Link finished up his milkshake, staring at the empty cup in disappointment. Damn. That was some good shit, too bad it emptied so quickly. He set the cup down in the cup holder beside him before tugging the blanket over his lap, maneuvering his legs up onto the seat so that they were tucked beside him in a comfortable enough position to wipe the frost from his window and stare outside at the scenery flashing by. When had it started snowing? Link barely seemed to notice the harsh chills of January every year, and this one had proved to be no exception.

It was only after five minutes had passed that he began to wonder where exactly they were going. He blinked, turning to look at the back of Zant's head as he chewed on the words, unwilling to spit them out.

..Ghirahim had mentioned a warehouse, and Zant wasn't asking for directions, so obviously this was a common occurrence.. What if this was something that the two of them did together, as best friends, alone? Link didn't want to be an intruder…

Ghirahim glanced back at him while he anxiously mused, as if sensing his unease. He leaned his head back against the seat and smirked a little at Link's empty cup. Both his and Zant's were half-full. Clearly Link had needed the sugar.

"Long time no see, I suppose, boy. Do I seem well enough for your satisfaction?"

Link blinked at him, fighting a faint dusting of pink on his face. His words fail him, but this time, fear wasn't the emotion clogging his throat. It was something that he couldn't recognize that seemed to strangle his vocal chords.

He gave Ghirahim a more thorough look this time, inspecting him. Ghirahim was physically doing well, as far as Link could see. He was eating, clearly, and there were no bruises on his body. But that didn't prove that he was happy at all, and that was what Link itched to know.

He let his eyes slide down to his cup, the movement shy as he plucked at the cover, tearing the thin plastic. He gave a shrug, and then a little shake of his head.

Why did it matter so much to him if Ghirahim was happy?! It should be enough to know that he's alright! Link shouldn't even care this much, considering that Ghirahim had been manipulating and pushing him around ever since he arrived at the Skyward household. And yet... he found himself fussing and shying away.

Ghirahim frowned at the, huffing. "I thought that we were past the point that you refused to speak to me. Hm. How tiresome..." He rolled his eyes, focusing on the road again. "You sounded so emotionally charged on the phone. It's a shame that you didn't keep that up. That would be far more interesting..." Zant shot Ghirahim a look.

Link swallowed, opening his mouth and willing the words to fall out. Nothing. He chewed on his lip, staring back at his cup, and noticed that his hands were shaking a little. He stilled them.

This was ridiculous! He knew Ghirahim! He's spoken to him before! This was the person who had left him.

The person who had wanted to see him again.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and he steeled himself.

"...sorry," he muttered, voice so quiet that Link wasn't even sure that it made it to the front seat. His nerves seemed to sky rocket.

He didn't get a reply. At least, not at first. Ghirahim merely looked back at him again. His eyes scanned Link up and down, narrowing slightly. He could see the gears turning behind his eyes, still, after all of this, trying to understand him. With all the knowledge that he had on Link's past, the advantage of unlocking his words, being the only person who truly knew what was going on in Link's brain... he still didn't understand.

But he was trying.

"...You look terrible. But, with any luck, you'll snap out of this ridiculous state soon... perhaps you just need a little push."

Unless Ghirahim decided to come home with them that night and to stop putting himself in danger by being around his father, Link highly doubted that he would just "snap out of it". But, nevertheless, Ghirahim's words lit a fire of curiosity inside of him, and he cleared his throat.

"...What are we doing?" he croaked softly.

Ghirahim smirked devilishly and started to chuckle. "You'll see soon enough, boy." Seeming to find that a sufficient enough answer, Ghirahim then turned to Zant. "Did you bring what we need?"

Zant promptly nodded. "It's in the trunk. I put it in as soon as you called."

"Excellent."

