Work Text:
You arrived in Circhester beneath a pale winter sky, snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you crossed into town. The air was sharp and clean, the kind that bit at your lungs on the first breath before settling into something bracing and familiar.
The town hadn’t changed much. The same stone paths dusted with snow, the same distant steam rising from the hot springs, the same quiet sturdiness that made the town feel carved into the mountains rather than built upon them. While it seemed that other cities and town had moved on without you. Circhester simply waited.
Hotel Ionia rose ahead, its Western Building warm with golden light spilling from the windows. Inside, the contrast was immediate—heat, polished wood, the soft murmur of voices and crackle of a hearth somewhere nearby. You checked in without fuss, exchanged pleasantries with the attendant, and made your way upstairs with your bag slung over your shoulder.
Your room was neat and understated. Clean lines, thick curtains, a bed that promised rest rather than indulgence. You set your things down and took a moment to freshen up, splashing cold water against your face before glancing at your reflection.
It wasn’t vanity that held your gaze, just recognition. You looked a bit different since your last visit when you took on Gordie. Not dramatically so, but unmistakably. The sharpness of youth had softened into something surer. Your posture was more relaxed, your eyes steadier. There was a quiet confidence there now, earned over years of travel, loss, victory, and persistence. You looked like a woman who had lived, not merely grown older.
Satisfied, you turned away.
Down in the lobby, you claimed a seat near the entrance, phone warming in your hand as you sent a message.
Just checked in at Hotel Ionia.
The reply came quickly.
I’ve just about reached town.
A smile tugged at your lips. You leaned back, letting the warmth of the lobby seep into you as memories surfaced unbidden—long calls after late matches, brief messages from opposite time zones, Kabu’s steady encouragement when challenges were lost and confidence wavered. Your friendship had never demanded constancy, only sincerity.
Minutes passed. Then more. You glanced toward the doors again before typing another message.
Everything okay?
This time, the reply took longer.
Just got settled into my room.
You blinked.
Where? you asked.
Hotel Ionia. Eastern Building.
You blinked, brain processing. Then another text appeared.
Where are you staying?
Your breath left you in a quiet laugh.
Western Building, you typed back quickly. I’ll come over.
You slipped your phone away, straightened your coat, and rose from your seat. The doors stood just ahead, glass fogged faintly with heat as you reached for the handle.
It opened from the other side instead.
Kabu stood, framed by falling snow and the cold mountain air rushing in behind him—taller than you, solid, unmistakable even after all these years. His coat was dusted white at the shoulders, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something warmer as his eyes met yours. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.
“You made it safely,” he said at last, his voice warm and steady, carrying the faintest hint of relief.
It took you half a second to realize what he meant—that subtle pause, the way his eyes had taken in more than just your face. The way he seemed to be registering what time and travel had done to you, just as you’d done in the mirror not long ago. Before he could say anything else, you stepped aside with a laugh, ushering him in.
“Get inside—it’s freezing.”
The moment the doors shut behind him and the worst of the cold was cut off, you turned back toward him without thinking. And then, you were hugging him. Your arms wrapped around him with the easy certainty of familiarity, cheek pressing briefly against his chest as you let out a happy breath.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you said, bright and breathless. “It’s been forever.”
For a split second, Kabu went still. Then, his arms came up around you—firm, solid, careful. Not tentative, but restrained, as if he were keenly aware of just how much strength he carried. One hand rested between your shoulders, grounding rather than possessive.
“It has,” he agreed quietly.
When you pulled back, his expression had softened. Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else might notice. But enough that you did. The stern set of his brow eased. His eyes warmed, crinkling faintly at the corners as he regarded you.
“You haven’t changed,” he said after a moment.
You grinned. “Liar.”
A low sound—almost a huff of amusement—escaped him. “Very well,” he amended. “You have. But…you are still yourself.”
That earned him another smile.
He glanced toward the clock mounted above the lobby desk, then back to you. “Have you eaten?” he asked, practical as ever.
You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not yet. I was actually thinking of heading to Bob’s Your Uncle,” you said, a little sheepish. “If you’d like to join me.”
For a moment, he simply regarded you—then nodded once, decisive and calm. “That would be agreeable,” he said. “I haven’t eaten either.”
Outside, Circhester greeted you again with biting cold and drifting snow, the mountains looming pale against the darkening sky. You fell into step beside him easily, boots crunching in unison as steam curled from your breath.
“So,” Kabu said after a few moments, his tone casual but attentive, “you’ve been difficult to keep track of. Where did you go, after Galar?”
You smiled, eager despite yourself. “Kalos, first.”
“Kalos,” he echoed, with a nod.
“It was…a little easier than I expected,” you admitted. “But I learned a lot. Mega Evolution, mostly.” You glanced his way before showing the bracelet on your wrist. “I even earned my own Mega Ring.”
His brow lifted slightly, not exaggerated, but enough to betray genuine interest. “I’ve heard many great things about the phenomena of mega evolution, though I’ve not seen nor experienced it myself,” he hummed. “But from my understanding that is no small achievement. You should be proud.”
“I am,” you replied, simply.
You passed beneath the warm glow of lanterns as the restaurant came into view, its windows bright against the snow.
Kabu reached the door first, holding it open as a rush of heat spilled out to meet you, carrying with it the scent of rich food. You stepped inside, the cold slipping away as the interior closed around you—alive with quiet conversation and the low crackle of a fire.
A tapestry lined the wall, heroes rendered in thread and color, figures frozen in time.
You were seated quickly, coats shed, drinks ordered.
“And after Kalos?” Kabu prompted, once you were settled.
“Hoenn,” you said, your voice warming at the word.
That earned a faint, knowing, smile.
You laughed softly. “Would you believe me if I said I beat Flannery without too much trouble.”
His gaze sharpened, unmistakably impressed. “She is not an easy opponent.”
“Well, thankfully I had some experience with aggressive Fire-type trainers,” you said with a knowing wink and smile. Then, you continued.
“Norman was less forgiving.”
“Norman would not be,” he said, a faint note of approval in his voice. “His training is uncompromising. He expects challengers to meet him at his level, not the other way around.”
You hummed in agreement.
“And then I hit another wall with Wallace at Sootopolis City…”
“Wallace has always been formidable. Even before he made it as Champion, his battles were as much endurance as elegance.”
“I battled my way up to the Elite 4 and was able to challenge Steven Stone,” you finished.
Kabu folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. “There are few who face him and walk away unchanged,” he said, exhaling, “To have the opportunity to challenge him even once is an achievement on its own.” His eyes returned to you then, intent and measuring.
“Yeah, and I battled him twice,” you admitted. “The second time, I nearly had him.”
Nearly.
You said it without bitterness, without the ache that had once followed defeat. Instead, you spoke of what you learned—of strategy refined, of patience earned, of how close you’d come and why that closeness mattered more than the loss itself.
And Kabu listened without interrupting. When you finished, he studied you for a long moment, eyes thoughtful.
“You speak of defeat differently now,” he said at last.
You smiled, a little rueful. “I know. I was such a crybaby when I lost to Leon,” you admitted, with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t think I’d do that now.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t think you would.”
Your drinks arrived then, steam curling between you, and as the conversation eased onward Kabu found himself watching you not as the challenger he’d once faced, nor the young trainer who had left Galar seeking more, but as the woman who had returned stronger, steadier, and very much her own.
You glanced down at the menu at last, the familiar comfort foods listed there stirring a quiet hunger.
“Everything sounds good,” you admitted with a small laugh. “What do you recommend?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Something hot,” he said, echoing himself from earlier. “We are in Circhester, and my body doesn’t take well to the cold. One of the reasons why I make it a point to visit.” As if to make a point, he took a sip of his hot tea.
You ordered at his suggestion, the choice easy, and when the server moved away again, you leaned back in your chair, fingers curling around your glass--a cold soda.
“So,” you said lightly, “what about you? How’s life been at the Gym?”
Kabu exhaled through his nose, slow and thoughtful. “Busy,” he said first. Then, after a moment, “Difficult. As you know.”
You did know. Through bits and pieces, late-night calls, messages sent across regions—but hearing it now, in person, carried different weight.
“There was a period,” he continued, gaze settling briefly on the tapestry along the wall, “when I began to wonder if my time as a Gym Leader was coming to an end. I was experiencing loss after loss. Not because of poor challengers—strong ones—but that made it no easier.” His hands rested flat on the table, steady even as he spoke.
“There were talks of demoting me, again, or having me retire from my position altogether. The League didn’t suggest it lightly, and neither did I accept it lightly. I questioned my methods. My judgment. Myself.”
You listened without interrupting, heart quiet with attention.
“Then, I had a young trainer from Leon’s hometown of Postwick challenge me, Gloria,” he said.
You looked up, unsurprised but intent.
“I lost,” Kabu went on, calm and unashamed. “But it was…memorable. She fought with conviction. Not recklessness, but with resolve. It reminded me why I began this path in the first place. Why I made the move to Galar from my home in Hoenn.”
His mouth curved, just slightly.
“After that, I began to lose less.”
“Career saved," you commented, with a smile. Hearing him speak of Gloria reminded you of your own battle against him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “By someone younger than myself, no less.” He paused, then added, “She was not the only one. Her peers were also noteworthy.”
“Hop,” you said, already guessing. You knew Leon had a younger brother. The Champion had mentioned him when he tried to comfort you after your loss to him.
Kabu nodded. “Driven, though he struggles with expectation.” His gaze shifted as he continued. “Marnie, the younger sister of Piers, with a quiet strength. And Bede, endorsed by former Chairman Rose, a trainer tempered by pride.”
You hummed softly. “Sounds like Galar's in good hands.”
“It is,” he said. “They remind me that the League is not diminished by change. It is renewed by it.”
The server returned then, setting warm plates before you, fragrant steam rising between the two of you. The conversation paused naturally as you thanked them, the clink of cutlery grounding the moment. As you lifted your fork, you caught Kabu watching you again—quiet, contemplative, as if seeing not just where you had been, but where you were still going. And this time, when your eyes met, neither of you looked away.
After all the talking, the quiet felt earned—comfortable rather than awkward. Kabu ate with the same measured focus he brought to everything else, unhurried, composed. You found yourself matching his pace without thinking. It was only when you paused to take a sip of your drink that your gaze drifted past him.
The tapestry hung along the far wall, its threads darkened with age—the two ancient heroes of Galar standing opposite each other, holding a candle and standing before an archway. You stared at it longer than you meant to, the imagery tugging at memories that hadn’t been yours to witness firsthand.
“So…” you began slowly, eyes still on the tapestry. “I was gone when everything happened.”
Kabu looked up at once, following your line of sight. His expression grew more solemn, the easy calm of earlier settling into something heavier.
“The whole situation with Chairman Rose,” you added, quietly. “I only know what made it into the news.”
He set his utensils down with care. “The Gym Leaders were informed before the public,” he said. “Not all at once, but enough that we understood something was amiss.”
You turned back to him, attentive.
“Rose believed he was acting for Galar’s future,” Kabu continued. “An energy crisis, decades away by his estimation—but imminent enough that he felt justified in drastic measures.” His jaw tightened slightly. “We were told to remain on standby. To trust the League.”
“And did you?” you asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced again at the tapestry, the image frozen in thread. “I trusted that something had gone terribly wrong,” he said at last. “And that young trainers would bear the consequences of decisions they did not make.” His gaze returned to you.
“When the truth emerged—when Eternatus was awakened—it became clear how close we had come to repeating history. Not through ignorance, but through impatience.”
You exhaled slowly. “Another Darkest Day,” you murmured. “Almost.”
“Yes,” he said. “And narrowly avoided. Thanks to Gloria and Hop, and to those who stood with then when it mattered. They managed to find the ancient pokemon told in Galar's legends to quell Eternatus.”
You eyes widened, impressed. And then, the weight of it settled between you. Not oppressive, but sobering. You’d been chasing growth across regions while Galar itself had nearly unraveled.
“I wish I’d been here to help,” you admitted.
Kabu regarded you for a long moment, then shook his head once. “No,” he said gently. “You were where you needed to be. Galar endured. And you returned stronger for it.” His voice softened just enough to make the words linger.
“Sometimes,” he added, “the greatest service we offer is becoming capable enough to stand when we are needed again.”
The last of the meal passed in easy, companionable quiet. Plates were cleared, the warmth of the food settling pleasantly as the restaurant’s low murmur filled the space left behind by conversation.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, content, watching the lights flicker across the tapestry once more before your attention drifted back to Kabu.
“So, what brought you to Circhester in the first place?” you asked. “I was planning on coming to Motostoke to see you, so I was surprised when you said you’d be here instead.”
He considered the question, then answered simply.
“Training.”
You tilted your head, inviting him to continue.
“Once a year,” Kabu went on, “I come to the mountains to train for a week. The elevation, the cold—it sharpens focus. Builds endurance. And then, I take advantage of the Hero’s Bath.” He paused. “The hot spring,” he clarified. “I find it helps my body recover from fatigue more quickly.”
