It was still raining by the time the ferry pulled into port. Sycamore had hoped that perhaps the rain wasn't as wide-reaching as it initially seemed, that maybe the clouds would part and the sun would greet them, but no—it was still humid and wet and the wind blew his hair around and back into his face, making him feel like a wet furfrou as they ran from the ferry into the Ula'Ula marina's terminal. Kukui shook himself off like his lycanroc, trying to squeeze the rain out of his bun with a grimace. Nanu, who had brought an umbrella, flicked it dry before collapsing it down.

"You gonna be alright in this rain, kid?" he said to the professor, "I'm parked out front. I can drive you wherever you need to go." Kukui grimaced as he glanced out the window.

"Seriously doesn't look like it's letting up any time soon, yeah," he huffed. "I don't wanna keep you. Aren't you taking the boy wonder back to Po Town?"

"Fuck off," Guzma grumbled behind him, "I'm not a goddamn child." He seemed largely unbothered by his own soaked clothes, as he had neither a raincoat nor an umbrella, but merely threw his jacket's hood up over his hair. Sycamore wondered how he stood it.

Nanu fished his keys out of his pocket, a mass weighing heavily down on his key ring, and he shrugged. "Ain't like I can't take my eyes off him for a few minutes," he said as though he hadn't heard Guzma at all, "what trouble is he going to get himself into?" Kukui raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem entirely comforted when Sycamore placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You two go on," Sycamore told him, "if I bring you home with a cold, I'm sure Burnet will make sure no one ever finds my body. We will be in the cafe until you get back."

"I'm not sure I trust either of you to behave," Kukui answered him pointedly, "because I distinctly remember when I left you alone with Aurea when I was negotiating at the Pokemon League, and—"

"That wasn't my fault!" Sycamore protested, "she's crafty! Like I was supposed to know what she meant when she dared me to shotgun hard liquor!"

"Then why did you do it?"

He shrugged.

"It sounded fun."

Nanu cut them off with an impatient growl, tapping his foot as he stared Kukui down. Kukui bashfully rubbed the back of his neck and apologized. Sycamore waved them off as they ran outside and ducked into Nanu's squad car, and watched them drive off until they turned around the corner and out of sight. Mentally wishing them a safe travel, he turned back around with a tired smile. Guzma was still sulking next to him, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"You're not my babysitter," he grumbled.

"No," Sycamore agreed, "I never thought I was."

Guzma was always hunched over, he found himself musing as they stared at each other. Not just a slouch, but deliberate, curling in on himself defensively as though he were either trying to hide in his big jacket, or preparing to root himself for a fight at the drop of a hat. He wondered how tall he would be if he stood up properly. Not as tall as Lysandre had been, surely? He tried to imagine it. How... how tall had Lysandre been? He was a massive man. A little over two metres, of course, he knew that. But how tall was that? His stomach dropped as he came to the horrifying realization that his memories were just... a bit too fuzzy. He recalled the way he always had to look up to meet his eyes, but how far up was too up? Had he really needed to crane his neck so much?

"Hey," Guzma said, frowning, "you good?"

"I," Sycamore began, his mouth suddenly dry, and he coughed, then swallowed to try and wet it, then finally mumbled out, "yes. I'm fine. We should... we should go to the cafe. Where... ah...?" He pushed past Guzma to press his nose to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes to block out the glare from the lights as he distracted himself. "I don't... see the..."

A rough and calloused hand landed between his shoulders, just under his hair at the base of his neck, and before he could register what was going on, Guzma was guiding him towards the door.

"It's just around the corner," Guzma told him, "come on. Hood up, 'cause we're gonna book it. You'll catch your death out there." Still straining his memory, Sycamore obeyed.

Their feet splashed through puddles and slapped on the concrete sidewalk as they ran, Guzma just ahead and Sycamore lagging a few steps behind. He didn't tend to run much, and his lungs began to ache with his awkward pants, nearly slipping and falling when they skidded to a stop just outside of the pokemon center. Guzma helped him steady himself, then patted him on the shoulder.

