Nights together, nights apart

With a yawn, Sonia pulls one coat sleeve on and picks up her keys. The wall clock, clashingly cheery with Roselia and petals dancing around the rim, has just ticked eight fifty, and she doesn't fancy spending a minute here past nine.

Her dreams of a reasonable bedtime are quickly dashed when she hears the telltale tap of footsteps down the hallway outside. Sighing, she lets the keys fall back to her desktop, where they jangle loudly.

Of all the hours of the day, Hop certainly favours the most inconvenient ones to seek her out. It was all dandy for the first month, while Hop was still giddy with the thrill of living his dream, and Sonia was still giddy with the thrill of finally handing off the chores to someone else. But two years of routine overtime and nine hours a day in the same building have laid bare each other's every worst quirk: she's had to remind him nigh daily to return the kettle and vacuum cleaner to her office, and he's learned to shelve her books after her, but not without a cannonade of grumbling, loud enough to hear from her office.

In almost every way, Hop has become the little brother Sonia never had. And knowing how criminally scarce his own brother has been, she takes the role seriously. She chases him for owed work about as often as she plays audience to his endless rants about Galarian academia. Many nights they've dozed off in the library couches, grumbling about their failed experiments over a score of open books, or gotten lost in an effusively emotional heart-to-heart over homebrewed tea (the concept of "having a filter" is lost on both of them).

He's good as family now, and as with family, she's always here for him—even at nine o'clock in the evening.

A triplet of knocks resounds on her door. “Come in,” Sonia calls out, but that is just a pleasantry, because Hop always comes in, whether he’s invited or not.

Her assistant stumbles in a right sight for sore eyes, as if he hasn't had even five minutes to groom himself for days. His dark indigo hair, rumpled from an impromptu desk nap, matches the coffee-stains on his wrinkled grey shirt.

Without sparing a moment's greeting, he drops onto her couch and kicks back. "Soniaaaa," he groans, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm so tired of worrying."

"What’s the matter?” she coos as she joins him on the couch, folding her arms on her lap. "Still fretting over your methodology?"

He shakes his head, letting his hand drop from his nape. "It's not about my thesis," he says in a drawn-out exhale. "I'm overthinking things again, it just won't stop! I keep playing out all the possible outcomes of my actions in my head, and I'm getting in over my head with all these scenarios, and, argh ! I can't tell if my worrying even makes a smidge of sense." He lifts his head. "Talking it out with you always helps straighten my head out, so...if you've got five minutes?”

"Five minutes, go," she says.

He draws his lips into a thin line, hunching over. “I think I’m in love.”

“With Gloria?” she blurts.

He winces, one eye closing. “It's that obvious?”

“Were you even trying to hide it?" she cackles. "It's right adorable is what it is. You get restless as a Yamper whenever she calls to say she’s visiting, all cleaning out your office like it'll impress her. And your face when you come back with her... I have a good mind to invite her over more often, if that can get you tidying.”

He hunches his shoulders to hide his face from view. "Have your laugh, I deserve it," he sighs. "I didn't realise it till last week. This is so embarrassing."

"Not at all, it's perfectly normal," she sings, twirling her ponytail around her finger, though she can't stop grinning at his self-consciousness. "You want to know my professional opinion? I'm sure she likes you well enough not to mind if you told her how you felt. I say, take the chance."

At this, he sulks. “Take a chance with the Champion of the Galar region, sure,” he replies. “She's just...out of my league! Literally and figuratively! I'll bet she has no shortage of fans fighting for her attention. Why me?”

" You , her best friend of a decade? The one who faced down the end of Galar beside her? Look, I can say one thing for sure: she sees you as an equal at the very least. So don't you go doubting that!"

Hop tries not to smile. "Sure, we're best friends!" he replies. "But that makes it worse, don't you think? What if I make things all awkward between us? I don't want her to think I only spend time around her because I've taken a shine to her."

"You're already assuming she doesn't feel the same way."

"You think she would?"

“I mean, she comes down to visit every weekend, doesn't she? It’s not a small thing, that she’s making the time to come and see you in Postwick every week.”

“She probably just misses home. Or she might be visiting for her mum.”

“Explain why she calls you to pick her up at the train station every time, then.”

“Sonia! She knows I'm usually in Wedgehurst is all.”

“And why she brings you a gift every time. Last time it was a Wooloo plush, wasn’t it? Didn't she say she bought it because it made her think of you? I melted when I heard that.”

He clutches his head in his hands. "You were listening?"

"I was up on the mezzanine, and you don’t exactly have an indoor voice."

“You’re not wrong,” he groans.

“What can I say? I’m not surprised by any of this. I always knew two of you were besties, but you came home one day after the league and suddenly you were heroes of Galar, and you were never more than two metres apart.”

“Yeah, we got pretty close during the gym challenge… And honestly, after years of her being awfully nice to me, I don't think I could ever tell if she’s flirting or just being friendly. And I'm afraid to try and hunt for hints in everything she says, because I know she's nice, but if I don't, then...”

“Slow down there," Sonia cuts in. "You can run things by me, what else are we having this conversation for?”

Hop lifts his head, blinking his ochre eyes at her. “All right, well, she did buy me that Wooloo plush last month, saying it reminded her of me.”

“I'm raising my eyebrow at that, but that's admittedly inconclusive.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Well, what else? Last we battled, I lost again, but she said my battle technique is getting better by leaps and bounds.”

Sonia taps her chin. “Sounds friendly to me. She likes to pay compliments where they're due.”

“True, you're right. Hm…oh, yes, this has been bugging me. Last month, she said my new jacket looks good on me and that I should wear it more often."

"No way!" Sonia gapes. "That sounds pretty flirty to me, dead ringer that she was looking at you more than absolutely necessary."

