I May Never Reach You

by Lone Diamond

She's on a journey to rediscover her past. He's there to help her find herself. And whatever's in their eyes won't go away.

8. Chapter 8

Eight hours later, and I was back in Kalos.

Lumiose Airport whorled around me, voices overlapping at a dozen different volumes, with the scent of coffee and jet fuel permeating the air. I adjusted the handle of my suitcase and stepped forward, the warm air from inside slipping through the automatic doors and mingling with the cold. It wasn't as biting as Castelia's winter winds, but it was familiar in the way that it made me shiver.

I had made it back.

The long flight had left my legs stiff, but I stretched them out, feeling the cold rustle of the morning air as I walked through the double doors to head back to the Academy. My plan is to drop off my suitcase once I get to my dorm, so I can prepare for my hike back to Vaniville.

As I waited for a cab to pick me up from the airport, I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message to Mom, informing her that I'd be heading back to my dorm soon. I mentioned that if Dad wanted to be included in the conversation, I was comfortable with that too.

Not too long after I placed my phone back in my pocket, a cab pulled up in front of me, its headlights cutting through the early morning haze. The driver popped the trunk open, and I slid my suitcase inside, securing it with the adjustable luggage strap before settling into the backseat. I requested the driver to drop me off at the Ace Trainer Academy of Kalos, and he nodded, beginning to drive in that direction.

As the cab exited out of Lumiose, my mind began to wander again.

The lights of the city faded behind me, replaced by the pale, winter morning stretching across the horizon. The icy trees outside the window blurred into streaks of white and gray, like a wintry scene straight out of a picture book put into motion.

My gaze settled on the patterns in the frost as the cab picked up speed.

Everything was changing, but what was most important was that I felt like I was becoming who I wanted to be.

I'm becoming the kind of trainer who could turn any battlefield into a poker table, with every move calculated, and every risk meticulously measured. To hone the ability to make the odds bend to my will.

I want to be the dealer. The one making all the calls, even if my opponent doesn't realize it. Especially then.

Gambling, as I've come to understand it, is a worldview. Life had already taken so much from me that I had nothing left to fear losing.

Actually… that's not entirely true, is it?

Not only did I tell Grimsley a white lie, but it also doubled as a bluff.

Because there's still one thing I've got to lose… one thing I will never squander.

I still have my family.

But it appears that I've made that realization too late.

I fooled myself into thinking that I wasn't playing the odds anymore. But the truth is… I was still playing. I just didn't see it for what it was.

I'd made my wager the day I ran away.

Because even though I haven't lost my family, there is one person I've already lost. And of course… it's the very one I couldn't afford to lose.

Calem.

That's the part I never said aloud. The real loss I'd been carrying since that day at the terminal, when my suitcase felt heavier than my resolve and Calem's voice echoed in my head like a call I chose not to answer.

I thought I'd made the right choice.

But every step since then has felt like trying to win back a game I'd already folded on.

I don't know if he'll ever come back, or even if he's still waiting for me. Perhaps I don't deserve that kind of forgiveness.

But I can't bring myself to continue denying how much he truly means to me, because to do so would mean that I'm still running away.

So this time, I'll wait.

Because I want to be with him.

No matter how long it takes, no matter how far apart we are…

I won't turn away again, if there's even a chance that he's still out there, still searching for me in the way I've finally started searching for myself.

I'll be here for him.

I've renewed that promise, and I won't break it again.

I clutched my keys, feeling the Munchlax keychain gently imprint itself into my palm.

By the time the Academy gates came into view, the sun had fully risen, casting a golden sheen over the frost-covered grass. The cab slowed to a stop, its engine idling softly, and I straightened, reaching for the door handle.

I glanced up, the towering walls of the Academy standing tall before me, the familiar spires of the dorms rising in the distance. Somehow, it felt like the first time I was truly seeing it all.

I paid the fare, my fingers brushing against the crinkled bills before handing them to the driver. A quiet nod, and I was out.

The crisp air of the Academy's grounds felt different now, carrying with it a sense of renewal. I retrieved my luggage from the trunk, closing the lid securely before stepping away. My footsteps echoed softly against the stone walkway as I made my way toward the dorms.

I cut across the lobby and went up the stairs, the dormitory empty as can be. I stopped in front of my room to unlock the door, and entered.

The familiar scent of black tea and sea salt welcomed me as I set my suitcase at the foot of my bed. I made myself comfortable on its edge, holding my Munchlax keychain in one hand, and my phone in the other.

I adjusted my grip on it, my fingers brushing against the worn buttons as I pressed it to my ear. Then, my mother's voice filled the receiver, soft but steady, "Good morning, Serena."

I exhaled through my nose, the words coming out calmly, "Morning, Mom."

"I presume the flight back from Castelia went well?"

I looked out the window, watching frost-covered trees tremble in the wind. "Yeah. A lot better than the first flight. I don't feel as worn out."

"That's good to hear." The smile in her voice felt warm, relieved. "Your father's here with me. You're on speaker."

I heard a soft shuffling sound, probably him adjusting his glasses or setting down a book.

"Bonjour, Papa."

"Bonjour, Serena," he answered, his voice even, but filled with care.

A small silence settled between us. I had spent four days away, without relaying much more than the short email I had sent to Mom to thank her for letting me borrow her loft.

Now I was here, talking to them like I hadn't left at all. But they deserve the truth.

Dad was the first to fill the space, "We were wondering when we'd hear from you again, Serena."

"I'm sorry," I replied, holding the phone tighter. "For leaving so suddenly without an explanation. For not calling sooner."

"We weren't angry," Mom clarified. "Just… concerned. And wondering what you needed that we couldn't give you."

I exhaled slowly, unsure where to begin. "I didn't leave because of anything either of you did. Or because I didn't feel loved. I know you've always supported me, even when I didn't quite know what I was doing. But I realized I was pretending. Pretending to be confident, like I didn't need guidance. But that's not who I am at all."

My throat tightened, but I pushed through it. "I didn't know how to say that. I didn't want to worry you. And part of me… didn't want to admit it to myself."

"You don't need to be anything other than yourself," my father said gently.

"I know that now. But for a while, I didn't. I was caught between who I thought I was supposed to be and who I actually am. I felt like I was unraveling."

"And when I was in Castelia," I continued, "I realized just how much I was letting my doubts dictate my actions and my emotions. I realized that I had put a strain on all the love and trust you two had put in me, as your daughter."

"Oh, Serena…" my mother breathed.

"I'm not saying I have it all figured out now," I was standing up now. "I don't. But I'm not afraid of not knowing anymore. I'm not afraid of questioning the path I thought I had to take, or just admitting that I need help."

I swallowed against the knot in my throat. "I just needed to tell you that. Because I don't want to go back to pretending again. Not with you."

"Thank you," Mom whispered. "For trusting us with your feelings."

"We've missed you," Dad added. "But we're also proud of you for listening to the part of yourself that needed to be heard."

I blinked hard, pressing my lips together. "I've missed you, too."

Mom lowered her voice, "Listen, Serena… I'd like you to know that Calem is here, waiting for you. He's been quieter than usual, but there's something different about him. If you decide to come home, you'll see what I mean."

I stopped for a second, suddenly aware of the snow that had started falling outside of my window.

When I caught my breath again, I replied, "I'll come home. I don't want to distance myself from my family. Not at a time like this."

"Then, we'll be seeing you here, for La Fête d'Hiver." Dad affirmed. "Please, Serena, travel safely."

"I will."

The line stayed open a second longer, as if none of us wanted to be the first to break it. Then the call ended, and all that was left was the quiet hum of the wind whipping against the window of my dorm room.

The moment my mother's words replayed in my mind, something inside me clicked.

Calem is waiting for me.

Not was. Not might be.

