The lights were blazing.
Their relationship was different now. Better. But practically speaking, not many things changed in the first weeks. Katara carved time out of her schedule to see Aang - more than before, as much as she could manage. They spent nights at his house. They ate dinner late and went to brunch on the weekends. The notable exception was the dimmer switch in his bedroom. Before, he kept the lights low. Now they wanted to see each other.
It seemed some of their most intimate conversations happened in darkness. Late at night, they would lay with their legs tangled together, whispering.
With all of the lights on it was impossible to hide anything.
Aang reclined in bed, arching his back momentarily to stretch his hips. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip and folded his hands under his head. Katara lay on her stomach, watching him. She traced the lines of the tattoo on his arm compulsively with her index finger.
"That was fun," he said, shooting a grin in her direction, "You know, if you started doing yoga with me you'd be even more limber than you already are."
She stuck her tongue out at him, "I'll stick with the pool, thanks." Her brow furrowed and she wrinkled her nose. "Though I guess it wouldn't be a terrible idea just so I can keep up with you."
"No, come on."
Katara buried her face in the pillow for a moment, embarrassed. Aang rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow.
"What?" he asked.
She sighed and flipped onto her back, "Nothing," she said with a tiny shake of her head.
He extended his arm to poke her in the side with the tip of his finger. She shied away with a squeak and he chuckled. "Tell me," he hissed in an exaggerated whisper.
Katara huffed out a breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling, "I don't know I guess I'm just…worried you'll get bored."
Now it was his turn to scoff, "Katara, we've only been together a few weeks. You can't possibly be thinking about that already."
"Honestly, I've been thinking about it since day one," she mumbled.
"Really? Why didn't you say something if it's been bothering you?"
She shrugged, "I didn't want you to feel like I was holding it against you, the fact that, you know…"
"…I used to have sex professionally?" he finished, and the bluntness of having it voiced aloud make her wrinkle her nose in discomfort. He sat up, his legs folded in front of him, facing her. "You can say it, Katara. It's just us here."
She blushed, "Sorry, I just don't want to make you feel bad."
His face slid into a neutral expression and he ran his tongue over his teeth, behind his lips.
"Why would I feel bad?" he asked flatly.
"I'm not saying you should or anything!" she explained quickly, sitting up, as well. "I guess I'm just projecting."
He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, baffled.
She took a deep breath, "Sorry," she repeated. "I'm explaining myself badly."
He leaned back on his hands. "I think you're explaining yourself pretty well," he said, his tone deceptively casual, edged in irritation. Now getting a little annoyed herself, Katara folded her arms across her chest.
"Not everyone could do what you did. I don't think I'm out of line suggesting I wouldn't have been comfortable with it."
He shrugged, "It's just a little odd for you to be so delicate about it now. Seems kind of hypocritical."
She rolled her eyes, "I'm not trying to be delicate I'm just…" she looked away, "You know what, we should stop talking about this."
He gestured to her, "No, go ahead. Say what you need to say."
She fished through the blankets for her underwear and stepped off of the bed to pull them on, still avoiding his eyes. "I'm compartmentalizing," she said, "I'm trying not to think about how much more experienced you are than me. It's a little intimidating. And," she went on, raising her voice a little as he ramped up to reply, "it's not about what you used to do for a living. I just don't want you to feel like I'm holding it over your head or guilt tripping you about how many women you've been with. That's all."
"Oh." He deflated a bit, his back rounding as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Because, I mean… It's a lot, right?"
He cocked an eyebrow, "Do you really want to talk about this right now?"
She hugged herself, shrugging, "Would it be any less awkward some other time?"
He took a deep breath and looked up toward the ceiling. "I have had sex with a lot of people, yes." When she didn't say anything he let his gaze return to hers, "I don't have a number for you or anything," he added.
"If you did would you tell me?"
He considered for a moment. "Yes."
"Can I ask you something that is related to the work?" she asked, encouraged by his frankness. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just curious."
"Sure."
"When you would meet with a client," she began, putting her knee up on the edge of the bed, "Did you - " her gaze wandered away again, "I'm just wondering if the expectation was always sex or…"
"No. Or I guess, I should clarify: you're asking if sex with penetration was always the expectation, right?" She nodded, her face hot, hoping he would ignore the fact that she was blushing furiously at this point. He shook his head.
"Not always. There were some clients I never…" He cleared his throat and she thought he might have been blushing a bit, too. "Yeah. Different people wanted different things. That's why I kept notes on my regulars."
Her eyes widened, "Did you really?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you what yours said so don't even bother asking. They weren't unflattering or anything, they were all technical and they were in shorthand so no one would know what they were about if they saw them somehow."
"Huh," she breathed out, hand on her hip, looking away. She ran her fingers through her hair, biting the inside of her lip. Her eyebrows knit together, "I just realized…" she raised her gaze again to look him in the eye, "You keep saying people."
He was definitely blushing now and her eyes widened.
"Did - did you have male clients?"
He cleared his throat again and licked his lips, hesitating. His eyes skipped away from her and back, "A few," he conceded.
"Is that a number you can give me?" she asked, flabbergasted.
