Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. But if I did I would make transferring Pokemon to Gen 5 games less time-consuming.

Rosa's POV:

Like everything in this town, the café is old and cramped, as well as musty from the constant rain. However, this place is cleaner, if remarkably shabby, and there's something charming about the tarnished overhead lights hanging over each table. Even the people working behind the counter seem less ragged and confrontational than the ones I had encountered earlier—this café might just be what I've been looking for in this town

"Want me to take your jacket?" Jason asks quietly, and I jump. I'd been so busy scrutinizing the place that I forgot Jason stood beside me. "There's a coat tree by the counter."

I nod, shucking off the windbreaker to hand it to him. "Thank you," I murmur. My experience with boys has been fairly minimal, but none have been this polite to me before. His fingers brush mine as he takes it. They're coarse, calloused from work, but the warmth sends a tiny flare of heat through my hand.

As he heads off to hang up the coats, I feel Armstrong tugging on my pant leg. He points at Muse, who is busy brushing rainwater from Growlithe's head tuft, before saying, He's a sweetie. Scrunching up his face, he adds, Muse said that, not me.

"I understood that pointing at her meant you were translating, Armstrong," I joke, nudging him with my knee. I shoot Muse a melodramatically stern look; tonight I feel punch-drunk. "We don't know. He could have a dark side we know nothing about."

"That's right. I'm an evil man. I hate ketchup." I turn around to see Jason, his chest shaking with contained laughter.

I can't help but laugh myself. Here, in this relatively safe, warm little place with Jason's company and my Pokémon, I feel…open. Less guarded than usual. "Arceus! You scoundrel!" I exclaim.

His laughter escapes his chest, and he gestures at the counter. "Food's on me," he says.

I shake my head. "No, I'll pay for my own meal. I can't go leeching off other people."

It mightn't be wise to look a gift Rapidash in the mouth, Armstrong comments snidely. Though I'd earned money from battling Roxie, I am not exactly rich as a Trainer. Buying Potions and Pokeballs at this point would deplete my funds. Reluctantly, I add, "But I suppose that I can leech off someone just this once."

"It's not leeching when I'll willingly going to pay for it," Jason adds. His reserve from earlier has all but melted and how adorably wry his smile is.

Blushing, I look away. I'm not used to such expressions being used on me. "If you insist," I say, allowing my hair, which had fallen loose from its earlier ponytail, to fall in my face as a buffer.

I jolt as I feel his fingers gently brush the hair from my face, pushing it behind my ear. "Come on," Jason murmurs, "let's get you some food."

He starts toward the counter, and I'm a little slow to follow. My face burns where I was touched. My scalp tingles pleasantly. I force myself to move toward the counter. When I arrive, a waitress with olive skin and short, wiry black hair is conversing with Jason. She seems to be in her early twenties. Like Jason, she has tattoos, but hers number fewer and portray things like summer flowers and letters of an archaic language. Also, none of them are on her neck; they're isolated to her left forearm. They notice my arrival; kindly, the waitress shoots me a smile. "What do you feel like having tonight, darling?" Before I can answer, she turns to Jason and stage-whispers, "Oh my Arceus, Jason, she is a cutie."

I duck my head and blush furiously. What is it with people in this city and claiming that I'm cute? I heard Muse titter behind me, and I nudge her with the heel of my foot, a warning to be quiet before I melt into a puddle of emotional overstimulation. "Umm…" My eyes scan the menu. Ah yes. Salads. Vegetarian sandwiches and soups. Unusual flavors of coffee and tea. Perfect. "Your medium chai tea and…the tomato and mozzarella sandwich?" Though tomatoes don't appeal to me, I feel like the flavor might remind me of home and Mom.

The waitress shoots me a smile and jots my order down on a notepad. She takes Jason's order of a large black coffee and another tomato and mozzarella sandwich. He also orders a plate of Oran, Pecha, and Leppa berries for my Pokémon, which I don't protest to. They did just battle a Poison-type Gym Leader. As she jots down the last part of Jason's order, she adds, "Go take a seat. Business is pretty thin tonight; I'll have Tyler bring out the food."

