♡♡♡

Every tuesday afternoon, right after the lunch rush, you came in.

Always the same table by the window. Always polite, always smiling. Sometimes with Bianca, sometimes with Iris dragging Ash in behind her, loudly debating battles and badges. And sometimes, his favorite times, alone with a book or Pokédex open beside a half-finished cup of tea.

At first, you were simply a regular. A familiar presence, like the comforting aroma of freshly baked Casteliacones or the gentle clink of teacups.

But familiarity, Cilan knew, could deepen into something richer.

⸻

“Cilan!” Bianca’s voice rang out cheerfully as she burst through the café doors one afternoon, nearly tripping over the welcome mat. “We’re heeeere!”

“I think he can see that,” Iris laughed, dodging around her. Ash followed, already scanning the menu like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Cilan smiled, adjusting his bow tie. “Welcome! Please, take a seat- oh! And hello to you as well.”

His eyes flicked, almost instinctively, to you.

You looked up from your phone and smiled back. “Hey, Cilan. Busy day?”

“Always,” he said smoothly, though his heart did a small, undignified flip. “But some days are… particularly enjoyable.”

Ash leaned over the counter. “Whoa, what’s that smell? Did you make something new?”

“I did,” Cilan replied, professional composure snapping back into place. “A new dessert! Sweet but subtle. I was hoping to get a second opinion.”

Bianca gasped. “Ooo! Can I try it?”

“I think,” Cilan said, glancing at you again, “that I already had someone in mind.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, suddenly very aware of how warm his face felt. “Your palate is… quite refined.”

Iris smirked immediately. Bianca’s eyes sparkled with unfiltered curiosity. Ash, blissfully oblivious, just shrugged. “Cool! More food!”

⸻

Later, once the others were distracted. Ash was devouring pastries, Bianca was rambling about shopping plans, and Iris was teasing a flustered waitress. While you found yourself alone at the counter as Cilan carefully set a small plate in front of you.

“Take your time,” he said softly. “Tell me what you think.”

You tasted it. Honeyed, with a hint of spice. Balanced. Thoughtful.

“…Wow,” you said. “It’s really good. Comforting, but interesting. Like it makes you want to slow down and pay attention.”

Cilan froze.

Then he smiled. Gentle, genuine, and just a little shy. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

Your eyes met, and for a moment the café noise faded into the background.

“I’m glad you like it,” he added. “Truthfully… I’ve always enjoyed your visits. They make the atmosphere feel warmer.”

You laughed softly. “Funny. I keep coming back for the same reason.”

From across the room, Iris whispered, “Oh my God, JUST CONFESS ALREADY.”

Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! You’d be so cute together!”

Cilan cleared his throat, flustered beyond belief. “I-I believe that is quite enough commentary from the peanut gallery!”

You smiled at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “So… maybe next Tuesday, you could sit with me? Instead of working?”

He adjusted his bow tie, eyes bright. “I would be delighted. After all… some interactions are worth savoring slowly.”

And this time, when you came in on Tuesday, the seat across from you was already taken- by a smiling connoisseur who had finally realized his favorite thing on the menu was you.

Then you see him.

Raihan stands at the altar, tall and steady, a dragon carved into a suit instead of armor. Best man. Of course. He looks older in the way mountains do- unchanged, but heavier with time. His hair is tied back neatly, his expression calm, practiced.

Until his eyes lift. They meet yours.

And just like that, years collapse.

The officiant clears their throat. Guests settle. Music swells. You step forward.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…

You remember another gathering, another crowd. A stadium roaring your names as he raised his fist to the sky, victory blazing in his grin. You’d been in the front row, screaming yourself hoarse, knowing every move he’d make before he made it.

You walk closer.

…to celebrate the union of two people who found each other against all odds…

Against all odds you’d found Raihan in the chaos of travel and tournaments, in late night calls across regions, in borrowed time between battles. You’d loved him in fragments at first, then in whole days, then in dreams of a future you were both too afraid to name.

Raihan’s jaw tightens. Just slightly. You notice. You always did.

Love is patient.

You remember waiting. Waiting for his season to end. Waiting for the call that said he was ready for a much needed break. Waiting for a moment where you didn’t come second to a challenge, a rival, a title he carried like destiny.

Love is kind.

He’d been kind. In his way. Big hands careful with yours. Quiet apologies when he missed anniversaries. That time he stood outside your door in the rain because he’d forgotten how to say I’m scared to lose you.

It does not envy.

You swallow.

You’d envied the stadiums. The challengers. The way the world seemed to make space for him while asking you to shrink.

The aisle feels impossibly long now.

It does not boast.

Raihan doesn’t look at the crowd. His eyes stay on the officiant. Professional. Controlled. You wonder if he’s holding himself together the same way he did the night you told him you couldn’t keep orbiting his life anymore.

It is not proud.

You’d both been proud. That was the problem.

It keeps no record of wrongs.

You do.

Every missed call. Every “just one more match.” Every time you’d smiled and said I understand when what you meant was please choose me.

Your partner turns to you, smiling. Warm, present, here. You return it because you love them. You do. It’s a quieter love, a steadier one. No stadiums. No countdowns. No goodbyes that taste like unfinished sentences.

But still-

Love always protects, always trusts…

Raihan shifts. His hands curl at his sides. You wonder if he’s thinking of the last night you spent together, sitting on a hotel balcony with the city glowing below, both of you pretending dawn wasn’t coming.

…always hopes…

You had hoped. He had too.

Just not in the same direction.

…always perseveres.

The officiant asks if anyone objects.

Silence stretches, thin and fragile.

Raihan doesn’t move… of course he doesn’t.

He knows when a battle is already over.

Do you take-

You say your vows, voice steady despite the way your chest aches. You talk about choosing each other every day, about building a life that feels like coming home. And you mean it.

Still, when it’s over, when the officiant declares you married, when the crowd erupts into applause. You hear Raihan exhale.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Relieved. Or broken. Maybe both.

At the reception, he keeps his distance. Best man duties performed flawlessly. Speech delivered with warmth and humor and just enough distance that no one suspects anything.

But later… later, when the music softens and the lights dim, you find him on the balcony.

The same habit. Different night.

“Congratulations,” he says. His voice is steady. He’s always been good at that.

“Thank you.” You mean it.

A pause. Wind moves between you.

“You look happy,” he adds.

“I am.”

Another pause.

“I’m glad,” he says. And this time, you believe him.

You stand there, two people shaped by something that didn’t last but never really left. There’s no confession. No dramatic reach. Just the quiet understanding that love can be real and still not be the thing you keep.

When you turn back toward the party, Raihan stays behind.

Watching the weather.