"Alright, relax. Again."

Eyes closed, Link inhaled another deep breath, head tilting back to his shoulders, and hummed a low tone. His vocal cords stretched, straining the further it fell. Cool metal twirled between his fingers, the zipper of the little decorative pillow laying on his lap. As his head lifted, the last of his air escaped.

The school guidance counselor sat across from him, rifling through the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Her light blonde, almost silver hair was swept up into a bun and held by a thick, red band. She dropped a round mirror onto the table between them before dredging through another drawer of manila folders.

"And one more," Impa said over her shoulder.

During his first week of high school, Link's teachers had all deemed his mutism a problem. A child that doesn't speak is shy, but a teenager that doesn't speak is defiant, one had said as if Link weren't in the room. They wanted him removed, put in remedial classes, and Impa had been the only one who'd stood up for him. By retesting him in every subject, she had proven that he hadn't been misplaced, that he belonged there, and luckily, she had been kind, changing his schedule to more accommodating teachers. With her permission, he could forego group projects and public speaking classes, but in exchange, they met monthly for these quasi-speech therapy sessions.

The rusted hinges squeaked as Impa pulled apart the mirror's metal feet, adjusting the angle until Link's reflection stared back at him. He frowned a little, like he always did.

It was one thing to try to make him speak; it was another to force him to watch.

Impa flipped open his file and inserted a blank page, marking the date at the top. She sighed, mouth setting into a thin line, as her hands folded together, staring Link down. Intense red eyes, patient and kind, but no-nonsense.

"Can you verbally tell me what we've been working on?"

His tongue traced his lower lip before he silently huffed and nodded, closing his eyes.

"Ah, eyes open," she chided. "Watch your lip positioning."

Link listened, glaring at his lips as they curled inward, puffing up to over-emphasize the first letter. With a quiet pop, they separated, quivering. His vocalization caught in his throat, melding into a thick lump. He licked them again as they fell back together, a controlled breath slipping through his nose, and reset his position.

Open, then curled. Open, then curled. Fruitless repetition without a sound uttered.

A crease cut through his brow as his fingers tightened around the pillow.

"You're okay," Impa said, tone gentle. "Let's hold that position and hum."

She hummed first, and his grip slackened.

Little waves trekked from his throat to his lips, nearly tickling, as he sustained it, and a weird dissonance rang through the room, like an out-of-tune piano chord. Short, occasional hums never bothered Link, but these resonating ones were always unpleasant. He held it only long enough to appease Impa before the back of his hand swiped across his mouth, grimacing, as he erased the sensation.

He pretended not to hear her sigh.

"Can you tell me what we've been working on?"

It was always that question—that same damn question—for the past four years. Link wanted to answer it verbally, but he just… couldn't. That lump lodged itself like a rock between his vocal cords and his stomach swelled with anxiety at the mere thought of speaking.

It had always been this way, and it always would be.

Met with silence, Impa tried again. "It's okay. Remember what we've talked about. Don't overthink it, yeah? Nothing is physically stopping you from speaking. We just have to cross over that mental hurdle. So, let's relax and focus on our breathing and our lip position, alright?"

Leather rustled beneath Link as he sat up straighter, nodding. He stared at his lips, letting his frustration go, before curling them in. "Buh…"

Nearly inaudible, but Impa's lips pulled into her cheeks, just slightly.

"Perfect. Keep going."

Link huffed, then inhaled again. "Buh-buh… Buh."

Faint, broken stutters. His limbs constricted involuntarily, white-knuckling the little pillow. A clamp seized around his throat, as if being choked, and his heart raced in his chest. His body fighting against him, pleading him to stop, to shut up.

Impa's voice was soothing. "Relax. You got it. Now the L."

Link fought back, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath. The tension in his neck eased, then in his chest, then in his fingers. His eyes opened to Impa's, patience and sympathy, encouraging him. With a forceful sigh, his tongue pressed into the bottom of his front teeth.

A third of their session passed before Link managed to utter out segmented chunks of the word blocking, voice never rising above the softest whisper and body still subconsciously protesting. He coughed quietly, fire searing his throat despite the vocal warm-ups, and a light pain throbbed through his forehead, pulsing with his heartbeat.

