June, 2020: Warning: Unedited. Low quality.

COUNTING STARS

Chapter 8: Bro

Sunday , October 15

"Hi. How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Well, I'm sure lookin' better than you, of course."

"No." I shake my head. "Start over."

"What was wrong with that?"

"Arrogance. People don't like it."

"Fine." Ralph groans, hanging his head. "Hi."

"Hi."

"How are you doing?"

"Pretty good, thanks. You?"

"Horrible. My life is awful and I am a loser."

I shake my head again, intake a deep breath, and say, "No. People don't like woe-is-me crap, either."

"Well, what do people like?"

"Everyone says they like honesty, but that isn't true. Honesty sucks."

"So… lie?"

"To protect their feelings, yes."

Ralph grumbles, sagging down against the tree trunk until he sits in the cool grass. "This sucks," he whines, pulling idly on a few grass blades with thumb and forefinger. "I don't understand people."

I roll my eyes, looking down at him with a bit of amusement. "Well, you said you wanted help getting friends, didn't you?"

Ralph hangs his head in defeat. "Yeah, alright."

"You seem to be alright with Mido, though, right?" I ask. "I mean, he and Sheik invited you to sit down at our booth."

"They were just being polite, y'know. That's who they are."

I blink in surprise at his pessimism. Just days ago Ralph was this calm, collected dude who seduced some of the hottest girls around—just not the hottest girl around, mind you. Now, he's this vulnerable, pathetic mess, sniveling before me with his head in his arms. "Well after you left, I remember Sheik saying that you were cool."

"He probably just wants my Rolex," Mido grumbles cynically, gesturing awkwardly with his wrist so the sunlight glints off the metallic surface of his watch. "But he won't accept me into your guys' little group. He knows that Pipit and I have a very strong rivalry."

"That's a good point," I admit with a light shrug, biting my lip. "We need to get you a good group of bros. What are your interests?"

"Sex."

I snort. "Sex? That's it?"

He nods simply.

"You need a hobby," I say.

"That is my hobby, dude."

"Then get a better hobby."

He groans, gripping at his tousled red hair in frustration. "I dunno—baseball, maybe? I used to play in junior high."

An invisible light bulb hovers over my head at that moment. "Try out for the baseball team, then. You'll have a chance to make friends there."

Ralph shakes his head. "…That's gonna be a while; the season doesn't start until spring. What will I do 'til then?"

"Tough it out?"

He glares at me. "Link."

"Well, like you said, I don't think you'll be able to fit in with my friends."

"Right," he agrees, urging me on with a nod of the head.

"Um…" I bite my lip. "What else interests you? Think about it."

"I like Italian food."

"That doesn't really help."

Ralph shrugs.

Who would he fit in with? Well, I don't know! I barely know twenty people at this school!

Distraught, I look out toward the boys' dorm, hearing familiar voices: "Yo, DiCaprio! C'mon, let's go to the city."

"Quit calling me that, Arian," Leo groans, following his buddy down the sidewalk toward the edge of campus.

"Bingo," I murmur, grabbing Ralph by the arm and yanking him upward. I grip the redhead's shoulders and spin him around. "Leo and Arian. Superstar duo, soon-to-be trio. Ever talked to them?"

"No. Will they hate me?"

I grin. "Arian is very popular with the female students and has a friendly competition with Pipit. Leo is the star of the baseball team. And," I add, raising a finger in the air, "he's Italian."

Ralph raises his eyebrows. "Alright, cool."

"Wait," I say, raising a finger in the air. "Before you go, remember this…"

"What?"

I narrow my eyes pointedly at him. "Don't be a jackass."

"Excuse me, Mr. Masca?" I ask, knocking on his barely-ajar classroom door. "May I come in?"

The grouchy teacher's voice from inside grumbles, "That depends on who it is."

"It's Zelda."

"You're male."

"It's the headmaster."

"You're also a kid."

I roll my eyes and barge in anyway. "Yeah, thanks. So listen, Mr. Mascara. I want to know—"

"Get out of here right now, Mr. Gaiden," Rupin commands, thrusting a bony finger outward in the direction of the recently-opened door. "It is a Sunday and you should not be in school."

"Yeah, well it's also impolite to interrupt," I scold, wagging a finger at him with an amused smirk. "I want to know if you sell gloves."

The teacher squints at me, standing up from his chair. "So you came here… to purchase something from me?"

"A glove, yeah."

Rupin sighs heavily, closing his eyes as he stands before me. "…Fine," he spits after a while, whirling around to face a stack of metal briefcases on his desk. He scans the labels until he gets to the near bottom of the stack, then pulls out one of the briefcases, labeled: GLOVES.

