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Yuri felt, more than saw, Flynn leave. Knights were adept at sneaking when they put their minds to it, and Flynn was more subtle than most; by the time Yuri forced his eyes open against gravity and exhaustion the only thing that proved his instincts right was Flynn’s absence, a keen loss in the air.
With a silent sigh, Yuri pried himself upright and staggered into his boots, stumbling in the dark until he found his sword and the exit. He was nowhere near as quiet as Flynn had been, but it didn’t matter; his friends were dead to the world. Estelle had fallen asleep before her head had touched the pillow, and the others fared scarcely better. Their snores rumbled in Yuri’s ears as he closed the door behind him.
Halure might not be very big, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to search in the dark, and Yuri was half asleep besides. It was a solid fifteen minutes before he found Flynn sitting at, or more accurately held up by, the bridge’s railing. Flynn was staring distantly into the waters below, arms hanging over curved wood, his sheathed sword in one hand.
“You can’t possibly be thinking of patrolling, can you?” Yuri was aiming for exasperation but it came out amused. “I hate to agree with the old man, but we did just save the world. One night’s sleep in a real bed isn’t too much to ask.”
Flynn looked up and grinned, warmth leaking exhaustion, his profile lit by moonlight and flickering lamps. “I meant to. Without the barrier blastia…” He shrugged one shoulder, his hands swaying in the air. “But honestly, right now I doubt I could hold a quill, much less a sword.”
“Same.” Leblanc could kick his ass up the courtyard and back in this state. Even tag-teamed, nine-against-one, Duke hadn’t been an easy fight. “You could get Estelle to look at it.”
Flynn cocked a brow. “Like you got her to look at your knee?”
Yuri snorted his concession and flopped down next to Flynn, feet hanging over the edge and his own sword clattering onto wooden slats. They were silent for a long while, shoulder-to-shoulder.
Flynn looked different. Their clothes, including Flynn’s prized armour, had all been hopelessly mangled in their battle; they’d bought the closest-fitting clothes they could find at the shop before they piled into Halure’s inn. But even without the armour, one could hardly mistake Flynn for a simple villager. Something about his eyes, his posture, the air of calm authority…all still evident even in a simple tunic of brown and green, hunched over the railing, shoulders weighed by weariness and responsibility.
Too young, Commandant.
“I was thinking,” Flynn said finally, softly. He didn’t look at Yuri.
“Sounds dangerous.” Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say—
“Where will Brave Vesperia go now?”
Yuri shrugged, his shoulders relaxing into bone-deep weariness. “Wherever the jobs take us, I guess. Haven’t decided on a home base yet. Karol keeps saying Dahngrest, but I think we both know it isn’t quite right.”
Flynn nodded. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “How about Aurnion? New city for new beginnings.”
A continent and an ocean away. Too far, too far. “Could work. I’ll talk it over with Karol and Judy, see what they think. Who knows, maybe we’ll decide Ba’ul and the Fiertia could be our home base. We could be like Myorzo, going wherever the wind takes us.”
Flynn chewed it over. “Maybe. It’d suit you. Free spirit, can’t stay in a single place.”
“It’s not like you were around much back in Zaphias,” Yuri grumbled automatically before he could stop himself.
“No,” Flynn agreed, and there was a gulf of guilt and loss in that one word. “I suppose I wasn’t.”
They were two orphans who shared the same dreams but took very different paths to get there. Flynn, who could move mountains, systems, and aristocrats, would force the world into a better place. But systems weren’t perfect and people fell through the cracks, and someone needed to look out for them too. Flynn would, if he could. But he couldn’t. He needed to save the system first.
Flynn sighed and sank a little further into the railing; his sword slipped another inch from nerveless fingers. Yuri reached over and caught it before Flynn dropped it completely. “If you lose this I’m not diving down for it.”
Flynn huffed a wordless laugh and reluctantly straightened, one hand reaching out.
“Hey.” Yuri didn’t let go; their hands touched, fingers resting against palm. Flynn jerked, startled; he glanced at their joined hands, then back at Yuri, softness mingled with surprise.
