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The first encounter, she a trespasser, about to be kicked out of the gym. He covered for her like any other- usually he encountered teenage fans sneaking in to see him and his brother. It was as he viewed her face, deeply tan, well-carved, yet delicate, did he understand something about himself. He felt drawn to this azure-clad fan, moreso than he'd felt yet toward other fangirls. It was her aura, her presence, which won him over.
Smoothly, he continued the friendship. He hoped for something more.
An evening of belching and camaraderie followed. Is it unreasonable for someone to wish for happiness? Unreasonable for someone to have the greatest time and wish for something more? Prior outings with girls never developed past friendliness and fun. Never developed or nurtured anything in his heart. He felt a rush in his cardiac chambers, in his being, as he thought of the dark-haired girl. It was from those rustlings that he scraped into his beloved piggy, Bubu, to purchase a proper bouquet.
He made his way to the romatic-seeming section of the island, his heart soaring under the starlit gaze of the night and the salty yearnings of the waves crashing into soft sand. Each step brought him closer, each step soothed the smile on his face. He approached, bubbly and enchanted, prepared for more.
More, he received. The sought-lips of his intended sought others. Sought ember-soaked lips and held them. Fragmented, his beating innards faltered. They stopped as his cruel eyes lay witness to smoky lips answering. Betrayal arched, bent, and stabbed.
He felt himself shattering. Was it unwise, unfair to hope to capture that who captured him? Wrong to desire what he wanted? Stupid to expect a one-sided sense of belonging to encompass the other? He'd felt a sense of togetherness, a feeling of belonging, of destiny with her. Entitlement to happiness.
That taken, alongside the actions of his kin led to breakage. Bolin never was one to conceal his feelings. He let loose. His sense of despair perhaps appearing comical, perhaps over-the-top, deterred him not.
Thus he disappeared. Refuge granted by friends, shop owners. He slumped with Pabu, with Bubu emptied, as he slobbered away through bowls of green noodles. Slurped through straws of unflavored grainy wine. And waited for his brother to choose. A fog long settled over his consciousness, he barely registered familiar familial arms entrap him, and familiar shoulders support him.
He awoke to a slumped brother sitting at the edge of his bed, and Pabu's soothing softness against his forehead. Soft tears escaped despite attempts of strength. His brother shook. Hands clasped together, a silent agreement took place. Brothers before anything else.
Bolin sat abruptly and embraced his brother.