Archive of Our Own ^beta

The music had thinned to a low, thudding echo, the designated DJ nowhere to be found. Cups were stacked in the sink, half-empty bags of chips forgotten on the counter. Someone’s varsity jacket hung over the banister like it had given up halfway out the door. Graduation banners sagged along the walls, glitter and confetti shedding onto the floor.

It was just them now.

Korra sat cross-legged on the rug, back against the couch, idly spinning an empty bottle between her palms. Asami perched on the armrest, knees tucked to her chest, silk dress wrinkled from hours of pretending not to care how close Korra kept drifting.

“Truth or dare,” Korra said, her grin lazy, eyes a little glassy but sharp in that way they always were when she focused on Asami.

Asami met her gaze head on. She blinked slowly, giving herself another extra second to scan her favorite face. It must be the alcohol. It could be the nicotine. 

She tilted her head then exhaled before looking away, “Truth.”

Korra’s lip parted as if releasing a breath she’d been holding, and then her eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yes,” Asami hummed, “really.” 

The bottle wobbled, then settled, pointing straight at Asami. Korra’s grin softened into curiosity. She straightened up and adjusted in her seat so that she was facing Asami's way. “Okay, then. Tell me something I don’t know.”

The silence pressed on Asami’s chest, heavy and loud and aching. A dozen safe answers rushed to the front of her mind.

I hate olives. I never liked calculus. I enjoy romantic comedies. I still sleep with the light on. 

All harmless. 

All cowardly.

She didn’t look at Korra right away but she could feel the weight of her stare burning at the side of her head.

She was my best friend.

Best friends didn’t do this. Best friends didn't look at each other like that. Best friends didn’t feel like their ribs might crack open from honesty. Best friends didn’t imagine closing the distance and destroying everything they’d built.

If she said it, she couldn’t take it back. If she said it, tomorrow they would graduate, and nothing would stay the same.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her cardigan. She stared at the hem and fiddled with it. “Do you remember the first time we talked?” she asked quietly.

Korra perked up immediately. “You mean our meet cute?”

Asami smiled despite herself. “I wouldn’t consider it cute, but yeah, that.”

Korra laughed. “How could I forget? I was running late and was looking for Coach B. I ended up storming into your little council room like some kind of hurricane, and I stepped on that stupid brick by the door!”

Asami huffed, “You shrieked like you were about to die!”

Korra turned fully to Asami’s direction, letting her arm rest on the couch, close enough for Asami to feel all of her warmth. “I almost got a serious injury before I even started playing for the team!”

Asami groaned, “You scared me half to death, Korra! I wasn’t expecting company. And if anyone was injured, it was me. I almost choked to death with all that coughing fit!”

Korra threw her hands in the air. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. Smoking kills, Asami. You should really quit that.”

Asami rolled her eyes. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Korra gave an unimpressed smile. “I would prefer it if you were here for longer. Good thing I’m here to keep you in check, huh?”

And there it was again—the way Korra said stuff like this like it was the easiest thing in the world. And it always made Asami’s heart beat the hardest.

She let out a long sigh and looked away. “I think I hated you a little on the spot. I mean, I don’t know if I should be grateful for you. You trapped us both in there. I had to wedge myself against the wall just to keep from falling over.”

Korra shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe. But I also couldn’t stop laughing at your glare. Honestly, I thought it was the funniest thing ever.”

“You thought it was funny?” Asami teased, finally managing a chuckle. “I thought I was going to strangle you.”

“And yet here we are,” Korra said softly. “Still surviving each other.”

Asami laughed, shaking her head. “Barely. But yes. Somehow.”

Her chest tightened at the memory. That ridiculous, chaotic first meeting. They had been on opposite ends of the spectrum. Korra was loud, dramatic, impulsive. Asami was poised, controlled, and a little terrifying. And yet, in that moment, something had clicked, a spark hidden under irritation and bravado.

She snuck a glance at Korra only to find her best friend still looking at her, still smiling up at her with her signature cocky grin. 

And so Asami couldn’t help it, she sighed. “That wasn’t the first time we talked.”

Korra tilted her head, “No?”

Asami shook hers before drawing in a long breath. 

She remembered standing in the courtyard with the morning announcements folded in her hands, already cataloging everything that could go wrong that day. She remembered seeing Korra across the quad. This girl was loud, confident, laughing too hard with people she’d known for maybe an hour. A transfer student with scraped knuckles and a varsity jacket she hadn’t earned yet, like rules were suggestions and gravity was optional.

She remembered thinking, She was going to be a problem.

And then there was Mako.

The first week had been chaos. Mako had noticed Korra right away, drawn to her fire and confidence. Asami had noticed too, at first flattered, then wary. And somewhere in between, Korra and Asami had collided—over Mako, over basketball, over who got to have the last word in every conversation. Arguments had flared, eyes had rolled, tempers had snapped. Hating had felt so easy.

“It was in the morning.” Asami swirled the beer bottle in her hand. “I told you you were parking in the wrong spot because you were blocking the visitor lot. And then you looked at me like I was the one breaking the rules. And you just smiled and said… ‘rules are just suggestions’ before running away.”

Korra’s grin grew, bright and filled with mischief.

Asami gave her a halfhearted eye roll. “I remembered thinking you were insufferable,” she admitted.

Korra let out a surprised laugh and then snorted. “Wow.”

“You were reckless, loud, and honestly, kind of impossible. And you charmed Mako, which made me hate you even more,” Asami said, laughing bitterly. “Not really. You weren’t just ‘someone.’ You were the problem I couldn’t fix, couldn’t control, couldn’t… get past.”

Korra’s smile faltered, a flash of guilt passing over her features. “Yeah… I remember. That was messy.”

