As soon as Zant did the dishes, Link wandered back into the living room, settling himself onto the couch while the older boy climbed the stairs to his own room. Having nothing to do, the blond stretched out over the plush surface and flipped open his journal to a fresh page, marking the date and beginning a fresh entry, writing about Zelda, Zant, Gaepora... and, admittedly, Ghirahim.

That was where he was when footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he jerked his head up to watch Ghirahim appear, give a smirk, and head into the kitchen. Link did not relax, instead he waited and counted the minutes as they went by. Within the hour, the most divine smell that his nose had ever been blessed with drifted into the living room from the kitchen, and Ghirahim cheerfully announced that lunch was ready. Zelda practically flew downstairs, her feet barely touching the wooden planks, and disappeared into the kitchen, her face lit with excitement. Zant soon followed, though he was less rushed, and he waited at the entrance to the kitchen for Link. The boy let out a sigh and got to his feet, shuffling over to his foster brother and following him as they fetched food.

It turned out that Ghirahim had made a four cheese macaroni; cheddar, mozzarella, Parmesan, and a touch of Velveeta. Link sat next to Zant at the table as they ate.

It was absolutely orgasmic, and Link hated every bite of it.

As the kitchen cleared out, Link brought his dish to the sink, where Ghirahim was washing them, and the older boy's chuck had him bristling. He deliberately let the plate slip out of his hand and splash into the water, spraying soap on to Ghirahim's shirt. Without another glance, he marched back into the living room and settled himself back on the couch.

What was going through his head? Did Ghirahim think that he could make Link talk by giving him food? It wouldn't work. He huffed and openex his journal to where he left off, the entry abruptly cut off by Ghirahim's appearance. His pen hovered over the unfinished sentence, but he couldn't bring himself to focus enough to continue writing.

How far would Ghirahim go with his fake kindness? How long would he keep trying before he inevitably gave up? Link frowned, the questions running laps in his mind, not noticing as the time flew by.

The door opened around 6:00 pm, and Gaepora walked in with a Sobey's pre-cooked chicken in his hands. Zelda had joined him downstairs, and she groaned when she noticed the food, but ultimately didn't say anything. Link didn't make a noise, but felt his own wave of disappointment, as the pre-cooked chicken meant that Ghirahim wouldn't be making supper. He tried to tell himself that he really didn't care, but it was impossible. A secret collective groan is shared between Zelda, Link and Zant when Ghirahim settles in for the night.

The next day, after Link started to feel comfortable enough to sleep in his own room with the door locked, Link wakes up to the sound of a plate clinking against his door. Confused and slightly suspicious, he gets up and inches the door open slightly, to be greeted by one of the most amazing smells that's ever entered his nostrils.

There, waiting for him on the floor, was a nutella, strawberry, and banana crepe dusted with icing sugar. His mouth waters at the sight alone. Hepeered out into the hallway, trying to grab a glimpse of Ghirahim, but the other boy was nowhere in sight. Still, Link knew that it had to be him.

Not one to waste such a delicious looking meal, Link picked it up and brought it back into his room, taking a bite and letting out a sigh of pleasure. How long was Ghirahim going to act as his personal cook? Had he been serious when he claimed that he was going to get Link to talk? How did he feel about this?

After ten minutes, an empty plate was put back into the hallway.

For the rest of the week, Link tests Ghirahim to the limit: turning to give him a pointed look when Gaepora asks him to do a chore, bringing dirty plates and laundry to him to clean, getting him to hold a stack of books or a heavy object so that Link can rearrange his room.. but despite everything that he tries, he can't get Ghirahim to break his ridiculous nice act. It was beginning to drain on Link and wear him down when, thankfully, Gaepora had a Friday off and suggested that they have a day out.

Zant declined the offer, saying that he needed some space for awhile to recharge. Link understood: for a few days, the older boy had gently nudged his physical affection advances away, explaining that he was feeling drained and needed to breath. Link had smiled and given him a thumbs up, making sure to listen to him and give him the needed space. Ghirahim had also rejected, claiming that he didn't have the patience or interest to be stuck with the three of them for the entire day. Unfazed, Zelda, Link and Gaepora headed off, with Link relieved to have some respite away from Ghirahim's falsities and a chance to get some air and leave the house.

On the way to the mall, Zelda chattered to her father in the front seat about school, who nodded along and spoke up when appropriate, a soft smile on his face. Link lounged in the backseat, happily listening to the radio that was a quiet background track to Zelda's voice and watching the scenery flash by.

