#sapphirexruby

Of all things she could conquer, his heart was the missing puzzle piece.

An impossible space.

Almost intangible.

There’s that saying after all, to “Hold on tightly, let go lightly.” In the end, you’ll only find yourself hoping for something that’s almost non-existent and with any luck, realise that you don’t need to keep tugging on it anymore.

She sits at the edge of her bed, legs swinging aimlessly against the cooper-wood. Bright cerulean eyes stare wistfully outside the window, watching the indigo hues flutter into a cloudless morning, eloping the vast expense with the sun’s rays. It was beautiful, to say the least. She never believed in the sublime of anything other than nature and came to think of it as the world’s form of apology. An apology for the calamities of nights that she held on to nothing but purposeless faith, floating into the great abyss of her memories – an insignificant shade of claret that haunted her mind, constantly, constantly.

Life was none but pulchritudinous. That and misfortune.

A breath escapes her mouth as she quietly stumbles out of bed. There is a thud as her feet hit the floorboards and she trudges through her cupboards, ransacking the compartments for something decent. Two hours, she gives herself. Two hours to pull herself together and do something – productive. What else can she do? Meandering through the days as she waits for competition to arrive, it’s almost meaningless now. There’s a sad ache in her heart as she recalls the moments where she truly once felt alive – stinging fire in her veins, battling others who fell through with their great desires to triumph the Champion of the Elite Four.

The conqueror, they call her.

The four spend their lives waiting for opponents but only a few do manage past – rarely anyone manages to reach to the pinnacle of the battle and even if they finally did; she’d crush them. So what if she’s crowned the Champion? It feels hollow now as she struggles to figure out what to do in her life. She peers reluctantly at her bathroom mirror, tracing her cheekbones tenderly. It’s a train wreck of waiting and training, intervals of fighting and resting. There’s not one trainer who can dance toe to toe with her. It used to be fascinating to watch different people come and go: now it’s just a pain.

But, then again, there’s so much magnificence in that agony.

She finally trudges out of the bathroom and decks on a pair of slacks and her training top; the usual sleeveless one she dons on for battles. At the corner of her eyes, she sees an old outfit sticking out like a sore thumb in the mist of the dullness. The striking rubicund that resembles the ruby of his eyes and the bandanna laid upon it, almost like a broken warrior. She realises that she’s stopped breathing. It’s so nostalgic and she wonders why she still keeps it there in the first place.

A reminder that she’s not of his world.

A reminder that he’s just going to forget everything again.

When she walks out the door, she swallows that haunting thought and feels the morning mist chastely kiss her skin.

There’s something about mornings that shatter her dismal feelings, the brilliance of morning dew sprinkled onto the fur of the forest. The constant patter of her footsteps on gravel keeps her heart at pace, the crowing and cawing of diverse brightly feathered Pokemon in the distance. There is a spring in her step as she trudges down to Mauville’s market, unobtrusively wishing for something stimulating to happen.

Turns out she shouldn’t have coveted for so it transpired.

The market was bustling with people, both Pokemon and trainers alike pushed around the marketplace, eyeing the morning fish catch and trying to haggle prices with vendors. Shouts from vendors came from every which way, shrieking about freshly picked apples and fascinating stones obtained from the beaches. The salty stench of fish fills the air as she shoves her way through the crowd, distinctly murmuring under her breath. It’s slightly uncanny that the crowd chose to flock Mauville’s marketplace this morning – is there some sort of event going on today?

Further daydreaming in her distant mind, she did not anticipate the sudden barrelling boy and his Pokemon. There’s an instant crash as she realises the hurried figure and tries to dart hastily away, but to no avail. She accidentally knocks him onto a fruit display and oranges, berries and apples fall ungracefully onto the ground, pummelling by the hustling passer-by’s. Rapidly, she finds herself speechless at the display and almost cowers at the fierce glare of the fruit seller lady. Clumsily, she picks the fruits up from the floor and stacks them neatly back into the carts, all whilst quietly murmuring an apology.

Being a Champion has its perks.

Usually, people will stop and gasp in unison – it’s the Champion, they would shrill in fascination.

Today didn’t seem to be her day.

In fact, she’s still slightly taken aback that no one has recognised her yet.

