No matter. The most pressing issues had been dealt with, and while it would take some time to arrive at a station approaching normalcy, it was a stop feasibly within reach.

 

It was odd to think that, in spite of the vacation time he’d been pressured into utilizing over the years, this might have been the first real day off Emmet had taken from the everything that required his action. Prior to this, he’d been unable to still his mind for two consecutive hours, and now that he had the chance to unwind, he felt it every minute of it.

 

The apartment around him was blessedly active, filled with the sounds of Pokemon socializing or playing and the occasional footfalls. There was no way to mistake it for the grief stricken stillness early on or the air of tense concern that settled in the following months. The shifting of vines and conversational chirruping fit in seamlessly amongst the minor din, as if they’d belonged there from the very beginning.

 

Emmet let his head fall back against the couch, methodically picking through each part of the soundscape in turn until, finally, he caught near-silent footsteps moving from linoleum to carpet, drawing ever nearer.

 

The sofa dipped, and he cracked one eye open.

 

Yup. It had all been worth it.

 

On the couch’s opposite arm, his twin perched, regarding him with unveiled concern. Maybe he was a bit too thin and confused, still, but he was here. One hand toyed with the cuff of the dark, clean cardigan Emmet had forced upon him, unaccustomed to the fabric overhanging his wrists, and when Ingo noticed he was being watched, he quirked the tiniest iteration of a smile this side of Castelia.

 

That was new, but hardly unwelcome-- as was the fact that he didn’t even try to hide it when he was upset, now. It was sad that, over the course of two and a half years, nobody had bothered learning to read him, but the end result was hilarious. He could get away with the most dead-eyed, ‘how stupid are you?’ stare in all of Unova, and nobody would be any the wiser because they didn’t think to look into anything but the curve of his lips. When Emmet stopped to think about it, nothing had even changed; such interactions had been little better than a secret kept between the two of them. He’d been able to read Ingo perfectly well before-- it was just easier than it had been back then.

 

In a strange way, the amnesia was similar. The instincts and knowledge bases were still there, which meant everything else was, too-- just buried, slowly rising to the surface as the days passed. The two of them would have been alright in the event that that Ingo’s memories never returned, but the prognosis was good, and in the meantime it was… fun? Emmet got to reintroduce his twin to everything he’d loved, watching the open awe as he reacted for the second first time. From the turntable in Anville Town, to the movies they’d grown up on, to something as small as a sweet treat.

 

Did it matter that he’d learned to tolerate the dryness of razz berries when he’d absolutely lit up at the new-but-familiar taste of a mago snack cake? What was wrong with a quieter voice when it still extolled the same ideals?

 

In spite of everything that could have killed him from the inside out, he was still the same person he’d always been-- still Emmet’s beloved twin brother.

 

Which was precisely why Emmet was so emphatically not surprised that the faint quirk of a smile was accompanied by a sympathetic, “You look incredibly tired. Why don’t you go lay down? I can ensure that everyone is taken care of while you rest.”

 

“That is an option,” Emmet said, and took a moment to stretch upon getting back on his feet. His spine gave a satisfying crack but, more importantly, the action lulled Ingo into a false sense of security. He circled around, ostensibly heading toward the hallway to heed the suggestion. Though there was no opportunity to catch his twin looking away, the gaze that followed him didn’t hold an ounce of suspicion, making it all the more rewarding to catch Ingo by the shoulder and shove him over onto the sofa.

 

“Counterpoint,” He continued, already in the process of flopping down on top of his brother, “I am fully capable of laying right here.”

 

“So you are.” Ingo conceded, muffled by the cardigan sleeve in his face, his arm trapped between the both of them. “Might I ask why?”

 

“You might. But why would you? It seems verrrry obvious to me.”

 

There was a full-body sigh beneath him and, deliberately, Emmet began to match the breathing pattern it gave way to; he was rewarded by the captive arm escaping and coming to rest upon his back. With the blockade gone, nothing was there to keep them apart and, in spite of the long-suffering aura he’d put up, Ingo craned to knock their heads together.

 

Sure, Emmet could have gone back to his room and laid down, but it wouldn’t have the effect Ingo seemed to think it might. The sounds of life would be muffled and he’d be separated from the bright air of alacrity-- what would that serve to accomplish?

 

No thank you. Emmet was perfectly happy right here, where-- finally-- he could rest.