Link frowned in annoyance as Ghirahim continued conversing with Zant after giving him a vague as shit answer, and he muttered a sarcastic "thanks" under his breath before he turned to stare out the window, trying to figure out where they were. He felt a small titter of fear. What if what they were planning on doing was hard for him, and he held them up? What if he was a complete embarrassment to both himself and to the older boys? What if he was absolute crap at it? He shrunk down in his seat at the thought.

But before Link could even feign to ask more questions, the car was olling to a stop in front of... a warehouse. He hadn't been expecting Ghirahim to have been so literal. But this was obviously what was intended, because they were getting out of the car. Zant seemed excited, his hands flapping again, and Ghirahim jumped out, smiling madly.

Was this safe? Link stared at them, hesitant to even get out of the car, and when he eventually did, he hung back, eyes flicking from the warehouse, to Zant, to Ghirahim, and then back to the warehouse.

He wasn't sure... Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he felt out of place, uncertain about what they were doing, and he almost wished that he had just stayed in his room, where he didn't have to run behind Ghirahim and Zant, stumbling to keep up with their fun. Zant opened the truck, and Ghirahim pulled a large tartan bag out of it, which he carried on one shoulder, and it clanked like it was full of loose metal. Zant then pulled out a medium-sized plastic bag before shutting the trunk.

As the two boys ran past, Ghirahim took Link's wrist, and they hurried towards the warehouse doors. "Try to keep up, idiot!"

Link's owl eyes immediately flickered to the ground as he focused on not tripping and falling over himself. He felt heat pool in his cheeks, and he struggled to keep up with the taller boy's quick pace. "Y-your legs are longer!" He protested, but Ghirahim neither responded or adjusted his speed to accommodate him.

His wrist was puzzlingly warm.

They stomped through the snow to the huge warehouse doors, though Link was surprised to see previous footprints leading there. They stopped at the entrance, huffing and panting, and Zant purposefully knocked a pattern on the iron door.

Dun, dun, dun. Dun-dun-dun-dun, dun dun.

A latch opened in the door, and eyes peered out at the three of them, before it shut and creaked open. Link swallowed and looked at Zant. He hadn't been told that they were going to see anybody other than Ghirahim... his nerves churned inside of him, stirring up the milkshake unpleasantly, and he inched behind Ghirahim almost unconsciously. Though he couldn't pull very far in any direction, with the hold that the taller boy still had on his wrist.

Link fucking sucked around strangers. Where were they? Why were they here? Was this legal? Was there a group of friends in there, that they were all going to hang out with? The thought alone made him light headed.

As they stepped in, they were first greeted by a dyed red-head wearing his long hair in dreadlocks, smiling crockery at all of them. "Well hello, gentleman! Good to see your fucked up faces again, Zant, Ghirahim..." His eyes landed on Link, whose stomach gave a lurch. "...And a newcomer! You'll be needing one of these, then..." The man, who seemed about Zant's age, reached into a box next to his beanbag chair, and pulled out a piece of thin, green cloth. He handed it to Link, who took it hesitantly. "Think of it as a free gift! Green looks like your colour..."

Link swallowed again, clutching the cloth uncertainly. He didn't understand what the hell was going on, but he tried really hard to look like he did. He opened his mouth, intending to thank him, but the words clogged in his throat, and it was all he could do to simply nod and look down under the guise of studying the cloth. It was... a headband? But it was made of thinner, waterproof fabric that appeared like it would need to be stretched a bit to fit over his head.

The man seemed to spot his confusion and snickered. "It's a face shield, dumbass. Don't you know what kind of place you walked into? Or did these two kidnap you or something?" Link flushed in embarrassment. What was he even doing here? This had been a stupid idea, for Ghirahim and Zant to bring him here, and Link had half a mind to shrink back and bow out. He looked stupid.

"Go get stoned somewhere else, Yuga," Ghirahim snapped.

"I'll leave my post if you've got any good stuff."

