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“Well, well, well! I certainly thought the Champion would come, but I didn’t think a loser would follow.”
“Must I have you once again taste the flavor of agonizing defeat?”
The words of Swordward and Shielbert echo in Hop’s ears as he, Gloria, and Piers prepare to venture to the remaining four stadiums. By the end of the fight with the two brothers, the Champion’s team was mostly unscathed. As per Hop’s observations, of course, her knowledge of type matchups proved to be useful. It wasn’t just that, though: She managed to outspeed everyone and slammed them with sheer power. Her Centiskorch threw Fire Lashes left and right, reducing their Steel types to scrap metal. Corviknight took care of Golisopod and Falinks in the blink of an eye.
Hop, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. One Close Combat to the face from Falinks knocked out his partner, Dubwool. Inteleon finished off Falinks and Golisopod with Snipe Shots but fainted to Klinklang’s Wild Charge. In the end, four out of six of his Pokémon remained.
It’s been a couple hours since Sonia informed the not-so-merry band of the next round of rampaging Dynamax Pokémon. During their conversation, Hop’s resolve to chase down the weirdos and protect the people of Galar had him fired up. However, now, as he ruminates on the earlier battle, he’s beginning to feel more like a pile of ash. Even after claiming victory, it doesn’t feel like a win. Seeing his rival land devastating blows every turn while he’s being pummeled into the dust—he’s proud of her, but, well...
“Ready?”
The Trainer snaps out of his thoughts and looks up from where he’s sitting inside the Pokémon Center.
Piers stands in front of him, holding a bag of newly-purchased healing items for Pokémon and medical supplies for human usage. Regrettably, there’s nowhere in town that sells cold-weather clothing; the current plan is to head to Circhester, so this will be necessary if they don’t want to freeze. He wonders if they have time to swing by his apartment to grab something warm to wear. Ultimately, his, “Don’t rush in unprepared,” mantra kicks in, and he decides it would be best for everyone’s well-beings to make sure they’re sufficiently bundled before heading into the city.
“Need t’ stop by Spikemuth first,” the musician informs. “For layerin’. Don’ wanna risk catchin’ ya’ death, wha’ wit’ th’ snow an’ ice an’ all that.” He flicks at the bottom point of his choker and takes a quick glance outside: The sun is beginning to set. Have they really been at it all day? “Guess we oughta call it a night once we’re done in Circhester...”
“R-Right.” Hop stands up, averting his eyes.
The rocker furrows his brow. “Y’ all right?” He exhales. “If this is about those arse—”
“Piers! Hop!” Gloria calls from the doorway. “The Corviknight Taxi ‘s ou’side!”
“Guess we better ‘ead on, then.” Hop offers a smile to Piers before jogging over to the Champion.
A pang of concern strikes the musician’s chest as he follows.
The ride to Spikemuth feels longer than Piers would like. Due to the small size of the Corviknight Taxi, the trio is squashed together like canned Arrokuda. Gloria, who has opted for a quick nap, could win first prize in a snoring competition (yet another thing she could win at). The inside of the carriage is becoming chillier thanks to the high altitude and its gradual approach north. Every now and again, the wind shifts, throwing them into turbulence. The musician isn’t really bothered by heights, but the sudden, jerky movements interrupt his creative muse.
One bump in the air causes Gloria to flop onto his shoulder. The initial impact startles him, but he soon relaxes and adjusts his upper body to make her comfortable. He’s used to Marnie falling asleep on him, especially after late-night concerts, but having her hard head dig into his bony structure is somewhat distracting.
And then...there’s Hop.
Ever since they’d left, he’s had this distant look, his gold eyes dull and cloudy to match the gray sky. As he leans against the door, he wears a slight frown that has no effort put into it; it’s almost blank. When the air turns rough, he flinches a bit but otherwise doesn’t move.
