I wince at the antiseptic dripping into one of the cuts on my thigh, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Dad’s frowning deeply, whether in concentration or anger I can’t tell. After his initial outburst of worry and frantic bustling to get the first aid kit and ordering me to change out of my dirty clothes, he hasn’t said a word.

“Sorry, sweet pea,” he mumbles. I sit up straighter, staring intently at the top of his bald head. I can’t tell whether I want him to detail exactly how he’s feeling or if I want him to go back to silently tending my wounds.

Anthony Jones has never -and will never- be accused of being a quiet or discreet man. He’s a big guy, working as a builder in construction for 17 years will do that to you, and he’s loud, though due to his boisterous nature some people look at my Dad and mistake him for being an intimidating man.

Which can be funny when I bring friends over. Olivia nervously stuttering out a ‘Thank you for letting me visit- uh, Sir,’ when he had opened the door to let her in was hilarious to behold, and I've never let her forget it.

However, I’m now rethinking my stance on his eternal ‘cuddly as a Teddiursa’ status. I’ve never seen him as scared as when he first saw my wounds, and any attempts to explain myself were interrupted as he herded me into my room.

While I changed, he started cleaning Oscar’s injured ear. It’d been a long day, and the poor guy could barely keep his eyes open. He’s snoozing in his cat bed now, the white bandages stark against his fur.

But Dad’s never been this quiet, and I’m too nervous to break the fragile silence.

My hands clench in the fabric off my shorts, anticipation and nerves stringing me tenser. But he just focuses on the last cut. Luckily, the Floette was skilled enough at Razor Leaf that they’re clean and not ragged, but it's difficult to be thankful about it when my skin’s been slashed clean through.

Dad slaps his hands on his knees, standing with a grunt.

“Right.” His voice is quiet, but he’s finally speaking and my back straightens involuntarily, “I’m going to get some ice,” his eyes flick over my barely forming bruises, mouth twisting, “and then you’re going to tell me what happened.”

My nails dig into the palms of my hands. Shit ok then. We’re going to talk about it tonight. That’s cool. I mean, if my child came back late covered in blood after a couple hours of no contact I’d want to know why too. It’s cool, that part is fine.

I just- I don’t know how he’ll take her coming back. I’ve never really understood my parent’s relationship. I’ve hazy memories of Dad chasing her up for a lot of things, but he never got mad. Always smiling widely like she’d surprised him with flowers, a quick kiss of gratitude, when all she’d done was clean the bathroom after he asked for the third time.

When she fucked off to ‘follow her dreams’ he was devastated. I was too young to understand it fully then, but looking back, I can see it in the little things. He stopped going out, we had more takeaways, his bedroom was in shambles more often than not. It took a while, but he eventually picked himself back up and soldiered on. I never want to see him like that again.

Dad comes back to the living room, handing me an ice pack wrapped in a thin towel. Gesturing for me to use it, he slumps into his armchair, elbows resting on his knees as he clasps his hands together.

“So?”

I bite the insides of my cheeks. “Um, right-” I stop and press my lips together.

He sighs. “Frankie, I’m not mad. Concerned? Yes. But I need you to talk to me.”

I twist the fabric of my shorts tighter. “So, at the cafe I overheard something… upsetting.”

Dad waits for me to continue, but I stay quiet. He frowns, but asks, “Upsetting how?”

“So, um. They were talking about me and how…” Words claw at my throat, begging to be let out, but I can’t. How could I hurt him like that on purpose?

Taking that to be the end of it, Dad’s eyes soften, “Sweet pea, whatever they said-”

“Mum’s coming back to Kalos,” I get out in a rush, squeezing my eyes shut. His silence pushes me to continue.

“I- I would have texted you I swear, but my phone was out of charge- and I, well, I was freaking out. Oscar kind of, maybe, went off the rails and tried to… attack them?” I peek at Dad, and he looks horrified.

I blanch, flapping my hands, more words pouring out of my mouth as I try to salvage the situation.

“It's ok though! I returned him before anything really went wrong-” Dad looks even less reassured by that, “-but, he was, y’know, on fire? So, I couldn’t release him in the house or the garden.” My voice is getting higher and higher in pitch as I talk. My logic sounds stupid when I say it out loud.

He gapes at me for a second, then shakes his head and puts it in his hands, muffling his next words, “Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

I press my hands together anxiously, but the only way out is through. “I took him out to route 7. And on the way back we might have encountered a Floette… and two Flabebe. We dealt with them though! Oscar put them in their place and we got away.”

I take a fortifying breath to say I think I want to become a trainer when he interrupts me.

“Frankie, for the love of Arceus why’d you go there? You know how dangerous it is! Legends, you’ve heard the stories, those damned fairies would’ve-” he sucks a shuddering breath in.

“Sweet pea, I could’ve lost you. I don’t give a fuck about my garden or the house, if it kept you safe, I’d burn them down myself.” He wipes the tears building up in his eyes.

I blink, stunned by his distress for an instant. My bandages pull as I hurriedly push myself off the couch, and I throw myself into Dad’s arms. The reality of the danger we’d been in, momentarily pushed back in favour of revelling in a victory we had barely scraped, rushes back to the front of my mind. I cuddle in closer.

Dad pulls back from the hug and pushes my hair out my eyes, “Did you really think I’d be so upset at something being burnt that you’d rather go get cut up?” He sounds heartbroken at the idea.

