A/N: The whole Mako becoming a cop thing was confirmed at Comic-Con, if you haven't heard. And I plan to deal with that itself in another fanon. This was not intended to have Mako hate at all. I apologise if it seems like that.
Apologies in advance for any research failures; I genuinely attempted to double-check all of my information, but the internet isn't always right.
So this needs a little bit of, mm, backstory. I wrote this entire thing in one fell swoop at the sloth snail's pace of ten words per minute while multitasking to work on other things in the background. The introduction/beginning was fairly routine, but as I was writing it, I ended up in an online argument with my loved one that escalated into a break-up and an emotional break-down from yours truly before cooling off and apologising profusely.
Yes, everything is fine now. But I had no idea on what I was setting out. Originally, I was going to write a five-hundred-word short poking fun at the fact that everyone with green eyes fails at love [Bolin, Asami, and Lin] as though the creators have a personal vendetta against people with green eyes. I mean, seriously, it's like you might as well pat every green-eyed character on the shoulder and say, "Sorry, love, but here's a paper bag with the forever alone face on it." Then it was transformed into this by the argument. I decided to post it because it's a fascinating journey into the mind during a break-down. So, er, enjoy my emotional trauma?
Rough. Unedited. Most likely awful.
It's no longer raining.
Oddly, that's the first thing he notices when he shoulders his way into the bar, ignoring the pain in his arm from the uneven and jagged frame of the door. Not the warmth emanating from the city's underbelly, not the curvaceous women with dangerously crimson lips and luscious hair curling around their shoulders and cascading down lower towards their breasts emphasised under their skin-tight shirts ending well above the waist, not the shady dealings exchanged in corners between men with wooden sticks carved with varying symbols.
All he notices, it seems, is that one moment raindrops were falling onto his already matted hair, and now they're not.
It takes him another moment to remember to move across the bar, his shoes tapping on the wooden floor, and place his palms onto the counter, not smooth with rock but rough and bumpy and full of knots like his own life, the texture giving it a comfort and a beauty that perfection never will. Cleaning a bowl scented with sake, the bartender glances up at him, unimpressed by his obvious youth, his gaze shifting clearly to his pocket. When he opens his mouth to order, it comes out more as a gurgle than anything else, the tears from earlier still caught in his throat and refusing to allow him to speak.
"Noodles," he manages hoarsely, trying to swallow down his grief.
The bartender pauses in cleaning the glance to quirk a heavy eyebrow at him. "Noodles, or noodles?"
He closes his eyes, a memory of the last time he was here flitting through his mind, broken and beat-up over her. "Sake." The word feels dirty flying from his tongue, a strange wooziness settling through his limbs even before he's had a single drop, but the bartender barely acknowledges his discomfort, preferring to drop the cleaning rag and reach across the counter, the sake pouring innocently across the saucer like water. His hand finds a way into his pocket, searching in the abyss to draw out a few scraggly yuans, the red of the bills reminding him of how innocent he isn't. More quickly than a ravenous wolfbat setting in upon its prey, the bartender snatches the money from the table, a flash of scarlet the last thing seen before the yuans are gone forever.
He tries to recall how he earned those yuans.
He can't.
Noodles slither into another bowl, wriggling like so many rat vipers. Desperately he picks up both dishes and somehow makes his way towards a table, unsure of the exact motions that brought him here. He glances down at the slickness glistening on the noodles' surface; it makes him slightly nauseous just to look at it, but his mouth is already wet with anticipation, the wooden chopsticks firm and hard in his left palm. Grasping them more tightly between his fingers, he prepares himself, tracing the edge of the bowl gently before allowing them to slip into the quivering mass, trying to find the exact spot to start. His eyelids lowered, he squeezes the chopsticks together, a few drops of sauce splattering his face, and slowly draws them out. Parting his lips, he sucks the noodle in, bitter and salty and sweet at all once, the chopsticks slick with sauce. Then the hot sake, its atypical summer heat masking the fact that is of low grade, heavy and sugary with flavour notes tantalising despite the quality. He can feel it begin to affect him from the first sip, unlike the chilled sake he's a bit more used to, but at this point he doesn't care, the saucer cool against his heated palms, the liquid hinting of other tastes lurking down below.
