Their shouts were angry and loud and unyielding.

"It's not my fault!"

"Well whose is it then? Mine!?"


"Don't try and pout at me."

"I'm not pouting!"


The door shut behind him as he left their apartment, leaving Korra barefoot and alone. Mako shook his head as he hurried down the stairs, shaking out the tension in his shoulders, trying to cool down from yet another argument. He heard their bedroom door slam shut, heard it from all the way down the first flight of stairs. Korra was more than likely flopped onto their bed, screaming into a pillow. He heard her do it once or twice before.

They argued a lot, and they argued loud.

Mako was stressed and Korra was tired and they never saw each other, so naturally, whenever they got the opportunity to see each other, they'd argue and complain fight and yell. Korra liked to slam doors. Mako went on walks.

These short walks had a destination. At first, they didn't. He used to just wander through the city, stomping and gritting his teeth and thinking of all the things he could have said, all the situations that could have been. But he knew where to go now. So he walked, hands in his pockets, wind blurring his vision and filling his ears with its noise. He hadn't even gotten his jacket before he left, and winter wasn't forgiving.

People bustled past him (Korra was infuriating), and he was quite cold, (Korra was annoying), and the smell of fresh buns reached his nose (Korra was so stubborn it killed him).

He missed her.

A lot.

Too much.


The shop was warm when he entered, and he approached the familiar counter, pulling out a few yuans. He'd been here so many times, he knew exactly how much his regular order cost (exactly how much her favorite buns cost).

"Two steamed pork buns, please," he said, holding out the money in his palm.

The store manager smiled knowingly, scooping up the money and dumping it in the front of his apron. He went to the back of the shop for the freshest and hottest, shaking his head for he knew. Mako groaned and crossed his arms. The phone in the shop was ringing. The man returned with Mako's order and some change and a "good luck".

Mako returned slowly, letting the anger leak out of him, swinging the warm bag so it hit his thigh with each footfall. His fingers were cold. He leapt up the steps in their building three at a time, and when he entered their apartment, the bedroom door slid back open, and Korra peeked her head out.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding the bag out in front of him.

"Me too." She approached and took the bag. She reached inside, giving him the first bun she pulled out and keeping the second for herself. Mako walked to the sofa, sighing as he plopped down. She followed and leaned her head against his shoulder, curling her legs beneath her.

Mako bit into the bun; the dough was sweet and soft. He rested his head on hers.

Korra's warmth pressed against him.

It was quiet.