Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flynn never ceased to be amazed by the view of the sky from the rooftop of Mikado castle. The past few nights had made him closely acquainted with the far-off twinkling lights overhead, ever since the mission in Kicchigiori Forest. While not suffering from nightmares, as he had feared would happen, his body had instead opted to make sleep an incredibly difficult thing to achieve.

And so, in order to avoid disturbing his fellow Samurai, Flynn finds himself with the stars and a full moon for company tonight. With very little cloud coverage, the rooftop of Mikado castle glows eerily in the moonlight and lends it an ethereal look and feeling. It calms Flynn, in a strange way. It is as if he has stumbled upon a secret place where only he exists; and it is with that thought that he feels his mind go quiet, and he unsheathes his katana.

If he had prepared ahead of time, perhaps he would have brought something else that takes advantage of the moonlight to pass the time. But there is a comforting feeling when swinging his katana in practiced strokes, the kind of familiarity one associates with old friends and warm places and comfort food. It’s something he’s known since a child, since he first met Issachar.

He decides, then and there, that this is the best thing to help him process the events that had recently passed.

He goes through the motions of their training exercises from muscle memory alone, adding repetitions until he feels the muscles in his arms and chest and back scream with protest. He doesn’t stop until twinges of pain set in; he knows he’s pushed himself too far, but this is exactly where he needs to be right now. He sheathes his katana and gracelessly slumps to the ground, casting a lone shadow in the middle of endless moonlight.

The pain in his body, from his legs to his lower back and up into his shoulders, is a sweet counterpoint to the blissful silence in his head. He is aware his breathing is ragged, almost gasping, and he can’t remember being this physically exhausted in ages. To pass the time until his breathing is more regulated, Flynn debates with himself over what hour of the night it must be based off of how much his shadow has shifted since coming onto the roof. Two hours, perhaps? Maybe three?

As his breathing slows and he becomes more attune to his surroundings, Flynn gradually becomes aware he is not alone. It doesn’t produce any feelings of insecurity or indignancy at the intruder; rather, he hardly finds it in himself to produce any sort of feeling at all. Flynn raises his head from its slumped position, and turns it in the direction of the door he himself had come through several hours before.

In the shadows, a figure watches him with some hesitancy. Then, it moves out into the light, and it’s Walter. His steps are slow, almost languid, and he’s wearing a mask of indifference, as if he is trying to ignore why Flynn is out here. Or perhaps understands too well, and that is what is showing on his face instead.

He stops just short of standing over Flynn, and then he crouches down beside him. He extends a water sack forward with one hand wordlessly, and Flynn takes large gulps from its contents. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until the liquid hit the back of his throat. He must have appeared greedy, because Walter releases a sigh that almost sounds fond, and he hears him sitting down properly beside him.

Flynn doesn’t know if Walter expects him to talk, but he says, “Thank you,” all the same, and passes the empty sack back to his fellow Samurai. Walter shrugs like it’s nothing.

“It makes it a little easier. And you needed it, anyway. We all need it, sometimes.”

Two question forms on the tip of Flynn’s tongue; one concerns pressing Walter for the meaning behind what he just said, and the other about why he came to the roof.

“You are not the only one who has been sleeping bad, you know. You didn’t turn in when I did, and when I woke up a little while ago your bed was still pristine. I figured you would go to the place that felt... that felt the most free of confinement,” Walter motioned with his hands around him and above him, “And here we are. I come up here too, when I have time.”

“To make ‘it’ a little easier?”

Walter’s face goes blank for a second, but a smile forces its way onto his lips and he bows forward a little, as if embarrassed by its presence on his face, “Yeah... I guess you could say that.” He looks up, his smile resting easy now, “'Tis quiet. Gives me time to process things.”

“I only started coming up here after...”

“I know. It’s all right, your secret’s safe with me.”

Flynn stills. It dawns on him this is the first time in a very long time he’s ever spoken with someone like this, the last person being Issachar. Despite his heart twisting a little at the memory - Flynn waking up from a nap against his best friend’s shoulder and them discussing their futures - he smiles. He can feel it spread slowly, and he ducks his face like Walter did a moment ago.

