[ A truly startling amount of relief floods through Mako's shivering body at the sound of Kristoff's voice.
He's in that strange, floating sickness space where time shifts around him: it's been both forever since he texted Kristoff and no time at all, he must have drifted off for a moment except he remembers lying here with his head aching, so he couldn't have.
Mako struggles, though, to push himself up, because as much as he is sick he also can't be sick. He has to be okay. He's pushed through worse.
The bed creaks, and the blankets tug at him, but eventually Mako manages to sort of half-sit up, breathing heavy with the effort. ] I'm fine, I'm here, you don't. Have to look like that.
[ Like he wouldn't be doing the exact same thing in Kristoff's place, but he can't stand the look on his face right now, all that worry, all because Mako was a reckless idiot lost in his own grief. ]
[ He's watching him struggle to sit up, taking a step forward like he might force him to lay back down, but then he goes and says he's fine. He's fine. And Kristoff shouldn't look worried despite what he just told him and with how sick he is.
The worry changes slightly to frustration, the same kind he'd gotten when Mako had risked his life to save him from that stupid blood waterfall, because it's all coming from the same place. He does his best to at least keep his voice even, although his words certainly comes out a little less than gentle. ]
You don't get to go quiet on me for a week and then come back and tell me you died only to tell me how I do or don't get to look at you after. [ HONESTLY, MAKO.
He points at the pillows. ]
Lay back down. You look like you have a Fever. [ That general Fever, not just the "you look like your temperature is elevated" kind of fever; the kind of Fever that people got at home all the time that was applied to a dozen different types of diseases and none of them were ever good. ] Which means you aren't fine and you need to rest and I'm— I'm making you tea and soup and if you argue with me even once, I'm making sure it tastes like dirt and you'll still have to eat it.
[ Mutely, surprised out of his own words, Mako sinks back into the pillows, watching Kristoff's face twist.
There's actual worry there, he thinks sort of distantly. Kristoff sounds like him, trying to get Bolin and Korra to just stop and listen to him, take care of themselves, take a break.
But Mako doesn't get to do that. He knows Kristoff is right but that doesn't stop him from feeling wrong, weak, exposed. If someone helps him then he owes them, and that's a dangerous thing.
Maybe not with Kristoff, though.
Mako lets out a shaky breath, and it hurts. His whole body hurts. He nods, his eyes flicking away to somewhere on the wall. ] I can't taste anything so even if it did taste like dirt I'd have no idea.
I was just saying you don't have to worry. I doubt this is going to kill me again, if it's what happens after you die.
[ No one's ever said they died from the death fever, but Kristoff also hadn't even known people who died got a fever in the first place. He feels stupid for not asking and even dumber for having not connected the dots about it all earlier.
At least his anger deflates as quickly as it had come up and instead of moving directly for the kitchen, Kristoff goes to sit at the end of Mako's bed, staring at the ground rather than at him. He's quiet for a minute, having to piece together his own thoughts, figure out what he wanted to even say, what he could say to all of this. "Sorry you died"? That doesn't feel right. ]
... I thought you were mad at me. [ Might as well just be honest. A week of silence and he hadn't once thought maybe something happened to him. Or if he had, he'd buried it deep down. He rubs his forehead, letting out a tired and humorless snort. ] I guess that would've been preferable.
[ That sentence stops all of Mako's crashing thoughts right in their tracks.
He stares at Kristoff, half-pushed up on his elbow, his brows furrowed while the words sink in.
Mako was gone for a week. That makes sense, that he knows already, but— ]
What would I be mad at you for? You're—I.
[ He pauses, swallows, and then pushes himself up all over again, this time just to sit up. He won't try to stand again. ] You're my best friend here. You'd have to something pretty awful for that to happen.
[ He shrugs, his lips pursing for a moment and he’s about to just say it was stupid and leave it at that. But then the words best friend really register in his head and it stops it from coming out, the surprise fairly evident even if he hasn’t gotten the guts to actually look over to him again.
Somehow it makes that ache in his heart feel heavier, that part of him that can’t stand that Mako was hurt— killed and he not only hadn’t been there but hadn’t even known. What kind of best friend did that make him? ]
I don’t know. I say a lot of things that upset people without even realizing it. I’ve never—
[ He feels his ears burning red and gives a small huff. He’s never been very good at feeling overwhelmed by anything. ]
I’ve never had a best friend. Er, a human one. Someone suddenly not being around usually just meant they were... gone. [ And not in a death sort of way, but he figures that’s fairly apparent. ]
I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.
