#and the fact that your quarters massively suck with no deco. until you get the rotom items which i think are very funny being there lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pecha berry kiss (one-shot)

Warnings: Mention of scars.

GN!reader, idk if you know but Volo has the BIGGEST crush on you <3

Summary: You’re conflicted about Volo. He’s strange to care about you as much as he seems to, but you don’t know if it’s wise to let the walls around you crumble before him. He should be like the others, far enough to keep your heart safe from the pain of mistrust, and yet, you remain unsure of how to treat him.

Much unlike you, however, Volo is quite certain of what he thinks of you.

And he’s decided to let you know about that.

Every part of you is still aching.

You want nothing more than to curl up on your fluffy bedroll and just pass out for the next few days. Even though you know that isn’t exactly possible, it’s an agreeable enough thought to have you arduously finishing the last records of whatever you could remember of Lady Lilligant’s fighting style.

The thundering tremors of her stomps, and the air whizzing past your head as she’d nearly leveled you with a razor-sharp Leaf Blade… If you hadn’t been so focused on not dying, you would’ve been able to appreciate more of the beauty and elegance in her movements.

Hey, at least you survived.

But now, to deal with the aftermath, of course.

Bruises, cuts, and soreness everywhere.

Pesselle had done her best in tending to your wounds, but new scars will inevitably paint your skin in the days to come.

And then, as if such a thing is normal for the stranger, for the outsider, for you, it’ll be back to work.

Grumbling under your breath, you regret promising Professor Laventon that you would update him on your findings tomorrow, even if he’d already said it wasn’t necessary.

Yeah, it really shouldn’t be, with how much your back is protesting just leaning over the low table while you write.

But a promise is a promise, and you don’t want to fall behind in your survey work. Although you’ve already quelled a second noble’s frenzy, you’ve still barely gained the approval of the villagers and clans’ people.

And so, despite the fact that Professor Laventon—and even the reticent Captain Cyllene—had told you to focus on resting, you can’t.

How could you, when only a handful of people trust you, and you’re constantly met with wary glances and blatant fear?

A careful prod to your leg causes you to look up from the papers you’re laying out to dry, and you peer over to find your Kirlia staring at you with wide, concerned eyes. Dewott and Roselia are right beside him, and they share equally worried expressions.

Reaching a hand out to your Pokémon, you smile gently. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

“…If you say so.”

In apparent disbelief, Kirlia huffs, crossing his arms, but doesn’t press you for anything else. Instead, he waves at the teapot he’d seemingly just placed beside your collection of notes.

Your eyes soften.

“Thank you. It smells great.”

Affectionately, Dewott nuzzles against your arm, while Roselia seems to puff out her chest at your praise. You have a habit of leaving your Pokémon out of their capsules whenever you’d have a chance to stay in your quarters, and she’d always taken it upon herself to prepare you a cup of nightly tea, brewed from her own leaves, to help you relax.

That’s what you hope you’ll be able to do now, as you’ve finally completed your self-imposed assignment. You’ve moved the pages over to the ledge in front of the window, where they’ll be safe from any accidental spills.

And so, you sink into your cushion, lift your cup of tea, and ignore the ache in your back.

It’s nice and quiet, besides that.

Fskfskfsk!

Of course, someone has to knock at your door the moment you wish for a little peace.

You set down your tea with a loud sigh.

Curse you, Arceus.

There goes that, then.

Instantly, your Pokémon sit up, readying themselves for whoever your unwelcome visitor may be.

Fskfskfsk!

Maybe if you ignore them long enough, they’ll understand you don’t want to be disturbed. It might be unavoidable, however, since it’s quite clear that you are in your quarters, candlelight splashing the paper panels of your door with flickering hues of dusty orange and yellow. Albeit, you don’t think it’s impolite, considering the trial you’ve just been through and that it’s already well past the typical hours for anyone to be out in town.

Fskfskfsk!

You pinch at your brow.

The rattling is really beginning to irritate you.

Well, you have no other options now.

Fskfsk—

“What do you want?”

You slam open your door with an annoyed grunt.

Thankfully, it’s not someone who could have you demoted to a worse position in the Survey Corps or wrangled into actual trouble, for you hadn’t really thought of that possibility until now, but it’s not exactly someone you’re glad to see, either.

