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Fear/Mercy
Just what is it that compels a young man to wander this vast, unforgiving earth? Is it the desire to learn, to know all he can from his dark corner of existence? Is it the hope – the grasp for a glimmer of joy in his deepest shades of being?
Is this a journey of self-discovery? Of connections made? Of livelihoods learned? Of love and care and time forever shared?
Or is it an escape?
Then truly, what does memory say to those who wish their memories were lost?
Cale never would know any of these answers with a comforting level of certainty. He could only watch as Wyatt slept to him, then ponder just what it was about the moment that suited it so perfectly.
What exactly was it that had made his cozy, little apartment the most beautiful place in Goldenrod City?
From the bare, white walls, to the ceiling fan that spun low and slow over their weary bodies. The drink ring-stained nightstand with the alarm clock gleaming its time in glowing green: nine in the morning. The calendar on the far wall of a Vulpix sleeping by a rippling, grassy pond. It was late April, multiple days left uncrossed in spite of the month almost being over. The dresser by the window, drawers empty, most of the laundry left in assorted, heaping piles all around it.
What would his family think of him now? Lazy. Irresponsible.
Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.
Cale had already determined, however counterproductive, that it was none of these things after all. Beauty was in more than the material goods. He had realized, in his morning haze, that it was in the moment's component parts.
It was in the way the dull light of a cloudy spring afternoon fed through the deep blue curtains of the window, a tint like ice illuminating their pale skin.
It was in the way Cale's white t-shirt and gray sweatpants contrasted with Wyatt's black tank top and burgundy boxers. Still so different, even when they were so close.
It was in the way Wyatt's darkest brown stubble speckled along his rounded jaw, his face graced by the small smile that never really left the man, even in his dreams. It was in the way his broad arms wrapped tight around the ivory hunk of his pillow and his legs curled up against the sky blue blankets spread over Cale's bed.
It was all of this, and so much more that Cale could neither qualify or quantify. It was everything, and even more still.
Wyatt snorted in his sleep, then hummed. A lock of hair from the top of his head – his sides shaved – fell soft in front of his resting eyes. Cale knew that the man was content with himself.
And why shouldn't he be content? He was having the best sleep of his life, and after the best night.
Why did Cale know that? Because Wyatt had told him so. For all their time together, Wyatt said it each night, again and again, and every night Cale believed him.
What was this edge of trust on Cale's horizon? Why did he believe in Wyatt, this man sleeping on his bed?
In two hours' time, Wyatt would leave. He'd walk to the train that would take him to the airport, away from the Johto Region and back to Unova. Cale would be alone again.
Days ago, Cale wanted to be alone for the rest of his life. Now he wanted nothing more than to see Wyatt like this every morning, for as long as he could.
Just what was it that had brought them here, so close together?
Electric blue eyes wandering wide, Cale searched through his sordid memories of the last few days.
~
It was in contact and in care. It was movies and games and cheap meals and expensive meals and walks under the gray sky – between the towering buildings, the people and Pokémon wearing raincoats, sweaters, and galoshes that splashed through the puddles – they all kept their heads down and kept on living. It was an oppressive time of year, this early spring that had yet to bloom.
And it was beautiful.
And Wyatt had said, his voice high and smoky, his dark, earthen eyes low to the hardwood floors of Cale's living room, "I'm assuming you wanna hold hands… outside."
Then Cale, scratching at his beard and brushing back his blonde, wavy, messy hair, replied in a low and dry tone, "Kinda, yeah."
"Where people will see us," Wyatt added, raising a hand for certain emphasis. "Holding each other's hands."
Cale shrugged. "That might just happen."
Wyatt looked across the living room, at the old, off-white couch with the hole in its cushion, at the cheap, plastic light fixture flickering up above. At the widescreen TV playing a trivia game show neither of them seemed to know any of the answers to, but that a beaming Mr. Mime contestant was dominating. At the stove behind the living area that would probably never be used. At the refrigerator stocked with enough bottles of lemonade to make it through the next two apocalypses. At everything between the walls in their special shade of government-issue beige and below the ceiling that was probably a few inches too low to live at ease.
Wyatt looked at all of this and argued, "Fuckface, two days ago, you were too afraid to go outside. Now you wanna tell everyone how gay you are?"
Cale just laughed. Through a dry, weary chuckle, he reasoned, "We don't have to tell anyone, shithead. If they see us holding hands, they can think whatever they want to think."
"Well, they're gonna think we're gay."
"Which we are. Kinda."
And there were no further arguments after that.
