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Ingo lived his life on the basis of routine.
Even here, lacking the broad majority of his memories and relying almost entirely on instinct, he found himself sticking to the same pattern of behavior over the course of a day. He woke at the same time, ate his meals at the same general time (sometimes incidents prevented him from matching the time exactly, and the lack of a working watch didn’t help. Maybe he should look into purchasing one the next time he made the trek to the village.), and went to bed at the same time. Every single day.
A part of this daily routine that he didn’t mind nearly as much as he often pretended he did was his usual meeting with the other Warden of the highlands, the Diamond Clan’s Melli.
Melli was a strange one alright. A god-sized ego all neatly wrapped up in a particularly tall human-shaped package, with a tendency towards the dramatics and a whine that could shatter glass to boot. How a man like him had ended up as the Warden to Lord Electrode, notably laid-back as Adaman had described him, Ingo couldn’t fathom. (Then again, Lady Sneasler was far more quick on the draw than Ingo had ever been.)
(...He assumed, at least. But who could really say?)
His meetings with Melli had become a part of his day not long after his assignment as Warden. He’d been doing his patrol, as he was expected to, and happened to run across the other Warden on his way.
As it turned out, they’d both set up their schedules and routes so they’d end up crossing tracks at the exact same time. Melli was furious, demanding he change his itinerary so they didn’t meet, but Ingo refused. It was the most efficient route to take around the highlands-- why should he change it? Could they not simply coexist?
Melli had challenged him to a battle there and then, demanding that if he won, Ingo would have to change his route.
He lost miserably.
So their routes stayed the same. They ran across each other at the same time every day. Melli would attempt to insult him, he would take it in stride, and so on and so forth. Eventually it became such a natural part of Ingo’s day that he came to expect it. And Melli was always punctual.
Which was why it was so strange that he seemed to be absent today.
Ingo found himself fidgeting as he waited for Melli to crest the ridge he always did, but there was no sign of him. No shock of lavender hair, no lanky form clad in Diamond Clan garb, no haughty smirk. His frown only deepened as the sun continued its trek across the sigh and still there was no sign of the other Warden.
This was a serious disruption to the schedule. Completely unorthodox. Ingo must do something about it.
He didn’t know where Warden Melli lived, but he did know where his Arena was. So, detouring from his usual path, Ingo turned on a dime and began the trek to Moonview Arena.
He’d only been there once before, when Irida was giving him a tour of the highlands after his assignment, but he remembered the way well enough. He had a knack for directions that few could rival. Despite his lack of experience navigating to it, he was able to find the arena well enough. There was no sign of Melli at the entrance, but maybe further in…
As he passed through the cavern entrance, there was a low thrum of electricity behind him, and Ingo turned to see the Lord Electrode perched on a ledge and looming over him, electricity crackling along his shiny surface.
"Greetings, Lord Electrode," he said, bowing at a precise angle in a movement that was more instinct than anything else. "I come seeking your Warden Melli. He missed our usual meeting time, and I'm concerned. He's usually quite good at sticking to the schedule."
Electrode stared at him for several moments, hollow eyes flicking over Ingo like he was searching for something. He must have liked whatever he found, because he gave another crackle of static and rolled past Ingo, further into the hollow. He couldn't understand Electrode as well as his own Lady, but the basic elements of communication were still there. As directed, he followed after the Noble.
The arena seemed relatively empty, save for the odd Voltorb rolling about or doing loops around the broken pillars. They paid neither he nor the Noble any mind as they passed. Electrode went right past them and deeper into it. He eventually stopped beside the large tree at the edge of it, spinning back to face Ingo and crackling again.
As Ingo approached, he heard the faint shifting of fabric from the tree's roots. Then, a moment later, the vague shape he’d assumed to just be some Voltorb or the shadow cast by the roots themselves made a pained noise and spoke;
"Nooo. Electrode, you traitor."
Nestled in between two of the trees biggest roots, expression twisted up into a pouting grimace, sat the missing Warden himself. His hat was pulled low over his eyes and his hair was a frizzled mess. His hands, clinging to the corners of his hood and holding it tight against his head, shook slightly.
"Melli? What in the world are you--"
Melli shushed him, pulling one hand away to wave it in his direction. "You talk too loud," he hissed. "Quiet. Go away."
