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Goh dreads this time of year. He's perfectly content staying in his dorm, reading from the pile of pokémon textbooks he’s collected from the library and stashed away so that he can stay on top of work while simultaneously evading attending classes; it isn't that he wants to regularly skip them, he isn't in control of the raging anxiety that suddenly strikes him at the thought of sitting in a room full of students. Especially when he knows what they say about him behind his back, has heard what are supposed to be discreet whispers about him being a ‘weird friendless loner’ who's more interested in pokémon than people - and well, they aren't exactly wrong about that last part.
He doesn't exactly have a home to go back to over Christmas. That isn't strictly true; he does have one, it's just empty. Every year, he calls his parents several weeks in advance, they promise to be around this time, swear they won't answer the phone and if anyone asks them to work late they will simply refuse and say they need to prioritise spending the holidays with their son for once. And every year, he lets himself hope, foolishly believing their hollow words, only to be crushed by disappointment when he gets home to see the decorations still in their boxes, the table half-set for a family meal that never happens, the ghosts of the loving celebration he’s expecting (but not truly, not with his heart, he’s been let down enough times to get the hint by now, and has lost faith in this year being any different; it would be more surprising now if his parents did prove true to their word) haunting the dark living room.
Honestly, Goh doesn't think he can take it again. He’s done so well putting on a brave face, insisting over the phone to his mother that it’s okay, that he isn't angry, that he understands that they’re only trying to earn the money to pay for his college (paying for the classes that he avoids like the plague) and that it doesn't matter - it’s just one day a year anyway, it’s just some meaningless holiday that he doesn't even celebrate. It’s just that there are only so many times he can hear this without beginning to think his parents just don't want to be with him, without starting to take it personally, before he ends up resenting all the festivities and the people who are lucky enough to have someone to share them with. And perhaps there's a child inside of him who, after 18 disappointing Christmases, just wants the chance to have that childish holiday fun he’s a stranger to.
He’s already decided not to bother this year. He’ll call home and wish his parents a merry Christmas (he'll give his tidings to the answer machine’s automated voice anyway, it'd be the shock of the century if his parents actually picked up), maybe send them a present in the post, but he will not be putting his heart on the line this year, not subjecting himself to the torture of watching the snow fall all alone, sitting in his childhood bed and wondering where it all went wrong (trying desperately to recall happy memories of past Christmases, biting back tears as he fails to remember any ).
It’s enough to turn anyone bitter, but there is still part of Goh that loves the pretty lights and the scent of wintry spices and the sharp chill in the air. It’s just hard to swallow the knowledge that while he’s cooped up in his dorm with a book, pretending it’s any other ordinary day, other people will be coming together in such happiness and harmony. He doesn't need that; since when had Goh ever needed anyone ? He’s always been independent, self-reliant, someone who can enjoy his own company.
Besides, he won't be alone this year. He has his pokémon; what was to stop him from having a Christmas party right here with Cinderace and Sobble? Who’s he kidding? He doesn't even believe this himself. Despite all of his claims not to like people, despite all of the mocking comments about him being more pokémon than human, he still has a natural desire for community, for family. No one could genuinely, wholeheartedly claim to be happiest in the silence of an uninhabited apartment; and even if Goh deludes himself like that, there’s no chance in hell that Sobble would be a good party guest. It’s similar to Goh in the way that it gets uncomfortable around crowds, that loud music puts its nerves on edge, that it wants to cry over the first inconvenience - and Goh certainly considers it inconvenient having a depressing Christmas year after year.
He knows that, to some extent, this suffering is self-inflicted. All he has to do is ask Chloe what her plans are for the holiday, and she would be insistently inviting him to stay with her, assuring him that her father loves him and they could bond over a mutual interest (to put it lightly, it's more of a fixation ) in pokémon. Chloe is his oldest, and only, friend; he knows it worries her when he shares the stories of his parents’ excuses for not showing up this time, and knows that she is waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask him to spend Christmas with her. It’s well-known that Christmas at her house is warm, full of laughter and music, with Yamper playing with wrapping paper as she and Parker open gifts - a universe apart from the reality of Goh’s Christmases spent drinking mulled wine out of a cardboard carton and watching reruns of old movies.
But every year, he makes up some pathetic reason not to broach the topic with Chloe. He ignores the way her face saddens, the dispirited shadow that falls over when he politely says that he’ll be fine, spouting off some fabricated evidence about his parents not being so busy this time, just so that she won't have to waste her Christmas fretting over him. Really, he doesn't want to interfere with Chloe’s family’s traditions, doesn't want to get in the way of their routine, doesn't see any way he could fit in without making things awkward. So, when she asks on their last day of college, telling him that Parker will be sleeping over at his girlfriend’s house on Christmas Eve, that there’s a spare bed (meaning it was impossible for Goh to be intruding) and her mom simply needs someone else to spoil, he tells her:
“Sorry Chloe, Sobble hates being around new people, and I can’t leave it here alone.” At this, poor Sobble tries to squeak out a protest from its perch on his shoulder, only to be shut down by the warning look Goh fires its way.
He blocks out the frown as her face scrunches up like she’s formulating the best way to phrase her response without starting an argument. She sighs, seems to deflate, and puts on a shaky smile and nods. He knows he’s let her down by declining the offer, and he feels a little guilty seeing such despondence on his friend’s face, even if she’s trying to disguise it. But Goh can’t handle seeing Chloe’s family again, trying to impress them, charading as more interesting than he truly is (how could he admit that his only hobby is shutting out the world and getting lost in research? Chloe’s dad might understand what with being a pokémon professor, but he couldn’t deal with the pity her mom would give him, like she thought he was some little puppy that needed protecting). He isn’t the kind of friend Chloe would be proud to show off, the type to be adored by friends’ mothers and win over their little siblings; he’s the guy who passes Christmas in bed and wallows in his misery instead of being productive or rational or swallowing his pride for a minute and saying yes when Chloe asks him to come with her.
“Guess I’d better give you this now then.” Chloe says with a grin as bright as the flickering lights in Goh’s dorm, pulling a neatly wrapped parcel finished off with a shiny red bow from her bag.
Despite her smile, Goh can tell she’s feeling defeated, that she’d been praying she could wait and give him this present under the tree in her front room, that it could be a more special moment than this, that she would be able to persuade him to let her into his life and share something meaningful. But of course, he crushes her dreams, he keeps up the walls that he doesn’t know how to knock down, too afraid of ruining Chloe’s favourite time of the year by being part of it, and gratefully takes the present.