A loud groan resounds from the kitchen. The waitress snaps, "Tyler, quit complaining! You knew what you were getting into tonight! Lara's out delivering and I just had knee surgery. I can't go and bring them their food!"

"Shut up, Patrice!" he retorts coldly.

Jason touches my forearm. "Let's go sit down. Sibling arguments get pretty ugly between those two."

I nod in agreement. Patrice looks like she's about ready to blow a gasket or possibly tear out some post-surgery stitches in her anger. We take a booth meant for about six, which allows my Pokémon to cram in with me. Growlithe wedges himself between the side of the booth and my thigh, Armstrong sits sentinel on the other side, and Muse, in spite of her size, demands my lap space. "You're all a bunch of babies," I grumble. Muse simply shoves into me harder before sitting down and playing with her scalchop.

Jason laughs. "Your Pokémon are like your barely-contained children or something."

"That isn't an inaccurate description," I retort, poking Muse.

Jason folds his arms in front of him. A beautifully-rendered Absol guards his left forearm, and a Liepard, with her tail wrapped around his wrist, defends his right. "How long have you been a Trainer for?" I ask.

I scratch at Growlithe's head tuft as he examines the condiments on the table with a curious look. After a moment, I respond, "As of this afternoon…two days."

Jason blinks. "Well. You seem to have an aptitude for it."

"I don't know why. Until I received Muse a few days ago, I never had my own Pokémon. My only experience with Pokémon was through my parents." I sigh, removing my hand from Growlithe's head tuft. "My mom is really enthusiastic about Pokémon, but she definitely views them as being below us. Some of her Pokémon were pretty brutal, too, and I think that was because she treated them like soldiers for so many years. She wasn't mean or abusive—I mean, she works for the Pokémon Centers and advocates against abuse. She just is…" I trail off, unable to find the right word for it.

Jason, however, seems to know what I'm saying. "I know. It isn't illegal or wrong, but it isn't a very nice way of training. I don't really like it when people train their Pokémon like that," he responds, his expression filling with an ugly emotion. "That's why I originally joined Plasma. I thought I'd be liberating the Pokémon with Trainers like that, but I guess I was duped just like the younger Harmonia was back in the day."

It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking about N Harmonia. He was the so-called King of Team Plasma, who gave incredibly charismatic speeches about Pokémon liberation and also woke the Legendary Pokémon Reshiram from sleep. When White defeated him, though, he had a change of heart about his plans. Some say it was because he'd also learned of Plasma's true motives to enslave Pokémon and take over Unova. Some say he'd simply had enough. No one really knows what happened except for White and N, and no one has seen either of them in roughly two years.

"Earth to Rosa?" I find that I've spaced out again, and Jason shoots me a weird little half-smile when I come to once more. "You seem like you have a bad past with Plasma."

"My dad joined it," I say flatly. "He was the one who taught me compassion, and then he became a fanatic and released all of the Pokémon I'd loved growing up. He only kept his Watchog, who was about three inches from falling off a huge cliff of crazy. I'm fairly certain my dad joined him on the edge of that cliff of crazy. He and my mom were separated for years and years, and they divorced when Plasma fell."

His face twisted in sympathy. He reaches across the table and rests a hand against mine. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"I'm better off without him," I retort jauntily, but I feel sick once more. I hate talking about him. Why is it that I've spent so much time talking about him in the past few days when I can't even stand to let the thought of him cross into my head?

Jason retracts his hand and fiddles with something on his belt. I hear a click, and a Sneasel appears next to him—but this isn't just any Sneasel. This one is a Shiny, with pink fur and a yellow tuft sticking from her ear. She gazes around the table with shifty, fleeting eyes before Jason rests a hand against her back, rubbing it in a soothing circle. She calms down and rests against him, though she still eyes with anxiety. "I found this Sneasel toward the end of my days as a Plasma grunt. She'd been abused by her previous Trainer, who extorted her different coloration to make money. After Plasma stole her, they put her into slave labor to build the Plasma Castle, and she was just about dead. I took her in, and renamed her Hope."

