A/N: This actually takes place before Yuri and Flynn started dating in the College Town timeline. Again: unreliable narrator warning. You can't assume Flynn knows what Yuri is thinking, even though he assumes he knows. I actually considered at one point writing a second version of the story from Yuri's PoV just to get into his headspace because Flynn gets so much of it wrong or simply doesn't get it at all at this point. Suffice it to say, Yuri has a reason for almost everything he does. There are context clues littered throughout the other stories I've written for this set.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

There was something about the way Yuri tied his hair back into a ponytail that Flynn found mesmerizing. He stayed hunched over his textbook, not entirely sure if he was actually trying to concentrate on studying or only pretending to. Either way, his attention was focused on Yuri: on the subtle curve of his hips as he shifted his weight from foot to foot; on the way stretching his arms up pulled his body taut; on the way he swayed a little as he combed his fingers through his hair, drawing it higher, tighter; on the way his shirt rode up on his hip and if he just lifted his shoulder one more tiny inch….

Shaking his head, Flynn rubbed a hand over his face and made a conscious effort to stop staring. His fascination with Yuri was getting worse. He wasn't even sure where his interest was coming from or when it had started, but it really needed to stop before things became awkward between them.

Completely unaware of how intently Flynn had been focused on him only a moment before, Yuri turned away from where he'd been staring out the door that opened onto the little balcony off Flynn's room. A black hair tie hung between his lips and Flynn's gazed fixed on it, seeing the slight pucker of his mouth, the sliver of white that was a suggestion of sharp teeth behind thin lips.

Yuri plucked the elastic out of his mouth and twisted it quickly into his hair. As he ran his fingers through it one last time, his shirt revealed the barest hint of skin just above the waistline of his jeans.

"Figure out what you want?"

Flynn's gaze shot up to meet Yuri's. "What?"

"For dinner. I asked you when I came in." He crossed the space between them and pressed a hand high up on Flynn's stomach, rubbing roughly for just a moment as he said: "You gotta feed this as well as your brain, remember?"

"Cut it out." Flynn knocked his hand away, hoping Yuri hadn't noticed how fast his heart had sped up at that touch.

Grinning, Yuri held up his hands palms out and backed away. "Relax. You're looking a little red in the face. High blood pressure's a killer, you know."

It was no small blessing that Yuri had never picked up very well on the context clues that signaled attraction. Normally a good judge of character and quick to read people, he was dense as a brick when it came to anything even remotely sexual. That was probably the only thing that had saved Flynn from merciless teasing or the ruin of a lifelong friendship. If Yuri could just stay oblivious until Flynn got over his completely inappropriate crush, they'd be fine.

"So? What do you want?"

"Whatever you'd like to make is fine."

"Jeez, you're boring."

As he started to leave, he dragged a hand sideways through Flynn's hair. It took altogether more self-control than it should have for Flynn to resist leaning into his touch. He watched from the corner of his eye as Yuri headed for the door, and barely flipped his gaze back to his textbook when Yuri abruptly looked back at him.

"You probably ought to keep your blinds closed at night. I didn't see anybody out there, but when I was standing at the window, I swear it felt like I was being watched."

That smile of his was not good for Flynn's heart.

Yuri made them chicken for dinner, spiced with chili, lime, and basil and served over rice. They ate on the couch, balancing the plates on their laps and stretching across to the low coffee table for their drinks. It wasn't particularly comfortable or neat. In fact, it was an arrangement Flynn had been intending to rectify practically since they had first moved in.

"We should go get a table."

"We have one." Yuri slammed his hand down on the coffee table. The rickety old thing wobbled so badly that Flynn had to pick up his glass to keep it from spilling.

"You're only proving me right. We need a table that we can sit down and have meals at."

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Setting his plate down, he slid off the couch to sit on the floor, shuffling his legs under the table. "Pull up a seat."

"Yuri."

