#and flynn's just like. yes yuri my best friend. you have sounded like this the whole game. you are not a frankenstein of 2 voice actors | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

r0botarmsapts · 4 years

Text

Title: Ten Percent Rating: PG-13 Words: 2,900+ Cross-posting to Ao3, ff.net, dA and fanworks twitter. Disclaimer: I own the writing but not the characters or the game they’re from. Note: This is for Whumptober 2019. Prompt 28: Beaten, and Prompt 1: “Can you please come and get me?” from a hurt/comfort dialogue prompt list. Modern AU

Guilt gnawed on him hungrily then- what had his fight with Flynn even been about? Whatever it was was enough to give him a sinking pause to not bother the other man. Yuri had worried him enough already. Amidst the fog in his mind right now, the simple idea to text Flynn he was fine and then call Judith seemed to be the right one- at first, anyway.

His gaze shifted to the tied up plastic bag at the foot of the bed, containing the shirt he wore earlier; now ruined by blood and tears he doubted could so easily be fixed. Pinching part of the cloth gown being used for a make-shift shirt between his fingers, Yuri knew he would need another as there was no way he was wearing that out of the hospital. Judy wouldn’t have had anything he could use... it looked like avoiding Flynn tonight wasn’t happening.

The phone is on its last ten percent of power. It stopped holding charge like it was supposed to long ago, something he never got around to replacing, putting it off for the next day or forgetting about it altogether. Now, he thinks, he should have, because he has a choice to make and he has to make it soon. Staring at the typed out text there’s hesitance in sending it, even more when calling Flynn becomes an idea he doesn’t want to consider when sending a text alone would be enough of a pain.

‘Can you come get me?’

The question a request he knows the answer for already, rolling the words around in thought over and over, his mind partially clouded from the pain, that not helping matters. Flynn would come get him, and that knowledge made his already awful night worse. Yuri had already ruled out calling another of their friends since it would end up back to Flynn before morning one way or another. Yuri just wasn’t sure he was ready to face the other man so soon- not when his head was pounding, body aching, feeling every bruise, cut and exhaustion creeping in. It would be easy to nod off now; the thought of sleeping in his own bed and forgetting this night was both welcomed and tempting. It brought him back to his original problem- figuring out who exactly to call.

Nine percent.

It’s two forty-three in the morning, and Yuri briefly reconsiders Judith as an option. Yuri’s crashed on her couch more than once. She didn’t live too far away from where he and Flynn did....

This isn’t like you, Yuri. Where are you?

The sudden messages from Flynn give him pause, a quiet hmm the only thing he could say at the moment, noticing his phone didn’t make the familiar noise it was supposed to when he got a notification. Blaming the pain medication starting to run its course, Yuri realized too late it was because he muted the phone after leaving their place earlier. The sound of their front door slamming closed by his own doing was the most that would come to mind on trying to figure out why. A disagreement had occurred; the rest a blur until he got jumped.

Flinching, a sharp pain jolted through his skull, forcing a look of lour on him at the all too fresh memory. This wasn’t going to work now. Yuri decided he would have to deal with that after getting someone to pick him up. Backing out of the text conversation with Flynn, Yuri was surprised as he could be right now to find assorted missed calls and texts from Flynn, Estelle, Rita, Judith and Raven.

I know you and Flynn fought, but he’s really worried about you, and I am too.

Hey, I don’t know what you two are squabbling about, just quit being an idiot and let one of us know something.

Did you end up in trouble again?

Kid, let someone know something. Ya got a whole mess of people worried about ya right now.

Eight percent

Moving back to his text conversation with Flynn, Yuri typed out the question again, preparing to hit send and be ready for whatever Flynn had to say.

Seven percent

A gentle knock on the thick wooden door stole his immediate attention; Flynn’s message would have to wait a moment as an older, portly nurse let herself in. Her eyes were on the clipboard in her hands while she greeted him. “It looks like the doctor was in here not long ago, and your discharge papers will be ready in a few minutes.” She didn’t have to give him a critical look to know being released so soon after the injuries sustained was a bad idea. Some patients were stubborn, however, and sometimes there was little you could do. “Do you have someone to come get you?”

Yuri nodded, choosing to be released against doctors orders, knowing it would be easier on himself to be away from this place. “He’ll be here soon.” Something between a lie and the truth; it hit him then he was going to have call Flynn instead of just texting him. Well, his phone was almost out of charge anyway, so what Flynn would say would have to wait until they were face-to-face again.

It was the middle of the night, and she knew in and out how that pain medication affected most. “You should get some rest until your ride arrives. I’ll come back in a little while with your paperwork.” The nurse watched him give a slow nod, gray eyes far from fully awake. Nothing more needing to be done, she took her leave, closing the door carefully behind her knowing it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was back in here soon over this.

Six percent

Once she was gone, Yuri looked back to his phone, then backed out of their text conversation to go make the call. The phone was barely half-way through its second ring before it was answered, Flynn’s voice a mix of concerned, angry and a little bit relieved. A strange mix perfected for Yuri, something that in other circumstances he would be amused by.

“Yuri? Where are you? I know something happened.” What Yuri couldn’t see was that Flynn had been awake for a long while, getting ready to go looking his self after finding out Yuri was not with one of their other friends as usual when they had an argument get of hand like earlier’s had.

“Can you pick me up?” And then would come the part Yuri knew would make Flynn worry more than he had been already. “I’m at the hospital,” he added before the other man could ask.

“On my way. Yuri, what the hell happened?” Flynn asked, refraining from asking Yuri if he was alright because he did not sound like it, and being at the hospital this time of night answered that question.

“I’ll explain when you get here, phones almost dead.” There was truth in that, but Yuri was also far from ready to relive the nights events right now. The pain medication running its course, leaving him droggy- the thought of resting until Flynn got there seeming better and better.

“Fine, but I want the details.” Flynn knew Yuri well enough to know he would try and brush it off as whatever was wrong not being as bad as it actually was. It was getting close to three-thirty in the morning- whatever had happened would most likely be worse than what Yuri would try and tell him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Yuri was positive he could see Flynn’s expression right now; the one reserved for him whenever trouble happened, whether it was his fault or not. It was then he caught sight of the bag at the end of his bed with his likely too far gone piece of clothing and was reminded, “oh, bring a shirt.”

“...Yuri.”

Five percent

Hanging up with Flynn, Yuri knew he should let the others know he was fine(as far as they would know because he had already worried them enough as is). Staring at the phone, he blinked as the words started to blur and mesh together; okay, maybe trying to text right now wouldn’t be the best idea. He could just rest his eyes for a little while then do it after Flynn picked him up. There was also the chance one of them would try calling on getting the message- mainly Judy. Yuri knew trying to lie to her would end badly, so it was best to avoid it and give her an answer over text. Yuri was injured, yes, but he was alive, Flynn was coming and the medicine had made the pain no more than a dull ache for now- so, by all accounts, he was fine.

Shoving the almost dead phone in his pocket, Yuri leaned back on the bed, getting as comfortable as he could under the thin hospital blanket, already missing his own back home. If it hadn’t been for the medication Yuri doubted he would have been able to rest at all- the room being too cold for the standard thin blankets and sheets the hospital had.

The lights in the room had been dimmed down awhile ago, still, sleep did not come quickly as he would have liked. There was something missing, and even like this, he knew it was the familiar weight of Repede. That dog had a perfectly fine dog bed that was on the floor at the foot of their bed, but day in and out, Repede would curl up on the thing only to be on their bed come morning. Of all the things he could teach Repede, the dog never learned to keep off of theirs so it was eventually dropped as a lost cause; Yuri knowing it was because Repede knew he could get away with it- he was too soft for that dog, not that Flynn was any better.

In time that felt longer than it what really was, sleep came and with it the event from earlier in the night replaying itself.

Four percent

The sound of a door slamming shut behind him was heard while he walked away, not paying as much attention to directions, going wherever the wind went that night. It had been late, and going to Judith’s had been on his mind after their argument had escalated- the source of the fight continued to escape him, only being certain it was something he felt strongly against. Usually, they saw eye-to-eye on most things, so why this was different enough to get this far eluded him.

In a flash things changed, there now being a group of people with threatening looks, some with knives out, each of them ready to fight. Having grown up surviving the streets, Yuri was more annoyed than anything else right now. The dark haired man hadn’t left their home looking to fight, only to cool down and while this was annoying, Yuri also knew the dangers of multiple against one.

They wanted money he didn’t have, insults were exchanged and instead of leaving they saw it better to ‘teach him a lesson about mouthing off’. In a flurry of flashes, punches were thrown, reasoning was out the window for them- Yuri was certain they were just looking for an excuse to fight someone with mugging be a bonus to the group. They had all went in at once, two getting taken down, but Yuri managing to get caught in the chaos that was the ongoing battle.

Time slowed down considerably as he struggled to free himself, another of the grunts running his way with their knife out ready to strike. Yuri knew right now there should have been that all too familiar feeling of ‘oh, crap,’ with the adrenaline spike to join it- the opposite was happening, finding himself calmer than he should have been right now. It felt like he was being tugged away to somewhere else, like hands were running through his hair... The touch was warm, comforting.

The knife sliced his skin yet didn’t hurt. In his confusion, the world began to shift and change,with everything quietly fading away into a bright, blinding light.

