A/N: So, a first version to a fic.

Disclaimer: Super Smash Bros (Brawl) does not belong to me in any shape or form, and I am not making money from this. Oh, and the titles of the chapters come from a good, sexy, not-emo, friend/muse. :) She gives lots of bash-less feedback, for which I really appreciate.

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Pit - The Dangers of Meeting a Link: Connecting

You wondered, even as you stoically held out the crappy red origami heart you made yesterday, if red could have been a symbol for blood rather than love before Hallmark and Barbie ruined the world. Because, really, you're not panicking while he just stared at you with his classic "what the hell" look. You stared right back, hiding all of the little nonexistent cries in your mind, like, Take it! Take it! or Stop staring at me like that! or Do something!

You were beginning to think that the pressure was going to your head, whatwith how the little origami seemed to drip drip blood. It's going to die soon, you think. Under the pretext of calm indifference (indifference? indifference? how the hell could there be anything indifferent about this?) you scoffed, and I went through so much trouble to learn how to fold it, too.

He stared at you for another three seconds, with the end result being you copping out. Dammit.

"Some girl asked me to hand it to you," you said, suddenly glad that you left it unsigned.

He blinked, and everything skewed back to normal as he raised a skeptical eyebrow (as if he didn't get a hundred love letters a year. oh, but he did.) and took it from you. And, all you could really think at that moment was that you certainly had a loose screw somewhere in your head. When did you become a messenger? It was demeaning, to say the least. And out of character, and a bunch of other things that weren't you.

And this was your last chance, and you had just messed it up.

"Thanks," he said shortly and slammed his locker close, locked it, and beckoned you to come along with him to English.

You looked down, collecting yourself for a moment, and then jogged after him to catch up.

Valentine's Day sucked.

--

You had a crush on Link for a grand total of three years (one of which was a leap year, and Samus finally had her fourth birthday), seven months, two weeks, and four days.

Well, that was just an approximate estimate. Since you were a closeted hardcore fan of love at first sight (and yes, Cupid rocked your socks. A lot.), you thought you loved him at first sight. Or liked him--was there even a difference between the two when a person was a teen? Or adult, even? (These contemplations were stored in your head that had read too many cookleta fictions. Or maybe even AU sasunaru fics, but you didn't tell anyone that.)

It was when highschool had started.

It had been a rather crappy freshman orientation, and since Palutena, your brilliant foster mother who occasionally told you to go save the world (sarcastically, of course), had pretty much ditched you in front of the school's gate, you were pretty lonely and awkward with how everyone else's moms were there. Or dads, depending on who you looked at.

The gym was big and colorful, with random posters up on the walls singing out Spirit Week, the school name (Kraken High) in bright purple sans font, and several basketball hoops sticking out of the walls. There were retractable risers on both sides of the building, but only one of them was extended, serving as seats for scattered kids and adults alike.

Shuffling over to the side of the gym, you watched senior students huddle for whatever (evil scheme) they were planning. You could already see the little groups of kids talking to people that they knew from middle school, clustering in their safe zones. Unfortunately, you didn't have that privilege either, considering Palutena had this fancy for private schools, when all your primary years, you had been attending public.

In any case, the orientation started soon enough, and you forgot about it eventually. People were sequestered into groups, and a team of seniors took you and another seven people away into the real school building. They talked about how the whole school was about family, belonging, and all of the things that you didn't really believe in. Hell, you didn't believe that the preachers (namely, the leaders--who explained that they'd be doing some teamwork activities once you guys reached the destination) even believed in that.

In any case, the building was large, it was intimidating, and you were already resigned to the fact that you were going to get lost. You couldn't even tell if the hall you had just passed was the same one that you had entered from.

It was a burgeoning sort of uniformity. The walls were bland and had a sick sort of pasted white, with large khaki lockers. The floors had a vague sort of patterned tile with splotches of color here and there in a continuous pattern up and down, up and down, up and down. It felt like a mental ward, with special assorted rooms for the most insane to the least.

You were kind of terrified, kind of excited.

They stopped and entered one of the rooms on the left, nothing else to differentiate it from the others than a little plastic card on top of the door reading D-14.

It was a bland room, with the normal, run-of-the-mill vandalized desks (though, not nearly as bad as the gum riddled ones back in elementary) and the green chalkboard clustered with white dust over years of use. The desks lined the walls, making a clear path for where a hypothetical teacher would walk up and down from his podium. It was where the leaders indicated for you to sit.

"Let's introduce ourselves. And don't forget to add something about yourself." the female leader said enthusiastically. "I'm Susan Epson, a senior. I wish that Heath Ledger didn't die."

The other leader shrugged at the sentiment. "I'm Evan Bassan. I'm a senior, and I'm in cross country."

A boy with dreads had sat next to the male leader. "I'm Lucario Elias. I can see into your soul." It was said in the utmost seriousness, and you were just a little creeped out (and with a furtive glance to everyone else, you were sure that you weren't the only one). Nevertheless, after an awkward silence, the next boy talked.

"Snake Solid. Pyro."

"Samus Aran. I'm a black belt."

"I'm Luigi. My brother's a junior."

"I'm Richard Kong, but call me Diddy or D-man! I'm gangsta, yo!"

Nervous laughs all around, including you. It was funny, yet not. It just begged the question: Who called themselves gangster?

"I'm Link Keir," the next boy said quietly, eyes trained on the ground. "And I play the flute."

"I'm Zelda Celeste. I want to be a fashion designer."

And you, you said with increasing nervousness, "I'm Pit Ilari." And what was something special about you? Uh. Go out with false confidence! "I like basketball, but I really suck at it!" You shined a big fat smile as you killed yourself inside. It wasn't as if, oh, you could seem cool at all anymore…

Your face was as red as a tomato before the first person could laugh quietly.

Namely, Link.

And that was how high school and your crush started, and perhaps, the beginning of the end.