#three writes something

[ I love even the parts of you I cannot see. Everything related to you is lovely. ]

…

Saeran had no idea. 

The two of you often went thrifting. It was a wonderful way to spend time together in a different place, enraptured by all the curious little items filling up the shelves in droves. It was one of his favorite newly discovered hobbies. There was far more to be seen than inside a retail homestore. 

Often, you found hidden treasures in the forms of random knick knacks that now dotted across your shared dresser at home, or ornate picture frames that held your photos proudly on walls. Sometimes Ray found a garden chair that he just had to take home. Sometimes you didn't have to buy anything at all to have fun. You'd even goof off sometimes, sitting at a worn down dining room set having an idle chat over imaginary tea, or suddenly launching yourself into some puffy old recliner much to his startlement. 

And rarely, you'd find an old, forgotten instrument, hidden among the mess of it all. 

He hadn't expected anything out of the usual from you with it. Just the standard schedule of messing around for kicks. Perhaps a quick quip of, “Look, my love! I’m a star!” which he’d answer with a feigned profession of how much he admired your musical prowess, claiming to own all your vinyl albums (Some encased in frames, too, he may add! A divine complement!) as your absolute number one fan (this part of his fictional claim, however, was true). 

But he didn't know. 

Really. 

He stood with his arm crossed loosely, an amused grin on his face as he expected you to put on a messy show for a cute little memory that he could store away inside his mind. 

Until you sounded your first chord. 

Your face looked like that of home. A softened smile. Shining eyes that hid a shade of sadness for something you'd left behind and missed dearly. 

Your second chord. Slow and tentative as your fingers did exactly what they needed to do, a satisfied emotion adding to the pool within your eyes as you confirmed that you still remembered it after so many years. A single, shy laugh of content. 

You let the so-deeply ingrained muscle memory take control, bliss carrying you through the song you knew like the back of your hand. After years of being buried in your head’s dusty recesses, rust was sure to be expected. But any blemish in the twangs of an off-key strike were lost to Saeran’s ears as all he heard were the celestial chords of nothing less than perfection. It was music to his ears, in more ways than one. 

The notes melted in his ears like the honey in his morning green tea, rejuvenated him like a cool dawn breeze, woke him up like the sun. The taste of your happiness flowed through the air like syrup he poured over his sundaes, sweetening his heart at the sight of you so confidently sharing your art. He was proud. Proud to know someone like you, who felt safe enough to expose your hidden passions to him with no hesitation. Proud to be with someone like you, who allowed him to bask in your light and accept his place by your side. Proud to see you for you. He was also very much in love, as if he couldn't possibly fall any deeper with you already, but you proved him wrong time and time again as he tumbled harder for your every revealed facet even further than before. 

You hadn’t taken notice of his expression until you finished your short song. “Speechless, Ray…? Come on now, I'm not that good,” you laughed.

He stood, mouth agape, his cheeks dusted a shade of pink enough to rival his highlights. “I didn’t know you could play,” he gawked. 

“Ahh, it was just an old hobby. It's nothing special or anyth-”

“Yes it is!”

You were a bit taken aback by his interjection, a rather unusual event coming from Saeran. He was rarely ever vocally worked up, outside of displaying excitement for his latest  fresh-budding flowers, avidly defending “pesky” pollinators and misunderstood animals that were crucial to ecosystems, or of course during your commonly traded info-dump sessions. 

“That was… that was more than special! I didn’t know that you…!” He trailed off and instead gestured at you excitedly. 

“Ahh, well, you know…” you shrugged, “It’s not like I have any instruments here. It just wasn't important to mention before.”

“It’s important to me, now, though. It’s something you enjoy, isn’t it…?”

“Uh… Yeah… I guess. It’s just that I haven't had the access or ability since I’ve moved into Seoul. So I kinda just… left it behind. It’s alright though. It happens.”

Saeran only stared at you, a hurt look on his face. “But you looked so happy, just then,” he lamented. “I’d rather you enjoy yourself than give up something you loved just from moving on to a new way of life. I still enjoy gardening after… after everything. I want you to have something like that, too.” 

“I like gardening with you.”

“No, no, something different. Something just for you. You help me a lot with harvests and care, but you also let me have time just for myself when I need it. I’ve spent some days in the greenhouse alone with my thoughts, watching the clouds pass by above me through the glass. We all need things just for ourselves sometimes. I know you tend to neglect that.”

You thought about that statement. You had hobbies, didn’t you? Were you too lost in forging your new path nowadays and you just hadn’t noticed? You didn’t want to see that as the truth. You know how it hurts to lose parts of yourself. You already lost music when you left it behind for your move to Seoul. 

“I… make things sometimes,” you countered, using your arsenal of crafts and doodles scattered around the house as ammunition. 

“Not as often as you’d like. I know that. I’ve been there. I can see it.” He reached out to hold your hand, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I want you to be happy, my love. I want you to take advantage of the freedom you have in our shared home now. Like me.”

