Farewell

by Saenda

Paris, 1833. A young man with no memories, aside from the name Yuri, is found near death and taken in by the renowned pianist Frederic Flynn Chopin. By then, a thorough search for his lost memories is initiated, but maybe the answer lies closer than he would have believed. Flynn/Yuri, rated M for later chapters.

1. First movement

A/N: Hey guys! I'm glad to finally publish my first Vesperia fanfiction -w- It took me quite some time to get to this, because I'm so busy with school, work and work, and work, and work... At least, now I'm in vacation from school, so that leaves me a little more time xD Anyway, I won't leave you hanging anymore. I'll write more at the end ;p

Warnings: Of course, this is a yaoi fanfiction, meaning boys X boys. If you're uncomfortable with this, there's this little button at the upper left that is called "back". Kindly push it owo It's also rated M for later chapters, so if you're uncomfortable with that as well, the same applies to you xD

Disclaimers: The characters belonging to Namco belongs, of course, to Namco.

This is also not a betaed work, so I'm sorry for any mistakes that you might find. English is not my first language after all. Well, I'm really stopping now. Enjoy!

---

Farewell

First movement

It was late at night in Paris' streets. The stars and moon in the dark sky were hidden by grey clouds threatening to empty their contents any time soon. A storm was expected. Street lights were illuminating the cobblestone on which a man was slowly walking, or rather, staggering. His whole body was covered with bruises which he tried to ignore as he stepped forward, clinging to the wall next to him. His breathing was coming in shallow puffs that could be seen in steam because of the crisp cold of the night. His free arm was wrapped around his chest to try and keep some warmth, but he failed miserably considering how he shivered violently. His eyes were half opened even if he fought as hard as he could not to fall asleep. Strands of his long dark hair were stuck to his forehead and cheeks, but he dared not move any of his arms to get them out of the way in fear of losing the little balance he had.

Despite his precautions, the man soon collapsed on the ground, his legs giving in on their own accord. He was so weak; it felt like he had not eaten in days. He attempted to stand again, but every parcel of his body protested loudly and prevented him from moving any more. The long haired man whimpered in both pain and frustration. However, he could do nothing anymore but to sit back against the wall he used as support until now. Through his half-closed eyelids, he could see the many passers-by who ignored him all this time even if it was obvious he needed help. The man cursed them all, cursed them for their selfishness. He guessed they were all rich bastards that did not want anything to do with him. Besides, he was in such a mess that he must look frightening. Who would associate with a man covered in dried blood and bruises when he could be a criminal?

The wounded closed his eyes slowly and let his head fall backward so that it could lie against the wall. Somehow, he swore he could hear the faint sound of a piano resonating far away. It sounded beautiful, something he would wish to hear over and over again. Was he dreaming? Was it a trick of his imagination? Maybe it was the music played in heaven, luring him. At that thought, his mind reminded him that he should wake up, and the man tried to open his eyes again. However, his eyelids were too heavy and his head was filled with such warm and comforting cotton that the thought of sleeping was very welcomed. He did try to come back to his senses from time to time, and so at some point, he thought he saw feet coming in his direction through his blurry vision. And as he went back to sleep, he again believed his imagination was playing him when his name was called. This was just impossible.

---

Consciousness slowly came back to him, but he did not dare open his eyes yet. He was so comfortable, lying on something so soft and cosy that he truly did wonder if he was in heaven. For now, though, he wanted to rave about this blissful feeling that he was sure he had not known in his life before. He would open his eyes later. Maybe he could go back to sleep? He had all the time in the world anyway, since he was dead.

Soon, however, the sound of a piano filled his ears. He could tell that this was not the same melody which had played the last time, but the style felt the same: gentle, nostalgic and full of depth. This meant he had truly heard the instrument the first time and that it had not been a figment of his imagination. Curious, the dark haired man decided to crack an eye open, and then a second.

He was met by the sight of a high wooden ceiling. Frowning slightly, he turned his head to his right side and saw that he was in a room with light blue walls. A frieze of different curly designs bordered the ceiling and extended into fancy beams in each corner of the walls. His eyes landed on an opened window. The light emanating from it blinded him briefly and he raised his arm to protect his eyes as he wondered if he truly was in heaven. That was when he spotted the white bandages covering parts of his hand as well as the sleeve of a silky blue pyjama. He also heard the ruffle of sheets and his irises moved to the direction of the noise. He realised that what he had found so comfortable was actually a wide king size bed he was lying into. A thick elegant embroidered cover of oriental patterns above white sheets was covering him and keeping him warm.

As much as the bandages should have been a sign for him to understand that he was not in heaven, his surroundings felt too surreal for him to think otherwise. Everything was too neat and perfect to be human made. To his left, further in the back was a hearth where a fire was softly burning, spreading warmth. Next to it was a cozy looking armchair of a golden hue. On the wall adjacent was a bookcase filled with books of various lengths. There were paintings of landscapes adorning the blue facade and, beside the bed stood a nightstand. The man's eyes landed last on the lamp as well as the few papers stacked neatly above the small furniture.

Now that his inspection was over and that he had marvelled at the sheer beauty of the room, the melody playing that he forgot reached his ears once more. The curiosity he felt earlier hit him back with full force and the need to see the pianist made itself present. If he was in heaven, would it be an angel? He both hoped for a yes and a no; yes because he was curious of gazing at such a perfect being, and no because it really meant he was dead. He had no real place in heaven. He should be someplace else instead of staining this beautiful and calming world.

The dark haired man stood up slowly, barely feeling any of the pain he had when he supposedly died. He listened intently to the instrument in order to pick up the direction he should follow. His steps guided him outside the bedroom. The music, contrary to the last time, was more joyful and perky. Many notes were hit in precision and ease, giving depth to the music and the impression of carefreeness. He could almost feel like the melody was jumping.

As he crossed the door, the man looked to his left, then to his right. The last direction seemed to be the correct one, so his feet took off to the right. His surroundings still felt too surreal and were as richly decorated as the room he had been in instants ago. He was just a bit surprised that no one else was around except for the person playing and himself. Such an elegant place was bound to have many people roaming around, right? Especially in heaven. Surely there was more than one angel.

He moved forward in the hallway and the melody became louder with each step he took. He went past a door or two before he finally reached one that was breached open. The music was coming from inside, so he slowly pushed on the last obstacle separating them. His eyes were immediately attracted to the form sitting on the bench of the instrument instead of taking the time to observe the warm red walls and bronze mouldings on the edges of the floor and ceiling. He barely noticed the desk covered in sheets of paper accompanied by a bottle of ink at the corner next to the piano.

What he truly saw was blond golden short hair that looked so very soft to the touch, as well as the arms and body clothed in an indigo long sleeved coat which reached the floor. They moved with grace along with the melody playing. The dark haired man was mesmerized by the precision with which the other person played, his fingers running along the keys so quickly. He stayed at the door for some time, unable to move because of the sheer admiration he felt and the shivers that ran down his spine. This could be nothing but an angel, he had no doubts anymore. And yet, this sight was not enough. He wanted to at least gaze at the other's face, see how beautiful that angel was. The mere thought pulled him. His feet moved forward of their own accord.

He reached the piano in a few silent strides. However, instead of peering at the other discreetly while still standing, as anyone should have done to not bother the pianist, he sat on the bench next to the musician. Besides, angels were perfect beings; the blonde would most definitely not be distracted by him. He was right, because if the other noticed the newcomer's presence, he did not show it. Instead, he kept playing as if he was alone. This left the dark haired man the chance to observe the pianist. His face was wearing a concentrated and serious expression, but his eyes were gleaming in pure delight. The long haired man realised that the blonde's back he had contemplated earlier was nothing compared to those pools of endless sapphire. They were breathtaking and bewitching, leaving him unable to stare away. His features were the very description of perfect. This place was most definitely heaven.

"You're awake," the angel finally spoke up, acknowledging his presence, startling him out of his daze. "How are you feeling?"

His eyes never left the keys on which his fingers played with ease, jumping and twirling. The dark haired man found that he too could not stare away from those long and slender hands, leaving him unable to reply. Thankfully, the pianist soon hit the last notes, keeping his fingers on the keys for a few seconds before removing them from the piano to lay them on his lap. Because he had not received an answer yet, the musician tilted his head to finally stare straight at the other, a small smile on his lips.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, softly.

Finally, the dark haired man came back to reality and shook his head violently to put some sense into him. He was in front of an angel; he could not afford to look like an idiot!

