Archive of Our Own ^beta

Before Pokemon, before research, before even Victor, Hop’s first love was the night sky.

There was a small, half forgotten window in his life, tucked neatly in the few months between the time Leon left home to go on his gym challenge and the time Victor had first arrived from Kanto where Hop had felt truly alone. He’d grown up in a loud, crowded household, full of warmth and family and sounds and parents and Leon - it’d taken him almost half a year to adjust to the silence of being the only person sleeping upstairs without his older brother’s night-owl tendencies to drift off too. His Wooloo helped - bundling into bed with him to serve as a fluffy, warm pillow - but he still lost a lot of sleep that year to silence and isolation.

Sometimes, on particularly restless nights, he’d spend an hour or two staring out of his window and up into the sky, counting the stars in his head until slumber inevitably claimed him. Later, much later in his life, he’d learn about celestial bodies and moons and planets and meteoroids and asteroids, about constellations and galaxies and neutron stars and quasars and supernovas and black holes and everything else that makes the cosmos. It’d been the one area of his study that had done nothing to temper the fangs of wonder - the stars feel as mysterious, remote, and awe-inspiring as they’d always felt, uncaring of how many books or papers or articles he reads about them. Even now, all these years later, on nights after particularly long days filled with trials and setbacks and hardship after hardship - he’ll lie on his bed and trace the outlines of the few constellations he’d bothered to memorize, same as he’d done all those years ago.

The feelings of loneliness changed with the arrival of Victor - his love for the stars did not. Sometimes, he’d badger Victor into sneaking out past both of their bed-times to stargaze with him, lying flat on their backs just off the road between their houses and staring up at the swirling glittering sky above them. They’d talk - Victor’s English wasn’t the best back then, but they’d manage. Hop would tell him about Pokemon and his older brother and his dreams and his family and the candy he’d managed to sneak out from under his mom’s nose that morning. Victor would - well, Victor would mostly listen.

It’s not as if Victor didn’t talk - he’d stumble through short stories of Kanto, of the town he’d left behind, the creek and the woods by his old house that he’d explore when he felt particularly brave. But Hop was never good at sitting still, and he was a rubbish listener. It’s difficult for him not to blame himself for the mess his life would eventually turn into, because looking back, it’s not like Victor hadn’t said anything. Hop just hadn’t been listening.

“Why do you love the stars so much?” Victor had asked - well, really, the way Victor phrased it was probably closer to “Why you like star a lot?” but Hop understood either way.

“I don’t know,” Hop had responded. “They’re - mysterious?”

Victor made his “I don’t understand that word” face. “‘Mysterious’?” he parroted back.

“You know,” said Hop. “Like - hard to understand.”

Victor’s face turned even more confused. “‘Mysterious’ is ‘hard to understand’?” he asked. “But - why?”

Hop blinked. “Why is it hard to understand?”

“Why you like mysterious?” Victor clarified. “Hard to understand is - scary.”

“It can be,” Hop conceded with a nod. “But I think it’s also really cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah!” said Hop. “When I don’t know something, it makes me want to learn more about it. It’s like a puzzle, or a riddle! I think it’s really fun to learn about the stars.”

“Oh,” Victor said. “I don’t get it. I think - for me, only scary.”

“The stars are scary?” said Hop.

“Hard to understand is scary,” said Victor. “When people talk - learning English - very scary.”

“Oh - that’s people,” says Hop. “I get it - people are scary because they expect you to do something, and they get mad when you can’t.”

Victor nodded. “Very scary.”

“Well stars aren’t like that,” Hop said. “They don’t expect you to do anything - they don’t even care whether or not you understand them. They’re just - always there. Always waiting for the sun to go down so they can come out again. No troublesome expectations or anything.”

“Oh,” said Victor. “Ok - I like not expectation.”

Hop laughed. “Me too, mate,” he said. “And besides - they’re pretty.”

“Yeah,” said Victor. He stared upwards at the sky, exhaling gently with the breeze, his expression pensive and vulnerable in a way that Hop didn’t fully understand yet.

Hop sighed, falling backwards to lay down next to Victor. “I like the stars,” he said.

Victor mumbled something, quiet and inaudible in the wind.

Hop turned to him. “What?”

“- like you,” said Victor, slightly firmer this time.

“Me?” said Hop, and -

And he remembers it so vividly - Victor’s face, skin glowing under the moonlight, eyes glittering, his cheeks the slightest shade of red as he’d turned away to look back at the sky. “Like you,” Victor said, quietly. “You like stars. Hard to understand. Always there. And pretty. Like you.”

And if there was ever a single moment in Hop’s life that he wishes he could change, if he could just invent a time machine, if he ever becomes one of the fortunate few in the world to ever meet Celebi or Dialga, he’d go back in time and throttle himself in a desperate attempt to force his brain to work properly for once in his miserable existence, because all he’d said in response to that was “chin up, mate! You’ll get better at understanding - your English is getting better by the minute.”

It really starts off, like most of the other life shattering and earth shaking events in Hop’s life, with one of his family’s famous barbeques. He holds the meal they’d all shared before he and Victor set off on their journey together to be one of the brightest moments of his life, and this one is shaping up to be a real banger as well - it’d been a while since they’d all gathered at the same place. With the former champion, the current champion, the former professor, the current professor, the professor's assistant, several gym leaders, and whatever the bloody hell Piers was these days amongst their friend group, the nature of their schedules rarely allowed for shared in person interactions involving more than two or three people at a time.

This time, however, the stars above aligned just right (and by stars, he means most of their schedules), and their merry little band of misfits descended upon his mom’s house to unleash utter bedlam in the form of kebabs, sausages, grilled pork chops, and apple curry that’s slightly too sweet and a little bit over done (not that anyone is going to tell Victor that to his face, especially not in front of the giant dog holding a fucking sword in its mouth). It’s a nice change of pace from pouring over research and biology and phylogeny and taxonomy and evolution and genetics - an evening surrounded by his friends and family, eating delicious foods and watching the sun dip below the horizon. Hop couldn’t ask for a better way to spend his time.

And then Sonia corners him and starts bloody bullying him.

“So,” says Sonia, twirling her hair with her fingers. “Victor’s here.”

“I know, obviously,” says Hop. He tilts his head confused. “What about it?”

Subtly, Sonia leans over the table, boxing him in between it, herself, and the fence behind him. Too late, Hop realises what’s going on. He eyes the small gap she’d left between her body and the fence, like a trapped Pokemon sizing up its cage.

“It’s been a while since he’s come around to the lab, hasn’t it?” she says, feigning innocence.

Hop makes a face. “Well, yeah. I asked him about that actually - said I seemed busy and he didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Is that so?” says Sonia. “He used to come by all the time, just to see you.”

“We still hang out and stuff all the time outside of the lab. Wasn’t just a week or two ago that we had a rematch for the championship.” That he’d lost miserably, but he’s not going to say that out loud. “What of it?”

“Oh, no, nothing important,” she says, casually bobbing her head. “Just - you know. I seem to recall a certain someone telling me about a certain plan to confess his feelings, and am inquiring as to its progress.”

Hop narrows his eyes. “And I seem to recall that certain plan was told in confidence. To a trusted authority figure and family friend that should know better than to engage in any unwelcome meddling -”

“No meddling -” Sonia lifts her hands in surrender. “Call it - encouragement then.”

“I don’t need your encouragement,” Hop pouts. “I’ll handle it. I have - plans. I’ll confess soon.”

“Funny,” she says, twirling her hair more. “That’s what I remember you saying the first time I asked. Seven years ago.”

Hop groans. “Ok,” he admits, “so it’s taking just a tad bit longer than expected. That’s not surprising - look how busy we both are. I just haven’t had the time -”

“I know you haven’t had the time,” says Sonia, “because you’ve been cooped up in the lab bloody studying 24/7.”

“What kind of professor are you?” says Hop. “You’re complaining about me studying?”

“Come on, Hop,” says Sonia, dropping pretense. “You’re - what, almost twenty-one now? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, running around and exploring and trying to see the world or something?”

“I did that already when I was twelve, and it ended in a depressive episode so thoroughly soul shattering that I literally changed careers,” Hop reminds her. “What’s all this even about? Since when have you taken an interest in my romantic prospects?”

Sonia sighs. “Look, Hop. You’re my assistant, so I want to be candid with you about the realities of being a Pokemon professor.” She fixes him with an intense gaze, her jaw set with grim determination.

“Ok?” says Hop. “What is it?”

“Do you have any idea how bloody hard it is to find someone to date?!”

“Oh my God,” says Hop, rolling his eyes. “Is this because Nessa was too busy to come today?”

Sonia glares. “I’m trying to save you, Hop,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Lock someone down now, before your schedule gets super hectic and busy and you don’t have time for a skincare routine anymore and you start getting stress acne and you have to spend all day chasing around a bunch of Pokemon, and their fur gets everywhere, and it’ll never come out of your clothes no matter how many times you put them through the washer, and they make you smell kind of funny, and -”

“Ok -” says Hop, trying to gently extricate himself from her grip. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I like studying - it’s interesting. And I’m already fairly used to being covered in Pokemon fur, what with my Dubwool and all that.”

“What’s with you?” says Sonia. “Since when do you enjoy studying? You used to crawl out of your skin if you sat still for longer than, like, twenty minutes.”

“I mellowed with age?” tries Hop.

“Oh come on, that’s not -” she cuts herself off, turning to stare at something behind him. Hop turns to follow her gaze and finds it fixed, to his utter horror, on Leon, who arrived just in time to absolutely bloody ruin him.

“No - Sonia - don’t -” he tries, but it’s too late.

“Leon!” she calls loudly, waving him over with her hand. Hop cringes away, desperately hoping that he can somehow miraculously develop telepathic powers in time to tell Leon to stay as far away from him as physically possible, please, for the love of God, but it doesn’t work because God hates him and his life is nothing but eternal suffering.

“Sonia!” Leon greets her warmly. He reaches out to ruffle Hops hair, and Hop has to physically restrain himself from flinching. “And Hop!” he says turning to fix him with his beaming smile. Normally he’d be overjoyed to see Leon, but Hop knows from experience that’s there’s no way in bloody hell that Sonia isn’t going to use Leon to -

“Leon,” says Sonia, back to twirling her hair innocently. “Don’t you think Hop has been spending too much time inside recently?”

“No -” Hop tries desperately to interject before Leon can respond, “- of course he doesn’t think that, I’m fine, I go out plenty -”

“Now that you mention it, yeah,” says Leon. “You do go out a lot less often than you used to.”

Hop groans. “I’m studying! What’s so wrong with that?!”

“Kids your age shouldn’t be studying,” says Sonia, nodding sagely. “They should be out - exploring the world! Meeting new people! Falling in love!”

“Yeah,” says Leon, nodding along. “Yeah! Someone your age should be - wait, what was that last bit?”

“Please just ignore her,” Hop pleads. “She’s having a crisis because she can’t figure out how to confess to Nessa.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” Sonia responds hotly. “Do you need me to repeat how many years it’s been since you told me about Victor?”

“What I need you to do is bugger off -”

“Wait, I’m confused,” Leon interrupts their argument. “What does Nessa have to do with this?”

“Nothing!” Sonia responds before Hop can say anything. “This has nothing to do with Nessa and everything to do with the fact that Hop is going to die old and alone and sad if he doesn’t get off his arse and start going outside every once in a while.”

“I go outside plenty!” Hop protests. “And unlike you, I’m perfectly content with the way things are now, because I don’t pin all of my happiness on some faraway dream of finding an ideal romantic partner!”

“Excuse me?! What are you implying by that, you obstinate little brat -”

“Oh!” says Leon extremely loudly, garnering the attention of every bloody person at this massive bloody party, including fucking Victor himself, “oh, ok, I get it now! We’re talking about Hop’s massive crush on Vic-”

Hop quickly surges forward, slapping his hand onto Leon’s mouth. “If you so much as think the end of that sentence, I’ll jam my foot so far up your arse you’ll need to get my boot surgically removed from your bloody chest cavity!” he says, cutting Leon off quickly before he can ruin his life permanently.

Except he’d forgotten that everyone was already looking at Leon, which means that when he screamed bloody murder and all but slapped his older brother in the face, all the people at the party’s attention turned on him instead, and now he has to spend an awkward moment staring out at all of the partygoers who gaze silently back at him as he leans forward with his hand on Leon’s mouth.

It’s Victor, of all people, who breaks the silence, because this day clearly isn’t awful enough. “Uhh - Hop?”

Hop grimaces, his hand still on Leon’s mouth. “Yeah mate?”

“Is something the matter?” he asks

“No,” says Hop, his mind scrambling for something - anything to say. “Everything’s fine - we were just talking about my massive crush...ing defeat! In our rematch last week, and I got embarrassed. Wow, you totally destroyed me mate. Completely obliterated me. I got steamrolled. How embarrassing. Crazy, right?”

He has about three seconds to congratulate himself for his quick thinking and ingenuity before Victor’s face falls and Hop realises his mistake.

“Oh,” says Victor, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head. “Right. I - uh - sorry about that one,” he says, his face slipping into its ‘I kind of completely destroyed your hopes and dreams when we were twelve and I know I said I was sorry and I know you said it was fine because I beat you fair and square but I still have a lot of lingering guilt and I’m really not sure how to express it without making everything extremely awkward because I already compulsively apologize for everything including things that aren’t even my fault and also I have crippling social anxiety’ expression and Hop’s poor fragile heart, Lord forgive him, absolutely cannot deal with it right now.

“Wow! Yeah! I know! I’m so embarrassed, it’s awful,” he says, silently apologizing to Victor in his head - he’ll take him out to get food somewhere to make it up to him later. “In fact, it’s so embarrassing that I can’t bear to have this conversation out here in front of all of these people.” He grabs Leon and Sonia by their wrists and starts pulling them towards the house. “Thanks so much for coming to the party everyone it’s been a lot of fun don’t worry about us we’ll be out in a second try Victor’s curry it’s really good -” he says rapidly and all in one breathe before he unceremoniously shoves them both inside and slams the door behind him.

“Oof,” says Leon, now safely behind closed doors. “That could have gone better.”

Hop turns to glare daggers at him. “You shut your mouth, you massive oaf,” he snaps. “Where do you get off just announcing my secrets out for the whole world to hear?”

Leon shrugs at him, looking lackadaisical. “My bad?”

“And you -” Hop turns on Sonia. “Where do you get off cornering me and bullying me about my crush?”

“I’m trying to help you out here,” says Sonia, who at least has the decency to look vaguely apologetic. “Before you know, you’re going to be grown and busy and tired and you’ll start getting wrinkles while your crush is on national TV modeling all of the latest fashion designer’s clothes with hordes of fans literally throwing themselves at her feet -”

“You can stop projecting your issues onto me at any time now, please,” says Hop.

“I don’t know, Hop. She might have a point,” admits Leon, and Hop has never seriously considered fratricide more than he is right now at this very moment. “Victor is the champion after all. A lot of people find that pretty attractive - I would know.”

“I am unspeakably disgusted,” says Hop making a face at Leon. “And really - I seriously doubt I have anything to worry about.”

“Oh?” says Leon. “What do you mean by that?”

“Look,” he starts with a snort, and what he says next will come to haunt Hop for the rest of his miserable, miserable existence, because while he adores Victor with the entirety of his heart and soul plus the passion of a thousand burning stars and, like, twenty supernovas or something, even he has to admit that Victor’s not the most photogenic person out there. There’s a running gag amongst his fans that he’s cursed to only be seen in bad photos: a mistake by the League Card producers that led to the accidental printing of an infamous (and now very, very valuable) card of him caught mid sneeze - the unfortunate shot of him picking his nose on the railway station in Motostoke - the battle against Raihan, caked in sand with the wind blowing his hair all over his face - the time a stray paparazzi caught him slipping on the street and straight into the hero’s bath in Circhester. Hop has always considered it a part of his charm: in person, Victor is nothing short of utterly captivating, his quiet grace belying his burning passion and iron will, all contained in the small frame of the kindest, sweetest boy Hop has ever met with thin willowy limbs and long luscious hair that he wants nothing more than to just run his fingers through. Victor is beautiful in motion. It seems only fitting that a camera taking still shots would fail spectacularly to capture his charm.

But what actually ends up dribbling out of his disgusting, filthy, traitorous fucking mouth are the words “I love Victor as much as the next guy, but let’s be real: there’s not a photo out there that makes the bloke look even halfway decent.”

And maybe, if he were faster, if he were paying more attention, he would have noticed the widening of Leon’s eyes, the near imperceptible but rapid shake of Sonia’s head, no doubt a desperate attempt to cut Hop off before he dooms himself to a life of eternal regret, immeasurable self loathing, and, at this point, probably perpetual virginity. Later in his room, away from the chaos and noise of the party, he’ll bang his head against the wall, scream his frustrations into his pillow and kick himself fifty different ways and then some for ever letting those cursed words slip through his clearly ineffective brain-to-mouth filter.

But as it is now, when after a moment’s pause Leon turns to look slightly to the side and past Hop to say “hey Victor, nice to see you again,” all Hop has to do is stand still and be silently crushed by the weight of his sins.

“Hullo,” comes Victor’s voice from right behind him, oh my God. He steps forward and into Hop’s field of vision, awkwardly extending a hand with three kebabs in it. “I brought you some kebabs,” he says quietly.

Leon plucks one of them from his grasp with a grin, looking completely unfazed, though Hop knows from the telling glint in his eyes that it’s taking all the willpower he has to keep from cracking up and laughing at him. After a moment’s hesitation, Sonia reaches out too, though she takes her kebab in a much more delicate manner than Leon, grimacing all the while. And then, of course, because they’re both traitors who apparently live only to see Hop crash and burn horribly, they abandon him to his fate, quietly slipping back outside through the side door of the house, Leon hastily ruffling his hair again as he passes by them.

“Uhh,” Hop starts out intelligently as he finally reaches out to take the kebab. “How much of that did you hear?”

Victor lets his hand fall back down, now kebab-less. “Just the last bit,” he says quietly.

“Oh,” says Hop. He and Victor spend a moment standing and staring at each other, in complete and very awkward silence. “Does that - you know - does that include the bit that - uh - well -”

“The bit where you said I looked ugly in photos?” Victor suggests for him.

Hop winces. “No - hey - I mean - I wouldn’t have put it like - ugly is a really harsh word - it’s just that the -”

“I heard it,” Victor interrupts him.

“Oh,” says Hop. The silence descends upon them again, spreading in the space between them like a long and very embarrassing fart.

Hop sighs. He plants his feet against the floor, spreads his arms out wide, and braces himself, screwing his eyes shut and angling his head away from Victor. He hears Victor shifting around in front of him. “What are you doing?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Ok, I’m ready,” responds Hop, maintaining his pose. “Go on then. Hit me.”

“What do you mean - what?” says Victor.

“Hit me,” Hop repeats. “One big, good whollup as hard as you can, and we’ll call it even. Don’t worry, I’m strong. I can take it. Anywhere you want. Well, maybe not the face - and preferably not the bollocks for that matter -”

“Hop -”

“- ok fine, you can hit the face, just - maybe not the eyes, I really do need those -”

“Hop -”

“- ok, ok, you can go for the eyes - just - just warn me first, please, so I can prepare myself, and please not that hard, it’s difficult enough as it is to read those bloody academic papers, I don’t want to have to do it with one eye swollen shut -”

“Hop!” Victor tries again, firmer than before, this time successfully cutting Hop’s rambling speech short. “I’m not going to hit you.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “Wait. Why not? Aren’t you mad?”

“No,” says Victor, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not mad.”

“Oh,” says Hop again. He pauses for a moment, staring straight into Victor’s warm brown eyes. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Why would I be mad?” says Victor with a sigh. “I mean, you’re right - I know I look like rubbish more often than not.” He breaks their impromptu staring contest, turning away from Hop to look forlornly at the ground, his shoulders slumping over, and -

And that hurt Hop far worse than anything Victor could have physically done to him.

“Hey,” says Hop, far softer than he’d been speaking just moments before, “that’s not true.”

Victor fixes him with an annoyed look. “You literally just admitted that there aren’t any good looking photos of me.”

“Well - I - don’t listen to me!” says Hop. “I don’t know what I’m talking about - I’m just stupid.”

Victor frowns. “Don’t call yourself stupid -”

“Don’t call yourself ugly!” Hop interrupts. “It’s not you, it’s - the cameras! They’re using rubbish cameras, it’s not your fault the photos look bad.”

“All of the Pokemon League’s official photos are taken with the latest state-of-the-art Macro Cosmos high definition Infinity Pixel v7.0.1 Multicameras in wide angle mode, capable of capturing images at a resolution higher than what is perceivable by the naked human eye.” says Victor. “It’s not the cameras.”

Hop’s mind reels. “Well if not the cameras, then it’s the - wait, why do you know the specific type of camera the league uses off the top of your head?” he says.

Victor frowns and looks away from him, which tells Hop all he needs to know. “No reason.”

“Victor,” he says softly, “does all of this stuff - actually bother you?”

Victor squirms like a Chewtle trying to get back into its shell. “Look,” he starts defensively, “it isn’t fun when every single photo they take of me spawns a dozen different memes about how stupid I look.”

Hop winces, silently making a note to himself to delete the ‘Funny Victor Memes’ album from his phone. “It’s really just the camera, mate,” he tries to assure Victor. “In person, you don’t look bad at all: in fact, I think you look rather -” he quickly cuts himself off before he can say something incriminating, like “stunning” or “beautiful” or “like a gorgeous deity descended from heaven who I’d gladly and enthusiastically allow to step on my throat repeatedly.”

Victor seems to consider his silence a confirmation of his fears. He sighs. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Hop.”

“Victor - I’m not - look, it doesn’t matter about the photos,” he tries a different angle. “You’re the greatest bloody champion in the history of the Galar region - you toppled Lee, for God’s sake! Who cares how you look in some silly photos?”

“There’s more to being a champion than just battling,” says Victor. “Look at Leon - he had a persona like a bloody superhero! Just his presence alone is still enough to draw huge, screaming crowds, even now! He inspired an entire generation of Galar children - including us! And look at me!” He buries his face in his hands, his next words coming out muffled. “The only thing I’ve ever inspired is laughter -”

“That’s not true!” says Hop. “You’re a hero too! You saved Galar from Eternatus! You exposed Chairman Rose’s corruption and brought him to justice! You captured one of the legendary ancient guardians of the region -”

Victor looks up long enough to fix Hop with another angry stare. “You did all that stuff too,” he says. “Except no one’s currently circulating any photos of you spilling hot sauce on yourself like a bloody idiot!”