"She's beautiful," I respond. I give Hope a smile, and she seems shocked by this display from a human being other than Jason. "Hi, Hope. I'm Rosa. These are my Pokémon: Muse, Armstrong, and Growlithe."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to rename Growlithe? He wasn't traded to you; you can still rename him if you'd like."

I glance at Growlithe. "Do you want a name?"

He barks and wags his tail. His earlier behavior has vanished entirely; I seem to have a soothing effect on Pokémon who have been abused. I think for a moment. "How about…Forte? You're loud and strong."

Growlithe gives a nod, and like that, he has become Forte. Jason snickers. "That was fast."

"I was thinking about if before you even brought it up," I say sheepishly.

Liar, Armstrong retorts.

I ruffle his ear. "Says you, Mr. Grumpy Pants."

He whacks my arm and snaps, I am not to be called Mr. Grumpy Pants!

The food arrives. A gawky boy with scraggly facial hair and gray eyes, probably Jason's age or a little younger, pushes our food and coffee in front of us. "Have a nice meal," he says darkly.

"Thanks, Tyler!" Jason calls after him, and the other boy flips him off remorselessly.

I raise my eyebrows. "That was friendly."

"I dated a girl he liked a few months ago. Mind you, I didn't know he liked the girl, and it didn't even work out between us," he replies nonchalantly.

I rest my palms against the table. Jason and I are simply eating together, but it bothers me how casually he mentions dating a girl—and that it upset his friend, as well. "You mean you manage to find dates in this town?" I ask, trying to sound lighthearted.

"I've dated about four girls in my two years here," he replies. "Patrice was the first, but she figured out she wasn't interested in men while we were dating."

I glance at Patrice. "Oh. Well…that kind of sucks for you. But good for her, figuring that out before she marries the wrong gender."

Jason shrugs; adorably enough, Hope mirrors the expression. "You win some, you lose some. Just because she's a lesbian doesn't mean we can't be friends."

What is a lesbian? Armstrong asks. All three of us are confused. My eyes shift to the faces of Muse and Forte. They, too, seem to need an explanation.

I giggle too loudly and clap a hand to my mouth to stifle it. It makes sense that they wouldn't know what a lesbian is—chances are that they understand what attraction to the same sex is, however, since a number of Pokémon species have been known to display those tendencies. "A lesbian is a woman who's interested in other woman romantically," I reply, tearing apart my sandwich. The cheese pulls in strings, and I can't help but salivate at the sight.

Armstrong peers at Muse in a conspiratorial way. I sigh. "Are you suggesting that Muse is one? She won't take lightly to the suggestion if she isn't a lesbian."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but…are you able to speak with your Riolu?" Jason interrupts.

I take a bite of my sandwich before responding to him. "Yes. He and I speak a lot. I've been teaching him a great number of human words."

Indeed you have, Armstrong retorts.

Jason raises his eyebrows. Quietly, he says, "You're not unlike N Harmonia, then. However, he can speak to all Pokémon."

With time, I assume that you will be able to do that, Armstrong comments, plucking an Oran berry from the plate. By now, the other Pokémon have snatched various Berries and started munching. You already can understand at least Muse's intent when she speaks.

"Dew," she says, and, as Armstrong suggested, I know that she hopes that day of comprehension will come soon.

I sip at my tea, uneasy with this strangeness. "Fascinating."

"What were you before you were a Trainer? You seem so natural with your Pokémon, and yet…you kind of said you never planned on being one," Jason asks, leaning forward. The interest in his eyes scorches me; boys have never shown such a solitary, singular interest in me. Perhaps he's curious about how he could become like me, but something about this attention that he's paying me is more…masculine. Selfish. Not at all related to his ideals.

I roll an escaped Pecha toward Muse before I respond, "Musician. I'm still a musician," I add defensively. "This trip hasn't changed a thing."

"Vocals or instruments?"

"Both. Vocals, then piano and bass, mostly. Drums sometimes." I meet his gaze once more, and that interest is still there. "What?" I ask, almost reflexively. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're an unusual girl," he says softly. He doesn't care to elaborate, obviously, because he pays attention to his sandwich instead of me.

