No. It's not going to be like that, honest. I've sworn off girls for the foreseeable future.
( mako that does not sound even a little bit better. luckily he doesn't even seem to realize the connotations of what he just said, he's just. adamant. no more teammates, no more girls, he's realized he's got a lot of growing up to do and... sorting himself out and all that, and until he does that, he's not really fit company for anything more than friendship. he's made his peace with it.
he walks a few steps in silence, a million different thoughts rattling around in his head. then, )
You ever wonder how mom and dad did it?
( he doesn't. remember much about his parent or his life before their death anymore. sometimes he gets flashes. little things. bolin crying as a baby, so mako had picked him up out of the crib and tried to rock him like he'd seen his mother do (he was only about three, this did not work as planned). his mom's smile, dad's laugh. a lot of scents, like things their dad used to cook from the earth nation, the laundry soap their mom used. he remembers perching on an empty box at their grocery stand, calling out the day's wares, being amazed at the rumble of satomobiles as they passed. everything was so bright and new, mako was excited about firebending and school and friends.
and then they died and it was like the world went black. he has a very clear memory, months after they died, of realizing that dad's scarf that had used to smell like his cologne just... smelled like him, unwashed and kind of grimy and dirty with that smoke-and-fire bending scent clinging to it everywhere. it was the first time since everything happened that mako had broken down and cried, it felt so much like losing them all over again. it was so stupid. over a scarf.
he's never stopped missing them. but at least he has a few memories — bolin has even less than that. two years makes a world of difference at that age, and mako worries sometimes he's done a pretty horrific job of keeping them alive for him, all because he's too wrapped up in guilt and grief and loss to prise open that box and dump its contents out between them.
but they were happy. weren't they? they loved each other. they made it work even when they didn't have much to go on but love. and mako honestly has no idea how they did it, just that they did. )
no subject
No. It's not going to be like that, honest. I've sworn off girls for the foreseeable future.
( mako that does not sound even a little bit better. luckily he doesn't even seem to realize the connotations of what he just said, he's just. adamant. no more teammates, no more girls, he's realized he's got a lot of growing up to do and... sorting himself out and all that, and until he does that, he's not really fit company for anything more than friendship. he's made his peace with it.
he walks a few steps in silence, a million different thoughts rattling around in his head. then, )
You ever wonder how mom and dad did it?
( he doesn't. remember much about his parent or his life before their death anymore. sometimes he gets flashes. little things. bolin crying as a baby, so mako had picked him up out of the crib and tried to rock him like he'd seen his mother do (he was only about three, this did not work as planned). his mom's smile, dad's laugh. a lot of scents, like things their dad used to cook from the earth nation, the laundry soap their mom used. he remembers perching on an empty box at their grocery stand, calling out the day's wares, being amazed at the rumble of satomobiles as they passed. everything was so bright and new, mako was excited about firebending and school and friends.
and then they died and it was like the world went black. he has a very clear memory, months after they died, of realizing that dad's scarf that had used to smell like his cologne just... smelled like him, unwashed and kind of grimy and dirty with that smoke-and-fire bending scent clinging to it everywhere. it was the first time since everything happened that mako had broken down and cried, it felt so much like losing them all over again. it was so stupid. over a scarf.
he's never stopped missing them. but at least he has a few memories — bolin has even less than that. two years makes a world of difference at that age, and mako worries sometimes he's done a pretty horrific job of keeping them alive for him, all because he's too wrapped up in guilt and grief and loss to prise open that box and dump its contents out between them.
but they were happy. weren't they? they loved each other. they made it work even when they didn't have much to go on but love. and mako honestly has no idea how they did it, just that they did. )