Your brows lifted. “You do this every year?”
“Yes.”
You smiled, thoughtful. “I’ve actually never been in the hot spring before.”
He looked at you then, surprised.
“Never?”
“I was here during the Gym Challenge,” you explained. “But there wasn’t much time for sightseeing.”
There was a brief silence—different from before.
“If you would like,” Kabu said, carefully, “you are welcome to join me.”
The words hung there between you, unexpected and heavier than they had any right to be. You stared at him, heat rushing up your neck all at once. He stiffened almost immediately, realization dawning.
“I'm sorry! That was—” He cleared his throat. “You needn’t feel obligated. It was improper of me to suggest it.”
“No, I—” you started, then stopped, just as flustered.
“It is a public bath,” he added quickly, clearly regrouping. “Open. There is little privacy. I only thought—since you are already here—that it might be more comfortable than going alone for the first time.”
You laughed softly, grateful for the clarification even as your pulse refused to settle. “I don’t even have a swimsuit,” you admitted.
His shoulders eased a fraction. “Then there is no expectation,” he said. “And there should not be.”
You hesitated, glancing toward the street beyond the window. “There is a boutique nearby, though,” you mused aloud.
Kabu’s expression softened again, the tension ebbing. “If you change your mind,” he said evenly, “I will be there after nightfall.”
The server returned then, placing the check neatly at the center of the table. You blinked at it, and then at the single total.
“Oh—excuse me!” you said quickly, turning in your seat to catch the server’s attention. “Could we actually—”
Before you could finish, Kabu’s hand covered yours. The contact was firm but gentle, enough to still you without startling you. You looked back at him, surprised.
“Don’t worry. It’s my treat,” he said calmly, a small smile on his face.
You hesitated. “Kabu, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” he replied. “I would still like to.” There was no force in it, only certainty. The same quiet authority he carried in battle, softened here by intention rather than command.
With the bill paid, you both rose from the table. Kabu stepped in first, gently pushing your chair back into place before turning toward the exit. He reached the door ahead of you once more, holding it open as warm air slipped out into the cold evening beyond. With a smile and a small tilt of your head in a quite thanks, you stepped through, the gesture familiar now— quiet and attentive.
Outside, Circhester greeted you once more with quiet snow and cold air, the night settling deep and blue around the town. Kabu walked you back to Hotel Ionia, his presence steady at your side, conversation minimal but comfortable.
When you reached the Western Building, he stopped.
“Rest well,” he said. “Whatever you decide.”
You watched him turn and head over to the Eastern Building, your thoughts already racing ahead—toward steam and stone, mountain cold and lingering warmth, and a choice that felt far more intimate than you’d expected when the evening began.
You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you made your way down Circhester’s snow-dusted streets, breath fogging in the air. The boutique’s windows glowed warmly against the darkening evening, mannequins dressed in winter layers and resort wear alike. You paused only briefly before stepping inside. Heat and light wrapped around you at once.
Racks of clothing lined the walls—cozy knits, scarves, thermal wear—and, tucked neatly toward the back, swimwear. One-pieces, two-pieces, simple cuts and elegant designs clearly meant for the baths rather than beaches.
You went straight for the one-pieces. It wasn’t even a conscious decision.
You tried several on, each time studying your reflection with a careful, thoughtful eye. Some were too plain. Others felt too much—too revealing in ways that didn’t feel like you.
And then you slipped into a white one.
It was simple, at first glance. But when you turned, the cutouts at your sides revealed just enough skin to feel intentional rather than daring. The straps looped around your neck, crossing at your chest before meeting at your sternum, framing you in a way that made your breath catch. Another set ran cleanly over your shoulders, leaving most of your back bare while your stomach remained covered—balanced, elegant.
You stepped closer to the mirror.
The woman looking back at you wasn’t the same trainer who’d once stood in Galar’s stadiums with nerves buzzing beneath her skin. Your curves were softer now, fuller. Your posture steadier. The suit didn’t wear you—you wore it.
And then, for a moment, doubt crept in. You knew what you were doing. Or at least, what it might mean. Meeting Kabu at the Hero’s Bath. Choosing something like this. Acknowledging the quiet pull that had existed between you for years, restrained by timing, by distance, by care.
But that was then. You were older now. Not just in years, but in certainty. You had crossed regions on your own terms, faced champions, lost and learned and grown. Whatever happened next—whatever you chose—it would be because you chose it. Nothing was holding you back.
You smiled softly at your reflection.
When you stepped out of the changing room, suit in hand, the clerk at the counter glanced up—and visibly brightened.
“Oh, that's a great one. Cute, pretty, and sexy, but not overly showy,” she said easily. “White’s a bold choice this time of year.”
You laughed. “I figured if I’m going to freeze getting there, I might as well commit.”
She grinned as she rang you up. “Hero’s Bath?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because everyone who buys swimwear at night in winter is headed there,” she said, sliding the bag toward you. “Have fun. Enjoy the springs!”
You thanked her and stepped back out into the cold, heart thudding a little faster now. Snow crunched beneath your boots as you made your way back toward Hotel Ionia, the Western Building rising ahead of you. By the time you reached your room, your fingers were cold.
You set your things down and slipped the boutique bag free, the soft rustle of tissue paper sounding far louder than it should have in the quiet. For a moment, you only stood there, staring at it as though it might decide something for you. Then, you took the swimsuit out and hung it carefully from the wardrobe door, white fabric stark against the darker wood.
In the lamplight, it looked different than it had under the boutique’s mirrors—quieter, somehow. Still elegant. Still intentional.
You studied it with your arms folded loosely across your chest. This wasn’t impulse, you thought to yourself. You’d thought about it all the way back to the hotel, about Kabu’s measured invitation, his immediate retreat the moment he sensed hesitation. About how much time had passed since you were a young challenger standing across from him in the Gym.
Still, the doubt surfaced again, soft and insistent.
Was this crossing a line?
Or, were you simply acknowledging that the line had moved?
You exhaled slowly and shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. You weren’t doing this for anyone. You were doing it because you wanted to. Because you trusted yourself now in a way you hadn’t before.
Decision settled, you turned toward the bathroom. When you were finished, you gathered your things with steady hands, heart calm, resolve no longer wavering.
Kabu arrived at Hero’s Bath precisely when he said he would.
The ancient stone pillars rose from the snow like sentinels, weathered and enduring, steam curling into the night air from the rectangular spring at the center. A handful of people were already there—quiet clusters, respectful of the space—but it was far from crowded.
Just as he preferred it.
He paused near the entrance, the familiar cold biting at his skin, and scanned the area once.
You weren’t there.
He told himself that meant nothing. He had made it clear—more than once—that there was no obligation. Still, his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary before he turned away.
He wore only his black compression shirt, the red flame-like lines catching the lantern light, and his white uniform shorts. The small red-and-white towel rested around his neck as it always did; in his hands, a larger white bath towel, neatly folded.
Choosing a spot along one of the stone ledges, he set the towel down with care. Then, methodically, he removed his shirt, folding it with the same discipline he brought to his training. The shorts followed, placed atop the towel, everything squared and orderly. The night air felt sharper against his skin then—but only briefly.
He stepped to the edge of the spring and entered the water, the heat enveloping him at once. A low breath left his chest as the warmth sank deep, easing muscle and bone alike. Fire-types thrived on heat, yes—but this was something else. Ancient. Grounding.
Kabu waded through the spring until he found a place along the stone where he could sit, lowering himself slowly. Steam rose around him, obscuring the world beyond the water’s edge, leaving only murmurs and the gentle ripple of movement. Then, he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.
Training in the mountains had always sharpened him. The cold demanded resilience; the heat reminded him why he endured it. Tonight was no different. Except his thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, to a familiar laugh, a steady gaze, a choice he had offered and then carefully withdrawn.
He remembered you as you had been, then. A young challenger stepping onto the Gym floor in Motostoke—focused, determined, clearly prepared but still untested. At first, he had regarded you as he did any other trainer: with respect, but without particular note. Fire burned brightest when challenged, and he had met you with everything he had. He had nearly won, and could still recall the moment it shifted—the hesitation that should have been your undoing, the point where many challengers faltered. Instead, you adapted. Pressed forward. Refused to yield even when his pressure mounted, even when it seemed the battle would turn against you.
That resolve had caught his attention. Not because you won—though the victory was well earned—but because you had refused to break. Aggression met with persistence. Heat answered with will.
He remembered congratulating you afterward, the pride he’d felt as he clasped your hand and told you that you had deserved the win. And he remembered how the days that followed had blurred into training sessions and conversation, long hours refining technique rather than celebrating victory. How naturally you’d spoken to one another. How easily laughter had come.
You had always been pretty. That had never been in question. But it was your temperament that lingered in his memory. Humble despite success. Kind without weakness. Strong when you needed to be, but unafraid to show disappointment, joy, or doubt. You wore your heart openly, even then.
When you moved on to challenge the other gym leaders, he had followed your progress from afar, watching your battles on the small screen in his quarters. He remembered the quiet satisfaction he’d felt each time you advanced, the way pride had settled warmly in his chest as you proved herself again and again.
And then came your match with the Champion. Leon.
Kabu’s jaw tightened slightly at the memory. He could still see it clearly: the valiant effort, the way you and your Pokémon fought with everything you had. How close you came. How inevitable the loss still was. He remembered the sting of it—not his own, but yours. The sight of you on the stadium floor, tears falling freely as Leon spoke to you with encouragement, uncharacteristically gentle in that moment, urging you not to give up. Kabu had turned the TV off right after that, unsettled by how deeply it had affected him.
You had been young, then. Still becoming. The woman he had seen tonight was not the same.
You carried yourself differently now. Steadier. More assured. Loss had not dulled you. It had tempered you. You spoke of defeat without bitterness, of challenge with gratitude. You had grown into yourself, into your strength, into adulthood on your own terms.
A quiet splash nearby drew his attention.
A couple sat together across the spring, close but restrained, murmuring softly to one another. Kabu looked away after only a moment, expression unchanged, thoughts briefly stilled.
Possibility was not permission. He had never pushed you. Not then. Not now. He respected you—your autonomy, your choices, the life you had built beyond him. The age between you had always been a line he would not cross without certainty, without invitation freely given. Even now, he would not.
Kabu lifted his gaze once more, scanning the entrance to the bath through drifting steam. If you came, you would come because you wished to.
And if you did not…
He closed his eyes again, settling deeper into the heat, letting the spring do what it always had—steady him, soothe his body and mind, remind him of patience.
Whatever followed would unfold as it was meant to.
The warmth lulled him into stillness as he rested with his eyes closed, breath slow and even, the heat easing tension he carried more out of habit than necessity. Steam drifted lazily across the surface of the spring, the night quiet but not silent. Then—
A whistle.
A burst of laughter.
A hissed apology.
He opened his eyes. Across the bath, a small group had drawn attention to themselves. Young men looking sheepish as the women with them scolded them quietly, amused more than annoyed. Kabu watched only long enough to register the harmlessness of it before his gaze shifted.
And froze.
You stood near the edge of the spring, towel wrapped securely around yourself, hair pulled into a loose, messy bun atop your head, a few strands falling and framing your face. The steam blurred the edges of you form, but not enough to mistake you.
The realization settled in his chest with a quiet, unmistakable relief. Kabu’s expression didn’t change much—he was not a man given to outward reaction—but something eased all the same, a tension he hadn’t fully acknowledged until it loosened.
He watched as you tested the water with your toes, your movements careful but not hesitant. The heat made you pause, then smile, before you fully stepped into the bath. When the water threatened the edge of your towel, you slipped it from around your body
Kabu’s breath stilled.
It wasn’t shock that held him. It was recognition. The steam parted just enough for him to see you clearly: smooth skin warmed by the rising heat, the white swimsuit fitting you with quiet confidence. The cut framed you naturally, accentuating the gentle curve of your breasts—nipples budding up underneath the fabric prettily in the cold air—the lines of your waist, the strength in your hips. There was nothing excessive about it. Nothing performative. Just you. A woman’s body, worn without apology or self-consciousness.
Kabu looked away after a moment. Not abruptly, not guiltily, but deliberately. His jaw tightened just slightly as he exhaled, grounding himself in the heat of the water rather than the heat now stirring elsewhere. This was not unfamiliar desire. It was something deeper. Older. The affection he had carried for years finding a new shape, informed now by time, by growth, by the undeniable reality of who you had become.
His discipline did not waver. But it was tested. And he accepted that calmly, as he always had—acknowledging the feeling without surrendering to it. Respect had never been something he offered lightly, and it was not undone by attraction. When he looked back toward you again, his expression was steady, composed—warm.
You had come because you wished to.
And that, more than anything else, mattered to him.
By the time you reached Hero’s Bath, your nerves had settled into something steadier.
You were bundled against the cold, swimsuit hidden beneath a thick sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, fuzzy boots crunching softly against the snow. A folded bath towel rested over your arm, still warm from the hotel.
