He should have known. Of all the things in the world, this he should have at least been able to guess at. But he missed it, blinded by the glittering haze, the rose tinted glasses, things he had never even seen before, much less had. And they were beautiful things, opulent things, material things. For some reason they wrapped around, smothering him, pleasantly, slowly, gently.
Of course they weren't meant to last- that fleeting glimpse of glittering gold in the bottom of some deep dark pool- of course it wasn't true- the gilded paint that chipped away above rust. But how the glitter flew into his eyes, not quite uncomfortable, but there all the same, and he would rub and rub, as if he were in a state of constant disbelief. Really, it was just the stuff in his eyes.
Above all, Mako chided this blindness. He wanted the rich, full life that he got a taste of it in the Sato mansion. For a sparkling moment, he was completely empty of usual cynicism, viewing the world free and unbiased on top of some clear-aired hill away from the smog of reality. It was beautiful really, but Mako couldn't seem to remember why, exactly, everything looked so pink.
When Korra found out, the rose glass was whipped away, leaving his vision slightly green tinted, sickly and twisted, and it suddenly felt like the end of the summer. A fall- a long one too; and an end in the depths of winter, looking up to the glittering gold surface from the bottom of that black, black pool.
It felt like a cruel trick- not a cheap one- cold as coins and empty as the stoic faces on bills. It was another reminder, another hard truth, another heaping spoonful of the bitter spice that was reality.
Mako felt remarkably like a certain Nick Carraway- not that he knew who Nick Carraway was. He felt cheated, defeated, as if some old, timeless dream was a lie all along. The funny part was there had been no Gatsby. Sure, Sato had come from humble beginnings, but he didn't live his dream for someone else. There was no gaze across the bay at that blinking green light, fading in and out. Across the water was Air Temple Island. At this defining moment, this crushing truth, he was not pining for Korra. She ruined that perfect illusion. That beautiful, beautiful paint that made the black iron gold. Korra peeled it off with one swift move. It wasn't even hard. The paint came off so easily, exposing the rust underneath.
The coins had been plated. Cheap metal beneath a fine veneer of glittering wonder. Mako held them in his hands and felt the dreams slip away, leaving him so cold. And for the briefest of moments, he knew how it felt to be Gatsby, living that lie he loved so dearly.
A.N.- Busy getting ultra profound with a character I don't even like that much. I am not the biggest Mako fan but I just happened to be reading The Great Gataby when Korra was being aired. It was too good of a reference to pass up.