"Tapu Cocoa for me," he told him as he fished out his wallet, "my treat, today."

It looked like a beedrill.

"It's alright," Sycamore mumbled, "I can... I have my own cash and..."

"Gus." Guzma took his hand and pressed the few bills into his palm. "Let me pay you back. A'ight? I got pride too, ya know. Help ya boy out, here, I'm dyin' for somethin' warm."

Sycamore swallowed again, squeezing his hand closed and hardly noticing the way he crushed and crinkled the paper. Guzma didn't say anything about it. He just nudged Sycamore towards the door. They slid open, and Sycamore began to take a step in, but paused and looked back helplessly when he realized Guzma wasn't following him.

"Aren't you—inside...?" he asked, and Guzma's eyes slid off to the side as he lowered his head.

"I'm, uh," he mumbled back, "I'm not allowed inside. They'll kick me out. So... hurry up, yeah? It's getting' a little cold out here."

Sycamore did his best to focus on his breaths as he awkwardly ordered at the cafe counter, then still as he waited for the drinks to be ready. Slowly, the cloud of anxiety drifted on by, leaving him a little drained in its wake but at the very least, his tunnel vision faded and the tension left his body. The drinks were delightfully hot when he finally picked them up, and he lifted his latte to his nose to inhale the aroma of the deep roast. The bitter smell was comforting.

When he returned outside, Guzma was squatting boredly against the wall, just under the center's neon sign with his knees tucked as close to himself as he could possibly get them. He was watching the rain collect at the edge of the roof's overhang, smaller droplets combining until they grew too large and fell with heavy plops near the toes of his shoes. When Sycamore stopped next to him, he looked up, then pushed himself to his feet and reached for the cocoa he held out to him. It was then Sycamore noticed his arm was looking... purple? Bruised? He thought briefly back to what Guzma said when they were on Melemele and looking for cutiefly, about his father, about the golph clubs, and worried, his eyes shot back up to Guzma's. Guzma blinked, then glanced between Sycamore and his forearm.

"Oh, those?" he said with a grimace, "yeah. Sorry. Frankly, I'm surprised the concealer even held up this long in the rain. Remind me to leave a good review for it online, later." He rubbed at one arm, and Sycamore let out a sigh of relief: not bruises, but a tattoo.

"I thought you were hurt," he admitted, "don't apologize. It's a lovely color." He took a sip of his latte to calm himself down, then motioned at the tattoo with his cup. "Where did you have it done?"

"My little sis, Plumes," Guzma told him, "she's real good. I keep telling her to open a tat parlor, but she's more interested in training, these days." He jerked his head off down the street, and Sycamore followed behind him as they traced their way under the line of overhangs, ducking from one to another as they passed by the brief gaps between buildings.

"Why do you hide them?" Sycamore called ahead to him. Guzma shrugged.

"I think they scare people a little," he admitted, "I'm tryin' not to do that so much, anymore."

Finally, they came to the next street up the block, and Guzma looked both ways before sprinting across. Sycamore dashed after him, and the two came to a halt under the shelter of a covered bus stop. Guzma sat himself down on the old wood bench, slouching as he tried to find a way to stretch his legs that wouldn't leave his feet exposed to the elements. Sycamore sat on the opposite side, holding his drink close. They sat there and shivered together for a while, sipping intermittently at their drinks as they watched sheets of rain pass them by and listened to it splatter on the cover overhead. Every now and then, a car would go by. At some point the bus stopped near them, but no one got off and Guzma waved the driver off.

"So," Guzma said after a while, drawing in a heavy sigh, "you wanna talk 'bout it?" Sycamore shot him a glance.

"I don't know what you mean," he answered.

"Bullshit. You were on the verge of a breakdown, man, and even I could see it."

"I said I don't know what you mean." Stubbornly, he made a point of looking anywhere but Guzma, who rolled his eyes and leaned towards him with a serious expression.

"Bullshit," he repeated, and when Sycamore tried to scoot away, he scooted closer, refusing to let him run. "You know who used to feed me that kinda crap? Twenty-sum'n-odd little shits who were much better'n you at hidin' shit. Hardened criminals."