Every year, she buys him something (no matter how many times he says she shouldn’t waste her money on him) and gives it to him early. Every year, it’s the only gift he receives (not that he minds, it’s not like he expects his parents to remember to send him anything, even if he puts time and effort into getting them something year after year consistently). Every year, it is a task to find something worthy of giving her in return, a display of the priceless relationship they share. One of his many grievances with this holiday is how materialistic it is, how ashamed it encourages him to feel if the present he chooses isn't up to par.
Every year, he feels sick seeing how much thought has gone into it, knowing that he means something to Chloe, making him feel cruel to brush her off like this. But he doesn’t tell her this, just exchanges the loving gift for the one he has bought for her and tries not to cry.
“If you change your mind, just call.” She says, so hopeful, so optimistic.
“I will! Have fun, and bring me back some of your mom’s cookies.”
She laughs. He won’t call, won’t give in to the isolation he feels at night, won’t listen to the voices whispering that he’d be better off in Kanto with his favourite person instead of in the gloom of the dorms, without a soul around. Chloe scratches Sobble’s chin, earning a satisfied squeal, (she remains the only person other than Goh that it trusts enough to be touched by, a testament to the bond he and Chloe share) and teasingly tells it to keep an eye on Goh and make sure he doesn’t burn the building down, to which he replies in mock outrage:
“I can look after myself you know!”
Chloe giggles, but Goh knows that she is all too aware of the independence that was forced upon him from a young age, aware of all the Christmases and birthdays he’s let pass by without dwelling on how painfully alone he is, knows that he locks himself in his room and in his head because it’s easier than braving the world and risking further pain. He knows that, while she is pretending to be poking fun at him, she is entirely serious when she expresses her concern for Goh coping without her, that she is trying to indirectly tell him how much better off he’d be going home with her. But he acts like the subliminal message flies past him, jokes around a little and lets her apprehension roll off his back.
She hugs him briefly, sadly, but sincerely. She isn't the type to hold a grudge, not even when she's just bared her heart and Goh has stamped on it. She knows, to the best of her ability, that Goh struggles with vulnerability, that December is a rough month for him and Christmas is a sensitive topic. Watching her go, he wants nothing more than to call out her name, to tell her to wait, to run after her and say he’s had second thoughts. But he just sits there as her silhouette gets smaller, clutching the present to his chest and biting his lip to stop the embarrassing tears from falling, fighting against every emotion churning inside, holding himself together.
When he opens it, he feels like such an idiot for letting her leave, like he must’ve been blind not to notice how borderline frantic she was in her begging, how his rejection destroyed her. Chloe fucking cares about him, whether he deserves it or not. There in his hands is something she selected personally for him, a thick book about Mew that she must’ve spent so long snooping around his dorm, checking his bookshelves to guarantee this wasn’t one of the many Mew-based books he already has. He can imagine how pleased she was with herself, certain that he would love it. And he does. He’ll send her a picture of himself curled up reading it on Christmas, to prove that he’s thinking of her even if he’s isolating himself, to show how much he appreciates it and convince her that he can be alone safely.
Something else falls from the torn, sparkly wrapper, landing on Sobble’s nose. Goh chuckles as its eyes well up, promptly turning invisible, and he picks up the small slip of paper which now, thanks to the illusion of Sobble’s vanishing body, appears to be floating in mid-air. Swiftly, his face falls as he pays attention to what this additional gift is : a single plane ticket to Kanto, bought by Chloe (undoubtedly with her own limited money), who was so assured, so unwavering in her conviction of Goh taking her up on her offer that she would buy his ticket in advance. And at that, he’s practically tripping over himself to reach the phone, his mind berating him for being so unbelievably dumb and so unjustifiably rude to Chloe after she’d shown such consideration the likes of which he was undeserving, his eyes blurring with unshed tears from how touching all this kindness is.
“I am so sorry Chloe, I was wrong and you were right - just like you always are-”
His breathless spiel is cut off by a light and easy laugh on the other end of the line.
“I knew you’d come crawling back,” She says, and her smile is audible, “You just can’t say no to me.”
As he hurriedly discusses flight details, being informed that he needs to leave now if he plans to make it in time, Goh uses one hand to hold the phone that contains Chloe’s teasing and amused voice and the other to haphazardly shove essentials into a suitcase. He knows it’s his own fault, but he can’t help being a little pissed at Chloe for leaving him to prepare with such short notice. His mind is whirring so fast, trying to ensure nothing important gets left behind, that he barely registers Chloe telling him she will not be on the same flight as him. The thought of that paralyses him, pausing his hunt for the still-camouflaged Sobble, as she informs him that the only ticket available when she booked (which, it turns out, was her mother’s idea; she really was dead set on having Goh there as a replacement son in Parker’s absence) was the flight after hers.
“I’m really sorry, Goh. I tried my best,” She explains, “You’ll be okay, right? I know you’re not great with planes.”
She doesn’t need to know that his heart has frozen at the thought of being trapped in metal, hurtling through the sky, without his friend’s hand to squeeze for reassurance. All that counts right now is that Goh has broken out of the shell Chloe has been slowly chipping away at, that he now has the possibility of his first ever pleasant Christmas, that he has overcome his stubborn persistence that he’s too strong or old to be seen relying on anyone. He will make his way to Kanto, where he will reunite with Chloe, after which he will loosen up and enjoy reconnecting with her family and the Christmas spirit that died within him long ago.
“I’ll be fine,” He says, “Even the scariest plane couldn’t keep me from you.”
It’s what she wants to hear. It doesn’t matter whether he believes it or not.
Goh is putting a strategy in place; if he implements a plan of action now, he’ll panic less once he’s actually in the air. Ideally, he would have Chloe beside him, but that is impossible. The next best option would be Cinderace, as its size and natural warmth would make it the optimal source of comfort. Unfortunately, that size also means it's unrealistic, as it's too big to sit on his knee, and would take up an entire seat; Goh may not want to fly, but he also doesn’t want to get thrown off before they’re even moving. That means the only alternative is to have Sobble as a secret extra passenger - the only flaw here is that Sobble will inevitably be scared of flying too (unless this miraculously turns out to be the one thing it doesn’t fear) and its unease will feed his own, leaving them both as teary messes.
Still, it’s better than nothing.
