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The fire at your campsite is burning down to smoldering embers—you’ve been sitting here talking with Laventon for so long that night has begun to fall around you, the evening Kricketot song rising in a chorus all around the fieldlands. It’s rare that it’s just the two of you, but you both decided to stay an extra day at the Heights Camp for one more attempt at finding a Pichu tomorrow, and the Security Corps left in the early afternoon. Not that you really need the Security Corps, anymore. Your Pokemon are all the protection you could want, and you often travel alone these days—you can move more quickly that way.
Still, traveling by yourself gets lonely, and tonight, you’re thankful for the company.
Especially when that company is Laventon.
He sits beside you on an overturned log, laughing at the story you’re telling—about a Paras that really gave you the runaround, earlier—and his wide grin is contagious as ever. The tall rocks around you, within which your little base camp dwells, reflect the dying light of the fire, and the stars above you wink into existence as the last remnants of the sunset slip below the horizon.
It’s peaceful—truly peaceful.
With exaggerated gestures, you describe the alpha Parasect, releasing its spore attack, and the way you almost collapsed to the ground, asleep. But your Pokemon had been with you, had protected you, had sent the Parasect running and stood watch until you woke with a jolt.
You had wanted to catch the alpha—but you’ll have to settle for the large bag of medicinal mushrooms you were able to collect; at least Peselle will be grateful when you return to the village.
Laventon shakes his head, fond and exasperated. “Your fearlessness never ceases to amaze me,” he laughs.
You shrug. “My team has my back. I don’t know how much of it is ‘fearlessness’ when I have such loyal Pokemon to protect me.”
“Pokemon that you raised, need I remind you.”
When you only hum in response, he tilts his head, looking at you with a worried set to his brows. “Still, I feel I should continue to remind you to be careful. After all, the paralytic properties of Parasect’s stun spore—“
You give a short huff of laughter, waving him off. “I know, I know.”
He doesn’t need to tell you that your propensity for battling alphas is dangerous, just as you don’t need to tell him that you aren’t going to stop.
His voice grows softer as he turns to face you fully, and you tear your eyes from the hypnotic pulse of the glowing coals to meet his gaze.
He rubs at the back of his neck, and it makes the pom-pom on his hat bounce.
“I… I don’t mean that I don’t think you can handle yourself,” he says, like he’s worried he’s offended you. “You’ve proven your mettle to all of Hisui. I simply fear the thought of something happening to you.”
Your heart gives a little leap at his words.
Of course Laventon cares about you, he’s your best friend—he has been more or less since the day you fell from the sky. But when he fiddles with his hands like this, his voice so low and careful as he tells you he fears you getting hurt… it feels vulnerable; tense in a way that crosses the threshold of friendship into something just a little bit more.
Does he know just how much you want things to be more?
Your throat is suddenly very dry, but you give him your best smile, nonetheless. “I won’t get hurt, Lav. I promise.”
His smile is softer, a mere upward quirk of his lips. “Ah, well, you can’t really blame a man for worrying, can you?”
You could easily resolve this rising tension with humor—with a laugh and a joke about you being the one to worry—and you often do; the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself on this precipice with him, this precarious ledge you want nothing more than to finally tip over. But it’s getting late, and the Kricketune song wafting on the breeze has put your heart in a strange place—and instead of diffusing the situation, you find yourself leaning toward him, almost subconsciously.
“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” you say quietly, not bothering to hide the way your gaze drops to his lips, rising back up to meet the brilliant purple of his eyes.
His face ignites with a fiery blush, his cheeks going darker in a way that makes your stomach flutter.
“A-ah,” he struggles for words.
Bridging the gap between you would be so easy now, so natural. You’ve long dreamt of the feeling of his lips pressed to yours, his stubble against your cheek, and although you can’t be sure, you think he feels the same.
Would he look at you the way that he does if he didn’t?
His eyes go very wide, but yours flutter shut, your cheeks warming, too. You can feel the heat of his breath, his body.
Laventon gives a shuddering sigh, and you lean closer…
“O-oh!” He pulls back quickly—out of your space, out of your reach, and your heart plummets.
Have you truly misjudged things so badly?
