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⋆˚࿔ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒟𝒩𝐼, 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝓉 𝓂𝑒 ⋆˚࿔
𝐃𝐍𝐈 ( -_•)ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━💥
feels like most of these should go without saying but i’m going to say them anyways: racists, transphobes, terfs, swerfs, cops, sexists, xenophobes, homophobes, fascists, trump supporters, zionists, nazis, etc. also absolutely no feeder/feedie content or blogs are permitted to interact w me or my blog in any way.
𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ♡(๑﹏๑//)♡
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𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒 <( ⸝⸝•̀ - •́⸝⸝)> +=={:::::::::::::::::>
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𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒾’𝓂 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝒻𝒻 𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒
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𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔇
wxs girls <3 !!
Swear by the Stars |2.6K| (smut)
REQUEST: What about silco being jealous? 👀👀 asking for a friend totally…. - anon
A/N: jealous silco hits me in my sweet spot and i hate finn so it's a win win. alt title could be 'won't say i'm in love' if i were cheesy like that.
Though not terribly widespread in territory, the Lanes encompassed enough ground that one could spend their entire life in the area and never run into the same person twice. Yet somehow Finn always managed to find you.
Silco first noticed it at the market, when you were searching for a hobby; something easy to pick up but won’t feel like a waste of time in two months when you’ve grown bored of it. “Have you given woodwork consideration?” He picks up a well used book on the topic, flipping through it’s pages.
“I said easy.” you remind him, plucking the book from his hand and trading it out with a book on candle making. His grimace is loud and with judgment. Sparing you the few seconds it would take to preview its pages by returning it for you.
A lush tree, small in size, encased with decorative glass and iron captures his attention, “Botany?”
You follow his gaze, lips descending in a thin frown. Even the citizens of Piltover, with all their technological advancement, could not yield their garden shrubs from wilting come a freeze. What chances did a sapling in Zaun have? “You know what the word ‘easy’ means, right?”
He rolls his eyes, “I know what your capabilities are.” Your only limitation was your attention span, waning from one project to the next without much consideration for what was left in the past. “They’re far greater than the credit you offer.”
“Aw, aren’t you a charmer.” Your eyes light up as you smile, fueled with appreciation. He thinks he can see stars in your pupils and is infatuated with the concept of being the one who put them there–the only one who can. His admiration stops abruptly when he hears a familiar voice from over his shoulders.
“You should take up boxing.” Finn interjects, walking past Silco to get closer to you.
It causes Silco to bristle and he takes a protective place behind you.
“Oh yeah?” you ask, “Sounds like a lot of work.” Sevika used to box in her youth. She told you over a cold one about how much training went into the sport, far more than you’re interested in putting in.
Finn shrugs, flicking his lighter open, “It’s nothing.” then shut. “I could teach you.” Silco steadies his breathing, hating the direction this conversation was leading. “I could make it as easy as whistling.” the lighter flicks open once more, ignition on.
You’re less than impressed, “You can whistle with that mouth?”
He laughs, tilting his head, “This mouth can do a lot of things.” The innuendo not lost on Silco who’s now glowering in anger, a scowl displayed plainly. It only grows when he sees you turn to meet his gaze, a crack of a smile on your face– an expression he knows all too well. You were hooked.
“Alight. Let’s do it.”
–
As the weeks progress, Silco slowly descends into a state of nitpicking and short fuses. You’re spending far too much time with Finn. He’s just thankful that you’re smart enough not to talk about it with him. The same couldn’t be said about Jinx–the teenager she was–she had a knack for pinpointing his jealousy with deadly accuracy.
“They’re not dating,” Jinx assures him, swaying upside down from the rafters above his office. The blood rushing to her head makes her giddy. She has no interest in playing matchmaker with Silco and you, but if getting him laid would remove the rod lodged up his ass, well, call her cupid or whatever.
“We’re not talking about this.” his tone twinging with the slightest throes of a rearing temper.
Jinx sits up, gripping the edge of the wooden bean in an attempt to steady herself. Then drops herself onto his desk, her smile brimming from eye to eye. “Don’t look so glum chum.” She pins the corner of his lips up with her fingers, turning him into a ragdoll to make him smile. “You still got a chance.” On a normal day, her treatment of him would fly without a comment, but today his limitations are frayed and her ceaseless pestering is getting on his nerves.
He swats away her hands, letting his forehead press into his palm. What you do and with who really doesn’t matter to him. Repeat that. “I’m not interested. Their affairs are not mine.”
“Okay,” She rolls her eyes, “now say it like you mean it.”
Silco abruptly stands to his feet, the conversation rearing far too close for comfort. He needs to walk; burn off energy, and maybe loosen the malicious tourniquet in his chest. His steps are brisk with no destination in mind. Go down this alley, turn right at that fountain, circle back and repeat as needed. How many times did he pass by the gym with a red door and green handle before realizing that it is your gym?
He watches you from the sidewalk through a broken window screen. You’re wearing a–beanie with a ball attached by a string. And as ridiculous as the image is, there’s precision in your movements: left, right, left, right; and a present smile that grows into a laugh when your knuckle grazes the ball a second too late and ruins the exercise. For the first time in a long time, relief floods him, igniting his stomach with warmth seeing you this way and he finds himself with an urge to join in your company.
The gym is loud and the mixed smells of tobacco and sweat was nauseating but none of that matters until Silco catches Finn leaning in close–too fucking close, completely unnecessarily close–to your ear. Suddenly, the gym is suffocating.
He’s not jealous.
Yes, at the beginning of your relationship he held an affinity for you but such emotions have been depleted from him. He was a busy man and a newly appointed father, it was for the best that he kept things between you and him strictly professional…well, mostly professional. There was the occasional flirtatious comment, a lingering gaze…soft touch. A few conversations, the private ones, were more personal and honest than he’d allow himself to be with anyone else. Sometimes, he’d succumb to his desires and you’ll engage in a quick fuck but even then—
He’s not jealous.
Of course he’s not! Why does he have to keep reminding himself of the obvious? His elevated heartbeat is completely sound and the hatred he bore for Finn is because of conflicts in the man’s character, not you. You’re not special. You’re not important. But then–the stars align in your eyes and one thing, one tiny, shameful thought flutters into his brain: you’re not looking at him.
A hideous throb of jealousy rings a dull pang in his heart, one that can’t be easily quelled as the others. He can’t squash it down or beg his logic to take better care of his frail, impressionable emotions. So he darts forward, grabbing your hand and leading you to the closest area with a lockable door, a storage closet.
“What are you–”
He captures your lips with his, your teeth clashing as you raise a hand to his neck. He pushes you flat against the wall, knocking over a broom in the process. It crashes to the ground, making a commotion, but he pays no attention, having already locked the door. Music from the gym’s stereo blasts in the background setting the tempo, his hands kneading your chest.
