A/N: Although both stories were originally conceived as separate ideas, this can be read as taking place about a month before "Aftermath." It works just fine as a standalone, however.

There's a link in my profile where you can see the picture that originally inspired it.

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

Night had fallen before Flynn returned to his quarters, and he was startled by the chill that greeted him as he stepped into his state room. It was easy enough to spot the cause. Yuri was sitting in the window, watching the world go by and letting the cold, evening air into the room. He turned with a smile when Flynn entered.

"It's about time you got back!"

Flynn rolled his eyes, but he wore a welcoming smile that couldn't be held back. "Had you come into the palace like a normal person, you would have been greeted and a messenger could have been dispatched to find me. You can't very well expect to drop in unannounced and not be kept waiting."

Pausing at his desk on his way across the room, he stripped away his gauntlets and gloves. He only fumbled with them briefly in his haste, and then he was coming around to the window, reaching out as Yuri left his perch behind.

They clasped hands, and Yuri's fingers were cold against his skin. He wasn't comfortable in the palace; Flynn knew that. It was why he so often insisted on climbing in through the window. Even still, he'd come to visit and had waited long enough to get chilled. He could have simply left. He could have written a note and let Flynn come to find him later—assuming he wouldn't be leaving town immediately. He hadn't, though, and it was nice to be reminded that he wasn't the only one missing his best friend.

Flynn yanked him forward into a tight embrace and felt Yuri flinch.

"Easy there." He was smiling sheepishly as he pulled back. "I had a bit of a rough time on my way into town, and I haven't restocked on gels."

"How bad?"

"Climbing the wall was probably a mistake, and I'll have a nice, new scar for you to admire, but I'll live."

"And be none the wiser for the experience, I'm sure. Go sit down. I'll come patch you up."

Rather than step right past, Yuri leaned against him for a moment, one arm loosely settled at his waist. Flynn felt him sigh, felt the stored tension leave his body as Yuri dropped his guard. They were cheek to cheek and, with a slight turn of his head, Yuri placed a light kiss, the merest brush of lips, on the corner of Flynn's jaw. He slipped away into the soft shadows, and Flynn closed the window and lit the oil lamp sitting on the corner of his desk before drawing the curtains.

Yuri had left the state room behind, crossing the threshold into Flynn's bedroom, smaller and more intimate and better appointed for their needs. Already, his belt lay discarded on the floor, and his vest followed as Flynn entered. As Yuri slowly began to pull his shirt off, he turned away to stoke the fire.

When was the last time they'd seen each other? They had crossed paths briefly at Halure, but, as they'd each been on their way elsewhere, there hadn't been much time for catching up, or even a brief chance to speak privately. The last time they'd been able to enjoy each other's company had been back in the height of summer as Yuri had been passing through between jobs.

They had dueled that day. Flynn had won, but only just barely, and they'd argued easily over it until Yuri had decided that enough was enough and knocked Flynn into the river, then jumped in afterward. He smiled at the memory, remembering the initial shock and how good the cool water had felt after the heat of the day and the fight. They'd slogged back through the lower quarter together and spent the night in Yuri's creaky old bed.

He almost laughed now, remembering the very real concern he'd had that the old bed was going to give out under the strain. He'd long ago given up insisting that Yuri get a new one, and since his promotion to Commandant had been meaning to simply buy one for him, but he'd never gotten around to it. Stepping into Yuri's room over The Comet was like going back in time. The only thing that had changed since he'd moved in was that the sword he'd been issued during his brief time in the Knights was now mounted on the wall, directly beneath the very first sword he'd ever bought.

The flames had sparked up in his fireplace, crackling and popping and working to replace the heat Yuri had so carelessly let escape out the window. Standing up, he turned to see Yuri watching him from where he waited next to the bed. His shirt was balled up in his hands, and a very faint smile graced his face. His hair was already pulled over one shoulder to leave his back bare, and Flynn's gaze skimmed briefly across old scars gone slivery white with age as he circled around to get a look at Yuri's newest badge of courage.

It was worse than he'd made it out to be. Two slashes, one considerably bigger than the other, ran from the crest of his shoulder inwards across his back to the middle of his spine. He had to have taken something for it, otherwise he'd have bled out sooner than made it to Flynn's window, but whatever it was hadn't been strong enough. The wounds were scabbed over from the partial healing, and Flynn shook his head.

"Yuri, this—"

"I know, I know. I used up the last gel I had on it, and I'm short on gald right now."

He sighed. Yuri could have asked almost anyone in the lower quarter for a gel and they'd have happily helped him out if they could. Of course, he wouldn't do something like that, though. He'd rather suffer in silence and wait until he could handle it on his own…or until Flynn could handle it for him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He'd actually learned a new trick, just for a situation like this.

"Uh…Flynn?"

