Love Remains The Same Chapter 168: See You Later, Goodbye Forever, a pokémon fanfic

Disclaimer: Puppy: ^^ Mitsy: Hahaha, I totally agree ; ) Olih: *Glomps* Midori: Thanks for the favourite! And the review, ohmigawd~ I ADORE Clingyshipping, so that is a must-do. And I AM drowning in requests, but I will be sure to do each and every request eventually, so look forward to yours ^^

Question: Which of Chili, Cress and Cilan do you ship yourself with/ think is the hottest?

My Answer: DON'T MAKE ME CHOOSE. *cries*

Characters: Gameverse. Cilan/Cress/Chili (whichever one you like the best) X Touko.

Summary: Because me and Olih were fangirling about the Striaton trio, I decided that this needed to be done. Also, if you're reading this for Chili, pretend that's he's super angsty and covers it up with bravado; if you're reading this for Cilan, pretend that his stammering in front of trainers is just an act; and if you're reading this as Cress, pretend that he's actually really sensitive, but covers it up with arrogance. (Also, I will be doing a similar chapter for N X Touko). Kthxbai. (ALSO, THIS TOOK ME DAYS. DAYS, DAMMIT. IT IS 46 PAGES IN TOTAL. FFFFF-)

See You Later, Goodbye Forever

This story needs to be penned before the paper rips itself to pieces.

It starts one fateful night {like all clichés do}, with the wind running through the trees, screaming at the top of its lungs, and the rain pounding the concrete with tiny fists that ache for solace. The fire that consumes our gym blazes on, a million tongues of red reaching out to taste the rain, and tears are mingling with raindrops because-

"See, this is why pokemon and people need to be separated."

My brothers and I turn to see a robed figure, his green hair flowing like a tangle of vines down his back. A red monocle covers his right eye, reflecting our burning gym back at us, and a small smile curves his lips.

{And I think it's a smile of understanding, of empathy, because-}

"I can help you three raise funds for repairing your gym," the man says. "It's unfair that the arrogance of one trainer should drive three young, promising boys to ruin." His lips curve further, and his visible eye smiles at us. "Please, let me assist you."

"And what do you want from us?" asks one of my brothers.

The raindrops quiet the roar of the flames, hushing it into a crackle. "Loyalty," he says.

And so begins my routine of "Welcome to unhappiness; may I take your order?"

It starts one sunlit morning {like all humble beginnings do}, with the rays sliding- not slanting, because everyone knows that light is made of glass- through your blinds and your covers twisted between your legs. Then you throw yourself out of bed and take the stairs two at a time, because you're already dressed and you get to leave home and-

"See, this is why pokemon and people are so good together."

A half an hour later, you stand in front of Professor Juniper with your two best friends, a pokemon in your arms and a smile plastered onto your face. The professor smiles back, her eyes focused mainly on you.

{And you think it's a look of worry, of wariness, because-}

"And what do you want us to do in return?" Cheren asks, his partner already inside of its capsule.

Her eyes gleam coldly, though her expression is warm. "I want you to do whatever makes you happy," she says.

And so begins your life of "Happiness is not an option that all people get to choose."

Now, a prologue like this needs to be cleaned up, but there's no way to do that: the words are bleeding off the page and are circling the drain, and it's almost beautiful the way they get sucked down into oblivion, almost musical.

She comes striding in that great mahogany door {like a start to something that nobody knows exists yet}, withher boots leaving prints on the red carpet. Her eyes speak of inner strength, and her hair looks as if it has been curled with irons hot with championship dreams.

She is supposed to battle my brother, but a comment muttered under my breath is enough to turn those bayou-blue eyes onto me. "I'd like to see how good you are without a type advantage," she says in a voice like wallpaper: a voice that's tough on the outside but peeling, ever peeling, right off to expose the lack of confidence underneath.

I accept because it's my duty as a gym leader, despite the fact that I have customers to serve, and despite the fact that-

"Thanks for the battle."

