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Ingo shifted nervously outside the final door. It was a Monday, around 3:20 PM, by the display he’d seen on the way. Emmet should be here. If the schedule hadn’t changed, if his memory could be trusted, if Emmet was still using their shared office in his absence…
Enough. Ingo took a steadying breath and opened the door.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, stepping into the room, but it hadn’t been to find Emmet slumped on his desk, head on his arms and hat fallen aside — just sleeping. Ingo moved up beside him, tears springing to his eyes at the sight of his brother’s face turned toward an empty chair. His smile was pinched and small — but still there. Bravo, Emmet.
Ingo controlled his breathing with an effort of will and wondered what to do now. From the look of the bags under his twin’s eyes, he needed the sleep. Still, Ingo was hardly about to leave him at his desk, to wake with cramps in his back and ink on his cheek. He knelt and gently gathered Emmet into his arms, resting his twin’s head against his shoulder — had he gotten lighter, or had Ingo gotten stronger?
His brother stirred slightly. “Shh. Go back to sleep,” Ingo whispered, mindful of his volume. Emmet turned toward his voice like a sunflower to the light. Someone else heard as well — a Pokéball shook on Emmet’s belt, then opened.
Chandelure floated slowly closer to her trainers. Ingo caught her eye, smiled, and shushed her quietly. She twirled silently, throwing off excited sparks, then nuzzled into Ingo’s shoulder. He bumped her back, as much of a show of affection as he could manage with his arms full of twin.
Ingo carried Emmet across the room and sat down on the office couch, settling his twin into the long-empty spot at Ingo’s right. Emmet burrowed deeper into his arms, and Chandelure nestled into his other side, inside his coat. He shifted his twin against his chest so he wouldn’t wake up with a crick in his neck, then rested his head on the cushion above Emmet’s, relaxing into the simplicity of his brother at his side.
The door opened.
One of the Depot Agents poked their head in, eyes widening at Emmet’s empty desk. They looked around the room and froze at the tableau on the sofa. Ingo smiled conspiratorially at them, extracted one arm, tapped a finger to his lips, and fingerspelled Tell others do not disturb?
The Agent nodded frantically — Furze, that was it — and withdrew. The door closed as quietly as it had opened.
Emmet had shifted, a furrow in his brow. Ingo wrapped Chandelure into his coat the way she liked, then tucked his arm back around his brother and watched the furrow smooth away as Emmet smiled in his sleep, so brightly that it made Ingo’s heart ache with joy. He wanted to hear his twin’s voice. He wouldn’t wake Emmet for the world.
Ingo closed his eyes, held his brother close, and finally let himself relax.
Emmet woke slowly and under protest. If he was awake there’d just be paperwork and meetings and all the dreary bits of running the Subway alone.
(If he was awake the office would be empty again.)
(It had been such a nice dream.)
But wake he did, and by degrees found that he wasn’t at his desk anymore. Chandelure must have moved him to the sofa again, and called Eelektross out to curl around him. He was cuddling into his starter, that was all.
(If he didn’t move, he wouldn’t feel the texture, and he could keep holding on to the illusion.)
Emmet breathed through the old familiar ache and kept his eyes closed for a little while longer.
Chandelure chimed. The sound was oddly muffled.
(It wouldn’t have been odd at all, except that wasn’t possible.)
That was enough to wake up for, if Chandelure wanted him. He looked over at her — across a black shape that was definitely not any of their Pokémon. But the body next to his still felt so familiar…
Emmet looked up, hardly daring to breathe.
He turned back to Chandelure. She was smiling. Black fabric was tucked around her globe. “Am I… am I awake?” The words came out in a choked whisper.
Chandelure was smiling . Emmet hadn’t seen her smile in nearly two years. She nodded, so careful not to jostle the one she was cuddling. The only person she ever let wrap her up like that. Her trainer. His brother.
Ingo was holding him. Ingo had carried him to the couch and fallen asleep next to him. Ingo was smiling at him in his sleep, his own special smile that so few knew how to see.
Ingo was back.
Some kind of miracle had passed while Emmet was sleeping, and Ingo was back.
For a split second Emmet was hurt that Ingo hadn’t thought to wake him up for their reunion, but looking at his twin’s face he understood. From the bags under Ingo’s eyes he hadn’t been sleeping any better than Emmet had (before this afternoon — he’d fallen asleep less than four hours ago by the wall clock, and Reshiram only knew when Ingo had come in, but Emmet felt more rested than he had in close to two years). Ingo was smiling in his much-needed sleep, and Emmet wouldn’t disturb him for anything short of a fire.
Well. Or stopping his brother from waking up with a crick in his neck. Emmet twisted awkwardly to retrieve a pillow from behind him and tucked it under his twin’s head (with a little Psychic assistance), then settled his arm around Ingo in turn.
Ingo made a questioning little noise.
“Shh. Go back to sleep.” Emmet echoed words that must not have been a dream after all. Ingo gave a contented sound and snuggled somehow closer.
(Ingo was here. Safe in Emmet’s arms, only sleeping. It took an effort of will to keep his breath steady in the wave of sheer relief that brought.)
Later, they would talk. Later, there would be tears and laughter, calls to friends and family, explanations, showers. Later, Emmet would ask for the stories behind every rip in Ingo’s coat, meet each of the Pokémon in the strange stone Pokéballs he could see on his twin’s belt.
But for now, Emmet just watched Ingo breathe, held his brother close, and finally let himself relax.