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pastelsandpining · 3 months

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this was so perfect and sweet and 😭😭😭😭😭 i loved it so much thank you dee!!! ilysm!!!!!

this peppermint winter, this marshmallow world

Zelink | College AU | 5.8k

At the end of the second swallow, she finally opened her eyes—and caught Link in the midst of a sip of his own. Watching her. Why did the warmth in his eyes look so…different? Had he ever looked at her that way before, in all their years of friendship? Maybe it was just the glow of the streetlamp they stood beneath, transforming the snow into glittering fairy dust and the ambiance into spun gold. If they left this place, if they took their walk as planned, perhaps the clear blue moon would return them to the same light they’d always been cast in. Why did the thought of that make her chest so tight?

Written for @pastelsandpining as part of the Hateno Hideout Secret Santa! If you like the best-friends-to-lovers trope, nonverbal trans guy Link who is acting veeeery oddly all of a sudden, and confused, investigative Zelda, this one is for you.

Read it on AO3, FFN, or under the cut!

Zelda knew something was wrong with Link from a mile off.

It didn’t matter that she was stuck behind the front desk, explaining to a frazzled-looking first year that no, they did not have any private study rooms available at this very minute, and they would have to wait twenty minutes or so until something opened up. From the moment her best friend strode into Castleton University’s Gaebora Library, his snow-dusted green beanie pulled down tight and chin tucked in low, she could tell that his mind was running a mile a minute on some topic or another. He always tended to crunch in physically when he was mentally distressed, after all.

As the student surrendered with a grimace and set off towards the staircase—no doubt heading for one of the public sitting areas on the quiet upper floors—Link lifted his chin, and Zelda met his eyes. The whites widened, the pupils expanded. Then his gaze promptly dropped back to the laminate tiles underfoot.

Zelda’s suspicion rocketed through the ceiling, the five floors of the library over her head, and the snow-laden roof shingles high above. With the exception of particularly awkward or emotional conversations, Link had never struggled to hold eye contact with her before. Heck, they had practically lived off of staring contests back in high school. Even now, five semesters into university, new friends invariably asked if she and Link were dating based solely on how annoying about eye contact and making goofy faces at each other they were.

Still, there was no way he could actually avoid her, even if he wanted to. Not when she was on front desk duty, and the only student worker on shift who knew Hyrulean Standard Sign Language. After all, Link never came to the library to study, only to pick up books. Nonverbal as he was, it was easier to focus in a private place than somewhere people who couldn’t understand HSSL might try to talk to him.

His fingers stuttered through her name-sign for a moment before smoothing through the rest of his words. “I have an interlibrary loan to pick up? A Walk in the Lost Woods by K.-I.-A. H-E-R-M-O-S?” His finger-spelling of the name was quick, but she’d been signing since elementary school and reading Link’s words and letters off his hands for nearly as long; it was nearly impossible to trip her up at this point.

“Sure, I’ll just need to grab it!” Zelda’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm to cover up her suspicion. “For your Environmental Philosophy course, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. Got an essay due next week.”

Well, at least he was making conversation.

“Tonight is such a mess,” she complained. “I swear I’ve had five different students try to get me to find their books for them instead of just following my directions. It’s like everyone’s brain cells died over winter break.”

A smile cracked through Link’s slight frown and downturned brows. “So now they’re killing yours in retribution, huh?”

“Mm-hm! Which is exactly why you should get us coffees from Piper’s and meet me on the quad for a walk when you’re finished studying and I’m done with my shift!” She beamed at him.

Just like that, alarm swept his face clean of the soft warmth it had held only a moment prior, and his gaze darted away from her once again. He rubbed his hands on his pants before replying, as if wiping off sweat—which was weird, given that he’d just come in from the cold, and hadn’t been wearing gloves.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Come on, please?” she wheedled. “I’ll need something to resuscitate my poor, dying brain cells. And you’re my chosen hero of the hour.” She smiled in the winning, bossy way she’d learned from a childhood cultivated by a single dad who was not only a hardass entrepreneur, but also had moonlit as the president of the PTA at every public school she had attended.

She’d learned other things from Daphnes, too. Like how to pursue a lead when something seems fishy—and how to throw someone off the scent of your true intentions until the opportune moment.