As Piers looks closely, he can see the beginnings of dark circles under the kid’s eyes. For a moment, it reminds him of the nights where he can’t sleep; sometimes, he’s too invested in coming up with the right word to end a verse, and other times, his mind is riddled with anxiety over the future of Spikemuth.
They’ve been running around from stadium to stadium since morning with little time to rest, so of course Hop is exhausted. However, after hearing his self-deprecating comments and the way those entitled pricks had put him down, he’s certain it isn’t just the dashing around Galar that’s getting to him.
Piers fiddles with his choker before speaking. “Oi, Hop.”
The Trainer’s body tenses as he snaps his eyes toward the rocker. “Y-Yeah?” After a second, he loosens up, sighs, and gazes at his hands. “Sorry.”
He leans forward. “What’re you apologizin’ for?” The tone in his voice is one of gentle worry.
He doesn’t respond.
The former Gym Leader hums as he plays with his choker once more. What would he say here if this was Marnie? Think, Piers, think... He sighs. “Y’know... You really gotta stop bein’ so down on yourself, mate.”
Hop looks up at him, his eyes glassier than before.
“I get it,” he continues. “You lost some battles, and ya’ feel like shite. But...” He brushes his long bang aside only for it to flop back into place. “You made it all th’ way to the finals, an’ you chose to help catch those wankers when ya’ could’ve just as easily stayed back.” His mouth curls into a reassuring smile. “You got a bright spirit. Don’t let it burn out.”
The Trainer lets out a soft chuckle. “Right...” He returns his gaze to the floor. “That’s easier to believe when—” His voice is cracking. “—your w-whole life—” His breath hitches. Why is something...wet running down his face?
Oh.
Suddenly, Hop’s shoulder is met with a warm, squeezing sensation; it’s Piers’ gloved hand. The vocalist watches him, his heart breaking every second he has to watch this poor kid cry. Sure, he’s seen Marnie bawl more times than he can count, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.
The Trainer rubs an arm across his eyes as more and more tears begin to fall. “What am I s’pposed to now?” he asks in a quiet, choppy whisper.
“Y’ don’t quit.” The former Gym Leader’s eyes flash with compassion and determination. “When you’re ready, you try again.” He smiles gently. “You’re one ‘ell of a Trainer, kid. Might not feel like it now, but...I know you can.”
He wants to reply, “Thanks,” but only uncontrollable sobs come out.
Piers exhales. “All right. C’mere.” He removes his hand from Hop’s shoulder and wraps his arm around him in a half-hug. “Breathe. It’ll be all right.”
The warmth coming from the musician’s reassurance certainly won’t solve all the lad’s problems, but, for now, it’s comforting. As he tries to slow his breathing, snot dribbles out of his nose and mixes with the tears; he wipes at it with a sleeve of his jacket.
Piers grimaces at the mess that’s now smeared across the kid’s arm. “Oi, no’ like that.” Moving as little as possible so as not to disturb Gloria’s slumber, he uses his free arm to reach into his bag for a tissue. “’Ere. Use this.”
He takes it does as the rocker instructs, blowing his nose and harshly wiping at his eyes. Gradually, the tears slow until none are left.
The musician, with a brokenhearted Hop on one side and a sleeping Gloria on the other, wonders for a moment how he ended up getting into this—flying around with the fate of Galar at stake and supervising two kids. But, he thinks, maybe getting to be there for them isn’t so bad.
When the taxi lands in Spikemuth, Piers shakes Gloria awake. It takes a few tries, but he eventually succeeds. A spew of grumpy gibberish from the Champion is a small price to pay for the group getting a move on.
While they walk a couple of blocks or so in the direction of the stadium, the neon shop signs serve as their only light source. As they press on, the stenches of smoke and booze and howls of Friday-night laughter fade in and out.
Piers asks the two younger Trainers to go in front of him. He knows their Pokémon can defend them, if need be, and there aren’t usually any dangerous incidents, but he wants to keep an eye on them just in case. Gloria, who has sprung alive like a fresh Budew popping out of an Egg, marvels at every sign. (Why not? She flew through the Gym test so quickly that she never got to really look around, after all.) She seems like a completely different person from the one who grumbled at the rocker when they landed. He jokes that she reminds him of Marnie’s Morpeko, earning him a scowl and a stuck-out tongue.
