Olivine Romance

by Snowden

Jasmine is an adult now, but even as her fellow gym leaders mature and begin exploring their sexuality, she remains notoriously shrewish and abrasive towards romance and sex. An old middle school pest returns to try to win her heart, and in the process, uncover the reason for her unnatural hatred towards men.

36. The Waning Night

36 - The Waning Night

The convention center was dying. I found myself standing beneath a solitary drizzle gazing upon the desolation. Trash and decorations littered the landscape in various states of obliteration. Dazed and drunken husks of humanity drifted around, trying desperately to recall the address of their overnight accommodations. A few wearied Pokémon sat on tables, balconies, upturned trashcans, waiting for their masters to retrieve them. The gloom and despair hung thick over everything. The party had ended, and with it, joy.

I turned my attention upwards, and found the hole in the ceiling through which sparse rain clouds were now precipitating upon me.

'That's going to be a story to tell my children someday,' I thought.

'Are you kidding? You'll never have kids,' I then thought.

I can't tell whether the general sense of loss and forlornness was infecting me, or if I was projecting my own feelings onto the party-goers.

Since Morty left, my thoughts had been agitated, and I didn't know why. It's almost as if I had actually been having fun, despite all the stress and nuisance the horror hoax had caused me, and then Morty's abrupt departure had ended it.

Had he really lost someone close? Who? What does he think of when hears the word "close"? And how would he interpret "losing" someone? Death, right? At least, that's the way I intended it, and no one would misconstrue it as anything less, after the very specific 'never have I ever' comment Silver had suggested immediately preceding mine. He must have had someone dear to him die, then, and it's only my wishful thinking that he might have meant something less serious.

Who?

He did mention once that his grandmother had passed away recently. Although he also said he wasn't affected by it as much as his mother was. It's impossible to tell if he meant that particular relationship, and if that loss affected him more than he was letting on.

The other possibilities? His mother is alive, his father is alive, he's always been a single child, and I never heard him mention any other close family members. Which leaves friends and former lovers. Yet, without even a hint as to the existence of such a person, I can't begin to guess who they were and what they meant to him.

I'm vexed. It vexes me.

I took a deep breath.

This must be how he felt, when I locked myself away after our first kiss. He had no idea what I meant when I told him he wasn't my first kiss. Just thinking about it, my stomach is roiling over and heart is fluttering, and my blood goes cold.

Still? Still?! After six years, after so much pain and agony spent just to repress his memory as deep down as possible, and the tiniest little tangential reminder STILL brings me to my knees?!

I stumbled until I reached the now-familiar grand staircase, and sat down on its lowest step.

Morty isn't him. Morty isn't him. Morty isn't him.

I repeated this phrase in my mind a few dozen times, helplessly and vainly hoping it would fix my emotional turmoil, and yet every rewinding only brought the subject back to fore.

Let it go. I just want to let it go. It doesn't matter anymore. I can move on. I can be with Morty. Morty, that fixture of my middle-school life, can be there for me; he can fix me. I only need to let him.

How?

By taking him in, allowing him the intimacy of my body and my spirit. I very much feel like he's after both. Isn't that normal for a relationship? Isn't that the basis of all loving relationships? Physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual connectedness- are not these the foundations of love itself? Has he given you any signal, any sign, any clue, that he is being insincere, dishonest, or disinterested?

That was the case six years ago. I had missed the signs. Or that young man was being dishonest about his intentions. He misled me. And I paid for that, dearly. Is Morty now doing the same? Will I fall for the same trap?

I wracked my brain, my every moment with Morty these past two months, searching for something solid and concrete, to say whether he truly wanted me as his girlfriend, and perhaps, eventually, also his wife?...

I can't find anything that would absolutely sway me towards that conclusion. Yet, unlike six years ago, I can't find any warning signs. Nothing blatant, nothing subtle, nothing at all that would indicate Morty is not desiring of a relationship with me.

There are other issues. He's obviously hiding something, or many somethings, and they seem rather dark. They may even be connected with me and our interaction with one another. I haven't yet ruled out that he may not be exclusively seeking my affection, but also keeping himself open to other advances. I don't want him to cheat on me, but at this point, with the way I've treated him, do I have the right to demand he be exclusive? No, not logically. I think, then, if I should find he's been screwing around with Danielle, for instance, I should just sigh, shake my head, and say "Yep, that's typical Morty. Let's just move on Jasmine."

That's not really my concern, though. I think, even under those circumstances, I could stand to be his friend. He'd probably tease me, flirt with me, and try to win me over again. I'd reject him, of course, but not so violently and wholly as I did after Indigo. There would not be another irrational fit of isolation and anti-social depression, I promised myself. Everything would be okay, for a given definition of 'okay'. As long he didn't abandon me, I feel like I would be okay.

That was the worst-case scenario. The way things have been going, though, I'm feeling the better scenarios are more likely. He wants me. He wants to fuck me and then he wants to cuddle with me, and talk with me, and share his life with me. I think.

With how messed up you are, Jasmine, you'll probably never get to that point where you'll be 100% sure he's sincere. At some point, you just need to trust him. No matter how many tasks you set before him, no matter how much you demand he prove his love, at some point it's simply going to come down to a leap of faith and trusting him with your heart.

I bit my lip.

It's torture, absolute torture, to think of it. If I go that far, I won't be able to brush off any surprise offenses so easily. He's my last chance, my last grasp at a normal life, before I give up on humanity and myself. It'll be much worse than when-

"Jasmine! Jasmine!"

Whitney bounded into view. My cascading worries were interrupted but not forgotten. I appraised my friend sourly, instantly on guard against whatever drama she had stewed up with Maylene and was now about to unload on me. However, her demeanor was the opposite of expectations. She was absolutely brimming… and covered in some unidentified green goo. It slathered and flicked off of her squirming figure like mud off a shaking Lillipup, forcing me to try to dodge the mysterious substance (mostly failing).

"What have you been up to?" I immediately asked. She rolled her eyes and then looked me up and down in turn.

"Hahahaha! I'll tell you all about it! But first, what have you been up to? You look sick. Thinking about love and crap again?"

Ack, she knows my body language even better than Erika.

"Well, yeah, you're right. Just, a lot of things that have been bothering me. You know, me and Morty."

"Finally."

She galloped up and sat beside me, throwing an energetic embrace over my shoulder.

"Tell me tell me tell me you like him."

I leaned my head back, eyes closed, taking in a breath of cool air.

"Yes, I like him."

"And does he like you?"

"Yes."

"Has he said that?"

I had to search my memory for a bit, but I distinctively remember him saying those words during the train ride back from Blackthorn.

"Yes, those exact words. He even asked if I liked him too."

He did ask me that, I remember. There, further proof. If all he wanted was to have sex with me, to butter me up before humping and dumping, he'd only tell me he liked me. But he asked if I liked him back. He was worried about that. That shows sincerity.

I smiled, faintly.

"Yes, I'm sure he likes me."

"Then… what's the big deal? Go public already!"

"There are just… personal issues."

"You and your personal issues! Girl, I would not be glum about your situation if I were you." She patted me on the back.

"Why? How'd your night go? I heard you were suckering Brawley in to playing the hero and you the princess. And I know all about the hoax and you being the mastermind behind it."

"Oh gosh, really? You're such a know it all!"

"I'm just smart. So, how'd that plan turn out?"

"A complete disaster!" she exclaimed.

"Okay…" She's awfully happy for having borked her plan up.

"Um, so it turns out, Brawley hates sissy women. That card didn't play. On the other hand, once he found out I was only faking fear, and Maylene was actually being a scared little Skitty for real, that started a huge argument! I'm 99% positive they just broke up. In other words, Brawley's single again! Ha! It wasn't the home run I was aiming for, but I've gotten to second base!"

"Exciting," I said, deadpan. Whitney was always a big thinker and big dreamer, she hated details and detested doing things in increments. For her to be this excited about mere milestones shows how insane her affection for that surfer-boy is.

"Well, let's work on netting our men together, how about that?!" she offered. "We can share in each other's woes and successes!"

"No, I'd rather play this game solo," I replied using a gaming term.

"Fine! Though, I bet I get Brawley before you lose your virginity, nyah!"

"Get out," I pushed her face away.

"Seriously, seriously! Hey, stop!" We play-fought for a minute, clawing and slapping, as if little girls.

"Is it having sex what you're afraid of?" Whitney asked.

"Kind of," I admitted.

"Why? It's no big deal. It's fun!"

"It doesn't seem that way to me," I said. I really don't want to poll the slut of the group (sorry Whitney, but you are) for sexual advice.

"It's not, it's really not, trust me. And believe me, you get a romantic sucker like I know Morty is, and take him to bed, and you've got him, hook, line, and anchor."

The saying is 'hook, line, and sinker', I wanted to correct her, but let it pass.

"Don't you have any reservations?" I asked her. "You can just up and do it with anyone?"

"Um… yeah," she admitted.

"How?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't know what to tell you. I see a guy I like, I get horny, and we play ball."

"But… you're not afraid? You don't care about how others see you? Or if he'll hurt you?"

"Meh, no. Too many people will try to put you down just because you're a girl, no matter how pure you are. So I say, 'Why bother?' I don't need their respect. That's why I love my job, as long as I win, I don't have to play office politics to keep it."

"So you've got no fears, whatsoever, about sleeping with anyone?" I asked, my incredulity rising.

"Well, duh, yeah, I'm not so stupid. I worry that they'll beat me up or rape me or murder me, but that's why I try to hang with the right crowd. Like you! I know I can I trust any man that you'd tolerate, even if you're only like 'I hate men, and you're no better, scumbag, but I'll tolerate your presence because I haven't sensed anything suspicious about you yet!'."

"Heh. If you think I'm a good judge of character, you're going to end up in a garbage dumpster someday."

"You're funny, Jasmine."

"No I'm not."

Whitney perked a little.

"Oh, yeah, and I use contraception. Don't really want a baby, especially with no dad to take care of it. Any man who doesn't want to use a rubber is suspicious, and I get the heck out of there. So there's that safety precaution."

"Ugh, really? Really?!"

I did not need to know that.

Furthermore, I did not need to be reminded, WHATSOEVER, about the primary function of sex. I.E. procreation. Blah!

"If you do do it with Morty, remember safety! And get him tested first, Gona's a bitch!"

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"Thank Arceus no!"

I buried my face in my palms.

Of all the people I could have had the 'sex talk' with, Whitney was not even ranked on my preferred-persons list.

"Well, fine, I'll keep that in mind, pervert."

Feels weird calling a girl a pervert, but Whitney deserves it. And by her facial expression, she's taking it as a compliment.

"Good luck with Brawley, and I'll see you again sometime. I'm gonna go find Erika. Goodbye."

"Oh! Shit. I forgot to tell you! You're staying at my place tonight."

Oh. What?

"Huh?"

"Sleepover party! No, really, where did you think you were staying?"

"I thought we were going back to Olivine…" I muttered out, voice squeaking.

"On what boat? It's almost one in the morning."

"Yeah… wow, I can't think these things through."

"You're lucky you have me and Erika to look out for you. Oh, and while you're here, remember what today is?"

"The 1st?"

"The first what?"

"Of November?"

"The first Thursday of November," she corrected me.

"Oh… crap! Telecon!"

Yep, I had completely forgotten. The Johto League Gym Leader's Association teleconference was this coming morning… in about eight hours.

"Don't worry about it, just pop over to my gym and we'll set you up there. Morty's staying in town so he can join us too. Maybe I'll put you two on a joint line?"

Ugh!

"I give, I surrender," I told her. "Let me just go find Erika."

"Okay! But when you do, tell her we're meeting at the fountain out front. We're going night-riding before we head home."

"Okay."

I waved Whitney a temporary goodbye.

So now where is Morty and Erika?

Goofing off somewhere, I'm sure.

My search took me all around the ballroom and lobby, and eventually outside, with no sign of the pair. The pool-sized fountain gracing the front parade was gurgling and lit with dim blue flood-lamps. There were human and Pokémon figures gathered around it. I thought that my friends might have already joined the others and so headed in that direction, when my ear caught a familiar voice.

"Check."

"Bold-"

Morty, and Will. I spun about and spotted them surprisingly close by, at an outdoor patio. A flood light over-lit them, and an in-progress chess game was arranged between them. Will was laid back in his seat and looking smug, while Morty was hunched forward and leaning his chin on his knuckles.

I began dashing forward, eager to see Morty, when I paused and thought better of it. 'How often do I get to see Morty interact with people when I'm not around?' my thinking went. In a quick, Ninjask-like movement, I darted behind a nearby lattice and began listening in.