“Wait - you - what -”

“See?!” says Victor, jamming his phone into Hop’s face. “It’s number two on trending literally right now, as we speak! Not to mention last week, when I fell off my bike in Wyndon - or the week before that, when that Greedent fell out of the tree and landed on my face - or last month, when -”

“Ok!” says Hop, cutting Victor off. He grabs the phone, plucking it from Victor’s grasp and pocketing it, safely out of his reach. He sighs, before steeling himself and earnestly turning to face Victor. “Look. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier - I didn’t mean it.” He reaches out and places his hand on Victor’s shoulder. “You look fine - and you’re a great champion. Some stupid internet photos can’t change that. Ok?”

“You don’t mean that,” says Victor, his face fixed into a pout that would be cute in literally any other context.

“I do mean that,” Hop insists. He gently rocks Victor by the shoulder. “I really do.”

Victor sighs, still not meeting Hop’s eyes. “Ok, fine,” he says sullenly - not the response Hop was hoping for, but probably the best he’s going to get for now. He’s gotten better at telling over the years when Victor needs a push and when Victor just needs some time to himself to sort things out. If it were up to Hop, he’d hold Victor down by the wrists and scream directly into his ear about how beautiful and smart and talented he is but -

But the last thing he wants to do is make Victor uncomfortable.

He slings his arm the rest of the way around Victor’s shoulder. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s just get back to the party. I want to eat more of your curry.”

Victor gives him a look. “It’s not even that good,” he says. “It’s too sweet - and I cooked it for too long.”

He manages to keep the incident at the party out of his mind for a solid day and a half before it rears his ugly head again in the form of Victor sitting cross legged on his bed staring at his phone, slightly too quiet in a way that makes Hop worried.

“Um,” says Hop eloquently, glancing away from an essay about the flaws of morphology based taxonomy and up at Victor, who’s just sighed quietly at his phone for the umpteenth time that hour. “Is something up, mate?”

Victor glances up at him, startled, as if he’d forgotten Hop was even there in the first place. “Oh,” he says, “I’m so sorry, am I bothering you? You’re probably busy, I can leave you alone, I won’t bother you anymore -”

“Hang on, hang on,” Hop cuts his rambling off. He closes his laptop and grabs Victor’s arm before he can run away. “First of all, this is your house, you’re not the one who has to leave,” he says, pressing closer so he can look at the phone screen as well (and if he happens to brush Victor’s leg with his own in the process - well, oops). “Second of all, what’s going on?”

Victor groans and falls back on the bed. “Here,” he says, holding his phone out to Hop, nearly clobbering him in the face with it in the process. “Which one of these PR Managers looks the most qualified to you?”

Hop takes the phone from him, holds it at a more reasonable distance from his face and stares down at it to find a list of resumes, replete with education history and job experience and relevant skills and references and -

“Why do you think I’d know anything about...PR Manager-ing?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Victor, sounding utterly defeated. “Leon has a PR team, right? I thought maybe some of the knowledge could have - osmosissed into you.”

It takes all of Hop’s remaining brain cells to parse that statement. “‘Osmosissed’ isn’t even a word - Lee doesn’t have a PR team,” he settles on saying.

“What do you mean he doesn’t have a PR team?” Victor protests. “He had advertisers and sponsorships and merchandise and catchphrases and a signature pose - you can’t mean to tell me he came up with all of that himself?”

“Sorry mate,” Hop shrugs, “I think Lee is just genuinely like that, you know?”

Victor buries his face into his pillow and makes a noise like a semi-depressed dying Wailmer. “I don’t know anything about PR,” he says once he has to come back up for air. “I’m just a dumb twenty year old kid who likes Pokemon!”

Hop reaches over to pat him soothingly. “What’s with the sudden interest in PR anyway? Are you looking for sponsorships or something?” He doesn’t remember the exact numbers, but he remembers the check that came with the champion title containing more zeros than he could be bothered to count as a six year old - it’s hard for him to imagine Victor’s short on cash, even factoring in the ludicrously large sums of money he constantly donates to charity.

Victor shifts, noticeably trying to hide his face from Hop. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just - thought it might be time I started caring about my public image, I suppose.”

Suddenly, it all clicks in Hop’s head. “Oh, Victor,” he says, his hand rubbing circles into the small of Victor’s back. “Please tell me this isn’t all about those rubbish photos of you on the internet.”

Victor bites his lip and refuses to meet Hop’s gaze. “No,” he says. “It’s not.”

Hop gives him an unimpressed look.

There’s a heavy pause before Victor finally responds. “Ok fine. It might be a part of it,” he admits, his voice very small.

Hop grabs the other pillow off of the bed and shoves it directly into Victor’s face. “You look fine,” he says firmly, careful to keep most of the weight off of his hands so he doesn’t actually suffocate Victor. “The internet is just being stupid.”

“Mfwrughlrm,” says Victor, still being smothered before he deftly sticks his foot out, pushing Hop completely off of the bed. “It’s not just that,” he says, now safely out from underneath the pillow. “I just - it’s just - you know.”

“No,” says Hop from the floor, “I actually don’t know. What do you mean?”

“I just thought - the champion should be more heroic or cool or inspiring. Or something.” He squirms uncomfortably. “I’m not very much of any of those things.”

“I think you’re plenty cool,” says Hop.

Victor gives him a look. “You only think I’m cool because I’m the only person you know who’s willing to spend their Saturday mornings following you into a hailstorm to try to catch a Darmanitan.”

“Yeah, ok, that’s pretty accurate,” says Hop - as far as he’s concerned, anyone who’s willing to brave the elements to meet new friends is cool to him. “So what?”

“So that’s not good enough for most everyone else. When most people think of someone cool, they think someone tall and imposing and - and, just - cool! Like Nessa, or Gordie, or Raihan - or Leon, for that matter.” Victor pouts.

Hop sits up and climbs back onto the bed with him. “You don’t have to be like any of those guys, Victor. People already love you,” he points out.

“Maybe,” says Victor begrudgingly. He sighs. “It’s just - I don’t know. When I think of the champion, I think of someone like them and -” he gestures vaguely downwards at himself, “- not like me.”

“Why not?” says Hop. “You’re the one who’s champion, not them.”

“I know,” says Victor. “I know that consciously, it’s just - I don’t know.”

Hop shifts closer to him. “Do you - do you want to be more like them?” Hop asks, careful to keep his voice level and quiet.

“I don’t know,” says Victor. They fall into a comfortable silence, Hop’s legs pressed against Victor’s, his hand no more than a few millimeters away from where Victor’s own lay, fidgeting his fingers together.

Hop tries to imagine it, a Victor a little bit more like Nessa or Raihan or someone like them, a Victor who’s more confident, who answers interview questions without stuttering, who spouts catchphrases and strikes poses for massive cheering crowds and posts selfies online and models clothes with brand names all over them - it’s a strange image, he has to admit, and it sits funny in the back of his mind, like it’s so misshapen and convoluted that his brain is having trouble filing it away in the section for all of his other Victor related thoughts. Ever since he arrived, from the moment all those years ago when they’d ran into each other on the side of the road, Hop has known him as the quiet type - shy and unsure, but filled with more passion and conviction that he’d thought could possibly fit into such a tiny body. Trying to imagine him loud and brash and boisterous is like trying to imagine the Mona Lisa with the face of a Picasso painting.

Still - it’s not up to Hop to decide what kind of person Victor should be: it’s up to Victor. And if Victor decides he wants to yell catchphrases and make a ton of money through sponsorships, then it’s definitely not going to be Hop of all people to tell him no.

“The advertiser payments would be nice,” Victor breaks through his reflection with a quiet huff.

Hop snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “You could finally buy that overpriced Arcanine T-shirt you wanted way back when -”

“Will you let that go?” says Victor. “I was twelve.”

“I will not let it go,” says Hop. “30,000! For a T-shirt! And - I’m sorry, there’s just no way around it - it didn’t even look good -”

Victor hits him with the pillow.

There’s a certain fence post he walks past practically every day on his way to the lab that is forever burned itself into the recesses of his memory. He can’t count the number of times he’s paused on his commute just to trace his fingers along the edge of the top, to examine the ground around its base as if searching for some remnant of that one fateful day, a stray scuff or a footprint that’s somehow miraculously survived all these years. It’s a testament to how long he and Victor have known each other - in his memories, the post is taller, towering over both of them - now, it barely comes up to his waist.

He still remembers everything about that evening, the cold, still air, the muddy ground, the last vestiges of the sun’s light streaking across the sky for one last merry hurrah before the moon and the stars came out for their turn. He’d seen Victor first, hunched over near the side of the road, scratching at the dirt with a stick. (Later, Victor would tell him that he’d been looking for bugs.)

“Hey!” Hop’s little six year old self called out.

Victor jolted in response, threw the stick aside, and ran to hide behind the nearby fence post.

Hop frowned, tilting his head in confusion. He wandered over to the side of the fence post opposite of Victor, peering past it to try to get a better look at his face. “What’s your name?”

Victor retreated farther. “Victor,” he’d responded, his voice barely audible.

Hop bounced forward excitedly. “Nice to meet you, Victor!” he’d said. “I’m Hop!”

Victor shrunk away even more from him in response. Looking back at it, it’s clear to Hop now that he’d probably just been too over excited and loud for someone like Victor to be comfortable with immediately - but at the time, he thought he must have hurt Victor’s feelings somehow.

He craned his neck out further, still looking to meet Victor’s gaze. His hair was long and black - not as long as Leon’s, but still long. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses, and they desperately darted around, looking at anything and everything that wasn’t Hop. His shoes had clearly been white at some point, though Galar’s rainy weather and Postwick’s loose dirt paths had conspired to dye them mud brown already. But it was his socks that ultimately drew Hop’s eyes - black, almost knee length, and with tiny little print Togepis all over them.

“I like your socks,” said Hop, quieter now. “Do you like Pokemon?”

And it was that, of all things, that got Victor to glance up at him, his hair falling all over his face, the light of the sunset glinting off of his eyes - it’s this moment, more than any other part, that will be forever burned into the back of Hop’s brain. He hadn’t known it yet, but that tiny, tickling feeling in the back of his chest is inevitably going to blossom into a torturous, multi-year long existence of nothing but love and tenderness and pining and sweet, sweet torture.

“Pokemon?” said Victor, the tone of his voice making clear that it was a question.

“Yeah!” said Hop, back to smiling now. “Do you like them?”

Victor hesitated, for a moment, giving Hop a once over, evaluating him. Then, almost as if in acquiescence, he’d lowered his head once, in a firm nod. “Yes,” he said.

Hop beamed. “Me too!” he’d said. “I love Pokemon!”

Cautiously, Victor stepped forward, still tentatively holding Hop’s gaze. Slowly, Hop lifted his hand, holding it out to Victor in offering -

They’re about halfway into their next excursion into the shopping center in Hammerlocke when Victor stops them in their tracks, looking guilty. “I forgot to tell you - I actually have to do something here for a second.”

Hop grins at him. “Sure, mate, no problem,” he says, bumping his shoulder gently. “No need to look so guilty - I’m happy to make a little detour.”

Victor’s face turns even more guilty, if possible. “Yeah,” he says, “about that - you might not be the biggest fan of this particular detour.”

“Oh?” says Hop. “Why? Where are we going?” He looks around him for clues - the only notable shops in this particular part of the mall are the Battle Café, the hair salon, and the boutique - normally a pretty unusual place for Victor to go unless he’s looking to pound the Café Master into the ground again, which Hop definitely would not be opposed to witnessing.

Victor winces. “Just - just try to play nice. Please?”

Hop blinks at him. “Play nice? What do you mean?”

“Oh,” comes a voice from beside him that instantly answers all of Hop’s questions. “I wasn’t aware that you would be bringing your lapdog.”

Hop whirls instantly, but Victor is faster - he grabs Hop’s fist before he can do anything to get them both kicked out of the mall, much to Hop’s chagrin.

“Bede,” he adminoshes instead, “don’t be rude.”

“Always with the demands of me,” Bede responds, looking outrageously smug. Hop tugs experimentally on Victor’s his hand, but his grip remains firm, leaving Bede’s face very tragically un-punched, a fact so upsetting that Hop can’t even properly enjoy the fact that Victor is basically holding his hand.

“What is this?” demands Hop, turning to look at Victor. “Why is he here?”

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve asked him to help me out with - something.”

“Something?” says Hop incredulously.

Victor’s face turns red. “I’ve - been extended an offer to MC an official league match next month.”

“And you wanted Bede to tell them to bugger off for you?” says Hop. “I could have done that. And why did you have to invite him here -”

“No, Hop,” says Victor. “I accepted their offer.”

“What.”

“That’s why I need Bede’s help,” he continues, gesturing at Bede. Bede smiles smugly in response. “I need a new outfit.”

“What.”

“Please don’t look so surprised,” says Victor.

“I - sorry -” Hop shakes himself, rearranging his expression into something more neutral looking. “I mean, Victor - are you sure about this? You hate crowds. And performing. And loud places, and flashing lights, and standing in front of cameras, and speaking publicly, and dressing up -”

“Wow. Why are you even the Champion again?” says Bede.

Victor’s fingers wrap around his hand before he can deck Bede. “Maybe I just feel like changing things up,” says Victor, outright ignoring Bede entirely. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Is that what’s going on?”

“No,” says Victor. “But what if it was?”

“Victor,” says Hop, his shoulders falling, “please tell me this has nothing to do with what happened at the party last week.”

Victor doesn’t respond, pointedly looking away from him.

Hop groans. “Come on, Victor,” he says. “You don’t have to listen to me - I was just being stupid -”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” says Bede snidely from behind him.

Victor grabs his hand again before he can cave Bede’s face in. “Please Hop,” he says. “This is something that I want to do. Really. And -” he sighs, his voice dropping a couple levels in volume. “And it would mean a lot to me if you were there to support me too.”

“Victor,” says Hop, his voice soft. “Of course I’ll support you.”

“How very moving,” says Bede sarcastically. “It makes me want to throw up in a gutter.”

Hop throws his hands up frustratedly. “Why do we need Bede, though. I could have helped you pick out a new outfit.”

Bede scoffs. “Please. You’ve been wearing the same exact jacket since you were twelve.”

“Hey - I -” Hop sputters, grabbing the fur lining of his coat defensively. “I like this jacket - it’s comfortable!”

“Isn’t that cute,” says Bede, rolling his eyes. “I think Victor wants to look a little bit better than ‘comfortable’.”

“I can help Victor look good,” says Hop. “I can be fashionable -”

“As if,” says Bede. “You’re wearing denim. And fur. You’re a fashion disaster - both you and your brother.”

“Hey!” Hop protests hotly. “Leave my brother out of this you - you - pink maniac -”

“Enough!” Victor cuts them both off with a sigh, coming to a stop in front of the boutique. “Look, this will only take -” he cuts himself off, turning to look at Bede. “How long will this take?”

“With your dismal sense of aesthetic?” Bede responds, eyeing Victor up and down judgmentally. “A while.”

Victor seems to decide it’s not worth it to contest that statement - he just walks forward and pushes the door to the boutique open. “Just - help me so we can all move on with our lives,” he says, before leading them both inside.

Which is how Hop finds himself waiting impatiently on a bench in the middle of a boutique glaring angrily at the most egregious tan floral print sweater his eyes have ever had the displeasure of perceiving while Bede darts around, grabbing clothes off of racks seemingly at random and shooting him smug, self satisfied looks every once in a while and Victor is lucky that Hop loves him so much or he would have just decked Bede in the face already and been done with it all.

He’s half considering ditching them to take out his frustrations on the poor Café Master’s Pokemon when Bede returns, haughtily drifting past the discount jacket rack to fix Hop with a contemptuous stare.

“You can stop trying to drill holes into that blouse with your eyes now,” he says.

“Why?” says Hop, turning to look at Bede. “Would you prefer I drill a hole into your skull instead? Because I’ll happily oblige.”

Bede scoffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hop quickly stands up. “If you think for even half a second that I’m not willing to throw hands in the middle of a bloody boutique, you’ve got another thing coming, you little shit stain of a -”

“Can you two please not fight - I don’t want to get kicked out,” comes Victor’s voice from behind him. Hop whirls around to face him -

And then promptly nearly has an aneurysm.

The thing about Victor is that he’s always been cute - just in the nerd sort of way, where he’s cute on accident. When Hop thinks of Victor and cute, he thinks of the little fidgets he does when he’s talking to strangers - the way he smiles to himself when he’s scrolling through photos of his Pokemon - the tiny quirk of his lips when he’s stirring his curry, careful to keep it from spilling - the squeak he makes with his voice sometimes when something surprises him - the way he rubs his Dragapult’s head, strokes his Cinderace’s ears, brushes Zacian’s fur, and presses little kisses to his Togekiss’s cheeks when he thinks no one is looking -

What he doesn’t think of is a fluffy parka covered in drawings of little cartoon ghosties coupled with a pastel rose sweater and scuffed, tight gray pants, a pair of baby-blue wide-frame glasses on top of some honest to God heart-eyed contact lenses, all framed within his newly pink colored hair - Hop’s brain short circuits. It’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life, which is good, as it’s also probably going to be the last thing he ever sees because if he stares at it for any longer, he’s going to have a simultaneous heart attack, stroke, and brain bleed and die instantly.

“What -” he manages to say before he takes a step backwards, immediately trips on the leg of the bench he’d been sitting on and falls flat on his back.

Victor sighs down at him and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I knew this stuff looked stupid,” he says. “I’m sorry Bede - I’m going to go put it all back, this was a mistake, I don’t know what I was thinking -”

“Oh, please,” says Bede, rolling his eyes. “The little bugger just practically tripped on his own spit, the amount he was drooling -.”

“Shut your gob,” says Hop, glaring up from the floor.

“My legs are too skinny to pull off these jeans - they just make me look like all twiggy,” Victor continues, ignoring them both. “And this jacket is so puffy, it just - I’m just so tiny.”

“That’s the point,” says Bede. “It’s supposed to make you look small and tiny and vulnerable. Because that’s cute - that’s the whole idea,” he says, and while Hop normally isn’t inclined to agree with any of the toxic sludge that constantly spews from Bede’s disgusting little mouth, even he has to admit that Bede is right - the outfit makes Victor look small in ways that evoke imagery of the newborn Purrloins and Yampers and Togepis and Wooloos that Hop constantly sees flooding the front page of every social media account that he has. Hop vaguely wants to eat him alive.

Victor sighs. Hop quickly sits up, desperately grasping at whatever miniscule shred of dignity he has left just in time for Victor to turn to him shyly and gesture downwards at his clothes.

“Be honest,” he says pleadingly at Hop. “How do you think it looks?”

Hop blinks rapidly up at him as the charred remains of his poor incinerated brain desperately attempt to come up with some response that isn’t an insult and also won’t instantly reveal how stupidly in love with Victor he is. “Um - good,” is about the best he can manage.

Victor groans. “Ok, that’s it,” he says. “I’m taking this all off - do you think they can get the pink dye out of my hair, or will they have to re-dye it back to black -”

“Oh, come off it you overdramatic little baby,” says Bede. “You look good - really good. Though that’s a given, given the amount of time I spent making the outfit.”

Hop, to his utter horror, has to sit there and watch Victor’s face actually redden a little. “Really?” he says. “You think I look really good in these?”

“Obviously,” Bede smirks. “I picked them out, after all, there’s no way it can look bad.”

“Yeah,” Victor admits, “you always have been pretty fashionable.”

Bede practically preens. “I’m glad there’s someone around here who can recognize my superior sensibilities,” he says. He sashays stupidly around him, stepping closer to Victor, sticking his face into Victor’s personal space in a way that makes Hop’s blood boil. “In fact - how about we ditch this loser and go try on some more outfits? That could be quite a lot of fun.”

Hop sweeps his arm out, knocking Bede over and straight into the pile of discount jackets. “How about you shut it, you stupid degenerate pink Ratata-looking bastard -”

Bede throws a sweater at him. Hop picks up a pair of slim-fit jeans and throws them back at Bede’s face. Bede lunges forward to try to tackle him, which Hop is perfectly ok with because he’s been wrestling Wooloo since before he could walk, and Bede is probably the only person in Galar with limbs twiggier than Victor’s, so all he ends up accomplishing is being put in a headlock and getting the life squeezed out of him by Hop, squirming uselessly while Hop tries to decide whether or not it would be worth it to commit a murder if it means he never has to see this stupid sack of ugly ever again in his life.

Unfortunately, before he can crush Bede’s windpipe and rid the world of his smug looking face for forever, he finds himself and Bede forcibly detangled, deftly separated and suspended in mid-air by Victor’s Reuniclus, facing down a very embarrassed looking Victor and a very, very angry looking mall security guard.

“This is your fault,” says Bede, as they wait outside the boutique for Victor to finish convincing the manager not to permanently blacklist them.

Hop reaches down to pull his shoe off and throw it at him.

“So tell me again how this story doesn’t end with you gettin’ banned for life from a boutique?” says Marnie after he finishes explaining what happened earlier, sipping nonchalantly at her tea from across the table.

Hop sighs, trying to subtly push his own cup closer to Victor’s currently vacant spot - normally he’s not one to turn down tea, but Kanto tea is just too much for him: no sugar, no cream, with the leaves just free floating around the bottom of the cup. He’s actually not the biggest fan of Kanto cuisine in general (seafood that isn’t deep fried just isn’t his thing), but this particular place in Hammerlocke had the distinction of being the first and only restaurant Hop has ever been to who’s food made Victor genuinely smile, so he and Marnie dutifully return back here once every couple months to gracefully allow Victor to scarf down, like, three bowls of Smoked-Poke Tail Ramen and gently make fun of them because Marnie still can’t use chopsticks and Hop only ever orders the fried rice and spends the whole meal trying to pour his tea into Victor’s cup in lieu of actually drinking it himself.

Hop sighs. “Victor pulled the ‘I’m the champion of this country’ card and convinced them to spare us,” he finally admits.

Marnie raises her eyebrows at him, looking vaguely impressed. “He doesn’t pull that card very often - they must have been pissed. You should count yourself lucky he likes you guys so much.”

