Unknown Month, Unknown Year

"Ingo? Ingo! Get up, you big lump! You slept in! You're going to be late!"

Ingo groaned, turning over to push back his blankets. He gave a loud yawn, rubbing at his eyes and then wincing as he turned to face the illuminated doorway. Another figure had just been on their way out when they turned and grinned at him with a smile he knew to be exasperated. They were already in their uniform apart from their hat, their Eelectross floating behind them. Oh, it's only Emmet.

"Are you sick? Again?" Emmet asked. "I can call the office. We do have quite a lot of vacation time."

"No, no. That's not necessary, Emmet." Ingo tried rousing himself but failed, sinking back into his bed. A dull ache spread through his back and into his shoulders.

"I am calling them now."

"Emmet, please-"

"This is Emmet. Oh, hello Isadore." Emmet trailed out of the room, leaving Ingo to draw his comforters up to his chin. He could still clearly hear Emmet speaking with one of the depot agents in the kitchen. "No, Ingo is sick today. Uh-huh. Yeah, I know. Oh, could you? Yup. That would be great."

Durant crawled up the side of the bedframe and up onto Ingo's chest, clicking its mandibles as it settled down on top of him. The little bug-type always managed to figure out when either he or Emmet became sick and, like clockwork, would lay on top of them in an effort to get more pets than usual. Ingo would oblige his brother's pokémon that day.

He could see Chandelure hanging in the corner of the room, eyeing him from her dark corner looking a little tired herself. All Ingo felt was fatigue. Just a little bit of a sore throat too. Nothing that would jeopardize his ability to work, certainly. He was just about to call out to Emmet. To tell him to cancel that call-in when-

"Okay. I called Isadore and he gave both of us the day off," Emmet declared, ducking back into Ingo's room. "Isn't that great?" He walked in carrying a glass of water and some soup.

"How did you even make this that quickly?" Ingo rasped.

"Canned soup. We forgot to go grocery shopping last week."

"Did we really?"

"Did we really?" Emmet mocked him, one of his eyebrows raising as he leaned against the doorframe. "Dearest brother, have you looked at our pantry recently?"

"...No."

"You should," Emmet responded. "It's barren. Empty. You wanted to wait until this weekend."

"Sue me."

"Fight me."

Ingo gave his brother one exasperated glare before laying his head back down. "Maybe tomorrow."

"I will hold you to it."

Ingo shook his head and graciously took the soup, leaving Emmet to wander off into the living room as he reclined against his headboard. Why do I feel so unwell today? He racked his brain thinking of anything that might leave him feeling so out of it. What did I do yesterday? He had gotten up early, fed the team, took the surface streets to Gear Station, did his usual nine to five job, returned back to his shared apartment in Nimbasa City with Emmet, ate dinner, and then promptly went to sleep.

Perhaps one of my challengers was sick and I've simply caught whatever was in the air? Maybe. So Ingo ate his soup and relaxed in his bed. He thought it nice, listening to the ample background noise as Emmet talked to their conjoined team, performed something noisily in the kitchen again, and then most likely retreated into their shared living room.

After maybe an hour of laying down, Ingo decided that he had wasted enough time and rose to his feet. The fatigue was still present but it was minimal at best. Enough that he would be able to take care of things around the house as well and possibly get something else to eat. Almost as soon as he had left his room and wandered into the living room, Chandelure dropped down from the ceiling and floated after him.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting, old man?" Emmet teased the moment Ingo shuffled in.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Ingo retorted. "And we're both in our late twenties. Don't get cocky."

"Cocky? Me? Cocky?" Emmet reclined dramatically, arm across his forehead as he shot Ingo an offended look. "I went through the trouble of making you soup and everything! You're mean!"

"You didn't even bring me crackers to go with my soup," Ingo huffed, crossing his arms. "How am I supposed to enjoy my soup without my old-man crackers?" Ingo peeked into the pantry, scoffing. "Nevermind. We don't have the good brand."

"The Bisqo brand," Emmet filled in, nodding. "You wish. Really, the best crackers for soup. We're getting off topic! You're sick and that means I might be sick too! We should both be resting."

"You certainly don't look sick," Ingo snarked, rinsing his bowl in the sink. "Who's taking over for us today?"

"Cameron and Ramses. I think they just recently switched their teams around too." Emmet turned over on the couch, pulled out his Xtransciever and he began aimlessly scrolling. After a while, he settled on something.

"Train man!" yelled a familiar voice.

"I am Emmet. Hello Elesa."

"Morning Emmet! Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I am, but Ingo is sick so we're both off."

"Ingo is sick? Isn't that like… the third time this month?"

"It is not!" Ingo interjected, getting a mug from the cabinet. "I am just tired. Emmet is blowing things out of proportion, as per usual."

Emmet glared at him from the couch and blew a loud raspberry. "Not fair!" He then paused and the usual smile he wore vanished. "Hey… when did you grow a goatee? We're supposed to match, Ingo! Two-car train, remember?"

"Goatee?" Ingo felt around his jaw until his fingers stumbled across a thick patch of hair on his chin, rough and dry but neatly trimmed. When did I grow a goatee? He abandoned his mug and entered the bathroom, peering at his reflection in the mirror.

"Did you have a makeover in the middle of the night?" Emmet had followed him, looking a bit peeved as he rubbed the area around his own bare chin. "Maybe I should grow a goatee."

"Please don't," Elesa begged. "Emmet, put me on video chat! I need to see this! One of you finally has facial hair at long last!"

"Don't you dare," Ingo warned.

"Too late!"

Elesa looked first at Ingo and then at his goatee and then laughed. "Dragons above, Ingo! You look like an old man with that goatee! How'd you even grow it specifically on your chin? Come on, dude."

"Old Man Ingo," Emmet snarked. He paused and did a double-take, spitting out his water. "Your hair is longer too! Why is it braided?" He did a soft yank on the braid and Ingo remembered that his hair had never been that long in his entire life. That doesn't make sense; it was clean-shaven yesterday!

"It's down past his shoulders," Elesa noted, fascinated. "Please shave it, Ingo. I mean, you're absolutely killing it with that old man vibe but it just doesn't feel right. Emmet, back me up here."

"How am I just noticing this?" Emmet exclaimed, his fingers still entangled in Ingo's hair. "Have you been growing this in secret?"

Ingo did not look like himself. His silver hair was much longer and scruffier than he felt comfortable with, tied in a particular fashion atop his head. His sideburns had grown out of control, almost to the point where if he let them grow any longer, he may as well have had a beard like his Uncle Drayden. The bags around his eyes were noticeably darker and it hadn't been his imagination; he was slouching.

"We have to do something about-" Emmet gestured to Ingo as a whole- "this. We're supposed to match. What's the fun in tricking people if we don't match?"

Ingo remained silent. He distinctly remembered looking in the mirror yesterday before he left for work. He didn't look at all the same. He did wake up sick that morning. Maybe it was just some elaborate fever dream and soon enough, he'd wake up right on schedule for his job. But as he ran his fingers over his unshaven facial hair, he paused, recognizing the tired and unexplainably unnerving stare that caught him from the mirror.