The Letdown

Three

"I really am sorry, intruding like this." I say quietly. Sidon looks at me like I'm crazy, which I am, but he doesn't know that. I'm careful not to show anybody. 

"Stop apologizing. It's the fifth time, it's becoming quite redundant. It was I who invited you to stay."

He stares at me as I take off my shirt, leaving only my chainmail and undershirt. The chain weighs heavy on my shoulders and is a relief when it comes off. I unwrap my arm, peering at the cut underneath, which has scarred in such an ugly way. A long jagged line runs up the length of my limb, from wrist to shoulder. I feel the familiar hot sensation at the back of my neck, the shame at how I look boiling up inside of me.

So weak, what a shame. Even a child could've avoided that cut

 I resist the urge to yell back at the little voice. It doesn't help, and besides, I have to keep my sane façade up, since Sidon is here. 

Sidon blinks slowly, head tilted to the side in what looks like an effort to understand me. I run my hands through my hair, hoping to dispel the harmful thoughts. I picture locking a door in my mind, eighteen locks, one for each year and voice.

"Link, you look different." He sort of leans in, although there's still considerable distance between us. "Your eyes."

I dismiss the thought. My eyes are always what people comment on. 

They're what gives it away

I turn away from him before he points out anything wrong with them.

I quickly change my undershirt, slipping on a loose t-shirt on. It's blue, like most of what I own, a colour I've come to associate with angry thoughts. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, which is lonely until Sidon appears behind me. He looks at my hair with tangible emotion. I let out a huff of air, making a mental note to cut my blond locks soon.

They're too easy to grab and pull.

I tie my hair up, nudging Sidon's curious form out of the way with my elbow, and hop off the tall stool. "Well, as you can see, I'm healed." I make a show of showing him my arm, which he looks at with a deadpan. 

"Goodness, Link. Have some fun, would you? Go swim, it's therapeutic."

What's he implying by therapeutic? Has he caught on? You need more walls, more distance, he can't find out

"No need for therapy, thanks."

"Do I need to beg?"

I sigh, trying to keep it quiet. "Look, I've been enough of an inconvenience."

He rolls his eyes. "Damnit, Link, you're not an inconvenience or a burden. You are a dear friend and I like spending time with you."

No, no, no, Sidon you ass. I stare at the ground, eyes shut tight, trying and failing to block out the nasty, ugly thoughts.

Who'd like spending time with such a failure? A misfit, a loser. He'll find out now, and you'll be thrown into a mental facility for being crazy. How nice. Sounds lovely, fit for such a disappointment

Much to my dismay, the thoughts don't stop. "Yes, alright, I'll stay, fine, okay?"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

If only you knew.

. . .

I knot the rope tightly, cutting the loose end. There. The swing is done. This hill is secluded, away enough from society to be private. I've learned to take precautions when I'm alone. Being alone is when I'm vulnerable, more prone to episodes in solitude.

The bench sways slightly in the wind and I sit on it, taking in the endless blue sky and rolling hills and rivers. How picturesque, I imagine Zelda painting it as I swing higher. The gentle, even rocking motion has always helped me, ever since I was a kid.

Zelda found my swing by the castle. It became my spot, and she understood, if only on the surface. I need one here, too.

The excercise is also nice.

. . .

Prince Sidon

"Hm." I stare at the knife and block of wood in my hands. A half-carved flute stares back at me, its holes almost finished. I cut myself by accident, but I don't feel like fixing it right now. The flute is quite strange in design; it's a mix of Hylian and Zoran cultural preferences, and I find it pretty.

Mipha made something similar, but as hard as I look I can't find it.

I think back to Link this morning. Something about him seemed off. Interpreting Zoran emotions is so much easier; you just smell it. It's so obvious, so difficult to hide. I'm so glad we work that way. Much less conflict happens since everyone knows how everybody is feeling. 

It comes with the added perk of knowing who was in which room just by walking in.

But Link? He just smells like grass. All the time, unless he's bleeding. It's a strong grassy smell, as if he spends hours cutting grass every day. I swear, grass is part of his DNA by the way he smells. So bizarre.

His eyes looked strange for that one moment; scared, but not of me. They seemed dark, brooding, clouded over somehow. For a brief moment, I almost said Link, your crazy is showing. But that might have pissed him off. He's not crazy, I know that. 

I hear a quiet knock on my door, and just by the shyness of it I know it's Link. He shifts from one foot to the other, drenched by the pouring rain outside. His hands have rope marks on the palms and I idly wonder what he was doing as I open my door to him. 

Stepping inside, he mumbles a quiet apology.

I sigh.