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Untitled Ramblings	By : Hekikuu Category: Zelda > General Views: 1618 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Zelda game series, nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-Untitled Ramblings
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IF YOU DON'T LIKE YAOI/SLASH OR DON'T AGREE WITH THIS PARTICULAR REPRESENTATION OF THE CHARACTERS THAN DON'T READ IT AND DON'T WASTE MY TIME WITH YOUR COMMENTS. IT TAKES MORE TIME TO STOP AND LEAVE A REVIEW THAN IT DOES TO HIT THE 'BACK' BUTTON. /end rant.

Author's Note: This has nothing to do with Forget Me Not, this is just my random ramblings (don't worry I haven't forgot about the other fic either, the storyline's being a pain and the ass, and is hiding under my bed and refuses to come out). OOCness will probably occur so be warned. I write all of my Zelda fanfiction with the intention that Sheik is his own individual male character, rather than Zelda dressed up and under a spell (as explained in the manga).
He lay looking up at the night sky, trying to keep his thoughts blank, trying to be calm relaxed and unattached, trying not to think. Trying not to think of anything at all. It was proving to be harder than it sounded, random thoughts kept whizzing through his mind at the speed of seconds, here and then gone. Some leading him down paths of despair, others of hope, self-pity, philosophy and desire. It was the first and last of these paths that he was trying to keep away from in particular. The first because he would become despondent and lose himself to a funk that would and had lasted for days on end. The last because he would think of him, not her or any other person in all of Hyrule, but him.
He would think of brushes and touches, of laughter and whispers, of glimpses of flesh, real and imagined. His breathing would quicken and he would grow flushed, his clothing too tight and too confining. Glimpses would become imagination and fantasies, desire ran into lust, into passion and into emotions he didn't want to acknowledge, examine or define in any way, shape or form. And it would all come crashing to a halt when the little voice in the back of his head would whisper to him, and the truth would crash upon him. The weight of reality would bring everything back to the cold, hard place it was supposed to be, the way it was. Because fantasy was fine and dandy, but the jolt of reality afterwards was more sorrowful and dark than the fantasy could make up for. He could never have him, it was not something that was meant to be, could be or ever would be.
Because he came and went where he pleased, was only there when he was needed and gone when he wasn't. He would never want anything to do with him, he had greater and better things to accomplish than fulfilling the wishes and desires of one lone man, on the many empty nights he suffered. And he wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that he was spoken for, claimed by someone else, even if it was never mentioned, or even acknowledged. She would have him when she returned from her exile, because she would have everything and leave him with nothing, as it had been before this all had started. They were both acting on her wishes as it was right now, why would it change when peace returned? He would fade into the background, into the dark he had come from and he would stay by her side as her shadow, where he had started. They would stand in the light where they belonged, and he would watch them from afar. And that was the most depressing thought of all.
Loneliness and the predecessor of a sure-to-be heartache filled him, making his head hurt and his chest tight. It was suddenly hard to breath, but not in a good way, in the way that made you want to stop, not take another breath and just give up. The closest thing he could think of was, maybe having a horse sit on your chest, but it was more than that, it was a weakness and a heaviness that came from the inside and invaded every part of his being. And all it took was the thought of him being with her, not even as a couple but just him by her side instead of his. Just him not being there.
In his mind's eye he reached up with his left hand and brushed hair away from a pale face, and eyes he could lose himself in, if he could be bold enough to do so. And his right hand would slowly reach up to grasp the front of his shirt, as if he could be that brave when they were face to face. And a nearly silent, "Please don't leave..." Would escape from his lips. And his masks would slip, the literal one and the figurative one, and he would lean forward and their lips would meet tentatively. And that would be his answer.
A knot in one of the logs on the fire cracked and exploded, brining reality crashing upon him like a cold, bone soaking rain, and the heaviness returned. he looked down at his hands in his lap. Silence, filled his little clearing, cold and unwelcoming, the fire gave off no heat and not even the horse made any noise in her sleep. And it seemed to him that this was his answer, the silence and the night were his answers, this was his place... His alone. It was an answer more frightening than any he'd ever found, and that alone almost defeated him.
However, he didn't hear the answer the night gave him, for at his back, he sat in the shadows. Red eyes gleaming in the darkness, he had seen the hand that reached out in the darkness for something only seen to the one reaching for it, and he had heard the name that had fallen unbeknown from the lips of the one whom had spoken them. It had lifted his heart to hear it, and he would lift the heart of the one whom had spoken it, once he figured out how.
For a tender "Sheik" had fallen from those lips.
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Untitled Ramblings