my dear i love you, but youre bringing me down

The sun-soaked sands of Hideaway Bay have never felt more inviting than they do now. Any roving Ambipom or Sealeo having seemingly retired for the evening early, leaving Val in his torn coat and sweaty chest wrap, alone. And that was just fine with him at the moment. He barely had the mind to notice just how hot it was getting under his Unovan leather. He was warned it was going to be a balmy evening for the coastlands, but the only thing Val could bring himself to care about, sat cross-legged on the loamy beachside, was the large, loose pokemon skull sunk into the seafoam.

And it was in pristine condition.

It’s head is like clay. A light and faded lavender clay. It can be molded, changed. But Val doesn’t dare alter it. An unknown reverence for the thing in his heart. He traces the pads of his fingers over small, squared horns and on the underside of the skull, feeling the debris and sand stuck in the corners of flat teeth, and feeling the holes where nostrils would have been just a few layers of hide and sinew above, a bit further down the length of the snout than where he expected they’d be placed. This thing looked like any other Aerodactyl skull he’d seen on school trips as a kid, but the sparks that shot just under his fingertips, as he ran moist palms over the soft, malleable head, carried with them such an unparalleled appeal.

The only other thing Val can muster to think of in this moment is Volo. Volo knows so much of Hisui’s legends and fauna. Val can’t help but wonder if they would know something about this too. If they’d feel the same unfounded sense of care for this thing as Val did. 

Surely. Surely. 

Volo found a certain care and nostalgia for even the gloomiest of tales they could muster, when they were in the mood to even recount a tragedy. Surely they would understand how Val felt now. How everything in this moment felt so. Beyond him. So new. So enthralling.

Then, a hot spark shoots through the back of his head. The tips of Val’s fingers leave perfect indents in the skull’s forehead. His jaw goes slack for a moment, before his breathing stills and steadies once more. The spark turns to a comforting buzz before quickly fading.

No. 

No.

Val oh so carefully places the skull back into the seafoam, so Lugia’s waters may lap at the thing’s teeth once more. And Val gets to his feet and his spine ices in place for a moment and leaves him lovingly stunned, observing white ripples worm and seep their ways between crooked molars, and for once he understands Volo’s intrigue; their raw and running desire to know the unknown.

And yet. 

No. 

Volo does not need to know about this. 

Volo doesn’t need to know everything. Not at all.

This moment is just a gift for Val to have.

—

Val stumbles from out the wood just as the blue dark of night begins to settle beneath the trees and under cliffsides. In a moment, a nearby Hypno’s ears twitch, and the pokemon rushes to her partner’s side to assist him through scratching bramble that clambers along the hill. Vim curls the tip of her snout and mutters steady ‘hyp. hyp. hyp.’s as Val assures her he’s just fine. She does not let go of his arm, but at least eases up on her death grip. Her scaly pink skin glimmers lightly in the last few rays of the sun and she flags down the sunflower merchant just off in the distance with an easy, slow wave.

Volo comes bearing down the grassy hills with his trademark grin, jangling the entire way. Togetic follows in eager pursuit, and happily chirps and flutters around her psychic-type friend upon catching up.

“Ah, my friend! You had your dear Hypno worried sick!” Volo teases and shakes a finger just at Val’s nose. “And well. You had worried me a bit as well. But I stayed strong for dear Vim! Who knows where she’d be without me?”

Vim waggles her nose in the merchant’s direction with a furrowed brow and a roll of the eyes. Volo just chuckles into the back of his hand. But his typical mirth doesn’t last long, upon taking in Val’s appearance. The time-walker was red in the face from the heat, no surprise, but he looked. Off. Out of it. Volo adjusts the brim of his hat out of habit and cocks a brow. 

“Just what were you doing out in the bay, anyhow? Can’t imagine us finding much of interest with the Remoraid.” He dots his sentence with an involuntary snicker. Also out of habit.

Val purses his lips for a moment, dry and cracked. He can’t exactly say he remembers. Val’s thoughts come slow and his words a bit of a slurry. “There weren’t any pokemon out there, you know.” He pauses, glancing back at the trees, at the faint hint of sea just beyond the woods. “There’s just. Nothing was there.”

In the time it takes for Val to return to his senses, Volo presses the back of his hand to the smaller man’s forehead and frowns like a disappointed parent. “Valentine, you’re feeling feverish. You truly can’t remember what you were doing?”