"So now you're the Happy Glove Salesman?" I ask.

"Technically I should be the Happy Accessory Salesman, but I've already built up a reputation from being the man who sells masks, but in consequence I don't get much business from people who want other things—" He stops, squints in confusion, then shakes his head. "Why am I telling you this? Never mind."

"So," I say hesitantly after awhile. "Gloves?"

"Gloves," he repeats begrudgingly with a curt nod. With a flick of the briefcase's locks, the container flips open, and Rupin gestures toward them with a wave of a hand. "Pick any you like. Twenty rupees for a pair."

I scan the contents of the briefcase, my eyes instinctively landing on a pair of brown leather gloves. "These. How big are they?"

Rupin picks them up, unfolding the gloves. "For hands with a handspan of around nine-and-a-half inches."

I nod. "Cool. I'll take 'em." Withdrawing my wallet, I prepare to find a red rupee to hand to my biology teacher.

"Not so fast," he grunts, lifting his chin sharply. "These are exclusives. Eighty rupees."

I squint skeptically at him. "Exclusives?"

He nods simply, holding his stern gaze steadfast.

I scoff at him. "Are you just saying that 'cause you have a dumb grudge against me? Why are they exclusives?"

"A true rarity. These are hand-woven, fingerless Gonzo Gazola gloves made with the hide from the finest cows at Lon Lon Ranch. They're custom-made for museums to dress their Hero of Time mannequins appropriately. There are only one hundred in existence. And you're getting them for a mere eighty rupees." He narrows his eyes at me. "Now. You were saying?"

I blink. "…You're lying."

He shakes his head. "I am not. Salesman's honor."

"That exists?"

He glares at me.

To make sure I'm not being scammed, I begin to interrogate him, keeping in mind the tips Detective Shad had given me on this subject. "What year did you purchase these?" I ask.

"In 2009."

"For how much?"

"Twenty-five rupees from a foolish salesman who was ignorant of their true worth."

"Name a museum these gloves are found in."

"The Hero of Time Exhibits in the Lanayru Museum, Faron Museum, and Eldin Museum."

"Thickness of fibers?"

"Fifteen microns, approximately."

"Breathability?"

"Substantial."

"Traction?"

"Improved."

He seems to be telling the truth, I conclude, yanking out four red rupees instead of one. "Okay. Deal."

Rupin extends his left hand, into which I drop the currency, and he pockets it. "Thank you for your business," he says insincerely with an artificial grin. He reaches out his right hand for a shake.

I take it, giving his bony hand a firm shake, being sure not to inflict too much pain into him. When I pull it away quickly, Rupin tosses me the pair of fine gloves.

"You know," he says with an amused smirk, "I can see now why you need those."

I grip the gloves tightly in my right hand, squint at him as I realize my mistake, and briskly turn around to make my way out of the classroom.

"Hey," he calls with humor in his tone, "you might want to talk to Mr. Lux about that."

I ignore him, shutting the door softly behind me. "Damn," I murmur to myself, lightly hitting my forehead with my palm. I turn my hand over to look at the back of it, seeing the symbol flare up in golden light as my eyes make contact with it. "You need to behave," I grunt.

Ending the brief conversation I was having with my hand, I carefully push it through the lightweight, fingerless gloves I just purchased, nodding to myself when I notice that the symbol is, indeed, covered up by the fabric.

Good.

Satisfied with its performance, I decide to leave the left glove off. It looks pretty badass, if I do say so myself. With a small nod to myself, I make my way out of the school.

Outside, I let the doors shut behind me and I intake a breath of fresh air. I take out my FiPhone, checking for anything I've missed since talking to Rupin. Yep—one new message from Zelda, and one missed call from Pipit.

With a small, uncontrollable smile, I check the message from Zelda first.

Hey, it reads. Do you wanna meet me at Castle Park at 3?

My eyes widen. She wants to hang out with me…

Again.

Wow.

My grin widening, I excitedly type in: Sure.

Nonchalance—a tactic Pipit taught me. It doesn't make you seem obsessed, clingy, or needy. Unlike the classic "playing hard to get" tactic, this doesn't make you seem like an individualistic jerk.

And here I go again. Using advice from the sociopathic Pipit.

Speak of the devil, I nearly forgot about the aforementioned sociopath's call I missed. Hastily, I dial up Pipit's number and put the phone to my ear.

"Link! Lounge! Now!" Pipit's frantic voice hollers into my eardrum.

"What?" I ask, squinting in confusion. "Why?"

"Th-there's an emergency!"

