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Chapter Text

It was another beautiful day in Alola: cloudless, breezy, and a perfect temperature of eighty five degrees on the dot. Lillie fought back tears in the dressing room of Ocean Lace boutique. She was in the middle of trying on gowns for the upcoming annual Alola Debutante Ball under the critical eye of her mother, Lusamine, who had actually taken time off of work to hand-select her daughter’s wardrobe.

Lusamine sat perched in a velvet armchair in the viewing room, long, lithe legs crossed as she sipped on a glass of rosé and typed away at a paper-thin laptop of ultra-modern design. She may have left Aether Paradise for the day, but she brought work with her, and refused to take her attention away from her work email for more than two seconds at a time. The routine was this: Lillie would come out of the fitting room in a dress and Lusamine would critique it (or, more accurately, would critique Lillie wearing it), then turn back to her computer when Lillie returned to the fitting room to get changed again. 

Lillie wanted it to stop, but there was no way for her to escape her mother’s absolute control of the proceedings. She thought about climbing out the window in the fitting room and running away down the beach; but even if she had the nerve, or the strength, or the resolve to do so (which she didn’t)—she knew she wouldn’t get far before being captured and returned to her prison.

“What about this one, Mother?” asked Lillie, coming out of the dressing room in an ivory gown with a lace collar that she felt was choking her.

Lusamine peered over the screen.

“Turn around,” she said.

Lillie turned, and caught a glimpse of her face in the fanned boutique mirrors, wondering if her mother would notice the glassiness of her eyes.

“I don’t like the back,” said Lusamine, frowning deeply. “The zipper is too noticeable, and it won’t lay flat. You don’t fit anything right. Try on another.”

Though she was not bold, Lillie was exhausted.

“I’m tired of trying on dresses, Mother,” said Lillie, wishing she could just disappear. “You didn’t like any of the twenty gowns I must have tried already?”

“Obviously I didn’t, Lillie, or we wouldn’t still be here. I also need to pick your dress for the White Party after this, too.”

Lillie’s heart sank.

“I… I was hoping I could pick my own dress for the White Party,” said Lillie in a weak voice.

Lusamine practically rolled her eyes, throwing back the rest of the sparkling pink wine.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lillie. You can try on a few things if you’d like, sure, if that will satisfy you; but I have to approve of the final choice. And I need to get back to work, so you shouldn’t waste too much time—Natalie?” Lusamine called the sales girl over and asked for a top up on her rosé. “Well, go on, Lillie. We don’t have all day. Next dress.”

Lillie sighed, and went back into the dressing room. She had absolutely no desire to be presented at the Alola Debutante Ball, but her mother was adamant that she participate; and, worse, that she be escorted on the occasion by a young gentleman named Victor Ferro. Victor was the son of the CEO of Silph Co., an organization that was part of a massive conglomerate based out of Kanto and the leading Pokémon technology company in the world. Lillie knew from the twice a month dinners (read: meetings for scolding and behavioral correction) with her mother that Lusamine had been spending much of her time with the Ferro family lately.

Lillie had only met Victor briefly once before at a dinner party, and she couldn’t say that she was interested in ever spending more time with him than that. If memory served her correctly, he was a boorish bore despite his well-to-do upbringing; and while he knew how to mask his arrogant behavior with genteel charm, he was not at all pleasant to be around.

Still, as instructed, she put on another gown—this one a pale pink with off-the-shoulder sleeves. As much as she wasn’t interested in being a Debutante, Lillie supposed, after all the hassle thus far, that she liked this dress best of all out of the many she had tried on.

“I like this one, Mother,” said Lillie, coming out of the fitting room with high hopes that this would be the final look.

“Oh my, that’s the worst one I’ve seen you in,” quipped Lusamine, making a disgusted face. “Take it off. What is Hobbes feeding you lately? That looks all wrong on your body. Evidently, I have to email him a diet plan for you—but, really, there just isn’t time with all the work I have to do.”

Lillie obeyed, her heart deflated as she looked at herself in the dressing room mirror, which was lit from above with that devastating kind of fluorescent light that made you feel uncertain of whether or not you even knew what you really looked like. The dress—happier in its gentle rose hue as opposed to all of the stifling white and ivory of the others—was really pretty to her, and she didn’t think at first glance that she looked overweight in it; but the cool light and the ceiling-high mirror being masters of illusions, Lillie could no longer be sure.

Sighing, she slipped out of the pink dress and grabbed the next one, but not before staring at her naked body in the mirror once and twice again, pinching at her stomach.

“Lillie? Hurry up, sweetie! We’re running out of time. Natalie, will you bring that one—the vintage one from the website? That might look decent on her,” Lusamine rambled from the viewing room on the other side of the curtain.

Despite the proclaimed need to rush, this went on for another half an hour. Lusamine ordered the shopgirl around and critiqued Lillie’s figure while tossing back glasses of wine that seemed enchanted so as never to be empty.

Oof, that color on you; it just washes you out.

You simply don’t have the chest for that one. My, how funny. Maybe they’ll grow more.

My little baby! This one’s almost pretty, but no; it isn’t quite right. You’re so difficult to dress, but we’ll get there.

Finally, Lusamine found something she liked, and Lillie couldn’t stand it: a horrible thing with a heavily beaded bodice that Lillie imagined could’ve been pulled out of a trunk of family heirlooms—a tacky wedding dress that may have been trendy so many years ago, but was now a sad remnant of the past.

Lillie sighed as she looked at herself in the fanned mirrors once again, turning this way and that, trying to feel like what she imagined a beautiful, confident Debutante of sixteen years old should feel like—whatever that was. Pleased with herself, she supposed she should feel; grown up like the woman society was telling her she was finally old enough to be. Unnervingly, she simply felt like she didn’t know who she was when she looked deep into the mirror.

“Here, Lillie,” said Lusamine, strutting over and shoving a handful of frilly lace garments into her daughter’s hands. “Now that we’re all set with your look for the ball, let’s find something for the White Party. You’ll be wanting to look your best since Victor will be there.”

“But, Mother… I thought you said I could look around and pick out a dress myself?” Lillie dared to ask.

Lusamine laughed.

“If we had time, Lillie, but you’ve wasted it all. I’ve got to get back to work soon,” said Lusamine, and her Pokétch phone started ringing then, so she spun away, answering the call.

Lillie bit her lip and carried the dresses into the fitting room, dropping them unceremoniously onto the armchair and watching as two silent tears fell onto the various white fabrics. The whole point of Debutante balls was to announce young women to society; so, why, if she was her own woman now, was her mother still picking out all of her clothes? Her mother had always treated her like a little doll, and though Lillie knew it, she was just about as helpless to respond as would that limp plastic replica of a girl.

“What do you think of this one, Mother?” asked Lillie, unable to keep exasperation out of her voice as she came out of the dressing room in a cocktail dress that positively bursted with white tulle and tied with a huge bow at her lower back. Lillie’s opinion was that it was terribly juvenile, like something she would’ve worn when she was ten years old—but Lillie’s opinion did not matter.

“Raphael? I’ve got to call you back,” said Lusamine to the man on the other end of the line—that imposing, important man who was the father of Lillie’s designated escort. “We’re still on for dinner tonight; absolutely. I will see you later.”

Lusamine studied Lillie, beaming.

“I think this is just precious,” she said, finishing her third, or fourth, or fifth glass of wine. “My little baby. Victor will simply adore you in this.”

Lillie stared at herself in the giant mirrors, disgusted.

“Natalie, don’t you love this?” Lusamine asked the stylist, who replied with a high-pitch squealing of excitement that Lillie knew was faked in order to upsell her mother on the dress; she had noticed when struggling to get it on that it concealed an exorbitant price tag.

“I hate it, Mother,” said Lillie honestly.

It was a mistake.

“We just got a new shipment of party dresses I can bring out, if you’d like,” said Natalie, not missing a beat. “One of my favorite designers sent us a few pieces from his collection, and they’re so super fresh—like, cutting edge.”

Lusamine put her hand out to stop the girl, and addressed Lillie venomously, “What is wrong with it, dear?”

Lillie turned away from the mirrors to face her mother.

“Everything!” she cried; she cried because there was only so much a person could take. “It looks like what you used to dress me in when I was a baby. I’m sixteen years old now. I should be able to pick out my own dress.”

“I-I’ll go look through the new shipment,” said Natalie, excusing herself from the scene. She had seen plenty of mothers and daughters arguing in her time running the boutique—but if she were honest with herself, Lusamine was a little more frightening than her other clients, and she would rather not be involved.

“Lillie,” spat Lusamine, and it was almost a growl. “How dare you embarrass me like this here?”

“I’m just trying to have an honest conversation with you, Mother,” said Lillie, unable to conceal her true feelings anymore. “You’re treating me like a child. You’ve also been saying so many hurtful things about my body since we got here. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Lusamine shut her eyes for a moment, as though she simply couldn’t handle the sound of Lillie’s voice.

“Why you always think everything is all about how you feel is beyond me,” said Lusamine, angrily gathering up her pocket book. “Put on your clothes and gather up the dresses we’ve selected—it’s time to go.”

“But Mother—"

“Right now,” barked Lusamine over her shoulder as she headed to the counter to talk with the cashiers.

Lillie sighed heavily, going back into the dressing room to put her regular clothes on. She shook silently, all worked up from the altercation with her mother that had her now terrified half to death. Lusamine wasn’t happy, and Lillie knew she was in trouble.

A small voice deep down told her that it was unfair; that her mother was mistreating her; but the timid voice was drowned out by a childlike one that wailed at the thought of her mother being upset with her.

Anxiety and self doubt built up in Lillie’s chest, telling her that she had, indeed, spoken out of line. She grabbed the dresses she hated and made her way to the cash register, noticing that her mother wouldn’t even look at her as she paid for the garments and arranged for them to be delivered to the manor.

Lusamine strutted out of the boutique, Lillie following her, sulking; she could feel the anger radiating off her mother, and she knew she was in for a nasty scolding when they got home.

Mother and daughter got into their private limo, Lillie holding back tears.

“How dare you speak to me like that in there, in front of those girls,” said Lusamine, so angry she was unable to wait until they got back to the Aether Manor before laying into her daughter. There was a wild look in her eyes that spooked Lillie as might a wild Pokémon in the dead of night. “And complaining so loudly that you were tired of trying things on. I took time off of work to help you pick out dresses for these special events and you are this ungrateful!”

“Mother, I don’t even want to go to the ball! You are the one who—" Lillie started, but she was silenced by the back of Lusamine’s hand striking her across the face. 

The blow was harsh, decisive, and wicked. Lillie cried out in pain, her cheek burning.

“I’ve heard enough from you, Lillie,” said Lusamine afterward, looking pointedly out the window and away from her daughter. “You behave like this and I still bought you the dresses, anyway; shows what a pushover I am. I try so hard to be a good mother. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The blow had struck Lillie speechless. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it had been years now since her mother had last hit her; and never had she been hit this hard. Tears bled out of the corners of her eyes, though she swore to herself she wouldn’t make a sound; silently, they rolled down her cheeks the whole ride back to their home. Lillie forced herself to stare straight ahead, refusing to look at Lusamine.

She was successful for most of the ride, but as Lillie stepped out of the car into the driveway she let out a loud sob, and ran to the front door of the great big house to get away from her mother.

“Lillie, there’s no reason for you to cry—" began Lusamine, sighing as she got out of the limo.

Lillie heard her, but still she hurried to the door, practically knocking Hobbes over as she entered the house.

Lusamine sighed again, walking carefully into the manor herself. She refused to chase after her daughter. If Lillie didn’t want to be punished, then she should just behave like a good child was supposed to.

Lillie ran to her room, slamming the door and letting herself go into full-out bawling—her cheek on fire. She looked in her vanity mirror and saw a horrible red mark appearing on her cheekbone, realizing it would bruise. Then she threw herself onto her bed, crying pitifully.

The young lady sobbed, frantic thoughts racing through her mind. How could her mother do this to her? How could she? How could she?

Did she deserve this for the way she had acted?

Lillie didn’t want to be in the manor—at home—any longer. She didn’t feel safe; it was the opposite, with fear and panic coursing through her body. But where could she go? She thought about it for a moment, wondering who could possibly help her.

Her mind settled on one option; the only option. The one person who might shelter her.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Gladion hated visiting Po Town. The Team Skull kids who hung around here were the worst of the worst—belligerently annoying, always asking him for cigarettes and drugs and money, and they smelled like garbage. Po Town itself was dirty, trash in the streets and houses boarded up and covered in graffiti all along the shabby streets. Only the poorest in Alola lived here alongside Team Skull, and Gladion generally found the whole place sad.

There were a few beautiful moments, he supposed as he walked along, passing by a spiky-haired kid spray painting a mural on the side of an abandoned brick building. Gladion hated to give the grunts any credit, but the painting was surprisingly well-done: an underwater scene filled with impressively rendered Pokémon and undersea plant life. Rap music blared from a boombox beside the grunt who also admired his handiwork. Gladion found himself wondering what had happened in this young man’s life that he was wasting his time with Team Skull.

Could say the same thing about me, he thought despairingly.

He had been wondering that a lot lately, and had ultimately come to the conclusion that life was just fucking pointless—and it didn’t matter what he did, or didn’t do—so he might as well be making money the way he was, and loitering along the tropical days like he was just another tourist on vacation, and this wasn’t his real life. He often wondered that maybe if he left Alola for good he could make himself into someone he was proud of somewhere—but that seemed it would require too much effort, and one of the main reasons he survived the way he did was that it needed little to none of that; and he had none to give.

Yeah right, he thought in response to that train of thought—the idea of returning to something somewhere that mattered instead of drying out on these picturesque beaches. As if that would ever happen.

Gladion made it to the broken down estate that Team Skull used as their headquarters and knocked on the door—a special sequence of rapping that only the members of Team Skull knew.

“Oi! Yo yo yo!” sang the scruffy kid who manned the entrance, performing an obnoxious little dance as he opened it up. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. “Team Skull is in the house!”

Gladion rolled his eyes.

“Is Guzma here?” he asked, looking around the foyer. 

What a fucking shithole, he thought. It smelled like stale fast food and cheap beer, and stains covered the carpets. The room was unnaturally dark as the chandelier in the main hall was missing some lights.

“Yeah! The Big Boss is upstairs! Yo!”

“Whatever,” Gladion mumbled, pushing past the grunt.

“Hey! Big bro! Have you got a cigarette to spare? Or a couple dollars?” the kid called after him as he made his way up the stairs.

“Fuck off,” said Gladion, not looking back at him.

The kid grumbled and sulked, going back to the dirty magazine he was looking at as he stood guard at the door.

Gladion sighed as he made his way through the house. He was bored. Tired. Depressed. He didn’t really know how to even describe his state of mind anymore—he was so sick of everything and everyone, and the result was a numbing sensation that only disappeared when he then numbed it with marijuana and alcohol. He truly hated picking up weed from Guzma, but he was out of stock and if he wanted to keep making money he had no choice but to come here and suck up to the Big Boss while he was at it.

Plumeria was on her way out of Guzma’s private room as Gladion reached the top of the stairs. 

“He’s in a good mood,” she said, nodding at Gladion.

A look and a short sentence was the most acknowledgment she ever gave him, and he didn’t bother to respond to her. She had been the one in charge of the grunts who had kidnapped Lillie and the magical Pokémon—the Pokémon who had turned out to be a lesser evolved form of an Alolan Legendary God—his little sister had carried around all those years ago, and he had never overcome the grudge and general distaste he held for her.

Sighing, he knocked on the door.

A lanky boy even taller than Gladion who was missing a front tooth opened up the door.

“Yo,” he said, without the enthusiasm of the young grunt standing guard at the front entrance. “What’re you here for?”

“Picking up,” said Gladion, wishing he didn’t have to deal with this.

The tall boy stepped aside and Gladion entered Guzma’s personal sanctuary. The light, or lack of it, was dull save for a hoard of neon lava lamps scattered about the room and the faint glare of a gigantic TV that was blaring the sounds of a professional Pokémon battle. Guzma sat in his purple velveteen armchair—in some ways, or in his own mind, a throne—smoking a blunt.

“Gladion!” The Big Boss called, waving him over enthusiastically. “Just the guy I wanted to see today.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” asked Gladion, suddenly wary.

“We’ll get to it, no rush,” said Guzma. His body language was jovial, and Gladion noted that Plumeria was apparently right that he was in a good mood. “Come sit down with me.”

Today was one of those days where Guzma wanted to socialize, and this was the last thing Gladion needed. He felt like rocking the boat would make his situation worse, however, so he showed Guzma the respect he desired and sat down on the stained couch perpendicular to the majestic throne. 

“Here, try this. It’s good shit,” said Guzma, passing Gladion the blunt he was puffing on.

Gladion took a hit.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he said, coughing. “Do you have some of that for me?”

“Patience,” said Guzma, also hitting the blunt as he took it back from Gladion. “We haven’t even talked yet. Make yourself comfortable. We’re watching the tournament in Kalos. I’ve got some big money on this match.”

The Boss reclined and lifted one of his legs to relax it over the other.

“I’m talking big money,” he said, turning his head to smirk at Gladion. “I’ve got five figures on this kid from Kanto—big underdog—all the sportscasters underestimate him; plus the Under that it’ll only take him three Pokémon to wipe out the competitor.”

Gladion idly tuned into the match, his brain in a fog. The opposing Trainer was down to his last two Pokémon; and Guzma’s underdog indeed still had three. It was raining in Kalos, and the Trainers and Pokémon weathered the harsh storm on the battlefield.

“Yeah!” shouted Guzma as the underdog’s Raichu landed an attack on a speedy Gengar. “Show him who’s fucking boss!”

Gladion had wanted to grab his product and be out of there as soon as he could, but it didn’t look like he would be able to make a quick escape. Hanging out with Guzma wasn’t his idea of a fun day, but he did technically work for the Big Boss just like all the other grunts, and every time he had to acknowledge that, it made him angry.

But what could he do? Shit was pointless, anyway.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” asked Gladion after ten minutes of smoking with Guzma and watching the match.

Guzma sighed, but to Gladion’s relief it came with a shadow of a good-natured laugh.

“You’re all business, kid, huh? I guess that’s why you get more done than these fucking low lives around here. That’s why I need you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gladion, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve been part of my crew for how long?” asked Guzma, resting the roach in an ashtray and leaning back on his throne with his hands behind his head.

“That’s not exactly our arrangement,” said Gladion carefully.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m getting at. For years, we’ve rented you out when we needed the extra muscle; you’re a much more competent Trainer than these kids—you know I’ve always told you that. And you’ve been dealing for me for a few years now. Leaves me wondering when you’re going to finally start wearing our colors.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gladion.

He did not like the direction this conversation was taking.

“I mean join Team Skull for real,” said Guzma. He sat up and started breaking up a line of coke on the little table with the ashtray and a bong and scattered change and empty soda cans and bottles of vodka, his eyes flitting wildly between what he was doing and the match on the screen. “Be one of us.”

Gladion had to be very careful with how he chose his words so as not to offend Guzma.

“You’ve offered that before,” said Gladion finally. “I’ve considered it.”

(That was a lie.)

“But the way things are right now works for me.”

“You’re independent, I get that,” said Guzma, snorting the line. He sniffled and shook his head, then turned to stare intensely at Gladion, “But you’ve got to look at the bigger picture. You could do great things here. What I’m saying is, don’t think you’d be a low level grunt. I’m looking for a right-hand man.”

It wasn’t completely surprising to Gladion to be offered this, because the Team Skull Boss had always had a soft spot for him—and Gladion had always used that to his advantage—but it was concerning that this connection seemed to be coming around to bite him; because of course it was.

Regardless, Gladion had no desire to be an official member of Team Skull.

“I’m not looking to get tied down,” said Gladion, hoping Guzma wouldn’t probe him further.

“What, like you’re gonna leave Alola?” asked Guzma, laughing, and then he burst out in a raucous cheer as the Gengar he was rooting against was knocked out. “That’ll be the day, right? No one gets off these stupid islands, you know that. But you could make something of yourself if you wanted to be my guy.”

Gladion was running out of polite ways to turn down Guzma’s offer, so he was relieved when his phone rang. Guzma gestured to him to answer it, wrapped up in the match on the television, so Gladion hit the green button and put the Pokétch to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey… Gladion?”

It was Lillie.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” said Gladion, feeling guilty to brush her off but also stressed to be in the middle of the conversation he was in.

“I-I-I’m sorry, but i-it’s important. C-Can I come over?” asked Lillie, her voice breaking.

Gladion sighed, trying to ignore the burst of worry that filled up in his chest. She didn’t sound good. In general, he was apathetic and detached from his surroundings and the people in them—he struggled with his emotions, so he avoided them; kept them tight to his chest where his heart was locked up good—but things were always different with Lillie.

For some reason—for it had always been that way—he would drop everything for her.

“I’m not home right now,” he said on the phone, concern evident in his voice. “What about tonight?”

He heard her sigh and sniffle.

“Y-Yeah, I can come by tonight. When?”

“I don’t know, um… eight o’clock should be good. Can it wait that long?”

She hesitated, but gave him the okay.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. Bye,” said Gladion, hanging up. He had a bad feeling about this. He ran a hand through his messy hair and tried to shake off his worry.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Guzma. “My little sister needs me.”

“Ain’t that sweet,” said Guzma, chuckling. “But, you know, your Team Skull brothers and sisters need you, too. These kids need a role model. You could help them train and become strong.”

The thought of taking up Guzma’s offer was akin to that of being locked in a cage and tortured—just like his best friend had been years ago—and Gladion felt the weed turn on him as his brain filled with paranoid thoughts and panic seized his shoulders.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Good, good—think about it. I’m sure you’ll come to the right decision. Fuck!” Guzma shouted, slamming his fist on the table as Raichu was knocked out.

Gladion sighed. Guzma was pressuring him to join Team Skull, Lillie needed him… this day, which had already carried with it troublesome tiredness, had suddenly become swollen with a lot of heavy shit, and he worried he was too depressed and exhausted to deal with it.

Luckily for him, Guzma became entirely absorbed in the proceeding battle of the match, so he asked again for the product he had come to pick up, and Guzma waved to the lanky boy manning the door to take care of it. Gladion shoved the bags of weed into a beat-up backpack and left the estate, filled with dread at what was to come.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

At eight o’clock sharp there was a knock on Gladion’s door. Emo rock music blared from the speaker in his room and he turned it off, getting up off the bed to answer the door.

Lillie stood on the other side, biting her lip. Inky blue darkness flooded the sky, but it was warm and humid. She had thrown a pink hoodie over the hallmark type of short little white dress she wore, and her face was hidden beneath the hood.

“Hello,” said Lillie, relieved to see her brother in the flesh. 

Since he had rescued Type: Null from the Aether Paradise labs when he was twelve, Gladion did not have a key to the manor; and on orders to all security and staff he was by no means allowed to enter the house under any circumstance, where Lusamine had changed the locks and branded her son a thief.

Because of this, and the way life got in the way of life, Lillie and Gladion did not get to see each other often, and it was embarrassing to Lillie how much she missed her big brother. They would meet up from time to time for a quick meal, or to take a walk around Malie Garden or stroll the beach—but Lillie did not feel like she could say they were close as siblings generally were, or at least how she imagined them so, and it made her very sad.

“Hey,” mumbled Gladion. “Come in.”

Lillie had no knowledge of it, but the truth was that Gladion missed her, too; and often berated himself as a coward for not doing anything about it.

“Thanks,” she said, walking by him.

Ever a clean freak herself—if only due to anxiety of things being out of order—Lillie immediately noticed there was a pile of dirty clothes on the floor at the foot of his bed and that his coffee table was littered with plastic bags and containers of half-eaten takeout.

“Gladion! It’s a mess in here!” she remarked, not knowing what she had been expecting.

“Did you come here to make me clean?” asked Gladion, rolling his eyes at her.

“N-No, but, well, I—I know we don’t talk a lot, but I still worry about you—“ Lillie started, but Gladion cut her off.

“—Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said stubbornly, not wanting to get into the details of that topic. A faint blush tinged his cheeks. A shameful part of him resented himself that he hadn’t made his place more presentable for a guest (a lady), but he had been feeling too depressed to clean lately—and Lillie didn’t need to know that. “So, what’s going on?”

“M-Mother… um, Mother...” Lillie found herself nervous to tell him, and part of her still couldn’t process that it had happened. She didn’t know how Gladion would react. As far as she knew, it had been all of five years since he and their mother had even spoken.

“Yeah?” Gladion asked, starting to get worried himself because she was acting so strangely.

She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Mother hit me,” said Lillie, staring hard at the floor. Embarrassment flooded her, as though it denoted a failing of her own character. Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“What!?” 

Lillie took off her hood and tucked her hair behind her ear, showing her cheek to him.

“What the fuck!?” Gladion cursed, stepping over to her and inspecting the reddened area that was turning into a blue-tinged bruise. “She did this to you?”

“...Yes,” said Lillie, her cheeks hot. Tears spilled down them. Her emotions were a tangled web in her belly, making a disgusting mess; and the rotten feelings could not be processed or sorted. She hoped she didn’t look as gross to Gladion as she felt.

“Fuck, are you okay? What happened?”

Lillie crossed her arms and hugged herself, sniffling.

“We got into a fight at the boutique when we were shopping for dresses for the Alola Debutante Ball that she wants me to be a part of.”

“Debutante Ball?” Gladion did not know what that was.

Lillie whimpered and choked on her words, shaking her head as she tried to explain it to him.

“I-It’s like… a really old-fashioned tradition where girls from influential and wealthy families are formally presented to society when they come of age. I’m sixteen, so, I-I guess it’s my time…”

That’s right, Gladion reminded himself, thinking of the last time he had seen her, which was on her birthday three months ago. They had met at Melemele Meadow, because he knew she liked it there around the brightly colored flowers—just like her namesake, though that wasn’t something Lillie herself had ever said; it was something Gladion privately thought, when he found himself writing shitty song lyrics for music he didn’t know how to play that somehow ended up being all about her.

“O-Okay, the Debutante Ball,” Gladion repeated, encouraging Lillie to continue.

Lillie also continued to look at the ground instead of her brother while she spoke.

“I… I guess I stood up to her when she was being mean to me; you know, controlling everything and commenting on my body and… I don’t know, I think I just couldn’t take it anymore,” she admitted, erupting into heaving sobs. “Oh, I’m so terrible for that! I talked back to her! I tried to tell her how I felt... and… then she told me I was embarrassing her and did this.”

“In public!?” asked Gladion incredulously.

“N-No, in the limo o-on our way home.”

She wept pitifully.

“Fuck,” Gladion swore, hit with a swirl of emotions. Anger colored all of them. “She’s such a fucking piece of shit. What an evil fucking cunt.”

“Gladion!” Lillie cried, staring at him wide-eyed even in the midst of her breakdown. “Don’t say that!”

“It’s true, Lillie! She’s a horrible person. Look what she did to you!” he shouted, and Lillie looked down at the ground. “Fuck, I’m sorry this happened.”

Lillie sat down on the bed, sobbing. She didn’t like to hear him yelling even though she knew he wasn’t yelling at her. Complicated emotions strangled her, and all she could do was cry.

“I didn’t feel safe at the manor and this is the only place I thought I could come. I’m sorry if you were busy,” said Lillie, wiping her eyes. “I would never want to inconvenience you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you came here,” said Gladion, sitting down next to her. 

He sat there quietly, thinking as he listened to her cry. It was clear that she thought this whole nasty debacle was her fault; but in reality, Gladion knew it was his. 

“...Listen, I… I know I’m not around a lot but… I’m always here for you, Lillie, you know that…”

“T-Thank y-you,” she whimpered, sniffling.

Fucking Lusamine. How dare she put her hands on Lillie? Anger was a deranged and deformed monster clawing its way out of Gladion’s chest. He wanted to hit things. Break things. Hurt someone—or himself. Probably both. But what he did was gently put a hand on Lillie’s back.

“Don’t cry, Lillie—please. It’s killing me,” said Gladion, his heart breaking. 

She was his biggest weakness; and for many reasons he, in that moment, became afraid to recognize the full gravity of that ultimate truth.

Lillie shook as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her tears were warm on his t-shirt, soaking onto his skin.

“You should never cry like this,” Gladion said, burning inside.

His anger continued to spiral in on himself. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He failed, like he always fucking failed at everything. It was his fault for not being there to protect her. He wished that he could take all of her pain away and feel it himself instead.

“Why doesn’t she love me?” Lillie whispered against his shoulder, overcome with her tears. Part of her was still making excuses for her mother—but that small, small, teeny, tiny voice from before, the one she heard whispering at the boutique—that near inaudible voice deep inside was telling her she didn’t deserve to be treated the way she was. Alas, it was near impossible to hear that voice, let alone believe it.

“I already told you, because she’s a fucking horrible person. She doesn’t love anyone but herself,” said Gladion, holding back some more choice words he had for his mother.

“She used to love us, though, when we were really little. You should remember better than me,” Lillie sighed, wiping at her tears as she tried to recall further back than her memories would allow. “When Father was still here with us.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Gladion with a dismissive (and maybe disappointed) sigh. “I honestly don’t remember as much as you think, either. But that cunt is a narcissistic master-manipulator. I wouldn't be surprised if she had Father entirely duped, just the same as the Aether Paradise employees and the whole fucking world.”

He muttered his true feelings about Lusamine, unable to keep it in.

“Fucking bitch.”

Lillie considered this.

“I feel like I must have done something,” she said, darkness in her heart as she continued to ruminate on the events of the day. Maybe she shouldn’t have yelled at her mother in the boutique.

“You didn’t. None of this is your fault, you hear that?”

Lillie stared at the ground. That seemed to be the only place she could look, as no other sight deserved her gaze. Gladion tipped his hand under her chin, making her look him in the eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, trying to make her understand.

Gentle waterfalls spilled down her cheeks.

“A-Are you sure?” Lillie stammered.

“Yes. I promise you.”

Gladion stared into Lillie’s eyes, able to see that she was frightened, but also how much she trusted him. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, near to her bruise but careful not to irritate it.

Lillie shivered as his lips grazed her skin tenderly, as though she were precious; and as gently as though she might break. Gladion pulled back, but their faces were still very close together; and as he leaned in to kiss her other cheek, taken by that hurt yet trusting look in her eyes, suddenly their lips were pressed together. It lasted nearly three seconds. Neither of them knew which of them—or what unknown force—had made it happen. It may have been merely an accident.

They stared at each other in surprise after breaking the kiss.

“G-Gladion…”

“Uh, w-wha… I, uh—L-Lillie—”

Their hearts raced, each sure the other could hear their own heart beating. Gladion occasionally had dreams where he kissed his sister; did more than kiss her, truthfully—but that was a deep, dark secret that no one was ever supposed to find out, especially not Lillie herself. The way she shivered on his bed, watching him with those baby doll eyes—the scene was starting to look a lot like the beginning of one of those dreams, and he cursed himself mentally for thinking of that.

“I’m sorry,” said Gladion, looking down at his lap, ashamed. “I don’t know what the fuck happened.”

“I-It’s okay…” muttered Lillie, trying to search his face for answers, but now it was he who wouldn’t look her in the eye. “It was just an accident… I think.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Neither brother nor sister how to process what was happening to them.

Gladion had a passing thought that if he tried to kiss Lillie again, maybe what happened in those dreams could happen in reality—Fuck! No!

He summoned all his determination to push it away and change the subject.

“...Hey, at least you stopped crying,” said Gladion, finally breaking the silence as he brushed her hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

Lillie gave him a weak little laugh, struggling to smile. It felt so nice to have him caring for her, like he always did when she needed him, no matter how long they had been apart. Maybe they were closer than she thought after all—and this revelation made her heart warm.

“Gladion?” she asked.

She knew she shouldn’t; but the world was too cruel.

“Yeah?”

“W-Will… Will you hold me?”

He didn’t know if that was a good idea, especially since they had just kissed and he still didn’t know what to make of it—his thoughts raced a million miles an hour about how it had happened and how he had liked it and how it was wrong and therefore terrifying yet thrilling that it could happen again—but he couldn’t say no to her when she was in pain.

He shouldn’t; but she was too good to suffer.

“...Yeah. Come here.”

She sidled up next to him as close as she could get and rested her head on his shoulder once again, ready to slink her small arms around him, when Gladion pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist instead, holding her small body completely against his.

Lillie’s mouth parted in a mute sigh, and her cheeks burned bright; but she felt so good being so close to someone she knew genuinely cared about her that any uncertain awkwardness could not defeat the feelings of security that she desperately needed.

“Is Father ever coming back, Gladion?” Lillie asked him after they passed several moments in silence.

She wasn’t sure where the thoughts of her long-gone father had even come from as she mentioned the man again.

“I don’t think so,” Gladion replied, noticing that Lillie snuggling against him had his heart almost beating out of his chest. “I held out hope for a long time, but… I don’t know, Lillie. You shouldn’t count on that.”

“I’m scared. Scared of Mother,” she admitted, trying not to cry again. “She’s always hurting me. I’m scared of what she could do next.”

“Don’t be. Now that I know this is happening, I can protect you.”

“Thank you…  I’m sorry I’m so useless…” Lillie mumbled as more silent tears leaked down her cheeks, and she hated herself for being unable to stop crying like a little baby. “You’re always protecting me… like when Mother sent Team Skull after Nebby and I… I can’t do anything for myself.”

Don’t kiss her again.

Gladion kissed Lillie’s forehead in a desperate attempt to comfort her.

“It’s okay, Lillie. You’re here with me right now. Don’t cry anymore.”

He rubbed a hand up and down her back in a hesitant effort to calm her down.

“C-Can… Can I stay here tonight?” asked Lillie, petrified of going home. She worried that she was asking too much of him. Before he could even respond, however, her face curled up into a devastated grimace. “Ah… no… nevermind… there’s no way I can.”

“Why not?” he asked, more abruptly than he intended.

Why do I want her to stay, when…

Gladion’s heart hammered against his ribs, remembering the soft feeling of her lips.

It was just a bizarre moment. An accident. It will go away.

“I’ll get in big trouble if I don’t go home.”

Lillie looked like she was going to entirely break down again, the ocean rising when the waves had just settled; so, despite his apprehension at harboring her for the night, Gladion immediately sought to help her stay.

“Is she home?”

“Well, obviously she was earlier, but I don’t know where she went once we returned from the boutique, since I hid in my room,” Lillie sighed, helpless and embarrassed. “Sometimes she spends the night and sometimes she heads straight back to Aether Paradise. But, either way; I have a strict curfew that I’m already technically breaking right now…”

That woman keeps her in a cage.

Gladion’s gut sank. He had always known that, and by extension how vile he had been to ignore that, since he himself had, in some capacity, escaped.

“Will Hobbes cover for you?” he asked.

One thing Gladion knew for certain was that Hobbes had always been a kindly man, and that in his earliest memories, the good-natured butler was the one person at the manor who had treated him with empathy and respect—even when, as an angry child, he had also pushed the man away. Lillie hadn’t, though; she had clung to him almost as a father, and Gladion also knew from the few times a year when he saw his sister that Hobbes was still her primary caretaker and only defense.

Lillie bit her lip.

“He did see me upset earlier… and I’ve never slept out of the house once—not since I stayed with the Kukui’s—so maybe—”

Gladion stood, anxious, and crossed his arms.

“Try it,” he said.

“But, what do I say?”

“First, find out if Lusamine is staying at the manor. If she is, you probably have to go back, or things will be worse,” he hated to say it, especially as he saw Lillie’s face twist up into a mortified knot when the words left his mouth, but he knew it was true. “If she’s not—be honest with him. I know that seems like it doesn’t make sense, but it’s the best course of action right now. I’ve found sometimes the truth is actually a better option in a bad situation than a lie. Tell him you don’t feel well and you’re staying with me.”

Lillie cast Gladion a desperate look; he already wanted to take her into his arms again when it hit him.

“It’s worth a shot.”

“O-Okay…” Lillie stuttered; she took a deep breath as she pulled out her Pokétch and dialed Hobbes directly.

“Put it on speaker phone,” said Gladion.

She hit the button; waited, licking her teeth.

“Alola, Miss Lillie!” Hobbes’ demure voice rang out with concern. “It is quite late, as you should know. I was just about to contact you myself. Is everything alright?”

Lillie looked up at Gladion; he nodded.

“I—I, um, I would be coming home soon, Hobbes, but… well, is Mother there?”

“She is not, Miss Lillie. The Madame President took a helicopter back to Aether Paradise several hours ago.”

Gladion nodded voraciously at Lillie, encouraging her to go on in her struggle to be dishonestly honest.

“O-Oh, I see…” Lillie hummed a small whine. “Well, uh, Hobbes, you see… You see, I went to see my brother—and I’m not feeling very well—so he offered to let me stay with him for the night.”

A brief pause.

“Is that so, Miss Lillie?”

“It is,” she replied.

“And you feel like remaining with Master Gladion tonight would be better for your health than coming back here straight away?”

Gladion held in a scoff that Hobbes still referred to him so formally in spite of the fact that he hadn’t lived at the manor or seen the man in nearly seven years.

Yes, despite Hobbes’ kindness, even in this moment, Gladion resented him—just as he did every single soul who was a fixture in his childhood, beyond his perfect Lillie.

My… fuck…

Lillie took a breath and summoned all the resolve she had.

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I will be home early in the morning; I promise.”

“Alright, Miss Lillie,” Hobbes replied without retort. “I will expect you for breakfast, if that is agreeable to you.”

“Of course,” said Lillie, relieved. “Thank you, Hobbes. A-And… And if you could, please… not tell Mother, or—”

“I understand exactly what you mean to say, Miss Lillie. There is no need to explain yourself further. I trust you will be well and return bright and early, and that you will have no worries about my revealing the details of your situation.”

“Thank you so much, Hobbes,” Lillie sniffled. She wiped the corner of her right eye with a dainty, trembling finger. “I cannot thank you enough.”

She found herself wanting to tell the man that she loved him, although she had known better than to say things like that since she was a very small child.

“No gratitude is needed, Miss Lillie. Be well. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hobbes.”

She hung up the call.

At least she’s safe for tonight.

“All good,” Gladion confirmed as he stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Lillie mumbled.

She looked up into his eyes and gave him a feeble, affectionate smile.

The space between their bodies felt like it was full of electricity or some kind of magnetism that was drawing them toward each other even still. Gladion forcibly pulled his arm away from her, cursing himself that he kept touching her so intimately when he was supposed to be avoiding any more physical contact.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said, going to the closet to look for an extra pillow and blanket.

He found what he needed and set up a bed for himself on the cheap, worn couch that had come with the cheap, worn motel room.

“Do you need to borrow pajamas?” he asked, feeling nervous to turn and look at her on his bed, as though he had just done something unforgivable to her.

You did.

“Is that okay?” asked Lillie.

Neither of them knew that the other was trying very hard not to think about their kiss.

“Yeah, no problem,” said Gladion, and he dug through the wardrobe for a pair of flannel lounge pants and a t-shirt that didn’t really fit him anymore. He handed the clothes to her, nervous to even be near her. “Here.”

“Thank you,” said Lillie as she took them from him and got up to go to the bathroom to change.

“There’s a pack of toothbrushes behind the mirror,” said Gladion, running a hand through his messy hair as he watched her walk away. “I just bought some, so you can have one.”

“Thank you,” Lillie called, shutting the bathroom door.

Gladion shook his head, discovering that he was struggling to breathe.

What the fuck, Gladion!? Just let it go. She has. It was no big deal, he said to himself, grabbing his own pair of pajama pants out of the dresser drawer.

But it might be a big deal to him. He was hit with more memories of the dreams he would have of her sometimes; dreams that made him hate himself and want to submerge himself in shame and drown. Dreams where they did filthy things that a brother and sister should never do together.

He absolutely couldn’t think about that now.

He changed quickly, catching himself blushing in the mirror that hung crooked above the dresser when he thought about how she was also taking her own clothes off in the other room. 

Don’t think about that, Gladion, what the fuck!?

These thoughts were making him a mess, and he threw his jeans onto the pile of dirty laundry on the floor and went over to sit on the couch, turning on the television. Shortly after, Lillie came out of the bathroom wearing his old pajamas, and they agreed to watch TV together for a couple of hours before they went to sleep. Gladion and Lillie sat far apart from each other on the couch, both of them lost in thoughts about their kiss, not really able to focus on the show. 

Did I… actually do that? was the thought that plagued Gladion’s mind, and he hoped Lillie didn’t notice the redness of his cheeks in the flickering light of the television screen. Did I make that happen? Or did she kiss me? Did I… like it?

Those dreams he had of her had to come from somewhere, he supposed. He had always tried to tell himself that they were simply the product of some bizarre psychological subconscious symbolic bullshit thing that he couldn’t control, but what if it was more than that?

There’s no way I actually wanted to kiss my sister. I wouldn’t go through with it for real! Then maybe… did she kiss me…?

Kissing Gladion was… kind of nice, thought Lillie, wondering what that meant. She had never had a boyfriend; and this brief, strange and mysterious moment with Gladion was the first time she had experienced a kiss.

Did it feel like it was supposed to feel like? She could only think it felt both odd and comforting at the same time; perhaps more comforting than odd. It felt… pleasant; pleasant like a hug, yet instead of the general happiness of that gesture, the kiss was more like an arrow that shot straight into her heart. It both hurt and felt good—felt amazing.

But, surely she didn’t want to kiss her brother again? No, certainly not. She thought about bringing it up and laughing with him to ease the awkwardness, but she wasn’t sure if mentioning it at all would make it worse.

Even more concerning was the fact that she wasn’t sure how it had happened. Did she kiss him or did he kiss her? What was wrong with her for kissing her brother on the lips? She should’ve pulled away immediately. Maybe Gladion was upset with her over it, and that thought was rotten.

“Well, goodnight, Gladion,” said Lillie after less than a couple of hours of pretending to watch television with him. Even if she weren’t lost in her thoughts, the prime-time family sitcom wasn’t very funny. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I feel better being away from home.”

“No problem. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, concerned for how quiet she had been and paranoid that she had noticed him being quiet as well.

“Y-Yeah, I’m just tired. Goodnight,” said Lillie.

“Goodnight,” said Gladion, watching her walk away out of the corner of his eye.

His stomach did flip flops as he watched her climb into his bed. Oh, fuck. What was he thinking?

Gladion didn’t watch television for much longer before turning it off and laying there in the dark, trying to distance himself from his thoughts. He faced the back of the couch, determined not to look at Lillie asleep in his bed.

Would it be pervy to watch her sleep?

STOP IT!

It was maybe twenty minutes of lying there, agonizing, before Lillie called out to him.

“Gladion? Are you awake?”

As if he could sleep. He had trouble sleeping all the time, anyway, which he supposed was part of the constant anxiety he harbored like an enemy ship; but tonight his mind was racing with thoughts about kissing his sister. And, worst of all, how he thought he might want to do it again.

“Yeah,” he replied, heart beating fast. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Lillie, relieved to hear his voice. “I just can’t sleep.”

“How come?” Gladion asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. A small voice inside of him wished it was because she was also thinking about him.

“...Not sure,” she murmured, though it sounded like a lie even to her.

She swallowed.

“Are… Are you mad at me?” she asked, for someone being angry with her was always her deepest and most prevalent fear. To have Gladion angry with her would be unbearable.

Gladion was surprised by the question.

“No, Lillie. Of course not. Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know,” Lillie mumbled. “Just… um… I don’t know how to feel… about earlier.”

Gladion’s skin began to burn like hot iron.

“You said it yourself,” he said finally, deciding to be as neutral as he possibly could in his reply. “It was just an accident. No big deal.”

