This is the last of the spam, I prommy,,,, I do also have stuff in the works that isn't from the HGSS era! I just have Many Thoughts about Lyra, Chester, and Naoki navigating their little family reunion. Melody is also there, trying and failing to not make this her business. She's so ready to throw hands with Naoki for Chester's sake, but unfortunately, she thinks he's so fucking cool lmao Anyways, this scene is probably Naoki and Lyra's first one-on-one conversation.
--
Your daddy is like if someone took your papa and made everything the exact opposite. He's tall, so tall that you have to tilt your neck back to look at his face, the way you do when Borrel stands all the way up on her hind legs. He's skinny, like maybe he doesn't eat a lot. His hair is curly and black, instead of the flyaway brown hair Papa gave you. He must have some brown-haired people in his family, because you remember that darker hair is a dominant trait. He wears glasses, which makes you wonder if your eyesight's been bad the whole time, and you just didn't know any better.
The biggest difference between your daddy and your papa is that your daddy is a trainer. A real good one, too. Is that genetic? You wish you hadn't gotten bored so fast when you were doing Punnet squares with Professor Elm last year.
"Hello?" Daddy asks slowly. He's looking at you looking at him, wary like when you turn a corner and lock eyes with a wild Pokemon, both of you frozen in anticipation. Caught out, you flush with embarrassment.
"Um, sorry. I was just--" you wave your hands around, stalling. "I guess I had a question?"
That doesn't seem like the answer he was expecting. His eyebrows (thinner than Papa's, but maybe the same as yours?) go up.
"About me, or...?"
"If that's okay? You could also ask me some stuff. Like, going back and forth."
He doesn't seem mad about you being nosy. Awkward, more like.
"I'm probably not as interesting as you're hyping me up to be in your head, but...sure?" He inclines his head towards you. "Ladies first."
You could ask him all sorts of things, now that he's offered. How'd you meet Papa, why'd y'all break up, are you happy to see me, can i please please please pet your Sylveon--
"How tall're you?"
He laughs, a big, open sound that you wouldn't've expected from someone so elegant-looking.
“I don't know, somewhere around 190? That sounds right."
"Centimeters?" you ask, voice squeaking in the middle of the word.
"Centimeters," he agrees, nodding sagely. There's a smile peeking out at the corners of his lips, but it's not a mean one. "Dare I ask how tall you are?"
You spend a solid three seconds debating whether you could get away with lying. The number "190" is still echoing in your brain, the way people's voices do in cartoons when they shout into a cave. Folks shouldn't get to be that tall in real life.
"The checkup I got for my license said 152," you admit with a grumble. "But! That was way back in January, so maybe i grew?" You look up at him hopefully, even though he didn't know you in January to be able to tell the difference.
"Yeah, uh... Sorry about that. I’d say my genes tried, but," for just a moment, his little smile turns sad, "I don't think I tried hard at much of anything relating to you, did I?"
You don't know what to say to that. Maybe if he was a jerk or something, you'd get mad about you and him not knowing each other 'til now. He seems nice, and you don't want him to feel bad or ashamed about you. Would it be rude to reach across the table and pat his hand or something, to show him you already love him?
You decide that it's okay, by virtue of you being his daughter.
"I just think," you declare in a voice that's a little too casual, a little too loud, "that if i'm half of you, and half of Papa, then i should be the average of y'all's heights, right?"
Your daddy is staring at where your hand (tiny, with stubby fingers) is stacked on top of his (big, with real long fingers). If you looked up the word "gobsmacked" in the dictionary right now, there'd be a picture of his face right next to the definition. His brown eyes flick back up to your brown eyes.
Debated on whether or not to post this phone scrap from last fall, but it is an important part of Naoki's character. This one contains depictions of spiraling/catastrophizing. Basically, Naoki gets it into his head that people will assume he's not one of Lyra's dads because they don't look alike, and will then think he's a creep as a result.
--
You come up to the curb while the crossing light is still red, and everything she's saying drops off into static because she's holding your hand. She's holding your hand because she's a kid, and you're about to cross the street, and of course Ches taught her to hold an adult's hand. Of course he raised her right, by himself.
"Daddy," she says, and it sounds like an explosion, deafening. She's tugging on your hand--the light is green, go, cross--so your feet stumble over the pavement, each step loud and incriminating. Everyone heard her say it, heard her call you "Daddy", just like everyone knows you don't have a daughter. Her hand is so small in yours, impossibly small as the rest of her, this little girl who looks everything like Ches and nothing like you. Everyone knows you don't have a daughter, but you're holding hands with a stranger child who's calling you "Daddy". You're on the other side and beyond, and she's still holding your hand, and you can feel the stares crawling up and down every inch of your skin. They're going to think you're some kind of freak, that you're hurting her, everyone heard and everyone knows there's something wrong with you, you shouldn't be let anywhere near her, you--
--have just been bitten. By Suzu. She's got her front paws propped up against your thigh so she can reach high enough to get your hand, the little fucker. Her ribbons lash around like she's in a battle she knows she's won, so now she's just showing off.
Lyra gasps, a scandalized rush of air. Her face looks so much like Ches' that for a moment, you're fourteen again and a real person, held together by the way he looks up to you.
"She bit you!"
Your tongue sits fat and useless in your mouth. You have to say something to her, something normal-sounding, before she realizes you aren't someone to admire, just the shit excuse for a father who left her before she was even born because you were too busy choking on your own pride to get the right words out--
--Suzu bites you again. Gentler, this time, but she doesn't let go. The moist puff of her breath around your hand should not feel as soothing as it does. The four points of pressure from her fangs keep you from vacating your body entirely. She's taking care not to touch you with her ribbons--no more masking your maladies with magical fairy serotonin. You have a Zoloft prescription for that now.
Say words to your--your daughter. It's not about whether you deserve her or not, it's an objective fact that you are one of the fathers of this whole-ass child who is being frighteningly patient and/or oblivious with you. You hope it's the latter.
"She does that sometimes, yeah." Brilliant. Showstopping. Suzu gnaws on you in encouragement. "When I'm--" you try to make a gesture, only to come up short a hand. the motion aborts itself into a weird shrug. "When I’m too in my own head."
Another old piece I liked. Aiball's banter is so fun, but I also like when they're sincere and vulnerable with one another.
--
You'd told Ai once that since you were the one dueling, responsibility for your decisions fell solely on your shoulders--including your decision to trust him. Granted, this isn't a perfect comparison, because your relationship isn't a duel. You're still trying to unlearn this impulse to cram all the shapes of life into the rectangular box of dueling. There's not always an opponent to strategize against, and seldom anything so concrete or easy to understand as cards to be played.
Still, there is an implicit understanding that you set the pace as you and Ai venture together into uncharted territory. He flirts outrageously with you on a daily basis. Less often, he lets you gently pull him apart at the fresh, fragile seams of his being, to see the storm of insecurities churning beneath the surface. He tells you he loves you, and you make a point of saying it back. Even when the feelings snarl and tangle, you make the effort to shape them into words because it's worth it--for both of you.
What Ai doesn't do is touch you. No matter what shape he takes, he always stops just short of a tiny hand on your face, of leaning the SOLtis' warm body up against yours. You'd noticed this pattern a while ago, but it's taken you much longer to articulate how you feel about it.
You've come to three conclusions.
First: Ai wants to touch you. This has been clear from the start.
Second: You want to touch him back. It took you longer to unravel this one, as physical contact has never been something you've craved. Once, you would have said you actively did not want it. Now, it's not exactly your first choice for connecting with other people, but you do want to touch Ai, to open up a new channel of communication between the two of you.
Third: Ai is holding himself back out of a mixture of self-loathing and respect for your boundaries. The latter is appreciated, given Ai's track record. The former is something that eats at the corners of your heart, even though you know you can't change it. You can and will support him, but the change has to come from within Ai himself.
With your thoughts sorted into three steady pillars, you have a plan of attack. You're not going to tarry with any setup, just cut to the chase--except there is no attack, no setup, no interlinked plays and counterplays to make. There's only you, overcomplicating things as you ignore a teacher you'd resolved to pay more attention to this term.
Ai's presence is faint, as it often is during school. Agonizing as his total absence had been, you'd gotten tired of his running commentary on your classes after about two days. Your understanding is that he spends most of the day bingewatching dramas and/or doing things within the network that you never look into very deeply, for your own sanity's sake. As long as he's safe and covering his tracks, you're not going to act like his keeper.
Having some time away from Ai has also given you the space to develop your plan in as much secrecy as you can expect, when Ai is concerned. You need to do something unambiguously romantic, that will push both of you out of your comfort zones without being overwhelming. You need to make it clear to Ai that you trust him with yourself.
There's only one thing for it: You're going to have your first kiss with Ai.
--
Ai bursts forth from the duel disk at your call, arms above his head in a self-congratulatory pose. He makes a show of looking all around, though you suspect he doesn't need to do so to get his bearings.
"Oho? This isn't a greasy hotdog van or the most un-scenic route to and from school. Could this be--" and here, Ai gasps, squishes his hands to his face, "--a date?"
"Mm." you affirm. If he wants to take it that way, the idea aligns with your goals here.
"Boo, Yuusaku-chan, you don't have any sense of--wait, it is a date?"
"I thought you would like this place."
It's a park walkway, framed on both sides with some kind of flowering trees you don't recognize off the top of your head. You'd found it by searching "private confession spots Den City" on Shima's school tablet when, in an unprecedented reversal of roles, he'd been the one sleeping in class instead of you. The plan had been to bring Ai here yesterday, but around midday, it had begun to rain in heavy, humid sheets that lasted until nightfall. As romantic as Ai would find kissing in the rain, you weren't about to risk the beleaguered hardware of your duel disk for it. Unfortunately, the other effect of the downpour is that a sizeable portion of the trees' flowers are now mashed into the ground. You still think it's scenic--and more importantly, private--enough to go through with this, provided Ai is interested.
He does at least seem to enjoy the view, rain damage and all, oohing and ahhing at each tree like a daytime tv studio audience.
"This is all very pretty and special, but what's the occasion?"
No tarrying, no setup.
"I have something I want to ask you."
The glowing discs of Ai's eyes grow a little wider. You know that this is a quiet, vulnerable expression for him.
"Yeah? Well, uh, ask away?"
"Not here," you say, accompanied by a shake of your head. There's only a few people further down the path, but you don't want them bearing witness to a moment that should only belong to the two of you.
"What do you mean, 'not here'? Then what was the point of even--oh." Ai cuts himself off when you step behind one of the trees, putting its trunk between the two of you and the path. This close, the sickly-sweet scent of rain-crushed flowers is overwhelming. Your heart drums an erratic, nervous rhythm. Can Ai sense it? Do you want him to sense it, to let your body show what your face can't?
No tarrying, no setup, and no more dueling metaphors to try and steel your nerves by couching this situation in the familiar.
"Ai, I love you." This feels like the necessary starting point. "I trust you, and I want you to know that. If you're ready to take our relationship in that direction, I want to kiss you."
You wait for Ai to tease you for being too blunt, for sounding like a cartoon character giving a friendship speech. He does neither of those things.
"Me? You want to kiss me? I mean, sure, Ai-chan is irresistable, but--me? You really do?"
"I do."
"It'll be your first kiss, you know. That's special."
"I know."
Ai is silent for a moment, the tops of his eyes concave in worry or in thought.
"Me?" he asks, one more time. His voice is quiet, almost strained.
"You can tell me no. Kissing is--it's more of a human way to show affection. You seem to like it well enough on TV, but that doesn't mean we have to do it. I'm not even sure I’ll like it."
If Ai couldn't sense your heartbeat before, surely he can now--you feel like you've torn open your chest for him to see, and only your trust in Ai prevents you from wanting to close it back up and wall your vulnerability away.
"No, no! That is, no to the no. That is, yes! That is, I do wanna kiss you, and hug you, and hold your hands, and pet your silly hair, and do--I think humans call it skinship? which sounds so gross. But yeah, that. I want all of that."
You lift your arm up higher, so that Ai's face is more level with yours.
"Then, right now, can we--"
"Plant one on me, big boy!" Ai interjects, a little too loudly and a little too hastily. As stupid as it sounds, maybe the term "big boy" isn't so far off the mark. Given that Ai's whole head is about the size of your mouth, you're going to have to go about this carefully.
The last thing you see before your first kiss with Ai is his face zooming towards yours as you try to aim for the spot just below his eyes.
For an avatar made of hard light projection, Ai is pleasantly cool against your lips. His Ignis form has a smooth, matte texture, and it calls to mind the sensation of sitting in a welcoming patch of shade. You're unsure of how long you need to stay like this until it counts as a proper kiss. Ai doesn't have a mouth to meet yours with, after all. But there, for the first time since his return--two tiny hands come up to clutch at the corners of your lips, grasping and tugging with what might be all of Ai's strength. You lean into his touch willingly, until your lungs demand you pull away for air.
You draw back, taking quick, heavy breaths in through your mouth. The base of your duel disk is growing hotter at an alarming rate, bleeding through your blazer and shirt as the fan wheezes in a parody of your own labored breathing. Ai, hands still raised and reaching, looks at you like he's just had an epiphany.
"Waaaaaait a minute--that doesn't count! Do-over, do-over!"
"What?"
"That wasn't a real kiss! I don't even have a mouth right now! You owe me a do-over, Yuusaku-chan!"
"You're just now remembering you don't have a mouth?"
"I was...distracted!" Ai huffs, crossing his arms and turning up the nose he also doesn't have. Just as quickly, he leans forward, so that he can just barely reach your chest and deliver a poke to its center. "Ooh, just you wait--I'll show you how a real first kiss should go!"
And just like that, Ai vanishes back into the duel disk, your link sense telling you he's zipped off across the network. You're left standing there, arm still raised, heart still pounding, lips still weighted with the feeling of Ai against them. That was a success, wasn't it?
--
You arrive home, and it's not a matter of if, but when. Actually, it's not even when--it's now, Ai flinging open the door to the downstairs level. He's in the SOLtis. You're halfway out of your left shoe.
"You," Ai says, jabbing a finger in your direction for emphasis.
"Me," you agree.
"I told you I wanted a do-over, didn't I, Yuusaku-chan?" He's aiming for teasing and sensual, and missing spectacularly. He mostly sounds petulant. Somewhere along the line, that tone became something that stirs a quiet warmth in your heart. Not that he isn't still an annoying Ignis, but he's your annoying Ignis. You love him with a vastness you're not sure you'll ever finish exploring.
You lay your next words out before him deliberately, willing each syllable to bear the weight of everything you feel.
"I'm ready when you are, Ai."
Then he's crossing the space between you, gold eyes literally glowing. He takes one of your hands in his, wraps the other arm around your waist, pulls you close, dips you, and kisses you, in that order.
Three things, to prevent your mind from going haywire.
One: Ai has clearly practiced this maneuver.
Two: You didn't dislike it.
Three: Kissing is very...wet.
To elaborate on the third point, it shouldn't be, since Ai is inhabiting an artificial body. Somebody must have taken the time to ensure the SOLtis could replicate the warm moisture of a human mouth, though. You don't have the brainpower right now to decide which would be worse--if SOLTech's engineers included that feature, or if Ai added it himself.
No, your rapidly-unraveling focus is turned towards trying to figure out how to sustain this kiss. You closed your eyes on instinct when Ai dipped you, and you've stayed frozen in his arms for what could be anywhere from five seconds to an hour. Ai's lips are meeting yours at an angle, and he's sort of...wiggling them, a possible result of someone who doesn't always have a mouth watching too many overacted daytime dramas. In an effort to actually participate, you part your lips too far, jolting Ai forward into a deeper kiss. A helpless little noise tears out of him and lances straight into your heart. No breath chases the sound, but you find that you don't really care--not when the warm purr of the SOLtis, of Ai, rumbles like thunder beneath your hands.
To your surprise, Ai pulls away first.
"That," he declares, more than a little whine in his voice, "is how it was supposed to go! I had 567 perfect plans to totally swoon you, and you just go and steal my non-existant lips when I'm a defenseless little avatar!"
He's still dipping you, which is not the position you'd envisioned having this conversation in. You can adapt, though.
Ii did that on purpose. I wanted you to know that you don't have to be in the SOLtis to get my affection. I love you, no matter what form you're in."
After an incredulous beat, Ai asks, "Do you...ever do anything without an ulterior motive?"
"Do you?"
"Yeeeeeeeesssssssssometimes?"
You raise your eyebrows and give him a pointed look. Ai goes into an exaggerated slump of defeat against your shoulder, the gesture so familiar, so quintessentially Ai, transcending whatever shape he takes.
"Did you at least like it?" Now he's gazing up at you, all dewy-eyed, full lips plumped up in a pout--the same lips you'd just been kissing.
Did you like it? you want to consider Ai's question honestly. Not for too long, though, since he'll have conniptions if you stonewall him. The best comparison you can come up with is that it was like taste-testing a new menu item for Kusanagi-san, then deciding you couldn't judge it properly without eating some more.
"I'm not sure," is your answer. Before Ai can launch into a premature reaction, you push ahead. "I can't form a real opinion from just one experience--at least, only one experience that 'counts', according to you."
You swear you see an actual twinkle soar from one of Ai's eyes to the other, like a shooting star. He perks right up, woes either gone outright or tucked away beneath a veneer of bravado.
"Oho? Well, well, lucky for you, there's plenty more 'experiences' where that--"
"Not like this. The blood's going to my head."
"You are so uncute," grumbles Ai. Still, he finally pulls the two of you out of the dip. This has the side effect of bringing you chest to chest with him, which--you're only dizzy because your blood is rushing to redistribute itself properly.
"I'll make it up to you," you say. You lay your free hand over the back of Ai's neck, using the leverage to guide his face down to yours again. Like he always does when it counts, Ai lets you lead him.
I went digging back through my Notes app and found a bunch of 95% finished VRAINS stuff from around 2021-2023. This was one I liked enough to clean up and post. Just some schmoopy, post-canon Aiball. I like when Aiball works still depict Ai in his little gumby man form! If you were into Aiball before Ai got a Tumbr Sexyman body, you're a real one lmao
--
When you open the door to your bedroom, Ai is laying atop your desk, legs crossed coquettishly.
To be more specific, your duel disk is on your desk, and Ai is on top of that, posing like he's a gravure idol instead of a tiny Ignis.
"Hey, cutie," he says with an impish wink. "You come around here often?"
"I live here."
As you come down the stairs, Ai shifts positions, sitting up to put his hands to his face in mock surprise.
"What a coincidence--me, too! We should, uh, link up sometime, if you know what I mean. Maybe for dinner? A movie? Shopping? Beating up bad guys in the VRAINS? All of the above?"
That explains the posing, then. Ai is incapable of just asking you out on a date, not when he can go through a different song and dance every time. You could shut down his antics, but those round, golden eyes are staring up at you, open and expectant. Something in your chest blooms warmly at the sight. You're going to indulge him, you realize, and it doesn't even feel like a concession.
"Soooooo?" Ai prompts. "It's rude to leave your beloved Ai-chan hanging, especially 'cause of what today is..."
"Trash collection day? I already sorted it and put it all out."
You're not trying to play Ai's straight man--you genuinely can't think of anything that makes today special. This doesn't stop Ai from treating the conversation like a stand-up routine, dramatically flopping down onto the duel disk like those videos of people training their pets to collapse at a mimed gunshot.
"Yuusakuuuuuuuu, how could you? You're too young to have important information flying out of your wrinkly little brain like this! You're breaking my heart, here, you really are!"
"Sorry." which you are, at least to some degree. It sounds like Ai is just fooling around, but you're not incapable of feeding his ego--in very small doses.
"Are you? Are you really?" he demands, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "Fine! if you really want to make it up to your long-suffering Ai-chan, I might just decide to have mercy on you if you ask me very nicely..."
This is your unsubtle cue.
"What am I forgetting about today?" you ask, deadpan.
Ai heaves a sigh, which is less an exhale and more a full-body slump accompanied by a huff of static.
"And you call me a bad actor? Which is totally not true, by the way, 'cause I'm such a good actor that i can convincingly pretend to be a bad actor, and--"
"Ai," you prompt. Left unchecked, he'll take the most circuitous route possible to get to his point.
"I was getting there, geez! Anyways," with a grand flourish of his little hands, "Today is our anniversary! Or our Ai-nniversary, if you will."
That can't be right--not when it's only been a few months since he finally came back to you, since you cupped his fragile data in your palms and gave him the answer to his feelings that you'd recited over and over again in his absence, since he told you he'd try to trust in the new future the two of you will carve out together. The one-month anniversary of that day has come and gone, and you're nowhere near a year, or even half a year. As far as you know, today is just the day you have to take out both the burnable and non-burnable trash.
Whatever expression has crossed your face is clearly not the one Ai was hoping for.
"You really don't remember? Boy, who turned your Rudesaku settings up to max today?" Ai makes a show of wiping away a single, glowing tear, and you promptly decide that you're not sorry anymore. This isn't the kind of showboating Ai falls back on when he's really hurting. You know how to spot that now.
Willingly oblivious to your lack of reaction, Ai soldiers on.
"My own man doesn't even remember that Tuesday, May 6th, at 17:34:29, was the day we first met! Uh, that is, the day we first met with the full knowledge and consent of both parties."
"So you wanted to be a hostage?"
"Not quite in those terms, though I guess now that's our cute little couple-ey inside joke, which is... Which is not the point, actually!" Ai folds his arms over his chest, all petulance again. "The point is that I want my 'Happy Anniversary, Ai-chan'! I wanna get spoiled!"
Considering Ai's habitual laziness doesn't seem to exist when it comes to pampering you (whether you want it or not), this is a fair demand, as Ai's demands go. You can give him what he wants, and not even begrudgingly.
You lean down towards Ai, bracing one arm on the surface of your desk for balance. With your other hand, you crook your index finger under his chin. Ai immediately grabs on, wrapping his arms as far as they'll go around the rest of your hand. The angle is too high for you to comfortably kiss him where a human mouth might be, so you settle for the top of his head. You let your lips linger, as if the contact can wirelessly, wordlessly transfer everything you feel for Ai directly into the very core of his data.
But, no--he deserves your words, too. When you pull away, you tell him plainly:
"Happy Anniversary, Ai."
The reaction this elicits from him might be the most predictable thing about his programming. He squeezes your hand even tighter, luminescent blush stickers scrolling across his cheeks. You think you've gone past feeding Ai's ego in small doses at this point.
"Now, that's more like it," he murmurs, nuzzling against your touch.
Or: Anise reminds herself she can still write in third person. This is an idea I've been sitting on for eons--I really wanted to do an outsider POV on Chester. Naoki was originally in this as well for more of a relationship study, but he ruined the punchline. I could pontificate here about how much having his own job and his own money means to Chester after years of everything being controlled by his mom, but yeah, he works at a random konbini.
This does contain an older teen having a puppy crush on Chester, but it obviously doesn't go anywhere beyond said teen calling him a DILF once in their imagination lmao
--
Kai wakes up on their second of five alarms, thankful that they had the foresight to set so many on their beat-up old PokeGear. They turn it off with fumbling fingers, not wanting to wake anyone else up. It’s 4:55—not a time that anyone should be awake. The temptation to go back to sleep is outweighed by nerves. They’re covering Aika’s shifts at the konbini while she’s on vacation in Olivine with her family, and they’re more than a little paranoid about being late and making her look bad.
As Kai drags themself out of bed, Doobie whines at the disturbance.
“C’mon, boy,” they whisper. “Time to get up.”
Doobie slowly opens his eyes and gives Kai a bleary, baleful look that says, Why are you doing this to me? It’s super-effective.
“We gotta,” Kai insists. They run a hand over Doobie’s head, stopping to scratch behind his ear. Even a grumpy Smeargle couldn’t say no to that. Doobie’s tail wags in a way that suggests he could open himself up to the possibility of moving if more ear-scratches are forthcoming. Kai has to fight the urge to sit down on the bed again to pamper Doobie some more. They know that once they do, they’ll be back to sleep in the blink of an eye.
It takes fifteen or so minutes for Kai to get ready, plus an extra five-ish to cajole Doobie out of bed and into the genkan. Miraculously, they’ve managed not to wake up any/all of their moms, sister, grandparents, and the assorted Pokemon of the household. It makes for an eerily silent backdrop as they whisper, “I’m headed to work,” before painstakingly closing the squeaky front door. Outside, the air is already thick with humidity in a way that promises a hot, muggy day. Not for the first time, Kai is grateful to their past self for buzzing their hair short for softball. They need all the cooling they can get. A quick glance at their Gear tells them it’s already 5:23. Panic lances through them, even though they know they have a five-minute grace period to clock in.
“Doobie, come on! We’re gonna be so late!”
Doobie, climbing into the basket behind the seat of Kai’s bike, gestures at himself with a paw. The message is clear: I’m already ready, what’s your excuse?
Some days, Kai swears Doobie is just going to start speaking human language for real.
Sheepish, they hurry to unlock the bike, holding it steady so that Doobie’s weight won’t tip it over. They hoist themself into the seat and put the pedal to the metal (so to speak), ignoring the uncomfortable way the seat digs into their butt. If they’re even a minute late, their chances of keeping their job, and thus being able to afford a bike that isn’t two sizes too small for them, feel like they’re close to nil.
--
Kai does what could be politely described as “fucking booking it”, and arrives at the konbini with a fresh coat of sweat. They desperately flap their ugly work polo to try and dry off, with minimal success. Two quick swabs of deodorant from their backpack will have to do. Doobie’s unimpressed stare bores into their back.
There’s a guy in the same hideous pink-and-blue shirt already in the break room when Kai slithers in.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” They blurt immediately, launching themself into a bow with such emphasis that they nearly overbalance. When they peek up at him, the guy looks more confused than angry.
“Honey,” he says in a drawling accent Kai can’t quite place, “You’re five minutes early.”
A frantic search for the digital clock on the wall confirms what the guy said: it’s 5:55 on the dot. Kai half-rises from their bow, sputtering.
“I’m so sorry, I thought— I was just worried because—”
The guy waves a dismissive hand.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re Aika’s friend, yeah? The kid coverin’ for her this week?”
Kai nods like a bobble-head.
“I didn’t mean to freak you out—I just like gettin’ in extra-early.”
More bobble-head nods.
“Anyhow, my name’s Chester. I’m usually on shift with your buddy Aika. She’s a good kid.”
“I’m, um.” Kai’s throat suddenly decides now is a great time to be full of gunk. They clear it and try again. “I’m Kai. Pleased to meet you.” Since they’re still halfway there, they dip into another, shorter bow.
Doobie has been watching this shitshow the entire time like it’s a tennis match, head turning back and forth as each person speaks. He waddles over to Chester and sticks up a paw to shake. Chester laughs in delighted surprise, taking Doobie up on the offer.
“Well, I’ll be! Who’s this?”
“Doobie. He’s— My normal manager says he’s okay to bring. Customers see him in the window and come in to try and pet him. He doesn’t cause any trouble or bark at people or anything. Do you think the manager for this shift would be cool with him staying out?”
“I am the manager for this shift, so it’s fine by me,” Chester says, though not unkindly.
If Kai’s cheeks weren’t already flushed from their manic bike ride, they sure would be now.
“Thank you, sir,” they say meekly. Chester scoffs.
“No need to go that hard, honey. I’m a konbini manager, not the Champion.” Then, to Doobie, “Mind if I pet you a lil’, bud?”
To Kai's surprise, Doobie butts his head right into the hand Chester shook his paw with. Doobie’s prideful to a fault, and likes to be treated more like their long-suffering attendant than a pet. As Doobie gets his second round of ear-scratches for the day, Kai tries to match what Aika’s told them about Chester to his face.
She never mentioned he was her manager—thanks a lot for that. Kai does remember her saying he’s a cool guy, and something about him having a daughter, but that’s about it. They find that they can easily picture him with a baby or a toddler, just based on the care with which he’s interacting with Doobie. He looks like he’s no older than his early 20s, so he must’ve started a family young. That means there’s probably another parent in the picture, which is a shame. He’s good-looking—short, with flyaway brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and a slight gap in his smile. Kai likes a nice guy who’s free with the pet names.
Kai diverts that train of thought right off the tracks, through some fields, and into a large tree. They are not about to report back to Aika that they think her manager (who is definitely too old and probably too married for them) can kinda get it.
--
Time passes the way it always does at work: slow and soupy. Customers ebb and flow with the reliability of the tide. Kai quickly discovers that Chester is a people person, striking up conversations at the register with ease. They don’t know how he always comes up with something to say to people, not when they trip over their tongue half the time just completing basic transactions. At one point in the morning, Doobie gets up out of his bed in the windowsill to give a drawing of Chester to the man himself. He looks so sincerely honored, telling Doobie he’ll pin it to his fridge as soon as he gets home. Kai has a brief thought about how Chester could pin them to his fridge any day. They drop it like a hot sweet potato—Aika is the thirsty one, not them!
Eventually, the clock rolls around to 11. With an hour left on their shift, this is the point where Kai starts checking the time too often, inevitably disappointing themself when only a few minutes have passed. The store is pretty empty, the calm before the lunchtime rush storm. A couple are paying their bills in the corner, and a woman is requesting a box of cigarettes from behind the counter.
“Excuse me,” Kai tells her apologetically, “I, uh, need to get my manager to handle this transaction.”
Their manager, who is less than a yard away, turns towards the customer.
“I got it, honey. What brand did you need, ma’am?”
Chester has to stand on his toes a little to get the cigarettes the woman wants. It occurs to Kai that they’ve never heard mention of a second parent, even though he’s talked about his daughter a couple of times. They’re not saying they specifically have a chance, just that someone could.
“You have a good day, now,” Chester calls out to the woman who bought the cigarettes, even though she gives no response. Not even a minute after she leaves, the door opens, and a girl comes in. She looks middle school-aged, but the lack of a uniform and the clearly well-cared-for Granbull at her heel mark her as a serious trainer. Chester does a double-take when the girl approaches the register.
“Lyra! What’re you doin’ here, sweet pea?”
The girl—Lyra—smiles and leans against the counter.
“I wanted to come ‘n see you at work! Daddy said your uniform was super-ugly.”
Chester huffs out a laugh through his nose.
“Oh, yeah? I’m surprised you managed to wake up before the end of my shift,” he teases. Lyra sticks her tongue out at him; he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Alright, baby, go on and get what you need. And hello to you, too, Fluffal.”
He reaches over to give the Granbull a brief rub, and it lets out a soft ruff at the touch. The noise is enough to wake the sleeping Doobie, who eyes the Granbull warily from his perch. Thankfully, it trundles off after the girl when she wanders into the back of the store.
Kai wonders if Lyra is Chester’s little sister—the family resemblance between them is too strong to be anything else. Personally, Kai would rather die than have Seika show up at their workplace again. Once was enough, and she even brought all her little minions with her, because middle schoolers are the worst. Lyra and Chester’s dad is right—the work uniforms here are super-ugly. Seika and her friends made sure Kai knew that, tittering behind their hands and pointing inconspicuously until Kai wanted to melt into the floor out of sheer humiliation.
“D’you think Daddy would want any of these drinks?” Lyra’s disembodied voice calls out from the wall of refrigerated goods.
“Get ‘im one of them fruity ones,” Chester says at a much more normal volume. “He loves them novelty drinks made outta weird berry combinations.”
“’Kay!”
The couple paying their bills departs at last, leaving Lyra as the only customer. With nothing else to do (and no desire to linger on their own little sister’s traumatic visit any longer), Kai surreptitiously begins to twiddle their thumbs. Finally, Lyra pulls up to the register with a bag of caniform Pokemon specialty food and two drinks: one razz-aguave flavored, the other chesto-colbur. Kai dutifully begins ringing up the items, only to stop when Lyra gasps and smacks her forehead.
“I forgot the one darn thing I actually came here for! I’m so sorry—I’ll be right back!”
Before they can respond, she zips back into the recesses of the store. Her Granbull stays put, looking as bewildered as Kai feels.
“You better make like a Crustle and hustle, sweet pea!” Chester calls after her. “Don’t keep ‘em waitin’ on you!”
Meanwhile, Doobie and the Granbull are sizing each other up again. Doobie’s eyes are narrowed, and he taps his tail against his paw like a delinquent with a baseball bat. Granbull only look scary, Kai has to remind themself. Most of them are actually sweeties.
They frantically reach for something to diffuse the tension.
“Little sisters, am I right?” They offer weakly.
Chester blinks in surprise. “Beg pardon?”
“Oh, just. Um. Your little sister over there reminds me a lot of my little sister. That’s all.”
“My little—?” Some kind of dots are connecting in Chester’s head. Abruptly, and to Kai’s absolute bafflement, he starts to laugh. “Oh, honey, you are too sweet!” And then, he drops the bomb: “That’s my daughter.”
Kai’s whole world descends into slow-mo. The familiarity. The close-but-not-quite resemblance. The mention, not of Lyra and Chester’s dad, but of Lyra’s other parent. Chester’s laughter bounces around Kai’s empty-ass brain. They are never going to recover from this one.
“I’m so sorry, I just— I thought you were, um, younger, and so when you said ‘daughter’, I thought you meant, like, a little kid, and—” Kai babbles until Chester mercifully puts them out of their misery.
“Honey, honey, take a breather—I ain’t mad. I know you weren’t tryin’ to flatter me or anythin’. It was an honest mistake.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “For the record, I’m 35.”
Lyra chooses that exact moment to come back with three whole Hyper Potions. It took her all that time to find three Hyper Potions? She could’ve saved Kai from the one thing even more humiliating than being made fun of by your 13 year-old sister. Kai decides then and there that they’re going to have to fake their death, change their name, and move to Alola.
“Papa, what were you laughin’ about?” she asks, completely oblivious to the fact that Kai just committed a cataclysmic domino chain of faux-pas. Chester wipes at the corner of his eye, still smiling.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout it, baby. Now go ahead ‘n give Kai your stuff so they can get you checked out.”
Numbly, Kai takes one, two, three Hyper Potions and adds them to Chester’s daughter’s total. His real, actual daughter that they just called his sister, like some kind of mouthbreathing weirdo trying to hit on someone else’s dad. Lyra pays like a normal human being, says goodbye, and takes herself and her Granbull out of the store.
Kai pointedly avoids looking at Doobie, but they can almost hear him saying, No, you should not find it more attractive that he’s a DILF.
I've had this scene in my head for a while, and got the ~spontaneous inspiration~ to jot it down this morning. Chester, despite not knowing what the fuck he was doing, really tried to give Lyra as normal and happy a childhood as possible, given the environment they were in. Even though living with Sarah Jean (his mom) again was miserable for Chester, he and Lyra still have a lot of good memories together.
--
“Papa?” Lyra asks from the kitchen table.
“Mm?” You’re trying to juggle helping her with her homework and washing the dishes from her after-school snack.
“How many years old are you?”
Well, if that ain’t a loaded question. You know she’s too young to understand that you’re too young, even with the way your mama harps on you about it right in front of her.
Placing Lyra’s plate on the rack to dry, you ask, “How come you wanna know?”
“In my homework, it says: ‘Add your age to the age your parents were when you were born.’” She reads a little slow and a little loud, but her voice is steady, and she never trips up once. You’re so damn proud of her, even if you know she sure as shit didn’t get her brains from you.
It’s not often that you allow yourself to indulge in what-ifs about still being with Naoki. You try not to think about him at all, if you can help it (you usually can’t). It’s times like these that remind you she’s his baby, too, and you can imagine the three of you in your old apartment in Goldenrod, or back with his family in Ecruteak. You know he’d be over the moon that Lyra loves to read as much as he does—he’d probably read with her every night. Not that you don’t do that yourself (you do it all yourself), but the fantasy is so easy to picture.
You shake your head a little to clear it, glad that Lyra’s back is turned towards you.
“Let’s take a look, mkay?”
Lyra obligingly scoots her chair over so you can drag another one next to it. The sheet has a couple other questions, stuff like “How old are you?” and “When is your birthday?”. Beneath that, there’s a grid with spaces labeled “Mommy” and “Daddy”. The fact that those are the only two options makes you wonder what century this worksheet was written in.
“Can I see your pencil, sweet pea?”
“Yes, please,” she says as she hands it over. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but she’s got the spirit of being polite.
Gingerly, you put an X over the box labeled “Mommy”.
“Congrats, baby, you only gotta do half the homework the other kids do.”
“I told my teacher I don’t have a mama,” Lyra agrees. Considering her teacher is the same one you had in first grade, you cringe at what the woman must’ve been thinking about you, about Lyra herself.
“Yup, just you ‘n me.”
“And Meemaw!”
Yeah, you aren’t gonna touch that one.
“Alright,” you say, glad that Lyra’s still little enough to get distracted easily. “D’you know how old Papa was when you were born?”
“Twenty-seven?” Lyra guesses immediately. You try not to laugh—you were twenty-seven just last year.
“Nope. I was just shy of twenty-two, since our birthdays’re only ten days apart. Let’s just put the number 22 up on top.”
Taking the pencil back from you, Lyra writes a slightly squashed “22” in the “Daddy” box.
“Now we gotta add six to twenty-two,” she announces. Her little face scrunches in concentration, but you notice she’s not counting on her fingers. She just jots down “+ 6” on her paper, then draws a line below it for the answer.
“Six plus two is eight, plus twenty is twenty-eight!” Lyra looks up at you for confirmation, even though you can tell from her mischievous smile that she knows she’s right.
“You got it, sweet pea,” you tell her, wrapping her in a hug and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. She squeals in mock-indignation, even as she hugs you back. “Papa’s an old man, huh?” For a kid her age, you assume that’s what she’d think. Someday, she’s gonna look back at this moment and realize how young you really were when you had her, how completely clueless you were. Your only parenting philosophy was “Whatever Mama would do, do the opposite”. Which, granted, is an idea that’s served you well so far.
To your surprise, Lyra protests, “No, Papa, you ain’t old! Twenty-eight isn’t that old.”
I'm tagging this R-18 just to be safe--there's nothing explicit, but the whole scene is pretty obviously post-coital. To quote myself on the subject of Naoki and Chester getting back together ~12 years post-accidental baby-induced breakup any% speedrun:
Anyways, actual writing below the cut. This is just the beginning of a long-running number of conversations on the topic lmao
--
You can’t even guess what time it is at this point. It feels like a whole ocean of sweat’s been dumped directly onto your body, making your t-shirt stick to you in unflattering places. The blanket’s been kicked just far enough away that you can’t grab a corner with your toes to drag it over your freezing feet. An ache’s started up in your hips and jaw.
You lay there, on your stomach in his futon, and find yourself missing him something fierce.
It’s unbearable, all of a sudden, enough to make you flop yourself over on your side. You need to see him, make sure this isn’t the world’s worst-slash-best wet dream. Naoki’s taken his glasses off. Those stupid pretty eyelashes frame a look in his eyes that says he’s not all in there.
“Shit, man,” you sigh. Naoki blinks rapidly, trying to drag himself back out of his own head. He makes a little “mmh?” noise.
“Us. We made it, what, two weeks?” The ridiculousness of it all makes you snort lightly.
“I’m surprised you let me.” His voice is small, murmured out the side of his mouth and into the pillow. You remember what he’d said, when you’d asked him if he’d moved on to someone new: You really think I’d inflict myself on someone else?
“Get your head outta your ass,” you say, and oh, it comes out so tender. You reach over to unstick a sweat-straightened curl plastered over his temple. Naoki flinches away like he’s expecting you to just sock him in the face, like he’d rather you do that instead. He reminds you, absurdly, of how Lyra used to fuss when you wiped her face off with a washcloth in the mornings.
“It takes two to tango, baby,” and wow, you haven’t called him that in a hot minute. You decide you like the way it rolls off your tongue nice and easy. Not quite how it used to be, no, but still good.
Naoki starts at the word, too, like he was expecting something different a couple minutes after reducing your vocabulary down to his name.
“You’re being too nice to me,” he protests weakly. “It’d—I don’t know. I always imagined you being pissed at me, not—” gesturing at the two of you laying side by side, just left of the way it used to be, “—whatever the fuck I’ve dragged you into this time.”
“Don’t you go actin’ like I can’t think for myself—” you cut yourself off the second you register the snap in your voice. No, no, that’s not how you want it to go.
More careful this time, “I ain’t even mad at you, y’know? Shit, I sure was for the first coupla months, but…” you shrug with one shoulder, shifting the blanket even further towards Naoki’s side.
“It can’t be that simple,” Naoki rasps out.
“’M not sayin’ it is”, you soothe, hand in his hair again. This time, he doesn’t shy away.