You felt a sting in your eyes. “You always know exactly what to say, don't you,” you resigned. 

He hummed. “Not always. It’s something I’ve learned. I only want the best for you.” 

You leaned into him, melting into a hug. “I love you,” you whispered into his ear.

Overly pretentious would be her first words to describe it.

"You must look your utmost best," her father had said to her. Of course, though, she prepared herself the same way as any other day. It's not like he would notice a difference in her anyhow. 

Her hair swept down her back, pulled away from her face like drapes by a delicately woven band. She was adorned with the classic royal garb she would normally wear to these events, her vibrant irises standing out against the deep blue. Golden crests fringed the edges of her robes and stood proudly on her jewelry to represent her lineage. She hated it. 

She didn't recall having these disgustingly over-the-top galas when her mother was still here. Perhaps the queen preferred to be more comfortable. Or perhaps she just kept Zelda's father in check. With his better half departed, perhaps he'd finally lost it and decided to cope with cheesy extravagance. Zelda had of course become accustomed to the formality of things, living her life as a princess of Hyrule. But you can only tolerate so much in so many years before you begin to despise it. What she wouldn't give to have any other life. These events especially reminded her of it all. Whereas getting dressed in extravagant formal wear and glorifying yourself would normally be viewed as a fun night out for most people her age, Zelda experienced it all as just another tedious, official obligation. 

And this event was even worse than most.

Her father had organized this celebration to bring light to the princess and the "progress in her diligent prayers, calling to our Goddesses and strengthening her power to abolish the Calamity." She truly loathed him.

He has to keep spirits in the kingdom high, he says. The people must have hope, he says. You are their hope, he says.

She wishes she wasn't. 

She sat a bit straighter, wishing she could let out a sigh. Her father remained seated beside her, rigidly formal as ever. Two senior knights were posted beside them, scanning the crowd for any nitwit that would even consider threatening the royal family at a celebratory event, of all scenes. The absurdity of being guarded for one's entire life. The only knight she could tolerate was the little, quiet, reserved boy she had grown to care for who was currently chugging a mug of Hylia-knows-what while being cheered on by a circle of peers. That was a sight she'd never thought she'd see.

Normally, knights would attend events rather seriously, a long table of them in the dining hall sitting rather proudly and eating their well-deserved fill with a single glass of wine. However at tonight's celebration, her father had told the younger members of the Brigade to enjoy themselves, as he was thankful for the work they had done to watch over the princess. Now, when officially granted the freedom to "enjoy yourself", any given person would naturally, fully, enjoy themselves. The king likely considered this beforehand, but as he glared at the boisterous table, Zelda assumed he had expected them to maintain at least some decency. 

She turned her attention back to Link himself as he slammed down the empty mug into the table, making the silverware clatter as his friends let out congratulatory whoops. As he was her personally assigned knight, she spent the most time with him compared to the rest of the royal guards. Before meeting him, she knew him to be "the silent knight" and expected him to stay this way as he irritatingly chased her shadow wherever she went. However, the two began to bond after always being in such close proximity throughout the days. She recalls the first time he spoke to her, his soft voice clashing with his rigidly stoic personality. He slowly began to open up, and Zelda in turn took down her walls. As he was the youngest royal knight, barely older than Zelda herself, she felt a true connection to him. Both were burdened by pressure and expectations at such an unfair age, all public eyes watching their every move. It was a special kind of kinship they shared. 

However, she had never seen this side of him and didn't even think he had this side. She'd heard rumors that his platoon had dared him to eat a platter of rocks, and he had done so quite enthusiastically, but she didn't dare believe it. Now she found herself second-guessing. 

But maybe she could use this to get out of here. 

"Father," she said, "It was quite kind of you to allow the guards to enjoy themselves this night."

He let out an irritated huff of air from his nose, glancing at her as if asking Where are you going with this?

"However," she continued, "I worry that my knight will not be fit to guard tonight if this continues." 

The king turned forwards once again, eyes set on the knights' table like stone. He let out a deep humm as if he was actually considering his daughter's concerns for once. 

"Are you asking for an excusal?" he finally asked, remaining facing forward and as rigid as ever.

That usually wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, father."

Silence.

"If you would be so kind, father, I shall return to my room and pray. My knight may remain posted with me as always." 

Promises of prayer and diligence. He always liked that. He seemed to further mull this over, and then stood. Silence befell the hall and all eyes turned to him before he even spoke.

“I would like to thank you all for attending this gala for our princess. It truly means a lot to her and I, her confidence and abilities improving each day due to your prayers and encouragement. However, our princess must retire early this night, as she has a vigorous prayer routine in order to prepare for her coming journey to the spring of wisdom. We shall allow our princess to return to her devotion, and she offers her appreciation before her departure.” 

