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linksthoughtbrambles · 4 months ago

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The Unexpected Benefits of Late Weather Warnings

A gift for @pastelsandpining for Midna's Merry Mixup! (Zelink, modern AU, Rated T, 13K words, also here on ao3. What might have been the worst public transportation experience of Zelda's life became the best bus ride ever). Note: Read "eyeSlate" as cool Sheikah eye followed by the word Slate, please!

Zelda grimaced at the message blinking between red triangles on her eyeSlate.

⚠ Warning! ⚠

⚠ Hazardous weather conditions! ⚠

“Hazardous, indeed,” she muttered to herself, swiping a few snowflakes from the screen, shutting it off, and stowing the slate in her coat pocket. She winced—she’d done it again. She’d resolved not to talk to herself so much. Her students had noticed her talking to the rubidium atoms cooling in the magneto-optical trap, and while she appreciated them having a little fear of her, she preferred it to be for the right reasons, and not because they believed her on the verge of madness.

She wasn’t mad. She simply wished her experiments to proceed as planned.

In fact, she generally preferred things to proceed as planned whether they were experiments or not, and tonight, her plan was to be social (which she’d also resolved to do, partially to assist with her other resolution—after all, if she spoke to other people more, perhaps she’d speak to herself—and rubidium atoms—a little less). She’d therefore agreed to attend Purah’s solstice celebration tonight, and she had no intention of reconsidering over the most recent in a long string of weather warnings regarding unremarkable winter weather.

The temperature is significantly below freezing? ⚠ Warning! ⚠

A few inches of snow? ⚠ Warning! ⚠

The occasional puddle-turned-ice on the ground? ⚠ Warning!!! ⚠

A flea sneezed, creating a slight, chilly breeze? ⚠ AJFDSA;JFDA SHUT DOWN EVERYTHING!!!! ⚠

“They’ll be locking us all indoors next, until the equinox arrives,” she muttered as the market’s doors slid open to admit her. Then she cringed. “I’ve done it again- ah!”

A scruffy-white-bearded shopper on his way out gave her a look which certainly qualified as wary, and Zelda attempted to dismantle her unreasonably annoyed pose and expression before anyone else decided she was mad.

And yes, she was being a bit unreasonable. The slate had warned her to stay home occasionally rather than struggle through snow to her lab on off-days. But she’d left work already, already traveled over half an hour to this particular market which stocked alcohol and had an excellent bakery, and it wasn’t as though she would remain here all night in fear of the possibility of snow.

Her heart sank again when she recalled she’d miss seeing the handsome new man on the bus. She reached for a box full of gorgeous-looking mixed butter cookies, thinking if she truly meant to speak to people more, she should finally take the plunge. She’d been trying not to stare at him for months. She ought to do him the courtesy of asking his name, especially since he almost certainly had caught her looking several times.

It took her a while to decide what to buy, especially regarding the alcohol. Daruk did not seem like a wine-drinker to her, nor did Robbie, but she rather thought wine was more usual to bring to these things than hard alcohol. After far too long considering whether her perceptions were based in fact or bias, she chose not only a bottle of dry red wine, but one of mead and yet another of peated whiskey. She rushed to scoop up cheese and crackers, choosing not to fluster herself by checking the time. She’d simply hurry to the bus stop.

She left the shop more heavily laden than intended but confident she wouldn’t disgrace herself that evening. A burst of freezing wind whipped her hair into her face along with quite a few snowflakes. A shocking amount of snow had fallen while she’d shopped. She hadn’t been in there that long, had she? She picked up her pace despite the slippery sidewalk.

The walk to the bus stop took longer than usual, the wind jostling her in long gusts while she kept her face turned as far into her scarf as she could, the snowfall thickening the entire way there. A line of people stood beneath the stop’s little shelter already, shifting between their feet, shivering, and craning their necks in search of the next bus. Zelda slid in, just barely beneath the little roof. The nearest person stepped aside to give her more space.

“Th- thank you,” she said into her scarf with a little shiver.

“No problem.”

Less snow fell directly on her head that way, but the next gust sent a lot of it into her face, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes shut automatically. The flakes on her eyelashes created fascinating little cold zones on her eyelids.

A soft laugh came from beside her. She liked its sound immediately, despite it being at her expense. “Here- we can switch places,” the person said.

“I- am quite alright,” she said, which was true. Cold eyelids were very little to complain about. “Besides, you’ve been waiting longer.”

“It wasn’t this bad when I walked here, though. There’s less snow on me.”

“It worsened quickly.”

“Yeah, it did.”

Zelda transferred all her grocery bags to one hand to brush the snow off herself. The bottles clinked and she grimaced at her already-moistening knit gloves. The wind continued to barrage them with snow as they waited, and a few people on the other side of the shelter began muttering.

“So how long have you been here?”

“At least a half hour.”

“Ghg. Real behind.”

“Just hope it’s not all full up.”

That was an unpleasant thought.

As Zelda’s mood soured, she sunk deeper and deeper into her scarf and coat, pleased no one had tried to make small talk. She despised small talk. It always ended, somehow or other, with her having confused the other person, and she’d simply given up at this point.

The bus arrived much later than it should have, crawling up the street and nearly invisible until fifty feet from them. The driver applied the brakes early and the bus made a slow skid to a stop, ending at a jaunty angle further past the shelter than usual. Warm light fell on the growing snowdrifts as the bus doors slid open, and they queued up single file to get on, Zelda last.

That is, she was last until the stranger who’d made room for her did so again. He stepped aside, his hand outstretched, allowing her to go first. She blinked, surprised and a little confused at the unnecessary gesture, her eyes following that hand (which also held several bags) up the arm of a rugged coat, and to the face of the man she’d been silently ogling since early autumn.

He had a friendly, lopsided smile, with a dimple and crinkled eyes (shockingly blue). With his nose and cheeks cold-reddened and his bangs sticking haphazardly out from under his hat and hood, he struck her not only as handsome (as usual), but absolutely adorable.

She stared at him as the line shortened.

He made that soft laugh again, and her heart surprised her with a single beat against the wall of her chest. “It’s okay—go ahead.”

Her feet shuffled, and she found herself hurrying past him, grateful the cold had also reddened her features. “Thank you,” she said again, muffled.

She took the steps as quickly as she could, registering that while not entirely full, the bus had very few seats left. She moved nearly to the first row of front-facing double-seats before she realized the gift-bag-laden woman ahead of her was about to take the last one remaining toward the back of the bus. The only empty seats would be behind Zelda.

Only two seats, in fact—the ones right next to the door in the row facing the driver’s side.

Zelda turned to find the handsome man staring at them, his face difficult to read. Then he looked at her.

“You can sit,” he said.

Air puffed out her nose above her damp scarf. She tugged it down. “So can you.”

At that moment, the driver spun the wheel and Zelda lurched to the right with an odd, gulping gasp. For an instant, she thought she’d end up in the lap of the man in the third seat, but handsome-man’s hand shot out and caught her upper arm, their grocery bags clanging into the metal pole beside her and swinging to nearly hit the seated man’s face, too.

The support gave her a precious second to grab the pole, find her feet again, and register that the man she’d almost squished was the scruffy-bearded man from the shop.

“Sorry!” said handsome-man to scruffy-man.

“Sorry!” said Zelda to scruffy-man.

“Sorry,” said handsome-man to her.

She stared at handsome-man, and he stared at her.

Scruffy-man stared spook-faced at both of them.

Handsome-man glanced at his own hand on her arm, suddenly spook-faced himself. “Sorry!” he repeated, releasing her like he’d palmed a hot iron.

“N-no need,” she said, her gloved hand slipping around the pole as the bus swayed. “I’d have fallen.” A tiny, nervous laugh left her. “Thank you.”

“Uh- yeah, of course. Maybe-“ he eyed the seats. “Maybe you’d better-?”

