[ Finally, after he doesn't know how many days, Yuri is free of that awful place. He and Kaeya found a way out, made a sacrifice, and that was the last he saw of his friend. He has faith, though, that he got out, too. There's no reason Yuri would be here and Kaeya wouldn't.
He's exhausted, wrung out, the adrenalin leeching out of him as he slumps, shivering and exhausted, against a wall. He's somewhere in Trench. He has no idea where. He's still in the jumpsuit he'd been put in, the front still open down to his navel, but he doesn't have the energy to do it up at all, not even for warmth.
He needs to get home. Home to see if Flynn is there, to make sure that Flynn got out, somehow. That he's not still stuck in that awful place.
Warmth blossoms in his chest and Smokey appears out of smoke with a loud caw, stretching his arms and growing bigger, bigger until he can land in front of Yuri and Yuri can scramble onto his back. It's weird, him being so big, but he isn't going to question it now.
It takes what strength he has left to hold on, his arms locked around Smokey's neck, as the giant kestrel takes off into the frigid night air.
He's nearly frozen by the time they touch down in the front yard of their little cottage. Smokey caws again, softer now, to tell him to let go, and he does, but his arms are stiff and tired. He staggers a little, and Smokey noses under him to keep him up, and he wonders vaguely if this is how Blue feels all the time as he shuffles slowly to the front door.
It's locked. Of course it is. Flynn always locked the door (Flynn is probably here, probably okay, unless Blue learned too many of his habits). Letting out a sigh, he reaches up as best he can and knocks. ]
For the last three days Flynn has been anything but: he has been in the woods running himself to the bone, hunting for a Tower that is nowhere, looking for zealots to give him answers none of them want to give. He's been in the archives at the School of Mutter learning anything he can about that awful place, he's been hunting down the flying moon to hold her accountable for her failure to pull Yuri too, he's been trying not to think about a horrible, endless cycle of rebirth and draining and death.
He has been trying to find Yuri with the same single-minded dedication that drove him onto the sea for nearly a week, searching for pale limbs and long dark hair, even just a body to know what happened.
It's only thanks to Blue that he's home at all: Blue has been an anchor, a reminder that there's a home for Flynn to come to, that they have to be here in case Yuri is pulled from that place like Flynn was.
He was out in the woods today, searching among mushrooms and early snow for one of the zealots to take him to the tower with sword in hand and mended armor heavy and comforting.
All he found was mushrooms, and by the time early night fell crisp and clear, Flynn was full of a bone-deep exhaustion he pushed through all the same, kept searching until he was dead on his feet and stumbling over clumps of dead bracken. Daisy had practically forced him home, practical thing, pushing at his back to get him to leave while Flynn had, in a moment of weakness, pleaded quietly with the bright moon to bring Yuri back.
He wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't get one: it was only him and Daisy and the quiet, disappearing puff of his own breath.
At least at home there are books that he'd taken from the school: books on the Tower-the-Pthumerian and books on that awful tower and the zealots who keep the blood flowing to it. This is a known thing, and Flynn hates it, knows Yuri will hate it. He is exhausted, but he keeps reading by candlelight and the flickering fire (the lunar orb makes him think of the moon and his own failure, and so he stashed that in the kitchen).
He isn't expecting the knock, either, but Daisy's head jerks up from her curled place by the fire, and so Flynn scrambles to his feet with his heart in his throat and practically throws himself at the front door, pulling open the latches with numb fingers and throwing it open to find— ]
Yuri!
[ Pale as death, still in that jumpsuit, with blood smeared on him and his hair hanging limp, looking like he's about to fall over except for Smokey, too-large and holding him up like a feathered cane.
Flynn moves without thinking, reason overtaking worry, to slide an arm under Yuri's shoulders, pull him off Smokey and into the door toward the fire. ]
[ Oh, good. Flynn is here. He's here and alive and he looks like shit, but that doesn't matter.
He pulls Yuri away from Smokey, and he falls heavily onto Flynn and, for once, he doesn't feel like he needs to stand on his own feet. Instead, he feels grateful that Flynn is here, that Flynn wants to take on some of his weight, that Flynn is here. It's an intense gratitude, and he remembers that one last kiss before Flynn cast that spell like an idiot, and he hoped, in moments of weakness, tied to that table, that it wouldn't be the last one.
He'd grown too used to those kisses in the last month. It was weakness, something that he wants, that he can have, that he shouldn't need but he does. He needs Flynn desperately and when Flynn helps him sit down onto the couch, he doesn't quite let go of him, keeping hold of Flynn's wrist. ]
Hey, Flynn.