Hop, who walks just a little behind Gloria, chuckles at this, but Piers can tell his lightheartedness is forced. When he turns his head, the neon pink light makes the exhaustion and puffiness in his eyes more prominent. Overall, his movement seems more sluggish. He stops in his tracks a few times, like he’s forgotten what he’s doing; he has to slap his cheeks to bring himself back to reality.
As they near the metal stairs leading up to the apartment, the kid halts for the final time.
The musician, who is just a step away from bumping into him, pauses and lets out a sigh. There’s no way they’re battling anymore today with the condition he’s in. Maybe his emotional state has improved, but that won’t change the fact that he’s practically dead on his feet.
“Hey.” Piers taps him gently on the shoulder.
The Trainer winces for a moment, then relaxes. “Oh. Piers.”
“Change of plans,” the rocker says. “Let’s call it ‘ere. We’ll head to Circhester t’morrow.”
“Wha—” He clenches a fist, his expression somewhere between determined, alarmed, and unfocused.
Gloria cocks her head to the side. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“’M fine, Gloria,” Hop replies, swaying slightly. “It’s really nothing.”
“Bloody—” Piers reaches out to hold him up. “That ain’t nothin’.”
At this point, the Trainer doesn’t have the energy to argue and instead allows the former Gym Leader to help him up the stairway, with the Champion following close behind. When they reach the top, Piers fumbles around for his key and unlocks the door.
The small apartment’s interior isn’t messy, but it’s definitely been lived in. Near the entrance, a small sage-colored couch holding disorganized throw pillows sits in front of a rectangular coffee table. Atop the table, there are a few written-on papers, some lying flat and others crumpled into balls. To the right, there’s a small kitchenette. A few dirty dishes sit in the sink, and the counter’s surface looks like it could use some cleaning. At the end of the short hallway leading straight back from the entrance, there are three doors: one on the right and two on the left.
“Right, then,” Piers murmurs as he places Hop onto the couch. “Sit tight for a sec.” He runs a hand through his hair as he goes to a cabinet above the microwave. Where did Marnie put the tea? Earl Grey—no. Grey, Grey, Grey—Aha. Rooibos.
While he’s setting up the electric kettle, he observes the Champion moving to sit next to her rival. Her eyes are full of worry as she asks if he’s okay. He replies that he’s “been training really hard lately,” to which Gloria scolds him for not taking better care of himself. It reminds him of Marnie’s concern if he doesn’t eat or sleep enough.
Speaking of his li’l sis, Piers should probably let her know they’re here. He pulls out his Rotom phone and shoots her a text.
P: Hey Marns. What time you comin back
...
M: in a lil bit
M: prolly 10-ish
M: you home?
M: thought you were takin care of the dynamax problem
P: Needed to stop for a breather. Got Gloria an’ Hop too
M: k
...
P: You stayin safe out there?
M: yes
M: bro im fineeee
P: You know I’m always gonna ask
P: Text when you’re about to leave
P: Love you
...
M: love you too
A short beep alerts him that the water is ready. After putting up his phone, he goes to another cabinet and pulls out a few mismatched mugs: a white one reading “#1 Bro” that Marnie gifted him for Christmas a few years ago; a pale pink one with a small chip on the rim; and a black one with tiny Galarian Zigzagoons all over it. “Oi, Gloria. Mind movin’ those t’ the end?” he asks, nodding to the papers on the coffee table.
“Sure. Er, ‘old on...” She collects them into a neat pile and puts them in the corner of the table closest to the door, making sure to leave the one bearing unfinished lyrics on the top.
“Cheers.” He pours hot water and a tea bag in each before bringing them over.
