Lead weights keep Mako's body pinned to his bead and his eyes sealed shut. At least, that's what it feels like. It takes a herculean effort just to peel his eyes open. Bright sunlight slams into them mercilessly from the open window, making Mako grimace. He doesn't like to keep his window open, but he'd left it open last night for Bolin.
The thought makes him glance over to Bolin's side of the room.
"Good morning." He says to his brother's unresponsive face.
Silence.
It's been like this since the accident, been a whole month now and he should be used to it, but it still sends a pang through him that makes him swallow a lump in his throat. I'm sorry, he wants to say, but he's said a million times before and it doesn't make a difference. The weight pinning him down seems to increase tenfold and the prospect of getting up seems impossible. He forces his protesting muscles to move, though, because he has to. For Bolin.
He manages to pull himself upright and he pushes himself off the bed to stand uncertainly. His feet scrape across the floor as he drags them to his door, shoulders slumped like the weight pressing down on him is real. When he finally makes it to the kitchen, he carefully bends the dying fire to heat the seaweed noodles he'd set out to simmer last night.
It only takes a few minutes for the noodles to warm up and Mako ladles them, steaming, into two bowls. He puts more of them in the bowl for Bolin. Afterward, he shuffle-steps over to the table and sinks down gratefully into his seat. There's a bone-deep weariness settled over him like he's spent the whole day pushing himself hard, but the day has barely begun. Bolin's bowl sits expectantly in the empty space beside him and Mako knows it's just going to get cold and go to waste, but he leaves it there anyway.
Time seems to slip through Mako's fingers as he sits there, wondering how he's going to make it through another day like this. He doesn't want to let Bolin down, though. Not like he did the day of the accident.
Mako starts guiltily when he notices his seaweed noodles are still waiting there in front of him. Gripping his chopsticks, he shovels the cold things woodenly into his mouth, barely tasting them.
He forces himself to bathe and dress himself afterward, ready to go back to work. It's his first day back since the accident. He's not sure if he's ready, not really, but when will he really be, anyway?
"I'm leaving!" Mako calls back into the house as he leaves, but no one answers.
Mako's surprised when he makes it to the end of the day. Most of the day is a blurred string of barely-remembered encouragement and platitudes. He's not sure how useful he was, but he likes that his mind was too busy to think about much else while he focused on his work.
Numb with fatigue, Mako stumbles in through the door to their apartment. It seems like too much effort to get ready for bed so he doesn't. He just falls into his mattress bonelessly and lets his eyes close. "Good night," he mumbles.
He hates this part, when his mind is free to wander as he drifts off and his thoughts inevitably go where he doesn't want them to go. He relives that day, every night like this, and he wishes it would stop, but he doesn't know how to make it.
He feels his hands start to tremble as he sees Bolin's face from that morning. He'd been smiling, asking Mako if he wanted to go with him somewhere. Something had seemed more important to Mako at the time, but he can't remember what that could've possibly been. His chest tightens painfully as he remembers the expression on the face of the officer later that night.
There's been an accident, sir...
There's something wet on Mako's face as he finally begins to drift into darkness. Not before he remembers how it ends, though.
Lead weights keep Mako's body pinned to his bead and his eyes sealed shut the next morning. At least, that's what it feels like. It takes a herculean effort just to peel his eyes open. Bright sunlight slams into them mercilessly from the open window, making Mako grimace. He doesn't like to keep his window open, but he'd left it open last night for Bolin.
The thought makes him glance over to Bolin's side of the room.
"Good morning." He says to his brother's unresponsive face. It's framed in expensive, hand-crafted wood that Korra had helped him pick out at the artisan shop.
There's no response, but Mako likes to think his brother hears him, somehow.
A.N. Hope you enjoyed this short'n'shitty drabble. Please let me know what you think and how I can make it less shitty.
Also, any readers of my Hit and Run story, I promise I'm working on the next chapter, but I can't get the creative juices flowing and I'm hoping this little experiment will help.