{Safe}

"Volkner," she says, stifling a yawn.

"Cynthia," he mimics her tone, which was, as he would put it, all-too serious yet completely entertaining to him.

She ignores him and continues. "I'm going to fall asleep," she states, a bit factually. "Do you know what you're doing? You look like you're preforming surgery on the computer."

Volkner shoves his messy blonde hair out of his face to give her a look she rolls her eyes at. "You could, you know, not insult me while I'm helping you. It really hurts my feelings and my self-esteem." His last sentence drips with sarcasm only Volkner could use. His sarcasm was so not serious, but it made Cynthia wonder if that was his only way of being truthfully serious, and his sarcastic words were actually straight from his very profound and, at times, pleasant heart.

Then again, Volkner was never one to have a hurting self-esteem. "Oh, right, I forgot you were helping me," there's some venom in her tone; he grins, and she hates that he finds her so amusing when she's aggravated, "I probably forgot because I didn't, you know, ask you."

He chuckles, and she balls her hands into fists. "You are adorable," he chirps, and then continues on poking at the PC console.

"Adorable? You are the only person to ever call me that," she murmurs, and crosses her arms over her chest in annoyance. She didn't like to be called something so childish. She was the Champion. She was strong and courageous, the first of her generation to take on the challenge of beating the Elites and, of course, the Champion, earning the grievous title of Sinnoh Champion. Even as a child, she recalls, no one called her adorable. They called her smart and independent, or respectful and mature.

He laughs again, making her attention snap back to him. "You're really upset about that?" he begins to place things back in the PC and move around some wiring.

"Upset about what?" she's already rolling her eyes, and he looks up to grin at her.

"Being called adorable? Because—don't get mad—you actually look even more adorable when you're upset about being called adorable." He reattaches the side of the exposed console and stands up, looking her right in the face. His grin fades to a smirk. "Done, Your Highness," he bows dramatically.

She doesn't give it away on her face, but she's amused by him. She's always amused by him. "Thank you," she finally says. She wants to add something, but can't seem to find the words.

It seems like that's what happens every time.

"No problem. Want me to escort you to your room, since you're about to fall asleep?" His own brand of sarcasm seasons the words.

"No thanks," she retorts, acting like this conversation was a waste of her time. But she didn't have to stay in the office with him until midnight while he worked on a broken computer. And she certainly didn't have to chat with him the whole time. Volkner was completely aware of this. "Do you want something for your work, though? I could probably—"

He cuts her off, "Cynthia, you know good and well the only thing I want from you." His tone is anything but sarcastic. The serious look on his face startles her to silence, and she takes a step back, finding herself up against a desk. She grips it with her hands. Her heart picks up when he walks—slowly, eyeing her and only her with each step—around the desk separating them. He walks up to her. She feels a rush of emotions she didn't want to feel, emotions that confused her whenever she tried to scribble them in a letter, but she wasn't confused in this moment. She knew what she was feeling clearly, probably for the first time in her entire life, as her heart pumped in her stomach, and shock waves paralyzed her brain.

He reaches for her, and places a hand on her face gently. Her eyes close, but quickly flutter open again. She couldn't let herself enjoy his touch.

"We don't always get what we want," she whispers. His face fills with sorrow, and he runs his thumb across her cheek, staring at her deeply, like this was the last time he would ever get to look at her like this. Maybe it would be, but he scares that thought away. He moves his hand back down to his side.

Every being in her body regrets saying those words. Her hand twitches—she almost reaches for him and pulls him close—but she grips the desk again, restraining herself.

"You're going to be the death of me, Cynthia Marie," he says, and smirks, but there is no happiness or amusement written on his face.

She tries to be gentle. "It's just…I just…I have…"

"Yeah I know," he spits, bitterly, "It's just you just you have a lot on your plate, I get it. Adding in something would be too much, right?"

She nods, and says nothing in response. She can't trust herself to speak. If she starts, she might never stop, and what she would be saying would be things she's not ready to say.

"Yeah…" he trails off, and his gaze wanders. "It would be too much, and I'm not worth it."

There it was. The sarcasm that seemed so ironic it wasn't.

"Volkner," she begins. Her tone was soothing and kind. "That's not it at all."

"Save it," he interjects.

"What? Let me talk to you," Cynthia says with desperation.

"Seriously?" he gives her a look, "You're going to give me the 'it's not you it's me' spiel? Save it," he repeats.

"Save it?" she echoes, confused and aggravated and trying not to cry. She really wants to cry. She almost wishes she wasn't so good at suppressing it, so she could let it out right now and show him the sincerity and severity of her feelings.

"Save it," he replies, more casually, "for when it's true. For when another guy waltzes into your life and you can look him in the eyes and claim it's not you, it's me, and mean it. Save it." That sentence angers her more than she would like to admit.

Finally, she can't take the rush of emotions. She feels like she's feeling every emotion at once, and the only way she can let it out is by yelling: "It is you, Volkner!"

He nods, unfazed by her outburst.

"It's you and it has always been you!" He nods again, and motions with his hand, beckoning her to go on. She takes a step closer to him, getting into his face, looking straight into those blue eyes, and she continues. "It's always been your aggravating, irritating attitudes and your lack of seriousness! It's always been you dodging questions, and answering questions with questions! It's always been you," she points an angry finger at him and pokes his chest, "driving me absolutely crazy with how you find amusement in the most absurd things! It's always been you and your sarcasm and jokes, one's that are timed wrong but always seem to make everything better, somehow! It's always been you, with your sad blue eyes that never convey the emotion you want, but instead the emotion that you're actually feeling, whether you realize you're feeling it or not. It's always been you, and your ability to find everything infinitely tragic, and infinitely entertaining all at the same time. It's always been you, and how you look at me like I'm the best thing you've ever seen, and, even if it's just for a second, how that one look convinces me that I just might be the best thing you've ever seen. It's always been you—"

His arms wrap around her, embracing her tightly, but he kept his face against her, looking into her eyes. "Maybe," he starts, his tone matching her annoyed one, "it's always been you."

