Damian tore his lips away and shot to his feet. The whites of his eyes showed as he stared at the treeline. He cursed and scrambled for his clothes piled behind the cameras. Sighing, Kris hurried for hers, scattered around the base of the towering elm tree. She hurried not for herself. Tommy Wolfe and Damian Elm lived separate lives. No matter what. Kris wrangled her denim shorts over her ass, forgoing underwear, tossing her panties into the bushes. None one ever comes out here. What is this?

"Owl! Owl! Owl!" Noctowl screeched.

"Hurry!" Damian hissed, kicking on his shorts.

Kris hurried, crawling for her discarded crop top. For all the good it did. As she took hold of her shirt, someone erupted into the meadow. She braced for the gasp of horror, the shouting, the outrage. Instead, she heard a clacking shriek.

"Piiiiiiinsiiiiir!"

Dropping her shirt, Kris whipped around to see a Pinsir ranting and raging across the meadow. The playing Sentrets and dancing Butterfree darted off into the woods, screaming and crying as Pinsir beat on its chest. Two thin, three-clawed arms hammered a smooth, segmented, dull-brown exoskeleton. Sharp, black slits inside triangular eyes honed on Kris. Pinsir lowered its head, aiming a pair of huge, grey pincers at her. They gnashed, clicking and clacking. Glowing, light-green sparks spat from them. Kris froze. A numb haze clouded her mind. Her heart thundered. She had to get out of the way but, her body belonged to someone else.

"Kris! Get back!"

A slit parted the front of Pinsir's exoskeleton from side to side, revealing a horrid mouth of block teeth. They clacked together as it let out a sharp, shrill shriek. Light-green flames engulfed Pinsir's pincers and he barreled towards Kris on thick, clawed legs.

Damian appeared in front of her, as if out of nowhere. "Noctowl! Ariel Ace!"

A screech pierced the air and a streak of light-blue flame crashed against Pinsir's back. Blood and sparks sprayed. Pinsir crumbled and hit the ground like a dropped sack of flour. The light-green flames engulfing its pincers extinguished. Green-yellow blood wept from a gash along its armoured back, like a flood of mucus. The streak of light-blue flames looped and perched in the elm tree, becoming Noctowl. The flying-energy flames played upon his wings and danced in his eyes. With a ruffle of his feathers, they extinguished with a spray of light-blue sparks.

The sparks rained around Kris as Damian offered his hand. "You okay?"

Kris clasped his hand. "Yeah, thanks." She stood.

Pinsir lay in the meadow, among the moss and boulders like some great boulder with claws and pincers—a monster, by all accounts.

"How did you ever find battling fun?" she asked.

"I still do." Damian hurried over to his duffle bag and retrieved a pokéball.

He lugged it at Pinsir. The ball arched high before slamming against the pokémon's back. On impact, it burst open with a flash of red light. Pinsir melted into liquid light and got sucked up by the pokéball. The ball dropped to the ground and rocked three times before clicking. Damian placed the ball in his short's pocket.

Kris sighed. "Will it be okay?"

"It'll be fine. Nothing the healing machine can't handle. You okay? You look shot."

"What, me? I'm good. You had that under control." Kris took a deep breath and calmed her racing heart to make it the truth.

"Noctowl!" Noctowl protested.

"And you as well, buddy. Of course."

Noctowl nodded and held his head high, puffing his two-pronged crest.

Damian smiled at her. A soft smile. "You still want to go back to your place?"

"I… I lost the drive. Sorry. Another time, though for sure. We gotta, before Friday!"

"It's no problem. I know how they scare you."

"Scare me? They don't scare me."

Noctowl's beak clicked as he laughed. He made a face at her. When she scowled, he laughed even harder and took off into the air. They don't. Kriss marched over to her own bag, putting her back to both of them. She punched her shirt inside and retrieved something more comfortable. A pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, both black.

Once they were dressed and had everything packed away, Kris and Damian headed off into the forest. Fighting their way through close-knit trunks and tangled overgrowth, they kept their backs to the sun until they popped out into Newbark Town's outskirts. Twilight lay out a veil of greys and blues over clusters of puffing chimneys and tiled roofs. From every window, golden lamplight broke through the gloom, painting shadows on the worn, dirt roads. Noctowl soared overhead, playing in a delicate evening breeze. Gentle quiet welcomed their return with open arms. Kris entered home's embrace with a spring in her step.