Is.

That single word rushed through me, a flood of warmth overtaking the cold I hadn't even noticed in my dorm.

He's waiting.

He's been waiting. I don't know how long, and I don't know what he's thinking… but I know that I need to see him.

My heart slams against my ribs as I shove my phone into my coat pocket. I don't waste another second. My body moves before my thoughts can catch up, my breath unsteady as I grab my bag, as I throw open my door, and start to run.

I don't care about the snow nipping at my cheeks as I dash through the Academy grounds, my boots leaving scattered footprints in the frost. The wind is whipping through my hair as I reach the station, and the world becomes secondary to the single thought pounding through my head:

I have to get to him.

Shalour to Santalune. That's my route. From there, I'll make my way to Vaniville on foot.

The train is a haze of flickering lights and muffled chatter. I barely register the ticket in my hand, or the rustling of passengers settling into their seats. My mind races through everything we've been through.

He was always there. From the beginning, from the moment we collided, from the first battle to the last. Through my doubts, through my stubbornness, through the spaces where my memories failed me… he never left.

I pull out the photo strip from the Winter Formal to look at that last picture. I observed the way he looked at me, the way his visage had softened into a fleeting expression of love and longing, exactly like the vision I had the day my heart made a wish to reconnect with him.

Too many times, I chose to ignore that look. From the night he took care of me, to quiet moments in the library when he thought I wasn't watching, even the day we first discussed my amnesia.

I had chosen to doubt that love, but my heart knew the truth the entire time, and I never listened.

But now, I've decided to tune in. To be honest with myself, and allow myself to be vulnerable and love him back, because I've always felt the same.

The train slows. The lights of Santalune glow against the snow-covered streets as I step off the platform.

I start running again.

The cold air burns in my lungs, my legs ripping forward without stopping.

Snowflakes catch in my hair in Aquacorde, the world around me quiet and endless.

By the time I reached Vaniville, the snow had stopped falling, but the wind still bit at my ears. Standing just outside my house, I pulled my scarf a little higher, bathed in the everglow of the streets lined with lanterns and strings of lights, anticipating tomorrow's festivities.

When I peered in through the window, I caught sight of Calem standing by the fireplace, looking at the pictures on the mantel, his posture a little straighter than I remembered it.

I opened the door without making a sound, stepping closer to him, my heart pounding louder than I'd like to admit.

"Calem."

His shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he turned toward me, and for a breath, neither of us spoke. It's like time has both stretched and shrunk, as he's standing there in front of me, eyes soft and unbelieving.

"…Serena?" His voice cracked just slightly.

I smiled listlessly, "Surprise."

For a second, he didn't move. Then, in a few tentative strides, he closed the distance between us. He stopped just short of reaching out, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"You're back."

I raised a hand to my chest.

"I'm back."

He exhaled, stepping away from me, motioning for me to follow. I removed my boots, setting them on the drying rack, before I started walking behind him. Neither of us said much as we walked upstairs, the soft crackle of the fireplace fading as we made our way into my room, turning on the lights.

He stopped in front of my desk, picking up a package cloaked in gift wrap, before moving to the middle of my room, taking a seat on the rug.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he admitted quietly.

I sat directly across from him. "I shouldn't have left in the first place."

He set the package down between us, then let out a quiet breath, his gaze focused downward before locking back on mine. His fingers brushed the edge of the rug, curling slightly, as if holding onto something invisible to keep himself steady.

I elaborated on my earlier assertion, "I left knowing that I hurt you. I told you that I needed to figure out who I am without you, but in doing so, I was denying how much you truly meant to me. How much I love you."

My mind flashed with the memories of that day, "I didn't want to leave. My emotions felt like sirens going off, wailing, trying to tell me that I was about to make a huge mistake. My heart was breaking into pieces as I forced myself to look away from you, because if I had turned back, even once, I wouldn't have given into my fears."

"I had convinced myself if I could just put enough distance between us… then maybe I'd stop feeling like I was coming apart every time I looked at you and saw everything I was afraid to lose."

I let out a raw, bitter laugh, swiping at my eyes. "I told myself I had to stop thinking about you, but every morning I woke up in Castelia, the ache was still there. Like I had torn my own heart out before you even had the chance. I pretended that my departure was for the best."

Tears burned hot down my cheeks. "When I finally found that part of myself that I had thought I'd been looking for, I returned to Kalos. But on the taxi ride to the Academy, all I could think about was you. About how I don't deserve you, or your love. I had no idea where you might be, or how you might have felt about me. But I resigned myself to wait for you, like you had waited for me, even if I didn't deserve it, just so you'd know how much I still cared. Even if it took you decades to forgive me."

I drew my knees up closer to my chest. "And seeing you again, finding out that you were waiting for me all this time… I'll be honest, a part of me was relieved, but even now, I know that your patience doesn't equate to forgiveness."

"I want you to know that I want to make things right, because I still believe that we have a future together, one where you and I can stand beside each other as equals." I confessed. "I thought it'd be best to start out with that so that you know where I stand, after having created that distance. There's still so much more I want to tell you… but I want to hear how you feel, if you're ready to share."

A moment passed between us as he lightly brushed his hand across the wrapped package.

He cleared his throat to respond, "Thank you. For being honest with your feelings. For coming back to make things right, and… letting my love for you guide you back to me, even though waiting for you wasn't easy or painless."

"Which is why I need to say this," he began, his voice low, strained. "Because I haven't said it to anyone. Not even to myself."

I stayed silent.

"That night…" he started, pausing like the memory itself still stung. "The night you left after the Winter Formal, I didn't know what to do with myself. I went to the beach, you know, where we'd always go when we wanted to take a break from everything." he said, his voice tightening. "And I stood there, still in my tuxedo, freezing, with the wind tearing into me, but I didn't care. I just stared out at the ocean like it had answers, like it could tell me what I'd done wrong to make you leave."

"And I was angry. At you, at myself, at my life, at everything." his eyes glistened, though he didn't let his tears fall. "I was so angry, because I just didn't understand. Why you didn't believe in your own advice, or why it felt like you couldn't trust me with what weighed on you most. I stood there, shouting into the wind, asking why you left when I would've done anything for you."

The words crashed over me like a tide, but I stayed quiet, letting him speak.

"I cried," he said, his voice breaking as he rubbed his eyelids. "Right there, on Shalour Beach, with no one around. But that wasn't the worst part."

He closed his eyes for a beat, breathing in deeply before opening them again. When he looked at me, it was like nothing in him held back anymore. "When I got back to my dorm, I broke down all over again. I sat on the floor in my room, still shivering, and I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Because it didn't just feel like you left. It felt like you'd abandoned me. Like I'd lost the one person who ever made me feel like I belonged."

My chest ached. I didn't realize I'd reached forward until my hand found his, resting gently over his fingers.

"The next morning, I woke up and told myself I wasn't going to let that night be the end of me. I couldn't just sit in that grief. So I got up, I started moving again, even if it hurt. But it wasn't because I wanted to forget you. I did it because I refuse to let myself be defined by that pain."

His eyes released tears, but he didn't let them stop him, "I didn't know if you were ever coming back. And honestly… I assumed that when you said you were going home, you meant Vaniville. The thought never crossed my mind that you had gone to Castelia. I tried to move forward, telling myself I could let you go. But I couldn't forget you. So… I waited. I kept waiting, even while I tried to find myself without you, too."

The weight of his confession left the room in silence.

I could see it in the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his shoulders sat stiff, that he was still guarded despite baring his heart to me.

"I broke my promise," I said finally, "I told you I'd always be there for you, and… I wasn't. I let you down when it mattered most."

