From: Unknown [Tuesday 9:12]
We should talk –m.

From: Unknown [Tuesday 12:21]
better late than never, right? -m

From: Type:FullofShit [Friday 13:04]
What do we have to talk about?

From: Unknown [Friday 15:39]
you wait three days to respond and that's your opening line? -m.

From: Unknown [Friday 15:40]
And you know what -m.

From: Type:FullofShit [Friday 19:31]
I'm busy until Sunday night.

From: Type:FullofShit [Saturday 12:44]
What about you?

From: Type:FullofShit [Sunday 10:07]
Are we meeting tonight or not?

From: Unknown [Sunday 14:18]
How's your own medicine taste?-m.

From: Unknown [Sunday 14:19]
Apt. 22, 17 Pele St., Konikoni City. 9pm-m.

He realizes immediately how close it is to his own house. The second he saw the address, he felt his soul curl up on itself and wither away, leaving him to stare at the text and calculate the horrifyingly short walking distance.

Gladion leaves his house at five minutes to nine, walks up the path, and stops in front of the small apartment complex. A glance at his watch reveals he has two minutes to spare. With a frown, he climbs up the stairs, finding her apartment at the other end of the building. Another glance at his watch.

One minute.

Stalling, he finds himself looking at the private courtyard the apartment complex provides for tenant's Pokémon. In the dark he has a hard time distinguishing the sleeping shapes, but then he sees the unmistakable feathers of her Decidueye, sleeping in the branches of a Banyan tree. With the ghost of a smile, he watches the creature sleep for a moment, remembering how he watched it grow from a runt of a Rowlet to one of the fiercest foes in the region. Before he completely loses himself in a past that barely feels like it belongs to him, he turns back to the door and the newest challenge of his life.

Bringing his hand up to knock, he hesitates.

On the one hand, he absolutely does not want to have to face Moon, no doubt drudging up old arguments and past spite as their words dance around the real heart of the matter.

On the other hand -

There is no other hand. For all his talk of maturing, Gladion can't let go of this final seed of hurt. When she would cross his mind before, he could never decide if he really forgave her, or if things would truly be set back to neutral once they met. Honestly, after those first few years he couldn't even imagine them meeting again; he was so sure that she was out of his orbit that he almost wondered if she'd been a delusion or a dream. Maybe he's held onto the resentment because that was the last thing he had of her.

Or maybe he's just a grown man feeling like a teenager again as he hesitates to knock. His watch mocks him as it strikes nine exactly, simultaneously striking on the nerve that controls his fight-or-flight response.

He knocks.

If he's going down, he's going down swinging.

She opens the door, and he opens his mouth to say something, but feels his throat close up. Moon leans against the doorway, sizing him up with a mysterious smirk on her face that seems maliciously amused. She's in an old t-shirt and ripped up jeans, hair falling out of its ponytail – he's in a similar state in his scuffed sneakers and hoodie. Still, there's something about her that hints that she has the upper-hand before they've even begun.

"You're late," she drawls, knowing that it's barely a minute past nine.

"I didn't want to be here," he replies, knowing that won't stop her now.

With a quirk of her brows she turns on her heel, leaving the door open as she walks into the apartment. His feet, on the other hand, remain rooted to the balcony, and he simply watches her disappear further into the living room. Realizing Gladion's still outside, she glances over her shoulder with a raised brow. Something dulls the spark in her eyes, and her lips are fighting to keep from dropping into a frown as she adds with a sigh, "You don't have to come in, but don't leave my door open and waste my air-conditioning."

It's an escape route, one that she finds herself offering freely. Looking at him, standing outside her door, Moon feels old memories clutch her heart and drag it to her stomach; she's nauseous and her plan to keep them both honest during this talk isn't going to help with that.

There's a second when his eyes flicker to the left and she's sure he's about to bolt, but then he's stepping inside and closing the door behind them. He slips off his shoes and takes in the small apartment, clearly a rental with barely any signs of life. A few cardboard boxes take up a corner of the living room, next to the television, and before he can question it Moon explains, "I'm still unpacking, so sorry for the mess." She takes a seat on the white couch, watching him as he walks at a Slugma's pace towards her, eyes constantly scanning for the next sign of danger. "Making sure there aren't any lamps I could threaten you with?" she asks with a smirk and a half-hearted chuckle, "Or are you figuring out which wall you want to punch?"