“No! Daddy, I would never. I just- I wasn’t thinking straight and-” my throat closes, I swallow thickly, “It was really scary.” A sob escapes my throat, but he just tightens his arms, rocking me gently, muttering reassurances into my hair.

“You’re alright, sweet pea. I’ve got you. It’s all ok now.”

I bury my face into his neck.

Dad has always been my safe space, his bear hugs tight enough that I feel like nothing could hurt me when I’m in his arms. I don’t feel pressured to act a certain way. I can just be me. I can have fun with him, co-op video games and card games work best with two, I can be mad at him though he rarely returns the favour, and whenever I’m upset I know he’s got me.

As much as I didn’t want to talk about this tonight, I’m glad we did. It was difficult to be the one to tell Dad about mum returning, but I guess one of us had to find out first and keeping it from him wouldn’t have done us any good. I don’t particularly want to think about those damned fairies and what should have would’ve happened anymore, though. I’d rather stay safe and warm in Dad’s arms.

My eyes feel puffy, my nose is running, and sniffing doesn’t help clear it. I get up saying something about needing to blow my nose and head to the bathroom, where I dab the tears away, splashing cold water on my face until I can see the slight redness recede in the mirror.

I always feel a bit stupid after crying, where the emotions sneak up on me and overwhelm me all at once. Then when it’s done, I feel fine, and I'm stuck there wondering if I was just being overdramatic. The fact that I cried about it when I’m literally fine -if perhaps a little worse for wear- is ridiculous.

Grabbing some extra tissues, I bring them to Dad, who nods in thanks and wipes his eyes, then his handlebar moustache.

I tilt my head, and give him a once over. “You’re taking Mum’s return better than I thought you would.” My voice’s still scratchy from the crying.

Dad freezes halfway through balling up the tissue, and awkwardly stares at his knees.

“About that,” he clears his throat and makes eye contact, “I already knew.”

…

“What?”

----------------------------------------

Tap tap tap.

The Pokecenter waiting room feels oppressive. I stick out like a sore thumb in my darker attire, while everything is either a stark white or a boring beige. I crack my knuckles, the crunch bouncing off the bare walls.

Tap tap tap.

Oscar is in there, being poked and prodded. I’d told him in no uncertain terms that if he lost it at one of the nurses we’d be having words. Thus far the lack of screams has been promising. My foot bouncing on the floor betrays my nerves.

Tap tap ta-

The door opens and the receptionist comes out, face buried in her clipboard. Her bubblegum-pink hair is the only bright thing in the room. I sit up straight, tensing my leg to force it to stop.

She looks up, flashing me a warm smile, “Ah, hello, you must be Francesca Jones, waiting for the Litten-” she flips a page, “-Oscar?”

“Yep, that’s me.” I fight the urge to say ‘Frankie’s fine.’ “Is he alright? Is there anything you can do for his ear? Did he behave? He has a history of being bad with strangers and-” I cut myself off. “Sorry, it’s just that he’s never had to go to the Pokecenter.”

“Oh, you’re fine, dear. Don’t worry, we’re trained to deal with all sorts of pokemon. The checkup went smoothly, they're just testing his lungs; Floette can have some nasty pollen in their flowers.”

I smile politely. “Right, that’s good.”

What I want to say is closer to; Arceus alive, thank fuck. Talking to him must have done him some good.

Nurse Joy checks her clipboard again, her face turning more professional when she looks up. “Now, as for his ear, it says here you’re 16 but not a trainer, is that right?”

“Yeah… Why do you ask?”

“Registered trainers get this treatment for free. The Ditto cells that could be used to regenerate the notch on your Litten’s ear are still a viable option, but they’re not included in the checkup package. You’ve already paid for this checkup but this-'' she unclips a few sheets of paper, “-details the price and procedure for D.C.R. Don’t wait too long to decide, the treatment has a higher success rate the closer it’s done to the time of injury.”

I robotically take the papers, straightening them out as I think. “Right, thank you.”

“My colleagues should be done soon, so you can get on with your day.” The nurse’s heels click as she goes back into her office.

I bite my lip. Rats, this checkup alone is already a small fortune. I turn the corner of the paper to glance at the price. Yep, Dad definitely can’t afford any of that fancy Ditto cell nonsense. I fold the document up and put it in my skirt pocket, trying not to think about it.

But if I was a trainer-

No, I can’t make that decision by myself. I need to stop bitching out and ask Oscar. It’s just… a lot harder than I thought it would be. It’s one thing to delusionally think we might have a chance, it's a whole other beast to actually pluck up the courage to start discussing it.

Even if Oscar agreed, I’m scared to tell Dad. After Dad’s two year stint as a trainer before I was born, he’s never made it sound like a… fun career path. I know he doesn’t want that life for me, I think he’s scared it would end in a similar catastrophic fashion to how his go of it did.

Yesterday was, for lack of a better phrase, an absolute shitshow.

Today, I woke up to a voicemail from Dad, apologising that he hadn’t managed to get the day off to make sure we’re alright. He did not apologise for keeping things from me. If I’m honest, I'm relieved that I’ll have some time to cool down from last night.

I’m not proud of how I reacted, but some of it was justified. I mean we always talk about things promptly, but he kept this from me for weeks-

“Francesca Jones? Your Litten has a clean bill of health.” Nurse Joy opens the door wider.

Oscar runs out the room and leaps onto my lap, butting his face on my arm.

