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Zolf can’t help but overhear the conversation between Azu, Hamid and Cel. It’s not that he’s actively trying to listen in but they’re his - his friends, for gods’ sake, and Azu looks agitated and he wonders if there’s anything important happening, if he needs to talk to someone or if they need urgent help or -
“Oh, I had a kiss,” Azu says, Hamid claps, Cel squeals, and Zolf… stills.
Ah.
So that’s how it is.
He tracks Azu’s general state. Flushed cheeks, grinning, excitement clear on her face, and Zolf wonders.
He wonders, not for the first time, if this is something he’ll ever learn to understand properly. It’s not that he wants to, personally. He might’ve, once upon a time. But you learn with time and experience that some things just… aren’t meant for you. Or maybe they could’ve been but certainly not in a world where trust and - and affection can get you killed when you don’t pay attention for a fraction of a second.
There was a point, back then when everything was still capital F Fine, when Wilde told him that there was something ethereal in the way affection could be used to play games with people.
“Don't you see, Mr Smith,” he’d said, smiling loftily with a streak of cleverness in his eyes. “People love to feel desired. Teach them that you’re capable of giving them the world and wrap them around your little finger and then, my dear, they’ll be singing like birds.”
Zolf had laughed, Wilde’s games incomprehensible to him. But then Zolf had found him on the brink of death with a knife stuck in his cheek and the world they both knew was suddenly gone faster than a candle in the wind.
“See something that you like?” A voice pipes up next to him, the shadow of a familiar body falling over him like a winter cloak. “I’ve always known that you were quite adept at staring but this intensity is something else.”
Dickhead. “I think Azu has made some progress with Kiko,” Zolf replies, simply. He doesn’t need to face him to feel the rise of Wilde’s eyebrows.
“And that’s what made you this sullen? My, you might be further gone than I’d assumed.” Wilde’s tone is casual, too, and Zolf licks his lips. He’s used to Wilde faking non-chalance, skirting around a topic so that Zolf can choose to stay away from it. Survival strategies, the result of staying too long in one place with the same people and fearing that one day they might try to kill you.
But it feels different this time. The silence between them feels tense, in a way that it - that it rarely has, if he thinks about it. Certainly not after everything.
Bloody Northern Wastes and their bloody wild magic.
“Don’t be daft,” he chastises, guarded. “‘s good. ‘s good for Azu. I think she - she deserves nice things.”
In the few weeks he’s known her and been a witness to her work as a Paladin of Aphrodite, she’s done more good work than he’d ever managed as a cleric of Poseidon. A true poster child of the gods.
Azu feels worthy, in a way Zolf never has.
He doesn’t say all that out loud. But he doesn’t need to. It might be his cadence, it might be the way he hesitated when he said Azu deserved it but Wilde, that bastard, hears every single emotion that swings in his tone anyway.
Zolf can practically feel his intake of breath, he knows what’s going to come out and that’s when he realises that he doesn’t want to talk about any of it. He really, really, doesn’t.
“Oi, shut it.” He cuts Wilde off before he can even get a word out and sees him close his mouth in what is reminiscent of a duped goldfish. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t wanna hear it.”
Wilde stares on, silent.
“Didn’t know that becoming a cleric of hope granted you any kind of clairvoyance.” Wilde sounds slightly peevish. “I just think that you -”
“Oi, I said shut it,” Zolf interrupts without hesitation. “I know that you wanted to say somethin’ along the lines of,” he raises his voice in a perfect imitation, “‘oh, Zolf, I think we all deserve it, don’t you think?’ or somethin’ else that is equally ridiculous.” He takes a deep breath. “I guess you think it’s funny or whatever, because it’s - it’s a, whatsit, a double entendre or whatever you call it.. But you know me, and I know you, and I know you ‘aven’t done anythin’ ever since Carter tried gettin’ it on with you and I know that you know that I ‘aven’t, ever since - ever since we’ve been together and before, well, that’s pointless anyway, right, and I -”
“Zolf,” Wilde interrupts mildly and Zolf stops. And breathes.
