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The ring of their obnoxious doorbell—a piano cover of some pop song that was popular when they’d moved in, Wu had picked it out—stirs Mako from his from his impromptu afternoon nap. He restacks the papers of the file he’d been slaving away over the last week and a half as his roommate opens the door.
“Korra!” Wu exclaims when he sees it’s Mako’s ex and best friend. With a groan, Mako rubs at his tired eyes and wonders how he managed to forget she was coming by today.
“Hey Wu,” Korra grins as she steps inside and gives him a hug, before turning her attention to Mako. “Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty. Tough case?”
“Yeah,” Mako says, sitting up straight. Behind Korra, a tall girl with a sleek black ponytail waits, cradling her elbows in her hands and looking at him curiously.
Right. Korra’s new girlfriend. ‘The love of her life’, her text had said. Mako is suddenly hyperaware of the coffee stain on his t-shirt and his tattered sweatpants. He stands, wiping crumbs from his lap as he does, and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he says, “I’ve been kinda busy—I would’ve put on something more presentable.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Korra tells the girl with a smug grin. “He’s a workaholic.”
“I think you look fine,” Wu tells him, on his way to the kitchen, though when he passes Mako he doesn’t miss the opportunity to smooth down a rebellious cowlick.
“Sorry,” Mako says again after he’s hugged Korra and extends a hand to the girl. “Hi, I’m Mako.”
“Asami.” The girl shoots him a beautiful smile as she shakes his hand and, wow, Korra’s text is making more sense now. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Mako shakes the grogginess of his nap off and goes to make them some coffee. The kitchen of their apartment is small, but he and Wu move around each other in a practiced dance as Mako works the coffee machine and Wu makes his protein shake.
“Alright, I’m off,” Wu says when he’s done, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Korra, it was lovely seeing you, as always. And you too, of course—” He winks at Asami. “—until next time, hopefully. Bye, Mako.”
“Bye, puddin’,” Mako tells him, and then the door falls shut.
The silence that follows immediately after isn’t typically awkward, at least not until Asami sets down her coffee and asks: “Are you two dating? A new restaurant just opened up downtown, maybe we could go on a double date there.”
The blush on Mako’s face is instant and he frowns at both the heat in his cheeks and Korra’s badly suppressed laughter. “No,” he says quickly. “Wu’s just my roommate.”
The slightly pained expression on Asami’s face doesn’t do much to make him feel better. “Oh, sorry, I just assumed…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Korra tells her, resting a hand on her thigh. “You’re not the only one.” She snorts. “In fact, most people who don’t know better think they’re together.”
“It’s just a nickname,” Mako admits, hiding his face in his hands. “Can’t a bro call his bro a nickname in peace?”
“You call him puddin’,” Korra counters, and Asami, now smiling slightly as well, asks: “How did he even get a nickname like that?”
“I started calling him diet pudding cup boy after we got wasted together and he ate 35 diet pudding cups in one sitting,” Mako lamely explains. “We’ve lived together for several years now. It got shortened to puddin’.”
“It’s very fitting, to be honest,” Korra remarks. “They’ve lived together for so long, they already bicker like a married couple.”
“Not true,” Mako replies, though he is aware of the fact that Wu would probably agree with Korra if he was still here.
“Well, I think it’s cute,” Asami says, probably taking pity on him. “You two seem very close.”
They are, and he knows she means close as friends and roommates, but Mako is still unable to shake the implication that settles in his stomach at those words; the common association made by any outsider who would see two people who live together and call each other things like puddin’.
Still, it’s whatever, he thinks as he refills their cups and listens to Korra recount the story of how she and Asami met, a tale involving a traffic accident, a meditation session and some other things Mako forgets when he looks at their joint hands on his couch and a pang that feels like longing shoots through his chest.
The feeling is fleeting but something of it sticks around in the back of Mako’s mind.
Later that night, he and Wu are watching the telenovela Wu got him into when he first moved in, having enticed him with promises of twists, turns, world-shattering romances and endless, endless drama. Truthfully, Mako hadn’t minded anything he could’ve put on, but Wu’s enthusiasm had been infectious and soon enough, he’d found himself paying close attention to learn the substantial cast of characters and lore of the seasons past. Of course, being a detective, he’d had his fun pointing out the inaccuracies of how the gun was handled by Wu’s favorite femme fatale as she threatened to take her (admittedly, well-earned) revenge.
It’s during this little ritual of theirs that Mako’s mind once again strays. He glances over to where Wu is sitting, slumped in the corner of their couch, his usual spot. Completely entranced by the tv, he doesn’t even notice that Mako is no longer watching. He considers his own position; just as relaxed as Wu is, laying sideways on the armrest with his feet propped up, only inches away from Wu’s thigh.
If Asami would see them for the first time like this, would she think they’re together, too? Wu stretches—just like that, they’re touching.
“Does it ever bother you?” Mako asks, once the credits roll. Wu, perhaps still reeling from the cliffhanger the episode ended on, takes a minute to answer.
“Well,” he starts, “I think the slap might have been a bit overboard, but it adds to the shock, right? So, I guess not.” It occurs to Mako that, no matter how close they are, Wu still doesn’t have a direct link to his thoughts.
“I meant… This afternoon, after you left. Asami thought we were dating.”
