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If someone had asked you in your early twenties what you wanted out of a relationship your answer would have been simple, albeit a little naïve: I want to be loved. I want them to be my best friend.
If someone were to ask you now, the answer would be long and take into account the many challenges life throws at you; where your life is headed and where you see yourself in ten years time; but boil down to one simple statement: I want to be loved, but more-so I want to be understood. I want them to be my advocate, my adherent, my helpmate. The champion to my cause.
You haven’t seen Korra in two weeks. This isn’t an unusual state of affairs.
Weeks apart have become commonplace for you, both occupied with your own lives more than each others. You expanding your successes with Future Industries beyond the boundaries of Republic City. Her on a journey of self-actualisation away from the expectations and limelight of role of the Avatar.
Life’s taken an unexpected shift in gear. Just when you are beginning to take some of the riskiest business ventures in you life to expand your sphere of influence into the realms of the Fire Nation, she is becoming more conscientious and holistic in her world-view; looking to serve a cause greater than herself beyond just protector.
You feel like you should be enjoying this change, watching each other transform and emerge. Not necessary into someone different, but someone more complete.
Yet on the rare instances you do find yourself together and unhampered by work or self-appointed duties, you’re both so out-of-sync that it takes a few days to find a sense of regularity.
You catch-up like two people who have not seen one another in a while rather than two people in a romantic relationship. And by the time you have, one of you must leave once again.
If anything, it feels like you’re both drifting apart.
You occupy each other’s space without meaning; ships that pass in the night.
Your relationship has fallen by the wayside for some time now but neither of you truly registered what was happening. Perhaps neither of you wanted to.
But since then you’ve had time to think about it and the path is clear.
Simply because there’s nowhere else to go.
There’s a jangle of keys and a click and a creak as your apartment door opens. You sit up from your laying position on the sofa and smooth down your suit. Your coffee and newspaper you picked up on the way home from work sit on the sleek table in front of you, forgotten.
The lights are off but the large glass panes that take up an entire wall of your living room give more than enough light. There’s a soft tap of rain against the glass, giving forewarning of worse weather to come. It’s cold outside and just a little drowsy.
If you stand close enough you can feel the cold through the glass.
You stand as she enters the room. There’s a nervous knot in your stomach for all the wrong reasons.
She’s walks in looking tired and a little damp, but when she sees you she flashes a winning smile and for a moment all your pondering seems unreasonable. “Hey. You miss me?”
What happens next is systematic by this point: you greet one another as you always do: a hug, a kiss, you ask how the journey home was. Not bad or could have been worse is almost always your answer, because the sky could be falling in and the oceans overflowing their barriers and she’ll still answer with a shrug and a grin if it made you worry less.
You make tea while she curls up in the corner of that sofa she never particularly liked but you did. Then you sit across from one another, warm cups in hand. Speak.
You’re aware this might be the last time. You smile, try to not let it show. Not now, not yet. Let you at least have this.
You speak quickly and avidly about the last two weeks. You speak about your recent dealings with the Fire Nation and Prince Iroh’s keen interest in your newest technologies. He has given his full backing to your ideas for improving the nation’s archaic transit system—he’ll soon be Firelord, and won’t that be great for business?
You’ll be going back in a few days, you say. Some things still need to be straightened out, meetings to be called. You ask her if she’ll mind, not that the answer will matter now. Habit.
She doesn’t mind. She never does.
You wonder vaguely if she’s even hearing you. Her eyes are glassy and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Present in body, but not in mind.
She’s stuck in a moment long past, giving you empty smiles and hollow affections where genuine sentiment once fostered. “That’s great.”
Every day’s an adventure for you: a discovery, a new way of thinking, an opportunity of mastery or the refining of a new skill. This city is the home of your heart; your soul reflects itself back in it and allows you to grow. You’re home.
Yet you have a whisper of a feeling she’d rather be somewhere else. “And you?”
“Oh you know,” she says, taking that moment to take a sip from her cup. “Same old, same old,” she finishes jauntily, but the inflection in her voice is at odds with her body. She's all curled up, only now it doesn’t look as comfortable. “Things, just things.”
“Anything in particular?” But you know. You know she knows you know too, but just wants to avoid the possible fallout.
She needn’t worry—there won’t be one this time.
“You went to see Kuvira,” you say. It’s a statement, in need of no other explanation.
She gives you one anyway. “Only once. I haven’t been in ages. She’d be worried I—”
“Worried you… wouldn’t be coming back?”
Silence.
“I didn’t stay long. An hour, tops. We didn’t even do a session. I was just… passing.”
Does it even matter at this point?
“A social visit then,” you say simply. You’re not angry, not any more. You’re resigned.
You knew, anyway. You always know.
It’s no less unpleasant.
“Ye— no. Well.”
She doesn’t know what to say and neither do you, because that’s what this whole agreement was based around.