"Great job. Let's try it all together now," Impa said.

Uncertainty painted Link's face as his gaze lifted to hers, holding back a scoff. It had been four years, and he could hardly say individual letters, let alone a whole word. What was even the point in trying?

A warm smile spread across her lips. "You've got this."

Doubtful, he nodded, eyes on the mirror. His lips folded together, but instead of watching their position, Link traversed the reflection. Lilac circles pooled around his eyes, bloodshot and drooping, while that stupid, angry scowl brought his eyebrows together. Cowlicks jutted from his bangs, framing his face like permanent bedhead, and his now parted lips trembled, afraid, like some kind of child.

Did he always look this pathetic? Or was it only when he was watching?

The hinges squealed as Impa jerked the mirror back. Link blinked before his gaze fell to his lap, fingers on the zipper, twisting it back and forth, unable to look at her, to feel the sting of her disappointment.

He should have been used to it by now.

"I want you to be honest," Impa said.

Link nodded.

"Have you been practicing at home?"

"Yes," he signed, lying.

Her advice had stayed consistent—talk to the livestock, to yourself in the bathroom mirror, to no one on an empty phone line—and Link had never followed it. He had already accepted that he would never speak again.

His head stayed down as Impa pushed away from the table, quietly standing and striding to the office's double window beside him. He flinched as the blinds clinked and rays of sunlight trickled in, a golden stripe warming his arm. From his peripherals, he saw her pushing them apart, viewing the parking lot in the near distance.

He then eyed the door. Could he bolt without her noticing?

Impa released a heavy sigh.

"I know being verbal at home must feel challenging, but you're about to enter the real world soon, and I don't think I've prepared you for that." Her eyes never left the window. The clock on her desk ticked upwards another minute, then two. "What kind of future do you have?"

Maybe it was an honest question, an attempt at goading him into speaking by not watching him sign. Or maybe it was rhetorical, wasting his time like he had done to her for the past four years.

He stifled a cough and shrugged, unsure what else to say. That analytical red stare pierced him again, demanding a better response, and time seemingly stood still as she waited, unmoving.

Link caved, signing, "I'm leaving Hyrule."

Somehow, her disappointment deepened. "And how hard is that going to be for you? To make a life away from home when you can't speak?"

Link had thought about that. A lot. His plan was to let the wind guide him, hitching rides between towns or working odd jobs until he had enough bus fare. Live in the woods, in a tent, in the middle of nowhere. A solitary life, never settling down. If his upbringing had taught him anything, it was that he could only rely on one person, himself. And luckily for him, that bastard didn't speak.

Though his feelings for Zelda complicated that plan, Link would get over them. Eventually.

He shrugged again.

The blinds snapped together, and Impa rounded the table to its head, pushing the mirror away, and crouched down to his eye level, leaning on her elbows. His chin tucked further into his chest, and his shoulders hunched inwards.

"Where are you going?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Sweat pooled in his palms as pressure constricted his forehead, still beating with his heart, and his mouth turned dry as cotton. Had the room gotten hotter?

"College? A trade school?"

He didn't have a response.

After another minute, a soft laugh escaped her. "You're really quite stubborn, aren't you?"

Sniffling, Link bit back a smile, eyes meeting hers beneath his lashes. She already knew the answer.

Impa's head tilted to her shoulder, bun flopping to the left, dissatisfaction melting into sympathy. "Everything's okay at home?"

He nodded.

"Your grandparents are still in good health?"

"Yeah," he signed.

"And the farm's doing alright?"

"Yeah."

"And let me guess, you don't want to talk about your fight with Groose?"

A slight laugh spilled out his nose as Link shook his head. Impa smiled a little, though a sadness tainted it, before her hand slapped the table with a gentle thunk and she sighed.

"Well, I think we both know that this is a dead end, but I'll let you make that decision. Should we meet over the next three months, or are we done here?"

Link didn't hesitate. "I'm done."

