#day13

You and Levi are halfway down the block, hand in hand as you walk, the skyline ahead of you full of plans—small shops, a cafe you’ve been meaning to visit, a bookstore Levi pretended not to be interested in but definitely bookmarked in his maps app—when the sky opens.

It’s not a drizzle. It’s a downpour.

“Shit,” you curse, already pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the rain comes down in sheets, fast and unforgiving, soaking through your clothing in seconds. Your plans dissolve just as quickly.

Levi clicks his tongue, irritation rising. His eyes narrow up at the sky, arguing with it in his mind. “Of course.”

You laugh because you don’t know what to do, but it’s thin and a little forced, just enough to hide the way disappointment settles inside you. It was supposed to be a full day. It was supposed to be special.

You don’t say that out loud. Instead, you follow him as he steers you back toward cover, his hand firm at your back, guiding you under the nearest awning, then toward the car, then eventually—inevitably—back home.

.

The house feels too quiet when you step inside. It’s too far removed from the version of the day you had in your head. You toe off your shoes and set your bag down carefully.

It’s just rain. You can do this another time.

You don’t realize you’ve gone silent until Levi notices. He’s watching you from the kitchen doorway, jacket already discarded, sleeves pushed up slightly. He knows you too well. He lifts an eyebrow, urging you to speak.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say before he can ask, offering a small shrug, even though you’re trying a little too hard to sound unaffected.

Levi doesn’t respond right away. He studies you for a moment longer, then he sighs. “Go sit down.”

“What?”

“I’ll make something,” he adds, already turning toward the kitchen. 

“Levi, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cuts in. “I want to.”

You hesitate, but then you slowly nod and sit down. You sit on the couch and watch him move around the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and the fridge and washing vegetables. The disappointment that plagued you loosens its grip on you a little with every passing minute.

He didn’t have to do this, but he is—for you.

By the time he sets the food down in front of you, it smells incredible—far more comforting than anything a ruined day should have led to—and you look up at him with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you say.

He shrugs, like it doesn't matter, but it does. You eat without a word and he watches you for a few minutes before he disappears briefly, only to return with two small packets in his hand, holding one out toward you.

“What’s this?”

“Face masks,” he says simply. “You said you wanted to try these.”

You look down at it, recognizing it immediately. It’s silly now that you think about it, but you’d pointed out these holographic sheet masks weeks ago in passing. Now they’re sitting in front of you. He must have gone out after and bought them.

“You remembered?”

Levi gives you a pointed look. “Of course I did.”

A few minutes later, you’re both sitting side by side on the couch, faces covered in shimmering, silly holographic masks. You turn your head to look at him and you practically burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” you manage between breaths, pointing slightly. “You look—”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“—so stupid,” you finish, grinning. “With that on your face.”

He stares at you for a second, then calmly says, “And you look beautiful with it.”

Your laughter falters, softens, and melts into a silence as your heart stumbles over itself at how casual he is with his sincerity. You clear your throat and look away. “Shut up.”

After lunch, the rain is still falling, but you don’t really notice anymore. You and Levi are sitting closer now, shoulders pressed together, the earlier disappointment long faded into contentment. 

Levi reaches up, fingers brushing gently along the side of your face, careful not to disturb the mask. He tilts your head just slightly toward him. Then he leans in and places a kiss to your head. It lingers just for a second, just enough.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, his arm slipping around you instead, drawing you into him in that way that says more than anything else could. You nestle into his side naturally, your head resting against his shoulder as his hand rests at your waist.

The city outside is still storming. The plans you had are still gone. But here, wrapped in each other’s arms, in this moment, you realize you’re not thinking about any of that anymore.

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She didn’t ask questions she knew Lin didn’t want to answer. She had brought food from the White Lotus kitchens, so she was able to have some Gaoling Beef instead of the bland tofu soup being served to Tenzin and his family. Even the tea eggs actually had good flavor.

She was grateful, and yet.

Lin wasn’t oblivious to the sidelong glances. The pauses just before Kya encroached on her thoughts. The harsh wispers at the door, keeping people away.

It was deep in the night when they returned, full of Korra’s breakthrough experience.

But when everyone returned to the temple, she couldn’t find Kya anywhere.

No note.

No message.

She threw her things in her bag and sat on Oogi for an hour waiting on everyone else to get organized.

That way, Kya could stop pretending to care.

.

Kya knew Lin meant well.

She hovered by Kya’s bedside, reading something. She always had a book or a paper or a report in her hand.

Any time she moved, she could feel Lin’s eyes on her. It was odd, how judged she felt.

If this is what being a patient was like, she wanted none of it.

Even if Lin kept her water jug full. Even if Lin had hot tea ready at any hour. Even if Lin brought her foods her healer would have a fit over. Even if she went to get Pema instead of her brothers.

She was grateful, and yet.

Lin just wouldn’t leave her alone longer than it took to get to the bathroom and back. She couldn’t leave Kya’s blankets alone, constantly tucking them in around her feet. When Kya asked for something to read, she took the healer’s side and offered to read something out loud instead.

With a sigh, Kya had just shaken her head silently, and turned to the window.

When the healer woke her for night-time vitals, Lin’s chair was empty. The nurse said something about a police officer pulling her away too urgently for her to leave a note.

Kya waited for the staff to leave before using the last water in the jug to heal herself just a little more.

She froze her foot in a boot of ice, walked to the bay, waterbent herself to the Island and slowly worked her way up to the family quarters.