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The sun shines bright down on the golden sands of Pasio, bringing with it the cries of Wingull and cheers of countless Trainers frolicking on the beach. It’s a perfect opportunity to relax, and for the Champions, a chance to meet old friends. A barbecue on the beach is an ideal vacation, and also a good opening for two Champions in particular to slip away from the group, while the others are distracted by the wind, waves, and smell of glistening, fatty meat grilling over a bonfire.
Cynthia eyes Lance curiously as they stroll along the beach, step in step. Though it is midday in the midst of summer, hot enough for the sand that slips through her sandals to burn at her feet, she hasn't seen Lance wear anything aside from his standard uniform and cape. "Aren't you hot in that outfit? You seem sweaty."
"Rain or shine, this is a symbol of my status as a dragon master. I don't mind," he replies. He falls silent for a breath, and Cynthia can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "...Though yes, I'm a bit ho-"
He doesn't get to finish his admission as a sudden blast of water drenches him, courtesy of Cynthia's subtly released Milotic. The uncharacteristic squawk of alarm from the Blackthorn heir has Cynthia cackling hysterically, even doubling over in her delight at the waterlogged hair, usually fluffy and meticulously combed up, plastered onto Lance's flabbergasted face.
Her own glee doesn't last long either, however, as she's hoisted into the air with a shriek and then unceremoniously flung into the shallows with a large splash.
"Lance!" She cries, appalled, and yet the sound of his laughter brings her own back in full force, even as she flings her arm out to splash him in retaliation.
"Hey-!"
It isn't hard for Cynthia to take the opportunity as Lance raises his hands to shield his face from the spray of seawater to scramble up and lunge at him, soaked sundress forgotten in the rush of competitiveness that floods her chest.
Whatever plan Cynthia has is drowned out by a wave surging past her back, soaking her from head to toe and knocking her off her feet. Another laugh from the Johtonian has her looking up, and she rolls over to meet the gaping maw of Lance’s Gyarados.
“Two can play at that game, Miss Champion,” Lance teases as he leans over to peer at Cynthia from her place on the sand. She can feel the water soaking into her dress further as the massive leviathan of Lance’s team lays its heavy red head on her stomach with a surprising delicacy, and she sighs, giving up her efforts to tackle its master and instead patting its snout. As it huffs out a warm, wet jet of air over her face in contentment, she looks up. The shadow of Lance’s head blots out the sun, but she still finds herself squinting her good eye to look up at him properly, haloed as he is by the deep blue sky and bright light of the summer day.
They stay like that, the two Champions, for a while, staring at each other in silence.
“Hi,” Cynthia eventually murmurs with a tiny smile, her voice just above the washing of the waves at her feet.
Lance’s own expression softens into a smile as well, and he slowly lays down on the ground, keeping his elbow propped up against the sand and resting his chin in his palm. “Hi.”
His gaze flickers down her soaked dress, up to the rest of the Champions farther up the beach, now tiny specks on the horizon. Cynthia follows his gaze, turning her head to study the people in the distance. Lance’s eyes return to Cynthia’s face, and he patiently waits until she looks at him again to speak. “Sorry about your dress.”
“It’ll dry off in a few minutes,” Cynthia waves him off nonchalantly, pushing at Gyarados’ jaw to prompt it to let her up from the ground; it obeys eventually with a grumble, slithering into the water to greet the Milotic patiently waiting in the shallows. “I was getting a little hot myself, anyway.” A pause, before she reaches up to ruffle Lance’s wet hair, earning a grunt from the Dragon Master. She laughs, endeared at the noise, so similar to the grumble she’d just received from his Gyarados as it is. Lance catches her hand as she pulls it back, bringing it close once more and pressing a light kiss to her open palm. Cynthia’s breath catches in her throat. Even now, such effortless gestures from the man never fail to make her heart skip a beat, especially knowing how long it took for him to get accustomed to doing such things openly.
“Ah… should we go back?” Cynthia strokes Lance’s cheek briefly before pulling her hand away somewhat bashfully. “They’ll be wondering where we are.”
“They can wait,” Lance hums in response, leaning in close. “We won't be missed.”
“Heeeeey!”
The loud cheer in greeting has Steven, Wallace, and Diantha turning to the entrance of the beach, where the regions’ troupe of protégés are trekking through the sand towards them, Hop dragging Leon in tow.
“That smells awesome!” Lucas whoops, and he and Brendan rush over to the grill with abandon.
“Where’s Alder?” Hilda asks idly once she’s within earshot, rolling out a beach towel and plopping her bag on top of it.
“Over there,” Wallace gestures to the water behind them, where the retired Champion is surfing along the shallows, Volcarona gliding behind him.
“Oh, cool.” Hilbert brushes past Hilda, dropping his things next to hers before making a hasty beeline towards the ocean. “Samurott and I are gonna join him. See ya.”
It doesn't take long for the young trainers to disperse, though Steven soon notices Lyra glancing around with wide eyes, looking almost lost. He doesn't get a chance to ask her what’s wrong, though, as Barry suddenly shouts out, drawing the Hoenn Champion’s attention with his outburst.
“Hey!! Where’s Cynthia? She told us she would be here!” The boy stomps impatiently. “I’m fining her ten million bucks if she’s late!”
“Lance isn't here either,” Lyra adds in, eyes growing bigger, if it’s even possible.
Ah. That’s what she’d seemed so worried about.
Steven exchanges a glance with Diantha, who simply smiles knowingly.
“They’re here, don’t worry,” she says. “They’ll be back soon.”
“Hm.” The hum comes from Silver, gazing down the beach with a slight squint, eyebrows furrowed.
“What are you staring at, Silver?” Ethan pipes up, poking the taller boy. It takes a second poke for him to drag his eyes away from what he’d been focused on and look down at Ethan.
“…Nothing.”
Steven swears he sees the boy’s gaze soften slightly as he glances back down the beach.
“Let’s go battle. You and Lyra versus me and Kris.”