Mirroring this over from Ao3! Just a little something I'm doing on the side whenever I wanna take a short break from TKH. It's a slowburn with a huge emphasis on slow cuz don't expect this to be updated all that much, lmao.

Don't ask what caused me to ship these two in the first place. All I'm gonna say is this is actually a down-to-earth-crazy-shit-filtered AU of a larger story I started making in middle school and have no intention of ever writing.

It was no secret that the Unova Pokemon League didn't hold the three gym leaders of Striaton City in high regard. They had made a name for themselves as trainers, absolutely blasting through the Gym Challenge at record and sloppy speed. As soon as they had gotten their eighth badge, without even a tournament or Elite Four challenge or anything, they had jumped straight into Gym Leader qualifications and passed the exam at the very skin of their teeth. In the early days, some had offered them grace and assumed they were just a determined young trio with fire and grit. They had a reason to be Gym Leaders and, by Arceus, they were going to do it! It was a trait to be admired. But then time went on, and it became all the more apparent what exactly their reason was…

In the same building of their gym held a moderately sized cafe. Not just any old cafe that offered sweets and drinks. This one offered conversation, companionship, and the promise of being surrounded by a trio of attractive young men. It would've been labeled a debaucherous host club if they had gone any further with their clientele than they were already willing. While it wasn't unusual for Gym Leaders to house side gigs at their venues, each time their reports came in, the League couldn't help but notice something.

Their win rates had been astoundingly abysmal. Of course, gyms were obstacles to be won, but even the most lax of Gym Leaders were known to put up a good fight. The three of them might as well have been handing their badges out as dinner mints. They even once had the gall to describe themselves as a "starter gym" just to lower public expectations of their performance. And then there was the issue with funding. With their agreed upon salary, each gym was expected to reallocate a portion regularly for general upkeep and equipment. And where did their funds go? Well, it certainly wasn't the gym. Though if you asked them, it was. The three had played a dirty trick of offering their food as free and discounted perks to trainers, meaning that any and all cash being funneled over to the cafe side of things technically wasn't breaking contract. If the trio hadn't up and quit themselves, the League would've had no problem finding any loophole possible to kick them out.

The Plasma incident was their wake up call. The utter humiliation of arriving at the castle long after the fact was too much to bear. Even now, they could still remember the looks of contempt from their peers, too full of pent up resentment to accept their Shadow Triad detour excuse. Two years had passed since then, and those stares still haunted them. Almost three months had passed since their reinstatement, and they could still feel their cold judgment. It was no wonder no one was willing to trust them, even if they made it clear they had turned over a new leaf. Heck, it was a miracle they had even been welcomed back. Their new tenure was faced with scrutiny, and this was a reality they were willing to accept.

But even then, they couldn't help but express annoyance at what had become their apparent punishment.

Cress leaned against the counter, chin on his palm and teeth grinding in agitation. It was just another day at the Striaton Gym Cafe. Or at least it was supposed to be if it weren't for a certain someone sitting idly by across the room.

"He's here again," Cress groaned, just loud enough to gather his two brothers over.

"Seriously?" Chili joined Cress's game of I Spy.

"H-he was here just the other day, wasn't he?" Cilan scratched his arm nervously.

"I get the League doesn't like us, but come on, man," Chili straightened his back and sighed. "And of all of them, it's always gotta be Vampire Man they send."

The three resumed their frustrated gazes. A man cloaked in the darkest of cloth and the palest of skin sat quietly at a table isolated near the corner of the store. He had the very image of a wrathful ghost with his thin and bonely form and the smug demeanor of a knowing demon. Just sitting there time and time again in the same shadowy spot made the man named Grimsley appear to be a vengeful blight come to life specifically to haunt the three brothers throughout their days.

And he just sat there, smiling.

That same old "smile".

"Ugh," Cress lightly tapped his brows with the tips of his fingers. "What do we do?"

"What do you mean 'What do we do'?" Chili scoffed incredulously. "Serve him, duh!"

