A/N: The Tumblr anon prompters strike again; this time, it's the prompt "I just really miss talking to you" with AgencyShipping.
A chilly gust of wind blows by, and I pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. Winter loves to arrive early around here. The wind throws my hair in my face now, and I almost regret not putting it up this morning. But it does keep some of the chill off my back and neck, and I need as much protection from the cold as I can get.
The wind blows again, fiercer this time, biting at my clothes and my skin. Perhaps I should go back to my hotel room and bundle up a little more. Yet, even as I consider the option, the omniscient wind stops, repositions, and slams into me from behind, causing me to stumble forward. The wind knows that if I returned to the warmth of the hotel, I would not come back out again. And really, what difference does it make when my heart hurts just as much as the wind?
I continue to the café.
Bianca isn't there when I arrive, which doesn't surprise me. I take a seat at one of the tables on the patio outside to wait for her. There's a guitarist performing here, playing a fast-paced, lively tune that grinds against my somber mood. Though his song brings me no joy, I toss him a few coins anyways; I understand the struggle for survival performers face.
Across the street, a sign advertises a truancy sale at a warehouse a few blocks away. Those happen in this city every now and then, when an artist decides to abandon their artistic pursuits for a more lucrative profession, or at least one that offers more stability. They sell everything they can to give themselves a bit of pocket change to start their new life – all their supplies and works, finished or not. I've heard the name comes from the fact that such artists feel that their muse has become truant, missing for so long that it will never return.
Black is no truant. I refuse to believe it.
Bianca finally arrives, out of breath, fifteen minutes late. Her blonde hair is tousled by the wind and her cute red glasses are slightly askew. "I'm so, so sorry! I didn't keep you waiting long, did I? I couldn't find my scarf, and then I got held up by a couple of Trainers who were having a battle in the middle of the road, and–"
"It's fine, Bianca," I say, getting to my feet. "Let's head inside and get warmed up."
It's too cold for the café's specialty Moomoo Milk, so we each order a hot chocolate and take a seat at the bar. After Bianca scalds her tongue on the first sip of her drink, we decide to let them cool before drinking any more. She fills the time by chatting up a storm.
"Professor Juniper and I discovered this really mysterious cave about a mile south of Floccesy Ranch. It's pretty small, but we think it's hiding something big. Professor Juniper says it might even be the home of a legendary Pokémon! See, what's really weird about it is these puddles of water on the floor. They don't evaporate even though there's no apparent water source creating them, and they've been there so long that they've eroded a pattern into the floor! We took some pictures of the cave and we're inspecting them carefully to see if there's any meaning to it…"
Sounds thrilling, I think dully. It's not that Bianca's unenthusiastic about what she's talking about, or that I think what she's talking about is uninteresting. I just can't force myself to care about what she's saying when it's so unfamiliar to me.
I shake my head imperceptibly. No, that's part of why I wanted to talk with Bianca in the first place. I can't learn more about what she does if I can't listen to what she does. I tune back into her chatter, hoping she didn't notice my inattention.
"…Cheren is teaching now? He got a job at the Aspertia Trainer's School. I visited him a couple weeks ago. Professor Juniper wanted me to give the last two Pokédexes to students there. They're so cute! All the students, I mean, but especially the new Pokédex holders. Their names are Blake and Whitley. They're a real Romeo and Juliet. Young love is just so adorable…"
My thoughts start wandering again. It's even harder to pay attention to her gossip. I don't know these kids, so I don't know why their relationship is relevant to me. Is it just because they have Pokédexes like me? But I doubt I'll ever meet them. Their affairs don't really concern me.
I grit my teeth. I invited Bianca here because I needed to be distracted by things that barely concern me. I want to take my mind off my fears and worries for a while by thinking about insignificant things instead. I glance at Bianca; she's still talking, not noticing a thing.
"…still wants to micromanage my life over my shoulder. Mommy's trying to rein him in on that. When I went to the Trainer's School, he drove all the way from Nuvema Town to Aspertia City to pick me up! Can you believe it?"
"I didn't know that was possible," I say, attempting to contribute a little to the obviously one-sided conversation.
"I flew there by myself just fine, using Professor Juniper's Swanna," Bianca continues, as if I hadn't said anything. "I could have easily flown back. Honestly! I'm nearly an adult, but he still acts like I'm five years old! It's embarrassing!" Bianca shakes her head. "But that's enough about me. How've things been with you, White?"
"Fine," I whisper, staring into my half-empty mug. It's obviously a lie, but I can't tell her that I'm not or she'll ask me why. I'm struggling to maintain my composure now. I just–
I can't tell her that Black never talked over me like that, that Black always stopped to hear what I had to say, that Black wanted to converse with me instead of just talking at me. Black never prattled on and on about things that barely concerned us. Black always explained to me the things I didn't know about whatever he talked about. I was trying to forget, but…I can't even listen to Bianca now without thinking of Black. Why? Why?
I bury my face in my hands, hiding the tears that have welled up in my eyes. Oh, Black. I just really miss talking to you.
I'm dimly aware of Bianca calling my name in concern, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder, pulling me into a hug. It doesn't help. None of it helps. No one can soothe the raw ache in my heart but him. I just want him back. I just want him back.
I just want him back…