Setting down the sake, he returns to the noodles, devouring them, licking the bowl clean with an eager tongue until his lips and cheeks are wet with sauce, and he settles back in his chair, the padding and backing supporting him, pleasantly full.
For a moment he almost forgets the reason he came here, but then it comes back to him, the phone call received while he was off in the city grabbing dumplings for dinner, the concern in his brother's amber eyes when he asked to join the force, the smug smile brightening Mako's face as the firebender triumphantly held up the papers signifying him as a new member of the Republic City police, a job offered to him but accepted by his brother instead.
"'I promised Dad I'd look out for you,'" he mutters, mimicking Mako's voice. "'Now you have to promise me you won't take the offer. It's dangerous, and I couldn't bear to lose you. I love you bro.' Yeah, well, 'pparently you didn't love me enough to not steal the job right out from under me." He glares angrily at his empty bowl of noodles as though it's the noodles' fault. "That's right, leave me in the dust." What hurts worse than that, though he can scarcely bear to admit it, is Korra. "'Oh, your bro's not in the Fire Ferrets anymore? Then why should I be? Because I only joined your stupid team to get in with that hot firebender, and now there's no point to stick around. It's not like I wanted to pro-bend or be friends with you, Bolin. Who's Bolin? Oh, Mako's dumb younger brother.'" He pushes the dish roughly away from him and waves at the bartender, yelling for another bowl. Or two. Or ten. The yuans fly out of his pocket, his resolve to only have one drink crumpling as the grief inside him refuses to fade, but before he can attack the reinforcements into oblivion, a familiar voice causes his head to snap up and stare at the entrance to the bar.
Her long legs eating up the distance in her lengthy, rapid strides, Asami crosses the bar in the space of several seconds, her usually flawless hair weighted down by the rain, her worry manifesting itself in her lack of an umbrella. "Bolin?" She allows herself to fall into the chair next to him, breathing heavily, her green eyes glimmering. "I was looking everywhere for you. I asked Mako where you were, but he said he didn't know."
He blinks, confused, the alcohol stopping him from entirely understanding her, but he forces himself to focus. "'Course he didn't come to find me." Shaking his head, he orients himself. "Why were you looking for me?"
"I heard about . . . I heard that Mako and Korra left the team." She glances down at her hands, splaying the fingers on the table. "I'm so sorry."
Even in his intoxicated state he can see something wrong in her demeanour, something off about the way she is sitting, something worrisome in how she carries herself. "Hey, is something wrong?" He touches her elbow gently, and she doesn't pull away but scoots the chair slightly closer.
"No," she answers, her lie evident in the quiver in her tone, begging him to ask her again, to pry, to open the pages of her book and read them when she cannot do so herself.
"Did something happen?"
The sudden dilating of her pupils tells him everything he needs to know, her green eyes filling with a distant sort of bittersweet joy. "I walked in on Mako and Korra together is all." Her shoulders are shaking with the effort to keep her voice level, a struggle he knows all too well. "It's fine. I'm over him."
"But the scars are still fresh." He gazes at his dark reflection in the sake, rippling as he pulls the saucer towards him. "You want some?"
She cuts in: "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I guess." He shrugs. "But look on the bright side: I just got a free shower outside in the rain." Her smile, faint and weak as it might be, is more rewarding than anything else at the moment, this slice of life brightening his world like nothing else. "Just a bit, uh, drunk at the moment."
"Drunk?" She narrows her eyes, looks him over, and he flinches, feeling himself being judged, like Mako always did, like Korra always did.
But she doesn't.
She merely reaches out and hugs him, her wet hair mingling with his, the wetness on her cheeks rain or tears or both together in a blend of sorrow and love, love for the people neither of them can have, love for the pain they share, love for the certain kind of sadness they're addicted to, the sadness of seeing someone end up with the wrong person or maybe the right person but not the person they wanted that someone to end up with.
"I'm sorry." He isn't sure who said it, but it doesn't matter. They both know what they mean, both know that the droplets on their cheeks are tears after all.
