[Pokémon X&Y] Dance Dance Revolution
Dec. 20th, 2013 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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teamflareTitle: Dance Dance Revolution
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: G
Summary: To celebrate the millenium and the awakening of the legendary pokémon, a ball is organised in Kalos. Lysandre and Augustine Sycamore are, of course, both invited. The professor doesn't actually know how to dance, but has a pretty good idea of how he's going to learn.
Notes: This is one of my oldest fic for them, that I deleted from AO3 in early 2021. I'm choosing to repost it here, even though I really don't think it's very good (the characterization, in particular, is pretty weak) because I actually kind of regret deleting it, and I don't mind it being available for people to read. Please forgive early fandom Samifer for all his mistakes. o7
AO3 Link: Here. (This goes to a wayback machine archive of the deleted fic. Please no bully re: my horrible A/Ns. I was ten years younger, okay!)
The room was crowded.
This wasn't actually a problem for Lysandre – actually, people tended to move out of his way before he said anything – but the mask was making things difficult. There was no need to wear a mask at a ball; he did not want to wear a mask; but it was a masked ball and everyone had to wear a mask. Wearing a mask meant an obscured field of vision, which meant he might not be able to see people coming, which made him tense. At least, it was a good excuse to explain why he was so tense.
The truth was, he hadn't practiced ballroom dancing in years, and this was a ball commemorating the awakening of the legendary pokémon of the Kalos region. This latter fact, mostly, was what made him preoccupied, for reasons he couldn't have shared with anyone, of course.
Thankfully, he had practiced the art of concealing his true feelings until absolute perfection. Sometimes, he even managed to fool himself. This wasn't the case now; it seemed as if everything was reminding him of his plans and the role the legendary pokémon would have to play in it. Dancing with Diantha had been equal parts delight and torture.
Everyone had wanted to talk to him, ask about his research, compliment him on his outfit, or just be seen in his company. He had indulged them long enough for them not to discuss it when he tried to leave, saying he had other people to see. That was a lie, of course – albeit he still hadn't caught a glimpse of Augustine Sycamore. Diantha had confirmed he'd be there, but she didn't know whether he had arrived or not. It had been a week since Lysandre had last seen him. He was constantly busy working on mega evolution, and Lysandre too had been spending too much time making progress on his own work to consider a visit.
It was hard to admit, but he missed the professor's enthusiastic tone of voice and his optimistic views on the world and how much he seemed to enjoy his company. Hence why he was hoping to run into him for a friendly little chat. Maybe they could share a glass of champagne, too, Lysandre thought, his eyes following a couple of dancers. Maybe they could...
“Lysandre!” He turned around, staring at the masked figure of Augustine Sycamore with his lips slightly parted, wondering if he had somehow managed to conjure him just by thinking about it. “There you are! I can't believe I didn't see you. You look gorgeous.”
It was true, of course. Lysandre wouldn't have taken one step in this castle wearing anything less than perfect clothing for the occasion. His carmine outfit and pyroar-inspired mask had been a hit with the guests he had run into – Diantha included – but somehow, the warm admiration in Sycamore's voice made the compliment that much more precious. The professor was finely dressed as well: he was wearing a royal blue suit with white embroidery and a mask that seemed to be based on garchomp. Lysandre was about to return the compliment when a young woman stepped in, trying to get Sycamore's attention. She wore a fashionable black dress. She couldn't have been older than twenty.
“Ah, professor! Hello! Um...” Even with the mask they were both wearing, Lysandre could see her face was very red. Sycamore gave her a nice, big smile that only seemed to make her blush even more.
“Hello! Is there something you wanted to ask me?” His frank tone of voice, that made clear that he was very much interested in whatever she wanted to tell him, calmed her down a little. She took a deep breath.
“I, um... would you like to dance with me?” She said it very fast, as if she was afraid she'd chicken out if she didn't get the words out as soon as possible. Lysandre smirked, but hid it behind his gloved hand.
Sycamore was still smiling, but he was also making a lot of hand gestures, betraying his own nervousness. “Ah, um, I'm sorry, dear, but I really can't dance at all! I wouldn't want to embarrass you.”
“Oh, that's fine! I don't mind!”
“I insist, I don't want to make a fool of both of us by trying to dance...”
They were both very agitated, and Lysandre had no desire to stay and watch them flirt, or dance, or anything else, so he moved away to give them space. His eyes followed more dancers. Diantha was dancing with Wikstrom, who was wearing a blinding gold armor for the occasion – although, more than dancing, she mostly seemed to be trying to avoid getting her feet crushed under his heavy golden boots.
Their dance ended after a few minutes, and Lysandre felt a tug on his arm. He turned around and was surprised to face Sycamore. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry about that,” the professor said, pouting slightly.
“You don't have to apologize for being attractive,” Lysandre replied, and regretted it immediately. He couldn't see the man's eyes well enough, but he was sure Sycamore was now staring at him.
“Well, merci,” he said, smiling – but he sounded a bit nervous. He let his last word trail off as if he was hesitating to say something else.
Instead, they stood next to each other for several minutes in silence. Lysandre didn't think he could get any tenser, but somehow, Sycamore's presence next to him had this exact effect. The fact that the professor kept bumping into his shoulder for reasons unknown wasn't helping. He tried to find something to say – maybe he could ask him about his research?
“So you managed to find time to get away from your lab,” he said finally, leaning over slightly as the music seemed to have gotten louder. Sycamore didn't turn his head towards him, but his smile was still present on his face.
“Ah, yes, well, I've been working all night, and I was going to keep working tonight as well, but my assistant convinced me to come here, since I had been invited.” He paused, tapping his fingers on his lips. “And I wanted to see you!”
“I appreciate it, I wanted to see you, as well,” Lysandre said, sounding as neutral as he always did. Since most of Sycamore's face was hidden away by his mask, he found himself staring at his lips. Thankfully, the other man was still looking away.
“Really?” His head turned, and Lysandre averted his gaze. “Do you know how to dance?”
The question took Lysandre by surprise. He had planned to talk to Sycamore about their respective fields of research, not about the art of ballroom dancing. Still, there was no way he could really dodge it now that it had been asked.
“Of course.”
“Great!” There it was, the enthusiastic, almost childish tone of voice. “Shall we dance, then?”
Lysandre frowned, unsure of whether or not he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. “Excuse me?”