Three percent

Coming around was slow; going back to sleep was the preferred choice. While things came back into focus, Yuri was left briefly lost at the unfamiliar ceiling before recalling he was in a hospital room. Memories of what led him there were dismissed as fast as they came; the pain was a reminder enough. Things finally coming into focus, it took a long moment, realizing he could still feel a hand on his head then fingers through his hair.

“Yuri.”

Yuri looked over hearing his name, seeing Flynn, who appeared unhappy and with an emotion showing he couldn’t place right now- Yuri just knew he didn’t like it. Hurt, was Flynn hurt, he wondered, with that look. An idea came to mind- one that seemed good right now, in the haze of his own pain medication working. “Tell them you’re an eight.”

Flynn knew it had to be the medicine affecting Yuri but was still caught off guard with that. He looked so serious too, which didn’t help matters right now. It was near four in the morning, then coming in to find out Yuri could have been killed...

“If you’re hurt, tell them you’re an eight.” Yuri made a gesture towards the wooden door, “they’ll give you something really good for that.” Unsure of how long his own would last, Yuri had considered telling one of the nurses he was an eight again too.

Yuri meant well, Flynn could see that well enough, but the pain he had couldn’t be helped by whatever it was they gave the dark haired man. Flynn pushed a shirt he brought into Yuri’s hands, “get changed, I’ll be right back.”

Looking to the shirt after seeing Flynn leave the room, even like this Yuri recognized the shirt as one of Flynn’s.

Two percent

Entering the room a short bit ago, Flynn had expected to find Yuri up and looking impatient; he never cared for hospitals, avoiding them as much as possible and Flynn couldn’t say he felt too differently. It had been more of a jarring sight than expected seeing Yuri so heavily bandaged, some blood still visible on him, and what he presumed was Yuri’s shirt in the plastic bag on the foot of the bed.

The other man had been sleeping, a look on his face he knew from when Yuri had nightmares. Guilt and anger ate at him a bit as he reached out to do the one thing that tended to work when this happened at home- gently placing a hand on Yuri’s head and combing through his long hair with his fingers. Thankfully it was working now as well. Within a short time, his look changed to a more peaceful one and Yuri began to come around once Flynn started calling his name.

With the condition he was in, Flynn knew Yuri couldn’t offer any real details to what happened right now, and the nurse could only say so much with what little she knew past his current injuries. It was late, and the doctor that had seen Yuri was gone for the night, not helping that he already signed the paper to be released against orders.

It had been enough time, Flynn figured Yuri would be done changing by now, and he could see the nurse on her way with his discharge paperwork and wheelchair to escort him to the drop off in front of the emergency room.

One percent

A bit later, once they were finally home, cleaned up, changed and in bed, Flynn noticed it was almost five-thirty in the morning and was glad to have made the decision for them both to sleep in today. On the way back home, Yuri had started messing with his phone, apparently remembering he needed to text the others to let them know he was fine. Flynn pointed out Yuri was far from it right now, to which Yuri responded by telling him he was over worrying. It wasn’t that bad, and after some sleep it would be okay.

Flynn had a feeling Yuri wouldn’t be sharing those same thoughts later on once his pain medication wore off. Later on Yuri would also learn the texts he sent weren’t anywhere near as sensible and coherent as he thought they were in the car ride back home. Judith was going to screenshot hers and hold onto it to not let him live it down so soon and for future use when he was being too hot-headed.

While in bed, Repede went ahead and got comfortable on theirs at the foot- Flynn didn’t bother telling him to go to his own. That was the one thing they hadn’t been able to teach Repede to do, and right now the blond doubted the dog would have listened. Repede had been antsy and worried since Yuri left without him, which was unusual enough. Yuri normally took their dog almost everywhere.

Flynn was careful how he held onto Yuri to avoid pain and waking him back up; their disagreement shelved for now. Still, he thought, placing a light kiss to Yuri’s temple, he was going to want details of what happened later. Someone had hurt Yuri, and he wanted to know who. That would be one conversation Yuri wasn’t getting out of.

Drifting to sleep himself, Flynn wondered how it seemed that Yuri and trouble were so closely intertwined.

Recharge battery.

#whumptober2019 #no.28 #fluri #flynn scifo #yuri lowell #tales of vesperia #vesperia #my writing #フレユリ

13 notes · View notes

somefinelipstickonthatpig · 5 years

Text

“The Wind Beneath His Wings,” A Tales of Vesperia fan fic

Flynn never really meant to tell Lady Estellise everything that he did. Hopefully, Yuri forgives him.

Set before the events of the game. Yuri/Flynn, Flynn & Estelle.

[Please leave a comment on AO3 or a review on fanfic dot net! ♥]

Flynn does not think of himself as secretive. He keeps his private life to himself, but just because he is not baring his heart to the world does not mean he is hiding it. Even still, he is surprised when Her Highness hooks into the little bit he lets slip.

They are on the balcony of her sitting room when he says it. His shift is technically over, but ever since meeting the young lady, he has found himself drawn to her. She is honest and true, and in that way she reminds him of a certain someone. So perhaps that is why he lets his guard down, as they are overlooking Zaphias, and he says:

“Yuri would hate this view.”

Yuri would be disgusted with it. Yuri would look out and only see the vast amount of wealth that the royal family hoards, would see it as symptomatic of a broken system. Yuri would be right, of course, but there is something more here. Yuri would overlook the way the rays of the sun hit the buildings just right at sunset, a celebration of nature’s beauty and mankind’s innovation. The way this view allows Lady Estellise to watch her people from afar.

Perhaps it is cruel to think that, given that Lady Estellise is not ever permitted to leave the castle. This is the only way she can watch them. She isn’t even given the opportunity to hold audience; that responsibility falls to Prince Ioder, but Flynn can’t help but think that the Princess would benefit from that far more.

It isn’t his place to speak such thoughts.

“Why?” Lady Estellise breaks him from his trance, and he blinks as he turns to face her. Her eyes are curious, inquisitive. She learned that from books, he thinks, but books can never answer her directly. She’s had to find the answer in further pages or in other books.

“Uh…” Flynn scratches his cheek and wonders how to explain Yuri’s point of view to someone he would probably hate. No, Yuri would only hate her position; if Yuri took the time to get to know Estellise, to know how kind and considerate and sincere, then he would probably be willing to lay his life on the line for her.

Knowing Yuri.

“He’s just a very pessimistic person, that’s all,” Flynn says, and hopes it’s enough to satisfy her.

It isn’t.

“So, who is he?” Lady Estellise demands, her gaze turning sharp and determined, her tone almost an accusation. Flynn nearly jumps out of his skin as he turns to look at the princess, realizing in that moment that he’s said too much, but he refuses to admit anything.

“Who is… who, my lady?” he asks, feigning ignorance. Clearly he does not feign it well enough, because Lady Estellise’s brows furrow. She looks betrayed, as if this lie truly hurts her, and guilt swoops in his gut.

“Yuri,” she replies. “You just said the name, Flynn. You can’t get out of this that easily.”

He lets out a sigh. Anyone else might have let it go, sensed that Flynn doesn’t wish to discuss it. But once Lady Estellise has her curiosity hooked, she doesn’t let go, ever. “Just… an old friend,” he hedges. Her eyes narrow at him. Oh, she can definitely tell he’s trying to slide out of this. “I don’t know how much he would be comfortable with me telling you. I grew up with him in the lower quarter.”

“Really?” There is something pleased in the Princess’s voice, her fingers curling around the railing on the balcony. Something almost mischievous. “You two grew up together? This pessimistic person of yours?”

Of mine? Flynn wonders, and immediately regrets it, because he feels the heat rise to his cheeks as soon as he does. “U-uh, my lady,” he begins, unsure of his footing. Yuri has certainly never been his. Though Flynn can’t help but think nothing would have changed if he had. “Yes. We… we did. We joined the Knights together, as well, but he has become disillusioned with the Empire.”

And that was putting it mildly. He sighs again. “We have always been very different, he and I. Never quite seen eye to eye. But… despite that, I think of him often.”

Not even Yuri knows just how often. Flynn has written letters and scrapped them more times than he can count. He’s up for promotion soon — it’s almost guaranteed that he will make Lieutenant within a few months — and at that point, he knows he won’t have time to write any letters at all.

Not that it matters much. Yuri almost never replies, unless it’s to scold Flynn (You don’t have to inform me of every sin you’ve committed or every time you’ve sold your soul to the Empire. We both know what you signed up for.) or to mock him (What, is the great Flynn Scifo, son of Finath, giving up so easily? You haven’t even changed anything yet).

Why does he keep writing him? Why does he keep trying? He doesn’t know.

The best letters he gets from Yuri are unprompted ones. Ones that tell him Yuri will be visiting, and at what time, and Flynn had better be there. Or else.

“In what ways?” Lady Estellise prods, and Flynn knows exactly what she’s getting at. He knows exactly what she’s asking for: she’s asking for all the details about Yuri that Flynn would be willing to give her.

And, rather without his consent, he gives everything to her.

He talks about how Yuri’s cynicism has always been in direct contrast with Flynn’s optimistic beliefs that the Empire must be changed from within. How it irritates Flynn and how he craves it at the same time. He and Yuri might have fundamental disagreements about what constitutes a moral action, which is most evident in how frequently Yuri is hauled to jail for obstructing tax collectors, but Flynn knows it is so easy to slip down the wrong path. He has seen plenty of his superiors do it before, believing their actions were righteous but were too willing to turn a blind eye to people in need. Yuri forces Flynn to see what he didn’t want to, and Flynn needs that, needs to see what’s broken so that he can find some way to fix it. Needs to stay grounded in the reality of why he became a Knight in the first place.

