A/N: Based off a prompt from Hoskky on tumblr. HUGE props for helping me out all the way through writing this one and the sequel! Left to my own devices, this would have been a total mess. Thanks! =D

EDIT: I should prolly clarify that Hoskky helped with both beta reading and filling in my woefully lacking knowledge about metal, but most of the knowledge won't kick in until the second story.

A song called "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" features pretty heavily in the third part. If you haven't heard it, you might want to take a listen on youtube before reading. Go ahead. It's a good song. The story will wait.

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

Flynn pulled into the driveway of the little two-bedroom house, parked the car, and slumped in his seat with a sigh. He didn't want to go back into the house. Not while his roommate was still there. Not after last night. Not after the morning he'd had because of last night.

Letting his head loll to the side, he glared out his window at the sky blue motorcycle parked haphazardly just off the gravel, directing his ire at it as a representation of everything loud, irritating, and just plain incongruous about the friend of a friend he'd been suckered…forced…talked into living with.

Yuri Lowell was the rowdiest, noisiest, most contrary person Flynn had ever met in his entire life—and that was when he was in a good mood. When Yuri got angry, he was little more than a delinquent with the impulse control of a five year old. While Flynn could admit that he did have a temper himself, he had also learned how to control it. Obviously, Yuri hadn't managed finish his maturation into adulthood. In the month and a half since Flynn had moved in, Yuri had managed to bait him into three fistfights, which was three more than Flynn had ever been in before. It was lucky he had a background in martial arts, because if Yuri had not only baited him but beaten him, Flynn wasn't sure he could have stood the humiliation of staying…and he really needed to stay. He didn't have anywhere else to go.

Six weeks ago his mother had kicked him out of the house after an argument that Flynn was still trying not to think about. He wasn't welcome back, not unless…. No. He wasn't welcome back. He would have been lying if he'd said he didn't miss how much easier things had been under his mother's roof, but the cost of returning was too high.

So, he'd found himself at a loss, facing homelessness with no job and no friends that he could stay with until he could stand on his own two feet. Then, in a stroke of luck—Flynn was no longer sure it was good luck—Estelle had told him about a friend of hers who was in need of a housemate. The man Estelle described was a musician the same age as Flynn, a great guy who was going to lose his lease at the end of the month if he didn't find someone to replace the person he had been living with. Really, Flynn would be doing him a favor by moving in, even if Yuri had to loan him half of the first month's rent until Flynn found a job to cover his bills.

Out of desperation and no small amount of trust in Estelle, Flynn had agreed to move in, even after the poor first impression Yuri had made. Some days, he considered it one of the biggest mistakes of his life. When Estelle had called Yuri a musician, what she had meant was that Yuri had formed some sort of heavy metal garage band with a couple people who were—presumably—his girlfriend and a ten year old. On its own, that wouldn't have been so bad—a little strange, on account of the kid, but not bad. The problem was that the group practiced in the house. Every. Time. Every practice they held took place in the living room of the house Flynn had regrettably gotten himself stuck staying at. Yuri was loud. The kid was louder. The "music" was deafening.

Of course, Flynn didn't dislike popular music, or at least not all of it. There were a few bands that he enjoyed listening to from time to time. However, there was a fundamental gap between what he considered to be real music and what Yuri listened to. Classical music could be enjoyed and appreciated. It spoke directly to a person's humanity and the shared experiences that defined humankind as a whole. There was a depth, a richness, to classical music that made contemporary songs seem shallow and ephemeral in comparison. There was more detail and beauty in a daybreak described by the notes and tempo of an orchestra than in the lyrics of a hundred pop songs.

Still, popular music couldn't help but be influenced by the classics, and there was a fair amount of it that was decently entertaining when judged based on its own standards. Privately, Flynn tended to associate pop music with soda pop: bubbly and fun sometimes, but not something one should have too much of. It was a sentiment he'd learned not to share. No matter how sincere his preference for the time-tested symphonies of the great composers or the improvisation of skilled jazz musicians, to eschew pop in favor of something that reached him, that actually made him feel what the musician was trying to express was far too often regarded as pretentious.