“Would you dance with me?” Sycamore pronounced the words very carefully, which didn't prevent him from sounding anything but confident.
“I thought you didn't know how to dance.” Lysandre fidgeted with his mask. “Were you lying before?”
“No! I really don't know how to dance. At all. That's why I'm asking you to teach me.”
Careful not to look in the other man's direction, Lysandre took a moment to ponder how he had ended up in this situation. He showed up at the ball on time; he was dressed nicely; he had danced with Diantha; he had been hoping to meet Augustine Sycamore; he had met him; some girl had tried to invite him to dance; he had rejected her offer; and now he was asking Lysandre to dance with him. No matter how hard he thought about it, it still didn't make much sense.
He cast a glance at Sycamore, who was apparently observing the dancers around them, awaiting his answer. Lysandre cleared his throat.
“I'm not sure this is appropriate,” he said finally.
“Come on,” Sycamore replied, touching his arm. Lysandre flinched slightly, but he didn't seem to notice. “What are you afraid of? No one is going to mind.”
“I...” Lysandre started, but he was already letting Sycamore take him away, closer to the other guests who were dancing.
“You're so old-fashioned,” the professor said, with tenderness in his voice. “It's perfectly fine for men to dance together! This isn't the middle age anymore.”
Lysandre didn't answer, focusing instead on placing his hands on Sycamore's body to lead him. He was giving him his full attention to prevent himself from thinking about other people who might be staring at them.
Among other things. Like how warm Sycamore's hand was against his back, or how close their faces were suddenly, or how good his hair smelled, or...
Sycamore stepped on his foot.
“Be careful,” Lysandre hissed, snapping back to reality. A reality where he was holding pokémon professor Augustine Sycamore very close to himself and they were ballroom dancing – or trying to – in a crowded room.
“Ah, désolé... I did tell you I sucked at dancing. I'm sorry.”
“Let me just...” Lysandre mumbled as he brought the other man even closer to get a better grip on his body and on their attempt at dancing. His beard brushed against Sycamore's skin, making him shiver. Lysandre could barely hear the music because he was too busy trying not to think about that, about the fact that their faces were so close and that the professor didn't seem to have a problem with it.
Actually, he seemed to enjoy it.
“I think I'm getting better at this!” Sycamore exclaimed.
“Hm,” Lysandre said.
Sycamore moved his head to look at him. “Don't you agree?”
“Professor, I-”
“Call me Augustine, we're dancing.”
“Professor,” Lysandre repeated, louder this time, “What are we doing?”
“We're dancing,” Sycamore repeated as well. “Does it bother you? We can stop if it really makes you uncomfortable.”
He sounded sad about this prospect. Lysandre didn't want to make him sad – or to let him go, he realized with a hint of panic.
“It's fine.” His voice was still absolutely neutral, but he was sure the professor could tell he was tense, considering how close they were to one another. “For the record, though, you are not getting better at all. Your posture is all wrong.”
“Oh,” Sycamore said, but he didn't sound disappointed or upset. “Guess we'll have to practice more, then!”
Lysandre smiled, then groaned when Sycamore stepped on his foot again. He pushed him aside a little to take a good look at his feet, and squinted behind his mask.
“Are you wearing heels?”
He tried not to sound alarmed, but Sycamore didn't seem to care either way. He grinned.
“Yes! Well, they're not very high heels. I like them a lot, they make my legs even longer. Everyone always talk to me about my nice, slim legs, might as well take advantage of that.”
Lifting his feet to show off his shiny shoes, his hands still holding Lysandre, Augustine Sycamore seemed very satisfied about his legs, and Lysandre had to admit they were nice. Well, no. Well, yes, but he wasn't going to say it. Instead, he frowned, squeezing Sycamore's arm in his hand.
“Are you seducing me?” he asked, his whisper angrier than he had meant it to be, and his face suddenly very close to Sycamore's once again.
The professor raised his eyebrows in an attempt to look quizzical.
“Maybe,” he said; then: “Although, if you're saying that about the heels, not really, I really am wearing them because I look nice in them. If you mean the dancing...”
He didn't finish his sentence, looking over Lysandre's shoulder with a faint smile on his face. Unable to think of what to say – or how to regain his composure – Lysandre positioned himself again so they could resume dancing. He could feel Sycamore's face near his shoulder, his hair as messy as ever, getting near his mouth. It was distracting, and he almost got his foot crushed again, but he managed to move away in time – he was starting to get used to what the other man considered “dancing”. It consisted mostly of following his movements and vaguely moving his feet in what he probably thought was the proper beat, but was actually way more chaotic.
He was such a child, Lysandre thought. So absent-minded. But the thought was devoid of scorn; it was affectionate. Thinking about Sycamore's clumsy demeanor, he could only find it endearing, even when he would have likely glared at anyone else dancing with him like this. What am I doing? he thought.
Had the professor picked up on this? Had he noticed? Was that what this was all about? Had he seen the way Lysandre looked at him when he was looking away? It seemed impossible; surely he was used to it. Everyone was constantly looking at him, trying to get his approval. Like that girl he refused to dance with.
“Diantha is looking at us,” Sycamore said, his face pressed against Lysandre's shoulder.
“Really?” Lysandre's voice was perfectly neutral.
“She's with that girl of yours, the one with the green hair,” Sycamore added. “I didn't know you came with her.”
“I came with all of them, they insisted,” Lysandre replied, sounding slightly annoyed, although it wasn't clear who exactly was annoying him. They turned together until Lysandre could see the two women looking at them, discussing something he couldn't hear from where he was.
“Even Xerosic?”
Lysandre smiled slightly at the fact that Sycamore had remembered the name of his only male scientist. It was true that Xerosic was a man that was hard to forget.
“I asked Xerosic if he wanted to join us, but he refused. He said balls were trite, boring, and of poor taste, and that he was busy.” He had also rambled a lot about the possibility of slipping about the legendary pokémon and the role they had in their plans, but there was no way Lysandre could talk to Sycamore about that.
“You should have told him his hair is of poor taste.” Sycamore glanced at Lysandre, hiding behind a strand of his own hair. “Although, on second thought...”
Lysandre made a face, a mix of contempt and amusement that the professor was used to, with a frown and something like the beginning of a smile on his mouth. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I'm just teasing you, we all know everyone is jealous of your hair.” They turned again, slower this time, for no other reason than because it seemed to go with the dance. Lysandre realized he had completely forgotten there were people who might be seeing them.