We eat in silence for a while. Well, at least Jason and I are. Armstrong and Hope are chatting about something intense; Forte interjects here and there, earning mildly toxic looks from the Pokémon. Oblivious to it all, Muse wolfs Berries at a dangerous rate.

We finish our food at the same time. Glancing out at the dark street, he gives me yet another look. "Could I walk you back to wherever you're going? This isn't a city to go anywhere alone at night, particularly as a girl."

Accept it. I am small yet, and I cannot pack nearly as much of a punch as I would like to, Armstrong responds, breaking from his conversation with Hope to tell me. Plus I cannot protect you from people with the loud shooter objects.

I assume he means to say "guns", but I don't feel particularly pressured to correct him on it. "Of course," I reply. "This city can get scary at night, I suppose."

Jason leaves a wad of cash—a rare sight in these days of Trainer Card monetary funds—at the booth. The air has grown chilly since before the meal started, and I zip up my jacket and shove my hands in my pocket. "Where are you staying?" he asks.

"Pokémon Center. The rates are low for a night in a relatively safe building," I respond. Mentally I make an executive decision not to mention the man who attempted to stay overnight without paying for it. There's no need to contradict myself.

He glances at my Pokémon. "Return them. Having more than one or two out of their balls is asking for a fight in this part of town."

I return all three. He leaves Hope out, whose wary eyes flit about the streets. "Well, I feel safe with Hope around," I respond, my voice muffled by the collar of my windbreaker. The Sneasel glances back at me and shoots me a salute.

Jason draws closer to me, and, to my surprise, hooks his arm through mine. "You can feel safe with me, too, you know," he responds, eyes glinting with mirth underneath the café's neon sign.

I poke his arm, which barely gives under my touch. He certainly is a wiry, muscular boy under all of those tattoos. "Get me back to the Pokémon Center. It's late."

"Certainly," is all he responds.

Navigating these streets with Jason and Hope certainly makes me safer than I had last night. Very few men leer at me now; if they understand anything, it's that a woman walking with another man is not a woman to mess with. It's unfortunate that some men can't respect a woman as an individual and view the woman only as the weaker member of a pair. In return for my safe journey back to the Pokémon Center, though, it doesn't bother me much tonight. Jason points out a few places as he leads me back through town. A dingy bar near the canal that runs through town is where a famous grunge band, Butane, had their first performances. Some warehouses along this same street house have underground concerts every weekend—the thought is tantalizing; I'd love to attend them. We pass the street that Roxie's Gym sits on, and I resist the urge to scowl.

"Roxie really seemed to take a lot of issue with you," Jason commented, as if he understood the complex mess of thoughts streaming through my head.

I chuckle. "Yeah. I don't suppose she likes much of anyone, though."

"It isn't that she dislikes people as much as she enjoys being abrasive, I think," Jason responds.

I decide that his answer makes sense. She had seemed to enjoy attention, but it seemed as though she didn't really understand the best way to go about getting it. "I can see that."

Minutes later, we arrive at the Pokémon Center. The street is mostly deserted; a Purrloin kitten, with her Liepard mother nearby, sleep peacefully under the eaves of a nearby shop. I glance up at the sky, and, to my surprise, I see a smattering of stars in gaps between the impregnable clouds. Cast against the red glow of the Pokémon Center sign, though, the stars seem tiny and almost foreign, like pinpricks in a velveteen blanket. I turn to look at Jason and Hope. "Thank you," I say quietly, "for dinner and for getting me back here safely. And also for pointing out where Butane got their start. They really inspired my music when I was younger," I add, patting down the frizz spiking from my hair.

A small smile touches Jason's lips. I scowl at him, but I feel as though it turns out to be more of a pout. "What?" I mumble. Wordlessly, he snatches his Pokeball off his belt and returns Hope. Puzzled, I begin to ask why he would do that, but he draws close to me. My heart leaps into my throat as the palm of his left hand rests against my neck; his thumb draws circles on the hinge of my jaw. His other hand snakes to my lower back, tugging me even closer to him, and he kisses me, his lips sealing against mine.

