At least it wasn’t satan’s asscrack o’clock in the morning, this time.

Guillermo had gotten a handle-- a small one, but still, a handle-- on what degree of hurried he needed to be when it came to Alex’s panicked texts. It was still a rapid rush, but the absence of terrifying, half-understandable phone messages meant his heart didn’t race quite as hard.

The harrowing story of Alexei surviving his brutal attack had really put the fear of-- of something, in him, because he got anxious every time he had to be away from him, now. Fortree was just a quick Togekiss ride away. Still, as he was locking up his place, he was desperately thinking of that Fortree Ranger position. That was what he was working towards. That’s what all the overtime, all the cultists, all the angry Snorlaxes, bees and Absols, was for.

He could, maybe, possibly, just ask Alex to put in a word with HQ, but that seemed a bit forward for the time being. Alex still thought of Guillermo as a good friend, and he didn’t want to come across as positively stalkerish. Also, asking for help made him break out in hives.

He hopped off Puck and pushed in the door to Alex’s flat (open this time, thankfully) as the Togekiss transformed into light and beamed back into his Pokeball. He strode in with all the force of someone about to put the beat down on whomever-- or whatever-- was causing Alex such stress.

Seeing the Duskull, he knew, at once, what the problem was; he bit back a sigh of relief as the panic began to slip way, replaced with a slight tremble in his limbs as he toed his shoes off and walked across the living room carpet to put himself stoically between Alex and the leering Duskull.

Which was laughable, because Memo was at least six inches shorter than Alex, but hey, it was the thought that counted.

“Shoo,” he said, crossing his arms and giving the floating skull his best reproachful glare, “go on, get. Don’t make me exorcize you.”

So his whole macho-bravado entrance didn’t have any effect on the floating skull. Maybe he wasn’t channeling enough of his rosary-strangled grandmother’s anti-demon energies. Or maybe there was something else going on.

He heaved a sigh, wanting to say it’s just a ghost and magically make everything go away but, well, phobias didn’t work like that, did they?

“For a spirit that usually only frightens naughty children, it sure seems attracted to you,” he said, turning to look at Alex, brows knitting slightly in concern. “So, have you been naughty?” he asked, unable to keep a smile from quirking up at the corner of his mouth.

The Duskull continued to stare doggedly at its intended target-- and despite the slight chill in the air and the unintended side-effect of Alex’s pathological fear, it didn’t seem to be doing much harm, and if it tried anything, he was here to stop it.

He can’t help himself, making Alex blush is positively addicting. It’s adorable, the way it starts at his ears and trails over his cheeks and down his neck and Memo really wants to see how far it goes but he straightens the hell out of that thought with a forced long blink.

“I mean,” he said, forcing his tone to come out level and even and not at all like a high-pitched giggle like it was threatening to, “do you have any reason to be haunted?” It was sort of a bold ask. Like, literally, what are the skeletons in your closet? Just go ahead, throw them out here.

Part of him was really, really scared. His Alex, a murderer? No. He’d spontaneously combust, on the spot.

“How’d it even end up here, anyhow?” he asked, more to distract himself from that particular tangent.

Okay, so the fact that Alex hadn’t immediately jumped into a long spiel of plausible deniability was not the greatest of signs vis a vis, my boyfriend is not a murderer. Memo’s face fell, despite his best attempts at staying positive.

He reached over and took Alex’s hands in his own, needing to touch him, be grounded for this moment; and he asked a question he really should have asked before this all started (by ‘this all’, he meant, their whole relationship… thing):

“Alex,” he said, voice level and calm, “I really need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not a murderer right now.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner to more-or-less sell the fact that it was a joke. But it was only kind of a joke, right? Like, he needed this assurance, ha-ha, please be a joke.

His chin tilted downward as he searched Alex’s face for-- for what, he didn’t know. A crack in the façade? The big reveal that his very cute, very terrified, very blushy boyfriend was a serial killer?

“I-- that sounds ridiculous, but okay. I believe you. It caught itself.” He left the end of the statement open, prompting further explanation.

“Oh, thank god,” Memo sighed, sagging against Alex even as he pulled down his bandages. Memo didn’t care, he wasn’t watching, he believed him; his forehead fell against Alex’s chest as he pulled him in for a very relieved hug. Then, he snickered. “Okay, so the biggest skeleton in your closet is still that you don’t clot. God, you’re like an angel.” Sinless. Pristine.

He stepped back, disentangling himself from Alex but still holding one of his hands. He tilted his head at the Duskull with a curious look on his face. It had definitely floated closer. Memo wasn’t easily rattled, but even he was starting to get slightly unnerved by the constant glaring.

Staying firmly placed between the haunter and the haunted, he unconsciously ran his thumb over the knuckles of Alex’s hand, squeezing it in thought.

“Have you tried asking it what it wants?” he asked, puzzled. "Or-- maybe we could use a ouija board?"

Memo stood protectively in front of Alex as the latter cowered behind him.

“Look,” he said, tone assertive, “if you want to get any resolution to this you need to stop scaring the daylights out of him.”

Keeping one eye on the skull, he turned, and maneuvered Alex back to the couch, pushing him gently onto the seat. “Just sit and breathe,” he said, unable to stop himself from slipping some strands of soft, blonde hair behind Alex’s ear.

At Alex’s question about the ouija board, he shrugged. “Dunno. Never used one. But we have to find some way to communicate with it, right?” He turned back to the Duskull, sitting next to Alex on the couch, scooted forward to provide more of a barrier.

“Or you could be a nice ghostie and-- show us what you want?” he tried.

Memo frowned at Alex. “I think Pokemon can understand what we’re saying,” he said, completely realizing this was not the point--

“But they just don’t listen.” He turned his withering glance on the Duskull, just in time to see Zelle come leaping out of-- wherever the hell she came from. His face split into a grin and he reached down and grabbed her, plopping her onto the top of his head.

“Hi, baby girl,” he purred, latent confusion and frustration at the situation disappearing in an instant. “What’re you doing out here?”

He looked from the Phione to the Duskull, frowning again.