"-but rash," Will finished, as he leaned forward to move a knight to the defense of his king. "Your play is sloppy tonight. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Morty replied while retreating a chastised bishop.

"Nonsense. You've been carrying around like a lost Cubone all night."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Really?" Will leaned over the chess board, a hand held poised in the air above the assembled hosts of black and white. "Tell me, then, using your gift, what move I am about to make. I promise not to take it back if you guess correctly."

"It's not a 'gift'. Just good intuition."

Morty settled into a posture of extreme concentration. His hands were held up to his temples, massaging them in slow circling motions. I couldn't make out his facial expression from my vantage point, but I could hear his breathing pattern change. It became lighter, with longer pauses in-between breaths. At one point it stopped altogether. The moment stretched out into seconds, and then longer, and I was worried he'd suffocate himself.

He let out all his pent up carbon dioxide in one big gush, and then shook his head indicating a negative outcome to his thought processes.

"I can't do this," he said.

"It's not coming to you?"

"No, that's not it. Too much is coming, it's all jumbled. Like memories trying to overwrite one another."

"Ah, that dilemma," Will nodded. "When the premonition begins to incorporate knowledge of itself, the feedback loops indefinitely until eviscerated. Experienced precogs can discern where to prune off unlikely possibilities and get a clear conclusion. If you wanted, I could train you. You could become my greatest padawan…"

"Hell no," Morty replied gruffly. "Besides, I don't want to be a psychic. I like surprises."

"A pity."

Will began to take his move, but was cut off by Morty moving one of Will's pawns for him.

"Oh, so you did foretell my move. You're not entirely lost."

"Not really. That's just the move I would make if I were you," Morty said.

Will's expression turned wry. "Clever-" and he followed it up with a silently mouthed 'bastard'. "But don't think you can side-step the issue. What's on your mind?"

"The usual issues."

"So, life, death, and women."

"That's about right- wrong order though."

"So, it's a woman problem. Is it to do with the young lady you were snuggling with all evening?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't understand what the problem is. You two looked quite close and happy. A cute couple, even. Is something the matter that I can't see? Are you fighting?"

"No. It's deeper."

"Who is she?"

"She's Jasmine Mikan, Olivine's Gym Leader-"

"I know that much; I mean who is she to you?"

"Um…" From the string of repressed groans and gurgles, Morty didn't sound like he wanted to answer that question.

"Is she your girlfriend?" Will pressed.

"No… kind of… it's complicated."

"Why is it complicated?"

"It just is."

"Excuses and excuses. What a nuisance. Don't make me invade your mind."

Morty mumbled unintelligibly, searching for a cohesive response. Will used the pause to sneak a knight into the middle of Morty's line. I momentarily lost focus, noticing the pieces were modeled after units from the Avantastica video game.

'I want that chess set,' I was thinking, and started off on a mental tangent. Then Morty gathered his thoughts and began speaking. My focus snapped back to my would-be boyfriend.

"It's just… my history… our history, that makes it difficult."

"History? I had assumed you met at the Gym Leader summit last month."

"No, we go way back- to middle school."

"Oh!" A look of recognition lit up in Will's mask-shrouded eyes. "Is it that same young woman you were always going on and on about?"

"Same one."

"Ah, her! To tell you the truth, that was very annoying. I think you would have fared much better with your dates if you didn't constantly compare them to her."

Morty shrugged and responded by moving a bishop.

"She was my muse, my angel. Something about her, always hit me in the heart. Back then, anyways. I mean, she's always had this comically serious side to her, and she always kept to her own high-minded ideals, and yeah, she was kind of a bitch and a prude. But she changed, and I think it's my fault."

"That sounds very much like the individual you brought to the drinking game. What do you believe has changed?"

"It's hard to put a finger on it. How do I say it? For instance, her opinion of boys. She went through the same phase as every little girl where she thought boys were made of boogers and acted like Mankeys, but you could tell she had a soft spot for a certain kind of guy. Literature class, she always had way too much of the romantic novels memorized and analyzed. During discussion, we'd all groan when she'd blurt out spoilers because she had read ahead ten chapters. History novels, adventures, dramas? Not so much, no special interest. Just romance books."

"And now?"

Morty shook his head slightly.

"Hates men. Hates romance. To call her a prude would be a gargantuan understatement. She despises the very fact that sex exists, and is needed for procreation. If it were up to her, we'd all be born from osmosis."

"Sounds harsh."

"It's just one thing, though. I think- no, I know there's something deeper. She keeps hinting at it, a reason for her to be this way."

"Obviously. If she hates men so much, why was she cuddling and acting very much in love with you? You've kissed, haven't you?"

"Eh… I'm not allowed to talk about it. And that's just the thing. She keeps me quiet about our relationship. She doesn't want others to find out."

"It sounds like a self-image problem. She's afraid of being seen as a slut, but still has sexual desires. She can't reconcile the two."

"I've never asked her to do anything even remotely slutty."

"From how you describe her, she might believe even the tiniest indication of romantic feelings is slutty. It may be her making too big a deal out of a small thing, like a kiss, or it might be the fear that a small opening will lead headlong into prostitute-like behavior."

"Neither. I'm sure it's neither. It goes beyond sex, even beyond romance."

"Well, if you keep arguing with my observations I can't help."

"It's… it's… it's… I don't know."

"Calm down and figure out how to explain the issue as precisely as possible. Until then, you're going to lose in three turns unless you figure out what I'm doing."

Morty paid no attention to the board and moved at random. Will didn't bother reprimanding him for trying to move his rook like a knight and simply returned the pieces to their proper position. The blond-haired began rambling while gazing at the clouded night sky.

"She used to be happy. She used to love her life. She used to be bold, even reckless. She had hope for the future, and big ideas. Now… I mean, I think I'm having an effect, getting her back to her old self, but I can't be so sure- but she's shyer, and tepid, and most of all, she's unhappy. Just a little while ago she was asking me about a job at my gym, like she didn't believe she was going to pass her probation. The girl I knew wouldn't give the thought of failure one neuron of brain matter. Something happened to her."

"Something happened. I see. Check, by the way."

"What? How the hell did that happen?"

You weren't paying attention, dumb-dumb. Maybe you shouldn't vent your frustrations and play chess at the same time.

Morty and Will traded several pawns. On Morty's next turn, he picked up his queen and thumbed it for a minute, before placing it back in its original position. Will seemed disappointed.

"I don't know what to do with her," Morty finally admitted. "I'm worried I'm going to hurt her- again."

"What did you do to her?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I insist. Was it serious?"

"It wasn't… assault or anything. I didn't rape her."

"Are you sure?" Will cocked an eyebrow. "Don't lie to a psychic."

"Here." Morty offered his forehead. Will placed his fingertips to it, while Morty solemnly recited a statement of affirmation.

"I did not rape nor even touch Jasmine Mikan."

"You are telling the truth- oh, and your next move is a bad one. Consider where my knight can go," Will said as he released his mind-perusing grasp.

"It's just…" Morty started, "I can't be sure she wasn't raped by someone else. I have no way of telling. She won't say it. I got close, I think, and she broke down crying and bolted herself in a room. Can't get answers from her. But if it is what I suspect it is, then I put her in that situation, and that means I'm at least partially guilty, and it makes me sick- SICK- to the fucking heart, because she means too much to me for me to allow that kind of awful crap to happen to her."

"Morty," I whispered to myself in pained self-reprisal.

He's talking about Indigo. No matter how many times I tell him, Indigo was not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Indigo may be the point at which I disowned you, in particular, but it was what happened long before that made my life the ninth circle of hell these past six years. My unjustified hatred of males started a long time ago, because of someone you probably don't even know. I hardly remember him myself; you shouldn't be bothering yourself about it. Why can't we both forget these awful things and concentrate on our futures?

"Sometimes I think I've learned enough in three years about how to handle these kinds of situations. I wish I could go back to Indigo with the knowledge I have now and redo it all… I lost her, and now I've got her back, but only barely."

You blond-haired dolt! Just because the Indigo incident was when you lost me, doesn't mean that's when I lost myself. You know, I really ought to set the record straight for you. Soon as I get another good opportunity, I'll explain it in terms you can understand. Indigo is not to blame for me being a bitchy-little shrew that won't have sex with you.

Besides, under-aged drinking and getting caught butt-naked aren't exactly lifelong, emotionally-scarring occurrences.

"I understand now," Will said.

"That I'm worried I helped ruin a woman's faith in the universe and denied her happiness for the rest of her life? Yeah. Fuck me."

"But you're making an honest effort to help her, right?"

"I'm trying. I've got a plan. It's a little risky. A lot of the times I'm wondering if I'm doing the right thing. Every little setback and fight we have, I'm paranoid it'll hurt her and she'll go back to isolating herself and closing herself off to the world."

"Wouldn't want that."

Will captured a pawn, and now Morty's remaining army was looking pretty sparse in comparison to Will's.

"I don't have any clue what will tick her off. You know, I spent a month planning a kiss. Just a kiss. One whole month. I thought I did everything right. I asked permission, repeatedly, and let her time to think, and encouraged her to introspect, to make sure she was okay with being kissed. I busted my back finding a Pokémon for her. Had to lasso an Ampharos from an open-range ranch. You know what happens when you try to throw a cord around a hostile electric sheep? Buzzap. Finally get her to agree to the kiss. I went through a lot to try to make it as comfortable as possible. It looks like it's going smoothly, and I'm thinking, 'Hey, Jasmine will finally get to experience physical intimacy for the first time. She's liking it. She'll be happy.' Not three seconds later, she starts crying. That's when she locked herself in. I stood outside the door. She didn't stop bawling for three hours. You see what I mean? Unknown unknowns. Emotional landmines. Every day I feel like I should just back off and leave her be, because I'll never be anything but a pain for her."

No, don't you dare do that, Morty.

"Are you sure you want to move there?" Will asked.

"Why?"

"I will checkmate you in the very next move. It's very much avoidable."

"I don't care. You'll win in, like, ten turns max." Morty threw himself back into his seat.

"So be it." Will ended the game with a deft diagonal slash of his queen. "Thanks for the game. I wish you would have put a little more effort into it. It's rare I get to employ my abilities to their fullest in a chess match."

"Sorry, sorry," Morty said. "That drinking game and what Jasmine said got to me. I can't think straight."

"Well, I'll be passing through Ecruteak next week, we can have another match then."

"Sounds good. And sorry, again."

"It's fine. I should be apologizing for being such a poor listener. You know how daft I can be when it comes to interpersonal relationships."

"Yeah, I know."

Will began picking up the board game. Morty remained motionless and star-gazing. It looked like they were about to part ways when Morty spoke abruptly.

"-The reason I was so ticked off was because Jasmine's stupid "never have I ever" reminded me of her."

"Who?"

"Katrina."

Will's cleanup activity drifted to a halt. He turned and placed a reassuring hand on his comrade's shoulder.

"Now I truly understand everything. I'm terribly sorry, and hope you find solace in your endeavors."

…

My heart is thumping. Words of terrible weight stampeded across my mind's railways, leaving echoes of thunder and distress in their wake.

"Never have I ever lost someone close to me."

"We're done here."

"-reminded me of her."

"Katrina."

It's only a name, one that has no meaning to me. No face, no context, no clues. I have never heard Morty or anyone connected to Morty utter this name in any conversation. The only significance these seven letters hold for me is the ability to put a name on an issue I've long known Morty has been struggling with. This must be what he and Volkner had been arguing about during the practice gym battle, and all the other "silence!" warnings Morty had shot to him. Every time he looks away when I've asked him a difficult question, this is the reason for that. She is the key to understanding Morty.

"Katrina."

"Jasmine."

I squeaked and jumped in place. Two hands had caught me in the ribs and sent a surgical tickling strike into my torso and up my spine.

"What are you doing here, crouching like this?"

My jittered head wobbled about until it could face my tickling assaulter. Erika's viridian-garbed frame stood over me, her face jokingly reproachful. The commotion caught the attention of the two men, who were craning over to get a better look.

"Hello! I caught an eavesdropper, should I bring her over?"

"Well, it's impolite to listen in and not introduce yourself," Will said. Even though he had seen me earlier in the party, it seemed like he was just now taking notice of my existence. I felt like I was being appraised, and by the slight smirk on Will's lips, it was all approval. Morty, on the other hand, didn't seem too happy to see me. He wouldn't even speak to me.

"So this is Jasmine. Pleased to meet you, I am Will-"

"Will Itsuki of the Elite Four, psychic master, mind reader, game theorist and entertainer."

"I see my reputation precedes me," Will said. "May I ask what you were doing in such close proximity while concealing your presence?"