“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters as you retreat as well, crestfallen. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, please forgive me—“
“I’m sorry,” you echo with a sigh, feeling rather like an ass. “I thought that… you wanted…”
You thought that he wanted you. You shake your head and do your best to smile, although the rejection stings like nothing you’ve felt before.
At least you aren’t the only one blushing.
Laventon waves his hands vaguely, and you feel a distinct guilt for the panic in his eyes. “I assure you,” he continues to splutter, “I care for you too much to… to compromise your propriety in such a manner!”
…Huh?
You blink, unsure if you’re understanding him. “My… propriety?”
He shuts his mouth, swallowing thickly. “I… please forgive me,” he says again.
Brows furrowed in confusion, you look back to the fire, now lit by only the slightest glow deep within the coals. You don’t really get whatever it is that he’s saying, and you know that you aren’t going to be able to leave this hanging between you... even if you want to spare yourself the pain of an explanation of his rejection.
“Laventon,” you sigh. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Oh,” he replies softly, suddenly very interested in the buttons on his wool coat.
“I mean, obviously, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to kiss me,” you continue. “I’m sorry I assumed.” Tears are pricking at your eyes now, and you’re thankful for the cover of darkness for hiding your expression from him. “You’re my friend, and I don’t want to jeopardize that. But… what do you mean about my propriety?”
“I…” he says. “You…”
The poor man looks ready to combust, but you give him an encouraging nod, and he takes a deep breath.
“It… it would hardly be proper for a gentleman to… to kiss you,” he finally says. “I couldn’t… I would never do that to you, risk your reputation like that… I am so very sorry I got so carried away.”
You blink. It wouldn’t be… proper.
“What if I want you to?”
At that, Laventon stalls entirely, his eyes going wide as he flounders: wringing his hands, tugging at his hat, scuffing his boot on the ground.
Oh, dear. Have you gone too far, this time?
You’re about to apologize, to take it back, but…
“I-I…” he finally splutters. “I haven’t even… properly courted you yet…”
It’s the ‘yet’ that really sends you reeling, pulse hammering loudly in your ears. But you manage a small, relieved laugh.
Yet.
“Lav,” you say, finally understanding what’s been happening. “Kissing is usually part of courting—or, uh, dating—where I’m from.”
Under the bright moonlight, the starlight, his face flushes a dark red that covers his cheeks, his ears, his neck, and he lets out an embarrassed laugh of his own, though he doesn’t stop his nervous fiddling.
“Ah. Well. That certainly does explain some things…”
You bite your lip as he trails off. “So, then…” You swallow nervously. “What’s courting like? For you?”
He rubs at the back of his neck, still not meeting your gaze. “W-well. We would… go on walks together. And talk.”
You can’t help giggling at the earnestness in his voice. “Isn’t that what we do every time we’re out on field missions together?”
“That’s different,” he says, eyes wide and hands waving. “That’s… that’s work!”
You hum thoughtfully, a smile playing at your lips. “We do walk and talk a lot, though.”
“I… suppose we do,” he says. His gaze lifts back up to meet yours, cautious and hopeful and open. “Does…” he clears his throat. “Does that mean… you aren’t opposed? To my courting you?”
Your stomach flutters wildly. “I’m not opposed at all. So long as you’re not opposed to me courting you.”
Laventon laughs, his cheeks delightfully flushed. “I suppose that’s only fair...” And then: “my customs must be as strange to you as yours are to me.”
“Strange,” you affirm, “but not unwelcome.”
“No,” he says, and you don’t miss the way his lavender gaze drops to your lips momentarily, before snapping back up to your eyes, searching. “Not unwelcome.” He scoots slightly on the log you share, inching further into your space, and when you make no move to pull back, his voice grows lower, quieter. “And… I would hardly be a man of science if I didn’t embrace the unknown, now, would I?”
You’re grinning now, meeting his eyes and finding that flare of warmth in them, echoed by the heat of your own gaze. “Hardly,” you agree.
He leans in further, stopping just shy. “You’re… sure this is alright?” He whispers, his breath mere centimeters from your lips, making your lashes flutter and your stomach turn somersaults.
You manage a small nod; a pleading sound that isn’t quite words.
And finally, finally, Laventon kisses you.
Bright sparks of light burst into being behind your eyelids as his lips meet yours hesitantly, carefully; and you’re made weightless in his embrace, filled with effervescent warmth.