He grins sheepishly, hand returning to his nape. "Are you sure? She says nice things to everyone, you said so yourself."

"I'd believe that if it were anyone else, but Gloria? She wouldn't notice a pretty pendant if it were the size of your hand. And besides, if you'll look at yourself right now, anyone with anything good to say about your looks either needs new glasses or fancies you."

"Sonia!"

She laughs. "Just teasing! To qualify," she holds up a hand, "I haven't seen her flirt before, so for all I know I could be wrong. But don't count yourself out. She's visiting again this Saturday? Have you gotten her a gift before?"

He shakes his head thoughtfully. "I've brought her breakfast a couple of times, but that was that."

"Well, you should this time. Just show her you're thinking of her, nothing's sweeter than that! But you have to go about it with a light touch, all right? You're not exactly subtle."

"I know, I know!" he groans, though a grin is starting to spread across his face. "I'll think of something." He stands up. "Hey, thank you Sonia, I can always count on you."

"You sure can," she sighs, stifling a yawn, "as long as you scrub down the greenhouse and tidy the common room on schedule. Heading back to Postwick?" Both of them turn to the Roselia wall clock. Ten past nine. He shakes his head. She goes to fetch her her handbag and the lab keys from the desk. "I'm needing some proper beauty sleep, so I'm heading home for the night. You can stay, just remember to lock up. And good luck with Gloria."

She winks as she tosses him the keys; he catches them between his palms. "Thanks, I'll need it."

Hop's gift ideas take almost no time to balloon to ten-thousand-Pokeyen getaways and ill-advised parties with hundreds of guests. More than once that week, Sonia walks in on him researching boat tours or banner printing services, to which she only cuffs him on the shoulder and snaps, "Your grant isn't paying for that!" before lobbing more paperwork onto his desk.

Eventually, he settles on a bag of sweets.

It doesn't seem like much, but he remembers only too clearly how Gloria relished their weekend trips to the confectionery, all those years ago. On the morning of her visit, Hop drops by the Wedgehurst confectionery for the first time in six years; the jangle of the doorbell stirs memories of past visits to the surface of his thoughts—the scents, the scintillating glass, the anticipation for sugary indulgences.

He hasn't been here in years, but he still has Gloria's favourites memorised: Cheri and Oran chocolate wrapped in pink and blue foil, caramels, and Aguav jellies—all of which he shovels generously into the paperbag.

And to make up for the lack of a candlelit riverboat dinner date, he ties a handmade pink-and-grey friendship bracelet around the neck of the bag, finishing it with a bow knot. When he's paid for it, he spends a minute holding it up to the sunlight outside, rotating it to appraise it from all sides. Then with a narrowing of his eyes, he nods, and marches off to the meeting point.

Hop arrives at Wedgehurst Station five minutes ahead of the Wyndon train, or so the station clock tells him. He paces about the lobby with the gift in hand, rolling his shoulder as if preparing for battle. Ever since Gloria complimented his new denim and leather jacket, he has made a point of wearing it to every meeting; this time, he has paired it with a graphic t-shirt with a Charizard face outlined in white—though neither fashion choice is instilling much confidence in him right now.

What if she knows I spent half an hour picking out this shirt? Is it too childish? What if her favourite flavours have changed? What if she notices I've worn the same jacket three weeks in a row?  And then the usual helping of, Have we grown apart?

By the time the train chugs into the station at ten o' four, Hop's hands are cold as a Frosmoth's feelers, and his stomach feels full of them. Above the thud of his heart, he hears the doors slide open, and then reality breaks through when he is shoved to one brick wall by the tide of passengers surging through the gantries.

It takes him a minute to realise that the person dodging frantically about at the back of the throng is the one he's looking for. He can't be blamed; she has ditched the iconic tam o' shanter and grey parka for a too-large blue cardigan sprinkled with white patterns, and a woolly red tartan scarf wrapped halfway up her face. A comically large pair of pink sunglasses, the kind that's all flash and no utility, completes the look.

Hop is shaking with laughter when she hurtles through the gates and flings herself at him. “Mate, why are you dressed like that!" he blurts out over her head as she squeezes him.

"Crowds," she mumbles into the scarf. "Don't feel like handling those today."

"That's supposed to be a disguise? You know the idea is to draw attention away , not to yourself, yeah?"

"Why, thank you, pleased you like the new look," she chortles, slipping an arm out of the embrace to push the pink glasses to her forehead. “And you are looking like a treat, especially without the pink over everything. This thing gives you Bede vision, I swear."

"You think so?" The compliment surprises a self-conscious laugh out of him, the flush spreading across his face like a forest fire. "I was going to ask if you borrowed it from him," he answers, catching his breath.

"I have a good mind to give it to him when I'm done," she mutters. Her eyes dart to his occupied hand. "Sweets? From the confectioner's?"

The nerves slam into him again. He straightens up, urging the paperbag towards her; maintaining eye contact is suddenly harder than keeping a hand on a hot stove. "Yeah, it's, it's for you! You remember the store we used to visit? I ran over today and picked out some of your favourites! And there's a friendship bracelet on it too. Can you believe how long it's been since I made you one? About time for a new one..."

Eight sentences deep, Hop realises that he's started to ramble. His voice dwindles awkwardly. Gloria only stares at the gift bag, and then at his face, and then back at the bag. "For me?" she answers, pulling the scarf down from her face. He nods, and she snatches it, loosening the knot in the bracelet. Peering inside, she starts to giggle. "You actually remembered my favourites?”

He folds his arms behind his head, grinning. "I couldn't forget if I tried!"

Her brown eyes are brimming. "Hop, I hardly know what to say! This is so sweet, and the bracelet..." She runs it between her fingertips, a crescendo of emotions on her face culminating in an even tighter hug than the first. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, you're fantastic!"

