Upon leaving their third checkpoint, a seemingly unoccupied piece of land called Whale Tail Island, they proceed westward along the coastline. The Patola range is picturesque and serene, featuring towering mountains veiled in wisps of ethereal clouds. Cascading waterfalls adorn rocky cliffs, while white flowers pepper the earth even as winter nears. Sparse, wiry trees and patches of wild bramble are unique to this landscape.
Mako studies this terrain for some time, as it's far less heartrending to admire than her. Although Mako is moved by such beauty, it doesn't evoke the same intensity of emotion as when he meets Korra's gaze.
With her, he finds himself hesitating, as he's wont to do, afraid to misstep or misread her intentions. He's well in the habit of schooling his expressions, ever pretending to be the cool and collected one, but there's a delay to his movements and speech when he tries too hard to act normal. Then he just feels worse for making it weird.
There's a twinge of anxiety visibly affecting her as well, as they both seem uncertain where they stand. They fell asleep together, even if just hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder. It seems as though he's overstepped his bounds again and made her uncomfortable.
He feels Korra's sidelong glances, and can tell when she wishes to say something, but won't. Mako doesn't want her to clear the air, though, because telling him that their closeness was a mistake and to not read into it would hurt. Even as he tells himself all of that – stop reading into it, it doesn't mean anything – he can't stand to hear those words from her lips.
She trusts you again, and you're proving yourself untrustworthy, thinking this way.
She sat next to you. Get OVER it.
It takes a lot of effort to act casual in the light of day, even so.
He refreshes her on the basics of lightning generation. Which stances he uses to ground himself, and belated clarifying the dire importance of grounding. Which environmental aspects to avoid or use to one's advantage, like water or metal. How it feels to parse the difference between positive and negative energies. One must maintain inner peace, showing great discipline as they harness such raw power, guiding both energies apart and forward, in equal strengths, and at last retaining control throughout as they collide in a torrent of electricity. It will rebound upon the user if they fail to project it forth properly, or fail to take full account of their surroundings.
He explains, too, how he was able to wind the concentrations of yin and yang higher and higher in his effort to explode the power source within the Colossus. He has significant control of lightning, in general, and could create small zaps if he wished to incapacitate someone. But it's unclear how much control Mako may have now, with less bending ability in just one arm. Merging the proper ratios may be difficult. They cannot truly practice the art until Korra has opened her fire chakra, regardless, which encourages her to continue pursuing that goal.
When she meditates, pondering her own inner growth, Asami and Mako talk quietly amongst themselves. The bison flies with such stability that they're able to play pai sho for a while with a board Asami brought. Asami outmaneuvers him easily and consistently, of course. He would like to consider himself an analytical thinker, but she is calculated with every move and beats him more often than not. Her intelligence has been honed like a blade on a whetstone for her entire life, with her pai sho abilities specifically being honed by her father.
Korra looks frustrated again. After an hour of meditation, she opens her eyes when Asami laughs a bit too loudly at a close victory, but her glower is directed at Mako. He's certainly bothering her, but he doesn't know how to be any less obtrusive.
It is nearly nightfall when they finally arrive at their destination. The Southern Air Temple is nestled atop a high plateau, historically inaccessible to all except those traveling by air.
Oogi doesn't need to be told where to land. His feet touch ground in a quiet courtyard surrounded by pagodas and spires, their graceful forms reaching high. Each building within the compound is painted a uniform shade of off-white and every roof is a soft blue to reflect the color of the daytime sky.
The energy here is palpably both tranquil and somber. This is where Avatar Aang's people had lived, and where he had lived as a boy, before the genocide. It's immediately noticeable that this place is well-maintained, however. No building is damaged, no pathway unswept. Air acolytes have restored this historical site and keep it prepared for pilgrims.
There is no sign of any acolytes now, as they likely come and go as needed. Instead, winged lemurs welcome them, whizzing past their heads and landing on rooftops to watch them from a distance, big eyes blinking in the coming darkness. Their coloration is recognizable to Korra – she explains that one such lemur was featured in the tales her waterbending teacher would recount in her childhood. Those were the lighthearted stories, before Korra was old enough to hear of Aang's true loss, or know the weight of his grief.