"The last emergency of yours was that Taco Bell came out with a Cool Ranch version of the Doritos taco," I groan with a glazed-over facial expression.

"More important than that!"

"Then what is it?"

"Hot girls!" he shouts. "Fighting! Girl fight!"

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "The Taco Bell thing was more interesting than this."

Pipit gasps. "…Link! How could… how could you even… say… such words?! My gods, are you straight?!"

"Sorry, Pip, but watching slutty girls pull one another's hair isn't my idea of a good time."

There comes a long, uncomfortable pause. "Then… what… is?" he demands.

"Well tonight I have plans with Zelda."

Pipit stops his rant, then whistles suggestively. "Whoa. Respect, bro!"

"Not those kinds of plans, you perv," I grumble. "We're going to Castle Park tonight."

"Ooh, a little public scene, huh?"

"No, Pipit. I just mean we're gonna enjoy each other's company."

"Yeah, you are!"

"Pipit! Dude—Zelda and I are not having sex."

He hangs up on me.

"Hey," calls a familiar voice. "Over here, Link!"

Straying from the Castle Park concrete pathway, I head toward the source of the voice. Sitting atop a wide but short boulder, shaded by a maple tree with leaves bathed in the colors of autumn, is Zelda. I greet her with a grin and a friendly wave, then pull myself up to sit next to her on the large rock.

"Hey, Zel," I say.

"Hi," she responds with a sincere smile.

Gods. She's beautiful.

This whole "not getting too attached" thing might be tougher than I imagined.

"So… you okay?" I ask, meeting her ocean-blue eyes. "I mean, you asked me to come here kind of suddenly, so I was thinking you had an issue, or something."

"Oh, yeah, I'm okay," she says, waving it off, but her smile drops, which convinces me otherwise.

Unsure whether or not to prod, I just say, "Well, you can talk to me if you ever need to."

Wow. That was pretty solid.

Zelda offers me a small and rather sad smile, then subtly scoots closer to me and closes the gap between us—in fact, I barely notice it. "Thank you," she says. "…A-and I hope you know that—" She pauses, patting my knee softly with her palm, "with the rough times you're going through—you can talk to me, too."

Holy crap. I am so, so tempted to kiss her right now. Everything she says somehow makes me feel better, like she's the cure to all my problems. Cheesy as it may seem, I mean it.

…But I can't give in. I can't allow my foul luck to reach her. What kind of person would I be then? I'd be responsible for any misfortune brought upon her. So I must keep my distance. Or, at least, try to.

My eyes drop to the pale, dainty hand resting softly at my knee. I intake a breath, then slowly move my left hand toward hers until it rests on top of it. "Zelda," I say. "What's wrong?"

She sighs then, her own eyes dropping to our connected hands. "Nothing in particular," she responds with a small shrug. "Just… an all-around sucky day."

"How so?"

She bites her lip, shyly meeting my gaze once more. "…Do you ever have one of those days where everyone seems like they're going up against you, and you have no idea who to turn to?" she asks. "Do you ever have one of those days?"

I shrug, admitting, "About twice a week."

She laughs lightly, then saddens again. "It's just… I keep being bugged by a lot of people—my friends, mostly. They have no boundaries."

"I can relate."

She laughs again. "I know. Especially with Pipit, huh?"

I nod, gently rubbing her hand with mine. "Yeah. So, what about your friends bugs you?"

"Well," she begins, "the fact that they really want to set me up with this rich kid, who, I mean, does actually seem pretty cool, but I feel like…" She stops, closing her eyes.

"They only want you to be with him because of his money," I finish for her.

"Yeah…"

"Who's the guy?" I inquire curiously.

She drops her gaze to the grass that surrounds the rock we sit on. "You know Ralph, right? Ralph Ambi?"

I mentally grumble. "Yeah, I know him," I say. "The archenemy of Pipit."

"Right," she says. "That's another reason I don't want to go through with this."

"Go through with what?"

"The date."

I blink. "…There's a date?"

She blinks back. "Yeah, my friends set me up with him."

"…Oh," I say, trying my hardest not to look disappointed, jealous, or anything I was really feeling inside.

Zelda sighs, putting a palm to her forehead. "I'm sorry to bother you with my problems; I know you're going through a lot right now."

"I really don't mind," I say, offering her a smile.

"Gods, I swear, you're the nicest guy in this whole city," she murmurs, a flash of pink appearing on her cheeks. "Why is that?"

With a shrug, I say, "Probably because I'm not from the city."

Zelda nods. "Probably." After a pause, she groans in frustration. "Ugh… I don't want to go meet Ralph…"

I perk up. "Then don't," I say.

