I live in a garbage can.
No matter how I explain it, it'll never sound like a good thing. It smells, it gets cold, my back hurts after sleeping on the hard metal and, occasionally, someone will open the hatch that is also the roof and throw a bag of garbage on me. Despite all that, I still don't think it's that bad.
The best way to put it was that I don't particularly love living in a dumpster, but it's not horrible. It wasn't like there were a lot of options when I was househunting. I had a budget of… thirty, forty dollars? That could barely get you a sandwich in this city, let alone an apartment. I didn't have a lot of choices, so I chose the dumpster.
If it meant anything, we did try to keep it clean. There were some blankets on the ground, a small lantern that charged with sunlight and even some containers filled with our meager belongings. Whatevers could be done to turn a literal dump into some semblance of a home, we did. After all that effort, I had actually grown used to living here.
Today, especially after working late into the night, I was ready to just melt into my makeshift bed and let the world pass me by. I pulled my pillow closer, relishing its warmth, and let out a content hum.
The pillow hummed back. It started to squirm, lightly writhing in my grasp as it muttered, "Trub, trub!"
"Mhh," I responded back, tired and half hearted.
The wriggling started to escalate. Small hands gripped my hair and started to gently tug. Not enough to hurt, but definitely bothersome.
"Trub!" it called once more.
"No," I groaned. Whether the pillow wanted to start its day or not, it was too darn comfy. It needed to just let me be.
The tugging stopped being gentle.
Rolling onto my back, I shot a heavy glare at it. My pillow, despite its earlier audacity, responded with a sheepish smile.
I could go into great detail to describe the being in front of me, but I'd rather do it the simple way: he was a garbage bag with arms, legs, eyes and a mouth. That's not too hard to imagine, is it?
He's a Trubbish. Pretty much everyone has either seen or smelled a Trubbish at least once in their lives. The Trubbish in front of me was no exception to the smell, either. He was a bit of a neat freak, therefore less stinkier than the rest of his kin, but he's literally a walking bag of garbage and will smell no matter what.
I've gotten used to him to the point where he just smelled normal to me now. Wait… did that mean I don't smell normal? I hope not.
"Trubbish!"
"Alright, alright," I started, before succumbing to a long, deep yawn. I stared at the dark wall of our home, blinking absentmindedly, and, after a moment, continued, "You win, smelly. I'll get up. You hungry?"
Trouble, one of the many affectionate nicknames I had for him, shook his head and gestured upwards. "Bish, bish!" he voiced with an urgency that I wasn't ready for so quickly after waking up.
"Something's wrong? What do you mean by 'bad'?" I asked, baffled.
He let out a weary sigh, clearly frustrated with my lack of understanding.
What's up with him? I'd never woken him up with hair tugging and screaming before. Actually, I couldn't recall waking him up, or even just waking up before him, ever.
He was actually quite a responsible Trubbish. He really had a...
My eyes widened in realization. "Oh shit!" I exclaimed, suddenly grasping the gravity of the situation.
It was garbage day! The bi-weekly horror where our home gets hoisted up by a monstrous truck equipped with those relentlessly evil hydraulic arms. Those menacing metallic claws will shake, nonstop and without prejudice, until every single possession is dumped into its gaping belly.
I've fallen in myself quite a few times. It's not as adventurous as it sounds, trust me.
Quickly, I threw open the lid of our home, peering outside. A few blocks away, the telltale rumbling and creaking of the garbage truck echoed between the buildings. I could even spot a Machoke riding shotgun, signaling the impending doom as they inched closer.
What time was it, exactly? How was it already past noon? We needed to gather our things and leave before the truck made its appearance. Despite calling a garbage can my home, I had no intention of seeing my belongings, or myself, submerged under heaps of trash.
Trouble grumbled, his voice dripping with exasperation. This was far from the first time we'd found ourselves in this predicament.
"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" I asked half-jokingly, evading his gaze.
