Pik's POV.

I can't believe this is happening to me...

My hands search the sand for the hundredth time without any luck. I dropped it somewhere around here, I'm sure of it! Where in the prodigal's purse did it go!?

Resisting the pressing urge to just shuffle the sand with hectic and emotional movements, knowing full well that I would only bury it deeper than I probably already have, becomes more and more challenging by the second.

I clench my jaw with force and cover both my eyes with the palms of my hands, cursing and wailing to myself in hushed tones.

"Tears don't prove you function!" I hiss so furiously and so full of spite that rising nausea tickles my throat! "Such cynical comedy will only be met with ridicule. You are able to shed tears but are useless in the demand of sight! Curse you, eyes! Both of you! Just rot in the marrow caves of my skull!"

I hate them! Nugatory detritus... Can't even serve their one and only purpose!

I should write that down. I could turn it into a song, provided I find my plectrum! Ugh! I can't believe I lost it! Maybe I should call Zelda again... No, I can't keep bothering her with this. I shouldn't have told her about my retinal detachment in the first place.

I bet she's with Link right now. It sounded like she was driving. Maybe they are on a date or returning from one. I shouldn't rely on her to solve my childish problems anyway. She has better things to do than search the beach in place of my incompetent self. And my sight isn't coming back so... sooner or later I have to find a way to deal with this on my own, I just wish sooner wasn't right this moment.

I brush my tear-stained palms over the fine surface of the sand one last time before lying down on my back, feeling hopeless at last. Dum spiro spero my ass, this ancient phrase should have been dum video spero. Hope can only flourish when there is something to look forward to, but I can't look forward to anything!

I think what's even more frustrating than losing my pick is that even if it was lying in plain sight, I wouldn't see it with my defective eyes. It could be right in front of me, inches from where I've been searching... I will never find it.

My favorite pick, caught at my very first concert, and signed by my most adored idol, my greatest inspiration... gone. Just like that.

I aim my tired eyes at the sky. It's dark. The sun has set and a cool breeze is ruffling my hair. I blink a couple of times, trying to make out any shapes aloft but I'm pretty confident that there aren't any clouds to spot. Squinting at the darkness, I long to see the stars.

My heart is aching now! Even before the evanescence of my eyesight, I longed for their presence in the city's night sky but somehow... knowing that I will never get a chance to see them again, as crisp and spellbinding as I used to, only intensifies the desire to see them once more.

I wish the stars were the only thing I missed. But every day I find new wonders worthy of poems. More things I will only see in my memories moving forward. And all these things come with many little heartbreaks. The number of heartbreaks has grown to such painful degrees that I am convinced I am physically suffering from the emotional strain.

Can a human die of heartache? If so, I believe it to be a fitting death for me.

An artist without sight... What am I if I can no longer capture the beauty of life with my own eyes? My eyes were the transcribers that would tell my hands what to paint and my lips what to compose.

When all that's left are memories, I will be stuck in the past, too scared to move forward in life. I will be just as nugatory as the two detritus' sitting in the marrows of my skull.

Exhausted, I lie in the sand while the crashing sound of ocean waves creeps up on me. The sea level is rising... Once the water reaches me, my pick will be lost for good. And here I am, just waiting for it to finally happen. Is this a metaphor for my own dreadful life?

I hear the faint noise of footsteps approaching. They halt right in front of me and when I turn my head to look at who it is, I can make out the delicate shape of a young woman.

"Pik..." Zelda's voice pulls me out of the darkness and gives my heart the strength to beat in vigorous leaps of joy.

"Am I dreaming?" I ask her in bewilderment.

"Not unless you're sleep-talking," she answers. Her humor puts a smile on my face. Another one of those little things I missed; smiling. "Would you like to tell me what's going on with you?"

I sit up and push my hair back. "I told you not to come."

"I know. And it wasn't easy to find you. You didn't give me a specific location."

"Again: I told you not to come."

"Do you want me to leave?" She asks and I shake my head. I want anything but that.

"Is Link here too?" I dare ask.

"N-no?"

"Oh. I thought for sure you were going to spend the night with him."

"I was but I called him to tell him that I'll be late because you need me. He understood."

Link keeps surprising me. I always took him as the jealous type. The reckless, stereotypical, muscle brain of a frat boy, steered by knuckle and fist, but perhaps I erred to judge him as such. Maybe he's nicer to his friends and loved ones than he chooses to show in the presence of fans and classmates.

