Morning Mist // hunter x hunter fanfiction, pkmn au

title: morning mist
fandom: hunter x hunter
characters: pokkle/ponzu
notes: lmoa pkmn au

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Her arrival is preceded by no reason or rhyme; he wakes up one Sunday morning to be greeted by the sight of two large trucks and multiple machamps huddled around the deserted old house next door, moving back and forth and in and out, effortlessly lugging around cardboard boxes and heavy furniture upon their four bulky arms, creating an organized sort of chaos just outside the view of his bedroom window.

He makes his way quickly downstairs, his hair a mess and his eyes still heavy and lidded from sleep. Outside, it’s still early, and the sunlight filters in through the spotless window and into the busy kitchen; from somewhere, he hears the sound of Einar, his tail already busy with cleaning even at this time of day. Pokkle flinches uncomfortably at the bright light trapped between his eyelashes, trying hard to suppress the compulsion to rub at them with his fingers. “What’s going on?”

His mother doesn’t turn away from the stove. “We have a new neighbor,” she says, stirring the scrambled eggs carefully with a wooden spatula. The smell that wafts from the heated pan is positively mouthwatering; Pokkle swallows and presses his mouth shut, mustering as much defiance as a ten-year-old boy possibly could when confronted with his mother’s cooking. “They’ve just about finished packing,” his mother continues. “They have a daughter who’s about your age, you know. Why don’t you go and say hi to her, Pokkle?”

“Okay,” Pokkle says. He’d wished that his new friend would be another boy — but, well, he can’t exactly complain, can he? There’s barely anybody for him to play with in this tiny port town. The other boys who are here are mostly either obnoxious or too old, anyway, never even letting him take a peek at their pokémon — so it’s not like he can afford to not keep an open mind about the prospects of having a friend who also, you know, happens to be a girl.

“After you shower and eat breakfast,” says his mother, very sternly, derailing his train of thought and bringing him back to the kitchen, the sizzling scrambled eggs still cooking on the pan. “What would they say if they saw you going out looking like that, hmm?” She taps her foot sharply against the floor, and Pokkle feels himself tensing up before he could stop himself.

“Okay, mom,” he replies, with a roll of his eyes, and then makes his dutiful way to the bathroom.

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The girl’s mother lets him inside the house with a friendly nod, leading him away from the machamps still busily carrying one heavy object after and into the living room. “Sorry it’s still such a mess,” the woman says, smile apologetic, and Pokkle just nods understandingly because that’s what his mother taught him to be.

The woman excuses herself politely to tend to the machamps, and Pokkle takes a seat on the couch propped up at one corner as he waits for the girl to come down. The wall is still a bland, faded beige; the color reminds him of his father, somehow, and he swallows down the urge to be rude and purse his mouth up in distaste. His attention is quickly diverted when he hears the sound of footsteps, though; Pokkle flicks his eyes away from the wall and to the source of the noise, to the set of stairs and the green-haired girl descending down from it.

“Hi,” he greets, managing his brightest smile. He’s wearing his favorite hat, today; first impressions last forever, after all, and he doesn’t intend to disappoint.

“Hi,” says the girl. Her smile is smaller, thinner, a minute upturn of her mouth — maybe she’s a shy one, Pokkle thinks, beaming all the harder to compensate.

“I’m Pokkle!” He outstretches a hand for her to shake. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ponzu.” Her grip is neither firm nor loose; her fingers are small and soft and so very unlike a boy’s, and Pokkle isn’t quite sure of what to make of this information, but she lets go of his hand quickly, before he can properly ruminate on it. “Nice to meet you,” she says, tone polite and proper like his mother always is. He wonders if all girls are like that.

“Nice to meet you, Ponzu,” he says, cheerfully; their names kind of match, too, he realizes, and the syllables roll out somewhat awkwardly out of his mouth, but he doesn’t let that deter him. “I hope we can be good friends!”

Ponzu nods, a little shyly, blinking her bright green eyes at him. “Yeah,” she replies, “me too.”