"How old were they?" Sycamore tried to change the subject, and Guzma sneered.

"That's besides the point."

"Because you make it sound like they're very young."

"The point," Guzma stressed, "is the longer you hold that shit in, the worse it's gonna be when it boils over. Take it from me. You don't wanna talk to me, that's fine. I hardly fuckin' know ya. But talk to someone."

His latte was starting to rapidly cool in the rainy weather, Sycamore noted as he took another long sip, staring back down the road. He hadn't really gotten a proper look at the city when they were running. A lot of the buildings looked the same as they had on Melemele, but as his tired eyes roamed the skyline, he recognized the shapes of pagoda towers rising up, and some buildings that looked like they had been lifted straight out of Johto. It reminded him of his days spent studying under the apprenticeship of Rowan in Sinnoh, taking weekend trips down to Kanto or Johto or, in the summer, even Hoenn. Things had felt just as hopeless then, he recalled. But he'd been able to climb out. What had changed? His eyes continued to roam, until they landed on a particular building towards the top of the nearby mountain. An observatory, if he remembered correctly.

It was work, wasn't it? Having something to focus on. It was only after he really began to apply himself to his work as an assistant that he became comfortable in Rowan's home. That was when the world had opened up and he saw, firsthand, the beauty and intricacies of evolution science. Until then it had only been old books.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat and pulled his phone from his back pocket, scrolling through his notes app as he turned back.

"Guzma," he said, "you like bug pokemon a lot, yes?" Guzma flatly nodded, unimpressed by this newest attempt to change the subject, but Sycamore more or less ignored him as he pulled up a photo he'd taken of one of Kukui's readings from the charjabug and held it out hopefully to him. "What can you tell me about this one?"

"Charjabug?" Guzma snorted, "what's this about?"

Sycamore explained the problem in detail, the wild fluctuation in the readings, the difficulties Kukui described in getting the magnet to attach to the pokemon in the first place. As he spoke, Guzma took the phone from him to zoom in on parts of it, seemingly forgetting their prior conversation altogether as he focused hard on the numbers.

"Kukui thought perhaps that boy Sophocles might know something," Sycamore told him, "I suppose that's why we came here."

"Yeah, he might," Guzma agreed, "kid's trained himself up a pretty badass vikavolt. He's sent a few of mine scurrying in the past with that beast."

"What about you? You're an expert, yes?"

Guzma laughed aloud at that. "I dunno 'bout that," he said, but still he frowned at the readings, then scratched his fluffy hair idly. "How you puttin' the magnet on it?" he finally asked. Sycamore blinked.

"How are we... what do you mean?" He couldn't imagine many ways to have a charjabug hold a magnet. It wasn't like they had hands. You just kind of had to let it happen. Guzma handed the phone back to him.

"Well, you usin' the horseshoe magnet trainers like to use?" he asked, "'cause that might be your issue. You can't just—charjabug, see, they're kinda funny? I had that problem with mine for a while." A pause. "I could show you, but, uh, mine's—well, he's in my box, and there's this... this lock on my trainer card, I don't got the pin, uh, Nanu—he's, uh, supposed to log me in and—"

"Oh," Sycamore said, "no, it's fine. I understand. Rules are rules." He drummed his fingers along the edge of the bench as he thought, peering this way and that until his eyes slid back hopefully to Guzma's. Guzma stared blankly back at him until realization dawned, and he scowled.

"No," he said firmly, and Sycamore scooted closer to him, his face splitting into a toothy grin.

"Please?" he asked sweetly, and he knew he had him right where he wanted him when he noticed the curious tinge of pink cross Guzma's cheeks. He leaned further. Guzma leaned back. As he dialed the lillipup eyes up to nine, it felt... nice. It was a nice change from moping. For a brief and shining moment, it felt like things were normal. Guzma turned the other way and mumbled incoherently, and Sycamore was transported back to a day long ago teasing his friend in the back of an antique bookstore. He stood and grabbed Guzma by the hand, pulling him up from his seat.