"Isn't this so much better than the hustle and bustle of Goldenrod?" she asked.

"Of course. It's home."

"Then why don't you stay a little longer? Leave next Friday instead. I'm sure Oak'd understand."

"No, he would not."

Awkward silence soured the gentle quiet.

"I'll, uh, email the footage to you as soon as I get home. Should we release our cuts together or separately?" Damian said.

"The free versions?"

"Yeah."

"Release yours first. Make sure to tag me. That way you get the main traffic flow from my fanbase."

"Won't that lose you views?"

"You need them more. One big video can open a lot of doors for you."

Damian nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem…"

"Kris!" A man's voice shouted.

Kris spotted her father in the front yard of the family home, waving at them with a trowel. The moment she lay eyes upon his plump, beaming face any unjust sadness floated away.

"Evening, Dad!" Kris waved back.

The family home, a double-storey cottage ringed by hedges, sat square and plump in the middle of a vast garden. Delilah the windmill creaked and squeaked in the evening breeze. She poked above the roof, spinning three blades atop a white stalk like a giant white flower. Among the garden, flower beds of every colour surrounded her base. A hundred happy memories made themselves home in the quaint, front garden. Most vivid of them all, four friends, as thick as thieves, got up to some forgotten mischief.

Holding his back, Kris's dad rose from his knees in a flower bed and tipped his wide-brim hat. "Damian."

"Mister Crystal."

Besides her father, a radio twice her own age crackled out an ad reel.

"Oh, are Kris and Damian back?" shouted a sweet, squeak of a voice from inside the house.

Kris's mother emerged. Her heels clacked along the garden path as a flowery dress flowed behind her. From her elbow hung a wicker basket. Hot steam wafted out of it, carrying a soft, savoury smell. She held it up to Damian.

"Damian be a dear won't you and give these to your father? A thanks for helping Mimey. Tell him that the symptoms are all cleared up."

Damian took the basket. "Keep an eye on him for a week or so. Psychic fever has a habit of lingering."

"Oh, yes. Thank you."

"So, how did the shoot go, you two?" Kris's father asked.

Damian flushed and looked around, skittish as a Furret.

"Dad!" Kris hissed.

Kris's mother elbowed her forgetful husband and cleared her throat. "The Butterfree shoot of course."

"The Butterfree video-" Kris gave her father a stern look "-came out just great."

"Y-Yes, just great," Damian said.

Kris's father rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it, there's nobody around. Everyone's in the square, cheering for Ethan."

Damian gasped. "That's started already?"

"Relax, you ain't missed nothing. Koga just beat Bruno, like always. Ethan's match ain't for a few hours yet." Kris's father tapped his radio. "They're running the first commercial break right now." His round, pudgy face hardened. "Now, you two were safe, weren't you? You took all the necessary precautions?"

"We did," Damian said.

"Relax, Dad. How long've I been doing this now? I know what to do. You don't gotta worry."

"I'll worry as much as I please, thank you. Did you clean before?"

"Yes."

"And prepped yourself before the scene?"

"Butt plug's right here." Kriss patted her bag.

"And you cleaned that?"

"Yes."

"And you used lube?"

"Yes."

"And you both got tested before the scene?"

"We did," Damian said. "And we discussed the risks beforehand."

Kris's father nodded. "Good, good. Well, have a shower and clean yourselves thoroughly, and make sure to book new tests, can't be too careful."

Kris giggled and shook her head. "Yes, Dad, we'll do that."

As Kris's father opened his mouth to ask more questions, her mother stepped in. "We trust you, dear. Now, run along and get those treats to Professor Elm before they get cold."

"Will do." Damian snapped on his hills and hurried off down the street, halfway between jogging and walking.

Kris's parents shared a smile as they watched him leave.

"I'll tell him." Kris waved. "See you later."

Her parents shouted their goodbyes as Kris ran after Damian.

"You forgot to say goodbye," she said once at his side.

"Oh, sorry."

"You're all good, they understand."

Damian nodded. A little smile warmed his face. "Thanks for letting me know."

