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Spinel blinked the sleep from his eyes, squinting as he stared at the glaringly bright screen of his laptop, stark against the dark of the room. He glanced to the corner of the screen to check the time— 3:24 a.m. While an ungodly hour to still be awake for most, it wasn’t very out of the ordinary for him, especially considering his current circumstances.
He wasn’t sure whether to consider his new…”situation” a blessing or a curse. After defecting from the Explorers, he found himself jumping from town to town in an attempt to prevent them from finding him—they did not take very kindly to traitors, and more importantly, he knew far too much for them to just let him leave unscathed. Eventually, during his attempts to avoid them, he ran into something—more so some one— that he couldn’t decide was better or worse.
While restocking on supplies at a nearby Pokémart, he stumbled across none other than the Rising Volt Tackler’s very own professor. He tried his hardest to ensure Friede wouldn’t catch on to his less than ideal state, though unfortunately for him someone from the Explorers had blabbed all his personal business to the Volt Tacklers in their last confrontation. (He figured the likely culprit was Amethio, for no real reason other than his own distaste for him.) Not to mention, he had…certainly seen better days. Keeping himself away from the Explorers often meant sleepless nights ensuring he left no trail, and for someone so enamored with having control over his situation, the constant moving and worry bore down on his mental state, which reflected in his own looks—hair messy (and not in the purposeful way he usually had it), with somehow worse eyebags than before. He eventually managed to shoo Friede away after an irritatingly long back-and-forth that garnered an equally irritating amount of attention from the other shoppers, and while he wished he could say he managed to intimidate him into leaving, he knew full well the professor likely left out of pity. Though oddly enough, Spinel noted, the other man seemed to hesitate a bit before leaving, Friede even sharing a look that he couldn’t decipher with Umbreon. He took mental note of it just in case.
He figured that would be the last time he’d bump into the professor—which, oddly enough, gave him an unpleasant feeling, though he chalked it up to his interest in the other man (for research, he assured himself. He found him intriguing. That was all). Being near the Volt Tacklers often meant being near the Explorers, after all—the very thing he tried to avoid at every turn—therefore avoiding them should in turn keep him far away from the RVT. Yet unfortunately for him, (though his subconscious cheered) the professor just wouldn’t stop showing up.
The next time they met he figured it was merely coincidence; he’d taken Umbreon out to try a Pokémon pastry she eyed the day before, figuring it could act as a nice break for the both of them, and found Friede with his capped Pikachu at the café. This time he spoke far more civilly, in a significantly better mood than before; he managed to stay in this town a good amount longer without worrying of the risk of running into one of his old coworkers. Rather than outright mocking and insulting the other man, he borderline ignored him in favor of trodding over to the counter to order the pastry (by his standards, this could be considered polite). When he noticed a lack of footsteps beside him, he glanced back to find Umbreon staying behind with the professor, again seemingly trying to communicate something to him. It did strike him as odd that Umbreon didn’t include him in her plot, but he figured she likely had a good reason. Despite his… issues when it came to trusting others, Umbreon stood proud as a clear exception. He turned back around to order.
(Unfortunately for him, he failed to consider; she knew him as well as he knew himself, yet unlike him, she could get over their shared egos and ask for help.)
It all boiled over when on their 6th encounter (Friede insisted up and down that it was all solely coincidence—-were it anyone else, Spinel wouldn’t have believed them), Friede said a sequence of words Spinel never thought he’d ever hear directed towards himself, of all people.
An invitation. For him, to join the RVT.
Honestly, he was baffled. He thought better of the professor. Inviting him to join his pathetic little knit of misfits? He could almost laugh. After all he’d done, surely Friede knew trusting Spinel was a horrible mistake, one that could only lead to tragedy for his little “family.” Which is exactly what Spinel spat at him, laughing in his face before storming off, Umbreon lingering behind for a moment before rushing to keep up. He tried to ignore her worried looks, furrowing his brows and steeling his gaze in an attempt to stamp out the traitorous urge to look back.
And so his days continued, paranoid that every move he made could somehow lead the Explorers right back to him. Sleepless night after sleepless night, day after day of Umbreon growing more and more concerned.