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“So, where did you come from?” he asks off-handedly, the first time she visits his house. In the kitchen, his mother bakes welcoming cookies, and in the living room, their fathers sit and exchange boring pleasantries about the weather, work and whatever works; the children are splayed out on the rug, a rerun of an animated film he’s seen five times already playing on television.

Ponzu doesn’t look up from the book she’s reading — thick, hardcover, pages glossy and imprinted with words and pictures (but mostly words) about various bug-type pokémon from faraway lands. “Another region,” she says, thumbing absently through the pages as if she’d read the book twice already. She pauses on a page brandishing the image of a leafy pokémon he’s never seen before — leavanny, the caption proclaims, in crisp black and white. “Dentora, to be exact.”

“Huh,” he says, trying to recall its location; he thinks he might’ve heard that place mentioned in a news article once, somewhere. “That’s pretty far away. Why’d you move?”

“Something to do with my father’s job.” Her voice is dismissive. “He got transferred to work at a city in this region, so we decided to move here to make things easier.”

“Oh,” he says, deciding not to indulge in his curiosity and ask her further about her father. “What’s it like, in Dentora? I’ve never really been anywhere outside of Dolle before!”

“It’s pretty good,” Ponzu remarks. “Awfully cold sometimes, though; I like it better here, near the sea.”

Pokkle begs to differ; he’d always hated the sea, always disliked the way the waves push forward and back in continuous movement, almost threatening to rise up and swallow the whole town whole, drowning him in its placidity, in its suffocating irregularity, its persistent unwillingness to change closing in around him like tall concrete walls, trapping him inside.

“Yeah,” he says instead, smiling thinly. “I guess that’s true.”

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“Ooh,” Pokkle mouths in awe at the yellow, three-headed insect flying before him, “what kind of pokémon is that? I’ve never seen one of those before!”

“A combee,” says Ponzu. She rolls the small, white-and-red pokéball in her hand idly, her back leaned against the bark of a sturdy tree. They’re hanging around at the park, talking about pokémon and the piling homework and whatever works; Pokkle’s still getting used to the jeers and mocking looks that the other boys keep giving him, but Ponzu is a kind girl — if she doesn’t mind, then he doesn’t either, so he doesn’t bring it up.

“Cool,” he says. “It looks rare. Where’d you get it?” She’s not twelve, yet; not old enough for her to officially go out and actually catch a pokémon for herself, so she must’ve gotten it from someone, just like himself.

“It’s a female, too — those are especially hard to come by, you know,” she elaborates, her smile a little smug despite herself. “I got her as an egg, from a research center back at my old hometown. The owner didn’t want to keep it, so I agreed to take care of the egg for him. My mother didn’t agree much about it, though,” she pauses to chuckle, “but she relented eventually. Her name’s Astrid, by the way.”

“You look like you’ve taken care of her well,” Pokkle comments, smiling at the pokémon’s elaborate gestures in the air. “You’ve never seen my pokémon, have you? I brought him with me today.”

Ponzu nods. “Sure.”

Pokkle fishes quickly inside a pocket of his backpack for a pokéball; he picks the object up, pressing the small button in the middle. The green grass around them lights up with a bright red flash as the pokéball unlocks, fading away to reveal a small, gray mammal standing proud in front of them, bushy tail poised up as if ready to strike.

“A minccino!” Ponzu exclaims, smiling enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see one in real life!”

Pokkle smiles at her loud reaction; not many people seem to be impressed with Einar, knowing the fact that his prized pokémon also happen to be a popular choice for coordinators and little girls to own. Then again, Ponzu is a girl, too. “His name’s Einar,” he says. “I’ve had him since forever. My mother gave him to me — well, actually, she got him from a pokémon breeder because she wanted some extra help with cleaning up, but I had other plans.” He chuckles lightheartedly before he continues, one fist already pumped up in punctuation, “I’m gonna train and then evolve him ‘till he’s the strongest cinccino in the world.”

Ponzu looks up at him, something that he can’t quite pinpoint flashing in her round, grass-green eyes. “You want to be a pokémon trainer?”

“Ah, um,” he begins, feeling a strange discomfort being pinned down under her gaze, before he remembers that he’s a boy and he’s not supposed to feel the slightest bit intimidated by anyone, especially not if he’s going to become, like, the bestest trainer ever. “Yeah.” He nods, chest puffed in confidence. “Once I hit twelve, I’m gonna go on a journey.”