Life electrified the atmosphere of Newbark's town square. Coloured lights painted the storefronts and cobbled paths in a rainbow collage. Banners depicting Ethan and his team hung in windows, from street lamps and plastered walls. Children ran about underfoot, wearing paper masks of Ethan's pokémon; Typhlosion, Ambipom, Politoad, Togekiss, Sudowoodo and Sunkern. The younger kids played pretend battles, acting as their own pokémon. While the older children battled for real with school pokémon. Adults cheered them on from food stands or the benches around the square. Everybody had come to see their home-grown champion, the whole town, all thirty-odd of them.

Bodies of all sorts and shapes populated the square. Kris smirked to herself as she remembered how a lot of them looked without their clothes. The town's grocer, short and plump Ms Smith with her great, heaving breasts. The town's mailman, tall and thin Mr Carion with his skilled hands. The town's veteran fisherman, Old Man Swift with his body of a man a quarter his age. The town's hairdresser, stunningly gorgeous Bridget Barker with soft curves and secret bellybutton piercing. As well as many others, short and tall, plump and thin, old and young, toned and soft. All as beautiful as one another, in their own way.

They waved and smiled as she and Damian passed through the square. Kris made up for Damian's curt nods and muttered words with a broad smile and boisterous greetings. Not everyone greeted her, though. Most of the older townsfolk greeted Damian well enough but, their eyes glazed over Kris as if she didn't exist. A few men leered at her and, once her back faced them, whispered jokes to one another. They didn't dare say it to her face though, the cowards. No one did. Her profession had become common knowledge in the town years ago. Most couldn't care less but, not all. She'd been called a whore more than a few times.

They passed a stand serving tall beers in jugs shaped like the Champion's Trophy. Fishermen sat on stools outside, skulling drinks and roaring laughs. Dan, a man with a peppering of wild stubble and a sharp, sour smell about him, raised his eyebrows at her. Kris fixed her eyes straight ahead, ignoring the drunk idiot. But, as she passed him, out of the corner of her eye she saw him make a grab for her ass.

Damian shoved him, knocking him off his stool. Beer spilled all over him. "Don't."

"Me beer!" he bellowed.

The other fishermen roared laughter.

"You deserve it, prev!" James cheered.

"Handy Dan!" Tim cried.

The row of fishermen began chanting, 'Handy Dan', drumming the bench with their jugs. Despite the churning pit in her stomach, Kris laughed, earning her a row of grins. Friends sat along the bench. Soft-spoken Ron, who liked it rough. Tall and lanky Tim, who liked to bottom, a closely guarded secret. Musclebound James, who cuddled before and after. And shy Alex, who had a thing for feet. None of them were as attractive as those she worked with, or as well hung, or as skilled between the sheets. But, warm and tender hearts made up for any of that. Of all the sheets she found herself between, often it was theirs.

"Don't… laugh, m-me!" Dan slurred, struggling to rise.

"If you like my ass, Dan, all you've got to do is search my name," Kris said. Another gale of laughter steadied her churning stomach, allowing for a true grin.

"Shut up! Whore!" Dan flushed red. "Half the town's touched your ass, why shouldn't I… have a go?"

"Cause you're a slimy fucking Caterpie."

Dan raged and tried to make a grab for her. Kris sidestepped him and he tripped over himself. Damian caught the back of his collar before he smashed his nose on the cobbles and wrenched him onto his feet. Spluttering, Dan glared at him.

"You tried to choke me!"

"Come off it, Dan. Leave 'em alone," James said, hopping off his stool.

"No! He tried to choke me!" Dan prodded Damian in the chest. "Admit it!" He prodded Damian again.

Damian took a step back. "I didn't."

"Liar!"

A screech pierced the air. "Owl!" Noctowl landed on the roof of the stall with a heavy, thud.

Dan laughed in Damian's face. "I ain't scared of some bird, kid. I'm badged. Three of 'em. One from Chuck! Me and Politoad'll make quick work of you!"

By now, a small crowd had gathered around. They murmured to one another. Most scowled at Dan. Some scowled at Kris. A group of old ladies glared at her, their lips curled.

"What's going on here?!"