Just them sightseeing Goldenrod City. With a trip to watch the dark, rugged sea waves roll along the bay, paying no mind to anyone who stopped to watch Cale in his pink letterman jacket and Wyatt with a slate gray tattoo of a cedar tree across his neck. Cale's bright hues with his stone washed blue jeans and white skate shoes. Wyatt's dark boots, darker cargo pants, and darkest woolen sweater. They were quite the sight compared to most of the unassuming residents of Goldenrod.
Whatever. It didn't matter.
Once the anxieties had subsided, neither of them really cared what anyone else thought.
They were having fun.
Between the rain and the bay, the water was everything.
That was where they first confessed.
~
"Thank you. For helping me."
Cale had said it in the most sincere tone he could offer. Honesty and kindness had eluded him for the better part of the last half decade, and the lingering release was electrifying.
Wyatt didn't seem to notice. He was more focused on the horizon, fading from gray to a shade of black tinged by the dull orange of light pollution. His hand rested on the rusting iron railing, and he squeezed it, steadying himself. His boots scraped against the cracked tile of the city streets.
Cale could remember so much about Wyatt. He supposed he had that effect on him.
There was no rain that night, but there were no stars in the sky either. Just light from every other source imaginable. Streetlamps, businesses, the flashlight of a passing guard.
And their eyes as they finally caught one another's gaze.
Wyatt looked back to his old rival and said, "Hey, no problem. It was nice catching up with you."
"Yeah," Cale murmured through the awkwardness. "I'm glad you're doing well."
A beauty in a sun yellow trench coat pulled along her Cleffa by his wrist as he stomped into the puddles, getting water in his galoshes as his carnation red rain hat shook crooked on his head. The beauty eyed the young men with a certain suspicion, but kept on walking.
Cale and Wyatt saw all this and could only laugh.
"Me too," Wyatt agreed with a nod, turning back around to face Cale as he rested his back against the railing. "It's been nice. Pretty much all of it has just been… really nice."
"Yeah," Cale nodded just as well.
"Yeah," Wyatt nodded again. A triple nod combo, not letting up at all.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Yeah…"
"Yeah…"
"I–" Cale started to ask a question.
Wyatt, tense in the still night air, interrupted, "Do you feel safe right now?"
Cale blinked. He was surprised by his answer. "I do."
"Nice!" Wyatt cheered to himself. Just one victory. He eyed Cale's curled lip and corrected himself. "I mean… that's good."
"Will you take me home?" Cale asked with a shrug.
"Yeah."
"Yeah…"
They didn't get far before they stopped in front of a convenience store. In the growing darkness, the store's lights illuminated their slim frames. Cale was taller than Wyatt, but in that moment, he hunched just to get closer to him.
They'd barely made it in front of the store's doors before Cale asked another question.
He liked asking all these questions. They gave him a sense of purpose.
"Do you need something?" he asked Wyatt.
It was an innocent question. Maybe he wanted an ice cream, or a soda. Something other than lemonade, as Wyatt had complained.
"Like what?!" Wyatt asked back, perhaps a bit too quickly. He had heard the question differently, considerably so.
"From the store," Cale clarified with a blink. "You paid for dinner. I could at least–"
"No!" Wyatt interrupted. He shivered. "No… you– you're good."
"Are you sure, shithead?"
"It's good, fuckface. You're good. I'm good. We–"
Then Wyatt interrupted himself, pulling Cale into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he yanked him down to his height.
Whatever. It was beautiful.
In those arms, Cale couldn't be sure his body was even his. All surrounding, in closeness and in comfort, held to higher being – the fading image of a man who could contend with life as he understood it. The matter was, however, Cale did not know if he was fading out, or in.
Of course, Wyatt was happy to figure that out for the both of them.
"What the fuck was that?!" Wyatt shouted, as though he himself had no control over what happened.
"We kissed," Cale answered, still reeling where he stood, arms flat at his sides as his jaw hung open.
Wyatt was close to panicking. "Why did I do that? Fuckface, I– I never even looked at a guy before. I'm so sorry. Please–"
"I've dated girls," Cale shared, keeping his voice low to help his friend relax. With a gentle hand on Wyatt's shoulder, he elaborated, "Been attracted to guys before, but never been with one. League work keeps you busy."
Wyatt looked at the soft, gentle hand on his shoulder, wide eyes resting and ragged breath slowing down as he seemed to recognize it as Cale's own, panic subsiding in the process.
"I told you I feel safe," Cale chuckled to himself, looking around to see if anyone noticed or even cared about the show they'd just put on for the public.
Whatever. Didn't matter.