“So, about your dancing skills,” Sycamore said, sounding hesitant, but smiling despite that. “How many women have you managed to woo with it?”
Lysandre did his best to sound serious and relaxed. “None, as far as I'm aware.”
“Not even Diantha?”
“How's your garchomp?” Lysandre asked right next to Sycamore's ear, changing the subject in the least subtle way he could have found.
“She's doing great, you should come see her more often. She likes you.”
His tone of voice made it sound like he accepted the dismissal of his question – for now. Lysandre had no doubt he would tease again later.
“She tried to eat my hair!” He hadn't meant to sound as outraged as he did, but his tone of voice made the professor chuckle.
“Your hair is very appetizing, I can't blame her.” Lysandre couldn't tell if it was a joke or not, and couldn't ask, because even if he had wanted to, Sycamore had already started talking again. “So, about Diantha...”
“Did she tell you I seduced her?”
Sycamore pouted, his lips puckered, and Lysandre was staring at his mouth again, and it was bad, but he was still doing it. With luck, the other man wouldn't even notice, with the masks they were both wearing.
“Not really,” Sycamore finally said. “She said you danced well, that's all. I was just wondering.”
“I don't think she likes me much.” It was a confession, sort of; Sycamore seemed taken aback by it for a few seconds, but then he smiled.
“Everyone likes you no matter what you do or say, that's what you do. You're too charismatic for your own good.”
Lysandre was used to this – Augustine Sycamore never hid his admiration towards him, never prevented himself from spouting compliments after compliments even when he was near and they were in public, talking about his ancestry and his cleverness and his passion – but usually they were at a safe distance instead of pressed against each other, and this time the closeness made the words more intimate. He didn't know what to think. This was not how he had planned to spend this evening.
Although it wasn't particularly unpleasant.
Against him, Sycamore stopped responding to his movements and let out a soft groan.
“Are you alright?” Lysandre asked with just a hint of concern.
“My feet hurt... I don't think I properly anticipated what would happen if I danced in tight shoes with heels. I don't know how women wear those all the time.” He sounded sorry about it, as if it was his fault, and it was a little – after all, he was the one who decided to wear these shoes – but Lysandre couldn't hold it against him. He did look great in them.
“Do you need to rest?”
He actually didn't get enough time to finish his sentence because Sycamore was already shouting “YES!” in his ear.
“Let's go on the balcony,” he then added, with a slight smile which seemed almost cunning. “I've heard there is a very nice view of the gardens.”
He was already tugging at his arm, getting away from his grip. Lysandre wanted to say, “the song isn't done yet,” but he didn't want him to get the wrong idea. What wrong idea, Lysandre wasn't entirely sure – it felt like everything around and inside him was shifting and he was unable to stop it. Instead, he frowned.
“What about the girl who offered you a dance earlier?” His voice had taken some of the authoritative tone he was familiar with, the one he used with everyone to get what he wanted.
Sycamore lifted one eyebrow, the top of it appearing from under his mask. “Chloé? What about her?”
Lysandre made a face – thankfully half-hidden. Chloé?
“You owe her a dance, now that I've taught you.” He stood, very straight, Sycamore's hand on his arm. They were closer to the balcony but still too close to the dancers. The professor seemed surprised by how serious Lysandre was being.
“Are you telling me to go dance with someone else? Is it that you're rejecting me, or is it some weird flirting technique they teach in the kalosian upper class I wasn't aware of?”
“I don't think so.” Lysandre couldn't help but smile at Sycamore's confusion, although his smile was a bit tense. “I just think it's unbefitting of you to leave her... hanging.”
Sycamore grumbled something unintelligible, but then seemed to cheer up in a matter of seconds.
“Okay, then, it's a deal. I'm catching Chloé for a dance if you promise we'll go to the balcony right now so I can rest my feet.”
“It is a deal,” Lysandre repeated with a nod. As soon as he said these words, Sycamore was once again leading him to the balcony. He seemed so eager to get there; Lysandre had a hard time following, especially considering the professor seemed to have no second thoughts about going through the crowd, and where he could easily sneak with his slender figure, Lysandre ended up hitting people and having to apologize.
There was nothing off-putting about Sycamore being enthusiastic, but he still couldn't help feeling like people were staring at them as they were passing by, and not just because he was hurting them. He didn't have much time to think about it, thankfully, because soon enough they had gone through the castle and Sycamore was holding his hand to walk him to the balcony.
“There we are,” Sycamore said once they were there, and he was still holding his hand. Lysandre made sure not to move it at all so he'd hopefully forget about letting it go – and then felt extremely shameful about it and jerked his hand away.
Sycamore gave him a look, but he couldn't tell what kind, so everything was fine for now. Instead of talking, Lysandre walked up to the railing so he could admire the gardens under the night sky. He didn't react when the other man joined him.
“I told you it was nice,” Sycamore smiled, his arm brushing against Lysandre's. He didn't remember them being so close – again. He nodded.
There was a short silence, but it was a nice kind of silence, and Lysandre relaxed a little. He glanced to the side when Sycamore shuffled to take off his mask.
“So,” Sycamore began, but he didn't go any further than that. Instead, he carefully slipped his mask inside his jacket and leaned against the railing, his back turned on the gardens. “So,” he repeated, smiling faintly.
“So?” Lysandre was glad he had taken off his mask; now he could see his entire face which was an advantage the other man didn't have. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Sycamore was staring at him, which, even with the mask between them, was making him tense up.
“Aren't you going to take off your mask?” Sycamore asked after several long seconds.
Lysandre frowned. “Why?”
“Why not?” Sycamore's smile was very wide. With a shrug, Lysandre took off his mask.
“Satisfied?” he asked, a bit too gruffly perhaps.
“Very,” Sycamore purred in return. He sighed and let himself slide against the railing until he ended up sitting on the floor against it. Looking at Lysandre's face, he tapped the spot next to him. “Come here.”
Lysandre made the exact same face he would have expected had he asked him to roll in the mud. “I'm not sitting on the floor.”
“It's a balcony, no one is here, and I don't want to get a stiff neck looking up at you all the time. Come here,” the professor repeated.
With a groan, Lysandre moved to sit next to him. At least he knew it was a proper establishment and the place had probably been cleaned for the ball. It was a meager consolation but now he was sitting very close to his friend, their legs almost touching, and he had completely forgotten why he didn't want to sit there in the first place.