Smiling, and so damn sunny for this late of an hour—

“Why, hello! I just knew you were there.”

Volo.

“Volo,” you say dully, before repeating your question with visible impatience, “and what do you want?”

You regret having answered the door, but it’s not that you’d had much of a choice, with where his guild’s wagon is parked.

Right outside your quarters.

It’d be impossible for you to avoid him tomorrow. Knowing him, you’re sure that he wouldn’t have left the village until he’d spoken with you, since he rarely even stays in Jubilife often.

So, for him to come to your quarters now, of all times…

You suppose you could let him in, just for a while. It’s not as if you hate him, anyway.

Admittedly, it’s somewhat of the opposite, but you’d rather not dwell on that.

Instead, you coolly flick your unimpressed gaze back to him.

“I’d just like to speak with you about something rather important, now that I’m back in town.” Having noticed your Pokémon observing him from behind you, Volo politely waves to them, but he hardly takes his eye off you. “I’ve also heard that you’ve quelled another noble’s frenzy. Congratulations to you, my friend!”

From your side, Dewott just glares at him, but Volo either deigns not to notice, or he wisely says nothing about it.

“Thank you,” you intone flatly, placating your partner with a pat upon the head as Kirlia takes her paw in his hand. “I doubt that’s really what you’d wanted to talk about, though.”

With a silent invitation, you head back into your quarters; you wonder if you really should be letting him in or not.

Volo has always been amicable to you, and surprisingly concerned for your well-being. He’d been one of the few who’d wished you good luck and to be safe when you’d challenged Lord Kleavor, and he’d even supplied you with medicine beforehand.

However, he’s a tad… strange, in the manner that you can’t understand him. There’s something about him you can’t figure out at all.

His conviction for seemingly trivial and odd things had stuck out to you, ever since he’d continued seeking you out after your arguably horrible second encounter. That had been when you’d solidified your vague doubts about him. With no supposedly ill aims, Volo had snuck up on you! Really, he’d only been meaning to help by teaching you the Back Strike technique through harmless imitation, as he’d countlessly reassured you then. Regardless of his virtuous motive, you’d nearly swung a kick into his face, while Dewott, an Oshawott then, had almost slashed away at his kneecaps.

However, even after that, and unlike most others, he’d still look for you, with a smile on his face.

So, no, you couldn’t quite hate him.

To some degree, you even like him. You’ve looked past his joke of sneaking up on you, as you’d even rightfully berated him afterward, and you’ve started to like him. You’ve started to like him for the unconditional attention and cheer he always greets you with, and although you find it quite pitiful that that should be your basis for your rather one-sided, dilapidated friendship, you can’t help yourself.

He’s not treating you as if you’re the scourge of the land, after all.

Then, it’s with that thought whirling about in your mind, do you finally, completely concede.

“Hurry up and come in.”

The door grinds shut behind him.

If only he’d been able to hear your true thoughts about him, Volo would be beyond delighted.

You leave him to take off his boots at the door as you return to your seat. You don’t know what you should say, as you’re never one for much conversation, but then you spot your teacup, regrettably full and steadily growing colder.

At least you could be somewhat courteous.

Volo is still rustling about by the door when you retrieve another teacup for him. You set it down upon the table and glance toward him; he’s placing his boots together neatly on the dirt threshold and then straightening to remove his hefty backpack.

For some reason, you have to look away.

…And you turn right toward something you wish you could’ve looked away from as well.

Across the table, your three Pokémon are gathered around the empty teacup, and they’re wearing matching, sly expressions on their faces. Roselia has one of her arms extended over the cup, Dewott and Kirlia seem to be encouraging her, and it’s only a second before you piece together what they’re trying to do.

That’s her Sleep Powder arm.

“Roselia—no!”

As much as you have your reservations about Volo, and as much as you know that they’ve influenced your Pokemon’s attitude toward him, this is too much.

The last thing you need is the villagers holding you accountable for attempted… whatever it is that your Pokémon had been nefariously striving to accomplish.

Hastening to cover up their less than hospitable intentions, you scramble toward the snickering trio and forcibly snatch the cup away from them.

Not a particularly bright move, as you could’ve spilled your own teacup, but thankfully, you hadn’t, and besides, you’re too preoccupied with directing a stern frown toward your Pokémon.

