It happened on your second official date.

Republic City’s upper shopping district glimmered with lanterns strung overhead and storefronts dressed in pastel silks and warm fall tones. You were expecting food stalls, maybe some street bending performances, something casual like your first date.

Instead…

“K-Kay, don’t laugh—but I thought maybe we could… shop a little?”

Korra stood beside you, hands stuffed nervously into the oversized sleeves of a soft cream-colored sweater. It was cute—baggy, warm, folded slightly at the cuffs. She paired it with high-waisted dark blue pants that hugged her hips snugly, flaring a little toward her boots. Nothing flashy. Nothing skimpy. But it somehow made her look softer, like a warm breeze instead of a whirlwind.

Her hair was down.

All of it.

Loose, long, a little messy—but beautiful. Thick waves framed her face, a few strands sticking to her lips with every anxious breath.

You said nothing.

Because she was clearly panicking enough for both of you.

“I don’t usually do this,” she muttered, tugging at her sleeve like it had betrayed her. “The shopping. Or the hair thing. Or—spirits—I walked into a skincare place earlier and accidentally knocked over a display. A tower. Of perfumes. I was trying to smell one and the whole thing just collapsed.”

Her face was so red.

She cleared her throat, then tried to act casual. “So I left before they made me pay for it. And then I was like—hey! Maybe I should try on cute stuff! Because that’s what people do on dates! Right?”

She paused. Looked down. Then, quieter—

“…Right?”

She reached for your hand without thinking, only to realize she had, and immediately flinched and looked away. But she didn’t let go. Her hand trembled just slightly in yours.

Then she tugged you into the next shop.

It was very pink.

Silks, slippers, hair ribbons, even makeup—none of it something you’d ever seen her wear. She poked a little at the shelves, cautiously picking up a cherry-blossom comb, then shyly placed it back like it might explode. Her fingers drifted toward a lip tint before quickly retreating.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she groaned softly. “Why does everything look like it belongs to Asami? I’m not this person.”

But her eyes lingered on a pair of soft gloves—a pale lilac. She touched the edge. Smiled faintly. Then glanced at you, cheeks flushed again.

“I’m not trying to be someone else. I just thought…” she fiddled with the tag, not meeting your gaze. “Maybe… I could be a little soft sometimes. Y’know. With you.”

Her voice cracked slightly.

“And if that’s weird, or if you’re used to girls who are more… into this stuff, then—I can totally punch a wall or something right now and reset the balance.”