I let out a sigh, hoping she doesn't notice how much of a mess I am. "Zelda... I can't believe you came."

"You're not mad, are you?"

"I am really happy to see you."

Such simple words... No one would think twice about their meaning or how much it pains me to utter them... but I can't adjust the English language to my preference. I just have to learn how to look forward to seeing people without actually looking and seeing.

"It's good to see you too, Pik. I'm sorry that we haven't talked in a month."

"Don't worry about it. I know you've been busy with finals and whatnot."

"Yes... So... What did you lose?"

"I lost my plectrum," I tell her calmly. "My favorite pick."

"You lost it here? At the beach?" I nod and look down at the sand. "It must be very important to you."

I nod again. "You have no idea..."

"How long have you been searching for it?"

"The number of hours would entertain you. I packed up my guitar about an hour before sunset, that's when I dropped the pick. So it's been a little while."

I still can't believe she came even though she had plans with her boyfriend. I even told her not to come. Yet she searched the beach to find me... she's incredible. It's quite a beautiful tragedy that she has no idea how truly incredible she really is. I wish I could tell her, or better yet, show her. Because words could never express how grateful I am for her right now.

She kneels down next to me while I keep my eyes aimed at the sand.

"You worried me," she tells me in that tender voice of hers.

"I'm sorry for worrying you. The pick has a lot of meaning to me and I... I couldn't find it... so... I didn't know what else to do other than call you."

"I'm drawn to ask about your vision but... you haven't made eye contact with me, asked whether or not Link was present, and require help searching the sand." I can hear nothing but pure empathy and condolence when she finally musters the courage to ask, "How bad is it?"

"My eyesight is almost completely gone..." I tell her honestly. "I can make out lights and shadows, colors and shapes but... it's... it's... it's pretty bad," I admit in a brittle voice. I never expected those words to be spoken with such hardship.

"I'm so sorry, Pik. I'm sorry for not checking up on you. And I'm sorry that you have to go through all of this. I can't even pretend to comprehend what it must be like to go blind."

My lips begin to tremble as that word sinks in. "It hurts," I manage to say while holding my breath.

"I can't imagine how much..."

"And yet I am beyond happy right now! It feels so good to be with you! You're the only one who knows about my diagnosis, Zelda! And I'm sorry for bothering you with all of this but I couldn't call anyone else for help because I would have to explain to them why I need help in the first place and why I kept my diagnosis a secret... I just feel like I'm defective or something! I'm so embarrassed!"

"Hey, it's okay." She lays her arms around me and holds me with love and compassion. "You're hurting. There is no shame in that. And you are not bothering me with any of this. I'm here for you whenever you need me just like you have always been there for me."

"I hate it! I hate being dependent on others and I hate waking up to darkness after experiencing visually vivid dreams! And I hate feeling so much hatred! I've never felt so much anger in my life!"

"I know," her soft voice calms me.

"And the worst part is, my anger can't be directed at anyone because it's really no one's fault! So I'm stuck feeling angry at myself! Or the world! I don't know! I just hate my life so much lately!"

"Keep going. This is good. Shout all of your frustrations."

"I would only upset the people around us..."

"The beach is deserted. Don't worry about anyone else. It's just you and me right now."

"I don't even know what to say anymore. It's just too much to deal with mentally."

"It'll be okay."

"How? I've suffered so many losses! I'm not even talking about deaths, just in general! I feel like I give and give and never get anything back, and I know that's not how it is and I'm sure other people are going through way worse but it just feels that way sometimes and it kills me. I want to be a good person and I want to be nice and optimistic but it's so hard! It's so hard to put on a smile for everyone else when all I see are blurry shapes and faded colors..."

Tears start streaming like the Multnomah Falls I once painted plein air. I don't stop them. I welcome them, really. I've been holding back my tears for so long and I think today was bound to be the day of me finally breaking down.

Her hug around me tightens. I can't see her but I can smell her perfume and hear her placid breath near my ear. Just those two little things alone give me butterflies, yet I would give up all my other senses, my hearing, my smell, even touch, just to see her smile again.

"Thanks for coming," I whisper and finally return the hug.

"I will help you look for your plectrum. What does it look like?"

"It's fuxia with a pattern of turquoise splatters and a black signature on one side and a tiny oil painting on the other side that I added a few years ago. The painting is black, red, and golden, and shows a dead sparrow on the pavement."

