He's vaguely aware of the sound of his desk crashing to the ground and a voice that used to entrance him spewing vicious words in his direction, but everything is rushing at him too quickly and he jumps to his own defense before he can think through what he's saying.
Then maybe there's no room for our relationship!
The words clatter out of his mouth, accompanied by a bitter taste and an unexpected ache in his chest.
Hearing them ring in the room feels like a smack to the face, a painful jolt out of nowhere, and—for a split second—the dawning reality that they have actually reached this point makes his stomach turn.
She storms out of the room and leaves him there with nothing but the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest.
He struggles to keep his composure when he sees her next, the remaining bits of anger, frustration, hurt, and longing creating a hurricane in his heart and mind. While their last conversation aired their grievances with one another, much has left to be said between them.
Clarification leads to confrontation and he can tell she feels just as exhausted and conflicted as he does as they drudge through their issues. It's like breaking up a second time, but this time there is no anger in her voice and its absence makes the ache in his chest hurt even more, like a muscle that has been strained and forced into activity too soon. He aches for the sense of relief he expected to come from discarding this weight, but it never cements itself as firmly as he would have liked.
They decide they'll try to remain friends. Neither can imagine life without the other and, while the roles they'll play have changed, they don't want to lose each other completely.
They can be friends.
We can do this, he thinks, but the words feel hollow, even when he whispers them to only himself.
They fight again.
Two weeks have passed, but Korra still bursts into his and Bolin's place without warning and assumes the same role in their daily lives, almost as if nothing has happened. She's brash and overly invested in his actions and so Korra that he snaps.
You can't just act like nothing's changed.
You can't do that anymore. We aren't together anymore.
She reels at his response, armor up, and unintentionally makes it clear that his reaction rattles her. This is how things were when they were friends—she was always bursting in on them, asking questions, playing around. This has nothing to do with their failed relationship. Nothing to do with them at all. Why can't she just go back to acting that way she did before? Why does he have to turn it into something bigger than it is?
She leaves, slamming the door in her wake, and he wonders if they'll ever find a new normal.
Mako hates to admit it, but he's not convinced he can make a friendship with her work. A part of him, a part he tries to silence, isn't out of love with her. How can he just go back to being friends? The label may have changed, but the core of their relationship has not; she's still a constant presence in his life, a relentless pull from which he can't break free, and he knows he can't correct his own failings when he's still fixated on her. It's everything or nothing with them and they are quickly moving toward nothing.
Their reunion comes far sooner than expected, sooner than he would have liked, when they are both invited to a celebration for Asami's company a week later. It's awkward at first, particularly when Bolin leaves them alone to go woo a beautiful woman who has caught his attention, and they are somehow stranded in a crowded room. They don't know how to joke with each other or interact or where the line is drawn between them, so they sip their drinks quietly while evaluating the room and attempting to develop appropriate exit strategies.
Finally, a moment of relief comes. While hopelessly trying to impress a woman, a waterbender accidently shoots water in her face when bumped by a passerby. Laughter ensues and inexplicably, in this moment, things return to normal.
They pass the rest of the night laughing at the fumblings of Republic City's prissy elite and loosely catching up. The sense of effortlessness between them leaves him feeling shocked and invigorated and, somehow, liberated.
At the end of the night, Korra hugs him. She lingers slightly too long for it to be a "just friends" hug, but they're both a little tipsy and overly excited from the unforeseen ease of the night. He decides not to dwell on it
They see each other more frequently. Beifong calls on Korra to help fight the surge in triad violence and Mako finds himself growing more accustomed to their new dynamic.
There are a string of weeks where he sees her almost every day and on the days he doesn't, he feels vaguely disappointed. He finds himself asking her to get lunch with him—he's still somewhat out of place in the precinct—or chatting with her in the halls about the newest pro-bending developments.
Still, there are moments when they slip up—referring to themselves as a couple or accidentally brushing against each other in a way that wouldn't occur if there was more space between them in the first place—but Mako tries to dismiss them.
It isn't perfect, but it works.