You moan as he kisses your skin, teeth grazing your pulse as if he was aching to bite you. “Silco,” you breathe, hands carding through his hair, subtly guiding his mouth lower to your–
“Shhh, lovely.” he murmurs, slipping his hands under the hem of your shirt. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” talking while he works, he manages to rid you of all upper layers of clothes. He lavishes your nipples with his mouth, while his hand returns, finding they fit perfectly in his grip. You gasp and involuntarily thrust your hips upwards, grinding against his crotch. So you do know.
That pisses him off more. He undoes his pants with shaking fingers, pulling out his cock and strokes himself, allowing you a chance to catch your breath. You say his name again, and he moans, moving to bury his nose into the crook of your neck. His knuckles gently rapping your stomach as he pumps up and down, long and slow. Precum smears above your navel.
“Say something,” he orders, craning back his neck to get a look at you. It isn’t fair. You have bewitched his every thought these past weeks and such vulnerability does not suit him.
“I think I love you.”
His movements still. The tips of his ears burning. You match his temperature, embarrassment taking over both of you.
“I-I take it back.” you whisper as he straightens up and tucks his swollen cock in his pants. ”I was in the heat of the moment. You surprised me and I was overwhelmed.” you blather on, making excuse after excuse, all falling on deaf ears as he takes in his surroundings for the first time. He can’t fuck you here in a storage closet with bucket full of black water just inches from his foot. “And besides, love can mean a lot of things when you think about it. Like I love”
He cuts you short with your name, voice low and playful, “Put on your clothes. I want to devour you, privately.”
You swallow, looking up at him like a deer in headlights. “Oh.”
Everything happened in a blur. You were in the gym’s storage room, then you weren’t. Finn was in the area, then he wasn’t. You hadn’t even noticed the Cheshire grin Silco shot him before exiting the building. Silco begins undressing you before the door to his bedroom fully shuts, pushing you down onto the bed and covering your chest in kisses. He shrugs off his coat with your help, tossing it to the side with the rest of clothing; shoes, necktie. Pants and underwear soon to join. His knee lifts to the edge of the mattress, finger hooked underneath the strap of his sock garter.
“Wait.” You reach out. “Keep them on.”
His head cocks to the side, an arrogant smile etching into his handsome features. “What will you do in exchange?” his hand dips down to the apex of your thigh, giving it a nice squeeze. You roll your hips to meet him and he moves away, tutting sardonically while shaking his head. “Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”
You throw your head back in a whine and he bends down to continue his trail of kisses down your stomach, biting down when you try to gain any friction without his permission. The yelp that escapes your lips goes straight to his dick. “Anything.” you rush to answer, “I’ll do anything you want just pleaseeeee.”
Giving you sweet relief at last, he slips two fingers inside of you, making quick work of your sex. His fingers are thin and long, and move with expert precision. They curl inside of you, stroking that tender place, making you moan and writhe on the bed. Silco’s other hand massages your thigh while his fingers push in and out of you, “Come undone by my hand.” He demands, fucking you in earnest now, obsessed with how tight you feel around his fingers. He can’t wait to feel you around his cock, rutting against the mattress to buy time for his twitching member.
“I’m- I’m close.”
Silco says nothing, but keeps fingering you, knowing exactly how to pull you apart and bring you back together again. Every thrust of his hand makes you shake and then– your thighs close around his hands, hands gripping the sheets, and lips parting as you let out a feeble whine.
Your body goes limp and you’re panting. Silco pulls out to admire the way your cum coats his knuckles. He gives his cock few good pumps, before ripping open a condom package. Sheep guts, it was slimy but thin and durable and the next best thing to going raw. He unrolls it over his prick, securing it at the base, his body heat warming it up in no time.
He drags his cock over your sex, barely pushing the tip inside before going back to tease you. Slowly, he slides in, his arms coming up to brace himself while stretching you wide around his cock. He feels huge, and impossibly long, sinking into you until his hips are flush against yours and you’re shivering beneath him. It takes a bit for him to readjust himself to position his lips to the shell of your ear, his height making it more difficult to achieve. “Do you still love me?’
You don’t have time to answer, as he starts with short, shallow strokes, his cock stroking over your inner walls with every thrust. Each time, he pulls out a little bit farther out of you before sinking back in. You can’t help the small noises he wrings out of you every time he pushes in deeper or the way your legs wrap around his hips while your arms cradle his neck. You comb back a few stray hairs from his face to look him in the eyes. “I could,” lust meets lust. ”if you want me.”
He answers with a heavy kiss void of preservation that you gladly accept, overtaken and consumed by his adoration; the sharp edges of his canine digging into your tongue briefly, turning into a wet, disgusting kiss.
Silco’s hips take a brutal pace, unable to hold back, his calm and composed ethos shattering before your eyes. You did this to him. You are his undoing. He fucks you harder than ever before, and you think you might split in half, with each thrust sending you forward, your legs shaking as you struggle to keep them open.
Signs of his climax begin to show; his breathes starts getting ragged and he shifts his weight onto a single arm, his fingers returning to your sex. Silco groans, his breath washing hot over your cheek as he leans forward. The change in angles causes your eyes to open wide and you suck in a breath, “You’re mine.” he says roughly, your body spasming around his cock in response.
He sits up, wrapping both hands around your hips and pulls you against him, his cock driving into you. You’re panting over his grunting, soft moans spilling from your lips mixed with an endless litany of ‘yes’ and ‘please don’t stop.’, ‘ I’m yours.’
“And Finn?”
“Who?” You ask in earnest, your mind too dizzy to remember the face of anyone but Silco. On his next hard thrust, you come apart, practically screaming his name as your orgasm rips through you.
“Oh, lovely.” he coos, close behind. “You - are - simply - wonderful!” He punctuates each word with a brutal, hard thrust. With your walls clenched around him, he grabs hold of what soft flesh he can, the combination of sensations drive him over the edge. He fucks you through your shared orgasm, filling the condom with his hot cum, your hole milking him for all he’s worth. After one last hard thrust, he stills, and lays on top of you.
Slowly Silco pulls out, discarding the condom, and wrapping you in his embrace. He kisses your forehead, stroking your hair while looking up at the ceiling. Your eyes are glued to his features, so striking and beautiful. He turns slightly to match your gaze, your eyes shining bright with a multitude of stars, all just for him.
All only his.
he 🥺
summary: in another world, black and white grow up next to each other.
wordcount: 8k+
----
He meets White for the first time when he is five years old.
Her family moves into the house across the street from Professor Juniper’s lab, the one that’s been empty since last November, when the old couple living there moved to Undella. After the moving van drives away, what’s left behind is a little girl in a fluffy white dress and a horde of boxes.