"That's a very... graphic description. Er... Do you know where you dropped it?"

"Somewhere around here... I probably buried it in the process of searching for it."

"We'll find it. Don't worry."

Zelda's POV

After fifteen minutes of shoveling piles of sand back and forth, I take a peek at Pik, who looks even more hopeless than before. His eyes are aimed at his sandy hands, partially buried beneath the surface. I can't help but wonder how much of it he truly sees. My heart is aching for him.

"I'm sorry," I say under my breath as I finally give up the search.

"It's okay... I already accepted that we are not going to find it. Soon the sea level will rise and swallow the plectrum the way life will soon swallow my vision. And then it's gone forever."

"It's made out of plastic, and plastic doesn't decompose, so technically it won't ever be gone."

He gives me a small smile in return for my poorly timed joke. I feel so bad for him. I wish I could find his plectrum! But I've searched this whole area and it's just not here...

"Let's call it a night," he says, getting up with a sigh.

"How did you get here?"

"With my car."

"What?" I gasp. "Didn't you say you're drunk?"

A short but sweet laughter falls from his lips. "No, I'm not drunk, I just said that as an excuse for calling you earlier. But is that seriously what you're worried about? A drunk driver? Not the fact that I'm almost completely blind?"

"Oh... well... yes you shouldn't be driving either way..."

"You're cute," he continues with a chuckle. "I took the bus."

"The bus?" I raise my eyebrow but I suppose he can't really see that. "I didn't know there is a bus route from here to campus."

"Yeah and let me tell you, it's not great."

"Let me take you home then," I offer.

"Sure, thank you."

I pick up his guitar and lead him to my car. I thought the ride home was going to be depressing and quiet but Pik instantly insists on turning on some music.

"Which genre?" I ask him.

"Anything is good."

I turn on my weekly discovery on Spotify. He hums along the first song while I back out of the parking lot. Not a minute down the road, Pik looks out of the window at the dark horizon where sky and water touch in blacks and blues. His voice fades out like stars at dawn.

What's going through his mind right now? Is he sad that he can't look at the tenebrous scenery? Or is he mourning his plectrum?

"Do you know where I live?" He asks.

"You still live in the dorms, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he smiles.

"Then I know where you live."

"Okay good..."

"Are you okay?" I bite my tongue, cringing at myself. "Sorry it's a stupid ques—"

"I'm okay," he answers in a soft tone. "I actually... I got some good news earlier today."

"Really? What is it?"

"In fact, two good things happened today. Three if I really think about it!"

"Well don't keep me in suspense!" I smile.

"I got cast for the lead in a Netflix series."

"Goodness! Pik! That is fantastic!" I cheer in excitement! "A lead role! That suits you!"

"I also got hired for a job at Hyrule University. I'll be teaching music starting in the fall."

"Really? Wow! So if I take your class you'll be my professor?"

"If you were to take a music class, yes," he laughs.

"Professor Curia! That's amazing! You'll make a great teacher!"

"Thanks..." his smile is slowly withering once more and it breaks my heart to see it. "But neither the director nor the school knows about my condition.... once I tell them, I will get fired by both."

"Oh no... you haven't told them?"

"You're the only one who knows."

"You should tell people. At least those close to you."

"I don't want to..."

"Why? Didn't it feel good when you told me?"

"Yes but... that was with you. It's different with other people."

"For what it's worth, I think you could still be a professor even if you're visually impaired. You just have to be transparent about it."

He turns up the music, nodding his head in the rhythm. "Let's sing."

Keeping my eyes on the road, I shake my head. "I don't sing."

"Come on. Everyone sings."

"You sing then."

"You're a hypocrite," he chuckles.

"Explain."

"When you finally jumped over your shadow and played the piano with me that one night at the mall, how did it feel?"

"Scary."

"Okay but it also felt good, right?"

"I suppose."

"So, something you thought you didn't want to do ended up feeling good. Because we did it together. Just like me telling you about my blindness felt good because it was you whom I told, maybe singing with me will feel good to you because it will be I who will listen. Sometimes certain things just feel different with certain people."

He has a point. But his point is sadly not ruled in his favor. I do like to sing for one specific person. But it's not him.

"It would only distract me and then we'll get into a car accident," I argue.

"Bad timing to tell you I'd die to hear you sing? Just kidding, I actually hate it when people say stuff like that."

"Stuff like what?"