The boy whom had stumbled onto her and cast her an annoyed stare before hurrying off with his Azurill in his hands, not even turning back to help her pick up the fallen fruits. Internally irate, she groused about the fact that nothing seems to be going her way today. Apologising one last time to the fruits seller, she found herself trying to find the boy and give him a piece of her mind. After all, any decent Pokemon trainer should be able to recognise her face – unless to which he isn’t a Pokemon trainer and she’s about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

Then again, he barrelled his way into her.

He deserves to know how she feels about that.

Scurrying through the sea of people, she spots the blue flash of Azurill, it’s huge tail giving it away almost instantly. The trainer seemed to be in a panic, urgently pushing past the crowd and for a moment, she decides to focus of his object of haste instead of reprimanding him. There’s usually nothing interesting happening in this part of town. Not that she knows of. An accident of some sort, perhaps?

Then she spots it.

Or rather, spots him.

She can recognise those crimson eyes anywhere.

A snarl escapes her mouth as she halts her chase. The trainer with his Azurill struggles his way out of the market crowd to dive deeper into a sea of a starting throng of Pokemon fans, all gathered near the contest hall entrance, seemingly entranced by something – or someone.

So that’s where the crowd is coming from. She can’t help but let out a irritated huff.

And he’s still wearing that stupid white hat.

She’s been meaningfully avoiding contests halls and it just takes one imprudent trainer to lead her right to one. Not just anyone, the one with him, standing arrogantly in his senseless glory and his obtrusively over-dressed Pokemon. For a splitting moment, she feels a tinge of jealously. They recognise him but not me? The green eyed monster envy twisted into rage.

He’s calling out in that melodramatic way of his once more, adjusting his hat as he scans the crowd of Pokemon maniacs, seemingly to try to spot out someone. The boiling rage simmers a little, is he looking for her? The ruby eyes stop at someone and he yelps in fascination. There’s hankering and movement as the same trainer and Azurill, who had obliging barrelled past her, steps up next to him, nervously grinning as if he won an award. He grabs the trainer’s Azurill gently and looks, stingily she thought, lovingly at it.

So much for looking for her.

She can’t hear them through the vast crowd chatter but she can tell for a fact that he’s just picked his apprentice. If the television holds true, he’s probably been finding an apprentice or some sort to fall under his wing. Again, not that she keeps up with news like this, contests disgust her. Immensely. And he makes it ten times worse. She has avoided all associations with him and she plans to keep it that way.

He’s currently talking in that excited tone of his as he praises the hand-picked boy and his Pokemon. Of course, trust him to pick the boy who decides to bash onto her in a crowded marketplace, of all people. The gathered troops yell in congratulations and she can’t help but let out another livid huff. She doesn’t pick an apprentice like that because of the dramatics – again, not like she knows of anyone whom she’d like to put under her wing. Not one single soul approached her anyhow and she feels that green eyed monster bob back up to surface.

It immediately vanishes when his eyes reached hers.

There is a very pregnant pause before she flushes wildly and breaks eye contact.

Harshly, she twists away from that gaze and stalks back into the marketplace, ignoring the burning stare behind her back. She feels no remorse nor guilt as she speedily maneuverers through the masses. So what if he sees her – he’s never been the one to admit anything after all, nor did he even think about visiting her. Ever since he forgotten the embarrassment of Mirage Island, she treats it as a gift – a cruel gift bestowed to her and she’s never once looked back.

Nor at him.

She lives her life as a Pokemon Champion and waits for challengers to battle.

Secretly, part of her waits for him too.

Silently, she turns back and there is a tinge of sadness when she realises he’s not chasing after her – nor were his eyes trained on her any longer. A wave of relief swallows her as she trudges through the marketplace and heads to where she initially wanted to visit. There’s a few stares on her way but they seem more engrossed in the contest crew in the distance. It doesn’t matter either way, she just wants to get her things and be on her way. There’s no point standing around here, especially with him around.

The crowds lessen at the corner of the marketplace where a small wooden stall shop owner is rearranging bottles. Small ink pots filled with umber coloured liquids stood forward, tiny labels read ‘Protein’ and ‘Iron’. She gives a little wave as the shop keeper finally emerges from his reshuffle, a concentrated look upon his old face. The wrinkles on his face etched into something of a grin as he acknowledges her wave with his very own.

“’Ay lass,” he greets with a lopsided smile, folding his arms onto the wooden cart table. “The usual?”

She eyes the ember liquid anterior of her. A pause follows as she tries to formulate the words in her mind; she hasn’t spoken in a while – there’s almost no need to anymore.