"Nothing," I responded.

"Really? Because, from the outward evidence, it appeared that you were spying upon me and my young colleague. Are you curious to hear what we were talking about?"

"Shut it," Morty muttered.

"It's impolite to talk about someone behind their back. The bulk of the conversation revolved around dear Jasmine here, why not be honest. I'm in the business of truth, after all."

I waved Will off.

"I don't need to hear it. Morty's a pathological liar and manipulator, he probably told you only what he wants you to hear, to get whatever he wants out of you."

"While I agree, I am both a psychic and his senior from high school; I'm well aware of his antics and how to unmask them."

"You underestimate him," I growled. I took the male-in-question by the arm and began tugging at him.

"What?"

"We're going some place private. I need to talk to you."

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it," Erika answered for me, interposing herself between me and Morty. "Now now, don't fight young ones. We're holding up the group. You may talk later." She turned and bowed to Will.

"We are going to tour the local bars. You are welcome to join us, if you'd like, but we must hurry."

"No thank you. My date is expecting me."

"You're dating?" Morty asked, voice rising in surprise.

"Is it so hard to believe? I am a psychic, not a robot. Romantic feelings are not beyond my ken."

"Who is it?"

"Komuri. I thought it would be obvious."

"You weren't acting like a couple at all!"

"Well then I suppose I am daft at this whole romantic social-construct-thing. Do we need to kiss in public to make our relationship apparent, or is that too much?"

"Who is Komuri?"

"The girl in the pink kimono at the drinking game," Erika informed me.

"How do you know about the drinking game?" I asked her.

"Insect-sized robotical spy drones," she said, managing to keep a straight face while answering. "But never mind that, let us go."

Morty and Erika bid Will farewell, and began moving off towards the water fountain.

"Have fun with Komuri," I told him as I prepared to leave.

"I will- and no, not that kind of fun. We are going star-gazing," he said to me. I gave him a quizzical look. "For a supposed prude, your mind is fairly quick to the gutter, Jasmine. Adieu." He tipped a salute to me as I hurried off, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Gah! Men! Mind-reading men are the worst!

My attempts to get Morty alone were thwarted, as Erika would not leave my side. The man followed us at a short distance, and would drift just out of reach every time I slowed down or sped up to catch him. When we arrived at the fountain, a small company was waiting and ready to get going. Whitney immediately beset me with a large number of questions, mainly consisting of how she should attract Brawley, and I was afraid she actually expected useful advice from me.

"I have no clue how to attract men. That's your specialty."

"But you do it all the time!"

"So do you."

"They just want me for sex- not that I mind, usually, but this guy is different! I want more! Like, for him to bring me to bed, but also be there making breakfast in the morning. I want the kind of love where he'd wait a year till sex and be happy with dates and kisses and each other's company- not that I'd make him wait that long- I mean, me and Brawley have already done it- twice! But it's the sentiment, right? I want him to think of me as marriage material. How do you do it? All the best guys fawn over you even when you reject them. How do you snatch a guy's heart?"

"Look pretty, innocent, and meek," I offered.

"But Brawley doesn't like shy girls."

"Well that's my grand secret. I don't know what else to tell you. Play hard to get?"

"I tried that. He ignored me!"

"Maybe you two aren't compatible, then."

"Yes we are! Don't you dare say that!" She's shouting in my face with a fanatical vigor, the act of which is raining spit all over me.

"Erika! Can't you help Whitney?" And by 'help' I mean help her learn basic manners! Erika trotted over behind Whitney and put her hands on her shoulders. The touch acted like a balm, calming the frenetic woman down a good bit.

"I concur with Jasmine. Feigning disinterest is often the best way to attract assertive, extrovert types like Brawley. However, it's not good enough to pretend like you are too good for him, you must actually strive to be a prize worth winning. Increase your status and seek to excel in whatever traits Brawley values in a partner."

"But that's kung fu! I can't beat Maylene at martial arts!"

"I'm sure that martial arts are not the only thing Brawley is interested in. Successful couples often have similar, but not exact, interests in common. If they're too similar, that causes rivalry within a relationship, which creates conflict and tension. You want something a little different. So what else might Brawley be interested in?"

"Um… Maylene is into skiing, I think. And croquet. And cooking."

I snorted.

"What?"

Erika answered.

"Even Jasmine knows you can't keep trying to be a better Maylene. Maylene will always be the best Maylene in the world. You need to establish yourself as the best woman in Brawley's world, and filch him over to yourself with your own unique qualities."

"Erika's right. And it's not just comparing yourself to Maylene. It's trying to be someone you're not, and emulate what you think Brawley wants in a girl; it will never work. For instance, there's this punkish ace trainer by the name of Warren who tried dressing himself up in order to flirt with me. Just because he hid his tattoos, though, doesn't mean I'm going to forget they're there, or the things he called me when we first met. There's no way he's taking me on a date, no matter how good of a 'nice-guy' impression he makes."

"Well said," Erika told me.

"Oh I got it!" Whitney looked like she had an epiphany. She slapped her fist into her opposite palm. "I have to remind Brawley why we started dating in the first place, and improve on that as much as possible! Thanks!"

"Also, try lessening whatever negative behavior traits that may have driven Brawley away."

"Hmm." She's pondering. "He complained that I was too much of a crybaby sometimes."

"You might be bipolar, drugs can fix that," I said jokingly. Whitney glared at me for a moment, wrath in her eyes, before realizing I actually was joking.

"You're not very funny when you're trying to be funny."

"Sorry… not."

"What is it that Brawley liked about you? What are you good at that you can show off to him? In particular, what do you have that Maylene can't match?"

"Mmm, well…." She's having to think for this answer. Ideas began getting thrown out before being summarily rejected:

"Sports. I can beat her at baseball and basketball and volleyball. Brawley only cares about fighting sports though. Being feisty? No. Cute? No, Brawley thinks we're about equal. I can bring him to cooler social functions, but he's not much of a party-goer. Oh I know!"

A big grin and a pause triggered my instinctual dread.

"I'm better at sex than her."

Kill me, right now.

"How do you know?" Morty broke in.

"I just know. I have confidence and experience!" Whitney replied.

"Experience, really? That's not exactly something a girl can waive around on her romantic résumé," I said.

"It's a new age, Jazz. Guys are figuring out it makes for better sex if the girl knows what she's doing. Passive virgins are out of fashion."

"Hmph! That doesn't seem to be deterring you."

"Maybe it is? Maybe I'd rather like to confirm for myself how good Whitney is in the bedroom." Morty ducked around and threw an arm around Whitney's shoulders, and used the other to stroke her bangs aside. "You're not opposed to friends with benefits, are you?"

Whitney was blushing. "No, but-"

"MORTY!"

The man in question suddenly found himself being dragged off Whitney by the goggles worn round his forehead. He tottered backwards and nearly fell on his buttocks. The assailant, of course, was an angry and jealous yours truly.

"Et et, don't be so possessive, Jazz. You've not earned that privilege to monopolize me."

"So you're suggesting I need to *beep* you to make us monogamous? How crass."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. However-" and he drew close to my ear to whisper this, "-once we've done it, I won't defile that bond by cheating on you. I won't even joke about. That's a solemn vow that I promise to keep."

"Look at her, she's becoming flustered. What did you tell her?" Erika asked.

"How sexy she looks in her costume," Morty made up on the spot.

I'd forgotten that I was even wearing my costume; it was actually quite comfortable. Morty's lie/compliment unexpectedly made me feel flush and light, and I prayed I wasn't showing it with a blush on the cheeks.

"You're back to your old self," I muttered.

"I wish I could say the same about you; but we're getting there." He put a hand through my hair, ruffling it, before realigning my halo.

"Take off your spike-tails," he said, trying to undo the orange tangerine-looking clasps by himself. I resisted.

"No, they stay."

"Why?"

"They just stay!" I insisted. It was bad enough he saw my undone hair at the summit, but luckily I had found some gel and he didn't notice at the time- I wasn't going to give him a second chance. After one last effort, he gave up, and settled for brushing my hair out.

A glance sideways brought to my attention the fact that the rest of the group was staring at us with googly eyes.

"They're so perfect together," Whitney whispered.

Embarrassment levels going critical. I freaked out and pushed Morty away with a flail of arms. My gloves came loose in the process, so I stepped back to pull them tighter. Morty didn't pull his gaze off of me.

"I need you alone," I told him.

"Wow." He grinned. "Are you in a hurry to get it on?"

"No, nothing of the sort," I said.

The grin turned to a disappointed frown.

"Well, I'm not in the mood for a scolding. If you don't want to get frisky, fine by me. At least allow me some beer!"

"This looks interesting," Erika said.

We had arrived at a club and were encouraged to pile inside. Despite the late hour, it was still fairly busy. Even in costume we didn't feel out of place, since a good number of other former party-goers had also made their way here. The music was some unholy mix of disco and techno, the base turned painfully high. My head was pounding within a minute of entering, and I wanted out, badly. My friends, however, wouldn't allow it. Thankfully, the club was non-smoking.

"Here, drink up!" Morty tried shoving a can of beer in my hands.

"Morty, a word, please?" Erika took Morty by the cuff and pulled him. He resisted, determined to transfer the beverage to my possession first. I took it from him only to give it to some drunkard at the bar who was demanding another round from the bartender. By the time I convinced the man it really was a free drink just for him, I had lost track of Erika and Morty.

A quick search of the club was half-fruitful. I spotted Morty again, this time talking with Volkner. The latter nodded and headed towards the exit, while the former began stumbling towards the front stage. He spotted me and beckoned me to come join him inside the noisy, shuffling dance crowd.

I shook my head.

"I'm too tired for this."

Apparently I was the only one, because my friends jumped right into the dance floor and began hopping around, acting like they were dancing. Erika was far less modest a dancer than I would have thought, and Whitney was your typical teen dubstepper. Morty, probably trying to outdo them, was making all manner of sexually suggestive moves. When someone threw in a Milotic and Morty began grinding on it, I became incensed. Still, I didn't want to cause a scene, so I hastily concocted an idea to chastise him.

"Magneton." People awkwardly parted to make room for my Pokémon. It's not often that you wish for a weaker Pokémon, but right now, I'm missing Magnemite's relatively smaller and less conspicuous body.

"Can you Magnet Rise Morty's pokeball over here?"

"Mite."

The first part of the plan worked. In a second I had Gengar appearing before me.

"Hey, Gengar, look at your master," I ordered the confused ghost. Gengar gazed to the dance floor, already anticipating what I was going to ask of it.

"He's drunk and dancing in public. Embarrass him," I ordered. The Pokémon was happy to comply. It used Shadow Sneak to waft through the crowd without being noticed.

"Oh, and this is how we do it up north," Morty shouted, and began kick-dancing, somewhat poorly (I don't know if it was because of lack of skill or sobriety).

Whatever Gengar had been planning to do, though, failed upon first contact. It jumped out of Morty's shadow. The human, without any hint that he had noticed the incoming prank, whirled around and grabbed Gengar by the cheeks. He stuffed his face into the Pokémon's. "Can't you wanna, can't you gonna, can't you Hypnotize meeeee!" he sang aloud to the climax of the music. The very next song followed instantly, and was all too appropriate for Morty's act.

"We're up all night to have fun, we're up all night to get some, we're up all night to get lucky!"

Morty really is a psychic. Or a sorcerer. Or something weird at least, because Gengar was completely at his mercy. The Pokémon and trainer pair began miming each other, busting out insanely good dance moves Morty had been incapable of a moment before. After a minute of watching their increasingly provocative antics, I noticed the singular shadow wavering beneath the two.

"He has such a close bond with his Gengar, he can even hypnotize and mind control it. He's making it use Shadow Sneak to help him move about."

I turned right, to find Ethan beside me.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Morty began pounding the air with his pelvis in perfect sync with the beat of the music. The crowd, especially the women, began cheering. Gengar reciprocated to the other side of the room, drawing laughter and a few catcalls. I was fuming.

Beside me, Ethan stared with glum expression at another provocative sight. Lyra was dragging Silver all over the dance floor in a whirlwind of flourishes and pirouettes. The young man could hardly keep up, but he made a valiant effort of trying. Lyra was laughing.

Morty continued his cocky routine without showing signs of slowing or stopping. The music's beat felt like it was turning my brain to mush.

"Want to get out of here?" Ethan asked at length.

"Sure."

Outside on the roof patio a small gaggle of trainers were comparing a trio of Pokémon. Coming nearer, I made out three Metapods with different levels of Harden reinforcing their hides.

Volkner and Flint were among them. The latter tipped the former off to our arrival, and whispered something in his ear. Volkner nodded.

