The hospital stank of disinfectant.
No, it inherently bore the aroma of cleanliness that even those most obsessed with being clean would admire. It was soaked into the clean, cream painted walls and deep into the polished faux marble tiling, replicating the appearance and patterning, but not the actual material. In comparison to the emergency room, the section made out for recovering patients was calm in a soothing manner. Temporary residents dressed in hospital gowns smiled as they passed by, friendly, recovering faces warm with health slipping back into their bodies. When set side-to-side with those recently brought in, they were full of life, while their counterparts, what they had once been, were drained in appearance, essentially dead.
The soothing aspect tied back together frayed nerves and ailed an aching heart, which pounded in the man's chest like a panicked bird trying a cage.
The nurses spared him kind albeit lingering glances, the latter only happening every once in awhile—though he presumed it to be born from recognition, his face well-known in the Kalos region.
As one of the grand nation's top-notch Pokemon professors, if not suspiciously the only one of such high caliber, he was something of a celebrity, if not in a different fashion than the actual celebrities. If one of the grand Elite Four or perhaps Diantha herself were to emerge in this common hospital setting, they would immediately be swarmed, layered in the love of the many. The prestigious Pokemon professor of the Kalos region, however, would perhaps hear later mention of, "Professor Sycamore visited such-and-such hospital!" in either the newspapers or from the mouths of those who picked up on the little factoid.
Nothing grandeur, but still enough to bolster his confidence in his positive popularity.
However, he wasn't dwelling much over the opinions of the many, his mind rather focused on the single man that had been suffering the grueling road to recovery over the past two weeks. Sycamore had seen him once before—well, rather, he had been one of the few people that had come to his rescue, teetering on the edge of full-fledged panic of being too late, and despair that he already was possibly too late.
Thank Arceus that Lady Luck had been on his side that day and thank her again for the young saviors of Kalos having not seen him in such a state. It helped some that they did not have to watch his fervor in digging a man most newspaper claimed as a 'psychopath deserving everything that happened to him' out of his possible grave.
Combing his fingers through wavy, untamed hair, Augustine Sycamore stared down the number mounted above the doorway he now faced.
1158.
The receptionist had asked if he would need a little note card saying the room number, but he had told her it wasn't necessary. Alongside the fact his brain was something of a sponge, soaking in things it needed to remember, and perhaps quite a bit of other insignificant details he wished he could forget, it was hard to forget a number that felt so significant now.
Beyond the door currently was healing the man whose last few words to him had haunted him up until he was finally allowed to visit him.
Why did you betray me?
Pursing his lips and contemplating the harshly whispered words, as he had recalled them being spoken, before the exhausted, pained man had passed out.
If asked, Augustine could have explained the exact amount of bitterness laced into every since word, the short, breathy sentence imprinted onto the inside of his skull.
While typically a laid-back man who was quick to jump back and recover, those five words had rattled him enough to feel tentative gripping onto the cold metal handle.
The chill material against the palm of his hand sent shivers down his spine and for a moment did he reconsider just turning around and leaving.
The man on the other side didn't know he was there, and he didn't need to know.
If he quickly left, perhaps even the nurses wouldn't notice.
But, digging in his heels and strengthening his deteriorating resolve before it all left him, he opened the door, feeling it silently sway to the side as though welcoming him within.
Careful, having been warned that the man he had so often requested to visit could possibly be asleep, he shut the door behind himself delicately as though trying not to disturb a snoozing baby.
"I was wondering if you had intended to come and visit me, Professor."
Had there perhaps been a lower ceiling, Augustine would have smashed his head right through it, acting as though he had just had an electrical current shoot through his veins. It was blatantly evident just how much his nerves were getting to him despite his atypically calm behavior, though rapidly did he put together a smile that twitched slightly at the corners.
"I saved you from possible death, mon cher, you could at least thank me," chided Augustine playfully, but the impassive face that greeted him did not seem to find the humor in his statement.
"At least smile for me, Lysandre."
Already settling that he would be staying since the red-haired man was wide awake and clearly capable of speaking, the professor plucked a chair sat at the side and plopped himself down next to it, sitting pretty next to Lysandre's bedside.
As subtly as possible, waiting for some response, he evaluated the damage—the powerfully built ex-Team Flare boss was bandaged up tightly. Lacking a shirt, white bandaging encompassed parts of his chest and circled about his biceps, lingering bruises already difficult to see against his skin smooching his skin here and there. Scabbed-over cuts curved along his jawline and scraped near his eyes, though he didn't seem pained nor bothered by the damage done.
He had been lucky to escape without any broken limbs, left with nothing more than a dislocated shoulder that had been promptly popped back into place and several sprained ligaments.