The trick was to pick a reason that was still genuine, just not the whole truth.

Link sighed, his gestures slowing and taking on weight to emphasize his put-upon tone. “If you insist. But— I’m bringing hot chocolate, not coffee.” Her pout was met with a stern, wolf-eyed stare. “I don’t care if you live off of caffeine. It’ll be after ten before we’re both done for the night, and I’m not dropping money on your addiction when I’ve got perfectly good cocoa mix in my dorm.”

Zelda let out a ponderous sigh of her own. “Fiiiine.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“They say that the chosen heroes rarely were,” Link shot back, his gestures short and snippy, but punctuated with enough flair that she knew it was from sass rather than actual upset. “I’m just living up to your expectations.”

“Sure, hero.” She smirked. “Let me grab that book.”

As she swiveled her rolly chair around to scan the loan shelf for his book—Nayru’s love, did none of the other student workers this semester realize they were supposed to label the books with the requester’s name to make things easier?—Zelda mused over Link’s odd behavior. He’d brightened up, sure, but for him to hesitate over spending time together…

Well, the last time that had happened, it was right before he came out to her as trans the year they turned thirteen, and he was terrified she was going to hate him forever.

When she spun back around, Link was fervently tapping his fingers against the wood of the front desk, expressions dancing over his features so quickly that she couldn’t make them out. He remained wordless and reticent while she checked out the green-bound hardback and passed it over, before throwing her a tight smile, waving awkwardly with his free hand, and walking out the door at an even brisker pace than usual.

He hadn’t even paused to tuck the book away in his backpack.

…It was fine. It was. He’d been wrong back then—she could never hate him, but especially not for that —and no matter what secret feelings he was keeping close to his chest right now, he’d be wrong this time, too. She loved him too much for any other option to stick. Like snow falling on a manhole cover, any trouble between them would melt away before it had the chance to build up.

She would make sure of it.

One of the downsides of working at Gaepora Library was that even at the end of the long, grueling evening shift, Zelda couldn’t leave until she’d scrubbed the floor.

The reasoning was understandable enough, she supposed—given the building’s late hours, the CasU custodial staff were all done for the day by the time the library closed, and the slush and salt dragged into the lobby would damage the library’s century-old hardwood floor if it sat on them overnight—but that didn’t make her job any more enjoyable. The snow outside was pretty and all, and she couldn’t wait to go out in it with Link later, but did every student need to track slush in on their boots? They had a mat in front of the door for a reason!

Dimly, she noticed the clomping of winter boots approaching the front doors. Zelda glared down at the dirty rag in her hand and scrubbed even more vigorously. Surely the late visitor would notice the “CLOSED” sign she’d propped up in the front window, or the fact that nearly all the lobby lights were off, or her scrubbing the floor, and correctly assume that they should come back in the morning.

The door before her swung open.

Zelda reared back from the sudden blast of cold. Wrath simmered in her veins, and she snapped her head up, ready to give this person a piece of her mind.

“Excuse me, but the library is actually closed for the eve—”

Link.

His nose was red from the chill, and his shoulders shook with mirth. Immediately, all of the frustration that had been coiling like smoke in Zelda’s lungs throughout her shift whooshed out of her with a deep sigh.

“Nice floor,” he signed. “Very clean.”

“If you step on it, I might have to kill you.”

He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’d obviously stopped by his dorm since the last time she’d seen him. His rugged leather-and-canvas backpack was nowhere to be seen, and he’d swapped out his slate-blue quilted jacket for a snowquill-stuffed puffy coat. This time, he was actually wearing gloves, and his omnipresent green beanie was pulled as far over his ears as it could manage.

She smiled fondly. Some things never changed. They might be twenty and sleep-deprived from annotated bibliographies and slideshow presentations instead of ten and sleep-deprived from playing video games under the covers all night, but Link would always get cold faster than she did.

Link, unaware of the nostalgic origins of her affectionate stare, gave her a hesitant smile in return. “I left the hot chocolates outside. No food and drinks in the library, and all.”

“Aw, you’re such a good boy,” she cooed. “You rule follower, you.”

