Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon.
Bianca and I were both determined to get away from each other as soon as possible. We want to stay for each other's sake—I think?—but when the tension is nearing unbearable, my mom calls.
When I hang up and turn around, she's gone. The apology dies on my lips, leaving a chill.
Cheren's departure may have made me hide my tears; however, Bianca's brings me close to curling up right here in the street. This was a previous urge, anyway. My stomach keeps clenching on nothing, warning me of the monthly mess approaching.
I keep a firm pressure on it, like it's a gaping wound instead of those dull, constant cramps. Everything in me aches for them, as if their presence would bring me to forget even my body's pains.
Why did I tell Bianca I wasn't hungry? The emptiness of my system shines through my cramps. So, instead, of assuming the fetal position and waiting for death, I stop at the PokéMart to buy whatever they have freshly-baked: more sandwiches.
My team and I trek down the same path I'd started on during my mission earlier. I don't risk glancing down the trail that led to my showdown with an old man—it's nothing worth remembering. Maybe if I had someone to recall it with later, it wouldn't have felt completely pointless.
I can imagine what Cheren would say. "If you wanna fight crime, Touko, help some old ladies cross the street to protect them from purse-snatchers, or something. I don't trust these Team Plasma morons not to pull a gun on you one day."
I would insist no one will ever do that, not even the likes of the nefarious Team Plasma! That's against the official Pokémon League rules! I can hear him laugh, a collection of all the times I've snuck the noise out of him. I take care to remember the pre-Cheren-laughter dialogue, once I find the space.
He would "hereby ban me from rushing into danger" without him, effective from that moment on, through his chuckles. I'd laugh along after agreeing easily because his company would make crime-fighting so much more rewarding.
Bianca would've laughed at the start, and I'd smile back, not admitting any disappointment. She doesn't show the concern I crave, so the topic would die, never to be awoken again. At least Cheren would use it against me in future arguments years later, to remind me how stupid I once was. And still am. And will always be without him constantly checking on me.
None of the trainers waiting for ambush-ees bother me. Whatever expression I'm wearing must look utterly insane to have avoided all of them—I keep it there.
Climbing the stairs sends another angry throb against my stomach. I gather my team for a headcount, pointedly ignoring their worry. No way they're old enough for the period talk yet.
Both of them are there, of course. (Fang the Patrat went back to Professor Juniper, preferring the experimenting life to battling.) They eagerly ditch their empty sub wrappers with me. I forced them into carrying their trash when they finished, so we didn't do any more damage to the forest.
Their reaction to my praise gives me hope that the effort was well-spent. I return them all—even Osha—once the pleasantries are finished.
My first destination is the gym. Because where would Cheren be if I wasn't constantly following him?
Castelia City contains the biggest turnout I've ever seen in my life for an unscheduled battle. My best friend is here, too, but I wouldn't recognize him if he didn't look exactly like the guy I saw an hour ago.
Cheren transforms on the battlefield. It's impossible to notice (or so I'm telling myself) from the opposite side of the match. The second I sit down, I'm entranced in the battle. He assumes a confidence you'd never imagine from a kid who once only had books for friends, bossing around his Pokémon with a certain, unexplainable respect for them.
I hope that's what I look like when I battle: like my Pokémon have choices to listen, like my orders are more opinions than demands. It's obvious his team are his friends, not his tools to the League.
I recognize the Leavanny from my old Gym Leader picture books—the ones Cheren helped me read. He always brought the best books to experience together. His standards were hard to meet, and I could never figure out how he found so many every week to bring over. They had to be about training, so we could both stay lost in the words.
Burgh's strongest Pokémon falls beneath a whirl of Cheren's Pidove's Air Cutter. I fly to my feet with the rest of the crowd, caught up in their excitement and my personal pride in his victory. He doesn't notice the crowd, as if his modesty is deafening all our cheering.
I don't yell his name, in case he'd recognize my voice. I can't ruin this moment—his moment—by drawing attention to myself. What if he doesn't want me here?
The badge flicks light into my eyes before his fingers stifle it. Cheren takes the TM with a carefree smile, and I can feel the same well-deserved happiness he must be experiencing. Otherwise he wouldn't be handing out glimpses at his perfect teeth (those took two years' worth of braces) for free.
Burgh steals his hand, shaking it with enough enthusiasm to make me scowl. He doesn't seem to notice, not even the little sigh the leader releases when he takes it back. I watch Burgh's eyes follow him out instead of watching the boy himself.
It's not until he's through those doors I realize he never saw me. My own little sigh escapes, and I leave to train. Burgh better heal quick.
I doubt Cheren scheduled his battle over our group time. No way I'd believe he planned to ditch us beforehand, it doesn't matter how many times he's done it before. Our friendship was enough for me to stay behind—give up my twin, if only for a few years—and postpone what could've been my dream.
