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Truthfully Gloria knew better. Knew shouldn’t be here. Knew she shouldn’t be knocking on Bede’s door hoping for an answer to her prayer. Knew she shouldn’t be here a mere few hours before the region gala.
Especially given Bede’s... tenacity for his own appearances at events as grand as this.
They were friends now, right? It would be okay, right?
But when Bede opens the door, she wasn’t surprised at all. Annoyance. Irritation. It was written all over his face, but as her eyes flicker to the curlers in his hair she knew it was far too late, and she was far too desperate.
She’ll take his condemnation.
“Do you know how incredibly rude it is to interrupt someone with your incessant knocki--you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Gloria stares at Bede’s incredulous look, bashful expression on her face as her fingers mindlessly fiddle with the stray tendrils the hairstylist left out.
“That bad?”
“Horrendous.”
Not a single moment of hesitation. His sneer soon lost as his firm hands plant themselves on her shoulder and usher her inside, away from onlookers, and towards the nearest vanity.
“For Arceus sakes Gloria did you even look at yourself in the mirror?”
Tiny scoff as she pouts up at him, “why else do you think I’m here, Bede?”
It’s then she looks straight ahead into the mirror. She can see Bede’s disapproval, and the pigtails that screamed anything but gala ready. They were voluminous, lengthy, and sat unnaturally high atop her head.
“They made me look twelve,” disappointment evident in her voice as she sees Bede gazes at his thoughtful expression. Elegant fingers soon finding the end of the extensions, taking note of disaster.
“You should demand your money back.”
A tiny whimper leaves her lips. It was too late for that and truthfully she didn’t have the gall to tell the stylist to start over. Hazels now pleading at him through the reflection. And she could see it; a semblance of hope. Him thinking, considering.
“What do I get in return, Champion?”
She was so close.
“My never yielding gratitude?”
He lets go of her hair, hand brushing her off vaguely as if to shoo both her and her lackluster offer away.
“You can fend the paparazzi sharks off for yourself.”
“Bede!” she yelps, his hand turning her in the chair to see his amused smirk pulling at his lips, his height an advantage, the wicked gleam in his eye.
Gloria’s traitorous heart finding a reason to skip at the display.
“Grovel. Beg,” a pause, “Offer me a lifetime of the butterscotch cookies you’ve brought over to tea once.”
And even at their proximity she can’t help giggling at his request and how serious it came out. But she could’ve guessed it by now, his sweet tooth his ultimate undoing and her love of baking his direct supply.
“I’ll throw in that battle you’ve been wanting as well,” she whispers.
And it seems that’s the right thing to say. The low chuckle in his throat is close, so close, as he leans over her. His hand quick to reach for the brush on the surface of the table in front of her. And Gloria fights back every involuntarily reaction to gasp. To blush. To inhale the aroma of his cologne overtaking her senses.
But how could she not pay attention as he stayed focused on the disaster that was her hair. His porcelain skin flawless, eyes focused, platinum eyelashes long and naturally curled.
He was effortlessly beautiful in a way that was unfair. And she’s sure at the Gala his beauty would only grow tenfold.
Curls to be immaculate with the curlers removed, properly styled and placed. Style impeccably unique and classy. And an aura that would force all attendees to pay attention to him.
Bede. The Gym Leader.
Her best friend and...
Well, Gloria wasn’t sure when it happened, but she had taken note of this for a while now. How with him things were different. Stolen glances, tingles in her stomach, the quickening pace of her heart. It took a while, but convincing herself that a crush on Bede would be a disaster in itself didn’t seem to deter it from happening.
And even now as they sit there in comfortable silence only accompanied by the brush going through her hair, and the creak of wooden panels under his footsteps she could focus on was him. Not her hair. Not the pressures of being Champion.
Just Bede.
Then hears him come around, forced to face the object of her affections.
“Makeup.”
His palm flipped up and towards her and her cheeks heating at the assumption.
“You know I don’t wear--”
Bede shaking his head before she could even finish the disappointing statement.
“For someone so detailed oriented you sure are unprepared today,” he grumbles. This time a drawer slides out from next to her, letting her peak into the contents. A couple containers labeled ‘stage makeup’ and ‘cleaned brushes’ letting her know what Bede was about to do next.
She swallows slowly.
“Just a slight amount to keep our Champion looking put together throughout the evening.”
A single word. An adjective no less shouldn’t have made her elated.
And him to be able to so flawlessly read her concerns didn’t help. But as his fingers firmly, but gently grab her chin to tilt it up towards him she’s sure he can read far more than just her feelings about makeup.
Lips part. Thoughts stammer.
“Close,” is what he demanded and she listened. To him and to the staccato of her heart.
It was quiet moments like these that were difficult for Bede to come to terms that whatever emotions he felt for the Champion.
But love was fickle. Foreign. Distant, and clearly was never made for him.
And while his repertoire of friends wasn't extensive he knew it was different. He could never say no to her. Couldn't turn her away. Letting her come crashing into his life with her timid words and calming presence that at one point drove him mad.
And even now he realizes how close he'd actually let her come in.