"Don't like the noise?" he asked.

"Not really."

"Yeah… too much for one night."

"Mmhmm."

The four of us settled down and watched the strangers tend to their Metapod contest. It occurred to me that I was in the company of six men and zero women, and it made me feel uncomfortable. Not for the reason that I was afraid of these men doing something to me: Ethan was a nice guy with a girlfriend, Flint seemed pretty chill, and Volkner, although he made a point to sit by me, didn't show any other signs of wanting to engage or put pressure on me. The three Metapod owners didn't even notice us, let alone my presence as the sole female.

No, my consternation stemmed from the fact that no other female had become sick and tired enough to want to escape the mental grind occurring downstairs. Why am I the only woman who has to be so introverted? Can't I have companions, or at least strangers, of my own gender to provide emotional support? It gets lonely being so vanilla.

That's my problem in general, I think. My life is so vanilla, so unpretentious and aesthetically modest, it's hard to find someone similar to share it with.

Tattoos, piercings, hair-dyes, smoking, drugs, loud music, loud cars, loud voices, profanity-laced language, fast roller coasters, crowded parties, hot weather, thrill-seeking, shallow, crass jokes, constant-energy and constant demands, short memories and shorter attention spans, the ever-grinding need to establish one's identity by being as mega-awesome and outlandish as possible, indulging in any and all manner of experiences with no restraint or reckoning- UGH!

How… vulgar. All of it.

Clean and simple.

That's all I want.

Who else has that same kind of lifestyle aesthetic?

"What's Morty up to?" Volkner asked me sidelong.

"Making himself a target for non-charging prostitutes."

"You could just say sluts."

"It's a dirty word."

"Mmm. Well, that's Morty. He's a party animal when he's drunk."

"I see. Does this happen often?"

Volkner paused.

"Every so often. Not rare, not common."

"I see."

Pause.

"Does he sleep with the girls he meets?" I asked, a question out of the blue. Again, Volkner seemed like he had trouble answering it.

"No. No… Never." He fell silent for a moment. I noticed his hands gripping his knees tightly, like he was straining himself. "Morty's not that kind of guy. He won't have sex with a stranger. He won't do it it with someone he doesn't know really well. It's his own moral code, I guess, and sometimes it pi-… makes me mad how often I have to listen to him complain about it."

Volkner lifted his head.

"Do you mind? Telling me about him?"

"I guess not," he said. "Although, I don't know that much, only met him two years ago."

"It's fine, whatever you feel like you can share. And you don't have to share anything, if you don't want to," I added, mindful of the toll that I was taking on him. I'm asking him to divulge secrets on his close friend, and also his (successful) romantic rival. It was a wonder he was giving me these insights, and a wonder still that he wasn't lying about them in order to paint Morty in a negative light. At least, I think he's not lying.

"Morty is super picky with his women. You can't tell, because he'll flirt with anyone, and he keeps his pickiness secret so that he can get away with flirting to all the girls. But when it comes time to take them upstairs, he won't do it. The woman gets mad because she feels cheated, and usually Morty gets a big slap for his efforts. Then, you know, every so often, he meets someone he feels a connection with. I don't know what he's picking up on. A certain look, a kind of joke, a shared hobby, it's always different. He meets them a few times, he starts asking her out, they go on dates, and eventually I get to hear about how good or bad she was in the sack."

Volkner sighed.

"Then I get to hear about how she's not perfect, she's not nice, she's too this or too that, and they break up. Or really, he breaks up with her. Always him dumping the woman. Most don't take it well. He's got like, three crazy exes who stalk him whenever he shows up in their city."

"Sounds like a real lady killer," Ethan chipped in. Apparently he'd been listening too.

"He is, he is. Got the charisma to hook them in, and the candor to keep them too. But, hey, some guys are good at Pokémon battles. Some are good at science," he pointed a thumb to his chest. "Some are Bosa Novas. I wish I'd never met him, but at the same time, I'm glad I did."

"Why's that?"

"Every time he moans about women, it hurts. He'll say things like - 'It's been a month since I've gotten laid,' or 'I think there's rust growing down there.' Other times, like when he just dumped a girl, he'll be bellyachin about some miniscule tick that caused him to hate her. I'm like, 'Really? Really?! You're bitching to me about not getting the "perfect" woman and expect me to sympathize with you? I've never had four consecutive dates in my life. Three, once, that's my record. I try finding out why it didn't work out, and get an earful about all manner of vague crap- like 'You're not assertive enough' or 'It's no fun around you' or 'There's just no spark'. That's if I'm lucky. Lot of girls just call me a loser or a creep for trying to find, you know, closure. If you're going to call it quits, at least have the guts to say it to my face and tell me why, you cowardly bitc-… I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," I told him. He had gotten carried away, but I couldn't help but feel bad for him. After all, I was one of those women, albeit probably one of the more direct and polite ones, who had turned him down. I realize I blame men for oh-so-many faults, instinctively, but deep down I know it's not a problem distinguished by gender, but something common to all humans. The need for procreation, combined with the egregiously complex mind of a logical yet emotional species, has given rise to this tiresome, grating, debauched process we call romance. There is no sense and no blame to be had in trying to understand why a man and a woman (or a man and a man, Flint being present- gosh, homosexuality makes it even more complicated!) aren't compatible with one another.

"I felt the same way, too," Ethan said. "It doesn't really go away, even if you meet the right girl. It just… changes."

"Is it easier? Being in a relationship," Volkner asked.

"You know what they say about grass across a fence," Ethan offered in response.

The conversation went on and on. A few loose comments about how difficult it was for a man to attract a lady or the pressure of maintaining that spark were flung out, which didn't exactly make me angry, but at least turned me off. At some point an exhausted Silver stumbled up to us and took a seat. With his arrival the talk almost immediately turned to Pokémon battles, and I lost interest completely. Instead, my mind ventured off into introspection.

I guess the common line of thinking is that men think about sex much more often than women. It's not true, I believe. We girls think about it all the time, when it's relevant. Maybe the reason for that perception is that men have more internal pressure to act on their instincts, to try to find opportunities to copulate. Women are more sensitive to external pressure, which is usually stressing us against promiscuity.

"Don't be a slut. No one likes a slut. No man likes used goods."

"Don't spread STD's. Be careful of your health."

"Easy girls can't make demands. A key that opens many locks is a master key, a lock opened by any key is a shitty lock."

"Premarital sex is amoral and corruptive. It will send you to hell!"

"Don't get pregnant. You don't want to be single and saddled with a child. Prevention isn't 100%, just don't have sex and you won't have to worry about it."

"You're more than your body. You deserve the respect to be seen as a human being, not a fuck toy."

Yet, all through the evening, I'm looking at my own external pressures, and it's all biased towards sexual proclivity. My friends are all doing it, in one capacity or another, and they're making it sound like it's not just fun, but very reasonable. They make it sound like it's as acceptable and innocent as going to the movies.

Yet, look at all the drama that comes out of it. These men are torturing themselves emotionally trying to get a chance to fuck a woman. Well, they're also trying for a more long term arrangement, which I assume includes dates and caring for each other and such.

What's the deal with Morty then? He keeps sending mixed signals. If he complains about the lack of sex in his life, why won't he just go home with one, or all, of these women he has such an easy time hooking? Why does he break up with them?

Do you think it's possible, Jasmine, that he's hung up on you?

It seems like the most plausible explanation for all of his behavior. Say he fell in love with me over the course of middle school, but couldn't figure it out until high school, after I had left. He became regretful and tried, in vain, to forget me and move on, but couldn't. Now he has a chance to finally hook up with me, and is paranoid about my feelings towards him. Like any regular guy, he wants sex, but he doesn't want his desire for sex to be the thing that keeps us apart. So he's been trying to make me feel comfortable about sex so that it's not an issue that stands between us anymore. It's a logical approach, and also a kind and considerate one, if a little selfish. Behind the cocky, smug exterior, he really is soft and squishy on the inside, isn't he? I wish it was the reverse.

This is my best theory as to the enigma that is Morty. Why he acts the way he does towards me, and towards the world in general. I could light up his world by just saying "I love you- ravish me." It makes me feel warm and special, thinking that I have the power to make Morty happy. I just wish I could say the same about him. I'm not so sure if he can make me happy.

Why?

Because of trust. I don't trust him yet. I don't remember how to trust humans. Not after what I've been through. Knowing what I know about my own life and my own existence, it's made me lose faith in our species. We're full of lies, secrets, selfishness, and malice, and there's nothing you can really do to guarantee a partner's evil side won't rumble to the surface someday and ruin your life.

I'm afraid he's still hiding something: Katrina. Whoever she was, she meant something to him, and I don't know what, and I don't know how that pertains to our relationship, and that scares me.

I'm afraid of my own issues. I'm afraid to share them, because that might completely upend how Morty views me, and darken the image of a snow-white angel he has of me. Would he then abandon me, the same way he abandoned all those other women, because they couldn't live up to the ideal of that same snow-white angel? I absolutely cannot have that; I cannot allow myself to fall in love and then have him walk away from me. It would be the end of me. So I'm terrified of anything in me that would drive him away. I'm terrified of wanting to fall in love, knowing I might lose it.

Why? What caused this? Morty? Edward? The Indigo incident? No, not at all. When I agreed to go out that night to celebrate, I was in the same state of mind as today. Desperate, despairing, confused, vaguely hopeful, and willing to take one last chance on someone I thought I could trust. Up to that point there were a select few boys I had not yet lumped into the disgusting mass of hedonism I came to view men as. Their actions that night added themselves to that god-forsaken group. Mr. Beret passed away soon after, taking away another male from my short list of respected men and furthering my depression. The only one left was Pryce.

Was it because of that guy from six years ago? The Olivine Lighthouse incident? No…

My heart fluttered. It was right after that incident. What he did to me was bad; he pushed me over the edge into the abyss that I find myself in today. But he didn't dig the abyss. Someone else did.

It's really confusing. I don't know what to believe about anything anymore.

"Hey, Jasmine, what's your take?"

Huh? My attention returned to the group, particularly Silver and Volkner. They appeared to be waiting for me to tell them something.

"What's that? I dazed off."

"Who is the strongest trainer in the world?"

"Steven Stone, of course," I said without hesitation. This answer elicited groans from both males.

"You're kidding," Volkner said.

"Another plebe," Silver said.

Both appeared equally exasperated.

"Who else?" I responded.

"Red. Once in a generation prodigy. He's going to beat Stone's record, and Stone too, someday. He got close, the summit was a fluke. There's rumors of a rematch going around," Volkner said with calm conviction.

"Red is soft. He's not deserving of the title. He'll get upset, and often," Silver asserted.

"He's still miles better a battler than Lance! The nunchuck couldn't strategize his way out of Diglett's Tunnel!"

"When your Pokémon are three times stronger than the nearest competitor's, your best strategy is to just overpower them! Finesse can be strategized against. A 395 bAT Giga Impact can't."

"Oh, right. And those same Giga Impacts sure looked like they were overpowering Red's para-flinches."

"That was ages ago. Lance has gotten better."

"So has Red, and he's young and so are his Pokémon. His ceiling is up in the stratosphere."

"Maybe one day he'll pass Lance up- like when Lance is an old, Alzheimer's-riddled decrepit. Right now, the Dragon Master has the more powerful team."

"Right now, ha ha, don't make me laugh. Red passed Lance the moment he won the finals. Face it, he's got a 2-0 record against Lance, and a world title under his belt. Jasmine, back me up. Red is better than Lance, right?"

"It's irrelevant," I shrugged. "Stone is the best. You're arguing for second place."

"Stone is overrated/a cheating hack." (they said this together, in unison, but with different choice epithets).

"He has a perfect record, plus three world titles. It's pretty clear to me," I said.

"You're just rooting for him because he's your boss. And you're just pushing Red because you hate Lance," Silver accused the pair of us in turn.

"Perfect record, three trophies," I repeated, wishing they'd leave me out of this argument.

"There are *so many* legit reasons he shouldn't be considered," Volkner said. He began listing them, too: "He didn't start his official career until he was twenty-seven. Majority of all losses for all hall-of-famers came before they were twenty. He's got at least thirty losses, all conveniently off the books. His best wins were all close, luck-of-the-draw style victories, hardly the dominating performances other all-time greats have displayed. He grew up in the weakest generation with the least parity of any of world champion. And even then, he never battled the one trainer most people considered to be his greatest threat."

"That's because he married her!" I exclaimed.