“Y- yes. Indeed.” Zelda plunked into the seat, her face extremely hot, with another apology to the man she’d nearly smooshed. (He grunted). She pulled her bags between and behind her legs, hoping not to trip anyone in addition to the scene she’d caused.

Handsome-man hesitated, still standing, one hand securing himself to the pole beside the steps.

Zelda struggled both to look at him and not to look at him. Her eyes took a meandering zig-zag of a path from her knees to his knees to the pole to a button on his coat, back to the pole, and finally to his collar, from which she sheepishly lifted her eyes to his, her face turning yet another shade of scarlet.

“You- can sit,” she said.

A little huff came from scruffy-man’s direction.

Handsome-man hesitated one more moment, then slid into the seat beside her, tucking his bags back just as she had.

Zelda’d curled her index fingers and thumbs together, considering her wet gloves in lieu of the man beside her, feeling both fortunate and unfortunate that she couldn’t feel the warmth of him through their insulative clothing, and that he had, in fact, managed to sit without touching her at all. She didn’t need to feel the surprising and unusual things he did to her insides while sitting with mere centimeters between them. She tugged the gloves off and sat them on her woolen lap. He pushed his hood back with a small sigh.

The bus seemed barely able to do better than a brisk walking speed, but at least it was warm and dry. (Well—relatively dry. Her snowy coat was making a mess of the seat already). She looked out the windshield (driver’s side, so handsome-man wouldn’t think her staring at him). The snow swirled first one way, then the next, the windshield wipers flapping madly back and forth, and the driver’s elbow made a sudden jab past the barrier as he made a quick adjustment for an unmistakable slip. Zelda swallowed.

Her eyes flicked to the side of the windshield closer to her and caught a glimpse of handsome-man side-eyeing her.

She snapped her gaze forward.

Then she tried to see him out of the furthest possible corner of her eye.

He appeared to be considering the window directly across from them—all but falling snow utterly invisible beyond it. She considered it too, a tiny voice which was much braver than she felt reminding her she’d meant to ask him his name.

The bus made a stop, a howl of cold wind from the opening door followed by hurried steps as six people boarded, one holding packages above his head and another grumbling in Gerudo, tall enough she’d have to duck under the hand-hold bars. Shuffling at the back of the bus signaled passengers disembarking, and the newcomers all moved that way.

“Pardon me,” a short woman said as one of her canvas bags scraped its way past Zelda’s shin.

“It’s alright,” she said automatically.

Her eyeSlate buzzed.

Zelda tried to fish it from her pocket without poking handsome-man in the leg. She succeeded, though she realized too late she’d leaned a bit into scruffy-man’s space again.

She turned to find him leaning away from her, spooked once more.

“Apologies,” she said.

He just stared at her.

She shook her head at herself and tapped the screen with practiced motions.

Purah had messaged her.

Zelda sniffed, irrationally annoyed at the timestamp. It’s not as though she hadn’t known she’d taken a long time in the shop, or that the bus had taken a long time to arrive, or that it was absolutely crawling.

A laugh puffed from Zelda’s nose. Then handsome-man shifted a little and a tiny gasp left her. She concentrated hard on the screen, refusing to indulge the sudden urge to see if he’d looked at her.

Zelda laughed again. There were few people she could successfully tease. Purah was one of them. If anyone else had thrown a party, she’d have declined the invitation. Zelda lowered the slate to her lap and glanced up at the still-worsening storm out the windshield, suddenly wondering if handsome-man was looking at her again, though for a different reason. She repeated her trick of glancing out the nearer side of the windshield and found him looking out it too.

Her heart sputtered relief and she texted quickly.

Zelda slapped the slate to her chest with an involuntary glance his way, her heart pitter-pattering like rabbit feet along with the slate’s ceaseless buzzing.

Handsome-man had turned her way, his face blank enough that she had no idea if he’d already been looking or if her sudden panic had drawn his attention.

She felt a shift on her other side, too, and turned to see scruffy-man looking much more obviously confused.

She tried not to shrink in her seat.

“Ad,” she said.

Her eyebrows shot up in shock at her own lie.

At her incredibly foolish lie, for the only material on her slate she should be so ashamed of ought to have been very mortifying indeed, far more so than handsome-man knowing she thought him attractive.

But no. No, instead, she’d implied she was hiding something unsuitable to be seen in public, and considering her slate wouldn’t stop buzzing she doubted anyone would assume she’d simply opened a personal document by mistake.

No. No, they’d think porn. Wouldn’t they?

Of course they would. NSFW. Porn with rumble effects.

Then she did shrink in her seat.

She wildly considered shoving her still-buzzing slate into handsome-man’s line of vision. Shame and relief would mingle for certain, but It would be an improvement over the pure humiliation within her now.

It stopped about thirty seconds later.

Zelda couldn’t help it. As though dragged by some invisible force, her head turned with extreme slowness toward that handsome man beside her.

He was still looking at her, now with a very small smile on his face.

Zelda tried not to appear quizzical.

His smile grew a little. She had the impression he was trying not to laugh.

He flashed his eyebrows at her and she lost it. Silent laughter shook her chest, her face twisting into something between a smile, a pout, and a grimace, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Must’ve been some ad,” he said.

She groaned, placed her slate face-down in her lap, and rested her face in her hands.

She heard that soft laughter beside her again. “My name’s Link,” he said.

She took slow, calming breaths as she lifted her head to see his smile deepened, his eyes twinkling at her.

She tried not to let it take her breath away. Yes, he was handsome, and she loved his voice, but she hadn’t exactly made a spectacular impression. She took an intentionally deep breath instead. “I’m Zelda.”

He held out his hand, still gloved, to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Zelda.”

She smiled quite a bit more than she should have and flushed even more. “Nice to meet you too, Link.” A jolt of electricity ran through her when their hands met despite his glove, but she thought she hid it reasonably well.

“I, ah,” he said as his hand returned to his lap, “was surprised to see you at the stop.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m late tonight. Went shopping so I wouldn’t have to tomorrow.”

It slowly penetrated that he, too, had been aware they usually rode the same bus. “I- also. The same. Apologies, no, not the same,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes squeezed shut. What was wrong with her? “Shopping, yes, but for a friend’s party tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow and eyed the storm outside.

“Heh. Yes, well… I don’t believe this was expected.” Her brow pinched and she fiddled with her eyeSlate. “Did you see the warning?”

He shook his head. “No, my slate’s off. Battery.”

She turned hers on and swiped Purah’s barrage of messages away, her eyes widening. She’d caught “date” and “hanky-panky” before it left the screen, hoping he hadn’t, as he was quite clearly and correctly expecting her to show him what she meant. She navigated to her notifications and tapped the warning.

⚠ Warning! ⚠

⚠ Hazardous weather conditions! ⚠

A winter storm alert is in effect in central Hyrule, Lake Hylia County, Northwest Faron, West Necluda, and Southwestern Eldin until 2:45 pm HST. 32” total accumulation expected. Wind gusts up to 70 mph.

Zelda stared at it, swallowing, part of her wishing she’d read the warning earlier—the other part quite logically pointing out it would’ve made no difference unless she’d begged to sleep at the market. Had she made her way back to the bus stop immediately, she’d probably have been waiting, empty-handed, under the little shelter that entire time regardless.

She huffed a little.

Then she scowled.

It would be the one evening she had social plans that central and southern Hyrule would be inundated with snow rather than Hebra. 32”—she hadn’t seen that much snow at once in this region since she was very little.

“I was really, really not expecting that,” Link said, frowning at the warning.

“You… don’t live too far past the highway, do you?” she asked.

“Just two stops past you.”

“Ah. Not so bad then.”

“No, but-“ he craned his neck, straightening his back to peer out the windshield. Then he sat back, shaking his head. “I don’t want my food to get nasty.”

She took a closer look at his grocery bags. They appeared to be the same as hers. “Are you also partial to LonLon’s?”

