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She opens her eyes to an apartment that looks suspiciously like hers but isn’t. Because this isn't their couch, and this isn't her blanket, and Purah’s bed isn't the carpet that she's currently groaning on. Panic hits her system—where is she, what happened—

“The time,” Purah repeats. “What's the time?”

“Ten,” someone says, and the sound of running water stops. “Here, drink this.”

A glass of water is placed on the coffee table in front of her, and fuck it’s Link. Oh right, this must be the aftermath of his housewarming. Zelda sits up so fast that she gets vertigo. He has that patient expression on his face, the one where she can’t tell if he’s angry or amused.

“Hi,” he says. Purah groans again. “Long night?”

It takes her a few tries to get over her shock and grip the glass of water steadily enough to drink from it. She clears her throat before replying, “Uh—ah—I guess so? Sorry, let me—”

She stands up in an attempt to leave, but a wave of nausea forces her to sit back down.

“I’ll find some ibuprofen. There’s a trash bag right there,” he says, and embarrassment washes over her. He’s smiling faintly, but still. She’s never woken up at someone’s place after blacking out, let alone the place of the person literally next door. When she’s fully sober, Purah is going to get the ass kicking of a lifetime.

As soon as Link disappears into a room, Zelda pokes her. “Purah! Purah, wake up.”

“Mmph.”

“Purah, wake up,” Zelda hisses. “We’re not home right now.”

Purah’s eyes open at this at least, and after a few more shakes, she sits up too.

“Oh my god,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “I’m still drunk. What happened?”

“I think you had too much.” Link delivers the understatement of the century deadpan as he walks back into the living room with a small bottle. “Here. Painkillers.”

He crouches down to pick up a solo cup on the floor while handing the bottle to Zelda, and for a moment the strangest thing happens. A phantom memory, dejavu, a dream she once had, dances at the back of her mind.

He’s kneeled like this before in front of her. That, or she’s still drunk too.

“Oh,” Zelda says when she sees he’s looking at her. “Oh I realized I—we—we have some at home. Thank you though.”

She musters all her energy to stand and yank Purah up with her, who yelps a bit while Zelda grimace-smiles. “We really should go. I’m so sorry to have intruded like this.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You can stay if you need to. I was just going to make breakfast.”

He’s hot and he’s nice. Fucking hell.

“No, no, that’s ok,” Zelda says, and practically shoves Purah out the door.

“Jesus, you don’t have to be so embarrassed,” Purah says once they’re out in the hallway. “He offered to make us breakfast.”

She lowers her voice and elbows Zelda in the side. “Is it cause he’s hot?”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Link, thankfully, doesn’t mention that night when they see each other next on Monday. Even Impa and Robbie don’t know exactly what happened—Impa stumbled into Purah’s bed early, and Robbie blacked out too.

But even though he doesn’t mention it, she feels the need to apologize again. She musters up the courage while they’re waiting for the train.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“Really? I don’t remember much, so I’m sorry if we were belligerent or too much or—” Zelda cuts herself off. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Ah, and if you don’t mind me asking—what did—what did we do?” This is the real question that she wanted to ask, the one that’s been in the back of her mind. She’s only lost her memory while drinking a handful of times, and each time it’s been a doozy.

He smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

The train comes. She spends the rest of the day worrying about it.

* * *

She works from home for a couple of days. It is not to avoid Link, and even if it were, so what? She’s getting good work done. Plus by “coincidence” the internship program managers put them on the same hackathon team, so she has to message Link and their other partner Urbosa anyway with ideas. (She suspects their teaming up isn’t an accident because she’s heard that Link and Urbosa are performing really well, even just a week and a half in, and she figures her father wants their good influence to rub off on her. Ugh.)

On the evening of the second day, someone knocks on the door.

It’s the burly person from next door who rushed them into the party. He’s smiling. Their door is open, and she can hear the sound of something sizzling in a hot wok; it smells divine.

“Dinner at our place!” he says, voice booming through their small complex. “Your apartment at our apartment. Unless you have plans already.”