Lillie chewed on the inside of her mouth, confused beyond reason, but inexplicably unhappy with that answer. Something peculiar had been brewing in her heart since that moment, and a wiser part of herself thought that she should keep it to herself—but a curious, if not foolish, part wanted a concrete answer—wanted the truth. Despite how lonesome homeschooling was, Lillie took her studies seriously, and she read well; and she wrote well; and she had mastered calculus already; and knew more of the history of Alola than she was sure some of her mother’s employees even did. She was practical; she liked facts; and to say that the brief intimacy she shared with Gladion was an “accident” sounded too much like a convenient fabrication for her to accept it.

But what was the truth? Did she really want to know?

She must have, because she voiced her honest feelings.

“I… I’m sorry if this is weird, but I can’t stop thinking about it… and… I-I’m sorry; you might really think I’m overthinking things and acting so strange, but... I think I kind of liked it,” she said quietly, her cheeks burning and her stomach in knots as she waited for his reply. “Isn’t that funny?”

She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. Gladion was silent for a few beats, and Lillie was frightened that he hadn’t heard her, or worse—that he thought she was gross or crazy, and now was mad at her.

“...I liked it too,” said Gladion in a hoarse voice. “I mean. In a funny kind of way. Like you said.”

Gladion grew dizzy. What was he saying!? Was this really happening?

The electricity was back, like static, connecting them across the space between them in the room. Lillie’s heart was alight at this admission, and her curiosity was warring with her better sense as she realized she wanted him to be close to her again—to feel that elusive security she had just barely begun to believe could actually exist.

But, she drowned in the thick suffocating silence, not knowing what to say next.

“Do you… um…” Gladion started.

“What?” asked Lillie, excitement and nerves coursing through her.

“W-What if… do you think it would happen again if… uh, do you want me to come over there?”

Lillie’s breath caught.

“...You mean… sleep with me?” she asked, blushing furiously at what she was saying, even though she did mean actually sleeping in her sentence.

“...Y-Yeah…” said Gladion, struggling to breathe himself. “If you want that.”

The silence was tense.

“...Yes,” Lillie admitted, and her heart beat quicker.

It was quiet for a moment, and then she heard Gladion get up from the couch and pad across the room. She scooted over in the bed to make room for him as he lifted the covers and laid down beside her.

“...Hi,” she said timidly, heart beating in her ears.

“Hi,” said Gladion, trying to read her face in the dark but unable to.

Stillness once again dominated the room for a few beats while both of them stared at each other in the dark. But it wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of them. They leaned in toward each other at the same time and then they were kissing. 

This time it would be a real kiss, Gladion decided, so he ran his tongue along Lillie’s lips and pried them open, slipping his tongue into her mouth to deepen the contact—craving her in a way he couldn’t understand but wanting more nonetheless. He lost himself against her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him.

Lillie gasped; she had never been kissed like this. Mostly, she was shocked to find kissing like this felt really good. And, maybe, because it was Gladion—

That’s right, this is Gladion!

She pulled back from him, shocked at herself. He was making the same face as her, wild-eyed even in the faint moonlight that trickled into the room.

“Should we stop?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“I-I don’t know, but… I…” Lillie floundered, timid and desperate for affection—it felt so unbelievably amazing to be held, as she never had been, and even the kisses that she knew should be forbidden were so incredibly warm and comforting—her mind spun, and she swallowed.

“I’m curious—I-I mean… I’m still… maybe I… don’t think I really want to?”

Relief surged through Gladion’s buzzing veins.

“Me neither,” he said, crushing his lips against hers again.

Gladion had done plenty of drugs before, and so he felt confidently like he could describe kissing Lillie as similar to being on drugs—and, fuck, he was high. Her lips were softer than he could handle; the taste of her tongue, so sweet.

When they pulled apart for air, he laughed.

“What?” asked Lillie, her breathing harsh and labored.

“It’s just—" he continued to laugh, lost in a delirious bliss, “I’m kissing my little sister.”

Lillie immediately clammed up, her palms getting sweaty.

“W-We can stop,” she squeaked, hoping he wasn’t unhappy with her or what they were doing.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Gladion said, tipping his hand under her chin. “I just feel like I’m in a dream. I can’t believe this is really happening. I don’t know why this is happening. Maybe I’ve gone insane.”

“Well, you’re not alone with that, of course,” said Lillie in her matter-of-fact way, like when repeating a fact she had learnt in a book. She scanned his shimmering emerald eyes as he spoke; eyes that were a darker green than hers. “I also feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe we are,” Gladion said, chuckling again because this situation was just so hilarious to his better sense.

“You’re probably right,” said Lillie, catching herself smiling at him.

This was definitely like Gladion’s dreams—maybe even better because he knew that she was consciously consenting to him, instead of just some dream version of Lillie that did whatever his worst desires wanted.

Maybe even better because despite labeling it a dream, it was real.

“Yeah,” said Gladion, still holding her chin. He should stop this right now, he knew, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to get higher on this new drug he had found. “Since we’re dreaming, do you want to keep kissing me, Lillie?”

She shivered.

“...Yes.”

“Okay.”

Gladion grabbed her waist as their lips met again, noting how small and fragile it was, just like the rest of her; and it was easy to keep her body captive against his. Such soft lips, and they were forbidden to him, which made them all the more luscious and desirable. Yes, this was his new favorite drug. Lillie gasped as she felt his hard cock press against her stomach through his thin pajama pants when—just slightly—he ground his hips into hers.

“Sorry,” said Gladion, pulling back from her. He scoffed at himself. “You probably think I’m fucked up.”

He thought he was fucked up, but Lillie was so intoxicating he felt like he had been transported into another reality where their behavior was normal. Or maybe the reason he was fucked up was because he didn’t care that it wasn’t normal.

“N-No, I don’t,” said Lillie, tentatively touching the side of his face and stroking his cheek. He was her precious big brother, after all. She adored him, and she could never think of his affection for her as “fucked up.” Even under these circumstances, just the fact that she was receiving affection from him was enough to justify just about anything. “That just means you like it… right?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, copying her gesture and gently caressing the side of her face, careful not to agitate her bruise. He brushed her stray hair out of the way, swearing to himself over how beautiful she was. “I do really like it.”

“I like it, too,” said Lillie.

Was she really dreaming? Gladion pulled her into another kiss, and she thought for certain she was lost in a fantasy. She melted into his lips as Gladion threaded his legs with hers and tangled his fingers in her hair, holding the back of her head while he drank her in. They kissed until their lips were chapped, only separating for air.

They both caught their breath.

“Do you think we’ll regret this in the morning, Gladion?” Lillie asked, burying her face in his neck as she snuggled against his chest. His arms felt so warm wrapped around her; his embrace overwhelmed her with those wonderful feelings of absolute safety that she hadn’t realized she needed so badly. 

“I don’t know,” Gladion admitted as he held her tight. “I suppose there’s a good chance we might.”

Lillie was silent at that.

“Can you promise me you won’t be mad at me if that happens?” Lillie asked.

“Yeah,” said Gladion, softly rubbing her back and stroking her shoulder with his thumb. “I promise, Lillie. Do you promise you won’t be mad at me either?”

“I promise,” Lillie whispered.

They fell asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, wondering what was real.

Chapter Text

Fractured sunlight spilled into the room through a broken set of blinds, dancing across Lillie’s face as it fought to enter the dark. She blinked and yawned, struggling against dawning consciousness. She blinked again, eyes fluttering open to the view of the cracked ceiling of the motel room, where a ceiling fan hung dubiously from its hinges. Gladion was asleep beside her, his arm draped over her stomach. Lillie spent a moment of wonder studying his face, watching as the sunlight crept over his lips and eyelashes, creating patterns over his features that, try as she might, she could not read—for they were composed of a language she did not know. If her memory didn’t betray her, she had crossed a forbidden line with him last night.

Gladion… What did we do?

Memories of his lips on her lips, his tongue on her tongue, played like an illicit movie in her mind. Part of her wondered if the scenes really were from a dream; but the colors felt so vivid, and the hues so warm. Peace washed over Lillie just the same as the sunshine when she realized that she was safe in Gladion’s bed; that it was just the two of them here, like they had left Alola for their own little world. 

How wonderful…

She stared at him helplessly, softly swaying her head side to side, no.

How wrong…

She frowned, but the regret wouldn’t stick; the corners of her mouth crept into the most affectionate and emotional of smiles.

How happy I am… to be with him… and not to be alone…

Gladion blinked, as if in sleep he could feel her staring at him. He groaned into the pillow, squinting in the flecked sunlight.

“...Hey,” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“Good morning,” said Lillie, watching him carefully and half-expecting him to push her away.

He tightened his arm around her waist instead, which made her release a timid little gasp. Though he was barely awake, Gladion liked hearing it.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, yawning, with his all grown-out and cut-up blonde hair even messier than normal.

Why did he look so cute all of a sudden? Certainly Lillie had never noticed before that her brother was so good-looking. She held in a nervous whine as Butterfree flapped wildly in her belly. She sat up in bed, all jittery.

“Good,” she said, and she meant it more than she could believe. With heat rising in her cheeks, she said, “I… I had the strangest dream.”

She held her breath.

“Oh yeah?” Gladion asked, rubbing his face to wake up and tossing about his bangs so that they stuck out in even more odd directions. Why was such a simple gesture so dreadfully handsome of him? “What about?”

Is… Is he joking? Lillie worried, breathless.

“About… I… I mean, we—"

Gladion chuckled, flashing her an affectionate smile that was also catastrophically adorable.

“I had a strange dream, too.”

Lillie bit her lip.

“W-Why don’t you tell me what yours was about?” she asked, feeling her heart in her throat where it pressed against her vocal chords and mangled her speech into erratic levels of pitch.

Gladion smirked. 

“You kissed me,” he said.

Lillie gasped in a defensive moment of shock.

“I kissed you?” she muttered, flustered and accusing. “You kissed me!”

He laughed; “I’m pretty sure it was you.”

Lillie visibly fretted; her mouth parted in such disbelief that her brain froze like an overloaded computer.

Gladion chuckled again, thinking to himself how sweet she was; how innocent; how much he truly missed being with his younger sister—though that was all a confusing mess now, as he also thought how gorgeous she was; and as he looked at her now and remembered what had indeed happened between them last night, what he truly thought the most was that she was making him incredibly horny.

“I’m just teasing you,” he said, reaching up from where he was still lying down to pat her head and stroke her hair, tucking a pale blonde lock behind her ear as he could never help himself but to. It was a gesture he had made repeatedly since she was a little baby following him around as they tried to hide from their insufferable governess, Ms. Welch, who was as liberal with her backhanded punishment as their mother was. “Even though it’s true. You kissed me first.”

Lillie huffed at his playful pestering.

“Don’t do that, Gladion,” she whined childishly.

“But it’s funny,” he said, before pulling her back down beside him and pressing a quick, gentle kiss to her lips.

Lillie inhaled a startled breath, staring at him with wide eyes.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” she said, not knowing how much she meant her own words. It still felt unreal.

“It wasn’t,” said Gladion, watching her curiously for any nonverbal clue that could reveal what she was thinking. “How do you feel about that?”

Because I feel like I want—

“W-Well, I’m not mad at you,” said Lillie, with an earnest look into his eyes as she remembered their promise to each other last night before they fell asleep. “And I’m not upset about it.”

She pursed her lips together, her brow gathering into an equally quizzical and worried shape.

“But I… I really don’t know… how to feel.”

Gladion smiled at her.

“Good. Me too,” he sighed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could. Fuck. “We could just forget about it, if you want. Let it be a dream.”

Gladion’s insides squirmed even as he said it, because to him it was not a dream innocuously had, but a set of dreams attained. He battled back an anxiety attack creeping up on him due to the knowledge that if given the chance to repeat the events of last night, he would take it without a second thought.

Lillie’s own guts were in knots as she bit her lip and stared at him, absolutely torn between what seemed to be better sense, and what she felt, though sickeningly dangerous and probably very, very wrong—to be the desire of a curious spark in her heart, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Does he want to forget about it, then? she worried.

Does she regret it? he thought.

“I-I think…” Lillie said finally, “that we can just, um… take some more time to think about it. That’s okay, right?”

Gladion sighed again, this time with relief.

“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s okay.”

His eyes glanced over each of the beautiful features of her face: her pouty lips, her muted green eyes and the way they made her gaze somehow enchantingly mysterious despite their innocence, and her modelesque high cheekbones. She was so unreasonably pretty that everything he had ever felt for her started to make so much sense that it became overwhelming—

She lifted her head up from the pillow again to sit up, and that was when he noticed the bruise on her cheek, blended red to purple like a watercolor painting.

“Ouch,” he said, grimacing. “Does that hurt?”

“A little,” Lillie admitted with embarrassment. “It’s not too bad.”

“I’m so sorry she did this to you,” Gladion told her again, exhaling with regret as he mentally traced the mark on her face with his fingers, as if he could gently wipe it off her. “Fucking bitch.”

“She did apologize… Well, she was about to, kind of...”

Gladion grunted, sitting up in a huff and getting out of bed to try to get his life together.

“Come on, Lillie, you don’t buy that shit from her, do you? That doesn’t excuse what she did. She hurt you,” he was begging for her to understand. “It’s okay for you to be mad at her. You should be mad. I’m fucking furious.”

“I won’t… She’ll never know that I told you,” said Lillie, suddenly wary. She knew she was not a good liar, but she said with all the determination that she could succeed anyway, “No one other than Hobbes will ever know that I stayed here last night, either.”

Mother can’t ever know what we did.

Gladion nodded.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone turning grave. “And no one—absolutely no one—can know what… happened between us. You understand that, right?

“O-Of course!” Lillie cried, sitting up on her knees and nodding voraciously with her eyes sparkling. “I would never tell anyone, Gladion—I swear.”

Good girl, he thought; but he said simply, “Okay,” as he grabbed his Pokétch from the nightstand to check the time.

“It’s only eight o’clock. What time does Hobbes usually serve you breakfast?” he asked, yawning.

“Not until ten on weekends, typically,” Lillie replied, maneuvering out of bed herself. “Mother prefers brunch. Even if she’s not there, that’s how the schedule runs.”

“Good, then I can get you home before breakfast—just like Hobbes requested, my lady,” said Gladion.

Lillie played with her hair, smiling bashfully at his cheekiness as she watched Gladion dig through the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed for something to wear. He grabbed a pair of ripped jeans and a band tee out of the mess and went to the bathroom to get changed.

“What will you do today?” she called to him.

“Work,” said Gladion from the other side of the bathroom door.

“For Team Skull?” asked Lillie, looking around his room. It interested her that he didn’t keep many possessions. There was a guitar in the corner of the room, plastered with punk rock and emo band stickers. Lillie wondered how often he played.

“Yeah, Guzma fucking thinks that. I work for myself,” Gladion grunted.

“Doing what?” asked Lillie, still nervously toying with the ends of her long hair while she listened to him shuffle around in the other room.

Gladion sighed. He wouldn’t lie to her, but she wouldn’t like his honest answer. Ever since he had first joined Team Skull, he tried his damndest to keep her as far away from the gang as he possibly could; though this resulted, generally, in also keeping her away from him.

“Selling weed, mostly,” he told her, coming out of the bathroom while pulling the t-shirt over his head. He looked at her, trying to watch for her reaction.

“I figured you did something like that,” said Lillie, collecting her own clothes off the top of the dresser where they had been neatly folded. Selling drugs seemed scary and dangerous to her, but she supposed that was because of her mother’s conditioning that she be raised as a proper lady. “Aren’t you worried about getting arrested, or going to jail?”

“No,” Gladion replied, laughing genuinely. “The police on these islands are a joke. Nanu is one of my customers.”

“The kahuna of Ula’ula Island?” asked Lillie, shocked.

“Yeah,” said Gladion, starting to pick up some of the trash off the coffee table and throwing it in the garbage. “Lazy old bastard. He should hand the position off to someone younger, but then he wouldn’t have any reason to get out of bed.”

Lillie considered this. She wasn’t happy about Gladion working for Team Skull, but she supposed he knew that—and she couldn’t tell him not to, either way. She doubted she knew better, regardless. After all, she was miserable living the life her mother forced her to live. Perhaps Gladion had the right of it by rebelling and running around with a gang like Team Skull—even if she was still half-terrified of them from her kidnapping when she was just a little girl and out all on her own with Nebby.

Oh, Nebby, she thought with longing affection, as she did every time it crossed her mind. I hope you’re doing well wherever you are now… I miss you…

“Just be careful,” said Lillie to her big brother as she now went into the bathroom to get dressed. “I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“I’ll be fine, Lillie,” Gladion mumbled, assembling the trash. He gathered it all up in a big plastic bag that he put by the door, then looked over at the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. He should take care of that next, but he didn’t feel like it. He sat on the couch and looked through his texts and missed calls and voicemails, seeing who needed to buy from him today. 

There was a message from his best friend Oliver letting him know there was a party going down at the Shady House tonight. Maybe he would go to that and let off some steam. He would need to get fucked up to deal with the night he just had, that was certain—but he forcefully pushed those thoughts away. 

Lillie had said she wanted more time to think about it; and though he was consumed by desire as though he truly had taken a magical drug that had melted away every pain and ache and trauma in the world, he knew he needed to take longer to think on it, too. She was still his sister, and, well—

F U C K.

He forced himself to focus on his phone. A couple of his usual customers had hit him up in the middle of the night, asking if he would be around today. It looked like he was going island hopping to meet up with everyone. He sighed. Every shitty day of work was simply another reminder of how much he fucking hated Alola.

Lillie came out of the bathroom in her sundress and pink hoodie, expertly braiding her hair.

Well, he thought, unable not to look away from her. There was a reason to stay.

“That bruise looks awful,” he couldn’t help himself to comment again, pained to see his sister’s lovely face tarnished by their mother’s wrath. “You’re stronger than you think, Lillie. It takes toughness to deal with that.”

Lillie’s cheeks flushed pink.

“T-Thanks… I’m trying to tell myself that… or something,” she replied, sighing. Truth be told she was making it up as she went along—surely thrown for a loop after the events of last night, let alone having fully processed the events of the previous day.

“You know that no matter what happens, you can come back here whenever you need, right?” asked Gladion, so serious that his intense gaze caught her heart in her chest. “If that bitch tries anything, or… you need help for any reason… you should come here. I’ll protect you.”

And kiss me more, Gladion? Lillie thought, her cheeks on fire.

“Thank you… big brother,” she said quietly, finishing her braid.

“Ready to go?” Gladion asked, getting up. He fought off feelings of shame and embarrassment at hearing her address him like an innocent little sister would.

She’s not entirely innocent, he thought, and it made him feel a little better. She kissed me, too.

Does that mean that maybe she would—?

Shit, that was so fucking hot; but so fucking awful. F U C K.

“Not really, but I suppose I have to,” Lillie sighed. “How are we getting there?”

“Riding on Silvally, of course,” said Gladion, and there was a rare exuberant smile on his face. “The best way to travel.”

Lillie smiled, too. Gladion’s bond with Silvally had always made her happy, and seeing the look on his face now when he spoke about traveling with his beast partner at his side was no exception. It was good for him to have a Pokémon that he loved and trusted so much, she thought, even though the phenomenon was not something she had ever experienced herself, since she wasn’t a Trainer. 

She had felt a connection like that when she was with Nebby, but… she was just a weak little girl who knew nothing, and could do nothing, in the end. Gladion was strong, and a good person who took excellent care of his Pokémon, even if he tried to act like he was too tough for that.

Just like he took care of her.

Lillie shivered just a tiny bit, those Butterfree beating their wings in her belly.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll enjoy the ride home, at least.”

“Let’s go.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Order. Balance. Structure.

These concepts revolved around the subatomic core of Lusamine Aether’s soul, if such a woman had a soul to center her—and whether she did or did not indeed possess one was not something she ever wasted time thinking about, or cared for the answer one way or another.

Unknowable spiritual and existential questions like that were worth less than dirt when she had made all of her worldly desires a tangible reality; solid and enviable, and terrifically exhilarating.

These treasures were money, power, and glory—aspirations which she had achieved and maintained through the successful employment of pristine order, paradigmatic balance, and perfect structure. The combination of all three constructs together led to the most sought-after boons of mastery, both within herself and in the world without—more money, more power, and more glory—all of which she could never have enough.

With these tools at her disposal, Lusamine held the entire region of Alola in the palm of her thin, elegant hand; and sooner would she clutch it ever tighter until it shattered into pieces than would she give it up.

So, her day, like every day, started in calculated perfection.

The alarm clock built into the interface of the most advanced of Smart Home technology beeped at four-thirty. After a few minutes’ grace period where she took a few deep, relaxing breaths and removed her satin eye-mask, the same mechanism parted great pearly drapes to let in the colorful dawn of the Alolan sun through arched windows made up of a lattice design, spanning from the heated alabaster floor to the thirteen-foot high ceiling.

The prism of sunlight at dawn drifted over the ocean, which belonged to her—as did the spacious master bedroom, and the expensive hand-embroidered curtains, and the very sunlight that ushered in the day.

And how brilliant the world she owned shined.

By the time the Madame President was up on her feet, classical music began to play from the high-resolution stereos built into the walls; symphonies that were perfectly structured into a balanced order of harmonies, melodies, suites and overtures—which is how she got dressed after a deathly cold shower, in pristine white and jet black designer dresses that commanded authority and attention. Her makeup and stilettos were no different—red lipstick and pointy heels being the most attractive of weapons a woman had at her disposal.

This is how she next attended breakfast, prepared by an in-house chef, though her meal was simple: two eggs, sunny-side up, and wheat toast with Persim Berry jam; as well as a black coffee, which she would continue to drink a copious amount of throughout the day.

Not a single second passed that was not deftly curated.

“Good morning, Wicke,” said Lusamine as she entered the central office area of the Aether Paradise building, enjoying the powerful sound of the clicks of her heels on the marble tiled floor.

“Good morning, Madame President!” Rebecca Wicke chirped, a peppy busybody as always. “I’ve already put a few petitions and construction proposals on your desk for you to review at your leisure.”

Lusamine smiled at her. It was simultaneously a wry and sophisticated smile, tinged with innate derision.

“Always so on top of things, Wicke. Just what I would expect from the Assistant Branch Chief,” she said, glad the business of the day was already going as smoothly as she expected. “Is Professor Burnet here? I was hoping to sit down one-on-one with her and review her progress on the Temporal Ultra Aura project.”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose the way she did when she had something even vaguely unpleasant to say.

“She phoned in saying she would be a little late this morning. Troubles getting her little ones ready for daycare, I believe,” said Rebecca, adjusting her glasses (another nervous tic of hers).

Lusamine stiffened, her throat tight, and raised a single, thinly-groomed eyebrow—as far as it would go in competition with her many plastic surgeries.

That’s hardly an excuse, she thought. I’ll find a way to punish her for this.

“Well, maybe she can stay late to make up for the lost time,” said Lusamine as she sat down at the plush office chair she occupied throughout the day.

“I’m sure the Professor will be here soon,” Rebecca replied noncommittally, humming to herself as she filed away paperwork.

She had better be, or there will be consequences, Lusamine thought as she booted each of the several computers on her desk. She had never considered Audrey Burnet (now Burnet-Kukui) to be so very smart as other colleagues spoke of her; and this opinion was cemented when she married that silly, incompetent Pokémon Professor who contributed nothing to society due to the way he focused his time on babysitting children during their island challenges instead of conducting real research.

Either way, Lusamine mused, this unexcused tardiness will reflect in her bi-annual performance review.

If it weren’t for Audrey Burnet-Kukui’s expertise on the Interdream Zone, Lusamine would’ve fired her the moment she finally walked through the door.

Aether Foundation was Lusamine's empire; her legacy; her baby. It may have been her late husband’s father that had established the name, and built the artificial island that supported the state-of-the-art facility where her work took place, but it was her and her alone who had made the organization into the world super-power that it was today.

Her and her alone—and no one would bring her down.

If Burnet and that insufferable Faba (who currently toiled in the labs within the bowels of the very large floating structure, probably nearly blowing himself to smithereens as a result of rudimentary mistakes) were doing their job well, Lusamine believed she wouldn’t be in the position she currently resented, which was debased; practically begging for help from Kanto’s Silph Co. for assistance on the production of a Beast Ball that possessed the hundred-percent capture-rate of a Master Ball.

Such technology could be the defining resource in her quest to control the Ultra Beasts—but there was a fickle, nasty, nagging problem in the way of executing the whole thing. The CEO of Silph Co., Raphael Ferro, kept the secrets of his inventions quite literally close to home; he preferred to keep the corporate ladder of his business solely in the family, as he had inherited the company from his own father and intended to pass it down to his children after him.

Lusamine had devised a clever scheme for this, of course—though she lamented that it wouldn’t be as fool-proof as manipulating him with her body as she had originally intended; alas, he was deeply in love with his wife (what a pathetic, sappy bore of a man he was), and would never be seduced. He did, however, have a son, Victor—his heir, who was just several years older than her own daughter. Raphael had mentioned to her many times that he hoped to arrange a marriage for his son with a young lady from a respectable family, and Lusamine was certain that if she could arrange this marriage with Lillie, then Aether Foundation would be guaranteed full access to Silph Co.’s research and resources—and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Lillie was poised to be a Debutante in Alolan society this year, and Lusamine was already knitting all the loose ends together to ensure that Victor would be the one to escort her during her presentation. There was the fact that Lillie was quite disappointing as a young lady, true; she was not much to look at and not particularly charming, either; but Lusamine was certain that she would be able to make the match using her own charms and any leverage she could garner from getting close to Raphael—even with her daughter’s glaring disadvantages.

All the better, too—Lusamine thought often with satisfaction since she had concocted this scheme—if Lillie moved away to Kanto with her new husband, then she would barely have to see her anymore, let alone deal with her drama. The tiresome girl would be someone else’s problem.

“Sorry I’m late!” called a disheveled Audrey Burnet-Kukui as she rushed into the office. “This morning was just… ugh, well, it was a lot.”

“Good to see you, Professor!” Rebecca greeted her.

“Good morning, Professor Burnet,” said Lusamine steely. “There is much to do today.”

“I know, I know; I’m so sorry,” said Audrey, hastily swinging her (offensively tacky, in Lusamine’s opinion) cargo bag onto her desk and unzipping it, looking for her computer. “The kids are just at such tough ages; oh, you must remember, Madame President, don’t you? Lei is four and Tyce is two and they’re just such a handful. Lei wouldn’t get dressed, and Tyce threw cereal all over the floor right as we were about to head out; and then I forgot I had taken out the car seats to go grocery shopping yesterday and had to put them back, and, ah. I’m rambling, sorry; but you know, motherhood is just as difficult as it is rewarding.”

Rebecca gave her a sweet nod of understanding; but, quite honestly, whether Lusamine had actually cared or not (she didn’t), she had no memory of what it was like in those days of toddlerhood for her, simply because she had never really participated in them; especially after her late husband vanished and left her no need to feign interest or responsibility. The very day of that maudlin sham of a funeral, she had promptly fired the part-time nanny and hired a live-in governess to do all those unpleasant kinds of tasks with her children for her.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind staying a little late,” said Lusamine, scanning her email with a disinterested side-eye at Audrey. “Just to make sure there are no errors in the metamath before we enter phase two of the Temporal Ultra Aura project.”

Audrey frowned reflexively, though she pulled the expression back as quickly as she realized she had made it.

“Well, I would, but I told Jason I’d pick up the kids on my way home.”

“I see. Very well,” said Lusamine, with acid dripping in her voice.

“M-Maybe Jason can make it work with his schedule… I’ll call him on my lunch break and let him know,” Audrey replied with a forced smile.

“Excellent,” said Lusamine, her manicured fingers tapping at the keyboard as she responded to emails. “Mr. Ferro is currently quite unwilling to let us look at his data on Master Balls, so we’ll have to work twice as hard if we want to reach our goal by the three-month deadline proposed in the quarterly meeting.”

“Oh, Mr. Ferro is so lovely, isn’t he?” prattled Rebecca as she stood over a copy machine which buzzed under her fingers. “He’s going to be at the White Party with his family, correct, my lady?”

“Indeed he is, Wicke,” said Lusamine, pleased that the gala—a critical brick to lay in the construction of the big plan—was coming up soon. “I know you look forward to the Foundation’s social events.”

“I do!” chirped Rebecca dreamily. “It’s so fun to see everyone all dolled up. And the caterers you hire are just superb! I mean, that Magikarp nigiri from last year? Delish!”

Lusamine was hit with a brief memory of dress shopping with her daughter the day before, and she grimaced, throwing it in the trash. 

Mohn, why did you leave me with these wretched children I never wanted? I swear, every day I just think…

She received a text in the middle of that train of thought. All business, she picked it up and swiftly unlocked her Pokétch, only to find the message was from Guzma.

Probably not business if it’s from him at this hour…

She opened the attachment and wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a picture of Guzma’s erect penis in his hand. The photo came with the caption: Thinking about you in my bed when I woke up this morning, beautiful.

Lusamine rolled her eyes, putting the Pokétch face down and returning to her three-fold work center: email on one screen; advanced quantum mathematic diagnostics on another; and data logs on the third.

Just as she resented cooperation with Silph Co. despite its status, Lusamine despised her collaboration with that inept and obnoxious gang that ran the Alolan streets like hordes of Trubbish and filthy Spearow, leaving their pollution like Grimer that once stepped in would be permanently stuck to your shoe.

Even with shoes as sharp as hers, she had gotten stuck with them; particularly their leader, Guzma, who was hopelessly in love with her—though Lusamine was hardly surprised by that fact, despite its annoyance—and it did have its advantages (not to mention that his penis actually was quite pretty, and he wasn’t a half bad lay).

Their arrangement was simple: he moved product for her, and she moved product for him. They both benefited from the engagement; and though she would never admit it, Lusamine needed him (it disgusted her to even make use of the word in her thoughts). The Pokémon required for her experiments had to be acquired by means outside of the Foundation; and despite her near full control of the island police forces, Team Skull’s drug trade was better-managed by the money being laundered through charity donations to Aether Foundation—and Lusamine collected a chunk of the profits for assisting with this as well.

Lusamine glanced once again at the dick pic with a passing thought of when she could perhaps arrange a business meeting with Guzma; and then decided a few minutes of musing was more than enough to spend on him, so she scrunched up the muscles in her face as much as her elective surgery would allow before relaxing them back into their typical chiseled porcelain facade and went back to her work. 

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Gladion couldn’t remember ever being so horny in his life. It was agony to complete his deliveries for the day with the way he was detached from conversation and more irritable than usual—which was saying something, as his personality was generally aloof, and he tended to have a quick temper. Time after time he kept mixing up orders and fumbling with his backpack as he moved throughout the day in a daze. It could altogether be said that he stumbled around the islands like a tormented Psyduck, utterly unable to focus on tasks or conversations; and he expected at any moment that his headache would grow so severe he would in fact blow away everything in a ten-foot radius with violent psychic energy. 

The world as he knew it had crumbled, and all he could think about after last night was being with his perfect Lillie.

The fact that he had already—after one confusing and determinedly open-ended night of making out—started to think of her as his was further confirmation of the sense of perilous doom that stalked him in the shadows of the blinding sun like the Grim Reaper.

We actually kissed, he thought as he swapped a bag of marijuana for a folded wad of cash with abnormal clumsiness through the rolled-down window of a dinged up car in the parking lot of the Pokémon Fan Club on Royal Avenue.

I kissed my little sister, he almost said aloud as Mariah, the talkative bohemian girl who sold incense at the South entrance of Konikoni City, babbled incessant questions during their transaction. How was he doing? Did he try meditating with those crystals she leant him? When would he have edibles for sale again? Did he see the latest Masked Royal battle on TBWN the other night?

No. No to all of that. I really, actually kissed Lillie—and she really kissed me back.

It went on and on like this without respite.

She felt so good, the daydreams ran through his mind. Like everything I… ever wanted…

Since he was just shy of fifteen and had been strictly banned from home for nearly three years, Gladion drank and did drugs to escape his dark thoughts into an altered state of consciousness where everything wasn’t so bad; where life was occasionally blissful, and maybe even as magical as a childhood fairytale instead of his childhood reality that was the dilapidated motel and the slums of Po Town.

But holding Lillie in his arms and making out with her was more than three times—a hundred times—as good as any shot of Flamethrower or tab of acid. It was genuine bliss; real magic; a true-to-life fairytale where she was his Princess trapped in a heavily guarded Castle, and he was the brave Knight whose mission it was to rescue her from the Evil Queen and save the Kingdom from ruin.

He may be a fool for thinking so—overdramatic, self-indulgent, even delusional—but he did think so; as did a younger version of himself that had slipped out of his subconscious to remind him that everything he had ever done was for his sister—even joining Team Skull to become a stronger Trainer—and if he were to undo the locks and open the cage to his heart, that vital organ would be engraved with her name.

So, he threw his backpack on the floor when he returned home to the motel in the afternoon, and paced around the room while running his hands through his messy hair and tugging at his bangs with furious consternation. Should he? No. He shouldn’t. He should put all of this out of his mind right now.

Fuck. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he wanted to do to her.

With a tortured sigh, Gladion undid the fastenings on his jeans and kicked them off, sending them back into the void of dirty laundry from whence they had originally been retrieved. He turned on the speaker and threw on a record from his usual rotation, feeling like his head was full and his ears were ringing as he climbed across the bed to his bedside table and grabbed a bottle of lube out of the drawer.

Fuck. There’s something wrong with me. I’m going out of my mind. I’m crazy.

He pulled his swollen cock out of his boxers—he was so hard it was near unbearable—and squeezed out a glob of “Tropical Island Punch” flavored lube (which wasn’t his ideal choice, but had been all that was left on the shelf at the run-down convenience store in Po Town when he happened to be there and realized he needed it.)

I’m crazy for her. I don’t know why, but she is…

This wasn’t the first time he had masturbated to the thought of Lillie; but it was only the second. He beat off a lot, though, in truth, so he couldn’t exactly remember—maybe it was the third (of course only in so many years). The times it had happened before were after particularly graphic dreams of her, and he had felt so paranoid and ashamed of himself afterward that each of the—was it five?—occasions he did this, he swore to himself afterward that he would never do it again.

Yet, here he was, doing it again, because something unbelievable had happened to him that had thrown his entire world out of orbit, resulting in questioning not only his morals but his entire purpose and priorities.

…everything.

Gladion sighed her name as he moved his lubed hand up and down his cock, eyes closed to better envision her in bed with him.

Lillie would be so soft, he knew from holding her in his arms last night, and delicate and fragile as a flower. She needed him to hold her tight so that no one would ever harm her; and he fully believed that he was the only one capable of protecting her from harm. Yes, she was his, and being with him was the only way she would be safe—he was certain of it; certain of it as he pumped his hand up and down his length and imagined that he was inside of her.

The fantasy felt so good it made him dizzy.

He pictured Lillie looking at him with those sensitive, adoring eyes while he was on top of her, making sure she knew that she belonged to him, and that he would take care of her; making sure she took all of him, felt every inch of him.

This is your little sister you’re thinking about, came a scolding voice in the back of Gladion’s mind as he grew near to orgasm—he had it so bad for her that hitting climax had hardly taken any time at all—but another voice arose to counter the other’s claims with: Exactly, she’s mine.

The dingy motel’s walls were thin, so he was grateful he had put on music when he came with a hard moan.

“You’re fucked up, Gladion,” he said aloud to himself when he finished, sighing deeply into his pillows. “You’re a fucked up human being.”

He took a couple deep breaths, laying there in a mess of, well, anything and everything that could make a human being into the burning trainwreck he was; then checked his phone. His text messages reminded him that there was that party going on at the Team Skull estate tonight. Good. He needed to go there and get so wasted he forgot his name and the horrible things he still wanted so desperately to do.

Gladion may have spent his life wishing for a fairytale, but if this story were to become one, it would not be the kid-friendly, “Happily Ever After” kind. This sort of fairytale was dark, twisted, and sadistic; and by all accounts he should’ve remembered that the first rule of fairytales was, “Be careful what you wish for.”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

That evening, Lillie got out of the shower and dried her hair, going through the motions of her nightly routine not because they were rote at this point, but because her mind lingered elsewhere.

Gladion…

The thoughts, emotions and physical sensations that swelled in her when she thought of him (with him being all she had thought of all day) were entirely strange and new to her; and she had no way to satisfactorily describe them. As Lillie performed her skincare routine on autopilot, she attempted to take an inventory of all that plagued her.

When I see Gladion’s face in my mind, my cheeks get hot and I feel embarrassed—but not in a bad way. My throat gets tight and my stomach jitters like it’s full of Caterpie crawling around inside it.

When I remember how he swore to protect me, I feel tears sting my eyes like I might cry—but not in a sad way. My lungs forget how to breathe and my mind dissociates from reality. I want to run to him and feel his arms around me while I cry like a little baby.

When I think of how we kissed, I get as lightheaded as if I had stayed out in the sun for too long without drinking enough water. My heart pounds really, really fast. My entire body is overcome with a floaty feeling, like I weigh nothing and could drift away in a cloud of Drifloon.

What does all of that mean?

Lillie frowned as she changed from her bathrobe to a white lace nightgown; a garment entirely indistinguishable from the assortment of the rest of the sleepwear she owned. The frilly, girlish things had, of course, all been selected for her by her mother.

She recounted her mother’s opinions on her body as she brushed her hair before an antique dressing mirror. Her slight form was drowned in the nightgown that, if anything, should have grown small for her by this point; and she couldn’t process how her mother could think she was overweight.

Lillie lifted up the dress and inspected her waistline above similarly juvenile white panties, full-coverage. She turned to the side and thought that her stomach stood out a little unnaturally. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten a couple of pieces of bread and butter with her salad at dinner. Or perhaps she should not have eaten dinner at all.

She sighed, putting away the hairbrush.

The bruise on her cheek that kept morphing in color had transformed into a shade of sickeningly bright purple, and Lillie grimaced, thinking about what an ugly face she was making on top of how disgraceful she looked with that horrible mark on her.

Gladion had told her to feel angry, but she could only feel sad. 

Lillie stared deep into the mirror, as if past herself, recounting what her brother said about how she was stronger than she thought. Could it be true? She had been told by Sun and Professor Kukui that she was strong when she had run away with Nebby; but that whole ordeal had always just felt to her like something done out of necessity and not willpower. It wasn’t special, or brave, or anything extraordinary. Anyone would’ve done it; and anyone could’ve done it.

Despite these thoughts, Gladion’s words about her strength echoed in Lillie’s mind as her stomach jittered and her eyes stung with tears and her limbs began to grow weightless when she pictured his face; when she remembered how he had sheltered her at a moment’s notice; when she thought about being wrapped up in his arms and a kiss.

Maybe… Maybe she could go shopping and buy some new pajamas. Surely what she wore to bed couldn’t reflect a single opinion back on her mother, as no one but the manor staff would ever see it. (Lillie swallowed thickly as she thought perhaps Gladion would, as well, if she ever slept over at his place again.)

Maybe she could also pick up some new casual clothes. Her mother was hardly around, and Lillie herself hardly went out; so why couldn’t she wear what she wanted on the rare occasions that she met up with friends or went to run errands? (Or met up with Gladion?)

A terribly rebellious thought traveled through Lillie’s mind that if she were going to be reprimanded whether she wore what her mother wanted her to or not—then perhaps she should just dress herself the way she would like to.

But… What would that be?

It was then that Hobbes delivered her a cup of tea and said goodnight. The kindly old butler asked her again if she needed ice and whether she still felt under the weather or “As ever in good spirits, Miss Lillie!” She felt guilty to shoo him off by saying that she was fine, thank you, Hobbes.

How embarrassing.

Lillie wondered just how much suspicion Hobbes had about how she had gotten the bruise as she sat down to write in her diary, which was her nightly ritual since she was nine years old.

Her first diary had been a hardbound, compact little thing with gold-glittering lines on feather-edged pages. She kept it not with the rest of her old diaries in a keepsake box in her closet, but on her bookshelf where she could see it every day; and indeed she picked it up and glanced through it nearly every day. The diary had been a gift left to her by her father, although she had not been old enough to read or write when he disappeared; and in fact her mother had not even been the one to give it to her in his absence.

One long, lackadaisical summer day—a scorching day in Alola—where the hours went by slower than the hands on the clock, Gladion (much to Lillie’s intense fretfulness and dismay) had picked the lock to their father’s study with the intent of scouring it for clues as to where he had went, or for anything he could find out about the man—or even just anything cool to take apart or play with, as Gladion was an eleven-year-old boy prone to destruction and mischief.

After thoroughly investigating the study (himself, as Lillie had run away in fear of being caught), one of the items of interest he had found was her present, with her name written in a calligraphic-like hand she had never seen before on shiny paper wrapped up with a bow.

It was such a pretty thing, Lillie thought even before she opened it, and when she carefully peeled the paper off and felt the rough texture of the binding in her hands, and brushed her fingers over the pages, she discovered that inside the front cover her father had written a dedication to her.

“My darling Lillie,” it said, “The moment you came into the world was one of the proudest moments of my life. I know you will grow into a kind, lovely, intelligent young lady; and that one day you will fill these pages with your hopes and dreams that I pray will all come true. No matter what challenges life brings, I will always be there for you. Love, always and forever, Daddy.”

The floridly written word on the page was the only encounter she had ever had with it.

The message passed her mind as she opened her current diary: also hardcover (the first one had made her forever prefer it), and soft baby blue in color—though this one also came with an ornamental golden lock; the key hidden in the pages of the one from her father.

Dear Diary,

So much has happened that I could easily spend all night recounting it, but I doubt you have the time, so I will do my best to summarize the events.

After I got into a fight with Mother when we were shopping for the Debutante Ball and the White Party, she hit me. It hurt a lot—not just physically, but in my heart—and there is still a gross purple bruise on my cheek. It’s very embarrassing; I tried my best, but even my heaviest foundation can’t cover it.

I was so upset that I didn’t know what to do but to call Gladion, and so I snuck out to his place alone. My good, sweet Gladion. He comforted me and called Mother a lot of really nasty names. He says everything is her fault and that she doesn’t know how to love anyone. I don’t know if that’s true, but it doesn’t really help to believe it—because even though that absolves me of being responsible for what she did, it still means that my mother is a terrible person. I don’t want to believe that, either. I want us to be a happy family, but I don’t know if that can ever happen. It feels dreadful, but… I’m starting to think that maybe Gladion’s right about her—especially because of what I have to say next.

I must confide in you that I have a bad, bad feeling that Mother has some kind of mysterious plan in the works. I felt it when I—out of my mind; I don’t know what possessed me to do it even to this day—rescued Nebby, and I was right that she had conceived of some horrible scheme to hurt it. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

I’m not saying that I’m psychic, like Lady Acerola. I’m not special at all. But I know Mother, and I can tell when something’s wrong—really wrong—when she’s more angry than usual; and the way she attacked me is proof. There is something going on that has me very, very worried.

At least I know now that I can go to Gladion if things start to get scary. Gladion…

I ask you to please not judge me, but when I slept over at Gladion's place last night, something happened. Something that we didn’t do on purpose, and it’s not something that I can explain, either; it was just something that happened to us. We kissed each other. More than once. Many times, actually; though I’m ashamed to admit it.

Lillie stopped writing then, her hand shaking. She looked into the little vanity mirror on her desk and saw that her face was flushed, and that she couldn’t fight the pesky Bug Pokémon in her belly, or regain the ability to breathe, or stop the spell of lightheadedness. She took a deep breath and then drank a sip of her tea, refocusing on the page in front of her.

It was the first time I’ve ever made out with a boy, and though I knew it was wrong, it would be deceitful to state or even imply that I didn’t like it. The fact is that I liked it very much; and I think I would do it again if he asked me to.

Actually, that is also deceitful to say. I know I would do it again if he wanted to.

It wasn’t just that it felt good (it is so very bad to admit, but it felt so very good); it was that being close to Gladion like that made me feel happy.

Lillie chewed on her quill, tapping her free hand on the desk. The pesky tears that threatened her eyes now trickled in thin streams, over her bruise and down her delicate cheeks.

I’ve thought for a long time that I was all alone, but… Gladion has always been there for me; and swore to me that he would continue to watch over me.

