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It's snowing, but it's kind of nice out, for once. In the distance, you see Viridian. You see Viridian Gym. Past it, you can barely see Pallet, and the professor's lab. Your house is…somewhere over there. It’s too small to really see. The only reason why you can see the lab, and the gym, is because they’re big. The gym is a massive arena, and the lab has a huge pasture attached to it.
The snow crunches behind you. You turn around. Someone is here, coming up to you, bundled up tightly in a scarf, heavy jacket, snow pants and snow boots. It's way, way more than what you have on. You're wearing a matching set of gloves and scarf your mother knit for you, but that's pretty much it.
When he gets close enough, you recognize the face; it would be concerning if you didn’t.
It’s your best friend.
Your best friend followed you up a mountain.
For some reason.
And all you really want to do is punch him in the face.
Your nose is crooked from when he broke it a couple years ago, and a tiny scar crosses the bridge between your eyes. You hadn’t seen it in a while, because it’s not like there are mirrors here, but you can feel it, the little raised bump.
But he came up here, just for you. At least, there isn't any other reason why he'd come. None that you can think of, anyway.
“You aren't gonna say anything to me?” He says.
Nope. You say nothing. It's been a while since you've spoken more than one or two words at a time. You make an attempt to clear your throat, and end up coughing loudly.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Maybe a hi, or a hey? No? Nothing?”
You roll your eyes, and turn back around. “...if you aren't here to, to fight, t-then, then you can l-leave,” you manage to say.
Even if he is here to fight, you aren’t going to battle him. You already wiped the floor with his ass a year ago during the championship match. There’s no point in re-establishing the fact that you are, currently, the strongest trainer in Kanto.
But what else could he possibly want with you?
A hand lands on your shoulder. It takes everything within you to not spin around and punch him in the face. You take a breath of the frigid air and close your eyes. You will not spin around and punch him in the face.
His hand grips your shoulder tighter and he forces you to face him.
You clench your fists.
You will not punch him in the face.
You will not break his nose like he did yours.
You open your eyes.
He's shivering.
His lip is quivering from how cold he is.
There's a bit of frozen snot on the tip of his nose.
Some snowflakes are stuck in his eyelashes.
His cheeks are flushed a shiny red from the wind chill.
He looks…pathetic.
You unclench your fists.
This is your best friend.
Despite everything, he is still, unfortunately, your best friend. And he came all this way, just to see you.
Why the hell is he here?
“Why t-the, the, the hell are you here?” You ask.
He blinks at your question, and recoils. “Why the hell are you here?” He shoots back. “Mount Silver? Really? Are you trying to die or something?”
You came here to be alone. You came here to get away from everyone. You came here to train. You came here for a lot of different reasons, but the main one was you came here to be left alone. Not like he'll ever understand the concept of being left alone. He is the nosiest person you know, other than yourself.
You ignore his questions.
This pisses him off, just like you knew it would. His eyes narrow. “Why are you here?” He asks again. Louder.
“I can, I can hear,” you snap.
“Oh, really. I wasn't sure, since you didn't deem me worthy enough to acknowledge.” You hear him mutter “piece of shit” under his breath.
You scoff. “You, you t-think way too, too highly of your, yourself,” you say. He's pissing you off. “Asshole.”
“What?” He says. It's not a question, it's an accusation. A threat.
He heard you; he's daring you to repeat it.
You're perfectly fine with repeating yourself. He doesn't scare you. “I, I said, you, you are an asshole.” You make sure to enunciate every single syllable. “You, you would’ve t-thought that…that l-losing would humble you, b-but clearly it, it didn’t. D-did you come here to, to l-lose again?”
There is a wild look in his eyes. The same one you saw two years ago when he fought you in his grandfather's lab. He wants to tackle you to the ground and attempt to beat you up again.
But you won last time.
Well…sort of. At least, you would have won, if he hadn’t fought dirty and punched you when you were trying to be kind. He balls his hands into fists and bares his teeth at you.
If he tries to fight you again, you aren't going to hold back. You aren't going to stop at drawing blood. You aren't going to lose another fist fight.
Something would be broken.
But you don't want to fight him.
He's…your best friend.
Still, despite everything, he is your best friend. And you don’t want to hurt him.
Do you dare to extend the olive branch, again? Or would he just break your nose again?
As you open your mouth to speak, to tell him he can fuck off because you aren’t going to fight him, he sighs.
