Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time you see her, you find yourself unable to look away. Or, rather, that your eyes are drawn to her again and again, a human example of Newton’s law of universal gravitation where she is the sun and you the earth. But this is not a school where most people would understand that reference. And when she turns and smiles in your direction, you think maybe it is a foolish analogy anyway. No law, physical or societal or doctrinal, could adequately explain that moment. It was—no. It doesn’t do to begin a story in the middle.

 …

You graduated undergrad with 4.0 and an engineering degree and promptly moved halfway across the country, leaving everyone you know behind in order to enter a Master of Divinity program. No one understood your decision, why you would give up a certain job in a lucrative field where you have so many connections. They only relented with a bemused acceptance when you insisted that your call lay in academia and not mechanical engineering. If you truly don’t believe in “the call,” it was a harmless falsehood that you knew would tickle the sensibilities of people who live and die by such beliefs. After you shocked them with such an abrupt change of direction, they stopped questioning you. They only put up a token argument when you’d insisted on moving by yourself three weeks before orientation, fitting all of your necessary belongings into the bed of your pickup.

Once you arrive at your new apartment and pick up your keys from the main office after twelve hours of driving, you pause to stare in dismay at all of your things that need to be unloaded. A few girls walking by take pity on you and help you carry boxes inside. You consider calling the Vatican and telling them to keep an eye on these girls for future sainthood because books are heavy. You have a lot of them, and the girls bear them without complaint.

Lamentable are the two nights you spend on the air mattress—your back may never be the same—but you finally purchase a queen sized mattress and box spring. When several beautiful headboards call to you, you’re reminded that you have always had expensive taste. But you know you’ll need to conserve your savings until you find a job. Relying on your father is not a palatable option. Not—not anymore. Not now that you’re six hundred and fifty-two miles away from him. Not now that you have freedom. 

One nice thing—and perhaps the nicest thing—about private research institutions is that they pay well. They’d given you a full scholarship and a small stipend, largely because you have a unique academic background and good grades. Even though the stipend isn’t quite livable, you’re grateful for some automatic income. Still, you need a job. So, a few days after you’re settled in, your interviews start. A month previously, you’d started applying for engineering jobs. The Sato name—the only connection to your father you will exploit because it’s your birthright, and you’re good at what you do—is enough to guarantee you four job offers almost the second you arrive in the interviewer’s office. With two weeks to go until orientation, you weigh the pay, location, and time commitment of each job, and ultimately choose one close to the university.

By this point, you feel…discontent. Restless, maybe. Too much time alone, for certain. No matter how many times you remind yourself that you have people who love you, that even if you didn’t you’d be fine, nothing feels right. Even your skin starts to feel like it doesn’t fit right. You don’t feel like you. When all else fails, you tinker with your computer, which doesn’t help exactly, but it gives you something to focus on. You wish you were better at feelings.

Job training helps to fill the void. It’s boring, certainly, and simple enough that you think “infantile” might be a good descriptor. But it means your days are filled. Best of all, it means you’re no longer spending your days alone. Though you’re an introvert, your limit for alone time seems to be three days before you start feeling like you’re going crazy. It’s an important lesson for you to learn now that you’re truly on your own. When your roommate moves in the weekend before orientation, it feels like you’re a person again. And then orientation begins. 

Orientation is enlightening, off-putting, and overwhelming. What strikes you most is how unprepared you feel. Engineering didn’t prepare you for seminary—no. Divinity school. That’s something they correct early: seminaries and divinity schools are different. Seminaries are standalone institutions, and divinity schools are part of a university system. And this divinity school at least lacks the denominational affiliation that most seminaries have. So, engineering didn’t prepare you for divinity school, and neither did your religion minor. Not really. You feign understanding when students and speakers mention names of prominent scholars and theologians (Barth and Rendtorff and Spinoza and so many more), offer half-formed opinions based on next to nothing that people for some reason agree with, and laugh when others laugh at what you assume are jokes.

Constant performing wears on you, but it’s nothing compared to answering the question nearly everyone you meet asks when they find out your degree is in engineering: How did you end up here? It’s not so different from the questions you faced from your friends and family back home, but here you have to answer differently. You don’t want your classmates to think you believe you’ve experienced a “call” when for the first time in your life you’re far enough away from home that you’re comfortable admitting that approximately 48% of the time you think you’re an atheist. It’s difficult to articulate a coherent reason. At first you stutter out an answer about wanting to be a professor. You end up confusing yourself as much as you confuse them in explaining why, so you start saying, “I suppose that’s something I need to figure out.” It’s true. You’re not really sure how to explain it to yourself yet. Getting away from everyone you know, escaping the suffocation of the way things are supposed to be, and…well, you just knew it was something you needed to do. 

Even with all of this uncertainty, the beginnings of divinity school would be bearable if it weren’t for her. It’s because of her that you feel most like you are losing yourself. In the weeks following, orientation will seem like a blur except for her. The memory of the first time you saw her will forever stand out sharply in your mind. You see her out of the corner of your eye, and for the rest of the day you find yourself drawn to her. 

When you were little, your CCD teachers made you watch videos of the Virgin Mary appearing. She always descended, in a cone of sun through the clouds, to little kids who often wound up dying for one reason or another. From then on, whenever the sun filtered through the clouds, you froze, transfixed and terrified. It’s just the same when you catch a glimpse of her. Transfixed because she’s animated by a divine light that fills her with life. Terrified because sometimes life feels so heavy, and you think she could scorch the darkness from your soul. And you might let her if she tried. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s mainly for the last reason that you keep your distance.

As much as it is possible for a divinity school to have cool kids, she’s one of them. She already has a group of friends, even though you’re not sure how that’s possible on the first day. Just like the high school popular group, you know her name without ever recalling learning it: Korra. She doesn’t know your name of course, mostly because she’s always surrounded by people and doesn’t seek out loners like you lurking in the background. She’s off-putting; you don’t want to explore any further why you find her so enthralling and why it makes you feel out of sorts, so you try to forget her. 

You don’t like feeling uncertain, and the only thing you’re certain of at this school is that you stand apart. Though you sit with people at lunch and next to people in lectures, you don’t connect with anyone. It’s a lonely week. By the end of it, you’re fairly sure you are destined to spend the next three years friendless and alone. Meeting with your advisor, a renowned scholar whose books you’ve read again and again, serves to somewhat settle your nerves. He helps you select classes that will prepare you for PhD programs and fulfill course requirements. When you inform him you’ve taken Hebrew already, he seems pleased and tells you to take Koine Greek instead. Now that you have direction and some amount of validation, you feel more confident in your divinity school plan. Maybe you do belong here…or, barring that, maybe you will belong here someday. 

There’s a party that Friday at the Methodist house adjacent to campus. Despite your reservations and introvert-fueled exhaustion, you drag yourself there. If you’re doomed to a three-year friendless exile, it won’t be on your head. You’re not much of a drinker, but you figure you’re safe at a divinity school party at a Methodist house. To be perfectly candid, as a Catholic you don’t know that much about Methodism, but you’re informed enough to know that they have a history of temperance. 

When you arrive, all thoughts of belonging here in this new city at this new school in this new field dissipate into the warm, humid night. Almost everyone is plastered. For three heart beats, you pause and readjust to the unexpected scene in front of you. Leaving isn’t an option, you decide, so you grab an abandoned half drunk bottle of beer off a stone wall to carry around with you. It makes more sense than wasting a new one when you won’t drink it anyway, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by not drinking. Instead you draw attention to yourself by hovering uncomfortably in the corner. A boy draws you into conversation, and the two of you end up sitting on the grass outside. The bass follows you outdoors, but at least the sound is no longer overwhelming, so you hear him when he introduces himself as Bolin. 

One of the first things he tells you is that he’s uncertain too. It makes you feel better. He’s uncertain about living apart for the first time from the brother who raised him. “Mako’s a cop,” he tells you. “But he hasn’t shot anyone.”

“Is that the criterion you use to judge cops?” you ask, your eyebrows lifting in surprise, proud of yourself for catching the proper singular form of that word.

Bolin looks at you like he’s sizing you up and a bit like you should know the answer. “Well, yeah. It’s not the only thing, but it’s a big one. Why? How do you judge cops?” 

Suddenly you’re out of depth in this conversation. Of course you know about police brutality and the killings of black men and sometimes women, but this is the first time you’ve accidentally walked into a conversation about it. Most people avoid talking to you about race because you’re Japanese, and they don’t know where you fit. To try to regain your footing, you make an ill-placed joke. “Mostly on whether or not my hair flip gets me out of a ticket.”

The frown you receive in response makes your stomach sink and the world around you blur like it used to in college when you were dissociating from your less than ideal childhood memories. What if he hates you now? You clench your fists against the tremors of the inevitable, when everything will fade away until you go to sleep, and you try to brace for Bolin’s rejection. But he surprises you. “That’s a position of privilege,” Bolin says carefully, gently even.

“I’m not white.” Your defensiveness drives a bite you regret but can’t hold back into your voice. At least shapes have distinct outlines again, and you don’t feel like you’re going to pass out. 

“No,” he agrees easily. “Neither am I, but I can still recognize that while I experience oppression in some areas of my life because I’m Chinese, for the most part I don’t have to worry about being shot by the police for no reason like my foster dad had to because he was black. That’s privilege.” 

Admitting when you’ve made a mistake has never been easy for you, but you always force yourself to do it anyway if for no other reason than to distinguish yourself from your dad who was always right even when he wasn’t. “Sorry. I didn’t realize—I didn’t…I haven’t had a lot of experience with these kinds of conversations before,” you admit. “I realize now that I may have a lot to learn. I’ll try to talk less and listen more.” 

“I know. You already said you grew up in a really white area.” Bolin shrugs. “I’m not offended or anything. It just felt like something we should talk about, especially since this school is really into social justice. It’s better for us to talk about it now before you say something to someone who would be offended.” 

Maybe it’s because it’s late or because you’re relieved he isn’t mad or because this whole week has been uncomfortable for you, but you find yourself telling him that you’ve never gotten to explore your Japanese heritage. It’s something you’ve always regretted. Your mom died when you were little, and your dad just wanted the both of you to blend in. The only thing that has remained in your memory is a few phrases and how to make a few dishes. 

Bolin’s frown hints at unasked questions when he says, “Well, maybe div school will be a safe place for you to get to know that part of yourself a little better.”

You change the topic to something lighter because you aren’t emotionally steady enough to talk about this anymore. It’s something you don’t talk about with anyone, usually. The two of you pass the next hour chatting about how you both ended up here. Right before you’re about to leave, Korra arrives. Bolin’s eyes light up. “Do you know Korra? Let me introduce you! We went to undergrad together. I think you’d really get along.” Before you can stop him, he drags you over to her. “Korra! This is Asami.”

She grins lazily in your direction…or maybe “sloppily” is a better word because Korra is so obviously drunk. “Hey! It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve gotta be honest. I’m not going to remember that in the morning. But feel free to reintroduce yourself to me the next time you see me!”

Drunkenness makes you anxious usually, but Korra just seems charming. It burns away the dark cloud that’s been hovering over your head and straightens out all of the parts that were twisted up inside you at the thought of her. “It’s nice to meet you too.” You bite back a response you’re certain would read as flirty. Guilt floods your stomach and spreads to your throat. “Anyway, I have to go.” 

“Aww, really?” Bolin asks. “I mean, I don’t blame you, but you’re lucky you can escape. The party’s going on right outside my door. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good party, but this has been a hella long week.” 

“Sorry, Bolin. I’ll see you Monday?” A sudden wave of nerves crashes over your head just as it does every time you think of classes starting. What if you’re not smart enough to be here? What if you offend people because you’re not culturally aware enough? What will you do if this doesn’t work out? You need this. It’s your path to freedom.

Bolin misses the distress you hide with a shy smile. “Sure. Get home safe!” 

You do get home. You suppose you’re physically safe, though your head feels anything but. Your conversation with Bolin plays on repeat in your mind as you worry about the start of classes and how desperately you want to succeed. These worries are only interrupted by the stabbing reminder of Korra’s existence. Those thoughts are even more troublesome. It’s not…the first time this has happened, that someone has captured your interest so completely and so quickly. But—but you can’t do this. You can’t. It’s—no. You can’t. 

Thankfully your roommate isn’t home to see your plight as you wander aimlessly around the apartment, cleaning things that haven’t had the chance to get dirty but not succeeding in scrubbing away these feelings that make you feel unclean. It’s past midnight, but there is no chance of you sleeping right now. In a fit of desperation, you take a shower. There you—there you touch yourself for the first time. Thinking of Korra. Hating yourself too much for anything to come of it. But the hot water from the showerhead you bought pelts the muscles that are tense from a stressful week. By the time you dry yourself off, you’re half asleep, and you fall into bed exhausted.

The last thought you have before you give in to sleep is, “I have a fiancé.” A stern reminder to yourself to push down these feelings. You resolve to call him tomorrow. 

You dream of Korra.

Chapter Text

Monday morning dawns early, far too early after a night spent tossing and turning and worrying, but you’re still up and dressed ten minutes before your alarm is set to go off. Greek starts at eight. When you’d asked Opal, your roommate, the night before if she wanted to drive together, she’d laughed in your face. Which was understandable. Leaving at seven to ensure you get there on time? You don’t want to do it either. On your way out the door you grab a banana and the little plastic container of peanut butter you’d packed the night before. You pause to cast a mournful glance at Opal’s coffee maker, but as much as you like it and could use the energy boost, it’s not worth feeling like as though you’re going to die. You and caffeine don’t mix well. Once outside, you realize you forgot your lunch, so you have to run back in to get it out of the fridge. On Mondays you only have class in the morning, but you work in the afternoon. The hardest part about transitioning from undergrad to grad school is going to be having to provide food for yourself for all meals.

Living in a big city for the first time in your life has been quite a shock so far. The traffic alone has taken some major adjusting. It’s been two weeks since you arrived, and you’ve already had to replace the fan clutch in your pickup; you hadn’t realized it was bad until you were sitting in traffic, and your truck overheated. The only good thing about the traffic is that you get to spend time listening to the indie radio station and thinking. And if your minor breakdown on Friday night taught you anything, it is that you have many things to consider.

Korra has been hovering in the back of your mind. When you went to the grocery store, you wondered where she lived and if you might run into her. When you made meals for the week, you wondered what her favorite food is. When you talked to your fiancé, you wondered if she has a partner. It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to be so enthralled with her because she has almost certainly forgotten your existence.

It takes until about fifteen minutes into Greek class—after a moment of despair where you don’t think you can comprehend this language until you realize Greek goes left to right like English and not right to left like Hebrew—to decide you can do this. There are only six people in your class, and you’re not the worst so far. Just like everything in life, you will work until you’re the best. You’re certain doubts will creep back in, but you can do this. You will earn your place here.

This new attitude carries you into your Hebrew Bible class. Most people think you’re a front row person, but you actually prefer a seat nearest the door. Strangely, it’s Bolin who tries to drag you to the front. When you adamantly refuse, he huffs and sits down next to you. He’s comically wide for the tiny desk that folds down to the side of each chair, the desks that you hate because they are not meant for people like you who write with their left hand. You’re thankful that you’re going to be using your laptop to take notes.

“Fine,” he mutters as the professor finally gets the PowerPoint set up. “But only because I’m counting on you to get me an A in this class.”

“What?” You turn to him, utterly astonished that this intelligent person would need help from you. “Me?”

Bolin rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, Miss Future PhD in Hebrew Bible. You. This is your class to shine.” He’s going to say more, but Opal throws herself into the seat next to him, and he turns red and shuts up. It’s a handy trick, you tell yourself, that you’ll have to remember to exploit.

“Thank God I’m not late.”

“No, you’re fine…I mean, not like damn you’re fine. Just—you’re just—you’re on time! I think, I mean, I’m not—”

It’s pitiful to watch. To put him out of his misery, you place a discreet hand on his arm to hopefully bring his barrage of words to a halt. “Hey. Rough morning?”

Opal’s teasing grin shifts to a friendly smile, but you know she noticed Bolin’s struggle. If you were a little less kind, you would call attention to the blush that has stained her cheeks. “I couldn’t find parking,” she says, including both of you in her answer, and she seems to realize she doesn’t know your friend. “I’m Opal. Asami’s my roommate.”

Bolin doesn’t seem inclined to take her hand or respond in any way apart from intense and socially inappropriate staring. It takes you squeezing his arm to jog him back to life. “Bolin,” he whispers, and he shakes her hand. It’s so wildly out of character that you want to laugh, but you will be a good friend.

Thankfully for him, class starts. It’s everything you expect it to be. Except that you didn’t know there would be teaching assistants. Or, rather, you didn’t put very much thought into what an introductory class would entail. It makes sense that there would be TAs for a class of ninety students. You just hope yours is better than the ones you had in your math classes in undergrad.

You almost convince yourself you don’t notice Korra sitting in the second row, just behind where Bolin tried to drag you. The only way your staring doesn’t give you away, your saving grace, is that the professor is standing just beyond her. You have a feeling Bolin and Opal aren’t quite as nice as you are and would almost certainly exploit your infatuation with this girl. And, if they noticed, it would be harder for you to lie to yourself.

Before you know it, class is over. “Hey, do you guys want to grab lunch?” Opal suggests.

“I can’t. I have to work.” You make sure to sound particularly mournful so that she doesn’t think you’re avoiding a friendship with her. It’s your goal to have a roommate that you not just get along with, but are also friends with.

“I’m free!” Bolin says. He seems to have recovered from his bashfulness and sounds as eager as ever. “I made lots of food last night if you want to come to the Methodist House. Or we could go out. I know this—oh! Bye Asami! I know this—”

You shake your head at him as you walk out of the div school building and make your way to your car. You pretend like you don’t know Korra is walking with her friends just behind you. Or that she breaks off to go to the library.

You can’t do this, you remind yourself. You can’t.

…
Avoidance only works so well in a class of a hundred students. She’s in your discussion group section for your Early Christianity course. It makes it harder, but not impossible because you don’t talk much to anyone but Bolin in this class. Bolin and an arrogant man named Tahno and his friends dominate the discussion. Most of the time you have to struggle to even partially understand what they’re saying because they throw around unfamiliar names and jargon. It’s the first blow to your newfound confidence.

But even if you’re not as smart as your colleagues, you at least understand the class material. Excelling at work also helps you from wallowing in despair. When Bolin forces you to go out to a bar on Friday night after your first week of classes, you only put up a token resistance. Bars are hardly your first choice for entertainment. His unrelenting enthusiasm and incessant begging means you allow Opal to drag you to a downtown bar that is cheap if not quiet. And if they mention Korra will be there too, you don’t allow them to know it’s the real reason you’re going.

Regardless of your reasons, you think when you arrive, going is better than the alternative of sitting at home by yourself. Bolin greets you with a warm hug that staves off any anxiety you feel about being in a public place. The three of you grab a table for four. Korra is at the bar talking to some girls, but Bolin says she’ll be over in a few minutes.

As Bolin and Opal dance around each other in an awkward flirting attempt, you peruse the menu. They have fancy tater tots that look good and relatively inexpensive. Tater tots, you decide. And one drink. A gin and tonic. You trust these people enough to drink with them. One drink’s worth at least.

Korra slides into the booth then, and it looks like she’s already a couple of drinks in. “Hey guys. Okay, Bolin and Opal I know.” Her eyes shift to you, searching for a name. “No. Damn. I know I met you last week, but I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to,” you assure her. “I’m Asami.”

“Korra.” Her quick smile makes your mouth go dry, and you have to look away, back at the menu.