It's enough to crack him, at least to the point that he returns her lopsided smile with one of his own as he takes a seat across from her in an armchair. Before he can match her quip, his eyes land on the coffee table between them, brows furrowing at the bottle of pale pink liquid. "What's that?"

"Incentive."

"For what?" he asks, reaching for the bottle and turning it to better read the label. Before she can answer, his brows shoot to the ceiling as he makes out the text on the bottle in the dim light of the living room. Pelipper Brewing Co. Gin. His eyes narrow at her in suspicion. "What kind of talk are you planning, exactly?"

She rolls her eyes at his worry, bringing her legs up onto the couch and crossing them (and they both pretend they aren't remembering all the times he would tease her about her inability to sit in chairs normally). "Hear me out," she tells him, watching him continue to inspect the bottle, "We both have a lot that needs to be said. So, we take turns asking each other questions, and you either answer truthfully or take a shot."

His deadpan glare speaks volumes. "This is idiotic."

"Well I can't exactly trust you to tell me the truth otherwise."

He bites his cheek, choosing to carefully place the bottle back on the table rather than look into her intense gaze. There's plenty going through his mind right now, but he has the distinct feeling that if he were to voice any of his thoughts their conversation would be over before it even started. Instead, he sighs, "So, truth or gin, essentially?"

"I mean, if you want it to sound like a stupid college drinking game, sure."

"This is a stupid college drinking game. You're just pretending that this is how mature adults act."

"I never said this was mature," she says, index finger pointing to the air like a condescending professor, "But it's realistically the only way we're going to get to the bottom of things tonight."

Of course, she doesn't really think they'll get to the bottom of much else besides the bottle. Moon knows far better than to humor the thought of them truly opening up and moving on with just a few hours of conversation. She actually has the distinct feeling this will make everything worse, but still she lights the fuse (and throws in alcohol to at least make it entertaining when this all goes down in flames).

For his part, Gladion doesn't leave; he doesn't even argue further. Instead, he sits back, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes. "You first."

"I don't have a question," she drawls, resting her chin in her palm.

An eyelid opens and a green eye peers at her, unconvinced. "Really? You're the one who wanted to talk. Is this the first time in your life you have nothing to say?"

I have too much to say, she thinks as she watches him close his eyes once more. She could say he looks like an idiot even though he's probably convinced he looks aloof and cool. She could say she's guilty about making Lillie and Hau so nervous about how the wedding will go. She could say it's unfair that after all these years of convincing herself that he's nothing more than a regrettable boyfriend from her youth, looking at him now she feels Butterfree in her stomach.

"Do you still have the Roxie record I let you borrow?"

His eyes burst open and his head snaps to her. "You still remember that?" he mumbles incredulously.

The corner of her lips curls into a lazy smirk. "Never forgot," she tells him, "That was my second favorite record."

"You never asked for it back."

"Yeah, didn't really get the chance." What with the whole hating-your-guts thing and touring every other region, she adds in her mind. He picks up on her thoughts, and they share a chuckle, because now, as they sit across from each other nine years later, it all sounds a lot more ridiculous than it felt.

Still not able to believe this is their starting point, Gladion leans forward, wringing his hands absent-mindedly as he thinks. "It's in a cardboard box," he remembers, looking up at her with a smirk, "In storage. I'm sure you understand why I didn't want to have it lying around."

She shrugs, but can't help but feel triumphant as she says, "You didn't get rid of it, though."

He opens his mouth to speak but stops himself, feeling the ground under him drop and send him into a free-fall. It's a worrisome sign when the most innocuous of comments can make him question when, if ever, he really got over her. When his heart lands back in his chest, he swallows the truth and instead settles on muttering, "Would hate to destroy a perfectly good record."

Moon nods, pretending she's satisfied with the answer for his sake. There's a moment of silence, besides the far-off chirping of nocturnal Pokémon beginning their nights outside her window. "Your turn," she says, gently breaking the silence.

Gladion bites his lip in thought for a moment before he decides he's going to take her approach to this admittedly unorthodox situation. His gaze goes from the floor to her storm cloud eyes, asking with an amused lilt, "If that's your second favorite record, then what's your first?"

"The Rabutas' Too Rough to Live." The answer sucker punches him, and he blinks with wide eyes; she laughs at his expression, admitting with only a little embarrassment, "After you played it for me, I became obsessed. It's still the best record in my collection."