She squints at me, confused. "What?"

"Don't go meet him, then."

"Link, I have to—"

I shake my head. "No, you don't. If you don't want to, then you shouldn't."

"But what about Ralph?" she asks. "I can't stand him up, that'll crush him."

"You could just text your friends that you're not going. They'll handle the rest."

Zelda bites her lip. "…Well, then I guess it's another boring day for me today." She takes out her phone, then begins texting.

"It doesn't have to be," I say. She stops to look over at me. With a grin, I continue: "You and I should hang out for the rest of the day."

A faint blush surfaces on her cheeks, and she offers me a grateful half-smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?" I say with a shrug.

Her smile widens, and she looks even more beautiful than before. "Okay," she says.

As the sun begins to set on this Sunday evening, we walk down the maroon- and white-tiled road, observing the quaint shops on either side. This must be the older part of the city, I muse.

"What is this place called?" I ask Zelda.

She looks over at me with a smile. "The Tri-District. I love it here."

"It's pretty old," I comment, "compared to the rest of the city. And it doesn't smell all too bad."

She giggles, nodding. "Yeah. This is where they say the old Castle Town used to be, back in the old days."

"Yeah?"

She nods, and we keep walking.

I intake a peaceful breath, enjoying this. "You know," I say after a brief moment, "I've actually never seen Hyrule Castle."

"That's because you've spent your whole time here in the city area," she explains. "It's a castle, so it wouldn't belong in the modern area."

I squint. "So, is it near here?"

Her smile never leaving, she stops, faces me, and grabs my shoulders. Before I even have the chance to wonder if she's about to kiss me or not, she spins me around. "Look behind you," she laughs.

All I can say is "Whoa."

It's not what I'd pictured: bright lights and artillery canons off looming skyscrapers. No, it is simply an old, stone castle—though not much is simple about it. It's huge. Its four outermost spires soar upward until they practically touch the stratosphere, and the central tower, with a base area larger than the entire academy, is even higher.

"That's where King What's-His-Name lives?" I ask, my eyes wide.

"King Gustaf, yes."

I turn my gaze over to her. Zelda looks up at the edifice, a light breeze carrying her blonde hair, with a twinkle in her eye. Standing there, gazing at her, I've figured out why I can't stop thinking about her.

She's amazing.

You know what… I'm just going to go for it. All cards on the table. I'm going for it. I'm going to kiss her, show her how I feel.

I take a step toward her, and she slowly turns to look at me. Gods, she's beautiful. I can do it. I can do it.

"AAAAAAHHH!" yelps a nearby voice.

My instincts kicking in, I tear my gaze away from Zelda and frantically try to locate the source of the outburst.

"What was that?" Zelda gasps.

I see it. There, at the street corner about a quarter mile away, a crowd of people are scurrying away for dear life, while a man is on a rampage, pointing his rifle in the air and firing, yelling at street vendors to give him their money.

Zelda gasps again, clings to my side, and says, "Link, we've gotta go!"

But somehow, the man turns his head toward me. I stand there, my fierce gaze locked with his. Zelda freezes in place, her eyes wide in horror, but I step in front of her.

The man… I recognize him.

It's Sakon, the guy that Ghirahim met with in the abandoned parking lot days ago.

"You!" he shouts, dashing toward us. "The boy who turned in Ghirahim and Vaati!"

I stay still, like a western sheriff facing the outlaw amidst an epic standoff, wiggling my fingers to summon some energy.

Sakon stops fifteen feet away, his bald head reflecting the orange evening light.

"You've got the wrong guy," I say.

"No…" Sakon shakes his head quickly. "No! Veran described you!"

I squint. "I've never met with—"

Oh. Right. Veran is Ghirahim and Vaati's lawyer. They described me to her.

Sakon offers me a wry smile, raises his gun, and hollers, "Ganondorf wants you, dead or alive!"

Zelda quivers behind me in fear.

"Any last words?" he asks, grinning maniacally.

I nod. "Yeah—In the future, don't ask that question to your victims."

Sakon cocks his head. "What? Why?"

I sneer. "It gives them a chance to do this."

I raise my palm and point it at the man, releasing a bolt of energy. The bolt flies through the air, enters Sakon's body, and causes him to thrash violently in place before falling helplessly to his knees.

I turn around and wrap my arms around Zelda, who stands there in shock, and she returns the hug. "…L-Link?" she asks meekly, shaking slightly.

"Yes?"

She backs up to look at me with wet eyes. "…W-what was that?"

