”

Asami dropped the ladle back into the mixing bowl and the spatula into the pot simultaneously. “Korra, I don’t know how to fold broken cheese like that! If we’d only gone to the farmer’s market instead of that stupid convenience store, maybe we would’ve gotten folded cheese!”

“Then I don’t know how to be any clearer!” Korra raised her hands in defeat. “You just—you take that thing that’s in your hand—”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you—”

“If you say fold in one more time, Korra, I swear to god—”

“It says fold it in!” Korra waved the recipe in Asami’s face.

Asami stepped away from the stove and faced Korra completely. “This is your family’s recipe. You fold in the cheese, then!” She took a few more steps back and started to walk out while removing her toque and apron.

Korra gasped. “Asami, don’t you dare!”

“You fold it in!” Asami called over her shoulder, already walking past the dinner table.

“Asami!”

She kept walking, letting out an incredulous scoff.

“Asami, I’m seeing bubbles!”

Korra’s tone was laced with excitement which made Asami roll her eyes. She went over to the living room and turned on the television. The silence that followed made Asami worry a little bit. She bit her lower lip and listened.

Then she heard Korra yelp.

“Asami! What does burning smell like?”

Asami scoffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. Korra did not just seriously ask that question.

She scoffed again as she stood up, ignoring the dramatic gasp from the kitchen. Before she could decide to whether to leave or stay, there were hurried footsteps coming in to the living room.

A disheveled Korra panted in front of her. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Your mom—I didn’t—oh god just fold me in the sauce.” She flopped dramatically on the hardwood floor.

Asami let out an amused chuckle. “Let’s just get takeout.”

Korra peeked one eye open. “Spicy noodles for you?”

Asami let out a fond eye roll. “And a side of—”

“Dumplings. Got it.”

“You’re cleaning up the kitchen. I’m all burnt out.”

They ended up sitting on the living room floor, laughing so hard on trauma puns they couldn’t breathe, takeout boxes from their favorite spot laid empty and their stomachs full, Asami’s heart fuller.

Chapter Text

Korra opened a can of soft teal and immediately felt before she saw the streak splash across her cheek.

“You’ve got something—” Asami said in front of her, pointing to her own face.

Korra looked up and her lungs froze. The sight of Asami had always taken Korra’s breath away. But to see her like this—under the sun that streamed through the glass roof, giving her that perfect amount of light with the swirl of sawdust in the air as her backdrop—Korra had to kickstart her respiratory system to get it back to work.

The room smelled like pine, varnish, and something faintly floral — maybe Asami’s perfume, though Korra will never admit she noticed. But she did. She alway had. It was the same scent that smelled like a million memories Korra wasn’t sure happened in the first place. It was like remembering something she never really forgot. 

She hadn’t meant to invite Asami to her workshop. She’d always preferred working in silence. Alone and lost to her own devices. But now, Asami stood before Korra with her sleeves rolled up, face covered in soot instead of the usual make up, and staring at her like that .

She had no regrets.

She watched pink tongue slide out and brush over a pink lip before said lip is trapped under a row of perfect white teeth.

Okay, maybe she didn’t think this through because her entire system has apparently gone into overdrive. Her breath stuttered. Her heart pounded in her chest she could feel every beat in her throat.

Deescalate. Quick.

Korra grabbed a brush and tapped it directly on Asami’s chin. “So do you.”

Asami gasped, mock-scandalized. “You did not just start a paint war.”

Korra smirked. “I absolutely did.”

In the blink of an eye, it went out of control. A flick here, a splash there, a flurry of movements, and suddenly Asami was squealing before discovering a streak of coral on her nose and Korra had three fingerprints on her collarbone.

They paused, faces flushed, breathing heavy, and inches apart.

Korra lifted her hand without thinking. Asami’s eyes followed the movement, never leaving Korra’s hand—calloused, stained with blue-green, and gentle as she wiped her thumb across Asami’s jawline. Asami leaned into the touch very minutely but Korra felt it all the same. How could she not when Asami’s skin felt like fire and electricity, sending shivers down her spine like igniting the lines of her tattoo.

“Truce?” Korra asked softly.

Asami swallowed. “Sure. Truce.” Her voice was hoarse.

They didn’t move, not right away. But Korra gathered up enough strength to clear her throat and pull back first.

“We just have to sand everything before we paint.” Korra walked over the mismatched shelves and took some sandpaper.

Asami accepted the piece of sandpaper Korra offered before moving to the other side of the crib. “I can’t believe you’re building a crib for your ex’s baby.”

Korra laughed lightly. “We’re really good friends now. She helps me with supplies I need from the South. And the crib’s kind of the easy part. It’s the whole being responsible for a tiny human thing that scares me.”

Asami looked away and started sanding. “You’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” Korra grunted as she did the same, smoothing out the other railing.

“Yeah,” Asami hummed. “You were great with the kids at the Children’s Hospital. You’re like a sister to Tenzin’s kids. You’d build them a whole world out of nothing if they asked for it.”

Korra looked up to find Asami doing the same. Their eyes met. There was a pause, full of unsaid things. But once again, Korra is the one to glance away first, reaching for another piece of sandpaper.

“Well,” Korra breathed out, “Let’s make sure the crib doesn’t collapse because that would truly hurt my big sister ego.”

Asami chuckled. “I like that it’s your big sister persona that would take a hit and not the woodworker in you. Can’t have your legacy be a death trap.”

They continued sanding. When Korra worked here, she would usually blast music from her stereo. But since she had company this morning, there was no loud music.

They sanded their sides in silence until Korra couldn’t help it. Force of habit. Muscle memory. She hummed under her breath absently as she carved her signature on the wood—an old melody, one Asami recognized it instantly.

The architect stopped what she was doing and looked up. Korra was still busy sanding, eyes focused on the wood and Asami couldn’t help but watch. There was that crease in Korra’s brows when she concentrated. She’d seen it before, when Korra would lock in on the rim before a free throw or a jump shot. She’d seen it in the library when Korra wrote. Asami knew, back then, not to distract Korra when she was lost in her pen and paper.

And she saw it now. Determined blue eyes. Strong but gentle hands. And the sound of a melody filling the room with warmth and Asami’s chest with the most beautiful ache.

“That song,” Asami said softly. She regretted speaking the instant Korra stopped humming to look up and meet Asami’s eyes. “That song about space. You wrote it in high school in like an hour.”

Korra let out a soft chuckle and Asami couldn’t decide whether to ask Korra to keep singing or make her laugh some more. Either way, it was music to her ears.

“You remember that?” Korra asked. “It was actually forty-eight minutes. It’s easier to write a song where no one kisses you in the chorus.”

Asami hummed and returned to her task. “Maybe the chorus just... got delayed.”

The sound of sand against wood from Korra’s side stopped but Asami kept her gaze on the corner leg she was sanding.

After a beat, Korra spoke. “That sounded suspiciously like a metaphor.”

Asami smirked and shrugged, still looking down. “Must’ve been the sawdust or the paint fumes. It gets in your brain.”

There was a half-hearted scoff before they went quiet again, but Asami could feel the charge, like the air before a storm. Like something could break open at any second.

There was a bristle of movements and she saw Korra stand up in her periphery. She wiped her hands on a rag and tossed it lightly at Asami’s head.

“We make a pretty decent team.” Korra declared.

Asami caught the rag and looked up, eyebrows raised.

Korra cleared her throat. “In carpentry, I mean.”

Asami nodded slowly. “In carpentry. Right.”

There was that pause again. The tension was unbearable. Asami should really say something. But she was too scared. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she wished she suggested they played a little music before starting on the crib. She knew those stereo speakers weren’t just for display. She knew how much Korra loved blasting music when she was alone.

The quiet was welcome. At first. But not after the paint fights and playful remarks and gentle touches. Now it was just charged air and Asami felt like she was going to suffocate or implode is she breathed more of it.

She took a deep breath before standing up, “Korra, I—”

There was a loud buzz that rang out through the workshop. Both of them jumped slightly, like the house itself sensed the rising stakes and pulled the emergency brake.

Asami turned to Korra with a questioning brow.

Korra sighed as if letting out a breath she’d been holding. And before Asami could ask if Korra had felt it too, that she wasn’t the only one going out of her mind, the woodworker spoke.

“That’s probably Kuvira with the wood stain. She buzzes if I don’t answer the knock on the door.” Korra brushed her hands together to shake off the remaining dust. “Or it could be fate. Definitely one of the two.”

She turned to go without waiting for a reply, leaving Asami blinking at the crib. She reached out, smoothing one hand across the unfinished rail. Her fingers hesitated, then pulled back.

***

Korra swung open the front gates to find, much to her chagrin, Kuvira.

Her friend stood there, in overalls smudged with god knows what and a loosely knotted scarf around her neck, holding a tiny tin of wood stain in one hand and a thermos in the other.

Kuvira leaned against the door frame. She lifted the thermos, “I brought tea. And also judgment. I heard you got a new roommate and I had to see it to believe it.”

Korra rolled her eyes as she stepped aside to let Kuvira in. 

Kuvira removed her scarf. “I was nearby for a ceramics thing, and I figured I’d drop the wood stain on my way.”

Korra gave a sarcastic smile. “You didn’t come just to heckle me?”

Kuvira chuckled lowly. “That, and also to hydrate you. This is hibiscus. With emotional support cinnamon.”

Korra laughed, shaking her head. and steps aside. “You’ve got great timing—we were just about to start painting.”

Kuvira stopped in her tracks. “We?”

Korra knew that tone but before she could backpedal, Kuvira was walking past the lounge area, eyes scanning curiously until they land on Asami stepping out of the workshop, wiping her hands on a towel, her hair slightly mussed, cheeks dusted pink with effort—or maybe something else.

“ Oh.” There was a glint in Kuvira’s eyes that only meant one thing—mischief.

Asami to her credit, looked composed. She nodded politely. “Kuvira. It’s been a while.”

Kuvira tilted her head as she humme. “Has it? Apparently long enough for some things to change and some things to stay exactly the same.”

Korra shot her a warning look but she just smiled innocently and handed her the stain.

“Anyway,” Kuvira said, the knowing smile still on her lips. “I thought you might like this shade better than the one you were gonna use. It’s called “ golden oak ,” which, coincidentally, was also the name of my failed dating app profile.”

Asami snorts unexpectedly. “Wait—that was you?”

Kuvira let out a dramatic sigh as she nodded in confirmation. “Long story. Very few matches. A surprising number of tree puns.”

Korra sets the stain down on the work table, giving Kuvira a hard glare that was poorly disguised as a sideways glance.

“You really just came to deliver this?” Korra lifted the can.

Kuvira grinned like a fox and Korra shot her another warning look which only made her grin even wider. “I also came to check on your emotional development, but if this,” she waved a hand between Asami and Korra, “awkward tension is anything to go by, I’d say it’s progressing very nicely.”

Korra didn’t stop the groan that escaped her lips.

Asami cleared her throat. “I—I'll go prep the drop cloths.”

She walked back into the room quickly, but Korra didn’t miss the flicker of a smile on her lips before she disappeared.

Kuvira watched the architect go, then leaned in once Asami had disappeared.

“Don’t wait too long,” she whispered so only Korra could hear.

Korra could only sigh. Then just as quietly, “She left once already.”

Kuvira gave her a gentle shove. “Then let her stay on her own terms this time.”

Korra swallowed thickly. Her fingers drummed nervously against the paint tin. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t even know if she’s ready.”

Kuvira let out a soft huff. “You just built a crib with your ex for your other ex’s baby. I think you can handle trying again with the girl who still looks at you like you're her favorite almost-song.”

Korra chewed her bottom lip and didn’t speak. There was tension. It was undeniable. She was pretty sure Asami had felt it, too. She’d seen the way Asami’s breath caught. She’d noticed Asami’s lingering stares when she thought Korra wasn’t looking. At most times, Korra wasn’t even looking. She just… felt it.

“Hey,” Kuvira nudged her back to reality. “Invite her to my bar later. Show off with your signature drink or something. Give her that this is what you’ve been missing out on vibe. It’s gonna be fun.”

Korra wasn’t so sure about the fun part, but she did need a drink.

***

The invitation had been extended to Opal and to Asami’s relief, her best friend had dropped by Aurora to pick them up. Opal was a welcome distraction and a great buffer. Asami had offered to drive to the bar because she definitely needed a break from being close to Korra. That spot on her jaw where Korra had touched her earlier was still on fire and she felt her cheeks heat up even more as she briefly caught Korra’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Thankfully, Opal is a great conversationalist. Unfortunately she was also the biggest tease, managing to make Korra blush furiously within minutes when she mentioned she knew Korra had a crush on her during college.

Kuvira’s bar had the ambiance of an upscale speakeasy—dark leather booths, brass fixtures, and a live jazz trio improvising in the corner. There was already a booth waiting for them when they arrived.

Kuvira led them to their table. On top were a vintage looking pitcher already filled with what looked like water. Beside it, a smaller rectangular bottle with clear liquid inside. The bottle was unlabeled but Asami had a feeling it wasn’t water. As Asami took a seat, she noticed two more things behind the bottle and pitcher— a Zippo and Kool-Aid packet.

“You did not.” Korra said as she slid in the booth, taking a seat beside Asami.

Kuvira chuckled. “Tonight’s theme is terrible decisions with good lighting . Korra, if you would do the honors?”

Korra let out a defeated sigh as she rose to her feet. With a graceful flick, she unscrewed the cap from the petite bottle before setting it gently back on the table. With a swift motion, she grabbed the Kool-Aid packet and brought it to her lips. She trapped the corner between her teeth, then tore it open with a satisfying snap. Asami took in a sharp breath, feeling a little warmer.

With a steady hand, Korra lifted the packet just above the bottle's opening, her movements deliberate as she tilted it just so, allowing the vibrant lemon-lime powder to cascade into the clear liquid below. Asami watched as the bright yellow-green hue slowly infused the liquid, the color swirling as if trying to entrance the audience. The majority of the powder laid still at the bottom, settling like sand.

Before Asami could ask, Korra lifted the bottle, covered the mouth with her palm and shook. And Asami couldn’t look away. In fact, she didn’t know where to look. Korra was wearing a jacket over her henley but Asami could see the muscles straining on her biceps. Opal was cheering loudly on her other side but all she could hear was Korra’s low chuckle, revealing a wide smirk—lopsided and… and hot. 

After a minute, or maybe it had been forever but still felt too short a time, Korra stopped shaking the bottle and poured some of its contents into the pitcher. 

She slid the pitcher to the far end of the table and took the Zippo before stepping out of the booth and away from Asami. She missed the warmth immediately. But her disappointment didn’t last long because Korra was now standing in front of the booth, the bottle in one hand and the lighter in the other. She lit up the Zippo within the first try and held the fire next to the tilted bottle.

She held the fire close to the bottle’s mouth then just as the fire kissed the bottle—

Fwoosh .

Red and blue flames danced to life from the bottle, small but wild. Hot and quick. Then, just as quickly, Korra smothered the flame with a swift hand, putting her palm over the still flaming bottle before shaking once again.

Opal and Kuvira cheered as Korra did it five more times. But after the first flame, Asami’s eyes had been glued to Korra who’s smirk was replaced with a gentle smile. They stared at each other quietly. Soft blue eyes full or mirth and a silent brow raising, asking the silent question.

Is this okay? Are you okay?

Asami smiled back. She gave a small nod. Grateful beyond words. 

Korra took the pitcher and stepped away because she was going to light the drink up with fire. It was such a small gesture. Nobody would even notice. Nobody but Asami.

A different king of flame engulfed Asami’s chest, filling it with warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time. It swelled inside her before she could stop it. And this was what scared her the most. This warmth. This heat. This fire that seemed to only catch when Korra is around. It scared her how much she wanted to be consumed by it. She wanted to be overwhelmed by it. 

And it terrified her not because of the possibility of being left in ashes, but because she knew. Deep inside Asami knew it was going to be her revival.

Chapter Text

Korra slammed back her fourth drink a little too quickly. It wasn’t that Asami was counting. She just couldn’t help it. The four of them had quickly finished the cocktail Korra had made. The tangy and citrusy flavor complimented by the bitter taste of the gin made the drink a perfect refresher. But then, Korra had shrugged her jacket, showing off those ridiculously toned muscles, not that Asami was complaining. The second time Korra made the cocktail, she did it more confidently, smirk wide and proud like she knew she looked good doing it. It was true of course.

So how could she focus on something, anything , else when the woman who had haunted her mind and soul, still did, was sitting pressed to her and talking to her a little too close with that cocky grin? God, she forgot how handsy Korra could get when she was tipsy. And how easily Korra could get drunk.

Asami sipped her cocktail, graceful and composed despite already regretting agreeing to this. Korra’s arm was now slung lazily over the back of their seat, almost wrapping Asami’s shoulders with it. 

“You know,” Korra slurred slightly, the citrus scent wafting in the air between them, her warm breath tickling the strands of Asami’s hair, “when Kuv said just a drink, I didn’t realize she meant five. In themed glassware.”

Kuvira snorted. “Why don’t you tell us what this is called? ”

Korra hummed as she refilled her glass from the vintage pitcher. “The Wasted Ankle Shaker .”

Asami almost choked on her drink. Something was rattling in her ribcage and it must have been the music or maybe it was her heart doing those somersaults. She swallowed the rest of her drink.

“Is it because you shake the bottle dramatically or because it tastes like existential dread?” Opal chimed in.

Korra grinned as she took Asami’s glass and refilled it. “Existential dread is just flavor with memory.” The wink she shot Asami’s way confirmed it was in fact her heart pounding in her chest.

Opal giggled. Asami rolled her eyes fondly and maybe forced herself to look away. But no, she couldn’t even do that for a single second because Korra leaned her cheek into her hand, elbow propped lazily on the table, choppy hair swinging slightly. And the sight was so achingly beautiful, Asami wanted to freeze this moment and just forget the rest of the world. 

“ You know,” Korra drawled out before looking over to Opa. “Asami used to wear these terrifying leather gloves in high school. I thought she was gonna mug me the first time I saw her in them. I literally called her Batman. I swore you had a cape hidden in one of your fancy closets.”

Asami scoffed. “I only had one closet and I did not have a cape.”

Korra cackled, throwing her head back in that casual way. “She rode a moped like she was chasing down crime! I was like, "Oh no, here comes Batsami! I'm gonna get robbed... by the girl of my dreams."

This time, Asami choked slightly on her drink. Opal nearly dropped her glass laughing. 

“ Girl of my dreams?” Opal repeated with a teasing tone, “That’s a strong phrase for a fourth drink.”

“ No, like…” Korra sighed and leaned back against the plush chair. “ Dreams dreams . Like—the kind where you wake up mad because it wasn’t real. That kind.”

Asami’s fingers tightened around her glass. She glanced sideways and Opal already had an eyebrow raised at her. She looked away instantly. 

There was a beat of silence. Asami didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. She just blinked slowly and looked down at her drink like it might contain instructions for what to do next. A voice in her head, familiar and unwelcome, said to bolt and get away as far as possible. Her jaw tightened.

Beside her, Korra was sipping her drink casually, completely unaware of the effect she had on Asami. Or maybe she was. Maybe Korra knew. Was she doing this on purpose, then? Was Korra trying to get back at Asami?

That voice again.

You deserve it.

“Hey isn’t that Leona Solari?” Opal said, looking over Asami’s shoulder.

Asami turned in her seat and was surprised, to say the least, to see the CEO at a place like this. She was in her usual tailored suit towering over the man she was conversing with. Leona was leaning her head down, probably to speak more clearly over the sound of the club, and the man was nodding not in agreement but as if telling the CEO he understood. Leona gave him a pat in the shoulder before her attention was pulled away by a waiter. She smiled as she took the martini glass from the server.

“Oh, she’s walking this way. We should say hi.” Opal slid over to the edge of the booth’s seat. 

Asami sat straight. “Opal, we really shouldn’t—”

“Miss Solari!” Opal was already waving at the CEO who immediately acknowledged her with a surprised smile.

Martini glass in hand, and a bright, amused smile on her lips, Leona stepped up to their table. Her hair was in a loose pony tail and the top buttons on her dress shirt were undone. But in this light, she still looked confident. Magnetic. A little dangerous in a charming way.

Golden eyes locked with Asami’s. “I was supposed to email your assistant tomorrow, Ms. Sato. But I guess fate likes to pregame.” She tipped the martini glass over to the table, gesturing at the half empty pitcher.

Asami scrambled to get up, putting her glass on the table and straightening her shirt. “Ms. Solari... I—I didn’t realize you were still in Republic City.”

Leona was still smiling but this time she was looking at the person beside Asami. “Korra.”

“That’s... me?” Korra said, slurry and confused. Blue eyes narrowed then widened in recognition. “Leo?”

Leona chuckled. “That’s me.”

“Oh, hey sunshine.” Korra grinned, then frowned in a span of a second. She looked over Leona’s shoulder and her frown deepened. “Where’s Kitty Kat?” 

“If you mean Katarina, she asked for two days leave.” Leona answered. “She said something about needing to find someone. You know how she is.”

Asami watched the interaction but their conversation died in the background. All she could focus on was Katarina. And the way Korra was pouting like a little kid who didn’t get what she wanted would have been really cute if it weren't for the fact that she was being adorable because Kitty Kat was apparently on leave.

“—was hoping I could schedule a meeting with you and pick your brain on this project I’m currently handling.”

Asami turned with a surprised look but to her credit, she was able to quickly school her expressions and emotions. 

She smiled politely. “Of course. I’m happy to discuss more in a proper meeting. Apologies for—uh— this context.”

Leona waved her free hand. “Oh, I love this context . It’s the most honest kind.” She gave Korra a small wink and before saying her quick goodbye and walking back to her seat across the bar.

Opal sipped her drink slowly. “I didn’t know you knew Leona like that. Does she know Asami was the girl of your dreams?”

Korra groaned into her hands and grumbled. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Asami smiled tightly. “Great. So now my dream client thinks we’re in a tragic ex-lovers reboot?”

Korra peeked through her fingers. “Well, we are , aren’t we?”

A pause. Asami sipped her drink again, carefully, but didn't deny it. She would go along this hot and cold even if it meant she’d get burned or freeze to death.

Opal chuckled beside her. “ This is the best free entertainment I’ve had in weeks .”

***

The bar was still humming with a polished kind of energy, part of it was from the low and velvety jazz the background, some of it was from the high left by the short encounter with Leona and the rest was from whatever Asami was feeling after knowing who Katarina was to Korra. Or the general idea of it at least. That was all thanks to Opal who had teased Korra about calling the Noxian a cute nickname and knowing how she is .

The light was golden and forgiving, and Asami felt almost out of place in it. She was used to clean lines, business meetings, control, and discipline. But tonight, with Korra leaning across from her, flushed from one too many drinks, Kuvira not having come back from working the bar, and Opal gone to say hi to literally everyone, she feels... exposed. Like any second Korra would call her out and Asami would admit to it in a heartbeat. If her heart survived the night, that is.

“‘Sami,” Korra broke the silence, “if you weren’t the girl of my dreams, I probably wouldn’t be this mad about the oat milk thing.

Asami chokes on her drink. “E-Excuse me?” She said while she tapped on her chest lightly.

“ Oh my spirits ,” Korra groaned . “Did I say that out loud? I’m really drunk, aren’t I?”

Asami chuckled despite herself. Korra was drunk. She probably wouldn’t remember most of this night tomorrow if she kept making her cocktail. Before she can reply, Leona returns with her effortless grace and a cocktail in each hand.

“I come bearing gifts.” She lifted both hands higher. “One espresso martini for Korra. Kat told me you like those.” She put the drink in front of Korra then turned to Asami. “And one negroni for Ms. Sato. My instincts told me you like those.” She hands Asami the drink with a sly smile.

Asami raised an amused brow, smirk on her lips. The alcohol was definitely getting to her. “Are you trying to out-charm me into a deal, Ms. Solari?

Leona shrugged. “I don’t have to. You’re already interested.”

Asami’s lips parted in surprise and her brows raised higher.

“In the contract,” Leona rushed. “I meant the Targon Project. Obviously.”

Korra let out a huff beside her. The woodworker muttered under her breath, not meaning to say it out loud. “Obviously.” 

Asami filed that reaction away. Right now, she had to get her attention back to a possible client. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing something about oat milk and dreams. That’s a new one.” Leona sipped on her drink. She smiled. It was that rare, confident kind. It wasn’t cocky, just comfortable. Effortless . Asami knew that kind of presence. She’d spent her whole life pretending to have it.

“So, listen. I’m not gonna beat around the bush. I have ulterior motives for bringing you drinks.” Leona tilted her head to look at Korra with a raised brow. “You don’t mind me borrowing her for an official meeting tomorrow, do you?”

“Pffft,” Korra shrugged. “No. Not at all. She’s a free agent. Always has been.”

Asami stiffened slightly. Korra’s voice was sweet, but it was too sweet. The edge in it was unmistakable. Asami glanced at her briefly. Korra’s jaw tensed, lips pulled tight into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Leona paused. If she noticed the way Korra straightened up, she hid it with an easy smile. “It’s about that project I mentioned earlier. Well, I would like to consult an important part of it with you. I got a copy of your pitch for the Cultural Arts Center and I haven’t been this excited about a project since I took over Targon City.” 

Leona looked at Asami again. It wasn’t a look meant to fluster, but it still did. There was something in her amber eyes that made Asami suddenly feel conscious about her surroundings, about herself. It was a kind of attention that was both professional and somehow quietly personal, like Leona was memorizing Asami in fragment—collarbone, cadence, curiosity.

Asami smiled, careful not to smile too much. She took a sip from her negroni, disregarding the fact that one should not mix different kinds of liquor when drinking. “I’m glad it didn’t bore you. We’re very serious about exciting our clients.”

Beside her, Korra chuckled and it sounded forced or humorless. “Yeah, she’s full of surprises. Keeps disappearing, then coming back in deadly motorbikes or junk cars and attitude.”

Leona let out a chuckle of her own and cocked her head to the side. “Is that part of the pitch? Because I’d buy that. And I like people who surprise me.”

Asami arched a brow, cool but intrigued. She was not used to being on the receiving end of such directness . Not from women like Leona, who seemed to carry boardroom power like perfume. She swirled her drink. Something about the look in the CEO’s eyes, a mix of interest, respect, playfulness. It was an attention Asami hasn’t had in years. And for a moment, Asami isn’t sure if she minded it.

She couldn’t help but smile at Leona, “Only for premium clients.”

Leona laughed again, softer this time. She turned to Asami fully, and Korra shifted beside her, drink gripped too tight.

“I’ll let you two enjoy your night. But I hope you’ll consider meeting me tomorrow. I think you’d like what I have to show you. Plus, we have oat milk in the office.”

The CEO paused for a beat, then said with a wink, “For dream girls.”

Korra lets out a very quiet groan but a not-so-quiet “She doesn’t even like oat milk.”

Asami couldn’t help it. She laughed. Not politely. Not that fake laugh she’d practiced her whole life. She laughed genuinely. Leona grinned wide and Asami wondered if this was why Korra called her sunshine a while ago.

“I’ll clear my schedule,” Asami nodded, recovering fast.

Leona gave a slight bow of the head, more instinctive than performative. She left once again without further fanfare, moving back to the bar like she never stirred the air.

Asami watched her go, belatedly realizing her heartbeat was slightly off-rhythm. Not because she was flustered. Not entirely, no. But because she could feel Korra staring at her now. Staring like she didn’t know what just happened but did not like it one bit .

Oh.

Now that reaction was definitely worth filing away.

Asami turned to the woodworker and smiled innocently. “So… oat milk?”

Korra scowled into her glass and Asami had to bite her lip just to stop herself a shit-eating grin.

“I take it back.” Korra grumbled, turning the glass idly in her hand. “You’re not the girl of my dreams. You’re the oat milk of my nightmares.”

Asami laughed again, full and real. But when Korra finally looked up, eyes catching hers—guarded, vulnerable, burning—something sharp and ancient passed between them. 

She rolled her shoulders, feeling a buzzing sensation down her back. Asami wondered if it was the alcohol or if she was the one dreaming. 

Chapter Text

Leona’s temporary office wasn’t flashy, but it was expensive in the way only old money and careful power could afford. It was a small space with quiet textures, marble floors and tables, a bonsai in one corner that probably costs more than most people’s couches. To the simple eye, it was like any other executive office but to Asami, it looked like a piece of Targon was carved out from its highest mountain and transported here into the city.

While everything else about the space was traditional, the CEO’s desk was nothing but. Asami stood by a digital drafting table, a set of turbine schematics hovering mid-air in clean, layered projections. They were complex — the kind of complexity that speaks not of clutter but of ambition. She expected Leona to want her eye on aesthetic integration or facade harmony.

Instead, Leona was asking her about… rotor torque tolerances.

Asami turned to the CEO. “You’re aware I’m an architect, right?” 

She said it with a cool tone and a practiced smile, the one she used when she needed to be polite, especially when dismissing something. Leona didn’t flinch. Instead she shrugged before leaning against the opposite edge of the table. Her blazer had been discarded and thrown over her chair and her dress shirt was undone at the collar, sleeves rolled. Her face was relaxed, but her golden eyes were sharp with a keen intensity that revealed the toil of a busy morning.

“You’re also a mechanical engineer,” Leona said instead of an answer. She stood straight from the table, eyes still trained on the digital blueprints in front of them. “Future Industries prodigy. Helped your father in creating the Satomobile’s clean energy battery.”

Leona paused for a beat, then locked eyes with Asami. “Did you think I invited you here for your eye on clean corners?”

Asami blinked, taken aback. Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the table. “That’s not…” she trailed and swallowed. Leona waited with a patient smile. Asami scoffed softly. “That’s not usually the part people notice.”

Without missing a beat, Leona said, “Then people have terrible eyesight.”

It was delivered casually, but it landed with weight. Asami clenched her jaw and muttered under her breath. “Maybe I don’t want people to see that part of me.”

Leona tilted her head and looked at Asami curiously. “Am I one of those people?”

Asami didn’t answer right away. Most people would have judged her by her last name. Firms rejected her applications as soon as they found out she was a Sato. But there was no judgement in the CEO’s honeyed eyes. There was only challenge . Not in a threatening kind of way but in a daring one. 

Something inside her stirred as if vying for her attention. It felt warmer as it found its way deeper within her – an ember travelling through her veins, trying to find the spark that had been put out but not forgotten. The buzz lingered inside her chest, making her heart beat faster.

She blinked before breaking eye contact. She tilted the schematic, zooming into the turbine’s pivot system. She knew this kind of model. She had seen dozens of prototypes that looked sleek and efficient on paper but couldn’t survive their first cycle in wind tunnels. Her dad had a project that unfortunately didn’t see the light of day because of the company’s downfall. And this one? It had promise. But it was not finished.

“These stress points won’t hold up past forty kilotons. You’ll need an internal damper, or the whole joint assembly vibrates itself loose.” Asami said it before she could stop herself.

Leona smiled, not surprised, but satisfied. “Exactly.”

Asami gave her a look, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head. “So why not go to someone else? There are a dozen engineers who’d kill to work on this kind of sustainability project.”

“There are a dozen engineers who know the numbers,” Leona nodded and leaned back, “but I want someone who knows how the future moves. Someone who thinks as if there is no box. ”

The line made Asami hesitate. She’d been in boardrooms, biddings, meetings. It was too poetic for pure business. And Leona said it like she meant it—like it’s not just a slogan, but a conviction.

She crossed her arms over her chest as if the gesture could protect herself. From what, she didn’t know. “And you think that’s me?”

Without missing a beat, Leona answered. “I think it could be.” She stepped away from the table and stood to her full height causing Asami to subconsciously do the same. It was then she realized Leona had a couple of inches on her. “If you stop hiding behind your plates and renderings and start trusting your gut again.”

Asami’s lips parted slightly. Her heart rattled against her chest. There was something unnerving about how much Leona knew. About how easily she got under the skin of everything Asami kept polished and professional. But it only made Asami’s chest feel warmer .

She schooled her expression and her thundering heart. “You’ve clearly done your research.” Not a question, just a fact.

“I want to get to know the people I plan to build with.” Leona smiled. The smile was all-knowing, saying she already knew enough about Asami. Like her thesis on kinetic gear load distribution. Or that she reverse-engineered an obsolete combustion engine as a teenager just to prove to herself she could. She said those words without inflection and so casually. It was something Asami did not expect. And it was throwing her off. Maybe she should have done her research on the CEO. 

She heaved a sigh, but a hint of smile pulled into her lips. “You’re either very thorough or very flattering.”

“It can be both.”

The effect was instant. Asami felt warmth crawl up her neck, and she hated that it happened. She cleared her throat and gestured back to the model. “You want me for both design and structural systems. That’s a full integration role.”

“It is.” Leona nodded. “With full credit and equity if the partnership pushes through.”

Asami tilted her head in curiosity, trying to figure Leona out. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled under her, or for someone to barge in and tell her this was all a prank.

