The heavens opened and poured down onto Alola in a roaring force of wind and nature. Guzma watched the furious splatter of rain against the pokemon center window, sitting far away from anyone else and nursing a travel cup of Tapu Cocoa in one hand. There was no work to be done in this sort of weather and idly he wondered how long the gales would batter and the thunder would rumble: he was caught between the desire for an extra day off and the knowledge that he needed to bolster his savings for the next payment he had to make on his various fines.

Sighing, he checked the weather app on his phone. Tomorrow was supposed to be clear. He may as well make the best of the day that he could. He turned his attention away from the window and back down to his sketchbook, twirling his favorite pencil between his fingers as he took another sip of his cocoa. Caterpie covered the page, different sizes and poses as he played with their curly forms, and he put the finishing details on the newest study in the right corner. Guzma wished he had a caterpie. Idly, he consideres the trouble-making grub from the berry fields. Maybe if she was sneaking another snack in the morning, he would take her door opened at the far end of the center, and out of habit, Guzma glanced up—then quickly looked back down, cursing under his breath as he tried to cover his face behind one cupped hand. He knew it was stupid when the old man moseyed on past him to order at the cafe, and sucked in a harsh breath when he sat across from Guzma at the table.

"'M not causin' any trouble," Guzma grumbled out, "I'm just sittin' here. What do you want?"
Old man Nanu regarded him with his usual expressionless gaze, taking a sip of his strong black coffee as he hunched in his seat. Guzma knew well enough to know he was... maybe not upset. But at the very least, tired. Disappointed.

"Carl told me you caused a scene at the mall," Nanu said dryly, "figured I'd give you a day to get your shit together before I busted your ass."

"I didn't do shit," Guzma protested again, "I was just tryin' to buy a fuckin' marker. I thought you were all in for that rehabilitative art bullshit."

"You can't threaten to steal everything from a shop just because they wouldn't sell you a marker," Nanu told him sternly, "and frankly, I'm not surprised they wouldn't. You've got a reputation."

Yeah," Guzma muttered, "don't I fuckin' know it." He reached for his bag and dug in the front pocket. The green marker Gus had given him was sitting on top of his supplies, and his hand hesitated for a moment before he took it out. He carefully popped off the cap and began the process of painting long, careful strokes of green inside of his newest caterpie. Nanu watched him for a while before he spoke again.

"The weather's supposed to be nice tomorrow," he said, "I figured I'd rope you in early for your community service."

"I've got work," Guzma told him.

"I've already sorted that. If you have your things, I can take you back to Po Town right now."

Guzma glared briefly up at Nanu, who simply took another sip of his coffee. Asshole. Absolute asshole. He knew the payment deadline was coming up. The berry farm was honest work, but honest work didn't pay shit.

"I can't afford to be skipping days," he tried to say calmly, "and you fucking know it."

"Let me worry about that. Besides, I've got you scheduled for another hearing before the end of the month. I'm going to see about getting your sentence reduced."

Guzma slapped his marker down flat onto his sketchbook, his jaw setting as he pulled himself up straight to square off against Nanu.

"I didn't ask you to do that," he snapped, "fuck, why didn't you tell me? I'm doing fine, I'm meeting the payments, I'm almost done scrubbing the damn town, I've got a job—"

"That's the point," said Nanu, "you've been shaping up. I don't expect anyone to let you off with a slap, but I'm tired of hearing you bitch about your savings. You're still young. I just want to see you get your chance."

"I had my chance, and I fucked it up," Guzma disagreed, "and that's why I'm stuck here with the world's worst parole officer. Fuck off. I don't need you help." He wanted to deck him in the fucking face, the smug bastard. His blood was pounding white-hot in his ears, and man, how fucking good would that feel to let it out? Pummel the old man down until he couldn't stand. Throw the table. Break a chair.

But instead, Guzma drew in a deep breath and then took a long sip of his Tapu Cocoa, trying to distract himself with the sweet flavor and the smooth way it went down his throat. He liked the mix they used on Route 2. Not as nice as the kind you could get out on Route 8, but a real contender. There was a little bit of spice in this one that brought back warm and fuzzy feelings from childhood, looking for bugs with his friends. He took another deep breath after he swallowed. The anger was still there, but it was fizzling down. Control was the key. Nanu gave him the rare smirk and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms triumphantly across his chest.

"Yeah, you do," he said, "because those chairs aren't going to reupholster themselves, are they?" He held his palm out expectantly, and Guzma rolled his eyes. He pulled his novelty beedrill-colored wallet from his pocket and thumbed through coins and bills, slapping a few into his hand.

