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There is something just ever-so-slightly off about Ash, Kukui notices, but he can’t quite place what it is. He decides it must just be weird to see him without that ever-present yellow mouse on his shoulder.
“What’s for dinner?” Ash asks, looking up at where Kukui is stirring vegetables on the stove. Kukui realizes he is staring at Ash and plays it off with a smile. “Stir-fry!” He answers. “We’re going simple tonight.”
“Well, it sounds really good, Professor! Everything you make is always really good! Right, buddy?”
Ash looks back when he doesn’t hear a response, before shrugging his shoulders and laughing. “Oh, right,” he says. “Well, Snowy, you’ll see how good it is! I’ll give you a taste.”
Snowy turns her nose up at Ash, which makes him furrow his brows, and Kukui hides his smile. He knows that by the end of the weekend Ash will have Snowy wrapped around his finger.
This is how it always goes with the students. They start the weekend off-kilter, unused to not having their partner by their side. By the time they come back on Monday, they’ve learned something extremely valuable.
Kukui’s never had the chance to look at it this close, though. Ash is the first student he’s had living with him. He has to say, he’s pretty excited to see how it plays out. Especially considering this is Ash, but Kukui tries not to think like that.
His brain has been doing that for the past two months. It’s Ash, his brain will supply, when something unusual happens. He always tries to dismiss the thought. Ash is his student. It’s disrespectful to both Ash and his other students to put him on a pedestal.
When Ash puts out the pokemon food, Snowy refuses to eat. “Come on, Snowy,” Ash pleads, disgruntled. “You gotta eat. Don’t you want to be strong, for Lillie?”
Snowy actually bothers to look at him when he mentions Lillie, but she still won’t eat. So Ash turns to his other pokemon, pets them, and then stands up, bunching his hands into fists at his side. He looks a little like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Come get some plates ready for me, Ash,” Kukui says, just to give him something to do. The kid jumps at the opportunity, grabbing two plates and some utensils. As Kukui plates the food, Ash reaches into the fridge. He gets halfway to the table with the ketchup in his hands before he stiffens, turns around, and marches back to the fridge.
Kukui blinks, a little confused. It takes him a few moments before he realizes that Ash was grabbing the ketchup for Pikachu.
He’s sure that Lillie is giving Pikachu his fair share of the treat, knowing how much she loves to indulge pokemon.
He snickers at the mental image of Pikachu digging into a plate of pokemon food slathered in ketchup.
Dinner is a quieter affair than normal. Ash keeps looking back at Snowy, and Kukui dismisses it as him being concerned about trying to win Snowy’s favor.
Ash is like that, Kukui noticed very early on. He tries very hard at everything he does, always giving 110 percent. He gets lost, sometimes, in the process, losing all sense of time and the world around him.
Ash training Rockruff comes to mind. When that happened, Kukui had been fascinated, the researcher part of him entranced by the unusual way Ash approaches training pokemon. He hadn’t minded, not at all, when Ash had skipped school - hadn’t even thought of going. Instead, Kukui had walked into the class, saying “We’re having a fieldwork day. You all are going to find Ash, observe how he trains Rockruff, and write a report on it. You can watch, but don’t interfere, alright? Don’t try to give him advice. This is a lesson on observation, which will last until Rockruff has learned the move.”
So Kukui knows that Ash is going to put everything he has into connecting with Snowy. So if he’s a little quieter than normal, a little more on edge, a little more distracted, that’s only because he’s focusing on the assignment.
The fourth time Kukui watches Ash turn around and say “Right, buddy?” before realizing that Pikachu isn’t there, though, is the first time Kukui thinks, for a second, that maybe this assignment isn’t quite turning out how he hoped.
But the kids always do so well with it. They always come back on Monday, big smiles on their faces, new things having been learned.
Kukui has never lived with any of his students before Ash. So there are some things he isn’t sure are because he doesn’t see his students after-hours or because he’s living with Ash specifically.
He shouldn’t think like that. Ash is just like any other student.
Except Kukui can acknowledge that’s not entirely true. None of his other students are from anywhere other than Alola. None of his other students are traveling trainers. None of his students are quite so passionate about anything as Ash is about pokemon.
None of his other students have battled a god . Multiple times. None of his other students have casually mentioned meeting Tapu Lele. None of his other students give just as much importance to meeting a wimpod as meeting a legendary pokemon.
So maybe Ash is a little unusual. But Kukui is not at all sure how far that extends, and sometimes this discomforts him.
None of Kukui’s other students are quite so attached to their partners, not the way Ash and Pikachu are. His other students are very connected to their pokemon; they always keep them in their field of vision, they always try to include them in conversation, and Kukui knows that each and every one of them would do anything to see their partners safe.
But Ash and Pikachu are different, somehow. It’s not something Kukui has noticed consciously, but it really is odd to see one without the other.
