A/N: Short story inspired by a post on tumblr - also available on my blog in case you guys are curious which one. I wrote this at like 1 AM instead of studying or working on WIPs but hey, that's inspiration for you.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Tales of Vesperia characters, for they rightfully belong to Namco Bandai.
In their world, people started looking at life differently once they reached their eighteenth birthday. It was an odd feeling, foreign and scary at first, the knowledge that time had no effect on their body anymore. Age would be safely hidden away and kept under lock, nourishing human greed with infinite chances for as long as their heart remained free of a soul mate. A sad rule, certainly, but one of fundamental value in this clockwork-like world.
Years flew by one by one, and yet Yuri couldn't bring himself to care about turning eighteen in a week. He was aware that, to everyone else, it was a big deal – a huge one, even – but whenever someone asked him how he felt about it, a shrug was all he bothered answering with. The days went on as usual and to him, that was enough.
"Doesn't it frighten you, not even a little bit?" Flynn asked that fateful day, fixing the tie that hung loosely around Yuri's neck. Dressing up properly was definitely not his forte.
"Can't say it does. Whatever happens, happens, so there's really no point in thinking too much about it." He shrugged, once again, fidgeting against his best friend's grip. Flynn sighed and let go of his tie to grab him by the arm and lead him to the main hall.
The evening went on peacefully, any worries of immortality and aging lost in the rhythm of lively chatter and music. Yuri offered a dance to each of his friends, enjoying a good laugh with every playful jab to his sides whenever he stepped on Rita's feet or kept twirling Karol in the air.
When he took Flynn's hand, however, he couldn't help but notice his best friend's features from up close – the ones that had frozen in time half a year ago and would be left untouched until the right person came along. The strong lines of his jaw or the light freckles against tan skin, the radiant blond of his hair, full lips and a fine nose…someday all that would change with age and belong to someone else. Yuri couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt at the thought, though he did not know why.
That night, before going to bed, he examined his own reflection in the mirror, realizing with a sense of alarm that it was going to be all he would see for a long, long time. As off-putting as it was, Yuri told himself he'd lived through worse.
Seasons changed and months later he and Flynn applied to the same university, eagerly making plans of sharing an apartment downtown. Life was advancing quickly even though time was no issue anymore, the two of them walking up the stairs of adulthood shoulder to shoulder. A routine had settled in the pattern of his life, tranquil, and although Yuri was a man of action, he couldn't deny the comfort he'd found in their new home.
One bright morning Yuri woke up to the smell of burnt pancakes. Shifting under the covers he rolled over and gathered enough energy to sit upright, staring drowsily at the calendar on the opposite wall. The date read 'Y bday' in bold letters, and suddenly he remembered. No matter how much he longed to slip back under the sheets, Yuri smelled smoke and worried Flynn had started a fire again. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and didn't even bother fixing his bedhead as he made his way to the kitchen and took in Flynn's disaster.
Indeed there he was, surrounded by thick, black smoke that emanated from the stove. Remnants of what used to be tasty pancakes now lay on the floor, burnt to crisps. Yuri shook his head and sighed, already familiarized with the scene. Flynn was too busy trying to salvage whatever edible chunks were left to notice him opening the window wide open.
"Now, now, Mr. Chef. What made you think you'd succeed this time?" he smirked.
Startled, Flynn whipped around and made a face. "I was certain I'd make it work this year."
"Unlikely." Yuri laughed at his best friend's pout. Time and time again Flynn would try surprising him with pancakes in the morning, but so far there hadn't been a single year when nothing had caught fire. Slowly, he picked up the burnt remains of a candle that formed a '24'. "Thanks for trying, though."
"Yeah. Uh, happy birthday still." Flynn mumbled and rubbed his neck, embarassed. Yuri merely smiled.
After well over an hour of cleaning up both threw themselves on the couch, taking a breather. It was still way too early for housework, Yuri mused as he turned to look at Flynn. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even, as though he'd already fallen back to sleep. Yuri wouldn't put it past his best friend to wake up at dawn just for the sake of baking him proper pancakes.
It was still quiet outside, barely a sound came from a city in the waking on a sunday morning. Wind breezed through the curtains into the living room, a welcome gust of fresh air. The longer Yuri watched his friend, the more he felt like something was different. It wouldn't have been the first time, but somehow he realized Flynn had changed. His skin had become more tan, the light freckles gone or barely recognizable against it, his shoulders had grown broader than he remembered and small, fine lines had appeared on the corner of his eyes. Flynn had aged.
Feeling light-headed, Yuri stood up abruptly and strode to the nearest mirror, examining himself the way he had six years ago. Wonder made way for confusion when he noticed his own strong jaw, fine lines and clear skin, the width of his hands or the strength in his stance. He too, had aged. As the implications of his discovery slowly sank in, Yuri watched his reflection grin from ear to ear. He walked back to the couch and when Flynn didn't move a muscle, his grin turned into a soft, fond smile. He really was sleeping. Yuri spent several minutes observing him, playing with the concept of living by his side for many more years and feeling his heart flutter at the thought. It would not be eternity, but to him that was more than enough.