“I will not,” he said. “Leave, that is. I will endeavor to be quieter.” He knelt down a little ways away from Melli, not wanting to upset the prickly Warden but also not willing to walk away from someone who was so clearly in pain. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. None of your business. Shut up.”
He’d learned at this point not to take any of Melli’s harsh jabs personally. Especially not ones that were made when he was upset somehow. He seemed to have rather poor control over his own words sometimes. Ingo wondered idly how much of his hostile personality was genuine rudeness and how much was just a result of his lack of a filter.
“I only want to help, Warden,” he said. “Please.”
There was a harsh but resigned sigh, as well as a drawn out “Fiiiine.” Unfortunately, whatever Melli continued with was too quiet for him to actually hear.
"Could you speak up?"
A low groan, simultaneously annoyed and pained. "I get headaches," Melli said. "Really, really bad ones. Light hurts and voices hurt and everything hurts and I hate this. If you’re not going to kill me can you please just leave me alone? I haven’t got the energy to insult you today. It never does anything, anyway."
Almighty Sinnoh, he must have been in a bad state.
Despite their differences, he had never really had anything against Melli. The other highlands warden was brash, and rude, and egotistical, and had a tendency to say whatever he wanted without a care towards how it might affect the people around him. But where many others he’d met so far had shown outright suspicion and distrust, that had never been one of the hostilities Melli had directed at him. No, all of Melli’s comments were either geared towards something trivial like his disheveled appearance or bizarre attitude towards battling, or just about Melli’s own superiority. Not once did he suggest that Ingo was at all a threat to the people of Hisui.
And perhaps his standards were quite low, but it wasn’t like he had much of a basis of comparison. For all he knew he could’ve been treated even worse than the people of the Village tended to. He had at least one friend there in the Captain of the Security Corps, and he and Cyllene were civil enough when they interacted. But Kamado and most of the villagers still saw him as something of an outsider, and made it clear that they didn’t trust him in the least.
He didn’t blame them. Not really. He could have been dangerous, he supposed, and just not known it. (Though could he truly still be considered dangerous if that trait was based on actions he didn’t remember having a part in?)
Regardless of what he might have been like in his past, Melli was much more focused on his present. How he was now, rather than what he might have been or might be in the future.
It was… nice. Nice in a way that almost tugged at Ingo’s memories.
(I like winning more than anything else, the stranger in his mind said.)
(If you truly think you can beat me, give it your best shot! Melli had said, back when they first met, a few minutes before Gliscor had Bulldozed his entire team into the dirt.)
The other Warden could be aggravating, no doubt about that, but his brash attitude and willingness to say whatever came to mind was refreshing in a place where Ingo often felt as though he needed to check his words.
And besides. Melli’s presence way out here kept him from feeling too terribly lonely, even with Lady Sneasler and her kin to keep him company.
He didn’t hate Melli. Sinnoh, he wasn’t sure he’d even say he disliked Melli.
It was all of this that led him to decide that he could not, in good conscience, leave the other Warden here to suffer on his own. He was sure Melli would eventually recover, as he likely had before Ingo had shown up (assuming this was a chronic issue, which something told him it indeed was), but why should he just deal with it when there was the perfectly acceptable alternative of Ingo helping him?
Unfortunately, Melli didn’t really seem to agree, because as soon as Ingo got close enough to put a hand on his back he shrieked and whacked it away. His own shout was apparently too loud, though, because he instantly clapped his hands over his ears and groaned.
“Stop, stop, you’re just making it worse.”
He sighed. Of course, that assumed Melli would be reasonable and actually see it as an acceptable alternative. Ingo really should have known better than to structure any of his schedule around Melli being reasonable .
“Please, Warden Melli, allow me to assist,” he said. “You’re clearly in pain, and it will do you no good to simply lay here and endure it.”
Melli pulled up his hat just enough to glare at Ingo, squinting against the light of the sun. It left a bad taste in Ingo’s mouth to see the normally boisterous Warden reduced to such a dismal condition. He knew Melli was proud (an understatement, perhaps), but would he really sacrifice potential improvement of his circumstances for the sake of his ego?
“What are you planning?”
“My home isn’t far from here,” he said. “I’d like to offer you shelter, and perhaps medicine if you’ll accept it. I have some herbs to ease pain that may help you.”
“Why can’t you just bring me to my home?”
