[ To her credit, she's right that he's rarely without an agenda. But tonight -- after the disaster at the bar -- the concreteness of his self-preservation, his designs, is fading by the hour. He's running on autopilot, adrenaline bubbling at the corners to feed a listless daze. Part of him almost wants to sweep her up, to beg her pardon, be forgiven, then fucked back into a more cheerful state of mind. No recollections of the past night; zero worries about any future. There's a lot to be said, isn't there, for living in the ever-present moment, casting eyes neither forwards nor backwards? She makes him feel human, if not happy -- and isn't that better than nothing? Isn't that all there need be to it? ]

[ Be nice to the girl. Work. Play. Could be a pleasant stay, while he's in the City. ]

[ Or it would be, if he weren't so inherently unfit to be near her. He's not a person. He's an infection eating away at Korra's corners, acidic, relentless, ready to devour any scrap of warmth until she's completely emptied. ]

[ She will end up empty, if this continues. ]

Why bail you out? Or why should you head home? [ He sounds so tired, like it's more effort than he can summon just to pronounce his words. But he answers both questions without waiting for clarification. ] Because you were in prison thanks to what I started. And because it's been a long night. You have no reason to hang around me.