"Trubbish," he retorted, his tone flat.
I wish I could disagree with his statement, but the evidence that I was beyond lazy in the morning was starting to stack against me. After a year living like this, Trouble would probably say there was a mountain of evidence—I considered it a slightly above average hill.
I'll never admit it, especially to him, but he was right.
"Thanks," I let out quietly as we started to scramble to wrap up our tupperware and other few belongings in blankets. With everything packed up, we clambered out of the dumpster. The change from the dim interior to the glaring brightness of the city was almost blinding. For a brief moment, the two of us stood there, adjusting to the light and the chaos of the metropolis around us.
We started to traverse the city, carrying our belongings in sacks slung over our shoulders like some old-timey robbers. By the time the garbage crew reached our residence, we had already blended into the crowd at the end of the block.
"Crisis averted," I remarked with a hint of self-satisfaction, conveniently overlooking my own role in the near mishap. I flashed Trouble a cheeky wink, earning an exasperated eye roll in return.
With the immediate urgency behind us, the city sprawled out in its usual chaotic harmony. Space was at a premium, so they built every building as tall as they could. I would have to crane my neck to an almost uncomfortable point if I wanted to see the tops of the skyscrapers. Every street was lined with the grayish monoliths as far as the eye could see.
People were constantly coming in and out of buildings into ever present, ever changing, crowds that streamed through the streets like water running downhill. You could live here for years and never see the same person twice. Most people's entire lives, their stories, were drowned out by the sheer number of things going on.
Trouble and I casually hopping out of a dumpster didn't even faze anyone. This was Castelia City, after all, which was ranked the world's most populous city. More people meant more strangeness, after all.
Take our neighborhood, for instance. It's home to countless aspiring artists who have flocked to the city, chasing dreams of stardom and recognition. To label them 'eclectic' felt like an understatement. The stark, rundown buildings sharply contrast with the residents' vibrant talents and personas, lending the area its unique charm.
Known colloquially as the 'Starving Artist District' or SAD, the area has seen better days. The majority of the apartments are privately owned, with landlords seemingly more invested in jacking up the rent than in maintaining their properties.
I'm still convinced that the air is cleaner in my dumpster than in the buildings. It makes me grimace just thinking about it, but that's just life in Castelia. All the movies and tourists focus on the thriving central districts that have all the historic art exhibits and trendy attractions. Nobody ever comes to the part of the city where people struggle every day.
And I like that.
I have no problems with how starkly different the city's lifestyles are. The same culture that allowed rich businessmen or corporations to own, and slowly suffocate, a whole part of the city was the same culture that allowed me to live in my dumpster relatively unperturbed.
Maybe it was because the country had a long history of war, but nowadays Unovan people tend to avoid conflicts. We are a nation that enjoys the pleasures in life, so most people wouldn't go too far out of their way to help others outside of their own bubble. Unova isn't a region where someone would take the shirt off their own back and give it away.
People in Castelia were too busy to help a street rat like me. Which, again, I'm fine with. One time, my dad told me about Johto, and how hospitality and love thy neighbor were so heavily ingrained into the culture that everyone would go out of their way to help anyone. If someone had a flat tire, there would quickly be a line of good Samaritans looking to offer spares.
Visiting Johto was my dream, but I hate that part of their culture. People judge others, whether they want to or not. When someone looks at another person, it's a subconscious thought process to make assumptions about them, true or not. So, if someone saw me, living my life the way I chose to, and thought "this kid really needs some help," then they judged me as some form of unacceptable in their eyes. Even with good intentions, they've judged me as something they can help with—something they want to fix.
I do not need to be fixed.
There is nothing wrong with me.
People in Unova still judge, of course, but they either silently accept or loathe me, acknowledging that this is how I live my life. They might toss a few Pokédollars my way or hand me leftover food, but they do so without pity or patronization.
