487 Acacia Willows

One: 487 Acacia Willows

1760 words as of 12/12/14

She loves a ghost.

It's silly calling him that, she knows, for he's very much alive and very much real—but he's still a ghost. He leaves fleeting touches upon her skin that make her wonder whether or not he was even present in the first place. He breathes smoke into her lungs when their lips meet, and cripples her at the knees. He leaves his smell, an odd combination of cigarettes and Republic City's finest cologne, upon her clothes, and makes Mako worry for her, because Korra shouldn't be playing with ghosts, and certainly not one as dangerous and unknown as Tahno.

It doesn't occur to her until late one evening, when the sun had long since set and the moon, shy and half concealed by the fall of midnight, dared to peek around the shadows, that she might be the ghost.

Korra turns in bed, the new-found idea that she's a ghost making her head spin, and she feels like she's suffocating in her sheets, so she kicks them away, her skin prickling against the chill of the air. It's too quiet, she muses. But really, it's not quiet. It's just as quiet as it's always been, for despite its high occupancy, the Air Temple isn't particularly rowdy at night.

But it's too quiet, and she stirs again and sits up, hair mussed about her face.

She has to quit him, she knows. It's too late for her to sneak away to his apartment and tuck herself between his skin and the sheets, and she hates herself for thinking that she misses him, so for the sake of her own pride, Korra forces Tahno from her mind. She doesn't think about his gentle, lulled breaths, or his sleepy slur when they stay awake far longer than intended, and hold each other as if they would never again get the chance, and chatted of anything and everything that came to mind. She doesn't think about the way he murmurs in his sleep, as if singing along to the low jazz record or tune on the radio that he insists playing long into the evening, because she hasn't yet adjusted to falling asleep to the sounds of the city.

And then, Korra realizes with a soft laugh-because she can't believe herself-that she can't sleep because the radio isn't on. When she hides herself away in Tahno's arms, she always had the soft melodies of a nameless vocalist singing along to a sleepy jazz band to send her away into her dreams. When she first spent the night at Tahno's lavish apartment, the constant drone of the radio whilst Tahno had slept soundly beside her had been disturbing, but gradually, the drone turned into a melody, and the noise of song behind their romantic backdrop had begun to rock her to sleep alongside him.

Perhaps she's grown used to that.

But she doesn't have a radio in her room, and the walls at the Temple are paper-thin, and even the lowest volume setting on a radio would startle Mako, Asami, or Bolin awake, and Korra would rather not answer invasive questions about her odd new sleeping habit.

She sits up in bed, bringing a hand to sweep through her hair (it always falls tight and flat against her head at night), and restlessly sighs again, unsure of the reason for her undefinable mood. She isn't upset—isn't angry or holding a grudge against somebody—and she isn't sad or melancholy. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and flashes of heated moments paint before her eyes, and she can taste cigarettes on her tongue. Korra loosens her jaw and releases her lip, her mouth shaping into a distinct pout that she had never quite grown out of.

Spirits, even biting her lip reminds her of his hauntings.

With wary eyes, Korra looks at the analog clock that hangs silently above her door, making itself known with its occasional tick, tick, ticking.

2:52AM

She wonders if he's awake, but she knows his sleeping patterns well enough to assume that he had fallen prey to slumber at least an hour before. Regardless, her assumption doesn't stop her feet from pulling her from bed and sitting down at the small desk beneath the window of her room, and it doesn't stop her from flipping open her contact book and hunting down his name.

Tahno Kurosawa
 487 Acacia Willows
Republic City

His number is beneath the label only because Korra forces herself to forget each digit after dialing. There's something about not having his number memorized, about not being able to contact him without the aid of her address book, that keeps her from feeling attached. Surely, she doesn't care too much for him if she can't even be bothered to remember his phone number. She's lying to herself, however, because she hardly glances as the digits as she draws his number across her phone, and lazily holds the receiver to her ear.

It rings. And rings. And rings, a dull, monotonous droning in her ear, and Korra can feel her heart pounding in her chest, and hates herself for it. Of course, he's not going to answer. He's probably asleep, or out with Ming and Shaozu, his other ghostly friends, charming other women into falling for his phantom touches and calling him on sleepless evenings.

