A/N: This is going to be utterly plotless fluff for days, so, apologies in advance for that! This was just a writing exercise—trying out first person present tense for the first time and plopping it in a modern AU because why not—but clearly it's gotten out of hand. Inspired by the delightful fic "Cooking and Other Pleasures," by Wavebreeze.

Not My First Kiss

This isn't the first time I've been kissed by a beautiful girl in a noisy, overcrowded room, but it is the first time I have absolutely no clue who she is. We part and she gives me a breathless smile.

"I'm so glad you're here," she says, but despite her dazzling smile there is a gentle crease between her eyebrows that suggests something is amiss. "I had almost given up on you."

"Um," I hesitate, my hands still lingering on her waist. Her brow draws just slightly closer together when I have nothing else to add, and while the smile stays plastered in place her eyes seem trapped in a constant flux between desperate hope and alarm. They're depthless and blue, and unmistakably asking for help. I laugh a little awkwardly, recovering myself with debatable success, and stammer, "Sorry I kept you waiting."

I feel her exhale in relief, her ribcage falling slightly between my hands. "You're here now, that's all that matters," she says, her eyes glued to mine as she unlaces her fingers from behind my neck and takes my arm. "Let's get a drink."

"Ok," I answer slowly, and she gives me a tiny, encouraging nod.

She leans into my arm as I lead us to the bar, trying to keep the confusion off my face and trying not to focus on the burning sensation lingering on my lips. We slide onto the stools, and her shoulders ease imperceptibly, like she's passed some kind of test.

"Thanks," she whispers as she pulls herself closer to the bar, elongating the 's' until the word tapers off into a sigh. I let my eyes begin to scan the room for signs of trouble and she suddenly kicks me under the counter. "No, no, don't look."

"Ow," I murmur, obediently bringing my eyes back to her face and managing to stifle my reflexive frown and replace it with an insincere smile. She runs her hand across the blonde tresses gathered at her temple, pulling the waves off to one side absently, and for a moment I forget that she kicked me.

I take a moment to look her over while she's distracted. She's wearing a black dress with an asymmetrical, ocean blue paisley pattern studded with rhinestones blossoming over the fabric clinging to the right side of her torso, shimmering iridescently in the light when she moves like a spatter of watercolors in an abstract painting. Her dangling Triforce earrings have sapphires embedded into the bottom left triangle, and when they catch the light and sparkle I find myself thinking absently that they resemble her eyes. As though summoned, her gaze flicks up to mine, and suddenly I'm feeling uncomfortably warm.

"Order me something with an umbrella," she suggests quietly as the bartender approaches us, her perfect smile reappearing again.

I order her an Abduction by Them, my favorite cream cocktail, because I remember hearing that the Chateau Romani liqueur here is excellent. I decide I should probably stay alert and settle for a Lon lager, in case I've gotten myself into more than I bargained for. She slides her hand gently over my forearm when I rest it on the countertop, and I can't help but laugh a little at how thick she's laying it on. The drinks arrive and I reach for mine immediately.

"Not that this isn't terribly fun," I murmur, bringing the effervescent amber liquid to my mouth, "but I'm hoping you'll eventually tell me what you're hiding from, and that it isn't the law."

She crosses her legs toward me, letting the open toe of one of her strappy heels brush against my ankle as she sips the cocktail out of a pair of tiny black straws, and her eyes glimmer with laughter. "Ex-boyfriend," she confides.

"Don't tell me," I smirk, feigning lovestruck delight at odds with our conversation. Not that I'm not actually delighted; she's gorgeous and precocious and even though I know she's only doing it to spite another man I can't help but revel in all the attention she's giving me. "You came here tonight hoping to prove your relevance to yourself and that you've moved on, and then he shows up with some svelte brunette hanging on his arm and sees you before you can make a clean getaway."

"Redhead, actually," she says, giving the ice in her drink a stir, and then her eyes flick back up to mine and the smile grows a bit. "Sorry I startled you. But I saw you were alone and I was desperate."

I grimace a little, going in for another sip. "Not the most flattering logic I've heard all night."

She giggles, lines pulling at her eyes as her laughter draws her features into a more genuine smile, and my pulse quickens suddenly. Which is stupid, because she's not actually interested. And I'm stupid, because suddenly I'm hoping she is.

"That's not exactly what I meant. I was trying to say that I don't make a habit of kissing unsuspecting strangers and forcing them to buy me drinks." She takes the corner of her bottom lip in her teeth gently, her expression turning repentant, and I go rigid as I will myself not to stare at her mouth. "I'm sure it was a bit of a shock."

"It was a pleasant surprise," I assure her, hoping it came across more flirtatious than it did honest, and realizing it probably didn't, and that I've been staring into her eyes for too long now and that she's begun to notice and that I definitely need more beer. I take another swig, but when I put the glass down her face is inches from mine, and she shifts to the inside so her mouth is hovering near my ear, her delicate perfume wafting enticingly over me so I have to struggle not to lean closer and breathe deep of her scent.

