Annoyance festers in Asami's fingers, methodically tearing the ticket to the nosebleed seats into small pebbles of paper. Her chest barely tightens as the Catgators sweep into Mooselion territory, watching the lone earthbender dressed in blue balance on the edge of the ring. The earthbender is forced into the drink and the crowd, washed in knockout neon red, flies to their feet and drowns Asami in a sea of clapping hands.
At her side, Mako tips his chin up to search for the ring in the gaps between the people surrounding them, refusing to uncross his arms and join in their cheering. Asami can't even tell what side he's rooting for, and she fumbles with the ticket as she tries to rip it again.
She invited him to the pro-bending match with the idea that it would clear the air of any lingering discomfort. Now she wonders if he would be having more fun if she were Bolin or Korra; probably echoes in her mind as the tide of the crowd sinks to their seats.
They can be friends. She's sure of it.
The roar of the arena settles into a dense cloud of conversation, laughter and vendors hawking cheap snacks. The crowd parts from one conjoined mass to small clusters, the teenagers in front of them shouting with laughter and familiarity lacing the soft teasing of their voices.
Asami turns to Mako and finds his eyes still locked on the ring, flickering from the Catgators to the Mooselions in their tight huddles.
She plasters on a smile and leans forward, "How do you like the game?" she asks.
He turns to her, frowning.
"What?" he shouts.
"I said," her throat strains to yell. "Are you liking the game?"
"Oh," he says, nods. "Yeah. It's great."
She pulls back, pursing her lips as she watches him lean forward at the start of the next round.
With each loss of territory, Asami finds another conversation to spring, flowing from her mouth which tenses and hardens over the din of the crowd. Mako kills it each time, sometimes just turning to her with a small smile, a nod, eyes back to the ring.
"You know pro-bending matches are supposed to be fun, right?" she asks, not bothering to raise her voice.
"You say something?" he ask, eyes stuck on the referee as he moves about the ring.
She rolls her eyes and watches the match, sussing out any conversation that will spark him and get him to talk to her. It becomes a challenge until finally, her attempts yield no results, and for once in her life she's disappointed when a tiebreaker is called.
She taps Mako on the shoulder, doesn't even bother to yell as the crowd's singular roar dulls into near silence, just jerks her thumb back at the end of their row to the exit. He raises his eyebrows but says nothing - typical - and Asami stands.
She guides the way through the fog of anticipation that settles on the crowd, cutting over feet and knees, hoping all her darkness and red bleeds into the shadows and neon to leave him behind. Who needs an ex-boyfriend for a friend, anyway?
Her, she decides, the second she reaches the stairs to turn around and make sure he's still following after her. The crowd is so quiet as they leave the arena that they can hear the sloshing of water beneath the ring; it makes it easier to leave.
—-
He waits to speak until they're out on the boardwalk, where the cool air that sits on the bay glides over their warm cheeks, sending shivers down their spines.
At the top of the steps, he turns to her.
"Are you ok?" he asks.
Her lips tense, flatten out against each other. "You didn't look like you were enjoying yourself, so I figured we should leave."
He only stares and she wants him to explode, either stumble through a poorly worded apology or yell at her, just to give her something to latch onto. Instead, he takes his time, licks his dried lips and looks away.
Then he starts walking briskly down the steps and she can't help it, her mouth drops open in surprise. She knew Mako to be an idiot, but not cruel, and she's ready to tell him as much when he walks up to one of the snack carts lining the boardwalk. She watches the way he holds up one finger to ask for an order, watches the way his back stiffens as he makes exact change, taking a waxy bag of something warm in his hand.
She walks down the steps and meets him halfway. He holds out the bag of fragrant candied almonds to her, and she gently takes them.
"You still like these, right?" he asks. "You got them when we went to the park once."
"Yes, I do," she says, dropping a sugared almond into her mouth, feeling the hardened layer crack between her teeth. An almond breaks instead of her resolve and she's grateful for it, letting sweetness coat her tongue and she wonders why she swallowed bitter frustration in the first place.
Mako sways, his fidgets contained in just a quick roll of his shoulders to mark impatience. When it's clear that she's not going to say anything, he sighs.
"Sorry," he says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't - I'm not very good at enjoying pro-bending matches. Unless Bolin's playing."
She frowns, chewing on the gummy almonds that stick to her teeth. Finding that her silence keeps him talking, she pops more almonds into her mouth and gestures down the boardwalk, encouraging the two of them to walk.
"I've played against all of the league teams," he explains. "So it's hard to just watch a match for fun. Bo and I used to sneak under the bleachers to watch the competition."
"Alright," she says, smiling, tipping the almonds towards him. "No more pro-bending matches. All you had to do was say something."
He smiles weakly in response and takes a handful of almonds.
—-
The conversation stays on the boardwalk. They meander down the street, sticking to the cobblestones that line the shore because they don't want to be caught in the gridlock of the city but the beach is too romantic. Here, the streetlamps and strings of torn paper lanterns ebb amber light into the sky, hiding the stars that they've never seen.
Asami sucks the sugar from the almonds, hoping they'll be the savior of the night a second time. All around them the city is filled with lives that press close together in corner booths, people divided only by steps in time to fast music as they dance, everything all intertwined with loud voices and glowing steel.
She's jealous, the way friends lean against each other, mouths moving excitedly as marbled words spill. The friends listen anyway, laughing at nonsensical phrases. She wants it to be easy and she doesn't see why it can't be. Her and Mako lived together, they held hands across dinner tables on dates, he carried her shoes as they walked home.
She tries to remember him in words beyond, I've been in the city all my life, you too?, I really liked the Gorillagoats as a kid, of course I'd love to meet your father, and has difficulty remembering the sound of his voice.
She had Mako in touches, sweet ones, warming cold noses and fingers dancing over palms. Their time was carved out in dark hallways - keep it down or my father will hear - exchanging soft laughter before kissing swallowed more honey-coated whispers.
She stops walking, curling her fingers around the waxy paper bag the almonds came in, the surgary shards of their remains crackling in her palm. The waves wash slow and easy over the beach, the dull roar of the water flooding the silence between them.
Mako turns and says nothing, only his expression marking concern.
"We don't really know how to do this," she says. The realization unfreezes her bones and she gestures at the air between them. "We don't know how to be friends."
She knows Mako in a freshly tailored suit and she knows him in war, but she doesn't know him in aimless car rides with jazz on the radio, in passes of warm liquor shared from the same bottle, in the sound of his voice when he's been talking and laughing all night.
Her words wash over him, like water over sand, darkening until it all seeps away to leave the muddy seabed bare.
Mako's eyes flicker out to the bay and Asami follows them, looking at the long stretch of beach that the tide starts to flood. Waves crash over the shore and fill the silence between them.
Then Mako sighs, chest and shoulders heaving, deflating his strict posture into the loose slack of comfort. He smiles nervously.
"There's a bar two blocks over that serves the best okonomiyaki in the city. They've got a radio at every table," he says. "And I'd put money on the Catgators if you want to go there with me."
Relief falls in a sigh from her lips.
"Yeah," she says, nodding, grinning. "Yeah, I'd love to."
They walk together and she finds it easier to move without their arms linked. He takes the bag of almonds, already garbage to her, and knocks back his head to drop the remains in his mouth. Asami, meet Mako.