When he was asked to conceptualize space, as part of a Pearl Clan custom, he’d described it as a challenge-- a distance that was meant to be crossed. Something deep down said that traveling from one point to another shouldn’t have been an ordeal, that it was meant to be safe and swift, so perhaps that view came from the culture he’d forgotten. Here in Hisui, where the landscape was neither of those things and transit was accomplished on foot or via Pokemon, there was merit in putting such emphasis on the space itself.

Maintaining an area of safety was a practical exercise; it paid to be aware of one’s surroundings when anything could be lurking behind the next crag or bush.

What Ingo struggled with was the way it translated into the Pearl Clan’s culture. People who had purportedly known each other for decades left three Bidoofs’ gap between them, and even family members staunchly stood separate from one another. There were precious few exceptions, and that was often mandated by age, illness or injury.

Amongst the members of the Pearl Clan, there was a great deal to be said with distance instead of words, and there was little mistaking the purposeful length he was kept at: he was a stranger, a threat, unwelcome in the radius of safety the clansmen observed.

He tried not to take it personally; he was an unknown, after all, which was all but synonymous with risk. A blunt voice somewhere in him thought it was a bullshit coping mechanism on everyone’s parts, but mostly the Pearls’. He’d been here two seasons, walking on eggshells all that time, and without change; that wasn’t reasonable caution, it was paranoia.

Irida, at least, trusted him enough to stand within arm’s reach, and he deeply appreciated that. It didn’t matter that she was just one individual; he was grateful to be treated as a person instead of a raging alpha.

The first true deviation, however, arrived in the form of the Galaxy Team’s skyfaller.

Wayward Cave was treacherous without light. While traversable, he was loathe to lose the girl in the tunnel system, where she might run afoul any number of aggressive Pokemon, and so he’d asked her to stay close, to keep herself coupled. His intention had been to speak as he wove a path through the cavern, loud enough for her to follow, but deliberately curbing the volume he so easily fell into.

Instead, as they stepped away from the singular source of light, he heard her draw even, and a hand slipped into his.

Ingo felt himself flinch, and raised his free hand to his cap, trying to play it off. While he still resorted to his original plan, he spoke as a distraction for the both of them, and didn’t notice as it eased into vague reminiscing. Something about the left palm pressed against his right pierced deeper into his subconscious than he knew existed and, to his shame, he found himself frustrated that he had to focus elsewhere.

A phantom ache lingered long after Akari slipped her hand away, as though her touch had been a resonating Force Palm.

Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to him that that might have been the first time anyone had touched him in years without having reason to do so. He shook the thought off almost immediately. Of course she’d had reason; people didn’t just go around holding strangers’ hands unprompted. Clearly he hadn’t been straightforward enough in his plan to lead her with conversation, leaving her to find her own solution or be caught in the lurch.

But it kept happening-- small things, unprompted, ranging from their commute up the mountainside past the point of quelling the Nobles. At first, the contact lanced through him, highlighting how long it had been since anyone had drawn close enough to do so, but he adapted with a startling promptness.

Slowly, he began to reach out in turn, to fix her bandana or take her by the shoulder to correct her course.

So it was disheartening when she stopped apropos nothing.

Immediately, Ingo followed suit. As soon as he realized she was pulling away, he backed off in turn. She had to have had cause, and, as disappointing as this outcome was, it wasn’t his place to press; there were very few reasons he could produce off the top of his head, absolutely none of them good.

The reality, though, was far more innocent than he’d feared.

Akari approached him sheepishly one day, eyes downcast and hands locked together.

“I’m… really sorry, Ingo,” She said, and, with a deep breath, forced herself to look up at him, “I’ve been seriously overstepping your boundaries, huh? I promise I didn’t know, I wouldn’t’ve--”

She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and Ingo took that as the go-ahead to cut in.

“You’ve been informed of the Pearl Clan’s traditions, I take it?”

There was a long hesitation, “Calaba told me.”

He raised a hand there, showing her mercy, “Yes, well, there’s no need for us to dwell on that. While I can appreciate the pursuit of self-betterment, you know full well that my original station wasn’t with the Pearl Clan; what reason would you have to believe that I followed that particular custom?”

“You never reached out first,” She said almost instantly, “I thought back on it, and I was always the one who pushed. And yeah, you adjusted to it, but that really only makes it worse.”

“I agree, it does sound far worse when you phrase it that way.” He said, trying to convey through voice, if she wouldn’t hear the words, how little distress he felt in this matter, “If you must, it would be more accurate to say that I readjusted. Personally, I prefer to think of it as a reminder; my memory is… faulty, and it seems this was just something more that I’d lost.”

She looked unconvinced and, in demonstration, he reached over to lay a hand over hers, “I’m very grateful to have this back, Akari, and it makes me wonder if, perhaps, it’s not so hopelessly idealistic to believe I might still recover the rest of what I’ve lost. Please don’t be upset with yourself-- not on my behalf.”

For several seconds, Akari stared hard at the back of his hand.

“...you’re sure?”

He nodded, and she took her hand away. It might have been cause for concern had it not been followed by the way she crept forward, movements deliberate and yielding, telegraphing her intentions. It was a bit silly, he thought, but very sweet, demonstrating how seriously she was taking the matter.

She shuffled into place next to him, close, but just shy of touching. He huffed fondly and angled himself to correct that fact.

“I asked Irida, too.” Akari said after a long moment, “She said it was more about choice, and that a lot of the Pearl Clan wouldn’t be comfortable with an outsider so close, but you might not...”

“Lady Irida does know her clan.” He agreed mildly. “I like to believe it’s the reason she allows me so near.”

Akari’s eyes flickered up and then back down; she bent a leg at the knee and wrapped an arm around it, as if to distract herself from leaning in, “Outsiders, huh?”

The question was met with a resigned hum. Mirroring the consideration she’d showed him moments prior, Ingo eased an arm around her shoulders and, finally, she nestled against his side. The contact wasn’t the jolt it had originally been, but, after so long without, still buzzed under his skin.

He was beginning to understand. When a person fasted, any food became an alm; when they kept vigil, an idle moment was respite. If you purposefully distanced yourself from all others, touch did feel like something divine. Ingo didn’t know that he agreed with the implementation, but he could, at least, see his clanmates’ logic, now.

Space could be sacred, and so could time-- but, he thought, it was only by virtue of who you shared it with.