This is the life I've found myself in. Many decisions weren't mine to make, but when faced with the choice of staying in Accumula Town or living in a dumpster, I chose the dumpster, and I'd make that choice again and again.
Navigating the streets required us to weave through a dense crowd, even though this was one of the more secluded parts of town, there were still more people than I could count. We traveled until we stood outside an aged, crumbling structure reminiscent of a grand chapel from Kalos. It boasted a vast, domed roof, adorned with intricately carved stone arches connecting to a main structure that was completely out of place with the rest of Castelia.
It was, in fact, a library. Keyword: was. A wealthy real estate mogul had envisioned creating a nexus for art and culture, fusing the characteristics of a library, museum, and opera with the architectural flair of a cathedral.
However, instead of employing architects and workers from Kalos, the true masters of such structures, corners were cut by relying on inexperienced talent and materials. The outcome was catastrophic: a portion of the roof caved in not too long after it opened. Both humans and Pokémon lost their lives in the tragedy, and after identifying numerous structural defects, the entire building was condemned. The right move would have been to demolish and start afresh, but the project was instead abandoned and laid dormant for years.
People stayed far away from it now for two reasons. One was that nobody knew when it would collapse again, only that it was inevitable. The second, and most important reason, was that it was definitely haunted.
More than a few passersby have heard strange noises coming from the library at night. Eerily enough, a lot of people say they hear a child singing. A beautiful, girlish voice that seemingly beckoned people to come inside. Ghost Pokémon, especially malicious ones, loved appearing as children to lure prey into their traps.
People knew better than to go in there; kids wouldn't even go inside on a dare.
But I was going in. There was an unlocked side door in a tight alleyway that led inside. There were some chains wrapped around the door handle, but they weren't actually tied to anything. Whoever was supposed to secure the door clearly didn't care for their job.
I needed a safe place to stash my belongings while I worked. At night, I'd much prefer to sleep in a dumpster than indoors, but during the day, this place offered better security for my things. Taking a chance, I decided to go in. Most ghosts are nocturnal anyway, so I reckoned I'd be fine.
In my collection, I had some incense I'd discovered while dumpster diving behind a Veilstone Department Store. Sinnoh was a pretty superstitious place, so leave it to them to have a bunch of spiritual items.
There was the sweet, floral scent from the dried leaves of a Bulbasaur's bulb. Gentle lavender, from Lavender Town itself, perfumed the air. The warm, mildly spicy aroma of a Cyndaquil's quills added to the mix. I had more incense than food, so I lit several. Hopefully the ghosts appreciated the gesture and would be at peace with both Trouble and I.
He sat comfortably on a dusty chair, engrossed in a picture book he'd found. It appeared to be about a curious Aipom. I was in the midst of teaching him English, but he wasn't quite there yet. However, he understood pictures just fine!
He was cute. Too cute. I didn't want him to see me smiling so I turned my attention to my worn-out briefcase and began sorting through some clothes.
I wanted to get him a little treat. Maybe a berry or something. I made a hundred Pokédollars last night, which was pretty good, but Unova had some mysterious layer of permafrost under the surface that made it hard to commercially farm berries and Apricorns. They had to be imported and were expensive, especially in Castelia.
So, as much as I wanted to take the day off and relax, I had to work. Trouble, bless his soul, wasn't the working type. I had to hustle or we'd starve. Well, Trouble could eat garbage perfectly fine, but that's besides the point.
I rummaged through my worn-out briefcase, pulling out the cleanest attire I had scavenged from a store's trash. The button-up shirt was oversized with a couple of missing buttons, revealing a bit of my bony chest, but it felt good in the summer heat. The pants, also a bit too roomy, were held in place by an old belt. I slipped into loafers—a size too small, but whatever—and though I hated wearing hats, I owned a bucket hat. For some reason, people were more inclined to throw money into a bucket hat than an actual bucket.
I tied the hat to the case of my most treasured possession—my guitar. Slipping on my signature rings, I gave myself a reassuring smile.