"Where would we even put it?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the breakfast nook right next to the kitchen that we've never done anything with." He indicated the little corner they'd left empty except for a single, half-full shelf against the wall.

"Huh. Is that what that space is for?"

"Yes."

"I like it the way it is."

"Yuri! What's wrong with wanting to have a decent table?"

"What's wrong with the one we have?"

"Never mind. I'll get one myself."

Flynn settled back into the cushions. Sometimes, Yuri just didn't make any sense. He picked arguments over the stupidest things, for no good reason. If he hadn't been in such a good mood earlier, Flynn would have put it down to nothing more than him venting a little stress over school or his jobs.

"…I can't go with you this week. I've got stuff going on."

"Next week?"

"Sure."

Wary of starting up an argument, Flynn didn't question his change of heart. They finished their dinner, talking about maybe going to catch a movie sometime soon. Yuri seemed a little quieter than usual, but Flynn assumed he was just tired. It had been a long week for both of them, and the end of the weekend had snuck up on them. As if to prove him right, as soon as he had finished eating, Yuri shifted and settled, trying to find a comfortable position leaning up against the bottom of the couch. He wound up pressed against Flynn's leg and Flynn, finding himself unwilling to give up that little bit of warmth between them, stayed in his seat long after he should have gotten up and gone back to studying.

Flynn didn't mention the table again until Friday. Yuri had come home with him between the judo class they took together and his third shift job as a janitor. He had enough time to relax for a little while before fixing a quick dinner, and Flynn joined him on the couch when it was time for the meal.

"What time did you want to go shopping for the table tomorrow?"

"Can't do it this weekend." His eyes were locked on the TV, watching Bugs convince Daffy that it was duck season.

"Why not?"

"Picked up some extra shifts at the shelter. Hey, you ever notice that these guys will get shot and blown up and crushed by anvils and safes and run over by semi trucks, but they never get stabbed?"

"Why did you take those shifts? We talked about this last week."

"They needed the help, Flynn. What did you want me to do?"

"I wanted you to keep your word. I'm going next Saturday, with or without you."

"All right, I get it."

With that, the matter was closed. Yuri could either get over his weird aversion to furniture shopping, or Flynn would get the table without him. It wasn't as if they absolutely had to go together, after all. It was just a table for a college apartment, not exactly a big decision. Maybe Yuri just didn't want to be bothered about something so simple.

"You don't have to go if you really don't want to. I can find us a table after class this week."

Yuri actually turned to meet his eyes. "No. Don't go without me."

"I thought you didn't want a table."

"Look, just give me till next week. I'll keep Saturday open."

"What, are you worried I'll pick out something that isn't fit to serve your cooking on?"

Just like that, Yuri's moment of seriousness vanished. He grinned and turned back to the TV.

"Sure. We'll go with that."

"Does that mean there's an actual method to your madness that you don't see fit to share?"

"Who knows? Shut up. I'm trying to watch the cartoon."

Flynn reached over and swatted his arm. Yuri responded by knocking into him from the side and, before Flynn knew it, the couch had gone from being a seat at the table to a wrestling ring. He managed to get Yuri into a headlock and smiled.

"My victory. Tell me the real reason you don't want a table."

"Hey! Watch the hair!"

"I'll let you go when you—hey!"

Flynn pulled his arms back so quickly that Yuri, still struggling to get loose, fell right off the couch and only just missed hitting his head on the side of the coffee table. He rolled onto his back, but didn't bother to get off the floor, just propped himself up on his elbows. Staring down at him, Flynn covered the spot on his arm where the sensation of soft lips, warm breath, and sharp teeth lingered.

"You bit me."

"If you can pull hair, I can bite." He grinned, showing off as many teeth as he could. "Think you can take me by playing dirty? Come on. I will fuck you up."

"Ah…shouldn't you be getting ready to leave?"

Why was he just lying there? Didn't he realize how inviting that position was? Flynn could slide right off the couch and be on top of him in a heartbeat.