“I’m honored beyond words,” says Hop, rolling his eyes. “I don’t suppose you think he’d do the same if I hypothetically murdered a certain Fairy type gym leader?”

Marnie snorts. “That might be a bit much, even for him,” she says, “though I’m sure he’d at least try.” She frowns at him. “Still - what’s with you? I know Bede can be an arse at times, but it isn’t like you to do something that might reflect poorly on Victor in public.”

Hop sighs, pushing down on the slight tinge of shame he can feel bubbling up from inside of his chest. “It’s just Bede,” he says. “He pisses me off.”

Marnie sees right through him, because of course she does. “He tried to flirt with Victor or somethin’ dumb like that, didn’t he?”

“Good guess,” Hop admits with a slight nod. “Exactly how’d you figure that one?”

Marnie shrugs. “It’s not exactly a secret that Bede has a soft spot for Victor.”

“He spent literally the entire time we were together insulting him,” Hop points out.

“Victor asked him a favor and he actually did it,” Marnie counters. “When was the last time you heard of Bede actually doin’ someone a favor?”

Hop checks his phone, just to be cheeky. “Half an hour ago, give or take a few minutes.”

Marnie kicks him from underneath the table. “You know what I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Speaking of - how’s progress with your confession coming.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to sit here and loudly harass me about my problems in public,” Hop pleads.

Marnie frowns. “I’m just askin’,” she says. “Seriously - what’s the matter with you recently? You’ve been on edge since we got here.”

Hop sighs, falling back into his chair defeatedly. “I said something kind of rude to Victor recently by accident,” he admits, “and I’m worried that he took it to heart.”

“You apologized?” says Marnie, her facial expression turning dark.

“Obviously!” Hop splutters. “But you know how Victor is - once an idea takes hold in his brain -”

“- it’s either true or he’ll make it true through sheer willpower,” Marnie finishes with a nod. “What did you say specifically?”

“You know how there’s a new meme of Victor’s face practically every week?”

“Yeah,” says Marnie, looking apprehensive. “You didn’t say that he looks ugly in them or somethin’, did you?”

“I may have implied - I never used the word ugly -” Hop cuts himself off, letting his head fall to the table underneath him in defeat. “I just - you know, I just maybe slightly said that he possibly doesn’t look photogenic one hundred percent of the time completely in all of the photos they take of him.”

“So you called him ugly,” Marnie summarizes.

“I called him ugly,” Hop concedes glumly.

‘So that’s what the new outfit is all about,” Marnie says. “I was wonderin’ about that.”

“Marnie,” Hop whines. He flails his leg forlornly underneath the table, somehow miraculously not kicking Marnie in the process. “How do I fix this?”

“Tell Victor how you really feel,” Marnie responds without missing a beat.

Hop’s brain explodes. “What?”

“I mean - you think Victor is the most beautiful person alive, don’t you?” Marnie fiddles with her nails, looking half uninterested. “Just tell him that. That might help.”

“What?! Wait, no - I can’t do that!” Hop protests. “There’s no way I could admit that without also admitting to Victor that - that I like him.”

“So?” says Marnie. “Victor would feel better about himself, and you’d end up with a new boyfriend. It’s a win-win.”

Hop scoffs. “Please,” he says. “Like Victor would date me of all people.”

“You are by far the dumbest person I’ve ever met,” says Marnie. “Which is sad, because I’m includin’ my older brother, and his head is full of rocks, probably.”

“I would have accepted that when I was twelve,” says Hop, “but I’ve been studying really hard recently, you know.” He pouts. “I’m not that dumb anymore.”

“Uh-huh,” says Marnie sceptically. “Think of it this way - why wouldn’t Victor date you?”

“I don’t know,” says Hop. “When was the last time you saw Victor show any romantic interest in anyone?”

Marnie doesn’t even hesitate. “Twenty minutes ago -”

“What?” says Hop.

“- give or take a couple minutes.”

“Wait, wait - hang on,” Hop pulls out his own phone, desperately glancing at the time. “How - with who - we only just got here twenty minutes ago!”

“I know,” says Marnie.

“Then who was Victor ‘showing romantic interest’ in?” Hop demands. “There’s no way I would have missed it - I was standing right next to him the whole time!”

Marnie slowly sucks in a very deep breath. “Ok - let’s try it this way,” she says. “We established earlier that I knew Bede liked Victor because he was willing to actually do him a favor, right?”

“Yeah?” says Hop. “And?”

“So when was the last time you asked Victor to do somethin’ and he didn’t do it?”

Hop’s brain short circuits for the second time in the past two hours. “Wait, hang on, that’s not a valid comparison - that’s just because he’s Victor.” He gestures at Marnie accusingly. “I mean, when was the last time he told you no?”

“Fair,” Marnie concedes with a slight nod. “Still - you have to admit, with you it’s ridiculous. He’s always goin’ out of his way to try to do nice things for you.”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me,” Hop protests, squirming half guiltily. “That’s just because he’s so sweet - and thoughtful - and amazing and wonderful and -”

“And he likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me!”

“Geez,” says Marnie. “It almost sounds like you don’t want him to like you.”

“What - I -” Hop sputters. “Of course I want him to like me!”

“Are you sure?” says Marnie, looking sceptical. “Because he’s liked you back for at least a solid nine years, and so far you’ve yet to actually do anything about it.”

Hop groans. “Ok, enough,” he says. “This argument isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“That’s because you refuse to admit that I’m right for some reason -”

“Would you knock that off?”

Marnie rolls her eyes. “I don’t get it,” she says. “Why is it so hard to believe that Victor likes you?”

“Because he doesn’t.”

“You say that,” says Marnie, “but you haven’t actually explained why you think he doesn’t like you.”

“I mean - look at him!” says Hop. He gestured forlornly at himself. “And - look at me.”

Marnie kicks him. “What did your therapist say about self-deprecation?”

“That it’s making my chronic self-esteem issues worse and that I shouldn’t do it anymore,” says Hop.

“Say the mantra,” says Marnie.

“What - no!” says Hop.

Marnie glares. “Say it.”

“I don’t need to say it anymore,” says Hop. “I’ll stop, I promise -”

“Say it or I’ll tell Victor you’ve been saying mean things about yourself again.”

Hop groans, falling back into his chair. “I love and accept myself for who I am,” he grumbles. “I am free to choose to live the life I want to live. I deserve success and happiness in my life.”

“Including for Victor to fall in love with you.”

“Including for Victor to fall in love with - stop!”

They spend a solid fifteen seconds kicking at each other’s shins under the table before Marnie bursts into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she hides her smile behind her hands. Hop joins her a second later, nearly knocking the bottle of soy sauce off of the table as he doubles over with snickers, drawing glares from the other customers around them.

Marnie suddenly straightens out, sitting back up in her chair. “Look alive,” she warns him. “He’s coming back now.” Hop’s mouth shuts instantly with a click, and he sits up in his chair right in time for Victor to reappear, setting a bag piled high with food down in the center of their table.

“Sorry that took so long,” he apologizes, quietly distributing their respective dishes. They’ve been coming here for so long that Hop knows their orders by heart: yakisoba noodles for Marnie, an absurdly large amount of ramen noodles for someone as tiny as Victor (not that that’s going to stop Victor from eating all of it in one sitting anyway), and -

Hop blinks confusedly as Victor reaches into the bag, pulls out a sizeable shepherd's pie, and sets it down in front of him.

“Wait, hang on - this place serves shepherd's pie?” Hop asks, confused.

Victor gives him a sheepish look. “No,” he says. “I went to - the place across the street.”

“Oh,” says Hop. He gives Victor a funny look. “Why’d you have to go so far?”

“I know you don’t like Kanto food,” Victor responds, shaking his head slightly. “So I got you something else.”

“I -” Hop turns red. “It’s not that I don’t like it - I don’t mind the fried rice,” he tries.

Victor reaches over and drinks the rest of Hop’s tea for him. “I know you don’t mind it,” he says, “but I thought - you know. I thought I might get you something that you actually like. As an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For making you put up with Bede earlier,” Victor clarifies.

“Victor, mate,” says Hop, “trust me when I say that not a single thing I was doing earlier could possibly be defined as ‘putting up with Bede’.”

Victor sighs. “Just eat the pie,” he says finally. He pops the lid off of the ramen bowl on the top of the pile and starts quickly slurping the noodles down.

Hop reaches into the bag and pulls out a fork, digging it deeply into the pie. The potato on top is light and fluffy and just slightly crispy, the mince inside brown and warm, oozing with gravy and juice. He takes a hefty piece and plops it right into his mouth, the melange of different flavours and textures spreading out perfectly on his tongue, the bite melting in his mouth. The box is unmarked, suspiciously free of any logos, but Hop recognizes the taste instantly: it’s the shepard’s pie from Hop’s favorite family run food stall, all the way on the other side of the shopping center. Victor would have had to have literally run there to grab this, given how short of a time he was gone - the knowledge awakens a very funny feeling in his chest.

“Hey,” says Hop, nudging Victor gently with his leg. Victor turns to face him, a bundle of noodles still comically hanging from his mouth. “Thanks for the pie,” he says, his voice soft. Victor nods, quickly turning to face away from him, though not fast enough that Hop misses the slight tinge of red coloring his cheeks.

“Wow,” says Marnie - Hop’s been getting better at reading her facial expressions recently, and if he had to guess, her current expression reads “smug” to him. “Talk about rude. You didn’t bring me anything special,” she says, turning to fix him with a knowing look.

Victor cringes, looking guilty. “Does this count?” he asks, handing her a fork.

Unfortunately, they’d been so distracted catching up and having fun trying to get Victor to fit as many noodles as physically possible into his mouth at once that none of them noticed the paparazzi in the corner snapping photos of Victor’s new outfit.

“Ooh, ooh, listen to this one,” Hop sits up in his chair, holding his phone up to read easier. “‘Whereas Champion Leon’s charm came from his boundless enthusiasm and energy, Champion Victor maintains a quiet, calm, and collected persona. Despite his recent transition into a more cutesy pastel aesthetic, complete with a new set of clothes and contact lenses to boot, he maintains his reputation among reporters as notoriously concise and cryptic, hiding the true meaning of his words behind obfuscation and misdirection. To the public at large, in spite of his incredible popularity, his private life remains largely inscrutable, and he chooses to spend much of his time secluded at his parent’s home in sleepy Postwick. The constant aura of mystery surrounding him lends itself to his personal gravitas and the intrigue over his recent transformation as his passionate fans hook themselves onto his every word, starting debates about his natural eye and hair color, buying out all of his official league merch, searching feverishly for any clue of the true nature of the Champion’s -’”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Victor interrupts him, his long hair splayed messily around his head from his spot laying upside down on the couch, licking the greasy remains of crisps off of the fingers on one hand while lazily running his hand through his Togekiss’s feathers. “What bloody wanker wrote that?”

Hop scrolls back up to the top. “The Galarian Chronicle,” he responds.

“They’re absolutely delusional.” Victor rolls his eyes. “Hiding the true meaning of his words behind obfuscation and misdirection’ my arse. Just say I’m bad at interviews.” And then he turns back to look at the TV and shovels more crisps into his mouth.

Hop sets his phone down, subtly shifting closer in the process, relishing at the faint brush of his leg against Victor’s side. “Oh come off it mate, you’re not bad at interviews,” he tries. “You’re just - stiff. And awkward. And quiet. And very anxious.” Victor gives him a look. “Ok, so you’re kind of bad at interviews, that’s fine! Everyone has their weaknesses -”

Victor pouts. “Well this shouldn’t be my weakness.” He curls in on himself, bringing his knees into his chest and turning back to face the TV. “I shouldn’t be scared of some stupid interviews - I’m the Champion! It’s a part of my job to give the audience a show.”

“And you do your job,” says Hop. “Your battles are the stuff of legends!”

“It’s not just battling,” says Victor. “You have to act the part too - you have to show your fans that your someone worth looking up to.”

“You are worth looking up to,” protests Hop.

Victor gives him a skeptical look. “People makes memes of me. I’m a meme, Hop.”

“You can be a meme and have people still look up at you,” says Hop. “People used to make fun of Lee all the time for getting lost and being an airhead. Not to mention his stupid hat collection.”

“At least Leon could give coherent answers in interviews,” Victor says glumly. “Plus - people didn’t make that many memes about Leon. Whereas for me - they’re selling that stupid league card of me sneezing for almost 100,000 a piece. And did you see how many likes that photo of me after I fell into the bath in Circhester got?”

Hop closes his mouth with a snap before he can reveal the real reason it got that many likes: that Victor had been wearing a relatively thin white shirt under his jacket that had turned very transparent upon getting wet. It’s one of the few photos that survived the ‘Great Victor Meme Purge’ of Hop’s phone, tucked guiltily away in between pictures of the ruins in Turffield and the Rose Tower and the cottages of Ballonlea inside an album called ‘Beautiful Things in Galar’.

“Oh come off it mate,” says Hop, reaching out to gently shake him by the shoulder. “Why wouldn’t someone look up to you?”

Victor shifts a little bit in his seat. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just - hard for me to believe.”

Hop blinks. “What’s hard for you to believe?”

“That someone -” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “That someone could - you know.”

“I don’t know,” says Hop. “Tell me.”

Victor sets the crisps back down on the floor next to him. “I just - don’t see how people could look up to someone like me,” he finishes quietly, curling in on himself entirely.

“Why wouldn’t they?” says Hop again. “Why wouldn’t someone look up to you?”

Victor sighs, looking away. “Look, it’s not important,” he says. “Can we just - talk about something else and watch this?”

“Mate,” Hop protests, “you can’t seriously expect me to just - accept that.”

Victor says nothing.

“Hello?” says Hop.

Victor says nothing.

“Victor?” says Hop.

Victor sniffles quietly.

“Woah,” says Hop, reaching out to grab onto Victor’s shoulder. “Mate? Are you ok -”

“Please, can we just - not?” says Victor again, his voice twisted and tight, far quieter than he had been just moments before. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ok,” says Hop, nodding rapidly. “Ok, ok, we don’t have to talk about it.” He turns back to the TV just in time to see Gordie’s Tyrannitar absolutely smash the poor challenger’s Salazzle. Hop winces. He still hasn’t forgotten his first loss against the rock type gym leader, all those years ago. “We’ll just - watch this. And talk about something else. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Victor. He shifts in his spot a little, folding his arms around his body - but stays turned around, still pointedly not looking at Hop.

He and Victor’s stargazing trips weren’t limited to their early childhood. Hop vividly remembers a very specific night in the middle of their gym challenge when they had gone camping together, the quiet lull of the night, temperate and still, the chill of wind, the blanket of clouds threatening to obscure the stars above. They’d been camping out on the outskirts of Hammerlocke, both on their way to their next gym battle in - Stow-on-Side? Spikemuth? Circhester? Ok - so he doesn’t remember everything about it.

He does remember the anxiety, the self-doubt, the guilt. He remembers how uncomfortable he’d felt, having long grown accustomed to using his Wooloo as a pillow, and now found his sleeping bag far less comfortable without it. He remembers how terribly cold he’d felt, in spite of the fire Victor had stoked in the center of the camp to cook them food.

“Here,” Victor said, handing him a plate piled high with curry.

Hop did his best to muster a smile. “Thanks.”

Victor nods, settling down on the floor next to him. Hop can feel his eyes searching his face questioningly, as if he could find the source of Hop’s stress buried between his eyes somewhere.

Hop poked him. “You don’t need to gawk at me, mate.”

“Sorry,” said Victor. He picked up his own plate, ostensibly to eat it, though Hop could still feel him shooting glances at him out of the corner of his eyes.

Hop shoved his food around with his fork. He hadn’t eaten all day - and yet somehow, he didn’t feel very hungry at all.

“Um,” said Victor, squirming uncomfortably. “Are you - ok?”

Hop sighed. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “I’m fine.”

“Oh,” said Victor softly. “Ok,” he said. He shifted uncomfortably, nibbling at some of his own curry.

Hop looked away from him, instead staring down at the smiling Pikachu face Victor had crafted out of some of the rice, it’s little meaty eyes shining back up mockingly at him. He deftly dug his fork into its nose, splitting it down the middle, separating its left eye from the rest of its face before cramming a chunk of its ear into his mouth.

Victor frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re ok -”

“I’m fine,” Hop snapped before he could stop himself.

Victor recoiled instantly, nearly spilling his curry all over the floor in the process. “Oh,” he said. “Ok, sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Hop exhaled heavily, pressing into the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Wait,” he said. He takes a moment to steady himself out as best he can, to shape himself back into something that’s vaguely passable for a human being. “I’m sorry I snapped,” he said.

“It’s ok,” said Victor, as is his wont. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just worried.”

“I know,” said Hop. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either. I’m just...frustrated.”

“I know,” said Victor in response. He scoots closer to Hop, gently reaching out to remove the plate of curry from his grasp - it’s only when Victor’s grabs onto it that he realises how badly his hands had been shaking.

Hop sighs again, quickly running his fingers through his hair. “I wish you didn’t have to see me like this,” he said, quiet, half hoping the wind would catch his words and blow them away from Victor.

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Victor responds.

Hop snorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be my rival? If you help me, I might beat you.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m your friend before I’m your rival,” Victor responded. He paused. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” said Hop. “You are.”

They fell back into silence, Hop quietly turning his Pokeballs over in his hand, considering each of them. Victor glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

“You switched up your team,” he noted.

Hop nodded. “Thought I would try something new out.” He sighed. “My old team wasn’t all that strong.”

“I thought they were pretty strong,” said Victor.

Hop laughed. “Couldn’t beat you,” he pointed out. “Or Bede, for that matter.”

“I know,” said Victor. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” said Hop. “You’re just stronger. Nothing else to it.”

“Being Champion is your dream,” said Victor.

“It’s your dream too,” said Hop.

Victor stayed silent.

Hop rolled over onto his side, turning away from Victor. He bunches up his sleeping bag, trying to form it into some flimsy parody of his usual woolly head rest - his sleep had been fitful recently, and things had any chance of getting better, he’d need his rest. He closed his eyes, ignoring the tears prickling at his eyelids.

He feels a hand, small and delicate, placed gently onto his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Victor asked.

Instinctively, almost against his will, Hop scooted backwards, pressing himself straight up against Victor.

“Hop?” said Victor, sounding surprised.

“Just - let me stay like this,” Hop responded, bundling his blankets tighter in his arms. “Just for a little bit.”

“Oh,” said Victor, after a moment’s pause. He felt tense from behind Hop, unsure, limbs coiled tightly, ready to spring at a moment’s notice - though he didn’t push Hop back or shy away. “Ok,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

Hop drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes -

The unfortunate part about being arguably the strongest trainer in Southern Galar who isn’t the current champion/a gym leader/his older brother is that when something goes wrong and someone gets in over their head, they come crawling to him for help first, and no matter how many times he tells them that he’s “busy studying” or “working on a research paper” or “I just spent the last four hours of my miserable existence literally elbow deep in the largest samples of Copperajah shit that I’ve ever had the displeasure of interacting with in my life and I’m so exhausted and half rethinking my career choices and I really, really need to take a shower, please, I’m literally begging you, please ask someone else for help,” he inevitably gets roped into cleaning up whatever it is that’s gone wrong. He still hasn’t quite gotten over the time Nessa dragged him out of bed at 5:00 a.m. to help her get rid of all the Garbodor plugging up the sewage in Hulbury - he’s no expert, but he’s at least 75% sure that the weird, anxious feeling he gets whenever he sees any vaguely brown looking liquid counts as PTSD. His mother’s hot chocolate has been thoroughly ruined.

Of the three southern gym leaders, he minds Milo the least because Milo is very friendly and polite, he’s never requested anything of Hop between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and 9:00 a.m., and his requests usually involve some level of interaction with Wooloo, which Hop is completely ok with, because he loves Wooloo. He and Milo traded phone numbers just to text each other cute Wooloo photos.

Unfortunately, that also means that out of the three southern gym leaders, Milo has the best chance of figuring out that something’s wrong with him - with the other two, he could play off his vaguely shitty mood as being annoyed at having to help out with whatever stupid-task-du-jour they have planned for him without much trouble. But Milo is pretty used to seeing Hop smile, so when he sighs forlornly and kicks listlessly at a pile of hay halfway through helping him move all of the bales inside for storage, Milo catches on fairly quickly.

“Is something up, Hop?” Milo says, casually lifting one of the massive hay bales with his bare hands. Hop’s Rillaboom follows after, dutifully carrying another bale, though Hop can see it shooting concerned looks in his direction every once in a while.

“No,” says Hop, quickly fixing his face into a less crabby looking expression. “I’m fine.”

Milo tilts his head at him. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Because - no offense - you do seem kind of distracted,” he says, nudging his head to gesture at Hop’s Snorlax, who Hop quickly realises had, at some point, set down the bale of hay it had been carrying to start eating it.

“Hey!” says Hop, quickly turning to march towards Snorlax. Snorlax ignores him, instead opting to nonchalantly continue eating. “You knock that off - no!” he says firmly, pointing his finger.

Snorlax responds by tearing off a chunk of the hay and holding out to Hop in offering.

“Cut that out!” says Hop. He quickly grabs the hay and tries to stuff it back into the bale where it belongs. “You’re supposed to be moving the hay, not eating it -”

Milo cuts him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go ahead and polish that one off, Snorlax, and we can take a break.” He grabs Hop quickly before he can say anything in protest and starts gently steering him underneath a nearby tree to sit down.

Hop glares back at Snorlax, casually gorging itself now that it’s gotten approval. “Are Snorlaxes even supposed to be eating hay?” he demands.

Milo shrugs. “You’re the professor’s assistant, not me. I always thought Snorlaxes ate everything - or at least everything they can get their hands on.” He plops himself down on the floor in the dappled grass near the foot of the tree and pats the spot next to him for Hop.

Hop sighs, slowly sitting down as well. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I know I’m supposed to be helping you.”

“No worries, buddy,” says Milo agreeably from next to him.“Is something up with you?”

“I’m fine - I promise,” says Hop. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“You want to talk about it?” asks Milo.

Hop lets out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “I’m ok,” he says. “I don’t - I’d hate to bother you with all my personal stuff.”

“Hey,” says Milo. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” says Hop.

“Come on then,” says Milo. “You can talk to me - one friend to another. I want to know what’s up with you.”

“You do?” says Hop.