Steam curled up into the night sky ahead, the ancient stone pillars of the spring rising out of the frost like something timeless. You paused just inside the entrance and glanced around. Not closely. Just enough to take stock.
There were people already there—enough to ease the tightness in your chest. Small groups, quiet conversation, laughter carried softly through the steam. You didn’t immediately spot Kabu, but that wasn’t surprising. Between the low light and the drifting mist, faces blurred easily. But perhaps he hadn’t arrived yet. He never gave you an actual time.
You chose a spot along one of the stone ledges and set your towel down, unaware that you’d picked the same place he had earlier. Carefully, you slipped out of your sweatshirt and folded it neatly, then your sweatpants, and then setting your boots beside them. The chill kissed your skin immediately, sharp and bracing, and you shivered as you gathered your hair up into a loose, messy bun.
A sound drew your attention—soft whistling, followed by a low laugh. You glanced up just in time to catch a couple of men nearby smiling your way, one of them offering a playful wink. Harmless. Appreciative. Still enough to make heat rush to your cheeks.
You laughed awkwardly and quickly wrapped the towel around yourself, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you felt. A second later, one of the women with them swatted his arm, muttering something under her breath, and the group dissolved into sheepish apologies and laughter.
You exhaled, grateful.
Clutching the towel more tightly, you moved toward the nearest edge of the spring. The steam was thicker here, the water dark and inviting. You caught sight of a familiar shape on the opposite side—broad shoulders, unmistakable posture—but the mist made details difficult to discern. You didn’t linger on it. Instead, you focused on the water.
You dipped a toe in, breath catching at the heat before a smile curved your lips. It was hotter than you’d expected—comforting almost immediately. Encouraged, you stepped in slowly, the water climbing past your ankles and your calves. Only then when the water reached the hem of your towel did you let it slip free. You folded it carefully and placed it on the stone ledge, then waded farther in, the warmth enveloping you until the cold from moments before felt like a distant memory.
The heat was wonderful. It sank into you slowly, easing the lingering cold from your bones until your shoulders relaxed without you even realizing it. You waded through the spring at an unhurried pace, careful of the stone beneath your feet, careful not to brush too close to anyone else sharing the water. Steam curled lazily around you, the night air cool above the surface, the contrast making the warmth feel even more indulgent.
You found a spot where the water was deep enough to settle into, lowering yourself until it reached your shoulders. A quiet sigh escaped you before you could stop it. The ache you hadn’t noticed—travel, cold, the day’s long anticipation—melted away.
You smiled to yourself.
Leaning forward slightly, you let your breath skim across the surface of the water, watching the steam swirl and scatter where the air disturbed it. Not bubbles—just the gentle ripple, the way the surface shivered beneath your breath.
Unaware of the figure that had moved closer, drawn by the easy way you’d been enjoying the water and the unguarded way you’d let yourself relax, you pushed back up and began to drift backward through the spring, eyes half-lidded, enjoying the sensation of warm water slipping over your skin—
—and bumped into something solid.
Your footing faltered for a split second, and before you could react, hands were on you—firm, instinctive, steadying. Strong fingers at your forearms, anchoring you without pulling you closer than necessary.
You straightened instantly, heart jumping, turning as fast as the water would allow.
“Oh—! I’m so sorry—!” You turned as you spoke.
And found yourself face to face with Kabu for the second time that day.
Steam drifted between you, but not enough to hide him this close. The water lapped just above his waist, leaving his torso bare—broad chest rising with a controlled breath, muscle defined by years of discipline rather than vanity. Dark hair dusted his chest lightly. His shoulders were wide, his arms solid, and full of muscle, beneath your hands where he still held you steady, strength evident even in the restraint of his grip.
It took you a second too long to realize you’d been staring.
“I—are you all right?” he asked, concern immediate, voice low and steady.
Heat rushed to your face all at once as your senses snapped back into place—his hands already gone, your pulse loud in your ears, and the sudden, acute awareness of what you were wearing.
You shifted subtly, instinctively drawing your arms closer as you lowered yourself a little deeper into the spring. The water lapped higher against your chest, a welcome cover as you tried to compose yourself.
Kabu lowered himself as well, sinking until the water reached the same height on him, giving you an easy, unspoken parity. When he spoke, his voice was warm, unhurried.
“You came after all.”
You laughed a little too quickly, nodding as you answered. “Of course I did. I couldn’t come all this way and not try it.”
His mouth curved—not into a grin, but something softer. He didn’t comment on your fluster, didn’t call attention to it at all. The courtesy only made your heart beat faster.
Before you could settle fully, a child suddenly splashed past, water sloshing chaotically as they swam by with little regard for personal space. You straightened instinctively and felt a steady hand press lightly at your back. The contact was brief, and grounding. Kabu's palm rested against bare skin where the back of your suit dipped low, warm and solid, there only to keep you from stumbling.
You froze for half a heartbeat.
So did he.
Kabu withdrew his hand at once, clearing his throat quietly. “It may be better near the ledge,” he suggested, tone even.
“Yes,” you agreed quickly, grateful for the excuse. “That sounds…smart.”
You moved together, careful and unhurried, until you found a quieter stretch of stone. You settled there, the water cradling you comfortably as you leaned back against the edge.
Kabu followed suit. He rested his arms along the stone behind him and closed his eyes, posture easing as the heat worked its way into him again. Steam drifted lazily around his shoulders, softening the sharp lines you’d noticed earlier.
You watched him—quietly this time. The set of his jaw. The slow, measured rise and fall of his chest. The way he looked utterly at ease here, as though the springs were an extension of himself.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said suddenly, eyes still closed. “What do you think of the Hero’s Bath?”
You blinked, caught—but smiled as you considered the question. “It’s nice,” you said honestly. Then, after a beat, you added, lightly, “Though I was expecting a little more.”
One of his eyes opened, regarding you with mild curiosity. “More?”
You grinned. “Well, the legends does say this is where the two heroes who saved Galar from the Darkest Day came to bathe and heal, right? I thought maybe I’d feel something. A tingle. A sparkle. Something magical.”
He closed his eye again and let out a low, surprised chuckle. The sound was brief, warm, unmistakably genuine.
“I’m afraid it is only water,” Kabu said. “Very hot water.”
You laughed softly, leaning back against the stone, the steam curling between you as the night stretched on—easy, unhurried, and quietly charged in all the right ways.
The night deepened around the springs and men, women, and children arrived and departed. As the hour grew later the population was couples mostly, slipping into the water together with murmured laughter and easy familiarity. Hands rested on shoulders. Heads leaned close. Quiet affection played out in small, unguarded gestures that you tried not to notice. But you did.
Your shoulders drew in a fraction without you meaning to, arms crossing lightly over the edge of the stone as you leaned back. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. Just awareness. Of yourself. Of how exposed you suddenly felt, surrounded by intimacy you hadn’t necessarily come here seeking—but couldn’t entirely ignore.
Kabu seemed to sense the shift.
“You’re very still,” he said quietly, eyes still closed, voice low enough that it didn’t carry beyond the space between you.
You huffed a soft laugh. “Am I?”
“A little,” he replied.
You hesitated, then admitted, “I think I just…forgot how public this place is.”
He opened his eyes then and turned his head slightly toward you, gaze attentive but never intrusive. “That is why I offered to accompany you,” he said. “The first visit can feel… conspicuous. Especially if it's your first time actually experiencing the bath.”
That helped. More than you expected.
You nodded, the tension in your chest easing as you focused on him instead of the world around you. “I appreciate that. Really.”
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t heavy. It was companionable, warm, like the water cradling you both. Steam drifted lazily between you, blurring the edges of everything else until it felt as though the spring held only the two of you.
“Circhester suits you,” Kabu said after a moment, echoing himself from earlier. “You seem at ease here.”
You smiled faintly. “I think it helps knowing someone familiar is nearby.”
His gaze lingered on the water ahead, but you saw the subtle way his jaw tightened, the acknowledgment in the pause before he spoke again.
“You’ve always found your footing,” he said. “Even when you doubt it.” The admission was quiet, unembellished—but it landed.
You let your head rest back against the stone, eyes half-lidded as the warmth soaked in. “It’s easier,” you said slowly, “when there’s no pressure. No expectations. Just… being.”
Kabu inclined his head slightly.
“I value that as well.”
Another couple laughed nearby, water sloshing gently as they settled in. You flinched almost imperceptibly, and felt Kabu shift beside you—not touching, but close enough that his presence anchored you.
“You don’t need to compare yourself,” he said softly. “There is no measure here.”
Your breath left you in a quiet exhale. “I know.”
The tension between you didn’t disappear. It changed shape. It was less sharp, more constant. A low, steady pull beneath the surface, like heat lingering after flame. Neither of you reached for it. But neither of you denied it, either.
The water lapped gently against the stone as the night carried on, unhurried, and you felt yourself relax again. The heat was starting to make your head feel pleasantly heavy. You hadn’t noticed it at first. The way the warmth seeped deeper than muscle, how it dulled the edges of thought. Your shoulders relaxed further against the stone, eyelids growing heavier as the steady hush of water and distant voices blurred together. For a moment, you let yourself drift.
Your head tipped back, resting against the edge of the spring, and then you shifted. Not consciously. Just enough that your temple brushed against something solid and warm at your side.
Oh—!
You startled, straightening immediately as realization snapped you awake. “I’m sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t mean to—I think I was—” You stopped.
A small smile touched Kabu’s mouth, gentle and genuine in a way that made your breath catch. You realized, distantly, that you hadn’t seen him smile like that very often before. Not during the Gym Challenge. Not on the battlefield. And while he’d been smiling at you more today, this one felt quieter. Personal.
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
Before you could retreat any further, he shifted—slowly, deliberately—and lifted his arm along the stone behind you, opening the space at his side. The simple motion revealed the strong line of his arm, and dark hair dampened by steam. The invitation was unmistakable without a word spoken.
Your heart thudded, and you were suddenly acutely aware of everything. The closeness, the heat, the line you were standing on, and how easily you could step closer. Your face felt warm, warmer than it should have been, and you hoped—desperately—that he would attribute it to the springs rather than what was churning in your chest.
He didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak. He just waited.
Slowly, you shifted, easing yourself closer until you rested at his side. His arm settled around you along the edge of the spring. Just there. A quiet acknowledgment of the choice you’d made. The feeling sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the water.
Steam curled around your shoulders, the world narrowing to the warmth of stone, water, and the calm rise and fall of his breath beside you. You were keenly aware now of how close you were—of how that closeness had changed, subtly but irrevocably. You hesitantly rested your head on his hard chest, and it took a few minutes before you finally relaxed.
The warmth lulled you further, the steady rise and fall of Kabu’s chest beneath your cheek grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. Up close like this, you noticed things you hadn’t before.
There was a faint, clean scent clinging to him—soap, maybe, or something subtler beneath it. Not overpowering. Just…pleasant. Familiar, in a way that made your chest ache softly. It mingled with the steam and mineral heat of the spring until you couldn’t quite tell where one ended and the other began.
Without thinking you shifted, again. Your cheek brushed more fully against his chest, your face turning just enough that you caught against the light roughness of hair there. The texture surprised you, and you found yourself rubbing your cheek against it once or twice, almost absently.
It felt nice.
And then realization hit you a heartbeat too late. You pulled back just slightly, heart leaping into your throat, already forming an apology, already bracing for the mortifying awareness of what you’d done—
—when Kabu exhaled. A low sound left him—quiet, involuntary, and unmistakably pleased.
His breath deepened, chest rising beneath you as his arm, which had rested along the edge of the spring, came around you—slowly, gently—settling at your side and drawing you closer with a care that left no room for doubt or force. His hand rested securely against you, not pressing, not roaming, simply holding. His eyes remained closed, his expression unchanged save for the faint softening at the corners of his mouth. If he was aware of how loudly your heart was racing, he gave no sign of it.
You sat very still.
Steam continued to curl around you both, the sounds of the spring fading until all you could feel was the heat, his breath, the steady weight of his arm around you. The line you’d been skirting all evening was right there now—no longer distant, no longer theoretical. You fit against him as though you’d always belonged there.
Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved away.
The water shifted softly as you settled, your cheek resting against his chest again, your body warming to his heat, which somehow felt hotter than the water. His thumb began to move—slow, absent-minded—tracing small arcs against your skin that was exposed by the cut in the suit. The touch was barely there, but it sent a quiet shiver through you all the same.
Without thinking, you shifted closer. Your fingers brushed against his chest, skimming warm skin and the faint roughness of hair there. You caught his scent again and before you could stop yourself, you rubbed your cheek against him once more, softer this time.
Another breath left him. Low. Controlled. Not quite a sound, but close enough that you felt it resonate beneath your ear.
That was when you realized how close his face was. How little distance separated your mouth from his jaw, his neck, the edge of his lips. The steam curled thickly around you, the heat making your thoughts slow, dreamy, dangerously bold.
