Chapter Text
As they all expected, League traffic picks up astronomically after the lull. Raihan is so busy with training his kids and battling the new wave of hopefuls that he doesn’t have much time to dwell on things. In the months following the re-opening of the gyms, he doesn’t see much of Leon, who is far too busy with his campaign, and he doesn’t even catch a glimpse of the new Champion.
By the time he and Leon make time to see each other, it’s been months since the official announcement of Leon’s bid for the Chairman seat. Seeing him feels off, now that Leon isn’t bogged down by the same grueling workload that all the Leaders have. He looks fresh-faced and energetic, and Raihan jokes that the sight of his face makes him feel like a grouchy old man.
“Don’t count me out yet,” Leon laughs. “I’m on the administrative side now. It’s wild.”
Catching up with him is a boon, a wonderful reprieve from his hectic schedule. This new batch of trainers chasing the top are a force to be reckoned with, and the Raihan’s late nights are marked by sore muscles and a pitiful amount of sleep. Every gym leader has found themselves with a procession of challengers out the door, hundreds of hopefuls spurred by the desire to shoot their shot. It’s a rough season for everyone in the challenge.
Raihan hopes the new Champion can hold her ground, because they’re coming for her with everything they’ve got.
When the topic of her comes up, Leon’s voice quiets, serious like it rarely is:
“You know something? I think was relieved when she beat me.”
Raihan’s flat tends to be poorly stocked when his housekeeper doesn’t remind him to go shopping, but Leon makes himself at home on his couch anyway, clutching a cup of instant coffee in his hand. He’s dressed down, wearing a pair of old, worn-out League-branded sweatpants from three seasons ago and a t-shirt he’s slightly too muscled for. He looks good, relaxed; he looks like someone at a crossroads, someone thinking about what to do next.
Stirring milk into his coffee, Raihan hums. He says, “Don’t lie, I saw your face. You had the wibbly lip and everything.”
“Just for a second!” Leon laughs. It’s a big and bright sound, not at all changed.
Raihan has missed this, missed him.
Tonight’s the first night he’s had off in a while, and Leon had taken the chance to pop by and talk.
“We’re still friends, right? Don’t tell me the League was the only thing keeping us together,” Leon had quipped.
“Not on your life. You’re stuck with me.”
He eyes the easy slope of Leon’s shoulders, bare of his cape. He wonders where they’ll go from here, without Raihan dogging his heels for the title like he has been doing for so many years.
Next week, Leon plans to hold a fundraiser event in Wyndon. The whole thing is part of his campaign, in an effort to solidify his network and supporters for his rise to Chairman, a reality that continues to make Raihan’s head spin with the sheer absurdity of it every time he remembers.
“Tell me something,” he says, carefully watching Leon’s face.
“Yeah?”
“Think you can do it?” Raihan leans forward, setting his coffee on the table. “Really, really do it? Go higher than Rose, and make everything all good and better for the next generation like you keep saying?”
He doesn’t mean to sound so combative about it, but he has to know. He has to hear it from Leon’s mouth.
Leon grins, and that spark – that bright, consuming passion that’s been there for as long as Raihan can remember, the same one that won him the Championship and made him a legend – is still there, stronger than ever. For a moment, Raihan holds his breath and forgets everything, every doubt he's had, as Leon says:
“Just watch me.”
*
The sight of Leon in a suit is strange and disorienting. It’s as though someone put the wrong head on the wrong body, and Raihan feels himself squinting with comical intensity as he watches Leon take the stage. A small hand swats him on the side, nearly making him spill his gin and tonic, and Sonia’s irate face pops into view.
“Don’t be such a prat,” she whispers. She’s left the lab coat at home today, and he compliments her on her choice of pastel power suit.
“That suit is awful. I’m going to give him my stylist’s number so he’s not showing up in last season’s cut and untailored clothes,” he whispers back, aghast.
“I didn’t even notice.”
“Well, of course you wouldn’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean!”
“N-nothing.”
Leon makes his speech – an earnest, passionate flow of words straight from the heart. The overhead lights make a violet halo of his hair, which has been swept back for the occasion, and he looks – and even Raihan could admit – like a beacon of possibilities. He still doesn’t know how Leon is planning to pull any of this off, but watching him now, he feels himself getting swept up in it anyway.