It's over before I know it, and she's walking out on those boots of hers, making yet more prints on the carpet. Her hair is uncurling itself, I can't help but notice: her movements aren't as lively as I first thought, and her eyes aren't nearly as blue.

But maybe that's because I'm still bitter about-

"Ghetsis called," interrupts one of my brothers. "Close up shop- he's requesting us."

So I do.

I pull on my white wig and my dark mask and my black clothes, and I slip into yet another role.

{It's all I'm good for, anyway.}

The gym leader doesn't leave much of an impression on you, despite him being extremely attractive {because not all love stories trip over themselves to get to the romantic bits, you know}, and you continue on with your journey. You add to your collection, collecting HM slaves and pokemon for your pokedex and some that you train to be part of your battling team.

And then you meet N.

N, with the Rubik's cube eyes and hair that's like a tangle of vines swept into a ponytail: N, who speaks of pokemon liberation and all it entails.

You think maybe he's right, but it's only because of-

"I love my pokemon." Your selfish words slip out of equally selfish lips, and you feel your heart constrict.

He smiles just like Prof. Juniper. "If you truly loved them, you'd let them go."

So you turn, clomping down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of his accusations:

You run away.

{It seems like it's all you ever do.}

This story is getting off track: let's skip ahead to what matters.

"Please, don't do this!" the trainer shouts. We don't answer, because we are the Shadow Triad right now, and we don't speak unless it's necessary.

Instead, I take away her pokemon. I pull it away from her, and the creature bucks in my arms like a petulant child, bruising my forearm in the process: it cries as if I am separating it from its soul, and reaches out to its trainer.

{But I'm doing the right thing: I shouldn't even have doubts about this, because-}

"Oh, don't," implores the trainer. She's just a girl, really, with flyaway blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. Then she whispers, "Tepig…" and her voice quakes so much that it shakes the ground under my feet.

My grip slackens, and the pokemon returns to its trainer. The two embrace each other fiercely, and a tear runs down the girl's face.

"It bit me," I whisper in answer to my brothers' shocked looks, making sure that I am inaudible to the trainer. "My grip loosened, and it escaped."

So one of my brothers- does it matter which? We're all interchangeable, no matter who we're pretending to be- steps forward. "Relinquish your pokemon," we tell the girl, because when we speak to others we always speak together, so that no one can identify our voices.

In response the trainer hugs the tepig more tightly, the muscles in her arms straining.

My brother nods in a way that says 'Very well', and he takes another step forward, cracking his black-clad knuckles. I step back, and turn away.

The screaming will stop eventually.

"Please come home!" your mother shouts. You don't answer, because she should know better by now and fuck, you're eighteen now and no one can tell you what to do anymore.

Instead you say, "Mom, please. I'm eighteen now. I can handle myself."

{And you know what you're doing is wrong: you're breaking her heart all over again, just like-}

"Don't," she implores. Then she whispers, "Sweetheart…" and you feel the tide sweep in to fill your eyes.

"I need to do this," you whisper, nearly inaudible. "I need to do this, Mom. I can't live in fear like you for the rest of my life."

In response she gasps, and in that gasp is everything you cannot- will not- be: broken. Grieving. Alone.

You choke out a farewell that is caught between meanings, and it ends up coming out in a mangled phrase that even you can't decipher. You can't tell if it's See you later or Goodbye forever, and it's one jumbled muttering of I love you/ I'm sorry because they mean the same thing.

The tears will cease eventually.

But no, that's not right. That's backstory, and not the tale that is being told.

"'No one will ever suspect me of being a ninja if I stutter, right?' No, Cilan, that just makes you more suspicious. Arceus. Get it right."

"C-Chili! That was uncalled for!"

"Hey, the second you said you could probably roast persim berries over my head was when everything was fair game."

"Both of you, be quiet…Though, in all fairness, Chili, even I was tempted to try the roasting idea."

"Shut up, Cress! What about you, huh? It looks like you cut off the tentacles of a tentacruel, dyed them blue, glued them to your head and called it hair."