"I'm fine. I feel more than fine." He raised his hands higher so he could look at the bandages and frowned. "I'm a bit surprised I would need these in heaven, though. It's not like I feel any pain."

The blonde blinked one, two, three times before he burst in laughter. The other raised an eyebrow in incomprehension, wondering what could be so funny. He... he was in heaven, right? The pianist was too perfect to be human, after all, from the way he played to the way he looked. It was the very definition of beauty.

"What's so funny?" he whined, hoping very much he was not the source of the laughter.

"I-I'm sorry, it's just that we're not in heaven. I'm afraid that you are still quite alive," the blonde informed the other, wiping tears that formed in the corner of his eyes for he laughed too much.

Eyes widened and cheeks reddened violently before the dark haired man's hand rubbed his neck in nervousness. How could he have been so stupid to believe he was dead? Signs had been everywhere: the bandages, the house, the light from the window, the blonde man himself – he had no wings, after all. However, everything felt too surreal that he could not believe otherwise. He sighed softly.

"And to say that I was ready to believe you were an angel. Too bad!" he blurted out shamelessly, gripping the edge of the bench behind his back, looking up at the wooden ceiling.

He glanced at the pianist and saw that a blush now crept up on his cheeks, making the former smirk lightly. He just found out that teasing the blonde could be quite fun.

"Anyway, what's your name?"

He missed the glint of surprise and disappointment in the pianist's eyes at his question as he looked back at the piano. It looked new and was made in a soft brown veneer wood that appeared smooth to the touch. The lid was open, revealing a complicated system of chords and little hammers. Sheets of music were displayed on the lectern integrated to the piano; surely their content was the melody the blonde played earlier. Everything seemed to be handwritten and the dark haired man wondered if it was the pianist who had composed the music.

"I'm Frederic Flynn Chopin," the other replied and the long haired man gazed once more at his host.

Somehow, the name felt familiar, as if he should know it, but he had no idea where he heard it before – not that he could know anyway. He watched the blonde gaze at him expectantly, as though he wanted for the long haired man to remember. The latter immediately found it weird, but decided to ignore it and labelled it as a figment of his imagination.

"I'm Yuri," he offered his own name. This time, he did see the disappointment in the other's blue irises, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Yuri? Is that all?" Frederic asked, frowning slightly. "Usually, people give a surname when presenting themselves."

Yuri shrugged nonchalantly, though deep down, he felt rather uncomfortable by the subject. "As much as I'd like to, I can't. The only two things I can remember are this name and waking up covered in wounds with barely the strength to walk."

Indeed, he had no memories whatsoever of anything before that. It was unnerving, mostly now that he could ponder about it. Who was he exactly? Where did he come from? How did he end up hurt? These were a few of the many questions that roamed around in his mind. It was scary.

He avoided staring at the blonde while he explained his situation for fear to see pity in the other's eyes. God knew that it would be the worst expression to see. He hated being pitied; it made him feel worthless, as though he were lower than everybody else. However, when he did look back at the pianist, he was surprised to notice genuine sadness instead of what he was expecting. The blonde was sympathizing with his state, not looking down on him. Yuri was grateful, merely for this much. It made him feel like they were equals.

"How about Lowell, then?" the musician voiced out, snapping the dark haired man out of his thoughts. The latter raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what the other was getting at. "Your surname. How about Lowell?" the blonde explained with a smile.

Yuri Lowell? This sounded so very right, as though it could truly be his entire name. Somehow, it felt as familiar as when he heard his host's name earlier, if not more. But this could not really be his surname, now, could it? There was no way the pianist knew him and what were the odds of hitting the right name? No, his real identity was surely something else. Still, he could not help but to keep that little nagging doubt in a corner of his mind.

"It sounds great! Thanks, Flynn!" Yuri grinned sheepishly.

The blonde chuckled. "You're welcome... wait..." his eyes widened slightly in consternation. "Flynn?" he asked very softly with a weird face, as though he was undecided whether he liked the way he was addressed or not. Yuri shrugged casually, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, saying Frederic Flynn feels way too long, and Frederic just doesn't have any punch. I like Flynn much better," was the long haired man's reply.

For another short moment, there was no reaction out of the blonde, but soon, laughter erupted and he doubled over, holding his stomach because he was guffawing so much. Yuri started, not expecting that kind of reaction out of his new friend. What the heck could be so funny?

"The hell?" he exclaimed, so very confused. "What did I say again?" He scrunched his nose, displeased. Flynn better not be making fun of him again or he would make sure to smack his pretty head very hard.

The pianist tried to reply a few times, but he just could not, each time ending up laughing harder. After a while, he finally calmed down, the need to breathe soon becoming a necessity. His cheeks were flushed with delight and his eyes were gleaming so brightly, Yuri found himself mesmerized by them once more. He was not ashamed to think that they were certainly the prettiest eyes he had ever seen – even if he did not remember any other eyes, he was still sure that Flynn's were besting them all.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," Flynn apologized, wiping away the tears that welled up in his eyes and gently fell down his cheeks. "I was not laughing at you, don't worry. It's just that you reminded me of someone I once knew and the way you said all that was completely the same. That was utterly perfect." The blonde chuckled again, but it was evident he would not lose control a second time. The dark haired man pouted cutely.

"I still don't understand how this could be funny, but oh well," he muttered before he stood up from the bench, wanting to take a better look at the room, something he had not done when he had entered.

Not too far from the piano was a low table with a few cushioned chairs of a creamy colour around it and a sofa of the same color not too far to the side. Yuri moved forward on the soft beige carpet and sat down on one of the chairs, stretching his legs on the table, ignoring the disapproving look he received from Flynn. His eyes turned to a glassed door leading to a balcony, which allowed viewing the scenery of Paris. He noticed for the first time today that grey clouds loomed over the city, rain threatening to fall any time. Rich cream velvet curtains adorned each side of the door and were attached by crimson ropes. There were a few bookcases on the opposite side and were stacked with as many books as in the bedroom. Paintings decorated the walls here as well and a hearth also had a place at the far end of the room from where Yuri was sitting. There were a few candles here and there, notably on the piano and on the desk beside it.

Yep, this was most definitely the house of a comfortable middle class person and Yuri liked it.

"Yuri, would you mind removing your feet from the table, please? It's not sanitary," Flynn demanded, eyes still boring at the long haired man reprovingly. Seeing an opportunity to drive the pianist crazy, Yuri smirked as he moved his hands behind his head, making himself even more at ease.

"Make me," he taunted, sure that the other would abandon there.

A winning smile graced his lips as he saw the blonde first scowl, then sigh in resignation. It however lost some of its depth when Flynn stood up and dusted his clothes before he strode in Yuri's direction with a neutral expression on his face. He stopped once he arrived next to the long haired man and removed one of his shoes. All the while, Yuri stared at the pianist as though he were crazy. What the hell was he doing?

"If I must," Flynn told, surely as an answer to the other's previous taunt.

Before the latter could react, the musician quickly raised his leg and kicked the side of the chair, sending it crashing on the ground with Yuri along with it. The dark haired man yelped in both shock and fright as he flailed his arms in the vain attempts of keeping his balance before oofing in pain once he collided with the chair on the floor. It took him a few seconds to open his eyes and wince in pain. He looked over at Flynn who was now casually putting his shoe back on and throwing him a mocking sideway glance. Yuri grinned playfully, feeling challenged.

"So that's how you want to play it?"

He jumped back on his feet and reached for the blonde with his fist. Understanding what the other was getting at, Flynn ducked the hit and leaned down before quickly coming up under Yuri, lifting the latter on top of his shoulder, his hand resting on the hollow of the fighter's knees to keep him balanced.

"Yuri, we're not brawling in here!" Flynn stated in reproach as he threw the extra weight on the sofa and placed a foot on its chest to make sure it would not move. The dark haired man pouted and crossed his arms, not pleased by the turn out of events when he had been looking for a fight.

"Why not?" he whined childishly. The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose in discouragement, rolling his eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're in my study. The place where I work. The place where I store my piano. And, quite frankly, I'd like to keep that much intact, thank you very much."

Yuri huffed in annoyance, but did not argue. He knew that Flynn was right. There was a high risk of breaking something of value and he far from wanted that. The pianist had already been kind enough to take him in and treat his wounds, after all. What kind of ungrateful man would he be if he broke things that did not belong to him?