“Everything I feel is in this sword.” Yuri pressed the sword into Flynn’s hand, curling Flynn’s fingers around it, before pulling away in a slow, decisive arc. “So you go do your thing, and I’ll do mine. Right?”
It took a moment before a rueful smile curled Flynn’s mouth. “Right.”
This was dangerous territory, and Yuri had already said too much. He clambered to his feet, swaying a little; he was exhausted too. He offered a hand. “Come on, Commandant. If you fall into the ravine I can’t carry you as I am now.”
“Acting Commandant,” Flynn corrected without heat as he caught Yuri’s hand.
“Did you not hear Drake? You’re as good as—ack!” Yuri’s bad knee buckled and the two tumbled to the ground in a yelping, painful heap; a clatter and decisive plop announced that at least one sword had found a watery resting place tonight.
“Damn it.” Yuri thudded his head against the slippery wooden slats. “Was that yours or mine?”
Flynn laughed, his body a heavy, comforting weight on Yuri’s chest, his nose buried in Yuri’s neck. “Yours. I’ll fish it out in the morning. It’s my fault.”
“Always is.” Yuri didn’t move. Too much work to lever Flynn off.
“Mm-hmm.”
Sunrise wouldn’t be for a few more hours, and honestly, he was so tired he could fall asleep like this. Sleep, cocooned in warmth and safety and faith, was a far easier notion than the morning dawn, of diverging paths and shared/differing burdens.
He was just drifting off when Flynn said, still into his shoulder, “I choose you.”
Yuri’s eyes shot open. His insides froze colder than Zopheir’s glaciers, but he didn’t throw Flynn off. He should deflect—normally would, but he was too drained, too scared, too warm. They’d just came back from a battle and feat they had no right to have been able to walk away from. It felt wrong to parry and lie after that.
Still, it was a solid minute before he managed to say, somewhat steadily, “You shouldn’t. What would the others think?”
“Since when do you care about what others think?”
Yuri’s hand fisted on Flynn’s back. “And you? Ragou, Cumore, Alexei, Zagi? They don’t matter anymore?”
“They do.” Flynn levered himself up to look at Yuri, steel and sadness in his face. “You killed them, because the system failed. Because I failed. I share that fault. You have their blood on your hands, I have their victims’ on mine.”
That wasn’t enough, even if Flynn claimed it was; they would not square that circle like this. Yuri growled, baring teeth. “Now who’s making things too simple?”
“I choose you,” Flynn repeated, untangling himself from Yuri. He spread his arms, unarmed, open, looking so much softer, stripped of his armour. “But my choice isn’t the only one that matters here. What do you choose?”
Flynn could beat Yuri in a fight; Yuri could win any argument. But despite Yuri’s quicker tongue and obstinate stubbornness, Flynn had always been the more honest one.
Yuri believed in agency. When Estelle insisted on coming along, Yuri didn’t say no. It wasn’t what he had wanted for her, but it was her choice. Even if staying was safer. Even if it was better for the big picture. She had wanted that for herself. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t wanted to say no either. He wished he did.
“I won’t make your life easier,” he finally said, mouth dry.
Flynn’s jaw hardened, but his eyes were soft. “That’s not an answer.”
His resolve crumbled. He wished he was strong enough to say no.
“Fine.” It came out as a sigh. His heart stopped, spasmed, was going to break his ribs, terror-relief-joy.
“Fine?” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, hurt and anger flashing. “I’m not forcing you into this.”
“Fine,” Yuri growled, because he couldn’t do this, not with words, not like this. He snatched up Flynn’s forgotten sword and all but jabbed Flynn in the chest with it. The gulf between them widened, narrowed, stretched from infinity to an inch. “Everything I feel, right? Your words. Mine.” The anger and fire left him as swiftly as it came, leaving him hollow and shaky and so, so warm. He swallowed hard, he spoke softer. “Everything I feel.”
Flynn smiled, bright as the sun, before Yuri could change his mind and jump off the bridge instead. “Okay.” His voice was as liquid as Yuri’s insides. “Okay.”
If the shopkeeper had to fish them both out of the ravine with a rope four hours later, that was okay too.