A/N: I guess I forgot to mention before that this was just supposed to be a place to toss one shots if I wrote any more connected to the theme, and wasn't precisely going to be anything that updated regularly or continually.

Quiet little anon who requested that I continue, this one is for you. I hope you like it. If not, I have one or two more in mind I can add here.

FYI, I don't write for comments, but sometimes I will write because of comments. A small but important difference there.

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


That first night was strange.

Yuri should have been bedded down with the others, out in their little campsite just beyond the walls of Aurnion. Instead, he was curled up on a lumpy mattress, trapped between a wall and the warmth of his best friend who wasn't precisely just his best friend anymore. He could hear every sigh of wind, every groan of timbers, every creak of the bed frame, every tiny rustle of the sheets. His pulse ticked in his temples, and he could hear it scratching, catching along with his hair at the pillowcase. He tucked a hand beneath his head to quiet the noise, and found it instead replaced by the amplified rumbling of blood through his veins and the tiny sounds created by the flex of his fingers. It was incredible how loud his own body could be in the stillness of the night.

Behind him, Flynn shifted. Weight settled against Yuri's back, the light touch of a shoulder just barely pressed against him. Warmth seeped through his shirt, and he held himself perfectly still, afraid of breaking off that small touch, and afraid of seeking more.

Once more, he wondered over what had prompted Flynn's confession earlier that evening. Easy enough to think that the odds Brave Vesperia would be facing when they confronted Duke were bad enough that Flynn had decided to take his chance while he still had one. Easy to think that way, but pretty depressing. Duke had to be stopped, no matter how strong he was. They couldn't afford to fail.

Still, even as important as that was, even though Yuri knew that he ought to be sleeping so he'd be in top shape for the coming fight, he couldn't relax. Flynn's words kept running through his mind. Flynn's presence battered at the edges of his awareness like moths around a lantern, little sensations that slipped in wherever they could.

The pillow smelled like Flynn. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been given the room for his personal use while in Aurnion, but he'd already left his mark on it. The slightest shift released the smell of sweat and the metallic tang of armor, the sharp odor of the cheap soap common among knights and the sweetish smell of horses and their feed. Long hours of hard, honest work. Dedication. Flynn probably fell into bed each night, exhausted. Yuri wondered if he felt whole, or if there was an emptiness inside him over some of the things he'd done and seen. He hoped not.

He couldn't hear Flynn breathing, and that was how he knew he was still awake. Flynn snored very lightly. He'd never believed it when Yuri told him. One of these days, he would take Flynn adventuring along with Brave Vesperia. Not riding around on orders, but honestly exploring. He could get a different perspective on the world he'd always brought Yuri tales about. It would do him good...and Yuri would finally have a witness who could tell Flynn that he really did snore.

Turning his face into the pillow, he smiled. Someday. After they came back from Tarqaron alive.

Flynn shifted again. The comforting weight of his shoulder fell away, though Yuri could almost still feel it if he strained. The spot on his back where it had rested felt colder than it should have, and he waited for Flynn to bring them into contact again. He must have felt it too.

When it became clear that Flynn wasn't going to move again, Yuri pushed toward him until he felt warmth trailing all down his back. Reaching behind himself, he found Flynn's hand trapped between them and grabbed hold. Strong, callused fingers twined unhesitatingly with his, and he was startled by how strong his sense of relief was. He'd still been half convinced that Flynn considered the feelings he'd confessed to a bother. He wasn't sure either if being loved was the same as being forgiven.

"Yuri...?"

"...Can't sleep," he muttered. "Damn, Flynn. You couldn't have waited until I came back?"

"If I could have, I'd have done so." His grip tightened. "I'll explain another time, if you don't understand."

"Worried that I might not make it back?"

Giving voice to that thought made him uneasy. He'd survived a lot on this journey, but he wasn't without his scars. Sensations crawled over him—the feel of a sword parting flesh and bone, the pain of a knife jabbed into his side, the cold weight of the ocean filling him up and dragging him down. He shuddered.

"I have faith in you," Flynn said quietly. The words seemed to bring a rush of warmth, goosebumps unconnected to the stuff of nightmares that lurked beneath Yuri's skin. "Keep in mind that I've fought against you enough to know what Duke will be up against. You've gotten so much stronger, Yuri. When I look at you now..."

Something in Flynn's voice made Yuri glad to be turned away. What sort of expression would go along with that tone? Strange to think he couldn't picture it. Stranger still to feel that he might not have been able to meet Flynn's eyes.

"You should get some rest," Flynn said.

"You're one to talk."

Flynn had been the one shifting and settling every few minutes, and now he was telling Yuri to go to sleep? He didn't need Flynn watching over him like that. They'd both have gotten a better night's sleep alone in their own beds. Despite that thought, he kept his fingers twined with Flynn's and didn't move to get up.

The bed creaked loudly and Yuri felt the mattress dip as Flynn raised himself up. He was quiet for a minute, then, hesitantly, he leaned over to kiss Yuri's hair just above his ear.

"Good night."

He was settling down again when Yuri twisted, turning his face toward him.

"Flynn..."

Yuri stopped, unsure. He couldn't pull Flynn to him without letting go of his hand, and he was unusually reluctant to do that. How was he supposed to ask for what he wanted? Was he supposed to ask? Flynn had gone and changed things between them, leaving him uncertain and, now, a little annoyed. Since when was Flynn the one to make changes, anyway? Always before, he'd been the steady one. A moment before Yuri would have thrown caution to the wind and simply rolled over top of him, Flynn got the message.

That second kiss between them, their first actual kiss, was very soft and even more hesitant than the brief touch of lips to Yuri's hair had been. It was a delicate and gentle thing, so strange, so very strange that a thing like that could make Yuri ache the way it did. There was barely a sound when Flynn pulled back, and his eyes were wide in the pale starlight that filtered into the room. Yuri wondered what Flynn saw looking down on him.

"Good night," he said again, more softly, and laid himself back down.

Yuri let himself roll back to face the wall. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and breathed deep. The bed they shared was a temporary haven of peace and safety, and they drifted off together, fingers loosely intertwined between them.