Chapter Text
"Fucking perfect," Guzma muttered as the snow blew down in a horizontal blur. A strong gust of wind knocked his hood right off his head, allowing the snow to hit him directly. He didn't really believe in things like karma, but if something like that actually did exist, he was experiencing it now.
A string of curses flew out of his mouth as he roughly tugged the hood of his jacket over his head once again before stuffing his cold hands securely in his pockets. Snow battered his face but all he could do was bow his head until his chin touched his chest and keep walking. The solid crunch of his shoes against the snow covered ground filled his ears. His feet felt like they were beginning to freeze; it didn't help that with each step he took his feet would sink into the snow until reached past his ankles.
It was only yesterday that the sky had been picture perfect, like something he'd see on one of those post cards with 'Alola!' written in the corner. Sure it had been chilly, but it was nothing like this. Now, he couldn't see even a hint of blue sky and his cheeks were stinging from the cold.
'Fucking snow,' Guzma thought, stomping his feet with each step. "Wish it'd just fuck off."
He had never been a fan of snow. The mere mention of the word made him want to grab a flamethrower. He hated how cold his toes got, how wet it made his clothes, and really- it was dangerous as hell. He lost count of how many times he had slipped on ice, not to mention his damn nose was frozen and felt like it was going to fall off any second.
His craved Tapu Cocoa. Not that he could actually afford any.
He was dirt poor at the moment, having spent the last of his money on food for his Pokemon yesterday. It didn't help that people avoided him like the fucking plague; they'd catch a glimpse of him and nearly trip over themselves in an effort to get away. Part of him wanted to run after a few and tackle them - force them to battle with him. But he knew, in the very back of his head, he shouldn't. It was his fault people feared him, and he wouldn't be gaining any brownie points by attacking people. Any money he saved from battles against the few trainers that weren't scared shitless of him were put aside for food for both him and his Pokemon.
Any time he won, Guzma received both the prize money and a look of contempt. He didn't give a flying fuck what they thought of him, but he'd be damned if he let his Pokemon starve. There were no berries growing this time of year, and with how cold it's gotten, fewer trainers were seen outside. With this blizzard, he'd be surprised if he saw anyone at all.
He cursed himself for not finding a Pokemon center to sleep in last night. He'd been avoiding going near one just for the day because going there meant people and people meant an endless night of glares and rude remarks.
"The fuck did you say!?" he had yelled the day before. If they wanted to say something they could say it louder, give him a reason to beat them down. A sudden movement by the man's legs caught his attention, and Guzma found himself staring at the face of a frightened child. His outburst had scared the kid, and now the little boy was shaking behind the legs of his father.
For a split second he saw himself - scared, shaking, and hiding from his fathers booming voice - and without another word, he left.
So last night, instead of heading to a Pokemon center, he'd wandered aimlessly, lost in thought while going by houses with smoke coming out the chimney and Christmas lights hung on trees. He remembered the tree in his living room and how his mother always forced him to help decorate it. He'd had grumbled and protested, but secretly he enjoyed putting up ornaments. He'd even had two favorite ones - one shaped like a Wimpod and the other shaped like a Ariados. He remembered baking bug Pokemon shaped gingerbread cookies. He remembered trying to wrap the new golf club he and his mother got for his father. He also remembered yelling, his favorite ornaments lying broken on the floor, and presents being stomped on.
Before Guzma knew it, it had gotten dark out. He had been wandering around all day, so, ignoring his cold arms, he plopped down on a nearby bench and attempted to fall asleep.
Now here he was, lost in a sea of fucking snow as the sky grew darker. For all he knew , he could've been walking in circles the whole time. There was no way of knowing which direction to go; he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him with all the white that swirled around him.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been waking but already it was dark. He was barely able to continue pressing forward. His muscles were cramped from the cold and his feet were beginning to hurt.
Guzma rubbed his exposed arms before squinting his eyes and trying to see through the wall of falling snow. His eyes widened and he rubbed them just to make sure he wasn't imagining the image.
He wasn't. There was a house not too far from where he stood, light pouring out from a few windows. He knew without a doubt whoever lived there wouldn't welcome him inside with open arms, but there was a porch with a sloping ceiling that could shield him from the snow and that was enough of an invitation for him.
He was exhausted, but with the little bit of energy he had left, Guzma quickened his pace toward his temporary shelter. As he got closer, his vision was becoming blurry and darkness started to cloud his eyes.
His legs became wobbly as he reached the porch, and for a brief desperate moment, he wondered if he could knock on the front door and demand a blanket. The thought was short lived however, as his body finally gave way.
"S'not my day," he slurred, knees finally buckling. The last thing he saw was the floor coming up to meet him.
o~O~o
"I thought I'd never finish," you grumbled, pulling out your last article of clothing from the box.
Moving sounded fun -a new area, new home, hopefully some new friends- but actually moving had been absolute hell. The boxes were endless! You didn't even remember having so much stuff.
You had moved in a few days ago and had been up day and night opening boxes, putting things away and decorating. You're Pokemon had been happy to help, which was sweet, but their painting skills weren't exactly the best. A+ for effort though.
