You.

Wet. Dripping. Panting.

Your eyes, your smile, your body.

Here with him.

What if you were? 

He could trail his hands down your body, press you against the shower tiles, corner you between the wall and the translucent partition, then he could kiss and nip and suck everything about you. 

All the while wet, dripping, panting.

What if you whispered his name? 

What if he kissed you, soft and slow, what if you trembled at his touch? What if he could feel your lips, pressed against his, between his, feel your breath on his skin. He could start at your lips, then trail down. He could drag his lips down your neck, your throat, your collarbone, bare like that. What if you raised your hands over his shoulders, what if he trailed his fingers down your sides? What if he made you shiver, even with the hot water of the showerhead running over you?

Leon slams his knee into a bench, then jolts himself out of his fantasy with a hiss.

Immediately his face flares red with shame at how easily those lewd thoughts of you took over his mind. In a place as public as the public Wyndon Stadium showers… That was not a good risk to take. He tosses his gym bag onto the bench, then his hat, and he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. He takes a quick glance around.

There’s no one here, and it’s so after hours that even the cleaning crew has gone home.

…It’s late. And he’s alone. Maybe he could just…

No. No. Not in a public shower, at his job no less, what if someone came in?

He thought he was getting better at this, of shoving away those thoughts of you. 

And you didn’t even know. 

It took a lot for him crush on someone, and yet you waltzed right in like it was your job to make him a stuttering mess. And how you would tease him. No one else had the gall besides his close friends, and yet, you seemed to get away with it every time. Leon was usually quick with banter himself, but the second he met you, you immediately one-upped him, then one-thousand-upped him, and successfully ran him over with your wit and your charm.

Leon sighed, peeled off his sweaty shirt that clung to his body and flung it onto the bench. Maybe a shower would help clear his mind, though his mind seemed awfully fond of the idea of showering with you.

Alright, maybe he could think about Pokemon or something, consider tactics for his training match tomorrow.

You were training earlier.

You had that fire in your eyes, that wild and unabashed smile, that passion that oozed from every pore. He vividly remembers how your chest rose with each breath, how your pupils dilated with adrenaline, how you rushed up to him after your battle to immediately get his advice. Leon shakes his head to the present again.

Stop stop stop stop Leon, think about something else. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Yeesh.

He doesn’t even talk with you that often, maybe a couple times a week when your schedules align at the gym. He always makes a beeline right to you, only to make it there and realize he has nothing to say. You always say something though, something clever, and he usually laughs and usually thinks of something in return (never as quickly as he would want, though). He always hovers on the edge of caution in his words, though, so he’s sure you don’t know about his little crush on you.

Leon gathers his towel, soap, and shampoo, and heads to the showerhead at the end. Normally he has his private shower and dressing room, but that exhibition match with Raihan left it in dire need of maintenance (along with a few other rooms in Wyndon Stadium), so here he was, using the public ones. It’s late enough, though, so hopefully no one comes in. His staff isn’t starstruck like most fans, but the last thing he wants is an awkward conversation in the gym showers so late at night. 

Leon grimaces when he steps into the shower stall. It’s not even a stall, but rather a group shower with flimsy, translucent partitions between showerheads. The partition barely goes up to his shoulders, and only down to his knees. He wonders who he can talk to about the sheer lack of privacy these things provide - really it’s almost a joke, like a smug wink to whoever gets to be on the other side. He reaches his hand over it, waves, and can easily count all of his fingers, though they’re blurry. 

He doesn’t give the partitions much thought beyond that, as the shower knob creaks when he turns the water on. It splutters, then runs over him in a steady stream, trailing down his face, neck, chest, all the while collecting the bits of sweat, grime, and dirt from his intense training. Leon lets the water run over him for a few minutes as the steam swirls in his lungs, cleansing him from the inside out. He vaguely wonders what you’re up to at this hour. Probably sleeping.