Bianca loves her because she finally has another girl in the neighborhood, and they can play tea-party together. Cheren is a bit more guarded at first, but White is sensible in a way Black and Bianca aren’t, and he ends up liking her because of that.
Black doesn’t much like her at all.
She’s...weird, for a little girl, but maybe that’s just because the only other little girl he’s ever met is Bianca. She’s kind of bossy (“Just like you, Black!” says Bianca cheerfully) and obsessed with playing make-believe. Not even fun make-believe, like pretending Black just beat the Elite Four, or Black just caught a cool pokémon, but boring stuff, like pretending to be at a hospital or a restaurant. White is always “the director” that bosses everyone around, and it’s the most annoying thing ever.
One day, two weeks after they first meet, it becomes too much to bear. Black stomps away from where White is officiating Cheren and Bianca’s fake wedding (dumb!), and then runs back to his own house, his own yard.
He pulls two pokéballs out of his pocket.“You guys are my only friends now,” he whispers down to Brav and Musha. They blink up at him affectionately through the red domes of their pokéballs, and he’s sort of comforted.
Gravel crunches behind him.
“You didn’t have to leave,” says White’s voice.
Black scowls at the ground, not turning around. “Well, it looked like you all were having a great time without me.”
More crunching. The hem of her poofy dress appears in the corner of his eye. She says, in a lofty tone, “Don’t be a spoilsport.”
Spoilsport? She’s the spoilsport! She’s the one who ruined everything by coming here. He rounds on her, ready to tell her just that—
“Are those your pokémon?” White’s eyes are huge. “Awesome!”
Black blinks, his anger forgotten. In the business of the past few weeks, he hadn’t gotten a chance to bring Brav and Musha out that much. He sticks his chest out proudly. “Yep. This is Brav—he’s a rufflet— and Musha’s a munna.”
He expects her to go all gaga over Musha—Bianca always squeals about how pink and fluffy he is—but White zeroes in on Brav. “Wow! He’s so cool. I bet he would make a great heroic character.”
Brav preens under her attention, and she turns to Musha. “And this one has a mysterious aura, don’t you think? Look at that purple mist coming from its head! So dramatic. Perfect for special effects.” She looks over at Black, her eyes sparkling with ideas. “If you come back, we could do a whole fantasy scene! You can be the knight with Brav…and Bianca can be the princess…and Cheren, the evil fog wizard! I’m the director, obviously.”
It actually sounds…kind of fun. But—“Only if me and Cheren get to have a pokémon battle,” Black insists.
White thinks it over for a second. “Fine. But you have to remember your cues, okay?” She grabs him by the arm and starts walking back towards Cheren and Bianca, pulling him along with her.
Black lets her. He thinks, well, maybe she isn’t so bad after all.
*
* *
He makes a promise to White for the first time when he is seven years old.
They’re sitting in Bianca’s backyard, all four of them. Cheren is telling the girls about the time he and Black wrote down their dreams in their journals; how Black’s was “to win the Pokémon League” and Cheren’s was, “to support Black’s dream”.
“Oh!” exclaims Bianca. “Me, me too! I’ll support Black’s dream too!”
Cheren nods importantly and writes this down as Black grins at Bianca.
They all turn to look at White, expectant.
“No, thank you,” says White primly. “I’ll be too busy with my dream to help Black.”
“What!” cries Black, equal parts offended and shocked. “You don’t have a dream!”
“Just ‘cause I don’t shout it out my window every morning doesn’t mean I don’t have one,” she sniffs.
He scowls at her. “Well, what is it?”
“To be the best producer in show business,” says White proudly, “and to create something that both pokémon and people can perform in.”
“Lame,” mumbles Black. It doesn’t sound nearly as cool as becoming Pokémon League Champion, but Bianca and Cheren are looking very impressed.
“…Actually, I changed my mind,” Bianca announces after a moment. “My dream is to support White’s dream.”
“Hey!” Black jumps to his feet, outraged. “That’s not fair!”
White stands up too, crossing her arms and scowling. “So she can support your dream, but not mine?”
“Your dream’s dumb!”
“Not as dumb as yours!”
“Wait…” Cheren hovers uncertainly, but it’s hard to stop Black and White once they get going.
“Best producer in show business? What does that even mean?”
“Ha! Like being Champion isn’t the most cliched goal ever!”
“What’s a clee-shay? Ugh, never mind, you’re such a know-it-all!”
“Know-it-all? You’re the loudest, rudest, grossest little boy I ever--”
“I’ve got it!” shouts Bianca out of nowhere. “You can support each other’s dreams!”
This is surprising enough that everyone else shuts up in order to stare at her blankly.
“What?” says Black.
“Support each other’s dreams,” Bianca repeats, her round face glowing with triumph. “Black!” She points an energetic finger in his direction. “You’ll need things to help you challenge the Pokémon League, right? Pokéballs and potions and stuff?” Black hesitates, then nods unhappily. Bianca pivots. “White! You’ll need help with telling everyone about your big show business plan, right?”
“I guess,” sighs White.
“So, you both can help each other out,” says Bianca happily. “Perfect, right?”
It’s…actually not a bad suggestion. Black needs funds to achieve his dream, he can’t keep mooching off of Cheren’s pocket money forever. But…it’s White. She does have good ideas sometimes, but mostly she’s a pain. And besides, even if he agreed, there’s no way she would—
“Fine,” says White.
What?
“Black,” she says. She looks determined. “My dream is really, really important to me. I have to reach it, no matter what. So…if you help me with my dream, I’ll help you with yours. Promise?”
“O…okay.” He didn’t think she would say yes, but…that’s one thing they can agree on, at least. The importance of a dream. “I promise.”
“You have to pinky-swear,” Bianca insists, but White refuses.
“This is a business deal. We shake hands.” She sticks out her own, her bottom lip jutting out challengingly, like she doesn’t think Black will do it.
Now it’s his turn to surprise her. He takes her hand and they shake on it, their entire arms pumping up and down wildly, their grips tight.
Neither of them wants to be the first to let go.
* * *
He realizes that he and White are the same when he is nine years old.
It’s the night of the annual Pokémon League tournament, and fireworks are blooming in the dark sky above, celebrating Champion Alder defending his title for the fifth year running. Most of the people who live in Nuvema like to gather in the big grassy fields behind Professor Juniper’s lab to watch the light show, but this year Black chooses to stay in his own backyard, laying down a blanket and stretching out on the cool grass. Cheren and White are meeting at the fields, and he knows Bianca’s dad likes to watch the fireworks as a family, so he’s not expecting any company tonight.
But just as the first rocket squeals up into the stars, footsteps sound at the gate.
“Hi,” says White, appearing in front of him.
Black grins, sitting up. “Hey, Prez.” It’s his teasing nickname for her, a little reminder of the promise they’ve made each other.