"Point is, that pretty record is manufactured, not a true testament of his entire career. And that's the only thing keeping his status afloat. Three world titles, but one came from the Castellian games, and that's… wrong. That's two titles, and most pros agree his quarter-final win in the first tourney was a miracle. That leaves one legit, unchallenged title. Other people have two. Red will win another one, you can bet on it."

"The only person who's still alive with two titles is Oak. 68' wasn't exactly a "resounding victory"."

"Sure, luck may mean the difference between winning and losing, but it doesn't make them great, or strong, when they need it for a come-from-behind win."

"Are you trying to say the outcomes of the tournaments don't matter?"

"No. I just think, in context, some championships are better indicators of their skill than others. Red had the best run out of all of them. Good wins against seven out of the top ten ranked trainers in the world, in the same tournament. Stone beat three of the top ten. Even Tobias only beat five of the top twenty-five in his championship. And if you want further proof, Red has one loss in the past two years. One loss, period. He hasn't even lost an unrecorded pickup match or anything of the like."

"That we know of. Also, you're forgetting a fairly major battle that happened right after your own defeat," I needled him. "It's two losses in the last two years."

Volkner seized up.

"Fine. You watch. If Red doesn't go undefeated for the next year, I'll eat my words."

"Using trophies and records is shameful. The only way to measure worth is by eyeballing battles between great trainers. Lance passes the test. He's proved, over and over again, that he can brutalize anyone he wants to. Red would be decimated if they ever fought again," Silver argued adamantly.

"If you want to split hairs and argue about sheer power," I said, "Then you might as well say Loft was the greatest of all time."

"Well…." they both sort of fell silent at that. Volkner recovered first.

"He doesn't count. He retired from battling before his Pokémon really got to their max level. And the records are really fuzzy from his era. Hard to know what he really accomplished, and how much of those stories were just exaggeration."

"Nevertheless, he exists."

"Existed. He died."

"No, he's still alive."

"He passed away in Ghomolta years ago."

"They ran an article on him last year, it said he shut himself up in a cabin in Sinnoh."

"Really? But I thought…

After a little more bickering, we determined that we didn't know squat about the status of the famed Sebastian Loft. It was as if he really was a legend, shrouded in mystery and known only by rumor and tenth-hand information. Still, if even a fraction of the things he was said to have done were true… deserts lit up with mushroom clouds, behemoths and leviathans made into puppets, battles with a psychic, psychotic demon, landing on the moon…

Regardless, Silver indicated he wanted to keep the debate squarely in the present and the provable, and so I again insisted that Stone held the mantle until someone matched his feats or else beat him outright.

"His wife could beat him."

"Probably, but it wouldn't count for the same reason my practice sessions with my dad didn't count against my gym record," I said. "That's the point of records- to be able to compare trainers against each other. And to do that fairly, you need measurables. Uniform rules, uniform battle configurations, and foreknowledge that the results matter, in order to ensure a trainer gives it their all."

"If a trainer needs regulations and records to convince him to take a struggle between enslaved creatures seriously, that person is fucked up and belongs in jail," Silver replied.

"It's not just about putting in effort," Ethan chipped in. "It's to prevent gambling and conflicts of interest. They use overall records when they consider who to invite to tournaments. If it weren't regulated, people would win-trade and manipulate the system to make money or gain easy access to everything."

"That's right," I said, agreeing with Ethan's logic.

"Which highlights what's wrong with Stone and every other hackneyed tourney-dweller. They only do it for the money," Silver opined.

"I seriously doubt the top-tier do it for anything but glory," Volkner countered.

"Glory, power, wealth, it doesn't matter the prize, the point is none of them believe in anything greater than themselves. It's all selfish and self-aggrandizing. Lance, and Lance alone amongst all the big shots, fights for a cause. Why do you think he never entered the tournaments, never took a salary when he was CEO?"

"Because he was a dictator who wanted to impose his idea of justice on the whole community," Volkner said.

"At least he had ideals he wanted to see come to fruition. Stone and Gabriel and Jacine and Nivenson are all corpses, content to keep things in a steady state of decay."

"Take that back. Don't lump Stone with those others," I demanded.

"He talks pretty, but in the end he hasn't accomplished anything, and he's not doing anything to assert his will. He had all this power and reputation at his disposal, and what did he do with it? He made sure the League was back in the black. That was his "big" accomplishment: he balanced the checkbook."

"He's done way more than that!" I insisted. "You're not a Gym Leader, you wouldn't know how hard it was to try to run a gym during Lance's tenure. They made it unbearable! Stone reformed the system to make it friendlier, so that we could actually make a living doing what we love!"

"Oh, that explains why all you leaders support Stone. He gave you all a pay raise."

"Sheesh."

Volkner and I rolled our eyes.

"Only a pay raise in the sense that we were finally making minimum wage."

"You can't be serious. I've seen your salaries, they're better than minimum wage," said Silver.

"Not when you divide it by the actual number of hours we work. 35 hours a week, yeah, sure. Welcome to my Wednesday."

"Mmhmm."

"Try telling that to the poor who do the same hours and make two-digits a day."

"We're not some third-world country," I said.

"You're being bitter," Volkner told the red-haired youth.

"I am righteously bitter."

My first impression of this guy was wrong. When I first met him he was brooding and sour, and struck me as a dark and edgy fellow with a personal axe to grind. I didn't think he was actually into social justice and stuff. It's a little admirable, but I don't like his tone. It's like all political activists, an insufferable "you're with me or against me" attitude that knows no manners. The things he was saying about my childhood idol was making me a little mad. I know I shouldn't let him drag me down to his level, but I can't help it. I'm Full-Metal Jasmine, stubbornness is second-nature to me.

"Have you ever met Stone? He's an insufferable, arrogant prick. He acts like he's the greatest human- not trainer- *human*- who ever lived," Silver said with a sneer brought by memory.

"I have met him, and he was very polite," I told him.

He also forced me to sing for him, but saying that would weaken my argument.

"He treats you special," Silver spat out.

"Why me?"

"I meant 'you' as in women. He's a womanizer, he gives you all free passes."

"Eh." I didn't follow the tabloids, so I wouldn't know about Stone's personal habits beyond the miniscule contact I've personally had with him. There's never been a major story about him cheating or harassing females, though. I doubt it's as big a deal as Silver wants to imply.

"I've watched Stone and I've never seen anything besides him being an upstanding human, as far as men go, and an outstanding trainer. He hasn't been beaten because his Pokémon are strong, fanatically well-trained, and they have a brilliant tactical mind directing them."

"Idiot, that's not what makes Pokémon strong."

"What makes a Pokémon strong?" I asked, tone of voice becoming aroused and irritated.

"The bonds shared between trainer and Pokémon. That drives them to succeed and become stronger than anything training or strategy can achieve."

Mood rapidly deflating.

That's shocking. I never suspected Silver of being in the pro-Pokémon political camp.

"That's what Stone believes," I softly asserted.

"He only talks about it, he never shows it."

"He does. Just because he has a different rapport with his Pokémon than what you'd expect, doesn't mean he doesn't hold the same regard and respect for them as Mr. Pokémon himself."

"I want to see it. I'd like to battle him, firsthand, but he won't accept my challenge," Silver said.

"You've challenged him?"

"In person, multiple times, but he makes excuses or calls me too young."

"Ohhh, I get it. Red…" Volkner led in.

"Yes, Red is my ticket to Stone. If I beat Red, I can get Stone's attention and challenge him to a match."

"That would work. Red and Steven are said to be really close," Volkner nodded. "Not that I think you'll be able to beat either. They're far beyond your abilities."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm pushing myself to improve every single day. With all their politicking and prize-winning, I doubt they're putting as much effort into training. And, I still believe my bond is stronger than theirs. Just give me time."

"Why do you want to beat them so badly?" I asked. "It's a little obsessive."

"So I can prove myself and my ideals to the world. If I dent Stone's perfect record, I can get my message out."

"Careful, that's what Forester tried, and look how that ended up."

"My Pokémon are vicious, but they're not monsters, like his. I'm not going to cause a massacre. And I'm not doing this for my own gain, or just to show up the "great and mighty" Steven Stone. I have something that needs to be heard, and needs to be taken seriously."

"Now I get why you love Lance so much. You sound just like him," Volkner said.

"You won't beat him. Stone, I mean," I said.

"I think I can," Silver shot back.

"Because even if you do, no one is really going to listen to you. You'll just be known as the guy who upset Stone's record. But you won't have Stone's record, or his titles, or his other accomplishments. Beating Stone won't transfer the respect the world gives to him over to you. It's something you have to earn on your own."

"Yeah, I know I have to earn it. But at this point, just to earn it I have to start by beating Stone. It's doable. Red proved how rusty he's gotten back at the summit. That prick has it coming, I can feel it. I want to be the one who does it."

"You've got a long way to go,' Volkner insisted. "You have to get by Red, first. And he's stronger than Stone."

"We'll see. They don't have the same bond I do with my Pokémon."

"Hmph!"

"What?" Silver demanded of me, annoyed at my outburst and snarled face.

"Battle me."

"What?!"

"Battle me. You talk on and on and on about the bond you share with your Pokemon, you start sounding like the same prick you're accusing Stone of being. Well show us the proof. Have a gym battle against me, and then we'll see what kind of 'bond' you have with your Pokémon, and how far you have to go to challenge Red."

"You?! You're just a Gym Leader. Aren't you on probation? They're saying you're the weakest leader in Johto."

"Well then, why not? It'll be an easy win for you, right?" I insisted.

"Fine. Sure. Actually, that's a good idea. It's not the world, but I've got to start somewhere. There's a lot of Leaders from Nihon here, I bet beating you would be a nice warning shot for them."

"You're underestimating Gym Leaders, and her," Volkner warned.

"I'm not underestimating anyone," Silver said.

We brought cold, hard stares down upon each other.

What was he thinking?

He bad-mouthed Steven Stone, both his ability and his character. That's idiocy, in my eyes. It shows a total lack of respect for what Stone has accomplished on and off the field. It takes discipline, skill, and guts to simply reach a 50% win ratio against all the challengers I face in my gym. To go beyond that, to never let your guard down and go full force against every opponent, even when they are determined as all hell to take you down, and defeating every single one of said challengers- sometimes handily, sometimes just eking out a win- for over two-thousand battles, is beyond the comprehension of mortals. Stone is legend. Stone is deity.

And, ever since I was little, I identified with Stone. We had the same tastes in Pokémon and battling style. I loved his "Fear me mortals!" attitude on the battlefield. Most of all, I once read a piece where he admitted he was kicked out of his parent's home at the age of seventeen, and had to work his way up in life. Eventually he proved his overbearing parents wrong and successfully brought a squalid university up to the heights of academic and financial success. He took over from his father at Devon, and soon after they began making literal shiploads of money by releasing a ton of cool trainer devices and apps. To this day I'm a diehard Devon-tech fan and all my gym equipment is purchased from them. Steven went on to start battling professionally, while also globe-trotting and financing his own geological and paleontological expeditions. Then came the world championship trophies, and then his marriage to another of the modern era's superstars, and then the ultimate job: CEO of the Pokémon League itself.

I admired Steven. He went from a roofless rebel to the top of the world, all on his own effort and ability, and with a style and conduct I couldn't help but admire.

No, I wouldn't date the man, even if we were the same age. I couldn't actually live with his celebrity-status or lifestyle, or find myself attracted to someone with such an outsized personality. It's not like I wished he was my boyfriend. That would be too much. Just, I'm content to stand back and admire him from a distance, as a legend, as a symbol of endless aspiration.

Secretly, I kind of wish Stone was my dad.

When Silver tried to overturn my lofty image of my idol and boss, and put him in the worst light imaginable, I had to really hold it together and not let myself burst into a shouting match. Now that we've agreed to a Pokémon battle, I don't have to act uncivilized. I can take my anger out through my Pokémon.

I hate to involve them in this, but it's not a petty feud. It's a battle of ideals. Silver obviously idolizes Lance. I wasn't fully aware of how Lance had affected the Gym Leader system, because I wasn't in full control of my own gym at the time. But listening to the older leaders, they all despise Lance and his brand of justice. They say he put countless restraints on Pokémon ownership and Pokémon competition, and made enemies with virtually every segment of trainers. The purported conspiracy of the day was that Lance wanted to end the very concept of Pokémon ownership.

