Our Unassuming Guest

"What are you doing here?" I barked between my teeth, making an effort to breathe normally.

Sycamore watched me with cynical eyes and a cold smile, his hand still stretched ahead, in a sort of provocation to the aversion I felt there: my anger didn't surprise or bruise him, but rather teased him into further daring, as if he expected all along that I would find out about what he did to Calem, and was almost looking forward to dealing with my reaction.

"Why, what a harsh welcome!" He confidently smiled into my eyes "Gives me the impression that I am but a nuisance in your house. Should I..." he delayed, now waiting for the outcome he had planned on... and there it was: my mother, who had hovered towards the sink, returned immediately with a sharp reprimand:

"Anne! What manners are those?!! And here I was talking about what a sweet person you are for the past hour... Shake hands with the man!!" She grabbed my wrist to offer him my hand, as if I were still a child subject to her education... but I wrung it away before his fingers could touch me, fearing it as if it was a dreaded snake.

"Dear God!! What has gotten into you?!" She was baffled. Sycamore's eyes wouldn't escape mine: he was proving his point in how he could influence my relationship with my mother, too; challenging me to further misbehaving and threatening to dig deeper.

"You look like sworn enemies from here!!" Mother desperately reproached, harshly pulling me by the shoulder out of the staring contest the two of us invested in. "Is that what I taught you about respect?!"

I suppose Sycamore read in my eyes how much my rage would go if he let my mother go on with scolding me, for he closed his eyes and smiled a more natural, less devious smile and, after a deep breath of amusement, added:

"In her defense, we have parted in a rather cross way... Isn't that right, Miss Anne, dear? It is justifiable that she doesn't want to shake hands. I have come to apologize, among other things... so what do you say, will we be friends again?!

Somehow, the more feelings he conveyed, the more he resembled a demon in my eyes! For my mother, though, who was crumbling with distress over how poorly a guest was being treated, I acquiesced...

"Fine!" was my reply "But I'm not going anywhere!" I passed straight by him into the kitchen, shoving his hand to the side rather than taking it.

"...before dinner, that's what she means!" my mother laughed, nervously trying to neutralize my harshness.

"Is that so?!" Sycamore smiled to her, then turned himself back to me "Are you so much hungry, Miss Anne? I can take you somewhere on our way back to Lumiose...!"

"Heavens, no! And spoil my dinner plans?!" Mom intervened "And, after all... Anne will cook tonight!"

"Will she now?!" his eyes followed me, glowing with entertainment.

"Yes, it will be her first time... You wouldn't want to lose it, would you, Mr. Sycamore?"

"Please, call me Augustine..." His charm poured out to her, which made me roll my eyes in annoyance "...And yes!..."

"What?!!" I protested.

"...I will gladly stay!" he added.

"Mom!!"

"Anne, your friend came from very far to see you, I will not tolerate this type of behavior! Now, Mr- I mean, Augustine..." she pronounced his name as if flowers came out of her mouth during it "...please sit down!"

With an extremely polite nod, he seated, resting his hand on his heart while bowing down and throwing the tail of his coat back with the other hand, emulating some old chivalry gesture. I refrained from producing a disgust noise...

"I look forward to tasting whatever your daughter cooks, madam!"

"In that case, I am not cooking!!" I alerted from the back of the kitchen, where I stood with my arms angrily crossed.

"Ah, there it is – the bird is anxious to leave its nest! Shall I help you with the packing, Miss Anne?! If we leave this instant, we can catch the finest restaurants in Lumiose at their prime!" he boasted, cynically confident that he would get me to return.

"I said I'm not..." I started.

"...going to miss this opportunity to make amends for her poor behavior. Isn't that right, Anne?!!" Mom walked to me and squeezed my shoulders, pulling me to the sink where she had laid the bag of groceries. "You will cook tonight, just like we planned..." she commanded, invoking all motherly authority she had never used before.

"Delightful either way!" Sycamore sighed defeat "I will, however, hold my right to give constructive advice here and there... Otherwise, how could I call myself a professor? And one that loves cooking, on top of that!".

"You cook?!" My mother's eyes threatened to jump out of their orbits "My... Geesh, Anne never told me that!" And she turned her attention back to me, pulling the contents out of the bag.

"Here darling: You will cut the meat while I peel the vegetables!"

She placed a knife in my hand, and dropped the disgusting raw piece before me, falling with a flat thud. I sighed, looking at the thing and deciding what to do with it. My mother was angry with me now, so there would be little mercy left for landing a helping hand.

"So you were never married again, Miss Grace?!" Sycamore started small talk.

My mother looked at me with her jaw half-open, like an excited teenager, moving her lips as to say 'miss!', then looked back at him in time to see me roll my eyes in disgust:

"Oh no, I decided to dedicate myself entirely to the races... And to raising Anne here..."

"I see!"

"Why, has she told you that? I did tell her to talk about me... I mean, to explain our family dynamics and all..." her voice changed tones radically as she balanced what she said only after saying it.