Then the waitress comes and takes your orders and your menu that was your safety blanket. Korra gives you a quizzical look, like she’s not sure why you’re not talking, like she’s not sure why you’re here. But she turns to Bolin. “Dude. Can we talk about Tahno and his cronies? I hate them so fucking much. They’re so stupid!”

“Don’t get him started,” Opal moans as she drops her head onto her arms. “It’s all he talks about.”

“Perfect. We are definitely talking about this.” The waitress brings your drinks and Korra’s gaze lingers as she walks away.

Bolin takes a couple of gulps of his IPA and says, “Okay. I don’t think they’re dumb. I think they just feel the need to sound smart, which makes everything they say almost incoherent.”

You weren’t really aware you were listening to the conversation until Bolin started talking. Suddenly you’re reminded of orientation and the opinions you offered that people agreed with even though you’re fairly certain they didn’t make sense. Maybe no one is as smart as you think they are. Maybe they’re just trying to sound it.

You voice these thoughts and Bolin scoffs. “Obviously. You’re the smartest one here. There might be a couple of people who are close, but Tahno and Co. are not among them. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

The conversation changes to a different topic then, but you’re still stuck thinking about what Bolin said as you sip your drink and eat tater tots. How does he know you’re smart? You’ve barely known each other a week. Have you fooled him like Tahno is fooling others? It doesn’t really matter, you suppose. Absently you watch your new friends laugh and drink, and you wonder why you feel so separate from them. You dimly think that the therapist you saw for a few months in undergrad would call this dissociation and say the trigger is the loud, crowded bar.

“Asami. Hey. Asami!” Opal jostles your arm to get your attention. “You okay? You checked out there.”

A couple of intentional slow blinks brings the background noise of the bar back into your conscious awareness. “Yes,” you say. Things still feel distant, so you blink three more times. “Just tired.”

“Oh yeah. It has been a long week,” Bolin says. Korra is quiet, but you can feel her watching you like she’s judging you…or maybe like she’s curious. It’s hard to tell.

“No. I have uh—I have nightmares.” Panic courses through you. You can feel yourself flush hot, and you break out in a sweat. You don’t know why you’re telling them this. No one knows. It’s not something you talk about. “Uh—I’m…uh—”

“I’m going to go outside to smoke,” Korra breaks in, and you know she’s doing this for you. “Want to join me?”

You can’t find your voice, but you do nod and follow her outside, feeling a bit like a puppy. An angsty puppy, you suppose, if that’s a thing. When Korra offers you a cigarette from the crumpled pack she pulls from the back pocket of her black cutoffs, you shake your head. “I have asthma.”

She’s not sure how to handle that. “Oh. Um—is it okay if I smoke?”

You nod. Now that you’re outside, you feel a little clearer. Clear enough that you’re aware this is the first time you’ve been alone with Korra. It’s hard to not stare at her muscular arm as it raises and lowers a lit cigarette to lips that are just a few shades darker than her skin. She’s Inuit, you remember hearing someone say.

You keep expecting her to say something, but she’s content to lean against the wall and enjoy the silence. It’s uncomfortable…or, rather, it should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. It makes this dark alley that’s beside the bar and smells like rotting garbage feel safe and a little like you belong here. Scary is one word you might use to describe how this makes you feel, but it’s the kind of scary where you know something good is coming, and you’re not ready for it yet. A steady calm falls over you once you can name how you’re feeling. Deep breaths filled with smoke from Korra’s cigarette burn your lungs. It reminds you that you’re alive, and for once that feels like a good thing.

“You ready to go back in?” Korra asks eventually. You don’t know how she knew not talking would help you, especially when you didn’t even know it. For a brief moment you think she might take your hand, but she’s careful not to touch you.

“Yes.”

Even once you’re back inside the bar, your head feels clear. Bolin and Opal seem concerned, but when you jump into the conversation, they relax. The four of you joke about your professors and lament about certain required classes you don’t want to take. Everything feels almost normal, you’re even almost feeling normal around Korra, and then a short girl with spiky blonde hair that has streaks of blue in it comes up to your table.

“Hey,” she says hesitantly to Korra, shifting a bit like she’s nervous. “We were talking earlier?” It sounds like she’s afraid Korra won’t remember. “Anyway, do you think I could maybe get your number?”

A cocky grin spreads across Korra’s face. “No,” she answers. “But you can kiss me.”

The girl blushes and nods eagerly, so Korra tugs her out the door that leads to your alley. You, Bolin, and Opal are left staring after her. Or, you are at any rate. They seem to have moved on to watching you. “Her girlfriend broke up with her last week. She’s not looking for anything serious right now,” Bolin says softly.

You’re not sure why he’s telling you that. It sounds like he’s trying to comfort you, like you’d be upset at the thought of her making out with strange girls, but you’re not upset…you tell yourself you’re not upset. Certainly you have no right to be. Mostly you’re just dumbfounded by the smoothest event you’ve ever witnessed. You tear your eyes away from the door that’s long closed behind them. “Did she love her? Her girlfriend?” you hear yourself ask.

“She—” Bolin hesitates and looks to Opal for help.

“I mean, I don’t really know her that well.” Opal shrugs. “But it seems like Korra’s the kind of person who loves quickly and with her whole heart. I’d guess she loved her girlfriend, but that it looked very different than how it would look if you were in love.”

Bolin tilts his head and considers. “Yeah, that’s accurate.”

If you weren’t so distracted, you would have responded sooner, but a solid minute passes before Opal’s last comment registers. “I have a fiancé,” you blurt out, interrupting whatever Bolin was saying. They look at you blankly, so you hasten to explain. “You said ‘if you were in love.’ I have a fiancé. I’m engaged.”

“And it’s taken two weeks for you to tell me?” Opal demands. “We live together! How did you not mention this before?!”

You don’t really have a good answer for that. He’s felt so far away since you’ve moved. The space has made it easier for you to breathe. Bolin takes pity on you and asks you to tell them about… “Him,” you supply the pronoun he hesitates on. So you tell them about Brian and how you’ve known each other since sixth grade. About how he’s a social worker in the school district in which you both grew up. About how he’s a Baptist, and you can’t talk to him about what you think about God or a lot of things, really. You spend about three sentences trying to describe him when they ask what he looks like before you realize you can just pull out your phone.

“He’s—he looks—” Opal begins, looking at the photo of the two of you the night before you left home.

“He looks at you like you’re everything that has ever been or will ever be good in this world,” Bolin finishes in awe.

Comments like that simultaneously fill you with relief and guilt. Relief because it tells you things might be okay, that maybe he can love you enough for both of you. Guilt because while you love him, and you truly do, you’re afraid you’ll never love him as much as he loves you. He knows—or at least suspects—and doesn’t mind. He’s too good for you.

You realize you’ve been quiet for too long. “Yeah,” you sigh. “He’s so good.”

Korra bursts back in through the door just then and throws herself into her chair. Her eyes bright and lips swollen, she looks happy and free in a way you don’t know if you’ll ever feel. You feel dread at the thought of her finding out about your fiancé right now, so you quickly direct the conversation in a different direction. Not long after, she and Bolin go in one direction and you and Opal in another.

You’re grateful you don’t have to go back to an empty apartment. You don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts about how standing in silence in an alley with Korra made you feel more than any moment you’ve ever had with your fiancé. It’s another reminder of how she’s so alive, and you’re just going through the motions. And another reminder that you’re failing at keeping your distance from her.

Chapter Text

Labor Day weekend is your salvation. How a break can be so desperately needed so early in the semester will forever be a mystery to you. It’s not that school is going poorly. By almost all accounts it’s going well. In Hebrew Bible you read Phyllis Trible’s “Eve and Adam: Genesis 2-3 Reread” and her follow-up piece “Not a Jot, Not a Tittle: Genesis 2-3 after Twenty Years” where she says that her feminist position remains largely unchanged. Reading them made you feel alive. These articles explain the creature in Genesis 2 as a sexually undifferentiated earth creature—ha-adam—rather than the male Adam. Man isn’t created and then woman from him. Instead, woman is created from the earthling who then becomes man. It’s a view that reminds you why you’re here, of the kind of work you aspire to, of the views you so desperately wish to change in this patriarchal society.

So school is going well, but you need a break. The transition has been exhausting. You sleep late on Saturday and then knock out all of your reading for the next week, a challenging feat made easier by the fact that Opal is spending time with Bolin.

That evening after you get off the phone with your fiancé, Opal comes home and knocks on the frame of your bedroom door. “Hey. You, Korra, and I are going hiking tomorrow morning with a couple of Tenzin’s kids.”

“…what?” is all you can think to say because her words are so unexpected, and your brain is sludge from all of the reading you raced through. All you really caught was your heart jumping at the mention of Korra’s name.

“Hiking tomorrow for the heathens. Bolin has work—he’s an intern at a church. But the rest of us are going hiking.”

“Tenzin?”

Opal laughs. “He’s an American Religious History professor. And it’s just two of his kids. His daughters. I don’t know. Apparently Korra has a standing date with them one Sunday a month. They need to get away from their brothers who are a bit of a handful? Not sure. But we’re going hiking. You need to get out and get some exercise.”

It seems that even if you wanted to get out of this, protesting would get you nowhere. And Opal has a point; you do need some exercise. So you suppose you’re going hiking.

Tenzin’s daughters, Ikki and Jinora, talk a lot. You and Opal learn that quickly. A quick peek at Korra who is walking beside you on the trail tells you she’s both amused and relieved that they have latched onto Opal and dragged her ahead. “I love them,” she says, catching you watching her. “I swear I do. But they’re exhausting. We’ve already done breakfast, and I need a break. I don’t know how Tenzin and Pema do it.”

“How do you know them?” It’s the one question you’ve had since last night that hasn’t been answered. It also seems like a way to talk to her. Her presence at the bar taught you she’s comfortable with silence, but you don’t want her to think you never talk. Or that you’re uncomfortable around her. Which would be a reasonable conclusion because you are, but you don’t want her to realize that.

She’s quiet, clearly pondering how much she wants to tell you. You force yourself to look away from her after you stumble over a tree root. “I lived with them for awhile when I was a teenager,” she says carefully, pretending not to notice your near face plant. “Until I went to college, actually. Sometimes I stayed with them on breaks. My parents—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “I couldn’t always live with them. They’re clean now, but it took a long time.”

You nod, thoughtful but not pitying. That’s what you strive for, at any rate. “So Tenzin was your foster parent?”

“Just the last one.” Korra lets out a bitter laugh. “There were a bunch before that. Six, I think. They weren’t all terrible, but the two that were were bad. And I’ve got the scars to prove it.” No response seems good enough, so you don’t say anything. You’re also mildly out of breath because you are very out of shape. “Listen, I don’t really talk about it much, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone. Bo knows, but no one else at div school. I just—it seemed like based on the other night you might understand.”

The bar. She hadn’t mentioned it since—not that you’d really talked—so you weren’t entirely certain she even remembered…or that such non-conversations were out of the ordinary for her. “I—” You pause, not confident in where you were going with that sentence. “I have scars too,” you finally decide. “Not from foster parents. Just the regular kind. My dad at least. My mom died when I was little. I don’t talk about it either.”

Korra grits her teeth and takes in a slow breath, holding it before releasing. It’s comforting to know she’s an easy person to read; she doesn’t hide her feelings. So it’s also comforting to know that she feels some discomfort in knowing you were mistreated. “Is that—do you mind if I ask you a question about that?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Is that why you decided you didn’t want to be an engineer and came to div school instead? To get away from your dad?”

That’s a hard question with a complicated answer. You find yourself rubbing at your temples before you can stop yourself. Self-consciously, you lower your hands to grab onto the straps of your hiking backpack instead. “Yes. And no. Mostly yes, I guess. It’s why I left engineering…sort of anyway. Left it as a primary career. It’s not why I came to div school. Except for the distance. I came to this div school because it was far away. Actually, I don’t know. Maybe he’s a part of that too. He raised me in the Catholic Church in a conservative environment, and I want to fight back with better biblical interpretations. So I don’t know. Yes. Yes is the simple answer.”

“I get that. Abuse affects all parts of you, often in insidious ways. That’s what Tenzin always said.”

“Yes!” You’re not entirely comfortable with the word “abuse,” but you still let out a relieved sigh at the way Korra so succinctly summed up your nearly incoherent ramblings. “That’s how it feels.” You both walk in silence for a few dozen meters, listening to Ikki’s incessant chatter in the distance. Normally you don’t ask people questions; it’s never felt like your right. But Korra had asked you a very personal question, so maybe it would be okay. You close your eyes and ask the question before you can second guess yourself. “Why are you at div school?”

Korra doesn’t seem upset by the question. If anything she seems pleased to talk about a happier topic, one she’s passionate about. “So I’m Inuit, right? Like, I can be more specific, but I doubt specifics would really mean anything to you?”

“No,” you have to admit. “I don’t know much about it, but I’d like it if you told me sometime what it means to you.”

The light in Korra that had dimmed but had never really gone out during your conversation flares up and shines out of her in a brilliant smile. “Yeah. I’d love that. But the specifics aren't really important to how I ended up here. Being in and out of the foster care system as an Inuit is really shitty. They have to offer placements to your tribe first, but it doesn’t always work the way they want it to. The percentages have gotten a little better since the 1970s when the Indian Child Welfare Act went into effect. But still, not great. Native kids are placed with non-native families too often, and they’re removed from their homes at a much higher rate.

“I started working with a non-profit in high school with Tenzin’s help. It tries to keep kids in care in touch with their nations even if they’re placed with non-native families. And to shorten the length of time they spend in care because that’s another issue. They offered me a job there after undergrad, but I felt like I needed to know more. I’m here to study with Tenzin mostly, since he’s half Inuit and knows a lot about this topic. But even having access to a university library and knowing more about American Religious History in general is really helpful. So I’m here to learn as much as I can to hopefully save kids like me and maybe even my people. Because if our kids keep being taken away from us, we have no future.”

There’s nothing you can think to say in response to that. Except… “Wow.” That single word is enough to loosen the cogs in your mind that had ground to a halt when Korra started talking. “That’s beautiful. I don’t know a lot about any of those topics, but it’s beautiful that you want to save people. And it’s impressive that you seem to have the knowledge to actually succeed at it.”

Korra flushes; it’s subtle enough that it’s hard to see on her dark cheeks especially after an hour of hiking, but it’s definitely there. “Thank you.”

“Is it—does anyone mind that you’re gay?” It comes out of your mouth before you consider how inappropriate they might be. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay. I talk about that a lot, actually. Mostly because it comes up a lot in school.”

“Sorry. You don’t have to answer if it’s a redundant conversation.” You don’t even know why you asked. You don’t know why it matters to you, but it does.

Korra laughs, unexpectedly. “It’s okay. Really. The first thing I would say is that I’m bi, not gay. Not that it really makes a different. It just means I get hate from both sides—homophobes and gay people who think I can’t pick a side. But anyway, no. No one really cares. Some of the churches I’ve worked with through the non-profit aren’t thrilled, but they’re willing to overlook it as long as I’m not too obvious about it. That sucks, I guess, in kind of an abstract way. It’s just such a small part of my time that I don’t think much about it.” You consider that, and you’re still thinking about it several minutes later when Korra, her voice tentative, asks, “Is it something you think about a lot?”

You now realize you shouldn’t have asked that question because it gave her the opportunity to turn it back on you. And you really don’t have an answer. It’s not something you thought of very often until recently because you kept those thoughts tucked away like a good Catholic girl. And also because you were so focused on surviving that you didn’t have energy to spare for thoughts like this. It’s not something you think about much now either. Mostly you just think of Korra. And that is not something you can say to her. “I have a fiancé,” you say instead. At this point you’re starting to wonder if you’re trying to inform other people or to convince yourself. “I don’t—I’m not—” It’s maybe the least convincing denial ever because you can’t even get the words out.

Korra sighs and runs a hand through the end of her ponytail to give it a tug. “Okay. I’m gonna back off of that. If you ever want to talk about it more we can.”

Disappointment. It feels as though she’s disappointed in you, but you don’t know for sure because her face has gone unexpectedly inscrutable. Maybe you’re just disappointed in yourself. “Sorry,” you murmur, more out of habit when you’re uncomfortable than anything else.

“Why?” Korra’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. When you shrug she says, “I just don’t want to force you into a conversation you’re not ready to have.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong or sinful,” you feel compelled to say. And you don’t…at least not anymore. You did when you were younger and cared more about your faith. But as your relationship with your dad spiraled out of control and college brought with it some degree of space, your views changed. “Just so you know. I’m just…” You’re what? Nothing sounds like a fitting end to that sentence.

“It sounds like you’re new to this conversation,” Korra says carefully. “And that’s okay. I’m not upset with you; I just think we should table this conversation for now. Why don’t you tell me about your boy? What’s he like? How’d you meet?”

The kindness and care that Korra shows you by changing the topic to something she thinks will make you more comfortable is astounding. It’s also a false assumption. Talking about Brian is harder than she can know, but you don’t want her to know that, so you tell her the basics.

“I would never have pegged you for a girl who marries her high school sweetheart.” Korra sounds sad…no…not sad. Wistful. She sounds wistful, and you wish you had the courage to ask why, but she’s talking again before you can contemplate that further. “That’s got to be weird, though. He must know your dad? How does he handle your dad when your dad abused you?”

Talking to Korra is so interesting because she’s assumed you’re comfortable talking about your past when you haven’t actually dealt with it. It’s difficult and painful and strange, but it’s also freeing because you can pretend like you’ve talked about it a thousand times, that this isn’t the first time. “He doesn’t really know,” you tell her, not bothering to mention you technically hadn’t started dating until the latter half of college. “I mean, he knows that we don’t have the best relationship, but he doesn’t know the specifics. It’s not something we talk about.”

You watch as Korra’s mouth twists in discomfort, but she maintains eye contact with you when she asks, “Does he hurt you?”

“No,” you’re relieved to be able to say. “He would never hurt me. He loves me and not in an abusive way. He’s good. It’s just hard to talk to him about this when he knows my dad and lives in the same town as him. I’m afraid—I worry about him not believing me.”

“You don’t trust him enough to tell him your dad abused you, but you trust him enough to marry him?” Korra’s voice has a touch of anger to it. She must remember that the two of you don’t know each other well, that you just met really, because she looks taken aback and physically moves a few feet away from you. “Shit. Sorry. This is so far from being any of my business. I just—you’re still affected by it. I watched you dissociate in that bar when it got too noisy. Even now you’re clenching your fists like you’re trying to fight it off, I’m guessing because this conversation has gotten too emotionally intense. Doesn’t that happen when you have sex or do other stuff that requires vulnerability?”

Now you wish you had darker skin or maybe that you didn’t get embarrassed so easily because you can feel the flush creeping up the back of your neck and onto your face. Slowly you unclench the hands she’d rightly guessed are a ward against dissociation. “We…we haven’t actually—”

“Shit! No way? You’re a wait until marriage kind of girl?”

“No. He is. I mean he’s that kind of boy. He’s very Baptist.” You’re betraying him so that you look better by acting as if the two of you didn’t have a conversation about this. The two of you decided to wait. Together. Because this is a decision two people have to make. Of course, you wouldn’t have considered waiting if it weren’t for his steadfast belief…

Korra laughs at that, but you’re not sure why. “Listen, I’ve already blasted my way through every social norm in this conversation, so I’m just gonna ask one last question. You don’t have to answer, but…do you even love him? Are you in love with him?”

If she’d just asked the first part, you would have answered with an unequivocal yes. But since she included the second part, you flounder for a good answer. “I’m trying to be,” you finally say, softly. “I want to be. It would be easy. It should be easy. He’s so good.”

