deercountry | [closed] back when we were kids

Entry tags:

[closed] back when we were kids

Who: Flynn & Yuri
What: having a much-needed conversation they should have had a while ago
When: February 9th
Where: their house in Crenshaw

Content Warnings: Mentions of sad teen angst and sad teen fights and also maybe day-drinking, who knows what these boys got up to

Flynn leaves camp a little early that day.

His ride with Daisy was enough to clear his head a little, enough to get him through a day of working through strategies with the engineers over in the mechyard, but Flynn knows himself well enough by now to know that he's certainly distracted. His thoughts keep straying to Yuri and the flippancy in his voice, the insistence that he hadn't done anything with that time.

Flynn doesn't know, is the thing. He knows a little of what Yuri was up to in the Lower Quarter, knows about his actions and their consequences and the gossip that had chased after him in their wake (wasn't that your friend, Flynn?; those Lower Quarter brutes just need a firm hand; a hundred other phrases that had burrowed under his skin like termites, that Flynn had gritted his teeth and smiled through). He has no idea what Yuri felt about all those years. He doesn't even know how Yuri feels, really, about—

About everything. The way they left things, what felt like the end of their friendship, the ragged chasm between them that made Flynn question everything that they were. They've built a bridge over all of that, and it feels solid beneath Flynn's feet, but peeking over the edge is a terrifying thing, which of course means that they should probably just jump into it the way brave people do in the face of terror.

The conversation didn't start there, of course. It started somewhere so ridiculous, so—Yuri.

But Flynn is walking into it, bundled up with hearty greens and early potatoes, a few soft onions left over from the year before, and some hard cheese with an interesting profile that Yuri hadn't put on the list but that Flynn figured he might like. He could have used the lamps to come home and been there in an instant, but the walk through the oddly-sunny afternoon, buffeted by cold wind, has been helpful. He lingered a little in the market, talking to the vendors, learning about their business and their worries and the things they wanted changed. Now, with the sun just starting to sink below the jumbled roofs of Crenshaw, he finally shoves open their creaking little gate.

Their tiny patch of front garden is overgrown. Flynn thinks about his promise to Blue to plant seeds there, notes that he needs to get some seeds for them along with oil for the gate, and pushes open the door while Daisy vanishes into smoke and simply reappears on the other side, apparently impatient to get into the warmth.

"It was going to take two seconds," he tells her, grinning, and Daisy simply reappears, much smaller, and trots on delicate hooves into the kitchen to find Repede. Flynn shakes his head and shuts out the cold evening behind.

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"I have no idea," Flynn says honestly, his lips tilting at the corners. It really wasn't a very instructional drawing and he has no idea how it would really work in practice—his offer of trying it was half a joke and half warm curiousity—but that also isn't the point of this conversation. "Not until we've talked more about... how you even know all these things. Where did you pick it up? Was it really Raven?"

Yuri huffs a laugh, bowing his head. His hair falls to cover his face. "Yeah, Raven. That guy's a pervert."

But, that isn't really what Flynn's asking. And he's trying to actually talk to him. Get it all out there, let Flynn decide. Even if it means Flynn will leave him, at least it'll be over with. "And some guys in the lower quarter. They would talk a lot of shit about girls."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Flynn breathes. The Lower Quarter could really band together and become a true community, better than any community the nobility could play at, but some people really had given up and become the worst versions of themselves. Flynn can't really blame them, but he knows they existed. They loved to hit on Yuri, particularly.

But what can he say about any of that? Trying to talk to Yuri about those years has always resulted in a fight, and there is a fragile bubble of peace around them right now. Flynn scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of food, frowning at the soap. It smells a little like flowers. Maybe that's the roses blooming unseasonally just outside the kitchen window, turning the edges of their view red.

What can he say that won't turn this into a fight? What if Yuri pulls away, heads out into the dark night because Flynn said the wrong thing, again—he can see it, suddenly: harsh words shattering all over the ground, water everywhere, Flynn red-faced and angry and Yuri dismissive, barely looking at him, spitting words that cut as deep as they ever did. Yuri looks up from under his hair and tells Flynn he figured this couldn't work, and whirls on his heel before Flynn can say anything else about it.

It's quiet for a little too long, the sound of cleaning dishes pausing, and Yuri looks over at Flynn, who's just standing there, staring at the water, his eyes glowing a strange pale glow.

He frowns and drops his arms, taking a step toward him. "Flynn? You, uh. You alright?"

