Edited. Hope it's better.
Stand her.
He couldn't stand her behavior, that's what he thought anyway, but maybe it was far more complicated than that. — FalknerWhitney
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This. This. Falkner couldn't take it anymore.
He couldn't stand that Whitney, after all these years, refused to grow up. Still ingrained in a child's thoughts, acting like a toddler, never passing the line from childhood to adulthood where she truly belonged. She didn't realize that she was eighteen. She didn't want to see that she couldn't act like before—pretending that the norms weren't for her—when she could slide down the hill without obstacles in her way. Not all the time. And not now.
"Falkner, Falkner, you saw that move. It was so cute! I don't know its strength, but that doesn't matter. It suits me!"
Falkner couldn't stand her childishness, the fact that she never got that losing was substantial if you were a gym-leader. That she crossed her arms and drowned—dipped her head like she wanted to miss the upcoming—in her own pity when she faced a challenger with more skill than her. Started to sob violently and refused to give away the mind badge. She just couldn't do that.
Falkner hated to lose, of course he did. It was a sign that he needed to be better. But that was what he signed in for when he became a gym-leader, and Whitney was the same. They were only a test for new trainers to see if they were ready to face the Elite Four, the goal of their journey. She should know that, when she took over the gym of Goldenrod City. Should. But that was Whitney's dilemma—she was so naïve. Thought that her talents were more than enough. Sure, she was talented, but anyone could be. Like Ethan. Like Kris. And Silver. They would always become more.
It was life, harsh, like life often was. Instead of accepting this, Whitney chose so sunk to the ground. Under the ground and the metaphorical world of beneath. Shut down the gym and didn't let anyone come near her. Didn't want to talk about it.
And now, it was present now, it was the same story. Whitney had faced a challenger—a young girl named Lyra—who'd crushed her. Falkner had seen the match on television; it was brilliant. Lyra was brilliant. When he met her, he understood that the girl was amazing. That she had something. He wanted to see where she could go. However, Whitney, instead of graduating Lyra, broke down. Tears spilled. Falkner couldn't handle it.
The gym was empty now, if you didn't count him and her. Falkner looked at Whitney, with her pale face sparkling with puddles. Lost. Failure. That was all the match was for her. An obstacle in her plan of becoming the strongest—aka prettiest—girl in Goldenrod, in Johto, in the world. Falkner didn't know what drove her. She forced herself to this, but for what reason. The answer was deeply hidden, and he could only guess. And he hated that passionately.
The gym was quiet, apart from her sobering. Quiet and dark. He stopped. This sound, this pathetic sound, he couldn't stand it either. There were much he couldn't stand when it came to her. He moved a hand through his raven hair to adjust it, but it still moved in front of his own eye. Heard tears—falling like raindrops from an open sky—fall to the ground. Click, click. No, he thought and moved his hands to his pockets of his pants, not anymore.
He walked closer to her and finally, he noticed her pink hair in the shadows. She sat on the ground, with her face in her hands. He noticed that she didn't look at him. Maybe she didn't even know he was there. That sounded correctly enough.
"Hey, Falkner, you should try this! Don't be such a wuss, it's good for you to try something new! You need to be more open!"
Falkner, just, couldn't, stand, this. No matter he thought about it, his conclusion ended the same. He didn't even understand why he still cared. Why was he even here? She would never learn. Losing was a dilemma to her, that's how it would be. Everyone knew it. He shouldn't interact with people like these.
Falkner wasn't a comforter. He should let Whitney over to other people who were. Who would help her. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave her. No matter the grief he felt, his own knowledge that she would probably never grow up, he still came back. Seeing her with tears in her face—no, He couldn't have this.
It was often like this with Whitney. Happy one moment, crying next. She managed to surprise him. He wasn't sure what to think of that, but it meant something—she would never bore her.
Of all seven other gym-leaders in Johto, she was the one who's personality really clashed with his. Whitney was the happy, laughing kind that couldn't keep still. Falkner, although, was the kind of guy were tradition was the main headline—he wasn't interested in parties, dancing, getting drunk. It had nothing to give him. He wanted to be respected, to that level that it seemed to piss the other gym-leaders off.
"I think it would be good for you to get out of that kimono and see the world from another view," Morty often said.
"You think you know anything, but that doesn't mean we respect you for it," Chuck muttered.
Whitney wasn't that way. She never shyed away from him. On the contrary, she seemed to find his personality amusing. Ignored his complains as she dragged him to countless cafés, only to babble until his ears started shrinking. In the end, he had to admit, he kind of liked it. Sipping at his coffee, listening to her stories that didn't seem to have a point, and always ended up with a "hey Falkner, are you even listening?"
Her voice was sweet, loud and took place. Her eyes were round and open. He couldn't stop looking at her. Maybe it wasn't love—he didn't even know what love was—but it was something. He liked that she was so different from him. That's the reason why he couldn't take this side of her, were she crawled in the bottle after a lost.
Her eyes were red, and her skin was pale. Pouches under her eyes were exposed, her chin shivered. Falkner walked closer to her and bent down. Grabbed her wrists and moved them apart from her face, exposing her. "Whitney," he said in a low voice, "snap out of this."
She didn't answer, instead, she backed in her own bubble, where she couldn't reach her. "Go away," she whispered. "Please, just go."
Falkner shook his head. "No. I won't."
She let her hands fall to the floor. "I suck, you know that? I suck, Falkner! I'm not even worthy of being a gym-leader, at this rate. She wrecked me. That stupid girl totally wrecked me. I was nothing to her. The thing is, I don't even know why I'm reacting like this. See, I don't even know that!" She stopped there, but the tears didn't. They never seemed to halt. Falkner lifted his fingers and swept some of them away, before cupping her face between his hands.
"You don't suck," he said. "Lyra was good. That's, uh, something you have to take. She beat me too. That's what we are, a brick to be torn apart. We lose. Sometimes, we win. I know it's hard, but you have to do it. Not for me, for yourself."
She stared at him, lips quivering. "Why do you even care? Leave me alone!"
"Falkner, have I told you when I tried to milk a Milktank for the first time? It was hilarious!"
Falkner ignored the later statement in Whitney's reply. "I, uh, like you. That's why."
"I," she stated, but the words got lost. Falkner didn't say anything more, he wasn't good at talking. Instead, he let his fingers move over her cheeks. Touched her soft hair. Then, to his surprise, she jumped in his arms, hugging him tightly and buried her face under his chin. She ruined his kimono, and he didn't even think about it.
"I'm sorry for this, Falkner, I'm really sorry!"
He knew, then, what exactly with her that he couldn't stand.
The fact that he cared about her, and didn't want to see her this way.
He understood that now.
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