"Yeah, sure. Uh…most recently I had one regular client who was a guy but the historic total…" he jutted his chin out slightly, blowing a breath out and up toward his nose. He ticked the numbers off on his fingers with his thumb, "Four. Over the last two years. No, sorry, five. There was one I only saw once." Katara ran both hands through her hair, turning away and back.
"I - " She shook her head, "I don't know what to say," she mumbled.
He stood to retrieve his shorts from the floor and pull them on, "I was afraid this would freak you out," he said.
"I'm not freaked out!" she sputtered. He let out a single, mirthless laugh.
"You pretty obviously are," he said, gesturing toward her. "I knew I needed to tell you at some point, I just hadn't figured out the best way to do it yet."
She put her hands on her hips. "How about 'Hey, Katara, I know this might surprise you but did you know I - '" she cut herself off, covering her mouth with her hand for a moment, finally folding it into a loose fist to bite her thumbnail. Her eyes flicked toward the bed and back to him. He groaned and tipped his head back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"Please don't ask me for details, Katara." He straightened to face her again, "Believe me, if I thought for even a second it would turn you on I would tell you everything, but I know it's just going to weird you out."
"I'm just," she shook her head, "I can't…" She swallowed and started again, fighting to sound as diplomatic and neutral as possible, "I am just very surprised," she concluded slowly.
He sighed heavily, "What do you want to know?" he asked.
Stalling was only drawing out the discomfort, but she couldn't help it. She pinched her lips together and crossed her arms under her breasts.
"Have you dated men in the past? It's fine if you have, obviously! I'm just…" she trailed off.
"Not really. Nothing serious, anyway," he said with a shrug. "And as far as my client base was concerned it was rare for me to meet a guy I felt like I could work with. It's never been my preference so I didn't feel like I was the best return on investment for them. There are plenty of guys out there who work exclusively with men already, anyway. And they do a better job."
She nodded slowly, her gaze unfocused and resting a few feet out in front of her.
"This makes me wonder if any of the other guys I worked with had male clients," she mused.
"Well, I know Jet works exclusively with women but - " her eyes snapped back up to his and he stopped, realizing what he'd said.
"How did you know I worked with Jet?" she asked suspiciously, and he winced, "Have you been going through my phone or something?"
"No, no!" He held his hands up defensively, palms toward her. "I swear, I would never. I just guessed. We had some crossover on our client lists so I sort of know him. When you mentioned someone made you turn off your phone I figured it was him."
Her eyes narrowed, "And you confirmed this how, exactly?"
He balked and lowered his hands, knowing there was no way out of this. "I…may have texted him?"
"Are you kidding me right now?" she exploded, "What right did you have?"
"I didn't mention you specifically!" he replied, somewhat lamely. Katara rolled her eyes and glared at him.
"For as much as you seem to value the privacy of your clients that seems pretty disrespectful of mine."
He threw his hands up, "It wasn't just about you, Katara." She scoffed, turning her face stubbornly away from him, "Honestly!" he continued, "I was serious that day when I told you I thought it was inconsiderate of your safety, and if he was doing it to you he was probably doing it to his other clients, too. It pissed me off." He crossed his arms, scowling, digging his own fingertips into his ribs. He was still a little sweaty and now it was making him uncomfortable. "I can't say I was surprised, either. The guy is such a jackass."
Katara gave a brittle laugh, nodding, "I get it now," she said. "You were jealous."
"Oh, please," he muttered, bending to pick up his shirt. He walked out of the room. She gaped at the empty doorway for a split second before snatching her clothes from the floor. She tugged on her pants and stalked after him, down the stairs, putting on her bra as she went.
Aang had retreated to the kitchen and was leaning against the counter, his arms folded, glaring at nothing. Katara stood in front of him, hands on her hips.
"Don't walk away from me in the middle of a conversation," she snapped. "I don't put up with that from my colleagues, I certainly won't put up with it from my boyfriend."
His lips were slightly parted and he shifted his jaw from side to side before he closed his mouth to huff out a derisive breath through his nose.
"Is this a conversation or an argument?" he asked. She frowned but didn't respond. He held his empty hands out at his sides. "What do you want me to say, Katara? That I'm sorry I sent Jet that text? That I'm sorry I know who Jet is at all?"
"No, but it would be nice if you could acknowledge that it was presumptuous of you, at least, instead of hiding under some sanctimonious excuse." She put her shirt on, "I thought we knew each other better than this," she muttered.
He looked away and ran his hand over his head before he nodded slowly, biting the inside of his lip.
"What exactly are you mad about right now? This thing with Jet or the fact that I've had sex with men?" Their eyes met and she paled. Katara made a sound of irritation in her throat.
"Just keep deflecting, Aang," she said, "That's what you do when you're uncomfortable."
"Are you a therapist now, too?" he asked, impressed. She whirled around and walked out of the kitchen.
"You could certainly use one!" she called back as she went. She picked up her bag from the couch and and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Aang leaned back on the counter and sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.
"Shit," he muttered.
x
In her condo the next day, they lay together in the darkness. The sunlight of the stolen afternoon hours was blocked out by room darkening shades. Katara answered the door in a tank top and underwear and took his hand, pulling him through the tension and awkwardness into her room. They lay together without speaking for a while, their eyes adjusting slowly, knees touching. She reached out for his hand and he twined his fingers in hers.
At last, when Aang could make out the outline of her face, he spoke.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Me, too," came the reply.