Reality crashing back in is never a pleasant thing after one of these visions. Water splashes up off the plate at the same time Yuri moves, and Flynn startles, jerking back, splashing himself a little more—

Yuri. Right there, concerned, not out in the backyard leaving him behind.

"—ah," Flynn says, a little lost, shaking his head to try and dislodge the odd ringing sound high in his ears. Yuri fuzzes out for a moment and then returns to where he's standing. "...vision. That... keeps happening. Don't worry, it's gone."

Right, that. Flynn's been having them, about the ocean, about the monster, about mundane things. What does it mean that he had one now? Yuri watches him for a long moment, and he wants to do something, he wants to support him somehow, but he has no idea how. He just stands there, watching him uselessly, his hands clenching on the edge of the countertop.

"Bad one?"

"No," Flynn says immediately, wincing at the dark at the edges of his vision, and then, "well, yes, but—no. Just..."

Disappointing. Frustrating, entirely too real. Is that how this conversation is necessarily going to end? Flynn second-guessing himself, tripping on his own words right into all the soft spots Yuri doesn't want touched? He knows what those soft spots are: once, he knew better than to prod them too much. Only on purpose, only to get a rise out of Yuri. Flynn lets the dish run under water. Soap runs clear.

He lets out a breath. "I saw us get into a fight about this, and honestly, I'm not sure how to avert that. I suppose there's a reason we've never talked about it."

Yuri is a little taken aback by that, by Flynn just saying it, by that level of honesty. Is that what he wants from Yuri? Yeah, yeah, that tracks. He wants that, probably.

At least he's giving it in return.

"I don't want to fight," he says, and it's mostly true. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want to argue with Flynn, he just wants... he wants it out there. He wants Flynn to make his choice, even if he leaves (you don't know that he will. Trust him). "I just-- I don't know what you're going to get out of this."

It's a good question. Flynn grabs another plate while he thinks about it, scrubbing idly. Yuri must have been home for lunch with Blue, which is good. Flynn hates leaving Blue alone like this while he's out at the camp, no matter how necessary it is. Trust Yuri to be thinking about that, to remember to come home and cook for them both.

What does he want out of this?

Flynn glances up.

He wants Yuri closer, for one. He wants that tension gone from his shoulders and his face, he wants that easy energy of the last few days back. He wants Yuri to stop looking at him like Flynn's going to punch him or tell him he's wrong, and that's probably his fault, isn't it? For making Yuri feel that way often enough that now, even knowing how much Flynn loves him, he's worried about it.

"I want," he says, not exactly careful but slow, pulling his thoughts into order as he goes, "to know. I missed you. So much. And it was so hard, because I could tell when we saw each other how sad you were, and it seemed like no matter what I did, I made it worse."

Yuri grunts, looking up at the ceiling. Man, this house must be old. The ceiling is all cracked. Maybe he'll fix that, sometime.

"You were kind of a jerk," which is an understatement. But, then again, Yuri was also a jerk. A major jerk, because he was pissed at Flynn, and at himself, and at his situation and his lack of a future or any plans whatsoever. But even so, "I wasn't sad."

Blunt, and right to the point. Flynn is so oddly grateful. It's like the clarity of fighting with him, the understanding that comes with having a sword in his hand and a very clear goal.

"...yeah," he breathes out in quiet agreement, staring at the plate. "I was, wasn't I? You certainly seemed sad. Or... angry, I suppose."

Yuri wants to walk away. The urge is running through him, but that voice, that questioning voice that's definitely his own, but obnoxious and annoyingly hopeful, pipes up again (trust him, talk to him. You don't know what will happen).

What will happen is he'll hate me.

But, he stays. He stays and looks at Flynn again. "I dunno. Maybe I was. Too bad you didn't have your feeling powers then."

It's a dig, a hit, like they're fighting, only this time they're actually using words and Yuri hasn't thrown a punch.

Flynn's eyes flick up as a familiar spark of anger jolts through him. Yuri said he didn't want to argue, but he is treating it like a fight, which means Flynn needs to be careful.

Or does he? Does he fight back, or does he drop his sword? Maybe if he had been able to feel what Yuri did back then—

"But I didn't," he says carefully, watching Yuri. "And you wouldn't tell me, so I had no way of knowing! All I had to go on was your word and your actions, and you certainly weren't acting happy. I can't blame you! I wasn't happy. I was... those years were..."

Flynn has to swallow around the sudden rough edges in his voice, looks away again. "They were pretty miserable."