Her words stir up a thrill, and he still can't meet her eye when they pull apart. He only grins fondly at her as she leads the way to the exit, at how she spins in the sun as they step out onto the cobblestones, breathing in the countryside air.

"It's good to be back!" she shouts, pulling the shades back down over her eyes. Then she turns back, so abruptly that Hop almost trips. "Uh, I just remembered, I didn't get round to eating before I had to catch the train. I was a wee bit excited."

"Sorry, mate, I forgot to pick up breakfast," he answers, rubbing his neck. "Well, I haven't had breakfast either. So, we should..." With a light touch, Sonia's voice reverberates in his head. "...do you want to come get breakfast with me at the Daisy Teapot? I'll treat you."

Her face lights up. "Aw, you spoil me. Of course I'd love to."

For someone normally so stern and focused, Gloria is absolutely brimming with joy today. He is usually the one remarking endlessly on the things they pass, but today they are exchanging commentary at matched pace.

"Those flowers are looking lovely these weeks, especially the daffodils," she says, pointing at the barrels of yellow flowers in the florist's storefront.

"Yeah? Wait till you see the fields this time of year," he replies. "You remember how it was, don't you? Clear blue skies, and colours on every corner, at least wherever the Wooloo haven't gone grazing."

"Grazing Wooloo...I miss that," she sighs. "Sitting on the fences before work, watching them roll around and bump their heads on fences. Really, I miss everything about here, after being in Wyndon so long. It's slow here." She closes her eyes and breathes in the pasture breeze. "It's quiet, it's nice."

"Hey, we miss you too, Glo," he answers. "It's not the same without you. Now neither you nor Lee are ever around, and I'm always in Wedgehurst, I feel like our mums are running out of company."

Gloria chuckles. "If I could be here more, I would. But I think they're starting to notice, back at the stadium. Leon's been awful nice about it, to be honest, the other day he called me to the Battle Tower and—he's too big-hearted to say it outright, but he obviously wanted me to reconsider my schedule."

Hop frowns. "Aw, mate, sorry we're keeping you from your job," he says. "I'll be the one to call in Wyndon next time, if that'll help."

They've come to a stop outside the Daisy Teapot. He signals to the waitress for two seats; she gestures them towards a table by the window, where vines hang from the eaves in curtains.

"Sorry for keeping me away? Not a chance," Gloria pipes as they pull the facing chairs. Sitting, she props her head up on her elbows and smiles at him. "It's worth it, being welcomed home like this.” Her eyes dart about to take in the cafe's cosy wooden furnishings. “Is this the first time we've been here together?"

Hop can't help lingering on the way she says "together". "First time since we were ten," he replies, struggling to find the happy medium between staring and looking away. "A lot has changed."

"Yeah, lots," she replies with a meaningful look, one that seems to pierce through his thoughts. "You know, you..."

"What can I get for you today, Miss Champion?" The waitress' cheery voice cuts in, her pen hovering over her clipboard.

Gloria's head whips around, and then back to the menu. "Two pancakes with butter, honey and walnuts!" she says right away.

"Ah, you're the special someone that Hop has been ordering breakfast out for every weekend?"

Gloria's eyes widen. Hop feels his face go aflame. He shoots the woman a wary glance, chuckling nervously and subtly shaking his head. " Yes, and ," he exclaims too loudly, "I'll have the Razz jam on toast, and breakfast tea with milk and a sugar." The waitress gets the message, thankfully, and scurries off to the kitchen with their orders.

Gloria seems to think nothing of the blip in the conversation. It quickly resumes its lazy meander through their recent memories: Gloria talks about Wyndon, a place like a faraway dream; she outlines that dream in rough edges. He talks about his late nights in the lab, the struggling greenhouse plants, the late-night drinking and commiseration with Sonia.

A low-burning light ignites in her eyes. "I wish I could be there," she says. "Drinking together, now that we can. And talking. I just—" her voice breaks— "miss the country and its people so much. I feel like I was torn out of that life before I even knew what was happening."

"And I've missed you," Hop says without missing a beat. He surprises himself at how steadily the next words come out. "Why don't we do something proper this weekend, then? Before you head back."

Gloria's wet eyes light up. "I like the sound of that. What are you thinking?"

"It'll have to be something special. What's a special place in this corner of Galar? The Slumbering Weald? How about it? I'll nab some drinks from Sonia, and if we bring our tents, we could camp out."

A grin lights up her face. "Camping again! When, tonight?"

Hop's head perks up. "I had some experiments I was supposed to run, but you know what? Those can wait a day. Tonight it is."

They stay talking at the Daisy Teapot all the way through lunch hour. Though Gloria has returned almost every week in the two years she's been Champion, it seems they haven't been saying even half of everything. This time, they're leaving no stone unturned.

They rag on Leon's efforts to conceal his heart-on-sleeve frankness, how in true Leon fashion he has paired his burgundy suits with sports caps, of all things. Hop grumbles about how Sonia chews his ear out for not washing her teacups when she's tired, and how he's well on track to finish his first publication in a year's time. Gloria calls him her "dear genius", at which he almost chokes on his tea. She tells tales of how Hammerlocke's ancient city walls have been patched over in concrete. He details his efforts to stay in touch with his family through week-long stints at the lab—how he misses them, how she misses them, how they miss each other.

And Hop steadily finds himself getting lost in the sun-drenched light of her gaze. Home hasn't felt this much like home in ages. She was always here before, an irremovable part of Postwick—sitting on his fence with a bunch of blue flowers, shoving them into his hands; scarfing down ice-cream in his family kitchen and whining at the ache of her teeth; clutching his hand when they stumbled out into the misty Weald on their first adventure.

When she's not here, Postwick doesn't feel like itself. This realisation brings the overwhelming ache of sorrow, of knowing this can't sustain—that perhaps, he's fated to lose home forever to the lights of Wyndon.