“You bet I am. Only place near my route that has grass-fed butter and beef.”

“Is that what you have?”

“Not beef today, but the butter, yeah.”

“At least that will keep.”

“Raw pigeon won’t,” he said with a wide-eyed grin.

“Oh.” She blinked at his bags. “Oh dear.”

“Yeaaaah.”

The bus crawled to another slow stop. Zelda frowned, trying to see as the doors opened, snow bursting onto their heads and shoulders. “Did we… only just reach the next stop?”

Link craned his neck, though he avoided directly blocking anyone entering or exiting. “We might’ve passed… one without stopping? The snow’s so thick.”

“Malon street,” the driver said with a sniff.

“Oh,” Zelda said, trying not to sound too dismayed. They had, in fact, not passed one without stopping.

She and Link looked at each other.

“Your pigeon is most certainly in peril,” she said.

He snorted. “I may have to shop tomorrow after all.”

“With nearly three feet of snow on the ground?”

“It’s fine, I’ll walk to the mediocre store near my apartment.”

“If it’s open,” Zelda said.

He grimaced. “Ooh.”

“Indeed.”

“What about your party?” Link asked.

“Oh,” Zelda shrugged. “I don’t believe it matters much. Purah is always up late regardless, and with her house full of scientists and engineers, she’s likely not to sleep at all until morning.”

“Wow, some party!” Link said, his eyebrows disappearing under the bangs sticking out from under his hat. “Are you all working together on something?”

“I suppose she and her colleagues are in general, but no—the conversation is just likely to be ceaseless.”

He studied her, his brow pinching for a moment. “You don’t sound that excited about it.”

“Oh, I’m not much for parties, but I’d resolved to make an attempt at socialization.”

His smile brightened. “Does this count?”

“Heh,” she laughed. “Indeed it does. And what of you?”

“Eh, I socialize all the time.”

Her smile remained, but she didn’t know how to respond to that.

He seemed to sense it. “I teach,” he said. Then he looked up and to the right. “Basically. Sort of. Yeah.”

Her face brightened, then fell, then became quizzical. “Oh?”

“I work at the rock climbing place.”

She cocked her head.

“On-The-Wall.”

Her head cocked further.

“It’s on Chickaloo Street.”

“Ah,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I haven’t explored that direction. Do you enjoy it?”

“I love it,” he said. “First off, I get to climb. No complaints there. Second, I like teaching the classes, and third, there are birthday parties!” He smiled excitedly. “With crazy kids being crazy.”

One of her eyebrows became even more quizzical. “Is that a good thing?”

“Oh yeah, it’s awesome. Little wackadoodle banana-monkeys. You never know what they’ll do.”

As he smiled at her, Zelda registered two things.

First, he, unlike her, was not at all opposed to parties—and second, he, unlike her, had no aversion to unpredictability.

Then a third thing registered as she processed the first two: that his smile faltered a little with her silence.

She grasped for some response other than the turn her thoughts had taken. “I- ah… I also teach, but my environment, I suspect, is more predictable than yours. I can’t imagine I would have much success corralling a herd of children in my lab.”

His face brightened again. “Lab?”

“I work at U of H Central.”

“Oh, you’re a professor! What do you teach?”

It was her turn for her smile to falter. “Ah- um. Physics.”

His eyes flew wide. “…Physics?”

She nodded.

She waited for it.

This, typically, would be the point at which things went badly. A significant portion of the population presumed her to be from some alien planet after this pronouncement.

She tried not to show her prehensive disappointment as he continued to stare at her.

“Wait, wait wait,” he said, his smile growing skeptical, “how can you manage not to socialize?”

Zelda’s jaw dropped.

He… wasn’t surprised?

He didn’t think she ought to be an elderly man with hair sticking out at odd angles?

He didn’t immediately break off the conversation?

“That’s- that is-“ she stuttered, struggling to return her train of thought to his question. “It’s different. I’m- I’m at work. There, I must socialize.”

“Ohhh,” he said. “I get you. Yeah, I know the feeling. After work, I’m pretty shot for dealing with people. Need to recover. Especially if people were grouchy.”

She blinked at him. “You seem perfectly amiable to me.”

He squinted an eye.

“What?”

He squinted more. “That means friendly.”

“Well-“ she sat up straighter. “Yes. Yes it does.”

He squinted both eyes suspiciously. “I only know because I watched Affection and Affectation twice.”

“Twice?!”

“It was good!”

“Well- yes, it was. I enjoyed the play on words.”

“Me too, that’s why I watched it in the first place.” He smiled wider. “So. You watch stuff.”

She huffed a laugh. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I don’t know, if you’re a professor maybe you need to be reading a lot of—I don’t know. Physicsy things.”

“I do that, too.”

“You have time for both?”

“I also read non-physicsy things.”

“No way.”

And now, apparently, it was her turn to eye him suspiciously. Was he teasing her?

He shifted in his seat—only a little, but it was to face her more fully, his eyes on hers waiting, apparently rapt, for her reaction.

Her heart skipped a beat.

What sort of smile was that on his face?

And what was the feeling tugging so insistently at the corners of her mouth?

A blast of cold, snowy air from the opening doors burst the moment, squeezing both their eyes shut in defense against the icy incursion.

Zelda hadn’t realized she’d gripped the pole beside her.

When she opened her eyes, she found Link watching the bridge of her wrinkled nose out of one very squinty eye, the other suddenly bearing quite a few snowflakes.

She giggled. She couldn’t help it.

Link grumbled and took the back of his wrist to his snowy eye.

The bus slipped the instant it pulled out into the street, drawing their attention back to the windows (to no avail). Zelda took the opportunity to text Purah, ostensibly so she wouldn’t worry, but in reality to scroll up her previous stream of embarrassing messages.

She waited with the keypad up, trying to think of something else to say to scroll those messages even further. Then an enormous gif of a korok, its arms raised, with flames ever-burning in the background appeared and did that job for her. She stared at it for a moment.

Zelda sighed. Societal expectations were not her strong suit, but she had the sense that inviting a person she’d just met to another person’s party would cross one of those invisible etiquette lines so difficult to detect, even if said person enjoyed parties.

The bus made a few more slow stops and a turn which meant they’d finally reached the service road beside the highway. She rather thought she should say something else to Link—perhaps it would even be reasonable to ask for his slate number, considering they got along well so far—but would she seem desperate? Forward? Irritating? Perhaps it was best to wait. As she did, her mind turned on whether the driver would take the usual route. The plows usually tended the highways diligently, but a prickle of anxiety reminded her even the warning of this storm she’d ignored had arrived late. Some unexpected weather pattern must have occurred.

“Kids are going to be disappointed,” Link said, out of the blue and seemingly to the snow outside.

Zelda blinked. “Why? Tomorrow wouldn’t have been a school day, regardless.”

“Exactly.”

It took her a moment. Then she smirked. “A wasted snow day?”

“Yep.”

The bus lurched toward the left side of the street, jostling them and answering Zelda’s earlier question as it crossed lanes of traffic to approach the highway’s on-ramp. She swallowed as it began to climb the incline up to highway level, at first at an accelerated pace. She hoped that meant the plows and salt trucks had indeed been effective, but as the seconds passed she realized they were slowing—then the bus’ front began twisting to the right. Zelda tamped a gasp and clamped her hand on the pole beside her. Link grabbed the one on his other side.

The driver spun the wheel frenetically, his elbow popping in and out from behind the barrier, and she thought she heard him curse under his breath. Her grip turned white-knuckled as the bus turned more and more sideways. A sudden vision intruded on her thoughts of it going completely perpendicular to the ramp, still sliding, then rolling down the hill faster and faster. Her heart lurched into her throat as the speed of the slide seemed to accelerate.

Apparently, Zelda was not alone in this line of thinking, as a current of airy, tense sounds ran through the passengers, and something changed in the way Link was sitting. His back straightened, and he spent a long moment watching the driver like a hawk, his expression intense. Then he looked at Zelda and silently offered his other hand, palm up.