Then there’s the fact that Goh isn’t exactly the most sociable person; in fact, he outright avoids densely-populated areas where possible, steering clear of large groups of people, partially explaining why he doesn’t go to his classes. An airport is somewhere people congregate in masses, somewhere he would typically never be caught dead in, but this is for Chloe and while it seems easiest to be a coward sometimes and never step outside the security of his dorm, that is no way to live. Goh recognises this, knows he ought to challenge himself more often, stop begrudgingly accepting the way things are and actively work to improve, to overcome this fucking juvenile anxiety that bowls him over every time he goes outside, forever the bane of his existence.
The flight from Galar to Kanto isn’t too far, it won’t take too long. He’ll try to fall asleep on the plane, so that when he wakes up he can be surprised and relieved to be back on solid ground, able to act like the stress of flying was just a bad dream that he can put safely behind him where it can fade in his memories. Repeating this like a mantra to himself, he boards the plane, Sobble tucked under his coat, the grip on his hand luggage a little tighter than necessary, his breath a little ragged. Of course, Chloe didn’t do this on purpose, but he could strangle her when he clocks the fact that he’s going to be wedged between two random people, that he couldn’t even have the aisle seat to calm him down (there’s something slightly more relaxing about knowing you’re free to escape, that there’s nothing preventing you from running). It’s a completely pointless thing to cause so much grief, since the fact that he’s hundreds of feet above the earth will stop him from fleeing, no matter which seat he’s in. It’s just one of those small details that help him feel a little less helpless, a little more in control.
The woman sitting by the window smiles at him, and he decides instantly there will be no problems there; she’s already wearing headphones, a neck pillow in place to support her as she sleeps, and there is no risk of her trying to strike up conversation with him. Goh holds his breath, not wanting to look too hopeful, as the aisle seat is yet to be occupied. If no one sits there, he can subtly manoeuvre so that no one will complain if he claims the seat for himself; he’s sure the woman won’t be offended, she’ll most probably be grateful for the added space, and the sensation of a rubber band constricting Goh’s chest will loosen. But that would be too lucky, and he has to try not to look dejected and furious when a teenage boy rushes in at the last minute and flings himself into the prized seat.
Just by looking at him, Goh knows he’s in for a long flight. This boy will be more of a nuisance than the woman to his left; the excited, friendly sparkle in his eyes is that belonging to someone who shares his entire life story with people he bumps into on the street, someone who is open and honest and outgoing in a way that makes Goh shiver with agitation as he tries to brace himself for a draining social interaction combined with the restlessness created by the situation he’s wound up in, travelling across the sea (which could become a watery grave, devouring all the passengers without a trace if they were to crash). The Pikachu in his lap has the same relentless energy glistening in its eyes, and Goh wishes he’d not bothered trying to be nice to Chloe and just stuck to his original plan of sleeping through the Cerise family Christmas party in Galar.
As the plane starts to move, the pressure popping his ears and the ground beginning to shrink, Goh gets the feeling of being powerless, losing his grip on his own welfare, having the command of his own future ripped out of his hands. He tries to keep his breath even, not wanting to freak out in public, not wanting this boy and his Pikachu to laugh at him for falling apart over something as commonplace and unremarkable as a short journey in altitudes no human should ever survive. Sobble rubs its soft scales against Goh’s hand to soothe him, but it’s jittery too and is doing a terrible job of convincing him there’s nothing to worry about; he has half a mind to leap out of his seat and scream at the top of his lungs until someone sees sense and turns the plane around, where he will then guiltily, apologetically inform Chloe that there’s been some unforeseen turbulence and he won’t be making it to Kanto.
“Not a fan of flying, huh?” The boy next to him asks, smiling not unkindly, but in a manner that makes Goh feel like there’s some inside joke he’s clueless to, like maybe he’s laughing at him instead of with.
“Aren’t you perceptive?” He mutters in response, sarcastically and through gritted teeth.
And the boy just cannot take a hint, can’t read the tone of Goh’s voice and wonder whether this may not be the right time to try and chat, that Goh might be feeling just a tad short-tempered (ready to bury his head in his hands and detest himself for every decision that has led him to this) due to the fact his heart currently feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest from the incredibly obvious phobia that is keeping him rooted to the spot when every instinct tells him to sprint as far as his legs will carry him.
“Sorry,” The boy does not sound sorry, this is all fun to him, “I just couldn’t help spotting the way your hand is squeezing the armrest like you’re in labour.”
“You judging me is not helping .” Goh says impatiently, his words sharp and rough with the breaths that are getting increasingly shallow and more frequent.
He’s sure this boy isn’t trying to be insensitive, and he doesn’t mean to snap, but his fuse is burning out rapidly and he cannot do this right now. Its head nuzzled into Goh’s heaving chest, Sobble whimpers in concern, its eyes welling up with tears that will shortly manifest in ear-splitting wails that will make Goh the focus of an entire plane’s worth of anger and frustration (and these people, queasy from travelling, exhausted from waking up at the crack of dawn, irritated and frazzled and one prod away from an outburst - they are the epitome of someone you don’t want as an enemy). But to calm Sobble, he will first have to calm himself, and he doesn’t have a reliable method, not without Chloe. He’s never flown alone before, never intended to, never saw any reason to after making the choice not to squander his strength visiting his parents (why put himself through that, just to maintain a one-sided relationship?).
“I’m not judging you,” The boy says, looking a little disturbed by Goh’s perception of him, “I’m gonna help you.”
“Why would you do that?” Goh asks, a little guarded, a little cautious, but with Chloe’s voice in his ear reminding him that talking to new people is good, that exposure can be the best way to triumph over his anxious internal monologue.
“Because I want to!”
And he does. Goh doesn’t understand such selflessness, such inexplicable investment in a total stranger, a need to get involved in things that should not be his business, but he finds himself thankful for it, as the boy distracts him, takes his mind off the sickening movement of the plane and the dizziness it causes, helps keep Goh’s breathing steady and even. He’s like a fucking hero, full of exciting stories and charming smiles and praise and compliments when Goh is doing a good job of relaxing that make his face burn, all of which make the knowledge that he’s presently defying gravity melt into the background, replaced by fascination and appreciation. The journey becomes less of a trial, so that Goh can actually allow himself to look forward to seeing Chloe again (readying himself for what he’ll say to her parents, what excuse he can conjure as to why he’s been absent at Christmas despite Chloe’s annual invitation) so that he can feel proud of himself for combatting his fears head-on like this.
“Thanks.” Goh says, flustered, self-conscious, sheepish.
“What for?”
“Helping.”
