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***
Juan gives Wallace a look.
“It’s just support,” says Wallace. “…support from friends. From a friend. You’ve had friends before, right? Like Norman?”
Now, Juan gives Wallace The Look™. Wallace looks away from Juan—he really can’t handle this right now—and focuses instead on the reason Juan is looking at him like that.
Steven Stone.
With a big bouquet of flowers in his arms.
Rapidly approaching.
Wallace isn’t sure if Steven is any easier to look at than Juan, given how his heart is beating so rapidly in his chest, but he can’t get away with doing what he desperately wants to do right now—bury his face in his palms, maybe forever—with the cameras flashing all around them.
“Juan,” says Steven, polite, when he finally gets to where Wallace and Juan are standing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wallace sees Juan incline his head in equally polite response. Then everything around Wallace—the flashes of the cameras, the loudness, the buzz of excitement following the Master Contest—fades to nothing as Steven focuses on him.
Those steel blue eyes.
They soften and get warmer as Steven looks him over, and it feels like Wallace is about to melt in his clothes.
“…Wallace,” says Steven after what feels like a very long moment.
“Steven,” Wallace says. Breathes. He’s feeling a bit—more than a bit, actually—out of breath.
Wordlessly and with a small smile on his face, Steven holds out the flowers. Wallace doesn’t hesitate to reach out for them and take them into his own arms.
“Are these…” Wallace’s voice trails off. He really doesn’t know what to say.
“They aren’t nearly as beautiful as your performance was,” Steven has the nerve to sound apologetic saying words that just might send Wallace to an early grave, “but I wanted to get you… something, at the very least. Contest Master is no small feat—you’ve achieved it across two regions now.”
Still at a loss for words, Wallace nods and looks down at the flowers. Roses, lilies, tulips, forget-me-not, cheri blossoms… Wallace swallows and begins blinking rapidly. It feels like his throat is closing up, and like there’s a sting in his eyes. Does Steven know what these flowers mean? Maybe… maybe not. Maybe this is just another facet of friendship for him. And they are friends now. It makes Wallace happy to remember that, even despite the pinch somewhere in his chest.
Wallace takes a deep breath. Shuts his eyes a moment. Steadies himself—composes himself, because composure is the station of a Sootopolitan, a Contest Master, a Champion Level Trainer and Seated Champion. And when he finds himself, he looks back into Steven’s eyes.
“…they’re beautiful,” he says softly.
Any louder and he fears his voice might crack, but there’s the chance Steven didn’t hear him. A nod from the man confirms that that isn’t the case. Wallace continues.
“But nothing is as wonderful as you simply being here. I appreciate it. Truly.”
Beside Wallace, Juan makes a wounded sound. Not that Wallace cares—he’s too busy basking in the way the expression on Steven’s face gets even brighter.
“Really?” Says Steven, just a little teasing, “cause I had a second present for you as well. Are you free right now?”
***
When Wallace gets home to Sootopolis, it takes him about a week to feel like he didn’t live a dream.
He’d always wanted to participate in contests anywhere and everywhere; throughout Hoenn’s towns and cities and even beyond. He never dreamed he’d earn the distinction of being a Contest Master across two regions, each with their own distinct style of Pokemon Contest.
But truth be told, all that pales in comparison to Steven coming to watch Wallace compete. Steven handing him a bouquet of flowers. Steven inviting Wallace out for dinner at the Valor Lakefront Resort.
Wallace remembers it all in perfect detail, crystal clear. However, just because he remembers it happening doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel like it was all a dream. An illusion. Steven’s hand brushed against his. Steven’s eyes held his own. Steven sat there and looked at Wallace and listened to Wallace and spoke to Wallace as if… as if he was basking in Wallace’s company. Beyond the amazing ambience of the place, that is. Wallace has never experienced a friendship quite like this one.
And then Wallace walks into his living room and nearly drops to the floor in shock and…
…and the only person who ever has access to Wallace’s house when Wallace anticipates being away a while, and even when Wallace doesn’t, is Juan. That, as well as Juan being the only person whom Wallace has spoken to about Steven and how he feels about Steven, means that it could have only been Juan who made the two new additions to Wallace’s living room wall.
Two framed pictures. A clear side profile shot of Steven handing the bouquet to Wallace, and another photo, framed by leaves and branches, of Steven and Wallace sharing dinner at the Valor Lakefront Resort.
Juan, as always, picks on the second ring.
“Wallace.”
“Juan… thank you. I… yes. Just… Thank you.”
“…anything for a former apprentice.”
***
The truth is, it all seems so silly in hindsight.
Looking back on all his interactions with Steven, Wallace can see clearly what he was too blind to recognise, and the reason Juan kept trying to nudge Wallace in the direction of openness about how he felt.
But that’s the thing about hindsight and present knowledge, isn’t it? The present is like a shifting illusion, and when it becomes the past, it’s almost as if all the mechanics behind it, all the flaws to it, are laid bare.
The truth is, Wallace doubts he would have known, no, believed, without the journey it took.
***
Following the completion of Wallace’s training to be recognised as Sootopolitan, Wallace pays Juan a visit. He just so happens to find the man sitting before his television, watching what Wallace thought were reruns of the recent league matches—victors of the gym challenge looking to be recognised as Champion Level Trainers.
The level of battle taking place on the screen, however, says something completely different. Someone is challenging Champion Vicky for the title of league champion. That isn’t anything new, though. Such challenge matches are a regular occurrence—the highlight of the League Year coming to a close.
What awes Wallace—has him immediately join Juan on the couch—is the fact that the challenger is… challenging. The challenger is holding their own against Champion Vicky—the Champion Vicky Winstrate of the Hoenn league, whom analysts everywhere say will likely only lose her title to retirement.
“Goodness…” Wallace whispers as he watches Vicky’s Camerupt and her challenger’s Armaldo clash.
“Mmmm,” hums Juan, like he agrees with Wallace’s sentiments. After a moment, he adds: “It’s the Devon Corps boy. Joseph Stone’s son.”
Camerupt falls, leaving Armaldo barely standing as Medicham takes the field.
“…CEO Stone’s son?”
Wallace remembers hearing him. Or maybe reading about him? Some piece theorising about the trajectory of his life and what kind of person he’d become given his father’s achievements—he’s just turned… eighteen?