“I don’t know the route, and you seem in no condition to guide me,” he said, tone drier than usual. He wasn’t really that annoyed, but Melli’s belligerence was just causing himself more grief, and it got on Ingo’s nerves in a way he didn’t really understand. Why did he care so much? The only person Melli was tormenting was himself. Ingo could walk away now and his life would go completely unaffected. Melli would be back on his feet sooner or later, and they’d get back to their usual back-and-forth routine. Why was he so determined to do something about it?
(Maybe it was best that he waited to think about all that until after they reached their destination.)
“Well?”
After several moments of obvious internal debate, Melli gave a dramatic sigh, then lifted his arms up and made a grabbing motion with his hands. “You had better not drop me.”
“Not to worry,” he said, bracing himself on one knee as he carefully positioned his arms under Melli’s back and legs. True, carrying someone (especially someone taller than him) was no small feat, but Lady Sneasler’s insistence that he be able to keep up with her meant he’d built quite the exercise regimen over the last few months. (Had he been particularly active before, he wondered? He’d adjusted to an active lifestyle here well enough, but was that really indicative of anything?) “I’m stronger than I look.”
With a quiet exhale, he tightened his hold and lifted Melli up as he pushed himself to his feet in one fell swoop.
Melli made a noise that he’d no doubt vehemently deny was a squeak at the sudden movement, throwing his arms around Ingo’s shoulders. “A little warning would’ve been nice,” he all but yelped. There was a flush to his face that Ingo wasn’t sure he could blame on the afternoon sun.
“My apologies. Are you comfortable?”
The response was an incoherent mumble along with Melli shoving his face into Ingo’s coat, then a moment later he nodded. Good enough. Ingo was sure the other Warden would speak up if something were bothering him.
“In that case, we’ll depart.” He had to be very careful to keep his voice from reaching a shout when he continued with an; “All aboard!”
It took some work not to jostle Melli as they walked-- his height was doing him no favors here-- but Ingo managed to keep him relatively stable. They were screwed if a wild Pokémon attacked, though. Maybe he should have let out Gliscor to follow alongside them. Well, too late now. He’d probably have a quick enough reaction time to do something in the event they were attacked. Hopefully.
As a testament to the misery he was being subject to, it took Melli far longer than usual to fill the silence. When he finally did, it wasn’t with a barb or gripe, rather a simple question in a far less grandiose tone than he normally took.
“What does that mean?”
Ingo glanced down at him, hoping his confusion was clear in his expression. (He could never be sure.) “Hm? What does what mean?”
“That thing you say,” Melli said. “All aboard. What’s that all about?”
“Oh.” Irida had asked him something similar once, when he’d first shown up and she’d been trying to parse his intentions. He gave Melli the same answer he’d given her then; “I’m not sure. The meaning of the phrase seems to have been lost along with my memories. I do know, however, that it feels like the correct thing to say before embarking on a journey.”
Melli went quiet for all of five minutes before speaking up again; “What’s it like? Not being able to remember anything?”
Mostly without his input, Ingo’s face knit itself into a worrisome frown.
“It is difficult,” he said, carefully adjusting his hold on Melli where his arm had begun to slip. “I seem to have retained much of my muscle memory, as well as memory regarding simple processes of life. However, I am missing anything that could possibly give me a clue as to my original home or identity aside from my own name. As well as the faintest glimpses of what might have been.”
“What sort of glimpses?”
He shrugged the best he could without jostling Melli too badly. “Words. Vague images. Sometimes a particular scent will spark familiarity. Nothing that can be useful in any way.”
Melli hummed thoughtfully. He’d stopped hiding himself so forcefully, instead just letting his head rest against Ingo’s shoulder with his eyes shielded from the sunlight by the ragged collar of his coat. “I suppose I appreciate you confiding in me. Even if you don’t like me.”
That only made Ingo’s frown deepen, and he glanced down at the man in his arms. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? No one likes me. Why do you think they put me all the way out here?” He sighed wearily. “Yes, it’s true Lord Electrode selected me to be his Warden, but it wasn’t like anyone was sad to see me go.”
“That’s… rather uncharacteristically self-critical of you.”
“My head hurts too much to worry about my image,” he mumbled. He extracted one arm from its place around Ingo’s shoulders so he could tug the lapel of his coat over his head. “You’ve already seen me at my worst. I’ll deny every word of this if you ever try and tell anyone. They won’t believe a word of it.”
