Memo had been saving his quickest and tastiest baked goods for just such an occasion.

Well, not the letting everyone have a punt around the park thing. That was a lot of bodies and a lot of chaos that made him nervous. A lot of his small horde were little monsters-- Oona and Acero, mostly, but also Hydra, who was Large and Incredibly Dangerous when peeved. Which was always. Hydra was always peeved.

Weeeeeell, he texted back, maybe not *everyone*. But I’ll definitely be there.

So he whipped up a batch of his favorite guava-strawberry-mint lemonade and a small tray of citron tarts and gathered up his ne’er-do-wells and shipped off-- on Puck, this time, who was a less angry flier than Acero, but also more prone to distraction.

His Togekiss also had less of a negative connotation than his Skarmory so he had Puck drop him off right at Alexei’s front door, which he knocked on, this time, as opposed to spiriting the lock open using Shivani’s intangible wall-crawling powers. He had one of those big plastic Brita pitchers in one hand full of fuschia lemonade and a tinfoil wrapped tray of tarts in the other.

In tow were most of his younger brood: Besa the Sandshrew; Ovejita, naturally; his other sheep, Atalys; the Shaymin he and Alexei had worked so hard for, little Espina; and Silas, his Corsola, who literally never got out. For soon to be obvious reasons.

Technically, fellow omniscient narrator, they weren’t friends with benefits, as of yet, because they hadn’t cashed in on any of those said benefits.

In any case, Memo could peg the scent of cooking cheese at a thousand yards and his stomach immediately began to rumble. In his haste-- or, rather, the leisurely and methodical way he approached getting himself dressed-- he’d forgotten to eat anything.

His nerves melted away the instant he heard the gentle hoofsteps on the opposite side of the door, followed by Alexei’s voice, then not-so-gentle hoofsteps, a bang, something ratlling the doorknob, a curse word, and then, finally, Alexei’s face, already reddening around the ears and down along the apples of his cheeks.

“Hello, handsome,” Memo said, holding out his own edible offerings. “What’d you make? Do you need any help?” He stepped in the door and said hello to Smokey and the baby, then set the lemonade on a nearby table and scooped Will up around the middle with one arm, lifting him upside-down and causing him to bleat merrily. “C’mere, you. I hear you causing trouble.” The crown tumbled downards and Memo caught it through the middle around his foot (thank you, years of football-- er, soccer? Is that what they call it here?) and then set the little sheep back down again, flipped the crown up, caught it, and replaced it on his head.

Okay, he was showing off a bit, but they only weighed, like, 13 pounds. Ovejita was probably 10.

“Oh, this one’s new,” Memo said, pointing at a Wooloo who appeared to be two colors, like dirty cotton. He stooped down to gently pet the Shaymin without taking his eyes off the dual-toned Wooloo. His brain immediately went to the impossible, and he looked from Smokey to Will and back again.

No.

Impossible.

“How’d that happen?”

“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” Memo said, grinning. “It all sounds delicious. I shall have a bit of everything, I think.” His voice lapsed briefly into that pompous, posh Galarian accent that always suggested an educated individual of wealth. “The rainbow macarons are a nice touch.” Also, his whole family went feral for elote, so that was awesome. “This is great. Well done, love.”

He accepted the glass with a nod of thanks and directed his attention back to the off-colored Wooloo. “The-- the one with the smudgy edges. This one.” He pointed to the lamb in specific, with white fleece turning black around its outline. “What’s the story?”

His homegrown, well-beaten-into-him manners held out and he waited for Alexei to make a plate before he helped himself. He did swipe a macaron, though.

“‘S very good,” he confirmed enthusiastically, covering his mouth to speak. Though he did see a carb-nap in his future. Ideally, one that included a cuddle.

Memo laughed, a genuine, deep one that started brewing in his chest and bubbled through him like sunshine. Or tea, to stay along the Galarian theme. “What, you don’t like a bit of posh?” he asked, grinning. “I’m too roughshod for that, anyhow.” And not well educated enough, but who was, these days?