Speaking of which, they did not really finish the conversation they began earlier. "Hey, by the way," he started while sitting up after Flynn removed his foot. "Why Lowell, exactly? I'm sure there's a wide range of surnames, so why this one?" The musician sat next to him and tilted his head to the side, doubt suddenly covering his features.

"You don't like it?" He sounded almost miserable and Yuri wondered why his heart suddenly stopped at the sound and why he felt so flustered. He attempted to hide it all by looking away and clearing his throat.

"That's not what I said! I told you earlier that it sounded great, didn't I? Sheesh, do you even listen when other people speak?" Yuri chastised and, when he felt his cheeks had regained a normal colour, managed to give a genuine smile to his friend. "I'm just wondering, that's all there is to it."

Flynn nodded, answering the smile. "Your first name inspired me. If I remember correctly, Yuri is Russian. I wanted to think of a Russian surname to fit it and since I barely know any, that's the one I came up with[1]."

At this explication, Yuri's face became thoughtful. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands as he pondered on Flynn's words. They were giving him a trail about his past. Well... that was if his name really was Yuri. He had woken up with the name in his memories, but that did not really mean it was his.

"I guess my best bet would be to start there, then. I just need to figure out how to get there and where exactly I should go first, but I'm sure I'll manage," Yuri mumbled to himself, yet loud enough for the both to hear. He then turned his head to the blonde and grinned. "I'll try not to be a bother and leave as soon as I can," he finished.

He did not want to be a burden to Flynn who had already been kind enough to take him in when he was about to die. He wanted to remember his past and he would do so alone. He would most certainly not lead the pianist in his escapades.

Strangely enough, however, his words did not have an effect he expected on the blonde. The latter was staring at the dark haired man with disappointment, but mostly with sadness and... was that hurt? Why? This made no sense! Why would Flynn be already so much affected by his presence? Even if Yuri had to admit that he liked the other's company and that they could become great friends, they just barely met!

"You don't have to leave immediately," Flynn stated, now averting his gaze. "You don't know for sure that Russia should be the first place to look and, besides, the word big doesn't even begin to describe this country. Where would you go? How would you manage to survive? What if the thing or person that wounded you came back to you and hurt you again?"

His questions made sense and Yuri realised that he may not have thought things through. He really was a rash person; he would have been ready to jump ahead without thinking of all these matters. Yet, he found he barely cared. His memories were important, after all. However, he flinched in his resolve at the look of his new friend who obviously wanted him to stay.

"You don't have to go now, you can stay here as long as you would like. This house is becoming rather big for me alone and some company would not hurt. You can try remembering your past and discover new leads from here and, more than that, you could start creating new memories here. I mean, of course your past is important, but the present and the future are as well. I'm sure you would find it nice to be able to create new memories of which you can be fond of." As he spoke, Flynn was wearing a caring smile, his eyes never leaving Yuri's gaze. The latter suddenly could not ignore anymore the doubt that settled in his stomach.

"Flynn, why did you take me in?" he suddenly inquired with a light frown. The interested one arched an eyebrow in perplexity.

"Why? I found you lying on the wall of my house while I was going out, wounded and on the verge of death. Of course I would take you in and call a doctor to heal you immediately!" the blonde retorted as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, because it was not the answer Yuri was looking for.

"That's not what I meant. If it was just for taking care of my injuries, you wouldn't be protesting so much at me saying I'd like to leave," Yuri clarified.

Flynn stood up from the couch and made a few steps forward without looking back at the dark haired man. "I already told you, the company wouldn't hurt–"

"Bullshit!" Yuri cut him abruptly, frowning. He sighed in frustration. Either Flynn was playing the idiot or he was truly reading too much into this situation. "That's certainly not the first thought you had after thinking of saving me. I may not have memories, but I'm sure it's uncommon to think 'oh, yay, I'm going to save this person to be able to have company living with me!' There's another reason, I'm sure. So why did you take me in? You could've just sent me to the hospital and be done with me."

This time, Flynn faced Yuri and threw him an affectionate smile. Immediately, the dark haired man was reminded how he thought at first that Flynn was an angel. Everything about him was so perfect that Yuri was mesmerized each time the pianist used tricks like these. His heart would stop for a brief instant before it would wildly thump in his chest, and he would have to fight a blush that threatened to redden his cheeks. The blonde sent him in such a flustered state that Yuri did not really know how to react.

"Because," Flynn finally answered mysteriously before he turned around and left the room.

---

"So you're basically a famous pianist known around the world," Yuri stated as he watched Flynn get up from the chair he sat onto a second sooner. They had been enjoying a cup of tea while chatting, but their cups were empty now and it seemed that the musician needed to leave for something already planned.

"I wouldn't really say around the world, but at least France and Poland. Vienna as well, but I won't really count it," the blonde replied with a grimace of distaste at the mention of the capital of Austria. "Didn't really have a good experience there. I'm glad to be here in Paris."

He walked out of the room to the peg at the entrance and grabbed a top hat of the same color as his coat, putting it on and adjusting it before returning in the kitchen, facing Yuri. The latter had to stop himself from staring too much, something he had caught himself doing a fair number of times lately. He did not really understand why; Flynn just had such an effect on him.

"I'm sorry, but I really need to leave now," the pianist declared as he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

The dark haired man pouted. "Why do you need to go give lessons to kids who'll obviously not reach the same level as you when they'll grow up?" he complained, ignoring the scowl that was thrown his way at his words. He did hear the annoyed sigh, however.

"Yuri, that's just mean. And I think it's understandable that those lessons I give are my income for keeping this house and buy food for us." Flynn made sure to accentuate the plural to make his guest understand that he was now a part of his spending.

Not that he would hold it against the long haired man, far from it. Flynn was the one who made the proposition of Yuri staying and he was glad that his new friend accepted. It was just that his friend needed to understand the blonde had to leave at some point to go to work.

"Meh! You don't need to give lessons to earn money! If you're famous, just stick to concerts and you'll make plenty of income!" Yuri suggested while he waved off the pianist's lecture.

Flynn merely rolled his eyes, discouraged by the dark haired man's attitude.

"I do believe I told you earlier that I don't quite enjoy concerts. I'll do them once in a while when people demand it, but otherwise, I prefer to play for friends. I don't particularly enjoy all the commotion of a crowd.[2]"

A knock from the entrance in the hall suddenly interrupted their conversation and Flynn turned his head in the direction the sound came from.

"That must be my ride. Well then, I'll be back in a few hours." He readied himself to leave the room, but Yuri stopped him once more.

"But what am I supposed to do during all that time?" he whined childishly. The blonde looked back at him in both amusement and compassion.

"How about writing your new memories in the notebook I gave you? You've been here for two days already and haven't written a single thing. Surely you would have a lot to tell. Now would be the perfect time."

And with a last wave of his hand, the pianist was gone from the kitchen. A few seconds after, Yuri heard the doors at the entrance open, a few words of greetings exchanged between Flynn and the coachman, and then the doors closing, leaving the dark haired man in complete silence.

At first, he felt uneasy and he grabbed his empty cup tightly. But then, he sighed heavily and shook his head in disapproval. How could he have become so dependent of Flynn after such a short time? He needed to pull himself together! The musician was only gone for a few hours, he would be back soon. Yuri needed to act as an adult and find something to do. Flynn's idea might actually be a good one. He should indeed write down everything that he experienced. That way, if he lost more of his memories, he would at least have testimonies of things he did.

He seized Flynn's cup and his own and walked to the sink in order to wash them both. He was done quickly and he put them back in their cupboard. His feet then led him out of the kitchen to his room where he grabbed the notebook he had left on his night table, as well as some ink and a quill. He travelled back to the room he was previously in order to sit back in the same chair and laid his equipment on the table.

Yuri observed his notebook's cover and a smile soon graced his lips. Flynn guessed with ease what his tastes were. The cover was completely black with barely any curly patterns to decorate it. It was simple, just the way the long haired man liked it. He opened it to the first page and started by writing the date. March 18th, 1833. He obviously continued with his first encounter with the pianist and how he believed the latter to be an angel.

[...] I swear he gets me into such a state! I feel flustered and lose my comebacks each time he throws me those sweet smiles. And when those adorable ey

Realising too late what he was writing, Yuri stared at the words with wide eyes before quickly crossing them out. This was not how he felt! This could not be how he felt! ... Could it? A blush crept on his cheeks and he sighed softly. He knew the guy for barely two days; could God not cut him some slacks? He would not jump to conclusions. Surely this was merely admiration for the man who had saved him. Yes, that must be it and nothing else.