He nodded, and pulled his hand away slightly to readjust and curl his fingers around mine, "I'm not saying this to excuse what happened, but… I broke my promise, too. I said that I would help you if you ever got hurt or overwhelmed… and instead of doing that, I maintained my silence, even when I knew you were hurting inside."

"You at least tried to help me before I left."

"But by then, it was too late. I shouldn't have let it get to that breaking point."

I sat with the silence, feeling the ghosts of our old habits press down on my shoulders, weaving through my thoughts. The heater hummed quietly, its warmth spreading through the room in slow, steady pulses. Time drifted between us, not marked by words, but by glances, of everything unsaid.

But then, something shifted… an echo from deep inside me, something that didn't feel like a memory but a truth finally surfacing.

I shook my head gently, feeling my eyes dampen, "Perhaps… we both needed time apart to find ourselves. To figure out who we were outside of everything we shared."

His breath hitched, just barely, "And maybe that was the only way we could've found our way back to each other."

"But I don't want to spend any more time apart from you, now. I don't want us to dwell on what we could've done differently. I want to walk forward with you, now, Calem. To choose to be at your side."

He nodded, with the faintest of smiles pushing through the trail of tears on his face, "Of course… I never stopped wanting that, no matter how difficult it was to carry my pain. Because I want to choose to stay at your side too, Serena."

I searched his eyes, feeling everything we'd just laid bare between us. "I can't promise that I'll have all the answers. But should we… start over?"

Calem was quiet for a moment, his gaze mirroring mine. Then, with a steady breath, he affirmed, "Starting over doesn't mean the hurt disappears overnight. But if it means choosing to stand beside each other again, even with all that's transpired… then yes. I want that."

He glanced at the package between us, then back at me. "It'll take time. But if we're choosing this, then let's do it right. Let's hold ourselves accountable to our promises."

I laced my fingers with his, my grip light at first. But when he shifted just enough to tighten the hold, I knew he was affirming our choice without words. "And in addition, let's keep each other in check, if either of us strays. Not with compulsion, but with reassurance."

He let out a relieved sigh and weaved his fingers further into mine. We sat like that, in companionable silence, on the floor of my bedroom. The world outside felt distant, like nothing existed beyond this room, beyond this choice.

After a while, he released his hold to pick up the package with both hands, extending it out towards me.

I took it, my fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. "What is this?"

"Open it," he said, his lips quirking slightly.

I carefully removed the tape from either end of the package, unraveling the gift wrap while balancing the object that lay beneath.

The worn lamination of a cardstock composition greeted me, its cover glinting softly under the light.

Our scrapbook.

"I started working on it while you were gone," Calem explained, his voice soft. "At first, it was… just something to do. But the more I worked on it, the more I realized how much I wanted it to be for you."

My hands trembled as I turned the pages, each one filled with pieces of our story, snapshots that we had already visited. But as I reached the end, I noticed that several photographs were tucked loosely in between the cardstock.

These are new.

I picked up one of the photos instinctively, holding it up to take a closer look. It was the captioned picture of us, "A cute captain and his dreamboat".

Has it really been a month since then?

My mind was transported back to that day…

I could still picture the way Calem beamed as he spun in his outfit, the gleam of excitement in his eyes when I called him cute. And the moment I stepped downstairs in the outfit he picked for me, his face brightening as he unexpectedly called me a dreamboat.

Then, when Mom had taken that picture of us, with Dad sneakily peeking out from the kitchen like a photojournalist, the shutter had captured the exact moment that Calem and I had turned, still smiling, frozen in time.

Back then, it was easy to let the moment elapse as another one of our ridiculous exchanges. But looking at it now, I saw something else in our expressions.

We looked… comfortable. Not just in the fleeting way that came with our banter, but in the way that felt rooted in something deeper. Belonging.

And my parents had captured it.

They even hung this exact picture on the fridge, without hesitation.

I thought about it from their perspective now. I had spent so much of the past month trying to piece myself back together, struggling to hold on to anything that felt real. But that day… I had been myself, after being reminded of who I was to the world.

My parents had seen it.

They didn't take the picture with the intention to create a keepsake for a relationship they thought I should have, but because they wanted to hold on to the image of their daughter being close to someone.

And they wanted me to have a tangible reminder that I wasn't alone.

I'm self-reliant—lonely, even… but never alone.

My grip on the photograph tightened slightly, a quiet warmth settling in my chest as I set it down on top of the scrapbook again.

Next, I picked up a handful of smaller pictures. These were from the photo booth at the Winter Formal. Hours before I left Kalos.

I winced slightly at the memory, but my hands began flipping through, each photo a small window into a night that already felt like it belonged to another life.

Calem had carefully cut them apart, the edges precise despite the tight margins. I wondered if these were difficult for him to work with.

I grimaced. But I had to move on.

The first one caught me mid-way through hysterical laughter, my head tilted back, my arms gripping my sides to remain upright. Calem's eyes were sharp with mischief, his imaginary cape mid-flourish. I could still hear his voice in my head, the playful lilt as he imitated Juan.

It had been so easy to laugh that night. To get caught up in the moment, to let myself lean into the comfort of something that had always felt like home.

But even then, I had felt something else, too.

I traced my thumb over the second picture of me as Lorelei, sitting regally atop the bench, poised and confident with cool indifference. Calem, caught just as he realized how convincing I was.

Had I been too convincing?

It was just an impression. But even then, wasn't I already holding myself at a distance? Keeping my walls up, even when I was having fun?

Even when I was with him?

Of course I did. Because that used to be my personal definition for strength, wasn't it? But it's not anymore.

And then, the last one. The one that hadn't been staged.

It was just us, caught in the quiet between laughter. The easy kind of moment that came when neither of us were performing anymore.

I hadn't been pretending then.

My fingers curled slightly around the photo.

I hadn't planned to leave that night. I hadn't known, not yet.

But looking at this… at the way we looked at each other, I wondered if some part of me had already been running.

Not away from him, but away from the truth that I was finally starting to understand.

I let out a sigh, placing the pictures back between the pages of the scrapbook, careful not to lose them.

I may have left that night.

But I didn't leave the weight of these moments behind. Not entirely.

I turned my head to see Calem sitting beside me now. He must have been looking over my shoulder as I was pondering over these photographs.

He doesn't say a word.

But I don't need him to.

The way his fingers pressed together, grounding himself. The quiet shift of his breath, measured but uneven as his eyes subtly flicker with a melancholic reminiscence.

I can hear his thoughts coursing through his eyes, almost as if he had said it out loud.

"You didn't have to act like everything was fine. I wish you knew that. I wish you had let me be the one to catch you."

The words land with the same quiet certainty as my own thoughts, but I hadn't formed them. Not in my voice.

And yet, they were there.

He's letting me see him.

Not smoothing over his feelings or masking his insecurities. Just sitting there, open, honest, carrying both joy and sorrow in a way only I would notice.

And I do. I see him.

It's only after I've already read him… after I've mapped out his emotional state… that the realization sets in.

There was a time when I would have simply felt his emotions without breaking them apart like this. When I would have just known, without this sharpened edge to my awareness. But now, I've learned to take in every unspoken detail and piece together the truth before I've even realized I was looking for it.

And what unsettles me isn't that I've done it.

It's how I barely even thought about it.

This is Calem. My best friend.

He should never be on the receiving end of my perlustration.

And I won't let myself forget that.

But the sensation that, just for a second, I had been standing too close to something I shouldn't be able to reach pressed into my chest, then dropped—a slow, measured descent, like the pendulum of a metronome counting down to an inevitable realization.

I tighten my grip on the scrapbook. Then, I force my fingers to relax. Stay present.

My gaze lowers, drawn back to the loose photographs resting between the pages. They don't belong to any particular section. Not yet. They hover in the in-between, untethered.

My fingers ghost over the edges of the topmost picture.