Professor Elm pushed his way through the crowd. In place of his usual lab coat, he wore a shirt embroidered with a defiant Typhlosion flaring her flaming mane. The rainbow lights of the square's shops gleamed off a growing bald spot among his short, untidy hair. He adjusted his glasses.

"Damian? Kris? What is this?"

"Your son pushed me, spilled me beer and then choked me!" Dan spat.

"He's lying, Professor!" Tim yelled. "He made a grab for Kris and started a fuss when your son defended her!"

Elm sighed and pinched the brow of his nose. "Damian, Kris, come. Leave Dan to his beers."

"He can't!" Dan shouted. "A challenge's been issued. He's gotta accept. They're the rules!"

"There'll be only sparring battles in the square tonight." Elm marched forward and grabbed both Kris and Damian's sleeves. "And you'll refrain from touching others, Dan or I'll be forced to inform Jenny."

Kris saw the whites of Dan's eyes. "B-Bah! Whatever… I didn't touch no one anyhow…" Dan snatched up his jug and slumped onto his stool.

Inside the Pokémon Lab's lobby, away from prying eyes, Elm frowned at Kris. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Either of you?"

"No, he only tried to touch me. Damian stopped him."

"Okay… Still, do you want me to call Jenny? Even if he didn't touch you, you can still press charges."

"It's fine. Stuff like that doesn't bother me anymore."

Elm nodded but gave her a sceptical look. It doesn't.

"Did you really choke him?" Elm asked Damian.

"I grabbed his shirt as he tripped. So, technically, I guess."

Elm smiled. "And you're alright?"

Damian nodded.

Elm sighed "What a relief. Now, how did your study of the Butterfree go?" he asked with complete sincerity.

Damian reached into his pocket and retrieved the pokéball. "We were interrupted by a Pinsir. It frightened away the Butterfree, and any data we could collect."

"Ah, a shame but, more occupants for the sanctuary are always welcome. Was Noctowl harmed?"

"No, he's fine. The Pinsir was though. A deep gash along its back."

Elm nodded. "It can't be helped. We're not rangers after all. Is it male or female?" Elm took the pokéball.

"Female, judging by its horns."

"Excellent! Let's hope she's able to pair with our male specimen. I'll get her healing right away!" And with that, Elm hurried off into the lab, grinning ear to ear.

Like father like son. Kris giggled. "The basket."

"Oh." Damian opened it. Inside assortments of meat pies, scones and miniature sausage rolls breathed a puff of smooth, savoury warmth into their faces. "I'll put them in the fridge."

"I'll give you a hand."

Together, Kris and Damian headed down a side hall. Along it, various doors lead to the living quarters of Damian and his father. Bedrooms, a living room, the laundry, a bathroom, a kitchen—all could be found down the hall as well as up a narrow flight of stairs. Inside a small, bare kitchen they worked, laying out the savoury treats onto tin trays and covering them in cling wrap.

Damian turned his back to Kris, opening the fridge. "Did I upset you before?"

The question slapped Kris across the back of the head. Damian slid a tray of pies inside the fridge and then, faced her. Solid clam set his features in stone.

Kris blinked at him. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"No." She shook her head and waved him off. "It was a selfish thing to ask."

"It was. Hundreds of other graduates competed for Oak's apprenticeship. Asking for a week off before I even begin isn't fair to them."

"I know… I just miss you guys but, that's my problem, not yours."

Damian nodded. "I'll visit again. First chance I get. I'll bring Lyra with me on the way back."

"Think she'll have time?"

"Yeah."

A stranger might have mistaken Damian's edged voice and stoney face for annoyance but, Kris saw deeper. She found the cotton beneath the coarse. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders, pressing their heads together. "Thanks, D."

Damian patted her back. "No worries. Should I keep you posted about Ethan's match?"

"You think he'll lose?"

"No."

"Exactly. Celebrate his win tomorrow?"

Damian smiled. "Okay."

