ace of spades

A bar? Lucas blinks, brow furrowing. He doesn’t really like going places, particularly public places with loud crowds, which is definitely what a bar sounds like. But… it’s really quiet around the lab lately. It’s not that he doesn’t like being around Sam, but things have been awkward ever since–well, the thing they aren’t talking about. Since then, it feels like they don’t talk about much at all. And he hates it. 

Maybe… maybe going out wouldn’t be so bad. It’s just one night. What could happen?

Slowly, he nods, putting away his sketchbook. “Sure. Why not?”

And then he hesitates and winces because he can think of a pretty good reason why not. “I’m uh… I don’t think I’m old enough to drink. I have before, but not at an actual bar.”

He decides it’s probably better not to mention that the person he was drinking with was Sam. And even that wasn’t too long ago. It hadn’t been bad though, from what he remembers of it. That night is a little fuzzy around the edges, and he had woken up to a sketchbook filled with some of the strangest drawings he had ever done. So leaving the sketchbook behind tonight is probably a good idea.

But maybe people won’t question him if he’s with Green. That’s something Lucas has noticed more and more lately. People don’t look twice when you’re with someone like a professor or a gym leader. It probably helps that he’s almost entirely unremarkable himself. Most people probably don’t pay him anymore attention than they would if his company was carrying an extra bag.

“You’re old enough tonight,” He assures, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, don’t sweat it.

The two will go without question, he’ll see, hands curling around two drinks -- Green’s treat -- no carding necessary, missing nonexistent questioning gazes and glares holding no suspicion from bartenders and patrons alike; Viridian’s beloved gym leader, who frequents the establishment too painstakingly often to own up, would never be so irresponsible to drag someone underage into a bar. Dragging along the lab aide may earn a firm talking to from the famous Professor Samuel Oak in the flesh though. Or not. Communication with his grandson never was a strong suit. Worry weighs not on his shoulders either way.

“A victory?” Sam echoes dubiously, eyebrows raised. He blushes easily; the pink color is back on his cheeks at Green’s teasing again. He’d like to blame that particular personality trait on someone else, but knows Green must have picked it up in part from him. He misses being able to have moments like this… even if he doesn’t enjoy being the subject of the needling.

“Oh no, no, I don’t need a few more younger suitors, the one is enough–and besides, I’m sure if anyone would be vying for my number, it’d be a few fellow researchers, perhaps a man or two my age. That doesn’t exactly sound like a victory to me. Besides, Gio wouldn’t be too happy. He’s been the other woman, I doubt he wants to deal with one.” The next part is muttered, half sarcastic: “Maybe this will be the first major relationship I don’t cheat on.”

He shakes his head, then realizes it’s almost a mirror of Green doing the same thing. Do they really look alike? Do they act alike? Sam isn’t certain about himself, but he can certainly see hints of Agatha in him. The shape of his eyes, the way he smiles. He knows Green doesn’t like her, but Sam is… Sam is glad it’s there. Maybe it’s that sentimentality that keeps him from getting irritated.

“Ah, well… clearly you got the attitude from her. I’m not sure where your bad eyesight came from though, don’t try to push the blame on me.”

Bantering about genetics is easy. It’s the rest of this conversation that’s hard, and Sam can’t completely be blamed for not fully believing Green’s insistence that he won’t pry. He might say so now, but Sam is sure it won’t stick. “Just… trust me, please? I’ve told you a lot more than I meant to today already, I don’t know if either of us could handle the rest of that conversation right now.”

“Good,” He exhales a little too theatrically, as if weights are relieved from his shoulders, “Nobody, not a damn person under forty am I gonna go around calling step-anything.” The very thought of some smug twenty-five year old pulling authority, talking nonsense like I’m your new fathe-- daddy, makes Green itch.

No word, nor sound manage to squeeze passed Green’s mouth now held tight lipped. He’ll play it off, relax his features, pretend it wasn’t for his ears but it’d made earshot anyway. No snide comment. Silence. That was Sam’s business, Sam’s skeletons, none his own. Let it be known Green Oak actually knows when the joke’s over. 

“That’s fair,” His shoulders bounce with a nod. It’s funny, there was a period -- circa the stretch of losing the title of Champion of the Indigo League and some years following -- in his life he’d glare daggers and deny being so alike his grandfather. Today, he insists their likeness. He’s grown. He’s reflected. He’s had so much time to mull it over a million times over.

