Previously posted on my tumblr (elementalavatars) for Makorra Week 2013.
Rated K+.
He always wakes up before her
When he does, he relishes in these moments of contentment, in which he can pretend their lives are simpler. He strips away the constant pressures of her position as the Avatar, the demands of his job, and the peering public eye that insists on documenting their every up and down as a couple. Most of all, he pretends this won't be the last time he awakes to her presence for the next two months. The world demands its Avatar; it cares little for his need for Korra.
Some mornings, he only has seconds before she stirs—an instant to try to memorize the woman beside him before starting the day—but on mornings like this, he knows she'll sleep for at least a few minutes more and he drinks in her warmth. He clings to the way her mused hair slightly tickles the places where it meets his ribs, the gentle swell of her chest, and the slight sounds that escape her mouth with each breath. He convinces himself that this image of her will last him until she returns home, barging into their small apartment and blissfully disrupting the unwanted silence he has learned to live with during her absence.
Today, he awakes intoxicated by the scent of her hair sprawled across his pillow, the glow of her skin as the tendrils of light sneak into the room and caress her.
He traces characters across her skin, scraps of the lyrical lines of songs his mother used to sing to him invisibly etched upon her arm, her chest, her stomach.
She stirs when his hand slides back up the curve of her waist, his fingers ghosting over a spot he knows to be ticklish, and she turns to lie on her back.
"'Morning," she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep, but still rich and warm.
It is in these moments, when she's smiling tiredly up at him, her blue eyes shimmering in the morning sun as she snuggles closer to him, that he remembers he doesn't need to pretend things are simpler. She is his, just as he is hers, and regardless of the world's interference—whether it's pulling her away for a few months or demanding he work double shifts at the station—they will always return to this small apartment, to this bed, to the warmth of one another.
He brushes the pad of his thumb across her check, her skin soft against his fingers, before leaning down to lightly place a kiss on her forehead, her cheek, and finally, her lips.
"Good Morning."