“Hey Ozzy,” I fondly scratch under his chin, “was it alright in there?” he nods, stamping his paws before settling.

“I missed you too, but watch the claws dude.”

I’d looked at the state of my legs this morning and decided to avoid the hassle of putting on skinny jeans. Annoyingly, the pleated skirt shows the damage more than I’d prefer, but at least it’s comfy.

“I want pastries and to chat with Mrs. Martin. So let’s go, and, well, I’ve got a couple things to ask you.”

Oscar tilts his head, curious, but obediently jumps down and trots ahead.

This summer has been insane for sunny days; they’re either halfway sweltering or ruined by a random thunderstorm that messes everything up for a week. It’s a good thing too, or I’d be chilly in this tank top since I can’t wear my leather jacket.

I feel smaller without it to hide in, but it’s covered in scuff marks and has a single tear down the left sleeve. I’d wondered why it hadn’t gotten completely torn to shreds by Razor Leaf, but apparently Dad had shelled out for a real Tauros hide jacket; it weathered the whole ordeal pretty well for clothes designed for casual wear.

Old-town has always been quieter than the rest of Camphrier, but I still feel paranoid about Oscar being loose. I can’t keep letting him be set off by strangers and then wonder why it happens every time we go out. My ‘exit plans’ I touted to the girls yesterday were a load of nonsense, I’ve literally just been reacting to his behaviour ever since it started.

Oscar scampers further ahead.

Come on Frankie, be proactive, you can do it. Just say something!

“Oscar, come back. Please stay close,” I say stiltedly. Oscar hunches awkwardly and waits, so at least I’m not alone in feeling weird about being more strict. “Until you stop flipping your lid at every new person we meet, you’re sticking within three feet.”

“Ten itte en, lit,” he grumbles.

I snort, “You keep up that attitude, mister, and I will buy you a leash.” He recoils and stares up at me in betrayal. I’m only half serious.

“So, your ear.” I clear my throat, then continue, “Nurse Joy said the only way to fix it would be with some weird treatment- D.R.C.? Whatever it’s called, would that be something you want?”

Even if he doesn’t want to go up against the Gym Challenge to get the free version, I could get a part-time job to pay back Dad. If this is something he really wants, expensive as it is, I’ll figure it out.

Oscar stops in his tracks and squints at me. “Ten? En itte lit.”

“What? You don’t care about it?”

He shakes his head, his whiskers twitching.

“You… like your ear like this?”

Oscar chirps at me, proudly flickering his ear, the missing notch still covered to keep it hygienic.

“Alright then.” His insistence to keep it is a bit baffling. I don’t get why he’d be happy about a disfigurement, but that's his prerogative I suppose. “You have just ruined my wonderful segue into my next question though.” He rolls his eyes. Cheeky little bastard.

I crouch down to be closer to his level, and he mirrors me, sitting down and setting his shoulders back.

“I’ve had a, well to put it honestly, kind of crazy idea. Yesterday was scary, right?”

“Ten,” he reluctantly agrees.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“But you still kicked ass, yeah?”

“Itten lit.” He preens and I scratch him under the chin.

“Hell yeah you did! And I think I handled my part pretty decently too.”

Oscar objects and mrrowls, he insistently pats at my hand in a clumsy combination of a high five and a fist bump as congratulations? I’m not too sure but it's cute, so I return it as seriously as I can manage. He looks back up at me attentively.

Right, time to stop skirting around it and ask.

“It got me thinking and… I want to be a trainer. But that’s your choice too and-”

Oscar jumps up and spins excitedly.

“Litten!”

I begin to smile. “Yeah? You up for taking on the Gyms this circuit?”

Oscar nods his head vigorously. “Ten. Lit en itte.”

I scoop him up under his front legs and let him dangle in front of me, “You sure you're sure? If we do this, we’re not going to half-ass it. We’ll go all out, especially when it gets hard, because it will be hard. This can’t be a spur of the moment decision, we both have to think through everything it could mean.”

“Ten.” Oscar nodded seriously, fiery determination in his eyes.

I grin. “But fuck it all if I’m not excited!” I pull him closer and hug him, and Oscar wraps his paws around my neck and purrs as I bury my fingers in his fur, relishing in his support.

I place him on the ground, and as we set off again I suggest, “When we get home, we could draw up a pros and cons list?”

Oscar scoffs and I sputter, “It is a valid way to make important decisions!”

“Itte lit…” he side-eyes me.

“Oh, you shut it! Just because I made one for whether or not I should study one time-”

Oscar pretends he can’t hear me as I try to defend myself, but he walks close by my heel the entire time so at least there’s that.

Arceus, I’m still grinning like a total freak. I was so worried Oscar wouldn’t want to give this a go. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been particularly complimentary towards my classmates who want to be trainers… ok maybe I’ve been actively making fun of them. So if he’d just looked at me like I’d grown a second head at the question and shot me down, it would’ve been my own fault for chatting shit about new trainers so often.

Oh Gods, now I have to admit to people that I want to be a trainer… I can already hear their smug voices telling me ‘I knew it!’ after they’d called me jealous when I’d laugh at their grandiose expectations for themselves. I was never jealous of their delusions and Bidoof they were convinced would carry them to become Champion. At least I’m aware that’s an unrealistic goal for the first year. As if any of those idiots could beat Diantha, even on her worst day.