I need to tell her. I can trust her. With a sad smile, I pull away from Zelda, then slowly take the overpriced leather glove off my right hand. I turn it over, showing her the symbol on the back. "It's called the Triforce of Courage."

She peers down at it with confusion and shock, then looks back up to me. "Is that…?"

I nod slowly. "My ability source, yes."

She closes her eyes, feeling overwhelmed, and I pull her back into a hug. "I'm going to have to call my detective," I say, pulling out my cell. She nods against my shoulder without saying a word. Dialing up Shad's number, I turn my head to look at the body of Sakon.

…Except that he's now gone.

"Hello? Link, I'm kinda busy; there was a shooting out in the Tri-District—"

"Yeah, Shad, I'm there."

"Well, did you see the shooter?"

"Yes. An M.O.D. member by the name of Sakon. I incapacitated him."

"Great, we'll be there in—"

"But..." I sigh, "he's gone now."

"What?! No—never mind, I have to go." Shad hangs up.

Zelda pulls away from me once again, looking where I had too, only to see that Sakon had disappeared.

"Come on," I say to Zelda. "Let's get you home."

"Welcome to Hyrule, ya bitch-ass piece o' shit!" Dark bellows, swinging his halberd until it connects with the side of a bokoblin's head. The creature wails, falling on its back until it dissolves into a cloud of purple smoke.

"Good shot," I murmur, patting him on the shoulder. "But even I could do that to a little bokoblin."

"What," he begins, arms outstretched, "you don't think I can take somethin' bigger?"

"Have you?"

Dark scoffs, as if he remembers something that I should as well. "The Aeralfos?"

"Oh, come on," I groan, "you got lucky. You would've been dead meat if it just had a better grip on your arms."

"And you were rootin' for that to happen? Some sidekick you are."

"I'm the superhero—you're the sidekick."

"Do you really want to start this argument again?!"

I sigh in defeat, shaking my head and grunting, "No."

Sirens blare suddenly through the once-still night. Dark squints his eyes shut, listening intently. "They're nearby, possibly on Fifth—"

A police car whizzes past us. "Aah!" Dark yelps. "Link—cover! Now!" He grabs my arm and steers me into the alley we were hanging near.

"More are coming," I grunt, reaching into my pack for my green cap, shoving it onto my head haphazardly. I peek around the corner, noticing that a line of four more police cars are following the lead one, whizzing past us in a blur.

A raspy voice comes from the back of our alley, chilling Dark and I to the bone: "What're you kids hidin' from them cops for?"

Our eyes growing wide, we slowly turn our heads to the source of the voice. "Uh…" Dark begins hesitantly. "We, er… just robbed a liquor store."

All we can see is a faint, shadowy outline of a figure at the back of the alley. "Then where's your liquor?" the voice asks.

Dark and I share a frantic look. "…We dropped it."

There comes a hearty cackle as the voice seems to be laughing, and the owner draws nearer into the faint light of a nearby street lamp. The figure's gnarled, wrinkled face is illuminated in the yellow light. His skin is a sickly gray, his eyes a maroon hue, his head shrouded in a black hood. The man outstretches his arms, and the thick sleeves of his dark robe droop downward. "I understand," he cooes. "You're wanted for somethin'."

"Hey…" Dark murmurs, squinting to focus in on the man's face. "…I've seen you before."

"I disagree," he says, suspiciously lowering his head to allow the hood to mask more of his face. "Aside from workin', I rarely leave my hut in the forests of Faronville."

Dark glares at him. "No—I'm certain I've seen you before."

"Well," the man begins, revealing yellow teeth in a wry smile as he darts his eyes between us, "everybody has a doppelganger, correct?"

A chill runs down my spine. He's noticed our resemblance.

Once more, the man smiles devilishly, clasping his withering hands together out in front of him. "Tonight's when the cops 're comin' out. Tonight's when they're lookin' for them thugs." He pauses. "Say, 're you some of 'em?"

"Us? Thugs?" I say. "No."

After a brief hesitation, the man sighs lightly. "Well. For whatever reason you have for hidin', I'd gladly take you into my shop." He waves his arm outward, gesturing to a heavy door leading into the building to our left.

"You know," I say, "I think we're okay."

"Are you sure?" the man inquires. "I know a lot about the goings on 'round these streets. If you want info, I can give you some. I'd hate to find your dead bodies lyin' 'round here someday."

I blink—once, twice, thrice—thinking deeply, considering his offer. Info… I could use some of that. Maybe I could get a new lead on the elusive M.O.D. gang lord. After a while, I make my decision: "Okay."

Dark hits me in the chest, fixing me with a look of shock and worry. I nod at him to show that I know what I'm doing.

