Chapter Text
Bolin doesn’t remember what his parents looked like.
Oh he had a general idea from what Mako told him along with his own memories, but their actual faces … nothing. Whenever he tried to picture them, the images would always morph into Mako.
Mako comforting him, playing with him, cleaning his wounds, working for food, finding somewhere safe to live—it was always him.
Sometimes Bolin was jealous of Mako for having memories of their parents. Yet Bolin knew it wasn’t his fault, so he chose to find his mother in Mako’s smile, and father in his voice.