“I’m sure they’d love me a lot less if all my dirty laundry was on the table,” Sam quips back, matter-of-fact, and there’s a certain terseness he always gets when talking about being the famous Professor Oak. On the rare occasions he does talk about it, that is. Not quite bitter, not quite irritated, just. Unhappy. “I suppose it keeps me in check.” He chuckles, flatly. “People… expect me to act a certain way, as an educator and a kindly old mentor figure. I’d hate to burst the bubble.”

Sam drops his eyes to his coffee cup, frowning. It’s empty now but he hasn’t thrown it away, just turning the paper over in his hands. “There isn’t exactly room for–for a gay scandal.” Particularly not with the Boss of Team Rocket. “Can you imagine the things they’d say about me? goodness. Your generation can get away with so much more.”

There isn’t a touch of envy there, there isn’t. Maybe if he hadn’t stepped down as Champion, maybe if he’d settled into a cozy Gym Leader position like Blaine or Pryce or… or Green.

He looks back up, faces his grandson with a rueful smile. “Oh, alright, blame it on genetics. You know, you come by it from Agatha too. We were both so terrible.” And so, so young. “I won’t apologize for that… but maybe for the hair. You know, everyone’s been telling me you look just like I did when I was younger. I’m not so sure I see it. You’ve gotten much more handsome than I ever was.”

The genuine laughter that punctuated the statement dies the moment Green backtracks. Of course he’d fixate on that little slip up. Sam frowns again.

“Yes, that’s his name.” Delicately, carefully. “I know that look, Green. You’re not going to like what you find.” It’s supposed to be a warning, however Green takes it. Sam sighs, tired, reserved to his fate. “I promise I’ll introduce you if it looks like he’s sticking around, alright?”

“The older generation-- your generation might give ya grief, mine’ll take it as a victory. Hey you might even gain a few more young suitors. But I swear, I swear,” His tongue drags along the vowels, “The day I get loiterers hangin’ around the gym talkin’ about ‘what’s your grandpops number?’ I’m moving to Alola with Samson.” The Battle Tree will surely take Green back with open arms. Green could use a good tan too, Kanto isn’t exactly palm trees and warm sun rays tropical paradise. His skin has suffered since taking leave from Alola to return to Viridian.

Samson though. No way, no how would Green bunk it at Samson’s.

“Ah, no, the day I run off an innocent kid, snot nosed and bawling ‘cause I scarred them for life with my Gengar, then you can say I was as bad as Agatha.” Green shakes his head, chuckling slightly. “They’re right but I am quite fond of this hair-- and this face. I’d say you and Agatha did a damn good job. Don’t beat yourself up here, gramps, if ya really can’t see we share a scary identical resemblance -- minus the height -- ya might wanna head to the doc’s. You’re gettin’ up there, old people get cataracts, ya?”

There are reasons Green should be disowned as grandson, he couldn’t even blame his old man if he grew exasperated. The younger flashes the other a grin, feigned innocence, love ya gramps.

His hands play with the empty cup, a little restless, mostly annoyed he’d finished off the beverage. A curious brow perks up, I won’t like what I find? This Gio guy killed a hundred men or something? Curiosity not get the best of him, he throws his hands up, defeated, “Alright, alright. I won’t prod.” 

Someone else might have smiled. Instead, Cyrus’s pale eyes flicker up to the man’s face. He maintains unwavering, unblinking eye contact for a few seconds; long enough to unnerve, maybe, but not intentionally. His gaze drops when he takes the lighter, and Cyrus doesn’t respond immediately, takes a moment to light up.

“I’m here on business for just a few nights,” he explains, flat, apathetic, more interested in sweeping his flickering gaze up and down the stranger in kind. He’ll do. The man is younger than him, though likely not by too much, but he’s reasonably attractive and that’s… about as far as Cyrus’s requirements go. It’s all going to blur in with the other nights anyway, what use is there in being picky?

And, of course, the once-over the man gave him didn’t escape Cyrus’s attention. He looks back up with mild curiosity, though instead of making eye contact again, he focuses on a point just to the side of the man’s head. Cyrus presses the lighter back into his outstretched hand, and lingers there, fingertips pressed to the skin of his palm.

“Yuki.” The old childhood nickname rolls off his tongue easier than any pseudonym would. “And you?”

