The sky slipped from burnt orange and into deep, foggy mauve filtered with smog that burped into the air from exhaust pipes like broken, brassy jazz instruments. The city was morphed into an alleyway of long shadows that stretched across each lane of warm summer pavement. Heat was trapped between the cracks in bricks and tickled sweat from hairlines with ghostly hot fingertips.
Bolin's hand was glimmering with muddy sweat caked into the soft lines of his palms, skin up to his shoulder tanned from sleeping in the sun.
"Can I wear it tonight?" he asked.
Mako's fingers curled into the scarf, eyes wide. "Why?"
"Dunno. Just felt like it," Bolin said with a shrug, sticking his hands into his pockets and bending spikes of rock from the alley floor with a shuffle of his foot. "You used to give it to me more whenever I made a run."
The scarf was still thick and the smell of smoke was stronger, no longer any hints of mud stuck to the darker stains. Only the tattered end turned stiff and black with oil smelled wrong now - a mistake Bolin made on his eleventh run, where it had slipped from his neck and landed in a rainbow black puddle.
Mako rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "I just...I didn't think you needed it anymore. Since you're so good at runs now and - I dunno, you're more grown up."
Bolin did not smile as he usually did whenever Mako made note of how much he had grown. Instead, he pursed his lips and stared hard at the ground, taught, wiry muscles in his arms flexing. His hair had grown so long that it was slicked back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, but one long, stubborn curl still dangled before his eyes.
He lifted his head to examine his brother, eyes staring at the flickering fingers bundled in the scarf. "Why? Do you need it?"
Mako stilled and he needed a lie, something believable, because Bolin still trusted him but there were more and more moments where Bolin would grow quiet and stare at him. Bolin could see every charred burn of muscle and blackened stomach, scorched ribs and veins, all the way to Mako's slick white spine.
A moment passed and the lie fell from Mako's lips with ease.
"Yeah, I need it to cover up by face during jobs," Mako said, hands drawing up the sides of the scarf to tighten over his mouth in demonstration. "So nobody can recognize me or nothin'."
"Oh, yeah. Right," Bolin said. His face rounded with a smile. "Where'd you go, Mako?"
Mako chuckled and shrugged, playing along. "I dunno who's Mako, man, I'm just a reg'lar crook."
Bolin laughed and punched his brother in the arm, sparking a small scuffle where Mako managed to trap Bolin in a headlock, their dull laughter small against the pressing silence of night. Untangling themselves, Bolin managed to toss in one last, low jab to Mako's thigh, before darting into the middle of the street.
"Bye, Mako!" He waved, skipping backwards to the sidewalk.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" Mako shouted back, frozen until Bolin's feet landed on the other side of the street. His shoulders sagged as he watched his little brother laughing under the weak glow of a street lamp.
"I'll see you back at headquarters! Bye!"
Mako sighed and waved. "Bye! Be safe!"
"I will!"
The sick, syrupy stench of rotting garbage mixed with oil and festered in the thick air underground. Every movement scattered the wet humidity that hung in the air, slicking down hairlines and the crooks of elbows and knees to shimmer with sweat. Limp, discarded newspapers rode the humid air as subway cars swept them into life, billowing high on gusts to trail after the rattling cart.
The subway was dead at eleven o'clock on a Tuesday night. Mako could tell a new shift at the power plant started on the hour, as the lights below surged white and hummed with energy. A few men were scattered about dressed in cheap suits, checking their watches every so often, shirts around their distended stomachs untucked with the recklessness of a night at the bar. Their cheeks were red and puffed with belches, rocking on their heels on the spotted, cracked tiles. The only other men in the subway were the homeless.
There wasn't much different between most men that dashed around up above in high rise buildings and those that slept on park benches. They all looked the same and drank themselves stupid night after night. They were nobodies.
Mako swung his legs back and forth over the edge of the platform, watching a leak of water hit the electric rails and spark, sending the nearby spiderrats away with frightened squeals. He waited in silence until he heard a set of sharp, echoing footsteps clicking behind him, and the subway sparked into life with the intrusion.