[ He manages a smile, soft and easy because Flynn is alive, and he's with him again, and it's over. It's over and they got out and he can think about what to do next-- in the morning. ]
[ And food, and medical attention and to have the blood cleaned off—Flynn's voice is a numb thing, shaking only because the force of his feeling is too great to do anything but ride like a horse gone off-trail.
But he stops as soon as Yuri tugs on him a little, turns back to face him, taking in the details of his sleepless face and tired eyes and familiar mouth—
Oh, Goddess, Flynn was so worried, he doesn't know what to do with the relief shining sharply through him. It tingles in his fingers, draws him helplessly toward Yuri with his throat tight. ]
[ Yuri looks up at him, taking in the lines of Flynn's face, the way he looks helpless under Yuri's hold on him. He tugs Flynn a little closer. ]
I'm glad you're okay.
[ Because he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all. Flynn was there, and then he was gone, and Yuri could hope that he got out, but what if he was taken somewhere worse? What if in his moment of weakness, he was taken to some worse place in that tower? ]
[ Flynn's voice does crack, this time, the careful shell of tasks and business he constructs to keep himself from falling apart made into nothing by the softness in Yuri's voice. He lets himself be tugged and then sort of half-falls onto the couch and his knees all at once. ]
[ It's strange, wanting someone to be this close. He never does, usually, doesn't want people in his space, but he doesn't mind so much when it's Flynn. He's tired, deliriously so, and he can't stop smiling at Flynn and the last few days were horrible, near-death experience after near-death experience but finding that you're alive on the other side? There's nothing more exhilarating.
Flynn pulled him in for a kiss right before he made a stupid move. Maybe Yuri's just following suit, grabbing onto Flynn's shirt and pulling him in for a messy kiss because they're both alive, he made it, Flynn's okay. ]
[ Kissing Yuri is a stupid idea right now. He's a mess, covered in blood and pale and so, so cold, but Flynn can't make himself pull away, because he's a living blood-covered frozen mess, and that's—
Flynn wasn't so sure he would be.
He held out stubborn hope like he always does, cut off thoughts about Yuri's death at the knees and made himself push through because he doesn't know how to do anything else and because giving up meant giving up on Yuri and he'll never do that.
Nobody tells you how painful hope is: how it clutches at your chest with old familiar fingers, worming its way between your ribs until you can't think about anything else. Hope is kind of a desperate thing.
But Yuri's here and alive and he tastes like old blood but Flynn kisses him anyway, making a rough sound as he lodges his knee into the cushions of the couch to keep himself upright and pulls Yuri as close as he can get him like he can banish that cold himself. ]
[ He can't keep the kiss up for long, exhaustion sweeping him again now that he's home, he's safe, Flynn is okay. He laughs quietly, falling back onto the couch and looking up at Flynn ]
Sorry, that I worried you. Did you, did you get out? When you left?
[ The thought hadn't even occurred to him: that Yuri wouldn't know what had happened, that he would be in there suffering and wondering where Flynn had gone. It makes the last few days all the worse, and Flynn makes a tiny sound in his throat, letting himself crowd in close for a moment just to feel the solidness of Yuri, alive. ]
I was pulled free by one of the gods here and dropped in our yard for no reason. If I'd known—
[ Yuri cuts him off, not wanting to hear that Flynn would have stayed. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want Flynn to have to go through that. Him going through it was enough. If he could do it so Flynn doesn't have to, good.
He holds Flynn closer, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar, so comforting. He must smell like shit, but Flynn is still here, holding onto him like this ]
[ Flynn mutters, mostly under his breath as he pushes his nose into the side of Yuri's head for a moment. It's indulgent, and all his senses are railing at him to get up, clean Yuri up, get him food and water and a bath, but—
But Flynn is weaker than anyone thinks he is, and he can't make himself move for the relief washing coldly through him. ]
[ Yuri laughs on a breath and sinks back into the couch, pulling Flynn with him.
He feels it too, that relief. He's so glad Flynn is okay, that they're back together again, glad he made it out of there, glad he was the one in there and not Flynn, glad that Flynn still wants to hold him, still wants to be close. Feeling swirls in his gut, in his chest, his mind hazy and exhausted, his body weak and shaky, but Flynn is warm and close and he loves Flynn so fucking much. He loves him more than he loves anything else, more than he loves himself (a lot more), more than he loves his guild or his sword or his friends. He would die for Flynn, he would die without him, he spent too long thinking about him when he was tied up, his blood being forcibly taken from him, his strength ebbing out of him.
Thinking about Flynn, about the fact that he got to have Flynn, got to have him close, got to spend time with him in a way they haven't since they were kids. Thinking about talking with him late into the night, thinking about Flynn's body against his, warm and solid and Flynn wanted him to be there, wanted to kiss him.