"Don't short-change me," he demanded, "last time they gave you that cheap stuff, and I don't want it. Get as nice of material as you can."

"What about paint?" Guzma thought, then shook his head.

"Not ready for paint, yet," he decided, "I still wanna finish re-tiling the kitchen." Nanu shrugged.

"You're the boss."

Damn right, Guzma was the boss. He drew himself up again, with pride this time and not anger, and leaned as intimidatingly as he could across the table.

"Don't fuck with me," he said, "I could crush you. My bugs would wipe the fuckin' floor with your cats' collective asses."

And Nanu, who knew better than to take him seriously by now, simply laughed and took to his feet with the cash, sauntering back towards the door.

"You're more than welcome to try," he called back. "Maybe if you finish early, we can go a few rounds." The rest of the tension eased from Guzma's shoulders. The old man was a good sport. "I'll swing back by at three to take you home."

It was an off-handed remark, not in any way deliberate. Home. Guzma shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the old cop leave. Po Town wasn't home. Couldn't be, not anymore. It was filled with other people's houses, and Guzma was certain at least some might want it back. Or maybe they'd just sell them all off. Either way, it wasn't like he'd ever be able to afford one—and without Plumes or his Skull kids wrecking havoc everywhere, he wasn't sure if he wanted to even if he could.

But his home now wasn't much of a home, either. He had to leave early again. Well, that was a constant, wasn't it? He hated spending any amount of time in his folks' house, especially when either of them were there. It was always up at the ass-crack of dawn to leave before either of them could wake up, then back in late at night when both of them were asleep. When he had to be there, he stayed in his room with the door locked and his earbuds blaring his favorite music, waiting until the time he could slip out again. He couldn't wait to put that bullshit behind him.

Thinking about all of this was just making him tired. Or maybe that was the rain. Either way, he could use a nap. Guzma checked his phone. It was still early. He could conk out right in that chair until Nanu got back. His mouth twisted in a frown as he thought. He was going to busy all weekend. Better finish drawing the caterpie.

He took the green marker back into his hand, focused on another long sip of his cocoa, and went back to work.


Even with the rain pouring down on Alola that morning, Kukui wasn't going to be stopped from having a good day and having work done. He did prefer the sunny days, bright and warm, where he could go outside, run around, and study wild pokemon and trained pokemon alike as they battled, showcasing the magnificence of their moves and attacks. Rain meant those battles would be scarce. A few trainers and pokemon might be out in a drizzle, but in a torrential downpour like what he saw outside his front door, only the hardiest of trainers would take the risk.

His house creaked and moaned with the whistling wind, and he looked up out of the skylight in his kitchen to watch big, fat raindrops splatter against the glass. Anxiously, he considered one of his more hasty patch-up jobs in one corner of the roof, one that Burnet had been telling him for weeks before Sycamore came to get fixed properly. He begged the Guardians to let it hold: if there was even a hint of a leak, he knew his wife was going to let him have it. She was already thinking about it, one brow raised sourly as she eyed the roof with him.

"I swear," she said, "one of these days that roof is going to blow right off. We need to get it taken care of, Kukui."

Kukui grimaced over his coffee mug. "Roof repairs can be expensive," he answered, "maybe if I go to the hardware store later, I can—"

"Maybe if you'd stop letting pokemon hyperbeam our house," she cut him off pointedly, "we wouldn't be having this problem in the first place." Then she sighed. "Well, we'll need to get a quote first, anyways." She came up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist, and as he felt her press a sweet kiss to his shoulder, he craned his neck to nuzzle his cheek against the crown of her head.

"I don't let them hyperbeam the house," he protested, "I'm just too good at getting out of the way when they try to hit me." She hummed playfully.

"Alright. Next time, just let them incinerate you, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. One extra crispy Kukui, coming up."

Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled along right after. He could hear the pokemon all whimpering in the basement, and with a sigh he decided he needed to check up on them. He turned on the spot to pull Burnet into a proper hug, kissing her forehead before resting his chin on top of her head. They gave each other a good squeeze before parting, and Burnet went to grab her rain coat and slip on her shoes.

"Be careful going to the lab, yeah?" Kukui told her.

"If we capsize, make sure they put me on the morning news," Burnet replied, "and hey! Maybe if there's time this weekend, you can show Sycamore around the lab. I bet he'd get a kick out of Royal Avenue."

"You can't fool me," Kukui said as he prepared to head downstairs, "you want to go because that Masked Royale has a match this weekend, don't you?" With a smirk, he added, "do I need to worry about him, Burnet?"