“Oh—ah,” she says, looking back in their living room. It’s empty; both Purah and Robbie are still at the lab. “My housemates aren’t here yet, but…”

He raises an eyebrow. “They have plans? It’s a Wednesday during summer.”

She suddenly remembers how gone all three of them were at the party. Perhaps this is a chance to redeem themselves. If they’re getting invited back it couldn’t have been that bad right?

“Hm, good point,” she says. “I can’t imagine that they do.”

“Perfect!” He says. He stretches out a hand twice the size of hers. “I did this out of order, but I’m Daruk, by the way, nice to meet you. I live with Link and Revali. We didn’t properly meet that time at the door last weekend, did we?”

He’s so warm that it’s easy to smile back. “We didn’t. Zelda, nice to meet you too.”

“Tell your housemates seven! And let me know if they have any allergies or dietary restrictions. The little guy is doing Thai tonight!”

“Ok,” she says, wondering if the little guy refers to Link. She has a feeling that it does. “Seven sounds great.”

* * *

As soon as she texts in their chat, Purah and Robbie are on board—free food is free food, after all. Robbie picks up a cheap bottle of wine on his way home for a housewarming gift. Zelda walks to the hardware store to pick up a small succulent, and Purah says she’ll stop by the convenience store for Cheez-Its (“what.” she texts in the chat when Zelda and Robbie both thumbs down her suggestion. “ill eat them if no one else does LMAO”). When they gather before their neighbor’s door, Purah knocks, much more gently this time.

Daruk didn’t mention that dinner would be a feast. When they walk in, it’s a complete 180 from the party setup; there’s a foldout dining table in the living room, soft music is playing from the TV, and at least four dishes are spread out on the table.

Judging from how Revali is sitting at the table, absorbed in a book, it looks like Link’s done most of the work. He’s in the kitchen, which has its fan set to max, stir frying something by tossing a wok back and forth. Only when he plates the food and places it on the table does he wave to them.

He’s wearing green this time, a much more casual t-shirt than the three button downs he alternates between for work. The green is nice. (Zelda stops dwelling on this for fear that Purah will hear her thoughts.)

“Thanks for having us over again,” Purah says, and they all sit down when Link takes a seat. “We brought things!”

“Oh, here,” Zelda says, placing the plant in the center of the table. Robbie also presents the bottle of wine, and Purah that goddamn box of Cheez-Its, and it looks so ridiculous against the meal in front of them. “Thank you for hosting us, this looks delicious.”

“The last time we hosted was fun, wasn’t it,” Revali says, and wow, that’s really the first thing that he’s going to say to her. She can’t tell if the smile is a smirk or a friendly hello, but she laughs all the same.

“Sorry again,” she apologizes, and Daruk waves her off.

“Nonsense!” His voice is so loud that Robbie jumps. “Thanks for bringing things, and thanks to the little guy for cooking! Speaking of which, do you want to introduce your dishes today?”

Link smiles just a bit. “No.”

“Oh, come on.”

He points at each as he explains. “Thai basil chicken. Green beans. Coconut rice. Eggplant with garlic sauce. Papaya salad.”

“Delicious,” Revali says. It’s incredible how everything that comes out of his mouth sounds so smarmy.

“Let’s dig in!” Daruk declares, and everyone begins serving themselves.

“Whoa!” Robbie exclaims after his first bite. “Mmm. This is really fucking good.”

“Thanks,” Link says, and there’s that small smile again.

“Oh, wow,” Zelda agrees. The chicken is tender and just spicy enough. “This is delicious.”

“This is some of the best food I’ve had in a long time,” Purah adds. Then, after a pause, “Sorry about the Cheez-Its.”

Everyone laughs, and Zelda shakes her head.

“So,” Daruk says. “When do you all plan on hosting something?”

“Well, whenever this one lets us,” Purah says, with a very pointed look at Zelda.

“What, parties not your style?” Daruk asks, raising an eyebrow. “The three of you seemed to have a great time last Friday!”