Something about those eyes, something about their held gaze elicits a slight shiver from the younger. Fortunately there’s a chill in the air, Green writes it off as such.

A name and a face, the night calls for only a name and a face. They’re here on business, a hum reverberating in the brunet’s throat covers acknowledgement, sharing a light and the way intense eyes roll over his person tells him everything he needs to know. Delving deeper reads unnecessary; why they’re here on business, their occupation, his own, unnecessary.

Pale blues of short tresses blending into pale flesh, a contrast to the makeup painted around the eyes, there’s something alluring here, he can’t put a finger on it. Vibes too, maybe. If today were anything but tonight, and Green anything but craving his loneliness and the long for a warm body to be sated, the bearer of dark eye makeup may have been a someone Green’d be inclined to wanting to share a sit down or two with.

“Pretty name.” Fate leads two here instead, lingering touches to the palm, the taller lingers too. Soft touches glide against opposite flesh as he pulls away, “It’s Green,” The unusual name follows suit to Yuki’s admission. He takes another drag, pulling off to flick ash onto the concrete. Heavy, his tongue lies heavy in it’s place, killing to splutter an implication much too forward for two who’d just been acquainted all of a few minutes ago. “Viridian managed to keep you... entertained?”

Sam can’t help but hide his eyes with his hand, out of shame and embarrassment, when Green teases again. Almost immediately, he regrets the story leaving his mouth. Did Green really need to hear the whole thing, about Gio? Does anyone? Well, to be fair, it isn’t the whole story. He’d left out the fighting with his wife, the countless nights spent away on business in Gio’s Viridian apartment. The whole sordid business where Sam had fallen in love of all foolish things, and thought maybe if I can keep him, just maybe; consummately taking advantage of a teenager, a student. The sex and adrenaline and the way they’d both gotten off on the illicit nature of the relationship, really. The night Sam drank himself half to death, after Gio left.

He blushes brighter and laughs, despite the sick feeling in his stomach. It’s hard not to hate himself when the whole story comes up. It’s easy to ignore, outwardly, but on the inside it’s still tearing him up, thirty years later.

“Oh no, no, I’m not perfect. I’d hope you never thought that.” It’s almost an admonishment. Sam peeks through his fingers, then drops his hand. “And with my dirty laundry now on the table, you can feel better about any bad decisions you’ve made, because I’m certain I’ve made worse.” He winces, slightly, at that.

“Speaking of which. I would say something about sneaking an eighteen year old into a bar and giving him alcohol, but I’m sure Lucas spilled the beans on me getting him drunk first. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? You’ll be a proper bad influence just like your grandfather someday.”

He means it in jest, punctuated with a chuckle, but getting Lucas drunk doesn’t cover the half of it. It’s a little too awkward to admit he had sex with Lucas oh, about a week ago. So he improvises.

“Not spoken for, but he has a rather embarrassing crush I’ve been sworn to secrecy on, anyway. And besides. I was never the homewrecker. That was all Gio–er. Him, I mean.”

“Mm..” A finger taps at his chin thoughtfully. Bad decisions doesn’t necessarily equal bad person. Life isn’t black and white like that, he understands. This man stepped up to the plate to care for Green and Daisy to play both roles of mother and father. Nothing is perfect, no one is perfect, sometimes things were rocky, but Samuel Oak took on two bundles of responsibility that weren’t his own. Here’s a good man in his eyes, nothing can change that. “I like to think I’ve made amends with a good chunk of my bad decisions. But, the inventor of the Pokedex can definitely afford a few more shiesty life choices. People love the famous Professor Oak, no one’ll bat an eye. You’re golden.”

“Ah-- no?” No no, Lucas most certainly hadn’t spilled the beans. “Kid didn’t mention it... gee, gramps, the pressure’s on filling these shoes of yours-- and they just keep growin’ and growin’,” A smirk tugs at the gym leader’s features. On his tongue lies no ill-intent, bad grandpa to slightly less bad grandson -- so he tells himself -- it’s all teasing. “This means I can stop blaming myself for being such a bratty kid and start blamin’ it on genetics though.”

Rolling his shoulders, he shrugs, “Suit yourself, Lucas.” I’m a catch, a voice much too full of pride pipes up in his head. “‘Xactly, that’s why I’m gonna fill that role. But uh... backing it up some ‘cause... Gio?” Ha, hope ya didn’t believe he’d let that slide, “So that’s his name, huh?”