He tries to quell the pride bubbling in his chest, writing it off as his ego taking over. When the warmth in his stomach refuses to fade, he chuckles, "Not high praise, considering your awful taste in music."

"Considering how often you borrowed my records, you're no better," she argues, sitting back and crossing her arms. For a moment, she wants the battle to begin, to see him put up a fight, watch him try to hide his smiles at their jabs. When he only shrugs in response, Moon tries not to deflate, instead focusing on her next question – she's going to have to bite the bullet. Still, she chews the side of her cheek, hemming and hawing over her wording to try and stall the inevitable.

Gladion feels it coming, like the wind picking up before the hurricane strikes. He braces himself, watching her grow quiet and still, praying that the single floor lamp in the living room isn't illuminating the growing anxiety on his face.

She takes a deep breath.

"Why did you really break up with me?"

He takes a shot.

It's almost impressive how fluidly he goes for the bottle, unscrews the cap, and takes a quick chug. When the bottle hits the coffee table once more, she groans, "Seriously? You're already not answering?"

"I'm not starting on that," he tells her, looking at his watch. Somehow it's 9:23, and he has work tomorrow and a cargo-hold of baggage that he lost the key to several years ago. Between that and the gin, his choice couldn't be clearer.

"We have to eventually," she sighs, gripping her arms tighter to keep from shaking his shoulders. If I can't run anymore, she wants to scream, Then neither can you. But then she's done this to herself in how she set this up, and the escape hatch of her plan is now a glaring loophole.

He knows he's being difficult; then again, they both knew he would be. Gladion takes a moment to weigh his options, realizing absolutely none of them are appealing. If he leaves now, he looks bad, and there's no way to redeem himself. If he starts answering, he knows he's going to have to give her answers that he hasn't admitted even to himself. If he keeps drinking, he's going to have to explain a hangover to Wicke and Lillie.

Her eyes lock onto his and he takes a deep breath. "We can't take a shot twice in a row."

She presses her lips together into a thin line to keep from chewing him out. It's not the answer she really wanted, but he's still sitting here and willing to try. "Fine."

"You start."

The chuckle that escapes her is humorless. "You don't want me to ask the question on my mind."

"Is it a low blow based on how annoyed you are at me?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay, I'll start," he huffs, because the longer they draw this out, the later it gets and the more dangerous these waters become. He stares at the bottle on the table as he thinks, beginning to feel the effects of his last shot and realizing that in his haste he ended up starting a bit too strong. When he looks back up at her to ask his question, the irritation in her eyes has faded, and she's composed herself into a blank slate. With a frown, he asks, "Was there anything I could have said or done to stop you from leaving?"

Her face falls, lips parted in surprise as she considers the question. It's one he knows the answer to, has always known the answer to, but he needs to hear it from her. She slowly shakes her head. "No. I've always been -"

"Stubborn," he finishes with a nod, considering her answer, feeling himself transported back all those years ago, back when she first whispered about how badly she wanted to go, to see the world, to find something; back when he first realized he might not be that something. She started collecting maps and lists of sights to see, and he started collecting fear and resentment. Mulling the memories over, he thinks out loud, "It's just that..."

He trails off, leaving them both to sit in silence, avoiding the other's eyes as they feel themselves slowly beginning to drown. In an attempt to keep treading water, she asks quietly, "What about you?" He furrows his brows in confusion, prompting her to elaborate, "Was there anything I could have said or done to make you come with me?"

And they both know the answer, but still he replies, "No. There really wasn't." Gladion expects the impending silence to be suffocating, but instead it crawls over his shoulders and rests like a blanket. There isn't much left to do with their past besides slowly come to peace with it, and in the quiet he starts to believe he can do just that.

Moon feels much the same, her eyes cast on the hardwood floor but seeing a film reel of memories that still prick at her heart but no longer draw blood. A few of the memories begin to revolve around the venom she created years ago, and she lifts her eyes to his with a guilty frown. "I shouldn't have said all those awful things to you."

"What things?" he asks, as if he doesn't remember. As if he can't recall the time she snapped at him at Aether for being a control freak. As if he doesn't still sometimes think about the argument when she ended up shouting that he was a coward. As if he isn't reliving the moment when he was in her kitchen and she was gripping the counter, her shoulders beginning to shake as she called him dead weight.