He hugs her back, thanking the spirits for her weight in his arms, for her voice in his ear, for her friendship in his life, because he doesn't know what he would do without her, right now, broken and beat-up and hating himself in a bar somewhere over the mistakes he's made and the love he can't seem to get over, but she's here.
For him.
And there is more in that than there is in anything else.
There is more in that than there is in anything else.
And that's okay.
As long as she remains in his embrace, as long as her arms are still around him, as long as he can hear her breathe, it's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
Then he hears the cough, the harrumph of the throat, the tap of a metal shoe on the wooden floor, and he glances up to see Lin Beifong standing there glaring at the two of them, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "What is this?" the metalbender barks. "What are you doing out here this late at night, Bolin?" He attempts to speak, but the alcohol in his veins has tangled up his tongue. "How much sake did you drink? I'm almost afraid to ask if there's blood in your alcoholstream."
Asami is the first one to say something. "Chief Beifong, please leave him alone. He's had a rough night."
"I'll say." Her eyes narrow. "I guess you'd rather roll around in the dirt than be a cop, huh? Metalbending too good for you?" Beifong smashes the ground with a foot, and the chair bounces up slightly, the metal screws within it allowing her to spin it around and take a seat.
"It's not like that," he tries to tell her, imploring her with what he hopes are watery green eyes, but he isn't sure of his own actions at the moment. "Mako made me promise not to do it. And then he got the job." Before Beifong can retort, he leans forward on the table. "Chief, have you ever had love troubles?"
The metalbender frowns. "I'm not here to tell you the story of my life. I'm here to drag both of you both back home."
He shakes his head. "Korra told me that you loved someone once but that he married another woman."
"She told you what now?" Beifong snaps, her armour creaking, but he merely gazes her despondently, and Asami hugs him more tightly. After a long moment, the metalbender makes a low noise in her throat and sits back in her chair, metalbending it forward until her armour clinks against the wood of the table. "You kids think you're suffering from love issues?"
Asami blinks. "You know about that?"
She chuckles throatily. "You think I'm blind? I might be a Beifong, but I'm not my mother. But let me tell you a quick story." Her expression tightens, her mouth becoming a thin line. The fingers of her right hand curl over her left arm, leaving marks in the metal where they press in. "The story's called Love Sucks and it goes like this: She loved a boy, he loved her, they dated and were engaged for twenty years, whoop-de-do, and then suddenly it all falls apart because somewhere along the line someone said babies and someone else pretended not to hear." He sees her green eyes filling with a distant sort of bittersweet joy, one that he knows he's seen reflected in Asami's eyes and in his as he glances at himself in the pool of sake, some of spilled onto the table when he hadn't noticed. "So you two kids need to stop worrying about some little fling you had or a crush that never picked itself off of the ground."
He looks up at her, and she ceases to speak, something in his expression making her stop, though he doesn't know what. "Just because Korra never liked me back doesn't mean my love is any less real than yours," he says in a breath, praying that his drunken state hasn't affected his words, that they don't slur and jumble and collapse in on themselves like his date with Korra did.
"Just because Mako and I only dated for a few months doesn't mean what we had wasn't as special," Asami notes, her voice quavering slightly; he squeezes her hand. "Maybe I'm wrong. But I don't think I am."
He watches a curious emotion slowly pass over Beifong's features. Pity? Sympathy? No. Empathy. "Come on, kids, let me get you back home before you hurt yourselves." She snorts, but he can tell she doesn't mean it. "Leave it to a couple of kids to ruin a perfectly good drinking night."
Asami inclines her head and pushes away a saucer of sake; he wonders if she had anything to drink and hopes she didn't. He doesn't want to drag her down with her, already beating himself up over the fact that he came to this bar in the first place.
Over a job he lost to his brother.
Over a girl he lost to his brother.
Over everything he lost to his brother, stuck in the same shadow, always searching for his own chance to shine. As the perfect boyfriend? Nope. As a metalbender? Nope. As the one to save Republic City? Fat chance. He remembers the medals that Mako and Korra received, the great celebration thrown in their honour. And himself and Asami seated down below them, Hiroshi's capture fresh on their minds, their reward little more than a brief congratulations from the victorious Avatar with her magically regained abilities.