"I'm gonna get some more gum and one of those curries I heard so much about," Wyatt said, pointing a thumb toward the convenience store as he stepped away from Cale's grasp. "With my own money. Then I'll take you home and…"
"Kiss me again?" Cale finished, raising his eyes with an edge of hope.
The young men could only laugh.
"Yeah," Wyatt assured with a toothy smirk, "Hell yeah, fuckface."
"Thanks, shithead."
"Don't thank me. I haven't even done anything yet!"
At that, Cale couldn't help but blush.
Wyatt just had that effect on him.
~
That's what it was, and that's what it would be for as long as Cale could dream.
Memories ebbing and flowing like the waves of the bay.
But no, what was it like before that?
Just what had made them so close?
Well, even just going to dinner at all was a breakthrough.
~
Days ago now, before their first kiss, Cale had awoken on his secondhand couch. After a conversation about something or other relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of living, Wyatt got up to leave.
Cale asked, "Where are you off to?"
"I'm getting something to eat," Wyatt answered with a yawn. "I heard about this vegetarian restaurant in Goldenrod. As fun as it is being cooped up in this old place all day, I might as well go do something fun."
"Can I go with you?"
Wyatt was surprised by the question. Cale couldn't imagine why.
"Ya sure ya wanna?" Wyatt asked. "There's gonna be a few people there."
"It'll be easier," Cale reasoned. "As long as you're there."
Wyatt cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Sounds good. I just gotta take my pill."
"Your pill?" Cale asked with a raised eye.
Wyatt shouted over his luggage, "Yeah! It's a prescription. Helps me focus."
For his entire life, Cale was under the distinct impression that Wyatt would always be someone on the more energetic side of the matter. To know he was medicated…
"How many are you supposed to take?" Cale pondered, more to himself than to his old friend.
"Two a day," Wyatt answered, downing a pair of pills at once with a sip of lemonade.
Cale saw this and with it came a curl of his lip. "How many do you actually take?"
Wyatt just smiled, downing his lemonade like a pint of beer, and gave a refreshed sigh.
"It's not funny, shithead," Cale whispered, rolling his eyes.
"So the guy who drinks nothing but lemonade and eats nothing but pizza wants me to take care of myself?" Wyatt teased, waving around his empty bottle. "Is that it?"
Cale blinked. "…I’m gonna go get dressed."
~
"What? Do I look stupid?"
It only took a few minutes for Cale to get ready. He put his pink jacket over his shirt, switched from his sweatpants into some jeans, and even managed to comb his hair and brush his teeth like someone who actually cared about anything at all.
Wyatt seemed to notice the change. He was even surprised by it. Standing by the apartment door, he tilted his head like an inquiring Rockruff with a treat.
Then, he finally answered, "You're pretty great. I mean! You look… decent."
Any hidden intent behind these comments was lost on the groggy Cale. He just teased, "What, you thought I looked like shit all the time?"
Hands on his hips, Wyatt teased back, "Little bit, fuckface. Little bit."
~
A vegetarian restaurant. What was it called?
Cale couldn't remember.
He was just surprised that Wyatt had kept his promise after so many years.
When they were young and going on their trainer journey together, seeing a place serving lemon and butter seared Basculin didn't sit well with them. Especially after watching a portly fisherman treating his own like his precious pets.
They decided they'd never eat any Pokémon themselves.
Didn't mean Wyatt wouldn’t indulge in cheese every chance he got.
Not tonight, however.
"Soup and salad, huh?"
They'd just ordered. Cale got ramen. Wyatt asked for broth with what would turn out to be the most boring looking salad in the world, all topped with crunchy berry seeds.
Wyatt shrugged. "I thought they had curry. I'm trying to eat better. Fucking sucks."
With a shrug, while looking around the place to make sure no one was watching them, Cale murmured, "I get it."
He couldn't remember a single thing about that restaurant. The decor, the lighting, the tableware, what the food actually tasted like. It was all gone.
There was only Wyatt.
And Wyatt jibed, "Says the guy who's been a stick his whole life."
That quip kept Cale away from his anxieties. With a chuckle, he quipped back, "Jealous?"
Then Wyatt told him to shut up.
But he never did. Thank goodness for that.
Of Human Feelings (I'll Be You)
So they kept talking. After they were done joking around, Cale finally worked up the nerve to ask Wyatt just why he decided to study music at college in the first place.
"Well, it was funny. Kinda," Wyatt started, shifting in his seat as he pushed away his crappy salad. "As funny as it could be, I guess. When we split up after that first gym season, I met this trainer who had a little Jigglypuff. The Jigglypuff sang and put Randy to sleep. Lost pretty quick after that. So I asked the trainer if the Jiggly could teach Randy to sing, and the Jiggly took that as an invitation to hold a concert for the whole route. Nearly put everybody to sleep. I was inspired by the power of sound!"
