[ Mako has had plenty of people in his life just leave, either because they died or because two street rats weren't worth their time.
He was, he is realizing, kind of an idiot for not reaching out to his friends. He's told Korra a thousand times to do that, and what's the first thing he does when she disappears?
Ignores them all. He feels like a jerk, ducks his head a little so he isn't quite looking at Kristoff. ] No, I— I should've reached out. Or something.
[ He makes himself look up again, even though it's hard through the crush of guilt and worry and anger at himself pressing down on his lungs (like the water, pushing him down to the bottom, and Mako shoves that thought away before it can creep up any higher, swallowing). ] But believe me when I say that if I'm upset at you, something pretty horrible probably happened, and I'll tell you. I promise.
[ He nods at the promise, only daring to look over at Mako once he's sure he won't look like he was anywhere near crying at any point during any of this. He offers him a weak smile, before averting his eyes to the blanket on the bed. ]
You probably had a lot more on your mind. [ He can't imagine the sorts of things that would go through someone's head after dying and then coming back. He's not sure he wants to imagine it.
Clearing his throat, he goes to get up from the end of the bed, moving to give his shoulder a gentle shove to try and get him to lie down. ]
Rest. I'll make the stew Bulda always gave me when I was sick. And I'll make sure there's enough for the others so you don't have to worry about anyone trying to figure out how to use the kitchen.
[ They can just not-cry, almost, together, and never tell anybody. It's fine. There's so much care here, and it feels like a delicate thing, like Mako will mess it up if he says much more.
He doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know how to lay back and accept soup and worry from somebody like Kristoff, who knows him well enough to know to make soup for everybody. Even if he still can't say aloud not that much, Korra's gone, even if that thought still hurts too much—Kristoff knows him, and there's something terrifying in that.
Carefully, Mako nods, swallowing around the lump of emotion: worry and fear and something deeper he has no name for. He lets himself be shoved back without much protest—Kristoff can probably feel the heat of him under his palm, the burn of a firebender with a fever— but before Kristoff can move his hand Mako reaches up, catches at it with his own fingers and squeezes. ] If that's what'll make you stop worrying.
And. Thank you.
[ It isn't the first time he's said it, and it certainly won't be the last, but Mako hopes that what his words can't say his face does, somehow: that he's grateful, that he wouldn't know what to do if he hadn't met Kristoff here. ]
[ Kristoff stills when he feels Mako grab onto his hand, staring down at them for a moment, his brows wrinkling just slightly. He hates how hot his skin feels, even more so than usual, and the worry and guilt it pulls out of him in the process.
He forces himself to look back at Mako's face, just in time for the thank you, and he can't stop from giving a few owlish blinks at first, because he still isn't sure how to accept gratitude gracefully yet. He finally settles on giving him a reassuring smile, returning the squeeze to his hand firmly. ]
Anytime. [ And he means that, wholeheartedly. There's nothing that would ever stop him from helping Mako, save for Sodder messing with either of their heads.
He finally pulls his hand away from his slowly, straightening and pulling on his tunic to flatten out the wrinkles where it bunched up while he was leaning over. ]
Now sleep. I'll be back in a little while when the food's ready.
The weight of that settles over Mako like a blanket. It feels like a lot of responsibility, somehow, but he's too tired and too heartsick and too sick-sick to make sense of why.
So, for now.
For now, maybe it's okay to just accept it, and lie back, exhausted and grateful and still smiling, and nod. ] I won't go anywhere.
[ He really won't. He's too tired to go anywhere, and he doesn't want to make Kristoff worry any more than he absolutely has to.
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He was, he is realizing, kind of an idiot for not reaching out to his friends. He's told Korra a thousand times to do that, and what's the first thing he does when she disappears?
Ignores them all. He feels like a jerk, ducks his head a little so he isn't quite looking at Kristoff. ] No, I— I should've reached out. Or something.
[ He makes himself look up again, even though it's hard through the crush of guilt and worry and anger at himself pressing down on his lungs (like the water, pushing him down to the bottom, and Mako shoves that thought away before it can creep up any higher, swallowing). ] But believe me when I say that if I'm upset at you, something pretty horrible probably happened, and I'll tell you. I promise.
no subject
You probably had a lot more on your mind. [ He can't imagine the sorts of things that would go through someone's head after dying and then coming back. He's not sure he wants to imagine it.
Clearing his throat, he goes to get up from the end of the bed, moving to give his shoulder a gentle shove to try and get him to lie down. ]
Rest. I'll make the stew Bulda always gave me when I was sick. And I'll make sure there's enough for the others so you don't have to worry about anyone trying to figure out how to use the kitchen.
no subject
He doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know how to lay back and accept soup and worry from somebody like Kristoff, who knows him well enough to know to make soup for everybody. Even if he still can't say aloud not that much, Korra's gone, even if that thought still hurts too much—Kristoff knows him, and there's something terrifying in that.
Carefully, Mako nods, swallowing around the lump of emotion: worry and fear and something deeper he has no name for. He lets himself be shoved back without much protest—Kristoff can probably feel the heat of him under his palm, the burn of a firebender with a fever— but before Kristoff can move his hand Mako reaches up, catches at it with his own fingers and squeezes. ] If that's what'll make you stop worrying.
And. Thank you.
[ It isn't the first time he's said it, and it certainly won't be the last, but Mako hopes that what his words can't say his face does, somehow: that he's grateful, that he wouldn't know what to do if he hadn't met Kristoff here. ]
no subject
He forces himself to look back at Mako's face, just in time for the thank you, and he can't stop from giving a few owlish blinks at first, because he still isn't sure how to accept gratitude gracefully yet. He finally settles on giving him a reassuring smile, returning the squeeze to his hand firmly. ]
Anytime. [ And he means that, wholeheartedly. There's nothing that would ever stop him from helping Mako, save for Sodder messing with either of their heads.
He finally pulls his hand away from his slowly, straightening and pulling on his tunic to flatten out the wrinkles where it bunched up while he was leaning over. ]
Now sleep. I'll be back in a little while when the food's ready.
no subject
The weight of that settles over Mako like a blanket. It feels like a lot of responsibility, somehow, but he's too tired and too heartsick and too sick-sick to make sense of why.
So, for now.
For now, maybe it's okay to just accept it, and lie back, exhausted and grateful and still smiling, and nod. ] I won't go anywhere.
[ He really won't. He's too tired to go anywhere, and he doesn't want to make Kristoff worry any more than he absolutely has to.
Yet. ]