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As your chapped and aching hands glide over each other in a habit that now causes more pain than comfort, you think to yourself, not for the first time, that it may be time to invest in some gloves.
Like many of your fellow Pokemon trainers, you embarked on the challenge to complete all 8 gyms. You loved the joy of exploration, adventure, and having picnics with your beloved Deino under the expansive sky.
Unlike other trainers, your streak of stubbornness often left you stuck. That persistence not only impacted your decision to buy gloves in freezing weather, but also affected your reason for being where you were in the first place. In the end, all it took was one misplaced comment from a friend to send you straight to Glaseado Gym.
“You may want to diversify your team a bit before you get to the last gym,” they had warned. “Dragon types are cool and all, but they’re vulnerable against ice. You won’t beat the last gym that way.”
Not one to be told what you couldn’t do, you made a point to direct your Cyclizar to Glaseado Mountain, where the gym of the same name resided and where you would stay until you successfully defeated the gym leader with your reliable team of Dragon-types. Unfortunately, as predicted, Grusha defeated you not once, but multiple times since then, resulting in an extended stay in the frigid region with only your blind determination rooting you in place.
As an additional measure of your mulishness, you refused to wear any sort of protective handwear, instead preferring to protect your hands in your pockets until you were required to remove them from their pouches. With your inherent nature to fidget, stretch and otherwise keep your hands as mobile as possible to combat their perpetual stiffness, your attempts to keep them warm and pliable never succeeded. It was a damnable habit that you thought was bad enough on its own in the cold climate, but was intensified by the unwanted attention it brought you from your fated rival.
Grusha, former pro snowboarder yet undoubtedly excellent Gym Leader, tended to keep an eye on your hapless hands during battle. While it was never commented on (thank Arceus), both of you knew that he knew your hands were an unfortunate tell of whatever new strategy you had come up with to hopefully defeat the Ice-type Gym Leader once and for all; a tell he read as consistently as an open book and made sure to shut down before the going got good.
As you currently ponder over your most recent loss, beginning to spin your wrists in a stretch that satisfactorily began to ease a bit of your aches, Grusha approaches you from the opposite end of the arena.
“No hard feelings yet?” He teases, his typical response after beating you, a note of concern always buried underneath the frosty exterior.
You smirk and change your stretch by pulling the length of your fingers back, easing the tension that had been accumulating in your palm and wrist. “Not until the world freezes over.”
Grusha smiles at that, or at least you think he does with his trademark scarf covering his mouth. The most you see of his satisfaction are his annoyingly pretty eyes squinting together in his signature “smize.” His eyes are the blue of winter, cool and distant most times, but heart-stoppingly beautiful, especially in the moments he injected life into them; moments like when he decided to smile. You always have to look away to keep from making a fool of yourself.
“Want some hot chocolate? My treat.” He offers, drawing you out of your thoughts.
You nod and stuff your hands into the home of your pockets where they belong. “Yeah! Let’s get going!”
You and Grusha built a friendship around your rivalry. When it was obvious you were not going to back down from beating him in a gym battle, you decided getting to know your competition might give you some insight on how to defeat him. You were the one who initially instigated these hot drink runs, which Grusha only reluctantly went along with so as not to seem rude. Yet, with each time you two went out together, you felt his icy walls melt away as he slowly but surely relaxed around you.
You learned he liked waking up early enough to see the sun rise so he could watch as the first light’s rays shone upon the snow. He enjoyed having snowball fights amongst his Pokemon, even though he never won any of them. You knew he missed snowboarding more than he was willing to admit. None of this proved to be any useful for beating him in battle, but it did warm you up to the frigid Gym Leader more than you would ever say.
Now, the two of you head to one of your usual cafe hangout spots, jabbing one another about your most recent battle and laughing at how the intensity of the wind may blow you both away. Almost at your destination, you proceed to quickly crack your hands, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by your companion.
“If you don’t mind me asking… how come you don’t wear gloves?” He questions. “The cold can make your joints stiff and ruin the skin.”
You look towards your bare hands, suddenly self-conscious of their nakedness, the brokenness of your dried skin and blustering redness from overexposure to extreme cold. You immediately feel your face begin to heat up, and as if realizing the reaction he set off, he immediately added, “That may be why you always feel like you need to stretch out your hands.”
You press your lips together and shove the offending body parts back into the warm domain of your coat where they belong. Taking a breath in, you decide to share the source of your stubbornness.
“Wearing gloves is… uncomfortable,” you mutter. “My hands always feel constricted and stiff, I just can’t stand my hands feeling trapped. And the material itself always gets too warm, too fast, so I end up taking them off after a bit of wearing them anyways. There’s no point.”
You feel the fragilities in your argument as the words exit your lips. None of the reasons you just provided are any better than freezing off your hands, a fact your ever-logical friend feels the need to state.
“It’s not cool getting frostbite either,” he admonishes.
You simply nod and refuse to look him in the eyes, refusing to make yourself seem even more weak to your competitor.
The two of you don’t exchange any more chatter after that, and when you arrive at the cafe, you choose to enjoy your hot chocolates in silence before uttering an awkward farewell for now and parting ways.
