A/N: I'll post something more interesting, soon. It's in the midst of heavy revisions. In the meantime, more of this nonsense! =D
Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.
It was incredibly embarrassing for Imperial Knights to be herded back to their garrison like errant sheep, but that was the position Flynn found himself in toward the end of his patrol of the quiet town of Ceazontania. Yuri shuffled along next to him, trying to joke with the little old lady who had taken his arm as if she were the one being assisted through the streets. He was doing a poor job of maintaining his usual stream of friendly banter, and was likely more reliant on the woman to remain steady than she was on him. The flu that had spread through the town had hit him hard. Half the citizens had taken ill, and the Knights fared little better. Flynn was feeling a bit woozy, himself, but he still had enough presence of mind to be humiliated that he'd let the townsfolk talk him out of the last hour of his watch and escort him back to the barracks and his waiting bed. If Yuri hadn't seemed near ready to pass out, he wouldn't have given in.
They made it back without incident. Ceazontania was a sleepy town hardly in need of patrols, though that didn't excuse neglecting his duty. The old woman who had stayed with them the entire way reached up to pat Yuri on the head and wish him good night, then left them to explain their early return to Hisca.
Actually, only Flynn was left to explain. Yuri was so far gone with his fever that he would have been as good as useless had he not been so pitiable. As it was, Hisca merely sighed and, perhaps out of empathy born from nursing her sister through the flu, ordered them off to bed without a scolding.
For a moment, Yuri hesitated there at the entrance but, once he realized that he was being left alone, he hurried unsteadily after Flynn. Over-warm and weary from his own body's battle with the illness, Flynn didn't relish the thought of having to deal with Yuri. He wasn't needy in terms of being waited on, but Yuri didn't exactly handle being sick very well.
Back in their shared room, Flynn soaked a cloth in the cool water of the basin that he'd left sitting on top of the table. He wiped the fever-sweat from his face and neck, savoring the coolness that helped to focus his muddled thoughts. His vision had seemed to waver a little in the torchlit courtyard and, much as he had resented the interruption of his duties and the thought that he was now contributing to how short-handed the Knights were, he welcomed the idea of getting a little extra rest to help fight off the flu.
Yuri had dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. He wasn't quite staring at Flynn. His eyes were glassy and not focused, his head tilted oddly to one side. With a sigh, Flynn soaked the cloth again and wrung it out. He tossed it at Yuri, watching the way his friend swayed a little with the soft impact and gazed blankly down at the cloth clinging to his uniform.
"Clean up a bit and get changed," Flynn ordered him.
Though his thoughts might wander in the grip of a bad fever, Yuri was stubborn about taking care of himself when he was sick. He'd do everything he could on his own, right up until he was too weak to move. Thankfully, he had only been that ill a couple of times. Slowly, carefully, he picked up the cloth and scrubbed his face. Flynn saw him shiver, then turned away to change.
It took Yuri much longer than usual to finish with the cloth, change into his nightshirt, and turn out the lamp. By then, Flynn was already curled tightly into his sheets and facing away. He hoped his posture and greedy clutching of the blankets would discourage what he knew was coming. When he heard Yuri pad to his bedside, he kept still and quiet...right up until he felt the tug on his blankets.
"Go to bed," he groaned.
"I'm cold."
"So lay down under your own covers until you warm up."
The tugging got stronger. Yuri found the edge of the sheet and pulled it up as he started to climb into bed behind him. Scowling and in no mood to deal with the intrusion, Flynn rolled over. He tried to yank his blankets free and shove Yuri back at the same time.
"You aren't a child! Go lay down in your own bed and go to sleep!"
The difference in their strength was enough that he was able to knock Yuri off balance. He watched him stagger a few steps backward, then drop down onto his mattress as it came up against the backs of his legs. Yuri stared at him almost uncomprehending. He shuddered and curled in on himself. A frown tugged vaguely at the corners of his mouth.
"I can't get warm on my own."
"It's in your head," Flynn muttered. Once more, he pulled his blankets close around him and settled down with his back to Yuri. "It's just the flu. You'll get over it."
