Archive of Our Own ^beta

I've done my nails since I was four and stole mom's old red nail polish.

Mom found me and kindly laughed at me for the mess I did on my right hand, but congratulated me on the job I did on the left one. She wiped it off and said we would buy kid friendly nail polish on the weekend.

For years, I spent hours playing with the non-toxic water-based peel-off quick-dry nail polish kit. And then some more hours practicing painting on my dominant right hand. By the time I was ten, I was a pro.

The last years of my childhood and the beginning of my adolescence were filled with endless adventures, and be it on a forest or in the middle of the sea, I kept my nails colorful.

I had them orange when I met you.

They didn't match my dress but they matched your hair. You said they looked pretty and wished me luck on my very first contest. Young me had a confidence that I envy for its intensity but pity for its naivety. Despite my inexperience, I assured you I was ready to win. Without missing a beat and never judging, you said you’d meet me on the finals and shoot me a smile.

I lied when I said I always kept them colorful. After two losses in a row, I left my nails bare.

The Wallace Cup came and went. I gained a new ribbon and some of my confidence back. Also a new friend, a Piplup necklace and a white nail polish which was mysteriously left in my room. It had a note. A present for the bad times, it said, to help me remember I can always start over. A blank canvas. It was signed with a Z and a point. I laughed at the lack of a cute symbol, such as a heart or a smiley face, and saved it in my bag. I have it to this day.

I had them pink when I finally beat you at the Grand Festival.

They didn’t match my dress, which was blue, or your hair, as orange as ever, but they matched the gold trophy with pink and white ribbons. I smiled so hard my cheeks matched my nails too.

The years passed.

I won some contests and lost some others. Sometimes I met you at the finals, sometimes I didn’t. I carry myself now with a confidence I didn’t know when I was younger, and I recognize it as the result of many reality checks. And as hard as it sometimes got, I’m grateful for every experience, every laugh and every tear.

Every person.

I turn around and look at you.

You’re on the couch, reading a book about stage composition, while Glameow and Piplup stare at the golden trees from the windowsill. We came all the way to Kalos for this year’s Wallace Cup. Lumiose City welcomed us with all its glory, full of lights and shops, but now we rest and get ready for action soaked in the calm and magical glow of Laverre City.

I’m on the table, painting my nails. Purple this time. They won’t match my dress but they’ll match your suit.

You feel my gaze on you and turn to face me.

“Almost done?” You ask with a sincere smile.

I raise my hands and show them to you. Left hand ready, right hand without an ounce of nail polish.

“Halfway there.”

You get up and sit next to me. You’re wearing the perfume I got you for your last birthday and the shirt we won in Johto’s carnival games when we met in the Ecruteak fair last spring.

“They look so pretty,” you say, and I swear hearing you describe anything having to do with me as pretty will never get old to me. “I’m realizing now,” you continue, “I’ve never seen you in the process of doing them, I always see them ready.”

“Well, you’re getting the VIP backstage experience now”, I declare.

Your gentle eyes meet mine.

“What an honor.”

In my mind, I do a zoom out and I see us. Dawn and Zoey sitting on a table. Dawn and Zoey talking about everything. Dawn and Zoey talking about nothing. Dawn and Zoey deciding on some background music. Dawn and Zoey sharing a snack. Dawn and Zoey cracking a joke. Dawn and Zoey enjoying each other’s company. Dawn and Zoey just being.

What an honor, indeed.

The minutes go by and I’ve long forgotten about my unpainted nails, but not you. Observant and thoughtful as always, you notice, and that’s when you ask me:

“Want me to paint your right hand for you?”

I smile at the simplicity of the question and the sweet realization that comes with it.

Because doing my nails never felt lonely, never felt like an activity that needed someone other than myself. And it doesn’t. And you know it. Your help is unnecessary, yet you offer it, yet I take it. Because wanting to be together is above any necessity, because anything is made better with both of us in it. Because there are no prerequisites for us to spend time with one another. And there’s no space for Need, there’s no space for Have To, because Want To fills the room.

Because it’s nice to experience life together, so why wouldn’t we?

I believe I was meant to meet you as much as I was meant to find mom’s old red nail polish when I was four. I believe everything was meant to happen the way it did just so I could have you here, delicately holding my hand, coating the brush in the enamel and carefully applying it to my nails at the eve of yet another competition where we hope to meet at the finals. And be it in the stillness of our room or the uproar of a battle, I believe I was meant to find happiness, companionship and love with you.

So we keep going.

Willingly. Side by side.

The color in my nails not always matching my clothes, but always matching a moment with you.