A/N: Oh, Bo, you break my heart. I'm not sure if Mako deserves a slap for being a brother betrayer or an award for best brother in the world.

To be clear, this takes place after Mako drags a semiconscious Bo - which means "precious", if Google is to be trusted - to his house and is attempting to figure out what Bolin did last night while dealing with the after-effects of Bolin's "crying like a schoolgirl" moment and subsequent potential drunkenness. I adore the brother-brother dynamic and wanted to exploit it. In this meantime, Korra is bumbling around on Air Temple Island while attempting to practice airbending, being unable to do so [see: depression], and feeling as depressed as GLaDOS upon the death of another subject. Wait, that's a horrible analogy - the latter would be GLaD.

[ba dum tsh]

Protip: Ever gotten drunk? Drink hot tea and cold water alternatively. Yes, the rapid transition between hot and cold will hurt. It'll also make the hangover go away significantly more quickly. See what you learn from reading random things off of FFN? Education, my dears, educación! And no, I'm not insinuating that Bo actually got drunk; Mako isn't taking chances.

About three seconds ago I realised I'm posting this from a library computer at 2:02 when I should be in class and working on a presentation on dingo conservation of marsupials. Meh. Bolin and the rest of the Krew are so much more important. But at least I'm eating rice, which is more than I can say for Bo, throwing his food around like a child. [pats his duck-butt hair]

The second rule of the bro code: Don't hate a brother/don't be hatin' on a bro.

"I love her."

He shoves a mouthful of rice into his mouth, chewing furiously and swallowing as rapidly as he can, his stomach churning, his head pounding.

"I hate her."

Another one.

"I love her."

A third.

"No, I hate her."

His brother is sitting across from him, watching him wolf down rice as if there's no tomorrow. And potentially there isn't, not for him, not the way he feels, drowned and burned and battered and buried six feet under in a coffin stamped with the word Korra.

"And I hate you, too," he bursts out, flinging the chopsticks at his brother, who doesn't move as they hit him and clatter down to the floor.

Mako sighs. "Bo, don't break the second rule of the bro code."

Immediately he senses the wetness of tears brimming at his eyes. "I'm sorry bro. I don't hate you. I love you. Like her. But I hate her." Now devoid of utensils, he scoops up more rice with a hand and puts it against his mouth so his brother can't see his mouth, more a squiggle than a line. "Just shut up. First Asami, then Korra. Am I that ugly? Unlucky?"

Mako says nothing, only looks at him with amber gaze.

"You don't know anything about anything," he slurs; the room is slipping around him, and he wishes it would stop tilting under his feet. "You don't even know what you don't know. You just don't know anything. Don't know. Leave some ladies for the rest of us."

His brother winces. "Bo . . . please don't. I never asked for Korra to like me."

"But you like her. You kissed her back!"

"How much did you drink last night?" Mako asks.

He doesn't answer the question. "I love and hate her. I can't even—" Smashing his fist into the table, he watches the bowl of rice fly into the wall, spilling the white grains over the floor like sand in an hourglass, the hourglass of his happiness. "—drink water without thinking about her."

"Bo . . ." His brother leaves the rice and begins to make tea.

"And I didn't drink anything," he adds testily. "I. Don't. Drink."

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Mako sets a cup of steaming tea and a glass of icy water, the heat removed with firebending, on the table. "Drink those, alternating from hot to cold and back again. You'll feel better. Trust me." He has half a mind to knock both beverages over; the other half of his mind has stuck the kiss on infinite loop. His motions sluggish, he nearly drops the cup, and Mako responds by grabbing it and bringing it to his lips. "Here. Drink."

He almost doesn't.

But then he looks up and sees the molten gold churning in his brother's eyes, full of nothing but concern and tenderness and love.

He drinks, though it burns, and mumbles around the rim, not knowing to whom he speaks

"I love you."