"Why didn't you put these in?" I ask, quieter now, as if voicing the thought might disturb something delicate.

Calem doesn't answer right away. His eyes flicker toward the scrapbook, then, just as softly, he replies.

"Because those parts are yours," he murmurs, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I decorated the page, but… you get to decide where these pictures belong."

I lifted the pile again, observing the adornments he had fixed to the pages. A hand-drawn doodle of The Spheal Appeal, slightly tilted but unmistakably mine, which I had absentmindedly drawn on a flash card that I used to practice battling terminology with Calem. My gaze wanders to the set of Spheal stickers, bright and round, scattered around the doodle like bubbles across the margins.

And near the top corner, carefully pasted, was the label of a Deux Familles coffee tin with a tea bag tag next to it, the gold-embossed design softened by time, the twin branches of its emblem reaching toward each other like outstretched hands.

I traced the label with my thumb, smiling. "Deux Familles, huh?"

"Of course," Calem mused. "It's our favorite, after all."

I glanced at him. "I always liked the story behind it. You know? Two rival merchants fell in love with each other over their shared love for heartwarming drinks, and they started a company to share that love with the world. It's a bit cliché, but sweet."

Calem shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he smiled. "That's not how it really happened," he said gently.

"Oh, so the version I know is the popular version?"

"That's right. The real story is much less romantic."

I can believe it. After all, Calem is a connoisseur of romance stories, isn't he?

I smiled, settling in. "Please tell me the real story, then."

His fingers brushed the label lightly. "It happened in Dendemille, about sixty years ago. There were two merchants. One sold coffee, the other tea. Their stalls were on opposite ends of town, and depending on which way the wind blew, people would flock to whoever's brew carried farther. It turned into a rivalry—a feud, more accurately. They wouldn't even speak to each other."

I tilted my head. "Hey, at least they didn't argue over whose drink was sweeter."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Isn't it amusing how those sorts of things naturally occur?"

I nodded, allowing him to continue.

"One day, an old traveler passed through Dendemille. He claimed that he could smell both coffee and tea at once. The merchants said that was impossible, because the wind only ever blew in one direction at a time. But the traveler pointed something else out."

"I think I know. But I'd like you to say it."

"Certainly." Calem met my gaze. "He had noted that this was the first time that both merchants ever agreed on something."

My thoughts exactly.

"The traveler told them that people didn't come just for coffee or tea," Calem went on. "They came because together, those two stalls made Dendemille feel like home. And that was worth more than a competition. So they set aside their feud and started a company, calling it Deux Familles. Not because they were in love, but because they finally understood what it meant to belong."

Belonging.

The label of Deux Familles stared back at me, secured to its place. But just opposite it, in Calem's handwriting, crooked and endearing, were two simple words.

"Nous sommes..."

He hadn't finished the sentence.

And I knew, without him telling me, that he trusted me to complete it.

But not yet.

For now, I exhaled, warmth settling deep in my chest, and smiled at him. "That's a much better story."

Calem's expression softened. "I thought you'd like it."

I did. More than I could say.

I laughed softly, letting the moment settle. Then, shifting the pictures in my hands, I murmured, "Well... I better start deciding where these belong, huh?"

He was about to say something, but then, we were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

"Ah, they're back," Calem commented, as he pushed himself off the floor.

I heard the familiar footfalls of my parents making their way indoors, followed by an extra pair of footsteps that I recognized, but hadn't heard in years.

I picked the scrapbook up, carefully closing it without disturbing the loose photos inside, planning to walk over to my desk to set it back down where Calem had first left it. As I moved, I shifted my weight to stand, pushing myself up from the floor.

Calem was already beside me before I could fully rise, his hand instinctively extending toward me. I hesitated for just a second, meeting his gaze. There was no urgency, no expectation. Just a quiet offering.

I reached for his hand, and he closed his fingers around mine, steady and warm. With the smallest tug, I found my balance again, standing beside him.

He didn't let go right away. Instead, his thumb brushed over my knuckles, grounding me.

"They've been awaiting your return," he whispered, his voice low and certain.

I smiled up at him, fully this time. "Then, let's go and welcome them together."

His smile widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it melted into enthusiasm.

He doesn't let go of my hand as we leave my room. The air feels lighter now, as if every unspoken word, every doubt and fear, had been eased, just a bit. It was enough to allow us to just… be.

We make our way downstairs, the sound of laughter filtering through the hallway before we even reach the living room. The warmth of home embraces me before I even see their faces.

My parents glance towards the stairs as Calem and I peer over the landing. Fingers interlaced, we exclaimed, "Welcome home!"

They turn toward us, still laughing from whatever conversation they were having. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Mom is the first to embrace me, pressing a kiss to my cheek before pulling me into a warm hug. Dad follows suit, his arms steady and strong as he taps lighter kisses to either side of my cheeks.

Calem exchanges greetings with them just as naturally, dipping his head slightly in respect before accepting the brief yet affectionate kisses on both cheeks from my parents. He fits here, I realize, not just as my friend… but as someone they see as part of our world.

A rich, familiar chuckle draws my attention to the third figure who has just finished hanging up his coat.

"Serena, my dear! It's been far too long!"

The voice is unmistakable, carrying with it years of patient guidance and unwavering loyalty.

"Uncle Darach!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around him. He lets out another chuckle, his hands patting my back with the same steady reassurance I remember from childhood.

"You've grown," he muses as I pull away, studying me with the same watchful gaze he's always had. "Though I daresay you'll always be Caitlin's little princess in my eyes."

I huff, crossing my arms, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrays me. "I'm hardly a princess, Uncle."

He smirks, an amused gleam in his deep violet eyes. "If you say so."

Then, his gaze shifts to Calem, curiosity sharpening his features as he takes in the young man standing beside me.

"And who might this distinguished gentleman be?"

Calem steps forward with ease, the confidence in his stance tempered by the quiet respect he carries.

I gesture between them. "This is Calem Courageux. My best friend… and the newest addition to our family."

Calem extends his hand. "Enchanté."

Darach regards him for a moment before clasping his hand in a firm shake, inclining his head in acknowledgment. "A pleasure, indeed, young sir."

Something in Darach's expression shifts… but just slightly. There's an understanding in his eyes, subtle yet undeniable, as he takes in the way Calem's gaze lingers on me just a breath longer than he makes eye contact with Darach before he lets go.

He sees it.

And yet, for now, he simply smiles, "It is with great honor that I welcome you to the family, Calem."

Calem nods, perhaps a bit too shyly, "I appreciate that, sir. I'm honored."

The corners of Darach's lips wrinkle just a tad, in that impish way of his when he thinks no one's looking. Perhaps Calem isn't able to quite catch it, but my parents and I do.

He approves.

But knowing him, he'll keep an eye out… just to make sure.

The two gentlemen step away from each other, and I turn to my parents, "I had thought that you all would've been at home by the time I arrived."

Dad chuckles, adjusting his glasses. "Well, after we hung up, we received a call from Darach saying he had arrived at the airport. Your mother insisted that we go meet him, since it's been some time since we last saw each other in person."

Mom nods in agreement, a soft smile on her lips. "We didn't want to leave Calem alone for too long, but he assured us he'd wait for you."

I notice Calem glancing at the fireplace for a second as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.

He's thinking about the moment I walked in.

"Speaking of which…" Dad interjects, "We were actually hoping you'd stay with us for the holiday, Calem."

Calem straightens at the mention of his name. His gaze shifts between me and my parents. "Are you sure?" He asks, "I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense," Mom waves off the thought. "You're family, dear. What kind of holiday is this, if not spent with family?"

Darach put his gloved hands together, and remarked, "Ah, but if he's to stay with us for the holiday, then where will he sleep? Shall I set up two cots in your study, Lucian?"

