(no subject)
Fandom: Persona 4
Characters: Seta Souji, Tatsumi Kanji, ensemble
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Kanji/Rise, except it's more like Souji discussing Kanji/Rise than anything pairing-related.
Kanji wasn't slow by any means, but sometimes it took him a little longer to wrap his mind around certain concepts. After all, embarrassingly revealing escapades in the television aside, the world was vast, wondrous and confusing. Simply said, there were a lot of things he had yet to understand about the ways of the universe. A lot. It was hard to blame him sometimes, though. Women were an endeavor that men thrice his age had yet to comprehend, the eternal unsolvable puzzle whose solution many claimed to know, but none really did. Still, Kanji figured that if anyone had ever come close, it was probably Souji.
“Senpai,” he said, managing to sound desperate despite having only said one word over a phone call. “You've gotta help me out, man. This is some s-serious stuff, here. I'm not really sure what to do.”
Souji set down his pen, looking up from his university essay. “Stop twisting the head off that stuffed animal. Who is it?”
There was a pause. “How did you...Rise.”
“Rise,” Souji repeated, enunciating each of those two syllables with careful emphasis, drumming fingers on the table. He would have guessed Naoto, but no, Naoto had shown up back in the city a few months ago, with only a new school uniform and a bit more confidence in her stance (not that it wasn't a lot) to show for it - no shy admission of having acquired a recent interest in the investigation of 'human emotional attachment,' as she would have put it. Rise was new. (Briefly, he was amused that despite being miles away, Inaba gossip still seemed to reach his ears somehow.) “How did this happe- Ah, wait one second.”
He pressed a button. “Partner, did you hear that-”
“I'm talking to Kanji right now, Yosuke. I'll call you back later.” Beep. Souji cleared his throat. “How did this happen, exactly? Go slow. Don't panic.”
“I, uh, well, we're pretty good friends, right? I mean, we're all pretty good friends, but Rise and I are in the same grade and all, and ever since you guys all graduated, and Naoto went back to the city, I haven't really been hanging with many people. You know how it is.” Souji nodded understandingly, and though it was a silent gesture, Kanji seemed to take a deep breath nonetheless, laying out the words one by one. Inaba was a small town, and though reputations could be disproven, it still took them a while to die down. “I mean, sometimes, I go chill with Naoki, but I can't really talk about all that old-time stuff with him. So, it...well, after a while...”
“Rise,” Souji helpfully supplied.
“Yeah, I know,” Kanji answered, sounding a little bit incredulous himself (though it was more a disbelief that she'd be interested than the other way around). “Who am I kidding, right? It's probably just my imagination. There's no way that-”
“I wouldn't know about that.” Souji knew all his friends rather well, and he remembered Rise and her own special brand of Risette charm. When she laid it on, she laid it on like seven layers of peanut butter on a half-inch slice. If it got to the point where even Kanji noticed something, then she had probably doubled that count, and really, a person only paid that much effort when they were, in fact, actually interested. He tried explaining this to Kanji, in the way that Kanji would most easily understand. “You should ask her out.” That being, of course, the most blunt way.
“R-really? You're saying I should go for it? Even though I'm...I'm, well, me? And she's her?” Despite that, Kanji sounded relieved.
Souji smiled. “Especially because you're you, and she's her.”
“Whoa, I never really...you think? Heheh, yeah, maybe.” He laughed, modestly and semi-muffled, like he was trying to rub the inevitable blush off his face. “Yeah, I think you're probably right, senpai. I'm...I'm gonna give it a try! I'm going to knock it down on its back and make it wish it were never born! Yeeaaaah! Thanks a ton, senpai! Gotta go!”
“Ah-” Souji closed his mouth, pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at the screen as the duration of the call (5:03:39) flashed in pixellated white letters on the screen. He had been about to suggest to Kanji that maybe going about it like one went about demolishing a construction site might not have been the best idea, but..(because you're you) maybe that was perfect. Maybe it'd just be just fine.
Just as he was about to pick up his pen, the phone rang again. Souji flipped it open without even looking at the screen. “Souji! You won't believe-” and, “Oh gosh! Have you heard-” and “Partner! Finally! They just told-” all sounded simultaneously from the other end of the four-way call. Souji smiled. Despite being miles away, there were always just some things about Inaba that stayed with you.
Fandom: Sengoku Musou 2 (Samurai Warriors 2)
Characters: Mitsuhide Akechi, Mori Ranmaru
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Mitsuhide/Ranmaru. Death and FEUDAL JAPANESE ANGST.