Our banter is cut off by Ghetsis sweeping into the room, robe billowing. "I need you to keep an eye on Lord N," he says, two of his sages flanking him. "He is currently in Nimbasa."

We all bow, our expressions instantaneously wiped clean of expression. "Yes, Ghetsis."

He nods, and he exits without a parting glance. Silence eats away at us as we quietly pull on our masks, the fabric cool against my lips.

{Silence stitches us together as we pull on our alternate identities, the fabric covering my lips and smothering them.}

Soundlessly we depart, using our munnas to teleport.

Needless to say, our laughter is instantly forgotten.

{And is never remembered.}

"Cheren, why are your jeggings so tight?"

"Bianca, why is your brain so nonexistent?"

"Hey! That was mean!"

"Then why'd you insult me in the first place?"

"It was just a question."

"…You're either completely oblivious, or completely stupid."

"Quit being a bully, Cheren!"

You hang up on your friends, cutting off their banter. You can't handle it right now; not after listening to what N had to say, not after absorbing that much information on the ferris wheel.

You walk together with your pokemon, the silence stitching you together, making you one.

{You walk alone even though your pokemon is right beside you, the silence eating away at you and pulling you millions of miles apart.}

Through the amusement park you wander, until you glimpse a flash of brightly-coloured hair. Nearing, you see that it's the gym leader: the one you won against what feels like a lifetime ago.

He turns, and those vaguely-familiar eyes latch onto yours. He looks tired, you find: there are deep shadows digging into his cheekbones, and his shoulders are curved inwards, as if they are being drawn in to shelter himself from the outside world.

Time doesn't stop. There isn't a meaningful look. Electricity doesn't hum through the air.

Instead he smiles a sad smile at you in both greeting and farewell, breaks eye contact, and melts into the crowd. You blink, dispel the memory, and do the same.

Needless to say, the moment is forgotten.

{And is remembered much, much sooner than you expect.}

But this still isn't when it happens: it isn't when their story really, truly begins.

In Chargestone Cave I stand with my brothers, all of us having just changed back into our black attire. Lord N is pacing, agitated, and then-

She walks in.

I just saw her at the amusement park, so seeing her now isn't as much of a surprise. Her eyes are still bayou-blue, her hair still uncurling itself and her boots still leaving prints wherever she walks.

We escort her to our king, my hand on her back, propelling her forwards. She scowls, and yes, she's very pretty, but she's a trainer and they're all the same.

{Are they?}

Her and Lord N argue, hands gesturing violently as they talk. She's speaking, and he's speaking, and-

I listen.

Not just to him, but to her, too. I listen to her words, to her fierceness, and listen to their underlying meaning: meaning of why some pokemon enjoy being with people, meaning of why she can see that pokemon should be liberated, and meaning of why she agrees with Lord N, but thinks he's going about this all wrong.

It's unsettling.

"You're wrong," says the young lord, his voice echoing in the cavern.

"You are, too," she says in return.

Flushing to the tips of his ears, he strides off in the opposite direction, eyes burning with conflict. My brothers follow after him.

I do not. I stay, and watch as she fights through the plasma grunts. I watch as she fights my people.

But I help her.

For whatever reason, I decide to reappear. Using my munna's powers to make two more illusions of myself, since it's dangerous to be seen alone, I guide her a few steps nearer to the exit of the cave before vanishing again.

{And thoughts of her follow me, just as stealthy and persistent as I am.}

Outside of Chargestone Cave you breathe in the fresh air, feeling your lungs inflate. Bianca is yammering on behind you, talking about that N boy, and you remember-

He helped you.

The man with the shock of white hair and veiled eyes helped you, despite being a part of Team Plasma. He guided you in the right direction for no apparent reason, no apparent cause- and it doesn't make sense, because all Team Plasma members are the same, and they are too fixed on their goal to see any different.

{Are they?}

It's unsettling.

You decide to say goodbye to Bianca to ponder it, for whatever reason, and clutch your pokemon to your chest. Your feet fall heavily to the ground, but you persevere, and soon you're running.