He talks about Yuri’s reckless tendency to jump in to help others. Yuri is sharp and intelligent, which probably feeds this urge of his, because if Yuri even gets a hint that someone is in need, he can’t keep his nose out of their business. Like he’s using his shrewdness for evil do-gooding, he says with a laugh, and he’s glad that Lady Estellise finds that equally hilarious. He tells her one anecdote about how, as teenagers, Yuri was prepared to tie Flynn to his bed when he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

They used to share everything from clothes to food to school supplies. After Flynn’s father died, they shared the room at the inn.

Flynn doesn’t tell Lady Estellise this part, but his mother struggled financially even with the stipend that the Empire gave her after her husband passed, and Flynn didn’t want to burden her. Sometimes he regrets moving out without asking her permission, but he remembers the look on her face as he gathered his things, saw the conflicted mess of emotions on her face, and knew he was bringing her some small relief. She wouldn’t have admitted it then, but after Flynn made it into the Knights, she wrote a letter to him, thanking him for his sacrifice.

Flynn’s never been sure about how he felt about that.

“You sound very close,” Lady Estellise says when he is done. Well, not done; he doesn’t know if he’d ever be truly done talking about Yuri. Yuri is constant. But night has fallen, the moon making its way high into the sky, and Flynn knows he should head back to the barracks and allow the Princess her rest.

“We are,” Flynn replies. Even when they have periods of time where they haven’t seen each other, the bond they have never falters or wanes. “I admire him a great deal. Just don’t tell him I said that. He has a big enough head as it is.”

Lady Estellise giggles, a pure sound, clear like a bell. “I don’t know if I’ll ever meet him,” she says, and then, before they can linger on the fact she is caged here like a bird, she continues: “Besides. You should tell him that yourself.”

Flynn pictures it, pictures the moment with perfect clarity. Yuri has snuck into his room again, without being spotted by a single guard, which is the most ridiculous thing in the world because he isn’t banned from visiting, but he sure can get in trouble for trespassing. But Yuri laughs, waves off the concern like he always does. Says something that plays into his bravado, about how he isn’t afraid of the guards or of jail. And they sit on Flynn’s bed, and Yuri recounts a tale of how he singlehandedly defeated a tax collector by tripping them into the river and didn’t get caught doing it, or something equally foolish and equally moral, and then Flynn’s heart gets stuck fluttering in his throat, his chest fills with something warm and wholesome, and he takes Yuri’s hand. Yuri’s startled, because they haven’t held hands since they were children. And he says those words.

And Flynn turns bright red.

“Mm-hmm,” Lady Estellise says, sounding all too satisfied and all too amused, and she pats Flynn’s shoulder. “One day, Flynn. I don’t know how a man like that couldn’t feel the same way for you.”

Flynn laughs, softly. “You don’t know Yuri,” he murmurs, almost exasperated. But at the same time, he clings to that little hope, the wind beneath his wings.

One day.

#hey i'm not dead. i rise from the writing grave like mushu #fluri #tov #vesperia #flynn scifo #yuri lowell #estellise sidos heurassein #mod eli #(do links even work in tags? idk. hopefully it shows up.)

53 notes · View notes

meimikana · 5 years

Text

My Tales of Vesperia fanfiction was written long ago (back in 2008), but seeing as how the fandom has had something of a revival thanks to the Definitive Edition, I might as well repost them for people’s enjoyment~

Overprotective: AO3 Fandom: Tales of Vesperia Pairing: N/A Rating: Teen Summary: Sometimes friendship is just something that has to be endured. (Post-Canon)

P.S. The fic is under the cut for people who don’t wanna go to AO3 for whatever reason. Cheers~

---

Even before he attempted to open his eyes, Yuri knew that things were off. For a start, his head was killing him. And on top of that, there was also the bed he was apparently laying on. His recollection was a little fuzzy thanks to the icepick of pure, undiluted agony that was trying to crack his skull open from the inside, but he was fairly certain that he'd been pretty far from any sort of bed when he'd last been conscious. Also, it was a really comfy bed. He usually couldn't afford this sort of thing. So what the hell had happened? And was he going to regret waking up?

Slowly, carefully, he cracked one eye open, and shut it an instant later, biting back an accompanying groan. He couldn't ever remember his head feeling this bad before. Hell, he didn't even think LeBlanc yelling into his ear for hours on end could make it hurt this much - not that he was keen on finding out. Just what the hell had happened?

"Yuri?"

Oh.

"Are you awake?"

Flynn.

Goddamnit. He remembered now. They'd been taking out one of the last remaining groups of Royal Guard. Stubborn bastards just didn't know when to quit. They still kept clinging to their "commandant's" ideals long after it'd been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Alexei'd been a Grade A lunatic. Yuri had tagged along with Flynn's knights for this particular operation. It was only fair since he'd been the one to figure out where those idiots were holed up anyway. Besides, he hadn't had a decent fight in awhile. That always made him antsy.

It'd gotten a little squirrely there at the end, but Yuri preferred it that way. It was so much more fun when things were hectic. And then Flynn had pulled his usual bullshit, pushing him out of the way of a strike he would have easily deflected without any outside interference. Yuri couldn't really remember anything after that, but with the way his head was pounding he could hazard a guess. He'd hit his head on something. Hard. Overprotective Flynn strikes again.

"You asshole," Yuri ground out as he levered himself up on the bed, gritting his teeth a moment later as his head decided to add a large dose of glorious nausea to the fray. Wonderful. Usually, whenever this happened he'd just bitch the idiot out and stalk off. There was only so much of Flynn's - well earned - guilt that he could take in one sitting, after all. Unfortunately, with the way he was feeling right now, Yuri doubted that there would be much stalking in the foreseeable future, and that was assuming he could manage walking at all. Frankly, he wasn't too sure about the merit of even trying at the moment. Ugh.

"I take it you feel like shit?"

Once he was certain that he wasn't going to puke just yet, Yuri opened his eyes to slits and glared across the room at his "best friend". Flynn, the jerk, was sitting over at his desk staring back at him with what amounted to contrite concern. Smart. He was out of range of strangulation, and a quick glance around Flynn's room produced no sharp or heavy objects within reach for him to chuck at the present bane of his existence. Damn it. "How'd you guess?" Yuri grumbled as he reached up and gingerly ran his fingers through his hair. There was a very distinct area of ow on the left side. That would most likely be where his head had connected with whatever had been in the way. Lovely.

"Ah well, you hit pretty hard and you've been out for a good long while," Flynn said sheepishly, giving Yuri a little apologetic smile before dropping his gaze down to the floor. His expression turned dark as he added, "I was starting to get a little worried."

Yuri grimaced. Oh god, here comes the guilt. Still, in this particular case, it was very much deserved. "This is entirely your fault, you realize?"

"I know. I'm sorry," Flynn at least had the presence of mind to look properly contrite, but Yuri knew damn well that he wasn't all that sorry about it. He was just sorry Yuri had gotten hurt - and definitely guilty as hell about his hand in that -, not because he had interfered again when it wasn't needed or wanted. God, why did he have to get stuck with such a mommy for a best friend? "I can't really help it. It's such an ingrained habit. Whenever I see you doing something stupid, I just have this automatic urge to save you from yourself."

"You're not winning yourself any favors here," Yuri said flatly as he leveled one of his patented glares of death at his friend. Flynn had the temerity to answer it with an outright grin. "I was doing just fine, thank you very much. In fact, I was enjoying myself until you had to butt in and nearly crack my skull open with your help." He cut his tirade short at the look that crossed Flynn's face thanks to that particular turn of phrase. "Oh god, don't tell me you did crack my skull open?"

"Not exactly." Flynn grimaced and fixed his gaze on a point somewhere over Yuri's head. "Hair line fracture. The good news is that the new mana formulas for healing are working out rather well. The bad news is that it's still gonna hurt like a bitch regardless."

Yuri would have rolled his eyes, but he just didn't feel like dealing with the repercussions. Trust Flynn to nearly kill him by simply pushing him out of the way of something he could have handled just fine on his own. Asshole. But that and their current location in Flynn's quarters in the castle did beg the question of what'd happened between then and now, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what had occurred. "Please tell me that you did not carry me the entire way back to the capitol." He made it more of a statement than a question, but he knew he was going to get an answer anyway, and one that he wouldn't like.

"Well, yes." Flynn sounded confused. Of course he would. "What else was I supposed to do?"

Yuri groaned and flopped back down, regretting it an instant later. Ow. He was never going to live this one down. Even if no one had really seen it - and of course they had, the Flynn Brigade had all been present for the operation -, then they would all eventually hear about it anyway because the knights just couldn't seem to keep their mouths shut where gossip was concerned. God, he could hear Tweedle A and Tweedle B mocking him about it already. Why couldn't Flynn have just let him die in peace or something? It would have been the humane thing to do.

"Here." Yuri blinked in surprise as gentle fingers grasped gently at his head. He hadn't heard Flynn get up. "Let me help with that." A moment later the touch turned cool and soothing, smoothing down the ragged edges of pain into something more bearable. "How's that?"

"Better," Yuri mumbled in relief, noting for the first time that Flynn wasn't wearing his armor. Must be pretty late then, he wouldn't have bothered climbing out of his tin suit if he were still on duty. "You're getting pretty handy with those new formulas."