“Mhm,” confirms Juan. “Steven, I believe.”
And then, before Wallace can ask more, the footage cuts to the split screen format the league favours—the one they love showing following a knockout on the field. On the right is Vicky Winstrate, brow furrowed in concentration, and on the left is…
Wow.
Wallace has never seen eyes that steely and blue before. The intensity in those eyes makes him lean forward in his seat. It’s all Wallace can stare at before he finally takes in the rest of the young man. His hair, beautiful for how similar it looks to his eyes but unfortunately styled. The way his two piece suit—jacket buttoned all the way up—hangs off of him. The babyishness of his face against the way it’s visible his jaw is finally really coming into its own. The youthful eagerness and mature confidence with which he calls out to his Pokemon.
Like a diamond in the rough, with some of the polish already beginning to shine through.
And Wallace is most definitely captivated by the promise of that shine from the moment it met his eyes.
The yet refined shine of Steven Stone.
***
The first time Wallace meets Steven is… an experience.
The wait before he’s allowed into the champion’s chamber is nerve wracking, intensity increasing with every minute that passes. By the time the attendant tells him that he can proceed to the battlefield within the next five minutes, Wallace is regretting all the research he did about his opponent.
His opponent, Steven Stone.
Born in Rustboro. Well-regarded in geologist and spelunker circles. Did his first league challenge at age ten and was on track for a pretty great completion but had it cut short for reasons unknown to Wallace. Gained the honour of Champion Level Trainer at fourteen. Was the first and only person to defeat former Hoenn League Champion Vicky in a match for the title at only eighteen. Steven is twenty going on twenty-one now, and the most common response to his being champion is praise and admiration. Arceus above—
Ding.
The quiet notification sound interrupts Wallace’s thought, which he’s immensely grateful for. He’s even more grateful when he picks up his PokeNav and looks at the screen.
Master Juan
Remember: your elegance is carefully crafted and refined yet entirely effortless
May it guide you to success
There’s a few other texts as well—ones from Wallace’s elder sister, parents, the Master Sootopolitan, and some of the Sootopolis Gym trainers, all wishing him success in some way.
Wallace takes a deep breath in. Adjusts his hat and the collar of his shirt. Releases. Reaches for the affected calm he’s learnt from years of being a coordinator, and then reaches even deeper for a truer kind of calm, like still water. He can sense that his Pokemon are experiencing the same mix of anticipation and calm in their pokeballs, and it further grounds him. And with that, he walks out and into the Champion’s Chamber and…
There he is. Steven Stone.
As they both approach the centre of the battlefield, Wallace can make out more of the man. His suit fits better and even has purple detailing now, though it ultimately still is an ill-fitting suit. The way his hair shines in the floodlights. The shape of his jaw. Those steel blue eyes, expressing some curiosity and interest in Wallace and Wallace’s appearance.
Steven offers his hand, thick silver rings glinting on his fingers, and it feels like a slight jolt runs through Wallace when he takes and shakes it.
“Champion Steven,” says Wallace, his voice much steadier than he feels, especially given the way Steven squeezes his fingers.
“Wallace,” says Steven, a small smile on his face. “Sootopolis gym leader and one of Hoenn’s contest masters, correct?”
And that’s… surprising. Wallace is quick to gather himself, hoping his surprise didn’t show on his face. Of course Steven knows about him—any serious champion would know about their challengers, and from what Wallace knows about Steven, the man is as serious about his duties as they come.
Wallace smiles back. “In the flesh.”
There’s a short moment of silence, punctuated by the fact that Steven’s hand is still in Wallace’s even though they’re no longer truly shaking hands, and Wallace can’t help the small feeling of panic and the hope that his hands haven’t gone clammy. It’s because of this brief moment of silence that Wallace speaks more… earnestly than he ever intended to.
“I very much enjoy watching you do battle,” is what comes out of Wallace’s mouth before he can review the words.
The slight feeling of mortification that immediately accompanies those words is put to rest by the fact that Steven’s smile, already brighter than simple politeness, brightens even more. And Wallace witnesses that in great detail. Because their hands are still joined between them.
Steven squeezes slightly tighter. “Really?”
“Yes,” says Wallace. And then, because he can’t help it. “There’s an elegance to the way you and your Pokemon navigate battle.”
Steven’s smile brightens once more, and now Wallace is at risk of being blinded. “That’s really nice of you to say.” His smiles turns into a small frown. “…I can’t say I’ve seen you battle before, but the general consensus of the region seems to be that ‘elegant’ is most appropriate when it comes to you and your style.”
Wallace laughs. Not his usual, more controlled laugh that’s genuinely amused while still being elegant, but the one that’s completely unfiltered. Good thing he stops before the snorting starts. Reigning in his laughter doesn’t make him feel any less pleased by what Steven just said, though. And again, their hands are still together.
“We’re ready whenever you are, gentlemen,” says… says…
Wallace looks to where the voice came from—the side of the battlefield—so see that it was the match official who spoke those words. Wallace and Steven both acknowledge the information. Unfortunately, that leads to their hands finally separating. Wallace tries not to be disappointed about that, and when that fails, he tries to not be too disappointed by it.
Wallace looks back at Steven to find the man already looking at him. His smile is more muted now, but there’s a certain anticipation in his eyes.
“Well then,” says Steven, touching his fingertips to one of the Heavy Balls at his belt, “Come at me with all you have. May the best trainer win.”
***
Wallace doesn’t often see Steven.
At most, they meet at larger league meetings or in the champion’s chamber at the end of the league’s year, yes, but they rarely meet outside of those occasions throughout the rest of the year.
Still, Wallace would like to think that they’re… friends?
“We’re friends, right?” Wallace asks Juan one day.
It’s one of the rare times there’s a coinciding lull in their work—it’s the end of yet another league year, and Juan is prepping to retake the Sootopolis gym while Wallace is preparing to be champion of Hoenn yet again. Because of that, Juan is taking the opportunity to sketch some ideas for new outfits, something about ‘dazzling the ladies’, and sort of invited Wallace to join him so they can both come up with new outfits and review each other’s ideas. Wallace wonders when Norman became part of the mythical ‘ladies’, but he’d held his tongue about that and accepted the invitation. And now here they are, Wallace laying across the couch and Juan slouched in one of the armchairs, taking a break by watching reruns of some of Steven’s battles against league challengers—the reason Wallace asked his question in the first place—on TV.