She gripped it like a lifeline.

The bus lurched left to a collective gasp from the passengers as the driver won his battle with the wheels. The bus began to right itself, and breath returned to Zelda, her grip loosening. It tightened again when the bus began to list left instead. She took an audible, involuntary gulp of air—it seemed to stay stuck in her throat along with her heart. Link kept switching between looking at her and the driver.

“Are you alright?” he asked under his breath, his eyes intense on her.

She nodded swiftly.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His gloved fingers flexed around hers, and it seemed for a moment he was going to change positions.

It seemed to take an absolute age, a purgatory of possible death-by-bus-roll as the bus drifted over and over again to the side, Zelda in two agonies at once: one of pure fear, and another of elation at the feel of Link’s hand holding hers so tightly. When the bus finally fishtailed its way to the top of the ramp and began its slow, rolling merge onto the blissfully flat highway, Zelda tried and failed to release her death-grip on Link.

Someone in the back whooped, someone else whistled, and a chorus of cheers and applause filled the space.

“You deserve a medal, man,” Link said.

Zelda privately agreed, but seemed incapable of speech (or regulating her heart rate).

The driver gave an exaggerated wave. It seemed to say all in a day’s work, but his eyes were quite wide, and his face a little too flat to be genuinely calm.

“Some ride,” Link said quietly.

Zelda managed to let him go. Her hand came away stiff and tingling as she found her voice. “I- hope I didn’t crush you too badly,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

“No, did- did I hurt you?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“Not at all- I believe I hurt myself.”

He laughed a little. “It was pretty scary.”

“Yes.” She returned her hand to her lap. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he said, his voice soft.

The highway was hardly any faster than the roads had been. A few times, the brakes issued long, slow, squeals followed by grinds as the wheels shuddered their way through building snow on their way to a stop, despite how slow just about everyone was going anyway. Every once in a while, a car blew past them somewhere far to the left, evidenced only by its lights and the sound of it. Some of the other passengers tutted.

“Wish I was a Rito,” muttered the scruffy-bearded man to the ceiling.

Zelda privately disagreed, as Rito had just as much difficulty flying in such weather as others had in traversing it on the ground.

The bus started and stopped so many times it all began to blend together. Zelda turned her slate in her lap, thinking again she should ask Link for his number, but still feeling too shy to do so. Her eyelids grew a little heavy with the monotony. Link seemed intent on the driver. He didn’t seem tense, exactly, but watchful. Her slate buzzed in her lap, and she jumped. She unlocked it sheepishly.

Zelda nodded to herself and opened the map, zooming in to the general Romani area. The display remained heavily pixelated. She swiped toward Applea instead without better luck—then she zoomed out, attempting to let the map simply load for a few minutes. She watched the progress bar remain utterly still as her patience waned.

Zelda sighed. The infrastructure did need updating, and the weather couldn’t be helping. She wondered how many other people within a hundred feet of her were attempting to load GPS information at the same time. A good old-fashioned look out the window told her absolutely nothing.

She blinked.

Absolutely nothing is exactly what had happened since before Purah had texted her. The bus hadn’t moved at all.

Zelda shifted in her seat, then glanced around at her fellow passengers. Some, predictably, were facing their laps, likely deep in some mobile game or another. A few were leaning back in their seats or against the walls, napping or attempting to. The Gerudo woman had the most bored look Zelda had ever seen on anyone’s face, and that included students trapped listening to the 90-year-old igneous rock expert in her building drone on about the injustices of his tax bill. Scruffy-man sported an impressive resting grump-face. Link was the only other passenger who seemed fully alert.

He seemed to sense her watching him. He turned and gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.

She squeezed the slate in her hands. Then she held up a finger for his attention and opened her notes app. She typed in very large letters: Are we stuck? She turned the screen toward him.

He chewed his lips, pulling them into his mouth, then found her eyes. He flashed an eyebrow and half-shrugged.

She checked her slate again. The map still hadn’t loaded. She shook her head and closed the app.

Zelda’s stomach gave its first pitiful squeak of hunger. She willed it silent, then turned her slate off. Better to conserve battery, just in case.

The driver made a quiet call into DoT-H.

“This is Botrick, bus C-H-O-C 11. I’m Crenel-bound on the Romani Highway past exit 16. No movement. Please advise.”

She could feel Link straining, just as she was, to hear the answer.

Two bursts of voice-toned static arrived, way louder than the driver (he grimaced). Zelda couldn’t tell if the sounds meant anything to him. Scruffy-man also leaned forward in his seat, and the woman across from him tried to peer around the driver’s barrier.

A string of sounds issued from the speaker at the driver’s station. They were almost unintelligible, but Zelda could pick some of it out.

“No eyes” on the situation yet. “Continue route.”

Zelda tried not to make too grouchy of a face.

Link was chuckling. At her questioning look, he shook his head. “Just- what does he do if they say ‘abort route’?”

She snorted. “Abandon ship!”

“Abandon bus.”

“All hands to the lifeboats.”

“We’d need sleds.”

“And dogs to pull them.”

“Oooh, reindeer!”

“Truly, someone providing sleigh rides through Mabe Prairie Park tonight would make a killing,” she said, turning to look out the window behind her, then feeling rather silly, as there was still nothing but snowflakes and indistinct headlights to see. “They’d pass us right by.”

“I feel like I’m missing an entrepreneurship opportunity,” he said, that sideways smile of his back full-force. “Wonder if I can just walk right off the highway and start my own business.”

“You’ve no reindeer,” she pointed out.

“There’s horses at the park. And cows.”

“Hmm, less festive.”

“Still faster, though.”

“Are the cows much faster?”

“Eh…” he thought about it for a moment. “I- am not sure I’ve ever seen how fast a cow can run.”

Zelda swept one of her hands high through the air. “Link’s Cow Rides.”

“That has absolutely no ring to it whatsoever,” he said, suddenly choking on a laugh.

“Indeed, and unfortunately it doesn’t clarify the sleigh aspect of the experience.”

“I can hear the ad already, though. ‘Dashing through the snoooow in a one-cow open sleiiiigh.’”

Her muscles punched a laugh from her stomach. “Dashing may be unlikely, but laughing all the way is a strong possibility.”

“Or getting really bored. If the cows just stand around munching grass the whole time.”

“In the snow?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah! Yeah, definitely laughing.”

“Excellent. You do appear to have your opportunity, as the bus hasn’t moved an inch.”

“I’m still missing something, though. No sleigh.”

“Ahh, yes. Well. Perhaps one of those plastic children’s sleds.”

“The sad thing is that would still be faster than this,” he said. Then he winced a little and looked at the driver. “Uh- not blaming you.”

“Glad to hear it,” the man apparently named Botrick replied, slouching over the wheel.

In the pause as Link recovered, the bus seemed even quieter than before, the only sound the stream of air from the heating system—battery-powered. There wasn’t even the rumble of an engine.

In that environment, grumbling stomachs easily stood out.

It wasn’t Zelda this time. It was Link.

She looked at him.

He was still wincing.

Zelda’s stomach squealed as though in agreement.

His torso lurched with a silent laugh.

Zelda could swear she heard other stomachs complaining, too. “Do we give in and eat on the bus?” she whispered.

“Not the pigeon,” he said.

She huffed. “Definitely not. We’ve no restroom in which to deal with the consequences.”

His eyes widened.

Her smirk began to fade with the extremely unpleasant thought of having to relieve oneself in the middle of the highway.

Surely it wouldn’t come to that.

“Perhaps we wait,” she said.

Link nodded vigorously.

The stillness dragged on.

At one point, the bus began to roll again to a collective, hopeful breath drawn by the entire bus.

It stopped mere inches later.

The collective groan was the loudest sound they’d heard in half an hour.