Her fingers grip the receiver tighter, for she's tired, and now she's made herself irrationally paranoid and angry, and the phone is still ring, ring, ringing in her ear, and she almost hangs up, because he's most certainly not going to answer, he's most certainly sleeping, he's most certainly—

"Hello?"

Korra releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and melts into her seat, the syllables of his greeting caressing her and soothing her mind, and she already feels better.

"Hey," She breathes, completely unaware of the soft smile that curls her lips. On the other line, she can hear faint static, as if the telephone speaker has picked up something in the background, but it can't decipher the sound waves correctly, and they broadcast as low pops and crackling.

"Missing me already?" He purrs, and Korra can hear that sleepy slur that drags his words out, and she laughs softly, her conscience quietly reminding her that it is nearly three in the morning, and if she's even a hair's breadth too loud, she could wake the entire island.

"Don't be so cocky, Tahno,"

"But it's so fun." He retaliates so quickly that it stuns her into silence. He's always been good at that though—at stealing the breath from her lungs and rendering her words useless. It's quiet for a moment, until he clears his throat on the other line, and Korra can almost picture him in front of her with bedroom eyes, messy hair, and lips twisted upwards into a smile as he clears his throat to catch her attention again.

"I don't even know why I called you," She admits, the words, though hushed, coming out much harsher than she intends, but he never takes anything seriously, and laughs, smooth and tame, on the other line. She has to bite her lip to swallow her own giggles.

"Wanted to hear my voice, hm?"

Spirits, yes, and Spirits, was his voice a sin, and she swears he's dropped it lower, if only to be smug. She wouldn't dare let him know just how much that dark voice of his effects her, however, and she swallows a sigh.

"You should try be humble once in a while," She murmurs into the phone, and her fingers begin to twirl the cord that connects the receiver to the modem. Whatever her plan was, it's working, for she can feel her eyelids begin to grow heavier, as if exchanging few words and playful banter was all she needed to unwind her muscles and calm her mind.

She can hear him yawn against the phone, and sits up a bit straighter, because she's forgotten that it's three in the morning, she's forgotten that ghosts sleep too, and he's probably just as tired as she is.

"Did you really call to offer me life advice, Sweetheart?"

She's going to melt underneath the heat of his voice, she swears it, and she leans forward, the table biting into her ribcage and sucking her breath from her lungs. He doesn't sound upset, or like he's taken anything she's said as more than late night flirting and directionless conversation, but still, guilt touches her heart..

He has humbled himself—or rather, the world has humbled him-and while he's still Tahno, there's undoubtedly something softer behind his words and actions now. She prefers him this way, a quiet tease to soothe her mind during the night, and she's glad he takes everything lightly—envious of his ability to make humor of any situation.

"I'm going to see you tomorrow," She says, suddenly, and the words take her by surprise, and her fingertips brush over her lips, as if the syllables had lingered and would rub off on her skin as evidence of her confession.

He laughs on the other line. "Oh, really?"

Korra hesitates. Tomorrow… Tomorrow… what is she doing tomorrow? Training, most likely. Perhaps sharing a painfully uncomfortable breakfast with Mako, Bolin, and Asami, and then parting ways to argue with Tenzin and the Council over what she should be doing, what she isn't doing, and what she could be doing.

Playing hooky and sneaking away to spend her day with Tahno seems much more appealing.

"Yeah," She says, this time with more certainty in her voice. "I want to do something exciting. Show me 'the finer things'." She deepens her voice, mimicking the words that he's spoken to her on several occasions. There's a quick silence on the other line, though it isn't truly silent, for there's still the odd popping and static in the background.

"Absolutely." He sings to her. "Your wish is my command, Princess,"

Korra's cheeks flush red, and she's glad that he's not in front of her, and she scoffs.

"Goodbye, Tahno—and don't call me that."

"Fine, fine. Tomorrow, Sweetheart. I look forward to it."

Then, with that informal goodbye, there's a soft click! and he's gone, getting the last word, as he always has.

And Spirits, does Korra hate her ghost.

Acacia - A vascular flower shaped like a tiny ball with spokes. Represents secret love, friendship, or beauty. The symbol that represents Tahno's apartment complex is colored yellow.

So this is my latest problem child. It's been a while. Thank you so much for reading—next chapter to be up on December 19th!