Listen, if Isaac wasn’t leading, and Kepler sure as hell wasn’t leading, then who the fuck was flying the plane? Probably (definitely) this Ashley guy, it seemed, who wasn’t half bad and was actually kind of nice. Isaac waxes poetic about the guy’s cooking and Kepler’s stomach gives an involuntary angry-cat noise of hunger. It seemed the Bang he’d scarfed for breakfast was wearing out.

“Food poisoning is always an issue,” he contests, not sure he really subscribed to the facet of food nirvana, but he’s already said he’s willing to go along with the idea, so it’s too late to back out, now. And he doesn’t really want to, he finds. Kepler’s always been a being of curiosity, so this is just par for the course.

I’ll take good care of you rattles him to his core and he averts his gaze, watching Gaia and Mercury where they seem to be reading the newest edition of the Hoenn news through the screen of one of those newspaper dispensing thingies. “Where did you learn to cook?” he asks, aforementioned curiosity branching into the tried-and-true academic practice of grilling the subject.

Kepler does, in fact, do the same thing that Isaac does when Ashley mentions Martín del Mar- the ass-clenching thing (though it could be argued that Kepler was never unclenched.)His mind goes wheeling back to sitting with the admin in a graveyard spinning doomsday stories and conspiracy theories. Its whiplash, is what it is.

Isaac herds them into the grocery story, the automatic doors parting with a hum; he reminds Kepler that they came out here for a reason. “Merc, grab a basket. No, a cart. I need energy drinks.”

Mercury directs the cart towards an Oreo display in the center aisle and Kepler looks up at Isaac fast enough to get whiplash-- real whiplash, not metaphysical whiplash. “You have a girlfriend?” And he’s not super sure how that makes him feel, A) because he had Isaac totally pegged as gay and B) because [redacted].

Ashley diverts his attention once more. Kepler looks up with plaintive, innocent eyes.

“There’s a difference?”

Ashley Shepard Isaac Merlo

☉

Kepler’s situation was almost directly inverse to Ashley’s-- not that he would realize it at the time, of course. He’d spent so long at the mercy of the world around him, finding solace and protection in Rocket. He was a hydrophobic tail safely ensconced between the hydrophilic heads and safe from the chaos of the water-based world around them.

Isaac, being the unfortunate good soul that he is, volunteers to help.

“I promise you want me nowhere near anything you want to maintain as edible,” Kepler said. He gestured vaguely to his cart that Merc was piling with pre-made meals, heavily preserved snacks, and energy drinks in every variety of the rainbow.

Kepler’s diet, on full display.

Ashley mentions he has wi-fi and then grabs his face, the skin flushing. Kepler tilts his head, latching onto this, looking closely. It’s a puzzle, right, and his brain likes these.

Maybe he forgot to pay his internet bill?

“Yeah,” he says, still watching the faint redness across Ashley’s cheeks, his nose. “Cool with me.” He realizes he’s staring and then it’s his turn to blush and look away, suddenly appearing very interested in the checkout lane trinkets. “Small is good. I’m small, too, so. It works.”

Which is-- well. He was taller than Isaac, actually, but, like, just barely, and his computer hunch wasn’t doing him any favors.

Ashley Shepard Isaac Merlo

☉