Chapter Text
The ride back is decidedly more boisterous than the drive to regionals had been, even by Kya’s standards. The children are tired but thrilled and even the normally stoic Lin is more inclined to go along with their shenanigans.
They stop at a supermarket to “cell-ebrate” with balloons and decorations for the classroom (Lin almost walks out when she figures out the pun), and are a full hour into Bolin’s recounting of his dream (“we all had these elemental superpowers — like, Ms. Gyatso, you could manipulate water, and Chief, you could see with just your feet —”) when they mercifully arrive at the RCA parking lot. Korra’s mother (who looks way too young to have a teenager) is there, and Hiroshi Sato offers the boys a lift alongside Asami.
Tenzin is waiting there, too, bless his soul, ready to exchange Kya’s car back for his trusted minivan.
“Congratulations!” he greets, embracing his sister and moving to do the same for Lin before awkwardly settling on a handshake instead. “Congratulations,” he repeats.
“Thanks,” a bemused Lin replies.
“And thanks for the car,” Kya adds. “It was really helpful. Speaking of, we should get this model inside.”
“I can do—” Tenzin starts.
“No, I’ve got it,” Lin cuts him off deliberately. “I can do it,” she insists. As if to prove her point, she wrangles the model out of the car and single-handedly carries it up to the classroom, only accepting help with opening doors and getting the lights. Maybe it was a Beifong thing, Kya wonders. Stubborn to a fault—
“Earth to Kya,” Tenzin repeats, waving his hand in front of her face.
“What?” Kya startles, nearly tripping on the stairway as they make their way back to the car. Tenzin grins.
“That’s the third time I’ve called your name,” he says, delighted. “Shut your mouth.”
“ You shut your mouth! I didn’t even say anything!” Kya protests.
“No, I know, I mean literally. Shut your mouth. You’re gawping.” Tenzin’s grin widens.
Kya collapses her lips into a scowl. “I was not.”
“Was too.”
“What are you, five?” She glares at her brother. “If you smile any wider, your lips are going to get stuck that way, like mom always said.”
His grin is unrelenting. “I’m just not above teasing my sister about a pretty girl she clearly has a crush on.”
“I do not have— you’re impossible ,” Kya huffs, taking off to ostensibly help Lin unload the rest of the baggage. Okay, so maybe this trip had made it obvious that there were more than platonic feelings brewing between them. But what was equally baffling was Lin’s constant game of ping-pong back and forth between eager beaver and ice queen. That moment of… something , before the alarm? When Lin’s warm breath had ghosted over her lips, and she’d been certain—
—well. Then Lin had jumped up and run away, spooked for reasons Kya hadn’t yet deciphered. Talk about mixed messages, lady—
“Hey.” Said lady is now in front of her and Kya wills herself to look past the faint sheen of perspiration on Lin’s neck from carrying the model back to their office..
...and she’s staring again, isn’t she. “Hiya,” she manages lamely, fiddling with the loose threads at the end of her scarf. It’s the first semi-private one-on-one moment they’ve had since the hotel, and Kya is acutely aware of every cringeworthy line coming out of her mouth, but can’t seem to stop herself. “So. That’s a wrap, huh?”
Lin, in typical Beifong fashion, is already powering three steps ahead. “On Regionals, maybe. We’ve made it to the next round, but that’s no excuse to lose steam. We need to reconvene and look at the detailed scoresheets, then make adjustments to the city as necessary, and—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Kya reaches out her arms almost unconsciously, resting them on Lin’s shoulders. “There’s plenty of time for that stuff, Chief. For now, take a breath, crack a smile, pop a champagne, and let yourself celebrate everything we’ve accomplished so far!”
“—not to mention doing some scouting to learn more about Ba Sing Se Prep’s idea, and—”
“Lin.” Kya remembered that when Tenzin got this way — utterly preoccupied with the machinations of his own mind — the only way she knew to break him out of it was to distract him with something else.
Kya folds the arms that are already on resting Lin’s shoulder, engulfing the shorter woman in a hug.
Lin sputters in surprise, nearly pulling back before settling into it, unclenching her fists and — dare Kya believe it? — embracing her back. Lin smells of car air freshener and sweat, and hugs like she’s out of practice — stiff but warm. Kya wonders when the last time somebody had hugged Lin Beifong was… and holds her tighter.
