So...how about those first two Korra episodes?

Anyway, this is based off a headcanon I've had about Mako and Bolin (well, mostly Mako), since their official bios say that they grew up on the streets and all. And I've got to say, I really love these brothers so far!

And with that, enjoy!

Birthdays had never meant much to Mako, growing up on the streets. What was there for him to expect on a birthday, he had figured, a cake with his name written across the top in frosting from some compassionate stranger? A pat on the back from someone he had gotten a job off of for being one year older than he had been the day before? Mako had never been one for celebrating his birthday. He saw each birthday as a marking point, marking the end of one miserable year on the harsh streets of Republic City and the start of another. Another year of scrounging for food, using his Firebending to protect him and his brother from harm, and doing odd jobs around the city to scrape together enough money to buy bare necessities.

And with all of that, Mako was sharply aware that his thirteenth birthday was today.

He woke up at dusk in an alleyway between a bakery and a women's clothing shop, his thin jacket serving as a pillow under his head. He sighed. Time to start another day.

"Come on, Bol. Time to get up," he said as he sat up and began to rub his eyes. When his brother did not respond, he added, "come on. We've got to get out of here before a shopkeeper finds us and chases us away."

Still no answer.

Mako surveyed the alleyway, only to find that his brother was nowhere in sight. Very funny, Bolin, he thought as he stood, pulling his tattered jacket over his head. "Alright, Bolin, you can stop playing around now. Come out, we've got to leave." His voice echoed through the alleyway, and Bolin, who would usually stop his childish game of hide-and-seek when Mako called out for him, was nowhere to be found.

Mako's eyes widened in fear. "No." He sprinted out of the alleyway, breaking out in a cold sweat. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Mako's mind conjured up a thousand different fates that Bolin could have met while he had been sleeping. What if he had woken up and went for a walk, even though Mako had told him not to go anywhere without him, and was mugged—or worse—by a gang? What if he was abducted, or taken by the police and put into that new foster care program? He tore down the street, passing the bakery, a meat shop, and was approaching a rather expensive-looking clothing shop when he heard a familiar voice.

"Big brother?"

Mako stopped abruptly in front of his brother, his worry and paranoia turning into anger. He grabbed Bolin by his ragged shirt, clutching the fabric and nearly raising his brother off of the ground. "Where the hell did you go? I thought you had gotten into trouble! You had me so worried about y—"

Bolin pushed a package between them. Mako blinked and stared at it in confusion. "Go on," Bolin encouraged, "take it." Mako let go of his shirt and grabbed the package, which was wrapped in gold paper with a red ribbon tied around its center. The cost of the paper and ribbon alone must've been more than I can make in a week, Mako estimated. How the hell did he afford this and whatever's inside it? He raised an eyebrow at his brother.

Bolin smiled sheepishly. "I—I wanted to get you something for your birthday because, well, you haven't gotten a birthday present since Mom…you know…" Bolin's voice trailed off. Their mother had died from a plague that had swept the city when Mako was eight, leaving them with no home or guardian, thus beginning their life on the streets. "Well, I figured that if anyone deserves to have something nice for their birthday, it's you, big brother. So I saved up the yuans I earned that I didn't use to buy food so I could buy you something."

Mako untied the ribbon, and then tore at the decorative paper. He uncovered a crimson red scarf, made of a soft, somewhat heavy material. Wool, he guessed. He unfolded the scarf, scrutinizing the fine knitting job and pondering just how much the scarf must have cost his brother. "How much was this?"

"Um, well, it was forty yuans for the scarf, and then the lady at the shop wrapped it for three more yuans," Bolin answered. Mako stared in disbelief. Forty-three yuans. That's more than I can get in a month if I work every day.

"H—how long have you been saving for this?"

His brother shrugged. "Two, maybe three months?" Mako's eyes widened, and Bolin quickly said, "don't worry about it, you deserve it! I mean, it's your thirteenth birthday, after all, and isn't being a teenager supposed to be special?" Mako just stared at his brother, open-mouthed. "What? You don't like it? I thought it would be good so you can stay warm, because you're always complaining about how cold you are, and you can use this as a pillow at night instead of your ratty old jacket and—oh, if this is about the money, I told you, Mako, don't worry about it, you deserve to have something nice—" Mako's lips curled into a smile, a bigger smile than the sympathetic ones he'd give his brother from time to time. A real, genuine smile, one that Bolin hadn't seen on his face since before their mother died.

Mako pulled Bolin into a tight hug. "Thanks, bro."

Bolin smiled. "No problem, Mako."

"I love you, little brother," he murmured, almost too quietly for Bolin to hear.

"I love you, too, big brother. Happy birthday."