"Today is going to be a good day. I'm going to make a lot of money today. Today's going to be great. I look fine. Everything's going to be great."
Trouble set his book down and watched me as I did my affirmations. After I was finished, we met eyes and he gave me a thumbs up.
"Trubbish trub trub!" Good luck out there!
Grinning, I responded, "I got you, bro," and stepped out of the library, head held high.
Today was going to be a good day.
Location meant the difference between money and no money—life and death—when busking. Even then, I couldn't just wander towards the biggest crowd I could find and start playing music. There were some nuances to being a street performer that I had to learn the hard way.
First of which was territory. All major roads in Castelia lead to the Central Plaza, and that was where most of the tourists were. However, there were some well established members of the street performing community that laid claim to that area. I couldn't encroach on their territory or else they'd come at me like a gang.
I don't think they'd assault me at first, but they'd pull out the oldest trick in the book… calling a cop and telling them I don't have a permit.
Yeah, you technically need a permit to be a busker. The cops don't even bother to check if you have one or not unless they're specifically tipped off, so most people fly under the radar just fine.
But once a cop knows you don't have one, it's over. If you couldn't shell out a thousand pokedollars for a permit then you'd have to actively avoid the cop, and whichever colleagues he told, forever. It would be the ultimate pain and would eventually end someone's career.
Avoiding the police was especially important to me. It was paramount that I stay under the radar so people don't start questioning why a teenager was homeless—where my parents were. The only person who needed to know about me was my stinky little friend
Luckily, Castelia was a big place. There were plenty of tourists, therefore plenty of options, for me to find. I just had to find my own little nook, where there weren't a lot of cops or other performers.
I had a spot, actually. Liberty Pier.
It was the smallest of Castelia's piers, and it was only ever used to take tourists to the lighthouse. I worked hard during the winter laying my claim here exactly for days like these, when it was warm and filled with people.
I thought I would be raking in the money with just the location alone, but it wasn't as good as I imagined. More people wanted to go to Unity Tower than Liberty Garden, which meant the next pier over was absolutely bustling. Also, tickets to get to Liberty Garden were hundreds of PokeDollars. After someone spends a thousand bucks to take their family to a lighthouse with a garden, they're not trying to tip a humble guitar player too well.
Still, I wasn't going to give up just yet. All those cold nights singing Christmas carols couldn't be for nothing.
The only other act of note was a breakdancer going head to head with a Hitmontop. Honestly, it was a pretty cool performance, but I wasn't going to let it dissuade me.
I found a good spot, set my hat down, and pulled my guitar out of its case. I got goosebumps every time I looked at my instrument, and when I held it, I felt the purest comfort in the world.
It looked like a simple, wooden acoustic guitar, but a true connoisseur could tell it was special with just a glance.
The body, shaped from a Rillaboom's drum, had a unique tonal richness. This wasn't just for looks—the wood added depth and resonance to the low-mids, enhancing the guitar's 'voice' and making it sound full and rich. It was hard to describe; sounds you couldn't get from common tonewoods.
The back and sides, crafted from Snover wood, added a different layer of magic. They gave the highs a crystalline clarity and a touch of brightness without making them piercing. The mids were well-defined too, ensuring that the guitar's voice carried even in the busiest of city noises.
The strings were woven from a blend that included Delphox hair and Primarina bristle, they were a masterpiece in their own right. They provided a silky-smooth playing experience, and tonally, they struck an impeccable balance. The Delphox hair added warmth to the sound, making the bass notes full and resonant, while the Primarina bristle brought a bell-like clarity to the treble notes. The harmonics were pure, and the sustain? Just perfect.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, or heard, in my life.
There's a lot of things I know too little or absolutely nothing about, but I know a lot about music. I know guitars and I had a really good one. Dad always said that even the dead could hear the notes of this guitar. I didn't know if that was true, but I hope it is and he's listening to me.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I started to gently strum the guitar. Music, especially from an exceptional instrument such as my own, naturally caught people's attention. It didn't take long to garner some attention.