Now certain of such a fact, even if it was not, the dark haired man concentrated back on the previous events he experienced. A light smile tugged at his lips as he remembered and he resumed his writing.

Yesterday, when Flynn told me he came from Poland, I was surprised to know that I could understand him and converse with him easily. After all, if I am Russian, I should not understand him at all. Flynn explained to me that I must have learned Polish and, since he had begun our first conversation in Polish, my brain must have switched to that language easily. I find strange, however, that he decided to use Polish instead of French to speak to me. We are in France, not Poland, so I asked him about his choice of language. He told me it was a force of habit, but even if I did not push the subject, I know he hides another reason. Flynn acts a bit fishy when I wonder about my past. It is as if he knows something... but I might be reading too much into this. I do not really know what to think. I would need more clues.

I was worried that I might not be able to get by in this place because of the language barrier. I can speak Polish, but what about French? I do not know how and why I ended up in this country in the first place. I should not have worried, however, because Flynn switched language and I still managed to understand him perfectly. It is weird and rather infuriating that I can still remember how to speak two different tongues, but not recall anything beyond that time I woke up. I am also starting to doubt my Russian origins as well as the name I recollected as being mine because I am unable to speak a single word in this language.

Yuri glanced up and sighed heavily. Of course he did not expect to gain his memories in two days, but it still irked him to feel in the dark as such. It was as if his identity was stolen. At the moment, he could be someone totally different from the person he truly was. Actually, who was he? The dark haired man did not really know what kind of personality he had – he knew he enjoyed acting on impulse, but that was it for now –, what were the things he liked and disliked, what were his hobbies and many other things. Nothing was a certainty with him and he hated it. The only stable element of his personality was Flynn. Even though he would never admit it out loud, the other's company reassured him, put him at ease and helped him believe that everything would be all right and that he would find his memories one day. The pianist was some sort of pillar on which Yuri could hang onto in order not to fall in the emptiness of his doubts and uncertainties. All that after merely two days of knowing each other.

Somehow, the amnesiac could hardly believe they just acquainted. The blonde's presence was too familiar for it to be the first time the two men associated with each other. Flynn was a key to Yuri's past, the latter was sure of it. What that key was, however, he knew not. The worst part was that the musician refused to reveal anything. Why? What did he gain in keeping such information from the dark haired man? This made no sense whatsoever!

Yuri grumbled and looked back at the notebook. It was no use pondering about the matter when he was alone. The only thing he would obtain was a huge headache. He would have to wait for Flynn to get back and try to extract what the blonde knew from him. For now, he should focus on his writing, because even if it was embarrassing as hell, Yuri did find it important.

I had the misfortune of tasting Flynn's cooking... no, you cannot even call it that at this point. It was too horrible for words to even begin describing it. I wonder how he managed to survive this long without poisoning himself. I was sure I was going to die while tasting such nauseating... can I even call that food? Either he is not used to cook, which I hope it is, or he is really bad at this. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl in horror.

There is one good point about this ordeal, however, as shocking as this is. I was so disgusted that I took the initiative and monopolized the kitchen. I discovered that cooking was rather easy for me and that, contrary to Flynn, my cooking actually tasted good. I was pleased with myself, especially when Flynn told me he had never eaten something so delicious. From that moment, I appointed myself as his new chef. He protested a little, but I told him that for my survival, it was not debatable. Besides, I have to at least contribute in something in this house. I am glad he did not argue much.

Yuri wrote a little more of what happened the previous days, but soon grew tired of it when he was done with the essential. Glancing at the clock, he realised that Flynn would certainly not be here for another while. Disappointed and bored, he let his chin fall on the now closed notebook and huffed. He blew at the few locks of hair dropping on his nose and cheeks, wondering what he should do now.

Deciding that sitting around would not help him pass time, he abruptly stood up from his chair and left the kitchen with the intention of finding something to do. Reading was out of the question, he just was not feeling like it. As he checked the rooms in the house's sole floor, he stopped in front of Flynn's office and a smirk suddenly appeared on his lips. Bad ideas crossed his mind and Yuri suddenly had the urge to rummage through the pianist's things. He did not care if this was an invasion of privacy. Maybe he would find clues in there. Besides, he was bored. That alone was enough to make the musician pay for leaving him alone.

He entered the room and immediately went to the desk where Flynn usually worked. As Yuri looked through the papers, however, he soon realised that this search was useless. There was nothing more than sheets of music neatly stacked together. Some were finished, others were merely drafts. None of these papers contained written comments or secret diaries that could give him clues. Of course. What had he thought? This was the place where Flynn worked on his masterpieces; he would not bother keeping unrelated documents in his desk. He was a neat freak, after all, from what Yuri had observed.

Then maybe in his room? The long haired man was about to go check, when his eyes caught papers on the grand piano's lectern. What had actually drawn him in was the title of the displayed piece: Farewell. This was obviously a music the blonde had written because Yuri recognized his handwriting, which left the amnesiac perplexed. Farewell? Farewell to whom? Somehow, he could not shake the feeling of melancholy upon reading the sole word. Forgetting his previous resolve, he slowly made his way to the bench and sat on it while staring at the ivory keys. His fingers gently moved along their smooth surface while he tried to decipher the notes written on the paper above. He was disappointed when he realised that he could not read nor understand them. Playing the piano was either forgotten or not in his talents – he tended to lean towards the latter. He pushed one of the keys in the middle and listened to its profound sound echoing in the office. The instrument had a beautiful ringing in itself. No doubt Flynn picked an expensive piano to make sure to have nothing but quality.

One by one, Yuri pushed on the notes, from time to time taking advantage of the fact that the piano's lid was opened so he could observe the small hammers gently hit the chords. It was a fascinating system. His eyes turned back to the sheet music and Yuri found himself wishing for the blond to be back already so that he could play him that particular melody.

"Would you like to learn?" a voice suddenly whispered in his ear and Yuri started violently. He whipped around, a hand clutching his shirt on his chest tightly as he tried to calm his thumping heart.

"Flynn, you moron! Don't do that to me!" he cried out in anger, earning him a chuckle from the pianist.

The latter still had his top hat on; maybe he had been attracted by the sound of his instrument and immediately came here. Thoughts of how handsome the blonde looked overshadowed any rational parts of Yuri's mind before he slapped himself mentally. What the heck was he thinking?

The musician sat next to his friend and gazed affectionately at his piano. "I'm sorry, that was not my intention." The smile tugging the corner of his lips told Yuri otherwise and the latter grumbled. "Anyway, you didn't answer me. Would you like to learn?"

The dark haired man pushed some of his annoying strands behind his back while feigning an annoyed look.

"Heck no! I don't have the talent or the patience. I would just ruin anything you would try to make me play," he replied even if, secretly, that was not the entire truth. He knew he would not be any good. However, a part of him still wanted to try. It was just too embarrassing to say it, though.

When he looked back at Flynn, he saw disappointment flash in those beautiful blue orbs, but it quickly disappeared when the blonde smiled half-heartedly. "Then why were you sitting here, trying out the keys?" he inquired simply. Yuri merely shrugged nonchalantly and pointed at the sheet music.

"I was curious about this. You wrote it, am I wrong? Why is it called Farewell?"

Flynn's gaze stared at the title and his smile turned bittersweet before he indulged his friend in an answer. "A spur of the moment, I guess," he whispered, almost enough for Yuri not to hear it.

A spur? Like hell! The mere hesitation before answering was enough for Yuri to understand that the blonde was not telling everything. However, even if he felt attracted to the title, he could not jump to conclusions. There could be tons of things Flynn did not want to talk about with Yuri, like a lost lover, for example. Again, they knew each other for barely two days, not enough for the pianist to share everything, even if the sound of Flynn being with someone else other than Yuri made the latter cringe.

Wait, what? These thoughts made no sense again! He really needed to get a grip!

"I see..." Yuri trailed off. He suddenly stood up, grabbed a chair not too far and installed it next to the piano before sitting on it, staring intently at the pianist. "I want to hear it."

This was a demand, and the tone the dark haired man used told Flynn that he had no other choice but to play. The latter chuckled as he shook his head lightly before he readied himself. His back straightened up, his right foot was placed above the pedal, and his fingers lightly reached for the keys. For a short moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, Flynn's fingers lowered and the melody was drawn out from the instrument.