“I wouldn’t tell them regardless,” Ingo said. “I gave you my trust. I won’t betray the trust which you’ve placed in me.”
“That’s nice of you.”
Either Melli got tired of the conversation or fell into a doze, because he didn’t continue speaking. Just lay still with the long collar of Ingo’s coat pulled low over his face. He supposed the dark fabric must be useful for blocking out the sunlight. He was almost glad for the typical chill brought about by their altitude up here in the highlands-- anywhere else and he might have been forced to shed the fabric more than he liked. While he couldn’t really understand its significance, he knew that the idea of parting with it seemed unnatural enough to make him ill.
There were already some nicks in the hem, and the Sneasels’ insistence on climbing him like he was a particularly mobile tree did it no favors. At least they were usually pretty good about keeping the poison off their claws whenever they did so.
…Usually.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the coat were to wind up so damaged that he couldn’t repair it. He wouldn’t get rid of it, but with the lifestyle he led it was inevitable that it would get damaged again. The idea to simply fold it up and store it somewhere safe had crossed his mind, but the prospect of being without it in the present was far more alarming than its theoretical future deterioration.
That was a problem for future Ingo, though. Present Ingo was quite thoroughly focused on the man cradled in his arms. Despite his height, he fit rather comfortably in Ingo’s hold.
He could get used to this, he supposed.
Not that he’d have a reason to.
Even with both his hands being occupied, he managed to get the door to his home pushed open with some strategic angles, and deposited Melli onto his bed without jostling him too much. Or straining anything, which he supposed was also important, if not quite as much of a concern. (Passenger safety was priority.)
Melli made an aggrieved noise, but it died down when Ingo closed the door and, without lighting the lantern hanging overhead, plunged the room into darkness.
“Oh,” he said with a sigh, “that’s nicer.”
“Just relax. I’ll have something to ease the pain ready in a moment.” He set his coat and hat in their usual place by the door. It would be tough trying to navigate his herbs in the dark, but he was used to working in dim environments. He’d just have to identify the correct ones by smell and--
He paused.
Was he used to working in dim environments?
What made him think that?
“Everything alright?” Melli’s drowsy voice piped up from the direction of his bed. “You stopped moving.”
“It’s fine,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray how badly his hands were shaking. Had that been a memory? Was he close to something? Should he maybe try working in the dark more often to see if that triggered it? (Probably not a good idea, if he really thought about it, but this was the first new hint of a memory he’d gotten in a while. He usually wasn’t so desperate to figure out where he’d come from, content to focus on his future rather than his past, but the uneasy feeling of a memory just out of reach made his chest hurt.) “Merely thought of something that may cause trouble in the future, I’m afraid.”
“Hope it’s not trouble for me,” Melli mumbled.
“Of course not.” He managed to set both hands on his herb drawer, and began slowly sorting through them to find the ones he’d need. He had nothing poisonous, so at least accidentally killing Melli wouldn’t be a concern, but he didn’t want to give him something that didn’t actually help. It was slow going, but eventually he discerned the right combination of herbs based on smell and texture (and taste, in one case), and then moved on to fumbling his mortar and pestle. “You cause enough trouble on your own.”
“Best kind of trouble.”
Ingo paused briefly, the scrape of stone-on-stone going silent as he stopped. Then he huffed in a way that might’ve been a laugh, were he anyone else. “And what sort of trouble is that?”
The shuffling of fabric. And then-- “The cute kind.”
It was a miracle he didn’t drop the mortar with the way his hands jumped. Melli’s voice was a lot clearer than it had been a moment prior. And while he recognized the other Warden had probably just turned towards him after having his face pressed into the pillow or something, it was still jarring.
“Alright,” he said, carefully setting the mortar aside so he could fumble his way through pouring a cup of water. He ended up spilling some of the herb mixture on his hands, but most of it got in the cup. Enough to be effective. “Sit up. We don’t want you choking on something meant to fix an ailment.”
His eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark after the glaring brightness of outside by the time he reached the bed, so at least there was no risk of him accidentally spilling it on Melli. That would certainly leave a bad impression.
Melli reached out, and Ingo grabbed his wrist before he could fling it haphazardly against the cup. He really was determined to be as much of a pain as possible, wasn’t he? Even when stricken by an illness of some kind. “Careful,” he said, pressing the cup into Melli’s hand and closing his fingers around it. “Drink slowly.”