It’s just the hot water, you told yourself.
You tilted your head, moving with excruciating care, your lips hovering just shy of his skin as you drew closer—close enough to feel his warmth, close enough that one more breath might bridge the gap.
And then—
“CANON BALL!”
The shout cut through the air, sharp and sudden.
You startled upright at the same instant someone hurled themselves into the spring nearby, water exploding outward in a wave of heat and noise.
Before you could react, Kabu’s arm tightened around you and pulled you sharply out of the way into him. And right then, you learned two things that both surprised and excited you:
One, Kabu wore swim briefs.
Two, he was incredibly hard.
The collision pressed you flush against his body, the sudden closeness leaving no room for misinterpretation. You became acutely aware of him then—of the solid line of his hips beneath the water, of the unmistakable tension in the way he held you, of the way his breath caught just once before he steadied it.
Heat rushed to your face. You knew without seeing, without needing confirmation, exactly how affected he was.
Just as he knew you did.
Kabu shifted immediately, easing his hold just enough to give you space again, his composure snapping back into place with visible effort.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head, heart hammering. “No. I’m—no.”
Around you, laughter and apologies erupted as the offender was scolded mercilessly by his companions.
The moment fractured, but it didn’t disappear. It lingered. In the way Kabu’s hand remained at your back a moment longer than necessary. In the way neither of you quite met the other’s eyes. In the undeniable understanding that something had been awakened—and could no longer be ignored.
The line hadn’t been crossed. But it had been reached. And now, there was no pretending otherwise.
You broke the silence first.
“We’ve…probably been in here long enough,” you said nervously, keeping your tone light even as your heart was still racing.
Kabu didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he agreed, just as quietly. “That would be wise.”
Together, you made your way back toward the edge of the spring, careful now, the chaos from earlier having finally settled. The stone was warm beneath your palms as you stepped out, the cool night air brushing your skin all at once.
You reached for your towel where you’d left it and wrapped it quickly around yourself, holding it secure as you turned. And then, you paused.
He was still in the water.
You blinked, genuinely puzzled, before looking back at him. “Aren’t you—?”
He lifted his gaze to meet yours, then immediately looked away again. He had looked a bit embarrassed—because it never occurred to you how you must’ve looked from behind when you got out. There was the briefest hesitation. Then, quietly.
“I… need a moment.”
It took a second longer than you cared to admit for understanding to catch up before heat flooded your face just as it clearly had his.
Kabu cleared his throat, shoulders squared despite the unmistakable embarrassment in his posture. “I apologize,” he added, voice low. “I did not anticipate—”
“No,” you said quickly, mortified on his behalf. “I mean—I didn’t even think—” You stopped, then gestured with a hand. “I can get yours. If you’d like.”
He looked back at you then, surprise flickering briefly before relief softened his expression. “Thank you,” he said. “I would appreciate that. It should be over there.” He pointed to where your stuff was.
You turned at once, grateful for something to do, retrieved his towel from the ledge, and returned to the edge of the spring without lingering. You held it out, resolutely keeping your gaze averted.
Kabu accepted it swiftly.
He rose from the water with decisive efficiency, wrapping the towel around himself without ceremony, not caring in the slightest as it darkened with steam and water. By the time he stepped fully onto the stone beside you, he was once again composed—if still faintly flushed.
“Thank you,” he said again, sincerity unmistakable.
You nodded, hugging your own towel closer as the night air cooled your skin.
You dressed quickly. The heat you’d carried from the spring faded faster than you expected, the mountain air biting at your skin as you tugged your clothes back on. Even wrapped in layers, you shivered faintly, hugging your towel closer for a moment before setting it aside.
When you glanced back at Kabu, he was still only dressed in his towel. He had, at least, put on his uniform socks and shoes, the familiar red-and-white towel around his neck hung damp and heavy from steam. His compression shirt and uniform shorts were folded in his arms, positioned with unmistakable intention.
You hesitated, then gestured toward them. “Aren’t you going to at least put your shirt on?”
He glanced down at himself, then back at you. “In a moment,” he replied evenly. His torso still glistened faintly with moisture, steam rising off his skin in the cold air. “It will be…ah…uncomfortable if I do so now.”
You eyed the towel around his waist, then held out yours without thinking. “Here, you can use mine—”
He shook his head at once, polite but firm. “Thank you, but I’m quite all right.” After seeing you shiver, he added, “We should return to the hotel quickly.”
You nodded, and together you set off toward Hotel Ionia, moving at a brisk walk that bordered on a jog. As you kept pace beside him, you couldn’t help but notice the way steam still curled aggressively from his shoulders, even in the cold. And you wondered, briefly, whether he truly felt no chill at all.
Inside the lobby, warmth enveloped you once more. You slowed, heart finally settling as you walked further into the lobby. Kabu turned toward you then.
“I can make it to my room on my own,” he said. “Once I’ve changed, I would be glad to walk you back to the Western Building.”
The offer caught you off guard, and warmed you more than the springs had.
“That’s really kind,” you said, smiling. “But I think you might keep me waiting longer than just warmer clothes given your…um…predicament.”
He blinked—then laughed. It was soft, genuine, and unguarded, the sound echoing faintly through the lobby before he composed himself again. When he spoke, his voice was quieter.
“I enjoyed your company this evening,” he said. “And I’m glad you came to the baths.”
You nodded, mirroring his sincerity. “Me, too.”
A pause followed.
“Well, have a good night,” you said, then added, almost shyly, “Would you like to have breakfast together tomorrow? I’m assuming the hotel offers it.”
“They do, it’s a pretty wide spread, if I remember,” he replied. “And yes, I would.”
You smiled, relief and anticipation mingling, then stepped forward and held your arms out in invitation. “Good night,” you said again.
Kabu moved in to return the hug—and surprised you entirely by leaning in just enough to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was brief. Warm. Feather-light. You felt the faint rasp of stubble, the careful restraint in the way his arms held you in only a half embrace.
“Good night,” he murmured.
He turned then and headed for the elevators, leaving you standing there, heart racing, cheeks flushed, mind blissfully undone.
When you finally looked up, you caught the receptionist’s eye. They blinked—clearly having witnessed more than you’d realized—before their expression turned sly.
You startled, flinching. Heat rushed to your face all at once, the sudden awareness of what had just happened hitting you like a delayed shock. You laughed awkwardly under your breath, ducked your head, and turned on your heel far too quickly.
“Good night,” you muttered to no one in particular as you all but fled for the door.
The cold air outside bit at your cheeks, but it did nothing to cool the way your heart was racing. You pulled your sweatshirt tighter around yourself and hurried across the snow, mind replaying warm water, steady arms, and a kiss you definitely hadn’t been expecting.
You sat on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair slowly, rhythm steady even as your thoughts refused to be.
The room was warm and softly lit, steam from your shower still clinging faintly to the air. Each stroke of the brush was careful, grounding—something to do with your hands while your mind replayed the evening on a relentless loop.
The heat of the water
Kabu’s muscular body.
His scent
His arm around you.
The hardness you felt press against bottom you when he pulled you out of harm’s way.
And—the kiss. Soft, and on your cheek. Something that could have been just platonic, but coming from the Motostoke Gym Leader...
You paused, brush hovering for just a moment before resuming. Now that you were alone, the pieces felt harder to fit together. It had seemed obvious, hadn’t it? Not blatant—Kabu was far too disciplined for that—but there had been something unmistakable beneath his restraint. The way he’d looked at you. The way he’d held you. The care in every choice he’d made, every line he’d refused to cross even when the tension had been palpable.
And yet.
He’d been respectful to a fault. Gentle. Considerate in a way that could so easily be mistaken for nothing more than friendship. Concern. The kind of attention that didn’t demand anything in return. That was what made it confusing.
You exhaled slowly, setting the brush down and glancing at the clock beside the bed. It was later than you’d thought—late enough that you should have been exhausted. Instead, you felt wired.
You tried to wind down. Made yourself a cup of tea, letting it steep longer than necessary. Flipped on the television, only to stare blankly as scenes blurred together without meaning. Nothing quieted the restless energy coiled in your chest. Eventually, you turned it off again.
Your gaze drifted to your Rotom phone, still plugged in on the nightstand, its screen dark and patient. You picked it up.
For a long moment, you just held it there, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. You knew exactly who you wanted to message, and exactly why you hesitated. It felt risky. Exposing. Like stepping forward without knowing whether the ground would hold. But the alternative, lying awake all night with unanswered questions, felt worse.
You unlocked the screen and opened the message thread.
You paused again.
Then, heart thudding softly, you began to type.
The water was cold. Deliberately so.
Kabu stood beneath the spray, shoulders squared as the chill struck skin still warm from the springs. He welcomed it, let it bite, let it ground him. The contrast stole his breath for a moment before he forced it steady again. Discipline was habit. Control, a choice. Still, his thoughts betrayed him.
Steam rising into night air.
White fabric against warm skin.
The weight of you settling beside him, unguarded, trusting.
He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose. The cold should have been enough. It usually was. But when his mind returned—unbidden—to the way you’d relaxed against him, the way your breath had evened, the way you’d fit at his side, the way you nuzzled his chest and inhaled his scent—
He exhaled sharply and adjusted his stance, jaw tightening.
Focus.
What had happened at Hero’s Bath had crossed no line. He reminded himself of that. Nothing reckless. Nothing inappropriate. Every touch had been gentle. Every moment chosen, or not, carefully.
And yet, it had also not been nothing.
The encouragement lingered. The mutual awareness. The quiet understanding that had settled between you when the interruption had pulled you apart. No line had been crossed, he agreed, but the line still existed. But maybe...maybe it had just been adjusted or moved.
Kabu rested his palms against the tiled wall and bowed his head beneath the spray, breathing deeply until the cold finally did its work—until the edge dulled and his body responded to will rather than thought. When he was certain of himself again, he shut off the water.
He dried methodically, wrapping one towel around his waist and using another to rub his hair dry before settling it around his shoulders. The mirror caught his attention as he stepped closer, studying his reflection with the same honesty he brought to everything else.
He looked well. He knew that. He took pride in it. Years of training, discipline, and care had left him stronger than many men his age, his body still responsive, capable. Broad shoulders. Defined lines earned through work, not vanity.
But time had left its marks, too.
The faint creases at the corners of his eyes, stress lines on his forehead and around his mouth—his gym trainers often teased him about them because he always wore a stern expression. The bright silver threading through dark hair, and the subtle change in skin that spoke of experience rather than youth. Some found that appealing, he knew. Others did not.
He looked away at last, exiting the bathroom and reaching for clothes laid out neatly on the bed. Comfortable. Familiar. A simple jinbei, well-worn and soft, something that reminded him faintly of Hoenn—of heat, of tradition, of balance.
Tonight’s intensity, he told himself, had been circumstance. Proximity. Warm water, and quiet, and being alone together after years apart. He had lived long enough to recognize when a moment was amplified by environment. It did not have to mean more.
He made himself tea, movements unhurried, routine steadying. The television murmured softly as he settled into the chair, steam rising from the cup as he sipped. Calm returned.
After a moment, he rose again and crossed the room to the small refrigerator tucked neatly beneath the counter. He opened the freezer and reached inside, fingers closing around a modest container nestled among ice packs.
It had become something of a tradition over the years. The people of Circhester had noticed his yearly visits. Of course, they recognized him as the Man of Fire, but they also noticed the discipline, the respect he showed the town, the quiet way he moved through it. He was always greeted with some type of sweet treat when he arrived. This year, it had been ice cream.
He set it on the table and removed the lid. It was deep in color, the scent subtle rather than sugary. Not overly sweet. There was a warmth to it—spice, perhaps, or a hint of something sharper beneath the fruit—and a faint dryness that spoke of restraint rather than indulgence.
He took a spoonful, letting it melt slowly on his tongue as the cold contrasted pleasantly with the lingering warmth of tea and memory. It was grounding. Familiar. Comforting in a way that required nothing of him. It was clear that someone had taken the time to carefully choose which berries mix in order to create the flavor tailored just for him.
He set the container down, reaching for his cup again when his Rotom phone chimed on the night stand near the bed, the sound cut cleanly through the quiet. Kabu’s gaze shifted to the device before he set the spoon down and walked over to reach for the phone, expression unreadable but intent all the same. The screen lit in his hand.
Hey, are you still awake?
Kabu read it once, then again, before replying.
I am.
He walked back over to the table and set the phone down beside his tea and waited.
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
Then vanished again.
Kabu exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes lifting briefly to the muted television before returning to the phone. He had seen that hesitation before—late-night messages sent and unsent, thoughts weighed carefully before being allowed voice.
The indicator appeared again.
Nothing followed.
After a moment, he picked up the phone.
Is everything all right?
The response came almost immediately.
Yes!
Too quick, perhaps.
He waited.
The indicator returned. This time it lingered longer, the dots pulsing steadily before disappearing once more. Silence stretched. Kabu remained still, patience practiced and genuine, though a faint crease formed between his brows.
