to the surprise of absolutely everyone, aaron has finally entered his job-having era (💅). a parttime gig as a food delivery boy. decent pay — or, at least, decent compared to no pay. maybe he'll settle into this cog-in-the-machine lifestyle and give up on pokemon training forever! or maybe he'll get fired at the conclusion of this thread, casting him back to his life of eating hot chips and rotting on Greyson Connors 's couch!
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his charizard turns in a nauseating circle in the air in preparation to land in front of a familiar condo. Stormy Silph lives there and, apparently, orders out a lot. not that he's judging — he would certainly order out every day if he was getting cut an elite four check. it was hard not to geek out the first time he delivered to her house but maintaining his coolness factor grew easier over subsequent deliveries. just a cursory exchange as food changed hands, then back on his charizard to get skysick on his way to the next job.
[break][break]
speaking of skysick, he doesn't quite have his land legs after the flight, so he sort of wobbles his way up to the front door with bag in hand. with his free hand, he prods the doorbell with his index finger.
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+ hehe

aaron is hunched over on the couch like some kind of gaming gremlin, hands gorilla-gripping a controller tightly as he meanders his character through a tense stroll down a dimly lit hallway. he doesn't really do horror games, but the halloween season has a way of teasing out something masochistic in him. the dark apartment and the unsettling ambiance of the game has him paranoid out of his mind — the sudden rumble of the fridge's ice machine coming to life has him, at one point, jolting from the aaron-shaped imprint on the couch in a flurry of fight-or-flight adrenaline.
[break][break]
no home invaders, he realizes eventually. just ice cubes. [break][break]

aaron sits back down, shoulders tense, to (questionably) enjoy his game. somewhere below the creaking floorboards and disembodied whispering coming from the television, his hypervigilance clues in on muffled sounds coming from another room. 
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he pauses the game and turns his head toward the source of the noise, feels a lump grow in his throat when he realizes it's coming from his room. fuck.
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he gets up, slow and quiet this time, brandishing his controller as a weapon. the glow of the television casts a long, aaron-adjacent shadow against his door as he inches closer. 
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aaron swears he hears a groan coming from inside his room, punctuated by the wobble of his doorknob as though someone has grabbed it. he grows pale, white-knuckles his controller with the intent of beating the daylights out of whatever axe murderer or malevolent spirit is standing on the other side, and anxiously anticipates the moment the door will swing open. [break][break]
come out, you ghost fuck. wait — can ghosts read minds? his brow furrows. fuck, i - i didn't mean it like that. you're probably cool. unless you can't read my mind, in which case: fuck you, man, for real. 
[break][break]

+ mint frost  hehe

flying is kind of uncool, now that aaron has experienced it. he's not formulating that opinion on his stomach-flipping ride from lilycove to mt. pyre, of course. he's looking at things objectively. he's looking at the sky, objectively, as he slithers off his charizard's back and lands in a heap in the red dust below. no, yeah, flying is super lame and everyone who uses it as their main mode of transportation is super —
[break][break]
a shadow blots out the light beating down on him, one eye peering down at him. before he can process his oncoming demise, the sound of footsteps quickly approaches. then the wet, thick thunk of a sludge bomb making impact. then the all-too-familiar click of a pokeball opening wide to swallow up a wild pokemon.
[break][break]
fingers brush his neck and he shoots upright, revived by unexpected man-to-man contact. aaron blinks at the other man, mentally stomping down his earlier dramatics so he can look as cool as possible now that he knows another human being is around to witness. 
[break][break]
"what the fuck is this?" rings of water surround him, threatening to put the actual drip on his drip. "look, bro, i don't know what you want but we can talk about it without this shit." he gestures towards the aqua ring.
[break][break]

