Short oneshot to keep you patient. I'm working on another multi-chaptered story, so here's a peace offering while you wait (and you will wait a while, believe me, but it'll be worth it).

This story was born from two things: daydreaming during work hours (I can work and daydream at once, that's how good I am ;P), and the high demand for drunk!Link stories. I just never had a decent idea for a drunk Link story before. But since I daydream, that's how it turned out.

Warning: Language and sexual innuendos. Blah blah blah. If you've read Freak, Avid, Straight Shooter, and so on, this isn't new at all.

Enjoy. :)

Worse Things in the World
by CM

There are, I presume, worse things than this.

Of course, that's assuming all the positive things in the world have shrivelled, died then been ground into fine dust. Then this isn't nearly as bad by contrast.

"Link," I say, pushing onto him as he lays unconscious on top of me, knocked out cold, "get off me."

I know it's stupid to be talking to someone who keeps drifting in and out of consciousness ―if you can call a drunken stupor 'consciousness'― because how could they hear? But I need to talk to him because otherwise I'm talking to myself, and that's either an admission that I've gone insane or the proof that Link is no longer among the healthy.

Both options terrify me.

And by the gods, an unconscious guy is so damn heavy!

I blame Sheik for this. I blame Sheik and Kafei and Ralph and Mikau and all those guys. I blame them all for this. 'This' being me pinned under a very drunk, very shirtless and only half-awake Link on my living room carpet.

And to think women dream of this, fantasize even. Give me a break. It's not nearly as fun or exciting as you might think, actually, since all I'm concerned about is that Link doesn't suffer from alcohol poisoning or that he might never wake up. Does nobody care??

He groans, mumbles something incoherent, then drifts back into drunken sleep. His lips are curled a little at the corners, giving him a cute, content, innocent smile.

I pause in my struggling, because really, he's just so cute, even when he's been drinking himself dead.

He's clearly having happier thoughts than me, though. The bastard.

"Link, you're heavy, fat-face."

This is all the guys' fault. It's only fair that they take care of their own, right? Why do they always presume that I can be their little nurse or something? Just because I'm Link's dorm neighbour doesn't mean I'm best qualified for handling drunken administration majors, no matter how cute they happen to be or how dire the hour.

" 'We lost Sheik'," I grumble as I still try to push Link off of me. "My ass."

It's bad enough that they return completely blotto at impossible hours, they also have to lose a member of their party and leave their hapless victim in my incapable hands.

I mean, if I were anywhere near capable ―or smart― I'd have just said no, or at least found a way to keep Link from stumbling and sending us both sprawling to the floor.

I also probably wouldn't have offered to clean his shirt, which was stained with beer that Ralph spilled all over him, thus making him remove the only object, apparently, that would have allowed me to remain calm and professional about this situation.

He's got the body of a god, okay?

So now, until Ralph and Kafei and Mikau find Sheik ―Link's roommate and the keeper of their keys― I have to take care of Link. It's likely I will be hindered in my task by a hundred and sixty pounds of very good-looking and very drunk male muscle.

How do you lose a person anyway? Sheik could have been run over by a truck and they wouldn't even know, the bastards.

Link grunts and I feel his breath on my collarbone, calm and regular, like his heartbeat, which I can feel thumping steadily against my stomach. My eyes are level with his blonde hair, and his eyes are closed, so I can't see their usually sharp blue colour.

He's got a really hard stomach, if the solid form on my thighs is any indication, and the muscles in his back are firm under my fingers ―so sue me! I had to brace myself by holding on to something!

I need to get some air.

"Link, if you don't get off me, I'll choke and die and you'll be accused of first-degree murder," I say.

No reaction, of course. He's knocked out cold, and I could swear I can hear him snore a little.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Link yelps and his eyes snap open suddenly. He jumps off me and I feel much lighter without his form pinning me to the floor. I do not ―I do not― experience a feeling of loss.

He's still completely drunk, I can see as he stumbles backwards, the rush of blood to his head making him even dizzier. He hits the couch and falls on it inelegantly, arms flailing. I can't help but smile a little.

"Gods, someone bit me!" He yelps, far less articulate than he'd normally be.

