[attr="class","samjermain"]“Here, Will, you can have some soup,” Memo said, getting down a small bowl and ladeling the spice-rich broth into it before setting it on the ground for the Wooloo to lap up.

He grinned over at Alex.

“You know I can never resist him. Or you.”

He winked.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]After a few more frantic moments of searching and babbling, Memo finally froze. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, straightening and, more or less, getting his shit together.

“We set a trap,” he said, calmly, as though this were the direst thing in the world, a case of life and death, and not some runaway Abra stealing Christmas presents for funsies.

He went to his room without another word and broke into his stash of holiday bags. Opening one with a Christmas Stantler, he brought it to the living room. Then, he filled it with all the heaviest objects he could find: his steel-toed boots and dumbbell weights and friggin’ rocks from a decorative display of them, then cinched the bag tight and stapled it for good measure. He stuck the biggest, fanciest bows on it to make it look ostentatious and valuable-- he didn’t know what attracted the little, yellow rat.

All in a sort of manic silence derived from anger.

"And now we wait."

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]He could sit here and live in this moment, he thinks, buoyed by warmth and light and love. He grins over his glass, already feeling tipsy (he’s a lightweight, for a number of reasons, including but not limited to: his size, the price of alcohol, and his detest of the taste).

One eyebrow goes up as he twists his hand, meshes their palms together, fingers lacing.

“Only pretty sure?”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Alex ripped off a chunk of fried dough, powdered sugar falling to the ground like snow.

“Yeah, they’re really good.” Though at the mention of another one, he winced. “I think two might make my heart stop. That is soooo much sugar.”

Still, he grinned as he began to lead them through the lanes of celebrators: children bundled in winter clothes chased each other with rainbow sparklers; craftspeople peddled knitted gloves, hats, and scarves from makeshift booths; people ate pretzels shaped like Pikachu, huge bags of popcorn in Pokeball-print buckets, and sucked down foamy beer from red solo cups.

“Pick your poison: fried dough, street tacos, hot dogs, pizza, kebabs, popcorn, hot chocolate, ice cream… all sorts of stuff.”

In a square cleared for games, a number of cornhole boards stood opposite each other, middle-aged men shooting the shit and throwing beanbags; a few trees bore dartboards from their lower limbs like checkered fruit. Glaceon and Snover churned out fresh snow for kids to play in, as well as for a snow-castle crafting contest that was soon to be held.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]There was this satisfying juxtaposition between the two of them that never failed to make Memo smile: soft versus rough, docile versus aggressive. Alex’s team always-- to him, at least-- seemed well-rounded gentlemen, and Memo’s team… well. They were all just a hair insane.

And while Guillermo himself wasn’t bloodthirsty-- a far cry from it-- he never did hesitate to drop the gloves for a good scrap.

“She wants to fight, love. It’s her favorite thing.”

Tapping into that part of him, the part of him he’d more-or-less gentled for the sake of station and relationship, felt really, really good.

“That’s part of it. You have to understand that they’re not going to pull any punches, so you shouldn’t either.”

He looked to where his Lucario was powering up like a fucking super saiyan and snickered. “You’re ridiculous. You can’t just attack them. You have to ask them if they want to battle.”

He turned back to Alex.

“Do you want to battle?”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]“You don’t have to come all the way in, I suppose,” Memo offers, tilting his head with full concern, now. He looks up through the steam and frowns a little. “If I’d known you hated it so much I wouldn’t have bullied you into coming.”

In truth, he’d just thought they both needed a break, though that vacation that Alex seemed so desperately to want him to take was… simply not on the table.

Still. The opportunity was, you know, there. He reached over and squeezed Alex’s calf.

“You’re a sexy steamed bun.” He couldn’t get it all out without laughing.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Reclining so his back was almost flat against Nike’s, Memo grinned up at Alex.

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose, grin widening. “Well, now I gotta try.” Though in reality he could have just lived there, in that moment, possibly forever. It had taken so long to get Alex comfortable with public displays of affection. The success of it was like a drug.

He sat up with a hup, just as Alex came careening in, and Nike’s dropped a level straight downward, attempting to dodge Alex’s strike. Then, with a lash of her tail, she shot forward, arcing in a crescent opposite of Alex’s strike, as Guillermo reached himself to his fullest capabilities to try and bonk the gym leader ever so lightly.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]“No,” he said, shoving the rest of the confection in his mouth and clapping his hands together to be rid of crumbs. “Who is they?” He couldn’t see Alex chugging through so much work uncomplainingly for the League, at present, even if he did love baking.

He steps up behind his boyfriend and winds his arms around his waist, their offset heights making it so Memo can only press his cheek against the warmth in his middle-upper back, just below his shoulder blades.

“Work was work,” he said, voice muffled by the way half his face was smooshed into Alex’s shirt. He was content to just linger there and breathe, subsumed in the warmth and feel and smell of Alex, but he didn't want to be a three-wheeled wagon so he asked, “Can I help?”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Memo had just rolled in from another cold and blustery shift patrolling Fortree’s newest topic of conversation: the Rift. A number of things were working against him: he was not built for this weather; he was dressed in many layers; and the strange warping sound and sensations that rolled off the edges of the tear in space-time tended to do funny things to your brain, or, at least, your hearing.

He’d shed most of his slightly damp layers at the door and was standing in stocking feet, jeans, and a t-shirt, staring into the brightness of the refrigerator. The hum of the conditioning unit mixed with the warbling echoes of the rift in his ears, and he relished the coolness on his face, even though he’d just been out in chilled, mushy wet weather. If he was wavering a bit, like a dead tree in the wind, he didn’t notice.

“Huh?” His response to Alex is delayed, and he stumbles back, shutting the fridge like a kid caught sneaking dessert before dinner. He does, at least, register the level of concern on his boyfriend’s face, so he smiles and says, instinctively, “Nah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

He goes to put his hand on the counter, aiming for a relaxing pose, and misses, ending up hitting his elbow and leaning on that, instead.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]The kitchen smelled like sugar. The texture of it was palpable in the air.

Memo pushed in through the front door and shrugged out of his coat, rolling his shoulders. Another long day of patrols and winter weather damage control. But from the smell of it, he wasn’t the only one with a stressful day.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, sniping an already finish macaron from a tray by the fridge.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","samjermain"]Vacation time was a bittersweet concept for Memo. he loved being able to spend the whole day with Alex, but that meant there was so much work piling up for him back in Fortree. He tried to shut his anxiety brain off and enjoy the free time.

“Technically we do have all day,” he countered good-naturedly as he let himself be dragged along the cobbled Lilycove streets. Winter was beginning to release its hold on the world and Hoenn’s normal climate struggled to re-orient itself as the dominant facet of the environment.

“Yeah, I’ve gone before. Is this the kind that comes with sketchy carnival rides?”

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]