Dad smiles, rubbing his chin. "That should be fine. It's not the most spacious arrangement with my bookshelves and desk, but I can help move things to make it work."

Mom lets out a laugh. "See? You should've listened to me about converting the study into a guest bedroom after all!"

Dad leers at her playfully. "Yes, yes, you were right. But those bookshelves aren't going anywhere unless you let me move them to that sunlit room in the Battle Castle."

"That's not happening!" Mom quips. "That room belongs to Serena the moment she inherits the Castle!"

Darach releases a dramatic sigh as he slips past them, heading upstairs to start moving furniture. Calem begins to follow, but I gently catch the crook of his arm before he gets too far.

His eyebrows wriggle upwards, perplexed, as I pull him toward me and clear my throat to catch my parents' attention.

They both pause mid-breath, and I tilt my head toward Darach, silently requesting Dad to help him out.

"Very well," Dad says, pushing his glasses up his nose before turning toward the stairs.

Calem turns to my mother, who's smirking with a hand up to her mouth, pleased with herself. "Thank you for going through the trouble to include me in the festivities, Lady Caitlin. I really… I really appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all," Mom assures. "And please, don't feel obligated to refer to my nobility, Calem. My title doesn't mean much to me outside the Castle or the estate."

Calem smiles sheepishly, unsure about how to respond.

I smile at the exchange between Calem and my mom, the warmth of the room, and the soft crackle of the fireplace filling the space between us. There's something so familiar about this moment… something that makes my heart settle into the comfort of the present, the future, even.

Mom's eyes soften a bit, though she's still holding that playful smirk. "Now, then," she says, glancing toward the kitchen. "I think it's about time we get started on dinner, don't you think?"

Calem looks at her, the corners of his mouth tugging into a bigger smile. "What are you planning on making?"

"Spinach ravioli," she replies, a hint of amusement in her voice. "But I'll need you and Serena to grab some ingredients from the market. I've got plenty of flour, so I can get started with that. Go fetch your coats while I write a list of what I need."

"Alright," I say, walking towards the door to pull my coat on and lace my boots, Calem in tow. He slips into his winter jacket, zipping it up all the way to the collar.

We return to the entrance to the kitchen, where Mom hands me a slip of paper with all the ingredients scribbled on.

She looks between us, "All bundled up now! I'll start prepping here. You won't be gone long, I hope?"

"Of course, Mom," I affirmed before I turned to Calem, offering a small nod. "Shall we?"

He gestures in the direction of the front door, "After you."

As we step out into the cool evening air, the wind rustles against the trees, but the streets are quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. The market is just around the corner, and the familiarity of being out with Calem, walking side by side, feels more natural than anything.

He looks around at the decorations that people have strung up outside of their houses, the colored lights illuminating his features.

My heart clenches at the sight as I allow myself to express how I feel.

"I'm really glad you're here, Calem," I say aloud.

He pauses, searching my eyes with his own, his breath condensing in the cool air. He's looking for the right words to say, but I can see the struggle in his gaze.

"I… I'm really glad you're here, too," he replies quietly. "But… don't take this the wrong way… my feelings are different from yours."

"I know that," I answer.

His eyes widen, sensing there's more.

"You aren't just glad I'm here," I continue, my voice a little softer now, "You're glad that I've returned. And I'm glad that you waited for me. That you're a part of my family now. A part of my future."

His mouth opens slightly, and I see it. The moment when everything between us falls into place, even if it's not perfect. It's synchronous, like we've aligned in a way we hadn't before. His breath catches, as if he almost forgets how to speak.

"Yes, that's exactly it…" He uttered. "I can't even begin to explain how much that means to me, Serena… you have no idea. Words are failing me right now."

"But we don't always need them, do we?" I smiled gently, reaching for his hand.

"You're right. We don't." He smiles back, and there's something almost relieved in it, as if he's found the understanding he was looking for.

We continue walking in comfortable silence, accompanied only by the sound of crunching snow beneath our boots. The market is quiet, most of the vendors packing up for the night, but still open for those last-minute purchases.

His hand squeezes mine, and I squeeze back.

We stop at a stall where fresh greens are stacked high. Calem stands beside me, inspecting the produce as he holds the list up for the both of us to see.

"This should do for the ravioli filling," I say, reaching for a bunch of fresh spinach with my free hand.

"Do you think we should get another bunch?" Calem asks.

"Hmm… that's a good idea." I add another bunch and glance at the next thing on the list. "Mushrooms."

The vendor, an older woman, walks over after stacking some jarred goods in a crate. She looks between Calem and me, humming, "Ahh… très mignon!"

I smile politely, "Oui, nous voudrions des champignons, s'il vous plaît."

That earns a giggle from Calem. I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering what he found so funny.

The vendor hands me a small woven basket of mushrooms. "D'accord. Autre chose?"

"C'est tout."

"Bagout? Vous avez du bagout?"

Huh? What is she talking about? I've never even heard that word before.

Calem steps in smoothly, "Excusez-moi, madame. Elle voulait dire que nous avons tout. Combien pour les légumes?"

"Oh, pas de problème, mon petit! Ça fera 400 en tout, s'il vous plaît."

I hand her the money, and she smiles at the both of us again, wishing us a good evening. We thank her and move on to the next few stalls for cheese, basil, and tomatoes.

On the way back home, I tug gently on Calem's arm, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Alright, care to explain why you were giggling earlier?"

He chuckles again, the memory lighting up his face. "Oh, that was priceless! When the vendor saw us shopping together, she said we looked adorable, but you must've misheard her and thought she was offering mushrooms. It makes sense, though! Mignon and champignon do rhyme, but it was impossible for me to keep a straight face."

"Ahh, I see! That's hilarious!" I laugh with him, then snap my fingers. "And what about that one word she said? Bah… bagu?"

"The word you heard was bagout. It doesn't translate perfectly, but it means you've got a charming way of speaking. Like… a smooth-talker!"

I burst into laughter, suddenly reinterpreting the whole interaction in a new light. The woman must've thought I was trying to show off, especially after that initial "oui", like I'm just casually affirming what's obvious!

Perhaps, in some quiet way, I was. Not to her, but to myself.

Not because we've said anything out loud, but because it's there. It's in the way that we easily fall into step. In how we listen. In how we look at each other.

We're still relearning each other, still making space for who we've become.

We finally make it back to the house, arms full of fresh ingredients and the smell of crisp, wintry air still clinging to our coats. Inside, it's warmer than I remember, filled with the quiet bustle of preparation. The scent of butter and garlic greets us before Mom's voice does, "There you are! I was beginning to think you two got swept up in a side quest!"

She's at the counter, her sleeves rolled up and a thin dusting of flour on her cheek.

"Perfect timing," she adds, smiling. "I'll be able to finish the filling with those ingredients. Get yourselves situated and washed up."

Without needing to speak, we're already moving. We drop the bags on the counter and scrub our hands at the sink while we take turns putting our coats up.

"Serena, dear, can you pass me the spinach?" Mom asks.

"Sure thing."

I rinse off the bunch, the cool leaves slightly damp against my fingers, and hand it to her.

Just as I do, Darach and Dad appear from the hallway, like a pair of besuited ghosts. Dad's already removing his blazer, and Darach smirks knowingly.

"Oh no, you don't," Darach says, his tone teasing. "The two of you have already done enough."

"But we just—" I begin, but Dad smoothly steps in, cutting me off with a smile.

"Let us finish the rest, Serena. We'll take over from here."

Mom hums softly, drying her hands on a towel. "I wouldn't mind that… It's nice to have some extra hands around here."

Calem leans in, half-whispering dramatically to me, "They're kicking us out!"

"I can hear you, Calem," Darach chimes in, his tone playful but firm.