"I just pinched you," I say, dusting myself off and coming to tower over him. His legs are still splayed over the armrest, and he's a bit upside-down, his head bobbing against the edge of the seat. "Don't be such a baby."

"Zelda…" He mumbles, looking confused, like he doesn't understand what's going on. "What are you doing in my room? And did you get taller? Why are you standing on the ceiling?"

He's so cute.

"For the record," I say, leaning down to help him sit up straight, "this is my living room, not your bedroom, and I'm not standing on the ceiling. And no, I did not get taller."

He makes an inarticulate sound, then asks, "Why am I in your living room?"

"Because Ralph, Kafei, Mikau and the guys lost Sheik, therefore the keys to your apartment, so they went to look for him," I answer. "And since I'm apparently on call at every hour of the night to cater to your dimwitted needs, you're staying in my apartment until they do."

He nods, clearly still confused, then loudly asks, "Why did you pinch me??"

Hm. Should I tell him he was splayed all over me a minute ago, or avoid it? "It was for your own good. It'll teach you to be more moderate about drinking."

His head lolls backwards against the headrest and he says, "Gods, wait until I'm sober before giving me grief." There's a pause, then he asks, frowning, "Do I have a shirt on?"

I sigh. "No, Link, you don't."

"But I have pants on, right?"

"Yes, Link, you do."

He nods, looking mildly relieved. "Okay, good. I wouldn't want to have flashed you without even knowing it."

I really don't know what to answer to that. This is the most absurd conversation I've ever had with him, and that's saying something.

His head has lolled backwards completely, so he's looking at my ceiling.

"Whoa. Hey, your ceiling is blue," he says, then chuckles a little, almost convulsively. Gods, he's either the cutest thing ever or the most pathetic drunkard in the world.

"Yes," I say, "my ceiling is blue. It was Tetra's idea."

"Green is better."

"Well," I say, "mine is blue. Deal with it."

"My ceiling is green. It's nice. Mostly."

"Mostly nice?" I ask, trying to keep him awake, because I need him to drink water to hydrate himself again, or else he'll wake up tomorrow with the most painful hangover. And okay, I'm maybe an uncertain, flustered woman, but at least I care for Link. I don't want him to suffer from hangovers, however well deserved they happen to be.

"Yeah. Mostly nice," Link mumbles as I wander into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. "Kind of like, 'hey, this thunderstorm is cool, except it took out the electricity in our neighbourhood for a while', you know? It's like, the thunderstorm is mostly cool. It would have been totally cool, but it lost a few feathers by being such a prick."

"And your ceiling is 'mostly nice' because…?" I ask, turning off the faucet.

"Well, it's got a few chips here and there because sometimes when Sheik practices his kung-fu or whatever, he sends sticks and darts flying. So it's mostly nice." I hand him the glass of water. He looks confused. "What is that?"

"It's water. Drink it."

"It's not vodka?"

I sigh. "No, Link. No more vodka for you tonight."

He looks contemplative for a moment, then reaches for the glass. Slowly he brings it to his lips, his air solemn. After a few mouthfuls, he brings it down again and says, looking tired and far more sober than he's been for the last hour. "I can't believe she dumped me."

I know what he's talking about, of course. It was the Break-Up of the Month. Link and Midna had broken up. Midna had tried to let Link down in a nice and friendly way, because she'd fallen in love with Dark Knight, her lab partner, but Link was still stunned and hurt.

So hurt, in fact, that his friends had taken him out to get him blind-stinking-drunk.

And here I was, therefore, dealing with a drunken and hurt Link.

"It happens," I vaguely say, because to be honest, seeing Link pine after Midna was kind of annoying.

"For her lab partner! Who even dates their lab partner anyway?"

"Link, suck it up. It's done, it's done."

"But I cared for her!"

And there it was. The reason I can't afford to be gentle with Link. There are moral rules against loving a guy who is already taken, I think.

"Link," I say, bringing my face level with his, "shit happens. There's nothing you can do about it."

I know a supportive friend would have said something like, 'Don't worry, Link, I'm sure Midna will soon realise how wrong it was to dump you, and she'll come back', but truth was that I hoped she wouldn't realise just how special Link really is, and I hope she'll marry Dark and never come near Link again.

