Chapter Text
Legend, contrary to popular belief, cared about his fellow heroes of courage. Not in the “going out of his way to give a hug” kind of way, but more that he just… preferred them happy and well. That wasn’t unique or anything— they all shared a spirit, after all, so it was kind of hard not to get along with the others. They didn’t seem to really seem to understand any of that, though. A snide comment here or there about how Legend didn’t like them or how he surely couldn’t wait to get back to his own era and back to his life as the only Link around, and he was starting to realize that they genuinely didn’t think he liked them at all.
He supposed, with a little thought, he couldn’t really blame them. Something about the way he bore snark like a weapon, didn’t really know how to talk without being just a little bit of an ass, and failed to match the others’ energy at times— maybe it tipped them off to something that wasn’t there. They liked to chat and throw arms around each other’s shoulders when they walked, but Legend kept too far to invite that kind of touch. They hovered and worried over each other when they were injured, but the best Legend could usually do was some sort of dry joke. Those sorts of things had painted him as a bit unlikeable and usually had people in his home era giving him a wide berth when they could, asking the goddesses why they couldn’t have given them a hero that was just a little nicer.
Legend had sort of expected the other Links to be more like him and less like everyone who didn’t know or like him, yet there they were. Normal. He would’ve thought the other heroes would’ve known that any vulnerability— physical, emotional, or social— was a weakness, and therefore learned to defend themselves from social scrutiny like he had. He would’ve thought they’d get it , but apparently they didn’t, and apparently, like everyone else who didn’t, they thought he was a jerk with no care in his heart for any of them.
He wasn’t. He’d just gotten tired of being rejected and getting hurt a long time ago, and he’d learned to protect himself. Had none of these other idiots learned that? Had they never had to? Were they just— were they just always right every time they spoke, never having to learn from the ground up how to talk to people just so they wouldn’t get taunted and scoffed and snarled at at every turn?
Shit, call it another way he was more experienced than the rest of this gaggle of dumbasses. He wouldn’t begrudge it, though. He was happy for them, that they hadn’t had to learn. Really.
(He was trying to be, give him a break.)
But that all meant that they didn’t know he cared. It bothered Legend, especially when he saw the others shoving and teasing each other, then someone would shoot and quickly abort a glance at him. He could only ever imagine what they thought of him in those moments— he’s annoyed, he doesn’t want to be around us, he hates us hates us hates us. But he didn’t. Couldn’t, same as the rest of them. He was the same as them.
He’d just— have to prove it to them. Simple as that.
As an adventurer, Legend had learned to be very observant. Not just about his surroundings, but about people, too, and though it wasn’t a natural talent, he’d gotten good enough at it over the years to have a fair chance at finding whatever he needed to. And what he needed was to know what would get this herd of idiots to understand that he liked their company and preferred them not being ground lizal food, or whatever.
It was a daunting task, but he was the Hero of Legend. It couldn’t possibly be worse than anything he’d had to endure before. He’d just keep his head down and stick to it, not allow himself any room for hesitation once he knew what to do. Pick a target. Observe. Analyze and understand and under absolutely no circumstances let them know that he was doing that. That was weird, but it was too bad since he hadn’t been born with a knack for these things. Best he could do was be subtle and try not to stare too much—
“Veteran!” came Sky’s cheerful voice, accompanied by a pat on the back. Legend bodily resisted the urge to flinch or maybe— fucking bite? He ground his teeth for a moment instead. He felt like his back was vibrating where he’d been touched, and he hated it. “Doing alright?”
Legend snapped back out of his own head, back to the sound of boots on grass and low, friendly chatter as they traveled. The sun was at a fair angle, not in his face, and the woods to their right were shifting with wildlife, but not with the noise of monsters. He finally glanced up at Sky’s face, calm and open and smiling, and nodded briefly.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking away from the chosen hero’s and down his nose. Then, belatedly, once he remembered his pleasantries, he added, “How are you?”
“Fine, just checking in,” Sky replied, slowing his stride until he was side by side with the veteran. His eyes didn’t leave Legend’s face yet. “You seemed a bit spacey.”
Oh, great. That was apparently not a small talk “doing alright” to which he was meant to ask the same question back, but instead a genuine “doing alright” to which he was intended to be honest, and for which responding with a “how are you” made him look like he was dodging Sky’s well-intentioned care. Awesome, great. That was perfect. Just what he needed, to fuck up within literally seconds of being in a conversation. He wondered if he looked more like an idiot or a jerk right now, and how exactly he could backpedal this to unmisstep his social misstep. If he could.