With that, Zant handed him the bag he was holding. Yuga peeked in to see... food. Lots of it. Some wrapped sandwiches and a large, clear, frozen container of... the same soup Ghirahim had cooked for him last week. "Oh, fuck yeah! Hey jerks," he shouted into the rest of the building. "Ghirahim and Zant brought food!"

Link could hear a resounding cheer from deeper inside, and Yuga got up to carry the bag into another room. His heart beat faster. It sounded like there were a hell of a lot more people in here than he originally thought. Fuck.

He felt Ghirahim's hand squeeze his wrist from where he had still been holding it before letting go, and he pulled out two similar pieces of fabric to Link's own, the darker one of which he passed to Zant. His brother pulled the face shield over his head, smiling at Link before he pulled it up over his nose and mouth.

"It's okay! I promise it's safe." His voice came out muffled, but it sounded overjoyed. Ghirahim pulled on his own, a much more bright and sharp diamond-patterned one, and the two boys waited for Link to do the same. He stared at them, and then down at the fabric, conflicted. He was more than a little terrified, but he couldn't just leave and ruin their fun. Besides, he didn't have to talk to anybody. He just had to trail behind the two older boys and try not to be seen.

He swallowed. How hard could it be?

Link tried to hide his obvious unease as he lifted the face shield to his face and put it on, mimicking Zant and Ghirahim. Then, once it was properly in place, Ghirahim needing to free Link's ponytail from underneath it so that it fit properly, he was ready. Link tried not to focus on the feeling of Ghirahim's hand on the back of his neck, and he was suddenly grateful that the shield covered his blushing cheeks. In one fell swoop, Zant pulled back the curtain, and as Ghirahim nodded, Link stepped through.

It was an explosion of colour. The warehouse was massive, concrete walls stretched up to the sky. Link blinked in the glow of lanterns, tealights and candles, until he could clearly see the walls, and the people attached to them, and he gasped.

Murals. No, not just that. Graffiti, paintings, giant and abstract and realistic and beautiful, every single one. On the far wall, with curling hair that nearly reached the ceiling, was an image of a golden-haired siren, sea shells and scales adorning her chest and tail so detailed and bright that you could almost touch them. On the left, names and faces and splashes of artistic, gorgeous colours. Everywhere Link looked, amazing, breathtaking art. And as he noted the young faces surrounding him, at least 30 people, all created by people under the age of 25. There were young women, men, some that defied binary. The youngest looked around 10, his face shield pulled up over his ears to fit.

Offset from all the paint, there were small wooden tables of packaged food. Desserts, mostly. In the corners of the building were space heaters, and blankets and mattresses, and as Ghirahim shed his jacket, Link realized that it was plenty warm enough in her to take off his clothes from outside.

Some people waved, and Zant waved back, then turned to Link with gleeful energy. "What do you think?"

Link turned to Zant with wide eyes, full of admiration and absolute, gawking awe. He could only blink at his older brother for a moment. "It's... gorgeous." His eyes did another sweeping round of the room. "I never would have guessed that..." he trailed off, amazed and slightly overwhelmed at the gorgeous art.

Wow. This was... absolutely incredible.

Ghirahim set down his jacket among the pile of outerwear on the floor. Then, he picked up the tartan bag again, which Link realized was full of cans of paint. He was smirking. "What, pray tell, is so surprising? Were you so convinced that Zant and I were getting drunk every weekend?" Ghirahim asked, and on the surface, it seemed like an innocent question, but in his eyes, Link could see the weight of Gaepora's expectations of him, based on the actions of an alcoholic father.

Link shook his head quickly, peering up at Ghirahim. "No! No, I ... I don't know. I always thought of you as the... vandalism bad-ass kid that would rather... spray paint walls and break fences and trespass..." Link trailed off, realizing how stupid he sounded. But that was what he had pictured! How was he supposed to know what Ghirahim and Zant snuck off to do in the middle of the night?

