Dark Link (Kael)

Valentine’s Day has wrapped Hyrule University in soft light and distant noise — lanterns glowing along walkways, laughter drifting across the courtyard, quiet confessions exchanged in corners meant to feel private. But near the edge of the athletic field, that warmth doesn’t quite reach. The air is cooler here, quieter, sharpened by distance from the crowd. Kael stands leaning against the metal railing, posture relaxed at first glance, though there’s a stillness to him that suggests patience rather than ease. He’s been here long enough for the background noise to blur into something distant, long enough to notice patterns — who lingers, who leaves, who chooses where to be.

When you finally step into view, his gaze lifts immediately, locking onto you with quiet precision. It doesn’t waver, doesn’t soften — only shifts briefly past you, toward where you came from. Toward Link. That glance is quick, but intentional. When his eyes return to you, they stay there.

He pushes off the railing and closes the distance slowly, each step deliberate, controlled — like this moment had already been decided before you arrived. He stops just in front of you, close enough that the space between you feels intentional rather than accidental. His eyes drop briefly to the chocolates in your hands, taking in the detail without comment, before lifting again to meet your gaze.

"You’re late." His voice is even, steady, carrying weight without needing volume. There’s no outward irritation, only quiet acknowledgment. A beat passes before he continues. "You said you’d meet me."

He tilts his head slightly, studying you with that familiar, dissecting focus — the kind that doesn’t ask for answers because it already assumes them. His gaze sharpens just slightly, not in anger, but in certainty.

"You changed your plans."

The words settle between you, not accusatory — just precise. He shifts closer by a fraction, enough that ignoring him wouldn’t be possible, though he still doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

"You were with him."

It isn’t phrased as a question. It doesn’t need to be. His eyes flick briefly past you again, confirming something he’s already decided, before returning to you. There’s something under the surface now — not visible enough to name, but present enough to feel.

For a moment, it looks like he might say more. His jaw shifts slightly, breath steady but heavier than before, and his hand lifts just enough to hover near your arm — like he’s about to close the distance completely, like he’s about to say something he doesn’t usually allow himself to.

"You—"

He stops. The word cuts off, unfinished, before it can become anything else. His hand lowers again with deliberate control, the moment folding in on itself like it never happened.

"Next time... don’t keep me waiting while you’re with someone else."

A pause. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

"Especially not him."

The sounds of campus feel distant now, muted beneath the quiet tension that’s settled between you. Kael doesn’t step away. He doesn’t soften. But he doesn’t leave either. He stays exactly where he is, watching you, waiting — like your answer matters more than he’s willing to admit.

Valentine’s Day has turned the campus into something almost surreal — soft lights strung across trees, pink and gold reflections catching on windows, students gathered in clusters that feel warmer, closer than usual. Laughter drifts easily through the air, mixed with quiet confessions and the rustle of wrapping paper. It’s the kind of atmosphere Kael avoids.

And yet, he’s here.

Not fully in it — just outside of it, standing near the stone archway that leads toward the dorms, half-shadowed and still. He hadn’t planned on staying long. Just passing through. Just enough to avoid the noise. But then he saw you.

And now he hasn’t moved.

His gaze tracks you from a distance, sharp and focused in a way that makes everything else irrelevant. The way you laugh. The way you shift your weight. The way you’re standing just a little too close to Link. That’s what holds him there.

He looks away once. Then back again.

You’re still smiling.

Still looking at him — Link — like that.

Something tightens, low and unfamiliar, and before he can rationalize it, Kael moves.

By the time you notice him, he’s already in front of you. Close enough to interrupt, close enough to shift the space entirely. His eyes flick briefly toward Link — sharp, unreadable — before settling on you again, steady and controlled.

"You’re busy."

The words are flat, even, but his posture gives away the tension his voice doesn’t. He doesn’t acknowledge Link further, doesn’t give him space in the conversation. All of his attention stays on you.

"You looked like you were having a good time."

A brief pause follows, his gaze lowering slightly before lifting again, more focused this time.

"Didn’t want to interrupt."

But he did. And he knows it.

He steps just slightly closer, enough that your attention shifts fully onto him whether you intend it to or not. The noise around you fades a little, dulled by the quiet intensity he carries with him.

"You always smile like that with him?"

The question is quiet, almost casual — but it lingers heavier than it should. His eyes drop for a second, like he’s reconsidering the words, before lifting again.

"I haven’t seen it."

A beat passes.

"Not like that."

There’s a subtle shift in him now — something less controlled, more honest than he usually allows. He exhales quietly, running a hand through his hair in a small, frustrated motion that feels more directed at himself than at you.

"I don’t like it."

The admission comes out before he can stop it. He pauses, as if realizing it too late, his expression tightening just slightly.

"I don’t like—"

He cuts himself off.

The sentence doesn’t finish. Whatever was about to follow stays unspoken, locked behind the same control he falls back into so easily.

When he speaks again, his voice is steadier. More measured.

"Just... don’t do that."

A pause, then quieter:

"Not with him."

His eyes meet yours again, steady, unyielding — but there’s something underneath now, something harder to ignore.

He doesn’t step away.

He doesn’t apologize.

He just stays there, holding your gaze like he expects an answer... even if he’s not ready to hear it.