Moving slightly – seemingly getting even closer to him, but Lysandre had no way to know whether this was done on purpose or not – Sycamore took off his shoes with a sigh. He was wearing blue socks underneath, which stunned Lysandre for a few seconds.
“You're wearing socks,” he managed to say in a deadpan tone.
“Well, yes, what did you expect me to wear? Stockings?” Lysandre's face was perfectly neutral but even in the faint blue light of the late evening Sycamore could tell it wasn't as pale as it usually was. “They're comfy and it's cold.”
Lysandre nodded, unable to say anything else. He didn't like the glimmer in the other man's eyes, and he didn't like how he was having a hard time preventing himself from thinking about Augustine Sycamore in stockings. He blinked and turned his head so he'd stop staring.
“So,” Sycamore started again. He stretched his legs, and managed to brush his thigh against Lysandre's. “I owe you.” Lysandre wasn't looking at him directly but he could see slight confusion on his face. “For teaching me how to dance, you know?”
“I wouldn't say that I taught you that much.”
Sycamore laughed a little. “Okay, true, but, still, I'd like to do something in return.”
“Did you have something in mind?” Lysandre still wasn't looking towards the professor.
“Look at me and I'll tell you.”
Very slowly and with reluctance Lysandre turned around, his face centimeters away from Sycamore's. They looked at each other for a few minutes. Sycamore's expression was very focused but Lysandre could tell his cheeks were getting redder. None of them moved, and then Sycamore let out a long sigh.
“I can't do this.” He hung his head, closing his eyes.
“Do what?”
Sycamore chuckled at his friend's confused tone.
“I lied to you earlier, I'm sorry,” he was looking down at Lysandre's collar, “I was absolutely one hundred percent seducing you. I really like the heels, still, but...” He looked up at Lysandre uncertainly. “Are you okay?”
“You didn't answer me.” Lysandre's face seemed to be hesitating between 'very pale' and 'absolutely red.' His eyes were fixed on the railing behind Sycamore.
“Huh, oh, yeah! I was... okay, please don't laugh. I was going to kiss you, I was going to say, 'oh I could give you kissing lessons in exchange for the dancing!' I know, real smooth Augustine, right, I'm getting way too old for...”
“Why didn't you do it, then.” It obviously was a question but the tone for it wasn't there. Sycamore blinked.
“I thought you wouldn't like it. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”
From the way Lysandre's lower lip moved, Sycamore could tell he was biting it inside his mouth.
“I'm not uncomfortable,” he said finally, turning his head towards his friend without looking at him directly still.
“Oh. Well...” Sycamore put one hand on Lysandre's chest, leaning towards him. “Are you sure about this?”
The way he said these words reminded Lysandre they were on a balcony, in public, next to an on-going party dedicated to the legendary pokémon, and that anyone could walk in and see them with their faces so close, but before he could fully realize it, he was already nodding and leaning towards the other man as well, his breathing uneven.
What Lysandre would remember from this moment months later was Augustine Sycamore's hands around his neck, the fact that he had drank champagne earlier, maybe with Diantha, and that he could taste it in his mouth, some kind of strange, exhilarating dizziness as he thought, 'what is going to happen now, am I going to have to tell him, do I want to tell him?'
(He would not tell him, of course.)
What Sycamore would remember weeks later was Lysandre's warm body pressed right against his. What he would remember much later was how uncertain and somewhat frightened Lysandre had been, in a way that he had never let his friend see before. 'Maybe I could have helped,' he'd tell himself, thinking about how close they had been then.
(But it was too late even then, of course.)
They almost fell over, but Lysandre grabbed the railing and they withdrew from each other, one clutching the railing, the other breathing in, smiling, his face red.
“Professor,” Lysandre started. He didn't actually have anything to say.
“We're alone and I just kissed you, I think you'll agree you can call me Augustine now.” Augustine Sycamore smiled and put his hand on Lysandre's arm. “Was that good, huh...”
“Yes, Augustine.” It sounded like he didn't want to talk about it, and Augustine thought for a moment that maybe he was lying to shut him up, but the next minute Lysandre was standing straight next to him and their bodies were touching and he had this faint smile on his face the professor had never seen before.
“Augustine, you need to get to Chloé now,” Lysandre said softly, but with his authoritative tone right there.
Augustine almost asked who Chloé was until he remembered – the dance, the deal, the girl.
“Oh, yes! I'll go.” He stood out and walked to the door before turning around. “You don't have to say my name so much, you know.”
“It is a beautiful name,” Lysandre said without looking at him, staring at the door instead. “Augustine.”
Mumbling something that was most likely supposed to be 'merci', Augustine walked back inside, fumbling with his mask, trying to hide away from Lysandre and how confused he felt about the whole situation. Hopefully once they were back in public things would be clearer.
And they were, sort of; after giving his apologies to Chloé and dancing with her, he found Lysandre with Diantha and Bryony, his mask back on his face, and he acted as he always had – somewhat cold, with that kind of subtle contempt in the way he acted that made strangers think he was constantly angry at them. But sometimes, when Diantha was talking and Bryony was looking away to search for her purple-haired friend in the crowd, Lysandre would turn his head in his direction and smile like he had before, until Augustine noticed and smiled back. It wasn't much, and coming from anyone else the professor would have found it disappointing, but coming from Lysandre, it was like fireworks.
If Diantha noticed anything strange, she didn't say, even when Lysandre's glass of champagne lingered a little too long against Sycamore's as they toasted to the legendary pokémon, or when the professor chuckled nervously after accidentally bumping shoulders with the taller man. All she did was casually ask Augustine if he had a good time dancing with Lysandre, triggering a flood of compliments on Lysandre's skills that left the man seemingly unaffected, but made Diantha laugh. When Lysandre excused himself, explaining he had to leave, Augustine put his hand on his arm and asked him to come to his lab the next day in a warm voice. This was not unusual – well, the physical contact wasn't usually present, but most people knew Sycamore was a physical person – but Lysandre's hesitation before replying definitely was. Still, Diantha said nothing about the way they acted, leaving them to their goodbyes as she went to look for her colleagues from the Elite 4.
Augustine put his other hand on Lysandre's other arm and leaned on him to kiss him on the cheek, very close to his mouth.