The entire day turned out to be exactly what Link needed to get rid of the restless feeling that had rooted itself inside, refilling his own energy tank. Zelda definitely enjoyed herself, quickly filling a shopping cart with as much clothing that was allowed, while Link managed to find another large, warm sweater that he loved. As they went from shop to shop, Link's single bag clutched in his hand, as well as some of his foster sisters bags, Gaepora suggested that Link get a new journal to replace his current one, which was beginning to fall apart, but he had been quick to disagree. His father had given him the journal the Christmas before he passed, and it was something that Link held dear to his heart. The large man hadn't insisted, even though he couldn't possibly understand why Link would cling to the ratty old leather notebook, but had nudged him towards the writing utensils and firmly encouraged him to get a new fountain pen instead. Link had agreed, pouring over different colors and styles while Zelda took her sweet time in the clothing isle.

Eventually, he settled on a simple, elegant black fountain pen that was meant to have a weight and run smoothly. Zelda made some final decisions, Gaepora paid for everything, and then they headed for Dairy Queen to have some lunch and ice cream. As Link nibbled on his chicken snack wrap, smiling, he reflected that he hadn't felt so relaxed and at peace with the world in awhile. and his heart thumped happily as his eyes flickered over the two family members seated across from him.

When evening began to throw a dark shade over the sky, the trio finally headed home. Link was barely awake when they arrived, almost falling up the stairs as he made his way to his room. Small hands pushed the door open, and he placed his two bags down onto his desk, hearing Gaepora and Zelda still shuffling around downstairs. He had no idea how the older girl could still have so much energy after practically running around all day. He felt like he could sleep for a week! Intending to do exactly that, he turned towards his bed, only to pause in confusion.

Sitting proudly on his pillow, tied with a bright red ribbon, was a thin little book begging for his attention.

Link wandered closer and reached out, gently plucking the intended gift into his eager hands and untying the ribbons so that he could get a better look at the title. The lettering jutted out slightly, and Link fingered it with light touches.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Everything clicked, and Link realized that there was only one person who could have gotten this book for him. A scowl grew on his face as Ghirahim's stupid smirk flashed in his mind, but he hugged the book to his chest nonetheless, unable to deny how pleased he was that Ghirahim had gotten him this. He was fuming as he flipped through it and grudgingly placed the generous gift onto his nightstand, telling himself that he probably wouldn't even like the novel anyway.

He climbed into bed and laid down, staring at his nightstand with eyes that wouldn't fall shut, despite how tired he had felt just ten minutes ago. Sleep evaded him while he struggled to ignore the conflicting feelings that battled in circles around his heart.

Within two days, Link had finished reading, and re-reading, his new book three times, and was entirely dismayed to find that it might just be his new favorite. When Ghirahim caught him, sprawled out on the couch, reading his favorite part for the seventh time, he had to stifle his snickering, and Link had fumbled to hide it from view, his face red and his mind full with a million denials.

On Tuesday, after Gaepora had to work for the rest of the long weekend, Zelda surprised Link with a hug in the afternoon when she got back from school. She dissolved into giggles when her interlocked hands pushed gently against his stomach. "Wow Link! I can barely feel your ribs now: you must have gained some weight from all of Ghirahim's cooking! I'm so proud of you!"

Fate must have had a thing for torturing Link, because it was as Zelda was talking that the bathroom door opened, and all Link could do was press a hand over Zelda's laughing face in an attempt to muffle and shush her while Ghirahim walked past them, that stupid smirk in place. It was useless, because the older boy had clearly heard her comment, and loud snickering sounded from the stairs as he disappeared into his own room. Link wanted to run after him and yell that just because he ate the food that was put in front of him didn't mean that he actually liked it or enjoyed it at all or that the offerings were even welcome, but he was so embarrassed and frustrated with himself that he could only stand there and gently shove Zelda as his face slowly began to cool down.

He told himself that he was just playing along with Ghirahim's stupid little game, that he didn't actually enjoy one second of Ghirahim's attention.

Later that night, Link found himself nervously clutching his copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower in his hands as he crept down the stairs and peered into the living room. His eyes brightened when he noticed Zant sitting on the couch, staring out the window and listening to the rain pounding gently against the glass. Brushing his hair out of his face, he quietly walked up to the relaxed boy, chewing on his lip and gathering his courage with each patter of his socked feet on the wooden floors. When he's standing in front of him, Link climbed onto the couch and tapped softly on Zant's leg to garner his attention. Curious brown eyes rested on him, and Link gave a small smile, placing the book onto his lap and patting it with a hopeful look.