He ends up treating Gloria to breakfast and lunch. It isn't until three o'clock that the hours finally make themselves felt again—when a familiar head of strawberry blonde hair pokes through the vines in the window and a shout of their names startles them out of a conversation about type advantages. "There you are, you two love—lovely people!" Sonia shouts. She flies in, Yamper chasing at her heels, and slams her palm on the tabletop between them. "Hop, you said you'd be back by three!"

"Sonia! Sorry!" he exclaims, lifting a hand in appeasement. "This conversation took more turns than a road through the Weald."

"Speaking of the Weald, we're going camping there tonight."

" Whaaat?" Sonia's sunglasses almost fall clean off her head. "Camping? Together? Alone?"

"Sorry, I...it's for a good reason," Hop stammers.

"Bow wow!" Yamper intones.

She fumbles her sunglasses back into her hair and beams. "No, no, I'm not upset!" she gasps. "You two go enjoy yourselves this evening, all right?"

"I can make up for the lost time," Gloria puts in. "I'll prepare some leaf samples, hop was just telling me about your greenhouse project."

"Oh, I'm sure you would be brilliant at leaf samples, but Hop is the one being paid to do this." She lifts a finger. "Here's what you can do—keep him in high spirits, all right, Gloria? He works better when he's happy, you know."

"Sonia, I'm right here."

"Of course!"

"And make sure you take only one tent along tonight. It's very important." The professor has the audacity to wink at Hop as she says this.

Gloria blinks. "Um, all right!"

" Soniaaaa. "

"Bow wow wark!"

"Now, I'll be picking up a coffee, goodness knows I need one. See you two later!"

It takes Hop all of two minutes to lift his face from his cupped hands, and for Gloria to stop goggling right at him. "She took that well," she remarks.

"Yeah, yeah, she did," he mutters, and he has a good idea of why.

"Go on and take my bike, it'll be faster," says Hop as they come up the road to the lab, pointing at the wheel peeking out of the nearby thicket.

He watches Gloria wheel his bicycle out onto the road in a run; she leaps on with the ease of a gymnast. Turning back, she flashes him a thumbs-up and grins. "Be back in half an hour!"

She ends up taking about twice that long in Postwick—just as well, because Sonia's pink-polka-dotted cooler bag is clearly not meant to contain five lunch boxes, five bowls and six cans of Leppa cider. By the time he hears his bicycle clattering back down the road outside, Hop has only just managed to wrestle the zip shut over the last red can. When the knocks come, he springs towards the door in a clatter of knocking boxes and jars, shouting her name.

"Got the supplies?" she pipes when the door opens.

"All ready, come on!" It turns out that his burden is nothing next to hers: she has tent, tripod and crockpot strapped to her back, and it's almost a miracle she isn't tripping every second as they march out onto the road—though again, she lifts more weights in a day than he does in a month.

As if summoned by the thought, a top floor window groans open above them. "Have a good time, you two!" Sonia's voice calls down. "If you see any good specimens out in the Weald, take some samples."

"You say that like we haven't already made twenty expeditions in there!" Hop fires back. When he turns around, Gloria is already out in the middle of the sunset-stained road, Zacian's silhouette towering over her with glowing eyes. "Don't you go running off without me!" he calls, tossing Zamazenta's Pokeball into the air.

It is well into nightfall by the time the two wolves hit the fork in the road between Postwick and the Slumbering Weald. Tonight, a ghostly scattering of clouds dances across the moon, aflame in white and gold. With the silhouettes of the sleepy town's houses disappearing behind a knoll, their Pokemon leap across the rickety gate and into the rolling fog that meets the road where it narrows through the first copse.

There's a thrill thrumming through the air like thunder as they dive into the shadows again. They remember the first time they ventured here like yesterday—back when they were barely tall enough to scale that gate and the Weald was a great, gnarly unknown held back by a half broken fence. Somehow this forest feels familiar now. Back into the foggy tangle they delve, of roots that no sun has touched, the air thickening till the burbling of creeks joins the rustle of twigs and leaves overhead.

The two beasts make a soaring dash through the last trunks and burst out of the fog, into their old sanctuary's embrace. Moonlight cascades through the canopy, bathing the clearing in silver. The lights glance off the glistening lake and the ancient altar stands silent watch over it, silhouetted in its eerie blue glow.

Pausing in a pool of light, the wolves raise their heads to the night and howl. The harmony reverberates through the branches and hidden banks echo it back like the walls of an invisible cathedral.

"It's even better at night," Gloria breathes. "Perfect camping weather." Beside Hop, her feet crunch in the leaves, treading carefully through the litter. He turns and there she is, grinning up at him, the blue moonlight bright enough to see her smile by.

"Let's not waste a second," he answers, shrugging the bag back onto his shoulder and leaping off Zamazenta in a cacophony of colliding plastic and tin.

With a toss of Pokeballs, their teams scatter across the clearing in a riot of movement. Pincurchin lands on the lowest step of the altar; Cramorant and Pelipper soar to the top of the arch, where they cry out across the lake; Cinderace sprints to his old companion Inteleon, and for a while they converse in chitters and croaks, circling the trees.

It doesn't take any argument to decide who will pitch the tents and who will get the firepit ready: Gloria is the one who can drive a tent peg into the ground, and Hop is the one who can make a half-decent curry without setting everything on fire. While Gloria and her Machamp set to work with the canvas and poles, Hop kicks out a hollow in the dirt by the altar steps. His Pincurchin and Dubwool watch lazily as he stacks kindling under the tripod and hangs his crockpot from it. "What are you two doing there, just watching?"  he says good-humouredly, turning. "Cinderace, get back here, we need a light!"

Amid the sounds of hammering and fluent cursing from Gloria in the background, Cinderace gets the fire going in no time. With the red flame merrily licking the pot's iron belly, Hop flips the cooler bag open and cracks his knuckles. It's showtime.