Milo beams. “Of course I do,” he says. “That’s what friends are for!”

Hop takes a deep breath.

“I think I hurt Victor’s feelings by accident,” he says, “and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“What happened?” says Milo.

“I -” he sighs. “I might have implied that he looks - bad. In photos.”

Milo pause. “Well - that’s kind of true, though.”

“It’s not!” says Hop immediately. Milo gives him a sceptical look. “I mean - ok, it is, but don’t say that out loud!”

“That’s true too,” says Milo. “Then why did you say it out loud?”

“It was an accident - I didn’t mean it,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “How am I supposed to fix this?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” says Milo. “Just tell him how you really feel.”

Hop nearly falls over, he jerks upwards so hard. “What?”

“Tell him how you really feel,” Milo repeats. “That you love him and that you think he’s the most wonderful and beautiful person in the world and that you couldn’t stand to live a life without him in it.”

“What?” says Hop. “Wait - how did you even - I never told you -”

“It’s really obvious, Hop,” says Milo sheepishly. “Some of us gym leaders actually have a bet going around on which one of you guys will confess first.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “That’s - really embarrassing.”

“My money is on you, if it makes you feel better,” says Milo.

“It doesn’t,” says Hop. “But thanks anyway - wait, who bet on Victor?”

Milo pauses to think. “Kabu, Bea, and Gordie, I think,” he lists off, ticking a finger for each name that comes out of his mouth. “The final count was three for Victor, four for you - Piers didn’t bet. Oh - and don’t tell any of them I told you,” he tacks on quickly. “Part of the bet is that we aren’t allowed to tell you about the bet.”

“Why would they bet on Victor?” says Hop. “There’s no way he’s going to confess to me.”

“That’s what I thought too!” says Milo. “He’s too shy to confess first, no matter how much he feels for you. You’ve always been way more bold and open about your feelings.”

“No,” says Hop, “I mean Victor’s not going to confess because he doesn’t even like me in the first place.”

Milo bursts out laughing, rolling off of the tree and into the grass surrounding them. By the time he’s managed to compose himself, he’s wiping actual, honest-to-God tears from his eyes. And then he catches the look on Hop’s face.

“Oh, shit, you weren’t you joking,” he says.

“Why would I joke about this?” says Hop. “It’s only been the most arduous, torturous part of the last eight years of my life -”

“Aw, don’t talk like that, Hop,” says Milo, patting him gently on the back. “Things will work out - you’ll see.”

“But they might not,” Hop whines. “Me and my big mouth have already managed to hurt Victor’s feelings - what if I let my guard slip and confess by accident and I ruin everything?”

Milo makes an “eh” sound. “I doubt that’ll happen. Victor really likes you.”

“You don’t know that,” says Hop.

“I kind of do, though,” says Milo apologetically. “Practically everyone who’s even interacted with you two at the same time knows it. It’s really, really obvious.”

“That’s not proof,” says Hop.

“True,” admits Milo. “Why not just ask him if he likes you if you’re that worried about it?”

Hop nearly falls over. “Absolutely not! I can’t just ask out of the blue like that! That’s - that’s way too much!”

“Ok, so you can start a little smaller, then,” says Milo. “Why not start by asking him on a date?”

“A - a date?” Hop sputters. “What?!”

“I mean - you already know Victor likes guys. And you’ve been friends for a really long time. Even if you think he doesn’t like you, he’ll probably still say yes to a date.”

“No!” says Hop. “Absolutely not. I cannot date Victor.”

Milo’s blink at him. “I’m confused,” he says. “I thought you wanted to date Victor.”

“I - I do,” says Hop. “But - I - what if we go on our date and it sucks?”

“I don’t know, Hop,” says Milo, sounding sceptical. “I mean - you guys basically already go on dates. You watch movies together, you go out to eat together, you go to parties together, you go to league matches together, you go camping together, you go shopping together - those are all basically dates. Just do that - except this time, it’s a real date.”

“But what if I say something stupid?” Hop blurts out.

“What does Victor normally do when you say something stupid?” says Milo.

“He laughs at me and tries to get me to say it again so he can record it onto his phone,” says Hop.

Milo shrugs. “He’ll probably just do that, then,” he says. “Why would he act any differently?”

“But what if it being a date ruins it?” says Hop. “Victor’s been my best friend for years - the last thing I want to do is to make him feel uncomfortable around me. What if that -” he pauses to take a breath, sighing deeply. “What if that destroys us?”

“I don’t know if you’re giving Victor enough credit, ironically,” says Milo, quirking his lips. “He’s stronger than you think.”

Hop stops moping long enough to glare at Milo. “I know how strong Victor is.”

“And he thinks of you as his best friend too, right?” says Milo.

“I -” Hop frowns. “I mean - I definitely hope so, though I can’t speak for him.”

“Then do you really think he’d let something as little as your massive and extremely obvious crush on him get in the way of your friendship?”

Hop has to pause for a moment before he can answer that one. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe?”

Milo pats him on the back again, harder this time, drawing a wince from Hop. “Try not to worry so much,” he advises. “I know you feel guilty about hurting his feelings, but you’re young - you make mistakes. It happens. And I believe in you and Victor - you guys have already been through worse.”

“Maybe,” says Hop. “It’s just - it’s hard for me to think clearly when it comes to Victor, you know? He just - I just don’t know what to do, sometimes.” He hunches over, feeling defeated. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” Milo assures him. “You’re a bang-up guy, Hop. And Victor cares about you too. You’ll make it work somehow.”

Hop sighs again. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I just - need some time on my own to think about this.”

“Oh, is that what you need?” says Milo.

Hop looks up at him. “I - yes?”

“Oh,” says Milo.

“What?” says Hop. “Is something wrong? What do you mean ‘oh’?”

Milo scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh - my bad?” he says tentatively.

Hop gives him a look. “’Your bad’? What -”

“Um - hullo?” comes Victor’s voice from somewhere close behind him, holy shit, what the actual fuck, why does God hate Hop so much? “Milo? Hop? Is anyone here?”

Milo winces. “Sorry?” he tries.

“Why do you do this to me?” says Hop.

As it turns out, it’s even harder to focus on getting his Pokemon to focus on moving hay when Victor is breathing down his neck.

“Ok,” says Hop turning to face Victor. “What is it?”

Victor squeaks and jumps a little bit. “What?”

“I can feel you doing your ‘I want to talk to Hop about something but I’m shy and I don’t want to say anything out loud’ face behind my back,” says Hop. “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” says Victor. “No I just - I didn’t want to be mean -”

“Mean about what?”

Victor winces, turning slightly away from him. “It’s just - is your Snorlax - supposed to be eating all of those hay bales?”

“What?” Hop turns around. Sure enough - there his Snorlax is, stuffing its face with the hay it’s supposed to be carrying. Hop groans. “I swear to God,” he says, pulling his pack off to rummage through it for Snorlax’s Pokeball. “I leave the bugger alone for half a second -”

Victor laughs. “It’s weird to see you struggling to control your Pokemon,” he says. “Normally they follow your commands without question.”

“Nah,” says Hop, silently cursing himself for keeping his bag so bloody disorganized. “Snorlax only ever listens to me during battles. Otherwise it just does whatever it wants. It’s basically useless outside of battling - I don’t know why I even bothered trying to get it to help.” He looks up to half-heartedly glare at it as it moves on from the poor, smashed remains of the first bale of hay and starts tucking into a second.

“Useless outside of battle? That seems - harsh,” Victor says, his voice quiet.

“I mean - it’s basically true,” says Hop. He manages to find the Pokeball, lodged in between some stray potions, his map, and some old candy wrappers. “You can see what happens when I try to get it to help out with something that isn’t eating or punching.”

Victor frowns. “I’m sure he’s trying his best,” he says.

Hop scoffs. “I know what it looks like when Snorlax is trying,” he says. “He is not trying right now.”

“Maybe he’s just not very good at it,” says Victor.

“How?” says Hop.

“Maybe he just - I don’t know,” says Victor. “Maybe he just - can’t do things like this.”

“Why wouldn’t he be able to move some hay?” says Hop. “I’ve seen him smash rocks, he’s more than strong enough to move some dumb hay bales.”

“Maybe it’s a mental thing!” says Victor, his voice rising. “Maybe it’s really good at battling and it loves it a lot, but when it tries to move hay bales, it overthinks it, and it makes it really nervous and anxious, and it wants to run away and hide but it can’t because then it’ll definitely let everyone who’s counting on it down, so it sucks it up and it goes and tries to move the hay bales and it screws it all up anyway and it’s really humiliating so it goes home and sets all of its social media accounts to private and unfollows all of its favorite meme blogs because they’re posting a bunch of pictures of its face now and then it doesn’t know how to spend its time without looking at any memes so it just has to cry into its pillow until it can fall asleep!”

Hop stops, turning to look at Victor. “What?”

Victor whips around to look away from him and sniffles. “Nothing,” he says. “Nevermind.”

“Wait, wait,” says Hop. He desperately replays their conversation in his head, looking for the point of inflection that led to this, somehow. He doesn’t realise his error until he lands on the words “useless outside of battling” and he puts two and two together. “Hang on - Victor, I was talking about Snorlax, not you!”

“Yeah,” says Victor. “Right. Your Snorlax.”

He reaches out to grab Victor’s arm, gently leading him closer. Victor allows himself to be pulled, but refuses to turn around. Hop can see the slight vibrations in his shoulder. “I’m serious,” he says. “You and Snorlax aren’t the same - you’re not like that.”

“But I am,” says Victor, burying his face in his hands. “When was the last time I ever did something useful outside of a battle?”

Hop turns to look over at Victor’s Reuniclus as it drifts past them, single-handedly levitating a dozen bales. “Uhhh -”

“Even this one,” says Victor. “This is probably the first time Milo’s asked me for help - whereas you get called away to help someone at least once a week.”

Hop gives Victor a look. “Do you want Nessa to call you at 5 a.m. and ask you to clean up the sewers?”

“That’s not the point,” says Victor. “The point is that she didn’t even bother to ask.”

“That’s a good thing,” says Hop.

“You know what I mean, Hop,” says Victor. “They know I’m no help - that’s why they ask you instead.”

“They ask me for help because I’m just some kid they can bully into doing whatever they want,” says Hop, rolling his eyes. “Whereas you’re the literal champion of the region.”

“That shouldn’t matter!” says Victor. “I mean - do you remember when Hulbury got hit by that big storm and Leon spent days helping with the relief efforts -”

Hop scoffs. “Mate, trust me - don’t compare yourself to Lee,” he says dryly. “Won’t help with anything.”

Victor pauses, turning to look at Hop. He sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with any of this personal stuff.”

“You’re not bothering me,” says Hop.

Victor sighs. He slumps over, plopping down onto the ground, bringing his palm up to forlornly rest his chin on. Hop settles down next to him, subtly pressing his leg against Victor’s.

“Sorry,” says Victor. “I know I’m supposed to be helping move hay.”

‘You are helping,” says Hop, pointing at Reuniclus. “See that? That’s called helping, Victor.”

Victor laughs. Hop can feel the vibrations, they’re so close to each other. “Thanks for listening, Hop,” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Hop squeaks out. “Sure. No -”

“Hey, sorry, not to interrupt,” says Milo, making them both jump. “What happened to all the hay here?”

Hop quickly whirls around to look out at the field - now littered with the smashed corpses of half eaten hay bales, his Snorlax’s now unconscious body lying among them.

Shit, he thinks.

Hop knows how incredibly fortunate he is to be a part of the only major accredited independent research facility in Galar. There’s only so much funding for research to go around, so being one of the only labs means that they get the lion’s share of it - Leon being in charge of the Macro Cosmos Foundation doesn’t hurt either. They’re certainly not rolling in money, but they can afford to keep the lights on, which is more than can be said of any other independent research institution in Galar - RKS Labs got swallowed whole by Macro Cosmos and became a subsidiary company, the Dream Laboratory had to pack up shop and move to Unova, and Macro Cosmos Tech systematically crushes literally anyone else who dares try to move in on their virtual monopoly.

Unfortunately, this system has the side effect of creating a lot of reckless, angry scientists who are out of a job.

He’d heard rumors - a former employee of a failed Fossil Research Center operating out of a tent somewhere in Route 6 - but he’d never thought much of it, dismissing it as hearsay, or overblown rumors. And then Victor called him on an otherwise unassuming Saturday morning, what should have been a slow day at the lab, and showed him an abomination.

Hop holds the creature (Victor said it was called an “Arctozolt,” apparently) up above his head against the light, as if that will help him somehow figure out how the damn thing manages to exist.

“What are you doing?” says Sonia.

Hop sighs. “I’m - observing it,” he says. “I just can’t figure out how this thing is even alive.” As if in response, Arctozolt makes a horrible, high pitched screeching sound and then promptly throws up what looks like a couple of frozen, vaguely fishy looking chunks of meat.

Sonia gives him a very unimpressed look. “And holding it up to the light will help you with that - how, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” says Hop. “I just wanted a better look, ok? So I can figure out what this thing even is.”

“That’s easy - it’s very clearly a primordial bird’s head stuck on top of some kind of ancient arctic dinosaur’s body,” says Sonia.

Hop rolls his eyes. “I know that.” He sighs, and sets Arctozolt back down on the table. “That’s not the problem, the problem is - how is it even alive? There’s just - so many things wrong with this - the dino and bird bones don’t even fit together - shouldn’t their immune systems be trying to kill each other?”

“In theory, yes,” says Sonia. “In practice - I mean, it’s not dead, so…”

Arctozolt makes a very distressed sound at the word “dead.” Hop pats its head comfortingly. “Do we - take a tissue sample? Do blood work? Should we do a buccal swab? An x-ray - where do we even start with this thing?”

“I don’t know, Hop, I’m a regional fauna expert who specialized in the ecological history of the Anthropocene era!” says Sonia. “You’re the cellular microbiology expert here.”

“I’m out of my depth here too,” says Hop. “I research the cytoskeleton’s role in cellular motility, not - multi-prehistoric-organism chimeras! This is way beyond the scope of my normal research.”

“Maybe it’s not,” says Sonia sarcastically. “Maybe you can identify the organism via an in vivo analysis of the treadmilling mechanism of the actin cytoskeleton towards the leading edge of the -”

“Either help me or give me a raise,” says Hop.

Sonia groans. “Where did you get this again?” she asks, looking tired.

“Victor gave it to me,” says Hop.

“Oh?” says Sonia, suddenly looking way more interested than she had been just moments before. “Victor gave you a gift?”

“Can we not right now?” says Hop. “And anyway, it was less of a ‘gift’ and more of a ‘please tell me what the fuck species this horrible sin against God counts as’ sort of thing. No offense -” he tacks on quickly, gently patting Arctozolt’s head. It coos happily at the attention. “You’re a very sweet and pretty horrible sin against God. Thank you for being so accommodating to us.”

Sonia strokes it along its back. “Sorry, dear, this might sting a bit,” she says, holding its flipper up long enough to quickly stick a syringe in and draw a bit of blood. Arctozolt flinches, but otherwise doesn’t protest. “And Hop - you know the rules. This is a strictly child friendly space - no cursing in the lab.”

“Oh, bugger off,” snaps Hop. “I’m twenty, not twelve. I’ll curse if I want to.”

Sonia frowns at him. “What’s with you recently?” she asks. She takes Arctozolt off of the table and starts gently guiding it to the CT scanner, tucked safely away in a glorified closet in the corner of the lab. “You’re way snappier than usual.”

“Maybe I’m sick of your crap,” suggests Hop, following her.

“Valid,” says Sonia. “But it’s not like you to be so rude about it. Normally you only gently suggest that I stop bothering you.” She reaches the scanner and starts fiddling with the dials on it.

Hop gently lifts Arctozolt, places it carefully on the scanning tray, and wraps the straps firmly around it to keep it from squirming out. “Can we just focus on studying this thing? I want to see how many sets of internal organs this little guy has.” He pokes its nose, allowing it to nip at his fingers.

“My money’s on more sets than it really needs,” says Sonia. Hop glares at her - she rolls her eyes and turns to walk out of the room. “And don’t think we’re done talking about your horrid attitude.”

Hop presses a gentle kiss to Arctozolt’s head. “We’ll be right back - try to stay still for me, ok?”

“That thing isn’t sterile,” Sonia sing songs back at him. “You know the rules - never put your mouth on things that aren’t safe -”

“You’ve put your mouth on far worse and we both know it,” says Hop, following her out quickly. “I’ve seen what your Yamper does in its spare time. That thing’s nowhere near sterile either.”

Sonia gives him a look, glancing away from the CT scanner’s control panel. “Jeez. You really are in a terrible mood. I’m actually legitimately worried now - does this have something to do with Victor?”

Hop folds his arms grumpily. “Just run the scan,” he says.

Sonia hits the start button. “Ok,” she says. “What’s going on?”

“None of your business,” says Hop.

“Rude,” says Sonia. “I’m just concerned is all.”

“The last time I told you one of my secrets, you cornered me at a party and badgered me and then nearly spilled it in front of everyone. And then you made me insult the love of my life to his face and now he’s all worried about his public image and he already has social anxiety and/or self-esteem issues and I think Victor hates me now,” says Hop.

Sonia scoffs. “If Victor hates you then I’m the bloody Queen of Galar,” she says dryly. “You’re overreacting - well, ok, maybe not about the whole ‘he has social anxiety’ bit. But Victor adores you.”

“Not for long he won’t,” says Hop. “Pretty soon, I’m going to inadvertently imply that he’s going bald or something and then he’ll be too busy to even speak with me any more because he’ll have to spend all of his spare time trying on wigs and toupees -”

“You’re catastrophizing,” says Sonia. “Look - I’m sorry about the party, it was far from my finest moment -”

“I’ll say,” Hop grumbles.

Sonia ignores him. “- but let’s be real - I can’t think of many plausible scenarios that end with Victor hating you.”

Hop sighs. “That’s scary too,” he admits quietly.

Sonia groans. “Ok, I’m lost - do you want him to hate you or not?”

“Of course I don’t want him to hate me,” says Hop. “It’s just -”

“I guess you probably want to do a little bit better than him ‘not hating you,’” says Sonia considerately. “Still, you could stand to be a little more ‘chill’ about it.”

Hop gives her a dirty look. “Oh look who’s talking, Miss ‘if Nessa even looks at me funny I’ll lock myself in my room and cry for four hours’ -”

“You can’t distract me that easily,” says Sonia, pursing her lips. “I’m seriously worried, Hop - it’s rare to see you this cut up about something.”

“Well excuse me for caring about my friends,” says Hop sarcastically.

“Ok, now you’re just being difficult,” says Sonia.

“I’m not the one harassing my employee,” says Hop.

Sonia rolls her eyes. “Just tell me what the problem is!” she says. “If you know Victor’s not going to hate you, then what’s all the fuss about?”

“The problem is that I keep accidentally insulting him,” says Hop. “And I never mean to, but I don’t know how to stop!”

Sonia hums. “Yeah, I guess that would hurt your chances with him -"

“Would you stop with that?” Hop snaps - Sonia recoils in response. “This isn’t about my chances with Victor. I’m not that self centered - I don’t want to hurt Victor’s feelings anymore,” says Hop. “And obviously I want him to like me, but I also want the best for him. I want him to be with someone who makes him happy - even if -” he swallows, “- even if it isn’t me.”

“Hop,” says Sonia, her voice soft. “You make Victor happy.”

“Are we forgetting about the part where I keep insulting him?” says Hop, his face deadpan.

Sonia groans. “It wasn’t even that bad of an insult, Hop.”

“I called him ugly!” Hop protests.

“No,” says Sonia, rolling his eyes. “You said he looks bad in photos. And you’re right - he kind of does look bad in photos.”

“Hey!” says Hop. “Don’t talk about Victor like that!”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

Hop sighs. “I mean - yeah. But you saw what happened when I said it out loud -”

“That’s just it, Hop,” says Sonia. “Granted, saying it out loud like that was pretty rude. But, as far as I could tell, you did the best you could given the circumstances. You apologized, and then you told him that you didn’t really think it was true, and you tried to reassure him. That’s pretty much about all you could have done. Frankly, it’s really not your fault that Victor spun off into an anxious death spiral.”

“It is my fault,” says Hop. “I shouldn’t have said something so rude in the first place - Victor needs me to be positive -”

“You’re a person, Hop,” she says. “You’re not perfect. No one can be positive all the time. You should be free to express all of your emotions, even the negative ones. It would be wrong to expect otherwise.”

“That doesn’t give me an excuse to insult him,” says Hop.

“True,” Sonia concedes. “But again - you’re not perfect.”

Hop groans. “I really screwed up, though,” he says. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Sonia nods. “Sometimes it’s like that,” she says. “Sometimes, you screw things up so thoroughly, that despite your best efforts, you can’t fix them.”

“Ok,” says Hop, sighing. “So what do I do when that happens?”

“Your best,” says Sonia. “There’s nothing else you can do, Hop.”

Hop folds his arms. “This sucks.”

“That’s life.”

“What’s life?”

“It sucks.”

“Great advice, Hobbes,” says Hop, rolling his eyes. “Got any other edgy slogans to carve onto the wall of a bathroom stall in Spikemuth?”

Sonia purses her lips at him. “If you’re going to be this moody, you can go home early, Hop.”

Hop recoils. “What - no!”

“I’m serious,” says Sonia. “Go home - take a bath, eat some ice cream, cry into your pillow or something. You’re no help if you’re just going to stand around and mope all day.”

“Excuse you,” says Hop, “the only reason I got so worked up in the first place is because you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“You tried to examine a creature by holding it up to a light, Hop,” says Sonia. “You weren’t exactly operating at your highest level.”

“I was observing it -”

“Observing what? How much vomit it would throw at you if you screwed with its vestibular sense -”

And then their argument gets interrupted by the CT scan, which loudly spits out an absolutely ridiculous jigsaw puzzle-esque mess of bones, internal organs, tissues and God-knows-what-else and dumps it into their eyeballs, and they are promptly stunned into silence.

“Wow,” says Sonia after a moment’s pause. “That is - more spinal cords than I think any organism really needs.”

Hop squints at the screen. “Correct me if I’m wrong but - arms aren’t supposed to go through the rib cage, are they?”

“No,” says Sonia, “they’re generally not supposed to do that - though to be fair, it’s only going through one of its rib cages, as opposed to both of them.”