You don’t even notice that your back is burning again.

“No,” you hiss lowly, hoping that your guest doesn’t hear you. “Please don’t do that.”

Only Dewott and Kirlia seem somewhat remorseful, as they shrink away at your obvious disappointment, but Roselia doesn’t seem to have a single petal of guilt growing on her.

“Roselia.”

You should’ve known better. She’s always been the troublemaker, starting with when you’d caught her as a Budew. She’d been trying to rifle through your satchel while you’d been crouching in the tall grasses.

With a playful giggle, she titters out her version of an insincere apology, and you sigh, setting down the teacup. If it had been for anything other than something like this, you probably would’ve lauded her chaotic nature.

But not this time.

Still laughing, she’s whisked away back into her Poké Ball, and Kirlia and Dewott are obediently seated beside your bedroll. They’re feigning sleep, but you decide you’ll deal with them later. You know they’ll behave themselves, for now.

“Are you all right?”

Aaand you’ve nearly forgotten about Volo, oblivious to what your Pokémon had been plotting.

You sigh heavily.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

You’re still just turning back to him when he answers, so you’re startled to find that he’s closer than you’d expected. He’s standing only two paces away from you, an amused glint in his eye.

Volo wishes he could be closer to you, but he really shouldn’t push his luck. Even though he’s absolutely enamored by you, you don’t seem to share the same feelings when it comes to him.

A shame, really.

But he’s sure he can change that. He can tell that you’re conflicted about him, and that’s all he needs.

“Are you sure? Your Pokémon seem like a rambunctious bunch.”

“I’m sorry. They have a bit of a”—you avert your eyes from his seemingly innocent, inquisitive gaze—“mischievous streak, all being in the middle stage of evolution, I guess. They probably would’ve enjoyed making your tea taste foul.”

“Well, no harm done, I’d say,” he laughs, without any care about what your Pokémon might’ve done to him. “Rather, thank you for thinking enough about me to prepare me a cup of tea.”

He looks at you with a satisfied grin, before passing by to sit down at the table.

The scent of Leppa Berry blossoms follows him, and for a moment, you’re stunned by him.

…Especially, by how pleasant his laugh is.

And you don’t want him to find that out.

“Anyway, you came here for something. What do you want from me?”

Perfect. You sit down as well, bending your legs and ignoring the pain stinging in your calves. Just change the subject.

As if surrendering, Volo raises both hands, though you know that’s far from the truth. Something about him tells you that he’d never just give up on anything he’d deemed interesting enough for him to relentlessly pursue.

“Why, I don’t want anything from you. Am I not allowed to congratulate the Hero of Hisui when praise is due?”

At his loaded question, your expression sours.

“If you didn’t call me that,” you retort bitterly, “I might be able to stomach your congratulations.”

“Ah, my favorite customer, how you wound me!”

The merchant presses a hand dramatically to his chest, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

One nickname for another, it seems.

“I haven’t bought a single thing from you, Volo. You even gave me free items, instead. So why do you insist on calling me that?”

Upon seeing his grin pulling at one corner of his lips, you know you’ve made a mistake. You really should never give him an opening like this.

He tilts his head, the action slow and deliberate, as if he’s sizing you up.

Looking for something in you that he wants.

Your heart skips a beat.

He’s found it.

“Semantics, really, but all right.” He says your name then, his voice dropping in tone, into a chuckle that stokes a terrible, lovely warmth inside your chest. “Hmm, then how about that?”

Leaning over the table toward you, Volo hums lightly, as he gradually, purposefully rests both elbows upon it.

He captures your gaze with his, and you see something besides simple amusement gleaming within it.

Your heart trembles.

Something… something you really should avoid, but you can’t help being attracted to.

Desperate for anything to break you away from it, you hesitantly reach for the teapot.

“That’s what you should’ve done, from the start.”

And then, as if he hadn’t just been pulling you into him with a sole look, he sits back, putting a solid amount of distance between the two of you.

Volo points an index finger toward you instead, a playful grin on his face when he sings, “I hope you’ll use my name just as much, then!”

Almost imperceptibly, your brow twitches.

…He’s implying that he’ll be using your name quite frequently.

Unfortunately, your heart flutters at that.