“What a tease,” the Gerudo woman said.

With no movement and no information forthcoming over the radio, Link seemed to become restless. He stretched his legs straight out in front of him. He leaned far back in his seat and looked up. He wiggled his nose repeatedly. He flexed all his fingers and cracked all his knuckles, then his neck (the woman across from them scowled at him). He sat back up and shimmied in his seat, still somehow avoiding jostling Zelda, then began tapping his fingers to some complex, inaudible drumbeat on his knees. Then he did the unfathomable. He raised his eyes to the strip of ads lining the bus above the hand-hold poles.

He had broken some invisible barrier by doing so—Zelda’s eyes followed his.

A classic tan-orange-brown Death Mountain color scheme backed a Goron cheerfully smiling with a knife in his hand, a grinding stone beside him, and a speech-bubble above his head: Gorrrrrrrron Grrrrrrinding! Bring us your knives! We’ll bring you to heaven.

Zelda’s head listed to the side for a long moment. Then she turned to Link.

He looked horrified.

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face with a sigh. Then he gripped the pole, stood, and stepped sideways to the top of the stairs. “Let me out? I can walk around, take a look at what’s going on.”

Botrick did a double-take. “What what?”

Link jerked his thumb behind him, pointing at the doors.

“We’re on the highway,” Botrick said.

“We haven’t moved in at least an hour.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

“I’ll stick my head out. If nothing’s moving, I’ll get out.”

“Jerks’ve been blowing by on the left!”

“They’re way on the shoulder. I’ll be here, next to the bus.”

“And they could hit something, and things could slide, and you could get squished.”

Link squinted at him. “Okay, I could get on top of the bus instead.”

The look on Botrick’s face was utterly flabbergasted. “What?”

“I’ll stand on the bus, get a good view.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Nah, just a good climber.”

“I don’t need you falling off my bus!”

“I won’t. Well-” Link tilted his head back and forth, looking up- “probably not. It’s slippery.”

Botrick just stared at him.

Link shrugged and put one foot on the lower step. “At least I can tell you how deep the snow got while we sat here.”

“Oh. Ohhh,” Botrick said, taking his rectangular glasses off and feverishly cleaning them on the hem of his shirt, pulled from under his coat. When he returned them to his face, he said, “Fine,” and opened the doors.

“BUT,” he said, as Link stuck his head out, “If you get killed it’s your own damn fault.”

Zelda did think the driver was overreacting a bit, and possibly thinking more about regulations and liability than practicality, but a flutter of nerves struck her as Link disappeared out the door. Botrick closed it.

A surprised “oh?” left Zelda’s mouth.

“To keep the heat in,” Botrick said.

The shadow of Link’s hood appeared in the window behind her along with a squeaky scrabbling sound. Scruffy-man shot forward in his seat as Link’s fingers tried to find purchase, with a brief pause after which they returned to do so gloveless. Zelda watched, astonished, as he leapt straight up, grabbed something, and pulled himself out of sight.

His footsteps on the roof seemed to wake everyone up.

“Is he really up there?” the Gerudo woman wondered (she sounded impressed).

Scruffy-man grunted.

Every set of eyes on the bus followed the sound of his feet walking the length of the bus, pausing, and walking back. He slipped at one point, and everyone gasped.

Botrick made a strangled sound of stress and cleaned his glasses again.

Link dropped down with a muffled thump at the bus doors and knocked. He came up the steps covered in snow, trying to brush it all back out the door and sniffling. “It’s more than a foot built up around us,” he said. “Maybe a foot and a half. Cars forever, just every direction. A few trucks and a flatbed. Nothing’s moving at all, as far as I can see.”

He looked at Zelda.

He didn’t say it, but the shuffling said everyone knew—they’d be stuck here a long time. She almost joked that his idea of walking off the highway was, in fact, the quickest way to get home, but it was also the surest way to get hit by a car on the shoulder, or to succumb to hypothermia. They would have to walk all the way to an exit ramp.

She shook her head. Abandon bus, indeed.

Movement at the edge of her vision drew her eyes to see Botrick turn a knob. The air flow from the heating system lessened to almost nothing, its temperature also lower. He was conserving battery, too.

Surely they wouldn’t run out? These buses had to run long days and nights without charging.

Then again, it was cold, and they were still. Lower efficiency.

“Do you mind if I-?” Link gestured to his still-snowy coat.

“No, no, of course not,” Botrick said.

Link nodded gratefully and draped the coat over the banister before returning to his seat, not looking defeated, exactly, but concerned.

Zelda sighed. She rummaged around in her bags, removed the enormous box of butter cookies she’d bought, and began untying the twine keeping it closed.

Link slumped in his seat a little, side-eyeing the box.

Zelda couldn’t help but smile at his poor attempt at feigning indifference.

He really was quite cute.

She lifted the lid and presented them to him—cookies of all different shapes, sizes, and colors, some sandwich-style filled with jam, some chocolate-dipped and coated in sprinkles, others with dollops of jam or chocolate in their centers.

He stared at them, his face oddly blank like when she’d hidden her buzzing slate.

“Go on,” she said. “Have one.”

A tiny hopeful smile quirked one corner of his mouth. He uncrossed his arms, leaned forward, and carefully selected an apricot sandwich-cookie almost the size of a Hylian’s palm, half-chocolate-dipped with rainbow sprinkles.

Zelda then turned and offered the box to scruffy-man.

He looked shocked.

“It’s alright,” she said, holding the box a little higher.

He still hesitated.

Compelling reasons to accept her cookie offering swirled through her head. There were so many (and she couldn’t think of many reasons not to have one, unless he suffered from allergies, and suddenly she thought that might be it). “They were made in a peanut and tree-nut free facility,” she said. “Though I don’t believe I can guarantee they’re free of other allergens. They’re also delicious.“ He still hesitated. “It’s not as though I’d planned to eat them all myself. Besides, better the cookies than each other.”

Link choked on his cookie, and scruffy-man once again began a slow lean away from her.

“A little early to resort to cannibalism,” said the Gerudo woman.

“W- well.” Zelda shrugged, face scarlet and eyes suddenly sealed shut. “Yes. Exactly. Thus the cookies.”

Link was wheezing. She turned to see him in the throes of laughter, cookie crumbs cupped in one hand while he failed to chew. “Y- you-“ he wheezed more- “have to appreciate the honesty, though.”

“You’d better eat one, my dear,” the Gerudo woman said with a pointed look at Zelda. “Otherwise we’ll all think you’re fattening us up.”

Zelda retrieved a cookie immediately (lemon-zest in the batter with raspberry filling) and offered the entire box to scruffy-man’s lap. After a long moment, he finally accepted it, took a random cookie without ever taking his eyes off Zelda, and passed the box to his left. Zelda ate her cookie slowly in mixed mortification and relief that at least she’d only seriously terrified one person.

As the box moved, the mood and voices on the bus lifted. It turned out the man who’d held packages above his head had taken leftover pizza, garlic bread, and fried cheese home from an office party, and someone else had a birthday cake for a gathering he certainly wasn’t making it to. He even had candles.

“My brother’ll live without cake,” he said as he stuck the candles in it. Someone else lit them with a lighter.

They sang solstice tunes instead of “Happy Birthday,” and kept singing while they passed small pieces of cake around on paper plates.

Zelda thought Link might have felt guilty about making the driver nervous. He brought a plate full of cookies and cake up to him personally.

It was then that Zelda realized she’d missed a trick.

She waved a hand at the crowd, but no one noticed (except scruffy-man, who continued to view her with apparent suspicion), so she stood. “Ah- excuse me?” A few people turned her way. “Does anyone have a corkscrew?”

The entire bus perked up at that.

Link cleared his throat and held up a spectacular, hefty multi-tool he’d just retrieved from his drying coat.

“Perfect,” Zelda said, retrieving her bottles. Link popped them open with a flourish and birthday-party-man provided a stack of paper cups.