Zant blinked as he processed the request before he smiled softly and picked up the book, flipping it open and beginning to read to him. He goes slow, but the knows how to pronounce all of the words, and Link felt great at hearing it aloud against the wind and rain. No resistance meets his head as he lays it down in Zant's lap, and his face is filled with content as his eyes slide shut against the warmth around him, allowing the words to come to life and dance around his head. Papa used to read to him like this and it still managed to effectively soothe Link and strike a happy chord inside of his heart.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs causes Link to twitch, but he doesn't move or even open his eyes to look up, too relaxed to even bother.

Which means that he doesn't see how Ghirahim freeze at the bottom of the stairs, or how he grits his teeth in annoyance at the sight of Link draped across Zant's lap, or the way that his expression slowly shifts as he smugly began to recognize what exactly was being read. And when Zant gets to a part that's well known, Link suddenly hears two voices reading to him instead of one, and it shocks him enough for his eyes to fly open.

When he catches sight of Ghirahim, his face too close as he lounges over the top of the couch while he reads over Zant's shoulder, Link's face explodes into a million shades of red. He stares up at the other man, embarrassed and fuming to have been caught so obviously enjoying the book that was a gift by his hands. In retaliation, Link nestles further into Zant's lap with a challenging look shot in Ghirahim's direction, trying to communicate to the boy to bug off and leave him alone. He knows for a fact that Ghirahim absolutely can't stand seeing Link hanging out with Zant, and that it grates on his nerves, so he tries to use that to his advantage to coax him into breaking his nice act.

Ghirahim shoots him a look, but his voice doesn't falter as he continues to read.

Eventually, Zant's voice gets tired, and he wordlessly hands the book to Ghirahim, who grows ridiculously more smug with just that one action. Zant stays in his spot for Link's sake, comfortable and listening as well, but by the time that Ghirahim is done, having read the whole book and wrecked his voice, Zant is snoring softly. Link is still making direct, unwavering eye contact as Ghirahim shuts the book, rests it on the small boy's chest, and bids him good night with the most twisted (yet rasoy) laughter that Link has ever heard. Link stares after him, quietly continuing to fume and ignoring that little part of his brain that was trying to comment on how nice Ghirahim's reading voice was and that it would be nice to have him do this again.

No. Absolutely not. Link had completely hated that Ghirahim had stepped in and taken over, and he definitely did not enjoy a single second of that. He hugs the book, hating Ghirahim and his stupid voice and stupid everything.

The next day, after he comes in from taking out the garbage, Link finds another book laying on his bed, a big red bow planted cheerfully on top. Link rolled his eyes and snatched it up. Shakespeares Hamlet...

That motherfucker knew.

When Zelda's birthday comes, Link is sick out of his mind and he feels absolutely terrible about it while he watches his family getting ready to go out and celebrate it. Gaepora is quick to reassure him, however, saying that "Ghirahim has already given Zelda his gift as well, so he'll be staying behind with you. I'll just say, I'm so happy tha tyou've been getting along so well. You've made this old man very proud."

Whenever Link gets sick, his emotions become a pitiful mess, and this time is no different. He feels a wave of conflicting feelings crash into him all at once. Most prominent is the guilt for missing Zelda's birthday, immediately followed by dismay at the implication that him and Ghirahim were willingly getting along. Gaepora wasn't aware of their little conflict, however, and Link wasn't about to tell him and change that fact. Everything battles, however, with the long-forgotten warmth that accompanied the pride of a parent bestowed onto a child, and for that, he simply smiles and nods, accepting the little comfort that the older man was trying to give him.

He's still completely devastated when he sees them off, though, feeling like death and throbbing with a painful disappointment as he trudged back upstairs to his room. He dragged his tired body to his bed, where he collapsed with a very loud, very tortured groan. On his nightstand, the two books that Ghirahim had given him sat, and and he stared at them dejectedly. At least he would have something to read while he laid there like a useless lump and missed his sister's birthday.

Link doesn't get more than a second of peace before there's a goddamn knock on the door and Ghirahim just waltzes right in.

The audacity.

But rather than gloating, as Link assumed that he would, he's holding a tray of hot, homemade soup, and suddenly it doesn't matter whether Ghirahim is friend or foe. Link is fighting against tears, overwhelmed by the feelings that were beginning to consume him, and while he doesn't want Ghirahim to see him crying, he can't exactly tell him to get out... he needs that soup.

"Seems like quite a cold, hm? Don't worry, I'm sure Zelda will have many more birthdays to share with you."

His voice was doing that weird sing-song he gives off when he's not saying all that he wants to, for fear of breaking his kindness pact. Link has heard it enough now to recognize it. The look that he gives Ghirahim is nether a glare of hatred nor a wide-eyed glance of fear. It's just sick, tired, and full of longing.