Shivers ran down Yuri's spine as he listened intently while observing the pianist. He moved with such liberty, it was inconceivable. It was as if he did not even touch the keys while he ran his fingers along them, caressing their smooth surface before jumping lightly, only to fall back as a lover would in the arms of their beloved. Yuri had the impression he took care not to hurt the keys, knowing that the music would still resound. Actually, the sound might even flow with more accuracy because he took such care of his instrument. Of course, this was a notion that should not be making any sense, but it was still the impression the dark haired man was left with.

Each movement the musician made had significance, none were pointless. This only helped the lightness and grace of his actions and music. His fingers acted as something akin to a team: each had individuality, but they all needed to work together in order to produce the most magnificent of melodies. Flynn's arms and back shifted along the piano, depending on the spot he played. It served at giving strength and support to his hands. Even his head moved slightly up and down, following the rhythm of the tune. Simply looking at the pianist play was impressing and Yuri knew he would never be able to tear his eyes away from the sight.

The melody in itself was very soft, slow and calm. The long haired man realised that his head was rocking gently from side to side along the music that kept sending shivers in his body. The music sometimes became a little perkier, but it never lost its softness. Nostalgia and sadness filled Yuri's heart as he listened, and he could truly imagine Flynn trying to say goodbye to someone – who, he imagined, he would never know. However, he could tell that this person had been important to the musician, because there was still hope tinged in each of the notes played; hope to someday meet that person again. That was the impression Yuri was left with.

He did not realise he ended up closing his eyes while enjoying the music until he opened them once the last notes were lowered. His grey irises turned to the fingers that were kept in place before they finally released the keys with tenderness. Then, they silently ran over the board from left to right and back to left until they were back in the middle. Yuri watched in wonder and, once Flynn saw his puzzled expression, smiled meekly.

"A habit I've taken. I don't know why, it just feels right," he explained in a light tone before chuckling to himself. "Though Franz quite hates it, says I'm expelling the magic atmosphere," he finished fondly.

"Who?" Yuri asked, somehow not liking the way he talked about other people like that.

"Franz Liszt, a fellow pianist and friend of mine. You'll meet him soon, I'm pretty sure. He's a nice man, full of life. I'm sure you two would get along," Flynn answered before he gathered the sheets together and hit them twice on the piano's surface to put them in a neat stack. "Did you like my performance?" he suddenly inquired, changing the subject.

Silence met his question and the blonde frowned, suddenly a little worried that his friend had not liked it. However, he was surprised to see not disagreement on the dark haired man's face, but rather embarrassment.

"Yuri?" he called out gently.

"I'd like you to teach me how to play," he blurted out, his cheeks flaring up as his grey orbs stubbornly gazed away from Flynn. The latter's eyes widened in shock before it soon melted in an amused expression.

"I thought you 'didn't have the talent or the patience' and that 'you would just ruin anything I would try to make you play'?" the pianist repeated his friend's previous words, mock laced with his tone.

If it was possible, Yuri's cheeks would have reddened more than they were already, of course from embarrassment, but also from irritation.

"If you don't want to teach me, then say so already!" he snapped angrily, soon regretting his words.

Somehow, he badly wanted to learn in order to play that very piece he just listened to. He was drawn to it and he would feel satisfied only when he would have mastered it. Asking this was just humiliating as hell! The worst part was that Yuri knew this was only the tip of the iceberg. Trying to learn something and let Flynn hear his every mistake was even more shameful.

Flynn sighed softly and his amused smile sweetened. "I never said that," he told and patted the bench on his side while he scooted away to give space for Yuri to sit next to him. "I'll gladly teach you. Now come here."

The latter grumbled for a second before moving closer to the pianist, the red on his face not giving away signs that it would leave any time soon. Flynn found it hard to ignore it as he wanted to badly comment on it; however he chose the safest direction and focused on the piano. He knew he would receive a fist on his head otherwise.

"Start by placing your right hand over the principle keys: do, re, mi, fa, and sol." The blonde pointed at each note as he said their names and waited for Yuri to do as indicated. "I know you're left handed, but don't worry. The piano is an instrument where you use both hands and they each have a different, but important role that cannot be inversed. The right hand, for instance, plays the melody, while the left is the accompaniment. That's why we usually learn with the right hand first. It will allow you to understand the logic behind the music while listening to something that makes sense," he explained.

He took Yuri's thumb that was currently on the do. "Before we start, I'll explain something about the fingers. They will give off a different sonority, depending on which one you use. The thumb, for instance, is the strongest because it's bigger and easier to manipulate. The one following is the fifth." Flynn released the thumb to take the finger he had just mentioned. "Although it's the smallest, the way you will move your hand will give it strength. After that comes the forefinger who will give support to both the thumb and little finger."

He moved to Yuri's second finger and raised it before moving to the last two he had not talked about yet. "Then, in last is the middle finger which is the weakest and which cannot be separated from the ring finger. Usually, these two last fingers are used for weaker notes, ones that we want to hear less. Try to keep that in mind each time you play."

This was a lot of information to take in and Yuri was not really sure he understood it all. Actually, scratch that, he was not even sure he had heard it all. Flynn was just so close that he could not fight back the blush that overtook his cheeks once more, especially once the blonde played with his fingers like that. The dark haired man could not understand why having the pianist so near sent him in such a flustered state, but he was glad that the pianist was too engrossed in his explanations to even notice.

"Did you get all that?"

Yuri started and gulped when he realised that Flynn was looking directly at him, a look of concern on his features. "Huh?" he managed to lamely say.

"I went too fast with my explanations, haven't I?" Flynn sighed in discouragement at himself. "I'm sorry, I'm just used to explain such notions to people who already know music and a little bit of piano. I'll just show you instead."

Before Yuri could voice any kind of protest and that the blonde's explications were fine, the latter took a hold of the dark haired man's hand. This mere action sent Yuri's brain in overdrive and, once more, he missed his friend's demonstration.

Damn it, he needed to get a grip! He could not keep this up, otherwise Flynn would soon understand that something was wrong. If the blond found out, it would be too embarrassing and Yuri would have to put up with his teasing. And so he concentrated on his hand and his hand only, not the soft one above that almost left caresses on his skin and... his own hand only, damn it!

The pianist suddenly released him and Yuri realised he had stopped talking. That was apparently his cue to start something, surely to experiment the other's teachings. Ugh! He had to remember what Flynn had told him and fast! First off was the thumb... Yuri did not recall what exactly he was supposed to do, and so he simply hit the note a bit hard.

"That's it, that's it! You don't really need to play that hard, but keep in mind that the thumb will always play with more force than the other fingers," Flynn congratulated with a smile that urged the pupil to go on.

Yuri's eyebrows furrowed in concentration and he moved his hand up then down to use his little finger, as the pianist had instructed. He kept on when he was encouraged, trying to engrave the feeling it left in his hands as he moved and played.

Soon, Flynn was asking him to start with the do scale, showing him in an upper octave how he should move his fingers: thumb, forefinger, middle finger, then thumb again to little finger until he reached the last do. It was not very hard to execute, and so Yuri soon was able to do it rather quickly. Learning to play was actually quite fun, more than he had believed so. He was happy he had asked Flynn in the end.

The lesson stretched out until the sun was out and they both realised with grumbling stomachs that it would be soon time for dinner. Yuri laughed in amusement and stood up, saying he would go prepare dinner, before he walked away quickly, a delighted blush on his face. This afternoon had been particularly pleasant and he could not help but be excited for the next lessons that would be to come.

"Will I be able to practice on the piano when you're not here?" the dark haired man asked nonchalantly, stopping in the doorway right before crossing into the hall. Flynn smiled from his sitting position.

"Of course. You can come whenever you want," he started. "Except when I'm composing a new music piece. Then this office is off limit."

"Huh? Why?" Yuri turned his head in surprise, puzzled by the other's restriction.

"You'll see soon enough," came the mysterious reply with a smile just as cryptic. No other explanation followed and Yuri walked off, curious about his friend's words.