The bus was soon very merry indeed—all but for Botrick, who stared longingly at Link’s cup (he’d opted for mead).

“We’ll save you some,” Link said. He took another of the very small sips he’d been taking.

Zelda had also chosen mead. “It’s quite good,” she said, though she’d taken only a very small amount, hyper-aware that she hadn’t used a bathroom since she left work.

“This is a nice one. Sometimes they’re weirdly harsh. Mead shouldn’t be harsh.”

“Oh! You’ve had it before?”

“Oh yeah, loads of times. I like to try things.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah, food’s pretty much my hobby.”

“As in taste-testing?”

“Ohhhh not just that,” he said. “I love to cook. I was going to coat that pigeon in a rosemary, Hyrule herb, and warm safflina-infused oil I made a few weeks back and roast it, make it nice and crispy” He swallowed, his eyes widening, and Zelda had the sudden impression he’d caught himself salivating. “And I was going to braise the apples and red cabbage to go with it. And I was thinking about making some custard tarts with wildberries.”

“Here I was thinking you ate so healthy, until the custard tarts,” Zelda said with a smirk.

“I figure it averages out,” he grinned. “Can’t really share the eggs around, but if people need another round of food the fruit’s in here. There’s milk… too…” He suddenly sat at the edge of his seat, looking wildly around, his eyes landing on the forgotten twine from the cookie box half-under Zelda on her seat. “Can I… can I have that?”

Zelda passed it to him and watched him rummage in a bag which contained only the packaged pigeon and frozen peas. He tied the twine tight around both.

“Does this open?” Link asked, pointing at the front-most window.

“Yeah, only a few inches, but-“

“It’ll just take a second.”

Botrick grunted.

Link opened it, fought the pigeon out the window, and lowered it by the twine. Then he shut the window on it and tied the other end to the pole. “Ha!”

He appeared extremely pleased with himself.

Botrick appeared nonplussed.

Zelda finished her mead, stored her cup in one of her bags, and turned on her slate.

10:23 pm.

As the night wore on, the merry volume dwindled and the snow climbed higher against the sides of the bus. Snores began to issue and sputter as people jerked awake in the seats, shifted and re-settled again. Zelda stood at the front of the bus, peering down the long windows at the snow which cradled them.

“Will we be able to move? Once the car in front of us does?”

“I think so,” Botrick said. “There are a couple shovels under the floor if not.”

Another set of headlights went out.

“It’s fortunate the bus is battery-powered. With this much snow, we’d have had to dig out the exhaust pipe.”

Link sat suddenly forward. “Oh- Hylia.”

Zelda turned to see him scanning the pattern of lights outside the windshield. “What is it?”

“How many of them don’t know they should do that?” he asked. “Or just didn’t think of it. I mean, I know you should but I didn’t think of it until you said something.”

They looked at each other.

“Where are the shovels?” Link asked.

A few minutes later, he and the Gerudo woman left the bus armed with shovels and promises not to try and save the entire highway personally.

After half an hour, Zelda made Botrick open the doors again so she could check on them. She held on to a pole and leaned out into the frigid air—and found, to her relief, they’d enlisted a good deal of help from elsewhere. People were using ice-scrapers. People were talking to each other. Lanes were carved and stamped out between cars in places.

Other people were wading in thigh-deep snow.

She pulled her head in. “Is there an ice-scraper, too? One of the ones with a brush?”

“Yeah,” Botrick said.

“Excellent.”

The bus doors opened, and an extremely snowy Link popped his head in. “Hey, Zelda?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have the bag with the milk and fruit please?”

It only took her a moment of rummaging. She passed it over the end of the seats.

“Thanks.” He hesitated a moment. “Kids.”

The doors closed.

Zelda found herself staring at the place his face had been, part of her lamenting there were no cookies left to give them, and another part unable to unsee his extremely wind-and-cold-burnt face.

“Open the door, please,” she said.

She stuck her head out and found his profile. “Link!” she shouted.

He turned toward her.

“Cheese and crackers!”

He jogged back.

She ducked down and retrieved the last of the food she’d bought. Children were unlikely to want fancy cheese, but they also quite likely had hungry adults with them, and they’d all like the crackers.

She stood with them on the bottom step.

“We should trade places,” she said.

“No way,” Link said. “Your pants are thin, you’ll be soaked in under a minute.”

“You’re already freezing.”

“I know where the kids are,” he said with a bit of a smirk.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

He had her there.

He gave her an extremely warm smile as he lifted the bag from her fingers. “Thank you,” he said.

“Come back after this,” she said. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m alright.”

“Stay that way. Come back! And bring- ah-”

He huffed a laugh. “Her name’s Urbosa.”

“Bring Urbosa, too.”

He nodded. “I will.”

When they returned, Zelda was ready, along with leftover-pizza-man (Horace) and gift-bag-woman (Anna).

Armed with the largest ice scraper she’d ever seen, Zelda attacked them with the brush-side. Snow flew off Urbosa down the steps (Link dodged). She worked quickly until all that remained was anything that had already soaked into her clothing, then passed her off to Horace. Then it was Link’s turn.

He made an adorable “mrp” sound when she first swiped the brush down his front. She tried not to laugh. She miscalculated when she tried to get his chest and shoulders and caught the tip of his nose with the bristles.

“Oohf,” he said, his hand coming up to cradle his nose protectively.

“Sorry!”

“’Sokay,” he said, squinting strangely.

“Coat off,” she said when done, but she didn’t have to. He was already removing it and returning it to the banister.

Then she removed hers and plunked it across his shoulders.

“Huh-? You don’t have to-“

“I’m warm and dry. You’re not.” The blotchy redness on his face and neck said so clearly. “Hat,” she said.

He removed it and she gave hm hers.

She lamented again that they didn’t have any spare pants, but it was Anna’s turn now.

Zelda turned to see Urbosa already seated, now in the front-most set of double seats, huddled in Horace’s coat with a brand-new, cheerful, solstice-themed throw over her shoulders and cradling a mug of warm water in her hands.

Zelda smiled. That was battery well-spent.

Horace dropped another throw over Link’s shoulders and pointed at his seat. Link sank into it with a surprised smile, and Anna lifted a 2nd cup from the electric mug-warmer she’d plugged into an outlet on the bus.

“Here you go,” she said.

Link hooked the handle, circled the mug with his other hand, and sighed, appearing to burrow into the layers of warmth. “Thank you so much,” he said.

“Can we drink this?” Urbosa asked.

“It was top-snow,” Zelda said.

“Wonderful,” Urbosa said in throaty tones of relieved gratitude as she sipped it. Link followed suit.

“If you’re all done saving the world,” Botrick said, “I’d like to keep those doors shut from now on. Keep the heat in, save the battery.”

“Yes sir,” Link said.

People generally returned to seats after that, though they’d rearranged. Scowling-woman (Linda) had taken a double-seat near the back with scruffy-man (Zelda still hadn’t caught his name). Zelda looked at the empty seat beside Link, hesitating for a moment.

A puff of air left him with a smile. One of his hands reached under the blanket and patted the seat.

She smiled back, feeling unaccountably shy again. She slid into the seat.

“Thanks,” he said. “Really.”

“You’re welcome. I hope your nose is alright.”

“Heh.” He rubbed it with two fingers. “It’s still kind of numb.”

As he sipped his drink, Zelda reached for her slate—then realized it was now in his pocket.

“Link, would you mind handing me my slate?”

“Oh.” He fished for it and slid it out the gap in the wrapped throw.

“Thank you.” She turned it on.

1:47 am.

“Wow,” Link said.

“Well. On the upside, the storm should end in an hour.”

Link sniffed, looking a little bleary as he stared at the screen. “You have messages.”

She did indeed.

Zelda snorted. She turned to see Link also smiling at her slate. Then he looked at her and his eyes shot wide.