Through Wyatt’s laughter, Cale could only wonder, "What happened to Randy, anyway?"
Wyatt sighed. "Oh. Yeah. I left him with my folks. Last saw him over winter break. He's okay."
Cale couldn't help himself. All these assorted answers had ultimately begged the question…
"So who do you hang out with? At school?"
Wyatt looked along the restaurant. Then, from across the table, his earthen eyes stared deep into Cale's electric blue.
"Nobody anymore," Wyatt answered.
It was a long, unfortunate tale.
A night at the barcade near campus. One guy's Elekid could mess with the machines, get the tickets pouring out. Wyatt didn't know why he and those idiots even got the tickets when they could've just stolen the prizes for themselves. He supposed they were earning them. Somehow.
Whatever.
Didn't matter anymore.
The police found out. They all got caught. Students he'd spent years sharing time with started blaming everyone but themselves for what happened.
By the end of it all, Wyatt either lost or let go of so many people in his life.
"You spend a night in a cell squished next to a Snorlax sawing a whole lumber mill and some sophomore who won't shut up about how rich his dad is and you begin to wonder just how cool your so-called friends really are."
As Wyatt finished his story, Cale could only sit there and try to imagine himself in that situation.
"It must have been…" Cale searched for the right word. The right term. The right phrase to make it all seem real. "…fun, at first."
Wyatt shook his head and laughed. "Well, it sure put things into perspective. Another guy looked me right in the eye and told me his eyelashes hurt. He was on some shit I couldn't even imagine."
With a nod, Cale kept listening. Nothing he could say would make it all better.
He just had to be there.
"Guess that's why I came here," Wyatt figured, arms spread wide. "I saw you were in trouble. So I figured, hey, if I can help you, maybe that'll help me a little too."
Cale couldn't help but smile at that. "Well, thank you. I'm glad you came."
"Me too, fuckface."
"Shithead."
Well, it was a good meal, Cale assumed. He was full, at least.
The company made it better, anyway.
Everything was better with Wyatt.
Even a fruitless gamble…
~
The Unova Region used to have a really cool Game Corner. Dumb kids like little Cale and tiny Wyatt would waste all the hard-earned spoils of battles won on slot machines and card flipping.
That is, until they made it so kids couldn't play these games anymore. Something about not wanting the children to develop horrible gambling addictions?
Whatever.
The good news was: before they made everything into boring arcades and recreation centers, they sold decks with Pokémon on them, that way kids could play the Card Flip game at home. Pick the right number and the correct Pokémon, win whatever it is you and your friends wanted to put on the line.
Wyatt had brought one of those old decks with him.
"You're really gonna pick the same one over and over?" he teased his old friend, the one who'd finally agreed to try and do something tangentially related to fun while he was still visiting.
Cale shrugged and mumbled, "It's the most mathematically sound strategy."
"Yeah," Wyatt had to admit, "But it's not nearly as fun as going with your gut."
Cale said nothing to that.
He just bet three more red pepper flakes leftover from their lunch of two veggie pizzas and far too much bottled lemonade.
Cale was going all in on the five of Oddish, but he kept losing to Wyatt, who was indeed picking a different card based on some annoying, overly detailed gut feeling.
"My heart is telling me that Pikachu is the way to go here," Wyatt said with a smirk. "I trust Pikachu about twice as much as I trust Oddish, so that makes the two of Pikachu my guess. …Pikatwo."
And that's what it was.
Stupid Wyatt.
It made no sense to Cale. He had looked it up long ago. If you keep picking the same card, your chances of getting a match go up each time. It was a more workable strategy than random guessing. Yet, there was Wyatt, with a pile of red pepper flakes that kept growing and growing, leaving Cale with a paltry six flakes left.
It was unfair.
It hurt Cale, and it hurt that something so small and stupid hurt him so much.
And it hurt that Wyatt was enjoying himself, not even remotely taking it seriously, and still winning.
But it was just a game.
A game that Cale was losing.
Always losing everything, in the end.
Flaking away, flaking away.
Forever trapped in a prison of sight and sound.
Caught in the memories that had clouded up the space, the fog of time, of failures never to be redeemed. The hope, the hurt.
The memories.
For years now, it was only in those memories that Cale felt most like himself.
Cale was a dreamer, and his dreams so often darkened with the latter half of the day. The fading promise of the morning brought him into a field of memory, an air of regrets brushing against the back of his mind.