He completely deflates. All sense of fight leaves his body.
“Today's your birthday,” he says.
Today’s…your birthday? Was it really? You've long since lost track of time being up here. You have no idea what day it is.
Well, apparently, according to your best friend, it's your birthday.
You are now twelve.
But, if today is your birthday, then yesterday was his.
“...happy birthday,” you say. “Sorry I m-missed it.”
He stares at you, like he can’t believe you said that, like he can't believe you mean it. But of course you do, you always spend your birthdays together. This is the first time since you met you missed his birthday. He shakes his head. “That's why I'm here.”
He came here, just…for your birthday?
He holds out a small gift bag. You take it, cautiously, and slowly open it.
It's a cupcake, locked up in a little clear container. There's a smiley face drawn on the lid, probably courtesy of his sister. You look back up at him. He’s not looking at you anymore.
“...th-thank you,” you say. And you mean it. “...come on.”
There's a cave in the cliffside you’ve made into your home away from home. You release Charizard, and the space gets warmer fast. As per the routine, he ignites your bonfire and curls up next to it. You sit on one of the thick quilts you had that you laid out as a makeshift rug/mattress/carpet/sleeping bag, and gesture for your friend to do the same.
He shuffles around, unties his boots and lays them to the side, then sheds his coat and scarf, laying them close to the fire so they can dry.
Then, to your great surprise, he follows your instruction. He sits close to your side and makes a vague gesture to the bag you’re still holding.
Right, the cupcake.
It looks really good, with the icing perfectly swirled on top. You kind of can’t believe it survived the trip up here. It looks like…vanilla, with a chocolate frosting. You pop open the lid, and immediately you can smell the sweetness of the sugar. You lick your lips, open your mouth big, and take a bite.
You get frosting up your nose.
But, it’s delicious. The cake is light and airy, the frosting is sweet but not overwhelming. It’s…really, really good.
“Tasty?” He asks you. You nod and wipe the frosting from your face. “Well, gee. Thanks.”
…thanks? For what? “...what’re you t-talking about?” You ask.
“I made that one,” he answers with a cheeky smile.
You nearly spit out the bite of the cupcake you just ate. “You - ?!”
“Yeah, me.” He fully grins at you. “You thought Daisy made it?”
Yeah, you did. It looks and tastes exactly like the ones Daisy would make. You nod again.
“Well, she didn’t.” He pauses. “Well, she gave me instructions, but she didn’t touch it. That one’s nothing but Gary.”
Gary.
He changed his name again.
You probably should have guessed he would, but he seemed to really like “Blue” when he chose it before. But with how picky he is, it really didn’t surprise you. It felt like he was changing his name every other day, and it took a lot of effort to keep up. You're probably the only one who's never messed it up.
Your best friend Gary spent his birthday baking you a cupcake so he could bring it up a freezing cold mountain filled with powerful scary Pokémon, just for you to eat on your birthday, which you didn’t even realize was today until he mentioned it.
This is his olive branch.
“...Gary,” you say. He looks at you. “...I'm…I’m sorry I b-bit you.”
His hand goes to cover where you know his scar is. It was pretty nasty; Daisy took him to the doctor and he ended up needing stitches for it. You nearly tore a chunk out of his skin with how hard you bit him.
“...I'm sorry I broke your nose,” he mumbles. “And called you a loser. And a freak.”
“I'm sorry I punched you.” You weren’t, not really. He did deserve it. You just kind of wish you hadn’t done it. Maybe if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have fought. Maybe you wouldn’t have bit him so hard.
Maybe he wouldn’t have broken your nose, if you hadn’t punched him first.
“I'm sorry,” he sighs. “Just…I'm just sorry, Red. Do…would you…can…can we be friends again?”
Can you be friends again. What kind of question is that? You smile at him. “We n-never stopped.”
A lot of expressions cross his face. Eventually, he lands on confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Yes we did. We stopped being friends the second I broke your nose.”
He would think that.
Things were very black and white for Gary. You fought, so obviously you weren’t friends anymore. What kind of friend would bite his best friend so hard he needed stitches? What kind of friend would punch his best friend in the face so hard his nose breaks? There was no way you’d still be friends. Obviously.
But, you didn't think that. Sure, it hurt, both physically and emotionally, but not enough to make you stop wanting to be friends. You still tried to help him after he got sick. You thought it was pretty clear you still cared about him. But he was so blinded by this…this rivalry, so incredibly focused on beating you, maybe he couldn’t see that.
