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Father liked to take him on trips.

[break][break] He used to take Alexei too, but as of late, Alexei had officially enrolled as a Rocket and so was busier than usual. While Jayden didn't quite mind his brother's company, privately, he did enjoy taking part on these private trips with Dmitri. Father was somehow kinder, more attentive, and it was easier to forget the fact that he was not his father's favorite son.

[break][break] But he did miss his mother's piroshkis.

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Dmitri Volkov, known in Galar for his inheritance for Wyndon Pharmaceuticals, was also the same man as Nikolai Cross. An esteemed member of Rocket's Galar and Kanto branch. It was easy work for him to travel around the region for business, all the while recruiting Rockets from all corners of the world. Taking his youngest son made the work easier, and also doubled as a sense of training for the young one. Alexei was a soldier molded on his way to success; Mischa still had much work to complete.

[break][break] When they entered the home, Dmitri was the picture of courtesy. His tall and well-built frame, draped in attire crafted from luxurious Kalosian leather, exuded an air of ease and refinement. Yet, when he smiled, it was a slow and careful thing; he did not show teeth and yet there was a sense of one's fangs grazing against skin. Every inch of his appearance, from his impeccably tailored outfit to his polished shoes to his slow smile, spoke of a thinly-veiled threat.

[break][break] "Georgiana, is it? Thank you for allowing us into your home. Thrilled to meet your acquaintance."

[break][break] Blood scarlet eyes snapped immediately to the child hidden beneath Georgiana's skirt.

[break][break] "Oh, you have a daughter. How marvelous. She will get along splendidly with my son."

[break][break] Behind the daunting presence of one Dmitri Volkov was his son.

[break][break] Michail Volkov.

[break][break] He stood next to his father, dressed in similarly tailored cloth, but the dress shirt he wore looked uncomfortable on him. Shyness peeked out of his face as he twisted his hands together looking at the pair of blond women, glancing between his father and then them, before dipping his head politely at them both.

[break][break] For all the effusive confidence that Dmitri wore on his sleeve, his son had inherited none of it. In fact, he was nearly the opposite, as if his throat was suffocated by an invisible hand.

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Moments later, when they were settled in, Father released him into the garden. It was not all that often that Father allowed him to be on his own, especially in a foreign place, but this situation called for special measures.

[break][break] "I have something to speak to Georgiana about, " he had said to his son with a thin-lipped smile. "Business matters. Adult matters. Now, go be good and play in the garden."

[break][break] Elisabeth Fiorelli would find the young Michail Volkov peering awkwardly around a bush. While the Cross Estate in Galar certainly had their own sets of flowers, neither father or mother considered themselves all that adequate at floristry. Ballonea was filled more with mushrooms than it was the towering sunflowers that he found himself surrounded by in the Fiorelli garden.

[break][break] When he heard footsteps behind him, he flinched. He leaped around suddenly, startled to see the young girl and her Wurmple.

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'Mischa.'

[break][break] He jerks at the name — the nickname rather — that she used.

[break][break] "You can —" he starts, stuttering for a moment, before he swallows. "You can call me Michail."

[break][break] Mischa was a name only Father used. Only Mother used. He had not yet been used to others saying it, and it almost felt - in a way - wrong for them to say it.

[break][break] He feels grateful when the topic shifts, instead watching as she chattered on and her pleasant voice filled in all the gaps of his silence.

[break][break] "Is it?" he asks, head tilted. "I don't think I've see them before."

[break][break] Neither of his parents were particular connoisseurs of insect pokemon.

[break][break] He looks down at his Eevee, who blinks owlishly back at him, then he turns back to the blonde.

[break][break] "I don't think Eevee can fly."

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'Michail. Michail. Michail. Michail.'

[break][break] He blinks, staring at her as the young Kalosian girl says his name more times than he's ever heard it before. When his father says it, it is always stern yet loving, like a hand curled upon his shoulder. When his mother says it, it is always cutting and sharp, like the edge of a curved knife. When his brother says it, mocking.

[break][break] Color flushes his face, before he lets out a small laugh of surprise. Unbidden from his throat, it furls like a flower into the sweet, summer air.

[break][break] His laughter dies only momentarily because it is her turn to laugh at him. His expression grows puzzled, wondering what it is that he had said, finding himself distracted by the way the Wurmple nuzzles into her cheek.

[break][break] "Okay," he says easily, glancing down at his Eevee who nods approval. The Eevee trots a long happily, waving it's tail in the air.

[break][break] Jayden follows a little more slowly, hesitant, as his fingers curl shyly in hers.

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His eyes catch the sight of Galarian roses, immediately recognizing them from the casing that father had once brought home for mother. The sight of prickly thorn reflected in his father's blood-red case were also the same hue as his mother's scarlet lipstick, smiling, as she placed them into a vase.

[break][break] 'Mischa, this is not for you to touch.'

[break][break] 'Careful of the thorns,' she had said. 'Or you will bleed.'

[break][break] His gaze snaps towards Elisabeth Fiorelli when she lets out a soft, little gasp. His lips twist into a frown.

[break][break] 'An antidote?'

[break][break] "Oh, actually..." he reached into his pockets, fumbling, and pried open a small glass bottle. WYNDON could be read on it's inscription. The boy walks slowly over to the sickly creature, kneeling down to the floor. In his hands, he holds the drooping leaves gently, spraying the medicine upon it's leaves. As soon as it hits, the sunkern immediately perks up.

[break][break] A smile widens the boy's face, curved like a crescent moon.

[break][break] "I think... it worked!"

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'A natural healer?'

[break][break] Irony struck him. Despite being the son of a pharmaceutical giant, Jayden had never considered himself a natural hero. He was not a natural anything as far as he was concerned.

[break][break] And being the son of Dmitri made him feel like he definitely should not have been a healer.

[break][break] He was not good.

[break][break] "It's a pharmaceutical company back in Galar," he said, when she asked. He handed over the vial to her for further inspection, although it was empty now. "Father and I... we hail from there." It was his mother's company, technically, but everyone knew that Dmitri held the reigns. "Ballonea, specifically."

[break][break] Violet eyes lift towards hers.

[break][break] "Father and mother own Wyndon Cross Pharmaceuticals."

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"You know of the Glimwood Tangle?"

[break][break] The boy's eyes light up at the mere mention. Like a set of moon flowers, his attention blossoms in front of Elisabeth Fiorelli.

[break][break] "I love it. When I'm home, I always spend my free time there."

[break][break] It's where father can't reach him. Where brother can't reach him. It's the quiet space that he knows he's safe, even admist all the ghosts and fairy types.

[break][break] His expression dampens at the return of his father's company, and he bobs his head in turn. "Yes, I am." Of course he is. Father says that without their company, Galar would fall to shambles. After all, what are trainers to do without the medicine to heal them?

[break][break] "You should be proud too. Wine is collected among many," he says, blinking up at her. Jayden is too young to be a wine connoisseur himself but he knows the importance of it. "And is the cause of much joy."

[break][break] "You take something mediocre," he says, gesturing to the grape fields. "And turn it into something refined."

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He nods with emphasis.

[break][break] "I do."

[break][break] Jayden says it with the certainty of a boy who has only ever learned the things that he was taught. It was only unfortunate that his teachers seemed to be his own parents.

[break][break] He had no idea of the crimes they committed — at least not yet.

[break][break] The boy finds himself mimicking her, kneeling down onto the floor and folding his hands over his knees. Sun beams danced across the fields as dawn turned into daylight.

[break][break] "A poet?" he blinks. "What is that?"

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