It wasn't like him at all.
Surrounding Link were guests, laced up like Christmas presents, wine swilled delicately by the neck of the glass, affected laughter, eyes matching necklaces, dress folds matching the folds of wide, million dollar smiles.
And there he stood, in the corner near sheets of pastries, his grimace reflected in the curvature of an unopened bottle of scotch.
He fidgeted with his tie – surreptitiously, he attempted to fold it over so that the miniature Indigo-Go band prints weren't quite so bloated and noticeable – and wished he had paid a little more mind to his rumpled green suit before coming.
He didn't think it to himself in quite so many words, but he didn't belong here.
"Why, Link Scrawler! Before my very eyes!"
He jerked his head – the motion seizing at his collarbone – at the voice, the tie left undone and sloppy.
The new addition beamed towards him, and Link noted his musculature, not quite lost in the sea of proper attire. Some track star or other, he wagered.
"Um, h-hello."
"This," Mr. Athlete redirected his blinding grin towards the petite woman hanging off his arm. "Is Meredy, my wife. But of course you already knew that."
Was he supposed to? Apparently, since He-man didn't see fit to introduce himself.
"But," The man's chiseled features contorted themselves into what Link thought was supposed to be a rather remorseful look. "I confess, I've seen your face in some magazines, but it's a bit lost on me what it is you've done."
"Nothing…nothing special," Link mumbled, already worn out. "Just good with stocks."
"Ah," corners of upturned lips that didn't quite reach the eyes. "Admirable, admirable. But, Mr. Scrawler-"
He paused, as if to punctuate his confusion, as if to relish it.
"You were informed that this was a ball, weren't you? Escorting another is, perhaps, not obligatory, but surely you understand that common courtesy would dictate that you-"
Once again, that affected surprise painted deliberately on his features.
"Oh, but far be it from me to tell you how to go about your business, Mr. Scrawler," his lips curled. "Some people just prefer solitude. Please pardon me for being so rude."
I just got an invitation, but his throat was dry and thoughts were caught and throttled partway into becoming words. Because I happened to have some money. I'm not part of your folk. Never will be.
What came out was: "L-Look, I'm just…can you…um, please-"
Twin expectant smiles biting into him, and suddenly sweat slick as oil across his back, plastered to the back of his knees, it seemed every leer in the room had him floundering, drowning, their eyes became claws that peeled him languidly apart, layer by layer, flesh upon bone, and he really did not know what to do with his hands-
"Oh, Link," exasperation from his right. He could practically hear the eye-roll. "I've been looking all over for you. Way to make a lady feel appreciated, you oaf."
Cold trickled into his veins almost like relief: part retching anxiety, part deep, deep confusion.
"Wh-wh-"
"This bum," she very obviously talked over him, slinging a cheerful arm about his shoulders. "Left me by the punchbowl to go pig out some more. Imagine that, huh?"
As she teased, the couple opposite them forced some laughter in response, but immediately laced their postures with suspicion. Eyes searching theirs, gouging for weaknesses.
"And, you are…?"
"Midna, his date. Pleased."
The slightest nudge against Link's side, telling him to play along.
"Why, Mr. Scrawler," he almost frowned, but twisted his smile back at the last second. "You should have told me earlier that you were accompanied by such a beautiful young lady. Here I was prattling on about nonsense."
"Yeah, he's such a charmer, huh?" Midna chirped, before looping her arm through Link's. "Well, we'll be on our way. This and that to take care of, you understand. Lovely meeting you."
"Oh," she turned abruptly in the middle of dragging him out, putting on airs of faint recall. "Link's too damn polite to tell you pricks, so I'll do it for him. Go to hell. Stay there while you're at it, hm?"
And he was hauled bodily away to the edge of the party's confines, too quickly to catch the appalled expressions of those left behind.
At the gate, where even the valet was nowhere to be seen, Midna quickly let go.
Silence, not precisely awkward, reigned for all of a few moments.
"U-Um," he stuttered quietly. "Thank you. I…I didn't…"
" 'S alright," she shrugged, paying his incoherency no mind, fingering scarlet tresses. "You looked like you needed rescuing."
Another moment of quiet, before she piped up.
"Why'd you even come? Pompous assholes don't really seem your cup of tea. Only reason I'm here is 'cause I've got to cover this charity ball. I'm a reporter," she added, noticing the question in his eyes.
"I dunno," he mumbled. "They just…gave me an invitation, said it would be...would be just wonderful if I could make an appearance, or – or something, and I wasn't sure what to expect."
He fiddled again with his tie, still trying to conceal the prints.
"I just do stocks from home," he tried unnecessarily, helplessly. His arms couldn't stay still.
She frowned.
"From what I read," she said at last. "It's a bit more than just that. Everyone's been on and on about your recent rise, you know."
"I-I don't follow that kind of…kind of…" his lips were cracked, hands clammy and desperate as they still crawled along the fabric.
"Oh, stop with that," she lightly slapped away his fingers.
"At least you're not dressed boring, unlike some people. Look, pay them no heed, alright? Just…Just keep your chin up," she finished lamely.
Finally still, Link mustered himself.
"Thank you. Once more, for – for your help. I don't know how much more I could've been in there without…"
He teetered off, and she gave him a wan smile.
"Anytime. I'm sick of 'em too."
His hands clenched and unclenched themselves, and suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted to say, for the first time that evening. The problem, as ever, was if he had the guts.
"Would you-" he faltered, and this time loosened his tie. The damn thing was wound so tight it practically left a bruise. "Would you consider – maybe…ugh-"
He groaned.
"I'm…I'm not usually this much of a disaster," came his stammer. "Well, th-that's not so true, but-"
"Then prove it," she smirked, but her eyes danced, sparking crimson. "Don't leave me hanging."
Finally, a tiny laugh bubbled from his throat.
She was tired of suave anyway. Besides, his clumsy sincerity was adorable.
"Then what say we don't m-make a pretense of it this time?" his smile wavered, but it was there nonetheless. "T-Tomorrow, maybe? Dinner for two at Anju's?"
"Anju's?" she huffed. "Man, you are loaded."
"I-Is that a no?"
"'Course it isn't," she almost cackled. "See you there, dork."
And she slapped her number into his unmoving palm, skipping merrily away and waving backwards.
Link scratched the scruff at his neck, his cobalt gaze roaming the sheaf of ripped parchment in his hand, tracing the loops of the hastily scribbled digits.
"I should go to parties more often."
And he stalked off, whistling off-key to the tune of a somewhat perfect evening.
Author's Note: I finagled this thing together in like one or two hours, so forgive me if it seems a bit sloppily put together. I'm trying to get back in the swing of just writing things for the hell of it, to maybe stop overthinking things and whatnot. For those waiting for the next chapters of Heartstrings, fear not, they're in the works! Fun fact: I adjusted the story to be about Link and Midna after already having written it, so if they seem at all OOC, there you go.
Reviewww? I live off your feedback. :P