He strains to stand, and she catches him, allowing him to use her for support. Gratefully he leans on her, hobbling across the bar, ignoring the conspicuous lightness of his pockets. He can deal with the money splurge tomorrow along with his hangover.
Tonight, it's just him, and her, and Beifong.
And the rain.
The rain that continues to pour down upon them when he finally makes it outside, dampening his hair, rivulets of water running down his face and hiding his tears. Darkness cloaks them, the light of the moon hidden behind the dark grey clouds weeping overhead, a streak of blue-white lightning from one cloud to another reminding him of the skills his brother possesses that he himself can never hope to match. The occasional satomobile casts a pale cone of yellow onto them as it passes, splashing water onto them and soaking them more than ever, but he steps silently in front of her, letting most of it hit him instead.
While Beiong stops at the edge of the road, searching for a trolley or a cab or maybe simply her own vehicle, another bolt of lightning illuminates her behind him, one hand at her forehead, shielding herself as best as she can from the rain. She notices him looking at her and smiles, her hand dropping to her side, the water cascading upon her.
He has never looked at her like this, away from the makeup and the fancy dresses and the expensive cars reeking of a lifestyle he could never hope to match. But now, like this, in the midst of the storm, her clothing wet and soggy, most likely ruined forever, her hair knotted and thin, clinging to her cheeks, her face free of anything but her true self, he realises that she is beautiful beyond words.
And he takes a step towards her, blinking from the rain and the wind around them, and gently touches her cheek with his left hand. "Asami?" he whispers.
She gazes at him with green eyes filling with a distant joy of bittersweet joy. "Bo."
And then he is kissing her, though he doesn't remember how or when or where, only the fact that he's here and she's here and they're here together, and it's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
The storm booms above them, the wind whips at them, the rain drenches them both.
And it's okay.
It doesn't matter that he's stuck on a pro-bending team by himself, his brother and his crush leaving him in the dust as though he doesn't exist. It doesn't matter that his brother saved the world and got the girl while he fought just as hard but received nothing except a broken heart and a meagre pat on the back. It doesn't matter that tomorrow he'll still be in his brother's shadow, waiting and begging and praying for the moment when he can shine.
It doesn't matter because, right here, he can shine.
Right here, he shines.
And it's okay.
It's better than okay.
It's Asami.
After the longest moment in his entire life, he realises that he didn't ask her, didn't think about her feelings, didn't say anything at all. This is how Korra kissed Mako, he knows. Never asking him. Just kissing him. And him kissing back. Like she is kissing him back now.
Almost apologetically he breaks away, painfully aware of the alcohol in his breath, knowing full well that it didn't affect his decision to kiss her at all, but she doesn't know that, and so he gazes into her eyes, green as his, green as Beifong's, green with the sorrow and grief and heartbreak that everyone with green eyes seems to be having.
Suddenly she starts laughing, the mirth sprung from nowhere, infecting him as well with its absurdity, and they laugh together until she collapses on him, her chin on his collarbone, her breath a burst of warmth in the chill, and he embraces her, supporting her in any way he can, helping her back to her feet.
"I forgot," she murmurs into his ear, "what it's like to be happy. Thank you, Bolin. For reminding me."
"Ditto," he manages, and she laughs again, the distant sort of bittersweet joy replaced with a nearer sort of joy, no longer bittersweet at all but simple and pure, the joy of laughter and love and life.
The joy of life.
He'd almost forgotten.
A whistle startles him, and he spins about to see Beifong gesturing towards her, a cab thrumming, its twin beams of light barely illuminating a metre in front of it. "You kids coming or what?"
"We're coming, chief!" he calls back. His voice grows quiet. "Aren't we?"
She grins, and he swears he is floating far, far above the ground. "Come on then. We won't want to miss our ride."
He doesn't remember much about the ride itself, only the faint ghost of a smile upon Beifong's face and Asami's head on his shoulder, her hand on his. The cab vibrates, the rain sounding out a melody on the metal roof, and at last Beifong bids it to stop, pulling out a handful of crumpled yuans and counting them. He thanks her over and over as Asami helps him out of the vehicle, the alcohol disorientating him, weighing down his limbs and causing him to nearly topple over, but she helps him, as does Beifong, the two of them hauling him towards the home he shares with Mako.