I don’t know what that means. I doubt he loves me; I know no one ever will. But I would do anything to be in his arms again.

Lillie put down her magenta Oricorio-feathered quill and closed her diary and locked it. She wiped her tears with the back of her arm and then put the book away in the desk drawer.

Gladion…

She picked up her teacup and sipped it, unable to stop her fingers shaking, and finding the tea unable to soothe her nerves. Ultimately, she set it aside and crawled into bed, where she began to shake and sob.

Stop crying, she chided herself. What are you even crying about, Lillie?

The answer was everything. Her father being dead and gone, leaving her alone. Her brother having been thrown out on the street when she was only nine, leaving her alone. Nebby. Poor, poor Nebby—who in the end had also left her all alone, though she knew he had to go.

And her mother—who was the only person she had left—was also who Lillie had begun to realize more and more, like sequential waves crashing over the sand in unrelenting rhythm, hurt her and hurt her and hurt her; and wasn’t ever likely to stop.

It was all so painful; but by some miracle there was a light growing in the dark. It was the light that flared in her heart when Gladion kissed her, and his promise that she could return to him whenever she wanted.

I wish you were here right now, Gladion…

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Not all Team Skull parties turned into ragers, but this one certainly seemed like it was going to be a night to remember.

A group of grunts had set up a globe light on the ceiling (Gladion wondered how many of them it had taken to successfully install it), and it made neon rays of color bounce in electric patterns across the walls and furniture as the very building seemed to sway to the music. A DJ was set up in the corner of the living room—some scrappy kid wearing a snapback with the Team Skull logo spray painted on it in signature silver paint, and a collection of chains jingling on his chest as he bopped back and forth to the music that blared from his turntables. Some girls had taken off their tops and were dancing in the middle of the room in their bras and skimpy ripped shorts, giggling and spilling alcohol all over the already stained floor.

Gladion swirled his drink in its cup, bored. He had texted Oliver several times wondering where he was, but his friend wasn’t responding, and Gladion hadn’t been able to find him at the party. Oliver was really the only one he wanted to hang out with, so Gladion sat by himself on one of the sunken couches in the living room, listening to a couple younger grunts tell him how sick their battling skills were so that he could smoke their weed.

“My Trubbish’s stats are like, maxed,” said one of the kids, taking a drag off a blunt. He coughed, a little too close to Gladion for his comfort. “Like, I gotta work on training him up a bit, but he’s got the potential to absolutely destroy any opponent in battle. I think he’s the strongest Pokémon I ever met. He’s my fucking dude.”

Gladion fought the urge to roll his eyes but didn’t succeed. He grabbed the blunt and took a hit. He was already very high, but it wasn’t enough to stop thinking about having sex with Lillie. His only goal in life at the moment was being in bed with her as recalled the dizzying euphoria he got from her kisses, which was a far superior high to the one he had now—a heavy daze that made him feel heavy and bored. The party was supposed to distract him, but all he thought about was seeing Lillie naked, lovely as a nude oil painting with her long blonde hair half-covering her breasts. Fuck.

He took another hit of the blunt before passing it to the other grunt beside him.

“I don’t know, man, it’s just a regular old Trubbish,” said the second grunt, though he studied his friend with an air of seriously considering his claims.

“You’ve gotta see us battle!” the grunt with the sick Trubbish shouted to them over the music. “I know you’d be impressed. You’d be like, yeah, that Pokémon’s dope.”

Gladion stared at his Pokétch, asking Oliver again where he was. He thought about texting Lillie, but didn’t know what he would say to her.

“Yo, Gladion, we should have a battle so you can see my Trubbish in action,” the grunt continued to go on and on bragging about his Pokémon.

But Gladion wasn’t paying attention.

“I’ve gotta get another drink,” he said, ignoring him and getting up.

“Yeah, that’s cool, man. We’ll have a battle some other time,” said the grunt as Gladion walked away, and he almost felt a little badly because the kid was so good-natured.

This particular young grunt was absolutely an example of one who should be out on his island challenge, not in Team Skull. But Guzma was right when he pointed out the flaws of the island challenge, Gladion thought to himself. What did the kahunas do for the kids that felt like they couldn’t fit in? Nothing. No mentoring, no coaching or counseling; the choice was to do things their way, according to their strict traditions, or drop out of the challenge. That’s where Team Skull waited with open arms for the outcasts.

Dodging half-naked girls and sweaty guys who were fist pumping to the music, Gladion headed toward the kitchen to grab another beer. His intention remained to get faded enough that he’d stop thinking about Lillie, but he didn’t feel hopeful. He had spent all day lowkey (lowkey highkey) scheming how he could get her alone so he could kiss her again, and how much of a piece of shit he was for wanting that. Would she even want to kiss him again? Maybe she was regretting it right now as he cracked open another beer. Fucking fuck.

Downing a big mouthful of the cheap beer in the bottle, he turned away from the fridge when a grunt smashed into him, practically knocking him over. Some of the beer splashed all over his chest.

“What the fuck, dude?” Gladion swore, groaning.

The grunt was wild-eyed—he was definitely on something—but he also seemed genuinely apologetic in a quite pitiful way that made Gladion even more irritated than if it were just the behavior of a belligerent asshole.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry, dude—here,” whined the grunt, who then dug in his pockets and pulled out a plastic bag with suspicious-looking, multicolored vegetation. “Have the rest of these, dude—they’re all for you—just forgive me, okay? I know you’re close with the Boss and it’ll never happen again; I swear!”

It all happened in a blur, but Gladion held up the bag of mushrooms and inspected them, figuring it was actually a pretty sweet deal.

“...Yeah, okay. Watch out next time,” he said with the most authority he could muster, and the grunt nodded profusely.

“Thanks, man. Yo! Team Skull for life!” the young kid shouted, and he threw up a gang sign before scrambling over to a group of his friends hanging out near the pantry where they loitered on the counters and scrounged for snacks to satisfy their munchies.

Exiting the kitchen, Gladion ate the mushrooms and washed them down with beer, stuffing the empty bag into his jacket pocket. Maybe the shrooms would make him feel fucked up enough that he stopped thinking about laying his sister down onto his bed and climbing on top of her—but those thoughts were already fucked up, so maybe the drugs and drink were not going to be able to do anything at all.

That was a harrowing thought. He would just have to ball harder.

He wandered back into the party, which suddenly seemed more crowded than it had before he went to the kitchen. Though he hated to admit it, Gladion found himself slightly impressed. Perhaps it was a special occasion he had no idea of because he didn’t spend more time at the Shady House than he had to, but it seemed all of Team Skull was in the mood to party tonight.

Gladion didn’t particularly feel like rejoining the grunts he had been talking to in the living room (he didn’t think he could stomach more Trubbish), so he decided to walk around and see what else was going on, hoping that Oliver would show up soon.

The front door opened as Gladion walked by and a crowd of stronger, older teenagers hoisted a keg into the house, to the tune of raucous applause from the party.

“Team Skull, yooo!” shouted one of the grunts who had just brought in the prize.

“Team fucking Skull!”

“The best who ever did it—Team Skull! You fucking know it, bitch!”

Sighing, Gladion decided to head upstairs away from the chaos. Chugging his beer, he scaled the steps, careful not to get knocked over by a couple of, honestly, way too-young kids who were sliding down the banisters. Two other low-ranking lackeys were making out at the top of the stairway, a couple guys about his own age who had each other pushed up against the wall. Gladion wished that was what he was doing to Lillie at the moment.

The guy with no front tooth who usually guarded Guzma’s door, Skip, was standing all by himself as he nursed something noxious out of a solo cup, either zoned out or content in people-watching. He leaned against the wall, his lanky form appearing especially odd to be sulking in such a way.

It wasn’t often that Gladion had to look up to speak to someone, being quite tall himself, but Skip was at least three inches taller than him.

“Is Guzma around?” asked Gladion.

He didn’t particularly care, but he was bored enough that he wondered where the Boss was.

“Private party in his quarters,” said Skip, chugging his mystery drink. “Do you need something?”

“No; just curious,” Gladion said, taking a sip of his beer. He was getting pretty sick of this party. He shared a joint with Skip before a girl approached them with a shy smile on her face.

“Hey, Gladion,” said Sylvia, his ex-girlfriend of a few months now—a time that was equal to the amount of time that they had dated. She wore a tight black mini dress and a leather jacket, and she looked very pretty with her crimson hair and messy bangs framing her face; but Gladion didn’t care enough to tell her that.

Oh, no. Fuck me. Why is she here?

“Hey. What’s up?” he asked, trying to be nice.

She was here because she lived nearby in Po Town, and hung around the outskirts of the Team Skull scene despite not being a part of the gang. She was let into parties and shows and invited to hang out with the Team because she was attractive and “a pretty chill chick.”

“Not much. Enjoying the party,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “There’s so many people here.”

“Yeah… it’s fucking crazy tonight,” Gladion agreed as cheers erupted from downstairs.

Someone must be doing a keg stand.

“Are you having fun?” Sylvia asked him, batting her false eyelashes.

He didn’t really know what to say to that.

“Yeah,” he lied. He didn’t want to be here at all—especially with Sylvia now here, and Oliver not.

He didn’t want to be here so badly that he was in fact contemplating heading over to Akala Island and breaking into his mother’s house to see his sister.

But he looked at how Sylvia looked at him, and suddenly had an idea.

“You know what would make it better?”

That’s how they started making out in one of the upstairs bathrooms. It didn’t take a lot of convincing to get her going. Actually, it took no convincing at all. Gladion knew that Sylvia still wanted to be with him—she made it obvious every time she came ‘round to hang out at the estate, and how she texted him often, even if it was just videos or memes—and a very many “hey, how are you?’s.”

After all, he had been the one to end their relationship because he realized that he felt no genuine affection for her in any manner; and that while she was a perfectly nice person, and, yes, chill—she wasn’t very smart or unique, and everything she liked seemed to be whatever he liked (from music to food and TV shows)—which had simply bored him to death after the novelty of her hotness wore off. There was also the fact of her clinginess, which, far outweighing her hotness, tortured him from the beginning of their relationship and escalated into worse torture the longer they were together.

When he broke up with her, she had cried and cried and said she was in love with him; and how she thought he loved her, too. As if. Gladion had never been—and was sure he would never be—in love with anyone.

“I missed you,” said Sylvia, pulling away from his lips and kissing his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck. Her bright red lipstick left stains on his skin.

Gladion grunted noncommittally, wishing she would stop talking. He didn’t miss her; he just wanted to feel something, anything, for a girl other than Lillie. There was no magic in these kisses, made even more off-putting by their filthy surroundings. Bathrooms in the Team Skull estate weren’t exactly a romantic setting. He tried not to with everything in him, but it wasn’t long before Gladion went elsewhere in his mind, back to his motel room, in his bed with Lillie. His little sister trembled in his arms, her green eyes clear and angelic like a babydoll, blinking at him beneath featherly lashes and closing as she sighed into his kiss.

“Gladion,” Sylvia moaned his name, but Gladion heard Lillie’s voice.

“Shut up and kiss me,” he growled; but then an even better idea occurred to him—something that might be more exciting than this; might actually make him forget about Lillie’s sweetness if Sylvia would agree to it. “You should suck my cock.”

“Yeah?” asked Sylvia, her red lipstick smeared onto her cheek. “You miss my blow jobs, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Gladion, putting his hand on the top of her head and pushing her down. “Come on.”

Sylvia knelt down on the grimy tiled floor, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. She peeled down the waist of his boxers and reached for his hardening cock, pulling it out and gently squeezing it in her hand. She applied a little pressure, moving her hand up and down.

“Use your mouth,” said Gladion, putting his hand on the back of her head and pushing her head toward him.

Sylvia opened her mouth and swallowed his cock, bobbing her head up and down while holding the base steady. Gladion kept his hand on the back of her head, carelessly pushing her head down when she pulled away. It should be too filthy to think about his little sister doing this instead, but he couldn’t control himself. Instead of Sylvia’s crimson hair tangled in his fingers he imagined Lillie’s pale blonde locks, and when he looked down he saw his sister’s nose and her soft pink lips wrapped around him, those pretty green eyes looking so affectionately at him as she sucked.

“Fuck,” sighed Gladion, closing his eyes; Sylvia mistook it for pleasure and moved her head more vigorously back and forth while gently squeezing the base of his shaft.

Behind his eyelids, Gladion watched as Lillie ran her tongue along the length of him, tasting his most sensitive skin. He felt himself about to say her name, but he forced his eyes open, trying to make himself realize that it was Sylvia doing this to him, not Lillie.

How hot it would be to see his cum dripping from Lillie’s lips…

“I can’t do this,” Gladion sighed, putting his hands on Sylvia’s shoulders and pushing her away. “This isn’t working. Get off me.”

Her head bobbed off his cock, strands of her vivid hair sticking to the saliva on her lips.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’m not into it,” said Gladion, tucking his cock away in his boxers and zipping up his pants.

“W-Why? What did I do?” asked Sylvia in a hysterical frenzy. She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and stood up.

“Nothing, that’s the problem,” Gladion grunted, hating himself in every way; not to mention he could now barely think because the alcohol and the weed and the psychedelics had overcome him all at once. He was vaguely aware he was being a complete ass, but he was so fucked up that he wasn’t able to care. He didn’t consider himself a good person, anyway, so it was doubtful whether he would’ve cared even if he were sober. “I never loved you, Sylvia. You should move on and find someone else.”

“What the fuck, Gladion!?” Sylvia screamed as Gladion opened up the bathroom door. “You fucking asshole!”

He slammed the door behind him, deciding he was going to leave this stupid party. Downstairs, the grunts were all still raging, booming dubstep and partying beneath neon lights flashing throughout the estate—they made him especially dizzy now that he was feeling the effects of the mushrooms. Gladion made his way out the front door, which spun like a fun-house carnival attraction, when his Pokétch rang.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Gladion asked Oliver as he answered the phone. “I’ve been waiting for you at this lame-ass fucking party for ages and you never showed.”

“Sorry, man,” said Oliver, not sounding like he was particularly sorry. As usual, his slow, soft tone reflected the fact he was not quite in touch with reality, probably drifting off somewhere where he heard new music; and probably also on a lot of drugs. “I was planning on coming over but then I got tied up in writing this song… inspiration just took me away. Are you still there? You should come over.”

Oliver lived in Po Town just streets away, so it wouldn’t be difficult to get to his place. Gladion didn’t really want to go home, either; the shrooms were in full effect, and there was a slight slant to the street in his peripheral, pink dots glittering in place of the streetlights. It seemed a shame to waste it, and he was possessed by an agitated energy that he didn’t feel would let him sleep well.

“Fine. I’ll be right there,” said Gladion, hanging up and turning down the street. He stared at his Pokétch as he walked, noticing that it glowed more brightly than normal—the light looked strangely beautiful—so he opened his texts and tapped on Lillie’s chat window, staring at the screen shivering and gleaming in the night.

Hey, he sent her, struggling to spell correctly. What’re you up to? I’m thinking about you.

Gladion would probably regret that in the morning (he forgot entirely that it was already morning—two-thirty in the morning—and that Lillie would not be up to anything, but laid down asleep). At the moment, though, it seemed like a good idea. He then forgot about his phone just as he had the time after he sent the text, and shoved the tech in his pocket.

The street ahead of him appeared endlessly long, like it went on for miles out into the horizon; and the black tar started to look and feel like water beneath his sneakers, so he moved onto the sidewalk, taking an unnecessarily dramatic step onto the curb that almost made him fall on his face. Some Murkrow were picking at crumbs beneath a streetlight, their red eyes casting lasers into the night; and their cries sounded uncomfortably close.

Gladion wobbled up Oliver’s front steps and knocked on his front door. His friend lived with his dad, who was never home because he worked the night shift as a security guard at the hospital on Ula’ula Island. His mom had left them years ago, but Oliver was mostly well-adjusted, spending the majority of his time absorbed in making music. Gladion would describe him as “mostly” well-adjusted, because Oliver also had a particularly bad drug problem—one where he mixed narcotics far more dangerous than Gladion himself used, let alone combined. Still, the guy was his best friend, and the only person Gladion would ever talk to about his feelings on merely surface level; the dark stuff—the real stuff—was kept locked tight in the vault protecting his heart.

“Hey man, what’s up?” asked Oliver as he opened up the door. He dressed similarly to Gladion, with ripped jeans and a frayed, striped sweater. “You look like you’re lit.”

“I’m pretty fucked up,” said Gladion, striding into the house. “You got any beer?”

“Yeah, man, I’ll get you one.”

They got some drinks and went to Oliver’s room. Oliver sat down on a beanbag chair and picked up his guitar while Gladion kicked off his sneakers and threw himself down onto the bed.

“So, you’re writing a new song?” Gladion asked, taking a sip of his beer. The lava lamp on Oliver’s nightstand looked particularly pretty to his drugged mind, and he watched the globular orbs dance and reform.

“Yeah,” said Oliver, and he strummed a few chords. “Almost finished, actually. Inspiration really hit me tonight.”

“That’s cool,” Gladion mumbled.

Oliver wrote songs, sang, and played lead guitar in a local rock band, Destiny Bond. The band was really good—Oliver was really good—and Gladion envied him. Gladion loved music; loved how he could connect with lyrics and melodies and the emotion inside his favorite songs that kept him going when he was ready to give up on life—but he was not any good at making it himself. He would mess with his own guitar every once in a while, wishing he could transmute his tortured feelings into a song—any song—but his efforts were definitively hopeless.

“Yeah, I think it’s alright,” said Oliver. “I’ll have to let the guys and Isa give it a listen to see if it’s something they wanna add to. I’m trying to get us some gigs booked at a few bars around Ula’ula.”

“Sweet,” said Gladion, swirling the beer around in its amber glass.

“Yeah.”

“Have you been writing songs all day?”

“Nah, just since after dinner. I hung out with Acerola earlier.”

For about a year now, Oliver had been seeing Ula’ula Island’s resident Ghost-type expert and Trial Captain, a mysterious girl who had allegedly once been Alolan royalty. Acerola was a couple years older than Oliver, and seemed even more introverted than him, because Gladion didn’t see her often. He remembered that she had once lived at Aether House, and wondered if she had ever met his mother.

“How are you guys?” asked Gladion, taking another sip of his beer. 

“We’re good,” said Oliver, strumming on his guitar. It slightly bothered Gladion that even when messing around, Oliver’s chords still sounded pleasing. “She’s like the only person that really gets me, you know? She wants me to get clean, but… I don’t know, man. Shit’s a little bit more complicated than I think she understands.”

“Yeah,” said Gladion, not sure how to approach the topic of Oliver’s drug use. “I mean, could you do it for her?”

“For her?” asked Oliver, strumming the guitar some more. “Shit, I’d do anything; so maybe. One day. I always tell her I’ll quit later. How about you, man? Is that lipstick on your neck?”

Gladion spent a moment frantically trying to assess the damage before realizing he couldn’t see his own neck. Oliver laughed at him.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Yeah. I made out with Sylvia.”

“Sylvia?” asked Oliver, raising his eyebrows. “You’re still into her? I thought you said talking to her was like trying to have a conversation with a Slowpoke.”

“Not at all,” said Gladion, sighing into his beer. “I was hoping she would distract me from… well… someone else.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

Gladion inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dispel the visions of Lillie that the drugs had only fueled. He watched her smile behind his eyelids, her face bordered by falling flowers and trippy patterns that changed shape and colors like a kaleidoscope. He opened his eyes and looked at Oliver hopelessly, noticing his friend’s face was all fuzzy.

“I can’t say,” said Gladion, half mumbling. “Sorry.”

“Why not?” asked Oliver.

“I just… I can’t,” said Gladion, miserable. “Just… don’t push it, okay? Who she is isn’t important.”

“If you say so, man,” said Oliver, strumming a few more notes. “You seem pretty messed up about it, though.”

Gladion was frustrated that he couldn’t be honest with his best friend; but that’s how sick and deranged what he was going through was. There was no way he could admit he wanted to have sex with his little sister.

“I wanna fuck her so bad, Oliver,” Gladion whined, rubbing his eyes. “It’s all I can think about. I’m fucked up.”

“And you really won’t tell me who this girl is that you’ve got it so bad for?” asked Oliver again, pushing just a little. He put his guitar down and started gathering the materials to roll a joint.

“No,” said Gladion simply. “That’s the worst part of it all.”

“Is she part of Team Skull?”

“No,” said Gladion, laughing at the notion of Lillie being in a gang. “She’s a good girl. Innocent. She’s a virgin, too; I’m ninety-nine percent certain.”

“And you wanna corrupt her?” Oliver chuckled.

“No. I want her to fix me,” Gladion breathed, thinking of the relief it would bring him to be happy with Lillie and leave his tormented feelings behind. “She can. She’s an angel.”

Lillie had wings now, as he envisioned her.

“I don’t know about that, man,” Oliver muttered, shaking his head. “Relationships can’t fix you, that’s for sure. I mean, look at me.”

Gladion tried to focus on Oliver’s face, but he was seeing double and the way Oliver’s mouth stretched when he talked freaked him out, so he stared up at the ceiling, wandering a glowing forest in his mind. He had never been to Glimwood Tangle, but he imagined it looked a lot like what he was seeing now.

“I don’t know. She makes me smile,” he mumbled, brain melting into the pillows. “And I hate everything way less when I’m around her. I almost remember what it’s like to be happy.”

“Sounds like you’re in love,” said Oliver, his fingers working on assembling the bud.

Gladion grimaced; his stomach dropped like he had just rushed down from the pinnacle of a rollercoaster. He couldn’t be in love with Lillie, could he? After all, she was his sister, as he hadn’t—couldn’t—let himself forget. Sure, he… loved her; despite how uncomfortable thinking about love made him feel in any capacity. She was probably the only person that he loved, when he seriously considered it. That was special, yes, but… how could he be in love with her?

Could he?

My Lillie… he thought, completely unable to think of her as not belonging to him.

His mind spun in its heavy, off-kilter rotation.

It hasn't even been twenty-four hours and I miss her. I don’t want her to ever be hurt or upset again. I want to be the one she runs to; I want to be the one to have her—not just because she’s beautiful, but because—

“I think I just need her,” said Gladion, swallowing, though he knew it wasn’t at all true that the only reason he needed Lillie was for sex. She was worth so much more than that; and even the desire to be intimate with her was also because—

“That’s got to be it,” he sighed again, trying to make the words true by repeating them out loud. “I just need to fuck her, and then I’ll feel better.”

Oliver shook his head.

“You said she’s an innocent virgin. What makes you think she wants to let some no-good punk fuck like you sully her?”

That was a good point. They had left their (could he call it romantic?) night together without clear answers on what it meant to either of them—without boundaries or labels. Lillie may have decided by now that being with him in that way was a mistake.

“She might not want to. Fuck,” Gladion muttered.

It now felt like he was floating out to sea on Oliver’s bed. Like a boat, the vessel skirted the waves and rocked gently through the water. 

Oliver laughed at him again, sprawled out on the beanbag chair as he smoked.

“We kissed,” Gladion went on. “It was like… doing drugs—better than drugs. It felt so good. I need to kiss her again, at least.”

“Good luck, dude,” Oliver offered that to his friend, at least, even if he had no advice. He also offered him the joint, and Gladion gratefully took it, inhaling as he felt the bed start to sink.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave Alola?” asked Gladion, his mind lost.

“For travel or like, to live?”

“Either,” Gladion mumbled.

“I dunno,” said Oliver, taking a moment to think about it. “Acerola and I want to travel after we get married. Maybe we’ll decide we like some other region better and settle down there. But I wouldn’t mind staying in Alola, either. In the city, though; big cities are always the hub for the arts—and I sure as shit don’t wanna rot in this fucken’ town. You?”

“I dunno,” Gladion echoed him. “I think about it, but I don’t know if I ever could. Stuff keeps me tied down.”

“You think you’ll take over your mother’s company?” asked Oliver.

Gladion snorted in disgust.

“Aether Foundation? Fuck no,” he grunted. “Lusamine wouldn’t let me anywhere near it ‘til she’s dead, and even then there’s no chance in Hell she’d leave it to me. I don’t want that sick fucking place anyway. I’ve told you they do all kinds of vile tests on Pokémon.”

Oliver had never been interested in being a Trainer; it had only been art for him his whole life—he was born for it—and stayed even as a child mostly shut up inside his house of his own volition, with no desire to catch or play with Pokémon. While he trusted Gladion, all he had ever seen or heard about Aether Foundation was how lovely an organization it was, and how well they took care of Pokémon; and his own girlfriend who used to live at Aether House had never said a bad word about it.

“You mean like what they did to Null? I mean, Silvally. They still do that?” asked Oliver. Just the same, he only knew a little bit about how Gladion had come to acquire his special Pokémon partner.

“Of course they do. They pretend like it’s a conservation, like they’re taking care of the Pokémon they bring there—but that’s a front for the fact that Pokémon are just test subjects to them. It’s like a goddamn torture chamber in there. Aether Foundation is bad news,” said Gladion, disgusted by his mother and the whole thing.

He had a moment where he remembered how terrified and emaciated Type: Null looked when he had found it chained up in the lab; the dreadful groans of pain from the creature whose head was encased in a metal helmet. Gladion shivered, shaking out his wrists as if they had also been in those chains. 

That was the kind of person his mother was, he thought, to run a place that committed grievous acts of violence against innocent creatures.

“That’s fucked up, dude,” said Oliver, puffing on the joint. “I see why you want nothing to do with her. Your mother, I mean.”

“Yeah, she’s a fucking piece of work,” he sighed.

“Didn’t mean to make you upset, man,” Oliver added as he passed Gladion the joint again. “You look really down all of a sudden. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Gladion. “I also ate some mushrooms earlier, and I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Damn, you ate mushrooms without me? Cold, bro,” said Oliver, shaking his head.

Gladion laughed.

“Some stupid kid just gave them to me and I figured why the fuck not,” he explained. “Next time we’ll eat them together.”

Oliver seemed satisfied with that, and the two friends talked until the early hours of the morning. Oliver even played some of his new song for Gladion, and Gladion gave him his opinions, inspiring Oliver to tweak a few of the lyrics. It wasn’t until four AM that Gladion realized there was no way he was making it home in the state he was in and asked to stay over.

“Will your dad care if I crash on the couch?” he asked, sitting up in Oliver’s bed, which felt like pulling himself out of quicksand.

“Nah, that’s cool. Wouldn’t want you falling off the back of a Charizard into the ocean,” Oliver joked.

“Yeah, that would suck,” said Gladion, wobbling as he stood up. He swayed to the side as he headed to the living room, bracing himself on the doorframe.

“You good, dude?” asked Oliver.

“Yeah,” Gladion replied. “Just thinking about something you said earlier. About being in love.”

“What about it?”

“I think there’s a chance I might be, and it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Go to sleep, man,” said Oliver.

Gladion stumbled to the couch and pulled a throw blanket over himself, trying to get comfortable on the stiff furniture that boasted, beyond the blanket, only a single throw pillow.

My Lillie… what I wouldn’t do…

Chapter Text

Gladion was woken up at seven AM when Oliver’s dad got home from work. He heard the front door creak open and slam shut; two distinct thuds as shoes were removed; the jingling of keys being hung up by the door.

Gladion sat up on the couch, rubbing his face. Through blurry eyes he could make out Harry Wicker in his security uniform and holey socks.

“What is this, a fucken’ motel now?” asked Oliver’s father upon facing Gladion.

“Sorry, Mr. Wicker,” he said, half-awake and still faded.

“Okay, whatever, Gladion,” Harry mumbled, heading to his bedroom. “Fucking homeless kids in this goddamn town.”

Gladion coughed and grabbed his phone, scrolling through his notifications. He winced when he realized he had texted Lillie at some point last night; and, whether for better or worse he didn’t know, under the influence his message had come out as garbled keyboard smashing. Goddamn it. He was dizzy, but he didn’t feel comfortable staying in the Wicker’s living room after the greeting he just received, so he got up and laced up his sneakers, squinting into the bright morning.

“Fuck,” he sighed, stretching, as he shut the front door behind him.

It was sickly humid (oh, beautiful, tropical Alola!) and his dirty skinny jeans stuck to his skin. He could still smell beer on his t-shirt. He needed a shower. But as he felt around in his jacket pockets for a ride pager, he realized there was another delivery he had to make in Po Town before he went home. 

The old man had better be awake, he thought, because he didn’t feel like coming back later today. 

Gladion was aware he was still tripping as he looked up at the sky and saw the moon and the sun together, swimming. It was a common enough occurrence, but something about the motion of these orbs in the sky was out of sync. Or maybe it was the fact that they were moving at all. Actually, he wasn’t sure why the moon was even out in the morning. He shook his head and cracked his knuckles.

Only a few streets away from Oliver’s place, Gladion knocked on the door of a shabby little green and brown patchwork house with the worst kept front lawn in the neighborhood—which was saying something in Po Town.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he heard a grunt from inside.

“Fuck, old man, it smells like cat in here,” Gladion complained as he entered the house. He wiped his feet on the doormat, though based on the general state of the floors, it didn’t seem like anyone else ever did.

A couple Meowth ran by him, chasing each other’s tails. They pranced into the living room, doing a dance of deception around the coffee table and hissing at each other. Several more could be found asleep in various positions in the living room, notably one on the bannister that divided off the kitchen, its tail flicking back and forth like a pendulum. Only a floor lamp provided light in the darkened cottage rooms, and a newscaster’s voice droned dully from the television.

“Leave them be,” said Nanu from the kitchenette where he poured his coffee, sulking in grey striped pajamas. His usual sandals had been swapped for slippers whose rubber bottoms clacked on the kitchen tile as he scuttled around for sugar. “They’re my guests.”

“Whatever, you crazy bastard,” Gladion sighed under his breath as he navigated across the cat-infested living room to the kitchen area. “I’ve got your usual order.”

“It’s about time, boy. I was looking for you yesterday,” grumbled Nanu. Although he complained, he opened a cabinet to retrieve an extra mug. “You look like shit. Have some coffee.”

Despite his annoyance, Gladion actually laughed.

“Hell no, I don’t have time for that. It’s too early and I wanna go home,” he whined.

“You’re going to sit your ass down and roll me a blunt, boy, so you might as well have some coffee.”

Gladion groaned. If he had to stay, though, coffee sounded helpful enough that he surrendered; and so he sauntered into the kitchenette and poured himself a cup while Nanu sat down at the rickety dining table, where paint peeled in splinters on every other line of woodgrain.

“You’ve been out all night, I take it?” the old man asked, studying Gladion’s disheveled appearance.

“You gonna arrest me for that?” Gladion muttered. He heard the Meowth crying at each other as he put a smidgen of sugar into his coffee, which was otherwise kept black.

“Bah. I’m not after you, boy. I’m old and I miss my youth, damn it. The least you can do is let me live vicariously through your galavanting,” Nanu grumbled—which was, truly, by Gladion’s estimation, the only way the elderly kahuna knew how to speak.

So, he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I slept at the Wicker’s place after a party at the Shady House,” he said, sitting down at the table opposite Nanu. “They had a rager in there last night, if you weren’t aware. Kind of sucked, though, honestly. I didn’t have fun. Not much for galavanting.”

He didn’t tell the old man about the mushrooms he ate or the blowjob he got in the bathroom, but Nanu didn’t need to know about that. In fact, upon remembering his unfortunate hookup with Sylvia, Gladion hoped in all misery that no one but Oliver would ever know about that.

Instead of admitting his sins, Gladion took a swig of coffee, hoping the caffeine would set his scattered mind straight.

Nanu laughed and sipped his own drink.

“Yeah, I got a few noise complaints about that. Didn’t do anything about it, though. What do people expect? Guzma bought that house, if you can believe it. Not gonna hassle him when he’s not causing any harm.”

Gladion shook his head. Obviously Nanu had left Guzma alone. He always left him alone, even when he was causing harm—to people who didn’t pay their debts; to unsuspecting Pokémon in the wrong place at the wrong time; to any one single entity or larger organization, business or otherwise, that got in his way. The real fact behind it was that the heads of the island police departments maintained an unspoken knowing (and an unspoken amount of cash in their pockets) that the Aether Foundation protected Team Skull. 

Gladion had pieced this together since he was only twelve and full of rage that his mother had hired (or, more likely, as he imagined in his conspiracy theories, “collaborated”) with Team Skull to kidnap Lillie and Cosmog; and his suspected involvement of Lusamine with street gang activities often haunted him when he reflected that he was, despite whatever manner he used to justify his separation from the crew, a cog in one of her grand schemes.

But, so was everyone else.

There weren’t many research facilities, financial institutions, Boards of Trustees for schools and private corporations, politics—or even illegal operations that Lusamine didn’t have a manicured finger in.

Gladion often wondered how deep the Bunnelby hole went.

“It was a stupid fucking party, anyway,” he mumbled, hardly able to stand being in his filthy clothes any longer; or how his head began to ache; or how the Meowths’ movements around the house had a prismatic quality to them in his eyes.

“Can’t imagine those Team Skull hooligans are much for conversation,” Nanu said, shaking his head too. He yawned. “Bah, go on, Gladion; roll an old man a blunt to have with his coffee, please? I’m trying to enjoy my morning.”

“Alright, alright, fuck; so impatient—sorry I’m half-awake,” Gladion mumbled. His mug made a loud clopping noise as he plopped it on the table. He dug in his pockets. “Here’s yours.”

Gladion passed Nanu a plastic bag with the modest amount of marijuana he usually purchased in it; then took out his own bag and a pack of cigar rolls.

“You could use mine if you wanted,” said Nanu, watching him.

“It’s fine, old man.”

“Well, thanks,” said Nanu as he opened up his wallet and paid for his delivery.

Gladion went to work assembling the blunt. He didn’t often wake and bake, but since he was already still high from the night before, he figured he might as well. He didn’t really want to be sober ever again, anyway, with his feelings for his sister becoming more and more terrifying as they became more and more real—developments which hadn’t stopped at all, despite how he trudged through other business this morning.

“I didn’t “rage,” as you call it, much in my youth,” prattled Nanu, reminiscing. “Wasn’t much for the drink. I don’t like coke, either. Nasty stuff; and who wants a bloody nose? Always preferred to get stoned and listen to some groovy records with people I actually liked.”

Gladion smiled while he broke up the flower. He didn’t really mind spending time with the old man, even if he would never admit it. Nanu always had something amusing or surprisingly insightful to say about life in Alola, and he never sugar-coated anything—something Gladion appreciated in this world of liars and fakers.

He had his suspicions, too, that the old man knew Aether Paradise wasn’t all that it seemed, either; though he never wanted to be the one to bring it up. He figured that Nanu at least had to have a hunch that most of the police force was in Lusamine’s pocket; but, perhaps, as with every aspect of his life, the old man did his best to ignore it.

“Yeah, I like listening to music when I’m stoned, too,” Gladion said. “Something makes it sound better.”

“It sounds the best when it comes from a vinyl record, and you shouldn’t forget it,” Nanu declared, nursing his coffee. One of the Meowth ran into the kitchen and curled up in his lap. “One day, I’ll show you my record collection. I’ve got all the great rockers in there. First pressings, too.”

“You’ve shown it to me before,” said Gladion, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Huh,” Nanu sighed. “I have, huh? Well, then I’ll make the strong assumption you were impressed.”

Gladion chuckled.

“Yeah, I was; I’ll give you that. Vinyl’s cool,” he said. “I’ll have a collection, too, one day; when I have my own place.”

Gladion often wondered why he didn’t have his own place; why he stayed in the decaying Tropico Roadside Motel instead of finding a cheap apartment somewhere. Like all motels, the Tropico had a transient quality to it; a place that existed only between coming and going; and he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going, so how could he leave? He supposed he found the whole arrangement a bit iconic, too—like he was one of those same rockers Nanu talked about, living out of shitty motel rooms as they toured the country trying to make it big. Or maybe the name and atmosphere of the place simply carried the romance of a line in a song, sung by a beautiful girl in the motel’s seedy bar about finding paradise—or how it was lost.

Either way, for the foreseeable future, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Music isn’t the same as it used to be,” Nanu complained.

“Says every old person ever,” Gladion mocked him, though it had no effect on Nanu continuing what he had to say.

“My first date with Melody, I took her to a rock concert. I’m talking real rock and roll. Music that defined the sound of the decade. She hated it. Liked me well enough to give me a chance, though. Can’t imagine why.”

“Oh? Who’s Melody?” asked Gladion, with a bit of a teasing tone.

The cat on Nanu’s lap spread its glistening claws, licking at them.

“Who’s Melody?” Nanu echoed, and then he laughed in an oddly affectionate way, ending in a sigh. He took a big sip of his coffee. “She’s my wife, of course. The love of my life. The most beautiful girl that’s ever lived on these godforsaken islands.”

Gladion looked up from what he was doing and studied Nanu’s face, noticing his eyes were misty and far away.

“Oh yeah? What happened to her?” he asked, maybe a little insensitively.

“She got sick,” Nanu replied. “Left me way too soon for Heaven.”

Gladion nodded, struck by sudden empathy for the old man.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

At least, that’s what he knew he should say; though it didn’t feel sufficient. He wished he hadn’t asked; but, now that he knew, he experienced a shift in his view of the sad old police officer whose life seemed to be getting away from him.

He licked the cigar wrap as he sealed it.

For twenty-five years since she had died, Nanu bottled his feelings for Melody in an air-tight jar hidden somewhere in his heart, along with everything else that had ever mattered to him. His downtrodden, aloof manner toward both his job and his role as a kahuna were the result of this. Everything inside hurt, so why would he share any of it? He detached from his surroundings, and developed a reputation of a man of few words. He never spoke of his dead wife aloud, and his eyelids stung as he held back tears from merely saying her name. If he let go any more, he would break down in front of his guest.

“Bah,” Nanu grumbled, wiping his eyes. “It was a long, long time ago. You ever been in love yet, boy?”

“Love?” Gladion repeated. His chest hurt. “I don’t think so. I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I’m not talking about sex—although you won’t really know that either until you do it with the one you love. I’m talking about real, true love. When you know the girl in front of you is an angel, and that you’d die for her—although you don’t deserve her even looking at you.”

“I don’t think I’d want that,” said Gladion, practically squirming in his skin. The stipulations of the arrangement were oddly specific, and uncomfortably close. “Sounds painful.”

He finished his work and lit the blunt.

Nanu nodded.

“Real love is painful, boy. It consumes you. One day, you’ll know it. You just haven’t found your person yet.”

Gladion shifted his weight on the chair and passed the blunt to the old man. A few girls had told him they loved him before—including, of course, Sylvia. The word always had a plastic sensation to it each time he heard it, and he never said it back; because he never wanted to, nor even knew what love was supposed to feel like—other than he knew he didn’t.

He was certain, at least, that love—something people talked about the way they did—the way Nanu did now—couldn’t be cheap and synthetic. He didn’t know what or how, but it had to be more than that.

Real love is painful. It consumes you…

Well, his heart certainly ached; and as for consumption, the thoughts that had been ruining him continued to swell until they left little room for much else.

Fuck me, Gladion thought, and he took another sip of his coffee, praying that his hangover wouldn’t take him out of commission for the entire day.

“Anyway,” Nanu sighed, swallowing the threat of tears. “Enough about an old man’s sad and lonely life. I want to hear about what young people do nowadays. Did you battle anyone at that party?”

“Nah,” Gladion laughed. “Those Team Skull grunts are fucking jokes. Kids on their island challenge kick their asses every day. I wouldn’t waste my time.”

Nanu passed the blunt back to Gladion.

“No wonder you didn’t have fun at that party if there weren’t any battles. A good battle with your friends is how to really get your blood going. I reckon those Team Skull kids just don’t know anything about how to work with Pokémon ‘cus they didn’t go on their island challenge like they were supposed to.”

“Supposed to? Give me a break. The island challenge isn’t for everyone,” said Gladion as he took a hit; his tone all teenage rebellious sass. “I know you’re a kahuna so you have to put on a good show for Hala, but don’t pull that shit with me.”

Nanu chuckled.

“Forgive me if I’m getting the facts wrong, Gladion, but you went on your island challenge, didn’t you?” he asked.

Gladion blushed.

“Yeah, I tried it out. It was after that kid—the one with the weird name who gave me a hand in taking care of something for Lillie—uh—Sun! Yeah, that guy—what a weird fucken’ name—after he—”

“And what kind of a name is Gladion?”

Gladion raised his eyebrows with a wry smile.

“Okay, asshole, you gonna let me make my point?”

Nanu smirked and made a wide sweeping gesture with his hand.

“I was saying, you know, that kid Sun—he helped my sister out before, when she got into trouble, and then he convinced me to give the whole island challenge a go. It was pretty boring, though. Z-Moves aren’t everything; there’s a whole world out there that doesn’t use them.”

“Think about what you learned during that time, boy,” said Nanu. He took a deep drag of the blunt. “When you spent all that time with your partners, trying to achieve something together.”

Gladion shrugged.

“Any battle is good practice. There’s nothing special about the matches in the island challenge that will give your Pokémon any type of additional experience as opposed to doing it on your own,” he said.

As far as Gladion was concerned, he and Silvally had done it on their own—even if they did participate in the island challenge. That whole dumb tradition was just glorified exercise.

“Bah. If you do it right, the island challenge will bring you and your partners closer together, and you know that. Smart ass,” Nanu grumbled. “It’s just like an arrogant young man to think he knows everything about the world.”

“Whatever, old man,” sighed Gladion, standing. The table wobbled a little, which disturbed the Meowth, and they hissed at him. “I’ve got to get home and take a shower. Probably sleep the rest of the day, too. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

“Take care of yourself, Gladion,” said Nanu, puffing on what was left of the blunt while petting the cat in his lap. “Thanks for spending some time with a wretch like me.”

“Yeah, whatever. See ya,” Gladion called over his shoulder, and he left.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Hwy w’rr gar ygate upto? MtThijding sbti yuoo lk8

After thanking Hobbes copiously for assisting in wrangling (read: pacifying and distracting) the manor’s security so that Lillie could travel alone and not on one of the family’s many personal sailboats, Lillie rode the commuter ferry to Melemele Island. The Alolan sun burned red in the sky, and when she cast glances over the railing it seemed that the water rippling along the hull painted its edges a clear royal blue. Through thick-rimmed white sunglasses, she squinted at her Pokétch screen in the glare, which didn’t help at all in attempting to decipher the text from Gladion.

The message was so unintelligible that, though she had woken up with heart-shaped bubbles floating and popping in her chest when she discovered an unread text from him, she wondered if maybe he had only accidentally sent it to her from his pocket.

Still, Lillie’s hands shook as she bit her lip and scrutinized her phone, utterly unable to take her eyes from the message and wondering what to reply. 

Hi Gladion. Is everything okay?

She felt stupid, but also that the question was the only reply she could conceive of with nothing from his end to go on. She sighed heavily and put her Pokétch in her purse.

Drafting her own text had taken so long that she looked up and realized the boat was already pulling into the port at Hau'oli City. 

If he had really meant to text me… Lillie thought as she stood up to exit the ferry, I wonder what he actually wanted to say.

The muscles in her chest grew tight as though her ribs were collapsing and suffocating them. She had run the possibilities over and over again through her head as though data through a supercomputer, filing each potential situation into various compartments also labeled with the likelihood of each scenario becoming a reality. She didn’t think there were mistakes in any of the math, but the fact remained that probability was just that—the ratio of the number of outcomes in an exhaustive set of equally likely outcomes—with no guarantees that whatever the odds, the most seemingly accurate estimation would turn out to be true.

This caused her a great amount of anxiety, made worse by the fact that whenever she struggled with her anxiety the past couple of days (which was most of the time, as it ever had been), the salvation she craved seemed only obtainable in Gladion’s arms.

How did this happen? she asked as she headed along the dock to the city; though she didn’t know to whom the question was directed. Why is this… happening?

She looked briefly up at the sky and into the sun.