{And thoughts of him follow you, just as loud and tenacious as you are.}

Finally, it's begun.

"I want to know more about this child," Ghetsis tells us, pronouncing the word with distaste. "Gather knowledge. That is all."

So we do. After gaining some basic knowledge about her, we find ourselves in Nuvema Town. We find ourselves in a room with a white carpet and an unmade bed and wooden beams marring the ceiling like scars. My brothers ghost through the room, examining things with a critical eye, but I find myself picking up things. I turn CDs- some of my favourites, and some that seem like the sort of music I'd enjoy- over in my hands, and splay DVDS- again, ones I like and have heard of- between my fingers. Touko, this girl, this trainer, isn't so different from me: we're the same age. We like most of the same colours. Her walls are even painted the same shade as mine.

"We have to go," says one of my brothers.

"I know." Breathing in the walls, I try and figure out this feeling. But I can't.

{But that's a lie: this feeling is longing. Longing to know her, to talk to her, to see if she really is as relatable as she seems.}

"What's so special about this girl?" asks my other brother, voicing all of our wonderings.

"I don't know," I say. "I really don't know."

It's a month later when you see that gym leader again. He actually stops to talk to you this time, his elemental hair gleaming under the sun.

"Hi," you say, and he returns the greeting. "What are you doing here?"

He gives you some trivial excuse, and sends a smile- one that's happier this time, almost genuine- your way. Despite everything that's been going on lately, you smile back, though it lasts for only a second before he asks you how things have been.

"Pretty shitty," you tell him. You don't mean to- it just sort of slips out. And after it does, you feel a weight lift off your chest.

"Yeah," he says. "It has been." You look at him, and he looks at you, and you try and figure out this feeling. But you can't.

{But that's a lie: this feeling is curiosity. Curiosity about why this gym leader, adored by fangirls and admired by trainers, is so far away from home.}

"See you." Later, you add.

"Goodbye." Forever, he seems to say.

But this time, you don't run away. You walk.

After two people meet, all they need is for fate to give them a little push to get them back together.

"This girl is the other chosen one," Ghetsis declares, his arthritis-ridden hands curling and uncurling in agitation. "I can sense it."

"She's not." The words are out before I can stop them. He lifts a single red eye to mine, and snorts.

"I realize that she may not seem like much, but I cannot risk this. I have spent too long on this to take any gambles. She must be taken out of the equation."

The realization dawns on me slowly, and all I can think is, What?

{What? I hardly know her; why am I so scared for her?

{What? How could Ghetsis ask this of us; we're not murderers.

{What? Why am I having doubts; I-}

"Trust is earned," warns Ghetsis, and then departs, leaving the choice up to us.

My brothers and I turn, and we stare at each other. We stare each other right out of existence.

"We can't-"

"Can we?"

"We're not murderers-"

"We could be, I think."

"What do we do?"

"He's given us everything."

"Do we really owe him this?"

We slip into silence, drowning in it. But, spluttering, we re-emerge, just as Ghetsis reappears to hear our answer.

We look at each other, faces unsure behind our masks.

But it's me, out of the three of us, that speaks up to seal our fate.

You are trying to find a place to set up camp for the night when you see him again. You step out of the bushes to find a masked man lying on the ground, blood pooling around him. Bruises blossom along his skin, as if he has been hit with a hundred fists, and his white hair is matted with dirt.

You swear softly, and drop to your knees beside him. Quickly bringing out your first aid kit, you bandage him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping them in gauze before propping him up against a tree while you get your tent set up.

He remains unconscious until you start brewing soup. Stirring, you hear him groan, and turn to see him running a hand over his veiled eyes.

"Are you okay?" you ask, wary to see how he'll react.

He gives a strange little shudder, and, after twisting his head to survey his surroundings, nods.

You stare at him, wondering, since he's a member of Team Plasma, if he'll attack you. You stare him right out of existence.

But he just slumps in what seems like defeat, and gestures to the soup with a bandaged hand. Understanding, you pour bowls for him, yourself, and your pokemon, and the eight of you sit down to eat.