“Yeah,” She manages, her voice gritty and monotone, “I’ll have the usual.”

She’s surprised at the fact that she accomplishes a smile.

The old man flashes her a cheery wink and dives into his backpack, digging rapidly for something. He grabs two vials of russet coloured liquid and hands it over to her, beaming the way he usually does. She pauses, almost entranced by that silly old grin on his face before obtaining the vials.

“That’ll be 20,000.” He chirps.

She nods slowly. Quickly, she shoves her hands into her pockets, as if excavating for gold from the mines.

“Been a while since ya’ve come around yonder’,” The old store keeper watches her as she succeeds to pull out a few notes, gently placing it on the table. “What’cha been up to?”

She hurriedly stuffs the vials into her emptied pockets and looks up, a blush creeping to her face. She used to shop at Mauville’s open bazaar market fortnightly. Used to. Of recent, she’s just been lounging around her house, training at her nearby forest and not opting to socialize outside. Not that she enjoys it, after all. She prefers being in solitude.

She shrugs as a reply and the old man takes it as his que to start some small talk.

“Ya’ here for the contest picking?” He counts the notes on the table leisurely, tracing the edges. “Heard some famous laddies’ here to choose a student.”

She shrugs again, her cheeks filling in the rosy blush. Inaudibly, she internally curses at the fact that she’s partially upset at the fact that he’s more well-known that she is. One might say she’s just cross at her comeuppance, being less than what he is. One might say she’s just upset that people know him better than she does.

“Not much for talking huh,” The old man pockets his payment and casts his bright green orbs at her. “I’ll see ya around, lassie.”

She nods and flurries away.

The crowds are lively. Much too lively. She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, nor does she wants to, but she catches little snippets of banter from the throng of people. Squeals of “he’s here!” to “I should’ve been the one he picked” ranged from the chatter of noise; she shakes them off, not wanting to participate in banal conversations. However, as she makes her way out of the market, she hears a morsel of something most unfortunate.

Most unfortunate for her indeed.

“Even the contest champion scouts for students,” The voice goes, shrill and petty. “Why doesn’t Elite Four’s champion do anything like that?”

There’s a snort from her friend.

“Haven’t you heard?” He grunts, a nasally snuffle. “She’s just a recluse. Doesn’t even go up to Evergrande city unless the four are completely thrashed.”

She sucks in a sharp intake of breath. She’s done here for today. Nothing is going her way and she’s not about to sit here, and take it all in like a punching bag. She pushes her way out, purposefully knocking onto the people who had misguidedly gossiped about the Elite Four’s own champion right in front of her face. There’s an angry retort but she smirks snidely away – they deserve it. Silently, she shakes her head at her own rancorous behaviour.

A loud thunder clap catches her attention and her sneer forms into a frown.

Perhaps if she runs, she’ll get home without getting wet.

Her footsteps thump heavily onto the ground as she forcefully glares at everyone in her direction, causing them to avoid her like the plague. She doesn’t care about the stares that come her way, it was a stupid idea to go out anyway, she should’ve stayed home. The sky above swirls into a dull dark mess, almost like her mind, lightning now streaking across the grey shades of painted storm clouds. There’s a drizzle of raindrops and she curses her luck, feeling the droplets grow heavier as she brisk walks through the pathway back to her home.

It’s located quite a distance away from Mauville but thankfully, she reaches to her doorstep just in time as the rain started to pour down heavily, the pitter patter drowning the disappointed yelling in her heart. It’s invigorating, she decides, as she steps into her small cottage home, at least she knows how the public eye views her, even as malicious and partially untrue as it is. It’s not that she’s a hermit, she just feels misanthropic. Who needs people when you have Pokemon?’

Then again, she thinks as she dries herself off with a soft towel, she hasn’t spent much time with her Pokemon either.

She’s still a hypocrite but she’s fine. She’s fine with people forgetting about it. She’s alright with it, she can live with the fact that she’ll possibly be forgotten and replaced.

She takes a warm bath to sink her hollowed thoughts away. The scent of citrus fills her nose as she plunges into her bathtub, soaking, drifting off to a distant memory of her an- there’s a sudden panicked banging on her front door. For a moment, she’s distraught: no one knows exactly where she lives. What if it’s those kids she vehemently bumped onto? Did they really stalk her back – I mean who would?

Then it hit her.