The tinge of pink that crossed her face always brought a chuckle out of him, especially paired with her hasty "o-of course not! I just admire his battling!" before she ran out the front door and into the torrent.

At the bottom of the stairs was, of course, Kukui's lab. It wasn't big and fancy like most of the other regional professors' were, but that was due in part to the fact that Alola had only recently been accepted into the United Pokemon Federation, and technically wouldn't be official for a few more months. Until then, Kukui's contract wouldn't go through and he was more or less living off of his part-time work at the school and Burnet's private investors. A little Pokemon League money, he thought, would go a long way: he remembered the one time he'd been to visit Sycamore's research facility in Lumiose. It had been a massive, beautiful three-floor building chock full of specialized equipment and gorgeous artwork, massive bookcases lined with old tomes, and boasted its own few acres of land that the pokemon his friend studied ran loose in. The things Kukui could do with a lab like that!

For now, he would make do with his cozy basement research facility. In the corner of the room was Dusty, his lycanroc, curled up with his fluffy tail wrapped tightly to himself. He was battle-hardened, used to loud noises and weather of all sorts, and when the thunder rumbled again, he looked up cautiously at the ceiling. The two pokemon curled up behind his tail whimpered again, and Kukui dropped to his knees and slowly crawled forward to pull the floof aside. Their rockruff puppy, Rusty, peered up at him with the biggest eyes he'd ever seen on her, her whole body trembling. Next to her was their stufful, Lady, who hid her head under her stubby paws, not even daring to peek. Kukui patted both of them affectionately, then went to take one of his spare lab coats and threw it over top of them all. Dusty boofed, and Kukui pet his snout.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered, "you taking care of them?" Dusty snuffled, then tucked his head down to nose at the babies. "Don't worry, guys. The storm won't last forever."

He spent a little bit of time with them, sitting on the floor and listening to the rain, until his coffee ran out and he decided, yeah, he could do with another mug full. He tromped up the stairs and was about to head back into the kitchen when he paused, his eyes landing on the loft upstairs.

Sycamore came back quiet and little moody the night before. He'd been on time; they hadn't missed dinner, which was great, because Burnet was convinced he wasn't eating. Kukui had been hesitant to believe her until he spent forty-five minutes watching Sycamore push the cheapest thing on the menu around his plate, only nibbling when Burnet leveled him with a stern look. His leftovers were waiting in the fridge, but Kukui had a sneaking suspicion it would go uneaten unless someone took drastic measures. He knew it was hard for his friend right now—it hadn't been quite a year, yet, since the tragedy at Geosenge. It must have been taking its toll if even the League mandated him off for some recovery.

The thought of the Kalos League troubled him, though. Especially what Kiawe said about a new professor. Kukui felt like he would have heard about that if it were true, but Sycamore had looked absolutely horrified when it was brought up. Maybe Rowan would know. The two were pretty close. For now, though, Kukui thought as he made his decision, he would settle for not knowing as long as he could get Sycamore up out of bed.

"Gus, bud, you gonna sleep all day?" Kukui called up, "c'mon down, coffee's up." He waited. No answer. He heaved another sigh and climbed up the ladder.

Sycamore was still in bed. His hair was disheveled, and he was laying with his back to Kukui, but the shack's light brought his reflection in the window into clear focus. The dark bags under his eyes looked worse in this weather. Tucked under one arm was his helioptile, who watched the rain and skyline with excitement, perking up every time lightning flashed in the distance. The other arm was curled up near his face, and for a moment, Kukui assumed Sycamore was sleeping on it—and then he caught sight of the wristwatch clutched in his palm, and a sinking feeling hit him right in the stomach. He reached out to gingerly nudge Sycamore's shoulder.

"Hey," he said, more gently this time, "really, come on. Get up. You'll feel better after a coffee."

"Please don't touch me," came his friend's small voice, and Kukui drew his hand back. "I'm... sorry. Don't mind me, my friend. I'm just tired. Very, very tired."

Kukui leaned back against the banister, tapping his fingertips against the wall. Then, a grin stretching wide across his face, he asked, "too tired to help me with some research?"

For a second he thought nothing was going to happen. Sycamore just moodily stared at his watch, brooding. Then, just as Kukui was about to give up and go back downstairs, his friend slooowly pulled his arms under himself and pushed himself half-up on the couch. He wiggled for a moment, then turned to face him and laid back down, propping his head up with one hand as Zip, now free, scurried to press his nose to the window.