Ghirahim sets the tray down in front of him, and Link can only notice the little things, like how he even thought to bring napkins and an extra spoon in case he drops his... and Link is struck with the crushing realization that he's never been pampered like this before. Hell, it's gotten to the point where Ghirahim has taken on most, if not all, of Link's chores without being asked. Before he can stop himself, he feels a tear roll down his face. Ghirahim was turning to leave, but there was a lump in Link's chest that was begging him not to go.

...and that terrified him, because this wasn't even real. Ghirahim was playing nice to get what he wanted, after making it perfectly clear that he was never going to like him. It was all fake, but the twisting in his stomach was real, and it fluttered with panic hard enough to hurt. Another tear skidded down his face, and suddenly Link's hand flashed out and grabbed Ghrahim's arm to prevent him from leaving. As Ghirahim turned towards him and began to stare him down, he froze. His eyes, a deep chocolate, were filled with a vast array of feelings in response to what he was seeing. Confusion. Frustration. Disgust. Then the veil of niceties fell over it all, and Ghirahim came back with an open expression but a mouth full of lies.

...It hurt. It made Link feel sick to his stomach in a way that was completely unrelated to his ailment, and he turned away, shatter the eye contact as he moved to carefully push the tray away from himself and onto the floor. The soup wasn't nearly as enticing anymore.

Maybe he had wanted to believe that Ghirahim had began to like him as well, but that foolish thought had been immediately slaughtered during the second-long crack in his expression. Link felt absolutely humiliated and utterly stupid for letting himself get so emotionally convinced of this ploy. Was it because he was sick that he let his defenses fall? Did it even matter, if he could't manage to throw them up again? Ghirahim was probably going to have a good old laugh over all of this tonight.

Ghirahim... Link hates that he had fell into his stupid game when he knew perfectly well what the other boy was trying to do. He hadn't expected his heart to turn on him, however.. yet he coulnd't even explain it properly. Ghirahim stirred up feelings inside of him that he'd rather not exist: he seemed to read the smaller boy like it wasn't even a challenge, planting a type of happiness that was only compared to how his parents had made him feel, and yet... it was different, and that was the worst part of all of this. Link didn't understand how or why Ghirahim had managed to get through years and years of brick walls and into the core of his soul in such a short span of time, and just trying to figure it out left Link drained. He was embarrassed, he was defeated, and he was sick and tired of being Ghirahim's toy. He wanted the other boy to leave him alone, to stop watching him, to not witness his defenses cracking and falling to pieces in plain sight, how he trembled against them and his emotions threatened to break into a hurricane.

But Ghirahim didn't leave, despite the thick tension in the air demanding otherwise. He seemed to consider him for a moment before sitting down at the edge of the bed, exactly where he sat when he'd gone through Link's room. Link shifts, but Ghirahim doesn't move. He just sits there, as Link bursts into tears, and waits, watching.

The tears quickly grew into sobs, and Link turned away so that he could muffle them into his pillow, where he didn't have to see Ghirahim, where he could pretend that the other boy wasn't even there. His body heaved with the pain that throbbed inside of him, and he felt frustration bubble up. This was just another thing for the boy to gloat about. Why was his cooking just as good as mama's? Why did his voice, reading words off of a paper, instill the same calming air as his papa's had? Why did he make him feel loved while hating his guts?

In moments like these, it didn't matter how nice his current family was. How kind Zelda was to him, how comforting Gaepora was as a father figure, how happy he was with Zant as a brother. It didn't matter because no matter how hard he tried, he always came back to his own parents, and the hopeless feeling that nobody could ever even begin to replace them.

Link felt Ghirahim's hand settle on his back, and he was very conflicted. On the one hand, this wasn't real. This wasn't real and Ghirahim didn't actually like him, just like many people who just acted like they liked him. On the other hand, he was so warm... his touch so gentle. His fingers traced Link's spine, and he forgot how to breathe. He was almost willing to forget his inner turmoil in favour of letting him do this... it felt so soothing. His mind went back and forth between pressing closer or shying away. In the end, the boy ended up doing neither, instead opting to crying his soul out into his pillow and not moving even a little bit. Yes it felt nice, but it wasn't real. He couldn't pretend that this wasn't all just some giant self-indulging ploy to from Ghirahim to get him to speak again, no matter what it took.