Oh. Right. The Elite Four. It’s not a daily occurrence but it’s not rare either. She doesn’t stick around Evergrande to watch the battles take place every day – not that that’s a daily occurrence either, but they do come knocking on her door from time to time, requesting her to make her way for a battle.

Perhaps the Elite Four have met a challenging competitor. She’s bound to have her pedestal taken away from her one day – perhaps it’s today. The same thought toyed with her mind constantly, but it’s never truly come to light. She doesn’t know if she’s thankful or upset. She’s back in her clothes in a flash, draping a towel over her head as she clumsily shuffles to the door, wondering which one of the four has decided come this time.

The knocking on the door grows insistent and she elects that it’s most probably Phoebe. She’s the only one impatient enough to keep banging against the wooden door.

It’s not Phoebe.

In fact, it’s none of the Four.

As soon as she opened the door, she slams it shut

She’s hallucinating.

He is not here, dripping and soaked to the skin, with that puerile smile on his face.

She’s dreaming.

Another knock on the door confirms that she’s not.

His voice, however, almost kicks her in the teeth.

“Sapphire,” And it’s the same way he’s said it since they’ve seen each other. That soft gentle melodious tone that’s almost honey-sweet yet sincere, resilient – something she’s missed awfully. His voice hangs in the dreary patter of raindrops on her window panes and she stares at the door; she stares at it with utter disbelief.

The second thought that crashed in her mind was the fact that he potentially pursued her back home.

Is he here to laugh at my misery? She reaches for the doorknob once more, unhurriedly, feeling each second tick pass morbidly. Is he here to quote my misfortune? Why is he here? Why is he here when I’m nothing but forgettable to him? She feels the cold brass of the knob and tries to still her heart to freeze the same way. There’s no point in pretending that she’s fine but there’s no point in telling him the truth.

There’s a click as she opens the door slightly and peers out.

He’s still standing there, drenched to his toes and looking rather put out. At the sound of the door creaking open, his pursed lips form into a big grin and he adjusts his soaked hat, seemingly trying to tip it as a form of salutations. She doesn’t respond to his smile nor does she invite him in. She avoids all eye contact, inwardly bellowing at him to leave.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

“Can I come in?” He questions unobtrusively, rapping his fingers on the wood door.

She finds herself making way for a rain-marinade boy to enter her abode. Something is bawling at her to halt, to chase him out, but she doesn’t have the heart to do it. Today’s just not her day. There’s complete silence between the both of them as he unlaces his boots and places them neatly near her shoe rack. She’s not ready for this, she’s not strong today and she’s definitely dreaming.

The wine-coloured eyes beseech her gently.

“I –“ She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she noiselessly takes her semi-wet towel and passes it to him. It’s silly really. He’s the closest thing she can call a friend and yet, she feels as if he’s nothing but a stranger. He grabs the towel and pats his face dry, shooting her a jovial beam as he slings it over his shoulders.

They stand there for a while and she realises she feels so very naked.

She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable.

He lets out a strangled cough.

It’s awkward. She’s awkward. She trains her eyes to the ground and tries to remove that lump in her throat. It takes a few moments before she decides to speak again.

“You’ve got a student.” She manages to splutter. How eloquent. It’s not like she’s ever been expressive with him anyway. His eyes were possibly burning holes in her head but she refuses to look back up. She doesn’t want to look at those eyes, it’s unbearable. What a way to start a conversation, no wonder she’s never really been the conversationalist.

“Uh, hah. Yeah.” He sounds tired. Almost defeated, even.

“Great.” She replies unenthusiastically.

There, she felt the most excruciating obstinate silence ever in her life. They didn’t speak. They stand motionlessly in front of her shoe rack, and she began to observe nothing else but her running shoes. The sky thundered in the distance and it sounded as if it was laughing mercilessly at them.

She breaks the silence first, unable to stand the heat of his stare.

It’s agonizing to spectate the loudest silences in the world.

“Um, do you want dry clothes?” She gestures to his wet clothing, slicked to his skin. It’s probably designer, she thinks to herself, and he’s most likely upset that it’s wet.

He chuckles lightly.

“I doubt I can wear your garb.” He jokes.

“I’ve got some –“ She stops herself quickly. She’s got some of his old clothes lying around somewhere that she refuses to throw. “Extra bigger sized clothes.” She finishes lamely, scratching her head. Without waiting for a reply, she manages to move her rooted legs and scurries to her bedroom, thrashing through her cupboard. It’s crazy. She’s dreaming. He’s clearly uncomfortable and he’s made it clear he’s nothing but an amnesiac. What is she doing?