White scowls halfheartedly, her nose scrunching. “Shut up. Do you wanna come and watch the fireworks with me?”
“What about Cheren?”
“His cousin is visiting from Accumula and his mom said he had to show her around all night.”
“Oh.” Black considers it. “Nah, I think I’ll stay. There won’t be any good watching spots in the field left now, anyways.”
Unexpectedly, White shrugs and sits down next to him, arranging her dress around her knees. “Okay. I guess I’ll stay here and watch it with you, then.”
“Okay,” says Black, blinking. White always manages to surprise him.
For a while there is silence between them, broken only by the shrieks and sputters of the fireworks above. The beginning of the show is usually more basic stuff; rockets and fire-flowers, pretty but not particularly unique. It’s all a lead-up to the real attraction, the special fireworks that are made by some fancy company in Nimbasa, the ones that make actual pictures out of the sparks.
The special fireworks are always in the shapes of the Champion’s winning team. For the fifth year in a row, that’s Alder.
As the twinkling figure of a vanilluxe bursts into existence in the night sky, Black lets out a quiet sigh.
A shifting sound beside him; White has turned to look at him. “You don’t like it?”
Black shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Huh,” she hums thoughtfully. “I thought you would be excited.”
“Nah.” He used to love the fireworks when he was little, but now they just make him hungrier. The sight of them exploding across the sky sends his mind into overdrive, imagining all the places he hasn’t been yet, imagining the day it’ll be his team all lit up in the stars. “I mean, they’re cool, I guess, but...they just make me feel so…”
“Trapped,” says White softly. The word is almost hidden by the bang of another firecracker.
Black looks at her with wide eyes. That’s exactly it. It’s the feeling of chafing against the safety of everything you’ve ever known, yearning to go beyond, be more. His dream feels like it’s growing every day, too big for his head, too big for his house, too big for Nuvema itself.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “You too, Prez?”
White gives a tiny nod. “I can’t wait to leave here,” she admits, her eyes on her lap like she’s ashamed to say it. “Is that awful of me? I love my family and my friends, I love Nuvema, but it’s not…”
Enough. It’s a selfish thought. It’s something he’s felt a thousand times before.
Another boom above them, followed by a clatter of sparks. He can make out the shape of a volcarona, its wings unfurling like petals. White’s face is lit by the flash, the expression startlingly familiar; her unfocused eyes, the determined set of her brow, her mouth pursed. It’s what Black sees in the mirror every morning, as he begins his daily mantra, I’m going to become Champion, I’m definitely going to become Champion.
Musha’s pokéball twitches at his hip.
A warm feeling spreads in Black’s chest.
She’s just like him.
White doesn’t just have a dream, she’s a dreamer. She chases her goal with a kind of single-minded passion that’s almost ridiculous, that eat-sleep-breathe forward momentum that’s less want and more need. The sort of thing that clouds your head and keeps you from thinking about literally anything else. The sort of thing that other people just don’t get sometimes—that Cheren and Bianca and Mom, despite all their support, can’t understand.
It’s nice to be understood.
“It’s not awful of you,” he finds himself saying. “Uh, I think. Well. Wanting to leave…it doesn’t mean you’re not grateful, or that you’ll never come back…but, there are just some things you can’t do here. And everyone who supports you…they know that too. They wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back if what you really want is…out there.” He makes a vague motion at the sky. “I know I wouldn’t.”
White stares at him for a long moment. her eyes unreadable, then lifts her gaze to the sky, her mouth curling into a soft smile. “Thanks, Black.”
They watch together as the fireworks barrel into their grand finale.
“You know,” she says, “the view from here is actually really nice.” * * *
He says good-bye to White for the first time when he is twelve years old.
Bianca and Cheren have been spending a lot of time with Professor Juniper lately, something about wanting to learn how to help her with her research. Black doesn’t tag along; he’s way too busy training with Musha and Brav or studying battle techniques. But he’d assumed that White went with them; her house is right next to the lab.
But one afternoon, trekking back home from the edge of town, he glances through White’s front window and sees her sitting in the entrance hall, surrounded by a snowstorm of papers.
“Application forms,” she explains after she’s let him inside. “There’s this apprenticeship opportunity at a movie studio, shadowing a real director making a real movie. I could get a chance to work under Stu Deeoh! Can you believe that? Stu Deeoh! Remember when we watched B.T. the Extra-Terrestrial? He directed that!”
Black squints. B.T.? Was that the one with the beeheeyem that made those kid’s bikes fly? “Sounds cool.”
“It is! Ugh, I hope I get accepted. It would be so amazing to work on an actual movie set.” White’s gaze is bright and starry, and Black smiles.
“You’ll get it,” he tells her confidently. If there’s one person he could believe in more than himself, it’s White. “Where is this, anyway? Accumula?”
“Hmm? No, I wish. It’s in Virbank City.”
“Virbank,” he muses. Where was that? Up in northern Unova? “That’s a pretty long commute from here.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go back and forth every day. I’d probably go stay with my aunt in Flocessy. It’s right near Virbank.”
Black feels like the floor just fell out from under him. “What? You’d leave Nuvema?”
“Yes, of course.” White looks nonplussed. “That’s what we’ve always talked about, right?”
“Well, yeah, but…” He’s always assumed that they would be leaving Nuvema together. Black racks his brain for a reason for her to stay. “What about getting a Pokédex?”
“That’s your dream, not mine,” she reminds him.
“Oh…yeah.” He’s a bit put out. He’d sort of hoped she would change her mind about that. He tries again. “Bianca would really miss you, you know.”
“Just Bianca?” White asks slyly.
She has a knowing smile on her face, and Black is suddenly embarrassed. “Cheren too. And, uh, Brav. And Musha.” His face burns as he says the next words, but whatever. “And, well. Me.” She’s his best friend. Of course he’ll miss her.
“Oh, Black.” White’s eyes are soft. She reaches out and gives his arm a quick squeeze. “I wish we could leave together too. But this is something I can’t pass up. You understand, right?”
Black sighs. Yeah. He understands. More than anybody.
White gives his arm a final pat before returning to the application. “And who knows? I might not even get this apprenticeship.”
She gets the apprenticeship, of course.
On the day she leaves for Flocessy Town, Black, Cheren, and Bianca see her off at the edge of Nuvema. Bianca is tearful, Cheren is solemn, and Black is….somehow both jealous and proud. White, looking nervous and excited in her brand-new travel clothes, waves frantically as she disappears over the nearest hill.
Black watches the point where she vanishes. He makes a silent vow to her retreating back; I will catch up, I will. Just you wait. * * *
He meets White for the second time when he is fourteen years and five months old.
