the black and white horizon

Half-expecting her to grab the bottle, Steven realized that she had instead set down her glass and started to complain about … something. About something being the same. It was probably directed at his comment about the party — well, she was right. It was boring, therefore he had only attended about five times out of the past nine years. There was only so many times one can talk about the same topics.

"I don’t like things being different," he pointed out after pouring himself a small cup of sake and replacing the bottle in its warm bath. “It’s tiring when things keep changing and you have to keep up.”

Steven enjoyed remaining in his comfort zone. As long as his fame and reputation preceded him, he could continue the way he did. Doors opened even to someone holding the title of ex-champion, without the hassle of having to rush back to the league every time a challenger managed to make it past the fourth Elite.

Usually when she drank with such vigor she was dressed to the nines at some sort of event filled with dull, business acquaintances. Now, however, she wore just a robe and was in a tiny inn dining hall with a man from the dead. 

He smirked, finishing his shot. His finger touched the tip of the ball of ice in the glass, and he toyed with it, rolling it about in its nest until he found the words he wanted to say.

"It’s not fireworks season either."

Steven waved for an attendant, who came over to them. Politely requesting for some traditional alcohol and another roll of sushi, he then glanced at Cynthia before deciding that she didn’t need anything. The attendant left.

"You know how this will end?" he asked, glancing at the ice as he spun it again, "You will go back to Sinnoh, and I’ll return to Unova. Meetings are done once a year in those fancy meetings that the league enjoys having as an annual affair, and then we’ll see each other there.

"We’ll say hello, and nod at each other, then leave to talk with other people."

Slowly, he smiled.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she chugged the rest of her wine, raising her hand to call the waitress over to refill her glass. "Sinnoh's been in shambles, Hoenn as well. Unova was safe." Cynthia slammed down on the rising emotion, pushing it to the back of her mind. "Castelia was beautiful. My little home in Undella is so peaceful." 

Steven finished off his last piece of sushi, and placed his chopstick on the appropriate stand. He cocked his head at the scotch, then shrugged to himself. No harm in drinking it, at any rate. He would have preferred sake over western alcohol, but seeing as Cynthia had took it upon herself to make decisions for him, he didn’t want to make a fuss about it.

He sipped the cold liquid, watching the darkened skies outside. Night had fallen quickly and harshly. Lavaridge was a city unlike Slateport and Lilycove. It slept early, and so did its people. Shops closed as early as six in the evening if it wasn’t tourist season. Only the inns remained operational through the night, and so did the cable cars if one fancied a night view of Hoenn’s mainland.

The scotch remained mostly untouched, which Cynthia mentally noted. "Not to your taste, Steven? Sounds like Verdanturf's beginning all over again." She leaned back in her chair, watching the peaceful outdoors. The ground was untouched, nothing like the rubble and blazing grasses in the towns they left a wreckage. 

His expression bordered on uncaring. What was Cynthia hinting at? As far as things were concerned, most of the chaos had died down upon the loss of many important figureheads of the pokémon world. (Whether they had died in the fray or had simply disappeared didn’t matter; a loss was still a loss.) 

"Yes," Steven had to agree that their first meeting had been unorthodox. Not many people had the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with old colleagues amidst explosions, fake tea shop owners and fan club members.

"What of it?"

The dining hall was barren save for the two at the table. It was slightly chilly for Cynthia, her robe went to her knees but there was nothing beneath, and her skin was still mildly damp. However, the judgmental looks the waitress kept shooting her were lost to Cynthia.

To buy himself more time, he switched their food; the plate of sushi to him and her bowl of cereal and milk returned to its proper place. Steven glanced up from his sushi, but instead of answering, he reached out for the sauce plate and poured himself a mixture of nitsume and shoyu; a ring of the sweeter sauce on the outside, before the latter was poured into the middle.

"Really?" he asked quietly, breaking apart a pair of chopsticks. They turned out even, and he used it to pick at the salad by the side of his sushi. "I don’t remember it being this quiet."

Ah, it wasn't this quiet, no. Not in the past, in that place. "It was quite close to here though, wasn't it?" She asked, sitting back with a smile on her face, only half of which was visible as per usual. "We had tea, if I recall correctly. Chamomile and peppermint?"

Yet, the added weight in his bag indicated that his trip had not been for nothing. He had acquired a few new pokémon (not new by species, but simply new because they were freshly-caught) to be sent to the labs in Rustboro. The people there occasionally needed a bit of reminding of his existence. 

He sank into a couch at the pokémon center as he waited for his items to be processed and sent to his room at the inn. As soon as he received his receipt, he pocketed it and proceeded to the dining hall.

Tired, he ordered some sake and sushi instead of having a full meal as was customary at the inn. It seemed that someone shared similar thoughts — whether it was by mistake or some sort of joke, he was served a bowl of cereal and milk. Upon arrival, the attendant gave him a sort of dirty look; apparently, eating something like that was frowned upon in the inn.

There was a moment of apologies, before the salivation-worthy roll of sushi was taken away from her. Out of curiousity, Cynthia turned around to see who it was who ordered the sushi, and instead received her munchies. But of course, who else? Mixed feelings flooded her, both anger and the urge to sit with him battled in her mind. The urge to sit with him won. 

And yet, his response was a curt nod almost hidden by the upturned collar of his coat.

—-

As it turned out, the rain outside had been more ferocious than Steven had anticipated. Without an umbrella, he would have been drenched by the time he reached his apartment. He was certain that he wouldn’t catch a cold, though. He’d probably shiver for a bit, but a quick shower would remedy it all.