Sang looked awkward in his less flashy clothing. One hand was stuck deep in the pocket of his silk, candy red coat, the other twitching awkwardly by his side. His thumb ran around the inner junctions of his fingers to try and feel for the rings he usually wore. His black, short hair was parted on the left to mask the notch in his right ear - still immaculate as ever with his businessman style. He could try to look the part of a rich man, but everything was slightly off.
"Hey, Mako," Sang said. He fell back against the pillar just a few feet behind Mako, digging into his pants pockets for cigarettes.
Mako just nodded, and turned back to the leak.
Seven drags on a cigarette later, and the dragon roar of the train rumbled through the city, flickering the waning lights. Mako stood and dusted off his clothes, leaning forward to catch the lights blink into focus around the black curve of the tunne. It burst forth with sound and light and heat, like the bubbling lava hidden in caves under the Fire Nation; a monster from tales of Roku and spirits. With the air came the fresher smell of garbage to drag across Mako's dirty face, and he shut his eyes to let it wash over him like a clean, seabreeze.
He climbed into the first car with Sang traveling behind him, covering their fare.
He sat down on one of the benches, leaning against the window and pressing his face close to the glass. His pale reflection stared back, while the flash of Sang's red stood just behind him, gripping onto the leather straps above.
The train started up, dim lights flickering, and the reflection disappeared with it. He leaned forward and stared at the trick of the light from the station, watching as the tracks, the spiderrats, the garbage outside the window melted away until he stared down into a black abyss. The illusion happened with each subway stop as the faulty wiring in the cart stuttered.
Sang jabbed him in the arm at Dosim Station, and Mako followed him off of the train.
Sang dismantled the street lamps on Lu Ten Avenue, leaving Mako to stand outside in the dark. He leaned against the shop front window, sweaty hair sticking to the plate glass, listening to the men inside ransack the place clean.
Mako had the scarf drawn up over the bottom half of his face, air difficult to hold in his lungs due to the heat and fabric. He watched his palm open and close slowly, breathing life into a wickless candlestick flame, killing it with the curl of his fingers. Fire in the palm of his hand never spat out smoke and he wondered what fueled it. Fire could live outside of his body by eating, flaming tongues licking up cloth and wood and flesh. It worried him to think that something inside of him burned each time he lit a flame; was it his stomach, or his lungs turning black and charred?
The bell on the shop door rang and Mako looked up to find Nobu there, eyes flickering around the street. "All clear?"
"Yeah," Mako said. Nobody had passed the street since their arrival.
"Come in," Nobu said. "We got something to teach you."
Mako walked into the store under Nobu's arm, hands in his pockets. The main floor of the shop was cut into a wide series of mazes, divided with rectangular glass jewelry displays. The pale light from outside cast long patches of grey into the dark, stretching out the shadows until the mass of men in the back of the room became a pitch black monster of many limbs, waving Mako over.
Carved into the back wall was a safe. A chair was already placed under it for Mako to stand on, while Sang stood closest, fingers tapping against the metal.
"Alright, you gotta open the safe while we pick the place, got it?" Sang said, pushing off from the wall.
"I've never -"
"- But you know how to do it," Sang said, "You used to work with Heng, right?"
Mako frowned and nodded.
"Well, there you go. None of us can do it, so, you gotta." He slapped him on the back as he walked away.
"Quick and clean, Mako."
Mako glared and climbed onto the chair as the rest of the men drifted around the room to station themselves at various displays, picking locks to dip their rough hands into glass treasure chests of jewels and gold. Behind him he could hear the soft scrapes of glass sliding away, the jingling of necklace chains knotting together and being stuffed into bags.
He leaned forward, the cold metal of the safe refreshing on his ear. He wrapped his hand in his scarf before pinching the dial and slowly turning. Heng never outright taught him how to crack a safe; just snippets of information here and there, go through dates first, wear something over your hand for fingerprints, look at the people before you hit a place up.
Thankfully, Mako had been in charge of scoping out the store before the plans to raid it were made. He had found a brochure in the back trashcans telling the history of the store, how had it passed down from a long line of Fire Nation jewelers, and he had a handful of dates memorized.
On May 10th, the same day as the day of Black Sun, Wei Shen of the capital married Neng Xui, the first woman to ever wear a golden, yellow diamond headpiece at a marriage ceremony, sparking a new tradition in Fire Nation marriages.
He opened the safe on the first try.
