Words

Quiet singing emanates from my house, and I pause to listen to it before I open the door. No doubt he'll get flustered and call me a name if I comment on the music, so I sit outside and listen. An array of songs play, most of them sung brokenly, interrupted by coughing or fumbling on the words, but it's charming.

"You are my sunshine,"

I choke on my spit when I hear the first verse. Certainly not the prettiest cover I've heard to date, not as eloquently sung as the song really goes, but I find it cute. Singing love songs when I'm not around is cute.

I gently push open the door and linger in the hallway, closing it quietly behind me. The singing doesn't stop, and I look around. He's not in here. I don't hear a tap running, but the music is coming from the bathroom for sure.

I knock, the song ending in a surprised gasp.

"Link?" I call through the door.

"What?" The Sheikah slate chimes from inside, "Don't come in." I hear water sloshing around and steam billows out from the crack under the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a bath, stupid."

I hum in acknowledgement and sit on the floor, back up against the wall. More steam emanates from the bathroom, and, before I know it, Link steps out. I was lost in my thoughts, I guess. He was dressed in a loose shirt that fell off one shoulder (cute as fuck) and had a... hat?

"Do you like my towel-hat?" He signs, smiling. I love that smile. It isn't shy, or reserved, forced, or fake. Simple, genuine smile, white teeth glinting in the light.

"I love your towel-hat." I pat his arm and he sits, ranting about the towel-hat and how much he adores it. He kept running one hand up his shins as he signed with the other, the Sheikah slate somehow comprehending. It's monotone voice was bearable when accompanied by Link's joy and enthusiasm as he signed about the towel-hat.

A few loose strands of hair fall in his face as he shakes his head while signing, and I brush them away.

"—oh, I was rambling wasn't I? I love my towel-hat. How was your day?"

"It got better when I came home and found your grumpy attitude in the trash." I muse, and he sighs quietly.

"Okay, but like, how was your day?"

I open my mouth to speak, but a realization hits me like a brick. "Wait! How were you singing? Your voice—it's all—''

"Maybe the monks made an exception?" He signs slowly, picking his words. "And you're an idiot for listening."

There we go. I even mention the act and get called an idiot.