When her mother died she would go to her room and take out her things. Asami brushed her hair with the heirloom comb and hummed a song sung to her before the sun fell and dreams cradled her in their arms. Mother had an angel's touch; she untangled her tresses painlessly. She kissed her forehead and smiled, "Done." Asami put on a dress. It hung awkwardly on her body, showing too much of her bony chest and muddling at the floor. She curled up into a ball on the bed and pretended there was another heart drumming a beat next to hers.
She did this for months until one day the door was locked. Father was reliving her all to himself. A part of her wanted to scream in hope that he would let her in, that he would give her mother back to her, but after waiting in the cold hallway for what seemed like an eternity she learned to walk away.
The room was empty and she was a woman now. Her mother lay in the earth and she still missed her.
Six was too young to understand death. Eighteen was too old to fault life.
"Hey," Korra said. Her words were drowned in the dreary light of apology. She was an intruder. In the quiet shadow of memories there were only phantoms. "I thought you might be here."
Asami looked at Korra slowly. Her voice was unlike her. This once she had the nerve to sound sad, scared, to ask for permission when it was easier to seek forgiveness.
"Are you leaving because of me?" Korra tried to look her in the eye, but stopped between her collarbone and jaw. That contrast of white swimming in the red of her coat always struck her as alarming…beautiful. "Because of me and Mako?"
"No." Asami admitted. "I'm leaving for you."
"I really did want to give you a makeover, just once." She muttered trivially.
"We'll see each other again." Asami's sad smile said otherwise. "I would have liked to ride on your bike again."
Asami reached into her pocket. There was the clink of keys. "I'm taking a carriage out of the city. Bike's all yours, if you want her."
They watched each other like…like was a strange word, wrong in every sense. There was no like friends or enemies. No relationship was the same. Asami inhaled. She had been holding her breath and her chest ached. When she exhaled she relaxed her hand and let the keys fall to the floor. It was an awful sound. The sound of leaving.
…
Korra thought she saw her, out of the corner of her eye. There was a flash of bold red lips and eyes that pierced her uncompromising core as she dodged in and out of traffic, but it was just some uptown girl. She wore a black jersey dress and had long dark hair like the night sky. No matter how many people looked at her or what they said, she kept walking – head held high. She only saw what was in front of her.
There were days when she completely forgot Asami. They were a mercy. Then there was now when she felt empty, went through a routine of everything that made her happy and came away with nothing, drove instead of slept.
She understood why Asami had dropped the keys at her feet and as the wind cut through her she knew why she had picked them up. It was the same reason she looked in crowds, hoping to see a familiar face in the lurching sea of loneliness, and then pushed down hard on the throttle like she was driving away from the scene of an accident. She held onto people until they had to break their own heart to escape.