Dad's voices rises into a soft laugh. "Why don't you two take a break by the fire for a while? You've certainly earned it."

Mom smiles approvingly. "Go on. We'll let you know when it's time to eat."

Calem turns to me, his grin wide, hair dusted faintly with flour. I meet his eyes, and we silently agree to go along with it.

"Alright," I say at the entrance to the kitchen. "Let us know when it's done."

As we're walking to the fireplace, I quietly pat the flour off of Calem's hair.

We settle down on opposite ends in front of the fireplace. He makes himself comfortable on the recliner, and I seat myself on the armchair. The flames cast a warm glow over the room, and the scent of oak mingles faintly with garlic from the kitchen.

Calem stretches his legs out and lets out a low sigh, not from exhaustion, but from something more content. "This feels nice," he says, watching the fire. "Everything is just so… cozy. I've never had anything quite like it."

I lean my elbow on the padded armrest, resting my chin on the back of my hand, "It still feels a little new to me too. Not the festival, but… celebrating it like this."

He glances at me. "You've done La Fête d'Hiver before?"

"I have, back when we lived in Unova. It's different there, though. It was more subdued, since they don't hold any dances, feasts, or parades. Here in Kalos? Even the quietest street corner comes alive at this time of year."

His eyes widened slightly. "So I've heard. But this'll be my first time celebrating it."

"Your first ever Fête?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah," he admits. "You know how my parents are. I always felt like this was the sort of holiday I couldn't celebrate alone."

I nod, heart twinging. "Then this'll be our first one together. That's something."

He smiles at that, leaning a little closer. "So what's the plan? I want to know everything. What should I expect?"

"Well, for starters, tomorrow's the community feast and personal gift-giving, and on the last day, we'll watch the parade of lanterns from the sidewalks, as they'll be taking up the entire street."

He tilts his head. "Sounds like we'll be having a very busy holiday."

"Indeed. I'm particularly excited because it's been years since I last got to celebrate with my family here in Kalos. Before this, I spent every holiday by myself since I started attending the Academy."

The fire crackled between us for a minute before Calem replied.

"I don't think either of us will be celebrating any holidays alone after this year, then. Consider this a promise," he murmurs.

My heart flutters a little at that, and I don't look away from the fire. "It's a promise."

Bathed in its glow, we relax in our seats, our gazes fixed on the embers, and our hands warmed by its balmy flames.

…

The flames have now dwindled to a gentle flicker, their shadows growing long and drowsy across the walls as Calem and I make our way upstairs. Near the hearth, Darach crouches down to prod the coals, making sure none of them stray onto the floor. My parents have already retired for the night, as I hear the soft click of their bedroom door closing behind them.

After we've both freshened up and taken turns brushing our teeth, we head into my room to hang out a while longer before Calem has to turn in. We don't bother closing the door behind us. Instead, we lie down side by side on the rug, gazing up at the ceiling.

Calem sighs through his nose, mumbling, "What a day… It's hard for me to tell if Darach is supposed to be a butler or a comedian."

I let out a short laugh and nudge him with my elbow. "And that's just him warming up! I'm almost willing to bet money on him making princess jokes to embarrass me tomorrow during the gift exchange."

Calem laughs until the quiet settles over us again.

After a moment, his hand finds mine without needing to look, "You know… I can't help but wonder… when you think of home… why is Castelia City the first place that comes to mind?"

My first instinct is to say that it's the place I grew up in… but that's not a proper answer for him, is it?

I purse my lips, as my eyes stayed on the ceiling.

Then, I exhale, "There's no easy way for me to answer that… but a large part of me is steeped in the dream that I could become anything I want if I just work hard enough for it, no matter what my circumstances might be or might've been. Castelia taught me that."

It's in everything I do. It's what I am. What I always was. And what I always want to be.

But it's not all of me.

There's a beat of stillness. My heart nudges the edge of memory, slow and certain.

I turn my head toward him. He's already looking at me.

"I understand," he says, voice quiet, reverent.

It's a confession. He can't relate. But he doesn't need to.

For someone like him, someone who never had a home or a family that promised anything but silence… I can see why my dream would matter.

I squeeze his hand gently.

"It's not that there weren't expectations," I say, "they just didn't weigh me down. I was allowed to decide how much of myself I wanted to give."

He nods slowly, gaze returning to the ceiling. "That's different from what I knew. In Lumiose, every gesture, every breath, every step… it all meant something. You either learn to perform, or you disappear."

A silence blooms between us.

"There was a time I didn't smile unless I rehearsed it. I didn't speak unless I could picture exactly how it would land. Even happiness… it wasn't something I felt, just something I mimicked to survive."

"I never felt that way around you. But in the moments you weren't there…" he continues, "I realized that it didn't have to be a performance. Because performances are empty. But feelings and experiences… those are real, regardless of whether they are happy or sad. They are what makes life feel fulfilled."

My chest aches at the honesty.

He doesn't just live, does he? He reclaims life, over and over again, with every small indulgence. Every tender gesture. The way he makes each moment feel intentional.

Alive.

We lie still, letting the weight of that settle.

"You know…" I hummed, "I think that we carry what we need from where we've been. And maybe the rest of it… we're meant to build together."

He turns to me again. "So then… home is wherever we are."

"That's right."

I mean it.

Because I wouldn't have it any other way.

…

I woke up late the next day, the light from the window spilling onto the floor like a bucket of white paint had tipped over.

Everything felt slower.

My body still drummed with leftover adrenaline from the night before, but it was muffled now, like the echo of a dream.

I yawned as I slid out from under the covers and trudged toward the bathroom, nearly bumping right into Calem outside the door.

"S-sorry!" I blinked, still half-asleep. "I wasn't paying attention."

Calem rubbed his eyes, hair sticking out in a few different directions. "Guess my day doesn't start out right unless I crash into you first, huh?"

From down the hall came the sound of laughter, unmistakably Darach's; sharp and amused.

"Well, that's one way to say good morning," he called out. "You're both definitely awake now!"

I groaned and rubbed my temple. "Oh, come on, Darach… it's a holiday…"

Calem added, "Yeah, what happened to letting kids sleep in?"

Darach regarded the two of us, then smirked. "You both look like you need a caffeine infusion. I could whip up that energy tonic the masters of the house used to drink when they had deadlines to meet. Traditional recipe. It even comes in a yellow can now. No carbonation, but all the vitality you could ever ask for."

Calem and I turned to him in unison and deadpanned, "That's medicine."

Darach didn't skip a beat. "And yet your faces are pleading for nothing short of prescription strength."

I stared at him, flat. "No thanks. I'll stick with my milk tea."

"And I'll have an iced coffee," Calem affirmed.

Darach nodded, about to head back into the study, but paused. "Ah, before I forget, Lady Caitlin and Lord Lucian left early. They're helping set up for the gift exchange this evening. Figured it'd be better if the guests didn't have to handle everything."

Calem blinked. "They're setting things up personally?"

"Old-fashioned holiday spirit. You two are free to relax for the day… if you can survive the hallway, first!"

That earned a chuckle from the both of us.

…

After Calem and I had gotten fully caffeinated, we trotted to the village's square.

The scene unfolded before my eyes; alive with color and laughter, garlands strung between lamp posts, and long tables stretching from one end to the other. The smell of roasted vegetables, warm pastries, and freshly grilled seafood drifted through the crisp afternoon air. People mingled, shared stories, and passed around plates with the easy warmth of old neighbors.

Calem and I wove between the tables, carrying our own paper plates piled high with regional favorites. I paused as we reached one of the seafood stations, my eyes widening when I recognized the glistening slices arranged with care.

"Maguro!" I blurted out instinctively.

Calem looked up from his plate, brows raised. "Maquereau?"