It takes a moment before Juan responds to Wallace. He does so with a shrug and a quiet hum. He doesn’t even look Wallace’s way.
“Ughhhh…” Wallace runs his hands down his face.
See, he knows that he’s reaching. The most active interaction he and Steven get is waving at each other in the halls of the Pokemon league whenever Steven is champion and Wallace is Sootopolis gym leader, or the scant conversation they have, more pleasantries than substance, before they battle for the title of champion. Sure, those interactions are friendly, but ‘friendly’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘friends’.
“I mean… I’d just like…” Wallace’s voice trails off.
His eyes meet Juan’s, and Wallace hope that it’s clear the look on his face is communicating exactly what he’s feeling—that he doesn’t know how to describe what he wants. There’s no use spending energy on denying that he has a crush on Steven, but there’s also a part of Wallace that looks at everything about the situation and sees how nothing could truly come of that crush. Is a friendship on the table when they don’t interact enough times or in enough of the ways necessary to build one?
On his part, Juan simply looks at Wallace a good long moment. His face is unreadable. Smooth and still like Sootopolis Lagoon. It’s one of the few lessons Juan taught Wallace that Wallace hasn’t quite grasped yet—the art of keeping his face totally blank of emotion.
“I’m considering coats with a fancier trim,” begins Juan, “because I’d like the adulation of beautiful ladies… among others.”
Juan pauses a moment, clearly searching for what to say next, though his face is still blank of emotion.
“When I want something, Wallace, I work towards it. If the circumstances do not suit my goal, then I adapt the circumstances to suit myself, or adapt myself to stand the circumstances—at least for a period. And you are much the same, Wallace.”
The blankness on Juan’s face gets replaced by his smile, smooth and dashing and so filled with more warmth than Wallace ever thought could be packed into a slight curl of the lips.
“In fact, you are more prodigious in that regard. You have what it takes to maintain focus on multiple goals and achieve them to the highest degree—Sootopolitan, Contest Master, Gym Leader, Champion…
“It’s only been four-five years since you and Steven started the tradition of exchanging the championship—an elegant tradition, and one that will lend itself to establishing and growing strong bonds. You’re young, Wallace—only twenty-seven, yes?”
Juan pauses, looking to Wallace for confirmation as if he doesn’t know that he’s right about Wallace’s age. Wallace indulges him by giving a single nod.
“Yes. So young.” Juan smiles again, and Wallace can’t help feeling that this one is a touch self-deprecating. “Arceus knows the older you get, there’s more factors to consider. There’s no straight channels and cascades—when rivers meander downstream, it’s not because they desire to do so. And you are nowhere close to downstream, Wallace. Understand?”
Wallace turns Juan’s words over in his head. He flicks his gaze to the screen momentarily, catching the tail end of a still of Steven smiling. Wallace remembers why he was smiling—his Skarmory had successfully evaded all of Colo’s attempts at landing a Leech Seed and scored the knockout with a pair of Aerial Aces.
And Wallace wants that. Not anything in specific, really, though he does have his preferences, it’s just… he wants Steven. However it is Steven will allow Wallace to have him, and whatever it is Steven is willing to give. And Juan is telling him…
Wallace nods. “I think I do.” Then, after a moment: “…you too, Master. I don’t believe either of you are in the lowlands, as you seem to believe. If anything, you’re only just exiting the highlands—a confluence waiting to happen, pouring into each—”
“Watch your tongue, young man,” warns Juan, faux-serious.
The moment lasts a few seconds, and then they both bust out laughing. And, after cycling between short silences and them laughing again after meeting each other’s eyes, they eventually settle. And Wallace feels… lighter.
Juan stands up and turns off the TV. They both retrieve their sketchbooks from the coffee table before them and continue with their work. Wallace is getting lost in figuring out how exactly he wants the fabric to show off part of his Apollo’s belt when Juan’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts.
“…don’t hold yourself back, Wallace. You’d be surprised what can come of a touch of honesty and an earnest pursuit of desire.”
Wallace looks up from his sketchbook to find that Juan hadn’t even looked up from his to say those words.
“Mmm…” hums Wallace. He looks back down at his sketch. “Don’t hold yourself back either, Master.”
***
Wallace stares at the letter on his hotel bed a good long moment. A letter surrounded by flower petals.
He can’t do this right now. Deep breath in. He pinches his brow. Shuts his eyes. Steps out onto the balcony and breathes in the briny air of South Driftveil. Wallace has got to hand it to Clay—the man was not only generous but also tasteful, elegant, in his selection of hotel for the Hoenn league’s trainers.
That’s not what matters right now though.
The letter on the bed.
See, there’s a lot of factors to consider when it comes to the what and the why and the how, but there’s no questions about who it’s from—fraught as Steven’s relationship with his father is, Wallace suspects that’s where Steven first learnt the habit of sending letters and passing notes.
That’s all well and good in a vacuum, but in combination with the media nightmare surrounding Steven handing Wallace a bouquet of flowers in Sinnoh followed by the dinner at the Valor Lakefront Resort… well. People don’t know how to let the waters still. That whole thing happened two years ago. There’s got to be more engaging gossip and rumourmongering going on by now!—haven’t the Kanto tabloids going on about Bruno and Lance’s proximity and the nature of their relationship just a month before everyone came to Unova?
But the hotel staff are under the impression that there’s something going on between Wallace and Steven, and that’s most definitely where the rose petals are coming from: Steven handing letters to the staff for delivery to Wallace’s room instead of just shooting Wallace a text message—or calling like he prefers—like any normal twenty-eight-year-old man.
Wallace is sure of it. That the hotel staff were behind the theatrics. …Sorta. He’s starting to believe he shouldn’t put it past Steven to have been the one to instruct that the letter be put on Wallace’s bed alongside rose petals. Arceus above, the letter is perfumed. Perfumed! Wallace’s room wouldn’t smell like Steven otherwise.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
“Okay,” Wallace says out loud, just so he can hear his own voice and confirm that this isn’t some weird sort of dream. “Okay.”
