Sycamore's Couch

I followed him. Lost as I was, both physically and in thoughts, I paid no observation to the path we followed, and never once found myself in that winding city.

I observed Sycamore's back as he peacefully walked before me, his pace untroubled by any urgency, his silence unbroken by my presence. He was quite distant from me in that moment when compared to any other, but I didn't mind it: I was rather glad he perceived I was in no mood to receive his advances and followed straight to his house with not much delay. I could hardly prevent, though, a very tiny and distant shadow in my brain from wondering if something had changed now that he knew I had disobeyed him...

Perhaps the distance was neither one thing nor the other – perhaps it was only Sycamore making sure no one would find it suspicious as he lured me to his house. But... looking around, I could see no one. No one at all!

We at last arrived in front of a grey-walled brownstone, with round windowpanes framed by a shiny brushed iron and a solid metal door colored burgundy. He typed in a code in a small white box and the door automatically opened... I followed him inside and we stopped in the limited space of the hall. I kept myself still behind his back as he pulled a black scarf from around his neck and hung it nearby. As he slid the black coat down his arms, the air so still that I could hear the rude fabric brushing against the silk of his shirt underneath, the automatic door slammed behind me and I skipped in a fright. The Professor didn't move a muscle.

He opened a second door, this one into the kitchen – an also small, though thoroughly well-decorated space consisting of two rows of ebony cabinets and cupboards, and a couple of high stools. He placed the paper bags on the first surface available and sighed, tired of their weight. He then proceeded to emptying them, putting each piece of grocery in its rightful place...

"Hmm... Professor..." I hinted – my voice's tendency to disappear when I was shy did so especially when I was in "foreign" territory.

"Hm?" He absently replied turning my way, almost confused as to where the voice had come from and to whom it belonged, absorbed in a kind of smile he wore. "Still there, are you?!" He perplexedly added once he had spotted me "Come inside at once! Forgive me for my lack of decorum; I was sure it would only strike you as old-fashioned! Apparently it is not the case, as you're standing there in my door like a lost kitty that happened to follow me home?" He smiled to himself, much too amused "This is my humble abode, you can make yourself at home in it!" He bent his body forward in a way that, through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, I could see the slim yet chiseled chest under it, and bowed his head, spreading his arms in a sign for me to come inside.

"Hmm... Weren't you..." I began, looking around myself as I carefully passed him and his flashing, intimidating torso "weren't you going to make that call so we can go already?!"

"Yes – The call!" He sounded almost as if he had just remembered it. "You wait here as I make it, it won't take a minute..."

He took the phone from a support on the wall near his fridge and, to my dismay, followed to a back door – probably leading to the laundry room or another poorly used room of the sort for, from what I could see, it seemed empty and dark – and closed it behind himself. I listened in the sovereign silence of his house... but could hear not a single murmur of that conversation! It was also over much sooner than I would have imagined – he returned, and I lightened up a bit.

"It's done – they should be on their way!" He sighed, placing the phone back in its original place.

"Who?"

"The police, of course!" He smiled gently, going through his cupboards and coming up with a milk-pan.

I was just beginning to look around and feel myself being slowly surrounded by his calmness... by the closed door... by the lack of conclusion in his talk, and by whatever he was beginning to prepare on his oven. His hand moved the buttons, tinkering with the fire intensity... The other hand busily tried to undo, between two fingers only, one more button on his shirt. I gulped.

"I... I really should get going, then!"

"Going where?" he distractedly asked, moving from one corner of the kitchen to the other.

"Back... to Calem..."

"We both know that won't be necessary with the police looking into it and all, don't we?!" he subtly imposed without looking my way.

"Yes, but... I promised I would come back with help! He will be hurt if I don't..."

"No, dear –" he promptly dropped what he was doing and stopped before me, looking into my eyes "but rather you will if you insist on going..."

He then brushed a hot finger across my cheek – hot from being too close to the fire. It felt strangely bothersome and ominous followed by what he had said, and I pulled my head away immediately in the irrational belief that I would get burned. He smiled softly...

"By Team Flare, of course! And how do you intend to go back – run all the way as you did before?" He sat one leg on top of the high stool and, grabbing my wrist, pulled me closer. My body jerked with fear, but he ignored that, too – his two fingers buried into the flesh of my neck and there they remained for a few seconds of utter and crude vulnerability that seemed to last forever, as his expression weighed emotionless upon me, his eyes tracing my exposed neck and what felt like an open core.

He then smiled sideways – my eyes twitched, for I recognized it as his most malicious smile – and his hand pulled back with a sigh of deep satisfaction: "I've checked your pulse: Your heart is beating so fast, I could swear it would stop at any second."