"Good work," Sang said, shoving a burlap sack stuffed with sharp jewelry into Mako's hands. He stuck his fingers into the safe and started pulling out manilla folders, ledgers, and finally, brown paper bags blocky with gold and silver bars.
Mako stepped off of the chair, and turned to watch the men crowd around the safe. He could see their ducked faces shadowy and quiet, fingers rustling against the soft packages with the whispers of greed billowing from their mouths.
He walked away with his arms still laden with the sack and out of the store. He could have been more careful about being seen, leaning against the shop window again, opening the sack and pulling out knots of gold chains. Instead he held the chains up high, watching the dull light spark off of the metals. A pleasant burn flared at the base of his lungs as the light climbed up the chain links like a ladder, until the shine turned brilliant white as the street lamps turned on.
He dropped the chains into the bag and tore inside, fist banging against the glass door.
"Shit, shit, everybody out!"
"Get the stuff, don't forget anything, don't -"
"- Don't leave stuff behind!"
"Close the safe, clean it up!"
Mako rushed inside, following the first couple of men to duck out of the back door, listening to the rest of the them hang behind and the crack of shattered glass spill across the floor.
"Look at what you did!"
The man in front of Mako froze before crossing the threshold into the back alley, turning his head around. "Should we -?"
Mako rammed his shoulder into the man's legs, shoving him forward. The two of them stumbled into the alleyway behind Sang, while the back door swung shut. Sang made a racket tearing through the alleyway, shined black shoes crunching over metal cans and ripped newspaper.
The man Mako had shoved turned out to be younger than the others. They locked eyes for a moment, the man squinting in the dark at a boy that just managed to reach his waist; Mako glared at an adult who should know better, heavy breaths flooding the hot insides of his scarf, more damp sweat collecting on his neck.
Mako left first, jogging after Sang to make it back to headquarters.
Mako watched the bills flip through Arak's fingers, and he knew he was counting slow just to tick him off. He could tell by the sharp laugh line cut into the corner of his mouth that dug deeper and deeper with each added yuan to the stack on the table.
"Aaaand…fifty."
He swiped the money off the table before Arak could waste more of his time, and tapped it against his palm to line up the bills.
"Aw, Mako, don't be like that."
He shrugged and turned away, saluting with two fingers to say goodbye.
"Fine, be a little shit. Your brother's in the main room, by the way."
Mako sighed. "Thanks, Arak."
He stepped out of the room and onto the balcony. It wrapped around the second floor level with a red railing decorated with golden, spitting dragons. Mako latched his fingers onto one, pressing his head against the cool gold, looking down at the first floor.
Flashing beads of dull light twinkled below him like the stars cutting through the smoggy sky; as if they had fallen to earth and settled across the necklaces and rings of criminals. Mako knew stories of the spirits guiding the souls of heroes into the heavens, to hang for eternity in constellation graves, the highest honor a human could have. What did the spirits intend for the stars that flashed below, in the dark underbelly of a Triad place of business stuffed, with heat and stolen jewels?
Nothing good, he guessed.
Against all the twinkling stars Mako found one grubby spot that had been untampered by the spirits. Bolin, dressed in a large grey coat, was curled up against the arm of a leather sofa. At the other end, long limbs stretching lazy across the divide, sat a man with a woman spread across his lap.
Mako bit the tip of his tongue, rolling it against his teeth. His brother was asleep.
He walked down the stairs to the first floor, pivoting around bare legs in short skirts and knocking his knuckles into the backs of knees draped in tailored slacks. He elbowed his way through the clusters of people that always appeared after a good raid, when there was money to buy girls and necklaces to sling across their pretty necks. Mako stepped and scuffed up shoes, hearing moans of annoyance trail after him.
The man and the woman on the other end of the couch had their faces pressed close together, her head turned away so his lips could brush hot words into her ear. The back of his fingers lazily ran over the woman's bare legs. She laughed dark and breathily, foot lifting in the air and nudging Bolin's leg.
Mako shook Bolin awake, his brother's eyes flickering open.
"Hi, Mako," Bolin said with a smile.
"Hey. Did you have a good night?"
Bolin nodded and sat up, his rounded cheek sticking with sweat to the leather armrest. Red, criss-crossing lines marked his face and he sleepily rubbed them away. He glanced at the man and woman at his side and his eyes stayed there.
