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I Must Be a Light	By : xRIiFTBx Category: +S through Z > Tales of Vesperia Views: 1732 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Vesperia, Tales of Vesperia: The First Strike, or any of the characters of either, and I did not make any money from the writing of this work.

Chapter List
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Standing next to him, perfectly aligned in rank and file, watching Commander Alexei lecture on the responsibilities of Imperial Knights, I couldn't breathe. Yuri kept trying to talk to me, kept intruding on my consciousness, the way the light from outside lances through a cracked door into a dark room. I kept my replies terse – my irritation was no secret – until I finally turned the tables and asked a question of my own.
“Why did you join the Knights, anyway?”
The look on his face told me that Yuri hadn't expected the question – at least, not outright. I didn't even listen to the answer, not really. He said something about my old man, probably to try and jab me back, but his eyes told a different story. He wasn't used to being the one off-balance; that was where he liked to keep me, but his eyes darted away, then, as if seeking an escape from the clean lines of the induction ceremony. It felt kind of good, though, having the upper hand, however briefly; Yuri would be sure to reassert the proper order the instant we had some time to ourselves. His usually self-assured demeanor had always seemed to keep the reins firmly in his hands, even in the days when we were growing up in the Lower Quarter. I could remember so clearly the days that he'd just laugh and say I was hopeless.
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“You can't do anything on your own, can you?” But the sixteen-year-old Yuri Lowell was grinning as he wiped a bit of grit from his face, resulting in a dirty smear across his left cheekbone. Then, he offered a hand to Flynn, to help his friend up off the paving stones of the Market Street. Once the blond Scifo boy was back on his feet and dusted off, he straightened his clothes and eyed his rescuer.
“Your nose is bleeding, Yuri,” a pale, soft hand reached out to wipe away the trail of red, but Yuri expertly dodged the attention, laughing and wiping at the blood – reducing the old trail to a thin, orangeish smudge, while a bead of fresh red welled up above it.
“Ahh, what the hell? Hey, I bet you those bourgeois bullies don't stop running until they're all the way to the Citizen Quarter. Come on, let's get to the inn and get something cool on that eye of yours, or it's going to color up bad,” something in Flynn's throat tightened as Yuri's hand closed around his wrist. It was always this way – the dark-haired boy leading, hauling the blond along with him.
The innkeeper had seemed prepared to scold the boys – that glint in her eye, as she saw them stumble in the door, was unmistakable – but Yuri gave his usual confident non-explanation, and they were released with a cool strip of meat, a couple of old rags, and an admonition to behave. Yuri just offered empty reassurances, before ushering Flynn out the door and up the stairs at the side of the building. Producing a key, he fitted it to the lock of the first door, though it took a few tries to get the mechanism to catch just right. Once inside, Yuri didn't even take off his boots, just flopping on the futon in the corner. Having selected his place, he took a rag and began to dab inexpertly at the blood flowing from his nose somewhat slower than before. Flynn entered the room rather more slowly, frowning at the flaky trail of dirt leading in from the doorway.
“You live like a dog,” he huffed disapprovingly, earning a noncommittal grunt from his friend as he picked his own way over to sit at the table by the front window. Then, with less exasperation and a little more regret, he added, “Mom's gonna kill us both. You remember what she said; one more fight in the Market, and-”
“- And I guess I'll have to buy her some flowers,” Yuri smirked, reaching into his broad belt and pulling out a small money pouch – one that definitely wasn't his. Flynn stood abruptly, his swift-blacking eye forgotten. “What-”
“Oh, Mrs. Scifo,” Yuri sat up and batted his eyelashes disarmingly at his bewildered friend, “I never meant to upset you, it was only that there were three of them, and just one of your own tender Flynn- Hey!” he was interrupted by the other striding across the room and hauling him to his feet by the collar of his jacket, those blue eyes narrowing in disbelief, “You mean, you-”
“Oh, calm down,” Yuri smirked, his hand rising to cover his friend's fist and push it away from the cloth. Straightening his shirt, he sighed and pushed the blond back toward the chair he'd previously occupied. Flynn was not having it, however.
“I will not calm down! You set those punks on me as some kind of diversion so you could... could... run around snatching purses!” at this, the look in Yuri's eyes hardened, and his previously lite demeanor was gone in an instant without any other change in his posture – this had to be the closest the boy in black ever came to pouting, “You went to them, remember? I took an opportunity on my way to help you out. You're welcome, by the way.”
At this reminder, Flynn relented immediately, though he couldn't help trying to regain some of his lost ground with a final, defeated murmur, “Mom'll be madder if she thinks you're stealing.”
“That's why she won't have any reason to think that, right? Face it, Flynn, your mom can't afford to keep the two of you much longer if she keeps thinking she has to help me out. It's better, this way – at least, until I can find a job,” then, he looked over at Flynn again, and winced faintly, “What's not getting better is that eye of yours. You should probably stay here, at least for tonight. Give that a chance to fade some.”
Flynn was on the edge of protesting, but decided better of it, just nodding mutely. He wasn't sure how much good the extra time would do – in truth, it would probably just give his mother a better look at the damage, when he finally showed up – but he also wasn't eager to rush toward that lecture.
“Th-thanks, Yuri.”
The host ignored the soft expression of gratitude as if he hadn't heard it, though he sighed softly, and the corner of his mouth turned up just a little.
“Just have an apple gel and quiet down. I'll see if I can't flatter the innkeeper into loaning us an extra futon for the night,” and with that, he gave his nose a final wipe, before tossing the rag aside and exiting the room. Flynn listened to the sound of those boots making their way down the steps outside and let go a heavy sigh of his own, gazing out the window toward the aque blastia that cast a rainbow spray into the afternoon air.
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I Must Be a Light