His fingers press into Flynn's hair and his voice is thick when he says: ]
[ I need you to be okay, he says, in a voice like he's confessing something. Simple words that carry so much more than their bare meaning, packed in with feeling and emotion and weight that settles on Flynn like a blanket. He pushes his nose against Yuri's ear, pressing himself close like that will fix everything, brimming with things too big to put into words: that he isn't okay unless Yuri is here, that he hasn't been okay even though he should have been, that Yuri is his weak spot and that he needs that because the alternative is that Flynn is a distant untouchable thing in danger of losing his own humanity like Alexei did. Yuri is his anchor to what matters, his reminder of the world the way it should be. Yuri is the star by which he orients himself in the darkness. ]
I wasn't.
[ A terrifying admission, tiny-voiced, barely given breath, but Flynn needs Yuri to know that with a desperation that scares him. That he's weaker than Yuri thinks he is, that he isn't okay with Yuri gone. His voice is shaky. Flynn tries to swallow around it and fails. ]
At least when you were missing at home, I— I didn't know, but I knew what was probably happening, and—
[ He squeezes Yuri tighter still, one leg hitched over his, tangling them together, and then makes himself let go only to start murmuring again the familiar incantation of First Aid. ]
[ But he can't really complain about being healed. He needs it. He needs the cuts and bruises on his body to close, he needs to feel better so he can stand by Flynn's side, so he can protect Blue, so he isn't a deadweight on this world like he was on his own for so long.
He lets out a sigh, the magic taking the edge off of his pain. He could address that, talk with Flynn about how Flynn needs him, but he isn't ready to talk about that, to really know that, because he's not good at being needed. He's not good at being wanted, better at showing up and doing what he can for a moment ]
I should shower. I...
[ But that means he has to move, that Flynn can't be touching him like this, and he really just wants to keep Flynn close to him.
It feels like weakness, the way he needs Flynn, now. He kept this back, back home, it was easier to stop feeling this way when Flynn wasn't with him all the time, but having him close, sharing a bed, spending so much time with him, it's like that weak spot has grown bigger, like he can't resist as much as he used to.
And maybe it's because he knows that Flynn wants this, too. That it isn't just him, watching his best friend excel, watching him be great, and wanting to be there with him, wanting to support him and help him. Flynn wants to be there with him, too, and Yuri still doesn't quite know what to do with that ]
[ Flynn shoves away the mild flare of—something. Desperation, something, to stay close to Yuri, not to let him out of Flynn's sight. He can't say anything like that, even if he concedes by pressing close again, lifting fingers to Yuri's face to swipe away some of the crusted frozen blood. ]
Yuri doesn't hold him there, even though he wants to. He lets Flynn go, watching him leave the room, and it doesn't even cross his mind to get up and go somewhere, even though sleep does sound appealing. He hasn't really slept since he woke up in the tower, and he has no idea how long ago that was.
He tries to keep his eyes open, and Repede, who was waiting by the door to the hall, whines and walks over to him, jumping up onto the couch to rest his head on Yuri's thigh. ]
Hey, Repede. You doing okay?
[ Repede looks up at him, his tail thumping on the couch ]
His duties have always kept him on his feet when nothing else would, when his feet are lead and his heart is in his throat. Right now he can't think of anything but Yuri and those pale limbs, the gray pallor to his skin and the smears of blood, the way his collarbones are jutting from under the awful jumpsuit—
The exhaustion and shadows in his eyes, deeper than ever.
Flynn nearly drops the glass, catches it at the last minute and makes himself breathe as he fills it. He's no use to Yuri like this, shaky with relief and guilt. Pulling it together enough to take care of him is the least Flynn owes him after leaving him to die in that awful place (and Flynn owes him so much more than that. Flynn owes him everything for so many reasons, a debt so large he'll never really be able to repay it. It looms over everything he does, a constant reminder of everything that Yuri sacrificed for him).
Yuri is a mess, and so Flynn grabs a cloth, too, wets it under the tap and carries it all back with him, pretending that he isn't hurrying like Yuri will have disappeared again from the couch while he was gone, pretending more that he isn't relieved to see him and Repede both there.
He makes Yuri drink the water, hovers until the glass is half-drained and then takes it from him so he doesn't throw up, and then presses himself back onto the couch on Yuri's other side and holds up the cloth. He's fussing, he knows that, and he knows Yuri hates it but he doesn't know what else to do, where else to channel everything burning inside him. ]
[ Not that he's against Flynn being here, but he doesn't like being treated like he can't do things for himself, like he's an invalid or something.