"No," Sycamore agreed, "I suppose I'm not too tired for that. But you have to put on a shirt." Kukui laughed and made a show of flexing his biceps.

"And hide all this?" he replied, "not a chance. Get yourself a coffee and come down to the lab. I've got some numbers we need to crunch."


Sycamore was happy to work. For the first time in a long while, he found himself seated in a chair, at a desk, pen an paper in hand with a dubious mug of coffee sitting next to him. He was still in his pajamas—long, loose, plaid-patterned pants and a much larger concert t-shirt (the smell had washed out long ago, he found himself thinking, but it was one of the few comforts he had left)—and he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, skimming Kukui's readings as he tried to decide where to begin.

Kukui sat nearby in his own chair, idly pulling at his beard as he scrolled through spreadsheets on his computer. Sycamore had been worried, when Kukui came upstairs, that he was going to push him. Try to make him talk when he wasn't ready. But no; they sat together quietly in the basement, working to the beat of the rain on the roof. The wind was still loud, the thunder still roared, and Kukui's pokemon were huddled in the corner under the protection of his big lycanroc. It was peaceful.

"I'm still not sure about this reading on charjabug's Spark," Kukui huffed, "I don't get it. It was holding a magnet, it should have output a higher energy signal than this."

"Did you forget to control for charjabug's EM field?" Sycamore suggested quietly, scribbling a few notes in the margins of his print-out, and Kukui groaned and leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak and protest under him.

"No, I was very careful," he said, "man, give me an angry raichu any day, charjabug are a nuisance."

"You need a specialist," Sycamore told him, and Kukui shot him a look.

"I am the specialist."

"Then tell the charjabug that. Show him your degree, maybe he'll cooperate."

"Nah, I'll just intimidate him with my massive intellect."

Sycamore snorted, and when he glanced up, it was to find Kukui watching him anxiously. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just... good to see you laugh a little." Sycamore frowned at that, but said nothing as Kukui turned back to his computer and opened his instant messenger. "Alright, let's see if he's on... ah, he's playin' that ghost game again... ….Hey, Molayne, you there? Woo, dude, you aren't gonna believe the kind of trouble I'm having! Listen, is Sophocles gonna be home tomorrow? I need to pick his brain about a pokemon..."

They chatted for a while. Sycamore kept to himself, just out of frame, and thankfully Kukui didn't mention him to his friend. At some point, Molayne began streaming the game for Kukui to watch, and eventually, the two hung up the call.

"He seems nice," Sycamore commented mildly the instant it was safe.

"You should have said hi," Kukui replied as he stood and began to gather his things, "you've met Molayne before, remember? At the wedding?"

"Was he the tall one? The really tall one?"

"Come on. We gotta catch the ferry."

Kukui rushed upstairs, and confused, Sycamore gathered the papers and followed him up.

"What do you mean, catch the ferry?" he repeated, "it's raining, you want to go out?"

"Yup!" Kukui answered. He took his lab coat from the coat rack and slipped it on, then jammed his cap on over his hair. "I wanna get this taken care of before the weekend. Burnet wants to take you to Royal Avenue, so we need to get to Mount Hokulani now."

"Why do I have to come?"

"Because you need to get out. You can hang out in a cafe, if you want. Get yourself a coffee, or something, the Tapus know you won't drink mine." Finally, his friend pulled his sunglasses and shoes on, then turned expectantly to Sycamore. "Come on. Get dressed. We're on a schedule, here."

"Yes, dad," Sycamore grouched as he climbed back up to the loft.

Twenty minutes later found them running through town, their feet splashing in puddles as they dashed through the rain towards the marina. Kukui's boat was small, all things considered, and though it was great for transport most days, Sycamore was assured quite soundly it wouldn't survive in this kind of weather—which begged the question, why were they out? They were both at least in their rain coats, but water had splashed up Sycamore's ankles and weighed down uncomfortably on his skinny jeans, and he wasn't sure if he was more miserable out here or wasting his day back in bed. Kukui, at least, seemed in good spirits, his eyes bright and his body filled with energy that exited him in the form of foot tapping and fidgeting.

They spent some time chatting as they waited for the ferry to Ula'Ula to arrive. Kukui was hung up on the charjabug, and they bounced ideas off of each other. Kukui seemed convinced his magnet was defective, and so Sycamore suggested throwing it to a circuit of magnamite and seeing what happened.

"But what if I can't get it back?" Kukui asked him, and Sycamore shrugged in reply.