Impa agreed, nodding as she stood. Her hand snuck around the back of his chair and squeezed, as if it were around his shoulder, wrinkling the leather. "I want you to know that I've wanted nothing but your success, Link, and I'm sorry that I couldn't help you."

He didn't know what to say.

The office chair squeaked as Impa settled back in and scribbled a note into his file. She slid the folder towards him, facing it right-side up, and handed him the pen. "I just need you to sign and date the bottom."

As Link did as instructed, she fingered through her desk drawer.

"I'll still be here if you change your mind or if you need any information about graduation. I have connections with the job fair recruiters too, and I'd always put in a good word for you. I know how hard you work on that farm." The drawer closed with a click as she whirled back around. "All done?"

Link nodded, sending them back across the table. Next to the folder, Impa placed a tiny, rectangular card. It was white with her name, phone number, and email address printed in the middle. A vermilion Sheikah emblem colored the right corner.

"If you need anything, and I mean anything, please don't hesitate to reach out. Six months from now. A year or two. Whenever. I won't ever mind helping you, okay?"

That seriousness of hers laced her voice, and Link offered a thumbs-up, tucking the card into his backpack's front pocket. Impa filed away the folder before turning to her computer, the mechanical clack of her keyboard pervading the room. Fighting another cough, Link slung his backpack onto his shoulder and stood, taking his leave.

As the door unlatched, Impa piped up again. "Oh, also. Groose's suspension lifts tomorrow. I'd rather neither of you get another black eye, so if he's giving you trouble, come talk to me before you punch him again, yeah?"

Link grinned, looking over his shoulder. A small part of him was going to miss her and their little sessions.

A very small part.

"Thank you," he mouthed, closing the door behind him.

Impa smiled, just slightly, watching through the mirror as Link left. She sighed heavily again, shaking her head, and tossed it back into the filing cabinet.

oO0Oo

Zelda had made a decision.

A spreadsheet of tasks stared back from her laptop screen, a chronology of color-coded categories, spanning a two-week period. One week for weaning off her current sleep aid, and another for adjusting to her new medication. Using Link's tips, she would sleep as little as possible, keeping herself busy and caffeinated in between thirty-minute naps.

Part of her decision came from guilt. The last few months had been stressful on her father, and the idea of bothering him any more than she already had nearly made her nauseous.

Another part came from fear. Changing medications before had resulted in darker, more vivid nightmares, resurfacing memories she'd successfully buried. Keeping her mental health above water was hard enough with mild ones, and the thought of reliving those moments of being stuck—

Zelda shuddered, naming the document Operation: Stay Awake.

A timid knock resonated through her door. Quickly, she tabbed to a different document, desk chair whining as she turned and asked, "Yeah?"

Her father leaned against the jamb, a lopsided smile on his lips. His wet hair was slicked back, dripping onto his grey Lurelin U t-shirt, as a light sheen illuminated his face. Gemini was bundled in his arms, cuddling into his chest. "You heading to bed soon?"

Zelda yawned, arms stretching above her head. Some of it for real, some of it for show. "Yeah, I'm just finishing up an essay."

He nodded a little, floorboards creaking as he entered and relaxed on the foot of her bed. His fingers absently scratched Gemini's head while his eyes scanned the room, as if he'd never seen it before, looking everywhere but at her. They hovered on the shelf beside her desk, and Zelda's eyes followed.

A gold-trimmed white sash strung across it like a curtain swag. Faux sapphires accented a plastic, silver crown, desk light catching on the stones and projecting a tiny disco onto the ceiling. Beside it sat a framed photo of Zelda, smile extended from ear to ear, one hand cradling a bouquet of silent princesses while the other failed at hiding her excitement.

The moment she'd been crowned homecoming queen, the last time their lives had been normal.

Zelda winced, thumb burning at the nail. Blood beaded at its edge and lightly stained the fingers pulling at the skin. Both hands dove underneath her thighs, palm-side down, ashamed.

"So, tonight's the first night then?" her father asked, eyes drifting to her again.

"Well, Dr. Purah said to start as soon as possible so…" She shrugged.

"She did."

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure what else to say.

