Chapter 1

It was late evening and the sun was beginning to set over the mountains to the east. Royce Morrow and Dina Larson were walking side-by-side across a bridge that stretched over a busy highway. Royce was tall, standing at six feet, eight inches, and had a decent build from standard workouts. His brick-red hair burned brilliantly beneath the shine of the setting sun. His blue eyes glanced to Dina to his left and a kind smile formed on his face. She stood five feet, seven inches tall and had a slim build. She had short, blonde hair and green eyes and tanned skin.

"It was your fault," a voice whispered in his ear.

Royce and Dina stopped; the former looking around for the source of the voice, but finding none. Dina had her back to Royce and was looking out at oncoming traffic.

"It was your fault," the same voice whispered.

"D-Dina… let's go," Royce nervously told her.

"No… I don't think I will," she responded.

Dina then turned to face Royce and started walking backwards to the chain link fence that bordered the bridge's walkway. She started climbing it, her body still pointed at Royce in an accusing manner. He wanted to run to stop her, but couldn't move. He wanted to yell for help, but couldn't speak. He wanted to save her, but couldn't. Dina reached the top of the fence and sat there, hands gripping it tightly, and green eyes burning intently down at a frozen Royce, but failing to thaw him from the state.

"It was your fault," Dina told him, "You killed me, Royce."

She then let go of the fence and allowed herself to fall backwards off the bridge. Royce stood there as the bridge began crumbling around him. Dina's voice echoed with each crack that formed and reminded him of how he failed her with each chunk of rubble that broke free.

"No!" Royce shouted as he sat up in his bed.

A cold sweat formed on his brow and his blue eyes darted about a dark bedroom. The faint moonlight peeked in past a part in the curtain over his bedroom window. Royce reached up, wiped his brow, and then slapped himself across the face.

"It did not happen like that," he told himself, slapping his face again, "It did not happen like that.

Royce slapped himself a third time and then threw his blanket off onto the floor. He swung his legs out and stood up. It had been five years since Dina Larson had committed suicide and five years since Royce associated himself with anyone. He was much bulkier now, having spent five years working out nonstop at his family's cabin where he now lived.

He plucked his Pokégear off a bedside table and unplugged its charging cable. Royce buckled it onto his wrist and turned the device on via its facial recognition software. It was four-twenty-two in the morning and he had no missed calls or messages. What else was one to expect when they lived in self-imposed exile?

Royce left the bedroom and entered a loft that overlooked the rest of his family's cabin. There was a living room down below on the first floor, stairs leading down from the loft towards it, and a kitchen directly beneath where Royce stood. There was also a hallway that jut off to the left at the bottom of the stairs that had two spare bedrooms and a guest bathroom.

Royce descended the stairs and turned toward the kitchen. He passed by some exercise equipment that had taken over the dining room and entered the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Royce saw that there were not many groceries inside of the fridge, so he had to add that errand to the list of things he needed to do today. He sighed in defeat, closed the refrigerator door, and returned to his upstairs bedroom so he could begin getting ready for his day.

He needed to wash his clothes and since he did not have a working washer or dryer at the cabin, Royce would have to go to the closest self-service laundry facility. He took a shower and tossed in his pajamas along with his other dirty clothes into a large, burlap sack that he pulled close with a drawstring.

Royce then grabbed some reusable bags that he could fill with groceries, his wallet, and his shoes. With everything he needed, Royce walked out the door at around six in the morning. He pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head, shouldered the burlap sack full of dirty clothes, and began the trek into town.

He reached New Bark Town after an hour and a half walk and entered Rotom Wash and Dry. He dropped his bag on the floor in front of a wall of washers and began separating a week's worth of clothes into three piles to be washed. Royce placed the dirty clothes into three separate washers, put detergent into the appropriate places, and paid for the service. He then stepped away and took a seat on one of the benches to wait for the thirty-five minute cycle to be finished.

The building was mostly empty aside from Royce and the owner, who remained behind a counter reading a newspaper, so he soon stood up and began stretching his knees up and down one of the aisles to pass the time. Then Royce dropped down and began performing push-ups, not caring about whether the floor was cleaned.

The impromptu workout was cut short when the bell above the entrance door rang and an older woman pulling a laundry basket behind her walked in. Royce stood up and looked at the washers he was using. He had only managed to make seven minutes go by and there was still twenty-eight remaining.