Thank you guitar for getting my foot in the door. Now it was up to me and my choice in songs.
For the record, playing instruments was definitely my hobby. I enjoy it thoroughly and often play guitar to Trouble in my freetime.
But I was not doing this for fun. I take my busking very seriously. If I don't make enough money I don't eat. Food was expensive in this city, after all.
So I play songs I don't like. I enjoy sad songs, from modern soul, goth to folk. I don't exactly have a peachy keen outlook on life, and knowing that others see things in a similar way as I do makes me feel validated.
However, sad songs don't rake in that much money. Happy tunes—especially love songs—do.
I write my own songs, but I don't think any of them would be positive enough for a crowd of carefree tourists to enjoy. They wanted to hear things like 'Happiny' or 'Shape of Mew' over my problems. In business, people only buy the things they want, so I'll give them what they want even if I dislike singing it.
I lazily began to play the tune of 'All You Need Is Luvdisc.' We had a lot of Galarian tourists, and they loved hearing a hometown hero like the Orbeetles.
Unpopular opinion, but I wasn't a huge fan of them. I appreciate them as trailblazers, but they weren't someone I listened to in my freetime. I can admit that they were better than a lot of the junk coming out recently. It probably made me a hipster, but I didn't listen to any of the mainstream chart toppers either—they all seemed kinda fake nowadays.
Well, if fake made money then then I had to do what I had to.
I started trying. Play the right notes, sing the right notes, just like the Orbeetles did. The task was clear: recreate their magic, note for note. I focused on every chord, every pitch, ensuring it mirrored the Orbeetles' iconic sound. As much as I wanted to add my own spin, do it my way, I had to play it safe. There wasn't enough leeway to experiment, just try to recreate what wasn't broken.
I drew a few coins and dollars right when I started, but after the novelty of a new attraction died down, and new people started to cycle in and out of the pier, I started to blend in with my surroundings. I was like the waves pushing against the concrete of the pier—just a background noise people tuned out.
It wasn't me. I had nothing to do with me… it… it's just how people are. People just move on, their senses deadened by repetition or... whatever. There's probably a scientific term for it, but I don't know it. I wish I did.
Across the sea of indifference, the Hitmontop and his partner captured everyone's attention. My gaze darted between gaps in the gathered crowd, catching glimpses of their lively dance. Sweat gleaming, smiles radiant, they seemed untethered by life's burdens, consumed entirely by their music. I couldn't even hear the sound of my own voice over the music coming from their speaker. It was so happy, so lively…
What's it like, I wondered, to be so free? To exist in a bubble of happiness and just... dance?
No. I don't envy them. Not at all. Not one bit. This city was my choice, my escape. No regrets.
It was just… it was Trouble. I wished better for him. I want him to be as happy as the Hitmontop in front of me. I want to get him cool outfits and fresh berries. He could be smiling, with no stress at all, and just enjoy his life, instead of constantly having to wake me up and clean up our meager fucking dumpster.
I stayed out until the sun went down. I didn't take a single break. Long after the Hitmontop's last encore and long after the crowd's final cheer. I played and played until the only audience around me were workers on their boats and the crashing waves.
My hat was mostly empty and so was my soul.
Castelia changed at night. The intense buzz of day explorers in the city had dwindled, but the streets still pulsed with life. Night brought out a different crowd—young adults, their laughter echoing through the alleys, their spirits lifted by the promise of a night out. Bright neon lights painted the streets in vibrant colors, casting silhouettes of party-goers against the city's iconic skyscrapers. It felt as if the very soul of Castelia had transformed, shedding its business skin for a more lively, carefree one.
