You're twelve and he's thirteen and he's everything you've ever dreamed of.

He's not what you expected - rather scruffier than the confident, cheerful, put-together boys you're used to - but in a good way. Dark hair, slightly rumpled, and sleep-glazed grey eyes. He stares at you, seemingly uncertain.

"Hi," he says eventually, somewhat cautiously. "You're my neighbour, then?"

You hold out the basket of cookies and Pokepuffs and smile - prettily, like you've always been taught. "Yup, I'm Serena. Nice to meet you!"

"Calem," he says, and offers a small smile that makes your breath catch in your throat, Thank you."

You're about to ask him if he wants to hang out, maybe, but he's already shut the door.

You stare at the door, glossy with fresh paint, before shaking your head and walking away - with just the right amount of bounce in your step, like you've always been taught.

Like nothing's wrong. Nothing at all.

You try and show him around, but he turns you down flatly every time, polite but firm.

"No, thank you," is always his response. No trace of annoyance, no pretend-reluctance - nothing. Just politeness, and inexplicable flicker in those endless grey eyes.

The breakthrough finally arrives when you offer to show him how to catch Pokemon. His face lights up almost immediately, and it's such a rare sight you're caught off guard for a second.

Then his expression slips back into its passive, unrevealing facade, but there's that glimmer of hope in his eyes that remains.

"You'd do that?" he asks, and at that moment you can tell, without doubt - this boy loves Pokemon, with all his heart. More than anything.

It should be gratifying, really; finally, someone who doesn't see Pokemon as decorative creatures (sorry, Shauna) or as data on a screen (really, though, Trevor). But for some reason your heart feels strangely heavy; all you manage to catch later is a Bunnelby that sinks its teeth into your ankle the first time you let it out of its Pokeball (it gets relegated permanantly to PC storage duty from then on).

You think that maybe it's because you know that he could never love anything else that much.

Especially not you.

He proves to be a Trainer of devastating skill.

He beats you much too easily on your first fight - he's a newbie trainer, hello, and you've been training all your life - but for some reason you're completely unsurprised by the outcome.

He's very nice about it. "You're a really good Trainer," he offers, and he's telling the truth - you are. But he's just better, and you're positive there's something he has that you don't and you just can't figure out why.

Maybe it's the look in his eye when he battles - a fierceness, an intensity that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat a little faster - or maybe it's the inflection of his voice during battles, controlled yet radiating an underlying exhilaration. Maybe it's the rawness, the vulnerability that is only ever displayed in a battle, that you can't ever seem to get enough of because it's the only way you're able to get to really know him.

( You do get to know him, eventually, and he's sardonic and gentle and blunt, and what he lacks in charm he makes up for in the self-deprecating, dry humour that is purely him. )

But while usually a loss leaves you caught off-guard but still riding on the high of being in a Pokemon battle, losing to Calem makes you feel resigned, drained, even. And yet you can't seem to get enough of it - of him.

You do get to know him, eventually.

It takes forever, but once you realise he's less of an enigma than simply terribly awkward and socially incompetent, it gets easier. He's sardonic and blunt and gentle in a way that makes you want to cry and laugh at the same time. He's utterly uncharming, but makes up for it with his stupid jokes and childish smirks and dry, self-deprecating humour.

He's the type of person who laughs hysterically after soaking you with a well-placed water gun, and then sticks out his tongue before finally offering you a towel. He's irritating and he's endearing and when you finally realise which part wins out, it's too late.

You're both lying on the grass, staring at the stars when that happens. "You won't leave," he says, completely out of the blue. "You won't, right?"

It's automatic; instinctive. "I won't," you assure him. He relaxes immediately, and it makes your chest ache because what has this boy gone through that would make him think that?

And then you realise that it's not so much that you won't - you can't.

He's your heroin, and you're addicted - and there's no going back.

You spend too many hours, days, weeks - you can't keep track of the time anymore - trying to play catch-up to him.

(You're not sure if it's your competitive streak kicking in, or if it's just the desire to shine in front of him, for once. You don't think you really want to know.)

But you lose, time and time again, and soon the resignation grows into frustration and the frustration dies back down into exhaustion and then you're shaking your head because why do you even bother?

But you can't say that, no. Instead, you smile, bright as the lights in Lumiose City, and string pretty words into pretty sentences like it's ok, I'll try harder and I hope you get stronger next time and I know you can do it.

It's the only thing you've ever really known how to do, anyway.

He catches on, eventually.

"Why d'you keep hiding?" he asks you one day, catching you off guard like he always does, in the way only he can.

You blink, but then years of experience catches up to you and you smile. Prettily, sweetly, like you've no idea what he's talking about.

"What d'you mean?" is your airy response. He frowns slightly.

"You're doing it again. Pretending." He reaches out, and touches your fingers gently; you'd been twirling your hair around your fingers again, in the way you do when you get nervous.

"You don't have to pretend, Rena. Especially not around me."

Your heart clenches so tightly it's painful, but you manage a smile. Pretty. Sweet.

Like you've always been taught.

"I'm okay, Calem."

He understands.

He always does.

You've just turned fifteen when you decide to leave Kalos.

"Leave?" Calem asks, blinking. "Where to?"

You shrug. "Unova, probably. I've wanted to catch up with Ash in forever."

He frowns, thoughtful.

"'Kay, I'll come with you, then," he says eventually, like it's settled. You're caught off guard (yet again, you think) but shrug.

"You don't have to," you tell him. "I'll be fine."

"Two's better than one," he argues, "and you're my friend. Besides, you can't take care of yourself." He rolls his eyes. "I know you, Rena."

He does.

"You don't need me, though," you tell him. He stares at the ground.

"Yeah, I do," he admits. "You're my only friend, y'know - no-one else ever got me to open up like you did." You feel your cheeks beginning to burn, but you refuse to let your stupid feelings deter you.

"Why, though?" you press. "You love Kalos." He shrugs.

"We started our journeys together," he says. "It wouldn't feel right to stay if you left. Besides, I want to see the world, too."

"And," he adds, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, "I like you better, anyway."

You're fifteen and he's sixteen and he's everything you've ever dreamed of - but even better.

Because for the first time, you think that maybe, there could be more.