"But I needed her…" Link argues weakly, and it really hurts to see him like that, because it's just wrong and because he should be happy and because it's over that stupid, stupid, stupid Midna Black.

"No," I say, pushing him so he's lying down on the couch, and he's so tall that his feet stick out, "you don't need her."

He scowls. "But who will I use to make you jealous?"

What the hell?

"Link," I say, as if to a child, sitting next to him and shooting him a straightforward look, and he looks up at me from his place on the couch, "you know what I said about the shady guy downstairs, right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Gods, Zelda, I didn't smoke anything. I'm just completely smashed."

"Well, there you go," I say, feeling hollow, "it's the alcohol talking."

"No," he says, and I see his eyes clear up a little, "it's not the alcohol, it's me. You want the truth? I wasn't even in love with Midna. Oh, sure, I cared for her―"

"Link," I start, but he cuts me off, not even listening to me.

"―but I didn't love her. I just needed someone to be my girlfriend and maybe show you how great of a boyfriend I could be. Except you never even looked at me and the more I spent time trying to make you jealous, the more I fell in love with you and―"

"Link, stop it," I say, feeling panic start to course through my veins.

"―I ran out of ideas on how to make you look my way, so then I exchanged places with Kafei and became Sheik's roommate so I could be your neighbour, but you still wouldn't treat me as anything special, and I swear I've been in love with you for ages, since that day in fourth grade when you―"

"Link, you're drunk. You're not serious. So stop it, it's not funny, okay?"

"―told Mido to bugger off and then every day and every week and every month and every year after that, I've never been able to look at anyone else but you. You make my stomach vanish and you make me want to do handstands―"

"You can't do handstands, Link. You'd break your neck."

"―and you still wouldn't consider me, and then when Midna broke up with me, I just kept thinking, 'if she won't stay with me, why would Zelda ever even bother?' I felt so worthless, Zelda, and all I could think of, all along, was you!"

Don't cry, Zelda.

"Gods, Zelda," he groans in annoyance, "if only I weren't drunk right now so I could prove I'm serious. I've been waiting for that moment where I'd finally get to kiss you. But I'm fucking crocked and I can't even stand on my own two feet, let alone get on my knees to beg you to love me."

Stop crying, Zelda.

"You know what's the worst part of it all? I'm saying all this and next morning, I probably won't even remember and then I'll have ruined my chances for good, because why would you even love a guy who needs alcohol to give him courage?"

"Would you just shut up?" I suddenly exclaim. He looks surprised by my outburst. I stand, trying to keep myself from sobbing outright. "You're drunk, okay? And you're on the rebound."

"Like hell," he grumbles.

"Well, we might just as well have all the truth out, then, shouldn't we?" I say. "Since you won't remember anything tomorrow morning, right?" He flinches at my tone.

Imploringly, he says, "Look, Zelda, I'm sorry that you don't…"

"I don't?" I repeat, incredulously. "Give me a freaking break. I do. It's all I know! I've loved you since you starting giving me cupcakes in the fifth grade, Link, and if you weren't so obviously on the rebound, I'd have just let you sleep on top of me, okay?"

He looks surprised. "I slept on top of you?"

"Earlier," I say, morosely. "You stumbled and dragged me down and you fell over me and went straight to sleep."

He's silent for a long time, then he starts chuckling, then outright laughing. Looking at him as he lays on my couch, wracked with laughs, his bare chest rising and falling, I can't help but smile a little as well.

"This is the most absurd conversation we've ever had," Link remarks.

I nod, grinning.

"I really do love you, though. It's not the rebound or the alcohol talking."

"Yeah. Right."

"No, really," he says, his face serious again. "I love you."

"And you're drunk."

He sighs. "Yeah, I'm guilty of that." He's silent again, then says, "Hey, since I won't remember anything tomorrow morning anyway…"

"I'm not having rebound sex with you, Link."

He looks exasperated. "I'm not on the rebound, Zelda."

"Well, I'm not having drunken sex with you."

"Pity. I mean, I'm drunk and I don't know what I'm doing and I can't even stand on my own two feet. If what you said about loving me since the fifth grade ―which is obviously a figment of my imaginative fantasies, since you don't actually love me― is true, then you would logically want to abuse my moment of weakness. I mean, I just thought, you know. Since I'm shirtless and drunk, I'm, you know, available for ravaging. Or something like that. You know, since I won't remember anything. You could take advantage of me and I wouldn't be able to sue you. Not that I would, if I could. Since I love you."