All I want to succeed at is giving it my best shot. I just needed a bit of proof that I could handle things going to shit. Not that being a prodigy and making it to the conference in one year wouldn’t be nice, but it’s always best to be a pessimist about these sorts of things. Being pleasantly surprised and wrong is better than optimistically hoping for the best only for disappointment to hit again and again. That sounds exhausting.

But…all my worry and excitement is moot if I can't get Dad to agree. Technically I could go behind his back and sign the documents to become a trainer, but that would be an awful thing to do to him and I’d feel like the worst daughter on the planet. I’ve always disparaged new trainers, so I’ve no clue how he would react to this.

I can figure out how I want to approach Dad while chatting with Mrs. Martin in her bakery, about wanting to be a trainer and the whole… mother debacle. I grind my teeth at the thought of her.

We pass some people on the way, but Oscar only freezes in front of me and growls instead of squaring up to scrap. Though I do pick him up when I spot a pokemon since he reacts worse to them. As soon as they're out of earshot I congratulate him. It’s such a relief that he’s taken to trying to change his behaviour, resistance would have been a nightmare to deal with. Sure, this is the bare minimum for most pokemon, but this is progress for him!

Arceus, that makes me feel a bit pathetic.

The bell chimes and I let Oscar in before me. His tail nearly got caught in a door one time, which was stressful as hell, so now I always let him through most doors before me.

The smell of freshly baked bread and the decadence of pastries permeates the air in the bakery. I breathe in deeply. It always smells wonderful here. I take in today's selection.

There’s some chocolate twists, nice!

Mrs. Martin’s hair is dyed a very light blond - for a long time I was convinced it was natural, that is until I heard her complain about her roots showing - she’s taller than her husband and has an exquisite fashion taste, though there’s a tragically low amount of events which justify her dressing to the nines. To make up for it, she started hosting the town's bingo club and added themes to the meetings. There’s a winner for best costume and it can get mighty competitive at times.

My personal favourite out of the handful I’ve attended was the 30s Mafia theme when I was nine. Mr Martin was forced into a tailored suit and Mrs. Martin had looked effortlessly elegant, truly a sight to behold. Though I think my cheap fake moustache and oversized rental suit was plenty memorable in its own way.

“Hiya Mrs. Martin! If Mr. Martin isn’t busy could I apologise-”

“Goodness me, deary, what happened to you?” Mrs. Martin holds her hand to her chest, aghast.

I grimace. “Uh, that’s got to do with the apology. I’d really rather not go through it twice… Please check if he’s free?”

Mrs. Martin hesitates, eyes flicking over my bruises again. “I’ll go check. You will go sit down, it cannot be good to walk like that.” She gives me a look which makes me nod quickly.

Damn, she can be a bit scary. The booth is comfortable at least, and as much as I hate to admit it the bruises on my ankles have slowed me down today, even though I managed to elevate and ice them enough last night that there’s little swelling. Oscar hops up onto the table and I distract myself by teaching him how to properly high-five. He prefers a ‘fist bump’ which is really just him tapping my knuckles with a limp paw, but it's cute anyway.

The Martins slide into the booth across from me, but while Mrs. Martin has recovered her unflappable aura. Mr. Martin looks seconds away from biting his nails, panic coming off him in waves. I swallow nervously and wait for one of them to speak.

“Frankie, what happened? You’d barely finished your food and you were gone by the time I came back, those girls just said you’d left. If they did this to you I’ll-” Mr. Martin’s words flow together, and I’m momentarily halted by his use of my first name but I shake it off.

“It’s ok, I’m fine now. They didn’t do anything to me–” I pause, thinking over my words, “Well, that’s not entirely true…”

I consider censoring the more personal details and giving them the cliffnotes version, but Dad and I became closer to the Martins in the years after my mum left, so I trust them with the full story.

Mr. Martin is heartbroken that he wasn’t there to help and keeps muttering something about stopping this, though honestly I don’t think he could have. It would’ve just been embarrassing if Oscar and I’d lost it in front of him. Mrs. Martin is growing incensed; she’s always derided gossip as a pastime and for once I agree. I keep an ear out for the bell above the door chiming so I don’t spill my guts out to some randomer.

Oscar butts his head against my hands at the more difficult bits and keeps me from blubbering. Thank Arceus he does, it was mortifying enough with Dad as my only witness.

“-and really I came today because I wanted to say sorry for running out on you Mr. Martin. I didn’t mean to worry you two with my mess.” I rub Oscar’s right ear and he purrs. He’d looked rather smug as I complimented how he dealt with the threat and glossed over the rest of route 7.

I smile teasingly but I’m unable to smooth out a touch of brittleness, “And of course to buy some of your famous chocolate twists, Mrs. Martin. I’ve been craving them since yesterday.”

Mrs. Martin lightly laughs. “You’ll be having them for free Frankie, and don’t you dare argue.”

I roll my eyes in exasperation. Anything’s fair game for these two to excuse giving me free food.

I look pleadingly at Mr. Martin, who sighs as he takes a moment to wipe his glasses clean, “I’m glad you're alright but you really scared us! Don’t do that again.”

“Thanks Mr. Martin.” I frown, then add, “Hey, you might have customers waiting by now and…” He starts to look guilty. “Oh my Arceus if you left customers waiting at the counter- y’know what? I don’t even want to know just go attend to them.”

“Alright, alright Miss Jones I’ll get going.” Mr. Martin looks to have calmed down after all that. I’ll take that as a win.

Mr. Martin claps Oscar’s back, waving over his shoulder as he goes through the side entrance.

