Bolin's eyes don't rove at all this time, for better or worse. He just steps forward, unpacking some of the things from one of the other bags - just a couple pairs of unisex gray sweatpants, easily claimable by either of them. Stark contrast, maybe, to the dress that still sits with the other very blue items.

He's nice and fun. That's great. That doesn't really tell him what he isn't that Mako is, but he doesn't really need to be told. She doesn't owe him any explanations, and he doesn't really expect one ever. He knows having one would just make things worse, probably.

And you just don't do that to a friend. And that's what they are. And it's not that he's even unhappy about the state of things. But maybe he needs more time to get over it than he keeps telling himself he does. It feels so ... disrespectful of her. It feels dumb, too.

"You know I love you, right?" he asks, not demanding, or suggesting, but timid with intended comfort. Trying to cover up his obvious hang-up with a flippant declaration that they never clicked is clearly not the right answer. Maybe honesty suits him better. "Like family. I'm glad I get to say that. I just don't want you to be mad if I do because we haven't even known one another a whole year and you think my opinion of you is. Inflated."