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Mako sighs.
This is the third time he’s had to drag Wu out of some stupid speakeasy, drunk and high off his ass, this week alone. So, there he is, in the front seat of Lin’s cruiser that he’d borrowed (illegally) to pick up Wu- a prince wearing a barely-there, gossamer gown that probably cost a mint, and looks positively ungodly.
“Hey Makoooo, guess whattt,” Wu croons at him, looking over ardently from the passenger seat.
Mako rolls his eyes. His patience is worn too thin. Wu is too far into this hole, trading smiles and sex for his next hit. Somehow he’s always expected Mako to swoop in and save the day.
“Mako,” Wu drolls, breaking his line of thought.
“What?” he asks, a little too sharply. Wu recoils back into the leather seat, feeding the loosened seatbelt back into place.
“You don’t love me anymore, do you Mako?”
The accusation digs bony fingers into his heart and he can feel his face burning. “Wu, I’m your bodyguard,” he responds flippantly, trying to mask his reaction. “That’s it.” He doesn’t have the energy for Wu’s bullshit anymore. Not tonight.
They stop at an intersection, where other late-night partiers are crossing the street. Mako’s instinct is to write them a citation - public drunkenness, making too much noise - anything to distract him from the shitshow he’s in. Wu glances over at him with eyes wider than the full moon in the sky tonight. “Your hair is so black, it’s almost blue.”
He tucks a piece behind his ear self-consciously. “What about it?”
“You’re in a bad mood.”
He can hear the unasked why in Wu’s voice. Why. Why. Why.
“Maybe don’t call me at 3 in the morning to save your sorry ass from a bar I explicitly told you was off limits.”
“Maybe don’t be a shit in the pants.” Wu is fuming now, glaring straight ahead as they begin to move forward again. “Can I smoke this in here?"
Mako glances at the cigarette in Wu’s hand. “This is a law enforcement vehicle. Grow up,” he snaps.
In response, Wu fumbles with a lighter and blows the first puff of smoke in Mako’s direction. As if Wu could reek of privilege more. As if he could be more infuriatingly stupid. Mako can’t stand it.
“I’m taking you home but you can sort yourself out. I’m sick of the shit, Wu.”
“Ooooh, home? See how much the press like you bringing me home after a night out.”
“See how much you like it when I request a transfer.”
The rage is coming off of Wu in waves now, clearly directed at him. They stop again and Mako glances over. Wu’s curls are falling in his face, a cheap attempt to hide the fact that he’s wasted. Smudged eyeliner streaks above his cheekbones, and his nose peeks out from behind the curtain of hair, nostrils flared.
Mako pulls the wheel, hard, and then they’re headed in the other direction, away from the glistening lights of the wealthier districts of Republic City. Towards Mako’s apartment. Wu picks up on the shift immediately, lifting his face, where it shines under the streetlights.
“Finally, you invite me home. Not like I’ve been waiting forever for that,” Wu quips, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face.
“That’s not what this is,” Mako responds through gritted teeth.
“What is your fucking problem, Mako?”
Glancing over at him, under the dull glow of city lights, Mako’s heart breaks a little. “You’re spiraling, Wu, and you won’t ask for help.”
Wu doesn’t respond but silently hands him the cigarette and lighter. Mako’s frustration is replaced by a strange aching.
"I do love you," he whispers into the silent car. But Wu's eyes are closed, his forehead pressed against the window. And Mako thinks he doesn't hear him.