Undoubtedly, battle is chaos. There is metal and there is pain and there is anguish, blood, and once, there was honor, but it dwindles and lingers in only the memories of men now that it has become easy to kill even a legend of a man with only an iron bullet, bringing down around them their dreams and their legacy in nothing short of an explosion and a crash, because while it is easy to kill a man, it is harder to kill his convictions. Mitsuhide swings his word with almost mechanical efficiency, slicing through as easily and gracelessly as the pull of the trigger until those slashes begin to sound like 'bang, bang' to his ears.
A split second - he looks up, eyes watering from the smoke as the fire wrecks through Honnoji. Ranmaru is less than a hundred paces away, and he glances up at the same time. The boy is fighting desperately (to get to me, Mitsuhide realizes) to get past the throng of soldiers in his way. His katana reflects red firelight and he looks furious, betrayed, desperate and young. Please understand, Mitsuhide thinks, but it is a message that dies before it even gets past his lips and mere words don't carry well across the battlefield. Ranmaru thinks Mitsuhide killed him and that is an unforgivable crime. It will be easier once Mitsuhide burns his bridges, but watching them singe and char is hard.
“Lord Mitsuhide!” cries Ranmaru, as an infantry man falls to his knees at his feet, and then face-first into the welcoming earth. For a deceptively demure person, his voice carries far. Then again, for a deceptively genteel stature, Ranmaru has always been a formidable warrior. It is not appearances that matter in war. “What have you done?” he yells, and his voice betrays him (not the first betrayal tonight), cracking a little at the end. What have you done? Mitsuhide stands his ground, turns the handle of his sword over in the cup of his palm until the shape falls just right into the creases of his fingers, the curve of his thumb. One foot slides back, into the bloodstained sooty dust.
A split second - there are many things Mitsuhide thought he had done, and many things he knows he has, but the line is finer than a hair's width and impossible to explain. If Ranmaru had asked him whether or not he killed Nobunaga, the answer would have been yes, because yes, he did, even if it was someone else entirely, far far away, who aimed the barrel, shot the gun. Ranmaru would not ask him whether that was the right thing to do - for a loyal retainer, whose valor is determined by just that (his loyalty), Mitsuhide is in the wrong. “I have killed Nobunaga,” Mitsuhide admits, the words heavy like stones in his mouth, heavier yet like lead in his heart, and he points his sword at the last fraying rope holding this bridge together.
Ranmaru charges. He is fast but not fast enough, and he is still holding back unconsciously because this is Mitsuhide, Mitsuhide who is (was) his friend and Mitsuhide who he has (had) celebrated victories with, cried losses over, Mitsuhide who is (was) bright and strong and proud, Mitsuhide whom even Nobunaga praises (praised). Ranmaru's blade wavers, but Mitsuhide's heart is already numb. He has already seen Nobunaga die in front of him and he doesn't hesitate. I have killed Nobunaga, Mitsuhide repeats in his head. Ranmaru makes a choked sound, fingers loosening on his weapon, tumbling into Mitsuhide's waiting arms that turn him around and let him down slowly, gently, onto the ground. It is no proper burial; these are no proper rights.
A split second - Ranmaru looks up, biting down on the blood bubbling up his throat, and he doesn't, can't (couldn't) understand.
Mitsuhide watches the life fade from his eyes and then he swipes a hand over the eyelids, closing them. And now I have killed you.
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Characters: Morinozuka Takashi
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Cake/Honey. And not even teachers can escape.
“I just don't understand, Morinozuka-kun. Normally, Honey-kun is such an ace student - he does well in everything!" The teacher was obviously one of those smitten with Honey, which actually wasn't all that hard of a guess, because there really wasn't a teacher in Ouran who wasn't quite smitten, male or female. She heaved a great big sigh, befitting of an Ophelia or a Juliet, and brought one hand to her forehead, the other to her pitter-pattering, doki-doki-ing, bereaved heart.
"Hn," said Mori, staring down at the paper on the desk between them.
"I just thought I should inform you, Morinozuka-kun, because you two are-" And here, she slapped a hand to her demurely blushing cheek, as if she were letting out some big secret out of the bag, "...so close all, because I really an concerned. There seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding here, after all, and fundamentals are what we teachers of Ouran are trying to depart to you bright young students, so that you may fend for yourselves in the real world!" The 'real world' for a great deal of Ouran's students would be one comfortably cushioned by their parents' fortunes, but he supposed there was some preparation required for that too, like learning how to swim before diving into a pool of thousand-yen bills.
