You watch amusedly from your porch as the children across the street battle the rattata from the hedge with the family meowth.
It's times like these when you start reminiscing on your own battling days. Your first battle was a clumsy affair, your beldum pitted against your blonde neighbor's gible. When she lost, as you remember, she wouldn't speak to you for a week. Still, you think, she did turn out to be quite the trainer after she returned to her homeland, the Sinnoh region.
With your beldum at your side, you were a force to be reckoned with, collecting the badges at a breakneck pace. As your party grew, so did your strength. They were a reliable group, your party, and as solid as titanium alloy (in fact, now that you think about it, they probably were titanium alloy).
You recall the day you battled Juan for the champion's spot. Your first pokemon, a metagross by that time, was pitted against Juan's wailord, a hulking beast that dwarfed your metagross by comparison. But Lady Luck was on your side that day, when your metagross landed a critical meteor mash to the wailord, and felled the enormous creature.
When Juan realized that you had stripped him of his champion status, he sank to his knees. The look on his face was one of broken shock, with mouth agape and eyes wide. You, on the other hand, were on cloud nine, reveling in your triumph. At sixteen, you were the youngest champion in recorded history.
For six years, you reigned as the spearhead of the Elite Four, unstoppable. Nobody even came close to felling one of your pokemon; and, to be honest, you were slightly bored at the lack of challenges.
Until she came.
When she strode into your chamber, ramrod straight posture and excitement truly tangible, you knew she was special. You were absolutely right.
As she urged her sceptile on, your eyes were drawn to her face. She looked fierce, with teeth drawn and blue eyes sparking with electricity and intensity and vivacity.
Admittedly, you weren't completely caught off-guard when you lost, but it was still a shock to see your beloved metagross fall at the hands (flippers?) of her walrein. You remember wondering, is this how Juan had felt when you defeated him?
Now, at age twenty-two, you've stopped battling for the most part, and have instead taken up idle pursuits, excavating and spelunking and such. And, on occasions when you desire human contact (not often), you return to your humble abode in Mossdeep.
You walk inside, and your metagross glances up at you from its vantage point in the corner, a bored flicker in its obsidian eyes. You know it hungers to battle again, and you feel guilty for denying it that opportunity.
Your pokenav rings, shattering the silence which has become commonplace in your life, you fumble with it for a moment, not used to utilizing such cutting-edge technology. Normally, you wouldn't bother with such a frivolous contraption, but when you've got a father in the business, you're very much obligated.
"Hello?" Your voice cracks with lack of use. And it's her, but that's pretty normal; you having been the champion (once upon a long time ago), she asks you technical questions from time to time, and today is no different (oh, but you change that in a heartbeat, the same amount of time it takes her to leave you a stuttering, sweaty, blushing mess).
"Will you do me the honor of joining me for afternoon tea?" you say, and you think you were subtle (but you don't know for sure and pffff, you feel the need to elaborate). "I desire some human contact. Solitude is nice, but one needs some polite company from time to time."
You almost hope she cannot, that she has champion duties to attend to, but she agrees to be there soon before she ends the call. The tea is just coming to a boil when she arrives on her flygon, in a flurry of sand. Your mutual greetings are slightly stunted and awkward, and you both stand there dully for a moment before you invite her in.
She takes one of the chocolate biscuits offered on a plate on the table.
"Delicious," she exclaims around a mouthful. You pour the tea and settle in the chair across from hers.
"So," you begin (and your palms have turned into a faucet), "how are you?"
She smiles, a little ironically. "Busy. Very busy. And you? How are you and your pokemon?"
You assure her that they are all fine, and you both talk about many more inane subjects, until she rises from her chair and tells you she must go.
A part of you is relieved at the chance for solitude, but another, stronger part of you is afraid, afraid you won't get to see her for a long, long while.
That part makes itself known in a single word. "Wait!"
She pauses, turns. You pick up something from the table, offer it to her.
"I want you to have this pokeball with my beldum. It's the offspring of my metagross. I want it to be with you. When I can't, you add mentally.
She is surprised, but reaches out to take the pokeball, but you don't let go of it, and so the two of you cradle it between your hands. She doesn't draw her hand back, you notice, and you swallow hard (damn humidity).
She is looking up at you from underneath her eyelashes, biting her lip and ohh, now you can feel a blush spreading across your cheeks.
"Steven," is all she says, and, with a bravery you didn't even know you possessed, you lean forward and kiss her, and wow she is kissing you right back, the pokeball caught between your loosely twined fingers.
"May," you say hoarsely, "I-."
"Shh," she says firmly. "Don't be sorry. You'll kill the mood." You chuckle a little at her blunt rebuttal. She takes the pokeball from your loose fingers and kisses you again, passionately (how did she get so good at kissing?)
When you pull apart, you are both breathless. "Didn't you have to leave?" you ask wryly.
"Champion duties can wait," she breathes, pink cheeks and sparkling eyes as she leans forward once more.