To her surprise, he flushed redder than the ruby studs in his ears. Gloved fingers twitched wildly in the air for a moment in a clear nonvocal stutter before he pressed the tips together so hard that she almost thought she could see them quiver from the strain.

The pause in the conversation was disjointed, alien. Like they were metronomes running on two different beats per minute, instead of the unison they’d always shared.

“Are–are you ready to go?” he asked eventually, and Zelda’s brows shot up. Was he just not going to address his reaction? What was going on?

At her lack of reply, his eyes darted around the lobby, and he filled the void himself. “They’re gonna get cold if you take much longer. Slowpoke.” Even the teasing insult was added on belatedly, as though he was reading off a script of their usual interactions and had nearly forgotten the last part of his line.

Well, if he wasn’t going to be normal, she would just have to pick up his slack.

“Oh, I’ve been ready! In all ways except the physical.” She waved the damp rag in her hand pointedly. “Give me just a minute.”

The nod Link gave her was heavy with relief, and she realized he was grateful she hadn’t called him out on his weird behavior. Well, he was going to be in for a rude awakening once they started their walk and the interrogation began.

One rag rinsed and squeezed out, one desktop computer logged out and turned off, and one book-stuffed messenger back hauled onto her shoulder later, they were out the door.

Zelda was grateful for the hot chocolate before she even took a sip. The lightweight knit gloves she kept in the pocket of her winter coat were not cutting it against the chilly wind and swirling snow. Central Hyrule wasn’t particularly known for being a cold region of Hyrule—not with places like the Mt. Nayru region of Lanayru and the entirety of Hebra as competition—but when winter settled in over the wide grasslands, it truly did settle. So when she plucked one of Link’s ceramic travel mugs off the bench, the heat that sunk into her fingers was entirely welcome.

“They’re dark chocolate with peppermint and marshmallows,” Link signed. His gestures were harder to decipher when made one-handed, as the other was occupied with his own mug; still, after a lifetime of communicating with Link in all kinds of one- and two- and even no-handed situations, she could parse them rather well. “I made them both the same so that you wouldn’t have to make any decisions. Or complain if I made the decision.”

“Aw, you’re so kind. The great hero, saving me from my own agency.” She sent him a sly look.

“Hey, how many times have you texted me just to ask me to pick something for you out of decision fatigue at the end of a long day?”

“Too many to count.” She nudged him in the side gently. “I am grateful for that, truly.”

“Oh, I know.” His elbow bumped her in return. “Now drink your hot chocolate, you mooch.”

“ Yeah, your mooch,” she shot back, and took a sip.

If she’d been looking at Link at that instant, she might have seen how his lips parted and trembled at her words. But Zelda’s eyelashes had fluttered closed from pleasure the moment the sweet, minty richness hit her tastebuds, and the moment passed, unseen.

“Mmmmm, that’s the stuff.” Unconsciously, she poked her tongue out to collect the scant remaining droplets of chocolate from her lips, before going back in for another greedy gulp. The warmth, the velvety texture of half-melted marshmallows slipping into her mouth, the cool echo of mint that lingered even after the sip was gone—it was like a green firework going off in her mouth, cascading sparks of comfort all the way down to her stomach.

At the end of the second swallow, she finally opened her eyes—and caught Link in the midst of a sip of his own. Watching her.

Why did the warmth in his eyes look so…different? Had he ever looked at her that way before, in all their years of friendship?

Maybe it was just the glow of the streetlamp they stood beneath, transforming the snow into glittering fairy dust and the ambiance into spun gold. If they left this place, if they took their walk as planned, perhaps the clear blue moon would return them to the same light they’d always been cast in.

Why did the thought of that make her chest so tight?

“How are the brain cells?” Link signed.

“Huh?” She blinked, owl-eyed.

He laughed. “Okay, so they’re obviously not—” His hands fluttered in the air for a moment. “Oh, what was the word you used before…”

“Resuscitated.” She narrowed her eyes.

He ignored it. “That’s it! Resuscitated. Obviously your brain cells haven’t been resuscitated yet.”

“I think your presence might be killing them off, actually.”

“Well, I can always leave if that’s what you’d prefer…” His words were lighthearted, but something glittered in his eyes. Something that turned her stomach and reminded her what, exactly, they were there for.