We follow the strange man through the door into his shop, and he flicks on the lights. "Welcome to my business."

The compact shop consists mainly of file cabinets, and a laptop sitting on a large wooden desk with one chair on one side and two chairs on the other.

The man takes a seat on the lone chair's side, gesturing for us to sit across from him. "Please, take a seat."

Hesitantly, we comply, still hearing the faint cry of police sirens outside the walls. I squint at the piece of paper lying askew on the desk, which reads in the top-right corner: C.T. LICENSING.

I nudge Dark and point to it. Dark's eyes widen, and it looks like he's about to speak, but the man beats him to it.

"Now," he says, "what questions do you have for me?"

I look at Dark, who has his mouth clamped shut, and decide to ask, "Can you remove your hood?"

"No," he replies quickly. "…I was once horribly wounded. I prefer to keep my face concealed."

"Okay." That was a little suspicious. "What do you know of the M.O.D.'s leader?"

"The single most dangerous man alive. He seems to be in charge of all these critters crawlin' 'round town; or, at least, that's what I've heard."

"Where is their stronghold located?"

He sighs a ragged breath. "Oy—I'm afraid I can't tell you that. That would be me sendin' you off to your grave."

"I insist."

The man chuckles. "What is your fascination with the Men of Demise for?"

"What is your knowledge of the Men of Demise for?"

He thinks. For quite awhile, actually, until he speaks once again: "…I listen to the rumors."

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.

"Thanks for your hospitality but I think we should go now," Dark announces hastily.

"But, the cops," the man says.

"We can fend for ourselves."

With that, Dark grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the shop, but my eyes never leave the man. I keep glaring at him until I see the heavy door separate us.

"Dark," I say.

"Link," he says.

"I think he's in the M.O.D."

"What? Nah, can't be. Y'know why?"

I shake my head. "Why?"

"'Cause that's the dude that gave me my credit card and my identity," he explains, taking out his ID card that he had showed me before at the drag bar. "Remember this? He was lying. I have seen him before. He's that Aghanim dude."

"But why would he want to hide his identity?" I ask, squinting in confusion.

Dark shrugs. "No idea."

"Whatever," I groan. "I've gotta get home. All the mystery in this damn city is giving me a migraine problem."

Monday, October 16

"If I ever have a son," Sheik blurts out randomly, "I'm going to name him Adam."

"Adam?" I repeat. "Why?"

"I like that name. It's strong."

"What about the middle name?"

"Sheik. After me, of course."

I pause. "Adam Sheik Shadow…. Dude, you're gonna wanna change that."

"Why?"

"The initials spell 'ass'."

Pipit, Sheik, and I chuckle. "Fine," he grunts, "I'll change it. What about you, Link? What's your kid gonna be named?"

I grin. "If it's a boy, Link."

Pipit laughs. "That's a good one, buddy." Patting me on the shoulder, he offers me an amused grin.

I glare at him.

"Your son needs an amazing name…." Pipit gazes longingly outward at the now-appearing stars. "A name so awesomely amazing, everyone will bow down to him upon introduction…."

"What kind of name would make that happen?" I ask, maintaining my glare.

"Pipit."

"Hell no."

"Hell yeah!" he retorts, his voice getting unusually high. "C'mon—it's a great name!"

"So you're saying…" I begin, "…that your name is so awesomely amazing that everyone bows down to you upon introduction?"

Pipit blinks at me. A second passes. Two, three, then four. "…Yes!"

I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't even name a pet rock after you—no less my own son."

"Wow. Harsh." He frowns. "Then name your daughter after me."

"No."

"You could name her Pippi! Like that old kids' movie, Pippi Longstocking!"

"No."

"On second thought, you should name your son Pippi, too. Because if he's a dude, and if he's named after me, you just know he's gonna have a long stocking."

"Shut up, Pipit," Sheik chastises.

A moment passes.

"If I ever have a son," Mikau begins after a bit, "I'm gonna name him Rowen."

"Why Rowen?" Sheik asks.

"'Cause then his full name would be Rowen Kohen."

I smirk. "What will be his middle name? Bowen?"

Mikau shrugs. "I was thinkin' James…. But yeah, Bowen's good."

"Rowen Bowen Kohen," Pipit laughs. "You think Lulu's gonna be okay with that?"

Mikau, looking a bit glum, just shrugs and looks down at the pavement as we walk. "I don't know if Lulu's gonna be the mother, guys."

"Uh oh," groans Sheik. "Something happened, didn't it?"

He shrugs, still avoiding eye contact, then nods admittedly. "She got mad that I went out with you guys to a bar and got… a tad bit drunk."