It’s quick and gentle, a mere press of his lips to your own, but it sends you reeling nonetheless, with relief and love and desire, burning white hot beneath your skin. You want to pull him closer, to wrap yourself around him and lose yourself in the feeling of it, but he pulls away too soon… though, the look in his eyes lets you know just how requited the feeling is.
You’ve never seen his face quite so red.
Yours has never felt quite so warm.
There is an uncontainable smile on his lips—one that spreads to your own face, too—and he can’t seem to hold your gaze for more than a moment at a time, his pupils blown wide in the darkness of the night, the heat of his desire.
“I…” Laventon clears his throat as he pulls away further, his voice uneven. “Was that… alright?”
You could almost laugh. “More than alright,” you say, grinning.
“Oh,” he says, flustered. “Good. Yes. Ah, for me, also.”
Now you do laugh. “Good,” you agree.
He fidgets again, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Erm. That is, if you’d like… I mean. I wouldn’t be opposed if—”
But you’re already pulling him back to your lips, reaching to rest your fingers on his stubbled cheek—and although he tenses at the initial contact, he relaxes with a fluttering sigh as you melt against him, grabbing onto his woolen waistcoat to keep yourself steady. He lets out a sound like a whimper against your lips, and it flares like catching tinder in your heart, spurring you on as you pull him ever closer, lips parting. Nervous as he seems, his hands shaking in his lap, he copies the movements of your mouth, instinctively meeting your kiss with a heated desire that’s clearly been compounding over time, long bottled up and repressed and now finally, blessedly, set free.
It’s almost too much for your racing heart to handle—if, indeed, it wasn’t also not nearly enough.
But with the way Laventon is shaking—fully trembling in your arms—you don’t want to push him any further, and you pull back, separating ever-so-slightly, though you can still feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.
His lavender eyes are fever-bright when they finally flutter open again, his lips still parted and soft, his cheeks so warm and flushed as to be near-febrile against your palm, still caressing his jaw so tenderly.
“You okay?” You ask, smiling gently; he can only nod slightly in return, adorably dazed in stupefaction.
And then he smiles too, flustered and soft. “Yes,” he whispers. “I most certainly am.”
You laugh gently, your eyes crinkling with joy. You can’t quite believe this is real but for his warmth against you, the tingling of your lips, the scratch of his stubble against your fingers. You let your hand fall from his face, though you think you both miss the contact, even as you reach for his hands instead, tracing fingers over the light scars that mark them. He visibly shudders when you run your thumb over his knuckles.
“This is...” he starts, clears his throat, continues. “This is truly what you want?” There’s such unmitigated hope in his voice that it nearly sets you aflame all over again.
“Yeah,” you answer, just as softly. “It really is.”
He surprises you when, with a wobbling grin, he brings your hand to his lips, just barely brushing them against your knuckles, and now it’s your turn to flush deeply, the affection of his gesture bringing warmth surging like the tides beneath your skin.
It makes you giggle nervously, which seems to delight Laventon, his smile growing stronger. “You cannot understand how happy I am to hear that.”
“Hmm,” you hum, as if you’re trying to imagine. “I think I can, actually.” Your own yearning desires over the past months are comparable, you’re sure.
And Laventon releases your hand as he laughs, though he doesn’t stray too far, even as he retakes his own seat on the log you share, no longer so entwined with you.
You miss the contact already—you’re sure he does, too—but there will be more in due time; after all, he’s only just learned of the idea of kissing as a part of courtship. For now, the moon and stars are bright above you as the glowing embers cool at your feet, and although a chill evening breeze is beginning to blow, the warmth of your beating heart, your blushing cheeks, is enough to keep you from feeling the cold as you sit, and you talk, and you laugh with Laventon by your side. Your hand wanders to rest atop his as the night grows deeper, the Kricketot song fading as the cries of Zubat and Drifloon fill the darkness, until it’s very late and you’re both yawning, eyes heavy with sleep.
When you part for the night, it’s with one more ephemeral kiss, with your hands lingering in his before you return to your tent, shy smiles on both your faces.
And although you fear you’ll never sleep for the giddiness racing through your heart, it seems that exhaustion wins out—it isn’t long before you’re nodding off, a sleepy smile still clinging to your lips.