By now you’re approaching the top of the trail where you can see Opal, Ikki, and Jinora waiting for you on the overlook in the distance. “You know,” Korra says thoughtfully. “Something I think a lot about is how slavery was supposed to have ended in the early nineteenth century. There was never supposed to be a Civil War over it. The reason the founding fathers didn’t include it in the Constitution was that it would have meant a fight with the southern states and southern delegates, and it was going out of fashion anyway. Don’t get me wrong, the founding fathers were pretty much all racist assholes. But more and more people were looking at slavery unfavorably. It should have ended. They didn’t account for the invention of the cotton gin. So many millions of lives were ended or changed because the founding fathers took the easy way. If they had stood up for what they wanted, it would have been different.

“I think about this a lot because I wonder how our society would be different if they hadn’t taken the easy path. What would race relations look like now? Racist white southerners wouldn’t have been able to rally over the religion of the lost cause because they wouldn’t have lost anything. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked. Maybe things would be the same or somehow worse. I don’t know, but I think it would be better. I don’t know. But…but I also think about this for my life. How sometimes the easy way ends up being the hard way in the long run. And it’s the way that ends up hurting people the most.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t marry him?” If it were anyone else but Korra, you would tell her off immediately. And harshly. But it’s Korra, so you tread carefully. “You don’t even know him.”

Just before you step into earshot of the others, Korra puts her hand on your arm and stops you. Part of you wants to flinch away, to wrench out of her grasp; no one touches you without your permission. But most of your body is screaming that this is the first time she’s touched you. You want it to happen again. Even as confused as you feel about Brian and your attraction to Korra, you know your priorities aren’t what they should be. Her touch shouldn’t be what matters to you in this conversation.

“No,” Korra says. You can feel her trying to look into your eyes, but you can’t bear that level of intimacy right now, so you look down at the ground. “What I’m saying is that you have options. I can’t tell you what the right thing to do is, but you’re not trapped even if it feels like it. Trust me.”

And just as you trusted her enough to talk openly about your past for the first time, you trust her with this and breathe a little easier. Because you often do feel trapped. It’s one of the reasons why you moved so far away. Marrying your fiancé is the easiest choice; breaking up with the man you’ve known since middle school would cause so many problems. No one back home would understand. You’re not sure you would be able to ever go back.

But when you think of a life with him, you’re filled with dread. Until today you’d been used to feeling dread when thinking about the rest of your life; you’d resigned yourself to it. Now that Korra has put the idea into your head that you have a choice, you feel relieved. Breaking up with him would make your life miserable in the short term, but in the long term you might not hate the idea of living so much. You suppose you have a choice to make.

It’s a good thing that Ikki and Jinora carry the conversation on the way back down the mountain because you and Korra are lost in your thoughts. Opal keeps looking at you both strangely, but she doesn’t comment on it; maybe she doesn’t want to bring attention to it right now. If so, you appreciate it. Despite everything Korra said to you, it’s not what’s plaguing you. Right now all you have room for in your mind is thoughts of what Korra told you about herself. A single thought keeps repeating, standing out among the rest: maybe Korra isn’t as happy or as free as you’d thought.

Chapter Text

Opal gives you your space for the rest of the day. You appreciate it. She’s a—she’s a good friend to know what you need from her without you saying anything. Sometimes it takes a while for you to be able put your thoughts into words, to process them enough to be comfortable saying them aloud. Having the space to think without someone prodding you to speak before you’re ready makes you feel…safe. It’s a risky feeling for you, unfamiliar. But you like it. It still doesn’t stop you from having nightmares. Though, to be fair, nothing does.

“So,” Opal says when you walk out of your room on Monday morning to make yourself some eggs because you have the day off and therefore time for a real breakfast. “What did you and Korra talk about for so long yesterday?”

You pause as you pull out a pan from under the stove. “Um…” It’s not that you weren’t expecting this conversation; you were just expecting to have time to eat breakfast first.

“I don’t mean to push. I’m just curious. It looked like a serious discussion, which is why I kept Ikki and Jinora up with me.”

“So I owe you?” you ask flatly. Bread in the toaster and butter on the counter, you crack two eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. If Opal is going to try to guilt you into this conversation, you’re prepared to turn to stone, just like you do with your dad when he tries these tactics on you.

Opal sets her phone down on the table with a thud. “What?” she asks, surprised. “No. Of course not. You don’t owe me for anything. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but I thought you might want to talk about it. Plus, like I said, I’m curious.”

Pouring the eggs into the pan is a nice distraction from having to look at her. It’s cowardly, maybe, but you’re ashamed you assumed the worst in her. “Sorry,” you murmur, hand clenched tightly around the spatula. Mechanically, you scrape the eggs around in the pan so they don’t stick. You forgot to spray it, so they stick a little anyway.

When Opal places a green plate with your buttered toast on it on the counter beside you, it startles you; you hadn’t heard the toaster pop. “Hey,” she says softly, her voice coming from right next to you. “You’re safe here. I can’t promise to never hurt you, but I can promise I’ll try not to. I don’t—I don’t know if that resonates with you at all. Maybe I sound like an idiot. But I thought—I thought—”

“Thank you,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scrambled eggs to gift a smile to Opal. She’s being so kind to you, and she doesn’t deserve to feel like you’re rebuffing her. “I’m…it does resonate with me. I haven’t felt safe anywhere since—ever. That’s one of the things Korra and I talked about yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Opal is smiling softly back. Her eyes have a touch of pity in them that turns your stomach, but you remind yourself it’s not her fault. She can’t know how much you hate that, how it makes you feel like you’re a child with no control over your life.

Like a good friend, you break the moment by turning away and taking your breakfast to the table. Or maybe like a coward. You’re too new to talking about your past to know how to respond when friends react in ways you wish they wouldn’t. Should you ignore it or should you gently correct them? You choose to ignore it. “Yes. We talked about my dad a little and why we both came to divinity school. She’s—amazing. I didn’t realize.”

“Oh yeah! Bolin talks about that all the time. They met in undergrad and bonded over being foster kids. He’s in awe of her. Anyway, so you talked about that. Anything else?” She snatches a slice of peach off your plate.

You take your time dragging your toast through some hot sauce and take a bite. It’s a stalling tactic. You’d admit it if Opal asked, but she waits patiently, not cowed by your anxiety. Finally, you swallow. “She—we—um…we talked about…about Brian. She made me realize I don’t have to marry him if I don’t want to. Just because we’ve known each other a long time and because it’s easy doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“Hmm.” Opal’s narrowed eyes give you pause, and the way she taps the spoon from her tea against the table only fuels your anxiety. Your discomfort must show on your face or in your body language. Because she quickly sits up straight and gently returns the spoon to her mug. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s—what were you thinking?” To be honest, it’s more of a test than a genuine question. If Opal was serious about not making your life harder, then she will theoretically answer the question. Logically you know it’s not a fair test; and, more to the point, she doesn’t owe anything to you. But she did witness your distress, and she did comment on it. Luckily she doesn’t make you wait for long.

“Oh, sorry. I was just wondering—” Opal hesitates. “I’m not sure if you want to hear what I’m thinking. I’ll tell you, but I guess…are you sure you want to know?”

That brings you up short. If Opal is asking, maybe you don’t want to know. But…you’ve been feeling reckless lately. Free might be the word you would use if you were just a bit braver. “I’d like to know.”

“Okay. Just—I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But if you’re sure…”

You take your dishes to the sink. Scrubbing your dishes is a good way to hide your nerves…or at least to hide your face so you don’t have to look at Opal. “I am.”

“I was thinking a couple of things,” Opal’s voice filters into the kitchen; she must have realized you needed this space. “I was wondering if Korra has the right to be saying things like that when she doesn’t know your fiancé. And I was also wondering—it seems like Korra may have a crush on you. From what Bolin says, she has terrible taste in women.”

“Ouch,” you say, more startled than hurt by Opal’s words.

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. God. I’m an idiot. I just mean that she chooses people who hurt her. He thinks it’s because she’s afraid to fall in love, the forever kind. I’m wondering if she’s ready now. Because you’re a forever kind of girl. Are you—would you be okay with it if she liked you?”

Your heart jumps, and to hide the blush you let your hair fall over your shoulder so Opal can’t see the side of your face. “Um…” It’s a fair question. It’s also one you’re not quite comfortable with. Part of you cringes away from the thought. But most of you is screaming with desire for Korra’s love. And then you remember. “I have a fiancé.”

“I know,” Opal says quietly. “I know. Are you going to marry him? Because you never sound very excited about it. And you don’t wear a ring or talk about him much at all.”

“The ring is getting sized. He proposed to me this summer right before I moved.” You give the egg pan a vigorous scrub, hoping you can take out your frustration and anxiety this way instead of snapping at Opal. “But you’re right about the rest. I—I don’t know if I’m going to marry him.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it aloud, but it’s still a lie. You do know. You’re not going to marry him. Because of Korra. You just need time to figure out how you’re going to tell him. In the meantime, you’ll take the cowardly approach and continue talking to him as if nothing has changed.

…
For the next two weeks, you keep your head down and focus on your schoolwork. Your first round of exams is coming up. Regardless of the state of your personal life, you need to do well. The Early Christianity exam is the one that concerns you the most. Having to identify where a specific passage comes from, who wrote it, when, and its significance seems a daunting task no matter how many times your TA tries to settle your discussion group’s nerves. It’s also your first exam.

Thankfully, it gives you a legitimate reason to separate yourself from your fiancé. Because he’s the nicest person in the world, he tells you to take all the time you need and wishes you luck on your exams. He also texts you encouraging messages every morning. You use the time to think. And to waver in your decision because he loves you so much. The question remains: how do you break up with someone who is almost seven hundred miles away? Or, more to the point, how do you break up with someone you don’t want to hurt when they are almost seven hundred miles away?

Your first thought is one you reject immediately, if reluctantly. Breaking up with him via text would be easy. It would also be heartless. And, practically speaking, it has the same problem as a letter. He would almost certainly call you to get clarification. You know you would. You would have to make sure it wasn’t a joke. The hardest option would be flying or driving back home. You don’t have the time to drive, and you don’t have the money to fly. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t have the courage. You would have to stay with Brian or your dad, and you can’t handle either one. That leaves the phone. It’s not ideal, but it seems to be your only option. The only option that is both halfway fair to him and safe for you.

But mostly you spend your time actively avoiding thinking about him and Korra. One is more successful than the other. You can’t get her out of your thoughts, and Opal’s assessment of her hasn’t helped. It warms you with a tickling heat in your belly to know that Korra might have feelings for you. And you find it devastating that she dates people who hurt her; although, you understand. It’s a curious parallel to your relationship with Brian. You chose to be with someone who was safe and couldn’t hurt you because you don’t truly love him. She chooses people who hurt her because she’s afraid of a stable love…maybe of having something permanent.

One thing is certain, you think as you stop chewing on the cap of your pen and go back to studying, you and Korra would make an interesting couple.

And that is a thought that shakes you to your core. It’s time for a snack, you decide.

…
The week before your exam, Bolin slides into the chair across from you in the common room. You’d gotten to campus early to avoid traffic. Bolin grins and snatches a bite of your granola bar. Stealing your food is standard fare with him. And then he informs you that you’re going to come to a party, specifically his brother’s birthday party.

“I have to study,” you tell him, astonished that he had the audacity to ask let alone insist that you do something as frivolous as attend a party. “And so should you.”

Bolin must have little care for self-preservation today because he closes your laptop and only smiles serenely when you glare at him. “You need a break. You’ve already sunk over forty hours into studying for this exam. At this point, you know all of the information. All you’re doing is stressing yourself out. Come to the party. Meet my brother. Make some more friends.”

You wonder what Bolin thinks of you. You wonder what he would say if you told him you’ve already made more friends here than you had in the entirety of undergrad where you stood alone. As much as you are still impacted by your upbringing, it was even worse in undergrad. You had a hard time appearing normal, especially your freshman year when you were withdrawn because you were dissociating everyday. After that, you figured out that you could force yourself to look normal if you simply didn’t care about anything. It worked, but not caring meant you didn’t care enough to try to make friends.

Now you’re starting to care. Now that you’re far away from home and now that you have people in your life who think you’re better than you are. Opal and Bolin make you want to be the person they think you are.

“Fine,” you tell him, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll go, but I won’t stay late.” You can’t be too angry at Bolin for closing your computer because a glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s time for Greek.

“That’s all I ask! I’ll have Opal tell you the details!”

…
Bolin comes through, and Opal tells you on Friday morning that Mako’s party will be that night at a bar downtown. “Be ready around eight. We’ll come back home around midnight if that sounds okay?”

Opal’s been really good about helping you to minimize your anxiety in social situations. She’d asked what helps you, and you said having a set beginning and end time is the most helpful thing. So she started doing just that. “That sounds okay.”

So at six-thirty when you get home from work, you pull your hair up and hop in the shower. It’s the same shower where you touched yourself while thinking of Korra. You often have to try not to think of it. Dressing is harder than you wish it would be. In the past you dressed for yourself, and now your mind is filled with imaginings of Korra’s face when she sees your outfit. You wear your black skinny jeans and leather ankle boots, a black tank top and red leather jacket. Your hair you release from its clip and allow to tumble down your back. A few minutes with a curling iron is sufficient to get it to lie how you want it. Thankfully you’d been blessed with your mom’s gorgeous hair.

“Ready to go?” Opal asks as she knocks softly on your doorframe. She quickly turns incredulous. “Are you seriously studying right now?”

“Yes…to both.” You’d finished getting ready around seven, ate dinner, and still had fifteen minutes until it was time to go. So you sprawled out on your bed and read through one day’s worth of notes for the millionth time. “Is that bad?”

Opal sighs. “Not bad…it’s understandable even. It just makes me feel bad, like I should be studying more too. But that’s not on you. I shouldn’t let your hard work make me feel bad about myself.”

“I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what else you can say.

“Don’t be. Like I said. This is on me.”

Opal’s a good person, you think, as you follow her out of your apartment. You are very lucky that she chose you as her roommate.

…
The party is…everything you thought it would be, you think as you look around at the bar. It’s familiar in the way that most bars are, even if it’s your first time setting foot in it. With so many people there that you don’t know, there’s no way you’re comfortable consuming alcohol, so you discretely order a soda with a twist and close out your tab. It’s your trick when you don’t want to call attention to the fact that you’re not drinking; people assume it’s a gin and tonic. Opal gives you an impressed look as she orders her own beer before she disappears to go find a table.

“You came!” Bolin shouts as he runs across the room. He seems to second guess himself and skids to a halt in front of you, uncertain. “Can I hug you?” And your heart aches. It aches because he feels he has to change himself around you and because he cares about you enough to do just that.

“Yes,” you mouth more than say aloud when the word gets stuck in your throat and feels heavy on your tongue.

His hug is just as enthusiastic as ever, and you love him for it. “Come meet my brother!” he says when he lets you go, and he drags you back across the room. “Asami, meet Mako. Mako, Asami.”

Mako is taller than you; he looks a bit like you too. Or, rather, he’s built more like you than Bolin. And he does look like a police officer. “Nice to meet you,” you say, holding out your hand.

Mako shakes it with both of his. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Bolin’s told me all about you.” The words are just a basic script, but he definitely inflects them with a flirtatious tone. At least that’s what you think he’s going for.

“Oohhh, no.” Bolin laughs uncomfortably. “Don’t go there, bro. You’re not allowed to date any more of my friends. Korra was enough. Besides, she’s got a fiancé.”

Your heart jumps at this new information, and you look at Mako with new respect…and a bit of jealousy, if you were being honest with yourself…which you’re not. After that Mako loses interest and goes back to his police friends. You wander for a bit, scoping out the bar, until you find the table Opal had procured. And then Korra arrives. She’s already drunk. Again. You’ve started to wonder how often she gets drunk; it can’t be good for her liver.

“How much have you had to drink? Didn’t you just get here?” Opal asks, voicing the thoughts you were afraid were going to spill out of your mouth.

Korra looks flummoxed in the way that only drunk people can be by such a basic question. Then the words seem to make sense to her. “I had a couple of shots before I came!” she tells you both happily.

“How many?” Opal asks like she’s afraid of the answer.

Korra pauses to think and then shouts, “Four!”

You and Opal look at each other without trying to be subtle; Korra is drunk enough that she won’t notice, and she’s focused on her beer anyway. “Maybe you should slow down,” Opal suggests. “We have an exam next week, and you don’t to lose a day of studying, do you?”

“Pah,” Korra scoffs. “I always do okay no matter how much I study.”

“That’s fair,” Opal says slowly, clearly trying to think of how to change directions. She must not be able to come up with anything. “Just be careful, okay? Stay with people you know?”

Korra shrugs, no longer interested in the conversation. Apparently, neither is Opal because she starts watching Bolin delightedly punching a stoic Mako in the arm. “Go,” you tell her.

“Are you okay here with drunky?” Opal asks, casting an affectionate look at Korra who is blowing bubbles in her water through the straw.

“Yes.” You think so, at least.

Opal leaves, and Korra starts watching you out of the corner of her eye. You think she’s trying to be discreet, but it couldn’t be more obvious. It would be less uncomfortable if she weren’t sitting next to you. Why didn’t she move to the other booth when Opal got up? Doesn’t everyone know that’s common etiquette? If you were more courageous, you might ask her to move.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Korra observes, more serious than she was before. She’s stopped blowing bubbles, at any rate. You just shrug, not entirely certain how to respond to that, but she’s too drunk to notice. “Is it Brian? Did you break up with him?” It’s funny how she’s shifted from carefree and happy to concerned for your wellbeing. She’s even set her drinks aside. Maybe she’s more sober than you thought. And then her elbow slips, and she bangs her forehead on the table. “I’m fine!” She grins.

“Are you sure?” She’d hit it really hard, so her drunken reassurances don’t do much to allay your fears. Thankfully she submits to a brief inspection. Maybe not thankfully. Because all of a sudden her face is in your hands, and you don’t know what to do…medically or emotionally.

Unlike you, Korra doesn’t freeze. She surges forward and kisses you. And you melt; she melts you. Kissing her is…it’s more…it’s so much more than you’ve ever experienced. A screech through a microphone brings you to your senses. In a panic, you shove Korra away.

“What?” she asks, genuinely mystified.

“I have a fiancé!” you hiss. “You know that! What—” you break off and pull on your hair. “I mean why…why did you do this?”

Korra lets out a laugh. “So what? You don’t love him.”

“Because he deserves better than this! I just—I just kissed you! That’s cheating.” You’re rattled, and you’re not even sure why. You know why. There’s a thousand reasons. They’re all competing for attention, and you’re not sure which one is going to win as the most rattling. And then, suddenly, it’s clear. Betrayal. You betrayed Brian, and Korra betrayed you.

“So don’t tell him. Or better yet, do tell him. I bet he won’t care because I’m a girl.” She’s still laughing, and what cuts the most is that you know she’s right.

“Fuck you,” you say softly, and you shove her out of the booth, not even caring when she falls to the floor. “Fuck you,” you repeat over your shoulder as you flee the bar. Running away is what you’re good at. Normally you don’t have to worry about people chasing after you, but this is a new city with new friends. Opal jogs up beside you before you make it to the sidewalk.

Chapter Text

Sleeping that night is a challenge. You toss and turn in your bed with Opal checking in on you every couple of hours. Moments when you forget what happened are almost worse because they give way to uncertain dread and then stabbing regret when you do remember. You have to talk to Brian, and it looks like it will have to be before your exam.