Then—
Would it be okay if I came over to talk?
He stared at the message. Confusion flickered first—brief and contained—before memory surfaced. You must have been referring what happened at the Hero's Bath. He considered the request carefully.
Yes, he replied at last. That would be fine. I’m in Room 412.
A pause.
Thank you, came the reply. I’ll be there in a few minutes.
Kabu set the phone down and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling briefly as he breathed in, then out. Concern surfaced then—not sharp, but insistent. Had he mis-stepped? Allowed too much? Given the wrong impression?
He thought again of the baths—of your ease beside him, the absence of resistance, the quiet choice in the way you had stayed. Still, honor demanded caution. Discipline demanded clarity. Whatever you wished to discuss, he would meet it as he always had: openly, respectfully, without expectation.
His gaze drifted to the ice cream on the table. He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, then replaced the lid and returned it to the freezer, sliding it back into place with quiet finality. For later, maybe. Or perhaps tomorrow.
Footsteps sounded faintly in the hall beyond his door. Kabu straightened just as a soft knock followed.
He moved toward the door, composure settled once more into place—steady, calm, ready. And opened it.
The moment you let him know you were on your way, the reality of what you were about to do hit you square in the chest.
You were already in your sleepwear—a soft pajama set consisting of a short-sleeved top and shorts—but you quickly changed, swapping the bottoms for baggy sweatpants and tugging a sweatshirt on over the top. Warmth, comfort, something to hide behind.
You toed on your soft ankle boots, wrapping yourself in a thigh-length puffy winter jacket, and looped a scarf around your neck. You paused only long enough to check your reflection. You looked normal. Calm, even.
You absolutely were not.
The walk to the Eastern Building of Hotel Ionia was short—barely long enough for the cold air to clear your head—but your heart raced the entire way. Your breath felt shallow, your palms warm inside your sleeves. You were keenly aware of every step, every thought spiraling too quickly to catch.
Inside the lobby, warmth rushed back in. And with it, recognition. The receptionist glanced up. Their eyes lit with instant recognition. They gave you a look—subtle, amused, knowing. And then began to turn sly, wiggling an eyebrow—
You refused to meet it, heat rushing to your face as you hurried past the desk, pretending very hard that you had somewhere else to be, anywhere else to look. You made a beeline for the elevators, jabbing the button far more forcefully than necessary.
You expected a wait.
Instead, the elevator dinged immediately and slid open.
“Oh—no,” you whined, softly. You stepped inside anyway, hands fidgeting with the edge of your sleeves as the doors closed. The quiet hum of the lift felt deafening as you pressed the button for the fourth floor.
Your heart began to hammer.
What were you even going to say? You didn’t want to make things awkward. Didn’t want to patronize him, or worse, embarrass him (he’d dealt with enough already). You just needed clarity. Needed him to know that what had happened at the baths hadn’t upset you. That you were okay.
More than okay.
And if—if—you were right about what you’d felt between you, then maybe this was the moment to say something. Gently. Honestly. Without expectation.
Or maybe you just wanted to reassure him. Let him know nothing had changed and your friendship with him was unaffected and you could go back to the way things were.
The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.
You stepped out without really registering it, legs moving on autopilot as you followed the carpeted hallway. Your thoughts were still racing when you stopped abruptly—because there it was.
Room 412.
You stared at the door, suddenly very aware of where you were. Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears. For a split second, the urge to turn around—to retreat back to your room, back to safety and distance and unanswered questions—was almost overwhelming.
You closed your eyes and breathed in.
You can do this, you told yourself. You’re just talking.
You lifted your hand. And knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
And for the third time that day, Kabu stood there on the other side of the door, framed by the warm light of the room behind him.
And for just a second, his gaze lingered. Not rudely. Just enough to take you in.
Your scarf and puffy jacket had done strange things to your hair, puffing it up around your flushed face, and you were suddenly very aware of how bundled—and how small—you probably looked. The thought made you self-conscious, and then oddly comforted.
“Good evening,” he said, warmth unmistakable in his voice.
You nodded, smiling despite your nerves. “Hi.”
“Please,” he added at once, stepping aside. “Come in.”
The room welcomed you with quiet warmth as you crossed the threshold. You reached up to shrug off your jacket—and paused when his hands came up instead.
“Allow me,” Kabu said, already easing it from your shoulders with practiced care. You froze for half a heartbeat, then let him help, surprised by how natural it felt. He took the jacket and hung it neatly in the closet before turning back to you.
You reached for your scarf, fingers fumbling slightly as you unwound it.
He waited.
When you finished, you handed it to him without thinking. He accepted it just as easily, looping it around the same hanger before closing the door. Something about the smallness of the gesture made your chest feel tight.
You stepped farther into the room and took it in properly. It was nearly identical to yours—same layout, same furnishings—but it felt different with him in it. The television was on but muted, casting shifting light across the walls. On the table sat a cup of tea and a small container of ice cream.
“I can make you some tea, if you’d like,” Kabu offered.
“Oh—no, thank you,” you said quickly. Then, curious, you gestured toward the table. “Is that ice cream?” He didn’t strike you a man who ate sweets.
He chuckled softly. “Yes. Circhester has a habit of welcoming me this way when I visit. This year it was ice cream. It often is.”
"I didn't think you were into sweets."
"Well, I don't make it a habit. But I do enjoy it every now and then as a treat, especially if it's a gift."
"A gift, huh?" You smiled. “Is it any good?”
He considered you for a moment. “You’re welcome to try it.”
You lit up before you could stop yourself. “Really?”
He nodded, already turning to retrieve another spoon—then paused. “I…only have one,” he admitted.
“Oh. That’s fine—”
“I can ask the lobby for another.”
You blinked. “No, that’s okay. We can just—”
There was a beat.
“use the same spoon...?” you finished, realization crashing into you all at once. Heat flooded your face. “I—I mean, I don’t mind, if you don’t— I mean—”
Kabu’s reaction was far subtler, but you caught it—the slight tightening of his jaw, the careful breath.
“If you’d prefer, I can wash it,” he said, already lifting the spoon as if that would solve everything.
“Don't be silly, it’s plastic!” you blurted, And before he could react you snatched it from his hand and plunged it into the container. Lifting the ice-cream filled spoon to your mouth, you shoved it in.
And promptly forgot everything else.
Including the fact that you had just shared an indirect kiss with the man.
“Oh,” you said, your mouth full, eyes wide, and tongue savoring the flavor. “This is really good!”
Kabu looked genuinely surprised. “It is?”
“It’s not too sweet,” you said thoughtfully. “There’s something warm about it. Like a warm spice. And it's a little dry, but in a good way.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “That’s what I thought as well. Most people prefer something richer.”
“Well,” you said lightly, setting the spoon down, “they’re missing out.”
He replaced the lid and returned the container to the freezer, shaking his head slightly as if amused. When he came back, he settled into the chair across from you.
You gestured toward the spoon. “I should probably wash that now.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll take care of it later.”
Silence settled between you—not awkward, but weighted. The kind that pressed gently, expectantly. Kabu folded his hands loosely in front of him and looked at you, expression open.
“So,” he said. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You opened your mouth, but and nothing came out. A small, nervous laugh slipped free instead, thin and breathless, and you looked away almost immediately.
The silence stretched, heavy enough that you couldn’t bear to stay seated. You pushed yourself up and crossed the room, perching on the edge of his bed as if the distance might help you breathe. It didn’t.
Kabu watched you closely, expression softening with concern rather than expectation. After a moment, he spoke again—more gently this time.
“Is this about what happened at the Hero’s Bath?”
Your eyes flicked to his, then dropped to the floor. Your hands twisted together in your lap, fingers fidgeting restlessly.
He exhaled quietly. “I figured as much,” he continued, carefully, “then allow me to speak first.”
You kept your gaze to the ground, but didn’t say anything.
“I regret my lapse in discipline,” Kabu said. “I should not have allowed the situation to progress as it did. You did nothing wrong.” He paused, jaw tightening just slightly. “If you are comfortable continuing our friendship as before, I would welcome that. And if you are not—if you would prefer distance—I will respect that as well.”
Your chest tightened.
“I would understand,” he added, voice lower now, “if you needed time away from me. I truly am sorry.”
“No—Kabu, wait.”
The words came out sharper than you meant, and he stopped at once.
You stood abruptly, pacing once, then stopping. You drew in a deep breath. Then another. You felt ridiculous and brave all at once, heart racing so hard you were sure he could hear it.
If you didn’t do this now, you would never do it.
And he would never give you another chance.
Because once you choose to respect that boundary, it would be set and enforced by him for the rest of his life.
Kabu misread your silence, stepping closer and resting a steady, grounding hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, careful.
“Take your time,” he said. “You may speak freely.”
Something about that—about the quiet encouragement, the absolute lack of pressure—steadied you. You lifted your head, and met his eyes.
“I didn’t come here because I was uncomfortable,” you said, voice firm despite the tremor in your hands. “I came because I needed to tell you something before you convinced yourself that tonight was a mistake.”
Kabu’s hand slipped from your shoulder—not retreating, just giving you space.
You swallowed, then went on. “When I first met you,” you said, “you were just…a Gym Leader. Someone I needed to beat if I wanted to keep going in order to reach the top.”
A faint flicker of recognition crossed his face.
“I remember walking into that stadium thinking I had it all planned out. Thinking I knew exactly how the battle would go.” You let out a small, breathless laugh. “I didn’t.”
Your gaze drifted. Not away from him, but inward.
“You almost won. You should have won. I was down to my last Pokémon, and they were barely standing.” Your fingers curled tighter together. “And you didn’t hold back. Not even a little.”
Kabu remained silent, listening.
“The way you battled—your intensity, your focus—it didn’t crush me,” you said. “It made me want to keep going. Even when I knew I might lose. I just…wanted to make it matter. Wanted to make a lasting impression.” You laughed. “If I was going to lose, I was gonna at least make you work for it.
You looked back at him.
“I know you don’t believe in luck,” you said with a small smile. “You’d probably say I just needed to train more, more experience. Preparation. Discipline.”
A small, almost-smile touched his mouth.
“But I think...I think I only won because I was lucky,” you continued. “As trainers, we push ourselves and our pokemon to become stronger. We stay up strategizing because every move could be a matter of winning or losing against an opponent that was equal in your strength and skill.”
You paused.
"But I guess luck chose me that day."
You drew in a steady breath, the words coming more easily now that you’d started.
“I didn’t expect you to approach me afterward,” you continued. “Most Gym Leaders would've just shaken my hand, congratulated me, and moved on.” A faint smile touched your mouth. “But you didn’t.”
You glanced at him, then back down at your hands.
“You offered to train with me. To help me prepare for the other Gyms.” You let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “I remember thinking you didn’t have to do that. That you were busy. That I was just one challenger out of hundreds.”
Your fingers curled together.
“But you gave me your time anyway. Your advice. Your experience.”
You looked up again, eyes shining now, but steady.
“And when you gave me your number—” You shook your head slightly. “That surprised me. More than you know.”
Kabu remained still, listening, attention unwavering.
“Every message you sent after that mattered,” you said. “Every congratulations. Every ‘well done.’ Even the short ones.”
Your voice softened.
“It made me feel seen. Like what I was doing meant something to someone who understood what it took.”
Your breath hitched, just slightly.
“And then there was Leon.”
You swallowed and Kabu's face sobered.
“The pressure was everywhere, if you'll remember,” you said quietly. “People had decided who I was before I ever stepped into that stadium. They kept saying I had a real chance of ending his streak.”
You shook your head.
“Five years undefeated. It was supposed to be historic. Especially since Leon ended Mustard’s 18 year streak.”
Your hands trembled faintly now, but you didn’t stop.
“When I lost, it felt like everything collapsed at once. Not just the match, but everything that had been built around it.” You exhaled slowly. “Leon tried to make feel better. He really did. He told me to try again in the next tournament. To come back stronger.”
You looked at Kabu then, eyes intent.
“But it was your call that night,” you said. “that meant the most.”
Kabu’s jaw tightened, just slightly.
“You didn’t tell me to get back up immediately,” you went on. “You didn’t tell me I’d failed. You just…listened.” A pause. “And then you suggested something I hadn’t even considered.”
Your voice warmed with memory.
“You told me it was all right to step away. To travel. To learn somewhere else. That I didn’t have to prove anything by throwing myself back into the same fight before I was ready.”
You took a breath, grounding yourself.
“That was the first time it felt like the world wasn’t demanding something from me,” you said. “Like someone was giving me permission to choose what came next.”
Your gaze never left his now.
“I don’t think I would’ve gone to Kalos. Or Hoenn if it weren't for you,” you said, then added softly, “and if I’m being honest, Hoenn was on my list because of the way you spoke about it. Hoenn, your homeland. It made me want to see it for myself.”
The words settled between you, heavy with truth. You swallowed, then went on, quieter now.
