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He is woken up by a soft pillow crashing into his torso.
“Morning, edgy overgrown Musharna! Wakey-wakey!”
The voice is familiar. He opens his eyes to his own face.
“Ingooo…did you stay up late again last night? That is verrrry bad for your health! Your tank will be empty by noon. And then you might crash. Yep! You should go take a shower now! I’m already done. I’ll prepare breakfast.”
“Good morning to you too, Emmet.” The greeting is familiar, instinctual. The smile on his brother’s face widens as he leaves the room.
He looks at his bedside table. His digital clock reads 5.35 a.m. He is right on schedule. His desk is undisturbed, model steam locomotive stretched out across the surface as he had left it last night. His Pokéballs are all in the right place, each tucked into a car. It was Axel’s turn to be engineer last night, so it will be Major’s turn later tonight. He takes the balls out, brushing his hand against the smooth top halves and feeling his Pokémon slowly wake up in response.
A small shake, and his oldest partner pops out, lilac flames burning brightly as ever.
“Lure?”
“Good morning, Conductor Willow. I’m alright.” He is lying, he knows, but he has no reason to; by all means it should not be a lie that he is operating as normal. He went to bed yesterday, and he woke up today, travelling the same tracks every day. His throat feels fine, and most of the rest of his body as well.
Yet something is off.
The room he has slept in for eight years, five months and twelve days suddenly seems so foreign.
“Luuurrre?”
“Thank you for your concern, partner. I am truly alright, and shall depart for now, as according to schedule. Next station, bathroom!”
Get his uniform, get himself cleaned up. He feels himself tear up with joy when he sees the shower he sees every day. He fumbles with the razor while shaving, and accidentally nicks his chin. For once, his usual dress shirt, while familiar, seems too stiff and smooth. He seems to have briefly forgotten how to tie his tie as well - thankfully, Willow has had to deal with her tired trainer in the morning enough times to be able to take the wheel in case of an emergency.
“Hurry up, Ingo! I will eat your breakfast!”
He heads to the table, accompanied by his brother’s smug remarks down the hallway about just how good the food is, and oh wouldn’t it be such a shame if Ingo actually showed up to eat? The food in question being the leftovers from an attempt to make pancakes during the weekend, emphasis on attempt. No one knows how their concoction even came out spicy when they had put in copious amounts of sugar, or why it had the texture of a Light Clay. He would rather chug Sneasler venom than eat whatever they had made - alright, that is certainly an exaggeration; he needs actual fuel to refill his tank, and somehow their monstrosity does a passable job.
…What’s a Sneasler?
“So how’s my breakfast, Emmet?” He asks loudly as he enters the room. Emmet looks up from where he is pouring sauce over the glob on his plate. Two garish cups of coffee sit on the table.
“Verrrry bad. I haven’t even touched it. You can drown it in your soy sauce. I am drinking mine with vinegar - Ingo, you look dazed. Are you alright?”
“I am quite fine, thank you.”
“You are talking verrrry little today. Your chin is bleeding. You spent a long time in the shower. You looked surprised to see me when I woke you up. You are hiding something. I don’t know what. But you are definitely not alright.”
He can never hide things from his brother, even if it is something hidden from himself.
“My deepest apologies, Emmet. I just felt…out of sorts this morning, starting from when I woke up. I must have had quite the dream, to be so shaken even now.”
Emmet likely would not be able to understand fully this utter wrongness he feels. He himself does not understand it, this odd disjoint between the him of yesterday and today, as if his cab had undergone renewal overnight and had the ATO replaced.
“Do you want to take today off?” Nevertheless, Emmet seems to have sensed his unease. “I’ll take today off too, if you want. I’ll call in sick for both of us. We have many months of sick leave saved up.”
He acquiesces.
It would be easier to just pretend everything was fine, head to work as usual as he had assumed yesterday and forget about the strangeness of the morning. Yet, it is undeniable that there is a non-zero chance that this ATO failure will carry over to his job. And working with trains is a dance, a delicate system where each cog has to be in place, and a small break in the circuit could spell disaster for Unova’s entire subway. He does not trust himself to head to work like this.
“Thank you, Emmet. That seems to be the safest path forward. You can head to work if you like - I can take care of myself here.”
“Nope! I am worried for you. I am calling in sick for us both now. What if something happens to you at home when I’m gone? At least I’m not sick today. I can be on standby at home.”
He feels as if he has sorely missed this, having his twin brother here by his side. Which, like everything else that has transpired this morning, makes no sense when he was also here yesterday and just called him an edgy Musharna and threatened to eat his breakfast. (Though he knows that Emmet would never do that, not for breakfast at least. Safety first, including refueling properly for the day.)
None of that changes the gratitude and relief he feels in this very moment. He is fortunate to have this life of his.
“Emmet, you’re the best brother in the world and I love you. Thank you for being here.”
“I am Emmet. You are suddenly a sap. But I would do this anytime. Because you are my brother. We are a two-car train.”
(And it is after he has finished basking in this moment here with all their Pokémon around them, a perfectly brewed coffee and horrible pancakes, after Emmet has finished making his call to the relevant people, that something Emmet said earlier returns to him.
“Emmet. Earlier, did I just hear you say you were eating your pancakes with vinegar?!”)