Opal had gently prodded you in that direction as she drove you home. It was helpful to have a calming voice of reason in your ear as you silently and internally freaked out. “What am I going to do?” You don’t realize you’re repeating this phrase softly to yourself until Opal steps in.

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Opal says. “But I think it might be best if you call Brian tomorrow to tell him what happened. You’re going to torture yourself with it until you do.”

“But the exam—” you hear yourself say. Even now that’s your first concern. How is that possible? What is wrong with you?

Opal must see you spiraling even in the dark car because she puts a hand on your arm. “I know. If you get this conversation out of the way, you can focus on the exam.”

It’s good advice. It makes logical sense. You tell yourself everything will be okay even as you toss and turn all night, that you’ll be able to move on. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Because the phone call with Brian is a disaster in so many ways. At first he’s sweet and understanding, and that just makes you feel guilty.

“Do you honestly think I’d be upset if someone kissed you against your will?” he demands. “That’s assault, not cheating. And that’s not your fault.”

It’s the right thing to say, but also exactly the wrong thing because even if you hadn’t initiated the kiss, you hadn’t exactly resisted at first. And if you’re being honest with yourself, under different circumstances, you would have wanted to kiss her. With all of your heart, you would have wanted to kiss her.

Then he says the wrong thing, the one you’d been dreading ever since Korra made a joke about it last night. “Besides, it’s not like it was a guy.” He lets out a laugh that sounds a little too forced to be real.

“Brian,” you say, more a sigh than an actual word. “Don’t—”

“I know,” he says. “I’m…trying. I just—it’s hard. My whole life I was taught one thing, and I’m trying to unlearn it. It’s just—you don’t think it’s weird? Unnatural? The thought of kissing another guy makes my skin crawl.”

It should hurt more than it does to hear that, but he’s said it many times over the years. You know he’s trying because he does care about the students that get referred to him, even the queer ones; it’s just not enough. When the familiar drop in your stomach starts, for the first time you put a stop to it by fighting back. “No,” you say, your voice strong. “But that’s probably because I’m bisexual.” It’s the first time you’ve said it aloud; it’s fitting that it’s with him because he’s been so much a part of your life for so long. “And I don’t think I can marry you.” That’s not what you meant to say. You didn’t mean to say it now or like that, at any rate.

Your words are met by a stunned silence. And then, “What? You’re not serious, right? I don’t care if you’re bisexual. I’ll work harder to be better about this stuff. It’s not something I’m willing to lose you over. I know it’s my problem.”

Even if you didn’t mean to say it, you did mean it. No matter how much you appreciate him admitting it’s his problem, it doesn’t change the fact that he has a problem and that everything with him feels wrong. “I am. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t love you the way you love me.”

“What are you talking about? You love me just fine. It doesn’t matter if it’s not the exact way I love you. I don’t care about that!” he exclaims, still not understanding what you’re really saying.

He’s not exactly wrong, so you change tactics. “It’s not just that. I can’t talk to you about things that are important to me. I can’t be the person you think I am.” You’re not entirely sure why you’re crying. Maybe it’s fear and a little bit of relief that you’re finally going to be free from this relationship.

“What do you mean?” Now he sounds panicked, like he’s finally caught up to what you mean, and he’s terrified of losing you.

There are a million things you could say, but you choose the one that’s been haunting you for years. “When we started dating, you said me being a Christian was one of the main reasons you were attracted to me. I don’t know if I even believe in God!” Now that you’ve said it, other things you’ve been holding back come bubbling out. “There are so many things I can’t talk to you about. My dad is abusive. He broke my arm back when I was in tenth grade. Did you know that? Or how scared I was to go home every night? Or how I could barely function when I went to college? I can’t talk to you. I need—I need to leave home behind, and you’re a part of that. It’s not your fault, but I can’t get away from home if I’m still with you.”

“I have to go,” he says, and he hangs up. Then he calls you back. With trepidation, you answer. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.” He sounds broken. You didn’t want this for him, but maybe it was unavoidable. “If I had known, I would have done everything I could to protect you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Asami, but I needed you to know that.” Then he hangs up again. Again, he calls you back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep hanging up when I have more to say. Just—give me time. I don’t understand, and I’m not in a place to listen right now. Can I call you when I am?”

“Yes,” you say cautiously. “But you know that we’re not going to get back together?”

He meets your words with a bitter laugh, the kind that is thick with tears. “Yeah. I understand that much. Even if you don’t love me, I still love you. I hope you figure things out.” He hangs up for a final time.

You drop back onto your bed and lie there, listless, until Opal makes you come out of your room to eat breakfast.

…
Your Saturday keeps getting better. Opal’s quiet, but she’s there, and you know she canceled plans with Bolin to stay with you even if she would never admit it. So she’s the one to open the door when Korra arrives.

“Can I talk to Asami?” Korra asks, her hand hovering near the doorframe like she thinks Opal might slam the door in her face.

There’s no way for Opal to deny your presence because you’re sitting on the couch in view of the door. You’d taken up residence there after Opal dragged you out of your room. It’s how you know Korra looks as bad as you feel, maybe worse, which is impressive considering how terrible the past twenty-four hours have been for you both because of and irrespective of her. She’s pale enough that if you didn’t know better, you’d assume she had the flu. And her hair is greasy and tangled like she went to sleep after a night of drinking and never bothered to shower, which is probably accurate considering she’s wearing the same loose t-shirt and ripped jeans as last night.

“Asami?” Opal asks, turning around to look at you, uncertainty in her eyes. You know she doesn’t know what to do, if she should let Korra in and whether or not she should leave and give you space.

There’s not really any time for you to be indecisive, not with Korra watching…or at least standing there and looking at her feet. So you stand up and catch Opal by the arm before she flees to her bedroom. “Don’t—”

“I’ll stay in the living room,” she reassures you.

You’re grateful. You need her here because you don’t trust Korra. Not right now and maybe not for a long time. And more to the point, you don’t trust yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Korra says, starting just as strongly as Brian did. You couldn’t forgive her today, but you could soon, you think. And then, just like Brian, she ruins it. “that you were uncomfortable. I was drunk, and I figured you didn’t love him anyway, so—”

“No,” Opal says, jumping up from the couch and joining you at the door. You’re not in the headspace to handle this right now; on the best of days you struggle with standards for how people can treat you, and today is very much not one of your best days. “That’s not a real apology. You need to go, Korra.”

Korra looks like she’s going to protest, but Opal closes the door before she can say anything. Both of you pause, fearing Korra will pound on the door, but it seems she’s given up easily. And then Opal turns to you. “She was apologizing for your feelings. She was putting the blame on you. I’m sorry. I didn’t have any right to step in—”

“Thank you.” Cutting Opal off seems the easiest course of action to stop her from apologizing because you appreciate what she did. You didn’t like how what Korra said made you feel, but you don’t know what you would have done about it. Opal rescued you from having to deal with this situation.

The rest of the day is hazy. You’re pretty sure Opal makes you eat a bowl of leftover bowl of stew and drink some water periodically. But you mostly lie on the couch with your feet in Opal’s lap. She put them there. You’d never be so daring as to initiate touch with someone besides your fiancé…your ex-fiancé. You look at the clock, and somehow five hours have passed.

When you stir, Opal says, “How do you not have to pee? You’ve been here for hours! I’ve read through all of my notes twice and worked through the study guide in that time.”

“You haven’t gone either,” you say in protest, while trying to figure out if you do have to pee. It’s hard to tell when your whole body feels numb.

“Uhh…” Opal frowns down at you. “I did. A couple of times. Did you…did you not notice? Of course not. That was a stupid question.” As her eyes rake over you in closer examination, the extent of your vacantness must show. “Asami,” she says slowly, trying to conceal the panic in her voice. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?”

That throws you off; it’s not a question anyone has ever asked you before. “Who?” you ask, bewildered.

“I don’t know. A doctor? Friend? Family? I don’t know. Should I take you to the hospital?”

“The hospital?”

Opal takes a steadying breath and exhales slowly. “I’m really scared,” she says. “Because you’re not here, not really. I’m worried you need help that I don’t know how to give you. Clinical help. Maybe inpatient care. Bolin’s coming over soon because he knows more about this, and I’m really scared.”

She sounds it, at least a little. It’s hard to tell through the fog. But the mention of the hospital penetrates your foggy bubble and makes you fully…or at least mostly engage with Opal for the first time today…tonight, now, you guess. “No. Don’t take me to the hospital. I’ll be okay once I sleep. It makes my brain…I don’t know…reset or something. Tomorrow will be better, and we can study.”

Opal nods. Her face is a little less pinched, so you think maybe you’ve helped relieve some of her fear. “Okay, well, Bolin is still going to come over. He’s bringing pizza with him. And we’ll probably talk more about this. Is there anything besides sleeping that helps?”

“Showering.”

So that’s what you do, and it turns out you did have to pee. Badly.

…
Sunday is spent studying. Like you told Opal, you’re better, but things are still not great. That’s normal, though, you think. So much of your life fell apart in such a short amount of time, and it makes sense that you’re upset.

By Tuesday, you are ready for the exam. You know the material inside and out. Opal laughs at you when you tell her this because she never had any doubt that you were ready. And then the calm compartmentalization you are channeling is ruined when Korra corners you in the common room when you’re the only one there. “I want to apologize again,” she says. She sounds and looks as hollow as you felt this weekend. You’re not sure how she’ll be able to take an exam in this state.

“Okay,” you say, nervous about where this is going and because she quite literally has you backed into a corner. She should know better. She knows about your dad. Maybe she’s not thinking or maybe she doesn’t care; you desperately hope for the first.

“I’m sorry about that night,” she says. “I just really wanted to kiss you.”

You think there’s going to be more, and maybe there would have been if Bolin didn’t wander into the common room at that moment. “Are you kidding me?” he demands as he drags Korra away. “Sorry, Asami. I’ll take care of it,” he says over his shoulder. “No! That’s not an apology. Don’t you know what consent is?”

From what you see, Korra looks appropriately abashed and somehow more hollow that she was before. It’s the last thing you notice before you flee.

Even though you’re shaking for the first half of it, even though you’re distracted enough that you mix up east and west on the exam, you still manage a ninety-two. You’re disappointed, but you also realize that was a strong showing for a first exam, especially considering everything that happened in your life recently.

…
Korra’s third attempt at an apology comes a week later in the hallway outside of Hebrew Bible class. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Stop,” you say, this time standing up for yourself. “Just stop.”

Korra looks like she’s going to protest, but Bolin and Opal pull her away, and as they’re almost out of earshot you hear, “Hey, idiot! Do you even know what an apology is?”

None of them come to class, so you sit alone. Metaphorically. Other students join you and talk to you about things you don’t really pay any attention to. You let them think you’re rude because it’s easier than explaining what has been happening in your life. After class, Bolin meets you outside and walks you to your car. “I’m sorry,” he says. “She should know better. She’s having a tough time right now. I don’t mean that as an excuse. I just—I don’t want you to think she’s always like this. She’s going to give you some space from now on. I think that might be best.”

You think he might be right, as much as it pains you to admit. “Thank you.” It’s impressive that irrespective of how much Bolin loves Korra and is devoted to her, he still holds her accountable for her actions and refuses to allow her to get away with treating people poorly. That’s the mark of a true friend, you decide.

Chapter Text

True to Bolin’s word, you don’t hear from Korra. The only time you see her is in class, and even there, she averts her eyes and doesn’t talk to you. It’s an uncomfortable compromise because you feel like she’s mad at you. Even though you know it’s not your fault, maybe it isn’t entirely hers either. It makes you feel guilty. More than anything you wish life would go back to the way it was before she kissed you. Having someone to talk to who understands in an intimate way what it’s like to be…well, you. Just in the few conversations you had, it’s easy to tell she does. You wanted to learn more about her because you think you could help each other. Apart from Korra, you even have moments where you miss Brian. In the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, you still haven’t heard from him…or from Korra. This semester has been one of the most challenging times of your life—academically and personally—and it’s still the happiest you can ever remember being.

When your dad calls and asks when you’re coming home for Thanksgiving, you tell him you’re staying at school. At no other point in your life would you have had the courage to defy his wishes, but you’re far away. If you lie a bit and tell him it’s because you need to work on schoolwork, you think that’s understandable. When he asks if you have plans for a Thanksgiving meal, you say you do. And that’s not a lie because Bolin insisted you spend Thanksgiving with him. Opal will be headed back home to spend it with her family, but Bolin has nowhere else to go. It’s not until two days before that he hesitatingly informs you that Korra will be there. Apparently he, Mako, and Korra have a standing invitation with Tenzin and his family. It will be fine, though. At least, that’s what he promises. You hope he’s right.

You spend the Tuesday and Wednesday before Thanksgiving getting a jump on studying for finals and trying to quell the anxiety you feel about seeing Korra again. Presumably she’ll have to talk to you, else the day is going to be uncomfortable for everyone. If you learned anything about Ikki and Jinora during your hike, it was that they would never let awkwardness go unmentioned. In moments when the butterflies well up in your stomach and the thoughts become too much, you let it all overwhelm you before getting ahold of your anxiety again with the iron grip you usually use to control your emotions.

The morning of Thanksgiving you don your battle armor, or at least that’s how you feel when you paint on the makeup you’ve worn since middle school. It’s changed over the years, and now most days you feel comfortable enough in your skin to wear less. Today, though, is a day for your old regimen. When Bolin comes to pick you up—coming at least ten miles out of his way because he knows you’re anxious about arriving at new places by yourself—he tells you you’re beautiful. “I don’t mean that like I’m hitting on you,” he says after you thank him. “This is completely platonic. You know that, right? Some days it just hits me how beautiful you are, and I want to make sure people are telling you that.”

It’s a comment that makes you uncomfortable in the best way. You sort of know you’re beautiful, but your dad told you otherwise so many times when you were growing up that it’s hard to see yourself objectively. It’s not something you think about much anymore. And yet, when Bolin says it so nonchalantly, it makes you feel warm all over.

When you arrive, you hesitate with your hand on the door handle. Bolin doesn’t. He hops out of the car, opens your door, and offers you his hand. When you take it, he doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if you need time to prepare yourself. He knows this day will be hard for you. Instead, he says, “You’re ready.”

And you find you are.

…
A woman who seems like she’s half your height greets you in the living room with a warm handshake, the kind where someone takes your hand in both of theirs. “Welcome, Asami,” she says when Bolin introduces you. “I’m Pema. You might know Tenzin?” She gestures to a man who is bald and tall and is sporting intimidating facial hair. At the sound of his name, he glances up from the carrots he’s cutting and nods in your direction.

“We haven’t met yet,” you tell her with a smile that is almost genuine. “It’s only my first semester.”

“Of course. Of course.” Pema looks like she’s about to say more, but a sudden whirlwind of arguing children demands her attention. She listens patiently, her face stern. “Meelo. Apologize to Ikki. No. Don’t interrupt. Apologize to Ikki and give her hair ties back to her. You know better than to steal them. No. I don’t care if you needed them as slingshots. They don’t belong to you.” Meelo hands over the hair ties, shamefaced, while Ikki sprints out of the room triumphantly. Pema shakes her head and excuses herself from your conversation to go finish getting dinner ready.

You’re utterly impressed that Pema could even understand what the two children were shouting about, let alone know how to solve their argument. When you recover your senses, you join Bolin on the rather firm couch. “Where’s Mako?” you ask.

“Working.” He sounds sad, or rather, he sounds like he’s striving to be indifferent to cover up his sadness. “It’s the worst part of him being a police officer. He’s still a rookie, so he pulls all the holiday shifts.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“She’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Bolin says in a complete non sequitur that leaves you gaping openmouthed at him. “You keep looking at the door,” he clarifies when he sees your apparently obvious expression.

You nod, an easy way to acknowledge what he said as you try to think of an appropriate response. “Oh. Um. Okay.” It’s not your best work, you have to admit, especially since you gave yourself time to formulate something eloquent…or at least not utterly meaningless.

“It’ll be fine. She’s been…better recently. She’s been—” He breaks off with a shake of his head. “I should let her tell you that. But anyway, you don’t have to worry.” Something must show on your face. You used to be so good at hiding things; you don’t know what happened. “Or…you’re not worried, and it’s something else?” he guesses.

“I miss her,” you let yourself admit aloud, softly, but definitely audibly. “She was…when we talked, it was…she understood.”

You don’t have the courage or maybe not the ability to explain to Bolin what Korra understood, but he doesn’t seem to need any further details because he cocks his head thoughtfully. “You’re good for her,” he says. Then he sits up straight. “I don’t mean that means she gets to treat you however she wants. Or that she gets to drag you down so she can be better. I just mean—I think you could be good for each other once she gets past some of the stuff holding her back.”

“I understand.” You don’t, not really, but you don’t think you’re ready to talk about this much more with Bolin, not when his best friend is Korra.

And of course this is when Korra arrives. Tenzin’s children must have a Korra sensor because the second she’s through the door, she has four children hanging all over her. You have to hide your smile behind your hand, but Bolin grins openly. “Every time they see her they act like their older sister is home from college. She pretends to be annoyed, but she loves it.”

You don’t have to look hard to see what he means. Korra is trying to scowl in exasperation, but it only lasts until she has to catch the littlest one—Rohan, Bolin tells you—from falling off of Meelo’s shoulders. A concerned frown replaces the scowl as she wipes away his tears and gives him a big kiss on the cheek. You can’t hear what she whispers in his ear, but whatever it turns his cries into peals of laughter in seconds. When she catches you watching her, the grin slips off her face. She hands Rohan off to Jinora, gives each child a kiss on the top of their head, and walks over to you.

“I um…” She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and can’t seem to meet you in the eye. “Will you come outside to talk with me?”

“Yes,” you say without thinking. Despite everything, you think you will always say yes to this girl. It’s why she’s dangerous, maybe even objectively so. Because a relationship of any type where one person cannot say no is unhealthy. But you follow her anyway. Because you have no standards for how you should be treated, you tend to use other people as your touchstones so that you stay safe. Today it’s Bolin. He knows the situation and doesn’t stop you from going with Korra, so you are almost certain it’s safe.

She leads you partway down the driveway to the bridge that Bolin had driven over carefully because it has no sides. “Sometimes when it rains really hard, like for days at a time, the creek will flood. Tenzin would pick us up early from school so we could get home before it flooded and we couldn’t cross it. Once we had to park in the neighborhood back there—” she gestures vaguely in the direction behind the house at a neighborhood that must be behind the trees. “And walk through the woods to get home because we didn’t make it in time.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s not what you were expecting her to say. You were expecting…you don’t know, but not that. “You have good memories from here?” you finally say, taking the chance to look around properly at the property for the first time. They have twenty-eight acres, fields in the front and woods stretching to the edge of the property in the back.

“The best.” She sighs. “I loved living here. The big family. Close to the city, but still the country. We even had goats! And they let me have my dog here. Naga. She was my best friend.”

“Where is she now?” you ask.

Korra sighs again and runs a hand over her face. “She died years ago. She was old, but I still miss her.”

“Hmm…” It’s the only thing you can think to say.

“Sorry.” Korra laughs uncomfortably like she just realized this conversation has gotten away from her. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to apologize. A real apology this time. Things…got out of hand. I’ve been in a pretty dark place recently. I don’t mean that as an excuse, just an explanation. I’m really, really sorry I kissed you and then handled it so badly. After the first time I tried to apologize, Bo told me I should give you some space so I could gain some perspective. I didn’t listen. That’s part of why he was so angry at me. Anyway, he convinced me I needed to start seeing a therapist again. So I have been.”

