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Speckles of light sneak their way through the cracks in the window as the sun announces the coming of another day. It doesn’t bother Link until the rays of light begin to slowly creep their way to his bed, where they flitter across his eyes, forcing him to throw his arm across his eyes before eventually giving in to the start of a new day.
Rubbing away the morning floaters in his eyes is only enough to momentarily distract him from the scent of bacon that seems to be sizzling in the kitchen downstairs. It’s much too late for breakfast—Link rarely finds himself up in time for it on weekends—and even when he does find himself down in time, it’s rarely anything more on offer than a bowl of porridge with a selection of fresh fruits from the bazaar.
The halls are empty when he trudges out of bed; not much of a surprise given the warm weather that has washed across Skyloft today, but it only serves to pique his curiosity as he makes his way to the kitchen. Henya doesn’t work this late on weekends, and the professors don’t use the student kitchen, so it must be one of his classmates. He expects to see Pipit or maybe Karane when he turns the corner, but the soft hum that is almost obscured by the sizzle of the pan is unmistakable.
Although he makes no announcement of his presence when he walks through the door to the kitchen, he seemingly doesn’t have to, as Zelda's eyes flick from the pan to him, and almost as if a switch flips inside of her, her eyes light up and a smile crosses her face. There’s something in that smile that makes his insides gooey, and Link can’t help but respond in turn with his own.
“Good morning,” she greets, her voice honey-sweet.
He meets her with a hum of acknowledgement, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
Students aren’t typically allowed to use the kitchen like this—Henya doesn’t like people touching her things, but no one can really say no to sweet, pretty, responsible Zelda. She’s trustworthy enough to leave the place just how she found it, and with a flash of that smile, who could say no to her?
Being the headmaster’s daughter certainly helps too.
“Can you please pass me the ladle?” Zelda asks, tearing Link’s eyes away from her to the bowl of batter that sits on the bench next to her.
Half of the cast iron pan has thick-cut strips of bacon, the fat seeping out to cover the rest of the pan, which, no doubt, is about to house a dollop or two of pancake batter. She flips over a slice of bacon while Link rummages around for the ladle before passing it over to her.
He watches over her shoulder as she pours the batter into the pan, his chin eventually coming to rest on it. If it bothers her, she makes no mention of it—they stand like that for several minutes with Link’s eyes drooping shut as the scent of his Zelda wraps around him like a warm blanket, her soft hum almost lulling him back to sleep.
If he could stay in this moment forever, he would.
Stacks of pancakes build up on a plate next to the stove, and the batter in the bowl begins to look shallower by each passing minute. Link’s stomach gurgles at the sight of it, eliciting a laugh from Zelda.
If anything must break this moment, he supposes breakfast isn’t the worst reason.
“Since you’re so eager to eat my breakfast, why don’t you whip us up some cream?” She tells him.
Any attempt at reprimand falls short because he can hear the smile in her voice, but he concedes to her request anyway. A fresh bottle of cream flows into the glass bowl, nearly splashing over the lip before Link adds in the sugar and begins to beat it to the perfect consistency. He’s done this many times for her before for other cakes and sweets she’s cooked for him and their classmates.
She claims it’s because he’s better at it. He knows it’s just because she doesn’t want to do it herself.
Link does it regardless, because there’s not much he wouldn’t do for her.
He pulls the whisk out of the bowl, and a firm dollop of cream sits atop it in a stiff peak. With his pinky finger, he takes a small dollop off the top to taste, and a content sound passes through his lips. Zelda glances over at him, and his eyes glance from the cream to her and then back to the cream.
“Don’t you dare.”
By then it’s too late—he’s already smeared some cream across the tip of her nose, which scrunches up in disgust, eliciting a hearty laugh from him.
“Link!” She squeals, only serving to make him laugh even harder.
She tries to reach for the whisk, no doubt to enact her revenge, but he holds it up above her head and just out of reach. One hand grabs onto his wrist, trying to pull his hand down, their chests pressing against one another as she tries to grab it from him. When that proves futile, she lets out a huff and steps back. Losing the feeling of her being close to him almost makes a sound of discontent escape his lips, and that is just enough to keep him distracted when she drags her finger through the bowl of cream and plops it on his nose. It’s enough to catch him off guard, nearly dropping the utensil on the floor, but it makes Zelda howl with laughter, so he doesn’t have it in him to be mad at her.
Once she seems to have cooled down, the two are left standing there, smiles painting their lips and adoration in their eyes. She looks so cute in that moment that he finds it in himself to do something he might not otherwise, and he leans down to lick the cream from her nose.
A deep flush quickly takes hold of her cheeks, and in a moment of embarrassment, Link sheepishly ruffles his hair, eyes darting away from her. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and he wonders if he should apologize, but before he can open his mouth, her hands are on his shoulders, and she pulls herself up to reciprocate, leaving a cool wet feeling on the tip of his nose to juxtapose the warm feeling that spreads across his face and down into his heart.
When he gains the courage to look back at her, there’s a shy smile on her face, and there’s no doubt in his mind that the one he returns to her is a large, lopsided grin.
“You’re such a pain,” she tells him, but the words don’t mean much when neither the smile nor the flush leaves her face.
She turns back to the pan, saving a pancake from the cruel fate of a charred top while Link’s heart thurms all the way inside his ears.
He buries his face in the crook of her neck while she finishes up, and she lets him.
There’s still a tinge of pink on the apples of her cheeks when she plates the food up, placing an extra slice or two of bacon on his plate and pouring a generous amount of maple syrup on hers, even though she’s already sweet enough.
In that moment, the only way Link feels as though he can describe it is content.
Just Link, just Zelda, and a little something made with love.