He eases out of the arms of the jumpsuit, revealing the cuts on his hips, his upper arms, crusted over with cold, blue blood. He's too tired to care about being cold, and he reaches out for the cloth, intent to wipe the blood off himself. He doesn't think he has the energy to shower, so this isn't a bad idea ]
[ Flynn presses the cloth into his hands with numb fingers.
He can take care of himself.
Of course he can: he doesn't need Flynn and he's made that abundantly clear, despite what he says here. Needing Flynn-the-Knight to be okay—to do the things he promised Yuri he would, to bear the standard of their ideals into the new world—is not the same as needing Flynn-the-person, and Yuri has really never needed him.
Nobody really needs Flynn-the-person. Sodia certainly doesn't want him, and His Majesty Ioder doesn't seem to know what to do when Flynn attempts to joke with him, or brings up some fact of his life from before the knights. He has tried to explain a few dozen times why the issues of equality matter so much to him and why he fights so hard for the voiceless masses with little money and less power, and Ioder is certainly sympathetic but there's always a—
There's something. A distance, a discomfort that falls between them, marking Flynn as not of the same world, and nobody in his new circles knows what to do with that.
And Yuri doesn't need him, so that makes nobody, except that Flynn should really stop feeling sorry for himself and focus on helping Yuri because Yuri may not need him but he isn't getting up off this couch and he does need healing, and rest, and Goddess only knows what else. For Flynn to have been there, for Flynn to have not abandoned him to torture, but he can't help that so he has to do better now, and with that knowledge burning like a brand in his head he shoves himself jerkily to his feet, trying not to look at the blood coming away on that damp cloth. ]
[ Yuri can almost feel him thinking, and he tries to ignore it, tries to give Flynn his privacy, but clearly Flynn is messed up about this, about what happened to Yuri.
He needs to deal with it. He'll deal with it, even if he's bone tired.
At leasts Flynn finally says something, and Yuri looks up at him, the wounds under the iced over blood closed because of Flynn's spell. He has a moment where he really doesn't want Flynn to leave him. He wants him to stay, he wants Flynn to be close by, to stay by him, just to be there, because things are better when Flynn is next to him.
But he can't ask that. He can't. He's fine on his own. He's fine, and Flynn has to do-- something. And Yuri watches him go. ]
Okay.
[ Maybe he'll get up the energy to take a shower while Flynn is gone ]
[ Flynn's heavy thoughts chase him as he hurries up the stairs on numb feet, to the chest in the corner of their room in which he's been storing, in the paper in came in, Yuri's birthday gift.
It's late now, but Yuri needs it and that's what matters. Maybe he doesn't need Flynn but he certainly needs to be warm, needs that strength back in his limbs so he can recover and Flynn can learn how he got free and what he had to do and why he looks so haunted. They need to make a plan for taking that place out and collate what they've learned and all Flynn's research, but that—
that comes later. First, Yuri needs to be okay, really okay. Perhaps a few more healing spells.
It crinkles under his fingers and he doesn't even bother closing the trunk, swiping the small bag of gels he'd washed up with from his desk, and hurrying with everything back downstairs.
Yuri's dark head is still there, and Flynn doesn't mean to make an audible noise of relief but he certainly does, makes Yuri look up a bit as he rounds the couch again to sink down beside him with everything bundled against his chest. ]
This should keep you warm. You look awful, you must have—well.
[ He's fussing, and Yuri said he didn't need that but Flynn pulls the paper apart anyway, revealing a black woven blanket inscribed with dark red thread, so dark they're nearly violet, like a good wine. They're symbols, though it isn't obvious until the blanket is opened. Most importantly, it's a good heavy wool, washed into softness, radiating heat like a live coal. ]
A... [ present? He's going to ask, but then Flynn is taking the paper off of it, and drops a blanket into his lap. It's already warm, and Yuri gasps softly, digging his hands into it without really thinking. It's so warm, like pressing his fingers into Repede's fur, but softer and still and he stares at it for a moment before looking up at Flynn, his lips parted. ]
Is this for me?
[ Is it a present? When was the last time anyone got him anything? He doesn't know. Maybe when he turned 18 and Hanks got him a good pair of boots.
His emotions are a mess, and they well up in him and he's usually so good at tamping them down but he's tired, so tired, and he hurts everywhere, inside and out, and Flynn is looking at him with so much worry in his face and usually that would be annoying, but right now it just makes him feel warm, warm like this blanket, and he loves Flynn so much that it hurts him sometimes, to have Flynn so close to him, because he doesn't know what to do with love. ]
[ It is, and Flynn just mostly unwrapped it for him and now he has a strange sort of look on his face like he's... touched, and that shouldn't make Flynn's heart slam into his ribs like it does but he wants to give Yuri so much, a new world and equality and the answers to all their childhood problems and the only thing he managed was an enchanted blanket, which he just... unwrapped. For Yuri. ]
Um. Yes. It was meant to be for your birthday, but you were—well. It's late. But yes, it's yours, it's enchanted with the magic here, it should help you keep warm.
