#pinkideal

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

“C’MON GOLDY-BOY~ WHO’S YOUR MAMA! SAY IT DAMN IT, SAY IT!!”

“ALL YOU SHORTS QUEEN!”

...

One of these days he’s going to have to get this wild as hell imagination in check. Truly. In the meantime, he’s not buckling at neither her or that part time suggestion. If anything, it causes his brow to raise, glad there was some bite in that statement. “Not good either, I’m smacking into my head onto the top of people’s door ends when I walk through it. Buuut but but, y’know you coulda just took my damn knees out, right? You really do have some next level control on that temper.”

     My partner abuses my lowered guard in her presence to snatch my faithful hat from me, plopping down a likewise red and white stocking cap in its place.  Momentarily, I’m taken aback, the words forming in my mind to ask her what in Arceus’ name she’s doing, dolling me up like a Delibird.

     Then, I see the bright beaming smile on her face and the identical hat atop her head.

     I’m not much for holidays, this one being no exception.  I’d rather be doing something more worthwhile with my time than contribute to the mandatory celebration of an event of artificial significance.  By the same token, I don’t need a designated date to give someone I care about a gift.  But seeing this girl in front of me practically radiating Christmas cheer...

     Well, maybe it couldn’t hurt to let myself get roped into some of this nonsense.

     With a sigh of resignation, I reach for the brim of my cap on reflex, tugging on plush fabric in its place, refusing to acknowledge the growing warmth in my cheeks.  “...If you insist, I’ll see if I can avoid playing Scrooge this year.”

      Gasp!  What have you done?!  The laws of this world cannot abide this profani-

      Oh.  Well, if you insist, I supposed it’d be rude not to.

     What!?  Why is she asking me about that?!  I thought C-Gear surveys were supposed to be anonymous!

     Alright, stop panicking, she’s going to notice you panicking and then she’s going to get suspicious and then she’s going to figure out you’ve got a crush on her!  Stop freaking out and remember the two step program!

     Step one, deny everything.

     “I, uh, don’t know who could’ve pinged your C-Gear with that, what with all the passerby surveys we get.  …I guess I wouldn’t be inclined to disagree with them though.”

it's been about a year now, now that he thinks about it.

a year since it ended, and a little longer since it all started, since he met that trainer for the first time.

she's always at the back of his mind, often envisioned but never named; he isn't sure why he avoids it. he remembers it, but even in his thoughts, he skirts around it. it isn't as if he doesn't think of her fondly, but somehow...

somehow, he feels like if he says it, or even thinks it, he'll feel... something. feel what? sad? maybe... but then, why would he be sad? he likes... there it is again, can't say her name, can he? but... he doesn't hate her, so why-- god, he doesn't even know anymore.

"... complete nonsense," n sighs heavily. he isn't sure why he's thinking about this right now anyway. it's just frustrating, he has no idea why it feels so taboo, and he's the only person who could possibly answer that question.

he's had enough with it. he stands from the rock he'd been seated on, stretches, and heads deeper into lostlorn forest-- a favourite spot of his-- in the hopes he might outrun his own train of thought, but soon finds himself going right back to it.

his gaze is kept steady on the dirt beneath his feet, but without a doubt, he's not seeing a single thing at the moment, with his brow furrowed and chin held in one hand signifying he's completely lost inside his own brain. why is it, exa(bump)ctly, he can't stop thinking about it? what's the reas--

     Two?  You have to count on the stars aligning just to get one cone from that shop.

     “You waited that long in line for me?  Hilda, I can’t-”

      …No, it’s those puppy dog eyes that I can’t say no to.  After all the time and effort she put into it, if I didn’t accept her generosity, I’d feel even worse than I do about her putting herself out for me.

     I take the ice cream from her without any further protest, giving it a cursory lick.  Trying to not to think about how it looks like I’m devouring a Vanillite, the creamy, cool vanilla washes over my palette.  The absurd wait is almost reasonable for such undeniably gourmet ice cream.  Yet even with one of my guilty pleasures, seeing Hilda so enthusiastically enjoy her own cone is the real treat.

     My free hand tilts the brim of my hat down as I try to from the words.