Kya’s grateful that it’s Tenzin in the parking lot instead of Bumi, who would probably have wolf-whistled or done something equally unruly at the sight. As it is, Tenzin merely winks, shaking his head as he ducks into his car.
Kya, not wanting to let go of Lin, flips a rude gesture into the side view mirror instead. “Do you know,” she whispers softly, for Lin’s ear only. “That a hug without you is as toxic as mercury?”
Lin disentangles herself immediately, making her way to her car with a glare that Kya chooses to interpret as encouragement.
Their little adventure had been... good, she decides. She’d proved her mettle to Izumi as a teacher and maybe, possibly, was one tiny step closer to breaking through the suit of armor that seemed to always encase Lin Beifong.
Not always, she reminds herself. Not when she’d been asleep in Kya’s arms, limbs heavy but face soft and open. That was Lin, she figures. A bundle of contradictions.
Maybe one she would get a chance to unravel.
Lin doesn’t sleep much that weekend, her mind replaying the events of the trip over and over. From the drive to the fight to sharing a bed, she can’t stop thinking about how warm Kya had been, how… safe she’d felt nestled tight against her, shielded from the tension and judgement of the world and the competition to come. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d slept that soundly when she’d been so anxious just a few hours before.
But that had just been the first night, hadn’t it? That morning — well, Lin had yet to make sense of what had happened that morning. In her daydreams, she actually goes through with it, taking the plunge and finally (finally) kisses Kya the way she deserves, stealing her breath and stopping the next ridiculous pun that is sure to come out of her mouth. Lin still remembers — or can’t forget — how sweet Kya tasted; the noise she made when Lin had grazed her teeth on just the right spot—
In her nightmares, though, Kya pulls away immediately, shocked laughter echoing through the hotel room. “You didn’t mean that, did you?” she asks, pulling away. “I know we spent that night together, but I think you have the wrong idea—”, taking a step backwards just as Lin wakes up, flushed with embarrassment and anger and dread. But even then, Lin knows these are nightmares almost right away because in them, Kya is cruel — and Kya could never be cruel, doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, but in real life there is still certainly the possibility that she would have to let Lin down easy. So Lin knows moving forward that she won’t ask. Wouldn’t dare.
And then there was the competition itself, and Kuvira. The thrill of their podium finish had briefly been overshadowed by the other woman’s presence, for reasons she struggles to deduce. It’s not that she doesn’t like Kuvira — that would be ridiculous; she’s barely met the woman and anyone who Su despises this thoroughly, Lin is inclined to admire, anyway. No, it’s more that she… she can’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something about her gait, her countenance… Lin didn’t trust her. And for good reason — after all, they were the competition! She was supposed to be wary of Kuvira. It was practically in the rulebook.
The thoughts weigh on her until she’s too exhausted to keep her eyes open any longer. She sleeps through her alarm on Monday for the first time in years, forgoing her morning workout and breakfast so as not to miss her carpool.
“Chief! What’s going on? You, late? Something keep you up?” Kya pauses, waggles her eyebrows. “Some one keep you up?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Gyatso,” Lin says irritably, dragging herself into the vehicle and shutting the door with a slam.
“Actually, I would.”
“Oh, I… no, I just… I’m sorry, I’m not very coherent right now. Can we take it easy this morning? I…” Lin pinches the bridge of her nose, wrinkling her forehead. “I didn’t sleep much this weekend, is all.” Kya’s eyes betray her surprise but she doesn’t ask, as if sensing that Lin didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, she flicks on the radio. They settle into a companionable silence until the trudging into Izumi’s office upon arrival based on the principal’s request.
“Look who’s here!” Izumi beams. She’d been thrilled when they’d told her, of course, and she takes the advantage of finally being together in person to squeeze Lin and Kya like overstuffed pot stickers.
“Congratulations!” she squeals. “See? I knew the two of you would work it out. Look what you’ve accomplished.”
“Thanks, ‘zumi,” Lin manages, struggling to breathe.
“We’re pretty excited,” Kya admits when Izumi releases them. “It was a lot of work, but I’m proud of our kids.”
“And I’m proud of you!” Izumi continues with unabated enthusiasm. “For you to place the first year we enter the competition—”
“It’s pretty awesome, right?” Kya is finally smiling again, for the first time since greeting Lin in the car.