"I'll be fine," Zelda assured. "It's not like it's anything new."

Her father frowned. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"Yeah, well."

Only Gemini's purr dared to disrupt the silence. After a minute, her father whispered, "What can I do?"

"Nothing. You've done enough."

His head dropped, shaking, as he sighed. "I just… feel helpless."

Zelda almost laughed. "Me too."

Gemini meowed in dissent, plopping onto the comforter, as her father stood and approached the desk. Cautious fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as if afraid of hurting her, as his frown deepened. Pity consumed his eyes. Zelda hated it.

"It's just a week, Dad."

He disagreed, pulling her into a tight embrace, arms firm but still fearful. The cat hair on his shirt tickled her nose as she eased closer, one hand slithering from her thighs and wrapping around his back.

"I'm so sorry, Zellie."

Her heart tugged, and she nodded against him. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart." His lips planted against her hair again and again and again, voice breaking as he said, "I love you so much."

They stilled for an eternity, his hand slowly petting the back of her head. Just holding her, as if holding her long enough would fix everything. Then he whispered, "You know that you're never too old to sneak into my room because you had a bad dream, right?"

A tiny laugh left Zelda's nose. "Yeah, I know."

"And I'll leave my door open in case you need anything. Even if you just want to talk."

"Okay."

His voice dropped even lower. "And if you're having trouble falling asleep, there's some Pinot Grigio in the wine cellar."

"Oh my god," Zelda giggled, pushing him away by stabbing her finger into his chest. "You are not supposed to break the law. What would the people say if they knew?"

Ruffling her hair, he grinned. "That I'm probably a really cool dad."

"Not a chance."

He chuckled and pulled her back into a hug before his tone shifted to serious again. "I mean it, though. If you need anything."

"I know. Thank you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

With one last kiss and a sigh, her father released her. "Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

"I won't," Zelda promised as he padded down the hall.

She held her breath, listening for the faint squeak of his door, and then sighed, hands running down her face. Lying to him felt akin to eating glass. Her skills and guilty conscience were being tested, and after a few days with no nightmares, he'd absolutely grow suspicious.

Zelda would have to cross that bridge when she got to it.

She plopped onto her bed with a fowp, sinking face-first into the comforter. Gemini had curled up on her pillows, and her fingers traced down his back, purr vibrating her arm. Only her eyes lifted from the mattress.

"It's gonna be a long night for us both, huh?" she asked, voice muffled. He slowly blinked at her.

Blood still stained her fingers, and she sighed, rolling off the bed and sneaking to the bathroom. Her nail seared as she sprayed the antiseptic, hissing a breath, and coiled a white bandage from the tip to the upper knuckle. Exchanging her contacts for glasses, Zelda's eyes found themselves in the mirror, hollow and red-rimmed.

God, she needed coffee.

The house seemed quieter as she entered the kitchen and her spoon tinked off the sides of the mug, stirring in the cream and sugar. Her phone buzzed, and the island supported her lower back as she took a sip.

Paya had a question about their calculus homework, and Ilia had sent a sticker of a floating korok an hour ago. Hang in there! was scrawled across the bottom in a cursive font. Ilia said, 'Hey! Hope you're doing okay,' with a heart emoji, and Zelda responded with a thumbs-up and a variety of hearts. Midna's messages were still marred by the unread icon, and her thumb dithered above it.

Locking her phone, Zelda snuck back upstairs.

It only took an hour to finish her homework, answer Paya's question, and down half of her coffee. Then, thirty minutes to scroll through social media, silently laugh at a cat video, and refresh her feed until there was nothing new. Checking the time, she realized it wasn't even midnight yet.

She turned to Gemini. "You bored too?"

He mewed as Zelda crawled into bed beside him, scratching between his ears.

"Wanna know a secret?" she asked after a minute, not waiting for a response. "I don't want to do anything on that spreadsheet."

He rolled over, exposing his belly.

Zelda laid with him, fingers mindless, until her eyes drooped and she jerked awake twice. Coffee alone wasn't enough, and a gnawing feeling took hold of her stomach as she eyed the windows.

No, not yet. She wasn't brave enough for that.

