Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon Special or any of the characters depicted in the story. Proper rights are owned by the respected owners individually.

Note: Just felt like uploading a ficlet to get back into the habit of writing again. It's really been a while since I've uploaded something. Anyway, I'm still practicing with writing these two, and I'm sure Lance might be a bit off, so any advice would be great.

Nascence
by. Satari-Raine

The forest, as always, is quiet. She has time to spare for summer has arrived, bringing heat waves and long rests underneath the shade of her favorite tree. He has time to spare only by saying he doesn't - she knows everything he will tell to her means the opposite of what is true.

Underneath her tree, the bobber of her fishing pole drifting calmly against the ripples of the river, she sits and leans against the trunk, the thick oak humming with that energy she's used to breathing in as simple as if it was air. He's behind her, standing with a stoic expression, shoulders squared as all of his attention is focused on the cast line against the water's surface. It's peaceful and strange but charged, as if one movement would break the atmosphere like a porcelain pot meeting a hard stone floor.

Even so, Yellow speaks. "Can you fish?"

Lance says nothing and his frown stays in place, but he slowly moves from against the tree and places himself a distance away from her, arm outstretched in a silent ask for the fishing rod. Yellow is quick to oblige as she watches his legs stretch out against the grass, the shade cast by the trees stopping at the end of his knees causing the sleek black of his boots to shimmer against the sunlight. He scoots closer to the bank of the river and tosses a leg up to rest his arm against his knee, the bobber still as he focuses on the river, frown still claiming his lips.

She watches and he waits, and somehow she feels as if the roles should be reversed.

Soon enough, of course, the fishing rod starts to tremble. Fingers are quick to grasp the wood, and he ends up reeling in a fish larger than anything Yellow had ever caught at this end of the forest. He's swift to unhook it and let it go, and as the watery scales glitter as it flops back into the river, something akin to a smile twitches at his lips.

Yellow's exclamation at the fish he caught makes it fade.

"Satisfied?" His tone isn't as bitter as he would've hoped. She beams happily and accepts her fishing pole, and Lance folds his legs into the shade, crossing them to allow his tangled fingers to rest in his lap. They move only when Chuchu wanders cautiously towards him, the pikachu reaching him when Yellow stated that he wouldn't mind Chuchu sitting in his lap. They come back in forms of flat palms against yellow fur when the pokémon curls against him.

The sun fades behind the trees, a dark tint casting over their little world. Yellow sighs as she slumps against the tree, and Lance catches her proud smile as she focuses on Chuchu snoring blissfully in his lap.

It's as if she's saying, See? You aren't so bad anymore.

He almost wants to prove her wrong.

After the sudden nap Yellow takes and the pikachu freeing Lance's lap, he stands. Yellow is quick to follow as she packs her stuff, Lance swiping up the fishing rod with a scowl after complaining she's too slow, and they wander into the forest. The sun is blocked away as they traverse down a path only marked by her use, passing by pokémon and tree trunks stained with moss, flora decorating their roots like a fragile wall. Lance passes through the trees and wonders what he is doing. Yellow follows and wonders what he's doing, too.

They reach a cave when the sun gives way to sudden clouds, rain falling down with a heavy roar. The stones are dull against her bare feet, but she doesn't mind. Near the entrance, she looks on through wet bangs as Lance drips water from his cape, from his fingers curled at his sides, from his hair down to his strong chin. He looks disheveled, annoyed, unhappy and a bit confused, but she finds the sight of a rain-drenched Lance very real, very human.

He probably wouldn't like that if she said so.

He plops himself down by the edge of the cave, rain a constant sheet of water a few paces in front of his feet. There is a line of moss by his boots, flowers by his side growing against the rocks of the cave. The clouds steal the light, what little sun left only keeping the outside world grey instead of black. Outside, a pidgey calls. Another answers, a spearow. The rain is constant, and he sighs and she does too.

She sits beside him although is smart to keep her distance, and he doesn't move away although his teeth grind together in annoyance. He knows, though, that him being here is no fault of hers for she doesn't control him, but placing the blame eases the irritation. If only it'd ease his discomfort.

After a while, she exhales, and Lance's shoulders fall. Chuchu, strangely, is absent.

"At least the pokémon are safe," she says, because she knows.

"Mmm," Lance says in reply, because he knows too.

The sky slides from grey, to darker, to finally obsidian, with patches of dark blue and purple peeking through as the rain stops and the clouds break. She stands quickly and after a moment, he follows, leaving the fishing rod against the wall of the cave. Overhead, as they step out into a clearing, is a dusty thread of stars sharing the glow with a slow rising moon and the distance of a city birthing the time of nightlife. He stands and stares, neck craned, and she finds a space for herself at his side. When she speaks, he surprises himself by actually listening.

"When I was little, my uncle would always point out shapes of pokémon in the stars." She laughs then, and he doesn't reply. He's aware that she notices the way his hands are bawled into fists, tight and white-knuckled, at his side. "I remember I used to think they were actually pokémon, for some reason. But I didn't know a lot about pokémon, then."

He wants to say she doesn't know a lot about them now, but that would be a lie.

"What about you? Did you think stars were something wei— something else?"

Lance shakes his head, and her frown isn't hard to miss. They watch the sky until clouds start to form again, and both of them start to head back towards the cave. When she steps into the cavern, he starts to slow down and lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Yellow has her hand wrapped around her fishing pole, her smile nostalgic and irritating and pointless, when Lance finally stops his steps. She notices, like she's noticed everything else about him, and watches him like he's a question.

With eyes half-lidded and shoulders falling, Lance faces her and stares as if he doesn't know what to do, what to say, as if he was seeking council from her even though she knows that he'd never accept help from her. They both know that, and she knows he can't stand her, doesn't enjoy her company, that he hates her and fears her. And why he spent the day with her, she doesn't know and guesses he doesn't either - perhaps it was something about the forest, considering it was both of their homes, that allowed them to meet.

But regardless of why they were here, regardless of his hate, what he doesn't know is that she's been trying to forgive him for his actions. That the way she's been trying to smile at him, with quivering lips holding back so many words, is her way of giving him time. That she's willing to wait out the storm of their past until it simply becomes falling rain, if only to try to see if something good could come of it. So instead of answering him, Yellow just shakes her head in reply and finds herself admiring the way he can still stand up so straight while looking dejected, and she doesn't hate that it is almost endearing.

With gold eyes narrowed and dark, he silently says: I'm leaving.

Her smile, a prideful sort of fragile in a way that would never be allowed otherwise, replies: Good luck.

When he turns away from her and starts to walk, he bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

Comments and critique are always welcomed.