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The holiday season was indeed upon Hoenn, yet Barnaby found himself lacking in the typical festive cheer. Usually he would have had his penthouse decorated for the occasion, but instead of twinkling lights and lush garland Girard Fraser was welcomed by a warm fire in the hearth and the pleasant scent of a mellow candle. Cozy, but not the pop of reds and golds that he'd just walked through.[break][break]

Luckily, Pepin the EEVEE could be relied upon to brighten the mood of any gathering. He mewled his delight as the door opened, rushing to brush up against the other man's leg like a little jovial cat marking its territory. Girard was a particular favorite of Pepin's, after all. Not to be left out, the diminutive fox also demanded pets from the MR. MIME, too.[break][break]

"Girard! Glad you could make it."[break][break]

Smiling, Barnaby greeted his friend with a familiar faire la bise before ushering him and his Pokémon inside. He knew their routine and hadn't missed the small pouch in Mortimer's palm so, instead of guiding them to the living room, they settled in the kitchen. Here Barnaby gestured for Girard to sit in a cushioned barstool along the main island.[break][break]

"And what have we here?" A tug on his sleeve goaded Barnaby's attention downward, where he saw Mortimer offering something on an outstretched hand. Plucking the bag from the MR. MIME's palm with a grateful smile, the journalist then held it delicately to his nose.[break][break]

"Mmm. Woody and just slightly earthy. A little wisp of sweetness." He flashed a mischievous grin toward his friend. "You're spoiling me today, Girard. What is this?"

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Girard made sure to give Pepin his full and undivided attention at the start of his visit, scratching the exuberant Eevee behind his ears, then running his fingertips through the soft fluff of his mane. Mortimer picked the Eevee up into his arms and endured several face licks as he contributed his own flurry of scratches. All in all, Pepin seemed to accept their pampering and scampered off into the kitchen as Girard and Mortimer followed after Barnaby.[break][break]
Girard was pleased to see that, even after some time apart, returning to their normal routine flowed as easily and naturally as if no time had passed at all. Barnaby was quick to put the kettle on and Girard settled into a comfortable barstool, immediately making himself at home. He leaned casually forward, resting his elbows on the countertop as he surveyed Barnaby's tea preparation handiwork, eyes alight with a keen interest. Barnaby certainly knew what he was doing when it came to tea, one of the many qualities that Girard appreciated in the other man.[break][break]
The pawnbroker met the journalist's mischievous grin with one of his own. "No attempts at a guess?" he teased. "Very well. It is a rare Pu-erh cultivated in the Melemele Meadow in Alola. I ordered it specifically for you." His tone was only a little flirtatious, just enough to maintain the modicum of suggestive intimacy that had always existed between them. In truth, behind the playful pleasantries there was a genuine wealth of respectful trust.[break][break]
"Your home lacks the usual holiday decor," Girard noted, as the steaming tea was poured into two fashionable teacups. "Have you been well, Barnaby?" This last question was posed as casually as the rest, but there was an underlying note of concern. It wasn't that Girard suspected anything terribly wrong with Barnaby's current affairs, but the region had been under a great deal of strain lately. Such circumstances could take their toll on even the most resilient of people, Girard knew.

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"You really are spoiling me."[break][break]

A dynamic which he quite enjoyed maintaining with Girard Fraser. The two always seemed to be trying to one-up each other with gifts and compliments and the like. It made for a delightfully titillating friendship.[break][break]

"I'll have to pay you back with something even better next time." Barnaby mused, slightly flirtatious, as he prepared the pu-erh; within a few minutes his kitchen was overcome with a delicious, earthy scent. Tea cups were set out and filled, the first taste of the decadent tea blooming on his taste buds before Barnaby answered his friend.[break][break]

"Ah. Observant of you," He conceded, sparing a glance around his open living space. It appeared quite cavernous without a tree or tinsel or garland to brighten the mood. [break][break]

"I suppose... I didn't see a need to decorate this year. Who knows if we'll even make it to Christmas?" Quite the pessimistic take, but it was practicality which ruled Barnaby's mind and influenced his decisions. Why waste time and money when there was more than a good chance a meteoroid would destroy them all in the coming weeks?[break][break]

"Despite that, I've been alright. Busy. And trying to squeeze in as much time with friends as I can." Just in case.

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The tea was complex and delicious, earthy and rich yet light and airy all at once. It was as high quality as Girard had promised it would be. He savored the taste of it, closing his eyes in a moment of bliss as he brought the teacup to his mouth.[break][break]
"Some would find comfort in playing at normalcy," Girard mused, opening his eyes again. "Much of the region still acts as if Christmas is right around the corner." Which, under the usual circumstances, it would be. "But you've never really taken that approach, have you?" A wry smile, that undercurrent of flirtation. But there was also an understanding. Girard, too, was not the sort of man who could simply ignore impending doom.[break][break]
He shifted in his seat, moving closer to his friend - a subtle gesture of comfort. "You are wise to spend whatever time we may or may not have left on the things you care about most." He paused, expression softening. "I'm lucky you consider my friendship one of those things."[break][break]
Did Girard really believe this was the end? He had little faith in the League's ridiculous plan, but Rocket was also scheming. Total annihilation was not the Rocket way - at least, not the Rockets Girard was loyal to. If Rocket wanted to rule, then they'd best ensure there was something left to rule.[break][break]
"We have a very capable group of scientists working on a solution, I am sure," he murmured, speaking some of his thoughts aloud for Barnaby to hear. "You know some of them better than I do. Do you think there is a chance the meteor can be stopped?"

