He still remembered the day that the key had been placed in his hand—how he had not expected it so soon. Yet, he'd squeezed it in his palm as though he had just been given the greatest treasure in the world. In his mind, he had been, but at such a heavy price. A decision was placed on his childish shoulders at that moment, and his choice would determine rather or not he had really become the man that his father had made him out to be. Be happy that he was finally given the key to unlock his dreams or mourn for the fact that his father was leaving him.

Falkner had done what he thought was right that day. He had said his goodbyes, and instead of giving into the urge to run after his father and beg to go with him, he had gone inside of the gym- his gym now—and he had looked around to plan out the changes he wanted to make. He wanted the trainer's platform higher and narrower, and he wanted a window to the sky behind his chair. This was not for the benefit of the trainers that would challenge him at all. It was for himself, so that he could look behind himself and remember his dreams when the pain of missing his father tried to make him forget.

For four years, he had been strong. Though he had wanted to cry those first nights, he hadn't. The feelings of abandonment were pushed aside because he remembered that his father had dreams too, and now they were passed on to the son. That was what he had believed all of this time, but now…

"I wanted to tell you on your sixteenth birthday, but your mother…"

Falkner could barely hear the words or see the man who had given him life. He looked so much like that person, though. They had the same deep blue hair, handsome face, and royal blue eyes. Well, eye. The right eye of the son had long been his secret shame because he had been told it denied him of being as handsome as his sire. But was that true? Had anything he had been told all of his life been true? As he stood here, staring at his father, all that he could see was lies.

"Hayato, my son," his father stood and offered his arms, dressed in the wide sleeves of an ivory haori, to the child.

"How could you?"

Now his piercing gaze fell on the man that he had seen his father kissing as he walked upon this scene. A home wrecker, he was not. Falkner did not believe in such things because he believed in choice. His father had chosen to walk out on his family in the name of a so called dream. He had chosen to keep all of this a secret. A choice had been made to lie.

"Don't blame your mother, Hayato." The arms settled around Falkner against his will, and though he was angry, he did nothing to push away. Nor did he yell and scream, as would have been warranted. He stood calmly and allowed his father to embrace him while kissing the top of his head. "She knew it would break your heart, and so we decided that we should wait until you are older. Look at you know—how tall and handsome you've grown to be, like your dad."

Those last three words. How long had he longed to make them true and hated himself because he was not? He was not as handsome. He could not keep his cool as well. One of his eyes was gold.

"So many lies," he whispered as he was held. Then he pushed away as he realized, he didn't even need this person. Really, he hadn't. He had learned to live without him. Those random notes and birthday cards hadn't improved his life at all. In fact, they ruined his mood on the days that they arrived because they reminded him of someone who should have been there for him, but had chosen not to be. He was not tall. Morty was tall, and was always picking him up and carrying him around like a doll—a life-sized Falkner doll. But he loved him. He was always there. This father was not.

"Hayato…" The old man was calling him, but the young gym leader's eyes went to the secret lover. He wasn't pretty like Falkner's mother was. Come to think of it, Falkner looked a lot like her too. The shape of his face was like hers and her eyes were golden, just like the eye he hid in shame.

"I'm not like you," the boy whispered and then lifted his head with pride. Again, he spoke those words, but now with bold confidence. "I'm not like you! I will never be like you, and I'm proud of myself for that."

His father was left speechless, but there was nothing more to say. The son turned on his heel and released his Pidgeot, climbing on to his back immediately. Perhaps someday, he would forgive his father for the lies and deception, but for now, that was far from his mind. For now, he realized that he was free of the things that had held him down. At last, he had escaped from the cage that was his father's shadow.

(AN: This ain't what I'm supposed to be writing. I know. I just needed it out of my head, man.)