Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection. Kudos to Bryke, indeed.
Pairing: Tahno/Korra, Mako/Korra
Genre: Romance/Friendship/Drama
Word Count: 1,580
Rating: PG-13/T
Prompt: Tahnorra Week — Day 5: Regret.
Summary: He doesn't like coffee, anyway. — Tahno/Korra, Mako/Korra.
Author's Notes: Like with Bros & Broomball, I'd love to one day continue this. :P Eventually. But for right now it remains a one-shot. Also, FYI: Let's just say that I have a lot of friends getting married soon!

Also, I personally do not feel this much hostility toward Mako. Please keep in mind that this is from Tahno's perspective.

Musical Inspiration: "Too Close" by Alex Care (not because of the lyrics, but because it's such a cool-sounding song) and "The Escapist (Extended)" by Coldplay. And "The Scientist" by Coldplay for good measure because why the hell not?

Equal Pay

"You could try being excited for me, you know."

It's their diner, the one along the back roads just outside of town with the cheap pancakes and the too hot coffee (you know, she'd say, the kind that burns the tongue just right). Her french toast has been torn to bits, hacked and poked and prodded mindlessly over the course of what has turned out to be a rather awkward conversation, but his eggs benedict remains untouched.

"I could," he says, teeth lined with a tight, close-lipped smile he doesn't feel.

She doesn't realize that she's been leaning forward over the table until she falls back against the scratchy velvet seat cover with a huff, frustrated. The fork clatters to the plate, but the sound is muted, even in the quiet of the early autumn morning.

"Tahno, I don't know what else I can say to you."

You used to be able to say anything to me, he wants to remind her. But instead he says, "Likewise."

She chews at the inside of her cheek, and he feels like reaching across the table and shaking her, shattering her, climbing inside her and gnawing away until she's as empty and hollow as he feels, but instead he sits at their booth in silence with both of his hands wrapped around his mug and tries to remember warmth.

"I know you've never gotten along with—"

"Don't patronize me," he nearly spits, and his fingers flex around the cheap ceramic, if only to keep from reaching for her.

She pauses, uncertainty in her eyes as to whether or not she should continue, so she settles for the simple truth. "I love him, Tahno."

There is coffee in his cup. He doesn't know why, especially since he doesn't like coffee, so—

"You know, there was a time not too long ago that I would have never expected to call you my friend. And now," she laughs, but it's a brittle sound, like tiny needles scraping into his skin as it washes over him. "I don't know. I don't know what I was expecting. But as my friend," Korra swallows hard and Tahno, weak as he is, can't get his eyes to move away from the bottomless coffee cup. There's a moment of quiet, of tension and disappointment and sadness, and Korra breathes deeply. "As my closest friend... I suppose... I would have hoped... I just want your support.

"I'd like you to be there tomorrow, Tahno."

"And what?" he monotones, feeling too tired—too angry, too in denial, too in love—to keep up the normal arrogant charade. "Give my blessing?"

The sigh that breaks from Korra's chest seems to take all that is left of her energy. "I was hoping you'd... that you'd have changed your mind."

By the time Tahno realizes what she is doing, her crumpled spare cash is already spilled across the table—her fair share, split right down the middle, like always.

And Tahno wonders: When Mako takes her on those romantic dinner dates, on those budget picnics or dive bar lunch buffets, does he do the gentlemanly thing and pay for it all? Does she eat it up, just like the rest of the bullshit Mako feeds her? Or does Korra take pity on her working man and spot the bill? He can picture it one way or the other, but never half-and-half.

Never equal.

Korra rises from the table, hands stuffed in their pockets—either to hide her shaking fingers or her clenched fists, or maybe both—and snaps, "When you're ready to start acting like someone who wants to be my friend again, give me a call. Don't bother until then."

"What do you even care what I think?" Tahno spits out, his eyes cutting into hers. "You already asked for my advice. And you ignored it."