Truthfully, you wouldn't have been able to afford the house on your own. When your grandmother had passed, she had left you a fair amount of money. After taking care of the funeral expenses you wasted no time in packing up everything and moving far far away. Living in Kanto wasn't horrible, but you had always dreamed of moving to Alola, and far away from your father. You're grandmother had always been supportive of you, had rooted for you went you traveled with your Pokemon, had encouraged you when you thought you'd never leave Kanto. Now here you were, and you wished you could thank her a thousand times over.
Alola was absolutely beautiful, and it would be even more beautiful once the snow melted. Sure it was pretty to look at, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy a good snowball fight, but you were not a fan of the cold.
Also, what was it about the cold weather that made you want to just curl up in bed and sleep the day away?
You hadn't really met any of the locals, but then again you doubted you'd see anyone out and about in this weather. Besides the movers and a few people you saw at the store when you went out, you'd only seen one other person.
You had been in the guest room laying out a blanket on the bed because who knew? Maybe a friend from Kanto would want to come visit. A part of you doubted it though, you hadn't really talked to your old friends in a while. They seemed to be stopping communication with you slowly but surely. Was it one of those out of sight out of mind things? The thought hurt your feelings but then again, you might be overreacting.
You had gone into the bathroom to handle business when you heard noise coming from your bedroom. Your first thought had been that it was one of your Pokemon, but when you remembered they were in their Poké Balls, cold sweat began forming on your forehead and your heart began beating painfully in your chest.
In a moment of sheer panic, you grabbed the closest thing to you. Never mind that you had Pokemon, you were in fight or flight mode and couldn't think straight. You stepped out of the bathroom silently, the plunger firmly gripped in your hands, and ready to jab the handle in the intruders eyes if need be.
Turning the handle to your room slowly, you pushed open the door to reveal what had to be the strangest thing you'd ever seen. What looked to be a trainer, no older than eleven was in your bed. And was she..
Was she sniffing your pillow?
"Eh hem," you finally said after a moment. The trainer immediately got up, greeted you and took her leave; not even offering an explanation. You hoped not everyone around here was like that.
'This is why I triple check to make sure I locked the door,' you thought, coming back to the present. You yawned, stretching your arms above your head. You'd most likely sleep like a baby tonight.
Glancing at your bed longingly, you grabbed your coat and walked out of your room and down the stairs. It was getting late and you'd have to feed both you and your Pokemon soon. Thankfully you had bought a few things the day before, it'd suck to have to go out in this weather.
Passing the living room, you resisted the urge to break out in a happy dance once again when you saw your fireplace. Never did you think you'd have an actual fireplace and you couldn't help but to stop and admire it for a few moments every time you passed it.
Walking toward the small closet by the front door, you stopped suddenly, hearing the unmistakable sound of loud footsteps on the porch. Was it the girl again? A Pokémon? A murderer?
This time you remembered your Pokemon and reached into the pocket of your pants to grab a Poké Ball. Usually you'd had have them all out to relax around your home, but you had been pondering going out to get more cups -because most of your nicest glass ones broke when moving- if the snow had stopped.
Inching your way toward the door, you nearly had a heart attack when you heard a loud thud come from outside. Bracing yourself, you unlocked the door and swung the door open only to see..
Nothing.
Confused, you looked left and right before looking down after wondering about the thud you heard.
A scream was stuck in your throat as you looked at what could only be a dead body lying on your front porch. You stared in absolute horror and then nearly broke down in happy tears once you saw his body rising and falling slightly with each breath.
"Thank goodness," you gasped.
Hesitantly, you bent down and tried to turn him over as gently as you could. His clothes are soaking wet and freezing; you're not too surprised when he doesn't wake as you move him. It's harder than you thought it'd be, he's larger then you had thought he was, but you soon managed to get him on his back.
You took a brief moment to look at him. His tousled white hair was as wet as his clothes and he was as pale as the snow sticking to his shoes. Judging from the dark rings around his eyes, he needed about a weeks worth of sleep.
You didn't know who he was, he could be a raging lunatic for all you know - but whoever he was, you couldn't leave him outside to freeze to death.
o~O~o
He was uncomfortable. That was his first thought. It was warm, which was a hell of a lot better than being cold as fuck, but his clothes were wet and sticking to him uncomfortably.
Despite this, Guzma was very reluctant to open his eyes. He was laying on something comfy, he was warm, and despite the wetness he felt like he could fall right back to sleep.
Maybe this was a dream, because last he checked he was freezing to death on someone's front porch, and if this was a dream.. well he sure as hell didn't want to open his eyes and risk waking up.
He was content to just lay there with his eyes firmly closed for a while longer until he felt something soft rubbing his head. Whoever, or whatever was rubbing the top of his hair seemed to be trying to do it gently, but the shock of someone actually touching him made him open his eyes - his thoughts of this being a dream firmly flying out the window.
What he saw shocked him more than the fact that this wasn't a dream. A woman was leaning over him, a small towel in her hands as she tried to dry his wet hair.
The word angel flew around in his brain for just a moment as he stared slack jawed at you. But that couldn't be possible, someone like him wouldn't be able to meet a angel that's for sure.
You might of not been an angel but you sure as hell looked like one to him. You looked peaceful, angelic , beautiful.
If he was any other man maybe he might of said that aloud. Maybe he might've said some cheesy romantic line, but he wasn't that man. Instead, the first thing that flew out of his mouth was:
"Who the hell are you?"