“À demain,” he said softly.
“À demain,” Lysandre said, in a low voice.
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: G
Summary: To celebrate the millenium and the awakening of the legendary pokémon, a ball is organised in Kalos. Lysandre and Augustine Sycamore are, of course, both invited. The professor doesn't actually know how to dance, but has a pretty good idea of how he's going to learn.
Notes: This is one of my oldest fic for them, that I deleted from AO3 in early 2021. I'm choosing to repost it here, even though I really don't think it's very good (the characterization, in particular, is pretty weak) because I actually kind of regret deleting it, and I don't mind it being available for people to read. Please forgive early fandom Samifer for all his mistakes. o7
AO3 Link: Here. (This goes to a wayback machine archive of the deleted fic. Please no bully re: my horrible A/Ns. I was ten years younger, okay!)
The room was crowded.
This wasn't actually a problem for Lysandre – actually, people tended to move out of his way before he said anything – but the mask was making things difficult. There was no need to wear a mask at a ball; he did not want to wear a mask; but it was a masked ball and everyone had to wear a mask. Wearing a mask meant an obscured field of vision, which meant he might not be able to see people coming, which made him tense. At least, it was a good excuse to explain why he was so tense.
The truth was, he hadn't practiced ballroom dancing in years, and this was a ball commemorating the awakening of the legendary pokémon of the Kalos region. This latter fact, mostly, was what made him preoccupied, for reasons he couldn't have shared with anyone, of course.
Thankfully, he had practiced the art of concealing his true feelings until absolute perfection. Sometimes, he even managed to fool himself. This wasn't the case now; it seemed as if everything was reminding him of his plans and the role the legendary pokémon would have to play in it. Dancing with Diantha had been equal parts delight and torture.
Everyone had wanted to talk to him, ask about his research, compliment him on his outfit, or just be seen in his company. He had indulged them long enough for them not to discuss it when he tried to leave, saying he had other people to see. That was a lie, of course – albeit he still hadn't caught a glimpse of Augustine Sycamore. Diantha had confirmed he'd be there, but she didn't know whether he had arrived or not. It had been a week since Lysandre had last seen him. He was constantly busy working on mega evolution, and Lysandre too had been spending too much time making progress on his own work to consider a visit.
It was hard to admit, but he missed the professor's enthusiastic tone of voice and his optimistic views on the world and how much he seemed to enjoy his company. Hence why he was hoping to run into him for a friendly little chat. Maybe they could share a glass of champagne, too, Lysandre thought, his eyes following a couple of dancers. Maybe they could...
“Lysandre!” He turned around, staring at the masked figure of Augustine Sycamore with his lips slightly parted, wondering if he had somehow managed to conjure him just by thinking about it. “There you are! I can't believe I didn't see you. You look gorgeous.”
It was true, of course. Lysandre wouldn't have taken one step in this castle wearing anything less than perfect clothing for the occasion. His carmine outfit and pyroar-inspired mask had been a hit with the guests he had run into – Diantha included – but somehow, the warm admiration in Sycamore's voice made the compliment that much more precious. The professor was finely dressed as well: he was wearing a royal blue suit with white embroidery and a mask that seemed to be based on garchomp. Lysandre was about to return the compliment when a young woman stepped in, trying to get Sycamore's attention. She wore a fashionable black dress. She couldn't have been older than twenty.
“Ah, professor! Hello! Um...” Even with the mask they were both wearing, Lysandre could see her face was very red. Sycamore gave her a nice, big smile that only seemed to make her blush even more.
“Hello! Is there something you wanted to ask me?” His frank tone of voice, that made clear that he was very much interested in whatever she wanted to tell him, calmed her down a little. She took a deep breath.
“I, um... would you like to dance with me?” She said it very fast, as if she was afraid she'd chicken out if she didn't get the words out as soon as possible. Lysandre smirked, but hid it behind his gloved hand.
Sycamore was still smiling, but he was also making a lot of hand gestures, betraying his own nervousness. “Ah, um, I'm sorry, dear, but I really can't dance at all! I wouldn't want to embarrass you.”
“Oh, that's fine! I don't mind!”
“I insist, I don't want to make a fool of both of us by trying to dance...”
They were both very agitated, and Lysandre had no desire to stay and watch them flirt, or dance, or anything else, so he moved away to give them space. His eyes followed more dancers. Diantha was dancing with Wikstrom, who was wearing a blinding gold armor for the occasion – although, more than dancing, she mostly seemed to be trying to avoid getting her feet crushed under his heavy golden boots.
Their dance ended after a few minutes, and Lysandre felt a tug on his arm. He turned around and was surprised to face Sycamore. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry about that,” the professor said, pouting slightly.
“You don't have to apologize for being attractive,” Lysandre replied, and regretted it immediately. He couldn't see the man's eyes well enough, but he was sure Sycamore was now staring at him.
“Well, merci,” he said, smiling – but he sounded a bit nervous. He let his last word trail off as if he was hesitating to say something else.
Instead, they stood next to each other for several minutes in silence. Lysandre didn't think he could get any tenser, but somehow, Sycamore's presence next to him had this exact effect. The fact that the professor kept bumping into his shoulder for reasons unknown wasn't helping. He tried to find something to say – maybe he could ask him about his research?
“So you managed to find time to get away from your lab,” he said finally, leaning over slightly as the music seemed to have gotten louder. Sycamore didn't turn his head towards him, but his smile was still present on his face.
“Ah, yes, well, I've been working all night, and I was going to keep working tonight as well, but my assistant convinced me to come here, since I had been invited.” He paused, tapping his fingers on his lips. “And I wanted to see you!”
“I appreciate it, I wanted to see you, as well,” Lysandre said, sounding as neutral as he always did. Since most of Sycamore's face was hidden away by his mask, he found himself staring at his lips. Thankfully, the other man was still looking away.
“Really?” His head turned, and Lysandre averted his gaze. “Do you know how to dance?”
The question took Lysandre by surprise. He had planned to talk to Sycamore about their respective fields of research, not about the art of ballroom dancing. Still, there was no way he could really dodge it now that it had been asked.
“Of course.”
“Great!” There it was, the enthusiastic, almost childish tone of voice. “Shall we dance, then?”
Lysandre frowned, unsure of whether or not he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. “Excuse me?”
“Would you dance with me?” Sycamore pronounced the words very carefully, which didn't prevent him from sounding anything but confident.