“M-maybe, maybe to, to you. But…” You lick a bit of frosting from your fingers. Yummy. “You…you were n-never my, my rival. Y-you, you’ve always been m-my best friend.”
“But…” He trails off, falls silent.
“You - you’re so…com- competitive.” You shrug. “But, so am I. It…it was a, a competition. And you l-lost. That’s it. That…that’s all there is to it.”
Lance said Gary was champion for around an hour before you managed to catch up to him. For an hour, Gary was the strongest trainer in Kanto.
You just happened to be better.
Probably by luck. Definitely not by skill. Gary knew Pokémon, Gary was great with Pokémon, Pokémon battles, raising up his Pokémon, training his Pokémon. He knew everything about them, knew which moves were best for which set-ups, and perfected his team to a T.
He just had shitty luck.
It was like a video game, to you. You got invested, you got competitive, and for those few months you wanted nothing more than to beat Gary. Then, you did, and now it’s over, and you can go back to the way things were before. Well, as much as you can, anyway.
Gary is staring into the fire, watching the embers flick and float away into the air.
You’re pretty sure he’s not going to answer you.
You take one last bite of your cupcake to finish it off. You scoot over closer to Gary. Then again. And again. Until your shoulders are touching.
He moves away, for a second, to reach in his bag, then knocks his shoulder against yours as he comes back.
He hands you a ball. Or, he tries to. You sit there and stare at it. “Take it,” he says. “This is your present. Happy birthday.”
A present…?
Your best friend brought a present for your birthday, along with a cupcake he baked himself, to the top of a dangerous freezing cold mountain filled with dangerous scary Pokémon.
You cannot understate how dangerous it is up here.
But he did it, just for you. Just for your birthday.
You take the ball from his hand and release whatever is inside.
It’s an Eevee.
“It’s a boy,” Gary says as Eevee shakes himself out. “You can tell from the fur pattern on the tail. Female Eevee tails will have a more rounded shape.”
Eevee comes up close to you, sniffs the hand you hold out, and headbutts it. He’s very cute. There’s a little collar around his neck, with an Everstone attached. You poke it with your finger. “...why this?”
“He kept trying to evolve while I was training him,” he explains. “I didn’t know which form you wanted, or if you wanted to keep him unevolved like Pikachu, so…this was the best option.”
You know Gary has an Umbreon. You’re pretty sure he has one of every Eevee evolution, at least all the ones that have been discovered so far, but you’re most familiar with Umbreon, or, really, the Eevee that she used to be. He has favorites, even though he pretends like he doesn’t. He’s always loved Eevee and its evolutions, he’s always loved Squirtle and Blastoise.
Gary loves his Pokémon. He loves Pokémon. He loves everything about Pokémon. He loves his Pokémon, and he cares deeply for all of them, every single one, even the ones that didn't make the cut for his final team. He caught and trained every one personally, and evolved them all by himself. You know this, everyone who has ever met Gary knows this.
Professor Oak was wrong.
You could never love Pokémon as much as Gary did, because Gary’s love of Pokémon was absolute and immense. He just…loved being your rival, more, for a couple of months. And apparently, that made all the difference.
“Thank you,” you say. And you mean it. “I don’t, uh…don’t have anything for, for you. Sorry.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything. Consider this my one act of goodwill for the year.”
The fire crackles. Eevee goes to curl up next to Charizard, tucking himself into his wing. Your cave is small. Pathetic, even. But it’s home, at least for now. “If, if you…if you meet any, any strong t-trainers, send them to, to me,” you say. “I’ll…come b-back, when I l-lose.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a, a challenge.”
He nods his head slowly. “Not me?”
“N-no. Not you.” You’re done fighting with Gary, at least for now. “Someone else. B-but, someone who can b-beat you, full power, is, is strong enough to, to beat me.”
It’s a compliment, and you know he’ll take it as one. Gary is unmatched in power, except against you. He's never lost a fight, except to you. You know he will only send you the best of the best, someone he knew could beat you. He just had to find them.
“Okay,” he says, and nods more confidently. “You’re on.”
It’s still a fight, you guess. Still a game to be won. Just a different kind, one where you aren’t trying to impede each other for once.
And you don’t think you’re going to win this one.
You usually don’t win in games against your best friend.
You just got lucky.