When Mako asked why they chose to fly Tenzin's bison, rather than utilize something like an airship, Korra said she wanted to feel closer to her predecessors. Aang, specifically, had a flying bison with him as he strove to end the Hundred Year War. Even when all hope seemed lost, he pursued the restoration of safety and balance, ultimately fulfilling his role of Avatar even as a young boy. A number of bison returned from near-extinction in his lifetime, just as the airbenders have returned in Korra's.
The Avatar, too, has returned to this sacred place. There's a carefulness to her movements and a contemplative expression on her face as she steps down into the courtyard. The burden of responsibility looks to be heavy and ever-present on her shoulders.
They agree to tour the grounds organically, looking inside each building to discover what amenities they provide. There's bunk rooms with nice mattresses for once, clean sheets, storage chests, desks and empty wicker baskets. A few master suites have even larger beds and sets of rustic wooden furniture. There are storehouses with rations, too, although any fruits that may have once been here have been ransacked by the lemurs. Many rooms seem to be for study or meditation purposes, supplied with incense, candles, instruments, or nothing at all.
Together, they explore every cranny. Asami's hand tugs Mako forward at times when he feels that sense of dread and loss in certain rooms. But there are no bodies to be found, as the air nomads were interred long ago, in a manner suitable for their people.
When Korra opens a great wooden door to a main spire, they see the shadow of statues lining the interior. She closes it without stepping inside.
This is the room they've come all this way to see. The line of Avatars, their visages embodied in stone. There are so many faces to meet, she will need hours to look upon them, and there are too few hours remaining in this day for such a daunting task.
They find a bathhouse, too, well-stocked with herbal soaps, aromatic oils, bath salts, and candles. Mako helps to carry their packs of clothes into this area, illuminates the candles, then leaves the women alone for a while to freshen up together.
Outside, he discovers a fire pit nestled between stone benches. After finding a cache of wood nearby, he starts a fire to help warm Oogi. The bison takes his place alongside it, relaxing his tired body, allowing Mako to pet him with more confidence this time. The saddle and supplies are removed and a pile of greens are placed down. Oogi grunts his thanks, rolling onto one side to finally get some well-deserved rest.
There's a kitchen here they may utilize. They've brought a fair amount of food for themselves, as well, but Mako is too sore and frazzled to bother cooking anything for their supper. He finds something small to munch on, waiting for the women to finish with their bath. Oogi wakes abruptly at the crunch of an apple, and by the end of Mako's break, the lemurs and bison have consumed more of his meal than he has.
The women look refreshed and happy upon greeting Mako again, both in plush robes Asami must have brought from home. They smell flowery, too, as if they've used some of the oils laid out for them. Korra tells him she's readied a new bath for him. He thanks her and takes that as his cue to leave, trying to suppress his fascination with how she's toweling her hair dry. Even the most mundane things are distracting when done by her.
The ache in his back and tailbone become more apparent as he rests in the circular stone tub with hot water drawn up to his chest. Despite the minimal physical activity they've done on this trip, it's exhausting having so little to do but sit and talk, even with good company.
He stares up at the ceiling for a while, trying to study the intricate, swirling tile work there through the steam. He tries to think less about Asami and Korra, how they had looked last time they shared a bath with him, their faces and breasts illuminated by the supernatural pinks and blues of the spirit world and its waters. Asami had touched him then, running her hands through his hair.
When he washes himself, he can feel what these sorts of thoughts do to him. He knows Asami well, knows how to read and respond to her desire, but she's spoken for now and her touch means nothing. They're still close, but their dynamic has shifted now that she's no longer in need of his physical companionship.
It's been years since he's known Korra in such a fashion. Korra's face and body are so familiar to him, yet so different now, as the years have greeted and changed them. Time has not treated her unkindly at all, at least in the sense that her loveliness has not lessened in spite of all the hardships she's endured. There's less softness in her cheeks, but maybe more softness in her heart, if her relationship with Asami is representative of that.
Mako wonders if he looks different to her. Beyond his scars – they all have more scars now – he knows his face has matured. He shaves the shadow of stubble there, recalling that both of them preferred him clean-shaven, back when that mattered. Asami once said the sharpness didn't feel comfortable against her skin, so he still shaves out of habit, even knowing that information is irrelevant now.
Remembering, he closes his eyes, willing his body to stop responding to such thoughts. He gives himself a moment to let those memories play out, even so.
He doesn't relieve this sort of tension in his body, unwilling to disrespect them here, even as the heat of the water makes him throb. He touches his stomach instead and thinks of the fire Korra spoke of.