“I thought you didn't know how to dance.” Lysandre fidgeted with his mask. “Were you lying before?”
“No! I really don't know how to dance. At all. That's why I'm asking you to teach me.”
Careful not to look in the other man's direction, Lysandre took a moment to ponder how he had ended up in this situation. He showed up at the ball on time; he was dressed nicely; he had danced with Diantha; he had been hoping to meet Augustine Sycamore; he had met him; some girl had tried to invite him to dance; he had rejected her offer; and now he was asking Lysandre to dance with him. No matter how hard he thought about it, it still didn't make much sense.
He cast a glance at Sycamore, who was apparently observing the dancers around them, awaiting his answer. Lysandre cleared his throat.
“I'm not sure this is appropriate,” he said finally.
“Come on,” Sycamore replied, touching his arm. Lysandre flinched slightly, but he didn't seem to notice. “What are you afraid of? No one is going to mind.”
“I...” Lysandre started, but he was already letting Sycamore take him away, closer to the other guests who were dancing.
“You're so old-fashioned,” the professor said, with tenderness in his voice. “It's perfectly fine for men to dance together! This isn't the middle age anymore.”
Lysandre didn't answer, focusing instead on placing his hands on Sycamore's body to lead him. He was giving him his full attention to prevent himself from thinking about other people who might be staring at them.
Among other things. Like how warm Sycamore's hand was against his back, or how close their faces were suddenly, or how good his hair smelled, or...
Sycamore stepped on his foot.
“Be careful,” Lysandre hissed, snapping back to reality. A reality where he was holding pokémon professor Augustine Sycamore very close to himself and they were ballroom dancing – or trying to – in a crowded room.
“Ah, désolé... I did tell you I sucked at dancing. I'm sorry.”
“Let me just...” Lysandre mumbled as he brought the other man even closer to get a better grip on his body and on their attempt at dancing. His beard brushed against Sycamore's skin, making him shiver. Lysandre could barely hear the music because he was too busy trying not to think about that, about the fact that their faces were so close and that the professor didn't seem to have a problem with it.
Actually, he seemed to enjoy it.
“I think I'm getting better at this!” Sycamore exclaimed.
“Hm,” Lysandre said.
Sycamore moved his head to look at him. “Don't you agree?”
“Professor, I-”
“Call me Augustine, we're dancing.”
“Professor,” Lysandre repeated, louder this time, “What are we doing?”
“We're dancing,” Sycamore repeated as well. “Does it bother you? We can stop if it really makes you uncomfortable.”
He sounded sad about this prospect. Lysandre didn't want to make him sad – or to let him go, he realized with a hint of panic.
“It's fine.” His voice was still absolutely neutral, but he was sure the professor could tell he was tense, considering how close they were to one another. “For the record, though, you are not getting better at all. Your posture is all wrong.”
“Oh,” Sycamore said, but he didn't sound disappointed or upset. “Guess we'll have to practice more, then!”
Lysandre smiled, then groaned when Sycamore stepped on his foot again. He pushed him aside a little to take a good look at his feet, and squinted behind his mask.
“Are you wearing heels?”
He tried not to sound alarmed, but Sycamore didn't seem to care either way. He grinned.
“Yes! Well, they're not very high heels. I like them a lot, they make my legs even longer. Everyone always talk to me about my nice, slim legs, might as well take advantage of that.”
Lifting his feet to show off his shiny shoes, his hands still holding Lysandre, Augustine Sycamore seemed very satisfied about his legs, and Lysandre had to admit they were nice. Well, no. Well, yes, but he wasn't going to say it. Instead, he frowned, squeezing Sycamore's arm in his hand.
“Are you seducing me?” he asked, his whisper angrier than he had meant it to be, and his face suddenly very close to Sycamore's once again.
The professor raised his eyebrows in an attempt to look quizzical.
“Maybe,” he said; then: “Although, if you're saying that about the heels, not really, I really am wearing them because I look nice in them. If you mean the dancing...”
He didn't finish his sentence, looking over Lysandre's shoulder with a faint smile on his face. Unable to think of what to say – or how to regain his composure – Lysandre positioned himself again so they could resume dancing. He could feel Sycamore's face near his shoulder, his hair as messy as ever, getting near his mouth. It was distracting, and he almost got his foot crushed again, but he managed to move away in time – he was starting to get used to what the other man considered “dancing”. It consisted mostly of following his movements and vaguely moving his feet in what he probably thought was the proper beat, but was actually way more chaotic.
He was such a child, Lysandre thought. So absent-minded. But the thought was devoid of scorn; it was affectionate. Thinking about Sycamore's clumsy demeanor, he could only find it endearing, even when he would have likely glared at anyone else dancing with him like this. What am I doing? he thought.
Had the professor picked up on this? Had he noticed? Was that what this was all about? Had he seen the way Lysandre looked at him when he was looking away? It seemed impossible; surely he was used to it. Everyone was constantly looking at him, trying to get his approval. Like that girl he refused to dance with.
“Diantha is looking at us,” Sycamore said, his face pressed against Lysandre's shoulder.
“Really?” Lysandre's voice was perfectly neutral.
“She's with that girl of yours, the one with the green hair,” Sycamore added. “I didn't know you came with her.”
“I came with all of them, they insisted,” Lysandre replied, sounding slightly annoyed, although it wasn't clear who exactly was annoying him. They turned together until Lysandre could see the two women looking at them, discussing something he couldn't hear from where he was.
“Even Xerosic?”
Lysandre smiled slightly at the fact that Sycamore had remembered the name of his only male scientist. It was true that Xerosic was a man that was hard to forget.
“I asked Xerosic if he wanted to join us, but he refused. He said balls were trite, boring, and of poor taste, and that he was busy.” He had also rambled a lot about the possibility of slipping about the legendary pokémon and the role they had in their plans, but there was no way Lysandre could talk to Sycamore about that.
“You should have told him his hair is of poor taste.” Sycamore glanced at Lysandre, hiding behind a strand of his own hair. “Although, on second thought...”
Lysandre made a face, a mix of contempt and amusement that the professor was used to, with a frown and something like the beginning of a smile on his mouth. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I'm just teasing you, we all know everyone is jealous of your hair.” They turned again, slower this time, for no other reason than because it seemed to go with the dance. Lysandre realized he had completely forgotten there were people who might be seeing them.