Sam laughs. He can’t help it. Something about the incredulity on Green’s face, the exclamation, hits him hard, makes him feel a little lighter. A hand over his mouth turns the gesture apologetic, even as it takes a moment for Sam to catch his breath. “Oh, well, I–you know, it never came up, and I didn’t expect it to. I’ve… seen people, here and there, but after divorce number three I decided to give dating a rest. Goodness, that word seems so juvenile now.”

He’s still smiling, even through the obvious embarrassment, still on the verge of laughter. “To somewhat echo you, I never thought I’d have someone to bring home to you. Well, I suppose I still don’t, we’re being discreet about the whole thing.” For reasons I can’t easily explain. Sam probably shouldn’t have said anything. It had seemed like the right thing to do, establish a point of connection; I’m seeing men too, you don’t have to worry. But ultimately, it’ll just open up more questions that Sam doesn’t want to answer.

Like the one at hand.

There’s a rosy color to Sam’s cheeks when he looks away, doubly embarrassed. Strangely, he still doesn’t regret saying it. The point of connection had worked. It’s an easier, more casual moment than they’ve had together in years.

But… is Giovanni cute?

“He used to be,” is what falls from Sam’s mouth without thinking, memories of a seventeen, eighteen year old Gio in mind. The way he used to let his hair fall in his face, the leather jacket he used to wear, the way he used to hang onto Sam’s every word in the lab even when he was pretending not to. “But… he’s grown up a lot since I last saw him. Handsome is a better word.”

And… that, the phrasing, the slip up, that bears explaining. Sam looks back up at Green, a little guilty. “Though, I suppose now I owe some context.” He leans back, fiddles with the paper sleeve on the coffee cup as he thinks. The embarrassment is back, and no small amount of shame.

“If you ever thought your old man is boring, I’ve got a story. You’re going to think so much less of me,” he admits, with a little laugh. I’ve never told anyone this before. “About… oh, lets see, thirty years ago, before my looks started going of course, I had a particularly willful student set his eyes on me.”

He pauses. It’s hard to say anything past that, hard to admit to his sins. Still, Sam keeps his tone light. Taking a step back, thinking about it, it is funny. In an awful, bizarre sort of way. “And then your grandfather made a very bad decision. I didn’t just sleep with him, oh no. It was a full blown affair that lasted a year, give or take, and ended with my second marriage falling apart. We parted ways, and I thought I’d never see him again. I didn’t, until a few months ago.”

There’s nothing he can do but shrug, his smile self-conscious and a little painful. “And now here I am.” He downs the rest of his coffee, tries to change the subject. “What about you? I hope the other night wasn’t an attempt to pursue Lucas.”

Years ago Green may have butted in while someone else was speaking, he likes to think, with age, he’s gained a manner or two. He listens with a genuine curiosity, straw trapped between his lips.

Really, Green just wants to know the man responsible for the hued blush dusted over the other’s cheek-- and why ‘we’re being discreet about the whole thing.’ Patience is a virtue, he reminded himself, answers come to those who wait, whatever corny ass mantra he can pull from The Guide To Being A Good Human Being.

Used to be? The good human being book can piss off, Green’s entirely too curious. Before he can prod or jump to conclusions, the other has agreed to elaborate. “Ya think?” He rhetorics with more attitude than intended.

Every word out of their lips builds another layer of expectation, Green’s not sure he wants to know. Student? His eyes are wide, you old dog, he prays he hadn’t accidentally said that aloud.

Hearing it though, Green’s making a mental note to head straight to his PC when he finally touches base at home, and find out a way to wipe his memory. Barely audible under his breath comes a mumble, “Holy.. shit..” Bewildered.

“Guess you really don’t keep yourself cooped up in the lab as much as I thought, huh?” His tone is light, soft, quiet, a little teasing, he shouldn’t judge, no one’s perfect, right? Even if his mind is working out ways to erase information he hadn’t quite volunteered to learn about his grandfather. Green’s done some questionable things too.

“Nah..” He trails off, chuckling, onto another subject, thank the heavens, “Hand to Arceus I jus’ swang by to find my glasses. But, kid was there,” Green’s gotta stop calling those only slightly younger than he kid, “And y’know I wasn’t sure he’s inhaled any fresh air in days.” The workaholic his grandpa was, well, it’d come to no surprise if Lucas was too. Magnets, maybe workhorse types gravitate like the opposite ends of magnets.