Setting his own opinions aside, Flynn had made an effort to accustom himself to Yuri's style of music once it became apparent that he was to be subjected to it practically on a daily basis. No matter how hard he had tried to find something redeeming in it, however, it remained nothing more than a cacophony to his ears. As far as he could tell, the goal of metal wasn't to evoke an emotion or convey a message; it was simply to be as loud as possible. Eventually, he had given up trying to understand and invested in a pair of earplugs.

He wished he had those earplugs with him as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. Whatever else he was, Yuri wasn't particularly lazy, and would probably be up practicing. Trying to be thankful that he at least wouldn't have to listen for very long as he had only stopped by to pick up a paper for his music appreciation class that he'd forgotten, Flynn got out of the car and headed for the door. It was Yuri's fault he'd left the assignment behind in the first place. If he hadn't been up so late making all that racket practicing with his bassist, Flynn could have gotten a decent night's sleep. Instead, he'd tossed and turned and woken up in a fog, barely able to focus on running through his morning routines before class.

Flynn was beginning to suspect that Yuri and the purple-haired bassist girl weren't actually going out, as they never seemed to get up to anything aside from playing guitar. Less awkward in such a small house, perhaps, but more irritating. He was certain nothing they could do in Yuri's bedroom would be louder or more distracting than their living room practice sessions.

As he unlocked the front door and stepped into the clutter of amps, music stands, and cords, he heard, to his surprise, the sound of "Fur Elise" being played on an electronic keyboard. It was the same song he had been trying to practice on his violin the other night before Yuri's band mates had shown up for their considerably louder and impossible to ignore practice session. The notes came a little hesitantly, but with few mistakes, and he listened for a minute, thinking he couldn't possibly be hearing Yuri play something classical.

Repede came padding into the living room, and Flynn knelt to pet him. The fact that Yuri owned such a big dog was Flynn's favorite thing about him. Repede was a handsome animal, despite having one eye scarred shut, and he was intelligent and well trained, too. Glad that at least one of his housemates was happy to see him, Flynn scratched behind Repede's ears and ruffled his fur as the dog licked his face.

"He really likes you."

Immediately, Repede perked up at the sound of Yuri's voice and left Flynn to go stand by his owner. Yuri was leaning against the open doorway to the living room, arms crossed, smirking as he watched. He leaned over to pet Repede, but he kept his attention on Flynn, who was a little annoyed to realize that he had learned to tell the subtle difference between Yuri's casual wear and what he considered "dressed up." At the moment, Yuri was definitely casual. His jeans were blue and barely ripped at all. The t-shirt he was wearing was another of his ubiquitous metal band shirts. He wore one sword-shaped pendant around his neck and his favorite cuff on his left wrist. It was practically a conservative look for him.

"I didn't know you played piano."

Flynn stood and brushed himself off. Though his own instrument of choice was the violin, he had some skill with the piano, as well. It was a strange similarity between them, but then, the piano was one of the easier instruments to learn. If Yuri was going to learn to play something aside from the guitar, his choice made sense.

"I don't, normally. Just felt like it this morning."

"You aren't half bad. With a little more training—"

Yuri laughed shortly. "Save your breath. You're not gonna convert me."

"I'm not trying to convert you," Flynn said tartly. He'd been trying to offer a compliment. The fact that Yuri had so easily dismissed him sent a heated wave of anger coursing through him, made him clench his fists at his sides and draw a deep breath in an attempt to keep from exacerbating the tensions that always seemed to rise to the surface whenever they spoke. "I'm trying to broaden your horizons."

"Whatever."

Suddenly no longer looking so amused, Yuri turned his face aside. When he licked his lips, Flynn caught a flash of silver from the stud in his tongue. That was another thing he didn't understand about Yuri. Weren't tongue rings entirely more trouble than they were worth? Didn't they tend to get infected, or knock against a person's teeth? Weren't they in the way during meals? What about kissing? Wouldn't it be difficult to kiss someone with a hunk of metal floating around in the mix? Wouldn't that feel weird for the other person? Well, there were probably people who liked it, liked the feel of something hard tracing over their skin, breaking up the soft, wet sensation of tongue….

Flynn shook his head, bringing his focus back to the present. Yuri had asked him a question.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said: What are you doing back so early?"