Although, given the parts we're playing, she might not mind…

"I really appreciate you playing along. I've already caught him looking this way twice with an expression that's doing wonders for my self-esteem," she says, tracing along my jaw with her fingernails as she pulls away, and between that and the slow circles she's still drawing on my ankle she's really and truly starting to drive me crazy.

"Yeah, well, you owe me big time," I manage even though my head is still swimming.

"I'm Zelda," she says quietly, giving me another one of those less brilliant but more genuine smiles that makes my heart pound.

"Link," I answer in kind, and I'm starting to wonder at the absurdity of it all. I had been sitting at that same bar for an hour, watching the world pass by in a disinterested haze, purposefully ignoring every flirtatious attempt at eye contact and every coy smile, miserable and determined to stay that way. And then when I finally grew tired of it all and was ready to leave, fate took the only girl in the room whose eyes could steal the breath right out of my chest and just about threw her at me. She's watching me think, and I can't decide if I love it or hate it. I ask to get her to stop, just before I take another drink, "So, who's the envious no-fairy from whom you've clearly upgraded?"

"A doctoral student of historical linguistics and archaeology," she says, giving the umbrella an absent twirl in the glass.

"Must be all kinds of fun at parties," I offer, and she bites her lip again as she attempts to quell her smile, and I suppress the excited rush that washes over me when she does.

"He's also indecently rich," she adds, but I do my best to look unimpressed.

"Sounds spoiled."

She lets the smile go and it's beautiful and pensive. "What about you?"

"I don't have a PhD, if that's what you're asking," I smirk. "I don't take myself that seriously."

Her smile brightens, assuring me that I haven't lost too many points with that admission. But I'm completely taken with her, and in that moment I'm more disinterested than I have ever been in talking about myself. I'm quick to turn the tables.

"But I don't matter. If he waltzes over here in a desperate attempt to win you back, you could make up whatever you want about me and he would be none the wiser. But he'd see right through us if I don't know the right things about you," I point out with intent, and after staring at her hands for a second with a hesitant smile she complies.

"I'm an Archaeotechnologist," she says, wrinkling her nose a little, but I'm too busy being astounded to stop to appreciate how adorable her expression is. I raise my eyebrows so she can tell I'm impressed, but I don't gush about how brilliant she must be in the hopes that she doesn't realize she's way out of my league. "I'm an only child, I play the harp, and I have a chickaloo tree nut allergy."

I nod evenly. "How long have we been dating?"

"Four weeks," she answers without missing a beat.

"How did we meet?"

"At a pictograph gallery, maybe?" she suggests, and then her mouth pulls down into a quick frown. "No, that's boring."

I try to hide my goofy smirk behind my glass but I doubt I succeed. I'm having way too much fun. "Bombchu bowling," I suggest, and she scoffs.

"Definitely not. Too pedestrian," she says. "What about a Goron sumo match?"

"Who picks up girls at a sumo match?" I take another gulp while I mull and make a noise in my throat as my next idea comes to me before I've finished swallowing. "Molduga hunting."

She just rolls her eyes, not even bothering to respond, but I kind of like it.

"I'm initiating too much," she suddenly decides, and she blows my train of thought so completely of the rails that I momentarily forget to smile.

"What?"

"I keep touching you and you aren't reciprocating. I look like a flirt."

"Oh," I chuckle. She's staring at me expectantly with those impossibly blue eyes and I'm starting to feel too warm again. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, tilting her head so her earrings sway and a covetous smirk slips over my lips before I can stop it. "Use your imagination."

Oh, she has no idea what she's asking.

My mind is racing a mile a minute as the possibilities start flooding in, and I feel like I'm drowning in them as I filter through the ones that strike me as too forward or slightly creepy or not forward enough. Her skirt is barely brushing her knees, revealing the soft, enticing skin behind them, but that wouldn't be noticeable enough and that's definitely straying out of fake-boyfriend territory. My brain strays to the pleasing ratio of her full hips and her elegant waist but my heart starts beating irregularly and I immediately decide that anything below the throat is off limits. Her hair is tangling temptingly around her shoulders and her lips look too soft and full to be real, and every scenario I formulate inevitably ends with me losing all semblance of control and kissing her way too eagerly—and even though we've technically already shared a kiss I don't know if I can stage another one in a convincing way that doesn't simultaneously leave her feeling assaulted. Suddenly I don't know what to do with my hands.

Why is it that when a girl actually wants me to touch her I fumble like an idiot?

Finally I just laugh. "This is really awkward."

"I managed," she chides, and I give her my best grin.

"Maybe you really are a flirt."