Leona held her gaze, eyes of molten gold shimmering under the rays of the sun that slipped through the floor to ceiling windows. Asami couldn’t find a single hint of doubt in them. Instead, under the steady eyes of the CEO that seemed to reflect the sun itself, Asami felt warmth blooming inside her chest again.

Still, doubt filled her mind. That voice in her head was persistent and grating. Asami let out a scoff. “You don’t mind the scandal this might cause? Hiring a Sato?”

Leona shrugged, “Scandals are everywhere but they come and go. Vision lasts.”

Asami let the silence hang in the air. The hesitance in her was replaced by something else. She saw something in Leona that reminded her of her old self, stubborn and headstrong. The heat in her chest made itself known once again, this time it wasn’t unwelcome. 

Then, a slow, unwilling smile pulled at Asami’s lips. “You’re good.”

Leona chuckled. “So I’ve heard.”

The silence that followed was heavier but not awkward. It felt charged. Asami bit the inside of her cheek, thinking it over. Targon City was her dream project, or at least that was what she made herself believe. This one, however, had brought back another voice that had been silenced for a long time. It was an older one, changed but familiar. Then there it was again, that heat that curled in the pit of her belly like a long-lost ember finally catching wind.

“Take your time,” Leona said as she walked to her chair. “I know you have other…” she tilted her head and furrowed her brows, thinking over her next word, “...commitments.”

The way she said it, this time with just a beat of emphasis, made Asami feel seen again. Too seen.

“I’ll think about it,” Asami said, finally.

A satisfied grin pulled at Leona’s lips. “Good.” She folded the sleeve of her dress shirt that came loose. “And when you do, don’t just think like a Sato .”

Asami tilted her head, a curious brow raised.

“Think like someone who could change the way this city runs.”

It was bold. Audacious, even. But it didn’t sound like flattery. It sounded like belief. And if Asami hated how she didn’t trust herself, she wasn’t sure how to feel how easily she trusted Leona’s words.

And that, more than anything, is what haunted Asami on the walk back out into the afternoon light. Something had rekindled within her. A tiny flicker taking a shape Asami had forgotten was hers.

Asami sat in the driver’s seat, staring out at the road, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. She didn’t turn the ignition yet. Her phone lit up with a message.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then appeared again. Asami bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Asami paused for a moment. It was then she realized her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. Her fingers hovered over her phone, thinking of a reply. She wondered how much did Korra remember, exactly? She did the math in her head and came up with a rough estimate. The bar. The dairy debate. The flirting. Lots of flirting. The jukebox. Then bed. She let out a long sigh before she typed her reply.

Asami contemplated how much she should tell Korra about last night. The woodworker clearly did not remember everything. Coming to a decision, she tyoed in her next message without waiting for Korra's reply.

Asami didn't respond right away. Her lower lip was trapped between her teeth and she let go when it started to hurt. She licked her lip absently. She typed, deleted it, then typed then deleted it again. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Then, released it in a quick exhale and muttered, "Fuck it."

The dots appeared and disappeared more times than Asami could count. Then they disappeared for a good number of seconds, her heart hammering in her chest and the sound reaching her ears like a tanggu drum. When her phone chimed in quick succession, she quickly held it up to read Korra's reply. A smile automatically tugged up her lips at the string of messages.

The grin never disappeared from Asami's lips on her drive home. Cramps in her cheeks be damned.

***

The sun was just starting to dip behind the courtyard’s banyan tree when Asami arrived home. Shadows spilled across the polished wood floors, the golden hour brushing everything soft.

Asami stopped by the lounge area at the sound of rhythmic chopping. She made her way into the kitchen and found Korra busy at the stove. She was in her usual t-shirt, barefoot, hair tied in a loose knot, stirring something with the kind of determined care that usually meant she’s making something for someone else, not herself. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the space.

Naga, curled on the cool hardwood floor, flicked her bent tail once in acknowledgment of Asami’s presence.

Asami took another deep inhale to savor the smell of the kitchen. “It smells incredible in here.”

Korra glanced over her shoulder, grinning. She was still stirring some type of sauce in a pan and the action made the muscles in her back more visible. Not that Asami was looking, but the slight sheen of sweat in the cotton made Korra’s shirt a little see-through and gave a peek of the ink on her skin. It was a stark contrast to her white shirt, and an achingly beautiful blend with her skin tone.

“Trying a pasta recipe Chef Terry sent me,” she said before giving her attention back to the stove. “No promises on the garlic bread though. I hate baking.”

Asami tilted her head in curiosity, looking at the mess on the kitchen counter. She placed the paper bag she had with her on the kitchen table. “You’re making everything from scratch?”

“Ahuh,” Korra lifted the pan and started to tossed it. “Chef Terry would know. I swear that woman has bugged this house just to scold me if I knead the pasta dough wrong.”

Asami chuckled. It was good to know Chef Terry kept in contact with Korra. She was probably the only person Asami liked in the Waters household. She walked over to the counter and started to wash her hands—just to do something.

“How was your meeting?” Korra’s voice was gentle.

Asami paused, trying to pick a reply. “Productive,” was what she settled with.

Korra chuckled, attention still on the pan. “That’s what you say when you’re either impressed or deeply annoyed.”

Asami brushed her hands together under the tap. “Maybe I’m both.”

Korra shut the stove off and turned to Asami. She grabbed the kitchen towel to wipe her hands while she gave Asami a studying gaze. “...And how was Leona?”

Asami’s hands stilled under the water briefly. Then she closed the tap before flicking her fingers a couple of times to get rid of the water. When she turned to Korra, a towel was already held out for her. She gave a grateful smile as she accepted it. “She’s very smart. Direct. Visionary. And—”

“Charming, terrifying, and knows way too much about you?” Korra raised a teasing brow.

Asami’s lips parted in slight surprise. Before she could come up with a response, Korra continued. “Did she offer you a job?”

Asami crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “Not exactly. She offered me a project. Direct partnership. It’s… engineering related.”

Korra didn’t respond right away. She just set the spoon down, the quiet clink against the pot loud in the silence. She walked over the kitchen table to clean up. “That’s big.”

“Yeah,” Asami breathed out. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”

Korra shrugged while she set the plates. “Do what you always do. Rise to the occasion, look flawless doing it, make the rest of us feel bad.” Her tone was light and there was a hint of smile on her lips.

Asami scoffed lightheartedly. “Have you met you? Don’t feel bad. You built a crib with your bare hands.”

Korra chuckled, setting down a bowl of garlic bread. “Technically I used a sander. Thanks for the help by the way.”

Korra pulled out a chair and gestured for Asami to sit. Asami gave a fond eye roll but plopped down on the chair with the grace of a cat. Korra’s fingers brushed with her shoulders briefly as she pushed her chair in. She ignored the muted buzz the simple touch sent down her back.

“She said people only see the design. That they don’t see the engineer in me.” 

Korra took a ladle full of pasta and served it on Asami’s plate. The steam rose up and brought a scrumptious smell up Asami’s nose. Korra did the same to her plate before taking her own seat across Asami’s. “That’s stupid,” the woodworker said, “I’ve seen you bring that junk of a car to life with a wrench and a hair tie in high school. You built an electric moped out of spare parts and it outran Narrik’s car. You were only eighteen.”

Asami lifted her gaze. “But you’re not most people.”

Korra looked back at her. Really looked at her. And her gaze was as clear and bright as a blue sky free of clouds and no signs of rain. There was a certain calm in it that seeped through Asami’s veins, making her feel warm. A different kind but familiar in the best way. Asami met ocean blue gaze and held it. She couldn’t look away even if she tried. The kitchen felt too small suddenly. Or maybe too full of whatever it was they keep pretending not to talk about.

The silence stretched. It wasn’t heavy, just charged. Like a held breath. Asami wasn’t sure if she was breathing herself.

Korra’s voice came out in that soft and gentle way. “Do you want this project?”

Asami released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Then after a beat, “I think I want to be seen the way she sees me.”

She caught the way Korra swallowed. Then the woodworker smiled. It was one of those small, tight ones. The kind that said I get it, even if it stings .

“Then take it.” Korra grabbed a fork and took a mouthful of pasta, as if that was all there was to say.

Asami stayed frozen in her seat, fork hung mid-air. She was unsure if what she wanted was the offer — or the way Korra just stepped back. Her eyes lingered on the steaming pasta in front of her. It looked delicious but Asami’s felt her appetite slowly fading away.

“Hey,” Korra’s voice snapped Asami out of her stupor. Asami looked up and Korra was wearing a tentative smile. “You don’t need anyone to remind you what you’re capable of.”

Asami blinked.

Korra’s lips tugged up further into a soft and genuine smile. “You’ve always been brilliant, ‘Sami. You just forget sometimes. And Leona? If I have to say anything about her, it’s that you’re in good hands. She sees potential and she knows exactly how to make you remember the kind of genius that you are. Even if she were blind, she’d still be making a mistake not hiring you.”

Asami blinked in quick succession, not realizing her eyes had gone all blurry and misty. She huffed a laugh before sniffing.

Korra’s smiles became impossibly brighter. “And I hope I didn’t blow your chance of working with her with all my Wasted Ankle Shaker shenanigans last night.”

Asami let out another huff of laughter. “You’ll be relieved to know that Leona was all business today.”

Korra let out a dramatic sigh of relief, complete with a hand over her chest. 

Asami shook her head fondly. “This pasta looks great by the way.” She scooped some into her fork and took a bite. The explosion of flavors from the tomatoes and garlic invaded her mouth. An involuntary moan of delight escaped her lips.

Korra chuckled at the sound. “No pressure, but I made this with my own two hands and zero adult supervision except for Chef Terry’s voice in my head. So if it tastes like flour dunked in tomato sauce in a can, please lie to me.”

Asami hummed with her eyes closed. “You’re safe. I’m not going to sue.”

Korra gasped in mock offense. “You don’t sue someone after they make you dinner. That’s, like, legally betrayal.”

Asami laughed, leaning back slightly in her chair. She felt her face relax, her whole body really, in a way it hadn’t  in a long time. They ate for a while in companionable silence. The clink of cutlery. The quiet hum of the evening. A breeze slipped through the open space, the air catching the paper bag on Asami’s side.

She smiled wide before turning to Korra. “Oh, hey, I have something for you.”

Korra raised her eyebrows in curiosity, still chewing the last bite of her pasta.

Asami grinned before taking out what was in the paper bag and pushed it over to Korra. “Sir Oatis Oats.”

It was a carton of oat milk that Asami had gotten on the drive home. She got a Sharpie and doodled a chainmail all around it and a huge sword at the side.

Korra laughed out loud, throwing her head back and almost toppling over in her chair. It was already well into the night but Asami felt warmth inside and out. She wondered why Korra said Asami glowed like the moon. But looking at Korra now, radiating with her unbridled laughter, she thought to herself if she was the moon, then Korra herself was the sun.

Chapter Text

Asami’s arms were full of Korra. 

Not in a metaphorical way. Her arms were literally full of Korra because the woodworker was clinging to Asami on a piggyback ride. 

After they had been cut off from the bar by none other than the owner, Kuvira, herself, everybody agreed it was time to go home. Hailing a cab was easy enough, except for Korra leaning her entire weight on Asami’s side the whole time. Hauling Korra into the cab was another story. And her drunken shenanigans did not stop there, the entire car ride home was not quiet.

Asami had paid the cab driver with an amount more than necessary just because Korra wouldn’t get out of the cab insisting her knees were betraying her soul. She had held her arms up, pouted adorably, and asked Asami for a piggyback ride. 

And who was she to say no to Korra? Asami wouldn’t deny her anything.

And so she’d turned her back and crouched expectantly. Korra had let out an excited squeal before then looped her arms around Asami’s shoulders and rests her heavy weight against her back. And when Asami had stood straight with a loud grunt, Korra just hummed and kept mumbling much gin, very sleepy, need soft landing.

And just like that, Asami’s arm were full of Korra, carrying the woodworker through the gates like she weighs nothing. Okay, it was definitely something. Korra was fucking heavy and utterly boneless behind her, clinging with the dedication of someone who had no intention of walking. 

But Korra was also warm and soft and familiar. 

Asami let out a huff before making her way into the courtyard. She readjusted her grip on Korra’s legs, causing the woodworker to let out a hum.

“You’re like… really strong.” Korra mumbled into Asami’s ear. Her breath tickled Asami’s hair, warm and smelling faintly of gin and juice. “Like secret strong. Ninja strong.”

Asami huffed. “And you are just really drunk.”

“Nuh-uh.” Korra disagreed weakly. “I’m just physically sleepy but I’m emotionally aware. My mind is alive.”

Asami laughed despite herself. “Okay, Miss Emotionally Aware. Almost there.” She said as they made it to the banyan tree. Korra hummed like she was falling asleep to the sound of Asami’s voice. And Asami contemplated how long she could hold Korra like this. Forever sounded really nice. She’d be sore, her back would be fucked up, but it would still be worth it.

“You’re really warm.” Korra slurred then turned her head. Her next sentence came out muffled. “No one’s ever done this before.”

That made Asami pause. Her socked feet hovered over the house slippers. “Given you a piggyback ride?”

“Carried me.”

Asami swallowed and Korraa continued. “Not even when I was little. Dad was always busy with the tribe. Mom was…” Korra scoffed. “Well, you  know how that turned out. I don’t remember being picked up. Not even once.” Korra paused to wrap her arms a little tighter, making Asami stiffen slightly. “Not like this.”

Asami stayed frozen for another half a second. Korra’s head leaned against her shoulder, voice slurred and soft. “You feel so nice.”

Asami steadied her grip before putting on the house slippers. Inside, it was quiet. She walked slower, past Naga who didn’t even lift her head from the couch. “You deserve it. You always did.”

But Korra had already gone quiet, half-asleep, legs loosely draped over her arms. By the time Asami reached Korra’s bedroom door, she was carrying more than just weight. She was carrying a piece of a childhood Korra never got — and the quiet privilege of being the first to offer it.

Korra’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. She hesitated for a moment because she’d never been inside. But her arms were already protesting so she nudged it open with her foot.

The first thing she noticed was the soft indigo light cast from a moon lamp by the bed. A stack of books sat crooked on the nightstand. There was a guitar propped up near the window. A smaller keyboard beside it. A set of electric drums. A sketch pinned to the wall — a banyan tree, drawn with ink and charcoal, detailed and alive. A swing hung under one of its large branches and Asami recognized it immediately, making her heart clench inside her chest.

She swallowed and looked around for a few more seconds. This was not just a room. Every piece, every corner melded together into a soul tucked into walls. It was Korra’s.

Asami walked over to the bed and let Korra down slowly onto it, careful with her limbs. 

Korra flopped with a satisfied sigh, face buried in the pillow. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I’d probably marry you for just this.”

Asami chuckled, and without thinking her fingers lifted up to brush the hair from Korra’s face. And that was when she noticed. Her brows furrowed. “It’s healed.”

Korra hummed in question, eyes still closed. Asami stared at the woodworker’s left eyebrow. “Last week, you had a Band-Aid here.” To emphasize, she ran her fingers over Korra’s brow.

Korra giggled. “That tickles.”

With one last brush, Asami smiled as she pulled her hand away, noticing how Korra moved her head as if chasing after Asami’s touch. “What happened there?”

Korra readjusted on the bed so she was lying fully on her back. “‘Twas Kat. Sparring. Headbutt.” Korra yawned sleepily. “Scar didn’t stick to leave a mark. That would’ve been funny because she has hers on her eye. I almost matched her mark. You should’ve seen her face.”

A familiar emotion stirred inside Asami’s chest at the mention of Katarina’s name and the possibility of Korra having a matching scar with her. She didn’t find it funny like Korra did. She clenched her jaw and took in a long breath. She took a look at the spot on Korra’s forehead again just to be sure. And no, there were no signs of injury, it was all tan flawless skin.

“Wanna see mine?” Korra mumbled, hugging a pillow as she turned on her side. 

“What?” Asami’s head snapped up. 

Korra opened her eyes and looked at her with a sleepy smile. “My mark.”

“Y-you have your mark?” Asami stuttered in surprise. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest from how loud it was beating in her ears. She didn’t know how to feel about that new information and why did Korra have to drop a bomb so casually like that.

Korra hummed as her eyes drooped. “I’ve had it since after high school graduation. I wanted to check people, you know? See if I matched anyone. Maybe it would be someone obvious like a classmate, a teammate… a friend. But I couldn’t really look at anyone else when they’re not…” She paused to yawn again. “I just stopped hoping, I guess. Maybe mine’s just decoration. Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve been given without a manual.” 

Asami is stunned sitting at the edge of the bed. She wanted to say something. Wanted to ask — want me to check for sure? Want me to show you mine?

But something heavy clamped tight in her chest, the grip making it hard to breathe. It was the same feeling that night before she left. 

Fear.

Because what if she showed Korra her mark… and it didn’t match?

What if Korra was already destined for someone else — someone she hadn’t met yet? What if Asami was just someone passing through? 

Korra chuckled then leaned back on her bed. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking slowly before giggling. “You’ll have to strip me naked if you wanna see it.”

Asami didn’t answer. She just watched Korra — lit softly by the bedside lamp, haloed by a storm she didn’t remember letting in. There was still a hint of smile on her lips that lingered as she closed her eyes for the last time that night. She looked so peaceful.

She turned away before Korra decided to open her eyes back up and catch the look on Asami’s face. She decided against changing Korra’s clothes because she knew she would be tempted to look. 

She grabbed the blanket and was about to pull it over Korra but the woodworker held out a hand to stop the blanket from rising. 

“Wait,” Korra mumbled and Asami paused. 

Korra turned her head lazily, eyes blinking open, sleepy and warm. “Don’t go yet. I need something.”

Asami raised her brows. “Water?”

“Nooooo.” Korra waved a hand which flopped down on the bed with a quiet thud. “A good night kiss.”

Asami froze, mouth hanging slightly open. Korra, ever the chaos spirit, simply looked at her — not smug or teasing, just earnest. A sleepy honesty. No armor. And those adorable puppy eyes.

“Please?”

And that lazy slanted smile.

Asami hesitated, giving enough time for her heart to climb up her throat. She could laugh it off. Tease. Pretend. Like Korra always did. Give her a taste of her own medicine. But something about the way Korra’s voice had gone so small, something about this room — the guitar, the piano, the sketch, the bare vulnerability of someone who'd carried everyone else's burdens for so long — made her still.

So she leaned down slowly.

Pausing just an inch away from Korra’s face. Her eyes darted everywhere, as if memorizing something she already knew by heart, until they landed on Korra’s lips.

On instinct, she licked her lips before closing the gap and kissed Korra gently on the forehead.

Just a moment. Nothing more.

“Good night, Korra.” She whispered before pulling away.

But then Korra caught her wrist, not to stop her, just to hold. Her grip was light.

“Good night, ‘Sami.” Korra’s voice was half-asleep, like she was already in dreamland.

Asami exhaled, barely a sound. She gently pulled her hand free and walked out, closing the door behind her. She pressed her back against the hallway wall and closed her eyes.

Her lips were still warm from the kiss.

And her heart?

A slow, quiet storm.

Her palm still tingled where Korra touched it, travelling through her arm and up to her back. 

And something in her heart whispered:

What if it was her?

And something louder whispered back:

What if it wasn’t?

***

Asami sat on the edge of her bed in a henley she definitely did not steal from Korra’s laundry and leggings, staring at the dim blue glow of her tablet screen, which displayed the turbine schematics Leona had shown her earlier today.

She’d been staring at the email on her screen for forty minutes.

She hasn’t pressed “ Reply .”

Her free hand reached absently over her shoulder, fingers brushing the scar on her upper right back.  She’d traced the soft ridged lines a thousand times. The first time she saw it, she thought it looked like wings. The second time, she thought maybe it looked like roots.

And last night, after learning about Korra’s… She was not so sure of anything. 

“What if it’s not the same?” She said softly to herself. “What if it’s just close… and I want it too much?”

She leaned forward, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand. She laughed at herself, shaking her head. “And what kind of fool starts falling again right when she’s about to rebuild her career?”

A soft thump interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up to find Naga had entered her room. The cat had been sneaking in since Asami had moved in. How she did that, Asami didn’t know because she was sure she closed her door every time. 

Naga jumped up beside Asami like she owned the place. She did.

“I didn’t know I needed an audience for my spirals,” Asami raised an eyebrow at the feline.

Naga meowed once. Then, purposefully, stepped onto the tablet screen, pressing her paw right on the “Reply” button. A draft message opened. Cursor blinking. A sigh of fate.

Asami’s eyebrows raised higher. “You’re kidding me.”

Naga stared. Then, she sat with her tail curling idly and eyes glowing like twin moons. Waiting.

Asami stared back in disbelief, torn between laughing and sighing. “You think I should say yes?”

Naga blinked slowly . The ultimate feline nod of approval.

Asami let a sigh escape her lips. “What if it’s the wrong decision?”

“Mrow.”

Naga walked over to Asami, curled up beside her then let out a purr.

The sound was gentle. Warm. Oddly grounding.

Asami scratched the spot under the cat’s ear as she closed her eyes for a moment.

She thought about Leona’s fire, that spark of something she hadn’t felt in herself for years. She thought about Korra’s voice, drunk and soft, saying “ I stopped hoping .” Then she thought about the scar under her own skin, aching like it knew more than she does.

Maybe this was not about being sure. Maybe it was about… trusting the burn meant something.

She opened her eyes. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then she typed “Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss the project.”

She tapped Send before she could change her mind. The message flew off into the ether. She watched the “1” disappear from her Outbox folder.

Naga gace a short, approving trill, then casually curled back into a loaf at the foot of the bed, her mission complete. Asami leaned back slowly, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding not from fear, but from relief.

Her eyes drifted close and she dreamed of familiar blue eyes.

Chapter Text

The city stretched out beneath the glass and steel canopy, but the noise faded under a ceiling of vines and filtered light. Everything here smelled like soil, citrus, and freshly brewed coffee.

Asami walked in, notebook in hand, heels tapping quietly on the concrete path lined with planters. She spotted Leona already seated and to Asami’s surprise, the Solari heiress was not at the corner table where CEOs typically hold court, but one nestled among hanging plants and a tiny solar fountain.

Leona rose as Asami approached. She wore a soft green blazer over a black shirt tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers. Simple. Polished. Grounded.

“Asami,” Leona greeted brightly. “You're right on time.”

Asami mirrored the CEO's smile. “I like knowing what I'm walking into.”

Leona chuckled as she gestured for the chair in front of her. “Then you'll be disappointed. I'm here to ask the impossible.”

They both took their seats. A tablet between them, coffee arriving quietly. 

Leona slid over a series of schematics: a sleek, multi-level structure shaped around the natural curve of a hillside, the turbine designs from yesterday included.

“This is the Rakkor Caves,” Leona tapped on the tablet to open up a blueprint. “Remote. Prone to erosion. But the community there, they’ve lived off the grid since before that became fashionable. I want to build them something... honest. Something that doesn’t just survive in nature, but becomes a part of it.”

Asami’s eyes lit up as she traced the slope lines. “Thermal storage on-site... and rain collection from a split-level roof?”

Leona hummed. “Exactly. But it needs to be beautiful. Efficient. And durable in the face of flood, fire, and everything else the world’s throwing at us.”

Asami’s brows furrowed before looking up at the CEO. “Most execs would’ve settled for cost-effective and sellable.”

Leona smiled, bright and easy. “Most execs didn’t grow up in villages living in fear of being washed away in a landslide.”

That silenced Asami. Not in discomfort but in understanding.

“You know what it’s like to build under a name that carries weight,” Leona continued with her calm tone. “To be underestimated in meetings until the numbers start to speak. To fall in love with creation, not just for the tech, but for the people who’ll use it.”

Asami leaned back slowly, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I can’t help but ask… Just how much do you know about me?”

Leona’s smile never left her lips, it widened instead. “I know you are an engineer first. That passion is buried under all that architecture. That you designed early vehicle prototypes for Future Industries and refused to brand them with your family name. You’re not here to impress,” She leaned back on her chair and gave Asami a knowing look, “you’re here to build.”

Asami—poised, polished Asami—actually laughed, short and surprised. “You make it hard to say no.”

Leona grinned. “That’s not my goal. But if you do say yes, I’ll give you full creative input just like I said yesterday. I want you as a partner in this. Not a consultant.”

The air between them stilled. And for a second, Asami saw it—the version of herself she was trying to become, had been trying to become. And across the table, Leona, steady and sharp and passionate, felt oddly like a future she hadn’t dared imagine.

She took in a deep breath before looking away. “If you did your research, then you also know what the Raalis Core caused.” She turned her head and looked at Leona with furrowed brows. “It took people’s lives, left many injured.” 

She swallowed thickly, her mind involuntarily going back to the hospital, the sight of Korra on her stomach, her back covered in bandages. She closed her eyes and released a long breath. “I tested the final prototype with my dad. I told him everything was flawless and basically signed it off. Spirits, I was the one who named it. And now, ten years later, even the great Hiroshi Sato still couldn’t figure out what went wrong.”

Steam curled off Asami’s untouched tea. She was sitting back now, no longer scanning the schematics. Instead, she was watching Leona, really watching, as the CEO leaned forward slightly. 

“My grandfather was a mechanic,” Leona’s voice was quiet, gaze faraway. “Self-taught.”

Asami blinked, surprised. She sat forward. “I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t.” Leona gave a fond but sad smile. She held her cup in her hand but didn’t take a sip of her coffee. “It doesn’t make it into the press releases. He used to fix old ATV engines in the southern village. Never formally trained—just listened, learned, and kept them running with parts no one else could make work.”

She paused, hands still wrapped around her cup. “One year, a flash flood came through. Swept half the mountainside. His shop was gone overnight. His tools, inventory, everything. The ATV’s he restored didn’t have enough power to save the village…” Leona paused and looked to the side, her jaw clenched. “...And some of its residents. But when the government offered relocation, he refused. He said, "The sun taught me how to build. I’m not going to let her tell me to stop now."

Asami stared curiously. “What did he do?”

Leona chuckled and shrugged. “He rebuilt. On higher ground. Salvaged what he could, and taught himself water filtration design so the next flood wouldn’t poison the wells.” She paused and leaned both arms on the table. “When I was a teenager, I found a motor he'd built by hand—half-jury-rigged parts, but it worked. It sang when it ran. I asked why he never sold the design.”

Leona smiled faintly as she shook her head, “He said, "Not everything is built to be sold. Some things are built to be passed on."

The silence that followed was deep but not heavy.

“I know what you gave up after the Raalis Core incident. After Future Industries and your father,” Leona looked up at Asami, her voice softer and more gentle. “The corporate legacy. The headlines. The pieces of yourself that were expected to belong to something larger.”

Asami couldn’t respond right away. She could only listen.

“But the fire doesn’t go away, does it?” Leona cocked her head to the side. “It just... hides. Until someone reminds you that you’re allowed to love the work again. Not for the company. Not for the family name. Just for you.”

Asami exhaled slowly, a quiet sound that felt like something uncoiling inside her.

She released the lip trapped between her teeth. “There was a prototype I never finished.”

Leona raised a curious brow. “Tell me.”

“It was a modular turbine converter designed for remote microgrids. Lightweight. Self-correcting balance. I scrapped it when the board wanted it scaled for city profit margins. I designed it with this small fire nation village in mind. It was my mother’s hometown. The board thought it wasn’t big enough to be worth it.” She chuckled but no humour came with it. “And maybe because it was designed by a seventeen year old.”

“So bring it back,” Leona said after a sip.

Asami met her amber eyes with raised brows and parted lips.

Leona put down her cup. “The world doesn’t need more big things, Asami. It needs better small ones. The kind only people like you can build.”

Asami’s hand moved slowly, almost unconsciously, toward her tablet. She opened the design folder that’s been untouched for over a year, hidden under layers of “ later .”

She tapped on a file to open the sketch. It was rough. Unpolished. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t  feel the weight of failure.

She felt possibility .

Asami laughed softly. “You might’ve just started something dangerous.”

“Good.” Asami hadn’t looked up yet, too busy with the sketches on her tablet, but she could hear the smile in the CEO’s voice. “That means it’s worth building.”

And when she did look up, their eyes met, and Asami smiled back. It was not the poised, practiced one. But something warmer. Brighter.

Because the fire was back .

And she was not running from it this time.

“I won’t ask you to decide now,” Leona said, her tone borderline smug as if she already knew what Asami had decided on. 

“I don’t need more time,” Asami said quickly because there was no point in delaying it further. She held out her hand, “I’m in.”

Their handshake was firm. Confident. Electric in its own way. Not romantic, no. Powerful . A meeting of equals .

Outside, the city hummed. But up here, something had shifted.

And Asami Sato felt it—the ignition of purpose, and something else: the weight of another woman’s gaze still lingering in her mind. One with a crooked smile and a fire in her ocean eyes.

***

Asami adjusted the strap on her satchel, stepping into the square where local craftspeople gathered. She’s dressed for utility: slim boots, belted field coat, black gloves tucked into her pocket.

She hadn’t really planned on coming here but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to see a certain blue-eyed woodworker that had been haunting her mind for the past ten years.

Leona had mentioned this site during their meeting. That day they met at the city hall, it turned out Leona met with the mayor to collaborate on this small project. Leona had rolled her eyes at the mention of Raiko, her disdain for the performative politician seeping through. But Asami had smiled because she saw Leona’s deeper values and commitment to impact more than image.

The air was brisk and clean out here, away from the dense skyline. The village sat on a ridge surrounded by sloping terraces and old stone walls, where traditional homes have been patched up with modern repairs over the years. The houses were stacked, with dark wood beams and clean lines rising along the hillside, their rooftops lined with moss tiles and slim solar strips. Stone paths curled between vegetable gardens and shaded workstations where metal and wood are shaped side by side.

Asami took in the view. The roofs, the uneven walkways, the makeshift solar rigs perched precariously on rusted poles. There was history here. The struggle of keeping up with the rest of the city was clear.

She turned a corner and paused.

There, at the edge of a school building, was a covered shade structure. Bamboo slats woven between steel braces. Wood beams etched faintly with hand-carved glyphs. It was sturdy. It was humble. It was beautiful.

Asami stepped closer, fingertips grazing the central beam. She spotted the mark in the corner, almost invisible: a sigil of interlocking waves and crescent shaped, embedded like a secret. Her breath hitched. It was Korra’s mark. One she burned into all her work. She’d noticed this when they were making the crib. And she’d seen it on the underside of the table Korra had gifted her.

“You were here,” Asami said quietly.

She smiled before carrying on. A small construction crew was surveying the ground with old maps and newer drones hovering above. She didn’t pay it any mind and brushed it off as one of the crews Leona had hired for the project. 

She pulled out her tablet to take notes—angles of sunlight, elevation, natural water runoff, and elevation gradients—until a voice cuts in, sharp and slick.

“Still playing tourist, Sato?”

Asami closed the tablet slowly, already exhausted. She should have just gone home.

She forced herself to turn. And there he was, Nathan Cooper standing with his signature too-sharp smile, collar popped just enough to hint he didn’t own a single wrinkle. He also had a satchel probably made of vegan leather, probably name-branded after himself. His suit was sharp, his boots clean. He wore a pair of designer sunglasses he definitely didn’t need. This was the kind of man who used the word "infrastructure" like it was a religious mantra. 

He was already talking before Asami could get a word in.

“I thought you were still stuck doing sketches and making scale models look pretty.” Nathan smiled like someone who had never been told no.

“And I thought you were still designing air-conditioned parking lots for rich men who don’t walk.” Asami said without missing a beat. “But here we are. Progress.”

The junior surveyor next to Nathan choked on his water.

Nathan's smile thinned and Asami had to bite her lip to stop hers. He leaned lazily on the fence post, pushing up his sunglasses on his too-smooth blonde hair. “So, what brings you here this fine afternoon? You know this site is a Cooper-Raiko-Solari project, right?”

Asami locks her tablet shut. And Nathan continued, “You know, I find it refreshing you’re still trying so hard. Carrying your family’s name like a weight. You always did want to prove something. I still don’t understand why you're trying so hard to be an architect.”

Asami’s smile faded, but only slightly. “I don’t have to prove anything. I’ve out-designed you four times in college, including that floating market plan you “borrowed” from a student.”

Nathan blinked. Asami held her chin up. “And for the record, I don’t carry my family’s name like a weight. I carry it like a blueprint and it’s one I’m rewriting with my own hands. Unlike some people.”

Nathan scoffed. “You think attitude makes you a visionary?” His tone was a little guilty, a little defensive.

“No,” Asami answered quickly. “But building off ego certainly doesn’t.”

Nathan hummed. “Cute. I”ll have you know I’m consulting on infrastructure assessment for this project. Raiko’s team wanted range on the proposal.” He waved a hand in the air “You know how it is, big visions, big voices. Bigger, better, modern. Not everyone can show up with just cheekbones and charm.”