She picks out the slightly torn white shirt and oversized shorts from a pile of her old outfits that he designed for her. Once.

She doesn’t waste time.

There footsteps as she flails gauchely down the hall and catches him taking off his white hair, shaking it as it dangles like a pair of floppy ears. She halts for a second, her eyes now drawn to the two deep claw marks on his head, a memory that laid like a dormant volcano in her mind. Ruby orbs flashes to her. Noticing her sudden gaze, he immediately shoves his soaking hat back on, a false smile plastered on his face and all of a sudden, she wants him, very badly, to leave.

“Those look familiar,” He tries to jest and she’s this close to just kicking him back out in the downpour. “Don’t they belong to me?”

She grits her teeth and nods ever so stiffly.

Handing over his clothes, she points weightily at the toilet door, signalling for him to change there instead. With that, she turns on her heel and retreats to the kitchen, once more feeling his gaze burn a huge hole in her back. She ignores the slam of the toilet door and tries to figure out a way to make him leave, politely. Years ago, she would’ve thrown a fit that even toddlers couldn’t compare with. She’s too lacklustre. She’s exhausted. She’s worn out from years of being incensed. The fire has been put out, strangely enough by those flame-coloured pools.

There is a click as the bathroom door reopens and he’s standing there, in his old shirt and shorts. She frowns deeply at the obviously wet hair that sits upon his head but doesn’t say anything about it. If anything it’s the trigger to all things awful and she doesn’t want to go through all of that again. He begins to travel through the hallway down to the kitchen, observing the very portrait of her and her Pokemon team that defeated the Elite Four and crowned her champion. He probably realises that it’s the very first thing people will see when they walk in.

He’s judging her. She knows it.

So what? She thinks grumpily, pouring a jug of tea into two small cups. At least she doesn’t create her own Pokemon cosplay costumes.

“Here.” She offers him a small porcelain cup as he approaches, bagging his wet clothes before smiling back at her. “So,” She clears her throat, feeling awfully hot all of a sudden. “How’s life?”

It feels strange.

Speaking to him so formally as if she’s carefully treading on thin ice.

“Great.” He answers politely, cupping the sky blue porcelain demitasse fondly, “I’ve gotten busy with my own fashion line but other than that, it’s been well,” He takes a small sip of the tea and exhales slowly. “It’s been the same.” His eyes trails over to her and she quickly looks away, feeling her face heat up.

“How about you?” He enquires. There’s something hollow about their conversation. As if something is missing. A large chunk of what they want to say is coveted by politeness. There’s so much to say, she thinks, examining her fingernails as if they were the most fascinating objects in the world, there’s so much to say but she’s happier if she’s mum.

“Fine.” She answers almost robotically. “Battling, training and living. It’s the life.” She sounds like she’s rehearsed this too many times.

Silence engulfs them once more.

They sip tea.

The rain patters violently against the windows.

She wonders why he’s here but doesn’t voice it out. There’s no point, she tells herself.

“I visit Evergrande sometimes.” His voice drifts off and she freezes, her cup hovering near her mouth. “I never see you there, though.” He lets out a chortle.

She tries to smile but it ends up more of a grimace.

“Uh-huh.” She looks away, thinking of an excuse. “I’m busy training.”

“Even though you’ve conquered it all?” There’s a clank as he places his cup on the kitchenette.

She nods.

“Worried you’ll lose your title?” He quips lightly.

She bristles suddenly.

“At least I’m not giving it away willy nilly.” She scowls.

There’s a pause.

The atmosphere turns tense once more and she’s got this uncontrollable urge to just ask him to get out. She halts herself from doing so, quickly dusting her pants quietly, pretending that she’s occupied with something else so she doesn’t need to look back into those pools of hurt.

“I –“ She tries to salvage it but to no avail.

She can’t seem to form words.

He decides to finish them for her.

“I came here for a reason, actually.” He speaks tentatively, turning away from her. “What?” Curious, she looks back up and sees him rubbing his chin thoughtfully. They don’t make eye contact. They remain in that silence for a moment and she’s never felt this anxious for his reply.

He breathes a sigh.

“I wanted to –“ He stops himself.