Kris exited the bathroom of her bedroom, followed by a swarm of lingering steam. A towel held her damp hair in place. She wandered across the room, her mind off elsewhere, puzzling over edits until, she found herself where Ethan's TV used to be. Memories morphed the room back in time, replacing her orderly, plain room with all the mess and chaos of a little boy's bedroom. Where now only a bare, steamed carpet lay, a sprawl of forgotten toys and discarded clothes peppered the floor. Where now only books and files sat upon shelves, stood the trophies earned in the inter-school battling league. Where now plain, neat sheets clung to a double bed, sat a single-bed, covered in crumpled, tangled sheets covered in the faces of a little boy's favourite pokémon. Where now only a PC and stationary populated a desk, hundreds of hastily scrawled battle plans and team combinations formed a chaotic blanket. Those memories were of a boy with a dream, however. The boy had become a man. The dream had become reality. And reality had moved Ethan to Viridian City, in the Kanto region, a whole other world away.

Kris ran her hand along the windowsill of the window facing her house, from which Ethan made faces at her in the dead of night when they ought to be sleeping. Her old window looked back at her across the street, no longer her window anymore but the window of her Father's study. Now, her window was Ethan's, or Ethan's was hers, she supposed. The very thought left a blunt, bitter taste in her mouth. She'd bought the house so it'd remain in the hands of a friend, not some stranger or crazed fanatic. Keeping it warm, that's how she'd thought of it; keeping it warm until he returned. But years passed, challengers came and went, and little by little, day by day, the lie loosened until it fell away and left only the truth. Ethan would not return. Not tomorrow. Not next year. Not ever.

A stranger in her own home, Kris drifted across the room, slipped on a pair of panties and slumped into her desk chair. The moment the chair embraced her back, the world snapped back into focus. No use came of wallowing. She shook the bad thoughts out of her head and got to work. As promised, Damian had sent her the footage. She opened the email, downloaded the files and opened them in her editing software. Before the splicing of angles or mixing of audio could begin, Kris started by scrubbing out Damian's face and replacing it with a blur whenever it slipped into the frame. Outside, cheers and boos swelled; the product of Ethan's work. Kris stiffened and blocked out the world. The harder he worked, the harder she needed to.

As she clicked her mouse and tapped her keyboard, what sounded like a little bell jingling broke through her mind's blockade. She ignored it, trying to decide whether to cut to the side shot after Damian penetrated her but, again it jingled. It sounded as if it were in the room with her. She looked around and saw nothing but her plain, orderly room. Shrugging, she turned her attention back to her PC only to find a small figure sitting on her keyboard. Pink and the size of a doll, it sat on two, stumpy, pointed legs. It held its two, thin arms out in front of it as if an invisible keyboard were in its lap. Its nose, a red ball, pulsed pink. A dark-blue cap dangled down its back. A little bell hung from the dangle, swaying back and forth with a ting-a-ling. The pokémon, a Mime Jr, gawked at her, copying her own expression.

"Mimey?" Kris asked.

"Mime?" He asked.

Kris sighed. "You've gotta stop sneaking out, buddy. Mom's probably in a right state trying to find you." Kris shook her head.

Mimey sighed. "Mime mime, mime. Mime mime mime." He shook his head, chiming his bell.

Outside, the swells of cheers and boos had silenced. Ethan had finished so, a break could be permitted.

Kris stood. "Come on, Mimey. Let's get you home."

Mimey stood. "Mime. Mime mime."

He followed her across the room and mimed her as she retrieved a shirt and shorts from her drawers. He opened a set of invisible draws by her shins, glancing at her hands before moving his own. Kris giggled and he giggled too. Mimey served as a counter to what Damian thought. She wasn't scared of Mimey. She'd only been afraid because the Pinsir tried to attack her, that's all. Pokemon didn't frighten her.

Once dressed she headed for the door. A pink aura engulfed Mimey. He flew into the air and landed on her shoulder. His red nose glowed pink. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It slid off her pillow, disturbed by the vibration. Kris would have ignored it, if it didn't buzz again and again and again and again and again.

"Fucking hell…" She crossed the room and plucked her phone off the bed.

A string of texts appeared on her lock-screen, all from Damian. Damian never sent more than two texts at most. Never. Hurrying, Kris unlocked her phone and opened the messages. He'd spammed her a link. Has he been hacked? On closer inspection, the links were to the Indigo Plataeu's live stream of the Elite-placement matches. A competition that decided the order of the Elite Four and its champion for the year's gym season. Kris scrolled up the wall of links. Mimey did the same on an invisible phone. They both gasped upon reading Damian's first message.

In all caps, it read, "ETHAN LOST"