And so, of course, there came a day he could no longer take it.
A horribly close call finally brought Spinel to his limit—he’d seen a low ranking Explorer face to face, rather than through his cameras; they were clearly looking for something, their eyes darting back and forth around the area and reporting their findings to someone over their Rotom phone. Spinel didn’t stay long enough for their null reports to turn fruitful.
While packing his things for what had to be the 3rd time just that month, he seethed at both his former “employers” and at himself; oh, how far he’d fallen from grace. From proud and confident, an immovable object, to the pathetic state he now found himself in, out of control of his own emotions and fearful of every creak of a floorboard or scrape of a door opening. It was pitiful. He shoved his clothes into his bag, almost breaking the zipper with how harshly he closed it.
When he turned to Umbreon to beckon her out with him, he found her glaring at him with what looked like a combination of worry and determination. She grabbed his sleeve with her teeth, tugging him down to her level; he obliged, kneeling down so they were face to face, though his eye twitched at the interruption. “Umbreon, dear, we have to leave, Can this wait until we’re—”
Though before he could finish his sentence, she barked, cutting him off. She then reached for his pocket, and tugged out his phone with her teeth before dropping it on his lap and batting it with her paw, beckoning him to use it.
Ah. So that’s what this is about.
During one of their chance encounters, Friede had left his phone number saved in Spinel’s phone. “For emergencies,” he’d said. Spinel finally understood just why Umbreon had been so attached to the professor's side.
His brows furrowed, conflicted. Nothing good could come out of this, he was certain. The rest on the ship surely weren’t as stupid as that professor, and would cast him out the second they had the chance. He would do the same, after all. Not to mention Friede himself; as much as the other man interested him, as much as he never failed to challenge Spinel and throw him off, that was exactly the problem. The professor made him vulnerable, letting go of his “perfectly” controlled facade, be it for anger or for excitement. Either way, that vulnerability was weakness . Something Spinel couldn’t afford.
Yet Spinel was so, so tired. And Umbreon’s determined and concerned eyes, boring into his own, sealed his fate. He’d lost the argument against himself before it could even start. He let out a soft sigh, and raised one hand to gently pat Umbreon’s hand. With the other, he picked up his phone and resigned to his fate.
Which all led to his current predicament.
“...Spinel? Wh..what time is it, why are you..?”
Spinel nearly fell out of his seat at the sound of the groggy, half asleep voice from behind him, breaking the room’s not so tranquil silence. He whipped his head around to glare at the offender, whose white, now messy with sleep hair and narrowed eyes barely peeked out of his blanket.
Upon first boarding the RVT’s ship, his reception was…poor, to say the least. Even with Friede’s constant attempts at reassurance (and confidence that should Spinel try anything, he could take him down), none of the crew were all too happy with, nor trusting of, their newest traveling companion. And thus, for the peace of mind of everyone, and much to Spinel’s dismay, they put him under Friede’s custody.
As in, Friede had to monitor him constantly (though in his defense, Friede hadn’t wanted to either. Unfortunately, being the ship’s resident battler left him with the dirty work.) . Whether it be running errands or just walking around the ship. While both annoying and humiliating, Spinel supposed it could be worse—it was a small price to pay for his own peace of mind and some sort of stability. Not to mention, poking fun at the professor made it far more entertaining, and this gave him plentiful opportunities to do so.
Yet that also meant Spinel now had a roommate.
“Go back to sleep. This doesn’t concern you.” He turned back around and resumed his typing, the clicking of the keys only proving to keep the other man awake. Spinel heard a rustling sound from behind him, and turned his head slightly to see Friede now beside him, illuminated by the faint blue glow of his computer screen. The other man’s face went from groggily irritated to concerned when he scanned his eyes along the screen, and Spinel turned his head away to avoid the worried look.
“Listen, you don't have to freak out over all of this anymore—especially not alone and at who-knows-what o’clock in the morning.” It seemed Friede had snapped out of his sleepy state solely to scold him. Spinel let out an annoyed scoff and continued averting his eyes, as Friede’s arm snaked around his shoulder and jostled him lightheartedly. “Come back to bed?”
