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[shofics]

39 or 49 for the ask meme if you're keen! for a qpr zoscar? 👀

Thank you for the prompt !! I went a little less fluff and more action-y for this one, I hope it’s still to your liking

39. leaning into the other’s side

“That was too close,” Wilde hisses, grabbing Zolf by the forearm and pulling him out of the alley, walking as quickly as he can down the street without breaking into a full run. Two blocks from the dock, and they’re already attracting attention. Fantastic. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites back. “Ooh, whoa, hang on-“

“Did they get you?” Wilde asks hurriedly, bending down to catch Zolf as he stumbles.

“Not with the dagger, I- bloody hell.” Zolf blinks up at Wilde dazedly, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen you use a knife like that.”

“I did not come all this way to be killed by a mugger,” Wilde states, and continues pulling him along.

“You think it was just a mugger?”

“They were visibly tailing us since we disembarked and went for the pack with the food in it, not the documents. If they’re a spy, they’re a bad one, and if they’re infected, we’ve got bigger problems. From what I’ve heard it’s not spread this far yet, but who knows.”

“Think we’ll need to quarantine?”

“It can’t hurt, but we need a place to do it first. There’s a hostel not too far from here, Curie said we should be able to buy off the keeper for a night or two before heading to Okinoshima.” Zolf stumbles again, and Wilde catches him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

This time they stop properly, and Zolf closes his eyes and leans hard into Wilde’s side, holding his forehead and breathing heavily. “Oh, of course, you’ve just got minor head trauma from being punched in the face,” Wilde remarks drily. “How silly of me to ask. Could have sworn your skull was too thick for that. Here, hang on.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Wilde readjusts Zolf so that he’s leaning against him with an arm around Wilde’s waist, and Zolf, slightly stunned and his head pounding, simply lets him.

“Let’s go, come on.” They start off again, Zolf rocking unsteadily into his side.

“Didn’t know you knew how to do that,” he says vaguely.

“What, use a dagger? I’m a bard, not an idiot. I’m trained in hand-to-hand.” Wilde grimaces, and ducks them down a side street. “Admittedly it’s been a while, but I had to pass all kinds of tests to be a Meritocratic field agent. Really, you didn’t need to jump in front of me like that. They could have killed you.”

“No, the- the flippy thing. Thought you were just gonna stab ‘em.”

“I don’t really fancy leaving a trail of corpses,” Wilde says grimly. “No better way to ensure you’re followed. And I like this shirt, it’d be a pity to get blood on it.”

“It was cool.”

Wilde stops for half a second and looks down. Zolf is squinting slightly, just a little bit unfocused. “They really got you good, didn’t they?”

“It was. You did the- like-“ Zolf mimes- poorly- the complex disarming maneuver that Wilde had used on the would-be mugger. Wilde’s sure that if he wasn’t half-concussed, Zolf would have given a gruff thanks hidden in a comment about Wilde’s incredibly poor form and just left it at that, but as it is… Wilde almost starts laughing.

“If this is what it takes to get you to actually compliment me, Zolf, I’d have knocked you over the head long ago. Come on,” he guides Zolf gently back against his side and starts walking again, a hand on each shoulder, slowing down just a tad to make sure Zolf doesn’t trip. “We should have some healing potions left, take one when we get there.”

“Right-o,” Zolf says dreamily, clutching at the back of Wilde’s coat.

Right-o, thinks Wilde. Bloody hell, I’m really letting him grow on me.

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