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When they separate, all that remains between them is silence and hesitation. And, for Link’s sake when searching for regret in the adjacent gaze staring him down frantically, a fair amount of looking at each other. For good measure, they do a double over in case they forget who the other was looking at with their inherent misbeliefs mingled with trepidation.
Link is halfway stuck between a conflicting set of thoughts and a hand that, ever so softly with the delicate poise of a gentleman, brushes over their cheek in a show of affection. Either that or perhaps a piteous apology, but it is tender nonetheless in how wisps of hair are caressed behind his sensitive ears.
For Link, stoic and solid in thought, even thinking that this would’ve been a future outcome would seem practically improbable in the past. A fleeting fancy of the heart, as many dub it. That was all the affections had meant to be in the beginning, and for what it was worth, Link would’ve been perfectly content to remain in the strange limbo between friends and closer friends. It had become a sort of unspoken line the two would only ever tow fairly often, never crossing it out of what; Obligation? Duty? Responsibility? It was a miracle that they’d even held the will to restrain for this long, if Link were to be frank with himself, recalling the subtle ways in which admiration and adoration could be shown without language. And yet, despite everything—through the culmination of every moment they’d find each other in their respective companies—perhaps the tension they’d been languidly wading in had finally come to swallow them whole, inherently deciding to make itself known well beyond the facilitations of what would be considered improper in the presence of royalty.
Maybe he regrets it. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe—and just maybe—when Sidon cautiously leans in to kiss him again, he can let himself bathe in the emotions pouring from an increasingly noteworthy tongue cresting his upper lip. And when he sinks into it, allowing for trepidation to melt into a fuzzy sort of reckless equanimity, Link finds it strange to think he’d been worried in the first place. Breathing this gently rolling love in, he tastes rock salt and clean freshwater, with the faintest hint of floral lotus that has him keening in the back of his throat. It’s so uniquely Sidon that Link thinks he might cry, surging forward and carelessly wrapping his arms around his friend’s—or, at this point, lover’s—neck. There’s greed to his fervor, matched in tandem when Sidon’s palms ensnared his waist, reeling him closer and diminishing the space that once was into a closeness radiating a thrumming heat.
Desperation becomes palpable under the intensity of their second—third, fourth, fifth—kiss, grasping at each other like one would vanish if they were to stop. Never had anything felt so right, like pieces of intricate framework slotting together to become whole once more. Akin to when moonlight kisses the tides, or the waters touch the shore with reverence, completion settles into the backs of their minds with every drawn-out press of their lips. Goddesses, Link thinks—and it truly is for a second, for what are meaningful thoughts at this moment?—Let me drown in this. Let me sink to the depths of his devotion, and find languor in his lazy, loving river.
Their previous silence and hesitation forgotten, the two embrace underneath the silver rays of the full moon.