"Killjoy. Hey, what're you still holding your arm for? I didn't bite you that hard. Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"I think some antiseptic will do the trick," Flynn managed.

"You're really red. Don't tell me you're actually mad. Or has too much studying just gotten you that out of shape?"

"I won in our match earlier."

"Barely. You were distracted. You got a crush on someone in the class, or something?"

"You can interrogate me about my nonexistent love life, or you can be on time to work. Pick one."

He snorted and started down the hall to his room. "Like I care whose ass you were staring at."

"I wasn't staring at anyone's—!"

Flynn broke off as his mouth went suddenly dry. He had leaned around the corner to shout after Yuri and caught a glimpse of him sauntering down the hall in those old jeans of his, the ones he really should have gotten rid of ages ago because they were too tight and only encouraged stares. Maybe Flynn hadn't been looking during their judo class, but he was looking now. Frozen, he watched until Yuri disappeared into his room. As soon as he was out of sight, Flynn sighed and sagged down onto the couch. He really, really had to get over the thing he had for Yuri.

It was another boring week, just like the last one. Yuri was always too busy or too tired to go catch a movie or get dinner out someplace. Every meal Flynn ate while sitting on the couch, leaning over his plate or trying to balance it on his knees made him more eager to go and get a proper dining table set for them. He kept his promise and waited as patiently as he could for Saturday to arrive, but he did spend a good amount of time online looking up the selections at the local furniture stores. He had a few sets picked out by the time Friday rolled around, and he turned in that night with a list of stores and prices ready to go for whenever Yuri managed to drag himself out of bed Saturday afternoon.

Much to Flynn's surprise, Yuri was actually up and ready before lunch. He made chicken salad from last night's leftovers, and they sat down for the last meal they'd be stuck sitting on the couch to eat. It seemed like Yuri's earlier issues with the necessity of furniture shopping had vanished. He was back to his usual, laidback self, and in a particularly good mood on top of that. He didn't even try to chase Flynn out of the kitchen when he collected the dishes to wash them. Although cooking and keeping up with the kitchen were normally part of Yuri's chores, Flynn found himself stepping forward to offer a hand.

"I can help dry."

"Nah, I got it."

"I don't mind."

"It's my job. Go fluff the couch cushions or something."

Rolling up his sleeves, Flynn shouldered Yuri aside, grabbed a dishcloth, and began drying the plates Yuri had scrubbed.

"I'm offering to help out. Most people would say 'thank you.' Besides, it'll take less time this way."

Glancing over, he saw that Yuri was smiling and took it as a sign that there would be no further protests. Although it hadn't been his intention, helping Yuri do the dishes had the unexpected benefit of giving Flynn an excuse to stand just next to him, heart racing a little with every accidental brush of their shoulders. He felt a little stupid to be getting so happy over such a little thing, but he couldn't help it. Being close to Yuri was comfortable. It made him feel at home even more so than being around what remained of his family did.

It was more than just that, though. Even if Flynn wanted to deny it, even if he knew it would mean trouble and headache later, if not heartache, he was beginning to accept that he might not be able to see Yuri simply as his best friend anymore. Yuri had been a constant in his life pretty much since preschool. It was a little scary to think of that changing, for better or for worse, and a little sad, too. He pressed his arm deliberately against Yuri's for a brief moment, glad to know him, glad he was there. Whether Flynn's feelings grew or reverted back to his old, simpler attachment, it didn't change how important Yuri was to him.

"Hey."

Broken out of his thoughts, Flynn looked up to see Yuri grinning at him.

"You've got bubbles on your nose."

"No, I—" He couldn't even finish the sentence before Yuri lifted a sudsy hand and flicked his fingers a foot from Flynn's face.

"Now you do."

Wiping his face, Flynn glanced at the little dollops of suds on his hand. He looked back at Yuri, matched him smirk for smirk, then scooped up a handful of thick, white, foamy bubbles and flung it all over him.