Hop has never made this recipe before, but a year of cooking has developed in him an instinct for the art. It doesn't take long for a heady aroma to waft across the clearing, joined by smoke and the sizzle of oil.

A pole thuds into the ground. " Whaaat , that smells amazing!" Gloria yells from the trees. The sound of tent poles being dropped is followed by her scurrying footsteps, till she drops onto his log seat beside him and catches him about the waist with an arm. She leans close to the pot and inhales the aroma. "Hey, that's not curry!"

"It's korma, which is a kind of curry," he chuckles, tossing chopped ginger into the pot, "just not the sort you can make with any old berry you find off the roadside."

"Oh, like your mum makes?"

"Exactly! I got the recipe from her." Dubwool pulls a jar of chutney out of the bag by the strand of yarn knotted around it. He takes it with a thank-you and unscrews the lid, spooning a generous dollop into the pot.

Her arm drops away from his back, and there's the sound of rummaging in the cooler bag. A can tab pops. "How does it smell so good ?" she sings. "You cook so well. I couldn't nail down a basic curry if I tried."

He laughs sheepishly, watching her chug the cider from the corner of his eye. "Good thing I can cook for two then," he answers.

She rises from her seat with a pat on his shoulder. "Right, I'll go do my part and get the tent finished," she says, and marches off.

Once she leaves, the lull takes hold in the clearing again, but Hop's thoughts remain a frenzied cacophony. With the firelight dancing in his eyes, he finally rallies his attention enough to think about what he's going to say.

I mean, I have to say something. The location, the atmosphere, the symbolism of returning to the place where their paths first diverged—it's all screaming at him to get on with it. To place before Gloria the wild proposition that there may be something, a future, for the two of them, beyond these fleeting day-long meetings in hours stolen from obligations.

Gloria, I like you. / Gloria, I'm sort of in love with you! / Gloria, I have had feelings for you for a while, but I only just figured out what they were. We were just friends for so long that— / Gloria! Would you ever want to go out with me?

He groans softly, stirring the sauce harder. He isn't sure how much longer he can go on thinking these words without speaking them, but no version of his confession sounds serviceable, or really any more than scrap heap material.

By the time the steaming pot of korma is ready to serve, its scent has attracted the teeming gathering of Pokemon to the fire pit. The hiss of simmering sauce is joined by Gloria's famished whining, as she shuffles towards them with hands outstretched. "Gimme, gimme," she chants. When Hop shoves a loaded bowl into her hands, she beams up at him like he's a rescuer throwing her a lifebuoy.

"And, you'll need this," he adds, pushing a spoon into her grip.

Without waiting a second, she shovels the first spoonful into her mouth. It takes her a moment to process it.

Her eyes go very wide. " Hop ! this is incredible!" she screams, already stuffing a second spoonful into her mouth. "It's just like your mum's!"

" Just like my mum's?" he answers. "That's high praise, you know." He dishes out two bowls for their Pokemon, and then one for Snorlax alone.

When Hop turns, he finds Gloria and Dubwool lounging together, her head almost completely swallowed by the Pokemon's fluffy wool. He tries not to be conspicuous as he takes a seat beside her with his own bowl, taking his first spoonful.

He straightens. It does taste just like his mum's.

"It's good !" he gasps.

"It sure is!"

Dubwool pokes a sauce-stained snout at his bowl; with a laugh he scoops out a mouthful, which it inhales with a snort. He scratches its forehead with his fingers while it licks the sauce of its nose, his smile mirrored in its eyes.

"Your Pokemon really love you," Gloria's says absently. They're not quite close enough to touch, but Hop can feel her warmth against his arm, setting his skin tingling. "I should have known from the start that you were cut out to be a Pokemon professor. You were always treating your team so well."

"Really, I never thought I was doing anything special," Hop replies between mouthfuls. "But you did always go into battle guns blazing, while I was thinking too hard about putting Wooloo in danger, and you know, that's why I fell behind."

"No, don't start on that," she mutters. "You're a proper trainer, too. I've been in it long enough to get how it is—the League rewards reckless injury, and you aren't the ruthless kind, you care that your Pokemon are happy and healthy. And you know what, completely fair. And admirable, even."

"Right, right, true." Somehow, her words have dissolved that familiar gnawing ache. "Thanks, mate, you always know what to say."

She chortles. "Gosh, I wish I always did."

The clearing is drenched in colours around them: golden firelight, pale starlight, blue gleaming off ancient marble. Across the campfire, Cinderace and Inteleon chase each other in circles. Behind them Dubwool snuggles closer with a deep rumble in its throat. A perfect dinner, Hop thinks to himself.

Sighing, he reaches for a can of cider, surreptitiously watching his companion.

Her eyes are trained on him—a Champion's eyes, hard with resolve. The light outlines the faint scars on her jawline that she must have earned from the years of battles. Her eyes sparkle like the lake across the clearing, as do the flecks of glitter in her blue cardigan.

Lowering his can from his lips, he cocks his head to a side and smiles at her. She giggles back. Her laughter makes him feel like he's plunging through a thousand skies, his stomach doing flips all the way down. What should he make of this, this feeling he's always known yet never noticed?

Ploughing through the conversation scripts in his head for something, he opens his mouth, but the words catch in his throat.

Her smile mellows. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he replies, shovelling the last spoonful of dinner into his mouth.

She purses her lips thoughtfully. "Well, you know you can tell me anything."

Nodding, he puts his empty bowl on top of hers, and reclines into Dubwool's fur, folding his arms behind his head. Up in the canopy, a scattering of stars peers through the leaves, and he focuses on a lone bright pair, obscured every now and then by the shifting leaves.