Mom and Dad's old house.
The path up to the door is slick with rain, but together the three of them are able to get across it. He glances at Asami, and without saying a word she slips her hand into his pocket and pulls out the key hidden within it, intelligent enough to realise that he would store it on his left hand instead of his right as his brother does. The door clicks open, the lights inside already on, Mako sitting on the couch just inside, his arms crossed, a wash of pure anger and disbelief on his face. Gazing into his brother's amber eyes, he backs away, his happiness crushed underfoot, all of the wonderful things in life covered by the scarf. "Bolin, what did you do?" the firebender snarls, lurching to his feet. "Beifong, what did he do? For his sake he had better not have been arrested, or I swear I'll—" His brother's expression hardens, his eyes darkening in rage. Mako lifts a threatening arm to point a finger accusingly at him, cowering with fear and guilt and shame. "Is that alcohol on your breath? Look, you're dripping on the carpet! Bolin, what did you—"
Asami grabs the firebender's wrist in her left hand and pushes him back onto the couch with her right. "Don't chew your brother out for being a better person than you ever will even when he's drunk."
"Asami?" Landing with a heavy thump on the couch, Mako stares at her in confusion. "I didn't recognise you without your—'
"Without my makeup?" She laughs, this time bitterly. "You never knew anything about the real me, did you?"
The firebender frowns. "I didn't invite you to here insult me. Get out of my house." A squeak alerts him, and he glances down, grinning as a familiar red puffball streaks across the floor and leaps into his arms, licking his throat and cheeks eagerly. He hugs Pabu to his chest and blinks at his brother, who looks ready to explode from his rage. "Out of my house."
Beifong quirks an eyebrow. "Some officer you'll make. Come on, Asami. Let's leave these two to their brotherly affection."
Mako glares at him, and he steps backwards again. Asami takes his hand and squeezes it gently; he gazes for a moment at her, gauging her thoughts, a clear invitation in her eyes. "Want to come with us?"
"Nah." He grins at his brother, whose eyebrows have knotted together in his fury. "I think I need to sleep that sake off."
She nods understandingly and slowly pulls her hand out of his, allowing her fingers to trail along his palm. "Hey, Bolin?"
"Yeah?"
That smile. He doesn't think he can ever get tired of it. "Next time you get drunk at a bar, mind calling me first?"
He flashes her a grin. "Will do."
Motioning towards the door, Beifong heads out, a clap of thunder sending Pabu burrowing into his shirt, a ball of warmth amid the cold. "Good night, Bolin."
"Night, chief." He waves. "And good night, Asami."
"Good night, Bolin." With that, she moves to walk out of the door, subtly shaking herself off to splatter the floor with more water, causing Mako to grind his teeth together audibly. Then, as though a thought just occurred to her, she pauses, turns about, and quickly gives him a kiss on the cheek before departing.
The door closes with a soft click, the rain quieted to merely the harmony upon the house's roof.
Mako ogles at him. He says nothing, only allows himself to fall down upon the couch, fishing his fire ferret from his shirt to use him as a pabulous scarf. "Bro, get up. We need to talk about this right now." The firebender's glare is hot enough to melt through him, but he doesn't care. He feels invincible. Shining at last. "You had me worried me sick. I even sent Korra home."
"You didn't look for me," he reminds his brother as he curls up on the couch, propping his chin on the curled arm. "Asami did."
Mako opens his mouth and closes it several times, staring at him, but he simply strokes Pabu's fur gently, the fire ferret transformed into an impromptu pillow, the thought of Asami making him smile secretively into the poofy fur. "Night, bro."
His brother continues to stand there for a few moments, clearly not understanding what just happened, but after a time Mako sighs and sits down on the couch. The firebender coughs. "Uh, good night."
"The best." He grins into Pabu, remembering her green eyes filling with a nearer sort of joy, no longer bittersweet at all but simple and pure, the joy of laughter and love and life.
The joy of life.
He'd almost forgotten.
But she reminded him.
But she reminds him.
And it's okay.