Work Text:
The broad doors push open, and it’s such a gloriously bright day outside that Owlan has to close his eyes. The sun hits his skin with warmth and the prickle of a light breeze, the scent of fresh baked bread wafting out the chimney and the floral perfume from his window mingling underneath it. Horwell’s rich cologne is a faint treasure in the distance. Owlan adjusts and opens up again, smiling softly at his partner.
Horwell’s delicately perched on the lip of that second-story field, raised above the path below, covered in lush grass that Owlan personally attends. Mia’s puttering about the small ridge, curiously batting at the new life form before her: the marvelous kikwi Link brought from the surface. Oolo isn’t trembling, like he used to all the time when he first arrived, but he is flat on his stomach, that bush-like protrusion on his back fully extended. Owlan has dedicated most of his spare time of late to studying such a unique structure, and yet he’s still struck by it anew, momentarily mesmerized by the strange biological configuration. There’s nothing else in Skyloft like it. Or any of the surrounding islands. Horwell, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly content just watching Mia play.
A bead of perspiration slides down one of the full glasses in Owlan’s hands, dribbling over his finger. It reminds him of the fresh fruit smoothies he carries, and he moves forward again. Horwell’s gaze stays on their ‘pets.’ Then Horwell is carefully sitting down beside him, holding both drinks level, and extending one to his favourite professor.
Mia audibly bonks her tail on Oolo’s forehead. He starts crawling frantically around her. Owlan feels obligated to call out, “She will not hurt you, you know.” At least, not during the day.
The kikwi makes one of his curious high pitched noises and keeps crawling. He doesn’t appear to be terribly distressed and should know that if he feels threatened, he can come to Owlan immediately. Or perhaps he doesn’t trust Owlan fully yet. They are so terribly different. Owlan’s not even sure he’s using the correct pronouns, but Oolo doesn’t seem to understand the concept well enough to correct him. ‘It’ just doesn’t feel appropriate for what appears to be a fully sentient being. And yet Oolo remains sprawled out like a plant surviving purely on photosynthesis. For the hundredth time, Owlan mutters under his breath, “Fascinating.”
“They’re incredibly cute, aren’t they?” Horwell sighs. “And how perfect—our two passions together, both flora and fauna.”
That certainly covers most of Owlan’s passions. Not all. The rest sits beside him. Owlan pushes the tall glass into Horwell’s hands, and Horwell graciously accepts it with a pleasant, “Thank you.” Owlan nods and takes his first step. They’re at the exact right time of year for mixed-berry drinks: everything is wondrously ripe and full of flavour.
Owlan would’ve offered his guest one, but Oolo seems content to subsist on sunlight. Mia is having the time of her life observing that.
Horwell and Owlan sit back and bask in their delight, enjoying the day.