This is a Wishfulshipping.

I have no idea what time-frame this fanfiction is in—leave it up to your imagination.

This is a little dark; that's why this is rated Teen.

Shattered Glass

Dent knew where Iris was.

He was not a highly religious man. He was more of the logical sort, as he had always been. So it would make sense why Dent felt awkward walking into the church. It was quiet the lovely little cathedral. He was not immune to the beauty of a church, no matter how non-religious he was. There were elaborate paintings of religious figures on the walls, and the large windows were made of stain glass. The colours that were etched into the windows were painted on the floor below him and on the pews to his sides. There, at the front, was his girlfriend, Iris. She was kneeling down, her head bowed, her hands pressed together. Her body was outlined by the yellow-white candle-light. Dent sighed, and he approached her side, crouching down next to her. Her Kibago sat in her lap silently, his eyelids drooping. He could sense that his Trainer was sad. Dent knew not to interrupt Iris when she was praying. So he voicelessly waited for her to finish, his eyes never leaving her face. Her hands finally dropped, resting on her Kibago, and her eyes opened, turning to look at her boyfriend.

"Hey, Dent," she said, leaning against his body, seeking warmth.

He wrapped his arms around her form, one of his hands rubbing at the small of her back. "Are you okay?" he inquired.

"Yeah, I'm just praying to the Gods," she said.

"For . . .?"

She sniffled a little, and looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Just for people to accept us," she said. Iris then turned stern, and she looked at her boyfriend. "Why can't they just leave us alone? What do they have against us?"

"Some people don't like biracial couples," Dent answered, resting his chin on her head.

"Why? We did nothing wrong," Iris said stubbornly.

"There are those who are just prejudice."

"Well, they need to get over themselves!" she shouted in anger, pushing closer to her boyfriend's warm body. "I just want to hit them in the face sometimes!"

"We can't do that. According to the law, that's battery."

Iris let out a throaty sigh. "I know . . ." she groaned.

Dent reached up, his fingers coming through her long purple-black hair. Kibago shifted in his Trainer's lap, letting out a little calming sound. She looked down at her Pokémon, smiling fondly at him. Her hand rubbed against his head, and he let out a croon.

"Kiba," it said happily.

Dent smiled, holding her close. "So, you've been praying to the Gods to get people to accept us?" he asked, turning his head to look at her face. "Is that why you've been coming here every night?"

"Well, yeah," she said, answering as if it was the most obvious answer in the entire world. "But the Gods don't seem to want to answer my prayer."

Dent was at a loss of words. He had no idea what to say. The green-haired young adult merely rubbed her back. "Iris, you know, why don't you stop praying to the Gods for acceptance," he said.

"What?" she asked, looking at her boyfriend as if he were crazy.

"W-well, what I mean is, since when did you ever care about what people thought of you," he reasoned. "You're a strong girl."

He was right. She was strong. Iris never did care about what people thought of her. They called her a wild-child; she just laughed in their faces and continued what she loved to do. Iris exhaled deeply, rubbing her head into his chest.

"I don't know, Dent."

Dent moved his head to get a better look at her face, and he pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips. It was just a gentle, innocent kiss. He pulled away from her face, resting his chin back on her head. "They don't know anything," he said. "They only see what is on the surface. They only see our skin colours. They only see race. Not love."

Iris held him close, her head resting against his shoulder. At first, it was the racial slurs on both of them. After that, then it was the cruel racist jokes, and then their heartless words:

"Oh, Gods, look at them."

"Are they a real couple?"

"You two are disgusting together. Why don't you stay with your own race?"

"What? You couldn't find a white woman so you had to sink down to her?"

Those were some of the words that both of them had heard on their first date. At first, it was just a normal date. Them, together, at a table, sharing dinner and just talking (Dent hanging on Iris' every word). Most of the café members did not care about the fact that they were biracial. But there were whispers from one table. Dent had heard their whispers, but he ignored them. He did not want their prefect night to be ruined. However, it was not before long until one female approached them. She was pale-skinned with acid green eyes and mud-brown hair.

"Are you two, dating?" she asked, putting great emphasis on "dating."

"Yes," Dent answered cheerfully. "This is our first date." He reached over, patting Iris' hand fondly.

She cringed a little. "Oh, you are," she said, her voice dripping in acid. "Shouldn't you, well, be seeing your own kind?"

