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“You’re lying,”
“Absolutely not, why would I lie about something so embarrassing?”
Link crinkled his eyes when he looked at the golden hair girl next to him tilting his head to examine her, but she exchanged his look with wide eyed emphasis.
“So let me get this straight, you’ve flown to Europe, been to several yacht parties, and ridden horses, but you’ve never ridden a bike?” Zelda is shoving him in the shoulder but a small blush has formed on her cheeks. They both know it’s getting later and later, but neither is willing to let the conversation die. Their textbooks were abandoned hours ago and both knew they’d be frantically cramming in the morning. But for now they seemed more content to lay back on Zelda’s bed hoping not to wake Zelda’s roommate.
She nodded frantically until a soft smile broke on her lips. It was deeply contagious.
“I guess I know what I’m doing this weekend.”
“Link, I’m too old to learn to ride a bike.”
“No such thing, besides, it’s better for the environment than driving to campus for what could be a short bike ride away.”
“And where should I gain this magical bike?”
“I have extras,” Link whispers. He knows he’s hovering too close to her now, but something in him wants to be closer. She doesn’t seem to mind. So they make a plan. Saturday Link will bring two bikes and they’ll go the trail that’s exactly 15 miles away from campus to avoid running into anyone Zelda might actually know and he won’t laugh at her. As much as he possibly can contain. It’s a simple plan, and it’s not like they haven’t gone out before. Yet the idea of it leaves both bundled in nerves.
There is no sarcastic overdrawn farewell. Instead Zelda walks him to the door and watches as he awkwardly slips his socked feet into hideous orange crocs and gives her an awkward smile only to have to run back in and grab his textbook and bag. Both linger at the door longer than they mean before confirming their plans again with an awkward pantomime of words and gestures. Zelda attempts to ignore how his hands look splayed against the textbook he holds to his chest. The cold air that rushes in with his exit is enough to tear her away from the door and send her to lay in bed. She doesn’t even bother unbraiding her hair before flopping down into her sea of pillows.
The vintage digital clock by her bed reads that it’s well past midnight. It’s Thursday and yet the weekend can’t come soon enough. Zelda runs through her equations and list of strong and weak acids and bases before falling into the closet thing to a calm sleep she can muster. It’s only with a concentrated effort that she doesn’t remember how Link’s lips press together when he concentrates or the way his fingers so nimbly flip their flashcards.
Saturday morning comes after a hundred years and a lifetime. Contrary to popular belief it is not a shrill alarm that awakens the girl but instead the soft vibration of her phone. Bleary eyed and soft she opens her screen.
Link: [D’s get degrees…]
Zelda isn’t sure why she smiles at the message but something runs wild at the thought that they’ll definitely have to "study" more, and that he’ll only ever come over to her apartment now that he’s stuck in the dorms with two dreadful roommates and loathes the walk to the library on campus. But she musters an ounce of apathy to reply.
Zelda: [Oof.]
The shower is running too hot and Zelda’s sure the landlord will send out a reminder email that the hot showers can only be taken with an open window so the paint he hastily applied last spring doesn’t bubble up. If her Father knew the condition this $1,200 apartment was in, he’d tear the whole city block down, but as it is, Zelda relishes in the problems of a normal college student without the fear of mold.
The messages had prompted her to check her own grade, and while a B minus is nothing to write home about it doesn’t affect her overall grade average terribly and in fact gives her something to focus on instead of the way she far too carefully shaves her legs in hopes that if someone, someone like Link, but no definitely not Link, happened to touch her thigh while they were out today they’d find it smooth. Though she knows to an extent this is silly.
As she scrubs the exfoliant sugar from her fingers her phone pings again and too quickly she’s half opening the message to see that it isn't a text but an image. Two shiny bikes sit by each other in front of a familiar park ranger office with the caption ‘Epona and your stead are ready to go!’. Wildly she checks the time and sees that she's late already and she hasn’t even finished deciding what one wears to cycle with a situationship and she’s slipping on the excess conditioner that dripped from her fingers and she’s attempting to turn off the facet but only turns it freezing onto her.
Zelda finds out quickly that she is in fact on time, but Link is early and waiting for her with coffee. Link consciously tries not to rake his eyes over the sport bra that peeks over the top of a far too loose tank top. If she notices she says nothing instead beelining her hands to the coffee cup and its sludgy contents. The day she drinks her caffeine for joy rather than functionality is the day he really might find himself in trouble with her. She flicks a sly smile at him.