Ghirahim's smirk widened, an impression in his face shield, and he chuckled darkly. "Flattery will get you nowhere... But you'd be right, boy." He pulled a can of spray-paint out of the tartan bag. "I simply prefer to break down metaphysical fences, and use vandalism to create things such as her," Ghirahim gestured to the gorgeous siren, and Link can't stop his mouth from falling open.

...What?

"It's true! I helped with the scales..." Zant stated.

Link stared at the painting for a long moment before he whipped around to stare at Ghirahim.

"...no way," he breathed, unable to stop himself from twisting to admire the siren again. He tried to imagine Ghirahim painting that thing. Holy fucking shit, that was... that's crazy. "Can... can I go closer?"

Ghirahim merely chuckled, his hips swaying with pride as he walked towards the painting. As they passed by, Link could see a small, separate room with a stove, a sink, a freezer and shelves. Yuga was heating up the soup in a large pot, stirring it vigilantly.

The closer they got, Zant trailing happily behind Link, the more impressed the youngest boy got. Each scale of the siren's tail was the size of his hand, and there must have been hundreds, all painted and shaded perfectly. Her pristine blue eyes were the size of his head. Her falling tendrils of soft hair were the size of tree trunks.

Leaned against the wall was a ladder, fit with wheels at the top and bottom for easy maneuvering. That must have been how Ghirahim had been able to paint while so high up... wow. Link tilted his head back, craning so that he could see as much as he could, unable to drink enough of it. He longed to reach out and touch it. He almost did, before pulling his hand away at the last second, scared of somehow messing it up. Instead, he let his eyes scan it, and wandered back and forth so that he could view it all.

Near the base of her tail, he could see Ghirahim and Zant's signatures, written in paint with broad strokes. He recognized Ghirahim's cursive from his note... the one he had written about Link being afraid of him. So it was true... Ghirahim had created this, with Zant's help.

Craning his neck back once more to peer up at her face, then looking back down again, he watched as Ghirahim took a small bucket, a can of paint, and a large paintbrush from the tartan bag, and turned to chuckle at him. "You'll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that. You look ridiculous."

Link flushed and quickly snapped his mouth shut, but he couldn't stop the flow of warmth that blossomed from his chest as Ghirahim teased him. This was... nice. He was happy to be here, and to be able to see this... a place where both Zant and Ghirahim were clearly comfortable.

Wandering just a little way away, Link found a place where he could sit down and watch Ghirahim, energy low from this sudden shift in activity after over a week in a slump, sitting in his room like an unproductive grease demon... in other words, this was the most excitement and exercise that he has had since Ghirahim left. He stayed quiet for a moment, eyeing Ghirahim's supplies, before he asked, "What are you going to do?"

The boy sighed heavily. "I fear that I'll never be fully finished. I've been adding pearls to her necklace for quite some time now. We ran out of the perfect colour, so I had to work some extra hours to afford more..." Ghirahim spoke oddly quietly, something about his sight captured by the siren, his eyes trained to her face. Link listened, intrigued. Obviously, the painting was important to him, to spend so much time, effort and money on it.

Zant went to the ladder, preparing to hold it steady for him, as Ghirahim popped open the paint can with the end of his paintbrush, pouring the creamy white carefully into the base of the bucket.

"How many pearls are you planning on giving her?" Link asked, hesitating only a moment before adding his current thoughts to the mix. "She seems..." The word gets chewed on for a good moment before he settles. "...Significant to you." The statement was left vague in the hopes that an explanation would be given.

There was a long pause in between Link's statement and his response. "Fifty-six, in total. I've completed thirty-one. Quite obviously, not all of them will be done tonight..." Ghirahim chewed over Link's other baited statement, which he elected to ignore, somewhat... "...Her name was Hylia," he said, before closing the can, dipping his brush in the bucket, and preparing to climb the ladder. Link immediately sat upright, his hands falling onto his lap as he stared curiously at Ghirahim, his gaze searching, prodding for answers.

