Chapter Text
Diantha had wanted a relaxing day off. What she got instead was a 7 AM phone call that was getting so high-pitched that only Espurrs could hear it.
"Augustine, calm down or I’m hanging up and turning off my phone," she warned.
On the other end of the line, her dear old friend Augustine let out a deep breath. "He asked me on a date!" he explained, a still faintly hysterical pitch to his voice.
"Darling, that’s a good thing. You wanted him to ask you first because you were scared of him turning you down!"
"Yes, but..." There was an almost audible wince in his voice. "I have a... mild concern."
"...No, you shouldn't go all the way on the first date."
"Putain! Nothing like that! I just... I don't know what to wear."
Rolling her eyes, she sighed yet again. "I'll come visit you at a slightly less ridiculous hour."
Later in the day, when most sane people were actually up and about, Augustine welcomed Diantha up into his apartment and led her to his room.
"I don't even know where to start," he said forlornly, throwing himself on the bed and staring at his closet like it was about to challenge him to a Pokemon battle.
Shaking her head, Diantha approached the closet, pulling it open. "Remember when you came out of here?" she said with a snicker.
"Not funny!"
Still chuckling to herself, she shuffled through the selection of outfits, her eyebrows rising ever higher. "Augustine," she finally sighed, after looking through about as much as she could tolerate.
"So, what do you think? Maybe the denim suit?"
She hoped he was joking. He had to be joking. He stood up and picked up the relevant coat hanger.
He was clearly not joking.
"Lysandre favours fire type Pokémon, doesn’t he?" she growled.
Augustine grinned, blushing a little. "Oui! Why do you ask?"
"Because, I swear to Arceus, your wardrobe should be burnt."
The grin disappeared.
-
"My clothes aren't that bad!" Augustine argued as Diantha led him up the stairs at Boutique Couture, having been unceremoniously kidnapped, forced into a taxi, and driven to the most expensive clothing shop in Kalos.
"Windcheater. Bucket hat. Orange nylon shirt. Crocs. Crocs, Augustine!" she wailed, nearly knocking over a display with her flailing.
"But they're comfortable! And even you have to agree," he pointed out, "They have a certain pop art kind of visual appeal."
Diantha walked away and counted to ten, slowly. She had the feeling that a gruesome murder in the middle of a boutique wouldn't do her any good, and anyway, she wouldn't want to get blood on the clothes.
An assistant approached Diantha, her eyes wide and starstruck. "Ch-champion Diantha!" the teenager stuttered, patting down her blonde hair frantically, "How can I help you today?"
"Him," she replied bluntly, pointing at her walking fashion disaster of a friend. "He sees nothing wrong with wearing Crocs in public. He owns more valour than anyone I've ever met. He wanted to wear a denim suit on a date!"
Perhaps she shouldn't have gone into such graphic detail - the girl looked positively nauseous.
"Augustine!" Diantha shouted suddenly as she caught a glimpse of movement, "Put down that Liepard print shirt, now!"
-
Hours later, they had finally agreed on an outfit. Diantha offered to pay for it, on the condition that she was allowed to donate his denim suit to a charity shop (which had taken some negotiation, as she had originally wanted to set it on fire then throw the ashes into the sea).
And now, he was all dressed up and ready for his date. A deep midnight blue shirt, with fitted grey slacks, a matching vest and shiny black shoes. Diantha shed a proud tear as she left her fashion project to wait for his date.
-
It was evening by the time the tall chiselled demigod that Augustine was thrilled to call his date arrived, giving him a bouquet of lilies and a kiss on each cheek.
"Merci, Lysandre!" he said with a giddy smile, placing them in a nearby vase. Returning his attention to his date, he noted the red-head's curious expression. "Are you quite all right?"
"Oui, you just look..." Lysandre trailed off. "Different."
"Oh?" Augustine chuckled. "Maybe it's my outfit? Do you like it?"
"Of course, just... Why are you wearing it?"
Augustine choked a little. Was Lysandre trying to get him naked this early on in the date? Not that he entirely minded that idea, but he had at least assumed that they would have dinner first...
"Why am I...?" he questioned after a moment, blushing vividly.
"Don't get me wrong, those clothes look positively... enticing on you. But I don't believe they're your clothes."
Augustine gave him an indignant look. "What are you trying to say? Yes, Diantha helped me pick out this outfit. I wanted to look good for you. You know I like you to an almost embarrassing degree. I didn't think you’d like me unless I wore something fashionable!"
Lysandre froze in his tracks.
"Augustine," the tall red-head eventually managed, "How long have we known each other?"
"Years. What's your point?" he huffed, folding his arms.
"And have I ever said that I disliked you because of your clothes?"
"Last week, you called me fashion-blind and said you were going to set my clothes on fire."
Lysandre chuckled. "Okay, forget that last point then." He straightened himself up. "Do you remember what you were wearing when I asked you on this date?"
Augustine had to think for a minute. "I can’t really remember."
"You were wearing a bucket hat, a windcheater, an obscene orange shirt and Crocs."
"You remember what I was wearing?"
"I remember every detail of that moment. It was of great significance to me."
"Oh..." he mumbled, blushing wildly again.
"I asked you on a date while you were dressed like that. Not because of the clothes you were wearing, because of you. You mean a lot to me, in spite of your hideous fashion sense."
Feeling somewhat like a marshmallow someone had left in the oven, Augustine melted, just a little.
"And," Lysandre continued, "If I had asked you on a date based on your outfit, then I would've marched myself straight off to a psychiatrist."