She observes him a moment longer, before shaking her head. He can feign ignorance all he wants, but she knows him far too well to buy it. "Every time I was mad and lashed out in the end," she tells him, nearly wincing at the image of her younger self, full of displaced rage and unspoken fears.

But then he let the worst of himself get the best of him, too. "I wasn't much better to you," he mumbles. When she called him a control freak, he snapped back that she was apathetic. When she tossed the word "coward" at him he shouted that she was self-righteous. And as she faced the wall and told him he was dead weight, he grinded his teeth and muttered that she was a train off its tracks, heading towards its own destruction.

"I'm sorry." She bites the inside of her cheek and feels a cold relief wash over her, yet it still feels incomplete. It's not much of an apology to begin with, and the fact that it's nine years too late only makes her stomach sink further.

"I am, too," he whispers, and they drown in the silence, knowing this isn't the closure they need, but not sure where to go from here. He watches her with a frown, coming to realize something about the girl in front of him that he's never quite seen before. "Why didn't you break up with me?"

Moon looks up at him, and she slowly comes to the same realization as him as she echoes, "Why didn't I break up with you?"

Some final tension in him snaps and releases itself as a stunned, one-note laugh. "We were awful to each other."

"You were awful to me first."

"So you should have broken up with me."

"But I didn't," she hums, and Gladion can tell she's becoming introspective from the way she bites her lip and shifts her weight on the couch. Her fingers tapping her leg, she wonders aloud, "We both let it drag on for months. I guess I didn't want to give up hope. _art of it was pride, too; I didn't want to admit that I couldn't fix things, or that I'd failed in some way. It didn't help that I -"

Was so completely in love with you.

Even when you never felt the same.

"-was so nonconfrontational," she manages to finish, deciding tonight isn't the night she'll let go of her last shred of dignity. Moon watches his face, looking for signs that he's picking up on what she's trying to hide. When she finds none, she lets go of the breath she's holding. "My turn, then?" Gladion nods, though he still seems distracted by her answer. Her face twists with an ugly thought before she opens her mouth to ask, "When did you decide to break up with me?"

He eyes the bottle for a solid minute, but just before Moon can roll her eyes and tell him to just drink already, he answers, "About two weeks before I actually did. That was when we couldn't hold a conversation that didn't turn into an argument. Before then, I thought we could handle the distance, that maybe it would actually help us."

She gives him a bittersweet smile. "Make the heart grow fonder?"

"Something like that," he mumbles, fidgeting with his hands. It's technically a lie (he knew the moment she started to wander) (the distance was always his enemy, was always a reminder that people leave), but he justifies the fib in his head and swallows the guilt when he looks back up at her. Realizing he feels the alcohol numbing his nerves and she's still sober, he considers his next question carefully, before a rare spark of impishness flashes in his eyes. He leans forward as he drawls, "How often did you consider trying to get back together?"

The bottle connects with her lips faster than she can think, and it turns out gin is a lot easier to swallow than pride. Gladion chuckles, feeling himself growing cocky and the shot in him only encouraging it. "Too often?"

If looks could kill he'd be six feet under, but the rage in Moon's eyes is taken over by her own mischief, and she smirks. "Well how often did you cry in the shower after we broke up?"

And she laughs as his face falls and he takes his second shot.

"Too often?" she parrots, basking in her turn to be triumphant.

He wastes no time in coming up with his revenge. "Did you make a playlist about our relationship to cry to?" When her hand reaches for the bottle, he beats her to the punch, pushing it out of her reach as he reminds her with a cunning smirk, "Can't take two shots in a row."

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like "son of a bitch," only fueling his smirk. Her leg bounces as she leans her elbows on her knees, mirroring his position like a flustered shadow. Trying desperately to reclaim her dignity, she argues, "I make playlists for everything."

"So yes," he mutters, resting his chin in his hands, "And it was probably the weirdest mix of riot grrrl and sad acoustic music."

"Piss off," she says with absolutely no bite, because his laugh is infectious and he knows her all too well. Moon goes to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then reconsiders all together and instead takes her hair out of its ponytail. When it lands past her shoulders, she's still not used to the length, and runs a hand through it as she thinks of her next question, realizing that nine years has colored their nostalgia rather oddly. "Did you ever learn to sew?"

He bites his lip, and she realizes that it's to keep back a chuckle; Gladion would always make the exact same face when she would make him laugh when he wasn't supposed to. "I always knew how to sew," he whispers, as if to keep her from hearing. She does, though, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head as he explains with a self-deprecating laugh, "I was just lazy and had an aesthetic."