But then the mood somewhat shifted. Ghirahim's hand slipped under his shirt, so that he held his palm flat against Link's back... and he stopped. Link was sure that he could feel his sobs shaking him. could feel the tension in him as he contemplated what this could possibly mean. And yet... something had changed in Ghirahim's mindset, he could feel it. He wasn't exactly certain what it was, couldn't quite read the air that hung over the two of them, and yet it managed to break Link's resistance, crumbling it into dust. A wave of fatigue fell over him like a blanket of snow and he relaxed into Ghirahim's touch, his sobs growing in strength.

After a moment of hesitation, Ghirahim's hand traveled further. His fingers touched every vertebrae. He finds small moles from when Link got more sun. He finds the scar from when Link backed into a coat rack. At first, he's rubbing, but it gradually just shifts into exploring. He finds the pale blond hairs at the nape of his neck, that tickle so much that Link has to hide his face deeper into the pillow. When Link finally stops sobbing, he realizes that Ghirahim is barely breathing, his hand having come to a stop somewhere around Link's lower back. Link didn't want to move, out of fear of causing Ghirahim to pull away. The older boy's gentle touch had actually managed to soothe him and calm him down again. Eventually, curiosity got the best of him, and with a sniffle, he slowly turned his head away from the pillow, enough so that half of his face was exposed and he was able to breath again. But as soon as Link turned, Ghirahim stiffened, his hand leaving Link's skin. When he turned further, needing to see Ghriahim's face, to see if that same expression of dislike was there... he found him blushing.

His eye had healed, as well as most of his other wounds, a while ago. He seemed more healthy too, having gained a bit more weight, and the bags under his eyes were less pronounced. So when Link looks at him, it's truly him. And Ghirahim is blushing, unable to meet Link's eyes. Before Link can reach out, Ghiraihm is up and out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The loud bang causes Link to flinch, and it's all that he can do to sit there and stare after him, trying to process everything. He swallowed hard and rubbed at his itchy eyes, fighting off a headache. That was certainly... unexpected. He had no idea what to think of that.

After a moment, he shifted, adjusting his pillow so that it was propped up against the wall, where he leaned on it, feeling tired. stuffed up, and overall gross. His head lulled to the side, just far enough so that he could eye his copy of Hamlet on the bedside table. It just made him think of Ghirahim and everything that he's done for him. A spark of memory draws his gaze down and away from the book. Ghirahim had left the soup, and it sat on the floor untouched. He debated over it for a total of a few seconds before bringing it up onto his lap again. He raised a hesitant spoonful and sipped. It was still warm, and sooooo good, and while he eats, the warmth fills his stomach, and he feels a gaping hole open in his heart...

He wanted Ghirahim to come back.

Link's eyed the door expectantly for the next little while, but his little bubble of hope was broken when it didn't open again, and Link finished his soup in solitude. Strange how he had wanted this very thing less than an hour ago, but now he longed for nothing more than Ghirahim's annoying presence.

Placing the, now empty, bowl back on the floor, Link twisted the blankets tightly around himself and curled up. Physically, the soup had definitely helped. His sinus's felt a little less stuffed, and it was good to have some sort of nourishment inside his sick body, but emotionally, he was even more messed up than he had been.

He thought about Ghirahim, and the possibility of him now going back to being cold and ignoring him most of the time. Or worse, looking at him with hatred and using Link as his punching bag.

Link's stomach clenched painfully.

In an attempt to distract himself, Link reached out and pulled Hamlet off of his night stand and fiddled with the cover for a moment. Then, almost as if he were being compelled to, Link flipped through the pages until he paused on the end of Act II Scene II... and he started to read:

Now I am alone.

Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,

Could force his soul so to his own conceit

That from her working all his visage wanned,

Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,

A broken voice, and his whole function suiting

With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing—

For Hecuba!

What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba

That he should weep for her? What would he do

Had he the motive and the cue for passion

That I have? He would drown the stage with tears

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,

Make mad the guilty and appall the free,

Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed

The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak

Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,

And can say nothing—no, not for a king,

Upon whose property and most dear life

A damned defeat was made.

...

Oh great. Link stared at the text, a frown settled on his face. Very funny, universe, attacking him like that.

A few hours passed alone before he saw anything of Ghirahim again. By then, it had started snowing heavily outside, a rare, early November winter storm, and Link had been looking over Hamlet, trying to decipher what the lyrics to Ophelia's songs meant.

He heard the door click open, and Ghirahim looked in with another tray of food. He didn't speak a word, almost dismissive of Link's presence as he set down the meal, and collected the dishes from the last one. He was about to walk out, clearly avoiding him, when Link reached out for him, causing him to pause. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the boy.

"What?"

Link flinched, jerking his hand back and hiding it under the blankets. Hurt pooled in his stomach, and he tried not to look wounded at the curt answer that Ghirahim had given him. He looked away, unable to push down the disappointment that made itself present. He supposed that he had been correct in his assumption that Ghirahim was just going to return to his previous treatment towards him now, thanks to whatever had changed between them in that weird moment hours before.