Augustine had personally fretted over ruptured organs, but none of that had cropped up as well.
"No," plainly began Lysandre, eye brows furrowing as he stared down his newfound companion, who averted his own eyes. "You had promised to remain by my side through thick and thin—and instead left to me to die. No, you led those kids right to me. You knew what was going to happen, Augustine. Don't try to play coy with me."
Appearing stung, and feeling his chest tighten at the remembrance of Serena and Calem tentatively explaining the destruction of the Team Flare base, Augustine focused his eyes towards the tiling.
In the hospital room, the marble had faded into a charcoal coloring that went well with the blue-painted walls. The paint reminded him of a clear spring sky, comparable to the shell of a robin's egg.
The pleasant thoughts were cut short by Lysandre's stare which bore into his very being and he shifted before finally speaking up, scooting his chair closer to Lysandre's bedside.
"I've always cared about your cause, Lysandre," he tentatively started, finally lifting up his eyes, a serious look overcoming his facial expression. Lysandre quieted and listened, observing as Augustine took a slow breath, and promptly continued.
"But I've cared more about your well-being than making the world a better place. Your heart has always been in the right place, but it has become damaging to both yourself and those around you," Pointedly did he take a sweeping glance about the hospital room, as though emphasizing what Lysandre's path of destruction had led him up to.
"To make something terribly lengthy short and concise instead: I care. I care a lot and all I care about is that you are safe and—"
He came to an abrupt halt, the normally laid-back professor looking distraught for a moment, averting his eyes once more.
"Seeing you in that mess had nearly done me over. If you had been dead, I would have only blamed myself."
The professor actually felt tears pricking the backs of his eyes, feeling somewhat ridiculous for being so emotional over something that hadn't occurred. While when orchestrating the parade and celebration in honor of Kalos' heroes he had been boisterous and pleasant, during that time frame of knowing that Lysandre could have very well been dead picked at him like vultures on carrion. He could only blame himself, if not partly, for the very occurrence of everything.
He could have stopped this, steered Lysandre onto a better path if he had recognized the signs.
Instead he got to see the red-haired man sitting in a hospital bed after a near-death experience caused by what Augustine felt to be his own personal disregard of his emotions, his turmoil.
Fat tears were soon rolling down his cheeks and harshly did he whisper, "I'm just glad you're safe."
Humiliation briefly swathed him in its warm arms as he realized just how much of an emotional fool he likely appeared as to his dear friend of many years in that instance, head slightly bowed as he bothered little to shelter Lysandre's eyes from his overspilling emotions.
Left to silence for a long, grueling moment, he could not see Lysandre's reaction from his positioning and even then, his tears blurred the world into a smeared mess of colors.
Though he perked up some when recognizing the ruffle of bed sheets from movement, and was shocked to find strong arms gripping onto his lean figure, Augustine grunting as his weight was shifted from the chair onto the bed.
Tense and unaware of what was happening, a wary look around left his cheeks flushed and mind scrambling to figure out why exactly Lysandre had decided it to be a good idea to drag him onto the bed with him.
But his arms held him tight in a close hug, Augustine feeling the other man's face rubbing up against his throat.
"… I forgive you," muttered Lysandre gruffly and though while his words were tough and calloused, he only held Augustine closer to himself.
The professor, while slightly baffled by it all, or rather simply confused by the outright display of affection, had no qualms with delicately flopping onto the bed with Lysandre, mindful of any injuries he could possibly be doing further damage to. It seemed a bit odd to be so snuggly with a man he had considered a companion—though in private, he admired him as something more, even if never spoken aloud to said man—but if Lysandre were to be the one instigating it all, he could not argue.
Though, curiosity did kill the cat, and it seemed he was making his way down the same path as he tilted his head up a little to better look at Lysandre.
"Lysandre, what in the world is this—"
Augustine was silenced by a mouth pressed tight over his own, warm, soft lips smothering any words that had been about to come out and successfully causing any others that had been prepared to come up his throat to die.
It was unwarranted and unexplained, but as Lysandre leaned somewhat away, Augustine blinking as though in a daze as salty tears dried on his cheeks, the professor felt rather accepting.
They had a lot more talking to do after this, confessions to be made and explanations to be provided.
However, his forehead affectionately rubbing up against Lysandre's, the warmth that filled him from an affection-laced action provided by a normally indifferent man was enough to quiet him down for the time being.
Nothing but smitten, while his mind was riddled with questions and ponderings, Augustine let himself settle his head against the crook of Lysandre's neck, the red-haired man's arm curving about his waist to keep him there.
"… Alright," murmured Augustine in acceptance, hearing Lysandre's pulse thrumming beneath his ear, a soothing rhythm that lulled him into a sense of calm.
"We can talk later."