"I forgot something."

"You did?"

He was grinning now, far more amused by the mistake than he had any right to be. As Yuri knelt to scratch Repede, Flynn frowned at him, forgetting his original goal of grabbing his paper off the printer and getting back to the campus as soon as possible.

"Well, if someone hadn't kept me up half the night making such a racket, I would have been able to think this morning."

"We weren't that loud, you baby."

"Yuri, your idea of music is why the phrase: 'enough noise to wake the dead' was coined."

"Fuck off. It's cathartic."

Stunned by what he'd just heard, Flynn stared until Yuri looked up at him.

"Cathartic means—"

"I know what it means!" The words came out harsher than he'd intended, and Yuri's smirk twisted unpleasantly.

"Oh, I get it. You're surprised that I know what it means."

"No, I…." Yes. He had been, and annoyed on top of that to hear Yuri had thought the same of him, however briefly. "Anyway, of course it's cathartic. Screaming is one of the most basic forms of stress relief. That doesn't mean it has any creative merit."

"It's not just screaming and yelling, you know. It means something."

"Explain it to me, then."

"I'd rather not waste my time trying to explain to someone who won't understand."

He stood up and whistled one long note. Both Flynn and Repede recognized it as the signal for Repede to go get his leash for a walk. Yuri communicated commands with a series of different whistles, and Flynn's ear for music had allowed him to quickly pick up on which sound meant what. He hadn't yet attempted to see if Repede would obey him as readily as Yuri. For some reason, he was afraid the dog would laugh at him.

Apparently, Yuri truly was finished with the discussion. He gathered his wallet and keys off the coffee table that was constantly littered with coins and guitar picks, pages of notes covered in notations and revisions, candy wrappers and chip bags, soda cans and half empty bottles of water. He started toward the door, but Flynn wasn't willing to let him go so easily.

"Why wouldn't I understand?"

Yuri was the one who didn't understand. He was the one rejecting what music ought to be. He obviously had some talent, but he couldn't even accept a compliment when it came from Flynn. It was unreasonably infuriating. Why Yuri didn't just throw him out and find another housemate when he obviously disliked Flynn so much was a constant mystery.

"You don't even want to understand." Yuri pressed into Flynn's personal space. They were the same height, a fact which Flynn found particularly disconcerting with Yuri right in his face like that. "You're all wrapped up in your role as the gifted little classical genius, and you've got me pegged as nothing but your slacker roommate. Hate to break it to you, but we've got more in common than you want to think."

Just then, Repede returned with the leash, and Yuri stepped away to pull on a worn black hoodie that had been tossed carelessly over the back of an ancient armchair. Saying the two of them had anything in common was absurd. Yuri had no idea what Flynn was going through or how much work he put into his studies. He didn't know anything.

"What, exactly, do the two of us have in common?"

"If you stick around long enough, maybe you'll figure it out. Have to pull your head out of your ass, though."

"Answer my question!"

Yuri attached the leash to Repede's collar and was about to walk out when Flynn grabbed his arm. As Yuri's eyes shot up to meet his, Flynn realized his mistake. There was real anger in his expression, and Flynn let him go in a flash and backed up a step. He saw Yuri hesitate, saw him turn his head aside and force himself to relax before walking quickly away, out of the house and down the drive, Repede at his side.

"That could have gone better," Flynn muttered once he was certain Yuri was out of earshot. He closed the door and remembered suddenly why he had come back in the first place.

Yuri had a way of getting under Flynn's skin like no one else. The past month and a half of living under the same roof had been nothing but irritation and arguments and fights. It was no way to live, but Flynn didn't have much choice in the matter. As he grabbed his paper and headed back to his car, he realized that it would be up to him to try to improve the mess he had landed himself in and try to get through to Yuri. Maybe inviting Yuri to see him perform as first violin would help. He did have a concert coming up. It was possible that actually experiencing classical music the way it was meant to be experienced would make Yuri understand.

It was at least worth a try, right?

