deercountry | [closed]

Yes.

[ 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—

No, Flynn.

[ 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.

And I always listen to you.

[ 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 just need you to be okay.

[ 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. ]

Flynn--

[ 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. ]

Water first.

[ His tone is quiet, barely above a breath. ]

Wait here. Please stay awake.

[ And there he goes.

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.

[ Flynn moves on autopilot.

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. ]

Come on, Flynn. I can take care of myself.

[ 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.

Of course.

[ 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.

[ 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.

...thank you.

[ 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. ]

[ Yuri is looking at him like he's never gotten a gift before in his life, which Flynn knows very well is... pretty much true. The Lower Quarter wasn't rich enough for things like presents: Hanks would celebrate their birthdays with food and a party, but he never could manage to scrape together enough of anything for presents until they were eighteen and joining the knights, leaving the Lower Quarter for the first time since Flynn arrived.

Yuri had gotten a little choked up then, too, and Flynn had looked away while Yuri hid behind a curtain of hair and pretended he wasn't misty-eyed. Flynn had gotten gloves, thick leather things to protect him from the cold because "you can't fight without your hands," and armor polish to go along with them with instructions to keep him and Yuri both looking neat and smart. They had, after all, been representing the entire Lower Quarter. Flynn had taken the duty solemnly like a weight settling on his shoulders, the first of many, only to promptly fail because Yuri was too lazy or too careless to clean his armor, and got annoyed at Flynn when he did it.

But that was a long time ago, and Yuri has been through hell and looks like it, clinging to the blanket like it's a certain kind of armor, and Flynn should—help him clean up, get him more water, try to fix whatever is making his skin and his teeth look so strange. There is so much he should do, and still he makes the selfish choice to breathe Yuri's name, quiet, strangled, and reach forward to pull him into a tight hug. ]

I'm sorry.

[ He's said it already but he needs to say it again, pressed into Yuri's skin, soft and damp. He's so cold. He smells terrible. Flynn doesn't care. ]

I'm sorry, Yuri.

[ He clearly isn't paying enough attention, because that hug takes him by surprise. He's pulled against Flynn's solid chest, the rest of his breath knocked out of him, and it's hard to get it back. It's hard to get it back because he's so tired, because emotion swirls in his chest, behind his eyes, crowding into his mind and not giving room for any coherent thought.

He leans into the hug, breath hitching, eyes tired and wet, his face pressing into Flynn's shoulder. ]

Shut up.

[ It's mumbled, tired and annoyed ]

Shut the fuck up, Flynn.

[ Let him have this. Let him enjoy that you did something for him, that he feels-- good for the first time in days, maybe longer. He feels better and feels taken care of, and he's not good at feeling taken care of, but right now he's tired and weak and it feels good to have Flynn there with him, have Flynn trying to help him, that he can lean on Flynn, literally and not, that Flynn wants to be there for him.

He's not good at accepting help. He never is. But this feels like something other than help. This feels like when Hanks would bandage them up after a fight, like when the lower quarter banded together to help find Flynn after he fell into the canal, like Brave Vesperia catching up to him in the forest, slapping him around for daring to leave them behind. It feels like he isn't alone. ]

[ Coming from anyone else, that would probably hurt, but Flynn knows Yuri, and he knows Yuri when he's tired and hurt, although maybe never like this. He doesn't mean it like that: he just means Flynn is an idiot for apologizing, which is probably true because it isn't like he chose to leave, and he did everything he could to try and get back. He failed, and he is sorry for that, but Yuri doesn't need his apologies.

He isn't... actually sure what Yuri needs, right now.

It feels selfish just to let himself hold Yuri, to feel the wetness seeping through his thin shirt and the hard chill of him, to press his nose into Yuri's lank hair and stay there, breathing with him, but perhaps that's what Yuri needs right now. If it had been Flynn trapped there, he would need this. After his death it was all he wanted: Yuri, strong and real.

Maybe Yuri really does need... at least this. A reminder that he is free, that he isn't trapped anymore, that Flynn is here now even if he'd failed before. Flynn could ask, but he doesn't want to make Yuri talk.

He just nods, wordless, and then pushes a kiss to the bruised skin at Yuri's temple, tasting blood and sweat and not caring. He shifts just enough to pull Yuri's weight entirely onto himself, until he can press the flat of his palm between Yuri's shoulderblades like an anchor and hold him there in warm silence. ]

[ It feels good, really good, to press close to him, to have Flynn be strong when he can't be. He should probably stand on his own feet, he should be stronger, he shoulder pull back and show that he can do this, that he can do it himself, that he doesn't need Flynn to pick up his slack like he has for so long.

But he can't bring him to do it. He can't bring himself to pull back. He feels like a little kid, for a minute, huddling up near the fire, wishing that he didn't have to be alone. It was always a stupid thought, because he was alone. He was alone for a long time, no matter how many people were around, none of them were with Yuri, none of them put him first. At least, until Flynn. And the two of them worked together for so long, did everything together, two halves of a whole, supporting each other, chasing down bullies together, learning to fight together, protecting their quarter together. They leaned on each other, and that was never weak. It was never bad, it was how they lived, how they survived, by the sword, with each other.