"Shhh. Hold still." He'd settled his hands on Yuri's hips, and he leaned in close enough to see his breath raising gooseflesh up Yuri's back. "Holy power come," he whispered, and kissed between the wounds.

Magic shone softly around that point of contact, flowing into Yuri and repairing damaged flesh. Flynn kissed a trail up his back, feeling Yuri shiver between his hands. It was more effort to channel the magic this way, but….

The final kiss he placed just below the rise of Yuri's shoulder expended the last of the power he'd gathered, and he moved in close, letting his arms slide across Yuri's stomach, and resting his chin in the crook of Yuri's neck.

"Now when you get yourself all banged up, I really can kiss it and make it better."

Yuri laughed, short and soft, and something stirred low in Flynn's stomach at the sound. "I bet you say that to all the guys."

"How long are you staying?"

He tucked in his chin, bringing his lips into contact with soft skin. A flick of his tongue caught the familiar salty tang of sweat. He could smell blood, faintly, animal musk and dirt, the sweet scent of grass and the smoky smell of campfires. He opened his mouth and set his teeth against Yuri's skin.

"Couple days."

Flynn could feel Yuri shifting beneath him, waiting for him to bite down, and he hummed, as much in appreciation for the time they would have together as to make him squirm. That was all it took to use up Yuri's patience, and he turned in Flynn's arms, grabbing on and toppling both of them onto the bed.

They kissed, a different sort of magic sparking between them, a spell conjured with quickening breaths and little pleas and fervent curses. Yuri's neck and chest were dappled red and spotted with bite marks before Flynn had even removed his tunic. The remains of their clothing was flung aside, kicked away, and forgotten in lieu of far more important matters. The bed was more than large enough for both of them and barely creaked at all.

It was Flynn who drew them a bath afterward, as he always did when Yuri came to visit. Having a private bathing room was one of his favorite perks of being Commandant, something he hadn't ever expected to become so attached to. The tub was big enough for two, but only just, and Yuri sat between his legs, dozing, as they soaked. He was unusually subdued, but Flynn put it down to a long trek to the capital, or the fight before he'd reached the gates, or the wound he'd left largely unattended.

When the water had gone tepid, Yuri got out of the tub and toweled off, ignoring his dripping hair. Flynn backed him into a corner and flung a towel over his head, ruffling it as Yuri laughed and tried ineffectually to fend him off. Finally, he surged forward and caught Flynn up in a kiss, a fair enough distraction made even more effective when Yuri's hands alit on his sides and made their way down, his touch teasing and purposeful and very much welcome.

They had to towel off again afterward, and Yuri's hair was still dripping, but languor drove away all Flynn's wants aside from the desire to drag Yuri to his nice, soft bed and curl up around him and drift off to sleep. They traded soft kisses and light touches—small comforts and assurances—until sleep called them to stillness and rest.

Habit woke Flynn early the next morning, though he knew Yuri wouldn't be long abed. From the next room, he could hear the rattle of porcelain and he realized that the maids had already brought up his breakfast, expecting him to be dining alone in his state room. Quickly, he threw on a dressing gown and cinched it tight around his waist. He opened the door just a crack, just wide enough to stick his head through and ask that breakfast be provided for two, then withdrew quickly with a wry smile. It wasn't a common request, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd made it. It was no secret that Yuri sometimes stayed the night with him. He hung up his dressing gown and turned back to the bed.

Yuri was kneeling in the center of the bed, holding Flynn's cape. He had a dim memory from the previous night of having tossed it to the foot of the bed, but now Yuri had dragged it over the sheets and was holding it under his nose. The drape of it was like a waterfall down the front of his body, pooling on his lap, hiding him, but only barely. His hair was uncombed and in disarray, stark against skin bleached by the bright white morning sunlight. Flynn climbed back into bed behind him, pushing the fall of his hair aside to kiss along his shoulder. He nipped lightly up Yuri's neck, catching unmarked skin and bruises from the night before, alike. He pulled Yuri into his arms, kissed jaw line and cheek, but Yuri merely buried his face deeper into the cape and sighed happily.

"You could have one of your own, if you came back to the Knights," Flynn said finally, settling his chin on Yuri's shoulder. It wasn't precisely the same combination of fondness and annoyance as he'd used last night, but Yuri didn't seem to notice.

"Not the same." He took another deep breath. "You've been spending time in the lower quarter."

"More so than usual this week, with one thing or another. How did you know?"

"I can smell the bakery," Yuri murmured. "The blacksmith's forge, the bar at The Comet, crowds of people."

"You can't smell all that." He squeezed a little tighter, thoughts of shared satisfaction before breakfast dashed by Yuri's complete disinterest.

"Sure, I can. The whole lower quarter's here."

Frowning, he grabbed Yuri's wrist and pulled his hand close enough to sniff the cape. He smelled sweat and a muddle of other odors all blended in together. "It smells like it needs a wash."

"It smells," Yuri insisted quietly, clutching the fabric close, "like home."