"Like: I'd die to do this or have that. There's nothing more pitiful than telling someone 'I'd die for you.' Dying is easy. Dying takes one second. Try living for someone despite all the difficulties. Try struggling and fighting to survive throughout an entire lifetime. Try working hard every day, try being there every night. Every morning. Try sharing your life rather than giving your life."

"But as a romantic, wouldn't you agree that dying for someone is an act of love?"

"Death has been romanticized enough. Being someone's reason to live is much more meaningful than being someone's reason to die. Living for someone is the greatest act of love."

I never even thought about it in such depth. My mind wants to disagree but I can't argue his logic. Even though I disagree that death comes with ease, I do agree that life must be harder.

We get to the dorms after a drive filled with deep conversations. I park outside the building and turn off my car. I'm so exhausted. My eyes feel dry and the sand between my toes is making me uncomfortable. I can't wait to get home. Hopefully Father isn't angry with me for being late for dinner...

"Wanna come inside?" Pik says as we grab his guitar from the trunk.

"What?" I ask nervously.

"I want to show you my dorm room."

"Er—okay, sure..."

"You don't have to," he smiles. "I'm not planning on murdering you."

"No, I know," I chuckle lightly. I don't know why I got so nervous for a second. "Sure I'll come inside for a minute but I have to get home soon."

"Of course, not a problem at all."

We enter the dorms and head upstairs to the top floor. The last time I was in this building was when I met Fin and Armes.

"It's just down the hall," Pik says. "Take a guess which room is mine."

Glimpsing at each door, it doesn't come as a challenge to guess that the one covered in drawings, stickers, and polaroids is his.

"This one?" I stop in front of the door next to it, a bland and plain door.

"Yeah, spot on," he rolls his eyes with a smile and unlocks the colorful door in front of him.

The second I step inside it's like entering a different world. It's dark but I see canvases everywhere, finished as well as lots of work in progress. A large LGBTQ pride flag, landscape photography, and posters of various bands cover the walls, sculptures and an overwhelming amount of art supplies cover his desk space, and a record player resides next to his bed.

The vinyls are scattered all over the room, yet it doesn't look messy. Everything looks like it's where it belongs. No unintended space is left to fill, every corner is embellished by a potted plant, one very healthy Marble Pothos even serves as curtains by the window.

My eyes stop at the vast artwork he painted on one of the walls. It's a perfect replica of Starry Night by Vincent VanGogh but not in the same art style. It looks almost like a photo, that's how realistic he painted it.

"Painting the walls is against campus rules," I say, still taken aback by the beauty of this piece.

"I'll paint over it before I move out," he chuckles and removes the guitar from my stiff shoulders. He places it next to his keyboard before taking a seat on his bed. "Do you like it?"

"It's... breathtaking."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Thanks for showing me your room."

"Anytime. At least one of us can still appreciate the beauty of this chaos."

My smile perishes at that. I wish I could return his sight. But that's impossible. All this talent feels wasted now... I know he can still create art but... not the way he used to. All these unfinished projects will likely never be complete.

Without much thought, I take a seat next to him on the bed and place my hand on his shoulder.

"It could be worse," he smiles to himself. "I could be losing my hands. At least a blind man can still paint."

"As can a handless man. He will just have to use his mouth and feet."

"Fair, fair. But can he play the concertina? The flute? The guitar?"

"That depends, does he happen to be a contortionist?" I laugh.

"Which side are you on?" He joins my laughter. "Do you want to know what's funny? The doctors say I'm losing my eyesight way slower than any other patient with my condition and I don't know if I should be happy about that or if the wait makes it more painful. Either way it's pretty funny..."

I don't see what's funny about it... I think making jokes is just his way of dealing with the pain...

"Recently, I realized something..." He says in a calm and quiet tone. "There are three types of people. The optimist who believes that life should be lived to its fullest. The realist who accepts that life is a meaningless awareness of existence. And the oblivious ones who don't think about either. I on the other hand find myself divided by them all. I am aware that my life is so tiny that it is invisible in the vast universe and that I only exist for less than a second compared to the age of our planet alone. But it is my life. And I get to exist for an entire lifetime, whether it lasts one second or a hundred years. I get to make meaningless mistakes, shed meaningless tears, fall in meaningless love, and influence the next generation, barely, only to be forgotten by the next. But isn't that the fun of it all? For an entire lifetime, for the absolute maximum duration of my perception, I can just be myself, enjoy the little time of existence I have, and not worry about anything that came before me or about whatever the hell comes after. This is me, this is my life, and I will live it knowing that every memory belongs to me alone... till the very end."