Wu snort. “Another one, huh?” His dark green eyes land on Mako and he grins. “I suppose it’s understandable. Two handsome men like you and I…”
Mako rolls his eyes and slumps a bit further down. “Yeah, right. You know, maybe Korra is right—calling you puddin’ does sound like we’re married. I should just go back to calling you diet pudding cup boy.”
“But that’s so looong,” Wu complains. “What’s the use of a nickname that takes ages to say?” He’s grabbed the remote and is aimlessly zapping until he lands on a nature documentary. “Besides. I think it’s cute that you call me puddin’.” Mako stares at him again and although he doesn’t look, Wu seems to be aware of it this time, running a hand through his hair and messing it up a little. With a quiet sigh, Mako turns his gaze back to the penguin dads on screen.
“Maybe I’ll call you diet pudding cup boy until you learn to do the dishes on time.”
“Mako!” Wu exclaims, finally looking. “Don’t be mean.”
Mako scoffs a laugh. “Alright, puddin’.”
It’s annoying, Mako realizes later that night, that he and Wu get along so well. It’s nearing four in the morning and it would really be so much easier if he had a roommate he didn’t particularly like, who he never had to see, who no one would ever think he’d be dating.
His pillow has gotten too warm—Mako sits up a little and flips it over. Easy, perhaps, but it would probably be boring as hell, too. He thinks about Hasook, his old buddy from high school who was meant to move into this apartment with him. Of course, being his usual flakey self, Hasook had pulled out at the last second and Mako had to find the least creepy roommate in Republic City willing to move in with him on such short notice.
Enter Wu. Maybe it had been divine intervention, Mako wonders as he twists to his other side. Wu is easygoing, funny, never in a bad mood. More importantly, he’s willing to put up with Mako’s moody ass in the mornings, before he’s had his coffee. Wu is the perfect roommate and over the years, has become one of his best friends.
Mako turns again and sticks his feet out from under the covers. Maybe that’s why it never feels weird to call him what other people know to be a term of endearment.
God, this is all too confusing, he thinks as he presses his palms to his closed eyes. It’s the middle of the night and his brain has chosen this moment to have deep, useless thoughts instead of dreaming.
Maybe being close friends with Korra after they dated has fucked up his perception of relationships, and the boundaries between romantic and platonic. Because, loathe as he is to admit it, one of the fundamental truths Mako knows as a detective is that the most obvious explanation is often the right one.
Maybe Asami and everyone else are just seeing something he’s blinded to by his proximity.
With a groan, Mako leaves his bed and shuffles down the hall to Wu’s room. He knocks twice and waits, only to realize it’s the middle of the night and the thoughts he’s having in his tired state are nothing that can’t wait until morning.
Just as he turns to leave, the door opens.
Wu was obviously asleep, his normally wide eyes half shut and the creases of his pillow imprinted on the side of his face. Mako can’t help but notice how soft he looks, compared to his usual springy self. “What’s up?” Wu asks in a small voice, before yawning.
“Uh, it’s nothing,” Mako quickly says, feeling bad about having woken him. “It can wait.”
“I’m already awake, doofus,” Wu tells him, “might as well tell me, now.”
With a deep exhale, Mako steadies himself. “I don’t mean to sound weird,” he starts. “But are we in a brolationship or like—” He looks away, momentarily horrified by his sleep deprived vocabulary. “Like, an actual relationship, like everybody thinks?” Wu is looking at him with a strange mix of confusion and fondness. “Sorry,” Mako says. “I couldn’t sleep and for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about why Asami assumed we’re together. Maybe I’m going a little bit crazy.”
“The RCPD definitely makes you work too hard,” Wu replies. Then his eyes find the painting Bolin made for their housewarming on the wall of the hallway and Mako could swear he sees his cheeks darken in the low light. “Then again…” he starts, but he falls silent after trailing off.
Mako can’t help but feel the importance of this moment. In the darkness of the hallway, standing of either side of the doorway to Wu’s room, it feels like they’re the only two people left on earth. “What?”
“We’re still just roommates,” Wu says, cautiously, as if he can hear Mako’s heart falling down his chest, “and nothing has changed. But I guess… If you want to date me, that’s cool.”
The way he says it makes it sound insignificant, but he’s definitely looking away now. Mako’s tired brain is still catching up to their conversation but when it does, he suddenly feels lighter than he did when he walked over. “Are you serious?” he asks.
Wu doesn’t meet his gaze, still. “Yeah,” he answers. “Are you?”
In his current state, standing in front of the boy he’s lived with for years now, things are finally making sense. “Yes,” Mako breathes. Then: “So, I guess Asami wasn’t all that far off. And I guess I’m not actually crazy.”
“You are,” Wu shoots back, wearing a teasing grin, “but not any more so than usual.” His eyes look vibrant even now, as they lock with Mako’s in the dim hallway.
“Thanks, puddin’,” Mako replies with a smile of his own. And it feels right to say—not that it didn’t feel right before, but now he can feel in his chest that which Asami and everyone before her must’ve already seen. A feeling of completion, like the puzzle pieces he’d already been holding onto had finally fallen into place, forming a complete picture.
Wu rolls his eyes affectionately at the nickname and steps fully out of his room, into Mako’s personal space. With all the energy of daytime Wu, Mako’s roommate grabs him by the collar of the shirt he sleeps in, pulls him down while he leans up, and kisses him soundly.
It’s the middle of the night and though the exhaustion lingers in his bones when his arm sneaks around Wu’s middle, Mako feels more awake than he has in weeks.