#rocketleader

Sam doesn’t mind the weather. It’s more snow than they usually get, likely related to the other odd weather events happening across the other regions, but it makes Pallet Town feel cozy.

Even if the front yard looks odd untouched, no footprints or snow angels or half destroyed snowmen, all things Sam had gotten used to after raising three kids in this house.

Sometimes he likes having it all to himself, peace and quiet after a long, complicated life. That was years ago; now the emptiness is suffocating, dragging him down. Having Lucas in the house help takes some of the pressure off, but Lucas is out for the evening (Sam is fuzzy on the details, something involving Green and alcohol) so Sam is left alone with his thoughts for at least a few hours.

He curls up in the living room with a book to try and distract himself, though the temptation is there to open the liquor cabinet and drink until he’s stopped thinking. It’s something he’s read before, some of it familiar, some things forgotten with time, so Sam is only half paying attention when the doorbell rings; either another welcome distraction, or a momentary nuisance.

He considers ignoring it, but solicitors tend not to be doing their rounds this late. It could be one of his assistants in need of something, or one of Green’s friends’ mothers come to chat. That doesn’t sound appealing either, even the thought of socialization exhausting, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense when being alone is likely the whole reason for being down, but... that’s fine, he’s gotten used to it, he’s learning to live with it. Poorly.

It takes an effort of willpower for Sam to get out of the armchair, drag himself to the door. The only reason he answers is on the off chance Lucas decided Green’s particular style of having fun wasn’t for him and came home early, but it isn’t Lucas and it isn’t a solicitor and it isn’t Red or Leaf’s mother.

“Oh.” He lets out a little breathy noise, not quite surprise, not quite discontentment, and shifts from one foot to the other, tendrils of nervousness coiling up in the pit of his stomach.

It’s hard to look at him. He’s met with Giovanni a handful of times by now, a few encounters he’s emphatically informed the younger man are not dates, but the awkwardness hasn’t subsided, and Sam had... put on his best face for those occasions. He doesn’t know how to deal with Giovanni here, tired and drained and depressed.

Sam averts his gaze. It’s hard to look at him right now, not without that anxious feeling in his stomach; that longing for someone he once knew so well, now gone from his life. He misses that quiet teenager. Misses that little apartment in Viridian.

Sam is putting on another pot of coffee when the doorbell rings. It's late, and he still hasn't heard back from all the texts he sent to his students making sure everyone is alright after yesterday's events... but Gio had called last night, shortly before Sam had gone to pick up Green from his mostly demolished apartment. He can't worry about everyone. The two people he was most concerned about are alright, and that's... enough to think about for now.

He glances back at his grandson, sitting with his phone at the kitchen table. He shouldn't send Green out to check, should do it himself, but Sam has had a very, very long two days, and doesn't need to answer the hundreds of questions he'll be peppered with about whether his grandson in Viridian is alright, should it be a neighbor coming to call as he suspects.

Get back with Giovanni? The phrasing isn’t quite appropriate, or at least he doesn’t think so. Unless... Were they lovers? Perhaps. The length of the relationship was there, as well as the consistency.

△: inspired by the plot of the last movie/tv show I watched (Hannibal)

being found shirtless - a continuation of this

Cyrus likes Guzma. Arceus knows why, but he respects the man, and though they’re playing on different sides now, he tries to be courteous. The same can’t be said for Giovanni. He’s charming, of course, but those charismatic smiles are sharp below the surface, dangerous, everything a matter of business. It doesn’t surprise Cyrus, then, when he spots Guzma storming out of the Rocket base when he comes to call on Giovanni. Concern tenses Cyrus’s brow, but he doesn’t think much of it. Giovanni had called a meeting and something had gone wrong, that much Cyrus can guess.

So with a considerable amount of reluctance, and a headache coming on, he heads up to Giovanni’s office. Braced for the carnage, he knocks sharply once, then opens the door, and his eyes fall on...

The bare expanse of Giovanni’s chest, the man at least shirtless behind his desk, intricate tattoos taut over muscle, rather than the customary high collar and pressed black suit.

☾ = being found shirtless 

He thinks he should feel something here, thinks there should be some profound rush of emotion, regret or relief or resentment. Thin fingers dance across the cold steel of a lab table, leaving a geometric trail in the dust. Cyrus stops; presses his palm flat to the metal, raises his head and stares through Giovanni, unblinking and quiet, a man in a trance.

The building is almost exactly how he remembers it. A thin layer of dust over everything, the lack of clutter, these things near the only changes. Someone’s kept it this way, or restored it--it’s almost like stepping back in time six, seven years or more, and Cyrus thinks he should feel something here, but he doesn’t.

“You’ve acquired my old HQ, I presume,” he says finally, a soft, tired sort of monotone. Cyrus’s gaze skitters away from Giovanni’s face to find something else to look at, never one for eye contact. “I can’t imagine how else it would have been kept in a mostly intact state.”

He should have been expecting this. He should have known Giovanni would ask him here, knows what Giovanni is going to ask of him now.