No, no, this is the dream. No Oshawott four years ago could've replaced Osha, and I have the feeling our trio wouldn't have recovered from me leaving. Maybe Cheren and Bianca would've grown closer. Why does that thought give me goosebumps? Maybe they would've completely separated.
No two-person relationship can substitute the trio we've so lovingly built. If one person slipped through our fingers, the other two couldn't hold hands for very long. It's just like how we opened the box: it took all three because I'm scared without them.
That was a sort of nervous anticipation, though. Nothing compared to my false adventures with Team Plasma.
Burgh goes down for a second time that day after my record two hours of training. Ashes had a particularly rough time out on Route 4, what with all the Ground types, but she came out on top against Leavanny. The poor guy's entire team has had a rough day.
No one shows. I didn't expect anything, anyway. People are still whispering on the streets about Cheren's sweeping victory.
Burgh doesn't mention our previous meeting, hopefully forgotten amongst meeting Cheren. I don't give him any friendly smiles, taking my TM and badge combo and going. I refuse to detect Clyde's hearty congratulations.
Bianca stops me on my way to heal. I manage a smile for her sake until her tears are prominent. I'm ashamed of my first thought: Again?
"T-T-Touko!" She tugs on my shirttail. "I need your help!"
"What is it?" I sound too much like Cheren, so I fix my tone on the second try. "What's wrong?"
"T-T-Team Plasma—t-took my Pokémon!" My eyes follow her pointed finger further down the street. I don't ask any more questions or bother to hesitate, almost tackling the guy into a battle.
I never used Osha against Burgh, so I send my newly-evolved Dewott against his two Sandiles. The man gives up Bianca's Munna quite easily after that, and I wonder why Cheren would ever think they'd break the rules. It takes me a few moments to realize that conversation never happened outside my head.
I almost throw the Pokéball back at Bianca, agreeing to battle her once I get everyone healed. She follows me to the Pokémon Center. I won't admit to any of my mean thoughts, but I mostly want to be left alone and out of Castelia City at this point. Cheren must've moved on by now, and it's my job to follow, at least after I get all the handout items. (A Fire Stone to evolve Ashes someday, two reward Casteliacones, and a bottle of lemonade)
I breeze through Bianca's team, not wasting time to tone it down a little. The rush of our battle seems to wipe away her tears, as effective as any coddling I could've done. I'm walking away, back towards Route 4, when she tugs my shirt again. I've gotten taller already, apparently.
"I almost forgot! I didn't mean to leave you, Koko"—Koko—"but I noticed that man running away with a ball, and I followed without thinking . . . I didn't even realize it was mine until I tried to challenge Cheren, and I only had three Pokémon!" She fumbles with her hat.
"He didn't help you?" Something in me darkens, like the prospect of Cheren not wasting his time with Bianca's irresponsibility was a personal blow. He could be cold sometimes, but never that heartless, even lost in his own goals.
"I-I didn't tell him." She looks ashamed before I can think to scold her. "He asked about you, so I told him I didn't know 'cause I ran off and all . . . he was upset I didn't stay with you, and ran off to find you, I guess." Her smile renews itself somehow, like it's reflecting the new brightness to my stomach. With all the distractions, I'd nearly forgotten the oncoming pain. My cramps have disappeared.
"Really?" Bianca giggles at my impossibly withheld excitement. It's like she knows something I don't. "Gotta go, B, see ya!" I catch sight of her wave as I turn around. I look back to return it, but she's already walking away.
Cheren's been waiting for me out on Route 4 for Arceus knows how long. The sandstorm left a sickly coat across our entire bodies, especially clumping around my hair. He challenges me to a battle before offering any pleasantries—manner-less as always.
I win. That should be enough payback, but I still find myself looking at him differently, his quietness hits me on a personal level. He mutters something I don't hear over the angry wind and starts to walk away.
Both our Xtrancievers ring, cutting through the thick, constant whoosh. We pick up together.
Whatever Professor Juniper says, besides "I'm waiting for you in Nimbasa City", goes ignored by me. I admit to preferring staring at Cheren's face than his back.
I pass him while he's hanging up, determined to leave him watching me disappear for once. Either he's not having that, or I make my anger way too obvious, but I don't argue when he runs to catch up and takes my hand.
No pointless apologies are necessary, because all leftover hard feelings flush out of me the instant our skin meets.
A/N: I've been doing pretty well with keeping regular updates! I didn't stretch out that tension for very long, but . . . it's cute, right? Let's not even mention whatever I was doing with that almost-one-sided Burgh/Cheren. I think I just wanted to incorporate his obvious sexual preference.
Or maybe he was just impressed with those battlin' skills.