“—and to think Lin asked to be reassigned to be partners with someone els—”
“I said thanks , Izumi,” Lin cuts in sharply. Of all the times for her friend to babble when she’s happy—
“You asked to be reassigned?” Kya says at the same time, a hurt cast shading her face.
“I didn’t — that’s not—”
“It’s fine,” Kya replies, the wounded look replaced by that bright mask, as if it had never been there in the first place. “It’s not like we got off to a great start here.”
Izumi grimaces, looking between the two of them as if trying to decrypt an interaction she doesn’t quite understand. “I’m sorry, Kya, I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“Like I said, it’s fine,” Kya grits out. “No need to explain.”
“But I’d like to—”
“Izumi,” Kya interrupts. “Would you like to go over the staffing for the days Lin and I will need to be off for finals?” Lin can’t help but feel like they’d come to a fragile peace, at least for a few weeks; had thought it had strengthened with their time together at regionals… and she’d broken it. With her behavior the morning of the competition, and now with Izumi’s admission.
How did she manage to keep hurting Kya, even when it was the opposite of what she meant to do? She glances at the other woman, currently poring over a list of substitutes, and resolves that maybe it’s better if she just kept her distance.
If Izumi is all sunshine at the news, though, Toph is a thundercloud raining on the parade. “Why not first?” she challenges when Lin calls her that evening for their scheduled chat. “We aren’t the best high school in Republic City for you to get second place, especially not if it means losing to a school from the Earth Kingdom. Really, Lin, you’re losing your edge.”
“I’ll have you know that we did extremely well for first time entrants,” Lin fumes. Why couldn’t her mother just be happy for her, for once in her life? “And it was really close!” Her tone is dangerously close to a childish whine.
“ Close doesn’t cut it, Lin, you know this,” Toph reiterates. “Come back with first place at finals, and that’ll be a real statement. By the way, you are coming to lunch with Su and the kids in two weeks, right?”
“Why, so Su can patter on about her oh-so-fantastic pregnancy glow while I get roped into babysitting Baatar Jr. and Huan again? I’ll pass,” she snarks.
“You think I want to go to these? Absolutely not. If you think I’m braving this meal by yourself, think again. You’re coming. At some point, you’re going to need to have a functional relationship with your sister, and this is as good a place as any to start.”
“Ugh,” Lin groans. She knows there’s no winning when her mother gets like this. “Fine.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be just family this time. Izumi is coming, along with the new teacher — Kanna?”
“Kya,” Lin corrects absently, sitting up straight in her chair. “Why is Kya coming?”
“Apparently, your sister has been making friends. You should try it sometime—”
“Oh please, Kya’s more my friend than Su’s anyway—”
“Oh?” Toph’s sardonic tone is replaced with one of genuine curiosity. “Have you been making friends too?”
“It’s not like that—”
“I didn’t imply anything,” Toph says, delighted, “but you just confirmed it for me. Eleven-thirty on Saturday at Su’s place. Don’t be late.”
Lin hangs up, but it’s too late. She knows her mother’s words have gotten to her, already resolving to spend tomorrow’s free period dissecting the scores from the competition by comparing tallies and taking notes and contemplating the best way to make Toph eat humble pie.
“Kya, have a look at this.” Kya, who’d been craned over her desk, fully absorbed in her grading, takes out her headphones and wheels her chair over to Lin. She’d been acting — odd , lately. Then again, that might partially be her fault — every time Lin tried to bring up Izumi’s slip up from last week, she’d dismissed the matter and changed the subject.
She wouldn’t lie, knowing that Lin had disliked her (or at least misunderstood their initial encounter) enough to request to be assigned to a different club had stung at first. The idea that Lin thought so lowly of her as a person, or worse — didn’t respect as an educator — had made Kya want to hide in her office and never come out. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt like this was something that Lin of the past may have said, but today’s Lin would never. Because with Lin, it was more important to observe the things she did, rather than the things she did or didn’t mention out loud.
Like the time she’d come over to borrow a whiteboard marker to prep for a lesson, but had ended up staying until Kya had finished explaining her unit on genetics, appreciation and admiration for her highly participatory teaching technique clear in her eyes.
(“This is my favorite unit,” Kya had said. When asked why, she’d replied, “it’s because I get to talk about what I love most: Pun-nett squares.” Lin had thrown the marker at her head.)