Iris narrowed her eyes only slightly. "What do you mean 'seeing our own kind'?" she hissed.

"Well, you're black, he's white."

"So," Dent pressed.

"Well, you shouldn't be dating."

"Excuse me," Iris growled. "Since when did you become the dating police?"

Dent reached up, tugging at his green bowtie nervously. "Maybe it'd be best if you were to leave, ma'am, and let us enjoy our dinner," he suggested.

"But, c'mon, how could you date her?"

"That is none of your concern."

Iris was growing angry, and to keep her in check, Dent squeezed her hand. Her gaze flickered over to him, and he gave a curt nod of his head, as if to say, "Let me handle this." The green-haired boy turned to give her a stern look.

"Please go."

"How about you get out, you and your little black girlfriend," the white female growled, standing ground.

A woman, who sat a seat away at a secluded table, turned to look at the other female with a look of pure disgust on her face. She reached up, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear. "Hey, lady," she called to the brunette.

The other woman that was harassing the young couple turned to the blonde.

"You're being incredibly rude," the blonde sneered, her eyes narrowed, her fingers touching the rim of her glass. "Why don't you leave them alone?"

"But look at them. They're disgusting together."

A man, who the brunette was sitting with, nodded his head. "I agree with my girlfriend," he called from the table.

"You two are the only disgusting couple I see in here."

There was a hoot, and some clapping from the other members of the café. The racist couple glanced around, feeling uncomfortable and severely outnumbered. Iris gave them a little smirk, her chest swelling with pride.

"Why don't you two get out," the blonde hissed.

"I agree," a man called, glaring at the brunette's boyfriend, who cringed slightly. "If you don't like it here, then get the hell out."

The raciest brunette snorted. "Fine, we will," she snapped, motioning for her boyfriend, who quickly threw out the money for the coffee he and his girlfriend had purchased, and went to her side. "Let's go, Karl." Both walked on, moving to the door.

The blonde smirked, staring at them with her dark eyes. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out!" she called.

The racist couple paused at the doorframe, glaring at the blonde with fierceness, but the two left the café anyways. There were some soft cheers and some clapping from the members of the café, and the blonde had a large, triumphant smirk upon her face. She turned to Dent and Iris, winking at them before going back to her dinner. Iris had a relieved expression upon her face, and she visibly calmed, her shoulders slacking.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dent called, a kind and grateful smile on his lips.

She only shrugged, taking a sip from her glass.

For that night, she was their hero.

Iris remembered that night. She snuggled closer into her boyfriend's shoulder, and inhaled his sweet scent, feeling comfort and safety in his arms. Why did some people do this? She assumed that people had gotten over biracial couples, but, apparently, some had not. Sometimes, people could be so cruel. Love was love no matter what. Did Aloe and Kidachi have to deal with this from others who did not approve of their relationship? Did they have to walk on shattered glass with these types of people?

"They will never see anything beyond the surface?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Maybe, in time, they will see," Dent said. He shifted his weight, and kissed her forehead lovingly, stoking her long hair. "But for now, let's just forget about it."

"Easier said than done," Iris said bitterly.

Dent sadly smiled. She spoke the truth. It was easier said than done, because there would always be someone that did not like them together and would say something to express what they felt. It was unenviable. He pressed another kiss to her lips, but this time, he decided to deepen it. Turning his head to the side, he wanted to gain access into her mouth. Iris leaned into his touch, her hands grasping his vest tightly. Kibago crawled from his Trainer's lap, and into her large hair, giving them the alone time they wanted. The two continued to kiss, until they ran out of breath, and had to break. Iris sighed, licking her lips before pulling him into a tight hug. Dent smiled, his hands resting on her hips. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then closed them, her forehead resting against his.

"The hell with them," she said. "If they don't like it, they can shove it."

Dent smiled at her, kissing her nose. "Not the words I would use, but I would agree," he chuckled. The green-haired boy broke from her embrace, and stood up, offering his hand to her. "Come, Satoshi's waiting for us at the Pokémon Centre. I would believe he's hungry."

Iris took his hand, and she rolled her eyes. "He can be such a child," she muttered, standing up.

Dent only smiled, his hand linked with hers as the two of them walked from the house of prayers. The two were innocently blissful and in love. Nothing would stand in their way. The candles inside of the church were still lit, that is until a strong gust from the open door blew them out, leaving only the setting sun's rays to illuminate the interior of the building.