"That's because... I have to go!" I nervously pursued, pulling my hand away and escaping his clutch.

No sooner were my fingers free, he grasped my wrist again and pulled it back, laughing and moaning a remark upon how slippery the skin there was, out of nervous sweating – another symptom he took the liberty of attributing to a convenient disease.

"Anne, dear... You are indeed underestimating the danger I warned you against! First I have to hear you tell me you went after Team Flare with that boy, then to have you try to escape me when you're clearly not in the soundest state of nerves... I can even tell you are feverish, just by how crimson your lips shine right now!"

I blushed and, once again, pulled my arm back, walking a step or two on the same direction, away from him – but his efforts, just this once, seemed composed and true enough; and though he succeeded in doing so anyway, his purpose in how much his skin had been brushing against mine seemed less like an attempt to numb me into his cares and more like genuine examination.

"Come" He stretched out a hand, putting himself up again "I am a fool, too, for seeming so busy when you are here, instead of properly showing you to your spot..."

I accepted his hand, and we passed the short, one-meter-and-a-half-long corridor into the living room.

"Sit, dear – but not here!" He invited, and placed his hand on my back to stop me from dropping on the neatly arranged black-cushion sofa. "Closer to the fire!".

And thus he ushered me to the second one, a sofa for two people disposed before the fireplace, sideways. I sat down with his hands holding different points of my arm, as if to keep me from falling.

"And don't look so cross..." he added, somewhat bothered by how my eyes traced his face the entire time "Let us wait until your vital signs are sufficiently stabilized and your breath not as earnest and nervous! Then we can go and check on your friends."

He turned to the kitchen before I could utter an actual consent to those demands, and I was left looking around and examining the room where, so it seemed, all the space spared in the other ones had been invested.

His living room consisted of a spacious square room; The walls followed the same tone as the rest of the house: a deep, bluish grey color. A thick furry rug seemed suitable enough for an improvised bed in front of the fireplace, if needed: It looked so soft I had to stretch my foot and test it. The fire itself burned lowly inside a metal-framed, modern-looking fireplace. The set of sofas was an elegant mix of aluminum frame and square, tight leather cushions, shining in its impeccable pitch-black color. On the wall opposing the fireplace stood a shelf with a small amount of very sober, very cold-looking articles of decoration. It was an elegant room indeed – but not one that transmitted much warmth.

On the very top of the shelf – I noticed in my agitated state of boredom – a set of three small square candles shone regularly, its flickering shadows hardly noticeable on the walls. I rose from my seat and walked to them – I was well aware that Lumiose was currently suffering a power shortage... but were those small scented candles all that effective in producing light, or did they only serve the purpose of decoration?

I eyed them closely – they were very little changed from their original shape, even though they had been already lit as we entered the room. The Professor couldn't have been away for too long, wherever he went for groceries. The soft scent permeated the room... but the smoke, when so close to its source, made me instantly dizzy!

I looked behind my shoulder, through the corridor – Sycamore was struck by a burst of impatience, seizing the two paper bags still full of groceries and shoving them into a cabinet by the corner of the wall. Where did he find an open store anyway? To think I could have found the same one... then I wouldn't have to be here!! He turned quickly, moving in a fast pace to the oven, and I drew back, hiding from his view and sitting on the sofa again.

I sighed as I sat back. How could I stay and rest in front of a comfortable fire, when Calem was there fighting and I had no idea how he was doing? I bit my lower lip in indignation for letting Sycamore convince me of waiting there in the first place!

"It occurred to me..." he began, walking back into the room, carrying a steaming mug "that I should offer you better accommodations if I want you to rest from such a traumatic event, that being my bed..."

Instantly blushing, I felt my muscles tense, especially on the shoulders. Sycamore laughed, taking a seat beside me and placing his arm on the back of the couch as a matter-of-fact effective gesture of surrounding me and keeping me from running as that sudden fright urged me to.

"...but of course you wouldn't bat an eye knowing those around your legs are my very own sheets, would you?" He teased, and then dropped his penetrating eyes to enjoy a heartfelt laugh, releasing me from hiding my reaction "...as if they could come to life and tie you up as some sort of offering to their master, imaginative as you are when it's about slipping from my fingers"

I looked at my own knees, blushing.

"And isn't that the beauty of youth, dear?" He sighed, pulled my chin and offered the mug. I embraced it with careful fingers.

Sycamore sat back and stretched himself near me – the contrast between my stiffness and his carefreeness screaming loudly inside me.