She bites her lip to stop herself from shrieking at him.

What? She begs internally. What do you want?

“I want to be your understudy.” He finally exclaims, covering his face with his hands. “I know it sounds crazy –“ “Yes it does.” She agrees uncommittedly, feeling light-headed. “But I’m done with contests, I want to try something new.” “How is battling new?” She cuts in sharply, ignoring her wailing heart.

“You’ve done it before.” She points it out, lightly pissed. “What do you mean you want to be my apprentice?”

They have sparred side by side, they have sparred against each other – she knows what he’s capable of. She’s befuddled and her mind clouds over, has he really forgotten every single thing about her? The last time she checked, he only forgot everything that happened at Mirage Island, the confrontation, the confession. It burns like an unwavering flame at the back of her mind, an endless cycle of ruby red.

He looks perplexed as he peeks out from his fingers. There’s another beat of silence before he drops his trembling hands and starts fiddling with them. There’s so many things she wants to say to him yet she finds herself as silent as he remains. It’s excruciating to stand here with his endearing shyness, it’s definitely a nice breather from his usual constant flamboyance but it’s uncharacteristically uncanny.

“I’m sort of retiring after all,” He explains, twiddling his fingers around his tea cup. “Awards, trophies, they all will rust someday.”

“So will titles.” She adds on, glaring at his pale face. “And if you haven’t noticed, I don’t take in apprentices.”

“Are you afraid to be beaten?” He jests, sipping his tea once more and examining her kitchen. She lets out an annoyed huff as he continues, “I’ve heard you’ve gotten many a contender but never lost one.”

“They weren’t worthy enough.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air, recalling how she faced off with challengers filled with determination to win, it was adrenaline rushing – it was. Now it’s just stale competition, nothing fazes her because she’s pretty sure she’s nothing but numb from all the battles.

“Why not train one to be worthy?” He taps his fingers on his cup, trailing his eyes over to hers, “The Sapphire I knew valued challenges.”

There’s a point where time stops completely.

It’s peculiar how it just decides to slow-down so that you can witness each agonizing second and heed every single word.

The Sapphire I knew, she doesn’t hear anything other than that. You knew? She feels the bristles on her skin, face flushing with heat. There’s a moment where she berates herself to being over-sensitive but she sojourns when she noticing that cheeky smile on his face. You don’t know anything, she screams, clenching her fists. You forget me, you come in here and ask for something incredulous.

You don’t know anything.

It doesn’t escape her mouth.

It’s stuck in her throat and it tastes like bile.

There’s a long pause.

He seems to have notice the sudden terse look on her face and his smile falls flat.

“I’m just trying to help.” He says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve heard about how you isolate yourself away from everyone else.”

She grits her teeth.

“I’m busy training.” Her reply is stained with bitterness.

“There’s more to life than just holding your title.” He ripostes quietly, “You don’t stay long after your battles at Evergrande, you barely leave the house unless it’s to get food and you don’t even try to do anything else other than defeat people ceaselessly.”

There an awful lot of silences today. She can’t find the strength to scream at him, grab him by his shoulders and shake him till he realises – realises what? Her fists uncurl and she remains completely noiseless. The thunder outside chimes like a gravely growl, an impressive roar that seems to come from inside her chest and she can feel her heart sink. The rain continues its disastrous downpour as she silently stalks to the sink and drops the teacup with a loud clang.

It’s almost hopeless.

In fact, standing here in the dull lit kitchen, it feels like a nightmare.

“It’s been too long.” He murmurs.

She doesn’t turn around.

I don’t know what to do anymore, part of her yells; and that’s all she can say because that’s become her answer to everything. Even still, she knows that she still finds him in cold shallow coffee, in the pastel colours of the sunrise. He exists in the pages of the book she’ll never finish. He smells too much like wooden panels in the bedroom, it’s too comforting and she hates that. She detests it to her very core of her being. Something inside of her fights, pounds on the walls of her ribcage and finally the words tumble out of her lips, clawing it’s escape.

“You forgot.” She finds her mouth working thoughtlessly on its very own. “You forgot everything and yet, you stand here with the gull of asking me something I cannot do.”

On his part, he smartly remains stoically quiet.

“Everything fades away.” She breathes, feeling the cold kitchen panel with her palms. “Titles, trophies, friendships, memories,” her eyes linger on her fingertips, “It only hurts when it stays.”

There’s a trickle of a smile as she turns to face him.