“You still do, if I’m being honest,” Sky continued after a moment, tilting his head in what appeared to be a mix of expectation and curiosity.
And apparently Legend had been quiet for too long, too. He probably seemed disengaged, or bored, or like there was something genuinely wrong with him. Okay. He just had to not cause any more problems, then he could move on. He had to start with actually fucking responding first, so—
“Thanks,” he blurted, and holy fuck that was not the right thing. Back up, back back back— “for— for checking. I’m okay.” Sure, fine, that would work. Good enough. Legend kind of wanted to rip his hair out in self-loathing frustration, but that would be enormously more attention-grabbing than he needed right now. So he didn’t. Instead, he added, “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Ah.” Sky’s eyes widened just slightly in understanding, and he gave a quick little nod. The fingers on his left hand came up to trace the faint scarring on his right, and Legend came to the realization that Sky had come to a realization he hadn’t intended to imply. “Do you want to talk about it? Not to pry, but I’ve seen some things, and I don’t know. I might get some of it a bit more than the others.”
First of all, Sky was definitely prying, with the way he touched his lightning scars and his gaze couldn’t help but twitch to the back of Legend’s tunic. He’d certainly seen the similar damage when Legend had gone to wash off in the river from time to time, from when he’d been hit with electricity at sea (and absolutely nothing else had happened). Second of all, Legend had intended to imply he had insomnia , not that he’d specifically had nightmares last night, because the latter option was a can of emotionally-vulnerable worms that he absolutely would not be able to navigate properly if he opened. He was already failing at this fairly simple exchange, and he really couldn’t imagine he’d be any better when it came to the wounds on his heart. Or whatever.
“I’d rather not,” Legend muttered truthfully, thumbing at one of his rings to relieve some of his pent-up annoyance, anxiety, boredom— anything, really. “Uh, thanks, though.”
Sky just hummed, like he was perfectly happy with that answer. And, thinking about it, he probably was— who actually asked him to talk and truly wanted him to say yes? Nobody, Legend knew. Literally nobody wanted to hear him complain like that. Mostly, people just wanted him to go away. Sky maybe didn’t want him to leave, but a conversation like that was a commitment and a half, and it wasn’t really the kind of commitment people made to Legend, sometimes even the ones he thought were supposed to. It didn’t hurt him to realize that. He genuinely didn’t want to talk anyway.
“Can I give you a hug?” Sky said, breaking through his thoughts yet again. Legend gave him a perplexed look before he could stop himself, but Sky only smiled back. “It’ll make you feel better.”
It would do no such thing, Legend thought dryly. He would hate every miserable moment of that shit, probably. But Sky had said “can I give you a hug” not “do you want a hug”, so he really wasn’t asking. He’d figured out a long time ago that being asked if he wanted something wasn’t really a question either, but it gave him a modicum of a chance to say no and not immediately obliterate the other person’s feelings and opinion of him. This “can I”, however— he really didn’t think no was an option, not if he didn’t want to basically slap Sky in the face. And he did not want to do that, because Sky looked like a kicked puppy when he got sad.
“Fine,” Legend huffed by way of agreement, because Sky wanted it. Sky was one of the more tactile Links in the group, Legend had noticed, so maybe it was his love language. And Legend was an asshole, but not the kind to knowingly communicate a big “fuck you” to his friend in his preferred means of showing affection. He made no move to initiate contact, but he didn’t have to. Sky had his arms around the veteran before he could even really process what was coming.
Legend let out a little “oof” as the air was thrust out of his lungs, muscles locking in place at the contact. Sky’s arms wrapped around him, and everywhere they touched he wanted to flinch away. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest, and for several long moments, he forgot to breathe, ribs locked around his lungs like a vice. But Sky squeezed him just a bit harder, and finally he remembered to bring his arms up to hug back, stiff and robotic in his movements but hopefully good enough.
Goddesses, he wished he didn’t hate this. He tried not to tear up as the embrace dragged on and on , probably feeling longer than it really was but no less awful either way.
Eventually, blessedly, Sky drew back, offering a sad, understanding smile when he noticed the tears Legend was fighting back. He certainly misinterpreted their cause, but Legend was glad he did. With Sky back at his side, Legend tugged on the hem of his tunic, straightening it out and trying to dislodge the feeling of being touched from his flesh.
“I’m here if you ever do want to talk about it,” Sky said kindly, “or if you need a hug.”