With a tired sigh, Royce returned to the bench to wait for his clothes to be washed. Time went by slowly, but it went nonetheless, and Royce moved his clothes into the dryers and paid for the service next. This would take much longer; almost an hour and a half, so Royce figured he could cross the street to the market and buy groceries for his empty fridge.

Royce left Rotom Wash and Dry, crossed an empty street, and walked into the Thrifty Megamart. He walked up and down all of the aisles, intentionally wasting time so he could match the moment he finished grocery shopping with when his clothes were finished drying. As he walked down the canned goods aisle, Royce froze when he recognized another shopper.

He was six-foot-eight and in the middle of an aisle, so there was nowhere for Royce to hide as the other man turned to face him. Sad, green eyes narrowed in question over whether he was truly seeing Royce or not. Then they relaxed and gained a knowing bit of grief.

"Good morning, Royce. It has been a while," the older man greeted him.

"Not long enough, Mr. Larson," Royce muttered under his breath.

He approached, avoiding the older man's gaze, and attempted to move past him, but was blocked from doing so by a grocery cart. Buck Larson was Dina's father, so he was the last person Royce wanted to run into.

"Where have you been?" Buck asked.

"I don't wish to talk, sir," Royce responded.

Buck chuckled, but did not move the grocery cart out of Royce's way.

"Still with this sir nonsense, kid?" he questioned, "You can call me Buck or Mr. Larson, remember?"

"I remember too much," Royce countered, "That's why we haven't seen each other since…"

He froze and Buck nodded solemnly, knowing all too well that the last time they saw one another was at Dina's funeral. Royce clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and Buck moved the grocery cart out of his way.

"Noelle would appreciate seeing you over for dinner tonight, Royce," Buck told him, "As would I. We need to catch up."

"No," Royce grumbled.

"Don't be like that, kid," Buck responded, "You've gotta stop blaming yourself. Dina's death was not your fault."

Royce said nothing else as he walked past Buck. He then stopped at the end of the aisle after a twinge of regret hit him in the stomach. No, it wasn't quite regret. It was the memory of Noelle Larson's cooking. With a lengthy sigh, Royce turned to face Buck.

"What time?" he asked.

Later that evening, Royce walked up a stone pathway to the Larson's home in New Bark Town. He felt nervous. It had been five years after all. He should go. The front door opened. Shit. Buck Larson stood there with a kind, knowing smile on his face.

"Right on time," he stated, "I always appreciated how punctual you were."

Royce said nothing as he was invited into a home he hadn't visited in half a decade. It was all… the same. The small table littered with knickknacks by the front door. The framed pictures of family members hanging on the opposite wall. Royce walked further inside and cast a glance into the living room to see that it was also as he remembered it to be.

"Noelle is almost finished with dinner. She'd love to see you," Buck told him, clapping Royce on the back.

He led Royce into the dining room and then went alone into the kitchen so he could tag in at watching over the dinner being cooked. Noelle Larson ventured out of the kitchen and smiled when she saw Royce.

"I made sure to cook a ton of food when Buck told me you were coming," she informed him, "I hope you're still as big of an eater as I remember."

"Do you still cook with all that butter?" Royce asked dryly.

"You know it," Noelle proudly assured.

Royce sighed. He would have to work out extra hard the next few days to counter the meal he was about to intake. Noelle stepped forward and embraced him tightly. She was still dainty. Royce was careful around her as one misstep and she would be crushed. Wiry, grey-blonde hair stuck out in different directions atop her head and bright green eyes glittered up at Royce as if he were her son returning from war.

Then Royce saw… her. In an ornate urn set within a glass cabinet next to the dining room table was… her. Noelle saw where Royce stared and stepped away quietly.

"She has a place at Crystal Lawn Cemetery," she told him, "We still visit her every Saturday."

"I should've…," Royce muttered.

"Noelle! You might need to tag in!" Buck called out from the kitchen.

"Oi, that old fool. He doesn't know how to make himself a bowl of cereal without setting the milk on fire," Noelle grumbled, hurrying off into the kitchen to rescue the evening's dinner from her husband.

Buck then returned from the kitchen with a sheepish look on his face. Royce fought off his own amusement and kept his stone-faced demeanor. He walked away from Dina's remains and glanced at the table.

