アスナ
Asuna.
the walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy.
jim rohn.
Their relationship was laughably simple; it was a pick-me-up relationship, nothing more, nothing less.
There's no real love, there will never be. He's too far-gone to ever come back. Flannery told herself repeatedly, unsuccessfully.
But slowly, bit-by-bit, she fell in love with this heartbroken, wasted soul stuffed into a body that was already dead to begin with.
They met on Flannery's last day of summer vacation, on the craggy, rock-strewn shores of Sunyshore City. She was hoping to battle the strong, elusive "shining, shocking star" that she so often heard of in Hoenn, amid wistful sighs and giggles.
She had searched all through the city, incessantly questioning the shopkeepers, to the point where a vegetable dealer threw a sack of cabbages at her with a questionable choice of words. He was nowhere to be found; it was astonishing as to how he pulled it off. Wherever Flannery went, she was always recognized, no matter what hairstyle or clothes she had that day. And here was Volkner, someone even more famous than her, who had disappeared within his own city!
The cool wind billowing through her glossy red hair, she made her way to the beach shore, far away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan area behind her. She settled herself on a huge white rock set firmly between two others, and stared out towards the turbulent blue-gray waves.
Oceans always entranced her: they were so vast, so full of life, so beautiful. The little hot spring back in Lavaridge Town was nothing compared to this vast blue thing (there was no way to describe it). The sea spray light and refreshing on her face, Flannery basked in the momentary sunlight peeking from behind the clouds, before realizing with a jolt that someone was there.
There was a faint clicking sound, amid mutters of outrage, loud enough to be heard over the constant crashing of the waves. Flannery slowly slid down the weathered boulder, walking slowly down the beach, back towards the road leading to the city.
Her ruby eyes finally caught sight of a blonde-haired man, sitting near the deserted lifeguard house, toying with an old, rusty looking matchbox.
"Excuse me?"
The man sat up with a jolt and a scowl; piercing blue met warm red, and Flannery had a shock of realization: this was the famed Volkner.
He looked worse for wear, his eyes were sunken with gray circles around them, his hair was mussed and tangled; it looked like he was in a never-ending hangover.
"Yes?"
"You're Volkner, am I correct?"
"Yes, and as you can clearly see, I am not in any condition to accept a battle challenge."
With one final, successful click, Volkner lit a cigarette, balanced it between his long, lithe fingers, and took one long, shuddering drag.
She wasn't expecting this at all.
They were the equivalent of movie stars; they were the headlines for the major tabloids, the subject of many heated discussions between the young and old alike, the scale for other relationships. It was absolutely hilarious, Flannery mused while flipping through PokéStar, perusing the many articles with cheesy titles like The Electric-Hot Chemistry! and How Shocking Is Your Fiery Passion?
It was an easy relationship, no chemistry, nothing, nothing but empty kisses and mindless lovemaking.
They were both too far gone to even worry about their reputations: they were foolishly happy, wallpapering their worries behind a raunchy relationship. They drowned their sorrow and despair through bottles of bitter beer and choice wines. They never kissed to remember; they kissed to forget.
They were trapped in a beautiful birdcage of their own design; no way out, even though they wanted to stay in, ignorant but carefree.
Wake up. Get drunk. Have sex. Sleep.
Wake up. Flannery almost always woke up with a hangover, eyes bleary, head swimming. She was used to it by now; it was synonymous with having an annoying mosquito buzzing near her ear. She would almost always be in some slutty piece of lace lingerie that would have been stripped off of her the previous night. It would be almost eleven in the morning; by this time, she would have been out and about, perhaps in the market or out training. Flannery would lie in bed, thinking, until Volkner slowly stirred with a tell tale groan. They would mechanically get up, straighten the bed (there was no point; it always looked worn out, like intimacy was ground into it), and go take a shower. The hangover was always omnipresent.
Get drunk. There was a four-hour time period before this process, where Flannery and Volkner would go out and have some human interaction, mainly with Flint and Candice. They would wander through Sunyshore, in the outdoor market, where they actually felt like a couple. It was a rare time that they both cherished. They returned home with a replenished stock of wine, beer, rum, liquor, anything. They drank all of it, in the midst of chaste, sweet kisses. Through each passing hour, they became more and more intimate, shedding clothes, losing each and every inhibition. Oddly enough, their hangover never worsened.
Have sex. The pinnacle of her day. Flannery would let herself go, scream his name, and wrench his hair, oh, it hurt so much, but it felt so good. Volkner would slowly, teasingly, cast off her clothes, while he remained fully clothed. And she would, in a frenzy, rip his clothes off, kiss and kiss, feel him inside her. She would arch her back, moan, wanting more and more, throwing sheets away, while haphazardly kissing him all the while. She was on a high, she was alive, she was alive. It would end as quickly as it had started, with simple, meaningless kisses and soft whispers of nothing.
Sleep. She would drift into nothing, with Volkner beside her.
Wake up. Get drunk. Have sex. Sleep.
Her daily cycle was nothing more, nothing less.
They lasted a short while, Flannery lost track: a month, maybe two?
They weren't angry; they were just tired.
She left Sunyshore with a hastily scrawled note, a single, exhausted kiss.
They were over.
And Flannery was fine with that.
the sad thing is it could have been.