“Thanks,” Legend muttered, still not looking back up at the chosen hero. He was very preoccupied with adjusting his clothes, thanks.
On the bright side, that was one problem solved— now he had a target to practice this showing care bullshit on, and he knew exactly how best to get through to him. Fucking— hug Sky a million times, sure. And he’d be uncomfortable, but that didn’t matter, because his comfort wasn’t really the point. Their opinions, their thoughts, were what mattered. If hugging Sky would make him happy and get him to realize that Legend cared, then he would hug Sky. He wanted— he needed the Chain to know he cared, and it didn’t matter how he had to go about it or his feelings regarding any of it.
Thus began Legend’s first endeavor in showing affection to the Chain, starting with the chosen hero.
The Chain stopped traveling only once the sun was well into setting, and from there they organized and made camp. While Wild worked on food, Legend and Twilight dragged three logs out of the nearby woods to use as seating. When they returned, Legend found that Warriors had nicked his fire rod to use to light a campfire, and everyone else was busy trying to look busy around the clearing. Pretty much everyone got up to find somewhere to sit around the fire, and Wild began offering bowls of stew as they passed the cookpot.
Legend was, very strategically, right after Sky in receiving his meal and finding a seat. When the knight took a spot close to the middle of one of the logs, Legend sat right next to him at the spot closest to the edge. Sky glanced over, expression warming with a pleased smile when he saw the veteran next to him. Legend could not fathom why Sky would be that happy to see him, but whatever, he was trying to be nice here anyway. He even let his knee swing out to the side a little and he avoided leaning sideways, so both his shoulder and leg made contact with Sky’s. See? He was doing great at this whole “initiating positive physical contact” thing.
But did it seem too casual, like maybe it wasn’t intended? That wouldn’t work. Expressing a lack of disgust wasn’t the same thing as expressing affection, really, so he needed it to look purposeful but not weird. Goddesses forbid, not weird. He didn’t need any of that mess to deal with.
He did have… a couple of ideas, though. So when dinner morphed quickly into storytime, and when Four was in the middle of an epic (exaggerated) tale from one of his adventures, Legend glanced at Sky pointedly and leaned slightly into his personal space.
“Your hair’s a mess,” he murmured at a volume he figured only the sky knight could hear. “Are you gonna go to bed like that?”
Sky snorted good-naturedly, giving Legend a curious look. He whispered back, “Why not? Is it really so bad?”
“It is,” Legend responded. “You should get your ass off this log and let me help you.”
Legend would’ve criticized himself more for the snarky way he went about convincing him if it didn’t just work and if Sky had actually seemed at all annoyed by it. Instead, he just huffed agreeably and scooted forward off his seat, plopping into the grass. Hyrule gave him an amused glance, but quickly turned his attention back to Four’s story, and that was that.
Legend must’ve hesitated too long after Sky sat down, since he was glanced back at and given a questioning look. Legend, in reply, shoved Sky’s head so that he was facing forwards again and set to finger-combing the chosen hero’s hair.
Was it actually useful to do this? No, not really. Sky’s hair was fine, and even if it hadn’t been, Legend touching it couldn’t have realistically made it any better. But it was an excuse, one that Sky certainly knew was an excuse, and that meant that Sky knew that Legend was doing this of his own accord and for no ulterior motive, which was exactly what the veteran needed him to know.
It also meant he got to avoid hugging Sky again for the time being, which was nice because being surrounded like that made him feel like there was nowhere to flee the sensation— but anyway. He wasn’t really enjoying this sort of touch either, but it was a bit better. It was only his hands that felt like locking up and flinching away, which was a lot easier to both bear and hide from the others. He didn’t get anything more than a cursory, curious glance from any of the other Links, all too engaged in the various dramatic retellings being thrown around the campfire. Legend himself didn’t offer any stories, too hesitant to draw attention to himself in this state of vulnerability and publicly caring, and luckily Sky didn’t either. He was pretty sure that was because Sky was actively falling asleep, but still.
As evening bled into night, the Chain’s chatter bled into quiet. Warriors volunteered himself for first watch, and Time took it upon himself to bodily drag the unconscious Sky to his bedroll. Legend hadn’t yet set his up, but when he did, he placed it close to the sky knight’s, and when he laid down, he told himself it was because he knew Sky had nightmares about lightning.
That night, Legend dreamed of a certain island, a certain girl, and a certain terrible storm, and he woke up in the arms of a certain chosen hero.
Selfishly, he wished Sky’d had nightmares tonight instead.