You have your suspicions of what he’s trying to do, when he speaks such flowery words and looks at you with such candid curiosity and impartial kindness, only biased in how he saves it just for you.

But you won’t say anything about that, just yet.

Even if you think it’s more than just friendliness with which he’s approaching you. You never had been one to bolster your own ego much, anyway.

Instead, you’re glad to busy yourself with pouring him some tea, as the fire in your heart dims.

The tea gurgles into the old clay vessel, and you’re grateful that it provides you a decent distraction. A way to focus yourself, if not for a moment.

“So, why did you come here? To talk with me now?”

Volo laughs shortly.

“I remember you didn’t quite like me sneaking up on you,” he explains, a fondness settling in his gaze, “so I’ve decided to be direct and find you in your quarters.”

You had told him that, hadn’t you?

That it’s best to be straightforward with you.

“But not in the middle of the night,” you point out, pushing his tea toward him.

He takes the cup with a word of thanks. “I apologize. I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again.”

You scoff.

“You always show up wherever I am, so I doubt that’s true.”

He shakes his head, but he’s no longer looking at you.

Where…?

Instead, he’s sipping his tea, while staring at the pair of Pokéshi Dolls sitting before your window. There’s a jarring aura of seriousness about him, and briefly, you don’t know what to think.

You aren’t even sure he’d heard you.

“Did you—”

“I hadn’t expected you to be a talented carver,” remarks Volo suddenly, steering you into a topic nowhere near your original. There’s a wistful look upon his face, and you’re certain that he’d neglected your previous statement to compliment you again.

You never know what to make of it. You’ve only known how to deny it.

“Not really. It was just something Anvin had me work on. His is the better of the two.”

His answer is immediate.

“I rather like yours, actually.”

Your teacup remains forgotten at your side.

You have no proper response for him, besides mumbled thanks and that neither present much purpose anymore. Surely, he’s only jesting.

Despite your reluctance to accept his praise, ostensibly, Volo is… admiring your rugged doll, as if there’s something particularly fascinating about it—something entrancing, something brilliant.

And something that you’re really failing to notice.

The moonlight filtering in from the window patterns the little wooden figure with a swatch of glowing silver, accenting its soft Pecha pink paint. Although your doll had been built with crude lines and imprecise strokes, there’s a certain charm to it. Its head is blocky, rather than round, and the two spots of blush below its shimmering black eyes are uneven, but the asymmetry only enhances the doll’s finer details. It’s cuter like this.

Because you made it.

At least, that’s what Volo sees in it.

He places his teacup on the table.

“Though…” Now you’re staring off, unsure why you’re even disclosing such a thing to him; perhaps it’s because you’ve never spent your night with someone else like this, and it’s invoking some trifling sense of comfort within your isolated heart. “They help keep this room not as empty as it could be. To make it feel lived in, I guess.”

Upon hearing your voice, filled with indescribable melancholy, Volo turns back to you, as if it’s instinct.

If only you’d been looking at him, you would’ve seen how he was beholding you in his worried gaze.

“I never know what else I should decorate it with, anyway.” Idly, you lay a hand on the table while your eyes drift away from the dolls. “It’s difficult. I don’t know if this place is home for me.”

Frrbbbb!

Abruptly, you start, when Dewott’s snoring jolts you from your depressing thoughts. Seems like they’re actually asleep, then. You glance at your Pokémon, both sprawled out across your bedroll.

It’ll be a pain to move them later, but you’d rather not wake them up.

Volo, on the other hand, pays them no attention.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Then, at his words, you comprehend just how much you’d been rambling, and a torrent of embarrassment cascades over you.

“Uh…” With a rather compromising look flashing over your face, you force yourself to turn back to him, but you can’t look up at him. “Just—just forget about that.”

He says your name, again.

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Too late, you realize it’s another opening you’ve given him.

The tea is duly abandoned indeed.

…!

Something touches your hand then, and you mean to pull away swiftly, but Volo stops you.

He’s reached out, his hand holding yours with a gentle, but determined touch.

And when you finally look up at him, there’s something in his eye that you hadn’t expected to see.

Affection.

So raw and untempered, as the moon casts a faint sheen of starry platinum over his golden crown and dazzling smile.

And in that moment, so still while your heart tosses and turns in your chest, you realize something else.

The way he’s looking at you…

It’s all for you.