He opted to stare down at his books while he waited for Ghirahim to do something, nervously thumbing the pages. He truly wanted to ask for Ghirahim's company, simply fed up with sitting in bed, alone and sick, but he didn't think that he should even attempt to ask for that anymore.

Ghirahim considered him for just a moment, and then left the room, carrying the dishes. Link deflated. Immediately, tears pooled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

But then the door opened once again, and Ghirahim came in without the dishes. His eyes glued to the book rather than to Link, he promptly snatched it out of Link's hands, eyes skimming over the page he had been reading.

"Well, I'm glad you've finally gotten your hands on some good literature. You're welcome. Macbeth is good for nothing but female empowerment and riddles, and To Kill a Mockingbird is dreadfully boring..."

Link looked up at him, expression drifting into one of surprise. Ghirahim had come back, taken his book from him, and was now sitting down on his bed. A cautious hope lifted his face, and he slowly began to brighten up when he realized that Ghirahim was planning on staying and keeping him company.

Ghirahim's eyes flickered to Link, who stared owlishly up at him. then, he reread the passage that Link had been struggling with. "Ophelia's singing about a man taking her virginity without marriage, idiot. Her and Hamlet were obviously fucking. I wish her father would have suffered more, Hamlet killing him was a mercy. Good grief." He flipped back through to Act I, and began to read Polonius' part with a mocking tone, and Link had to stifle a giggle. He shifted, moving his pillow so that he could be more comfortable, and he relaxed against the wall, facing the older boy while he listened.

He liked this. This was nice.

"Have you read the part where Hamlet calls him a fish monger? He talks the dunce in circles, it's hilarious." Ghirahim starts reading Hamlet's parts as well, and continues into the next scene without missing a beat. God, he has a beautiful voice... not that it was something that Link would ever admit to him in person, but he made Shakespeare come to life. His asides and soliloquies as Hamlet were Link's favourite, because Ghirahim would pour so much emotion and his own dramatics into the mold of the prince. They were quite a lot alike...

Link slowly relaxed, his eyes beginning to droop as he listened to Ghirahim read. Despite knowing for a fact that this was an act, it almost seemed real, and Link let himself play along, falling into that belief for just a little while. It was enough to have Link starting to nod off, and he struggled to stay awake, wanting to savour this moment, sure that it wouldn't happen again anytime soon, but he soon tumbled into the soft arms of sleep, and his body fell limp, half slumped against the wall. By the time that Ghirahim got to Polonius' death, Link was out like a light, his meal forgotten and his lips hanging slightly open as he let out soft snores. Ghirahim stops once a snore interjects his aside, and for the first time in the hour looks over at Link to se him flopped over onto his pillow, his feet resting on Ghirahim's lap.

Frowning, the older boy pushed the feet off of his lap, and stood. He set down the play with a huff, perturbed at not getting to finish it. "Simpleton..." He left, with only a brief look at the younger boy, turning up his nose with a deep sigh, and shut the door begin him.

He sits on the floor, feeling puffier than a marshmellow and flipping through 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. It was a little harder to understand than the other books in his classroom, and some words, he didn't really know, but he still thought it was interesting. Plus, papa had given it to him, and he wanted to love it for him. Excitement stirred in his stomach as he looked up at his father, eyes lit up impatiently.

"Can we go yet?" Link chirped, closing his book and grinning. His father chuckled, turning to look at him with amusement.

"Soon, Link," he assured him, crouching down and tugging his son's hat down over his eyes, smirking when it earned him a huff in return. "Mom is warming up the car. You don't want to freeze before we even get there do you?"

Link shook his head, giggling as he struggled to pull his hat back in its rightful place with his thickly mittened fingers. "Noo, but I don't want to miss the movie!" Link squeaked. "All of my classmates have seen it, and it's all they talk about! It's supposed to be really good, and I'm really excited to see it!"

His father laughed, his blue eyes sparkling with affection. "Sorry we couldn't take you to see it before now, but we wanted to wait until your birthday. Eight years old!" He sniffled dramatically. "You're practically all grown up now!" Link snorted, rolling his eyes, and opened his mouth to correct him, but the door opening interrupted him, and his mother peered in, cheeks pink from the cold.

"That's some harsh weather out there," she commented, stepping inside. The last time I saw snow this thick in March was when I was 12!" She adjusted her hat and grinned at her husband and son. "Are we all ready to go?"