"Well, you know how it is," Flynn muttered absently as he carefully ran his fingertips along the site of the wound, checking to make sure that it was healing up properly. "The commandant has to set a proper example for the rest of the knights. It wouldn't do for me to fall behind on the newly developed healing artes."

Yuri snorted. "Fine example you set what with nearly killing your best friend."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Flynn said breezily as he straightened up. "They all know how much of a stubborn ass you are. They probably think you deserved it."

"I hate you," Yuri groused.

Flynn chuckled in response before heading back over to his desk. "Love you too."

Yuri lay there comfortably in silence for a few minutes. His head definitely felt better after Flynn's little boost. It felt more like a rhinossus was dancing around inside his skull rather than an icepick relentlessly trying to stab its way out. It still hurt like a bitch, but there were degrees of bitches that he could deal with. He could definitely deal with this one. And while going back to sleep was a very, very tempting thought, he still had stuff to do. At the very least, he should let people know that he wasn't dead. "I should probably get going," he muttered dubiously after a moment's consideration. He really didn't fancy getting up, but some things just had to be endured - kinda like Flynn's cooking. Ugh. On second thought, it would be in his best interest to not think about stuff like that, or he really would end up puking.

"It's after midnight," Flynn said evenly, his tone brooking no arguments from the peanut gallery. "And I let everyone know that you haven't up and croaked on them. Everything's fine, nothing's going to fall apart in your brief absence, so just stay put for once."

Yuri rolled his head to the side and studied Flynn for moment, then sighed and closed his eyes. "Whatever." He couldn't see it, but he could easily imagine the triumphant little smirk his capitulation had produced. Jerk. Well, at least the bed was comfortable, and his head didn't really feel like it was up for much walking anyway. Still, there was one little thing that didn't quite fit. Sighing to himself, Yuri rolled his head back over and eyed Flynn skeptically before asking, "So where are you going to sleep?" He had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer to that.

Flynn stiffened at the question, then ducked his head down self-consciously. "Ah, well, I, uh, hadn't really thought that far ahead."

"It figures," Yuri grumbled irritably as he started scooting over. "You were planning to watch over me all night, weren't you? Idiot."

"Guilty as charged," Flynn chuckled goodnaturedly as he stood up and walked back over to the bed, taking the unspoken invitation for what it was. "In my defense, I was pretty worried for awhile there. You weren't waking up and that was a pretty bad knock you took," he added as he sat down and started to pull his boots off.

"You sure there are no chickens in your family's history?" Yuri asked conversationally as he held the blankets up, an amused grin plastered on his face. "You've got the mother hen act down pat and the hair definitely works in favor of that explanation too."

"Har har, very funny," Flynn muttered sarcastically as he lay down and draped the offered covers over himself. "Go to sleep, Mr. Comedian."

"Whatever you say, commandant." They both chuckled at that and shared matching grins before Yuri finally allowed his eyes to drift shut. He really was awfully tired and the pain wasn't helping with that any at all. Sleep probably was his best bet for the time being. Of course, there was still one last consideration to take care of. Not even bothering to open his eyes, Yuri reached up and grabbed the hand that had been reaching for his head. "Stop fretting."

"Fine fine. If that's how you want it," Flynn sighed, sounding very put upon as he lowered his hand back down to the bed. He didn't even try to shake it free from Yuri's grasp, but that wasn't exactly something he wanted to do anyway. "Goodnight, Yuri."

Yuri smiled softly in answer, loosening his grip on Flynn into something much more comfortable. "Goodnight, Flynn."

#Tales of Vesperia #ToV #fanfiction

6 notes · View notes

ice-cream-beat · 6 years

Text

[Vesperia fic] Grey Areas

summary: It’s the first time Flynn’s seen him come out of a confrontation looking worse than the other guy. [Yuri + Flynn, post-game.]

Ao3 version here

/ / / / /

“Guess I should be grateful they didn’t make a spectacle out of it, huh.” The lighthearted tone is, in itself, where the sarcasm lies. The words don’t reflect any pain or anger -- just cold indifference messily overlapped with disdain, but that’s the most dangerous mindset to come out of someone like Yuri Lowell.

Flynn knows it, at least. His frown manages to deepen even after being permanently set for the last few hours, but he doesn’t answer until he’s sat down on the edge of the bed and set the bucket of water on the floor between his feet. “Small mercies.”

Yuri grunts. The lack of a joke, or at least a jab, is telling. He’s sitting on the floor, elbows on the bed and fingers laced behind his head to hold his hair up. His bloody shirt has been tossed aside, stained more with his pride than anything else; peeling it away from his wounds was messy and clearly painful, but as he said, he refused to be a spectacle. More than likely, Flynn knew, he did so to keep anyone from worrying on his wobbly, assisted trek back to the inn.

The urge is there to reprimand him, to snap at him, to insist that he knows better and could have avoided this if he really wanted, but it’s a passing notion that Flynn easily smothers. Even though it would come from genuine concern on his end, Yuri’s been through enough wordy lectures today. Instead, Flynn just dips a rag in the bucket, wrings it out, and gives a brief word of warning before pressing it gently to the top of Yuri’s back, along the first of (too) many bloody lashes.

The muscles in his friend’s shoulders immediately tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. For a minute they sit in silence, until Flynn goes to wet the rag again.

“Really missing those healing artes right about now,” Yuri quips. It’s probably meant as a quip, anyway, but it mostly comes out as a grumble.

Flynn smiles grimly. “This is the easy part,” he reminds him. “Don’t fall apart on me just yet.” Yuri only snorts, but quietly enough that he doesn’t disturb his injuries. Another pause follows, but it’s a thoughtful one from Flynn. He already knows what Yuri will say, but he tries regardless: “I’m sure Lady Estellise would--”

“Forget it.”

“Yuri--”

“You’d really ask a lady to travel across the country just to patch up some idiot’s slap on the wrist? Tsk, Flynn, you’re gonna sully your good ‘Knight in Shining Armor’ name.”

Flynn doesn’t hide the exasperated scowl in his throat. “ ‘Slap on the wrist?’ At least you’re feeling well enough to act tough.”

“Could’ve been worse.” Yuri’s response is surprisingly serious, but his bangs hide his eyes at this height and Flynn can only guess at his expression. “The way I hear it, some people barely leave that chopping block alive.”

That gives Flynn pause. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard, either, but he can connect the dots in Yuri’s train of thought and he doesn’t like where it’s going. The urge to lecture rises again, but he reminds himself Later and after a moment settles for a flat, “...Guild life, huh.”

Yuri catches the undertone. He tilts his head just enough to look at Flynn proper. “Do something wrong, get caught, get punished? Sounds like life to me, yeah.”

Flynn succeeds in holding back a sigh, but it comes through in his tone regardless. “And since when do you take that lying down?”

“Since someone was quick enough to catch me.” Yuri shifts his weight slightly, wincing. “You know… I was thinking before that you sure picked a fine time to visit Dahngrest. But coincidences aren’t really how a Commandant works.”

“...No, they’re not.”

Yuri waits a few seconds for him to expand on that, but to no avail. He gives Flynn as much of a once-over as he can manage in his position, perhaps just now making better sense of his slightly-more-casual state of dress, particularly the lack of his distinguishing armor. He hums in absent amusement. “White knight, indeed.”

“Shut up.” By now the water has turned murky and the rag’s stained beyond repair. A few of the deeper gashes are still bleeding, but not terribly. Crossing the room, Flynn retrieves a pouch and glass bottle and then sits on the floor this time, directly behind Yuri. “So,” he wonders as he twists the cork to open the vodka, “are you going to tell me why you broke the rules and interfered with another guild?”

“You were at that little mockery of a trial, weren’t you?”

“Long enough to tell you were lying through your teeth.”

“Practicing my right to remain silent isn’t lying.”

This time Flynn does sigh, heavily, as he tilts the contents of the pouch carefully into the bottleneck. He’s still a little skeptical of this remedy, but it’s presumably the best local treatment for such wounds. “I know perfectly well that you’re stubborn to a fault--”

“Look who’s talking.”

“--but the only time you’re that quiet is when you’re hiding something.”

“Ha. Nice shot.”

“Who were you covering for, Yuri?” For a long moment the only sound is the quiet swish of liquid as Flynn swirls the bottle, making sure the herbs mix in well with the alcohol. “...Fine, forget who. But can I ask why?” Yuri still doesn’t answer.

Pulling the clean towel from his shoulder, Flynn doubles it over to douse it with the strong-smelling mixture. He moves onto one knee and braces his left arm across Yuri’s shoulders -- not to pin him, but to help absorb some of his movement. “This is going to hurt. Get ready.”

Yuri’s general disposition and high pain threshold are only partially helpful: he goes rigid when the towel’s applied to his back, his jaw setting tightly to strangle his shout into a snarl. Flynn waits for him to ride it out, and then gives him a couple minutes to recover before doing the same to the lower part of his torso.

“Y’know--” Yuri pants, his voice strained, “it’s not so bad -- when I think -- this is all just -- overdue. Kind of a… rite of passage.” Flynn spares him a puzzled glance, wondering if the pain’s really so bad that he’s actually delirious, but Yuri’s dropped his head forward onto the mattress. He chuckles darkly. “Heh… karma catching up to me, I guess… Finally…”

Flynn goes still. As much as he wants to rebuke that, he forces himself to stay silent, for now, and focus on the task at hand. Not until minutes later, after he’s carefully patted Yuri dry as well as he’s able and started wrapping him with bandages, does he speak.

