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It is not Chu-e that answers Cillian Quinn's call.[break][break]

It takes a few long moments for any movement to be heard from inside. While the lights are on, it stretches just long enough that Cillian would perhaps think that Chu-e isn't home. It still cracks open, though, and the face that peers back out at Cillian would be familiar. Prince, the Gardevoir, and one of Chu-e's longest companions since his tenuous return to Hoenn.[break][break]

The pokemon blinks, seeming like it perhaps was expecting someone else or no one at all. Then he seems to remember himself and step back, opening the door wider for Cillian to enter.[break][break]

The lights are indeed on. The TV playing, but muted, on some cooking show. The jovial looking woman on the screen is soundlessly separating egg yolks and whites while a Hoothoot watches on from a perch. The place is.... not in the usual top shape that Cillian would be accustomed to Chu-e's home being.[break][break]

Always pin neat, always fresh despite the copious amount of cats. The coffee table was piled up with mostly uneaten takeout and empty bottles and cups. A small pile of wrappers next to the couch, which is where Chu-e was apparently nesting. Blankets and pillows are stacked up in one corner of it, but have been pushed aside and Chu-e absent. It smells faintly of old fried food and dust, with a whiff of astringent high powered cat litter from somewhere else in the house.[break][break]

Sparklefur, loafing on the side of the couch that Chu-e had not claimed, turns her massive head and cracks open her eyes to openly stare at Cillian. The Shadow Delcatty does not view the man with hunger as she does so many others, only the blankness of a predator viewing another of it's own kind.[break][break]

From down the hall, the sound of a toilet flushing and water running in a sink. Prince would slowly close the door behind Cillian when he was fully inside.[break][break]

A squeak of hinges, the door cracking open as Chu-e makes his appearance in the flesh. He is loose and relaxed for a few moments, eyes dull and steps slow, but when he sees Cillian he pauses. In a blink, he straightens his shoulders and smooths over his expression; it is a transformation that Cillian would recognize from most in Kanto. The transformation from a person into a soldier at a moment's notice.[break][break]

"Hi, Cil. Is there something I can do for you...?" The question, the confusion, hangs in the air.[break][break]

For the state his house is in, Chu-e himself doesn't look terrible. He's clean, in fresh clothes, but there is a certain tiredness hanging in his features and on his face. Being forced to leave and do duties for Rocket had no doubt kept some form of appearances upkept.[break][break]

And Chu-e, himself, is so still and so careful in his movements. An obscurification. It doesn't seem to be malicious, just wary. Like a dog who didn't know if it would be struck or pet from the hand reaching for it.

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Cillian's far from surprised when Prince answers the door; such had been typical even when they'd been the best of friends. What was different was the surprise that seems to overtake the Gardevoir before it composes itself. Though it doesn't share its thoughts, Cillian can imagine what they might be. What are you doing here?[break][break]

A pang of sorrow resonates deep in Cillian's chest. I know. It's been too long.[break][break]

Instead, he says, "Hey, Prince."[break][break]

The house isn't trashed, yet for Chu-e's standards it might as well have been. Cillian knew that pain well. In the aftermath of not-Galar, his own home had fallen to the wayside as he'd struggled through grief. He doesn't know what Chu-e's going through, he realises, and that makes him feel worse. A true friend would know, or at least would've noticed sooner. Would've asked. Would've cared.[break][break]

I do care, Cillian realises, as his gaze scrapes over discarded takeout containers and a blanket nest. Over Sparklefur, a quiet understanding passing between the two of them. Like meets like.[break][break]

What hurts the most is seeing Chu-e.[break][break]

Seeing him shift into a soldier, an underling before their superior.[break][break]

Cillian knows the look. Hates that he knows it, that he sees it in a man who'd once been his closest friend.[break][break]

Hefting the neatly stacked plastic containers, he says, "Made extra, thought you might appreciate a hot meal." Unspoken, yet present in his eyes: You've been getting take-out a lot. That's not like you. Why aren't you cooking? What's wrong?

[break][break]

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There is a split moment where Chu-e's face shows confusion before it, too, is smoothed over. As if he can't understand why Cillian Quinn would bring him food. Instead of saying anything, he nods and motions for Cillian to follow him. The kitchen isn't attached to the living room like his last place, instead through a side door and attached to a small dining room. The top of the table is stacked up with various books. None of them are open, so this must just be some type of storage for whatever reason.[break][break]

The kitchen is nice and airy and roomy. Cillian would find it similar to his own in style and layout, only a few small differences given the shape of the space and the decor. They were neighbors, after all.[break][break]

Instead of warm foods and drinks, the air in here just seems as stale as the living room. Chu-e flips on the light and dust motes linger in the light. A drawer and cabinet are opened, two plates and forks taken out. This room doesn't seem dirty just... unused. If Cillian opened the fridge, all he would find are half used condiment containers and a few canned juices haphazardly stacked inside.[break][break]

"Thank you." Is suddenly blurted out, like Chu-e realized how quiet he was being. It's too loud in the blank space that had been too lively. An over-correction that would have swerved him into oncoming traffic.[break][break]

He seems to realize that, too, and a flicker of frustration is in his face.[break][break]

"I hadn't ordered dinner yet." Quieter. There is the jingle of a collar, a cream and peach Meowth walking into the room. Sugar tilts her head and sits on the floor next to Cillian, looking up at him with wide eyes.

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Cillian sees the confusion. Understands it. Hates it.[break][break]

It shouldn't be there. They shouldn't be like this, all eggshells and uncertainties. Necrozma hadn't been Chu-e's fault.[break][break]

The apology Cillian wants to deliver sticks in his throat, and the silence stretches uncomfortably between them. Chu-e must notice it, too, because he breaks it very suddenly with a thanks that would've been more appropriate a minute before.[break][break]

"Yeah, we hear the car pull into the drive, sometimes. I figured maybe you were out, but would've left it with Prince then."[break][break]

What's unsaid is even more telling: Cillian has paid enough attention to realise a pattern in Chu-e's behavior. An abnormality.[break][break]

Cillian absently crouches down to scratch Sugar behind the ears.[break][break]

"You haven't been cooking much." It's not a question. It's evident from the once-loved space. "Everything OK?"

[break][break]

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Cillian Quinn hears the deliveries, just like Chu-e can occasionally hear the muffled but loud 'I'm home!' from Tempest occasionally. Can see canine shapes lingering behind fences. It's uncomfortable to be perceived.[break][break]

"My schedule is pretty stable. Walsh doesn't usually put me on missions." Chu-e was too fragile for that kind of heavy duty. A skill Trainer he might be, but that wouldn't stop a lot of things out on a mission. Hell, this was the most stable his duties in Rocket had ever been. If he wasn't playing with poisons and routinely ripping people's skin off, it could almost pass for a 9-5.[break][break]

So, most nights left him at home alone. Curled up with his cats, the TV, and bad takeout.[break][break]

But, then again, the kitchen had been....[break][break]

"I've just been really tired." Is quickly deflected, a half truth.