[ He doesn't miss the petulance. It is a good sign, but he's already exited before she sees the quirk in his lips. It fades a moment later. He knows, of course, that the psyche doesn't work in terms of fixed and broken. Emerging intact from any trauma is almost impossible. But functionality is good enough. For Hei, giving up or giving in to anything means losing -- and if Hei loses, then there is nothing more for which he can live. His whole life has been structured around trying to be unbeatable. Not for himself. For Pai. ]
[ Even with her gone, it's become second-nature. ]
[ Reluctant to turn on the corridor light, lest he lose the cottony relaxation in body and mind, Hei pads to the bathroom, for a wash-up and toothbrushing, then heads to the kitchen. He returns in the incomplete darkness, with two bottles of water. One for her. One for him. It's odd, slipping into bed with her. Barflies and paid professionals don't share beds. Fellow Contractors seldom stay the night. But Korra is none of those things. For a moment he's uncomfortable, wants her gone. No, not gone. He's just unused to someone staying after the deed is done. ]
[ (But part of him doesn't mind that almost fevery glow she gives off. She smells very intensely of herself, of faded shampoo, of him.) ]
[ Slipping into bed, under the sheets, he shifts in unaccustomed confinement of not having it to himself. Sprawls on his side, his back to her. It may seem like a cold shoulder. But it's actually a trusting move. There are few people Hei turns his back on -- even (especially) in bed. He wonders -- dimly -- if she expects to be held. Wonders if she's a restless sleeper. He already knows he won't get much sleep. Nightmares are a fixture by now. Peaceful rest is a miacle. ]
[ He can only hope it's nothing too violent. He doesn't want to thrash awake in the middle of the night to find himself strangling her. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ Even with her gone, it's become second-nature. ]
[ Reluctant to turn on the corridor light, lest he lose the cottony relaxation in body and mind, Hei pads to the bathroom, for a wash-up and toothbrushing, then heads to the kitchen. He returns in the incomplete darkness, with two bottles of water. One for her. One for him. It's odd, slipping into bed with her. Barflies and paid professionals don't share beds. Fellow Contractors seldom stay the night. But Korra is none of those things. For a moment he's uncomfortable, wants her gone. No, not gone. He's just unused to someone staying after the deed is done. ]
[ (But part of him doesn't mind that almost fevery glow she gives off. She smells very intensely of herself, of faded shampoo, of him.) ]
[ Slipping into bed, under the sheets, he shifts in unaccustomed confinement of not having it to himself. Sprawls on his side, his back to her. It may seem like a cold shoulder. But it's actually a trusting move. There are few people Hei turns his back on -- even (especially) in bed. He wonders -- dimly -- if she expects to be held. Wonders if she's a restless sleeper. He already knows he won't get much sleep. Nightmares are a fixture by now. Peaceful rest is a miacle. ]
[ He can only hope it's nothing too violent. He doesn't want to thrash awake in the middle of the night to find himself strangling her. ]