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Asami Sato had a crush. A big one.
Korra had no business even ever looking at her, just some stupid suck-up.
She had seen Korra inside a liquor store down the street from her favorite coffee shop, chatting and laughing with the seedy guy at the register. She looked incredible, wearing a camouflage jacket and dark jeans with her hair falling in her face.
She’d love to kiss the troublemaker on the lips. She hardly ever spoke, but that made her better. She could be nice, maybe even gentle inside the tattoo-crusted exterior.
Korra was the kind of thing her father would forbid her to even look at. A girl. One that was known to run weed back and forth from Ba Sing Se. There were no R-rated movies in the Sato household, much less anything that could tell Asami what weed even was.
It sent a thrill down her spine whenever she watched Korra from a table on the quad, or from careful glances to the back of the classroom. She’d be carving something into the desk, likely a curse word or hopefully something that was crude enough to make the maintenance staff throw the whole desk away. Once in the late afternoon, Asami had stayed after to talk with a teacher. The English classroom she shared with Korra was left tantalizingly open. She had sat down in the back and traced the profanities on the third desk from the left with her index finger.
She’d never admit it to anyone but herself, this fascination. But, one day she hoped the whole world would know.
It would be a headline. Sato Heir Dating a Bad Seed. She would love to have a paparazzi picture of her and Korra, walking in a park where Korra had her hood up and Asami walked close to her. Such a contrast with Asami in her pencil skirt and blouse, so much so it didn’t even look like they were walking together.
She didn’t know anything about Korra’s family, or if she even had one. Asami would help her. Be her rock. Stay in their motel room and finish both their homework, while Korra was checking in the lobby couches for change to buy another pack of beer. It was a strange daydream to have, sure, but it was strange enough to have Asami weak in the knees.
She’d run away from her father. To her rough-and-tough girlfriend that wouldn’t hold her hand in public. Wouldn’t seem to care about anything at all. In the motel room, Korra would be all over her. Hiroshi wouldn’t know where to look for her.
If she had Korra, she could escape. She’d still be a good girl, but she’d be Korra’s good girl.