As he buckled up, he glanced down at his phone where it sat in the cup holder and noticed that he'd gotten a text from Estelle while he'd been inside. He didn't have a lot of time to talk if he was going to make it back in time for his class, but he sent her a message back asking if she wanted to get together for coffee later that afternoon. Now that he thought about it, it had been a while since they had talked. Maybe she would have some ideas for how to live with Yuri. She'd known him a lot longer than Flynn had, after all. Maybe she could talk to him.

They agreed to meet at a café near St. Martel's, the college Flynn had chosen based on their excellent music program. With his paper safely tucked into a folder in his messenger bag and plans with a friend for after class, Flynn relaxed a little as he backed out of the driveway. He wanted nothing more than to get back to campus and get his day back on track.

"…and they kept at it until midnight. I'm surprised we haven't been getting complaints from the neighbors." Flynn sighed and took another sip of his coffee. Across from him, Estelle cradled her teacup between her hands and offered him a small smile.

"Well, you said Yuri had the amp on his guitar turned pretty low. Maybe they just don't realize how well the sound of the bass travels though that little house."

"He knows." How could he not know? They used that equipment every week. "The weekend practices are bad enough, but he's been bringing them over every free afternoon he has lately, and she stops by when he gets home from work as often as not. Trying to practice with all that noise going on is impossible."

"Have you talked to him about this?"

"I've tried."

Every conversation he had with Yuri seemed to turn into a fight. When he'd said as much to her earlier, Estelle had acted as if that was strange. Apparently, she had never had a fight with Yuri. When she and Yuri had disagreed in the past, they'd had debates—her word—and, although Estelle did seem to have a gentling effect on most people, Flynn still wasn't sure he believed that someone as intrinsically irritating as Yuri Lowell could have a civil disagreement with anyone.

"I'm sorry things aren't working out." She was drooping a little, and the soft tone of her voice made Flynn remember suddenly that he wouldn't have moved in with Yuri in the first place if Estelle hadn't suggested it.

"No, um, it's just that we're too different. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have a place to stay, I just wish there was some way of getting through to him."

"What about music? You two have that in common."

Flynn snorted. "Hardly. That stuff isn't music. It's…it's like refined chaos."

Something about that actually made Estelle giggle. "I can't tell if Yuri would take that as a compliment or not. To refine chaos and make something of it…he might like that."

"I hadn't meant for it to be complimentary. His idea of music is nothing but noise."

"Which idea of music?"

The question caught him off guard. "What do you mean, 'Which idea?' They only play one kind."

"Dragon Swarm is speed metal. Yuri listens to that, but he also listens to a few types of death metal, mathcore, grunge, jazz, and plenty of other genres. We talk about music a lot. You would be surprised how many subgenres there are in metal alone."

Flynn couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you actually a fan of that stuff?"

"Well, not exactly. Yuri burned me a CD once with some groups he thought I would like. It's very different from what I usually listen to, but I find that it's amazing to have on when I need to get motivated." She brightened up, smiling widely as she sat a little straighter and curled her hands loosely into fists in front of her. "I can loan it to you, if you'd like. Maybe it would help you understand."

"No, thank you." He had already tried. Estelle talked about different genres, but it all sounded the same to Flynn. The world of heavy metal remained inexplicable and unattractive. Flynn was happy with sonatas and concertos, etudes and pastorals: real music that had stood the test of time.

"You ought to have him suggest some bands. I remember him saying that a few of them—"

"I'm sorry, Estelle, but I'd really rather not talk about it anymore." He got enough metal when he was at the house. The last thing he needed was for Estelle to be pushing him to change his opinion, as well.

"All right."

They lapsed into silence, staring down at their drinks. Flynn felt restless and uncomfortable. He'd been battling a fierce discontentment since moving into the house with Yuri, but this was the first time it had surfaced while he was with Estelle. Usually, she was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that, no matter what was troubling him, it couldn't last forever, that he was smart enough or strong enough to find a resolution. That day, he wasn't feeling that optimism from her. It felt more like she was taking Yuri's side, and he was suddenly eager to finish his coffee and leave.