Yuri didn't bat a lash over it, and that was when Flynn noticed that his hand was on the hose next to the faucet.

"No. Yuri, no. Don't you dare. Yuri—! Gah! That's cold!"

He charged into the spray, ducking low to grab Yuri around the waist and hoist him off his feet. The water stopped as Yuri dropped the hose.

"Hey, wait a sec!"

"Nope."

"I give, okay?"

"Too late."

"Where are we going?"

"Shower."

Redoubling his efforts to squirm free didn't save Yuri from being unceremoniously tossed into his tub and soaked. It took them another half hour to dry off, change, and clean the kitchen before they could leave to go pick out a table.

The good mood Yuri had been in that morning faded while they were in the first store. They were actually getting ready to leave before Flynn noticed. They'd barely been there for twenty minutes and Yuri had been a near silent shadow most of that time. He'd wandered off once or twice, but never for long, and hadn't volunteered a single positive opinion on anything Flynn had pointed out. There were still two other stores to check, so Flynn wasn't too put off. He just hoped they could find something that day without getting into an argument over it.

"What are you looking for?" he asked Yuri on their way to the second store.

"Just watching." He was staring out the window, chin propped in his hand.

"That isn't what I meant. What kind of dining room set are you looking for? I know it has to be something small, but there are still—"

"Don't care."

"You've got to have some opinion."

"I like the one we've got."

"We don't have one." He fought to keep his voice calm, channeling his irritation down his arms until his knuckles went white with his grip on the steering wheel. Why did he have to be so difficult? "We have a pile of kindling that you've mistaken for a coffee table and a waste of space where we could have a proper place to eat." He sighed as he pulled into the parking lot and found a space. "Why did you even come?"

"It's my apartment, too."

He was out of the car before Flynn could ask him what he meant by that, and there were enough other customers around to make him drop the subject. He decided right then that whatever was eating Yuri was no longer his problem. They were getting a table that day.

Flynn took his time and didn't bother asking Yuri anything. If he had an opinion to offer, he'd speak up, and Flynn would decide if he cared once he'd heard it. The selection was a little better than at the first store, and they had a few of the sets he'd looked at online out for show. One in particular stood out to him. It was a nice, sturdy set, dark wood, four chairs, one simply carved central leg with four long feet rather than four legs. It was a little under four hundred altogether, and he decided he liked it well enough to skip the hassle of dragging Yuri to a third store on the off chance he might find something better. He caught the eye of a salesman who started over, and turned to find Yuri fiddling with the price tag.

"What do you think?"

"Wasn't there another store you wanted to go to?"

Not with you being unreasonable. "I like this one."

"It'll get knocked over."

"I already checked to be sure it's steady."

"It doesn't match anything."

"Since when do you care about that, anyway? It matches fine. I'm getting this one."

Yuri didn't look happy, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded bills, which he offered to Flynn. "I'll have to give you the rest later."

"Keep your money. You didn't want to have anything to do with getting a new table. I'll take care of it."

He'd expected Yuri to argue. Instead, his friend's eyes iced over and he shoved the cash back into his pocket.

"Fine. Buy your stupid table," he muttered as he stalked off.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Flynn turned back to the salesman, appreciative that the man was professional enough to pretend nothing had happened.

Yuri refused to eat at the table.

Flynn assumed that he would eventually get over it but, after almost a week of Yuri setting one plate on the table before taking his own food into the living room, it became obvious that the problem was not going to just go away. At least he wasn't sulking so obviously anymore. For the first couple days, Flynn hadn't even been able to keep up a conversation with him during meals.

Still, every time Yuri insisted on eating at their old coffee table it seemed like he was taking a jab at Flynn. Stubbornness was one thing, but Yuri had never even bothered to explain why he was being stubborn. It was enormously aggravating, not least because Yuri had never before had qualms about expressing himself when he had a problem with anyone or anything.