So, not a blow back. Interesting. Maybe he really doesn't want to fight. Part of Yuri doesn't quite believe it, but maybe this is Commandant Flynn, level and even and so good at biting his tongue. Yuri doesn't want him to bite his tongue. He doesn't want that proper Flynn, the one who hides behind the rules and decorum, whatever the hell that really means.

"Yeah. They fucking sucked," he scoffs the words, eyes hard. He doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. He doesn't know how to encapsulate those three years, of loneliness, of feeling lost, of feeling angry that he's nothing without Flynn, of feeling like he ruined his own future, like he was reaching for the stars and then fell painfully back to Terca Lumeries, because why would someone like him get to touch the stars?

Flynn can feel the force behind those words, is the thing. Not well: they aren't touching, because Yuri is all sharp edgsr and hard lines right now, his eyes like stone and his expression harder still. Behind that, though, is a glimmer of something darker and deeper, something that Yuri doesn't want to tell him that he feels. Flynn wants to reach out, pull him close, smooth his thumb over the lines of Yuri's face until he softens again, but he sets the last plate on their drying towel instead and turns off the water, turning to face him. Outside, the moon hangs heavy and low, casting yellow light through the window. It glows at the edges of Yuri's hair.

Even angry like this, closed-off and hurting, he's so beautiful. Amazing that Flynn used to think that so casually. Yuri would laugh, or grin that stupid trouble-making grin at him, and Flynn would think you're beautiful and I'm so lucky like everyone thought those things about their best friend.

He doesn't reach out, but it's a near thing. His fingers twitch by his side and then twist into that same towel, damp and warm. Yuri is still here. That's something. He's saying something, and Flynn wants to know more, so—

"Why?"

It's the most basic thing he can afford Yuri: curiousity, plain and simple. Trying to guess won't get him anywhere, and Yuri bristles when Flynn tries, so he goes for the more honest thing, the thing he really wants to know. Why were you hurting so badly? What did you need? What happened?

That throws Yuri again, and his eyes widen slightly. He expected-- something else. Anything else. He didn't expect something like this, like Flynn looking at him like he really wants to know, not like he's waiting to judge Yuri, to rehash how badly Yuri fucked up, how much he wasted those years.

He doesn't know what to do with this sincere of a question. He doesn't know how to answer it, and has to look away again, but his expression is more open now, his guard slipping.

"Why? Why did it suck?" He could make a joke here, but he doesn't really have the energy, and instead runs a hand over his face. "Fuck, Flynn. Why didn't it suck?" I was without you, I messed everything up, I gave up on our future, I lost you.

It's that rough edge in Yuri's voice that gets him, ultimately. Flynn is making himself wait, making himself be patient and listen and not just talk. And it's worth it, because Yuri's expression fractures and his voice does right along with it, and Flynn's heart breaks a little with it. He doesn't think at all before reaching out, pressing a hand against Yuri's arm just to be a little closer, to steady him. We're in this together. I'm here. You're not handling it alone.

He doesn't know if it's what Yuri needs, or wants, but it's what he wanted all that time: someone else to lean on, a voice in the silence, someone to tell him that he wasn't messing everything up with each tiny mistake.

Yuri sucks in a ragged breath, but doesn't move away from him (stay, stay with this, it isn't bad to be having emotions). He stares down at Flynn's hand on his arm, and the world seems to bleed out around it, his focus completely on Flynn's hand, on how it feels when he touches Yuri, his grip sure and strong and warm, steady where Yuri isn't.

"If you really want to know," he says, voice low and raspy, "fine. I was pissed, at myself. We, we planned for it. For being knights, for so long. We planned to do that together, to change the world, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it, and I," I'm not good enough (what aren't you good enough for? For Flynn? Because he's still here).

At himself.

It's not... really the answer Flynn expected, but maybe he doesn't even know what he was expecting at this point. Should it really be surprising that Yuri holds himself up against his own standards? He has those standards for the world and applies them ruthlessly: there are a hundred ways in which the world (Flynn) has failed to measure up, has let Yuri down. Flynn has always tried so hard not to be one of them, and in the end, he let Yuri down perhaps most of all.

It stings, even now, knowing that he was hurting that much. Knowing that Flynn had helped to drive a wedge between them. He was so angry at Yuri's doubt, at the way Yuri wavered, but even that anger was driven by a deep hurt, a fear of what was happening as it happened. A terrifying thing, to suddenly be at odds with the boy who had spent his life grounding you. Flynn had been ground beneath the heel of the Imperial Knights, let down by what he'd thought they must actually be, and then Yuri had stopped trusting him, and, and—

Flynn sucks in a breath and steps a little closer still. The counter digs into his hip, and he ignores it, squeezing Yuri's elbow, his breath coming fast for no reason at all. "You were the one who left. Didn't you choose not to do it?"

