"What is a Zorua doing in my apartment?"
Don't yell, sir! I smelled pancakes.
"Great. A Zorua whose voice appears in my head invaded my apartment for pancakes."
King slumped against the counter, exhaling. He dropped the knife he'd been holding back into the drawer, then closed it with a thud.
"Alright," he said, looking at the Pokemon. It trotted over to one of the rays of sunlight trickling in through the window, and laid in the warmth, licking its paws. "Come on, time for you to get out."
It jolted to a stand. Do I have to leave now? King heard in his head. It was a creepy experience like his thoughts were talking to him but in a different, higher voice.
He cleared his throat. "Yup. Out you go. I've got to get all this stuff out of here, anyway."
Really? How come?
"Because, I-" He cut himself off, giving it a sideways look. Was he really having a conversation with a Pokemon? It was a wonder how it had gotten into the apartment in the first place. Probably snuck in as he'd been leaving that morning, then raided his fridge while he was gone. He'd have to get rid of it.
"Hey, guess what?"
Oh, hey! What?
"There are more pancakes outside. Oh yeah, I keep a whole bunch out there." He stepped over to the door and opened it, gesturing outside. The Zorua scampered over and peered out.
Really? Where? You're not lying?
He picked it up, feeling its silky black and red fur brush against his fingers, and placed it outside, then shut the door and clicked the lock. He smiled in satisfaction. Better go clean the bedroom now, he thought, stepping in that direction. The apartment still smelled sweet like pancakes, and he imagined he'd have a whole mess of stickiness to clean. Zoruas had always interested King, ever since he was a little kid, because of their unique ability to transform into people and other Pokemon. If used right, that had the potential to be a force on the battlefield, but most trainers he'd seen battle with them tended to underuse the ability or forgo using it altogether. The one he'd placed outside was unusually human-like in its attitude, probably because of some over-developed physic powers. Impressive, sure, but he didn't want any Pokemon around him. Not now, and not ever.
I can't become a trainer, he thought. I can't. He would find another job, that's what he would do. He'd find another place to live. He had to think of a plan, that was all. That was what he was good at. That was what he could do, what he was best at doing.
Hey! There aren't any pancakes out there!
He froze, startled for a moment, then sighed. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see a Tynamo squeezing under the door, then watched as it dissolved into a bright ball of light and appeared back again as a Zorua. It frowned at him.
Not nice. Don't you have any morals?
He snorted despite himself. "Morals? What would a Pokemon know about morals?"
I don't know, it said, jumping onto his couch. I just heard a human say that once.
"Alright, listen, get off the couch, would you? You'll get dirt on it."
It gave him a wry smile before tucking into the corner, between the cushion and the arm. King groaned but ended up shaking his head and deciding to ignore the thing. It would leave; eventually, he was sure, if he didn't give it any attention.
He stepped into the bedroom, shoes tapping on the wooden floor. The door creaked as he pushed it all the way open, then undid his tie, which relieved the pressure around his neck. He chucked it onto the bed. Right at the foot, where the Zorua had been standing as King, was an upside-down platter surrounded by syrup that reflected the lamp-light above. King sat down on the bed, pointedly not looking at the poster of a Pokemon battle he had above the backboard.
Thirty days. King would have to hire Gurdurr-Movers to get all his stuff out. Where was he going to get the money for that? Where would he even put the furniture? Where would he live afterward? Where? Where? Where?
Calm down, King, he told himself, shuddering. Calm down. Just start thinking about what to do, and everything will be alright.
That didn't make him feel any better.
Hey, what are you doing in here?
King blinked, looking over his shoulder. "You're still here?"
It looked guiltily at the plate on the floor.
Sorry. I'm sorry, sir. You're probably mad at me. I was just so hungry and everything.
"Never mind that, seriously," he said as it hopped onto the bed. "Why are you still here? I don't have any food left for you."
I… um… Its tail slumped. I had a friend. He got chosen by a trainer. I thought maybe I'd try and find a trainer, too! It seems like so much fun. Are you a trainer? Have you ever thought about becoming a trainer?
King froze. It is not asking me this right now.
Hey, you can hear me in your brains, right? Are you a trainer?
"No," he muttered, standing. He licked his lips.
You're not? Well, why don't you become one?
"I can't."
You know, sir, I heard there was this really cool-
"I said I can't and won't and never will become a trainer!" He shouted, silencing the voice in his head. "Do you understand me? I don't want to become a trainer! This is the life for me!"
Somewhere off in the distance, a Pidove croaked. The thick tension in the bedroom absorbed the chirp until there was nothing left but silence.
The Zorua's ears folded back and it looked like it wanted to curl into itself and cry. Instead, it slunk away from the room, and King had a distinct impression, once it had left, that it had gone for good.
He threw himself down onto the bed, chest heaving. Sweat pooled at the armpits of his undershirt. This wasn't like him. This was entirely unlike him. King didn't let his emotions get the best of him. That was what people of low intelligence, like Terrance and Stephanie, that was what they did, but not King. He was a higher-class of person, the best kind of person. He controlled his emotions. He knew what he wanted. He had a plan for everything at any moment. Oh, yes, ask him anything, and he would have an answer. What are you going to do now that your stupid show of confidence got you fired, King? Oh, don't you worry, King, I know what to do. I know what I want to, and it isn't to become a trainer.
He rose, arms dangling limply at his sides. Every time he looked at the walls around him, it looked like they were coming closer, pushing farther and farther inward until they would squeeze him and crush him down to nothing but blood and dust.
Something needed to change. That Zorua was wrong. King had no desire to become a trainer. And, besides, even if he did, his dad had made it abundantly clear that he would never be good enough. Never compare to him. Don't ever try it, son. If you do, I will hunt you and your Pokemon down, and I will beat you into the dirt until you never feel like getting up again. You will never be good enough to become a trainer.
He squeezed the bedsheets, so hard that the muscles in his arm felt about to pop. Don't think about that voice. Ignore that voice. You don't have a father. Oh, yes, that's right. I don't.
He swallowed a deep breath of air, filling his lungs, held it there, then let it all out. Finished with that, he went into the kitchen, wet a rag, and began cleaning up the mess left for him by the Zorua.