I can believe that. Not because I think Lance hates Pokémon, but the opposite: he doesn't trust humans to be good trainers to their Pokémon. He acted like only he and a select few trainers, the exceptions, were capable enough and loving enough to be entitled to share the same breathing space with Pokémon, let alone command them. That's arrogant, and elitist. According to Silver, your bond with your Pokémon is strength itself. Follow that through, and it means if you have a good relationship with your Pokémon, you'll naturally be a strong trainer, and vice versa. Well, I've seen plenty of loving and tight bonds between Pokémon and trainer, but that didn't mean even my Graveler couldn't plow through their Ledian. I'm with Steven on this one. Mutual respect is a worthy thing in and of itself, but it's not a means to power. I think Silver is missing that. He wants power for who-knows what reasons, probably to save the world or enact justice of some sort, and he believes power comes from respecting and loving of one's Pokémon. While that's good that he wants to be best friends with his Pokémon, and getting stronger is as good a reason as any for wanting that positive relationship, he's foolish if he thinks that alone will help him become stronger. That puts to shame all the hard work, mental and physical, great trainers and great Pokémon put into becoming the best competitors they could be. It also ignores reality; that sometimes, many times, it's as much about luck and genes and fate as it is about mindset.

I'll teach him that. I'll teach him to respect the Stone philosophy of Pokémon battling.

"We'll settle this tomorrow," Silver said.

"Let's. Whitney's gym. Twelve o'clock." The boat didn't leave until four o'clock. Lots of time for a match.

"Should I tell Whitney we're requisitioning her gym?" Volkner asked.

"No need," the woman herself blurted out. She practically appeared out of thin air between us. "This is awesome! Silver versus Jasmine! How unexpected! I can't wait to watch! Ah! But before you do, I'm gonna say, my gym's kind of a mess."

We gave Whitney quizzical looks, hoping she'd explain.

"Power surge. Video display is bugged, lights are wobbly, and the gym floor… yeah let's not get into that."

"The shield generator?" I inquired.

"Offline. We're using a pair of Girafarigs."

"Oh…"

"They're awesome at it, don't worry. I'd be more worried about the field."

"What's wrong with the field?"

"Um, you'll see." She winked at me.

"Good. Everything's set."

"By the way, have you seen Flint? I've been meaning to ask him- oh there you are! Hey Flint!" Whitney bounded off to the other side of the patio.

Silver stewed, muttered something and then began to leave. As he passed me by, he stopped to give me a word.

"Those who were bad-mouthing you, saying you were the weakest leader- they're just pundits, commentators. Amongst all the Johto trainers, they're saying the opposite: you're the strongest Gym Leader in the region. I hope they're right- I want to prove I'm for real. Don't disappoint me."

Boys! Always, ever, insufferable arrogant assholes! All of them! In a fit of childish rage I stuck my tongue out at the retreating figure. I thought that would be the last I heard or saw of him, but he abruptly halted in place, and began rapidly back-peddling. By the time he reached us he was walking as fast as it was physically possible to walk.

"Silver! Ethan?! Where are you guys?"

"Not dealing with her," I thought I heard Silver mutter. Then, to our astonishment, he vaulted over the railing. It must have been a twenty-foot drop, so we all gasped and waited for the crunch and cries of pain. Instead, we heard the poof of a pokeball. The red-head appeared, surfing upon a gliding Gliscor. The Pokémon and its rider sailed around a building and were lost to the night.

"Hey!"

Lyra pitter-pattered into view. Her hair was worn down and tangled, and her witch outfit lay disheveled upon her shoulders. Her black and orange stockings hung loose around her shins, and sweat glistened on her forehead.

"Hey, Jasmine, have you seen Silver? Or Ethan?"

"Silver just left," I said truthfully. "And Ethan…" I was about to turn and point out Ethan's presence, before realizing there was no Ethan to point out. At least, not in the location I last saw him.

"Weird," I said.

I felt a tug at the hem of my skirt. With enough presence of mind not to shriek, I took a quick glance downwards. Ethan was crouched beneath a table, hiding under the paper cloth draping over it. He put a finger to his lips, silently begging me to keep quiet. I nodded.

"I haven't seen him at all," I told Lyra. She sighed and dipped her shoulders.

"Gosh. Boys are so hard to manage. I'll go check the restroom."

When she was safely out of sight, Ethan climbed out from his hiding spot.

"Phew."

"What was that all about?"

He gave me a "Oh boy, this is awkward" kind of shifting of the eyes.

"Payback," he answered. "For what she put me through during the hoax."

"Pretty devious of you."

He found a table nestled into the corner, out of view of the main patio entrance, and took a seat. Out of a sense of boredom and unwillingness to wade back into the music to find Erika, I joined him. Whitney sat down with Flint and began chatting about sports. Volkner stood at the railing and contemplated the city skyline. Every so often he stole a glance towards me, in turn catching me glancing at him. Our eyes would meet for a fraction of a second, and then dart away in embarrassment.

"Who do you think is the strongest trainer in the world?" I asked suddenly. Ethan paused a moment before deciding.

"Tobias."

"Really? What about Stone?"

"Stone's pretty good. I'd like to see them battle."

"What about Red?"

"He's overrated," Ethan said in a huff. "Even I managed to beat him."

"Really?!" My eyes went wide. Ethan beat Red? How? When? Where? Was Ethan actually a super-awesome trainer and no one knew about it?

"Yeah, although, no one really knows about it, and I'm not supposed to talk about it. He wasn't really primed, either."

"Tell me about it- and him." I guess I wanted to know more about the doomsday train that was headed my way and what to expect, but also, a hint of curiosity about the man himself and his character crept into my mind.

"Red's moody. He doesn't talk much, and he doesn't think much of other people. Literally. He doesn't think about others. He's too wrapped up in the game, and in Pokémon. I guess he has a nice side, but it's hard to get out."

"Mmm. Sounds familiar," I said.

"Anyways, something happened. They didn't tell me what or why, just that he decided to go live up on Mount Silver for a year. It was starting to look like he wouldn't come down. Professor Oak recruited five of us- me, Lyra, Blue, Silver, and Green, to all climb up there and bring him back down- "By any means possible" were his exact words. I kind of got he was only half-kidding about beating him up and dragging him down the slopes if we had to. Anyways, we ventured up."

"What happened?"

"Red had himself a nice cozy cave all set up. He was supplying himself from a nearby monastery. Spent his days training and his nights praying, or something like that. Well, we stayed with him for a few nights, trying to convince him to come down. He wouldn't budge. Lyra finally got ticked off and managed to tick him off, which was scary, because Red is inhumanly patient. Their egos went on a trip and she finally roped him into a Pokémon battle. He beat her, pretty badly. Then Green fought him, and she lost, and then finally his rival, Blue, and he lost too. Silver wouldn't have any of it and sat out, so I was the last guy. Everyone expected me to battle, I didn't feel like I could say no."

"So you battled… and won?"

"Yeah. Red only used Revives and Potions in-between matches. Didn't recover his Pokémon's power, he didn't have any Ethers. Pikachu couldn't use Thunder, Charizard's flames were almost spent up too. Got out one Fire Blast which leveled Heracles- my Heracross, I mean. Finally swept him with Froslass. It was last January, there was a heavy blizzard rolling in. It was one of the reasons Oak wanted Red off the mountain, he was afraid he'd get caught in the cold weather and freeze to death."

"Right."

Mt. Silver claimed the lives of about three climbers a year, usually during the post-winter storm season; although accidents can happen year-round. Despite its popularity amongst trainers, the summit still wasn't a safe and cushy tourist attraction.

"So you fought in a blizzard?"

Ethan nodded.

"Not the smartest thing for us, but it ended up deciding the match. He couldn't target Froslass with her Snow Cloak ability. Pikachu tried a Double-Team Volt Tackle, but ended up tackling a boulder, not Froslass. Ice Beam, and done, I beat one of the strongest trainers in the world."

Ethan leaned back in his seat.

"I don't feel like I accomplished anything though, and no one else ever gave me credit for that. It's not recorded anywhere, and even Lyra thinks it was a fluke. Maybe she's jealous I finished what she couldn't, and that's why she wants a rematch with Red."

"I see. Do you think she can do it?" I asked.

"Hmm? Beat Red? Yeah, she has a chance. Typhlosion's a titan. It can go one on one with any Pokémon in the world, including Tobias' legendaries. The only thing holding her back is her other team members."

"Togekiss, Sudowoodo, Hitmontop," I started listing, trying to remember her team lineup.

"Oh, she has way more than that now. We went all over Nihon and overseas too. Visited Kalos, Larencia, Unova, Proust. The problem is, even though she has all these great Pokémon, and spends the time to train them too, because of sheer logistics she can't give them enough real experience in actual matches. She's stubborn and tries giving them all equal opportunities, but that equates to, like, two battles a month for most of them."

"That's no good," I said, shaking my head. "I'd rather concentrate on a core team of experienced veterans."

"Same. She disagrees. Insists on trying to catch them all, and train them all too. It gets annoying, and expensive, and hard to keep up with her horde. I imagine her mother and Elm are getting concerned about the little army of critters she's storing up in New Bark Town."

"Hahaha," I laughed a little. It was thinking about Pokémon forming their own army and taking over a village that somehow tickled my senses. Like, "Show those nasty humans who they're dealing with! Viva la Pokerevolución!".

"What's so funny?"

I told him my thoughts.

"Viva la Pokerevolución!" I said, with as much enthusiasm as my tired, worn out body could muster. Ethan had a good laugh at that. He's got a nice smile. It's a smile that's in his eyes as much as in his cheeks and lips.

"What about Typhlosion? How'd it get so strong if it has to share the workload?"

"Oh, Typher never leaves her side. He's always around, the two won't leave each other for a single moment. He's more the boyfriend than I am, in some respects. So, whenever Lyra gets in a pinch and her inexperienced pokes start going down, she panics and orders Typhlosion onto the field. Typhlosion does his fire thing, burns everything to the ground (I've lost more than one hat to that stupid monster), and in the process gets more battlefield experience and becomes even stronger. It's a self-reinforcing cycle."

"She's the proto-typical "I only train my starter!" trainer," I ventured.

"Exactly!"

I chuckled at his enthused reaction.

"Ha."

"Who was your first Pokémon?" he asked.

"Voltorb."

"You have a Voltorb?"

"Yep. Don't use it much in battle. I guess, as a Gym Leader, I have to field my best Pokémon all the time, in order to keep my ratio up and keep my job. So I could be guilty of the same thing as Lyra."

"Six at a time is better than one at a time," Ethan offered.

"I suppose. Although, for a long while I was just relying on Steelix, and Magneton a little. None of the others could stay conscious long enough to actually gain anything from fighting."

"Well, that was all you needed, as I recall."

"I don't recall."

"Don't you?" Ethan asked. He looked very sad and disappointed.

"Recall what?"

"How it took me nine tries to beat your Onix."

"I don't remember that at all."

"Huh."

He slouched back into his chair. Wrinkles spread across his brow, as if he was thinking very hard. A vacant expression flitted across his face, toying with the idea of staying, before a forced effort banished it.

"Back to Red. And Silver. Can you give me any more heads up?" I asked.

"Red… you might stand a chance, if you're well-prepared and catch him by surprise. He's good because he's got good Pokémon, good strategies, and awesome reflexes."

"Explain that last one to me."

Being able to think and react quickly to the evolving situation was a critical skill for a trainer, but there were so many ways one's reflexes can affect the outcome of a battle. This area seriously interested me, and I was hungry for details.

"He's a quick thinker, and dexterous. Once his Pokémon are in range of a pokeball's recall laser, he can switch them out-" Ethan suddenly snapped his fingers "-faster than you can blink. Here's a good example: I had Froslass fire off a Shadow Ball at his retreating Espeon. Not only did he get Espeon out of the way, he had Charizard out in time to intercept it with Air Slash."

I cocked an eyebrow.

"That's fast."

"Really fast. Uses a two-arm single-motion approach, recalls and replaces at the same time. A year ago, the judges kept catching and penalizing him for having two Pokémon out at the same time, but now he's gotten better at his timing and doesn't make that kind of mistake. His weakness, if you want to call it that, is that his teams are so honed on executing their strategy, they're not very versatile individually.

"Oh? So, for example…"

"For example, Pikachu. It's all about speed. Thunder, Volt Tackle, Electroball, Quick Attack, Double Team, Iron Tail, everything revolves around its speed. It doesn't have any utility moves that I can think of, and no defenses whatsoever."

"How is that little rodent so unbeatable then?"

"Even a one-hit-KO is useless if it can't land. Thing's too fast, and it'll deliver its own devastating attacks first. He's sacrificed everything to make sure it's as offensively powerful as can be. I think that's why he's never evolved it, he thinks it'll lose too much agility if he does."

"Really? I thought it was because his Pikachu didn't want to evolve and he was deferring to its wishes."

"It might be both." Ethan nodded. "Espeon is also overspecialized. Lots of utility, almost no firepower. Snorlax is a pure tank, vulnerable to status. Charizard is well-rounded, and powerful, but no utility."