There’s a rustle, the clang of a locker, and Leon groans inwardly. This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen: forced small talk while being butt-naked. Bathroom etiquette suggests that he doesn’t even make eye-contact, so hopefully whoever just came in follows those unspoken rules too.

“Hey, Leon!”

Leon’s eyes snap open and his blood goes cold.

Oh.

Oh no.

Please.

“Training late tonight too, huh?”

Dear Arceus, please, let this be a dream. Or maybe he’s dead, that’d be even better.

The seconds tick by, but the rustling of clothes doesn’t stop. When he accepts that those sounds aren’t in his imagination, he slowly turns his head.

And his stomach drops, because there you are, sweating, smiling, shining, and you give him a wave.

“I didn’t think anyone else would be in here,” you say. Leon forces a smile.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. He coughs, then clears his throat. “Yeah me either.”

And then, you ask exactly what he wishes you wouldn't ask.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask with a good-natured smile.

Flashes of his fantasies erupt in his brain.

You, asking that same question.

You, biting your lip seductively.

You, trailing your fingers up his stomach.

You, looking him in the eyes with your own hooded and hungry gaze.

Leon lets out a squeak.

“S-sure,” he says as he clears his throat to ensure his voice sounds much manlier than squeaking. “Group showers, couldn’t deny that even if I wanted to.”

“Would you want to?” you tease.

Leon swallows another squeak, and instead lets out a breathy laugh. There you go again, with your relentless teasing. How is he supposed to answer? Yes? No? Maybe? What would be charming and make him look like not a huge pervert? He’s faltering in a response, but you don’t seem to mind. The second he finds one, he looks back over to you, only to choke on his spit.

You’ve already pulled off your pants and folded them on the bench and are in the process of pulling your shirt up over your head. Leon’s eyes zigzag over your frame, unconsciously drinking in every inch of you as quickly as he can. Heat pools deep in his stomach, because you look just like he fantasized you would.

This is getting dangerous. 

You finally pull your head out from your shirt and toss it on top of your pants. Leon whips his head back to the shower wall, and squeezes his eyes closed as if to squeeze out that image of you. It’s already ingrained behind his eyelids though, properly stored in his brain so he can access it too easily. 

He hears more rustle of cloth, but he doesn’t dare look over again. You’re probably wearing nothing, your skin is probably glowing in the soft yellow light of the mirror lamps, and Leon suddenly wishes he had turned on all the lights when he came in instead of just the moody dim ones. Your bare feet pat against the tiled floor, and Leon holds his breath.

Please stay at the other end.

You pass the end showerhead.

Please stay at the showerhead second to the end.

You pass the showerhead second to the end.

Please stay in the third to the end.

You pass the third to the end, and Leon’s heart is beating in his ears the closer you step.

He squeezes his eyes closed again, though his fantasies push into his mind.

You, stepping in behind him.

You, curving your hands around his hips.

You, pressing yourself against his back.

You, kissing his neck, his shoulders, down his spine.

Leon lets out a shaky breath.

“You okay?” you ask, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Your voice is close, much too close, and Leon dares to peek as to which shower stall you picked.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised when he sees you’ve picked the one right next to his.

“Yeah,” Leon says. “Just had a long day of training.”

“Same,” you say as you turn on your own shower. You seem to notice his tension as you set your toiletries on the ground. “Don’t take it personally that I’m right next to you, this is the best shower. The temperature and the water pressure is perfect. If you were in this one I’d probably kick you out.”

Leon lets out another breathy laugh.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he says as he looks everywhere that isn’t you. 

“Or I’d ask to share,” you say with a lighthearted chuckle.

Leon’s heart pounds.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that either,” Leon says. His voice is too quiet to be teasing, and in his periphery he sees you furrow your brow.

“I’m wounded,” you say. “I think I’d make a great shower partner. I’d get all the spots on your back that you can’t reach.”

“I can reach all the spots,” Leon says stupidly, even though he can’t.