"Pardon me, but I find Miss Anne not to be much of the talking type..."

I frowned, now finding it more interesting to stab the large piece of meat in front of me than struggling to cut it into slices.

"Oh, you think so?!" Mom's eyes were furious on me again – she liked to nourish the illusion I would ever be willing to help her get a boyfriend, regardless of how that never happened before.

"And... and what about you... Mr... Augustine..." mom babbled. Here it came!! "Are you..." she stopped to enjoy a smile, then continued "Ar-

"Could you excuse-me for a second?" He stood, fortunately interrupting her "You see, I cannot bring myself to be sat here while the two of you work. I would be more than thrilled if you allowed me to offer my help..."

"Why..." She smiled, completely baffled "of course! How could I deny it when you ask with so much passion?!" she turned back to her vegetables. "I suppose that is one habit a woman is obliged to support, even if it forces her to accept giving the guest so much trouble!"

"Oh, it is no trouble at all, but, as I said, a pleasure! So, what do I do?" Sycamore insisted, stopping beside her and looking at the ingredients laid out on the counter.

"I would rather you helped Anne, Mr... Augustine." Mom replied, growing a little stiff in the shoulders due to his proximity "First, because she is clearly struggling with that meat, and second because she is..." she stopped to giggle. I eyed her immediately, screaming a threat with my expression, afraid of what she was going to say.

"She is...?!" Sycamore leaned closer, stepping between the two of us and resting his hand on the cabinet so I couldn't see over his shoulder – cutting off my influence and demanding my mother go on.

"She is quite the jealous daughter, actually! You know, like the ones we see in the movies? I believe she would frown into a volcano if you stood too close!"

There it was! I grimaced and squeezed the knife in my hand, falling deeper inside my shoulders with embarrassment. Sycamore laughed lightly...

"I have divorced friends as well, but none of them know the feeling!! Anne really is something else at that!" She talked on with enthusiasm.

"Jealous?!!" Sycamore's voice sounded, jumping on the opportunity, completely surprised "Miss Anne?! I'm sorry, we must be talking about a different person..."

"No, she is! You should have seen her all grumpy when I opened that letter from you, just because I made a silly joke about your handwriting being... lovely! Which it was, by the way!"

I punched the cabinet with impatience.

"You don't say!" He turned his head to look at me with a teasing smile "I should be wary of that knife, then..." and, pulling back his hand from the said threat, he walked to the other side of my mother to carry on with the gossip "But who could have guessed?"

"Oh yes, you should have seen her..." here my mother started smiling like any proud parent boasting about their offspring "So possessive over the things she loves, ever since she was a little baby!"

"With all due respect, the miss Anne I know is a very serious, very stern young lady!" Sycamore's voice gave away how much he was enjoying the situation: usurping my mother's naivety and compromising me through sarcasm alone! "One that doesn't know better could even call her disaffectionate..."

"Disaffectionate? My Annie?!" she laughed "Oh no, she's a darling! She is sentimental at times, yes... but the more upset you can make her, the more it means she cares for you! People should be afraid of her indifference, that is the only real chance of disaffection..."

"MOM!!" I protested, much too uncomfortable... but the two of them were decided on ignoring me.

"Huh! I must be doing something wrong, then?!"

"Oh, not at all!" My mother laughed "I mean, though she never talked of you before, you must be special in her heart, otherwise she wouldn't be so angry over something as trivial as... what did you say you two fought about again?!" she pursued with all the innocence a mother can have in thinking her child is nothing but a child in everyone's eyes.

"Oh..." Sycamore was bewildered for a second, probably afraid I would call his lie if he repeated it in my presence, and went on to say "...something trivial indeed!"

"Yes, as I suspected! But that which you've seen today is not Anne at all... My girl is a bleeding heart!"

I stopped what I was doing to face them with all my growing rage, in hopes Sycamore would realize he was taking the jest too far.

"Oh?" Sycamore peeped into her work "Excuse-me madam, may I?!" He interrupted her, now looking her in the eye waiting for an opening.

She stopped laughing immediately and gasped. His smile stretched, and he placed his hands before her, opening the faucet.

"You see..." his face was very close to hers "if you rinse it first, it will make peeling it all the easier; and the peels won't stick to your hands quite so..."

With his two hands, then, he encircled her hands, slowly pulling it down to transfer what she had been holding to his. I could hear her sigh from where I was standing, her eyes glued to his face. Sycamore stretched himself a little further ahead and rinsed the vegetables under the flowing water, then his eyes daringly spotted mine and smiled maliciously.

I looked away instantly, my face burning up with anger – anger because he was teasing me, and because he saw me carefully measuring what he was doing with a fuming glare. Not only it was working, I had also allowed him to see it!

"Excuse-me!" And placing the vegetables back into her hand, he walked back to the table, removed his black coat, hanging it on the chair, and walked towards me.

I moved sideways, giving him space on the board for cutting meat so he didn't have to touch or talk to me to earn it. He stood there for a second or two, slowly rolling up his sleeves, displaying his arms and the very thin, though numerous dark hairs covering it. When he stopped, I looked away and cleared my throat, concealing it with a meaningless comment:

"Y-you cut from the right and I'll do it from the left..."