The boy smiles at that. It’s so pure, shining as the sun pours in through the tiny window on the opposite aisle. Goh hates what it does to him, the way it stirs up his stomach into some nauseating cocktail, ducking his head so that the boy doesn’t register the redness of his cheeks. It’s all completely foreign: the sweat beading the back of his neck, the dryness of his throat, the hungry thudding of his ricocheting pulse. He supposes that this feeling is so alarming to him because he never had a schoolboy crush, never asked out girls he thought were cute by slipping notes in their lockers; he didn’t go to school often enough for that, didn’t take his nose out of a book. Instead of falling in adolescent love for the first time, convinced it was the real deal and would be permanent, Goh was memorising worthless pokémon trivia. So now, he's inexperienced, floundering in a realm he doesn't belong in.
“Guess it’s only right for me to know the name of my knight in shining armour.” Goh says, smirking in feigned confidence.
A laugh. “I’m Ash.”
“Goh.”
Ash grins, tries it out for himself: “ Goh. ” And Goh would be a liar if he says that doesn’t affect him, that he doesn’t crave the shudder that hearing his own name on Ash’s lips (and it fits so flawlessly, like he and Ash were designed to be two halves of the same whole, complementing each other so beautifully) sends through him, making his heartbeat skyrocket and his face break out into an uncontrollable expression of delight.
“And who’s this?” Ash says, his eyes falling on Sobble, who writhes nervously under the affectionate intensity of his gaze.
“Don’t take it personally, Sobble doesn’t really like being-”
But here’s another thing to add to the list of today’s revelations (it’s turned out to be quite the whirlwind compared to the subdued, lonely Christmas Eve Goh had been expecting): Sobble doesn’t cry, doesn’t turn invisible, doesn’t even scurry and shelter in Goh’s coat. It leans into Ash’s touch, its expression one of utter bliss as it practically purrs in satisfaction. Ash looks smug as he pats its uncharacteristically smiling head, knowing exactly what he’s accomplished from Goh’s disbelief and awe.
“Huh. Never mind.” Goh says, blinking dumbly, “It seems to like you.”
“What can I say? I have a way with pokémon!”
“Don’t let it fuel your ego." It’s probably just tired after such a long day, and can’t be bothered to act all defensive.
Displacement, much? Goh really can’t be sure whether he’s talking about Sobble or himself. It’s true that Sobble being so trusting is unexpected, unlike its usual antsy disposition, letting itself be petted by a new person without Goh giving his seal of approval first, without having to coax it into finding some courage in its fragile little heart. It’s also true that being this open, this willing to engage with others, this ecstatic to be receiving one person’s undivided attention, is almost unheard of for Goh. The only person he’s ever felt he can be himself with is Chloe, but here he is, bantering and firing witty comebacks with some boy he’s just met like he’s known him longer than an hour, like he can drop the act, the pretence of nonchalance that Chloe is constantly claiming isn’t the real him. And just as Goh is beginning to unwind, as he’s being flooded with compassion for this sweet, talkative boy who effortlessly staved away a panic attack and managed to stroke Sobble without even a single tear being shed, Ash goes and ruins it.
“You remind me of a Sobble.” He says, not rudely, just a little bluntly; as Ash smiles obliviously, Goh gets the impression that, while Ash is harmless and a touch careless, he doesn’t engage his brain before speaking. It would be endearing, if not for the hurtful nature of the comment.
Goh bristles, annoyed again, the mental walls reforming around him like a prison of social seclusion, “Are you trying to insult me?”
“What? No !” Ash looks horrified - Goh can almost hear his thoughts racing as he reflects on what he just said, trying to figure out what caused so much offense so that he can fix the fracture that’s formed in their developing, promising relationship, “I didn’t mean, like, you’re weak or anything. I just meant you think you’re better alone - don’t be upset if I’m miles wrong - but you don’t really want to be.”
Goh looks at him blankly, doesn’t reply; Ash seems to take the lack of protest as permission to continue.
“Like your Sobble,” He punctuates this with a well-timed finger tickling Sobble's chin, “It looks all scared, so people stay away from it. But once you get close, you realise it's just a little shy, that's all.”
Goh hates how well he's been read, the fact he's been psychologically analysed and had his mind deconstructed by someone he's just met (he always thought he was well-versed in masking, a master of looking detached after so much practice, sometimes able to fool even Chloe with his skillful false smiles). Is that really the impression Ash has of him: weak ? He doesn't like feeling examined, like an anaesthetised child on an operating table, all the lights and eyes inspecting under the caustic lights. But there’s a hunger inside him, a craving for recognition, a shameful fraction that wants Ash to emotionally dissect him, pick apart every fibre of his being, to have himself be seen and valued by someone other than Chloe (not that he doesn’t love her, but it’s not exactly healthy for an eighteen-year-old to rely entirely on a single person to keep him sane when it sometimes feels simpler to let his social battery remain depleted and any scrap of extroversion decay in a darkened, slightly stale bedroom).
“Thanks?”
“It wasn't meant to be mean. ” Ash’s pout is enough to dissolve any bitterness, enough to make Goh forget he’s supposed to have decided Ash is dense and tactless and not worth the sacrifices of wearing his heart on his sleeve, enough to cast aside any temptation to return to the pre-Ash status quo of drowning in loneliness and being too proud to accept help in coping with interactions without withdrawing (showing himself in public without fantasising about the world ending, getting over the natural catastrophizing his brain does to frighten him with worst case scenarios that remind him the stifling silence of his dorm is familiar and safe opposed to the mentally demanding state of alertness he’s stuck in, ready for if he he suddenly has to plaster on a frail smile and exhaust himself overthinking the correct responses to people. What should be habitual is such a chore for him, so taxing that it feels like torture, when he could just stay in the dreary security of his own bed).
With Ash, it doesn’t feel that way. The words come without having to create a script in his head, the smile doesn’t feel fraudulent, he doesn’t feel like an imposter pretending to be experienced in normal human functions like conversing with others. He can push doubt to the darkest corner of his mind, confident in his ability to be honest to himself without feeling like he’s some onlooker doing a bad impression of the thought process he should be so in sync with. Ash seems to like him, doesn’t seem to find his awkwardness off putting, isn’t even fazed by how overly defensive he is at the first suggestion of criticism, even after coming alarmingly close to the brink of a potentially heated argument thanks to Goh’s fragile self-esteem and low tolerance for anything that can be interpreted as judgement.
“It's okay. I think I get what you're saying.” He says honestly, smiling tiredly, “You're kinda strange, you know?”
Ash practically glows, like this is liquid gold to his ears.
“So are you.”
Goh just laughs. Coming from Ash, he’s sure this is the highest of accolades.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” Ash asks as they wait for their bags.
