If you had told me a few years ago that someday I would be this deep in love with the leader of Team Plasma, I probably would have punched you. But there we were, alone together in my bedroom, nineteen and twenty, with me in my skimpy pajamas.

I guess I'll back up a little.

It was a late spring morning with cool air drifting through the open window, but I could smell some familiar cologne, so it wasn't a total surprise that the first thing my eyes took in was N standing by my bed. He wore a small smile on his face and the same clothes as always, crisp and clean and long-sleeved, despite how hot the day was supposed to get—and his hair was in the same, messy ponytail.

"How long have you been there?" I yawned, pulling the single purple comforter around my neck out of mock modesty, even though I had no problem with him seeing me in my pajamas. 'Pajamas' here had the meaning of 'a tank top and short shorts', but still, it wasn't much more revealing than anything I wore out on the streets.

"Your mother just sent me up to wake you," said N, sitting on my bed.

"You can call her Vanessa, you know," I said, slipping one hand out from under the covers and into his own. He still looked startled whenever I did that, but the expression quickly shifted into a smile. "You're my boyfriend. You're allowed to call my family by their names."

N just shrugged evasively, the way he did whenever he dodged questions. "She says today is chore day, so you should be up by now."

I groaned, retracting my hand and hiding under the covers. I hated chore day. Mom always kept everything so clean you wouldn't think it would be necessary to have a day out of every month devoted to taking the house apart and putting it back together, but she apparently thought otherwise.

N's hand ran gently over the top of the covers, tracing the length of my body as though petting a cat, and I froze before remembering to breathe. Sure enough, as I peeked out from the top of the covers, there was only curiosity in his gaze as he lifted his hand again; he hadn't known better. "Is chore day so bad? It doesn't look like there's that much to do."

"You'd be surprised," I said, rubbing my eyes and slipping out of bed. "She—finds—things." My sentence was broken by a stretch, and I tugged the covers halfheartedly into something resembling order, knowing that I'd only have to remake it with new bedclothes soon anyway. "It's usually my room she has a problem with."

"It looks fine to me," said N, and I couldn't help but smile as I remembered the untidy state of his room in the castle. He probably hadn't ever been forced to clean it. "But I'll help out if you like."

I bit my lip, wondering suddenly if there was anything in my room I specifically didn't want him seeing, and popped a piece of gum into my mouth. Morning breath wasn't the politest way of greeting my boyfriend, which was why I'd made a habit of keeping some gum in one of my drawers. (Just in case.) "As long as you stay out of my dresser."

"Of course," said N immediately, glancing at me sideways with an almost solemn expression, and I gave him a reassuring smile as I sat next to him. He looked away again, visibly relieved, and moved his hand tentatively towards mine, like there was any realistic chance I would refuse him.

My attention was drawn to the chaotic way his hair tumbled down his back, longer even than mine. It didn't look tangled—just naturally unruly as usual—but that didn't stop me from thinking that maybe I'd like to run a brush through it anyway. "Hold still," I said (N nodded, nonplussed), and leaned over to retrieve a comb from the table at the foot of my bed. Moments like these were exactly why I didn't put things away, Mom.

Sitting cross-legged behind him with comb in hand, I tugged out N's hair tie, removed his baseball cap, and set to work. Sure enough, his hair was smoothly brushed already. My comb only caught on a knot or two, which I promptly untangled.

"Aren't you going downstairs to talk to your mother about chores?" asked N after a long and comfortable pause, shooting a questioning glance at me out the corner of his eye. "She said you're late already, and it's only getting later."

"What makes you think I'd be able to straighten out a house if I can't even straighten out your hair?" I returned, debating putting his hair into a braid. I was sure it would look great, after all. He looked good in just about anything.

"But she'll be wondering what we're doing," pressed N.

It wasn't that long ago that he would have been entirely oblivious, but I guess I had taught him a little too well. I took the hint reluctantly and set the comb down beside me. Braids would have to wait. "Fine," I said, but quickly scooped up his hair tie when he moved to put it up again. "Let's see how you look first." I took his arm and dragged him over to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

With his hair down, N bore an uncanny resemblance to Ghetsis, though he stood only five inches or so taller than me. Maybe it was just because the last time I met him was when I was only sixteen, but Ghetsis always struck me as being much taller. I was about to make some flippant remark about the similarities between father and son when N cleared his throat.

"You look good in color," he said clumsily, looking down at me intently. I could feel myself blush, tugging awkwardly at the edges of my tank top. I'd completely spaced out that this one was hot pink. "You never wore much color before."

"Thanks," I said, unable to help but smile, and N returned the gesture. I might have kissed him if he'd stayed like that even a second longer, but instead, he went back to observing our reflections thoughtfully.

"Can I put my hair back up now?" asked N after a short pause, glancing down at his hair around my wrist. "Having it down feels… strange."

"You do look a lot like your father," I said, and reached up to tug three strands of hair out of line before I put my hand over his right eye as the finishing touch. "Your eyes aren't red, but if you wore contacts, you could probably pass for him in a few more decades."

N frowned beneath my hand and turned to me; I withdrew my hand. "I'm adopted. I thought I told you." He reached for his hair tie slowly, and I let him remove it this time, feeling a little guilty. Had I inadvertently stirred up more painful memories?

"But… you look so much like him," I said, trying to choose my words more carefully. "Except for your eyes."

N shrugged, but didn't look particularly bothered, and I gave a silent sigh of relief. I'd accidentally reminded him of his prickly past enough times before, to say nothing of the time I'd practically ruined his life; I didn't want to hurt him yet again. "It's probably just a coincidence."