"Hn," said Mori, staring down at the answers scribbled down the right side of the test.
"I'm sure you understand, Morinozuka-kun. I'm obviously going to give Honey-kun an A anyway, on the fact that I'm confident he knows the material - and we're grading our students our their actual knowledge, not just their papers, because that's what counts? But, to avoid complications like this in the future...please tell the club to plan their special gourmet events accordingly." She finished with her hands folded over her lap, looking bright and refreshed now that she had gotten everything distressing her dear, maiden heart off her chest. "Study hard!"
"Ah," said Mori, with a curt but respectful bow at the waist, understanding. As a loyal retainer to the Haninozuka clan, he knew exactly what she was getting at. Honey would need to study, because no matter how you looked at it, and how clever he was, and how far he could probably throw Mori down the yard, 'Cake Cake Cake Cake Cake' was not the answer to the chronological order of the Feudal Lords' Possessions of Japan.
Fandom: Tales of Vesperia
Characters: Yuri Lowell, Flynn Scifo
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: School version Flynn/Yuri.
“M'sorry,” Yuri mutters reluctantly but sincerely, sitting next to Flynn on the same bed in the nurse's office. Flynn threw the first punch, but only because Yuri has always been so good at goading him into it, but only because Flynn has always been even better at working on Yuri's nerves, but only because they have spent years growing up next to each other. The blame is Flynn's, it's Yuri's, it's Flynn and Yuri's, technically, but the two of them have never really thrown around things like blame and grudges after throwing their fists. Yuri is holding Flynn's glasses, cradling them gently in his palm as he wraps scotch tape around the bridge he snapped in half with his middle knuckle.
Flynn can't answer immediately - he has one end of a bandage hanging from his mouth as he pulls the other end around the shallow but bleeding cut on Yuri's arm. Though his vision without his glasses is workable, he has to lean in and squint in order to see exactly what he's doing, because this is Yuri, and Yuri is important enough that he has to be careful. “It's fine,” he says, pulling the last loop a little tighter (Yuri's jaw tightens, the way it does when he wants to grimace and is trying not to), and quietly, Flynn pats the arm apologetically after he lets go. “It was my mistake. I shouldn't have-”
“It's fine,” Yuri says gruffly, having never been one for apologies. Turning a little in his seat, he hands Flynn's glasses back with one hand, which Flynn takes with a grateful smile, slipping them back onto his face. Yuri snorts.
“Wh-what?” Flynn asks, feeling around the frame. He can't feel anything abnormal past the obvious clump of tape in the center, and he obviously can't see anything odd about it either. Yuri shakes his head, pulling Flynn's hands down and pushing them back toward his lap.
“No, it's just, uh. I taped them on a little crooked.” Yuri taps his makeshift 'fix', one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. Flynn can barely feel it past the frame nudging the shell of his ear because of the elevated bridge, but he matches Yuri's expression with a smile of his own just the same. “Don't touch it, or you'll just make it worse, Class President.” The title is a little mocking, but at least it's only a little, and not malicious in the least. (This is Yuri, after all.) Flynn indignantly shoves his uniform jacket at his stomach, and despite the small 'oomph' that gets, Yuri still manages to find the cheek to add, “I don't want to have to walk you home and give all the other students the wrong idea.”
“Yuri, we live in the same neighborhood. We always walk home together,” Flynn states, flatly.
Shrugging on his jacket, Yuri laughs, a bright and lively sound that always and will always bring a smile to Flynn's face, regardless of circumstances. It's contagious, and laughter is good medicine for all the tension of the fight and the somberness of the recovery. Soon enough, Flynn is ducking his head to hide his chuckling too, but Yuri has spent too many hours in the company of this boy to be fooled that easily. He ducks his head to see, grinning victoriously at the confirmation, and Flynn shoves at his shoulder (not the injured arm) to push him away while Yuri teases, “Oh, so you figured me out already. I thought I'd at least have until graduation to fess up.”
“Shut up, Yuri.”
“Does that mean we're going steady now?”
“Argh, you're incorrigible.” Flynn shoves him over and back onto the bed, but theirs is an intertwined fate - Yuri goes nowhere without Flynn following somewhere close behind (or vice versa), and sure enough, a hand in the middle of his back pulls him down soon after.