Back into the room. Grab the envelope. Carefully open it with the letter opener from his stationery kit, because Wallace isn’t ashamed to admit that he keeps the letters Steven sends him, envelope and all.
It’s a pretty standard letter, all things considered: Steven apologising about not being able to do an evening visit to Nimbasa Theme Park because he has dinner with one Mr Joseph Stone. That’s to be expected—Steven has expressed frustration multiple times at his father being here and wanting to talk business whenever he can get his hands on Steven. Steven also asks if Wallace would be interested in going to a musical in Nimbasa instead, which is really lovely and something Wallace would absolutely love to do, both to see a musical firsthand and for the company.
And then Wallace… lowers the sheet of paper. Shuts his eyes. Has he been sleeping poorly? This must be a dream. But when he opens his eyes and raises the letter to read it again, the lines he thought he’d dreamt up haven’t disappeared.
‘Wallace,’ says the perfect facsimile of Steven’s voice in Wallace’s head, ‘I would like to preface this by saying that you have grown very dear to me, and that the comfort of your presence has become one of the things that grounds me whenever we have the chance to be together. Please know that the feelings I am expressing are genuine, and aren’t an attempt to strong arm or coerce you into fulfilling my request: would you please accompany me to a private dinner with my father?’
***
Almost as if Jirachi woke up from his millennium slumber, heard Wallace and Juan’s conversation, and granted Wallace’s wish, Wallace and Steven get to interact a lot more over the course of the fifth year since they first met. Unfortunately, in line with the myths of the Wish-Maker, it doesn’t come at zero cost.
Wallace knows that he shouldn’t have so easily dismissed the reports about Team Magma and Team Aqua. He’d thought they’d be something akin to the Cult of Regi, whose most egregious crimes are making up a bulk of the visitors to Pacifidlog Town and airing tiring PSAs about the mythical Regi Cavern that allegedly sits at the bottom of the sea just off Slateport’s coast and who make up for being annoying by creating new sea exploration technology and being unselfish with it.
In hindsight, that was a silly assumption. Of course two organisations, each headed by a champion level trainer holding a doctorate, would be different from the Cult of Regi. Unfortunately, that assumption costs everyone who has to work at stopping Team Magma’s and Team Aqua’s schemes precious time.
Wallace, who’s currently champion and handling a heavy spot of research on some of Hoenn’s myths, is very late to that specific party. In fact, it takes Steven calling him for him to pay more attention to the two teams’ actions.
*
Wallace picks his phone on the first ring. It’s force of habit.
“Hello, this is Wallace Adriano. Who are you, and how may I help you?”
“…Wallace.”
Wallace would recognise that voice anywhere. He’s just never heard it over the PokeNab before, thanks in part to the common knowledge that Steven doesn’t own a PokeNav. Wallace doesn’t bother keeping his shock out of his voice.
“Steven?!”
“Yes, Wallace.” It’s said with warmth, and Wallace knows that the man is smiling—can see the expression and the way his steel blue eyes are twinkling in his head. “It was bit shocking to hear you introducing yourself, but I realise very few people are aware I have a PokeNav, and that fewer still have my contact. So.”
“…so.”
Wallace tries not to think too hard about the fact that Steven has his number. Knows his number. It’s nothing too crazy of course—he must have found it from the official records they both have access to. Wallace also tries not to think too hard about the fact that Steven is on a call with him. Tries to focus instead on the fact that Steven calling him instead of sending the rare letter as he typically does must mean… well, something serious. Trouble.
“I just… I need your help. Your expertise.”
All Steven’s tone is doing Wallace’s suspicions. Also, this… is a first.
‘Anything for you’.
It’s on the tip of Wallace’s tongue. Desperately waiting to be said. Wallace chooses otherwise, though the words he settles on don’t change the fact that he actually means what he’d wanted to say instead.
“Talk to me; I’ll do what I can.”
*
Wallace picks on the first ring. Force of habit.
“They confronted Dr Stern in the Slateport Museum.”
“Hello to you too, Steven,” says Wallace, just a little dry.
“Sorry about that. Hello, Wallace.”
As always, Steven’s apology sounds earnest. Wallace knows the man means it, and that it’s an indicator of stress that he jumped right into his reason for calling—not an indicator of any sort of impoliteness. He hums, acknowledging Steven’s greeting.
“Dr Stern?” Wallace prompts.
“Yes. Do you think it might be…?”
“The submarine… mmmm… many of Hoenn’s mythical sites are believed to be beneath the sea. Did they manage to get what they wanted?”
“Remember the prodigy trainer I mentioned?”
“The one whose name you don’t know?”
Steven huffs. “I was preoccupied by yet another letter from my father, Wallace.”
“Mmm…”
“Yes, she stopped them.”
“That’s good. Archie—I’m assuming this is Team Aqua?”
“Mhm.”
“Well, he isn’t as aggressive in his pursuits as Maxie, but Dr Stern should still watch out. This may only be a temporary stop to that part of their plan. Speaking of Maxie…”
“There’s a lot of movement surrounding Mt Pyre. Waiting to see what that comes to. How are things going on your end?”
“There’s good reason to believe that what they each need for their goals is somewhere near Lilycove. Not Archie’s… office? Lair? Somewhere closer inland.”
*
The first ring. Force of habit.
“Hello, Wallace.”
“Steven. Lovely hearing your voice.”
Wallace says it lightly, but he means it wholeheartedly. With how overwhelming it’s been being champion, trekking all over the region just to keep up with and prepare for whatever happens when the ball Maxie and Archie have set rolling reaches the bottom of the hill, and preparing to begin making contest appearances in Sinnoh, the highlight of his day is indeed these calls from Steven, regardless of how they tie to the second of the things keeping Wallace busy.
“I’m glad to be speaking to you.”
Steven sounds earnest. Incredibly so. It’s moments like these that make Wallace feel… warm. Happy. But there’s important matters to discuss.
“What’s this I’m hearing about rocket fuel?”
*
“May says she’s got an idea of where Archie’s headed. She’s giving chase.”
“And Maxie is currently in possession of the power of Groudon…”
“…Yes.”