“I’ll go get the chocolate twists, dear.” Mrs. Martin smiles at me. “Then you can head home, must be tiring walking around like that. Thank you for coming to reassure Andre and I, Frankie.”

I smile back, but as soon as she’s out of sight I slump in my booth.

I’m clearly fine now and it feels a bit pointless to go through it all again; I just wanted a light chat and to apologise. Ugh, and I still have no clue how to break the whole trainer thing to Dad. As I hear Mrs. Martin go through the spiel she gives customers and the following beep of the card machine, I run my hand through my hair absently and bap Oscar on the nose lightly with a finger, and he batters my hand away before chasing it around the table.

“Frankie, come get your twists!” Mrs. Martin calls out.

I slide out the booth and scoop Oscar up to hold him against my chest. If there’s a customer, better safe than sorry. He cuddles in happily, wrapping his paws around my neck.

“Catch!”

“Woah-” The paperbag crinkles, and I nearly drop Oscar as I catch it but he clings to my neck, choking me. “Mrs. Martin! What’d you have done if I’d not caught it?” I jest.

“They’re in a bag, you’d be fine, Frankie, don’t be dramatic.” A beep catches her attention. “Ah, that’s the pain au chocolats done, I’ve got to get them onto a cooling rack. I’ll see you soon, dear.” She wanders further into the bakery.

I call, “See you Mrs. Martin-”

“Legends, were you late to a knife fight? The hell happened to you?”

I start and turn to find- Paddy cap guy?

What the fuck.

I thought I’d never have to bear the embarrassment of speaking to him again, but here he is: holding a paper bag with the bakery’s logo printed on the front, eyes wide as they trace over my bandages, gawking at the bruises. Great, this is just my luck.

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” An utterly fake confident grin plasters itself across my face. I stroke Oscar’s back as he squirms, internally cringing at the words that’ve just come out of my mouth and subtly eying the exit

I’m not fond of talking to new people; I never know what to say and it gets awkward. Usually, I shut down conversations as soon as possible, so what the hell possessed me to say that?

But he just laughs. Thank Arceus for small mercies.

“Alright then, keep your secrets.” Suddenly, he begins to look contrite. “Sorry, that was rude to ask-” he glances down, eyes widening as he reaches down, “nonono, Yamper stop!”

Claws skitter across the floor as a Yamper excitedly runs at me, scrabbling at my leg. I yelp, jumping back because ouch.

The guy shoves the bag into his pocket and crouches down and clicks his fingers. “Sorry ‘bout that, I’ve been trying to heel train him.” Yamper comes to heel, his tongue hanging out its mouth and panting happily.

He looks up at me. “It’s not going that well.” A charming but self-deprecating smile tugs at his lips.

He looks, well, to put it kindly; supremely awkward. Being caught wrong-footed twice in one conversation is never fun. Luckily for him, it’s not like I can judge someone for their pokemon misbehaving. Though Oscar has never been that… exuberant to meet someone, I get the embarrassment that comes with this situation.

I smile at him, tightly clutching Oscar’s scruff to keep him still as he fights to leap to my defence, lowly growling. “You're good…” I pause for him to introduce himself.

“Nick.” He smooths down Yamper’s ears, which quickly spring upright again.

“Right, Nick, he was just excited! It’s hardly the worst thing for an untrained pokemon to do.” I pointedly adjust Oscar in my arms, whose growling is slowly petering off. “This guy causes enough trouble as is.”

Nick relaxes and smiles. “Regardless, you,” he points at Yamper’s nose, “need to apologise to- Frankie was it?” I nod, and Yamper licks Nick’s finger before barking softly.

Nick and Yamper seem close. I’ve seen some people be horrible to their pokemon after ‘embarrassing’ them, but Nick was kind to Yamper and took ownership of the situation by apologising. He seems nice enough to chat to, Arceus knows some of the bastards I talk to aren’t.

Plus, the fact that I won’t see him again after summer ends - Camphrier is a small town, if he was a local I’d know him already - takes the pressure off the conversation even more.

“Per…” Yamper’s ears lower, and he looks up at me pleadingly.

Oscar turns in my arms and evaluates his sincerity. Or maybe he’s just scowling at the poor thing. I crouch down and slowly place Oscar on the ground. If anything goes too terribly wrong I can return him, but nothing risked nothing gained.

One hand loosely holds the scruff of Oscar’s neck and I let Yamper lick the other. “Apology accepted, he’s adorable.”

Oscar watches the interaction cautiously, glancing up at me quickly before looking back at Yamper, his hackles slowly lowering.

“Oh, he is definitely cute. I’ve wanted a Boltund for years, my… my parents finally gave in last Christmas.” For the briefest moment Nick’s smile fades, before returning just as quickly.

Oscar is standing stock still while Yamper tilts his head inquisitively, his stubby tail wagging up a storm.

I glance up from watching them in surprise. “You want to be a trainer?”

He doesn’t look the type; the guys I know are obnoxious about becoming a trainer, utterly convinced they’ll destroy any competition and be amazing.

Yamper sniffs Oscar curiously, getting up close and personal.

Nick makes a so-so gesture. “Kind of? Yes and no-”

Oscar springs back and whaps Yamper on the nose.

I cringe. “Oscar-!” I grab his ball about to return him, but Nick laughs.

“That’s you told Yamper. Give the guy some space, bud.” Yamper backs up, unrepentant and unbothered about being smacked.