Hop winces. “Does it even have enough room for its internal organs? They look a little - smooshed.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” says Sonia. “I can count a solid, like, three and a half kidneys. I’m sure it has enough organs.”

They pause for a moment, their silence only intercut by Arctozolt’s occasional vaguely demonic screech.

“This thing should not exist,” Hop concludes.

Sonia nods. “I concur completely. Excellent deduction Hop - very good science. I’ll go sequence the DNA and run it through the database - can you call Victor and let him know we’re done here?”

“So did you find anything out?” says Victor tentatively when he arrives.

“Good news and bad news, which do you want first,” says Hop, half cheekily.

“Bad news,” says Victor.

“This little guy,” he says, hefting Arctozolt into his arms, “definitely should not exist.”

Victor winces. “And the good news?”

“The good news is that it exists anyway!” Hop holds Arctozolt out triumphantly - it wriggles happily in his grip. “And it’s very sweet and very cute.”

Victor reaches out and tentatively takes Arctozolt back into his arms. It coos at him - he looks back at it hesitantly. “So it’s...healthy?”

Hop shrugs. “He seems fine - we don’t actually know what ‘healthy’ looks like for this particular organism. But he doesn’t seem to be in any pain or anything like that, and he’s not exactly lacking for essential internal organs, so I doubt there are any immediate health concerns.”

Victor hold it up to the light and squints at it, exactly like Hop did, except for some reason, Arctozolt doesn’t vomit anything onto him. “Did you manage to figure out what those bones originally belonged to?”

Hop frowns. “No - neither Sonia or I are familiar enough with prehistoric Pokemon to identify it’s species by skeletal structure alone. I think Sonia’s sequencing its DNA, though -”

“Yeah - about that,” Sonia interrupts, walking towards them. “I just finished running the DNA through our database - either this thing is a brand new discovery, or the Fossil Restoration Machine mangled its DNA so thoroughly that we can’t recognize it as any known organism anymore.”

“My money’s on the second option,” says Hop.

“The cool thing about that is that its DNA is uniform throughout its entire body - it’s more like one organism now, rather than two organisms stuck together,” Sonia continues. “That’s why we’re not seeing any nasty autoimmune diseases or organ rejection or anything like that.”

“Ok,” says Victor, making his I’m going to pretend like I know what you’re talking about but I definitely do not know what you’re talking about face that he likes to make when Hop talks about his research. “That’s - good? I think? But what do I feed it?”

Hop laughs. “I saw the insides of its stomach, mate,” he says. He pokes at Arctozolt’s belly, eliciting a little wiggle out of its legs. “Trust me when I say it’s not exactly a picky eater. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Ok,” says Victor. He holds Arctozolt up to his face, staring into its eyes. It gently headbuts his nose, making more of those vaguely terrifying screeching noises that it’s prone to making. Victor huffs out a breath, looking relieved. “I mean - as long as its healthy. That’s the most important part.”

“You should probably bring him back for a check up sometime later,” says Sonia. “There’s no immediate problems, but it’s probably best to make sure there aren’t any long term issues with its health.”

Hop narrows his eyes at her. That request sounded reasonable - too reasonable. Normally by now she’d have switched to trying to get Hop to confess his undying love for Victor and subsequently ruining his life. There’s no way she’s not up to something. “That’s probably prudent,” he agrees tentatively.

“Oh,” says Victor. “Ok, I can bring him back later. How long should we wait?”

“Oh, there’s no need to make an appointment or anything,” says Sonia, twirling her hair. “You’re always welcome to come back - and I know Hop would just love it if you came by to visit,” and there it is. Hop doesn’t know what Sonia’s playing at, but there’s absolutely no way in the world he’s going to go along with -

“Oh,” says Victor, surprised. “I don’t know - you and Hop seem pretty busy,” he says. “I don’t know if it’d be welcome if -”

“You’re always welcome to come by the lab,” says Hop instantly, and - fuck. Abusing his compulsive need to love and reassure Victor is cheating. She played him like a fucking fiddle.

Sonia barks out a laugh. “Ok,” she says. “I’m going to call up an actual fossil expert and show them the scans.” She turns and walks away, though not before shooting Hop a very smug and very self-satisfied looking smirk. Hop sticks his tongue out at her like the adult he technically is.

“You’re sure it’s fine?” asks Victor after Sonia ditches them. “I know you’re busy.”

Hop shakes his head. “You can always drop by here, mate - least as long as I’m here you can, anyway.”

“I know you’re doing important things, Hop,” says Victor, looking sheepish. “I’d really hate to distract you.”

“You’re not a distraction,” says Hop. “Or - I mean, you kind of are - but I don’t mind.”

Victor looks unsure. “But your help around the lab is really important -”

“It’s fine - you’re fine,” says Hop, waving off his concerns. “I think Sonia’s getting too complacent anyway - she could do with the extra work.”

“Don’t test me, brat,” Sonia calls from farther back in the lab. “I’ll order more of those Gigantimax Copperajah droppings, don’t think I won’t.”

“If you so much as even think - I will quit - give me a raise!” he yells back.

Most of the time when he and Victor visit Motostoke, they take the train.

Hop does feel a little bad about it. No doubt Victor would prefer the privacy of a Corviknight taxi to the loud, crowded train stations full of people to potentially recognize him - but there’s something about sitting across a train seat, half-chatting and half-messing around with their phones while the vast, sweeping plains and sparkling waters of Lake Axewell whirl past them outside of their window that tickles Hop’s nostalgia bone in just the right way, and Victor knows that. He normally just buys Victor some ice cream or something to make up for whenever someone inevitably realises who he is despite the hat and dumb sunglasses he wears to try in vain to hide.

They’d gotten lucky this time, managing to slip through the station and onto the train without alerting the throngs of people who stood next to them on the platform. They’d landed a prime spot too, a seat on the right next to a window on the right side of the train, perfect for wild area viewing - which is exactly what Hop ends up doing, while Victor messes around on his phone and graciously pretends to not be annoyed at being constantly interrupted by Hop.

“Look,” says Hop, pointing out the window to a small window, a gap of trees in the dappled grove through which the reflection of the sunlight off the surface of Lake Axewell was just barely visible. “You can see Lake Axewell from here!”

“I know, Hop,” says Victor, not even looking up from his phone. “I can see it too.”

Hop pouts. “You’re not even looking.”

Victor glances up at the window - if it were virtually anyone but Hop sitting across from him, they would have doubtless missed the almost imperceptible roll of his eyes that came with the motion. “Ok,” he says. “I looked.” And then he turns around and goes straight back to staring at his phone.

“Oh come on,” says Hop. He gently kicks at Victor’s shin underneath the table - not hard enough to hurt, but deliberately enough so that Victor knows it wasn’t an accident. “Don’t you ever get nostalgic for Lake Axewell? Or the dappled grove of trees right at its southern shore - or even that creepy old watch tower that the Ghastly all like to gather around -”

“Of course I get nostalgic,” says Victor. “But if I were nostalgic for those places, I’d go there, not look at them from a train.”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to see them,” protests Hop.

That of all things is what gets Victor to finally look at him. “Hop,” he says, “you can see Lake Axewell from Lake Axewell. You don’t have to be on a train.”

“Sure, you can see them, but you can’t see them,” says Hop. He gestures back out the window - the train had long since moved past the grove of trees, leaving almost the entirety of the lake in plain view, stretching far across the horizon. “Not like this you can’t, at least.”

“I don’t need to look every time. I’ve seen the lake plenty,” says Victor in response. He pulls out his phone and starts rapidly clicking. “Here - I even took a picture way back when.”

“What do you - woah -” says Hop as Victor pushes his phone towards Hop’s face and he’s greeted with an image of Lake Axewell taken through the window of the train, almost a perfect mirror to the view outside their window right now. “Woah,” Hop repeats. “When did you take this?”

“You don’t remember?” says Victor. “You were there too - it was the first time we went to Motostoke, right before the start of the gym challenge.”

“Oh, shit -” Hop quickly taps the picture to bring up its time stamp. “You were taking pictures?”

Victor laughs. “You didn’t realise I was taking pictures?”

“I had other things on my mind,” says Hop, somewhat defensively. It had been nothing short of a dream come true for him - Victor and him, setting out together on the journey of a lifetime, their Pokemon beside them, on the way to challenge the world - and, of course, the way Victor’s face lit up at the first sight of the lake hadn’t helped with his focus either. He’d actually all but forgotten to take photos himself. “Did you take any other photos, actually?”

“There are a couple,” Victor admits. “Mostly of my Pokemon though.”

“Do you mind if I see?” says Hop.

Victor shrugs. “Go ahead. Give me your phone, though - I want to keep reading that article I was reading before.”

Hop half distractedly hands him his phone before swiping onwards to the next picture. It’s an extremely rare selfie, clearly taken right at the entrance of the meet up area, little baby twelve year old Victor, his cheeks still round with baby fat, a timid smile on his face and a Scorbunny wrapped around his neck and Hop’s heart is fucking soft.

“Aww,” Hop coos. “Look at you and your little Scorbunny,” he says teasingly.

Victor snorts. “Don’t let Cinderace hear you call it little - not unless you want a face full of flaming foot, anyway.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Hop promises. He swipes to the next picture, a slightly blurry Roselia, taken at a somewhat awkward angle. “Oh - I haven’t seen Roserade in a while,” he says.

“It’s helping out with gardening at my mom’s place,” says Victor. “Though I’m sure it’d love to come out and battle you again sometime.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” says Hop. Next picture - a Dreepy making a very funny face in front of a bowl of some spicy looking curry. “Oh my God,” says Hop. “Is that your Dragapult?”

Victor glances over. “Yeah, that’s Dragapult, all right.”

“Aww,” says Hop. “And then it grew up to be arguably the most feared dragon Pokemon in the region.”

“This is Eternatus erasure,” says Victor cheekily.

Hop rolls his eyes. “Say - didn’t you have a nickname for it back then?”

“God - can we not talk about the nicknames my twelve year old self gave my Pokemon,” says Victor. “It’s embarrassing -”

“Oh, I remember,” says Hop excitedly. “You named it Mr. Wiggles -”

“Hop!” says Victor indignantly. “I said not to talk about the nicknames!”

“Aw, I thought they were kind of cute, though,” says Hop, flipping to the next picture, and -

It’s a picture of Raihan with a bunch of scribbly hearts drawn around it.

Ok, well - to Hop’s credit, he’s not that surprised. Victor’s never made a secret of his sexuality, and Raihan’s never made a secret of being stupidly attractive. He’d never pegged Victor as the type to have celebrity crushes - but given how obsessed the both of them had been with professional battling back then, if he’d had to guess who Victor’s celebrity crush was, he probably would have picked Raihan. It’s not hard to picture a twelve year old Victor, silently mooning over him at their first meeting in Hammerlocke - and given how ruthlessly Victor ended up destroying him in their gym match and in the league finals, it’s kind of funny too. He swipes onward to the next one, fully intending to just move forward without mentioning it -

And then the next picture is a shirtless selfie of Raihan.

“You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” Victor notes, while Hop continues flipping through the absurdly large amount of Raihan pictures on his phone, oh my God, how many of these things are there. “Is something up?”

“No,” says Hop, and - ok, that’s a picture of Gordie. There’s some variety after all - it’s not just exclusive to Raihan. “Just - thinking.”

“...about what?” says Victor hesitantly.

“Stuff,” Hop responds distractedly - a Kabu picture, seriously? Isn’t he, like, 60-something? Is Victor into older men? Is that the problem? Is Hop too young -

He hears Victor draw in a sharp breath. “Hop, what album does it say you’re looking at?”

“Camera roll, I think,” says Hop, still scrolling - oh God, even Piers is here, how many boys did Victor have crushes on? And why were none of them Hop -

“Give me my phone back,” says Victor, desperately surging forward to try to grab it.

Hop twists out of his way. “Wait,” he says, continuing to swipe through Victor’s pictures - a Milo, ok, that’s fair, even he’s spared a guilty glance or two (or ten) at Milo’s arms before. “Hang on, just give me a second -”

“Absolutely not -” says Victor, now essentially out of his seat, leaning his entire body over the table between them to try to remove the phone from Hop’s grasp. “Give that back right now -”

“Wait, wait -” Hop tries, still scrolling - Raihan, Raihan, Raihan, Milo, Raihan, Piers - ew - there has to be at least one photo of him in here, right? Right?! “I just - I want to see how many of these there are -”

“Too many!” Victor admits, now just wildly flailing his arms in Hop’s direction. Hop switches to holding the phone in one hand, using the other to hold Victor at bay. “There are too many, ok? Now give it back -”

“Wait -”

“Just give it -”

“Hang on,” says Hop, still swiping, and -

It’s a screenshot of one of Leon’s social media posts, one that even Hop has no memory of seeing before. It looks like a post workout photo - he’s in his workout clothes, with a towel draped around his neck and sweat running down his body in rivulets. It’s also very clearly a selfie, Leon’s phone held aloft above his head with one hand while his other reaches downward, tugging on the bottom edge of his shirt, exposing his midriff as he bares his teeth and smirks upwards towards the camera -

Hop silently holds the phone out to Victor.

Victor snatches it instantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see him scramble to unlock it, desperately trying to figure out how many of the photos he saw. He can tell the exact moment Victor sees the picture of Leon from the way his face turns redder than a Tamato berry.

“Hop -”

“We’re not talking about it,” says Hop before Victor can say anything.

“Oh, shove it,” Victor snaps at him instantly. “Who are you to judge - I know for a fact that there’s a whole album on your phone dedicated to memes of my face - oh, we’re not talking about it.” He settles back into his seat and places his phone back into his pocket, his face still very red. “Ok. We can do that. I love not talking about things.”

They settle back into silence, albeit a much more tense silence than before. Hop pointedly stares out of the train window, though he can still see Victor fanning his face lightly out of the corner of his eye, no doubt trying to get the redness out of his cheeks.

“You knew about the meme album?” Hop says finally, breaking the silence.

Victor nods slowly. “Saw it one time when I was trying to call Sonia. In my defense, it’s very clearly labeled. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

Hop hazards a glance back at Victor. “Did it - bother you, that I kept all of those memes?”

There’s another pause before Victor responds. “A little bit,” he admits quietly.

“It’s gone now,” Hop says immediately. “I deleted it.”

“Oh,” says Victor. “Ok.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it bothered you?” asks Hop.

Victor shrugs. “I didn’t want to seem - you know. Like a spoilsport. Or something. I knew it was just a joke for you, I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother to me,” says Hop.

“Oh,” says Victor.

“You have to tell me if something I do makes you uncomfortable - I won’t know otherwise,” he admonishes gently. “I’m not a mind reader, mate.”

“Oh,” says Victor. “Ok - next time I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” says Hop. “You’re feelings are more important to me than some stupid jokes.”

“Oh,” says Victor. He nods slowly. “Oh. Ok - I - ok. Thanks, Hop.”

Hop nods. “In exchange,” he says. “I do have one favor to ask.”

“Ok,” says Victor. “What’s up?”

“Delete that photo of Lee,” says Hop, whisper quiet.

He runs into Kabu while in Motostoke for some errands - and by ‘runs into Kabu’, he means literally. Face first, while rounding the corner from the Pokemon center.

Of course, he doesn’t know it’s Kabu at first, which is his excuse for why the first words out of his mouth were “Ow - watch where you’re going, you absolute bloody ninny - oh, Mr. Kabu, hello.”

Kabu gives him a very disappointed look. “Hop,” he says, picking himself off the ground and brushing the dust off of his clothes. “You would do well to learn to be more polite - especially to your elders.”

“Uhh - yes sir,” says Hop, standing himself back up. “Sorry - sir.”

“Not that respectful,” says Kabu with a wry smile.

“Ok, sir - I mean,” he cuts himself off. “Ok,” he amends.

Kabu laughs. “It’s fortunate that I ran into you - even if it was a more...painful encounter than I’d expected. Are you busy right now?”

“I -” Hop pauses. Technically, yes, he is, he’d planned to finish these errands so he can go back home and nap, but he somehow has a horribly hard time saying no to Kabu. “Er - that is -”

“Good,” says Kabu. “Walk with me,” and - well. There goes all of his nap time.

He quickens his stride to keep pace with Kabu - he walks way too fast. “Did you need something in particular, Mr. Kabu?”

“I’ve been talking with Victor recently,” Kabu responds, drawing a wince out of Hop. Kabu will never admit it, but he’s always been very protective of Victor - they have a somewhat strange pseudo-parent/child relationship that started once they realised they were the only two Japanese speakers in the major league. They have bi-monthly dinners together, apparently. “He’s been acting in an - interesting way, recently.”

“Oh,” Hop responds, apprehensive. “Nothing - serious? I hope?”

“Hopefully not,” Kabu says. “That’s why I’m talking to you.”

“What?” says Hop.

“Hop,” he says, looking concerned. “Is something going on with Victor?”

Hop blinks, surprised. “I - nothing urgent that I know of, at least,” he says. “Why?”

“I’m not normally one pay much attention to physical appearance,” says Kabu, frowning. “But last I checked, Victor’s hair isn’t naturally pink.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “Yeah, he dyed it.”

“I’m aware of that much,” says Kabu. “I’m asking why he dyed his hair. And started wearing those weird, strangely colored clothes. And put in contact lenses.”

“Maybe Victor just - felt like changing up his appearance for once,” says Hop.

Kabu looks at him sceptically. “Is that what’s going on?”

“No,” says Hop. “But what if it was?”

“Hop, this is serious,” says Kabu, sighing. “I haven’t seen him this upset since they accidentally printed that league card of him sneezing.”

“It’s my fault, ok?” Hop admits. “I screwed up and accidentally called Victor ugly and I made his self image problems worse and he’s all obsessed with his image and his wardrobe and MCing matches now and it’s all my fault.”

“Hop -”

“If you’re going to yell at me, can you at least make it quick?” Hop pleads, dejectedly burying his face in his hands. “This is my only day off for the rest of the month.”

“Hop, you misunderstand my purpose,” says Kabu. “I’m not here to point fingers, or to lecture or anything like that - leastwise not to you, of all people.”

Hop looks up. “You’re not?”

“I know you care for Victor greatly - er -” he cuts himself off quickly, “- I mean - well - maybe not ‘care’ as in that kind of care, more of a - you know, like a platonic care, as a friend -”

“I already know about the bet,” says Hop.

“Ah,” says Kabu, nodding. He pauses for a moment to awkwardly stare at his face. “My money is on you, if it makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t - wait, no it’s not, Milo said you bet on Victor -”

“Ok, yes, I bet on Victor,” Kabu admits. “But if I had to bet again now, I would definitely bet on you -”

Hop cuts him off with a sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Look - not to be rude, but can you please get to the point?”

“Right,” says Kabu. “The point is - I know you’d never hurt Victor on purpose.”

“Whether or not it was on purpose doesn’t matter,” says Hop, frustrated. “I still hurt him.”

“There’s no use berating yourself over it, Hop,” says Kabu. “We all make mistakes.”

“I know,” says Hop. “I know, I know, I know! I’ve heard it all before - it doesn’t change the fact that I still hurt him. It doesn’t fix anything.”

Kabu coughs out a laugh, short and monosyllabic. “You and Victor are both so impatient,” he says. “Healing, learning, growth - these things take time, Hop. You can’t rush them just because they’re inconvenient.”

“It’s not about convenience,” Hop protests.

“Isn’t it?” says Kabu. “To live as a person is to make mistakes, to falter, even to hurt sometimes. That is the inconvenient truth of life.”

“Well I don’t want to do any of that stuff,” says Hop hotly. “I don’t want to grow and live as a person, I want to buy some extra socks from the bloody boutique and then go home and nap!”

“That’s the dream,” says Kabu. “But getting there takes patience.”

Hop groans. “I’ve heard it all before!” he says. “All these conversations go the same - everyone just tells me that it’s normal to make mistakes and that I shouldn’t worry about it and that I should confess to Victor!”

“Hey now - I never suggested you confess,” says Kabu. “Though that’s not a bad idea. Maybe I should have -”

“How is me confessing going to help Victor?” Hop demands.

“Nevermind Victor for the moment,” says Kabu, “I think confessing would be good for you.”

Hop recoils. “Is this some dumb ‘experience the pain of rejection and grow from it’ exercise?” he asks hesitantly. “Because that idea sounds terrible and I hate it.”

“Hop,” says Kabu gently. “How long have you been in love with Victor?”

Hop sighs. “Fifteen years,” he responds.

“And how long have you been hiding that fact from Victor?” says Kabu.

“Also fifteen years,” says Hop begrudgingly. “So?”

“Secrets are a heavy burden to carry,” says Kabu. “A lot of stress is involved, and that can really take a toll after a time. I think you would do well to be more open with your feelings.”

“Maybe,” says Hop. “Maybe it will make things better - assuming Victor won’t be creeped out or disgusted.”

“For someone who loves Victor so much, you sure seem to have a very low opinion of him,” says Kabu.

Hop stops. “What?”

“I’ve known Victor for a long time,” says Kabu. “I daresay, besides yourself and his mother, I’m probably the person who knows him best. And I don’t know a single thing about him that suggests that he would ever react in such a cold way to you.”

“I - huh.” He pauses. “Neither do I.”

“Then why don’t you say anything?” asks Kabu. “Why do you feel the need to repress your emotions?”

“Because,” says Hop, his voice small. “It’s scary.”

“And that fear is normal,” says Kabu. “It’s ok to be afraid. It’s not ok to allow that fear to take control of your life.”

Hop sighs. “Ok,” he says. “Ok, you’re right. I can’t let my fear control me! I need to take the initiative! I need to confess -” he chokes, “- ok, no, never mind, it’s still way too scary -”

“Let’s put it this way,” says Kabu. “Say you confess and get rejected - which I doubt is going to happen, but for our purposes, let’s just assume. What will happen?”

“I’ll die sad and alone and a virgin,” says Hop.

Kabu looks at him disapprovingly. “Hop,” he scolds.

“Ok, ok,” says Hop. “I’ll go home and cry myself to sleep and watch way more sad romance movies than I thought existed and then gain twenty pounds from eating bloody ice cream alone.”

“Right,” says Kabu. “And then after that - what will you do after?”

“I -” Hop shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Will you die?” says Kabu.

Hop shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Will everything good in your life disappear? Will you lose your career as one of the most promising young researchers of your generation?”

“I - hope not?”