"Shui said that we can stay in an apartment tonight since it's gonna rain," Mako said, trying to snap Bolin's attention back. "Do you have your money?"
"Oh, yeah."
Bolin started patting his hands over his jacket, feeling for money, his eyes still darting over to the couple next to him. His hand dipped into the inside of his jacket, digging into a hidden pocket, and pulling out a thin stack of yuans.
Mako took it while Bolin slipped off the couch, the pair of them walking to find Shui while Mako counted.
"This is only twelve yuans, Bo," Mako said. "There's three missing."
"I bought some chuanr with Yen and Iluq -"
"- So, you've had dinner already?"
Bolin's eyes widened slightly before nodding. "Yeah. I guess so."
"Alright," Mako said, folding the money and tucking it into his coat.
"It's ok, right -"
" - Yeah, it's fine. C'mon, we're going to Shui's place."
"What are you going to eat?"
"I'll eat at Shui's."
Shui was waiting for them both at the entrance with a woman. She often sat around headquarters, but she wasn't like the other women who melted into the room, just flashing satins and glassy eyes bleeding out of shadows. Her name was Chou, and she was most often found leaning over pool tables and appraising jewels rounded up after a rare heist.
Her arm was draped over Shui's shoulders, while he cupped his hands before his mouth to light a cigarette. He was a tall, thin man, elbows and knees poking out of his cheap suits like snapped matchsticks. Chou was all contrast to him with rounded thighs and a short build.
"You boys know Chou?" Shui asked.
Her lips puckered with her smile. "Oh, I know Mako'n'Bolin. Bolin's my little boyfriend, right, honey?"
Bolin's cheeks reddened and he nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"What a little gentleman."
"What do we have to do to stay in the apartment?" Mako asked.
They started walking out of headquarters, hitting the muggy night air like sinking into a warm, stagnant pool of water. A drizzle of rain had already started blurring the lines on the street. Shui burned out of the dark with the reddened eye of his cigarette waving back and forth as he looked up and down the road.
"Cook us dinner."
Most Triad apartments were stuffed with people. More than just members and their girls, but many strangers at once pooling their money together to get off the streets, even if it meant cramping themselves into a one bedroom apartment.
There were at least twenty people in the split living room-kitchen area, scattered over a couch with no cushions and two wooden chairs, the rest spilling onto the floor. Others sat on the kitchen counters, leaning over the sink to ash their cigarettes. One day the walls had been ivory white, but were now yellowed and stained with brown water marks, grime crusting over the corners of the room and edging onto the unwashed people.
With the heat, the smell of the bodies festered, and there was no hope of opening the window as it had long since been shattered. Taped over the sill was an awkwardly fitting metal cooking sheet to block out rain.
A few people lingered in the kitchen as Mako and Bolin set to work assembling the ingredients Shui had handed them. The two of them climbed onto a stool before the two eye stove and leaned over the ebb of heat from the burners. Mako struggled to cook and ward off his hunger at the same time, pressing his knuckles into his stomach to keep it silent so Bolin wouldn't pester him about food.
Halfway through assembling the meal, Mako realized it would not come out well: the noodles were stuck and burning in a sauce that turned thicker and browner with each second. He tried to push the food around, mimicking food vendors from the streets.
"Are the noodles supposed to break apart like that?" Bolin asked, chin digging into Mako's shoulder as he spoke.
Mako shrugged his free shoulder, reaching across the stove for a charred wooden spoon, and tried to nudge the noodles from the bottom of the frying pan. They stuck and jerked as he pried them free, mashing them into small dashes rather than long, hair-like lines. Once most of the food was free from the pan, he declared the meal done.
"I don't think Chou will like it, Mako."
Mako jumped from the stool and held out his hand to help his brother down. He kept their hands clasped together as they walked through the apartment, weaving around sleeping bodies and men and women that had their eyes slightly open, heads bobbing from shoulder to shoulder.
The bedroom door was open just a crack, the buzzing, dying umber lights of the living room diving into the dark. Mako pressed his face against the crack, nudging it forward and closing an eye to peer inside.
