Asami gazes at the figures standing on the platform in the front of the room. She feels something she can't quite identify rising inside of her, almost bubbling. The flowers she's holding begin to slide through her hands toward the floor, forcing her to recollect herself and readjust her grasp to keep them from falling.
But she can't keep herself from falling…
She barely pays attention to what is happening around her, lost in her own thoughts. If only I'd said something, she thought. Could it have been different? She realizes that she's shaking her head and consciously holds it still, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. Korra and Tahno descend from the platform, smiling widely, and as they approach, Asami forces a smile onto her own face. Korra grins at her as they pass, and now it's easy — even natural — to give her a wide smile in return.
And even as she admires her friend's dress, a beautiful Water Tribe design with hints of the newer styles in Republic City, she feels the hurt and the hope intermingle.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Bolin standing at her side. He peers at her, frowning. "You okay?" he asks, his voice seeming to come through a tunnel into Asami's preoccupied brain.
"Yeah, fine," she murmurs absentmindedly. But her eyes continue to track the newly married pair. Bolin makes a small noise of disbelief, and she knows that she will have to deal with him. She only hopes she can put it off as long as she can. Long enough to finish pulling herself together.
She is, of course, not that lucky. She never is, lately. At the fête following the wedding ceremony, Bolin seats himself next to her and pivots slightly to face her. "So — uh — how much have you had?" he asks gently, if a bit awkwardly.
"Mm?" she grunts.
"To drink," he elaborates, tapping her nearly empty glass.
"Not enough," she replies. She suppresses a throaty laugh. "Not nearly enough," she reiterates as she raises the glass to her mouth and empties it.
Bolin places a gentle hand on her wrist. "Please stop," he whispers. She scowls. "I've done this, Asami. You know I have. It doesn't work. It'll only give you a headache tomorrow."
"It's worth it," she says bitterly.
Bolin's eyes widen. "Asami," he says, "you don't… you don't like him, do you?" He nods toward Korra and Tahno, seated at the largest table, where they are laughing, talking with their guests.
"Tahno?!" Asami says, spitting out a laugh. "Never. I don't know what Korra sees in him, honestly."
"Oh, all right," Bolin says, though he doesn't sound quite convinced. "I didn't think you would," he prattles.
Asami doesn't respond, and at first, Bolin thinks she simply doesn't want to talk to him. But as he leans forward to see her face better, he notices the silent tears sliding from her eyes toward her cheeks. "Why are you so upset?" he asks. "If you don't like him…"
"I don't," she affirms, choking back more tears.
Bolin frowns, perplexed. She watches his expression change, his mouth repeatedly open and shut, as he tries to work through his puzzlement. Finally, she decides it's cruel to keep him in suspense any longer. "Her," she rasps as her sobs start to become audible.
The burst of realization breaks over Bolin's face. "Korra?" he whispers.
Asami opens her mouth to respond, but a choked gasp escapes instead. So she bites her lip and nods, ever so slightly. Bolin places an arm around her and comfortingly rests his head on her shoulder. "Don't mock me," she pleads.
"Of course not," he assures her. "I know how it is. I fell for her, too, remember?" His self-effacing grin fails to be contagious. Asami wipes her eyes and rises to her feet, pushing his arm off in the process.
"I need to go," she says hoarsely. "Make my apologies?"
He nods. "Yeah. Of course." He watches her sashay out of the building, more slowly than usual, her hand raised to her face as if to wipe at her nose. I wish she didn't like Korra, he thinks. For her sake. It hurts her too much. But a small, honest voice in his mind admits that he wishes it for his own sake, too. I don't like to see her hurt. She's my friend. But again the small voice admits that to Bolin, she is more than a friend.
Outside of the hall, the door closes quietly as Asami exits, walking as quickly as she can in her high heels down the steps to the curb. She signals for a taxi; usually, she does not allow herself the luxury — she may be wealthy, but still she needn't waste money — but tonight, she wants to escape from the reception as quickly as she can. A cab stops; she gets in, gives her address, and, when she's arrived, pays the fare. But she does all of this as if under hypnosis, with all of her actions seeming to come from someone else's body, or at least someone else's brain. It is only when she opens the door to the mansion that she comes back to herself.
She realizes that her tears are about to reach their peak. She rushes up the stairs to her bedroom and is about to throw herself onto her bed when she sees the phonograph sitting in the opposite corner: one of the extravagances her father had bought in the happy times. It can only help, she thinks as she crosses to it, then picks a record from the rack sitting on the floor, places it on the machine, and moves its arm over.
Quiet, slow strings play. As Asami rushes back to her bed, eager to throw her head into her pillow, a soft female voice joins them.