Quiet settled over the room as Flynn listened for Yuri's next move. He always got like that when he was sick. His dislike of cold turned into complete intolerance, and he became remarkably clingy. He'd been that way ever since they were kids.
No. Wait. That wasn't quite right. Yuri had caught colds often enough when he was younger and not as capable of fending for himself. He'd gotten over them with the same stubbornness with which he overcame any obstacle. He used to bundle himself up to trap heat and ward off the shivers that originated inside where the sickness lurked. He had always refused help and cared for himself, even back then. He hadn't gotten so needy for company until after the flu that had nearly killed him.
Flynn only remembered that time in fragments. Hanks had come knocking at his mother's door one night. He'd needed money for a doctor. Flynn hadn't paid it much attention until he'd heard Yuri's name come up, but that had made it his business. He remembered his questions being turned aside, and he remembered not being allowed to go see Yuri. He'd gone anyway, of course, snuck in one day when Hanks had gone out. It had been the first time he'd seen Yuri too weak to help himself, too weak to even wake up. He remembered being scared.
Later on, he'd heard that Yuri had nearly died. It had taken him a long time to get better, and after that he'd had a particular hatred for being sick. It was a hatred that bordered on fear, and he'd never again been able to tolerate being left alone when he came down with a cold or fever. When he wasn't ill, himself, Flynn had sympathy for him. Not so, when his reserves had been drained by the same flu that had so weakened his friend's usual stoicism.
He'd expected Yuri to try climbing into bed with him again. He was almost tired enough to allow it, but still irritated enough to want to deny him. The heavy scrape of wood on wood startled him, and he looked back over his shoulder to see Yuri trying to push his own bed across the few feet that separated it from Flynn's. Rolling his eyes, he curled back up.
"What are you doing?"
Yuri didn't answer. His bed lurched forward in uneven bursts, and Flynn could tell the effort was costing him from the way he paused and panted in-between. As he listened, he felt a sudden stirring of guilt and was immediately angry with himself over it. Why should he feel guilty over the fact that Yuri couldn't help acting like an idiot?
At last, his bed rocked under him as Yuri's bumped against it. He heard a gasp and a thud. Yuri's breathing was harsh. It hitched in his throat. Flynn could feel tremors running through the bed, and he peered curiously over his shoulder once more.
Yuri was visible as nothing more than a pale arm and a spill of black hair over the edge of the mattress. He seemed to have collapsed to the floor, and he wasn't making any move to pick himself up. Reluctantly, Flynn slipped out of bed and went to him.
Sitting in a miserable heap on the floor, Yuri was visibly trembling. He kept taking great gulps of air, but it didn't seem to be helping all that much. He didn't even try to look up as Flynn knelt beside him.
"What are you doing?"
"I'll sleep in my own bed," he mumbled. "Don't want to be alone."
When he reached out, his hand shook so badly that Flynn took it without thinking. Yuri's fingers closed around his, feebly, but he got the sense that it was all the strength his friend had left. He felt a sharp tug in his chest, and rested his fevered brow briefly against Yuri's head.
"All right. Get up."
Yuri wouldn't have been able to manage it on his own. His legs wobbled beneath him like a marionette's, but Flynn helped him climb into bed. Yuri rolled onto his side right away, reaching out until his hand just barely rested on Flynn's mattress, waiting for him to go back to his own bed and take up that connection between them. Flynn had no such intention.
"Move over a little more," he ordered.
There was a question in the noise Yuri made, but no words. Flynn shoved him out of the way, crawling into bed next to him and pulling the covers up over both of them. Immediately, Yuri curled into him, grabbing hold of his nightshirt, and pressing his forehead against Flynn's breastbone. Sweat dampened his hair, and his breath was a shuddering exhalation of humid warmth. Too tired at that point to be annoyed with himself over giving in, Flynn lifted a heavy arm and stroked Yuri's hair back from where it clung to his face and neck. He kept watch as Yuri's shivers slowly eased, then followed after him to sleep.