I guess when I had someone to bring home to you. Sam understands this, empathizes. He’d say that’s why he never told Green, but there’s more to it than that, a wisp of self-loathing at the thought of admitting (to anyone he knows) that he’s been seeing men almost exclusively since the last divorce. He’s not sure what he’s afraid of.

“Hm.” The look he gives Green is almost critical, a touch surprised. “It’s not like I didn’t know. And not having been in a serious relationship isn’t a bad thing, Green, really–take it from someone who got married at nineteen because of a surprise pregnancy. Though, I am a little surprised you weren’t sneaking a boyfriend of two around behind my back before you moved out. Red’s mother and I thought you and Red might…”

He shakes his head with a little amused smile instead of finishing that sentence. Sam’s intention here isn’t to embarrass Green, but it slipped out anyway. His expression turns serious again in the next moment.

“Well, nevermind. Look at me going on about nothing again. What I was trying to say is, it’s not like I didn’t know. And I suppose I’ve been a bit worried you haven’t told me because you thought I might have a bad reaction. Because I know I am a little old-fashioned, and we never talked about politics in the house, but… I want you to know I love and support you, no matter what.”

Sam leans back in his chair, lets that sentence sit for a moment between them. He doesn’t remember the last time he said something like that. Maybe that’s part of this rift between them.

There’s something else he should say. Sam looks away, speaks too casually between sips of his own coffee.

“Besides. It would be silly for me to care, as I’m seeing a man.”

Sometimes the thought danced around the psyche, usually lingering the strike of 3am, maybe he was undesirable, maybe he was only good as some random’s nighttime boyfriend. It’s not a bad thing, the other tells him, nothing changes in his head. Green doesn’t interject.

A light red betrays the man, embarrassingly painting across his cheeks, it wasn’t like that. Red and he.. they were friends, they are friends, the first half of their relationship Green spent an antagonist in the narrative that was Red’s life. Red skipped off, Green stomached regret ‘til the protagonist reared his face again.

The professor allowed no time for Green to defend that, words ringing in his ears, words never uttered. Warmth pooled through his person. The gym leader had no words to utter himself, but a smile, something genuine, tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’s glad he came.

It was never too late.

Silence sat between the three generations of Oak men, wasn’t uncomfortable, it held promise. And hope. Didn’t even give a damn how sappy it all felt.

Then, he drops a bomb.

“You? You’re seeing a man?” Brows climb to the hairline, lips slightly agape. The shock leaves before given the shot to settle. It’d caught him off guard, sure, but a hair deeper... he’s never seen him with anyone before. Not really. He knows he’s at least been with women, of course, Green’s proof of that -- the child within him is still sort of glad Agatha and the elder were splits when Green was growing up though, and the visits between grandmother and grandchildren were a bare minimum; the woman struck some type of fear in the undeserving young boy, so unsuspecting, so innocent. He’s never looked at a gengar quite the same.

Still and all, man or woman, that’s his grandfather’s business and an inkling instinct always had lead Green to believe the man might’ve been lonely over the years, had to have been. He relates. Whoever this mystery man is, if the guy made his grandfather happy, no ill feeling held in the gym leader’s stomach. Besides, Green too opted out of sharing the ins and outs of the few years under his belt. “And you were wondering when I was gonna come out to you.”

Lucas is pretty sure that being related to someone doesn’t make it not stealing, but he doesn’t really care enough to argue the point, so he just shrugs. Glancing over, one eyebrow rises as he gets a good look at what Green is stealing. Oh. He probably needs those. Unless they’re fake. And… he does sort of look like the type of person who would wear fake glasses for the sake of ‘fashion’ or whatever. But Lucas and his scarf in literally any kind of weather probably don’t have room to talk, so he doesn’t. 

He blinks a little when Green comments on his drawing. “Thanks. Been trying to practice more lately.”

There’s plenty of new Pokemon to draw here, so really, if he doesn’t spend most of his time working on that, he’s wasting the opportunity. If he and Sam are going to get started on that illustrated Pokedex, he’s really got to get good. Can’t let a bunch of trainers look at his shitty first attempts at drawing Voltorbs.

“No. I work on other stuff sometimes,” he says, shrugging. “Just got everything done today. Figured I should find something to do.”