Asami smiled while tucking her tablet into her satchel. “Good thing I brought engineering degrees, field-tested battery design, and a working prototype.” She looked at Nathan and smirked, “You can keep the cheekbones.”

Nathan’s mouth part slightly, he opened and closed it like a fish out of water. Asami walked past him, but paused beside the bamboo shade structure again.

Without looking at Nathan, she gestured to the structure. “You know this shade rig? It’s not in any of the old plans.”

Nathan just shrugged, accepting a cup of coffee from his assistant-slash-fiancee with a peck to the lips that almost made Asami gag. He turned his attention back to her,  “Local build, I assume. Probably done by the residents. Rustic, but—”

“ —done by an artisan,” Asami cut him off. She looked at him now, her face calm and clear. “I know who handcrafted this. And it’s better than any of your “urban green shell” concepts printed on glossy stock.”

Nathan said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Asami finished for him. “So if you’re here to talk over the village’s future like it’s a cocktail brief. Don’t. The villagers deserve better than a politician eager only for photo ops to make him look good in the press. This place deserves better than your rehearsed jargon and recycled floor plans.”

She walked off, hand tight on the strap of her bag, boots scrunching on the ground like punctuation. 

***

Asami looked to her phone as the contact Leona Solari lit up on her screen. She pressed the accept button and held the device to her ear.

“I heard there was a duel,” Leona said on the other line, her tone amused. “No swords, but plenty of steel.”

Asami smiled faintly, placing her back in the back of her car. “I didn’t realize it counted as a duel if only one person brought a brain. Thanks for the heads up that CCC was going to be there, by the way.”

Leona chuckled, clearly delighted. “I apologize. It was Raiko’s decision. You handled Nathan Cooper better than I expected.”

Asami scoffed, a little offended. “You expected me to let him win?”

Leona made a sound between a hum and another chuckle. “I expected you to be… diplomatic. But you were surgical,” another chuckle, “And unapologetic.”

Asami heard tapping from the other line. She could imagine the CEo on her desk, reviewing Asami’s layout for micro-hydro options with rapid ease. She’d sent it over an hour ago.

“You work fast,” Leona’s tone had gone more on the serious note, genuinely impressed. “You’re not just thinking about impact. You’re thinking about legacy .” 

Asami exhaled, caught off-guard by the compliment — not because she doubted her work, but because it was rare for someone to see it that clearly.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes trying to rebuild what was left to me,” she said softly. “I don’t want to build more that someone else has to fix.”

Leona didn’t respond right away, the other line had gone quiet. After a beat, Leona’s voice was soft. “Good. Because this isn’t just about energy. It’s about rewriting the way we exist in the places we claim to love.”

There was a beat of silence. And Asami took in the words. She thought about the fire nation village her mother came from—its people living fully despite having so little. And now, she had the opportunity to help build something that would actually leave an impact on people's lives.

Leona’s voice snapped Asami back to the present. “Did you know Korra helped rebuild the village?”

“What?”

“It was flooded and was nearly wiped out years ago.” Leona supplied. “Korra helped get the place and the people back on their feet.” 

“I… didn’t know that.” Asami said in almost a whisper. In hindsight, some of the beams used in the houses looked similar to the bamboo shade by the school. A smile found its way to Asami’s lips. Somehow, it was not a surprise to know that Korra helped the village. 

Before her mind could go back to a memory at the Children’s Hospital, Leona added, almost offhandedly. “You free this weekend?”

Asami blinked back to reality. “For…?” She said slowly.

“A private site visit,” Asami could practically hear the smile on Leona’s tone. “Something... a little less political. More hands-on. Less Nathan. How about we go and see the real thing?”

Asami raised a brow, caught between curiosity and the faintest trace of amusement. The real thing.

Targon. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said with a faint smile.

“Good,” Asami heard a rustle of paper. “But don’t think too long. You’ve got momentum, Sato. Don’t let fear slow it down.”

As the call ended, Asami watched her phone go dark and suddenly felt the burn of the mark on her back again.

Fate, or chance?

Either way, the game just shifted.

Chapter Text

“If we’re going to keep pretending we’re dating, we need rules. Structure. Discipline.” Asami, seventeen and pristine in a pressed white blouse and black trousers, lounged on the leather couch in the sitting room.

Korra, in contrast, sprawled upside-down on the rug, head near the coffee table, legs hanging off the armrest of the couch. She was wearing their school basketball hoodie, sleeves bunched at her elbows, socks mismatched.

Three weeks into their charade, they found themselves hanging out at Asami’s place this time. The Sato residence is spotless, silent, and should feel too large if not for the amount of warmth it held. 

Joon, their butler because of course the Sato’s had one, had greeted Korra by the door and led her straight to the sitting room, because of course the Sato’s had one. Within that very short trip, Korra had learned Joon was going to be a grandfather for the first time and that his wife, Yuna, had started gardening and it was surprisingly going well. Their only child, a daughter named Miyoung, had been promoted to Senior Engineer at FI. All with the power of Korra’s version of small talk.

Korra stared at Asami’s clipboard and her ridiculous sparky pen. She probably had it in ten different colors. She looked up, still upside down on the floor, and grinned. “Wow. So romantic already.”

Asami ignored her as she held her pen over her clipboard. “Rule One: You are not allowed to flirt with other girls in front of me.”

Korra gasped dramatically. “Excuse you, I do not flirt.”

Asami sighed and rolled her eyes. “Korra, I’ve seen you try to flirt with those poor girls lining up for you. This rule is not for me, it’s for them.”

Korra craned her neck to stare up at Asami. “I let you see that. That was my decoy flirt mode." She pointed a finger to the Sato girl. “My real flirt game is… elite.”

Asami’ face was upside down from Korra’s view but she could see a smile tug up on those ruby red lips. “Please don’t test it on me. And that leads us to Rule Two: No calling me ‘babe’ unless you’re being sarcastic.”

“What about ‘sugarplum lightning princess’?” Korra answered quickly.

Asami’s lips straightened into a thin line. “Absolutely not.”

Korra lifted both arms up in mock surrender. Asami checked something off the clipboard. Korra noticed the immediate pause, she looked up to find Asami with a hint of blush across her cheeks. Manicured eyebrows furrowed in concentration, lashes touching smooth palace cheeks softly, eyes glinting like freshly cut emeralds. She shouldn’t be noticing all these small things, but she did. They had only known each other for exactly three weeks, but Korra felt like it had been three years.

She reached over the coffee table blindly and found the half-empty seaweed cracker bag. She slid her hand inside without looking, took one and chewed on it thoughtfully. The crisp sound of the cracker echoed throughout the room, a welcome distraction because her heart had decided to unleash a thunderstorm in her chest.

“You’re staring,” Asami said without looking up. Korra swallowed the cracker wrong.

“I’m admiring. Very different.” Korra gave herself a pat on the back for the smooth recovery.

A manicured brow rose smoothly. “Is this part of the performance or are you trying to flirt with me?”

Korra swayed her feet on the couch, trying to act casual. “Oh, I don’t perform, babe. I deliver.”

Asami shot her a sideways glance, lush red lip trapped between her teeth, clearly biting back a smile. “Rule number two, Korra.”

Korra grinned as she lifted herself up halfway and rested her weight on an arm. “Look, I should really probably start calling you things, if we’re going to keep this up. You know, couple-y names.”

“If you say something with ‘sugar’ in it, I’m gonna fake break up with you.”

Korra flopped down on the rug again with a mock swoony sigh. “Honeybunch. Pumpkin. Love nugget. No wait—” she stared up at Asami with a goofy grin, “Sparky sparky boom girl.”

Asami let out a laugh that sounded disgusted and entertained at the same time. “That sounds like a twelve-year old naming a comic character he made up.”

“Combustion girl?”

“Are you really associating me with something that explodes? Really?”

Korra’s eyes widened in realization. Asami had told her about the fire, her mom, and the reason they moved to the city. “Okay, okay. You want something subtle. Something soft. How about… ‘Sami?”

That seemed to get Asami’s attention, looking up from her clipboard. “‘Sami?”

“Yeah,” Korra grinned. “Not Asami, too formal. Too CEO. But ‘Sami? That’s your soft-launch alter ego. You wear capes and listen to sad girl music while you brood.”

Asami scoffed. “You just removed the first letter from my name. That sounds impractical.”

Korra pointed a finger. “You sound impractical.”

Asami rolled her eyes but Korra didn’t miss the faint color rising in her cheeks.

“‘Sami. Huh.” She murmured.

Korra tried to bite back a smile, she failed. “You like it.”

“It’s inefficient,” Asami’s tone and smile said otherwise.

“But you like it.”

Asami didn’t respond, she casually adjusted her board, looking down to hide her smile. She failed. And the one on Korra transformed to a full on grin like she just scored ten points.

Asami cleared her throat. “Rule three: PDA.”

Korra raised her eyebrows, interest piqued. Asami still wasn’t looking at her, eyes trained on the clipboard like it owed her money. Korra watched the pale, delicate throat bob before Asami spoke again. “Hand Holding? Fine. Hugs? Sure. Kisses? Only when absolutely necessary. And only with prior warning.”

Korra scoffed, mocking offense. “No spontaneous passion? You wound me.”

Asami sighed and shook her head as she checked another one on her clipboard. Then in a more serious tone, she said, “Next rule… if either of us wants out, we stop. No hard feelings. In case it goes too far. Or… if we need to bail without explaining.”

Korra swallowed, her voice as quiet. “Yeah, that seems fair.”

Asami adjusted herself on her seat. “And to make that easy, we need a safe word. Something random and not casual. Something we’d never say otherwise.”

“Okay, fine.” Korra laid flat on her back and stared at the ceiling. “What’s our safe word? Something subtle. Sexy. Full of emotional gravitas.”

“Rutabaga.”

Korra’s swaying feet stopped. She looked up at Asami. “You’re kidding.”

Asami shrugged. “No one says rutabaga casually. And it’s hideous. Perfect for emotional emergencies.”

Korra huffed, sitting on her elbow. “That is the least romantic vegetable.”

“Which makes it perfect for us.” Asami smiled and Korra could’ve sword her heart started beating twice as fast. 

Korra flopped onto her back and groaned into her hands. Asami laughed — a real one, the kind that always caught Korra off guard. 

“What about romanesco? It at least has ‘romance’ in it.” Korra spoke through the fingers covering her face, and her thundering heart.

Asami tilted her head in consideration. Then she released a sigh. “Fine, I accept romanesco.”

There was a beat of quiet between them. The kind that tiptoed close to being serious.

Korra swallowed, removing her hands from her face. “So if either of us says romanesco, that’s it? Game over?”

Asami nodded slowly. “No more pretending. No questions asked. If either of us says it, the whole act ends. No explaining. Just done.” She made a gesture with hand palm down and slicing through the air.

Korra was nodding as Asami talked, trying to school her emotions that consisted mainly of disappointment. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” She lifted a finger and raised an eyebrow, “But just to clarify — if we’re mid-kiss in front of, like, the entire basketball team, and you suddenly shout ‘romanesco,’ I’m allowed to dramatically fake a breakup, right?”

Asami grinned, showing perfect white teeth. “Only if you cry and whisper ‘I’ll never forget you.’”

“With a single tear down my cheek,” Korra nodded. “Deal.”

Asami was still smiling. There was something electric in the room — charged, but unsaid. They both felt it. Or at least Korra felt it but did not dare mention.

Feeling a little dizzy, from feelings or from being upside down too long, Korra wasn’t sure, she scanned the room lazily. Her brows furrowed as she found a piece of what she initially thought was furniture. She tilted her head, “Is that a piano?”

“What gave it away?” Asami was tucking her sparky pen into the clipboard. “The grand size or the keys?”

Korra ignored her sarcastic tone and lifted her feet off the couch before curling them towards her chest then over her head, effectively tumbling over backwards in one smooth sweep and landing on her haunches.  

She heard Asami gasp behind her, “Korra! I swear to god, you’re going to break your neck before your wrist heals!”

Korra just laughed it off with a crooked grin, shaking the hair that fell over her forehead. Ignoring Asami, she got up and walked over to the piano, brushing the fingers jutting out from her brace across the polished surface like she was approaching something sacred. “We had one in the Northern Water Tribe.”

***

Korra took a seat. Her fingers hovered over the keys, briefly hesitating before playing a chord. Then another. A smile slipped into her lips. And then she started  playing softly — a meandering melody, clumsy at first because of the brace on her wrist, but earnest. 

Asami stood at the side of the piano. “You never told me you played. Basketball star and musically talented.”

Korra played another chord but couldn’t help the snort. “My mom played. Or at least that’s what I remember. I was really young back then. But I remember sitting next to her and she would teach me. She thought it would help with ‘discipline.’” She played one more chord and let it ring.

Asami took another step forward so that she was standing next to Korra. Something in her chest shifted. Tender and terrifying. She swallowed and tried her best to brush it off.  “A Water Tribe upbringing and private piano lessons? I’m shocked. Truly. What other rich kid secrets are you hiding?”

Korra’s fingers faltered, causing her to miss a note. She stopped and turned, arms crossed on her chest. “Oh, please. Like you don’t have a secret harp collection or a violin hand-crafted by monks.”

“Rude.” Asami scoffed, she walked past Korra to place her clipboard on the piano. “For your information, I never took piano.”

Korra raised a teasing brow. “You? Miss poised-and-polished Future Industries heiress? Never?”

“Nope,” Asami said matter-of-factly. “I delved into ballet, yes. Etiquette training, unfortunately.
But piano? Nada.”

“Huh,” Korra huffed softly. “So, what are you special talents, then? What are you good with?”

Asami smirked, resting her elbows on the piano. She cocked her head to the side. She flexed her fingers, catching blue eyes drift to them, before intertwining them deliberately. “I’m good with my fingers.”

Korra choked on absolutely nothing.

Asami tried to keep a straight face. “You know. For, like…” she unlocked her fingers and motioned to the air with one hand, “...tinkering. Gearboxes. Wiring. Engines.”

Korra narrowed her eyes. Asami bit her lower lip to stop a smile, she couldn’t.

Korra huffed incredulously. “You did that on purpose.”

Asami tilted her head, faking innocence. “Did what?”

Korra huffed another scoff. “You knew what that sounded like,” she said in an accusing tone.

“And yet, you’re the one whose brain immediately sprinted into the gutter,” Asami said sweetly with an even sweeter smile.

Korra stared at her. Asami watched the blush creep up to her tan skin, from neck to cheeks. She couldn’t help but laugh as Korra blushed so hard she looked like she might catch fire. 

“I should revoke your ube ice cream privileges,” Korra grumbled.

Asami gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Korra squinted and they went silent for a beat. Then Korra turned to face the piano again, played a few notes — soft, hesitant. There was still a hint of pink on her cheeks, and Asami felt hers hurt from all the smiling.

She watched Korra play a tune, each note doing things to her heart she couldn’t quite explain yet. To spare Korra, and herself, she spoke. “You’re actually good.”

Korra shrugged. “Thanks. I don’t really play for anyone. Not since I was a kid.”

Korra’s somber tone tugged at Asami’s chest, and it didn’t feel right. 

Asami would do anything to change that. She took a seat on the bench and next to Korra. “Well,” she gave a nudge with her shoulder, “play for me now.”

Korra glanced sideways, lips parted slightly and blue eyes looking startled. Her knee barely brushes Asami’s but the feeling sent a jolt down her spine.

“You sure?” Korra’s voice was soft but laced with uncertainty.

“Yeah,” Asami nodded, reassuring. “I’ll behave. Promise.” She intertwined her fingers once again and rested them on her lap.

Korra raised a brow. “You already broke that promise five minutes ago.”

Asami smiled, something blooming in her chest. Warm and unreadable. “Then I’ll just owe you another one.”

Korra rolled her eyes but began to play again, under Asami’s watchful gaze, their elbows nearly touching. Asami’s fingers tightened around each other. She was suddenly very aware of her beating heart.

Korra was full of surprises, Asami had learned these past three weeks. They were a mix of things — from mundane stuff like her unquestionable love for oat milk, in which Asami had discovered Korra was allergic to nuts because she teased Korra about almonds, then to remarkable things like learning that Korra was ambidextrous. She found out about that during practice, when coach allowed Korra to do some shooting drills. She put in eight out ten free throws (yes, Asami was counting). In jeans and a slightly sweaty cotton white tee. 

And this Saturday morning, if Korra sitting at the grand piano wearing gym shorts and a faded school hoodie, hair in a messy bun, socked feet softly tapping against the marble floor, playing random chords wasn’t enough to give her a heart attack, then the next thing that Korra did might have.

Korra began to sing.

Quiet. Raspy. Uneven but raw.

I don't know how this started // I came to this half-hearted

You came with no intention // Just running me over

Asami raised an eyebrow at those lyrics but let Korra continue. 

And I've changed my rules, I'm bending // I've lost all common sense and

I don't know what this is // But you've got me asking why

Korra turned to Asami with a knowing smug smile, earning a half-hearted scoff Asami didn’t realize she let out.

My oh my, you're in my head // Making your way right to me

No warning

I'll go back to bed // Thinking of me and you

This slow morning, yeah

Thinking of you // Like how I do slow mornings

 

Korra winked, making Asami recoil in disbelief. Without looking at the keys, Korra made a flourish in pressing the next notes with a cocky grin. She laughed when her braced fingers couldn’t reach a key so she turned back to the piano and played more seriously. But the smirk never left her lips. 

You've been running in my head // Won't you come see me instead

Korra paused with a frown. She looked up and stared into the distance. “What rhymes with ‘head’?” she muttered in the air. Then her face lit up. “Aha.”

You've been running in my head // Won't you come see me instead

Sun rising in cherry red // Won't you stay with me this slow morning?

Asami sat frozen, fingers going slack on her lap. Korra repeated the same lyrics before letting the last chords ring in the air. She had registered that the song had ended, but Asami’s mind was elsewhere. She also doubted her heart was where it was supposed to but then Korra turned to her and smiled. The organ in question put her doubts to rest with how hard it started pounding against her ribcage, as if demanding to be let out.

“So, what do you think?”

Korra’s voice snapped Asami out of her almost spiral. 

“What?” She mumbled.

Korra chuckled. “What did you think of the song? I figured if I’m going to fully commit to this fake girlfriend thing, I should write a song for my fake girlfriend.”

Korra wrote a song for Asami.

Korra wrote a song for her.

Asami let out a disbelieving laugh that sounded almost hysterical, startling Korra whose smile faltered. Asami didn’t speak and just stared. The athlete’s face started to crumble and Asami would do anything in the world not to let that happen. 

She quickly shook her head, and with a reassuring smile she said, “I love it. But for the record, I did not run you over. You have to change that lyric.”

Korra’s laugh was starting to make it to Asami’s top three favorite sounds. “Duly noted. It’s just a rough draft. I’ll finish it for you before the Winter Dance.”

Asami raised a brow. “What makes you so sure we haven’t said ‘romanesco’ by then?”

“Oh.” Korra’s face started to fall once again and it felt like Asami’s heart was also breaking. “I haven’t considered that.”

Asami pedaled back and tried to play it cool. It had been getting harder to do that these past few days. “I was just kidding. I expect a grand gesture for your promposal.”

Korra’s grin that lit up the entire room sent a different ache in Asami’s chest. It shone like the sun, each ray an arrow straight to her beating heart. “And I will make sure to deliver.”

They stayed grinning at each other and Asami knew hers was just as stupid as Korra’s. The athlete was brushing off on her. 

The silence stretched between them. Brimming. Electrified. There was something in those blue eyes that felt distantly familiar. And that crooked grin Asami felt like she’d seen years ago since before she was born. It frustrated her to feel this way — something she couldn’t name and explain, like trying to remember something she didn’t know she forgot. And that was saying something because she was confident she had a really good memory. She wasn’t one to just forget about something. About someone. Someone like Korra.

She wondered, then, if Korra felt it too. The soft hum of electricity of whatever this was. Was she drawn like Asami was? Was her heart also beating like it wanted to break out of its cage? 

Korra’s smile had faded into a soft, small one. Blue eyes darted between Asami’s once, then down at what Asami was sure was her lips. She licked them on instinct and she could’ve sworn she saw Korra’s breath hitch with the way her bare lips parted slightly. 

She looked up as soon as she realized she was also staring at Korra’s lips only to find Korra’s gaze already locked on hers. It was Asami’s turn to stop breathing because in those blue eyes, time faltered. 

The space between them was suddenly too little but still felt so far away. And Korra held her gaze, those eyes looking like ocean storms and spring mornings at the same time. The smile on the athlete’s lips softened even further and became something else. Something dangerous.  

Asami didn’t move. She didn’t want to move.

Her heart thundered in her chest, but it wasn’t fear. It was the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump just to see if the wind would catch her. Or maybe the ocean below would. And she wouldn’t care if it was a mistake because she would gladly drown if it meant she could stay there a second longer.

The rules were still there, somewhere between them. But none of them covered this. It was something Asami hadn’t accounted for.

Korra’ jaw clenched before she leaned in. Asami did too, feeling the invisible but incessant pull.

The space between them became smaller until it was thinner than a whisper. Asami could feel Korra’s warm breath brush against her cheeks. She closed her eyes and braced for impact.

“Miss Sato, your father’s board meeting has been moved up. He requests your presence in the main conference room immediately.” Joon’s voice came out from the hallway, loud and unbothered.

The moment shattered like glass. Asami flinched back and she caught Korra’s eyes widened before quickly pulling away, sitting upright like she was caught stealing spring rolls from Chef Terry’s kitchen.

Asami turned to the door, her voice strained. “Thank you, Joon.”

“I’ll have the car ready.” He shouted from outside the room. His retreating footsteps echoed in the hallway. The estate fell quiet again, but the air between them didn’t go back to normal if Asami’s heart beating loudly, she could feel it in her ears was anything to go by.

Asami cleared her throat and got up. She grabbed her blazer from the back of the couch and slid in on, smoothing it over her shoulders like armor.

“I should probably get going as well.” Korra stood awkwardly, hands stiff at her sides.

“I could give you a ride on the way?” Asami offered.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I uh,” Korra cleared her throat and swallowed, “a walk sounds nice.”

Asami nodded and didn’t argue further. She could use a long walk herself. “I’ll see you back here same time tomorrow?”

“Oh, uhm…” Korra hesitated for a moment.

Asami looked up from fiddling on her watch. “What?”

Korra shrugged and put her hands into her hoodie pockets. “Nothing just… Just my birthday. No big deal.”

Asami’s brows shot up in surprise. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

Korra waves her braced hand. “Just another day. Chef Terry usually makes cake for me with candles to blow. We eat whatever she prepared if mom and dad make it. It’s whatever.”

Asami didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered  a little longer than usual. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. She did the match quickly in her head and put two and two together. Korra’s usually empty house, save for Chef Terry, the campaign, the elections, her dad winning. Korra wasn’t expecting anyone.

Her heart ached at the thought of Korra, the school jock, the senator’s daughter, alone on her birthday.

Asami wouldn’t have any of that.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite your girlfriend over?” Asami raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten up the moment, and hopefully Korra’s spirits, too.

It had the intended effect because Korra’s face lit up instantly. “I’ll have Chef Terry prepare fire flakes from scratch.”

“I can’t wait.”

Korra grinned like she’d clutched a championship game. Asami casually adjusted her wristwatch, the one from the antique shop, pretending to look at the time and hide her smile.

As she got into the car, Korra waving her bared wrist goodbye and crooked grin shining brighter than the sun, Asami made her mission to never let that light fade away.

Chapter Text

The plan had been simple: meet at Korra’s house after her dad’s oathtaking as newly elected senator. They had texted the night before, between Asami ranting about the board and Korra’s soft, comforting and encouraging words, the athlete had slipped an invite to Asami. It was time for Asami to meet the parents. They were really in the thick of it now.

It was supposed to be something casual — meet the senator and his wife, hang out, eat Chef Terry’s ube ice cream, maybe complain about teachers and the upcoming midterm exams.

But when Asami showed up and Korra opened the door, she already knew something was off.

Korra’s smile was too tight. Her hair was still wet from a rushed shower. She was wearing sweatpants and a worn out team hoodie instead of the jacket they’d picked out together two days ago.

“Hey,” Korra said with a smile that looked guilty and sad. 

Asami’s brows furrowed. “You look…” She gave the athlete another once over, “...very not ready to celebrate your birthday.”

Korra’s smile tightened, and so did Asami’s chest. “Sorry. Change of plans. Last-minute summit with the Environmental and Infrastructure Council. Said we’ll just do dinner tonight instead.” 

She said it with a shrug, like it didn’t bother her. Like she didn’t just get ditched on her own birthday. Korra was so excited to invite Asami last night she could practically feel the sun radiating through her phone.

Asami tilted her head. She remembered Korra talking about it a week ago. “Isn’t that the one about the reservoir expansions in the North?”

Korra nodded and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “They’re trying to push through an aqueduct system to supply the border villages. It’s tied to tribal water sovereignty rights and climate-resilient irrigation infrastructure. Dad's expected to draft a position paper and co-chair the roundtable.”

Asami whistled under her breath. “Heavy stuff for a guy who just got sworn in.”

Korra let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, he’s still the Chief. At least until everything is transitioned to my uncle. Plus, he's not doing it alone.”

Asami’s lip parted in realization. “You were in the briefings?”

Korra shrugged with a tired smile, couldn’t hide the exhaustion. “I sat in on the pre-meeting. Helped condense the research with his staff. They want me prepped to give a ‘youth perspective’  at the summit next week.”

Asami leaned in, her voice soft. “Korra, that’s not your job. You just turned eighteen.”

“Kinda ironic to be coming from a seventeen-year-old girl attending board meetings, don’t you think?” Korra smiled wider, a teasing one that reached her eyes.

Asami rolled her eyes despite herself. “You know what I meant.”

Korra’s lips shifted into a bitter smile. Asami hated it, and she hated the fact that she kept looking at those lips. “I’m the daughter of the first Water Tribe senator, former Water Tribe Chief. Everything I do is part of the job.”

Asami didn’t say anything for a second, chewing her bottom lip, thinking.

Then, she broke the silence, shrugging. “Well, I don’t work for the Council. So I say get your jacket. We’re leaving.”

Korra blinked, mouth parted slightly in surprise. “Leaving to… where?”

Asami grinned, wide and full of mischief. “Somewhere with no speed limits and policy briefs.”

***

Asami tried to bite off a grin looking at Korra. The athlete’s jaw was on the floor as her wide ocean blue eyes followed the whoosh of two Satomobiles shooting across the track lanes in a blur of paint and velocity. 

“Hang on a damn minute,” Korra asked, awe in her voice, “Is that…?”

She turned to Asami for confirmation. Asami grinned proudly. “Yep.”

Hiroshi was behind the wheel of the black car, tailing an older model with aggressive fins. He drove past them smiling like a teenager, bright and shining. But not as bright as the way Korra’s face lit up, despite herself. And Asami considered that a win. 

Korra let out a breathless laugh. “Okay, this is actually really cool.”

Asami chuckled and stepped a little closer to Korra. “You’re allowed to enjoy things that don’t involve policy memos and tribal reform laws, you know.”

Korra huffed beside her. “Tell that to my dad’s aide. She called me ‘Senator in training’ the other day. I think she meant it as a compliment.”

“This is where Future Industries test drive Satomobiles. That black one has the new battery cell I’m helping my dad with.” Asami let Korra watch her dad give a show for a few seconds. Then, she turned to her, brow raised, “So, ever been behind the wheel?”

Korra looked up with a sheepish smile. She lifted a hand and scratched the back of her neck.  “The only thing I know how to drive is a bicycle.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Asami crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Want me to take you for a spin?”

Asami was aware it was late in the morning, aware of the sun high and glaring.  But she was sure she couldn’t have known it was night time with how Korra’s crooked grin lit up the whole FI tracks.

***

The sun bled gold over the asphalt as the gates to the FI test track rumbled open. Wind skated across the flat expanse of industrial steel and engineered terrain. It was a mile-long ribbon of smooth tarmac with controlled curves, tight corners, and precision elevation changes. 

To anyone else, it would look like a glorified private race course. To Asami, it was home. It was the thing she looked forward to the most, moving here in the city. It was an old track that her father bought and swiftly had renovated for this exact purpose — impressing girls. No, just kidding. It was to test cars, of course, because the tracks were specifically designed for data-accurate high-speed trials.

And today, it was the one place she could give Korra something her title and her bloodline couldn’t.

Freedom.

From the moment they stepped onto the tracks, Korra was on fire. Well, not literally — though given her record, Asami wouldn’t rule it out — but the excitement rolled off her in waves. She was like ocean and fire. A scorched tide. A flame that soothed. Her blue eyes were wide, soaking in every detail, from the chrome glint of the prototype hoods to the red and white striped speed markers dotting the turns.

At the far end, Hiroshi was showing off, pushing 160 km/h in the sleek black test model with the hummingbird-inspired undercarriage. He flashed past with a low roar, the shockwave trailing behind the car like a gust of adrenaline.

“He’s actually racing someone?” Korra asked, eyes following the other car that sped through after Hiroshi’s.

Asami shielded her eyes and squinted at the opposing car, an older model, but tuned to the teeth.

“One of our lead engineers,” she said through a smile. “It’s been a ‘friendly’ rivalry for weeks now. Dad’s winning the lap count today.”

Korra blows out an incredulous huff. “Your dad races? I take back every intimidating thing I’ve said about him.”

Asami couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’s always been a bit of a speed junkie. Said designing wasn’t enough. You have to feel the car. Know it. Trust it.”

Korra’s eyes were still glued to the two cars speeding through. The tires made a sound that Asami had already memorized. She knew it was Hiroshi hugging that specific turn. She knew the turn was so tight the tire kissed the red paint of the inner wall. But she wasn’t watching the race. She was watching Korra. 

There was a glow in her cheeks. In her smile. In the way she leaned forward, biting her lip in anticipation as if she was the one in the car.

Asami knew that look.

It was the same way she felt when she was building something that shouldn't work but did.

“You’d love it out there,” she chimed.

“I already do,” Korra answered without hesitation.

That was when Asami pulled out the helmet. Custom-fitted, ocean-blue with subtle wave etchings and a little silver Water Tribe crest tucked near the temple. Korra’s initials on the strap.

“Good. Because we’re racing him.”

A beat.

“Wait. What?”

***

Asami slid into the driver’s seat of a brand-new S9 prototype, the dashboard lighting up as she pressed the start engine button.

Korra struggled with the helmet strap beside her, muttering curses under her breath.

Asami put on a teasing smile, tone equally smug. “Need help, Senator in training?

Korra fiddled with the strap. “This thing’s tighter than my wrist brace.”

Asami clicked some buttons, then turned to Korra. She gently swatted the athlete’s hands away, mindful of the injured one, and locked the helmet into place in one swift motion. She shook the headgear to make sure it was snug and comfy on Korra’s head, checking here and there while tilting it from side to side. She was not able to resist the urge to tuck a stray hair away from Korra’s forehead, sweeping it under the helmet first before curling it behind Korra’s ear.

Her hand stayed there, half on the helmet and the rest on Korra’s neck and cheek which felt warm in her touch. Realizing what she’d done, her eyes shifted to meet blue gaze already on hers.

A pink tongue darted out to lick a lower lip languidly, and Asami cursed herself for involuntarily following the movement. She watched pale lips turn up slightly, her own parting.

Asami couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing. 

It was Korra who broke the silence, her voice hoarse. “Thanks, ‘Sami.”

It was the first time Korra had said it out loud. That nickname she gave Asami. Simple. Stupid. Perfect.

Asami blinked and scoffed half-heartedly. She grabbed the seat belt and pulled it around her torso. Without looking back to Korra, she said with a shaky breath, “Safety first. You’re riding with a Sato.”

She waited for Korra to do the same.

She revved the engine. It purred. 

Then growled.

With a flick of her wrist, she launched them onto the track.

The car took off like a bullet.

Asami felt the familiar rush—tires gripping the concrete, acceleration pressing them into their seats. The wind shuddered against the frame. The curve ahead barreled toward them, and Asami downshifted with a sharp flick of the stick, her foot in total sync on the pedals, sending the car weaving left, then snapping right.

Korra screamed.

Not out of fear. It was pure, unfiltered joy.

“GO FASTER!” She heard Korra say.

Asami grinned and floored it.

They passed the inner wall, picking up Hiroshi and the engineer’s cars in the next turn. The roar of engines was deafening. Asami kissed the apex and slingshots them out of the curve, leveling with Hiroshi’s rear tires.

Korra leaned out the window, hollering.

“EAT OUR DUST!”

Before Korra could go back to her seat, she leaned out again to add,  “SIR!”

Asami laughed  full and loud, the kind of laugh she hadn’t let out in months.

She  wasn’t sure what was making her heart pound harder — the thrill of the chase, or the girl in the passenger seat, laughing like she finally belonged somewhere.

In that second, Asami forgot about the board meetings, about her last name, about the expectations.