“So how are we going to do this?” But he’s locking one up and she throws him a curious gaze. He likes the way her eyebrows, the ones she hates so much, pinch in the middle. He has half the thought to get a picture of her with the expression but knows she’d throw his phone in a nearby lake.
“I’m going to teach you the way I taught my sister.” It’s a sweet gesture until Zelda eyes the additional wheels on the side of the bike he’s offering to her. Oh he has to be joking.
“Are those training wheels?” He looks sheepishly at the offending wheels that look as though they might light up when they move and he merely shrugs.
“I’m a grown woman and that’s embarrassing. Pass.”
“It’s the best way to learn, it’s not like they are permanent. Besides isn’t that why we are all the way out here? NO one will see you!” And Link knows he forgot to account for how stubborn she is as she pouts arms crossed. On one hand a part of him wants to reassure her again, but she looks at him in a way he’s not sure that he won’t lean in and brush his thumb against her cheek. Tip her chin forward waiting for her to close the space and god he is staring. Quickly he clips the helmet’s buckle beneath her jaw and checks to assure it’s fit, stopping him from doing something regrettable.
“Safety first,” Link whispers as he tries not to think of how breathy he sounds or the way her eyes darted to his lips. He’s sure it's a mirage and definitely would ruin their friendship. So instead he urges her to get on the bike he has laid before her. To his relief, some of her skills in horseback riding are transferable and her balance is impeccable. Link comments on this only to catch them both staring at the other in dangerous interest.
Zelda is quick to attempt to wave him away and simply trial and error her way through the next coming embarrassment but catches Link as starts stretching like he’s about to run. Her curious gaze must have been enough because he gestures that he’s going to hold onto the back of her bike. She instantly shoots the idea down.
“You are going to eat shit if I just let you go.” Zelda wants to balk at how casually he states this but finds that she’s quicker of tongue.
“What happens when you have to let go, I’ll still fall,” He gestures to the training wheels and despite her embarrassment over them she shrugs as though they are nonconsequential. “You wouldn’t think to run after me if they were 100% effective.” She’s sassing him and maybe they are flirting. Maybe she wants him to scold her a little. There is a fire he’s always smothering down and maybe if she pushes him, he’ll let it blaze. But his blue eyes become calm and tender at the edges.
“I’ll be right here, I promise Zelda.” Her name has never sounded so ethereal. It’s all that needs to be said for a while as his hands move to adjust her hips alignment on the seat quoting something about good habits and posture. Zelda bites down the delight she gets when she feels his hands linger a tad longer than necessary. But then he’s holding the back of the seat and the pedals need to be moved and suddenly the stress of learning this skill is weighing down on her.
Zelda had always been a quick study when it came to Academia. It came almost second nature to her, whether it was note taking, flash card making, or even oral presentations, all of it felt digestible. But anything having to do with coordination was instantly out of the question. It’s in the moment the bike begins to actually move from her own pedaling that panic sets in because he can’t possibly be holding on still and she lifts her feet in the panic.
“Feet down, feet down, don’t stop pedaling!” And it’s already going badly because they are careening towards the grass and he’s yanking her up off the seat into his arms as the aluminum frame bounces to the floor. They exchange a nervous laugh as he places her back down. Neither discuss how much the contact was welcomed nor urge the other to do it again. The second attempt goes better and the morning continues that way.
They don’t go too far and frankly she’s not sure how she is supposed to keep track of turning the handlebars when she can’t seem to find a rhythm for her pedals. But Link is ever patient and even as the cool mist of the morning burns off in the midday sun he continues to push and run with her as she attempts to pedal. Eventually he offers to run back to his bike and pulls out sandwiches they nibble at in the wet grass. He’s appalled when she won’t accept the picnic blanket but doesn’t stop her when she runs her smooth leg against his own instead stilling in any further protest. They talk about nothing, a favorite pastime they share. But suddenly he looks at her seriously.
“Why didn’t you learn to ride a bike?”
“Whatcha mean?” She’s in between a bite and Zelda knows its crude but its a soft rebellion against her upbringing. But if Link notices he seems to like it smiling before pushing on.