I can feel the fire burning inside you here.
Not the element, but you.
He wishes the fire he feels for her would extinguish itself. It's been burning for too long, finally dwindling to embers with time, only to reignite with her presence restored. He can do nothing but wait for it to settle, feeling powerless all the while.
In the morning, after a hearty breakfast aimed at revitalizing and comforting Korra, they make their way back to the statue room. Several windows permit light to stream in, illuminating the sculptures depicting each of her past lives.
Inside, the trio sees a series of six platforms following the full length of the cylindrical wall. They hold a number of statues, evenly spaced, with each floor connected to one another by a narrow staircase. The ground floor has the newest statues swirling into a spiral formation, all facing toward a center point. When they approach, the forms of Roku and Aang are easily discernible at the tail end.
Korra steps into the next space, looking down at where her statue will one day come to rest. It is clear there will be no room for any others. If her statue is set into the middle, as seems to be its place, all of the other Avatars will look upon her.
"How many Avatars were there?" Mako has to ask, struggling to calculate a total with just his eyes.
"149," Korra answers. Her voice is already thick with emotion. "I'm 150."
Mako can feel the heaviness here, too. So many lives lost to time. The placement for where Korra's statue will someday reside gives off an air of finality, as if there is no alternative to this being the end. Even if a new cycle begins with her, this is hard to come to terms with. Mako cannot imagine how hard this must be for Korra, to witness some grander design laid out so precisely in stone.
Asami presses a hand to Korra's shoulder to comfort her. "I thought there would be more, for some reason. Ten thousand years is such a long time."
Korra gestures to Kyoshi, standing taller than Roku. "Apparently some of us lived to be 270. Some much less than that… It evened out. The previous water-born Avatar was just thirty-three when a spiritual sickness took him."
"It's a dangerous profession," Asami acknowledges, but those words feel minimizing for how profoundly deadly the role truly is. None of them want to think of what such a thing could mean for Korra, still pursuing growth and recovery, without the Avatars to strengthen or guide her. "And these ages are representative of their peak strength?"
"I'd imagine so," Korra replies. "However they were best remembered."
The statue of Aang looks like he's in his forties, not at the end of his life. Each likeness is a bit bigger than their Avatar would have been in reality.
Mako recalls the statue that was built in Avatar Korra Park. Asami had planned and funded its construction, so much larger than life, and Mako wonders if that's symbolic of how Asami views her girlfriend's greatness.
After a moment of silence, Asami offers, "Do you want company? I can stay with you."
Korra shakes her head, but thanks her. "I think I need to be alone for a while. Just them and me, to talk. And Raava."
Asami whispers some quiet reassurances, telling her they'll return sometime in the afternoon. They embrace and share a long kiss before Asami steps back.
Mako intentionally meets Korra's eyes this time. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, unsure of what he could say to bring her any comfort. He settles on, "Take all the time you need. We're both here for you."
It's better than nothing. She takes a deep breath, letting her gaze linger on him, too, although nothing more is said.
Asami follows Mako out of the building. Before Mako closes the door behind them, Asami calls, "We love you!"
There's no refuting that, of course. She's very easy to love.
Asami's smile falls as the door closes at last. Mako gives her a moment to feel whatever she feels, her worry so evident on her face. He gently leads Asami away once she's ready, and this time it's his hand tugging hers onward, through the temple.
Around noon, Asami suggests they travel down a winding stone path that carves its way through the temple's grounds. Near the lower end of the plateau is what looks to be a garden, or field of flowers, and Asami wants to check it out.
They pack their lunch in one of the wicker baskets: little triangular sandwiches, some berries, cheese and crackers. It feels like it will be a picnic when Asami grabs a spare bed sheet to spread out beneath them, for wherever they decide to rest.
It's a long walk, but it's beautiful, albeit eerie to see so many buildings left vacant.
When they reach their destination, it does look to be a manmade meadow. Spread across several hundred feet, in an imperfect circle, small blue-white flowers heavily coat the ground. Asami reaches down to pluck a flower, admiring its slender stem and delicate petals.
She offers it to him to sniff. It's sweet and faint, and familiar.
"Remembrance flowers," Mako tells her.
The look Asami gives him is quizzical. "I didn't know you were a flower kind of guy."