I look closer and realise there’s no blood, and Oscar makes unimpressed eye contact with me, as if to say ‘really? I can control myself’, so I back off.

Someone’s awfully cocky off of one good day of behaviour.

“Sorry, that-” I gesture to Oscar glowering at Yamper, who wags his tail, “-is actually better than usual.”

I gesture awkwardly at the door with my bag of pastries. “Were you going to sit in or…?”

“Nah, I was going to wander around a bit, there doesn’t seem to be much to do here.” Nick scratches his cheek and backtracks. “Not that Camphrier is bad-!”

I laugh and start towards the door. “No, you're totally right, Camphrier is boring as hell.” Am I really about to say this? “The trick is to get out of Old Town. I, um, I could show you a few spots, if you’d like?” Oscar walks by my heel, Yamper bouncily follows his new cat friend.

Oscar looks less than enthused about this new development and dodges beside my legs, trying to hide behind them as he side-eyes the dog.

Smiling, Nick comes with. “That’d be sick, thanks Frankie.”

Outside, there’s a few children splashing each other with the fountain water squealing as they get hit, the two girls turning on the boy and dunking him in the water. I quickly scan the area, but there are no other pokemon aside from Yamper so I leave Oscar on the ground.

I smile unsurely and quickly grasp for something to say to abate any awkward silence. “So! Do you want to be a trainer? You seemed a bit unsure?”

“I absolutely do! It’s just- have you heard of the International Police?”

Yamper bounds for a patch of flowers on the grass but Nick clicks his tongue. Running back, Yamper bounces from paw to paw weaving between Nick’s legs.

I bite my cheek in thought. “I think so? Aren’t they some subdivision of the International Pokemon League?”

“That they are, I’ve, well,” Nick clears his throat, “they only start accepting applicants who have at least 5 gym badges under their belt, and that’s just the bare minimum.” He’s a bit jittery talking about this, glancing at me every few seconds.

Why is he so nervous?

“Huh, well that’s a way more concrete plan than I’m running with.” The sun is beating down harshly, and I shield my eyes with a hand. Arceus I should have worn my sunglasses.

“How so?” He smiles tentatively.

“Well considering I just decided to become a trainer yesterday-”

“Yesterday?!” Nick stops short and then grins slyly, “Are you finally going to tell me at that knife fight then?”

I snort. “Oh yeah, me and my scheduled knife fight.” Nick snickers. “But seriously, how ‘bout I tell you a bit about yesterday, and you can tell me a bit about why you want to join the International Police?”

We both stop and Yamper walks into Nick’s leg, his ears flapping as he shakes it off, happily sitting and eagerly watching a reluctantly stationary Oscar sneer at him.

Nick puts a hand to his chin, green eyes alight in amusement as he feigns deep thought, waiting a moment before nodding sagely.

“I think that’s a fair trade.” He puts his left hand out to shake. “You have yourself a deal, Frankie Whatever-your-last-name-is.”

I roll my eyes, “It’s just Jones, that’s a mouthful,” take his hand while just barely keeping the grin off my face, and gravely shake it. “I trust you to uphold your end, Mr. Mystery.”

“Ooo, I like that way better than Frost! Hey, how do you change your last name anyway?”

Get divorced, it worked pretty well for mum.

“I dunno, marriage? How dedicated to this name are you?”

Nick takes a moment to think, looking up at the sky as if questioning some higher power and then looks down at me and resolutely says, “Very. I will find someone with the last name Mystery, and they shall become my spouse.”

“Ooo-kay lover boy,” I’m glad I gave Nick a chance, he’s easy to talk to and pretty funny, “let's go though. Stories to tell, mysterious final destination to get to, lots to do.”

I dodge between the poles marking the border of Old Town while Oscar leaps up and perches on one, Litten eyes begging me to not leave him on the floor with a miscreant like Yamper.

“Wait yeah, where are you taking us?” Nick jogs to catch up and Yamper looks pleadingly up at his cat friend, whining quietly that he’s out of reach.

“Where’s the fun in telling?”

I scoop Oscar up and put him back on the ground, leaving him to the dogs, or, in this case, dog. Yamper is ecstatic at this turn of events, his tail going mad.

Nick clicks his tongue. “I’ll figure it out,” he promises, before clearing his throat and flexes his hands. “That’s actually what I want to do at Interpol; figuring shit out. Their detectives solve the trickiest cases and bust the worst of the worst, bringing justice to the people who’ve been fucked over, putting a stop to terrible things and giving people the closure they deserve… I just can’t help but want to be a part of that, y’know?”

There’s a fire in his eyes, a determination bleeding through in his tone that forces me to stop and really look at him.

This is someone who knows who they are as a person, who knows what they need to do- no, that’s not right, this isn’t just a career to him. He knows what he has to be to stay true to himself. The sheer sense of purpose in his words is staggering.

I’ve never been sure of what I want to do, who I want to be- hell, I’m not sure who I am now, and I can’t help but envy him for this sureness.

“That’s…” I swallow. In the wake of his sincerity I feel like a chaotic mess, a compass spinning with no North. “That’s honestly really cool, knowing what you will do.” Because it is not a matter of if, but when.

I feel compelled to say more, to give a real response after he’s shared something so personal. “Choosing to be a detective because you want to stop horrendous things happening to people, to give them closure, is admirable as hell, Nick. I think most people would be focused on it sounding badass over saying they want to help others.”