Estelle changed the subject to his upcoming concert, and Flynn relaxed enough to set aside thoughts of rushing off. He had invited her a couple weeks ago and was glad to see that she seemed genuinely excited about coming. He had been worried originally, because the concert had been scheduled for the day after her birthday, and he had known that the time he would be dedicating to practice wouldn't leave him a chance to celebrate properly with her. He had offered, instead, to take her out to dinner the night after the concert, and he reminded her of that promise as they talked, though he kept the restaurant he had chosen a secret. It was one of the fanciest places in the city and had required that he make reservations to ensure that they would have a table. He wasn't used to fancy dining anymore, but he could afford to splurge every once in a while.

They spent some time discussing the selections planned for the concert and the increasingly long rehearsals. Flynn was confident that he would be ready, but he still felt a stirring of nervous excitement when he thought about performing. He loved making music, loved being part of an orchestra, but something about the thought of playing for an audience felt different this time, more daunting than it should have. He put it down to stress related to his living situation and didn't mention it to Estelle. The last thing he wanted was for the conversation to turn back to Yuri.

Flynn arrived home that night to one of Yuri's practice sessions. He could hear it before he even got out of the car, and when he opened the front door and stepped into it, it was all he could do not to yank the power cords out of the wall and maybe toss a speaker or two out the large front window. Instead, he hurried through the living room, nodding stiffly when the kid shot him a huge grin from behind his wall of drums. Shutting himself in his room did little good, as the noise just vibrated through the walls. He had a sudden, ridiculous mental image of Yuri's band playing loud enough to shake the ceiling down in a rain of paint chips and plaster dust, and he groaned as he realized he would have to go back out into the thick of it if he wanted dinner. He should have just eaten at the café with Estelle.

For once, it seemed like luck was on his side. The noise stopped as Yuri and his band mates reached the end of a song, and it didn't pick up again immediately. Thinking that perhaps there would be a nice lull while they discussed what pitch of growling would best compliment their tortured instruments, or checked for bleeding eardrums, Flynn ventured out into the kitchen to make himself a quick dinner.

He had sandwich fixings spread out on the counter when the kid wandered in.

"Hey, Flynn! Wha'd ya think of our song? Isn't it awesome?"

"It's very…energetic."

The kid beamed. Kids were easy like that. They took observations as compliments. Yuri would have found a way to start a fight over Flynn's concession.

"We've all been working really hard on this one! There's a show coming up soon, and this is going to be what we close with."

They did shows? Who would have them? Flynn couldn't think of any venues in town that would be receptive to the sort of thing Yuri played.

"I hope it goes well." He did, too. If it went poorly, he was certain Yuri would increase his practicing, and Flynn wasn't sure how much more of that he could take. It was like sandpaper on his nerves.

"Thanks! Hey, whatcha makin'?"

"Just a sandwich."

"I'm getting pretty hungry, too. We've been at it for a couple hours."

From the living room, Yuri called out: "If Flynn offers to make you something, don't eat it. Trust me."

The cheap pairing knife Flynn had been using to slice tomatoes snapped in his grip. Swearing under his breath, he inspected his thumb for cuts. He couldn't afford to hurt his hands, but it didn't take much for Yuri to make him angry enough to forget that.

Not even hungry anymore, he flung the half-made sandwich into the trash and shoved the fixings back into the fridge. The kid was watching him wide-eyed from one corner of the kitchen, but Flynn didn't care. He was pissed.

What the fuck was Yuri's problem? He didn't have to go spelling out that Flynn couldn't cook worth a damn—plenty of people couldn't cook. What the fuck did it matter? He was still a virtuoso on the violin. He was still a hard worker and an accomplished student. What did cooking even matter?

He stormed back into his room and slammed the door. It wasn't a fraction as loud as Yuri's practice sessions got, and that only further infuriated him. He swallowed back a scream, not willing to give Yuri the satisfaction of knowing exactly how badly he got under Flynn's skin.

That was the man he wanted to make peace with? Hah! Yuri would probably laugh in his face when Flynn offered him a ticket for the concert.

Several deep breaths helped calm him down, at least until the guitars and drums started up again, forcing him to put in his earplugs. Usually, a good night's sleep would help ease his mind. He didn't really think there was much chance of that, however. Yuri's practices ran late on Friday nights when the kid didn't have a bedtime. Flynn pulled out one of his textbooks and settled in for a long night.