“I know we didn’t talk every day,” you said. “Sometimes it was just a message. Or a call that didn’t last long because of time zones, training schedules, or because you had another challenger.” You gave a small, rueful smile. “But no matter where I was—Kalos, Hoenn, anywhere—you were my constant.”
You lifted your eyes to his again.
“Everything else changed. New places. New people. New challenges. But you were always there in the same way. Steady. Encouraging. Grounding.” Your fingers tightened together. “I didn’t realize how much that mattered to me until I started missing it.”
You drew in a breath.
“I didn’t feel anything right away,” you said quickly, as if afraid the words might be misunderstood. “Not like this. Back then, it was admiration. Respect. Inspiration.”
You paused, voice softening.
“But it stayed with me. Long after I left Galar.”
Your voice wavered, just slightly—but you didn’t look away.
“Somewhere along the way, I realized I missed you. Your presence. Your calm. The way you listened.” You shook your head faintly. “Phone calls and video chats helped, but they weren’t the same.”
You let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.
“And then today—tonight—seeing you again, actually standing in front of you…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “It felt like coming back to something I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying with me all this time.”
Your heart was pounding now, but you kept going.
“What happened at the Hero’s Bath,” you said carefully, “it wasn’t unwelcome. It didn’t feel like a mistake.” Your gaze held his, steady and honest. “It felt like a...gentle nudge. Like the universe saying we’d both been circling something for a while.”
You hesitated, then continued, because you had come too far to stop.
“And tonight,” you said, “when you apologized—when you tried to take all the blame—I realized something else.”
Kabu stood very still, his full attention on you now, posture open but careful, as though he were giving your words the space they deserved rather than reaching for you.
“I didn’t come here to tell you it shouldn’t have happened,” you said. “I came because I needed you to know that it mattered to me. That you matter to me.”
You held his gaze, heart hammering so hard it felt unreal.
“I don’t expect anything,” you added quickly, the words tumbling out with quiet urgency. “I’m not asking you to promise anything or change anything. I just—”
You stopped, drew in a breath, and finished softly.
“I couldn’t leave it unsaid.”
The words settled between you—raw, honest, irreversible.
Kabu didn’t speak. He didn’t look away, either.
The room felt impossibly quiet, the muted television casting soft light across his face as he held your gaze. You could see it there—the careful control, the weight of what you’d said, the way he was choosing his stillness rather than filling the space with instinct or reassurance.
Your heart thundered in your chest as you waited.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.
And in that suspended moment—where nothing was said, but everything had been heard—you realized that whatever came next would change everything.
Kabu was the first to look away.
The shift was subtle, but deliberate — a breath drawn, his gaze lowering as though he needed a moment to steady himself. When he reached for you, it was not sudden. His hands closed around yours gently, solid, and warm.
“I believed I was protecting you,” he said quietly. “By maintaining distance. By placing discipline above everything else.”
His brow furrowed, not with doubt, but reflection.
“I see now,” he continued, “that I may have mistaken restraint for clarity.”
Your breath caught, but you didn’t interrupt.
“You spoke of choice,” Kabu said, his voice softening. “Of being given permission to decide what came next.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles. “I would not take that from you, even now.”
He stepped closer. Not abruptly. Not decisively. Just one measured step, enough that you could feel his warmth, his presence, the steadiness that had drawn you to him from the very beginning.
“What happened tonight,” he said, meeting your eyes again, “did not feel unwelcome to me, either. Nor did it feel like a mistake.”
Your heart stuttered.
He stopped there, deliberately, his grip on your hands loosening but did not pull away. His posture remained open, restrained, waiting.
“But I must ask…if this is something you wish to explore,” Kabu said, voice low and certain, “then it must be because you choose it. Not because I allowed it. Not because circumstance pushed us forward.”
Your pulse roared in your ears as your breath caught.
“And if you do not,” he added just as calmly, “then I will remain exactly as I have always been to you. Your friend, your colleague, and your ally. Without resentment.”
The choice sat between you — clear and undeniable. You searched his face, half-convinced you were dreaming, half-terrified you might misunderstand.
But his eyes said everything his words did not: patience, warmth, and something newly unguarded.
You smiled. Small, and certain.
That, was your answer to him.
Something softened in his expression. Relief, maybe, or permission finally granted. He lifted one hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, knuckles grazing your cheek with reverent care.
Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch. And when you opened them again, his gaze had changed — not urgent or demanding — just open. Present.
The moment stretched, and suddenly, nerves crept in. Shyness. The weight of what you were stepping into.
Kabu did not move closer. He did not rush you. He simply stayed. Exactly as he always had.
You lifted your hand, fingers trembling slightly as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb brushed gently along his skin, tentative. He inhaled, slow and steady, and laid his hand over yours, leaning into the touch. His eyes closed, just for a moment.
Then, you rose onto your toes, gently guiding his face toward yours. Your lips brushed his — barely there, a whisper of contact.
And then—
His arm swiftly came around your waist, firm and sure, pulling you into him as he kissed you back — not gentle, but deep, controlled, all the restraint of the night finally breaking free.
You startled at the intensity.
Then, your hands clutched at him as you kissed him back, eyes closing, body relaxing into his hold as the world narrowed to warmth, breath, and the unmistakable certainty that this was exactly where you were meant to be.
Kabu deepened the kiss. It wasn't abrupt, but the intent was unmistakable. He pressed into you, solid and sure, the strength of him guiding you back a step at a time until the backs of your legs brushed the edge of the bed.
You flinched at the sudden interruption, balance faltering just enough for the kiss to break. But before you could even register it, his hands tightened at your waist, steadying you instantly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And then he was kissing you again. Slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made your thoughts scatter as his mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, leaving no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly what he was asking of you.
He didn’t let go when the kiss broke. Instead, Kabu rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and steady despite the way his grip remained firm at your waist—anchoring, certain. There was no fumbling here, no uncertainty born of inexperience. Just awareness.
Choice.
He exhaled slowly, as though committing the moment to memory.
“Tell me if you wish to stop,” he breathed, voice low and even.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, palms flattening against the solid warmth beneath your touch. Familiar and steady. When you leaned into him again, pressing your lips to his with quiet intent, it was answer enough.
That was when his restraint shifted. His hand traced up your side, deliberate and unhurried, thumb pressing just enough to make you acutely aware of every place he wasn’t touching yet. There was patience in the way he explored, confidence in knowing he didn’t need to rush to be certain of your response. You felt it in the way his breathing changed when you moved closer. In the way he adjusted instinctively when your body pressed to his. In the way his mouth lingered at your jaw, your neck—never demanding, always asking.
When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to look at you properly. His expression had shifted—still warm, but serious now.
“Tell me,” he said again, quietly. “If, and when, you want me to stop.”
Your heart thundered.
Before you could overthink it, Kabu guided you back with gentle pressure, encouraging rather than forcing, until you felt the mattress beneath you. He followed only as far as you allowed, movements careful, controlled—never taking more than you offered.
The bed creaked softly as you settled.
NSFW/SMUT/LEMON IMIMENT: If you are a minor--SCRAM! RIGHT NOW!
If you are triggered by sex, smut, and snfw, scroll down to the next page break.
You looked up at Kabu, feeling a little dazed, nerves fluttering now that the reality of the moment had fully caught up with you, the adrenaline humming beneath it all. Excitement. Anticipation. Something deeper, steadier.
You saw it mirrored in his eyes.
Yearning, unmistakable, and warm, but tempered. Held carefully in check by discipline and care, by the kind of patience that came from experience—and great care— rather than hesitation. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t crowd you. Instead, he waited just long enough to be sure.
When he finally moved, it was with quiet confidence, settling his weight between your legs only after you opened them for him — an instinctive invitation that he acknowledged with a softened look. His body fit easily there, grounded and sure, but never overwhelming.
One hand came up to cradle your face again, thumb brushing your cheek with familiar tenderness. The affection there was becoming more unguarded now, written plainly across his expression.
He kissed you, slow and deliberate, before trailing his mouth to your neck. The attention was unhurried, reverent almost, as though he were learning you by feel rather than urgency. Each kiss lingered just long enough to draw a breathy sound from you before moving on.
Kabu stilled for half a second at the sound, and his breath shifted. Not ragged, but deeper, and his mouth returned to your skin with renewed intent, listening closely to every response you gave him. It was clear he paid attention not just to what you allowed, but to how you reacted.
His hand slid down to your shoulder, fingers brushing the fabric there. He paused again—always that pause—eyes lifting to yours in silent question.
When you didn’t pull away, when your hands instead tightened at his arms, he reached down and carefully tugged your sweatshirt up and over your head, setting it aside without breaking the rhythm of the moment.
Goosebumps appeared on your arms, your short-sleeved pajama top light and loose, and not at all meant for the cold.
Kabu leaned back in, capturing your mouth again. This kiss was different—slower at first, then fuller.
You met him instinctively, lips parting just enough to invite him closer. He responded immediately, not rushing, but taking the opening you offered with quiet confidence. You felt his tongue gently swipe at yours, as though he were asking rather than taking. It surprised you at first, and then you reciprocated the action, drawing a low moan from him as the kiss deepened.
You felt it in the way he lingered, in the subtle press of him against you, in the way his breathing changed when you matched him. The world narrowed to warmth and closeness, to the steady rhythm of a kiss that had shed its hesitation without losing its care. There was no urgency in it. Only intention.
Kabu’s hand began to move as he kissed you. Not hurried. Not roaming without purpose. His touch was exploratory in the quietest way — palms warm as they traced your shoulders, down your arms, lingering there as if committing the feel of you to memory.
When his hand drifted lower, skimming your side and the gentle curve of your stomach, there was no hesitation in him at all. His touch didn’t avoid you. Didn’t correct or assess. It simply rested there, thumb brushing slow, reassuring arcs that spoke more clearly than words ever could. Whatever thoughts flickered through your mind, whatever self-consciousness tried to surface, his hands gave them no place to land. You felt wanted and accepted—exactly as you were.
When his hand rose again, nearing your chest, his movements slowed instinctively. The touch there was lighter, reverent, as though he understood the sensitivity of the place without needing to be told. As soon as his hand ghosted the cup of your breast he froze.
So did you.
You weren’t wearing a bra.
Which made total sense because you were in your sleepwear.
The awareness hit like a spark, sharp and electric. You felt it in the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught just once before he steadied it again. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t press forward, either.
Instead, he lifted his gaze to yours.
There was heat there, unmistakable—but also restraint. A silent question again. An asking, not a taking.
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You swallowed, then gave a small, shaky nod—a smile following it, nervous but certain.
His answering smile was soft and warm.
He kissed you then—gentle and sweet—before letting his attention shift to your pajama top.
Slowly, carefully, he undid the first button. And then the next. Each small movement felt deliberate, unhurried, as though he were allowing you time to change your mind. Or to lean further in.
As the fabric loosened, it fell open just enough to reveal warm skin beneath, nothing rushed, nothing exposed all at once.
When he undid the final button, his fingers paused again, and he looked up at your face once more. And waited.
You were touched by how considerate he was being with you. He truly was a gentleman.
You gave another nod, more confident than before, and he gently eased one side of the shirt aside, revealing your beast.
The air was cool, and your nipples tightened in response. Kabu’s touch remained light, reverent, his gaze never leaving your face—watching you, reading you, attuned to every breath and shift of your body.
You closed your eyes and stretched your arms above your head, resting your hands near your hair, giving yourself over to the moment and to the quiet attention he offered so freely.
And then a hot, wet, mouth closed around your breast, the sensation drew a sharp breath from your chest.
His tongue flicked and swirled around your nipple as his mouth suckled. You felt the contrast immediately; heat against cool air, steady pressure followed by lingering softness, and your breath hitched in response, a sound escaping you before you could stop it.
Kabu noticed, and the way he lingered changed. It wasn’t rushed, but deeper, more focused, one hand rising to mirror the attention to your other breast, slipping underneath the material on the other side, his touch confident and unhurried.
When another soft sound left you, he lifted his head and kissed you again, hard and slow, swallowing the sound before another could fully form. He trailed his attention along your neck, lips warm, alternating between gentle kisses, suckles, and soft nips.
Then he shifted, hips grinding into yours, and the hard bulge in his shorts rubbed up against your covered sex.
The sensation had you gasping for air, closing your eyes. The closeness, the heat, the way his movement drew a matching response from you before you could think to stop it.
Your hands found his shoulders, fingers curling into the firm muscle there, sliding along his arms in slow, appreciative strokes. You felt the strength beneath your palms, earned and maintained, and you didn’t try to hide your reaction. There was no need to.
A firmer nip at your neck pulled you back into the moment, and you knew suddenly that his shirt was in the way. Your hands hovered uncertainly at his chest, fingers tracing the folds of his shirt, and letting a huff when you couldn't find the ties.
Kabu chuckled softly and leaned back just enough to help, undoing the ties with practiced ease. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, and your eyes followed without restraint—the solid line of his chest, the dusting of hair there, his sculpted abs, and the defined strength of him revealed without hurry or show.