Mako has no experience with flowers, beyond being thrown out of his element when buying bouquets for girlfriends in times long past. But he knows of this variety, burned deep into a core memory. "They're from the Fire Nation. I'm not sure why they'd be planted here, but… I just know they're placed on headstones, or shrines, to remember the deceased. These were left for my mother when she passed."
Asami considers that, peering at the small bloom with a sadder expression now. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
Mako steps forward into the sea of flowers anyway, and waves for Asami to follow. They are both quite familiar with such loss. Staring down at the density of this meadow, he realizes there's no shortage of flowers here, and many more could be plucked with little concern for this field's wellbeing.
"Do you want to bring some back to Republic City, for our mothers?" Mako asks. "And fathers?"
Hiroshi Sato had a funerary burning performed, not very long ago. His urn rests now on a shrine in Asami's home, barren of many offerings, as the pain of his absence is fresh to her still and she doesn't know how to treat his memory.
Asami smiles, still looking downcast. "Thank you. Yes, that would be sweet."
"We can collect some for the Avatars, too," Mako recommends, thinking of Korra, standing alone in there with her grief. "Even if we didn't know them as individuals. I want to pay my respects for all they've done."
"I think Korra would like that."
Nearing the center of the field, Mako lays out the sheet for them to sit upon. Asami helps him spread out their lunch, arranging it beautifully if just for the amusement of it all. This is a lovely place, and they have far too much time to waste together. There also may not be another time in their lives they will get to enjoy air nomad territory like this.
They rest comfortably. There are songbirds singing in the distance, likely in the skinny trees beyond, with a unique trilling call Mako has never heard before. The flowers are much more fragrant when sitting on the ground amongst them. They eat for a while in relative silence, taking it all in.
"How have you been?" Mako asks after some time. He feels a bit guilty for reminding Asami of her father earlier, with that wound so new. But she's been very busy lately and he knows how she can get burnt out. "You haven't had much downtime. Is that intentional?"
"Maybe," she says slyly before taking a strawberry. "It helps to get my mind off of things. We went to the spirit world because I didn't want to sit around mourning and over-thinking… Maybe I'm like Korra, in that I just want to move past all the things I can't change." She sighs. "I'm just tagging along behind Korra. I'm more concerned for her well-being. She isn't giving herself any time to breathe, you know? Pursuing some idealized version of self-betterment can't be entirely healthy at this pace."
"Right." Mako mimics Asami, letting himself eat a berry along with her. "Korra's always pushed herself too hard. But she's been through a lot recently, and now she's pushing herself to overcome mental shit I would never expect of anyone. We all nearly died in a war, and she's trying to ensure guilt doesn't hold her back?"
"She did that," Asami points out. "She's on the next one. Pushing people away, self-conscious, self-doubting. All emotions she has every right to feel, more than anybody, after all that's happened."
They both feel concerned for her, even if that remains unspoken to Korra. She doesn't need to be questioned, just trusted and supported and loved. For wherever this path leads her.
"I don't want to doubt her ability at all," Asami clarifies. "She needs me to be here for her now."
Mako concurs. A lemur rustles some branches at the edge of the field, having followed them this far but not yet confident enough to approach. Mako eyes it warily, not wanting to share any more fruit with lemurs that have clearly been fed by humans a few too many times.
Asami taps at his knee, drawing his focus back to her. "She needs you, too, I think."
He tries not to roll his eyes. "She doesn't," Mako disagrees, knowing how Korra has been treating him. Distant, uncertain in his presence, even looking irate at times. He remembers their spat in the library where he made her concerns about legacy about himself instead, and feels bad for it. "I still don't know why she wants my company so badly. I can tell I'm bothering her."
"You think so?" Asami asks, raising her eyebrows. When he doesn't elaborate why he feels this way, Asami suggests, "Maybe not in the way you think."
He wants to ask what she means by that, but doesn't, instead just watching Asami as she fixes herself a cracker.
Asami knows Korra far better than him now, and could explain why she acts the way she does, but Mako doesn't want to press the issue. He's had years to consider how bad of a boyfriend he was back then, argumentative, insecure, distrusting. He doesn't want to be nosy or pressure either of them now, no matter how desperately he wishes he could understand the inner machinations of their minds.
The ladies kept in touch for at least the final year of Korra's recovery. Asami has a good bead on how Korra's feeling at any particular time. They fit better together than he and Korra ever had – they're communicating easily, reciprocating love and understanding in a way that he isn't sure he was able to properly express with Korra.