[ He says it on a breath. He is touched, and feels a little choked up, and Goddess he isn't going to let himself cry, but after the days he's been through, with whatever this place is doing to him (his pallor is so much worse, his hair dangling around his face, his teeth elongated into fangs, fingernails more like claws, his emotions a surging mess).
Instead, he just stares down at it, not sure what to do, now. He's still half-bare, still bloody and gross, still aching and exhausted, and here Flynn is, trying to help him, giving him gifts, staying by him, and that's really all he wants. All he wants is for Flynn to be safe and happy and close by. He was fine with the first two, back home. If Flynn was safe, if he was happy, if he was doing what he wanted to do, that was alright by Yuri. Now, that selfish part of him is rearing up, now he wants more than that, he wants more and he isn't sure if he can ask for it.
He should say something more, his fingers fisting in the blanket, but emotion is clogging his throat, making it hard to breathe. He takes difficult, strangled gasps, breath rasping, and he still can't do anything. He's never been good with words, never been good at showing when something means something to him, but this means so much, and it's just a blanket and he feels like he shouldn't be knocked over by this, but he is. ]
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flynn pt. 2
He's exhausted, wrung out, the adrenalin leeching out of him as he slumps, shivering and exhausted, against a wall. He's somewhere in Trench. He has no idea where. He's still in the jumpsuit he'd been put in, the front still open down to his navel, but he doesn't have the energy to do it up at all, not even for warmth.
He needs to get home. Home to see if Flynn is there, to make sure that Flynn got out, somehow. That he's not still stuck in that awful place.
Warmth blossoms in his chest and Smokey appears out of smoke with a loud caw, stretching his arms and growing bigger, bigger until he can land in front of Yuri and Yuri can scramble onto his back. It's weird, him being so big, but he isn't going to question it now.
It takes what strength he has left to hold on, his arms locked around Smokey's neck, as the giant kestrel takes off into the frigid night air.
He's nearly frozen by the time they touch down in the front yard of their little cottage. Smokey caws again, softer now, to tell him to let go, and he does, but his arms are stiff and tired. He staggers a little, and Smokey noses under him to keep him up, and he wonders vaguely if this is how Blue feels all the time as he shuffles slowly to the front door.
It's locked. Of course it is. Flynn always locked the door (Flynn is probably here, probably okay, unless Blue learned too many of his habits). Letting out a sigh, he reaches up as best he can and knocks. ]
the sequel to flynn
For the last three days Flynn has been anything but: he has been in the woods running himself to the bone, hunting for a Tower that is nowhere, looking for zealots to give him answers none of them want to give. He's been in the archives at the School of Mutter learning anything he can about that awful place, he's been hunting down the flying moon to hold her accountable for her failure to pull Yuri too, he's been trying not to think about a horrible, endless cycle of rebirth and draining and death.
He has been trying to find Yuri with the same single-minded dedication that drove him onto the sea for nearly a week, searching for pale limbs and long dark hair, even just a body to know what happened.
It's only thanks to Blue that he's home at all: Blue has been an anchor, a reminder that there's a home for Flynn to come to, that they have to be here in case Yuri is pulled from that place like Flynn was.
He was out in the woods today, searching among mushrooms and early snow for one of the zealots to take him to the tower with sword in hand and mended armor heavy and comforting.
All he found was mushrooms, and by the time early night fell crisp and clear, Flynn was full of a bone-deep exhaustion he pushed through all the same, kept searching until he was dead on his feet and stumbling over clumps of dead bracken. Daisy had practically forced him home, practical thing, pushing at his back to get him to leave while Flynn had, in a moment of weakness, pleaded quietly with the bright moon to bring Yuri back.
He wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't get one: it was only him and Daisy and the quiet, disappearing puff of his own breath.
At least at home there are books that he'd taken from the school: books on the Tower-the-Pthumerian and books on that awful tower and the zealots who keep the blood flowing to it. This is a known thing, and Flynn hates it, knows Yuri will hate it. He is exhausted, but he keeps reading by candlelight and the flickering fire (the lunar orb makes him think of the moon and his own failure, and so he stashed that in the kitchen).
He isn't expecting the knock, either, but Daisy's head jerks up from her curled place by the fire, and so Flynn scrambles to his feet with his heart in his throat and practically throws himself at the front door, pulling open the latches with numb fingers and throwing it open to find— ]
Yuri!