This makes everyone laugh again, but this time Zelda is more embarrassed.

“Sorry about that. Speaking of that night, as you can imagine, ah, Purah and I don’t remember much of the end.” she asks, sheepish. “Sorry again—what exactly happened?”

“Not much,” Link says, and before she can ask him to elaborate, Revali cuts him off.

“Well, neither of you yakked, which was considerate enough. But as soon as Link came back,” there’s that smirk again, and Zelda’s stomach drops, preparing for the worst, “you two were badgering him incessantly. Asking him about his intentions with Mipha—”

“Friendly,” Link clarifies, and Zelda hates how she takes note of that in her head immediately.

“—and then roasting him because it was so clear that Mipha liked him, or something. I’ve never seen Link look that lost in his life.”

It’s clear Revali takes joy in this, but Zelda’s just relieved that nothing else happened.

“You first called him a white knight,” Daruk chimes in, laughing. “And then retracted it immediately as soon as you heard that his intentions were just friendly. Something about leading her on.”

“Good to know that I’m always looking out for my ladies, even when I’m blasted,” Purah says, and she clinks glasses with Zelda. “But Link, Mipha’s very available, and my guess is, very down bad for you. Emotionally, of course, and in the most dignified way possible.”

“Hm,” he says, with that blank expression that’s impossible to read.

“But with that being said—it could've been worse!” Purah concludes, and they all raise a glass of two buck chuck to that.

After downing his glass, Daruk changes the topic, and for that Zelda is immensely glad. “Oh, back to my original question—why no parties? Bad memories from previous ones? Too much partying going on anyway?”

“Ah no no.” Purah shakes her head. “Zelda’s just really set with our place being the way it is. She likes it when things are neat, when only clean clothes touch her bed, that whole shebang.”

Purah smiles at her before elaborating, “A real princess, if you will.”

“Princess?” Daruk bursts into laughter.

“Princess,” Robbie agrees. “Though I’m sure she hates that nickname, sorry Zel.”

“Interesting. So we’ve got our white knight, and a princess,” Daruk says, and Zelda wonders if Revali is glaring or if that’s what his resting face looks like. “Quite the pair here!”

“I suppose,” she says, a grimace-smile on her face. “I'm not a princess though, I promise.”

“I am a fucking nerd,” Zelda declares, cheeks red. “And it’s not my fault you mixed it up with cross site request forgery. But it’s quite simple, really--”

“Oh, you did not just—”

“Purah!”

Impa snatches away the handle and tosses the cup that Purah tried to force on Zelda into the trash can. Zelda laughs as Purah struggles to take the vodka back; Impa has a good six inches of height on her.

“Date parties at Sigma Eta Kappa are supposed to be classy,” Impa says. “We aren’t even really supposed to pregame in my room, so behave.”

As Zelda apologizes and Purah threatens to haze Impa as well, someone opens the door and they shut up.

It’s Impa’s roommate, Mipha. They’ve spoken only a handful of times before, but Zelda knows Mipha is kind and beautiful and probably (definitely) does not want to see Zelda in this state.

“Hello,” she says, walking in with someone else. Zelda’s stomach lurches, probably from the alcohol. “I just wanted to grab something before, the bus is leaving soon! This is Link.”

Mipha motions towards Link, who must be her date. He waves with the hand that isn’t in his pocket. His bright blue dress shirt is kind of tacky, but he stands with a quiet confidence that suggests he doesn’t care.

When Zelda makes eye contact with him mid-wave, three things happen.

One, she realizes he’s hot.

Two, something fires off in her brain. It’s a familiar feeling, but it usually only happens when a difficult problem clicks, or when she digs up an old memory. Maybe he’s just really hot.

Three, she bolts to the bathroom, and Impa runs after her. She barely gets in front of the toilet before she vomits.

* * *

They scramble to make it on the bus in time, and Zelda chews three sticks of extra strong gum on the way to bowling. Throwing a six pound ball while drunk is not advisable, and she maintains the lowest score on the board.