Her name was Hylia... an emotion that he didn't recognize, that he didn't like, rose inside of him and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Link watched the way that Ghirahim observed the painting, with such a soft affection and bitter longing… before he can stop, he heard words tumbling out of his mouth. "Was she a past girlfriend?"

Oh, god... he sounded snippy. He hadn't meant to, but the sounds had been sharp and accusing when they hit the air. The question caught Ghirahim so off-guard that he almost dropped his paint. Then, the laughter bursts free, and his shoulders are shaking, and he's doubled over with one hand still on the ladder.

"J-Jesus Fucking Christ, NO. What kind of lovesick fool do you take me for, you imbecile?! And besides," he continued, wheezing in a breath and drying his eyes. "Why would that be any business of yours?!"

Link turned away, shrugging in embarrassment, and flushed a bright red. The tips of his ears coloured as he struggled to not die right then and right there. "It was just a question," he muttered, voice sulky. He didn't know why he had asked such a personal question, nor why it had seemed to matter so much to him in the moment. Who cared if Ghirahim had ever had a girlfriend, or if he was even in a current relationship?

His fingers found a stray pebble on the ground beside his leg, and he plucked at it, flicking it away. He tried to convince himself that he had just been wondering if Ghirahim even bothered with long-term relationships, but even that logic was fuzzy. He fought the impulse to think harder on the dream he'd had.

No. That never happened.

"No... she meant far more to me than just simple affections," Ghirahim rasped, and his comedic moment was back to being drained of colour. This time, he climbed the ladder, Zant holding it fast. Link watched him climb, struggling to figure him out. If she meant more to him than simple affection, but she wasn't a girlfriend, then who was she? A best friend? An older sister?

...His mother?

Link wracked his brain, trying to figure out if anybody had ever mentioned Ghirahim's mom. Link had heard a fuck ton about his father, of course, but... never his mother. Curiosity was a gentle wave inside of him, and he leaned against the wall as he watched the older boy work. If it was his mother, Link can only imagine that Ghirahim has nothing but anguish as his motivation for such an honoring piece of art work. He can guess what had happened, and his stomach lurched at the thought.

He knew what it felt like to lose a mother, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. Did Link dare ask him about the identity of the siren? He wasn't sure if it would be right to. If their roles were reversed, would he want someone to ask? Perhaps, depending on the person, and if it gave him the chance to honor her memory. God, it's a tough call to make. In the meantime, he watched Ghirahim paint. He leaned over with graceful arms, his face mere inches from the concrete that is his canvas, making sure no detail, no rock or crevice or crack interferes with the image he's trying to create.

Link thought that he should ask about it. There's no harm in trying, and if he doesn't pry, it should be fine. The care that Ghirahim takes with his painting made Link believe that a chance to share her story would be a welcome opportunity.

He sat in his position against the wall for a long, simply watching Ghirahim work, and Zant dutifully holding the ladder. He completely loses track of how long they had been there for, and, eventually, Link's head lolled against the wall, and his eyes drooped. His current lack of sleep had really caught up to him, and his body seemed to have decided to seize this opportunity for re-energizing while it could.

Deep in the reaches of his dreams, Link barely perceived someone shaking him, trying to wake him. That shaking progressed into complaints and near-shouts, but still to no avail. So, when Link attained the slightest hint of consciousness again, all he felt was somebody carrying him. For a moment, his instincts screamed for him to stand up, not liking the feeling of weightlessness, but then a sense of shock paralyzed him as he realized something.

Zant wasn't strong enough to carry him. Ghirahim, on the other hand, was; he was able to drag Link home through four feet of snow.

Ghirahim was... really warm. And soft. Link mumbled an incoherent expression of gratitude as he continued to drift in and out of consciousness, fingers drowsily grasping at what he thought was probably the other boys' shirt but couldn't claim with complete certainty due to his current state. He just hoped to god that he didn't get dropped.