For the second time tonight, you freeze.

You should’ve realized sooner.

“I’ve never seen you look this way before,” whispers Volo, his voice as delicate as his fingers curling around yours, “as if I am the only one in your gaze.”

Maybe you’ve succumbed to your injuries.

You’re unable to speak, unable to move, and unable to understand why you’re feeling your heart simultaneously rend and heal itself at the same time.

“And yet, you look so dreadfully lonely.”

You want to look away, but you cannot.

“I’d bring something back for you every time I’d see you again,” Volo suggests softly, his thumb rubbing against your hand.

You’re unsteady, your breath catching on nothing but air.

You’re vulnerable.

And Volo can see it.

“Things that remind me of you”—he cradles your hand now in both of his—“things that might allow this place to not feel as empty as you tell me it is.”

He’s the first person who’d offered to do such a thing for you.

Your throat tightens.

You shouldn’t enjoy how his touch feels. You shouldn’t enjoy his promise, even if it is true.

…Why should you?

Deep in your heart, where your confidence falters in its darkest corners, unbridled fear stirs within you.

Should you have told him anything at all?

“Why?” Suddenly, you’re unsure, ignited by irrational misgivings. “Because you pity me?”

As though you’ve convinced yourself of it, you move to pull away from him. A shock of anxiety grasps at you, reminding you of your resolve not to let anyone discover your weaknesses, lest they use them against you one day.

After all, you can’t fully trust anyone else in Hisui yet.

You aren’t sure you ever will.

“What?”

But Volo won’t let you believe so.

His hands hold yours firmly now, his fingers gripping resolutely, daring you to try and wrench away from him again.

He looks almost offended at your assumption—that you think so poorly of him and consider him like the others—but it’s only a fleeting lapse in his mild expression that has you wondering if you’d even seen it at all.

It’s that look which has you thinking that perhaps, if Arceus could even be merciful to you, you’d want to be allowed this generosity.

To feel safe enough to let your guard down, to want to truly like Volo.

“Why? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Though, no matter how ugly and loathsome it is, your mistrust can’t help thrusting its way to the forefront of your thoughts. Defiantly, you stare back at him, your breathing uneven, as some feeble hope within you yearns for him to prove you wrong.

Volo doesn’t flinch away at your harshness; in fact, it only seems to entice him further, into showing you that such a challenge will not dampen his drive to earn your favor.

The air is charged. There’s a flood waiting to burst from behind the dam of your clumsily concealed feelings, and before Volo, you can do nothing more than wait for the first log to be wedged free.

He chuckles.

“No, but perhaps I should’ve been more direct,” he counters lightly, wielding your own words to his advantage, “because I like you, very much, is all.”

And as though it’s something so mundane, a feat hardly worth a second thought, he loosens that one log just enough.

With a single sentence.

The rush of water douses the scorching fire of suspicion in your heart, and you’re coldly swamped with a harrowing realization.

You’d been right, no matter how much you’d refused to acknowledge it.

Volo likes you.

But why then, while he stares at you now,

with a shrouded sadness flitting behind his ashen gaze, so riveted on you,

does he look just as lonely as you?

…

“Hrrarrrouu!”

Dewott’s paw slaps down upon the table as she yowls furiously, and you and Volo jump at the sudden noise.

You snatch your hand back. In the same moment, Volo can only stare at you and your Pokémon with a look of justified confusion.

Perhaps if you hadn’t felt so mortified, you would’ve laughed at how perplexed he’d appeared, something you’d never before witnessed from him.

However, as Dewott bristles beside you, you really have no time for that either. You hush her with a hurried phrase of consolation, your hands smoothing over her short fur, but she only scowls at the man across from you. Behind her, mirroring her palpable distaste, Kirlia sends an especially pointed glare at Volo.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know if you’d intended it for your Pokémon or Volo. “They’re grumpy when they get woken up.”

It’s a lie, and you know it. Kirlia had detected your spiking distress even in slumber, and of course, your partner had reacted with volatile judgment.

They must think that Volo had done something to you.

And he had—to your heart.

Dutifully, with an airy laugh, Volo angles himself away from you, but still, he stares only at you. Even so, he must mean to demonstrate compliance with your Pokémon’s weighty terms. “Well, I wouldn’t want to complicate your night any further, or aggrieve your companions.”