The gentle breeze from the ocean, mild to most, seemed to seep through my thin frame, settling deeper than it should have. I found myself on Oceanview Road, leaning against the uneven bricks of a PokeMart. Above me, its blue neon sign sputtered erratically, casting irregular shadows around me, while an annoying hum grated my ears. I didn't really have the energy to escape the sound even though I wanted to. Most of my chagrin was directed at the entirety of this stupid city; a broken neon sign was just another brick in the massive wall in front of me.
I was good at the guitar. As both a singer and guitarist, I didn't understand what placed me below so many other buskers. Most of them couldn't sing as well, and none could play the guitar as well as I could. Yet, the biggest disparity between us wasn't talent—but the amount of pokedollars made.
Screw being humble and saying "no offense"—I mean this with every ounce of offense. Most of the other buskers in the city were mediocre compared to me. I had a superior voice, technique, instrument and I even played the mindless popular songs the people wanted to hear. There was no reason why the audience gave their money to performers far below my skill level.
No matter how hard I contemplated, I couldn't discern what I was lacking. How could I improve an already polished act? The crowds seemed indifferent to my performance, but I refused to believe it was due to my skills.
People were simply stupid and couldn't recognize greatness even if it slapped them in the face. Maybe it wasn't about the music. It was probably the harsh reality of living in Castelia. Everything here came with a ridiculous price tag, even appreciation.
With a sigh, I shifted my thoughts from the day's frustrating performances to the pressing concern of survival. I had visited every grocery store on Oceanview searching for clearance deals. With our meager budget, I ended up with just two bags of provisions. One strained under the weight of six bottles of fresh water. The six-pack, marketed for trainers with a full team, cost two hundred pokedollars. It was absurdly priced, but cheaper than the alternatives. Our dumpster lacked running water, believe it or not, so this was a necessity.
So, for the next three days at least, we had secured our water supply. That lightened one burden on my shoulders. The other bag, which contained food, was significantly less filled. Chewing on my lip, I peeked inside.
I made an impulse purchase. It was expensive, irresponsible and completely drained the last morsels of cash I had… but I wanted too.
In the bag were a granola bar, a cup of yogurt that expired tonight, and two berries.
The berries were what drained my coffers, but they were for Trouble. He probably spent the day tidying our dumpster, so he deserved a treat, right? It's not like I'm hungry, anyways. I had a sandwich two days ago. A small snack now would tide me over for another couple. In two or three days, I should be able to earn back what I had spent and stabilize our budget.
It was fine. I was fine. The look on Trouble's face when he saw the berries would make it all worth it.
Opening the yogurt, I hoped it was meant to smell so sour. I usually like my yogurt with chocolate or mashed berries, but plain would do for now. I rummaged in my bag for a spoon and... found none.
How could I forget a spoon? While I mentally prepared myself to get up and search for a spoon, a genius idea hit me.
I had a granola bar. Granola and yogurt... genius!
"Hehehe," I giggled deviously, proud of my idea. I opened the granola bar and scooped it into the yogurt. Taking a bite, my body screamed in delight at being able to finally have some nourishment.
I hadn't made the connection when I bought the items, but happy coincidences like this were my favorite.
"If anyone asks, I did this intentionally," I whispered to myself, prepping for another bite.
"Lie?" I heard softly to my side, making me pause.
It was a pokemon, a Liepard. It slowly came out of the shadows, looking haggard. On its skinny back clung four baby Purrloin. Their eyes were small and barely opened—they must've been born recently.
"What?" I asked.
The Liepard's gaze fixated on my food. Its intentions were evident. I raised an eyebrow, surprised. How could a Liepard, a master of stealth, beg for food? They could go into a pokemart and come out with a whole cart of groceries without ever being spotted.
It limped closer, favoring its front legs. Was it injured?
"What happened?"
"Pard," it replied softly.
I couldn't understand it as well as I could Trouble, but I could tell it was wary and shy. It seemed like the cat was embarrassed to ask for help. Its eyes were drawn to my bag. It could smell the berries inside.
"They're for my friend. He's hungry too," I explained.