Characters: Seta Souji, Tatsumi Kanji, ensemble
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Kanji/Rise, except it's more like Souji discussing Kanji/Rise than anything pairing-related.
Kanji wasn't slow by any means, but sometimes it took him a little longer to wrap his mind around certain concepts. After all, embarrassingly revealing escapades in the television aside, the world was vast, wondrous and confusing. Simply said, there were a lot of things he had yet to understand about the ways of the universe. A lot. It was hard to blame him sometimes, though. Women were an endeavor that men thrice his age had yet to comprehend, the eternal unsolvable puzzle whose solution many claimed to know, but none really did. Still, Kanji figured that if anyone had ever come close, it was probably Souji.
“Senpai,” he said, managing to sound desperate despite having only said one word over a phone call. “You've gotta help me out, man. This is some s-serious stuff, here. I'm not really sure what to do.”
Souji set down his pen, looking up from his university essay. “Stop twisting the head off that stuffed animal. Who is it?”
There was a pause. “How did you...Rise.”
“Rise,” Souji repeated, enunciating each of those two syllables with careful emphasis, drumming fingers on the table. He would have guessed Naoto, but no, Naoto had shown up back in the city a few months ago, with only a new school uniform and a bit more confidence in her stance (not that it wasn't a lot) to show for it - no shy admission of having acquired a recent interest in the investigation of 'human emotional attachment,' as she would have put it. Rise was new. (Briefly, he was amused that despite being miles away, Inaba gossip still seemed to reach his ears somehow.) “How did this happe- Ah, wait one second.”
He pressed a button. “Partner, did you hear that-”
“I'm talking to Kanji right now, Yosuke. I'll call you back later.” Beep. Souji cleared his throat. “How did this happen, exactly? Go slow. Don't panic.”
“I, uh, well, we're pretty good friends, right? I mean, we're all pretty good friends, but Rise and I are in the same grade and all, and ever since you guys all graduated, and Naoto went back to the city, I haven't really been hanging with many people. You know how it is.” Souji nodded understandingly, and though it was a silent gesture, Kanji seemed to take a deep breath nonetheless, laying out the words one by one. Inaba was a small town, and though reputations could be disproven, it still took them a while to die down. “I mean, sometimes, I go chill with Naoki, but I can't really talk about all that old-time stuff with him. So, it...well, after a while...”
“Rise,” Souji helpfully supplied.
“Yeah, I know,” Kanji answered, sounding a little bit incredulous himself (though it was more a disbelief that she'd be interested than the other way around). “Who am I kidding, right? It's probably just my imagination. There's no way that-”
“I wouldn't know about that.” Souji knew all his friends rather well, and he remembered Rise and her own special brand of Risette charm. When she laid it on, she laid it on like seven layers of peanut butter on a half-inch slice. If it got to the point where even Kanji noticed something, then she had probably doubled that count, and really, a person only paid that much effort when they were, in fact, actually interested. He tried explaining this to Kanji, in the way that Kanji would most easily understand. “You should ask her out.” That being, of course, the most blunt way.
“R-really? You're saying I should go for it? Even though I'm...I'm, well, me? And she's her?” Despite that, Kanji sounded relieved.
Souji smiled. “Especially because you're you, and she's her.”
“Whoa, I never really...you think? Heheh, yeah, maybe.” He laughed, modestly and semi-muffled, like he was trying to rub the inevitable blush off his face. “Yeah, I think you're probably right, senpai. I'm...I'm gonna give it a try! I'm going to knock it down on its back and make it wish it were never born! Yeeaaaah! Thanks a ton, senpai! Gotta go!”
“Ah-” Souji closed his mouth, pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at the screen as the duration of the call (5:03:39) flashed in pixellated white letters on the screen. He had been about to suggest to Kanji that maybe going about it like one went about demolishing a construction site might not have been the best idea, but..(because you're you) maybe that was perfect. Maybe it'd just be just fine.
Just as he was about to pick up his pen, the phone rang again. Souji flipped it open without even looking at the screen. “Souji! You won't believe-” and, “Oh gosh! Have you heard-” and “Partner! Finally! They just told-” all sounded simultaneously from the other end of the four-way call. Souji smiled. Despite being miles away, there were always just some things about Inaba that stayed with you.
Fandom: Sengoku Musou 2 (Samurai Warriors 2)
Characters: Mitsuhide Akechi, Mori Ranmaru
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Mitsuhide/Ranmaru. Death and FEUDAL JAPANESE ANGST.