“So, about your dancing skills,” Sycamore said, sounding hesitant, but smiling despite that. “How many women have you managed to woo with it?”
Lysandre did his best to sound serious and relaxed. “None, as far as I'm aware.”
“Not even Diantha?”
“How's your garchomp?” Lysandre asked right next to Sycamore's ear, changing the subject in the least subtle way he could have found.
“She's doing great, you should come see her more often. She likes you.”
His tone of voice made it sound like he accepted the dismissal of his question – for now. Lysandre had no doubt he would tease again later.
“She tried to eat my hair!” He hadn't meant to sound as outraged as he did, but his tone of voice made the professor chuckle.
“Your hair is very appetizing, I can't blame her.” Lysandre couldn't tell if it was a joke or not, and couldn't ask, because even if he had wanted to, Sycamore had already started talking again. “So, about Diantha...”
“Did she tell you I seduced her?”
Sycamore pouted, his lips puckered, and Lysandre was staring at his mouth again, and it was bad, but he was still doing it. With luck, the other man wouldn't even notice, with the masks they were both wearing.
“Not really,” Sycamore finally said. “She said you danced well, that's all. I was just wondering.”
“I don't think she likes me much.” It was a confession, sort of; Sycamore seemed taken aback by it for a few seconds, but then he smiled.
“Everyone likes you no matter what you do or say, that's what you do. You're too charismatic for your own good.”
Lysandre was used to this – Augustine Sycamore never hid his admiration towards him, never prevented himself from spouting compliments after compliments even when he was near and they were in public, talking about his ancestry and his cleverness and his passion – but usually they were at a safe distance instead of pressed against each other, and this time the closeness made the words more intimate. He didn't know what to think. This was not how he had planned to spend this evening.
Although it wasn't particularly unpleasant.
Against him, Sycamore stopped responding to his movements and let out a soft groan.
“Are you alright?” Lysandre asked with just a hint of concern.
“My feet hurt... I don't think I properly anticipated what would happen if I danced in tight shoes with heels. I don't know how women wear those all the time.” He sounded sorry about it, as if it was his fault, and it was a little – after all, he was the one who decided to wear these shoes – but Lysandre couldn't hold it against him. He did look great in them.
“Do you need to rest?”
He actually didn't get enough time to finish his sentence because Sycamore was already shouting “YES!” in his ear.
“Let's go on the balcony,” he then added, with a slight smile which seemed almost cunning. “I've heard there is a very nice view of the gardens.”
He was already tugging at his arm, getting away from his grip. Lysandre wanted to say, “the song isn't done yet,” but he didn't want him to get the wrong idea. What wrong idea, Lysandre wasn't entirely sure – it felt like everything around and inside him was shifting and he was unable to stop it. Instead, he frowned.
“What about the girl who offered you a dance earlier?” His voice had taken some of the authoritative tone he was familiar with, the one he used with everyone to get what he wanted.
Sycamore lifted one eyebrow, the top of it appearing from under his mask. “Chloé? What about her?”
Lysandre made a face – thankfully half-hidden. Chloé?
“You owe her a dance, now that I've taught you.” He stood, very straight, Sycamore's hand on his arm. They were closer to the balcony but still too close to the dancers. The professor seemed surprised by how serious Lysandre was being.
“Are you telling me to go dance with someone else? Is it that you're rejecting me, or is it some weird flirting technique they teach in the kalosian upper class I wasn't aware of?”
“I don't think so.” Lysandre couldn't help but smile at Sycamore's confusion, although his smile was a bit tense. “I just think it's unbefitting of you to leave her... hanging.”
Sycamore grumbled something unintelligible, but then seemed to cheer up in a matter of seconds.
“Okay, then, it's a deal. I'm catching Chloé for a dance if you promise we'll go to the balcony right now so I can rest my feet.”
“It is a deal,” Lysandre repeated with a nod. As soon as he said these words, Sycamore was once again leading him to the balcony. He seemed so eager to get there; Lysandre had a hard time following, especially considering the professor seemed to have no second thoughts about going through the crowd, and where he could easily sneak with his slender figure, Lysandre ended up hitting people and having to apologize.
There was nothing off-putting about Sycamore being enthusiastic, but he still couldn't help feeling like people were staring at them as they were passing by, and not just because he was hurting them. He didn't have much time to think about it, thankfully, because soon enough they had gone through the castle and Sycamore was holding his hand to walk him to the balcony.
“There we are,” Sycamore said once they were there, and he was still holding his hand. Lysandre made sure not to move it at all so he'd hopefully forget about letting it go – and then felt extremely shameful about it and jerked his hand away.
Sycamore gave him a look, but he couldn't tell what kind, so everything was fine for now. Instead of talking, Lysandre walked up to the railing so he could admire the gardens under the night sky. He didn't react when the other man joined him.
“I told you it was nice,” Sycamore smiled, his arm brushing against Lysandre's. He didn't remember them being so close – again. He nodded.
There was a short silence, but it was a nice kind of silence, and Lysandre relaxed a little. He glanced to the side when Sycamore shuffled to take off his mask.
“So,” Sycamore began, but he didn't go any further than that. Instead, he carefully slipped his mask inside his jacket and leaned against the railing, his back turned on the gardens. “So,” he repeated, smiling faintly.
“So?” Lysandre was glad he had taken off his mask; now he could see his entire face which was an advantage the other man didn't have. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Sycamore was staring at him, which, even with the mask between them, was making him tense up.
“Aren't you going to take off your mask?” Sycamore asked after several long seconds.
Lysandre frowned. “Why?”
“Why not?” Sycamore's smile was very wide. With a shrug, Lysandre took off his mask.
“Satisfied?” he asked, a bit too gruffly perhaps.
“Very,” Sycamore purred in return. He sighed and let himself slide against the railing until he ended up sitting on the floor against it. Looking at Lysandre's face, he tapped the spot next to him. “Come here.”
Lysandre made the exact same face he would have expected had he asked him to roll in the mud. “I'm not sitting on the floor.”
“It's a balcony, no one is here, and I don't want to get a stiff neck looking up at you all the time. Come here,” the professor repeated.
With a groan, Lysandre moved to sit next to him. At least he knew it was a proper establishment and the place had probably been cleaned for the ball. It was a meager consolation but now he was sitting very close to his friend, their legs almost touching, and he had completely forgotten why he didn't want to sit there in the first place.