Too much. It’s just… too much.
“I’m - sorry.” He inhales. Exhales. Closes his eyes. “Touchy subject.”
“I gathered.” Wilde sighs. “And also, please, for the love of gods, I know that your French is passable but that was a seriously butchered attempt at pronouncing double entendre. And I should know.”
Zolf smiles weakly, eyes still closed. He can feel the wind stroking his cheek, a feeling not dissimilar to being out on the open sea.
“‘s just. Sometimes I get reminded. That I don’t - that I don’t do… that.” His mouth works sluggishly, he’s chewing on his own words. “And I know that it doesn’t matter, not really, but sometimes it - does. I guess.”
He opens his eyes again and spares a glance at Wilde who is frowning, brows furrowed. Zolf lets out a heavy breath.
“I s’pose you never had to deal with… that.”
Wilde raises his eyebrows. “Are you calling me easy, Mr Smith?” He poses the question with a playful edge to his voice.
Zolf chuckles a bit, still tense.
“No, I’m saying that I’m… hard?” He winces. By the gods. “Can we just - look, can we just not do that?”
“I assume you mean continuing our current conversation, yes?”
Zolf simply stares. Wilde smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay, Zolf. I understand.”
“Good. ‘s… good.”
They continue to stand there, watching Azu blush and talk with Hamid and Cel, and Zolf wants to leave but he also doesn’t. It’s been a while since they were all able to just - exist. And he knows that he has to go, he needs to talk to Captain Earhart about those giant corpses and what they’re gonna do about them but right now it feels nice to stand here, with Wilde, and just enjoy the freedom of being up in the air, a warm body by his side.
“Zolf,” Wilde starts and Zolf automatically turns to him. “You know that after what’s happened, my own views on what can be considered… well, let’s call them personal relationships have changed.” He absentmindedly starts touching the scar on his cheek. “I certainly wouldn’t do now what I tried to do with Bertie, back then.”
Zolf snorts. “Eh. I sure hope so.”
Wilde gives him a tired smile. “I just want to say that I know how feelings and opinions on such matters can change. And that’s not to say that I think yours should. We’re all different and even though it does complicate my planning sometimes, it’s good that we are.”
Zolf starts rolling his eyes but he can sense a rare hesitation in Wilde.
“What you said back then,” Wilde starts again, and this time, Zolf lets him speak. “That Azu deserved it. That’s a very utilitarian way to see it, don’t you think?”
Zolf can’t help but laugh.
“Oh, as if you’re one to talk, Mr former meritocratic agent and international spy Oscar Wilde.”
Wilde actually chuckles at that. “Fair enough.”
He leans over the ship’s railing and his eyes become the kind of glassy that Zolf has grown to hate. It might’ve taken an apocalypse but he has to admit that it intrigues and infuriates him, this Wilde that waits before he speaks and keeps his innermost thoughts locked in a place no one can reach.
But then again, people going to where he can’t follow has rarely turned out to be a good thing.
When Wilde starts talking again it’s uncharacteristically subdued. “I just don’t want you to think that it’s about deserving or earning it, or simply, you know, a reward. And I know that it’s grating to be reminded that you might be different in any way, but don’t let that difference get to you. And yes that’s easier said than done but -” He hesitates again. “You’re a good person, Zolf. Keep that in mind for me, would you?”
Zolf remains quiet at that. There’s not much he can say to something he so fundamentally disagrees with. But there’s a sudden warmth in his chest, coursing through his whole body, and he can feel his face heating up, and it’s - he’s -
Zolf stares at Wilde, unblinking, his thoughts swirling too fast for him to understand what’s going on.
Wilde, on the other hand, sighs and turns his gaze away from him, back to where Azu is beaming at their friends, cheeks still red and flustered.
“But still, don’t you think that it could be… nice?”
There’s a familiar grin on Wilde’s lips. The wind picks up slightly, playing with the loose strands of Wilde’s hair and for a second Zolf thinks, yeah, yeah it could be nice. But the thought is gone before he can hold onto it.