All she saw was Korra, windblown and wild, trusting her completely. Her grin after being declared the victor lighting up the inside of Asami’s chest.

***

They drove more laps, to Korra’s request, a request Asami was more than happy to oblige to if it meant seeing more or Korra’s smile. The athlete had received a call from her dad’s secretary, informing her that the summit would go on until the next day. Dinner with her parents had been cancelled. 

Asami’s heart broke into a million tiny pieces at Korra’s crestfallen face. So she did what she thought would cheer Korra up: offered to give her driving lessons. Korra was delighted to actually be the one behind the wheel. She had the grace of a dog wearing shoes for the first time, forgetting the clutch every time she tried to shift the stick. There was a flicker of moment where Asami was terrified they were going to crash, her hand knuckle-white on the ‘oh shit’ handle. But Korra laughed that laugh and her heart did somersaults for a completely different reason.

The sky was now a soft gradient of violet and navy, with the first stars peeking through the Republic City haze. The track was quiet except for the distant clink of tools from a maintenance shed and the ticking sound of metal cooling under night air.

Korra was sprawled on the hood of the car, still in her hoodie, helmet now resting beside her. Her hair was an absolute mess—wind-tossed, helmet-flattened, and somehow still unfairly gorgeous.

Asami leaned back on her elbows next to her.

Neither of them spoke for a while. They just breathed. Watched the sky. Orion’s belt shone brightly up above.

Then Korra sighed. “I really thought I wouldn’t care.”

Asami turned her head toward her. “About your birthday?”

Korra nodded, eyes fixed on the sky. Asami wondered if she was also looking at the constellation. “About my parents bailing. About how every year it’s always… policy, speeches, appearances. Like I’m some accessory to my dad’s job.” She paused and took in a long breath. “But I guess I did care. And I didn’t even realize how much until you showed up.”

Asami’s throat tightened. She tries to keep her voice light and teasing. “Well, it would’ve been criminal to let you turn eighteen with nothing but ube ice cream and a cancelled dinner.”

Korra chuckled, soft this time, not the roaring kind from earlier. It sat differently in Asami’s chest. There was still warmth in it, but a different kind. Pleasant and intimate. “You really planned all this?”

Asami shrugged, trying to shake of the nerves. Where did those come from? “I had the helmet made last week. A bribe to convince you to ride with me on the moped. Thought I’d have to work harder to convince you to come here and drive a satomobile prototype.”

Korra grinned. “You didn’t. You never really have to.”

She said it so casually. So honestly. And it hit Asami like the aftershock of a crash — late, unexpected, unignorable, no time to breace herself. She couldn’t decide if the impact hurt just yet. She’d do that later.

Korra turned her head, and suddenly they were face to face, inches apart. The world was soft and slow around them. The roar and adrenaline of the track long gone.

Asami noticed the way Korra’s lip parted, the way her breath hitched.

And oh, how her own heart stumbled to match it.

“Thanks for remembering,” Korra whispered into the space between them.

“Anytime, birthday girl,” Asami answered just as quietly.

She searched blue eyes, Korra doing the same.

Asami wasn’t sure who moved first. It was barely a decision, more of a drift. There was this tug in her chest—an invisible string coiled around her heart, pulling. Like gravity meant for only two people. Only them. 

And when their lips met, hesitant at first, then fuller, warmer—it was like the whole world exhaled, letting go of the breath it had been holding, like it was waiting for them.

Korra tasted like wind and sugar and something that felt familiar, like home.

The word ‘romanesco’ echoed through her head, a muted plea. But Asami didn’t pull away. Because how could she if Korra felt like breaking surface, inhaling oxygen and breathing for the first time? She clung to Korra’s lips like it was a lifeline. 

For a heartbeat, there was only warmth.

Korra’s lips on hers. The soft press. The way Korra’s hand lingered near her wrist but didn’t quite touch. How the cool night air couldn’t seem to reach her through the heat in her chest.

And then it ended. Too soon. It wasn’t nearly enough. And somehow too much.

Asami pulled back first, just slightly — her breath catching halfway between apology and panic. Korra’s eyes were still closed, her lashes trembling against her cheeks like she was afraid to open them.

When she finally did, green locked on blue.

Neither said a word.

The silence stretched, taut as a tightrope. The moon hung above the track, indifferent. 

Korra’s brows lifted first, an expression like ‘Oh’. Asami feared she got caught with how loud and dissonant and unsteady her heart was beating in her chest. But the expression on Korra’s face was not regret. Not quite. Just surprise. Gentle, vulnerable surprise. Then it shifted, lips still parted, blue eyes wide like Korra was  trying to memorize the moment before it disappeared.

Asami’s mind raced to make sense of it. What it was. What it wasn’t.

A kiss. Just a kiss.

But it didn’t feel like just anything. And that was the problem.

Korra shifted, blinking fast like she was sobering up from a high neither of them saw coming. She swallowed. “That was…”

Asami panicked. “Convincing,” she said quickly.

Korra’s breath visibly and audibly caught. She disguised it as a clear of her throat. “R-Right. Yeah. For the act. For the uhm… the thing. The–the fake dating thing.”

They were both nodding as Korra rambled, too fast, like they were  trying to convince themselves more than each other.

“We’ll add improvisation to the rules,” Asmi’s voice was careful. “So it doesn’t look staged. People will be watching. Sato and Waters are big names. It makes sense.”

“Totally,” Korra’s voice was clipped, her eyes anywhere but Asami’s. “You know. Paps. Selling the story.”

Asami lied back on the hood of the car, staring at the stars like they might give her something else to look at. Something safer.

But the warmth of the kiss lingered on her lips. And the heat in her chest refuses to fade.

She swallowed thickly, all moisture in her mouth and down her throat had evaporated. “We’ll call it... a dry run.”

Korra let out a laugh that sounded totally forced. “Yeah. A bonus PDA. That’s all.”

They fell into silence once more. This time it didn’t settle. Korra fidgeted beside her, fingers tapping the rhythm on her helmet—a thought she didn’t say aloud. Asami pretended she didn’t notice.

Because admitting it, that it felt like more, would unravel everything they built. And right now, it was safer to believe in the script they agreed on.

Even if their hearts forgot the lines.

There was a tiny buzz on her back, a flicker of warmth on her scar. 

Romanesco. She shouted in her head. Korra wasn’t supposed to make this harder. 

And Asami thought, just for the briefest moment, that this was what falling in love might feel like.

She asked the spirits, the stars… How did Korra make it so easy?

***

They didn’t talk about the kiss the morning after. Neither of them mentioned it on their walk to school, during lunch, on the ride home. And it stayed that way.

For public moments, like at school, they played the part. Korra’s fangirls were jealous but in a good way. They quickly became the ‘It couple,’ being dubbed as Korrasami.

But something had clearly shifted.

Casual touches lingered. Either of them leaning closer. Too close and not close enough. 

Asami felt it during movie night at the estate. 

Her head rested on Korra’s shoulder. Popcorn bowl balanced on Korra’s lap. The lights were dim. Some vintage black-and-white romance flick played on low volume.

Asami laughed at something Korra whispered in her ear, and Korra turned to look at her with that earnest smile , their noses nearly brushed.

No one was watching. And still, neither moved away.

They didn’t kiss. Not again. But Korra’s fingers found Asami’s, and their hands stayed entwined throughout the movie.

They didn’t talk about it.

Sometime in the next week, Korra posted a photo of them leaning against each other at a late-night cafe, their cheeks nearly touching, drinks half-finished. The caption was a casual pun. The comments explode, mostly from Korra’s fanclub.

Asami read through them in bed, trying not to grin. Korra sent her a text:

“They totally bought it. Should we make out next time for full effect? 😂”

Asami stared at the screen longer than she needed to. It was a joke. Korra was joking. Spirits bless Asami’s beating heart.

Her reply was short:

“Maybe.”

The next week they walk arm in arm down the school hallway. Someone scoffed behind them—another senior who still blamed Asami for Korra’s wrist injury. Korra pulled Asami closer, pressing a kiss to her temple in full view of everyone.

It was a reflex. Protective. And something else. Still caught Asami off guard.

But she blushed. She didn’t say anything until later.

“That wasn’t part of the script.”

“We’re improvising, remember?”

One weekend they were in Korra's backyard. Korra was doing drills, her wrist brace gone. She was restless and pumped for her first game back. The moonlight hit just right and Asami was staring. She didn’t mean to. But Korra’s profile, this version right now—relaxed, content, beautiful—made her forget this was supposed to be fake.

Korra’s head tilted to the side, a lazy grin on her lips. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Asami licked her lips.  “This is easier than I thought it would be.”

 Korra raised a curious brow. “What is?”

 Asami blinked slowly, willing her heart to do the same. “Pretending.”

Korra didn’t respond. Blue eyes just drop to Asami’s lips. Asami’s gaze dropped as well.

They didn’t kiss.
 

But a part of Asami wished she could uncoil that string wrapped around her chest, toss it to Korra’s and tug her close.

***

The gym was packed. Korra’s name echoed in chants from the Republic City side of the crowd. It was her first official game since the wrist injury that benched her—since Asami almost ran her over. There was a heavy kind of poetry in that, Asami thought. Cathartic.

Korra wore her Republic City High jersey, number 14 in red and gold. 

The past few weeks Asami had learned about the school’s basketball team—the players and their roles, the rules, the game, the plays, and a lot about Korra.

Today, she’d be facing the defending champs, her old teammates, her old coach. And… her old flame. 

There was an ugly pull at Asami’s chest when Korra mentioned her ex.

Naara, the team’s current point guard, watched Korra like she still knew her plays. She probably did. They dated. Briefly as per Korra. But intensely. Until Korra had to move to Republic City and they had to break up. It was mutual. As per Korra.

Asami Stood in the bleachers, front row. Red lipstick, in Korra’s away jersey, arms crossed. Watching like a hawk.

The starting five were announced. Korra shot Asami a wink. Both teams got ready for the jump ball.

Naara walked past, murmured something only intended for Korra. But Asami caught it.

“Good to see you again, Korrbear. Still lighting up the room?”

Korra laughed—friendly and warm.

Asami’ jaw clenched and fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

The ref blew his whistle and tossed the ball in the air. Jargala tipped the ball and Korra caught it. She dribbled, firm and confident like the ball belonged there, like she wasn’t benched for almost half the season. 

She planted her foot, exploded from the other end of the court, and drove hard to the basket. She moved through defenders like she was water. The court opened up for a second, just a sliver, and that was all she needed.

She faked right, cut left and dribbled low.

Two steps from the rim—

—then impact.

Asami gasped involuntarily. Naara, that bitch, lunged to block, but it was late. Contact. Shoulder to ribs. Elbow across Korra’s bad wrist. The whistle screamed.

Korra’s body twisted mid-air. She hurled the ball in slow motion, one-handed toward the glass as she was knocked off-balance. It was a desperate, instinctive move, one Asami had seen during practice. The ball bounced off the backboard, circled the rim…

And fell out.

The gym groaned.

Korra landed hard on the floor, sliding a few inches, elbow scraping the polished court. But she gritted her teeth and popped back up.

The ref’s hand went up. Two free throws.

Korra exhaled, shakes out her arms, an extra shake on her right wrist, and glances toward the bench. Her expression dimmed.

And Asami caught it and knew it wasn’t because of the foul. Lately, Asami noticed what no one else did.

She followed Korra’s eye. 

Two empty seats.

Front row. Center. Reserved with paper placards: Mr. & Mrs. Waters

Korra jogged to the free-throw line, jaw tight. She caught the ball and rolled it between her palms.

Dribble. Dribble. Hold. Release.

She missed.

Dead silence.

Asami’s heart twisted. She could practically feel Korra trying to pull herself together, trying not to care that no one from her family was in the stands. That even on her comeback game—after all the physical therapy, the training, the waiting—they still didn’t show.

And Asami couldn’t take it.

So before she thought better of it, before she could second guess, because what is a jock’s girlfriend for if not for this. Asami stood—ruby lips, pristine jersey she had spent the whole evening ironing out, perfectly blown-out hair—and belted out.

Hands cupped around her mouth, in front of everyone:

"K-O-R-R-A!

Who’s gonna SLAY the game today?

KOOO—RRA! My Koko, yeah yeah!

No missed shots! No excuses!

Wipe the floor with…uhm... Water Tribe losers!

Goooo team! Goooo YOU!

You’re hotter than my power suits!”

You could hear a hair pin drop.

Until someone in the bleachers snorted. Asami turned and saw her dad making her way to her, in his hands a banner with Korra’s jersey number. Laughter trickled across the gym.

Asami didn’t have time to be embarrassed because Korra turned slowly, blinking in disbelief, the basketball still in her hands. She was stunned. A little pink in the face. But then—

She grinned. Big, stupid, unstoppable, brighter than the lights in the gym.

And when she sunk the second free throw like it was the easiest thing in the world, she jogged back on defense and mouthed, “You’re insane.”

Asami shrugged, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and mouthed back, “You’re welcome.”

It was one thing to see Korra play during practice. But to see her play in an actual game? Asami was in awe.

Korra played like she’d never been hurt.

She stole, she scored, she flew. She led. The gym was on fire, Korra was the match and the gasoline.

She could see Naara trying to get in Korra’s head, but she just winked and dropped three points in her face.

Every time she made a basket, she glanced at Asami.

And Asami? She clapped. She cheered. She shot finger guns. She returned winks. She beamed like she was  the one who scored.

Because in a way, she did. She gave Korra back something no game could. 

Joy.

The gym erupted as the final buzzer blazed.

Fans screamed. Korra stood at center court, fists raised, teammates rushing her like a tidal wave. The players were jumping, giving high fives. Korra was smiling so wide it split her whole face open. Pure, unfiltered joy.

Asami barely heard the noise. Her heart was louder. 

She watched  Korra laugh, get pulled into a huddle of cheers and backslaps. But then, through the bodies, through the chaos — blue eyes look up.

And saw her.

Asami didn’t wave. Didn’t move. She Didn’t need to.

Because Korra was  already moving, pushing through her team, through sweaty arms and clapping hands and the chaos of victory, until she wad crossing the court, fast, breathless.

Right to her.

“You’re gonna give our cheerleaders a run for their money!” Korra was grinning. Out of breath. Eyes shining.

Asami huffed. “You missed a free throw. I panicked.”

Korra laughed. “Koko, huh?”

Asami couldn’t fight the blush that rose up to her cheeks. “A lot better than Korrbear if you ask me,” she grumbled, doing everything in her power not to pout.

“Wha–” Korra laughed out loud and Asami couldn't bite back a smile. Her glow couldn’t get any brighter, still running high on adrenaline and leftover disbelief. “Well, after breaking my wrist. You went and broke my brain. I was trying to figure out if you rhymed ‘excuses’ with ‘losers’ on purpose.”

“I did,” Asami nodded seriously. “You’re welcome.”

Korra stopped in front of her. They were too close. Too something.

Sweat clung to her tanned neck. Her breathing was uneven, or maybe it was Asami’s own breath, she wasn’t entirely sure. Korra’s smile started to fade, replaced with something softer. Quieter. Like the game was over, but something more important was just beginning.

Her eyes darted to the empty seats. “You saw they didn’t come, huh?”

Asami’s chest ached. “I did. I know an improvised cheer is not nearly enough to... You’ve been looking forward to this game. And you were so excited. I just wanted… I just thought I’d be a good girlfriend and—mmph!”

Korra was kissing her.

No warning. No teasing. No joke.

Asami recovered from her initial shock and kissed Korra back instantly, instinctively, like she had been waiting for permission. Like she had been holding this in for years. For a few lifetimes. Her hands found Korra’s jersey, bunched it up into fists. Korra pulled her closer by the waist like Asami might disappear if Korra let go.

Asami wasn’t going anywhere. 

She was where she wanted to be.

The gym exploded. Screams, whistles, stunned shouts. Hiroshi clearing his throat a few seats behind Asami.

But she didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

Because for the first time, Asami felt like it wasn’t just for show.

Chapter Text

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline of Republic City, casting long shadows over the familiar streets. Korra’s phone buzzed in her pocket, Asami’s name flashing on the screen.

She answered on the first ring.

“Korra! You’ve got to come. Now.” Asami’s voice was urgent. “There’s an emergency at the old banyan tree lot near the docks. Hurry up and bring snacks!”

The phone beeped as the call ended before Korra could get a word in. She scoffed at her phone with a raised brow. 

They’d found that empty lot weeks ago when Asami took Korra on her moped for the first time after her injury. Korra hadn’t the slightest idea where they were going. Asami didn't seem to, either. They’d just… driven around the city aimlessly.

They hadn’t talked much. It was one of those strange, in-between afternoons. Too early for dinner, too late for class. 

But the silence wasn’t awkward.

It was theirs.

Then, without warning, Asami had veered down a road Korra didn’t recognize. It was a crumbling asphalt path lined with weeds. She had slowed the moped and came to a full stop. 

They’d parked, and Korra had followed Asami up a narrow trail flanked by chain-link fences and worn out signage. It opened up into an empty lot—overgrown and half-forgotten, crumbling bricks scattered where a building used to stand. But at the center of it all, like it had never been touched by time, was a banyan tree.

Huge. Ancient. With roots like braided rivers and branches that curled and tangled toward the sky like arms reaching for the moon.

It was... breathtaking.

The tree rose above them like a monument, its roots curling around old stonework and long dead flowerbeds. There was no plaque. No sign. Just the banyan—alive and defiant in the middle of the city’s sprawl.

Asami had ran her fingers gently along the bark. Korra had just stood there, and for a second, she didn’t think about school or basketball or pretending to date Asami. She just thought about how the heiress looked standing barefoot in the grass, hair wild in the breeze, her laugh just barely echoing through the empty lot.

That was the first time Korra had realized Asami had a habit of finding quiet magic in forgotten places.

The banyan tree would become their place after that.

But that moment—standing beneath its shade for the first time, not saying much, just being—that was the beginning.

Curious and slightly amused, Korra grabbed her jacket and hurried over on her bicycle. The city smelled like fresh rain and engine oil. Chaos and possibility.

When Korra got there, she couldn’t help but laugh.

There she was. Asami—hanging upside down from a sprawling banyan tree branch, hair cascading toward the ground, eyes sparkling with that stubborn fire she always had. 

Green eyes lit up impossibly brigther. 

“There she is! Koko! There’s my girlfriend!”

Asami was upside down but her smile was just as radiant as the one when she was right side up. Korra ignored the way her heart did somersaults and circus tricks at the word ‘girlfriend.’ But the heat that snuck its way to her cheeks probably betrayed her facial expressions.

She looked away and tried to clear her throat. Excavation machines rumbled nearby, trucks unloading equipment, workers in hard hats standing at the ready.

Korra didn’t stop the exasperated laugh that escaped her lips. “Seriously, ‘Sami? Hanging upside down? You planning to star in some action movie or just practicing your circus skills?”

Asami smirked, brushing a leaf from her forehead. She made a gesture that was as close to a shrug as she could manage. “Don’t mock. This tree’s older than any of us. They want to cut it down for some boring development project, and I’m not letting that happen.”

She gestured dramatically to the heavy machinery, arms up or down? wide and open. “If I’m occupying the tree, they can’t cut it down. I googled it, it’s a thing.”

Korra nodded. “Of course, you did.”

“I’m an action-taker. A doer, Korra.” Asami crossed her arms over her chest.

Korra did everything in her power not to make a dirty joke. She settled on teasing Asami instead, as she made her way to the tree. “You know, if you wanted attention, there are easier ways than impersonating a bat.”

Asami rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Like you’ve never pulled a stunt just to make people notice you?”

Korra felt her grin grow wider. She put her hands on her waist and sized up the workers prepping the equipment, unconsciously flexing her arms. She missed Asami’s eyes darting toward them.

“Fair enough,” Korra breathed out, then turned back to Asami, pointing a finger toward her. “ But you’re lucky I’m here to be your muscle.” 

Asami was turning a little red, probably from hanging upside down for too long.

The heiress scoffed and looked away. “Muscle? Please, I’m the brains of this operation.” She swung down with practiced ease and landed beside Korra, dusting off her jacket. “We just need to look tough enough to make them think twice.”

Korra stood there amused.

She wanted to tell Asami that yes, of course she would stand by her side and glare down at the workers, ready to defend this tree as fiercely as she would protect anything in her life. As she would protect Asami. 

The team was supposed to be celebrating tonight, but Korra  wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

But Korra bit her tongue. It would probably be too much. Too real.

Just then, a sleek black car rolled up, the door swinging open to reveal Hiroshi. He was in his suit but he looked calm, collected, and utterly unbothered by the dust and chaos.

He squinted, a smirk playing on his lips. “You two causing trouble again?”

Asami shot Korra a surprised look, perfect brows raised. Korra smiled guiltily. “I just thought we could use some more backup?”

Asami let out a half-hearted scoff, then turned to her dad and smiled. “Only defending a century-old banyan tree from being chopped down, dad. No big deal.”

Hiroshi stepped out, hands in pockets, surveying the scene. “You know, sometimes saving the city means knowing when to pick your battles.” He paused as he took more steps towards them, smiled brightly. “I heard you needed snacks?”

Before Korra could respond, a motorcade appeared, tires crunching on gravel. The first black car pulled over and Korra’s lips parted in surprise.

Senator Tonraq Waters.

He stepped out slowly, in full official form—Water Tribe blue suit, pin straight, clean-lined, a white sash that made him look more like a symbol than a man. His face was unreadable. Stoic, carved in stone. 

As always.

But his eyes locked onto Korra’s.

Her jaw clenched tightly, her fists tighter.

He looked tired. Not just from the job, but from everything that came with it. His gaze lingered on Korra, then shifted to Asami. Korra stepped a little in front of her in a protective stance, chin up, brows furrowed.

For a second, neither of them said anything. There was no hug. No greeting. No lecture. Just the weight of years in one look.

Then finally, Tonraq sighed and turned to the foreman, or at least the guy with the clipboard and a radio. “Stand down. No one touches this tree until further notice.”

The workers hesitated, looking between each other and the man who could cost them their contracts.

“I said stand down.” Senator Waters’ voice was firm and final.

The machines hissed to silence.

Asami beamed beside Korra, a small victorious gasp slipping out as she nudged Korra’s shoulder in celebration. But Korra didn’t move.

Tonraq walked a few steps closer. Close enough to speak, but not enough to bridge the space between them. 

He spoke low, only to Kora. “You really couldn’t just call first?”

Korra  shrugged, trying to mask the familiar sting with sarcasm. “Would you have picked up?”

That stopped him. There’s a flash of surprise, sadness, and hurt in his tired blue eyes. For a breath, he almost smiled, but it faded too quickly.

He looked back at the tree, then at her daughter again. Korra thought she saw something else, pride, guilt, maybe regret. But it all disappeared as fast as they came.

“We’ll discuss this at home,” he said quietly. “Hiroshi.” He gave a slight dip of his chin, eyes behind Asami.

”Senator.” Hiroshi ackowledged.

Another sigh. Then Tonraq turned and walked back to his car, already reaching for his next call.

Korra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Asami placed a hand on Korra’s arm. The touch was warm, familiar and grounding. Her voice, calming. “You okay?”

Korra sighed and swallowed dryly. “Yeah. That was just… him showing up. In his own way.”

They watched the cars pull away in silence. And somehow, despite the ache, Korra still felt like they won.

***

The protest had ended in a quiet sort of victory. The machines were shut down, the workers gone. The sun was saying its final goodbyes, casting golden light through the tangled limbs of the banyan tree like it was blessing the day we just had.

Asami and Korra sat on the hood of Hiroshi’s car, sipping cherry sodas he bought and snacking on the last of his seaweed crackers. Korra’s legs were crossed neatly, her boots muddy from climbing, and her face glowing from the adrenaline, from something wild and alive. 

Or maybe it was just because of a certain raven-haired girl sitting beside her.

Or maybe the adrenaline from the game where she kissed Asami without thinking was still in her veins. 

Or maybe it was the kiss before that.

Their first kiss.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

That’s what they had agreed. That was what Asami had said, when she’d laughed and brushed it off like it was just another part of the show.

“Convincing,” she’d said.

Korra had nodded, smiled even. Played along. Because what else was she supposed to do when Asami had looked away so quickly after?

But the truth was… Korra was still burning. From the fingertips, from her toes, climbing up to her back, her shoulders, her neck. The tingling buzz was still there.

Even hours later that night on her birthday, back in her room, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling like it might have the answer, she could still feel the ghost of Asami’s lips on hers. Still feel Asami’s fingers brushing against her wrist when she’d steadied herself. Still hear the tiny breath Asami took right before it happened, like she wasn’t sure it was real.

Korra wished it was.

Flames and waves.

Rain in the summer.

Snow on the beach.

Asami’s lips were warm, soft, hesitant for a half-second before she kissed Korra back. And that was when Korra’s brain completely stopped working. Her heart kept going, though, drumming like a war cry and a love song all at once. There was nothing she could’ve done to slow it down.

“They’ll probably still cut it down someday. But not today.”

Asami's soft voice pulled Korra out of her own thoughts. She looked at Asami, at the soft curve of her ruby-painted mouth, the way her long black hair caught the light. There was dirt on her cheek, a faint leaf stuck to her collar, and she was still the most composed, graceful person Korra had ever met.

Korra forced a smile and prayed her face didn’t betray her emotions this time. “Not on our watch.”

Asami turned her head toward Korra, and for a second, neither of them said anything.

The air smelled like bark and citrus, and the world felt strangely still.

Oh.

And that’s when it hit her.

Not a lightning bolt. Not fireworks. Just a quiet knowing.

Huh.

Korra was in love with Asami.

This girl who came out of nowhere in her moped, cruising and running people over. This girl who hung from trees and dared to take on the government in dirty boots and designer sleeves. This girl who made Korra laugh when her world was too heavy, who always looked at Korra like she was more than what everyone expected.

Asami caught Korra staring.

Asami tilted her head, her voice teasing. “What? You planning to carve our initials into the tree or something?”

“Pfft. Please,” Korra huffed, fighting off the blush quickly creeping up her neck, her cheeks, her whole face. “I’d pick a bigger tree.”

Asami laughed, loud and unabashed, and leaned back on her elbows, gazing up at the rustling leaves.

Spirits, she was so beautiful.

“This is gonna sound dumb but…” Asami trapped a lip between her teeth.

Spirits, she was so hot.

“I kinda want to remember today forever.”

Korra turned to face Asami fully. Her voice as soft as she could manage, vulnerable in a way she rarely let it be. “Yeah. Me too.”

But she didn’t say it.

Not “I love you.”

Not yet.

Not Romanesco.

Never.

Because they were still pretending. Because they still had rules. Because they were both afraid.

Korra would soon find the next time they hung out there, ‘K + A’ engraved dead center on the tree.

And deep down, Korra knew. That banyan tree would always mark the day she realized what Asami meant to her.

Chapter Text

Asami stepped off the airship, adjusting her duffel bag on her shoulder. She stood still for a moment, letting the awe wash over her.

It was the ass crack of dawn, but the lack of light was making the sight before her more beautiful.

The hum of the hexgates filled the air like a living thing. The sound was not mechanical, not magical, but somewhere in between. The portals shimmered with restrained power, elegant and precise in their design, runes pulsing in perfect rhythm. She could feel the charge in her bones, a current that whispered of genius, ambition, and the kind of brilliance that only came from those who dared to see the world differently.

Green eyes darted up, watching a pair of hexgates ripple as a diplomat vanished in a swirl of gold, and a shepherd from downmountain emerged from another, blinking in wonder.

“Amazing,” she murmured under her breath, fingers brushing against the polished edge of the nearest gate arch. She’d thought about Jayce Talis and Viktor Herald, the mad, brilliant bastards behind the technology.

She’d studied their theories once in university, dissected their designs in sleepless fascination. But seeing it now—real, humming, transporting—was something else entirely. No blueprint or lecture hall diagram could have prepared her for this.

This was innovation at its finest. A perfect balance of the arcane and engineering. A dream made real.

And spirits, she’d wanted to build something like it since she was seventeen. If only she pushed through. If only fate did not have other plans.

She heaved a sigh as she stepped out of the terminal. The moment she did, the world opened wide. Targon wasn’t like the city. It breathed differently. Old stone paths wound between pale rock ridges, crisp mountain air stinging her lungs, golden light washing over jagged peaks. But something else caught her attention—a man leaning casually against a sleek, custom-built all-terrain vehicle that looked half luxury SUV, half off-road mech.

“Lady Sato,” the man called, giving a two-fingered salute with a wink. “Welcome to the edge of the world.”

Asami blinked at him, surprised. “You’re Taric?”

“The one and only.” He pushed off the ATV with easy grace. His bomber jacket was a deep sapphire, embroidered with crystalline fractals that shimmered in the sun. His long hair was tied back in a loose man bun, catching flecks of the illumination from the portals like scattered gemstones. “Leona sends her regrets. Something about wrangling elders and priests. I volunteered as your welcome committee.”

“Just Asami, please.” Asami’s gaze slipped past him to the vehicle. Sleek chassis, reinforced suspension, its treads built for shifting terrain. And the engine? It purred like a panther satisfied after a bountiful hunt.

She gave an appreciative whistle. “That thing street legal?”

Taric grinned. “If the street’s made of cliff edges and divine prophecy, then absolutely.”

He opened the passenger side door with a gallant flourish, and she climbed in, the interior stitched with deep leather and sun-inspired threadwork. A faint lavender mist curled from the ventilation—some kind of calming aromatherapy blend, if she had to guess. It smelled like quartz and pine and altitude .

Asami wished she was the one driving, but the ride was breathtaking all the same and in every sense of the word. Targon boasted the highest peak of all of Runeterra, and the highest Asami’s ever been. She could feel how thin the air was even though she was just sitting there, taking her time appreciating the interior of the ATV.

They left the angular geometry of the hexgate spires behind and wound through narrow passes and shimmering rock bridges, suspended above valleys that seemed to stretch into forever. Taric navigated them with one hand on the wheel and the other adjusting the vehicle’s custom HUD. 

Occasionally, he’d point out a peak or a waterfall with quiet reverence. He talked about the sun, the moon, the stars. He said the people living at the mountain ridge’s base believed these to be aspects of long-vanished stellar beings, creatures powerful and ancient on a scale beyond human comprehension. He explained that Targon, however, was simply a way into the celestial realm. Then he talked about the tribes—some long gone, some still staying strong.

“Jayce and Viktor may have built the gates,” Asami said at one point, eyes fixed on the far-off sky towers still crackling with energy, “but you made this feel like a pilgrimage.”

Taric chuckled, voice like crushed velvet. “I’m just here to make sure the journey doesn’t shake the soul apart.”

Asami smiled before turning back to the view outside her window. The sky here was so clear it felt unreal. The city haze and light pollution had been scrubbed from the world, and now the stars were free to shine the way they were always meant to.

Her gaze drifted upward, pulled by habit more than anything, until it landed on a familiar cluster of stars. There they were—the three perfectly aligned ones that always gave it away.

Orion.

Her smile deepened, soft and unguarded.

Her thoughts drifted back to Korra and how Taric somehow reminded her of the Water Tribe girl. She thought about the girl who talked about the spirits—the myth of Raava. She thought about that night when Korra had talked her ear off about the stars, the heavens, her fascination about space and how the athlete ended up writing a song about it. In just under an hour.

Korra had once pointed it out then, when they were eighteen—lounging side by side on her rooftop, a bag of fire flakes between them and the entire world crackling just under their skin.

Asami had asked, “Orion’s your favorite? Why?”

Korra shrugged at first, brushing salt from her fingertips. “I dunno. It’s just… the easiest one to find. It’s right there. Obvious. Even when the sky is messy, you can still spot it.”

Asami had raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Because it’s the most recognizable?”

Korra had hesitated—then tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was caught between honesty and embarrassment. “Okay, yeah. But also…” she trailed off, suddenly quieter. “I think I like that it’s always there. Like, he’s hunting, right? Forever chasing something across the sky. But no matter what, he keeps showing up. Doesn’t fade. Doesn’t get lost. Doesn’t go away. Just… steady. You can rely on him. Even if you don’t see him, you know he’s there. He just… stays. Constant. Did you know that’s where the word constellation come from?”

Asami had raised a brow then scoffed, noting the sudden subject change but getting along with it. “No, it’s not.”

Korra had nodded. “No, it’s not but it should’ve been called consta-llation. Right?”

Asami remembered watching her then, the flicker of starlight caught in Korra’s eyes as she laughed, and realizing it wasn’t really about Orion at all.

It was about needing something— someone —constant.

Reliable.

Unshakeable.

Asami exhaled slowly, her breath curling upward like smoke as if it might reach those stars.

Back then, she’d thought Korra would always be the steady one. The one who stayed. The one who could withstand anything. 

Resilient. Strong. Brave .

And maybe Korra had been.

It was Asami who ran.

Now, with the mountains rising around her like silent witnesses and Orion still hanging overhead, Asami wondered if she could ever be the one to stay this time.