“Not to make assumptions, but isn’t that something rich people do, cycling?” She wants to roll her eyes and exclaim they aren’t rich, they are comfortable, but she learned months ago how silly that sounds so she merely shrugs. But he doesn’t seem to drop it, and Zelda is starting to get the distinct feeling he won’t. The answer isn’t as exciting as he hopes nor as humorous as her church story.
“My parents were never really around when I was little, my Dad’s a big hypochondriac and would have gone ballistic if he came home to his “little princess” having scraped knees. So I guess if they didn’t teach me, no one was going to,” Zelda says quickly. The story should be surface level, easy, yet even her voice frayed on the last words. They don’t talk about their lives outside of campus and school. Link to his misfortune learned some of it just because of how invasive her father could be, but otherwise was unaware of the complicated knot she had escaped from. She isn’t sure she’s ready to invite him in fully yet. But when she finds his eyes welled with sympathy and gentleness she wants to.
But he doesn’t let the thought dwell before he’s helping her stand up to return to their “training”. Zelda delights in his lingering gaze on her legs but won’t push it. She’s decided that learning this will be yet another small part of her life she can truly own. Its with this determined thought that the next part of the day begins and what was once fearful halfhearted pedals turns into confident strides. Link is full on running to keep pace with her now and the grin that reaches his eyes speaks to his own delight at her success. She knows she could get far too used to the look.
Link is shocked with her progress, not because he doubted Zelda, he never does, she’s the smartest, hardest working person he’s ever known, but shocked in the confidence she has as she takes powerful strides now. Her bike still tilts as she goes, wobbly beneath her pushes but she no longer stares determinedly at her feet, speculating over the mechanics of her action, no she trusts herself, and it shows in the way his hands have left the bike and she hasn’t even noticed.
He can’t deny what his mind is already telling him, but Zelda’s smile is his favorite feature of hers. There are lots of things to love about her, and that’s before even discussing her appearance. But it’s the smile she wears now that shows all her teeth bared to the sun that is the one he wishes to draw, paint, sing, and write about. Even under the visor of a helmet it shines out brightly and he can’t help how his eyes attempt to memorize it. The moment however is soon lost when her eyes capture him wavering with doubt and she adjusts into her practiced ones. It just makes the memory all the more precious.
The afternoon is well underway and in completing a loop around the nearby pond both agree to take a break and then undertake the real challenge, no more training wheels. Link’s sure of it, and despite Zelda’s enthusiasm at the prospect she wonders if that’s really a good idea. But when Link unlocks a nearby bike suggesting he will ride alongside her she swallows any protest. It’s silly she realizes, wanting to imagine that this is a date, cycling around a lake with bikes and swirling autumn leaves, like some rom-com Mipha and her watch. But her mind can’t help but make the association as Link shakes out his long sunkissed hair adding a helmet to his ensemble. It has a hundred scratches etched into equally worn down stickers and stands as a testimony to the years it’s kept him safe.
“Nice helmet,” Zelda says in earnest. But a soft blush comes over the unflappable boy and she can’t help but take an extra moment to examine him deciding that she’ll buy him stickers till the day he begs her to stop.
“Safety first,” He repeats if only to soothe the thumping that has settled into his veins. Zelda only responds with a soft look.
“So that’s Epona? Tell me, do you name all your inanimate objects?”
“Only the ones that matter,” Link says. It takes everything in Zelda not to squeal and faun over the comment. There isn’t time regardless because he’s looking at her expectantly to mount her bike and she does so in a scramble of movement. Carefully she tries not to notice how his eyes trace the shape of her leg because while it makes her nervous it’s what she wants. Zelda Bosphoramus does not pursue boys, she is pursued.
The riders kick off and it’s slow, but the perfect pace to take in the way the air has distinctly turned from warm to a slight chill, to watch how the sunlight flits across the pond’s surface and see how the nearby ducks ruffle their feathers. Its picturesque, but the only thing Zelda wants to watch is Link. The way his eyes focus forward, calculating how exactly to efficiently evade any obstacle, while keeping his awareness on her. What had once been a gaze too intense to appreciate has turned into a comfort promise of consistency.