And if he looks like he’s really bored out of his mind, Sam’s going to make him go on another bike ride. The thought almost makes him shudder. He’s pretty sure his legs still haven’t quite recovered from the last one. It had sounded like they were just going on a little ride to the next town, and the next thing he knew, he was following Sam up a fucking mountain. Lucas isn’t sure how he didn’t die.

Immaculate artistry unfortunately wasn’t passed down to the youngest Oak, neither does said Oak find the hobby a fulfilling way to pass time. Green can draw a mean stick figure though, he swears by it. 

“Well, shit, kid, you’re in luck. ‘M about to head out to a bar up in Viridian,” He propositions, as if he’s honestly some saving grace for the younger, “Dunno if that tickles you at all but saves you from toughing out an evening with the old man.” Playing board games, watching black and white television, helping gramps up the stairs so he doesn’t throw his back out-- whatever the hell elderly people do in their spare time.

Saves Green from coming off pathetic frequenting that damn bar weekly sans a plus-one. Socialization -- outside the realm of hazy nights and waking up to an unknown mug -- could be good for him too; friends came along scarcely as he aged... though that wasn’t the truth, was it? Green never did have many friends right out of the gate, and the fact still held true after years of repeated failure and picking up the pieces. Ugly attitude (mostly) shed away hadn’t changed a damn thing. Some hold grudges to the last breath, he can’t blame them, he’d been insufferable. 

Kanto is nice. It’s quiet here, though not in the ‘quiet before the storm’ way that Sinnoh is. The place is peaceful, the people are content. Lucas could get used to this. True, he hasn’t seen much outside of Pallet just yet. He hasn’t had much reason to. So far he’s just been following along after Sam since they arrived a few weeks before. Rowan had allowed him to go off without complaint (though with the promise that he would study any fully evolved Kanto Pokemon he came across). It’s not quite a vacation, there’s still plenty of work to be done, but it almost feels like one. 

He hasn’t gotten out much. There’s apparently plenty to see and do in Kanto according to Sam, but Lucas would rather… not. The lab is nice and familiar. Why should he have to go outside? Fresh air is overrated. He much prefers staying somewhere stuffy. Alright, maybe he’s been cooped up a little too long even for him, but he doesn’t know where anything is. His sense of direction is fairly good, but only once he has a decent idea of where he is to begin with.

At least there’s been plenty of time to draw. Sam’s got plenty of Pokemon in the lab, so he’s got plenty of subjects to sketch. He’s working on what has to be his twelfth Charmander sketch when the door to the lab opens. Lucas barely glances up. People stop by fairly frequently, although Sam’s busy working on… something at the moment. He probably said what it was, but Lucas had only half been paying attention.

Hearing his name, he looks up again. Oh, right, Sam’s grandson. Green’s name has come up a few times, although Lucas has resisted the urge to ask why he’s called that of all things. Especially since he’s fairly sure Sam has another grandkid with a normal name. Oh well. Maybe it’s a family name. Those are weird sometimes.

“Yeah, Sam mentioned you,” he says, eyes already going back to his sketchpad. “If you’re stealing stuff, he’s upstairs so try to keep it down.”

“It’s not stealing if I’m related to the dude.” It’s absurd, he snickers, sauntering over to where the missing set of specs finally caught the eye. He’s kidding anyway– mostly. If the scenario were ever to arise, Green would insist he was only borrowing his grandfather’s things. “Besides, these are mine.” Lost-now-found, the simple pair of black-rim glasses sit comfortably atop the bridge of the gym leader’s nose.

Green’s so lucky his eyesight isn’t so bad he fell into a ditch on the way to Pallet and the name Green Oak was never spoken of again, making the trip contacts-less and all.

Not minding his own business, the gym leader’s set of hazel peepers fall to where Lucas’s lie, “Hey that’s not half bad.” But Green wonders why grandpa Oak doesn’t have the kid working on something a little more research oriented; the guy must be bored outta his damn mind. He shoots the trainer a look of empathy, Green knows, he’s been there-- though Sycamore usually kept him occupied way back when… and... well, distracted. It’s hard to focus on analyzing data when Kalos’s resident Pokemon Professor is a ten and leaned over tables far too often for Green’s sixteen year old hormonal self to deal.

Mind out of the gutter, Green.

“Sure. I like a lot of someones.” What a shit he is. “People are alright.”