“You know... if you weren’t already miserable, Yuri, I’d kick your ass.”

Yuri snickers skeptically from where he’s still facedown in the bed, but it’s a dead sound.

“It’s one thing if you took the fall for someone because you thought it was the right thing to do. But if you did this thinking you deserved it--” He stops before his voice can get too loud or too hot -- but Yuri says nothing during the pause, gives no indication that his guess is wrong or at least slightly off the mark, and that hurts in more ways than Flynn can count.

So even now, the reality of his past and actions still weigh on Yuri's mind. It's a bitter sort of relief; it's preferable to his feeling nothing at all, Flynn thinks -- total apathy would be the biggest cause for alarm, the most obvious warning that the Yuri he knows isn’t the Yuri he’s known -- but this isn’t good, either.

But then, it’s easy for Flynn to say that one feeling is better than another when he isn’t the one in bloody tatters, or the one bearing that guilt.

(At least, not that kind of guilt. As self-righteous as he figures it probably sounds, he does still carry the dark, what-if thoughts reminding him that he did nothing to help Yuri with that burden.)

His sigh is a gentle one this time. He lightly presses a fist against Yuri’s lower back, away from any risk of agitating a wound, in a gesture meant to ground his thoughts as well as emphasize his presence. “Yuri. The purpose of the law and its sentences isn’t to punish those who do wrong -- it’s to protect those who would suffer because of them. Punishments serve as a deterrent to selfish ways of thinking; they’re a warning to those who would harm others, and a way of changing or removing those who already have, in the best interest of the people at large. Justice is fair, not petty.”

Yuri still doesn’t respond, so Flynn goes on, “You know better than anyone that life isn’t black and white. But going out and looking for punishment over something you can’t change isn’t justice. It’s just trying to make yourself feel better.” His hand falls away and he climbs to his feet. “And it’s a pretty crappy way of doing it.” As tempted as he is to say more, he refrains. Yuri’s already a mess, probably inside as well as out, and there’s no need to pile it on too thick. For now, at least.

He gathers the used supplies and begins cleaning up the small mess. The silence lasts about half a minute.

“...Hey.”

He turns to see Yuri watching him -- still looking beat and exhausted and pretty pathetic, but at least he managed to turn his head. “Do me a favor,” he asks.

“What’s that?”

“I’m too tired to punch you properly, so please, kindly hit your face against my fist and save me the trouble.” When Flynn shoots him a skeptical look, Yuri rolls his face back into the mattress with a mumble. “I hate when you lecture. I especially hate it when you win arguments.”

Flynn’s smile is a wry one. “Someone has to keep your ego in check.”

“Funny.” After another long moment, Yuri looks at him again. “...Look, don’t go blowing this up into a bigger deal than it is. I had a reason for doing what I did. The karma thing… well, it crossed my mind at the time, but it wasn’t the only reason.”

“It shouldn’t be any rea--”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Yuri interrupts wearily. “I mean, just don’t get it in your head that I’m gonna make a habit out of this. Not enough skin on my back for that.”

Flynn grunts lightly. “As long as you’re aware.”

“Yes, sir.” Yuri’s sarcasm fades as he adds, “...Hey. Thanks, though.”

Now Flynn’s smile is genuine, although still teasing. “For the lecture?”

“Eh. Could’ve been shorter and more eloquent. But I appreciate the effort.”

Shaking his head, Flynn goes to sit down on the bed again. “Right--”

“Agh!”

Flynn’s on his feet again in a heartbeat. “Sorry! I didn’t--”

“Heh. You’re so easy.”

“Dammit, Yuri--”

#SURE DID FORGET TO POST THIS #been 5ever since i played tov but i love these dudes #best brotp #super rusty tho rip me #''post-game'' aka ''no artes'' aka my excuse for whump opportunities lbh #fanfic #tales of vesperia #flynn scifo #yuri lowell #cw blood #cw injury #mine

3 notes · View notes

bad0mens · 6 years

Text

Title: Pas de Deux II - Act II

Pairings: Fluri

Warnings: Unbeta’edness, Homophobic slurs

Authors’ Notes: Here’s the second part as promised!!

Disclaimer: Tales of Vesperia is the property of Namco Bandai.

Hockey never held an interest for him, but watching Flynn play was different. Flynn was sharp and fast, a powerhouse on the ice. He was passionate about playing. He loved the sport. There was nothing that he talked about more, and Yuri always did his best to listen. It was something Flynn cared about, and that was good enough to make Yuri care. But perhaps he cared too much. Flynn had asked him to come, and Yuri hadn't been able to turn him down. They had come all this way with Flynn's hopes still in the air, still on this dream of his.

He made it to every game he possibly could, just as Flynn made it to as many performances. And here Yuri was now, watching Flynn try out on foreign ice, in front of a slew of people neither of them knew. Yuri hadn't even bothered to be introduced. That was his choice. Flynn tried to insist, but it was better this way. Especially with the voices of several members of the Rhyards coming over the stands toward were Yuri sat, a few sections over.

"He's good. No doubt about that."

Yuri felt himself smile a little at that, but continued chatter was off putting and unnerving, even as he tried to ignore it.

"What about that guy he brought with him?"

"Long hair?"

"Yeah. Over there."

Those dumbasses didn't even realize that Yuri could hear them, and if they did, they didn't care.

"Could be a friend."

"Friend with benefits maybe. Come on, Long Hair walks like a fag."

The fire that crept up Yuri's throat was barely repressed. He had heard it all before, the slurs and swears, the rumors and the stereotypes. High school had come and gone and this was the real world and these people were still acting like gossipy teenagers like this was their business. They had to see past that, though. Flynn was too good a player for them to disregard him for something that he couldn't change. At least that's what Yuri thought. He also thought about what that could mean for Flynn. These players didn't sound nearly as tolerant as the Knights were, who had welcomed Flynn even after coming out, and who extended the term of family to Yuri also.

Yuri hunkered down and ignored as best he could further gossiping. But ignoring was hard to do when his brain was keyed into those words, listening for the slightest hint of what they might have thought of Flynn, what their judgment of him was, a judgment made because Yuri was here. If he hadn't come, they wouldn't have had to know. They would have never given Flynn being gay a second thought.

Further whispers passed between them, just loud enough for Yuri to hear. Stinging words and euphemisms, sick jokes and assumptions. All he could do now was focus on Flynn, showing off his talent on the ice before those who judged him for something that would never affect his playing. All he could do was focus and hope. Hope that he hadn't fucked this up for Flynn.

For an hour, they had Flynn take shots at goals and go head to head against members of the team. He held his own. Yuri hadn't been worried about that. The gossip from the others had eventually died down and he waited at the stadium's exit, well away from Flynn and the team for Flynn to finish his business. It was another ten minutes before he emerged from the locker room, wiping sweat from his brow, smiling.

"They were impressed." He was nearly glowing.

"They had every reason to be. You're a great player."

"Thanks for coming with me."

"So when will you know for sure?"

"A few days probably. Maybe a week."

Of course it wouldn't be long. Yuri hadn't thought that it could be that short of a time before he had a concrete answer. If the manager of the Slyvarant Rhyards was smart, he would sign Flynn as soon as possible, before another major league team came along to do the job. Once he was in the big leagues, teams were going to be fighting for him, and the team that debuted him, would get the recognition for it.

"Were you ready to go ahead and do your audition?"

Yuri had tried to forget about it, but the thought weighed in the back of his mind. He was going to have to get it over with. He figured that he was already well rehearsed on Hades from Persephone, so those steps would work well enough. It's not like he was actually going to try. He was just going through the motions to satisfy Flynn. After all, he was the one who set up the audition on the pretense of them moving here together. But a single night in the city had cemented what Yuri had been feeling all along: Slyvarant was not for him.

"Yeah. Let's go." He tried not to sound disinterested. There was no point raining on Flynn's parade now. He was the one with hope and promise here.

It was another hour in gridlocked traffic. That was something else he hated. Zaphias was bustling and busy in its own way, but this was too much.

The studio for Slyvarant Dance was in the art district of downtown. From the look of the outside, it was an renovated warehouse, scaled up and built upon to give it the air of distinction and class. The enormous glass windows gave them a clear view of the dancers within, all clad in dark purple and practicing tight and perfect maneuvers. This was a place where people who danced their whole lives, people who dedicated every fiber of their being to ballet, performed.

The knot in his throat was impossible to swallow as they entered and were greeted in the foyer by a tall, lithe man, lean of face and limb, whose form, although aged, still portrayed that of a dancer once at his peak. He gave Yuri a sideways glance, shifty and unimpressed over the gilded rim of his glasses, and Yuri knew instantly that this was a mistake.

"You must be Yuri Lowell."

"Yeah. That's me."

"Your, ahem, friend here told me much about you. We do have a interview before auditions. I trust that won't be an issue for someone of your apparent skill."

"Whatever." He wasn't trying to impress anyone.

"We'll conduct it during a tour if that is satisfactory."

"Fine by me."

They started down the hall leading out of the foyer, Flynn following behind him, passing by numerous rooms lined with mirrors and balance bars with perfectly poised and practiced dancers warming up or going over steps.

"Did you attend school?"