"Want one?" Gloria's hand enters his vision bearing the bag of sweets from the morning. The friendship bracelet hangs from her wrist. Nodding, he takes the first one he can get his fingers on and pops it in his mouth.

He's only vaguely aware of her shuffling up right next to him, but it doesn't register till their legs bump together. "How have you been?" she says, patting his forearm.

Her touch makes his skin feel warm. "Good," he replies. "This is nice, I'm glad we decided to come out here."

"Me too. Everything good at the lab?"

"Yeah, work keeps me busy, and Sonia's a riot to be around, and I get to see my parents whenever I choose. So, everything is good, or it should be." He pauses, brow furrowing. "It's just, how to say this…"

The joy is edged out by a hollowness, which he tries not to allow to take hold completely.

" You're missing from this picture, you know? I wish you were here." The words stay aloft in the air. "You've always been here, near me. But now you're not, it's just strange in Postwick. It feels like something's missing."

Her face is caught in a frown. "I'm sorry," she says.

"No, nothing to apologise for," the words come in a tumble. "You're already taking more time off than you should. And you're an amazing Champion! We watch every match, you know. My family calls me whenever you're on live! I'm so proud of you, mate..." Abruptly he gulps down another mouthful of Leppa cider.

Gloria shakes the last drops of her own can into her mouth. "I'm sorry it's all like this," she repeats, staring at the rim of her can. "I wish there were a way I could be both there and here at the same time. But it is what it is." She smiles wanly and tosses the empty can at the dying fire pit with a thunk . "I s'pose we were both needing this. Some time to catch up, away from work, and people, and everything."

Hop leans over to fish out two more cans from the bag, and hands one to her. Leaning into Dubwool's soft flank, knees and shins pressed together, they drink in silence until the firelight gutters, so that the solemn blue light of the Weald alone bathes the scene. The world shimmers, like something out of a fairytale; glints of moonlight dart like a thousand fish across the altar and each other's faces. Their Pokemon are starting to doze off, except for the two wolves, who pace quietly from shadow to shadow.

The trees form a rustling fortress, holding every secret inside its confines. What if he asked her now? If he doesn't speak here, he isn't sure if he ever will.

At the same time he has this thought, Gloria rolls onto her side with a sigh. When he turns, she's watching him intently, as if waiting for something, a surprise, an admission.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Oh, nothing, just looking," she answers with a lazy smirk. "When did you get to be so cute?"

The effect is instantaneous, like he's just dunked his face in hot curry. "Haven't I always looked like this?" he answers in a nervous laugh, almost unable to hear himself through the booming of his heart.

"Oh, you're right," she whispers, squeezing his arm. "I was just too busy thinking of gym badges to notice. Now I just spend all my time missing you."

"You, you do?"

"Aw, Hop. Why wouldn't I? You've been there my whole life. Like a habit I can't break. A good one, like checking the letterbox every time I go inside. But I never find any letters these days, if you know what I mean? It's like you say...nothing feels right without you."

He lets her words thrill him, but cautiously. "I just didn't think you thought about me much at all." He, too, flips onto his side, so they're leaning face to face, hardly thirty centimetres between them. A curl of her fringe lies across her right eye; feeling brave, he reaches out and gently thumbs it out of her face, index finger tracing the tip of her ear, making her eyes close.

"Are you joking?" she replies. He can feel her gentle breath on his palm. Her gaze is hard to look right into, like staring at the sun, but look he does anyway. "I miss you like mad . I imagine things sometimes, that I see you around the corner, or hear your shouting over the crowd. Sometimes I wish we could just go on like we did before, hanging out together at every waking hour, on the same street, always a shout away."

"That makes both of us, you know," he whispers. "Hey, I could move to Wyndon if I can find a placement there, at the Pokemon Centre, or the Battle Tower. Sonia's been helping me look."

Gloria draws in a sharp breath that hovers between her lips, as if she were afraid to hope too much. "Could you?"

He nods earnestly. "It'll be a year, but once I finish this thesis, I can start looking. It wouldn't be like when we were kids, having sleepovers, herding Wooloo together...we'd still have work, responsibilities, you know how it is. But coming home to you every day, Glo! It's all I could want."

"That sounds a bit like being married," she answers with a chuckle.

His face heats right up again, like a kettle over a fire. "Yeah, like that," he says dumbly, caught out by her words. "That would, if it means not having to miss you for weeks at a time, I mean, I like the, I mean..." He grits his teeth as all his scripts and plans tangle together into one useless jumble on the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes are big as the moon by now. "Yeah? You would?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a breath. "Oh Arceus , Gloria! Yeah, I would! I'm in love with you! I can't even think, this is coming out all wrong, but I needed to say something !"

She goes rigid. "You serious?" she breathes.

" Yes , I'm completely serious! Sorry the timing is so bad, I promise we can never talk about it again if—"

Gloria starts to laugh, pressing a fist to her mouth. She's laughing so hard that she starts to slide off Dubwool. "No, please, anything but that!" she gasps, propping herself up on one arm. "If you ever need to say something this badly again, please don't keep it to yourself, oh! I could cry with joy!"

"So...you're happy?"

She takes a minute to wipe tears from her eyes. "Of course I'm happy, I'm over the moon! You feel the same way about me, I'm an idiot!"

Now he's the one who freezes. "Wait, do you mean, I, do you—?"

"Ugh, you're so bloody adorable," she gasps, cupping her frigid palms around his cheeks. "Hop, yes! I love you. I have loved you forever! And I want us to see each other as much as we possibly can. I wait every week for just a few hours with you, and it's worth it, coming here and going back, but if you say you can move closer, oh, I was so afraid to hope, but!"

