Work Text:
In the near-darkness of the bedroom, Lysandre's face was a mask of tired resignation, his eyes downcast under his furrowed brow. He'd let himself be pulled out of bed, disheveled and barely responsive, and now he was sitting on the edge, avoiding Augustine's gaze, staring at the clothes scattered on the ground.
"Look at me," Augustine said – not because he thought he would, but for the short-lived satisfaction of watching him press his lips together, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You can't keep this up. I won't let you."
Lysandre did not even so much as blink. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the back of his neck, or as much of it that wasn't covered by his mane of hair, and Augustine could see the muscles tense as he clenched his teeth, perhaps to convince himself to stay silent.
"You know what we agreed on," Augustine went on. This time, Lysandre did blink, a quick flutter of his eyelashes, but he didn't look up. "You staying locked up in the spare bedroom of my apartment isn't it."
"I am fulfilling my part of our bargain," Lysandre said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He hadn't spoken more than ten words since he'd been extracted from the tomb he'd dug for himself. "I'm alive. That is, I believe," his gaze flickered toward Augustine's face for only a second, "what we agreed on."
Holding back the urge to sigh, Augustine sat down right next to him, with no regard for whether or not Lysandre minded the proximity. Despite his icy behavior, Lysandre's thigh was boiling hot against his, even through their clothes.
"I don't care if you've decided to give up. I'm not going to." Lysandre huffed out something that could have been a laugh, though this was nothing to laugh about. "I'll never give up on you."
Lysandre turned to smile at him, his most terrible smile, the one he'd wear when he was playing his own role in front of the cameras, reenacting the same forced affability that he'd never bothered to put on when they were alone.
"Is that a threat, Professor Sycamore?"
Despite himself, Augustine found himself smiling back, narrowing his eyes in the way he knew would be the most effective, and for a split second, Lysandre's facade wavered, his smirk faltering just barely.
"No," Augustine said. He ran his hand up the other man's arm, stopping to let it rest on his shoulder, brushing his shirt's collar with his fingertips. He scoffed, and then added, "Well, maybe."
Lysandre's expression shifted again, his frown returning, weighing heavily on the pale expanse of his face, still draped in soft shadows.
"I see," he said.
His thigh twitched under Augustine's touch when he pressed his palm on top of it, just enough to feel the way his muscles tensed.
This, too, was a threat, though it, too, was a promise.
"Come on," Augustine said as he pulled himself up, putting more of his weight on Lysandre in the process. "I haven't eaten properly in three days, and neither have you. Calem brought us a care package from all the kids. Wouldn't want it to go to waste."
He walked up to the door, unwilling to look back right away, giving himself the time to steel himself, but then he heard movement behind him, slow, tentative steps, the sound of two large feet hitting his bedroom's floor.
"You're right," Lysandre said, and Augustine couldn't help but smile at the doorway. "That would be a shame."
They walked together to the kitchen in silence, and by the time he'd begun to look through the food the children had packed for them, Lysandre still hadn't said another word. Yet, as he settled in front of the stove and slipped back into the role of chef, if only for the two of them, Augustine watched the tension slowly ease off his shoulders. He leaned against the back of his chair and allowed himself to simply enjoy the mundanity of the moment while he could.
He fell asleep without noticing and was woken up by Lysandre gently shaking his shoulder. He blinked at him, swallowing back a yawn.
"Lunch is ready," Lysandre said. He wouldn't look him in the eye, but at least he still seemed more relaxed.
The smell that permeated the kitchen was mouth-watering. Augustine perked up, eager to eat something that wasn't half of a prepared sandwich from the corner store. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and yawned, muffling it under his palm. When he glanced at Lysandre, standing next to the stove and holding two bowls in one of his hands, he seemed to be holding back a smile. Augustine straightened his back, pulling away from the table so Lysandre could set it up.
"What did you make?" Augustine asked after narrowly swallowing down another yawn. He hadn't really looked at what was in the care package, mostly because he hadn't been sure he'd have the drive to use it.
"Berry soup. It's spicy. Good for the winter." With that, Lysandre carefully lifted the pot so he could put it on the table and begin serving. "The package was mostly berries and chocolate." He paused to fill Augustine's bowl. "And an unreasonable amount of Lumiose Galettes."
Augustine snorted. "I don't think that's possible. Any amount of Lumiose Galettes is reasonable." He took a deep breath to fully appreciate the rich smell of the soup. "Smells delicious."
"Of course." Lysandre didn't sound as smug as either of them expected, judging by his expression. He sat down after pouring himself half of what he'd given Augustine. He stared at his reflection in the soup for several seconds before adding, "Thank you."
"What for?"
He pursed his lips.
"Threatening me into behaving, I suppose." He took a sip of his soup, closing his eyes as if to better study the taste. "A lesser man would have gone back on his word."
"Well, you know me." Augustine stirred the soup in his bowl slowly, dragging the spoon against the bottom. He couldn't hold back his grin. "I'm a reliable man."
Lysandre's eyes were disarmingly soft when their gazes met. "That you are, Professor. Kalos is lucky to have you."
He looked back down, blinking twice in rapid succession. His cheeks were flushed, just a hint of it spreading from his cheekbones.
Mercifully, Augustine elected to pretend it was due to the hot soup, and nothing else.