#ch: poor little rich girl

[escapekissed]

“Hey Asami. I was kind of jerk to you at first. Just want to say sorry for that. You weren’t what I expected you to be at all.” @nvenes [ korra & asami ]

Poor little rich girl. Too pretty and smart for her own good. Too perfect to have any friends. You can have all the boyfriends you want---but they always leave. They come for the painted red lips, the carefully coiffed curls, sometimes, the money, but you never mind, as long as someone is actually interested in you for a change. But they always leave, petty, jealous, and intimidated just like every girl you’ve ever tried to make friends with. Or worse---they find someone more relatable, more down-to-Earth---whatever that means---and they cheat. You’re never mad. How can you be? You have everything you could ever want. If anything, you just feel sorry for the girl. You know you could have been friends, if she gave you a chance. You think you could be a really good friend, a really great friend---maybe even a best friend----if anyone ever gave you a chance. You try to keep up with your ex-boyfriends, become friends with the other girls... but third-wheeling is hard, and you’re as busy as you are lonely, and you become a burden on their happiness just like they are a burden on yours. It happens every time, but you fall into this pattern like clockwork. You are perfectly engineered---and a specialized machine for only one purpose, does only that.

Asami’s struck by Korra’s admission---and more than that, her apology---like a lightning rod on a hot tin roof. It burns her cheeks and sends elecrticity down her spine, striking a crimson blush, and she looks away softly, immaculate eyebrows shooting up as one hand reaches up to touch her own warm skin. Korra’s hair now abandoned---beautiful, soft and smooth, it rivals Asami’s own, though not necessarily as well-taken care of. (Korra doesn’t have the luxury of the excessive, expensive, extensive self-care Asami has become accustomed to. Asami can spend at least an hour a day getting ready just to go to bed. Insomnia plagues her, so she doesn’t mind. She pictures Korra, spending so many more hours a day hot and sweaty with training, hard, physical labor that leaves her calloused and bruised but alive. She probably sleeps like a baby all through the night, wakes up well-rested for another day of being stronger and braver than anyone Asami’s ever met. Will Asami get to watch Korra sleep tonight? The jealousy, hyperactivity, and temper melted away. She probably looks like some kind of angel. Connected to the spirit world, Asami guesses that’s sort of what an Avatar is.)

“It’s okay,” Asami says, gently. Her voice is a coo, her eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine mirth. She’s so used to being judged---the fact that someone would confront her honestly about it with kindness instead of harsh words and scorn is something of a relief. She tries so hard to be what everyone seems to want her to be---only for that something to be something they hate. (Asami doesn’t think she could stand it if Korra hated her. Her heart beats faster at the thought, with anxiety or affection, she doesn’t know.)

“You know---I’ve never had a lot of friends. I feel... very lucky that you gave me a chance.” Her words are carefully chosen. She doesn’t want Korra to pity her. But she wants to be understood. She reaches out her hand, carefully places it on top of Korra’s, not to hold, but just to show to anyone at all that she’s there. (Alive.) “Thank you, for that.”