When he has finally gathered enough wits about him to answer, his words come in a shout. "Gloria! Yes, me too! I want to see you all the time too! I'll make it happen, I know I can, I promise!" Bewildered smiles blossom on their faces, as if it hasn't quite sunk in for either of them. "So, then, all those things—the compliments, the stuff you gave me, the—"

She nods profusely, interlocking her fingers with his. "I may be bad at flirting, but you can't say I didn't try," she laughs. "But you , the gifts, all that, those weren't just friend gifts?"

"Friend gifts?" he exclaims. "Friend gifts! Gloria, we both need to learn to take a hint."

"Sorry, you've just always been nice to me, I couldn't tell if it was supposed to mean anything!"

"I could say the same, Glo—"

In the midst of his frantic blushing, she pulls his face urgently towards hers, and presses a kiss to his lips, one that lasts a minute and deepens and deepens as they lean together. Though his thoughts were all a frenzy a minute ago, they are still now. There is nothing in this world but him and Gloria.

"Oh, Arceus," he breathes as they pull out of the kiss.

"Oh Arceus indeed," she answers, equally breathless. "I've been dreaming about this for ages."

"For ages? No way!"

"I feel like I'm the last to figure it out. Even Leon knew, somehow. I don't know how he did when he can't tell left from right, but he did! The day he called me to his office, he said, 'I know you're in love with my baby brother,' like it was common knowledge, and," she dips her head with a chuckle, "that was when I realised."

"He's still calling me a baby?" he mutters, sticking out his lower lip. "Well, you're not the last, because that would be me. Even Sonia had me figured out before I did."

Gloria slaps his shoulder and doubles over with laughter. "I can't believe we're the last people to know."

He shivers at her touch, before it hits him that he could do it now, hold her hand, and it wouldn't be amiss. He doesn't pass up the chance. "Do you—do you want to be together, officially?" he asks, clasping her hand between his, bring it up to his lips, kissing her fingertips. "It's a weird thought, after all these years as friends, but—"

"The whole internet will be on our cases the instant they find out." Her gaze goes steely. "I'm in. Anything for you, love." And she ends her sentence with another kiss, one that he eagerly melts into.

Gloria's tent-raising skills are, thankfully, almost as solid as her battle skills. It doesn't collapse when they tumble together into its warmth, with just a wicker lamp to see each other by. They spend the better part of the evening curled up together on their sleeping bags, Gloria's face buried in the crook of Hop's neck, or sharing lengthy, drawn-out kisses.

Well into two in the morning, they're still kissing sleepily, neither seeming to mind if they went on till the sun rose. But eventually Gloria does run out of steam and doze off, and Hop, still dizzy with thrill, brushes his lips on her forehead one last time as her eyes close, before putting out the lamp.

When a knock echoes through the lab in the dawning hours, Sonia jolts awake from her desk with an ache in her jaw.

The Roselia wall clock says six thirty. Six thirty? No one visits this early. She formulates her guesses about who's waiting at the door as she shuffles towards it.

Peering through the eyehole, she shrieks at the sight of Gloria and Hop leaning together for a kiss.

"You two!" She kicks the door open. By then they're both grinning innocently in opposite directions, though their fingers are incriminatingly laced together. "Camping went well, I take it? Did you get lots of time to bond?"

"Yeah, lots of time," Hop repeats as they step inside, finally letting a blushing Gloria's hand go, in the name of keeping up pretences.

The pretences last up until the living room. Then, as if she could wait no longer, Gloria swings Hop into a couch—Sonia's favourite couch, mind you, with the heart-shaped cushion—and tumbles in after him, and it takes approximately three seconds for the kissing to resume with gusto.

Well into the morning, they're still tirelessly snogging on the new couch ( my favourite couch! Sonia thinks indignantly as she's brewing her morning tea), finding ever new ways to fit in it without slipping off.

"Hop, don't you have a paper to write?" she shouts over the hum of the kettle.

"The paper can wait," he replies, voice muffled. "Gloria can't." Sighing but unable to help a grin, Sonia pulls her Rotom phone from her pocket and sends it over.

The sound of the electronic shutter click startles them both out of their sickly-sweet display. Hop stares over, betrayed. "Sonia!"

"Now that you're both looking here," she shouts from the kitchen counter, "how about breakfast?"

Within the hour, their Rotom phones are zipping about the dining table throwing out a frenzy of messages from parents, friends, siblings and the whole of Galar. And Sonia knows she has everything to do with it.

"Sonia!" Hop yells. "Who did you send that photo to?"

She looks over from the corridor, tea sloshing onto her slippers. Hop has his head in his hands, and Gloria leans with her arms draped over his shoulders, their heads pressed together in mutual exhaustion. "Just Leon?" she replies.

Hop's phone buzzes. He straightens, bumping Gloria's chin with his head. "Then how did this complete stranger on the internet get hold of it!?" He scowls, holding his phone up for her to see.

Sonia draws her lips into a thin line, mind racing through the possible networks of transmission: Leon sent it to Raihan? Raihan sent it to everyone?

Laughing sheepishly, she retreats backwards up the corridor as quietly as she can.

"No Lee!" is the last thing she hears. "There is no wedding!" 

Life takes something of a sharp turn around an unexpected bend for both lab assistant and Champion. Nowadays, Hop moves about as if borne on a cloud, and Sonia frets that this sledgehammer through his life might spell the doom of his thesis.

But he only returns to his work gripped by a fervour like nothing she's seen before. By the time he starts clearing two weeks' experiments in one, her fears are all but allayed, to be replaced by concerns of the opposite nature. "The poor lad's going to work himself dead," she complains in a call with her grandma once, watching him pipette samples into centrifuge tubes. As his supervisor, she knocks on his door for mealtimes thrice a day; as his honorary big sis, she takes it upon herself to bring him her cooking when he clean forgets.