I squeak, shocked, but he quickly cuts off this protest, gently biting my lower lip. "Don't be so shocked," he mutters, pulling away just slightly. "You knew I liked you already."

I don't even get to comment as he kisses me again. This time, I respond. Slowly, I move into his kiss, my hands sliding to his face. My heart might break my sternum; it hammers so powerfully against my chest.

For a few minutes, we stand in the clammy street, linked together. We're locked into a rhythm, a pattern, one that slowly becomes ingrained with a melody strung through my head like sticky, intangible cobwebs. I relish it, the taste of his skin and the lingering coffee in his breath. I relish the feel of his hands, sliding slowly down me. I feel like a sweet, forbidden violin melody, like a piano that sloshes out sluggish triplet notes shamelessly, like a slow, seductive saxophone melody.

This is heaven.

"Purrloin! Is that you?" I ignore this call in the distance, locking myself into Jason, whose fingers are now entangled in my hair. If I'd known kissing could be this undeniably pleasurable I might've tried it years ago. Fast, fierce footsteps draw closer, and I hear it again. "You look just like her Purrloin! I swear to Arceus, where have you been all these—"

The voice cuts off. "Hey, you! Is that your Purrloin?"

My eyes snap open in shock. That is Hugh's voice. Jason pulls away from me, an irritated look on his features, to grumble, "Hey, I was a little busy here, you know." I blush. Busy seemed too simple of a word to describe that.

Hugh's arms are crossed. Jason must be blocking his view of me, because he doesn't even mention my presence. "I was just asking if that Purrloin over there is yours, dude. Don't get all bent out of shape."

"I don't have a Purrloin," Jason replies tersely, obviously irritated by Hugh's intense, one-track mind, "so if you don't mind…" He turns back toward me, obviously meaning to continue what we'd started earlier. However, this action allows me to enter Hugh's line of sight.

His eyes are huge when he realizes who he's looking at. "Rosa?" he whispers.

I smile sheepishly. "Hi, Hugh."

Jason sighs, glancing between Hugh and me. Noting my awkward expression and Hugh's dropped jaw, he seems to decide that what we had been up to earlier had to cease and desist for the time being. "Well, I'm going to go. Tonight seems to have come to…a screeching halt." He snatches a pen out of his pocket and grabs my hand, scribbling something on the back of it. "Call me sometime," he says, smiling at me in a way that turns my joints rubbery.

Before he's even out of earshot, Hugh, apparently flabbergasted, gestures at Jason's receding figure and then to myself. "Rosa! What the hell? How old is that guy? And what's with all those tattoos?"

I sigh, shoving my bangs out my eyes. They're still damp and hang far too heavily for my comfort. "His name is Jason—"

He interrupts me, drawing closer to me. There's a rabid aura around him, one that I've never really felt with him before. "I didn't ask that! He looked like twenty-five! You're sixteen! You're cute! He's just…tattoos!" Hugh exclaims, gesturing wildly at the night sky.

I blink. "Did you just call me cute?"

Hugh grinds his palms to his forehead. After a deep breath, he says in a calm voice, "Yes, Rosa. I did. You're cute. All those comments my friends make about your damned legs are right, okay? And just you have a nice face and tattoo guy…he doesn't."

"I don't suppose you've been macking on him lately?" I respond tersely. "Since you know so much about him and all."

He crosses his arms and glares at me. "Rosa, shut up."

I look anywhere but at him. The Purrloin and Liepard have long since left, scared off by our confrontation in the street. Pursing my lips as I think, I wonder why he was so…intense. Intense about the Purrloin, in particular. "Why were you so concerned about the Purrloin?" I ask, changing gears.

Hugh's eyes become opaque—solid chunks of vermillion in the streetlight. Changing gears, he pointed at the Pokémon Center. "Let's share a room tonight. I don't know about you but paying 1000 Pokedollars a night for a room is too much when you don't have many Badges." Before I can even agree to it, he takes me by the forearm and marches us toward the Center.

Upon entry, the same wry attendant from last night looks up with interest. "Found yourself a man?" she asks, nodding to Hugh. "He's not too shabby."