Undoubtedly, battle is chaos. There is metal and there is pain and there is anguish, blood, and once, there was honor, but it dwindles and lingers in only the memories of men now that it has become easy to kill even a legend of a man with only an iron bullet, bringing down around them their dreams and their legacy in nothing short of an explosion and a crash, because while it is easy to kill a man, it is harder to kill his convictions. Mitsuhide swings his word with almost mechanical efficiency, slicing through as easily and gracelessly as the pull of the trigger until those slashes begin to sound like 'bang, bang' to his ears.
A split second - he looks up, eyes watering from the smoke as the fire wrecks through Honnoji. Ranmaru is less than a hundred paces away, and he glances up at the same time. The boy is fighting desperately (to get to me, Mitsuhide realizes) to get past the throng of soldiers in his way. His katana reflects red firelight and he looks furious, betrayed, desperate and young. Please understand, Mitsuhide thinks, but it is a message that dies before it even gets past his lips and mere words don't carry well across the battlefield. Ranmaru thinks Mitsuhide killed him and that is an unforgivable crime. It will be easier once Mitsuhide burns his bridges, but watching them singe and char is hard.
“Lord Mitsuhide!” cries Ranmaru, as an infantry man falls to his knees at his feet, and then face-first into the welcoming earth. For a deceptively demure person, his voice carries far. Then again, for a deceptively genteel stature, Ranmaru has always been a formidable warrior. It is not appearances that matter in war. “What have you done?” he yells, and his voice betrays him (not the first betrayal tonight), cracking a little at the end. What have you done? Mitsuhide stands his ground, turns the handle of his sword over in the cup of his palm until the shape falls just right into the creases of his fingers, the curve of his thumb. One foot slides back, into the bloodstained sooty dust.
A split second - there are many things Mitsuhide thought he had done, and many things he knows he has, but the line is finer than a hair's width and impossible to explain. If Ranmaru had asked him whether or not he killed Nobunaga, the answer would have been yes, because yes, he did, even if it was someone else entirely, far far away, who aimed the barrel, shot the gun. Ranmaru would not ask him whether that was the right thing to do - for a loyal retainer, whose valor is determined by just that (his loyalty), Mitsuhide is in the wrong. “I have killed Nobunaga,” Mitsuhide admits, the words heavy like stones in his mouth, heavier yet like lead in his heart, and he points his sword at the last fraying rope holding this bridge together.
Ranmaru charges. He is fast but not fast enough, and he is still holding back unconsciously because this is Mitsuhide, Mitsuhide who is (was) his friend and Mitsuhide who he has (had) celebrated victories with, cried losses over, Mitsuhide who is (was) bright and strong and proud, Mitsuhide whom even Nobunaga praises (praised). Ranmaru's blade wavers, but Mitsuhide's heart is already numb. He has already seen Nobunaga die in front of him and he doesn't hesitate. I have killed Nobunaga, Mitsuhide repeats in his head. Ranmaru makes a choked sound, fingers loosening on his weapon, tumbling into Mitsuhide's waiting arms that turn him around and let him down slowly, gently, onto the ground. It is no proper burial; these are no proper rights.
A split second - Ranmaru looks up, biting down on the blood bubbling up his throat, and he doesn't, can't (couldn't) understand.
Mitsuhide watches the life fade from his eyes and then he swipes a hand over the eyelids, closing them. And now I have killed you.
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Characters: Morinozuka Takashi
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: Cake/Honey. And not even teachers can escape.
“I just don't understand, Morinozuka-kun. Normally, Honey-kun is such an ace student - he does well in everything!" The teacher was obviously one of those smitten with Honey, which actually wasn't all that hard of a guess, because there really wasn't a teacher in Ouran who wasn't quite smitten, male or female. She heaved a great big sigh, befitting of an Ophelia or a Juliet, and brought one hand to her forehead, the other to her pitter-pattering, doki-doki-ing, bereaved heart.
"Hn," said Mori, staring down at the paper on the desk between them.
"I just thought I should inform you, Morinozuka-kun, because you two are-" And here, she slapped a hand to her demurely blushing cheek, as if she were letting out some big secret out of the bag, "...so close all, because I really an concerned. There seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding here, after all, and fundamentals are what we teachers of Ouran are trying to depart to you bright young students, so that you may fend for yourselves in the real world!" The 'real world' for a great deal of Ouran's students would be one comfortably cushioned by their parents' fortunes, but he supposed there was some preparation required for that too, like learning how to swim before diving into a pool of thousand-yen bills.