The neon lights outside the window pulsed white and pink, throwing blinding color onto the passed-out bodies in the room. A large man was close to falling off of the tattered armchair in the corner on which he slept, while the rest of the four people in the room lay in random places on the floor. On the bed, hidden under the covers, someone moved out of time to the flashing lights. A foot stuck out from under the blankets, toes painted a chipped red, slithering back up and drawing more of the bare leg out.
Mako felt his heart spike and he shut the door.
"What? What is it?" Bolin asked.
"Nothin', they're busy," Mako said. He started to drag his brother back through the throngs of people on the floor.
"Oh. Can we eat the -"
"- No, let's just find a place to sleep for now."
"But you haven't had dinner."
"I don't need it."
Bolin tugged on his hand and Mako stopped, stumbling over an arm belonging to a sleeping woman.
"Bo!"
"Mako," Bolin said, frowning. "You never eat."
His eyes locked on the baggy shirt covering Mako's stomach, hollow and draped over the sharp cut of his shoulders, swaying like a solstice flag tacked to a window sill. Mako panicked and heat flared into his hands until Bolin's eyes met his, tugging his hand away.
"Ew, your hand is sweaty," he whined.
Mako sighed and his stomach settled as he grabbed Bolin's hand back. "Yeah, it is. C'mon, let's go to bed."
"Where're we gonna -"
"The icebox. It'll be cool over there."
"Can I use the scarf as a pillow?"
"Sure."
The seam where the metal side of the icebox kissed the wall was crusted over, the linoleum floor dusted with crumbs like the powder lining the bottom of a tapped-clean ashtray. The scarf was taken from Mako's neck and passed off to Bolin. Mako wedged himself into the corner, all sharp edges butting up against the chilled icebox, and opening up his arms for Bolin to settle down.
"Here, put your head on my stomach," Mako said. "It'll be comfier."
Bolin laid down, pressing his head into the hollow dip of his brother's stomach, the back of his neck bumping against the sharp jut of Mako's ribcage. The weight collapsed his stomach, chasing the hunger from his mind, and he was free to shut his eyes. The dim buzz of the dying lightbulbs cast his eyelids in a weak burnt orange.
"Mako?"
He sighed and kept his eyes closed. "What?"
"What month is it?"
"July."
"The end of July?"
Mako opened his eyes and lifted his arms, crossing them over Bolin's shoulder. "What's this about?"
Bolin rolled his head to look up at Mako, eyes wide. "Fu was telling me about spirits again."
"Again? Bolin…"
"No, this one's really scary! He told me about the lid of the volcano - one where bad spirits live."
Mako rolled his eyes and shut them again, dipping his chin down, missing the feel of soft red brush against his nose. "Bolin, it's not real. Just go to sleep."
"The volcano opens in the summer on really hot days, and it stays open for…twe-twent-"
"Twelve?"
"No, bigger. What's the bigger one?"
"Twenty."
"Yeah! Twenty days," Bolin said, and he kept jostling under Mako's arms, hands waving through the air as he spoke. "So, Fu said - he said that the spirits of dead people come out when the lid's open. And then Heng said you can hear 'em if you press your ear to the ground."
"Don't talk to Heng anymore, you know I don't like him."
"And the good spirits, the ones that've got a family, they're ok. But the ones without a family, they're the bad ones. They steal things from living people. They come out of fog and smoke and fire - there's lots of fire."
"It's not real, Bolin. Just forget it and go to sleep."
"But Mom and Dad will become those evil spirits if we don't take care of them, right, Mako?"
Mako opened his eyes to find that Bolin had dragged the scarf up over his face, pressing his hands to his cheeks, stretching the fabric tight over his nose and mouth. He smacked his little brother's hands away, tugging the scarf down to reveal Bolin's bewildered face.
"I dunno what you're scared of, 'cause we're not going to forget about Mom and Dad, alright, Bo?"
Bolin nodded. "Ok. Ok, we won't."
"Good. Now go to sleep." Mako leaned back and crossed his arms again, shutting his eyes.
He felt Bolin move, more pressure bearing down on his stomach, the shell of his brother's ear pressing against his coat. Small, wiry arms wrapped around his middle, squeezing tightly - Mako held back any complaints, knowing that it made Bolin feel safer, and that his grip would slack as he drifted off to sleep.
