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When Polnareff was told Avdol was alive, the first thing he was gonna do when he woke up was tell him what a liar he was.
He was going to scream and shout and yell and he didn’t care if Avdol would understand or not because he needed to know how much of a hypocritical asshole he was.
For days he waited in his hospital room instead of resting in his. Sitting was painful, though anyone would be in pain with those blasted chairs, who made those plastic abominations anyway? He was almost happy Avdol didn’t have to sit in them, but then he reminded himself he was supposed to be mad at him.
He’d force himself awake, though most of the time he didn’t really need to. Any sudden shift in the room was enough to propel him to his feet. It wasn’t because he was scared, or that each little sound felt like a roaring void whipping past his ear, and it definitely wasn’t because he was worried about Avdol. He couldn’t admit that to himself yet.
Polnareff almost missed the day he awoke. He had just finished visiting Iggy with the others, and as he walked into the hospital room he immediately knew something was different. He didn’t even have to look at the bed to know there was movement.
It happened so naturally, as if he were stirring awake after a full night’s sleep. Avdol shifted his body under all the wires and machinery, and a pained expression formed on his face as he struggled to wake up. Polnareff scrambled to the bed and looked at him intensely. It was happening. It was finally happening. His whole body trembled and his breath quickened, he would’ve fainted right there if it weren’t for sheer spite.
Avdol’s eyes fluttered open, and it was as if the whole world slowed. Polnareff could feel the words forming in his throat, vitriol and bitterness rising like bile. They danced on his tongue, buzzing around like bullets, and as he opened his mouth they felt like fire ready to burn the very man who could control it.
But then Avdol looked at him.
And the words died where he stood.
Fear isn’t a good look on him, Polnareff decides. Wide-eyed and shell-shocked, Avdol struggles against his confusion as he fails to form sentences. It was no longer reminiscent of awakening from a long sleep, and more like being plunged into an incomprehensible nightmare. The man tried to move, tried to sit up- do something, and out of the corner of his vision Polnareff could see what was left of his arms flailing uselessly on the bed.
Polnareff looks at the helplessness in his eyes and feels his anger burrow its way into his body, moving past the ache in his heart, the pit in his stomach, and into the unknown place where all the feelings he didn’t know how to feel brewed and boiled. What came up instead was the familiar feeling of guilt. It shot up like an arrow and coursed through his veins, threatening to prickle through his eyes and leak out like blood on a sandy floor. But he stops himself, he wills himself not to let it out.
And calls for a nurse instead.
"Avdol. It’s okay, it's okay."
He takes his face in his hand, and Avdol’s eyes slowly meet his. Avdol’s mouth starts to move, but he can barely mutter the sound of a P before a pained gasp hitches his throat. Polnareff shushes him, and presses his forehead against his.
They stay like that for a moment, before a few nurses come barging in and shoo him away. As Polnareff shrinks to the corner of the room he thinks to himself.
Anger can wait.
So he does.
He waits for the next day, when Avdol has his wits about him. Polnareff marches in the room after building up his fury for the entire night, but the moment that familiar, calming baritone fills his ears it dissipates like before. He never thought he'd hear Avdol’s voice again.
A week goes by, and Polnareff struggles to find that emotion again. But he made a promise to himself and feels compelled to keep it, so he feigns rage and waltzes in. He is met with a doctor, and Avdol wielding two metal arms.
"Polnareff, I was just about to ask for you. I recall you and Kakyoin came up with a handshake a while back. Care to try it out with these?"
He expects the metal to be cool against his pale skin, but it is surprisingly warm. The arms aren't Avdol’s, but his warmth seems to shine through, just like in everything he does. He didn’t realize how much he had missed it.
A month goes by and they are all discharged from the hospital. At this point Polnareff isn’t even mad anymore, he’s just confused. Confused and in need of closure. He thought he would get it when Avdol sought him out.
