Bolin swung his legs under the table, looking forlornly at the other side of the wall, his eyes clouded. He'd wrapped the red scarf tighter and tighter around his mouth and nose until it was more like a thick crimson bandage than a scarf. He had shuddered when he looked in the mirror but the scarf had stayed.

He let his head fall back on the wall. He was nine for god's sake. He should be braver and stronger and more tough than this. The gnawing worry deep in his chest was not supposed to be there. He was almost a teenager! Still not old enough for Mako to let him work, even though he was working when he was nine, but still.

Bolin's gaze dropped. He was totally alone and there was nothing in the house except the essentials. Nothing to do but think.

And he was sick of thinking. Sick, sick, sick.

His thoughts always went in circles and doubled back on themselves. He was thinking about his thoughts and then he was thinking if thinking about your thoughts was thinking too much and if he should thinking about stopping thinking about it.

He pressed his palms to the sides of his head and closed his eyes tightly like he could drown out his thoughts. La, la, la.

He heard the door open.

He pushed off the empty shelves, a grin blooming on his face as he dashed down the stairs and leapt at his brother.

He managed to stop himself just in time.

"What?" Mako asked, confusion etching in his face. "Bo, what's wrong?"

"Mako, dude you-you're filthy!" Bolin laughed, loosening the scarf around his neck.

Mako smiled. "Fine, I'll go have a wash in the sink then."

"No, I can do it! I've been practising!" Bolin dropped into a loose and unsteady stance.

"Oh you have, have you?" Mako raised a two-pronged eyebrow.

"Yes! Of course! Are you calling me a liar?" Bolin tried to glare, but he ended up smirking.

"Go on then, Bo. Impress me." Mako gestured to himself.

Bolin raised both his hands and curled them into fists and punched the air.

The dirt and dust on Mako's skin lifted off him and hovered in a loose cloud over his head, bits of dust occasionally lightly sprinkling the floor as Bolin strained his concentration, flattening his hands, palm-up, bringing them slowly and as smoothly as possible towards him.

Bolin sneezed.

Mako laughed for real for the first time in ages. "Ah, now who's the dirty one?"

"Ew! Ew! Get it off me!" Bolin rubbed frantically through his hair and over his arms that were heavily darkened.

"Hey, I didn't complain."

"Yeah, well, this is second hand dirt! That's the worst kind!" Bolin yelped, turning quickly around on the spot, shaking his hands about like there was a swarm of invisible flies.

"Oh, okay then." Mako scooped Bolin up and hefted him over one shoulder. "Bath time."

"Hey. Hey! I'm nine, I can bath by myself, I'm practically a man now!" Bolin battered Mako's back with his fists.

Mako shook his head. "If you're a man what does that make me? A grampa? And since when were you nine?"

"C'mon, what difference does a month make? I might as well be nine now!"

"Okay, then, widened old man, tell me. What's six times eight?"

"Eeer... I, um... I think..." Bolin scratched his head. "I just... I don't... Wait a moment..."

"It's forty-eight, genius, I thought you were practising your numbers." Mako set Bolin down carefully, pushing him gently towards the sink. "Knock yourself out."

Bolin pouted. "Shut up."

"Yeah, yeah." Mako smiled, closing the door behind him.

ooo000ooo

Sunlight rolled in like a wave, burning Mako's eyes as they flickered open.

"Who'd have thought it," Bolin said cheerily, "Day of our big tournament and I'm waking you up."

Mako sighed. Goddamn morning people.

But his dream had left him with a deep, warm feeling that he was going to let himself enjoy even if it was only for a little while. He closed his eyes.

And smiled.

A/N

Because the Makolin fangirls are so terribly deprived of innocent fluff.