“Again, thank you. It is... a comfort, knowing someone understands.” It comes out almost like a whisper, and Walter is silent.

Flynn looks up and sees Walter looking at him strangely. It isn’t an unpleasant stare, but one more akin to wonder and fascination and Flynn can't understand why he is receiving it. Perhaps it has been a while since Walter had witnessed someone’s emotions openly as well; that thought makes Flynn’s smile a tad more rue, and it gradually falls from his face.

“Anyway,” Walter cuts through the silence that had begun piling up around them, “Let us go back to the barracks for now. Are you feeling well enough for sleep?”

“Indeed. My body and mind are, for once, in agreement on something.”

Walter chuckles, pulls himself up, and offers a hand to Flynn. Flynn takes it, and they head back into Mikado castle, their shadows two black specks floating across a sea of white.

Chapter Text

The sky was cloudless and the moon high overhead when Walter awoke with a start, unsure for a moment if he was still dreaming or not. When he saw Flynn’s empty bed across from him, the moonlight spread across the pristine white sheets, he let go a breathe he hadn’t realize he’d been holding.

Damn, if these nightmares weren’t starting to become irritating, then maybe he’d get a solid night of sleep for a change. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and held his head in his hands as the images played themselves out behind his eyelids.

The arc of Jonathan’s blood as it hits the wall behind him.

The blade at Isabeau’s throat, pressing slowly into her as she sobs.

The sound of Flynn being pinned to the wall through his chest cavity, the tie holding his ponytail together breaking and making the image of him hanging there almost beautiful.

The last image always got to Walter the most, and not because of the graphic nature of the dream, either. The one nagging thought that stuck with him throughout the day was that, for a moment, he believed Flynn to be the definition of beauty. Never mind that it was in death, either. The whole dream made Walter wonder if it could be a demon influencing him, but he quickly brushed aside his excuses and brooded on what it meant to have this... opinion, on his fellow Samurai revealed to him.

Walter looked up from his hands, and stared at the empty bed. Where was Flynn at this hour, anyhow?

He stood and looked about the barracks. Everyone seemed asleep, and there was no noise to be heard besides the breaths and snores of his fellow Samurai. Walter furrowed his brow, running over the possible places Flynn could be. His bed was untouched, so he was not breaking water; that only left the mess hall and the roof, and Walter had a suspicion which one of those he was at.

He changed silently, opting to leave his navy coat on its hook, and grabbed his katana out of habit before leaving. He ran into a Samurai coming back from Naraku in full gear, seeming bewildered at the sight of a fellow Samurai awake and about the castle at this hour of night. Neither said anything as they both nodded and went their separate ways.

It had never occurred to Walter that Samurai would train at night, but now with several battles under his belt he could understand and sympathize with those who felt their sleepless nights would be better spent training. From the looks of the Samurai he just ran in to, some would even prefer to face demons in real life than in their sleep.

His musings had led him to the stairwell that would bring him to the top of Mikado castle, or moreso, the tallest part of Mikado castle which had a curious flat roof. The silence seemed to encroach on him here, standing before the solid stone staircase that bent upwards into solid darkness. Holding his breath a second in awe of the silence encroaching him, Walter stepped on.

As he reached the top, he began to hear laboured breathing and the familiar sound of a wooden practice sword breaking the air, even occasionally hitting solid limestone. The dull thuds, gradually gaining volume, only confirmed what Walter believed to be Flynn. He couldn’t blame him, what with the events at Kicchigiori, with wanting to have a proper target to hit.

There was a slight overhang in front of the exit that allowed Walter a moment’s pause to witness Flynn without detection. His usually calm façade had been left with his navy coat, folded neatly several paces away from where he was running through training exercises. Sweat slicked his skin, from his jawline to his forearms that were exposed from pushing up his sleeves. His face belied his feelings; his teeth were clenched and bared, and with his nostrils flared and brows pinched together gave him the look of a wild animal. Walter felt his stomach do a strange but happy flip at the sight.

Flynn’s mask hadn’t fallen back in place when Walter revealed himself either. Flynn’s eyes had dropped to the floor, as if in shame at being discovered, but were quick to meet his as he aided Flynn in his training exercises. The rest of the evening was a blur of familiar motions. His limbs ached by the end, and his exhaustion had let his mind slip a little to allow his shoulder to rest against his friend’s.