“Whatever, Mom,” Melli mumbled. Then he promptly broke out into a coughing fit as he downed the concoction a little too fast. Ingo pressed a hand on his back, reaching for the water jug again with his free hand.
“Breathe,” Ingo said. “Deep breaths, in and out. You’re alright.”
“I don’t need your--” His stubborn dismissal was interrupted by the very evidence of his plight. Another coughing fit. “I’m fine.”
“Melli,” he said, very gently, and the other Warden froze. Whether it was due to how softly he was speaking compared to his usual volume or the gentle circular patterns Ingo had started rubbing on his back, he couldn’t be sure. But he supposed it didn’t matter either way. “It’s alright to need help sometimes. There’s no shame in asking for it, and no shame in accepting it. I’m not going to hold any of this against you.”
A sharp inhale. One that thankfully wasn’t followed by more coughing. “And I should just trust your word? Hardly. The Pearl and the Diamond Clans may have a truce, but deep down we’re still enemies. And we always will be.”
Ingo’s frown deepened. He didn’t know much about the conflict between the two, truthfully. They’d already had their civil agreement by the time he’d arrived, and most people seemed reluctant to talk about it. Or, maybe just reluctant to talk to him. Which he supposed he couldn’t blame them for, much as it might’ve been unfortunate to be so lacking in historical records.
“Melli,” he said, then sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Melli shifted aside to give him a little more room, and Ingo carefully didn’t mention it. He probably hadn’t even realized. “I have no stake in the feud between our clans. I may be a member of the Pearl Clan, but it is likely because they simply found me first. Had the Diamond Clan found me, perhaps I would then be a part of you and yours instead.”
“We wouldn’t have taken you,” Melli said, almost before he’d even finished speaking.
“Truly? Even after I displayed my aptitude with Pokémon? Or my skill in battling?” That had even impressed Cyllene when she’d learned of it, which he kind of thought was an impossibility. She was terribly disappointed when he explained that he really couldn’t remember how he’d come to possess these abilities, and thus couldn’t teach her Survey Corps. He did feel bad. But there was nothing he could do.
There was only silence from the other Warden, and that was how Ingo knew he was correct. Melli usually only shut up when he couldn’t think of a witty retort.
“Is your headache any better?”
“Hm? Oh,” Melli gave a noncommittal hum. “A little. Better than it was, but it still hurts.”
“As expected. The herbs may take some time to fully work, and even then they may not eradicate the pain entirely. Merely dull it.” He hesitated, but eventually his inclination towards helping people got the better of him, and he continued; “you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”
Melli hummed again, shuffling around where he lay. Through the gloom, Ingo could vaguely see him rolling onto his stomach and stretching out like a Liepard. He looked right at home among the numerous blankets piled haphazardly on Ingo’s bed.
It struck Ingo then that he was staring, and he decided it would probably be best for everyone involved if he vacated the room. Melli had told him to leave him alone earlier, right? He could comply with that. He hadn’t finished his patrols, after all-- Melli’s absence had prompted him to make an unscheduled detour. He could finish those up, and then maybe by the time he was done Melli would be in operating condition again and they could go back to their usual routine.
A decent plan, however he’d failed to account for Melli once more creating an obstruction on his tracks in the form of a hand latching onto his wrist as he stood.
He glanced back with a frown.
“Where are you going?” Melli asked, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his pouting. “Don’t leave.”
“You’re sending mixed signals, you know.” Knowing the Warden and his usual attitude, he was probably doing it on purpose just to tick Ingo off. (Or maybe he wasn’t. How well did Ingo know Melli, really? How much of Melli’s attitude was bluster? Was any of it real vitriol or was it all an act? Why in the world did Ingo want to know so badly?) “Earlier you were insistent that I leave you be, and now you won’t let me go.”
With a huff, Melli tightened his hold, tugging Ingo forward. He went along only out of fear of Melli pulling him right off his feet and creating a very awkward situation for the both of them. “I can change my mind. I’m a very complex individual, you know.”
Ingo shook his head in some sort of disbelieving incredulity, but sat back down on the edge of the bed regardless. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand you.”
“I’m not asking you to try.”
“Perhaps I want to.” Melli turned to look up at him, eyes wide in the room’s dim lighting, his hair covering most of his face. Even if Ingo had actually been able to see it in its entirety, he doubted he would’ve been able to decipher the meaning behind Melli’s expression. There was a complexity to it that he seemed good at pretending didn’t exist most of the time. “Understand you, that is.”