"His team sounds pretty balanced," I said.

"The team overall, yes. Together, they can take on anyone or anything. His overall strength ties in with his reflexes; he has a whole lot of unique ways he can use his Pokémon in tandem, even if they aren't on the field at the same time. Because he can switch them so fast, you're almost always going to lose if you try to counter him switch for switch. He's awesome at tempo and progression, and pretty good at prediction. He's constantly evolving his game, innovating and coming out with new tricks every single tournament. All around, he's one of the best tacticians in the history of the game. Not the world, history."

"That might be stretching it at this point…"

"I'm sort of a history buff. I like watching and reading about old matches. Red easily ranks up there, based on talent and ability. Yet for someone supposedly as good as he is, his Pokémon are not individually able to deal with a whole lot of unexpected surprises. They're undisciplined in some areas and prone to emotional tantrums. The Pikachu, especially, is too spunky for its own good. It'll try to keep fighting long past the point it should have been retreated, and Red allows it. That's the kind of stuff that's keeping him from being an all-timer. He's weak to gimmicks, I think. I don't know which one, but someday a gimmicky, classless trainer is going to beat him."

"Lyra?"

"No. If Lyra beats him, it's going to be an all-out slugfest. I'd double-check the shield-generators before allowing that match."

"Hmm. I think I'm starting to get an idea on how to fight him."

"Tell me, I'll give you feedback."

"Stealth Rocks. Spikes. Play strong defense. If I can keep forcing him to switch out and chase me over the battlefield, I can wear him down. Forcing switches will be easier if his Pokémon aren't as versatile as you say they are."

"Espeon has Magic Bounce for an ability, so be aware of that," Ethan advised.

"Oh, crap. Well thanks for the heads up." That's definitely something I need to be wary of, especially considering my status-and-hazard oriented play style. Now, on to my immediate opponent:

"And what about Silver?"

"Well, I know less about how Silver fights than Red, actually. I haven't seen him too much in actual matches… just… street brawls, and gang fights, and other dirty stuff."

Sounds ominous, and yet, believable.

"Can you tell me about his Pokémon, then?"

"His team leader is Bruce, a Feraligatr. It's an all-round beast, even gives Typhlosion trouble. Let's see… Weavile, Crobat, Granbull. I don't know who else he's bringing."

"Gliscor," I mentioned, remembering Silver's hasty escape. "And Tyranitar," I added, remembering how the great behemoth had supported us in the Ditto-zombie war.

"Oh, right, those two. Nothing surprising, they're all pretty much standard for their species."

"I know them all," I said. They were all natives to Johto and seen at my gym on a regular basis. "I think I have a good idea of what they're all capable of."

"They're just strong, simple as that. He's not going to surprise you, just overpower you, if he can."

"Well, that's good. Defense is my forte."

"Ha, right."

"Thanks for the advice," I told him. He quietly beamed.

"It's nice just sitting down and talking about the game, isn't it?"

I nodded in agreement.

"It's been an interesting night. I had more fun than I've had in a long time. Learned a lot, as well."

Learned a massive amount, both about myself, those around me, and even my Pokémon. I finally got a live-combat look at the Railgun team-attack, and it surpassed all expectations. I think I understand now how I respond to primal fear, and how to better handle it, and just how much I rely on my Pokémon for my emotional well-being. When the threat comes in the form of spooky, dangerous monsters, I'm glad I have a team of loyal monsters of my own to protect me. If it were something more existential, more psychological, like a conflict with a person or depression or dealing with the shock of facing humanity's mortality face-to-face, I'm going to need a more substantive pillar of emotional support. A boyfriend might work.

However, the prime candidate for that position is currently break-dancing downstairs with far too much alcohol in his system. If I can't even rely on him for a full evening's company, how am I going to share all my inner fears with him? He'd better show me something to believe in by the time the night is through, or I'm going to lose faith in him.

Looking at Ethan, it feels like he's in the same boat. The issues are different, but it's obvious he's worrying about Lyra. When he's talking to me about Pokémon, he becomes animated, at ease, and vivid. As soon as the conversation hits a lull, like right now, he slumps back into a sad, self-absorbed state of agitation.

I feel sorry for him. Should I express that? Would it make him unhappy, or insecure, to bring up relationship issues? What if I talked to him about my problems with Morty? Volkner had his own things to say, but he's not an objective observer; he's good friends with Morty and my ex(current?) admirer. Ethan is impartial, could he have better insight on how boys think?

No, no, I'm sure that would just remind him about Lyra, and I'll hurt his feelings. Better to steer the conversation towards something happier. Pokémon again? It gets tiring staying on one subject…

"You're costume is nice," I ventured. Now that I look at it, he's not some generic wizard. The suit underneath looks old-fashioned and custom-made; I think he's cosplaying someone from The Unown Files. "Is that Bristol?"

"Close, it's from-"

"Unown Files, season twelve," I tried guessing ahead of him.

"Closer, but still not it."

"Ack! Um…"

"Hint, it's from the newest novel."

"No! I don't read the novels! I don't know who it is!" It must be from book seven, they haven't adapted that one yet.

"Pistol, Bristol's twin brother." He turned his cloak inside-out, holding it up for me to view. An elegant pattern, reminiscent of many interlocking angel-wings, was printed onto the fabric.

"He works for Castle Triss. They meet-"

"Please no spoilers!" I implored. Despite my infinite procrastination, I really enjoyed that series and wanted to finish it unadulterated once I had enough time.

"Okay, okay! But you'll love him, I promise."

"Mmm, I hope so. Bristol's kind of… crude."

Ethan shifted his eyes, as if mischievous thoughts were being shuffled across the plane of his cerebellum.

"Their interaction is… pure gold. If you hate Bristol, you'll think Pistol is a godsend."

Ethan quieted down for a moment, generally looking at me and maybe fishing for something to say. After a few uttered starts he finally found something.

"I like your costume, too. You make a great Kinyobi-san."

"Really? You're the first person tonight to recognize me."

"Not surprised. Most people forgot about Aki, if they even remember the anime."

"Yeah. And really, it's nothing special. We cobbled this together at the last minute. I mean Erika did, I wasn't going to dress up originally."

"Still, you look great. And your impression of her was perfect."

"I know, right?" I leapt up, the after-effects of the alcohol still granting me a precious quantum of courage to act silly. Standing posed, one hand extended out and held up, as if waiting for the magical flame of the sun to descend upon it, I burst out. "This hand of mine glows with an awesome power. It's burning grip tells me to defeat you! Take this! My love! My anger! And all my sorrow! SUPER! MAGICAL! SOLAR! SAILOR! PUNCH!" My fist split the open air, as if it were ready to knock out another menacing Ditto-zombie.

"Ahahaha! That was awesome! The Ditto's face- pure gold!" Ethan couldn't stop laughing, he was hunched over and clutching his midsection. It was infectious, and the next moment I was joining his comical riot.

"What's so funny?"

Our laughter stopped dead. Behind Ethan stood an erect, humorless witch.

"Hey."

"Hey Ethan. Why is it that you never want to go dancing with me? Even if it's embarrassing for you, I wouldn't laugh at you. Not one peep. But you don't, no matter how much I implore and how much I beg and no matter how much I tell you how much it would mean to me. Are you just going to keep ignoring my feelings?"

"I'm not-" Lyra didn't allow Ethan to respond.

"It's terribly lonely, having to come up with all the fun ideas on my own, and then having to run ten or twenty of them by you before you finally pick something we can do together; and then it's usually the most boring and placid activity I came up with. I feel like this relationship is getting too one-sided."

"No-"

"You used to be so energetic and fun, and surprising, and every once in a while you do something spectacular and that gives me hope I can get you to remember how to be yourself again, but you always revert right back to this depressing funk you're in. What do I have to do to get through? Aren't our romantic evenings enough for you? Do you need more alone time? I think I give you enough space already."

"Lyra, it's just tough-"

"So I am a patient girl, and I let it pass without thinking much of it, but now, this is twice in one evening. I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

"What am I doing wrong?"

"You're being difficult, and lazy, and it's bothering me. Make it up to me and come dance."

She took Ethan by the cuff and began leading him towards the stairs. Her progress was abruptly halted. Ethan was not budging from his position.

"No."

"What?" she asked, turning back to him and revealing a bewildered, genuinely confused expression.

"No. I'm not going out to dance. I am tired and exhausted. I will not."

Lyra clenched her fists.

"Say that again."

"Let's go back to the Pokecenter," he suggested, or at least, it sort of sounded like a suggestion, and not just a veiled demand.

"We're not going anywhere but the dance floor. Come."

Despite her counter-"offer" and physical insistence, Ethan would not move.

"You're being stubborn," she said.

"I'm within my rights," he said.

"Come on."

"No."

"Ethan?"

"What?"

"If you just do this one thing for me, I'll-" and she leaned in close to whisper in his ear. Ethan's eyes popped open, but his face soon turned hard.

"I'm too tired for dancing, and you think I'm up for THAT?! Cut it out."

"How could you- How- Why are you being a dick tonight?! All I wanted was some special memories we could treasure, but you just have be a bonehead and fizzle every last thing I try to do for us! Why? Tell me why! Are you sick of me? Is that why you're running off to hang out with other girls?"

"Lyra, we were just talking about Pokémon," I butted in.

"Jasmine, don't get involved," Ethan warned me gruffly. He went as far as to place himself between me and Lyra.

"You'd rather chit-chat with Jasmine than have sex with me?!"

"I'd rather chit-chat with a Rattata than have anything to do with you right now!" Here, Ethan was the first to raise his voice above a civil volume. The argument seemed like it was about to blow up. Out of instinctual fear I stepped back to gain distance- and then the argument did blow up.

Ethan's insolence earned him a slap across the cheek. When Lyra attempted to follow through on a Double-Slap, he caught her wrist mid-air and held it in place. She struggled, couldn't break free, and so resorted to a verbal barrage.

"I'm sick and tired of you being sick and tired all the time! After everything I do, after all the pervy crap I put up with, and this is how you repay me?!"

"Fine! You want to know why I don't want to dance? Because you're the one who treats this relationship like an afterthought! Your idea of romance is running off into the nether and scaring the shit out of me! I'm your boyfriend, or at least I think I am. Most days I feel like I'm third string after Typhlosion and that red-headed rival of yours!"

"Well, I wouldn't have to settle for Silver's company if you had half a nut-sack to actually do something!"

"There's plenty I'd do with you!"

"In the bedroom! Fuck, you're fun enough in the sheets, why not in public?! I'm getting tired of trying to drag that side of you out into the open!"

"Cut that out!"

"What if I tattled your dirty little secret to the whole wide world?"

"Don't you dare!" Ethan cried. His pupils were dilated by fear. This was something genuinely scary for him. Lyra sensed her advantage and pressed into him.

"I can shout it out, rip it off like a band-aid! Wanna try it!" She had her finger pointed at his chest and began pushing and poking, forcing him back against the wall. He looked around desperately, hoping for some miracle of intervention. None was forthcoming. "What're they gonna say, when everyone hears that you like to-"

"Stop! Fine! I'll do whatever!"

"At last!"

She didn't back off of him, though, but merely leaned forward for intimacy.

"Don't blurt out private things like that!"

"Well then, don't go sulking off with other women… or men… when I want a piece of you. You want to mess around, you'll find your dirty laundry gets passed around just as easily."

"Grr." Ethan didn't like that comment at all.

"Come on. Don't be sour, and don't be a puss, and definitely don't be lazy! We can even indulge your fetish when we get back."

"There's no privacy at a Pokecenter-" was the last thing I heard out of them before they disappeared back into the club, Lyra practically dragging a cowed Ethan behind her.

"I was right, we are nothing like those two," Morty said from behind me. Instead of acting surprised or shocked, I managed to tip backwards into his chest. He closed his arms around me and began rocking me. "I promise to never blackmail you with your secrets," he added sincerely.

"Kind of puts relationships into perspective," I commented.

"Yep. Sometimes they work out, mostly they don't."

"Why is that? Do you think they'll break up?"

"Nah. Relationships die when couples get to know each other and figure out they're not meant for each other. Those two have known each other for a long time, they're not suddenly going to stop liking each other."

"But they've been fighting all night long."

"It's normal for couples to have fights every now and then. They're just jealous for each other, I think they will get over it."

"I hope so."

I want stability and peace and harmony amongst my friends. It's hard enough dealing with my own problems, having my friends radiate their stress creates an anxiety-inducing atmosphere.

"Don't worry about it. It sounded like they were going off to have angry sex."