“No!” She flinched back at her own outburst and thought fast. “I mean, no, obviously I don’t want you to leave. What I want is to go on a walk with you through the Green.”

“The Green?” If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed him nervously biting his lower lip. “I thought you said the quad. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go all the way out there. I mean, it’s going to get pretty cold tonight.”

“The cold front isn’t supposed to blow in until midnight, actually. I checked the weather earlier. It’ll be totally fine—no more snow or cold than we’re already getting.”

Link looked up, but the sky was inscrutable. It was impossible to tell if the clouds above were thick and heavy with snow or light and mobile; if they were on their way out or if more lurked on the horizon. His brow furrowed.

“Besides, I can always keep you warm myself,” Zelda joked. It was a quip long-familiar for them—their friendship had always been one of touchy-feely affection—but instead of the habitual glomping hug or taking of her hand, Link only gave her that same frightened rabbit stare.

“Or not.” She laughed awkwardly. “Again, the weather shouldn’t be a problem anyhow. Even for you.”

“Ha, ha,” he signed sarcastically, and she could have collapsed with relief. “Make fun of me for having a normal response to abnormal temperatures.”

“It’s my solemn duty as your best friend to make fun of you,” she said through a cheeky grin. “So? Are you in?”

Link sighed, and it was like she was seeing the action in double: the put-upon, overdramatic performance, and the actual release of trepidation it concealed. “...Yeah. Yeah, of course I’m in. Always.”

Always, even if the whole evening had been strange and discombobulated so far. Zelda took a deep breath and let it out. They would get through this, no matter what was churning inside his head and spilling out like steam over a hot spring. It was him and her. Zelda and Link. Always.

“Perfect.” She smiled at him, softer than the gently falling snowflakes. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” he said, and the smallness and lightness of his motions let Zelda know her feelings were reciprocated. “Let’s take a walk.”

The Green was the closest thing CasU had to a nature reserve. It must have had some sort of official name, but Zelda hadn’t looked at a map of campus in years, and every student she’d ever heard talking about the place just called it the Green. Even the professors and administration did, as if they realized that no one would know what they were referring to unless they adopted the students’ language.

But regardless of what one called the hundreds of acres of green space that hugged the entire western border of campus, a walk on one of the well-trodden footpaths along the river, through the woods, or across the meadows was always an enjoyable way to spend a few hours. Between Link’s Outdoor Education major, Zelda’s multitude of Biology internships, and the hours the pair had spent avidly mapping every trail themselves during their first semester, they both practically had the land memorized.

Still, it was only practically, never wholly, because there was always something new to see.

Even with three years at CasU under her belt, the Green’s beauty in winter never failed to strike her. Although it might have benefitted from a temporary renaming, given how everything besides the tall, old conifers sprinkled amongst the leafless oaks, maples, and aspens was blanketed in pure white snow. The branches criss-crossing over their heads were completely coated, as if the goddesses had dipped them in marshmallow fluff for a wintry treat.

“It looks completely different,” Link signed. He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

Zelda had to agree. The last time they’d hiked through the Green—nearly a month ago now, between finals, winter break, and the hectic first week back—a chaotic mess of decaying leaves had carpeted the forest floor, and they’d had to watch their step or risk tripping over a well-camouflaged root. The soil had been wet and slick beneath their feet from rain, and sprinkled through the tussocks of browning grass crumbled huge, frost-blackened mushrooms. Now, the whole world glittered beneath the silver rays of the half-moon, illuminating dozens of squirrel, rabbit, bird, and deer tracks that ran beneath the tree trunks—tracks that could only have been laid since the snow began falling, less than an hour ago.

How strange, that the season of death felt more lively than the long, damp months that preceded it.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why. The hush just felt right.

When Link looked over at her, eyes soft and wide with wonder, and nodded, she knew he felt it too.

They reached a split in the path, a familiar crossroad. Left would take them further into the woods; right would take them to the meadows on the northeastern edge of the Green, before curving back in the direction of campus proper.

She turned to Link once again. “What do you think? Right?”

“Wrong,” Link joked. “Nah, totally, let’s go to the meadows. It’ll be easier to get back to our dorms from there anyway.”