“Why can’t I be an amnesiac?”

There’s an echoing thud in her chest as the tip of her ears turn rosy, her face is flushed – not out of embarrassment but disappointment. She finds herself seeking for something, something in those glassy eyes; perhaps a haunting cloud of recognition but all she sees is a solid wall.

“The thing is, I just can’t forget you,” There’s a dull ache where she thinks her heart used to be, it’s shattered now, bits and pieces dangling from her veins. “And no matter how hard I try, I still remember. It’s a burden, a huge cloud over my head and I can’t think straight because I wonder how you are and how you’ve been – and then it hits me.”

She can feel warm tears welling up.

“I realise you’ve forgotten everything and I can’t help remembering.”

It starts like a drizzle. Then a downpour.

It’s a mess. She’s a mess.

And he does nothing but watch.

The rain slows down to a halt.

It’s over. She tells herself. After this, everything will just go back the way it used to be. It’s just her and it’s fine that way. She insists. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.

And then he speaks.

“I’m a mess.” He whispers and there’s a light hoarseness to his voice. “I’m a mess without you.”

She looks at him and his eyes are glossed over, she’s never noticed the dark rings under his eye lids or the sparkle of the umber red against the glow of the dull overhanging lights. She knows he’s crying, there are tears, she’s unmistaken – tears of years of running.

“But then again,” he continues, letting his teardrop fall down his cheek and he’s trying his best to not falter, “I did this to myself.”

It’s almost too innocent, the way his brows are furrowed and the way he wipes his tears with his sleeves. There’s a sniffle somewhere as he rubs his eyes a little too roughly and when he opens them; they are as red as the flames in her gut.

“I tried to protect you,” he mumbles, clenching a fistful of his shirt. “I thought it was better if we just pretended we didn’t care. I failed before and I’ve failed again.”

He reaches out to his hat and drops it onto the floor.

“Every day, it’s a reminder of how I should forget.”

The scars are still deep. She knows them by heart. It’s sickly looking, darkened in colour and etched into the side of his forehead. It’s a memory etched in skin, of the time when they were just mere children, just playing around until they had to face the biggest challenge of all: the inkling of protecting someone you love. He was hurt and she was terrified.

She’s still terrified.

And he’s still hurt.

“I’m sorry.” His voice shakes. It shatters. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything.

If he’s a mess, he’s the most beautiful messes she’s ever seen. It’s tragic. It’s chaotic. Like a painting dipped into water, the colours are delightfully frantic, falling, seeping and pouring out of the outlines. There’s a mixture of deep blues and awfully bright yellows. Pale pink and dark brown. But it’ll be the most magnificent thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

Watercolours. His eyes are like watercolours.

It’s a wreck of splash paint but everything falls delicately into place.

“I’m sorry.” He finally stops repeating himself and picks up the soggy wet hat. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s okay if you’ll never forgive me, I just needed to –“ He lets out a snivel and squeezes his eyes shut. “I just needed to know you’re okay.” He turns to leave.

“I just needed to see you.”

With that, he leaves.

And she breaks. Like an ice sculpture shattering into smithereens upon the ground. It feels as if someone is crushing her heart, desperately trying to cling on and she lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Her feet start moving on its own and she finds herself flinging her arms out in despair, trying to grab the air as she bolts out the front door – not caring if it’s left open.

Her heart’s left open.

She catches sight of his hunched back, his hands shoved in his pockets, head down and she hurries forward.

“Stay.” She begs, reaching an arm out to stop him. “Please stay.”

He stops and turns, eyes widening in surprise.

She doesn’t halt and barrels directly into his chest, burrowing her face and sobbing uncontrollably. It’s awkward, it’s clumsy but she wraps her arms around him and wails for him to stay. It’s juvenile, she thinks, but she’s missed him so much – his way he gently tucks his chin next to her ear, an arm snaking around her waist. His stupid hair tickles her ear but she doesn’t care. He smells so much like sandal wood and mint, he smells so desperately of home.

His hand draws calming circles around her back as she tries to swallow back her tears.

“Don’t forget me again.” She snuffles, burying her face at his neck, “I don’t want to fade away.”

There’s something in his voice that assures her.

“I won’t.” he promises, “I won’t.”

Of all things she could conquer, his heart wasn’t the missing puzzle piece.

It was a possible space, forced apart by fear.

It was fear that she could not master.