“Oh, woe is me. How could I ever choose ensuring my safety over sleeping on the floor? Seems I’m not cut out for this carefree lifestyle after all,” he dramatically pouted, faking a devastated expression; he was most certainly not in the mood for whatever sappy “power of friendship” speech Friede had surely prepared, and purposefully irritating the professor typically distracted him into dropping the topic.
He heard Friede let out an exasperated sigh, before he reached over and closed Spinel’s laptop shut. He cut off Spinel’s protest—”It’s too early for this, come on. We can figure out…” he cut himself off with a yawn before continuing. “...Whatever you’re worried about in the morning.” Before Spinel could berate his use of “we,” Friede wrapped his arms around Spinel’s torso, dragging him up from his chair and towards the two beds (if one could even be called that).
“Put me down, you—!” heat rushed to Spinel’s cheeks; though then again, considering this was Friede, perhaps he shouldn’t be so shocked. It certainly didn’t help with the humiliation, though. Spinel cursed his own negligence towards his own physical strength. He couldn’t sleep yet, he hadn’t yet combed through all the forums not sorted through Beheeyem’s video footage; if he didn’t keep track of every lead that could lead anyone to him, then—
Spinel’s train of thought cut off as Friede plopped them both down on…Friede’s bed, still holding onto Spinel. Before he could even process anything more, Friede dragged the blankets over the both of them, hugging Spinel from behind and tugging him closer into his chest. “Quit thinking, sleep…” He could feel the rumble of the other man’s voice against his throat as he spoke, Friede burying his head into Spinel’s nape.
This is bad. He could feel his traitorous heart thump rapidly in his chest, and somehow his cheeks grew even warmer. He wouldn’t survive a whole night of this, he thought. Yet when he attempted to wiggle his way out of the other man’s embrace, the arms around him only tightened, and he felt another soft grumble against his nape. These feelings, these reactions were exactly why he couldn’t bear so much time with the professor.
He enjoyed it all too much, and it terrified him. He prided himself on being above this, above these attachments, above these sappy, sentimental emotions. Yet here he found himself, at the mercy of his own feelings. This power over him could only go poorly, this kind of emotional leverage—
The breaths behind him slowed and shallowed into a gentle rhythm. Friede had fallen asleep, he figured. His chest tightened in response, to his own disgust. This fondness would be fatal . How could the other man be so comfortable here? Spinel had done nothing to earn his trust, rather done everything in his power to shatter it—hell, he never gave it a chance to build up in the first place. He didn’t regret anything he did; necessity isn’t always pretty. But that viewpoint only clashed with the professor’s, which should only make him all the more unappealing to him.
He couldn’t understand Friede at all. He let out a wry, exhausted chuckle. That’s what always kept him coming back, after all.
He glanced towards Umbreon, curled up and laying on the pillow of his floor-bed, in some last attempt at salvation from the other man’s suffocating—both physically and emotionally—grip. Yet all she did was peek open an eye, let out a satisfied noise, and tuck her nose back in her paws to sleep.
He sighed, though a yawn of his own cut through it. He was tired. Too tired to sort through his own contradictory and traitorous feelings. And as much as he hated to admit it, the blankets were warm, and Friede’s embrace only made it all the more comfortable. A comfort that he should find strangling, yet he couldn’t bring himself to.
He managed to turn himself around towards Friede, despite the struggle to move. This man only led him to destroy himself, to destroy his own foundation, yet all he could muster looking at his peaceful, sleeping face was fondness. Disgusting, he thought.
After a deliberation that lasted only a few moments due to his sleepy state—the warm comfort really did wonders—he begrudgingly tucked his face into the crook of Friede’s neck and threw his arms around his sides in an almost violent hug. Despite the annoyance that laced every one of his actions, he felt his sleeping companion tighten his grip and mumble happily. He shut his eyes, both dreading and looking forward to meeting the gold ones ahead of him when morning truly came.
…Maybe one day he could learn to fully accept this, without the strings of disgust he puppeted by his own hands strangling him.