"Never say the word 'aesthetic' again."

"What do you have against it?"

"Nothing, just," her thought gets cut off by her shock as she leans back, running a hand through her hair. After her eyes have grown wide and she lets out a stunned giggle, she whines, "Why didn't you stop me from fixing all your clothes, then? I thought you needed my help."

I always needed your help, some voice pipes up in the back of his mind. Gladion shrugs, unable to keep the amused smirk from turning into a smile. "I know how determined you are, and it made you happy. That's two questions, by the way."

"So shoot."

"Admit it: you liked when I wore eyeliner."

"That's not a question."

"Fine. Did you think I looked good when I wore eyeliner?" And he knows she'll take a shot but he laughs anyway, feeling the effects of the liquor beginning to fully form and give him a giddy shot of adrenaline. "Just say yes," he roars, feeling his voice grow louder without his consent.

"I'll never give you the satisfaction," she hisses overdramatically, bottle still in her hand as she wipes at her mouth to hide her own brilliant smile. A moment passes and she tilts her head, gears in her head slowed down by gin. "Who's turn is it?"

"Mine," he says, shrugging off his hoodie as he feels his body grow warmer.

Moon frowns. "Want me to make it colder?" She doesn't even give him a chance to answer as she sets the bottle of gin back on the coffee table and goes to the thermostat. As she tries to figure out the console, she calls over her shoulder, "That doesn't count as a question, by the way."

He chuckles, watching her struggle for a minute longer before replying, "Neither does this: Do you need help?"

"I got it!" Though it's clear from her grumbling she doesn't, and Gladion stands with a sigh.

He walks up behind her, reaching around and quickly pressing a few buttons as he whispers, "Here we go." The temperature displayed drops a few degrees and the AC kicks into life around them with a rush of cool air. She turns her head to look at him in slight awe, Gladion still leaning a hand against the wall. Pretending he doesn't realize how close her face is to his, he whispers with a dangerous smirk, "I'm more than just a pretty face, you know."

She rolls her eyes, and when she pushes his face away, her fingers linger on his cheek a second too long. "I know." And the gin starts swirling and mixing with the bad ideas forming in her mind as she leans in just a hair closer, feeling his breath warm her cheeks. He swallows hard, forcing his eyes to stay on her gaze.

And then she gives him a wink and a light slap on his cheek as she coos, "You're also a pain in the ass."

What else did I expect? Before he can give his mind a chance to answer itself, Gladion rolls his eyes, watching her walk back, and choosing to take a seat on the floor instead of the couch, setting a foot on the coffee table in a position that he could only describe as very Moon. He follows and settles back into the arm chair before asking, "When you visited Alola, did you ever consider visiting me?"

"A few times," she says with a shrug, wondering how he found out about her visits before remembering she was the one to reveal herself several days ago. How are we both this drunk? she wonders, before she sees that nearly a third of the gin is gone. That explains that. Realizing she's left his question half-answered and Gladion's watching her with a mysterious gaze, she adds, "Not at the beginning. I think around my third year of traveling. But then it felt awkward, and I was visiting less anyway, so..." She shrugs instead of finishing her thought, content to leave it hanging in the air. He laughs at something that the she knows she won't like, and her eyes narrow. "What?"

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as he sizes her up before shaking his head with a grin once more. "You're drunk," he settles on saying – he may be tipsy, but he's still fairly certain exes don't tell each other that they're adorable when they're drunk, and so he'll refrain from doing just that. "And that was a question."

"First of all, I'm buzzed," she argues, as if it makes all the difference in the world. "And second of all -"

"Are you still embarrassed about the red beanie you used to wear because you thought it made you quirky?"

She blinks, and he feels himself win a competition that doesn't exist as her cheeks take on a shade of pink.

"Are you still embarrassed about that one pose you always did because you were convinced it was cool?"

He freezes, and she takes back the win for only a second before her eyes snap to the bottle on the coffee table. His follow suit, and in seconds she's scrambling up from the floor, but not before he's lunged forward and taken a swig, deciding to sit on the floor with her before handing off the bottle. As she takes a long drink of gin, he sits back, gazing at the ceiling and wondering how late it is.