“Will you have a family who loves and cares about you?”

“Yes,” says Hop.

“Will you have your Pokemon who have been with you since the beginning of your journey as a trainer and are unquestioningly devoted to you?”

“Yes,” says Hop again.

“Will you still have close friends in your life who care about you? Like Marnie and Sonia and Milo and Bede -”

“Not Bede.”

“Like Marnie and Sonia and Milo?”

Hop sighs. “I guess.”

“Will you dissolve your friendship with Victor -”

“Oh my God, no,” says Hop, indignant. “Absolutely not.”

“Will the world end?” says Kabu.

“No,” says Hop. “But it’ll feel like the worlds ending.”

“Feelings are fleeting,” says Kabu. “There are things in this world that are good and precious and worth living for. Life may not always go your way - that, too, is simply a part of life.”

“I agree with Sonia,” says Hop.

“Oh?” says Kabu. “And what did the esteemed Professor Sonia tell you?”

“Life sucks,” says Hop.

Kabu laughs again. “How very Hobbesian of her.”

“That’s what I said too,” Hop grumbles.

Kabu stops suddenly, nearly bumping into Hop in the process. “Ah,” he says, “the boutique.”

“What?” says Hop, turning to look at him, and - oh. They’re right next to the boutique. That’s right. “Oh. I, uh - I need some socks.”

“You mentioned,” says Kabu. He gives Hop a firm, singular nod. “I suppose we’ll part ways here, then. Think on what I’ve said.”

“I will,” says Hop.

It’s not as if Hop has never considered confessing before. He’d actually come dangerously close to confessing a couple of times in the past - the locker room in the stadium in Wyndon, right after Leon had been toppled - dappled in sunlight in the Slumbering Weald, following their battle after capturing Zacian and Zamazenta - in the street markets of Stow-on-Side, a new antique necklace adorning Victor’s neck - half lost underneath the mysterious lights of the Glimwood Tangle - sharing a scarf along the roads of Circhester, both of them covered in a light layer of snow - the Kanto restaurant in Hammerlocke, nestled in the seat by the window, showered in the orange of a blazing sunset -

But, in Hop’s mind, not a single one of them even began to approach the most harrowing, risky, and will-power shattering incident of them all: Victor’s 18th birthday, half asleep on a blanket together underneath the midnight sky of Lake Axew, bathed in the cool light of the moon.

“Ta-da!” Hop exclaimed once he finished setting up the campsite, stepping back and throwing his hands out wide to frame his handiwork for Victor. “What do you think?”

“I think you should have let me help set things up,” said Victor teasingly.

“No!” Hop responded firmly, shaking his head. “You’re the birthday boy! The birthday boy’s not supposed to do any work.”

“I’m just saying - those tents are way easier to set up with two sets of hands.”

Hop gently kicked at Victor’s legs. “No working.”

Victor rolled his eyes. Hop remembers watching the reflection of the moon move with his irises. “I think you should let the birthday boy do whatever he’d like,” he said.

“He can do whatever he’d like - as long as it’s not work,” Hop had responded, settling down next to Victor on the blanket he’d rolled out. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Victor laughed. “Thanks.”

“How does it feel to be eighteen?”

“You tell me,” said Victor. “You’ve been eighteen for a month now, I think you’d know better than me.”

“I’m sure it feels different for everyone,” said Hop, waving away Victor’s protests with his hands. “So how’s it feel? Scary? Exciting? You can drink now, you know.”

Victor scoffed. “I’m not going to drink - you know I think alcohol tastes horrid.”

“And that’s a perfectly acceptable decision to make and I will respect your choice and refrain from pressuring you into anything you’re uncomfortable with,” said Hop in response, setting one of the two cans of beer he’d brought along to the side.

Victor looks at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me? You brought beer?”

“I thought you might want to try some,” said Hop somewhat defensively, opening his own can to take a sip. “I don’t know, maybe you might have changed your stance on alcohol from when we were twelve.”

“No thank you,” said Victor, sounding tired. “I tried some champagne at the big fancy official party earlier - still tastes like the smell of hand sanitizer.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that thing.” Hop frowned - the league had thrown Victor a huge, upscale party for his eighteenth birthday. Hop had been invited, but he’d been too busy with his lab work to come, though he’d felt very bad about leaving Victor alone for a full day in a room full of nosey reporters and snobby rich league donors. “Sorry you had to spend all of your birthday at a stuffy League party.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Victor, closing his eyes. “I had fun.”

Hop looked at him skeptically. “Really?”

“No,” Victor admitted with a sigh. “I do appreciate the effort. Though if the League wanted to do something nice for my birthday, they could have recalled all of those stupid League Cards of me sneezing.”

Hop laughed. “That will never work. Those things are ultra premium collector's items - ultra expensive too, from what I’ve heard.”

“The league has money,” Victor protested. “At least enough money to waste on a ridiculously lavish party.”

“You could just tell them you don’t want to have a big fancy party,” Hop pointed out.

Victor sighed. “I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. And anyway, it wasn’t all bad - seeing Marnie outdrink Bede was fairly amusing.”

Hop snorted. “I’m sure Piers had a lot to say about that.”

“Nah, Piers got drunk first,” recalled Victor. He frowned. “Actually, it feels like I was the only one who didn’t get drunk.”

“Wow,” said Hop, laughing. “Even Lee?”

“He and Raihan nearly knocked over the refreshments table making out with each other,” Victor recalled. He stops, rolling his head back and stretching out his limbs with a massive yawn.

Hop softens. “Sorry to drag you out here so late,” he said apologetically.

“No, no,” said Victor quickly. “I’m glad you invited me.”

“You are?” said Hop.

“Of course,” Victor responded. “You’re my best friend. I’m always happy to come out here with you.”

Hop’s heart swelled to bursting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “I have something for you.”

Victor’s head jerked around to look at him. “What?” he said. “But last year you said we weren’t allowed to get each other birthday presents anymore -”

“No,” said Hop cheekily. “I said we’re not allowed to buy each other birthday presents anymore. I didn’t buy this,” he said, reaching back to pull Victor’s present out of his bag and place it in Victor’s hands.

Victor laughed. “Really? A 'Best Friends’ ribbon from the Pokemon Fan Club?”

“Yep!” Hop responded. “All of your Pokemon have one, so I thought you should have one too!”

“How did you even - I thought they only gave these out to Pokemon?” said Victor, clearly confused.

Hop shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll just tell them Rillaboom lost it or something.”

“Hop!” Victor protested indignantly. “This is your Rillaboom’s - now I just feel bad -”

“Oh come off it,” said Hop, waving his hands dismissively. “Just think of it as a gift from me and Rillaboom. Now you can finally match with all of your Pokemon!”

“I’m not giving them ribbons for aesthetic purposes, Hop,” said Victor, sounding exasperated. “I just - wanted to give them something nice, to show that I appreciated them.”

“I know,” said Hop. “Why do you think I’m giving one to you?”

Victor made a very funny, almost pained looking face. “Where am I even going to put this on?”

“Here,” said Hop, taking the ribbon back from Victor’s grasp. He lifts Victor’s hair out of the way, wrapping the sash around Victor’s neck and tying the two ends together, making sure to keep it loose enough to not restrict Victor’s breathing. “There!” he said. “Now you’re Victor the Great Friend!”

Victor laughed. “Was I not a great friend before I had the ribbon?”

“It’s official now,” Hop responded. “Now all we have to do is max out your EV’s, enter you into the Battle Tower, and have you fistfight Lee’s Charizard, and then you’ll have the full set -”

“Enough!” said Victor, shoving him. Hop’s facade breaks, and he cracks up, falling over and dissolving in his laughter. Victor pouts, his face knit into an annoyed expression, though Hop can tell that he’s mostly just faking it.

“Alright, alright,” said Hop, flopping onto his back. “I’ve had my fun.” He reaches out to give Victor’s shoulder a firm shove. “Happy birthday mate. Here’s to hoping for many more in the future.”

“You know it’s 12:04 a.m., right?” said Victor, falling back from his sitting position to lay down next to him. “It’s not even my birthday anymore.”

“Whatever,” said Hop. “Close enough.” He and Victor settle into a comfortable silence, Hop rolling his head over to turn his gaze back upwards to the stars above them.

“Hey Hop?” came Victor’s voice.

“Yeah?” said Hop.

“Thanks,” said Victor. He scooted over, letting his head fall to rest on the crook of Hop’s neck, his hair spilling out all over Hop’s shoulder and -

And it hit him all at once, laying down underneath the stars, Victor still against his shoulder, radiant under the moonlight, the urge to confess building inside of him in an unyielding crescendo, encompassing him so fully that he struggled to take in breath at all.

“Victor,” said Hop in spite of himself, staring up into the sky. “I have to - I have to confess something to you.”

Victor said nothing.

“...Victor?”

Hop looked up to face Victor, only to find his eyes closed, limbs limp, a light snore coming from his slightly ajar mouth, fast asleep. Hop scoffed out a laugh, tucking a stray strand of Victor’s hair behind his ear -

(“I love you,” he whispered instead, over and over again, silently into the wind as he pressed his cheek against the crown of Victor’s head, the tip of his lips tickled by the ends of Victor’s silky hair.)

He’s startled out of his studying by a knock on the wall near the entrance to his room and a very familiar voice saying “hey, Hopscotch.”

Hop swivels around in his chair so fast he nearly falls out of it. “Lee?”

Leon smiles from his position at the entrance to his room, giving him a little wave. “Are you busy?”

“Not too busy,” says Hop, quickly shoving his laptop aside to get up out of his chair and run quickly to wrap Leon up in a hug. “What are you doing back home?”

Leon extricates himself from Hop’s grip and plops himself down on the chair in the corner of his room with a sigh. “I needed a break,” he admits. “There’s only so many times in a row I can take being smashed by Victor’s giant sword-dog and angry space dragon.”

“He has been grinding away at the Battle Tower recently,” Hop agrees. “He mentioned something about ‘needing more bottle caps’, whatever that means.”

Leon groans. “He’s Hyper Training his team? Pretty soon I’m just going to be a glorified BP vending machine.”

“I’ll pretend like I know what you’re talking about,” says Hop agreeably. He’d long since tuned out his older brother’s plans for the Battle Tower - he doesn’t have the time to participate, and he’d written the whole thing off anyway as soon as he found out that the Pokemon would have to wear power limiting gear. “If you’re so tired, shouldn’t you be headed off to sleep?”

“I thought I’d check up on you first,” Leon responds. “It’s been a bit since we last talked.”

“And who’s fault is that, Mr. Former Champion/Battle Tower Master/Chairman?” says Hop, just to be difficult.

Leon rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t try to pin this all on me,” he says. “You’ve been keeping plenty busy yourself these days.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but becoming a Pokemon professor is actually fairly difficult work,” Hop responds, giving him a look. He doesn’t know why everyone seems to think being a Pokemon professor is just a cushy job that people get by sitting around and looking pretty - actually, scratch that, he does know where that impression comes from, it’s all of Sonia’s social media accounts.

“You seem like you’re doing pretty well at it,” Leon responds. “At least, from my perspective you do - I don’t know anything about becoming a professor.”

“That’s probably why you’re not the one becoming a professor,” says Hop.

Leon raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t think I’d make a good professor?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but - I think you should stick to battling,” says Hop.

Leon laughs. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” says Hop.

“You’re fine with becoming a professor?” says Leon.

Hop scoffs. “If I wasn’t, I would have quit years ago, Lee.”

“That’s fair,” says Leon. “Still - this wasn’t exactly your original plan for life, you know.”

Hop rolls his eyes. “Plans change. Being champion was just the dumb dream I came up with when I was a six year old.”

“Hey,” says Leon with a frown. “It wasn’t a dumb dream.”

“It was kind of dumb. Or at least, my reasons for wanting it were dumb,” says Hop with a sigh. “Normally, people who battle do it to become stronger, and better, and faster, and - whatever. They want to push themselves and their Pokemon to their maximum, and reach the best versions of themselves or something like that. All I wanted to do was copy you. And make our family proud, or something.”

“Hop,” says Leon quietly. “We are proud of you -”

“I know that,” says Hop. “I know that now - but growing up, you were always kind of the star of the household.”

“Hop, that’s not -” Leon cuts himself off - Hop can’t blame him. They’ve had this conversation plenty of times before, and it’s bloody sucked every single time. “You know that’s not how it is, right?”

“Of course I know that,” says Hop. “That’s why I decided to become a Pokemon professor instead. It’s a better fit for me anyway, career wise - and it means I won’t have to compete with Victor to make a living anymore.”

Leon laughs. “I thought you decided to be a Pokemon professor so you could help people and Pokemon everywhere.”

“Whatever - same thing,” says Hop. “The point is, I’m fine. Really. And anyway, it’s not as if I’m never going to become champion - I might beat Victor one of these days.”

“Good luck with that one,” says Leon, smiling wryly. “Outside of the battle tower, I think my record is a solid 0-12 against Victor - I have a newfound sympathy for Raihan.”

“Try 0-19,” says Hop. “Not that I’m mad about it - Victor is genuinely really strong. I guess I can’t complain if no one else in the country has beaten him either.”

“Huh,” says Leon, looking at him appraisingly. “You’re really much more relaxed about this whole thing than I thought you’d be.”

“I mean I was pretty cut up about it that first time, when I’d lost the semifinals,” Hop admits. “But that was years ago. Victor beat me fair and square - and anyway, he’s my friend before he’s my rival, first and foremost. I’d never hold something like that against him.”

“That’s - really mature of you actually,” says Leon.

“Thanks, though you could stand to sound less surprised about it,” says Hop defensively. “If anything, you’re the one who should be holding a grudge. Victor cost you your career.”

“I should be thanking him, really,” says Leon. “Being Chairman actually pays higher than being champion.”

“What?!” says Hop - he can barely afford super potions on his assistant professor’s salary. Sometimes he goes to the wild area just to pick Sitrus berries. “Are you serious?”

Leon nods. “Actually quite a lot more, if I’m being honest.”

Hop throws his hands up. “This bloody country - Sonia doesn’t even make half of what Victor makes - do you have any idea how much we could accomplish if we had the funds to offer people Victor’s salary?”

“By ‘accomplish’ do you mean ‘actually letting you take a break every once in a while’?” says Leon, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m being serious,” says Hop. “Do you know how many prospective professor’s assistants have turned down the position because we can only afford to pay them peanuts? Or how tiny the MRI machine in the lab is? God forbid we want to analyze something larger than a particularly chubby Purrloin - and maybe if we bothered to properly fund a national education system or academic research into things like history or the Dynamax phenomenon, we could have figured out what Rose was up to, and we wouldn’t have had to rely on two twelve year olds and and some random dogs wielding medieval weaponry to stop the largest existential threat to the country in the past century -” Leon bursts into laughter, “- why are you laughing?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says through his chuckles. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself out. “It’s just - it feels like only yesterday you were chasing after me crying when I first left for the gym challenge. And now you’re lecturing me about the need for our country to prioritize funding education and research -”

“Am I wrong?” says Hop hotly. “Everyone knows our education infrastructure is shite -”

“Hop,” says Leon, now looking directly at him. “I’m so proud of you.”

Hop nearly falls off of his bed. “What - where did that come from?”

“I just thought - I feel like I don’t say it enough,” he responds, looking guilty. “I feel like we don’t say it enough. You’ve grown up to be a fine young man, Hop, in spite of everything that happened to you.”

“Everything that’s - was I not supposed grow up into a good person?” says Hop.

Leon sighs. “I won’t lie,” he says. “I was worried about you when you first said you wanted to become a professor’s assistant. I was worried that, since you’d just given up on your dreams, you were just trying to do the first thing that came to your mind afterwards.”

“I mean - I kind of did do that, though,” Hop admits. “I can’t say I really thought out my decision to become a professor’s assistant. And becoming champion isn’t really my primary goal anymore.”

“True,” concedes Lee. “But you didn’t really give up. And you have new dreams now too, on top of that. You’re doing so much work every day, training, studying, helping others, learning so much and trying to make the world a better place for everyone in it - how could I not be proud?”

“Lee -” Hop cuts himself off, looking away from Leon.

Leon walks forward and wraps him up in his arms. “You’re the best little brother in the whole world,” he says, sounding almost choked up, holy shit. “I’m proud to call you my family. I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. I love you.”

“Lee,” Hop’s desperately fighting back tears now. He’d dreamt about this as a child, sort of - winning the champion, everyone in his family crowding him, telling him how wonderful and smart he was. He never dreamt it would hurt so much to hear it out loud. “You don’t have to tell me all this, I already know -”

“I want to tell you,” says Leon. “I want to say it. I want you to hear how much I love you.”

Slowly, Hop reaches his hands out, circling them around his older brother. “I love you too,” he squeezes out. “You’re the best older brother I could have ever asked for.”

Leon gives him one last squeeze in his arms before they separate, both pretending not to notice the other one wipe at their eyes. “For what it’s worth,” says Leon, “I think you’re really top-notch trainer too. If Victor weren’t here, you’d have had a real shot at being the champion.”

Hop sniffles, wiping the last vestiges of the tears off of his face. “You make it sound like I don’t have a chance right now,” he says jokingly.

Leon gives him a look. “I mean - realistically - if past performance is an indicator of future results -”

“I’ve changed my mind,” says Hop. “You suck and you can shove it.”

The cool thing about being friends with Victor is that he gets free tickets to virtually every single major Pokemon battle in the country. Long gone is the era of sitting around a TV and watching Leon’s exhibition matches from Hop’s house in Postwick. These days, whenever there’s any high profile match that the two of them feel like watching, Victor can snap his fingers and suddenly there are, like, twenty five league employees tripping over themselves to offer him premium private lounge seats with full service and complimentary meals and their firstborn child, probably. Every once in a while, Hop will tag along even if he’s not that interested in the match itself just to have an excuse to skip out on lab work for a day or eat fancy food without bankrupting himself.

The uncool thing about being friends with Victor is that he gets free tickets to virtually every single major Pokemon match in the country and everyone knows that.

“Uh-oh,” says Hop, glancing down through the window of their purposefully nondescript Corviknight taxi at the throng of suspiciously reporter-like people gathered below them. “I think someone leaked your decision to come again, mate.”

Victor glances out the window and groans. “Come on!” he says. He pulls out his phone. “That’s the third time this year! I need to talk to Leon about this.”

Hop grimaces. Years of being the champion’s little brother and even more years of being the champion’s best friend have left him very good at telling reporters to “bugger off” - but that crowd is a bit much, even for him. “I can try to get rid of them, if you want.”

“I don’t think even you can handle that crowd,” says Victor, his face similarly grim.

“Still,” says Hop. “I can try - maybe I can distract them long enough for you to make a break for it, or something.”

Victor takes a deep breath, inhaling deeply through his nose before releasing all of the air in his lungs in one, heavy exhale. “No,” he says.

“No?” says Hop.

“No,” says Victor, firmer this time. He sits up in his chair and squares his shoulders, his face grim. “I’m not going to run.”

“You’re not?” says Hop.

“Please don’t sound so surprised,” says Victor. “I’m MCing my first match tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh -” Hop winces. He’d totally forgotten. “Right.”

“I can’t run away,” says Victor. “And I can’t hide behind you either. Not anymore.”

“Ok,” says Hop tentatively. “Then what are you going to do?”

Victor balls his hands into fists. “I’m going to go out there and answer a few questions and let them take pictures of me and then I’ll leave.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “Oh - are you sure?”

“No,” says Victor. “Can you, like, hype me up or something?”

“‘Hype you up’?” says Hop, confused.

“You know,” says Victor. “Encourage me or something.”

“Oh - oh, ok, wait, wait, hang on,” he says. He reaches over and places a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “Alright. They’re just some reporters, right?”

“Right.” says Victor.

“You’re the champion! You can handle some questions!”

“Yeah!” says Victor. “I’m the champion!”

“You’re going to destroy this interview!”

“I’m going to destroy them!”

The taxi lands right in the middle of the road, straight in front of the crowd of reporters. Hop can hear the flashes of cameras already. He pulls Victor closer, giving him a shake. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

“Ok,” says Victor.

“You’re going to march out there, you’re going to answer all their questions, they’re going to take a bunch of pictures of you that make you look super cool and dignified, and then we’re going to walk away and go watch the match and you’ll order way too much popcorn and eat all of it in one sitting while somehow still weighing under sixty kilograms!”

“Yeah!” says Victor. “Yeah! I’m going to answer their questions and destroy them and watch the match!”

“And then eat popcorn!”

“And then eat popcorn!”

“That’s right!” says Hop.

Victor pauses, turning to look to Hop hesitantly. “And...you’ll be right behind me?”

“And I’ll be right behind you,” says Hop with a nod.

“Ok,” says Victor. He draws in another deep breath, reaching over to grab the door. Then, deliberately, he reaches back and grabs Hop’s hand with the other, making Hop’s heart stutter just a bit. “Ok. I’m ready.”

“Let’s do this,” says Hop. Victor opens the door.

They step outside and are almost instantly blinded by the flash of cameras. The chattering of the crowd, somewhat muted by the walls of the taxi, swell at the sight of Victor in a roaring crescendo until hearing himself think is a struggle. From all directions, reporters point microphones at them, shouting their questions at Victor in a desperate bid to be heard over all of the other voices. Someone throws some flowers at them.

“This was a mistake,” says Victor quietly.

“Want me to do something stupid so you can make a break for it?” Hop whispers back.

Victor shakes his head. He steps down from the taxi, turning to face the crowd. If Hop wasn’t paying absolute attention, he might have missed the way Victor’s hand tightened its grip on Hop’s. “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” Victor says to the reporters, his voice ringing out around him, firm and clear. “I’ll only take a couple of questions.”

The crowd explodes.

Victor points to one, seemingly at random - a reporter for the Motostoke Post, as it turns out to be. “Champion Victor!” he calls out. “Who do you expect to win today’s match?”

“I try not to go into the matches with any preconceptions,” says Victor evenly. “I think both competitors are skilled trainers in their own right.” Hop nods. It’s an uncontroversial, if somewhat generic answer - even if Hop knows it’s a bald-faced lie, as if he and Victor hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes discussing how badly Nessa is going to destroy this poor, hapless rando.

“Champion Victor!” calls the next one - Hammerlocke Times, he thinks. “Of the Gym Challengers this year, who do you think is the strongest?”