"Get Iggy and a car. I believe I owe you something."
Polnareff’s heart is stuck in his throat the entire drive there. Words float around his head, poking and prodding at him as he struggles to pair the right ones together. When he gets as close as he can to forming a coherent sentence, Avdol tells him to stop the car. He looks at him with those amber eyes, and mischievously taps at the window, gesturing for Polnareff to look out. What meets his eyes is a fancy-looking building, donning a sign written in a language he doesn’t understand.
" ... Avdol. I still can’t read Arabic."
"I taught you the word “restaurant”, did I not?"
Polnareff takes another look, and sure enough...
Avdol was taking him to dinner. Just like he had promised.
And as the realization dawns on him, the barely-held-together words Polnareff had formed in his head quickly fizzle out, and mesh together with a thousand new ones. Closure would have to wait.
--
They were all leaving now. Bundled up at the airport they all say their goodbyes, shedding tears, crushing each other with hugs, and shouting out loving insults. Mr. Joestar, Kakyoin, and Jotaro go on their way, and Polnareff is left waiting for his flight along with Avdol and Iggy.
A moment passes before anything is said.
"Well. That certainly was a journey." Avdol muses.
A slight smirk tugs at Polnareff's lips.
"That’s one way of putting it. Although, I could think of at least ten better ways to describe it."
"What’s one of them?"
"A pain in the ass."
Avdol fails to stifle a laugh. It rings out loud and clear, demanding attention it didn’t ask for.
"Per usual, your way with words never ceases to amaze me."
"What can I say Avdol? I’m a man of class, it’s in my nature!"
Their giggles fill the airport and ring out across the halls, but they’re eventually left standing there with nothing to say. A feeling of unease begins to build in Polnareff’s chest, thoughts bouncing and buzzing across his mind. Conversation starters pop in and check out as he scrutinizes his usual topics, only thinking of what he ought to say and how he should say it.
When did this become so hard for him?
Avdol ends up breaking the silence.
"It’s incredibly ironic, you know. Despite your big mouth, it feels like I’m the one always doing the talking."
Polnareff looks at him incredulously.
"What are you talking about?? Do you know how much I’ve blabbed on since you woke up? Hell- since you’ve met me? You’re the one always sitting there with that smug smile on your face."
Avdol smiles with the exact one Polnareff’s talking about, letting a chuckle rumble in his throat.
"That’s what stumps me about you Polnareff. No matter how many words stumble and fall out of your mouth, you never seem to say the right thing with them."
Polnareff stops in his tracks, his breath hitching and his mouth hanging open uselessly. He frantically cycles through all the responses- any response he could give him, but the only thing he can think about is the panicked feeling spreading throughout his chest.
His voice waivers helplessly.
"I…"
Calling all passengers for France International Airlines. Flight 92 to Paris. Please proceed to Gate 18.
Avdol turns to face him, and flashes him a knowing smile.
"I’ve said everything I need to say to you, at least for now. But you on the other hand…"
He pauses. Then the words come out naturally.
"Whatever’s been on your mind, now would be the perfect time to tell me."
Polnareff gawks at him amidst the crowds of people and rows of chairs. Sunlight shoots through the glass windows and bathes Avdol in a radiant light, as if he were attracting all the warmth the world had to offer. For a moment, the emotions that had been stirring in Polnareff rise to the surface and bundle up in his throat. They writhe and scream like vicious animals, their cries echoing throughout his being like a roaring flame. He’s convinced his head would’ve burst on the spot if it weren’t for the glowing man standing in front of him.
This was his last chance. His last chance at anger, his last chance at confusion, his last chance at closure. He begs himself to do what he always does, speak without a second thought and deal with the consequences later. Scream. Shout. Yell. Do something. Tears nearly well up in his eyes as he tries to force the words out.
But then Avdol looks at him. He looks at him with those fucking amber eyes of his.
And Polnareff doesn’t say anything at all.