The Rose

He'd kept the rose alive for a long time now, as alive as a rose of three years could be; Steven never believed that he held a green thumb, and he was grateful when his father had rescued him from that plight of keeping a plant. All it took was a book with instructions, hairspray he borrowed from the original owner of the rose, and a few days before the rose could remain with him forever.

The rose had a permanent home in a broken glass bottle by the window, taking the light it needed not, staying in the exact same position for three years now -- truth to be told, Steven would have forgotten about it if Ruby hadn't pointed it out curiously during the tour around his small cottage.

"It's beautiful," Ruby had commented.

Steven had only watched the younger trainer curiously, before he turned his eyes to the rose disbelievingly. It was a rose, a plant -- plants were supposed to wilt and die after a while, especially flowers; and so what if they were beautiful? He had to kill it to make it live, and the irony made him bitter that night as he sat on the couch and contemplated the rose.

It was, really, a decoration that didn't fit in with the rest of the house. A standout, a stand alone. Steven had never really liked the dark red hue of its petals, and how it stood so still, so silent, like a predator awaiting its prey. But it was a gift, and Steven knew his manners -- Steven knew Wallace and how insistent and persuasive the other could be at times he wanted to be.

"Besides," the Champion had said, "it'll make your house look brighter."

He'd resisted the urge to point out he didn't really need it, but Steven knew better and Steven knew Wallace was doing it for him, and out of the goodness inside his heart.

Steven picked up the camera -- Ruby's camera, which he suspected the other had left purposely behind, but had no evidence to prove -- lifted it to his eyes and snapped a picture of the rose, capturing the scenery outside the window in the image he had seen in the lenses. He placed it gently down and stood up, walking towards the broken bottle and the rose; Steven gently touched the dried petal of the rose as he frowned.

There was something else Wallace had said about the rose -- something about… "It reminded me of you, this rose," Wallace's voice whispered inside his head, a memory of a conversation long ago, "it was the only red one in a field of yellow."

Red amongst yellow.

Steven glanced about the room, the plain white walls, the simple furniture -- red amongst white, he thought, trying hard not to be too amused with his own thoughts.

Standing out.

It reminded me of you.

Making a turn, he left the rose behind; walking into another room, Steven wondered if the rose had not only stood out in the fields, but also deep inside… Wallace's heart.

tbc.

Notes:
I'd really appreciate feedback on this piece if you're reading this not right now, since it's my first try on taking Wallace's character seriously and I'm quite worried about the relationship potrayed between Wallace and Steven here. In any case, thank you for reading -- and please look forward to the next part of this (hopefully) three-chaptered story.

Prompt: A dried rose with bottle for a vase - he photographs it, and tries to find the link to his past.