“Hey, Lillie!”

“Lillie!”

She was roused from her thoughts by her friends Mallow and Lana who waved at her across the city plaza.

“Hello!” Lillie called, tugging on her wide-brimmed hat to keep it from flying off into the harbor. She waved, too, making her way over to them.

Be normal, she swore to herself, as she always did when joining up with company—no matter who they were, or how well she knew them. And don’t think about Gladion!

Her romantic predicament with her brother was only one family secret Lillie worried about keeping hidden during her outing today. She wore quite a bit of makeup to cover the bruise on her face that was, finally, fading to a dingy yellow, like old wallpaper; but without cosmetics the mark would still be entirely noticeable, and she hoped her friends wouldn’t think she looked gauche for being so dolled up for a casual shopping trip.

Though they texted occasionally and interacted on social media, it had been a while—a couple months, Lillie thought—since she had spent time with Mallow and Lana in person; and she stressed over how to conduct herself around them and about what they would think of her; whether she would bore them, or annoy them, or say all the wrong things.

She blinked nervously behind her oversized sunglasses.

“It’s so good to see you!” Mallow squealed, a lively grin on her face as she practically tackled Lillie to draw her into a hug as soon as she got close enough to her. “You don’t hang out with us nearly enough!”

Lillie froze for a moment before returning her embrace. It wasn’t like being held by Gladion, but the hug was lovely and pleasant in a way she didn’t expect, with physical affection of any kind being so foreign to her.

“It gets so boring with only Mallow around,” said Lana; and Mallow put her hands on her hips and gasped.

“Just kidding,” said Lana, though she winked at Lillie. “Either way, we always miss you every time you can’t meet up.”

And Lillie shared a hug with her, too; though she didn’t understand how Mallow and Lana even remembered her as long as they had, let alone still wanted to be her friend. 

After her mother’s accident during the cataclysmic altercation with Ultra Beasts that left the stubborn woman in a six month’s long hospitalization, Hobbes had made the executive decision to enroll Lillie in Pokémon School. The butler, who was her acting guardian, had noticed she had become more neurotic, barely ate, and spent her days alone; “a statue in a beautiful garden overflowing with tears, poor Miss Lillie!” 

Lillie remained insecure and nervous, showing up to the building in a showy limo and her strange clothes; but the kids at the Pokémon School were mostly nice—and Professor Kukui even showed up to teach often, which made her very happy. The wonderful man and his wife she had lived with while protecting Nebby continued to show her kindness she otherwise wouldn’t have believed existed in the world; so to catch even a knowing nod from him, recognizing her, or a smile directed specifically to her, had indeed done her spirit as much good as Hobbes could’ve hoped.

Lillie had just started to feel “normal,” and like her classmates had accepted her as one of their own, when Lusamine regained full health and promptly yanked her out of that “pedestrian daycare;” instead enrolling her in a rigorous home study program with lessons in all subjects each one year advanced for her age. She was also signed up for piano lessons (with a highly acclaimed yet terrifyingly strict elderly man from Jubilife City, who criticized her constantly) and ballet (which did take place outside of the manor, at least—at a studio that was part of a prestigious boarding school with other girls around her age; but the majority of them were cliquey and mean, and if they acknowledged Lillie’s presence at all, it was to laugh at her for her timid awkwardness).

“I-I know, I’m sorry,” Lillie muttered in response to her friends’ wishes that she would come around more.

It wasn’t just that she was introverted and felt like nobody really liked her. The course load of her private tutoring was immense, and between the other lessons and duties around the house, it was difficult to get out much. 

She had once seen a Chatot in a fancy, antique cage at the home of one of her mother’s business partners when their inner circle of families had gathered for a Christmas party, and Lillie thought about the music note Pokémon often, wondering if it even remembered the sun.

“I guess I’m just kind of a homebody,” Lillie responded meekly to the girls’ earnest smiles. “I u-um, I hope you guys weren’t waiting too long for me.”

“No way, we just got here,” said Mallow. “You said you wanted to buy some new clothes, right? But you’ve always looked so cute, Lillie—like a little doll!”

“Thank you,” said Lillie, bashfully casting her eyes down at her feet.

She knew Mallow meant it as a compliment, but she also felt a little sick to hear those words. Her mother’s doll; was that all Lillie would ever get to be in the world? If it was truly her fate, then did she even have a soul—or was her character only what Lusamine decided it would be, just as when a child assigned a story to her toy during playtime? Did she have any power over her own destiny, or was it her mother who decided which path she walked for the rest of her life?

Despite those thoughts, Lillie worked to tell herself that the fact she had even made it this far today, across the ocean on the public ferry and to the big city with her friends, meant that there was hope.

“I think it’s just time for a change,” she said, nervously patting down the frilly white skirt she wore as though it were covered in soot.

“I changed my style a couple years ago,” said Lana, shrugging, like the whole thing was no big deal. The sapphire-haired girl had always been a bit of a tomboy, but over the years had begun dressing in baggy clothes marketed to men. “I felt like I looked more like a little kid in what I wore before, you know? The way my parents thought of me. It felt, I dunno—like I was holding on to a past version of myself that I didn’t like anymore. I get that you just want to look like who you want to be.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Lillie, sighing in relief that someone understood her, even if she and Lana’s situations were different. She had a brief epiphany that perhaps she was not alone in the world with her dilemmas, and that more people than she thought would relate to her. “I just don’t really know what it is that I want, so I figured it would be good to have second and third opinions.”

“We’ll help you, Lillie!” said Mallow with blasé cheerfulness. She had no idea how stressful this venture was for her friend, but perhaps her ignorance would allow her to be even more encouraging than she would otherwise, with no holds barred on her opinions and suggestions. “It’ll be so fun—come on!”

The girls headed off to the massive shopping district that Hau'oli City was known for. Here there would be all kinds of both chain retailers and lesser-known designer boutiques—most of which Lusamine would never even acknowledge the existence of, let alone approve of—and probably had never heard of—so Lillie tried to stay optimistic that she could find something that suited her here.

Nothing caught her eye in the first few shops they visited, but in that time she grew relaxed and got used to being social with her friends again. She was more talkative with every passing moment; and she laughed like she was a normal girl without the troubles that tormented her. 

What a lovely day, the Chatot in the cage was wont to say.

As they left the Mall with only friendship bracelets from a stall that sold cheap beaded jewelry, the conversation turned from the latest episode of Celebrities in Paradise to their own love lives.

“I have to tell you guys something!” said Lana in a mischievous voice as they headed off down the crowded Sun Stone Drive. “I’ve been keeping it a secret until it was totally official, but I’m going to Johto in a month to visit my girlfriend!”

“No way!” gasped Mallow. “How could you not tell me!? Best friends don’t keep secrets!”

“That’s amazing, Lana,” said Lillie, smiling as she glanced at her own friendship bracelet.

“I know! It’ll be our first time seeing each other in person,” said Lana with a wide grin that showed her dimples. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m so happy for you,” said Lillie.

“I’m so jealous!” Mallow squealed. “Every day, I wait for my Prince Charming to show up at the restaurant and whisk me away—and every day it’s just the same old customers as yesterday. They even order the same thing! It’s like I’m stuck in a totally unromantic feedback loop.”

Her shoulders even drooped a little.

“I told you to date online,” said Lana haughtily. “You’re not limited to just what Alola has to offer, you know. There’s a whole world out there. And, like, technology.”

Mallow scowled and sighed.

“I couldn’t date someone so far away,” she pouted. “I know that it works for you—but I would be too lonely.”

She paused.

“What about you, Lillie?” asked Mallow. “Anybody special in your life?”

Lillie’s heart sank into her gut as her pastel eyes lit up with alarm. She had just, only two days ago, spent the night cuddling in bed with a boy and kissing him. But under no circumstances could she reveal this information, because the boy was Gladion. She suddenly felt dirty, and patted her skirt again to clear off any dust or debris.

For how very spotless the garment appeared to the naked eye, it was awfully stained.

“Uh, no,” Lillie said, putting on a genial half-smile. “I’m, uh, too busy.”

“I refuse to believe it!” Mallow pushed. “Aren’t you going to be presented at the Alola Debutante Ball? I’m so jealous you get to be a Debutante, by the way—it’s like you’re a princess! But there needs to be a handsome man to escort you at the party, right? Ugh, so you’ll get your Prince Charming!”

She folded her arms and grumbled in her own romantic angst.

“I-I will have an escort, yes. But I’m only participating in the Ball because my mother wants me to, so she’ll be picking my partner,” Lillie explained. “I do already know who he is, though. His name is Victor Ferro. His father is the CEO of Silph Co.”

“Wow,” said Lana. “That’s like, a trillion dollar company.”

Lillie’s half-smile fell.

“Yes. I believe that’s why my mother chose him.”

It made her quite unsettled to realize this; it should’ve been obvious, but she hadn’t entirely assembled the picture until now. She realized that her mother might hope to gain something from Silph Co. as a result of her coupling with Victor at the Ball. Perhaps that was also why her mother had been so angry during their argument over the dresses.

A bad feeling festered in Lillie’s stomach like latent poison weeds were suddenly showered with rain and sprung up rapidly in there, twisting all around like venomous snake Pokémon constricting a foe; but she supposed there was nothing she could do about it. 

At your service, the Chatot had also been taught to say.

Lillie was relieved this conversation ended when the girls entered a boutique that appeared from outside to be almost hidden down a short flight of stairs from the main street. A cute lime green door welcomed them off the hot concrete. Inside, vines grew across the ceiling, and little fairy lights twisted up and down the walls, bordering the clothing displays. It was instantly mood-lifting and enchanting to walk through the door.

“Alola! Welcome to Melemele Beach!” called the girl behind the register.

She was decked out in clothing from the shop, and Lillie thought she looked very cool; she was immediately certain, as well, that she could never look as cool as her.

Her spirit clammed up a bit, and she rubbed her equally sweaty palms on her skirt.

The girls returned the greeting and started to look around. The style of this shop was particularly bohemian, with lots of long flowing fabrics and bright colors. Lillie loved the colors, but they also made her nervous since she didn’t really know how she would look in them. Her mother hated color—everything was white, occasionally accented in black—so not only was Lillie not used to vibrant hues, but she had in fact never in her memory ever worn them.

“Lillie, check this out,” said Mallow after a few moments. She picked up an oversized coral sweater with a wide neck. “This would look amazing on you!”

Lillie looked up, and was surprised that she actually found the sweater quite pretty. It wasn’t made of any thick material that wouldn’t be worn in Alola, but was a loose knit for cool nights on the beach or in a restaurant with the air conditioning turned on too high.

“Oh… I-I actually really like it,” said Lillie quietly, as though admitting a dark secret.

“Here, try it on,” Mallow called from across the table, and she passed the sweater to Lillie, who held it up against herself in the mirror. 

Lillie knew next to nothing about fashion, but she loved the color and softness of the yarn; and furthermore was certain her mother would never pick it out (Lusamine would probably say something like the oversized, drapey shape of the garment was “sloppy”). 

With a burst of gusto to get the ball rolling on her shopping mission, Lillie made a quick executive decision.

“I’ll take it,” she said affirmatively, and her friends cheered.

She was sure it was silly, but Lillie felt proud of herself for picking something—even just one thing.

As they continued to wander around the fairytale-esque boutique, Lillie’s Pokétch went off with a ping. She almost dropped the phone when she saw the text was from Gladion.

Sorry, I was kinda fucked up last night. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Didn’t mean to send you nonsense.

Lillie read it over a few times, and then another text popped up.

What’s up?

Her heart beat feverishly in her chest like it might explode. The messages he sent her were just basic texts—so why was she a mess? She scrambled to write a reply, her brain too alight with adrenaline to take the time to compose the perfect reply as she would’ve liked to.

Thank you for checking on me. :) I am doing much better. I’m just out shopping with my friends.

She hesitated for a moment.

What about you?

“Who’s that, Lillie?” asked Lana.

“Yeah, you just totally zoned out into your phone,” Mallow laughed.

“Oh, um, it’s, uh… just Gladion,” said Lillie, hoping that her friends wouldn’t notice that she turned bright red.

What would they think of her if they knew what she had done with her brother? Certainly they wouldn’t want to be her friend anymore if that secret came to light. They would regret ever having embarrassed themselves by forming a friend group with someone like her, who was contaminated in every way—from her mother’s shadow cast over the Foundation that bore her family name, to the turn her relationship with Gladion had taken into terribly taboo territory. 

Lillie glanced at the friendship bracelet on her wrist—a natural tan cord braided with shimmering brown and gold gems—and shivered. They won’t ever know. It doesn’t matter what they would think of me because they will never find out. She swallowed and decided to take the items she had picked out into the fitting room to hide her troubled expression.

“Oh, are you trying stuff on now, Lillie?” asked Mallow.

“Come out and show us outfits,” said Lana.

The girls sat on a couch outside of the fitting room to wait and watch.

Though the dressing room was a private space for Lillie to collect herself, the experience of being in one was immediately triggering.

“Okay!” she called out, though as she laid the handful of things in her arms down on the cute wooden bench, her chest grew tight and her hands grew clammy again. 

Shopping with her friends was a lot less intimidating than shopping with her mother, but Lillie was still apprehensive about how the clothes would look on her body, which she was certain was all wrong in size and proportion and overall general shape. She frowned at herself in the dressing room mirror, her face nearly the same type of sick and ugly as it was at Ocean Lace. It spooked her, and she shook her head several times with her eyes closed. She forced herself to take a grounding breath when she opened them.

You can make your own decisions about what you like, Lillie, she told herself as she worked on getting off her horrible flouncy skirt. You don’t need Mother’s opinions.

Her Pokétch made two trilling noises while she got changed, but Lillie told herself to wait before reading the texts. All she wanted was to talk to Gladion, but she reminded herself that she was out with company and shouldn’t be on her phone. It was all so much at the moment—the fear of comments on her body, the remembrance of her mother’s wrath, the ache to abandon everything and devote herself to her phone with Gladion on the other end—that she began to grow dizzy with the onset of an anxiety attack.

She once again grimaced at her reflection. The purple minidress she put on was far too boisterous for someone like her to pull off, and she was certain she looked indiscriminately awful and unsexy; so she set it aside and decided to try something different.

“How’s it going in there?” Mallow called. “Do you want me to get you a different size in something?”

Lillie whimpered.

“N-No! It’s o-okay,” she responded. “I just, um, I don’t know if I like anything…”

She pinched at her stomach; and as she stared at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t stop hearing her mother’s voice—the sound of critiques as close as though the woman was standing on the other side of the door.

“Why don’t we ask one of the girls working here to help you?” Lana asked.

“Yeah! They dressed all the mannequins here, and they look awesome—so they definitely know what to put together!” Mallow agreed.

“N-No!” Lillie called, perhaps giving herself away with how forcefully the word left her mouth.

No stylist. I’ll just stop here for today. I’ll buy the sweater and leave; and then just stuff it in my closet and forget I even have it.

“Come on, just show us something, Lillie,” said Mallow with her abundant exuberance. “I’m sure there has to be at least one thing that you like.”

Lillie struggled, but managed to dress herself in denim cutoff shorts that frayed at the edges, and a lacy, mint green tank top with thin buttons down the front.

This is simple, she thought, nodding and swallowing nervously. It’s not too flashy or anything. I can’t look too horrible in this.

Sighing heavily, she exited the fitting room to show her friends.

“Okay, stop—you look awesome!” Mallow cried, pressing her hands to her cheeks in glee. “The green really brings out the color of your eyes! It’s like, super casual, but super cute!”

“I really like it, Lillie,” said Lana, looking up over her phone.

Lillie stared at herself in the tall mirror at the end of the hall of fitting rooms, not recognizing herself. She was afraid to get closer to it, but took a few timid steps and turned slightly on each foot. The compliments from her friends—who she was sure were just being nice—left the apples of her cheeks scarlet as if freshly picked from a tree.

“I think you should get it!” Mallow continued. “That’s something you could wear any day—even separately—so you’d get a ton of use out of it.”

“Do you like it, Lillie?” Lana put in.

“I just, um…”

She was horrifically embarrassed, but Lillie felt herself near tears, ready to explode and scream, My mother has never let me pick out my own clothes! But she took a few deep, shaky breaths and tried to get the right words out again.

“I, um, I…”

I’m sixteen and I’ve never chosen what I wanted to wear in my entire life! I have no style or fashion sense, and I don’t even know who I am!

She inhaled as the tears were about to gush out of her, when the very cool girl who had greeted them when they entered the shop came ‘round the corner.

“Wow,” she said to Lillie. “That tank top is one of my favorites we have right now, and I’ve never seen the green colorway look so good on anybody.”

Lillie didn’t know what it was, but her chest slowed its rapid rise and fall of erratic breathing, and she only had to wipe away the slightest glimmer of a tear that had never fully budded.

“Y-You, um… you think so?” she asked, looking earnestly into the face of the sales associate, whose unique features were somehow comforting. Her smile wasn’t too subtle or too bold, and neither was her voice.

“Oh, you probably think I’m lying ‘cus I work here, huh?” the girl teased, turning to wink at Mallow and Lana. “Well, I can’t prove it to you—but I’m not! I want to be a celebrity stylist one day, so I do my best to make sure I’m honest with clients and that they leave feeling confident.”

She flipped her long fishtail braid onto her other shoulder. Clearly a charismatic person who loved to talk, she went on.

“Maybe that’s selfish ‘cus I don’t want any poor fashion choices to reflect back on me, but it’s important to me that people feel good in their clothes—if their energy doesn’t match the outfit, then I didn’t do a good job. I’m also very stubborn about my vision!”

She laughed at herself, as did Mallow and Lana; and so did Lillie, who turned back at the mirror and caught herself still smiling at the tail end of her chuckle. For a quick flash of a moment, she thought she looked pretty; looked attractive and happy and carefree—just as any young girl would at the height of her romanticized teenage years.

“I-I think, if you all agree, I should get it, then,” she said. “Right?”

“Duh,” said Mallow.

“Yes,” said Lana and the stylist together.

“I’m Angie, by the way,” the girl introduced herself. “I’m studying fashion design at Kala’e Academy for the Arts.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Lillie, a hand balled and pressed shakily to the base of her throat, as though she clutched something precious there, like an heirloom locket. “I’m Lillie. I… don’t know a lot about fashion.”

“It’s okay not to be caught up,” said Angie, her hands relaxed in the pockets of the long flowing palazzo pants she wore as she leaned against the doorframe. “It’s like, oh my God, so much—and the trends are always changing, like, day to day. One minute you’re in, the next minute you’re out—that’s what they say, right? So, it’s my opinion that real style is wearing what you like regardless of what’s trendy.”

She spoke in such an easy and honest way that all three of the girls nodded to her.

“What else did you bring in there with you?” Angie asked Lillie. “I can help you sort some things out, if you’d like.”

As if Lillie had turned her burden over to Angie the way a petitioner might to a deity, the fashion student accepted it with grace and managed the whole rest of Lillie’s try-on session with a simultaneously gentle and scrutinizing hand—she was honest, but kind and helpful. This resulted in four outfits, a crossbody bag, and a pair of sandals by the end—and a genuine smile on Lillie’s face.

The group turned away from the cashwrap after all was said and done, though before they were out the door, Lillie ran back over to the counter.

“Oh no, did I forget something?” asked Angie, peering around the counterspace.

“N-No,” said Lillie. She took a deep breath and said, “I just wanted to thank you again. It probably sounds awfully silly, but… you really helped me out today; and it means a lot to me. More than you could imagine.”

Angie smiled and tossed back her long braid in an effortlessly cool shrug.

“No problem. I’m here all the time, so come back whenever you want.”

“Thank you,” Lillie repeated, and finally followed her friends outside.

The sun was very high now, and scorching hot, so the girls decided to find a place to relax in the shade. Once again, however, the conversation took a detour off-road into the rocky terrain of romance. Though she knew it was a topic most sixteen-year-old girls would spend much of their time talking about, Lillie still wrestled with a Poliwag jumping around in her belly.

I wish I could talk about it, she thought. I’m so confused. I’ve never felt this way before. I’m thinking and feeling so many things it’s like I’m going crazy. 

“I can’t wait until I can finally kiss my girlfriend,” said Lana dreamily. She was generally much more down-to-earth than Mallow, but her first love had even her head in the clouds. She scrolled through her PokéSnap feed and shared pictures of her beloved, Tia, to the other girls. “It’ll be my first kiss.”

Mallow rolled her eyes.

“My first kiss was with Kiawe, and he was horrible!” she whined to Lana’s raucous laughter. “He slobbered all over me like a Lickitung!”

“It’s honestly so freakin’ funny,” said Lana, shaking her head and giggling.

Mallow steamed.

“I was desperate, okay!” a rosy blush ran across the bridge of her nose and tinted her tanned cheeks. “But I’ll never let that happen again, you hear!? Next time it’s Prince Charming or bust!”

Lana continued laughing at her.

“Good luck, Princess,” she muttered, tongue in her cheek. “What about you, Lillie? What’s the best kiss you’ve ever had? You must have had one better than Mallow’s.”

Lillie shivered and held her breath.

“Wait, you have kissed someone before, right?” Mallow asked.

“I—I, uh…”

Lillie panicked.

“I had a very nice kiss… um, recently,” she mumbled, and practically whispered the last word.

“Uhh, recently!?” Mallow shouted and her jaw dropped to her feet. “I thought you said there were no guys in your life!”

Lillie’s whole face lit up with shame.

“T-There isn’t! It was just a kiss,” she said defiantly.

Her head spinning, Lillie tried desperately to stick to her story (What even is my story!?), but was finding it near impossible—especially because she knew that everything she was saying, other than the fact that she had shared a very nice kiss recently, was a lie. Even confessing to the act as though it was “just” one kiss was a lie, when the truth was that she and Gladion had made out all night; but to call it, still, “just” a kiss—just kissing, as though it meant nothing but hooking up—was entirely untrue and deceitful, when her feelings for him were spiraling completely out of control.

“Tell us everything, Lillie!” Mallow exclaimed.

“Wait, so who’s the guy?” asked Lana.

“Yeah, who is he!?” Mallow echoed.

Lillie wished she hadn’t said anything, and her chest thundered.

What should I say?

“U-Um, I, uh… it’s a s-secret?” Lillie stuttered.

Best friends don’t keep secrets!

“A secret!?”

“Are you kidding?”

I need to stop talking!

“I, uh… I’d rather not say who it is,” said Lillie, fully aware she was a blushing madwoman, and that her voice came out as a squeak. “Please.”

The girls were speechless for a moment, but then Lana nodded.

“I get it, Lillie. I respect your privacy,” she said, with a side-eye toward the eager Mallow.

“Okay, whatever; but the kiss was amazing?” Mallow asked for confirmation again.

“Y-Yes,” said Lillie, feeling faint.

If she passed out, would they believe that it was caused by the intensity of the sun?

“Well, tell us something about him!” Mallow cried. “Is he handsome?”

Lillie sighed.

“Yes, he’s very handsome,” she whispered, thinking about the light dancing across Gladion’s face in the early morning when she woke up by his side. “And he’s, uh… he’s older.”

“Ohoho, nice going, Lillie!” Lana hooted.

“How much older!?” asked Mallow, scandalized.

“N-Not a lot…” Lillie trailed off, embarrassed. “He’s maybe almost three years older?”

“Oh my God, Lillie, you know what that means right!?” Mallow squealed, and Lana and Lillie looked at her quizzically (in Lillie’s case, also with terror). Mallow hushed her voice. “Well, he’s an older guy, so… he’s definitely going to ask you to have sex!”

Lillie’s heart nearly exploded. Have sex with Gladion? Well, if they kept kissing then things would logically progress to—No! I’m not ready for that! I don’t even know how he feels about me after what happened.

…How does he feel about me?

She suddenly remembered he had texted her while she was shopping, and so rapidly pulled out her Pokétch, ignoring her friends’ theatrics and the absolutely chilling, exhilarating idea of—

Relaxing at home, said the text from Gladion. I try not to work on Sundays.

Might go out later. 

There was a break in the timestamp; while she was working with Angie, she hadn’t heard the phone go off.

When can I see you again?

Lillie’s heart did backflips as her shaking thumbs tapped out a reply.

I have lessons all week, she responded, her heart sinking as she realized how busy her days truly were. Her mind leapt then to the weekend, but there was a blockade there, too: I also have a ballet recital this weekend, so there’s dress rehearsals on top of my studies all week, and the show is running from Friday night through the rest of the weekend, she typed.

She let out a disappointed sigh.

And then it starts all over again next week… she thought.

Lillie pouted, heartbroken, staring at her phone tech with an onslaught of automatic thoughts that Gladion would think she was trying to avoid him, when she wished it was all the rest that would disappear instead so she could spend as much time with him as possible.

I’ve wanted that ever since I was little, she reflected, remembering the day he wasn’t allowed back into their home, and how she feared she would never see him again. And now… everything is… different…

“Earth to Lillie! Who are you talking to!? It can’t be just Gladion,” said Mallow, her earnest eyes wide open as they searched Lillie’s. “Your face just lit up! You’re glowing!”

“Well, you were all glowy,” said Lana. “But you look really upset now. Are you okay?”

Lillie turned bright pink and clutched her Pokétch to her chest so that her friends couldn’t peek.

“I-I’m fine; and I am just talking to Gladion!” she stammered, but then she realized her honesty only continued to incriminate her. She took a deep breath. “W-Well, okay… uh, I was just talking to Gladion—but then that guy I told you about messaged me, too.”

“I knew it!” Mallow squealed.

Lillie forced herself to hold a timorous smile, and refused to take her phone from her chest, regardless of the fact that her friends wouldn’t be able to read what was on the screen unless they held it themselves.

“Oh, Lillie, you must really like him,” said Lana, that dreaminess of her own romance still in her head. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying he wants to see me soon,” said Lillie, trying to be careful with what she revealed.

“Oh my God!” trilled Mallow. “Lillie! This is a big deal! It’s your first love!”

“I-I don’t know if I’d say that,” she murmured. 

It’s Gladion. Of course I love him… but… but…

What did that mean, now that their relationship was changing?

It has already changed, she realized. What we did can’t be undone. We can’t go back to before, no matter what happens next.

…

… … …

…That’s really scary.

“This is so exciting!” Mallow squealed. “But also infuriating! You both are gonna lose your virginity before me!”

“There’s always Kiawe, I bet he’d be down,” said Lana with a mischievous grin.

Mallow gave her a scolding look, but then the green-haired girl turned back to Lillie.

“It all makes sense now, Lillie,” she said, holding her hand and smiling brightly at her. “Why you wanted new clothes and why you’re wearing so much makeup—it’s all because of this older guy you’re seeing!”

Lillie sighed, wishing it were all that simple. Maybe her friends really would never understand her, but she didn’t blame them for that. She didn’t even understand herself.

Still, it was better to let them think she had intensely powdered her face because of a mysterious boy than let them know the truth.

“I—I guess you have it all figured out,” she said, forcing a laugh like she was okay. “I suppose we’ll see what happens next time I see him.”

Her phone pinged.

Damn, that woman really packs your schedule huh? God forbid you get a fucken second to yourself. Well, don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.

Lillie’s heart melted.

It’s so scary…

She typed, I hope so. I want to see you, too.

…but even if I could… I don’t want to go back.

She didn’t understand it, nor was she aware that it had happened—but becoming conscious of that truth had changed her, fundamentally, in some small (very small; just a seed that had successfully taken root), yet significant way—right in that moment, like the flip of a switch.

Mallow was all bouncy and revved up as Lillie turned the channel in her mind back from the hypotheticals of virtual hyperspace into the reality of the bright, sunny world.

“Look! It’s Valerie’s Secrets! We gotta go in!”

“You are so aggressive,” said Lana, teasing but shaking her head.

“I’m not aggressive!” Mallow countered. “I’m excited!”

Lillie blanched at the thought of purchasing lingerie to wear when alone with Gladion; the blood rushed from her head down to her toes, leaving her dizzy in a whirlwind of confusion and desires and fears. She was about to protest when Mallow switched gears and said, “Okay, well, I want to look at the cute sweatshirts and pajamas. You two can just ignore the sexy stuff, okay?”

Lillie swallowed and nodded her head.

“Yes,” she said, to the girls’ surprise. “I actually wanted to buy new pajamas, too.”

“Great!” Mallow cheered. “And then we can also pick out lingerie for you to show off to your new man.”

Lillie swallowed and shook her head.

“N-No—I’m—not… ready for—”

Mallow laughed.

“I’m kidding; I’m kidding.”

“She’s not kidding.”

“Don’t be such a bummer!”

“I just don’t want Lillie to feel overwhelmed, Pushy.”

“Yeah, okay, Judgey.”

Lillie heaved a deep sigh, but looked straight ahead.

“I’m not overwhelmed,” she said in a clear voice. “I think I’m finding everything I need.”

 ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Dear Diary,

I do not wish to come off as conceited, but I am very proud of myself today. I went to Sun Stone Drive in Hau’oli City with Mallow and Lana, and I bought a small new wardrobe of everyday clothing and even a few sets of pajamas—just like I set out to.

Truthfully, I didn’t think I could do it. I was so nervous on the way there, and it got even worse when we started looking around. I even almost had a breakdown in the fitting room at this really cool bohemian shop because I was so overwhelmed and thought I looked ugly in everything .

But then I met Angie (she’s a college fashion student who works there) and she was so very nice, and helped me so very much, that I actually felt happy when I left the store. I don’t think I’ve ever felt happy leaving a clothing boutique in my life, let alone how happy I felt after leaving Melemele Beach.

I wish I knew how to thank Angie for what she did. Of course I told her, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Maybe I could send her a card from my stationery collection. Or would that be weird and lame? :(

It was so fun to see Lana and Mallow, too—but I almost got myself into trouble. They were talking a lot about dating and I made the mistake of admitting to them that I had been kissed recently; and so they now believe that I am “seeing” who they think is a mysterious older guy. But, of course, you and I both know very well that it’s really Gladion. I am filled with so many feelings that I’ve never felt and don—

Lillie lifted her quill from the diary and glanced curiously over at her jittering phone, which was face down on the desk near her nightly cup of tea. She had set it to silent while she was writing and reflecting on her day, as she always did. Journaling was her before-bed ritual where she detached herself from the oppressiveness of all of her life stressors to focus, for roughly thirty minutes, on nothing but herself. It was the only time she had to momentarily cut herself off from the anxiety and urgency of her daily to-do’s, and simply sit with her feelings, thoughts, dreams and ideas, in an attempt to sort them out as best she could.

When Gladion had remarked earlier that Lusamine packed Lillie’s schedule to the brim with schooling and activities that left her hardly a second to breathe, he wasn’t wrong.

Still, a message this late in the evening was curious. The silent Pokétch vibrated and buzzed, and Lillie lay down the quill to pick it up.

On the other end of the line, some twenty or so miles away at the prestigious Tropico Roadside Motel—where there was no beautiful siren lamenting her own melancholy in the rest stop’s modest, decomposing lounge that night—Gladion lay on his bed in his underwear, reclining with an arm behind his head, and his other hand scrolling through anything he could scroll through on his phone while he neurotically watched for Lillie’s reply to his text.

He had slept most of the day to make up for his “galavanting,” as Nanu had called it, the previous night; and had woken up about two hours ago to moody indigo outside. He had then ordered take-out from a cheap fast food place a little further down Route Eight, and afterward prepared to zone out by listening to music (which he always played very loud, and therefore received frequent noise complaints about the volume; but didn’t stop doing it, as for some unknown reason the motel staff never told him to).

Hey.

Lillie regarded the text with absolute, unequivocal bewilderment. Hey.

This was the second time today that her brother had contacted her, when before all of this—before the past two days which felt like a lifetime—she would only hear from him every six weeks or so; and see him only every three to four months on top of that. Their meet-ups had only ever lasted some brief hours that slipped away between Lillie’s fingers like black sand; every precious day she got with Gladion had only ever served to remind her that time with loved ones must have been intentionally designed to be short—the punishment for being a weak little human—and that the majority of one’s life must be lived alone; and ended, always, alone. 

So, she spent much of her time alone, missing him—but hardly having the courage to reach out to him, in fear he would not reach back.

Her heart raced, now, in shock, at the dawning realization that it seemed that not only was he reaching back, but was refusing to let go; an epiphany that tugged at her soul in a way she could not explain. Lillie stared at the text for several minutes before she shook herself together and replied.

Hi, Gladion, she sent. How are you?

Tired, he said immediately. I just woke up.

Lillie looked at the clock; it was eight-thirty.

You must have been up really late last night, she said.

From the fragmented pieces she knew of Gladion’s life, he had no strict business hours, or real daily commitments; and she knew he was part of Team Skull, even if his words suggested he only skirted around Alola’s most notorious gang as opposed to truly being a member. His involvement with them was a large part of why she spent so much time worrying about him, while he hardly spoke to her.

Until now.

Gladion had ceased his endless scrolling of social media; now that she was responding, he didn’t leave Lillie’s chat window.

I was. There was this crazy party at the Shady House.

The corners of Lillie’s mouth turned down in a wash of self-consciousness that faded down her face. She had never been to a party that wasn’t one of her mother’s social gatherings, where everyone abided by a silent code of dressing the proper way (expensively), speaking the proper way (pretentiously), and eating and drinking the proper way (formally). Based on the way Gladion socialized at parties that went all night, with all kinds of alcohol and drugs, she felt he would probably think she was lame—just like Angie would if she sent her a handwritten card.

Oh, Lillie replied, somewhat melancholically. You must have had so much fun.

Gladion shook his head and laughed on the other side of the island.

Nah. Shit sucked. I don’t really get along with most of the Team Skull shitheads, honestly. I had more fun when I went to Oliver’s house after, but I was up until 4am.

He had mentioned Oliver to Lillie before, in passing, but the two had never met—which Gladion found himself grateful for now, after he had spilled his guts about her to his buddy—albeit without using her name.

Oh, wow, said Lillie, her stomach twisting as she felt she had nothing cool or special to say. Strangely, she had always felt somewhat nervous to talk to Gladion—always conscious of their distance that bordered on estrangement; how different their lives were; and how he clearly despised their mother, to put it nicely, while Lillie unfailingly held onto hope that Lusamine meant well—even when she blatantly didn’t.

Uncomfortably, Lillie’s nerves had morphed into those Butterfree that circled her stomach, and the lightheadedness that should only be caused by not consuming enough water in the sun, and the heat in her cheeks and the tightness in her throat—all from the oppressive worry that Gladion would grow bored of her, when she wanted him so badly to be interested.

It’s like I… have a crush on him…

She swallowed and forced herself to find a reply.

My day wasn’t too exciting, but I did buy myself some new clothes and pajamas while I was out with my friends. That probably sounds so dumb, but it made me really happy.

She paused; deleted “That probably sounds so dumb,” then hit send.

Oh yeah? Gladion responded. Send me a selfie.

Lillie almost dropped her Pokétch for the second time that day. Her whole body immediately flushed with her face burning like she had a fever. She thanked the universe that they weren’t on a video chat so that he couldn’t see her utterly embarrassed expression or hear her stutter through her reply.

What? Why? she asked.

Anxious and antsy, she got up from her desk and paced the room back and forth with her phone shaky in her hands.

Because I wanna see you.

Lillie’s stomach lurched like a Sharpedo instantly picking up speed and zooming forward.

He wants to see me!? But… but he knows what I look like. Is he trying to ask for… She hummed nervously to herself. A sexy picture!?

The feeling that gripped her was beyond words.

Even if he wasn’t asking for that, the idea of appearing ugly to Gladion mortified Lillie beyond reason. She was so overwhelmed that she replied, in complete transparency due to her lack of being able to think straight—just like she had earlier when she admitted to being involved with a boy to Mallow and Lana—I’m not wearing any makeup right now, and I don’t like the way I look in selfies. I get embarrassed by pictures of myself.

Ping Ping Ping.

Well, it’s not for you

It’s for me

Lol

Lillie could hardly breathe. In fact, she thought she might die.

Don’t stress about it. Just a regular picture. I’m the only one who will see it.

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she sat down on her bed, propped up against her voluminous decorative pillows, and opened PokéSnap to find a filter that would hide all the imperfections on her bare face. She bit her lip, and then summoned a somewhat genuine smile, and snapped several selfies. 

I look awful in all of these. It’s hopeless!

She took more, but none of them were flattering. After five minutes passed, Lillie began to grow anxious that she was keeping him waiting too long, and selected what she thought was the best picture and clicked send, her eyes glued to the screen.

You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, read a worried text from Gladion that popped up at the same time she had sent the picture.

Lillie’s eyes remained stuck to the phone like it hypnotized her, a passing thought of Oh, no, filling her mind to the brim of bursting, when immediately three dots began dancing in the chat window.

Gladion’s own anxiety strangled his heart like a vise, but his adoration for Lillie was miraculously stronger than the pain.

I don’t know how you don’t think you’re beautiful.

Lillie’s heart plummeted into her gut like a free fall on a carnival ride.

…He thinks… I’m beautiful?...

Beside himself, Gladion smiled at the selfie like he never smiled at anything; how he loved the way her eyes were softer than his, just the way her heart was softer than his; how pretty the thin slope of her slightly pointed nose that came to a cute, rounder tip; and a small luscious mouth with lips the perfect thickness, that he was dying inside to kiss—just like the lyrics from the melodic chorus of the heavy rock music playing from his speaker.

The next message flew from his fingers before he could stop it.

All I wanna do is kiss you.

He didn’t know how he had let himself send that, but it was already far gone across the cell phone towers before he had even begun to consider taking it back. Lillie received it, and she gasped. Her breathing grew so shaky and her nerves buzzed so intensely that she once again felt faint; deathly lightheaded, and even her lower lip trembled.

Gladion…

I’m beautiful to you?

…No one… has ever said that to me…

…And you really want to kiss me more?

She stared at the Pokétch, dumbfounded, her heart pounding. Gladion stared at his own Pokétch, terrified.

I feel so… floaty and happy, I… do I… really have a crush on him?

Entirely overcome, all Lillie could do was send three blushing Pikachu emojis.

Gladion sighed; somewhat relieved, but not fully, until she said:

It makes me so happy that you think I’m beautiful. I don’t know what to say, other than I would very much like to kiss you, too.

Chapter Text

Far beneath the Arcadian Garden of Aether Paradise—an oasis where the sun shone through the walls, and the vegetation smelled like lilies of the valley, and the artificial ponds were the brightest shade of blue—there lay hidden a sterile corridor with many doors. The fluorescent lights along the smooth, flat walls were dim, as though they never received enough wattage to light the way, and seemed to flicker on and off in their struggle to brighten the passage. Still, it was not difficult to find the way (if you knew where you were going), as there were no obstructions on the spotless floors and ceilings that led to the various laboratories, all labeled beside the keypads in a typical alphabetical and numerical system.

Though the order of the laboratories was not mysterious, what happened in these rooms were the best-kept secrets in Alola. Even employees deemed not ranked high enough, not competent enough, or simply not trustworthy enough to be in the know, did in fact not know. Those who did had all been required to sign a mandatory NDA; and those who didn’t weren’t permitted anywhere near floor B2F; their card keys would not work, and the security guards would ward them off before they even attempted it—so they didn’t.

Audrey Burnet-Kukui had always been curious what lay down there, those couple floors below, in the bowels of the palace where the base of the floating island submerged into the ocean—but she had never been deemed clearance to access it. From her first day at work, she had noticed that when she passed the elevator a funny feeling would arise in her chest—a spooky aura, she would describe the sensation when she thought about it—like a fairytale monster was under there, locked in a dungeon. But, she thought, that was just her being silly. Ultimately, she trusted in the Garden, and she loved her job; so each time she shook it off as a result of her overactive imagination when she headed into the manor offices to conduct her daily research.

She did just so today, smiling at Christoph Faba—though he never smiled back at her—as the man stepped into the elevator and swiped his card key to descend to that very floor: B2F.

Christoph Faba was the Aether Foundation’s Branch Chief, and the head scientist overseeing the plethora of experiments conducted at Aether Paradise. One rung on the ladder under the Madame President (he thought often how it would take only an arm’s reach to throw her off and step onto the top, but was far too much of a piddling coward to do so), he held an immense amount of power in the Foundation, and also an immense amount of hubris.

He also lacked a single shred of empathy, as there was only ice where his heart was meant to be, and a gaping hole in place of his soul.

It was pure irony, then, that the massive project he oversaw was codenamed Temporal Ultra Aura.

The vague definition that floated between world-wide collective laboratories and observational field crews was this: “Aura is a form of spiritual energy described as the essence of every living thing.”

Despite the hoards of research on Aura across the globe, the phenomenon was so inherently supernatural that scientists, researchers, and Pokémon professors had never been able to pin down an actual origin, or even a pattern of specific catalysts, for igniting the power. The only clues into its nature were its mysterious connection to Z-Power and Mega Evolution—and therefore the accompanying Z-Crystals, Mega Stones, and Key Stones—required to activate these Auric abilities in Pokémon.

There was nothing concrete, calculable, or controlled about this wispy concept—except for the hard fact that it was known to be powerful. The strength of Aura was particularly prevalent in Alola, where Z-Crystals were used regularly; though the dynamic of these “magical” rocks functioned differently than that of Mega Stones. Therefore, each power needed to be examined separately, in order to maximize understanding of its unique functionality, before both concepts were combined for further exploration into this mysterious energy.

In every report of Aura’s appearance—in a wide variety of mediums across the globe—the active Pokémon’s Trainer, Battle referee of the match, or simple bystander described a sensation of dynamic force unlike anything they had ever felt before; and that alone made Aura worth investigating, so as to find a way to harness the energy of a previously-unknowable superpower into a living creature with unlimited access to these paranormal abilities.

It was said (in only personal accounts of witnesses to events of Pokémon utilizing these abilities outside of their normal circumstances) that an Aura could allow the user to read minds, as well as prevent others from accessing any type of psychic powers themselves. Users were rumored to sense the very ethereal essence of Aura in the atmosphere, and manipulate it to see through currents of energy and objects without needing to use their actual eyes.

It was also proclaimed that Aura could be used to both communicate and summon spirits of the dead—lost souls of humans and Pokémon both—and project their own Auric energy in the form of a protective barrier, or an attack so powerful that the move could result in its victim’s fatality.

However, rarely could these accounts be repeated, if not corroborated. This was where Faba had begun his research, after long talks with the Madame President and cooperating experts from the Foundation (who worked directly under Faba himself, and were his most trusted associates)—as well collaboration with vetted and decidedly faithful engineering facilities in all regions on the planet.

Though religion was generally believed to be incompatible with science, the major investigation into Aura had brought up topics only able to be articulated in the language of ancient forms of nature worship. That insufferable, sentimental Professor Burnet-Kukui was an expert in this field; and to Faba’s great dismay, he found himself relying on much of her theoretical research into these archaic civilizations.

What the Professor had learned was that some of the earliest human societies believed that the earth was governed by four basic elements—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water—each with their own correspondence not only to the aspect of the natural world that they belonged to, but to the inherent creation of the ancient people’s similarly native companions: Pokémon.

Archaeological and anthropological examination revealed that these historical civilizations did, in fact, believe that all types of Pokémon had evolved from the wild energy of one of these four core elements.

Digging even deeper, though, there were accounts of more eccentric groups of shamans and occultists who believed in a fifth element—the most powerful of all—named, so frustratingly vaguely—for what could a word like this even mean if one wasn’t a religious fanatic?—“Spirit.”

The soul of the world.

In some texts, it was also called “Ether;” and self-proclaimed magicians swore they could use it to turn lead into gold, cure illnesses, prevent floods and droughts, and even prolong the lives of both humans and Pokémon.

A mysterious fifth element, connected to the creation of the entire world and the existence of all life on it—this type of power, to the core of Aether Foundation—meaning, of course, by the Madame President, and then Faba himself—represented unbound and all-pervasive potentiality.