And it fucking sucked.
That final tournament sucked. Cale had gone all the way to Johto, earned every badge, even fought in other tournaments with an entirely new team.
Yet, for all his achievements, he never did feel like a winner.
Just another step for the real victor to walk all over, over and over again.
~
Damned kid doesn't want to stay home. Wants to go out and play with his pets.
Ya got lower odds this tournament, kid. That's all.
You have to account for the variables. Your opponent, she has a preference for fire types. Right? They go for pure damage output. Work around that. Politoed. Hypnosis. Put their first one to sleep. Ruin their rush.
You're a quiet guy, Cale. I'd love to pick your brain sometime. See what goes on up in that dumb blonde head of yours.
Know this, Muk-head: you are no more than what you can put out.
Bewear? They aren't starting with a fire type? …That's okay. Put that one to sleep, anyway. Let it go. You've done nothing wrong. So far. You can make this work. One moment to the next. It's a process.
Branches and leaves. We're all connected, all part of the same tree.
Sensitive boy…
No. Focus, Cale. This is how you get out of the loser's bracket. You can do this. Fire away. Contact. And it's asleep. You did it. Of course you did. You can do the right thing. Occasionally.
The pain doesn't stop so easily. It wants us to end everything only for the sake of feeling it.
Cale, what are you talking about? I swear, half the time, you make no sense at all.
Chesto berry, the Bewear was holding a chesto berry. It's not asleep anymore, and of course it knows thunder punch! Now it's paralyzed Politoed. He's hurt. Politoed is hurt! That's your fault. If you cure it now, it'll take more damage from the Bewear. It's a zero-sum game. You have to switch out. But with who?
Kid's too good for us. Too good for anyone, I bet. Gonna go out and do it alone. Gonna bash his head against the world until he bleeds out.
Sensitive boy!
Who do you have now? What's left?
The loser's bracket. You went there because you deserved to. You really think you can get out? Go to the semi-finals? Like you're a champion? Since when do you get higher than eighth place or some shit? Face it, you're nothing to these people. They hate you. They see you battle and they can clock every single one of your weaknesses.
Stop rolling over, ya little bastard.
Be an adult.
You haven't called a move yet. This is on you. The people are watching. They know you're done, now. Maybe you can surrender.
Maybe you can just walk away.
That sure sounds good…
~
It was just a game.
It was always just a game.
Battling, living, flipping cards in your sweatpants.
Maybe it really was important to him. Maybe every single thing was too important for its own good.
"Fuckface?" Wyatt whispered, waving a hand in front of his old friend's head. "Lost you for a minute there. What's going on?"
Cale could only sit there, letting the cards fall off the middle cushion of the old couch. Cards and red pepper flakes all over the floor.
What a mess.
Irresponsible.
Whatever.
"It's supposed to be fun," Cale whispered back, not even bothering to make eye contact with the shithead on the other side of the couch. "An adventure. You learn, you grow with the friends you make and catch along the way. They tell you, like they even believe it, that the Pokémon you're supposed to battle with should be your favorites – your friends."
Wyatt nodded along. He was listening. He was paying as much attention as he possibly could.
"That's not true, when you get older," Cale winced, shuddering for breath. "You get outta the under-fifteen bracket, and you start thinking more about strategy. Use baton pass, get in the next one in just as you pass a status effect. Then confuse them. Overwhelm. You start really thinking about your team comp. Not everyone can play every day, if it won't work against the next opponent. Sorry, Sandshrew, you gotta sit this one out. You make sacrifices. More and more. For everyone. You lose, you win, and you start to forget the difference."
Cale held himself. Knees bent to his chest, arms wrapped around them right.
"Older still, and now you're with the pros. Everyone is watching you now. You have to be on, or they notice. They make passing comments. Write articles. You weren't as good as you were last time. You really disappointed your team there!"
Wyatt reached out to Cale with a shaking hand, but Cale shrunk back.
"What team, shithead? Who are these Pokémon? I caught that Wigglytuff three days ago, and that fairy is there to lower attack stats and tank hits from my opponent's dark types. That's all it is. I had friends before that. Now I just have employees, and they expect results. Everyone expects results."
Cale was screaming now.
"I had to be perfect! I had to be at my best! Every single time! I could do that, for a while… but you have to keep fighting. You watch matches back, you make notes. Every scrape, every bruise, every broken wing, every fainting cry, every loss, every disappointment – it all becomes the same battle. Just win, over and over and over and over again. You have to win! Do you not feel well? Too bad. People put money on you. There's gambling. There's not supposed to be. Stops no one. Your opponent is watching you, your team, the spectators, your family, your soul hanging eight feet above your head, looking down at you in pity because you're running on six hours of sleep and the one plate of instant rice you had twelve hours before that."