“Oh! Sorry.”

“Why, Link,” she said. “Here I was thinking you were a perfect gentleman.”

That was definitely a spooked face.

“Do you make a habit of reading people’s personal messages?” She kept her face mostly stern, though she allowed a tiny twitch of humor at one corner of her mouth.

His face became blotchier. “Well. I.” He swallowed. “Not. Not usually, no.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Only mine?”

The blotches faded to total pallor. Concern dropped Zelda’s stern-face for her, but he spoke at the same moment it did.

“I’m- really sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just- it was making a racket and I looked.”

She stared at him, confused.

“I thought you were getting a call.”

It took her a moment. Then her lips parted. “You mean earlier.”

He nodded.

“…You read it.”

His shoulders climbed toward his ears. “…Yeah.”

Zelda turned extremely red.

“…Do you… want your coat back?”

“Of course not- I’m not angry, I just-“ a wan smile appeared on her face and she stared at her hands now gripping the slate in her lap. “I feel ridiculous.”

“…Why?”

“Because you knew the whole time.”

“…I did?”

She looked up to find him appearing genuinely confused.

“…Of course?”

He looked first one way, then the other, then back at her. “But… I still don’t.”

She squinted a bewildered eye at him. “How can you not?”

Link blinked at her. Then he shot a quick look over her shoulder—so quick she could’ve missed it if she’d blinked.

She turned to find scruffy-man at a direct shot from his eyeline. He saw her looking and blanched. She gave him a nervous smile and a wave before she turned back to Link, who had a bit of a grimace on.

His look turned sheepish, and he tilted his head. “I- uh. You don’t have to tell me, but I’ve been trying to work out which one of us it was.”

She stared at him. Then her jaw fell open. “You- thought he was the cute one?”

“Well, there were two guys sitting next to you-“

“He’s far older than I am.”

“Some people like that.”

“He’s not usually on the bus with me.”

“Didn’t know that was part of the equation.”

“I’ve been speaking with you most of the time.”

“A lot of people get nervous and talk to everyone but the person they like. You even went all anxious when you tried to give him a cookie, you were blushing, and you did it again just now.”

“Because he believes I’m unhinged!”

Link snorted. Then he smiled. Then he grinned. A lot. “So… does that mean it’s me?” he asked.

Zelda sat suddenly straight up, her face somehow trying to pale and flush at the same time. She swallowed and tried to have a well, obviously face on even though she’d begun to tremble. Her knuckles turned white on her slate. “Of course it’s you.”

He sat up straighter again, too, his eyes flicking between hers. Then he saw her shaking. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“…Are you cold?”

“Not really—you should keep the coat until you’re fully warmed.” She said, her eyes again on her slate’s now-blank screen. The throw rose and fell slowly with his breaths in her vision.

Then he dug around inside it somewhere. He stretched out a bit to reach something, then produced his own slate. He turned it on, sniffing a bit, and unlocked the screen. The battery icon was red.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

The tremor in his voice made her seek out his face. He swallowed nervously.

“You may,” Zelda said.

He gave her a sheepish smile, opened his messages, and tapped on a conversation with someone named “Cheeter.”

She gave him a quizzical look.

“It’s what I call my sister,” he said with a smirk. He scrolled up to a certain part. “Here.”

And he handed it to her.

Link groaned. “Sorry. She just likes messing with me.”

A deep smile had grown on Zelda’s face. She’d tried to hide it by resting her mouth in her palm as she read. “I can tell,” she said muffled into it. “I- believe you’ve only a little battery life left to respond.”

“Yeah.” He reached for it. Then he smirked at her. “You can look.”

“Oh?”

He shut his slate off and stowed it back in his pocket. He stared at his lap for a moment, his face very red, then dragged his eyes up toward hers with a face clearly hoping for forgiveness. The smile on her face seemed to open his entire expression up.

“You’ve been… babbling about me for months?” she asked.

There it was—that soft laugh of his again.

She loved that laugh.

“You’re… very pretty. And super cute.”

She smiled deeper, her eyes seemingly searching the bus for reasons she might be interpreted as cute.

“There. You just did a cute thing,” he said.

“All I did was be confused.”

“You do this cute thing when you side-step.”

She blinked. “When I… side-step?”

“Yeah! Like when the bus is standing room only and you step left or right, you do it cutely.”

This time, she did stare at him like he was crazy.

“But I didn’t know how kind and thoughtful you were until today,” he said quietly. “Or how smart. Or how good you are at bringing people together.”

“Oh no- no, social skills are most certainly not my strong point.”

“No one else here made a move to help each other get through this until you did. No one else thought about something that legitimately could’ve killed people out there tonight. And it was you who organized this-“ he tugged the throw and lifted his mug- “wasn’t it?”

“Well. It wasn’t a difficult undertaking. We merely had to identify what we had available to bring you two back up to temperature. And,” she said with an involuntary hair-toss, “we only did so because you two braved the storm out of concern for people’s safety.”

A small smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “I can hold a shovel.”

“It didn’t have to be you.”

He shrugged. “I’m in good shape, my clothes were good for it, and I’m fast. It made sense.”

She huffed, squinting at him suspiciously, though she couldn’t stop smiling.

She supposed he could have been showing off.

Just a little.

Now that she knew she’d already caught his eye.

His eyebrows went further and further up under his (now extremely messy) bangs.

A yawn interrupted Zelda’s pondering of his motivations—a spectacular yawn indeed. She held the back of her hand to her mouth, as it didn’t seem to want to shut.

“Oh- nohh-“ Link yawned in response.

“Oh NOOhhh-hhh-hherrr!”

They both looked at Botrick.

He yawned again.

“Yawns’re infectious,” he said. “Especially at 2:30 am.”

“You… were watching us?” Link asked.

“What else do I have for entertainment?”

Any response Zelda might’ve had disappeared into another yawn.

Link gave her a sheepish look. Then he opened the throw with a questioning one.

She blinked at his arm, now outstretched on the plastic seatback, holding one edge of the small blanket.

“If- if you’d like to,” he said.

She only hesitated a moment.

Then she twisted to face forward and sit back in the seat. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, the throw with it, and after a moment, she rested her head on his shoulder.

She peered up at him.

His smile was absolutely adorable.

Zelda awoke pleasantly warm, even on the crown of her head, and with a bleary smile she didn’t understand at first, though her neck hurt a bit. She snuggled deeper into the warmth at her side, and an arm hugged her warmer and closer around her shoulders. Then she remembered.

Her eyelids drifted open to the odd sight of her own coat on someone else’s chest.

Link lifted his cheek from her hair. “Good morning,” he said.

She craned her neck, her chin now on his chest, and she could hardly believe she was looking up at him. “Hello,” she said.

Sunlight backlit his smile.

Then she noticed the commotion outside.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Seems like we’ll be leaving soon. There’s plows.”

“Praise Hylia,” Botrick grumbled, arms crossed and eyes bloodshot.

“Are you alright to drive?” Zelda asked.

“I slept. I just didn’t like it.”

Link cocked his head at him. Then he looked at Zelda. “You officially awake?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He tugged questioningly at the throw.

She nodded, suddenly understanding, and sadly allowed that glorious warmth to be removed.

Link stood, stretched, and draped the throw over Botrick’s shoulders.

Botrick looked like he was going to protest—then he pulled it closed around his neck and muttered a thank you.

“We did save you some mead,” Link said.

“Can’t accept it. Driver can’t open-carry.”

Link’s face fell. “You sure?”

“Yup.”

The bus finally moved at 7:01 am, on 12% battery-life and higgledy-piggledy lanes carved by everything that moved before them. They bumped along at a snail’s pace, bouncing over every snow-hill made between standstill cars and the plow-passes of the last few hours. They all cried out in mixed indignation and laughter with each one, and when they finally felt the incline of the off-ramp, they cheered.

