[ Yuri's emotions aren't under his control. He wants them to be, wants to play this cool, that being trapped for days on end, having his blood siphoned out of him, that that meant nothing to him. That he's fine, that he's strong and solid and that Flynn doesn't need to worry about him.
But then Flynn kisses him and it's all he can do not to grab onto him and never let go. Flynn makes him feel safe, and that scares him. It scares him to still want to be close to Flynn like this, like those years when he was on his own don't matter, like he's still a kid who wants to be with Flynn, always. Who wants to watch his back and have Flynn at his.
But when Flynn pulls back, Yuri doesn't hold on, even though he wants to. ]
Yeah, thanks.
[ He manages to say it, his voice thick, then makes himself step back into the bathroom.
With the door shut and the water on, warming up, he can drop to the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs. He's so tired, bone tired, and cold, frigid cold without Flynn and that blanket (that blanket that Flynn got for him, for his birthday, because he remembered even though Yuri doesn't think of it as being another year older, he can't. Not yet) and Flynn kissed him like that's still something they do and he doesn't know what it means but he likes it and wants to keep it for himself, selfish and needy when he should be strong and solid.
The air in the bathroom heats up, and eventually, Yuri manages to step into the shower, the jumpsuit still on and getting soaked until he unbuttons it and lets it drop down to his ankles. The water stings on the fragile skin Flynn knit up over his wounds, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care, and he stands there, letting the water rush over him, those awful, annoying emotions welling up in him, and at least he can cry in here because it's already wet. He isn't crying, his face is just burning and wet from the shower.
It takes a long time for him to feel up to washing his hair, but he has to. It's awful and tangled and it takes forever to sort out even with soap to help. At least it's a familiar task, working on it keeps his hands busy while his head fills with static.
He's home. He's safe. Flynn is here. Flynn is safe. Flynn still wants him.
His mind skipped around so much when he was lying there, prone, tied up, unable to do anything but think. He would think about Flynn, about kissing him, about what that might mean. He would think about their relationship, how it's changed, how much he regrets letting it shift, letting them drift apart. It's his fault. It's all his fault, and Flynn doesn't seem to care. Flynn still wants him, and that seems so improbable that it aches, it aches deep in his chest, and he's too afraid to ask, doesn't want to know the answer.
Goddess, he feels so weak. Afraid of talking, of asking a question. When did he get so pathetic?
The thoughts still float in his head when he finally shuts off the water far too long later and walks, zombie-like, out of the bathroom. His hair is dripping, and he knows he should dry off because the water just makes him colder, and he's shivering by the time he gets to their bedroom, his towel wrapped loosely around his hips. ]
no subject
But then Flynn kisses him and it's all he can do not to grab onto him and never let go. Flynn makes him feel safe, and that scares him. It scares him to still want to be close to Flynn like this, like those years when he was on his own don't matter, like he's still a kid who wants to be with Flynn, always. Who wants to watch his back and have Flynn at his.
But when Flynn pulls back, Yuri doesn't hold on, even though he wants to. ]
Yeah, thanks.
[ He manages to say it, his voice thick, then makes himself step back into the bathroom.
With the door shut and the water on, warming up, he can drop to the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs. He's so tired, bone tired, and cold, frigid cold without Flynn and that blanket (that blanket that Flynn got for him, for his birthday, because he remembered even though Yuri doesn't think of it as being another year older, he can't. Not yet) and Flynn kissed him like that's still something they do and he doesn't know what it means but he likes it and wants to keep it for himself, selfish and needy when he should be strong and solid.
The air in the bathroom heats up, and eventually, Yuri manages to step into the shower, the jumpsuit still on and getting soaked until he unbuttons it and lets it drop down to his ankles. The water stings on the fragile skin Flynn knit up over his wounds, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care, and he stands there, letting the water rush over him, those awful, annoying emotions welling up in him, and at least he can cry in here because it's already wet. He isn't crying, his face is just burning and wet from the shower.
It takes a long time for him to feel up to washing his hair, but he has to. It's awful and tangled and it takes forever to sort out even with soap to help. At least it's a familiar task, working on it keeps his hands busy while his head fills with static.
He's home. He's safe. Flynn is here. Flynn is safe. Flynn still wants him.
His mind skipped around so much when he was lying there, prone, tied up, unable to do anything but think. He would think about Flynn, about kissing him, about what that might mean. He would think about their relationship, how it's changed, how much he regrets letting it shift, letting them drift apart. It's his fault. It's all his fault, and Flynn doesn't seem to care. Flynn still wants him, and that seems so improbable that it aches, it aches deep in his chest, and he's too afraid to ask, doesn't want to know the answer.
Goddess, he feels so weak. Afraid of talking, of asking a question. When did he get so pathetic?
The thoughts still float in his head when he finally shuts off the water far too long later and walks, zombie-like, out of the bathroom. His hair is dripping, and he knows he should dry off because the water just makes him colder, and he's shivering by the time he gets to their bedroom, his towel wrapped loosely around his hips. ]