He doesn’t look affected at all by the secret he’d just proclaimed to you.

Dewott monitors him with both contempt and calculating vigilance as he stands, and you along with him. She shifts from foot to foot, ready to follow you and ready for him to slip up, but when you shake your head and adamantly, inaudibly, insist that she stay put, she yields.

Grudgingly, but at least she and Kirlia remain where they are so that you can show Volo out.

You wait quietly beside him as he arranges to depart, easily slipping on his boots and backpack.

What are you supposed to tell him, after all?

How are you supposed to respond to such a confession?

In some way, you’re glad that Dewott had interrupted you then.

You’re disappointed in yourself for being so absorbed in your thoughts, when Volo suddenly rights himself, having finished his preparations, and takes your hand once more.

How bold, for having escaped a throttling by your Pokémon just seconds prior.

“I’m quite serious about you, you know.”

He leans in toward you, then croons your name, his gray eye flickering with mischief and scarcely hidden adoration.

As if he can’t believe that you’re standing before him, unwilling to run away.

“Think about it, won’t you?”

I think that’ll be the only thing on my mind, you nearly disclose aloud.

“Mhm.”

Volo smiles then, and even as he moves closer to you, you find you don’t want to push him away. Despite never once before being in such a situation, naturally, your close your eyes, and you don’t know why your heart is beating so quickly. You don’t know much of anything happening at the moment, really, but you can only focus on how warm Volo’s hand is in yours.

You’ve… never held someone else’s hand before, have you?

No.

Maybe in your previous life, you had.

But even if you cannot remember it as it had been then, you think it’s quite nice now. Nice enough that you don’t even recall the pain you’d been in.

Watching you carefully, Volo can feel his heart wildly thumping against his restraint to just kiss you. You’re beyond cute, with how your eyes are shut so timidly and how your hand subconsciously squeezes his with each of your shuddering breaths! You have no idea how you’re testing him, luring him in only for the reasonable part of his mind to warn him against acting upon his more… primal thoughts.

Controlling himself, Volo reins in his desire, and instead, settles for softly brushing his lips against your cheek instead.

How tame, compared to the daydreams of you he’s lost himself in before, many not at all as chaste as his kiss now.

But that has you stiffening, and Volo can’t help chuckling against your skin, before retreating just enough to see you opening your eyes.

“Beautiful.”

It’s curious that you’re suddenly thinking the same of him, even as you try to recover from something so minor.

“My first gift of many to you.” Sweeping his thumb over your cheek in a loving caress, Volo leisurely pulls away from you. “I hope it serves you well in keeping you warm tonight, and helping you feel that your quarters are not so empty.”

His smile widens, and endearing little dimples frame the curve of his lips, while his eye glimmers like a crystal wrought of the first spring dew.

Oh no.

You might have a bigger problem than you’d originally thought.

Content with your hazy look and unaware of your internal dilemma, Volo returns his hand to his side.

Then, he gives you one last glance, brimming with such brazen devotion—to his feelings, to his promise, or even to you—that it pierces your very heart.

You press a hand to your face, a not-so-subtle flush deepening the color of your cheeks.

It’s not that you hate him, right?

No, you never have.

“Good night.”

Your name is the final word he utters, and everything is just right.

And all you can manage, after he reluctantly turns away from you, sliding the door shut behind him, is a mere farewell.

“Good night, Volo.”

Then he’s gone.

You’re still loitering by the door when Dewott and Kirlia rouse you from your trance, neither of them pleased it’d been induced by Volo, of all people. When you peer down at them with another apology, you do your best to smile at them sincerely, but you can only think of how you’ll have to explain this all to them soon.

And as you hobble back to your bedroll, flanked by your Pokémon and with the pain of your endeavors finally catching up to you again, a bout of shame overcomes you.

Volo had really gotten you, hadn’t he?

He’d thrown you off-balance and winded you as soundly as Lady Lilligant had, really. So much so that you hadn’t even learned what he’d initially wanted to speak to you about, either.

Somehow, even with your notes completed, you feel as if you’ve achieved far less than that.

With a helpless groan, you tragically thump into your bedroll, completely disregard the pain flaring up your side, and lament how complicated everything has become for you.

Maybe you should just take the day off tomorrow.