She pauses like she’s waiting for you to say something, but you still are at a loss for words. “Really?”

It seems to be enough because she starts talking again. “Yeah. I’ve uh…I’ve stopped drinking, too. We—my therapist and I—we talked about it. She made me realize I was on the path to addiction like my parents. I was taking a few shots before I did anything social because it helped with my anxiety. That was…unhealthy. And we’ve also been talking about how I’ve started self-sabotaging—wait. Do you know what that is?”

“Kind of,” you say. Semantically you do, but you’re not entirely sure of its significance in this conversation. It sounds like it has a clinical or psychological meaning to which you are not privy.

“It’s something I used to do a lot. I’d be doing really well in a placement or in a relationship, and I’d do something to intentionally mess it up. Sometimes it was consciously intentional, sometimes unconsciously intentional. I thought I was over it, but I’ve started self-sabotaging again. Since I met you, actually.”

Your stomach sinks when you hear that. “Oh,” you say, disheartened. Maybe Bolin is wrong, and you’re not good for each other.

“No, no! I don’t mean that as a knock on you. I just mean—I mean you scare me. I don’t really even fucking know you, but I’m scared as shit to lose you. So I sort of unconsciously hurt you because if I pushed you away, at least when I lost you it would be on my terms. It wouldn’t be you rejecting me.”

Korra falls silent then, but she can’t seem to look in your direction, which you know because you can’t look away from her. “That’s—I understand that, I think,” you say. “But…you make it sound like you’re certain you’re going to lose me, like it’s a given. You said—you said something like, ‘At least when I lose you.’”

“Yeah?” Korra says, scrunching her face in confusion. She still won’t look at you.

“Why are you so certain you’ll lose me?” It’s a stupid question because you know the answer, but it’s something you need to hear Korra say aloud.

“I lose everyone.” Now Korra turns a grin on you, and you know she’s using it to belie the desperation and hopelessness of her words.

It’s heartbreaking, really. It’s heartbreaking because Korra deserves better, but maybe that means you do as well because you understand exactly what she’s saying. “I do too,” you admit softly. “I don’t let people get close to me.”

Korra meets your eyes and nods, a soft smile on her face, one that you return. “It’s how we survive.” Then, abruptly, the smile falls from her face, and she looks at the ground. You think she’s going to say something that will wound you to her core, but then she fidgets like her nerves won’t allow her to stay still. “Do you—do you think maybe you want to try a different way? You know…with me?”

You don’t know what she’s asking for, so you seek clarification. “What does that mean to you?” Now you’re nervous, so you press the pads of your fingers against the outside of your thighs. Sometimes that helps to calm you. It doesn’t work right now.

“It can mean whatever you want it to,” Korra says in a rush like she’s relieved you’re willing to discuss this with her. “I really fucking like you,” she admits with a laugh. “Maybe more than I’ve ever liked anyone. But I’m not ready for a relationship with you. And Bolin said you broke up with your fiancé recently. So maybe we can just start as friends? The kind of friends that people with stable childhoods have? Ones they can count on and trust enough to let them close?”

“And if we’re only ever friends?” This conversation feels surreal. Korra just told you she likes you; part of you is afraid she is playing some sort of cruel prank on you. But despite your reservations with this girl, she is nothing if not earnest.

“Then I’ll have made a really great friend.”

The answer shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. Bolin is right. Korra is fundamentally a good person. “We can try,” you allow. “It might take me time before I can really trust you. Not just—not just because of…of my childhood, but because…”

“Because I kissed you against your will and mocked you and your fiancé,” Korra finishes dryly. “Yeah. That’s fair. I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll never do it again. If we ever do get there, I promise it will be consensual. I promise.”

Your conversation wraps up then, and you head back up to the house. You’re still mad at her for how she treated you, for making you hurt Brian. Betrayal has a tendency to sink into your bones, and it takes time for the last remnants of it to seep out. And you’re still a little afraid of her because there’s no real certainty that she won’t do it again.

Ever since you first saw her, you thought she was touched with the divine, but it occurs to you now that maybe you had it wrong. Maybe she’s just a human whom you needed to meet right now. And maybe that divine light was the sense that you are somehow supposed to be connected her. And maybe that’s how God works. Right now you don’t have the ability to put these feelings into words, but you still stop Korra before she can open the back door. “In another situation, I would have wanted to kiss you,” you tell her. “I’m still upset about…that situation, but I…I have feelings for you as well. More than I should, considering.”

“Yeah?” Korra asks. She folds her arms across her chest and can’t keep the shy smile off of her face. “So you—you’re comfortable with…this now? Do you identify as something? Just so I know?”

“Bisexual.” The word comes out tinged with a touch of pride, and you lift your chin in defiance. You don’t think Korra will use this information against you, especially since it’s how she identifies as well. It’s still the only the second time you’ve said it, so it makes sense that you’re a little anxious disclosing it.

“Cool,” Korra says, her smile widening into a grin. “I’m happy you figured that out. How—how does that feel? Is it okay if I ask?”

“Right,” is the only word that comes to mind. “It feels right.”

…
It’s the least traditional Thanksgiving dinner you’ve ever attended, which is only noteworthy because you and your dad never had very traditional holidays. You used to join your mom’s family—your aunts and uncles and grandparents—but as your dad became more controlling as you got older, you stopped going. You never asked why; now you think that maybe it was to isolate you from people who cared about you and who knew your mother.

At any rate, this is the least traditional Thanksgiving dinner you’ve ever attended. For starters, Tenzin and his family are vegetarians. Though the food is delicious, it is not what you’re used to. For another, no one at the table is white. Tenzin keeps up a constant lecture on the realities of the first Thanksgiving and speaks of all the ways the European settlers dealt harm to native peoples. He must worry about including all of you because he also speaks of the oppression Chinese and Japanese people in the United States experienced at various points in history. It’s quite interesting if hard to listen to because it is background noise to the children that talk, bicker, and cry incessantly. By the time you finish eating, it’s only four in the afternoon, and you’re ready to crawl into your bed and sleep for a year. You now understand exactly what Korra meant when she said Tenzin’s children were exhausting.

Thankfully after dinner, Pema sends the kids outside to play. She declines all offers to help clean up. Tenzin lingers in the kitchen, so you assume the two of them must have a ritual, or at least have gotten very good at tag team cleaning.

“You’re not coming?” Ikki asks Korra, one hand on the door. She looks crestfallen when Korra sits on the couch between you and Bolin. “You always come outside to play after dinner! Always, always!”

“Maybe later,” Korra says, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. “I ate too much. Gotta let the food settle first.”

Ikki rolls her eyes and slams the door behind her, but not before you hear her muttering something about old people. You have to hide your laughter behind your hand. “You can go,” you tell her. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“No, uh—” Korra pauses and clears her throat. “I wanted to stay with you. And Bolin.” The last she tacks on as an afterthought. Bolin would probably have had a quippy comeback if he weren’t grinning at his phone, at whatever text Opal had just sent him. “I wanted to see what you thought of dinner.”

Three seconds go by before you realize she’s talking to you and not Bolin. You’re not sure why. But then it takes you another five seconds to formulate a response, an eternity when someone asks you a question. “Oh, um. It was good. I liked it. It was different from what my dad and I usually do. In a good way, I mean.”

“What do you and your dad do?” Bolin chimes in unexpectedly. Korra jumps. “Oh ho. You thought I wasn’t listening. You thought I missed the way you just stuck my name on. Oh no. No. I know Asami’s the one you really want to spend time with. Don’t worry. My pride is an armored shell that can’t be breached by your callousness.”

Korra laughs and shoves him, and he sways gently at her touch. You’d like to see the two of them actually fight. Bolin is a rock, but Korra is strong. You don’t know who would win. “Shut up, idiot.” Then she turns to you. “So what do you and your dad do?”

“Oh, we’d go out to eat. He doesn’t cook, and he always wanted to give me the day off. Not to mention the Thanksgiving food we got at JJ’s Diner was better than anything I could have made.”

“You don’t have any other family?” Bolin asks. He’s multi-tasking now, texting and talking. It’s impressive.

“I do,” you say slowly. “On my mom’s side. I haven’t seen or heard from them in years, though. After she died, we’d see them periodically, but I think my dad had a falling out with them. I’m not sure.”

Bolin and Korra nod solemnly in unison. “Have you ever considered getting in touch with them?” Korra asks carefully.

You have, but only recently, only since you came to div school and Bolin mentioned getting in touch with your heritage. Before then you had written them out of your life entirely. Now the thought of contacting them scares you. What if they don’t want to talk to you? Or what if they hate the person you are? “I don’t have a way to do that,” you say, giving an easy explanation.

“What about Facebook?” Bolin suggests.

And that’s how you spend the rest of the afternoon: friend requesting estranged family members whose names and faces you have a hard time remembering. The biggest surprise is when one person, your Aunt Izumi, accepts, and the rest follow within minutes. You even get a friend request from someone you missed. They must all be together because they each message you—cousins, aunts, uncles, and even your grandmother—to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and offer invitations for you to join them for Christmas.

Korra and Bolin cheer excitedly, but you’re speechless. Could it really be this easy? In one day you went from feeling like you had no one, save Bolin and Opal, to having multitudes of people who seem to genuinely want you in their lives: Tenzin and Pema and the children, your own extended family, and Korra. It’s the best Thanksgiving you ever remember having.

Chapter Text

Somehow you manage to finish the semester with a 4.0. You knew you needed to, but you didn’t actually believe you would do it. It took a couple of assignments to figure out how your professors and TAs graded things. Once you understood, you worked and worked until you were certain, or at least reasonably certain, that you had an A on everything. You and Opal traded written assignments back and forth, so that neither of you turned in anything that was unedited.

Some time during the semester, you decided you weren’t going to go home for winter break. All of your friends were in full support of this plan. Your dad, however, doesn’t agree.

The phone call to your father to tell him you won’t be coming home for Christmas goes about as well as you expect it to. That doesn’t mean that you’re unaffected by it. Opal finds you standing on the balcony outside your living room, holding your phone in one hand and the top of your head with the other. When you hear the sliding door open, you slowly let out the breath you’ve been holding and turn around.

“You okay?” she asks softly. Opal doesn’t join you on the balcony. She hangs back, hesitating. You can’t tell if she’s afraid of you or just uncertain how to handle you. Both are hurtful, if you’re honest with yourself.

“Yeah.” You sigh heavily and head back inside. “Just my dad.”

Opal tilts her head and purses her lips, fighting back whatever she wants to say. “Okay. I just wanted to check on you and to let you know that Korra’s here. She says you have plans to go up to the lookout?” She gestures behind her to the front door. “She’s waiting outside.”

You didn’t forget, but you didn’t realize how late it had gotten. “Oh, right. Thanks for letting me know.”

Before you talked to your dad, you packed a bag with snacks, water, and your wallet and keys. Now you’re thankful for your constant anxiety over being late and your constant need to prepare early. A trip to the bathroom, and you’re out the door.

“Hey!” Korra greets you with a friendly grin that quickly slides off her face when she sees you. “Are you okay?”

“How—” You thought you had pulled yourself together, but Korra knew immediately that you were having a tough day.

She laughs and leads the way to her Jeep. “You get all stone faced when you’re upset. The rest of the time you usually have some expression. You laugh and joke a lot. But when you’re upset, it’s like your face is a wall. And right now all I’m seeing is stone. So, you okay?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer you have. “I will be.” That’s less honest, but you still feel compelled to say it. And maybe because you hope it’s true.

“Want to talk about it?”

You like this Korra, the one that is sober and kind and understanding. You’re not sure if you can trust her yet, but you’ve both been working on establishing a friendship over the past couple of weeks. “Not yet.” You also like this Korra because she cranks up the radio and doesn’t make you talk when you’re not ready.

She drives you both to the top of a nearby mountain, one of the ones that has a winding road up to the top and down the other side with room for cars to pull off all along it. It’s December, so the leaves have fallen off the trees, but it’s still a beautiful view. If nothing else, the air is cleaner, and you’re happy to be out of the city. After growing up in a small town, city life is suffocating…in a different way than small town life was.

“Do you like it? I know you’re not seeing it at it’s best, but there are fewer people here this time of year. And I like it all the time…” Korra’s voice trails off, and her forehead is pinched with anxiety.

You’re not sure why this is a big deal to her, what this place means to her. “It’s great,” you say, forcing some earnestness into your voice. It’s hard to mean it right now, but you don’t want to disappoint her, and on another day you would mean it.

Korra’s smile is bashful. “I used to come here when I was in high school and needed to get away. It was a way to run away without having my caseworker get involved. If I was gone too long, Tenzin would come check on me, and we’d talk. I thought maybe you’d like it here too. I thought—you look like you need to get something off your chest. Will you yell with me?”

“What?” You weren’t expecting her to say that…because who would be expecting that? You’re not really even sure what it means.

“I don’t know. You can yell whatever you want. Whatever you need to.”

That’s…not the question you wanted her to answer, but you suppose it is still informative. “I don’t really…yell. I don’t even know if I know how.”

“Sometimes you need to. It’s healthy to yell sometimes, especially if it’s stuff you don’t normally say. Look. I’ll go first.” Korra takes a deep breath and then shouts, “SOMETIMES I HATE MYSELF.” The sound returns in an ill-defined echo that brings with it the meaning of Korra’s words. “See?” she asks with a tight smile that begs you not to address her words.

You don’t. You respect the rules of the game, even the unspoken ones. Besides, you don’t know what you would say to her. You don’t know how to convince someone to not hate themselves. Instead you wrack your brain for something to say…to shout, rather. Then it comes to you, slowly, in pieces. Korra waits in silence; maybe it’s obvious to her that you’re thinking. When you shout, your voice is much quieter than Korra’s, more a call than a shout, but you’re new at this. “If God required every one of my limbs, I would not hesitate!”

“Nice!” Korra says. And then hesitantly, she asks, “Is that from the Bible?”

“Yes…no? Kind of. It’s from Targum Pseudo Jonathan.”

“What’s that?”

Explaining what a Targum is is harder than it should be, so you have to dig back through your memory to your Aramaic class from undergrad. “It’s a…translation of the Bible…sort of. It’s a translation with a lot of interpretation of the Bible into Aramaic. Some Targumim—that’s the plural—have more interpretation than others.” You know Korra won’t ask about the significance, so you volunteer the information. “It’s from Genesis, the story of the binding of Isaac. In this Targum, Ishmael and Isaac are arguing about who is really Abraham’s heir. They go back and forth one-upping each other on who is more devout. Isaac says that if God asked for his limbs, he would cut them off immediately and willingly. Right after, God tells Abraham to sacrifice Isaac.”

Korra takes a few moments to process your words and then says, “So you’re testing God?”

“Sometimes I don’t want to live anymore.”

“Ah. So if God took you up on the challenge, you won’t complain. Got it.”

That’s close to being right. It’s close enough that though you hesitate, you decide not to press the matter. Instead, you ignore her and keep talking, spilling out thoughts you’ve had for years but have never spoken aloud. “You know what sucks the most about that story? The one from the Bible, I mean? After the near sacrifice, God never talks to Abraham again…or to Isaac. Isaac is a nobody in his own story. He only gets a couple of chapters written about him. He’s passive in getting a wife. His wife and son manipulate him on his deathbed. He has no control and no real story. I think about that all the time. It wasn’t his fault that his dad almost sacrificed him, but he still gets written out. The concubine in Judges 19 is raped and dismembered and forgotten. Jephthah’s daughter. Gomer. No redemption stories, no healing. Because trauma ruins you. Irreparably.”

Korra stands beside you stoically, silently, close beside you but not touching. Never touching. But you can still feel the uncertainty radiating off of her; somehow it is a categorically different type of uncertainty than the type Opal experienced with you this morning that made you so uncomfortable. “Do you mean that?” she asks eventually. She’s reminiscent of Jesus in the way she crouches and draws in the dirt with a stick. It’s just lines and swirling designs, and you wonder if the reason Jesus drew in the dirt was to mask his nerves the way she does.

“Yes.”

“Do you think I’m ruined?” Her voice wavers, and you know she’s on the precipice of rethinking her entire worldview based on whatever you say next.

With her words, she’s made you rethink yours. “I—” You’re about to say you do, but you can’t do it. It would be a lie. Korra has scars from her past, but she’s not ruined. “No. But I think I am.”

Korra tilts her head to look up at you, a stormy seriousness in her eyes. “You’re not ruined. But I know me saying that isn’t going to help. Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

“Just my dad,” you say vaguely. You expect Korra to change the subject, but she remains silent. To break it as much as anything, you sink to the ground beside her. Your legs are too long to crouch comfortably, so you sit on the damp dirt. It’s chilly, you quickly realize. Though it’s warm for December, it’s cold enough that you start shivering. “I called him today to let him know I’m not coming home for Christmas. He didn’t take it well.”

“What did he say?”

You wrap your arms around your knees and hug them, the same way you comforted yourself as a child. “He told me I was a disappointment, that when I left engineering, I betrayed him. It’s my duty as his daughter to come home for holidays, to take care of him when he gets old. After everything he’s done for me, I’ve turned my back on him. He said—he said I should beg for Brian back because I can’t get anyone besides him. My dad hated him. Didn’t think he was good enough. So if he thinks I can’t get anyone besides him, I’m less than worthless.” Your voice sounds lifeless even to your own ears.

Korra lets your words linger, waiting to see if you will say anything else. When you don’t, she says, “That’s bullshit. It’s all abusive manipulation tactics. You’re away from his control, so he’s doing whatever he can to bring you back under his grasp.” You don’t know when she shifted, but she’s close enough that her shoulder brushes up against yours. It’s the first time she’s touched you since she kissed you.

“I know.” You do know it on an intellectual level. It just doesn’t make you feel better.

“Nah. You don’t. He’s fucked with your mind for too long for you to see it clearly. But me and Bo and Opal have your back. Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.” Korra’s speech changes when she talks about this kind of stuff. It’s more informal, more crude. It’s like she’s channeling her past self, or maybe like she’s saying the things her past self would have wanted to hear in the way she would have wanted to hear it. As strange as it is, you won’t mention it in case it’s healing and you saying something would embarrass her.

“Change your number. As long as he can contact you, he can call and mess with you. Go no contact for a while. It’ll be good for you. Give you some space to breathe.”

What she’s saying makes sense. From anyone else, this advice would make you scoff. It’s not easy to cut ties with the only family you know, from the father you truly do love. But if Korra doesn’t know your life specifically, she at least knows what it’s like to have a less than ideal family, to not be able to count on them. So you swallow your scoff and nod sharply instead. “Okay.”

Korra jostles you with her shoulder. “We can stop by your preferred wireless carrier on the way back if you want? I don’t mean to push, but Christmas is in two weeks, and I’m willing to bet he’ll keep calling.”

You’d decline, but you know she’s right. “He’s already called twice since,” you say with a weary sigh. “Verizon, I guess. They have a good and cheap option for individuals, and it’s my current carrier, so it might be easier.”

“Verizon,” Korra agrees.

You pass the next hour chatting about comfortable things, but your heart’s not really in it. Korra must sense that you’re distracted because she stops almost midsentence and pats your leg. “Let’s go.”

As she drives down the mountain, you spot a gas station, one of the old ones with one gas pump and bathrooms with outside access. “Can we stop here?” you ask abruptly. Korra doesn’t question it and pulls smoothly into a spot in front of the store. “Pop the hood?”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head.

“You need oil. I need to double check what type your Jeep takes.”

Korra still looks confused, but she pops the hood without questioning you further. You run in and grab a five quart of 5W-20 oil, a funnel, and charm a rag from the the attendant. “Hey!” Korra says when you get back. “I could have bought that.”