Two weeks out of Nuvema, and Black is nearly at the end of Route 1; Accumula’s skyline is in sight, and the trail opens up into a grassy clearing, some sort of park or something.
The area isn’t too busy; in the distance, he can see a group of people setting up some sort of equipment, and a couple of pidove are roosting in nearby tree. The sky is clear, the air is fresh, and Black is full of new-journey energy; it’s the perfect time to shout his daily affirmations into the world.
He launches into them without hesitation. “Grimsley, Caitlin, Marshall, Shauntal! Just wait! I’ll get my badges and come battle you! Champion Alder! You’ll be next! I’m definitely, absolutely, going to be— ”
“Excuse me!” The voice is quieter than his, but so deeply familiar that it makes the rest of his words die in his throat.
“Wha—Prez?” He swings around.
She’s standing a couple yards away, flanked by a pair of disgruntled-looking guys. Her hands are on her hips, her expression similarly indignant; but when she sees his face, it fades to a sort of comical disbelief. “Black?”
In unison they both move forward, meeting in the middle. A moment of hesitation, and then White reaches out to seize his hands. “Black! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long! I thought I recognized that loud voice of yours...”
Black nods dumbly. It’s bizarre to have her here, in front of him, and not on a tiny Xtransciever screen. She’s both familiar and strange; the same bright eyes, the same lively face—but her hair’s longer now, her hands rougher. He’s both embarrassed and pleased to realize that he’s finally taller than her.
“I got a call from Cheren a few days ago,” she’s saying now. Her expression suddenly becomes stern. “Black! How could you run off without giving Cheren and Bianca their Pokédexes? Professor Juniper says they got damaged and now you have the only one that works!”
“Oh…oops.” He’d had a feeling that he was forgetting something important. “Sorry.”
White shakes her head, exasperated. “I told them they could meet you in Striation to get this mess figured out. You’re heading there to get the Trio Badge, right?”
“That’s ri—”
“Miss White!” One of the guys from before cuts in, his arms waving energetically. “We really must get the camera rolling soon! Our equipment is rented by the hour, you know.”
“Oh! Of course. I’m so sorry for the delay. Please go ahead and finish setting up.” White dips her head apologetically as the two guys start walking away, grumbling to each other. “That was the director of a commercial we’re shooting today. The BW Agency is providing the talent!”
“That’s amazing, Prez.” He’s not surprised she’s already accomplishing stuff like this—she’s still White, after all. “Can I finish my affirmations now?”
White sighs. “You haven’t changed at all. All right, just aim away from the microphones, okay? I need to go and get my star actress ready for her closeup.”
“Oh, right. Gigi.”
White looks pleased. “You remembered. After you’re done shouting, come over to the set and I’ll introduce you to her.”
Black nods. Gigi…what kind of pokémon could she be? White has never mentioned.
She turns to leave, but looks back at the last moment, a fond smile blooming across her face. “And, Black? It’s really good to see you again.”
* * *
He realizes that he and White are different when he’s fourteen years and seven months old.
It’s pretty awesome, getting to travel with her after so many years of planning and arguing and replanning and fantasizing. Well, at first it’s a little weird—they need to relearn each other after so much time apart—but the awkwardness fades away after the first couple of weeks and then it’s like they’d never said goodbye.
Accumula, Striation, Nacrene, Castelia. Pinwheel Forest, the Dreamyard, Skyarrow Bridge, the Desert Resort. Countless routes. They all sort of blur together, but the one constant is White right next to him; sometimes he’s pulling her forward, sometimes it’s the other way around, but most of the time they’re in sync, charging ahead towards their own dreams, side-by-side.
It’s not like they don’t have their disagreements, or times where they’re trying to go in opposite directions. Like when he (accidentally!) breaks some expensive filming equipment while training with Tula. Or when she needs Tep to do a modeling shoot right before his battle with Lenora.
The most annoying thing is that she refuses to tell him what the ‘BW’ in ‘BW Agency’ stands for. He tries to spring random guesses on her in the hope that he can surprise it out of her.
(“Business Whimsicott?”
“No.”
“Boldore…Water?”
“What?”
“Best Wishes?”
“That’s already taken!”)
But if that’s the worst point, then he considers himself pretty lucky.
And he’s gotta admit, it’s cool to see White at work. Running the BW Agency is a ceaseless whirlwind of calling and booking and prepping and billing, not to mention the extra workload of planning Nimbasa’s new musical. White handles it all with a practiced grace, juggling the needs of pokémon and people all the same.
It’s a completely different skillset than pokémon battling; all collaboration and communication and…a bunch of other words like that. Either way, White excels at it.
She’s really kind of incredible, all things considered. * * *
He says good-bye to White for the second time when he’s fourteen years and ten months old.
It’s after the awful Ferris wheel incident, and they’re wandering around Nimbasa’s subway station. Marshall and Alder are having some conversation with the subway bosses, and nearby, N’s servine is lurking behind a pole. Black shoots it a suspicious look.
At his side, White is clutching his arm. She’d do this all the time when they were younger and watching horror movies together late at night. Bianca would scream theatrically, Cheren would yelp and babble about how illogically the characters were acting, but White wouldn’t make a sound; just grab onto his arm and grip it tighter and tighter until the credits rolled.
But now, it’s not a jump-scare that’s making her act like this—it’s the shock and pain of losing Gigi, the insidious self-doubt that N seeded in the Ferris wheel.
Even now, after being discharged from the hospital, her face is drawn; her eyes are ringed with dark circles of exhaustion. Her hair is loose from its regular ponytail, rippling down her back in a dark sheet that catches glints of light as she moves. It’s been a long time since Black has seen her like this, and for some reason it’s making him all self-conscious.
He stomps the feeling down. Focus.
White is staring at the subway station’s outer lawn, where the pokémon that Alder had been playing with earlier are still hanging around. Black follows her gaze; she’s watching a darumaka wrestle with a garbodor. It’s a playful battle, the smaller darumaka clambering around the bigger pokémon energetically, releasing small, harmless spouts of flame.
White lets out a long, measured breath. “I just realized,” she says. “I’m—I’m Bianca’s dad.”
There’s a sentence he never expected to hear from her mouth. “What?”
“Bianca’s dad. Remember, how he’d always hold Bianca back because he was scared of her getting hurt, but he just ended up making her doubt herself about everything.” White closes her eyes and shudders. “I…I did the same thing with Gigi! I made her think she couldn’t battle, I made her think she couldn’t protect herself.”
“Prez, that’s not…” He’s at a loss for words, partly because she’s not entirely wrong. But…it’s not the whole story. It’s not that simple. “N’s wrong,” he tells her firmly. “Maybe Gigi was interested in battling, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t want to be an actress! You didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to. You always wanted the best for her.”