"Yes."

"Where?" It was the answer he wanted in the first place.

"The Governor's School. And then Kelvin College of Art."

The director nodded, but did not seem impressed. "Nearly all of our dancers have graduated top of class from Saint Yulia."

"That's great. Real impressive." He couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he had tried.

"How long have you been dancing?"

"Eight years."

"Are you currently with a troupe?"

"The Halure Dance Troupe in Zaphias."

"I see." There was an unpleasant sneer to his voice that made Yuri want to punch this guy. "What productions and roles have you participated in the last year?"

Next thing the director was likely to ask for was a pedigree. Yuri wasn't a show dog, but he had bite to back up his bark. Yuri began listing off his roles anyway, "Title role, Othello. Title role, Dracula. Title role, Romeo and Juliet. Zuniga, Carmen. Loys, Giselle. Title role, The Nutcracker. Odile, Swan Lake. And currently working on Hades for Persephone."

It was hard to him to deny that those were venerated roles that required a dancer of a certain caliber. Yuri waited for further questions on the subject, but only one more came.

"I think that's quite enough for the interview. Would you do us the honor of a dance?"

He turned and extended his hand into a room void of other dancers, save one. But that one was enough for Yuri, and more than enough to tense his limbs in rage. He had hoped that he would never have to see that smug face once he finished out his high school dance training.

Here was Alexander Cumore, still as arrogant as ever, finishing off a step that seemed difficult to most onlookers, but was, in fact, quite basic. He added his own little flair to make it seem different and special, but over extension and being too showy were big faults of his. Yuri didn't envy anyone who may have had the misfortune of dancing with him, whether the role be the lead or a background part. No doubt that in spite of not being the prima ballerina, he still acted like it. Tens of thousands of dollars of tuition to one of the best dance schools in the nation often inflated egos like that. Cumore's had been running away with him for years before that.

"Well, if it isn't Yuri Lowell. My, it has been a long time." The nasally strain of his voice grated on Yuri's ears. It hadn't been a long enough time from Yuri's point of view.

"Cumore." He did his best to loosen up. There was no way he was going to be able to dance confidently if he wasn't in the right frame of mind. "I wish it had been longer. I would have preferred never."

"Just like on the question of when you'll be a dancer worth all the time those instructors wasted on you?"

He heard Flynn let out a tiny gasp, the sharp inhale of breath that marked his surprise, but Yuri didn't let the insult get to him. He had endured much worse. Four years at the high school level had taught him how best to deal with Alexander Cumore. It wasn't about getting into this stupid elitist troupe. This was about proving Cumore wrong and Cumore was just as eager to do the same to him.

Yuri stretched on his step backward, drawing his arms across his torso to pop his shoulders. He took his bag from Flynn and replaced his sneakers with his slippers. He was going to do this and do it right. The main question now was what was he going to do?

There were many steps that he could use here. Basic, intermediate, advanced, and Cumore knew all of them as well. It was no secret as to which dance he would do. Nothing but the best and the biggest and the flashiest for Alexander Cumore. Siegfried's solo from act III of Swan Lake had always been one of Cumore's favorites.

"I will go first." Those words had barely passed those lips that were several shades too pink for that pale face and Cumore was at the center of the floor.

Leaps and entrechats and spins and fouettes. Yuri couldn't doubt that Cumore's training at St. Yulia hadn't been worth every penny. He was a good dancer, even a great dancer, no matter how hard it was to admit that. His downfall was completely in his arrogance. If he decided one day to take a leap too high, or perform too quickly, the resulting injury could -- well, Yuri didn't want to start thinking about that. It was too much liking hoping for it.

Cumore could have danced the solo blindfolded. He would have been a great dancer if he had ever gotten his head out of his ass. But his performance here was flawless, probably even better than usual because he had a grander goal in mind. He wasn't simply dancing. He was here to show Yuri up, to prove himself better, to prove that money and status bought talent. And in the eyes of these people, those things were the truth.

Even with his grandstanding and need to embellish the dance, Cumore finished quickly, and turned his crimson eyes at Yuri, watching and waiting for his move, for whatever dance he might display. By this time, the walls of the room were crowded with performers from other rooms, come to watch their male lead triumph and for him to fail.

He strode forward and took his start position. With a wave of his hand, he called to one of the line girls, who briefly panicked but came to him anyway. He needed a partner for this who wasn't going to distract him, and her unobtrusive presence would be perfect.

Carmen was far from his favorite of the classics, but he knew it well enough for the piece that he chose. From a technical standpoint, Jose's dance was one of his strongest. It had been months since he danced it, but that didn't mean he had forgotten the ebb and flow of the steps. He stood before the stunned line girl and waited, loosing his muscles, as the fire flooded his veins, a feeling that always rushed him when he was about to dance.

It hit him all at once, a crack of thunder that split the silence in his mind and pushed all the way to the very edges of his senses, throwing everything else back. In that moment, he was only a dancer and nothing else mattered. Not this city, not this audition, not Cumore.

Yuri was one with each movement, letting the music of the scene flow in his brain and lead his body in all the proper directions. The moody and sensual piece was much more contained than Siegfried, less leaps and entrachats, and much more about the quickening steps and pace around this false 'Carmen', the intimacy of the motions, the near misses of the touches. When he caught himself at the halfway point, flowing like fire toward Carmen and then away, begging, pleading, his lungs were burning for breath, but his body was in full awakening. Every sensation and sweep ran like a shower of sparks in his veins. A few steps more, a little more of Jose's dance of longing.

His spin ended on his knees before the trembling dancer, staring down at him with eyes wide, and behind her, trapped in the entrance way of the room was Flynn, a warm light in the sea of dark dancers that had pooled in to watch. Those blue eyes were so bright with admiration and Yuri felt his limbs go as cold and quiet as the grave, the rush leaving him like a drought. That look had inspired him before. And now it hurt.

Cumore was ready with a sneer to distract him.

"I expected Odile." Of course Cumore would have. It was the dance that got Yuri into school. "But your Jose was just as stiff and ugly. It was about time that someone clipped your wings."

That didn't hurt nearly as much as the look of shock that crossed Flynn's face next.

Almost as quickly, the director was there, looking down at Yuri, looking down on Yuri. He barely had a second to breathe between them.

"I'm afraid that someone of your... talents... would be best suited elsewhere."

Yuri didn't look back. There wasn't any piece of disappointment shredding up his insides. This was fine. He hadn't wanted to be here anyway, and he certainly didn't want to be in the same troupe as his old school rival, who still made his temper flare. He would never be good enough in eyes like those, no matter how hard he tried. He would never be worth anything.

The wet heat coming off the city pavement nearly choked him when he found himself suddenly outside. Fresh air wasn't as much of a relief as he hoped. He tore off his slippers and let his feet settle on the burning hot concrete. It did little to relieve the ache, but it was deeper than this, deeper than the twisting pain on his insides.

"Yuri--" Flynn was behind him, nudging him with the tips of his sneakers. Yuri couldn't face him. He took the shoes though, and blindly slipped them on. "Yuri, I--"

"Can we go back now?"

His own voice sounded like a tremble, like a whimper of defeat, like fear and panic and everything in between.

"Can we go back now?"

He hadn't said it a second time, but the ringing in his ears made it sound that way.

Yuri didn't mean to the hotel. He meant Zaphias. But Flynn couldn't have, and didn't, know that.

Yuri had hardly moved an inch once they returned to the hotel. He had been cold and quiet since his audition. Even the prospect of food hadn't moved him from the bed. He had every right to be upset. What had happened was unlike anything Flynn expected. He had been so hopeful and Yuri had done amazingly. Why hadn't they seen that? Why couldn't they see the passion that drove Yuri? That filled him up like fire when he danced, that made him beautiful and irresistible?

Flynn had witnessed Yuri perform Jose's dance for the third time. It wasn't the same as that first, when he was the the centerpiece of the pas de deux, unmoving as Yuri prostrated himself in that ardent display. The second time was colder, the steps all the same, but the fire of passion had dimmed. And this third time, when he caught a glimpse of Yuri's face while he did his passes around the girl, it was an emotionless mask of white. The steps were perfect, but Yuri was cold and stony.

Rather than try and get Yuri to agree to go out, Flynn had ordered room service. Maybe a little time alone would give Yuri a chance to calm down. This needn't be defeat.

Flynn pulled the desk chair up to the edge of the bed and leaned with his elbows into its softness. The quiet in the room stretching out between them was deafening and Flynn was so tired of feeling useless, or not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "We'll have better luck tomorrow. We'll find a better troupe. One that will have no problem recognizing your talent."

Yuri was silent and stone still, staring at the ceiling.

He reached across the satin comforter, rumpled from where Yuri lay, and took a gentle hold of Yuri's calf. He worked so hard and his feet probably ached.

"I thought your dance was wonderful." Maybe that didn't mean much coming from Flynn. Maybe the judgment of his peers was weighed much more heavily, but that didn't mean that what Flynn said was wrong or without merit. No doubt that Yuri was taking this as a personal failure, but that was wrong. He hadn't failed. It was Flynn who should have tried harder. Just because that troupe had been the most famous in Slyvarant didn't mean that it was right for Yuri. Any other troupe would have accepted him in a second.

