"Gus, you've hardly touched your sandwich."
Augustine Sycamore, slouching in a teenager's school desk like a child, poked idly at the sandwich in question. There was only one hesitant bite taken from it, and he regarded it with a tired frown. It was a perfectly fine sandwich. The bread was soft and the cold cuts rich and flavorful. A little too processed for his liking, but he wasn't ungrateful in the least. He honestly and truly appreciated the sandwich. He just... wasn't very hungry.
He looked up from the sandwich and across to Burnet, who smiled encouragingly at him. She had taken over Kukui's desk at the front of the room, perched atop like a lovely flechinder with eyes just as sharp. She was watching his every move closely. He felt like he was back in Kalos. Squirming under her attentive gaze, Sycamore reluctantly lifted the sandwich for another small bite, chewing it slowly as Kukui, confused, looked between them.
"Everything okay?" his friend asked, and Burnet's smile broadened.
"Fine," she said, never looking away from him, "right?"
"I'm just not very hungry," Sycamore said meekly around his mouthful, "I splurged a little at the cafe this morning and—"
"Well, don't force yourself, then," Kukui told him, "save the rest for tomorrow, yeah?" Burnet finally shot him a look, and Kukui shrugged back at her. "What? If he's not hungry, he's not hungry."
Sycamore was already putting his sandwich back in the baggy before Burnet could protest to him again, and as she looked over, he had prepared his most disarming smile and watched her argument die on the spot. He could see the pity on her face. He didn't want it.
"I'm fine, Burnet, honestly," he assured her, "besides, we have that dinner date, don't we? Ah!" He shot Kukui a sly grin. "But alas, your dear amoureux has discovered us! Oh, the scandal!" He threw his arm dramatically across his eyes and pretended to swoon, peeking out to eagerly watch their reactions. Burnet's pity broke to a small smile, and Kukui laughed outright.
"You?" he chuckled, "should I be worried? Somehow, I feel like if you were planning on wooing my wife, you'd do it by just asking nicely to join in."
"Ah, so it's decided, then! I shall woo both of you!" Sycamore pulled himself upright, resting his cheek on his palm. "I'll need time to prepare, of course. Flowers, wine, ecstasy, the usual, of course."
"Behave," warned Burnet, "we have Rowan on speed dial."
Sycamore grunted as he pushed himself up from the desk, and he waved the sandwich in the baggy at her. "Touche. But I have his entire travel time to get into mischief, and I'm sure I could find a dozen beds to fall into by then." He patted Kukui on the shoulder as his friend shook his head and laughed, then shot Burnet a finger gun. "I'll see the both of you for dinner. I'm going to wander the island for a little while."
He threw a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out of the classroom and his friends bid him goodbye, and kept his head up and a bounce in his step as he descended the stairs and went back out to the route. It was only when he was far enough away that his pace slowed and his posture began to slouch again, and sliding his hands into his pockets, he bypassed Kukui's shack entirely and took the route further north. It was an even steeper walk than the hike up the western route, and the grass soon turned sparse and the ground to rough dirt. Somewhere along the line, he crossed over an old, rickety bridge swinging over a chasm leading directly down to seawater below. Heights didn't bother Sycamore.
When he was on the other side, he could gaze out upon the majesty of the sea in full. There was a cliff off to his right, and he went over to peer down, watching the waves churn around pointed rocks. He could spy magikarp swimming around down there, and if he looked closely at the rocks, he could even make out a few corsola enjoying the warm sun. Wingull cried out overhead before diving down towards the sparkling sea. A small patch of grass beckoned to him, a single tall, weathered tree acting as its guardian, and Sycamore sat himself down and breathed in deeply. It was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.
Lysandre would have loved it.
Sycamore's shoulders began to shake. Yes, Lysandre would have loved it so much. He would have sat down next to him and they would watch the pokemon together. Such beauty ought to be protected, Lysandre would have said, at all costs. And again, Sycamore would have smiled, leaned on his shoulder, and pretended he didn't know just exactly what he meant. And everything would have happened all over again. Gazing at the rocks, his mind flashed back to the news footage breaking from Geosenge, seeing the weapon glowing red in the twilight. Watching the beam fire, his heart seizing. Watching it fall back on his Lysandre. He should have been ashamed of the breakdown he had that night, of the way he cursed the children and Sina and Dexio and Diantha and Team Flare and the Kalos League and every last name he could think of as he begged for the universe to deliver Lysandre from that catastrophe. But no. His body was recovered and burnt. His Lysandre was gone.