Or if she'd already missed her chance.

She let out a soft sigh.The ridgeline leveled into a plateau, and nestled within the natural amphitheater of stone was the Rakkor Caves. 

The homes were built into the rock itself. Minimalist and warm-toned was how Asami would describe them. She looked up and around the mountain were terraces dotted with wind turbines in the early stages of life—skeletal, unfinished. It was ancient and modern in perfect fusion.

Waiting just beyond the entry slope was Leona Solari.

Gone was the business suit from their previous meeting. Now she wore a simple high-collared tunic with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It was dyed a deep solar gold and cinched at the waist with a black belt paired with tapered trousers and boots built for climbing uneven paths. The fabric was sun-threaded, ancient symbols barely visible under the light. She looked like she belonged to the land itself. Or to the sky, altitude considered and if the rising sun glinting off her shoulders like it obeyed her was anything to go by.

At her side stood a woman in cool contrast—tall, composed, and draped in dark blue. Asami wasn’t sure of the shade but it was close to midnight, or perhaps it looked more like the shade of a shadow. Her long platinum hair was braided tightly down her back, silver cuffs lining each ear and a lunar pendant glinting at her throat. Her expression was guarded, though her eyes, silvery-lilac, missed nothing.

Asami stepped off the ATV, brushing her windblown hair behind her ear.

“Ms. Sato,” Leona said, grinning. “Welcome to the Rakkor Caves.”

They shook hands, firm and steady.

Taric, leaning against the hood now, watched them with a knowing smirk, slipping his sunglasses back on. He tapped the hood twice. “I’ll see you tonight at camp,” he said, tossing the keys in the air and catching it with a wink.

Leona said her goodbyes with a nod.

“Thank you,” Asami breathed out as she let go of Leona’s hand she didn’t realize she was still holding. Her voice came out hoarse, her lungs still adjusting to the lack of oxygen. “This place… it’s incredible.”

Leona smiled, bright as the sun. “Wait till you see the rest of our project. And oh,” she gestured between Asami and the other woman. “Asami, meet Diana Luna. Technically, she’s the village elder but don’t let the title fool you. She’s only a few months older than I am. Doesn’t stop her from bossing everyone around, though.”

Diana snorted softly. “Says the woman who came back at first light with blueprints, an itinerary and a spreadsheet of budget cuts in her back pocket.” She extended a hand toward Asami. “Pleasure to meet you. This village isn't easy to welcome. But we remember effort and compassion. If you're here to build, not impose, you may walk our paths.”

Asami felt the weight in the words. A welcome. And a warning.

Diana’s tone was soft and neutral but there was a certain chill to it that made Asami a little nervous. She accepted the handshake, noting the subtle strength in Diana’s grip. “Whatever the site allows,” she replied with a polite smile. “Taric told me not to argue with the village elders.”

Leona raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this particular elder loves arguments.” She chuckled before looking over to Diana. “We’ve had our fair share of arguments. Haven’t we, Di?”

Diana’s lips curled, barely. “We call them... spirited discussions.”

Asami glanced between the two women, something subtle but unmistakable hanging in the air. The kind of tension that only came from history—lived-in, unspoken, and unresolved. But she chose not to comment, though her curiosity simmered. She wasn’t about to be nosy about the Rakkor leader and the Solari Tech CEO’s business. Instead, she turned toward the path winding deeper into the village.

“Well,” she said, slinging her satchel higher on her shoulder. “Where do we start?”

“After you,” Diana replied, gesturing for Asami to go ahead then waiting for Leona to follow before falling in step behind them.

As they walked, Asami couldn’t help but glance back at Leona, who lingered a step behind until she was side by side with Diana.

And for just a second, she thought she saw the same flicker of hesitation she so often caught in the mirror.

***

The sun was beginning its slow ascent behind the craggy silhouette of possibly the highest peak of the caves as Leona led Asami and Diana down a dusty trail lined with stone markers. The path opened to a clearing where the old school stood, scaffolding wrapped around its frame like skeletal ribs. A few villagers were already unloading crates and laying down blueprints.

Leona had explained they would start with rebuilding the school, the elders always prioritizing the village youth. 

Asami was halfway through scanning the grounds when the hum of engines grew louder behind them. She turned around to find a pair of smaller ATVs kicking up trails of orange dust as they roared up the slope like it was a race… or a game.

The blue vehicle, almost identical to the one she and Taric used except for its more compact size, was the first to skid to a stop. Its driver leaping off and pulling off her helmet in one smooth, confident motion. Her familiar red hair was in a braid, wind-tousled and her face flushed with laughter. 

Then the second ATV’s rider dismounted, swinging off with equal flair. Even under that tinted helmet, Asami knew who it was. She noticed, almost immediately, the jacket. The very same one she helped pick out in high school. 

Her heart rate kicked up and started beating at an impossible rate when Korra finally removed her helmet. She was all smirks and swagger, choppy brown hair gleaming under the Targonian sun. Then she felt a different ache when she realized Korra and Katarina were teasing each other , bumping shoulders like they were the only ones in the world.

With her devil-may-care smile, Katarina slung an arm around Korra’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Asami’s stomach tightened.

Katarina grinned at Korra. “I still won. By a whole length.”

“You cheated,” Korra scoffed and elbowed the red-head. “You took the shortcut under the canyon bridge!”

“It’s not cheating if you’re clever,” Katarina laughed and Korra rolled her eyes before they noticed the group standing nearby.

Blue eyes flicked to Asami. The cocky grin faltered for just a second—then steadied.

Asami didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She was still processing the fact that Korra was here at this project, in this place. She’d let Korra know that she was leaving for an out of town project and the woodworker, deep and focused on a project of her own at the time, had just waved her off with a ‘have fun, I’ll see you around’ comment.

And now, Asami watched as the duo approached. Her eyes locked on Korra's jacket—now worn denim, sun-bleached at the edges, one of the sleeves slightly frayed. The same one they had found together in a thrift shop back in high school, when Korra tried it on and declared it too big.

“You’ll grow into it,” Asami had teased, adjusting the collar.

“I’ll fill it in,” Korra had replied with a smirk and a wink that made Asami go weak in the knees, “Just give me time.”

And now, Korra had. She had filled it in. The jacket hugged broader shoulders, the sleeves rolled back over muscular forearms dusted and gleaming deliciously under the sunlight. They’d seen each other yesterday but somehow, Korra’s presence felt even bigger and steadier. 

Asami’s chest tightened once more.

Katarina unclung her arms from Korra’s shoulders and shot the woodworker a knowing smirk, earning a playful eye roll from Korra.

Asami bristled. She couldn’t help it.

Leona cleared her throat. “Nice of you to finally show up,” she said, amused. “I assume the detour was necessary?”

“We were testing the terrain,” Katarina replied. “For... safety reasons.”

Korra snorted. “Sure. Safety.” She then turned to Asami and smiled. “Hi.”

It wasn’t one of her wide, cocky grins. It was softer, a little surprised but mostly pleasant. Unsure but undeniably warm.

“Hi,” Asami parroted lamely. It was all she could manage.

Korra’s eyes flicked to Leona, then back to Asami, as if trying to piece together the story. “I didn’t think—I mean, I know you were working with Leona on something  but I didn’t know you’d be part of this.”

“I could say the same,” Asami replied smoothly, though her voice had a small catch. She looked over Korra’s shoulders  and cocked her head, “I thought you didn’t like vehicles without roofs?”

Korra laughed under her breath, almost sheepish. “Still four wheels, so.”

Katarina’s gaze flicked between the two as the silence lingered in the air, curious. She cleared her throat then extended a hand to Asami. “Katarina Du Couteau. Friend of Korra’s. Long-time troublemaker. I don’t know if you remember me but we met at Korra’s expo.”

Asami took it, smiled politely. “Leona’s glorified secretary.” She wasn’t sure who snorted, Korra or Leona, maybe it was even Diana but Asami was focused on Katarina’s raised brow. “Asami Sato, engineer for today. Occasional trouble-solver.”

They held eye contact for a moment. Emeralds locking on jades and sparking a mutual sizing-up in between.

Diana arched a brow at Leona. “I changed my mind. I want to oversee the whole thing. This is going to be fun.”

Leona chuckled, “Okay, glad to see the rest of the team is here.”

Asami whipped her head to the CEO. “Team?”

Leona nodded. “Korra’s been commissioned for the interior design of the new school,” her voice was calm. “Sculptures. Murals. Elements meant to reflect tradition and youth.” She turned slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. “And Katarina has resumed her post as my glorified secretary. Coordinating the schedules and external partnerships. Isn’t that right, Kat?”

Katarina just rolled her eyes and grumbled a sound that resembled a ‘yes’ to which Korra snickered.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes and silently berating herself for bringing up what seemed to be becoming an inside joke between the group, she turned to Korra and shot her a playful smile.  “Well. I hope the school’s interior doesn’t end up looking like the pottery room exploded.”

Korra smirked, “That depends. Are you gonna help me out?”

Asami squinted in mock thought. “I can only promise the ugly bowls.”

The woodworker grinned that lop-sides grin and Asami’s heart melted at how bright and warm it was.

Without another word, Korra wandered toward the crates stacked near the entrance and leaving rays of sunshine in her wake. Asami watched her go—the denim jacket catching the golden light just so. And in this view, the jacket fit Korra like it had been waiting for this version of her. The curve of her back devastatingly familiar. Solid, grounded, more radiant than the sun.

Asami stared after her. Something squeezed in her chest, quiet but unrelenting. Impossible to place but impossible to ignore.

It settled somewhere beneath her ribs. Not loud, not all-consuming—not anymore. Not when it had taken residence and made a home deep inside her heart. A quiet ache that curled into her like a question she already knew the answer to.

And now, walking behind her, Asami’s gaze couldn’t drift to anything, to anyone, else.

The memory of who they used to be was pressed up against the reality of who Korra was now. She was not a girl anymore, but someone grown, someone whole . And for all the wounds and time lost between them… that damn smile still made Asami feel seventeen and breathless.

She clenched her jaw, as if she could hold the feeling back with pure will. 

But it felt like it wasn’t going anywhere. 

She forced herself to look away.

Whatever this was—whatever seeing Korra here and now stirred in her—she would deal with it later.

After all, she had come here to rebuild a village.

Not her heart.

Chapter Text

It was one of those nights that felt borrowed. Borrowed time, borrowed warmth. Midterms were done and they finally had a quiet night in… Korra had forgotten whose turn it was to host but they ended up at Asami’s place.

It was the kind of night where the hum of the air conditioner was the loudest sound in the house, and the glow from one of the many lamps in Asami’s bedroom made everything feel smaller, closer.

They were curled up on the carpet by the bed, a bag of nori chips between them, Asami lying on her stomach with her chins propped on her hands while Korra sat next to her, strumming random chords on the guitar Asami had said had been gathering dust somewhere in the estate. 

Korra would’ve believed her if not for the absence of actual dust on it. In fact, it looked brand new—the strings were shiny and taught, not a single scratch on the pick guard, and Korra could be wrong but the nuts and saddle looked like they were ivory. It might have been just the color, or her eyes playing tricks on her.

“Okay,” Korra said, propping the instrument on the bed with utmost care. She was grinning like she’d been waiting for her turn all night. “Question sixteen… Do you have a crazy dream?”

Asami arched an eyebrow. “Crazy as in ‘wild’ or crazy as in ‘needs a therapist’?”

Korra chuckled. “Either. Both. Surprise me.”

Asami tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… I guess… building something that matters. Maybe a floating city?” she chuckled, before continuing, “Like, an actual one. In the clouds. Or in the sky. It’ll be beautiful and sustainable and advanced and people will think it’s impossible until they see it.”

Korra felt something warm in her heart, something between impressed and fond. She smiled at Asami, pretty sure reflecting whatever emotion was stirring up her chest. “That’s… actually really cool.”

Asami shrugged. “Or I guess, be an architect to honor my mother’s memory… or something.” Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper. A different emotion tugged at Korra’s chest, feeling her heart crack. But before she could say anything, Asami cleared her throat and looked up at Korra. “Your turn.”

Korra wasn’t sure if her momentary pause went unnoticed. But knowing Asami, she probably caught it. So, she let what she hoped was the brightest grin stretch across her face, and prayed to the spirits that it would distract Asami from her own emotions. She wished she could stop whatever storm was bearing inside the heiress’ chest. 

“Okay, so mine’s a little ridiculous,” Korra started.

“They usually are.”

Korra nudged Asami with her socked foot which earned a giggle. Small wins. “Fine. But hear me out—I’m gonna be a chef. In outer space. In one of those giant rotating stations. Maybe even in a spot on the ISS. My restaurant’s gonna have Orion right in the window. You could order noodles while watching a supernova or a meteor shower.”

Asami laughed, that quiet, unguarded laugh she only let out in moments like this. “Space noodles? You’re aiming high.”

“Why not? Zero gravity baking could be the next big thing.” Korra leaned back on her elbows, feeling smug. “You could build my spaceship. Complete with high-tech tables, maybe a gravity garden for fresh herbs.”

“Wow,” Asami said, shaking her head. “You’ve got it all planned out.”

“Only if you’re there,” Korra said without missing a beat. It felt like it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, the room seemed too small for the way Asami just stared at Korra. And Korra, no matter how she prided herself at reading people, hated how she couldn’t quite pinpoint the current expression on Asami’s face. Surprised? Conflicted? Hurt? 

And she hated it more that Asami was so good at covering herself up with a smile and a sarcastic tone, “Well, someone’s gotta make sure your space muffins don’t explode.”

Korra laughed, despite herself. The sound filled the quiet room. 

Perhaps, she’d tell Asami another time.

***

The rain had finally slowed to a drizzle, but both of them were still soaked through. The streetlight above the driveway caught the steam rising faintly from their jackets. Their sneakers squelched against the wooden porch steps as they climbed up, still laughing from some half-remembered joke on the walk home.

They’d just come from the victory party after the team clinched their fifth winning streak. It was an away game but the gym had been loud with music and cheers, the celebration spilling outside into the downpour. They’d run through the streets with the others, shouting, soaked to the bone. But now it was quiet here, away from the noise.

Korra leaned against the porch railing, water dripping from the ends of her hair. “Thanks for staying. You didn’t have to.”

Asami smirked. “What, and miss watching the star player bask in her glory? Not a chance.”

Korra grinned. “Uh-huh. Is that what you call that ridiculous cheer you were doing from the stands? Because I’m pretty sure yelling ‘ Shake their ankles, baby!’ is borderline heckling. You distracted the referees and half the players, opponents included.”

Asami laughed, cheeks warming. “That was strategic encouragement. And it worked—you won.”

“You nearly got yourself banned from Boar-Q-Pines premises.”

“Worth it.”

Korra shook her head, smiling and taking her time to tuck this moment away—Asami in her jacket, streetlamp giving her an ethereal glow, her eyes catching just the right amount of light that Korra could make out the golden flecks in them. 

She looked away. “You don’t even like basketball.”

“I like you when you’re happy,” Asami said it like it was the most casual thing in the world. The words slipped out, quiet but impossible to ignore. The rains had let up, the thunder had long gone so it might be Korra’s heart rattling in her ribcage doing that sound in her ears.

She blinked at Asami, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. Korra opened her mouth, about to say something. About to say it but thought better of it at the last second and chuckled instead. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Another time. She’d tell Asami another time.

“Yeah.” Asami turned toward the steps and walked ahead. When she realized Korra hadn’t followed she turned around. She narrowed her eyes at Korra who had her head tilted, brows furrowed in that kind of way when she wanted to ask or point something out. “What?”

“Nothing, just...” Korra shook her head with another chuckle. Asami raised her brow and Korra let out a sigh before languidly swiping her tongue over her lips, pulling back the lower one and trapping it between her teeth. “You never say ‘goodbye.’”

Asami’s eyes snapped up, belatedly realizing she’d been staring. It wasn’t Korra’s intention to follow those emerald eyes dart towards her lips but she took the opportunity to do the same. When Asami’s gaze snapped back up, Korra was ready with a fond smile. Asami tilted her head, seemingly trying to remember Korra had said something. “...I don’t?”

“Nope. Not once. It’s always ‘see you later’ or ‘I’ll see you around.’ Never ‘bye.’” Korra let out a soft laugh. “Did you know you don’t even say it when you hang up? And I’m always left wondering whether you already have or if you’re still on the line.”

There was that expression of surprise on Asami’s face again. Like what is so shocking about Korra remembering something so simple and small? Wait till you hear the rest of it, she thought, and scoffed internally.

Another myriad of emotions flashed in Asami’s face but she quickly schooled them all, settling on a smile as she took a couple of slow steps back up toward Korra. “When I was little… My mom and dad never said goodbye to each other. Mom used to say goodbye sounded too final, too permanent like you might not get another chance. So they’d say, ‘See you later,’ or ‘I’ll be home soon.’ It was really more mom’s thing.”

Korra’s expression softened. The athlete knew the ending to this story already. Asami had told her about Yasuko. She’d come back after disappearing for three days to a frantic Korra. Korra had never been more worried for someone else before. She’d told Asami that it was okay if she didn’t want to talk about it. That what mattered was Asami was back and that she was safe. 

But the next time they hung out, Asami had told Korra about her mom. The fire. The hospital. How one moment all three of them were fine and cleared to go home, the next one, a nurse was doing compressions on Yasuko because she had a heart attack. Nothing to do with the fires. Just a heart attack. Out of nowhere.

Asami had told her about her grief. Her regrets. Her ways of coping.

Korra knew but she looked at Asami with those soft eyes, encouraging and supportive and gentle and so, so warm. 

“After Mom died,” Asami said quietly, “Dad and I kept doing it. I guess it just… stuck.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them warmer than the cool night air.

Korra gave a small, understanding nod. “Okay. No goodbyes, then.”

Asami’s lips parted in surprise. Or maybe in endearment. All Korra knew was that she didn’t want to look away. Asami’s smile grew faintly. “No goodbyes.” Korra’s heart grew double in size.

She was expecting Asami to turn away. But her breathing went uneven when Asami took one more step forward, close enough for Korra to smell the faint hint of rain in her hair. Green eyes searched between Korra’s own, then darted down to her lips. Asami paused just a hairsbreadth away, giving Korra a chance to pull away. Before she could second-guess herself, Korra leaned in and closed the gap—soft, careful, but sure enough to make her pulse race. Or maybe it was Asami’s, judging by the soft rhythmic beat her fingers were feeling against the heiress’ neck.

When they parted, Asami was smiling in that quiet, almost shy way Korra got to see very scarcely. “See you later,” she murmured.

“Looking forward to it.”

***

Korra spotted her before she was ready for what to say. Asami stood at a workbench at their garage, mussed hair held up by her dirty goggles, her coverall unbuttoned with its sleeved tied around her waist, grease stain all over her white tank top and a single smudge on her left cheek. She still looked immaculate, in Korra’s opinion, but admiring Asami’s perfect beauty wasn’t her top priority right now.

A dented car sat behind the Sato girl, or what was left of it. 

For three days, Asami had been gone. No calls. No texts. Nothing but an empty seat in class and the hollow ache of not knowing where she was. Just gone.

Korra’s chest unclenched the second their eyes met. “You’re back.” The words came out sharper than she intended, the relief tucked under a layer of irritation. “Could’ve at least sent a message, you know? You had me thinking—” She stopped herself.

Asami exhaled, her gaze dipping. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Korra rocked back on her heels, trying to keep the frustration from outweighing the fact that Asami was here. “Hiroshi told me what last friday was. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

But Asami surprised her, words slow and deliberate. “Yeah, I… I didn’t… want to do the whole flowers-and-cemetery thing. I just wanted to drive. It’s the most effective way for me to clear my head. And this time… I came back with this.”

She turned and patted the roof of the wrecked car. Something dangled from her fingers— a small, wooden koi fish attached to a set of keys. Korra’s eyes lingered on it a little too long. But her gaze drifted to the thing Asami was pointing at.

“This?” Korra gestured to the car with a smirk. “This is what disappearing for three days looks like?”

Asami’s mouth curved faintly. “A project. Something to keep me busy.”

“Busy? This thing looks like it hasn’t run since—” Korra squinted at the emblem on the hood. “—the dawn of time.”

Asami arched an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. I’ve seen your bike. I’m amazed it hasn’t burst into flames. And it has no engine, Korra.”

“That’s different. My bike’s got character,” Korra said, grinning. “This thing’s a corpse.”

Asami crossed her arms, a teasing light slipping into her eyes. “And yet… I bet I can bring it back to life before you can fix that squeaky chain of yours.”

“Oh, it’s a challenge now?” Korra asked, taking a step closer.

“It’s always been a challenge with you.”

Korra let the banter hang in the air for a beat. She’d been angry—worried, mostly—but it was hard to keep it when Asami’s voice had that warmth again. Hard to stay mad when Asami was giving her that signature ruby red smile that could probably bring anyone to their knees if they stared too long. So Korra looked away. “Way to go, Batman,” she muttered.

Asami blinked. “Batman?”

Korra looked up. She hadn’t meant for Asami to hear. She shrugged, “Yeah. Tragic backstory, mysterious hideouts, fancy projects nobody understands. Broody rich-girl vibe. And now, apparently, your own Batmobile.”

Asami chuckled, the sound softer than usual, but it sounded genuine. Korra took that as a win. “And what does that make you?”

“Oh, easy,” Korra shot back. “I’m Catwoman. Coolest character in the whole—” She froze, realizing too late. “Wait—”

Asami’s smirk sharpened. “You do know Batman and Catwoman are… romantically involved, right?”

Korra’s ears went hot. “I meant… you know… cool mask, does parkour, morally ambiguous—”

“Mmhmm.” Asami’s grin turned downright wicked. “So you’re admitting you’re my love interest.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“Wha—no it wasn’t—I said—” Korra groaned, but couldn’t stop her smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” Asami said lightly, but there was something in her voice that made Korra’s chest tighten. 

It felt like a piece of string coiling around her heart, warm and tight and secure and sure, and pulling .

It would be the funniest joke if Asami was… Korra shook her head, effectively shooing that thought away. “Guess I am,” she said softly. “Just… don’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t,” Asami promised and Korra held on to that.

***

The banyan tree towered over the meadow, its roots like ancient veins spilling into the earth, its branches spreading wide enough to catch the afternoon sun. Somehow it looked bigger and more alive than the day they’d found it.

Beneath it hung a wooden swing, the seat freshly sanded. Asami had found it one time when they hung out here. The ropes were worn and old, and its wooden plank laid hidden under the patch of tall grass in the corner of the lot. It had gathered moss and mold, rendering it useless and beyond repair. 

Asami had commented offhandedly that it would be nice to have a swing under their tree. 

The smile that lit up on Asami’s face was honest to the gods way, way nicer. Asami’s smile was her favorite thing to look at, lipstick or no. And the trouble of having to ask her dad to import Water Tribe wood to the city was very much worth it if it meant she got to gaze upon the most beautiful girl she’d ever laid her eyes on smiling like that . Smiling at Korra. Smiling because of Korra. If Korra could, she would build Asami a whole damn park.

Asami sat on the swing now, idly rocking, the tips of her shoes brushing the grass. Korra leaned against the trunk, arms crossed, watching her like she was memorizing every detail. She was, in more ways than one.

“I got in,” Asami said suddenly, her voice quiet but carrying in the stillness.

Korra straightened. “Got in…?”

“Tokyo University of Engineering,” Asami said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “My dream school.”

Korra grinned, unbridled. She felt her chest lighting up with warmth and pride. “‘Sami, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. I’m so proud of you.” There was a pause before Korra added, “I got offered a scholarship too. RCU. For basketball.”

The smile on Asami’s face faltered just enough for Korra to notice, causing the athlete to let hers do the same.

The truth settled between them without needing to be said: oceans apart, different futures waiting.

The swing creaked as Asami slowed her rocking. “We’ll still meet here,” she said after a beat, looking up at the branches overhead. “Whenever we can. No matter how far. They’ll be building hexgates across continents in no time.”

Korra tilted her head, searching her face. “Yeah?” She had a very vague idea what those are but damn her heart for being hopeful.

“This is ours,” Asami said firmly. She put down her foot to make the swing stop. “Always.”

Korra nodded, but there was a weight in her chest she couldn’t quite shake. “About… us,” she started, rubbing the back of her neck.

Asami’s brows lifted in question.

“This whole fake relationship thing…” Korra hesitated. She didn’t know how to bring it up. Spirits, she didn’t expect it to last this long. It was almost graduation, the championship was a week away. School was about to end and they’d be on their separate ways. She heaved a long sigh.  “Maybe we end it after the championship? One last game, one last big win—then we tell everyone it was just for fun. Or maybe we don’t even have to tell anyone. We’ll just say it was a mutual break-up if anybody asks. Up to you.”

Asami’s lips curved, but Korra didn’t like this smile one bit. For some reason, it looked like it didn’t reach her eye. “Championship day,” she agreed.

Korra told herself it was the smart move. It was better to end it cleanly before either of them got hurt. But deep down, she knew she was already in too deep. There was no going around it. This was only delaying the inevitable.

She was going to tell Asami.

But not today.

Asami’s pinky brushed hers on the rope of the swing, hooking it gently. 

If this was any other person, say her senior Kuvira, she would’ve laughed at her. But this was Asami. The girl who’d almost run her over and unexpectedly ran away with her heart sometime between sharing ice cream, going for a ride on her moped, taking her for a spin on the tracks, sitting courtside with her ridiculous impromptu cheers, and glaring at politicians no matter their position.

Korra’s throat felt tight, but she reached out anyway, letting her fingers brush over the swing’s rope before linking her pinky with Asami’s. “Deal.”

The breeze swayed the swing gently, the air rich with the scent of summer grass. Asami’s gaze lingered on Korra a moment too long, the sunlight catching in her eyes, flicks of gold dancing in them like an invitation. Before Korra could react, Asami leaned forward and pulled at their joined hands at the same time. The kiss was warm, soft and sure.

Korra froze for the briefest heartbeat, then melted into it, her hand still looped around Asami’s pinky, sealing not just their promise, but something far more fragile and impossible to name.

But was it? Korra had known for a while now.

She could say it now. Romanesco. She knew Asami would stop right away.

Their safe word was already at the edge of Korra’s tongue, trembling like it had been waiting for this exact moment, waiting for the opportunity in the quiet corners of Korra’s chest for months.

But Asami was still so close. Her lips were soft and warm, her breath brushing Korra’s, her hand lingering at the back of Korra’s neck as if neither of them knew how to let go yet. If Korra opened her mouth now, she was sure the air between them would change—shift into something Asami might not want, or worse, something she’d step away from.

So Korra  swallowed it.

She wanted to tell Asami—that she couldn’t keep up this stupid fake-dating game anymore, that it stopped feeling fake weeks ago. But not now. Not when Asami was glowing with the news she’d worked so hard for. Definitely not when Asami was kissing her like it was real.

Instead, Korra memorized her—the way green eyes flicked to her lips again before looking away, the smile curling on bare, pink lips like a secret she wasn’t ready to share. 

Then Asami leaned in again and kissed her. It was gentle and deliberate, not at all the kind of thing you do in a fake relationship. Korra should have gotten used to it by now, by how many times Asami had been the one to lean in and initiate their kisses. It caught Korra off guard still, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself kiss Asami back, holding on to the moment like she could make it last until the championship.

She would tell Asami when the team won the trophy. For now, this would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Leona clapped her hands together once, briskly. “Here’s how we’re splitting the work. Katarina, Korra—you’ll head to the school. The children have been without proper furniture for months, and I know you two can handle the heavy lifting. We need desks, chairs, shelves before school starts in a few weeks. You can resume Senna’s work once you’re done with the classrooms.”

Korra’s face lit up, clearly pleased, and she elbowed Katarina, who smirked back. Their quiet smiles, their banter, their ease with one another—it made something twist uncomfortably in Asami’s stomach. She forced her expression neutral, but her eyes lingered longer than she meant to on Korra’s grin, that very same one she’d memorized back when they were teenagers.

“And Asami,” Leona continued, turning her focus, “you’re with me. We’ll go over the blueprints for the turbines. The Targon winds are powerful, especially here at the Caves. But if we’re not careful with the placement, we’ll disrupt more than we build.”

Asami nodded, smoothing down her jacket, thankful for the distraction. “Of course. I brought the updated schematics. We can review load distribution and blade materials to adapt to the altitude.”

“Perfect,” Leona said, approval in her voice. “We’ll set up in the village hall. Diana will meet us there.”

As the teams began to split, Asami caught herself glancing again toward the school. Korra was already striding off with Katarina at her side, sleeves rolled up, denim jacket already taken off and was hanging by a tanned arm. 

Korra looked at home, laughing as Katarina ribbed her about spirits-knew-what. Asami wasn’t curious. At all. She turned away quickly, forcing her mind to focus on the turbine schematics she’d prepared instead of the ache building in her chest. 

She closed her eyes briefly, to ground herself, and to fight the urge to roll her eyes at herself for feeling— no , nope. She wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

Leona’s voice grounded her. “Don’t worry. They’ll do fine without us.”

Asami’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “I’m not worried,” she lied.

But the truth sat heavy and quiet inside her—her heart pulling in two directions, one toward the work she came here to do, and the other toward the woman whose heart she broke.

That fact she could admit.

***

The village hall wasn’t much of a hall—more like a wide cavern supported by a mix of steel and carved wooden beams. Asami spread out her blueprints across a rough-hewn table, the lines of ink precise against the uneven surface. Leona leaned over beside her, her tunic brushing against Asami’s sleeve, the faint smell of cedar oil clinging to her clothes.

“You’ve anticipated the wind shear,” Leona noted, her golden eyes scanning the page. “Good. Most engineers forget the mountain drafts.”

Asami smirked softly, tugging a pencil from behind her ear. “I don’t forget details.”

“No,” Leona agreed, looking at her directly now, “I can tell you don’t.”

There was weight in the words, though Asami couldn’t quite tell if it was admiration or challenge. She leaned back, pointing at another section of the blueprint. “The turbines will need reinforced blades. Alloy, not just steel. Otherwise the erosion here will cut their lifespan in half.”

Leona hummed, thoughtful. She leaned over the blueprints and scanned it with sharp precision. “You’ve thought of everything—noise reduction, blade wear, airflow. Impressive. It’s efficient and practical.” Asami allowed herself a small smile of pride as she watched Leona’s finger trace the margin where airflow calculations met energy yield. “The blades will turn as though they’re simply… there. Not forcing the wind but letting it chase after the blades instead.”

Asami’s pencil stilled. Chase after. The phrase hit her like a chord strummed from a memory she’d tried to bury.

Years ago, in Korra’s room, they’d been sprawled across the bed, a bottle of cheap wine they’d acquired from Korra’s favorite convenience store between them. Asami had been snooping, playful, tugging a battered notebook out of Korra’s hands. Korra had wrestled her for it. She’d teased the athlete for her lack of athleticism as she held the notebook high up where Korra couldn’t reach. Korra had argued it was because Asami was taller, and that Korra was a little tipsy from the wine. 

The blush on Korra’s face had been enough of a distraction for Korra to snatch the notebook back, but not before Asami had caught sight of the words scrawled across the page. The title had been written in bold, capital letters.

CHASING LOVE

She remembered because it surprised her. Not because of the song alone. She’d known by then that Korra loved to write. There was a full song written for Asami when Korra did her ‘prom-posal.’ And the sticky notes she’d find in her locker could have been enough proof that Korra was a poet in her past life. She liked to dress feelings in words. 

What surprised Asami were the lyrics. Korra didn’t hide her eagerness to find her soulmate, then. She would constantly talk about how the stars and the spirits were conspiring for two souls to meet at the right place, at the right time. How excited she was to get her mark and find ‘the one.’ It was so cliché, Asami had teased her endlessly about it.

And yet the verses she’d glimpsed were full of yearning—lines about waiting, about sitting back and letting fate take her where it would, about trusting she’d end up with the right person. Korra’s soulmate.

There had been a selfish part of Asami that hoped but she’d quickly dismissed those thoughts. She’d kept her mark to herself. It was a good thing she got it on her back because she couldn’t even bother looking at it.

Laughing it off, she’d ask Korra to play the song. She’d asked Korra every day after.

Korra never did.

“—Asami?”

Leona’s voice broke through the haze. She realized her hand was pressed too hard against the paper, a graphite smudge blooming where the pencil had lingered.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, clearing her throat.

“Asami,” Leona said gently, pulling her back, “you went somewhere else just now.”

Asami shook her head, deflecting. “Just running numbers.”

But it wasn’t enough to shake off the ache in her chest.

***

The rasp of sandpaper filled the air as Korra leaned over a half-built chair, arms flexing with each steady stroke. A bead of sweat lingered precariously on her temple, teetering on the edge until a final stroke with the sandpaper sent it cascading softly onto the chair below.

“You’re gonna break it if you keep glaring at it like that,” Katarina teased, perched on the table across from her with a smirk.