"You're kidding, right? That guy freaks everyone out just by breathing. This has to count as obstructing business at this point. Can't we kick him?"

"That would do us way more harm than good," Cilan sighed. "He hasn't done anything wrong, so unfortunately, he's still a paying customer."

"Give me a break," Cress wiped his palm across his face. "You guys are only being wishy-washy about it because neither of you two have had to serve him."

The two looked away, pretending they hadn't heard that last comment. Indeed, they did have a bit of a system in place at the cafe. If someone came in without requesting a specific server, one of the three would be passed over depending on the general vibe of the customer. Cilan, the gentle and princely one, handled the shy and introverted types. Chili, the loud and outgoing one, handled the more talkative and lively clientele. And as for Cress, he wasn't sure if it was because of the way he chose to style his hair or because of his penchant for sarcastic banter, but he always seemed to get stuck with the alt types. Needless to say, his brothers had silently foisted the role of Grimsley's designated server on to him as early as the man's first visit, and they had absolutely no intention of letting their baby brother dispute the matter.

"Fine," he threw his arms into the air. "One of you better take over dishwashing duty for me."

Cress could already feel Grimsley's sickenly bemused grin as he slowly made his way over to the man's table. He was still fairly newly instated into the League around the time the brothers had fumbled the whole Plasma situation. If it weren't for the fact that their rock bottom reputation had been the talk of the town, that man would've surely taken their place as the Unova black sheep. He had a similar rise to fame as they did; appearing completely out of nowhere and just immediately snatching the open Elite Four spot with no detour in between. Cress had heard murmurs of incomplete background checks—that all anyone could find out about the guy was that he was the heir to fallen old money. No one could figure out what his whereabouts were between his family's ruin and his spontaneous Pokemon trainer career. Frankly, it almost frustrated Cress how much the League was willing to look the other way on this guy in favor of judging them. By the time they had left, the dark type trainer had been in his role long enough that no one had even thought to switch over to him as their new target.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" Cress's voice had come out hoarse and almost exasperated. He'd long given up feigning a courteous guise around this particular customer.

"I've been thinking," Grimsley replied with that irritating smirk of his, completely ignoring his waiter's query. "Shouldn't you be greeting me with something along the lines of, 'Welcome home, master'?"

Cress's eyebrow twitched. This little…

"Contrary to popular belief, this is not that kind of establishment," he replied in annoyance. "Are you ready to order?"

"I also couldn't help but notice." Grimsley laced his fingers together, forming a bridge for his chin. "This is my ninth time visiting and I still have yet to see the three of you participate in a battle."

Cress bit his tongue. It was definitely a bad look, but they had genuinely been struggling to book new challengers ever since their grand reopening. "You just happen to show up on slow days. I don't know what to tell you. Now, let me ask again," He let out a deep sigh. "Are you ready to order?"

Grimsley continued looking at the blue haired boy with the same hollow smile he always had. The same hollow smile Cress hated. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking underneath. If he was amused or aggravated at how close or far he was to making Cress squirm. If he was purposely playing nuisance out of pure amusement or out of pure contempt. If he knew just how fake it looked or if he genuinely thought this blatant mask of his actually worked. Cress hated how he was always greeted with this "smile". He hated how this disgusting imitation could even be qualified as a smile.

As far as he was concerned, he had never once seen Grimsley smile.

"Mint tea, please," the inscrutable man finally replied.

"Just that? Nothing else?"

"Come now, I've been here long enough to be considered a semi regular, haven't I?" He let out a chuckle that was just as void as the rest of his perfectly manufactured face. "When have I ever ordered anything but tea?"

"Okay." Cress could barely keep his eyes from rolling behind his skull. "Whatever you say, sir."

"Uh, uh," Grimsley teasingly wagged his finger in disapproval. "'Whatever you say, master .'"

I hate this man so much.