Normally, Goh would flinch at the question, images of messy beds and books strewn across the floor and the bolted door banning any thoughts of frost and chocolate and cheer flashing before him. He’s not sure whether it’s because it’s Ash, who has this ridiculous capacity to make Goh feel all floaty and tingly, like his head’s in the cloud and his chest is fluttering in delight, or if it’s just because he’s in a better place emotionally. It’s true that he is genuinely exhilarated when he pictures this evening with Chloe, cosy by the hearth, surrounded by the truest manifestation of Christmas spirit and the beautiful harmony the holiday can bring out in people (even if Goh’s parents are immune to it). There’s nothing but appreciation for Chloe’s endless generosity, happiness to breathe the same air as her, in his voice when he says:
“I’m spending it with my friend and her family.”
He half expects Ash to barrage him with follow-ups, demanding why he doesn’t have his own family to visit, firing him with reminder after reminder of how fucked up his life is, breaking him out of this unusually good mood and dragging him back down to reality. He expects everything to rush back: all the guilt for interrupting the day Chloe anticipates so highly, the yearning to bury his face in his covers and ignore the pain the world can inflict, the unbearable itchiness creeping across his skin from feeling exposed and on display and scrutinised by magnitudes of people he typically evades, the bile rising in his throat when he laments the eighteen missed opportunities he's dismissed and how he’d turned his nose up at having a shot at this same rush of optimism that resides within him now.
But Ash isn't like that. He senses that it's a touchy subject and delicately skirts around it, beaming with the trademark bubbliness Goh has already become attached to.
“Neat!” Ash says, “It’s normally just me and my mom, but she's been visiting old family friends in Alola. She was supposed to get back today, but her flight got cancelled, so...guess I won't be seeing her.”
And fuck , if that kicked-puppy-expression doesn't just shatter Goh’s heart. It reminds him of the deep throbbing of his own loneliness, the fresh sting that still pricks him almost daily - and the notion of selfless, lovely Ash, who Goh hardly knows, carrying that same invisible wound seems to him the greatest injustice in history. Such an unwarranted pain for an undeserving victim. It makes Goh want to take justice into his own hands, retribution for whoever unfairly shunned Ash (he knows he’s being dramatic, it isn’t like that, being alone for the holidays doesn’t always automatically mean your parents think you’re unlovable) - and that’s just what he decides to do. Goh’s already braved leaving his comfort zone today, may as well go all the way and invite a virtual stranger to a Christmas party (he knows that Chloe would be so amazed, she'd think she was hallucinating - and the smug pleasure he'd get from that is so tempting). Why not? He’s hit it off with Ash in a way that is untrodden territory to Goh, a far cry from his typical hermit (as Chloe so kindly describes it) tendencies, and he’d be crazy to let this die here. One look at Sobble, who is now sitting contently on Ash’s shoulder, and he summons all of his boldness.
“How about coming with me?” He says it casually, like he wouldn’t be absolutely distraught if Ash declined.
“Huh? Really?”
“I know we just met, but-”
“I’d love to, Goh,” Ash says, so earnestly, his eyes catching the setting Kanto sun, taking on the prettiest hues of pink and orange and red as Goh’s body temperature soars in response, “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere better to be.”
And he winks. He fucking winks. Goh’s face is on fire, his heart skipping, hammering against its cage with a wild and wonderful and uncontrollable intensity he’s never known. It feels a little how he imagines a heart attack would, like maybe he’s dying; but he thinks, if he has to die looking at anyone, he’d want that person to be Ash. Then, he thinks that Chloe would hit him if she heard such treasonous thoughts, if she knew he’d fallen so hard for some boy and was already pushing her aside for him. He’s aware of Ash’s Pikachu nuzzling his legs, sees Sobble falling asleep in Ash’s coat, and bonding with each other’s pokémon like this feels so domestic, so familiar, like this is a snapshot of a long life shared together, of being so intertwined their connection extends into their pokémon until not a single part of them is separate - if Chloe could hear this, she’d call him pathetic. And Goh, ever a supporter of the validity of cold, hard facts and logic, would not be able to argue with her.
“So I’m just some last resort?” Goh says, his smile stretching so far he thinks it’ll rip his face in half, “I see how it is. And here I was thinking we had something.”
“Shut up,” Ash laughs, rolling his eyes. A breath later, “Hey, where does this friend of yours live?”
“Vermilion City.”
Ash turns to him with a devilish grin, “How do I know this isn’t all some trick to kidnap me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Goh retorts.
"Are you saying I'm not good enough to be kidnapped?" Ash says, clutching a hand to his chest in exaggerated despair.
"Maybe I am."
He doesn’t know where this flowing conversation is coming from, doesn’t recognise this engaged and entertaining version of himself (for once, Goh actually feels like the kind of person someone would want to be friends with), didn’t know he was capable of being so witty and quick with anyone other than Chloe (and it took him several agonising months of Chloe talking at him, purely out of pity at first for the friendless kid who no one took a chance on, before he showed any sign of offering anything in return - months of her spoon-feeding him prompts and trying to extract words and gain any insight into his racing mind, like she was plucking teeth or asking a corpse to breathe).
“I should probably prepare her. I think she’d die of shock if I showed up at her door with an extra person.”
Ash chuckles, "Yeah, I think that's best. I don't wanna kill the friend of the person who so graciously let me into his heart! Then what am I gonna do for Christmas?"
Goh sends Chloe a message, testing the waters with a cautious: Hypothetically, would you have space for me to bring a plus-one? In making it a matter of hypotheticals, he can always back out if her answer is a resounding no (which he doubts it will be). It’s best to have an escape route, just in case things crash and burn.
Her reply is instantaneous: Mom says the more the merrier! It’s almost cute, the thought of her being so concerned about how he’s weathered on the flight that she’s glued to her phone eagerly awaiting updates. This level of genuine investment in his well-being couldn’t be more of a contrast to the apathy of his parents, the concise and emotionless texts they would send informing him that they unfortunately would not be home; it’s enough to make his eyes water, the evidence of which he swiftly disposes of, recalling with a grimace Ash’s comparison of him to Sobble.
Another message pops up on his screen: You owe me an explanation. I need details on how you found a boyfriend in a day. I'm jealous!