“I’ll admit I have my eyes on a few of them,” says Victor. “But again - I do try to be as impartial as possible. And I think all of the challengers this year deserve congratulations. They’re all incredible trainers with incredible Pokemon.” Another good answer - keeping it vague and quick. Hop gives Victor’s hand another squeeze.

“Are you excited to MC your first official league match tomorrow?” calls out another one - Stow-on-Side Daily, maybe?

“I am excited,” says Victor. “I hope you’ll all tune in -”

“Champion Victor!” comes another voice, from farther in the back of the crowd. Hop doesn’t recognize the logo on the microphone - it looks like one of those trashy magazines they sell near the exit of the store. “Tell us - is there anyone you’re interested in romantically right now?”

Hop can feel Victor freeze up at the question. He readies himself to step forward and end the interview early - there’s no way that’s an acceptable question to ask - but Victor turns and glances back at Hop, subtly twisting around to look at him, his expression soft in an unreadable way, and for one, sharp moment, Hop’s heart pounding away at his chest, the faint and faded embers of hope burst into a roaring inferno inside of him -

“No,” says Victor, turning back to the crowd. “No, I’m not interested in anyone right now,” and -

Hop’s heart shatters.

The interview continues on afterwards, but Hop is no longer listening. The reporter’s words blend together with Victor’s into a mash of jumbled syllables, the flashes of their cameras swimming in his vision as Victor answers question after question. He feels - numb. Victor’s hand is a heavy, searing weight in his own, the words “not interested in anyone” resonating repeatedly inside of his head.

“I think that’s all the time we have,” he hears Victor say finally. He looks up in time to catch the league staff members cutting through the crowd to rescue them. “Thank you for the questions,” he says, before pulling Hop the rest of the way down the street and towards the stadium.

They run, he thinks - he remembers a blur of hallways and stairs and doors they’re rushed through, and anyway, they must have run to have made it to their seats in time after being delayed by the interview. Either way, by the time Hop has gathered enough of himself together to think coherent thoughts again, they’re both seated together facing a window, the field of Stow-on-Side’s massive stadium spreading out before them.

Victor exhales heavily. “Oh my God,” he says. “I did it.”

“What?” says Hop.

“I answered all their questions,” says Victor, looking utterly shocked. He rises in his seat, his expression growing more and more belated by the moment.

“You did,” says Hop.

“Even the hard ones.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t stutter,” Victor continues, “I didn’t flinch, my voice didn’t crack, I didn’t make any stupid noises, I -” he turns to look at Hop expectantly. “Was that - an actually good interview?”

Hop swallows, trying desperately to jam his pain down into the deepest reaches of his stomach. “Yeah, mate,” he says, screwing his eyes shut and twisting his face into the best smile he can force himself to make. “Yeah. You did really, really good -”

Victor surges forward, wrapping his arms around Hop and burying his head into Hop’s collarbone. “I did it!”

“You did,” Hop affirms, his voice coming out raspy and strained.

“Hop,” says Victor, “thank you so much. You’re the best-best friend in the whole wide world!”

Hop forces his breathing to stay even. He slowly inhales, taking a guilty whiff of Victor’s hair in the process. “Of course,” he says, clamping down hard on the tears that threaten to spill out from his eyes. “Of course. I’ll always be your friend, mate.”

Luckily for Hop, his mom and grandparents are out of town and Leon is busy with - God knows what, which means that there’s no one around to judge him when he plants himself firmly on the couch in the middle of the living room to watch every single shitty B-list romance movie that’s ever been made and sob dejectedly into a tub of mint double chocolate chip ice cream. Small comfort - he would have preferred the neapolitan, really - but he’s too depressed to get up and go get it from the freezer, so he’ll take what he can get.

Also luckily, he’d already arranged to take the day off with Sonia to go see Victor MC his match. He’d certainly intended to go and watch like he’d promised, except he’d woken up in the morning, took one look at his screensaver - a picture of himself and Victor, arms over each other’s shoulders, laughing together - and promptly burst into loud, violent tears, so he called Victor to tell him some shitty lie about some emergency at the lab that came up and resigned his guilty conscious to watching it later on TV, because he wasn’t already a terrible enough person and no wonder Victor doesn’t love him.

By the time the pre-show for the match Victor’s MCing starts up, Hop’s mostly managed to cry himself out, opting instead to sit silently and stare uncomprehendingly at the TV in front of him. The words of the analyst desk blend themselves together into seamless, meaninglish mush. It was always Victor’s favorite part of the show - he lives, breathes, and exists for Pokemon battle analysis. They used to spend hours before matches began, spread out on the ground in front of the TV, running through potential strategies and matchups, arguing about the capabilities of different trainers and their Pokemon, laughing with each other when the other made a particularly ridiculous claim. The memory upsets him so much that he doesn’t even bother moving when he hears the front door open - if it’s a murderer, he’ll gladly let them put him out of his misery at this point.

“You’re sure there’s no one else here, luv?” comes a voice near the entrance of the house. “I think I hear a TV.”

“Someone must have left it on,” comes another voice - Hop recognizes it as Leon’s, which means it’s probably not a murderer, unfortunately. “Mom is out of town, and she took Grandma and Grandpop with her. And Victor’s MCing his first official league match right now, remember? There’s not a force on this planet that could have stopped Hop from seeing it in - Hop?!” Leon’s face comes into Hop’s field of vision, staring down at him with surprise from above his position slumped over dejectedly on the couch.

Hop doesn’t even bother giving him a response - just takes another huge spoonful of ice cream and crams it into his mouth.

“Hop?” says Leon. “Wait - what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” says Hop around the spoon in his mouth. “Can you bring me the neopolitan from the freezer?”

“I thought Victor was supposed to MCing that exhibition match today,” says Leon.

“He is,” says Hop, gesturing floppily at the TV. “I’m watching it. It’s right there.”

“Then why are you here, kiddo,” says the second voice - Raihan, Hop realises - his hand reaching down to jam a finger into Hop’s cheek. “Shouldn’t you be out there supporting Victor in person?”

Hop smacks his hand away. “Don’t touch my face.”

Raihan draws back. Leon frowns at him. “Hop,” he says disapprovingly. “Don’t be rude.”

Hop grumbles sadly, turning the volume up in a vain attempt to drown them both out before shoveling more ice cream into his face.

Leon snatches the remote out of his hands and flips the TV off. “Come on, Hop,” he says. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing,” says Hop.

“It’s not nothing,” says Leon. “I haven’t seen you this down since that one time you tried to give your Wooloo a haircut and it came out looking like a drunken toddler with a chainsaw whacked at its coat until -”

“You promised not to bring that up anymore!” protests Hop.

“Wait, bring it up again,” says Raihan. “I want to know what happened -”

“Be honest,” says Leon, ignoring him. “Why are you here and not out there with Victor?”

Hop groans, letting his head roll back onto the couch. He closes his eyes. “Victor doesn’t love me back,” he admits.

“What?” says Raihan. “Yes he does.”

“Raihan,” Leon admonishes him.

Raihan shrugs. “I mean - it’s true - he does -”

“It’s not true,” says Hop forlornly.

“Yeah, sure,” says Raihan sarcastically, “and I’m a little on the short side -”

Leon shoves him, cutting him off. “How do you know, Hop?”

Hop sighs. “I -”

“Did you confess?” Raihan interrupts him.

Leon, glares at him. “Raihan!”

“What?” says Raihan. “I bet, like, 50,000 on Hop confessing first.”

“You bet 50,000 on my little brother’s love life - you know what, nevermind,” says Leon. “The point is - Hop, you don’t know for sure if Victor likes you or not.”

“Yes I do,” says Hop. “He said so in an interview yesterday.”

“Oh posh,” Raihan scoffs distractedly. “Those interviews don’t mean anything. Victor probably just wanted the questions to be over with as soon as possible.”

“That doesn’t mean Victor was lying -”

“He was definitely lying,” Raihan responds, rolling his eyes. “I mean, if someone asked you about your romantic interests on live TV right next to Victor, would you have said anything?”

“Absolutely not, that’s a weird and invasive question - oh,” says Hop. “Wait, but that’s different!”

“How?”

“I actually love Victor, of course I wouldn’t admit it.”

Raihan turns to look at Leon. “I finally did it,” he says. “I finally found someone denser than your oblivious ass -”

Leon steps on Raihan’s foot, cutting him off. “What we’re trying to say is that it’s too early to give up like this. You don’t know that he doesn’t like you.”

Hop eats more ice cream in lieu of responding.

Leon sighs. He settles down on the couch, gently wrapping his arms around Hop and pulling him into a hug that Hop has no choice but to begrudgingly accept. “Come on, Hop,” he says. “It’s not the end of the world. Raihan has a point - maybe Victor just didn’t want to talk about his crush on national television.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t like me,” says Hop.

“Maybe Duraladons can fly,” says Raihan.

“You don’t know that,” says Leon, still ignoring Raihan. He pinches Hop’s cheek lightly. “And you’re dooming yourself to certain failure if you sit on a couch and mope for the rest of your life.”

Hop glares at him suspiciously. “You sound like you’re about to suggest that I confess.”

Leon hums appreciately. “I won’t tell you how to live your life, Hop -”

“I will!” interrupts Raihan. “You should confess to Victor.”

“Raihan!” Leon groans. “Look, not to be rude, but could you give us some space -”

“Both of you give me space,” says Hop hotly. “Just let me wallow in misery in peace!”

“I’m not going to leave you while you’re hurting, Hop,” says Leon. “Not if there’s anything I can do to help -”

“Get me the neapolitan then,” says Hop, pouting.

“I said help, not enable,” says Leon. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then go away,” says Hop. “Go snog Raihan like you were planning.”

Raihan brightens. “Good idea! That sounds like a -”

Leon kicks him off the couch before he can finish the sentence. “Come on,” he says. “Why are you so determined to think that Victor doesn’t like you?”

“Because he doesn’t!” says Hop. “He literally said so - why am I the crazy one for believing him?”

“No one’s calling you crazy,” says Leon gently. “It’s hard for you to tell, but the way Victor interacts with you is leagues away from how he interacts with everyone else in his life. He’s less nervous, he’s more comfortable, he laughs and smiles more - he adores you, Hop. I hate to say it but frankly, his feelings for you are - well, they’re kind of -”

“Embarrassingly obvious?” suggests Raihan. “Completely apparent? So ubiquitous and plain to see that literally every single gym leader who saw you two together started placing bets -”

“You’re still not helping, Raihan,” says Leon.

“You don’t get it,” says Hop. “Neither of you do.”

“Uh - no, I definitely get it,” says Raihan. “You’ve spent more than ten years being desperately in love with your best friend who’s also your greatest rival and the champion of the region and you can’t really tell if he likes you or not because he’s the most oblivious, block-headed idiot this side of Galar who couldn’t take a hint if it walked up to him and kissed him square on the lips so you have to convince yourself that he doesn’t like you because it’s safer that way and you don’t have to spend every single social interaction you have together literally dying inside.”

Hop and Leon both pause to turn to look at Raihan incredulously, though for very different reasons.

Raihan barely even glances up at them from his phone. “I mean - no judgement of course,” he tacks on.

“Raihan,” says Leon softly. “You never - how long have you liked me?”

Raihan scoffs. “I’m not going to stroke your ego more, you wanker,” he says. He turns back to Hop. “All I’m saying is - I know how scary and painful and embarrassing it is to confess. But I also know how scary and painful and embarrassing it is to not confess, so you’ll have to just trust me when I say it’s better to get it over with and tell him. Otherwise you’ll spend most of your twenties lonely and sad and miserable and horny waiting for him to rub more than two of his brain cells together and figure out how deeply in love with him you are.”

Leon makes a soft noise from the back of his throat. “Raihan, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean -”

“You put that apology back into your mouth right now,” says Raihan. “You didn’t hear that, understand? This conversation is for disaster gay Champion best friends/rivals only.”

“I’m bi,” mutters Hop.

Raihan rolls his eyes. “Disaster MLM - whatever. Anyway, you have more important things to worry about right now,” he says, holding his phone up. “Social media says Victor’s about to start.”

“What?!” says Hop. He quickly snatches the remote out of Leon’s grasp and turns the TV back on, turning up the volume to hear better.

“Wow,” says Leon. “Ok. You recovered from that fast -”

“Shh! I’m trying to listen -” Hop pauses, realization dawning. “Oh, bollocks! Bollocks on top of bollocks, I forgot to text him good luck!” He fumbles around for his phone that he’d set aside somewhere to make room for the ice cream tub on his lap.

“Better hurry on that,” says Raihan. The cameras have already shifted away from the pre-show analyst desk and panned out to show the stadium. The crowd roars in anticipation.

Hop finally finds his phone, wedged haphazardly between the couch cushions. His heart sinks when he sees the notification for three missed calls from Victor. “Oh God,” says Hop - that’s the most Victor’s ever called him in a row. He quickly hits the “Call back” button. “Oh God, how much time until it starts?”

“Zero time,” Raihan informs him, pointing at the screen where Victor’s already appeared on the field.

Hop puts his phone back down. Victor looks - pale, his expression deliberately blank as he stiffly walks towards the center of the field. Hop’s known him long enough to be able to tell that he’s terrified.

Raihan frowns. “He looks like shit.”

Leon kicks him.

Hop ignores them both. “I should have at least called him,” he says. “He always gets anxious before big events like this. I normally talk him down -”

“It’s ok,” says Leon. “It’ll probably be fine - he doesn’t have to do much, just introduce the trainers and that’s it.”

As if on cue, Victor picks up the microphone and creates an ear-piercing screech that nearly deafens them, even through the TV.

Hop quickly turns the volume back down. “Ok,” he says. “Rough start - that’s fine.”

Victor winces. “Um - sorry about that,” he says, drawing some laughs from the audience. “But - uh - welcome to Hulbury Stadium!”

“Ok,” says Leon. “Good recovery. He’s talking a little too quiet, but it’s fine. Nothing the audio engineers can’t fix.”

Raihan squints. “Is he shaking?”

“It’s not noticeable,” says Hop, gaze fixed intently at the screen. “He can do this.”

“We have a great match for you all today,” says Victor, his voice staying relatively steady. “I -”

And then he trips.

It’s almost graceful how cleanly he falls. Normally people stumble or flail their limbs in a desperate attempt to stay upright, but Victor crumples instantly, pitches forward and lands face first in the dirt without so much as an errant twitch of the arm. The microphone goes flying out of his hand, landing somewhere off to the side with an audible thud.

The stadium erupts into laughter.

“Oh no,” says Leon.

“Big oof,” says Raihan.

Hop pulls out his phone to call a Corviknight taxi.

He surreptitiously bundles Victor into the taxi and flies them out to the wild area to go stargazing. If nothing else, it’ll keep him as far away as physically possible from any reporters.

He gets lucky: in almost every way possible, this night is prime stargazing time. The normally tumultuous weather graced him with a particularly clear night, the cool wind blowing the few remaining fluffs of cloud left quickly out of the way, like the curtain rising on a stage before a play. He scouted the area to find the hill with the softest grass and the least amount of errant wild Pokemon to set up their tents, his hands guided by the light of the full moon shining bright over his head, one of the many blazing contrasts to the otherwise dark visage of the midnight sky. The distant sound of Pokemon cries and the whistle of the wind punctuate the otherwise silent air. Above them, the stars begin their nightly waltz, the tiny pinpricks of their lights rising in bold defiance of the dark sky, perfect for their viewing pleasure.

If only Victor would look up from his phone.

“Mate,” says Hop, glancing over at him. “You’re missing out on the stars.”

Victor hums at him him. “Sorry,” he says, not looking up, still frowning down at his phone. “Give me a second.”

Hop purses his lips and counts a single second in his head. “Ok,” he says. “A second is over.”

Victor kicks him.

Hop reaches out, cleanly snatching the phone from Victor’s hand. He glances down at the screen, his eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rotom face and an article titled “Champion Victor’s Most Hilarious Blunder Yet?” subtitled with a picture of Victor on his hands and knees on the turf of the stadium, his face stuck in an expression of pure mortification.

Hop turns to give him his best disappointed face. “You said you weren’t going to look.”

“I had to,” says Victor. “I have to know what people are saying about me - it’s part of my job.”

“It’s part of your job to care about public opinion,” says Hop. “It’s not your job to flagellate yourself for every little mistake you make -”

“This wasn’t a little mistake, Hop,” Victor protests. “I screwed up. In front of everyone - on live TV, in front of the whole bloody country.”

“You tripped!” says Hop. “Things happen. People will understand.”

“‘Understanding’ isn’t going to stop them from ‘laughing’ -”

“Screw the people who are laughing,” says Hop. “Don’t think about them right now. Let’s just watch the stars, ok?”

Victor sighs. He flops backwards onto the ground behind him to stare expressionlessly upwards.

Hop lays down next to him, scooting a little bit closer in the process. He nudges Victor’s leg gently with his own in a vain attempt to get him to look slightly less catatonic. “Do you want to - you know. Talk?”

“Sure,” says Victor.

Hop waits, but Victor doesn’t say anything - just continues to stare upwards. The stars stare back down at him, illuminating Victor’s face in their light. The bags under his eyes are more noticeable now, the makeup he’d been using to try to hide them from the cameras having long since been smudged away. He looks - tired.

Hop lets out a laugh, short and quiet. “Good talk,” he says cheekily.

Victor nudges him back halfheartedly. “I don’t know what to talk about,” he admits. “It never used to be this much work - you would do all the talking for both of us. All I had to do was sit and nod every once in a while.”

“Do you want me to talk?” offers Hop.

Victor shakes his head. “It’s ok,” he says. “We can just be quiet instead.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” Hop admits.

That draws a laugh out of Victor. “Yeah,” he says. A frown settles over his face. “I know.”

Hop frowns back. “Come on,” he says. He pokes at Victor’s forehead, gently smoothing out his worry lines with the tip of his finger. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking so hard about.”

Victor lets out a heavy exhale. He closes his eyes. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Mad?” says Hop. “Why would I be mad?”

Victor says nothing.

“I promise,” Hop assures him. “I won’t be mad.”

There’s a pause before Victor responds, like he’s still debating whether or not to say anything. “I’m thinking about resigning as champion,” he admits finally.

Hop shoots back upwards into a sitting position. “What?!”

“Please don’t be mad,” says Victor pleadingly.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Hop immediately, laying back down. “Wait - why would you think about doing that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” says Victor.

“No?” says Hop incredulously.

Victor sighs. “I’m kind of rubbish at it, Hop.”

“What do you mean?” says Hop, still somewhat indignant despite his best efforts. “You’ve destroyed every single tournament you’ve ever taken part in.”

“Not the battling part,” says Victor, sounding tired. “The - all the rest of it. The PR and the paparazzi and the doing interviews and all of that rubbish.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “Yeah, ok. That part does suck, huh?”

“It’s not just that it sucks,” says Victor. “It’s that I suck at it.”

Hop exhales. “Victor -”

“I can’t give interviews, I can’t do public appearances, I can’t do fanclub meet-and-greets,” says Victor. “I can’t do anything. I certainly can’t MC anything.”

“It was only one bad performance,” says Hop. “You can’t just give up! Being Champion was your dream!”

Victor bites the bottom of his lip guiltily and refuses to meet Hop’s gaze.

Hop stops. “It was your dream,” he says, hesitant now. “...right?”

Victor rolls over. “Just - forget about it, ok?”

“Victor,” says Hop, his voice soft now. “Tell me the truth. You did want to be the champion. Right?”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Victor shakes his head. “No,” he admits.

Hop’s mind reels. “What?”

“I never wanted to be the Champion,” Victor says, firmer this time.

“What - but -” Hop stops, his mind desperately trying to make some semblance of sense out of this. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If you didn’t want to be champion, then - why did you go on the Gym Challenge?”

“It’s hard to explain,” says Victor.

“Try?” Hop pleads. Victor curls in on himself more. “Please? Victor, we’ve been planning on challenging the League since we were ten - can’t I at least have an explanation?”

Victor sighs, closing his eyes. His face knits itself into a troubled expression. “Do you remember when I first got here and I couldn’t speak English?” he asks.

Hop blinks up at him, surprised. “I remember,” he says. “What about it?”

“Hop,” Victor starts, his voice quiet. He looks - almost afraid of whatever it is he’s about to say. “That was probably the worst year of my entire life.”

The statement hits Hop like a punch to the gut. “What?” he says quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Hop, I couldn’t speak - I couldn’t even understand anyone - not the other kids, not the adults - I couldn’t read anything -” he cuts himself off. “Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?”

“I -” Hop blinks rapidly, confused. “But - we were having fun!” he says. “We went out exploring - we watched Pokemon matches - we went stargazing -”

“I had fun with you,” says Victor. “But - I wasn’t always with you, Hop. None of the other kids were nice to me. Most of the adults just ignored me. Whenever you weren’t around, it was just - everything was just awful all the time.”

All of the breath in Hop’s lungs rushes out, all at once. “Victor,” he says softly. “Why didn’t you tell me about that stuff?”

“I was afraid,” says Victor. “I thought I’d mess something up and then you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore - and then I’d really be alone.”

“You were afraid I wouldn’t hang out with you anymore?” says Hop.

Victor nods. “That’s why I went on the gym challenge,” he admits.

“What do you mean?” says Hop. “What’s why?”

“You were my only friend in the entire country,” says Victor. “And you were about to leave - what else was I supposed to do? I had to go with you.”

“You -” Hop cuts himself off. “You went on the gym challenge because of me?”

Victor nods. “I didn’t want to be alone,” he says, voice quiet and trembling.

“But -” Hop cuts himself off, desperately searching through his cache of memories for, something, anything that he could make sense of. “Wait - but you trained so hard!” he protests. “You would train for hours! If you didn’t want to be Champion, then - why put in all that effort?”

“It’s not that I don’t love battling,” says Victor. “I do. I do genuinely love battling.” He distractedly grabs one of his Pokeballs, turning it over in his palm considerately. “I did want to have Pokemon, and I did want to become a trainer. But - battling in stadiums in front of huge crowds? Competing against trainers from across the region? I never wanted that.”

“Then why do it?” says Hop. “Surely you didn’t have to put in all of that effort just to come along with me?”

“I got trapped,” Victor admits. “It was just a fluke at first that I won. But before I knew it, I had actual fans, and Pokemon that counted on me, and more rivals. I couldn’t just bow out at that point. And at that point, I wasn’t certain that I wanted to bow out.”