You switch subjects and start talking about your training, and Leon tries his best to listen. He needs to get his shampoo, but it’s sitting on the floor. Could he just… lean down and grab it? Would that be weird? But then he’d be nose to nose with that translucent partition, and effectively, nose to nose with your blurry and bare figure. He closes his eyes, pats around the ground, finds his shampoo, and stands straight again.

“Oh, can I borrow some of that?” you ask. “I left my shampoo in my other bag.”

Leon turns before he can think when you hold your hand out. He gets a glimpse of your smile, of your hair, wet and dripping, of your cheeks flushed from the steam. 

What if your face was flushed from something else?

He slaps that thought away, squeezes some shampoo into your open palm, and turns back to the wall.

Does he even need to shower? Maybe he could just dry off and shower at home and not risk you finding out about his crush in an embarrassing and non-gentlemanly way. He needs to calm down, because the heat that’s pooling in his stomach is getting needier and needier as seconds pass.

“Leon?” you say, and Leon jolts into focus again.

“Huh?” he grunts. “Sorry, what? I was… spacing out.”

“Yeah I can tell,” you say. “I asked why you’re in here and not in your own shower.”

“Oh, mine’s getting fixed,” Leon answers, and when you close your eyes as the water gently hits your face, Leon can’t stop himself from peeking.

There’s your frame, bare and blurry, behind the translucent partition. What if he stepped around it? Or better yet, what if it wasn’t there? What if he could step to you, press his thumbs into your hips, pull you into his chest?

He shakes his head into focus again. Yep, he can shower at his house, maybe take care of this tension at his house too. Leon rinses the shampoo out, rinses himself off, collects his things, ties his towel around his hips, and walks past you as quickly as he can, forcing his eyes forward the entire time. He barely makes it to his bag before he hears your voice again.

“Leon?” you ask. 

It’s quiet, much softer than what’s normal for you. He glances to you, brow furrowed at the hesitation in your voice. He can only see above your shoulders and below your knees, and you're backed far enough away from the partition so he can only catch the foggy color of your skin.

“Do you not like me?” you ask. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” Leon breathes. “What makes you say that?”

The only sound is the echo of the water hitting the tiles beneath you when you bite your lip.

“Whenever I talk to you, you barely respond,” you confess. “And I just… I feel like you’re really uncomfortable around me. I want to know what I did so I can properly apologize.”

What you did? How about who you are? Charming and captivating and attractive, always knowing what to say to get him to blush.

“You didn’t do anything, promise,” Leon says quickly. “It’s me. I’m always awkward when I’ve got feelings for someone.”

Your eyebrows raise, and so do his.

Oh.

Oh no.

Because there is that sly smirk, slowly inching onto your face.

“Feelings?” you repeat smugly, and you step forward and rest your chin on your fist and your elbow on the partition. “Little ol’ me? What kind of feelings?”

“W-well,” Leon stutters. “Y’know, like, platonically. A-as a friend, co-worker, u-um, a comrade.”

“Hm,” you hum, and you take a step towards the partition. Your figure is a little less fuzzy the closer you step. Dangerously less fuzzy. “Platonically?”

“Yep,” Leon squeaks as his eyes flick to yours, then to your blurry outline. You catch his slip when he stares for a second, and he meets your eyes, and abruptly turns. “I-I’m going to shower at my house.”

“Why?” you ask. “You don’t want to shower with me?”

His eyes widen again when he realizes what he revealed to you. His face is flaring red.

“The… the water is cold here,” he stutters. Leon steps around the shower wall to pull on his pants and pull on his shirt out of view of you and your blurry figure. He gets tangled, thanks to his damp skin, and he can hear your laugh echo in the room.

“I told you this one is perfect,” you say. “There’s plenty of room for you too.”

“A-and I need to feed my… my oven, since I left it on,” Leon blurts as he collects his things as fast as he can. “See you tomorrow!”

“It’s a date!” you call, and your words echo around in the showers, then down the hall as Leon rushes out.

Your words follow him, and that image of you and those fantasies stay unfortunately prominent in his mind, even when he gets home.