Maybe on a normal day she’d be embarrassed and try harder, but no one is paying attention to her score, or anyone’s for that matter. They’re all watching Mipha’s date Link make strike after strike--the few times he misses it’s a spare--like it’s nothing.

When his score hits 260, Purah laughs.

“You’re at like 40,” she says to Zelda.

“Purah, you’re not doing much better,” Impa points out.

Zelda rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

* * *

Spring semester comes and goes in a haze of assignments and exams and club socials. Then, they're rising seniors in college.

When summer comes, Purah continues research at the university lab, Robbie follows suit, and Zelda is the only one in their apartment who works a lame-ass corporate internship. Impa’s interning at some government building also in the city, but her hours will likely be earlier and longer than Zelda’s.

“Working for my father,” Zelda says while pulling her boots on, “is the worst thing I will experience in my time on this earth.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Purah says, not even looking up from her cereal. “If you ever give birth, your vagina can rip to your asshole. I feel like that’s probably worse.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“But I get it, a summer at Rhoam doesn’t sound that fun.”

“Thanks.”

She steps outside, still a bit bleary eyed, and sees that someone is exiting the apartment next to hers. It’s one of the new neighbors who moved in last week. She already met one of them—Revoli?

“Hell--” she starts, but then her voice catches in her throat. This neighbor doesn’t have hair so black it’s blue--it’s blond. She’s only seen this sandy shade once, three months before under pink bowling alley lights.

“Hi,” Link says.

“Hello,” she says again.

Hot, her traitor brain registers immediately. Still that bright blue dress shirt, still hot hot hot.

“I’m--” she starts the same time he says, “Well, I’m headed this way.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “Me too. I’m going to the train station.”

“Me too,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s surprised or disappointed; it’s probably too early in the morning to be either. They walk down the stairs of their apartment complex, and start the ten minute walk to the nearest station.

“Where are you headed?” she asks a minute in when the silence teeters on the edge of awkwardness.

“Downtown,” he replies.

He has to turn back slightly to look at her--she’s a few paces behind. When she sees his strong brows and delicate, almost pretty face, a pattering starts in her heart. It’s stupid and she quashes it immediately to ask, “Which station?”

“Castletown.”

“Oh. Me too.”

This isn’t uncommon--Castletown is a popular stop, right in the center of the city’s financial district. But something in her stomach turns when she asks if he’s working somewhere for the summer, and he says yes.

“Where?” she asks, and walks a bit faster to ignore her heartbeats, as if she could get away from them. For a moment they’re walking side by side, then she’s ahead of him and looking back a little. This moment--this angle--fires something in her brain.

For a second the blue in his shirt is extra sharp, but she can’t pay attention to it because two very important words leave his mouth and she laughs in shock.

“Rhoam Technologies.”

* * *

Thankfully they’re on different teams. When they reach orientation in the office, they’ve established that he’s in cybersecurity, and she’s on a web team.

Zelda rests easy, pretending to take notes on the boring corporate talks and brainstorming various side projects instead. She doesn’t know if he’s listening either; when she sneaks glances at him she’s not too sure if that blank expression is serious or bored.

When the summer program coordinator announces that the CEO will be dropping by (at quite an inopportune moment because Zelda’s deep into a design for a robot that will fold all kinds of laundry), she excuses herself to go to the restroom.

And just like that, day one is over. At the end of the day she’s careful to catch a different train than Link, lingering in the bathroom once again until she’s sure most of the interns have left.

While waiting at the station, she thinks she sees sandy blond bangs out the corner of her eye, but she turns around and there’s nothing there.

* * *

They take the train together in the morning for the rest of the week, not talking much. She only comes up with conversation topics out of politeness for the first two days until it’s clear that Link doesn’t mind silence.

Then comes Friday, when much to her surprise, he asks if she has any plans.

“Why?”

“My apartment mate,” he says, as if that explains anything. In her mind she thinks of the boy with blue-black hair; she doesn’t remember much of him, except that he seemed a bit disinterested. “He wants to invite some people over for a housewarming. It should be on your Facebook. Impa’s going too.”