"I considered it, Tahno," Korra retorts, and the zipper of her jacket bunches in the front as she leans toward the table to where he still sits. "But there is a difference between asking for the honest opinion of a friend and demanding their acceptance."

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

She shakes her head, a breathy sigh of a laugh slipping through her lips—and he swears he can see it, curling, twisting out like a wisp of cold, autumn air—and says, "Maybe. But even if I want your approval, I don't need your permission."

"Then what are you waiting for?" he takes a sip of his coffee; it's cold and fucking terrible, but it's not like he can taste it anyway.

"A goodbye."

The coffee is slick, but it sticks like sludge around the sides of his mouth. He swallows hard, and nods. This must be what being empty feels like. I know why you are hiding your fists inside your brown leather jacket, he thinks, strangely detached. And I know that the reason you even wore it today in the first place is because you think it's lucky. Because you believe in that kind of crap.

Korra scoffs at his silence and shrugs, shoulders stiff and weary, and when she shifts to turn on her heel and walk out, she mutters, "Whatever."

Tahno does not plead—

"Don't marry him, Korra."

—but it's not like his voice really sounds like his own anymore, anyway.

She pauses. Without warning, Tahno can once again hear all of the distant kitchen sounds from behind the bar. They are alone in the diner, save for their waiter and the woman who makes the mimosas, because no one is crazy enough to be awake as early as they are. "Give me one real reason why I shouldn't," she challenges; her voice wants to sound so strong, but it's still so tenuous to his ears.

"I've given you plenty of reasons," he reminds her.

Korra's teeth are lined with a tight, close-lipped smile that she doesn't feel. And even though Tahno hears her words, they don't quite hit home until she's already walked away.

"But none that are real."

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It's their diner, the one with the too-worn seats and just enough trees surrounding the parking lot to make you forget that there exists a bustling city ten miles to the south. The leaves are rusty and golden, bright with autumn fire as they twirl through the afternoon breeze, and here Tahno sits, still at their booth in the back corner, staring out the window at the trees like he can hear the rustling in the wind.

And not without reasons.

He knows what he should have said to her, before she left.

Tahno doesn't remember paying the rest of the bill, nor does he remember how he got into the front seat of his car. A vague, distant part of him wishes that he'd at least have remembered to turn the heat on—because it's fucking freezing out and it's only barely October—but even still, he can't bring himself to put the key into the ignition. He doesn't know where he can go.

"Because you always pay for half of the meal," he says, finally, to the empty passenger seat.

There is more activity on the road now, but only barely. The good, fine people of this small town apparently have better things to do on a Friday afternoon than hang around old, dusty diners too far off the highway. He lets the silence of the car hang around him, sitting with the stillness, the peace, the chaos, all inside him. How long did it take her to drive away? he wonders. He hadn't seen.

Because we pay equally, in dollars, in tears, in comfort. In reliance. Because I know you are strong and that you don't need anyone, and especially not me, to take care of you. Because I know that you already have such a hard time taking care of yourself as it is that you shouldn't have to take care of anyone else. But you always will, anyway, because you're Korra and you don't think. No matter how obsessed you are with paying your share, you never stop to consider all the ways in which you are actually not. You're getting ripped off, Korra, and you don't even know it.

The wedding is tomorrow, Tahno remembers. It's tomorrow morning and this day has already passed him by—

(Had she been wearing her ring?)

(She hadn't been, had she?)

—you don't think at all. Because you feel and I feel and neither of us think and that's the way it is.

Because even though he came into the picture first, I'm the one that stayed through every shot. Because I'm a dick, but I'm the kind of jerk you can feel at ease around. Because even though you've cried over me, I've never made you cry. Because I've made you angry, and I've made you feel pain, but I'm not going to hurt you, not for the rest of my life.

"Fuck," he spits, slamming the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.

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Because I fucking love you.

And at this point,

I have no idea if you'd even believe me.

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He twists the key into the ignition, cranks up the heat, and drives.

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