I snorted. "N, your hair is exactly the same shade of green."

N gave a wry smile, straightening out his new ponytail. "I like to think that's the only similarity between us."

"Yeah," I agreed, standing on one hip and looking up at him as he stared into the mirror, "but still, it's a little too much of a coincidence. I'm still going with Ghetsis being your real father."

N sighed and glanced down at me. "Let's say, for the sake of an argument, that you're right about Ghetsis being my father. How do you explain the fact that he convinced someone to have his child?"

I pursed my lips. "Well, you know better than anyone else that he can be very persuasive when he wants to be. I mean, you saw how many people were converted to Team Plasma. I'm sure whoever your mother is wouldn't have known what a manipulative jerk he really is until after she was already pregnant."

N visibly shuddered and couldn't meet my eyes. "Please don't talk about how I was conceived, if we're still assuming Ghetsis is my father."

"Okay, okay," I laughed, relenting, and N walked back over to my bed to retrieve his baseball cap. "Where'd you get that, anyway?" I dared to ask as he arranged his hat carefully on his head. He'd had it for as long as I could remember, along with the mysterious bangles on his wrist, the cube on his belt, and the pendant hanging around his neck, but N hadn't ever explained any of their origins.

"It's the first thing I ever bought with my own money," said N, smiling reminiscently. "After I was allowed out of the castle for the first time since Ghetsis took me out of the forest."

"So if Ghetsis came back for you… did your mother ever show up again?"

"I don't even remember what she looks like."

"She probably has gray eyes," I said, searching N's expressive gaze. "Since you didn't get Ghetsis's red irises. Or… iris," I amended, thinking of his eyepatch, and wondered fleetingly if his eyes had once been two different colors.

"So if you're so attached to the idea that Ghetsis is my father," said N, gray eyes taking a stormy turn, "what about Anthea and Concordia? He adopted them too, you know. You don't think they're my blood sisters, do you?"

"Now, what kind of a woman would have three of Ghetsis's children?"

"Someone mentally unstable?"

I grinned. "Maybe. But the two of them look too different for all three of you to share a parent." I hadn't thought of his relation to Anthea and Concordia before, but now that he mentioned it… "Maybe you all just have different mothers, or something."

N rolled his eyes. "You're telling me Ghetsis convinced three different women to…?"

I put my hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, all I'm saying is the guy has some serious charisma. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch to say he would be able to get almost any woman he wanted, at least until they figure out that he's actually a psychopath."

Smiling distantly, N sat on my bed again and crossed his arms. "And you think I'm actually related to him?"

"Well, yeah!" I exclaimed, sitting next to him. "You two just look a lot alike, okay? Too much for you to just be adopted. That's all I'm saying."

"But you don't think I act like him?" The question was joking, but I could feel the underlying current of worry there.

I rested my head against his shoulder reassuringly. "Would I be going out with you if you did?"

"You said he could get anyone he wanted, as long as they didn't know he was a psychopath at first," said N, persisting, and crossed his arms. "How do you know I'm not just using you, or something? Just like he might have done my mother?"

The idea of socially-conscious N using anybody was so ridiculous I couldn't stifle a giggle. "Because I know you. 'Like father, like son' is just an expression. I don't think you got anything from him but your looks, and that's not exactly a bad thing."

N raised his eyebrows. "So you think he looks good?"

"You look better," I corrected him. "Your mother must have been a real beauty."

"That wasn't the question," said N, tousling my already messy hair. I growled playfully and gave him a light punch. Of course I didn't think Ghetsis was anything but pure evil, but the only thing about him that wasn't easy on the eyes was that ridiculous robe he'd worn.

My mind jumped a little too easily to the prospects of everyday clothing, which took me abruptly back to the here and now. I wasn't even dressed yet, and Mom was waiting downstairs for me to help out!

Leaping to my feet, I muttered a hasty curse, and N raised his eyebrows. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" asked N, a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes, and stood up as well. For being so innocent, he had a certain way with his body language, and I couldn't stop myself from leaning up to give him a swift kiss on his smirking lips.

At least, I thought it would be swift. The next thing I knew, I heard the distant sound of someone clearing her throat, and jumped quickly away from N to find that my mother stood just inside the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently. "We weren't—!" I tried to explain, flushing, but I knew she'd never believe me.

"Just get downstairs," said Mom, not without humor in her voice, as she turned away to go back downstairs. "Breakfast is getting cold. I don't blame you, N, honey," she added, briefly turning back to face us with a small smile. "My daughter can be very… insistent."

"Thanks, Vanessa," mumbled N, unable to meet her eyes, and only then remembered to remove his hand from around my waist.

"You called me Vanessa!" she exclaimed, beaming at him, and disappeared down the stairs, humming to herself.

I sighed and glanced up at my blushing boyfriend, who looked back down at me with a half-exasperated, half-affectionate expression. "You get me into all kinds of trouble," he said, but the accusation in his voice was halfhearted, and he followed me as I led the way to the door.

"And you like it," I said, closing the door behind us.

"Sometimes," said N, brushing another kiss past my cheek as he passed me on his way down the stairs. "But, after breakfast, would you do something for me?"

"Sure, I guess?" I wasn't going to have another Pokémon battle, and I wasn't going to go traveling with him yet—not now that I had finally come home again. Besides those two, I couldn't think of anything I wouldn't do for him.

"You've got to let me comb your hair out and tell you how much you look like your mother," said N, smiling sweetly, and as we sat across from one another at the breakfast table, I knew once and for all that I had met my match.