You were never keen on the idea, of course—when Korra first suggested it, it had been several months into your relationship and the United Republic had been haemorrhaging money to get the city’s feet back under it once again.
You donated your time and efforts freely, along with the profits you had gained from doing business with Kuvira’s forces before the usurping fiasco had begun.
You felt obligated to because it was your home, but it was also a cleansing process. For you that money would be forever tainted. Even though business suffered initially, it felt good to be rid of it.
Others did support the effort too of course—including Varrick surprisingly—although somewhat begrudgingly.
You always suspected Varrick’s act of generosity had more to do with Zhu Li’s moral compass than his own. Either way, the boost in the United Republic’s finances placed them both in a good stead in the public eye again after the Earth Empire Army disintegration.
So for Korra to ask such a thing from you after Republic City had just pulled itself back from the brink felt like a betrayal.
It was a tall ask, to expect you to care. Had Kuvira won, she most certainly wouldn’t have cared about anyone but herself. Even sitting in that cell alone, you couldn’t imagine she was doing anything more than wallowing in self-pity.
So you dismissed it and Korra didn’t bring it up again, although it hung awkward in the air like an unspoken secret whenever you talked about the current crisis together.
Then, after nearly a year had gone by, and all court rulings had passed, Kuvira had been spared death—barely.
When the topic of transferring Kuvira to a more permanent location came up, Korra was the first to volunteer to help and Mako shortly thereafter—if only to give Lin a break from the harrowing ordeal of dealing with the trial, her family, and the city.
Bolin had stayed mostly silent on the matter and for good reason—the Beifongs had enough drama to deal with without him ‘taking sides’ as Opal had put it.
You hadn’t been sure how to feel about the whole thing, only that you were glad it was over and could finally put it to rest.
So when Korra helped with the transfer and came back to you looking deeply troubled, you knew she would ask you again to reconsider: “She’s in a terrible place—in her head, I mean—it’s really messed her up, what’s happened. I know you don’t agree but I really think she needs help, Asami… I think I can help her.”
You dwelt on it for days, many an hour spent walking the slowly repairing street of down-town—the very veins of the city beginning to flow again—and long spells in coffee shops in spring downpours.
It never truly sat comfortably with you, but whatever grudges you hold you aren’t completely without compassion for people who have done you wrong. Kuvira was condemned to a miserable existence anyway. If it made Korra feel better to try to help in vain, so be it.
So she did as she felt was right alongside her Avatar duties, kept details of the visits to herself unless you asked. You threw yourself headlong into your work, healed your own wounds by rebuilding the city. You spend time doing things together in-between; made plans; met up with friends. Everything was good.
Unfortunately the visits never stopped, her duties to help the Earth Kingdom and carry on her spiritual training pulled her further and further away from you; now years later it’s become one of the many rifts keeping you apart.
The points of difference you’ve always had—in opinion; in lifestyle; in long-term goals; were easy to overlook as friends and even as young lovers. The multifaceted nature of life. Different, but working towards a common cause—why would you ever want that to change?
But it has changed. You’re both older now and thinking long-term. You have plans, aspirations, dreams. Similar in principle, but on divergent paths.
And it's slowly beginning to sink in these differing purposes you’ve created for yourselves aren’t complimentary; they’re polarising.
The world is at balance; years of planning the recovery of the Earth Kingdom have come to fruition. The city moulded into the flourishing metropolis you always imagined it would be, and worked tirelessly to achieve.
You’ve both achieved what you set-out to do all those years ago and you’re not sure what your common cause is supposed to be.
The fact you feel there needs to be one is disheartening in itself. When did you start needing a reason for being a relationship together?
And like the city itself, that disconnect is coming to its pinnacle.
You’re loosing her and it’s become too complicated to untangle the reasons why. Or maybe you already have.
“Korra, we need to talk.”
Because even the stars—as vast and untouchable and beautiful as they are—dim and burn out eventually.
She looks at you surprised. The apologies and half-formed reasonings dying on her lips—the one’s you know serve to convince herself more than they ever did you, even if she isn’t aware of it—replaced with a single question: “What is it?”
It’s many things, but you start gently. “I don’t think this is working, Korra.”
It’s like falling into the abyss; a single instant you cannot take back or stop from proceeding. Her eyes blaze fiercely and she sits a little straighter, now-empty cup tight in her two-handed grip between you. “What do you mean?”
You swallow thickly, blink slowly, don’t break eye-contact. This is too important. “You know what I mean, Korra. This… we don’t work any more.”
“What—? Asami of course we work, this has always worked. We’ve always been good together, everyone says it. What’s happened? Have I done something wrong? This is because I’ve been away a lot lately, isn’t it? I can come back.”
“And do what, Korra?” You can’t imagine she’d be able to stay occupied in the city for very long, boredom was the reason she left in the first place.
