Wow, you guys. You have no idea how flattered I am by all the feedback I've gotten in just the last day. Thank you all so much for the reviews/favorites/whatnot. I never expected such a positive response to this~

I stole a snippet of information from episode four, "The Voice in the Night" for this drabble, so if you haven't seen it yet, minor spoiler alert. This takes place during episode three, when Mako and Korra take a break from searching for Bolin and talk for a while in the park. When I saw episode four, it irked me a bit that Asami found out about the history of Mako's scarf before Korra did, so here's my take on how things should have happened. Usual disclaimers apply. Read, review, and enjoy, guys~

~Scarf~

"So where'd you get that scarf, anyway?"

Mako lifted his head wearily, red fabric pooling around his neck again as amber eyes met ocean blue. He could tell she was just trying to change the subject, distract him from the fact that his brother was still out there somewhere, missing and probably terrified.

Never mind that he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it until Bolin was safe at home, out of the hands of the chi-blockers who'd stolen the last of Mako's family from him.

Spirits, if anything happened to Bolin, — innocent, happy-go-lucky Bolin — he'd never forgive himself.

"I've had it for a long time," Mako answered Korra's question vaguely, fingers twisting into his scarf, seeking comfort from its familiar material. Just knowing the scarf was there always managed to calm him down, if only for a moment.

"Funny enough I managed to figure that out myself, city boy." Korra's lips curled into a smirk, to which Mako returned the ghost of a smile. "Seriously, where'd you get it? You never seem to take it off."

Her words opened up a floodgate of memories, stored away in the back of Mako's mind for safekeeping. A pair of strong arms lifting a younger version of himself onto broad shoulders. Laughter, hearty and deep, echoing in his ears. Burying his face in that very scarf, breathing in the scent of the man to whom it'd once belonged.

Later, huddling under a bridge with his baby brother, the scarf tied around them both to help keep the winter chill at bay. Scolding Bolin one day when the earthbender had accidentally gotten mud on it, and spending hours afterwards cleaning it in the stream. Lying awake at night and holding it close to his chest, heart aching for a warmth that was no longer there.

Wrapping it around his own neck after saying his final goodbyes to his parents, his tears dripping onto the worn fabric.

Korra cleared her throat impatiently, dragging him back to the present. He blinked a few times to dispel the images, refocusing on her face. It was obvious she was expecting an answer.

Well, she'd already torn down so many of his walls that night. What harm would it do to break a few more for her?

"It was my father's." Mako's voice was scarcely audible, his gaze flickering away from hers the instant he saw pity enter her eyes. He didn't want her sympathy; he didn't need it. He'd survived without other people for so long, just him and Bolin against the world, that having someone else care about him wasn't easy to accept.

"Mako…"

The way she said his name made his heart twist, laced with so much concern that he almost didn't believe it was Korra who'd spoken. It was the second time she'd addressed him like that tonight, and he honestly didn't know how to handle it.

"I wear it all the time because it reminds me of him." Some part of him felt she at least deserved an explanation, to hear why the scarf was so important to him, though he wasn't sure what compelled it. "It's the last piece of him I have to hold onto. I just feel… safer when I have it on."

A gentle hand laid itself on his arm, and he followed it upwards until his gaze locked with hers again. There was something in those bright blue eyes that sent a pleasant tingle running down his spine, and suddenly he realized he wanted to let her in. Just the fact she was here was reason enough. She'd come to help him even though he hadn't asked for it — told her no, even. She cared about saving Bolin just as much as he did, and she cared enough to listen to him talk about his past.

She deserved to know everything about him.

"I'm sorry." Her fingers squeezed his arm briefly, and somehow he felt more comforted by the gesture than he had from anything else in a long time — not even his scarf.

Without even thinking about it, he lifted his hand and placed it over hers, a wordless expression of thanks.

They remained this way for several heartbeats, locked in companionable silence, before Korra's features softened into a smile.

"What were your parents like?"

Mako smirked to himself, memories flitting through his mind once more, dancing like leaves on the wind. Some of them were faded with time, blurred around the edges, but he told her everything he could. And she listened, something no one else had ever bothered to do before.

He decided he liked having someone else who cared.

For how long he talked after that, he didn't know, but eventually he noticed that Korra had fallen asleep. She rested limply against Naga, quiet snores escaping her throat and a few strands of dark brown hair falling over her forehead.

A chuckle rumbled in Mako's chest at the sight. She looked so peaceful when she slept, the exact opposite of how she normally was. It was almost endearing.

His laughter abruptly halted as Korra began to slip sideways, her head landing on his shoulder and her side pressing against his. Heat automatically rushed up to color his face, but he couldn't quite bring himself to shrug her off. Disturbing her felt wrong, so he simply let it go, exhaustion sweeping over him as the day's events caught up with him.

Cautiously, half-afraid she would wake up and slug him for even attempting it, Mako allowed his head to rest on top of hers, her hair brushing his cheek. The softness against his skin soothed him, and he settled more comfortably into Naga's fur, letting his eyelids drift shut.

And when he woke the next morning, feigning surprise as Korra leapt away from him, more flustered than he could ever remember her being, inwardly he smiled.

Her scent still clung to his scarf.