You wave her off and check the oil. She’s three quarts down, about what you expected, but you still frown at her. “When’s the last time you changed your oil?”

“Uhh—” Korra rubs her hand over her face and grimaces.

“Yeah,” you say with laugh. It shouldn’t be possible for you to compartmentalize the way you do, to shut off how disheartened you were, but it’s so easy. There’s still the dread and misery when you think of your dad, but you can tease Korra about her car despite it. “That’s what I figured. You need to do that when we get back. I’ll put some in to get you home, but you have to get it changed. As soon as possible.”

Korra rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Let’s go get you a new phone plan, Mr. Goodwrench.” She sings along as she drives. It’s an alternative song that sounds vaguely familiar, like you might recognize it from middle school. She stops singing abruptly and looks at you, briefly so that it’s not unsafe. “Are there really no stories of healing from trauma in the Bible?”

You’re not sure how long she’s been thinking about this, but you feel compelled to come up with a good answer. It’s your duty as a future scholar. So you think as Korra goes back to singing, softly this time. Are there any stories of healing from trauma in the Bible? You come up short. Everything you think of stops short of healing unless you read into it quite a lot. You’re not opposed to such interpretations, but you want something more. You crave something more. Then…“Joseph,” you whisper as it hits you. Fourteen chapters with trauma and healing embedded in one novella.

“Joseph?” Korra repeats. “Want to say more?”

It’s the question in academia you hate because it means you automatically panic and have nothing to say even if you otherwise would. Now you say, “Not yet. I need to think more on this first.” A tingling spreads from your stomach to the tips of your fingers, and you have to bite your lip to keep a smile off your face. This is why you love scholarship: these moments when you realize you have a brilliant idea that makes you feel alive.

“Fair enough,” Korra says. “But I want to hear your thoughts when you’re ready. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

She drives you to a mall and distracts the Verizon worker enough for her to not notice that you’re torn up over this process. Cutting off contact with your dad without so much as informing him? It makes you feel…dishonest, disloyal, and disgusted with yourself. And you’re doing a bad job of hiding it. Thankfully Korra’s charm is limitless. The woman is new; it turns out you’re her first customer. At first you want to rush in and out, but a look from Korra lets you know you should take your time. As it turns out, Korra is right. The woman finds you every discount she possibly can.

After you’re finished—with a new phone plan but not a new phone—Korra treats you to dinner. You try to protest, but Korra waves it away. She says, “Everything we’ve done so far today has been my suggestion. You pick.”

It’s an easy choice. Food court chicken teriyaki is your go-to mall food. In your hometown, it was by far the best option. Subway, Sbarro, Panda Express, and McDonalds couldn’t compare. So even here where there are dozens more options, you stick to familiar territory. It’s only when Korra snorts that you realize your food choice matches your heritage. “Shut up,” you say, unable to hide a grin. “It’s not because I’m Japanese. This isn’t real Japanese food anyway.”

“Sure, sure,” she says dubiously. You’re pretty sure she’s joking with you. Her eyes are closed as she leans against tiled pillar while you wait for your food to be ready. It’s Saturday, so the mall is busy.

“It’s not!” You give her a hefty shove, not hard enough to knock her over, but hard enough that she stumbles, particularly because her eyes were closed.

“Hey!” She can’t quite manage to hold back a laugh as she catches her balance.

You feel an unexpected giggle bubble up before you can quell it. Somehow Korra has turned this day from terrible to bearable. “This isn’t real Japanese food. I know real Japanese food. Don’t mess with me about Japanese food.”

Korra holds up her hands, palms out, a gesture meant to usher in peace. “Sorry, sorry. I promise I won’t argue with you about Japanese food. At least not until I’ve had what you consider real Japanese food. Then I’ll consider myself an expert.”

The eye roll you give her is purely for show. You don’t take the bait. Instead, you extend an invitation. “Next outing.”

“Next outing,” Korra repeats. A slow smile spreads across her face, and it looks like forgiveness, like she’s forgiven herself.

As you and Korra pick up your food that is ready, suddenly you remember a line from Targum Pseudo-Jonathan. It’s one that feels comfortable like curling up under your covers after a long day on a cold winter night. In this moment, you feel certain you’d follow Korra willingly to your sacrificial death, but you doubt very much that you’ll have to.

“And they walked together with a peaceful heart.”

“What?” Korra turns to frown at you.

“It’s—nothing,” you respond.

Chapter Text

The holidays are swiftly approaching, and since you ostracized yourself from your father, you realize you’ll be alone. Bolin and Mako are going to stay with Opal’s family, which leaves you alone. Except for Korra, but even she has plans. Her parents are coming to visit. When Korra asks what you’re doing for Christmas, you can’t bring yourself to do much more than shrug. The end of the year is the time to reflect on the previous twelve months, but all you can think of is everything you’ve lost. Last year you spent Christmas Eve with your father and Christmas day with your fiancé and his family. This year you’ll be alone.

Korra seems to understand everything you don’t say. “Have you thought about contacting your mom’s family? They’re the ones you friend requested at Thanksgiving, right?”

“They invited me for Christmas, but I think they were just being polite.”

“I don’t think so,” Korra says slowly. “Generally families don’t do that. They could’ve just accepted your friend request without extending an invite.”

Opal and Bolin burst through the door to your apartment with three pizzas in their arms before you can answer. When Opal leads the way to the kitchen without pausing to scowl at Korra, your heart lifts. After the fallout with Korra, Opal had been the most reluctant to forgive. She ranted to you to several times about how Korra’s actions were a precursor to abusive behavior. She told you she’d had to watch as her brother went through something similar, and she couldn’t bear to watch someone she loved go through it again. You and Bolin both tried to mollify her by reminding her that Korra was in therapy and that she genuinely wanted to be good for people, but nothing worked. It seems Opal just needed time.

“What are we talking about?” Bolin asks.

“Trying to convince Asami that she should message one of her relatives and ask if she can join them for Christmas,” Korra responds, nudging your shoulder comfortably. “But she’s being difficult.”

You’re not trying to be difficult; you’re just afraid. Afraid of being rejected, betrayed, and maybe being told you’re a burden. But you don’t know how to voice any of these things, so you just shrug. They can think you’re difficult if they want. You hear the noises of opening cabinets and pulling out dishes cease and look up to see Opal emerge. “Do you want to spend time with your family? Everything else aside? Do you want to spend time with your family?”

“Yes,” you close your eyes and murmur. It’s so hard for you to admit aloud that you want a family that loves you.

Opal places a hand on your shoulder to steady herself as she leans over the back of the couch to grab your phone. “Dealing with all of this shit means there’s going to be a lot of things you’ll have to work through on your own. This doesn’t have to be one of them.”

When she hands your phone back to you, you see a message, one that you’re not sure you would ever have had the courage to send. “Hi Aunt Izumi. I’m trying to make plans for the holidays and was wondering if your invitation still stands. If it’s easier, my number is xxx-xxx-xxxx.” It’s simple and not pushy, and it would have taken you forever to write it.

“Thanks,” you say, squeezing Opal’s arm gratefully as she passes you a plate of pizza.

Pizza and “The Grinch” with your friends makes for an excellent distraction. Even if you have nowhere to go for the holidays, this is enough. They are enough. You hope they are enough. You won’t find out this year because halfway through the second movie, your phone buzzes. At first you think it’s a message, but it keeps vibrating, and you realize it’s a phone call.

“Hello?” You answer with trepidation because it’s a number you don’t have in your phone. Normally you would let it go to voicemail, but it looks vaguely familiar.

“Asami? This is your grandmother.”

Even through your surprise you can’t hold back a smile. She’s as terse as ever on the phone. She’s always hated talking on it. Her voice brings back the best of your childhood memories. “Baba?”

“Yes. We have discussed it. We’re coming for Christmas. We will get hotel rooms.”

You’re stunned by her forthright declaration. She’s normally soft-spoken. You can’t ever remember a time when she demanded something of you. Once you’re past your surprise, you break out in a cold sweat. This is too much. You can’t ask this of them. “No, Baba,” you protest. “I can come to wherever you’ll be. It makes more sense for me to travel than for all of you.”

“No. You will not come, so we we’ll come to you and bring food. Will you send the address to Izumi?”

There’s no other answer, and you wouldn’t want to answer otherwise anyway, but agreement. “Yes. Thank you, Baba.”

She hangs up without another word, leaving you more than a little confused about the details. “Who was that?” Bolin asks.

“My grandmother.” You have to shake your head to clear your mind. “She’s coming here for Christmas. They’re coming here for Christmas.”

Opal blinks and looks around your small two-bedroom apartment. “Here? How many of them are coming?” she asks.

That’s a fair question and one you’ve been wondering yourself. “I don’t know. She said they were going to get hotels, so at least they won’t be sleeping here. I can’t imagine it’s more than a dozen or so, but…” You trail off and have to laugh at the logistics. There’s a four-person table, a couch, and a chaise lounge. Whatever your grandmother was imagining, it couldn’t have been this.

“What if you invite them to Tenzin’s?” Korra says. “They have tons of space, and it might be easier for you if you have other people you know around? If you don’t have to handle your family by yourself for the first time?”

“That’s a great idea!” Bolin chimes in. “Do that!”

Until she mentioned it, you hadn’t thought about seeing your family as a tangible reality, but she’s right. You haven’t seen them in…maybe fifteen years, and you’re going to actually spend time with them. Having a buffer around might be best. “Would they mind?” you ask.

“Doubt it. But let me call them.” Korra whips out her phone. “Hey, Pema,” she says. “Weird situation. Asami’s family that she hasn’t seen for…I don’t know exactly, but it’s been a long time. Like a decade or something.” She looks in your direction, and you nod because she’s close enough. “A decade. Anyway, she just found out they’re coming for Christmas. Could they join us?” There’s a pause, but she flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. “Yeah? Okay…okay. I’ll tell her. Thanks…yeah, I love you, too. Bye.” She hangs up and drops her phone with a flourish. “Boom. Easy. They’re invited. Message your aunt and ask if she’s okay with the change of plans.”

You’re still reeling from the change of direction as you type out an explanation of the situation to your aunt. Family things shouldn’t be this easy. They never have been. Maybe it’s different now that you have distance from your father, financial independence, and a support network. Maybe now you have power. Leverage. Maybe now you can change your story...like Joseph.

…
Despite your confidence, you still feel anxious about your aunt’s response. What if your family doesn’t agree to your proposal? What if you have to fit a dozen family members whom you don’t even know into your apartment? What if they don’t accept you? Fortunately, your fears are misplaced. Your aunt is happy to go along with it and asks for Pema’s contact information so they can coordinate plans.

That’s how you end up pacing around Tenzin and Pema’s living room on Christmas afternoon. When you feel a firm hand on the small of your back, you think it’s Korra. Her parents’ flight had been cancelled because of a bad snowstorm, and they wouldn’t be arriving for a couple of days, so you’ve had her attention since you got there that morning. She’s been clingy all morning, and you wonder if it’s a holdover from her past, if she feels like they’ve abandoned her. When Pema took Korra’s face in her hands and told her her parents were fine, that they weren’t using again, she seemed to sag with relief. So you think your conclusion is likely.

But when you turn around to smile at Korra, you see Tenzin’s mother, Katara. You freeze, a holdover habit from your childhood when faced with uncertain situations. “Peace, child,” she says. “I’ve always told Korra, ‘Whatever happens will happen.’ Pacing is only fueling your discord. Come sit with me.”

“You know Korra?” you ask, allowing yourself to be distracted as you know she wants. It makes sense, now that you think about it. Korra has been a part of Tenzin’s life for a long time.

“I do. For…about eight years now. She was so wild and angry back then. She’s calmer now, more focused. I remember—well, I remember quite a lot that probably isn’t my place to tell you. But tell me about your family. What worries you about seeing them?”

Katara has taken your hands in her wrinkled ones. They’re strong hands, healing ones, not gnarled by arthritis or age. “What if they don’t like me? What if they aren’t okay with me being bisexual? What if—what if they tell me my mom would be disappointed in me?”

Katara sighs and leans her head back against the back of the couch. “One thing I’ve learned, child, is that many people speak for the dead, and not one of them knows what the dead think. Your family doesn’t know what your mother would think of you. Nor do I, but I do know she would be a fool to be disappointed in you. In any case, even if this reunion goes poorly, you have people here who love you, along with the sense of self you carry with you.”

Her words startle you out of your anxiety, but you need suddenly feel trapped, so you tug your hands away. “I don’t think I have a sense of self,” you say. “Sometimes I don’t think I was a real person until I moved here.” It’s not something you’ve admitted aloud before. It’s not something you’ve had the words to express before now.

You’re afraid of Katara’s reaction to this unsolicited and incredibly personal level of self-disclosure, but you find yourself unable to look away. That’s why you see her when she sits up straight and fixes her eyes on you with a look that has a depth of compassion you almost can’t stand. “That’s a common coping mechanism in people who have been abused,” she says gently. “It’s a way to cope with the lack of autonomy they experience. It’s also a fallacy. You’ve always been a person; you might just have to remember who you are.”

Her words give you pause. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to respond when someone cuts through your murky thoughts about your existence with a clarity you could never have imagined. Katara seems to understand that. “Sorry,” she says with a gentle laugh. “I didn’t mean to go into therapist mode. Before we got off on that tangent, I was telling you that you are loved no matter what happens today.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking down at your knees. At this point, the reminder is nice, but mostly you just need your family to arrive so you can get the reunion over with.

And then they’re here. Pema lets them, all thirteen of them with their bags and dishes full of food, into the house, while you hang back. Your relatives are content to stand in the foyer and greet Tenzin’s family. Except for your grandma. She scans the room and catches sight of you almost immediately. It’s not hard for you to recognize her, but she looks so much older than you remember. To be fair, you do too.

She crosses the room and takes your hands in hers. “My Asami,” she breathes, smiling up at you.

With a jolt, you remember your manners and bow as low as you can with her right in front of you. “Hello, Baba.”

“May I hug you?” Her accent reminds you that in another life she would have spoken to you in Japanese, and you would have understood. She’s been in the United States for long enough that she’s comfortable with English, but you know Japanese will always be her home language. You swallow the lump in your throat and hug her in lieu of a verbal response. “My Asami,” she speaks into your ear. “After Yasuko…after your mother died, I tried. I knew how he was. I feared…I knew he would treat you the same. There were lawyers. Hiroshi tried to sue us when we tried to take custody of you. I am sorry, my Asami. I will not ask what happened. I will just say I'm proud you survived. You are strong.”

“Thank you,” you say, entirely overwhelmed that your family is here after all of these years, that they wanted you all this time, and that your grandmother smells exactly the same. “I was afraid…I was afraid after my mom died you didn’t want to see me anymore. That’s what—that’s what my dad said.”

You can feel your grandmother shake her head against you. “Never. You are the best parts of Yasuko. I hope you will let me—us—be a part of your life. We have missed you.”

And then the reintroductions begin. You remember some of your relatives, but you were a little girl when you last saw them, so you hope you can be forgiven for not remembering them all. What gives you the biggest shock and sends waves of relief down your back is when your older cousin Iroh introduces his husband with a bashful grin. It seems that your last fear of rejection is unfounded. Once you’re reacquainted, you introduce your family to Korra and her…family. You suppose you can call them that. They might not be her birth family, but she clearly belongs with them.

After the introductions comes the strange mingling period while a few people help to finish dinner. Iroh taps you on the shoulder. “So you and Korra, huh? How long have you been together?”

“Oh,” you say, glancing across the room to where Korra is entertaining the kids on both sides of the family. “We’re…um…not together. Not yet, at least.”

Iroh’s eyebrows raise so high they almost disappear into his hairline. “Really? What are you waiting for? She’s obviously crazy about you, and it seems like you are too.”

It’s strange to have this conversation with someone you don’t know, even if he is your cousin. You’re not really sure how much you’re willing to share, but then again, you don’t really have anything to lose by telling him. “We’re—we’ve both had hard lives. I think—I think we’re trying to figure that out first.”

Now Iroh nods, full understanding evident in his solemnity. “I’m not going to pretend I understand what you went through, but I can tell you that Dre had a rough start, too. His family kicked him out when he came out to them in high school. It was rough going for a couple of years for him. It’s not—it hasn’t always been easy. We’re still figuring stuff out even though we’ve been married for a year and together for seven. I guess what I’m saying is that you’re always going to have something to work through. Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t have to do it alone.”

It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, but it is the first time someone has said it to you. Maybe he’s right. And maybe now that you’re in a place to be able to wonder about it, maybe you are ready. Maybe. When Korra catches your eye with a concerned look on her face, you shoot her a reassuring smile, and she grins back. Maybe it’s more than a maybe.

…
Dinner is great. The whole afternoon is great. Normally you think you’re American, through and through. Your dad made sure you saw yourself that way. But being around your Japanese family again awakens the part of you that has always felt a little bit different because you’re not American through and through. You’re Japanese, and you hadn’t realized you were craving a connection to that part of you. It makes you so happy that your family only lives a couple of hours away. You can easily make a day trip up to visit them. When you tentatively mention it, they insist on you coming to visit as often as you possibly can. They also insist on teasing you and Korra, and Tenzin and Co. don’t hesitate to join in. It’s uncomfortable in the best way, especially when you look down the table at Korra and see that she can’t keep a sheepish grin off of her face.

Katara touches her elbow to yours. “I’ve known her for a long time, and I’ve never seen her like this.”

Then you can’t keep the grin off of your face. It’s okay to like her, you tell the part of yourself that is still worried. You’re not going to be your mom because you both have people in your life that will protect you and hold you both accountable.

Before your family heads back to their hotels, they convince you to have breakfast with them the following morning before they make the trip home. At first you worry they’re going to try to spend more time with you tonight, but they seem to realize you’re exhausted. You don’t hesitate to accept their request.

…
Back in your apartment, you collapse on your bed, happy but sleepy, and check your Facebook. You have a message from Brian asking if you changed your number. The hurt is evident in his terse message, so even though you’re tired, you force yourself to dial the number you memorized back in high school.

“Hello?” he answers.

Then all of the nervousness you hadn’t considered feeling at calling your ex-fiancé hits you at once. “Uh—hi. It’s Asami.”

“You did change your number, then?”

“Yes. It didn’t have anything to do with you. My dad wouldn’t stop calling and harassing me. I just forgot to tell you.” You say all of this in a rush, relieved he’s willing to hear you out.

“Oh.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, processing, you assume. “I’m glad it wasn’t because of me. I miss talking to you. I just—it felt too weird to not talk to you on Christmas.”

That makes you laugh because it’s such an understatement. “I know. It would have been our first one without talking since what? Eighth grade?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He lets out a huff of laughter too. “How have you been?”

There’s a moment when you’re not sure if you should tell the truth or lie to save his feelings. But it’s Brian, and you may have hidden things from him in the past, but you always tried to tell the truth. “Good,” you say. “Really good, actually. I got a 4.0, and I saw my family today. My mom’s family, I mean. I haven’t seen them since a couple of years after she died.”

“No way! That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you! How was it?”

“It was so great. They missed me a lot, and I had no idea. It was weird, too, you know? Because I haven’t seen them in so long. But we’re going to stay in touch. They actually live pretty close to here, so I’m going to go visit in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s…good. I’m happy for you,” he repeats.

“How have you been?” you ask not without some trepidation.

He hesitates. “Okay.”

“Well that was convincing,” you tease, hoping it will lighten the conversation. Maybe it works because he laughs, at least.