Their dynamic is certainly more healthy than his and Asami's ever was. In more recent years, Asami seemed to trust him little, love him only somewhat, and only ever needed him for stress relief or the occasional shoulder to cry on. He was fine with that, trying to be understanding when she requested he not kiss her mouth anymore, even if he was allowed to kiss her elsewhere. She wanted physical, not emotional, so he let it be just that.
There were still too many nights where he had to pry himself out of her bed and arms, not letting themselves sleep entangled because the next morning would inevitably make them feel something. It was a good routine, if he closed himself off to feeling.
Mako idly wonders how Asami feels about him now. And what all that meant to her.
His eyes return to where the lemur was. It has disappeared into the brush, probably sneaking around back.
Asami lies down for a while, choosing to watch the clouds drifting overhead. The sky is a bit overcast today but comfortable to gaze upon without needing to shield from the sun. Mako finishes eating and lies back with her, shoulder to shoulder.
"Love is so enigmatic," she sighs, her thoughts wandering in some direction Mako hasn't been keeping pace with. "Korra was there the whole time, but it took me this long to see her. It took almost losing her to realize that I love her, like this… Is this weird, for you?"
"I'm happy for you both," Mako says, not allowing himself to hesitate in his response now. He means it, as much as it aches to not be with someone. If he really wishes the best for her, then their happiness together trumps all. He could think of no one better for Korra and he can readily acknowledge that Asami is better than himself. "It doesn't matter how I feel, regardless. I love that you're in love. Your gentleness is what she needs now."
"Of course it matters." Asami's fingers have found another flower. She twirls it in front of her nose, closing her eyes as a smile creeps across her lips. Teasingly, she asks, "Gentleness. Do you still love me, too?"
Mako raises himself up enough to give her a disapproving look. He plucks the flower from her hand, just to mess with her, and she giggles and lazily grabs for it when he draws it out of reach.
"I don't know how to answer that," he says, admiring the floral bounty between his fingers instead of the way she's looking at him. "In another universe, maybe we could've worked out. If Korra didn't steal me away, if I were better to you, and your father was more okay with firebending street rats."
She sits up a bit too, leaning into him to snag his hand.
"I don't think of you that way," she says, sounding a little irritated by the insinuation. "I know I was a daddy's girl, but I follow my heart. Even if it takes a while for me to figure out what it's trying to tell me."
Mako suddenly realizes how close she is. He can smell her perfume now, or maybe it's the oils from the fancy bath the night before, but she's captivating across multiple senses as her fingers delicately pry the flower out from between his. It's the weakest of tug-of-wars, and he lets her win. This is pai sho all over again and she's outmaneuvering.
"What's it telling you?" he asks.
Mako can't help it as his eyes fall to her lips, painted a deep red and pursing as she considers his query. He hasn't kissed her in more than a year, but her face is just captivating in general. It's hard to look at Korra, with how much she makes him feel; it's easy to look at Asami, with how well-versed he is in not feeling.
She presses a hand flat to his sternum then, laying him back down, creating more space between them. "I don't know how to answer that," she returns his words.
His body is reacting to her again, too familiar with this kind of touch, being pushed down like this. He's confused a bit by her words and behavior, as if she's switching from hot and cold in the same way Korra is. He lies back, but props up one leg, hoping she doesn't notice how easily she affects him even now.
After that, their conversation is mundane, trivial, casual. Asami clicks her tongue at the lemurs that wish to join them and allows them to take the rest of their lunch.
They pluck flowers together. 149, for the Avatars laid to rest, and many more to bring home to their parents.
They return to the statue room in the afternoon as promised.
Asami and Mako slip inside quietly, the basket filled with those small flowers. They recognize Korra on the topmost level, nearly finished with today's task of meeting each of her incarnations. Starting with Aang, Mako lays a flower at each Avatar's feet. He and Asami bow together at every one and let the silence speak for them.
The first floor, then second, third, fourth. They pay their respects to every individual that came before Korra. Asami seems distraught looking upon some of them, be it from their youth, or their similarity to Korra, or some other trait left unspoken.
Korra remains at the final statue, the very first statue, for a long while. Mako and Asami are at last able to catch up with her, though even as they approach she doesn't give them much notice. When they stand alongside her, Korra sniffles, wiping at her nose in a poor attempt to hide that she's been crying. Mako isn't sure how to comfort her, but Asami tries.