Edited (petition to make my / key start working properly again) 2020-12-13 04:28 (UTC)
[ 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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no subject
He's in that strange, floating sickness space where time shifts around him: it's been both forever since he texted Kristoff and no time at all, he must have drifted off for a moment except he remembers lying here with his head aching, so he couldn't have.
Mako struggles, though, to push himself up, because as much as he is sick he also can't be sick. He has to be okay. He's pushed through worse.
The bed creaks, and the blankets tug at him, but eventually Mako manages to sort of half-sit up, breathing heavy with the effort. ] I'm fine, I'm here, you don't. Have to look like that.
[ Like he wouldn't be doing the exact same thing in Kristoff's place, but he can't stand the look on his face right now, all that worry, all because Mako was a reckless idiot lost in his own grief. ]
no subject
The worry changes slightly to frustration, the same kind he'd gotten when Mako had risked his life to save him from that stupid blood waterfall, because it's all coming from the same place. He does his best to at least keep his voice even, although his words certainly comes out a little less than gentle. ]
You don't get to go quiet on me for a week and then come back and tell me you died only to tell me how I do or don't get to look at you after. [ HONESTLY, MAKO.
He points at the pillows. ]
Lay back down. You look like you have a Fever. [ That general Fever, not just the "you look like your temperature is elevated" kind of fever; the kind of Fever that people got at home all the time that was applied to a dozen different types of diseases and none of them were ever good. ] Which means you aren't fine and you need to rest and I'm— I'm making you tea and soup and if you argue with me even once, I'm making sure it tastes like dirt and you'll still have to eat it.
no subject
There's actual worry there, he thinks sort of distantly. Kristoff sounds like him, trying to get Bolin and Korra to just stop and listen to him, take care of themselves, take a break.
But Mako doesn't get to do that. He knows Kristoff is right but that doesn't stop him from feeling wrong, weak, exposed. If someone helps him then he owes them, and that's a dangerous thing.
Maybe not with Kristoff, though.
Mako lets out a shaky breath, and it hurts. His whole body hurts. He nods, his eyes flicking away to somewhere on the wall. ] I can't taste anything so even if it did taste like dirt I'd have no idea.
I was just saying you don't have to worry. I doubt this is going to kill me again, if it's what happens after you die.
But, uh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you.
no subject
[ No one's ever said they died from the death fever, but Kristoff also hadn't even known people who died got a fever in the first place. He feels stupid for not asking and even dumber for having not connected the dots about it all earlier.
At least his anger deflates as quickly as it had come up and instead of moving directly for the kitchen, Kristoff goes to sit at the end of Mako's bed, staring at the ground rather than at him. He's quiet for a minute, having to piece together his own thoughts, figure out what he wanted to even say, what he could say to all of this. "Sorry you died"? That doesn't feel right. ]
... I thought you were mad at me. [ Might as well just be honest. A week of silence and he hadn't once thought maybe something happened to him. Or if he had, he'd buried it deep down. He rubs his forehead, letting out a tired and humorless snort. ] I guess that would've been preferable.
no subject
He stares at Kristoff, half-pushed up on his elbow, his brows furrowed while the words sink in.
Mako was gone for a week. That makes sense, that he knows already, but— ]
What would I be mad at you for? You're—I.
[ He pauses, swallows, and then pushes himself up all over again, this time just to sit up. He won't try to stand again. ] You're my best friend here. You'd have to something pretty awful for that to happen.
no subject
Somehow it makes that ache in his heart feel heavier, that part of him that can’t stand that Mako was hurt— killed and he not only hadn’t been there but hadn’t even known. What kind of best friend did that make him? ]
I don’t know. I say a lot of things that upset people without even realizing it. I’ve never—
[ He feels his ears burning red and gives a small huff. He’s never been very good at feeling overwhelmed by anything. ]
I’ve never had a best friend. Er, a human one. Someone suddenly not being around usually just meant they were... gone. [ And not in a death sort of way, but he figures that’s fairly apparent. ]
I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.
no subject
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. ]