Even with her heart pounding and her brain filling with chemicals, she still clenches her jaw. "Are you really turning this around on me?"

"Yes," he states obviously, "now let me continue. It's always been you, Miss Cynthia, with your stubbornness to accept how you truly feel. You're too stubborn to even admit to yourself that you might have feelings for someone that you don't approve of. It's always been your inability to give yourself a break. It's always been you having high expectations for yourself, expectations that are unreachable and you refuse to see that, and drive yourself insane trying to fulfill them. It's always been you stressing yourself out, trying to be perfect, when no one is perfect…But it's always been you, who somehow or another makes me doubt that no one is perfect, because you seem like perfection walking. It's always been you, with your gray eyes that shine with wonder and amazement. It's always been you, with a courageous attitude like no other and the radiant confidence to match…"

She wraps her arms around his neck and stands on her tip toes.

"It's always been you…" he continues, and closes his eyes, "That I have loved with a love that I thought I would never see in my wretched self again." After he says those words, he opens his eyes, like he was afraid she would have disappeared from his arms.

But she didn't disappear, and he doesn't wait for a reply. He kisses her with fierce determination, and then more gently, before breaking away. She didn't want him to leave, she didn't want it to end, she began to pull him back, and he didn't resist. He couldn't resist.

"Volkner," she says, moments later, her breath a whisper.

"Cynthia," he mimics her, and rubs his hand over her back. "Don't tell me you're going to fall asleep, because if you seriously will be able to sleep tonight, you'll be the only one in this room who can."

She looks around, suddenly aware of how unaware she had been, but the room was still empty apart from the two of them. Meeting his eyes again, she feels like she could melt. A part of her feels alarmed at this feeling of exposure and vulnerability, but another loves it, and wouldn't want it any other way. "I hate to ask this, but…Are you leaving in the morning?" She knows the answer. She can only hope it will be different, and he won't leave.

"Yes," he whispers, and his eyes look so sad she has to look away. But he places a hand on her chin, and moves her face back to his. "I'll be back," he reassures her, so closely his lips are brushing hers, teasing her to a point where she can't say anything more, just kisses him again.

"I…" she sighs, and takes a step back. He's not alarmed by this. He simply slides his hands down to hers. "I can't promise you that anything will be different when you come back."

"I hope they will be, but I know that you can't promise me that. I just wanted this." He pulls her back to him, and hugs her tightly. "I just wanted this," he repeats, quietly in her ear.

She wants this too. She wants it more than she wanted anything. She wants him, and everything that accompanied him. His love and affection and however that came. She wants it.

We don't always get what we want.

~C~L~

She sits in her room and watches the night turn into morning. He was right, she couldn't sleep. Whether it was the flood of oxytocin or the burning confusion that rests in her stomach, she doesn't know.

What now? The thought repeats in her mind. Things between her and Volkner may have gotten serious before, but he had never said those things in the past, and that's what haunts her mind the most. He had never kept his feelings for her hidden, but he was never quite that vocal about it either. She was left dazed and confused. She had another month until he would return to the League, and what would she say? How would she say it? How would she know that whatever she says wouldn't be a complete mistake?

She wouldn't. She knows this.

She couldn't. She couldn't tell him anything except for what she always has. She nods at this thought, and thinks about how safe that makes her feel. It was safe to tell him what she always has when he puts her in this position. It was worded differently every time, but it was the same meaning, and same rejection.

But then, she feels ridiculous for wanting to be safe. Suddenly she wants to find that courage that Volkner told her she has, and the radiant confidence he spoke of. She hugs the blanket around herself tighter, and it reminds her of how nice it was to be in Volkner's arms. She felt the safest she has ever felt in his arms. She was engrossed in him, and was wrapped up in him and nothing else. For a while, it was just them, and nothing else in the entire world mattered more than them in that moment. Nothing mattered more than his eyes on her, and their lips finding each other, over and over; his hands on her, her arms locked around him.

For a moment she's lost in the memory. She finds her way out of the dreamlike thought, angrily stands from the chair, and drops the blanket to the floor. She sits at her desk and prepares to write. She dips the quill in the ink, and begins.

Dear You,

My emotions are conflicting and I am beyond confused. I can't tell if this is the last thing I want, or the only thing in the entire universe that I want. Things were going well in my life. Everything was easygoing and I finally felt like I was in control. Then of course, he waltzes in, ruining that balance that I thought I had.

Oh but I love him. I love him so much it overpowers everything in me and—

She stops and scoffs at the last thing she has written. She let the writing take hold of her in the moment. Deep within her, she knows it was how she truly felt, and it was escaping through the power of her getting lost as her thoughts turned into words. But she wouldn't admit that.

She crumples up the page and tosses it aside. Oh, the times she had done that through the years was an uncountable amount.

Starting fresh, she writes again.

Dear You,

Today was an average day at the League…

She couldn't dare tell the person of what had happened that day. She would soon start trying to forget it and erase it from her memory, like it never even happened. Even though, like all the others, she would never send this letter.

Author's Note: I apologize for possibly confusing everyone with updating the story and then taking the chapter back down. Ugh, Fanfiction made me angry today. The updated summary wasn't loading. Anyways! This was my first real romance venture. I like how it came out. I want your opinions! And what kinds of things would you like to see from these one-shots?