He could barely hear Cynthia over the rain and his own thoughts. His brain was working on autopilot; it was almost as if he hadn’t someone by his side valiantly trying to keep them both dry under an umbrella that was clearly meant to fit one-and-a-half.

Upon reaching the street which housed his residence, he stopped.

"Here," he said, staring down the street. He’d make a run for it and end up in his apartment fairly quickly. It would take much longer to hobble there under an umbrella. His trenchcoat was already half-soaked, and while his boots kept most of the water away from his feet, the bottom of his pants had already started clinging to his skin.

"Thank you," Steven added, then handed Cynthia an item. It was a handkerchief, presumably for her to dry herself.

The handkerchief was neatly folded, a memento from Rustboro.

"Thank you." Polite manners were drilled into her as a champion, it was a wonder they didn't seem to have any area in Steven's personality. Quietly, she watched as Steven raced off, standing there in the rain. Ah, it was so cliche. 

Her mind disconnected from her body again as she watched the other disappear. Part of her screamed to run after him, chase him down and try to make him remember. Cynthia's legs were frozen in place, waiting until Steven disappeared before feeling came back to them. 

He had paid for the bill, and was expecting her to leave. Instead, she remained in her seat, letting the tears flow as she watched him. 

Steven rose from his seat.

"You’re welcome," he said, and braced himself for the heavy rain outside. His suit would be ruined, but it didn’t matter. He had promised to leave if she didn’t, and he was going to keep his promise.

Cynthia paused when he stood up to leave, eyeing his still full cup of coffee. What a waste. After wiping away the tears, she caught up to him at the doorway, umbrella in hand. "I'll walk you home. You'll catch a cold walking in the rain like that." The umbrella was a gift, having the pattern of a steelix printed on the fabric. 

"If that is what you wish," said the man, relenting to what she wanted. If she wanted to leave instead of him removing himself — that was fine. 

He watched her catch the attention of a waiter, who gestured back that he would be with them shortly. Steven remained where he was, looking at Cynthia until the waiter arrived.

"That would be twenty-five dollars."

Steven’s hand slipped into his wallet and paid the waiter fifty, requesting that he kept the change. The waiter left, sensing something amiss in the atmosphere between the two.

He exhaled, and made the effort to initiate eye contact.

The eye contact between the two was so rare, Cynthia locked in on it. When had things gotten so chaotic and complicated? They had once had a "peaceful" gathering for tea before without any sort of viciousness on their behalf. They'd had the moment at Steven's house in Rustburo, the sunrise on Mt Coronet. 

He glanced down at her, his eyes looking at her in apparent confusion. As far as things were concerned now, she was an ex-colleague. Nothing more, nothing less. He was right to have quit his job as champion. 

"We’re ex-colleagues," Steven said calmly, "I thought we could share a table amiably, but I suppose we can’t."

He wasn’t sure what she was expecting from him. He had not expected to see her so soon — especially while he was still reeling from the incident that had transpired in the department store. 

"Would you like me to leave?"

It was still pouring rain outside, but Cynthia had thankfully brought an umbrella. She raised her hand to flag down a waiter, and asked for a check. "I'll leave you to your devices, and assumably better company." 

"Funny you know my name," he said dryly, raising the mug to his lips. He drank a small mouthful, letting the bitter coffee singe his tongue alongside the heat. "Cynthia, was it?" It was almost parroting her words, but it lacked a certain mocking tone to it; instead, it was sharp, recognizing.

This was a new person, and he was to share a table with her.

Strangers did not talk to each other.

The pregnant pause had given birth to quite the silence. Of course as per usual, Cynthia was the first to break it. "Why did you pretend to not know me?" She asked quietly, setting down her fork. Even as she said the words, a small spike of anger had to be pushed down. 

How exactly did this happen again? …

Right.

In a sickening twist of events, the café he had chosen to take shelter from the rain in Lilycove was packed to the brim with people. Having no choice but to share a table with someone else, Steven had made his way over to the first empty seat he saw, and sank into it —

— only to see who the person sitting across him was.

Cynthia Elyse Monet, woman whom he would really like to have disappear from his life for a while.

There was a bitterness in her tone, mocking almost. "Steven Stone, was it? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar. Please, who is it who honours me by sharing a table? My name's Cynthia." A wry smile. "You may have heard of me."

The sound of metal against ceramic as Cynthia dropped her fork on her plate was lost in the crowded cafe. However, there were more than one pair of eyes on Steven. Several people were looking at the two figures, a few muttered whispers. 

He flinched when their lips brushed against each other’s. The man pulled away, exhaling sharply. Involuntarily, he took a step back, finally forced to look her in the eye. 

His gaze was met by words he didn’t want to hear at all. What was he supposed to say here? That he felt the same way, just like how they did it on TV? Steven turned away.

Looking into her eyes felt strange. Different. It was out of place. His world didn’t welcome the intrusion.

"What are you talking about?" he said, apathy glazing over his eyes, and turned once again to leave the aisle.

The anger and sorrow she felt in White Forest surged up again. Cynthia grabbed Steven's arm before he could leave and turned him back around, or at least made herself present in front of him again. Her other hand came up to backhand him across the face, knuckles cracking against his skin.

Rage boiled across her face visibly, cheeks reddening. "You can pretend to not know what happened. But we both know what did. You sent me that text, what you thought was your last text. You love me, Steven. Do you know what it's like to get that from someone only to hear they're dead the next day? Do you have any idea what happened after that?" Cynthia seethed, not done yet.