Flynn let his hand trail down the length of Yuri's long legs and cupped his fingers over the consistently bruised and calloused toes at the end of it. They curled a little reflexively against his palm. A foot rub was one of the best non-sexual ways Flynn had of showing his appreciation of Yuri's body, even if the tides usually turned in a more sensual direction once he got started. Maybe Yuri just needed the distraction.

Pressing his thumb into the pad of Yuri's foot, he expected the usual groan and shudder, but the welcome he received was much colder this time.

Yuri pulled away and rolled over, curling up on his side.

"Yuri...."

"I'm tired."

Flynn quickly squashed the uneasiness filling up his stomach. Of course Yuri was tired. He had had a week of practice prior to the long drive here. Flynn had kept him up most of the night before, and they both rose early for auditions today. Although his dance had been short, he put his heart into each superb step and it had been trampled on those who believed themselves better. but it felt like something deeper than that.

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you up in time for dinner." Flynn came around the bed and kissed him on the temple, burying his nose in the darkness of Yuri's silken hair. "I love you."

There was no reply.

When Yuri was still not up to his usual level of energy by the next day, they cut their sightseeing short. Flynn found himself getting annoyed, but chalked it up every time to what Yuri must have deemed a personal failure and he let it go. He couldn't be upset at Yuri about that. They packed up and were back on the road home by early afternoon. There was so much more that Flynn wanted to see, but Yuri had a show forthcoming and rather than strain him, he let it be. With luck, they would soon have all the time they needed to explore the city more intimately.

The drive back to Zaphias seemed so long, the stretch of highway ending in a black dot against the horizon. He hadn't known that traveling could make him so weary, especially when Yuri wasn't being very active.

It was a lie to say that returning home to Zaphias wasn't something of a relief. He was glad to be out of the car, and Yuri seemed a little better for it as well. At least his appetite was back.

The kitchen of Flynn's apartment smelled perpetually of Yuri's cooking, warm and spicy, the air thick with it. Flynn was accustomed to it after all these months, but it still filled him with a longing and a fire that was hard to contain. He like to watch Yuri cook, whether it be from the counter beside him or dining table where he was usually relegated. So long as he didn't make himself a nuisance, he didn't get yelled at. Maybe he was being a little of one right now.

His fingers wound in the strings of Yuri's apron, tugging gently and threatening to pull the knot loose. His other hand crept up Yuri's back, kneading with the tips of his fingers the flesh there. The length of Yuri's pale neck beneath his lips was warm and feathered with the edges of his hair, drawn back in a ponytail. Yuri seemed impervious to Flynn's attempts, his attention squarely on the hot pan before him.

"I love you," Flynn groaned against Yuri's neck.

"If you want dinner, you'll back up."

"I love you."

"Get off of me." Yuri tried to shrug him off, but Flynn held firm.

He wanted to hear it, those three words that Yuri never uttered, three simple, earth shattering words, but he knew that Yuri wouldn't. It was foolish to hope, but Flynn did anyway.

Flynn had first said those words in front of a packed stadium, screaming it into the stands that so that Yuri could hear. He had made an effort to say it everyday since, but Yuri had never once responded that way Flynn wished he would. Was it too much to hope for? Too much to want to hear the words that expressed his feelings returned?

He wasn't sure why Yuri never said them, and Yuri being Yuri, never felt the need to offer up an explanation.

When Flynn wouldn't budge, Yuri slung the pan onto a different burner and turned in his arms. "Fine. We can skip dinner. I wasn't very hungry anyway."

Yuri's mouth latched onto Flynn's making further words impossible as they stumbled into the living room and Flynn fell back onto the sofa.

Yuri had no words. He had actions, strong and sweet and ravenous, motions of quivering flesh and sounds of fiery pleasure, but no words. He was strength and fire and radiance and savagery and Flynn wanted all of it. He wanted it, greedy for it, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried, there were places in Yuri he couldn't reach, even with all of his own strength. Those places were dark places where Yuri's own fire and radiance didn't even light, places Flynn would never see, never feel, never experience. But the tingling of them was still there, taunting and tantalizing him, but they were kept far, safely locked back by Yuri and Flynn had no key and no combination. Only Yuri could open that door and he wouldn't.

His body ached for Yuri's touch, for the feel of him, for tongue and teeth and so much more. Yuri always burned with the fire of passion, and unquenchable flame that drove him. The heat of those flames was too hot to bear, but Flynn couldn't let go.

Yuri slumped against him, thighs quaking, voicing fading out of the moan that saw him completed, fire wrapped in flesh there in Flynn's lap. He was shivering, shaking as ecstasy was leaving him, his arms sagging against Flynn's shoulders as he threaded his fingers across Flynn's scalp. Flynn could only sit there, sinking into the sofa beneath Yuri's weight, basking in the afterglow of Yuri's radiant flame, a heat that passed between their skins, a warmth that faded from his eyes but lingered in his lips and limbs as they covered Flynn. He nuzzled beneath Yuri's jaw, the warm thump of a calming heart beat against his cheek. Yuri was beautiful and Flynn was enraptured.

"I love you."

Almost as soon as those three words passed his lips, Yuri tensed, pulling back as if repulsed.

"Stop saying that." He was up, padding away toward the bedroom.

"Yuri." Flynn wretched himself from the softness of the couch to follow.

He was stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, pale fingers digging into the frame. He wasn't moving.

"What's the problem with you lately?" Flynn's tone wavered and rose. It wasn't just this incident wearing on him. Yuri had been sulking their whole trip to Slyvarant. Every time Flynn said those words, the three words that he longed to have returned, Yuri flinched like he was disgusted.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

"I'm not acting like anything!"

"Then what the hell is wrong?!" Flynn curled his fingers around Yuri's shoulder, whipping him around to look him in the eye.

Those eyes flashed like summer thunderheads and he pulled away.

"Yuri, I don't understand." He let his voice ease back down to his normal tone. He was only concerned and only wanted the truth. He wanted Yuri to be open and honest with him, to stop hiding, to let Flynn in. "Please."

"Leave me alone."

"Why can't you just say it?"

"Because words don't mean anything."

Why did that sting so much, so deep that it ached against Flynn's spine? Why did that door slamming in his face make him angry enough to rip it off its hinges? Why didn't Yuri see? Why didn't Yuri understand? And why didn't Flynn have the words?

The door that barred him out made it very clear that Yuri was in no mood to talk and Flynn was in no mood to deal with him. If he was going to be a temperamental child about this, if he was going to hold it all in and keep it to himself, then fine. He could. That didn't stop Flynn from punching the door and the sound of the shower starting up didn't stop Yuri from hearing it.

The bed was cold, but he curled up in it anyway. If Yuri wanted to talk, he would be here, but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

The spray of the icy cold shower didn't drown out Flynn's pounding on the door. Anger had turned his skin so hot that the thought it would melt right off, but the shower kept him whole, kept him from falling into pieces and washing down the drain. He wished that he could have. He'd have some escape rather than walking out that door and past Flynn, waiting for his explanation on the cause of their argument. Waiting for those words, those words that Flynn wanted and those words that Yuri couldn't say. He didn't have the ability and Flynn didn't understand. There was no way that he could. There was no way he could ever understand why those words were impossible for Yuri.

Hesitantly, Yuri cut the shower off, turning the knob so that the water slowed to a trickle. He listened for the slightest sound beyond the bathroom door, but there was nothing. He wasn't sure how long it had been, how long he had been hiding here, how long that he thought he could stay here. He didn't belong here. He never belonged here. He was a fool to think any differently.

It was silent in the apartment, a long, stark, black silence that filled every corner only abbreviated by the rustle of the shower curtain and his footsteps padding sopping wet across the linoleum. He paused at the door. There was still that inescapable silence.

Flynn was asleep in bed, snoring softly in a world far from here, a world where Yuri didn't belong, where Yuri would never belong.

He dressed. It was too oppressive here. He couldn't stay. He had stayed too long already. This was for the best. This was what was right. Flynn would have to understand. Yuri couldn't say those words. He never could.

There was only one thing left, one thing still binding him here, still giving him pass to enter this place, to be a part of Flynn's life, and it was in his hand. The cheap brass shone like gold in the single street light that filtered in the window. He knew its sharp edges intimately, its weight in his hand, the sound it made as it scraped through the lock that was its match. This was too heavy for him to bear. This was it, this was the end.

No matter how gently he set the key down on the nightstand, it still sounded like a thunderclap in his ears, a flooding swell that fill up his insides and stung at his eyes. He forced himself a step back, and then another. It was too late to turn back now.

"Good bye, Flynn."

#tales of bad0mens is a terrible writer #tales of vesperia #fluri #pas de deux

5 notes · View notes

genkidesurun · 7 years

Text

I’m bored and have no story (or curhatan) to share... so it’s time to duel answer some questionnaire! Actually, the original post [here] got more than ninety questions, but I’ll just pick the ones I’m interested in and alter some of them a bit.

1. If you had to be gay for a day, what celebrity would you most like to take on a date?

It’s arduous to project the kind of girl that’ll draw my attention. But since I have the hots for nerdy guys (with fast-paced speech, silly gesticulations, and, of course, glasses!) like John and Hank Green, I’ll probably go for girls with such similitudes. Hmmm... Emily Graslie, perhaps?

6. What are the top five most contrasting songs on your playlist?

When you have both metals and nasyeeds in your playlist... It’s like what Wali called ‘tomat’ (red--tobat maksiat). All those fucking and shitting and hell, to praising The Lord and acknowledging your penitence and baper-ing; repeating over and over and over and over...

