It was quiet when he left.
He was always so surprised how silent it could be here, how the snow and ice seemed to nullify every sound, how even his footsteps seemed to disappear, seemed to fade away into oblivion as he snuck out of his room. How his breathing seemed so loud to him and only him, the only noise he could hear in the entire home.
Republic City had always been so loud, so piercing. It was alive in all the ways that the frozen tundra of the South Pole was not, with lights and noise and people. Everything in the city seemed to pulsate with unbridled energy, seemed to move and flow and breathe in a way that nothing else could ever seem to do, not really.
The noise was calming for him, it was natural, it was his sanctuary. It was the one thing in his life- his entire life- that had been constant. It was his mother's voice, humming softly as she made dinner; it was the Satomoblies screeching at two in the morning when he and Mako were on their own in the streets, it was the lights and the laughter when they moved into the probending arena. It was the thing that reminded him that even when he was sitting by himself, his brother working late into the night, that he was not alone; that regardless of what happened or who he lost or how late Mako was gone, he could never be alone.
Yet here, he noticed as he snuck out of the house, he really was alone. He was alone in all the ways he had never imagined he could ever be; he was surrounded by friends, still living with his brother- his best friend- and yet, he felt detached and isolated and abandoned and lonely. There was nothing here for him and it showed, it showed every day when he was shoved to the side by everyone in the compound who knew each other and talked with each other and cared for the others, when he was ignored in favor for Korra or in favor of Mako. It showed and it stung him and hurt him.
He just couldn't take it anymore. Was that really so bad? Was it really so much of a crime just to want to be done with everything?
Bolin stepped out into the cold night air, surrounded by soundlessness and darkness, and paused for a second, watching snow fall lazily downward. Even in the darkness, it was still blindingly white. It was still so clean.
The snow didn't even seem to crunch as he walked toward the stables. He couldn't hear any sounds of life, couldn't hear Korra or Mako or Asami or Meelo. This place gave a new meaning to dead of night.
He shivered.
He just had to get out of here, he really did. He couldn't take the silence, the hush that fell across the tundra too often. The quiet made him so aware, so painfully aware of everything, like the way that his heart still quickened when he thought about her or how hard his voice could get when Mako tried to talk to him about her.
Her igloo was up ahead, on the right. He could see it all too clearly for it being so dark. There was no fire indicating that she was awake, nothing to signify that she would even register his passing, his disappearance into the night. There was nothing proving that she could hear him, but he slowed down anyway, coming to a stop in front of her igloo, trying to make his breathing as quiet as possible.
"Goodbye, Korra," he whispered, and his farewell seemed to echo across the plain, seemed to scream and shout and shatter the silence that had followed him the entire time he had been here, that had encased his being wholly and completely, had broken his smile and stopped his laughter.
And there was so much he wanted to say to her. So much that he felt like he should say to her, just to explain himself. To excuse himself, almost, from running. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, he was sorry that he couldn't say this to her in person in the daylight where he could see her face and hear her voice. He wanted to tell her thank you for everything that she's done, not just for him but for Mako, not just for them but for the world. He wanted to tell her how great she was, wanted to tell her that even if she hadn't gotten back her bending he would have still been her friend, still cared for her. He wanted to tell her that she was a hero, that the previous Avatars couldn't hold a candle to her, even though people still compared her to Aang.
He wanted to tell her that he still felt the same about her. He wanted to confess, just like he had done months ago, but that he understood. He understood that she just didn't feel the same way. He wanted to explain that he was fine with that, that he was glad that she had found someone to love her. Bolin wanted to ask her for forgiveness, wanted to beg for her understanding. He wanted to know if she understood that even though he didn't resent her or Mako for being in love, that it was impossible for him to stay.
More than anything, Bolin just wanted to talk to her like he used to be able to do. He wanted to tell her about how out of place he felt. He wanted to confide in her about feeling as though he blended into the background, that no one really heard what he wanted to say or even cared if he spoke at all. Bolin wanted to describe to her, like he had done in the past when they would just talk, how Mako was ignoring him and treating him like a child and how they were barely even talking anymore.
But he wondered if she would even listen. He doubted it. Korra, after all, hadn't even noticed that Bolin was barely speaking in the first place. She hadn't even seen that his smile, which had been a regular feature when they first met, was a rarity these days. She hadn't even asked why she never heard his laughter anymore, even though, if he did laugh, it would have boomed throughout the compound.
"I hope we meet again someday."