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There is no reason why Revali should be in the library.
After all, as a dance major there isn’t much that he can learn better from musty old books than the university’s digital archives of performing arts. Even his minor in economics (why he takes it, he still has no idea) requires little textbook knowledge. His awfully thorough lecture handouts, courtesy of his too generous professors, prove to be perfectly sufficient for his purposes and thus give him no incentive to stay for an extended period of time scouring through textbook, ever .
All in all, Revali has absolutely no reason to be in the library—especially on a Thursday evening when everyone is gearing up for the start to the weekend, hanging out in clustered groups and discussing plans for Friday night. He grouses as much to Mipha, the sole perpetrator of making his night take a turn for the worse.
“Not like you’d ever join them,” is all Mipha ever mutters back, hardly looking up from her exercise sheets of—god knows what they are. Some weird shit pre-med students have to do, probably.
It would only be years later that Revali will look back on this retrospectively and realise the favour Mipha was doing for him—saving a sad, lonely loser from a sad, lonely Thursday night—but presently, all Revali feels is a pinch of defensiveness, even when Mipha doesn’t say her retorts with any bite.
And while Revali does try to resist sometimes, it is practically impossible to deny Mipha of anything. Especially when she doesn’t push, and even when their ’study’ sessions together increase in frequency from once a week to every other day.
Anyway, nothing ever happens in libraries. What’s the harm, really?
Unfortunately, the harm shows itself a few days later.
Specifically in a slightly faded blue sweater, hair in a half-ponytail and a frown on his face that somehow makes the stranger more naive-looking than scary. He starts coming by almost as frequently as they do, at five-thirty sharp, and always sits at a table with a girl Revali remembers being called Zelda. His memory serves him this tidbit of fact only because she had him beat in their last statistics exam of the first year by two points.
Revali has never seen him before so he assumes the stranger is a new student—but the familiarity with which Zelda converses with him seems to say otherwise.
“Link, you have to focus, I am not repeating myself again,” he hears her say one day, and that's how Revali learns of the stranger’s name. Link . Revali frowns down at his phone, not knowing what to make of this blank-faced, stony-looking stranger, but it’s convenient to finally put a name to a face at last. Not that he’d ever need it, of course.
A couple of weeks in and he has yet to hear an audible word uttered from Link, who alternates between nodding or scratching his head to indicate his level of understanding. There’s only so much of Link that Revali can piece together from what Zelda says—even when Zelda lectures him so often that Revali is starting to feel sorry for the poor bastard.
Until he casually asks Mipha ‘ You know anything about that Link dude?’ one day and subsequently finds out that of course Mipha knows him, funnily enough she was smitten by him all of freshman year (TMI, Revali thought), also Link is on nearly every sports society on campus. And is a star athlete in more than half of them, too.
For fuck’s sake , Revali thinks, gritting his teeth. So he’s another one of those pompous prodigies. Give me a fucking break.
“You know, for someone who claims to ‘hate’ Link, you sure look at him a lot,” Mipha says slowly, eyes flicking upward to note Revali’s stricken expression. This isn’t the first time she’s caught him staring—but it seems to be the first time he’s been aware of getting caught in the act, looking so scandalised that one would think he stole from a kindergartener or something.
“Get off my back, I’m not the one who harboured a year-long and apparently painfully obvious crush on the guy,” spits Revali back, smirking when Mipha’s face turns beet red.
“It was first year! I was overwhelmed and he was nice ,” screeches Mipha in a hushed tone, eyes darting around the library. “I’m totally over it now.”
Revali smirks, eyes sliding unintentionally back to Link’s form hunched over his books. It’s become a force of habit by now, one without consequences, and it’s solely for this reason that what happens next catches Revali off-guard.
For some reason this time Link must have sensed—felt, noticed, who knows—someone staring, because suddenly Link’s eyes are locking onto Revali, gaze so sharp it’s hard to believe Link had been zoning out just mere seconds ago.
Something rushes up Revali’s spine at the eye contact—maybe embarrassment, but embarrassment shouldn’t feel electric . It has something to do with those piercing blue eyes, a glint of intelligence and challenge in them.
Revali forces himself to look away, ignoring Mipha’s knowing look. He fumbles for his water bottle in his backpack—suddenly, his throat feels extremely parched.
It happens again, a few times—the getting-caught-while-staring stunt that is getting slightly embarrassing at this point. It happens more often when Revali is alone in the library; an occurrence that has increased in frequency as of late, for reasons unknown even to himself. He spends so much time loitering about that by then, he's actually found a shelf full of magazines on performing arts. They’re mostly old and dusty, yet all the more precious for it. There’s surprisingly a lot of material in them that he wouldn’t have otherwise learned, even in his classes.
With this excuse, he finds himself time and again at their usual desk, behind the row of thick social sciences textbooks by the great stretch of windows—and only a few tables from Link’s own. The perfect vantage point to catch the dimming late afternoon light, and to note the tuft of golden hair that never does seem to settle across Link’s forehead.