“No. I mean, I am okay. Things were pretty hard after we broke up, mostly because we’ve been together for so long. I mean, I guess we weren’t together for that long, but we also sort of were unofficially. I miss talking to you even if we’re not together, I guess is what I mean. It’s stupid stuff, mostly. Like I miss being able to call you and have you walk me through how to fix a leaky faucet or change my oil.”

You’re quiet for a few seconds, thinking about how to respond to that. “You can, you know. As long as you know we won’t get back together, I’m happy to talk to you. I miss it too.”

The conversation is easier after that as you trade life updates and old memories. The only awkward moment is when you try to talk to him about Korra. You wouldn’t have considered it, but he asked if you were seeing someone.

“You sound happy,” he finally says to stop your fumbling words. He sounds…wistful, like he knows you were never truly happy with him, but he’s going to be graceful about it.

“I am,” you say, startled. It’s the first time you can remember in your life that admitting it doesn’t feel like weakness.

Chapter Text

New Year’s Eve turns out to be much more low key than you were expecting from your first one in a big city. Opal is stuck attending some sort of political event organized by her mother, and Bolin decided to tag along. Pema had invited you and Korra for their yearly party with Tenzin’s colleagues, so that’s what you were planning to do until Korra texts you the morning of the 31st and asks if you would be okay with ringing in the New Year at her apartment.

You hesitate, not sure what Korra has in mind. If she just wants a quiet evening without a gaggle of children, you’re more than happy to accept. If she wants…well, if she wants more, you might be open to the idea. Maybe. Before you can decide how to respond, she sends a follow-up text that says she’s having a hard day and can’t deal with people. You agree immediately; you weren’t thrilled with the idea of potentially rubbing elbows with your professors on New Year’s Eve. But you can’t help but be a little disappointed that Korra wasn’t…that she wasn’t looking for more from you.

At seven, you leave your apartment with an overnight bag in hand; Korra said you could crash on her futon if you didn’t want to drive home. On the way over, you stop at Domino’s to pick up a couple of pizzas and breadsticks. She’s providing desserts and drinks, so you offered to take care of the main food. It only seemed fair.

It’s the first time you’ve been to Korra’s apartment. She lives by herself, so it’s always made more sense for your friends to hang out at yours and Opal’s apartment, or at the Methodist House if you needed an industrial sized kitchen. Finding her building is harder than seems reasonable because there are so many of them in her complex, some tucked back behind the others. Eventually you tell yourself you have to find it; the alternative is turning around and going home, and that is not a tenable solution. You manage, in the end, much to the salvation of your pride.

“Hey,” Korra says when she answers the door to let you in. She’s in gray sweatpants and a college hoodie. Suddenly you feel overdressed in your jeans—a first for you—and you’re grateful you packed pajama pants. Korra takes the precariously balanced food from you and leads you to the kitchen. “Thanks for bringing these. And for agreeing to the change of plans.” She manages a wan smile that lacks at least three quarters of its usual brilliance.

You shrug out of your leather jacket and hand it and your bag over to Korra when she reaches for them. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Course. I just—my parents left this morning. And I don’t—I don’t get homesick. Not really. I don’t really have a home I could miss. It’s funny, you know? That I don’t miss my parents except for when they leave. Then I turn back into a five-year-old looking out the back window of my social worker’s car as she takes me away from my parents for the first time.” She laughs at herself and rubs her hand against her forehead like she’s trying to hide embarrassment.

“That makes sense,” you tell her. It does. There’s no reason she should be embarrassed about it. “That the sense of abandonment would linger, I mean. You’re reliving the past like it’s still happening even though you know logically that it’s not the same situation. It’s part of PTSD.” It’s one of the few things you remember from your brief stint in therapy.

Korra pauses from unsticking paper plates, the cheap kind that are only one step up from paper towels. “That’s—thank you. I always forget you understand.” She looks up at you, a pensive expression on her face. “I wish you didn’t understand, but I’m also glad you do. It’s nice to have someone I don’t have to explain things to.”

You know exactly what she means, but you don’t know how to respond to it, so you just smile and pour Coke for you both. It’s a relief that Korra has stopped drinking because it means you don’t feel compelled to drink either. An evening spent eating pizza, hanging out on the couch, and mocking the announcers on CNN is as enjoyable as you could have hoped. There are chips and carrot sticks, and the boxed brownies Korra made taste like nostalgia.

It’s almost enough with the joking and laughter, but it feels like something is missing. Or maybe it’s not a lack, but rather the presence of a tension that you’re not sure how to cope with. All you know is that you want to touch her. You’re not sure how to do this. Korra made it clear that she wouldn’t make the first move between you, which puts the onus on you. You could raise the subject with her and talk about it, but that seems like it would be unbearably awkward.

Instead, you glance at Korra out of the corner of your eye. She’s laughing at something Anderson Cooper said, and you melt. Before you have a chance to doubt yourself, you let yourself flop sideways into her lap. You land a little harder than you intended, but it’s not a wholly ungraceful attempt. Despite your racing thoughts, raised heart rate, and general panic over your bold move, you still hear the surprised gasp Korra lets out. Then there’s a pause, a stillness that probably only lasts for a couple of seconds but feels like an eternity until you feel her relax and start combing through your hair with gentle fingers. She’s quiet, and you can’t see her face, but you’re pretty sure she’s thinking about something. It’s not something you want to disturb, so you turn your attention back to the TV…at least superficially. It gives her time to think and your face to return to its normal shade. Later if someone asked you what happened during those ten minutes, you couldn’t have told them if your life depended on it. While Korra thinks, you brainstorm potential exit strategies to mitigate potential rejection. Friends do this, right? It’s not inherently romantic to cuddle with someone? Your thoughts spiral more and more out of control.

“You have soft hair,” she finally says, her voice more hesitant than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thanks,” you murmur. This isn’t what she wants to tell you. You suspect she’s building up to that, so you refrain from making a joke about your haircare routine even though it would quell some of your panic.

She’s started scratching your scalp, and it feels divine. It almost puts you to sleep, but then a timid, “Asami?” draws you back from the brink.

“Hmm?”

“If we’re—can I tell you something you can’t tell anyone else?” That makes you uncomfortable; you must tense because her hand stills on your head, and she hastens to fix it. “Oh shit. No. I don’t mean that in a controlling abusive way. It’s not that no one else knows. My parents know and Tenzin and Pema…and Katara. And the foster family and my case worker and pretty much anyone who has ever read my file. I just meant not many people know. Like my exes or Bolin and—”

“It’s okay,” you say as you turn over in her lap to look up at her. She’s allayed your fears. “I understand. You can tell me anything.”

Korra glances down at you and swallows hard. She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands now that you’re looking at her, so she puts them behind her head and leans back. “I just—I really like you, and I really like that you’re brave enough to initiate touch. I don’t want you to stop. Just…sometimes I might pull away or ask you to not touch me because I can’t handle it. A foster brother…he abused me. Sexually, I mean. I don’t really talk about it. I have with therapists and stuff, and I will with you if you need me to, but I’d rather not if that’s okay. Mostly I’m over it. There are just some times that I can’t quite shake it, and I might need physical space. I hope that’s okay.”

The speech that started out halting becomes a racing stream of consciousness that takes you a few seconds to process. “Yes,” you say when you finally understand her. “Of course. You don’t have to share anything you aren’t comfortable with. I understand needing space sometimes. Sometimes I do too. Would it help if I asked if I could touch you?”

“No,” Korra says, lowering her hands back to your hair with a huff. “I mean, maybe. But I don’t want that. I don’t want my whole life to be framed by that, you know? I don’t always want to be reminded of it. I’d rather just tell you if it bothers me since most times it won’t.”

“Okay. I understand that.” You close your eyes, suddenly awash with anger over how much the world beats good people down and how if there were even two seconds of divine justice, God would strike millions of people dead where they stand. Some people just deserve to die. Like the ones that hurt Korra.

Korra’s hands move from your hair to trace the lines of your face. “Are you mad at me?”

It’s the first time you’ve seen yourself and all of your insecurities mirrored in her. If someone doesn’t look happy, you’re certain they’re mad and, specifically, that they’re mad at you. You open your eyes and force your mouth into a pained smile. “No. Of course not. I’m mad that people hurt you. I’m not mad that you might need space sometimes. I’m mad that it’s necessary in the first place. It’s not fair to you. You deserve better.”

“Yeah,” Korra says with a heavy sigh. “Don’t we fucking all.”

Such a depressing conversation would be an inauspicious start to the new year if it were midnight. Thankfully you have a couple of hours to recover from the heavy conversation. You take a few more minutes together, and then Korra pushes you off of her and finds a deck of cards. Board and card games were not a part of your childhood, so she teaches you how to play Egyptian Rat Screw and Rummy.

She’s less competitive than you would have thought she’d be. You would have pegged her as someone who ferociously fought for every hand. It turns out that’s you, and Korra’s thrilled with this development. She starts stretching the rules to the breaking point, keeping her hand over the pile so she can slap it first, which you do not appreciate and which you let her know quite loudly and then physically when that doesn’t work. Unfortunately for you, jumping over the coffee table to tackle her just makes her laugh at you. When you whack your foot on the corner of the TV stand, she just laughs harder.

“Screw you,” you say when your foot stops hurting so badly.

“Egyptian rat screw, you mean,” Korra retorts with a laugh. “I’d always wondered how you were going to get by in academia with as quiet as you are. Now I know you’re ruthless.”

“Shut up.” It’s a less than eloquent retort, but you’re embarrassed and disheveled. You meekly make your way back to your side of the coffee table. “It’s almost midnight. Can we play something a little more low key?”

Korra nods, still grinning at you. “Sure. Anything in mind?”

Though it seems counterintuitive based on the name, you suggest, “War?” So that’s what you do in the minutes leading up to the new year. “I’m not ruthless, you know,” you say quietly as Korra packs up the cards and grabs the sparkling apple cider from the kitchen.

“What?”

“You said I’m ruthless enough for academia. I’m not. Not really.”

Korra hands you a plastic cup halfway full of cider and cocks her head thoughtfully. “I’d say you are when you need to be. You have no problem eviscerating professors or students when they’re being rude. You’re ruthless when you feel like people deserve it.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, thinking about the one professor last semester who hated you. He put down students who were giving perfectly reasonable answers, and you had no time for such behavior. It’s probably one of your best and worst qualities. “I do do that.”

Korra snorts. “Heh. Doo doo.”

“Oh my God.”

There are only a few minutes left before the countdown, and Times Square is abuzz with excitement…at least on TV. The screaming people and excitement of the announcers is paradoxically catching and distancing. Their fervor feels just out of reach to you. “Any resolutions?” Korra asks, looking at you askance now that you’re both settled back on the couch.

“I’m not really a resolution kind of girl,” you tell her. The only reason why you say this next thing is that it’s late, and you’re tired. There’s no other logical reason. “I’d like to kiss you at some point, I think.”

Korra coughs, choking on the sip of water she’d taken. “Not what I expected you to say,” she admits. “But I’d be down with that. That’s not my resolution, though. I’m going to try to hike twice a month. And I’m not going to drink. It’ll be my first fully sober year since I was twelve.”

“Ambitious.” You’d say more, but the ball has started to drop, and you both focus your attention on the TV.

The actual ushering in of the new year is always a bit of a letdown. People around the world are having life changing experiences and celebrations with noise and laughter and love. Even in Korra’s apartment complex you can hear her neighbors cheering and setting off firecrackers. Then there’s you and Korra, sitting in silence. “Happy New Year,” she says with a curiously blank expression as she lifts her plastic cup of sparkling cider to you.

“Happy New Year.” You tap your cup against hers. The night feels incomplete. Part of you is still stuck on what Korra told you and the time she spent stroking your hair. You weren’t ready for it to be over.

“Sorry that I wasn’t up for something more exciting tonight.” Korra sounds unsettled as well, like she’s not sure what’s next. Certainly she’s missing most of her usual bravado. Maybe she feels the same way you do, that you’re lacking transitions tonight, and neither of you knows how to proceed.

You gently grab her wrist so that she’ll look at you instead of doing the strange averting of her gaze that’s currently happening. Hopefully it will also make her realize you’re being earnest. “This is my favorite type of evening. I love spending time with friends where I don’t have to worry about strange men hitting on me or straining to hear the people I’m with.” You gesture at the TV where celebrations are still going on. “That looks fun, but I know I would hate it. This is so much better.”

Korra meets your eyes with a tremulous smile. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Can you imagine the bathroom nightmare that must be? God, and the noise? And the people? Do you know how awful most people are? It would be terrible.”

It’s a weak joke, but it’s enough to draw a laugh from Korra. “Thanks,” she says. “Are you—are you planning on staying?”

Normally you’d rather go home and sleep in your own bed, but your apartment is lonely with Opal gone, and Korra doesn’t look like she wants to be alone either. “If that’s okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. Do you—you’re welcome to sleep out here on the futon.” She gestures to the couch that is apparently a futon. You hadn’t noticed. “Or you could—you’re welcome to share my bed?”

The way her voice trails up at the end turns it into a terrified question that makes you smile. If she were more confident, you’d decline her offer, but she’s so uncertain. You wonder if she doesn’t want to sleep alone after what she told you. Or because it’s New Year’s Eve. Or maybe you’re projecting, and you don’t want her to sleep alone; nor do you want to be alone. “We could share. Though I should warn you: I’m kind of a violent sleeper.”

Korra chuckles as most people do when you tell them that. She’ll find out soon enough that you’re not joking. “Are you ready for bed now, or…”

“I’m ready. But maybe we should clean up a little first?” There’s not that much to do, but there’s leftover pizza that needs to be refrigerated and brownies that need to be put in a sealable container. Cockroaches and ants are unavoidable in this city, but you can at least minimize their dominion.

“I’ll clean up. You can go get changed and stuff. If you need towels or washcloths, they’re in the closet at the end of the hall.”

You nod, a little distracted at how strange this newfound intimacy is. With Brian it was always casually easy. He was someone you’d known for so long that once your relationship morphed into something more, it was effortless. You lack this familiarity with Korra, and it’s just…awkward. But it’s an awkwardness tinged with an unfamiliar excitement, and so you’re willing to keep pushing the boundaries of your friendship.

The bathroom is a typical apartment bathroom with neutral walls, cheap modern fixtures, and a tub/shower combo. You shed your sweatshirt and t-shirt and exchange them for a clean shirt. Off come your pajama bottoms to reveal the boxers you were wearing underneath. You hate sleeping in long sleeves because they get twisted, and the discomfort keeps you from sleeping. Brushing your teeth is calming because it’s something that can’t be rushed. Two minutes of your fixed routine helps you to center yourself. Out come your contacts, a quick face wash, and on go your glasses. Once you relieve yourself, you pack up your bag and slowly make your way to Korra’s room.

She’s turned off the lights out in the living room, so you don’t have to search for her. Korra’s apartment is chilly, and you regret taking off your sweatshirt. She smiles in your direction without meeting your eyes and gestures to the bed. “You can…uh…make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Based on the arrangement of the pillows, you guess she sleeps on the side closest to the wall, which suits you just fine. It gives you easier access to the door and bathroom should you need it. You slide under the covers, pleased to find she has flannel sheets on her bed. The cheap (and sometimes expensive), starchy kind are on your list of hated textures.

“Do you need anything?” Korra asks softly when she gets back. It’s so out of character. You’re not sure how to handle it.

“I’m fine.”

She shuts off the light and crawls over you to get into bed. You’re not touching or talking, and the silent tension is so loud that you doubt you’ll get any sleep tonight. The only thing you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears as you stare up at the ceiling and wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Have you really never had sex before?”

It takes you a second to process what you heard and then another to make sure you didn’t imagine it. “Oh my God. Are you serious?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

“Uh…yeah. Probably shouldn’t be since we’re in bed together, but now I’m thinking about it, and I really want to know.”

“Brian and I, we…um…we didn’t have like…sex sex, but we did…other stuff,” you tell her. The darkness is your salvation because it hides your burning cheeks. “Neither of us was…unsatisfied.”

You feel Korra shift beside you. “Okay,” she says shakily. “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?” A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

“No, I…ugh!” Korra groans into her pillow. “I regret asking that question. Shut up. Go to sleep.”

You’re still giggling as you roll onto your side, facing away from her. It’s clear she’s joking, but it’s also late. When she curls up behind you with her arms pressed sloppily against your back, you thank God for every odd and uncomfortable moment that happened this evening because it led to this perfect start to the New Year.

Chapter Text

Opal finally, finally returns a few days before classes start. You’re heading to the kitchen to grab some carrot sticks as an afternoon snack when you hear, BAM! Bang, tap, tap against the door. A laugh escapes you as you open the door and Opal stumbles in, the bags in her arms tumbling to the ground. “Were you kicking the door?” you ask.

“Obviously. My hands were a little full. Come here, idiot.” She tugs you into a tight hug. “I missed you. I’m going to pee. Then you’re going tell me about your break while you make me dinner.”

You snort and pull back to look at her with a stern expression. “Want to try that again?”

Opal rolls her eyes and chants, “Asami, will you please make me dinner since I know you have something planned, and you’re the better cook?”

You hold the frown for a few more seconds before you can’t do it anymore and break into laughter. “Obviously,” you say. “But you’re going to tell me about your break first.”

“Deal!” Opal races to her bathroom.

Since you’re usually the one who makes dinner, you already had something planned. So instead of the carrot sticks that were your initial goal, you go for the ricotta, mozzarella, and provolone. Baked ziti is an apartment favorite. You grab the noodles you’d boiled earlier and pull out a 9x13 pan.

“OOOH!” Opal exclaims when she walks into the kitchen. “Baked ziti! This is why you’re my favorite.”

That makes you snort. “This is Bolin’s recipe, so I’m pretty sure that position goes to him. Speaking of which. You seem really happy. How was your break?” 

A dopey grin spreads across Opal’s face, and you know this conversation is going to be almost unbearably mushy. “It was so great. You know how my mom is the mayor?” 

“Mmhmm.” You’re in the process of seasoning the sauce, so your attention is mostly on making sure you add the right ingredients. 

“Okay. Well, we always have a big New Year’s Eve party for the rich and stuffy people who donate to my mom’s campaign. Most years it’s so, so boring, but this year was amazing. Bolin charmed everyone he talked to! I’m pretty sure he single-handedly inspired thousands of dollars of donations to a local children’s home. Some old business dude asked Bolin about his family, and Bolin told him all about growing up in foster care. The guy was so impressed by how well Bolin is doing that he rallied some of his old business dude friends to hear Bo’s story. Bo told them the best thing they can do to make a difference is donating money, and they agreed.” 

It’s a terrific story, but not surprising, you think as you taste the sauce. Bolin is nothing if not engaging. “That’s great!” 

“I know! I just—I just love him so much!” 

You turn around to look at her and have to bite back a teasing grin at her blush. “Yeah? Did you tell him that?” 

Opal turns even redder. “Yeah. He cried a little bit. And then we had sex.”

That’s not what you were expecting, and you feel yourself turn red, though probably not as red as Opal. “Okay, then,” you say with a laugh. “Good for you.” Thankfully the sauce, so you have to pull it off of the heat and don’t have to say anything further. 

“Yeah. It was amazing. Did you know he’s great with kids? Baatar was there with his kids, and Bolin kept them entertained the whole time. He does the voices when he reads and chased them around and decorated cookies with them. He’s so good,” she breathes. 

You can’t help smiling at how very in love Opal is and how glad you are it’s with Bolin. He’s not someone you might gush about like Opal does, but you love him too. Then your brain catches up to what Opal said. “Baatar was there?” 