Tears now. Shuddering breaths. Words hanging there.
Just hanging there.
"It doesn't end, unless you have the strength to stop yourself. So I did, and that's it."
That was always it. That's what it was supposed to be.
Wyatt just sat there. Three times, he tried to say something, something that could offer comfort to Cale that might, in some small way, carry them both through this moment of horrid pain.
He had nothing.
Cale had too much.
"No one was going to come save me from myself. I had to be the one to do it. Just me."
Wyatt couldn't believe that. It wasn't possible that this person who'd put years of his life into becoming the best trainer possible would take it all away from himself – that he would push away everyone close to him.
But that's what it was.
Just hanging there.
"Who have you talked to?" Wyatt asked.
Cale answered honestly.
"Me. Just me. You can't trust anyone else. All my team, I either gave them away or released them back into the wild. I'm the only one, shithead, the only one who knows what I'm doing at all times."
Wyatt's jaw dropped. He had to find his breath again.
Lost.
"But you can't do it all alone, fuckface!" he cried out. He couldn't help it. "Life's all about living with folks you like. The ones who make you feel most like yourself."
Cale scoffed, "And what the hell makes a life worth living? Why am I even here? What about me now is any better than I was months ago?"
Wyatt had a quick and easy answer for that.
"Well, I'd say having a life at all is pretty great on its own."
Cale was sobbing again. There was nothing that could be said that would make it better for him. It was all a big nothing.
"Whatever," he said, voice muffled as he hid his face behind his hands. "It doesn't matter anymore. What's the fucking point?"
Wyatt didn't have an answer for that. Maybe there really was no point to anything at all. Maybe everyone was just trying to make sense of the madness they'd been thrust into from the moment they were born.
But that didn't mean life wasn't worth living.
It all just took time.
It was beautiful.
"Breathe, Cale," Wyatt soothed, bringing himself over to his friend on the other side of the couch. "Breathe with me."
For a moment, Cale tried to move away, but he stopped himself, letting himself be held. "I can't. I have to… I can't rely on you. I have to do this on my own."
Wyatt groaned. This was clearly frustrating for him.
Cale was frustrating the only friend he had left.
It didn't matter.
"Just this once," Wyatt whispered, keeping his voice low for his friend. "One time, ya gotta let somebody help you."
Cale, letting his arms rest at his sides, showed his face again. Stained with tears, he whispered back. "…Okay."
"Yeah, you're okay," Wyatt added so easily, his arms wrapped tight around his fuckface. One around his shoulders, the other his waist. "You're safe. I promise."
Blinking from sheer confusion, Cale rested his hands on Wyatt's. For once, the semi-retired trainer really did feel safe.
He didn't know why.
"I don't understand," he shuddered.
"Nothing to understand right this second," Wyatt reasoned. "We'll figure it out later. Okay?"
"Why are you being so nice to me?
"If it helps, I don't know either."
"Wow…"
"Maybe I just want you to be safe. Feel safe."
"I never feel safe. …Mostly."
"Alright. Well, I guess that's what you need help with."
"Do I need help?"
Wyatt paused. He wasn't sure, but he answered as honestly as he could in the moment.
"We all do sometimes. I think you need a therapist."
"Not right now."
"Later, though. Please. For your sake, for a bit of mine. For your own safety. Okay? Just breathe for now."
"I'm breathing."
"Good. Let's be quiet for a bit. Just keep breathing with me."
And in those arms, so warm and so close, Cale had so many more questions for his rival. His old partner. For once, however, Cale heeded someone else's advice. He set those worries aside.
He breathed.
"I'm scared," Cale whispered.
"You're strong," Wyatt reassured him.
"I'm tired."
"You wanna lie down?"
"Yes."
"You want me to go?"
"…No."
"Really?"
"Don't go. Stay."
"Okay. I can do that."
"Just. I'm gonna. Rest. Close my eyes."
"Alright. Sounds good. I'll be here."
It would be a dreamless sleep then. Not a one memory to be counted.
~
What was it Wyatt had told him? After it was all done? After their first kiss, their first night together?
While watching Cale sleep, every part of Wyatt wanted to scream out against himself for what he was doing. And yet, Wyatt was happy. He'd helped Cale rest. He'd helped him relax and feel safe again.
That was a good thing.
So watching Cale sleep, content, curled up into himself…
It really was good. Everything about it was just plain good.
