In contrast to the immutable rules of reality written by eons of fictional literature, which demand that certain moments are like the climactic finale of a symphony; a blaring conclusion standing atop the carefully constructed edifice of the previous movements, it happens rather quietly. The earth does not shift, even though for her it might do so even at less dramatically suitable moments. No musicians materialize to give the occasion the pathos culture requires of it. It passes by unnoticed, in fact, even by one of the only two people present to witness it.
In Republic City, in winter, in Asami Sato’s apartment, stretched out over Asami Sato’s couch with her feet kicked over the armrest and her head resting in Asami Sato’s lap, Korra speaks, as she often does, with no particular forethought or intention beyond releasing whatever she’s thinking out into the world.
“When we get married, will I be Korra Sato?”
Asami sets the book she’d been holding to one side, so she can see Korra’s face. “Do you want to be?”
Korra twists her lips into an expression of consideration. “I don’t know,” she says. “I kinda like it.” She laughs. “Maybe they’ll start calling me Avatar Sato.”
They’ve been together for almost two years now, nearly a year of which has taken place after Korra essentially moved into Asami’s apartment, having transplanted so many possessions from her own apartment that she simply stopped returning to it. For all that, though, the topic of marriage has never been broached before. Asami has considered it, but somehow never managed to actually bring it up. She’d been waiting, she supposes, for the perfect moment.
But perhaps perfect moments don’t actually exist. Or, perhaps, nothing prevents a perfectly mundane moment from being perfect.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” She says.
Korra looks at her and appears to realize for the first time what she’s said. “Oh. Um,” she fumbles.
“Because if you are,” Asami presses on, with the decisiveness of a CEO who’s made up her mind, “I’d say yes.”
“Oh,” Korra says again, with a different inflection this time. “D’you want to marry me?”
“Of course,” Asami says, laughing, and Korra smiles and puts her arms around Asami to pull herself up for a kiss, but ends up pulling Asami down instead and bumping their heads together.
“Sorry,” Korra says, sitting up and managing a less awkward kiss before pulling Asami’s arm around her shoulders and settling in against her side. “No airbender grace today, I guess.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Asami promises.
“Oh!” Korra says for a third time. “Make sure you tell Bolin I proposed to you by giving you a seal bladder in a snowstorm. I told him that’s how marriage works in the Water Tribe.”