"Why in the world would you want to do a thing like that?" Melli sputtered, looking so surprised by his own words that Ingo had to wonder if he meant to say them.
His grip on Ingo's wrist had loosened somewhat, so Ingo took the opportunity to move his hand and instead wrap it around Melli's own.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You don't like me."
"I've said nothing of the sort."
"I don't like you?"
"I find that hard to believe," he said. "However, if it is true, you may tell me to back off at any time. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable. You owe me nothing for my assistance, and I will not hold this over you."
Melli actually turned over to look at him at that, pushing his hair out of his face with the hand not currently entwined with Ingo's. The careful twists he usually kept it in had come undone at some point. Probably thanks to all his shuffling around. Ingo pushed away the bizarre urge to run his fingers through it. That would be rude.
"Why did you help me?" Melli asked. "We can't seem to do a very good job of it, but we're supposed to be enemies."
"Even if we had been doing a good job of it, I would have helped you. I hate to see suffering in any form. No matter the one being subject to it. Regardless of whether we’re supposed to be enemies, which I really must disagree with." Despite his effort to ignore it, the urge to touch cropped up again, and with a sigh he just barely gave in. Reached over with his free hand to pinch a lock between two fingers. Frizzy from a lack of daily care, but still as soft as expected.
…He'd been expecting something?
“The Diamond and Pearl Clans--”
“We don’t represent the whole of our respective clans, Melli,” he said. “What has gone on between them in the past need not affect our personal lives. We’re at a truce now, aren’t we? I don’t see why that shouldn’t extend into peaceful socialization between us.”
Irida had tried to explain it to him at some point. How the two clans had historically been in conflict about their respective perceptions of Almighty Sinnoh, that the argument had stemmed from a simple disagreement between the founders of both clans and wound up growing far beyond that. But if you asked Ingo, it all seemed a little excessive. So what if the two groups had different beliefs? They were each entitled to them. It was almost as silly as trying to claim that either a strict adherence to the truth or having faith in an ideal future was somehow better than the other option.
Why that example of all things came to mind he couldn’t possibly fathom, but he knew he firmly believed that both sides could coexist.
Melli seemed baffled, though.
“Where did you come from?”
“I didn’t think my point of view was truly that unique.”
For some reason, that caused Melli to scowl, turning away and shoving his face against the blankets. He mumbled something intelligible. Ingo frowned, shifting a bit closer and leaning over to push the fabric away from his face.
“What--” Ingo stopped. Because Melli looked like he was about to start crying, and the novelty of it was enough to blindside him. “Are you alright??”
“You don’t make any sense,” he mumbled, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “It’s not fair.”
“I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” It seemed Melli was determined to catch him off his guard as much as possible today, because in a movement that Ingo didn’t really register until a solid half a minute had passed, Melli sat up and threw his arms around Ingo’s shoulders in what was either a botched attempt at a body-check or a hug. He was inclined to assume the latter.
He set a hand on Melli’s back in time to feel him start shaking.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, shuffling over slightly so Melli wasn’t bent at such an odd angle. “How can I help?”
“You-- that’s what’s wrong,” Melli hissed. “You’re so… nice. People aren’t just nice because they can be. Because they want to be. There’s always another reason.” Before Ingo could try defending himself, he continued; “but you don’t have one. You really are just like that. And I don’t-- I can’t--”
“Take your time.”
“Stop it! That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Ingo could feel Melli’s frown where he’d tucked his head against his neck. “You’re just so good all the time. You shouldn’t be possible, and yet you are. Somehow you’re still alive and you’re willing to help even me and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what you want me to do. I don’t know what I should do. I hate being indebted to people.”
Based on what Melli was saying, further reassurances probably wouldn’t help. Despite that, he couldn’t really keep quiet. “You don’t owe me anything. This isn’t a transaction, Melli.” He leaned back just enough to be able to meet Melli’s eyes (or, rather, look at a spot just to the left that would look like eye contact from Melli’s perspective), gently brushing his hair out of his face. “I’ll say it however many times it takes for you to understand; I’m helping you because I want to. Not because I want anything in return.”
Melli stared at him in silence. Then he glanced down for just a moment, pursed his lips, and looked up at Ingo again through unfairly thick lashes. “And if I want to do something in return?”
