Public kisses in Ordon village for twisky?
Who's surprised that I went overboard with this one? Raise your hands.
It’s been four months, ten days, fourteen hours, and twenty-three minutes. But who’s counting?
Definitely not Twilight, he assures himself as he locks the paddock gate. He knows his partners are busy: Warriors with political duties, Sky and Sun with starting a settlement. And Twilight is busy, too. There are always chores that need doing at the end of the summer season, goats that need milking, fences that need mending. By the end of the day he’s sore and tired, ready for a hot meal and a sound sleep.
But it’s a chilly walk home from the farm with only the company of his shadow. The golden hour fades behind him as Twilight meanders down the dirt path through Ordon Village. Rusl and Uli wave to him from their porch where they sit hand-in-hand. Past that, a baby’s cry is hushed by Ilia’s soft song as she gets her firstborn settled for sleep. Past that, the smells of a feast and boisterous laughter bubble out of open windows at Bo and Sera’s house.
And past that, and past that, until he leaves the scents and sounds and warmth behind. The brittle chill of the coming winter settles in more quickly here on the outskirts of the village. His house feels less like a home these days, more like a graveyard for mementos of happier times.
“Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of Twilight’s house?”
His ears flick. Only a handful of people call him that, and none of them live in Ordon.
Fado stands in his doorway smiling sheepishly down at the strange visitor who knocked on his door. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure who you—”
“Oh, sorry, Link! I mean Link.” His laugh is breathy, nervous, and Twilight would know it anywhere.
“Sky.”
When Sky turns, both of them stop breathing. He looks different. His face is rounder, healthier than when they were on the road together. His clothes are bright with lively patterns, not the drab green of Hylia’s warriors. Feathers hang from a familiar talisman that decorates his sash.
But his eyes are still soft and kind, and they tear up right away. He throws himself off of Fado’s porch and stumbles as he’s running down the uneven path. Twilight sprints to meet him halfway, and Sky is laughing as he throws his arms around Twilight’s shoulders. His lips are as soft and plush as Twilight remembers them to be. And Twilight swears that the rest of the village — every cricket, too — has hushed around them, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He closes his eyes and lets Sky pour warmth back into his heart.