All of you sip your meals silently, cocooned in silence. He balances his bowl on his lap, taking shaky gulps every now and then, and from the corner of your eye you see him shiver again. Dropping his chin to his chest, his shoulders hunch, and as you see his mouth tremble behind his mask you feel yourself frown.

You are overcome with a flood of pity, but all you can think is, Why?

{Why? He's a villain; why do you feel bad to see him beaten like this?

{Why? How could Team Plasma do this to their own team member; you thought they were peaceful protestors?

{Why? Why are you even asking yourselves these questions; you shouldn't be, since-}

"What happened?" you ask.

He lifts his head, and angles it away from you.

"Did Team Plasma do this to you?"

Nothing.

"Why did they do this to you?"

Still nothing.

Staring hard at the back of his head, you ask, "Why did you help me at Chargestone Cave?"

He lifts his hand in a helpless gesture, and lets it drop back to his side. Then he runs his fingers over the bowl, and it looks like he can't stop his hands from shaking.

"I don't know why you did, but thanks," you say. "Thank you so much."

He just shakes his head slowly, back and forth, back and forth. Some of the soup sloshes out of the bowl and lands on his knee, scalding him.

He doesn't seem to notice.

Now that we've got the beginning, we need the middle: this needs to be fleshed out, made real.

I stay with Touko for one week, seven hours, and twenty three minutes. I walk around the campsite, easing back into my bruised and broken body, and since I refuse to speak she speaks enough to make up for my silence.

"I'll be staying here for a while, since I really don't know what to do next. I have a lot to think about, thanks to you Team Plasma people," she says wryly as I help her carry water from the lake.

"Isn't an outfit as skimpy as that drafty?" she asks as we sit around the campfire. I choke on my hot chocolate.

"I don't hate you," she remarks, and I fiddle with a leaf, the simple action sending shockwaves of pain up my arm. "I probably should, but I don't. I mean, you haven't attacked me or anything, so I guess I have no reason to."

I watch her, listen to her, and find myself liking her more and more with each passing hour. I watch her pokemon, too. I watch how happy they are, and how happy they are with her. It's bizarre. This is all so bizarre.

{Especially after Ghetsis falling upon me, pulling out a knife and stabbing, clawing, kicking, punching…

{My brothers doing nothing…

{Am I really on the 'good' side?}

"Why don't you talk?" she asks me, and I brush off the thoughts. "Are you mute?"

I shake my head.

She examines me with those blue, blue eyes. "Are you afraid I'll recognize your voice?"

Hesitating, I nod.

Her mouth thins in consideration. "So you're someone I know, then."

A shrug is all I reply with.

She trails a finger through the rich, damp soil, and when I look closer I see that her hands are shaking slightly. "You know, I've been thinking… am I really on the 'good' side?" she wonders aloud, and I feel a shock go through me. "I feel like I've been lied to all my life. I grew up thinking that battling was okay, but… it's not. It's really not. It's cruel and…" Her voice breaks. "Arceus, I don't know what to do. I know it's wrong, but I'd rather ignore it and be able to keep my pokemon instead of facing the truth and setting them free."

Making a split second decision, I pick up a stick, and begin dragging it in the dirt. She blinks, but I avoid her gaze until I've finished writing out my response.

There's no 'good' side in this.

She reads it, and the corners of her mouth turn up. "I guess that's true." She shifts so that she's sitting right next to me, her knee bumping against mine. "So, I guess… despite everything… we're on the same side, then."

{The same side. Is it even possible that things can be so black and white? Can there really be only one side in all of this?}

I'd like that, I write.

The ninja stays with you for one week, seven hours, and twenty three minutes. Every night you two sit by the fire, with you talking and him scrawling replies.

One day, when you aren't feeling in such a chatty mood, he picks up his stick and writes, Talk.

"About what?" you ask.

Anything. Everything. He pauses. Your journey.

