And so THAT, boys and girls, is how Steven Stone and I ended up in my base staring at a can of soup.
May Birch.
"Why do you have a soup can and no can opener, May?" Ignoring my melancholy expression, he groaned and shook the stupid Cambell's can in front of my face.
"Aw, shut it!" I snapped, resuming my bewilderment. Need a knife, need a knife, I plead silently. "Wait- do you have Armaldo with you?"
With a snap of his wrist, Steven flicked 6 balls from his pockets and onto the log desk. To my astonishment, one began to glow white, and Armaldo appeared next to us, tensed for a fight. I turned to him.
"Um, no battle today, Armaldo, sorry,"
He groaned sleepily, grinding together the scythe-like hands adorning his thick purple arms. His knives stretched out to admit himself back in his ball, but I grabbed the dull edge of his hand.
"Could you, uh…" The embarrassment was suddenly evident on my face. Come on May, pokerface it, for pete's sake! My back slinked with defeat, the blood rushed into my face. With as sigh, I snatched the blasted can off of the table and shoved it into his loose-hanging knife hands.
"Can you open this can of soup, please?"
Steven had the nerve to chuckle.
"I thought I told you to shut it, Taylor Hicks!" I hissed, baring my teeth. "-You're the one over here fancying soup-"
There was a loud pop, as Armaldo's thick claw easily penetrated the thin lid of the soup can. Still fuming, I thanked him without offering so much as a sideways glance; and he disappeared in a fissure of light into his ball.
Steven had gone to sit down at my leaf-topped desk, staring out of a hole in the wall that served as a window. I tried to ignore the way his slate colored eyes pierced into the electric night, the way he was always thinking. My obstinacy worked, and, grumbling, I upturned the can into a white bowl. The aluminum clattered noisily along the sides of the porcelain bowl, and the thick red contents sloshed into it.
I was about to shove it into the microwave when, to my annoyance, the soup stopped flowing out. I gave the top a sharp bang. Nothing. I tried again, this time putting my elbow into it. Still nothing.
"Stupid trick can!" I hissed, holding the open end to my eyes. I raised my hand to blow it from the back, grasping an empty pokeball in my fingers. Then, still holding the open end in front of my face, I blew it from the back, to loosen the contents of the can.
It worked a hell of a lot better than I thought it would.
The thick red glop was spewn from the can, and shot straight into my eyes. I clawed furiously at my face, splattering the soup all over the floor and onto the table. My eyes burned ravenously as I tried desperately to pry the frying eyeballs from my skull.
A murderous roar garbled loose from my tomato-filled mouth. "Aah! F***!!"
Frantic, I began pawing blindly through the cabinets, throwing antidotes and herbs to the ground around me. In my skirmish, a stray hand swung out wildly and impacted with the bowl on the counter. It flew from its perch and crashed headlong onto the floor, spewing a red ocean filled with white porcelain chunks all over my clothes and the wood beneath me. Meanwhile, my feet were slipping through the mess, threatening to send me tumbling to the floor.
Just then, a roll of paper towels was thrown down from the cabinet. Despite my volatile efforts to reach out a hand and grab it, it landed with a smacking sound into the treacherous sea of soup adorning the floor. Knowing it was helpless- yet ignoring the fact, I slapped a hand onto the counter for balance and bent over to grab the towels; but I was doomed. My fingers were unprepared for the wetness on the counter- and the wet metal slid out from beneath my grip and sent me dropping, face-first, into the mess.
"DAMMIT!!"
For a moment, I lay there, flailing in the soupy disaster. After several garbled gasps, I reached a hand up and onto the table- searching for a dry spot to hoist myself up with. I failed several times, and was thrown back onto the floor with each effort. Finally, my fingers clasped an iron bar on the wall; it was cool, solid, and dry. Though my sneakers slid threateningly beneath my weight again, I clasped on as hard as I could, and yanked myself to my feet.
Through the garbled gasps and the redness staining my vision, I could meekly make out my savior.
Steven stood there, dark eyes wide, grasping my sticky fingers between his. Through my blurry vision, I could make out his darkly clothed form, frozen in shock, and completely unsoiled. I, however, might as well have just gotten into a mud fight with Swamps. In a soup factory. Only difference was, I did it all myself. I was so proud of me! BAHH, how embarrassing!
He did nothing but gape openmouthed at me, this formidable girl who had just gotten into a treacherous battle with a soup can and stood (sort of) victorious. Through my deep breathing, I grinned up at him, waiting for his response.
"That was, um…"
My grin faded modestly, and I settled with a one sided smile. Then the words came out before I even knew what the heck I was saying.
"I'm sorry about your soup, but I, uh… yeah. I can go make something else-" I gestured at the snake-like vine that dangled from the hole in the floor. "This island's full of food,"
His calm, serene laugh came, to my relief.
"It's alright. I was really just hoping you would do something amusing,"
In the middle of my laughter, I almost forgot for a moment that I was coated with tomato soup, until I allowed myself one fatal sigh afterwards. The stench writhed angrily in my nostrils, and I flinched away from his grip, struck with anguish.
"Oh gosh! I need a shower!" My eyes darted helplessly around the base, but there was, of course, no bathroom here. Damn!
