#displaced thoughts

Piers and Raihan smoke together often. Piers cut off cigarettes long ago, but he doesn’t miss an opportunity to “hotbox The Vault” with the Dragon Leader. It’s the perfect escape.

They listen to smooth electric, R&B, music that makes the world ebb around them like a cloud. It’s easy with Raihan, and he always has the best supply. Piers sometimes wondered if he grew it himself somewhere in the wild area. The League doesn’t exactly have a “no drugs” policy, but neither would let it impact their performance. That said, they still choose to keep it from Leon.

Piers feels like a hypocrite; he wouldn’t want Marnie to do this. He’d actively educated her on why, and given her a long leash with his trust, but what he feared most was Marnie using for the reasons he did. Piers used it as an out, as a way to forget his problems for a night. Sometimes he gets high enough to cry and let the stress that he holds to him hard enough to shatter all go. It’s a safe space with Raihan, and sometimes Piers has to be high to finally surrender weakness.

((It’s not always bad! Sometimes they rip a mean bong and cut up))

Piers - a chest blusher, especially when aroused. You won’t ever see his cheeks flush (unless he’s drunk), but if his shirt is low cut enough you’ll see where his chest begins to pink up around his heart. 10/10 swears he doesn’t blush; his lovers know otherwise

Leon - a full face blush. He would turn a deep ruddy color since he’s darker skinned than Piers, and his cheeks FILL with color. It’s quite endearing to see, be it embarrassed by his mother, or writhing under a good bout of oral

Wallace realized he had feelings first. Locked in a dreamy state of longing, Steven would be the object of his daydreams and fantasies, always within his gaze. Breathy sighs would be the extent of his giveaway though; Steven is out of reach. That’s no lack of confidence on Wallace’s part, but rather he can see that he is not on Steven’s radar; the debonair Devon heir is probably betrothed to some woman to have children with and carry on the Stone line. Different cities. Different walks of life. Different types of socialites. Wallace is a smart man and he knows fairy tales do not exist. One can still dream.

Steven made the first move. The realization took longer, but Wallace quickly became something important in his life. At a pause, he would realize Wallace is the only other thing in his life outside of stones and excavating that he’s wanted to give his attention to. The shift from coming home and only wanting to dig in the dirt would be rethought into wanting to come home and have dinner out with Wallace instead, this beautiful, intelligent man whom he admired so deeply. He would start including him in his interests, asking Wallace if he wanted to come and explore a cave with him, sure that it would be a no but not sure of what else to suggest. When instead it’s a yes, there is no more questioning. Amid the echoes of the cathedral, deep, deep in the cool underground, kneeling in the mineral-murky water that pooled on the cave floor, Steven would kiss him. Fierce, deep, putting all of his feelings on the line.

Surprised at first, it would take Wallace a moment to catch up, but once he did there was no turning back for the two of them. A life with out the other is a life unfulfilled.

Stress is manageable. When Raihan is stressed out or has too much on his mind, naturally he takes to the Wild Area to train. All he needs is to work off some steam with his team and he can get his mind back on track.

Stress from unrequited love is different. That sort of stress breeds a weariness that is suffocating, a weight on your chest. Raihan would leave his team behind in Hammerlocke and take only one Pokémon: Flygon. He would climb the highest peak and take off with his partner, take off and rise higher and higher into the dusky lavender skies while the sun is raw with the last ambers and golds of sunset, headphones in and music drowning over him. Music has a funny way of healing hearts and tapping into the rawest of emotions; someone special taught him that. The song would rise, dredging up all the hurt in his heart into a concentrated mass, and he himself would rise with Flygon. So in sync they don’t need words, Flygon would feel Raihan’s hands leave his neck as he stretched his arms outward, waiting, waiting for the squeeze of Raihan’s thighs, letting Flygon know he was ready. The music hit its peak, beat dropping.

And they would fall.

Only the grip of his thighs for balance, the tilt of his hips forward to lean into the fall and take the momentum, arms splayed and wind whipped. Through the clouds the pair would free fall and as the wind buffeted them, Raihan would take a deep breath, chest swelling, chest aching with his heavy heart, through his head back, and breathe. Exhale all of his pain and weariness into the wind, finally smiling as he screamed the lyrics of his song to be obliterated in the skies as he and Flygon fell further and further. He would fall until the sensation of weightlessness took everything away and he and Flygon became one with the wind and skies, nothing more.

As the sun set and Flygon unfurled to catch them on the drag before they hit the lake below, as they skimmed the water’s surface in the glide and rose back into the now dark skies, Raihan would heal.

Look at him.