Silence. Heavy silence. Things are looking dire. Wallace remembers speaking to the guardians of the two orbs atop Mt Pyre—remembers them mentioning that having one of Hoenn’s two legends awakened spells disaster, but that having both awakened spells catastrophe. Steven knows as much, because Wallace had informed him. And they both know that if Archie has found the right undersea spot, May won’t make it in time to do anything but witness the tail end of Kyogre awakening. And then, like the duo atop Mt Pyre and the legends and myths say, comes cata—
“…What do you like to do in your free time?”
“…huh?”
Knee-jerk reaction. Wallace isn’t sure he heard Steven right—he’d been lost in his head wondering about the fate of Hoenn.
This is… yet another first. Maybe Steven is trying for levity. Judging from the hesitance with which he asked that question, it’s likely. That and the way he begins to backtrack in response to Wallace’s confused grunt.
“Nothing, don’t—”
“No no, I was just… lost in thought. My free time, huh?”
“…Yes.”
“I love TV. Any type of Pokemon Coordination: contests, musicals, performance, you name it. Dramas too.”
“That’s not very surprising.”
Now it sounds like there’s a small smile on Steven’s face. Wallace can’t help smiling himself.
“There’s elegance in simplicity and predictability. Yourself?”
“…anything rocks and spelunking.”
“‘That’s not very surprising’.”
“Alright, alright. I’ve never asked—what is it that you like about contests?”
“‘Like’?”
“Love.”
“Well—”
*
“What’s your family like?”
“They’re… fine, I guess?” Says Wallace with a shrug that Steven literally cannot see.
Wallace doesn’t really know how to answer Steven’s question, especially given that he’s grown to suspect that Steven’s relationship with Mr Joseph Stone isn’t the greatest. Still, he tries.
“My mother and father aren’t particularly young—they’re retired and travelling the world as we speak. Got a few uncles and aunts scattered around. Quite a few cousins, but we aren’t particularly close. My sister—she’s older than me—has a few kids, and my oldest niece is thinking about contests.”
“Mmmm…” hums Steven.
Wallace isn’t sure how to take Steven’s hum, but he recognises that it isn’t disinterest, so he continues.
“Know how you recognised May as someone with immense talent?”
“Yes?”
“That’s how I feel about my niece. She has it in her to blow every coordinator, former and current, out of the water.”
“Even you?” Steven says it in a jocular fashion, like he doesn’t believe anyone could surpass Wallace.
And Wallace must admit, it feels very nice to have that kind of confidence from Steven. However.
“Yes,” says Wallace, “even me. I recommend you remember the name ‘Lisia’, Steven. You’ll be hearing it everywhere soon.”
Steven laughs, quiet and melodic as usual. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong to.”
A moment of silence. There’s been a lot more of those—simple silences that neither of them really comments on. For most other people, Wallace would take such silence as a sign that it’s time to cut the call. With Steven, it’s simply a lull in conversation. Case in point.
“…How about you?”
“Mm?”
“What’s your family like?”
Another silence, this one unlike the last. Uncomfortable. And then:
“Mm… I’ll pass.”
“No problem,” says Wallace immediately and as reassuringly as he can.
“Thanks.”
This time, the silence that follows is just a bit awkward. Wallace really doesn’t want this to be the end of the phone call—he enjoys them immensely, main topic be damned, and he’d love it if they could go just a little longer. That’s the reason he’s wracking his brain for a good line of conversation. One that—ah.
“What is it you like about rocks, Steven?”
*
“—Pokeblocks?! I’d much rather have a Poffin; they look much better.”
“And you’re about to say Poke Beans ‘look much better’ too, correct? Hah! Looks aren’t everything, Steven. I’d know—I know all about appearances and illusions.”
“You’re speaking as if you know how they all taste.”
“'cause I do know. Poffins are nice enough, but Pokeblocks are much better—like a berry chew, or a gummy.”
“Is this about their actual taste or about what you’re used to? You only started doing Sinnoh contests this year, yes?”
Wallace grumbles under his breath about Steven over-analysing Wallace’s preference for Pokeblocks over Poffins, and Steven laughs. They fall into an easy silence. Steven is the one to break it.
“…You know,” he begins.
The seriousness of Steven’s tone is jarring considering he’d been laughing just moments ago, and it makes Wallace immediately keep silent and listen more keenly.
“I love my dad, but I’m not too sure I like him.”
*
When Steven and Wallace finally get the time to meet physically, Wallace feels… off kilter.
It’s different from seeing each other across the League Hall once every other year or meeting each other in the champion’s chamber before what’s become an established yearly tradition. It doesn’t help that they meet in front of Sootopolis’ restaurant district. Wallace can’t help imagining a different world, one in which he and Steven are meeting here so Wallace can wine him and dine him at his favourite of the floating restaurants.
But all that is whatever. The real issue is that Wallace hasn’t seen Steven in a year. And Arceus above has that time treated Steven generously. His jaw is stronger than ever. His eyes that same steel blue. His suit stretches tighter over his chest, arms, and legs, likely cause of all the hiking and cave diving he’s been getting up to. That, and the fact that it seems he’s finally figured out how to wear a suit instead of have a suit wear him. The cut of the jacket flatters his shoulders and the choice to wear it open instead of completely buttoned up shows off his half-jacket that must be cinched at the back given how it holds his abdomen, the metallic sleeve edges marry with his many rings well, and the choice to have his pants fitted slimmer is definitely… distracting.
Wallace huffs and, through sheer force of will, stops examining the fit of Steven’s clothes and looks him in the face. There’s still the issue of those steel blue eyes, but it’s better than getting caught in his head about Steven’s change in fashion.
Speaking of Steven’s eyes, they aren’t looking back into Wallace’s. In fact, he seems to be staring at Wallace’s body—somewhere in the region between Wallace’s chest and Wallace’s hips.
Wallace gets it. Of all the things he’s changed about how he dresses, doing away with most of the fabric around his torso must be the most jarring change of all, especially given that Wallace has always been one for loose, billowy, clothes. He’s still got loose and billowy with his cape, of course, but even that has changed significantly. Still, nothing about Wallace’s own change in style deserves Steven’s staring.
“Ahem.”