It wasn’t something Kukui was quite able to put a finger on until he saw Ash jump off a cliff, with zero hesitation, after Pikachu.
He still gets stressed about that one when he thinks about it.
After that, though, after getting over the initial feeling of an impending heart attack, Kukui had sat down and thought about Ash and Pikachu. Thought about how Ash punctuates everything he says with a “Right, Pikachu?” Thought about how Pikachu so effortlessly jumps onto Ash’s shoulder. Thought about the thoughtless way Ash runs his fingers through Pikachu’s fur when they’re watching a movie. Thought about how Pikachu is almost always aware of what Ash is doing, even when he’s playing with other pokemon. When he senses Ash wants him, he will immediately drop whatever he’s doing and jump onto the kid’s shoulder.
And Kukui doesn’t know if that’s an Ash thing, or if that’s something all his students do when they’re away from school.
He finds himself, though, as he does with everything else, leaning towards the former.
Ash ate much slower today, but he’s still finished with his food and holding his hands in his lap, upturned. He’s looking down at them.
The kids always come back on Monday having learned something valuable. They’re always happy. They’re always glad they had the experience.
It’s always a resounding success.
Is this what they’re like, though, where Kukui can’t see?
“I think I’m gonna turn in early, Professor,” Ash says. “Come on, guys. You too, Snowy - uh, if you want.”
Ash rinses his plate and puts it in the dishwasher, and then climbs up the ladder to the loft. Kukui watches wordlessly, a little unsure how to feel. “Good night, Professor,” Ash says, before ducking out of sight.
“Good night, Ash,” Professor Kukui responds. He looks at his watch. It’s seven-thirty.
Kukui gets up and turns off the lights in the main part of the house so Ash is a little more comfortable. The whole time, he keeps an ear focused on the loft. Just in case. He’s worried, though he’s not sure it’s entirely appropriate - this is the first time he’s had one of his students living with him, and he doesn’t know where the line is drawn. He knows that he can’t treat any of his students differently, but he also doesn’t know how to not, when one of them lives with him.
Kukui’s just trying to roll with this. If his other students have issues like this with this assignment, Kukui’s not really supposed to know about that unless they come to him and mention it.
But Ash is right in front of him, and he can see it happening, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Eventually, Kukui heads down to the basement. He works until he can’t work anymore, and then he crashes on the cot he’s set up in there, too tired to go to his room.
But he’s asleep in the basement, which means it takes him quite a bit longer to hear what’s going on upstairs than if he were in his room.
It isn’t until there’s a loud crash that he sits up, abruptly, reaching for his pokeballs. Kukui’s never had a break-in, but he always knows it’s a possibility, so he climbs the stairs silently, listening for any other sounds.
He’s trying to tamp down on his worry for Ash. Kukui has dropped enough cups at 2 am and had Ash sleep through it to know that the kid isn’t very easily woken up. If there’s someone in the house, he might not wake up fast enough to defend himself.
But by the time he’s reached the landing, he still hasn’t been able to hear any other signs of someone in the house. All he hears is Ash, and -
Ash.
It’s not a break-in, Kukui realizes. It’s like a stone has been dropped into his stomach, with how heavy his dread feels. He no longer worries about being quiet, running over to the ladder. He doesn’t have time to worry about whether this is appropriate behavior for a teacher or not, because the noises coming from the loft sound like crying and he’s climbing up to the loft almost before he can think.
When he gets to the top, he sees Ash’s silhouette in the dark. It’s huddled on the ground. He looks up sharply when Kukui reaches the landing, before turning away.
Kukui’s never had a student living in his house. He has no idea how to deal with this, but he thinks he’s got an idea.
Kukui sits on the ground a good six feet away from where Ash is, legs crossed. “Hey,” he says. “Looks like you’re not getting very much Rest.”
Ash doesn’t react, and Kukui immediately curses himself. This is not the situation to be making puns.
“Come on, you gonna make me Endure this silence?”
Gods, Kukui’s such a fuckup. He doesn’t know how to deal with this situation, but he knows that this is the wrong way.
He takes a breath and tries to restrain himself. “Ash? Can you look at me?”
He can see the way Ash’s shoulders rise with the effort he’s taking to breathe. It’s a little slower than when Kukui first came up, but still much too fast for his liking. The silence settles, and Kukui lets it. After a very long moment, Ash turns his head towards Kukui.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Kukui says. He wonders if that’s too confrontational, or not enough.
He likes being a teacher because he likes kids, but this is something he’s finding himself completely unprepared for. When he heard that the enthusiastic kid from Kanto wanted to go to the school, Kukui thought about the loft he had, just sitting there, and immediately offered it up.
He quickly realized how much he was not ready to have a kid around the house, but then he very quickly made himself ready. He’d offered his house to this kid, and he was going to follow through. So he moved the alcohol to the basement - just in case - and started cooking more often, and read a few books on how to not eternally fuck up a kid living under your roof.