Nick blinks, looking surprised by my response - but over which bit of it I’m unsure-before grinning bashfully and looking away from me and down to Yamper, who is failing to subtly close the distance between Oscar and himself.

“Ah, it’s not all that.” He scratches his cheek, but he looks pleased. “It’s a long term goal, it'd take me years to work my way up and get assigned cases which really affect people. There's this one detective I admire, Detective Silver; he was practically handed the detective rank when he joined, but that's only because he played a huge part in the Rocket Bust."

“Is that why you want to be a detective? You want to uncover things like Team Rocket’s pokemon trafficking?” I jump up to the side of the pavement and walk while balancing on it.

“They’re definitely one of them. When I first heard of it I thought it was exaggerated, but it actually gets more insane the deeper you go- did you know that Silver was only ten when he brought evidence to Interpol that broke the case wide open?”

“Ten?!” I nearly fall off the pavement. “What the hell, how long ago was this? They don’t let kids be trainers that young anywhere anymore.”

“Around 17 years ago? Give or take, they never released the official timeline. To be fair it was in Johto, and they’re, y’know, militaristic to put it lightly.”

“Oh, yeah, fair enough then. But still, taking down an organisation like that at ten is crazy.”

I take a left and we’re finally near the mall in New Town. Half of the damn thing is dedicated to trainer gear and pokemon care, while the majority of the other half is cafes and clothes. It’s not a very good place for entertainment if you don’t know what to look for. Then again, most of Camphrier isn’t very good for entertainment unless you want to go to the same derelict bowling alley 3 times a week.

“That’s nothing compared to some of the other stuff; they release new information to the public every few years and it totally throws off what we thought actually went down.” Nick pauses and finally notices where we are. “The mall? I’ve, uh, already tried here-”

“Hush, you looked at the obvious. I promise it'll be good fun.” I lead Nick in as I pick up Oscar and put him on my shoulder. “No unleashed pokemon unless you’re already an official trainer.”

Nick jerks and digs around in his pockets, pulling out a collar and a short leash, “No, no, not official yet. I’ve been, um, putting off signing the papers.” Yamper stays still as Nick crouches down and clips the collar on. “I usually have to pull this out way earlier on our walks, but I think Yamper’s been following Litten instead of me today.”

“Aww, Oscar’s got a new best friend,” I say tauntingly. Oscar smacks the back of my head and almost falls off my shoulder in the process. “Ow-! Arceus, calm down. I was kidding.”

Oscar harrumphs and settles for pretending I’m not there, dramatic little thing. Nick stands up and Yamper runs ahead until he jerks on the leash, before looking around in a baffled manner as if wondering why that happened.

Nick looks down fondly at Yamper before turning to me and Oscar. “He’s a lost cause; the sweetest thing you’ll ever meet but some things fly over his head.” He reaches a hand up, then looks at me. “Can I?” he asks while gesturing at Oscar.

I shrug. “Ask him.”

My Holo Caster buzzes in my skirt pocket, and I pull it out to glance at it as Nick attempts to make friends with Oscar.

On the lockscreen it displays:

Message from: Olivia

I’m really sorry about yesterday, I just don’t understand…

I blanch and swipe left to clear it away. I don’t even want to think about Olivia right now.

Oscar walks to my other shoulder and I look at him, confused. “What are you doing?” But when he just sits down and licks his paw to begin grooming himself, I turn to Nick for an explanation.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Nick sounds a bit disappointed.

“He doesn’t like most people, but he didn’t hiss at you so that counts for something.”

Nick perks up a bit at that. “So, what about you? What happened yesterday? Sorry, I feel like I’ve been nattering on and I’ve barely let you speak-”

“Oh please, it was interesting. I barely know about the International Police and now you can tell me all the interesting bits.” I look sideways at him and I can see that he’s smiling. “I was just feeling inadequate because compared to your noble cause, my reasons for wanting to be a trainer are a bit conceited.”

Nick laughs softly. “It’s not a competition, Frankie. If it helps, I usually get a worse reception when I tell people that so I was worried you’d say the same shit.” He turns to me and grins teasingly. “Plus, it’s not all for a ‘noble cause’; I do also think detectives are hard as nails.”

That startles a laugh out of me. “Alright, alright! I’ll tell you.”

It’d be nice to tell a stranger who doesn’t have a responsibility to care about my wellbeing and treat me like glass. Plus, I’ve got this bizarre feeling Nick is someone who might understand.

“I may end up ranting a bit, so cut me a break? Basically I learnt my Mother is coming back to Kalos by overhearing some girls I know gossiping about it.” Nick opens his mouth but I cut in, “And before you ask - yes, we’re estranged.”

Nick swallows whatever he was going to say, but tries again. “I was actually going to ask why they were talking about your mother in the first place.”

“Oh.” I feel like a dick. I’m acting all defensive when he’s just trying to get my story straight. “Well - and this is not a humble brag, it’s actually a pain in the ass - she’s, like, some big shot actress who that lot are kind of obsessed with.”

“Ah right, that makes sense.”

I wait, but Nick doesn’t push to know her name and I relax slightly. “Anyway, Ozzy over here went ballistic on them because I think I had a panic attack? It’s a bit fuzzy, but I managed to return him to his ball and I just started running. Y’know when you just have to be anywhere but where you are?”

Nick makes a face. “I do, yeah, all too well.” Then he looks at me incredulously. “Hang on, is that why you sprinted directly into me?”

