The Idiot

So on, so forth.

The two move around, the booming sound of the bass running through their bodies and beating softly in their ribcage. The night was noisy, in a way that reminded León of the city. He sits at a corner, sun-kissed hand cradled over the pink drink he's been sipping at. He brings it up to his lips again, strawberry bursting over his tongue. Bodies sway and stumblr around the bar he's perched at, drunken voices calling out music-muffled orders and snatching the oncoming drinks.

On the other side of the room, closer to the bar sits a teacher, shoulders tense and eyes droopy. There's a shot of whiskey in front of him, golden-brown and full. His calloused hand taps against the table to the beat of the music. The neon lights of the club reflect off of his black hair, painting it an array of pinks and blues. Bitten nails scrape the table, and charcoal eyes meet bronze skin. Aizawa is half gone, tipsy and liquid courage seeping into his very core the longer he stares at León. Dark brown eyes meet his.

As the room blacks out and the music fades into the crowds cheers, León's feet carry him to this stranger's space.

León's smiling at Aizawa, charming and sweet. They chat for a while, accompanied by a new song playing. Pastel coloured nails stand out against Aizawa's black shirt, but the touch isn't uncomfortable. It's tentative, barely there. The sleeveless pink sweater vest looks cute on him. And so they both chat through the night, downing drink after drink until León bids his goodbye's and disappears in the crowd. The air buzzes cold in the empty space he left and Aizawa can't see much else to do other than down the rest of his drink. A sinewy finger taps the table to grab his attention.

"That boy is trouble, all he does is drink and dance all night."

Eyes blink up at the bartender, he nods and pays his tab. The night air is chilly, but beside the entrance stands León. A streetlight creates a halo around his head. In his mouth, there's a white stick. When he catches his eye, he asks what he has.

A lollipop, León explains, vanilla flavoured.

Aizawa nods his head in approval. León straightens himself, offering Aizawa company home. Aizawa agrees but keeps a cautious eye as they walk. Tattoos slither into sight, coloured masterpieces of carnations and peonies. Eyes trace each petal, each stem and leaf.

León hums himself a quiet tune, smiling to himself even through the silence.

And so the night goes.

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Jodi: The good news.

if twitter existed in the pokemon universe, there would absolutely be eevee twitter accounts that post stuff like this

i made some more and you can follow my second account @poketwt for more content like this