Author's Note - This story was hard for me to write. Makorra gives me all kind of feelings, man. Enjoy if you read, I'm still not sure if I'm wholly satisfied with this or not.
He closed his eyes, wishing a dreamless sleep would claim him.
Part of Mako knew it wouldn't. Not tonight. Too much had happened, and his mind was still whizzing with the curve of her lips, the scent of her skin. Behind closed eyelids, he was still able to see the single tear that had trickled down her face as she walked away.
He never did like it when she cried.
She was supposed to be strong, for carrying the world on your shoulders was not the job for the weak. Her strength usually emitted a powerful vibe about her being, one that had drawn Mako in from the start. He found her infuriating at first, and hated himself for spending many of his waking moments wondering about her. After a while, she had managed to break down his guard and let herself in. And by then, he was long gone.
Spirits, he loved her. Mako loved her so much that it gave him physical pain. Whenever her fingertips would so much as brush his skin his body would come alive, and he would have to hold himself back from pressing his lips against hers. There was a certain intoxication that came with her kisses, one that Mako would happily succumb to as often as possible. It was worlds better than being drunk; it was exhilarating and didn't come with any repercussions except for shallow breaths and swollen lips.
Mako rolled onto his side in his bed, the sheets abnormally cold beneath his body. He watched the flame dance on the wick of the candle lit by his bedside with tired eyes. It was the only light source in the room, and yet it seemed to burn brighter than the afternoon sun over Yue Bay – and because of this fact, it was reminding him of Korra. Nearly everything reminded him of her. Mako wanted to clear his head. He had to stop thinking about her.
He had to stop thinking about Korra.
He had to.
He…he couldn't.
Not when she was the reason he would throw away everything he once thought to be true. Not when he could still picture her face, her eyes bright and childlike and reminding him of the summer sky. Not when his brain recalled the memory of her allowing him to cling to her small, strong form as he relived his parents' deaths through a vivid nightmare. Not when the words she had whispered to him that night so long ago on Air Temple Island were ringing in his ears. That had been the night when Korra had given him everything she had, becoming undone beneath his slender fingers. They had learned the movements together, synchronized in a rhythmic dance that would only rival that of Tui and La. It was that night when he had decided to never let her escape him, to have her grasp his hand and lead him the right way. Mako didn't think of himself as scarred when he was with her. Korra made him feel whole again.
He realized he was crying.
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he silently cried, irate and miserable and alone in a bed that was far too big for him. He had let the one good thing he had ever allowed himself to have other than Bolin walk away without a fight, and now the regret was on his soul like a two ton weight. And the fact that he would have to face her, now as a friend and not a lover, was surely going to destroy him from the inside out.
Eventually, the candle flame flickered out, and Mako embraced the darkness of the room like a brother.
