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Mako and Bolin swept Korra up in a back cracking hug on their way to the locker room after another pro-bending win. She laughed and thrashed for a moment before they let her go.
“Korra! I can’t believe how amazing we were out there!” Bolin looped his arm around Korra’s shoulder and knocked his forehead against hers lightly. Their helmets clacked together in time with the rhythm of Bolin’s excited chatter. Korra smiled and let his happiness wash over her, but her eyes were glued to Mako’s back as he walked away. Some part of her brain was a little disgusted by the amount of time she spent observing the subtle shifts of muscle under the weight of Mako’s clothes, but most of her was too busy appreciating what it saw to make much of a fuss.
Mako had already changed and was leaving the locker room by the time Korra and Bolin caught up with him. Probably can’t wait to go meet up with Asami. Korra sighed and lifted off her helmet.
As she shook out her hair she noticed a familiar white shirt on the floor. Korra reached down, picked up the shirt, and threw it in her bag before she consciously registered who it must belong to. She glanced over at Bolin (still chatting, but now to Pabu) and once she was sure he didn’t see anything, she finished packing up her things.
I’ll return it at our next practice, she reasoned.
But one practice bled into another, and then so many things just kept happening. Between fighting each other and fighting Amon, some things just get forgotten.
But Korra never forgot, not really. On the nights when she felt ill at ease she’d pull the shirt out and fit it over her pillow. She just slept better that way. She’d wash it come morning, and fold it more carefully than any other item of clothing she had ever owned. (She didn’t actually own the shirt, but after a few months that fact was easily forgotten.)
----
Once Korra and Mako started dating she brought the shirt out less and less. After one particularly nasty fight she’d gone to bed with rage boiling in her chest. She tossed and turned for an hour or two before sliding out of bed to grab the shirt and wrap it around her pillow once again.
A soft brush of fingers through her hair woke her. With a scream she slapped the hand away from her face and toppled the intruder with the force of the blow.
“KORRA! Let me go!” Mako struggled against water bonds Korra had made without a thought.
“Sorry!” She blushed and let the water recede back to the cup by her bedside. Korra reached down to help pull Mako to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I felt stupid about our fight last night...” Mako shrugged and let the sentence fade off, hoping Korra would understand. One look at her sad blue eyes had him tearing his gaze away and looking toward the ground. That’s when he saw it. A worn white shirt slipped over a well-loved pillow.
“Is that…my shirt?”
Korra paled. A gust of air shoved Mako toward the door as she yelled after him, “Get out of my room!”
Mako stood just outside her (now shut) door, blush rising in his cheeks, as Meelo came zooming down the hall. Meelo slid to a stop in front of Mako and said with a serious face, “Korra doesn’t like people going in her room.”
“Yeah…I guess I learned that one the hard way.”
Mako didn’t bring up the shirt, and Korra was more than happy to pretend he’d never asked about it.
-----
During her time away from Republic City the shirt was her one comfort.
At the end of the longest, darkest days she’d pull out the shirt and hug it to her chest. It was a miracle it still held together, but she had always been more than careful with it. Everyone treated her like cracked glass, one tap away from breaking. But holding onto that shirt brought back memories of strong hugs, fiery words, and kisses that held nothing back.
While she was in the swamp with Toph she only brought the shirt out once. Her frustration had brought her to tears constantly that day and that night she pulled it out, holding onto it for just a moment, before sliding it back in and going to sleep. Korra knew the moment Toph felt her reach for the shirt. Toph let out a soft breath, not a sigh exactly, something softer, but for once she didn’t comment.
-----
When Asami and Korra ventured out into the spirit world the shirt stayed hidden in her bag. Asami didn’t need to know it was there.
They didn’t end up staying away for long, anyway. Asami had endless innovations to pitch to Varrick only a few days in and Korra went back with Asami eagerly. She didn’t search too hard for a reason why.
-----
Their time in the Spirit World together was special in a way that their time now could never hope to match. Once they were back in Republic City everything shifted. Asami worked strange hours, and Korra’s schedule had never been normal under any circumstances. They usually only saw each other on the nights Korra slept over at Asami’s.
Often Korra would lay awake at night and think of the night they spent sleeping together under the soft sky of the Spirit World. On those nights her palms would itch with the urge to pull out the shirt, but she couldn’t deny that doing so would be a betrayal to whatever she and Asami had left.
-----
About six weeks after Asami ended things, Korra ran into Mako.
Bolin was dragging him down the street to the noodle shop that Korra liked to frequent when she had time. Korra invited them to join eat with her and Bolin agreed before Mako could say anything. Korra had a suspicion that he would have declined if he hadn’t.
But Bolin was just what they needed. His laughter eased the tension out of Mako’s shoulders, and once Mako was smiling Korra felt her smiles come easier too.
The boys fought for a moment over who should cover the tab until Korra slipped their server enough money to cover the bill. Bolin sighed dramatically and Mako shot her a quick grin. It was an echo of a much younger face that had smiled at her after a particularly deadly shot during a heated pro-bending match.
Korra felt her cheeks warm as she smiled back. She wondered if it was the smile of a wide-eyed girl from the water tribe watching her first match.