White shakes her head. “How can that be true? I didn’t give her any other options. Pokémon like to battle, I know that! You’ve told me that for years. It was just my own selfish concerns that stopped me…” She looks down, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she looks up, there’s a new fire in her gaze. “Which is why I’ve decided…I’m going to participate in the Battle Subway challenge.”
And that’s how Black ends up standing on the second-floor balcony, watching White try to catch her first pokémon.
He’s more than a little torn about this new development. On one hand, it’s good to see her start recovering from the Ferris wheel incident. On the other hand, maybe this is too much, too soon? She’s never even been in a pokémon battle before…
On the third, selfish ambipom hand, he wants to go on the Battle Subway too. It’s just not fair. Wouldn’t it be more fun to do this sort of thing together?
He groans, slumping forward against the railing as his eyes wander back to the scene below.
Despite the runaround the wild pokémon are giving her, White seems to be in better spirits. She’s pulled her hair back up into the usual businesslike ponytail; Black is both relieved and a little disappointed. A smile tugs at his mouth as he watches her get chased in circles by the deerling she’s trying to catch. He’ll go down there and help her eventually, of course, but what kind of best friend would he be if he didn’t get enough ammunition to tease her mercilessly later?
“You shouldn’t lie to yourself,” rumbles a voice next to him.
Black jumps. “Mr. Marshall?”
Marshall looms at his side. “You’re wishing you could accompany her on the Battle Subway, aren’t you?”
“Um…yes.”
“Why?”
What kind of question was that? “Because…she’s my friend, and we’ve been traveling together.”
Marshall shakes his head, disappointed. “I expect more honesty from my challengers. Make sure you face your feelings by the time you come to challenge me. Now, don’t be a coward! Go help the girl!”
In a flash, he lifts Black over his head and flings him over the railing.
“Black!” White hurries over as he crash-lands into some convenient foliage. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“’S nothing,” he mumbles, pushing away the embarrassment of Marshall’s words. “I’ll tell you later. Looks like you need help right now.”
Nevertheless, as he walks alongside White’s departing train a short while later, he can’t help but wonder; is he being honest with himself? Why does White leaving bother him so much? Cheren and Bianca have gone their own ways; of course White would do the same, eventually.
He just…didn’t think it would be this soon.
The train is starting to pick up speed; he begins jogging. “Good luck,” he tells her. “Just remember everything I annoyed you with when we were kids and you’ll be fine. Type-matchups and special effects and all that. Okay?”
“All right. Thanks for everything, Black.” Some of her earlier melancholy seems to have returned; her eyes are downcast.
There’s no way he can let her leave like this. “Prez!” he calls. “Remember our promise! Even if the BW Agency isn’t active right now…I’ll still keep my promise!”
“Me too.” Her voice is resolute, but so quiet. He has to see her smile before she leaves.
“And, Prez!”
“What?”
“Burned…Wig!”
Her face is uncomprehending for a moment, before realization dawns. She finally breaks into a smile. “No, that’s not it.”
“Belly Wurmple!” He’s running now.
That gets a laugh. “Ew, no!”
“Big Walrein!” The train has outstripped him, and now he’s just shouting nonsense words as it speeds out of the tunnel.
The first pokéball on his belt wriggles; without even looking, he plucks it into his palm and hurls it towards the open window of White’s train compartment.
Of course Brav wants to go with her. She was his very first fan.
* * *
He dreams about White for the first time when he is exactly fifteen years old.
He’s lying in a field somewhere between Driftveil and Mistralton. The sky is darkening above him, the Pokémon League opens in two months, and today is Black’s fifteenth birthday.
It’s been the first birthday Black has spent alone since—since, well, ever. He’s always had his friends at his side, pokémon or human or both. He’s never particularly cared about presents or cake, but....it would’ve been nice to celebrate, somehow.
Black stares up at the twilight stars. He wonders where Cheren is, where Bianca is. He wonders where Brav is. He wonders where White is.
Her birthday was three days ago. He’d tease her about it when they were kids, but Black has always secretly liked that their birthdays are so close. Some years, when they were still little enough to have parties, their mothers would team up and make a combination cake for the both of them; alternating layers of chocolate and vanilla, a forest fire’s worth of candles teetering on top.
He wonders what White did for her birthday this year. He’d tried to send a birthday message over the Xtransciever, but the signal is weak on the routes sometimes, and he’s not sure if it had gone through. Maybe she’d tried to send him a message too, and he’d never received it.
He wonders what she would think of the mess he’s gotten himself into, with Reshiram and the Gym Leaders and Team Plasma. He wonders what she would think of the stone sitting in his bag right now, the title sitting on his shoulders—Reshiram’s chosen, the hero of truth.
What does that even mean?
He doesn’t want to be the hero of truth. He doesn’t even know what the “truth” is. He doesn’t want to be a “hero”, period. He just wants to become Pokémon League Champion, and then go home, and be with his friends.
He wishes he could go back to Nuvema. To those late-summer, apple-golden days, where the world was like an old jumper—a little too small and scratchy, but warm and beloved all the same. Just him and White and Cheren and Bianca, playing make-believe again.
What had they used to pretend? Knights and princesses and wizards. Tumbling around Bianca’s big, sunny backyard, with cardboard swords and aluminum foil hats, Brav and Musha play-fighting between them.
You’re the damsel, Bianca, White had said, and Cheren, you’re the villain. And Black, you’ll be the hero who saves the day, all right?
Yeah, he thinks drowsily. If he has to be any kind of hero…that’s the kind of hero he wants to be. A hero for his friends. A hero for White.
He drifts to sleep.
In his sleep, he dreams, and in his dream, he’s standing at the edge of a—of a cliff, maybe. Except when he looks down, he can’t see what’s at the bottom.
Just sky above him and sky below him and sky all around him.
“Black,” says someone at his side. It’s White, standing on the precipice right next to him.
She smiles at him. Her foot dangles off the edge, dipping into the endless blue. She says, “Are you ready?”
He isn’t sure. Perturbed, he takes a step back. “I don’t know,” he says.
White looks unsurprised. Wordlessly, she holds out her hand.
Black takes it without hesitation. It’s what he’s been doing as long as he can remember; taking White’s hand, and charging forward. Not knowing what was ahead; just knowing they would help each other.
Her fingers are warm and reassuring in his. “I won’t let go,” she says.
Together, they leap off the ledge and into the blue.
That’s when he wakes up. * * *
He meets White for the third time when he’s fifteen years and two months old.
The snow muffles his footsteps as Black trudges aimlessly along Route 6. Behind him, Iris is prancing around and making pointed comments about Bianca and White. For a dragon-type specialist, she sure is chatty in the cold.
He looks up at the wintry-gray sky unhappily. If only someone or something could come and sweep him away. He would even take another ride on Skyla’s swanna at this point. Or, better yet, Brav…
Wait, Brav!