My heart is somersaulting. Every time I spend time with Pik my perception of life gets flipped upside down. He confuses and educates me all at the same time. I find a kind of comfort in his presence that I never found elsewhere. I feel like I don't have to hide. Not that I feel like I have to hide anything from Impa or Link but I do constantly worry about hurting them or making mistakes.

"Maybe you should be a philosophy professor," I say to Pik.

"Music is my passion," he smiles. His head tilts to look at me. His gray eyes still hold as much color as the day I met him. "I want to show you something." He lies down on his back. "Lie down with me."

Hesitantly, I lie down next to him. "Now what?"

His hand reaches for a little light switch. When he flips it, a bunch of small little dots light up on the ceiling.

"I installed my very own indoor night sky," he says proudly while my eyes relish the mesmerizing sight.

"That's so beautiful!" I say and turn my eyes away to look at him. A tear is rolling down the side of his temple.

"Isn't it?" He bravely holds his smile.

I sit up slightly and hold my body up by my elbow. "Pik..." Now I'm crying too... He doesn't deserve any of this. I'm scared that he will lose everything he once loved and eventually give up on life... I have to try to make him feel better. "Helen Keller once said the most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen, they must be felt with the heart."

"Quoting a blind author, now? I appreciate it but writers can't help but hide their pain in fabricated wisdom, and I bet if someone had given her the choice, she would have exchanged all her favorite belongings, even her own limbs, just to see."

"Sorry... I don't know what to say or to do to make this any better..." I sniffle.

His hand reaches up to my face and gently cups my cheek. "Don't cry."

"Why not?" I ask, wiping the tears.

"Because your eyes are meant for more than shedding tears."

"I can't help it. I feel so useless..."

"That's on me, not you."

"I just want to make you feel better..."

"You already are. If you can't see that, you're blinder than me." I let out a quiet sigh as his thumb brushes over my wet cheek. "You should go home now. I'll be okay. I promise."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I have people in my life I live for. People like you."

The greatest act of love... I place my hand on his and slowly remove it from my face, guilt settling in my stomach. I press my lips together, not sure what to say in response.

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I bring it up to look at the screen. It's Father. I decline the call and put my phone away again.

Pik sits up now, rubs his cheek and pushes his hair back. "You have to go."

"What?"

"He's calling you. I don't want him to worry."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Sure you can. I told you I'll be fine."

"I... I feel bad though."

"Why? You've done more than enough already."

"I should be doing more..."

"Hey... I don't know if you feel like you owe me anything but let me assure you, you don't. Just because I've been there for you or done things for you doesn't mean you have to return any favors. You don't have to feel bad about anything. Okay?"

"Okay..."

I scoot to the edge of the bed to get up. He follows me to the door, opens it for me, and doesn't say another word until I've stepped out into the dark hallway.

"Thanks for being there for me."

I give him a long hug in response. I can tell how much he needed this by the way his arms wrap around my back to pull me closer.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks," he whispers.

When our hug loosens and I slowly back away, he turns his head the other way until we have fully parted.

"What's up Pik," a male voice startled us! I throw my head around. Another student is standing in the dark, unlocking the door to his dorm room.

"Hey Augus," Pik nods at the guy.

His eyes land on me. "Aren't you dating that famous athlete guy?"

"Y-yes," I answer nervously.

"You sure?" His eyes dart back and forth between me and Pik.

"Mind your own business," Pik tells the guy casually.

"It's not like I care, just feel bad for the other guy," he shrugs and enters his room.

"No it's not like that!" I try to defend but he has already shut his door. "Great, another rumor in the making..."

"Don't worry, I'll text him and clear things up," Pik says in a calm and slightly amused tone.

"Thank you."

"No problem. But you better start getting used to rumors. You're dating a celebrity. Somebody will always be talking. You can't always prevent that."

"I know. I'm working on accepting that."

"You'll get the hang of it."

"Hopefully."

"Well, get home safe and enjoy the rest of your night."

"Thanks. You too," I say, knowing he probably won't.

I head back to the parking lot, guilt weighing on my shoulders. Why do I feel so uneasy now? I thought being there for Pik would be the right choice but somehow I feel like I did something wrong...

Once I get into my car, I bring up my phone to call Link.

———
Heyo! Hope you enjoyed Pik's POV :)

What or who would you live for?