You hesitate, inhaling deeply-

{You don't want to tell your story, especially after hearing all N had to say. His words that cut and tore, sliced and maimed…

{Your pokemon blinking at you in worry as you cried yourself sick afterwards…

{You really don't know what side you're on anymore, or if there are even sides at all.}

-And blow all your wariness out. If he's a Team Plasma member, you want to make him understand both sides to all this: the good and the bad.

So you tell him. You tell this stranger about every detail, every flaw: you talk to him about gaining your pokemons' trust, and the rocky relationships you all had in the beginning; you talk about travelling, and all the scenery you've seen; you talk to him about meeting N; you talk about your best friends, and when you mention Bianca you think you see him flinch, but don't press the subject; you talk about your first loss.

And you talk about your first win.

"I was going to battle his brother, but he made this comment that made me decide to battle him instead," you say, and find yourself getting caught up in the memory. "It's funny- I've always heard girls talking about him, saying how attractive he was, but I never noticed until we started battling. He held himself straighter, his eyes lit up, and… I don't know, it was just beautiful." You're too consumed in your musings to feel embarrassment, and your cheeks remain cool as you speak. "His pokemon were beautiful, too. It was as if the adrenaline of the fight lit them from the inside out. It changed them."

He's leaning towards you, looking as if he's hanging on to your every word. A low noise comes out of his mouth, almost as if he's forgotten that he doesn't speak, and he hastily writes in the dirt, Is that why trainers enjoy battling?

You take his words and turn them over in your head, examining them from all angles. "I think it's different for everyone. Haven't you ever battled?"

He nods, and though you can't see his eyes you feel like he's a million miles away.

"Then why are you in Team Plasma?" There's a change in the air, and you move so that you're sitting across from him, the night air pressing down on your shoulders like a shawl.

He turns his face so that he's staring right at you, and his veiled eyes feel like a physical touch on your skin. You two stay like that for an immeasurable moment, and you know that it's the moment right before something pivotal happens: right before a dam breaks, or the sky falls.

{The moment right before the barriers drop, and two sides mesh into one.}

I shouldn't have doubts about Team Plasma, he writes, and then stops. He stops, and the tremors in his hands spread to his body, and soon enough he's shaking like a little boy wracked with cold.

because

You hold your breath, and watch as the words are drawn slowly in the dirt, appearing one by one.

when

was

thirteen

Tears slide out from under his mask, marring the words.

saw

pokemon

become

living

torch.

Your exhale catches in your throat. His tears fall faster, but still he writes.

A battle got out of hand, and the trainer burned my home down. There was so much smoke. My pokemon caught on fire. She burned. And she suffocated.

Tears form in the corners of your eyes, dribbling down your cheeks. You reach out, bridging the gap between beliefs, and clasp his hands.

"I shouldn't have doubts about being a trainer," you say, the words exploding out of your lungs like sobs, "because when I was thirteen, I saw a pokemon murder my dad. He was trying to capture it, and when he injured it, it got angry. There was so much blood. My dad reached out to try and calm it, but it used its claws to slash his throat. He died. I ran."

You don't know who moves first, but you find yourself hugging him tightly, with him embracing you just as hard. Tears wash your face, and all the grief and doubt comes spilling out in the form of sobs.

You fall asleep like that, still wrapped in each other, and as the agony dies out hope is born.

Waking in the morning, your heart aches when you see that he's gone, but you find a message scrawled in the dirt.

Maybe there is a side worth fighting for, it says.

And instead of crying, you smile.

An ominous wind announces the end, and it sounds like wind chimes: a triad of tinkling glass, singing to the world that this story is on a downward spiral to its finish.

I go back to Ghetsis with a steady heartbeat and a solidified resolve. Neither he nor my brothers speak of the beating he gave me, and he seems to trust me more than ever as we continue to work towards his goal.

{But I am rebelling against the rebellion. Because if I'm going to be on someone's side, it's going to be Touko's.}

"N is going to Dragonspiral Tower to awaken his beast and become the savior of Unova," says Ghetsis, his words polluting the air with bullshit. People applaud, but every time I force my palms together it feels as if betraying myself.