"I have by now trespassed most of the thresholds life had in store for me, of new and unknown experiences. The passionate apprehension you currently feel burden you down is but a pleasant memory to me of those most exciting, tasteful days! I am left a bored man who can only savor fear of the unknown through your scared young eyes..."

I held the cup tighter – I nailed my eyes even harder to my knees, avoiding contact with his snake eyes at all costs, for I felt them heavy on me right now, tracing my reaction, looking for a shivering muscle or a drop of desperate sweat. The problem was... I only now remembered we were at his house.

My eyes betrayed me in looking around, as if searching for a way out by the end of that thought. Sycamore's smile stretched, he sighed and released me from his scrutiny:

"But I must strive not to embarrass you here, mustn't I, Anne? After all, we are alone! Having lost your Holo-caster, among other things, there is no hope of being saved by the bell of some friends tracking you down if I happen to corner you for a rematch..."

He leaned slightly closer – softly sliding through the leather couch and landing on my side, close enough for me to feel the warmth crossing his trousers from his legs onto my legs. He looked my way – his nose, his bony chin too close to my hair - and uttered in a more civilized way:

"Let us turn the subject back to the matter at hand, for there is one new and unknown experience of your young years you are still willing to entertain me with..." and killing the innuendo before I could fully grasp it, he seized my wrist and pulled it closer to his examination "So the rumors were true!" He remarked in a fascinated tone "The guru had some device such as this in his possession. What do they call it again? The Mega ring! Huh..." he laughed lightly to himself. I decided not to take part in this soliloquy, for such was the case. He went on to moving his head from one side to the other enjoying a good laugh "And to think you were the one to obtain it..."

"Yeah!" I spoke up, my blood instantly boiling from something that just sounded wrong in his tone. I also yanked back my arm from his hand, softly touched the ring and lingered on the melancholy it suddenly made me feel "I earned it – even though I got my ass kicked by Team Flare!"

"Now, come – what have I told you about them?!" His arm, which had been stretched on the back of the sofa, now encircled my shoulder gently "They are no trifling matter, I hope you are willing to listen to me now!"

I observed the glowing stone in the center of the bracelet.

"It was supposed to make me stronger... But it turned out to be useless!" I pulled it from my arm and threw it across the room in a fit "Even more so! For some reason, Charizard wouldn't budge in that fight!!"

"Anne, dear..." His hand passed before me, grabbing the side of my cheek between soft warm fingers and pulling my eyes towards his mild smile.

"He didn't obey me!" I pushed his arm away "He did nothing!"

"Dear, I'm sure that has nothing to do with your stone!" he laughed lightly, mocking my naivety "Perhaps your Charizard didn't want to go against my orders? That makes one of you, at least!"

"Why would he?! He is my Pokémon...!"

His face came closer and his eyes grew more intense:

"When the master is strict enough, the subject dares not disobey..."

"Well..." I pulled my face back to claim my personal space, again missing the point of his speech and ignoring the supposed threat. "Who am I to even say anything about it?! Charizard did nothing... And neither did I!!"

"I'm sure that's not the case..."

"Calem told me to run, and I ran... And now I'm here!! How is my performance any different from my Pokémon's? I left Calem on his own!!" Despair struck me.

Sycamore eyed me with surprise, probably calculating the best way to interfere and try to subdue my passion.

"No, dear... you did just what you had to do..."

"The creature is the reflex of the trainer..." I stood, now too tired of his calm: "I have to go back – I have to do it now!!"

"Anne, you can't!" He pleaded, stretching his arm as I crossed the rug. His fingers surrounded my wrist, he pulled gently.

"Let me go!!" I screamed.

"How could I? Look at yourself!"

I yanked my arm again, almost hurting it in the process, and stomped across the living room.

"I must warn your frenzied mood lest it turns idiotically enraged from disappointment: the doors are locked and you will find no way out without my permission!"

I turned. He watched me from his seat, where he had crossed his legs with calmness – but there was some degree of preoccupation in his eyes, which stirred my courage:

"I refuse to ask for it! Open the doors now!!"

"And what of my duties as your tutor, if you should hurt yourself in such a state, out there alone?"

"I don't care about your duties, I care about you giving me a damn key..." I stretched my hand, waiting.

Sycamore instinctively slid a hand into the right pocket in his pants, enclosing that which I demanded instead of reaching for it.

"This is a serious case of kidnapping if you refuse to let me go!" I accused.

"Then I'll be in no more trouble than you out there if I let you, dearest!" He calmly declared, untroubled by my threat. "It is a decent sacrifice!"

"I can't believe you!!! Just give me that!" And here I reached a very furious fit and jumped on him in an attempt to get what he was hiding in his pockets.