And if Revali sneaks one or two doodles in his notebook in the meantime—well, no one has to know about that.
Revali would have been content in this routine that he barely even realises has become a routine if not for the harm presenting itself to him.
It’s a particular sunny afternoon when Link locks onto Revali’s gaze again—only this time, he doesn’t look away after several seconds. While Revali has long since averted his gaze, another peek a few seconds later confirms that Link is still staring. Staring hard and unrelenting, like he’s trying to figure somethi—
Oh, fuck , Revali panics as Link abruptly pushes himself up off his chair, collects his books and strides right in Revali’s direction. Shit, what the fuck? Why is he coming here, is he about to start a fight, because I can probably knock this guys right ou—
“Hey,” Link’s voice is soft, a little breathless, but there’s a hardness to it that has Revali’s runaway thoughts screeching to a halt. “Are you good at stats?”
Revali shifts a little in his seat, arm aching from the way he’d slammed it onto the desk in an attempt to hide the page he’s been doodling on. The page that has an embarrassingly detailed still-life study of Link’s hairdo of the day (half-up braid). Thankfully, the unwelcome guest seems oblivious to Revali’s panic.
“No,” Revali spits out, like a liar, because like hell is he going to willingly be in the company of that prodigy guy for an extended period of time. Even if—or especially when—said prodigy guy has impossibly soft-looking hair and startlingly clear blue eyes.
“Zelda says you were the best student in her class last year,” Link presses on, and Revali freezes. He is going to chew that girl out— “I know I’m asking for a lot, but I can’t fail this class. Please.”
At that, Revali raises an eyebrow. There’s an edge of desperation in Link's voice, so subtle that had Revali not heard the same in his own voice once upon a time, he would not have noticed. “Why d’you need to pass so badly? Programmes in the social sciences faculties are pretty lenient about retakes.”
“Because I need to keep my athletic scholarship.”
Revali is silent at that. So this prick is on an extremely prestigious sports scholarship to boot . Revali wants to get angry, but there is a smidge of reluctant respect scratching at him. Plus, anyone on a scholarship couldn’t possible have it all easy… could they?
“Where’s Zelda?”
“Sick.”
The way Link answers is so matter-of-fact, it’s fascinating. Even when he spoke of Revali’s outstanding rank in his class, it wasn’t phrased as a compliment or a plead—it was just information he had gathered from a friend.
“Fine. Just this once.” Revali is keenly aware of the fact that he isn’t putting up much of a fight, yet can’t find the will to resist any longer. The guy clearly needs him, apparently statistics-extraordinaire, to help. Perhaps Revali should be flattered. “I should be getting paid for this.”
“I could buy you lunch later.”
Revali wrinkles his nose, hiding his mild surprise at Link’s easy acceptance. “What, from the corner shop by the main street? Pass. Anyway, I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t understand interaction terms in a regression to buy my lunch.”
“Okay,” Link nods, pulling up a chair. He doesn’t sound offended in the least. “I’m Link, by the way.”
“Revali.”
He opens Link’s lecture notes—so similar to his own last year—and raises an eyebrow at the post-its tacked neatly onto the pages, and does not say another word.
Thankfully, neither does Link.
Link turns out to be a good, if not a slightly passive, student. His passivity doesn’t stem from disinterest, Revali learns a little while later after overcoming several roadblocks in their conversations—he is just a minimal speaker, and prefers to ask questions when he has had the chance to listen to everything first. At first, Revali finds it frustrating that he can’t gauge Link’s level of understanding from facial expressions, but now he has become an expert in identifying the slight dimness in Link’s usually bright eyes when comprehension escapes him; or the tense set of his shoulders when he is wrestling a particular problem for an uncomfortably long time; and even the minute twitch of his lips as soon as a problem-solving inspiration strikes.
Much to Revali’s dismay, he can be entertaining sometimes, too. Maybe even funny .
Link is glued to his regression output on R one day—which isn’t looking like the best thing in the world, if the lack of significant results is anything to go by—when he mutters out of the blue, “You know, statistics can be pretty dull.” He looks up at Revali before he can scoff and says, face deadpan, “but still, it has its moments .”
And Revali definitely does not try to hold back a laugh at that.
So, Link is pretty easy to tutor. One could even say a ‘joy’, if Revali was out of his mind enough to acknowledge such positive connotations attached to the man. Perhaps they can be civil, after all, as time goes by…
Wait—as time goes by?
“Is she okay?” Revali asks Link, the absence of Zelda suddenly stark in their arrangement.
“Who?”
“Zelda, of course, who else would I be asking you about?” Revali replies, probably a little on the snappy side. Zelda still hasn’t returned to their scheduled lessons almost two weeks later, and Revali suddenly feels antsy about it.
Link, however, looks as unfazed as ever. “Not sure. She’s better now, though.”
“So why am I still stuck with teaching you, then?”
“You’re better at explaining than she is,” says Link bluntly. Unaware of the gravity of his words in Revali’s orbit of consciousness, he scoots over and points at a scribble of equations on the side of his page. “Can I integrate it by parts?”