"Your stomach is making weird noises," Bolin whispered, his breath stifling hot and soaked up by Mako's coat, digging into his skin.
"Then don't press your ear to it," Mako muttered, tipping his head against the icebox. "Use the scarf to cover it up."
"Ok. Good night, Mako."
"Night, Bo."
Steam rose off of the hot city streets in the waxy amber sunrise, lamp posts dripping with fat, fresh raindrops that blinked with light as they fell. Mako clutched his sweaty hand around Bolin's, feeling his eyelids, puffy and greasy with sleep, bunch as he looked up and down the road.
Bolin yawned, a soft beat of breath, eyelashes crinkling as he rubbed his eye.
"It's early," he mumbled.
Mako nodded. The steam layered over the summer hot asphalt and climbed up around their waists, hiding in the air but sweating under their clothes, raking through their hair. The wet heat begged for entrance into the pores of their skin, and Mako remembered Bolin's story of evil spirits, minds laced with the poison of possession. His fingers tightened around his brother's and he jerked Bolin's arm as he started walking across the street.
Bolin stayed silent in the mornings, wincing against the glare of the sun in his eyes that were crusted over in the corners, which Mako took upon himself to wipe away. His heavy walk was full of straight legged stomps that trailed behind his older brother, shooting vibrations up Mako's legs and into his spine. All the while Mako kept his hand warm, even in the summer, just to keep Bolin awake.
By the time Mako was violently kicking away the second board in a fence blocking an alleyway shortcut, Bolin woke up.
"What are we doing today?" he asked.
The dull thuds and back knocks of the loose board deepened, and Mako lifted it free, knocking it to the side. He wiped the sweat from his brow and waited for Bolin to duck through before answering.
"Finding food. I'm hungry, and I bet you are too."
Bolin nodded. "Yeah. Where are we going?"
"Takai Park."
"To the Sunahari Temple?"
Mako shook his head. "Nah, we have the money to make it to the dosa stands if we hurry up before the rush. C'mon."
With the promise of a hot meal, Bolin picked up his feet as they cut through alleyways to reach the fine streets of the Takai Park neighborhood.
The sun was just poking through the gaps in the buildings, blinding with orange light that bled into the air with each step across a sunbeam, blooming in a halo. Mako squinted against the glares and Bolin shut his eyes, letting his older brother guide him over gritty wet sidewalks around towering buildings where golden dragons dripped down the corners. The sidewalks were only sparsely dappled with splotches of red roofs over street carts, men and women with amber eyes slicking hot sauces over fried food, passing it off to early rising businessmen and women heading off to work.
It wasn't often that they had enough money for breakfast, but Mako had felt the dull roar of his stomach beg for something hot since the moment he woke up. Today had to be an exception.
The woman at the stand they landed at gave them two small packets of coconut chutney without looking Mako in the eye as she passed off the food - a spare dessert of pity for the two filthy boys.
Mako pocketed them with a smile, and wished more people expressed their pity with food.
Bolin held the dosa close to his chest, fingers pressing into the paper tea doily encasing the food, turning it translucent with grease. Mako walked down the street with his hands in his pockets, feeling the cool touch of the chutney packets against his sweaty palms. The sun climbed higher into the sky to wake the rain water from the street with it, turning the fresh morning air humid.
"It's a nice day," Mako said.
Bolin nodded. "Yeah. Can we get wet if it's hot?"
"Maybe, as long as you don't cry the whole way over to the Eastern Water Tribe."
"I don't cry!"
Mako smiled and rolled his eyes. "Last time we went, I had to carry you because you couldn't make the walk!"
"I was tired!"
They bickered playfully as they left Takai Park, towards the less busy side streets that connected them to the Packing District. The buildings started shrinking, turning dilapidated and boxy, windows fogging up sea green and cracked with gaping holes. The land sunk into the shallows of Yue Bay, boat bottoms scraping the black muck ocean floor, the dock planks laid together with bunching threads of dry wood that splintered in the morning sun. The world laid bare around them like the bony skeleton of a fish carcass washed ashore and stunk of sun bleached fish scales. Steam swirled on the cracked, grey pavement.
The sun climbed into the sky, warped and liquid like the pulpy insides of a fresh blood orange. Its heat sunk into Mako's hair like a pot of boiling water had been tipped onto his head, sweat seeping down from his hairline and curling under the collar of his shirt.