And with that, Zelda took her cue to get up and leave as quickly as possible, without either causing confused murmurs or without her father deciding to call her back. She skirted the edges of the room, steadily approaching the knights at the easternmost wing of the dining hall as she ignored the crawling sensation of hundreds of eyes tracing her movements. She halted at the head of the table, expecting Link to automatically rise from his seat and depart with her, but she was disappointed to find that he was lying face-down on a placemat with his arm sprawled across the surface, gripping onto an empty mug in his delirium. His peers were doing an excellently awful job at attempting to shield him from sight, presumably one of them kicking Link from under the table as he gave a periodic little jolt. Sir Link, who would promptly lose consciousness after only one drink, was truly the most valiant and courageous knight of them all. The hero of legend indeed. 

“Hero,” she said curtly. That was sure to snap him awake. She hadn’t spoken to him like that in months. 

Link gave a startled snort and made a sound that appeared to be a mix between heyyyyy and noooo.

Zelda sighed and held back a smile with all her willpower. “Try to appear… fit. Let’s go.”

She thought she heard him mutter “Hylia…” before getting up to full height and keeping his head down, sure to either avoid eye contact or to hide his miserable expression. Imagine attending a royal gala and getting to see the hero of legend get wasted. Surely that would bring comfort to the denizens of Hyrule. 

Zelda began to head off at a slow pace as to allow her knight to steadily follow. As the pair left, Zelda kept her gaze set forward firmly. She didn’t want to see what anyone else was thinking. She hated these galas anyway. As soon as she was out of here she could relax. 

Her shoulders went slack as soon as the door was closed shut behind them. Finally free. Link seemed to agree with her thoughts, as he leaned against the wall with a thud, glaring at the ceiling with a scrunched face. Zelda smirked. 

“Too much for you, hero of legend?” 

He responded with a disgruntled moan. 

“Perhaps I should be the one guarding you instead,” she joked, moving to lean against the wall next to him. 

He closed his eyes and let a puff of air escape from his nose. “Never let me drink again.”

“Alright, I hereby formally declare you as banned from ‘partying hard.’”

Link let out a single bark of laughter. “A life sentence, eh princess?”

“You did say ‘never’ after all.” She smiled at him as his glazed blue eyes met hers. “Though, I may even have to change it to ‘partying mild’ by the looks of you,” she added. 

Link hummed in content as his back slid down the wall so he could sit comfortably. “Wait with me a bit,” he said weakly, though it sounded more like a hopeful question. 

Zelda of course obliged, and sat down next to him, tucking her dress under her folded knees. They sat in comfortable silence as Link's eyes began to flutter closed and his breathing became deeper. Zelda was glad that he could be so comfortable around her now. He wouldn't dare to fall asleep in her presence a mere month ago. 

But now, all Zelda could do was stare ahead at the wall. Her thoughts ran free, jabbing needles through her head. Her hatred for galas. Her hatred for this. For everything. For her father. For herself… 

“Worthless…” she whispered to no one. “Dedicating my life to prayer and yet cannot receive a single answer. Nearly ten years… And yet father pretends that everything is fine by maintaining this masquerade with galas to cover. A fine set of never-ending distractions…” She sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “Just a good-for-nothing king and his good-for-nothing daughter at the head of it all.”  

She sat in her frustrated silence a second more, and turned her head back to Link to see a single sapphire eye clouded by alcohol and sleep gazing upon her. Compassion. Understanding. He didn't need to utter a single word to convey his emotions. We share these burdens together. 

Zelda gave him a melancholy smile and stood. “Let’s be off, hero.” 

And with that, the memory began to fade. 

She opened her eyes. Nothing to see but a golden hell of her own making. Sweat poured down her brow. The intense light seared her skin. What a time to recall something as minor in her life as that… Clinging to seemingly insignificant memories in order to harvest any available scrap of hope she can get her hands on. 

Though to her, any memory of him was quite the opposite of insignificant. She prayed he was coming soon. Not that prayer ever did a single thing for her anyway. She wished he was coming soon. 

She wished none of this had ever happened this way.

She wished she were anywhere else but here. 

Your time is up, wyrm.

"But I am not ready."

Your time has passed, wyrm. You have fallen as a shadow of your former self. No longer a great Lord shall you reign, nor in the whispers of afterlife's dreams.

No longer did I say?

It scoffed.

No such position to begin. Lay and bear witness to all your sin.

The cruel existence of your hands' own creations, the futile attempts at kingdom's salvation, the calamity you wrought through failed preservation.

Only to be met with your ultimate desolation.

And your successors, they stare at you with their hollowed eyes. Do you see them, Father? Does your mask reflect the pain in their blackened chests held so tightly? They may wonder if you had ever come to feel as they felt, pressured under your cruel control, fate dictated how by little their blades left their scabbards until you shattered each of them like cheap glass. Disposable. Imagine.

Now ask, King, shall you fall to the same fate? Shall you view their futile lives through your own eyes and come to see what you so blatantly ignored?

Come now, and witness your creation. Lay bare to their empty skulls and blaring thoughts. Listen deeply to their hollow chest as their hearts strongly pound. Your falsities of a failed creation shall haunt you one last time.

It is only fair.