Two months pass without much fuss, until Bolin berates him for seeing her as frequently as he has been. He's found out that Mako and Korra have been meeting together—for dinner, lunch, whatever excuse seems plausible to Mako at the time—not necessarily secretly, but in ways to avoid alerting others to the regularity of their contact. He questions why Mako broke up with her in the first place if he just plans on keeping their relationship intact, minus the physical elements of their romantic relationship. He and Korra need to be apart from each other—really, truly apart—if they are ever going to move on.
This time Mako storms out of the apartment, his brothers words piercing him unexpectedly. The slam of the door behind him isn't nearly as satisfying as he wants it to be and his brothers words float around him as he wanders the city in thought.
Korra leaves for the Fire Nation on official Avatar business and he feels relieved and wretched all at once.
Part of him knows that this is for the best. The forced separation is what they need right now to firmly cement their "just friends" status. Everyone says that the distance will be good. Maybe he'll come to believe that too, if he repeats it to himself enough.
The other part of him hates that she's leaving. Hates that he isn't going with her and that he isn't a close enough part of her world anymore to warrant his presence on this trip. And for a second, he worries she might meet someone new, someone who can better suit her needs, avoid the pitfalls they clashed over, and that she'll move on completely. The thought practically makes him sick.
The day before she leaves, he calls to tell her he's sick with the flu and that he won't be able to come with Bolin and the others to send her off. He's miserable at lying to her and he isn't surprised when she doesn't buy it. Her upset is evident through her tone and her words bite. She questions if their friendship is important to him and he recoils by burying himself further in lies of a nonexistent illness. She slams the receiver down and he's left listening to the stutter of the dial tone.
A month passes with little news of Korra. He hears about a few Avatar related issues through the paper, but nothing about Korra personally. The lack of knowledge drives him crazy.
He knows she's returning to Republic City in a week's time and the thought exhilarates and terrifies him. He wants to hear her voice, see her standing before him with her hand on her hip, waiting to shoot some quip at him about whatever he's done. He wants to drink in the ocean blue of her eyes, indulge in her mocha skin, relish in the sensation of her against him…even if it only comes through a fleeting, "friendly" hug.
And he recognizes that he should not need this, should not want this, from someone who is just a friend, but—despite his best efforts to fall out of love with her—he can't. She's claimed a portion of his life for herself, sectioned off a piece of his heart and designated it hers. Every moment without her causes more pain than any of their fights ever did.
He knows he has to fix what is broken between them and just hopes he isn't too late, that she'll want to start over with him.
A little voice nags at him—what if she doesn't want you anymore—but he refuses to give it the floor.
She's been avoiding his gaze since her return, seized every opportunity to evade him that has come her way, and it's driving him crazy. Every split second of a chance he has had to talk to her has been snatched away before he can get a word out of his mouth.
He feels a bit uncomfortable pursuing her so aggressively, but his apprehension is promptly forgotten when he sees his chance as she sneaks away from Tenzin and the others during the gala being thrown in her honor.
She drifts aimlessly down the hall before turning into a vacated room, probably hoping to escape the suffocating attention of the crowd, but he has waited too long to speak, held in too much, and he follows her nonetheless. His hand grasps her wrist, begging her to look at him, and when her name escapes his lips, he hardly recognizes his own voice, dripping with desperation and the slightest bit of frustration.
She gasps and she looks like she wants to flee, but when his eyes finally catch hers, she knows she's trapped.
Why are you avoiding me?
Her eyes dart away from his and she mumbles excuses—she's been busy, there really hasn't been time—
Bullshit.
Her crystal gaze flares to a tumultuous cerulean and she yanks her hand out of his grasp. Her tone is clipped as she tells him to go away, that she's changed her mind—it's better if he isn't a part of her life from now on.
A bolt of panic runs through him and he can't help the words that tumble out his mouth as he grabs her arm yet again.
Is there someone else?
This time a choice insult bursts from her lips and she pulls free from his grasp. She shoves hard against his chest as she denies his accusation and his back presses against the wall—
Then just tell me the fucking truth. Why do you hate me now?
The anger in his voice is gone as the last words nearly choke him. Her hands clenched against his chest tighten, wrinkling the crisp shirt below, and her eyes dart away once again, refusing to meet his.