“Huh,” she replies, petting an unwilling Einar absently, her eyes staring at the grass like she’s contemplating something. Ponzu is fond of doing that, he’s noticed; always deep in thought, always looking like she’s ruminating over a question that has no answer, a puzzle that can’t be solved. An eleven-year-old like her should be more carefree, really. “So do I.”

His ears perk up in interest, his absent train of thought derailed. “Really? You want to be a pokémon trainer, too?”

Ponzu nods, but he manages to catch the slight shift in her expression. “Yeah. I do.”

“That’s great!” He grins broadly at her. “How come you’ve never told me, Ponzu? Once we’re old enough, we could finally get out of Dolle Town and explore the world together!”

He watches a thin smile spreading across her face. Astrid flutters close by, before finally perching herself atop Ponzu’s round hat. It’s a comical sight, but the look on her face is anything but, and it’s then that he realizes that his carefree attitude isn’t really helping much in trying to improve her mood. Pokkle’s grin collapses, and he settles down on the grass, knees crossed, all of a sudden unsure of what to say.  

“I’ve always wanted to,” she admits, then, tilting her head to look at him. “I want to be something.”

“I want to be something, too,” he says, and then continues, “You should be more sure of yourself, Ponzu. You’re a smart girl; I know you can be a great trainer. Well, not as great as me, but…” he lets his voice trail off, ending the sentence with a smile. “… just, don’t beat yourself up so much, okay?”

“I’ll try,” replies Ponzu.

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“You seem to like bug-type pokémon the most,” says Pokkle, peering over the picture encyclopedia she’s reading. “Why is that?”

“I think they’re interesting,” replies Ponzu, inching away so that they’re just slightly further apart. The sunlight reflects against the color of her hair, the cool shade of her eyes; Pokkle blinks and he tells himself it’s just the light trapped between his eyelashes again. “I’ve always taken a shine in them, ever since I was a child.”

He laughs. “Well, combees are cute, but most girls I know probably wouldn’t share your opinion.” Not that he knows much about girls in the first place, anyway; other than that they’re unpredictable and complicated and prone to hiding things when they shouldn’t. Ponzu is honest most of the time, but sometimes he can’t help but suspect otherwise. “I’m just saying…”

“I don’t care.” The girl scrunches up her nose in distaste. “Besides, you’ve got a minccino. You don’t really have a right to tease me about liking bugs.”

“You’ve got a point.” Pokkle rubs the back of his neck. “I still think you need some more type variety if you want to succeed, though. Unless you’re aiming to be a gym leader, that is.”

“Well, of course! Just because I have an affinity for bugs doesn’t mean I have to limit myself to just that type. Now,” and she pauses, looking impressive, “I think a vileplume would suit me just fine.”

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“Once I’m a fully-fledged trainer, I’m going to teach you a lot of cool attacks,” he says, smiling brightly at Einar. “Like Hyper Beam! Or, or… Focus Punch, yeah!”

“Cinccino can’t learn either of those attacks, dummy,” Ponzu comments from where she’s sitting, flipping a page of the thick book propped up on her lap. She’s been borrowing more books from the library, these days. 

“Their evolved forms are able to re-learn a wide variety of multi-hit moves through the use of heart scales, though,” she resumes. “You should try gearing Einar to accommodate for his natural talents. That’s what makes a good trainer, after all.”

“What a database,” Pokkle remarks huffily.

“This is important information,” she defends, with a tired sigh. “Learning is crucial for success. Just having aspirations isn’t enough.”

“I don’t like books.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “They’re stuffy and boring and, just — why do you like them so much, anyway?”

Ponzu turns to look at him, gaze piercing. “Do you want to be a good trainer or not?”

“Y-yeah.” He nods, feeling strangely intimidated by her for the second time since they’ve met. Beside him, Einar whimpers as if he understands.