This… felt like a trick question. It must have been, right? Melli trying to dupe him into admitting he wanted something out of the interaction? That was the only reasonable explanation. However, if Melli had proven nothing else throughout all of this, he’d shown that he rarely leaned towards the “reasonable” justification for things.
“It is still unnecessary,” he said, “but far be it from me to rebuke you.”
He wondered, idly, what Melli might consider adequate repayment. A day ago he might have been able to come up with a dozen things, each more self-serving than the last, but seeing this far less conceited side of Melli left him unsure of anything regarding the man.
How well did Ingo know Melli, really?
Not very. Despite how long they’d been working in close proximity and ending up conversing together on the regular, rarely did their conversations stray towards the topics of their personal lives. For Ingo’s part, it was mostly a matter of not remembering much of a personal life he could speak of, but Melli had always been notably avoidant considering how highly he thought of himself. Or, at least, acted like he did. If today was any indication, more of his personality was a production than Ingo had thought.
Which begged the question: why did he work so hard to put on a performance of standoffishness? What reason could Melli have to be so determined to make everyone around him despise him? Did he really just dislike people that much? (If that was the case, Ingo decided, he wouldn’t have sounded so despondent at the idea of someone not liking him.)
Ingo realized after a moment that Melli was staring at him expectantly. Had he said something while Ingo had been distracted with his musing? Woops.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
For whatever reason, Melli went bright red at the request, pulling his arms away from Ingo to tug his bangs in front of his face. “Stop it,” he said (more of a hostile mutter, really), “I don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
Ingo couldn’t seem to do any of this right, could he? “I’m not. I was distracted with my own thoughts about you and didn’t hear a word you said. I apologize.”
Melli stared at him. “About me?”
“That’s correct,” he agreed. “I was just wondering what could possibly inspire you to be so hostile to the people around you when clearly you don’t dislike the idea of interacting with them. Or why you go through so much effort to come across as self-centered and shallow when there's so much depth to your character.”
It clearly wasn’t what Melli was expecting, because he gave Ingo a bewildered look before schooling his expression into a pout. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It isn’t really. I will listen, if you see fit to tell me. But you don’t have to.” Hang on, wait, Melli was doing that thing he did when he was embarrassed about something and deflecting attention away from it. Ingo gave himself a little mental pat on the back for being able to identify it. “Regardless, you asked a question earlier that I missed, right? What was it?”
Melli made a high pitched noise, oddly analogous to a tea kettle, and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t important.”
Somehow, Ingo doubted that. But he’d let it go.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hm?”
“Your headache,” he clarified, since that’s what had started this whole debacle in the first place. “Is the medicine helping?”
“Oh. Right. Yes, it’s… fine.” After some clear deliberation, Melli carefully set his hands on Ingo’s shoulders. He’d been about to ask if he should move back, but he supposed that somewhat negated the question. “...Thank you,” Melli said, and it didn’t even sound like the words hurt to say. “You didn’t have to help me, but you did. And I appreciate it. I know you said I don’t owe you anything, but if you ever do need my help, I promise you’ll have it. No questions asked and with only mild complaining.”
Only mild complaining? Melli must have been serious.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, gently patting Melli’s back. Had it been anyone else, they likely would’ve taken it for the gesture of conclusion that it was, but he’d learned by now that Melli would probably just pretend he hadn’t noticed. “Now, if you are feeling better, I should be going. I’ve yet to actually finish my rounds for the day and I’m already quite off-schedule. You’re free to stay here as long as you’d like, though.”
“Wait!”
Dutifully, Ingo waited.
“...Maybe I’m not feeling better,” Melli said, scooting forward so he could plant his face against Ingo’s chest. “You should stay here. Just in case.”
Manipulation, plain and simple. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
But Ingo supposed it wouldn’t do that much harm to skip a day of his patrols. Their Nobles were there in case anything actually went wrong, and besides-- it wasn’t as though anything could change so drastically in a single afternoon. They could deal with any issues that arose tomorrow.
(And perhaps it was the fact that Melli wasn’t even attempting to be subtle about his desire to have Ingo stay that really put the nail in the Cofagrigus. Who was he to deny someone that so clearly welcomed his presence?)
“Very well,” he said, leaning back against the headboard and letting Melli curl up against his side with a contented hum. “Just in case.”