A grin split onto Link's face, and he set his book down, struggling to get his warmly bundle body into a standing position. His father chuckled, swooping him up into his arms and carrying him to the door, while Link squirmed, his patience nonexistent. His parents kissed, and his mother gave his father a worried look. He just shook his head.

"It'll be fine. It's just a half hour drive to the movies, and we'll be careful. Plus, I'm worried that our little hero might explode if we don't get going," he teased. Link nodded eagerly. Mama looked at him with an overwhelming amount of love, mixed with the slightest hint of worry, before she just smiled and shook her head, leaning forward to peck his forehead.

"All right you two, get into the car, then!" Link threw his hands up and cheered as papa carried him outside and settled him into the backseat of the car. Link shooed him away when he tried to buckle him in though.

"I'm not five," he scoffed. His father blinked at him.

"My apologies, sir," he bowed, mouth tilting into a smile. "I forgot that you're eight now." Link nodded, squinting suspiciously at his papa as he laughed and shut his door, getting into the drivers seat. Link watched with eager eyes as his mother shut and locked the front door of their house before sliding into the passenger side. She twisted around to look at her son while papa started the car and backed out of the driveway.

"Are you excited?" She asked, face warm. Link nodded energetically.

"I'll finally have something to talk to the other kids about!" He chirped. "Then I'm sure that they'll like me!" His mother smiled at him, the edges soft as she encouraged him.

"Of course," she cooed, turning to face the front. "Who wouldn't like such a sweet, handsome boy like you?"

Link flushed. "Mom!" he whined, turned to stared out the window. "You're so embarrassing!" She just chuckled in return.

20 minutes passed, but it felt like an eternity to the small boy, and he quickly found himself growing bored. He could only amuse himself for so long by watching the snow whip past them, trying to see as far as he can through the stormy barrier.

"Papa, how long until we get there?" He called. His father chuckled, though the sound was strained.

"Soon, Link. Be patient." Link frowned at this, scooting to the very edge of his seat. The road began to lift, and a ridge was approaching them in a distance.

"But how long exactly?" He probed, reaching out to touch his father's shoulder. "What if the movie starts without us? I don't want to be late to my first movie!"

"I don't know, son. I need to concentrate right now though, so try to pass the time."

His mother turned to look at him, her mouth set in a stern line. "Link, sit back in you seat properly!" She quipped. He huffed, but listened anyway, sliding back. She frowned, eyes flicking to the windshield. "You stay sitting and let your father concentrate, it's very hard to drive right now," she scolded him, her face taut. Under her breath, not intending for her son to hear her, she muttered "It's a lot worse than what the weather channel claimed it would be..."

Link frowned, picking up on the feeling in the car. Uneasy, he opened his mouth to ask if anything was the matter, when he noticed the ridge rapidly approaching.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

His father tried to turn, but the car seemed to skid, and it seemed like it happened too fast to be possible, but they left the road, and the car was turning... turning like the Zipper ride at the amusement park, but Link knew that it wasn't supposed to. He yelled, scared, the sound of metal banging down the cliff, scratching, denting, bending, hurt his ears. The windows shattered, and little cuts dug into his flesh, flying around him as the car rolled and rolled with no consideration for the terrified, screaming boy being jerked around in the back seat.

It seemed to last forever. Link was certain that it would never stop. He felt the air being forced out of his longs, and he struggled to breath.

And then it stopped.

The silence slammed over him with a defining bang, and he trembled, sobbing and gasping as he opened his eyes.

The car creaked above him.

Something was wrong with mama, she had this... piece of metal sticking out of her stomach. Her neck was in an unnatural position. Her body was limp as it hung up only because of the seatbelt and the metal, pining her to the seat. The car was still tilted weirdly, so she hung above him, and Link felt his heart pound.

"Ma..Mama," he gasped. eyes wide. He tried to get out of his carseat, but the thing was jammed, and it wouldn't let go of him. "Mama, help me!" He screeched, getting more and more hysterical as neither his father nor mother responded. "I can't move, help me, help me mama, papa, please!"

Red dribbled out of her mouth like a broken faucet, and Link screamed as it dripped onto his hand. He screamed and flailed and sobbed, terrified and cold, unable to move, unable to get his mama to answer him. She just dripped blood onto his skin, his father a limp, bloodied body in the seat next to her. He tore his throat until it hurt to just breathe. He was helpless, unable to do anything but sit there for the 3 hours it took for somebody to find them.

This was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. Oh god, this wasn't real.

Link bolted upright, flailing violently as he tried to escape the blanket tangled around his body. He screamed and panicked, his limbs banging into the wall in the process of trying to free himself, but he barely noticed.