It took Augustine a moment to realize the gasps and sobs were more than just his memories, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, ran his hands through his messy hair, rocked in place until the sobs quieted to whimpers and the whimpers to sad sniffles. He needed something to focus on. Something better before the spiral could drag him down further and further. He didn't want to remember the days after that. Having to smile and sing the children's praises as he gifted them medals for getting his Lysandre killed—
"Calm down," he whispered viciously to himself, "calm down, calm down, you arrogant fool. The world is—" His voice broke. "—the world is better off. Do something useful. Make yourself useful, for once in your worthless life. Schoolboy crushes won't change what happened." He wiped at his eyes, then swiped under his nose with his thumb, and with nothing better, dusted his hands off on his shorts. One hand brushed against something solid, and frowning, he slipped his hand into his pocket to withdraw the green marker. He turned it over between his fingers, taking in the deep, rich color displayed on the end of its cap. He supposed Guzma still needed it. There was no way he would get back in to the mall after what happened. He looked from the marker back down to the rocks and water. Yes. It could wait. The marker was more important. Guzma went back up the route from Hau'oli. Maybe he was back at the berry farm. Augustine pulled his phone out of his pocket to consult his map. The entire route made one big path around the outskirts of the island. Perfect.
Again, he took to his feet, and began to walk. The route took him further up and up, winding around the island. He spied more and more pokemon playing in the sparse underbrush, flitting through the trees, rolling around in the dirt. He even passed by a small boy and girl battling their yungoos and alolan rattata. It didn't quite bring a smile to his face, but it softened his heart. Just a bit. Then, he felt the path begin to fall and bring him down, down, down. He passed by a pokemon center, then by the berry farm, but when he stopped to ask, he was simply told Guzma wasn't working that day. It was fine. He would search. He passed by scattered houses, poked his head around fallen logs where bug pokemon may have been hiding, and was almost about to call it quits when he could see the very outskirts of Hau'oli beginning to approach him. Then, he laid his eyes on the broken fence.
It was odd. That fence had been perfectly fine the day before. He could see beach stretching out all the way up the coast behind it. Biting his lip, Augustine made his decision and strode forth onto warm sands.
The sands were relaxing and warm, and they had carried Guzma off to some distant state between waking and sleeping. He felt it shift under him with each slow breath, felt the sun beating down on his body and the sweat rolling down his face and neck. He heard the gentle scrape of the ocean and the joyous whispers of the ocean winds. All of it, down to the last tickle on his senses, was vague and distant, notions he was only half-aware of as he lazed in the sun's harsh light. Every now and then the cry of a pokemon would half-rouse him, and his mind would briefly turn and wonder if he ought to find a real bed, but quickly he would be pulled back down into the undertow, and he knew better than to fight it. He drifted peacefully in this state, unbothered by Alola or his problems.
Poke.
He felt something small and hard against his head. His face twitched.
Poooooke.
It pressed in a little longer that time. A pokemon, he assumed, and his hand lazily swatted at it. The poke didn't come again. Satisfied, Guzma shifted and settled back into his doze. Only a moment later, he felt that small, hard thing being placed very delicately on the bridge of his nose, and he started, swinging himself up to sit as he threw a wild left hook that connected with a thwack! against something scruffy and quite solid.
Guzma swallowed around his dry throat, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he tried to figure out what exactly had happened, and as he looked down to his lap he caught sight of the familiar green copic marker. Sneering, he squinted back up to see the foreigner from the mall pushing himself up from the sand with one hand, rubbing his jaw with the other.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" were the first words out of Guzma's mouth, and the foreigner, Augustine, smiled brightly as he pushed up to his knees.
"You forgot your marker, earlier," he chirped, "I was passing by and saw you, so I thought I would make certain you had it, this time."
"I didn't forget it, jackass," Guzma reminded him, "I threw it at you. You got sand in your ears? 'Cause I thought I told you not to bother me." Augustine didn't seem phased. Instead of arguing back or getting up to leave, he crawled forward and then plopped himself down to sit next to him, pulling his legs in to cross under himself. He leaned his cheek on one palm, looking Guzma up and down before turning his eyes out to the ocean stretching on before them. In the moment he did so, Guzma suddenly recognized that something was wrong. Very wrong.
He was used to seeing these things, with the grunts. They had all been kids, and kids cried a lot, especially when they thought no one could see them. Those kids would try and be hard, because they were repping Skull, and not a single one would have admitted bawling their idiot eyes out to the rest of the team. That was no good. Guzma had to get sharp at catching them when it happened, and he damn well knew the difference between grief and allergies. Instead of snapping at Augustine to leave, he sighed and relaxed back into the sands, leaning his weight back on his hands as he watched the ocean with him.