Sitting here, in front of Ash, he hopes he doesn’t eternally fuck up this kid living under his roof.
Ash is still breathing pretty fast. He looks like he’s going to say something, but all that comes out is a hiccup, and he curls into himself further.
Kukui realizes he’s never seen Ash cry before. Not that it’s a thing he sees all too often from his other students, but this is still the first time he’s seen the kid in front of him cry. It strikes Kukui, immediately, as something that is very wrong.
Ash is always happy. Always smiling, always energetic and boisterous and just a little too loud. He puts his all into whatever he’s doing and takes it with grace, whether that is a loss or a win. He is clearly a model to Kukui’s other students, who all look up to him. He’s relentlessly kind. Kukui’s lost track of the times his other students have mentioned something Ash has done for them - something Ash almost never mentions, even though his accounts of his day are always incredibly detailed.
Incredibly detailed, it seems, minus a few key ones.
And yet here, in front of him, Ash is not solid. He is not smiling. He is not bouncing in place.
“Hey,” Kukui tries again. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. Do you want me here, or do you want to be by yourself?”
He lets the silence sit, again, waiting for answer, until he finally gets a “You can stay.”
It’s much quieter than Ash ever is during the day, even when he is trying to whisper.
And Kukui, though he’s never had a kid under his roof, has been a teacher long enough to know this statement is a plea.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m staying.”
He tries his luck, scooting a little closer to Ash, until they’re only a foot or two away from each other. He stays there, in the quiet, waiting. After a long time, when the breaths have slowed and the kid beside him has uncurled little by little, Ash starts. “Sorry, Professor,” he mutters, “that I’m - you know, that you have to see this. I’m sure it’s not what you signed up for.”
“Ash, I offered you my home,” Kukui says. “Whatever that entails. This is your home, too. You shouldn’t have to hide anything at home.”
Ash chuckles. It’s a sad sound. Kukui wishes Ash would stop as soon as he starts.
“What…brought this on?” Kukui asks, voice tentative. “Does this happen often?”
Ash shrugs. “Not usually this bad,” he says. “Not bad enough to wake you up, anyway,” he adds. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” Kukui says. “What made this time worse?”
Ash takes a breath to say something, before changing his mind. He tries again, and again he aborts. After the third time, Kukui tells him. “You can just say it. You don’t need to worry.”
The kid winces. “It’s not…it’s just, I guess, it’s cause Pikachu’s always with me, and so it never gets bad, but now he isn’t, so…”
Kukui feels immensely guilty. “It’s not your fault,” Ash says quickly. “It’s just, Pikachu n’ I are never apart. You didn’t know. And I should be able to do this, anyway. I should. ”
This does nothing to ease Kukui’s guilt. He feels like the worst person in the world, and he should’ve noticed something sooner.
This is definitely an Ash thing.
Probably.
Except his traitorous brain thinks about the fact that, if he didn’t live with Ash, he wouldn’t see this. And Ash would still come into class with a smile, and no one would notice anything was amiss.
What if his other students are like this, too?
“Ash, you don’t have to…feel bad for the way you feel. If you need Pikachu, you need Pikachu.”
Ash winces. “It’s just…it’s not like a crutch, or anything, Professor. It’s just…Pikachu n’ I have been together since the very first day of my Pokemon J ourney. And we’ve seen the whole world together, and sometimes it’s not all… I just mean that we’ve always been us , and so when it’s not us, it feels bad. But you didn’t know that.”
Kukui breathes into this dark and wonders if he should hug Ash. Whether that would be appropriate.
He thinks about how he could never replace Pikachu, but it’s not like Kuki can just call Hobbes in the middle of the night and try to get Pikachu back from Lillie. That’s completely inappropriate.
So he breathes again and stops wondering about what’s appropriate and just decides to do it. And Ash breathes in sharply at first, muscles tense, before relaxing into the hold, and Kukui thinks about how much of a fuckup he is.
They sit there for a long time, until Kukui’s pretty sure he’s asleep, and then he very carefully, very slowly, moves Ash up onto the couch. And he lays the blanket over him. And he takes the first step down the ladder, before looking back one more time.
And Kukui decides to crash on the couch in the main part of the house.
Just in case.
His mind keeps replaying when Ash said “Not enough to wake you up, anyway,” implying that this happens often enough. That Ash deals with this, quiet in the darkness, and Kukui never wakes up.
So he’s going to sleep on the couch. No walls between them. And he’s going to wake up if Ash does.
Without Pikachu here, Kukui needs to step up.
-
The morning comes, eventually, and Kukui walks Ash over to Lillie’s house. And the door opens and Pikachu shoots into Ash’s arms. And it’s the two of them, rolling over each other on the floor, laughing and crying and altogether joyous, and Kukui feels like just a tiny bit less of a fuckup.
One day, he thinks, he’ll be able to have this kid under his roof without eternally fucking him up.
He just hopes that day comes sooner rather than later.