“Don’t burn y’selves,” he says as he places them down. He purposefully gives Hop the “#1 Bro” cup, offering a smile and a wink as an added bonus. The gesture elicits the first real chuckle from the lad he’s heard all day.
“Wha’ was that, Piers?” the Champion adds with a giggle. “Tryin’ t’ adopt another sibling?”
He sighs. “Might ‘s well already have—” He cuts himself off and blushes, realizing what he’s just said. “Shite.”
The younger members of the trio laugh some more. Despite Piers’ mild embarrassment, it warms his heart to see them in good spirits.
Soon, the laughter dies down, and Hop gazes into his tea. As it continues to steep, the warm, inviting amber color dances with the rising steam. “Cheers.”
“How’re you feelin’?” he asks in a more serious tone. “Ya’ had me a li’l worried earlier.”
“Jus’...really knackered.” His expression turns downcast. “Sleeping’s been...hard lately.” The steam appears fluffy and then separates, like Dubwool’s coat taking a hit from his Cramorant’s Steel Wing. “Ev’ry time I lie down, I can’t help but think abou’ training. How t’ get stronger... An’ then, it’s dawn.”
“’Nsomnia ‘s a real bitch, huh?” He picks up the string on the tea bag and wiggles it around before plopping it back into the cup. “Hope this helps knock ya’ out. ‘S my go-to when ‘m havin’ a bad night.”
Hop takes a sip of his drink. The gentle, sweet, nutty flavor calms his senses.
Piers begins playing with his choker again as he starts back toward the kitchenette. “Sure y’ don’ need anythin’ else?” He takes a quick peek into the fridge: Only a few energy drinks and some slightly molding leftovers. “S’ppose you should pro’ly eat somethin’...” He sighs, goes into another cabinet, and pulls out three cups of instant ramen.
As he prepares the food, he hums some notes: A B-flat here, an A-flat there, sometimes an F or an E-flat. By the time it’s done, he’s got an F-A-flat-B-flat-E-flat pattern on loop. “Maybe ‘old out the E-flat longer...” he murmurs as he carries the food and some forks to the table.
“This th’ one you’re workin’ on?” Gloria inquires, scanning the words on the top paper in the stack.
“Nah,” the musician replies, plopping down on the floor across from the kids. He twirls some noodles around on his fork. “Got th’ idea t’day, actually. Think I’ll call it Defiant. Somethin’ ‘bout not givin’ up or somethin’.”
Not givin’ up. Hop’s lips curl into a smile, and his eyes briefly flash with fire.
There’s the Hop they know.
When everyone’s done eating and drinking, Piers cleans up and offers his bed to the runts; he’ll take the couch. He’s certain his back will pay for it in the morning, but what matters is that the kids are comfy.
Now wearing a black band t-shirt and shorts, he plucks out his hair ties one-by-one until his hair falls past his waist. As he runs his hands through it, it feels sweaty and greasy; when this is all over, he’s taking the longest, hottest shower of his life.
The sound of feet tapping across the floorboards breaks him from his thought process. He glances to the right: A pajama-clad Hop stands just outside the hallway.
“Need somethin’?”
The Trainer shakes his head. “I just...wanted to say cheers. For before.” His voice cracks a little. “For ev’rything.”
For a second, the rocker thinks he’s going to cry again. With one more sigh, he gets up and ambles over to him. “We’re all in this together, yeah?” He smiles. “C’mon. Bring i’ in.” He bends down and embraces him.
When they break off the hug, the corners of the lad’s eyes are wet, but he blinks them away. He turns around to go back to bed and chortles. Tryin' t’ adopt another sibling? Might ‘s well already have— “Wonder wha’ Lee ‘s gonna say abou’ this.” He leaves.
The former Gym Leader opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. He shakes his head before going to flick the light switch.
Later that night, Marnie enters the apartment. It’s dark, and Piers has...apparently fallen asleep on the couch again. Although, this time, his placement seems intentional.
She goes to her room, returns with a blanket, and covers him with it.