Work Text:
Crying.
Polnareff felt like crying staring down at the body that clung to life on the hospital bed. He'd rubbed his eyes raw, yet that stinging feeling never left. Like the crash of waves against the shore, or the ring of something metallic against your ear.
Avdol was alive, yes, but barely so. The beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in the sterile room —only sign of the fellow stand user having any chances of survival. The hollow chamber within his heart making itself known to Polnareff. One deft swallow later, the silver haired reluctantly slumped into the seat beside the hospital bed. Looking at his own hands made him sick. Cruel reminders of what his dear friend suffered due to some sick twist in fate's decision.
The sun was setting, albeit quite slow this particular evening. Hues of red and deep orange mingling with pinks and purples that melted into indigo. Staring at the scene reminded him if Magician's Red's flames, flowing in sync with their user like water —no matter how that juxtaposes itself.
After taking a deep breath, Polnareff managed to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous sight. He needed sleep, as much as he tried to convince himself that he didn't. Running on three hours of sleep and a coffee wasn't ideal for the Frenchman, but he would endure it for Avdol {looking back on things, he seems to do a lot when it comes to him}. For now he'll watch over the Egyptian, if he doesn't sleep that is.