Instead, she removed her glasses, slipping beneath the comforter, and set her first alarm, drifting off within minutes. Waking was far from easy, but a grin spread on her lips as she did.

No dreams.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Zelda yawned and opened the spreadsheet again. It seemed less daunting now. She chugged the rest of her coffee, a lukewarm sludge, and set herself to work, removing the books from her bookshelf and wiping them clean.

Yearbooks lined the bottom shelf, and a curiosity picked at her. Though she'd been on the yearbook committee since her freshman year, she never remembered seeing Link's picture. Zelda laid prone on the carpet, ankles crossed in the air, chin in her palm, and flipped through last year's book.

Her finger trailed down the list of names, skipping to the F's, until landing on Lincoln Farore. It made her giggle.

Did anyone call him that?

His picture was the last in the row, and a smile crept onto her face. Link's hair was less messy, cropped at the chin and left side tucked behind his ear. Face expressionless. Eyes hardened. He somehow still looked grumpy, and Zelda giggled even more. She preferred the quietly-enjoying-soup Link, the one who licked icing off his fingers and at least smiled a little.

It was odd that she hadn't noticed how much that anger had melted.

Zelda nabbed her phone, readying to take a picture, to poke fun at him, before remembering that that wasn't an option. Her night would've probably gone by a lot faster if it was. Sighing, her finger slid down his image.

Was Link still awake? Maybe reading an assignment for English or history, drinking that nasty 'fruit' juice, or chattering his teeth because of his open window. Was his cat also hogging his pillows? Or was he alone? Just as bored. Thinking about her too.

Ignoring that thought, Zelda reshelved the books and crawled back into bed. Those messages still haunted her notifications, and she huffed, phone flopping against the mattress.

"You're so lucky," she said to Gemini, fast asleep. "You don't have any problems."

His nose whistled a little, and Zelda set another alarm, watching the rise and fall of his belly.

No dreams.

The grogginess hung heavier on her eyes this time, and though a little voice tempted her into falling back asleep, she forced herself out of bed, sinking again into her desk chair. A link in her spreadsheet opened an introductory video on sign language. She practiced the alphabet and the phrases she already knew, adding a few more to her vocabulary.

Videos like this were scheduled every night, gradually increasing in difficulty, and Zelda couldn't wait to surprise Link with her progress. Though, only he had the privilege of teaching her swear words.

Another hour passed before her head started rocking and the words on the screen blurred, no longer making sense. She turned to her bed, Gemini long gone, and groaned, slithering back between the sheets, immediately passing out.

Daylight burned her eyes as open fields surrounded her, breeze pulling through her hair. In the far distance, a rotted, wooden fence wove between the dense treeline. Her stomach clenched. Where was she?

A quiet thump grew louder behind her, and her head whipped over her shoulder.

The farmhouse.

Link stood on the back porch, fuming eyes staring her down, panted breath bucking his shoulders. His grandfather's shotgun hung limp from his left hand.

"Link," Zelda pleaded. "It's me!"

Her words only fueled his anger, storming down the stairs after her. She went rigid as the barrel pointed squarely at her chest. His gaze hardened, pumping the gun and shoulder jerking higher.

"Wait, wait, wait—"

Zelda sprung awake, gasping. Her hand covered her heart, its rhythm slowing, as her breath steadied. Not her worst dream, but far from her best. The time on her phone read 5:23, and she sighed, disappointed. She'd slept for over two hours. A slip-up like that would be catastrophic in a few days, but she wouldn't let it happen again.

She couldn't.

Easing open her door, Zelda's head poked into the hallway. Her father's light was still off, and she could just make out the faint rumble of his snore.

Tip-toeing to the kitchen, she started a fresh pot of coffee. Sharp, demanding meows echoed through the room, and both cats circled their half-filled bowls, as if it'd been days since they'd eaten. The can of wet food crackled as Zelda peeled back the lid and gave them each a hearty spoonful. She leaned against the island with a yawn, watching them lap it up while the percolator gurgled.