Rows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air…
Asami knows the song by heart, and she hears it continue within her head. The sound from the record itself is blotted out by the noise of her own weeping. But before her mind can play out the song, she falls asleep, her emotional exhaustion becoming physical.
#####
The next thing she is aware of is the edge of her pillow pressed against her cheekbone, her face fallen onto her mattress. A cool, wet spot near her forehead, she realizes, is the result of her tears. She slowly, gently, turns onto her back to examine the room, in an attempt to determine how long she was asleep. The record has long since since stopped playing, and the sun has completely set. 45 minutes, she decides. An hour, maybe. She is contemplating getting up when her stomach growls, making her decision easier. She tumbles sideways out of the bed but lands on her feet, then walks to the kitchen, slowly, each step precise.
She has just reached the bottom of the staircase, the third step squeaking under her weight as it usually does, when a pounding noise reaches her ears. At first, she thinks she has imagined it. But when it repeats, she realizes that it is the door knocker. She leans her head back in frustration: right now, there are few things she wants less than to open her home to a guest. But Hiroshi, as she now thinks of him, and her mother did not raise her to be impolite. She can open the door and honestly tell her caller that she is sick, and to come another time.
She places her hand on the door handle, planning to do just this, but when she pulls the heavy wooden door open, she finds Bolin standing there, half-smiling sympathetically. "Hey. I just wondered how you were," he says gently.
Asami considers her answer. "Better," she tells him, and she realizes that she is. "Though only a little," she admits.
Bolin waits for her to continue; when it's clear that she isn't planning to, he makes a discreet fake cough and speaks up himself. "Can I come in?" he asks.
Asami opens her mouth to deny him, then closes it as she reconsiders. Weeping in her room has done her good, she thinks. An appropriate cathartic release. But she can't simply do it again. Perhaps talking to a friend, or maybe just having one near, is what she really needs right now. "All right," she concedes with a small, sharp nod as she stands aside to admit him. "I'm going to the kitchen. I need to eat," she says tersely.
Bolin follows her in, and as she takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, he can't help admiring the elegance of her movements. She turns to face him with a wan smile, but he sees her lip quivering and realizes she's barely holding back tears.
"Never quite seems to work out for me," she says in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper before she takes a large sip from her glass. Bolin raises his eyebrow. "Love. You know? Mako left me…" Her lip begins quivering more, and a single tear falls from her left eye. She wipes it away, almost carelessly. "He left me. I loved him, you know."
Bolin nods solemnly. "Yeah," he says, trying to cover the awkwardness he feels whenever Asami brings up their past loves.
"And he left me because he liked Korra better." She snorts. "And now I suppose I can see why. I love her." She nods to herself, then swallows more water. "I do. Love her. And want her." She draws a deep breath, then tries to let it out slowly but can't help letting more tears escape.
"Promise me, Bo," she says between her now-soft sobs, "that if you ever fall in love with someone again, you'll tell them. Don't make my mistake. Please."
Bolin nods. "I promise."
She smiles at him and presses her palm to his cheek. "I don't want to see you hurt. I love you too, you know." She pauses. "Not the same way I love her, though. Thank the spirits, right?" She smiles, and it seems genuine. "At least we feel the same way about each other. And we'll always have each other."
Bolin nods again. "Yeah. We will."
"Just don't make the same mistake I did," Asami murmurs, apparently more to herself than to Bolin, as she turns and walks around the island to the window and looks outside. "I should've told her. You do that, Bo. Anyone you love."
"I will," he reiterates. Just not tonight.
A/N: This fic grew out of a Tumblr meme in which you ask your followers to break your heart using your OTP in three sentences or less. I sent this to my friend Snowy: Asami never told Korra of her attraction for her. Instead, she was present at Korra's wedding, but after the ceremony was over, she secluded herself in her bedroom and wept.
Last night, I bought Tina Arena's beautiful version of "Both Sides Now" and listened to it over and over again, and remembered (as I always do when I hear that song) the scene in Love Actually where Emma Thompson's character listens to it as she sits on her bed crying. And from there, I remembered that micro-fic and thought I'd expand it, with added soul-crushing angst coming from Bolin's unrequited love for Asami, because why not?
I based two of the scenes off of scenes from the movie: the one where Asami puts on "Both Sides Now" and cries, and the scene in which Bolin asks Asami if she's in love with Tahno (which is an adaptation of the Love Actually scene in which Sarah asks Mark if he loves Peter).
And yes, I do know that "Both Sides Now" wasn't written until 1968, almost a half-century after Korra takes place, but when have I ever let historical facts get in the way of angst, amirite?