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“Thancred, it’s time for you to go—”
“And leave you behind? Nyrick, that is not happening!”
Gods, there really is no time for this right now.
Frustration and panic begin to mix in the forefront of Nyrick’s addled brain. Adrenaline still courses through his veins, albeit bleeding out little by little with each passing moment he can’t just get Thancred to safety. Blood snakes its way between the gaps of his armor-clad fingers, clamped down with a vice grip. His bicep is left naked, unwillingly torn away of its armor. Profound lacerations are all that’s left to decorate his upper arm. That, and what is quickly drying around the pressure his hand holds.
“Ny, your arm…”
“Now isn’t the time. You need to leave, like, NOW.”
Thancred furiously shakes his head, patience burning away with panic. “How do you honestly expect me to do that when you’re down an arm?! Are you daft? I’m going to stay and help your sorry ass and we’re both going to get out of here alive or so help me—”
A tattered, blood-soaked hand reaches out to grab the Hyur by the collar and mashes their lips together. The kiss isn’t romantic, nor does it pour out months upon months of pining or hidden feelings. It’s hurried, and Nyrick’s lips press urgently to the others as the grains of sand begin to siphon through what little time they have left in the cover of shadows. He needs to get Thancred as far away from here as he can.
They’re running out of time.
Nyrick gently knocks their foreheads together, and selfishly takes one more small moment for the two of them. Thancred is left with a tiny gasp (‘Is it from shock or the lack of being able to breathe in this godsforsaken hellfire?’). They have no time to talk of the kiss or its implications. Right now isn’t about them. To Nyrick, it's about Thancred’s safety. The esteemed Warrior of Light can surely handle the coming waves of wrath and (probably) live to tell the tale. However, if he lives he best have someone worth coming back to.
“Do you trust me?”
“Nyrick, don’t do this—”
“Do you trust me?”