Quiet nights were the worst. They gave Yuri time to think. On especially cold nights, when the dogs stopped barking and the streets were quiet, he lay awake in his bed, staring up at his ceiling streaked with a mix of street lights and the beams of the moon.
His mind would drift to the past, not far enough to become a dream, but far enough to fill his chest with a tight, dry guilt that he knew would consume him for the whole night. On this particular night, he drifted towards his childhood friend, Flynn. He silently wondered about how two people could practically grow up together and yet become so different. He figured it must have been his father, who was more kind than anyone he had known.
"I might be biased, though..." Yuri whispered, mind wandering towards the first time he met Flynn's father, on that dry, cracked ground soaked in a red that made the air smell like hot copper.
Watching as two gloved hands tried in vain to push life back into the motionless body of a young woman with long black hair and fair skin, marred with wounds and the dried splatters of blood. Yuri stared down at her wide, dead eyes, knowing, even if he didn't want to say it, that she was gone. The only thing he had had been taken from him. And it all seemed, somehow, it was his fault.
"I'm sorry..." The blond knight snapped Yuri out of his trance, "I...can't do anything more..." The knight stood, backing away from the corpse, dried blood staining his knees. Yuri remained silent as he approached the body once more, gripping one of her cold hands, already stiff with death, the other laying a few feet away, torn off with the force of a blastia back-firing.
He turned as he felt the eyes of the tall knight fix on him. "Am I...going to die like this too?" The knight didn't answer, merely looked upon him sadly and took Yuri's small hands, crusted with blood, and led him away from the ruins of his home, and the corpses of his friends, neighbours, and his mother, laying in the wake of a disaster that he would never forget.
"If I hadn't been born, mama could have kept living in the capitol." He rasped, barely above a whisper, only loud enough for the blond knight to hear him. "She didn't want me anyway..." He continued, "I know she didn't want me...but I still..." he stopped walking and hung his head down to stare and the cracking dirt beneath his feet. The knight stopped, not letting go of his shaking hand. "I wish she had taken me with her..." He chocked out his words as tears began falling freely from his eyes. Yuri sobbed quietly as he wiped his eyes and tried to regain his composure. The blond keeled down in front of the young boy, letting go of his hand just long enough to grab a hold of his waist, and lifted him in his arms, carrying him toward the Imperial carriage.
They boarded the carriage, full of boxes of rations and weapons, barely leaving enough room for the two to sit. The raven haired boy's sobbing died down as the man rubbed his back slowly. When it was quiet, he spoke.
"I have a boy about your age, his name is Flynn." He smiled, "He's a bit naive, but I guess that's just a little bit my fault." He laughed and looked down at Yuri, who stared at him with interest. "Some people live their entire lives without knowing real pain and sadness, it might be a curse or a blessing...but seeing someone so young, already well acquainted with the harshness and bitterness of lose...it breaks my heart."
"Why...?" Yuri whispered after a long pause.
"I guess...when I see you I also see Flynn, and if I saw him like this...it would make me sad." He raised a hand to ruffle Yuri's already messy hair. "Selfish, isn't it?"
Yuri lowered his head, shaking is side to side softly. They rode the rest of the way to the capitol in silence.
Yuri smiled sadly, unfolding his hands from behind his head as he sat up in bed. He rested his forearms on the edge of the windowsill as he gazed up at the castle. "Flynn...you were one lucky son of a bitch." He spoke under his breath, "Maybe if I had met you and your dad earlier..." He trailed off, thinking about how much life he had seen end since that day. He thought of when he would have to witness the death of his friends, of Flynn.
His head slumped into his arms, eyes sliding closed. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he tried to push the thoughts away from the forefront of his mind. And as he finally gave up on the possibility of sleep, he flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling once more, thinking of Flynn.