There are things I didn't suspect about Link. Like the fact that, when drunk, he's the most talkative bastard ever.

I can't help but smile. "You seem pretty adamant about that."

"I think it'd be kind of hot," he calmly admits.

"Kind of?"

"Yeah, like, more than just 'mostly'. It's a figure of understatement. Don't you live in this century?"

Ah, now he sounds more like the Link I know.

"No luck, Link," I smile. "I'm an honourable person."

"You mean… No ravaging or abuse of my person?"

"Nope. Finish your glass of water."

"Do you really love me?"

I can't help but pause. I examine his face. He looks sincere and hopeful, but he's trying to conceal it by being as neutral as possible.

And I figure, if he's drunk and he won't remember tomorrow morning, who could it hurt?

"Yes, Link, I really do love you. It feels like I always have."

His eyes fill with something so amazing then, it's almost enough to make me cry. But I hold it off, and he just shoots me the most brilliant smile in the world.

"Okay. You don't know it, but you just made me the happiest man in the world."

I laugh. "Finish your water. You need to sleep now."

He nods and obediently downs the glass of water, then lays back down. I pull a wool cover from a nearby cupboard and unfold it so it covers him.

"Think they'll find Sheik?"

I shrug. "Probably. He must be somewhere on the campus." I pause and look down at him. He's so cute, like that, with a bunny-patterned blanket barely covering him, his bare torso rising and falling contently. I resist the urge to kiss him.

"Do you have a pen?"

Um. What?

"A pen," he repeats. "To write with."

I frown, but I still hand him one from my school stuff. He thanks me, and opens his palm, then starts writing something on it. I can't see, but he's smiling broadly, almost wickedly.

"What are you―"

"Nothing," he says, handing me the pen again, then closing his fist so I can't see what he wrote on it. I squint, but he just smirks.

He's sexy when he smirks.

"And I suppose you won't show me what you wrote on your palm," I deadpan.

"Well, it all depends on you."

He's so obvious. I lean over and give him a small kiss on the forehead. He seems torn between glee and disappointment.

"Please show me?" I ask.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he shakes his head. "No."

I take a steadying breath, then lean in again and drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. Without drawing away, I whisper, "Please show me?"

His gaze darts between both my eyes quickly, hypnotically. Then, he smiles a little and says, "No."

No escaping it, then. I lean down and kiss his lips. It's a small, tender kiss, and his lips are warm and soft and relishing, but it manages to make me breathless, like I've run the marathon.

"Please show me?" I breathe, my forehead resting against his.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little, then brings his hand up and lets me uncurl his fingers gently.

'Remember: Zelda loves you,' is what he wrote, in his typical scrawl, on the palm of his large hand. 'Kiss her.'

I can't help but smile. He shifts, sits up, and presses a kiss to my lips again. I get lost in this one. He's so soft, so breathtaking, dammit.

"I love you," he repeats, and he doesn't sound drunk much anymore.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say and I push him back down on my couch. "Good night."

"Good morning, you mean," he snorts. "I'm sorry I kept you up. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"You better."

The last thing I see before I close the lights is Link, curled on my couch, smiling, exhausted, the most heart-warming sight in the world.

There are worse things than this.

Something tells me he'll remember.

Off to write Fighting Gravity again. Leave a review here, if you think I write Drunk!Link decently enough. Or if you think I don't. Or if you like leaving reviews. Or if, heck, you don't like leaving reviews but thought that this story was halfway through decent.

Also, yay for story titles that start with 'W'!

Love,
CM

P.S. Yes, Midna ended up with Dark (Dark Link). Because two creatures of the shadows, one of them who's into Link, and the other who's a shadow of Link, fit just perfectly. And they would make for a fun couple too, what with the sarcasm and the irony they are so deeply attached to. Hee.

Edit: Yes, Link is rather coherent. Because he's not the kind to slur. It's already hardcore enough that he's such a loud-mouth when he's drunk, even though canonically he's wordless, don't you think?