They hypothesized that Ether could be the element behind Aura—or even that perhaps they were the same thing—and that the secrets had yet to be unlocked in regards to how this concept manipulated the world around them, particularly the abilities of Pokémon.

The goal was a cliché, sure; but if the historical theories were true, and if the Aether Foundation could gain control of it, then Ether could become the power to transform—and to, in many ways, rule—the world.

So began the Temporal Ultra Aura project, the main goal of which was, by manifesting etheric energy into a physical form, create an entirely new Type of Pokémon. It would be called the Ether-type; a class of Pokémon with the intrinsic ability to use Aura on command, and therefore become unstoppable in battle.

The Foundation had tried something similar before—a notorious project codenamed Beast Killer—as its intent was to engineer a Pokémon that could more successfully fight Ultra Beasts than natural-born Pokémon. The creatures born from these experiments, each referred to first as Type: Full, were developed by combining the DNA from all known types of Pokémon, so that the aptly titled beasts would be capable of employing another genius invention of Faba’s: the RKS System.

He remembered it as a long, awful, grueling project, with donors consistently too weak to withstand the exposure to high radiation levels needed for breaking down the subject’s DNA in Type-testing. But, Faba and his team had learned much from that stress, and were far more adept at manufacturing positive results at a quicker pace now.

And, though the project Beast Killer had been deemed a failure in fine print, it was Lusamine’s firm conviction that it actually wasn’t—at least not wholly—as one of the subjects had, in time, performed as desired; the exact synthetic monster that her low-life, trouble-making, dirty street-Raticate of a son had stolen.

The loss of the specimen was despicable, but the mere knowledge that even one of their most ambitious projects had proven its merit, meant that it could happen again. With proper ambition, invention, and creative cleverness, the goals of the Foundation—while lofty—were no more out of reach than Ultra Space—which Lusamine believed herself to have already nearly conquered, regardless of the injuries sustained at the time she had personally encountered it.

Needless to say, of course, she had beaten those, too.

If only she could get her hands on those Master Beast Balls, her dominion over Ultra Space would be complete; and if the Temporal Ultra Aura project succeeded, then she would have indestructible Pokémon at her disposal as well—Pokémon likely able to defeat Ultra Beasts with ease—and also cement her rule over land, sea, sky, and space.

So, while Faba toiled away at the production of a Pokémon Type that could harness Aura energy from the element of the Etheric Spirit, Lusamine focused on both research into creating the special Beast Ball herself, while simultaneously following her cleverly designed alternate route to success—retrieving Silph Co.’s data through master manipulation.

It was inevitable with the way Aether Foundation pushed the boundaries of science that experiments would fail along the path to success; but the crew was every day more knowledgeable, more prepared, and more equipped to advance; and, ultimately, with Lusamine’s stubbornness so deeply rooted in the culture of the workforce, giving up was simply not an option.

This was most true for Faba himself, who sought all the credit, and all the accompanying glory.

After all, it was he who did all the heavy lifting so that the Madame President didn’t have to get her manicured hands dirty.

Once Faba entered the darkest of the dark laboratories, an Eevee in a tank before him shuddered, inhaling and exhaling shallow, panicked breaths as it ran around and around the perimeter of the enclosure. It turned its head this way and that, eyes dilated, trying desperately to process the existence and the limitations of the thick glass walls that held it captive. It turned around and around on its small paws, assessing in vain the location of a hidden door, or a window; it flew into a flurry of continuously headbutting the cage, pressing for a weak point that could be broken down. The pathetic thing slammed its head against the glass again and again and again, releasing terrified mewls as its tiny heart pounded a hundred miles an hour.

Faba felt only aggravation as he watched this familiar scene of melodramatic attempt to escape play out as it always did: the creature inevitably wouldn’t succeed, and would ironically make its own suffering worse in fighting as hard as it did for its life.

So it would be for this particular specimen, he surmised, unless this test would be the test—the moment where all the hypotheses collided with experimentation in the brilliant light of success.

Eevee were the species of Pokémon most compatible with Evolution stones, and so were the first line of candidates in this particular study of many relating to the research of Aura. The study was based on exposing the Pokémon to meteorites excavated in Hoenn that were suspected of carrying the qualities of the Key Stones needed for Mega Evolution—as well as unique energies from Ultra Space, where the meteorites were believed to have fallen from. This test subject, number Thirty-Three, wore a collar with a chunk of one such meteorite around its neck. No Mega Stone existed for the species; but that wasn’t necessary. After all, the goal was not Mega Evolution, but evolution into an entirely new Type. 

Instead of a Mega Stone, the fuel for activating the powers of the meteorite that acted as a Key Stone was a unique serum developed from dissolving, to their very essence, microscopic shards of all regular evolution stones, mixed together with further scrapings of the meteorite.

Faba pressed a button on the panel attached to the side of the chamber that released a gas of paralyzing compounds into the enclosure. The Eevee, which had still been crying and smashing its head against the glass, froze like a statue. It fought against the paralysis, growling and straining at its legs in a vain attempt to move them. Its back was arched as if under a horrible weight, and its eyes had become wild with confusion and terror.

“What an awful way to waste your last minutes—but, don’t worry—perhaps you’ll be the one with the potential to move on to the next series of testing,” said Faba nonchalantly, as he turned to assess a sterile sheet of surgical tools beside him.

He picked up a syringe full of what his research team had deemed “Type-change Assimilation,” and slid aside a hidden panel that did, in fact, exist in the glass cage—though no specimen had ever been able to move or shatter it—and he stabbed the Pokémon in the neck with the needle, slowly pressing down on the opposite tip of the syringe to inject the creature with the thick teal green fluid.

It was about five seconds before, even with the paralyzing effects of the gas, the Eevee’s body began to quake epileptically, its legs bending and jerking in odd myoclonic movements. It tried to release its call, but the noise was a suffocating kind of choking croak, as the airways in its throat spasmed and closed up. 

The “Key Stone” on its neck began to glow in a lovely prism, colors blended seamlessly into each other as though through expert use of watercolor paints, elegant and gentle; and for a moment the light was so bright that Faba raised a curious eyebrow, his lightning-strike blue eyes widening ever so slightly.

But, in the following critical ten seconds, where the creature’s body temperature increased close to one hundred and ten degrees—measured by the high-tech diagnostic capability of the glass cage, and displayed on the side panel with other data: levels of oxygen (nearing zero), heart rate (two hundred BPM), and blood pressure (three hundred mmHG)—the Pokémon’s eyes rolled back in a final shudder as it dropped dead on the pristine white laboratory work bench.

Faba sighed, picking up his tablet and tapping at selections and sliding aside screens to record the statistics of the thirty-third trial of this specific experiment, while others went on all around him in Lab A, accompanied by the sounds of machinery buzzes and beeps, the crack of electric shocks, and the final cries of beasts too weak to sustain the Aura energy.

“Such is the beauty and burden of science,” he muttered before gesturing to a clean-up crew member to remove the dead body from the experiment chamber and unlock the storage room of perma-sealed containers (much like the one just used for testing, which was entirely attack and escape-proof) to procure the next test subject, number Thirty-Four.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

“Miss Lillie!” Mrs. Dedlock scolded her as Lillie sat with her elbows on an open Pokémon anatomy textbook, her Pokétch in her hands, gushing over the words on the screen with a playful smile wider than she had ever smiled in all her memory; at least wider than she had ever smiled during lessons. Never had she sat so slouched on the table and her body so relaxed—having been trained for years to sit up straight and perfectly still—as she did now that she held the phone as if it were her most cherished possession.

“This is the second time that I’ve turned around and you’ve been playing on that ridiculous device instead of studying,” came the tutor’s sharp voice.

She was an elderly woman, and fittingly sharply dressed in a blue boucle skirt suit, with pristine stockings and even sharper black pumps.

“I have never seen you this unruly,” the woman went on, sitting down across from Lillie on the round table littered with heavy tomes bound in leather and parchment charts of skeletons and world maps detailing where certain species had originated, and how they had evolved, both over thousands of years and in terms of their own unique evolution of forms.

Lillie sat up straight, locking the Pokétch and clutching it to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dedlock,” said Lillie, inclining her head in a polite bow. She tried to think of something to say but couldn’t find a thread to grab onto; she was not a good liar, and never had been, and furthermore crumpled and folded up and in on herself during any form of criticism or confrontation.

“I—I w-was just, uh…”

She trailed off in silence, but luckily the strict old crone was self-absorbed enough that she didn’t care what Lillie had to say one way or another, and often steamrolled over her with her own opinions.

Mrs. Dedlock pressed her index finger, wrinkled but boldly decorated in a deep red nail polish, onto one of the textbooks, where the musculature of an Infernape was illustrated.

“You will focus on preparing for this Pokémon Biology test right this instant, or I will confiscate your infernal piece of frivolous technology.”

Lillie’s eyes perked up in nervousness as she took a deep breath, and slipped the phone into the pocket of her blazer.

“Of course, Mrs. Dedlock,” she said with a nod, and bit her lip as she picked up a fountain pen and forced herself to focus on the words on the page, though the letters were all scrambled; and while usually a fast and analytical reader, she had to go over the same sentences again and again, never advancing beyond a single paragraph for two minutes at a time.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Guzma didn’t like to sleep, and therefore could never wake up.

His typical routine consisted of staying awake until around three-oh-three in the morning, and then sleeping until noon—or later, on both accounts. His mind moved too fast to allow his body to relax—racing thoughts running marathons through memories of the past, with all their pains and pitfalls; schemes for the future, with all their potential foibles and fears; self-centered self-doubt that led to self-medicating; questioning, questioning, questioning all his many existential dilemmas that he wasn’t self-aware enough to comprehend in all their complexity, let alone find answers to—and so he had, in this way, become afraid of sleeping.

While he was asleep, he had no control.

But, finally, Guzma did wake up—to the tune of rap music bopping at a mellow volume from the stereo system in the master bedroom of the Shady House, where his eyes shot open as though coming back from the dead. The music had played all night, accompanied by the orchestral buzz of a powerful air conditioner, because the chill background noise and extreme cold were two of the things Guzma had discovered were most helpful in soothing him to sleep.

As he came to, he discovered that Plumeria was still comfortably unconscious beside him; her bubblegum pink and blonde hair loose and messy in stray lines doodled all over black silk pillows. He had slept with her again, like he always did when he was feeling particularly bad about himself.

Guzma immediately pulled back the blankets and regarded the ceiling as though it boasted a painting by a master artist in a museum that would bring him clarity in its unearthly beauty; the reality was a coat of plaster that was beginning to fade into a milky beige and chip off at the edges.

You’ll do better today, Guzma, he said to himself as he got out of bed—which was what he said to himself every time he got out of bed in the afternoon, because every day he knew he hadn’t done well enough yesterday. No excuses.

Leaving Plumeria peacefully asleep, he rose, naked, and put on a pair of athletic lounge shorts from the rickety dresser he didn’t know why he hadn’t bothered to replace. He grabbed a bong and a pair of sunglasses and opened the sliding door to the balcony that overlooked the estate’s backyard. Brain hazy, he sat down in a beat-up patio chair and hit the bong. 

Weed helped him sleep, and weed helped him wake up; without it, either way, he’d be a nervous wreck.

Get it together, Guzma.

Bird Pokémon sang out a summer song from the palm trees that bordered the yard along with other large tropical plants and brush that served as a private natural camouflage around the property. The sun shone; the birds sang; the palm trees swayed in the warm wind. Just another day in paradise. Guzma surveyed the expansive yard of the estate, noticing a pile of trash floating in the swimming pool.

I’ve got to get these kids under control, he thought, reclining as he took a puff off the fluorescent glass. It’s up to me to make them strong. If the leader is weak, then the pack will be weak.

He would order some grunts to take care of cleaning up the yard today, he decided. And the broken chandelier in the main foyer. And the kitchen where the counters were coated in a congealed kind of glue whose source was unable to distinguish, whether it was spilled food that had begun to mold, or muck from many of the grunts’ Muck slinking around the property and consuming other garbage—or some sticky, icky combination of the two.

The Shady House had never been clean, chic, or glamorous—the exact opposite of Lusamine Aether’s intimidating castle in the ocean, which Guzma desired more than anything—a place that commanded fear and reverence. And, he realized, waking up with several hits of his bong, that this failure was his fault. He was in charge, and he had been holding the reigns too loosely. He had let himself get content in the comfort of the only home he had ever known, instead of grinding day and night to establish the empire he deserved. He hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to the goings-on at the House lately. With new developments in the works for the expansion of Team Skull’s drug trade, he had been dedicating his days to supervising what was dubbed conversationally amongst the gang as simply “The Factory.”

The Factory stood on the property where the Thrifty Megamart had been legally purchased by a reputable company called Oceanside Real Estate (a shell company under the ownership of Aether Foundation), and finally entirely demolished four years ago all the way down to the foundation. In its place a large, modern-looking but otherwise unassuming warehouse had been erected.

The facility became, in an official capacity, a steel-tempering and production organization represented by a construction conglomerate called Iron Tail Development (an umbrella of businesses held in the marionette strings of Aether Foundation, which had made the purchase of the warehouse, on paper, legally with Oceanside Real Estate); and the people of Ula’ula believed the business manufactured steel beams and other construction parts which were sent off to other regions via freight ships docked at a similarly new utility port constructed along the fringes of the moody black beaches of Route 14. 

Guzma’s own profits and (inherently essential) assistance from Aether Foundation had allowed what was a smaller drug trade operating out of the basement of the Shady House into a large-scale operation in this fully-functional, updated building. It boasted an office (which, much like the Shady House, paled in comparison to the marble and white mahogany work of art that was Lusamine’s center of business at Aether Paradise), and freight containers for storing and moving product; as well as Guzma’s most responsible and most promisingly trainable grunts at work.

It was not an understatement to say that Guzma viewed this space as a critical advancement that offered him the opportunity to show his potential for bigger and better things.

You have to do better, Guzma.

And he had, recently, made a big move to do better, he reminded himself as he hit the bong again that morning. He watched as the thick white smoke left his lungs and disappeared in the wind. His tanned skin was made for the heat, and the Alolan sun scorching his chest and legs was a pleasant feeling that helped him further come into himself for the day.

The Big Move (which Guzma lauded himself that he had played so skillfully; navigated and negotiated just right with all his charms and wiles) was that he had negotiated a lucrative deal with the infamous Team Rocket—specifically the branch that operated out of Johto, which was only about a three day’s sail from the simple utility port outside Registeel Incorporated (which was the official name of The Factory, and another shell company under registration of Iron Tail Development, and therefore Aether Foundation).

Within the partnership with Team Rocket, Guzma worked mainly with a sharp-tongued Rocket Executive named Proton, who thrived on intimidating others, and seemed to have an acute dislike for Pokémon while also being obsessed with them; a strange combination which Guzma had only ever encountered once before, in the woman who held his heart in one hand and a knife in the other.

This trait of Proton’s was helpful to Guzma, however, as he also required assistance with Pokémon trafficking.

The freight ships moved both products; Guzma would send primarily Alolan variants to the notorious Team Rocket, and they would return the favor with species not native to Alola. When it came to the drugs, the Johto branch of Team Rocket also had their own operation for some time, but it had been more of a side-business; Guzma, much to his pleasure, had a greater system, and collected a large portion of profits from Team Rocket’s sales; and the mutually beneficial relationship only continued to grow in trust and reliability in the year this collaborative effort had been running.

Guzma fancied that he had established, with his ingenuity, a strong foothold in Rocket’s much larger organization, which spanned several countries and even two continents; and that he perhaps was elevating his status to a point where he could even sit at the table with the prestigious mob boss Giovanni.

Do better. Be stronger. Make Team Skull unstoppable, across these islands and beyond.

Despite these grand machinations that were at work to make him rich and powerful, it came down to the trash in his swimming pool, where he coughed and rubbed his eyes and hit the bong with orange flames worked into the hand-blown glass.

Guzma’s dreams for Team Skull were bigger even than the ones he held over his head, and he had enough street smarts to know he couldn’t win any wars without his soldiers in order.

It’s your responsibility to train them.

And it wasn’t just with Pokémon battles, though those skills were critical. His crew needed refinement; more tact in their larceny and deals on the street. They, too, needed to be smart; to know when to run and when to fight, and how to talk their way through a situation when it became clear it was boiling down to either of those two options, and that neither were preferable. They needed to respect the House; it belonged to the whole gang, after all, as Guzma swore to each and every initiate to whom he bestowed a silver chain and a black bandana. 

He may be a man of many vices and few virtues, but one of his most admirable qualities was his loyalty.

He knew the names of every single grunt who worked for him, even the younger ones who had mostly come for shelter from poverty—and he rewarded those, no matter their rank, who performed well, or made a significant contribution to anything that made the gang stronger as a whole.

And so, he thought, it might teach the younger kids some responsibility to begin repairs on all the damage and vandalism throughout the Team Skull headquarters—to clean up the Shady House so that its facade showed only the least amount of incriminating decoration on the front lawn.

And, the more money Guzma made, the more reparations could be implemented, and the more modern and upgraded the estate could become, until the whole thing was an imposing structure in its evidence of wealth and legitimate power.

Guzma reclined in the white patio chair, the busted piece of furniture fading to a dismal ivory the same as the plaster on the ceiling, as the marijuana dulled the voltage of all his hardwired anxieties that kept his mind in a race against itself—though he felt he was racing the whole world.

Inevitably, it would all catch up to him, in ways he couldn’t anticipate—just as it did now. 

A sinking feeling bloomed in his gut when he remembered that Plumeria was asleep in his bed. Though he thought himself above catching feelings from meaningless hookups, with Plumeria it was different.

She had been with him—with Team Skull—a long time; before Guzma had even made the gang’s influence and profit half of what it was—when he had been nothing, and truly started from the bottom of broken bottles and dreams. That meant something to him. That type of loyalty was not easy to come by; could not be bought, stolen, or manipulated.

So, he tried to convince himself to go back to the bed with her and say something sweet, or at least kind, but he couldn’t. He loved her, but he wasn’t in love with her (the most bittersweet sort of romantic tragedy).

The reason he had even slept with her last night was because he was hurting over the woman of his dreams shutting down every and all of his attempts to woo her, and his wounded ego needed the comfort that Plumeria would provide in her absence. Plumeria was always there for him, because she was in love with him; and he knew it.

That means you used her.

He hit the bong again, watching Pikipek fly over the yard.

You’ll do better today, Guzma.

Just then, the sliding door opened and the girl with the tough-as-nails but sweet-as-cake attitude walked out onto the balcony in a skimpy tank top and a thong, her hair wild and vibrant as ever. She lit a cigarette on her way out the door.

What could Guzma tell her about his thoughts for or about her, this humid morning where the sun shone so brightly that he could hardly see, even behind his aviators?

“Never underestimate Big Bad Guzma,” he managed as a greeting.

“Yeah?” Plumeria returned. She wandered in her bare feet, toes painted pink, over to the railing and leaned against it. “Good morning, Big Bad Guzma.”

He couldn’t help himself from checking out her ass as she stood there, elbow on the railing with the smoking cigarette held thoughtfully and carelessly in her hand. He had a thing for her tan lines and tattoos, too—particularly the Dragonair tramp stamp he had paid for her to get done on her birthday last year.

“I want you to set up a meeting by this weekend. Everybody. And I mean everybody,” said Guzma, nodding to himself with resolution. “Get everyone here that’s not at the Factory—I’ll go down there and have some words with that crew separately.”

It’s your responsibility to train them, he thought.

Plumeria made an inquisitive humming noise.

The marathon trudged on ahead in Guzma’s head, and no matter how winded he was, he would never stop. He’d think it over and over until he thought himself out of every obstacle; and he’d fight his demons over and over until he banished them to the underworld.

“Better make it Thursday so we catch all those unruly idiots before they wreck themselves up on the weekend. I have things I gotta say—important things they gotta hear. Serious shit that’s gonna decide our future.”

Do better. Be stronger. Make Team Skull unstoppable, across these islands and beyond.

Plumeria turned around and leaned her back against the railing, watching Guzma while she puffed on her cigarette. He never said what he truly needed, and so she had to pay attention to his subtle tics, and the determination and blame that slipped between the lines: tones shifting in his voice, recognition of his shoulders as taut or relaxed, what he did with his hands while he spoke—all of these she considered while trying to discern his mood.

In her mind, Guzma’s mood at the moment was elevated with determination, but motivated by self-hatred.

“Alright,” she responded to his request. “I’ve noticed, too, that the grunts have been overly rambunctious lately. I’ve been working on whipping them into shape, but they’re too eager for chaos to listen—and it’s going to come back to bite us if they go unchecked. Just the other day I caught a few of them scrapping with Mayhem Crew in their territory—and even a simple Pokémon battle with those bastards, if not necessary, isn’t smart.”

Guzma grumbled. Fucking Mayhem Crew. That was a whole ‘nother load of bullshit in his way—this stupid gang that had formed some year and a half or so ago and aggressively attempted to surpass Team Skull; the lot of them utterly unafraid of initiating battles for no good reason other than to prove their alleged superiority—but also with a concerning violent streak, as they were known to carry weapons alongside their Pokémon—Pokémon which were also troublesomely strong.

“Yeah, that bullshit’s gotta stop,” he grunted. “We’ve gotta get these kids disciplined and under control. And stronger. All of us—a lot stronger.”

Plumeria nodded, putting out the end of her cigarette in an overfull ashtray.

“It’s you and me, Plum,” Guzma said to her as he leaned back in the chair. “We’ve got a few reliable guys helping us keep all these idiots in line, but it’s not enough. It’s me and you; and we’ve got to find somebody else. Somebody smart.”

“We’ll do it,” she answered. “We always do.”

Guzma ran a hand through his hair. He paused for a moment, staring up at the clouds while his mind plunged deeper down in his thoughts than he ever went. Pursing his lips together, he turned and looked her dead in the eyes.

“Do you think people take me seriously, Plum?”

Plumeria was surprised by this question, but she answered honestly.

“Not as much as you deserve,” she said, returning his gaze.

Guzma nodded.

“You’re right,” he told her, once again regarding the wildlife that surrounded him, and the garbage piled up like a floating island in the swimming pool.

That’s gonna change. I’ll show them all who I am.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

In all his years of working with Team Skull, Gladion had never been part of a heist. He had never robbed a bank (though the idea had been floated, and he hadn’t really been against it), or even a pawn shop. He had also never trespassed on private property to steal valuable objects or valuable Pokémon—except for Silvally, of course—though he had always thought of that dramatic theft as more of a necessary rescue than a robbery (was Aether Paradise even really “private property” when his mother owned the place?).

Even if he had been branded hot on his wrists with marks of exile, perhaps it was an exception tonight, too, when he planned to break into his mother’s house.

Everyone knew from blockbuster movies that the first necessity of a successful infiltration into a high-security facility was to memorize the blueprint of the floor plan—and Gladion was lucky that in this case he already had. He hadn’t been inside the Aether manor since he was thirteen, but an entire childhood of exploring every nook and cranny of the shiny labyrinthe had ingrained in his mind as many secret passages as he was ever able to penetrate, and as many general locations of the main cameras as he possibly could have identified.

He realized, just then, however, as he stepped into the territory of the back lawn from the inlet on the beach, that all of those memorized key elements required for his successful break-in could have been changed in the time he was away; and, in that case, he would be in trouble. But, due to how desperately he needed to get inside the building, he simply trusted in who-knew-what, as he didn’t believe in any higher power, that they hadn’t—and so continued with his mission.

Lillie’s room was on the third floor, and so scaling the manor was not a viable option; though there were enough decorative elements on the scaffolding that he may have been able to manage it—if not for the cameras; and he fancied throwing pebbles at her window, like every lovesick dope in every teenage movie—or, perhaps, even in the greatest romantic plays of all time—but that would only get him tackled by security.

He stuck to the shadows of the palm trees—leaves frilly and wide like umbrellas that could shelter him from light and rain—and moved carefully behind the impeccably-trimmed shrubbery that bordered the perimeter of the property, wracking his brain for a weak point in the sandstone and alabaster monument of a house. There were at least several back doors, he recalled, but all should be both illuminated and actively filmed. He continued on, beginning to grow frustrated, when he noticed the greenhouse.

It would be locked, of course, by the overly-talkative, bumbling little woman who was the gardener, and had always been the gardener; but there were no cameras, inside or outside (or so he remembered). Then, there was the lightly-concealed door that cut through to the old storage room meant for receiving freight deliveries back in the day, which also worked as a shortcut to a—as he remembered it—dusty and neglected hall made of a more old-fashioned design than the rest of the clean, white, Lusamine-esque house.

In direct contrast to the matriarch’s aesthetic, in fact, the unkempt hallway was an area of the home that had a magically musty smell—like an enchanted library in a fantasy novel—and had been primarily used only by servants to retrieve the cargo deliveries, as well as his father, with the man’s study down at the far end, and a gentleman’s bar room attached.

Now, that could work.

Three stories above and on the western wing of the manor, down the other end from the greenhouse, Lillie finally felt herself drifting off to sleep when her phone rang. The sudden noise startled her, causing her to wince and shudder in bed. She almost decided to ignore it as a likely spam call and try to fall asleep, but a prickling curiosity led her to reach over to her bedside table and pick up the phone instead.

The call was from Gladion, his name flashing with the red and green buttons on the screen.

She gasped, staring dumbfounded at the Pokétch for a few moments of disbelief before realizing that if she didn’t answer the call, it would go to voicemail.

“H-Hello? Gladion?” her voice shook like she had received a call from a ghost.

“Hey. I’m sorry it’s so late, but I’m outside.”

Lillie nearly dropped her phone—a catastrophe that luckily had yet been avoided despite the fact that lately her fingers were slippery as a Water-type’s—when in fact her lack of coordination was due to Gladion continuing to surprise her with all kinds of lovely words; and now he had come to see her, in the middle of the night, at her home, where he had been banished back since what felt like ages ago.

“W-What do you mean you’re outside? Outside the manor?”

Lillie couldn’t believe it. Her brains were scrambled in her half-awake state. Was she dreaming that he was really here?

“Yes, that’s why I’m calling you, princess.”

A light gasp passed her lips and she shivered with her heart pounding so loud she was certain security would hear it beating. 

Princess?

“But—Gladion,” she forced herself to focus, though her guilty heart cried out for him, “if you try to get in the house, you’ll be caught by the guards.”

Gladion released an amused breath with half a laugh, and Lillie could almost hear him smirking.

“Listen carefully, Lillie. When you leave your room, head down the east corridor and stay close to the wall—as close as you can. Then, across from the guest room, take a left and go down the spiral staircase with the ugly carpet on it."

"At the bottom there will be a door on your right; it’s hard to notice—it looks like it’s painted on the wall—but it’s a real door. It doesn’t lock. Go through there—it’s kind of like an old storage closet or a pantry on the other side, but it’s also connected to a stone walkway behind a rickety door with a latch. Follow it; it’s dark but it’s not long—and you’ll end up in the greenhouse, where there are no cameras. The greenhouse door is locked, though, so I can’t get in. Well, without actually throwing a rock through the glass—which I’d love to do—but then I definitely couldn’t see you. I’m waiting right there.”

Lillie’s mouth fell open, still unable to process that Gladion was here (for her! Princess? ), let alone that he knew of the exact locations of the security cameras and hidden passages—and knew them so well that he could still recall them by heart after he hadn’t been able to set foot in the manor for nearly six years.

“Gladion, how do you know all this!?” she couldn’t help but to ask, breathless.

“Do you want to know or do you want to let me in?”

A few more shallow breaths—both exhilarated to get to see him and terrified to get caught—and then Lillie said, “Alright. I’ll be right there.”

She got up and slid her feet into her slippers, about to open the door, when in a panic she rushed over to her vanity and fretted with her bangs and any pillow static clinging to her hair. Thoughts that she had to look perfect to see Gladion flooded her, and she lamented her lack of makeup, though sighed in relief that she was at least wearing a pair of her cute new pajamas—still modest, but perhaps somewhat sexy. Then she gritted her teeth, realizing she had no time to dress herself up, and snuck out the door to her bedroom, looking worriedly side to side down the hall for any security that may be prowling about.

She took a cooling breath and left the room, nearly about to rush down the hallway before she remembered Gladion’s instructions to stay close to the wall—so she did, and upon looking up at the ceiling over the banisters above the foyer, saw that there were, in fact, cameras, tilted at perhaps just the right angle so as not to catch the very edge of the third floor wall.

Still all nerves, Lillie crept down the staircase, and found just the slightest hint of a doorknob on a door that nearly appeared as a mere decoration, and went through it; she shivered as the storage room was ice cold and she had not put on a bathrobe, but there was the splintered husk of wood with the latch, and it did creak—making her shiver worse with worry; still, she continued, and went down the stone walkway, and finally through another equally beat-up panel with vines growing around it, which led into the greenhouse.

The very second Lillie saw Gladion as she opened up the white latticed door, all she wanted to do was to throw herself into his arms; and the look on his face suggested a burning desire for the same thing. They locked eyes with each other for a heavy moment where the both of them felt like they might break beneath the pressure on their shoulders and the aching in their chests, before Gladion said, “Come on, let’s hurry back to your room before some sneaky asshole notices us.”

Pressing her tongue to the top of her mouth as she pursed her lips tight together, Lillie shook off the wonderful—wild—feeling and locked the greenhouse door behind Gladion as he took off. She followed him for several paces on quick little feet, before she couldn’t help but to sigh—audibly, wistfully—to which he responded by grabbing her hand and holding it reassuringly, her frail fingers interwoven with his hardier ones, as he led her back the way she had come.

Together they traipsed through the passage with walls and ceiling made of a grainy stone into the supply closet, through the invisible doorway, up the spiral stairwell—three flights of faded floral carpet—and tight along the wall of the eastern corridor as though it were the edge of a cliff.

Finally, they passed through the threshold into Lillie’s bedroom and shut the door behind them; and, without even turning on the light, Lillie lurched herself forward at the same time that Gladion grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him, where he enveloped her in his long arms and held her tight. Lillie laid her head against his chest, filled from head to toe with a feeling of warmth and safety, which bloomed like a flower in the center of her chest and then exploded to release its wispy seeds, which floated away like she had just made a wish; the whole flurry of them drifted through all her arteries and pathways of her lungs, leaving her glowing with magic inside. She hugged him back with the same intensity as he held her—her small arms around his middle—and Gladion rested his head on hers, surprised at himself when his eyes closed of their own volition in pure bliss.

It shocked both of them how badly they needed this, and how severely it affected them now that it had happened.

“Lillie…”

“Gladion…” Lillie whispered his name as she lifted her head to look at him.

Immediately, he kissed her; kissed her like he had never kissed another girl in his life. With passion and urgency, he captured her open mouth, fitting the curves of his lips to hers as fully as he could; and when she moaned, he probed his tongue into her mouth. He was gentle at first, caressing her tongue in a soft lust, but when she copied his gesture he filled her more roughly, lifting a hand to hold the back of her neck with greedy pressure.

The kiss was pure Heaven, shaking Lillie to her core with how amazing it felt—how she had never felt better in her entire life, and how that wasn’t an exaggeration. Gladion kissed her hard, but with obvious tenderness that had her melting in his arms, and she could hardly stand, or hardly breathe. He expertly moved his mouth and his tongue against hers, and she lost all ability to think.

She whined as he moved his other arm to encircle instead her lower back and crushed her against him; never before had Lillie felt so incredible while feeling so trapped.

A curious thought—which became a full curious sensation—washed over her in picturesque waves. The thought that overtook her was that Gladion owned her—owned her whole heart, and even her body, despite the fact they had yet to be intimate in that way; in fact, this all-consuming feeling, when she was still so unsure of whether or not she was ready for intercourse, made her want to throw away every fear and reservation into that lovely ocean and give herself to Gladion right then. In some indescribable way, at that second, with complete certainty, Lillie simply knew she belonged to him—belonged with him—and would surrender herself to whatever he wanted and be happy with it.

Gladion did want it—all of it; wanted her, in a terrifying, maddening way. Her lips carried that drug that made him wild and he was ready to get so fucked up he blacked out. She felt so good; she smelled so good; she tasted so good; she was so gorgeous, as he had told her several times over the past couple of weeks; and her little moaning sounds as he grabbed her and kissed her were so good to him that he wanted to take off her clothes and fuck her right there on her bed, in his mother’s house that he was banned from entering.

Still, his mind spun in erratic circles, and reminded him that this was Lillie. His sweet, perfect girl, whom he had always known meant more to him than anyone else on the planet; but who now he was sure—sure in absolute agony—that he was completely and entirely in love with; lost, with no idea how to cope with the deep, complex emotions other than to feed his addiction. Keep kissing her; don’t stop holding her; continue talking to her every second that he could so that he may feel close to her even when they were apart.

And, most importantly, never cease protecting her. Her smile, and her gentle manner—with him and anyone fortunate enough to be graced by her presence—were treasures that it should be criminal to attempt to destroy; and, as was the nature of cruelty, many did attempt it—especially Lusamine.

That villainy was not something Gladion had ever been able to accept, but at this point he would actively counter it at every turn, so that it never succeeded—ever again. Lillie was all his now, and he would never let anyone else touch her as he did, or be close to her as he was, or hurt or upset her in any way—as he would take the greatest care himself not to do.

In such a way, he reeled in his fierce desire to physically take her, and instead gave her several more gentle kisses before pulling away and kissing her forehead. He turned his gaze on her face with the worst vulnerability that had ever crept into his bright eyes, and simply admired her. Lillie looked back at him, dizzy, with a heart rate probably unsafe in a body at rest. But, Gladion’s own heart beat fast, too; despite how many times he had been in similar situations with other girls, this time he didn’t know what to do.

He endured a stunned moment, but then spoke.

“You wanna lay down so we can cuddle and talk?”

Lillie found herself nodding, as if an automatic response not by her own conscious intention, though it was what she wanted. There was no power in her lungs to say, “Yes;” she was simply smitten, and so full of adoration for her brother and how he took care of her, that, just as she thought not a moment ago, she would indeed do whatever he wanted and be happy with it.

Early last week, she had been worried about having a crush. But now, she found herself thinking, Am I… in love with him?

Lillie moved to her bed as though wading through water, and climbed back into it under the fancy down comforter that had held its shape from when she was snuggled under it before getting up.

Gladion could only think, himself, in delirium, that he must be critically intoxicated to have asked a girl to cuddle with him. He fell in and out of the high, unable to keep himself together. Cuddle? High out of his mind. On another planet.

But, he was rapidly realizing this second time now that he had done it—and after the microdosing in the form of constantly being on the phone with her—that this was the drug that was Lillie. She made him do things he otherwise never would. She made him care about things he otherwise never would. She made him want to be better—to be stronger—to be honest, with himself and others; the latter perhaps the scariest part, as Gladion was also beginning to realize that he couldn’t lie to her.

This drug was undoubtedly the most powerful he had ever drank, smoked, snorted, or eaten. He had never injected anything, so maybe this was the most like that, because he could feel his love for her burn in his veins, at its strongest in her presence.

Following her lead, he took off his shoes and his beat-up leather jacket (Lillie almost passed out for a moment when the jacket came off, as she thought he was getting entirely undressed) and then went over to the other side of the bed and peeled back the blankets to join her.

Déjà vu felt as though it was spritzed into the atmosphere of the room like an air freshener once the two of them were face to face in bed, searching each other’s faces for answers that likely didn’t exist.

“Hi, beautiful,” Gladion said.

“Hi,” said Lillie, still unable to think straight.

Even if they weren’t breathless, there wasn’t much to say in terms of catching up; they had been texting constantly the past two weeks, and knew of everything the other had been up to, and also how badly they wanted to see each other in person—and how many obstacles there were in making that happen—and Lillie did lament that.

“It was like I missed you more and more every day,” she confessed, tongue-tied and terrified.

Gladion’s heart constricted in his chest. Lillie was so unbelievably beautiful, in her sweet heart and her sweet face, that it was impossible not to be enchanted by her. He couldn’t turn away from her icy green eyes that took his breath away like frost, their pale light somehow equal parts stoic and sentimental—and the adorable way her lips pouted, plush and plump, and her slightly pink cheeks puffed up in shyness at what she admitted to him.

He cradled the side of her face, looking at her like this—looking at her like if he had to take his eyes away then he wouldn’t survive; and though he was overcome with wholehearted affection for her, Gladion couldn’t extricate it from his carnal desires, and so ran his thumb across her lips, teasing to open them and slip his finger inside—which, as he watched himself do this, was so fucking hot he started to lose his mind again. He let himself tug gently, just the tiniest bit, at her lower lip to see it roll down and her mouth barely open, before resuming gently stroking her cheek.

“I missed you, too,” he said. 

All at once, again, like continuing to take punches to the gut, was the painful consumption that he had it bad for her. So bad for her that feared he wouldn’t be able to control himself in his fucked up Lillie-drunkenness and blurt out that he loved her.

Was this the paranoia that came along with the Lillie drug, like it could with marijuana and others?

Lillie, looking into Gladion’s eyes herself, felt like her brain had simply turned into mush and that she had no idea what to say or even how to speak if she did. All that she was conscious of was that her skin felt hot, and her heart pounded in her ears—which was perhaps why she couldn’t hear her own thoughts anymore, and could only feel an intense sensation of weightlessness.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Gladion added. “Work and dumb fucking Team Skull shit kept me busy—and I know you were busy, too. I kept trying to figure out the smartest plan for us to meet up, but, earlier tonight, I just… I wanted to see you so bad that I couldn’t take waiting anymore and decided I just didn’t give a fuck if I’m allowed in here or not.”

Do I love Gladion? Can he tell? What should I do? Should I tell him? I can’t tell him! Do I love him? I think I love him. Of course I do! But I think I’m in love with him. What should I do? What if he notices? Do I lie? I can’t lie to him! This feeling in my chest… I’m dying…

“I needed to see you—and I needed to kiss you—and I don’t know what the fuck is going on because I know we’re… not… you’re not my girl—I mean, I don’t know what we are because we’re… y’know, you’re my little sister, and I—”

There he went again. Like he was under a spell, he couldn’t stop himself from telling Lillie everything; and the truth had been cemented that he definitely couldn’t lie to her, either.

It hadn’t always been like this—he had kept his true feelings about all kinds of things from her for years. But something had happened to him that night they had first kissed—had happened to her, too, though he didn’t know it—and instantly he had been changed—had become bewitched and unable to control himself.

I think I really could be in love with him, Lillie thought. That’s so scary. That’s so scary! What do I do? How do I act? What if I can’t be normal around him anymore!?

“Lillie?” Gladion asked, sensing she wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, y-yes, sorry; I just… um… was thinking about the same things,” she said distractedly.

Gladion took her hand as they laid there staring at each other and gently stroked her smooth skin with his thumb.

“I can leave if you’re too sleepy, or if you think it would be better if I did,” he said; an ache like a bullet that had gone straight through his heart began to sting at the possibility that she wanted him to go.

“No!” said Lillie pointedly, shaking her head and pinning him in place with her sea glass eyes. “Don’t leave me, Gladion!”

She hadn’t meant it to come out so desperate, but the trauma in her heart had betrayed her. Don’t leave me, though only a word extra, was several nuances away from Don’t leave, which is what she had intended to say.

Gladion’s expression softened.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he responded, squeezing her hand with the perfect amount of sweetness and possessiveness. “I’m never going anywhere.”

The statement triggered something in Lillie that caused the corners of her mouth to tremble as it morphed into a frown, and her brow furrowed.

“Why did you leave, Gladion?” she asked in a weak and cracking voice.

He knew immediately what she meant. Yes, it was true that his mother had kicked him out—banished him, exiled him—from Aether Paradise, from home—but still, he hadn’t even tried to come back for Lillie.

The first year away he hardly saw her other than one night at the Tide Song Hotel when she revealed to him that she was carrying the mystical Pokémon she called Nebby with her, and had begged him to help her; and then again when he did help her, rescuing her from Lusamine after the Evil Queen had captured her to take Cosmog—Nebby—back into the clutches of Aether Foundation.

But, after that, he disappeared again—for another year or so, he wasn’t sure—until (it was strange; for some reason he couldn’t remember why or how) he resumed a tenuous communication with her, and they began to connect for short outings every three to five months. With more time, passing and fading, they grew closer, enjoying their time together more, but still remained generally estranged.

Gladion felt his heart sink into his gut, as it was evident his little sister was about to cry. Confessions should be better planned, but planning had never been his forte; as evidenced by tonight, when he showed up at the manor on a whim, determined to find her and be with her in whatever capacity he could.

“I… I don’t have a good answer, other than I’m sorry—which I know is fucking weak, but it’s true. I think I just… didn’t want to hurt you,” he told her in a low, shameful voice. “I was worried… I’m still worried that I’ll… screw you up like me.”

Lillie wiped the corner of her eye. Gladion laughed mockingly at himself.

"I’ve never wanted you to be… around me,” he sighed a harsh breath, “not because I didn’t want to see you, but because I was afraid of that happening. Not just me hurting you, either—but of you winding up getting hurt, because of me.”

Gladion ran his hands through his messy hair, taking heavy sighs, his insides churning and growing more sick and self-hateful. Confessions should be better planned, but these potentially devastating loose lips were the flipside of the drug.

“I didn’t want you to be around Team Skull—especially since I knew you were scared of them after Lusamine sent Plumeria and some other thugs after you. I didn’t want you to be around any of the fucked up shit I did—that I still do—drugs and shit… gang shit… I kept you away because I—” love you “—care about you, and I wanted to protect you.”

Lillie shivered, her oceanic green eyes swelling like the tide.

“Y-You didn’t have to do that, Gladion,” she mumbled, finding she was losing her voice just as she lost the salty water in her eyes. “I missed you so much. I j-just… a-always… w-wanted to b-be with you.”

All that tightness, for the briefest second after being released, softened in Gladion’s core, where he had always felt unworthy of her; and, though he was not aware of it at all, unloved.

“Yeah?” he found himself asking, though he already believed her.

“Y-Yes,” Lillie whimpered, tears tracing the contours of her cheekbones. “I w-was a-all alone without you.”

Gladion scowled.

“Then I fucked up even worse,” he spat. “I’m fucked up even worse.”

The horrible swirl of darkness constricted his chest and his gut again. Lillie sniffled and cried for a bit more, before she shook her head and pulled herself together.

“Stop saying that!” she cried. “Y-Yes, I was sad, and lonely, but I—I understand why you kept your distance now. I wish you hadn’t done it, but I understand your reasons. I know that you were just trying to keep me safe. A-And,” she swallowed, “And that just makes me believe even more that you’re a good person—even if you think you’re… screwed up. You’re not. Not to me.”

Gladion’s dark emerald eyes widened, so much so they looked like they turned a lighter shade, and he was helpless to do anything but to look at Lillie’s gorgeous face, even flooded with tears as it was, realizing that maybe, just maybe, she loved him too.

But, for now, at least, she believed in him; and it was nearly as good for him, starving as he was.

More roughly than he intended, with the passion rising in him, he put his hand back on the side of her face, feeling the wetness of her tears and the fine strands of her hair stuck there, and kissed her with what he hoped she could feel was his whole heart on fire, burning for her. Indeed was she not as innocent as he had always thought she was—or at least she wasn’t now—because she moaned with a heavy desire and kissed him back with the same intensity. His arm moved to wrap around her waist, and he squeezed her against him, pressing his hips firmly into hers—where, yes, he was insanely hard.

“H-aah,” Lillie whimpered as they kissed in a frenzy; these were deep, ardent kisses, where Gladion’s tongue filled her mouth, and pulled at her lower lip with his teeth, and between their mouths changing position they breathed hot and heavy on each other’s face.

“Do you still want to be with me?” he asked, in between kisses and nibbling and pulling on her bottom lip. “Even though I failed you, when I left you alone for so long?”

“Yes,” Lillie breathed. “Nothing could stop me wanting to be with you, Gladion. Now more than ever. I don’t want to go back to how things were, even if we could.”

If Gladion thought he was high before, at this point he had hit the ceiling and shattered it.