Or when she’d been spotted crafting an in-class exercise, and Lin had asked her for help in keeping the kids engaged and on task during labs. “I don’t know how you do it. Most of the time I’m genuinely worried they may blow something up.”
(“You just have to make sure the class environment is stable,” Kya had advised. “Or else you might get a bad reaction.” Lin had threatened to lock her in the lab with Korra, Bolin and plenty of flammable materials for that one.)
Lin is… Lin really is something else, isn’t she? Lin is… wait, Lin is staring, and Kya realizes she’s been asked a question.
“Sorry, I missed that. What’s up?”
Lin hands her a sheaf of papers. “We finally got the official score sheets from the competition,” she says. “See if you can spot the common thread.”
Kya pages through the documents, scanning each one quickly before proceeding to the next. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. These all seem like pretty high scores to me.”
“And objectively, you’d be right,” Lin replies. She points to a spot on the page at the top of Kya’s pile. “Look at this. We scored really well in the computer simulation and the physical model. But when you look here, we’ve been docked points on the essay and presentation. We did well again on the creativity and sustainability aspects of the rubric, but on feasibility?”
“We’re near the bottom,” Kya says, Lin’s point slowly dawning on her. She shuffles through the papers again. “Pretty consistently,” she adds.
“Exactly.”
Kya does the math — the feasibility grades are low enough and weighted heavily enough in the final score that they offset the wins from the remaining categories. Even if Ba Sing Se Prep’s team had lower scores across the board, this one pitfall would be enough to bump RCA into second place. “So what you’re saying is, if we don’t fix this, we don’t stand a chance of placing in the finals.”
“I’m afraid not. And there are going to be teams flying in from across the country who won their own regionals. We don’t even know what their cities look like, what their weaknesses are. It’s possible they did even better than Kuvira’s kids. All we know is that they’re going to be tough competition for sure.” Lin is poring over the sheets again, face the epitome of concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips. She looks — dare Kya think it — cute?
“We have to tell the kids,” Kya notes. “And they’ll need to come up with a strategy.”
“I know they’re meeting tomorrow at Asami’s lab,” Lin says. “Let’s join them and have the discussion then.”
The crew ride in Lin’s car to Asami’s home after school. It’s more of an estate than a solitary house, with multiple stately entrances; verdant, exquisitely manicured gardens; and a variety of basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. All that’s missing is a swimming pool...
...which is indoors, Kya finds, as they traverse the massive mansion to get to the lab. The inside is no less luxurious, with the aforementioned swimming pool in addition to a greenhouse, movie theater, art gallery and trophy room, even a hidden bowling alley.
“Wow,” Bolin says, awe in his voice as they make their way to the machine shop. “Why didn’t we meet here from the beginning?” he ponders aloud, expressing exactly what Kya had been wondering herself. Why had they bothered puttering around the school labs when they’d had access to this masterpiece all along?
Because the Sato shop is fully decked out with state of the art equipment — 3D, waterjet, and laser printers, jigsaws and handsaws and bandsaws for both wood and sheet metal, even a lathe and a top-of-the-line mill that easily cost more than Kya’s yearly paycheck.
Only Korra didn’t seem fazed by the ostentatious display, presumably because she’d been here before. For even the most recent makes and models of machines looked well-used, some like they’d been taken apart and gently reassembled to customize performance. Asami likely spent a lot of time here, which probably meant Korra did too.
“Sorry about that,” Asami apologizes. “My dad and his team have been using the lab for their newest prototypes, but they said that it’s far enough along that they don’t need the space anymore! We have this one all to ourselves until finals.”
Conveniently, Asami’s butler has already brought the model to the Sato studio, and the students settle down to begin making tweaks right away.
“Hold on,” Lin orders. “Before we start making all these adjustments, we should talk about our scores.”
“We looked at them before coming here,” Mako offers.
“And?” Lin probes. “Did you see the notes on feasibility?”
“Yeah,” says Korra. “And we think we can get them up before finals, enough to beat Ba Sing Se Prep.”
Lin’s arms are folded across her chest, mouth set in a firm line. “How?” She challenges. “Have you done the math on the weighted averages for the final scores? You’d need to double your feasibility subtotal and maintain all your other scores to stand a chance. You should strongly consider reconfiguring the city.”
“What, you mean — you mean like starting over?” Bolin asks.
“If that’s what you think it takes, then yes,” Kya cuts in.
