Chapter Text
Winter was fast approaching, stealing away what little warmth Link could rub into his chapped fingertips. He curled them and tucked them under his chin, hissing at the icy touch to his neck. He licked his dry lips, and resisted the urge to scratch his hair. It’d only deter others from sympathizing with him, and it disgusted him in the first place.
Just second to his hunger was the need for cleanliness. He wanted to bathe in warm water and to scrape off a layer of his skin. He wanted to feel clean. But, whenever Madarao and he managed to secure any kind of bathing, it went first to Tewaku, than Kiredori, than Tokusa, and Link and Madarao often shared. Goushi refused to take anything that the rest of them didn’t have already.
At the thought of his friends, Link plastered on his biggest smile, stepped from the alley and removed his hands, and began his search. There was always a need for limber eager children, and Link promised himself to earn at least a loaf of bread for tonight. Maybe he could sweep chimney’s. All the black smoke in the sky would lend credence to the need for chimney sweepers.
Before he could decide on this or on a less savory job, a large cheer rose down the street, and Link curiously turned his head to observe.
There was a gathered crowd, laughing and cheering at something in the middle. Interest piqued, Link made his way towards them, skirting towards the edges of the street to avoid the horses and people bustling about. He always got slapped when he got too close to the women’s skirts.
Link had used melted snow to scrub his hair enough to let the blond shine, because Madarao had often commented that it was better for children to be blonde. He’d caressed Tewaku’s hair, smiled at Link, and said that the color reminded others of angels, and lent them to pitying children. Link didn’t know if this was true or not, but ever since he’d made sure to at least keep his hair free of dirt, even if his scalp still itched.
So he wasn’t sure if it was his blond hair, unassuming small stature, or perhaps just the kindness of strangers that led him pass through the thick ring of watchers towards the center. When he arrived, he patted his ruffled clothes, tightened his scarf round his neck, and looked up.
A clown stood balancing on a moving ball with the gentlest of smiles, golden eyes warm and soft. He swept his arm wide, and a long red scarf fluttered in its wake, golden stars etched onto its design. The scarf fluttered past Link’s face, close enough for an edge to tickle his nose, and he snuffled and sneezed. The clown laughed, threw his arm up, then twirled the scarf round. He snapped it with a flick of his wrist, and from it tiny golden stars fluttered across the audience. People coo-ed and cheered, delighted as their hands rose to grasp at the star dust kissing their hair and cheeks. When some fell on Link’s nose, he looked at it cross-eyed.
The clown twisted on his ball to face his other side, and loving used two hands to hook the scarf around a red-headed boy. The boy scowled and blushed brightly, and the clown laughed again.
Offended, the boy dug in his pockets and began to toss things at him. The clown clapped excitedly before juggling the odd-ball objects - several multi-colored balls, little trinkets. It was amazing at how easily the clown made it seem.
Then the boy held up a top hat, and one by one the objects found their way into the hat. Grinning viciously, the boy bounced the hat, shuffled his shoes, then ran at the clown, launching himself into the clown’s open arms.
The clown’s eyes slit in golden warmth and happiness, and he wrapped his arms securely around the boy, swinging him around with the momentum and still balancing on the ball. With a flourish, the boy displayed the somehow emptied hat, grinned so hard his eyes squeezed shut, and then daintily placed the hat on his head, throwing his arm out to the side as the clown threw his other one out as well. With a twirl of their hands, they bowed, and the crowd roared in their cheering.
Link stared in amazement, jaw dropped open. When had the kid dumped all the stuff in the hat? Where had it gone? How on earth did the clown balance on a ball while twisting around and carrying a kid?
Never had Link seen such an amazing display, so when the kid walked around with a bright grin and gleam in his silver eyes, holding out the top hat, Link guiltily pat his trousers and jacket for any lose change, already knowing it to be a lost cause. Link never had any kind of extra money lying about.
So, with an almost pleading look for understanding, Link shook his head minutely when the kid made his way to Link. Instead of glaring at him, as Link expected, the kid appraised him mutely, smiled softly, and continued on, chattering eagerly with the gentleman next to Link who had even looser pockets than the ones in Link’s pants that needed stitches.
The clown was packing their things as the kid made his rounds, and so with a sigh Link turned to head back up the street. He really shouldn’t have stopped to watch the performance - he’d wasted needless time. Nothing had been gained.
As a street rat, anyone voluntarily touching him was always a cause for alarm, so when someone grabbed the sleeve of his ratty jacket Link whirled around and grabbed the offender’s wrist in a steel grip, digging his fingers in until he felt the bite of bone.
“Son of a bitch!” Link blinked in shock, but before he could let go the redhead from before swept his foot under Link’s ankles and knocked Link over. Twisting Link’s arm around, the kid efficiently forced Link onto his stomach, rubbing Link’s face into the dirt and grime lining the cobblestone street. “Damn, ya’ve got a grip of God!”
“Get off me!” Link demanded, wiggling and bucking. He swore quietly when he felt the kid sit on his back, legs crossed.
“Nuh uh, not if ya gonna hit me again,” the kid said, and Link sighed, the exhale made exaggerated by his position on the ground. The kid giggled when he bobbed up and down from the movement, and Link idly wondered how old he was. “I wanna talk ta ya.”
He still had one hand free, so he pulled it forward and propped his chin in his hand. “So talk. Not like I can do anything.” Yet. He shook his head to rid his face of the stray hairs falling everywhere. Madarao insisted he not cut his hair.
Despite this reassurance, Link could still feel how tense the kid was, and it made him slightly alarmed that he wasn’t fooled. He was probably around Tewaku’s age, and even she, who’d lived most of her life on the streets now, was still fooled easily.
“Look, ya ain’t got a home, right?” The kid asked bluntly, and Link stiffened.
“It’s none of your business,” Link snapped, renewing his efforts to launch the kid off him. He gasped when he felt a hard hand press between his shoulder blades, pushing the air from his lungs.
“Stop wigglin’! Ima fall off, and this street looks dirty!”
“It is.” Link growled, forcing his chest up again and eyeing the mud caked in the rivets of the stones with distaste.
“As I was sayin’,” the kid continued, and though he kept his hand on Link’s back there wasn’t any pressure - a light touch, a reminder to keep still. “Are you looking for work?”
Link stilled, and he craned his neck to finally get a look at the boy.
Yes, he was around Tewaku’s age, maybe younger. He had wild red-brown hair falling around his head in a cut similar to Link’s, though where Link’s was soft and silken this boy’s was thick and unruly, and his eyes were a bright grey. Against the backdrop of a gloomy cloud-covered sky, he looked almost unreal.
“And if I am?” Link asked, meeting those gray eyes. The kid grinned, all teeth and cheek.
“Then I might ‘ave one for ya! If ya stop bein’ a twat, that is.” The kid removed his hand from Link’s back, and the sudden rush of cool air startled him.
“A what?” Link cried, feeling offended. The kid laughed.
“I’m Allen,” he offered, stepping off Link’s back and offering him a hand. Link took his hand, though he made more effort of lifting himself up then actually depending on the kid. With a grimace he swatted down his clothes and what little he could reach of his back. Sighing at what little he could do for the state of his clothes, Link offered a small smile and his own hand in return.
He grasped Allen’s warm small hand and said, “I’m Link.”