Sometimes, Sycamore can still feel him.
A warm body presses against his back, strong arms wrapping about his waist, tugging him ever closer. He smiles despite the tears coursing down his cheeks, and finds that he cannot remember the reason for them. Why is he crying? Lysandre is here, and everything is going to be alright.
He shifts beneath the sheets, managing to roll over and burrow his face into Lysandre's chest. The tears remain, drying against his lover's shirt, and now he remembers. "I missed you," he whispers, silently rejoicing as gentle fingers slide through his hair, as soft lips press a kiss to the top of his head.
If this is a dream, Augustine Sycamore never wants to wake up.
"Why did you never tell me? I could have helped you- I could have..." His voice catches and he dissolves once more into a flood of tears, shuddering in Lysandre's arms.
This is a dream, he knows, or a hallucination. Either way, this will not last, and in the morning, he will be alone again. He always is.
"I miss you," he says, and Lysandre remains silent. Perhaps this is for the best, thinks Sycamore. Less painful. "I forgive you."
I wish I had been there. I wish I had been with you.
He frees himself from Lysandre's embrace and leans up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his neck and clinging to him as though his own life depends upon it.
In between kisses, Lysandre speaks for the first time. "You are so beautiful, mon coeur." How often had Lysandre told him that? The familiar words carry with them a sort of comfort, a warmth that Sycamore has so missed.
Once, they had been an endless source of conflict between them. He had been unable to comprehend how Lysandre, who valued beauty above all else, could see it in him. He was nothing special. He was awkward and clumsy, and everything Lysandre should have despised. He had told Lysandre so.
"You are beautiful," his lover would insist. "Je t'aime."
"Je t'aime," Sycamore murmurs, resting his cheek against Lysandre's shoulder. "Don't go."
He wakes the next morning grasping at nothing but the empty air.