“Well I,” she looks down for a moment and furrows her brow, like she can’t quite work out what the right answer might be. She doesn’t realise there isn’t one. “I’ll be with you.”
You shake your head. If only it were that easy. “And then what, Korra? What happens after that?”
“…I don’t understand,” she looks downtrodden and you believe her. She doesn’t understand what’s happening—what’s happened—because she’s been too wrapped up trying to solve everyone else’s problems that she hasn’t noticed the change herself.
You look at her eyes searching yours trying to find some clarity; something concrete, tangible. You glance away and your hand strokes your bare neck; this is so much harder in reality then it ever was in your head.
“We can’t keep going like this, Korra. We’re leading completely separate lives,” you start, and the words find you unbidden. “We hardly see one another, we never go out and do things like we used to. We’re too busy to buy each other gifts or come to one another’s ceremonies celebrating all the hard work we’re been doing. Even Mako and Bolin have noticed and are worried about us—and you know how Mako doesn’t like to get involved with other people’s business.”
She hears the humorous lilt in your voice on that sentence and she huffs quietly with amusement, but her posture shows a hunched unease about her.
“You’re never here, and when you are… it’s like we’re strangers. I don’t feel like I even know you very well any more.”
“But all that’s easy to fix isn’t it? Me coming back will fix it won’t it?”
“This has been going on for years, Korra. You just haven’t noticed.”
She speaks again but this time her voice sounds strained. She sounds hurt. “Then why didn’t you say something?” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. You imagine yours are the same.
You look down, bite your lip. “I… guess I wasn’t paying attention either,” it feels like a personal failure on your part but it’s too late now. It is what it is. You stop stroking your neck as a thought occurs to you. “We don’t even wear our betrothal necklaces any more.”
She hastily touches her own bare neck and looks startled, staring at you speechless. You doubt she remembers when she stopped wearing hers. You know why you stopped; it’s hard when people ask you questions you don’t have answers for.
There’s something else nagging at you, and you debate mentioning it for a second, but you’ve come this far and it will need addressing some point down the line. “I’m not even the first person you come to talk about your travels.”
She tries to protest but you raise your hand in a silent plea to finish speaking. “Please.”
She heeds, but you can see the anxiety written all over her face.
It’s so obvious now you’ve realised what’s going on. It's amazing, how your perceptive on a situation can change when you admit to yourself something deeper might be at play.
It’s still hard to accept though, and a tight feeling strangles around your heart.
You’re both exhausted and ready to seek greener pastures, with fewer obstacles and a gentler slopes walk upon. Or perhaps the opposite is true; perhaps these pastures are too plain, too easy to traverse that the journey has lost its allure.
You were both always trying to seek out new experiences in order to grow. Maybe during that time you’ve out-grown each other.
You’ve always known your path in life and have toiled to follow it, even if that sometimes means parting with people along the way.
“I love you, Asami.”
“I know. I love you too,” but it’s not enough.
She closes her eyes, inhales deeply, bracing herself. “Then why?”
You know this won’t be easy—but for you it’s been so long coming you find it’s not that hard either. It’s a relief if anything. If life is a journey, then for this small part of it you know your destination.
“Because I don’t find this relationship fulfilling any more and neither do you. We barely see each other. We’re living different lives. And… I love you too much to see you unhappy.”
It's heart wrenching though, in the way goodbyes always are for you.
She huffs, almost angrily, and seems to deflate with the effort like a puppet cut from its strings. She presses her fingers against the corners of her eyes as a tear slides down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m a screw up.”
“Don’t be,” you say. You know in some way you feel you’ve been deeply wronged in this, but it pains you to see her hurting. “You’re just very, incredibly human. You’re as much of a screw up as the rest of us, Avatar.”
She laughs at that and it quickly dissolves into a sob. You take the cold empty cup from her trembling fingers and place it on the coffee table next to your own, gently grasping her arms and guiding her over to you to comfort her.
You’ve crying too, although your tears are silent and less fraught.
It’s dark outside by the time she leaves. Tiny, yellow lights have lit up all over the city like soft, smudged splotches on a black canvas.
You sit for a long time staring at the two cups sitting on your coffee table, mulling over the last couple of hours, and on your over a decade long relationship that ended within them.
There were so many memories that clung to these four walls. Nothing particularly noteworthy. Just old things, small things; important only in sentiment.
You clasp a hand over your mouth, less you make a noise in your empty apartment. So private in your fleeting sorrow that you deny even yourself the sound of your heart grieving.
You need out. Need air. Need to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
You step over the threshold of your apartment, shut the door behind you. Lean back, close your eyes. Breathe in the chill of the late night air.
The traffic hums as the sound of sirens wail in some far off street in the distance.
Your heart’s still heavy but it’ll pass. Yesterday brought smiles and tears and laugher, and although it won’t ever be the same as it was, tomorrow is a new day with new challenges; new places to go and people to meet.
And it starts with a single step.