He hadn't had that dream in months, hadn't been prepared to have it now, not after such a peaceful moment with Ghirahim.

Link's breathing sped up, to the point where he was on the verge of hyperventilating as he tried to get the imagine of his mother's blood and mangled body out of his mind. In his struggling, the small boy accidentally flung himself out of bed, and he hit the floor hard, eyes wide. Hamlet went flying, as did the food tray, sending carrots and mashed potatoes tumbling into the carpet. Link was a shaking, crying mess, the blankets on the floor with the rest of him. The wind howled and the snow coated everything outside in a thick white.

When he was able to focus on sounds again, he could hear Ghirahim talking downstairs, probably on the phone.

"...Yes, I understand. Yes, I've been cooking, we haven't lost power. He's fine, just, let me call you back later..."

Link backed himself up against the wall, fat tears rolling down his pale face as his eyes locked on the window, where the wind whipped the snow harshly against the glass. He was trembling uncontrollably, the memory of that night burned into his mind, as fresh as if it had just happened earlier that night. Ghirahim hangs up, and Link can hear him climbing the stairs. Every step rings in Link's ears like breaking glass. His breathing just reminds him of his parents' silence.

Link is shaking, crying, trying to control himself when Ghirahim opens the door and is completely confused by the boy sitting in a mess on the carpet.

Link's wild eyes immediately flash over to him. He knows that it's Ghirahim, somewhere in the calmer part of his brain, but his mind brings up the image of the firefighter who had pulled him out of the car first, of the medical professional who had pulled him away from his parents, who were still stuck there, of the officer who had held him back, restrained him as he kicked and screeched for his parents, to save his parents. He had been brought to the hospital, and they had told him that his parents were gone, that they weren't coming back. That there hadn't been a chance from the start. Had they even tried? How could they have possibly known that?!

Deep down, he knew that they had already been dead by the time they had hit the ground, but it was easier to believe that maybe they could have been saved if somebody had only tried to save them first.

Panic still had a tight hold on his mind as Link tried to tell himself that this was Ghirahim that was standing at the door of his room at Gaepora's, not any of those people who had taken him from his parents, but he wasn't succeeding.

And when Ghirahim took so much as a step towards him, Link's muddled instinct took over, and he was on his feet and bolting around Ghirahim and down the stairs. He had to escape this. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he knew that he couldn't let them take his parents again. He couldn't.

The walls seemed to confine him, and it was too hard to breath in here. He had to get out, had to leave so that he could breath.

It was still snowing, and his parents were freezing to death out there, and suddenly he was eight again and he had to get to them, had to make them stay. He fled for the front door.

He heard Ghirahim yell after him, but all that he thought about was the screaming of his parents as the car tumbled. They had been alive for that. So, so close to being alive...

Link fumbled with the doorknob, having to throw himself against the door to clear a path in the snow. He jumped into his boots, but he doesn't have time to bother with a jacket.

His parents. They're so close.

Ghirahim was yelling, trying to make sense of what he was doing, where he was going, but he just thinks about the foster homes, the therapists, the stupid nurses at the hospital when he was too young to understand what impalement meant.

No, no! It's not too late.

He slammed the door shut in Ghirahim's face. The snow hits his skin like needles, glass, whiplash. And he's running for the trees, tears on his face turning to ice.

I'm coming, mom.

Already, the cold wind was stinging his exposed skin painfully, but how could he stop for something as selfish as that? Mama and papa were still out there, and he had to get to them before it was too late, he had to save them. His ears seemed to burn as he pushed through the snow, thinking about what a horrible son he had been, leaving them there to die alone.

But he was coming back.

He couldn't stop.

He was so fucking close to his mom, he could feel it.

He made it to the trees, tripping over himself and tumbling to the ground. His body was wracked with shivers, and his face seemed numb, but goddamnit he couldn't stop, he had to find them. They can't be gone forever, they couldn't do that to him!

He pushed himself back up and bolted further into the trees.

He knew they were here.

An unseen chunk of ice trips him, and collapses again, rolling and falling... down a hill.

A hill! That was good! He was close, they had fallen down a steep hill when the car slid off the road!

But he gets to the bottom, pulling himself up, ad there's nothing... nothing but white. His feet are trapped in ice, his hands are frozen to the ground. He can't move.

They're gone.

He searches, head whirling left and right, but he sees nothing through the snow in his eyes, his hair, his face...

They're not here.

He tries to pull himself up frantically, but he can't feel his hands anymore. He coughs on icy air, and it hurts more than anything he's ever felt. He can't breathe.

They're gone forever. It was all a dream. And now he's going to die out here.