Steven sort of gets startled at the sound of Wallace clearing his throat. His eyes widen and he looks Wallace in the face. Is the Sootopolis sun getting to Steven? Why is his face getting so red?
“Do you maybe want some shade?” Asks Wallace, concerned. “There’s a restaurant near here with great berry juice.”
This isn’t how he envisioned this going—it isn’t even anywhere near his fantasy—but it’s… eh. Okay.
“No,” Steven says, shaking his head slowly, “…no. Just… wow. You look stunning.”
Wow. That feels good to hear. More than good. To be honest, Wallace was starting to feel a bit self-conscious the longer Steven stared.
“You look amazing yourself,” says Wallace easily. And it is easy, Steven’s already a good-looking man, and the added element of dressing better makes him look especially good. “The red brings everything together.”
Steven looks at Wallace a moment, an inscrutable expression on his face, and then he smiles that dazzling smile of his, bright and genuine.
“Nice to know I look good—”
‘You always do’, says the voice in Wallace’s head, ‘even when you were in those oversized suits’.
“—especially considering.”
Wallace sighs. Right. It’s not like he’d forgotten why they’re in Sootopolis, it’s just that seeing Steven for the first time in a long time, and in this way, and in this setting… well, it was an incredibly welcome distraction.
“Especially considering,” echoes Wallace, dull and dry.
Steven looks up at the sky. “The weather was getting turbulent just as I left Route 128.”
Wallace looks up at the sky as well. Clouds don’t typically spread that fast, or appear from nowhere for that matter. “…May?”
“Told her to come as fast as she can. It shouldn’t be any trouble—I know Latios understands what’s at stake.”
Wallace nods. Good. He hasn’t met May, but he’s trusting Steven’s judgement that she’ll be able to help put a stop to whatever’s brewing once and for all. Wallace sighs.
“Guess we’re about to find out for ourselves exactly how much is at stake.”
*
‘Catastrophe’ doesn’t begin to describe what follows the awakening of Groudon and Kyogre.
Watching the two clash, Wallace gains a very special understanding for the reason accounts of their past clashes are referred to as myths. As powerful as people know Pokemon can be, any account Wallace gives of what he’s witnessing before him—lava springing from beneath the sea and forming new, steaming, islands; Sootopolis Lagoon so turbulent that the sea between Pacifidlog and Slateport seems like still waters; lightning and thunder following every interaction between Groudon and Kyogre’s powers; the Red and Blue orb leaving Maxie’s and Archie’s hands, making Groudon and Kyogre glow with power beyond simple mega evolution; the weather flipping between intense and dizzying sun that dries the very air to a downpour so heavy it threatens to wash everything into Sootopolis Lagoon…
It’s all very overwhelming. It feels like nothing he, Steven, Maxie, and Archie are doing is helping the situation. And they have all their Pokemon out—twenty-four seasoned battlers together with their trainers, their efforts resulting to a whole lot of nothing.
But even then, Wallace feels… grounded. Sure. He knows Juan is somewhere in the city behind Wallace, keeping the residents from true panic with the aid of the Sootopolis gym trainers, Pokecentre workers, and the rest of the Sootopolis authorities. He knows that the Master Sootopolitan, stronger than himself and the others before the Sootopolis Gym combined, stands at the entrance of the Cave of Origin, and that he has ways to ensure that the feuding Pokemon don’t reach the power source deep within. He knows that May, every bit as prodigious as Steven says and then some, will find what they need atop the crumbling Sky Pillar.
And he knows that no matter how this pans out, it’s been a truly enjoyable year working so closely with Steven, and getting to know the man. Accepting Steven however Steven will let Wallace have him—accepting Steven’s friendship.
He’s not a disaster-monger. He doesn’t want to believe that this is it, but it’s hard not to with the volume of the thunder, the rumbling of the earth, and the height of the waves. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Steven about how much this friendship means to Wallace.
“Ste—”
“Wallace!”
Wallace looks away from his Pokemon to find that Steven is looking right at him. Wordlessly, Steven points to the sky.
At first, Wallace thinks he’s imagining things. A single, small, ray of green pierces the thick clouds and the downpour and softens the harsh sunlight. And another. And another. More and more, faster and faster, until all that’s left in the sky is a terrifying stillness to the air and the green light… no, not green, but jade. Which must mean—
“RAAAAGH!”
A deafening roar pierces the silence. Groudon and Kyogre pause their clashing and they both look up into sky. Now, Wallace isn’t as versed at the body language of Pokemon as a breeder, ranger, nurse, or doctor would be, but he’s raised, trained, and interacted with enough aquatic Pokemon to recognise that Kyogre is… well, not scared, but wary. Incredibly so. He assumes it must be the same for Groudon, given that they’ve been matching each other’s energy blow for blow so far—that wouldn’t change now.
And when Wallace looks back into the sky, the reason for Groudon and Kyogre’s change in behaviour finally appears. Descending from way up high, growing larger and larger as it gets closer, and eventually settling low in the air above Sootopolis Lagoon before roaring again, louder and even more piercing before.
The jade dragon, becalmer of erratic weather and the clashes between land and sea.
Rayquaza.
***
The Lucky Whiscash is a pretty elegant restaurant. This coming from Wallace, who knows and semi-regularly visits all the most elegant spots in Sootopolis, a major tourist hub. And by elegant, he of course means swanky.
That’s not a word that’s in his typical vocabulary—swanky—but it’s very apt. Add on the element of meeting Mr Joseph Stone for the first time ever, and Wallace has to dress even more elegant… well, even swankier—eugh—than he normally does. And he’s an elegant dresser, thank you very much. Juan won’t ever say it directly, but many of the people of Hoenn and Sinnoh and even Unova and, most importantly, Steven Stone, have essentially said as much.
He looks in the mirror at himself. He’s forgone the strappy jumpsuit and settled instead on high-waisted pants and shoes the same plain white as well as one of his tri-toned shirts, this time fully tucked into his pants. It takes a him a long time of taking his hat off and putting it on to decide which one works best for him. Thankfully, the decision is taken out of his hands by Colo, who takes the hat off Wallace’s head and places it on the bed.
“Thanks,” says Wallace with a sigh.
