[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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[ Flynn sort of thuds back into the sheets. Yuri's retreat isn't a surprise, shouldn't be a surprise, but—

Well, it isn't, is it? Yuri doesn't like to rely on people, even on him, even if the thought still stings a little. He'd run in Dahngrest and he'd run from the knights, away from Flynn over and over, and why? So he knows he can stand on his own two feet?

Flynn understands that well enough, but he lurches up after Yuri anyway, reaching out to grab his wrist before he can make it out of the room. ]

[ The hand doesn't really stop him. He tries to shake Flynn off, but his grip is too tight. It's too tight and the determination emanating from Flynn is too intense. Yuri can't really fight back against it. Maybe there is a small part of himself that doesn't want to have to stand on his own two feet. Maybe that small part of him wants to be able to lean on someone, on Flynn, specifically. He trusts Flynn, he just... still doesn't know how much is too much. How much is too much to put on him. He's put so much, his own insecurities, this bond they now share, what else will Flynn bear for him before he decides it isn't worth it? ]

Let go.

[ His voice is a raspy whisper, but he's still under Flynn's hand. ]

No.

[ As easy as that, clear and direct: Flynn isn't going to let go because Yuri doesn't have to deal with this alone. He already did, and clearly that was exactly as much of a problem as Flynn had thought it was in those desperate days searching for him. All the things he'd imagined, everything running through his head, Yuri pinned up on one of those walls or strapped to a table—

Flynn's grip softens, but he doesn't let go. He tugs, in fact, pulls Yuri back toward the bed. ]

I'm not leaving you again.

Flynn-- [ Yuri's learning just how weak he is to Flynn. He wants to give Flynn everything he wants, everything he needs, and he doesn't feel any resentment in Flynn's emotions, only the same worry and determination, and that love that underlies everything, that buoys him. It's that love that makes Yuri relent, letting Flynn pull him back. If he's honest with himself, he doesn't want to leave. He just wants to-- he doesn't know what. Go back to sleep. Not think about it. Not have to deal with it.

He sinks back onto the bed on his knees, not quite looking at him. It's uncomfortable, how much he loves Flynn. It fills up his ribs, it's too much for him to keep inside, and Flynn can feel it now. He can feel it leaking out of Yuri because he doesn't know what to do with it. He kept it bottled up inside of himself for too long, and here Flynn is, offering to support him, and Yuri's so incredibly grateful to have him, and that feeling battles with his own fear. ]

It was just a dream.

That part was.

[ Flynn says, quiet, not quite pushing but certainly pressing. He sinks down onto the bed beside Yuri, hesitates, and then curls his legs under himself like he used to when they were children, pressing into Yuri's side. ]

But you really went through those things. All of that. Right?

[ Yuri leans against him in turn, head bowing, but then-- ]

Huh? How did you--

[ He doesn't realize that the Flynn in his dream is this Flynn. That he was there. He thinks that Flynn just thought he had a nightmare. He looks up at Flynn through his hair. ]

How do you know what I dreamed?

I—

[ Listen Yuri they have very important things to talk about, like how muc of that dream was dream and how much was memory, but Flynn blinks in the face of that, his lips parting silently. ]

...I don't know.

[ A little frisson of alarm through their skin-contact. ]

You dreamt about your time in that tower, didn't you? With the zealots.

...yeah. [ Yuri watches him with a little frown, his fingers going to the handprint imprinted around his wrist. Is this some weird part of the bond he didn't know about? ] Was that you? In the dream? I... you've never been there before. [ when he's dreamed about it ]

[ That is not how Yuri intended it, surely, but the words hit Flynn like a punch and his breath catches; he looks away, into the darkness of their room, his throat tight. Of course he's never been there. He wasn't there. ]

This time, it was.

[ And his own words are really just sinking in, the strangeness of them. He has been in the memories of others; he has never been in their dreams, and that's clearly what happened here. Flynn's own fingers go to the handprint, trailing over the faded mark. ]

I don't know how, or why, but—Yuri, do you... have that dream often?

[ It's strange, but really not that strange after everything. And that isn't really the point here. Yuri can think about it later, but right now...

Right now, he has to decide if he wants to lie or not. He has to decide if he should tell Flynn the truth. But the real question is, why wouldn't he? He would he lie? What would he get out of that? More loneliness, more pain. Shutting Flynn out hasn't really worked out well for either of them, but he doesn't want to put anymore on Flynn, he doesn't want to burden him, when Yuri is already shouldering this burden. It happened to him, it's his to bear.

Isn't it?