He captured her in a kiss again; a romantic paradise with no escape.

“I need you,” he found himself moaning, delirious as he kissed down her neck; she whined and arched her back, further sending his mind spinning in that lava of need. He ran his hands up and down her back as he kissed her in a frenzy, feeling the silky pajama top and her silky skin as a hand slipped under the fabric to touch her.

Wow. More.

Lillie shivered at the feeling of his rough hand on her back, but there was still a tight ball of nerves in her chest, holding her back from completely letting go. His declaration had exhilarated her, but left her feeling timid and insecure.

“I-I don’t know,” she murmured between kisses—kisses which she was loving, even craving more of; but to go further—

“Sorry,” Gladion muttered, struggling to remember himself, his breath ragged and still hot against Lillie’s lips. “Okay. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” said Lillie, meek uncertainty evident in her voice that worked into a confident stability. “It’s not, um… not that I don’t like, or want, um… I just…”

Gladion regained his breathing and petted her hair.

“I understand,” he said. He gave her a quick nod and a chaste peck on the lips. “Whatever you want. Always, okay? It’s your call.”

Lillie nodded back at him, smiling; yet, her heart still pounded out of control in her chest from what they had just been doing. Despite her concerns with moving forward, her abdomen was tight and she felt wet and warm in between her legs. She almost wanted Gladion to touch her there—her head spun imagining it; she did want it, but her mind was so torn she couldn’t know for sure.

Still, his hands on her skin were electrifying, and she didn’t want him to leave, or for it to be over yet.

“Um, Gladion?”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying to keep himself together when his entire being was screaming that he needed her, needed her, needed her.

“You can… touch my chest if you want.”

Lillie blushed, and all those Bug Pokémon danced in her stomach like she had at her ballet recital, spinning ‘round and around on tiptoes and trying not to fall out of a perfect pirouette. 

Gladion was so stunned he merely blinked at her for a few moments.

“Are you sure?” he asked her, though his brain kept screaming. “I mean—you just, two seconds ago—you don’t have to do this for me—”

“I know,” said Lillie, biting her lip. “I just… like how it feels when you touch me.”

Gladion’s heart had moved to his throat where it beat so hard it choked him.

“And I just… want to keep kissing and… s-since it’s not that I don’t want to—um, I’m not sure, but… I just want to go slow.”

They locked eyes, both of them hesitant for different reasons, and the same reason—that this would be another step away from the line they had long-crossed, from which the further they went, the further they would ever be able to find the way home.

Unless that was actually the direction they were headed.

“Okay,” said Gladion finally, the intense lust that accompanied his high being too much to bear. “I’ll be careful.”

Lillie nodded to him, but gasped quickly as he rolled over on top of her; and after a final, tense few seconds of fissures erupting in speedy lines over a pane of glass before it exploded under the pressure, he captured her lips again; but, this time, his right hand gently cupped one of her breasts, tracing the shape that he let fill his hand—and it was a beautiful handful, which through the silk fabric he could feel her nipple harden under his touch.

Lillie sighed a little humming noise into his mouth as he kissed her, more slowly and softly than he had before, but with the same intensity of desire. He felt every edge of her lips and corner of her mouth inside, sensually, as though his tongue inside her mouth was his cock between her legs.

“Gladion,” she moaned his name when he pulled away from her mouth and kissed the corner of her lips; then across her cheek and down her jaw; back to her neck where his kisses stuck to her skin from gentle sucking, and carefully dragging his teeth down to her collarbone.

“You’re so good, Lillie,” he whispered back to her, so gone he was flying, and sat back up on his knees, fondling her breasts with both hands now.

Their plush fullness molded perfectly to every squeeze and caress he made, memorizing them for when he was away from her—and to know how to touch her when he was with her. He ran each of his thumbs over and over her nipples, the shape of which he could see protruding beneath her thin tank top, and thought if he could just see them, he would find inner peace on the spirit quest her drug had sent him on.

Lillie sighed in pleasure she never could have imagined just being touched like this could have delivered her—yet, perhaps it was even more than the tantric touch of her sensitive breasts—it was the sensitivity of tenderness between her and Gladion. Even during sexual intimacy, she felt so safe with him that she could relax; that she didn’t need to worry, or remain on high-alert for mistakes, errors, or danger. She could just let herself go, feel good—feel so good—knowing that Gladion cared for her, and wasn’t going to leave her—as he promised, and as she believed him.

Looking into his eyes, where Lillie could swear to herself, despite all her insecurities, that he looked at her with adoration; she experienced a unique burst of a feeling that their connection was magic.

“Lillie,” he said her name, sliding his hands away from her chest to trace down her sides to her slight waist, and then back up again, running one along her collarbone and the other up and down her neck, making her shiver. “Would it be okay if… my hands went under?”

She took a breath, hardly in her right frame of mind—but what was right, and what was wrong? Up or down? On top or… underneath?

“Yes,” she replied, and his fingers were already creeping beneath the fabric along her soft skin to caress the shape of her breasts, even more wonderful bare, and the texture of her hard little nipples so tantalizing to his fingertips. He pinched them with the utmost gentleness, loving how the nubs felt between his fingers.

Lillie whined, trying to keep the noise to the back of her throat; but Gladion heard her, his cock so fucking hard from seeing her like this as he felt her like this.

“You like it?” 

“Yes.”

He kissed her roughly.

“Can… Can I see?”

A timid hum between pursed lips.

“Yes.”

Gladion sighed, and—trying not to be so greedy as he was, but likely failing—lifted the front of the pajama top up to reveal her bare chest to him, which caused him to sigh again, though this time with pure lust.

He had expected no less from merely feeling them up blindly, but her tits were the perfect size; he would guess a modest C-cup, though naturally perky, without the need for a bra pushing them into the desired shape. Her wonderfully smooth skin pimpled under the cool of the air conditioning, which also kept her—perfectly rosy, perfectly small—nipples erotically hard.

Lillie released another nervous hum, as Gladion seemed lost in his thoughts.

He raised his eyes to hers and said, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She blushed so deeply it covered nearly her entire face, which had also softened into a simultaneously relieved and disbelieving kind of awe. All she had been able to think of were her mother’s comments on her chest not filling the dresses “properly” on their catastrophic shopping excursion, and now Gladion’s earnest expression, and the sincerity in the tone of his voice, had blown her away—because she believed him instead.

The feeling that washed over her with this revelation completely erased Lillie’s nerves at being half-naked before Gladion—the first boy she had ever even kissed, and her older brother—like they were crude pictures drawn in the sand.

“You… really think so?”

“Yes.”

Part of her wanted to thank him, but realized that would be immensely awkward, and so, not knowing what else to do, she gently reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him down to kiss her.

Gladion obliged, letting himself down to lay on his side and pulling her into his arms, kissing her just as he had before, with everything he had; and ran his hands through her long, long blonde hair, and up and down her back, and again under her tank top to fondle her breasts. Lillie completely melted in his embrace, her heart singing and her mind buzzing with delirious thoughts of love, and happiness, and—yes—sex, as she kissed him back as best as she knew how—which, she hoped, she was learning to be well.

She didn’t know how much longer they made out like that, until they separated to rest, breathing hard and looking into each other’s eyes with their heads on the disheveled pillows.

I love you.

I’m in love with you.

But neither of them were capable of saying such things.

“I’m so happy you came here tonight, Gladion,” Lillie said.

He smiled and pulled her closer to him with a kiss on her forehead.

“Me too, princess,” he replied.

Lillie snuggled up to Gladion’s chest and sighed wistfully.

“I wish you could stay,” she said, euphoric and glowing from the inside out, and wishing with her whole heart that she could just fall asleep in his arms now.

“I know,” he sighed. “I do too. But I actually should make my grand escape now.”

Lillie pouted. She knew he was right, but that didn’t make parting any easier.

“I’ll miss you as soon as you leave,” she whined.

Gladion gave her a quick kiss before, with all the strength he had in him, got out of bed and went to collect his jacket and lace up his sneakers.

“I’ll find a way to see you soon,” he said.

Inside, his head was spinning; he was still high, and this time taking her drug had come along with deep pangs in his heart that both ached and pumped ecstasy and bled love.

“You promise?” Lillie asked.

“I swear it,” Gladion said.

Lillie smiled, her own heart in an unfathomably lovely and terrified state. She began to crawl out of the covers, when Gladion shook his head and firmly told her no.

“It’s too risky for you to follow me down and then head back up. I’ll just sneak out.”

Lillie frowned.

“But then who will lock the greenhouse door?”

“Even though it seems like it doesn’t make sense, I think the best thing to do is leave it unlocked—at least this time. Let Mrs. Bumble think she forgot to lock it.”

The gardener’s name was not Mrs. Bumble, but with the way she bumbled around in such a way as she always had, Gladion and Lillie had always called her by that nickname.

“Isn’t that too risky, too?” said a worried Lillie.

“If I go to jail tonight then it was worth it,” said Gladion.

Lillie giggled.

“Don’t say that, Gladion.”

He smirked at her, in some kind of crude acceptance at this point that when he was fucked up on Lillie, he couldn’t stop himself from saying a single damn thing that should belong only unspoken in his head.

“Don’t worry—everything’ll be okay. Other than the fact I’ll be dying without you.”

“Gladion…”

Lillie’s expression fell through a prism of emotions: wanting to smile, wanting to laugh, wanting to cry.

Gladion put his hand on the doorknob.

“Okay, I’m about to finesse my way the fuck outta here. Wish me luck. Goodnight, princess.”

Lillie just smiled now, her eyes glittering with adoration that she wasn’t sure whether or not he could see.

“Goodnight.”

Gladion opened the door and pressed his back to the frame, looking both ways for any sight of security before he made his exit, when he slid back into the room for a moment and looked over at Lillie, who turned her head to him from where she had been sliding back into bed.

“Hey,” he said, half-in and half-out the door. “Would you wanna go on a date with me?”

Chapter Text

Guzma put on his best suit. Though he had let the Shady House remain a messy den of sin—a conspicuous speakeasy where the members of Team Skull hung around and spray painted the walls, and partied, and slept on the tired furniture after taking too many pills; and even took shelter, for those who were homeless, friendless, and had no family but their comrades—Guzma still made sure that he kept a division of his generally casual wardrobe full of high-quality hand-made suits, tailored exactly to his measurements, and made of the finest materials sent in from Lumiose City, which was the fashion capital of the world.

He got his suits, of course, from the best tailor in Alola; in fact, arguably the best tailor anywhere. Marty the Munchlax, as he was called, was a stout man with a penchant for wearing the color forest green, and who had, at some point, been granted the moniker by one notorious gangster or another, who, as the story goes, had once seen the man eat three entire boxes of donuts in the time it took to take his measurements. The name had stuck, just as frosting to the man’s fingers, which he continually sanitized in between touching fabric and thread and the tape measure, all at an alarming speed of alternating both actions. How his work was crafted to an impeccable standard without being stained by powdered sugar or grease was a feat no one could fathom.

Marty, with stately dark hair and thin glasses—proper-looking, but an absolutely corrupt little man—sewed as deftly as though his stubby fingers were the thin needles themselves. He was known primarily for his lavish suits, and also for his connection to the whole world’s underworld. He claimed to have even designed for the infamous Giovanni himself, though no one knew if it was true, as Marty never told any of his clients any of any other’s business, and was held in all the higher regard for it. All any of his patrons knew was that Marty was the best, and that he traded his services for all kinds of exotically-engraved gold bars and illegal contraband that no one knew what he did with. He was also known as quite a reclusive gentleman. Guzma’s general presumption was that perhaps he hoarded the gold at his anonymously owned luxury Villa on Poni Island, and collected the rare merchandise as keepsakes, often including rare or special Pokémon.

The Munchlax lived in Alola because he claimed to love the sun and the heat, but Guzma had never seen him outside his workshop, and the very round man never boasted any sort of tan.

Well, that was the nature of shadowy personages like Marty, Guzma figured—never to know if they really were who they claimed to be; and aside from his fashion business, the crafty man was also a master of forgery. He could fabricate, in exceptional detail—just as he did suits and dresses and fine leather shoes—IDs, birth certificates, passports, or any official document of any kind. If there was anything a person needed to change or disappear, physically or metaphysically, then Marty was the guy—without a single drop of oil on his papers.

Guzma wondered if perhaps the real reason the Munchlax didn’t spend much time outside was because his own identity was a forgery, and there was some spy, secret agent, or hitman somewhere out there, looking for him.

Needless to say, Guzma had bribed Marty not only with an assortment of foreign designer gold chains, but with malasadas from the bakery in Malie City; and so the suit he dressed himself in to meet Lusamine for dinner at the Shining Pearl—the five-star restaurant at the Hano Grand Resort—was impeccable, down to the final button on his burgundy dress shirt. The stitching along the sharp lapels on his suit jacket—a charcoal gray that offset the deep red-purple of the button-down—perfectly color-matched a silk pocket square. He had slicked back his hair and shaved, and doused himself in an unreasonable amount of cologne.

Although he looked the part to be seated at one of the elegant table settings in the high-ceilinged, glittering wine-glassed, classical music-ambienced restaurant, Guzma occupied a chair at an—admittedly, still gloriously dressed—dining table in a private room at the back of the kitchen. The square footage was minimal, as the space must have been converted out of a spare pantry; and the silvery metal of the kitchen surfaces, as well as the sous-chefs and busboys, could be seen outside the open-frame entryway. Rather than music, there was the whooshing sound of the industrial faucet, and the crackly sizzling of the flat stovetops.

While a squeaky coil of Guzma’s pride twisted like a corkscrew at the fact that he couldn’t show his face in the dining hall, he also knew that to be personally catered to by the legendary resident chef was, in its own way, a type of honor. He despised that it was in the shadows where he was lauded as a powerful figure, but he figured power was power—and that wasn’t something that could be argued with.

It felt especially true as Lusamine entered the kitchen from a freight elevator, where she was met and greeted immediately by the Head Chef, who stopped what he was doing to approach her and kiss her hand.

“Madame President!” he cried, bowing to her. “As always, it is an honor to share with you my culinary art!”

“It is my pleasure, Lorenzo,” said Lusamine, in her perfect, rich alto.

Guzma had not received a greeting like this.

“Sit, please, Madame—sit!” respectfully demanded Lorenzo, who then pulled out her chair for her, beating Guzma in doing so by only a second.

Guzma, hovering six inches above his own chair, sat his ass back down and coughed.

“Well, well, you’re looking ravishing tonight, m’lady,” he said, straightening up. “As always, of course.”

“Of course,” said Lusamine, as she always accepted compliments in the affirmative, and never with thanks. She did say, however, and it brought a breath of confidence into Guzma’s chest, “I like your suit.”

“That, I am honored to hear,” he replied. He intended to boast in a joking way; however, in truth, his words left his mouth in a genuinely flattered way. “What a statement from the most stunningly dressed woman on these godforsaken islands.”

“They truly are rotten, aren’t they?” said Lusamine.

“That they are,” Guzma agreed; remembering, for the first and only time of the night, to sip his wine in a sparse and refined manner.

Lorenzo reapproached the table and took their orders, and refilled their wine, and complimented the President several times more. Lusamine and Guzma began to discuss business, despite his continually endeavoring to veer the conversation into entanglement with pleasure.

Lusamine wasn’t having any of it, however, and Guzma bolstered himself by affirming in his mind that it was fine with him, for the moment, as he did have business—important business—to discuss with her.

“I’ve been having some thoughts, Lucy,” he said, swallowing a gulp of pasta.

He happily remembered to dab his face with a napkin, which he had also luckily made home on his lap.

Lusamine blinked at her plate, and then at his face.

“What kind of thoughts?”

Even with her shrewd mind, she had absolutely no idea what was going to come out of his mouth, and where it would rate on a scale of ridiculousness.

“I was thinking Team Skull needs a new home base. Something more… professional.”

“So remodel the estate,” was her quick answer.

Guzma nodded, pointing at her with his linguine-wrapped fork—an action Lusamine dismissed, despite it being entirely improper etiquette and offensive to the very core of her austere being.

“See, I could. I thought about that,” Guzma took a bite off the fork and continued to talk with his mouthful toward the last gulp. “I still might. But I’m thinking of a bigger investment. A large, ten-story building for more business offices and Team Skull bunks, and additional warehouse space for product—as well as the latest and greatest fancy battlefields,” he got excited as he went on. “Hell—a whole gym—open to the public, too.”

“A League Gym?” Lusamine asked wryly, hardly able to contain herself from a condescending laugh.

“Of course not, Lucy,” Guzma laughed it off himself, though he felt the sting she had pierced him with. “Of course not. A regular training space for battling and athletes alike—to train up my Team, and garner new recruits. That’s important; but that’s mostly just for show, see? Really, we’d be using the space for more operations, and housing for my associates.”

He was grateful he had stopped himself from referring to his associates as his crew.

“And where, theoretically, would the land for this… office apartment-complex, warehouse gym be?” asked Lusamine, humoring him.

“I was thinking about the big, ugly brick tenement around the corner from the Shady House on Nalea Road.”

Lusamine chewed and swallowed her fish before she replied.

“If I recall correctly, that building is low-income housing,” she stated.

“So, it’ll be cheap,” said Guzma, the silver tooth on the left side of his maxilla twinkling.

“That’s not how it works,” said Lusamine, unable to keep exasperation out of her voice. “A specific development plan has to be proposed for the project, because it’s government property, and then the final decision needs to be voted on by the constituents—and approved by the island kahuna.”

“Well, baby, I’m sure you could handle all that just fine.”

Lusamine raised an eyebrow with the slightest agitated flair; an eyebrow which barely raised, too, because she had so much botox throughout her face that it was an effort to move her eyebrows at all.

“It would be a challenge to get it done. There would be a lot of resistance, as Po Town’s homeless population is already higher than region-acceptable standards.”

Guzma chuckled.

“Come on, then, Lucy—what’s another fifty or so poor bastards wandering the town? I’m sure there’s other shacks or shelters for ‘em,” he schmoozed, stuffing food in his mouth. “I didn’t think you’d care so much for the less fortunate, honestly.”

“I don’t,” said Lusamine. “They can rot in the streets and decrease the surplus population. What I do care about is how this will go over with the political climate of Ula’ula Island, where there are already articles being published in the local paper about the government’s neglect of the poverty level, and small protests emerging over the cost of living.”

Guzma made a large gesture of a shrug.

“No one’s gotta know it’s Aether Foundation making the move, though, do they? What with all your crafty smoke and mirrors.”

Lusamine paused, considering it.

“There would still likely be backlash on the Foundation for not openly opposing the project,” she explained, “given the fact that part of our official mission is to make Alola a better place, for people and Pokémon both.”

The end of her sentence came out as stilted and disingenuous as if it had been auto-tuned.

Guzma sighed, and took a sip of his ten-year-aged wine—a much too indulgent sip this time.

“Always shooting me down, Lucy,” he lamented in his most charismatic voice. Although he figured he was about to lose the argument, he still made an effort to push his multitude of brilliant ideas. Surely even one had to impress her. “Always shooting me down. But, you haven’t heard the rest of my plan—which mainly benefits you.”

Lusamine couldn’t help it, but her face perked up (as much as it could), and she opened her ears to hear Guzma sing more desperately than a young Fletchling separated from its mother.

“Pray, tell me, how would this mess benefit me?”

He cleared his throat and puffed up his chest.

“Well, the protection of my people and the efficiency of our covert operations—”

“What about a park?” she proposed, cutting him off as she carefully cut her fish and took a calculated bite.

During the unraveling of his idiotic, ill-thought out schemes, Lusamine had already taken great, commanding strides beyond them to arrive at her own clever idea.

Guzma leaned back in his chair, and placed his elbow (horribly offensively) on the table as he rested his jaw in his hand. He was at first taken aback by the sudden alternative, but then quickly reconsidered her suggestion.

“A park, huh?” he asked.

Lusamine controlled a sigh that left her lips as a light breath.

“Yes. A park, with state-of-the-art training fields, and a tennis court—or a swimming pool—maybe even a gymnasium for children,” she said. “You could even work in a path for strolls with Pokémon or baby carriages.”

She took a sip of wine.

“If we pay close enough attention to how we landscape the surrounding environment, it would likely even attract Pokémon to build their dens and nests there.”

Guzma nodded several times, staring at the spread on the table as he organized his thoughts. He wouldn’t get more personal space for the Team out of the idea, but he would get the training fields he wanted, as well as cleaning up Po Town into a more presentable place, and disposing of a chunk of the trash. The more he thought about it, he also realized that if his grunts were seen at this park, training—and behaving themselves, of course—it would present a kinder view of the kids to the public—perhaps even enough to improve the general opinion, and dispel some of the suspicion on Team Skull activities.

“A park. I like it,” he said, sitting up straight and looking Lusamine in the eye.

There was intensity and desire in his gaze, but Lusamine never backed down from the challenge of direct eye contact.

Guzma pounded a fist on the table (horribly offensively).

“I like it a lot,” he repeated, pressing the corner of his bottom lip in his teeth, which showed off one of his sparkling grillz. “You’re a genius, Lucy, you know that?”

She blinked slowly to suppress another sigh.

“Of course I do,” she said, with proper stoicism.

“It would be much easier to get a park approved and built up quickly, too,” Guzma added, as the understanding hit him.

“It would,” said Lusamine, as she painfully swallowed the obvious with her cut of Wishiwashi.

Guzma took another helping sip of his wine, which he gestured to a passing kitchen hand to refill; following it by stabbing an equally large piece of Psyduck pâté de foie gras with his fork and gobbling it down with full-mouthed chewing. There was no overstating how loathsome Lusamine considered this manner of consuming fine cuisine.

“But, where would this cute little park go, if we can’t take down the tenements?”

“Where the garbage dump is, a few blocks closer to the entrance of town from your… place of residence,” Lusamine responded.

The Shady House was perhaps the most repellent of all Guzma’s shortcomings.

Guzma nodded again, the same amount of times, following the affirmative gesture by resting the bottom half of his face in his hand, and his elbow on the table beside the refilled glass of wine (horribly offensively; though his repeated crimes of etiquette had begun to achieve a level that was so repulsive, Lusamine also began to feel it nearly attractive, in some sadistic manner of carnal desire).

“Okay, okay,” Guzma settled into his thoughts on the rearrangement of his plans. “And then, not that I particularly give a shit—other than for official purposes, you see? I’ve got to know these things. Where does the trash go?”

“Into the ocean,” said Lusamine, with a toss of her head.

Strands of pale blonde hair that framed her face in the elegant hairstyle she wore bounced light-heartedly as she did so, and then she punctuated her declaration with her own sip of blood red wine. It may, perhaps, have been an equally hearty amount to Guzma’s.

The wine glass—empty—made its way back down onto the white table cloth with blood red lipstick staining the rim.

Guzma chuckled.

“My, are you something,” he said, shaking his head. “You never cease to amaze me, Lucy, baby.”

Lusamine steeled her expression, unable to keep her right foot from rocking her six-inch heel on the table stand in an imperceptible display of aggravation.

“I simply do what I need to,” she stated.

“You get shit done, woman,” said Guzma.

Lusamine smiled, unafraid to allow the expression to fill out into the utmost smugness.

“I get shit done,” she echoed him.

A faint glimmer of flirtatiousness passed between their gazes during the beat of a moment where they each gloated to themselves at their own genius, and teased at the other with a contest at who was the superior craftsman of brilliant illegal architecture.

It was not a contest, but Guzma didn’t know that.

“So,” Lusamine began duly, “I’ve assisted you with your project. Aether Foundation will, of course, fully back and fund the removal of the landfill and construction of the park—and take credit for it, obviously. Now, we need to arrange how you will help me with my needs.”

Guzma raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“I can take care of all your needs, baby.”

Lusamine pursed her lips, blinking hard in consideration of booking an inconspicuous room at the Resort tonight and fucking Guzma; but she was pleased to see the manifestation of the double entendre when he opened his suit jacket and flashed a sliver of a plastic bag filled with white powder tucked into the inside pocket.

She liked that quite a lot.

Delicately, she took another aptly portioned bite of her supper before staring that impenetrable stare back into his eyes again, as if she had the power to hypnotize him.

“You already know what I’m looking for. I need more Pokémon. Stronger ones. I stress that. Too often you have sent me pathetically weak creatures that have been of no help whatsoever,” she reprimanded him.

Guzma swallowed, forcing the embarrassment from his chest that threatened to reflect on his face.

“What are you running over there on that flashy floating mountain that you need such impressive stock?” he chuckled, causing a distraction. “A fucken’ menagerie? Going to start up a circus?”

Lusamine glared more sternly, though was quietly impressed that Guzma knew the word menagerie.

“It is none of your business,” she said sharply. “Your business is providing me Pokémon, and in turn I fund your little projects; not to mention the professional facilitation of… balancing your books.”

Guzma coughed as a final punctuation to his joke that he inwardly cringed had not landed.

“Alright,” he replied seriously. “The Pokémon have been weak. My Trainers aren’t tough enough to catch stronger ones or train them up—I’ll admit it. Getting those nice battlefields right outside my door will help with that.”

“I need the Pokémon much sooner than you’ll get your battlefields built,” she retorted. “And, even then, the courts mean nothing but increased space for the endeavor—your underlings won’t get stronger without capable Trainers to actually teach them how to raise powerful Pokémon.”

Guzma cleared his throat.

A fire of shame burned in his gut at the revelation that he was not meeting Lusamine’s expectations. The scorching pain engulfed him with automatic thoughts that he wasn’t strong enough to impress and earn her. The voices in his head told him he wasn’t capable or clever enough to rise to the top; that he wasn’t good enough to stand on equal ground by the side of this majestic woman, who held the world in the palm of her hand as though it were a fragile entity that she possessed the ability to expand or annihilate as she saw fit.

Lusamine Aether’s intimidating character, nearly comical amount of money, high-class social status and unlimited power all made up the shining beacon that Guzma dared to stare directly into, despite the danger to his eyes, as a lure toward the man he wanted to be.

You have to do better, Guzma.

“I have Trainers,” he piped up, with as much confidence as he could muster. “I just hired a particularly talented one, in fact.”

While Lusamine may be a genius, Guzma knew himself to be no common dullard. He had earned a solid degree from street education that had aided and advanced him all his life, as well as refined his own magic tricks spiced with a signature pizzazz that could mystify and sway any opposition—even in more troublesome cases, like the one he would have to deal with to make his statement true.

“Oh?” Lusamine asked. She had eaten her fill of her meal, which was only slightly more than half the entire portion, and blotted her mouth with the table’s provided fine white napkin. The cloth returned gently to the table with blood red lipstick on its pristine surface. “And who is this Trainer?”

This direct inquiry rendered Guzma speechless again. He cut and consumed another large piece of pâté to deliberate with himself an answer. The one he came up with was to give her a shrug along with his most flirtatious smile.

“Can’t reveal all my secrets, Lucy,” he said to her. “I’ve got to run a business, too—so I’d say this here is none of yours.”

Lusamine’s expression grew harder, from deceptive porcelain to solid metal; but she erased the knife’s edge of her glare as quickly as it had been unsheathed.

This absolute idiot. What a pathetic, insolent manchild.

“I suppose fair is fair,” she muttered.

She stopped to ponder her next move, and the move after that, and the move after that—for just a moment, as that was only as long as it took to see several leagues into the future of this discussion’s results.

It seemed the dinner was done, and so the busboys and kitchen hands cleaned the table; and Lorenzo came over to inquire about the quality of the meal, to which both Lusamine and Guzma commended him highly.

Remembering that he hadn’t received as reverential a greeting from the five-star chef as Lusamine had, Guzma made sure to shake his hand and introduce himself—and praise his work, and then to shake his hand, and once again repeat his name—and further praise his work—so that the famous man might remember him next time.

When they had finished, Guzma stood first and put out his hand to help Lusamine up from her seat. He bowed his head to kiss her ring, a large emerald as deadly vivid green as poison.

“So, what do you say, dollface?” he flirted. “Want to find an empty room to celebrate all this good business before we part our ways for the evening?”

Lusamine studied him for three seconds, which was all that she needed to sort out several varying paths that would lead on from each choice, and which one would benefit her most.

Her mind was most calculating; her principles were order, balance, and structure; but contrary to how she manicured her professional demeanor, there lived a wild creature within her, violent and untameable, that possessed no regard for anyone or anything but herself and her own compulsions and desires. This inner beast caused her often to seem suddenly to switch personalities; or to just as suddenly destroy a careful machination she had spent all form of efforts to build up, and watch with enjoyment as it burned.

She liked to surprise, wound, and shock people. She liked having things and manipulating things, because everyone and everything was hers to do with what she wanted, in the pursuit of her own amusement, and in the pursuit of greater power; power bigger than the world could contain in all its ramshackled waste of useless lives, as the world itself wasn’t enough.

It would be reasonable to assume that Lusamine’s urge to control the Ultra Beasts had come from that lofty, delirious perception; because to do so would make her the first to have done something miraculous that no one else had ever done, as well as something that no one else ever could do, without her unique capabilities.

She indeed dedicated all her time to these tremendous goals; but, as she was ultimately a selfish being, and a self-indulgent one at that, she never cut worldly pleasures out of her life, either. Though she kept them primarily in secret, there were plenty of secret recreations she kept in her regular rotation of balancing business and a luxurious lifestyle.

All it would take to acquiesce to Guzma’s wishes was a quick phone call down to the concierge for a room—any room she wanted—and, however lamentable, Guzma did have what she wanted. It was true, too, that of course she could leave when she wanted, as well; walk out on him as she had many times, with the red bottoms of her heels following her long legs and tight ass out the door. 

Lusamine felt herself already bubbly and venturesome from the wine, and figured that if she was about to let herself loose, flying through the powdered snow, that she might as well commit to riding it all out, again and again, before she left the theme park.

As she stepped into the freight elevator with Guzma, she pulled her sleek Pokétch from her brocade clutch and requested (essentially, demanded) a most recently refreshed room toward the rear of the hotel, as close as possible to the back exit, from where she then texted her limo driver to lie in wait for her undercover, engines running.

Guzma smirked, fixing his hair and fiddling with his tie as he and Lusamine descended to the bottom level of the Hano Grand Resort. He looked over to the deadly gorgeous woman beside him several times, hoping to make a passionate connection with her equally lethal vivid green eyes; but, just like twisting a knife in her filet, she refused to look at him until she got high and got on top.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Gladion rested his head against the ugly tiled wall of the shower bath in the water-damaged bathroom of his motel room, his eyes closed and his head pounding.

The mottled tiles were ugly, of gritty mortar and fading color, and when seen from a distance, made a poor illustration of the sun hanging indecisively over the water.

Tropico. Tropical. The pinnacle of sunrises and sunsets.

He had been on another bender with Oliver, though this time accompanied by his best friend’s fellow bandmates. There was Isa (short for Isabella, though she would murder anyone who called her that)—a very pretty, very punky girl with blue-black hair and a husky voice, and the female lead singer opposite Oliver—whom himself, of course, jammed on his guitar while he sang alongside her; Alex, the bassist, a quite normal-looking guy in terms of haircut and personal style, despite having nearly as many tattoos as Gladion himself had; and Derek, with long brunette locks often worn in a messy man-bun, who played the drums with a gentle fury.

Naturally, when the band had formed, each of the guys (as Oliver had not yet gotten together with Acerola) had wanted to fuck Isa—and argued quite a bit over it, debating which of them she would prefer, or who could win her over fastest.

Their teenage dreams were shattered, however, when they discovered that Isa had a decidedly strong penchant for wanting to fuck girls herself; and so with her own romantic woes, Isa ended up fitting in easily amongst the prevailing sad-boy testosterone that fueled the sad-boy rock music they all made together.

So, at this point in Destiny Bond’s artistic growth and exposure, she was considered “one of the guys;” despite, of course, the horny male teenagers still secretly holding onto a fantasy of being granted the opportunity to bang her.

Gladion floated around their circle of kids too cool and too smart to have joined Team Skull—though he would’ve qualified for their status of worthier self-respect and future prospects if he had possessed the wherewithal and clear head to have not ever stepped foot in the Shady House as a child. And though he got along excellently with all of Destiny Bond, and found his own bond to be primarily Oliver’s plus-one to band practices and hangouts, when Acerola was there, he was made the third-wheel.

He thought he remembered that a few other people—a couple cute girls, too, that he may or may not have met before—had shown up last night, and stayed or not stayed, for however long; but he wasn’t sure. Before, their presence would have been more memorable, as he probably would’ve tried to hit on one of them and maybe even gotten their number or taken them home; but this time they were just blurs in the background of a night fading in and out of consciousness with good friends in orbit around his anxious thoughts.

The band’s studio space was an abandoned storage building, of fairly compact size and haunted by several musically-inclined Ghost-types, that was attached to the Alola’s Best Market in Po Town. The place wasn’t really too bad of a makeshift studio, considering its oddly decent acoustics and the miraculous maintenance of running water—likely benefited by the adjoining store—which was also open twenty-four-seven for energy drinks and munchies.

Anyway, they had all drank cheap beer, and smoked bud, and jammed on their instruments, and talked and fucked around—maybe even snorted various amphetamines—until Gladion went home, caught up in his feelings, at nearly three AM. He only found, however, that he couldn’t sleep, as he thought over and over about how Lillie had asked him last when he saw her why he had left her all those years ago.

This succession of events that unfolded into a broken down night of fun was how Gladion found himself still drowning in his feelings while in the shower at eight-thirty in the morning.

His eyes snapped open and he swore when his phone, resting on the side of the sink, went off with its horrible blare of screaming and twinkling sounds, making him want to bash his whole head through the ugly (it was truly ugly) shower wall tile.

“Fucking hell,” he swore again, rinsing his hair and his face before turning off the water and drying with a complimentary motel towel. He wrapped it around his waist before just missing the last ring of the phone; though when he saw the name on the missed call, he was terrified that he had.

Guzma; his personal Pokétch phone line.

Fucking hell. Just send me to fucking Hell so I never have to deal with this shit of a life ever again.

His head ached; he sighed; he finished drying off and brushed his teeth and got dressed. The dry air in the room was stifling, so he went outside and walked across the street to the beachside, where he let out Silvally for some fresh air of its own.

“How are you this beautiful morning?” he asked with a mocking sigh.

Silvally stretched—a big stretch extending its front legs and pushing its hind back so its upper body released pent-up tension—and then expressed it was doing just about as well as its partner, but curious about whether the day could actually turn out to be a beautiful one. It liked the view of the sun ascending the bright blue over the ocean very much, and believed beauty was not an impossibility.

Part of Gladion always assumed this strange affectation of optimism was due to having been raised in a dark laboratory, but he had also picked up on a genuine sense of positivity from Silvally that he could never wrap his head around.

“I don’t understand how you can be so hopeful,” said Gladion, while he released a tortured exhale and hit the button to dial back Guzma’s phone.

It rang only once.

“Yo, Gladion, my man,” Guzma’s voice reverberated on the other line. He sounded utterly blazed, and also like he hadn’t slept. “My sincerest apologies if I caught you at a bad time.”

Gladion’s empty, hungover stomach grew more queasy.

“No—I’m not busy; just couldn’t find my phone,” he tried to lie, and was too tired to construct one well.

“Good—glad to hear I’m not ruining your sunny morning,” Guzma quipped with a hearty laugh.

The sun shone in Gladion’s eyes, and he shielded them with his other hand.

“Listen, would it be possible for you to meet me at homebase this afternoon?” asked the Boss.

“Is there a problem?” Gladion replied, biting his tongue.

“Nah, nah—not a problem. Well, I suppose I’ll let you decide that for yourself once you hear me out; but I’d wager you’ll see this as an opportunity instead.”

Gladion inhaled sharply, glancing over at Silvally, who turned its head to him with weary kindness and nodded.

It was true. There wasn’t really a choice to make.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Gladion sighed, in hopes it wasn’t too audibly. “One okay?”

“Sure, sure—that’s perfect. You know where to find me. I’ll be here,” Guzma said. “Looking forward to it, pal.”

“See you then,” said Gladion, and he hung up.

Fucking hell.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

There were two days out of each month that Lillie dreaded worse than a dentist appointment, or a final exam that would decide if she passed a class that was a grade level above her—even when taking into account her impressive intelligence, which always allowed her to pass with an A.

She dreaded it worse than a twelve-hour plane ride to somewhere she didn’t want to go (which happened more often than one would think), or knowing that she would be served the remnants of some poor Pokémon arranged decoratively on a plate at a classy dinner, because her mother hadn’t bothered to mention that her daughter was a vegetarian. Lillie dreaded these two simple days worse than having to sit there, sick to her stomach, lamenting the fate of the butchered creature and also starving because there were minimal vegetables that she could eat accompanying the meal.

These two days that she so deplored were the days that Lusamine returned to the island manor from Aether Paradise. Considering how immensely stressful these visits were, it was not only those two days out of the month that Lillie suffered, but the entire week surrounding them, during which she spent the majority of her time worrying about what would happen on the specific dates when they arrived.

As such, it was needless to say that during the remaining weeks in between the most concerning ones, she dreaded the occurrence of both of those most painful weeks themselves; leaving it all together that Lillie mourned the majority of the month, every month, over these two simple appearances and overnight stays of her mother. This endless cycle of suffering made not only an illustration of how much Lillie feared the woman, but a hallmark of her own anxiety disorder, which she didn’t know she had.

It was a Sunday—a day of rest and relaxation in a recliner on the lovely yellow beaches of Alola—when Lusamine arrived home in an Aether Foundation helicopter. As per instruction, Lillie awaited her arrival near the helipad, wearing a Lusamine-approved colorless sundress, accompanied by two-inch white heeled sandals, and styled with a (white) wide-brimmed hat that was one of many identical ones she owned, as her mother seemed to have some particular fancy with the accessory that Lillie had never quite understood.

Hobbes, as the estate’s Butler, stood beside her in impeccable dress himself; though he was—Lillie never knew why—not required to maintain a monochromatic color scheme throughout his wardrobe. He stood straight with shoulders and feet aligned at center like a soldier; and Lillie tried her best to imitate the posture, though her back hurt a bit—and her stomach hurt quite a lot.

The Madame President exited the helicopter after the co-pilot had stepped out to receive her hand and help her to the ground, bowing deeply after he did so. She smiled her pleasant, derogatory smile that was always used for servants, and waved him off to return to his station and bring the transport back to Aether Paradise for maintenance.

Lillie swallowed as Lusamine approached, alternating between frowning and summoning a smile from her gut, ultimately unable to keep up one or the other.

But her mother didn’t even look at her, even as she reached within three feet of her, and simply stared Hobbes directly in the eyes as he rose from his formal bow.

“Welcome home, Madame President,” said Hobbes, voice as cleanly pressed as his clothing.

“Thank you, Hobbes,” Lusamine replied. “I trust you have been keeping a keen eye on everything while I’ve been away?”

It was the same thing she said every time, as though she operated on a script.

“To the utmost of my ability,” he said.

“Then I’m sure all must be well,” Lusamine smiled her pleasant, derogatory smile.

Then, she turned to her daughter.

“Lillie,” was all she said.

“Hello, Mother,” Lillie replied. “It’s good to see you home.”

The worst part about the words that left Lillie’s lips—even with all her devastating worry of this moment—was that they weren’t a complete lie.

Despite how Lusamine had verbally and physically punished her, both recently and many times in the past; despite how in talking constantly with Gladion now, Lillie had heard many horrific accusations and angry curses directed at this woman whom he so despised; she still held, in her trusting, delicate soul, a belief that her mother loved her, even if it was buried deep down, in her own complicated, particular way.

Perhaps Lusamine was stern. Perhaps she was not an affectionate person by nature. Perhaps she really was so very busy with so many very important things. Perhaps she was easily angered, and quickly reactive, typically in aggressive ways.

But, surely, no one was perfect; and Lusamine was human, and she had a heart; and, so, somewhere in it, in Lillie’s mind, her mother must love her children.

She had never been able to stop hoping, despite her anxiety over each visit, that even one time, she would have a pleasant day with her mother.

“I’m glad to hear that, Lillie,” Lusamine replied, looking her in the eyes for only the briefest moment before inspecting the rest of her appearance, from her hair (which Lillie felt certain was flawlessly braided) to her toes (which were recently painted a ladylike pink and white).

Lillie held her breath until her mother said, “Why is there a wrinkle in this skirt?”

Lusamine pulled on the thin cotton fabric until it ran taut.

Lillie’s mouth popped open in a small letter O, accompanied by a dreadful sinking feeling; indeed the kind one experienced when realizing they had forgotten something of grave importance. She tilted her head down to look at the offensive section of fabric—a more casual, light-weight linen which she had only chosen because it was near ninety degrees that day.

“I—I, uh—”

Lusamine grabbed Lillie’s chin and forced her to look up at her own authoritarian gaze.

“You should have made sure the maids properly ironed this for you before you put it on,” she said.

It was a cruel vision, even to Hobbes, of her sharp red fingernails retracting from her daughter’s jawline.

“I—” Lillie nearly felt as though she was going to throw up. “I’m sorry, Mother. Next time I’ll pay more attention.”

Lusamine smiled the same smile that the helicopter co-pilot had received; and that Hobbes had received; and for the briefest moment, Lillie felt a twinge in the back of her mind that suggested her mother experienced a sensation of euphoria in reprimanding her.

But, surely, Lusamine was human, and she had a heart; and so, somewhere in it, she must love her children.

“Well, then,” the Madame President declared, “let us see the house, shall we?”

She marched toward the manor, parting Hobbes and Lillie’s formation to deliberately push past the both of them, asserting that she took the lead ahead.

Disappointed in herself, Lillie sighed as she set off to follow her, just barely hearing Hobbes whisper, “Hold your head up high, Miss Lillie!”

The tour of the Aether island residence went about as was to be expected, which was horribly. As also to be expected, it was entirely Lillie’s fault.

According to Lusamine’s regulations, vases of fresh flowers—white roses; white carnations; white peonies, hibiscus, and chrysanthemums (but, of course, never white lilies)—were supposed to be constantly on display as center pieces in all rooms; as well as trimmed and groomed daily, and replaced as needed.

Lillie had not trimmed every thorn off the roses, or swapped out several flowers that had wilted.

Freshly baked desserts were supposed to be readily available for tea time, and thus always prepared for the reception of guests—expected or unexpected—and presented in perfect rows along the three-tiered dessert tray.

Lillie had messily—in fact, carelessly—decorated the Poké Puffs, the cupcakes, and the tarts—to the point that serving them would be an awful embarrassment to the family name.

Most would assume the household staff would be responsible for all of this upkeep, but Lusamine believed these kinds of more aesthetic tasks to be skills necessary for a lady of an estate to be adept in; and, therefore, they were expected to be taken care of by Lillie.

The servants themselves, too—going back to the days of old—were traditionally instructed of their duties by the lady of the house. If something was found to be out of place, or not cleaned or laundered to satisfaction, then the lady should be aware of it, and then delegate the work to the help.

Lusamine, undoubtedly, would have words with the maids in regards to their failure in keeping every nook and cranny of the manor pristine; but she could not ignore that the billowy white curtains in the drawing room had not been steamed, and the refrigerator lacked an appropriate amount of Berries and vegetables, and the staircase banisters had not been polished.

All of this was due to the neglectful inadequacy of Lillie’s behavior.

Lusamine ran her index finger over the cap of the newel post in the frontmost foyer, and rubbed it against her thumb to dissolve the light coat of dust.

“May I ask, Lillie, what you have been spending all of your time on instead of managing this household?”

Lillie shook inside, and she prayed with all her might that it wouldn’t show on the outside. She frowned, her chest tightening as all she could think was:

Gladion. Being in bed with Gladion; making out with Gladion; talking to Gladion; thinking about Gladion; conspiring to meet up with Gladion; abandoning her post the night she ran to Gladion in distress; and the day she went out with un-Lusamine-approved friends to buy un-Lusamine-approved clothing, all the while wishing to be with Gladion—her older brother, banished from her life by Lusamine herself.

