Author's Note: For Leilanne. I hope you like it! I'm sorry it's not very long and more of a drabble than one-shot.
Role Reversal (Reverse Psychology)
She came to him in a moment of doubt, tiny, untraceable (unnoticed), and gave him hope. Met him with her sparkling eyes, too wide—too immense, engulfing like oceans—for him to escape. And so, he took her words (at face value) and borrowed her courage.
(He called it boredom: the stale, festering ennui of intellectual youths turning old and limp—counting rings in their trunks.)
Mud heated, steamed, lightning volcanoes (hot flashes and lonesome tales), Volkner desecrated and elevated his heart. From uneasy memories, losses and triumphs, Volkner sought nervously for challenges. And wonders where had all the excitement went?
"I think you're just afraid," she accused, simple as that. A blank statement and no rue.
"Of what?"
"Of me."
"Of you," he echoed back, voice hoarse and strung weak.
"I bet I'll win. I know I can. You might be the best in Gym Leaders, but I'm ready to face the Elite Four."
He laughed but allowed her to coax him back to the gym. Dusty lights and eclectic themed electric shocks. He was a guy who always kept a promise. Even to boastful little girls with their heads swimming in clouds.
(And he was a guy who never regretted the defeat he received. It had been fair. She was good, he'll give her that.)
-
Dawn set sail (riding on her Empoleon) in the early morning. He warned her not to go (didn't want her to go), said that the waves were dangerous, were unpredictable, were so icy-choking-cold she couldn't possibly bear it.
But she shook her head, resolute—obstinate (like him, younger, through an age de-magnifying glass).
And even though he wished her best, really meant it when he told her to obtain the championship, he still felt the familiar prickling, the longing.
(He wished he could float down the seas in her place.)
-
Flint,
There's a new Trainer heading your way. Watch out, old friend. She's tough.
—Volkner
P.S. She's pretty cute too.
-
Tense, anxious, wrecked and wretched.
Dawn inhaled and fought the urge to flee, to fly, to dash off and never come back. She could feel all the "bravery"—that she was famous for—dissipate as the hour drew near, seconds zeroing in. Maybe she really was getting way in over her head. Maybe this was her conclusion (her Story Ends).
She turned on her heels, so ready to rush out the double-bolted doors (crash through metal, burn out varnish, skinned knees and scabby elbows—she didn't care). And then she stopped: she saw his face smiling that melancholy, thin line.
He wished her silent luck—
which she accepts (half wanting to tell him he desperately needs some sleep, maybe a hundred years' worth).
-
Dawn finished her battle, exhausted but victorious.
Volkner clapped like everyone else, just another fragment (stylized figment) of the audience. Her face was lit in smiles, iridescent and lovely. He cheered and left.
The envy was too intense, too devouring. Like a legion of bacteria, it crawled over his skin (into the fissures) and ate him whole. Rapacious, voracious. Volkner faded behind white canvas banners.
"He told me to tell you congratulations."
"Thanks. Where is he?"
"Gone."
(Dawn knew: runaway. And her heart sank with guilt.)
-
She dared not set foot into his city. Instead, she traveled to Kanto, to Hoenn, to everywhere but there.
But there was always an inexplicable wish, like a gnawing, vapid tunnel drowning out all sound (except for the siren call). It bid her to return, just once.
"I've come so far," she explained slowly. Her Pokémon nodded, forever understanding.
Besides, there was a new Legendary she promised the professor she would investigate. Pictures and words, a documentary for the future, for the greater, better, good.
-
Forgiveness is a sin. And so is forgetting.
-
They meet unexpectedly again. Some called it serendipity, she called it terror.
He had aged and so had she. And they both progressed as Trainers, as humans, as empty "adults" with wounds spiked with poison.
"I challenge—"
Dawn shook her head. Not this time. "In case you haven't heard, I've long renounced my title as Champion. I'm more of a researcher now."
He smiled, a clever retort. "I know. How about some coffee instead? And in case you haven't heard, I'm not a Gym Leader anymore."
"Yeah?" Oh, is that so?
"Yeah. I'm a 'researcher' now, too."
"What're you researching?"
"Legendaries."
"Coincidence. Me too."
"Then you'd know this: Legends are made, not born."
"I've heard that somewhere. A long, long time ago. My memory's not as sharp as before."
"I could help you refresh it."
"You can try."
"I can succeed."
-
Apologies were futile (jumbled words and makeshift, sideway—jumpy—glances). They were mature now, experienced. Understood the world and its etiquette-reinforced rules.
Exactly three days later, he sent her flowers and a note, dotted with smiley faces and pencil smudges, asking for a second date. (Dawn smiled and turned on her phone, prepared to dial.)