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Leon doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there. He had stopped looking at the time where the hazy oranges of dusk had turned to the harsh twilight of the nightsky; the only light left illuminating the room was the soft glow of charizard’s tail. The dragon sleeps soundly curled against his leg, her muzzle pressed against his thigh, each slow exhale sending a welcome blast of warmth over his skin.
He drags a hand, slow and gentle as always, over the scales on her muzzle. Feels every little bump, every little ridge until he finds the gash along the top, scarred with age. The scales here are more ragged, torn, lining the canyon that mars her otherwise perfect jaw.
Leon’s thoughts drift back to the incident; the feral Haxorus in the wild area, that he had foolishly gotten too close to. The beast had turned to attack him, axe-like tusks shimmering in the bright sunlight. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, fists full of sand and grit as he turned to look back at his attacker. And there she was, blood running down her jaw at a rate that couldn’t have been healthy, the fire on the end of her tail dwindling, and yet the fire inside burned ever brighter as she lashed back out at Leon’s attacker.
His own incompetence.
Had he not been so stupid, had he not assumed that he could take the blasted dragon on, had he not gotten so close he nearly lost his head. She would be fine. She could have lost her eyes, her sight, her life. All because of one simple, foolish mistake.
It definitely wasn’t his first. It definitely wouldn’t be his last.
Sometimes he tells himself that the scars that stain his own arms are enough of a punishment for what he let happen to her. Most of the time, he knows it’s not enough. He’ll keep making more, and more, and more until he’s paid for all the mistakes he’s made. All the times he’s endangered her, himself, his friends. Mistake after mistake after mistake.
That was the issue with the facade of perfection. So far in his own head that everything he does, says, has to be perfect, perfect, perfect. There is no room for error. He has to be unbeatable. He has to remain undefeated. For the people of Galar. For Rose. For Hop. For his parents. For himself.
He can almost hear Rose’s voice, every time he thinks of the accident, chastising him for his foolishness, in thinking he could challenge the beast with only his charizard. What would the people of Galar think of such behaviour? Is this how you want to inspire the nation?
He can hear Hop’s voice, merely a child, sobbing as he presses himself into charizard’s torso. Worried that his brother, his great brother, his perfect brother, could’ve lost to the hands of an untrained Pokemon.
And his parents. What were you thinking, Leon? Being so reckless? You’re supposed to be the oldest child. The responsible child. The perfect child. Our perfect son.
And here perfect little Leon sits, legs tucked under his chest, silent tears falling down his cheeks as he stares off into the distance, at nothing.
Everytime he is reminded that he has to be perfect, he crumbles. His hand fidgets against the scar on Nugget’s nose, and she winces in her sleep.
“Leon.”
There’s a soft murmur from behind him. The gentle tugs on his locks of hair cease and fall still.
“Leon, move your hand. You’re gonna hurt her.”
Leon tears his eyes away from the point of fixation on the wall and glances back over his shoulder at Raihan, murky gold meeting a wave of blue, as the sun greets the sea every morning. There’s a firmness buried under the dragon tamer’s gaze - that caring streak of his did have a tendency to fall in favour of Pokemon. He pulls his hand away from its place on her snout; it drifts its way back over to his own thigh. He wishes that Raihan would take it, squeeze it, comfort him.
The dragon tamer sighs from his spot behind Leon, setting the hair brush to his side gently.
“Please talk to me.” He whispers, arm snaking its way around Leon’s waist. “I want to help.”
I know. Leon wants to reply. You are. He wants to add.
But his mouth is dry and his throat is tight from all the tears and puffy eyes and all he can manage is a harsh-sounding whine.
“You’re thinking about that Haxorus again, aren’t you?” Leon’s head falls back and he timidly nods. He can tell, in the exhale against his bare shoulder, and the soft lips that press into the purple locks that cascade down his back, that Raihan knows. He doesn’t need to explain. He doesn’t need to talk.
That arm around his waist is constricting against him, pulling him closer. A second one joins it, and Leon can’t help the soft whimper in his throat that rises from the feeling of Raihan’s body against his. As quickly as he freezes up, he can feel the ice bounding his muscles melt away with the warmth of the dragon tamer’s embrace. He relaxes. Slowly. As the tension ebbs away.
Raihan doesn’t have to lie. Everyone else would like, and tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Raihan doesn’t need to. All it takes is the softest of reminders, spoken inbetween lips pressed to his shoulders, that he is allowed to make mistakes. He’s allowed to be imperfect. He’s allowed to be Leon.
“You’re safe now. You’re safe with me.”
Soft murmurs kissed into the back of his neck. He believes them every time. Raihan has never been wrong before. He knows he probably won’t be wrong anytime soon. Gentle touches that roam along his torso, rubbing promises of home, of love, of everything Leon could ever want against his skin.
Leon doesn’t have to pretend to be perfect for Raihan. Doesn’t have to pretend to be unbeatable, undefeatable.
Doesn’t have to hide his scars. Doesn’t have to pretend that side of him doesn’t exist. Can watch as those stunning blue eyes, bright and sharp and so full of colour even in the dimmest of night light, press gentle kisses to each one, murmurs softly about how much he loves him. How much he loves Leon. Not the undefeated Champion. Not the hero of the region. Leon.
He can be himself here.
Leon is enough here.