Wyatt had wanted to say something, to let his friend know he was here and nothing would ever hurt him again.
That wasn't true. There would still be pain. Bad days. Events beyond their control.
Yet, as Wyatt watched Cale's breathing even out, watched his stick body settle against the back of the couch, all that annoying logic didn't matter anymore.
Wyatt was here for Cale.
It was beautiful.
It was right. It was the right thing to do.
For someone so strong.
~
It was a blur of words after that, once Cale had woken up again.
"Shithead?" Cale asked, blinking himself back into the waking world.
"Heya, fuckface," Wyatt chuckled, back on the other side of the couch.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Couple hours."
"You stayed here the whole time?"
"I gotta drink. Got you one, too."
Cale looked down and grabbed the lemonade off the floor with one hand. He used the other to rub his aching head.
He murmured, "Thank you."
"Hey, that's what I'm here for."
The smirk was plain on Wyat's face, but it hid something more sincere.
Cale looked Wyatt up and down, as though something central to the young man's being had changed.
Wyatt's smile fell away. "What's going on in your head right now?" he asked, tone quickening with a sudden worry.
"You held me," Cale noted so plainly.
Wyatt shrugged. "I wanted to help you relax."
"I am relaxed."
"Awesome."
From where he sat, Cale looked ahead at the bare far wall of his apartment. "You held me, so I relaxed."
Wyatt tried to smirk again, but it was so much more awkward than it had been before. "Well, that's a good thing, right?"
Cale didn't answer, he just reached over to the pack of gum on the floor. His breath was absolutely abysmal.
…Oh.
Of course.
"You stole my last piece of gum, you shithead!" Cale shouted.
With a laugh, Wyatt opened his mouth to show that chewed-up gum. "I sure did!" he declared through gritted teeth.
Just As You Are
Soon after, they went to dinner, and after that first night came everything else.
The most wonderful weekend ever, it was all Cale knew for sure.
What was it like before that moment? Cale realized, however unfortunate it was, that it didn't really matter.
Whatever.
Everything before was scenes from a movie, played just for him, projected on the back of his mind.
~
Two boys meeting for the first time at the Trainers' School in Striaton City.
The shorter boy had a Sneasel named Randy. The shorter boy was excited to talk to everyone there about status effects.
The taller boy had a Sandshrew. The taller boy didn't want to be there. The Sandshrew didn't have a nickname.
Why was that?
~
Cale and Wyatt reading together under the blanket in a tent in the desert, a flashlight with dying batteries flickering against the page of their choose-your-own-adventure book.
They never could agree on where to go next.
~
Well wishes as Wyatt went to school to study music and Cale went on to become a professional trainer. The occasional text on a birthday, on a holiday, and not much more than that.
For so many years.
~
A knock on the door.
Cale's pizza had arrived. Apartment seven. The delivery 'mon finally knew where it was. No more awkward phone calls explaining how to get there.
As Cale answered the knock, he remembered he still had yet to fix the crooked number hanging loose on his door. It was fine. He'd get to it. Eventually. When he finally cared enough.
All that detail was lost when he saw an old friend he hadn't talked to in so long at his apartment door, holding a pizza box of his own.
Cale never did find out just what it was that made Wyatt want to check in on him after his… episode.
Maybe he was curious beyond all reason. Maybe he missed his old friend. Maybe, perhaps just once in his junk food and cheap music existence, he was touched with sudden empathy. Or maybe he took one too many Make Brain Work Pills and felt like doing something ambitious.
It was probably one of those.
Cale sighed. "I already ordered pizza," he mumbled. With a squeak of the hinges, he started to close his door…
Before Cale could go back to being perfectly happy with his own company, the tattooed shithead stuck his steel-toed boot through the gap of the door.
"As chirpy and cheerful as ever, eh?" Wyatt asked with a teasing tilt of his head.
Resigned to being stuck with the same guy who used to steal his gum, including the last piece, Cale let him in.
Wyatt was quick to observe the lack of Pokémon lounging in the dingy apartment.
"What happened, man? Where's Politoed? You came here for the league, right? Where are all your Pokémon?"
Cale wasted no time indulging in cynicism. "If I have to talk about stupid ass Pokémon for even another minute, I am going to lose it."
Cue a delivery Buizel with a little hat on standing in the doorway, holding Cale's pizza, giving both young men a death glare with twitching whiskers.
"Bui bui…" grumbled the delivery 'mon.
Wyatt gave the Buizel an extra tip after that.
If Cale cared about Wyatt's sudden display of generosity, he didn't show it.