“Pff, yeah. Honestly, when I first saw you in the cafe I was so embarrassed, like what are the chances that I ran into you again? But yeah, I was proper panicking at this point, because Oscar was on fire-” Nick looks at me wide eyed, and I hurry to say, “He’s supposed to do that! But it was still dangerous? Like, I didn’t want my house to burn down so I end up on route 7.”

“No.” His tone is one of pure disbelief. “You didn’t-”

“I did.”

“Why-”

“Because I wasn’t thinking!”

“Legends, what did you run into this time?”

It takes me a second to get what he means, and I scoff, “Oh, fuck you.”

Nick barks out a laugh.

I continue, “It was a Floette and two Flabebe. It was touch and go for a bit which is why I've got these lovely bandages on, but Oscar kicked ass.” Oscar smacks me pointedly, and I add, “and I threw a stick at one of their faces.”

Nick whistles, both eyebrows raised. “Damn, Frankie, that’s- I mean, that’s impressive as hell.” I tense as he tilts his head and looks me over, but his eyes are purely analytical. “But how did getting slashed to pieces make you want to be a trainer?”

“I- well, I never really thought I’d be any good at battling, I mean, there’s loads of statistics laying out why it’s a shit choice to make… it can be really dangerous, most people barely manage the expenses of travel and taking care of a team, never mind having any skill in battling. I think I’ve always wanted to try but yesterday? It hurt like hell, and I was terrified for myself and Oscar- shit, Oscar literally lost a chunk of his ear to a Razor Leaf- but we didn’t give up. We’re still here, and it just clicked - I could be a trainer.”

I turn to Nick, whose eyes watch me with a contemplative look as I continue, hoping I don’t sound as desperate for understanding as I feel. “Does that make sense? With proof that I could, I feel like I owe it to Oscar and myself to try instead of assuming I’d crash and burn.” I huff. “Course, that doesn’t make it any easier to tell my Dad. I don’t think he’ll be happy.”

Understanding dawns in Nick’s eyes, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Yeah, I get, well, all of that. Wanting to do this even knowing the risks and after you experienced the bad side of being a trainer? Well, that either takes a lot of gumption or you're an idiot. I’ve a feeling it’s not the latter.”

I punch him in the shoulder and he fakes a wince while grinning. “Damn straight I’m not an idiot.” I reach up and scratch Oscar under the chin, looking down at Yamper as he tries to walk into a Bath and Body Works shop. “But thanks, Nick.”

Nick clenches his hand and flexes it open, repeating the movement a few times before speaking up. “My Dad wasn’t too fond of the idea either. He’s a doctor, he knows the sorts of injuries trainers end up with, but,” he licks his lips and swallows, “Mum, she- she’s always been on my side and helped convince him that this was something I really wanted. He’s still… somewhat against the idea, but what really helped was getting everything out in the open.” He looks me dead in the eyes. “Don’t wait too long to tell your Dad, Frankie. Sitting on a decision like that for too long makes the conversation that much harder.”

I sigh. “You're right, I know you are.” Even though Dad kept stuff from me, doing the same won’t help. The circuit opens in a week, it’d be stupid to wait. “It’s just… hard.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

Before the commiserating silence can consume us, the computer repair shop comes into sight.

“We’re here!” I’m trying to brush off the depressing energy, but I might have come off as a bit overexcited.

Nick looks around. “Where exactly is here?”

“You’ll see.”

I walk in and up to the counter, the man behind it focussing on some sort of detail work on a motherboard. “Hey Cassius, can we go in the back?”

Cassius doesn’t look up from his work and absently says, “Yeah, go ahead.”

I’m not offended - he’s always busy with something to fix or experiment with. I don’t think I’ve ever had his full attention, but he’s a nice bloke.

I turn around and gesture for Nick, who’s squinting at the displays in the store, confusion plainly on his face, to come with.

“C’mon man, the arcade awaits.”

----------------------------------------

My keys jangle as I unlock the front door and Oscar leaps off my shoulder making a bee-line for his bed. I don’t think he enjoyed all the noise at the arcade, or being bothered by Yamper all day but I think he could tell I needed that.

I got Nick’s number at the arcade so I shoot him a text thanking him for the advice. Nick’s pretty cool and fun to hang out with, though he’s shit at Street Fighter which was hilarious. I’m not entirely sure what I would’ve ended up doing today but I doubt it would have been half as much fun. I don’t know if Oscar will ever forgive me for encouraging Yamper to befriend him.

I place the bag of twists on the coffee table and shove my shoes in my room.

I take a deep breath before knocking on my Dad’s door.

Nick’s right, I need to talk to Dad about everything, I can’t let things stew. Both of us would hate that.

Dad opens the door, he looks haggard from today, and I don’t know whether it’s because he had a bad day at work or if he was worried about me. He opens his mouth to speak but I hug him before he can say anything. He slowly hugs back.

“I’m still mad at you.” I say into Dad’s shirt, and he stiffens so I continue, “But I don’t like not talking to you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have completely ignored you today.”

“That’s ok sweetpea, I fucked up. I shouldn’t have kept that from you, maybe yesterday’s fiasco wouldn’t have happened.” He sounds torn up about everything and I extricate myself.

I suck air in through my teeth. “I’m kind of glad it did happen though.”

Dad frowns down at me inquisitively and follows me to the living room. He looks pleased by the chocolate twists and then suspicious.

He looks up and asks, “Why-”

“I want to be a trainer.”