---

And see soon enough he did. A week went by after his first lesson where Yuri wrote in his notebook, learned new techniques and easy pieces of music on the piano, or practiced them alone. One morning, however, he woke up to the sound of the piano which he immediately found weird. Flynn usually never played so early in the morning, making sure the dark haired man was at least awake before he started practicing on his own. Grumpy at being torn from his sleep in such an abrupt way, Yuri tried to ignore the sound and go back to sleep, but soon found he could not. He got off from bed, stretched as he yawned and attempted to comb his bed hair before exiting his bedroom. He walked to the office, brooding over Flynn's stupid idea of an alarm clock. He was not a morning person and he would make sure that the musician got it. As he made his way in the hall, he did not pick up on the unusual way the pianist played.

He opened the door to the piano room and was met with the sight of a frustrated Flynn who was now leaving his piano to go sit on his desk to write something down furiously. Not understanding what was going on, Yuri scowled and crossed his arms, leaning on the doorway.

"Hey, what gives? That's not an hour to be playing! People are trying to sleep, you know!" the dark haired man complained. The blonde snapped his head up and returned an expression as grumpy as the intruder's.

"Pardon? I'll let you know that this is my home. I do believe I can play any time I want, thank you very much." Flynn's tone was unpleasant and almost cold. He however returned his attention on his papers and his quill was scratching quickly. The long haired man was irked and he balled his hands into fists.

"Hey, if you didn't want me to stay, you just had to say so when I offered to leave! You wanted me to stay, so don't give me crap like that and be respectful!" Yuri retorted in frustration as he strode to the pianist.

The latter continued writing and tried to ignore the intruder, but soon found he could not. He exhaled in indignation and stood abruptly before grabbing Yuri by the shoulders and turning him around.

"Look, I don't have time to deal with this. Just get out," he seethed as he pushed the dark haired man out of the room.

The latter struggled to get away from the pianist's grasp, but found that Flynn was too strong. He ended up being shoved outside the office and the door was slammed behind him. Seeing red, Yuri reached for the doorknob, but realised that the musician had locked the door. He banged on the door violently.

"The hell? Flynn, open that damn door, I'm not finished!" he yelled, but the sound of the piano soon covered his voice.

Yuri knew that it would now be no use and that the blonde would ignore him. In his frustration, he gave a last kick on the door and grumbled all sorts of insults to describe his friend. He strode away to the kitchen where he would be able to make himself breakfast and possibly calm down.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he rummaged through the cupboards and the ice box to prepare his food. When he had calmed down, he finally started to pay attention to Flynn's playing. That was when he noticed how weird it was. Instead of being the usual music Yuri heard each day, it was something completely new. Not only that: it was also full of mistakes and the pianist seemed to be stopping a lot for a certain amount of time before playing again. Sometimes, he would repeat the same parts he had earlier, or he would go with something else entirely. Yuri finally understood what was going on:

Flynn was composing.

Over the days, Yuri learned the hard way that, when the pianist was creating a piece of music, he did so whenever inspiration struck. This meant that he could do this at any time of the day, without eating or sleeping much, and this dragged on for quite a few days. Yuri had to insist that Flynn eat at least two meals a day and had to bring what he prepared in the office for Flynn to eat there – well, eat was a big word considering that most of the time, the dark haired man found the plate only half emptied. As for sleep, the blonde ignored that essential need as well, playing at the wee hours of the day, leaving no choice for Yuri to get used to go to bed while there was noise bothering him. Thankfully, at some point, Flynn would fall asleep on his desk and when Yuri would find him in such position, he would cover his body with a blanket, knowing that the pianist would refuse to sleep in his bed and, if woken up, would immediately go back to work.

Of course, Flynn was definitely not in any mood to be spoken to as he worked. He was irritable and worked furiously, played melodies that came in mind and wrote them before he scratched it irately and tried something else entirely, only to come back with what he had started at the very last minute. The first few times Yuri came into the office to try and encourage him to eat or sleep, they fought a lot, getting on each other's nerves. However, the dark haired man soon learned that he should just stay on the side and bring meals to his friend without a word. Flynn needed his space when he worked and Yuri would have to respect that.

That did not mean it pleased him. On the contrary, Yuri thought he would soon snap. Except for writing in his notebook, he had nothing to do. He was bored to death! To make matters worse, right before Flynn entered his composing frenzy, he forbade Yuri to go outside. The blonde used as an excuse that he was not able to show the dark haired man around and that the latter could easily get lost in the streets.

Well bullshit! Surely Yuri had not such a bad sense of orientation! It had been a week that he was cooped up in this place now and if he did not go outside, he was sure he would explode! He would definitely go today. It was just a bit frustrating that someone came every two days to bring food or to clean around the house, leaving Yuri without any excuses of why he had gone outside. Wait... what the heck? He did not need any excuses to go outside! Ugh! He could not believe how Flynn was irritable even when not around.

This was decided then. He would go take a walk and come back to prove to Flynn that he was capable of finding his way without any trouble. Maybe he would not even need to say that he went outside, actually. The blonde was so engrossed in his work that Yuri would be able to return before the pianist even realised he was gone.

Pleased with his plan, the long haired man left the house without a single look behind him. As soon as the fresh outside air filled his lungs, he inhaled and exhaled in pure happiness. The hustling and bustling of people walking and talking between each other, and of coaches traveling around in the streets with the constant clip-clop of the horses' hooves eased Yuri's mind. He was about to go crazy in the house, but now he felt at peace. It felt good to finally be outside.

He looked from left to right, wondering in which direction he should go, before his feet led him to his left. He was here to discover the city so it did not matter which side he took first. As he walked, he came across numerous apartments and houses as well as a park filled with people taking walks and children playing different games. Yuri understood that he was currently in a residential neighbourhood. Judging from the long dresses made of various expensive fabrics and the rich suits completed with top hats women and men wore respectively, as well as the manners they used around each other, it was obviously a well-off neighbourhood. This was a place that suited Flynn. He was a famous pianist, after all. Surely he was well known in this area alone and was in demand from every high noble.

Yuri continued his stroll out of the neighbourhood and into what seemed to be the merchant place. He saw various boutiques and shops, ranging from clothes to food with a couple of books and other merchandise in between. Merely by looking at the products displayed and the people entering the buildings, the dark haired man knew that these were not things commoners could usually afford. The more he saw women strut about, and men boast and look down on others, all behind masks of fake humility and care, the more he was disgusted. It was shallow and puerile. They only cared about their own little world and nothing else. He could see the sideway glances they shot him, filled with disdain at his long hair and outrageousness at his nonchalant attitude. Nobles were the same everywhere!

Huh? Everywhere? Why could he think that when he had no memories? Did it mean he was once in close contact with nobility? This left him perplexed and he stopped in his walk, trying to remember. He was sure this was a memory that had subconsciously resurfaced. If he dug deeper, he might find something interesting!

However, he was torn from his thoughts as he heard a cry of distress further away. Looking up, he saw a group of nobles – men and women alike – next to a boy that obviously did not come from high class. What he was doing here, Yuri had no idea, but he seemed to be persecuted by those vultures. Indeed, the kid was suddenly pushed down the sideway and fell into the mud. The persecutors burst out in laughter while the child attempted to stand up, a crestfallen expression on his features, but the man who had pushed him kicked him in the back and the boy fell face flat in the dirty goo once more. That was it! Yuri could not stand by and watch.

He approached the group and heard the laughter more clearly.

"Oops, my bad! I didn't see you there, I was sure you were a part of this mud. I mean, you blend in so well with it!" the instigator of the child's misfortunate exclaimed while smoothing his moustache, earning more laughter from the others.

Already seeing red, Yuri wondered what would be enough to make them pay, when he saw a woman exit her shop with a bucket containing dirty water that she was about to throw away. Smirking, Yuri walked towards her.

"Would you mind if I take care of this for you? I'll bring the bucket back, promise," he inquired.

The lady threw him a surprised look, but thankfully handed him the bucket anyway. Yuri threw her a charming smile as he grabbed the object and thanked her before turning to the still laughing group. He saw that the man who had bullied the boy was about to send the latter back into the mud, so Yuri acted quickly. In a fast and strong motion, he launched the water at the group, making sure to spare the kid. Shrieks of surprise and disgust rang out and each of the men and women froze in place. Then, they slowly turned to the source of their own misfortune: a Yuri faking innocence, now holding the bucket behind him.

"Oops, my bad! I didn't see you there," he exclaimed in fake shock, using the same words as the noble had used earlier. The latter shook as his face became red with rage and Yuri saw the moustache quiver. It was quite the funny sight and the dark haired man chuckled evilly.

"Why you little!" the moustached man cried out and ran towards Yuri with the sole intent of hitting him.