“I, u-um,” Lillie stammered, “I’ve been so very focused on my studies because I have an important exam coming up, so I must’ve accidentally missed a few things.”

“You’re lying,” Lusamine countered, sharp as a whip.

Lillie flinched.

Her entire upper organs took a free fall into her stomach.

“I—I—”

“Mrs. Dedlock has already informed me that you have been disturbingly distracted during lessons recently. She is quite fretful about your progress and dedication to your education. Therefore, I find it hard to believe that it is schooling that has been consuming your thoughts.”

“I—”

“Do not lie to me, Lillie,” said Lusamine, words like swords. “Ever. Do you understand that?”

“Y-Yes, Mother, I do—”

She cried out in surprise as her mother grabbed her wrist, squeezing it like a vise.

“Do you? Are you sure you understand?”

“Y-Yes—Ow—!”

“You’re absolutely certain that you do?”

Lusamine tightened her grip on Lillie’s small, delicate wrist; constricted it so tight that her pointy red fingernails nearly cleaved her daughter’s skin.

“Yes, I-I am—p-please, you’re hurting me—”

Lusamine tightened her grip even further.

“Swear that you will never lie to me again, Lillie.”

“I swear! Please—let go—!”

Lusamine returned her vicious expression to her regular proud, neutral countenance—a switch made as though between carnival masks in a theater—and after several more long seconds, finally released her grip.

Lillie gasped for breath and cradled her wrist with her other hand, noticing that her skin had turned from white to an inflamed red; and did, in fact, bear three tiny dots of puncture, in a pattern resembling a vampire’s bite.

“I’m glad we have that resolved,” said Lusamine calmly. “You and I will get to talk more at dinnertime, my dear.”

How pitiful, she thought, but smiled her pleasant, derogatory smile at Hobbes, and requested a glass of wine, and for him to call her masseuse and make an appointment for a massage and facial in the early afternoon.

As Lusamine walked away, Lillie swallowed, and shook on the outside as badly as she shook on the inside. Aside from the sting of her wrist, she felt the sting of tears budding in her eyes; and the sting in her heart as a result of being once again treated violently by her mother, which brought the revelation that she was growing ever more afraid of her.

But, surely, Lusamine was human, and she had a heart—and so, somewhere in it, she must love her children.

Tears ran down Lillie’s cheeks, with no one for her to turn to for comfort; the father she would’ve run to was dead, and so the only thing she wanted was to be held by Gladion.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

It was one-thirty when Gladion walked through the doors of the Shady House, once again shooing away the young grunts at the door who begged for cigarettes and pocket change.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said when Skip opened up the door to Guzma’s throne room.

He strode in with his black hoodie pulled up over his head, a look which was more for a sense of self-security than fashion; and his leather jacket on despite the scorching heatwave, which was worn solely for the sake of fashion.

Gladion made only brief eye contact with Guzma while he stood there, waiting to be addressed.

Guzma looked at his watch.

“Ain’t a problem,” he said casually, crossing one of his legs over the other.

He appeared to have just been relaxing himself, as the television remote was in one hand, and a cigar in the other. Gladion stood there by the threshold of the living area, overtired and gripped entirely by indecision of whether or not to adopt his often cocky demeanor, or sink into his more introverted, aloof demeanor. He felt angry as well as tired—he wasn’t sure what he was angry about, other than literally everything—and so somehow stood there with one foot in and one foot out, both externally and internally.

“Take a seat, my man, take a seat,” said Guzma.

The Boss had spent a drawn-out moment processing the awkward silence himself. Unbeknownst to Gladion, this conversation was even more nerve wracking to Guzma than it was to him.

Gladion plopped himself on the couch, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“What’s going on?” he managed to say casually.

“Ah, not much—a little of this, a little of that,” Guzma ashed his cigar. “Want one?”

“Uh—nah, I’m good,” said Gladion, and he shook himself out of his mood by sitting up straighter and pulling his hands out of his hoodie pockets to also pull down his hood. “Thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” said Guzma. “These are from Goldenrod City. Inconspicuous gem of a shop next to the infamous Game Corner. Best in the world.”

He put down the TV remote.

“You smoke, don’t you?” he asked, regarding tobacco smoking.

“Occasionally,” said Gladion.

“Me too,” said Guzma. “I mostly prefer marijuana myself. Other than cigars, of course—especially premium cigars like these.”

He paused.

“You know how I got so many nice things, Gladion?” Guzma asked, flashing his watch and vaguely gesturing to the entirety of the Shady House estate, which had slivers of plaster dangling from the ceiling like icicles.

“How’s that?” Gladion returned, playing along.

Guzma directed Skip to place a small wad of cash—thin, flat bills—banded, about just shy of two inches high—on the coffee table.

Gladion shifted his seat on the couch and stared at the stack with suspicion, as though he questioned if it was fake.

“What’s this?” he asked, genuinely paying attention now as he cast a cautious glance over at the Boss.

Guzma laughed.

“How I get my nice things,” he said, chuckling still as a thick cloud of smoke wafted away from his mouth. “Money.”

I know it’s money, asshole.

“Is this supposed to be for me?” Gladion asked.

“Well, it sure as shit ain’t for me,” said Guzma, coughing as he laughed. “It’s from me, to you.”

“For what?”

“Ahh,” Guzma took a swig of a half-drunk beer that had been going stale on the table, and let out a breath. He reclined in his throne with both arms lazily draped on the armrests. “Well, my friend, I have a proposition for you—a business opportunity, really—where if you would agree to give me a hand, then that money’s all yours.”

Guzma, despite popular opinion, was not a fool. He knew that the two biggest motivators in the world were love and money—and money moreso, for there had been many betrayals in the history of humankind between bonds of love in favor of money.

The gangster was lucky, though he didn’t know it, that Gladion had just gotten himself—fallen, really—into the perfect position to be ensnared by the poisonous vines of both.

Gladion—pausing first, considering—began his normal speech about this kind of thing not being his arrangement with Team Skull, when Guzma stopped him with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

“Listen, Gladion. I’ll tell you something,” he said, assuming his business voice—though there was a deep honesty flooding in that made his words more robust. “I’ve always respected you. You’ve been out on your own a long time, holding yourself up with nothing but your own wits and strength. You remind me of myself when I was younger. Bold and independent. Don’t take shit from nobody. That’s admirable.”

He puffed on his cigar.

“And that’s why I’ve always liked you. Have you ever thought of me as a father figure?”

Gladion blinked hard, speechless, trying not to show the awe in his eyes.

He has her eyes, Guzma thought. That’s for sure.

Despite the overwhelming urge to simply say no, and his mind reeling off-kilter like a coin spinning and spinning madly on the ground, Gladion collected himself with an honest answer.

“I hardly knew my father, so I don’t really know what having a father feels like.”

Guzma nodded.

“My father was a real piece of shit,” he said, with enough of an amused air of it not meaning anything that Gladion was certain it meant quite a lot.

“Beat the hell out of me,” he said.

Gladion stayed very still.

So did my mother.

He grit his teeth and tightened his knuckles.

When I still considered her my mother.

“Golf clubs,” Guzma added. “A real swing. Not the most fun getting your ribs fractured over a little bit of shoplifting.”

Gladion shook his head.

“I imagine it wasn’t.”

Neither was getting whacked across the face with an old-fashioned office telephone when I was seven years old, asking only for a band-aid when my little sister had scraped her knee on the patio.

“Wasn’t,” said Guzma.

He cleared his throat.

“But, all’s well that ends well—‘cause now I’m here, building up a kingdom from a heap of useless rocks on the ground. Pebble by pebble,” he boasted; and it was clear he spoke with true pride in conviction of his achievements. “Can’t run a kingdom by yourself, though. That’s why I let in any lost soul who wants to join Team Skull in hopes of a better future—and that’s exactly why I’m gonna build ‘em up, too. I’ll do it with your help, Gladion. A king needs a dependable knight to lead his battles.”

Gladion was too overwhelmed by all Guzma had shared with him to roll his eyes as the man’s raw honesty degenerated into cheesy one-liners. It didn’t particularly inspire him to fight for Guzma—and never had; but by doing so, he wondered now, would he gain a greater ability to fight for the person really worth fighting for? The person worth dying for, even disguised under the Team Skull insignia. The same person he had originally joined Team Skull to grow stronger for, when he was just twelve and lost his mother.

Still, Gladion was aware that to accept a task of any kind was to forge a contract, and he needed to know the fine print of all he was signing on for, beyond two-thousand dollars.

“So is that what the money’s for?” he asked. “You need me to battle someone?”

He wondered what kind of battle this would be, that he found himself being offered considerable compensation for it. It had been the standard thus far that he had only ever received no more than a couple hundred dollars for beating up chumps.

Could it be that Guzma wanted him to take on some professional who had been roped into the Mayhem Crew?

“Nah, not a battle,” said Guzma, and he grinned. “Training.”

“Training?”

The coin spun.

“Yep. Here’s the deal, my friend,” said Guzma, getting back down to business. “I need you to train up these lazy dopes around here. Real good. Make ‘em all into winners, like you.”

Gladion held his breath.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“That’s all,” said Guzma, with a big smile and a big shrug.

Gladion contemplated the stack of bleached-straight bills.

“Come on, Gladion,” Guzma laughed, watching the young man’s searching expression. “There must be some reason you’d want it—it’s only human nature to want more and more of it, when it makes the merry go round.”

Gladion asked himself what he wanted more of, other than ever-elusive happiness, which the popular saying went that money didn’t bring—a proverb he knew the truth of in his bones from his own upbringing.

“Perhaps you could buy your little sister something nice?” Guzma suggested, picking at his silver grillz with a toothpick he had grabbed from somewhere on the Spoink-sty of a coffee table.

Gladion’s heavy posture, which had been sinking back down into the couch, perked up in alert.

“What?” he asked, paranoid.

The Big Bad Boss laughed.

“Well, last time we had a conversation like this, said sister called you and asked for something, if I’m remembering it right. Given your name, I’d wager it’s something she couldn’t get with her own money.”

Well, that was true. Perhaps the truest thing Gladion presumed Guzma had ever said to him.

He didn’t want to betray himself by thinking too much; but he got caught up in thought about it. What could more of his own money mean for him and Lillie?

I could bring her on a fancier date than the one I have planned.

Dumb. It probably wouldn’t even be a good idea to be seen in such a way together in public.

I could buy her a better present than the one I gave her for her birthday.

Pointless.

Guzma had pointed that out himself—she could buy herself whatever she wanted; and, even then, Lillie was not vain in her purchases, since their mother’s money meant as little to her as it did him.

I could take her somewhere.

His thoughts ground to a halt; stuck deeply in a critical, overwhelming sphere where they would stay long after this fateful conversation, though Gladion had no preconceptions of such things now.

Somewhere… anywhere but here…

Guzma yawned, as though Gladion’s indecision were boring him; but he didn’t have much longer to wait, as Gladion had just arrived at a conclusion.

“I’ll do it,” he asserted. “Just let me know the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

“That’s my man!” Guzma cheered, and leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

It was a rough-handed gesture, and Gladion grunted in recoil.

Guzma then picked up the brick of cash and thrust it in Gladion’s hands himself.

“Take it as an advance,” he said, reclining on his throne, grinning like a Haunter. “That’s a testament to the faith I have in you.”

Suddenly fueled with a bizarre resolve, Gladion stood up and stuffed the money securely into his inside jacket pocket.

Then, he did something he was never able to figure out why he did—he reached out his hand for Guzma to shake, which the gangster gratefully accepted, chuckling and flashing his silver-lined teeth, which shined at just the same angle as did the chain on his chest.

If he were going to Hell regardless, as he was sure he was, Gladion may as well sign a deal with a devil to make his downfall more interesting.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Later, Gladion lay on the floor in the middle of his motel room, high as fuck. He wore only his shredded skinny jeans and no t-shirt, with a beer in his left hand and his phone in the other; though he paid no attention to either of them, arms and legs extended, just staring at the ceiling while his best tortured rock music playlist blared from the speaker.

He had plenty to think about after his conversation with Guzma, but he found himself, once again, thinking only of Lillie.

Well… I’m taking my little sister on a date.

He had asked her out nearly a week ago, but the process of accepting it had still been ruminating in his mind; the thoughts continued to ebb and flow now, more tumultuous, out of control. His eyes grew dry staring up at the faulty ceiling fan, though they were already red from all the pot he had smoked; red as he was caught red-handed.

And I touched her boobs. That has to be illegal.

And they were so beautiful—

Oh, fuck.

He could swear he heard the cops banging on his door at that very moment.

Touching her like that is definitely illegal.

“Open up!”

But—my entire existence is practically illegal, so, to Hell with it, I guess; and to Hell is where I’ll go when I’m dead and it’s all over.

He thought about that day in the meadow. It was her birthday, and he hadn’t seen her in almost four months. She seemed so happy; but he had, the whole time, to fight back crushing waves of guilt. His romantic feelings for her, generally repressed, hadn’t nearly reached the height they had ascended to now—high as he was, lying on the floor—but he still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how pretty she was when she smiled; and harbored a curious satisfaction that her smiles were for him. He had given her a green ribbon for her hair—she never wore the color, but he had always associated it with her; he wasn’t sure why, other than her eyes. It was hardly a decent present, but she loved it. He was never happy, but it made him happy to see her so.

Because…

…Because I love her.

I’m in love with Lillie.

I’m tired of fighting it.

I can’t win.

Gladion closed his eyes with a sighing breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and a soreness behind his eyeballs that flared like a sunburn.

She needs me, too—even if she’ll never love me the same. I can’t stand by and let her get hurt. Well, not any more than she already has, with everything that bitch has done to her when I wasn’t around. 

And I hate myself for leaving her like that.

It’s as much my fault as it is that evil woman’s; because I wasn’t there—and I knew she had no one else.

He forced himself to do half a sit-up to take a swig of beer before letting his head fall back on the rough commercial carpet that blanketed the concrete floor, without anything to buffer it but the tiniest slice of acceptable padding—which actually wasn’t up to par with the current legal standard of motel conditions.

I hate myself.

He turned his eyes from the cheap, shitty beer to the Pokétch phone, thinking about calling Lillie and vomiting up all this pain and love that was eating him alive. A text from her sat living there in the ether of the motel’s crappy internet connection, unreplied to at the moment; consumed tonight by his depression, he didn’t know what to say.

Gladion hated himself for that, too.

To be so absorbed in his own pain so as to ignore her, which had been his original sin.

But I just… want to love her. Take care of her and show her that she means the world to me.

Then why can’t I answer the phone?

Because I can’t tell her that, either.

Then why the fuck did I ask her on a date?

“You’re busted!” he heard the police yell as they rapped and pounded relentlessly on the door.

They knew he had accepted the money from Guzma, and about all the weed concealed in boxes of sham garbage stashed under his bed.

They knew about how badly he ached to have sex with his little sister.

If you go out somewhere with your sister—just the two of you alone—can it even be called a date?

Could Lillie even be my girlfriend?

That activated a tightness in his gut. What kind of stupid-ass thought was it that he would ever want a girlfriend? So far, the few he had in his life had turned out to be nothing but tiresome voids of interest and emotional connection. All the girls he had tried to find any kind of authentic affection for had done nothing but suck him further dry of his limited will to survive, in a world entirely empty of joy or anything good; and, after Sylvia, he had just about sworn them off.

Gladion’s emotional stability, though nearly nonexistent, was better when he was alone; and he was better off alone, with the exception of his Pokémon partners, who were the only living beings that understood him; and thank God for that.

Thank God—or the Gods, which a great faction of people in the world believed Legendary Pokémon to be—thank Them for that; even if Gladion didn’t believe that They were really as powerful as gods should be.

But I want Lillie to be my girlfriend, he thought, or whatever goddamn word in Unown runes or some other ancient language that could describe our situation. I want that more than anything. I want her to be mine, and only mine, forever.

He adored her, more than he had ever adored anyone or anything—and he had always adored her. He had been doomed from the very start of her life.

I want to make her mine.

Gladion sighed, thinking how twisted and screwed up he was that he started to get hard when only even musing on his desire to fuck Lillie; Lillie, his little sister, gentle and sweet. Would it be more accurate to deem the situation one of making love to her? Gladion had had a lot of sex, and never had he conceptualized it in that overdramatically sappy way.

But, unlike the Team Skull girls and other misfits with pretty faces but empty heads and shallow hearts, with Lillie there was an emotional connection; a strong one that scared the shit out of him, both because of how it affected him and the inerasable fact that she was still his sister—his younger sister, close to three years younger than him. A genuine interest in who she was as a person, and enjoyment in spending time with her, both shook him to his core. She was not annoying, but the diametrical opposite—so engaging and cute, along with a warm, calming effect in her demeanor, felt even when just talking to her on the phone. Rather than suck up his will to live like a Giga Drain attack from a Grass-type, Lillie infused him with hope, and the slight glimmer of an ability to dream.

So, to fuck her, or to make love to her—phrases Gladion’s drugged mind played tug-of-war with behind his disoriented stream of consciousness—while of course to fuck her would satisfy a sexual desire for her body (impossible to ignore with how physically gorgeous a girl she was), the act would also show her he loved her in the deepest way he could; and how never again would he let her go.

Shit.

I’m definitely going to jail—and it won’t be for selling drugs, or involvement in gang activity, or assault from whenever I beat up those fucking Mayhem jackasses.

“Open up or we’ll break down the door!” called the twisting, creeping paranoia of his high.

I’ll be going to jail for being in love.

That somehow seems… just right for me…

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The clock struck squarely at eight when dinner was laid out on the long table in the lavish private dining room, positioned adjacent to the kitchen, and the location where more intimate meals were had. An extravagant display of fine china and collectible crystal Pokémon figurines adorned expansive, opulent display cabinets along the walls.

The table was draped in a fine-threaded white cotton tablecloth, and as Lillie sat down across from her mother—all the way on the opposite head of the eight-foot table, in the proper manner of two people dining alone together—she had a passing thought that for all the fine washing and bleaching, perhaps this tablecloth had begun to lame into a dismal ivory. She rubbed a small section of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger once seated, while an unwitting frown fell upon her face as she pondered how difficult it was to keep white in its pristine state.

“Is something wrong with the tablecloth, Lillie?” Lusamine asked, curt and irritated.

Lillie perked her head up and lightly swayed it side to side.

“No, Mother,” she said. “I just thought I may have seen a speck of dust, is all.”

“There would be no dust in this house,” her mother replied, “if not for you.”

Lillie took a breath and swallowed.

“I understand. I’m sorry I wasn’t entirely thorough in my rounds. It won’t happen again.”

I doubt that, Lusamine thought, with a passing air of annoyance as if a Yanma were buzzing in her ear. It was the noise her children’s voices had always made, from the moment they were finally removed from her.

With perfect timing, the resident Executive Chef of Aether Manor came around the corner with a crystal cloche in his hands. It was set, fragile and sparkling, over a wide white plate. Two maids followed behind him with more of the same.

Lusamine smiled at him; he hardly deserved it, as he was a nice man, kindly and always in high spirits. His name was Mr. Popple—the famous Henry Popple from Kanto—who before being employed by Lusamine had traveled the world, cooking for the international elite’s most regal dinners. Though Lusamine always twisted the corner of her mouth in derision when she smiled, Mr. Popple never seemed to notice, being mellow in his innate sense of thinking well of everybody.

Lillie found herself feeling sorry for him, this night in particular.

“What are we having tonight, Chef?”

He placed the white and gold-trimmed serving plate at the center of the table, and bowed with a grin as he lifted the cloche.

“This is a short-rib Tauros, with sautéed root vegetables freshly picked from Paniola Ranch, Madame; and wild rice found only in the Safari Zone of Johto.”

As the maids similarly surrounded the centerpiece with the side dishes, Mr. Popple went on to explain, with much enthusiasm, what else he had prepared, including dessert.

“Excellent,” said Lusamine. “Thank you, Chef.”

Popple portioned out the meal and then bowed again when his work was finished. The maids in their frilly lace uniforms followed suit, disappearing back into the kitchen to go about their business and pretend they didn’t exist.

Lillie sighed at her plate.

Meat.

The skin, muscle and bones of innocent creatures ripped from their happy homes or bred on a farm with no meaning to their lives but the inevitable human consumption.

Always meat.

She played with her vegetables, forcing herself to take a bite when her upset stomach simply didn’t want to accept what she was even capable of eating.

“So, Lillie,” said Lusamine dryly, adding to her tone with a sip of chardonnay. “I have heard from Mrs. Dedlock about your academic struggles, as we discussed—so why don’t you tell me, instead, something happy about your extracurricular activities.”

There is never anything happy about it, Lillie thought, though it wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t hate playing the piano (a lovely, melancholic instrument), or dancing ballet (a popular choice of choreography in Pokémon Contests and Performances); but she did sometimes wonder what she would have chosen to spend her time learning—possibly truly enjoying—if she had a choice. She daydreamed, sometimes, about what interests she may have or what talents may be lying latent and atrophying beneath the hours and hours of enforced subjects of study.

What made the piano unbearable, however, was Alfred von Lewis, her piano instructor, who would rap her fingers with a baton when she made a mistake. He clearly lacked half the strength of Lusamine, however, as his assaults never left marks of their stinging on her knuckles.

What made ballet lessons unbearable was her fellow students—rich, rude, and—in the case of Stephanie Chandler and her friends—the relentless mocking of her, which ostracized her into full isolation in a room full of other girls her age.

All of this trailing accordingly with the overwhelming, strict daily schedule that squeezed every second of Lillie’s free time through the bottleneck of the day’s hourglass, added up to what made the majority of her life cheerless.

Considering her growing romantic relationship with Gladion (needless to say how he had snuck into the house earlier in the week to see her, and the exhilarating fact that he had also asked her out on a date for the weekend after this coming); and the effort she put into finding more time to spend with her real friends (she had already booked another lunch and shopping trip with Lana and Mallow for the day after she would see Gladion); Lillie had begun to experiment with how she could twist time into granting her favors, in accordance with her wishes to make room for the people and activities that actually brought her happiness.

“Well, I just learned to play Butterfree’s Soliloquy last week,” she told her mother, indeed proud of herself for mastering the song, as the andante had given her much trouble for quite a few weeks. “Fluently, without any mistakes.”

“A rudimentary melody,” said Lusamine, deflating Lillie’s morale as casually as she draped her napkin on her lap. “But I suppose we must all start somewhere.”

“Mr. von Lewis was impressed,” said Lillie, her insides crumbling and hardly managing to say so.

“Was he?” muttered Lusamine.

Perhaps he is going senile.

“He said so,” said Lillie, then remained quiet as she and her mother worked at their meals.

Lillie lifted her fork to pick at her vegetables, unable to ignore the color-changing bruise on her wrist, and the deep, dainty claw marks that decorated it. The wounds wound round her wrist like a bracelet—too tight-fitting, with a grasp that held her in place.

An awkward silence continued to flood the room, before Lusamine perked up with another question about how Lillie’s daily life had been progressing.

She was not interested aside from how her daughter’s activities suited her own interests, but the fact that they did made her knowledge of them important. Her goal was solely to mold Lillie into a proper woman born of Old Money—as she was, and so she ought to be—and therefore ready to have her hand arranged to the heir of another powerful family.

The targeted family, of course, being the Ferro’s of Silph Co.

In order to achieve this, Lillie had to be as near to perfect a lady—at least on paper, as the girl was hopeless in achieving actual perfection—as possible; and also to be knitted into a social circle of the other children of noteworthy families.

“Ah—I forgot to ask, how was your recital, dear? I truly regret that I couldn’t make it.”

“I—I already told you about it, Mother,” said Lillie, surprised. “It was nearly three weeks ago.”

Lusamine tilted her head to the side, scarcely unable to keep a curious gaze in her eyes, as she wasn’t at all curious how she had forgotten something her daughter had told her three weeks ago, or even less than ten minutes ago. In truth, her focus was rising and falling as her mind passed through a chemical phase of particular heights, due to something she had taken home with her from her rendezvous with Guzma.

“Has it been that long? I swear it was last weekend.”

“No,” said Lillie. Although she knew she wasn’t at the top of Lusamine’s list of priorities, it still perplexed her how her detail-oriented mother could be so forgetful. “I explained last time we met how our class received a standing ovation, and that the judges from the board of the International Ballet Company deemed our troupe qualified for the Prix de Kirlia in Hearthome City.”

She swallowed the last edible pieces of her supper.

What is going on with her? Lillie thought. Despite the hurt (for it always hurt) that her mother couldn’t recall her achievements, for Lusamine to be so distracted was unlike her. Is she drunk? Had she already been drinking before dinner?

“I swear it was last weekend,” said Lusamine, losing herself in derisive laughter before downing the remaining wine in her glass. “How silly of me. I really must be working so much; how fast time passes, and I don’t even realize it because I am so incredibly busy.”

Lillie frowned, watching her. She began to tap her fingers on her knee, unnerved and not knowing exactly why.

“You are always working very much,” she said, extending a great effort to keep her wording as neutral as possible.

The event of coming on too strongly—or, more likely, too weakly—both felt deadly.

“Of course I am,” said Lusamine, dabbing her lips with her napkin—though Lillie swore for the briefest second that she saw one of her mother’s porcelain fingers wipe at her nose. “You know that, Lillie. My work is my life. The only time I get to relax is at our Foundation events, like the White Party coming up.”

Lillie fought to keep herself from scowling, tapping her fingers rapidly.

“Oh, don’t look so excited,” said Lusamine, tossing her head to the side with another awfully off-putting laugh.

She snapped her fingers at a maid for a top-up on her chardonnay.

“You’re only going to get the opportunity to be surrounded by the very top of the pinnacle of influential people in the world—not to mention the honor of growing acquainted with that handsome, charming, wonderful son of Raphael’s, the young Mr. Victor Ferro.”

The cadence of Lusamine’s declaration was quick and dramatic, and accompanied an eerie smile on her face.

Lillie swallowed.

She found she had nothing to say.

She opened her mouth, but there was no voice in her throat.

I don’t want to be with Victor. I don’t want to be at the White Party. I don’t want to be here, right now. I want to be with Gladion.

“You’re kidding, Lillie,” said Lusamine, in a turn of a gruff tone now, watching her daughter flounder to express herself; and, somewhat bizarrely, she put her elbow on the table and rested her sharp modelesque chin in her hand.

Her eyes sparkled.

“Do you mean to say that you don’t find Victor handsome?”

“O—” Lillie blinked, laughing in an inauthentic, awfully off-putting way herself. “O-Of course I do, Mother. It’s just—It’s just I don’t know him very well. We’ve only met a few times, and it’s been quite a while since I last saw him.”

Lusamine scoffed, sipping the dry wine in her glass.

“Please, Lillie—” she said, rolling her eyes. “—Don’t be so very pathetic as to be nervous to socialize with young men in society. How else is a young lady supposed to behave at parties like these? What else is the point of the Debutante Ball? You know very well that this is how well-bred women of status make favorable matches to advance their future.”

Lillie’s hands shook now, tapping on her knee.

I don’t want to meet men from rich, famous families. I want to be with Gladion.

I want to be with Gladion.

“Why aren’t you eating your food?” her mother snapped suddenly.

The inquiry jabbed Lillie just as abruptly and sharply as the smack on her face from their shopping trip had—and broke her nervous reverie to pieces.

“Is it not good enough for you either?” rang Lusamine’s accusing voice once again.

What is going on with her? Lillie struggled to understand, her heart pounding. She’s entirely not right. She’s worse than normal.

“I—I’m a vegetarian, Mother,” she said.

I’m scared.

“Since when?” asked Lusamine, with another exaggerated toss of her head.

“Since I was thirteen,” Lillie replied.

Lusamine raised her eyebrows as high as her exorbitant amount of plastic surgery would allow.

“Well, you should have said something,” she spat, finishing the rest of her glass in one breath. “Either way, the greens were as divine as the meat, so you should be satisfied.”

Her daughter simply stared at her, at an entire loss for what she could possibly say that would satisfy, instead, the woman across from her.

“S-Since, um,” Lillie began meekly, “Since I will not be eating the steak, may I please be excused from dinner? I would like to go and bathe early, so that I can spend some time reading.”

Lusamine just laughed, shooing her away with a contemptuous wave of her hand.

“Well, why not?” she replied, thoroughly amused—with Lillie or with herself, or with something else entirely—maybe with the chardonnay, or whatever plans for work and parties were floating around her head—or with something Mr. Ferro had said to her, or a careless coworker—with what, Lillie didn’t know; but Lusamine was greatly amused. “It’s not like we were having much of a conversation, anyway. Go on, Lillie.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Lillie replied, swallowing nervously as she stood up and felt a strange urge to, just slightly, bow her head in reverence of Lusamine’s superiority. “E-Excuse me.”

She forced her legs to carry her gracefully out of the dining room, and then briskly to the long, winding stairs up to the wing of the manor where her bed and bath chambers were located, gratefully on the other side of the great white house from Lusamine’s.

As she swerved by Hobbes and more maids busy in the hallway, she could still hear her mother laughing.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

When the tropical nighttime sky bled ink into the ocean, a stillness came over the manor like it were a museum; no inhabitants, only priceless artifacts and pieces of art. As a child, this intense silence frightened Lillie; she was alone, in a deathly quiet where the drop of a pin would sound like a cannon blast.

Hobbes was a dutiful man, but similarly duly took his rest at the appropriate hours so as to be fully functional when dawn broke and a new day of duties began. The security guards reclined in their office chairs with their feet on the desk and their eyes closed on the cameras, only making a mandatory stroll about the premises when it was also time to get up and take a piss.

Even when the guards did bother to do their job, it was still a fact that their feet were not heavy, having learned to fall into their steps like snow in their many years of police or military experience required to have been accepted onto the Aether security force; and they also moved quick in their quietness, finishing up a round with just enough time to pour a fresh cup of coffee as soon as it was done brewing, having turned the machine on before they first left the office.

So, as ever, all was quiet. Lillie had gotten used to it, other than when she had a certain need that she was irrationally terrified someone would catch her satiating.

When she touched herself, her heart pounded worse than usual in the knowledge that her mother was also sleeping in the house tonight. It was a rarity for Lusamine to stay until the next morning when she bothered to come to the island residence at all; but she gratefully never ventured anywhere near to Lillie’s rooms, as typically after supper she never wanted anything else to do with her, and so despite her earlier fear, Lillie found herself recklessly brave tonight.

She never masturbated much. Any dirty thoughts that arose in her mind always came along with an inherent belief that they made her dirty, and that she should be ashamed to have them floating around in her head in the first place. She was only human, however, and especially as she progressed through her teenage years, those repressed sexual urges would rear their head more often, and with more yearning than she felt capable of accepting as a part of her.

Regardless, there were nights she would grind herself against her bed, or massage her clit and slip a finger gently inside of her. For something she feared so very much as to be bad, it felt so very good; and only felt better as she got older, and experienced sexual desire more often, despite remaining in an awkward mindset of discomfort with it.

At first, like any curious preteen going through puberty, she had tried to look at porn, but quickly found she didn’t like it; even with the ominous feeling that such material was strictly to be labeled bad hanging over her head, the adult movies simply weren’t something that appealed to her. The scripts were too fake; the actors too unattractive; the whole mood of the videos meant to stimulate her simply more sad than they were even bad—both in their questionable content and production quality.

She turned to her imagination instead, beginning with imagining actors, singers, or other celebrities she thought were handsome to use as an ideal partner while she took care of what she needed to, but ultimately those plastic famous people never did anything special for her, either.

Lillie was most turned on, and most comfortable, when left alone with her own mind. She’d tell herself a love story in her head. A story of this perfect man, who was strong and protected her at all costs. A man who even loved her, despite the impossibility; and would kiss her and hold her tenderly, night after night. Perhaps her mind was intrinsically childish even in regards to sex, as often she’d dress the scene up in a fairytale costume. She was a princess, and the wonderful man was a knight who had rescued her from all sadness, loneliness, and pain.

On the back of a majestic Pokémon, they would ride off into the sunset to live happily forevermore.

It came as a great surprise to her that when she began to touch herself to the thought of Gladion, the premade fantasy fit perfectly. There wasn’t a single detail to alter, other than maybe to make the knight’s armor a darker shade—but the man she had always imagined was him.

And she needed him now. Now more than ever.

Lillie wasn’t quiet when she realized that. She pressed herself into the bed, rolling her hips, releasing yearning hums of moans and whispering his name into the pillows. All the tension in her body cried out for him—she wanted to feel him touching her the way he had the night he was in her bed with her; wanted to be lost in one of those breathtaking kisses they shared whenever they were together; she even wanted him inside her, to feel him the way he fit the story exactly right.

Her mind wavered intermittently between her fantasy and remembering her mother’s accusations that she had no idea how to behave with young men in society—as though she were an innocent, prudish little girl who had never had flirtations or romantic interactions with a boy.

These bitter thoughts only fueled her desires tonight, as Lillie got off on her own strange, budding pride that she wasn’t.

Gladion. Gladion. Gladion.

You have no idea what I’ve done with him, Mother.

Never had Lillie had such a vicious thought, in even such a tiny corner of her heart, as she did now, thinking about all the intimacy she had shared with her brother, and how her mother knew none of it; and would never know it.

How painfully intolerable Lusamine had been tonight.

How hard her mother tried to control her; and how much Lillie wanted to escape with her brother, and never return.

“Mmnh,” she whined into the pillow as she came, catching her breath while rolling over onto her back to rest.

As happily calm and tingly her body felt after orgasm, her mind could not meet her there. After regulating her breathing while staring at the ceiling helplessly lost in thought for several moments, Lillie got up out of bed and went to the bookshelf before sitting down at her desk. She deftly removed her diary from its hiding place and unlocked the little lock.

Dear Diary, she wrote, just below the full entry from earlier in the evening. I’ve decided how I feel. I know it now, and I don’t care what it means. I am madly in love with Gladion.

Chapter Text

Lillie realized that green was her color. She wore her new blue jeans—an item of average clothing she had never before owned—with only the slightest bit of distress on the denim at her knees, as though she had already knelt in a field of flowers; and there were brightly colored roses and daisies on the chest of a heavy forest green hoodie, currently tied around her waist as she waited by the recently constructed, modern industrial port on Route 14 for Gladion. A plain white long-sleeved t-shirt with a deep neckline and a mix of beaded necklaces were the base layer of her new outfit, and she had tied up her long hair in a ponytail adorned with the lush green ribbon Gladion had given her for her sixteenth birthday; she hoped with all her heart that he’d notice, and that he’d know she wore it for him.

She also had on a pair of casual walking boots, brown faux leather with thick, practical laces—these the first item of common footwear she had, too, ever worn—and though they fit perfectly, they felt awkward on her feet.

Lillie prayed desperately that she looked as cute as Angie had said she would when she went back to Melemele Beach last weekend to find something to wear on her date with Gladion.

He had revealed to her that the plan was to go hiking and have a picnic on Mount Lanakila—information which had Lillie blushing and smiling and her heart buzzing, flustered on the phone with him when he told her where to meet him, as this was just about the most romantic and adorable first date she could have ever imagined would be hers—with a boy whom she had realized was not only her first crush, but her first love.

For this was, truly, love.

How complicated her situation was, she mused—emotions playing a repetitive chorus in her head like a pop song while pacing around her room in sprightly delight after getting off the phone with Gladion the night they had made plans to meet near Tapu Village at the base of the mountain—but how wonderful.

Looking up at the peaks on the horizon overhead, she thought now, on the day of their date, how tremendously, stupendously wonderful—even fantastical, as day by day Lillie found herself more and more immersed in a fairytale come alive, herself a real-life princess having been waiting to be rescued—that now her true love had finally come along to make her dreams a reality.

This time she had gone by herself when she went to buy clothes for their outing, because although she was happily succeeding in making more frequent contact with her friends, she was also worried about revealing too much about her activities with whom they believed to be a mysterious older guy; someone they had never met, potentially of some great importance to society—which both Lana and Mallow suspected with Lillie’s high-class upbringing. Lillie knew that if she continued to accidentally mix up information about what she did with the mysterious guy and what she did with her brother, then incidental overlaps could raise suspicion, even in the two sweet girls she cherished—and who she was beginning to realize—guiltily, in her lies—did not currently think any ill of her, to her great surprise.

It also came as a surprise to Lillie that she enjoyed taking the ferry over to Melemele Island herself, without intent to meet anyone there; solo the entire way, people-watching on the boat and smiling at young children playing with Pokémon and old folks holding hands; and young people her age, also independent, with designer headphones on their ears and their noses buried in classic books of the hip, artsy kind.

Lillie also did something she had never believed she ever would have done before—something that even months ago would have been deeply out of character for her—which was to take cash out of an ATM to make her purchases untraceable in case her mother’s accountant ever looked at her own personal credit card records and mentioned something unusual about her spending to Lusamine.

It felt bold when she withdrew five hundred dollars from the pedestrian machine. It felt dangerous. It felt fun. In the knowledge that this money was going toward her first date—with Gladion—it even felt sexy.

Even better, she had thought of it herself.

Gladion had been coaching her on clever ways to disguise where she went and who with when it was places and people chosen of her own volition and not of Lusamine’s day planner (quite literally, as Lusamine had delegated the task of tying up Lillie’s life into her own puppet strings to a very studious and discreet personal assistant, as Lusamine herself was too busy with all of her other schemes to run point on what she considered a less important matter); but Lillie had impressed him when she told him that she was going to start using only cash when she needed money for things Lusamine wouldn’t approve of, and therefore should know nothing of. The proud flirty tone in Gladion’s voice had set Lillie’s heart fluttering—and a sensation of warmness to flush between her thighs.

As she made her way to the cute bohemian boutique, Lillie thought about what she felt was like playing a new game at life—or a new strategy at the same old trips and tricks—with everything that mattered to her entirely a secret. It felt as though she had a second identity—a second Lillie hiding inside the first like a wooden nesting doll, opening up layer by layer to her true self at her core, though unable to be seen from the outside, where her mother’s doll was all she was at first glance. These new experiences thrilled her with a buoyant rebellious happiness at the fact that Lusamine was somehow loosening—or losing—slack on her leash without the slightest idea it was happening.

Still, though she filed at them with a rusty key, Lillie remained all tied up in knots of insecurity on that same shopping trip, embarrassed to see Angie again after she had made the decision to send her a thank you card following their initial meeting. But the college fashion stylist had been overjoyed to see her walk through the vine-covered door of Melemele Beach, and helped her find an outfit for a picnic and nature-walk date. The two of them began to talk like old friends while Lillie, slowly desensitizing herself from her fear of fitting rooms, tried out different color combinations of washes of blue with various jackets and sweaters that might provide the right amount of fashion and the right amount of warmth on the cooler ledges of Mount Lanakila.

Though Angie had a charm and affection for her that made Lillie feel like the girl was an older sister, she also had a way about her that reminded Lillie of Professor Burnet-Kukui. Jubilant; exceptionally kind, with a way of talking that was at once playful and clever; and an air about her that was just good.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, then, when Audrey Burnet-Kukui ambled in through the door of the boutique with her youngest son, Tyce, in her arms, and her toddler, Lei, in a stroller, and Angie called out, “Auntie A!”

Lillie gasped as Angie ran out from behind the counter to help the Professor maneuver the stroller into the shop, and then gave her a big one-armed hug while tickling Tyce.

“Hi,” said Audrey to her niece, in a voice so affectionate it made Lillie’s heart jump, despite the fact that she was not the one being addressed. “Look, it’s your Auntie A, Tyce.”

“I’m not that old,” said Angie, rolling her eyes playfully. “He can still think of me as his cousin.”

“You aren’t old at all, sweetheart; but you are so mature that I forget sometimes,” said Audrey, who then immediately turned to a gaping Lillie. “Oh my, Lillie! I’m so happy to see you!”

“You are—?” Lillie began, but Angie cut her off in her excitement.

“You two know each other!?” she said, looking wildly back and forth between the Professor and Lillie.

“We do indeed!” said Audrey, beaming at Lillie. “How are you, Lillie?”

Lillie was so floored that she hardly knew what to say. Audrey and her husband, the Professor Jason Kukui, were two of the most complicatedly important people in her life. Complicated for her to process their role in her life, that is. They had given her shelter when she had run away from home with Nebby, and had helped her protect it; they were the kindest, most down-to-earth and lovely people she had ever met.

She had only lived with them for a short time, but Lillie often felt like they were her parents. Or, maybe, she only wished they were. The two of them had had a brief presence in her life that was perhaps more like a visit of fairy godparents, who then, though they did not abandon her, were estranged from her life by her circumstances.

Just like Nebby.

Just like Gladion had been—until now.

Looking at Audrey, Lillie felt tears come to the corners of her eyes and swallowed as if to drown them down her throat instead of her face.

“I-I’m well, Professor,” she stammered, not knowing if it was true or not, but not wanting to say anything that would ever make the woman unhappy. “How are you? The—The boys look beautiful.”

“Come see them,” said Audrey, grinning.

Nervous, Lillie walked over to the family and glanced hesitantly between the two babies before being unable to help herself but to glow.

“Hello, cutie,” she said to Lei in his stroller.

He giggled; so did the three women.

“How in the name of Tapu Koko do you two know each other?” asked Angie, hands on her hips.

Audrey and Lillie’s eyes met.

“Lillie stayed with your uncle and I for a while, before you moved back here for college,” Audrey said to Angie. “She helped us with our research.”

“Oh, like an internship?” asked Angie.

“Yes, like an internship,” said Audrey, and she winked at Lillie.

The weight that lifted from Lillie’s shoulders when Audrey made this explanation was indescribable. The truth of the situation had been crushing her from the moment Audrey had entered the store—and it evaporated just as easily as though it were a light spritz of an air freshener. Lillie felt so grateful to the Professor that she found, once again, she wanted to cry.

No crying here! Lillie demanded of herself. I’m cool today! I’m confident! I’m happy!

“That’s so cool!” said Angie, nodding approvingly at Lillie.

“I-It was very cool,” Lillie managed to say back, though she still smiled at Audrey with a look of wonder in her eyes. “I had so much fun, and everything the Professors helped me with meant so much to me.”

“Aw, Lillie! We loved having you there! And, please—you don’t have to call me Professor! I get enough of that at work and when folks come to visit Jason. You can call me Audrey.”

“T-Thanks, Audrey,” said Lillie, and she noticed her fingers fidgeted nervously, so she clasped her hands together while she talked more with the two women and got caught up on the goings-on at the Kukui household. She learned how Audrey’s older sister, Jessica, had moved to Hoenn shortly after Angie was born; and how happy Audrey and Jason were when Angie had enrolled in Kala’e and came back to Alola to study. Audrey was told how Lillie had met Angie some weeks ago and was at the shop today to buy clothes for a casual hike. Lillie found herself also eternally grateful to Angie that the girl did not say to her aunt that the outfit was to be for a date.

Lillie sighed wistfully, thinking how it was such a beautiful thing that such beautiful people existed in the world; but couldn’t help but to wonder why they only ever seemed to orbit around her, instead of meeting in an embrace.

But that had been half a week ago, and now the big day had come, with Lillie wearing the fun casual clothes that were equivalent in her mind to the types of ball gowns she often had to wear that most girls would dream of instead.

“Hey,” Gladion called to her as he approached, noticing she was daydreaming of what lay ahead on the mountain. “Lillie.”

She squeaked and jumped when she heard him, immediately feeling her heart rate increase when she met Gladion’s eyes. She instantly swooned over him, finding his messy hair and fully pierced ear to be so handsome, along with the way he towered over her as he got close.

“Hi,” she said, trying to control her blush and desire to cling to him.

“You look really cute,” he said, and Lillie’s heart jumped again when she noticed there was a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, too.

“T-Thank you,” she replied bashfully. “S-So, um… so do—you look good, too.”