“It’ll be nice to see how they look, too, with the snow. By morning all the skiers will be out, and it won’t be nearly as pretty.” Zelda grinned good-naturedly. ‘All the skiers’ often included Link and Zelda in their numbers, after all.

They swung off to the right, pointing out how the makeup of the forest changed as they got closer and closer to the meadows. When they both finished their final swigs of cocoa, marshmallows glazing pillowy sweetness down their throats, Zelda offered to stow their travel mugs away in her backpack. After all, Link had made them himself in his ceramics studio last year; it wouldn’t do for them to break!

Still, even when the heat from the mug in her hands was gone, Zelda felt warm down to her core.

Books always said that winter was quiet, but Zelda couldn’t help but feel that was exactly wrong. It always felt, to her, like more. Brighter, with the snow reflecting the moonlight back up to dazzle their retinas and aid their journey. Freer, with the song of the wind more obvious as the fresh powder muffled any of the typical forest sounds. Sweeter, with the clean crispness of snowfall settling on the tongue. The beautiful more ness of it all filled her up, until she felt just shy of bursting with contentment.

And then they crossed into the open air with its swirling snow and stars, and something in her chest, something brilliant and winged and joyful, rose and broke free of its tether.

Her head tipped back and her mouth opened wide and she drank in the moonlight, the starlight, the north wind. Arms flung wide to embrace the night. She twirled, twirled, twirled, basking in the coldbright good until it blurred into streaks and her dancing feet stumbled their way into a deep, clinging snowbank and she tripped—

Arms around her. Warm but not warm; body heat covered up by a wind-chilled shield. Soft but not soft; sturdy compactness muffled by puffy down. Her body was motionless, but her vision spun like the orbit of some wild planet. Its sun: the green beanie.

“Nice catch,” she said breathlessly. “Have you considered sports?”

One hand lingered on her still-swaying waist, holding her steady. The other lifted to her cheek, its touch tender. His woolen glove itched as it traced letter-signs against her cold skin.

“D-U-M-M-Y.”

“Rude.”

With a deliberately hard blink, her vision finally stopped spinning. Link’s face was before her: nose and cheeks ruddy from the cold, bemused smirk on his lips. It was strange to be staring up at him for once. She hadn’t done that since they were eleven, when she shot up like a beanpole and didn’t stop growing until halfway through high school.

Noticing the change in her gaze, Link retracted his hand from her cheek, instead hovering it between them where she could make out his signs. “You know, spinning around like you did when we were little is a lot more dangerous now than it was then. Kids have way stronger bones.”

“I drink my milk, thanks. Lon Lon Ranch is coming in clutch for my bones.”

He gave her a deadpan look. “Sure you do. Because I’ve definitely seen you get milk at the cafeteria even once in the last two and a half years.”

“Well…there was milk in the hot chocolate, right?” She raised a brow at him.

“Nope. Box mix and water.” His stare was positively gloating.

“You’re awful.”

“ Yeah, your awful,” he said, and then, as if the terrible, adorable pun had flipped a switch in his brain, his jaw went slack and his eyes bugged. Zelda had about one second to get her feet beneath her before he dropped his arms and stepped back so abruptly that she would’ve fallen again, had she not felt the tension seize his every muscle.

As it was, she still stumbled. Her jaw clenched, but she forcibly relaxed it before meeting Link’s gaze again.

In the time it took her to recover, he’d taken two steps back, a distance that yawned between them like an abyss between their feet. His arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach, as if he was about to be sick—or protecting his soft, squishy bits from a nearby threat.

“I think it’s time to tell me what’s going on,” Zelda said, voice soft but clear.

Link was already shaking his head. She waited for his hands to rise into place, for him to uncurl his hedgehog self and speak, even if it was a no, but they didn’t.

“Link, it’s obvious that something is wrong. You’ve been acting wei—” She cut herself off; reconsidered. “... different all night. I’m not judging you, I’m worried. You’re my best friend. I want to help you, if it’s something I can help with.”

The head-shaking slowed, then gradually ceased. He peeled his arms free from his torso. When his gaze met hers, her heart twinged at how ashamed he looked, with his shiny eyes and the redness of his face that she knew surpassed what the cold alone could do to his skin.