“I’m not glaring,” Korra muttered, though she didn’t lift her eyes from the grain.

She was glaring—but not at the wood. Across the cavern, she could see Asami bent over blueprints with Leona. They were close, shoulders almost brushing as they studied the pages. Leona leaned in to point something out, and Asami actually smiled—soft, the way she used to when Korra said something she wasn’t supposed to find funny.

Korra’s jaw tightened. She dragged the sandpaper harder than necessary, the edge of the wood biting into her palm.

Katarina followed her gaze, her smirk turning sly. “Ah. So that’s what’s eating you.”

Korra finally looked up, shooting Katarina a look. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been working like you’re trying to wrestle the furniture into submission ever since Leo paired off with Asami. I don’t know what my boss sees in her but she asked me to track her down. She’s really hard to find, y’know? I mean, not as hard as the first time but, oh well. Leo hired Asami personally and—” Katarina cut herself off with a dramatic gasp, smug smile widening. “You’re jealous .”

Korra snorted, too sharp, too defensive. “I’m not jealous. I just—” She stopped herself, groaning, and tossed the sandpaper onto the workbench. “They just met! Leona hired Asami, you said it yourself. She’s supposed to be Asami’s boss. Is that how people work together nowadays? Looking so close like that. Leona doesn’t even—she’s so calm, and she’s all business and so… Leona. And Asami’s just—” She cut herself off again, biting down on the words before they got away from her.

Katarina arched a brow, arms crossed. “Asami’s just what?”

Korra sighed, running a hand over her face. “This is something she wants. Something she loves to do. She’s in her element. And she’s just… herself. And–and she’s letting someone else close enough to see it.”

Her voice was low, almost lost in the echoes of hammering and chatter in the cavern. She tried to shake it off, but when she glanced over again, Asami was laughing softly at something Leona said, tucking her hair behind her ear. The sight twisted something in Korra’s chest she didn’t want to name.

Katarina, sensing the shift, only nudged her with a grin. “You’re going to whittle the chair down to a stool if you keep sanding like that.”

Korra huffed, forcing herself to refocus on the task, but her eyes drifted back one more time anyway.

***

Focus, Asami told herself. Numbers, torque, blade curvature—these were things that made sense. Clean lines, precise measurements. Not… whatever that was happening across the clearing.

It started as background noise—the rhythmic tap of hammer against wood, the scrape of sandpaper, the occasional creak of wood under shifting weight. But then she heard it. Again.

Korra’s laugh.

Not the restrained, polite laugh she sometimes gave in boardrooms. This one was low, unguarded, bubbling from somewhere deep. The one Asami remembered from late nights in Korra’s backyard, sitting on the court after practice until the stars came out.

She didn’t look up. Not right away. She traced a line across the paper, calculated the curve of a blade against prevailing wind speed, and then, despite herself, her eyes flicked over the top edge of the blueprint.

Korra was bracing a plank while Katarina crouched to nail it into place, their heads close together. Katarina said something Asami couldn’t hear, and Korra leaned in to respond, her smile spreading wide enough to crinkle at the corners.

Asami’s pencil tip snapped.

She exhaled, steady and quiet, sliding the broken piece into her pocket as if it didn’t matter. “Everything alright?” Leona asked, glancing up from her own set of notes.

“Fine,” Asami said, pulling another pencil from her toolkit. Her voice was neutral, steady—the way it had to be. “Just… need to adjust the pitch angle on these blades.”

She bent back over the plans, drawing the revised curve in one smooth motion. The paper didn’t need to know that her hands were tighter on the pencil than necessary.

***

Korra brushed sawdust from her hands and made her way across the cave, her boots crunching softly against the stone floor. She told herself it was just curiosity that pulled her here, but the truth was obvious—her eyes had been drifting to Asami all afternoon, and seeing her and Leona bent over blueprints side by side left an ache in her chest she couldn’t ignore.

She leaned against the edge of the drafting table with a lopsided grin. “So… what’ve we got here? Please tell me you’re not secretly designing a flying washing machine. Or, better yet, a giant blender.”

Leona gave a small laugh, the corners of her mouth curving in amusement, but Asami didn’t even look up. Her pencil swept smoothly across the page, sharp and deliberate.

“It’s a vertical axis turbine, Korra,” Asami said evenly. “Not a washing machine and not a blender.”

Korra raised her brows, trying to shrug it off. “Hey, I’m just saying—it looks complicated.” She paused for a moment before saying, “but it all depends on how fast the blades spin, right?” Korra pressed on, tilting her head to catch her eye. “C’mon, admit it—it’s a little funny.”

Silence. Asami adjusted the ruler and continued sketching measurements, her posture rigid.

Korra’s grin faltered. She tilted her head, leaning closer as if to break through the wall of cool professionalism. “Y’know, you used to at least pretend to laugh at my terrible jokes. Even back when they were worse than this. Which, if you can believe it, was possible.”

Finally, Asami set her pencil down with a sharp clack against the wood. She straightened and fixed Korra with a stare that cut sharper than any blade.

“Korra,” she said, her voice clipped, “this isn’t high school anymore. We’re not sitting under a tree, wasting the afternoon. We’re trying to finalize measurements. So unless you have something useful to add, please, go back to your side of the village and do what you’re supposed to be doing.”

The harshness in Asami’s tone rang louder than the hum of the lanterns inside the cavern. Even Leona’s brow arched slightly at the blunt dismissal. The CEO’s gaze flicked between them, sensing the tension but wisely staying silent.

Korra blinked, the warmth in her expression draining away as her grin faltered. For a moment she stood there, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets, her jaw tightening like she might fire something back.

“Right,” she said finally, her voice quieter, flatter. “Got it, professional. Wouldn’t wanna waste your precious time.”

She forced a small shrug, masking the sting in her chest. Without another word, she pushed herself off the table and turned away, the grin long gone. As she walked back toward Katarina and the half-finished furniture, her shoulders squared, but her pace betrayed her—just a little too quick, like she was escaping.

Asami stared at the blueprint, her pencil hovering uselessly above the page. She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, hadn’t meant to cut her down like that. But she didn’t call Korra back and tried to focus on the task at hand. 

***

The shavings curled off the plank in soft, pale ribbons as Korra dragged the plane across its surface. A small figure sat cross-legged in the dirt a few feet away, chin propped on her hands, watching her like she was the most interesting thing in the world.

Korra huffed out a breath. “Can you believe her?” she muttered, more to the wood than to the girl, but the wide-eyed attention made it easy to keep going. “Telling me to be professional? I wasn’t the one glued to Leona’s side like they were drafting plans for their wedding invitations.”

The girl just blinked, expression still sweet and utterly unreadable. She had her head tilted to the side and a bemused smile was painted on her lips.

Korra kept working, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “It’s not like I’m jealous or anything. I just—” She stopped to scrape a stubborn knot in the grain with more force than necessary. “I just thought… I don’t know. I thought we were past this. That I was past this. This whole...” She stopped what she was doing to think of what to say next. She didn’t want to name it. Not anymore. The last time she did, she got her heart broken. She let out a frustrated groan, instead.

The little girl still had no reaction—just the same patient, curious stare.

Korra exhaled, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. “Sorry. You didn’t sign up for the Korra Ramble Hour, did you?”

That was when Katarina appeared, lugging a stack of planks. She looked at Korra, then the girl, and smirked before placing a hand on her hip. “You know she has no idea what you’re saying, right?”

Korra blinked. “What?”

Katarina jerked her chin toward the girl. “Her name’s Rayla. She’s deaf and mute.”

Korra’s stomach dropped. “Oh spirits.” She looked back at Rayla, who was still watching her like nothing was amiss. “Uh… sorry?” She dragged each syllable, opening her mouth wider as if trying to teach a baby how to speak.

Rayla tilted her head, smiled faintly, and reached forward to touch one of the wood shavings curling on the ground.

Katarina chuckled. “Guess you found yourself a fan anyway.” She set down the planks. “Now, unless you’re gonna whittle that desk into a love letter, let’s get back to work.”

Korra grumbled under her breath, but her ears still burned. She went back to the plane, suddenly very aware of how much she’d just said to someone who hadn’t heard a word of it. But she would rather have Rayla’s curious smiles than Katarina’s smug ones.

***

Asami tried to force her focus back on the blueprint, but the lines on the page blurred. Her pencil moved without precision, tracing over measurements she’d already marked. The sound of Korra’s boots crunching away still echoed in her ears.

Leona, still seated beside her, studied her with quiet curiosity. “That was… firm,” she said finally, choosing her words carefully.

Asami’s grip tightened around the pencil. “She was distracting me,” she replied, sharper than intended.

Leona didn’t push. She just hummed, a low sound that felt far too knowing.

When Asami dared to look up again, Korra was back at the school’s frame with Katarina. But where she had been hovering around before—chatty, leaning too close. Now she stayed rigidly within her corner. She barely glanced toward Asami. Even when Katarina cracked a joke that made the villagers laugh, Korra only smirked faintly, keeping her focus on the chair she was sanding.

Asami should’ve felt relief. After all, she’d told Korra to stay professional, to stay away. Instead, the distance settled in her chest like a stone.

When lunchtime came, there was no sign of Korra. Before Asami could ask, Katarina left the lunch table with two plates announcing she was going to ‘take care of a kicked puppy’ and walked towards one of the classrooms.

Later, as she carried tools toward the school’s storage, she paused. A little girl, no older than seven, stood beside Korra, wide-eyed and fascinated by the shavings falling from the wood. Korra crouched down, balancing the half-finished chair across her knee.

“You see this?” Korra said, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “You sand with the grain. Not against it. Otherwise, it gets all scratchy.” She exaggerated the word scratchy, making claws with her hands, and the girl let out a giggle that sounded stifled.

The sound caught Asami off guard. She found herself standing half-hidden behind a support beam, watching.

The girl signed something small and shy with her hands. Korra blinked, clearly not understanding, but instead of brushing her off, she nodded gravely and said, “You’re right. That was a terrible joke.”

The girl laughed harder, or more like louder, clapping her hands together, delighted that Korra had played along. Korra ruffled her hair gently, the softness in her expression so natural, so unguarded, it made Asami’s throat tighten.

It wasn’t fair. Not when she’d just told Korra to keep her distance. Not when every time Korra smiled like that, some part of her—the part she’d sworn to bury years ago—ached to come back alive.

***

The wind shifted in the afternoon, colder now that the sun dipped behind the peaks of the Rakkor mountains. Workers pulled shawls tighter, voices carrying with the hum of hammers and saws. Asami rubbed her arms absentmindedly, her pencil tucked behind her ear, and found herself glancing—again—toward the school.

Korra was still there, sleeves rolled to her elbows, sawdust dusting her dark hair like snow. The little girl hadn’t left her side, perched on an overturned crate with wide eyes, watching Korra work as if she were some kind of hero.

Something stirred in Asami’s chest again. Warm, painful, like a tiny million needles prickling every inch of space they could occupy. It was impossible to ignore.

Without really thinking, she excused herself from Leona, walked over to the supply tent, and prepared tea. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe to soothe the cold in her own bones. Maybe to make up, in some small, quiet way, for what she’d said earlier.

She returned, balancing two steaming cups. Korra was crouched near the windows, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she carved the last fin onto the tiny wooden airship cradled in her palm. A low hum escaped her lips—some tune that didn’t have a name—as the scent of sawdust and pine resin hung softly in the cool mountain air.

The girl spotted her first and perked up, tugging Korra’s sleeve. Korra glanced over, surprise flickering across her face.

“You look like you could use a break,” Asami said, keeping her tone even, professional— safe . She knelt slightly, offering the smaller cup to the girl first. “Here, careful. It’s still hot.”

The girl’s face lit up. With a smile, she pressed her fingertips lightly to her lips then swept her arm forward in a graceful arc. The gesture was simple, an eager thank you. Asami’s head tilted in curiosity but answered smoothly in kind, curving her hand gently, palm open, and drew it inward toward her chest.

You’re welcome.

Korra’s eyes widened slightly at that, like she’d just been let in on a secret she hadn’t known Asami carried. She accepted the second cup when Asami offered it, her calloused fingers brushing lightly against Asami’s gloved ones. The contact was brief, but it buzzed all the way up Asami’s arm, to her shoulders, then around to her chest where her heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks,” Korra said, her voice softer than before, less guarded. She blew on the tea and tilted her head at Asami. “Trying to get on my good side, huh?”

Asami’s lips quirked before she could stop them. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to freeze before finishing the chairs.”

Korra grinned at that—crooked, and infuriatingly charming, and for a moment the tension between them felt like it melted with the steam. The little girl giggled again, watching them like she could sense something unspoken passing back and forth.

Asami smiled at the girl. “Hi there,” she said warmly. “What’s your name?”

The girl’s gaze shifted to Asami, still silent, but her grin grew.

“She’s deaf and mute,” Korra explained gently, straightening up as she wiped her hands on the hem of her work shirt. “That’s Rayla. She lives with her grandmother up by the ridge. She’d been bothering me since morning.” Korra narrowed her eyes playfully at the giggling girl.

Before Korra could say more, Asami was already facing Rayla fully and—without hesitation—began to sign.

Rayla’s face lit up in surprise and delight, her hands moving in a burst of excited replies.

Korra blinked. “You… know sign?”

Asami nodded, still signing. “My grandfather on my mother’s side is deaf and mute. I lived with him when I—” Asami’s voice faltered. She cleared her throat. “...when I left for Japan.”

Rayla’s eyes darted back to Korra and then to Asami again. She signed something quickly, followed by a cheeky smile.

Asami paused, feeling the tips of her ears grow hot, and bit back a laugh.

“What?” Korra asked, stepping closer. “What’d she say?”

“Oh,” Asami waved it off, cheeks pink and warm. “Nothing important. Just that… she likes my boots.”

“Really?” Korra squinted at the kid, unconvinced. “She looked right at me when she said that?”

Rayla signed something again with exaggerated gestures, then ran off toward the other end of the schoolhouse giggling soundlessly.

Korra crossed her arms. “Okay, what did she say?”

Asami sighed, then smiled sheepishly. “She said I’m too pretty to be your girlfriend. ”

Korra barked out a laugh. “ Too pretty?”

“She was being generous.”

“I mean… she’s not wrong,” Korra teased. “You are ridiculously pretty.”

Asami rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Korra turned back to her workbench and picked up the little wooden airship she’d been shaping. “Her grandmother said she liked these,” she said. “I’m making her one based on that old Future Industries prototype. You know, the one you used to draw all over your math notebook instead of paying attention.”

“You remember that?” Asami asked, eyebrows raised.

Korra glanced over her shoulder and smiled in lieu of an answer. She handed the toy to Asami, and for a second, their fingers brushed again—light, fleeting, but this time the electrifying feeling went straight to Asami’s chest.

“Her mom passed away a year ago,” Korra started. “Did you know the villagers believe they ascend when they pass? Rayla wants to get on one of the airships so she could be close to the heavens and closer to her mom.”

Asami held the airship gently in her palm, trying not to stare at Korra’s hands, the little wood shavings clinging to her fingers, the smudge of dust on her cheek.

She did her best not to think about how warm Korra’s presence was. When did she get so close?

But Korra was smiling that smile.

It was just a smile. A small one—not grand, not deliberate. But every time it broke across Korra’s face, every carefully stacked brick of Asami’s walls crumbled like soft sand against a single tide. One smile and Asami was laying her armor down without even thinking about it. Disarming in its simplicity, a quiet undoing Asami hadn’t really prepared for.

And just like that, she realized too late she was bare, heart uncloaked, yet somehow it didn’t feel like danger at all.

Asami could almost laugh at herself, remembering that stupid roommate doctrine.

Don’t fall in love again with Korra.

Asami forced herself to look away, brushing nonexistent dust from her trousers. “Well. Don’t stay out too long. It’s colder than it looks.”

She turned to leave, but Korra’s voice caught her. “Asami—”

When Asami looked back, Korra wasn’t smiling anymore. She was just looking at her, like she wanted to say more but couldn’t.

“…Thanks,” Korra finished, almost awkward, but sincere.

Asami only nodded before heading back, the heat of the tea lingering in her hands—and the weight of Korra’s gaze following her long after she’d gone.

***

President Tonraq’s Administration Rocked by Allegations of Corruption and Favoritism — But Where Does His Daughter Stand?

 

The Republic City Herald

August 18, 2025

Business & Politics, Pg. 4

By Shiro Shinobi, Editor-in-Chief

United Republic — President Tonraq Waters, once hailed as a unifying figure for the Water Tribes and a steady hand in Republic politics, is now facing mounting scrutiny after documents leaked this week allege a pattern of corruption, misuse of public funds, and favoritism toward long-standing allies.

The leaked papers, dubbed the “Glacier Files,” suggest that Waters may have diverted millions of yuans earmarked for sustainable infrastructure projects in the Southern Water Tribe into contracts awarded to companies linked to close family friends and political donors. The revelations have sent shockwaves through both the Republic Senate and the Council of Nations, with opposition leaders calling for a full-scale investigation.

“This is not just about politics,” said Mayor Raiko, a vocal critic of the President. “This is about the betrayal of public trust. The people of the Water Tribes deserve better than to see their future traded away for private gain.”

The President’s office released a statement late last night denying any wrongdoing, calling the documents “misleading” and “politically motivated.” Waters himself has yet to address the media directly, though sources inside the Presidential Palace suggest he has grown increasingly isolated as pressure mounts.

What makes this scandal particularly volatile is its timing. Waters is in the second year of his presidency, a period often crucial for solidifying legacy policies. Instead, his administration now finds itself in a defensive crouch, scrambling to maintain credibility at home and abroad.

But as pressure builds, attention is also shifting to his only daughter, Korra Waters . Once the rising star of the Republic City sports world and long expected to follow in her father’s political footsteps, she has been largely absent from the public eye for the past decade. Following a tragic satomobile accident that left her severely injured and sidelined her athletic career, Korra has kept a low profile, quietly working in the arts and avoiding political appearances.

Now, as protesters gather outside the Republic City capitol, some are asking: where does Korra Waters stand?

For now, neither the President nor Korra have commented on the scandal. Allies insist the family has the resilience to weather the storm. Critics argue it is only the beginning of the end.

***

Chapter Text

The village hall glowed with lantern light, warm and golden against the timber beams. Long tables overflowed with food—fresh bread, roasted vegetables, smoked meat, pitchers of cider passed around with laughter. The whole village had gathered to welcome Leona’s team, and Asami found herself seated across from Korra, as if fate had arranged it deliberately.

Korra was flanked by Katarina, who seemed to have made it her mission to tease the woodworker not just throughout the day but throughout the night as well, nudging her with elbows and murmuring comments that drew reluctant grins (and daggers that would’ve been sharp enough to injure a certain red-haired girl if it weren’t for a raven-haired girl’s incredible self-control, even Asami was pleased with herself). On Asami’s side, Leona leaned in often, her rich voice resonating as she asked about the schematics, sometimes Asami’s past projects.

It should have been easy—conversation, food, celebration—but the air between Korra and Asami was taut, every laugh or brush of a hand with someone else sparking that familiar sting under their skin.

At one point, Diana raised her glass from the head of the table. “To visionaries,” she declared, eyes flicking over to Leona on her right, lingering for a moment with a rare smile albeit small, before darting between Asami and Korra. “And to building something that lasts.”

The toast was met with cheers. Korra and Asami’s gazes collided over the rim of their cups. Neither drank right away. They eye contact lingered, just like any other eye-contact they shared, until someone else demanded their attention—Diana asking about Asami’s father, Leona asking Korra about hers, Korra clearly deflecting, and whatever Katarina said that made Korra giggle. Asami was sure it wasn’t even that remotely funny.

Taric had told Asami that the real feast would be the next day, when the village appointed their High Priest, Diana Luna. So not much later, when the crowd began to thin and villagers drifted home, Asami excused herself from Leona’s side, stepping out into the cool night. The village smelled of woodsmoke and pine, and stars spilled across the sky like an overturned box of jewels. Orion’s belt shone brightly in the clear night sky.

She didn’t hear footsteps until Korra’s voice broke the silence.

“Turning in early?”

Asami turned. Korra stood there with her hands shoved into her jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. The easy smile she’d worn inside was gone, replaced with something hesitant, raw.

Asami shrugged and shook her head. “Too much on my mind.”

They walked a little, the quiet between them companionable this time. The kind of silence that held memory. It reminded Asami of one of those sleepless nights in high school when they hung out and just sat in the silence that came. But they both understood. Past the words, Korra’s anecdotes, Asami’s board meeting rambling, they understood. 

When they stopped near the edge of the square, the lantern glowed behind them, Korra shifted closer, her breath visible in the cold air.

“Korra,” she said softly. “About earlier… about us… About what happened that night—”

Her words tangled when Korra reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Asami’s face. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a current straight through her, right shoulder thrumming like it remembered everything she’d tried to bury.

Asami’s lips parted. She didn’t move back. In fact, she leaned in, just enough for the space between them to become dangerous.

Korra’s eyes dropped to her mouth. The world shrank to that single, precarious moment—until a sharp vibration buzzed in Korra’s pocket.

She cursed under her breath, fumbling for her phone. With a series of quiet curses, she checked her jeans pockets, then her jacket, then the inside pockets. She took the phone out and the screen glowed, illuminating Korra’s face and making her eyes impossibly bluer.

“Sorry, I… I have to take this.”

The spell broke. Asami stepped back, folding her arms to hide the tremor in her hands. “Of course.”

The name on the screen made Asami arch a brow. “Kuvira?”

Korra groaned. “Yeah. I asked her to watch Naga while we’re away.” She answered the call, turning half aside. “Hey, Kuv. What’s up?”

Korra had turned on loud speaker. “Your cat is getting fat.”

Korra blinked. “What?”

“She refuses to go outside. She sits by Asami’s window and stares at the yard like some tragic poet. I’ve tried toys,treats, even that sandal. Nothing. She’s sulking, and she’s… well, pudgy.”

Asami covered her mouth to smother a laugh. “She’s dramatic,” she offered helpfully. “She probably misses Korra.”

“Oh hey, is that Sato?”

“Hi, Kuvira.”

“Well, well, well. Things are progressing, then, Waters?”

Asami’s brows knitted together but before she could speak, Korra shot her a look, half-amused, half-flustered. “Naga’s not pudgy,” she protested into the phone. “She’s… sturdy.”

Kuvira’s sigh rattled down the line. “She’s a balloon with legs. Fix this when you get back. And good luck.” Then she hung up.

Korra pocketed the phone, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry. She’s, uh… very dedicated.”

Asami smiled, softer this time, no armor. “I’m sure Naga’s fine. She just wants you home.”

For a beat, neither moved. The almost-kiss still hovered like a ghost. Asami’s chest tightened in realization that the moment had passed.

“I should…” Korra began.

“Yeah,” Asami said quickly, though her eyes lingered. “Goodnight, Korra.”

“Goodnight, Asami.”

Asami watched Korra walk away until her shadow disappeared through the door of her assigned quarters. Asami turned her face up to the stars, steadying herself. Ten years, and they were still orbiting each other, not colliding and yet breaking apart before the touch could mean something real.

***

The village was barely stirring when Asami stepped out of the guesthouse. Morning mist curled along the pines, and the air was crisp enough to sting her lungs. She expected quiet, solitude until she spotted Korra leaning against a parked ATV near the path, arms crossed, a flask in one hand and a basket balanced at her feet.

“You’re up early,” Asami said, surprised.

Korra smirked, straightening. “Could say the same to you.” She lifted the flask. “Coffee. Strong. Just how you like it.”

Asami blinked, taking it carefully. 

Korra smiled knowingly then crouched to lift the basket, revealing neatly wrapped pastries. “And some bread for breakfast. Thought I’d bribe you.”

Asami raised a brow, amused. “...bribe me into what?”

Korra jerked her chin toward the ATV. “A tour. There’s this cave a couple miles out. It looks like starlight fell underground. Figured I’d show you before we get back to work.”

Asami pretended to weigh the offer, though her answer was already yes. “And what if I had other plans today?”

Korra grinned, mischievous. “Do you?”

And there it was. That damn crooked smile. Reckless, impulsive and absolutely Korra. Asami found herself smiling despite her better judgment. “Fine,” she said, shaking her head with a small chuckle. “Let me just get my jacket.”

***

“Don’t worry,” Korra said over her shoulder, voice teasing. “I won’t let you fall off.”

“I’m not worried,” Asami lied as she climbed on behind Korra, hesitating only a heartbeat before sliding her arms around Korra’s waist.

The world seemed to narrow to that single contact.

Korra was warm—heat seeping through her flannel, steady beneath Asami’s hands. The faint scent of pine clung to her hair, mixed with soap and something that reminded of the Korra she met years ago. 

When the ATV jolted over the first rut, Asami instinctively tightened her grip, chest pressed flush against Korra’s back.

That was when she noticed it.

The shadow of ink just above her collar, visible where the fabric of her shirt dipped—the faint outline of a lotus blossom tattooed on the nape of her neck. It peeked out like a secret, delicate and defiant all at once.

She’d seen this very briefly. But to see it up close knowing where this lotus led, nearly undid Asami.

She had to force her gaze away, fixing it instead on the blur of rocks and trees rushing past. But it was no use. Every bump, every curve in the trail pressed her closer, made her more aware of the breadth of Korra’s shoulders, the flex of her muscles as she steered. Asami was being swallowed whole by the experience of her.

And she remembered—

Ten years ago, the hum of her motorcycle beneath them, her own hands gripping the handlebars while Korra clung to her. Korra’s laughter had been carried by the wind then, breath warm against her neck, fearless and alive.

Back then, Asami had wondered if Korra felt it too—if she felt the same pulse of electricity in every lean, every shared breath, every accidental touch that never felt accidental at all.

Now, years later, the question clawed back to the surface.

Does she feel it now?

Korra leaned into the turn, their bodies moving as one, and Asami pressed closer without meaning to. Her heart hammered, almost violently, as if it already knew the answer.

***

The cave mouth yawned low and jagged, swallowing the morning light. Their footsteps echoed as they descended, flashlights sweeping across walls slick with mineral sheen. The deeper they went, the colder it became, but the silence grew richer—like the earth was holding its breath.

Then the crystals began.

At first, small veins glittered under their beams. Then whole columns appeared, towering formations that fractured the light into constellations. The walls shimmered as though starlight itself had seeped underground and stayed.

Asami tilted her head back, breath caught. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Korra didn’t look at the crystals. She looked at Asami, her skin painted in blues and silvers. “Told you it was worth it.”

They moved deeper, the passage narrowing until the rock pressed them close. Their shoulders brushed, the scrape of fabric startling in the hush. Korra reached instinctively, her hand steadying Asami at the waist as she stepped across a narrow ledge.

The contact lingered, and suddenly the space around them felt alive.

“Do you remember the story?” Korra asked softly, her voice lowered as though she were afraid to disturb something sacred.

“What story?” Asami asked, breath still uneven.

Korra’s smile was faint, half-nostalgic. “The old tale. Back in the Earth Kingdom, a pair of lovers were trapped in a labyrinth of caves. They couldn’t find the way out, so they created their own light—from the crystals. People say their love kept them alive, even in the dark.”

Recognition flickered in green eyes. “The Cave of Two Lovers,” she said. She had watched the old Ember Island play with Korra once, laughing at how silly and over-the-top it was. But the memory carried weight now, lodged in the quiet between them.

“How could I ever forget that silly song,” Asami said through a chuckle.

“I thought it was really catchy.”

They stopped in their tracks.

A beat.

“Secret tunneeeel—”

“Secret tunneeeel—”

They burst out laughing. For a moment, Asami is transported back in time. Back when things were simple and easy. And this time she allowed herself to look at Korra and imagine she was still her best friend. Laugh echoing throughout the roof of the caves like it did often through Republic CIty High hallways, head thrown back, smile wide, unapologetic, unbridled.

Once their laughter died down, Korra’s gaze lingered, flickering between green eyes then down to bare pink lips. 

Korra swallowed. “There’s also a myth here in Targon about these star-crossed lovers. Sun and Moon. Their tribes were so against their relationship because they didn’t believe in soulmates. Legend has it this is where they met—when the moon blocked the sun, the crystals illuminated, and that’s how they found each other. Until the next eclipse, they would say, ‘Night and day are just two halves of the same circle.’”

Her words hung there, charged. And spoken in ancient Targonian tongue, the crystals seemed to have heard, reflecting each syllable in fragments, scattering pieces of the moment into every shadow.

Asami turned toward her, closer than she realized, her shoulder brushing Korra’s chest. Her pulse raced. She could feel the thrum of her soulmark under her ribs, matching Korra’s nearness.

The myth, the crystals, the closeness—they all pressed them toward the same inevitable point. Korra’s gaze dropped to her lips once again, and this time blue eyes stayed there. For a moment the story felt real.

Like history threatening to repeat.

And then—

The radio crackled, Katarina’s voice slicing through the dark:

“Waters. Report back to the village. Leona’s requesting you—urgent.” A pause. “I guess Sato can come, too, if she likes.”

Korra groaned, forehead thunking against the wall. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Asami pulled back a fraction, breathless but steady. “Seems fate doesn’t like competition.”

Korra clipped the radio back to her belt, jaw tight. “Guess not.”

***

By the time the ATV rattled into Rakkor’s square, the sun was already low, throwing long shadows across the ground. Dust clung to their hair and clothes, and silence clung to them even tighter—neither willing to poke at the delicate thread still hanging from the caves.

Korra killed the engine and swung off first, stretching her arms like she’d just finished a marathon. Asami took longer, pulling her helmet off slowly, letting her hair fall free in a cascade that Korra caught herself staring at a moment too long.

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

Katarina was waiting, leaning against a post with the smugness of someone who’d been rehearsing the line. She pushed off lazily, sauntering closer. “What was it? Took a wrong turn? Or maybe you were… distracted?”

Korra groaned. “Seriously, Kat? I took her to the caves, okay? We were… surveying.”

“Oh, sure,” Katarina said, circling them with a predator’s grace. “Surveying. That what they’re calling it these days?” She smirked at Korra. “Didn’t think rocks and lights could get you so worked up.”

Korra’s ears went red. “It was hot in there,” she muttered, scowling.

“Mhm.” Katarina’s eyes flicked to Asami, cool and sharp. “And how about you, Sato? Learn anything useful in your little… expedition?”

Asami straightened, chin tilting just slightly. “Yes. The crystal structures could be used to design a natural lighting grid for the village. If we replicate the angles properly, it could cut energy usage by half.”

“Wow,” Katarina drawled, her smile cutting. “You must be fun at parties.”

Korra shot her a glare. “Kat.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Katarina turned back to Korra, grin widening. “At least you balance each other out. You get restless, she gets rigid. Perfect match, right?”

The way she said it—half-mocking, half-knowing—made Asami’s jaw tighten.

Before Korra could bark back, Leona’s voice carried from the council hall. “Korra.”

Korra exhaled hard, muttering, “Saved by the boss.”

But as they moved past, Katarina leaned just close enough just for Asami to hear. Her voice was lowered—not cruel, but edged with steel. “She’s tougher than most people I know. But that doesn’t mean she deserves to get burned twice. Figuratively. She wears her heart where everyone can hit it. Some of us don’t want to see that happen again.”

Asami’s hand froze on the strap of her bag. By the time she looked back, Katarina was already grinning at Korra like nothing had been said.

Still, the remark clung to her long after she followed Korra into the hall.

***

The work shifted gears quickly after breakfast. Leona outlined the project needs—solar collectors, water circulation systems, and retrofitting existing structures with Asami’s latest designs. The CEO spoke with warmth and conviction, and when she looked at Asami, there was a kind of unspoken faith.

Asami nodded on cue, professional smile fixed in place. “Of course. Trust that I’ll give it my best.”

But the words tasted strange in her mouth. Trust. The way it forced itself out of Asami’s lips made something tighten in her chest. Because across the room, she could still feel Katarina’s gaze like the edge of a sinister blade against her back. 

And between those two poles—Leona’s confidence, Katarina’s distrust—was Korra.

Korra stood with rolled-up sleeves, sketching measurements on timber samples, consulting with Katarina, her brow furrowed in focus. She looked steady, grounded, exactly as Asami remembered—only sharper now, weathered by years. She moved with an ease that spoke of competence, of someone who had built herself back from the pieces of something broken.

Every so often, though, Korra’s eyes flicked up. Searching.

Asami caught it once, then again, the faintest lift of Korra’s gaze toward where she stood with Leona. The looks were fleeting, but unmistakable. Korra was checking on her. Watching her.

Asami forced herself to look away, to pin her attention on the blueprints, on the crisp lines of Leona’s notes. Anything but the thrum beneath her ribs that answered every glance.

By afternoon, she had perfected her mask. She took notes, asked efficient questions, even offered solutions both Diana and Leona praised. But the entire time she felt Katarina’s stare drilling into her—daggers disguised as casual glances. Every word Asami spoke felt weighed, judged.

