This is a simple writing exercise to stimulate my…writing-ness. Or something. Because I can't write for my other story and because I can't wait for the next episodes of LoK, I'm writing these. I hope it's not too angsty or anything. I wanted it to be a…light piece, actually. But the next drabble isn't as broody or contemplative as this one. Like, more dialogue and not vignette-ish. I also need to work on my tenses and stuff. Anyways, enjoy~!
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#3: green (Mako)
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It always reminded him of Bolin.
Then it would remind him of the trees he would look up to on the rare occasion he brought his younger brother to the park. Vicariously, it reminded him of hope—that he and his Bolin would get through; that their circumstance wouldn't pull them into the darkness completely. When they were younger, it was looking into those green eyes of Bolin that would soften his resolve. Since their parents died, he had to shoulder the responsibility of making sure Bolin was taken care of—and second, of making sure that he was never, in any way, unhappy.
Now, Bolin's green eyes were twinkling with mirth as he twirled around the girl in blue. He sits in a stool at the bar, observing the rest of his surroundings—or maybe, just her and him having fun in the middle of the dance floor. He would maybe describe her as pretty, but then, he never thought of her in that way. Sure, he acknowledged the fact that she was indeed a girl, but she was always so rough and tough and so headstrong, that he failed to see that underneath that strong personality of hers, she could be a…lady.
And oh, how she could be. He thought that at more formal events, she would simply act like her usual self and shrug off all those mannerisms, but no. She was acting proper and decent and…not like her. He might not have recognized her at first with her in a blue dress and her hair down and the slightest trace of make-up on her face, but then her lips quirked up and she bared her teeth and—and he just knew it was her.
He knows all these things, but he doesn't know what to make of the warmth gathering in his gut.
And he can't explain the pang in his chest as he watches his little brother be happy with the girl…the girl that stirs all these weird feelings in him. He promised himself that he'd make sure that Bolin must be happy—he must always be happy, but it just wasn't fair, damn it. He wants to be happy, too. And he knows that Korra's the only one who could make him so, but…
The song ends and the people in the dance floor applauds the band. The people playing with brass instruments are quickly replaced with those who play stringed instruments, and as Mako looks from the stage to the floor, he knows this isn't going to end well—at least for him.
He wants to be selfish, wants to stand up from his seat and walk up to them and pull them apart and tell Korra that he…that he…he doesn't know.
Green was hope. Bolin was supposed to be the one to give him that, but he looks back to the dance floor and he sees his brother holding Korra closely—too close for his own comfort, but he never thought of that when it came to Bolin. Mako grips his glass tighter and can feel the fluid inside bubble at the heat he releases from his hand because—there, he's feeling it again when he sees the two of them like that.
He continues to look at them—even shares this, this electrifying look with Korra. That is, before his own brother leans in and, and—steals a kiss. Korra's eyes widen, and he can just see the flood of emotions run through her blue eyes before she closes them and the connection is cut, and Mako just feels so…crushed. By the hand of the one he's been trying to protect for years, no less.
After breathing in and out, he stands from his seat and simply leaves—not to go back to their small apartment, no. He might bring her back there, and he…he wouldn't be able to handle it. He's been roaming around the city streets and alleyways for years—what would one night be compared to those other harsh times?
He breathes out again—and this time, with fire.
It's always Bolin.
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