Wouldn't It Be Nice (The Beach Boys) - Makorra
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake upIn the morning when the day is new?
Korra is fond of what most people would consider“questionable decisions.” She likesthrills, likes heat pulsing through her veins, shivers rushing down herspine. She has learned to reign in herimpulsive tendencies, but, sometimes, she wants to run to a cliff’s edge and leap without hesitation, knowing she’ll always be able to bend herself a safety net of air.
And after having spent the day togetherHold each other close the whole night through
And yet this implicit question she’s had rattling about in her mind for the past few months, this silly, honestly not-THAT-hard-to-do action has been disrupting her most casual thoughts with a need to be done.
Is it too soon? Is she rushing this? Should she be this nervous?
Happy times together we’ve been spendingI wish that every kiss was neverending
She doesn’t know (if it’s too soon, or if she’s rushing it, or if she shouldn’t be nervous), but one afternoon, when she’s stretched out upon the couch in her apartment, her head upon Mako’s lap as he reads, his hand only ceasing brushing through her hair to flip a page in his book, she decides that this isn’t (they aren’t) a questionable decision.
She rolls off the sofa, ignoring his confused “Korra?” as she strides to her kitchen, opening the little drawer she’s relegated to random items that otherwise don’t have a home, and withdraws her spare key, curls it into her palm. She crosses back to Mako, who has chosen to ignore his book in favor of watching her, his gaze confused as he tries to figure out whatever spurred her to jump off the couch so quickly.
She plops down on the couch beside him, legs crossed, her knee edging into his space, as she thrusts her hand out in front of him, and opens her hand, palm up.
“I-REALLY-LIKE-HAVING-YOU-HERE-AND-WANT-YOU-HERE-MORE-SO-HERE’S-MY-SPARE-KEY.”
“Alright,” he says, slowly, eyes wide as he takes the key from her hand and a smile starts at the corners of his mouth. She doesn’t wait for him to reply, just eases back into her spot on the sofa, head upon his lap, and closes her eyes, even as she can hear him sliding his keys from his pocket, the jangle of metal upon metal as he slips her key beside the one to his own apartment and his office.
Maybe if we think, and wish, and hope, and pray, it might come trueBaby, then there wouldn’t be a single thing we couldn’t do
The clink of keys lasts longer than she thinks it should though, and she opens her eyes to peek at him once more, maybe even to taunt him for struggling to get a key on the ring of others, but she surprised to see a key unlike her own in front of her face. She turns to lie on her back at that, wants to see his face.
“I’d like having you at my place more too, okay?” His words are certainly calmer than hers were, but his cheeks still flush pink. (Even though they’re both adults, both in their twenties, it’s nice to know he still feels nervous when faced with moving forward in their relationship, too).
“Alright,” she says, smiling up at him and taking his key before flipping back onto her side, holding the key loosely in her palm. She hears him pick up his book, the turn of pages, before his hand finds its way to her again, fingers gently carding through her hair.
You know it seems the more we talk about itIt only makes it worse to live without itBut let’s talk about it
(And, maybe it’s alright if they only spend a few months with exchanged keys jingling against their own apartment keys, before they decide that one pair, for the both of them, is what they really want.)
(It is, Korra thinks. It really is.)