The world was quiet. No boat motors kicking to life with the stench of gasoline and salt, shouting fishermen with their crusted leather boots clanking down the docks; only the soft morning coos of seagull-pigeons sounded off from the abandoned buildings.
"Mako?" Bolin said, tugging on his brother's sleeve. "Who's that?"
He turned back to look at the flat, wide mouth of the street that fed the asphalt lot. Copper red figures quivered out of the steam, the sun crisping them up into a trio of two boys and a girl, solid and brittle. The dry cracks in the pavement revealed themselves under the heat and as the group of older kids walked closer, the scars on their bodies became clear, a tan silk sash tied around the waist of the shortest boy.
They stopped just a few yards away to keep a field of barren asphalt between them, sharp eyes staring at the food clasped in Bolin's hands.
"Bolin," Mako said. "Don't be scared."
Bolin whimpered, the paper doily crinkling between his fingers.
Mako stretched his fingers, curling them into formation, letting the older kids know that he was a firebender. The shaggy, long hair on his scalp soaked up the sun overhead as lava boiled in his stomach, heat flooding to every inch of his body, bones igniting flaming ember orange and black.
"Is that dosa?" the girl asked.
The brothers stayed silent.
"We can just find out, you know," the boy with the tan sash said.
A flame spat into the sweaty palm of Mako's hand. The sash boy and the girl rolled their wrists, and the ground moved with them.
The world was burning hot and slick with humid air that stunk of fish and car exhaust. Moving burned and Mako wanted to sink himself into the ocean as the earthbenders stepped forward with their hot city pavement, ready to pound him and take his food.
The fight didn't last long. They attacked Bolin first, and Mako could only hold them off for so long until dust settled over Bolin's body, and he was pushed to the ground to scrape his hands and knees. Mako only had the time to help Bolin sit up until he heard slapping rubber soles hit the pavement before tearing away after them.
He ran halfway up the street until he finally scorched the back of the tallest boy's shirt. The two earthbenders rounded on him, slamming his body against a brick wall with a thin wall of asphalt, and bowling him over until he laid flat on his back, panting at the lemon colored sky.
Mako waited until they left before he peeled himself off of the sidewalk. Trails of sweat curled down his hollow cheeks from his wet, matted hair speckled with street grit. The blood from the cut on his temple, beading out of the scrapes on his palms, mixed with the sweat to drip onto the street in pale pink.
His head throbbed as he jogged back to Bolin. His little brother was left muffling his cries into his arm, face glistening with tears, snot, and blood. Mako searched Bolin's scalp for hidden cuts, patting him down and poking his arms to find hidden injuries, before he wrapped his arms around his head into cradle him in a hug.
"It's too hot," Mako said. "Let's go to the docks, ok?"
Bolin nodded into his chest, letting out a chalky cough. "Ok."
Bolin sniffled as Mako dragged the razor from under the curve of his skull, fingers pressed into the cushion of his hair. His hands came away from the ink tangles of his brother's curls with wet brown stains. Bolin's hair used to be a fresh, dry black that never smudged or smeared; now he was wet and shivering under the hot sun and bleeding into the wood pulp of the dock like fresh parchment.
The strands clung to Mako's hands, causing him to stop to kneel over the edge of the dock and wiggle his hands in the water. He watched the strands of Bolin's hair float along the slow rolls of the bay surface, catch the light, and turn to pure gold knots that attracted minnows like fishing line.
The sharp coo of seagull-pigeons chorused on the docks beside them. The hollow thunk of rickety wooden and metal traps slapped against the water, bubbling before sinking to the hard bottom of the sea, fishermen yelling foreign words about currents and red tide over the dull whisper of waves. The world sounded on as Mako listened to the soft scrape of hair cutting free in jagged chunks and slipping soundlessly to the dock.
Bolin's thin neck curved gracefully like a baby bird's, the shine of his wet scalp dappled with grey like pepper flakes inside a glass shaker. The skin on the back of his neck was freshly pale, already pinking under the sun.
"Alright. I'm done," Mako said, walking off to the edge of the dock to wash the razor in the water.