"Well, at least you'll know the magnet worked," was his only answer. Kukui didn't seem happy with that plan.

Eventually, the ferry was ready for boarding, and they walked up the plank together. Most sane folks seemed to have the right idea; only a handful of souls were willing to brave the storm to island hop. Luckily, that meant there were plenty of seats inside the ferry to pick from, and so Kukui and Sycamore went to take theirs next to one of the large windows so they could watch the sea pass them by. By the time they settled in, Kukui had whipped out his old pokedex and was furiously poking through research notes on charjabug. Sycamore leaned back in his seat and pulled out his earbuds, plugging them into his phone and fitting one into his ear before offering the other to his friend. Kukui raised an eyebrow.

"What are you gonna listen to?" he asked, and Sycamore shrugged as he checked his playlist.

"Lecher Bitch next," he announced, and Kukui gave him a hard pass.

"You really do need help."

"It's got a good beat."

"Have you paid attention to the lyrics, man?"

"I used to strip to this song."

"Now you're just over-sharing."

"One time I was cleaning up in tips to it at this little club downtown and the champion at the time tipped me in ultraballs."

"Holy hell, shut up, Gus. Shut up. There's people here, shut up."

Sycamore threw back his head to laugh charmingly. Kukui was fun to tease, and he had to admit—watching him sweat made himself feel a little bit better. He could have most certainly found a hundred and one extra things to say to make his friend even more uncomfortable, but the thought caught in his throat as the final batch of passengers boarded and he saw a familiar face.

Guzma, bag thrown over his shoulder and a sketchbook tucked under his coat, tromped his way up the stairs, following behind an older man dressed like a cop (was a cop?) both of them looking pissed to no end. Sycamore shifted in his seat, pulling himself upright, and Kukui glanced at him again before following his gaze across the ferry.

"Well, well," he called across to them, "look what the meowth dragged in."

Guzma froze in place at the sound of Kukui's voice, turning to him for a moment as his shock turned to an angry sneer. The cop looked completely unenthused by the situation, but he came across to meet them, and Kukui stood to shake his hand.

"Professor," the cop greeted, "and your friend?"

"Good to see you, Nanu," Kukui replied, then motioned to Sycamore. "This is Professor Augustine Sycamore, from Kalos. He's helping me with some research." Sycamore gave him a little half-wave. "So, where are you and your sidekick off to, today?"

"Early community service. Hoping to get him a reduced sentence."

"Hey, that's great! Guzma, that's great! You're getting there, man!"

"Shut the fuck up, Kukui," Guzma seethed, "no one asked ya fuckin' opinion." Nanu leveled him with a warning glare, and still positively fuming, Guzma shut his mouth and took a step back, turning towards the far row of seats.

"Hello, Guzma," Sycamore greeted, "how are your drawings coming?"

Their eyes met. He was so angry. So full of hate. It was much different from the Guzma who joyfully brought him into the underbrush to view the cutiefly. It was even different from the Guzma who threatened to mug the cashier or the Guzma who made him throw his coffee over himself. He genuinely hated Kukui, Sycamore realized.

"Hey, Gus," Guzma said, the force still in his voice but just barely bottled up, "sorry, I—I'm not in the fuckin' mood to talk about it. Maybe next time."

"I'm visiting the cafe after we dock," Sycamore told him, "I'll bring you a Tapu Cocoa."

Guzma shifted on his feet, his glare darting between Sycamore and Kukui like he couldn't decide whether to keep being angry or not. Sycamore offered him his cutest smile to try and help. Eventually, Guzma deflated.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "yeah, I'll catch you when we dock. And you!" He jabbed one finger in Kukui's direction. "I told you already, don't fuckin' talk to me. I don't need your lectures or your bullshit, you get me?" He spun on his heel and went to find the furthest seat from them that he could. The three of them watched him go, until finally Nanu turned back to them looking as though nothing had happened at all.

"We're still working on his 'people skills,'" he told Kukui, putting air quotes around the phrase, "I'd say it isn't going well, but I guess he's made some progress."

"I'm impressed, if anything," Kukui mused, then nudged Sycamore. "Seems like you still got it, Gus. That charm of yours can calm even the most ferocious beasts!"

Sycamore laughed along with them, and quickly Nanu excused himself to go keep an eye on Guzma and, as he said, make sure the man didn't smash anything. Kukui quickly absorbed himself in his work again. Sycamore, settling back in, fit the other bud into his ear and listened to his music for the rest of the trip, watching Guzma out of the corner of his eye as the ferry finally disembarked and sped off across the dark and churning waves.