+ jayden cross  skipping pog

the man standing outside their apartment just solidifies aaron's theory. the theory, of course, that greyson's parents are rich as hell, what with all the money they seem to toss at people to pretend to be friends with their boy. his gaze floats up to the top of the doorway as though he expects to see GREYSON'S HOVEL carved in the doorframe, then drops his attention back down on not-greyson.
[break][break]
"yeah," he confirms, the door wavering as he leans against the wall. before he can ask any questions of his own, not-greyson pounces on the silence with the two most offensive observations anyone could attempt to make. brother? boyfriend? fuck this guy for insulting his face and his taste in one fell swoop. 
[break][break]
but there is something funny about fucking with greyson that makes him answer the question rather than shut the door in this stranger's face. "yeah, something like that," he says, vague, and opens the door wider. "i think he stepped out but you can come in and wait for him if you want." he stops blocking the doorway, an invitation to step inside.
[break][break]

+ noah faber  lets destroy greyson pog

without greyson around, the apartment feels kind of empty. not that the guy moved out or died or anything — aaron assumes he's probably out laying pipe like a certified plumber for his girlfriend or harassing civilians for standing outside a convenience store for too long — but still. hanging out alone in his room is just so much more enjoyable when greyson is also hanging out alone in his room. just two dudes. in their rooms. separately. 
[break][break]
a knock on the door rouses him from his pity party. he rises from bed, picks his way past discarded wrappers and suspicious-smelling clothing, and meanders through the much tidier common area before reaching the door. 
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"oh," he says as he pulls the door open and not-greyson is standing there on the other side. "uh, hey, man. what's, uh ... what's up?"
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+ noah faber

the sound of his name being called unglues his eyes from his phone screen. avery isn't hard to pick out from the people around them — bright two-toned hair, bright yellow sundress, bright smile, there is definitely a pattern here — and he grins back at her as she approaches. "yo!" the greeting is clipped by an amused laugh. "it's nice to see you again, too."
[break][break]
he tucks his hands into his pockets (to maximize his cool guy factor, of course) and inclines his head towards the door. "let's head in." he turns away briefly to open the door for her.
[break][break]
he might've been broke and jobless and a high school drop out and a chronic user of 3-in-1 shampoo, but he still knows a thing or two about chivalry. for girls whose standards are on the floor, he stands head and shoulders above the others. the others being, like, murderers and other felonious characters, but they still count for something.
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"you know what you want?" he asks as he heads in after her, taking a cursory look at the menu behind the counter. he's never really been to sawsbucks before, but he's confident they can't fuck up a breakfast sandwich. "i've got this," he tells her, putting a hand on his chest. "so get whatever you want."
[break][break]

+ pog avery jones

this day is cemented proof that the top twenty percent of men attract eighty percent of all women. even though he had nearly eaten shit on a rogue ice cube while  pathetically struggling to hold a bag full of them, he had, somehow, not sent avery running for the hills. to everyone's — including his — surprise, that disaster of a first meeting leads to today, with him waiting outside sawsbucks for her to arrive. 
[break][break]
is this a date? he wonders idly, studying the app icons on his phone with the vested interest of someone trying to appear busy. fuck, am i going to have to pay for both of us? 
[break][break]
he's terrible at numbers, but the panic that sparks in his stomach turns him into a mathematician, crunching the numbers on sugary coffees and overpriced, artisanal sandwiches. nah, i can pay for it. it's a halfhearted attempt to convince himself. regardless of the contents of his wallet, he plans to do absolutely nothing about this until they reach the register. 
[break][break]

+ pog avery jones

for his whole life, aaron has been grounded. not emotionally, of course, but physically. when groudon flew into a rage, he had watched literally everyone take to the skies on personal air chauffeurs. meanwhile, he had gotten rocks and lava hurled at him like he was a ring toss game at a fair and groudon was a newly-minted boyfriend trying to impress his girl by winning a plushie. after that whole ordeal, aaron had gone out and parted with some fast food money in order to obtain some sky privilege. he gets a charizard, he hops on board. just a quick flight, he thinks. [break][break]
it doesn't go as planned. it rarely does.
[break][break]
charizard lands at the peak of mt pyre of her own volition, her wings kicking up red dust as she slows her descent. aaron slides off her back and onto the ground in a helpless sprawl, fingers curling in the dirt as he embraces the sweet solidity of earth for the first time since he took off from his place in lilycove. he lays there, face pale, eyes wide, and, for once in his life, makes no dumbass quips.
[break][break]

+ jayden cross