"No," Guzma said again, with much less conviction than before, "I don't wanna see Kukui again, man."

"We'll be so quick!" Sycamore promised him, "we'll take the bus up the mountain, and as soon as we've seen your charjabug, I will make sure Kukui goes straight home without bothering you!" Guzma groaned, but as Sycamore tugged, he stood and slouched next to him.

"Where did this energy come from?" he grumbled as Sycamore leaned out into the rain to peer up and down the street for the bus.

They didn't have to wait too much longer, and when they boarded the next one there were plenty of empty seats to choose. They sat towards the back, Sycamore in the window seat and Guzma next to him, and watched the world pass them by as the driver took them up the winding road towards the observatory. They were lucky, Sycamore mused as they went, because they were sitting on the side with the ocean view, protected from careening down seaside cliffs by a single metal guard rail that looked to have seen better days. The waves were dark and churning, and most of the pokemon were either deep underwater or hiding somewhere out of sight. He watched the ocean buffet against rocky outcroppings even as the bus moved to higher and higher ground, his cheek pressed to the bus window.

"Doesn't that freak you out?" Guzma asked as he gazed over his shoulder, his nose scrunching at the obscene distance, but Sycamore only shook his head.

"No," he answered quietly, "heights don't bother me."

The last time Guzma made this trip, he walked up the mountain in the heat of summer sun with his golisopod at his side, toting behind him a little sun-bleached wagon with a few junker laptops carefully hidden under his skull jacket. After everything that happened with Aether, he made a point to avoid walking up Hokulani just as much as he made a point to avoid Kukui, and for mostly the same reason: he had no intention of speaking with Molayne. Not anymore. It had been a difficult decision to make, to cut all ties with him, but at the time, he thought it would have been for the best. After all, who wanted to be associated with Guzma, especially after that mess? He was basically doing Molayne a favor.

Guzma knew this was going to be awkward as hell.

The bus dumped them off just outside of the observatory. It was huge, bright blue, multi-storied and multi-winged, with a giant satellite dish on one end and a big, powerful telescope on the other. It was also one of the few places left in Alola he was never immediately kicked out from. At least, it had been. He wondered briefly if Molayne had changed his mind about that, yet.

Next to Guzma was Gus, whose eyes opened wide and whose mouth hung the slightest bit open as he took in the sight of the grand building. It was a complete one-eighty from the anxious and lost man Guzma had dragged to the cafe just earlier that day. That was the only reason why he'd even agreed to come up here in the first place: he preferred this Gus, bright with curiosity and wonder.

"This is fantastic!" Gus said as Guzma led him towards the front doors, "and you didn't want to come? Ah, I wonder if they would let us look through the telescope, imagine how much they can see!"

"It's a pretty fuckin' cool telescope," Guzma admitted, "I bet if you ask nicely, Molayne would let ya. He's a pretty chill dude." He didn't stop at the front desk, and none of the front desk workers stopped them; Guzma was used to this. He pulled Gus down one hall, having to pull him away from peeking into open rooms more than once, then up a set of stairs, and finally to a specific door with a stainless steel placard that he didn't bother to wait and read before he shoved the door open.

It was Molayne's office, which Guzma was quite familiar with. He kept bringing laptops to him back in his Skull days. Cracked screens, broken keyboards, blown power supplies, Molayne had helped him through it all. Guzma felt maybe a little bad, cutting him out, when he saw the way Molayne's eyes widened as he came to see who had let themselves in.

The man was a complete beanpole, and there was no way to put it kindly. He was too tall and looked like he rarely ate a bite, which was astounding, because Guzma was certain he spent most of his day working in front of a computer. His blue bomber jacket was pulled snugly around his shoulders as always, because he seemed perpetually chilly, and he adjusted his glasses as he tried to piece out why, exactly, Guzma was darkening his doorstep.

Next to him was Kukui, who had been in the middle of ranting about something on his pokedex. Nanu sat nearby in a chair, his hands comfortably folded over his stomach as he tried to nap through the situation. Kukui looked just as surprised as Molayne.