"We are friends. Put a cork in it. We want a room for the night that we will sleep in separate beds in," he retorts, giving me a putrid look that I can assume is from walking in on Jason and I making out.

The attendant laughs. "Every room here has one bed."

"I'll sleep on the floor. Just give us a room," Hugh grumbles, and I can't help but laugh.

Minutes later we're sitting in a room together. Hugh sits against the wall, glaring at me as I comb my hair. A day spent in the rain has really taken its toll. "If looks could kill, I'd have died twice," I comment, humming low, sweet notes. I have to write some of this down before it dissipates; between Muse's arrival in my life and my stolen moment with Jason, I'd have at least three songs written if I just sat down and went through chord progressions.

Hugh sighs loudly. "I am judging your taste in men. Next thing I know you'll be sucking face with some Plasma sympathizer."

I almost snort loudly. Jason certainly was a Plasma sympathizer back in his day. "What should my taste in men be, O Wise and Powerful Hugh of the Qwilfish Hair?"

He almost lost his composure—a smile twitches at the left corner of his lips—but in the same, demanding tone, he retorts, "Better than that, for Arceus's sake. He looks like a user."

"Okay." I slip out of my windbreaker, tossing it on the floor at the foot of my bed. "I don't know about you, but it's late, Hugh. I'm going to try and sleep," I say. I release Muse, Armstrong, and Forte. They greet me affectionately: Muse with her touches, Armstrong with his stoic nods, Forte with his barking.

"When did you get a Growlithe?" he asks as he snatches a pillow off the bed.

I smile. "Today. I met Forte at about the same time I met Jason."

I can almost see the proverbial tick mark spring onto his forehead. "Shut up, Rosa," he growls, and he flops heavily onto his side. "Didn't sign up for this shit," he grumbles.

Snickering, I flop back onto the bed and curl onto my side. Muse flattens herself into the curve of my belly and Armstrong wedges against my back. After a moment of deciding, Forte wedges himself into the crook of my knees. "I'm not going to be able to move," I mutter, but already I feel fairly sleepy. "Goodnight, Hugh."

He flicks off the light. "Your back is going to hurt so bad when you wake up."

That's about the most affectionate he's ever going to sound with me, isn't it?

A/N: Hello, and welcome to "I had no idea that this much time had passed; last time I wrote anything for this story I was still sixteen." Yep, that's right, I turned seventeen. Happy birthday to me. I'm an old fart now. Not really; I have siblings in their mid-twenties and cousins nearing their mid-thirties-if anything I'm the baby of the family.

So I had a very nasty audition last weekend that I will not know the results of until this April (although I'm pretty sure that I didn't get into the group I was aiming to get into). I'm also in Physics, and that's not really going as well as I would like it to. I mean, I'm passing, but my passing grade isn't the best grade I could have. Math kicks my ass.

Now, story-wise...

Yup, Rosa nicknamed the Growlithe Forte. I mean, you can usually nickname gifted or given Pokemon, aside from N's Zorua in Black and White Two. I feel like all of her Pokemon names are going to have music-related names...that is, if she has the ability to nickname them. *Hint hint about a future event in the story*.

Also, Hugh the Love Guru. Hugh totally knows what's best for Rosa. Or so he thinks. Regardless, he's a bit jelly that Rosa can attract people so quickly (obviously, he's just jelly that she was kissing some other guy, but he doesn't know that and you're not supposed to know that. But we all know about that outcome. This is a Sequelshipping fic. Duh duh duh. Why is everyone so ticked about Rosa having a few side jaunts when we all know they'll end up together in the end. Good Lordy, people who are upset about Jason's presence.)

I feel like my next few updates are all going to be really slow. Physics is really difficult and I have a competition, four concerts, and a recital soon. Likewise, I'm working through the throes of seasonal-affective disorder. I live in a place where the temperature is below freezing for up to five months of the year, and having a form of depression due to the cold and the darkness is not at all helpful at this time of year with my commitments and my plans. I'll write when I have time and the heart to, and I apologize profusely in advance if the quality of the next update or two is low. I love all of you dearly for being patient with me as I work through my very tangled life right now.

Leave a review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!