8. If you could make just ONE change to this world, what would it be and why?

Erase the notion of witches (wow, I’m feeling like Madoka; ups, spoiler alert). Can I wish for immortality?

9. If you could wake up tomorrow and be fluent in three additional languages, which would you choose?

Quenya, Parseltongue, aaaaannddd SIMLISH, YEAH! Have you listened to Katy Perry’s Last Friday Night sung in gibberish--I mean--Simlish? You really should!

11. What are the top five movies to make you cry?

Hello Ghost

The Green Mile

Hachi: A Dog’s Tale

You’re the Apple of My Eye

Miracles in Cell No. 7

Yes, I’m such a crybaby. Hello Ghost and The Green Mile made me ugly the most.

12. What’s the scariest nightmare you’ve ever had? Describe it in detail.

Uh... overslept and missed exams. Good thing they were just dreams!

13. Would you rather raise 25 children or have the chance of ever having children taken away? Why?

WHY SHOULD I OPT FOR RAISING 25 CHILDREN?! AIN’T NOBODY HAD TIME (AND MONEY) FOR THAT.

17. If you had to lose one of the five senses, which would you choose and why?

Rather than senses, it’s probably better to discard emotions.

21. If your life was about to become like Cheaper by the Dozen and you were going to be saddled with twelve children, what would you name six girls and six boys?

Let’s say those children were orphans taken care by me. I’d happily give them the names of fictional characters! Before I familiarize you with my kids, let me introduce myself first: Karlisha “Kirun” Runa Niephaus, the caretaker and the custodian, along with Raine Virginia Sage and Damuron ‘Raven’ Schwann Oltorain.

(Boy) Vandesdelca ‘Van’ Musto Fende The big brother of Tear. As the result of his upbringing as an orphan at early age, as well as being the oldest in the orphanage, he became precocious, looking after his sister in their parents’ absence and willing to help the caretakers attending the other children while also struggling on his study. He was an amiable fellow and well-respected throughout the orphanage. Currently in the last year of senior-high and busy preparing himself for a law school.

(Girl) Mystearica ‘Tear’ Aura Fende Van’s baby sister who adored him dearly. She had grown into somewhat a wallflower; a shrinking violet. Although shy around people, Tear was a girl with a strong moral compass, never quivered to defend her friends from bullies. Like her brother, she had a beautiful, melodious voice that had brought her to become a choir member in both the town’s church, alongside Van, and her school. Currently a seventh-grader.

(Boy) Ffamran ‘Balthier’ mied Bunansa Both dashing and quick-witted, Balthier was the conspicious of all. His charm and eloquence could easily impress anyone he met, thus making him the most popular kid around. Albeit a bit self-centered at times, Balthier could show his altruitic side, especially when it came to his bestfriend’s affairs, Ramza. Currently a ninth-grader and a valuable player of his school’s basketball team.

(Boy) Ramza Lugria Beoulve A boy who survived from a wildfire that burned an entire village, including his parents, his beloved sister Alma, and his bestfriend Delita Heiral. His meek and tender disposition clicked perfectly with Balthier’s smug and jaunty manner, therefore creating a bridge of trust between them. Ramza had an eye for world history, spending most of his time in the library to read books and write essays. Currently a ninth-grader and established a close relationship with the history teacher Goffard Gaffgarion.

(Boy) Edgar Roni Figaro Sabin’s older twin brother who was an electronics hobbyist and a gamer. He was the technician around the house, repairing the appliances and, sometimes, modifying them. Knowing very well that he had insufficient funds to begin with, he befriended Cid Del Norte Marquez and worked at the latter’s workshop as a part-timer. Though a geek at heart, Edgar didn’t constrain himself as a mere geek; he was surprisingly flirtatious, but to no avail. Currently an eleventh-grader.

(Boy) Sabin Rene Figaro Edgar’s younger twin brother. Unlike his prudent and erudite twin, Sabin was quick-tempered and straightforward, and excelled at physical activities, particularly martial arts. Under the tutelage of his karate master Cyan Garamonde, Sabin achieved black-belt in a no-time and had won many tournaments. Of all their differences, he and his brother shared the same unflappable determination and ambitions. Currently an eleventh-grader.

(Girl) Estellise “Estelle” Sidos Heurassein Cute, courteous, and bright; Estelle clearly caught everyone’s attention, but still being humble as she looked up to Philia. She was one of those bibliophiles who could even recite various passages from heart. After the incident involving her two bestfriends, Yuri Lowell and Flynn Scifo, Estelle promised herself to become a splendid doctor, thus leading her to be studious, hoping to obtain a scholarship. Currently a tenth-grader, a model student, and a member of the science club.

(Girl) Margarita “Rita” Blastia Mordio A curious prodigy with an IQ of 160; however, lacked of social competence. She liked to correct people whose perceptivity was wrong, which inadvertently annoyed them unbeknownst to her. Rita was close to Raine’s little brother Genis due to their similar level of intelligence and close age, and to Estelle who always welcomed her presence. Currently a fifth-grader.

(Boy) Genis Kloitz Sage The genius younger brother of caretaker Raine whose brain power could disparage the grown-ups’. Even as a child, he could solve his sister’s undergraduate math problems and sometimes engaged in Edgar’s projects. Due to his superior intellect, he demonstrated repellent disposition and was cynical towards others, but would greatly respect everyone with the same intelligence as him. Currently a sixth-grader and had a crush on his P.E. teacher Presea Combatir.

(Girl) Rutee Atwight Katrea An upbeat, tomboyish lass with misunderstandable attitude. Having a firm moral sense yet being irascible at the same time, Rutee could easily pick a fight with anyone she deemed erroneous. Despite this shrewish demeanor, she was in fact solicitous and attentive towards her close relations. Due to the hapless circumstances, Rutee became eager to earn money, working as anything as her employer wanted her to be. Currently an eighth-grader.

(Girl) Philia Clemente Felice Like your everyday bespectacled girl, Philia was smart, genteel, and naive; pretty much a foil to Rutee. A devout Christian, she highly regarded her belief and attended the church every week. Through her science teacher Batista Diego, nature and chemical experiments had greatly interested her as she aimed to be a chemist in the future. Currently an eleventh-grader, a model student, and the chairwoman of the science club.

(Girl) Rydia Asura Mist The youngest and newest in the orphanage, being five years in age. She was rescued by the sailors Cecil Harvey and Kain Highwind from ship drowning, a disaster that killed her mother and developed her fear of waterbody. She loved animals dearly as she often visited the town’s farm and pet house with the company of one of the caretakers.

25. What’s the most frightening thing you’ve ever seen in your life?

Failures.

26. Name five books you think everyone should read and give a brief synopsis for each.

Too lazy for the synopsis. Just check them out on GoodReads:

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (by Agatha Christie) Lemme proudly present one of Christie’s masterpieces. I personally found this more exquisite than And Then There Were None.

A Short History of Nearly Everything (by Bill Bryson) I know Sagan’s Cosmos and Hawking’s The Brief History of Time are popular as hell, but hell... they were published in the 80′s (but still gold though, you really should check them out). We need newer ones and Bryson’s is certainly the best--for me, at least, at this time--in elaborating big history and the development of science.

Why Evolution Is True (by Jerry A. Coyne) A nifty allusion for Darwin’s The Origin of Species. No. Don’t protest. Dawkins probably produces more of this kind of books than Coyne does and, of course, is far more popular than any evolutionary biologists alive. Dawkins is a brilliant writer and all, but Coyne has the apt for making the theory easier to comprehend.

Little Women (by Louisa M. Alcott) Still the best bildungsroman. Ever.

Speaker for the Dead (by Orson S. Card) Sci-fi, philosopy, anthropology, politics, religion; all in one. Yes. I’m such a weirdo to enjoy the second book far more than the first one.

27. Do you believe one can fall out of love?

It’s a fact. Why bother asking anyway.

28. What are your three favourite sounding words?

Peculiar Don’t you think the word ‘peculiar’ has such a peculiar pronunciation?

Halcyon Archaic one, yes. So old-fashioned that Kirun--who fancies classics--is indulged by its subliminal beauty. Moreover, it was used as the title of a Bleach’s chapter: ‘Goodbye, Halcyon Days’. Aren’t ya romantic, Orihime?

Preposterous I like to shout out this word--in my solitude, of course--whenever expressing my disbelief.

31. List the seven deadly sins in order of the one you feel you commit the most to the one you feel you commit the least.

Pride, greed, wrath, envy, gluttony, sloth, then lust.

32. What’s your current desktop picture?

46. What’s your favourite ever television commercial?

youtube

49. What’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you?

“Kirun kan pacarnya aku.” -- by some girl

51. Name five facts that the vast majority of people won’t know about you.

I’m a girl (see? I knew you’d be surprised).

Clearly not a fujoshi. What? You guys don’t believe me? Fine then.

Though having [too] many guy friends, all of my bestfriends are girls; which are, of course, very few in numbers.

Yes, I’m very aware that I love Gaara so dearly, but I’m still normal too, you know, since I had crushes in real life. And they were boys. I know, I know, I’m so gay, right? Wait, what am I exacly; male of female?

Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a piiiipp who wishes to openly express my opinions and matters without worrying any prejudice nor distressing the ones I love.

54. Share five goals you want to complete in the next 30 days.

Sing Asterisk (of Orange Range’s) fluently. This one’s freaking hard.