"You been havin' a shit day, too, huh?" he prodded, and Augustine's eyes flickered down to the sands for one brief moment.
"I don't know what you mean," he assured, "it's been a lovely day. I got to see the trainer school, and I traveled around the entire island route. It was absolutely stunning." The sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes told him something else entirely. "It's no wonder you took to art, my friend! Melemele is très bien , very, very good. Nothing less than gorgeous."
Guzma gave a mighty yawn as he considered that. He supposed Alola was kind of beautiful. He never really thought about it. It was what it was, and he'd been staring at this same dirt path for most of his life. It could use some work.
"It's fine," he said with a shrug, "it grows old after a while. I guess it's very... new. And exciting. You're from out-of-region, aren't you?"
"Kalos," Augustine confirmed, and threw him a grin, "is it that obvious?"
"You literally sound nothing like anyone else here." Augustine laughed.
"Yes. Kukui and Burnet tease me about it all the time. I get the last laugh. Neither of them can hardly speak French."
Of course. Kukui again. Guzma wondered why he felt the need to keep bringing him up. He tried not to let it get to him this time, taking a deep breath instead of letting the feelings boil over. It was so much easier to keep a level head while he was nestled into the warm sands, and as he let the breath slowly back out, he decided to change the subject.
"So why come to Alola?" he asked, and Augustine shifted uncomfortably. One hand came up to tangle and twirl long, fluffy strands of hair in an anxious tick, some far-off look of nerves flashing across his features, and Guzma's face fell into a solemn frown.
"It seemed like a relaxing place to visit," answered Augustine quietly. "I am afraid I've lost something very dear to me. I needed space to put it out of my head for a while."
"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's fine. It's not a secret."
He watched Augustine fall back into the sand, his hair pooling in a silken mess under his head, and he tilted his chin up to bask in the sunlight. Guzma took it as a sign that their conversation was over, and so he turned back to the ocean, watching the waves scrape against the shoreline. His hand sought out the marker on his lap, twirling it idly between his fingers
It really had been kind of him.
With a huff, Guzma pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off, then leaned over Augustine's prone form as he nudge him with his foot.
"I'm relaxing," Augustine protested, and Guzma nudged him again,
"C'mon," he said, "I got somethin' more interestin' in mind. Get up." Augustine slapped half-heartedly as his toes. Guzma rolled his eyes and slipped his arms under Augustine's pulling him up to his feet.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Augustine protested, a small laugh bubbling up from his chest, "hey, come on! Let go!" He tried to wiggle out of his grip, but Guzma was stronger, for just a moment lifting him well off the ground before plopping him back down facing the route.
"We're burnin' daylight," Guzma told him, "now come on.' He marched off like he was on a mission, his focus laser-pointed on the lush greenery across the street.
"I'm going to tell Officer Carl you tried to kidnap me," Augustine called playfully as he followed after him, "I heard him say something about community service hours. I'll have you charged!"
"You know," Guzma mused, "that would probably be a more intimidating threat if I wasn't already going to be doing this shit for ten more years. Keep up. I ain't got time for stragglers."
They crossed the route and ducked under low tree branches and around tall, leafy ferns. Guzma led him first through well-traveled underbrush, areas where kids would take their pokemon to train up a little, and then pushed past much denser greenery into territory tread only by pokemon. They wormed their way through clusters of trees, passing by the berry farm and heading further and further towards the center of the island.
"Where are you taking me?" Augustine asked, and Guzma was satisfied to hear the curiosity in his voice.
"We're almost there," he promised, "you'll see."
They went a bit further and a bit further, until finally they reached it: in the middle of the heavily wooded area was a large, old tree, its supple and narrow branches bending down towards them to beckon them into its shelter. Guzma took Augustine by the upper arms, then, and looked quickly around before pushing him to a very particular spot next to the tree.
"Alright," he instructed, "close your eyes."
"Are you going to steal my kidney?" Augustine asked as he closed his eyes, and Guzma stared at him like he grew a second head.
"Why the fuck would you be going along with this if you thought I was going to steal your kidney?"
"You would be surprised. I've known people who have done much, much worse."
Guzma decided it was better to leave that thought alone.
"No, I'm not going to steal your kidney," he answered flatly, "keep your eyes closed. Now, think of somethin' that makes you happy. The fuckin' happiest you ever been." Augustine cracked one eye open incredulously, but Guzma stared him down, and he shut it again.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
"What, you ain't never been happy? My old man used to beat me with a fuckin' golph club and I can do this." This time both of Augustine's eyes shot open, his face twisting in alarm, but Guzma scowled and jabbed a warning finger towards him. Augustine shut his eyes again. It took a minute to work, but Guzma knew it wasn't always easy the first couple times. You really had to feel it. Had to let the elation wash over you. It took practice to do on command. Soon enough, they came.