Nothing new popped up on her social media feed, but that little unread envelope persisted. With a huff, she finally gave in. It was a heartfelt apology, acknowledging how out of line Midna had been and with a willingness to extend a hand to Link, offering a seat at their lunch table. Though her two worlds weren't ready to collide, Zelda gave her thanks, apologizing too—for what, she didn't know—and finished making her coffee.

Cold air was by far Link's worst tip, but with her mug in her hand, she strode across the house, opening the sliding door to the back deck. Immediately, she understood. Her skin prickled, reinvigorating her mind, erasing the brain fog, and her eyes perked up. Warmth seeped from the ceramic between her fingers, and her grip tightened, elbows settling on the banister.

A whistling call-and-response duet interrupted the faint whine of a neighbor's screen door, an idling car engine, and soft morning chatter. Beyond the fence and sparse trees, the sky began fading to a light purple. Zelda stared ahead, drinking her coffee, until her father's light flickered on above her, and she grinned, taking another sip.

She wasn't even that tired.

oO0Oo

Getting out of bed had never been so hard for Link. Despite his sleeping habits and a diet consisting of cigarettes and energy drinks, he was quite healthy. A bit too skinny, but still healthy. He maxed out at two colds a year, if that, and typically, they were mild. Stuffy nose. A light cough.

Never had he been this sick.

Chills raked up his spine as his feet dragged across the linoleum. His head hadn't stopped pounding since he'd left Impa's office yesterday, throat still burning and congestion saturating his lungs, emitting a wheezy cough in place of breath.

Staying home meant being put to work, but at school, he could at least slack off, see Zelda. A part of him was curious to how she'd respond. Likely furious at first, pouty lips scolding him for being careless, before melting into sympathy.

It felt wrong to want that, to have Zelda care about him, even though she already did.

Link sniffled again, hugging himself for warmth, as he rounded the corner of the locker section. Heavy eyes lifted from the floor, half-expecting that mocking glare, and spied a red pompadour instead. Groose leaned into Link's locker, one foot planted against the metal, arms loosely folded over his chest. His eyes scanned from right to left, landing on Link, and a wide grin captured his lips.

Fuck.

Too late to turn back.

Suppressing a cough, Link dropped his arms to his sides and straightened his posture, feigning invulnerability, as he approached. His eyes hardened against Groose's, face deadpan and head held higher, while his hands balled into fists. Though in no position to fight, he was better off taking the brunt of Groose's anger, not Zelda.

"Mornin', sweetheart," Groose called out. "Did you miss me?"

Link slowed to a halt two feet away, staring up at the redhead, and sniffled, apathetic.

Groose snorted. "You look like shit."

The air around them thickened as more students filed into the hall. Voices quieted. Eyes glanced over shoulders. It seemed no one had forgotten about their last fight.

Groose blurred as he reached out, attempting to muss up Link's hair, just grazing the wheat-colored bangs. Link shied back, remaining indifferent.

Somehow, Groose enjoyed that even more.

"What," he said, arm worming back underneath the other, "I'm not going to hurt you."

His golden eyes pointed to the right, chin jutting slightly forward, and Link's strayed down the hall. Mido, a scrawny redhead with freckles, and Cawlin, black-haired and baby-faced, idled near the water fountains, staring at them. It was a silent threat, warning Link that if he made the first move he'd be outnumbered.

He almost smiled. Was Groose that afraid of him? Of someone at least a whole head shorter and a hundred pounds lighter?

"I don't want a round two," the redhead continued. His fingers threaded through his pompadour, casual, hamming it up for their small audience. "I just think you owe me a thank you."

Link narrowed his eyes.

"I hear that you and her—" flicking his head towards Zelda's locker "—are getting close. Making out in her car. Skipping class together."

Link's fist tightened, a knuckle cracking.

"All because you showed her just how big and tough you are," he mocked, barking out a laugh. Then he sighed, eyes burning and voice deepening into an authoritative tone. "Really though. Thank me."

Silence hung thick as honey as the entire locker section stood motionless. Blue eyes locked onto gold, unwavering. Instinct kept hold of Link's hands, and a heat coursed through his chest. His first punch would be just as satisfying as his last, but he wasn't stupid enough to take the bait; it was only Groose's first day back.