The dark haired man waited until the last moment and ducked with expertise. He used the same technique Flynn had on the day they met and, when he rose, adjusted the man on his shoulder before he dropped the excess weight behind him. An 'oof' of pain echoed as Yuri took a couple of steps forward, washing his hands of it. He heard the man stand up from behind while another in front rushed to him as well. Yuri sidestepped and let the two collide before he hooked the moustached one's ankle and they both tumbled to the ground, one above the other. Then, with a kick of his foot, Yuri sent them into the mud where the boy had managed to finally get away from. The long haired man snickered, arms crossed on his chest as he looked down on the nobles now reduced to pathetic dirty people.

"You should learn to respect others; otherwise, it might fall back on you!" Yuri warned before grabbing the boy's hand and leading him away from the still shocked group.

He then seized the bucket he had left behind when taking care of the two men and walked back to the lady who had observed everything without a word. She accepted the object handed to her with an unsure smile, although the boy could swear she swooned when Yuri smiled to her charmingly before he continued his way, bringing the child along with him.

"What's your name, kid?" the long haired man inquired, looking down at the boy covered in dry mud.

"I'm Karol. Thanks for saving me, by the way," the concerned one answered with a grin as though the fact that he was dirty did not bother him anymore.

Yuri's lips were tugged with softness and he ruffled Karol's chestnut coloured hair – he thought he saw a glimpse of that colour. The latter protested loudly, trying to chase away the hand, failing miserably so. In the end, his hair was even more dishevelled than it already was.

"You need to wash off. Let's get you home," he suggested and came to a stop, waiting for the boy to give him the directions.

Karol nodded and indicated that they should go down the street and turn to the left to reach the commoners' neighbourhood. By then, he would lead the older man to his house. Yuri agreed and they moved forward.

"By the way, what were you doing in a place like this? Surely you knew that rich people are usually bastards who only care about themselves. And isn't it rather far from home?" the dark haired man asked, both hands behind his head in a nonchalant gesture.

Karol scratched his cheek in a nervous gesture. "I was... I was trying to find a job," he answered in a small voice, looking down as his cheeks flared up.

Yuri raised an eyebrow, but soon understood and his face fell to neutrality. The kid lived in the commoners' neighbourhood; it was not hard to do the math. Karol's family must be having financial difficulties and he was searching for a job to help his parents keep the home they had. Yuri could not help but hate nobles even more now.

"My dad's sick and he can't work anymore, so my mom and my brother try their best to work so that they can keep the house and buy food, but it's hard, especially for my mom. So I wanted to help them and hope to find some work."

Yuri was right. He felt bad for the boy, mostly because he could not really help him, having no money to share. He was depending on Flynn after all.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he sympathised. He was lightly amused upon seeing the grin on Karol's face. At least, the kid was not one to get depressed.

"It's okay! I'll find something and we'll be fine, I'm sure!" This time, Karol saw the hand coming and shooed it away in time before Yuri could start ruffling his hair again. They both laughed as they kept walking.

Soon, they reached Karol's house and Yuri waved him goodbye, but not before he promised he would come visit. When the boy was safely back in his home, the dark haired man turned around, but then stopped dead.

Where was he supposed to go?

Wait, wait! There was no way he was lost, it was impossible! He was just a bit confused because the sun was already almost down. He would find his way back without any trouble. He just needed to go down that street, and then...

And then he would remember as he would go, that was all!

Determined, he strode away, making sure to stop at every turn in order to look from left to right and to attempt spotting things he saw before. However, the more he walked, the less he recognized the buildings and the streets. The fact that there was no one around anymore did not help in the least. Yuri gulped and cursed at himself. Should he have listened to Flynn?

No! No, there was no way he should have! He was glad he went out, otherwise he knew he would have gotten crazy. He would just have to manage on his own and get back before Flynn noticed his absence.

His feet kept going. Soon, a chill ran down his spine and the impression that he was being watched made itself too present. He was not alone anymore. However, he knew he could not stop and ask the people following for directions. They were not here to be civil, on the contrary. They surely were thieves thinking he had money. No surprise, considering the clothes Flynn had lent him – they were the same size, so it had been easy finding clothes.

Yuri's steps quickened and he picked roads at random in order to lose whoever was following him. However, as cliché as that sounded, it was slapped right back at his face, because now stood before him the tall wall of a building. He was in a dead end. Sighing in frustration, a hand on his hip, he turned around and saw four men approaching him slowly with smirks on their faces. They all wore black; one was taller than everyone – approximately 6'5" – while the three others were around the same average height. One of those three wore a long coat and high boots above pants, hands in his pockets. His black hair was pulled back, except for a mere fringe on the right side of his face which almost hid his right eye as they gleamed evilly at Yuri. The latter guessed that this must be the leader. He looked the brightest from the four, the others mere brutes with muscles everywhere except for the brain.

"Guess I have no choice," Yuri muttered, already feeling thrilled with the prospect of fighting.

Flynn would not be too happy with him because his wounds had just finished healing, but oh well. It was not like he had a choice anyway.

"To what owes me the pleasure?" he asked aloud with a sneer playing on his lips, flipping a few strands of hair behind his back.

"We have come to play a little," the leader answered in a thick and weird accent that was obviously neither French nor Polish, returning the other's expression as he kept approaching slowly.

The four of them were now very near Yuri. The latter detailed his chances of escaping. There were a few boxes he could use to protect himself or jump on. However, it would be hard since they could easily block his paths. He would have to take them on and hope that he would manage to escape at some point.

"Oh yeah? But what if I'm not in the mood to play?" Yuri asked with a pout. It earned a dark a chuckle.

"Do not worry, we will be the ones playing," the man cackled.

Yuri scowled with his smirk still in place. This guy already irritated him to no end! He could not wait to punch his shark like face!

The leader snapped his fingers and the tallest of the brutes dashed towards Yuri. The latter jumped to the side on a box before taking a swing to kick him in the back. The man stumbled forward, but quickly regained his balance and rushed back at his target. This time, also, the two other underlings joined the first, adding a level of difficulty for Yuri. However, he was able to stay on the lookout, knowing that the leader was staying on the side to observe for now.

Yuri ducked a punch and grabbed the arm above him in order to swing the man into his partner of the same height. The long haired man then sidestepped when he saw a foot trying to hook his ankles. He lowered and danced away from a fist before going behind the tallest man's back and pushed him with his shoulder. Yuri groaned when he realised that it did not work; the man was too hefty. He would have to try another method to bring him down. He quickly jumped out of the way when his target attempted to punch him again, the hand missing from barely an inch.

Yuri's eyes fell on the boxes again and an idea hit him. He hoped it would work this time. He quickly ran behind it and leaned down to be able to hold its edge. And then, he pushed it while he kept running at the back, giving it strength and pace. The tallest man, who followed him, did not see it coming. Soon, the box was hitting him full force in the legs and he lost his balance, falling above Yuri. The latter gave the container a last strong thrust, hurling it towards the other two men who had staggered up. The long haired man then rapidly straightened up and threw the man above him away with all his force, letting out a cry as he propelled the man away. The latter crashed in the boxes remaining while the other two slammed in the opposite wall. Yuri knew that those two were out of commission, but since he was not so sure about the third, he did make sure. He jogged to the groaning man in the boxes and kicked him hard in the face, breaking his nose in the process, leaving him unconscious.

Smirking in satisfaction, Yuri turned around to make a run for it. However, he had merely taken a few steps that the sound of a gun rang out and pain flared in his left leg. Screaming in pain, he crouched and grabbed his wound, hissing and cursing. He heard footsteps slowly come his way and dark cackle resonated in the silence of the night.

"Hey, that's not fair, using toys that I don't even have!" Yuri complained with a weak chuckle of his own, still wincing.

"I was not looking for a fair game, Mr. Lowell," the shark-like man answered matter-of-factly.

His words made Yuri jump in shock and he looked up as he saw the leader enter his field of vision with a gun pointed at his forehead.

"Who are you? What do you want? How do you know my name?" the long haired man demanded, scowling.

This did not make any sense! Could Flynn truly have guessed his family name? Actually, no, this did make sense. It meant that Flynn knew him, that Yuri's suspicions were right!

"My, so you really forgot? How sad," the man tsked. "Ah well, never mind that. I was to bring you either dead or alive, but as unfortunate as it is, it seems you chose the former option. Goodbye, Mr. Lowell."