I turned to him, stifling a laugh. "Ma-gu-ro! Tuna! Though you are technically correct, I guess I should say thon in Kalosian, huh?"

His eyes lit up as realization caught up to him. "Ah, I see what you're saying now. I guess you like it a... thon!"

I gave him my best unimpressed stare. "That's not funny."

But I was already laughing.

A fisherman nearby, amused by our exchange, stepped over with a fresh platter of the same fish. "Caught just off the coast of Shalour, actually," he said proudly. "It's a local variant we call Magithon. Sturdier than your average Magikarp, with scales tough enough to give Sharpedo a run for its money. Some say it's a Magikarp that adapted to deep-sea currents. We pull them in this time every year for the feast, since they follow their prey to these waters."

Calem blinked. "Wait, Magikarp? Seriously?"

The vendor grinned. "Don't knock it until you try it! That meat's got a bit more bite than you'd expect."

I nudged Calem with my elbow. "No wonder it survived being on this plate with your terrible puns."

He feigned offense. "It's a talent of mine! Give it the proper credit it deserves!"

"A crime, more like!" I shot back, popping a slice of the Magithon into my mouth.

He shook his head, chewing the fish with gusto, then suddenly paused mid-bite to do a double-take.

"...Hold on. Did you say maguro earlier?"

"Yeah."

"You speak Sinnohan?"

I sipped from my cider, trying not to smirk. "Fluently."

He stared at me, mouth still half-open. "Since when?"

"Since always? Dad's from Canalave and Mom's from Snowpoint, remember?"

"You've never said anything!"

"I never had the chance to."

Calem groaned, dramatically leaning on the table. "Why must you always surprise me..."

"You said it yourself; I'm just full of surprises!" I popped another slice of fish in my mouth and offered him the plate, shrugging. "Nonetheless, do you still want a thon of this?"

He groaned again, but took the slice anyway.

…

With our stomachs full, but not overstuffed, Calem and I walked back to my house later that afternoon for the gift exchange.

The warmth inside greeted us the moment we stepped through the door.

I spotted my parents bustling about—Mom balancing a tray of steaming vin chaud with one hand, and Dad organizing a stack of presents near the couch with meticulous care. Darach was by the fireplace, chatting with Shauntal, both of them laughing over something in her notebook. The lights twinkled on the walls, casting reflections off glass ornaments and painting the room in soft, colorful hues.

Calem and I slipped off our coats and snow-dusted boots, then crossed the room to meet my mother. We each grabbed a drink from her tray, careful not to throw off her balance.

"Back from the square?" she asked, tone casual, though her blue eyes gleamed with interest. "How was the feast?"

"The feast was great," I said, lifting the drink to my lips. "They even had gratin d'oeufs!"

"That's great to hear, sweetheart! You two are home just in time for the next act," Mom says with a wink, gracefully setting the tray of drinks down at the end table to go fetch the wrapped gifts stacked in the corner.

I turned to find Calem already drifting toward the fireplace, drawn by the sound of Shauntal's laughter. I followed, catching the tail end of her giggle as she leaned in close to show Darach something in her notebook.

"And this is your idea of what a bagpiper is like?" Darach asked, eyebrows raised.

"Why yes!" Shauntal said excitedly, twirling her pen between her fingers. "What's the point of fiction if not to exaggerate real life?"

She noticed me hovering and smiled. "Ah, Serena! Come to rescue your family butler from my literary nonsense?"

"Too late for that," I said dryly. "But I did want to give you something to save me a trip to the post office."

Her expression sharpened with curiosity. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black envelope with white ink letters. Everything was written in code, except for the addresses, of course.

"Think you could deliver this to the King of Clubs?" I asked, my voice just loud enough for her to hear.

Shauntal glanced at the seal, and her smile turned sly. "Most certainly."

Calem tilted his head beside her, puzzled, but I didn't look his way.

Shauntal tucked the envelope into her inside coat pocket without a word, and I stepped back before Darach could raise an eyebrow or question what he'd just witnessed.

Calem spoke up, "Uh… so what brings you here, Shauntal?"

She turned to him with a glint of amusement in her eyes, pen still twirling between her fingers. "Oh, I'm just here to get some last-minute proofreading done before I publish my latest work." She dipped her head in Dad's direction without looking, the gesture practiced and a bit theatrical. "The man is a genius! He's already found two continuity errors that I completely missed!"

"Neat. I never knew that Lucian played such a huge role in publishing your books, but it does make sense..." he started, then hesitated. "Are you… also part of Serena's family?"

Shauntal blinked, then broke into a surprised laugh. "Oh! No, not at all! But I can see why you'd think that. The Montresors seem to collect Elite Four members like bookmarks, don't they?"

Calem's ears turned pink. "Right?! I had no idea who they were the first time I met them! I asked them if her parents were joining us for lunch. The resemblance wasn't obvious until after I was done embarrassing myself!"

I chuckled at the memory, sipping from my drink.

Shauntal waved her gloved hand, slightly flustered. "It's no big deal, really! If it helps you feel a bit better, when I first met Serena, age six, I legitimately asked her, 'Goodness, Caitlin, whyever did you decide to return to girlhood?' and then, she puffed her cheeks and lectured me about time paradoxes! Can you believe that?"

"Poor girl." Darach sighed. "Even at such a young age, Lucian had her thinking in four dimensions."

I hunched over with laughter from the whole ordeal, barely hanging onto my glass.

Once I had calmed down, I grinned. "I haven't thought about that day in a long time! But if you were part of the family, Shauntal, you'd be that one cool aunt who gives everyone black lipstick and themed stationery."

Shauntal laughs again, and Calem exhales, less embarrassed now, more curious. "I, um… also! I've read your books," he says, "My Right Side on My Left Side has been a personal favorite of mine since I was eleven."

Shauntal's eyes soften. "That one's dear to me. It's one of my older works, but I haven't heard many people call it their favorite. What makes it stand out to you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, well, um… where do I even start?" Calem says, quieter still, but firmer. "I always liked the femme fatale princess. And then, her knight wasn't just a hero that came in to save her, but a wounded man who wanted to know who he was outside of his lineage. I've read it in both Kalosian and its original language, but there's just something about the original that feels more… honest–I guess is the best way to put it. I've read it from cover to cover more times than I can count!"

Shauntal didn't blink for a long moment, and then her expression shifted. Not just touched by his admission, but moved.

"You read the original?" she murmured, almost to herself. "That version never did sell well, but it means more than I can say, hearing that it stayed with you. That you've read it so many times." She met his eyes, sincere. "Thank you for carrying it with you all this time."

Calem nodded, a little stunned by her appreciation. Then he stepped over to the recliner where he'd left his copy of My Right Side on My Left Side, placed neatly on the end table, the cover gently worn but clearly cared for. He picked it up with both hands, cradling it like something sacred, and brought it back to her.

Shauntal accepted it delicately, flipping through the first few pages, pausing to smile faintly at a penciled note in the margin beside a line of dialogue. Then, she uncapped a sleek ballpoint pen and wrote her signature with a slow, deliberate swirl.

She handed the novel back. "Keep reading," she said. "And maybe one day… write something of your own."

Calem nodded, beaming brightly as I took another sip of vin chaud, the spices warming my throat.

Mom's voice called out from across the room, "Alright, everyone! The gift exchange is about to begin!"

We all turned. She stood beside the coffee table now, where neatly wrapped boxes had magically appeared, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Dad joined her with a subtle smile, slipping a hand around her waist like they'd rehearsed this moment.

Everyone began to gather; Darach leaving his post by the fireplace, Shauntal snapping her notebook shut, and Calem standing close beside me, his drink still in hand.

He took a gulp from his glass, then leaned toward me with a low whisper. "Do you think I could get a refill on this punch? It's really good."