Lin however, continues unperturbed. “Clearly,” she says, “that’s the only solution here.”
“But what if we don’t want to?” Kya can tell from Korra’s face that she is nowhere as relaxed as she seems to be, leaning against the counter next to Asami. A belligerent note creeps into her voice when she adds, “we’re really happy with what we’ve done so far.”
“You might be happy with it,” Lin declares, “but will the judges? Will your parents, after you’ve put in all these hours, at the expense of other activities?”
“Ms. Beifong,” Kya starts. Thanks to that night at the hotel, she understands, knows Lin well enough at this point to see where this is going.
“And will you be happy,” Lin continues, “if what you’ve done isn’t enough?”
“Chief,” Kya says, tone dangerous. If Lin doesn’t stop right now—
“Do you want to be happy? Or do you want to win?”
“Lin!” Kya almost screams, managing to avoid yelling through sheer self control. She finally gets through, Lin stopping in her tracks, uncharacteristically bewildered. “Can we take a minute? Kids, why don’t you go ahead and take another look at those rubrics?” The students mostly look confused, thankfully, not angry or upset, unused to outbursts of any kind from their usually composed teacher.
Kya nearly drags the other woman out the door, pinning her against the shop wall when it’s clear they’re out of view. “Lin Beifong, what could you have possibly been thinking, shouting at the children like that?”
Lin, to her credit, makes no attempt to defend herself, apparently as shocked by her own behavior as everyone else. Her breath comes in quiet gasps, and Kya steps back when she realizes that if she can hear them, she’s probably standing far too close. Some of her displeasure wanes upon seeing Lin’s state, but it doesn’t excuse what she did.
“You know it’s up to them to make the final decisions on all aspects of the project. It’s a competition for the students , Lin, not for us.”
“I…” Lin presses against the wall, reaching out to grab Kya’s shoulder to prevent her from sliding downwards. “I don’t know why that happened.” Kya covers the hand with her own. It’s warm and damp with a small layer of sweat, and almost feels bad enough to let this matter drop. Almost.
Because nobody could be this dense, right? “I do,” Kya says. “Ever since the competition, you’ve been running yourself ragged, not sleeping and worrying about what the world will think of you if you don’t win this stupid contest.”
“It’s important,” Lin protests weakly.
“It’s a model-making competition for high-schoolers , Lin. We’re not saving lives here. They’re literally going to forget about it in three years when they head to college, if not sooner!”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Kya says, tiredly. “Whatever you’re working through, with Izumi or your mom or Su, you need to figure that out on your own time. No more taking it out on the kids.”
“But what if they’re making the wrong decision?”
“Then so what? ” Kya replies, indignant. “Are you telling me you never made the wrong choice as a kid? For what it’s worth, Lin, I agree with you — I think starting over is the only way we win this thing — but you have to let them decide . It’s a crucial part of the learning process and I think you know that, beyond this stubborn haze that’s momentarily clouding your good judgement.”
Lin stares up at her, then suddenly flips her hand and squeezes Kya’s palm. She stands up, propping herself off the wall. “You’re right,” she says, a new zeal in her voice. “I was out of line. I owe them an apology. And after that, whatever they decide, we’re going to win this thing.”
“I think you’re missing my point about winning, here—” but Lin is gone, has disappeared to profess her apologies. Kya sighs, wondering if she’d give Lin points for partial credit.
“You got lucky,” Kya says, clambering into the car with her purse and bag of exams for grading. “They’re good kids. I don’t know that everyone would have been so forgiving.”
“I know.” Lin looks appropriately contrite. “I’ve never lost my cool like that; I’m not sure why it happened today.”
“You’re joking, right?” Kya wants to bang her own head against the window in frustration.
“What?” Lin turns towards the passenger seat momentarily.
“I literally explained a list of potential reasons, and you chose to ignore all of them?”
“I don’t see what my mother has to do with—”
“How is that even possible? You admitted to me that you feel all this pressure from your mom, from Izumi, even from Su, to be this perfect teacher, daughter, sister…”
“So?”
“So? That’s not healthy! We all have our baggage, Lin, but you have to remember that it’s not the world versus you.”
Lin says nothing for several minutes after that. When she speaks again, it’s so quiet that Kya nearly misses it, has to lean into her to even catch what she’s saying. “How do you know that? How can you know that for sure?”