How he'd grown to trust the one person he couldn't stand. And it seemed it was the same way with her--her guard completely down with him and him alone.
Something she's made evidently clear to him in their time together.
And in this moment his eyes are unable to stray away from how soft Gloria's features really were. Her rounded cheeks, her bright eyes. How her eyelashes fluttered gently shut at his touch when he removed her frames. Taking note of how her nose crinkled at the light touch of the brush. And how her lips parted so easily for him.
It's a shame it doesn't take him longer.
“You can thank me later,” the soothing lull of his voice pulling her out of her reverie. Blinking once before her head looks over her shoulder.
It almost takes her a second to recognize herself.
It wasn’t drastic by any means, her hair soft and pulled up into an elegant bun, a braid coming across her crown, and soft waves framing her face along with her bangs. Her lips tinted pink, her eyes a light touch of taupe, and her cheeks: a light rose she’s sure her own skin was enhancing.
“You made me look pretty,” soft expression written all over her face, head turning back to him.
And without missing a beat, “I did nothing but bring out what was already there.”
Her eyes widening at the compliment-- and as his own eyes follow suit it seems he too realized what he just said.
He clears his throat, glancing away, hoping Gloria makes no note of the heat rising to the tip of his ears.
This was untraversed territory between them.
“You better get going, before all my hard work goes to waste.”
"I'll see you at the Gala then, Bede," directing the sweetest smile to him in thanks.
And Bede for a moment sure hopes his poker face is up to par.
The annual Galar gala was both a stunning crowd favorite and absolute torture for anyone who was introverted.
Yet, Bede knew how to handle crowds, had the right words for the press, perfected the act of effortlessly parading the hall with an air of dignity and knew just how much to please the masses with his presence.
Overall, he just knew how to hide his displeasure.
Unlike Gloria.
Her shoulders slump, head rolling from side to side as an exhausted sigh mixes in with the sounds of music and chatter.
“You keep doing that and you’ll ruin the work I put into you today.”
He chuckles into his glass at her fingers lightly tap her hair, feeling every strand in tact, as her eyes flicker to his, “it should last 30 more minutes right? That’s all I need to get through today.”
“You say as you hide away near the punch bowl.”
“And who is here hiding with me?”
His eyes narrowing in a silent touché. “You’ve done all your interviews. You made your speech. What in the world is keeping you from running off to the gardens like you’ve done in years past?”
She shrugs, eyes looking longingly at the dance floor.
“Leon.”
His curiosity piques at the mention of the ex-Champion, glass leaving his lips, eyebrow quirking waiting for Gloria to elaborate.
“Can’t have a champion time if the champion isn’t there hmm, Gloria? And while you’re at it why not get yourself a date,” her voice pitch dropping just enough to try to emulate Leon’s level of passion.
She didn’t do it very well.
“Typical.”
But she took Leon’s advice to heart.
It had been a long time coming for her--to create her own path, to blossom into her own Champion, but even she recognized that eyes were always on her.
Judging.
Observing.
So she would do what was required of her, pour her entire heart and soul--only to collapse in bed the second she was home.
And although Leon didn’t explicitly tell her she needed to dance she figured it would top off the night. A photo for the press, proof she stuck out longer than usual. And as she places her own glass down she realizes it wouldn’t be the worst opportunity to have a longer moment with Bede.
“I’m hoping after a dance or two I can slip away anyways, but I suppose I could’ve had that checked off if I actually had a date, huh?” She gives him a cheeky smile, playful mirth in her eyes as she gestures towards the dance floor.
Bede scoffs and yet he is intrigued.
“Is this is your way of asking me? Because I can assure you this is the lowest grade of a request I have ever received beating even your groveling from earlier today.”
“Oh forgive me Prince Bede,” she curtseys in her pink dress, “I shouldn’t have cut in front of your line of suitors,” she teases sweetly. But her tiny laugh is carefree and bright and draws him in. And her heels begin making clicking sounds on the tiled floor as she takes steps backwards, biting the bullet, and still looking up at him hopefully.
Their height difference never more obvious than in the moment.
“But you don’t have a date either so this could be a good chance?”
“Chance for what?” he’s quick to reply, entertained at how her cheeks splash pink and her lips get tongue tied.
But Gloria’s brain couldn’t muster up a proper excuse.
A chance for them to be close. To stay together. For her to tell Bede how she really feels.
They all seemed plausible.
“Chance....for both of us to leave? I know just as much as you do that you don’t like exchanging simple pleasantries for hours on end either.”
Bede pauses. A moment passing between them as she waits with bated breath. And then he sighs, stepping towards her. and offering his arm to her.
Much to her surprise.
It felt like she was in one of her favorite fairytales.
He was elegant; glowing under the chandelier light, like a prince her eyes couldn't pull away from. And his currently gracing her with an opportunity so rare no one else could say they’ve had.
“I hope you acknowledge that I will outshine you on the dance floor,” he mutters not meeting her gaze, but he's sure Gloria could see it: t he faint blush, the pull at his lips.
And as her arm loops through his he too couldn't help but to hope this wouldn't be the last opportunity.
She giggles.
“I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”