Leon is where he wants to be. Leon is looking ahead and forging a wholly new and unpredictable path. He might not be Champion anymore, but he hasn’t changed one bit, and deep inside of himself, Raihan feels a burst of pride warming his chest.
The speech winds down, and Raihan joins the crowd in applause. Beside him, Sonia sniffs and starts wiping her eyes with a napkin.
“There, there,” he says, patting her on the shoulder. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”
“He was so dumb,” she says, nearly wailing. “God, growing up all I could do was make sure he d-didn’t eat glue or get hit by a car because his head was always in the clouds. But look at him now…he’s going to change the world.”
Awkwardly, he holds her as she tears up into his suit jacket, rubbing circles into her back. They stay like that for some time, Raihan watching Leon over her shoulder. He poses for photographs on stage and calls up significant members of the League to credit their contributions. He looks, Raihan thinks, indescribably mature. What had that happened?
Eventually, Sonia leaves to get herself a drink and Raihan finds himself scanning the room for a certain figure, the only other person he's interested in seeing right now. Scanning the sea of heads and expensive suits and gowns, he finds him at the far side of the room, short and silver-headed, clad in the same grey suit that Raihan had bought for him months ago. The strong, steady line of his shoulders makes Raihan breathe a sigh of relief – or comfort, perhaps. He’s walking toward him before he even realizes it.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Raihan says, sidling up next to him.
Kabu has a flute of half-finished champagne clutched between his fingers, and the two of them clink glasses in lieu of greeting.
“I’m interested to see what Leon would bring to the League,” says Kabu, shrugging. “It only makes sense that the Chairman be someone who’s been on the ground, so to speak.”
“What, you’re not rooting for another suit to take the spot? Some greasy business school type?”
Kabu snorts. “I never liked Rose.”
Raihan grins. “You’d be one the of few who didn’t, then.”
Most of them did, and the pervasive sense of shame and embarrassment that followed Rose showing his true face still lingers in the air, these days. No one wants to admit how much they bought into him and everything he promised. It’s going to be a stain on the reputation of Galar’s League for a long, long time.
“Thank you for the wind chimes, by the way,” says Kabu, flashing him a smile and deftly changing the subject. “Very charming.”
Raihan shrugs and says, “Thought of you when I saw it.”
“I’ve moved it to my balcony, outside the bedroom,” says Kabu. “Centiskorch likes to sleep under it.”
Raihan sighs dramatically, and waggles his eyebrows. “Ah, your bedroom. Good times, good times.”
Kabu huffs a laugh, shaking his head.
They watch as Leon’s assistants set up the stage for the Q & A, and the line up of financiers excited to put Leon’s ambitions and passion to the test. Leon looks ready to take them all on and come out on top.
“He looks happy,” remarks Kabu.
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?”
Raihan likes Kabu, enjoys his company. Most of all, he appreciates the man’s tone and way of speaking – gentle and wise, rarely patronizing. He wonders if it’s the years of experience that make a person that way, or if it was a quality Kabu has always had. It’s like dipping into a wellspring if tranquility, and odd thing to associate with the ever-burning man of fire.
“I feel good,” he says. The honesty of it is freeing – not too long ago, it would have been a lie. “I want to see where he goes.”
Kabu nods, bringing the glass to his lips. “And where you go, as well.”
Laughing, Raihan nods along. “Yeah, that too.”
He watches Kabu’s throat bob as he drinks, lets himself be pulled briefly into memories of his week in Motostoke. He can smell Kabu’s cologne, from here.
It’s a party, isn’t it?
He looks around the room before sliding in close to lean down and whisper into Kabu’s ear: “You know, there’s a loo down the hall…and I’m pretty sure it locks.”
Kabu blinks. Slowly, he cranes his head up to look Raihan straight in the eye, his brow raised and his mouth quirking into a small, private smile. With deliberate care, he places his flute of champagne onto the table and pulls away, turning on his heel and heading toward the hall, hands in his pockets, pace slow and easy.
Giddy, Raihan downs the rest of his drink in one go and takes off after him.