Colo pats his shoulder gently and heads back where Jewel, Wallace’s only other Pokemon small enough to be comfortable moving about the hotel room as they please, is twisting her tentacles into braids and letting them come undone slowly.
Wallace’s gut feel a lot like they’re doing what Jewel is doing with her own tentacles—twisting and untwisting over and over again. He wishes he could talk to someone about this.
Juan would be best, but Wallace doesn’t think he can handle what Juan would have to say about this whole affair. Lisia is about half Wallace’s age, and her mother treats everything out of Wallace’s mouth about Wallace’s own personal life as if it were a day time drama, so no. Glacia and Sidney are Steven’s colleagues as well, so that’s a no too.
And the person he wants to talk to most after Juan is the person who’s invited him to this thing anyway.
Wallace shuts his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Nothing too different from the whole Valor Lakefront thing, right? Except that nerves and an occasional Beautifly flap in the stomach is very different from what feels like dread.
Dinner with Steven and his father, Mr Stone. Good grief.
***
“Hello Wallace.”
“Hello Steven,” responds Wallace, trying his best not to sound as exhausted as he feels.
Given Steven’s follow-up, Wallace must have done a poor job at that. “…are you doing alright?”
“Yeah, just… loads of paperwork following the Magma-Aqua incident.” ‘Among other things’. Wallace doesn’t say that part out loud, though.
“Would you prefer it if—?”
“No no,” Wallace says quickly, cutting Steven off. “This is great. Better than great. It’s like a pick-me-up whenever you call, so don’t worry about being a distraction or anything like that.”
Though Steven can be rather distracting, running through Wallace’s head all day as he has every day for the past few years. No matter; that’s just one of the many things Wallace juggles.
There’s a brief silence, one in which both Wallace and Steven hold their breath, and Wallace wonders if maybe he’d been a bit too open about what Steven’s calls mean to—
“Whenever I call? Regardless of subject matter?” Asks Steven eventually, tone dry and amused.
“Regardless of subject matter.” Vehement and with no hesitation. The crisis in Hoenn was harrowing, but the calls with Steven about it couldn’t be further from.
“That’s what I was calling you about, actually,” says Steven, serious again, “these calls.”
Is this the moment Steven gives Wallace the whole ‘It’s been nice, but…’ spiel and then explains, polite and kind as he is, why the calls were important during the crisis and how their lack of purpose now means that there’ll be no more such calls?
“I just wanted to say that—”
Well, that’s just how the lava cookie crumbles sometimes, isn’t it? It will suck, and Wallace can’t guarantee he won’t want to curl up on the couch and watch reruns of King Mime Jr and Queen Bonsly—not that his workload would allow him to. So Wallace steels himself.
“—I really appreciate these calls.”
…Huh?
“And that I’m grateful for getting to know you beyond just our thing as Hoenn’s ‘Switch Champions’ or whatever the Mossdeep Daily called us—beyond an incredibly talented man. Wallace, I… Arceus, this really isn’t the best way to do this, but I just… I’d like to see where we’re headed—where our relationship goes.”
As Steven spoke, with every word that came out of Steven’s mouth, it feels almost as if Wallace is ten again and diving into Sootopolis Lagoon too deep too fast and his lungs can’t keep up. And some seconds after Steven is done, when Wallace finally manages to take a breath, it comes out more like a sniffle than anything else. Arceus, his eyes didn’t get this wet even when Lisia called him up to the stage to receive her first ever contest spectacular award with her.
“…Wallace?”
Great. Even Steven sounds concerned now.
“Are you…?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” says Wallace. Another sniffle. Ugh. “Just…”
Just… this isn’t everything Wallace dreamed of when it came to Steven, but it’s the next best thing, and he never thought that the next best thing would feel so good and fill him with so much emotion. Juan was right—and is right more often than Wallace gives him credit for. It was worth it letting this happen naturally and working at it whenever the opportunity presented itself instead of just… relegating it to fantasy and impossibility—and illusion.
Because here Steven is, explicitly acknowledging the relationship that’s grown between them. This friendship. And Wallace does his best to express his sentiments about that.
“…just that, well. Same here. I truly do feel the same way, Steven. And I’m glad for this friendship.”
It feels good to get that out. Like Wallace can breathe easy again. There’s the slight—maybe more than slight—pinch of the desire for romance with Steven that sits lonely and unwatered beside the desire for friendship, burgeoning now due to the explicit reciprocity. It’s this feeling of satisfaction rising within Wallace that makes him take a moment to notice that Steven has gone silent—hasn’t said anything or even made a sound in the past few seconds.
…Is Wallace overstepping?
“…Steven?” Trepidation. Hesitation.
Wallace should have just said thanks and given the usual stock response of ‘I’m happy that you feel that way’ instead of taking Steven’s words as an invitation to bare his own feelings—
“I…” Steven’s voice trails off. He sighs. It’s a deep sigh, and Wallace doesn’t have time to pick it soft and figure out what it’s supposed to mean. And then, soft and warm: “I’m glad for this friendship too, Wallace.”
***
Joseph Stone is…
Well.
He’s like if someone took Steven Stone, added twenty years to Steven’s twenty-eight, muted the steel blue hair just a touch and added few grays, made those steel blue eyes more steel than blue, and dialled up, at least in terms of demeanour, Steven’s analytical side at the expense of his… well, not kindness, but warmth.
The ambience of the Lucky Whiscash is already built on the careful spacing of its seating, allowing for the quiet of the restaurant to really shine and leaving people at the same table with a sense of intimacy and privacy without a feeling of isolation. However, the silence at the table is beyond that. Even the sound of the cutlery against the plates feels like it’s being swallowed by the lack of conversation.
Wallace tries not to let it get to him—the silence and the feeling that Mr Stone is scrutinising Wallace, picking what he can perceive of Wallace apart, even without so much as looking Wallace’s way—but that takes up so much of his conscious effort that he can’t really enjoy the first course. By the time the mains come to the table, eating feels like a lot like a chore. Wallace doesn’t shy from chores. Besides, it’s something to keep him occupied.
But all things come to an end, and that exact thing happens to the food on Wallace’s plate. And Steven’s. And Mr Stone’s. And then it’s absolute silence—no sound from the plates as the waiter, sharp enough to realise early on into the dinner that silent service would be best, picks them up and whisks them off. When that silence breaks, Wallace wonders if they’d have been better off not speaking until dessert came and dinner was over.