He lays a flower at Wan's feet and bows, wordlessly thanking him for improving his life. For giving him Korra, for as briefly as she was his, because she changed him for the better. Hopelessly and entirely.
"What's that for?" Korra asks Asami, finally noticing they've been up to something.
"Remembrance flowers," her girlfriend explains. "For paying respects to the dearly departed. It was Mako's idea to collect these and lay a flower down for each of them."
Korra turns away from Wan's likeness, finally observing that a flower has been gifted to each and every one of her incarnations. Floor to ceiling, they're all remembered and all appreciated.
Mako doesn't expect this reaction. Her face crumples and she starts crying again.
This time her tears flow in earnest. She takes a few steps forward into Mako and flings her arms up around his shoulders. He drops the basket and lets his hands fall to her waist, stunned at first. After a few seconds he finally curls around to return the hug.
He embraces her tightly, understanding she needs this now. She comes first, always, always.
She cries his name into his shoulder, and he doesn't shush her, letting all this pent up sorrow or frustration or grief flow out from her. Mako can feel her body as its wracked by sobs, the wetness of her tears, the shaky breath and eventual hiccups as she slowly starts to wind down. After what feels like minutes of holding her, he draws back, just enough to hand her off to Asami where she belongs.
Her head tucks down into Asami's neck. Asami holds her, steady and supportive.
The look Asami and Mako share suggests they wish to know what's wrong, but neither will ask that. Not now, when she's this distraught.
Korra is the first to speak. She returns to Mako, rising up to kiss his cheek and embrace him again. "Thank you," is all she can say.
This second night, Mako does cook their supper. It's the least he can do even if he isn't a great cook.
They gather around a low dining table set on tatami flooring, furnished with cushions for seating. Asami encourages Korra to eat.
Korra's face is still a bit reddened and puffy from her sorrow. She's cried a lot in the hours since, saying few words about what happened in the statue room. Nothing, she explained – no visions nor voices, but she came face to face with her failures and frustrations and fate, and that was enough to trigger this great of a breakdown. She jumped headfirst into waters she couldn't see the bottom of, and was surprised when she started drowning in it.
When their meal is over, Mako cleans up for them as well, letting Asami comfort Korra as much as she needs. He tries not to pay attention as Korra slides over directly beside her girlfriend. One of Asami's palms rest on Korra's back, the other on a thigh, below the table.
"I need something to clear my head," Korra says. Her tone is flat, nose still a bit stuffy, but the intention is clear.
Asami isn't disagreeable, but dips her head to make sure she can read Korra's mood correctly. "Now?"
"Please." Her hand curls up around Asami's neck, and Mako turns himself away before he can see anything else.
The women leave him.
He cleans dishes for a bit, then stands there alone with his thoughts, hands gripping the counter as his throat and chest feel tight with heartache. This is good, he's glad for them, and it hurts just a bit much.
It surprises him when Asami returns. She's in a robe again, showing a bit more leg than is probably appropriate around an ex, still tightening its sash around her midsection as she finds him right where they left him.
"Mako," she calls. Her voice sounds like she's whispering to a deer ready to bolt.
"Asami," Mako returns, forcing himself to act neutrally.
"Do you mind," she starts, but pauses as she mentally works to reword what she wishes to say. He turns to her to give her his undivided attention. She reaches out to touch one button on his jacket, acting brave even as her demeanor betrays her. "Will you come over?"
It's a phrase he's heard from her a number of times. Every time she'd call the station, or call his apartment, needing him for the physical and not emotional.
He stares at her, disbelieving as he watches her lick her lips, eyes drawn low, waiting for his reply. Scared for his reply, maybe. As if he could ever reject her.
He doesn't believe it could be a real offer. Asami may want such a thing from him now and then, but Korra is different. Korra is the type to pull her hand away from his, to only reciprocate this most innocent form of affection in the dead of night, beneath a blanket, where no one could possibly judge her for touching him. She's the type to let his mind run wild with questions and never give him answers.
"Are you pranking me?" Mako finally asks. It feels like a sick joke. As much as he wants to believe she'd want him – that either of them would still want him here, in any capacity – it doesn't seem realistic. He's dreaming again, surely.
"No," she says, laughing breathlessly. Her fingers pluck at the jacket button, then tug, gently suggesting he come with her. "I told you she would need you."