It nodded and began to retreat.
"Wait!" I called without even thinking. The Liepard's attention focused back on me. Biting my lip and fighting the conflicted feelings inside, I forced my shaking hands to stop and set my food onto the ground, pushing it towards the mother.
"Take it. I'm not hungry."
It joyfully dove into my meal. It ate furiously, the babies on its back squealing in excitement, crying to their mom that they wanted to eat too.
"She'll feed you when you get home," I whispered to them softly, slowly placing my hand onto to mothers head. She hesitated for a moment, but accepted the contact and continued to lick the yogurt clean.
After finishing, she nuzzled me in gratitude, purring, and then vanished into the shadows.
There went dinner… damn. I'd carelessly spent all my money, relying on the yogurt to sustain me, and then gave it away after just one bite. I didn't regret feeding the Liepard, but I wished I'd gotten more.
I was already acutely aware my wallet was bone dry. There was no way I could obtain any food now. Unless I compromised my morals and stole...
No, I wasn't a thief. Go away, intrusive thoughts!
My gaze shifted to the bag of berries beside me, and my mouth began to water.
I said go away!
They were for Trouble. If he hadn't woken me up this morning, my day would've been even more miserable. If that stupid breakdancer could afford an energy drink for his Hitmontop, then I surely could manage a few berries for my friend. He deserved them.
I wanted to give him the berries. I needed to. And it's not as though I could return them. I'd made my bed, now it was time to lie in it.
I covered my face with my hands and squeezed my eyes shut.
Today was not a good day.
All Trubbish can eat garbage. Their stomachs can handle basically anything you'd find in the city. This doesn't mean they prefer eating trash all the time; it's just that consuming garbage is easier than competing with other Pokémon for meat or herbs.
Trouble had taken the time to eat every single bit of garbage in our home. He practically licked the walls clean, laid out our blankets across the floor and stacked all of our belongings neatly in a corner. He even sprayed some old cologne I found outside of a department store to freshen up the room. Our dumpster probably smelled better than some of the moldy apartments around us, I bet.
When I got back home, he was engrossed in another picture book. Something about a group of Squirtles with sunglasses that were also firefighters. Which honestly sounded pretty cool. You didn't see a lot of Squirtles in Unova, but most people knew them since they were pretty iconic.
I hadn't said much since I came back. Trouble wasn't too smart, but he was clever. He could see my expression, and the meager amount of money I had with me, and infer what had happened. He was giving me some space, which I appreciated since nothing would make me feel worse than snapping at him for something that wasn't his fault.
I was reading a book about psychic energy, detailing how people could use it to read minds, teleport, and occasionally, foresee the future. It mentioned a niche move called Future Sight, which was incredibly rare for pokemon to learn and could potentially be used in a variety of ways.
Sadly, there was no mention of a move that could alter the past. If I could send a simple message back a few years ago, then maybe everything would be different.
And now I was ruining my own mood. I sighed deeply, setting my book down and looking at one of the metal walls of our home. It was the same wall as always, of course. I don't know why I expected it to be different. A dimly lit cage with four heavy metal walls. That's home and it wasn't changing anytime soon.
"Trub?" my roommate asks, setting his book down.
"Nah, everythings alright. Well, I'm alright. You okay? Was the library scary?"
"Trub!" He closed his eyes and shook his head firmly, enthusiastically.
"You weren't scared at all? Sure, sure..."
Trouble rolled his eyes. "Trubbish trub, bish."
"I'm not scared of the library!"
"Truuuuuuub?"
"'Truuuub,' what? I'm not scared, honestly."
"Trubbish," he all but smirked.
"Prove it?" I deciphered, my expression becoming even more offended. "I don't have to sleep in the library to prove I'm not scared. Logistically speaking, there's a slim percent chance a Darkrai could be hiding inside. If I sleep he might cast me into an eternal nightmare. Henceforth, I'm not scared, I'm simply cautious."