"Hn," said Mori, staring down at the answers scribbled down the right side of the test.
"I'm sure you understand, Morinozuka-kun. I'm obviously going to give Honey-kun an A anyway, on the fact that I'm confident he knows the material - and we're grading our students our their actual knowledge, not just their papers, because that's what counts? But, to avoid complications like this in the future...please tell the club to plan their special gourmet events accordingly." She finished with her hands folded over her lap, looking bright and refreshed now that she had gotten everything distressing her dear, maiden heart off her chest. "Study hard!"
"Ah," said Mori, with a curt but respectful bow at the waist, understanding. As a loyal retainer to the Haninozuka clan, he knew exactly what she was getting at. Honey would need to study, because no matter how you looked at it, and how clever he was, and how far he could probably throw Mori down the yard, 'Cake Cake Cake Cake Cake' was not the answer to the chronological order of the Feudal Lords' Possessions of Japan.
Fandom: Tales of Vesperia
Characters: Yuri Lowell, Flynn Scifo
Rating: G
Warnings: Drabble meme request: School version Flynn/Yuri.
“M'sorry,” Yuri mutters reluctantly but sincerely, sitting next to Flynn on the same bed in the nurse's office. Flynn threw the first punch, but only because Yuri has always been so good at goading him into it, but only because Flynn has always been even better at working on Yuri's nerves, but only because they have spent years growing up next to each other. The blame is Flynn's, it's Yuri's, it's Flynn and Yuri's, technically, but the two of them have never really thrown around things like blame and grudges after throwing their fists. Yuri is holding Flynn's glasses, cradling them gently in his palm as he wraps scotch tape around the bridge he snapped in half with his middle knuckle.
Flynn can't answer immediately - he has one end of a bandage hanging from his mouth as he pulls the other end around the shallow but bleeding cut on Yuri's arm. Though his vision without his glasses is workable, he has to lean in and squint in order to see exactly what he's doing, because this is Yuri, and Yuri is important enough that he has to be careful. “It's fine,” he says, pulling the last loop a little tighter (Yuri's jaw tightens, the way it does when he wants to grimace and is trying not to), and quietly, Flynn pats the arm apologetically after he lets go. “It was my mistake. I shouldn't have-”
“It's fine,” Yuri says gruffly, having never been one for apologies. Turning a little in his seat, he hands Flynn's glasses back with one hand, which Flynn takes with a grateful smile, slipping them back onto his face. Yuri snorts.
“Wh-what?” Flynn asks, feeling around the frame. He can't feel anything abnormal past the obvious clump of tape in the center, and he obviously can't see anything odd about it either. Yuri shakes his head, pulling Flynn's hands down and pushing them back toward his lap.
“No, it's just, uh. I taped them on a little crooked.” Yuri taps his makeshift 'fix', one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. Flynn can barely feel it past the frame nudging the shell of his ear because of the elevated bridge, but he matches Yuri's expression with a smile of his own just the same. “Don't touch it, or you'll just make it worse, Class President.” The title is a little mocking, but at least it's only a little, and not malicious in the least. (This is Yuri, after all.) Flynn indignantly shoves his uniform jacket at his stomach, and despite the small 'oomph' that gets, Yuri still manages to find the cheek to add, “I don't want to have to walk you home and give all the other students the wrong idea.”
“Yuri, we live in the same neighborhood. We always walk home together,” Flynn states, flatly.
Shrugging on his jacket, Yuri laughs, a bright and lively sound that always and will always bring a smile to Flynn's face, regardless of circumstances. It's contagious, and laughter is good medicine for all the tension of the fight and the somberness of the recovery. Soon enough, Flynn is ducking his head to hide his chuckling too, but Yuri has spent too many hours in the company of this boy to be fooled that easily. He ducks his head to see, grinning victoriously at the confirmation, and Flynn shoves at his shoulder (not the injured arm) to push him away while Yuri teases, “Oh, so you figured me out already. I thought I'd at least have until graduation to fess up.”
“Shut up, Yuri.”
“Does that mean we're going steady now?”
“Argh, you're incorrigible.” Flynn shoves him over and back onto the bed, but theirs is an intertwined fate - Yuri goes nowhere without Flynn following somewhere close behind (or vice versa), and sure enough, a hand in the middle of his back pulls him down soon after.