"It's 10:50," she says before he can even realize he asked the question out loud. The bottle of gin sits on the floor between them, and she sighs as she sits back with him, both staring at the ceiling. The night goes on outside, a breeze rustling trees and Pikipek settling in the branches.

Gladion considers all the decisions he's made that's led to this point before asking, "What are we doing?"

"Staring at the ceiling," she deadpans, before she bites her cheek in thought, adding, "Getting drunk on a Sunday night. Being horrible influences on each other."

He fakes an offended look, countering, "You're the only one here who's a bad influence."

"Since when?" she scoffs, looking at him and already seeing dozens of examples that he could bring up for this very moment. If he has any good sense, he won't embarrass them both.

(But if he had any good sense, he wouldn't have lost her in the first place.)

"Since the days you spent terrorizing Kanto. And need I remind you of all the times you insisted we wouldn't get caught in the Champion's room?"

Her mouth falls to the floor and she shoves him hard on the shoulder, trying to drown out his laughter with her accusation. "Says the guy who insisted he locked the office door before -"

"Wicke didn't see anything!"

"Well considering the state of our clothes she didn't need to in order to know what she interrupted."

His pale skin is ignited with a brilliant flush at the memory and he groans, Moon laughing despite her own blush. As Gladion feels heat take over his body, she feels the chill of her air conditioning send a shiver down her spine. He frowns, asking, "Are you cold?" He doesn't let her answer before leaning over and retrieving his hoodie from the arm chair, passing it to her wordlessly.

She accepts it without hesitation, as if nine years hasn't passed, as if she never left, as if they never broke each other's hearts. The sleeves are far too long, and she's drowning in fabric, but she's far from complaining. "You still use the same cologne?" she mumbles mostly to herself after the familiar scent hits her. It's faint but distinct, and has always made her think of the beach at dusk.

He shrugs, and when he his shoulders drop he realizes their arms are touching and he's too drunk to try and move away. "What, you don't like it anymore?"

"Just impressed by your consistency." She rests her cheek on her drawn up knees, staring him down; he doesn't budge, staring back and wondering what exactly she's thinking.

What am I thinking, staying here this late and sitting this close?

But the alcohol silences what little reason he has left in his body, and instead he tells her with a smirk, "One of us has to be."

She rolls her eyes. "A little change can be good."

"Example?"

"You probably still only save people's contact info under an initial, don't you?" He bristles, fueling her laughter as she mocks, leaning in impossibly closer, "For 'safety reasons,' obviously."

Some part of his mind wonders if he's stepped outside of reality. "I don't," he mumbles blandly, barely trying to bluff.

With a triumphant grin like a Purrloin she coos, "Then hand over your Dex."

"Hand over yours."

"Why?"

"Because you probably have all your contacts set as shitty puns."

After a moment of hesitation, she goes to her pocket and he goes to his, and they trade devices against their better judgment.

When she scrolls through his contacts, she sits straight up, shoving the screen in his face with a victorious laugh. "I was right! I was absolutely right."

"So was I," he chuckles, showing her the screen of her own Dex as he chides, "'Hau's It Going'? Really?"

"You have to admit that's a good one," she says with a lopsided grin before going back to scrolling through his contacts. When she fails to spot an 'M' amongst them, she tsks,

"And you didn't even save mine. If we're going to be the best man and maid of honor, you can't have me as an unknown number on your phone."

He ignores her and continues looking through her contacts, immediately not recognizing most of them and not being able to decipher half of the nicknames she's used (TierNoMoreDancing? JaSteelMine? Lighthouse? It's a wonder how she remembers who any of these people are). "What do you have me saved as?"

She grins but refuses to meet his gaze, snickering, "Type:Full of Shit."

Gladion nearly drops her Dex before he deadpans to the wall with a sigh. Realizing this hasn't triggered a laugh, he looks over at her, only to see her frowning at the screen of his Dex, sitting far too still. He feels his stomach beginning to twist into knots when she continues to stare at the screen with a blank face.

Her voice is small when she manages to ask, "Who's 'E'?"

And he seriously considers taking a shot.

A/N: This is almost 6k words and that's after dividing it into two parts wow I'm sorry. I'm also not sold on how to format the texts at the beginning, but there isn't a whole lot else I can do. If anyone has any ideas to make them clearer, let me know!

(Also a couple easter eggs in here, including the original band and album I parodied for Moon's second favorite album, and all the contact names which are, admittedly, stupid.)