“Wallace Adriano,” begins Mr Stone, finally looking right at Wallace. “Youngest to have been accepted as a fully-fledged Sootopolitan. Contest Master across two regions.”
It sounds a lot like Mr Stone is ready off some dossier somewhere. That, combined with the way he stares impassively but piercingly at Wallace, makes the whole thing even more discomforting.
“On and off gym leader of Hoenn. One of the youngest to earn both the distinction of champion level trainer and the title of Hoenn League Champion—a title which you share with my son—”
There’s a certain weight to the way Mr Stone says ‘my son’. Again, like a lot of other things about the man, Wallace can’t quite get a read on what the weight means. He does, however, see the way Steven sits up straighter from the corner of his eye.
“—on and off. Prominent researcher of Hoenn’s myths and legends; an extension of your station as Sootopolitan, I’d assume. Played into your playing a key role in dealing with the weather crisis, alongside my son and May Birch—a truly commendable thing on all your parts.”
Mr Stone leans forward in his seat, steepling his hands and resting his chin on them. Staring at Wallace from only slightly closer, but increasing the intensity of that stare by multiple orders of magnitude. And then he… smiles?
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Mr Stone’s demeanour has warmed considerably, though his eyes still remain intense.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” says Wallace, just a touch unsure.
Again, Mr Stone’s smile grows warmer, and Wallace is now beginning to feel, not just see, the resemblance between the man and his son. Beside Wallace, Steven’s posture gets a little looser.
“I never thought I’d get to meet you, you know,” says Mr Stone, tone more conversational than informational now. “I saw your first battle against Steven seven years ago, and then I saw the one six years ago and it got me incredibly curious about you. One of Hoenn’s dynamic duo. Hoenn’s second dynamic duo, that is.”
“Thank you very much,” says Wallace. It’s the polite and correct thing to say, yes, but he does mean it. “It’s lovely to hear you hold me in such high regard.”
As Mr Stone sits back, the waiter comes to their table to drop of their desserts. Well, their desserts and a digestif. Mr Stone is having the digestif—a Paldean Orencello. Steven has the molten lava cake, which isn’t particularly surprising. Wallace would like to know how the pecha panna cotta here compares to what he can get back home, so that’s what he settled on. And as soon as their waiter is gone, Mr Stone is speaking again.
“It’s not about myself or my opinion, really. It’s more about how clear it is that my son holds you in such high regard.”
For the first time since they sat at their table, Wallace looks Steven’s way. Steven looks back and shrugs, something akin to a ‘yes, and?’. Wallace knows that Steven respects him, at least to some degree, but it’s different to hear that he holds him in high regard. Well.
Mr Stone takes a sip of his Orencello, humming contentedly. “You dynamic brings out a side of Steven I didn’t know existed—battling for the title of Hoenn’s champion every year, and the fact that it seems that every year, without fail, the challenger beats the champion, and the seat changes hands. It’s rather interesting that it seems you’ve never battled outside of that. No exhibition matches, no casual matches… you haven’t faced each other in Clay’s tournament, but you’ve stood side by side and emerged victorious twice now, no?”
Wallace looks Steven’s way again, meeting Steven’s eye. It’s not something they discussed, but it seems that somewhere along the line, they reached the unspoken agreement to keep their battles against each other exclusively to Hoenn’s champion’s chamber. Wallace isn’t sure how much Clay and the rest of the organisers of the PWT know about himself and Steven, but it after Wallace’s first request to change brackets, they haven’t been placed in the same bracket ever since.
“Yes, father,” says Steven, responding to Mr Stone’s question.
“Mmmm.” Mr Stone takes another sip of his Orencello. His face stays warm—warmer than before he began to speak—but his smile is gone now. “Speaking of dynamics, well. I had no idea Steven would be bringing anyone along—this was meant to be a father-son dinner—but it’s rather fortunate that he did, and that it was you he brought. Again: I’ve always wondered about you, and more recently, about you two.”
And now all the warmth is gone, replaced not by coldness, but by a no-nonsense kind of seriousness. Coupled with the direction the conversation seems to be heading, the nerves Wallace had felt earlier that evening are beginning to make a strong return. With nothing to distract him or keep him busy—the panna cotta had been absolutely fantastic and disappeared in few bites than Wallace would have preferred—Wallace begins to tap his fingers against his thigh under the table.
It startles Wallace enough that he almost jolts when something cool and rough and dry covers the back of his hand. The shock fades when he realises it’s Steven’s hand, and the tapping of his fingers slow to
“What exactly are you to each other?”
Silence. Wallace knows the answer to Mr Stone’s question—friends, of course—but there’s still that little part of him that pinches. The one that desperately wishes he could say ‘boyfriends’ instead. He doesn’t open his mouth though; answering this question would be a faux-pas on Wallace’s part. However, faux-pas or not, the silence is starting to get grating.
Wallace—
“Wallace,” begins Steven, “is my rival. My colleague. My fellow champion. My goal.” Steven squeezes Wallace’s hand. “And, in many regards, Wallace is my partner.”
***
Wallace hasn’t really spoken to Steven in the month since the representatives of the Hoenn league returned from Unova. He… doesn’t really know where to start.
‘In many regards, Wallace is my partner.”
What? What does that even mean? Wallace has felt off balance around Steven many times, but this time… this time it felt like everything Wallace knew—everything he told himself—was just… ugh. Wallace doesn’t even know what to think.
Juan hadn’t been particularly helpful either when Wallace spoke to him. ‘You might want to consider coming clean about how you feel, Wallace,’ he’d said, ‘it might not pan out how you imagine it will.’ In fact, he’d followed that up with a correction—that he was sure it wouldn’t pan out as Wallace imagined it would.
Wallace doesn’t want to think too much about Juan’s advice. Doing so makes the part of himself that pinches begin to pinch even harder and squeeze even tighter. Truth is, thinking about Steven in general has been leading to the same result of late. Wallace’s heart beating faster. His thoughts running too fast to catch.
“Goodness,” sighs Wallace.
He takes his phone out of his pocket. