I'm in love with the idea of Phainon being away for duty and reader missing him so much that they name a bunch of puppies after him. But they'll completely deny they missed him THAT much. So what if the puppies' names are Snowy, Puppynon, Pienon (for constantly going after pies in a bakery), and Clawslana? Completely coincidental! Phainon SWEARS he believes them, but it's hard to take seriously through all his laughing.
Hi anon! :) Okay first of all: you came into my inbox with this while I’m in my Phainon missing hours. :D I will always accept Phainon brainrot, so thank you for this.
And I’m in love with this idea too. Phainon + dogs is already a combination I absolutely adore. And not even just because of the “Phainon is puppy-coded” allegations, but because dogs—especially certain breeds—have that same kind of quiet loyalty and warmth. That grounding, gentle presence. It fits him so well.
And then the reader angle? I’m sorry, I am reader here. I would absolutely do this and then act like it’s completely normal behavior. “What? I didn’t miss you that much.” Meanwhile: this.
The names?! I LOVE THEM. Snowy is perfect, especially because of his past. That one would probably hit him a little more than he expects. And wait… since Tribbie calls Phainon that too, imagine you call for Snowy and both of them look up?? 🥹
Puppynon… the name alone gives me cuteness aggression. :D Pienon?! The bakery implications? I need to see this dog stealing pastries immediately. And Clawslana?! That one absolutely has a bit of an attitude. I’m convinced.
Also. I love the idea that they all resemble Phainon in some way. Soft white fur, warm eyes… and maybe one of them is just slightly more intense. A little more… Khaslana-coded (Clawslana, probably.)
And then the reunion. I saw and heard it immediately when I read your reply. I had to write it. ☺️
⋆ ✦ ⋆
The door opens.
Phainon barely has time to step inside before something hits him. Small, soft, and moving far too fast.
Then another.
And another.
Phainon looks down, startled, as a cluster of white fur gathers around his legs, tails wagging so hard their whole bodies move with it.
One of them is already making sounds of intense personal grievance. Another simply sits on his boot and refuses to move, as though staking a territorial claim.
“What,” Phainon says slowly, “happened here?”
You’re standing a few steps away, very deliberately not looking at him too directly.
“Oh,” you say, casual. Too casual. “I found them.”
“You… found them.”
“Yes.”
One of the puppies is already trying to scale his coat with the conviction of a mountaineer. Another is circling him like it’s known him forever. Like it’s been waiting, specifically, for him to come home.
Phainon crouches instinctively, hands moving without thinking as he gathers one of them into his arms. It immediately attempts to consume his face.
He angles away with the practiced patience of someone who suspects this is only the beginning.
“They’re cute, right?” you add, like this is the only relevant detail.
“They are,” Phainon says. Something soft is already settling into his expression. “Remarkably so.” Then he pauses. “What are their names?”
You hesitate. Just for a second. “Snowy,” you say.
Phainon blinks. Then a quiet exhale, something already suspicious in it, like he can see exactly where this road leads and is choosing to walk it anyway.
“Snowy,” he repeats.
“That one’s Puppynon,” you continue, quickly.
His shoulders shake.
“And—Pienon. He likes the bakery.” You say it with great dignity. “He has a whole relationship with the baker. It’s ongoing.”
Phainon lowers his head, laughter slipping out now. Quieter, but harder to contain. His hand is still moving over the puppy in his arms, absent and gentle, while the rest of him loses the battle with composure.
“And that one,” you finish, almost defensively, “is Clawslana.”
That does it.
Phainon laughs. Openly this time, warm and bright and completely unrestrained, head tilting back slightly as it spills out of him, and it’s the laugh that lives in your chest rent-free, the one you’d been hoarding the memory of for days.
Your face heats up immediately. “I didn’t miss you that much,” you insist.
“Of course not,” Phainon says, not even trying to sound convinced. The smile on his face is impossible. Soft at the edges, bright in the middle, still threaded through with amusement.
He sets Puppynon carefully down. Rises to his full height. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs. And then he reaches for you.
His hand finds your waist first, drawing you in. And you go, because you were always going to, because it has been too long and whatever dignity you were performing evaporates entirely the moment his arms come around you.
He pulls you close, properly close, the kind of close that accounts for the full length of absence, and you feel his exhale against your hair like something releasing.
“I missed you,” he says, quieter now, voice lower.
“Me too,” you admit, into his chest. “Apparently a lot.”
Phainon laughs again, and then his hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and he kisses you.
The puppies, for their part, take this as an invitation.
Snowy plants both front paws on Phainon’s leg. Pienon circles the two of you like he’s officiating. Clawslana, who has apparently been waiting for an audience, makes a sound of great importance and sits on your foot.
Puppynon attempts to insert himself physically between you, wedging his nose into the narrow space at your joined hands until Phainon reaches down, without breaking the kiss, and simply picks him up.
Which means he is now kissing you with a puppy tucked under one arm.
You pull back, laughing. His expression when he opens his eyes is warm and a little wrecked and so pleased with itself that you almost forget to breathe.
Puppynon licks his chin.
“Eloquent,” you tell him.
“I’m being welcomed home,” Phainon says, with great gravity. “By all parties.”
Pienon is now sitting directly on your shoes. Snowy is pressing into Phainon’s leg with the full weight of his small body, tail going. Clawslana has discovered his coat and is conducting a thorough investigation.
He looks down at them. Then at you.
“We’re keeping them, aren’t we,” he says.
It isn’t entirely a question.
You look at his face. At the laughter still living at the corners of his eyes, at the softness underneath it, at the way he’s already holding Puppynon like it’s simply what his arm is for now.
“The names were a coincidence,” you say.
“Naturally,” Phainon agrees.
“Completely unrelated to anything.”
“I believe you entirely.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. Puppynon attempts to intercept it. “Every word.”
“Good.”
“Although,” he adds, mildly, “if you ever do miss me, for any reason, entirely hypothetically—you can simply tell me.”
“Or,” you say, “I could name a dog after you.”
Phainon considers this. “No objections,” he concedes.
Then he kisses you again.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: THIS IS SO CUTE. I can’t deal with it. 😭 Thank you for sharing your brainworms with me, anon. :)
I had a dream that the lock stock crew ended up in St Churnleys through magic shenanigans and my god I need to yap about it!
They became the caretakers of the boys and was so damn heart warming.
Pete being the guardian and teaching Monty how to control the wolf and hone his skills with playfighting. Helping the boys climb trees and being the best caretaker ever.
Cheeky being the father figure Edgar never had and helping him with his shooting skills as well as having to stop Poe and John Nipples from scrapping.
Carlos teaching Roland the good ways of faith, spending hours talking about their respective gods but also teaching him how to be a chaotic sneaky rat too.
Maureen though, she disliked them at first. Hated how they innocent they were. How despite the curses and the trauma they still remained optimistic. Until Kevin with his music talent broke down those walls and reminded her about her lost love. Once the walls broke she'd spent hours teaching Kevin about the music her love and teaching the boys to dance at varying levels of success.
Guys, I am SUPER proud of this one. Like, SUPER proud. I was sooo excited, giggling and laughing at how cute these scenes were.
I hope you all really enjoy this one.
Tagging: @vanillianbean @averysmolkirbo @ena-the-eepy (Ena, I'm tagging you because you also like Urbain...? I won't make a habit of tagging you though unless you want me to. Do I have any other Urbain lovers here?)
For those new here, here is Urbain's Christmas Special:
Part 1
Part 2
Also, Ena has drawn a comic based on this fic:
💬 1 🔁 9 ❤️ 98 · Totally not late for @littlesugarbug’s Urbain x Reader New Year’s fic part 2,,,, TEEHEHEE ZYGARDE’S FACES WERE MY FAV IN T
Dinner at Hotel Z felt different when it was quiet. No longer lonely, but soft, warm, and comforting. Like the building itself had lowered its voice.
The dining table was set for two instead of the usual three or four. Candles flickered gently, their light catching in the polished wood and casting warm reflections across the glassware. Outside, Lumiose hummed faintly through the windows, distant and unobtrusive, like the city knew better than to interrupt.
You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed loosely as you watched Urbain move around the kitchen with far more confidence than you remembered.
This was not the man who once fed Team MZ the same curry-croissant hybrid three times a week and insisted it was “efficient.” Tonight, there were actual plates. Proper seasoning. Something that smelled rich and warm and—dare you say it—impressive.
“You’ve been holding out on us, Urbain,” you teased.
The young man glanced over his shoulder, wooden spoon in hand, expression mock-offended. “Excuse you. This is the result of hard work and constructive criticism.”
You laughed. “That’s what we’re calling your cooking lessons with Grisham and Griselle?”
“That was a formative experience,” Urbain said solemnly, setting the pan aside. “Changed me as a man.”
At your feet, Floette hovered lazily, petals glowing faintly as she drifted in slow, content circles near the table. Every so often she leaned toward the warmth of the candles, clearly approving of the atmosphere. Nearby, Zygarde—currently very much in his 10% form—had claimed a spot near the hearth, his body calmly moving with each breath as he dozed with one eye half-open, ever the vigilant little guardian. The sight made your chest ache in that good, familiar way.
Urbain brought the plates over, setting one in front of you with a small, proud smile. “A moment of truth.”
You took a bite.
Then another.
Then paused, eyes widening just slightly.
“…Urbain.”
He stiffened. “That bad?”
“No,” you said quickly, laughing. “That good.”
The tension left him all at once. He grinned, shoulders relaxing as he sat across from you, watching your reaction like it mattered more than he’d ever admit.
Dinner passed easily—stories, laughter, small silences that didn’t feel awkward anymore. Outside obligations felt far away tonight. No buzzing Holocaster. No interruptions. Just the two of you, sharing food and warmth and the quiet that had once felt unfamiliar but now felt earned.
Eventually, you rested your chin in your hand and studied him over the rim of your glass.
“So,” you said lightly, “what are you doing for New Year’s?”
It was meant to be casual. An offhand question. You half-expected him to sigh and start listing meetings or obligations or something about last-minute logistics.
Instead, Urbain smiled. Not his polite smile. Not his professional one.
A knowing one.
You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”
He reached for his napkin, wiping at his mouth. “Because,” he said, “I’ve already made arrangements.”
You blinked. “Arrangements?”
“For New Year’s,” he clarified.
A spark of surprise lit in your chest. “What about Quasartico?”
Urbain waved a hand dismissively. “Vinnie’s got it covered. He insisted on taking over things if anything popped up.”
You stared at him. “You’re… not working?”
“Nope.”
You frowned. “That doesn’t seem very fair if you take off and everyone else has to work.”
He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “Well, it’s a good thing that everyone, including Vinnie, has New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day off. I told them to go celebrate. Spend time with family. Sleep in. Whatever they want.” He tilted his head at you. “Vinnie’s just on stand by in case an emergency with one of our partners pops up. But I don’t anticipate that happening.”
Your heart did a little flip.
Before you could say anything else, Urbain reached into his coat pocket. Then the other. He pulled out a two pieces of paper and held them up just out of reach. Plane tickets.
Your breath caught. “Urbain—”
“Ah,” he said quickly, laughing when you tried to lean forward. “No peeking.”
“You can’t just—”
“I absolutely can,” he said, eyes bright. “It’s a surprise.”
You laughed, half in disbelief, half in bubbling excitement. “You’re obnoxious and annoying, you know that?”
“Obviously. But you’re also laughing and smiling,” he replied, carefully tucking the tickets away again,.
You were. Very much so.
From near the hearth, Zygarde stirred, grumbling and groaning as he shifted, while Floette drifted closer, petals glowing warmly as she hovered between you two.
Urbain’s voice softened just a touch.
“Pack warm,” he said. “And trust me.”
Your heart fluttered.
“Okay,” you replied, smiling back at him. “I trust you.”
And somehow, in that quiet room filled with candlelight and promise, it felt like the easiest thing in the world.
==========
Lida called the night before you left.
You were halfway through folding clothes when your Holocaster lit up, her face appearing on the screen with a grin that was just a little too smug.
“So,” she said brightly, “I hear you’re abandoning Hotel Z.”
“I am not abandoning—”
“Relax,” Naveen’s voice chimed in as he leaned into frame from somewhere off-screen, impeccably dressed as always. “We’re teasing. Mostly.”
Lida rolled her eyes. “I’ve got an audition in Castelia, he’s visiting family, and somehow the universe decided this was the exact moment you two take a vacation.”
Urbain, seated beside you on the couch, cleared his throat. “I made sure everything’s covered.”
“Oh, we know,” Naveen said smoothly. “You left notes. So many notes.”
Lida laughed. “You labeled the pantry, Urbain.”
“It was necessary,” Urbain replied, defensive. “Last time—”
“We don’t talk about that curry-croissant incident,” you said quickly.
“That thing haunted the building,” Lida muttered.
She softened then, her expression turning fond. “Don’t worry. Hotel Z will still be standing when you get back. We’ll keep things running, water the plants, make sure any wandering children don’t reorganize the lobby again.”
Naveen smiled warmly at you. “Go. Enjoy yourselves. You’ve both earned it.”
Lida nodded, eyes bright. “Bring us back something cute. Or edible. Or both.”
Urbain relaxed at that, shoulders easing. “Thanks, you two. Really.”
You glanced at Urbain, smiling. “I’ll make sure he does.”
“Good,” she said. “Because if he comes back exhausted, I’m confiscating his Holocaster.”
The call ended on laughter, leaving the room quieter—but lighter somehow.
Morning came quietly. Not with alarms or urgent notifications or someone knocking on Urbain’s door because something had gone wrong—but with soft light filtering through the windows of Hotel Z, pale and wintry without being cold. The city beyond the glass felt slower today, as if Lumiose itself knew it was being left behind for a little while.
You padded into the lobby with your bag slung over one shoulder, still half-convinced this was a dream you’d wake up from any second.
Urbain was already there.
He stood near the reception desk, coat neatly buttoned, scarf looped just right, travel bag at his feet. Floette hovered at his side like she’d appointed herself his personal escort, petals glowing faintly in the early light, while Zygarde—very much awake now—sat at attention, waiting for you with restrained excitement.
Urbain looked up the moment you appeared and his face lit up. “Good morning,” he said, like it was the most important one he’d said in years.
“Morning,” you replied, smiling despite yourself. “You’re… very awake.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t sleep.”
“Because you were working?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Because I was excited.”
“Of course,” you said, smiling.
The ride to the airport passed in easy conversation—nothing deep, just little observations and soft laughter, Urbain pointing things out unnecessarily as if narrating the world for you. Zygarde pressed his nose to the window at every new sound, Floette hovering between you both like a benevolent chaperone.
You stopped short at the entrance to the plane’s cabin, blinking.
“…Urbain.”
He glanced at you, feigning innocence far too poorly. “What?”
“This is—”
“Wonderful? Perfect? Efficient?” he said offered, quickly.
“Extravagant.”
“It was available.”
“You’re lying.”
He grinned. Full, unapologetic, golden-retriever grin. “Okay, maybe a little.”
You laughed as you slid into the wide, impossibly comfortable seat, running your fingers over the armrest. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Urbain settled in beside you, expression softening. “I wanted to.”
The flight attendant appeared moments later, already smiling like she’d been briefed. Drinks were offered. Blankets provided. Floette floated happily near the window, watching the tarmac with keen interest, while Zygarde curled up at Urbain’s feet like he’d done this a hundred times before.
As the plane taxied, you leaned closer. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a hint?”
He pretended to consider it. Then shook his head. “If I tell you, I’ll ruin it. And I’m very committed to not ruining things lately.”
That earned him a look. “Oh?”
He met your gaze, unflinching. “Yeah. Oh.”
The plane lifted smoothly into the sky, Lumiose shrinking beneath you until it was nothing but a constellation of lights fading into cloud.
Somewhere over the open sea, Urbain dozed off—head tipping just slightly toward yours, breath slow and even. You stayed awake, watching the way sunlight shifted across the cabin, the way Floette’s petals glowed brighter as the hours passed.
“Hey,” Urbain murmured, stirring. “We’re almost there.”
You leaned forward as the captain announced the descent.
The clouds thinned.
Warm tones replaced gray. Sunlight spilled across rolling land, soft greens and golds stretching toward the horizon. The coastline curved gently below, the water a deep, steady blue that glimmered under the morning light. It didn’t look dramatic or overwhelming.
It looked peaceful.
Your breath caught. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered.
Urbain watched your face instead of the view, relief washing over his features when you smiled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
As the plane descended, a breeze stirred through the cabin, carrying the faintest hint of salt and warmth. Floette drifted closer to the window, as she gave a small joyful cry, while Zygarde lifted his head, alert and curious.
Urbain reached over, fingers brushing yours—not urgent, not tentative. Just there.
“Welcome to Paldea,” he said softly.
==========
The air changed the moment you stepped off the plane.
Not colder—just different. Saltier. It carried the sound of water somewhere nearby and the faint cry of Wingull riding the breeze. Even the light felt warmer, less hurried, as if Paldea didn’t believe in rushing anyone.
Cabo Poco unfolded quietly around you as the car wound along the coast. Whitewashed buildings. Stone paths. The sea stretching wide and calm, blue meeting sky in a way that made your chest loosen without you realizing it had been tight.
Urbain grew quieter the farther you went. Not withdrawn—just thoughtful.
He leaned forward slightly in his seat, eyes tracking the road, the cliffs, the familiar curve of the shoreline. Every now and then he’d hum under his breath or tilt his head, noticing something you couldn’t quite place.
“That café wasn’t there before,” he murmured once. Then, after a beat, “Or maybe it was… just painted differently.”
You smiled to yourself and didn’t comment.
The house sat a little apart from the others—close enough to feel part of the town, far enough to breathe. It wasn’t large or ornate. No grand gates. No sweeping drive. Just a simple, well-kept place with pale walls warmed by the sun, wide windows, and a porch that faced the ocean like it had nothing to hide from it.
Your breath caught as you stepped inside.
Light poured through the windows, spilling across wooden floors worn smooth with time. The furniture was modest but thoughtful—soft cushions, shelves lined with books, small touches that made the space feel lived in rather than staged. The faint scent of sea air lingered everywhere, carried in through open windows and settled deep into the walls.
“It’s… beautiful,” you said softly.
Urbain’s shoulders eased, just a fraction. “I’m glad you think so.”
He set your bags down with practiced ease, moving through the space like he knew where everything should be—where it used to be. He paused by a window, fingers brushing the frame.
“View’s still good,” he said, almost to himself.
You caught it then. The way his gaze lingered. The way his steps slowed, familiar without being showy. But he didn’t explain—and you didn’t ask.
Floette drifted happily from room to room, petals glowing brighter with each patch of sunlight she found, eventually settling near the largest window where the warmth pooled just right. Zygarde sniffed every corner thoroughly before deciding the place passed inspection, his butt wagging once in approval.
You barely had time to unpack essentials before Urbain was already reaching for his jacket.
“Beach?” he asked, hopeful, like it wasn’t already decided.
You laughed. “I was wondering how long you’d last.”
The walk down was short and easy, the path opening onto sand that stretched in a gentle curve along the water. The ocean lapped lazily at the shore, unbothered by time or plans.
The moment Zygarde hit the sand, he bolted.
He tore down the shoreline like he’d been waiting for this exact release, long body cutting cleanly through the spray as his paws struck wet sand. Wingull scattered ahead of him with indignant cries, wings beating hard as he gave chase—not clumsy or playful, but sharp and focused, pure motion and instinct.
He skidded to a stop at the waterline, claws digging in as a wave washed over his legs, then lunged forward again with a sharp, excited bark before darting back toward the surf, eyes bright and alert.
You laughed outright. “He looks so happy.”
Urbain smiled, watching him with quiet fondness. “Hard to believe that he’s supposed to be the guardian of the eco system when he’s like this.”
Eventually, Zygarde slowed, pacing the edge of the water like a vigilant guardian before dropping into the sand with a satisfied huff, body stretched out and relaxed—but eyes still tracking every movement along the shore.
Nearby, Floette floated closer to the sunlight, petals glowing softly as she hovered just above the sand, content to bask in the warmth.
The sun drifted lower as you walked, the sand cool beneath your feet where the tide had recently pulled back. The air smelled like salt and warmth and something faintly green, like growing things nearby. Cabo Poco felt unhurried, content to let the evening stretch.
Zygarde paced a few steps ahead of you now, body low and alert as he tracked the surf, occasionally darting forward when a wave surged higher than expected. He paused every so often to glance back at you both.
Floette hovered lazily near Urbain’s shoulder, petals glowing softly as she drifted in and out of the sunlight.
Urbain walked beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoes abandoned somewhere behind you both. He kept glancing around—not nervously, just observantly.
“That rock used to be… smaller,” he said, squinting at a jagged outcropping near the water.
You snorted. “Rocks don’t shrink.”
“They do when you’re taller,” he replied seriously. “It’s science.”
You bumped his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
He bumped you back, a little harder than necessary. “You like it.”
You laughed, stepping closer to the waterline as a wave rushed in, foam curling around your ankles. The water was cool—not shocking, just enough to make you gasp.
“Oh—okay, that’s colder than it looks.”
Urbain’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Careful,” he said, far too innocently. “You’ll get soaked.”
You eyed him. “Don’t you dare.”
He took one step closer to the surf. “I’m just standing here.”
Another step.
And then, another.
You scooped up a handful of water and flicked it at him before you could second-guess yourself. It splashed harmlessly against his coat.
Urbain blinked once. Slowly. Then, he looked at you.
“Ohhh,” he said. “So that’s how it is.”
“Urbain—wait—”
Too late.
He lunged forward, scooping water with both hands and sending a spray right at you. You yelped, hopping backward as it soaked your sleeves.
“You started it!” he laughed.
“You escalated it!”
You splashed back, laughter bubbling up as the two of you waded deeper, water kicking up around your legs in chaotic bursts. Urbain moved with surprising speed, boots abandoned somewhere along the shore as he chased you, laughing freely now—no restraint, no second thoughts.
Zygarde barked sharply, darting around you both, clearly convinced this was either the best game ever or a dire situation that required constant supervision. He skidded through the shallows, sending up sprays of water as he zigzagged between you.
Floette hovered higher, watching the chaos with what could only be described as gentle judgment.
“Traitor!” you laughed, pointing at Zygarde as he sprinted past you.
Zygarde paused just long enough to splash through a wave and dart away again.
Urbain caught your wrist mid-laugh—not rough, just enough to stop you. Water dripped from his sleeves, hair mussed, cheeks flushed from laughter. He glanced down at the water pooling around your feet.
“I don’t remember the last time I did this.”
“Got into a water fight?”
“No,” he said, meeting your eyes. “Just… this.”
The moment lingered—gentle, warm, unguarded.
Then, you flicked water at him again.
He sputtered. “Oh, come on—”
You laughed and ran, sand slipping beneath your feet as you fled back toward the shore. Urbain followed immediately, catching you in seconds, arms wrapping around you from behind as you both stumbled into the sand.
You collapsed together, breathless and laughing, the sky above you painted in soft gold and pale pink.
Zygarde circled once before settling nearby, body relaxed but watchful, while Floette drifted down to hover near the other pokemon’s shoulder, petals glowing warmly.
Urbain lay beside you, staring up at the sky.
“…I’m really glad you came,” he said quietly.
You turned your head toward him. “Me too.”
The waves rolled in and out, steady and unbothered, as the light slowly faded—and for once, Urbain didn’t look like he was bracing for anything at all.
==========
Dinner that night felt even quieter than the one back in Lumiose. Not because there was less to say—if anything, the air between you felt fuller—but because Cabo Poco seemed to encourage stillness. The opposite of what Lumiose was. The windows were open, curtains stirring gently with the ocean breeze, the distant rhythm of waves slipping easily into the background. It was peaceful.
Urbain had insisted on cooking again. He had laid everything out on the small kitchen counter like he was preparing for an important operation—fresh bread, sliced vegetables, herbs, spreads, cheeses, and neatly wrapped proteins. A Paldea specialty: sandwiches. Not just thrown together, but intentional. A delicate balance of ingredients between two pieces of bread.
Floette hovered nearby, petals glowing softly as she inspected the ingredients with great interest, while Zygarde had stationed himself at the table, hoping for a morsel.
“You know,” you said, watching Urbain line things up with unnecessary precision, “this feels very Paldea of you.”
He glanced up. “Sandwiches?”
“Sandwiches,” you confirmed.
He smiled, sheepish but pleased. “I did my research.”
You laughed and joined him, the two of you assembling your meals side by side—Urbain handing you ingredients, occasionally offering suggestions that were far more earnest than needed.
“Try this one,” he said, passing you a slice of bread already layered just right. “I think it works.”
You took a bite.
“…Okay,” you admitted. “That’s actually amazing.”
Urbain straightened slightly. “Yes.”
Dinner was eaten at the small table near the window, plates simple, conversation easy. No rush. No expectations. Just shared food and the quiet comfort of being together somewhere that didn’t demand anything from either of you.
Zygarde had been quiet for exactly three minutes, but a small little huff didn’t go unnoticed to you. Slowly, deliberately, you lowered your sandwich and looked down.
Zygarde sat at your feet, perfectly still. Body straight. Head tilted just enough to be polite. Bright eyes locked onto the sandwich in your hands with laser focus.
“…No,” you said gently.
Zygarde sniffed the air, his nose inching closer to the food in your hands.
“No,” you repeated with emphasis, slightly pulling away, “Don’t you start.”
Zygarde pulled back, but his body began to wiggle happily. If he had a tail it would be be sweeping side to side.
You sighed.
Urbain glanced over, immediately recognizing the situation. “He’s doing the stare, isn’t he?”
“He’s doing the stare.”
You tore off a piece of your sandwich, Zygarde went very still in anticipation, and held it out. “One bite. That’s it.”
The piece vanished as Zygarde accepted the offering with lightning speed and gulped it down. No chewing. No savoring. Just gone.
You stared at the empty space in your hand. “…Did you even taste that?”
Zygarde licked his lips once and sat back with a small boof, utterly satisfied.
Urbain laughed quietly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Across the table, Floette hovered closer, petals glowing softly as she eyed Urbain’s plate with reserved interest.
Floette tilted slightly, the very picture of dignity.
Urbain carefully tore off the smallest piece of sandwich and held it up to her. She floated forward, inspecting it thoughtfully before taking it delicately, nibbling with tiny, precise bites as though she were a food critic.
Zygarde, watching from the floor, huffed quietly.
Floette finished at her own pace, occasionally giving a happy cry. She hovered back, satisfied, every inch the lady.
Urbain chuckled. “Ever the proper lady, huh, Floette?”
Zygarde promptly plopped back down at your feet and stared up at you again with a groan.
You laughed. “You just had some!”
Zygarde’s ears twitched.
You promptly finished your sandwich and wiped your hands on a napkin. “So,” you said to Urbain, casual on the surface, “New Year’s Eve.”
He paused mid-bite, then smiled. The same smile he’d given you when you first asked the question back at Lumiose. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen much before this trip.
“I thought we’d celebrate in Mesagoza for New Year’s.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Mesagoza?”
“It’s the largest city in Paldea,” he said, enthusiasm lighting his voice. “The whole city turns into one massive celebration—lights, music, street performances, fireworks. Everything.”
“Sounds loud and chaotic,” you teased.
“Only for one night,” he countered. “Then, we come back here.”
You smiled. “So this is the quiet part.”
“And Mesagoza is the chaos,” Urbain agreed easily. “Balance.”
“It sounds fun, honestly,” you said, “Back in Unova there’s this big, glittering ball that drops at midnight in Nimbasa City. Everyone shouts the countdown and the whole city explodes into celebration.”
Urbain rested his cheek in hand, while propping his elbow on the table. “Sounds exciting. Maybe you should show me on New Year’s next year.”
Your head whipped up as you looked at him with surprise, but Urbain’s blue eyes were calm and warm as he gazed at you. You felt your face heat up as you looked away. Instead, you reached over and stole a pickle from his plate, wanting to change the subject.
“So…you really planned all of this.”
“I wanted it to feel right,” he said simply. “After everything this year.”
Something warm settled in your chest.
“And after the party?” you asked.
He shrugged, expression soft. “What else do people do when they party hard on New Year’s Eve? We sleep in. Maybe another walk along the beach when we decide to get up. Start the year slow.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Urbain exhaled, relief clear on his face. “Good. I was hoping.”
Outside, the sky deepened into evening blues, the sea reflecting it back in quiet agreement. Floette drifted closer, petals glowing warmly, while Zygarde shifted slightly in his sleep, settling deeper into his watchful rest.
==========
Mesagoza at night felt like stepping into a living heartbeat.
Lights spilled from balconies and arches, strings of lanterns glowing gold overhead as music threaded its way through every street. Laughter bounced off stone walls. Someone was selling skewers nearby, the air warm with spice and citrus and sweetness. The plaza was packed shoulder to shoulder, yet somehow it didn’t feel claustrophobic—just alive.
You moved with the crowd, Urbain’s hand firm and warm around yours as he guided you through the maze of people with practiced ease.
“Sorry—excuse us—thank you—sorry again,” he said cheerfully, already grinning when someone laughed and waved him through.
“This is huge,” you said, craning your neck to take it all in.
A burst of cheers erupted nearby as a group of performers finished a routine—bright costumes, stamping feet, the sharp clap of hands echoing through the square. The music shifted as you moved farther in, blending into something more rhythmic, more grounded.
Then you heard it. Not amplified pop. Not electronic beats.
Live instruments.
A traditional band had set up near the center of the plaza—stringed instruments, drums, something reedy and bright carrying the melody. The rhythm was infectious, rolling and lively, the kind of music that didn’t ask permission to be felt.
Around them, people had already started dancing. Couples, mostly—hands linked, bodies moving together in patterns that looked spontaneous but clearly weren’t. Steps passed down, learned by watching, by doing. Laughter broke out when someone missed a turn. No one seemed to care.
Urbain slowed. He stopped just short of the forming circle, his grip on your hand shifting—not letting go, just… changing. His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“…Have you ever danced to this kind of music before?” he asked.
You smiled. “I feel like I’m about to.”
His grin spread—bright, excited, unmistakably Urbain.
“Okay,” he said. “Follow me.”
Before you could question it, he stepped forward, pulling you gently into the open space. The music surged, the rhythm quickening, and Urbain moved like he’d been waiting for this.
He placed one hand at your waist—not possessive, just guiding—and lifted your other hand with an easy confidence that made your breath hitch.
“Alright,” he said, leaning in just enough for you to hear him over the music. “It’s not complicated. Watch the steps around us. We’ll mirror them.”
“You’re very confident for someone throwing me into a crowd dance.”
He laughed. “Trust me.” And then he moved.
Urbain caught the rhythm immediately—feet stepping in time, body turning with the beat, guiding you with gentle pressure and soft cues. He wasn’t showy about it. He didn’t overthink. He just felt the music, and somehow that made it easy for you to follow.
He spun you once—careful, controlled—and you laughed as your skirt flared, the world blurring briefly into lights and sound before snapping back into focus.
“You’re good at this,” you said, breathless.
Urbain didn’t respond. He simply smiled at you as he spun you again. Another turn. A step closer.
The music swelled.
Around you, the crowd clapped in time, voices lifting in encouragement as dancers joined and left the circle. Urbain guided you through it all, eyes never leaving yours for long, smiling every time you caught the rhythm just right.
At one point, you stumbled—just slightly—and Urbain caught you instantly, steadying you with a laugh.
“Got you.”
Your heart skipped.
The dance ended in a flourish of sound and applause, the band striking a final, triumphant note. You were both laughing now, flushed and warm and breathless.
Urbain didn’t let go right away.
“See?” he said softly. “You did great.”
“I had a very good teacher.”
His ears turned just a shade pink.
Nearby, Zygarde weaved expertly through the edge of the crowd, alert but content, while Floette hovered above the dancers, petals glowing brightly as if she, too, approved of the joy unfolding below.
As the music shifted again—slower now—the crowd begun to thin as people turned to check out other entertainment and stalls.
Urbain squeezed your hand.
“I don’t know about you, but all that dancing made me hungry,” he said, excitement buzzing beneath his voice. “Let’s check out the food stalls.”
The music faded into the background as hunger finally caught up with you.
Mesagoza hadn’t slowed—if anything, the energy had only grown louder—but you and Urbain peeled away from the heart of the plaza, following the smell of food until it led you to a row of open stalls glowing with warm light. Steam curled into the night air. Someone laughed nearby. A vendor called out cheerfully in rapid Paldean cadence.
“This,” Urbain said decisively, pointing, “is what we need.”
You ended up with plates balanced between your hands—nothing fancy, but unmistakably Paldean. Grilled vegetables drizzled with oil and herbs, skewers of seasoned meat, small fried bites still crackling faintly from the heat. Comfort food meant to be eaten outdoors, standing or sitting wherever you could find space.
You claimed a low stone ledge near the edge of the plaza, close enough to hear the music but far enough to breathe. Urbain sat beside you, shoulders still loose from dancing, eyes bright in a way you didn’t see very often back in Lumiose.
Zygarde immediately took up position at your feet. Not sitting. Hovering.
You took one look at him and laughed. “You didn’t even dance.”
Zygarde’s eyes flicked to the food. His posture radiated patience. Heroic patience.
You broke off a small piece and dropped it down. Zygarde snapped it up instantly—gone before it even hit the ground. No hesitation. No chewing.
“Dude, can you at least pretend you were savoring it?” you laughed.
Urbain watched, amused. “I think tasting is optional for him.”
Across from you, Floette drifted closer, peering at Urbain’s plate with polite curiosity. He tore off the tiniest morsel—barely more than a crumb—and held it out. Floette hovered there, inspecting it carefully. She circled it once. Twice.
Then she sniffed and turned away with dignified finality.
Urbain blinked before he grinned, eyes closing. “No good, huh?”
Floette hovered back toward the lights, clearly unconcerned.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “She has standards.”
“Apparently,” he said, folding the rejected morsel back onto his plate.
For a while, you ate in comfortable silence, watching the crowd swell and thin as people danced, wandered, laughed. The city felt alive around you—bright and unashamedly joyful.
Eventually, you glanced at Urbain, something tugging gently at your thoughts.
“Can I ask you something?”
He looked over immediately. “Of course.”
“You know a lot about Paldea,” you said. “The food. The city. The dance. That wasn’t something you just looked up, was it?”
His fork paused. Then, Urbain exhaled, a small smile touching his lips—not sad, just thoughtful. “No,” he said quietly. “Not something you can really learn from a book.”
He set his plate down on the ledge and leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the plaza where the music had shifted again. “My mom and I… we moved here after being in Lumiose. After she had a falling out with her mom, Jett, and Quasartico—before the business came to Lumiose. She worked with Team Flare for a bit to continue her research on hologram technology.”
He looked up at the sky, thoughtfully.
“In the end though, Lysandre’s organization began asking too much from her. When she found out about Team Flare’s plans to rebuild the world in Lysandre’s image, she decided to break ties. As much as her research helped establish the holo-tech for the wild zones, and as much as I hate to admit, it also contributed to Team Flare’s plans all those years ago. And all while having to take care of me on her own, it’s no wonder she burned herself out.”
He closed his eyes, lowering his head, before opening them again. “So, she made the decision to leave and find a quite place to try and rest.”
You felt the pieces begin to click together almost immediately. The house in Cabo Poco. The way he moved through it like it remembered him. How easily he’d settled into the rhythm here. The sandwiches. The beach. The quiet.
“You lived here,” you said softly.
He nodded. “Yeah. Not forever. But long enough for it to matter.”
Zygarde finished another scrap at your feet and settled down, content, while Floette drifted just close enough to listen.
“My mom wanted somewhere warm,” Urbain continued. “Somewhere calmer. Paldea gave her that. And for a while… it gave me that too.”
You didn’t interrupt.
“She liked Cabo Poco,” he said, a fondness edging his voice. “Said the ocean helped her sleep and that it made things feel less heavy. Making the decision to leave her research was…hard for her. She dedicated her life to her research. With that gone, mom always struggled finding a new purpose in her life—other than caring for me, of course. But as I got older and started becoming more independent…”
Your chest tightened—not painfully, just enough to remind you this mattered.
“When she passed I made the decision to go back to Lumiose. I knew she had ties there, I just didn’t know who until, well, you know. When Emma ended up connecting me to former President Jett,” Urbain went on, quieter now, “When I left Cabo Poco I rented the place out. I couldn’t bring myself to give up the place where my mom lived out the rest of her life. But I wasn’t ready to come back, either.”
You turned toward him fully. “Is that why you brought me here?”
He met your eyes, open and honest. “Paldea was an important chapter of my life,” he said. “A hard one. But a good one too.” He hesitated, then added with a soft laugh, “And honestly? We both needed a break from Lumiose.”
You smiled. “That we did.”
He reached for your hand, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I wanted to share it with you. Not the sad parts—just… the place. What it meant. What it still means.”
Fireworks cracked somewhere overhead, distant for now, scattering light across the sky. The countdown wasn’t far off.
You squeezed his hand gently. “I’m glad you did.”
Urbain smiled—warm, relieved, quietly happy.
The energy in the plaza shifted all at once. It wasn’t loud yet—just expectant. People began glancing upward, toward the massive clock overlooking the square. Laughter sharpened into excitement. Vendors moved through the crowd with trays held high, calling out cheerfully.
Urbain squeezed your hand. “Alright,” he said, eyes lighting up. “This is the important part.”
He guided you toward one of the vendors and, without hesitation, took two small cups from the tray—each filled to the brim with green grapes.
You blinked at them. Then at him.
“…Why do we have grapes?”
He grinned, delighted. “Twelve grapes. One for each chime at midnight.”
You stared at the cup. “…We eat them?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“In—what—ten seconds?”
“Twelve chimes,” he corrected. “So technically a little more than ten.”
You looked back at the grapes, then at the enormous clock, then at him again. “That sounds hazardous.”
“It’s tradition,” Urbain said cheerfully. “Each grape is for good luck—one for every month of the new year.”
“It still sounds dangerous.”
“It absolutely is,” he agreed. “That’s part of the fun.”
Floette, who had been hovering lazily near your shoulder, suddenly drifted closer, eyes fixed on Urbain’s cup with unmistakable interest. She tilted slightly, giving a soft cry.
Urbain noticed immediately. “Huh? Oh, do you want one, Floette?” He plucked one grape from his cup and held it out to her. Floette hovered there for a moment, inspecting it carefully.
Then, she took it.
You both blinked at her before laughing.
“What happens now that you only have eleven grapes?” you asked Urbain.
He chuckled and then shrugged. “Guess I’ll have one unlucky month next year. Great.”
You both burst into laughter again as Floette hovered proudly, holding the grape between her tiny hands.
At your feet, Zygarde had gone very still. Then he sat. Then he leaned forward. Then he stared.
Urbain hesitated. “Uh…can he even eat grapes?”
Zygarde tilted his head.
“I mean,” Urbain continued, genuinely concerned now, “some canine Pokémon can get sick from them.”
You pointed down at Zygarde. “He’s not a dog.”
Urbain frowned. “He looks like a dog.”
“He resembles a dog,” you corrected. “He’s a legendary ecosystem construct made of cells, remember?”
Zygarde puffed up slightly, clearly appreciating the defense.
Urbain stared at him. Then at you. Then back at Zygarde. “…That doesn’t actually answer my question.”
Before he could decide, the crowd around you erupted into cheers.
“¡DIEZ!”
The countdown had begun. Urbain shoved a grape into his mouth immediately. You panicked and followed suit.
“¡NUEVE!”
Floette took her first delicate bite—tiny, precise, dignified.
“¡OCHO!”
You tried to chew faster and nearly inhaled a grape whole.
“¡SIETE!”
Urbain’s eyes widened as he realized he was falling behind. He coughed once, thumping his chest.
“You okay?” you asked around a mouthful.
He nodded frantically and tried to stuff two grapes in at once.
“¡SEIS!”
One grape slipped from your fingers in the chaos and bounced once on the stone. Zygarde snapped it out of the air mid-bounce.
“HEY—!” you laughed.
Zygarde swallowed and sat back down, looking extremely pleased with himself.
“¡CINCO!”
Floette took her second bite, completely unbothered by the mayhem around her.
“¡CUATRO!”
Urbain was definitely choking now—not dangerously, but enough to make his eyes water as he laughed and tried to keep up.
“This was a mistake,” he wheezed.
“¡TRES!”
You dropped another grape. Zygarde did not miss it.
“¡DOS!”
Floette took her final bite just as the bell rang, perfectly on time.
“¡UNO!”
Fireworks bloomed overhead, brilliant and loud, scattering color across the night sky as the plaza erupted into cheers. Music surged back to life, strangers hugging, laughing, shouting well-wishes to anyone within reach.
You barely managed to swallow your last grape before Urbain grabbed you, laughing breathlessly as he pulled you close. Close. Breathless. Laughing softly like he couldn’t quite believe he’d made it through all twelve—well, actually eleven—grapes alive.
“We survived,” he said again, voice rough with laughter.
You smiled up at him. “Barely.”
He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, still grinning—then paused.
“…Do you taste grapes?” he asked, suddenly earnest.
You blinked, slightly taken aback. “I—what?”
“I definitely taste grapes,” he said, squinting slightly in thought. “I think I bit my tongue at one point.”
You laughed. “Urbain.”
“I’m serious.”
“What are you talking—"
Before you could say anything else, he tugged you closer by the front of your coat and kissed you. Soft at first—just enough to shut you up. Then deeper. Warm. Sweet. Familiar.
“Wow,” he murmured when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes wide and dazzled. “Okay. Yeah. Definitely grapes.”
You laughed, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Well, I would hope so considering we just had some.”
He smiled—slow, fond, utterly undone—and kissed you again, this time without hesitation. The taste of grape juice lingered between you, sweet and silly and perfect, mixed with laughter and fireworks and the promise of everything ahead.
At your feet, Zygarde barked once approvingly, sitting tall like a guardian who had absolutely earned his share of the celebration.
Nearby, Floette hovered serenely, spinning and giving joyful cries as she watched the two of you with quiet satisfaction.
Urbain rested his forehead against yours, voice low and sincere amid the noise of the city.
“Happy New Year,” he said.
You smiled, still tasting sweetness.
“Happy New Year, Urbain,” you replied.
He didn’t pull away this time. Just slid an arm around your waist and turned with you, guiding you both back toward the open sky.
Fireworks burst overhead in brilliant color—gold and violet and blue—reflections dancing in his eyes as you leaned into his side. The city roared with celebration beneath the light, music and laughter rising up to meet the night.
While they begin dating Steve (having never been with a guy before) finds himself struggling with how to properly court Eddie. He can't exactly take him out to dinner after all, or hold his hand in public, or do most of the common date activities he's used to doing. At least, not without adjusting them a bit... so Steve is somewhat panicking, making Robin listen to him as he laments that Eddie probably thinks he's a bad boyfriend because he can't come up with good date ideas.
Meanwhile Eddie is fully aware of the limitations of being gay in the 80s in small town Indiana, so he's not really distraught about not being able to go on standard dates. He's seriously just content hanging out at one of their houses, or making out in the back of his van.
But Steve is not going to just let it go. Not at all. So he plots and plans (and then he preens, oh how he preens) and ends up outside Eddie's trailer in the dead of night. Eddie wakes up to tapping on his window and opens it to see Steve standing there, grinning ear to ear before he's clambering through the window into Eddie's room. This is a ridiculous thing to do, considering Steve knows he can just walk in through the front door, and Eddie's window is on the first floor (because unlike the Harrington's or Wheeler's he lives in a one story trailer) so Steve's just awkwardly shimmying in through a window that is weirdly placed for his height. It's not really giving what Steve thinks it's giving, for lack of a better explanation.
But now Steve is in his bedroom, midnight, holding out a small stuffed bear holding a heart and a pack of Eddie's favourite candy. This is already the most romantic moment of Eddie's life, so he's more than content, but then Steve is rushing him to get dressed because they have a date to go on.
Thus begins Steve's late night date extravanga. Can't go to the movie theatre openly holding hands and being in love? Good thing Steve works at a movie rental store. They sneak in and watch a shitty rom-com in the break room and hold hands the entire time. Can't go to a diner and share a milkshake with two straws in that most cheesy way possible? Good thing Steve has friends in high places who can somehow get a nearby 24/7 diner empty aside from a single waitress who seems not to care that they share a drink and hold hands and blatantly flirt the entire time. The wonderful late night date ends with them visit a local park, right around 3 AM, they wander hand in hand and play on the playground and Steve won't stop flirting with him the entire time.
Steve drives Eddie home and walks him to his front door, playing up the schtick as he politely asks Eddie if he can give him a kiss (as if they haven't been doing that all night). Eddie obviously says yes, plays along and says that Steve better hurry along before Eddie's Uncle catches him "out after curfew" and ends up "bringing out the shotgun". Steve plays nonchalant and steals a few kisses and Eddie pretends to be bashful, says he's not "that easy", and sends Steve away with an overdramatic blown kiss and a wave before he's ducking inside.
Eddie sleeps in the entire next day, whereas Steve still actually has to go to work. So he's dead on his feet the entire shift, but he's very very happy knowing he finally managed to give his boyfriend a good proper date. This becomes a monthly tradition for them after this, and they go on many more midnight dates.
((I hope this was good!!! I came up with it on the spot, stream of conscious style lmao!!!))
This was amazing, thank you for this!!!
Steve is such a romantic and I can see him doing this, I love love love this so much. I'm feeling all of the gushy feelings for them so much. <3