"Guzma," he said, but Molayne held up a hand to quiet him, and even more confused, Kukui obeyed, his eyes shooting between them. Molayne smiled softly.

"I didn't think you'd be visiting again," he said in his soft voice, then with a hint of amusement, "and no computer for me to fix? Did something happen?"

"...Hey, Molayne," Guzma said, "I... uh, I came for Nanu. I brought..." He motioned lamely next to him, only to realize Gus was far off down the hallway, eagerly sneaking glances into more rooms. Guzma huffed. "Well... never mind. I guess it doesn't matter."

"I'm glad you're here." Molayne motioned him in, and Guzma ducked his head as he went to Nanu's side. The old cop grunted as he pulled himself upright.

"What did you do?" he flatly accused.

"Nothin'," Guzma answered him a little defensively, "I just needed to get a pokemon out of my box."

Kukui wasn't one to be contained for long. Before Nanu could answer, before Molayne could stop him again, he sprang to his feet and came forward to confront him, and Guzma, who was bound and determined to get his stupid charjabug, planted his feet firmly and held his ground.

"Guys," Molayne tried, "do we have to do this now?"

Kukui and Guzma ignored him.

"I'm surprised you followed us," the professor said, folding his arms across his chest, "any time I try and catch you, you U-Turn and bolt." Dammit. The puns. Not the puns. Guzma glowered.

"Like I said," he repeated, "I'm here for Nanu."

Nanu couldn't be fucked to intervene, of course. Could never be fucked to intervene. Guzma tried to focus on the mission. It was important. He imagined the way Sycamore would smile when they talked about the charjabug together, the way Guzma would show him how to properly give the pupa a magnet. He had hardly known Sycamore for more than a couple days, but it was important to him, he realized, that he could make the man smile at least one more time before he left the region.

"Molayne says you used to be a frequent visitor, before Ultra Space."

"The fuck else am I gonna get to fix a goddamn computer on this rock?"

"It's nice that you kept in touch with him."

"You gonna keep standin' in my way, or you gonna let my lovely parole officer escort me out?"

"You didn't keep in touch with me."

Guzma sneered. Of course. It always came to this. Nagging. Shittalking. Kukui always pestered him, like he wasn't the fucking problem. He tried to focus on the tapu cocoa, on the moment he shared with Gus in the thick island jungle, but something began to boil inside of him. He couldn't look Kukui in the eye. It was too infuriating. He gazed past him, towards the rest of Molayne's desk. Big monitors with a lot of weird programs running. A coffee mug. Snack wrappers. Papers. A framed photograph of three boys proudly holding up their island challenge amulets.

"Fuck you," Guzma spat, "you're always like this. You can't fucking—you won't even acknowledge when you're wrong about something!" His hands clenched into tight fists. Kukui didn't back down.

"It's not my fault you couldn't keep up!" Kukui finally snapped, "hell, Guzma, what did you think was going to happen when all you did was play with your bugs all day? You couldn't beat me, much less Molayne—!"

"Don't drag me into this!" Molayne cried, trying to tug Kukui back.

"—did you really think you would finish your challenge like that?"

Something about Kukui always made Guzma just snap. He lunged, fist cocked and ready to put the professor in his goddamn place, when Nanu finally leaped from his seat to yank him back. Molayne shoved himself between the two, pushing Kukui firmly back towards the computer.

"Bullshit, not your fault!" Guzma yelled, "bull-fucking-shit! You left—you fucking—" He struggled against Nanu, lashing and lunging, but the old man was surprisingly strong and still more than capable. Finally he gave up, shoving himself back a few steps. His voice broke. "You left me behind, you egotistical prick."

Kukui bristled. "I didn't leave you, I—"

"That's enough," Nanu broke in, "do I need to put you two in time-out, or are you done acting like children?" Sourly, Kukui and Guzma eyed him, then each other. Guzma still wanted to break something, but he breathed deeply. The research was more important. He repeated it over and over as a mantra in his head, letting out a long, suffering sigh as he dragged one hand tiredly over his face.