His reply is too fast, too protective, too defiant: He's not my boyfriend. He's just some guy who stopped me having a panic attack on a plane. Goh hates how easily he's being reduced to a blushing wreck. The second his text sends, he shoves his phone into his bag, out of sight, so that he doesn’t have to see the sympathy Chloe will be racked with, the sympathy that he knows is just a testament to the strength of her love, but which still makes him feel patronised and belittled. He can hear it vibrating, but finds his heart falters and his blood runs cold at the prospect of reading the words; he focuses on Ash instead, on the impossible brightness of his smile, on the change he’s acted as a catalyst to. Mere hours ago, Goh would’ve said that his ideal Christmas would be with Sobble and Cinderace, reading the Mew book Chloe gave him, passing out at 10 o’clock still gazing out the window to the stars, wondering if the universe is big enough to contain more than one person who wants him or whether the pokémon-shaped constellations are a sign that he’s just not made to be with people . Now, all of his reveries revolve around Ash and Chloe, family and tenderness, belonging and renewed faith in the goodness he has cause to believe in.
“She says you can come.” Goh says, giving a smile he hopes doesn't come across as too needy.
“What a relief,” Ash says, “I don't think I would've been able to say goodbye to you so soon.”
Goh isn't sure if he's joking, if this is just lighthearted platonic flirting between friends, if Ash is already that confident around him. He isn't sure if there's a glimpse of something small and scared in Ash’s eyes, if he's latched onto Goh in some last-ditch attempt not to be alone tonight, if he recognised Goh as a kindred soul in a similar situation. He isn't sure if Ash really does want Goh to be more than a temporary feature of his life, that this feeling is mutual, both of them reciprocating the pitiful longing for companionship. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to let this slip through his fingers, doesn’t want to retreat back to his dorm laden with regret, doesn’t want to kill the thrilling adolescent desire that’s been born within him (so innocent, so raw, not built on lust or hunger or anything shallow and superficial, but on a love unlike anything Goh knows - it’s not like the love he has for Chloe, it’s stronger, scarier, a little more dangerous, like he’s a rebel breaking some unspoken rule).
“Me neither.” Goh says, not even trying to mask the sickly smile, the total infatuation, as he meets eyes with the boy he’s already besotted with. Ash: who showed him such patience in what was far from Goh’s greatest moment, whose first impression of him was of someone distressed and fraying and ill-tempered yet had still swept in to save the day with a twinkling grin and all the right words, who had treated Goh like a human being with intense and valid feelings instead of as a piece of dirt to be kicked off a shoe, who had peered through the anxiety and the nonchalant facade and the towering emotional walls and had seen something beyond a strange, pokémon-loving boy who was out of his depth in the most basic social settings.
“I’m glad I met you, Goh.”
“I’m glad I met you too, Ash.” He’s sure Ash can hear the lump in his throat.
Neither of them say anything as Ash subtly, naturally slips his hand into Goh’s without hesitation, like physical affection is straightforward to him, coming together like a key in a lock revealing the treasure guarded inside. This makes everything worthwhile: boarding that plane even when his better judgement pleaded with him not to, listening to Chloe and volunteering himself for what has already proved to be his best Christmas yet. Where would he be if he hadn’t been seated next to Ash, if Ash hadn’t been there to stop him hyperventilating in the stratosphere, if he wasn’t walking towards Chloe’s house holding Ash’s hand and causing both of his worlds to collide? He doesn’t know, but he’s sure that he’d be in a darker place, more reminiscent of a Sobble than he was when Ash likened him to one.
Chloe’s house is exactly the same, a mirror of the one that lives in Goh’s fondest memories - it is the site of his best Christmas, the one that struggles against the onslaught of disastrous ones which threaten to erase it, the lone glimmer of white in the black December night sky. He was ten years old; his parents had made a grand display of being this perfect family unit, singing Christmas songs and filling the apartment with a homeliness, like it was being lived in for the first time, casting away all the ghosts of harrowing Christmases gone by. It was enough to reassure a still-young, still-hopeful, still-naive Goh that those years had been unfortunate outliers and every Christmas from now would be like this, befitting of Chloe's stories that captivated him with their retellings of homely warmth. The call had been urgent, his parents had no choice (that’s what they said anyway, probably to stop themselves feeling like the villains Goh now sees them as - and he had trusted them so blindly, he didn’t believe that parents were capable of lying), and they’d dropped him off with the Cerises. Immediately, he’d had the impression of stepping across worlds, into an entirely separate reality where mothers wrapped you in tight hugs and never let go (Talia had engulfed him, knocking the wind out of his chest; his initial reaction was to recoil, tensing in her arms, but he had soon melted into it, wishing his own mother wanted to hold him so close), where Christmas was loud and vibrant and worth impatiently awaiting all year. It had taken him a while, still reeling over his parents’ unexpected desertion, trying not to feel there was something wrong with him that drove them away, but it was impossible not to feel loved in that house; the ambience cast by the dimly glowing flames in the grate, the infectious calming atmosphere.
The house has not changed. It feels like travelling back to a simpler time, when he was yet to form such a violent hatred for this holiday and the insecurity it resurfaces, transporting him back to a life before the festivities were spoiled with the unwanted acceptance that he would cry himself into a fitful sleep and wake to a void of an apartment that glinted with plain grey walls and characterless furnishings. It feels like he never stopped coming here (how long has it been now? Has it really been eight years since his most treasured Christmas? How long has he been hiding from love, retreating into the shell Chloe thought she’d cracked, too worried of feeling he was trespassing in a house where he’s only ever been made to feel welcome?), like this has all been one prolonged break since the last time he walked out of that door with its spiky holly wreath, like he’s hit play on his life again and resumed where he left off. The windows sparkle with tinsel, a tree blinks with fairy lights by the front door, and the smell of cinnamon and dried orange peel floats through the air as Talia swings the door open, her face a picture of motherly love that makes Goh feel nauseous, like he’s somehow betraying his own mother by gravitating towards Talia. But he scolds himself, permits himself to enjoy the embrace; his mother has had plenty of chances over the last eighteen years, it’s not his fault that she never seized any of them, he is not a traitor for seeking affection from someone else if the person who was meant to shower him with it never seemed to care. It is futile mourning what he missed out on when it comes at the price of losing what he does have now.
Much to Goh’s confusion, Ash does not seem at all nervous. He adapts like someone who feels they can settle anywhere, someone who carries themselves with the swagger of a man who owns the world; nothing can extinguish that keenness to embrace everything thrown his way, the assured tilt of his head that intrigues Goh. Ash is a friend to celebrate, to parade around and brag about, to bring home to charm your mother with his hundred-dollar-smile and his adorable pokémon partner and his stellar knowledge of how to tactfully handle every scenario (from staving off panic attacks to making a phenomenal first impression). He is everything Goh is not, all of these are traits that Goh envies, all of these are what draw him to Ash with a pining he cannot explain or justify. Wrapped around his leg, Sobble mewls like a baby, encapsulating the strange mixture of emotions unfolding within him, the disquieting combination of excitement, ecstasy and dread. But Goh lets himself be hugged by Talia, lets his muscles relax from the rigor mortis-like tension they’d lept into when she’d touched him, lets himself breathe in the nostalgic perfume that he could never forget (it returns to haunt him every Christmas, a stain he can’t wash out, evidence of there being a single sweet one amongst all the icy memories).