He doesn't know anymore ]

...yeah. Sometimes.

[ Sometimes, of course, can cover a broad range of meanings. Sometimes could mean once a month or once a week. Sometimes can be a drizzle or a deluge, and Flynn has no idea which it is.

Yuri is trying, though. He recognizes that much.

Rather than plaster himself to Yuri's side this time, Flynn reaches out, curls an arm around his shoulder and lets his hand tangle into Yuri's hair, a little lighter. ]

I suppose... it would be a hard thing to forget.

...yeah.

[ He says it again, letting his eyes fall shut. He wasn't purposefully keeping it from Flynn, he just didn't want to talk about it. It's painful, terrifying, one of the worst things that's ever happened to him, being surrounded by all that suffering, being unable to do anything, being helpless, being tormented by uncaring, unmovable creatures who used to be people.

He doesn't lean into Flynn, but he stays where he is, and he's glad he's there, that Flynn is there with him. ]

So you... saw all of it.

I did.

[ Yuri deserves to know what playing field they're on, after all: that Flynn saw it, and felt the spike of fear and panic. Yuri had felt so abandoned, left behind in that awful place. He's not wrong. Flynn did leave him. Against his will, but— ]

I didn't know it was that bad.

[ He has an impulse to downplay it, to say it wasn't that bad, but, well. He doesn't have the energy for that right now. Right now, he has to process that Flynn saw it, Flynn was in his dream, Flynn was there, he saw Yuri strapped down, helpless, he saw Yuri overwhelmed by zealots, unable to protect himself.

He feels weak. He feels like he's showing his soft stomach, and can only rely on hope that Flynn won't take that and see him differently, that he won't use this in some horrible way. But this is Flynn. Yuri can't believe that he'll use it against Yuri. He doesn't want to believe that, but that fear is still there. ]

It wasn't great.

[ Flynn doesn't want to push too hard. He doesn't want to send Yuri spinning out to sea, retreating from anything stronger than those three quiet words, but—

But Yuri's been grappling with these memories alone since they happened, and clearly they have him in their grip. Flynn can't let him keep going like that, dragging them behind himself like those corpses in October. ]

It doesn't do any good to wish I'd been with you. I know that. But.... I still wish that I had been. We might have been able to free you, together.

[ His gut reaction isn't a kind one: that Flynn doesn't believe that he can take care of himself, that he's weak without Flynn, that Flynn doesn't think he's strong enough to get himself out of these things alone.

Which, he isn't. He wasn't. He couldn't do it. He had wished, in moments of weakness, that Flynn had been there, even though a greater part of him was glad that Flynn wasn't there. He didn't want Flynn to have to go through that, not if he didn't have to. ]

Yeah, well. You weren't.

[ It's harsh, harsh and he doesn't quite mean it the way it comes out. He doesn't want Flynn to have been there. He really doesn't. But he still hurts, still carries this with him, when he's alone or tired or just lets his mind wander, it's there. ]

[ The hurt radiating from Yuri drives it home. He didn't say those things out loud and Flynn doesn't pick them up in as many words but somehow, some way, Yuri's thoughts are loud enough to drag Flynn right along with him,. Flynn's jaw tightens along with his chest, his ribs digging sudden into his own heart. He stiffens, swallows, looks away into the darkness and the soft outline of their door. ]

I know.

[ An exhale, louder for the silence. Flynn's hand tightens on Yuri's shoulder. Yuri can feel all the guilt balled up in him, sitting tight and heavy in his gut. He'd tried so hard, hadn't slept for days, had ranged into the forest and nearly killed a zealot, and for what? For Yuri to come back on his own, blood-soaked and pale and near-death. ]

I tried to be, but that doesn't matter—Yuri,

[ He has to press on this, can't just let it go. ]

I would never think you were weak for... any of this. You have to know that.

Edited 2022-02-22 19:43 (UTC)

[ Did he know? That Yuri was thinking that? Or does Flynn just know him that well.

But hearing the words out loud doesn't make it better. It almost makes it worse ]

It's not your damn fault.

[ Yuri doesn't like that guilt. He doesn't want Flynn to feel it, not for him. Not for something neither of them could control. And that's the problem, isn't it? They couldn't control it. Couldn't do anything about it.

The next words come out, unbidden, maybe because he's tired, maybe because he trusts Flynn so much ]

I want to stop thinking about it.

[ So he has been thinking about it.