Moving slightly – seemingly getting even closer to him, but Lysandre had no way to know whether this was done on purpose or not – Sycamore took off his shoes with a sigh. He was wearing blue socks underneath, which stunned Lysandre for a few seconds.
“You're wearing socks,” he managed to say in a deadpan tone.
“Well, yes, what did you expect me to wear? Stockings?” Lysandre's face was perfectly neutral but even in the faint blue light of the late evening Sycamore could tell it wasn't as pale as it usually was. “They're comfy and it's cold.”
Lysandre nodded, unable to say anything else. He didn't like the glimmer in the other man's eyes, and he didn't like how he was having a hard time preventing himself from thinking about Augustine Sycamore in stockings. He blinked and turned his head so he'd stop staring.
“So,” Sycamore started again. He stretched his legs, and managed to brush his thigh against Lysandre's. “I owe you.” Lysandre wasn't looking at him directly but he could see slight confusion on his face. “For teaching me how to dance, you know?”
“I wouldn't say that I taught you that much.”
Sycamore laughed a little. “Okay, true, but, still, I'd like to do something in return.”
“Did you have something in mind?” Lysandre still wasn't looking towards the professor.
“Look at me and I'll tell you.”
Very slowly and with reluctance Lysandre turned around, his face centimeters away from Sycamore's. They looked at each other for a few minutes. Sycamore's expression was very focused but Lysandre could tell his cheeks were getting redder. None of them moved, and then Sycamore let out a long sigh.
“I can't do this.” He hung his head, closing his eyes.
“Do what?”
Sycamore chuckled at his friend's confused tone.
“I lied to you earlier, I'm sorry,” he was looking down at Lysandre's collar, “I was absolutely one hundred percent seducing you. I really like the heels, still, but...” He looked up at Lysandre uncertainly. “Are you okay?”
“You didn't answer me.” Lysandre's face seemed to be hesitating between 'very pale' and 'absolutely red.' His eyes were fixed on the railing behind Sycamore.
“Huh, oh, yeah! I was... okay, please don't laugh. I was going to kiss you, I was going to say, 'oh I could give you kissing lessons in exchange for the dancing!' I know, real smooth Augustine, right, I'm getting way too old for...”
“Why didn't you do it, then.” It obviously was a question but the tone for it wasn't there. Sycamore blinked.
“I thought you wouldn't like it. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”
From the way Lysandre's lower lip moved, Sycamore could tell he was biting it inside his mouth.
“I'm not uncomfortable,” he said finally, turning his head towards his friend without looking at him directly still.
“Oh. Well...” Sycamore put one hand on Lysandre's chest, leaning towards him. “Are you sure about this?”
The way he said these words reminded Lysandre they were on a balcony, in public, next to an on-going party dedicated to the legendary pokémon, and that anyone could walk in and see them with their faces so close, but before he could fully realize it, he was already nodding and leaning towards the other man as well, his breathing uneven.
What Lysandre would remember from this moment months later was Augustine Sycamore's hands around his neck, the fact that he had drank champagne earlier, maybe with Diantha, and that he could taste it in his mouth, some kind of strange, exhilarating dizziness as he thought, 'what is going to happen now, am I going to have to tell him, do I want to tell him?'
(He would not tell him, of course.)
What Sycamore would remember weeks later was Lysandre's warm body pressed right against his. What he would remember much later was how uncertain and somewhat frightened Lysandre had been, in a way that he had never let his friend see before. 'Maybe I could have helped,' he'd tell himself, thinking about how close they had been then.
(But it was too late even then, of course.)
They almost fell over, but Lysandre grabbed the railing and they withdrew from each other, one clutching the railing, the other breathing in, smiling, his face red.
“Professor,” Lysandre started. He didn't actually have anything to say.
“We're alone and I just kissed you, I think you'll agree you can call me Augustine now.” Augustine Sycamore smiled and put his hand on Lysandre's arm. “Was that good, huh...”
“Yes, Augustine.” It sounded like he didn't want to talk about it, and Augustine thought for a moment that maybe he was lying to shut him up, but the next minute Lysandre was standing straight next to him and their bodies were touching and he had this faint smile on his face the professor had never seen before.
“Augustine, you need to get to Chloé now,” Lysandre said softly, but with his authoritative tone right there.
Augustine almost asked who Chloé was until he remembered – the dance, the deal, the girl.
“Oh, yes! I'll go.” He stood out and walked to the door before turning around. “You don't have to say my name so much, you know.”
“It is a beautiful name,” Lysandre said without looking at him, staring at the door instead. “Augustine.”
Mumbling something that was most likely supposed to be 'merci', Augustine walked back inside, fumbling with his mask, trying to hide away from Lysandre and how confused he felt about the whole situation. Hopefully once they were back in public things would be clearer.
And they were, sort of; after giving his apologies to Chloé and dancing with her, he found Lysandre with Diantha and Bryony, his mask back on his face, and he acted as he always had – somewhat cold, with that kind of subtle contempt in the way he acted that made strangers think he was constantly angry at them. But sometimes, when Diantha was talking and Bryony was looking away to search for her purple-haired friend in the crowd, Lysandre would turn his head in his direction and smile like he had before, until Augustine noticed and smiled back. It wasn't much, and coming from anyone else the professor would have found it disappointing, but coming from Lysandre, it was like fireworks.
If Diantha noticed anything strange, she didn't say, even when Lysandre's glass of champagne lingered a little too long against Sycamore's as they toasted to the legendary pokémon, or when the professor chuckled nervously after accidentally bumping shoulders with the taller man. All she did was casually ask Augustine if he had a good time dancing with Lysandre, triggering a flood of compliments on Lysandre's skills that left the man seemingly unaffected, but made Diantha laugh. When Lysandre excused himself, explaining he had to leave, Augustine put his hand on his arm and asked him to come to his lab the next day in a warm voice. This was not unusual – well, the physical contact wasn't usually present, but most people knew Sycamore was a physical person – but Lysandre's hesitation before replying definitely was. Still, Diantha said nothing about the way they acted, leaving them to their goodbyes as she went to look for her colleagues from the Elite 4.
Augustine put his other hand on Lysandre's other arm and leaned on him to kiss him on the cheek, very close to his mouth.
“À demain,” he said softly.
“À demain,” Lysandre said, in a low voice.