"Why would you sleep with someone you're angry with?" I asked, puzzled.

"Relieves the bad chemicals from the bloodstream and releases the good chemicals."

"Oh."

Angry-sex?

That's kind of a novel idea to me. Does it really work? I guess, looking back at it, I could imagine all those times I've gotten ticked off at Morty, and jumping on him and banging him into submission with my pelvis… it's kind of alluring…

No! Don't think like that! I've got to save myself! For a while longer, at least.

"They'll be fine. Here."

"Who are you texting?"

"Erika. Telling her to grab those two on their way out, make sure they watch the gym battle tomorrow."

"How do you have Erika's number? And how do you know about my gym match?"

"Word travels fast," Morty said, nodding over to Volkner.

"Oh… So, they'll be okay, you're sure?"

"I'm sure. I know you worry a lot when your friends are fighting. It's nothing, they'll be okay, couples need to vent every once in a while. It's normal for a couple."

"That's good to know, considering how often we bicker."

"Do you think we really fight all that much?"

"I guess." Thinking at it, isn't it just me fighting, and Morty taking it passively? It's hard to get him to be serious, even harder to rile his emotions. He's said some dire things to me at times, but since the Gym Leader summit, I've never once burst his temper. "Maybe not. But you have a way of making me mad all the time. Like why'd you go dancing like that?"

"That's just me."

"It was disgusting, rude."

"I wish you were part of it."

"No! Too many people watching!"

"Does that mean you wouldn't have minded if we were alone?"

He flipped me around, still holding his hands around me. They lowered down, now clenching and pressing against the small of my back.

"I don't know about that," I said truthfully.

"Well that's not an absolute no, is it?" He swayed, trying to get me to slow dance with him.

"I'm way too tired."

"Not asking you to dance, just want to know what you think about dancing. Among other things."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Whatever's on your mind. I want to know more about you."

"I hate Bug-types," I said.

"Don't tell me something negative. Tell me something positive."

I shook my head.

"There's precious little positive in my life right now."

"Such as?"

I leaned my forehead against his chest.

"Like you."

His hand went through my hair, rubbing it thoroughly.

"What were you doing up here?" he asked out of lazy curiosity.

"We talked about stuff. Volkner was all about relationships, and he and Silver dragged me into an argument about the world's strongest trainer-"

"Tobias," Morty interjected.

"-and Ethan and I conversed about Pokémon tactics. He had some nice insight into Red."

"Ah, Red. That looming freight train."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Last I heard, he destroyed the sub in Azalea Town. That was two weeks ago, though."

"Hmm. Any idea how you're going to beat him?"

"Yeah, I won't. I'll let him roll through. I can take the loss. Rather lose my dignity than have my Pokémon injured."

"Really?"

"When I said he destroyed the sub, I wasn't using metaphor. Two of their Pokémon suffered career-ending injuries. They fined Red like, two million pokedollars and warned him to use more restraint."

"Scary."

"Are you worried?"

"Very. I've got a razor-thin margin on my ratio. I can't afford any losses."

"Mmm. We'll have you prepared. Don't stress too much. Upsets happen, Red's not Stone, he's not invincible."

"I hope so."

"Come on. Let's get going. Tell me about Volkner, what did he have to say?"

I felt it was safe enough to regurgitate everything Volkner said about Morty to me. Morty took it in stride, agreeing with every assessment without shedding any additional light on the subject. He seemed more interested that I would provoke a conversation on the topic of sex.

"You've been giving it some thought, I see," he said.

"I can't escape it, really. It's all you guys want to talk about."

"True. We're kind of a perverted crowd."

I cocked an eye.

"It's true. Gym Leaders, trainers in general, we're more liberal than the average community. We're in our own little world, traveling around, without a lot of restrictions and no one looking over our shoulder all the time. It's pretty conducive to just doing whatever the heck you want, and the natural urge is to to get down and jiggy."

"I never got that feeling at my job," I said.

"Then Olivine's an exception. Although, I wonder why. You'd think with the port there, it'd be a pretty cosmopolitan place."

"No, not really. All the conservatives come to Olivine for vacation. Hipsters go to Goldenrod, and hippies go to Hoenn."

"No, hippies go to Sinnoh. They're artsy-fartsy up there, not down south. Bangers go to Hoenn."

"What are bangers?" I asked, innocently. In return, I got a diatribe about a sub-culture I didn't know existed, and soon wished it didn't exist, period.

"Their drug of choice are HGH's and roids. All about extreme sports for them."

"Okay, that's enough, new subject."

By then we had exited and gone a block down the street. Erika waved us down, and so we found our group departing. People trickled off in various directions, until only four of us remained. Our last gathering place was the monorail station. Whitney's flat was a twenty minute ride out towards the eastern uptown. Morty had found lodging somewhere else, a "new friend's ultra pad" as he put it.

"Ten minutes till the next train. Morty, nine o'clock sharp, meet us at the gym, don't oversleep. Enjoy yourselves until then, you two," Erika said to us, and then scooted off to give us privacy. She joined Whitney, and if you looked hard enough you could see the sly smiles on their faces.

"So, ten minutes to chat. You want to do the whole mushy-talk thing?" he asked.

"I'm no good at it, and you're no good at it."

"Usually, I am, but you're hard to be lovey-dovey with."

I shrugged my shoulders. He shrugged his too. He took my hands and began rubbing them. I allowed him. We stared into each other's eyes, and then glanced away.

They gave us this time to be alone, and yet I can't think of anything I really want to say to him. Even the things I was determined to bring up with him, I didn't feel right to do so. It would break the mood, and cause another difficult conversation that we might not have time for. Apparently, he didn't feel the same way.

"Did you hear everything between me and Will?"

"Very little" I said, lying. He smirked, like he knew I was lying and forgave me anyways.

"It's okay. You caught me."

It's like he wants me to ask, or he's daring me to. I uttered something, mumbled again, but fell silent before it could turn into anything coherent.

"Maybe another day," he said.

"Nnn."

This is familiar. It feels like I've had so many of these moments throughout my life, and increasingly frequent this past month or so. Two silent almost-lovers standing idly in the dark, wondering what to do, what to think, what the other was thinking, not knowing anything.

Risks and rewards, I was thinking. Divulge a little, and likely nothing will come of it. Divulge a lot, and the prize could be enormous, but so could the penalty.

He hurt you and then he abandoned you.

Morty, though, hurt you and then tried his hardest to make it right. You didn't let him.

You would have forgiven that young man anything, if he had come back. You might be tempted, sorely tempted, to take him back right now, if he came along. Not because you love him, but because your emotions, and instincts, and heart, and everything but that section of the cerebrum that makes you, you, loved him. I can't erase the memory of him because it has been chiseled into the fabric of my maturation. I am who I am today because of our meeting. If only he hadn't… I could have been happy…

Sigh.

He didn't come back. The last you saw of him was the backside of his shirt and hat, walking off into his future- a future without you. You weren't wanted by him.

Morty wants you.

Let's repeat that.

Morty wants you.

Isn't it unfair, that you shut the door on Morty, when you wouldn't have done it to him? Isn't it about time you started allowing Morty the benefit of the doubt?

Why not?

We went over this. It's because I have trust issues, and I don't want to be hurt, and I can't even stomach the smallest possibility of being abandoned again.

But, as is, you're drowning in a void of your own making. You wander around your own tiny apartment without anything to do, and your loneliness and boredom are like an addiction: you have to summon up a massive amount of fortitude and energy just to get to work, or come out to a friend's party, and that alleviates the sinking feeling for a time. Then you come home, and the feeling returns, and it's worse than ever, and you feel like you've accomplished nothing. You need someone to fill that gap. To assure you that you're needed and loved, at all times, and never forgotten about.

Someone like Morty.

It's time to have a little faith.

"Hey Morty?"

"Hmm?"

"Sex."

"What?"

"I said sex."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Isn't it weird that I said it? I usually just use some sort of epithet instead."

"So you want to make a point about sex?"

"I don't know. That boast you had at the summit. I should lose my virginity before New Year's. Were you being serious?"

"Very serious."

"Why do you want to have sex with me?"

We wavered before each other, like a pair of Lumineon's courting.

"It's not that I want to have sex with you- I want to know why you haven't had sex before. Because I don't believe you just 'haven't met the right guy', and I don't believe you are asexual."

"How would you know that?"

"Because of what I saw at the lighthouse."

Grr.

"It's about helping you."

"Having my virginity taken is supposed to help me…"

"No. Figuring out why you are so hostile to losing your virginity, in spite of the evidence contrary-wise, and fixing that- that's what will help you."

His gaze drifted away into the cityscape.

"When you're ready, I hope you're willing to share."

He cares so much, it's hurting him. He won't look me in the eyes, because he doesn't want to see the pain in them, but I can still see it, and sense it.

"Will you share your fears too?" I asked.

He went stiff.

"Yes."

"Before or after I share mine?"

"I don't know. Depends."

"Before or after sex?"

"After," he said without hesitation.

"Do you like me?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

"Eh… in a way. You're very precious to me."

I fell into him and put my ear against his chest. His heart was beating, not fast, but hard.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" I asked faintly.

"Extremely."

"Do I have a nice personality?"

"You have an abrasive personality- but a big heart, and deep convictions, and a beautiful mind. It makes me feel like a listless ass in comparison."

He lifted my hand in his. My gloves were fairly dirty by now, and it was a wonder I still kept them on.

"You make a pretty sexy sailor scout," he said. "You should dress up more often."

"Cosplay?"

"Cosplay, cocktail dresses, doesn't matter. Your body's the perfect shape for a fashion model. As much as I know the emotional stuff is all-important- I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sexually attracted to you."

"I know. I can feel it."

Without warning my hand went under and between us, stroking the outline of a bulge.

"Hehe." We both grinned. He couldn't help himself, could he?

What was I thinking, earlier?

If I never take a risk, I'll never know what I was missing out on and I'll be stuck with my miserable single self all my life. I won't be hurt, but I will still have to live with the numbing pain of monotony and self-loathing. Like it or not, that bastard didn't just hurt me and go away- he left an axe in my soul that won't go away and still hurts and still causes me pain and emotional turmoil, no matter what I do to try to forget it. I feel empty, like there's a slowly growing hole in my chest that's gnawing at the edges, trying to consume me whole. Pretending I can ignore my feelings and try to remain single and lonesome and happy is just like trying to fill that hole with straw.

There's no point. There's really, absolutely, truly no point in trying to avoid that pain of betrayal from Morty. That pain already exists, right here inside of me, and can't possibly get worse if this relationship goes down the same road.

But, if the relationship works, if I find love in Morty's embrace… I have a chance at finally healing. Maybe. Hopefully.

Someday…

Take a leap of faith.

Give in to your bodily urges, allow it the carnal satisfaction, and pray that the spiritual satisfaction will follow.

Fine. I'll do it.

Not now. A little more, wait a little more. Test Morty a little longer, search for any sign, anything that this will go wrong. Wait for the other disturbances to clear up. Figure out what's going to happen with your career first. Get settled. Get stable. Be rested. Be patient.

When? How long?

Just a little more…

After my probation ends.

December 31st.

I've decided. If nothing else, if everything stays the same, no better and no worse than what we have now, on December 31st I'll tell him I love him, and take him to bed.

Damn all the fears and logic and history and pain that would interfere, I'll dash them to pieces, with excessive alcohol if I have to, if it means finding a way to be happy, for once. For that chance, I'll risk everything. Two months, and we'll see where we stand. Just, promise yourself you can endure until then.

The monorail train arrived in a screech. My friends beckoned me to follow them on board. There was only a minute or two to say goodbye. We were still leaning on each other, for warmth as much as for affection.

I wanted him to look me in the eye, and at first, he was reluctant to.

"Morty."

"Hmm?"

I leaned up and put my lips to his in a kiss. There were no more words to describe this one than the first. Like that one, this was sublime. It was better, in fact, because it lasted longer, and that torrid feeling of shame was nowhere present this time. I pressed harder into him, standing on my tippy-toes to do so.

Soft. Each time, that's the sensation I was most surprised at, and most pleased by- how soft lips are. Not sloppy, not slobbery, not rough or chapped, but soft, sensuously soft. Fingertips are sensitive, but the lips are ten times more sensitive, and they're touching something just as sensitive, and the feeling is mutually passed to one another, and when it hits the brain it becomes soft, soft pleasure.

I like it. I like it very much.

The warning bell for the train's departure sounded out.

Reluctantly, we parted lips.

"Jasm-" I put a finger to his lips to silence him.

"Don't ruin this one," I said with a soft smile. "Goodnight, Morty."