i don't know if i should be responsible for the madness that's nestling in my head - and don't ask me how, but this was originally an aang/toph fic that turned twistedly into a tahno/korra, which was just a new level of weirdness. this is just a drabble - because if it's not, i will assure you that it will turn into a story and i don't want to get involve in that mess - at least, not yet. i'm thinking of doing a tahno-centric one-shot with sprinkles of korra (of course) but that's for another day, perhaps. i own nothing.

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tahno to korra
(feeling my way through the darkness guided by a beating heart)

The air is still and the cold night air ghosts over his pale skin teasingly.

He closes his eyes and he envisions her bright blue eyes (and he sees everything in them; the good, and the bad - the peace, and the war - the healing, and the pain - the calmness of clouds, and the raging violent of deep blue ocean) and, fuck does he craves them. But - he reminds himself, his feelings are not his priority. He doesn't need her blue eyes - he doesn't need to hold, caress or love.

What he needs - he tells himself - is to feel.

Feel the surging power of his bending through his veins, feels the cool water hovering over the air because of his doing, feels the spreading relief feeling (like he's breathing again) when he's enveloped in his own power; just him and his bending and all the water the world could offer. Oh Spirits, how does it feel again - oh, you know - feeling alive?

Yes. He needs that.

And those (damn, damn) blue eyes could actually give him that; the hope is overwhelming and childish but it's all he has to keep himself awake for another day - all he has to do to not pull the razor across his skin, or drink himself to his death. He opens his eyes and dares himself to stare (glare) at the beaming moon, his voice are raspier and lower than he's ever heard it before, "Keep her safe, a'right. Keep her safe, or I swear to Spirit I'll..."

He lets his words linger, and curses when he realises how stupid he's being. He grits his teeth, casts his eyes sideways. He imagines those blue eyes again, but this time, he imagines more - her teeth, her lips, the lashes that rounds up her eyes, the bits of grey flecks in her blue eyes, the light freckles across the bridge of her nose - and Spirits, his adrenaline is pumping and his heart is pounding and his mind is reeling and - she's too much, too much.

He kind of spits, but not really - and sighs. "Just come back home, Korra." The way her name rolls over his tongue is strange, but he doesn't dwell on it, "Come back home quick."

('cause maybe he doesn't need his bending to feel completely alive again - he's been playing with swords lately, and he seems pretty good at it - maybe it's her, or her eyes, or all of her. but it's her, and he is desperate and calling her name amidst his night terrors and it's only her that he sees hope in; it's her.)

an: if you don't get it, neither do it.