So once Ghetsis dismisses us, I vanish. I make use of being a shadow and get my munna to teleport me to Icirrus City, the place where Dragonspiral Tower is stationed beside.

Commanding my munna to make duplicates of me, I shadow Touko, hoping to catch her alone- but Brycen finds me, and I am forced to reveal myself.

"Impressive, gym leader of Icirrus City," I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. The girl with the flyaway hair that my brothers and I abused before is standing beside Touko, and Arceus, if I could take it all back I would. "We, the Shadow Triad, are beings of shadows… not easily noticed."

The duplicates' voices mask my own, but still, I feel as if the guilt in it will seep through. "Our mission was to speak only to Touko, but so be it. Ghetsis has a message for you: come to Dragonspiral Tower." It's a lie, but if Touko truly is the chosen one, she has to stop N. "It is there that our Lord N waits for you. Now our mission is complete."

Her eyes widen in surprise and horror, but as munna's teleportation begins to blur my body I see her reach out to me: her ringlets bounce with every motion, and her eyes blaze brighter than bayou-blue-

{Goodbye forever.}

I fade out, and her fingers pass right through me.

Just like the shadow I've let myself be.

The next time you meet the ninja is at the museum. Alder and other capable trainers have gathered, and you discuss the future: what Team Plasma could be after, the prophecy of Unova, of two champions rising to end a war, and the fate of the Light and Dark stones.

"But we have no idea where the Light Stone went," says Lenora. "Team Plasma stole it."

Right on cue, there is a flash, and he materializes in a smear of black and white. The trainers stiffen, ready for a battle, and as one moves to grab her pokeball you whisper, "Stop."

And she does.

Everyone freezes as you run towards the ninja, eyes ablaze. Instead of greeting you, he takes your hand and presses something into it, his expression inscrutable as he disappears.

"What is it?" others ask, and they crowd around you as you unfold your fingers. In your palm is nestled the Light Stone, gleaming white against your sunburnt skin.

Their whispers rise to mutterings, and their mutterings rise to a roar. A unified roar of relief, of hope and doubt and maybe we can do this, maybe we can pull this off.

{And you feel those emotions swell within you, because even if you don't believe you're their champion, you are the rebellion to the rebellion and you feel happy to just be a part of it.}

You run into him next when you meet Ghetsis on the bridge, smoke curling around you like dragon's breath. The robed man hisses thinly-veiled threats against your eardrums, and though there are three ninjas around you only the touch of your ninja burns you through your clothes, leaving a handprint on the skin of your back.

Reaching out, you touch the back of his hand lightly before he vanishes, melting into a blur of white and black and-

{See you later.}

You think you see a glimpse of vividly coloured eyes behind his mask, and as Ghetsis walks away you feel realization dawning on you.

And you think, as you march on to meet your destiny, that maybe your ninja isn't such a stranger after all.

The countdown to the beginning of the end has begun: three, two, one.

"That room was the world provided to our lord N. I don't feel anything, even when I go into the room… but you may feel something."

My brothers speak, but I can't force myself to. {How can I, when every time I go into that room, I have to dig my nails into my scalp to keep from screaming?} They vanish, leaving me alone with her {because they can obviously see the way I look at her, even from behind my mask}, and I have to watch as she sinks to her knees in the middle of the room.

I write in the carpet, sketching words in the cloud-print material. Don't cry.

She doesn't. Instead she grabs onto my hand and says, "I know who you are, you know. In case I never see you again, or if something goes wrong… I want you to know that."

I feel a shock run through me at the words, but I go down on one knee beside her, my fingers curling around her shoulder. Hesitantly, she reaches up one hand, and I let her push the mask up away from my eyes.

{Because I want someone to see me, really see me, before I turn into a shadow and get lost in the twilight.}

Her lips part in a gasp, and her bayou-blue eyes burn brighter with recognition. She lets the mask drop back down to hide my eyes, and I see through the veil that her expression is torn between amazement and sadness.