"Why would you tell her that you went to a bar?" Pipit asks incredulously. "Seriously—you shouldn't tell your girlfriend anything that you do with your buds. Don't you ever read my blog?"

"No," Mikau grumbles, "I don't. And I was drunk—she knew I went out."

I squint in confusion,wondering aloud, "Pipit has a blog?"

My three friends conveniently ignore me, continuing to discuss Mikau's situation. "So she's mad at you? So what?" Pipit asks, throwing his arms outward.

"So, she might break up with me."

"For what? For spending quality time with your bros?"

"For making bad decisions with you guys," he responds, meeting his eyes and nodding.

"We don't make bad decisions!"

Mikau snorts. "And you're saying this," he murmurs, "as we're walking down Main Street at eight-thirty on a Monday night."

We chuckle. "Come on," Sheik says, "it's only eight-thirty—we're Castle Towners! This is nothin' for us. The night is still young!"

Mikau squints. "Won't Malon get mad at you for this?"

"Nah," Sheik snickers, "my girl is cool. That's the difference between you and me."

Mikau rolls his eyes, and Pipit grins. "Sheik," the brunette boy begins, "I'm so proud of you, buddy! You've come back from the dead!"

He nods, ruffling Pipit's hair with his fist. "Damn straight. I've decided…. I'm going to spend at least sixty percent of my free time with my bros."

"Because bros before hoes!" Pipit exclaims, punching a fist in the air.

"I say," Sheik chimes, "we all make a pact."

"A pact?" Mikau and I repeat.

"Three times a week, we have a day just to ourselves. Just dudes, no girlfriends." Sheik smirks. "What do you say? All in?"

Pipit grins. "Hell yeah!"

Mikau and I share a concerned look, shrug, then say, "Sure."

"To bros," Pipit says, raising his right hand.

"To bros," we all repeat, mimicking the act.

Pipit's eyes land on me, and he squints in suspicion. "Link," he asks, "what's with the glove?"

Crap. I should've known someone would ask me about it.

I look at Sheik; his eyes are widened, and his mouth is slightly agape. That's right—he knows about the symbol hiding beneath the glove.

But Pipit and Mikau don't, so I'd like to keep it that way.

"Uh… I, er… I burned my hand."

"From what?"

"Something hot."

"Zelda burned you?"

"What?"

"Nothin'." He winks.

I glare at him. "You're back on that now? Really?"

"Yeah, really!" Pipit exclaims. "You ditched me for her yesterday."

"Sorry," I grunt, "but I didn't want to watch a girl fight."

"Well you missed out."

"How?"

"They started making out afterwards."

I roll my eyes, grumbling sarcastically, "Oh, darn it."

"Pfft, whatever. Hope you had fun braiding friendship bracelets while I was being a man."

"By yourself, though," I reply with a smirk. Pipit squints at me. "Sounds pretty lonely, doesn't it? Always out by yourself, doing the 'manly thing' with no one else?"

Pipit, in the lead, stops walking. I stop too, fixing him with a smirk. "You know," he says, narrowing his eyes at me, "I'd rather choose the lonely path and be a man than be with the majority—shemales like you—in the world."

I look behind me at Sheik and Mikau, whose eyes are wide in an 'oh, shit' manner. Maintaining my smirk, I swivel my head back over to Pipit. "So you think you're better than us."

I hear a faint "Uh-oh" behind me.

As Pipit's lip twitches into a snarl, I continue: "Truth is, you're not better. You're a sad person. But you keep telling others and yourself that you're far superior just to make yourself feel better because y—"

"Ugh!" Pipit loses his cool, rearing his right arm back and throwing a punch straight at me.

In half a second, I whip my gloved hand upward just in time to catch Pipit's fist in my palm. As I lightly grip his knuckles, the energy courses through my fingertips, and I fight to keep it all harnessed. I glare disdainfully into his brown eyes, noticing them dart down to my gloved hand. With dread, I notice that some golden light is leaking through the fabric, faintly illuminating our faces.

I release his hand and jam mine into my pants pocket, feeling the burning sensation die down gradually with each passing second. With contempt, I look at Pipit; his expression is mixed with confusion, anger, and shame.

He meets my eyes. "What… was that…?"

"You really had to throw a punch?!" I shout angrily, ignoring his question.

His eyes fall to the ground, and he shakes his head. "Look—I'm sorry…" he replies. "…But you baited me."

"You baited me to bait you."

He blinks. "What?"

I shake my head. "You are insane."

"Really," he says, eyebrows furrowed. "'Cause I thought I was pathetic, and a sociopath, and lonely, and sad." He shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from me. "…I'm tired of hearing that."