"Yeah," it's a flat word, flat and empty, and he has the urge to leave again, to leave and not to do this, but he doesn't even need the voice this time. He wants to stay. He wants to see this through. "Yeah, I chose to. Because I don't have your resolve. And-- look. I know that it all worked out. It was--" not fine. It wasn't fine, because they way they left things was too much, so much between them, so much left unsaid. Maybe it's dredging up a past better left buried, but it's a past that's still haunting him, and Flynn, too, it seems.

"You're not the only one who was mad that I gave up."

"I wasn't mad that you gave up," Flynn says too-quickly, almost desperate, because—no. No, he really wasn't. He was mad at so much: at the illusion being ripped away, at Yuri working against him instead of with him, at Yuri's increasing anger and the flippant way he treated their dream. "You stopped caring, you—I had this whole plan, with you, and then you just... threw it away, like it meant nothing, and I felt,"

Flynn's throat is tight, which was not the point here. He was supposed to get out of Yuri what all that time was like, but suddenly he's 18 and watching his best friend work to tear down everything they'd worked for, terrified of losing him and making sure with his own stupid words and his twisted feelings that he did it anyway.

"I felt stupid. Like I was the only one who'd actually wanted it. Like you wanted us to fail. Which I know is wrong!"

Edited 2022-02-11 02:49 (UTC)

"Yeah, that--" he didn't really know that. He didn't know that that's what it looked like, that that's how Flynn felt. Yuri glances up at him now, even if he only can for a moment. Meeting Flynn's eyes is too much, too intense, but he does shift a little, a bare inch closer to him.

"It meant everything. I just, I couldn't do it. I couldn't," his voice sticks in his throat, because he wasn't good enough, wasn't smart enough, wasn't fast enough or able to push down his emotions like Flynn was. He couldn't conform, couldn't follow through, couldn't do the things he had to do to be a knight. He couldn't keep up.

It's a whisper when he speaks again: "I wanted it."

Flynn's heart slams into his own ribs.

Yuri wanted it. He wanted to stay, but he thinks—Flynn can feel, rushing under his skin, that deep unhappiness, that conviction that he wasn't enough. It's tied up in sour guilt and something like shame, acid and awful, and it hurts to feel it. Flynn doesn't pull away. If anything, he pushes a little closer, lifts his other hand and lets it rest at Yuri's hip just to touch him.

Yuri wanted it. He wanted to stay but thought he couldn't, and the thing is, with the benefit of time and hindsight:

"You're right," Flynn murmurs back, low and urgent. "I don't think you could have. I don't think you should have. They got so much worse after you left. Or, maybe I simply heard it more—it was so hard."

Yuri didn't know he needed to hear that. He didn't know that that reassurance that he made the right choice, not just because he couldn't hack it, but because he shouldn't have, because Flynn thought he made the right choice because of the knights, not because of Yuri-- something unclenches in his gut. It's a small change, but some of the knot that's been building up since their conversation earlier, it's loosening a little.

He loves feeling Flynn's warmth against him. He loves feeling Flynn hold onto him, like he wants to be there, like he wants Yuri, like Yuri's the one thing that matters to him. Yuri never thought he was a very possessive person, but with Flynn? With Flynn, he wants to be that. He wants to be that one person, that one thing (why? Because you're worried you won't measure up).

"But you did it," he says softly, looking up at him and staying there this time. "You did it, Flynn, you... you put up with all of that and look at you now," his lips flicker a little, "first choice for command."

"I bit my tongue," Flynn says, echoing Yuri's words from that last big fight, accusing him of so many things. His smile is a tiny thing, rueful but true. He can feel that very slight untangling and it's sort of perfect, honestly, because it means he didn't mess this up, it means this messy honesty choking at his throat, escaping without his say-so—this is right. Yuri wants this. Yuri maybe doesn't think that Flynn is weak for struggling with it. "So much," he continues, almost probing, wanting to know what Yuri will say, "and it was so difficult. The things people said—all I wanted was to prove them wrong, and show them the knights didn't have to be what they were. I—"

He laughs, sharp-edged, a little brittle. "Remember Bowie? I almost punched him. I was this close, once."

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