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[mortemscintilla]

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⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

[mortemscintilla]

[ She touches his arm, and he absorbs the warmth of her palm, wishing he could absorb her seeming sincerity with it, and be eased. Instead, he thinks of other hands, grappling against him, shockingly weak and bruised, attached to battered bodies. Right behind Korra, he sees one particular kill -- a little girl perched on the dumpster, her white dress streaked with black and red, the brown ringlets around her neck caked with blood, kicking with her pink boots against the steel. She'd kicked at him when he snatched her up, while he extinguished the life from her, but not for very long. Children were always the quickest kills. ]

[ He doesn't feel an overdramatic surge of regret or self-loathing. But there's disquiet as to why he's seeing these specters at all. Unsure whether they're leftovers from the curse -- or the multitudes he's eliminated back home. Does it matter? The girl's hollow eyes speak to him. Either way, you won't give us the slip. No iota of atrocity can be undone. ]

[ Hei tenses. Half-turns slowly, and puts Korra back. ]

I have to get started with work.

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

[anatural]

Okay.

[She wants to give him a hug, but she doesn't know how welcome it would be. She doesn't know what else to say. "See you later" feels tepid and weak.

So she just stands, out of his way. She won't leave until he does. It's the only thing she can do.]

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

[mortemscintilla]

[ Turning, Hei slips his blocky keycard into the cafe's back-door, deactivating the alarm. He can feel her standing behind him, as if silently offering him some crumb of reassurance. But he can't take it. Something in him seems to be cut off. It's eerie, the cottony numbness of it. Hopefully he'll be able to shake it off soon. ]

[ Turning, he steps into her space. No kiss, but he passes his arms around her, squeezes her tight for a moment. She's warm and alive and seems so completely sincere, that he can't at first understand why he hadn't wanted to touch her. ]

[ But in the mirrored doors, he feels like he's standing alone, surrounded by haunters on all sides, even before he lets her go -- and ducks into the cafe. ]

⊕ wee, wee hours of saturday morning

[anatural]

[There isn't much time to return the embrace; barely a moment to get her hands to his waist and squeeze lightly.

When he's inside, she turns away. She's reassured, but somehow she doesn't feel any better. She still feels lost, uncertain, a little used. You just need some sleep, she tells herself. It's been a long week, but it's nothing she can't handle on her own. She just need sleep.]