When he felt cold air whisk onto his face, he cringed inwards, the bite of it making him more aware. He felt a jostling, as though Ghirahim was hurrying, and his grip on the warmth he's resting in tightened. But soon enough he was being sheltered from the wind... at the cost of being let go.

No... this is really nice... don't let me goooo…

Link let out a long, tired whine, and he reached up to firmly wrap his arms around a neck. He held on tight, determined to stay with this comforting warmth for as long as he possibly can. He felt the body he's pressed against heave a deep sigh, and somewhere in his peripherals he heard laughter. Slowly, and with some struggle, the warmth sat close to him, and with a slam Link could no longer hear the wind. He shifted slightly at the seatbelt being buckled, and someone buckling their own, but he relaxed into a firm chest as the motor ran underneath his feet, and they became home-bound. Quickly the small boy was lulled into a happy sleep.

...When Link woke up, the car was slowing to a halt. When he blinked open his eyes, peering out the window, he saw that they were close to a house that he didn't recognize. But Ghirahim was zipping up his jacket and running an anxious hand through his hair.

This was his stop.

Link wondered dimly if there was anything he could possibly do to convince him to stay. His heart already twisted painfully as it readied itself. He struggled to wake u further, blinking furiously to rid himself of the blurriness, hair ruffled, hands clutching tightly at Ghirahim's jacket.

"...You're... leaving again? Please, don't," he stumbled through sleep-heavy lips. "You can come home with ..us. Gaepora won't mind." I'm worried about you.

"I can't, boy," he rasped. Link thought it would hurt more if he had stayed his dramatic, loud self. But this factual, simple speech was what had him struggling to hold himself together. "I just can't."

"But-… we had fun. You… don't hate me anymore, and-" his voice wobbled as a defeated aura seeped from him. Fists reached up to rub the sleep from his tired eyes, and his words fell into plea. "I thought we might- that we could become friends. P-please don't go back to his house, please come back home."

"Living here has nothing to do with that, idiot... just go back to sleep. I can't stay." Ghirahim sighed. He pulled himself away from Link's grip, and the boy tried not to look as hurt and heartbroken as he felt, his face crumbling into disappointment. He swallowed hard, turning to face the window, trying to stop himself from shattering into pieces all over again. This time hurt more than the last time, a sharp stinging pain from a knife dipped in salt.

"...At least tell me who the siren is..." His voice was quiet, impossibly empty and full of injury at the same time. Ghirahim's hand was tightly gripping the handle when Link said this. Zant shot the both of them a concerned look from the front of the car.

It took what felt like eons. "...My mother... she was murdered when I was six years old."

Link gasped.

"...Is that what you longed to hear? Is that what you were greedy, begging to know? We only found out about her passing when her corpse washed up from the river, full of holes and rot…" The older boy was shaking, and Link couldn't blame him. "So, forgive me for staying with my father, when he is the only one who understands what that fucking felt like! Good night!" Ghirahim stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind himself.

Zant stayed, watching until he was safely inside without hassle, before even beginning to start the car, while Link could only hold back tears, hit by wave after wave of guilt. It seemed like whenever he managed to make even the slightest bit of progress with Ghirahim, he found some way to fuck it all up entirely. He wished he hadn't asked. Skinny arms wrapped around his legs, pulling them up onto the seat with him, and he tried not to be sick at both the forced imagery of Ghirahim's mother in a stream, and his own memories of his parents.

Zant was quiet on the way back home. He drove slowly, and Link ignored the sound of Ghirahim's paint clanking together in the trunk. When they got back, it was almost 4:00am, and all that the two of them could do was trudge upstairs for bed.

But before he left for his own room, Zant pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry. Be safe. Sleep well... I love you, baby brother."

Link's eyes filled with tears at the sweet term of endearment, and he hugged Zant back with vigor, nodding and managing to mumble a return good-night through the lump in his throat. He waited until he had left for his own room before softly closing his door, trudging to his bed, and collapsing, thoroughly exhausted.