Link sucked up the snot in his nose, nonplussed.

Groose frowned before scoffing. "Right. The silent treatment. Who would have guessed?"

A rugged hand clamped around Link's shoulder, and chills twinged down his arm and through his back. He flinched, biting back a grimace, as his hands popped open reflexively. A dangerous look flashed through his eyes though he didn't move.

Hot breath warmed his ear as Groose leaned closer, whispering, "You know that she can do better than you."

Link's heart constricted.

"So, leave her alone, fairy boy, or this is just the beginning."

Groose shoved his shoulder, and Link staggered back. His elbow jabbed into Link's upper arm as he strode past, smirking, and headed towards his friends. Link finally coughed, turning with everyone else to watch the redhead go, and then sighed, relieved.

A soft touch brushed his inner arm, and he jumped. Zelda stood half-behind him, eyebrows drawn together, gently leaning into his shoulder. Her hand had slipped between his side, holding onto his forearm.

"What did he say to you?" she whispered, focusing down the hall.

The nuttiness of coffee wafted from her breath. Her face was perky despite the dazed look in her eyes, makeup giving her an unusual brightness. Loose curls blanketed her knitted cardigan, and a floral skirt hugged her from the waist to the knee. An absolute beauty.

Link's heart squeezed again as his head shook, pulling away from her and opening his locker.

"Hey," she said, a tinge of hurt in her voice. "What's wrong?"

His head stayed down as he shrugged off his backpack, ripping open the zippers and unpacking his textbooks. Zelda sighed, propping herself against the metal and staring at him, a little hesitant as she tried again, "You okay?"

He hated to admit it, but Groose was right. Zelda was everything—intelligent, funny, beautiful—and Link? He'd worn this flannel three days ago, and there was mud caked into the knees of his pants. He couldn't hold a conversation, reeked of cigarettes, and looked like hell even on the best of days.

Someone as wonderful as her had no business stooping to his level.

Her hand eased onto his shoulder, and its warmth bled through to his skin. Link swallowed, hard, as her thumb traced over the bone in a straight, soothing line.

He didn't deserve this.

"Link."

Gently, Zelda nudged his shoulder until he faced her. Her palm, soft and icy, slid underneath his bangs and tilted his head back, forcing their eyes to meet. Concern pushed up her inner brow as an affectionate gaze softened her features.

Link wanted her to kiss him.

Link wanted her to never look at him like that again.

Both hands cupped his jaw, feeling his cheeks and neck. He shivered, and she tsked. "God, you're burning up."

Zelda pulled a small bottle of pain relievers from her backpack before offering her water bottle. He swallowed two without disagreement.

"You really shouldn't be here," she chided, rifling through another pocket. Menthol seared his nose as she grabbed his wrist, twisting it and forcing a mountain of cough drops into his palm. "I have a pack of tissues too. Do you want some?"

He subdued another cough, shaking his head, as he shoved all but one into his pocket. The cherry lozenge hardly covered the sour taste of her doting on him. He really, really didn't deserve this.

Link wasn't just sick. Whatever Groose had said had struck a chord, and Zelda knew that feeling all too well. She opened her locker with a tiny laugh, a head shake, and a hope that she could make him forget about it.

"How did this even happen?" she asked, amused. "I fed you soup and an orange two days in a row. That's, like, better than medicine."

He just shrugged, eyes downcast, and she sighed, lowering her voice and switching tactics.

"Do you want to go somewhere? We still have time to skip. I could take you home, or we could find a quiet place. Like a park or something." A pained look contorted his face. "Or, if you want, I can give you my keys, and you can go take a nap in my backseat."

Quickly, Link grabbed his notebook. "You do too much for me."

Did she? Driving him home. Splitting her lunches. Throwing an impromptu birthday party. None of it had felt like a burden. She liked hanging out Link, liked the person that she was around him, and if their scales were unbalanced, it was absolutely tipped in her favor. Was he just oblivious to how much he did for her as well?