[ Pale as death, still in that jumpsuit, with blood smeared on him and his hair hanging limp, looking like he's about to fall over except for Smokey, too-large and holding him up like a feathered cane.
Flynn moves without thinking, reason overtaking worry, to slide an arm under Yuri's shoulders, pull him off Smokey and into the door toward the fire. ]
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He pulls Yuri away from Smokey, and he falls heavily onto Flynn and, for once, he doesn't feel like he needs to stand on his own feet. Instead, he feels grateful that Flynn is here, that Flynn wants to take on some of his weight, that Flynn is here. It's an intense gratitude, and he remembers that one last kiss before Flynn cast that spell like an idiot, and he hoped, in moments of weakness, tied to that table, that it wouldn't be the last one.
He'd grown too used to those kisses in the last month. It was weakness, something that he wants, that he can have, that he shouldn't need but he does. He needs Flynn desperately and when Flynn helps him sit down onto the couch, he doesn't quite let go of him, keeping hold of Flynn's wrist. ]
Hey, Flynn.
[ He manages a smile, soft and easy because Flynn is alive, and he's with him again, and it's over. It's over and they got out and he can think about what to do next-- in the morning. ]
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[ And food, and medical attention and to have the blood cleaned off—Flynn's voice is a numb thing, shaking only because the force of his feeling is too great to do anything but ride like a horse gone off-trail.
But he stops as soon as Yuri tugs on him a little, turns back to face him, taking in the details of his sleepless face and tired eyes and familiar mouth—
Oh, Goddess, Flynn was so worried, he doesn't know what to do with the relief shining sharply through him. It tingles in his fingers, draws him helplessly toward Yuri with his throat tight. ]
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I'm glad you're okay.
[ Because he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all. Flynn was there, and then he was gone, and Yuri could hope that he got out, but what if he was taken somewhere worse? What if in his moment of weakness, he was taken to some worse place in that tower? ]
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[ Flynn's voice does crack, this time, the careful shell of tasks and business he constructs to keep himself from falling apart made into nothing by the softness in Yuri's voice. He lets himself be tugged and then sort of half-falls onto the couch and his knees all at once. ]
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Flynn pulled him in for a kiss right before he made a stupid move. Maybe Yuri's just following suit, grabbing onto Flynn's shirt and pulling him in for a messy kiss because they're both alive, he made it, Flynn's okay. ]
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Flynn wasn't so sure he would be.
He held out stubborn hope like he always does, cut off thoughts about Yuri's death at the knees and made himself push through because he doesn't know how to do anything else and because giving up meant giving up on Yuri and he'll never do that.
Nobody tells you how painful hope is: how it clutches at your chest with old familiar fingers, worming its way between your ribs until you can't think about anything else. Hope is kind of a desperate thing.
But Yuri's here and alive and he tastes like old blood but Flynn kisses him anyway, making a rough sound as he lodges his knee into the cushions of the couch to keep himself upright and pulls Yuri as close as he can get him like he can banish that cold himself. ]
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Sorry, that I worried you. Did you, did you get out? When you left?
[ Please say you weren't stuck there, too ]
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[ The thought hadn't even occurred to him: that Yuri wouldn't know what had happened, that he would be in there suffering and wondering where Flynn had gone. It makes the last few days all the worse, and Flynn makes a tiny sound in his throat, letting himself crowd in close for a moment just to feel the solidness of Yuri, alive. ]
I was pulled free by one of the gods here and dropped in our yard for no reason. If I'd known—
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[ Yuri cuts him off, not wanting to hear that Flynn would have stayed. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want Flynn to have to go through that. Him going through it was enough. If he could do it so Flynn doesn't have to, good.
He holds Flynn closer, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar, so comforting. He must smell like shit, but Flynn is still here, holding onto him like this ]
I don't want you to even think about it.
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[ Flynn mutters, mostly under his breath as he pushes his nose into the side of Yuri's head for a moment. It's indulgent, and all his senses are railing at him to get up, clean Yuri up, get him food and water and a bath, but—
But Flynn is weaker than anyone thinks he is, and he can't make himself move for the relief washing coldly through him. ]
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He feels it too, that relief. He's so glad Flynn is okay, that they're back together again, glad he made it out of there, glad he was the one in there and not Flynn, glad that Flynn still wants to hold him, still wants to be close. Feeling swirls in his gut, in his chest, his mind hazy and exhausted, his body weak and shaky, but Flynn is warm and close and he loves Flynn so fucking much. He loves him more than he loves anything else, more than he loves himself (a lot more), more than he loves his guild or his sword or his friends. He would die for Flynn, he would die without him, he spent too long thinking about him when he was tied up, his blood being forcibly taken from him, his strength ebbing out of him.
