[He's right, of course. When Korra thinks about Chekov never being her friend again, it makes her queasy and sad. What happened between her and Mako before he left the City had been painful enough. She doesn't want to lose another friend.
She just doesn't know how to keep him.]
I should probably go. [She needs space to think. About Chekov, and what to do.]
Sure. [ A nod, then silence. Hei has no need to say anything else. (That's what you do with assets when you want them to make independent choices; you plant a seed and let it take its own course, because the outcome only concerns you peripherally. Except that's not a fair descriptor in this situation. He knows what it's like to feel crushed and unmoored. Knows too, that surviving in the wake of disaster is harder than enduring the disaster itself.) ]
[ (This is his style of secondhand support.) ]
[ Quietly, he steps out of the kitchen to see her out. Hei has spent decades decoding the intricacies of body language, so he sets his shoulders and expression differently, letting the posture read as calm and comfortable (Not benign; they're a little past that stage, he muses wryly. Just -- friendly.) ]
[ Overall it was a nice afternoon. No mishaps, no carnage, a few laughs, then he broke up the mood. But the final score -- dishes cooked: three, punches thrown: zero. For them, a satisfactory game. ]
[It's probably for the best that the mood was broken. Korra can't keep running from this situation with Chekov forever, and the tiny part of her that acknowledges she's running knows it.
She stops by the door and leans up for one last kiss.]
[ Hei leans into the kiss with a half-smile, biting back a wry retort: Thanks for not burning my kitchen. His hands shift to fit in the curve of her waist, tugging her closer. His mouth is insistent on hers, as if he's changed his mind about a sequel; as if he's halfway prepared to yank her back indoors and pick up where they left off in the kitchen. Everything in him surges towards it, resolve eclipsed by old habit and selfishness. ]
[ Instead he breaks the kiss on a slow exhale. Loosens his hold on her, putting her back lightly but firmly. The corners of his lips quirk -- both It was nothing and I have no idea what I'm doing here. ] Hm. [ Articulate as always. ]
[....seriously, you're the worst. You give her something to think about and then you drive all the thoughts out of her head with a kiss like that. She blinks owlishly at him when he pulls away and tries to remember how to speak.]
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She just doesn't know how to keep him.]
I should probably go. [She needs space to think. About Chekov, and what to do.]
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[ (This is his style of secondhand support.) ]
[ Quietly, he steps out of the kitchen to see her out. Hei has spent decades decoding the intricacies of body language, so he sets his shoulders and expression differently, letting the posture read as calm and comfortable (Not benign; they're a little past that stage, he muses wryly. Just -- friendly.) ]
[ Overall it was a nice afternoon. No mishaps, no carnage, a few laughs, then he broke up the mood. But the final score -- dishes cooked: three, punches thrown: zero. For them, a satisfactory game. ]
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She stops by the door and leans up for one last kiss.]
Thanks for lunch.
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[ Instead he breaks the kiss on a slow exhale. Loosens his hold on her, putting her back lightly but firmly. The corners of his lips quirk -- both It was nothing and I have no idea what I'm doing here. ] Hm. [ Articulate as always. ]
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...bye.
[She leaves, a little dizzy and very confused.]
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[ Now please excuse him. He has some, ahem. Steam to let off. ]