Val couldn’t respond. He hated that he couldn’t. Arceus, why couldn’t he remember? Why did his brain feel like a vat of sludge? Nothing happened. Nothing happened.

…And Volo only called him by his full name when he was worried. Or trying to soften him up. He didn’t want Volo to worry about him. He still couldn’t help the notion making his blood sizzle a bit. And moreover, now, twisting his stomach. All these months later, and he still wanted an absolutely no-strings-attached relationship with the merchant. 

Don’t feel bad for him. Like his dopey ass could compare to Volo’s own burning scars. Don’t feel Bad for him. It makes him sick. It makes the shame burn in his face redder than the 90 degree heatwave melting the evening beaches.

And clearly, Val wasn’t keeping watch of his own expressions, as he never did. Because Volo’s piercing gaze eased from one of concern to one of a gentle warmth, only ever reserved for him. Volo places a firm hand on the other’s back and eases him forward. “…How about we just turn in for the night?”

And Volo only ever talked like this when they wanted to coax Val into doing something. Even if it was just out of worry. 

…Val couldn’t say he necessarily minded it, in all honesty. Good intentions or bad.

But Val had spent enough time with the merchant by this point. They weren’t completely unreadable anymore, and Val could tell when they weren’t being genuine. They were never Not genuine around him anymore. Not in a while, anyway.

There was a slight waver in Volo’s steady foundation as he kept an eye on the terrain ahead. But everytime he noticed the time-walker studying him, he’d turn back into the soft, chipper-toned salesman from before. And he’d try to keep Val’s mind busy with light-hearted bits of gossip he’d heard around Jubilife that week. Whether it was to distract Val from his own problems or from Volo himself, Val couldn’t be sure. Then again, Val wouldn’t put it past Volo to be a very skilled multitasker.

Val huffed to himself. Volo wanted to say something else. Val knew that. Volo knew that Val knew that. And eventually, Volo relented, trailing off from a story about Cyllene and a Dustox with an awkward silence and near audible swallow.

“…I do apologize if I’ve been pushy these past few weeks. I know the prospect of finishing our collection has made me a bit. Eager.” Volo tightens their jaw a moment, a slight dusting of red on their cheeks. “If you’d like, I can look for the rest of the plates on my own. Just have you accompany me. Like before.”

The crunch of gravel under Volo’s boots is suddenly more present than ever. They do not look Val in the eyes anymore. “The last thing I’d want is to make your time here weigh any heavier on your mind.”

Val glances at Volo, perplexed. He was used to Volo being a bit out there. Val couldn’t say he wasn’t either, especially not around this region, but the rare moments Volo spoke out of tune, spoke so very morbidly genuine, it always struck Val. Those were lines he always locked away in his mind for safekeeping, just in case.

Volo notices Val’s raised brows and lips parted in an uneasy contemplation. He huffs from his nose, grin threatening to appear again. “That is to say, I don’t want you getting sick on my behalf! Not for my silly little indulgences, you know?”

Val turns away and fiddles with the torn insides of his coat pockets, rolling ripped fabric between fingers. He beats back the guilt swimming in his guts again. “It’s not your fault.” He pauses. “It’s not you. I think I’m just-”

“-Overwhelmed?” Volo tries to finish.

Val shakes his head. “I don’t about that. I just. Don’t feel like we’re any closer to figuring out what’s wrong with me. I just want to know what I did so I can fix it, you know. I don’t know what Arceus thinks I’m supposed to gain from being kept in the dark.”

Volo frowns, grim again, and again avoiding Val’s gaze like his life depended on it. He tilts the brim of his hat, and the dark of the evening obscures his eyes. 

“…I can’t say I understand It’s ways either, my friend. Arceus’ decisions continue to remain… enigmatic. Perhaps that knowledge is simply not meant for us.” Their voice is so very at peace for someone always so very hungry for information, for understanding. “And yet, something tells me that I can still be proven false.”

Their lips curve up into a smile again. Their eyes are still hidden, but their smile. It’s another gentle one. For some reason, the fact that it’s so sweet and familiar chills Val’s heart just a hair. 

Val mutters his friend’s name as a question, and receives a warm hand ruffling up his hair in response. Volo’s sweet smile turns into a wide grin, and they shake another finger. “We’ll get our answers soon, Valentine.”