I snorted softly, then covered my mouth to keep from laughing. "Calem… that's not punch. That's vin chaud."

He froze. "Wait, what?! This contains actual wine?"

I nodded, giggling. "Relax! My mom made a special version for us. She simmered it low and slow until most of the alcohol evaporated. It's basically just spicy grape juice at this point."

Calem shot me a pale, serious look, like he was replaying his entire life in reverse to determine if he'd committed a crime.

"You're not going to get arrested," I added, nudging his arm playfully. "Besides, you're legally allowed a glass under supervision. You're fine."

He let out a breath like he'd been holding it for a full minute. "Okay… cool. I just didn't want this holiday to end with a police report. Though, I should've figured there was some actual wine in there. That would explain the interesting aftertaste."

The color returned to his face, and our attention resumed to the main event.

Mom clapped her hands together. "Now! The rules are simple: each person will give and receive one gift at a time, and no opening anything before it's your turn! Darach, you're up first!"

Darach adjusted his gloves and picked up a present off of the table. "Allow me to begin."

He approached me with a subtle smile, one brow raised in his usual aristocratic flair. "For the young lady who continues to surprise us all. Though you'll always be a little princess to me, perhaps it's time you had a ribbon of your own."

He handed me a small golden gift bag. Nestled inside soft tissue paper, was a single black hair ribbon, its texture silky and understated, versatile enough to match anything I wore.

I couldn't help the small grin that curved onto my lips. "I love it," I said, running my fingers over the smooth material. "Thanks, Uncle Darach."

"Of course," he replied.

Next up, Shauntal handed her gift to Dad; a signed, first-edition copy of The Backpacking Tales of Cedric Juniper, complete with the publisher's seal. His eyes lit up like a child's.

And so it continued, one by one. Small, thoughtful gestures exchanged between people who'd known each other for years… and then, it was Calem's turn.

He walked over a little sheepishly, reaching behind the armrest of the couch where he'd hidden a small, narrow box wrapped in warm-toned paper. He handed it to me with both hands, like it was fragile.

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "For me?"

He nodded.

I peeled the wrapping paper back carefully and let out a small gasp.

Inside was an insulated travel mug, sleek and matte purple, with the logo of The Spheal Appeal subtly etched into one side. I ran a finger over the little sleeping Spheal beneath the curved lettering.

"Anton had it specially made," Calem explained. "I figured you'd want your milk tea to stay warm when you're on the move."

My smile spread slowly, touched to my core. "It's perfect."

He blushed, a little shy. "And… Anton sends his regards. He said that you should come by soon. He misses our ridiculous debates over sugar ratios."

I laughed softly. "I miss them too. Once we return to the Academy, let's kick off the new year by going there."

"Alright! It'll be the first place we'll go."

I almost wanted to say something witty in response to that, but I found myself turning red instead. Mom and Dad leaned on each other and smiled, while Shauntal's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Darach bowed his head slightly in approval.

"Your turn, Serena." Dad called out.

I cleared my throat and pulled a small, neatly wrapped box from the pile of gifts on the coffee table. It had a red ribbon tied around it.

Calem took it with a smirk, but that faded when he opened it to reveal a brand-new Pokétch in a vibrant orange shade that practically glowed in the soft room light.

He stared at it for a moment. "This is… it's orange."

"Your favorite color." I stated.

He blinked. "Yeah. It is." Then his eyes met mine with an expression caught somewhere between wonder and concern, and we held the silence for a second too long.

There was a question in his gaze, but he didn't ask it, not here.

The exchange continued on, the glow in the room deepening with every story and reaction. And while there were still things unspoken, like notes passed, glances held, and mysteries shelved for later, they didn't dim the magic. If anything, they made it all feel more real, surrounded by the people I love.

As the evening stretched on and the embers in the hearth crackled lower, the conversation slowed to a gentle hum.

Eventually, Shauntal walked over to the door with a quiet sigh, brushing the folds of her coat into place.

"Well," she said, her voice warm despite the goodbyes layered within it, "if I don't leave now, I'll miss the last train to Lumiose."

Mom reached for her gloves tucked inside of her coat, pulling them on. "Let us accompany you, Shauntal. We wouldn't want you to walk there by yourself in the dark."

Dad followed suit without a word, his movements in sync with Mom's. Darach offered to walk with them too, half in jest, half in duty, but no one objected.

"You two should stay here to watch over the fire." Dad instructed. "We shouldn't be gone for too long."

"We'll keep an eye on things around here, Lucian." Calem declared.

The two of us watched the adults gather at the door, their silhouettes outlined in candlelight, coats dusted with the last traces of the party's glow.

I watched them disappear into the night, footsteps and voices muffled by snow, until the only sound left was the fireplace and the soft hush of Calem beside me.

I turned to him, my whispers barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace, "Wait here."

He smiled softly, and I moved past him, padding quietly upstairs, with the warmth of the evening still clinging to me. In my room, I reached for the old stereo on my desk and smiled. The edges of the CD case next to it were worn, the plastic cracked faintly along the edge of the hinge, but the disc inside was pristine, safeguarded like a secret I never wanted to lose.

I pressed the eject button on the stereo and clicked the CD into the spindle, closing the lid and skipping carefully to the track I had in mind.

I turned the volume up just enough to fill the silence without shattering it, and let the soft pattering of the drum set filter through. Then I carried the stereo downstairs, each step steady.

Calem watched me step down the stairs, his eyes widening in recognition as I set the stereo down on the coffee table. As he flicked the lights off, I turned the volume up a little louder, the sound of synths singing through.

Golden light illuminated us both as I held out my hand. "May I have this dance?"

For a moment, he didn't speak.

The stars in his eyes had aligned in perfect silence, wonderstruck.

Then, slowly, he stood and placed his hand in mine. "You may."

We moved together into the open space before the fireplace, steps uncertain at first. Just like before, they were unrehearsed and unpolished. But as the song unfolded, our rhythm found us. Like it had always been there, waiting.

No ballroom.

Just us.

His hand found its way to my waist, and I held onto his shoulder, swaying along with him, looking into his eyes.

They welled up with tears, and soon, my own vision blurred, too.

The melody of the guitar riff carried our footsteps, echoing countless times as the vocals lulled us into a trance.

In between the verses, my memories unraveled.

One by one.

"Your favorite color is orange."

"When you got sick a few winters ago, I made you a bowl of spicy Tamato Berry soup and missed a day of school just to make sure you got better."

"You used to come over to my house to play video games whenever you got a good score on a test."

"I insisted upon giving you the scrapbook because I didn't want you to feel alone. Not then, and not now."

The song began slowing to a stop, and we mirrored its pace.

He let go of my waist to wipe away the tears from my eyes.

"You…" he choked out. "You remembered."

"I did." I confessed, reaching up to wipe his eyes, too. "But my heart never forgot."

Neither of us moved for a moment, and the CD played the next track without interruption.

Slowly, we leaned toward each other, the space between us shrinking.

The kiss wasn't perfect.

It was tentative, a little awkward at first. His nose brushed mine, and I didn't tilt my head quite right. I wasn't sure where to place my hands, and it took a moment for my heart to stop racing long enough to let me breathe. But none of that mattered. Because underneath the clumsiness, there was something warm.

It was as if every doubt, every moment of distance, melted away… not all at once, but piece by piece, like ice giving way to spring.

When we pulled apart, I stayed close enough to feel his heart beat against mine.

He met my gaze, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. There were no perfect words, no sweeping declarations. Just the quiet understanding that we'd found our way back to each other at last.

"I love you, Calem."

"I love you too, Serena."

As the music went on, and the CD kept on spinning, I thought up of the perfect answer to Calem's open-ended question.

Nous sommes... une famille.