"Do you need help setting the table?" Royce asked.

"No, no. You're a guest," Buck told him, "You can go sit in the living room while dinner's being finished cooking."

Royce simply nodded and left the room. He sat himself down in the quiet living room and sighed heavily. Royce glanced upwards and saw a picture of Dina from when they were in school up on the wall. He found himself back on his feet and approaching the picture. He even had the audacity of picking the picture off the wall. Royce didn't even realize he had begun crying until some tears began falling onto the glass. Time went by much quicker than he had noticed, because Buck entered the room.

"Dinner's ready," he announced.

Royce jumped and lost his grip on the picture. It fell onto the floor where the glass frame shattered upon impact alongside Royce's fractured heart. He looked up at Buck, sputtering incoherent apologies, but the old man simply walked over, and picked up the damage without a word.

"Dinner's ready," he repeated himself, "I'll pick up the mess."

"No… No, this was a mistake," Royce responded, "I'll leave."

"No you won't!" Buck snapped, "For Arceus's sake, kid!"

"What's going on?" Noelle asked, running in from the other room.

"It's… nothing, sweetie. Royce and I were just having a mild disagreement," Buck responded.

"It didn't sound like a "mild" disagreement," Noelle pointed out.

"It's because it wasn't," Royce muttered under his breath, "I killed your daughter and you're having me over for dinner like it was nothing."

A cold chill ran through the room, but no windows were open. Confusion strained Buck's face and he sat the broken picture frame down on a table.

"Let it out, kid. You've held this in for five years, so let it out," Buck instructed.

Royce shook his head, keeping silent, and he wiped at his eyes with a meaty paw. Noelle looked between him and her husband and was unsure of what to do or what to say.

"You wanna say you should've been there to stop Dina from jumping?" Buck asked, "You wanna say you should've seen how depressed she had become? You wanna say you should've seen the scars on her wrists? I know this, because I've said the same damn thing every damn day for the past five, damned years."

Buck took a moment to keep himself from breaking down. Royce had his gaze lowered, fists clenched, and entire body shaking from pent-up emotions threatening to burst out of him.

"I am in the same boat as you are, kid, but I've got it a little bit worse, I think. I was her father, and I failed my baby girl," Buck continued, his voice breaking toward the end, "I failed her and there is no going back to fix my mistake in this case."

"It has been five years and we're all still feeling pain, but being together can make that pain a little bit easier to bear," Noelle stated, reaching out to hold her husband's hand.

She reached out toward Royce's fist, but he pulled away.

"No… I was supposed to be with her that night. We made plans, but I had to cancel, because… because… Arceus, I can't even remember why anymore," he admitted, chuckling to himself, "All I know is that I could've been there that night and that I should've been there, but I wasn't, and now she's gone."

"You've gotta forgive yourself, kid," Buck told him, "It's the hardest damn thing a person could do, but you've gotta, or the pain and the blame and the grief will consume you."

"It already has, Buck," Royce stated, "I've been living alone for the past five years. I gave up on everything when Dina died. I don't even know how to live anymore."

Royce sat down on the couch and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. Noelle stepped toward Royce, but he held up a hand to stop her, and then used that hand to wipe his eyes clear.

"Give me a moment. I'll still eat your food, Mrs. Larson. I just… need a moment," Royce stated.

"Of course, dear. Take as long as you need," Noelle told him.

She then took her husband by the hand and led him out of the room, so Royce could recuperate in solitude. He took in a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and then released. Royce repeated this a couple more times until the weight of emotion pressing down on his chest eased up a little bit.

In the kitchen, Buck and Noelle sat at the table across from one another. The dinner was already laid out in equal portions between them and then a third, much larger portion of food sat on a plate adjacently to the couple.

Royce walked in and sat before his dinner. His stomach betrayed his self-control and let out an audible wail of hunger. Noelle heard this and laughed into her hand.

"Shall we dig in, boys?" she asked.

"What'd you say, dear?" Buck questioned, having been stuffing his mouth with forkfuls of food the moment Royce sat down.

Royce's body further betrayed him by allowing a smirk past his stony exterior. He hadn't noticed the faintest of smiles on his face for the entire meal, but Buck and Noelle did. They said nothing as they wished for Royce to keep this moment of peace for himself.