A tiny gasp leaves her mouth before she can stop it, and her slight blush leaves me feeling particularly satisfied with myself. Then I see her gaze flick over my shoulder and she sighs a little, and suddenly I'm irritated with him for interrupting.

"They're getting dinner menus," she mutters.

"So?"

"I wasn't planning on being trapped here all night," she grumbles. "It'll poke a hole in my story if we leave five minutes after we sit down."

"No it won't," I disagree, downing the rest of my drink. "Finish your Abduction."

"What? Why?" she demands, eyes narrowing with intrigue, but she reaches for her drink and does as I say before I explain.

"Because, if this was a real date," I assure her, fishing a few Rupees out of my pocket to leave on the counter, "I would've made reservations some place much nicer than this for dinner."

Her eyes scan the room as I stand, appraising the guests, who are all dressed classily enough, and their meals, which are overpriced and probably appetizing to her untrained eye. "This place is nice," she decides. "And they're having dinner here."

"Well, I have higher standards than he does," I say a bit condescendingly, and extend my hand. She takes it, perhaps a little suspiciously, and electricity zings up my arm in such a way that I want to pull her flush against me so I can feel it all over. I wish I had been paying more attention during that kiss.

"This is never going to work," she breathes.

"Have a little faith," I murmur close to her ear as I wrap my arm around her waist and lead her toward the exit. "This isn't my first time playing last-minute-decoy-boyfriend."

"It's not?"

"Well, maybe it is."

She laughs one of those beautiful, genuine laughs before we reach the door, and I think we look pretty smitten. I know I do, anyway.

I lead her out the exit and past the windows until we're decidedly out of sight, and then turn back towards it gently, letting her slide out of my arm as she does the same. I'm pathetic and I miss her immediately.

"See?" I smirk, shoving my hands in my pockets, which effects the twofold purpose of making me look self-assured as well as keeping my hands immobilized. "Clean getaway."

She smiles coyly, staring at her shoes, and agrees, "I never should've doubted you."

"Where are you parked?" I ask, trying to ignore the fact that our time is quickly dwindling.

"I'm not far," she says, gesturing minutely down the street. "I live at Castle Tower."

"I'll walk you," I offer as casually as I can, and start moving before she can object. It's dark after all, and dangerous to go alone. "I'm parked two blocks that way," I add, pointing down the hill towards the water, "but I'll be sure not to pass the bar so they don't see me walking back alone."

She chuckles, acquiescing because she's too nice to tell me no when I'm trying my best to be thoughtful, and walks alongside me. "That's really nice of you," she says, giving me another small but radiant smile as she adjusts the thin shoulder strap of her purse. "Thanks."

"No problem," I assure her, watching the skyscraper get closer by the second. It's late, and we're walking along the main drag, so all the crosswalks are inconveniently green. I can already make out the revolving doors of the lobby. I'm wedged uncomfortably between wanting to make the most out of the remaining two minutes and being afraid of saying something overeager and ruining my chances, and in my indecision we fall into a spell of silence that she doesn't break either. She's quieter, shy even, without an audience to spite, and spends the whole of it staring at the sidewalk. We're crossing the last street and are nearly to the stone steps leading up to the corner-facing lobby when she finally looks at me again.

"Well, here I am," she gestures, giving me an appreciative smile. "Thanks again for the—well, you know. The drink, and getting me out of there with a shred of dignity left, and the walk."

"I had fun tonight," I say, and her smile grows a little.

"Me too."

Now or never.

"Maybe we should do it again," I suggest as casually as I can, and her answering smile does nothing to ease my galloping heartrate.

She tries to put the smile away but doesn't quite succeed, which makes me exceedingly giddy on the inside. At least, I think it's on the inside. Hopefully if it's on the outside she's too distracted to notice.

"Maybe we should," she agrees, playing it cool.

"Maybe," I continue, "you should give me your number, so if I decide I'm willing to play third wheel with you and your ex again I can call you."

She nods, accepting the dig with grace. "Maybe you should get your phone out."

"I don't have my phone," I lie, offering her a pen I pull out of my coat pocket instead.

"I don't have a piece of paper," she counters, but takes the pen anyway.

I smirk, offering her my hand smugly. She rolls her eyes, but takes it anyway and starts writing.

"I haven't done this since I was in high school," she mumbles as she etches the numbers into my palm, her eyes flicking disapprovingly to mine when she's done as she returns the pen—but she's still smiling.

"Goodnight, Zelda," I say as I slowly turn and head back down the street.

"Goodnight," she answers, climbing the stairs.

Before I've taken three steps I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, shooting her a quick text. Immediately I hear the satisfying ding of the resulting notification. I turn again, still backing away, to watch her retrieve it from her purse.

Dinner?

Her mouth twists into a wry smile as she taps out a reply, still standing on the top step, and then she disappears into the revolving doors just before my phone goes off.

Yeah, but after this we're even.

I get the distinct feeling I'm being mocked, but I really don't mind.