"And we meet in the middle?" He smiled into my eyes. I blushed.

"W...whatever!"

He placed his open palm softly on the meat and, exerting a firm grip on the knife, started cutting it like butter into thin slices that slowly fell one on top of the other. In no time he had finished cutting his half, and I, who had been too distracted watching him do it, was left with nothing but holes I had stabbed into the thing to alleviate my anger earlier on.

I looked at the meat, clumsily holding the knife, then looked back at Sycamore's hand and tried to emulate his movement. Of course, none of this escaped his keen examination, and he soon took action:

"Here here, let me help you..."

"Please do, before that girl cuts an arm off!" My mother mocked.

"I can see how that's possible..." he murmured, taking the knife from my hand.

I moved a step back to let him assume it.

"However..." he started, moving behind me and pushing me by the shoulder back to the board "What kind of professor would I be, if I lost the opportunity of teaching you by doing it for you?" And, pushing me until my belly touched the cabinet, he placed himself behind me, his head bowing down on my shoulder to look at me, and his two hands resting on my wrists. Breathing got heavier and my heart started pounding – it didn't help the fact that I pressured myself not to react an inch under his touch. He chuckled into my ear, feeling the resolution in my tensed muscles and brushing his thumb against my closed fists to retard it.

"Well put, professor!" Mom laughed and looked at us... She examined how close the professor was, and then looked away a little embarrassed, probably now too confused over instant adoration and protective instincts.

I couldn't even bring myself to look her back pleading 'help' with my eyes – my face started burning with all the blood in my body flowing there, and with how little logically my brain was functioning, moved by crude adrenaline itself. If she saw my face, she would most certainly guess the unbelievable crush I had on Sycamore... and that could be majorly troublesome!

He rejoiced in that awareness, and with his face effectively hidden behind mine as he arched forward on top of me, he talked with his lips touching my ears and his nose inside my hair. His hands moved my wrists until my limp fingers touched the knife.

"Anne, dear... you will need a much firmer grip than that if you want to cut it! Is something the matter?" He teased. His hot breath against my ear made me shiver and shut my eyes tight... it was like a fatal blow! He laughed with sealed lips.

"For a cleaner cut, don't hold the handle so close to the blade..." the hand that held my wrist remained there, but his other arm reached out from the left, brushing lightly against my bosom. I took a hasty step back automatically, and felt his entire body pressed against me from behind, which made things worse! He only smiled and went on, pushing my hand back on the handle of the knife, then returning to the initial position.

"Now you want to cut it with a single broad movement, and not like a saw, as you were doing in your previous attempt!" He entwined his fingers with mine and held my palm against the meat, like he had done earlier. He moved my right arm, dictating the pressure and speed... with ease, the slices started stacking up. "There... you see? Thus the fibers are preserved, and the softness of the meat will be guaranteed after preparing..."

My mother watched us from the side, her jaw dropping a little – probably driven by imagining herself in my place, or probably by the commotion of not knowing how to judge that scene: The sweet, caring Professor Sycamore, or a random stranger too close to her too young daughter? The pressure was too much for her eventually:

"I... I think I'll go get changed!". She left the peeled vegetables in the sink for me to take care of, and Sycamore let out a quite pleased laugh, as if he had done everything on purpose.

Now, with the two of us alone in the room, he rested his chin on the top of my head and let out a tranquil sigh. One more steak, and his hands let go of my writs, urging me to carry on by myself, and he supported them against my arms, pulling my back closer against his chest. It felt like a very warm, very comforting embrace... I let myself enjoy it for once, at least until I had finished cutting... I had the rare advantage of him not being able to read the feelings in my face where he was standing, and it didn't seem too harmful to let them take me away just that one time. His hands against my skin, his body surrounding mine felt like heaven for a few seconds...

...then my eyes stung. I remembered it was because of that feeling that I was hurt in the first place. I walked away from his arms.

"I would love to know what you left for... And why I can't call you!" he walked after me.

"I lost my holo-sync, remember?!" I avoided his eyes, stopping at the sink and putting the vegetables inside a pan.

"I thought I sent a brand new one to your hotel the next morning..." he pursued.

I left that hotel on the same night, though very late. I never received it.

"Well..." I started, but then remembered he didn't deserve any sort of explanation in the first place "...maybe it never came! Like something else you were supposed to send!"

As I suspected, his eyes expressed no surprise, even though visibly fully grasping the concealed message: he only smiled calmly.

My mother climbing down the stairs with heavy feet prevented him from saying anything in the form of a defense, not that he ever expressed the will to present one. She had changed into a better-looking set of clothes and, looking closely, it seems she even put on some make up! All tidy and perfumed, and probably having convinced herself he was only a very caring man indeed, she sat at the table and invited Sycamore to accompany her in a drink to "open his appetite". That could only mean dinner was indeed under my charge from there on...