It changed when they grew up, when they were no longer together all the time, when Flynn became respectable and important, and Yuri became the nothing that he always was. Without Flynn there, he was alone, with Repede, sure, but still more alone than he was before. Repede is his partner, but he isn't his other half. He didn't let him lean on anyone, he couldn't. He was a whole by himself, he had to be.

But the last few months, being with Flynn all the time, sharing a bed with him again, Yuri feels almost like they're kids again, fighting together, dreaming together, and he knows he's the one who fucked that up, who ruined their plans to be knights together, to carve out their future together. He's the one who left Flynn alone, and he doesn't deserve for Flynn to take on his weight, but here he is, doing it willingly, holding Yuri close when Yuri can't make himself stand on his own two feet.

He wants to stay there, feeling supported, feeling loved, taking those feelings that he should leave for someone else, for someone who deserves Flynn's love, but he wants it. He wants it with a burning ferocity in his heart, that had been an ember, but has climbed up in the last few months and, if he's being honest, much longer. He has no claim over Flynn, not anymore, not ever, really. He has nothing to offer, nothing to give, but he loves him, and it's so simple a fact that it's just a part of him, and the selfish part of himself wants to keep Flynn for himself, and that part he can't let stand.

Minutes, maybe longer, later, he sucks in a breath, and pushes himself up. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn't look at Flynn, he can't, but his hand drops to Flynn's squeezing tight. ]

Gonna clean up. Uh, [ He wants to ask Flynn to wait for him, or come with him. He doesn't want help, exactly, but he doesn't want to be alone. ]

[ When was the last time Yuri let anyone hold him like this? The weight of his head against Flynn's shoulder is a fragile thing: he isn't all that heavy and Flynn feels trapped with it anyway, like if he moves too much or breathes wrong Yuri will realize what he's doing and get up and leave, and Flynn is content to let time stretch until his limbs go numb. At some point, he tangles his fingers into Yuri's hair and leaves them there, idly petting, reassuring them both that they're really here.

He could stay like this forever, even with Yuri cold and stiff and bloody, but it is probably for the best that Yuri does eventually shift up. Flynn doesn't protest except with a small sigh, lets Yuri tangle their fingers together and meets his eyes for a moment. ]

Come on.

[ Yuri doesn't like the fussing, Flynn knows that, but he also knows that the moment Yuri left him alone when he'd come back his body had closed in on him like a cage. Maybe Yuri is stronger than him, but Flynn isn't willing to risk that.

Repede shifts up off the couch first, his claws clicking on the floor as he heads for the stairs. Flynn stands next, letting the blanket fall off where it had pooled between them, and pulling Yuri with him. ]

[ Yuri doesn't let the blanket go. Maybe it's stupid, but it's important to him. The rest of the paper falls off as he stands up, holding it closer against his bare chest, the jumpsuit hanging around his hips. He stays close to Flynn as they climb the stairs. His legs feel exhausted, like he's been sick for days, or just walked miles on miles and, maybe, he did both. He lost so much blood to that place, doesn't know what they're going to do with it.

He pauses by the bathroom, holding the blanket against his chest. He isn't really going to ask Flynn to come in with him. He can handle this. He can be alone.

With more effort than he wants to admit, he pushes the blanket into Flynn's hands and offers him something like a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace ]

I'll be quick.

Yuri—

[ You don't have to be alone, he wants to say. I'll help, let me help, please, all I want to do is help—

But he swallows the words, curling his fingers into the blanket, watching Yuri's pain-lined face for a moment. Determination sets his blood-smeared jaw, and Flynn recognizes that look from himself, knows that he had to try and do this alone, too, to prove that he could.

Instead of pushing forward to help, Flynn lets out a breath and leans in with the blanket between them to kiss Yuri, soft and slow. ]

Call me when you're done. I'll heat up some tea.

[ 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. ]

[ Flynn puts himself to work.

How can he not? It's what he does with all his nervous energy, it's where he channels all his feelings: idle hands, idle mind and all that. Flynn's mind when idle is a terrible place, full of spinning thoughts and worry about the future, and it's bleaker now because he can't seem to make himself stop thinking about Yuri, bloody-mouthed and half-beaten, grinning victoriously at him. Yuri had come back to save him in Aurnion and Flynn repaid the favor by doing nothing at all.

He puts on tea, though, and listens closely to the hum of water from upstairs, pours probably too much, dissolves a lemon gel in it, and shoves everything onto a tray to carry back upstairs with numb fingers. At the top, the unexpectedly-slick floor has him nearly tripping, makes him shove his hand down onto the teapot to keep everything from spilling because on the floor is...

...water.

Of course.

He snorts, and it tips into helpless laughter that shakes his shoulders as he skirts the rest of the drops, heading into their bedroom. ]

You made a mess, as usual.

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