She told herself she was here for the project. For the village. For her work. Nothing else.

Still, when the meeting finally broke and the room emptied into the soft orange light of evening, Asami realized her shoulders ached from how tightly she’d held herself all day. She stepped outside, inhaled the mountain air, and told herself she’d survived it.

But deep down, she knew the hardest part wasn’t Katarina’s glare, or Leona’s trust.

It was Korra’s eyes. The way they kept finding her, again and again.

***

By nightfall, the village square was transformed. Lanterns swung from the trees, spilling warm light over long wooden tables stacked with food—grilled meat wrapped in leaves, roasted root vegetables, steaming pots of stew. The air was thick with spice and smoke and ale, underscored by the rhythm of drums as villagers gathered to celebrate.

At the center of it all, illuminating like she was the moon herself, was Diana Luna.

She stood beneath the tallest torch, her robes white and silver, embroidered with threads that shimmered like water under moonlight. A painted crescent mark adorned her forehead, glowing faintly as though it carried its own light. The crowd hushed as the council announced her appointment as high priest, and when Diana raised her hands in blessing, her voice carried with quiet power, steady as the tide.

Asami clapped with the others, her engineer’s mind quietly cataloging the intricate beadwork on Diana’s garb, the elegance of the ceremony. But even amid the reverence, her awareness kept circling back to the figure across the table.

Korra sat only a few seats away, her broad shoulders framed by the torchlight, her laugh carrying across the feast when Katarina teased her over spilled stew. Their ease together was unmistakable—decades of friendship layered in every exchange.

Asami sipped her drink, grimacing at the bitter taste but keeping her smile polite, her heart tight.

***

Later, when the feast gave way to music, the villagers gathered around a bonfire. Someone passed Korra a guitar, and at first she resisted with a sheepish grin. But the calls and laughter grew louder, and eventually she relented, settling onto a log with the instrument resting easy in her hands.

She resisted with mock grumbling, but Asami saw the way her lips twitched when Katarina shoved the instrument into her lap anyway. “Fine, fine,” Korra said, strumming a few playful chords. “But I’m gonna need a rhythm, so I need you all to clap along.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll carry us,” Katarina deadpanned beside her, smacking the tambourine Asami didn’t notice she was holding and the villagers cheered.

Korra rolled her eyes. But she sat, adjusted the guitar on her thigh, and strummed a few experimental chords. She looked completely at home in the chaos. 

Her voice carried with the easy authority of someone who was used to being listened to. When she began to strum the opening chords of whatever song she was going to play, her grin widened. “C’mon, you too, High Priestess Diana,” she teased, pointing at the village leader seated in her ceremonial silks, still as the moon she served.

The villagers laughed, and to everyone’s surprise—even Asami’s—Diana lifted her hands and joined, palms striking together in time with the beat. The sound of clapping grew, uneven but enthusiastic, weaving into Korra’s guitar. The rhythm swelled, filling the night with music.

Katarina tapped the tambourine against her palm, then swung in with the beat, her smirk sharp as the firelight flickered across her face. Korra shot her a wink, and the crowd whooped, clapping harder.

“I need one more thing,” Korra grinned, “sing with me.”

Ho! Hey! Ho! Hey! Ho!

The villagers didn’t take long to catch up and everyone found themselves in the same rhythm led by Korra.

But then Korra began to sing.

Her voice was warm, a little rough at the edges, but strong. It carried easily over the crackling fire and the laughter that quieted as the song took shape. Villagers swayed and kept the beat. Rayla sat on her grandmother’s lap, clapping enthusiastically.

I've been tryin' to do it right (Hey!) // I've been livin' a lonely life (Ho!)

I've been sleepin' here instead (Hey!) // I've been sleepin' in my bed (Ho!)

Sleepin' in my bed (Hey! Ho! Ho!)

Asami sat across the circle, the flames between them, her hands folded in her lap. She told herself she could be unaffected, that it was just Korra being Korra.

But then it happened.

Korra’s gaze flicked across the fire—straight at her.

I don't know where I belong (Hey!) // I don't know where I went wrong (Ho!)

But I can write a song (Hey!)

At first it was subtle, a glance that lingered too long. Then, as the lyrics built, Korra’s eyes stayed fixed, not on the villagers, not on Katarina, but on Asami. The words shifted from playful to pointed, and the air between them thickened, as though no one else existed in the circle at all.

I belong with you, you belong with me // You're my sweetheart

I belong with you, you belong with me // You're my sweet—

Then blue eyes on her were gone and once again darted between the villagers with her easy smile.

The villagers clapped and sang along, laughter and joy spilling into the firelight.

But Asami couldn’t tear her eyes from Korra. The curve of her smile, the way her foot tapped in rhythm, the way her gaze flicked up again,very briefly—toward her. It was everything Asami had been trying not to feel all day, pulled raw into the open.

And then there was Katarina, grinning like she belonged there beside Korra, like she’d always belonged there. Every easy exchange between them twisted tighter in Asami’s chest.

And if she thought the air couldn’t get any thinner, and her chest any tighter, Korra’s next words made Asami feel like she was going to implode.

I don't think you're right for this (Hey!) // Look at what it might have been if I (Ho!)

Took a blimp to Tokyo (Hey!) // I'd be standin' at her door (Ho!)

Blue eyes locked on green.

She'd be standin' next to me (Hey!)

And that was it. 

Asami didn’t even realize she was standing until her chair scraped soft dirt and the firelight fell behind her. Her steps carried her away before she could second-guess, before she could give in to the temptation of turning back and meeting those eyes again.

God. Those eyes.

She pressed a hand against her stomach, as though she could steady the ache there, but it only burned hotter. Korra’s voice was still in her ears, threaded with the beat of the tambourine, with the laughter and clapping of the villagers. Except Asami couldn’t hear any of that anymore. She only heard Korra singing to her.

Just her.

Stop it. Stop thinking that way.

Her mind rebelled, throwing the facts in her face. Korra had Katarina—right there, grinning beside her, tambourine in hand, close enough to nudge her with a shoulder and laugh into her ear. The kind of closeness that was earned, day by day, not stolen back ten years later by someone who had once run away.

Her nails bit into her palm. 

You don’t get to feel jealous. You don’t get to want this.

But then why had Korra’s voice cracked on that line? Why had she held her gaze like that, burning through the fire between them?

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to shake her head, to swallow the hope before it swelled too large. Hope was dangerous. Hope had broken her once before.

And yet, beneath the guilt, the jealousy, the shame, something else twisted inside her. 

Something undeniable.

She had wanted to stay by that fire, to let Korra sing every word into her bones. She had wanted to walk across the flames, sit down beside her, hold Korra’s hand and never let go again.

Instead, she was here, in the dark, with nothing but her own ragged breath and the knowledge that she still wasn’t free of her.

Ten years hadn’t been enough. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

And that terrified her most of all.

“Asami!”

Her name cracked across the night like a whip. She froze where she stood, every nerve firing, and then she forced herself to turn.

Korra was there, firelight still clinging to her hair, her guitar abandoned somewhere behind her. Her chest rose and fell fast, like she’d run, though they were only a few steps apart.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” Korra demanded, voice low but sharp.

Asami’s mouth opened, closed. The words that should’ve been careful, controlled, slipped straight through her guard. She scoffed. “I ask you the same thing.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Korra’s eyes flashed.

“That song, Korra!” Asami’s voice was sharp but then, “What the hell does that song mean?” The next words came out softer than she intended, and she raked a trembling hand through her hair. “And you were… you were looking at me like—like nothing’s changed. Like I didn’t ruin everything!”

Silence stretched for a beat, heavy, suffocating.

Korra’s jaw clenched. “Asami, I already told you—”

“I know!” Asami snapped, her voice breaking. All the years of restraint crumbled, anger and grief tangling in her chest until she could barely breathe. “You told me it was all in the past. It’s been a long time. Water under the bridge. But I can’t… these past ten years have been eating, gnawing at me and I couldn’t get rid of the ghost of you. Of what I did.”

Asami released a trembling breath. “You confessed, Korra. You trusted me. And I lied. I ran. I left you standing there with your heart in your hands, and I let it fall. And now—” She gestured helplessly toward the fire. “Now I see you with… with her,” spirits, Asami couldn’t even say her name, “and it feels like someone’s twisting a knife inside me, and I don’t have the right to feel that way!”

Her voice cracked into something softer, rawer. “Because I lost it. I lost you. And now I feel like I’m the only one stuck on standing still on the same ground while you keep moving.”

Korra took a step forward, then another, blue eyes pinning Asami in place. “You think you lost me?”

Asami’s throat worked, but no sound came.

“You think ten years,” Korra said, her voice shaking with restrained fury, “ten years of missing you, of waking up every morning trying not to wonder where you are—that all of that disappears because you ran once? You think I’ve moved on?”

Another step.

“Asami, those ten years have been the longest years of my life waiting for you. Every single fucking day.”

Asami could feel Korra’s breath, Korra’s anger, Korra’s fury.

“And now you’re here,” Korra let out a hollow chuckle. “Just like that, you’re here. Making it so fucking easy to want you back... but so hard to believe it’s real. I hate that all it takes is one look from you and I’m right back where I started.”

Asami’s knees nearly buckled. She wanted to believe her. God, she wanted to. But the shame pressed down harder. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to live every day knowing you broke the one person who mattered most—”

Korra’s hand cupped her face before she could finish, calloused thumb brushing her cheek. The heat of her palm seared Asami’s skin.

A myriad of emotions flashed in blue eyes—hurt, anger, frustration, hesitation, a tremulous expression that was gone too quickly before Asami could give meaning to it. And before Asami could draw her next breath, Korra’s mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft—it was fire and fury, all teeth and tears and desperation. Asami gasped against it, her body answering before her mind could catch up. Her hands clutched at Korra’s shirt, pulling her in closer, terrified that if she let go, Korra would vanish back into the night.

Her heart hammered, every beat screaming the same truth: she never stopped wanting her.

And now Asami couldn’t stop, even if she tried.

Chapter Text

Korra’s kiss was not gentle. It was all heat and hunger, her mouth claiming Asami’s like she was staking a truth long denied. Teeth caught on lips, tongues tangled, breath came ragged between them. Asami’s knees nearly buckled, her body arching into Korra’s as though it had been waiting all these years to fit there again.

The kiss deepened, messy and unrestrained. It wasn’t just want—it was anger, grief, years of silence and longing colliding all at once.

Korra pressed against Asami impossibly closer, her hands rough at Asami’s waist, holding her like she didn’t trust her not to slip away again. Asami whimpered, her fingers threading into Korra’s hair, tugging, begging, needing more. Then Korra began to move her feet away but tugging Asami towards her, not wanting to leave any space between their bodies.

They stumbled through the dark, hands and mouths refusing to part, bumping into roots and rock walls, half-laughing, half-moan. By the time they reached the door of Asami’s quarters, Asami’s back hit the wood with a thud, Korra devouring her mouth again as her hand fumbled for the latch. The door gave way, and they tumbled inside, shadows and firelight following them.

The door slammed shut and Asami found herself pressed against it. Korra’s mouth was on her throat this time, rough and hungry, and Asami thought she might combust from the sheer heat of Korra’s lips. Ten years of ache pressed into every kiss, every touch.

The party downstairs was loud, thumping with music and shouts from Korra’s teammates, but it all felt far away. Asami found Korra upstairs, sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her jersey, the gold medal heavy around her neck.

Most Valuable Player.

Korra’s shoulders were hunched, eyes red-rimmed. The victory hadn’t landed—because no matter how many points she scored, no matter how high the crowd roared, the two faces she wanted in the stands had never been there.

“They didn’t even call,” Korra whispered, voice breaking on the words.

Asami sat beside her, brushing a thumb along her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Korra.”

Korra’s lip trembled. She tried to laugh, to brush it off, but the sound was thin, brittle. “Guess I should be used to it by now.”

Asami leaned in without thinking, pressing her forehead against hers. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

The silence stretched between them, humming with something fragile and electric. When Korra’s eyes lifted to hers, wet and uncertain, Asami closed the gap. The kiss was soft, tentative, but Korra leaned into it instantly, her hands clutching Asami’s shirt like she was drowning.

One kiss became another, deeper, lingering. The salt of tears mixed with the heat of breath. Asami guided her gently back until they were lying on the bed, Korra’s hair fanned across the pillow.

“Asami, I—I’ve never…” Korra’s voice trembled, part fear, part want.

Asami cupped her cheek, kissing her again—slower this time, coaxing rather than demanding. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”

Korra’s hand shoved under her shirt, calloused fingers gripping her breast roughly over her bra, thumb dragging over her nipple until Asami’s hips jerked up against her.

“Wait—” The word broke from her lips, sharp, almost pleading. “Korra.”

At the sound of her name, Korra pulled away a little, searching Asami’s eyes with that fiery blue gaze. Korra did that thing again, eyes darting to Asami’s from left to right. In the dim light, Asami caught something flicker in Korra’s eyes. It happened in a heartbeat but it looked raw, almost wounded, like she was bracing for rejection.

Asami softened her grip, cupping her face instead. “I’m not saying no. Just… let’s take it slow.”

Korra froze, her breath hot against Asami’s cheek. The silence stretched. Then, with a tremor in her voice she didn’t hide, she asked, “Don’t you want this? Don’t you want me?”

The question cut deeper than anything had the right to. Asami’s answer tumbled out before she could think: “Of course I do. I’ve always—” She stopped herself, breath catching. “But we should talk, Korra. About what happened—”

Korra’s mouth crashed against hers, swallowing the words. She pulled back just long enough to whisper, fierce and trembling, “Then let me have you.”

The plea gutted Asami. There were conversations they needed—years of silence to unravel, truths to confront—but Korra’s eyes burned with desperation, with fear and hunger tangled so tightly Asami could barely breathe.

She could deny her nothing.

“Okay,” she whispered, threading her fingers into Korra’s hair, pulling her down into another kiss. “I’m yours.”

Korra’s chest rose and fell fast, her hands restless, not knowing where to go. Asami guided them, lacing their fingers together, pressing them against the mattress. She kissed down her jaw, her throat, savoring the little gasps that spilled free.

When her hand slipped beneath the hem of Korra’s jersey, she felt the shiver that ran through her. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Korra only shook her head, eyes wide, pleading. “Don’t you dare.”

Asami took her time—sliding the jersey up, tracing the lines of muscle hard-earned from years of training, but treating them with reverence. When Korra was bare beneath her, she froze for a moment, struck by how beautiful she looked—strong and trembling, fierce and vulnerable all at once.

Korra didn’t give Asami a chance to breathe. She shoved Asami back against the wooden doorframe again, the force rattling the hinges. Korra’s mouth was on her before Asami could speak—hot, bruising, all tongue and teeth.

Asami gasped into it, clutching at Korra’s shoulders. The world tilted or slowed or maybe it stopped, Asami couldn’t even tell. Ten years gone, and it still felt like this. Fire catching too fast.

Korra’s hands were already at her waist, tugging hard. The woodworker didn’t bother with finesse, opening Asami’s zipper and jerking her pants down in a rough drag, underwear with them, baring her in seconds. Asami’s breath stuttered, the cold air kissing her skin, her thighs instinctively snapping shut.

“Korra—” she tried, half protest, half plea.

But Korra dropped to her knees like a prayer, wedging herself between Asami’s legs. She hooked them over her shoulders and shoved her back harder into the wood, spreading her open. “You want me to stop?” she gritted through her teeth, voice low, shaking and clearly restrained. 

Asami could only shake her head and mutter out a single “No.”

Then Korra’s mouth was on her.

Asami cried out at the first lap, her head slamming back against the door. It was like Korra was starving, tongue sliding from the bottom and slowly dragging up until she reached her prize and pausing on Asami’s clit until her knees trembled with anticipation, thighs clamping uselessly around Korra’s head. She heard a muffled ‘ah-ah, no’ when Korra stopped her thighs from closing and only held her wider, digging her fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, moaning into her like it was her last meal.

“Beautiful,” Asami breathed, and Korra shuddered as if no one had ever said it before. “You’re perfect.”

When Asami kissed her again, she let her hands wander, mapping out the curves of Korra’s body, patient and steady. Korra gasped at every new touch, overwhelmed, but never pulling away.

By the time Asami guided her onto her back, Korra’s breath was ragged, her hands clutching at the sheets. “Is this okay?” Asami asked softly.

Korra’s answer was immediate. “Yes. Please. I want this—with you.”

Asami smiled gently, leaning down to kiss her. “Thank you for trusting me.”

She took her time undressing her, stripping away layers with care, kissing every inch of exposed skin until Korra was trembling. She worshipped her—her collarbone, her stomach, the inside of her thighs—listening to every gasp and whimper.

When Asami finally slid her hand between Korra’s legs, Korra arched up violently, a strangled sound escaping her throat.

“Asami—”

“Shh. It’s okay. Just feel.”

Asami moved slowly, fingers learning her, coaxing her open, patient with every stutter and shake. Korra’s hands reached for her desperately, gripping her wrist, her shoulder, anything to keep grounded.

Korra didn’t just stay between her thighs. She consumed Asami.

Her tongue traced everywhere, not just the quick desperate strokes that had Asami trembling, but slow laps too, dragging deliberately from the base of her slit up to the swollen bundle of nerves at the top. She circled there, soft at first, teasing, almost tender, then sealed her lips around it again and sucked hard enough to make Asami cry out and claw at the wood behind her for balance.

Asami’s legs shook, toes curling, but Korra held her steady, broad hands gripping her thighs firmly, anchoring her in place. She could feel the strength in them, the way Korra could easily pin her, but there was care in how she used it—never too much, just enough to keep Asami from slipping away when her body jerked.

“Korra—oh, spirits, please—”

Korra answered with a muffled groan, the vibration rattling through Asami’s core. She moved in erratic rhythms, sometimes slow, worshipful swirls of her tongue that had Asami gasping, then rough, punishing laps that made her buck helplessly against her mouth. Every shift between gentleness and hunger left Asami spinning, her body unable to predict where the next wave of pleasure would come from.

Every stroke, every flick was desperate, messy, but devastatingly sure, like she’d memorized her and was intent on worshipping every inch. The wet sounds filled the air, obscene, drowned only by Asami’s broken moans.

“Korra—fuck—” Her hands tangled in Korra’s hair, tugging hard, trying to ground herself as the pressure built too fast. She’d imagined their reunion a thousand ways. She would apologize. She would beg Korra to forgive her. She would atone for what she had done. But nothing could have prepared her for this. Not in a million years had Asami think that Korra would be the one on her knees devouring Asami, feral and reverent all at once, like she’d been waiting ten years just for this taste.

When Korra slid two fingers inside her, she did it achingly slowly, easing Asami open with patience that clashed with the feral way she was sucking her clit. Asami sobbed at the contradiction, the stretch of those strong fingers curling deep, the wet heat of Korra’s mouth dragging her higher. 

Asami wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out were broken sounds, pleading noises that only seemed to drive Korra harder.

“Please—please, Korra—”

Korra stilled for a moment, lifting her eyes. They were wild, but soft at the edges, the blue darkened with something Asami couldn’t quite name. She pressed the gentlest kiss against the inside of her thigh before diving back in, sucking her again with relentless devotion and thrusting her fingers in rhythm, blue eyes never leaving green.

And that look was Asami’s undoing. She shattered, sharp, raw, her cry caught between a sob and a scream. She shook violently, clinging to Korra’s hair as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. Korra stayed with her through it, tongue softening, fingers slowing, coaxing her down with maddening patience until Asami was nothing but a trembling mess slumped against the door.

Korra didn’t stop, didn’t slow,letting Asami ride through it, tongue and fingers working her until Asami was shaking, limp against the door, her thighs quivering around Korra’s head.

Only then did Korra rise, mouth slick, eyes wild. She caught Asami’s lips in a bruising kiss, making her taste herself. “Mine,” she whispered against her mouth, voice hoarse. “Just let me have you tonight.”

Asami, still reeling, could only cling tighter, the ache in her chest almost worse than the ache in her body. Korra caught her before she slid down, scooping her effortlessly into her arms.

“Korra—” Asami’s voice broke on her name, somewhere between laughter and disbelief.

“Bed,” Korra muttered, already striding across the small quarters, laying Asami down on the cot like she was porcelain. She hovered there for a moment, gaze raking over Asami—hair mussed, lips swollen, chest still rising and falling fast.

Asami tried to gather herself, brushing her damp hair from her face. “Give me a moment,” she whispered, her voice husky, raw. “Then I’ll return the favor.”

Korra froze, then shook her head, climbing onto the cot beside her. Her hand found Asami’s hip, anchoring her there. “No need.”

Asami frowned, blinking at her in the dim lantern light. “What do you mean? Don’t you want—”

“I just wanted you,” Korra said, voice low, threaded with something that made Asami’s chest ache. “That’s enough for now.”

It didn’t make sense. After ten years apart, after how frantic, how desperate Korra had been against the door, how could she not want more? Questions flickered in Asami’s mind—why wouldn’t she let her give back, why this hunger without reciprocity—but she was still too dazed, her body still trembling from release. Her confusion blurred under the heavy haze of pleasure.

Korra curled against her, half on top of her, her warmth grounding and suffocating all at once. Her lips brushed over Asami’s collarbone, her throat, gentle now, a sharp contrast to the rough urgency from moments before. Then Korra stopped a hairsbreadth away from Asami’s face and fluttered long lashes, softly brushing against Asami’s cheek.

Asami giggled despite herself. “That tickles.”

Korra pulled back just enough to smirk down at her, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You hate butterfly kisses, now?” Korra’s tone was teasing, but there was something softer beneath it.

Asami blinked, surprised. “You… you know what they’re called?”

“Of course,” Korra said easily, though her gaze flickered for just a heartbeat, like there was something unspoken hidden behind her grin.

Asami tilted her head, suspicious and amused all at once.

Korra shrugged, burying her nose briefly in Asami’s hair, hiding the truth in the warmth of her. “You told me once. Back in high school. Said your mom used to give you butterfly kisses when you were upset.”

The mention of Yasuko caught Asami off guard, a sudden rush of bittersweet memory tightening her chest. She swallowed hard, her voice gentler now. “I did?”

“Yeah.” Korra kissed her cheek again, softer this time, almost reverent. “Guess it stuck with me.”

Asami’s throat tightened. She wanted to ask more, wanted to press, but Korra’s arms only tightened around her, her warmth steady and grounding.

They stayed like that, breaths tangling, Asami’s hand sliding absently into Korra’s hair. The silence stretched until Asami found her voice again, softer this time. She tilted her head just enough to murmur into the warm skin of Korra’s collarbone. “Sing to me.”

Korra stiffened, then huffed a laugh. “That’s your idea of pillow talk?”

“Yes,” Asami said without hesitation, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I want to hear your singing voice.”

Korra sighed, pretending exasperation, but her fingers traced idle circles on Asami’s hip, betraying her softness. “You’re impossible.” But then she shifted, nestling back against Asami, lips brushing the hollow of Asami’s collarbone. “What do you want me to sing?”

Asami hummed in thought. “How about the very first song you wrote?”

Korra let out a surprised chuckle, the movement shaking them both, the sound rattling against Asami’s chest. “You don’t want to hear that. It has like a ton of words. I don’t think I can even remember what I put there.”

“Well, okay, then,” Asami sighed, “whichever song you want. I just like hearing your voice.”

Korra huffed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.” But her arms tightened around Asami, as though she was afraid of letting go.

Then, in the hush of the room, Korra began to hum, low and gentle. The first notes slipped into the room. Korra’s voice was husky from breath and strain, but it was steady, warm, carrying. The melody was simple, a tune Asami didn’t recognize, but it wrapped around her like a blanket. Each word vibrated against her ribs where Korra lay curled, as though the song came straight from her bones.

Come a little closer flicker in flight

We'll have about an inch space but I'm here

I can breathe in what you breathe out

Asami’s eyes fluttered closed. Every muscle softened, each breath slowing to match the rhythm of the song. Her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her was that she had never felt so safe, so tethered.

Let me know if I'm doing this right // Let me know if my grips too tight

Let me know if I can stay all of my life // Let me know if dreams can come true

Let me know if this one's yours too

Exhaustion pulled Asami under. Wrapped in Korra’s arms, lulled by her voice, it felt too easy to slip, too easy to let her guard fall. Her thoughts blurred with dreams, her lips moving before she even knew if the words had escaped.

“I love you…”

She wasn’t sure if she whispered it or just thought it.

But Korra’s humming faltered, only for a beat. Then the melody picked back up, stronger, as if nothing had happened.

And Asami drifted into sleep, heart hammering with the question of whether she’d really said it out loud.

When Asami finally slipped inside her, Korra gasped like she’d been split open, overwhelmed tears prickling at her eyes. Asami kissed them away, whispering reassurance, moving with careful, steady rhythm until Korra’s body began to accept her.

Then she touched her more firmly, her thumb circling the spot that made Korra cry out, and it was too much—pleasure rushing through her so fast her whole body seized around Asami’s hand.

Korra sobbed as she came, her first release crashing over her with raw intensity. Asami held her through it, kissing her, whispering how proud she was, how beautiful she was.

After, Korra clung to her, still trembling. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Asami brushed her hair back, pressing kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. “That’s because it’s you and me,” she whispered.

Korra’s smile was watery, but real. “Romanesco.”

Asami’s lips parted in shock. She could feel her heart stop.

No.

Don’t.

Her silence only encouraged Korra. “Asami, I love you.”

***

Sleep tugged Asami under again, but it wasn’t last night she dreamed of. It was farther back—so far back Asami wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory.

She was six, bundled in furs too heavy for her little body, her hands lost in her father’s and mother’s gloved grips as they stepped off the ship into the blinding white of the Southern Water Tribe. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but she had been too excited to mind.

Then the dream flashed another memory—another girl about her age, dark hair spilling loose around a round face, blue eyes startling against the snow.  It baffled little Asami how this girl was braving the cold in just a tank top and a pair of pants. In the middle of the tundra! Her pot-belly was exposed, making Asami giggle and catching the girl’s attention.

To Asami’s surprise, the girl grinned without hesitation, running straight up to her as if they already knew each other. 

The next dream they were tumbling together across the ice, building little walls of snow, daring each other closer to the frozen edge where the water glimmered beneath.

Asami was laughing, the sound ringing out sharper than the crack that followed when her foot slipped. The ice gave way. She plunged into the freezing dark.

Asami felt the cold in her bones. Panic had stolen her breath, but not for long—because the girl had leapt after her without a second thought. They’d struggled together in the icy trap, little hands clawing at slick walls that kept breaking beneath them. Asami’s chest burned, her heart wild, but what rooted her was the sight of the other girl’s terrified face.

In the next dream Asami had reached out, grabbed her cheeks with numb fingers, and pressed a flurry of quick, silly kisses across them. “Butterfly kisses,” she’d whispered through chattering teeth. “That’s what Mama does when I’m upset.”

The girl had gone still, wide-eyed, then gave the smallest trembling laugh, just enough to soften the fear.

In the next one, moments later, strong arms broke through the ice above, pulling them up into the light. Asami caught only a glimpse of the woman—warm blue eyes, same as the girl’s but older and wiser, dark hair swept back, the edge of a fur-lined hood—before Asami was tucked against her mother’s chest, shivering and safe.

After that, she and the girl had been inseparable. From sunrise until the lamps were lit, they ran across the packed snow, built forts from ice blocks, chased each other until their lungs burned. Like nothing happened. They shared food, secrets, and laughter in a way that felt bigger than anything Asami had known back home.

The grown-ups spoke, there were her parents, the girl’s mom and dad, and the woman who saved them. But Asami didn’t listen. All she cared about was that her hand always seemed to find the girl’s, their small fingers slotting together without thought. It was easy—too easy—to believe this was how life was supposed to feel.

But the visit had to end. The next morning her family’s ship was set to leave, Asami had clung to her, cheeks wet, refusing to let go. The girl cried too, fierce and loud, as if her whole chest cracked open with the sound.

The woman who saved them stepped in, fur hood drawn back, eyes that reminded Asami of the sea—then crouched beside them. She held out something small: a pair of pendants carved from bone, joined once but split clean down the middle, each strung on a thin cord.

“Two pieces of one whole,” she said gently, fastening one around Asami’s neck and the other around the girl’s. “In the Water Tribe, we say bonds like this are rare. Sometimes they mean friendship. Sometimes… something more.” Her smile was knowing, but kind. “Either way, you’ll find each other again. If the spirits and the stars allow.”

Asami had clutched the pendant tight, heart thrumming with a certainty too big for her six-year-old chest. The girl mirrored her, holding her half like it was a promise. They pressed their foreheads together, sobbing, whispering that they would never forget.

***

Asami woke with her fist curled tight, as if she were still clutching at her bare collarbones. The dream clung to her skin—the girl’s laughter, her tears, the weight of a promise made on an icy shore.

But when she rolled over, reaching instinctively for warmth, her hand met only cold fabric.

The cot beside her was empty. The blankets had already lost their heat.

Her heart lurched, sharp and sudden, like falling through ice all over again. She sat up too quickly, the blood rushing from her head, her breath caught halfway between a gasp and a sob. The tent was quiet. Too quiet.

A sob caught in her throat, unbidden, harsh and raw. Her heart, so full only hours ago, now felt like shards of glass rattling inside her.

Finally, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, bracing herself. Her footsteps were slow, reluctant, as though the floor might crumble under her grief. She stepped outside into the morning air, hoping—praying—that maybe Korra had just gone for a walk, that she might appear with that infuriating, cropked but perfect grin.

Instead, Katarina stood by the village hall, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. She stood a little straighter when she saw Asami. “Sato,” she said carefully.

Asami’s chest tightened. “Korra…?” Her voice cracked on the name, fragile, pleading.

“Oh,” Katarina’s eyes flicked down briefly, darted to the door behind Asami and then back to her. “She finished what she could in the classroom this morning and left.”

Chapter Text

The dismissal bell had barely finished ringing when Korra spotted Asami wheeling her moped out of the lot. She sprinted across the sidewalk, cutting her off.

“Asami!” Korra’s tone was sharp, breathless, urgent, making Asami freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“That black sedan,” Korra said quickly, eyes darting toward the street. “We need to follow it.”

Asami hesitated only for a second before nodding. “Hop on.”

Korra swung onto the back, gripping her waist tight. “Don’t lose it.”

The moped roared to life, weaving into traffic. They trailed the car through the thinning streets until it slipped past warehouses and toward the river. Finally, it rolled into a private marina tucked behind rusting fences and corrugated storage sheds.

“Kill the engine,” Korra whispered.

Asami eased them into the shadows. Together they watched as a tall man in a suit stepped out of the sedan. He checked his cufflinks, smoothed his jacket, then crossed the dock.

A woman emerged from a small office at the water’s edge—graceful, confident, her smile warm.

And then, no handshake, no hug, the man leaned down and kissed her.

Korra went rigid behind Asami, her breath shuddering like it had snagged on broken glass.

“Korra?” Asami whispered. 

She could see Asami’s fingers tighten around the handlebars. But Korra didn’t answer. Her grip only tightened on Asami’s shoulders, like holding on was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

Asami glanced at her but didn’t press. They stayed hidden in the hush of the marina, water lapping quietly at the docks, as Korra’s world cracked and she refused to let the pieces show. 

She couldn’t breathe.

The image wouldn’t leave her—her father leaning down, kissing that woman like it was natural, like nothing about it was wrong. It hollowed her chest, made every heartbeat strike too sharp, too loud.

And the way her jaw trembled, the way she was trying so hard to keep her breathing even, whatever they’d just witnessed, it had gutted her and Asami must have sensed every emotion.

She barely noticed Asami steering the moped away from the marina, only that the girl’s back was solid under her grip. Korra clung to her waist with white-knuckled hands, afraid that if she let go she’d tumble straight into the void yawning inside her.

Asami didn’t speak. She didn’t demand answers or explanations. She just drove, quiet and steady, until the city streets melted into dirt paths and the banyan tree rose tall against the fading sky.

Their tree.

The engine cut off, leaving a silence thick with rustling leaves. Korra swung off stiffly, her fists still balled so tight her nails cut into her palms. Her throat ached with words she couldn’t form, truths she couldn’t bear to say.

Asami stepped close without hesitation. She reached for Korra’s hands, prying gently until the fists loosened. Her touch was warm, grounding.

“Hey,” Asami said softly. “We don’t have to talk about it. Not right now.”

Korra’s lips pressed tight, but her eyes betrayed her—glassy, frantic, fighting to stay strong. She let Asami guide her beneath the banyan’s roots, where the world seemed to slow, the air cooler, safer.

“Whatever you saw,” Asami continued, brushing a strand of hair from Korra’s face, “whatever it meant… it doesn’t have to break you tonight. You’re here. With me. I’ve got you. I’m here for you.”

The words undid her. A sob ripped out of Korra before she could stop it, raw and jagged.