Korra, I—
The pressure on his lips stops him, catching the words he hadn't quite figured out anyways, as an all-consuming need builds in him. He pulls her into his chest, attempting to draw her in further as his hands find the back of her neck, her hair tangling in his fingers. His self-control rapidly dissipates as he pushes against her, flipping their positions as her back meets the wall, and the slightest groan escapes him when she pulls his hips against her own. Her hands deftly undo the buttons of his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin as his lips move to caress her neck, her collarbone, any part of her his lips can access, and his hands roam across the expanse of her back, her chest, her hips, through the faint silken barrier of her dress.
He wrenches a smothered moan from her as their kiss deepens and he can feel himself unraveling with each time her hands move against him, each time her mouth connects with his, each time a ragged breath escapes her.
She's offering no resolution, no promise that things will be better this time, but it's a beginning of some kind and he latches onto it like it's his only lifeline.
His hands trace over every inch of her, his lips drink in the sweet taste of her skin. Every moan, every gasp, every utterance of his name from her lips, sends ripples of flames through him and he wonders how he survived these past months without her beside him. He sears the gentle curve of her body under his into his memory, the grip of her hands on his shoulders, his back, his hips, like a tattoo on his skin.
His eyes flick open when her hands begin tugging on his belt and his heart pounds aggressively in his chest. He swallows loudly when the clatter of metal ceases and she's reaching for him, the breath he'd barely caught rushing out of him. Amber meets cerulean, questioning, seeking her permission and he can't stifle the moan that breaks free when she swiftly nods her assent.
The dress slides easily up her legs, gathered at her hips and pressed tightly between them, as he glides his hand over her, aching to hear more of those wondrous sounds escaping her mouth and affirm that he's the only one she wants, just as these past few months of separation have taught him how desperately he needs her, not as a friend, but as a lover, a companion, a soul mate.
She breaks from their kiss—his name on her lips once more—when he pushes into her and his mouth meets the inviting curve of her neck. For a moment, he's completely still, the feeling of her consuming him—encompassing him, with the way her hands grasp at his shoulders, the way her leg wraps around his waist, the way she feels around him—surging through him and stealing the air from his lungs. She whispers his name, ushering him to move, and he can't deny her request. The pace is tortuous—he's missed her, missed this heat, this tension between them and he isn't ready to let this moment pass. His mouth seeks hers again and she complies, the fervent clash of their lips goading him as his tempo picks up, her hips matching his time, and he can't help the groan that pushes itself from his lips.
Despite being apart, their bodies haven't forgotten each other, each stroke a reiteration of the ebb and flow between them, his movements an echo of her body's call to his. He's trying to temper his almost frantic need for her, trying to hold on to anything to keep him grounded, keep him from rushing through this moment. His hand slides between them to brush against her, an ardent moan in the shape of his name rushing from her, and he knows he won't last much longer at this pace. She falls first and her sharp intake of breath, the gasps that fill his ears, coupled with the sensation of her around him send him over the edge.
Korra
Her name spills from his lips and he can't quite bring himself to pull away from her yet, reluctant to let her go and risk losing her again. Nothing's guaranteed, nothing's repaired, but he still feels whole again for the first time in months. She gently nudges her cheek against his, her hair lightly ghosting over his neck, as she sighs against him. He finally pulls away and she fixes her undergarments and dress as he makes himself presentable as well. Her hands reach to adjust the scarf around his neck, but instead they still and come to rest on his shoulders as she glances away.
Her words are hardly above a whisper, but he hears each one as if it's being shouted. She can't do this again if he isn't one hundred percent sure about them this time. She won't go through this again, the torture of being so close but so far apart. It's all or nothing with them and if he isn't sure, then she's gone.
His heart pounds noisily in his head and his hand trembles slightly when he raises it to cup her cheek. Words have never been his forte—he has always been better with actions—and he hopes she will grasp his answer when her crystal blue eyes finally meet his. She questions him quietly—is he sure?
I'm sure.
His lips meet hers once more, this time hoping to convey everything he'd like to say to her, all the words he's left unspoken but the ones she needs to hear him say. It's everything or nothing with them and, this time, he knows it's everything.