He had wanted to contact Michel for so long– almost a full four years now. But Cyril knew if he did, he’d only be putting them in danger. He knew that excuse clearly wouldn’t fly with Michel, they could very obviously handle themselves. However, Cyril knew angry masses of Grindelwald supporters were still out there. They knew he got away, and Cyril would kick himself if they ever got a hold of Michel. Cyril couldn’t imagine them going through all the torture and agony he did. Cyril was still recovering from it all, it was mostly mentally now. He couldn’t sleep at night without getting nightmares, but maybe having Michel around again could quell them for just a little while.
When he got the call about the need for his mediating skills, Cyril scoffed and almost hang up. But then they mentioned Michel and how they were in the hospital, and Cyril apparated on the spot to the hospital. He angrily pushed through the doors, some people staring at him in disbelief– he had been thought dead for the last four years. Cyril burst into Michel’s hospital room, locking it behind him because he knew they’d need the privacy as they dealt with this. “You look like an angel if I’ve ever seen one.” Cyril’s voice was calm, though his face was still bright red from making his way through the maze that was the hospital. “Afraid we’re not in heaven though.” He spoke softly, sitting at the edge of Michel’s bed.
Michel had been miserable after hearing news of Cyril’s death. It had haunted them, unable to get sounds of Cyril screaming or images of him hurt out of their head. They didn’t know what had happened to Cyril, which perhaps had been the worst part of it all, just knowing that he was dead and there was nothing to be done about it. It had been enough to send Michel into a deep depression for months, to make them grieve for years. Now, they had finally gotten to a point where thinking of Cyril didn’t hurt, where they could mention his name without feeling tears prick at their eyes. It was still enough to make Michel’s heart ache every time they thought about what they had with him, the pain of what could have been ripped from their hands.
So, when they saw Cyril, still hazy from the medications that the healers had given them, they thought it was a dream. And oh, what a lovely dream it was. They sluggishly raised a hand to touch Cyril’s face, a dreamy smile on their face. “Oh, mon cheri,” they rasped softly, a thumb brushing against Cyril’s cheekbone. “You’re the angel here,” they whispered. They blinked a few times, expecting, as had been normal in the first weeks after Cyril’s death, for the mirage to disappear, but he didn’t. “Wait. Tu es ici? Tu es ici?” Michel started to sit up in bed, but their head spun, and they dropped back onto the pillows.