“Oh, Goh!” She says, “It’s so good to see you. It’s been so long, you’ve got so tall !”
“It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Cerise.” And he means it.
A yellow blur and a giddy bark as Yamper scurries out the door, between her legs, where it starts to paw at Goh, jumping up him with a lopsided smile and a lolling tongue, before rolling over and waiting for him to rub its fluffy fur. Quite the welcome party, and all for me. He feels ten years old again, sulking in Chloe’s bedroom after being unceremoniously dumped there by his parents - the door had creaked open and he’d been ready to tell Chloe to go away, but it had been Yamper who’d crept in, Yamper who’d sprung up onto the bed and licked Goh’s tears away. Why has he been avoiding this house? Has he really been so stuck, a prisoner to his own thoughts, that he could ever think there’d be anything other than the adoration of his pseudo-family?
“And who’s your friend?” Goh doesn’t miss Talia’s surprise, the way her voice almost breaks with delight like a devoted mother who’s watched her little boy grow up.
“I’m Ash, thank you so much for letting me stay.”
“Of course, it’s so lovely to meet you,” Talia says before winking, “You must be something special if Goh likes you. He’s very particular about his friends.” Reading between the lines, this translates to: Goh doesn't have friends, how has Ash managed to convert him?
Goh expects Ash to be embarrassed, but instead he looks honoured, his hand sneaking into Goh’s so instinctively it no longer feels unexpected, no longer a breach of the bubble he’s always stayed within the boundaries of. It’s warm and gentle and it feels so right, Ash’s lack of forethought, the spontaneity of letting his emotions dictate his actions that Ash seems adept at, the way he can be so tactile so effortlessly. In his periphery, Goh sees that Talia notices, that her chest swells with maternal pride, that all she has ever wanted is joy for him (and that is what he has now, what he is sure his face must betray: satisfaction, fulfilment). And, bizarrely, Goh isn’t embarrassed either, not for Talia nor the rest of the world to see him like this.
After a last pat on the head and a knowing look from Talia, she heads back inside, singsonging as she goes about the meal she’s cooked (and how there’s plenty, a veritable feast compared to the lonely meals-for-one Goh’s used to), about how he and Ash can share Parker’s room (and Goh’s mind runs away with itself at the thought of sleeping in a room with just Ash), about how incredibly full her heart feels and how magical this Christmas is going to be (and Goh, despite his rocky track record, believes she could be right).
“Goh! You came!” Chloe comes barreling out the door, pulling him into a loud and chaotic hug. And he sinks into it, loses himself in the familiarity of her strawberry shampoo, his troublesome, nagging thoughts of imposing and being unwanted silenced by the crushing heat and reassurance her arms provide.
“Of course I did.” He says, his lungs short of breath from the force behind her hug, “I can't believe you're calling me a liar.”
“Oh, fuck off. Do you want me to send you back to Galar? Remind me never to be glad to see you again,” She laughs, rolling her eyes playfully and scooping Yamper up in her arms as she pulls away, the little puppy finding a sudden passion for licking Goh’s nose while Chloe cheers it on. To his side, he's aware of Ash trying to muffle his laughter. Chloe seems to remember he's here, takes this as her cue to inspect him, hungry to figure out what it is about Ash that has broken Goh's eighteen year record of only having one friend. What is so wonderful about this boy to force a recluse into extroversion; Chloe's witnessed first-hand the way Goh shuts down in front of people, the shakiness of his limbs as he becomes barely-verbal. What is different about Ash? Goh can tell she wants to interrogate them both, but she won't - not at Christmas, after it was such an uphill battle to get Goh here to begin with.
“Ash, right?” She says, “I'm Chloe.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ash says uncharacteristically bashfully, “I really appreciate you letting a stranger into your house.”
She shrugs, smiling plainly and openly, “You make Goh happy. And I like seeing him happy.”
Goh blushes, both at the romantic implications of her words and the touching nature of her consideration.
“I like seeing him happy too.” Ash says. And that fucking smile is brighter than a million suns, dazzling enough to make Goh faint on the spot; what are these feelings? They’re like nothing else, so much more intense than anything he feels for Chloe (maybe it’s because this is all so alien, because he’s like a small child feeling desire for the first time and being petrified of his own cravings, because the way he sees Chloe is as a source of protection and leisure and as someone who all of his secrets and fears and still wants him). Ash is just some guy he met on a plane. But he makes him feel lightheaded, gives him this urge to impress ; the vigour of the love he has for Ash is totally separate from the love he has for Chloe.
Following Chloe into the house, Goh is taken aback. He remembers the way her house used to be decorated, with pretty lights and a grand tree and delicate ornaments around the fire, the smell of Talia’s freshly baked cookies and the sound of Yamper impatiently pawing at the wrapped present next to its bed. It’s a carbon copy of his most treasured memories, except this time Ash’s smile is illuminated by the golden candles and it’s doing unspeakable things to Goh’s fluttering heart. This time, it feels complete, even though he’d never realised what was missing. This time, Sobble is looking up at him with big sad eyes, as if for permission, before cautiously finding the floor, where Yamper is wagging its tail energetically, where Chloe’s Eevee has emerged from the stairs and met with Ash’s Pikachu - the little pokémon gathering is heartwarming, and Goh pulls out the pokéball he’s been toying with all day and lets Cinderace (who looks slightly frustrated at being cooped up all day, stretching and glaring not entirely seriously) join in, unable not to look on happily as Ash gets down on his hands and knees and talks to the pokémon.
With an amused glance in Ash’s direction, Chloe says softly to Goh, “You sure know how to pick them. He’s quite the character.”
“I know.” Goh can’t take his eyes off Ash, the connection he seems to forge with every pokémon, his vast and incredible range of skills and quirks that Goh wants to study in detail until he knows them like the back of his hand, “But I didn’t pick him. He picked me. I never would’ve talked to him first if he hadn’t been so annoyingly persistent.”