Of course he has, Flynn thinks, and lets out another slow breath, hating how useless he is, how little he can do. He can't fix this: there is nothing he can do to drive the memory from Yuri's head. He can barely get the memory out of his own head, and the space is already crowded with a hundred other things he wishes he could change. Flynn returns to those over and over again, picks apart the threads with his bare fingers and fails to change a damn thing because it's in the past, all of it.

Awful how much the facts of the past can come back to hurt you, over and over, like an arrowhead stuck in the skin. Flynn curls his fingers into Yuri's hair. ]

I've never even heard you talk about it. Yuri, I... couldn't be there then, no matter what I tried, but—I'm here now. You don't have to carry it all alone. I don't want you to have to.

Edited 2022-02-22 20:42 (UTC)

[ Why? Why is Flynn offering this to him? It makes him feel even weaker that he wants it, he wants to share this burden, but he doesn't want to make Flynn carry it for him.

But, he's offering. He's offering, and that voice in Yuri's head, the one that's been so active this month, telling him to trust, trust people, trust Flynn, is there, piping up that if he wants this, and if Flynn is offering, why should he say no? ]

You sure?

[ An opportunity to back out. If Flynn doesn't want to. If he doesn't to had to carry this, because he got out. He got out, he doesn't have to bear this. ]

I'm sure.

[ No hesitation, in feeling or in word. Flynn looks at him in the darkness, at the sleep-soft tousle of his hair and the shadows under his eyes, and squeezes him close for another moment, his chest full of some aching feeling (love. He loves Yuri so much, and he's been carrying this alone for so long, and—) ]

That's what we promised, isn't it? That we'd carry our burdens together.

[ Yuri's never going to get used to that feeling, that feeling of Flynn's love for him. He can question why all he wants, but he can't question that Flynn does love him. He can feel it, he can barely understand it, it's so potent, so present, and it's for him. He doesn't feel worthy of it, of Flynn's love, of Flynn, but Flynn told him straight out that Yuri shouldn't question it. If he trusts Flynn, he has to trust that he knows his feelings, and he loves Yuri.

And he wants to know. He wants to share the burden, he wants to help, and Yuri is just so tired. So tired of carrying it, so tired of the lonely knowledge of what happened to him, and Flynn's fingers are in his hair, and there's love pulsing through their bond, through the touch, and Yuri is weak. He's so weak to this, to the safety and security of Flynn, to the love and care that Flynn offers him. He wants it, so, so much. He wants it and he hasn't let himself have it, and that voice just keeps questions why, why, why. He doesn't have an answer, at least, not a good one. He just knows that he shouldn't take it, that he should leave Flynn for someone better than him, but the weak part of him that loves Flynn just wants that for himself. He wants that, he wants all of it, everything that Flynn will give him.

He takes a shaky breath ]

Okay. Okay, I... [ don't actually know how to say any of this. The memories are so tangled, so strange in his own head, and the dream exacerbated them, stretched them, made them odd and present and horrifying and Flynn saw that, he saw that, he saw Yuri on that table, he saw Yuri trying to save Lysithea, and not being able to, not being able to at all.

His breath hitches and he curls into himself, his face in his hands. ]

[ There is something like helpless fear flooding from Yuri. He hides his face the way Flynn used to when they were children, to shut out the massive world and all the horrors in it they were powerless to stop. That spurred their promise in the first place. Flynn and Yuri both needed an outlet, a plan, to deal with their incandescent rage at the unfairness of the world they were born into.

Flynn remembers that helplessness, that awful fear that nothing would ever change, that they would have to live like this. It's a paralyzing thing. He lets the pad of his thumb drag along Yuri's jutting shoulder, a reminder that he's here. ]

How long after I left did they get you? I saw Lysithea, as well. Was she captured?

[ Questions. He can answer questions. Flynn is being so kind to him, and he can't help but be afraid that he's going to say something that's too far, that's too much. But he has to work through that fear, work through it because he wants this, he wants what Flynn is offering to him. ]

Few hours. I, she... showed up after you were gone. We fought together, she did something, stopped time, we got away. Then she, she left too.

[ He still doesn't remember turning into the beast, he doesn't remember it happening, he doesn't know that's what it was in the dream. He just knows he wanted to tear into those zealots, to kill them, to escape, and they were standing in his way ]

...and so you were left alone to deal with them.

[ Flynn concludes with all of the requisite pain audible in his voice. That Yuri really was abandoned, left to die in that place without the mercy of the moon pulling him free—

It sends anger sparking sharply through Flynn all over again, and his jaw tightens as he twists to look behind them at the sliver of moon hanging low and yellow in the sky. It must be nearly moonset, and dawn not far behind. ]

[closed] back when we were kids

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