If he noticed your attention, he didn’t comment. He simply leaned back in, reclaiming your mouth with a kiss that felt sure, as though the night had finally allowed both of you to stop pretending this was anything other than what it had always been becoming.
His hand returned to your breast, squeezing and kneading, as he kissed you, his mouth alternating between yours, your cheek, your temple, and the soft place beneath your jaw. Each kiss felt intentional, as though he were reminding you that you were here, with him.
His hand then drifted downward. Over your sternum. Across your stomach. Then lower.
When his fingers reached the waistband of your sweatpants, he paused. Not withdrawing. Not advancing. Just still. You felt his attention sharpen, his breath warm against your skin as he waited—not for words, but for you.
You answered by kissing him again, gentle but sure.
That was all he needed.
His touch resumed, slipping beneath the two layers of fabric with practiced care.
You felt his fingers press up against your hot, wet, sex. The sensation drew a soft sound from both of you—his breath hitching as you felt his erection twitch against you. The closeness between you intensified, his warmth pressing into you as he briefly stilled again, forehead resting against your chest while he drew a steadying breath.
You lifted his face with both hands, guiding him back to you, kissing him with quiet reassurance.
He returned the kiss, and his touch followed, slower now, more focused, listening closely to the way your breath changed, to the way your body arched and answered him without hesitation. A finger swiveled over your bundle of nerves, before slipping inside your folds with ease. You inhaled sharply, and Kabu deepened the kiss as he slowly pumped his finger.
You broke the kiss as your head tipped back, the sensations building, offering him the curve of your breath became quicker and shorter.
Kabu accepted the invitation without breaking rhythm—mouth warm, attentive, alternating between tenderness and firmer intent. When he began to kiss his way back down to your chest, catching a nipple once more, his touch never faltered, maintaining that steady, unrelenting focus that made it impossible to think about anything else.
The heat built quickly. Too quickly. You felt the way your skin grew overly warm, the edge of discomfort creeping in beneath the pleasure, making it harder to fully stay present. Your body tensed without meaning to.
Kabu noticed immediately. His movements slowed, his mouth lifting as he looked at you with concern. “What is it?” he asked with quite concern. “Do you want me to stop?”
You caught your breath and laughed softly, shaking your head. “No,” you said, still breathless. “I’m just…too hot.”
Relief softened his expression, and he chuckled under his breath. He shifted back at once, giving you space without question. You pushed yourself upright and shrugged your pajama top off, throwing it off the bed and onto the ground.
The cooler air was a blessing.
When you looked back at him, you found him utterly still. His gaze held something different now. Open, intent, unmistakably drawn, as he took in the sight of you: hair mussed, skin flushed, eyes bright with feeling.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. But before you could overthink it, you laid back again and reached for him, pulling him down for another kiss.
And Kabu followed willingly.
His touch slipped back beneath the fabric at your waist, resuming where he’d left off with quiet certainty. It didn’t take long for your body to respond again—too aware, too open, sensitivity already heightened from before. Your breaths came faster, shorter, your body arching instinctively as the sensation rebuilt.
When your hips began to move on their own, he adjusted at once. The pace changed, firmer, more deliberate, and the heat coiled low in your belly, tightening with every breath until it felt inevitable.
Kabu sensed it before you could say anything, his attention sharpening, and his mouth returning to your breast with renewed focus.
The sensation tipped you over.
You barely had time to cover your mouth, biting down hard as your body tensed and released, breath breaking apart as the feeling washed through you.
Kabu didn’t rush you through it. His fingers pumped slow and steady, helping you ride your release until the intensity softened and your body finally relaxed.
When it was over, you relaxed against the bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Warmth lingered everywhere, heavy and comforting, and sleep tugged faintly at the edges of your awareness.
You were so content, so satisfied, that you didn’t realize that Kabu had been calling your name.
When you opened your eyes, his gaze was on you—serious, intent, but softened by something deeper.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, still a little dazed.
He hesitated, then spoke quietly.
“Don’t silence yourself.”
You frowned faintly. “You mean you want me to sound like those actors in movies?”
A corner of his mouth lifted, amused, but his eyes remained earnest.
“I want to hear you,” he said. “To know what you feel. To know when I’m doing something right.”
The words settled warmly in your chest.
Then, he settled down with you, drawing you close until you were pressed against him, his arm secure around your waist.
You shifted in his hold.
And froze when you accidentally brushed against him.
Kabu inhaled slowly and held you tighter, collecting himself with practiced restraint.
You turned in his arms to look up at him.
“We're just taking a break, right? We're not finished?” you asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I wanted to take care of you,” he said at last.
“That doesn’t seem fair,” you replied gently.
He started to protest—something about his age and needing his rest—but your hand moved first, touching him through the fabric of his pants just enough to draw another sharp breath from his chest.
You smiled, teasing, eyes warm. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re suddenly tired. Not with the way you train.” You tilted your head. “Someone who spends a week in the mountains every year for endurance training doesn’t do it for leisure.”
Kabu stilled. He looked at you for a long moment, eyes dark with thought as you lingered there, testing his resolve again. When he spoke, his voice was low.
“Are you certain?” he said.
“If I wasn’t,” you said softly, brushing him again, “I wouldn't have let you do what you just did.”
“I need you to be certain.”
“Kabu—"
“If I continue…” His voice roughened as he shifted his hips away from your hand. “I am not certain I will be able to stop easily.”
That gave you pause.
He noticed, and chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “I am only a man,” he admitted. “Discipline and restraint can be practiced only so long.”
He met your gaze again, sincere and unguarded.
“So I am asking you again,” he said. “Do you want this? I am perfectly content stopping here. There is no rush, and I care more about your pleasure.”
The honesty and care in his words hit you harder than anything else had. Because even now, he was giving you another choice.
Emotion swelled unexpectedly in your chest. You cupped his face, thumb brushing gently along his cheek.
“I want this,” you said softly. “Kabu, I want you.”
The words left you without hesitation.
He held your gaze for a long moment after that. Something shifted, resolve settling in alongside restraint.
Then, without a word, he let you go and stepped back off of the bed.
You watched him curiously as he straightened, eyes appraising the muscles in his back, the movement unhurried, purposeful. When his hand went to his waist, realization dawned all at once.
You mirrored him without thinking, rising from the bed and shedding your own pants and underwear, movements a little less composed, a little more nervous. When you turned back toward him, Kabu was waiting by the bed, posture calm, attention fully on you.
Your eyes betrayed you immediately. They flicked downward — just for a second — before you could stop them, and heat rushed to your cheeks. Despite his age, there was absolutely no denying that Kabu was indeed very much a hot-blooded man.
Man of Fire, indeed.
You looked away again just as quickly, flustered, only to hear a quiet huff of amusement from him.
“There’s no need to rush,” he said gently.
You swallowed and stepped to the edge of the bed, then hesitated again, a thought catching hold of you. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze despite your embarrassment.
“Do you…want me on top?” you asked, tentative but curious.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Oh?” he said lightly. “After you so thoroughly dismissed my attempt at retreat earlier?”
You flushed, mortified. “I—I didn’t mean it like—”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’m teasing.”
You hesitated only a second longer, still flustered, then made the decision for both of you. Instead of lying back, you climbed up on the bed, reaching for his hand, and then gently, but decisively, guided him onto the bed.
Kabu blinked in surprise, then complied without resistance, settling back as you followed, heart hammering as you straddled him.
Your pulsed quicken when you felt his hard length brush up against your inner thigh.
His gaze swept over you—slow, unguarded, and openly appreciative. It traced the curve of your hips and stomach, lingered briefly at your chest, before finally lifting to your face, taking in the calm resolve there, softened by determination.
There was admiration in his eyes, unmistakable, but also something deeper: interest, curiosity, the quiet tension of someone choosing not to interfere, someone allowing himself to be guided, even as restraint tightened its hold.
“Are you certain?” he asked softly, even now.
You nodded, breath uneven, hands braced against his chest as you found your balance.
“And protection?” he added, quietly.
“I’m on the pill.”
He gave a satisfied hum as you leaned down and kissed him, capturing his lips. This time, you didn’t hesitate as much. There was still a flutter of nerves—the quiet hope that you were doing this right—but beneath it was a growing confidence, one born not of certainty, but of choice.
You set the pace yourself, testing it, adjusting when his breath changed beneath you. And when that low sound returned again, It was encouraging rather than correcting. You felt it then, how his reactions answered you.
His mouth moved against yours with equal intent, not overtaking, but matching you. And the sounds he made were unguarded now, offered freely, as if inviting you to listen. Each quiet exhale, each murmured sound against your lips sent a thrill through you, teaching you without words what he had meant before.
Don’t silence yourself.
I want to hear you. To know what you feel.
To know when I’m doing something right.
Your own breath slipped free in response, softer at first, then less restrained as you realized he wanted it — all of it.
The confidence grew from there, small but steady, as you leaned into the rhythm you were building together, learning the weight of his attention, the way he followed your lead without surrendering his presence.
And he stayed with you every step of the way—meeting your energy, answering your uncertainty with warmth, with sound, with a quiet certainty that made you want to keep going. Not because you had to. But because you wanted to hear him, too.
As your mouth moved against his, you gathered a bit of courage and let yourself lean in further, slipping in your tongue when his mouth opened and brushing it shyly against his.
Kabu’s response was immediate.
A sound left him—low and drawn out—and you felt him twitch against your inner thigh again, tension flaring before he caught himself. His hand flexed once at your hip, grip tightening just enough to betray the effort it took to rein it back in.
Then, he answered you. Not with restraint, but with control.
His mouth pressed harder against yours, tongue aggressively swirling and dominating yours, matching your intent, his breath heavier as his composure wavered just enough to be felt. The sound he made this time was rougher, less guarded, and the way he pressed back into the kiss told you everything you needed to know.
And it thrilled you. Not just because he was losing control, but also because he was choosing how much to give.
You followed his lead instinctively, encouraged by the way he responded, by the way his resolve bent without breaking. For a moment, it felt like he allowed himself that release—that closeness—just long enough to steady himself again.
When he finally pulled back, it was only a fraction, forehead resting against yours, breath uneven but mastered once more. And the look in his eyes told you just how close he’d come.
Instead of rushing forward, your hands began to explore, tentative at first, then more assured as you paid attention to how he responded.
You traced the line of his shoulders, the strength there unmistakable beneath your palms, then followed the solid curves of his chest, his core, and learning the heat of him, the way his breath shifted when you lingered just a second longer.
Kabu didn’t stop you.
Instead, his hands came to rest against you in return, not guiding or not taking over, just there. One settled at your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles as if to reassure you that you were doing exactly as he wished. The other brushed along your arm, thumb pressing gently, encouraging rather than demanding.
The contact sent a quiet thrill through you.
You felt him tense beneath your touch, then force himself to ease again, jaw tightening briefly before he drew a steadying breath. The sound he made this time was softer—controlled—but it carried weight, and it stirred something low and insistent in you.
You began to notice everything, in the way that Kabu had with you.
The way his hand stilled when you lingered somewhere new. The way his fingers flexed at your back as if resisting the urge to pull you closer. The way his eyes darkened when you leaned in, taking your time, testing his composure without breaking it.
Each reaction emboldened you. You weren’t just touching him. You were learning him. And all the while, his hands stayed with you, grounding, supportive, letting you know he was present with you in every moment.
When he finally breathed your name, low and restrained, it felt like permission and praise all at once.
You smiled softly, settling back into your lead, content to take your time—knowing that every second you lingered brought you both closer, and that he was holding on now only because you were letting him.
You’d taken your time with him, and learned the way his body answered you, the quiet sounds he tried and failed to keep contained. And now—
—your own body hummed with it, desire coiled tight and insistent. The ache had shifted from curiosity to need, thrumming low and steady, impossible to ignore.
Your hand moved to down to touch his hard length again, almost without thought, drawn by instinct more than intent. The reaction you felt beneath your touch was immediate and unmistakable.
His erection pulsed and twitched, tension flaring, breath breaking as Kabu drew in a sharp inhale, his restraint visibly tightening even as it threatened to give way.
The response shot straight through you, heat pooling fast, your own breath hitching as you realized just how close you both were now.
There was no teasing left in the moment—only awareness, only choice, only the quiet certainty that you were ready to go further.
You let your hand linger for just a moment longer—a gentle stroke, careful not to press too far—and felt the way he reacted beneath you, taut and unmistakably affected.
It would have been easy to tip him over the edge then. You knew that. And somehow, he still held himself steady.
You shifted carefully, positioning yourself above him, breath shallow as you felt how close you were now. The warmth of him was right there, undeniable, and it made your pulse race. When you looked down, your gaze caught his.
Kabu was watching you.
Not with urgency.
Not with impatience.
But with patience, warmth, ad encouragement.
And then—something else.
Something so small you might have missed it if you weren’t looking so closely, if you haven’t seen or heard it already. If you didn’t know Kabu, and didn’t have history with him.