Meanwhile a ludicrous number of photos of screencaps of Sonia's photo circulate the tabloids. Then the speculations begin to sour, and the not-so-secret couple's hand is forced. It’s preluded by a frantic, tearful phone call from Gloria the evening before, one that Hop answers in the warmest tones, though his voice trembles just as much. “Yes, you can tell them," he declares, "and if anyone tries to bother you about it, I'll sock them! Love you!”

It goes public overnight, and inevitably makes headlines the next morning. Suddenly everyone in Galar develops the ability to sniff out every single photograph of the two of them together, and across the internet, rude speculations are drowned out by a public outpouring of glee from the droves of people who "called it".

i knew it from the minute they were on the news together at the start of the gym challenge, so cute, reads a forum post that Gloria sends to Hop the evening after the bomb is dropped.

We were *literally* the last to figure this out, reads her caption.

Every other Saturday morning like clockwork, Hop rushes out of the lab and returns with Gloria on his arm, who takes on ever more ridiculous disguises. Sonia learns to leave three teacups on the table, learns to hang an extra umbrella on the rack by the door. It becomes an unspoken agreement between them that the common area is all theirs till the next morning.

(The ugly pink shades do make their way to Bede. Gloria receives a strongly-worded reply, one that she and Hop read aloud in turns in the common area, rolling with laughter. A week later a selfie of him in said shades surfaces on the internet. Headlines again. It's becoming a habit.)

The weeks lengthen to months, and it's surprising how easily they roll by with all the chaos to push it along. As the new Champion Cup season ramps up, Gloria's visits to Postwick dwindle to once a month, but Sonia knows it's no warning sign—she hears their phone calls through the wall some evenings, Hop's lilting exclamations and blown kisses, the only distraction he concedes.

They've hedged their bets, he tells her later. They're taking a tradeoff that demands perfect faith in the future, in their fates falling together, though she can see that every weekend they are apart is more agonising than the last. The more visits they sacrifice now, he says, the sooner he can attain his doctorate, the sooner they can move forth into that fantastical future they're banking everything on.

There's a whole lot of ways their plan could fall apart, and Sonia doesn't have to tell him. His research could fall through, could drag the paper out by months or even years. He might not find a job placement in Wyndon, and even if he did, he might be sent on international attachments. Either of them could lose interest before any of this can bear fruit. To be fair, this is Hop and Gloria they’re talking about, and if there's anyone she's confident can make things work by sheer force of will, it's them.

Still, Sonia is not one to leave things to confidence.

Professionally speaking, the young professor has nothing but glowing recommendations for her assistant of two and a half years.

But as his confidante, as his friend, as family by all but blood—she knows more than anything that she would protect their dream with her life. 

On a cool evening three months into winter, when Hop is well set to complete his thesis by the middle of the year, the crucial phone call comes.

That evening, Sonia knocks thrice on Hop's door. She's answered half a minute later by her assistant rolling there on his chair. "What's going on?" he asks, glancing up.

"I have something I need to talk to you about," she replies in a tumble of words. She sees his face go a shade nauseous. "No, no, nothing bad at all! A really good thing, in fact. Here or in my office?”

At once, he springs out of his chair. “Tell me here, any second longer and I’ll explode!”

“Well, I’ve been in talks with the Pokémon Centre in Wyndon,” she cuts to the chase. “They’re very interested in your research and are eager to take you on as a research associate once you have earned your doctorate.”

“I—wh—Sonia!” Hop sputters. The words don't seem to be coming. With an unintelligible yell he throws his arms around her, squeezing all the breath out of her. “I don’t know what to say, thank you, thank you!” Sonia wheezes. His hug slackens, and she wonders briefly if she has given him too many workouts shelving encyclopedias. “You didn’t have to, I’m shocked you did this for me—thank you.”

“Thank you for your work,” she replies, grinning over his shoulder. “Of course I had to, you are right brilliant, and they deserve you. The recommendation wrote itself.”

He doesn’t answer, except with a small sob.

Sonia sighs, smile softening. “You and your brother are such weepy ones,” she murmurs, rubbing his back. “Come on, you’ll do amazing.”

“I, I’ll make sure to work to deserve it,” he says earnestly as he unwraps his arms from her, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“If you can clean up after yourself, too, that'd win their respect in no time,” she answers with a wink. “Well, I guess I’ll have to begin my hunt for a new assistant.”

“So eager to get rid of me?” he laughs. “I’m still here for a few months, you know.”

“Some months I’m going to miss when they’re gone! Except for the furniture moving around at random, I won’t miss that. And you still haven’t paid me back for what you did to my favourite couch.”

“What? It was just tea! I tried cleaning it, and it didn’t make a lick of difference! I’ll get you a new couch sometime, all right? You can hold me to it!”

“Between being brother to one champion and husband to another, I’m sure you'll have no trouble pulling together that sort of money,” she chuckles.

He slaps his palm against the side of his head. “Soniaaa!”

The months see the plans growing surer with every passing day. Before he knows it, Hop has earned his own coat, and a little scroll to go with it. And the office is not his any longer, the shelves packed up, the floors bare save for paper fragments in corners. And at last, he's saying his goodbyes to Mum and Sonia at the train station. Even Yamper seems apprised of the mood, nuzzling his leg with a forlorn yap.

It really is a strange bittersweetness, leaving half his family here to join the other half in Wyndon.

"Give Leon a hug for me," says his mum.

"And a smack on the shoulder for me," Sonia adds.

He goes into the station wheeling his luggage in front of him—a bag of Cheri and Oran chocolates, caramels and Aguav jellies swinging on the handle.

"I can't believe it took us this long," Hop murmurs to Gloria on a windy balcony of the Battle Tower. The city glitters beneath them, their hands linked. Snow swirls from the sky, glowing gold in the lights behind. "But it was worth all the waiting, the nights apart, you know?"

Gloria squeezes his hand tighter, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "Well, I think," she whispers, "the nights apart make the nights together better."