Thinking about Flynn, about the fact that he got to have Flynn, got to have him close, got to spend time with him in a way they haven't since they were kids. Thinking about talking with him late into the night, thinking about Flynn's body against his, warm and solid and Flynn wanted him to be there, wanted to kiss him.
His fingers press into Flynn's hair and his voice is thick when he says: ]
I just need you to be okay.
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I wasn't.
[ A terrifying admission, tiny-voiced, barely given breath, but Flynn needs Yuri to know that with a desperation that scares him. That he's weaker than Yuri thinks he is, that he isn't okay with Yuri gone. His voice is shaky. Flynn tries to swallow around it and fails. ]
At least when you were missing at home, I— I didn't know, but I knew what was probably happening, and—
[ He squeezes Yuri tighter still, one leg hitched over his, tangling them together, and then makes himself let go only to start murmuring again the familiar incantation of First Aid. ]
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[ But he can't really complain about being healed. He needs it. He needs the cuts and bruises on his body to close, he needs to feel better so he can stand by Flynn's side, so he can protect Blue, so he isn't a deadweight on this world like he was on his own for so long.
He lets out a sigh, the magic taking the edge off of his pain. He could address that, talk with Flynn about how Flynn needs him, but he isn't ready to talk about that, to really know that, because he's not good at being needed. He's not good at being wanted, better at showing up and doing what he can for a moment ]
I should shower. I...
[ But that means he has to move, that Flynn can't be touching him like this, and he really just wants to keep Flynn close to him.
It feels like weakness, the way he needs Flynn, now. He kept this back, back home, it was easier to stop feeling this way when Flynn wasn't with him all the time, but having him close, sharing a bed, spending so much time with him, it's like that weak spot has grown bigger, like he can't resist as much as he used to.
And maybe it's because he knows that Flynn wants this, too. That it isn't just him, watching his best friend excel, watching him be great, and wanting to be there with him, wanting to support him and help him. Flynn wants to be there with him, too, and Yuri still doesn't quite know what to do with that ]
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Water first.
[ His tone is quiet, barely above a breath. ]
Wait here. Please stay awake.
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Yuri doesn't hold him there, even though he wants to. He lets Flynn go, watching him leave the room, and it doesn't even cross his mind to get up and go somewhere, even though sleep does sound appealing. He hasn't really slept since he woke up in the tower, and he has no idea how long ago that was.
He tries to keep his eyes open, and Repede, who was waiting by the door to the hall, whines and walks over to him, jumping up onto the couch to rest his head on Yuri's thigh. ]
Hey, Repede. You doing okay?
[ Repede looks up at him, his tail thumping on the couch ]
Yeah, me too.
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His duties have always kept him on his feet when nothing else would, when his feet are lead and his heart is in his throat. Right now he can't think of anything but Yuri and those pale limbs, the gray pallor to his skin and the smears of blood, the way his collarbones are jutting from under the awful jumpsuit—
The exhaustion and shadows in his eyes, deeper than ever.
Flynn nearly drops the glass, catches it at the last minute and makes himself breathe as he fills it. He's no use to Yuri like this, shaky with relief and guilt. Pulling it together enough to take care of him is the least Flynn owes him after leaving him to die in that awful place (and Flynn owes him so much more than that. Flynn owes him everything for so many reasons, a debt so large he'll never really be able to repay it. It looms over everything he does, a constant reminder of everything that Yuri sacrificed for him).
Yuri is a mess, and so Flynn grabs a cloth, too, wets it under the tap and carries it all back with him, pretending that he isn't hurrying like Yuri will have disappeared again from the couch while he was gone, pretending more that he isn't relieved to see him and Repede both there.
He makes Yuri drink the water, hovers until the glass is half-drained and then takes it from him so he doesn't throw up, and then presses himself back onto the couch on Yuri's other side and holds up the cloth. He's fussing, he knows that, and he knows Yuri hates it but he doesn't know what else to do, where else to channel everything burning inside him. ]
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[ Not that he's against Flynn being here, but he doesn't like being treated like he can't do things for himself, like he's an invalid or something.
He eases out of the arms of the jumpsuit, revealing the cuts on his hips, his upper arms, crusted over with cold, blue blood. He's too tired to care about being cold, and he reaches out for the cloth, intent to wipe the blood off himself. He doesn't think he has the energy to shower, so this isn't a bad idea ]
Thanks.
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[ Flynn presses the cloth into his hands with numb fingers.
He can take care of himself.