He turned when Bolin did not join him. His little brother sat with his thin body hunched over his bleeding knees, staring off at some point on the dock, turning mindless like the adults in Triad apartments with needle scars in their arms and black teeth. Bolin caught his staring and Mako jerked his head away, sucking down a breath, and leaning over the dock to shove his head underwater.
He came back up with a gasp and started pawing his fingers against his hair, combing it to fall over the downward curve of his head. He found the razor on the dock and started cutting from the nape of his neck.
Bolin joined him soon, and Mako watched out of the corner of his eye how he leaned over the dock to catch the flickering reflection of this new boy on the surface of the bay.
"It looks good," Mako said.
Bolin dragged his arm under his nose, the sunlight catching his wet, clumped eyelashes. "Uh-huh."
The motors of the sparse boats along the dock spat and rumbled into life, kicking off from the shore and cutting a wide, flat wake across the water. Mako watched his reflection become corroded with white foam as his rough hair fell into the water.
The evening felt cooler with the city breeze slipping over their bare heads and necks. The world was lighter, the summer less heavy, and the day's heat didn't fester under heavy layers and eek out in rolling drips of sweat in the night.
Mako had gone on the numbers run Bolin had to complete that night, taking most of the business as Bolin slowly walked with him with his knees locked so as to not upset the fragile scabs forming on his skin. They stood together at the door of Arak's new apartment in the Eastern Water Tribe neighborhood, both their pockets stuffed with paper tickets and yuans.
The door tugged open and Mako quickly swept under Arak's arm, Bolin following after him, ending up in a small kitchen.
"Hey, you boys look sharp!" Arak said, stepping forward and instantly clapping his hands over both of the brothers' heads, rubbing his palms against the scratchy remains of hair. "You guys join the Air Acolytes today?"
Mako shoved his hand away, nose curling. "We got jumped."
"What? By who?"
"Some kids," Bolin said, head picking up as Arak's hand lifted. "Two of 'em were earthbenders."
Arak followed after Mako as he walked up to the icebox, forcing open the sticky lid and leaning over the edge to scramble for some food. He would pay Arak back later.
"Older than you?"
"Arak, get back in here!" a voice, slow and deep, sounded from the other room. Mako guessed it was Sang.
"The kids are here, they got mugged!"
"Aw, hell," Sang said, followed by the squeal of chairs against hardwood, heavy footsteps; Sang popped his head out from behind the door frame. "Anybody we know?"
"I think they were fourteen," Mako said, voice echoing in the tinny icebox. His fingers started to grow numb from the cold as he sifted through melting blocks of ice and frozen, raw chicken. "Two boys and a girl, the shortest boy wore tan sash."
"Dai Li," Arak said, and Mako could hear the fold of his smile in his tone. "New recruit. We have a week to find him."
Mako found a cardstock container of noodles and lifted himself from the icebox, slamming it shut and wordlessly handing the food off to Bolin first. "You don't have to do that."
"Hey, you work for us, kid," Arak said with a shrug.
"So?"
"We look out for our own," Sang said from the doorway.
Mako caught his eye, staring at the man's blank expression as he focused on lighting a cigarette. He remembered the alleyway behind the jewelry store, leaving men behind to be picked up by the police and tossed into jail.
"What happened to those guys on the jewelry run?" Mako asked. "The ones we left."
Sang lifted his head and the flame hovering at the tip of his fingers flickered as he waved his hand through the air, as if clearing smoke. "They were in the cage for a night and we posted bail."
The words hung in the air as Mako stayed silent. Sang's eyes flickered into a roll before he pursed his lips around his cigarette again, ducking his head to light it.
Mako felt his palms sting and his wounds throbbed with blood, but the problem wouldn't happen again. Bolin had a few scrapes but he would never be soaked and pink with blood, hungry in the street, so long as those kids knew better.
Sang billowed smoke from his nostrils and turned back into the main room.
Arak cupped his head over Mako's head again, and he tipped his head up to meet Arak's blue eyes.
"We'll get them, Mako, don't you worry about it. Now c'mon, let's check those tickets."
His rough palm slipped from Mako's head, and he watched Arak saunter out of the room. Bolin fell into step behind him with his hands shoving egg noodles into his mouth, content and happy with a roof over his freshly shaved head.
Mako rubbed his threadbare hand over his head and followed them both.