He wore a band tee and ripped skinny jeans, and also had a hoodie tied around his waist—mostly ruddy flannel with a black hood. With his arms bare in the sunlight, Lillie noted his many tattoos that covered both of his arms; she had always seen them, but more as in just factually knowing they were there. This time she really saw them, and thought that he looked very cool, and that his unique style—edgy; bad boy—was something that made her stomach flop, though she had never realized before that such a style was a turn-on for her. Maybe the infatuation was simply because this was just how Gladion looked; and she only adored him more now—and everything that made him who he was.

He smiled—a cocky, charismatic smile that was also dreadfully attractive—and put a hand on her shoulder while he leaned down to put his face to the top of her head where she smelled like a crown of flowers rested there.

Lillie shivered, thinking he was going to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Not here,” he muttered, close to her so that no one around could hear. “Sorry.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as they nodded to each other.

“When we get up there,” Gladion gestured to the mountain, “I’m hoping we can. I know a nice spot that’s pretty secluded where we’ll set up to hang out.”

He had a much larger backpack than Lillie, which had a blanket folded into the straps, and she assumed there was food and other picnicking accouterments in there, as he had said he planned to spend the whole day with her.

Lillie’s heart fluttered as Gladion turned to head to the trail and she was happy she had at least thought of bringing more than one water bottle.

“Oh, but—” she started, then flushed and stared at her feet.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to her.

“I—um… I don’t know what you brought for lunch, but I should run into the Pokémon Center and grab a veggie wrap or something I can eat—”

He made a face.

“Okay—not offended that you’d assume I’m a bad cook, because I don’t know how to, or even have a kitchen for that matter—but I didn’t make anything, I just grabbed malasadas on my way here.”

“But I don’t eat—”

“Meat, right?” Gladion said, confused. “I know. Yours is all vegetables. Unless you don’t like malasadas at all?”

Shit, did I fuck up already?

But Lillie’s face brightened.

“N-No! I mean—I love malasadas! That’s perfect! I j-just, didn’t know if you remembered that I’m a vegetarian.”

“Of course I do,” he said, matter-of-fact even in his nerves. “You’ve been a vegetarian since you were thirteen.”

Lillie’s face flushed.

I’m stupid. He’s not like Mother. Still… Gladion… I’ve hardly spent any time with you since then and you still remember…

“You coming, or are you gonna stand there and daydream?” he asked her, blushing a bit himself.

Why is she acting weird? Am I acting weird?

“I’m coming!” Lillie called, and scampered over to him, her stomach jittering with all those busy Butterfree again as she reached his side and couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed and imprinted on her face, though she tried to conceal it.

He really has… always paid attention to me…

Together they started up the mountain, and it was truly a glorious day. The weather had, for once, behaved, and it wasn’t too hot; perhaps, though they hadn’t made it to the top of Mount Lanakila yet, the temperatures around here—the only place in Alola where Ice-types made their homes—was in general of a more pleasant climate. The sky was bluer than the ocean, and the clouds were whipped cream.

The sun was more than tolerable. It was almost nice.

Gladion and Lillie said so to each other, along with other mundane chatter as they took their time picking along the dusty trail through the jungle that both cluttered and cleared at various plateaus and denser brush. It was much drier, most of the humidity having been left to sea level, and the lusher vegetation was beginning to fall behind, too.

Several carefree passersby met their eyes with subtle kind nods, and a family with three kids hooted and hollered hello’s at them. Lillie waved back but Gladion was irritated. He had chosen a picnic for this date not only because he knew Lillie liked to get out into nature despite being frightened by most wild Pokémon; and not only because he thought it was cute and romantic and other silly things he had never thought of before; but because they would mostly—in full hope of when they reached the peak of their destination—be totally alone.

“Don’t glare at them, Gladion,” he heard Lillie say from beside him as he was lost in his thoughts, indeed glaring at a child. “It’s not nice.”

He turned to her, eyes blazing and blinking fast.

“I wasn’t,” was his immediate, instinctive lie.

“Yes, you were,” said Lillie, though she was laughing, and her cheeks were round and flushed.

He couldn’t help that the same expression then befell him.

“I just want all these people to go away,” he groaned, playful and whiny, and made an expression which made Lillie laugh more.

I’m so happy to be with Gladion, she thought.

She couldn’t help that she smiled so much and her thoughts were so euphoric that it felt like her mind was lit up like a disco ball, all the sun in the sky and the wind in her hair like diamond fractals of freedom and peace as she glanced around the landscape surrounding her. Gladion’s gaze was focused only on Lillie, and she balked when she turned back to him.

“W-Why are you staring at me?”

Did I do something weird? Do I look dumb? She thought nervously, but he had been thinking: Because you’re gorgeous, and—

“I really like your outfit,” he said, somewhat stupidly. “It’s… I don’t know. It’s trendy but it’s unique. You look like you.”

He steamed inside, feeling like absolutely everything that came out of his mouth was unbearably cringey, and like he was caught up in a web of dull, silly phrases that he couldn’t move past no matter how hard he tried to string his thoughts together, tripping over his own words.

“Thanks,” Lillie muttered, very happy despite her apprehension. “I think I feel more like me, too…”

Whoever that is, she thought.

“And your hair—” Gladion’s heart beat fast.

“Yeah,” Lillie couldn’t help but to blush and sigh. “It’s the ribbon you gave me—”

“—For your birthday a while ago. Yeah. I noticed.”

“Yeah,” said Lillie, breathless.

She was about to ramble on about how she hoped he’d notice, insecure and blundering, when he reached out and took her hand, interlacing his fingers through hers. She shivered at the warmth and looked up at him with her lips parted as a soft gasp escaped her.

“Not too many people around here now,” Gladion replied, looking away from her with his own face flushed, though he didn’t let go of her hand.

Fucking hell, he thought, his heart hammering in his ribs.

All the girls before—fuck—any of the girls before had never made him feel like—fuck! Why did he even bother comparing them to Lillie anymore? Not only was there no contest of any kind, but his past romantic experiences weren’t even on the same plane as this one with Lillie, which may as well exist in outer space, where angels like her were breathed into existence.

This one is real, he found himself thinking, his gut sinking. Fuck. Fuck. Why did it have to be her?

He glanced over at Lillie, noticing she smiled nervously down at her feet.

How could it have ever been anyone but her?

She stole a glance back at him, and their eyes met.

Gladion couldn’t help himself but to laugh.

“Kinda stupid, huh?” he joked. “We’re acting like dorks and I’ve already touched your boobs.”

“Gladion!” Lillie turned scarlet, but her expression wasn’t displeased.

He was glad for that.

“I mean, I have,” he laughed again.

Better to make a joke about that than the looming fact that he was her brother. Lillie seemed to have the same thought as her smile faltered, and so, damnable as it was, Gladion switched up the conversation as smoothly as he could manage into small talk.

“How’d your piano lesson go yesterday?” he asked her.

Lillie sighed. After mid-term exams, she had a week off of schooling, but was still not exempt from music and dance lessons.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, actually. I started learning a new piece. The Melancholy of Chandelure.”

“Huh. Can’t say I know that one,” said Gladion, dragging his feet a little. He kicked a rock aside on the dusty road and it made a small ashy cloud. “Hey, do you actually like playing piano? I mean, I know your teacher’s a dick, but it’s a pretty instrument.”

Lillie perked her eyes up to him, blinking her feathery lashes over her cool green eyes. Gladion blushed.

“I do like it,” she replied. “Strangely enough. It is a pretty instrument. I do wish Mr. von Lewis was nicer, but I love music. I sometimes feel like my mind clears a little when I’m playing. It’s not often, but Mr. von Lewis does compliment me occasionally, too. More than can be said for Miss Lively at the ballet studio.”

Gladion sighed in a bit of an envious grumble.

“That’s good to hear.”

“What about you, Gladion?” Lillie asked, clearly not recognizing his tone as she blinked her shimmery eyes at him again—and clearly having no idea of the effect she had on him just by being a small angel of a thing. “I saw the guitar at your—uh, apartment. Do you play a lot?”

Now Gladion scowled and grumbled clearly.

“I fucking suck at guitar,” he whined, gut sinking in shame. “It doesn’t matter how much I play. I’m garbage.”

Lillie frowned.

“If you play a lot then you can’t be that bad. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“I’m far from that,” Gladion laughed. “Oliver is perfect.”

Now Lillie sensed his obvious jealousy and quieted.

“I write lyrics sometimes,” Gladion added. It surprised her that he went on, a vulnerable tone in his voice. “But they’re no good either. Every once in a while Oliver will borrow a line from me—he’s the only one I share any good parts with when he helps me practice sometimes—but I think he’s humoring me. Or he just makes it sound better when he adds his chords to it.”

“Would you let me read your lyrics sometime?” Lillie asked. “I’d like to hear you play, too. Even if you think it—uh—sucks.”

He looked at her with a half-smile and patted her head. She pouted at the brotherly action, so he released her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her to his side; Lillie let out a little squeak.

She looked up at him in surprise.

“Haven’t seen anybody else around in a while,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the forestry, which had grown thick and muddled—not at all like vibrant swooping, draping jungle—and dusted here and there with sprinkles of snow.

Lillie flushed and slid her fingers into place between his. The two of them went silent as they moved along.

Cute, Gladion sighed internally.

“It’s getting chilly,” Lillie remarked as they had gone along the hardening trail for a bit. She unlaced her hoodie from her waist and pulled it over her head, noticing it made the temperature perfectly comfortable. That Angie sure was talented. “Are we going all the way up?”

She was already slightly winded and woefully getting sweaty, and didn’t think she could possibly hike all the way up, knowing as well that the terrain would grow rockier the higher they scaled Lanakila.

“Nope,” Gladion replied. “Almost there, actually. It’s just that the climate gets all messed up around here. There’s both cliff sides with harsh winds and more comfortable plains mixed up together. We’re going for the latter.”

He looked around.

“They’re enjoying it over there, though. Look.”

He pointed with his other hand to a gently sloping section of hill at the base of scraggly rocks that jutted up against the side of the mountain.

“Hm?” 

Lillie looked up and saw some yards away, just visible through thick gray-green trees that were foreign to her, a group of Sandshrew were playing. The wild Pokémon took turns rolling themselves into glossy little balls and skiing down the snow-flecked hill, making a kind of chattering noise like laughter when they hit the bottom and laid on their backs in the grass. Gladion held a finger to his lips to signal Lillie to be quiet so that she could hear it.

“They’re so sweet,” Lillie whispered, breathless. 

As she wasn’t—and likely, in her mind, never would be—a Trainer, she wasn’t used to seeing Pokémon in their natural habitat; mostly, she tried to avoid them with Max Repels. She admired them in her books and when she passed them with their Trainers in the city, but hardly ever in her life had she been among their territory where they roamed freely as she felt they deserved to. This was why she didn’t eat them, and wouldn’t wear them, and even sometimes questioned their being put at risk of harm in battles.

Wide-eyed and innocent, she herself was sweet. Gladion squeezed her hand.

“C’mon, we’re not much further over here.”

“Aw, but I want to take a picture, Gladion!” Lillie pouted, clasping her Pokétch that she had pulled out of her jeans pocket.

He rolled his eyes. Girls.

“Nah, you’d just scare them away if you got too close. Better to just enjoy them as they are.”

She pouted again as she put away her phone.

“Hmph.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

Finally, they reached a crowd of shrubs dotted with Berries that grew wildly around the stumps and full-grown fluffy, prickly trees that Lillie knew were called firs. Still holding Lillie’s hand, Gladion brushed through a thin cut of vegetation to a grassy plateau that spread a safe fifteen yards away from the edge of a cliff.

A chilling breeze blew hard at that moment, and the plush green ribbon on Lillie’s ponytail rippled in front of her eyes as she looked out over the Alolan islands, gorgeous sandcastles sprouting up between gaps of surf. Akala was closest, with Wela Volcano proudly casting a smoky halo over the terrain, with Melemele next just behind it, and Poni smaller in the distance, rounding out the islands of Alola in the shape of a crescent moon.

Yet, just off to the side of these organic, sand and earth lands surrounded by ocean, was the blinding white husk of Aether Paradise, grotesque beneath the bright sun. It was a blemish on the utopian landscape. It was smooth and solid and unnatural amongst all of the tumbling organic things.

It made Lillie feel a little sick.

The rest of it was enough to make up for it, however. How strange the land she grew up in, which often felt like a dark cave, looked like out in the sun, high and far away as it would from the eyes of a Bird. It was so much bigger than the manor rooms; the air was so much fresher, and the ocean smelt like a strong salt musk even from so high up as they were, where the scent mixed with a snowy crispness.

“It looks beautiful,” Lillie sighed. “It is terribly beautiful. How funny.”

She turned to look over her shoulder and smiled at Gladion. He felt all the air leave his lungs in another gust of wind in response to what a pretty sight she was, bordered by deep blue.

“If we put the backpacks and some heavier stuff on the edges of the blanket, it shouldn’t flap around,” he said gruffly, getting to work setting up the picnic instead of saying anything to her about her own beauty.

Lillie helped him, wondering whether this blanket—forest green check—was something Gladion had already owned for his own time spent out training in the wilds. She realized, glancing up at him with his multiple ear piercings and tattooed arms and ripped jeans, that it most certainly couldn’t be, and so he had bought it for today. The thought made her blush and nervously chew at her lower lip as she positioned her bag on the bottom right corner of the flattened blanket.

He did all of this just for me, she thought, her heart beating fast.

Gladion’s eyes met hers when he finished setting up their picnic area.

“Wanna eat these malasadas?”

“Yeah.”

There was an extra one for Silvally, whom Gladion let out of its Premiere Ball while they were eating. It appeared, monstrous in visage, but impeccably well-mannered and gentle in temperament—at least when it wasn’t battling. The Pokémon carried a tender regality, and settled down on its front claws and back haunches in the grass beside the blanket.

“Hello,” said Lillie, beaming.

The creature nodded deferentially to her and then snapped its jaws wide as Gladion tossed a malasada into its mouth.

“Guess it's hungry,” Lillie laughed. She looked from the Pokémon to Gladion, noticing he was smiling as well. “Has Silvally been well, Gladion?”

Silvally made a pleased noise that made her giggle.

“Mhm,” he replied with a mouthful of malasada. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now that Silvally’s been with me a long time, it's perfectly well-adjusted. But it's shy when it's not fighting. It doesn’t like being around people; and I don’t like for it to be, either. No need to advertise a Pokémon that no one’s ever seen before.”

He narrowed his eyes and glowered at his malasada like it was one of the scientists in the Aether labs who had originally chained Silvally up when it was called Type: Null. Silvally bent over and licked the side of his face. Gladion rubbed the horn on the top of its head and playfully pushed it away.

“Silvally evolved once the both of you had gotten really close, right?”

“Guess so,” he replied, blinking hard into Silvally’s eyes as though telling it to be quiet.

Lillie giggled.

“Kind of like a high-friendship evolution, huh?”

Gladion blushed.

“Kind of like that, I guess.”

There was a tickle in Lillie’s stomach as she smiled at him, making him feel the same way.

“Huntress evolved that way too, right?”

Huntress was Gladion’s Umbreon.

“Yes; you know that’s how an Eevee evolves into an Umbreon.”

Lillie giggled.

She’s making fun of me.

Gladion tries to act so tough, but he’s really so sweet.

It’s kind of nice to see her so carefree.

“Hey, Lillie? I wanted to ask you something,” said Gladion after a moment.

He had finished eating and sprawled out on the blanket beside her.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“You used to be a bit of a rebel, you know,” he said.

Now he was teasing her.

“What!? Me?”

“Yeah. When you stole that strange Space Pokémon from Lusamine and ran away from home with it.”

He had been so worried when he had learned; had done everything he could to misdirect Team Skull when they began looking for her but had ultimately failed. If it weren’t for that Island Challenge kid, Sun, then he might’ve lost at Aether Paradise when he went to rescue her alone. He hated himself for that, still; being fucking weak, both in leaving her alone in the first place and then being too pathetic to save her.

“Oh… then,” said Lillie.

She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, looking away.

“That wasn’t really rebellious,” she murmured. “I saw a Pokémon suffering and I just acted on instinct—like when a mother sees her baby in trouble and can—can seem to lift a car or something.”

She chuckled, though it was largely self-derogatory.

“I think it was pretty brave—and rebellious,” Gladion said. “I mean, like I said, you ran away from home—just like me. And when Lusamine confronted you to take Cosmog back, you talked back to her.”

Lillie flushed scarlet.

“I was just acting on instinct again. I was worried for Nebby. And I was being a spoiled brat.”

Gladion scoffed.

“A spoiled brat? Is that what she told you when she woke up from her coma?”

“Yes,” Lillie muttered as a whistling gust of wind blew past; strands of her long blonde hair stuck to her lips and she wiped them away.

“She’s trash,” Gladion said back without hesitation.

He paused, though; there was a rotten feeling in his gut, and it wasn’t a side effect of digesting the delicious malasada.

“And she cracked down on you worse after that, huh?”

Lillie’s shoulders tightened.

“Yes. Yes, she did.”

Fuck.

“Sorry,” Gladion said lamely.

He turned his face to the sky and watched the clouds drift past. It was truly a gorgeous day, and the clouds made all kinds of fluffy pictures. Gladion wanted to wrap his arms around his sister and hold her, but he felt awkward for some reason he couldn’t explain. Was she upset from his talking about what happened with Cosmog?

Why the fuck did I have to bring that up? When she was looking happy, too. Idiot.

He turned toward petting Silvally while he looked upwards and away from all of his mistakes, and Lillie picked idly at the grass beside her, feeling guilty every time she plucked a blade but continuing to do it anyway. The hand that committed the crime was the same that her mother had grabbed the other day when scolding her on the state of the house. She could feel the bruises and the tiny pricks on her skin as though she was being punished with them right then.

She shook herself out of her reverie and looked over at Gladion, the profile of his face so handsome as he stared up at the sky. Her heart started to beat erratically again. Despite the mood she had just let fall over her, it had been a beautiful day; and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

There was something she wanted to ask, too.

“Um, H-Hey… Gladion?” Lillie spoke up, stuttering.

He turned to her from where he had been watching the clouds, having just noticed one that looked like a ship—a large ocean liner that could sail away from Alola to another continent.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She cleared her throat.

“U-Um… Well…” she blushed, feeling both nervous to ask what she wanted to and worried that he would be upset with her for revealing her breach of secrecy. “A while ago, I accidentally mentioned to my two friends—I didn’t say anything remotely relating to you at all, I swear!—that I was kind of… “seeing” or, um, “dating” some… whoever I let them think was a mysterious guy.”

She couldn’t look him in the eye.

Gladion sighed.

“You’ve got to be careful with that, Lillie,” he chided her.

“I-I know,” she tried to recover, shameful. “It really came out as an accident—and they have absolutely no idea who the “mysterious guy” is at all—I promise. And I completely trust them, too; they’re my closest and… only friends. I’m sorry.”

Gladion tilted his head to the side and took a breath, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Well, to be honest… I’m sorry for giving you a hard time just now—” he admitted, “—since I said something similar to Oliver, too. Obviously without indicating you at all, just the same. It was the night after we first kissed.”

Lillie perked up and turned her head to him.

“You said that you were dating someone?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“No,” he said. He suddenly found he didn’t understand words anymore; and, to be fair, their situation was extremely complicated. Still, to articulate what he had expressed to Oliver that night was not only garbled by psychedelics, but out of line in sexual content for the moment, as well as unacceptably revealing in depth of romantic emotions. “Just that I was… I don’t know, or remember, really… uh, just that I was interested in someone, I guess.”

They both blushed.

“Ah… I see,” Lillie muttered.

She tried as hard as she could to muster up the confidence to ask the real question she needed to ask before it ate her up whole.

“W-Well, I brought it up because I was just wondering… if, um… with everything we’ve done… if… if you saw us as… you know—maybe—a “couple” now?” she blushed furiously and her throat constricted. “Even though this is technically our first actual date. Ha… ha…”

Gladion’s face immediately grew serious, his eyes brighter and piercing her with some kind of dark desperation from deep within him.

“Is that something you would want?” he asked, words exiting his mouth quickly as if in an emergency. “To be my girlfriend? Or whatever we would call it?”

Lillie looked over to him with her own misty doe-eyes, perfectly pink lips parted.

“Yes,” she replied, spine tingling. “If—obviously—if you wanted that, too, I mean.”

He nodded slowly, the same intense look not only in his eyes but all over his face.

“Yeah. I would,” he said. 

A pause.

“I… couldn’t stand it if you were with anyone else.”

Stop talking, Gladion. 

He couldn’t.

“And, either way, I want you to be with me.”

Only me—he was obsessed with that thought; and, as his possessiveness of her had yet to ever been able to be caged the way it sought to imprison her, he said so.

“Only me.”

In the same way, Lillie couldn’t stop her smile, radiating the glow of being in love for the first time.

“I want to be with you, too,” she said, her voice as innocently pleased and excited as a child’s. “I—I don’t want to be with anyone else either—I—”

“Okay,” Gladion replied, his facial muscles relaxing as that dark feeling slithered off his shoulders for the time being. He made sure to look her directly in the eyes. “Then the answer is yes; you’re my girl.”

Lillie’s heart floated out of her chest in a gentle breeze; Gladion’s was caught up in a tornado.

You’re my girl.

“That makes me so hap—”

He leaned up and cut her off with a quick kiss, lingering only for a moment.

“Sorry,” he whispered, settling down again onto his back—and his pink-tinged cheeks didn’t escape Lillie’s notice, which only made her heart melt more. “That’s the most I think we can get away with for the moment.”

Gladion briefly looked away from Lillie and scanned the area for other hikers and sightseers, but didn’t spot anybody nearby, and so reached up and gently grabbed a handful of her ponytail.

Fuck that.

“Come here.”

Though he pulled her lips down to meet his in what was in some ways an aggressive gesture, he kissed her gently, not even forcing her to part her mouth for him—though to his delight she did—and they kissed deeply, eyes closed in ecstasy.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words fell out of Gladion’s mouth as they separated and he let go of her hair so that she could straighten up.

Lillie’s face tingled as though an undercurrent of warm electricity circuited the muscles beneath her skin.

“I… really like…”

I really like you?

Was that something that even made sense to say to her brother? Would it even make sense to say to her brother who had just become her boyfriend? Would it even make sense when in full truth she was in love with him?

She forcefully tore herself away from his gaze and coughed delicately.

“I really like… being with you like this,” she managed. “You know.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know.”

Gladion brushed the back of his fingers down the length of her arm. Even though their skin didn’t meet with the bulky hoodie in the way, the intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down Lillie’s spine—with the way he looked at her, so fervidly, she imagined herself naked with him—and it was almost too much to take.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The rest of their date was mild and pleasant as the cheerful weather; they chatted and laughed and gossipped about their friends, feeling closer than ever before; and young, and free, and though it was unspoken, in love. Lillie was sad when Gladion noted the time and let her know that if they didn’t get going it would be sundown before she headed home, so they packed up their things and began the trek back down the mountain. The trails had been blissfully empty of hikers today, which allowed Gladion to hold Lillie’s hand as they walked. The temperature had gotten cooler now, though, as the hours did approach sunset. Gladion had donned his hybrid flannel-hoodie and Lillie walked even closer to his side than was necessary.

They were picking their way down a pesky bit of steep terrain when Lillie gasped at a gruesome sight some ways off to the side of a snowy patch in between grisly firs.

“Hey, be careful!” Gladion scolded her in a worried tone as he caught and steadied her.

“G-Gladion,” Lillie stuttered, “look over there.”

Blood covered the frosty grass of the small plateau which rippled in the wind beneath the body of a fallen Pokémon. The beast was a majestic Ninetales, its silken white fur seeming to glisten with ice where it wasn’t dyed pink and red. Something had caught and feasted on this creature—doubtlessly only to survive itself, but the reality of this very dead form still made Lillie want to throw up.

“That’s terrible,” she cried, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked down at the ground with tears budding in her eyes while Gladion put a hand on her shoulder.

“This happens in the wild,” he said, still sorry that she had to see it. “Don’t look at it.”

Lillie didn’t want to look, but a strange rustle dragged her eyes back to the bloodied mess of nature and death.

“Gladion… it’s moving,” she said, squeamish.

“What? No, Lillie; it’s dead—”

“Something is moving beneath the tails,” said Lillie, pulling away from him and starting over to the dead body as though something had possessed her, calling her near.

“Lillie! Get away from there,” said Gladion, following her. “You don’t know if there are still dangerous Pokémon around.”

Lillie felt sick approaching the torn body of the deceased Ninetales. Still, spirited away, she knelt down beside it, trying not to look at the gore.

“Hey… I see you,” she said to the corpse’s moving tails. “You can come out… I won’t hurt you.”

“Lillie—” Gladion started, but Lillie held out a hand to stop him.

A small noise came from the mass of white fur. It sounded frightened.

“I hear you. I won’t hurt you. Come out,” said Lillie softly.

To Gladion’s surprise, a tiny ball of soft, gleaming silver with big violet eyes climbed out of the dead Pokémon’s tails that it had been hiding beneath. It was the most puny Vulpix he had ever seen, about the size of a Caterpie. It sat down a couple feet from Lillie, crying.

“Yeah, that’s it… Hello,” said Lillie. It was the cutest creature she had ever laid eyes on, though it shook in a pitiful way that tugged at her heartstrings. “Is it a baby?”

“Yes, but it should still be bigger than that,” said Gladion, studying it. How did she see it beneath all the fur? “I think it’s a runt. Also, the coloring looks a little different.”

The Vulpix stood on its fours, sniffing the ground as it contemplated getting closer to Lillie. Carefully, Lillie held out her hand for the Fox Pokémon to get acquainted with her scent.

“You know, the more I look at it… I think it’s a Shiny variant,” said Gladion, shocked. “Holy shit.”

“Isn’t that phenomenon really rare?” asked Lillie, entranced by the creature in front of her. She watched the Vulpix carefully, making sure to keep her hand perfectly relaxed and still as it approached. “See? I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah. Running into one in person is a once in a lifetime experience,” said Gladion. He shook his head in disbelief. “I swear, special Pokémon are drawn to you.”

It’s like she has some kind of supernatural aura, he thought, flabbergasted.

The Vulpix drew closer, tentatively taking baby steps toward Lillie’s hand. Its nose brushed against her fingertips.

“Hi, baby. Was that your mother?” asked Lillie. “I’m so sorry.”

The pup made sad noises, whimpering. She was usually terrified of wild Pokémon, but more than anything Lillie wanted to take this little creature into her arms and make sure it was never sad again.

“Gladion, do you have anything to feed it?” Lillie asked him. “It might be hungry.”

“Yeah, hold on,” he slung his backpack off one shoulder and unzipped it. 

“Carefully; I don’t want to scare it,” said Lillie, staying still as a statue with her eyes on the little Pokémon.

The Vulpix watched with wary eyes as Gladion crept up behind Lillie and handed her a Sitrus Berry. Lillie put a hand behind her back to take it from him, then slowly reached out and went to place it on the ground in front of her before pausing to think for a moment. The Vulpix cocked its head to the side in mimicry. Lillie scrutinized the Berry before deciding to break off a few small pieces and place those out instead.

“Here. That’s for you,” said Lillie to the pint-sized creature. “You should eat. Your mother was probably looking for food for you when she… Oh. You probably don’t want to hear that. I bet you want to get away from here, huh?”

Tentatively, the Pokémon sniffed the Berry pieces all over, pausing to watch Lillie for sudden movements. After a moment, it bowed its head and took a bite.

“Good,” said Lillie, and she was so relieved she sighed, smiling. “I’m glad.”

Touched by the gentleness and care of this scene, Gladion had an idea.

“You should catch it,” he said with some stunned bravado.

“B-But I’m not a Trainer,” Lillie replied, surprised, looking at him over her shoulder. “I’ve never owned a Pokémon. I don’t even have a PokéBall on me.”

“You can have one of mine,” Gladion insisted. “I think it likes you.”

The Vulpix took another bite of the Berry, then stepped aside from it and took several steps closer to Lillie, sniffing. Lillie looked back at it, biting her lip.

“I-I don’t know, Gladion… I don’t really know anything about taking care of Pokémon,” she said softly, looking at the Fox Pokémon with sadness. “It wouldn’t be any good for it to be with me.”

The Vulpix came closer to her, sniffing her jeans and her skin where the denim was frayed.

“Well, with its mother gone, it has no one to take care of it now,” Gladion pointed out. “And being a runt it might be weaker than most other Vulpix. It might not do so well in the wild on its own.”

It would probably be eaten not long after we left it, he thought, his stomach twisting as he realized he had better not say that to Lillie.

“I don’t know…” Lillie repeated, watching as the Pokémon sat down in front of her. It was still quivering occasionally, but she could’ve sworn she saw its tails twitch in curiosity. “We could bring it with us to the Pokémon Center and give it up for adoption.”

Gladion grimaced, glad Lillie’s attention was on the Vulpix so that she couldn’t see his expression. Surrendering a Shiny Pokémon was perhaps equally as dangerous as leaving a defenseless baby out in the wild, what with how it would attract shady people—perhaps even worse characters than Team Skull; though, on second thought, Gladion doubted that. People like those in Team Skull and who they answered to were the danger—but he didn’t tell Lillie that, either. Instead he worked to convince her to adopt the little thing herself.

“Here,” said Gladion, figuring his sister needed a push. He took an Ultra Ball out of his pocket and held it out for her. “I think it would be good for you to take care of a Pokémon. Think of it as a friend; you don’t need to battle with it. It will be a nice distraction when you’re miserable at home alone.”

Taking another glance at the tiny beast, Lillie stood up and took the Ultra Ball from Gladion, examining it.

“What… What do I do with it?” asked Lillie, embarrassed that the everyday object was so foreign to her.

“Just throw it,” said Gladion, hoping that the Vulpix wouldn’t run away before Lillie had a chance to catch it. Though it shivered and licked its paws and maintained a nervous countenance, it didn’t at all seem like it wanted to get away, however.

“That seems aggressive,” said Lillie hesitantly. “Will it hurt it?”

“No,” said Gladion, shaking his head and laughing. She was so cute. “Go on. You can do it.”

Frowning, Lillie looked down at her new friend.

Could she really do it? Could she catch and care for a Pokémon all on her own? Would that really be a good idea? Would it really be okay—as though she needed permission to do something that ordinary people did every day of their lives? Lillie really didn’t know, but for some reason she took a deep breath and gently dropped the Ultra Ball on the Vulpix’s head.

“Sorry!” she cried, watching as a glowing white and blue light enveloped the Fox. The Pokémon disappeared and the Ultra Ball rolled on the ground. “Is… Is that it?”

“Give it a second,” said Gladion.

The Ultra Ball shuddered once; twice; three times. Then it stopped.

“Did it work?” asked Lillie, all nerves in this new experience.

“Yes. It’s yours,” said Gladion. “Good job.”

Lillie released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She bent down and picked the Ball up, looking it over in her hands.

“Huh,” sighed Lillie. She didn’t know if she was supposed to feel a certain way now that she had caught her own Pokémon. She felt like the same old Lillie, apprehensive and unsure of herself. “What do I do now?”

“Take care of it. Bond with it,” said Gladion, stepping over to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “It’ll depend on you now for everything.”

Lillie stared at the Ultra Ball in wonder, thinking about the weight of responsibility she had just taken on by becoming this orphaned Pokémon’s Trainer.

A Trainer? Am I really a Trainer now?

“I… I’ll do my best for it,” Lillie declared, suddenly flooded with memories of when she had taken care of Nebby as a small child. That was the closest she had ever come to being a Trainer, and it had been quite a challenge to have that mythical troublemaker of a creature in her charge. At least this Pokémon didn’t seem nearly as dangerous. She put the Ultra Ball in her pocket. It felt strange.

“Gladion?” she looked up at him with her eyes shimmering, and he already knew he couldn’t say no to whatever it was she was going to ask. 

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Would you come with me to the Pokémon Center?” she asked. “I’ve never been to one to actually heal an injured Pokémon before. I’m… It probably sounds stupid, but I’m really nervous.”

He nodded.

“It’s not stupid. I’ll go with you—I was going to suggest that, anyway, when we got back down to Route 14.”

She threw herself against him and hugged him tight.

“Thank you.”

Gladion couldn’t stop himself from laughing and petting her head.

Lillie’s eyes wandered back to the dead Ninetales, flittering away when she felt she had observed too much detail of the loathsome scene.

“I wish we could do something for her,” said Lillie with genuine sadness. “Maybe… Can we just take a moment of silence to honor her?”

“Okay. That’s a good idea,” Gladion agreed.

He hated himself that something in him still found it silly and derogatory of him to be going along with this so as to humor her; but another part whispered that something about this was special. Certainly something about Lillie was special. There seemed to be no end to her gentleness, and his heart bubbled with love for her. What a delicate, sensitive soul his sister was. Everything in him found it foolish to pray over the body of a dead Pokémon in the wild—except for his heart, which belonged entirely to Lillie, and whom in her own heart found this act a necessity. Did she believe in the Legendary Gods? He didn’t know—or how to ask. Despite the fact that she had met one—Nebby’s fully evolved form—it was still a question whether people believed these Pokémon cared about the lives of mundane society and others of their kind. He surely wasn’t a believer—thought only of them as the most powerful of beasts, and that people were all alone with their affairs in the world, no matter how much they prayed.

They stood in silence, bowing their heads as the wind picked up again, rustling the frosty grass and the trees, making a rather peaceful noise. Death and new life were intertwined in nature, and Lillie took a moment to process and appreciate that. Maybe the Ninetales had died so that her pup could live.

“Rest easy,” said Lillie after a few moments had passed. “I promise I’ll take good care of your baby.”

Gladion kissed the top of Lillie’s head, then grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said gently.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

No longer than an hour later, Nurse Joy ushered them into the room where the little Fox was curled up into a tight ball on the hospital bed, her interstellar eyes boring away at the wall.

“She’s completely fine physically,” said Joy, addressing Lillie; it was a strange feeling for Lillie to be acknowledged as the Trainer of a Pokémon. “Just some typical scratches and calluses from the harsh brush on the mountain, which should completely disappear by this evening as a result of a good cleaning and antibiotic ointment on them. It would be an extremely rare occurrence, but if they don’t, please bring her back right away. Otherwise, she’s in a bit of a difficult temperament—it’s hard to say if it’s because of her personality or the conditions in which you found her, since she’s so young. She’s timid, but a little feisty.”

The nurse laughed as she glanced at her own forearm.

“She scratched me up a bit herself,” she chuckled, with entirely good humor, as these minor injuries were ones that happened to her often. “I know you only just caught her, but have you given her a name?”

Lillie shook her head.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind a humble nurse’s opinion,” Joy said in her kind voice, “I might suggest Snowy. While I was treating her, she kept letting out these little puffs of cold air filled with the tiniest snowflakes I have ever seen. It was really quite adorable.”

The Vulpix glowered at the nurse, apparently of the opinion that something terribly embarrassing had just been revealed about herself, yet hiccuped another powder of snow at just the same moment.

“Snowy,” murmured Lillie.

It was true that Lillie had found her in the snow, and that her fur, in all the whimsy of a fable, was white as snow. It was true, obviously, that snow fell on Mount Lanakila—but that was the only place it did, and therefore was, in a respect, an anomaly to the typical climate of Alola. Snow was nearly antonymic to the essence of the islands of Alola themselves; and, somewhat strangely, that made snow good.

Lillie picked the Pokémon up off the bed and it squirmed in her arms. Though not struggling enough to leave scratches as it had on Joy, it clearly did not want to be held in the moment.

“Um…”

“You could just put her back in the Ball for now,” Gladion suggested.

Lillie looked dreadfully indecisive. Snowy—it was yet unspokenly decided—was not making things easier.

“It’s really okay, Lillie,” Gladion explained to her. “She’ll be fine in there.”

Lillie glanced over at Nurse Joy as though to double check. The woman smiled and nodded and Gladion once again petted Lillie’s head as she put Snowy away. It was so incredibly adorable to him that she didn’t know what to do that he had to hold in a laugh so that she wouldn’t think he thought she was stupid.

It was easy for Joy to recognize that Lillie was a new Trainer, and so she politely cleared her throat and gave Lillie some instruction on how to care for her charge.

“Since she’s so young, I would recommend feeding her mashed Berries with a little bit of bland meat for about a month. After that she should be able to eat any appropriate Pokémon food or meals you’d like to cook for her.”

“Thank you so much,” said Lillie, bowing her head. “I’ll do my best and let you know if I have any problems.”

Joy laughed.

“Certainly,” she said, and bid Gladion and Lillie goodbye.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Hiding out in the brush behind the Pokémon Center, Gladion stared wistfully at Lillie and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I wish I could take you home with me,” he said.

“I would like that,” she whispered, flitting her eyes away from him and toeing her boot in the dirt. All of a sudden, a tear streamed down her cheek.

“Lillie? What’s wrong?” Gladion asked, lifting her chin. He chuckled. “You don’t have to be that sad.”

He kissed her chastely.

“I’ll see you again soon. As soon as I can, alright, princess? Sooner than last time.”

“N-No, Gladion,” she sniffled. “I-It’s…”

Wiping carefully under her eye so as not to smudge her makeup, she pulled up her sleeve and showed him her wrist.

“Holy shit,” he grunted. “What the fuck?”

He looked into her eyes with a hard-as-steel concern.

“What is this? What did that fucking woman do now?”

Gladion’s whipping tone of voice hurt Lillie. She knew that he wasn’t angry with her—that he was angry with Lusamine for hurting her—but, somehow, with his raised voice and the hostility it carried, it still triggered her anxiety, and she couldn’t help but to feel like he was angry at her; that it was she who had done something wrong—maybe for not telling him sooner—and not her mother for her abusive actions.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gladion demanded, and Lillie began to cry.

“I—I don’t know!” she sobbed.

“…Do you not trust me?” he hated himself as soon as he asked.

“N-No, it’s not that! I mean, I do trust you, Gladion—completely—more than anyone else—!”

“Then you’re afraid of me?” Gladion hated himself again; never didn’t hate himself.

“No!” Lillie cried. “W-Well… I was worried… what you would do…”

Gladion laughed morosely at himself, frowning hard and suppressing a scoff.

I am a bad person, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Even she thinks so.

But Lillie grabbed his hand with desperate assurance.

“Don’t be mad at me, Gladion! I d-didn’t mean it in a bad way—just that I’m scared of Mother, and—and if it sounded like I don’t trust you, or—or—I’m sorry!”

She sobbed harder.

“Don’t be mad! I’m sorry!”

Some mascara leaked down her face. Gladion saw her whole body shaking and immediately pulled her into his arms.

“Hey. No. Don’t cry. I’m not mad at you,” he asserted himself firmly in a concerned voice. “I’m mad at myself.”

“But I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”

He shushed her, rubbing her back.

“I know. I’m not upset with you, Lillie. You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

She continued to cry in his arms.

“I’m… I’m mad that I don’t know what to do,” Gladion tried to explain his emotions. “I’m mad that I told you I’d protect you and I haven’t been able to figure out what to do about this. I’m mad as all fucking hell that I can’t stop you from continuing to get hurt by that vile fucking monster. I—fuck—”

“I’m sorry,” Lillie repeated, for existing.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, baby.”

“But—the curtains—” she wailed.

Gladion’s chest puffed up in rage.

“She did this to you over curtains!?”

Lillie choked and sniffled against his t-shirt.

“Fuck—Lillie. I’m going to find a way to get you out of there. I promise.”

“I thought… if I ran to you again, eventually we’d get caught—”

“Tell me every time this happens,” Gladion begged, squeezing her. “Please. Do you promise me?”

“But—”

“Promise me. I need to know.”

“I-It won’t matter.”

Suddenly, Lillie’s despair turned to anger.

“What could you even do about it!?” she hated to say it, and she started blubbering like a little baby—or so she admonished herself in her head, feeling as though she were throwing a temper tantrum.

Gladion froze up.

“I don’t mean it i-in a bad wa-ay,” she cried. “I d-don’t mean it like y-you’re n-ot staying true to your w-word, Gladion. I-It’s just—Mother is too powerful. You’ve basically said it and I’m realizing it now myself. What c-could either of us pos-ssibly do?”

She tried to wipe her eyes without ruining her makeup, but the point of ruin was far past.

“We’re helpless. We’re like Goldeen in a bowl.”

“Lillie—”

“What if she finds out about us?” she squeaked.

Only hours ago she had become Gladion’s girlfriend. Now her head began to ache as she realized the full gravity of what that meant if there were ever to be consequences dealt.

“That won’t happen,” Gladion declared, gritting his teeth and vehemently shaking his head.

He held her tight.

“That won’t happen, Lillie,” he said, whispering into her hair. “I’ll never let that happen.”

“But—” she protested again, words muffled in the fabric, “—How—?”

Gladion nuzzled his chin against her head and cradled her.

“It just won’t. I won't let it.”

He sighed.

“You just have to trust me. We both have to trust… in something,” he wished, then, that he believed in the Gods, or even a single God—any higher power at all; but he didn’t. “We have to trust in each other.”

“It’s not good enough,” Lillie muttered.

Gladion murmured some things himself—amongst strings of obscenities—about how he was going to take care of everything; about how he was about to start making more money training for Guzma; about how they’d both get away with their relationship and get away from this place—but Lillie only made out some of it, both with how he whispered and grunted through his ramblings and how she found she couldn’t think straight; could only melt and barely hold herself up in Gladion’s arms.

“I’ll kill her,” Gladion finally swore, clear and sharp as a butcher’s knife.

Lillie gasped, shaken enough to sober herself up.

“Surely that can’t be your solution, Gladion!?”

“No—No,” he shook his head, doing everything he could to suppress his fury as he realized that he was scaring her again. “I’m just gonna figure it out, alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lillie nodded, staring desperately into his eyes.

He cupped her cheek and kissed her.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s alright. Alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lillie nodded.

He squeezed her hands.

“You better get back,” he said.

He meant to add “home,” but it sounded rotten. She knew.

“I know,” she said. “I’ll miss you. I had… a really wonderful time today, Gladion. I feel so happy, I—”

“Me too,” he said. “I promise I’ll see you soon.”

Gladion’s head and chest pounded with equal parts love and anger, and as much as he didn’t want to let Lillie go, he knew for his own sanity that it was time to get away and process the events of the day and the information he had just received alone in his room with weed, beer, and loud music to drown out the torture he felt. Unfortunately, he had a couple of deliveries to make first. He pulled Silvally’s Premiere Ball out of his pocket and released it.

Lillie giggled as the synthetic Pokémon nuzzled her face.

“I’ve got some errands to run before I go home,” Gladion told Lillie. “You’ll be okay taking the ferry back to Akala on your own?”

“Yes,” Lillie replied, straightening herself up and dispelling the last of her tears. “It’s no problem at all for me to get around by myself.”

“Good girl,” said Gladion, and he gave her a quick final kiss before remembering to look around for snooping grunts or nosy busybodies. Miraculously, they had been quite left alone by the general public today, and the trees and tall grasses they had hid themselves away in behind the Pokémon Center were good cover.

Lillie pulled the sleeves of her hoodie back down and adjusted her backpack.

“Okay,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “I’m off.”

“Text me when you get home,” said Gladion. “Let me know how that Pokémon settles in.”

“I will,” Lillie replied.

She hovered there for a moment, wanting to say she loved him before she said goodbye—but time and confidence were fleeting, and she caught herself before drowning in thoughts that she didn’t know if he really did love her, too.

“Bye, Gladion.”

“Bye, Lillie.”

He put a hand on Silvally’s neck as he watched Lillie disappear on the other side of the Pokémon Center. The beast gave him a pointed look.

“You saw her wrist, huh?” Gladion asked it.

Silvally bowed its head in a somber nod, asking Gladion to rescue her.

“I’m trying,” he told it as he hoisted himself up onto the creature’s back. “It isn’t as easy to free her as it was you.”

In many ways it was true, but the parts of Gladion that hated himself told him it was just an excuse.