Friday afternoon found Flynn alone in the apartment. Yuri had work that night and wouldn't be back until early in the morning. Not interested in enduring the teasing he'd face if he attempted to cook something and failed again, Flynn ordered himself a pizza for an early dinner. When it arrived, he sat down at the table and ate without really tasting it as he pondered Yuri's bizarre behavior.

The table didn't wobble, the chairs weren't uncomfortable. It was easy enough to see the TV when sitting there. Yuri hadn't even had to pay for it. Flynn knew he worked hard for everything he earned and had thought that covering the cost of a dining set Yuri didn't actually want would have gone a long way toward easing the tension. Obviously, he'd been wrong. They didn't share it. Yuri took pains not to even touch the table.

He moved into the living room with his dinner. It just wasn't comfortable having to sit on the edge of the couch in order to reach his plate or his drink. Yuri sat on the floor often enough that Flynn figured he must agree. So why all the fuss?

As he stared at the coffee table, he smiled a little as he remembered the day they'd gotten it. They'd only just moved into the apartment. Flynn hadn't even finished unpacking. He remembered how excited Yuri had been, how he'd been grinning and unable to sit still for days. They'd gone looking for some furniture and ended up at Yuri's favorite thrift shop, where they had found the table and the first of several bookshelves that would fill the walls of their living room. They'd split the cost right down the middle, and Yuri had needed to ask a friend with a pickup truck to help them get the shelf home. They'd bought the couch together, too, only a few days later, and the rest of the shelves, despite the fact that they were mostly filled with books Flynn owned. Even the TV and entertainment center were things they'd bought together.

As he looked around the room, Flynn couldn't pick out a single piece of furniture or electronics that he owned outright. Walking into the kitchen, he realized that they'd split the cost of the pots and pans, the dishes, even the toaster.

"It's my apartment, too."

He hadn't really understood what Yuri meant back then, but he was beginning to get the idea. It still didn't explain everything, though. So, Yuri wanted an equal stake in the common areas of their apartment. That was fine. He paid his half of everything, right on time. Yuri had never once asked Flynn to cover his portion of a bill until the next payday…at least, not until they had gone to buy the table.

Was that why he hadn't wanted it? Was it all just because he hadn't had enough saved up to cover half the cost right away? It would explain why he'd been stalling, even why he'd had too much pride to explain. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why Yuri had been making up excuses all that week to avoid doing anything he'd have to spend extra money on.

"That idiot."

Sighing, Flynn stared at the table and wondered what he was going to do.

The smell of pancakes woke Flynn long before noon on Saturday, and he couldn't understand why Yuri would be up and cooking rather than cocooned in blankets, dead to the world. Whatever the cause, pancakes were always a good thing, even surprise pancakes after Yuri had spent two weeks being cagey and argumentative. He got up and dressed and made his way out into the living room where Yuri was sitting on the floor at the coffee table, tucking into a short stack.

"Oven," he said around a mouthful, gesturing with his fork towards the kitchen and breakfast.

Flynn went and got himself a plate and some pancakes. Yuri had put blueberries and peaches in them, and they only needed a little drizzle of syrup to be perfect. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he joined Yuri on the floor, leaning back against the couch as they enjoyed the food.

When he finished eating, Yuri set his plate down on the table and stretched, settling back down with his arms on the seat of the couch. His hand was just barely touching Flynn's shoulder. He probably hadn't even noticed, but Flynn felt suddenly frozen in place, unwilling to move away and afraid to move closer. He wanted to turn his head and nuzzle into Yuri's hand, wanted to be able to lean into him for a kiss and be welcomed, wanted to feel Yuri's arm sliding around his shoulders, pulling him down to the floor on top of Yuri. Luckily, that particular train of thought was quickly derailed.

"Table's gone." Yuri nodded toward the empty breakfast nook.

"I took it back last night."