After Grimsley was promptly served a fresh pot, that marked the end of his and Cress's interaction for the duration of the work day. From then on, things carried on as they usually did whenever he was around. He would stay at that exact spot, meekly sipping his tea and occasionally bringing out his Pokemon to share a cup with them, up until closing time. Not once did he ever call any of the brothers over or talk to another guest. There'd be occasional glances from other customers, in awe of the sight of an Elite Four member just casually out in the wild, but the mystique would quickly fade into the same darkness his naturally eerie atmosphere carried. The whispers of intrigue would falter into whispers of nervous caution. Any steps near his table would quickly peter away in fear of the suffocating presence he exuded. He was like the cafe's very own phantom; an apparition everyone around him was cursed with.

"Does this guy ever eat?" Cress mumbled, having returned to spying on their spy as the business day had begun to draw to a close.

"Just one pot too?" Chili whistled, strangely impressed by this bizarre feat. Their cafe's tea pots were small in size and designed to last a single drinker around one full meal. They offered orders for additional refills, but Grimsley had never taken advantage of them. "How does that guy not just topple over?"

"W-well, it makes sense," Cilan scratched his cheek with a weak smile. "If he's just here to observe us, it'd be best to be as out of the way as possible, I think…."

"Then he'd bring his own food in that case," Chili responded. "Dude thinks he's so above this place, he won't even fully commit to the whole customer bit."

Cress rolled his eyes. On one hand, he was glad he didn't have to put much effort into the guy any more than he had to. But on the other hand, the one representing his honor as a patisserie, he was mildly annoyed that Grimsley had not once expressed any interest in the pastries he painstakingly set up for display each and every day. Heck, the man seemed determined to not even give his craft, or either of his brothers' in fact, the time of day. Even on his first visit, he carelessly set the menu to the side in favor of ordering the most basic tea flavors they offered. It was a wonder if he even knew about their special house brews with how determined he was to keep his palette as milquetoast as possible.

What a weird guy, Cress couldn't help thinking to himself.

As if on cue, Grimsley started heading his way towards the exit. Their operations had wrapped up for the day, and Cress and his brothers had been manning the front counter, crunching numbers as they waited for the last few straggling customers to take their leave.

"I guess I'll be seeing you three again soon," he lightly laughed in an almost mocking manner. "Maybe next time I'll finally see one of you in action."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep coming back. More money for us." Chili waved his arms around flippantly, earning a disapproving nudge from Cilan. Even with his dislike of their pesky inspector, the middle brother stayed true to form and still made an effort to be cordial.

"Th-thank you for visiting the Striaton City Gym Cafe," the green haired sibling bowed like a palace guard. "We hope to see you again in the future."

Dude, don't encourage him, Cress cringed.

He continued gazing over at Grimsley. Gazing at that dumb condescending look of his. Was he even doing it on purpose or was this just his default nature? Something about this man just didn't seem right. Everyone else chalked him up to being creepy and unapproachable, but Cress couldn't help but feel there was something more. He didn't just have a menacing aura. Staring at him was like staring into the uncanny valley itself. Like he was a walking imitation of a person. There was something so off about him, yet he couldn't figure out what.

All he knew was that he could not stand that so-called smile.

"Here."

To everyone's shock, Cress had nonchalantly tossed a bag of cookies over at Grimsley, right before he had made his way out. The man was just as caught off guard as everyone else. He practically scrambled to catch the gift, and his eyes had widened in confusion.

"Leftovers. Gluten free in case that's your thing."

"Well this is out of nowhere," Grimsley eyed the bag with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't like it, give it to your Pokemon or something."

"..."

He left without another word.

"Think he's actually gonna eat it?" Chili asked, still perplexed at his brother's audacious act.

"Beats me," Cress yawned. He started heading upstairs towards the living area, ignoring all the comments Chili kept spewing on about dishwashing duty. Even if the two only exchanged a small handful of sentences amongst each other, dealing with Grimsley was somehow even more draining than an actual gym battle. His plans for the night were a quick shower, maybe a movie or two with his Pokemon, and then straight to bed.

And in the back of his head, he'll be fighting the urge to pull his hair wondering when Grimsley's next visit would be.