“That’s not fair, your accent sounds hot,” he said, a faux-whine creeping up through his voice. “Mine just sounds like bad television.”

He placed a hand on his chest, feigning injury “I would never question your baking ability,” he said, taking another off the plate as though to illustrate. When Alexei left the room, Memo broke the top cookie in half, splitting it with Will, then shoving the rest in his own face.

Once Alex had fixed himself a plate Memo went to town, grabbing a heaping helping of everything and balancing a precarious tower of pasta and elote as he looked for a seat. Settling in, he did what Alexei suggested, and turned a what-did-you-do glare on Smokey.

“Well?” he asked. “What did you do?”

As if he could talk back.

It was very interesting watching the two Wooloo communicate without discernable language. Smokey definitely looked the fool, slightly ashamed. Memo pointed with his fork.

“There’s your husband left out in the rain,” he said, tuning into the drama a bit but also trying to lighten the mood. He shrugged between bites. “It’s just another kiddo to add to your collection. Though I do think you have a bit of a problem, love.” He grinned to show he was joking, even as they were being swarmed by Wooloo.

He fished for Ovejita’s Pokeball and added his own to the mix, the little lamb surrounded by others of her own kind. Her eyes went a little wide and then she baa’d in excitement, jumping up and down as though she couldn’t contain herself.

Though the question of what they were-- he and Alexei, not the two sheep-- was a good one. They had kissed, albeit briefly, and this was their second dinner date (could he call it a dinner date?). There was, however, irrefutable evidence that they were co-parents-- the evidence herself was currently nudging at Alexei’s thigh, begging for treats-- and what the heck. They had pet-names, they were going on a most-likely-dangerous adventure together, hell, Alexei had bled all over him that one time--

What the heck.

“So what’s the occasion?” Memo finally asked, forcing himself from his thoughts. He nodded down at the delicious spread of food. “Is it someone’s birthday, or a secret Unovan holiday I’m missing?”

He was, like, asking without actually asking.

Guillermo at least had the grace to cover his mouth when he scoffed.

“At the daycare?!” He said, with all the travesty and scandal he could muster. “For shame.” It looked like not all was domestic bliss within the house-hold.

He looked after the two troublesome sheep with the barest hint of a smile. “You know,” he said, drawing his fork across his quickly emptying plate, “it is kinda nice to see them in the drama instead of us.”

He made a mental note of Alexei’s birthday being in December and tilted his head, looking all innocent.

“It’s not wrong,” he said, letting the sentence drop. He didn’t know what he was going to say next.

They had kissed. They had cuddled. They’d shared a bed! If there was an ‘Are You In A Relationship?’ form out there, they were rapidly checking boxes. Except, Memo had never actually been in one before, ever.

So did he really know what he was doing?

Nah, not really.

“Everything is really good,” he said, helping himself to a third macaron. “Exquisite. Thank you.”

“Corn salad,” Memo said, doing his best impersonation of Alexei’s Unovan accent, though a touch more nasally than natural. “It’s called elote. Ell-low-tey. But usually it’s kept on the cob.” He snickered. “And yes, I ate it all. It was delicious.”

He had started gathering up dishes and decided he would absolutely be doing them, thank you, when he noticed the little Shaymin nudging at his leg. With a grin he released his own version of the hedgehog, Espino, who touched snouts with Alexei’s Shaymin. Memo gave them a piece of macaron to split and they gleefully went to munching away like kids at a picnic.

It was a lovely, gentle, quiet moment that reminded him of when they’d been on that island, him sprinting across the bridge made of flowers and Alexei flying over him, watching to make sure he didn’t fall.

“Let me get your plates, love,” Memo said, going back to gathering up all the used dishware and heading for the sink. He had decided he was too happy to continue pressing the What Is This subject for the night. Whatever it was, it made him happy, and that was what was important.