incomplete work - one.

This is unintentionally gay. Whoops.

“Link,” a distraught voice called out, half-desperate that, in the middle of the night, his voice will somehow reach said man he trusted all too much through whatever dreams were being had behind this door. No sounds indicating movement were audible, thus commencing a gentle rapping upon the desired person’s door. “Link, wake up.”

His tone fluctuated from strong to overly-tense, and he knew this was because he was trying too hard, and never had to deal with such awkward weakness before. He was always strong—even considered the epitome of strength among some, constantly saving and protecting in his own way—and independent at heart, but forever accepting of others’ assistance because he knew that in the long run, doing it alone is just fatalist attitude.

And, apparently, he was also the epitome of truth (important because he knows lying around possible scrutiny from Link without hinting towards what needs to spoken is like stepping into a mine field. His father always told him this quality made him a good man, but it just seemed like bad karma to him…) seeing how his blunt nature always seems to take over when yearned for honesty. Sure, he did have to deal with somewhat similar situations before, but it just seems different this time. It was unneeded drama like some cliché performance, pretty much.

That didn’t help at all. To quell the sudden influx of thoughts, he merely stood there patiently, attempting to hold the barrage at bay until--

Finally, sound: bed sheets ruffling, the mattress whining as pressure was eased. Had his ear been pressed up against the door, he could even probably even confirm the resonance of floorboards creaking under footsteps, an indication of their, and the door’s, aged conduct. A few moments later, Link managed to drag his feet to the single decent entrance to his quarters, opening the door only slightly for a peek at the person whom bothered him at such a time.

No more than a second had passed before he fully recognized the visitor, the normally green-clad hero swung the door open with a loud ‘creek’. Apparently, this was only one of few times Link didn’t feel the obligation to be considerate to other Smashers as they slept, and this conjured up a tinge of guilt from the sole person whom caused this.
Though he knew the consequences of burdening the Hylian of all people, the need to latch onto someone else for once, to not be the leader, was just too overwhelming of a feeling and drove his actions to where he stood now. Maybe it was his rebellious nature that caused these certain thoughts to swell, seeing as no one else ever seemed to care, but…

“Ike,” Link spoke his name slowly, tentatively, his entire countenance changing from tired irritation to concern at the sight of his friend, whom hadn’t even removed his armor in the six hours he’d been supposedly sleeping. “What’s wrong?”

That one question was all it took for Ike to suddenly envelope Link into a hug and crash onto his knees, ergo hauling his victim down with him. The mercenary commander paid no heed to their location, both now available for public viewing, nor did he care that something on the floor boards was jabbing uncomfortably into the knee that landed directly under the entryway.

Their askance isn’t important, Ike thought to himself. It’s none of their business.

Link was surprised and even more apprehensive all at once, but he did not protest nor resist the assault (having already returned the uncharacteristic outreach for human contact), despite it having knocked the air out of his lungs. It wasn’t much like his friend to randomly display affection. While it was something of Ike’s nature to behave impulsively, Ike had considerably relaxed during them mutual embrace, as if relieved of something he already measured.