Suddenly, his hand reached out to pat my head. "I don't smell a thing,"
WHAT?! That completely caught me off guard. Everything that had been kicked into overdrive moments ago calmed; compellingly so, and my heart slowed down. The joints in my knees were reduced to jelly, and I almost fell back into the red lake on the floor with shock. He couldn't mean that, could he…?
With strangely gentle, cool onyx eyes, he gestured me to sit down. Bewildered, I obeyed. This next thing was so predictable that I nearly laughed. My wet bottom nearly ejected me from the chair, but with a loud 'Ha!' I caught the table's edge angrily with my sticky fingers.
"Not this time, pal!" I declared happily.
His responding laugh made my face burn with embarrassment. This was not my usual behavior; but who could blame me?
"Err, I rehearsed that?"
He looked up at me, still chuckling. "Sure you did, May,"
"Alright, so is this what you wanted? We're both here and alive-" An involuntary sniffing of my nose reminded me. "Even though I smell like a Ravioli factory, no comments necessary, Nimäe,"
In the corner where she had laid herself out silently, my willowy Absol chortled in her wind chime-like voice. It was just like her to make a joke out of everything bad that happened to me. But of course, this was all my doing. I didn't need her mockery or the smell of rotting tomatoes in my shoes to remind me.
"Isn't there something completely obnoxious about talking pokémon? It's like there's no off button." Steven mused, shaking his head.
Knowing it would annoy Nimäe, I nodded in agreement. "No off button," I aimed her way.
Fuming, Nimäe snarled, slunk to the edge of the hole, and disappeared into the black night. We both turned back to face each other, wondering what to say next.
After a few blank minutes, we both mopped up the sticky crimson splotches off the floor and countertop. It was a surprisingly leisure, enjoyable activity, considering how awkward it should've been.
I watched his fingers slowly crawl through his hair, idle, and then settle back on the table. Some settled butterflies in my stomach began to erupt into chaos again.
"So, this was…" He groped for something inoffensive. "Um, extremely entertaining,"
I laughed nervously. Was he leaving, already?
"-I think I should head home now. I'm sorry for giving you all this trouble."
"It's not a problem, just um," Please don't go, Steven, please don't!
Just as he began to stand up, my hand flew out from my side and caught his hand. His eyes were shocked, drawing from my hand to the exit.
I didn't release his hand. "No. Don't go anywhere."
My nerves raged, and I let out a weary sigh. Everything in brain screamed for me not to do what I was about to do. "I have something to tell you,"
Slowly, he sat back down with prying eyes, trying to see through my sudden panic. Should've told him not to waste his time; I couldn't even explain to myself what I was thinking.
"Steven Stone," I began. "I'm a cheater. I'm a cheater and a liar and a fake and-"
"I know."
My hand dropped away from his, open with shock. I had to blink twice, to reprocess the simple sentence over in my head to understand what he meant. But once I was done, I blinked again.
"Wh-what?"
He shook his head wearily, smiling half way. "In the championship battle. The revival roots, the egoism. I know, I know."
It wasn't until he reached over to brush his fingertips over my cheek that I realized I was crying. Internally, I scoffed. I was crying, for pete's sake! But even my mocking, prideful instincts couldn't withstand the emotion I felt. It wasn't quite elation, nor was it embarrassment. It was relief, in one of its most powerful, withering forms.
Through my increasing sobs, I averted my gaze. "If you knew, than why didn't you…?"
"Call of the battle? Have you stripped of your license? Because I was having way too much fun,"
"I was fun? And was the beginning of the battle before I cheated…? Was it easy?" I muttered, bitterly waiting for his answer.
He pondered that. "Easy in the form of predictable,"
Tch. I was predictable?
"…Oh…"
At this point I managed to silence my tears, cradling my head into his palm. "Do you think I would still have won without cheating?"
A devilish smile slowly lit his features, and I knew the answer instantly. We both said it in unison.
"Probably not,"
"Ha ha, but I guess I have an excuse,"
Subconsciously, we both leaned toward each other at the table. I can't imagine how stupid I must've looked- covered in tomatoes and smelling even worse.
"And what would that be?"
That got me; could I tell him what I'd been thinking all along? That I was a stupid fangirl, desperate for him like everyone else?
I had to spit the words out. "You're, uh, kind of distracting,"
Once again, I'd baffled him. He raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't know what I meant. "Distracting how?"
The hot rush of blood that surged into my face undoubtedly clearly illustrated the answer. His dark eyes immediately averted from mine, locking awkwardly with the floor. Blushing harder at his reaction, I bit my lip, knowing both of my secrets were done and gone with. Didn't he have anything embarrassing to share? Like maybe he fed his Metagross horseshoes when he ran out of zigzagoon? Anything!
After a moment, he looked back up at me. His steely gaze hit me with a jolt; it was filled with electricity now. It nearly hurt to look. It hurt in a beautiful way.
"Maybe we should go to Mossdeep now. There's a bathroom at my house." He stood up, his hand outstretched to me. "And plus, I have something to show you,"
I nodded, and without hesitation, we leaped down the hole in the floor, to be engulfed into the starry island night.