[ Eyes half-lidded, Hei stares at the ceiling, his expression almost mild in repose, boyish and dazed-looking. Along his side, he can feel the wariness buzzing around Korra. He wants to reach out and touch her. It seems the only way to break the tension. But that'd be a superficial closeness, like all the times he'd reach out for Amber in the heat of the moment, his strange and unreachable comrade, and she'd allow herself to be taken. I don't know you, I don't know anything anymore, he'd think afterward, lonely as she stroked his damp back. ]
[ Instead, without looking at Korra, he sits up, scrubbing his hair. Pulls away slowly, and pads barefoot to the bathroom -- feeling both scooped-out and overheated, imagining he's glowing like an ember in the gloom. Better to distance himself for a bit. Better to pull himself together alone. The sawdust feels cool and crunchy-powdery beneath his callused feet. In the bathroom, it's dark because he hasn't replaced the light-bulb He doesn't bother zapping it to lend the polished gloom a diffused glow. He'd rather avoid the mirror as it is. There's a curse wafting through the City air; everyone's reflections are disgorging terrible sights. He doesn't need reminders of what his own is. (Hollow-eyed and cold-hot; a skeletal viz full of toxic voltage, with a black-hole for a mouth.) Shaking it off, he flushes the condom and washes up in the vague ceramic blurs, finding, with hands dabbing the air, the toilet, the sink, the toothbrush, the shower, the faucets and soap. ]
[ A motorcycle drags its lonely Brrrr through the streets outside the building when he returns to Korra, skin and hair still damp from a quick toweling. Perhaps, to both their surprise, he slips back into the futon with her. Quietly, he cuddles her close, wrapping a leg across her. Smoothes her hair back so he can see her face, dappled with fading blushes, glowing with old sweat. Gently, he asks, ]
All right?
[ As if the All right? has come to replace Was that okay? or Are you uncomfortable/nervous/upset? or Forgive me for the distance or I'm doing the best I can. ]
no subject
[ Instead, without looking at Korra, he sits up, scrubbing his hair. Pulls away slowly, and pads barefoot to the bathroom -- feeling both scooped-out and overheated, imagining he's glowing like an ember in the gloom. Better to distance himself for a bit. Better to pull himself together alone. The sawdust feels cool and crunchy-powdery beneath his callused feet. In the bathroom, it's dark because he hasn't replaced the light-bulb He doesn't bother zapping it to lend the polished gloom a diffused glow. He'd rather avoid the mirror as it is. There's a curse wafting through the City air; everyone's reflections are disgorging terrible sights. He doesn't need reminders of what his own is. (Hollow-eyed and cold-hot; a skeletal viz full of toxic voltage, with a black-hole for a mouth.) Shaking it off, he flushes the condom and washes up in the vague ceramic blurs, finding, with hands dabbing the air, the toilet, the sink, the toothbrush, the shower, the faucets and soap. ]
[ A motorcycle drags its lonely Brrrr through the streets outside the building when he returns to Korra, skin and hair still damp from a quick toweling. Perhaps, to both their surprise, he slips back into the futon with her. Quietly, he cuddles her close, wrapping a leg across her. Smoothes her hair back so he can see her face, dappled with fading blushes, glowing with old sweat. Gently, he asks, ]
All right?
[ As if the All right? has come to replace Was that okay? or Are you uncomfortable/nervous/upset? or Forgive me for the distance or I'm doing the best I can. ]