Balance
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(v) to keep or put (something) in a steady position so that it does not fall; (n) a mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behaviour, judgement, etc; (n) a state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight, amount, etc.
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The hours skip by without even an ounce of joy, at least on Mako's part. In fact, he's spent most of that time worrying about how much time they've wasted in this bizarre world of colourful plastics and pint-sized kids. Of course, it was entirely Korra's idea to visit the funhouse. When the Avatar gets an idea, she always acts on it—always—which is why he has no idea where she is.
When he starts to think about it, there's something mildly scary about his surroundings. Play and funhouses have always made him feel incredibly apprehensive. He's up to his elbows in primary colours, the bright ones that most frequently feature in madmen's dream.
None of the other patrons seem to mind. Well, that is that the children don't seem to mind. It's the parents who have issues with his presence. He can't blame them, really. It's a faintly discomforting thought that five metres from their children is a grown man on his knees, frantically pawing his way through a ball pit.
"Korra, this isn't funny!" he grumbles, tossing aside another handful of reds, yellows and blues.
Somewhere buried in the ball-pit is Korra, waiting to pounce. He's not even sure how she can breathe underneath the avalanche of plastic, and what's worse is that he has to collect Korra before Tenzin notices that they're an hour late for the task force he assigned them to lead.
Mako then hears the high-pitched peal of laughter—specifically Korra's high-pitched peal of laughter—and shoots his hand out towards the sound of her voice. Something sharp pinches his hand and he flinches. There's another peal of laughter and he glances down to see two nail marks embedded in his palm. A pair of large blue eyes peers up at him through the plastic, considerably unnerving him, and suddenly Korra bursts through the coloured plastic balls, sending him off balance.
"Dammit, Korra!" he growls, trying to stand upright before falling back down on his arse. "You're in serious trouble!"
Korra's giggles only seem to intensify in response to his empty threat. "But it looked like you were having so much fun with all the little kiddies."
Groaning, Mako finally lifts himself to his feet and steadies his hands against the wall. The mothers are starting to become angry and indignant and he doesn't feel like dealing with a herd of them, especially since he knows Korra will abandon him to their clutches. Sometimes he wonders if she skipped out on the whole growing-up process. It's like she's the child and he's the adult—they're total opposites.
Eventually they are shepherded away from the children by the advancing security guards, and Korra only laughs louder as they are basically thrown out. Once outside, Mako leans against the building, trying to catch his breath and his sanity. Korra's beside him, still giggling to herself before lifting herself onto her tiptoes to deliver a soft kiss to the hinge of his jaw.
Blushing slightly, Mako touches his jaw and smiles. He thinks to himself that maybe their differences aren't so bad. What's important is that they balance each other out.