His first pokémon dives into his arms with a cry of delight. Black returns the gesture enthusiastically. “Brav! I missed you!” But wait… “If you’re here, then—”
“Black!” At the top of the next hill, someone is waving.
“Prez?” The rush of gladness hits him like a punch to the chest, but it’s tempered with that strange, fizzling nervousness from the Battle Subway. “Prez!” he shouts, resolutely ignoring Iris’s snicker.
She’s beaming, her cheeks flushed and her hair wind-tousled. “We’re back!” She skids down the slope to meet him and nearly falls over. He catches her by her arms and sets her upright. “Look!” she continues excitedly, waving behind her. “My very own pokémon team!”
“Wow! Amazing!” There’s the deerling he helped her catch, as well as a stunfisk, a solosis, an alomomola, a vullaby…and there, that serperior, with its haughty expression, can only be N’s old servine. “You caught them all by yourself? Great job, Prez!”
“Thanks!” Her eyes have that old sparkle back in them. “I couldn’t wait to show them to you—and this, too!” She produces a very familiar device from her bag.
“Wait, that’s—!”
“A Pokédex!” she finishes for him. “Bianca gave me hers. She wants to start working as Professor Juniper’s assistant now, can you believe it?”
No, he really can’t. Ditzy, soft-hearted Bianca, an assistant researcher? Black grapples with the thought as he fumbles to pull his own Pokédex out.
The two Pokédexes make muted beeps when they’re brought close together. White smiles, her eyes soft.
“It’s like they’re saying hello,” she says. She meets Black’s gaze. “Hello, by the way.”
“Uh, hi,” he stammers. He looks down at the Pokédexes, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “After all that fuss about not wanting a Pokédex when we were younger…you got one anyways…”
“Yep. I guess we’re just the same now, huh?” White seems surprisingly pleased by this development.
Black swallows. “I guess so.”
They smile at each other. It’s a nice moment, until Iris’s muffled laughter ruins it.
* * *
He makes a promise to White for the second time when he’s fifteen years and two months old.
It’s the night before the start of the Pokémon League quarterfinals, and Black can’t sleep.
His mind is whirring at a million miles an hour, darting through strategies and type matchups, offense and defense, opponents and Elite Four members. Every time he reaches the edge of sleep, a sudden, urgent idea breaks into his head, jerking him back awake.
It’s impossible. It’s exhausting.
He wishes that Musha could be here.
That Dream Eater would suck his thoughts away and give him a moment’s peace. When was the last time he actually felt completely calm? This whole journey has just been one sucker-punch after another, every new revelation veering him further and further away from his goal.
Everything had seemed so simple from the shelter of Nuvema. Reaching his dream had been a series of challenging, but achievable steps.
And now…
Black groans and rolls out of bed. He needs a breath of fresh air. The Pokémon Center that League challengers are housed in has a huge field in the back; usually used for practice battles or training, it should be empty now, with the competition whittled down to the eight quarter-finalists.
But when Black arrives at the edge of the field, someone is waiting for him.
“Hi.” White pats the ground next to her, where she’s already lain out a picnic blanket. “Want to sit?”
“S…sure.” He takes a seat, vaguely stunned by her presence. “How did you know…?”
“Just a guess. I knew before the televised battles, you’d be overthinking a lot…and without Musha…” The rest of her sentence doesn’t need to be said.
They sit together in silence for a while. It’s a clear, slightly breezy night; the winter constellations are twinkling above, and the overgrown grass of the field ripples around them.
It’s all so bittersweetly nostalgic; Black’s heart brims with an intense, quavering mixture of pride and loss. How long has it been since he left Nuvema? Less than a year?
It feels like much longer.
“Remember the fireworks every summer, back home?” White asks suddenly.
He hums assent. Bouffalant and escavalier and accelgor, for as long as he can remember.
“This year,” White says, “it’ll be your team up there.”
She states it with simple, unwavering confidence, so at odds with Black’s own intense doubt…how is it even possible?
“How can you say that?” he demands. “I can’t…I barely made the entrance ceremony. Getting through Victory Road was unbelievable hard. My toughest battles are tomorrow, but I can’t even sleep without Musha’s Dream Eater, and apparently my dreams have gotten so bad, even Musha doesn’t want them!” He pauses to take a breath. White is watching him sympathetically. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “This whole time, I felt like…becoming the Champion was almost inevitable. Maybe I’d have a few setbacks, or even fail the first time I tried…but I always knew I could do it. But…now…”
“I know,” says White quietly. She shifts closer, so their shoulders are pressing together. The warmth of her is comforting in that same nostalgic way. He can almost pretend that they’re five years old again.
“Black,” she begins, her tone suddenly serious, “I can’t say I know exactly what you’re feeling or thinking right now, but…I need to tell you some things, and you need to listen. All right?”
He nods, mystified.
“All right. Well.” White takes a deep breath. “First of all. N is wrong. I’ve watched you battle for almost my whole life, and there’s absolutely no way Musha sees you just as a source of dreams. I don’t know why he chose to leave when he did, but…I think we should wait and see what happens. Because Musha loves you, Black. I know he loves you. Just like Brav and Bo and Tula and Costa, and Bianca and Cheren and…”
Her words peter off. Black peers at her. “Prez…?”
White’s eyes dart to him. Her face is faintly pink. “Sorry. I got distracted. My point is, you can’t let this burrow into your head and make you doubt yourself during your battles. You owe it to your other pokémon to do the best you can tomorrow! And you need think of everyone who helped you get here. Like Chrissy and Hawes, or the Gym Leaders, or the Junipers. I know how much Musha means to you, but he’s not the only one who wanted to help you succeed.
“You don’t even know how much support you have, Black! How much—how much people believe in you. That kind of belief isn’t blind, it exists because people can see what you’re capable of. So what if reaching your dream is ten times harder than you thought it would be? So what if it’s a hundred times harder? You can still do it. I know you can.
“And, it’s the same with everything that’s going on with N and Team Plasma and the Light Stone; I know it’s ridiculous, and you didn’t expect it, but...I really, really think you would be an amazing hero…if you let yourself. You don’t have to. But you could.” She takes another breath and lets the words sit in the air for a moment, before cupping her reddened cheeks with her hands. “Augh, I keep getting carried away! A—anyways, that’s all I wanted to say.”
Black is staring at her, warmth swelling in his chest even as his mind reels. How long has she been holding all that in? “Um…wow. Thanks, Prez.”
“That’s all you can say? You jerk.” White sighs, but it sounds more defeated than anything. “Well…just keep your eyes on the prize. For both of us. You’re so close to becoming Champion! You probably don’t remember, but you have a chance to make BW Agency really famous, you know.” She smiles and rolls her eyes, like she doesn’t mind that he’s forgotten.