And this, this Kya recognizes. These are the late-night, rarely-confessed fears of someone who’s desperately lonely and worried she’ll never be good enough.
Kya’s uncomfortably familiar with that feeling.
“You’re not alone, though,” she explains gently. Lin’s face is unreadable. “Chief,” she starts over. “If you were in my place right now, wouldn’t you be saying the same thing?”
A beat. “Of course.”
“Exactly. So let me tell you — as an outsider looking in, what’s clear to me might not be obvious to you. And what I know is that if you would just open your eyes and look, you would notice all the people who are here to support you.”
“They want to love you, Lin,” Kya reiterates, “exactly as you are.” Lin is finally looking at her now, and the vulnerability in her gaze makes Kya want to melt; makes her want to undo Lin and remake her with a little more self-confidence and a lot more love. There’s something palpable in the air, she’s sure of it, but the moment is too delicate for anything other than the silent reassurance that they’ll be there for each other. That they’ll have each other’s backs.
“Thank you,” Lin says softly. “I think I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime.” Kya is surprised by how fervently she means it.
The sudden stutter of the engine turning off breaks the spell, letting Kya know they’ve come to a stop outside her home. “I should… go,” she says uncertainly, suddenly unsure of what she intends to do.
“Probably,” Lin agrees. She seems similarly dazed.
“Well then.” She unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for her purse at the same time as Lin, their hands grazing with the impetuous motion.
Kya laughs. “I got it, thanks.” She’s halfway to her door when she hears Lin’s voice behind her.
“Kya?” She turns. “You’re not an outsider looking into my life,” says Lin. “You haven’t been one for a long time.”
Kya feels a warmth flooding her cheeks, her neck, her whole body, and wants… what she wants is irrelevant right now. What she should want is to go home and take a nap. Kya smiles and waves.
Lin has already shifted her car into reverse when she notices the tote in the passenger seat. This too cell pass , it proclaims.
It’s definitely not hers. She grabs the bag and sprints to follow Kya, ringing the bell, annoyingly out of breath. “You forgot the tests,” she announces.
“Oh,” Kya replies, nonplussed.
And for some reason, seeing Kya like this, hair down, shoes off, looking totally at home after everything she had just done and said for Lin… the next words tumble out of her mouth against her own volition. “And I, uh. I wanted to apologize.”
“What?”
There’s no stopping now, Lin figures. “I mean. Your speech in the car reminded me how amazing you are, and how I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I’m sorry for what Izumi said, for ever thinking that we couldn’t get over what’s happened between us, for believing we couldn’t work together.” The words are wrong, all jumbled together, but she’s doing the best she can, given the circumstances.
Kya still doesn’t look like she’s tracking. “Are you… are you apologizing for asking to be reassigned, or for sleeping with me?”
How could she even answer this without divulging the truth? “Umm... both?”
Way to put your foot in your mouth, Lin, she thinks.
She can tell immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Kya states, mechanically. “I wish I could say the same, but… the reason your request to Izumi hurt so much was because I thought that you might… might actually care. About me. Because I don’t regret it, Lin.”
Lin stares at her, unblinking. She’d hoped, certainly, but hadn’t dared… “I had fun that night and I thought you did, too, given the whole note debacle,” Kya continues. “But I guess things changed.” She moves to shut the door.
Lin, who has been standing utterly still up to this point, blocks it with her arm. “You… wait, you like me?” Her brain isn’t processing the confirmation, can’t figure out what to do or say or how to form actual sentences that make sense.
Kya grimaces, as if she hadn’t expected Lin to spell it out with such painful clarity. “Yes, Lin, I like you. But since you so clearly don’t, can we please put it behin—”
“I only apologized because I thought you weren’t interested in me like that,” Lin rushes. “I don’t—” she takes a step closer, balancing precipitously on the ledge between the porch and the door. “I thought I was reading way too much into our friendship.” She knows she looks agonized, can’t help it. “I thought I was putting our professional relationship in danger, I…” She’s still not sure it’s a good idea, honestly, but it’s almost physically painful to see Kya like this, and Lin aches to tell her everything.
Kya chuckles, a small, pained sound. “Lin. I don’t know how to be much more obvious.”
A treacherous little bloom of hope blossoms in Lin’s chest. “I can think of one way,” she breathes.
Kya leans in and kisses her.