"I can't let you do that."
Those were six simple words, six words that had stopped Maxie from ever listening to what Archie ever said again. Six words that had made three other words useless. Those had been three words that Archie had so fondly said, whether before giving Maxie a kiss or writing at the end of a note. There were so many times that he had said those three simple words that it was hard to even number them.
He couldn't have stopped the words from leaving his lips. Archie's mother had once joked that his mouth was like a wave - once it was rolling, there was no way to stop it from crashing.
But how could he have possibly restrained himself? What Maxie had suggested was inhuman. Not only that, but he had spoken with grave seriousness, his eyes cold and words sharp.
Archie had hoped those words, those six simple words, would help Maxie see reason.
You can't blame yourself for what he did, Archie thought. His choices are his own.
Yet he couldn't stop those words from repeating in his mind. They were louder than even Maxie's victorious cry as he held the orb up.
It was ironic, now that he thought about it. No matter how hard he had trained his Pokemon, it hadn't been enough. Even after the two had broken up, like two masses of the earth's crust that tore the world apart as they moved apart, he had still stayed close to Maxie. At least as close as he could, just to try and get him to see reason.
He had even almost had a chance to stop him.
He'd repeated those words again, those six simple words. Because they were true, and had been true ever since Archie had first said him.
A slight movement caught Archie's eyes.
The kid's back, Archie thought. Despite himself, he couldn't help but smile. May was persistent, constantly getting herself into something too big for someone her age.
She ran forward, face blank and fists clenched. Maxie turned towards her, his nose and forehead crinkling. He clutched the orb tighter.
"Maxie," Archie said, turning back towards. "I, no we, can't let you do that."