"I don't do anything I don't want to," Zelda said as an uneasiness welled in her stomach. "Why? Do you want me to stop?"

Link's eyes went wide, and he signed without thinking, "No."

"Good."

They exchanged a curious look, neither sure what that meant, before averting their eyes completely. He closed his locker, laying his temple against the cold metal, and shivered again. She glanced at the hall clock, biting her lip.

"Is that what he said? That we aren't friends?" Zelda asked, then when met with silence, "And you know that's not true, right?"

Link said nothing.

"You wanna know something funny? I was up late last night, thinking about ways we could hang out more, and the other day, you said it was okay if I came over, and so I had this crazy idea. I was going to ask you about it this morning, but…"

His brow furrowed, interest piqued.

"No, it's ridiculous. Like, I actually don't think it's still a good idea. And besides, you're sick. You need to rest."

He inched closer, head cocking more into the metal, indicating that he was listening.

She huffed. "Okay, fine. I-I know you're busy with farm work, and I wouldn't want to get you in trouble again. So, if we were to hang out, it would have to be late, right? And since I was up, I thought maybe you were too. And… if you're up doing homework, and I'm up doing homework, I thought… Why don't we just do it together? Like, a nighttime study group, or something."

Link's heart stopped.

It was a horrible idea. His grandparents could catch her sneaking in; he could fall asleep and have a nightmare; or worse, she could finally come to her senses, realize how weird he was. And still, Groose's words echoed in his mind.

But Zelda, wanting to spend time with him. Zelda in his bedroom, on his bed. Zelda with homework sprawled in front of her, being her total nerdy self.

Half of him felt guilty. Half of him felt giddy.

She continued, sorting through her locker, "But that's so dumb, isn't it? My dad would freak out if he knew, and your granddad would probably actually shoot me this time. So just forget abou—"

It had to be a fever-induced delirium, pushing all consequences from Link's mind, as he flipped to a blank page and drew a crude map of the four-way intersection. The farmhouse sat in the upper left quadrant, and below it, a small divot jutted from the road. He added a gate, then an arrow leading to it from their drop-off spot. "Park here. I'll leave my light on."

"Wait, seriously?" Excitement leaked into Zelda's voice. "You think it's a good idea?"

He nodded, ripping out the page.

"You're sure?"

Not at all.

He handed it to her, nodding again. What was he trying to prove?

"Okay... Okay," Zelda whispered, quietly accepting that her stupid plan was in motion. Steadying her breath, she folded the map down the middle, tucking it into her backpack. "Tonight?"

Agreeing, he shrugged a little.

"When?"

"Late."

"10:30?"

Link gave a thumbs-up as her locker clicked closed. The hallways had thinned out, and her eyes jumped back to the clock; the bell would ring any second.

"Should I bring you soup?" she asked, then smirked, a little cheeky. "Or is that doing too much?"

The corners of his lips just pulled into his cheeks as he shrugged, sniffling.

"Fine. I'll surprise you then," Zelda said, slowly starting backwards down the hall, feet hesitant.

You always do.

She eyed the clock once more and asked, almost unsure, "So, I'll see you later?"

It was his last chance to change his mind, to fully weigh the repercussions, and instead he nodded, waving goodbye with just his fingers.

"Okay. Feel better!"

Her shoe squeaked as she turned heel. His heavy eyes watched her curls bounce, bobbing in step with her brisk pace, before disappearing around the corner. Link heaved himself off his locker, and the bell's wailing reignited his headache. Reality finally cut through his sickly stupor, setting back in, as he headed in the opposite direction.

What on earth had he just agreed to?

Only took about ten chapters to get to the premise of this fic, huh? dhfgsf

I really don't like this chapter, but the next three... Oh, I'm so excited. Also, writing sick scenes in the middle of a pandemic has made me so squeamish. Every time Link coughs, I just want to hose him down with Lysol. So, apologies if anyone else feels that way too.

ALSO! Did everyone see the beautiful art on tumblr? (maberuthemelonhater /post/628462746452754432/) It's of the birthday party from chapter seven, and I still get weepy every time I look at it. Her art is so pretty and soft. Please go follow her!