Instead, he begrudgingly asked, "When'd you get a nose ring?"
"I lost a bet," Wyatt joked, poking at the silver ring with the tip of his little finger.
Cale grumbled, "You're lucky I'm wearing anything at all. Dressed for the pizza because the place doesn't do contactless. I usually grab the food without getting dressed."
It took a moment for Wyatt to process this information. "You… get your deliveries naked?" he asked, the pitch of his voice rising as he came to the unfortunate conclusion.
Cale rolled his eyes. "No one's noticed yet. And what makes you think I'm letting you stay at my place?"
At that, Wyatt could only smirk. "Cuz I'm far too charming for you to send me to a hotel."
Cale groaned. "…Damn it."
It was going to be a long weekend, and they would grow to hate every individual minute of it.
~
Or so Cale thought.
Why did he think that? Who could say? Unfortunately, there were no more memories left to be sorted through
Back in the present moment, Cale lay there in his bed, looking out at the curtains blocking all but the sliver of light beaming against him.
The young man couldn't help but wonder how that Buizel was doing. Hopefully he'd completely forgotten about that outburst.
What about those old choose-your-own-adventure books? Were they at his family's place? He sure wasn't going back there.
And Sandslash… where did he go off to after he was traded away? Did he still battle? Did that ever really matter to him?
Was he happy?
Cale would never know.
He could only watch as Wyatt stretched himself awake. Eyes fluttering open, the young man noticed Cale staring off into the distance.
So he pinched him on the shoulder.
Then, with a smirk, he asked, "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"
Rescued from that deepest pit of memory, Cale just smiled back and answered, "Don't worry about it. Let's get you ready to go."
~
They got dressed and had breakfast. It was just rice and overripe fruit, but it was enough.
Wyatt helped Cale look up a therapist. He was focused enough to help him then, and he had no idea when he would be later.
Looking up from his phone, watching Cale groan, he jeered, "I just want you to be happy cuz I care about you, fuckface!"
"…That's fair," Cale mumbled.
Their options were limited, but there was a professor in Violet City who offered psychiatric services.
Cale promised he would schedule an appointment as soon as the week started.
As insurance, Wyatt made him leave a voicemail first.
It was awkward, and it was painful, but at least it was done.
Then Wyatt got up to leave.
~
It was a good weekend for both of them. They enjoyed themselves, very much so.
Yet at that moment, Cale wasn't so sure.
He listened to Wyatt as he gripped his luggage, two rolling cases as black as the rest of his attire.
Scratching at his cedar tree tattoo, Wyatt tried to be sincere. As sincere as either of them could be.
"All you need to know is that I care about you. More than that, I believe in you. Just… if you get lonely, call up a friend. Don't break the dam on them, just find time to be with someone who makes you feel most like you."
Cale stared over Wyatt's shoulder.
He was going to leave him.
He was still talking. He had to listen!
"Figure yourself out. Love yourself, no matter how hard you make it on yourself. And fuckface, please actually go to an appointment!"
Cale could feel a dryness in his throat, a shakiness in his hands. A shudder up his spine.
"Pretty please?" Wyatt pleaded, letting go of his bags to hold Cale's hands in his own. "I like seeing you happy. I know you'll like feeling that way, too."
Cale could only nod. Nod, and beg for certainty in a chaotic world.
He whispered, "You'll really be back? After you graduate?"
Wyatt nodded, that toothy smile wide on his face. "We both work on ourselves for a bit, then I'll be back. That's the plan."
"Is it one you're gonna stick to? You're not gonna get distracted?"
"I promise."
"'Promise' is a heavy word," Cale was quick to note. "Promise gets confused and hurts itself in the confusion. Promise puts you at ease and drains you of your energy. Over and over again…"
"Well, I guess you're just gonna have to trust me," Wyatt snickered, giving his boyfriend a playful punch on the shoulder.
Before Cale could protest any further, before he could get himself worked up into a panic, his boyfriend kissed him one more time.
It was a quick kiss, but an energetic one. A kiss befitting of springtime.
Then it was over.
Wyatt was really gone.
Cale had work to do.
One time, just this once, Cale had to trust someone wholly and completely. Really, he had to trust anyone at all.
It was a lot to ask of him, but for the first time in as far back as Cale could remember, he knew he could really, finally trust someone.
He could trust Wyatt. So long as it didn't involve gum, he always would.
Wyatt just had that effect on him.
It was beautiful.
Whatever.
It would just take time. Effort.
Small steps.
Cale closed his door slowly. At least the seven on it wasn't so crooked anymore.
A good screw took care of that.