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"Normalcy? Me? You know better than that, Girard." Said with all the faux-indignation in the world.[break][break]

Quieting as his friend continued, the sweet words goaded a grateful smile to Barnaby's lips. He shifted closer, too, so that their hips and outer thighs grazed one another. BARNABY FINCH had always been one to enjoy physical comfort over anything else.[break][break]

"That you are, and best remember that." A playful tease followed be a softening of his own. [break][break]

"I'm lucky, too." There was something in the way Barnaby regarded Girard then – a curious spark in his eye, a slight tightening of his grip on his teacup. But it came and went as the topic of conversation moved forward.[break][break]

"There's always a chance. We wouldn't be trying if there wasn't." He pursed his lips, mulling over his thoughts before continuing, "But I'm not much of a gambler. It all just... puts me on edge."

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The feel of Barnaby's body pressing up against his, albeit subtly - just a tease of physical intimacy - sent a small thrill through Girard, though he knew as well as any who were close to Barnaby that the man was prone to seeking physical comfort. Girard didn't mind, though he was often more reserved - distinguished, some had accused of him - after all, Barnaby was someone he, admittedly, often thought about touching...in ways that were perhaps unbecoming for someone who claimed to be "only a friend."[break][break]
Were they "only" friends?[break][break]
Barnaby had had his fair share of flings, even a serious relationship for a while...there was someone now, wasn't there? There always seemed to be someone. Someone who wasn't Girard.[break][break]
Girard had no qualms with sharing a lover; coveting someone often only lead to disquiet and resentment. "Soulmates" was a cowardly term, used by those too insecure to realize that the world was full of many choices, so long as one was willing to pursue them. And yet, Girard had never wanted to make things awkward between himself and Barnaby. There was something special about the reporter, as if winning his trust meant more than mere pleasantries, more than the time a busy man like Barnaby often did not have to give, more than the loyalties that existed between men who had chosen lives of crime over fair play.[break][break]
But the world was ending...so. Why not?[break][break]
"Then don't gamble," Girard murmured, snaking an arm around Barnaby's waist and pulling him closer. They'd hugged before, cuddled even. But now, his amber eyes smoldered with resolve...with suggestion. Something they'd always left unsaid. "We can invest in that which we know is real, something reliable. Even if only for a short time."[break][break]

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Barnaby was no idiot. He'd built a career on his observational skills, after all. He was wholly aware of the sort of relationship he and Girard Fraser had cultivated over the past almost-year. [break][break]

They always seemed to be on the brink. Flirtatious, innocently-yet-not-so-innocently physical, with moments of intimacy that pushed them to the edge of something more. Barnaby knew what was and what could be, yet never took that final step across the wire.[break][break]

Now was no different.[break][break]

"Girard..." Barnaby murmured softly as the other man pulled him closer. The proximity was electric, that much was undeniable. It made the temptation hard to resist, which likely showed in the way he didn't immediately stand to leave.[break][break]

"... You know I can't." Not that he didn't want to in the moment. Or, at the very least, think about the possibility.

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As expected, Barnaby declined Girard's advances. The pawnbroker did not resent him for it; it was the arrangement Barnaby had consented to, and it wasn't Girard's intention to get his friend in trouble with someone he supposedly loved.[break][break]
Girard could not control the ways in which people viewed relationships; he might find monogamy distasteful, but that didn't mean those that did choose such a lifestyle ended up regretting it. And yet...he could not help but see a flicker of disappointment in Barnaby's pretty blue eyes as the other man rejected Girard. For a split second, envy boiled in the pit of Girard's stomach. Envy and frustration. If Barnaby was even a little bit unhappy, he ought not limit himself. He should puruse what he desired.[break][break]
Alas. He would not force the issue.[break][break]
"Of course," Girard replied pleasantly, with a slight acquiescing bow of his head. Reluctantly, he let go of Barnaby, brought his hands back to his teacup. The dregs of the pu-erh had grown cold. "My apologies for overstepping."[break][break]
His eyes twinkled with anything but apology, but he knew Barnaby understood. There had always been that undercurrent of "what could have been." Well, relationships had the capacity to change. Perhaps Barnaby's would, at some point in the future, if they all survived the coming weeks, of course.[break][break]
Not that Girard wanted his friend to experience heartbreak. Quite the contrary; he merely hoped Barnaby could have everything he wanted.

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“No need to apologize.”[break][break]

And it really was that simple. No awkward tension, no hard feelings. [break][break]

“Now, why don’t we take this to the living room? There’s a documentary I’ve been dying to show you.” [break][break]

Just like that, they returned to their usual dynamic.[break][break]

Except… the thought of being with Girard Fraser would continue to linger in the back of Barnaby’s mind for months to come. It was a fleeting thing, popping up out of the blue to tease him throughout the day. The perpetual what if building as time passed.[break][break]

Could BARNABY FINCH truly have everything he wanted?[break][break]

Well, that certainly was the premise he lived his life by. Why would this be any different?[break][break]

Time would tell.

[attr="class","barnaby-notes"]