At first, it seemed like little speckles of dust floating in the wind, and Guzma waited with bated breath as they danced closer and closer to Augustine. They were cutiefly. Tons and tons of tiny little cutiefly. Grin stretching wide across his face, Guzma came forward to gently tap Augustine's shoulder.
"Alright," he whispered, "open your eyes."
Warm grey eyes opened wide, and Augustine's jaw fell slack as he gazed upon the tiny bugs swarming around him and tickling at his hair. They glowed faintly in the shade, leaving their own trails of dust as they danced around him and fed off his positive energy.
"Oh," he said, "oh, my. They're... beautiful. So very beautiful!" He reached a hesitant hand out, and some of the swarm landed on it, crawling around his palm and up his forearm.
"Ever seen this many cutiefly at once?" Guzma asked, and Augustine shook his head.
"They tickle," he mused, "such small things! I've only seen a few, the last time I was here. I didn't think they would swarm."
"There's usually not that many, even," Guzma said, "whatever you thought about, it must have been special."
"Yes," Augustine mused absent-mindedly, "he was."
A pause.
"What was his name?"
"Lysandre."
"I'm sorry."
"You'll be the first." A bitter-sweet smile overtook his face. "I remembered the time I went to meet him at the cafe in Laverre. I was coming back from an excavation and I was covered in dirt and mud. Ah, the way he scolded me! 'Beautiful things must be kept beautiful,' he said." Augustine laughed, but the longing in his voice spoke of a much deeper ache. "Do you know what he did? He had his gyarados hose me down on the pavement! Didn't even ask, the dick!"
"How's that a happy memory?" Guzma laughed—he could just imagine Augustine shot with a hydro pump, flopping like a magikarp in damp clothes.
"Because," Augustine answered him with a sly wink, "I set his gyarados on him afterwards. The waitstaff made us sit on the curb."
By the time their small giggles had died down, the cutiefly had all dispersed into the area, floating here and there like little sprinkles of fairy dust in the afternoon light. They began the hike back towards the route side-by-side, Guzma with his hands stuffed into his pockets, and Augustine pulling a zip-lock baggy with a half-eaten sandwich out.
"What about you?" Augustine prompted, "what do you think about to summon your cutiefly?"
"Me?" Guzma repeated, "hm. Lots of different things. Usually 'bout my family." At Augustine's confused glance, he hastened to clarify. "Fuck no, not my dad. Neither of my parents. See, I had these twenty-some kids I was lookin' after for a while." Augustine whistled appreciatively.
"That's a lot of children," he said, "not all from the same mother?" Guzma let out another laugh at that.
"Fuck no!" he laughed. "Kids who screwed up there island trials and didn't have nowhere to go. Rounded them all up, called ourselves 'Team Skull.' S'where all those community service hours came from. Used to steal shit just to keep those li'l shits fed. Uh..." He shrugged. "Well, that and taggin' our terf. And, uh, property damage." Augustine stared. Guzma awkwardly scratched his neck. "...And jaywalkin'."
"You're quite the trouble-maker, eh?" Augustine teased him as he took the sandwich out of the baggy. He began to rip pieces off, throwing it to rattata in the grass as they walked.
"Says you. Lookit that. Feedin' the vermin?"
"It's how I started my day. It's how I should end it, too."
"Bitch!" Guzma shoved Augustine's shoulder, and Augustine grinned back at him. Soon enough, they were back at the route, and Guzma waited for him to throw the last bit of his sandwich into the grass and wipe his hands off.
"You know, I've got some dinner plans with friends, tonight," Augustine told him, "I'm sure you'd be welcome to come along."
"With Kukui and Burnet?" Augustine nodded, and Guzma grimaced in return. "No fuckin' thanks. I don't wanna see his stupid mug, and he sure as hell don't wanna see mine."
"Come on," Augustine egged him, "it's going to be seafood, I'm told." Guzma shook his head.
"I can't," he said, "just... trust me. It's better I don't. But, hey." He stuck his hand out for Sycamore to shake. "It was nice t'meet ya, Augustine. Pain in my fuckin' ass, but if you wanna look for more pokemon before you leave... I dunno. I'm down, I guess."
"Be careful what you invite me to do," Augustine warned him. His grip was firm, and just like the first day, it caught Guzma by surprise. He looked like such a delicate person, but the shake was warm and inviting. "My friends call me Gus, by the way."
Guzma smiled.
"A'ight, then, Gus. See you around."
They parted ways again just before Hau'oli's outskirts.