“Do you promise you won’t judge me? Or get mad?”

“I promise,” she vowed. “And Link,” she smiled at him gently, “if you think I would judge you for anything, you’re ignoring thirteen years of experience.”

He let out a juddering sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay. Okay. So the thing is…” His gestures trailed off. He tried again. “The thing is…it’s…I…”

“You can plan what you want to say first,” Zelda murmured. “No hurry, as long as I do get to know it eventually.”

He nodded jerkily, gaze settling on the churned-up snow between them. When his hands began twitching in loose, tiny gestures, Zelda turned her own gaze to the sky to give him privacy.

The snow had begun falling faster since they’d begun their walk through the Green. She could hardly see the constellations between the shadows of the clouds above. The Ocarina, the Hero of Winds, the Chosen Lovers—all her favorites were out of sight. She could barely make out the three stars that formed the belt of the Princess of Light.

A tap on her shoulder. She looked over at Link, whose face looked a little more settled, a little less panicked.

“I’m ready now,” he signed. The motions were steadier, and she felt the tension in her unknot the tiniest bit. They were Link and Zelda. They’d be okay.

She nodded encouragingly.

“You’re right that there’s something wrong,” he started. “Wrong with—with me. At least I think it’s with me, because there’s nothing you’ve done wrong that would have done this, at least I don’t think so, I can’t think of anything, but—”

He cut himself off, dropping his hands fully back to his sides before raising them again.

“There is something wrong with me. When I’m with you. It started…” His gaze left hers and focused on the stars above, remembering. “I think it started during finals week. That night we pulled the all-nighter. I thought it was just because of how tired I was…but then it happened over winter break, at the solstice bonfire. And it’s only gotten worse since then.”

Zelda’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Nothing wrong with her, yet it only happened when he was in her company? A gust of wind rocked them both, and for a split second, she wished it would carry her away.

“I just feel so…so weird,” he burst out, hands flying into bigger shapes than they had all night. “Whenever we’re together. My heart beats so hard, and I feel it everywhere. And my knees get all shaky, and my hands get all shaky—which really sucks when you need your hands to communicate, by the way—and my brain gets all fuzzy, and my stomach churns.”

Oh. Oh, he was…

“And it makes me feel awful, because you don’t deserve me acting so weird with you, but sometimes you get close, or you say things that just make–make it stronger, and I just can’t help it!” He shook his head wildly. “I think I must be sick or something!”

Her heart thrummed in her chest at the same time as she had to bite back a laugh. She’d been worried all this time, and all along, he’d—

“Link,” Zelda said carefully. “I don’t think you’re sick.”

“Yeah?” He looked hopeful. “What do you think it is?”

“Well…” How to phrase this delicately? “Do you remember Malon? From high school?”

“Of course! I mean, she was my first girlfriend, how could I forget her?”

“And do you remember how you felt when you two first got together?”

“Yeah, being with her always made my heart…flutter…” He broke off, and Zelda could see the gears start turning in his head, spinning faster than even the snowflakes falling thickly around them.

No turning back now.

“Link…have you ever considered that you might…love me romantically?”

The denial was immediate, words flying from his fingers. “I can’t like you! We said we’d never date back in, like, middle school!”

Her chest swelled with fond amusement at the silliness of the rebuke.

“Link, that was almost a decade ago. We’re completely different people now. Way smarter, emotionally competent, physically attractive people. ” She grinned teasingly. “You had that terrible haircut that made you look like a coconut back then, of course I wouldn’t date you.”

“A coconut,” he repeated, gestures spiky with his derision. “Like yours was much better! You had that little pageboy cut for years.”

“Yeah, and as my best friend, it’s really your fault that I looked so bad for so long. You really should’ve warned me.”

“My fault! You—” He broke off. After a couple of moments, he continued, gestures smaller. “You mentioned my hair, but…isn’t it also, you know, because of your sexuality?”

Zelda laughed. “I wasn’t even fourteen yet when we made that pact. I don’t think I even knew what a sexuality was.”

“No, I mean…” He scuffed his foot into the snow. “Now. You wouldn’t be into me now, because, you know.”