"Look," he said weakly, "I just need to get my charjabug out so I can show Gus how to put a magnet on it right."

"I can help," Molayne confirmed. He looked for approval from Nanu, who gave him a short nod, and then sat himself in front of his desk to type away at his computer. Guzma tried to ignore the confusion that passed over Kukui's face. There was a small knock at the door. When Guzma turned to look, Gus was leaning in with a huge grin on his face.

"This place is absolutely fantastic," he told them, but as he looked around at the mix of tired and angry faces, his own grin faltered. "...Did... something happen?"

How quickly the tables turned. Guzma averted his gaze. "I don't think any of us want to talk about it," he said quietly.

As soon as Molayne had withdrawn his charjabug's pokeball, Guzma took it out into the hallway to let the little guy out. Gus and Kukui followed him. His charjabug was particularly fat, and he had a sweet disposition. Guzma had once taught him how to kiss on command. For now, his fat little charjabug lazed on the floor where he let him out, a little dazed from the transportation.

"This is Cruller," Guzma introduced them, and he knelt next to the pokemon, plopping his bag on the ground next to it. The others watched him carefully as he dug inside and produced a small, straight bar magnet, and a roll of electrical tape. At first they seemed confused, and Guzma couldn't blame them. He flipped Cruller onto his back and stuck the magnet to his belly. Then. He took the electrical tape and wrapped a piece loose enough for the bug to breathe but just snug enough to keep the item held in place.

"Are you joking?" Kukui asked incredulously, and Guzma shook his head.

"You want a magnet to work, you gotta put in the right place," he said, "charjabug are weird. Their electricity runs through the belly, front to back, but not on top. You put a magnet up there, ain't gonna get as good of results. At the end of the day, they're still just bugs, not pikachu."

Kukui dropped to his knees next to him, then dug in his own back for a handheld EMF reader to turn on and wave near the charjabug.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, "it works?" He scratched his beard, thought deeply, and finally sat back onto the floor, arms crossing again over his chest. "I guess I can tell Mo I don't need Sophocles, but..."

"That's amazing, Guzma," Gus praised him, and Guzma pulled himself up a bit straighter. He was smiling. It was soft and brought the warmth to his heart that Guzma chased so often. The man was a stranger. A complete stranger. It felt like the Skull days again. Made him feel like he was useful. So he cleared his throat and stuffed his hands intro his pockets.

"You can borrow him," he said, "for your research. I know you take good care of pokemon." Kukui laughed, but it was strained.

"You just tried to assault me, yeah, and now you wanna act like my buddy?" But he took the pokeball all the same, and when Guzma reluctantly offered him a hand, Kukui awkwardly took it, and the two rose to their feet.

"I'm not doing it for you," he told the professor, "I'm doing it because Gus wouldn't leave me the hell alone about it." Kukui put Cruller back into the pokeball, then attached it to his belt.

"Well," he said, "I'll appreciate it all the same. I've got a lot of work to do. Don't be a stranger, Guzma. Especially to Molayne."

"Fuck off," Guzma replied as he turned to go find Nanu, "I don't need you to tell me what to do."

He was half-way back down the hall when Gus called after him, and he paused as he ran to catch up. He grabbed Guzma's arm as he approached, gently, with a smile to match.

"Thank you," Gus told him, "for your help. Really. If there's anything we can do to repay you, I..."

Guzma patted his hand, then slowly peeled it off and pushed it back towards him. "Don't mention it," he mumbled. He wasn't used to that kind of attention. It made the blood rush to his face, and awkwardly he took a step back. "Just... think about what I said earlier, alright?"

And leaving a frowning Gus in his wake, Guzma took a deep breath, turned on his heel, and marched his way back to Nanu, hoping at the very least, the old man would overlook this outburst. Or, Guzma winced as he thought, maybe he'd try and get a few more hours slapped onto his sentence. That seemed like a Nanu thing to do.

At the very least, for now, he wouldn't have to deal with Kukui, and Po Town was waiting to welcome him back.