[attr="class","dibody4"]His body lurches, the sudden impact from behind jamming his nose into the top of his glass. A hand instinctively reaches to catch the beer that drips down the front of him onto his lap (his chinos!) before his assailant's hand pats him on the head.

Sorry. With a huff, he brings his body into a standing position. The glass slams down on the worn wooden bar top and his arms reach out to either side of him, eyes down on his crotch to see the damage. He looks incontinent and he doesn't want to look incontinent today -- a sigh escapes through his nostrils.

"What the fuck?" the indignant words come out as he turns his body to face whatever asshole thought this was funny. "Do you think this is funny, asshole?" the fire in his eyes searches for the man to burn; they land on a pair of chestnut eyes.

Wait, he knows those eyes. His own lighten up as confusion washes over his expression.

"...Scott?"

[attr="class","dibody4"]Reality feels fake but his sensory receptors tell him that Scott Harver, that little nerd from Saffron all those years ago, is pulling him into a drunken hug.

Zee? he wants to smile at the reappearance of an old nickname but finds his mouth gaping open as his long lost friend is pulled away from him lie a Furfrou on a leash. Zeke steps forward in challenge -- the man behind Scott is angry, but smaller than the police officer before him -- no, he can't do that shit anymore. Zeke brings himself back to center.

And then Scott barfs. He fucking hates throw up, but this time it's welcome in an already odiferous bar. The spiky blond crashes to the floor like a ragdoll; barstools tumble around him as Zeke tries to catch the chairs.

He gets a moment to confirm that the drunken asshole on the ground is, indeed, Scott Harver. Wow.

He leans over to the homophobe: this is the calmest he's looked all night but as he gets closer the feigned kindness evaporates with the beer on his pants. His voice does not go above a whisper, words passing out of them. Zeke pulls away and returns his attention to the drunken mess on the floor. The bartender is saying something about cleaning him up: Zeke nods as he cups his arms underneath Scott's. "Get up asshole." with relative ease, he drags Scott in the direction of the bathroom at the back of the bar, all eyes on them.

"Never learned how to fight in Saffron so this is what you do to scare the big bad bullies away now?" his voice rumbles with masculinity, a sliver of humor slipping in underneath the words as the two stumble into the men's room.

[attr="class","dibody4"]Zeke leans against the wall in the bathroom, its nearly phosphorescent lights pouring down on him and highlighting the worst parts of his features. It doesn't matter though -- he isn't looking in the mirror anyways, his eyes glued to the back of Scott's head as he kneels over the toilet in the stall before Zeke.

Memories swirl around in his head and he wonders when he'd seen Scott last and what they'd done. The where does not come to him but the what does, and he cringes. "This is a good look for you." the words are quiet but audible in the otherwise silent bathroom as Scott waits between hurl sessions.

Zeke can't say how long he would stare at the back of Scott's head before the blond stands up and stumbles to the sink. Up until this moment, Zeke had gone utterly unacknowledged by his former friend; his steely nerves weaken at the thought of any potential bad blood between them. His stony face does not change as Scott gargles on soap before turning to him. Zeke searches his eyes for any hint of hostility -- he does not expect it, but he knows things got...weird between them.

That moment seems to hang between them for a long time. Damn...it really is you, isn't it?

Scott's voice is strong enough to make the man of steel drop his eyes to his own feet, a small smile creeping onto his visage all the same. "In the flesh."

The space between them dwindles, perhaps subconsciously. Zeke stands a couple inches over Scott and he remembers standing up for the little geek way back when. He remembers fighting Rocket together in Kanto.

He remembers everything, and he pulls away.

The tension in the room cuts, if only a little. He feels relief. "What are you doing here?" there is a sincerity in the newly-appointed officer's voice that indicates he is not aware of Scott's position.

[attr="class","dibody4"]His eyes catch the white on Scott's knuckles as his hands grip the edge of the sink. Thoughts wash over him but he pushes them away like the tide, too caught up in the moment to care about something so trivial when he knows the tide will come back again all too soon.

He turns to look at the door of the bathroom: it, like everything else in this fucking bar, is wooden. On it there's a copy of a painting depicting a cowboy reeling in a Rapidash -- its coloring is strangely sexy for such a topic. Zeke studies this for a moment before his attention is yanked back to Scott. "You're the gym leader?" the exasperated response is drowned in a fit of laughter erupting from the blond before him. Like so many moments already, this one triggers a reminiscent streak in Zeke. That laugh haunts his dreams, not that Scott would know it. Zeke can't help but smile, even with shock still controlling his wide open eyes. "You've got to be shitting me!"

His head shakes back and forth...this asshole is the gym leader? And he was what, a glorified mall cop? A small laugh fills the silence after Scott's dies down, this time coming from Zeke.

"...you must have done some growing up, asshole." it isn't meant to be pointed, and his monotone voice does not portray any bad feelings; nonetheless, he cannot control Scott's interpretive skills as his eyes instinctively fall to his feet once again. They search for something on the floor -- perhaps it is his dignity. Perhaps it is his sense of strength and power that he loses every fucking time he sees Scott.

Zeke cannot find it, and his gaze go back to Scott.

[attr="class","dibody4"]Lucky? Maybe...Zeke does not react as Scott rambles on. He can't be sure just how different Scott is, but he knows that it isn't luck that got Scott to where he was. The asshole was many things, among them a natural-born leader.

The compliments pass through his psyche and leave without being voiced. It feels easier not to bring leadership up, especially not here in this phosphorescent, western bathroom in a bar while both are buzzed-to-drunk.

Scott does more good than bad these days? Zeke expects a smile from himself but it doesn't come. Nothing comes, not so much as a word as he stares into Scott's eyes. He knows both are thinking about the same things, the same fights, the same day.

The door bursts open but the bubble does not pop. A man squeezes between them, his destination the stall as he murmurs something about having to take a shit, but Zeke does not stop searching for answers in Scott's eyes. The comments prove to be enough to scrunch Zeke's face up in confusion and look over at the back of the guy as he slams the stall door shut. He leans against the wall behind him again, arms crossing in front of him.

"So...Scott Harver, Mauville Gym Leader. Why are you groping men and throwing up on them in shitty bars?" Zeke does not forget that they'd just been talking about growing up -- he hopes Scott doesn't either.

He walks over to the mirror and takes a look at himself. It's an excuse not to look at Scott, even if he doesn't really give a shit what he looks like. Scott looks worse, after all. Zeke can hardly recognize the lingering smell of vomit in the air as he runs a hand through his dark hair.

[attr="class","dibody4"]He remembers reading somewhere that mirroring body language is a sign of attraction; was it back when he was eighteen and fawning after the angry blond boy that stood before him now? He can't remember. Zeke feels eighteen again as Scott barbs him with his words; those days he would not have let them pass like he does today.

He does not say sorry for his own barb -- the conversation has shifted to him anyways. The question feels even sharper than the statement that had come before it, even if it wasn't intentional. Zeke cannot maintain eye contact, even now. The man in the stall passes behind them and exits without washing his hands as Zeke tracks him in the mirror. A sigh escapes his lips as he looks at his reflection. "I'm an officer...they assigned me to Mauville starting today." his voice lacks excitement because he is not excited.

"Indefinitely." with this he turns and looks at Scott again. He needs to know how Scott reacts to their forced reuniting; there was enough good and enough bad behind them to really make this a mixed bag of potential reactions. Zeke doesn't give Scott time to speak or even think -- maybe he doesn't want to know Scott's true feelings for him right now in this bathroom. Instead, he speaks again.

"I'm proud of you, you know."