Link wipes his mouth free of the excess blood, crimson smearing over the corner of his lips. His gaze is imploring as he stares at you, the painfully familiar claws of guilt squeezing at his heart.

You volunteered to be his blood supply, he knows, but he still feels horrible about it. What kind of friend is he for taking advantage of you like he is? Link is convinced you're doing it out of obligation, like you owe him something. You don't, so why do you still let him feed off of you?

The undertone of red fades from his eyes, and he nervously bites down on his lower lip. He's waiting for you to tell him that it's okay—that you're okay.