Of course he can: he doesn't need Flynn and he's made that abundantly clear, despite what he says here. Needing Flynn-the-Knight to be okay—to do the things he promised Yuri he would, to bear the standard of their ideals into the new world—is not the same as needing Flynn-the-person, and Yuri has really never needed him.
Nobody really needs Flynn-the-person. Sodia certainly doesn't want him, and His Majesty Ioder doesn't seem to know what to do when Flynn attempts to joke with him, or brings up some fact of his life from before the knights. He has tried to explain a few dozen times why the issues of equality matter so much to him and why he fights so hard for the voiceless masses with little money and less power, and Ioder is certainly sympathetic but there's always a—
There's something. A distance, a discomfort that falls between them, marking Flynn as not of the same world, and nobody in his new circles knows what to do with that.
And Yuri doesn't need him, so that makes nobody, except that Flynn should really stop feeling sorry for himself and focus on helping Yuri because Yuri may not need him but he isn't getting up off this couch and he does need healing, and rest, and Goddess only knows what else. For Flynn to have been there, for Flynn to have not abandoned him to torture, but he can't help that so he has to do better now, and with that knowledge burning like a brand in his head he shoves himself jerkily to his feet, trying not to look at the blood coming away on that damp cloth. ]
One moment.
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He needs to deal with it. He'll deal with it, even if he's bone tired.
At leasts Flynn finally says something, and Yuri looks up at him, the wounds under the iced over blood closed because of Flynn's spell. He has a moment where he really doesn't want Flynn to leave him. He wants him to stay, he wants Flynn to be close by, to stay by him, just to be there, because things are better when Flynn is next to him.
But he can't ask that. He can't. He's fine on his own. He's fine, and Flynn has to do-- something. And Yuri watches him go. ]
Okay.
[ Maybe he'll get up the energy to take a shower while Flynn is gone ]
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It's late now, but Yuri needs it and that's what matters. Maybe he doesn't need Flynn but he certainly needs to be warm, needs that strength back in his limbs so he can recover and Flynn can learn how he got free and what he had to do and why he looks so haunted. They need to make a plan for taking that place out and collate what they've learned and all Flynn's research, but that—
that comes later. First, Yuri needs to be okay, really okay. Perhaps a few more healing spells.
It crinkles under his fingers and he doesn't even bother closing the trunk, swiping the small bag of gels he'd washed up with from his desk, and hurrying with everything back downstairs.
Yuri's dark head is still there, and Flynn doesn't mean to make an audible noise of relief but he certainly does, makes Yuri look up a bit as he rounds the couch again to sink down beside him with everything bundled against his chest. ]
This should keep you warm. You look awful, you must have—well.
[ He's fussing, and Yuri said he didn't need that but Flynn pulls the paper apart anyway, revealing a black woven blanket inscribed with dark red thread, so dark they're nearly violet, like a good wine. They're symbols, though it isn't obvious until the blanket is opened. Most importantly, it's a good heavy wool, washed into softness, radiating heat like a live coal. ]
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Is this for me?
[ Is it a present? When was the last time anyone got him anything? He doesn't know. Maybe when he turned 18 and Hanks got him a good pair of boots.
His emotions are a mess, and they well up in him and he's usually so good at tamping them down but he's tired, so tired, and he hurts everywhere, inside and out, and Flynn is looking at him with so much worry in his face and usually that would be annoying, but right now it just makes him feel warm, warm like this blanket, and he loves Flynn so much that it hurts him sometimes, to have Flynn so close to him, because he doesn't know what to do with love. ]
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Um. Yes. It was meant to be for your birthday, but you were—well. It's late. But yes, it's yours, it's enchanted with the magic here, it should help you keep warm.
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[ He says it on a breath. He is touched, and feels a little choked up, and Goddess he isn't going to let himself cry, but after the days he's been through, with whatever this place is doing to him (his pallor is so much worse, his hair dangling around his face, his teeth elongated into fangs, fingernails more like claws, his emotions a surging mess).
Instead, he just stares down at it, not sure what to do, now. He's still half-bare, still bloody and gross, still aching and exhausted, and here Flynn is, trying to help him, giving him gifts, staying by him, and that's really all he wants. All he wants is for Flynn to be safe and happy and close by. He was fine with the first two, back home. If Flynn was safe, if he was happy, if he was doing what he wanted to do, that was alright by Yuri. Now, that selfish part of him is rearing up, now he wants more than that, he wants more and he isn't sure if he can ask for it.
He should say something more, his fingers fisting in the blanket, but emotion is clogging his throat, making it hard to breathe. He takes difficult, strangled gasps, breath rasping, and he still can't do anything. He's never been good with words, never been good at showing when something means something to him, but this means so much, and it's just a blanket and he feels like he shouldn't be knocked over by this, but he is. ]
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