It was a thread of restraint drawn tight, the quiet effort of someone prepared to stop if you asked him to.
And that made your chest ache.
He had warned you that, once pushed far enough, he might not be able to stop.
Yet here, now—despite the touching, the kissing, the way your bodies moved together, the wanting—the man beneath you was gathering every ounce of discipline and energy he had left, enduring it all, waiting for your word. Preparing to stop everything if that was what you wished.
Your arms trembled slightly as you adjusted your weight, the position demanding more strength than you’d anticipated. As you shifted, your hot, wet, sex pressed against his tip purely by accident. Just a fleeting touch, barely there.
And the response was immediate.
A sharp intake of breath. A sound torn free before he could catch it.
Your own breath stuttered in answer, heat flaring low in your belly as the reality of how close you were finally settled in.
Kabu closed his eyes for a heartbeat, then opened them again, steadying himself with visible effort. He didn’t move to guide you. Didn’t urge you forward.
He waited.
And you realized then that this was the line. You could pull back now, and he would not falter in his care for you. You knew that as surely as you knew your own name.
But you didn’t want to.
Your hands steadied.
Your breath slowed.
And with one last look into his eyes — warm, unwavering, full of trust — you made your choice.
You lowered yourself onto him, moaning at the feeling.
And Kabu met you there, a quiet sound leaving him as his restraint finally gave way—not in loss, but in surrender—the moment sealing itself between you as something neither of you would ever mistake for anything but deliberate.
You set the pace slowly at first, wanting to savor the feeling rather than rush it. Every movement drew a response from him. A breath, a sound, the way his hands came firmly to your hips, thumbs pressing into warm skin as if grounding himself. He let you lead, following your rhythm without overtaking it.
His grip shifted now and then, sliding higher to your chest for a brief, indulgent squeeze before returning to your waist, steady and present. The sounds he made, low and restrained, fed your confidence.
And without meaning to, your pace began to quicken.
And Kabu noticed.
You felt it in the way his hands tightened, the way his breath grew heavier as he fought to hold himself back.
When you leaned down to kiss him, still moving against him, his response changed—no longer just following, but meeting you, his hips matching your motion with careful intent. The sensation built steadily, heat curling tighter inside you—
—and then stalled.
You faltered, breaking the kiss as fatigue caught up to you, the rhythm slipping just slightly out of sync. The change was subtle. A hesitation, a shift in your breathing, but Kabu felt it instantly.
His hands tightened at your hips, not to push, but to steady you, his gaze lifting to your face through the haze of his own pleasure. Concern cut through the intensity in his eyes even before you spoke.
“Kabu…” you panted, eyes squinting shut as you tried to push through. “I...I can’t—”
He understood immediately.
In one smooth motion he shifted, sitting up and bracing himself with one hand while the other wrapped firmly around you, anchoring you.
The change was instant. The difference so subtle, but sharp, it drew a startled sound from you, louder than you’d meant it to be.
Kabu froze for half a second, and then the restraint you’d been testing finally cracked.
He pulled you closer, his mouth finding yours with renewed urgency, before lowing to capture your breast once more. The combination of closeness and sensation was overwhelming. Your voice rose without restraint now, the sound spilling freely as the moment surged forward.
That was all it took.
With a rough sound torn from his chest, Kabu moved decisively, turning you beneath him in one fluid motion, pinning you to the bed with a heat and intensity that left no doubt his patience had finally reached its limit, and thrusted into you with abandon.
The closeness, the heat, the way your bodies fit together without hesitation—it all blurred into sensation, thought dissolving as you clung to him, arms sliding around his neck, legs locking instinctively at his waist as you pulled him closer. There was no space between you now. No holding back.
Your body tightened suddenly, breath breaking apart as you came again for the second time that night—stronger this time, sharper, impossible to contain. Your voice rose, wanton and unguarded, spilling into the quiet of the room as sensation overtook everything else, holding onto him as your body shuddered. The release crested and rolled through you in waves that left you trembling.
And Kabu felt it all.
The way you cried out open and honest, exactly as he’d asked. The way your body shook beneath him, drawing him in, leaving him no room to hold himself back any longer. He pressed closer, breath stuttering, giving himself into the pleasure completely as your release pulled him over the edge with you.
His thrusts quickened before faltering, and he rammed himself deep inside you one last time, a sound tearing from his chest, rough and unrestrained.
He buried his face against your neck as he moved again, slipping in and out of you, slow and languid, riding his release. He held you there as if grounding himself, the moment breaking between you in shared intensity.
Your shared breathing filled the air for a moment as Kabu lingered over you, weight careful, attentive, his breath still uneven. Slowly, he eased out of you, a low sound leaving him as he did—a movement that drew a soft, involuntary response from you—before he rolled onto his side beside you.
After a beat, he shifted again, drawing you closer. You followed without thinking, curling into his warmth, fitting against him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
For a few heartbeats, neither of you moved. You simply laid there, sharing the stillness, the closeness, content to exist together in the aftermath.
The room felt hushed now, the intensity ebbing into something warm and heavy as your body continued to hum, the quiet settling gently around you both.
Sleep came quickly after that. The exhaustion from your second release settled deep in your bones, eyelids growing heavy as your breathing slowed. You barely registered it when Kabu eased away, only a distant awareness of cooler air where his warmth had been.
You waited, half-dreaming.
The soft sound of running water reached you faintly, then faded.
Moments later, Kabu returned, movements quiet and considerate as he helped you settle again, gentle and unhurried. He murmured something low and reassuring, hands careful as he made sure you were comfortable.
You sighed in content as he wiped you down with slow, gentle rubs.
When he was finished, he tucked you in properly: blanket drawn up, pillow adjusted beneath your head. Then, he slipped back in beside you under the covers, close once more, an arm settling around you as if it had always belonged there, and pressed a kiss softly to your temple.
You turned into him with a sleepy sigh, comforted, safe— and before you could think to say anything at all, sleep claimed you both, wrapped in warmth, shared breath, and the quiet certainty of what you’d chosen together.
NSFW/SMUT/LEMON HAS ENDED! IT'S SAFE NOW
You woke slowly, wrapped in warmth and unfamiliar quiet.
For a moment, you thought you were back in your own hotel room. The bed felt different, though—the sheets softer somehow, the air carrying a scent that didn’t belong to you. As you stretched, that scent grew clearer, and last night’s events came rushing in all at once.
You jolted upright, the covers slipping dangerously low before you scrambled to pull them back up around yourself. Your heart thudded—not in panic, but in sudden, vivid awareness. The memories came back in fragments: the touching, the kissing, the pleasure, the way sleep had claimed you without ceremony.
Looking up, you spotted Kabu at the small table by the window, already dressed in his familiar gym uniform except he also wore a maroon sweater. Afternoon light filtered in around him, pale and soft against the snow-bright world outside. A cup of tea steamed gently at his side, a book open in his hands, and glasses perched low on his nose as he read.
He glanced up at the sound of you moving. A smile curved his mouth immediately, unguarded and warm. He slid his glasses off and closed the book, setting it aside before turning fully toward you.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” you replied, voice still rough with sleep, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Though I guess it’s well past morning, huh? Probably missed breakfast.”
“Yes,” he replied easily. “It’s well past that.”
You hesitated. “At least you went, right?”
Kabu shook his head. “I stayed,” he said simply. “I didn’t want you to wake alone.”
The words landed heavier than you expected, warmth blooming low in your chest. Guilt followed close behind.
“Kabu…you didn’t have to skip breakfast because of me. You need your energy for your training.”
“It was my choice,” he said gently, unmistakably firm about it. “Besides—” He gestured towards the mini fridge. “There’s still ice cream.”
That caught your attention.
“I thought,” he continued, “we could share it when you woke.”
You smiled despite yourself, touched more than you could quite express. You slipped out of bed to dress while he moved quietly to retrieve the spoon he’d washed earlier, returning with it in hand as though this, too, were part of some well-considered routine. When you joined him again, the room felt settled—comfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the furnishings.
You sat close together on at the table knees brushing, sharing the ice cream one spoonful at a time. Kabu had taken it upon himself to hold the container, feeding you with an ease that felt strangely domestic—unhurried, attentive, as though this, too, were something he took seriously.
He watched you take a bite, then spoke, voice calm but deliberate.
“There is something I would like to make clear,” he said.
You blinked with your mouth full, surprised.
“Oh?”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You look startled.”
“I guess I didn’t expect…this,” you admitted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, the spoon, the quiet room.
He hummed softly, as if that confirmed something for him. “That’s understandable.”
He waited until you swallowed before continuing.
“I don’t engage in casual relationships,” he said plainly. “One-night arrangements have never appealed to me. And I suspected—even before last night—that they did not appeal to you either.”
You flushed faintly, but you didn’t argue. “They don’t,” you said. “I had a few flings when I was younger, but I didn’t think much about it. But, not now. And definitely not with you.”
That earned you a look — warm, steady, approving.
“Good,” he said simply. “Then we understand one another.”
He offered you another spoonful, then took one himself before speaking again.
“If we are going to be together,” Kabu continued, “I am in it for the long term.”
Your heart stuttered as you slightly choked on the ice cream. Enough that your breath caught, but not enough to throw you into a full blown coughing fit.
“I don’t enter relationships lightly,” he went on. “And I would not do so with you unless I intended to see it through.”
You nodded, the certainty in his words settling something deep in your chest. “I feel the same.”
He regarded you for a moment longer, then said quietly, “I care for you deeply.”
The words landed softly, but they stayed. You stared at him for a heartbeat too long, warmth blooming behind your eyes before you managed to speak.
“I…care for you deeply, too, Kabu.”
He smiled, and resumed feeding you ice cream as if this were simply the natural continuation of the moment.
“There are other things you should know,” he added, taking another spoonful for himself.
You laughed softly. “I figured there’d be a list.”
“Boundaries,” he corrected, gently. “Not restrictions.”
You sobered, listening.
“As much as I love you,” he said quietly, the words spoken with calm certainty, “my gym comes first. That will not change. It does not lessen what you mean to me—but if there is ever conflict between my duties and my personal desires, I must choose my responsibilities.”
For a moment, you could only stare at him. The words echoed, warmth blooming in your chest as the reality of them settled in.
He loves you.
The admission left you a little breathless—not because you hadn’t hoped, but because hearing it spoken so plainly, so sincerely, felt grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.
You smiled, reaching for his hand. “I wouldn’t want you to choose otherwise,” you said, voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “Your gym is part of who you are. I’d never ask you to give that up.”
Relief softened his expression, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if sealing the understanding between you.
“Good.”
He shifted slightly, more at ease now. “I also expect honesty. If something troubles you, I want you to tell me. I cannot correct what I do not know.”
You smiled. “I can do that.”
“There will be disagreements,” he added, scraping the spoon along the side of the container. “Misunderstandings, as well. That is natural. But I believe most things can be resolved through conversation. A healthy relationship should be resilient.”
“And dates?” you asked lightly, before accepting the next spoonful he offered.
His brow lifted. “Ah.”
He considered for a moment. “
At least twice a week,” he said. “Proper ones.”
He paused, taking a bite of the ice cream, and then added, as if it were simply common sense.
“And if we disagree—if something goes unresolved—then a date is guaranteed. Conversation is easier when both people remember why they chose one another.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “How could I say no to that?”
He then went on and mentioned then that his role would take him across Galar at times—inspections, League matters, training—and that while he would welcome your company, he would never expect it.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to follow me,” he said. “Nor do I want you to feel bound here.”
That made you pause.
“You mean…my journey.”
He nodded, lifting the container so that he could scrape at the bottom. “You are still growing. Exploring. And as a Gym Leader, I do not claim to know everything.”
He paused to set the container down, his expression softening slightly. “I am still learning myself. So, as a fellow Pokémon Trainer, I would never ask you to stop. I said it before, and I will say it again—I will never take away your freedom to choose.”
Your chest tightened.
“I am not a young man,” he said, not unkindly. “I am content where I am. If our time together means distance at times, then so be it. I can endure that.” He studied you for a moment, expression thoughtful, honest.
“But do not mistake that for disinterest,” he added quietly. “I am still very much aware of what we shared last night. I would not have crossed that line with you if it did not matter to me.”
He paused, his cheeks coloring faintly before he cleared his throat.
“I only ask that you come back to me, when you can, as you have now,” he said, voice a touch softer now, “so that we may…ah...continue what we began.”
You felt warmth bloom across your cheeks as you thought about last night. You smiled anyway, unable, and unwilling, to hide it as you leaned into his shoulder.
“I think I can manage that,” you said softly.
A low, pleased sound escaped him at that, and he fed you the last spoonful before setting the container aside. His arm came around you then, drawing you close as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
You tipped your head up, closing the small distance between you.
The kiss was gentle and unhurried, and you felt him smile against your mouth when he caught the faint sweetness of the ice cream, lingering just enough to make the moment feel quietly perfect.