I hear a low whistle. We turn to look at Mikau and Sheik, whose eyes are wide. "That got real—"

"Wait, wait," I say. "You've heard that before?"

He nods curtly.

"From who?"

He squints his eyes shut. "I don't want to talk about it."

"No, come on," I urge. "Tell me."

He heaves a sigh, opens his eyes, and shrugs. "It was… y'know… Karane."

Sheik, Mikau, and I raise our eyebrows. "Really?" Mikau asks. "Well, that was cold-blooded of her!"

I shoot him a glare.

He shrugs.

"Yeah, it really was," Pipit grunts with a nod. "But I don't want to talk about it." He pauses, turning his back. "Especially since my best friends agree with her."

"Now look what you've done, kid," Sheik whispers angrily, swatting my head with his palm.

"He called me a shemale!" I whine.

"No, no, it's cool," Pipit says. "I overreacted…. You just… pushed a button."

I shrug, murmuring quietly, "You pushed my button-pushing button, so…"

Sheik swats my head again, but Pipit didn't seem to hear the comment.

"Today, I went up to talk to her, but she shut me out. She, um… used those words." Pipit turns to face us once again.

Sheik squints. "But why?"

"Because, well," he pauses to take a steadying breath, "at the lounge today, I saw this guy hitting on her, and she… seemed to like it. So when he left, I went up to her. She was friendly and all, until I made a joke like, 'You could totally do better than that guy.' She didn't like that."

"Why not? That's flattering," Mikau comments.

"That's what I thought," Pipit responds with a shrug. "But she said, 'Better? Like, you better?' And, the comic that I am, I made another joke. 'Yeah!' I said. Karane then got even more pissed. She, um, she said a variation of those words."

I'm frozen in place, idly frowning at a crack in the sidewalk, feeling like a complete jackass. Karane is the girl Pipit has liked—I think, at least—for a long time, and for her to say stuff like that, well, is kinda heartless. For me to say stuff like that was kinda heartless. After all, Pipit threw a watermelon at Groose for me. He took a punch for me.

After about ten seconds of sheer awkwardness, I look up at Pipit, step toward him, and throw myself into a bro hug with him before he even knows what's going on. "I'm sorry, man," I say.

Pipit pats my back. "Me too… but this is super gay."

"It kinda is." I step away from him, chuckle, then turn back to face our other friends.

Mikau and Sheik burst out laughing.

"No, we are not sneaking into another bar!" I protest, throwing my arms outward in frustration.

"Relax, dude," Pipit laughs, "this is a local college club. Everyone looks young, so we don't have to worry about being carded."

"Hey, it's you guys again!" hollers an all-too-familiar voice. Dark saunters over to us with a spring in his step, lugging a burlap sack over his shoulder.

"Holy shit!" Sheik shouts, taking three steps back. "Pipit, you weren't kidding?!"

Dark, Mikau, and I squint.

"No, I wasn't," Pipit chuckles. "See? They're identical!"

"Ooh," Dark, Mikau, and I say harmoniously.

"Whoops," I say, "forgot to tell you."

"Yeah, you did!" Sheik exclaims. "You have a freaking twin brother!"

"He's not my brother."

Sheik blinks. "What? Of course he is!"

Dark shrugs, explaining, "I'm just his doppelganger."

"We've been over this," Pipit grumbles. "Sheik, if you weren't lame and came to the drag bar with us, then maybe you'd be in the know."

Sheik squints. "Really think about what you just said."

Pipit shrugs. "Point taken."

Mikau nudges Dark. "What's in the sack?"

Dark wiggles his eyebrows. "Ooh, you wanna find out?"

Mikau rolls his eyes. "The burlap sack, dumbass."

Raising a brow questionably, Sheik whispers, "So a gay goth doppelganger?"

"A bi goth doppelganger," I correct, nodding with an amused smirk.

"Gods. I think I'm gonna need a psychiatrist."

"Well," Dark begins, "it's full of necessary survival supplies."

"Like what?"

"Cans of food, water bottles, a portable tent, and all five Mission: Impossible movies."

Pipit gasps. "The fifth one hasn't even come out on DVD!"

With a smirk, Dark lifts his chin. "I know a guy."

"What guy do you know?" I say. "You barely know ten people."

Dark shrugs, then sticks his thumb in the direction of the college club across the street. "What do you say? Wanna get your drink on?"

"Hell yeah!" Pipit exclaims, dragging us toward the building.

Another bar infiltration... I wonder what else is in store for me tonight, I muse, not even noticing the watchful eyes from behind the five of us.