“Messy is an understatement,” Asami said with a dry chuckle. “I hated you. I thought you were selfish, cocky, reckless. I swore I’d never forgive you for… well, for Mako, and for every trouble you somehow got me into.”

“And look at us now,” Korra said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face and letting the side of her head rest against her palm. “Best friends. Somehow.”

Asami’s guts coiled tight at the words. Somehow, they had survived the chaos of a love triangle, the jealousy, the petty arguments that had ended with slammed doors and storming across hallways. Somehow, they had laughed through it, fought past it, and in the rubble, built something stronger than either of them had expected.

Her voice wavered as she leaned a little closer. “But what you didn’t know was that I went home after all of that and couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Korra stilled.

“I told myself it was irritation,” Asami went on, heart hammering. “That you were a distraction. A liability. I told myself I needed to keep you in line because someone had to.” She laughed softly, humorless. “I didn’t realize how badly I wanted you to look at me again.”

Korra’s smile faded, replaced by something open and unguarded. “Asami…” she started.

“I was so terrified,” Asami admitted. “Because I didn’t lose control. I didn’t miscalculate. And then you showed up and… and suddenly there’s all these butterflies dancing inside of me every time you walk into a room.” She pressed her thumb into her palm. “And next thing I know you’re remembering my coffee order. You’re waiting for me after meetings. You’re making me laugh with your stupid jokes. And then—”

Asami had to take a deep breath. Korra waited patiently but her back was perked, lips parted and eyes wide. “You became my best friend,” Asami continued. “And I tried so hard to make that enough.”

The room felt unbearably still. Korra didn’t speak. She didn’t look away either.

“So,” Asami finished, finally meeting her eyes, it was the bluest she’d ever seen them, “the thing you didn’t know was that I fell in love with you a long time ago. And I was too scared to tell you because losing you—even like this—felt worse than pretending I was fine.”

The words landed and stayed there.

A beat passed.

For a moment, Asami was sure she’d ruined everything.

Then Korra laughed softly—not mocking nor dismissive. It sounded something like overwhelmed. She scrubbed a hand over her face.

“That was wild,” Korra said.

Asami’s stomach dropped. She could feel the blood draining from her face.

“Because I remembered that day totally differently,” Korra continued, her voice thick. Her free hand lifted and gestured to Asami’s torso. “You were wearing this cardigan. Crisp white shirt underneath. Pleated skirt. Not a single strand of hair out of place. Clipboard in hand. Sharp green eyes with that little crease in your perfect eyebrows looking at me like…” Korra shook her head and chuckled. “I remembered seeing you and thinking, Uh oh. I’m in trouble. You looked at me like you saw straight through my bullshit. You were so beautiful. And I wanted—” She stopped, exhaled. “I wanted you to think I was worth noticing.”

With a grunt, Korra hauled herself up and sat on the couch right next to Asami, their knees brushing. “I didn’t know how to be subtle,” she said. “So yeah I was loud. And cocky. And probably annoying. Anything to get your attention. Because every time you rolled your eyes at me, it felt like winning.”

Asami let out a shaky breath and then held on to the next one, bracing herself.

“I can’t tell when exactly,” Korra continued. She held out a hand and intertwined her fingers with Asami’s. “Maybe it was in pieces. The late night study sessions. The snacks you bring me in practice. Short drives to the park. Long ones to the pier. And then I just woke up one morning and I couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore.”

And all I can see is a future with you by my side.

“It’s in the way you see me like no one else does. You know me better than I know myself. But then I’d remember that... well, you’re Asami Sato. I just thought you were out of my league...”

Preposterous.

“…And that being your best friend was the closest I was ever going to get.”

Asami squeezed Korra’s hand, making her look up and meet her eyes. “And if I wanted you closer?”

They stared at each other, the truth stretched raw and fragile between them.

Tomorrow, the future waited.

Tonight, Korra reached out, tentative for once, and Asami let herself be pulled into her arms.

Korra’s lips brushed Asami’s temple first, sending a shiver down her spine. “How close?” she murmured.

Asami’s hands found Korra’s shoulders. “Closer,” she whispered.

Then Korra’s lips were on hers.

It was gentle and soft and warm. So, so warm. Asami’s fingers threaded through Korra’s hair, tugging her closer, needing the contact as much as she needed to breathe. Korra groaned softly against her lips, one hand sliding down to Asami’s waist, pulling her even nearer.

Asami tilted her head, opening the kiss wider, letting Korra take more. She felt the warmth, the fire, the chaos that had always been Korra, but now tempered with a softness meant only for her. Her lips parted slightly, letting Korra explore, and she nipped playfully at Korra’s bottom lip.

Korra hissed into the kiss, pressing her forehead against Asami’s when they broke for air, breath mingling, hearts racing in perfect sync.

“You are such a brat,” Korra said, half-laughing, half-grumbling, her nose brushing Asami’s.

“You like it,” Asami replied, smirking against her lips.

“I do,” Korra admitted, voice rough, eyes dark with want. “I… I’ve wanted this for years.”

Asami’s chest swelled. “Me too,” she said softly.

Their lips met again, slower this time, exploring, savoring. The urgency melted into warmth, into something tender. Korra’s hand cupped Asami’s cheek, thumb brushing along her jaw, memorizing every curve. Asami pressed closer, letting herself relax entirely for the first time in years.

Korra was the one to break the kiss, needing oxygen and a little room to let everything sink in. 

They breathed together like that, huddled close with their foreheads touching. 

“Your turn to ask me Truth or Dare,” Korra said breathlessly, eyes still closed.

Asami huffed a short laugh. “Truth or Dare?”

Korra grinned her cocky grin. “I love you.”