“A housewarming?”

“Yup,” he says. “Stop by whenever.”

Purah, predictably, is ecstatic.

“Oh my god, thank god,” she says as soon as she hears. “This week was ass. I’m over it. I was so worried I was going to have to stay in with you two tonight.”

Robbie laughs from the other room, the sound muffled by the door. “Rude.”

“Very rude,” Zelda agrees, pulling off her other boot. “He said we can come over whenever.”

“Good--we’ll be fashionably late,” Purah decides. “We will look hot and intimidating, and we will establish our position as the cool neighbors.”

Zelda doesn’t know where drinking factors into being hot and intimidating, but it does, and when they’re finally dressed to just go literally next door, they’re also merrily buzzed.

“Hot and intimidating, huh,” Robbie says as Purah pours one for the road. “Your eyeliner is all smudged now.”

“Shut up!” she says. “Any slights against me will result in more shots.”

And this is how they stumble one door over, Purah pounding on it and Zelda laughing. When the burliest person she’s ever seen opens the door, he joins her.

“Geez louise!” His chuckle booms behind them as he ushers them in. “We still want the door to stand. Come on in!”

The apartment is the same layout as theirs, just reflected, but it’s hard to pay attention because it’s standing room only right now. The bass is thumping so hard Zelda feels it in her chest. They leave their shoes at the door in a pile of white sneakers that people will inevitably mix up and post about trying to find the next day.

Zelda sets out on a mission to find Impa, with a flash of silver hair leading her to the kitchen.

“You made it,” Impa says over the music. “I declined to swing by your place because I figured Purah would be...going at it, the way she does. I’ll still be staying over though.”

Zelda nods, hoping that her cheeks aren’t too obviously pink. “You wouldn’t be wrong; Purah went at it. How was your week?”

“About what I expected,” Impa says, and she turns around to the sink to fill up a cup with water. “Long hours, but city planning is interesting at least. Here, take this.”

Zelda takes a sip. It’s lukewarm, but it tastes much better than Pink Whitney. “Thanks.”

“How about you?”

She shrugs. “Fine. My team’s pretty nice.”

“That’s good,” Impa spots someone, and waves them over. “What about the other interns?”

“They’re fine,” she says, and sees Mipha and Link come into view. “There’s one of them, actually.”

“No way, really?”

She nods as Link makes his way over to the sink, Mipha close behind.

“Hi,” Zelda says.

Link nods, and pours water into a cup.

“Hello,” Mipha replies. She’s also red, but Zelda can’t tell if it’s because she’s blushing or she’s drunk. But then Link hands her water, and based on her reaction, Zelda decides it might be both. “Impa, I was--I was thinking of leaving sometime soon if you’d want to walk back together. Link offered to walk back with us.”

Impa shakes her head. “Ah, I told Purah and Zelda that I’d be at their place tonight--you two head out anytime.”

“We can go now,” Link says. Mipha continues to blush the way people do in movies.

“Thank you,” she says. Maybe she realizes that Impa and Zelda are watching her, because she turns to them. “It was nice seeing you! Oh, also--you should try these cookies; Link baked them!”

She grabs one from a tray on the kitchen island buried under bags of brightly colored chips. Zelda and Impa split it. Impa makes a noise of delight.

“These are so good!”

They’re textured and buttery, Zelda notes as she crunches down on something sweet and nutty--brittle?

“Really good,” she agrees.

This is the first time she’s seen Link smile as he says, “Thanks.”

Hot, her brain unhelpfully adds as his back disappears into the crowd. Still very, very hot.

“Another shot?” In the time that she was staring at Link, somehow Purah made her way over, bouncing into her field of view, with a handle of Jose Cuervo.

“Purah,” Impa starts, but then Purah puts a finger to her lips.

“My dearest sister,” she says. “We’re working women who’ve had a long week. I live one apartment over, don’t worry. Tonight, we drink. And you know tequila makes me crazy!”

Zelda nods and laughs, and even Impa holds her cup out.