Disclaimer: LoK belongs to Bryke. Not me.

You never really loved him, and he never really loved you, and, if the two of you are being quite, quite honest with yourselves and each other, you both already knew all that.

You're dating him because, well, because he's famous and talented and you admire the strength he must have, to get where he is from where he's been, and it doesn't hurt that he's seriously handsome to boot. Besides, he needs you, and you like that feeling, of being needed for once. You like the feeling that comes from knowing that you can help someone, someone who deserves it; changing futures, for the better, definitely beats wasting your father's money on fripperies and luxuries. He's a good kisser too, you suppose.

And you know, deep down, that he's only with you because you are pretty and you are rich and he needs that right now. He's only with you because never in a thousand years would he dare to dream that someone like you (the Hiroshi Sato's daughter, arguably the most stunning girl in Republic City, definitely one of the richest) would ever be interested in someone like him (a nobody from the streets, a penniless orphan, a rough around the edges no-name fighter) and he doesn't dare pass up this chance. He doesn't pass up chances, not when he knows that opportunities like this are few and far between.

You two are together because it makes sense to your heads to be in a relationship. It's mutually beneficial.

But that doesn't mean that these circumstances make any sense to your hearts.

He's never made your heart race. He's never made your knees go weak. He's never - save that one embarrassing moment when you figured out that you just ran over the most lauded pro-bending athlete in the city with your motorbike - made your cheeks flush or your temperature rise. You feel more excited behind the wheel of a car, racing faster and faster and dangerously faster, than you do when he holds your hand, or your waist, or even when he took your first kiss. There's more electricity in your blood and bones when you are karate-chopping Equalists and manning giant mechas. Heavens, your pulse pounds harder when you listen to his fights on the radio than when he's right next to you, holding you. What kind of a love is that? It's nothing like songs and stories say it would be, and you decide that songs and stories are overrated.

And you, you're not dumb or deaf or blind either. You can see the way he looks at her, as if he has to force himself tear his eyes away, as if she is a magnet and he is an automaton crafted from iron. He's never looked at you that way, and you find that you are okay with that, somehow. You wouldn't know what to do if he looked at you like you were his moon and his stars and sun and all those stupid fairy-tale, love-song lies anyways. Please. You'd prefer a mess of gears and oil and grease and wrenches, any day. Fairy tales are far too straightforward, too cliché; you'd rather have something to puzzle over, to piece together. You are, after all, a Sato.

He was your puzzle, for a bit; he never said more than was strictly necessary, never opened up about his thoughts or his feelings, and you thought that maybe you could be the one to crack his scorpion-clam shell. You could postulate about why he is so taciturn: all these years, he's had no one but his brother to confide in, and he's spent the vast majority of those years trying to shield Bolin as best as he could. That meant not confiding in or relying on anyone, at all, and never, ever, showing weakness or distress or fear. Because showing fear would only scare Bolin, and Mako never wanted his brother to know how afraid he was, all the time. So he kept quiet about everything, and old habits die hard.

You admire Mako for that strength of his, but you want to be different. You want it to stop being Mako vs. the World, and start being Mako and Asami vs. the World. You want to help him. You want to be special to him. You want to be needed. Barring that, you at least have enough self-respect to want him to be honest with you.

That's the problem with Mako's silent strength, his perpetual cool façade: it's not honest of him. At all. It's as if he thinks he can handle everything, so covering up a problem isn't a problem, really. But you know, you of all people should know, that keeping someone in the dark about problems is just as bad as lying to their faces. Worse, even. You are Hiroshi Sato's daughter, after all. You didn't know about the underground workshop. Betrayal lurks in the silence.

So seeing Mako with Korra? It hurts. Not because you have this raging need to monopolize Mako (you know you're not in love with him, regardless of your constant PDAs and your nominal relationship status), not because you have a burning hatred for the Avatar (au contraire, you quite like the spunky water-tribe girl), but because you've never demanded his love, just his honesty. And having to find out important things from Bolin, or from Ikki, even, is humiliating.

And you are a Sato, and a fighter, and a girl who is more than aware of her own abilities. You don't appreciate being humiliated.

You wonder, vaguely, if Mako is a gold-digger. After all, he's managed to become romantically involved with the two most powerful girls his age in Republic City, though their powers and influence are as diverse as possible.

But Mako's not like that. You think. You don't know. You realize that you barely know him at all, beneath that tough exterior of his.

You don't really know, and his shell isn't cracking and your world is falling apart. You are losing everyone and everything and you don't have a foot to stand on and damn it all, but you are Asami Sato and you deserve better than this. Not because of your father's name, or your boyfriend's powers, but because you are a girl who knows how to stand up for herself and for her beliefs and to take matters into her own two hands. You can make your own decisions.

It's better to end this.

You'll always be friends. You know that's as big of a cliché line, a cliché lie, as those fairy tales you no longer believe in, but this time it's true. You do care about this boy, the one who you gave your first kiss to, the one who you sided with against your father. Oh, goodness, you didn't chose Team Avatar because of Mako; you chose Team Avatar because you knew deep down – in the same place where you knew that you never loved the fire bender – that it was the right thing to do.

You still trust Mako to guard your back, to fight alongside you. You still care about Mako, and want him to support him, and you still respect and admire the strength you see within him. And you know that he still respects and admires you, now for more than just your father's wealth or your pretty face. He finally, finally sees you as the girl that you are: the girl who refuses to compromise her beliefs, the girl who knows her own worth and strength, the girl with a heart of fire and gold. He still loves you, but he's not in love with you. He never was.

And you don't trust him with your heart, not anymore. Because someday, you want a man who will look at you like you are a magnet and he is an automaton crafted from iron. Someday, you want a man who is a puzzle of gears and spring and flesh and bone and soul and heart, waiting for you to piece him together, to discover his secrets. You want someone who will tear the city apart, screaming out your name like a madman, who will let his scorpion-clam shells come down around you.

You want someone who will make your knees go weak.

You know that you deserve that much.

Mako will never be that someone, not for you.

So you kiss him on the cheek, platonically, and you let him go. To the place where you know, and he knows, deep down, that he belongs.

This is not your happily ever after. And you are fine with that, because you never wanted to be a damsel in distress to begin with, and you never wanted a knight in shining armor. You never needed a happily ever after, just a once upon a time; you want to write the rest of that story yourself.

A/N reviews are lovely. :)