"Trub," Trouble said shortly, crossing his arms smugly. "Bish, tub trub, trubbish."
"Are you trying to say I talk funny when I'm scared? No. Not at all. Piss off." My eyes darted around, trying to avoid Trouble's smug gaze. A smirk of my own formed as I spotted my guitar case.
"I guess I won't share the special treat I bought today," I said condescendingly, tapping my fingers on the case.
"Trub?" he asks, his eyes widening.
Easy. Too easy.
"I guess you're so stinky you can't even smell past your own body odor. If you did, I might've shared something with you." My voice teasingly lulled on, like I was singing.
"Trub!"
"Alright, alright. I'll show you," I said as I opened my guitar case and pulled out the two berries.
"T-t-trub!?" Trouble's eyes widen and his legs become shaky. No, not just his legs, his entire body started to tremble in excitement.
It was adorable and completely justified the purchase in my mind. I knew it.
One of the berries was a perfectly spherical and lustrously dark blue oran berry. People often call it nature's gift to man and pokemon. It's nutritious and has healing properties.
"Here." I lightly tossed the berry towards Trouble, who hopped off the ground and caught it with an ecstatic smile. Absolutely beaming, he practically inhaled the berry, scarfing it down in seconds. He eagerly awaited the next treat while bouncing on his little feet.
"This," I start, holding the next berry up and watching Trouble's reaction, "is a mago berry. From a forest in Alola. Apparently the longer and curvier a mago is, the sweeter and juicier. Alola has the best ones."
I had spent more than I was comfortable with on this treat. With bits of oran still on his mouth, Trouble's eyes fixated on the berry, causing him to drool even more.
This was so worth it.
"Here you go," I said with a smile, holding it out towards him.
Trouble gingerly grabbed the mago berry, his breath catching. He admired it for a moment, before carefully placing the tip of it into his mouth and biting.
He jerked briefly before melting into pure bliss.
"Truuuuub," the Pokemon drawled, enjoying every moment.
But, for some reason, he paused before his second bite.
"Trubbish, trub."
"Nah, it's all you. I don't like sweet berries," I lied.
"Trubbish."
"I'm not lying, well… I'm not hungry, that's all. Just eat it, man."
"Trubbish trub trubbish."
"I ate last night."
"Trub."
"What do you mean I didn't?" Crap, he knew. "I ate a snack earlier!"
"Tru Bish!" he says slowly.
"Not enough? I don't need to eat that much, Trouble. I'm not a Pokemon. You might not know, since you're a Trubbish, but humans only need to eat once every couple days. I'll be fine."
He forcefully shoved the berry towards me. I tried to push it away, but compared to his Pokémon strength, I'm just a frail human. He overpowered me quickly and I ended up pressed against the metal wall of our dumpster, the berry shoved in my face.
"It's for you," I said weakly, looking away.
"Trub," he replied firmly.
I sighed. "Fine," I relent, hesitantly grabbing the mago berry. "One bite though, alright? I'll take one bite to make you feel better, then you eat the rest."
Trouble nods.
The flesh, slightly firm, easily gave way to a soft, juicy interior. My mouth erupted with sugary nectar that made my taste buds dance and the corners of my jaw tingle. It had been so long since I ate something fresh, let alone anything at all, that the hairs on my arm started to stand up.
I hated how much I loved the taste. I wished I could've hidden my reaction better. It was so sweet and delicious that I couldn't help but let my mask slip, revealing to Trouble just how much I enjoyed it. How much I needed it.
"Trubbish…"
"No, it's yours."
"Trubbish."
"Come on, man. Please. It's for you."
"Trubbish!"
"Jeez, you're so stubborn. I guess I'll take another bite."
I ended up eating the whole thing, my back facing Trouble. I didn't want him to see my tears. I wanted to be the strong one—I needed to. I didn't want him to worry.
Even if he did notice, Trouble never said a single word about it…
Just Another Day in Castelia City