Science dictates that love is a rush of chemicals to the nervous system of the brain. This of course is true, something the pair of them know. But maybe that hardly is worth acknowledging, because in reality there is an art to moments like these. Chemicals do not manufacture a moment. They certainly don’t create the moment when two friends riding on bikes suddenly see the other and can’t help but feel the thrum of their heartbeat to their toes. Doesn’t explain why when Link looks over at the wobbling handlebars of the determined girl he reaches over to stabilize them, fingers brushing against her own. Nor does it offer context to why Zelda no longer watches where they are going but instead looks to the owner of the hand, feels the world slow in its movement and watches as he shares the same longing stare she holds for him.
It's a moment out of a movie and yet it is so much better, because Link is pretty in the way Zelda can’t quite fathom, and even though they share a smile, a real smile, there is a request for more behind their eyes. It’s better because Link knows that Zelda isn’t pulling her hand away because she feels the moment too. It's transformational without words and there is no denying how the other feels even if it isn’t romantic, but then friends don’t really look at each other like this, do they?
But the moment isn’t a film. Because if it were, the protagonists would kiss now, their lips brushing against each other and they would know the feelings of the other plainly. They would fall into softly cushioned grass and kiss till the sun went down. They’d whisper their affections into the other’s hair and they’d grow drunk on the confession till the title credits rolled. But real life hardly allows for such perfection.
“Link!” He hears before he feels the way his head cracks against the back of his helmet and the way the bikes scrape against their legs. Zelda’s on top of him and his hands luckily are faster than his mind for her braces her for the shock wrapping a strong hand behind her neck to cushion for the impact. She trusts him with her life because she does not resist his pull but in that softened state mistakes happen. Their lips brush and it's the taste of cherries and sweat that acts as a comma in the sentence of their bicycle crash. In the tangle of limbs, crack of plastic helmets, metal of tangled bikes, and scrape of cement and grass that their kiss burns into the other despite the brevity of it. It’s Zelda who pulls back.
And Link’s sure she’s asking him a flurry of first aid questions but he can’t hear her. Link’s too busy trying to focus on not turning red as a Hylian tomato because he’s melting and she of course accidentally fell on him and it’s fine they’ve touched before but then why do her legs feel like that today and why is her hair still so golden in the fading twilight sun and why doesn’t he just kiss her again?
“Sorry,” She mutters.
“No, I'm sorry.” But then neither of them moves and he’s sure she’ll hop up to leave him crumpled and stupid in the grass but instead she brushes his tangled bangs away. Zelda knows that if the look he’s giving her is genuine she should resume the kiss that had been far too fleeting because technically it was a brush of lips, but brushes of skin never had been so electric.
“I think I broke my helmet,” Link admits. And the moment of tension is over because they are laughing, dusting themselves and his helmet is definitely broken, split down the center but outside of some forming bruises they are unscathed, and only the bikes are really worse for it tangled into each other. The whole affair is behind them as they walk them to their cars. Zelda knows at some point she thanks him and suggests she gets a bike of her own and he shyly admits that he thought she should keep the one she was using today, but maybe, teasingly suggests she keeps the training wheels on. Zelda doesn’t feel terrible when she socks him in the arm.
“Well, I guess, see you in class,” Link replies. But then Zelda is standing over him at her real full height and he would never admit how much he likes looking up at her but thinks it anyways.
“Thank you again Link. This was…we should do this again.” Zelda feels like she’s flushed but something about looking at him from here makes the moment feel less intimidating because he should be the one asking for dates, but he’s not going to she realizes when even in the perfect moment of tangled bodies he politely hovered a hand over her waist. So she takes the bait and waits for him to process. He only nodded in reply, blinking at her and she could almost believe that she was a descendant of some Royal family of Goddesses instead of some politicians from Cape Cod the way he looks at her.
But then he really is looking at her and she feels nervous and her big dumb mouth starts. “I liked the chapstick flavor you had on it, it reminds me of that one song.” Link turns a mirage of pinks that botch down to his neck and she’s starting to wonder if maybe he didn’t get a concussion.
“It’s lip gloss. I think I have some extra, I’ll bring it Monday.”
Link thrills at the idea that Zelda’s still thinking of the taste of him and Zelda is thrilled at the prospect of wearing Link’s lip gloss and both are too oblivious to notice the other’s excitement. As they drive away from the park it seems as though they can’t stop thinking about the other, both delighting in the friendship they’ve found in each other. Neither wonders why they run their fingers against their own lips once the other is out of sight.