While the embarrassment of interacting with Grusha after your last conversation keeps you from trying to challenge him again for a few weeks (you tell yourself you need some time to focus on training your precious Dragon-type Pokemon), your bullheadedness to prove your friend wrong is what has you returning to the Glaseado Gym for another butt-kicking (hopefully his, this time). You head into the lobby preceding the gym test when you stop in surprise.
The very object of your avoidance for the past few weeks is waiting at the lobby counter, holding a small box under his arm while talking with one of the staff. He turns to you after hearing the doors close and perks up slightly before ending the present conversation.
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be here today,” he notes, scanning you from head to toe as if he hadn’t seen you in months. “You’ve been gone for a few weeks.”
You bristle and steel yourself for whatever comments he may continue to make when he throws you off guard by saying, “I have something for you.”
Your confusion plasters itself unintentionally upon your face, though he merely directs you over to the seating area to the side.
He sits next to you on the couch, shifting to hold the box on his lap as your heart and mind race forward with what he could possibly be giving you. It’s snowy all the time here, but it’s not Christmas yet. Your birthday is months away, and as far as you know, there’s no reason for him to be giving you anything. A clearing of the throat is what catches your attention, his glittering blue eyes capturing yours instantly.
“I thought about what you said the last time we talked, how uncomfortable gloves are to wear for you,” he starts. You are about to interrupt him, to say ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it’ if only to offset the serious atmosphere that suddenly draped over you, but he pushes forward.
“It wasn’t cool of me to make you feel self-conscious about your hands, I’m sorry.” Upon concluding his apology, he pushes the box into your lap. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back so I could give these to you. Maybe they'll feel more comfortable than what you’ve worn in the past.”
Curious and intrigued, you take a minute to observe the box. Its smooth, navy blue exterior portrayed an elegance that fit Grusha perfectly, though the package overall weighted very little on your lap. Upon lifting the lid, you couldn’t help but gasp.
Laying on silken fabric were a pair of midnight blue mittens that matched Grusha’s own. You brush your fingers along the soft fabric, admiring the texture, and know that these will succeed in keeping your hands toasty.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admit at last, looking up to see crystalline eyes staring intently at you, gauging your reaction to your gift.
“Then you don’t need to say anything,” he says gently. “Just wearing them will be enough of a thank you for me. Try them on.”
You make a move to put on your first mitten when he lightly grasps your hand, causing you to barely hold back a gasp. You didn’t notice before, but he had put his own mittens away, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his hands. His fingers are slender, and warmth radiates from his fingertips into your chilled, brittle skin. Despite the pleasantness of his touch, you flinch as you feel your skin continue to complain through its cracks.
He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement and takes out a tube of moisturizer from his coat pocket, applying a fair amount onto the back of your hands before rubbing it carefully into your skin. You observe his hands as closely as you’re able while his attention is occupied. You take note of the lack of calluses, palms soft as pillows as they work their way across yours. Blue veins run through his translucent skin like little rivers as his muscles flex and pull while he continues to finish applying the moisturizer to the back of your hand. Yet try as you might, you can’t help the blush that turns your face tomato red with the way his skin ignites sparks into yours, each movement a balm that gradually reduces your pain until the moisturizer (and the feeling of his hands) is thoroughly worked into your skin.
Grusha pauses to look up at you, allowing his hands to slowly retreat from yours. “My hands also tend to get dried out from the cold… Was that okay?” Upon more than a brief glance over his features, you notice his cheeks are dusted in a perfect pink, far more delicate and pretty than your own blush.
You try to hold yourself together enough to nod, adding an “Mhm” for good measure. Allowing your confirmation to give him the confidence he needs, he takes a mitten with the intent of placing it on your hand. He stops just before doing so, only continuing after you encourage him with a “Go ahead, it’s okay,” and proceeds to tenderly place both mittens upon your hands. When the final mitten makes its way past your palm, you instantly begin to miss the feel of his skin against yours.
“What do you think?” Broken from your trance, you glance over to meet his expectant gaze, flecks of anxiety mingled within, before focusing upon your newly acquired winter wear.
You wiggle your fingers within the mittens, reveling in how unconfined you feel and how unlikely it is that your fingers will become sweaty with the mobility they have in the main finger compartment. Looking at your hands, you think to yourself that your mittens look like the beak of a Porygon2 and begin to giggle.
You shift towards your now-puzzled companion, holding your hands in front of you and making a Porygon2 noise in reply. You’re rewarded for your bout of silliness with one of those lovely “smizes” from Grusha, who merely sighs with relief and mild adoration as he basks in your enjoyment of your present.
Eventually, you have enough courtesy to say, “Thank you. These are perfect. We match now too!”
With the atmosphere now filled with forgiveness and care for one another, Grusha begins to pull out his own mittens. “I hope you don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you this time,” he teases.
“I’d be offended if you did!” You declare, leading to a short burst of laughter from the both of you. You relish in the music of his joy, allowing his laugh to ring in your ears as you walk out together, back to the Glaseado Gym arena to proceed in yet another Pokemon battle. If anyone notices that you have matching mittens, even more that those mittens brush against each other more than they need to when you’re together, no one makes a peep, allowing the flames in your heart to burn for each other more fiercely.