Link and Zelda exchanged coats and hats, and throws, cups, mug-warmers, and the responsibility of trash disposal were distributed among the passengers. Canvas-bag-woman retrieved Link’s bag with the red-cabbage in it, which had rolled toward the back of the bus.

Scruffy-man and Linda got off at the first stop, hand-in…

Hand?

She tromped down the steps without a second glance, but scruffy-man stopped and looked at Zelda. He then raised his hand with the most unnatural-looking smile she’d ever seen.

“I’m… taken,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Then he disembarked.

Link turned to her, wide-eyed. “See?! See, he thought so too!!”

When Urbosa’s turn arrived, she paused by them, too, and handed Zelda her card.

“That’s my number,” she said. “I want to be invited to the wedding.” Then she nodded at Link. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

Zelda stared, transfixed, at the card as the doors closed. Link turned beet red and rubbed the back of his neck.

The weather warning had been an understatement.

Easily three feet of snow had accumulated, with snow drifts and plow-mountains the height of the bus itself. Botrick was stopping to let people off at the edges of intersections rather than stops—otherwise they’d never make it. The sidewalks were haphazardly shoveled, and it appeared that in order to get to one of them, one had to navigate snow-hills the height of the parked cars.

Zelda’s stop was coming up.

She adjusted her hat and donned her gloves. They’d long-since dried.

“You’re next,” Link said.

“Mm-hm.”

“Uhm.” He swallowed. “I- could I-“

“Oh!!” she struggled to tug her slate free of her pocket. How could she have forgotten to get his number? After all that!!

He tried to turn his on, but it remained black. The battery had finally run out.

He rolled his eyes and returned it to his pocket, looking at her as she managed to turn her slate on, at least. The bus rolled to a stop while it was still booting up.

“Oh-“

Link stood and offered her his hand.

She took it.

His smile turned very lopsided. “I’m not far from here,” he said. “I can walk you home?”

She beamed at him.

They waved goodbye as they stamped down the steps. Link landed perfectly in a 2-foot deep bed of crispy snow like a gazelle, his feet punching perfect holes in it. Zelda didn’t quite have that level of grace, but she didn’t disgrace herself either, neither slipping nor wobbling on her way out.

The doors closed, and Botrick began to pull away.

A soft bonking sound drew Zelda’s eyes to the bus.

“OH!” She shouted.

Link spun, his hands outstretched as though ready to grapple. “What?!”

“STOP! STOP!!”

As the bus trundled, a strange little package bounced off its side, spinning merrily on the end of a length of twine.

“Oh NO!” Link yelled, and suddenly he was off like a shot with snow-mountain-climbing angled feet, hurrying to the top of the peak in that direction.

Zelda packed a massive snowball and threw it at the windows.

The bus squeaked to a halt, and the door opened.

“What in Hebra are you two DOING?!” Botrick yelled.

Zelda cupped her hands around her mouth. “THE PIGEON!!”

“Hylia save us!” floated Botrick’s voice as he put the bus into park.

They stumbled, slipped, climbed, and giggled their way to Zelda’s little house three streets straight in from the stop, their arms around each other’s shoulders half the time, not because they had to be, but because they couldn’t seem to help it.

A package of frozen pigeon hard as a brick (and accompanying peas) dangled from one of Link’s hands. He didn’t want to put it in the bag with either his red cabbage or eggs.

Only a small amount of mead remained in the bottle in Zelda’s bag.

When they reached Zelda’s walkway, Link waded through the snow to make a path for her—no one had been home to shovel. She thanked him the only proper way—by packing and throwing snowballs at his back.

“If I hadn’t just cut a path for you, I’d throw you in the snow,” he said.

She threw a snowball at his front.

“That’s it.” He stalked toward her.

She eeped and spun, but he was quicker. He had her in his arms in an instant, one under her shoulders and the other under her knees. She squeaked and wrapped her arms around his neck hard.

He swung her to the side. “One.”

She gasped and clung harder.

And again- “Two.”

She squeaked more.

“Three!” he said with a swing she was sure would send her into the neighbor’s yard, but he pulled her back to his chest with that soft laugh of his.

She looked up at him with trepidation.

He twinkled at her.

Then he walked her sideways, slowly and carefully so her feet and hair wouldn’t drag in the snow, up the steps, and deposited her safely at her front door.

She didn’t want to let go of his neck—but she did. She made a show of brushing the snow off his coat.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Any time.”

And then it occurred she still hadn’t gotten his number. Her smile fell.

He breathed a soft puff of air. “Well. I’d better dig my way home and do something with this pigeon. I-“ he hesitated. “I’d really like. To. Um…” he scratched the back of his head. “See you again.”

She curled one of her hands around his. “Did you… have plans today?”

“Today?” he asked.

“Yes. Anyone expecting you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Well, then.” She eyed his clothing. “If- if you’d like to, you’re welcome to come in.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at his still-spinning package of peas and poultry. Then he smiled. “I could cook for you.”

Her head jerked up. “Oh?!”

“Yeah! I don’t have the apples anymore, but I can still braise the red cabbage, and I can still do the pigeon as long as you have some oil and herbs, or even if you don’t, really, I can figure something out.”

“…I have apples,” she said.

“Well then! Uh-“ he paused, looking down at himself. “Although – maybe I’d better stop at my place first. I’ll be soaked.”

She shook her head. “You’ll end up snowy all over again on your way back. Unless there are any other reasons you wish to go that you’re uncomfortable telling me, in which case that’s completely fine, I propose instead that you borrow some of my comfy pants.”

“Comfy pants?”

“Indeed. Unreasonably large sweatpants I would have absolutely no business wearing in public, but which are utterly inoffensive to the tactile senses.”

He looked so deeply into her eyes. “They sound amazing.”

“They are.”

He nodded. “That settles it. Your pants, my food.”

“Happy Solstice,” she said with a grin.

“Happy Solstice,” he chuckled.

As they crossed the threshold, kicked off their snow-coated boots and hung their hats and coats, an earlier worry crossed Zelda’s mind: that he, unlike her, had no aversion to unpredictability.

She’d thought that might be a point of friction.

Relief widened her smile even further—for she’d been completely incorrect. This event had been utterly unpredictable in every way, but unless she was very mistaken, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

He turned from the coat hooks, caught her eye, and flushed, and it occurred to Zelda that she may not be the only person in the room who had a little difficulty navigating social situations.

She took his hand again. “In case it isn’t clear—and it may not be, these things confuse me—I like you very much.”

He flushed deeper. “I like you very much, too.”

“And I am interested in kissing you.”

He seemed to almost laugh, but it turned quickly into a sideways smile that morphed into a swallow, then a nervous face. He squeezed her hand, and his next breaths arrived faster. “I am- very interested in kissing you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Very?”

He nodded with a small, puffed laugh.

She took his other hand in hers. “But I will not pressure you.”

“Pressure me?”

“Yes. You appear nervous.”

“I am,” he said, with another swallow. “You’re-“ and another swallow- “so beautiful.”

Her breath caught. “And you- are extremely handsome.”

He shrugged.

It made her laugh a little. She brushed one of his bangs away from his eyes.

It seemed to pull them together, somehow.

The tip of his nose touched hers—then slid toward her cheek—and their lips met soft like feathers, with a silent thrill that made Zelda’s body rise, her hand warm on his cheek. When their lips parted, she could feel him trembling everywhere, even in the way he breathed on her skin.

“Best bus ride ever,” he said.

She found herself giggling, and his soft laugh turned into full-on laughter as he curled his arms up her back and she wrapped hers hard around his neck, an embrace of joy and of hope for a spectacular new year.

~~The End~~

[Note: A huge thank-you to my partner who let me borrow his phone for the purpose of making the images!]

#the legend of zelda #fanfiction #botw au #modern au #romcom #romantic comedy #humor #fluff #midna's merry mixup #ah public buses #a tiny bit of strong language #embedded images with alt text

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