(The next day, Ponzu drags him to the library to go and stuff himself full with thick books full of complicated subjects; but despite the dreariness of the library and the yawn-inducing amount of text she forces him to study with her, Pokkle ends up finding the trip a much better experience than he’d anticipated it to be. He doesn’t know why, and he’d much rather keep it that way, too.)

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“When is your birthday?” he asks, off-hand, when they’re just sitting around at the park. Above them, the sky is a dull bluish-gray, just like always; will it rain soon, he wonders, absently, even though it barely ever rains in Dolle. Pokkle leans his back against the bark of the tree and stares frowningly at the wispy clouds drifting by, trying to trace abstract shapes in them with his fingers.

He wonders how it’d feel like to watch the clouds from the wetlands of Numere, from the top of the Tower of Trickery, from the shady depths of the Visca Forest, with dirt underneath his nails and the feeling of victory swelling up his chest. He does a lot of wondering, nowadays, as he waits for the days to pass by, for his life to truly begin. Does Ponzu do the same? Nah; she’ll probably just drown herself in more encyclopedias to pass the time.

“May third,” Ponzu replies, tilting her head so that they’re eye-to-eye. “When’s yours?”

“March fourteenth.”

She pauses, for a moment. “Are you going to wait for me?”

“Only once,” he says after some deliberation.

Ponzu quirks an eyebrow, looking perplexed for once. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is,” he says with a smirk. “If we’re going to start our journey for the league at the same time, won’t that make us rivals?”

“I guess so …” she says, her voice lacking the surprised tone he’d somehow expected. Her mouth opens, for a second, like she’s planning to finish her sentence, but in the end, she doesn’t.

Pokkle decides not to press on. “Well, anyway, don’t worry! I’ll wait for you. A journey’s no fun if you don’t have a friend to accompany you, right?”

“It’s true,” she says, sounding amused for some reason, and then they return to silence, return to counting for the days before the beginning.

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Pokkle’s birthday is celebrated with a modest party. His mother bakes a small chocolate cake that tastes heavenly, his father leaves a note and some money to buy himself a toy or something, a few of his friends congratulate him on another passed year, and Ponzu greets him with an expectant smile when he opens the door to let her in.

“When are you going to take the test?”

“In a week’s time.” He takes another bite of his cake; Ponzu sticks a fork in hers, preferring to take her decadence in small, careful chunks. “I need some time to prepare first, of course.”

“I’ll help you,” she tells him. “Starting now. You need all the time you can get.”

“Lead the way,” he says, already mentally preparing himself for six agonizing days of physical and academic exercise, but not before finishing the last of his slice.

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In the end, he passes. His mother bakes congratulatory cookies and sheds away tears that he’s not quite sure is happy or sad, but Pokkle hugs her anyway, acceptance letter in hand. He gets his official trainer card, a license to finally start training Einar some actual attack moves. He gets a badge case and even a starter pack to help him out in the beginning: a bag of five pokéballs, five potions, an assorted amount of berries and even a soothe bell to tie around Einar’s neck. He has everything he needs to start his journey, but he’s promised to wait, and wait is what he will do.

“He looks cute in it,” comments Ponzu. The minccino looks very, very unimpressed. “Almost too cute, even. Are you sure you’re not signing him up for a cute contest?”

“No, but I might as well be,” he says. “And that’s the point: victory will just feel even better if the loser doesn’t expect to be defeated, right?”

“Right,” she says and nods, glancing at Astrid with a small smile tugging at her lips.

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Two months pass by in a breeze and soon enough, Ponzu comes home running with her acceptance letter grasped in one hand.

“Now you don’t have to wait for me anymore.” A pause, a smile spreading across her face. “…rival.”

“Rivals, huh,” he says and chuckles, almost hoping there could be a way for them to succeed in the league without having to go against each other. “Rival Pokkle. That sounds kind of nice.”

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“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

They take the first step to the first route together, and Pokkle feels as though a great burden has been lifted from his chest.

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a/n: this fic is literally all just buildup what the hell is wrong with me…? i need to write the continuation asap… goddamnit i feel so unsatisfied but i’m posting this anyway

i suck at writing long fics, god, my attention span is pathetic. i’ll probably end up getting someone to beta this or something if i don’t loath this even more by the time i get to it