{No matter the outcome of this battle, at least I'll have this moment, this sliver of time, to hold onto as the world shifts.}

She chokes out a farewell that is caught between meanings, and it ends up coming out in a mangled phrase that I can't quite decipher. I can't tell if it's See you after or Goodbye forever, and it's one jumbled muttering of Thank you/ I'm scared because they mean the same thing.

But instead of watching her go, I follow. I stick to the shadows, because I don't trust Ghetsis to let this battle go as planned.

{And it's time to prove that I'm real, that I'm not just a pawn in this game.}

Truth and ideals clash in the form of two dragons, and as one rises, the other falls. N's dragon falls, and as it does you feel your heart fall with it.

{Because you agree with N about everything, really you do- it's just his methods you don't agree with, his way of accomplishing his goal.}

Then Ghetsis comes.

He spews hateful words about N, about Team Plasma, about you- and then he challenges you to a battle to end this once and for all. You fight back with all of your strength, with all of what it means to be a trainer: with drive and beauty and love, with throwing your heart and soul into drawing blood for what you believe it-

And just like his son before him, he falls.

Watching him fall to his knees, you feel a surge or pride and relief. You've done it. You've defeated the person that needed to be defeated.

You turn away. You turn away and begin walking off.

And you don't see him pull the knife out of his robe's depths.

Zero.

I see Ghetsis pull out the knife, and I move forward just as he lunges at her.

The knife rips upwards, and my blood stains the white floor.

{And I can't tell if it's me or Touko that screams.}

Blood spills across the floor, and you feel your mouth stretch in a soundless scream. Your ninja is sprawled out on the ground, his mask having been torn off by the knife. A gaping wound mars his face, running from his chin all the way up the left side of his face.

You hear paramedics and trainers enter the room behind you; you sense N fly off and Ghetsis get handcuffed. But all you see is him lying there.

Dropping to your knees beside him, you whisper, "C-"

"Don't," he whispers back. Then his lips crease in a faint smile- maybe even a grin- and he says, "Thank you."

And when the paramedics come to carry him off, you don't run away. For once, you don't run- you don't flee, you don't escape, you don't walk away.

You run after him.

But numbers don't stop at zero. There are negative numbers, too. Kind of like how stories don't stop at 'The End'.

The prologue starts one snowy afternoon [like no oneshot you've ever read before}, with me trying my best to take everyone's orders. Snow blows into the restaurant/gym every time someone opens the door, but I know it's not the cold that's causing the customers to shiver when I approach them.

It's my face.

Though paramedics did their best to stitch it up, the blade has left a lasting scar. No fangirls follow me anymore; and though it's kind of a relief, it's disappointing, too. Like losing something you've had all your life.

When a new customer sits down, I don't bother to even glance up from my notepad. "Welcome to unhappiness; may I take your order?" I mumble.

"Yeah. I'd like a hot chocolate, some pie, and a side order of conversation." My head snaps up, and I see a girl with championship-curled hair and bayou-blue eyes sitting there in the plush velveteen chair. "That is, if you're not too busy."

I gape at her. "Touko?"

Affirmation dances across her face in form of a grin. "Oh, and by the way, even though happiness is not an option that all people get to choose, I believe that you're one of the lucky few."

Unable to help it, I grin back at her. "I'm not busy. C'mon, we can talk outside."

You walk side by side in Striaton's park, not touching {not yet}. Sitting down on the fountain's edge, you two face each other, hands in your lap.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks.

"Anything. Everything." You pause. "Your journey."

His eyes flash in surprise. "My journey?"

"Yeah." You feel your lips split in yet another grin. "I mean, don't you find it funny that you saved my life, and I nursed you back from the brink of death, but I know next to nothing about you?"

"I know nothing about you, either," he replies, but something about his tone makes you think that he's lying.

You reach out to touch his fingertips, and against the backdrop of the shimmering fountain your story truly begins.

"Well, we have all the time in the world to find out."

There. It's finished.