Opal quickly grows sober, so you give her a minute to collect her thoughts as you spray the pan and layer it with sauce. “Yes,” she says, slowly. “I guess Kuvira’s getting help. Or, well, that’s a kind way to say it. She’s going through court ordered parenting classes because the kids’ school reported her for child abuse. Baatar and the kids are crashing with my parents until she’s done with the classes.” 

“That’s…good?” 

Opal shrugs. “The best we can hope for, I think. Short of him leaving her altogether, and that’s not going to happen.” You’re both quiet while you layer the noodles with sauce and cheese. “Asami?” she says not long after. 

“Hmm?” 

“You know Kuvira’s the reason I didn’t like Korra at first, right? Kuvira’s hurt Baatar and the kids so much. I just—I didn’t want you to go through the same thing.”  

You slide the ziti into the oven to fulfill the baked part. “I put the pieces together based on things you said.” 

“I think maybe that was unfair to Korra. She was really shitty to you, but she’s not like Kuvira. Kuvira...she’s never really wanted to be better. She’s always blamed her behavior on other people. And like, I get that the things that happen to people shape them, but it doesn’t mean they can use that as an excuse to be terrible human beings. Korra’s taken responsibility for what she did, and she’s working to be better. I respect that.” 

“That’s—that’s good to hear.” While you’d known that Opal was less actively hostile to Korra in the days leading up to winter break, you weren’t sure she was actually okay with her. Finding out Korra has Opal’s seal of approval makes a part of you relax that you didn’t even realize was tense. If Opal thinks Korra’s okay, she must be. 

“Yeah. So, anyway. How was your break? You spent Christmas and New Year’s with Korra, right?” 

You smile sheepishly. “Yes. Well, I spent Christmas at Professor Tenzin’s with both of our families, and Korra was there too.” 

“Oh my God! I forgot you were going to see your family! How did that go?” 

This is the first time you’ve attempted to talk about it, so you are uncertain how to put your feelings into words. “Um…” You put on the tea kettle; you’ve always thought better when your hands are busy. “It went well.” 

Opal snorts. “That’s wonderfully vague.” 

“I know. I know. I just—I don’t know,” you say, turning around to look at her. “It was really great. My grandmother was…she loves me. I don’t know why I expected her not to, but I guess I really didn’t? At least…at least not as much as she does.” When the water boils, you make two mugs of tea. “She tried to get custody after my mom died, but my dad threatened them with lawsuits. None of them even cared that I’m bi. My cousin Iroh brought his husband. I don’t—I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Opal accepts the mug you hand to her. She takes a sip and places it next to her where she’s sitting on the counter. “What’s there to handle?” she asks casually. 

That’s a fair question. It’s what you don’t know how to explain. Opal’s right. There really isn’t anything to handle. You’re going to visit in two weeks, and you’re not even nervous about it. Mostly it’s…it’s… “I think,” you say slowly. “I think I just keep thinking about how different my life would be if I’d gone to live with my grandparents. And I…I don’t know what my life would look like now. I can’t figure it out. Would I be here but better? Would I still be in engineering? Would I—” 

“Why does it matter?” Opal asks and then seems to realize how insensitive it sounded. “I don’t mean that in a rude way. I just mean that you can think about this forever, and it’s still not going to change anything. But you’re obviously still thinking about it. So I’m asking why it matters so much to you?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I know logically that you’re right, that no amount of wondering is going to change where or who I am. But I keep doing it anyway…I think because I want to be different. I wish I were better. When my grandma told me my life could have been different, I started wondering more about what it would be like to be better. I just don’t know what that looks like or how to get there.” 

“Girl,” Opal says softly, more an interjection than anything else. “I wish you had an easier life. You’ve been doing well with living with everything that happened, but I’m not sure it really seems like healing. Have you considered therapy?” 

It’s not that you haven’t thought about it. Certainly you have in the past and again when you found out Korra was going. It’s just that you’ve not had good experiences with it. They’ve been…terrible if you’re being honest. “I have,” you say and then hesitate, not sure how much you want Opal to know. Then you throw caution to the wind. “My high school found out and sent my dad and me to therapy when I was sixteen. The therapist didn’t believe me, and he broke my arm afterward. I went again in college, but…” You trail off, not really sure how to finish that sentence. But what? But you couldn’t forget that your high school therapy stint occurred? But the therapist your college assigned you to was a man? But you didn’t know how to talk about all of this? 

Opal looks like she doesn’t know what to say, and then she barrels into you and hugs you tightly. You have to take a step back to absorb her momentum. It’s always a strange place to be when you tell someone about your past. Sometimes they get weird and walk away because they don’t know what to do. Sometimes they say really unhelpful things like: everything happens for a reason. And sometimes they take Opal’s approach and comfort you, but in a way that is really mostly just comfort for them. It’s the best of the three, so you don’t mind holding Opal who is clinging to you. 

“I hate him,” she says. Your opinion of her approach inches upward at that. “I hate everyone for hurting you.” 

“Yeah,” you manage to croak out through the lump that formed at her earnestness. “Thanks.” 

Fortunately, the timer you set on the oven goes off, and you can disengage from this conversation that became too dark too quickly. Opal must sense your discomfort because as you scoop the baked ziti into bowls, she changes the subject. “Okay, so seeing your family again was good, but gave you a minor identity crisis. Now that we’ve got the dark stuff out of the way, what about Korra? How was that?” 

With a start, you realize a career in poker is no longer in your future. In the past you could face any situation with a straight face. Now, all it takes is a mention of Korra for your face muscles to betray your will and break into a sheepish grin. “Kind of great.” 

Opal squeals, that high pitched noise every girl but you seems to be able to make. “Oh my God! Are you officially dating now? Did you kiss? Oh—thanks.” Handing her her bowl derails the train of questions you know would have gone on and on and on. Bolin has rubbed off on her. 

“I don’t know. No. We’re not officially dating. But…” You pause to think as you both make your way into the living room. “But I think we’re close? We—she talked about some things with me, things I need to know if we’re dating. And we—we cuddled.” It strikes you as odd that Opal could say she had sex with Bolin so easily, and you cringe just at admitting you cuddled. 

“Did you kiss?” she repeats. 

“No.” Opal’s unimpressed look makes you stuff another bite into your mouth. It’s an unwise decision because it means that you nearly choke in your attempt to swallow so you can defend yourself. “It wasn’t the right time. She—we…it just wasn’t. I know I sound like I’m defending…I don’t know. Like I’m defending cowardice, but I promise it wasn’t the time.” 

Opal waves her fork around in surrender. “Okay, okay. Tell me more about this cuddling.” 

Maybe this is normal conversation for normal people, but it’s not for you. You’re not exactly sure what she wants you to say. So you give it a valiant effort and tell her about how you awkwardly threw yourself on Korra and just waited for her to respond. Your eyes are steadfastly fixed upon your ziti so you don’t have to look at Opal, but you’re still pretty sure she’s laughing at you. Understandably so.

“Okay,” she says when you’re done, and yep. You can hear the barely concealed laughter in her voice. But she seems to know you’re trying your best. “How did it feel? Did you like it, I mean? Do you want to do it again?” 

“Yes! Oh my gosh, yes!” 

Now Opal really does laugh, fully, like the laughter she was holding back bubbled out of her at once. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so enthusiastic.” 

You know your face must be bright red, but you’re going to push through anyway. “Yes. Well, it was really…nice. Korra understands. She—we—it was just nice. We also shared a bed that night. When we woke up, things should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.” 

“No?” 

“No,” you say, resting your head against the back of the couch as you try to figure out what it was. “It was…so we woke up on opposite sides of the bed. But she kind of tugged me toward her and…I don’t know. Held me? I guess?” 

Now you look up at Opal to judge her reaction and silently plead for help, some direction for how to explain your thoughts and feelings. Thankfully she seems to have gotten all of her laughter out. Now she looks thoughtful, though there’s definitely still amusement in her eyes. “You guess? Like she had her arms around you or something?” 

“Yes. Definitely that.” Her words pushed away some of your uncertainty. “She held me, and we talked for awhile. About…about our New Year’s traditions. We both have so many bad memories from the past, but this wasn’t—it was about our good memories.” 

“How was that?” Opal must feel like she’s pulling teeth to get this out of you, but she’s set her jaw, and she seems to be in it for the long haul. 

“Hard,” you say, watching as Opal frowns. “Because the good memories are so precious. We both feel like we have to protect them. It’s scary to share them because someone might take them away or use our happiness against us.” Opal’s frown deepens, so you quickly start talking again. You want her to understand. You need her to. Your morning with Korra wasn’t something sad. It was a good experience. “It was…it was soft and gentle and really…really special. Like, even if nothing ever comes of us, it will have been worth it for this one memory.” 

Opal tilts her head, eyes narrowing in your direction. “I think I understand,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “But, like, are you happy about this? You don’t…your face is blank, and most of what you’ve said sounds…I don’t know. Sad? Heavy for sure. Your voice, I mean, but I guess what you’re saying is those things too. I don’t know how to read you when you’re like this.” 

“I’m—” You start to answer, but then you realize you’re not sure how to answer this, mainly because you’re not exactly sure what she’s asking. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, like when I talk about Bo, I get really excited and happy. Bubbly is the word most people use. But with Korra, you go quiet and serious. It’s like—like you think the fate of the world depends on your relationship.” She pauses and closes her eyes to replay the words she just said in her mind. “I don’t mean that pejoratively,” she finally says. “And I know you like Korra. Just…how do you feel about all of…this?” She makes a sweeping circular gesture to encompass what you assume is yours and Korra’s situation. 

It’s a fair question, a good question. “I don’t think the world depends on us,” you say, addressing the easiest part first. “It’s not that. It’s…she matters to me. I have a hard time talking about things that matter. I don’t like to talk about things that are important to me.” 

“Because you’re afraid you’ll jinx them?” 

“Sure.” That’s relatively close to what you mean. “Or maybe that someone or the universe will take them away from me. So I am happy about all of—” You approximate the same gesture Opal made. “Very happy. I just don’t always know how to talk about it.” 

Opal thinks about that while she finishes the last bite of her dinner. “That’s good. I’m happy you’re happy.” She hesitates and then shrugs. “And I’m glad you talk about important things with me even if it’s hard. I’m not sure how I earned your trust, but I’m really glad I did.” 

You sigh as you head back to the kitchen. Opal, apparently surprised, jumps to her feet to follow. “I’m not sure you did anything. You’re just…here and persistent. And…for some reason you seem to care.” 

“What a glowing list of characteristics.” Opal’s voice is dry and tinged with offense. 

“I didn’t mean…I’m really glad we’re friends. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had because you actually care about me enough to make sure I’m okay. No one’s ever done that before.” 

You’re washing the dishes and not entirely sure what you said makes sense. Opal’s silence doesn’t provide any evidence one way or the other. Then you hear her sigh. “You have such low standards for how people should treat you.”

This is getting too heavy for you. “Yeah,” you say. “But I’ve got killer hair. You win some, you lose some.”

Chapter Text

It’s time. At least that’s what Opal keeps telling you. You’re inclined to agree…at least after listening to Opal bug you for a solid week. So when Korra opens her door to let you into her apartment, you lean in and give her a quick kiss. “Hey,” you say as you set your messenger bag down beside the couch.

“Um…hi?” Korra says. She reaches up to touch her lips. “Did you—did you just kiss me?”

Now the plan you’d concocted for making this not awkward seems stupid because it mostly feels entirely awkward. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

Korra pulls you to sit down next to her onto the futon she uses as a couch. “So okay!” she says with a blinding grin. “I just—is it okay if we talk about it? Talk about us, I mean? Maybe not today, but at least at some point?”

“Sure. Um. Maybe we can talk about it more another day, but I think we can say some things today.” Your heart rate picks up a little, but you assumed this conversation was forthcoming. It only seems fair that you show some vulnerability since you caught Korra off guard. “So, we’ve established that we both like each other. And we’ve spent a lot of time together. I’d like it if you were my girlfriend.” You’d practiced that speech on the way over.

“I—I’d like that too. I—shit. When you said you wanted to study, I assumed you meant that. I really wasn’t expecting this. But yeah. I’d like to be your girlfriend too.” Korra’s smile slides off her face. “I just—you know…I’m really bad at relationships. I don’t want to mess this up.”

This is something you knew, but not something you expected her to say. Thankfully it’s something you’ve thought a lot about. “If we don’t work, we can go back to being friends. We’re good at that. But, for the record, I think we will work. You know more about me than almost anyone.”

“Same,” Korra whispers, looking at you like...you’re not sure how she’s looking at you. Surprise is certainly there. “Thank you for taking the initiative. I was a little afraid we’d be stuck in the the weird more than friends but less than girlfriends state forever.” Relief. That’s the other thing you see. You wonder how you missed it before.

Somehow this is still just a bit off. Neither one of you is sure where to go from here. At least that’s how you feel. It was like this with Brian too. Maybe even when you really like someone, it’s always a little awkward when you start dating one of your friends. Although it’s not the dating part that’s awkward. It’s the hashing out the new boundaries of your relationship that is. You think a change of subject is in order. “So, what have you been up to today?”

Korra’s eyebrows pinch together and she grabs her thigh in the way you know she does when she’s anxious. “Um, I had lunch with my ex.”

“Oh.” That’s not what you expected, but you suppose it makes sense. You know Korra’s needed closure on that relationship. Korra’s ex had cheated on and then broken up with her during the first couple of weeks of the semester. Korra had been trying to talk with her ever since, but the ex was always “busy.” It seems that she’d finally gotten her act together. “How was it?”

“Are you jealous? Are you upset?” Korra’s grip on her thigh tightens.

You’re startled by the question. “No. Should I be?”

“Should you—wait. What?”

“It didn’t occur to me to be jealous. Should I be?” You’re genuinely not sure how you’re supposed to feel in this situation. Brian was your only relationship, and neither of you had ever been jealous. At least, you hadn’t been. Maybe he’d been jealous at points, but you didn’t pay enough attention to know for sure. That’s something to ponder another time.

Korra frowns at you. “You don’t need to be. Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen. I just—she would have been so mad at me if I told her I’d been talking to an ex.”

“Korra,” you say gently. “That’s not healthy. I would never be upset with you for talking to someone.” How are you the relationship expert here? How are you the one who knows what is and isn’t healthy? Then again, as flat as your relationship was, it was at least stable. Based on what Bolin said, maybe she’s never had that before.

Korra stares at you; you know she’s afraid this is somehow a trap, so you meet her gaze impassively because this is not a trap. You really, really need her to know that. She eventually sighs and looks down at her hands. “I don’t get you. You…I’ve never…I don’t know how to do this.” She gestures between the two of you. “Like, I don’t know how to date someone who…”

“Trusts you?” you finish, tentatively. “That’s what it sounds like you’re saying. You’ve never dated someone who trusts you. Or maybe someone who actually likes you for who you are and respects what you need?”

“Yeah,” Korra says with a laugh. “Oh my God. I’ve never thought of it that way before, but you’re right. That’s so depressing. Can I—can I ask…”

You think she’s trying and failing to ask for reassurance, so you give it to her. “I like you as a person. I trust you. And I respect you.”

Korra melts against you, leaning her head on your shoulder. It feels…it feels like everything. “I can’t do this.” The way she snuggles closer to you belies her words. “I don’t mean that. I want to do this. I just don’t know how.”

“Yes you do,” you tell her. You have to stop yourself from stroking her hair out of her eyes, but then you realize you can! Her hair feels coarser than you were anticipating…just like her. “It’s just like being friends with a little bit more attached. You’re great at being friends.”

“What if I screw up?”

“Korra. Sweetie. It’s just like friendship. If you’re unhappy, you tell me. If I’m unhappy, I’ll tell you. I promise it’s not as hard as it feels to you right now.”

“I just really like you. That’s why I’m so scared,” Korra says.

Maybe someday this will come back to haunt you. Maybe Korra will someday break your heart just like she’s afraid of, but somehow you don’t think so. When she brushes a kiss against your neck, you decide you don’t care. “I know,” you tell her. “I really like you, too.”

The two of you sit together for a few minutes until Korra says, “I’m really happy at this turn of events, but you did say you were coming over to study. Do you think you can help me with my New Testament paper? I can’t get it to work the way I want it to.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. It’s mostly relief from knowing the hard part of this visit is over. And also, you’re just realizing how weird this conversation must be for Korra who was expecting to work on her assignment. “Yeah. Of course. What are you writing on?”

“Um…” Korra sinks back against the couch. “So, I’m basically trying to argue that Jesus is an asshole?”

She’s sufficiently stunned you into silence. That’s something you never expected to hear at this school. After a couple of seconds, you recover. “What do you mean? Or…what’s your angle, I guess?”

“Oh good,” she says, letting out a sigh. “You don’t hate me…yet at least. I just—so we have to write on Matthew, right? Jesus is an asshole to the mother of James and John. I don’t really know yet. I just know it doesn’t feel right.”

Korra has such an interesting mind. You would never have considered taking that approach with this paper. However, you love a challenge, so you open to Matthew 20:20-28. It says, “20 Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to him with her sons, and kneeling before him, she asked a favor of him. 21 And he said to her, “What do you want?” She said to him, “Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.” 22 But Jesus answered, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?” They said to him, “We are able.” 23 He said to them, “You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” 24 When the ten heard it, they were angry with the two brothers. 25 But Jesus called them to him and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 26 It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, 27 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; 28 just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

It’s the passage where the mother of James and John asks Jesus for her sons to sit at his right and left hand in heaven. Jesus brushes her off and doesn’t even answer her directly. Now that you’ve read it with Korra’s critique in mind, you can see what she’s saying. Jesus does come off as a bit of an asshole. Moreover, it makes you think of 1 Kings 1 where Bathsheba basically asks for the same thing from David in reference to Solomon. In that passage, there’s a struggle to determine who will succeed David as king. Nathan and Bathsheba manipulate a very old David into naming Solomon as his successor.

“I’ve got your angle,” you say.

“Oh good,” she says, grabbing her laptop and opening the right document. “I’ve been thinking about this for days, and now it’s due on Monday, and I haven’t really started.”

So together you outline a paper that argues Jesus rebukes the mother of James and John unfairly for essentially being a good Hebrew mother that fights for the status of her sons. First Kings 1 serves as the foil to Matthew 20, but you also mention what Rebekah does for Jacob. It’s a literary, feminist, and somehow also historical-critical approach. Literary because the argument is primarily based in character analysis. Feminist because that’s the main point of the paper; it’s dealing with women in the text and making a claim about and supporting them. Historical-critical because it’s assuming the author of Matthew was steeped in Israelite/Hebrew traditions that informed the text. Essentially, it does a bit of everything. The smoking gun, you think, is that in Matthew, only two women speak to Jesus. He rebukes one and ignores the other in favor of speaking to her sons. So in some sense and though you certainly rephrased it for Korra’s thesis, her original point is right: Matthew’s Jesus is a bit of an asshole.

“Do you think this will work?” Korra asks you, frowning at the white board on which you outlined this paper.

“Well,” you say uncertainly. “I think it will be good enough to get you an A in an intro class, but it’s maybe a bit too tenuous right now to publish or write a dissertation on.”

Korra laughs. “Oh no. An A is enough for me. If I ever temporarily lose my mind and decide a PhD is a good idea, no way in hell will it be in New Testament.” You open your mouth to respond, but she quickly cuts you off. “No. Not Hebrew Bible either. No Bible for me. I’m too much of a heathen for that straight white male bullshit.”

You frown at her. “So am I, but I guess I’m going to shake that shit up.”

Her laughter is worth awkward feel of that curse word on your tongue.