Yuri closed his eyes tightly waiting for the fatal strike, wishing he could have discovered his past and gotten to know Flynn better. Alas, everything was over and he would never get the chance.

No sound of gunshot or pain came, however. Instead, Yuri heard a smack above him and, when he opened his eyes, he was met by the sight of Flynn violently shoving a stick in his dizzy opponent's ribs, sending him flying on the ground. The blonde then knocked the man's face, drawing a choked scream from the latter. When he was sure that he was unconscious, the pianist rushed back to Yuri's side, kneeling in front of the dark haired man and cupping the latter's face in his hands. The dark haired man blushed violently at the contact and looked away.

"Are you alright?" Flynn asked frantically with worry and panic.

And from what Yuri observed sideways, he could tell that the musician was exhausted: his breathing was coming in shallow puffs and his limbs were trembling violently. Even so, the blonde was ignoring it, focused all on Yuri.

"I'm fine," Yuri whispered with strain.

In his inspection of the wounded man, the musician finally saw the blood flowing freely, despite the hands trying to cut off the bleeding. Without a second thought, Flynn ripped a part of his sleeve and, with the fabric, bandaged Yuri's wound after removing the latter's hands. The pianist did examine the wound beforehand as well.

"This will need to be examined, but I think the bullet just grazed your skin pretty deep. It doesn't seem to be stuck," he explained.

He then helped Yuri up, sliding one of the other's arms around his neck and he himself placing one of his own beneath Yuri's in order to support him. "We need to get out of here and fast. I really hope they're knocked out really hard to leave us time to escape," Flynn muttered angrily. Yuri did not speak up, knowing very well that Flynn was angry at him. He only wondered when the blonde would explode.

They travelled on foot as fast as they could, the pianist cursing from time to time at the fact that he had not come in a coach. Since none traveled the commoners' neighbourhood at night, they had to cross it all the way back to the wealthy one. By the time they reached it, Yuri's leg was numb. He had also paled considerably because of the pain and the loss of blood. Flynn noticed and encouraged him. "Hold on, Yuri." When an empty coach came in view, the blonde gestured for him to pick them up, which the coachman did. The pianist instructed their driver to get them to a certain private clinic quickly and, once Yuri and he were inside, the vehicle departed at a fast pace.

They were at the clinic in a matter of minutes. Flynn paid and thanked the coachman in a hurry before he guided Yuri inside the building. There, the dark haired man was instantly taken care of by the doctor who was called by the musician from the entrance. Yuri was led to an examination table where the doctor examined his wound properly. At the same moment, Flynn borrowed a pen and paper with the permission of the doctor before writing something down and then disappearing somewhere else in the clinic. It was soon followed by the sound of the entrance opening and closing, then Flynn was back at Yuri's side. The latter gazed at him questioningly.

"I sent someone to the police office down the street. I just hope that they'll be able to find those men," he explained, but added nothing else.

Yuri returned his attention to the doctor. When the latter admitted that his patient would need stitches, Yuri protested vehemently. However, one look from Flynn had him shut up and sulk it up. He had no choice but to go along with it.

Yuri hissed in pain when the doctor anesthetised his leg with a syringe and looked away in disgust from his wound. That's when he saw it: a jar of candies, surely given to children if they behaved. Yuri's eyes traveled back and forth from the jar to Flynn pleadingly and the latter sighed in a mix of amusement and discouragement.

"You'll get one if you behave."

This was enough for Yuri not to say a word anymore, nor to move. Besides, now that he could not feel his leg, the pain was gone. Soon, his wound was cleaned, stitched and bandaged and he received a lollipop that he happily shoved into his mouth.

"You should avoid walking on that leg for the next few days so that the wound can close up properly," the doctor advised as he stood up from his seat and went to grab a stick with a knob that he gave Yuri.

The dark haired man stared at it, only seizing it reluctantly under Flynn's scrutinizing gaze. They did not drag their visit and thanked the doctor before leaving, grabbing another coach to go back home.

Once they arrived, Flynn helped him back inside. As they walked, the pianist started coughing. Yuri shot him worried glances, but the blonde's gaze stubbornly kept ahead, reminding the dark haired man that his friend was still angry at him. Flynn led Yuri to his bedroom and the latter was finally able to sit on his bed, putting his stick away. He knew from the fact that the blonde was not leaving that he would explode any time soon.

He did.

"I can't believe you! I told you before, didn't I? Don't go outside until I can properly show you around, otherwise you'll get lost! And look what happened: you got lost and, most of all, wounded! Paris' streets can be very dangerous at night. You could have been seriously hurt, even more than that, Yuri!" The other's reprimand irritated Yuri to no end. What right did Flynn have over him?

"Tch! Is that even the real reason? Somehow I doubt it. I wouldn't be surprised to hear you wanted to keep me imprisoned in here!" Yuri retorted with venom in his voice, glaring at the pianist.

Flynn shook in anger. A hand was brought to his lips as he coughed, but the long haired man was now too furious to notice.

"I never said that! I just wanted you to be careful!" the blonde yelled harder, his other hand discreetly reaching the nightstand for support.

Yuri turned his head away in an outraged scowl. "Bullshit! That man called me Lowell, Flynn! Strange coincidence that you would give me such a surname at random, don't you think?" he spat.

The pianist visibly paled at such a revelation and Yuri knew he had been right in his assumptions, even if the other tried to deny it.

"Lowell is a pretty common name in Russia," Flynn trailed off, coughing a little harder, but the dark haired man would hear none of it.

"Don't give me such crap! You're not good at lying, Flynn. Tell me why you lied to me! Tell me what you know about me!" Yuri demanded and finally noticed how his friend was violently trembling.

At first, he blamed it on the overflow of emotions, but when he thought about it, he realised that Flynn was coughing slightly since the moment the blonde found him. Yuri was just too focused on his pain before to notice earlier.

"I can't. I can't, I'm sorry," Flynn replied miserably, which flared up Yuri's anger once more.

"What? Why? That's unfair! You get to know about my past, but I don't?" he yelled.

His voice dropped only when the pianist doubled over in a coughing fit, still trying desperately to hold onto the nightstand for support. Yuri was about to stand up to help him, but Flynn managed to cry out a "Don't!" before coughing harder. The dark haired man scrunched his nose and stood anyway, making sure to put as less weight as possible on his wounded leg and going to hold the blonde in order to support him. It lasted a minute or two before Flynn was left wheezing, but breathing. He straightened up and half scowled at Yuri who returned to bed.

"I told you not to get up... but thanks," he said gratefully, now half-leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry, but I think I'll go rest now," the pianist added tiredly. Worry settled in Yuri once more.

"Shouldn't we get the doctor?" he asked, unsure. Flynn smiled at him amusingly as he left the wall he was using as his support.

"As much as I'd like to, neither of us is in the shape to do that. Besides, I'm going to be alright. I've always had a fragile health. I just need to rest and everything is going to be fine," the blonde reassured as he walked away, leaving Yuri alone.

The latter's anger died down, but it did not mean he would leave the subject aside. His friend's words still rang in his mind: I can't. I can't, I'm sorry. Why? What stopped him from revealing it all?

It was no use thinking over it for tonight; he would receive no answer for now. And so he slid under the covers of his bed and shut the light before closing his eyes, hoping sleep would claim him despite his furious thoughts and worry over Flynn.

---

[1]For the sake of this story, let's say that Lowell is Russian.

[2]Of course, this is a trait taken from Chopin, not from Flynn, lol. I wanted to make a mix of both their personalities to fit this story.

---

A/N: And here you go! I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

You know, at first, this was supposed to be a oneshot. As you must know, it did not turn out that way. The ideas are going crazy in my head and refused to let me have a oneshot... or if I did make it as one, I'm sure it would end up making more than 200 pages on Word xD That can't be a oneshot anymore...

I think that what inspired me to write this first and foremost is obvious: Flynn's Chopin costume in the PS3 *drools*. There's also the fact that I have played piano for over 16 years and Chopin is definitely my favourite composer.

The second thing that inspired me was the piece Farewell that I heard in the game Eternal Sonata. This music is actually called Sadness, and it's the etude op.10 no.3. I don't know why they changed its title in the game, but I like it far more than the real Farewell Chopin wrote, so I don't mind at all xD I also kept Farewell as the music's title because it's important for the story.

Anyways, you should go listen to it, it's truly a beautiful piece.

I hope you enjoyed this and please review, it would make me so very happy! owo Have a nice day all!