“That’s so corny,” She deadpans, then laughs, “But I’m glad he did. You deserve this. I am so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” He hopes the winter dusk, staved off only by tiny pink bulbs lining the mantelpiece and tree, hides the shining dampness of his eyes. He’s saved from having to explain these overwhelming and bewildering emotions by Talia entering the room with a steaming tray clasped between oven gloves:
“Time for cookies!”
It feels weirdly normal, sitting beside Chloe on the same sofa from his childhood, Ash playing with the pokémon on the floor, Chloe’s father joining them and sharing his recent research (the professor knows that Chloe and Talia don’t care, that they’ve heard all this a hundred times, but Goh does care, and the professor recognises a fellow pursuer of knowledge). Though Goh isn’t the only one who is putty in Professor Cerise’s hand - Ash is also rapt, hanging off his every word while he holds the sleeping Sobble, and Goh finds himself mesmerised by the admiration and respect he sees Ash directing towards the professor. This domesticity is surreal, doesn’t feel like it can exist within the same universe as the rest of Goh’s Christmases (and his mind wanders briefly, pictures the emptiness of his own home, the thick silence that will be settling in the air while conversation flows here. What are his parents doing? Are they thinking of him? Of course not , he knows he’s being delusional, but there’s a small child inside him who still wants to hear validation).
“You’re a pokémon professor?” Ash asks Professor Cerise.
“I sure am.”
“That’s so cool!” Ash’s face lights up, “I’m working to become a Pokémon Master.”
Ash has got it all figured out. He knows exactly who he wants to be and is fully committed to his goal. Meanwhile, Goh’s trapped in a college he hates with no idea what he’d devote himself to if he dropped out, afraid he’s wasting his life wandering aimlessly. He knows he likes pokémon, knows he likes researching, knows he feels pieces sliding into place when he listens to the professor’s passionate lectures about his work. He knows he likes Ash, and that he wants Ash to be present no matter what his future holds.
“An impressive dream,” Professor Cerise chuckles, “I’m sure you’ll achieve it.”
It’s amazing to be catching up with the Cerises; it’s so easy to trick himself into believing he doesn’t need them when they’re miles apart, that he’s always managed just fine with an absent family and he’s fine without anyone to depend on. Maybe that’s why he’s been hiding from them, because he knows that when they’re reunited, he’ll never want to leave; all of the pain will come rushing back and he’ll be tormented by the parent-sized hole in his life. It’s terrifying to be taunted by the tantalising possibility of having a proper family, to discover how he feels whole when he’s surrounded by these people after swearing he’s better off not to have anyone who can read his mind via body language, to be hit so roughly in the face with concrete proof that he is wrong and doesn’t know what’s best for himself. And if he has to realise that, then what? He doesn’t want to feel alone and weak again, desperate for a kind look in his direction, throwing himself at the first person he sees, forced to come to terms with the fact he cannot cope in the secure fortress he’s built in his dorm. How could he go back to that solitary existence after the sense of togetherness he finds in this house has been rekindled?
It’s like living in a photograph, a relic of the past, something Goh thought he’d moved on from. But he sees that he hasn’t moved on from this, he never can, he can pretend as much as he likes but there’ll always be a voice in the recesses of his brain that emerges in the still of the night and feeds his insecurities. He will never be free of this burning human necessity, the yearning to disappear into one of these freeze frames of a happier history and never resurface. He will always need this, so he enjoys this moment to the fullest, knowing that while he will claim to be pleased to return to the peace of his dorm and be productive with studying again, he will secretly be dreaming of Vermilion City and the family who treat him like he’s of the same blood as them.
At some point, Chloe pulls Goh into the kitchen, leaving behind the sounds of her parents’ animated chatter. She leans her head against her friend’s shoulder, sighing contentedly as they watch Talia and the professor begin to slow dance to some cheesy Christmas ballad (Talia practically tears him from the seat, exclaiming “This one’s my favourite!”). It’s so hideously cute, and Goh’s heart clenches like a fist has engulfed it, sparing a cursory look for Ash, who has vanished from the spot he’d claimed on the carpet. He’s about to ask Chloe why exactly she removed him from the sofa to lurk under the doorframe, when Ash quietly appears at his side. It’s then that everything becomes obvious: Chloe’s wicked smirk as she slinks back to the front room, the wink she gives Goh before her eyes flit to a spot above his head. His stomach becomes a bottomless pit, he gets the sensation of falling, the back of his neck prickles and crawls with unease. But then he sees Ash, who is also looking up at the mistletoe that Chloe has so evilly hung up and lured them underneath, who shifts on the spot with nervous excitement.
Goh decides to give Chloe what she wants, give in to this plot she’s orchestrated, succumb to this urge he’s been feeling all day and give himself what he wants. He isn’t normally so impulsive, but this isn’t a normal situation, and he knows he’d regret it forever if he sits by and spectates on other peoples’ fortunes and enviable relationships yet again, instead of taking control into his own hands. He draws out all of his bravado, puts on all the faux confidence he can muster, and says:
“I feel awful, Ash. It’s Christmas, and I haven’t had time to buy you anything. But - uh - I can think of one present I can give you.”
“I’m not very patient,” Ash says, his eyes glowing with anticipation, knowing full well what Goh is talking about but wanting to make him be the one to make the move, “I wanna see it now .”
And Goh kisses him, while Chloe covers her mouth to quiet her delighted squeals, the victory her devious scheme has earned. It’s uncoordinated and inexperienced and Goh almost apologises, almost breaks off this intoxicating, overwhelming closeness - a proximity the likes of which he’s never shared with anyone - to tell Ash it’s his first time. But Ash seems to be enjoying it regardless, if the look of pure bliss on his face is any indication. The Christmas music keeps playing in the background, though Goh is sure that the Cerises have finished dancing now and are not-so-discreetly spying on their practically-son’s (in every sense but legal and biological; it’s the thought that counts) sudden rush of courage. Goh can feel the blood coursing to his lips, which feel hot and bruised, the numbness spreading through the rest of him as his mind hones in on the scary and thrilling perfection his mouth is receiving; all he can think about is Ash (how remarkably blessed he was to be seated next to him on the plane, how uncannily understood and seen Ash makes him feel, how he truly swears with full conviction that he wants Ash to be an essential part of the rest of his life). And here he is, sharing this beautiful moment he never could’ve predicted this morning, with all of the people he cares about around him, with his true family loving him and Ash loving him louder than Goh’s deprecating thoughts can intervene - nothing could spoil this.
“No fair,” Ash says when they reluctantly break apart for air, “I haven’t got you anything.”
Goh smiles at him, “Looks like I win Christmas.”