In the brief fraction of a second, however, I was lying on the couch, confused and dizzy by how fast he had swung me, and he was on top of me, his hands firmly holding up my arms and rendering me impotent. My breath picked up – my anger was too shocked to show up again.

"Hush now, child!" He firmly demanded in a composed yet husky voice, giving me no room to answer back "You absolutely won't leave this house unless I determine it's safe to do so, and it is you who forces me to say it so bluntly, wronging this sweet pride of yours!" here he smiled, and neither tone nor expression matched his severe words: he sounded calm and composed, as if paying a cute compliment "Now... I believe I have provided you with another one of my secret recipes and you haven't intended to touch it yet. You shall drink it now, naturally and willingly, and it will help you relax from this... most troublesome state!!"

My coward eyes moved sideways, tracing their way to the mug placed next to the rug. Sycamore smiled:

"Yes, precisely - Now, tell me you will do it: tell me you will behave like the good girl you are, if you really expect to get away with this little scene!"

I looked into his eyes for the remainder of the scary second –mild and conceited, even during this blatant coercion.

"I must warn you that in complying, you excuse yourself of the embarrassment of having me medicate you! Who could ever condemn me for protecting a frenzied pup from running to a gang of thugs?! Tell me, dearest... "

My breath increased by the second while his eyes penetrated mine. I moved my lips softly...

"...Is that a yes?" He smiled amiably.

"y-yes..." I yelped against my will.

"Thank you kindly for your understanding!"

He let go of me and sat back by my side, shoving into my hand the mug – the trail of the angry resolution burning bitterly in the back of my tongue, now restrained and frustrated.

"Drink it all up, and you might be dismissed in time to meet with your friends before they take the train in Coumarine!!"

He got up and walked to a door on the back of the living room, leading to the unknown part of his house.

"Could you at least tell them I'm here?!" I grumpily added, albeit unwilling to ask anything from him.

"I already did, honey!" He smiled gently at me, closing his eyes as he opened the door and disappeared from view.

I stared angrily into the mug – My courage had died, but the muscles in my throat were still tense with the commotion. The drink consisted of hot chocolate, and even though it wasn't as hot as it had been when he first handed it to me, the steam itself seemed to have a minor effect on my nerves. The taste was good, too: I took a first unwilling sip, then decided to drink eagerly while he wasn't there to see me enjoy it. It had just the right amount of vanilla, and a distant aftertaste of herb lurked behind every sip. A charming button of chamomile floating on the liquid gave out the peculiar mixture... I had to admit, it tasted fine!

The Professor soon returned and, sitting at the other side of the sofa without a word – which I inwardly appreciated as him deciding to respect my angst and not tease me any further now that he was having it his own way – he diligently placed a bright-white cover on me!

Though the act was sudden, I wasn't entirely surprised: I had the wits to realize he was trying to make me sleep at all costs: the scented candles changing the light of the room into a very mild one, the fireplace and its occasional cracks, the hot drink... I at last felt treated like a child, and I wasn't sure about how much that annoyed me, as long as it kept me safe from a more conventional form of punishment.

He took the cup from my hand and snuggled the cover under my neck, laying me back on the couch. My body was still caught in the induced submission he shocked into my muscles when he swung me and held me there, so it didn't protest regardless of how hurtful it felt in the pride.

When I felt he was leaving, I took the liberty to say:

"I find it surprising how little worried or troubled you are by the notion that I was attacked by Team Flare!!"

He stopped in the center of the room and turned to see me – not a new set of muscles twitched in tension under the subtle accusation.

"I mean... I was attacked by them, like you feared so much! I was surrounded by them – held by them! And yet, you don't seem to..." The words died away, as I felt I was being bold enough already.

"Anne, Dear!" He smiled placidly "Don't you dream for a second I suffer from want of concern..."

This beginning of an answer, and how affectionate and even afflicted it sounded, moved me. His eyes were hard and cold during it, as if I had touched a stung point.

"I am holding back, make no mistake!"

And he turned to go again – but this new face of his fascinated me! How intimately troubled and now eager to escape my notice he seemed!

"Why?!" I had to ask, and it came in an abrupt, judgmental tone.

"Because if I were to do as I wish... I would effectively avert any other such occurrences from reaching you."

"What do you mean?!" I lifted my torso to ask as he, again, turned to go.

"I mean that then I would really be in trouble!" And he winked, thus preventing further questions with a charming, quite intimidating suggestion that I would not like to know my future then.

It was charming and intimidating in a way... that made me scared of him, but made me curious at the same time. I lay back down with my heart racing in a weird lack of rhythm, and my stress and agitation exhausted me into an almost decent sleep.