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Rain pounds against the stone of the viewing platform, loud enough to drown the sound of Zelda’s racing heart. Only moments ago, she and Link were lying on a blanket in the grass, a blue sky over their heads and the remains of a picnic at their feet. Now that blanket is soaked through and their leftovers ruined, courtesy of the surprise thunderstorm currently raging over Faron Woods.
“Shit,” Link mutters next to her, and Zelda rather agrees with him – she’s drenched from their sprint to safety, and a bit shaken as well. In all their months living on the Surface, they’ve never had a storm appear so suddenly and with such fury. Link’s story about how the Water Dragon flooded Faron Woods rushes into her head. Will it rain enough to flood? Are they going to have to swim home?
“Are you okay?”
“Hm?” Zelda shakes the thoughts from her mind. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine. Just wondering if I’ll need a swimming lesson before we go home.” She gives him a teasing smile, the kind that used to make him stammer and blush. Used to. He still blushes and stammers when she flirts, just not quite like he did Before.
His frown lingers for another second, blue eyes searching her face like he’s not fully convinced. It breaks her heart a little, how much he worries for her. Breaks her heart and heals it again all in one go.
“Link, I’m fine. Soaked to the bone, but fine. Promise.” Zelda steps closer, much closer than she would have in the past. Close enough to hear him suck in a breath and see the raindrops that cling to his eyelashes. “And what about you?”
Color floods his cheeks, but he doesn’t back away like he would have Before. Zelda has to bite her lip to keep from grinning. Small steps. Tiny victories. A little push here, a meaningful look there…
Link’s eyes drop to her mouth like a stone in a pond, heavy enough to pin her in place and knock the air from her lungs. Something shifts in his expression, in the way he holds himself, and all at once Zelda remembers that he’s not a boy anymore. That he’s much larger than her, and stronger, and far more handsome than someone who is soaking wet has any right to be. Her heart thunders in her ears, louder than the storm. Can he hear it?
“How much longer do you think it will last?” she asks, breathless and hyper-aware of the water dripping from her hair, rolling down her skin. Blue eyes leave her mouth to follow the path of one of the drops until it’s gone; he licks his lips when it disappears into the fabric of her dress, swallows heavily, and Zelda thinks her knees might give out.
Link doesn’t even look at the sky. “A while,” he says. His voice is pitched low. Rough around the edges. He lifts a shaking hand and reaches out, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, behind her ear, and when she feels the callouses on his fingertips against her cheek, goosebumps break out across her skin. She shivers. He closes the remaining distance between them.
“Can I?” A question so small, so simple, and yet—
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”
It’s little more than a whisper, but he hears her just fine.
The storm drowns out everything else.