He hadn't actually wanted to. He liked the table and liked having a nice place to sit down and eat. It bothered him that he'd given in to Yuri without ever even having a real discussion about what they were going to do but…he wanted Yuri to be happy. If that meant eating a few more meals at a table that wobbled worse than jell-o, so be it. It was annoying but, as Flynn enjoyed another bite of pancake and saw the small, soft smile on Yuri's face, he figured there were perks to compromising.

Two weeks later, as Flynn was driving them home from the grocery store, Yuri suddenly sat straight up in his seat, hands pressed to the window.

"Pull over!"

"What?"

"No, you passed it. Hurry up and turn around!"

"Why? What's going on?"

"Didn't you see that yard sale? Come on!"

"All right, all right." He turned around in a cul-de-sac and backtracked until he spotted the yard sale and found a stretch of curb where he could park. "We can't be long. Some of what we bought needs to be refrigerated."

"We don't need long."

He grinned, obviously delighted about something he'd seen, and headed for the sale. As Flynn followed, he easily spotted what must have caught Yuri's attention. A little kitchen table with three chairs sat on the lawn. Yuri was next to it, talking to a woman who Flynn assumed was selling it. Yuri smiled at him as he stepped up to the table to take a look.

"This would work, right?"

"It's not a full set."

Yuri sighed and turned back to the woman. "Could you do fifty? My roommate's kind of cheap."

"I am not—"

His protest fell on deaf ears. The bluff had worked, the offer had been accepted, and Yuri pulled twenty-five out of his wallet and looked expectantly to Flynn for the other half.

It wasn't a bad table. The top was honey-colored wood and the legs were painted white. The chairs matched and it all seemed sturdy enough. Flynn handed over the other half of the money and wondered how they were going to get it back to the apartment.

Later that afternoon, with the help of one of Yuri's friends, they'd gotten the table back to the apartment complex. Yuri helped Flynn carry it up the stairs and into the corner and brought up two of the three chairs to place around it. Flynn had to admit, it did sort of fit in, one more piece of secondhand, mismatched furniture. His mother had always kept the Scifo house sterile as the showcase for a magazine cover. Yuri's patchwork approach to home furnishing was infinitely more inviting. Running a hand over the back of one of the chairs, Flynn smiled. This would work.

Planting his palms, Yuri hopped up to sit on the edge of the table, leaning back a bit. His legs were spread just wide enough that if Flynn stepped forward he would fit neatly between them. With that realization, Flynn's imagination ran away with him, conjuring up a succession of images that flashed through his mind: his hands on Yuri's shirt, slowly undoing the buttons; Yuri's eyes sliding closed as he leaned in for a kiss; Yuri's shirt falling away, baring his chest and shoulders as Flynn climbed on top of him; Yuri gasping, Flynn's mouth on his neck as they ground against each other—

"So, how do you wanna break it in?" Yuri asked.

"What?" His voice had come out as a squeak, and Flynn cleared his throat, acutely aware that he was blushing.

"What should I make for our first meal on our new table?"

"Oh. Right. Ah…whatever you want is fine. I need…. I'm just going to go take a shower." A very, very cold shower.

As he fled to the safety of his room, Flynn cursed his overactive imagination and his stupid crush on Yuri. He couldn't keep going like this. Something had to change, whether he liked it or not, and it was going to have to change soon. He only hoped that change didn't cost him the closest friendship he'd ever had.

A/N: I don't like putting author's notes at the end, but I don't have a story planned where I can revisit this. To understand why it's so important to Yuri that he be equally invested in the apartment, you have to realize that this is the first home he's chosen for himself and he doesn't want to lose it. At the same time, he can't bring himself to admit that, since it's akin to revealing a weakness. Flynn got halfway there, but he doesn't think the way Yuri does and couldn't put all the pieces into place. Hopefully, his actions make sense to everyone in light of those circumstances.

If the narrator thing ever gets confusing, feel free to message me here or on tumblr and I'll try to explain. Since I know what's going on and I talk badomens through everything as I'm writing, I can't always gauge how well I accomplish my goal of conveying two sets of reactions through one limited viewpoint.