Except he hasn’t forgotten.
Black watches her contemplatively for a moment, then lets out a gusty, decisive sigh. “Arghhh, you caught me. It was gonna be a surprise, but—wait here!” He jumps to his feet.
“Caught you—? Black!” Her bemused voice follows him as he hurries back into the Pokémon Center, then reappears a few minutes later, clutching a wide, flat box.
“Here,” he says, thrusting it in her general direction. He can’t bring himself to watch her reaction as she opens it; for whatever reason, his heart is beating so fast he can hardly take a breath.
He hears her murmur “What is this? A present?”, followed by the rustle of the box opening, then several moments of silence. And then—“Oh, Black.”
Black looks up and can’t quite speak. White’s eyes are glowing in the dim light, her whole face radiant with such disbelief and joy that his heart actually aches in his chest.
He wants to live in this moment forever.
White lifts the shirt out of the box almost reverently. BW Agency’s logo gleams on the fabric, shiny and new. “It’s beautiful. You’re going to wear it for your Champion battle?”
“Yeah,” Black manages. “I’m…glad you like it.” It’s scary, how happy her happiness makes him.
When had her dream become so important to him…?
White stares at the shirt for a few more seconds, smiling, before turning to him.
“You know, you’re the one who gave me the idea for the agency’s name.”
“What? No way.”
“Yes! It was when we were…eight, I think? Bianca’s dad got mad at us because you knocked over a painting in their house, and he made us all sit down and write an essay about what good, respectful people we would be when we grew up. Cheren was the only one who did it; Bianca just drew pictures, and you—”
“Wrote out a strategy to beat Shauntal!” He remembers now.
“Right! And I was brainstorming names for my future company. But it was hard, because I didn’t know what exactly I would be doing, I just knew I had to…make this group, or organization. I think I was leaning towards White’s Talent Office or something like that. Then Bianca’s dad came to check on us, and you started talking his ear off about battling ghost types—something about how you had to know the shape of the pokémon, more than you had to know what it was made of. It didn’t really make sense at the time, but…I don’t know. I guess I realized that I knew the “shape” of my company, even if I didn’t know what it would be about. So, I came up with the name ‘BW Agency’. Good, right?”
“Really good.” Black stares off into the sky, smiling. It’s impossible to count the number of ways he and White’s dreams have become intertwined; it’s almost like one, singular dream, now.
A thought strikes him. “Wait, Prez…does that mean you don’t actually know what the ‘BW’ in ‘BW Agency’ stands for?” There’s no response. Black looks over. White is intensely scrutinizing her own fingernails. “Prez?”
“Well…not yet,” she says, reluctant. Black starts laughing helplessly. She smacks his arm. “You’re awful!” she cries, but she’s laughing too. “You can’t tell anyone! It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“I promise, I promise.” Grinning, he sticks out his hand. “Look, I’ll even shake on it.”
White narrows her eyes. “No, this is too serious for a business deal. This is life or death.” She offers him her pinky. “You have to swear.”
“Okay, I swear.” He hooks his pinky to her, his left to her right. “I’ll take it to my grave.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she warns.
Black shakes his head fondly; together, they lay back down, their little fingers still linked under the stars.
He dozes off like that eventually, and it’s the best sleep he’s had in ages.
* * *
He says goodbye to White for the last time when he is fifteen years and two months old.
The Plasma castle is in ruins around him, and the shapes of Zekrom and N are rapidly fading into the horizon. The reddening light of the sunset filters through all the dust hanging in the air; strangely, the effect is almost beautiful.
Reshiram lifts her head and emits a long howl. It’s a mournful sound, one that almost brings tears to Black’s eyes.
At his side, White seems to feel the same way. “It must be like her heart is ripping in half. I can’t imagine what that feels like.”
He looks at her for a long moment, torn between sadness and relief. “Yeah. Me neither.”
White meets his gaze; there is a wordless moment of understanding.
Black swallows. “Prez,” he begins.
And then everything falls apart.
Reshiram’s call cuts off abruptly into a shriek; at that exact moment, Black feels a familiar, violent tug, like an invisible rope is dragging him forwards.
“What—?” White yelps; at their feet, Gigi lets out a snort of surprise.
“Reshiram’s going back inside the Light Stone,” Black realizes aloud. “Prez! Stay away!”
White scoops up Gigi, and in unison, they edge back from the pull of the Stone. Reshiram’s cries begin to warp and fade, the shape of the dragon folding in on itself.
The strength of the pull starts lessening, and Black lets out a breath. “I think we’re all right,” he says. “Another minute, and we could have gotten pulled in—”
“A lovely idea,” murmurs Ghetsis’s oil-slick voice; and then suddenly Black is weightless, soaring towards Reshiram’s diminishing form.
“Black!” White shrieks.
“Stay back!” he shouts, struggling against Reshiram’s pull, but it’s like trying to get out of a bog; the more he resists, the faster he’s enveloped.
“How poetic,” remarks Ghetsis, stepping out from the shadows of a crumbling pillar. “That the one who ruined my arrangements would be so kind as to bury himself. Good-bye, hero of truth.” He spares a single, mocking glance at White; then the pokémon at his side flashes and beeps, and the next moment, there is no one there at all.
The sun has nearly set. It’s really beautiful. The light spills across the fractured marble and across White’s anguished face.
“Black,” she says, her voice frantic, “hold on, I’m, I’m going to get help…”
But Black knows, in his gut, that it’s too late.
“Prez,” he says. Every word feels like he’s talking through syrup. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to keep my promise.” There’s so much else he needs to say but there’s no time. Clumsily, he undoes his jacket zipper, trying to show her the logo on the shirt, trying to show her that he tried—
“No,” says White suddenly. She turns around and kneels, placing Gigi on the ground away from the Stone. She leans forward, murmuring something into Gigi’s ear, then stands back up.
“Black,” she says again. Her voice is no longer desperate. “A long time ago, we made a promise. That we would help each other achieve our dreams. You haven’t kept your promise to me. And…” She finally turns around. “I haven’t kept my promise to you.”
White looks at him, her eyes a blaze of sorrow and anger and determination.
“So,” she says, and she strides forward, utterly purposeful. “There’s no way you can leave without either of us keeping our word. And there’s no way—” She reaches out, taking hold of his hands. “There’s no way I’ll let you go, ever.”
She draws closer as world becomes blinding; Black can’t speak. There’s a feeling like falling, except it’s not them falling, it’s everything else—the Plasma castle and Gigi and the bloody sky, all falling away, and the only thing left is him and White and the pure, endless light around them.
“Promise?” he manages.
Her hands don’t leave his. “Promise.”
HER
// SWEET GIRL { 6th Album }
*lays on the dash*