Zelda’s brows furrowed. “No, I really don’t. Can you be a little more clear?”

“Because…you’re straight?”

She blinked. That was not what she had expected him to say. “Link, that means I like men. You are a man. Of course I could be into you.”

Link blinked at her as if she had just delivered an entire lecture on the precise chemical makeup of the secretions of tireless frogs and their utilization in the pharmaceutical industry. “I…yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” A smile spread over his face, slow and steady, until he was positively beaming. “You’re right! You could be into me!” He froze. “Wait, but are you into me? You already know how I feel, so…”

“‘Know?’ I practically figured it out for you,” she teased, then took a deep breath. “To be honest, I haven’t thought about it before, because I’ve been so happy to be your best friend. I’d have been happy to be that for you forever, as long as I was by your side. But you…seriously, Link, if you’d want to give us a shot romantically, I’d be so down for that.”

“Really?” he asked, starry-eyed.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “It’s another way to get to know you, to be close to you. To be happy with you.” She shuffled her feet. “I love you, Link, and I’d love to love you even more. Why wouldn’t I want to take that chance?”

The smile he gave her warmed her right down to her frosty toes. The two paces that had separated them for the entirety of their conversation disappeared in a flash, as he clumsily crossed the snow between them.

“I could be your best friend forever, too,” he told her, “but I’d also like to be able to make out with you.”

One hand reached up to cup her face, and Zelda tilted her chin down until their cold-reddened noses brushed.

Nayru’s love, if Link’s heart had been hammering like this every time they’d touched for the last month, he was even more of an oblivious dummy than she thought.

But he was her oblivious dummy. Platonically, romantically. Eternally.

“We should get a start on that, then,” she murmured, watching his eyelashes flutter at the feeling of her breath on his face. “Time’s a-ticking. Snow’s a-blowing.”

Link let out a wordless groan, shifting the hand that cupped her cheek to instead twine demandingly through the hair at her nape, and signed rapidly with his free hand. “Gods, I love that smart mouth of yours.”

She wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, if it was Link’s hungry mouth or her own that bridged the gap. Whoever it was, it led to an intoxicating, insistent push-and-pull; the sharp press of Link’s teeth against her bottom lip; the sensation of the smooth muscle of his mouth as she traced her tongue along his own.

He tasted of chocolate, peppermint, and marshmallow. Sweet and warm and familiar, just like him.

Her best friend.

Link.

When they pulled apart, gasping for breaths that stung their lungs with the chill, she could feel that same fluttery something from earlier whirling in her chest, ablaze with joy.

“That was…” she breathed.

“Yeah,” Link agreed. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with desire, as they traced over her face. “It was.”

“We should do it again, as soon as possible.” Zelda pressed a kiss to the lobe of his ear, tugging the ruby stud there softly with her teeth and luxuriating in his ragged gasp. How glad she was that Link had never chosen to let the holes close over; that he could look in the mirror and see how they suited the him he was now, rather than who he’d been when they were first done.

“I think I’d rather—” he signed, and the shapes were fuzzy with the shaking of his hands, “—do it again somewhere warm.”

It was so unexpected, Zelda couldn’t help but release his ear in a full-body laugh. There was her Link, her precious, lovely, cold-hating Link.

He’d continued despite her fit of giggles, although a smile had curved the corners of his mouth as well. “Seriously, you said the cold front wasn’t coming in yet, so what’s this?” He gestured at the snow whirling around them, which admittedly was coming down rather hard. And maybe the wind blowing in from the north was a little strong.

“I never claimed to be a meteorologist,” Zelda sniffed. “And…didn’t I say I’d keep you warm?”

“Not warm enough!” Link dodged as she attempted to brush her icy nose into his warm neck. “Hey! Keep that thing to yourself!”

As she chased him down the path that would take them back to campus, laughing wildly and stumbling where the drifts were too deep, Zelda couldn’t help but grin. The magic spell hadn’t broken when they left the streetlamp after all: they had kindled it all by themselves. It didn’t matter where they were. At his side, every flurry could be fairy dust.

It was him and her. Zelda and Link.

Always.

#friend’s writing!#reblog

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