Is he just a friend to me? Walter asked himself later, back in the barracks with Flynn. Sleep was cruel, and pulled him under before he could answer his own question.

***

They made a habit of ruining their sleep schedule twice a week now. Flynn would always arrive early, “To treat the practice swords and stretch,” he would say matter-of-factly to Walter when he had first joked to Flynn about it. It was true that Flynn did seem to look forward to these nights; Walter thought it was the element of disobeying rules set down by the Samurai, but a nagging feeling told him there was more to it than that.

Walter would be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t enjoy Flynn’s company. He’d been having a lot of annoying nagging thoughts recently, and the biweekly sparring had helped considerably with releasing the pent-up stress in front of someone who did not judge or ask questions. More than that, though, Walter liked how Flynn seemed to know when to push a subject and when to leave it well alone. In all his time in his village, Walter had never met anyone who was so... attuned to him.

They sat shoulder to shoulder against the parapet, legs splayed out in front of them but not touching. The moonlight was not as bright as the first night they’d begun, but it still provided adequate help with navigating across the roof. Clouds were drifting lazily above, and the far-away sounds of pubs still open in the lowest rung echoed between the looming towers of Mikado castle and over to them. Walter could tell Flynn was listening too, perhaps recalling how both of them used to be down there.

“It seems strange that only a handful of months ago, we would have been among those who look up and see Mikado castle towering in the distance,” Flynn said, out of nowhere.

Fuck! He’s a mindreader. How did he do that?

“Though I lived much farther away, sometimes I would go into the countryside for errands and be able to see the outline of the castle and wonder what it looked like up close.”

It took a second for Walter to find his voice, “Yeah, I mean. I lived in its shadow pretty much all my life. But I understand what you mean; I used to imagine what it looked like inside.” He made a face, “Less frills than I expected.”

Flynn made a sound that was half between a laugh and an exhale; it sounded delightful to Walter, “Luxurors do like their frills. Don’t tell Jonathan I said that.”

Walter smiled, “Won’t make any promises.”

“Oh, please. Jonathan means well. He is very kind, and talented, and tall-”

“What does being tall have to do with this?”

“I don’t know. It’s late, and I’m babbling,” Walter could feel his smile grow wider, revealing his canines and making his face hurt. Sleep deprived Flynn was adorable, “But being tall adds something, I don’t know. Did you know he showed me his cuff collection, and I almost pointed out how pointless it all seemed?”

“A cuff collection? Oh, that is grand!” Walter was laughing now, bringing his knees up so he could lean on them and stifle the belly laugh that threatened to tumble out.

Flynn was trying his best to contain his smile, but after a second of eye contact they both began laughing.

“Isabeau doesn’t seem to have any frills.” Flynn commented after they had calmed down. Walter knew Flynn quite liked Isabeau; they were both reserved people, and found kindred spirits in one another in their close-knit group

“Isabeau isn’t like many Luxurors I’ve seen in general.” Walter added while ticking off points with his fingers, “She doesn’t hold airs, doesn’t do anything fancy with her hair, doesn’t wear a coat like a sensible person--”

Flynn gave Walter an exasperated look and Walter held up his hands as if to surrender, “You know I’m right, but hey! All it would take is one strong gust to take it off her shoulders.”

“She’s nice,” Flynn bumped shoulders with him, “We could have done worse with our little group.”

“Mmm.”

Silence fell between them.

“What are you thinking about?” Flynn said in a whisper.

“You.” Oh fuck, he hadn’t meant for that to slip out. Flynn was looking at him now out of the corner of his eye, eyes that held a question Walter didn’t want to answer.

“Why?”

Not what he had expected, “You’re just so...” He waved a hand around, made a frustrated noise and ran that hand through his uncooperative hair, “I don’t know, Flynn.” He laughed nervously, “You’re you.”

Silence. Then, “That’s very vague.” In a deadpan voice, but upon raising his eyes Walter found that Flynn was smirking at him. Gods above help him, Walter wanted to kiss him.

So he did.