“I’m confused,” says Hop. “Did you want to become Champion or not?”

Victor sighs. “I got - excited,” he says. “When we battled and - and I actually won - Hop, that was the first time in my life that I felt like I was actually good at something -”

“Victor,” says Hop softly, reaching out to place a hand on Victor’s trembling shoulders.

“I was so tired of being a loser,” Victor continues. “I knew I wasn’t cut out to be the champion - I knew that. But after that first victory, after I kept winning - I thought that if I got strong enough, if I trained enough, if I practiced interviewing and performing - maybe I could change. Maybe I could become the Champion. I thought - if I just - if I just -” his breathing grows ragged.

Hop reaches down to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. “It’s ok,” he says. “You don’t have to -”

“I tried to hard to change,” Victor continues, ignoring Hop. “I thought - if I kept trying, if I gave enough interviews and press conferences, if I put on the right clothes and just - acted as close to a champion as I could, then maybe -” he pulls out a chunk of grass and throws it frustratedly, the blades fluttering down lazily in the wind. “But it didn’t work! Nothing changed - I’m just - the same. I’m still just - just the same selfish, cowardly loser now that I’ve always been for my whole life -” and then he crumples inward on himself, holds his legs against his chest and sobs desperately into his knees.

Hop quickly surges forward and wraps Victor in his arms, drawing him closer. “Don’t say that,” he pleads. “Don’t talk about yourself that way -”

“But it’s true!” Victor protests into his chest. “I’m a rubbish champion - I still can’t even speak properly!”

“It was just a rough first try,” Hop desperately tries to assure him.

“It wasn’t a first try,” says Victor. “I’ve had years to get this right!”

“You will,” says Hop. “You’ll get it right eventually -”

“I won’t!” says Victor, voice shaky. “I’m - I’m not meant for this stuff, Hop! I’m not meant to do public appearances! I’m not meant for crowds! I’m not meant for interviews! I’m not meant for - any of this!”

“You don’t have to do that stuff,” says Hop. “We’ll figure something out! We can talk to Leon -”

“You know that’s not possible, Hop,” says Victor. “There’s no way to avoid public scrutiny as Champion. They’ll never leave me alone. Not -” he cuts himself off, pausing to take a shaky breath. “Not as long as I have the title.”

Hop purses his lips, searching for something to say in response to that. Victor’s right, much as he’s loathe to admit it. His entire living memory has been a constant swarm of reporters, harassment by paparazzi, and overly eager fans - and he wasn’t even Champion. He can only imagine the sort of toll that sort of pressure would take on someone who values their privacy as much as Victor does.

“There has to be something we can do,” says Hop.

“There is,” says Victor, sounding frustrated. “I’m doing it.”

“So - what then?” says Hop, his voice quiet. “You’re just going to give up the title?”

Victor nods, hunching his shoulders over to make himself look smaller. “I think so,” he says.

“It might not work,” Hop points out. “They’d probably still bother you. You’d be the first Champion in the history of Galar to resign.”

“I know,” says Victor. “It’ll probably still suck for a while. But they’ll lose interest eventually. And then maybe I can go back to - actually living my life.”

All of the breath leaves Hop’s body at once.

Victor curls up more. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” says Hop.

“It feels like I do,” says Victor. “It feels like I’ve let everyone down.”

“You haven’t,” says Hop.

Victor huffs. “Of course you would say that.”

“Yeah, I would,” says Hop. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Victor leans over, letting his head come to rest on Hop’s shoulder. “Can you give me a hug?” he asks, his voice whisper quiet.

Hop reaches out, gently wrapping his arms around Victor to pull him closer. Victor buries his face against his shoulder in response, sniffling quietly into his sleeve.

“I’m tired,” says Victor. “I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

“I know,” says Hop.

“I don’t know what to do,” says Victor.

“I know,” says Hop. “It’s ok.”

Victor takes a deep breath, his whole body heaving with the effort. “I’m a failure,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by Hop’s jacket.

“You’re not,” says Hop.

“I’m supposed to be the strongest trainer in the region,” says Victor. “I was supposed to inspire trainers to strive to be the best versions of themselves possible.”

“You inspired people,” says Hop.

Victor scoffs. “Like who?”

Hop fights the choked up feeling in his throat. “Like me,” he says, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the whistle of the wind.

Victor lets out a shaky sigh. “I’m glad,” he says. “I’m glad at least something good came from all of this, then.”

Hop doesn’t have anything to say to that. He tightens his arms around Victor instead, pulling him closer, trying in vain to stem the silent flow of tears into his chest.

They stop at the convenience store in the train station at Wedgehurst out of necessity. The last minute nature of their camping trip meant that the two of them had been far less than prepared, leaving Hop desperately in need of something to drink and Victor in need of more tissues to replace all the ones he used last night.

It’s mercifully empty. Their trips around Galar are frequent enough that the store clerks in the train station have gotten used to their presence, offering them little more than a glance and a half-hearted smile at their entrance. Victor stays close to him though, pulling the edge of his beanie down lower over his hair and tucking as much of his body as he possibly can behind Hop’s. Hop makes sure to stand up straight with his back to the window, blocking sight of Victor for anyone on the street outside.

They have plans for the day. They’re going back to Postwick first so that Victor can talk to his mom and pick up some of his things. After that, they’ll take the train to Motostoke and grab lunch there - there’s a small, hole in the wall restaurant that Hop has been meaning to try out, and it should be far enough out of the way for them to hopefully not be spotted by any reporters. They might stop at Hammerlocke, depending on how much time they have - Sonia asked him to pick up some of the documents they have on storage in the vault there. Then, finally, it’s off to Wyndon so Victor can officially turn in his resignation as Champion.

Even thinking it still leaves Hop feeling empty in ways he doesn’t fully understand. To him, the champion is the strongest trainer in Galar, and Victor is that by a long shot, systematically destroying every trainer who’s ever had the misfortune of standing across from him on a battlefield, himself and his older brother included. For him to bow out un-toppled by anyone leaves a bad taste in Hop’s mouth. He’s always quietly held onto hope that he would be the one to bring Victor down and claim his place as one of the true strongest trainers in Galar. Any path to Championship without Victor at the end of it would feel - hollow.

But it’s not up to him to decide what Victor does with his life - it’s up to Victor. And if Victor decides he doesn’t want to be Champion -

Victor stiffens behind him.

Hop’s head quickly jerks up, scanning for the source of Victor’s distress. He finds it in the form of a woman barrelling towards them, pulling her child along behind her, her face set into an all too familiar mask of grim determination. Hop quickly steps forward, placing himself as a barrier between her and Victor.

The woman grimaces at him. “Please,” she says quietly.

Hop shakes his head. “We’re busy today -”

“I know,” she says, and she at least has the grace to look apologetic. “I’m sure you’re very busy but - I promise, I’ll try to make this as quick as possible.” She reaches down with her hand, gently resting it on her daughter to nudge her forward. The girl squeaks in response, ducking back to hide behind her mother’s leg, and -

The images come to him unbidden: a moving van. Delicate fingers locked together in nervousness. A new pair of white shoes, already dirty and browned from the muddy roads of Postwick. Eyes, half hidden behind long black hair, never seeming to meet his no matter how hard he searched out for them.

“We were living with her father until recently, in Johto,” explains the woman. “She still can’t speak English very well - it’s been so hard on her - but she loves Pokemon battles, and she’s his biggest fan. I know it’s rude of me to ask, but please - it would mean the world if she could meet him, for just a moment.”

Hop turns to look at Victor.

He looks pensive, for lack of a better term, his face carefully blank in the special way that tells Hop he’s purposefully suppressing his emotions. At his side, his hand curls into a fist, and for a moment, Hop is almost afraid that Victor is going to tell the woman off himself.

But instead, Victor bends over, kneeling down on one knee. He beckons to the kid and says something in Japanese, quiet and quick, almost under his breath.

The kids eye’s snap up. Quietly, quieter than Victor, to the point where Hop struggles to hear her voice at all, she responds, also in Japanese. One of her arms curls around her mother’s leg, the other one cradling a little Togekiss doll to her chest.

Victor keeps talking, not that Hop can understand any of it. His Japanese sounds worlds apart from his slow, deliberate English, forced that way through years of practice to purge any hint of his accent from his words. His voice is smooth and calming, soft in a way that’s normally only reserved for a particularly distressed Pokemon, or even Hop himself on extremely bad days. He beckons her forward again with his hands, gently try to coax her out from her hiding spot.

“What’s your name?” says Victor, switching back to English.

The girl blinks up at him. “Gloria,” she responds.

“Nice to meet you, Gloria,” says Victor. “I’m Victor.”

Gloria says nothing, only continues to hide behind her mother.

Victor gestures to her plush Togekiss. “I like your doll,” he says. “Do you like Pokemon?”

The girl looks at him appraisingly. It takes her a moment, but she nods decisively. “Yes,” she says. Her voice is stronger now.

“Me too,” says Victor. “I love Pokemon.”

Gloria doesn’t respond to that.

Victor smiles softly. Slowly, as if trying not to spook her, he reaches his hand into his pocket and pulls out a league card. He holds it out in front of him towards her in offering.

Gloria peeks out from past her mother’s leg, staring at Victor intently. She steps forward, still cautiously cradling the Togekiss doll in her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she reaches out and take the league card from Victor’s hand, and Hop can see it now - the sense of wonder, almost terror like expression in her eyes as she looks upwards at Victor’s face and back down at the card he’s just handed her -

It’s one of the sneeze misprints.

Gloria bursts into laughter. Victor turns red with mortification as he realizes exactly what he’s done. Hop can feel his face paling. For a short, terrifying second, it looks like everything has fallen apart.

And then Gloria surges forward, wrapping her arms around Victor’s neck, nearly flinging her little plush Togekiss into Hop in the process. She makes a sound, somewhere in between a laugh and a sob, flailing her legs behind her as she clings to Victor with all of her strength. Victor responds slowly, clearly taken by surprise, carefully returning her hug.

“Thank you,” says Gloria, whispers it into the crook of Victor’s neck so quietly that Hop has to strain to make it out.

“Thank you too,” Victor responds, sounding almost choked up.

Needless to say, all of their plans go out the window.

“I can’t believe this,” says Victor from his position next to him on the bench, burying his face into his hands.

In front of them, a little ways away, Gloria whoops and hollers with joy, holding her plush Togekiss doll aloft as she drifts along on top of Victor’s actual Togekiss, who glides in gentle circuits, barely a couple feet above street level. Gloria’s mom stands next to her looking visibly worried, though she stops short of suggesting that her daughter get down.

“What can’t you believe?” says Hop.

“I gave her the sneeze card, Hop!” Victor says, careful to keep his voice quiet so as not to be overheard. “That’s so embarrassing!”

Hop gestures at Gloria, still screeching. “She seems happy with it.”

Victor groans and goes back to trying to smother himself with his palms.

“Oh come on,” says Hop. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Barely,” says Victor. “What if Gloria thought I was insulting her?”

“Oh please, mate,” said Hop. “That thing’s super valuable. I know people who would kill to get their hands on a copy - and a direct gift from the champion, no less. Even if she didn’t want it, she could just sell the thing for a fortune.”

Victor sighs. “I guess - as long as it works out I can’t complain.”

“Exactly!” says Hop. “See? Things are going great.”

Victor sighs again. “I’m just glad she didn’t say anything about my Japanese.” He frowns. “I’ve been away from Kanto so long, my Japanese has started to sound weird.”

“What did she say to you?” asks Hop. “When you were speaking in Japanese, I mean.”

Victor shrugs. “She said she was scared because no one can understand her. That she’s really shy and her English is bad, and it’s hard to make friends, and all the other kids make fun of her, and she can’t read or watch TV because it’s all in a different language -” his face fixes itself into a frown. “So - nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Oh,” says Hop. “And what did you say to her?”

“I told her - not to give up, basically,” he says.

Hop blinks. “That’s it?” he asks. “You were talking for a pretty long time.”

Victor sighs. “I told her - that it’s okay to be afraid. I told her that quiet, shy people can do amazing things too. And -” he cuts himself off and looks down, fidgeting with his hands. “That there are people out there who will love her for who she is, and want nothing but the best for her, and that she’d find them eventually. And - that I believed in her, I guess.”

“Aww,” says Hop softly. “That’s right sweet of you.”

“Don’t mock me,” Victor grumps at him. “I know it’s cheesy, just - I feel like that’s a thing, you know?” Victor brings his arms up, wrapping them around himself timidly, casting his gaze downward. “I feel like everyone needs to hear how loved they are, at least once in a while.”

Hop pauses. “Oh,” he says.

“I don’t know,” Victor continues. “Is that stupid? That sounds kind of stupid. I just - wanted to see if I could make things better for her. I wanted to help.” He pauses, curling up in embarrassment. “God,” he says, sounding choked up. “God - was that stupid? Does that sound stupid to you? Should I have said something else? Should I have said anything at all? Should I -”

“I love you,” Hop blurts out.

Victor cuts himself off with a strangled sounding noise. He turns to look at Hop slowly. “What?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“I love you,” Hop repeats, firmer this time.

For a moment, Victor gives him a look of raw, unfiltered shock. “You do?” he says.

Hop recoils a little bit. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean - kind of!” says Victor. “How long have you...loved me?” he asks, barely choking out the last part of the question.

Hop squirms uncomfortably. “Um,” he says, “you know. A while.”

“A while?!” Victor demands. “Then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I was scared,” Hop protested. “I didn’t know if you liked me back or not.”

“You didn’t?!”

“I mean - I still don’t, really -”

“What?!” Victor sputters. “What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I - don’t know,” says Hop. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I confessed!” says Victor.

Now it’s Hop’s turn to splutter. “What?!” he demands. “When?”

“Years ago! When we were, like, nine!” says Victor. “You bullied me into sneaking out past my bedtime to go look at the stars! And you said something vaguely deep about stars being mysterious and always being there for you and you looked really pretty so I confessed!”

Hop desperately searches through the recesses of his mind for that night. “I don’t remember you confessing,” he says. “You just - said that thing about the stars being like me.”

Victor stares at him, looking incredulous. “No, Hop,” he says. “I said I like you.”

Hop replays their conversation in his head. “Oh,” he says, “is that what you said?”

Victor expression turns murderous.

Hop draws away from him, holding his hands up in defense. “It’s not entirely my fault,” he tries. “It was pretty bloody windy at the time - and you weren’t exactly the loudest talker in the world.”

Victor glares at him. “Even if you didn’t hear that part - I basically verbatim told you I thought you were as beautiful as the full moon in a starry night sky. What part of that could possibly be construed as platonic?!”

Hop winces. “Yeah, ok,” he says. “I guess I probably should have clued in a little earlier, huh.”

Victor collapses into a limp pile of limbs on the bench and muffles a scream into the palms of his hands.

Hop awkwardly places a hand on the small of Victor’s back, patting it consolingly. “Um - there there?” he tries.

“This is by far the worst day of my life,” says Victor. “Which is honestly impressive. I didn’t think anything could top yesterday.”

Hop pauses, collecting himself. “Wait - why is this bad?”

Victor looks back up to glare at Hop again. “I spent the last twelve years of my life miserably pining over you because I thought you didn’t like me back and you didn’t even hear my confession.”

“No, but - Victor!” says Hop, growing more and more excited by the second. “This is good!”

“How is that good?!” says Victor

“I do like you back!” Hop protests. “And you like me back - Victor! We like each other!”

Victor looks up at him. “What?”

Hop reaches out, taking Victor’s hands in his own. “Victor,” he says. “I think you’re the most incredible, beautiful person I’ve ever met. I love you with all my heart.”

For a moment, neither of them breathe. “You do?” asks Victor, his voice raw and tender.

Hop nods. “I do,” he affirms. “I really, really do.”

Victor lets out a deep, tense exhale - Hop can feel the force of his breath brush up against “Hop,” he says, softly, and it does wonders for Hop’s heart. He can feel Victor’s fingers curl start to curl themselves around his own. Victor leans forward, pressing his head against Hop’s chest, shivering.

“Victor?” says Hop.

He hears Victor sniffle.

“Woah - hey!” he says. He quickly brings his arms up, wrapping them around Victor. “Hey it’s ok, you don’t need to -”

“No, no, it’s -” Victor interrupts him. “I’m not - I’m just - It’s been so long,” he says, sniffling quietly. “I never thought you’d actually end up liking me.”

“I’m sorry,” says Hop. “I should have told you years ago.”

Victor rockets back upright. “Years ago?!” demands, his voice desperate. “Wait, wait - how long have you been waiting to tell me this?”

“I - uh,” Hop pauses, straining to think. He glances down at Victor’s lips. “Maybe about - how long have we known each other again?”

Victor kisses him.

They print the picture later, obviously, blown up on the front page of half of the magazines, quite a few newspapers, and virtually every tabloid in the country, he and Victor wrapped around each other, their lips pressed gently together, uncaring of their surroundings. It’s a rather flattering photo: his hand on Victor’s face, gently brushing strands of his silky hair behind his ear while simultaneously tilting his chin upwards to get better access to his lips, Victor standing high on his tippy toes to try to match his height, his arms thrown around Hop’s neck - if he’s honest, it’s probably one of the nicest photos of Victor he’s seen.

But it’s not that picture that Hop swipes the newspaper for. It’s another photo, a smaller one printed on the third page, trapped underneath an advertisement for Bewear repellent: Victor, hair mussed up and tangled, glasses askew on his face, grinning ear to ear with a Togekiss perched serenely on his shoulder and little Gloria hanging off his neck. Hop cuts around it, careful to leave the edges as straight and pristine as possible before he pins the photo to his wall with a tack - he’ll have to remember to get a frame for it later.

“Oh,” says Victor from his spot on the floor next to his bed, glancing away from his phone to give him an only slightly embarrassed look. “You’re pinning that photo up?”

Hop turns back to him with a grin. “Obviously,” he says, stepping away from his desk to settle on the floor next to him and pull him into his arms. Victor squeaks, turning ever so slightly redder than before. Hop can feel his heart melt at the sight. “It’s a great photo,” he says. “I think it makes you look wonderful.”

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” asks Hop, for the upteenth time that hour.

Across the table, Victor rolls his eyes at him over his food - some seafood gnocchi that made Hop balk when he looked at the price before he realized that he’s not the one paying, so whatever. They’re getting an extremely late dinner at one of those trendy, outdoor restaurants on the tail end of either their first or their, like, 500th date, depending on how you’re counting. Hop prefers to think of it as their 500th, because it makes him feel a little bit less like an idiot for missing Victor’s confession all those years ago, and also, it would suck if half of their first date was spent just dodging paparazzi.

“Yes, Hop,” says Victor. “I trust you. And anyway, there’s no way it could be worse than being stalked by those wankers 24/7,” he tacks on, inclining his head to gesture at the gaggle of people with cameras very obviously hiding behind a bush near the entrance of the restaurant, blatantly staring in at them.

Hop frowns at them. “You have a point,” he admits. “Still - that’s a pretty big announcement for a guy with -” he pauses to check his follower count, “- less than 2,000 followers.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” says Victor. “Do an interview? Hold a press conference?”

“Fair,” says Hop. “But announcing our relationship on my social media just seems - gauche, somehow.”

“It probably is,” Victor concedes. “But it’s whatever - and there’s no way you can mess it up anymore than I definitely would have.”

Hop frowns. He extends his leg underneath the table and nudges Victor’s leg with the tip of his foot. “Hey,” he says, “none of that now. Remember what your therapist told you.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Ok, fine,” he says, “I’ll stop with the self deprecation, you don’t have to kick me -”

Hop nudges Victor again. “You have to say it.”

“What?” says Victor. “No!”

“Say it,” says Hop.

Victor blushes. “Hop, we’re in public, what if someone overhears -”

“Say it or I’ll come over there and sit on your lap in front of all of those cameras,” Hop threatens.

Victor groans and buries his face into his hands. “I’m an inherently valuable person,” he mumbles out. “I deserve success and happiness in my life. I am free to choose to live as I wish. I love and accept myself for who I am.”

Hop smiles. “I love and accept you for who you are too.”

“Are you sure this is supposed to help?” says Victor with a sigh, his cheeks already somewhat pink. “It makes me feel silly.”

Hop shrugs. “It helped me work through my self-esteem issues.”

“I guess I can’t begrudge it that much, then,” says Victor, pouting.

Hop hums, pulling out his phone to start writing the beginning of a text post. He eyes the “Add Photo” button considerately, flicking his gaze back to Victor, who’s looking decidedly unphotogenic, trying to shove one of the giant gnocchi into his mouth in one bite. Hop smiles, scooting his chair around to be closer to Victor.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

Victor blinks up at him, setting his fork down. “What?”

Hop kisses him on the cheek. Then, quickly, while the shock is still fresh on his face, he lifts his phone up and takes a selfie of the two of them.

“Hop!” Victor shoves him. “We’re in public -”

Hop scoffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Who’s going to be looking at us?”

“All of those people outside with cameras?!” says Victor.

“Oh yeah,” says Hop, glancing at them. They look significantly more excited than they had been just moments before. “Oh well, whatever. We’re about to announce our relationship anyway, right? Might as well let the tabloids have their fun too.”

Victor frowns at him. “You didn’t have to go so far - you could have just told me to smile.”

“Victor,” says Hop, turning to look at him. “You are the light of my life and the most beautiful person I have ever met. I love you with the burning passion of a thousand stars and, like, twenty supernovas or something. If I could, I would spend the rest of my life just looking into your gorgeous, incredible eyes and running my fingers through your long, silky soft hair.”

Victor reddens even more. “Hop - what -”

“But you look bad when you try to pose for a photo on purpose.”

Victor shoves him. “You’re such a pest!” he says, and then he promptly bursts into laughter. “I just spent the better part of the last month and a half coming to terms with that fact, you know.”

Hop shrugs. “Whereas I spent the last month and a half coming to terms with the fact that I need to be more open about my feelings. And I felt like kissing you. And then taking a photo right afterwards.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Come on. I don’t care how the photo looks,” he mutters under his breath.

“I vaguely care,” responds Hop, quickly typing a caption for the photo. “I want it to be a good photo - I want the whole world to know how beautiful you are.”

Victor scoffs. “Please,” he says, half under his breath. “You just don’t want me to look stupid anymore.”

Hop makes an “eh” sound. “Yeah,” he admits. “That too.”