[ She asks What's wrong? But Hei can't meet her eyes. His upper lip curls, twisting. His knuckles are pale as they clutch the sheets into whirlpools of wrinkles, and he looks almost sick, his face bloodless. ]
I --
[ It's one of his cold I'm fine's, but aborted, his lips pressing hard together and his throat convulsing. Rolling off Korra, he tears himself out of bed in a clatter of bare limbs. He feels like some massive thing hanging over him has broken free and plummeted. The weight of it comes down on top of him like the hand of God, obliterating everything that he is, crushing him physically and conceptually; it smears away his existence in a blast of pressure and roaring white light. He can feel every loose fragment that makes up his identity disintegrate and burn out. ]
[ Let go of control, Korra had asked. But as Hei leans against the window, breathing an expanding crest of condensation against the glass, he understands why that's impossible. He identifies himself with control -- when he has it, he exists, when he loses it, he disappears. No wonder he is upset. This incident feels like he's attending his own, very public, execution. ]
[ Not looking at Korra, Hei swallows. His fingers, pale and scarred-spidery, quiver for a moment in mid-air, before he drags a hand through his damp hair, and stares unblinkingly into some private hell beyond the window. Tonelessly, he says, ]
no subject
I --
[ It's one of his cold I'm fine's, but aborted, his lips pressing hard together and his throat convulsing. Rolling off Korra, he tears himself out of bed in a clatter of bare limbs. He feels like some massive thing hanging over him has broken free and plummeted. The weight of it comes down on top of him like the hand of God, obliterating everything that he is, crushing him physically and conceptually; it smears away his existence in a blast of pressure and roaring white light. He can feel every loose fragment that makes up his identity disintegrate and burn out. ]
[ Let go of control, Korra had asked. But as Hei leans against the window, breathing an expanding crest of condensation against the glass, he understands why that's impossible. He identifies himself with control -- when he has it, he exists, when he loses it, he disappears. No wonder he is upset. This incident feels like he's attending his own, very public, execution. ]
[ Not looking at Korra, Hei swallows. His fingers, pale and scarred-spidery, quiver for a moment in mid-air, before he drags a hand through his damp hair, and stares unblinkingly into some private hell beyond the window. Tonelessly, he says, ]
I'm fine.