She folded forward, and Asami caught her instantly, wrapping her in steady arms. Korra buried her face in Asami’s shoulder, clinging as if the ground itself might disappear if she let go. Her tears came hot and unrelenting, soaking into Asami’s shirt, but Asami only held her tighter.

The heiress didn’t push. She didn’t prod. She didn’t need the full story to understand Korra was breaking.

And beneath the shelter of the banyan tree, Korra finally let herself fall apart, knowing Asami would hold the pieces together.

Her tears dried up and her sobs died down. But the ache in her chest was still so loud and clear. She thought the banyan tree might swallow her whole if she sat still long enough, but instead she had Asami beside her, fingers tracing slow circles across her back, anchoring her to a world that suddenly felt unstable.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” Korra asked, her voice raw.

Asami’s hand faltered before resuming. “You’re asking that now?”

Korra just shrugged and sniffled.

Asami sighed. “It’s not exactly a simple story.”

“So?” Korra tried for a crooked smile. “Tell me anyway. Tell me the complicated one. Distract me.”

Asami shot her a look, one brow raised, lips twitching. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Korra admitted, leaning her head back against the trunk. “But I’m crying and I’m pitiful right now. And you can’t say no to me when I’m pitiful. Please, indulge me.”

That earned a soft laugh, and for a moment, the weight on Korra’s chest lightened.

“Fine,” Asami said, settling against the tree as well. “I fell in love for the first time in junior year. And well, we broke up.”

Korra blinked, startled. “Wait—you..?” Korra scoffed incredulously. “I thought it was a complicated story! Come on, give me the juicy bits! Was she pretty?”

“How do you know it was a girl?” Asami raised a brow.

“W-well, I just…” Korra sighed defeatedly. “Fine, I’m sorry for assuming. Please, carry on.”

Asami narrowed her eyes, hesitation clear on her face. The pause made Korra put on her secret weapon. Her puppy eyes.

“Oh, come on!”

“Pretty please?”

“Fine!” Asami said through an exasperated sigh. “She was pretty, yes. She was on the volleyball team.”

“Oooh, a jock like me.” Korra teased with a wiggle of her eyebrows, earning a fond eyeroll from the heiress.

“She tore her ACL during the championship match. I was there with her all the way.” Asami leaned back on the tree and looked up. “At the hospital, during her recovery, the therapies. We were happy. Really happy. Until…” she let out a long sigh, “...her scar didn’t fade and I knew then. I knew that she was meant for someone else because I didn’t have my mark.”

Korra stilled and went quiet for a moment. Her stomach twisted.

“She left before school ended.” Asami pulled away from the tree and rolled her shoulders. “She said she owed it to her soulmate to love them instead. That I had to understand that I wasn’t her forever.”

Korra’s fists clenched. “That’s—garbage. She left. She’s an idiot.”

Asami gave a brittle smile,one that didn’t reach her eyes. “That was the first time I stopped believing. The second was when my mom died.”

Korra blinked, caught off guard.

“They say when you’re young, you know nothing. But I’m old enough to see my dad completely fall apart. I know he’s trying hard to keep it together for me. He loved her so much it broke him. And if that’s what a soulmate does—if they can leave you in pieces like that—why would I ever want to believe in it?”

Korra stared at her, at the mix of steel and hurt in her voice. The ache in her own chest sharpened, but so did her conviction.

“Your ex was wrong,” Korra said fiercely. “And so is that pain. Soulmates aren’t about obligation. They’re proof. Proof someone’s meant to see you. To choose you. Not because they’re supposed to but because they can’t imagine not choosing you.”

Asami’s gaze lifted to Korra’s face. There was something unreadable in those green eyes, something softened by memory. Finally, she smiled, small and wistful.

“This is a terrible distraction,” she murmured.

Korra smirked, swiping the dampness from her lashes. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

Asami laughed then, quiet but real, and under the banyan tree, the knot in Korra’s chest eased just enough to let her breathe again.

***

By the time Asami insisted on driving her home, Korra’s eyes were swollen, her throat raw. She slouched in the passenger seat, arms folded tight, pretending she didn’t notice how Asami kept sneaking glances at her, checking if she was holding together.

The moped rolled to a stop outside her house. Warm light spilled from the windows, laughter carrying into the driveway. As they stepped up the walk, the front door swung open, and Tonraq appeared with a broad smile, one hand resting proudly at the back of a tall woman beside him.

“There’s my girl!” Tonraq boomed. He looked almost younger, his face lit with energy Korra hadn’t seen in months. “We’re celebrating! Yarra just got hired at Future Industries. Procurement Manager! Isn’t that incredible?”

Korra froze on the step. Asami blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Tonraq turned toward her with unguarded enthusiasm. “You two might be running into each other at Future Industries Tower before long!”

Yarra’s lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the kind of polished expression Asami had seen at a dozen charity galas. Practiced. Perfect. “It’ll surely be… interesting,” she said smoothly, her gaze skimming over Asami with something unreadable.

Asami held her posture steady, but the curve of her reply was cool, practiced. “Congratulations, Mrs. Waters. I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly.”

“Come inside, both of you!” Tonraq urged. “We’re having dinner. I had Chef Terry prepare Water Tribe favorites!”

Yarra tilted her head, voice honeyed. “Yes, do join us.”

Asami glanced sidelong at Korra—red-eyed, stiff, barely keeping it together. That was all the answer she needed.

“Thank you, Senator, Mrs. Waters,” Asami said politely, but her refusal was firm. “I should head home. My father’s waiting. Rain check?”

Tonraq looked faintly disappointed, but nodded. Yarra’s smile didn’t falter, though it gleamed a touch too sharp under the porch light.

Asami crouched slightly to catch Korra’s gaze. Her hand instinctively reached out, wrapping her fingers around Korra’s. “Will you be okay?” she whispered, squeezing her hand gently.

Korra gave a jerky nod and squeezed back, though her throat ached too much to speak.

Asami lingered just a second longer, then straightened, offered another polite nod, and slipped back toward her car. Korra watched the taillights fade into the night, her chest tight, before forcing herself to step inside and face the celebration.

***

Dinner was suffocating.

The clink of silverware, the cheer in her father’s voice, the way Yarra’s hand brushed his arm whenever she laughed—it all grated against the knot in Korra’s chest. She pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone, the image of him and that other woman burned into her eyelids every time she blinked.

Tonraq was in high spirits, pouring another glass of wine for Yarra. “Future Industries! Can you believe it, Korra? Procurement Manager. That’s no small feat. We’re lucky to have her in the family.”

Korra’s jaw locked. “Lucky,” she muttered.

Her mother laughed softly, tilting her glass toward his. “Oh, stop. You’re making it sound bigger than it is.” But the pride lingered in her eyes, shining as if she could taste her success in the wine.

Tonraq didn’t catch it, but Yarra’s eyes flicked her way. “Your father’s right, you know. It’s a big opportunity.”

Something inside Korra snapped. She set her fork down with a hard clink. “Yeah, sure. More opportunities to be anything other than a parent.”

The table went still.

Tonraq’s smile faltered. “Korra—”

“No,” she cut in, her voice shaking but sharp. “You think I don’t notice? The missed games. The school ceremonies. How many times have I looked out into the crowd, waiting for you, only to realize you’re not coming?”

“Korra—” Yarra started, firm but calm. “That’s unfair. Your father works hard. He does what he can—”

“You don’t get to defend him!” Korra’s voice cracked, but she leaned into the fury. “All you do is cover for him. You sit there, smiling, making excuses. Like it’s fine. Like it’s normal. It’s not! And when you are home, it’s like you’d rather spend time with your glass than with me.”

Tonraq’s voice rose then, booming with frustration. “We give you everything you need, Korra! A roof over your head, the best schools, the best opportunities. I’m sorry if I’m busy serving the people, but that’s my duty.”

Korra shot to her feet, shaking with anger. “Oh, you’re giving me everything I need? Where were you when the school gave me the Leadership Award? Athlete Of The Year? I brought home trophies, and medals from school—I thought that would please you. You only give me the time of day when you boast about me at those summits, when you parade me at those conferences. But where were you when I scored a basket and looked at the stands? You were never there. You don’t show up to my games. We won the quarter-finals yesterday, dad. I stood there alone. Everyone else had parents cheering. Me? I had a ride home. I don’t feel celebrated. It feels like… like you’re just tolerating me.”

Yarra’s mouth opened, closed. She reached for her wine instead.

“Did you even know I wrote songs for the school play?” Her voice trembled. She looked at her mother. “You just shoved a check at my face to buy a guitar.”

Yarra stiffened, fingers tightening around her glass. “I am trying to keep this family together,” she said, her polished voice faltering.

“Then act like it!” Korra spat, rising halfway from her chair. “If you want to play mother so badly, then start acting like one!”

The words landed like a stone thrown through glass. Yarra froze, her polished composure slipping for the first time. Tonraq’s face drained of color.

Korra pressed on, breath coming fast, heat in her eyes. “But you can’t, can you? You’ve never been a mother to me. If you’re not anywhere in the house with a bottle of your expensive wines, you’re just—”

Yarra’s voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “Because I’m not.”

The room spun.

Tonraq’s head dropped into his hands. Yarra stared at her plate, her mask shattered.

Korra blinked, chest heaving. “What… what did you just say?”

Silence. 

Deafening. 

Heavy. 

Shattering.

Yarra’s eyes finally met hers, unguarded, raw. “I’m not your mother, Korra. I never was.”

The world tilted on its axis, and Korra felt the floor drop out from under her. The air was so heavy she thought she might choke on it.

“Korra—” Tonraq’s voice cracked, rough in a way she hadn’t heard since she was little. “Please, sit down. Let me explain.”

Her legs felt weak, her chest caving in. “Explain what? That the woman you’ve been parading around as my mom, your supposed soulmate, isn’t even—” Her throat closed around the word.

Yarra reached out a hand, regret flickering in her eyes. “Korra, we didn’t mean for you to find out like this—”

“Don’t.” Korra’s chair scraped back with a screech as she stood, hands balled into fists at her sides. Her pulse roared in her ears. “Don’t talk to me like you care.”

“Korra, listen to me,” Tonraq said, rising to his feet, desperation pouring from him. “Your real mother—Senna—things were complicated in the Tribes. We thought this was best for you.”

“Best for me?” Korra’s laugh was sharp, broken. “You lied to me my entire life and that’s what you call best?”

Tonraq stepped forward, but she stumbled back, shaking her head. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. “Don’t. Don’t follow me. Don’t try to make this sound noble. You celebrated everything about her”—she jabbed a finger at Yarra—“and you couldn’t even tell me who I really am.”

“Korra, please—”

But she was already moving. She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair, stormed through the hallway, and slammed the front door behind her so hard it rattled the frame.

Her breath came ragged, chest aching, but she didn’t slow down. She knew exactly where to go. The only place she could breathe.

By the time she reached Asami’s house, her knuckles hurt from how hard she’d been clenching her fists. She stood at the door, every nerve in her body buzzing, the weight of what she’d just heard pressing down until she thought she’d shatter.

When Asami opened the door, still in her hoodie and pajama shorts, concern flooded her face immediately. “Korra?”

Korra didn’t trust her voice. She just shook her head and whispered, broken: “I can’t stay there tonight.”

Asami didn’t hesitate. She reached out, wrapped an arm around Korra’s shoulders, hugged her tight before pulling her inside.

Chapter Text

Asami made it back inside somehow, though she couldn’t recall the steps. The walls of the house felt narrower, closing in on her. Korra had been here. But the signs that she was weren’t there. Because Korra had chosen to go.

She tried to busy herself, to slip into her usual armor of routine. She made her bed neatly, made coffee, gathered her tools, sketched a few notes on her schematics. But her hands shook too much, and the graphite smeared across the page in uneven streaks. Pathetic, she thought bitterly. The great Asami Sato, undone by absence of one Korra Waters. It was like those past ten years all over again. Only this time, the heartache was back with a vengeance. But had it really left?

She crumpled the page and threw it across her workbench, rolling and falling to the solid ground with a muffled thud. With a frustrated sigh and a sting in her eyes, she got a new blank page and started scribbling again.

That was going to be her goal for the next two days here: From sunrise until lantern-light, she would bury herself in work because that was what she came here for anyway. 

And so, she was everywhere at once—adjusting foundation levels, checking solar panel layouts, calculating energy output, drafting water systems, scratching them out then re-drafting again, sanding down rough planks that weren’t even her job, and even hauling lumber she had no business lifting.

She was overdoing it. She knew. The villagers knew. By noon, Katarina had checked on her twice. The woman never wasted words, but her gaze lingered long enough to sting. It was pity, Asami was sure. Pity and maybe a bit of judgment—as if Katarina could see straight through her chest and into the empty cavern Korra had left behind.

Later, Leona passed her in the courtyard, pausing briefly. “Rough night?” she asked softly.

Asami forced a dry laugh, brittle as glass. “You could say that.”

Leona studied her a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then her gaze wandered to where Asami was looking. “I know Kat can be a lot. Don’t let her break you.”

Asami flinched, too quickly. “I’m fine,” she lied.

But she wasn’t.

Everywhere she turned, Korra’s presence lingered like a ghost—on her lips, in her skin, in the fragile memory of a song sung against her hair. And every time she closed her eyes, she was dragged back to that bed, to the weight of Korra’s body pressed against hers, to the feeling of being wanted so fiercely it almost scared her.

Now it was gone. And she had nothing to hold on to but the echo and the question of if last night had been real or just a fever dream.

***

If Korra’s absence was a wound, Asami decided she’d cauterize it with work.

By sunrise the next day, she had stripped down the engine she’d been tuning for the village and spread the parts across the worktable. Her hair was tied messily out of her face, grease streaked across her jaw, and her hands moved fast—faster than necessary. It wasn’t about fixing anything. It was about moving, about keeping the silence from swallowing her whole.

Katarina found her mid-morning, crouched under the half-assembled turbine, sweat slicking her collarbones. “You haven’t eaten,” Kat remarked flatly, arms crossed.

“I’m not hungry,” Asami answered, voice sharp. Her wrench clattered against the bolt too hard, stripping the groove. She cursed under her breath.

Kat didn’t flinch. “You’ll make mistakes if you keep this up.”

Asami slid out from under the vehicle and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Do I need to remind you I’m the engineer here? I know what I’m doing.”

The words came out bitter, sharper than intended, but Katarina only studied her a beat before walking away with a grumbled ‘do you really?’

By late afternoon, Asami had moved onto redesigning the village’s irrigation system, scrawling furiously in her notebook. Leona stopped by, brows furrowed at the mess of diagrams and calculations. “Want a distraction?”

Asami’s pencil stopped mid-drawing and she looked up, arching a questioning brow. 

“The hot springs,” Leona said simply. “They’re just past the ridge. Perfect this time of day. And… better than sitting here stewing over things you can’t control.”

The words landed heavier than Asami expected, as though Leona had plucked the thought straight from her chest.

For a heartbeat, Asami considered refusing. But then she saw Katarina driving away on an ATV, the same one she and Korra had used to get to the caves. She let out a frustrating sigh before closing her notebook and tucking away the pencils that laid on the bench.

***

Leona insisted, saying this was their last day as colleagues before they flew back to Republic City and worked on the Targon City bidding separately. Asami wanted to argue, half-heartedly, but the fight in her had already thinned after days of pushing herself too hard. The path up to the springs wound through jagged cliffs and wildflowers, the air cooler here, scented faintly of pine and wet stone. 

The springs were tucked beyond a rocky ridge, steam curling into the night air, catching the moonlight like silver veils. Asami paused at the edge, breathing in the faint mineral tang, letting the warmth seep into her skin even from a distance. She hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until the promise of release sat right in front of her.

The walk there was quiet, though not uncomfortable. Leona set the pace, her boots crunching over gravel, her hair catching the last streaks of sunset. Asami followed, distracted, her thoughts pulling her in and out of memories she wished she could bury.

When they reached the clearing, steam billowed lazily off the surface of the spring, veiling the air in shifting curtains. The water glowed faintly in the dusk, heat curling upward in soft waves. It felt like a hidden world, carved into the mountain for those lucky enough to stumble upon it.

Leona shrugged off her jacket, rolling her shoulders, and crouched to test the water. As she did, the wide neck of her shirt slipped, baring the strong line of her back. That’s when Asami saw it.

It was impossible to miss, etched by fate itself: an almost luminous circle of the moon, cradled by a crescent, and around it, delicate rays fanning outward like sunlight breaking through clouds. It seemed almost alive under the sheen of steam and fading light. Precise and perfect.

A soul mark.

Asami froze, breath caught. She hadn’t meant to look, not like this. But her gaze lingered anyway, drawn helplessly to the way the mark curved with Leona’s skin. It was beautiful. Sacred.

Leona straightened, turning just enough to catch Asami’s wide eyes before she could look away. A small smile touched her lips, gentle, unbothered. “You saw?”

Asami’s face heated. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright.” Leona lifted her hair, tugging the collar lower so Asami could see fully. “I don’t show it often… but I don’t mind if it’s you.”

Asami’s heart thudded at the intimacy in that. She couldn’t look away from the mark, couldn’t stop tracing the lines of it with her eyes. “It’s… That looks like it hurt,” she whispered.

Leona’s expression softened. “It sure did.” She angled her shoulder so Asami could see better—at the edges of the mark, the skin puckered faintly, a ripple of pale scar tissue beneath the design. “Fifteen years old. The forge collapsed during a storm. A support gave way, molten steel pouring down like rain. I shoved someone out of the way.”

Leona’s eyes darkened, the steam catching golden flecks in them. Her voice was low, steady, but there was grief in the steadiness. “I carried most of the burns. And well, that was one way of getting a soulmark.” She finished with a soft chuckle.

Without waiting for a reply, the CEO had already slipped off her boots and rolled her trousers, her movements efficient, practiced. She didn’t say anything, just waded into the water with quiet confidence, like she belonged here. Which, Asami thought, she did.

Asami followed more cautiously, dipping a toe before sliding into the pool with a soft sigh. The heat enveloped her, uncoiling tension she hadn’t even known she carried in her shoulders.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, the only sound the soft lapping of water against stone. 

Leona let the quiet sit for a while before shifting the weight of it, tilting her head toward Asami with a lighter tone. “You and Korra… are you good friends?”

Asami’s breath caught at the name, but she forced herself to answer evenly. “We were. A long time ago.”

Leona hummed softly, the sound thoughtful rather than prying. “I remember the first time I met her. A young adult, storming into a summit with Senna. Her mother had that calm grace about her, but Korra—” Leona’s lips tugged into a small, fond smile. “She was a fire barely contained. Argued with men twice her age, wouldn’t back down an inch. So fierce yet so gentle taking care of her mom. And the way she looked at her mother… gods, there was such devotion in it. Like Senna hung the moon.”

Asami’s throat tightened. She could picture it too easily—Korra with that stubborn, unyielding gaze, the same one that used to turn to her with laughter or longing or heartbreak.

Leona shifted, sinking further into the water. “She’s grown into her strength. But that fire? It’s still there. I see it every time she walks into a room. She leads and people follow.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Asami’s, sharp but not unkind. “No wonder your eyes follow her.”

The words landed like a weight, and Asami had no shield to raise against them. She turned back to the water, heart rattling in her chest, the steam thick around her face.

Leona studied her for a moment longer, and Asami braced herself for another question. But instead of pressing, Leona let out a quiet sigh, sinking lower into the steam.

“I won’t pry,” she said, her voice soft. “I know what it’s like to carry something you’re not ready to put into words.”

Asami tilted her head, curiosity catching against the caution in her chest. “You do?”

Leona gave a short laugh, not unkind. “Yes. I have a… a friend from childhood. We grew up side by side. Everyone thought—” she paused, searching the rising mist for the right phrasing, “—that it would be inevitable. Fate. Destiny.” Her mouth curved into a bittersweet smile. “But when the time came, we weren’t brave enough. Or maybe we weren’t ready. But I knew. I knew she was the one even before I even got my mark.”

Something in the way Leona’s voice softened made Asami’s breath catch. The quiet honesty of it slipped past her defenses.

Leona lifted a hand and swept her wet hair forward over her shoulder, turning slightly in the water. “I suppose I thought the mark would make it easier. That it would answer everything. I told her about it. She told me it couldn’t be. Not just because she didn’t have her mark yet, but that our stations, our paths, were too different. And she hated how I got my mark—having had to shove her out of the way and be injured for acting hero. She was so stubborn, thinking if fate was cruel enough to bind us, then she’d defy it.” A bitter laugh escaped her, quiet, without venom. “She told me to stop waiting for her because we could never be. And she walked away.”

Asami’s lips parted, words caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected this kind of intimacy, not from Leona of all people. She felt the weight of the moment, of what it meant to reveal something so private. She felt her own mark burn on her shoulders.

Asami swallowed hard, heat prickling her chest that had nothing to do with the springs. She had no answer, no clever deflection. Only silence, thick and telling. “If she didn’t have her mark then, how were you so sure she was the one?”

Leona chuckled. “I feel her every time the scar aches. And I know she refuses me because whenever she gives me that stupid glare, my scar hurts like a bitch.” 

Asami tilted her head in curiosity. “You… see her often?”

Leona hummed as she nodded. “Hard not to when we’re working on a project together.”

Asami raised her brows further.

“Come to think of it,” Leona said, gaze upward in deep thought, “my nights have been peaceful since she went to the Peaks to pray to the moon after her ceremony.”

Asami’s eyes widened, putting the pieces together. “Your soulmate is—”

“The High Priestess of Rakkor, yes,” Leona smiled, fond and somehow hurt, “Diana Luna. Sharp edges, always pushing away before anyone can push her. I don’t blame her.” She tilted her head toward Asami, her golden gaze catching the lantern glow. “But I don’t stop, either. I tease her, I press just enough. One day she’ll see what I already know.”

The certainty in her voice was disarming. Not blind hope, but conviction—the kind that came from living with fire burned into your back and still calling it a gift.

Asami dropped her eyes to the rippling water. Her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe. She thought of her own mark, hidden where no one had seen it. Of Korra’s absence. Of the fear that if she hoped too much, the world would rip it away from her again.

Leona leaned back with a soft sigh, as though the confession had cost her nothing. “The mark isn’t about waiting. Sometimes it’s the choice we’re too afraid to make. And I’ve already chosen. I keep choosing her. Every day.”

Asami’s nails dug into her palms beneath the water. She couldn’t trust her voice, so she said nothing, letting the steam mask the sting in her eyes.

Leona spared her the need to speak, leaning back against the stone edge once more. “Fate isn’t always simple. But sometimes… sometimes it waits for us, no matter how far we run.”

Asami sat there, stunned, the echo of those words thrumming inside her—because they reminded her, painfully, of the one person she had run from.

The words cut through her like a blade. Because wasn’t that what she had done to Korra? Denied what was burning right in front of her? Pretended it was just circumstance, just bad timing, when in truth it was fear?

***

The trip back from the Rakkor Caves left Asami quieter than she wanted to admit. The roads blurred past, and though Leona and Katarina carried on with the others, her thoughts trailed stubbornly behind to a denim jacket, a gentle voice that echoed through her ears, her ribcage, her heart, and a pair of blue eyes that burned through hers like a fire that kept her brittle heart warm broke it into pieces when  got too hot.

Aurora’s gates opened to the familiar clang of steel and the warm, faintly dusty air of home. Asami exhaled, relief easing some of the heaviness—until the sound of shouting carried through the courtyard.

Her steps quickened.

There, in the middle of the garden, Kuvira stood locked in what could only be described as a battle of wills with Naga. The small white cat pawed at the ground, fur bristling, lips pulled back in a silent hiss. Kuvira, hands raised in practiced precision, looked every inch like an ironclad general… except she was fending off a ball of white fur that stood no taller than her ankles.

“Spirits,” Asami muttered under her breath.

At once, Naga turned her fluffy head toward her and—Asami blinked—she swore the feline had gotten bigger. Not taller, but… rounder. Softer.

“Has she gained weight?” Asami asked before she could stop herself.

Kuvira huffed, hair sticking out of her bun. “If she has, it’s because someone sneaks at night and eats extra dumplings.” She jabbed a finger at Naga, who let out a very offended chuff.

Asami almost smiled. Almost. “Where’s Korra?” she asked, voice careful, casual.

Kuvira’s brow furrowed. “I thought she was with you. You didn’t fly together?” 

The word lodged like a stone in Asami’s chest. She shook her head quickly, covering it with a clipped, “It doesn’t matter.”

Before Kuvira could reply, Naga lumbered forward, her weighty frame surprisingly quick, planting herself squarely between Asami and the hallway leading to her quarters. A deep, rumbling growl shook from her chest.

Asami blinked. “What—Naga, it’s me.”

The cat lowered her head, ears pinned back, bent tail shooting up as straight as it could, blocking the door as if Asami were an intruder.

Kuvira rubbed the bridge of her nose. “She’s been like that since you left. Won’t let anyone in your room.”

Asami’s hand hovered over Naga’s fur but didn’t land. For a long moment, she just looked at her—Aurora’s loyal guardian who always knew more than she let on.

The sting in her chest deepened, but Asami straightened her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll be in… well, I guess I’ll just wait for Korra here,” she said briskly, stepping back and taking a seat at the lounge area.

Naga’s eyes followed her retreat, unblinking, until she disappeared down the corridor.

***

It had been two hours and forty-three minutes since Kuvira had left. The door to her room remained off-limits, Naga planted like a sentry before it. Every time Asami took a step forward, the cat hissed, mismatched eyes glowing in the dim hallway light.

“Fine,” Asami muttered, tugging her suitcase back. “You win.”

She left her things by the lounge and wandered instead, letting her hand trail along the carved banisters and the smooth walls of Aurora. The house was quiet in a way that made her pulse sound louder in her ears. With Korra gone, the silence felt cavernous, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

She’d meant to wait in the living room, maybe pour herself tea. It could either calm her nerves or do the complete opposite and amplify them instead. She decided against it and walked into the room where Korra’s piano and music sheets sat. 

There were new sheets written on—notes, words, chords.

CLEAN

The drought was the very worst

When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

It was months and months of back and forth

You're still all over me

Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

She set the sheet back down with careful fingers, throat dry and tight. Her pulse throbbed with guilt, but the ache beneath it was sharper still. Even now, even after all these years, Korra had found a way to put into words what she couldn’t say aloud. And somehow, the sting was sharper.

Asami turned away before the burn in her eyes could spill over. Back in the hallway, she walked without thinking, trying to shake off the weight in her chest. She forced her socked feet back to the lounge. That was when the floor groaned beneath her heel—an odd, splintering creak unlike the others.

She stilled, retraced her step. Another creak.

She tested it again by putting a little more force, jumping in place. Another series of creaks followed.

Frowning, Asami crouched, pressing her palm against the board. Loose. She dug at the seam, prying it upward, and discovered the recessed handle of a hidden trapdoor.

A draft of cool, dry air escaped as she pulled it open. A staircase yawned below, swallowing the light.

She should leave this alone. She knew she should.

But she didn’t.

She descended.

At the bottom, she found herself in a cramped basement study, walls lined with shelves of notebooks and models. Her heels crunching softly on papers that had fallen to the floor. The desk in the middle lay buried in sketches, dust thick enough to coat her fingertips when she brushed a page aside.

It didn’t take long for Asami to put two and two together.

Senna Park.

It had to be hers, or at least the stuff here was hers.

The lines of ink, the meticulous sketches pinned to the walls, even the faint scent of cedar and inkstone lingering under the dust. It was like stepping into someone’s mind mid-thought. Senna Park’s presence clung to every surface, every unfinished page.

Asami’s chest tightened. This wasn’t just a room. It was the heart of Aurora.

She reached for a rolled-up blueprint resting on the desk, its edges browned with time. It was loose enough that one side was unfurled and Asami saw a peak of the bold letters: Stairway To The Gods.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Was this what Asami thought it was? With a trembling hand she reached for it but before her fingers could brush the piece of paper, the sound of the front gates slamming upstairs made her freeze.

“—hellooo?!”

Korra’s voice, loud and slurred, tumbled down the hallway. A thud followed, then a laugh, too sharp, too alone.

Asami snatched her hand back like the blueprint had burned her.

Heavy footsteps pounded overhead—uneven, staggering. “Naga? Naaaagaaa, where’s my little demon cat—”

Her heart jackhammered as she eased away from the desk, wiping dust hastily from her fingers. She glanced once more at the blueprint, at the lines that could either save or damn her, then darted up the stairs.

“Korra?” she called softly, stepping into the hall.

Korra appeared, swaying slightly, hair half-unraveled, cheeks flushed pink. Her grin stretched wide when she saw her. “’Sami. You’re here.”

Relief flooded Asami’s chest, tangled with guilt, pain, and longing. “Of course I’m here,” she said gently.

Korra crossed the room in a few stumbling steps and wrapped her arms around her, clinging so tightly Asami nearly lost her balance. “Spirits, I missed you.”

The rawness in her voice undid Asami. She lifted her hands slowly, one on Korra’s back, one at the back of her head. “I missed you too.”

Korra pulled away just enough to look Asami in the eyes.

Asami froze.

They weren’t steady—misty, rimmed with red—but still, unmistakably, Korra’s. How was it that every time Asami saw these eyes, it was a different shade of blue? Asami could see, could feel them burning and freezing at once, like ice set aflame. Or was it fire pretending to be snow?

But in that glacial burn, Asami also saw desire—or maybe desperation dressed up as desire. And she ached for it all the same.

Those icy blues darted down to Asami’s lips and next thing she knew Korra was kissing her.

It was hungry, sloppy, the taste of whiskey biting through the heat of her mouth. Korra pressed closer, too hard, too much, fumbling with her hands at Asami’s blouse.

Asami stiffened. Her pulse spiked with the realization that Korra was drunk. But the woodworker whispered against her lips, “Don’t—don’t pull away. Please. Just us. Just tonight.”

The words were raw, almost pleading.

Korra’s mouth was fire, her hands ice. She kissed like she wanted to consume, but trembled like she was ready to bolt any second. And Asami let herself be carried into it—against her better judgment, against the voice in her chest screaming stop.

Because she knew this hunger. She knew what it meant to want someone even when it hurt. She had left Korra once without a word—maybe this was her penance.

Korra pushed her back against the wall, then down into the couch, urgency clashing with imbalance. Her lips slid messily down Asami’s neck; her hands shook as they wandered. She moaned when Asami gasped, as though that sound could anchor her.

It wasn’t tender. It was frantic and hollow. Something else masquerading as desire.

And Asami, spirits help her, answered it.

Through the moans that escaped whose lips, Asami wasn’t sure, Korra’s hands fumbled at Asami’s blouse, tugging clumsily at the buttons. Her kisses became more urgent, teeth grazing skin as though trying to leave something temporary behind or erase something permanent.

The buttons wouldn’t give. Her fingers slipped again and again, until she let out a small, breathless chuckle—a frustrated sound, almost boyish, almost endearing.

But then the laugh caught in her throat.

It twisted, broke, and what came out next wasn’t laughter at all but a choked sob.

Asami froze. Her pulse stuttered. She reached up instinctively, her fingers brushing Korra’s cheek—and came away wet.

Her heart dropped. She cupped Korra’s face, lifting it gently, and saw the truth spill over. Tears streamed down her flushed skin, hot and endless, the kind that came from somewhere too deep to stop. Her blue eyes were raw, fractured, burning cold like fire trapped in ice.

“Asami…” Korra’s lips moved, but no sound followed. Just another sob, ragged and sharp.

And then she collapsed into Asami’s shoulder, clinging like she might shatter if she let go. Her body shook, every breath torn from her chest.

Asami’s hands moved of their own accord, wrapping around Korra until their bodies were flush against each other. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I—can’t—” Korra gasped, then buried her face in Asami’s shoulder. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, clinging so tightly it was as if letting go meant falling apart completely.

Asami held on tighter on instinct. “I’m here. I’m here for you.”

For a moment, Korra only shook her head, pressing her face against Asami’s shoulder like she could hide from it. But then, in a cracked whisper, the truth broke free.

“Today… it’s mom’s death anniversary,” another sob, “I miss her, Asami. I miss her so much.”

The words gutted her. Asami stilled completely, holding Korra tighter, like the only thing keeping her upright was her arms.

Memories flooded Asami unbidden—her own mother, the fire, the smoke. The sterile smell of the hospital. The deafening beep of the flat line. The absence that never stopped echoing, even years later. That hollow space no one else could fill. She knew exactly what it meant to ache like this, to carry grief in her bones.

And in that moment, her only desire was to take the weight from Korra’s shoulders, to let her rest against something steady. Not because Asami deserved forgiveness for leaving all those years ago, but because Korra had always deserved better than to grieve alone.

Her blouse hung half-open, Korra’s hands still trembling against her sides, but none of that mattered anymore.

Asami held Korra, hands gently rubbing against her back, eyes prickling with tears, heart threatening to split. She kissed the crown of Korra’s head, whispering over and over, steady as a vow, “I’m here. I’m here.”

And she meant it—more than she’d ever meant anything.