“By parts is the only way to integrate it, dumbass,” mutters Revali, giving a nod of approval all the same. “You know, Mipha hasn’t been around lately, either.”
Link hums distractedly, then points to another equation in his problem paper. “Can you explain this part again? I don’t understand how they derive the induced support from these joint distributions.”
Revali frowns at the problem. This one is a little difficult for an introductory class, he has to admit—he might even have to stop and think about it for a moment. He decides to brush off the Zelda and Mipha issue for now, shifting in his seat to start crunching the numbers in his head.
“Why haven’t you been coming here as often?” Revali asks Mipha—or rather, corners her as soon as she’s tapped into the library, student card still poised in her hand.
Mipha recovers from her startled after realising it’s just Revali, and feigns an expression of surprise. “Revali, do you miss me?”
“Your extrapolation of my words is astounding, do you need extra comprehension classes?” Revali huffs, squinting. “It feels like you’re avoiding me.”
To her credit, Mipha looks genuinely forlorn at the idea of Revali taking offense of her absence—not that it soothes Revali’s feathers any. “Oh—oh, no, that’s not what I meant to do at all. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Revali.”
“I’m not upset, that’s not—don’t think like that,” says Revali awkwardly. “I mean, I give up time I could have spent doing actual productive things, like practice, because you’re so helpless alone. Bit pointless if you weren’t around to reap the benefits, right?”
At the rhetorical question, Mipha hums and fixes Revali with a knowing look. “Truthfully, Revali, I am not quite sure that is the case any longer, but as your dear friend I will accept it.
“Accept? Accept what—“
“Now come on, you can watch me go through my anatomy tasks this afternoon.”
Revali finds himself promptly dragged in the direction of their usual table, where for this one afternoon, its neighbouring table is blessedly empty.
One afternoon spent completing an assignment finds Link suddenly leaping to the computers beside the library table they occupy, fingers flying across the keyboard at rapid speed.
“What are you doing,” Revali states, not asks, because it’s more effective to display an air of general disapproval around Link than be openly curious.
Link doesn’t answer, instead lets his eyes dart across the screen—before suddenly, grinning, he says, “I found a mistake in Professor Robbie’s slides.”
“What?” It’s an impossibility—Professor Robbie isn’t the most meticulous nor refined, but he is a perfectionist when it comes to his work. “For which topic?”
“Bayes’ Theorem—stupid, right? It’s the easiest topic here,” Link says, a tremor in his voice sounding close to a laugh. “He switched the denominator probability for these conditional equations. Oh, man,” Link is almost wheezing now. “No wonder I couldn’t get past question one.”
Revali’s about to say something snide just to be a brat about Link’s self satisfied tone, but then Link is looking up at him—
—and he’s smiling , so open and relaxed and at peace. Smiling like Revali’s never seen him smile before.
“Think anyone else noticed?” Revali manages to eke out, and thinks his chest is about to give way when Link lets out a chuckle.
“Even if someone else did notice, no one’s posted it on the forum yet—oh wait, this can be my first post on the forum. How insane would that be—correcting Professor Robbie!”
It’s stupid to get so worked up over such insignificant feedback, but Revali can’t find the words in his dry throat to refute and only manages a small nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“Let’s have lunch together.”
Revali chokes on his gum, the irritating slide of the confectionery down his throat still a more bearable sensation than the pinpricks of panic along his arms.
Link looks at him blankly, casting an impatient glance at his watch and abysmally ignoring Revali’s choking. “It’s lunchtime.”
Having recovered enough air, Revali wheezes out, “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like—nevermind.” Revali knows Link is dense, but can he really be this dense? Because saying it like that (lunch. together) is way too similar to asking him out on a… a… a da—
“The pancake place down the road is having this 2 for 1 offer—imagine, those huge pancakes for, like $5.”
Revali’s forehead meets the table, whether out of relief or terrible, hypocritical disappointment, and he ignores Link’s cry of concern.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Revali mutters when he and Link walks in and spots Zelda and Mipha at a table, pancakes half-eaten and laughing like the world is two degrees warmer and the sun is relentlessly beaming down, rather than obscured behind some heavy-looking rain clouds. “ This is where she’s been spending her time while I slave away at the library every afternoon? If I weren’t someone with better character, why, I would have walked up there and given them an earful or—“
Link, after a brief period of disbelief, only snorts, then laughs in open amusement. He then drags Revali by the arm to the nearest chip shop, clearly content in sacrificing their fancy brunch plans for a bit of privacy for their friends. They turn out to be pretty good fish and chips, and the fact has got nothing to do with the casual way Link holds himself away from his textbooks and glaring laptop screens and the general burden of academic pressure. He certainly doesn’t notice Link’s golden hair obstructing the man’s eyesight in the wind, or the thin, sky-blue bracelet he wears around his wrist, or the way they fall into step even when they’re hurrying back to catch their next lectures.
Revali notices none of these things—but he can get used to it.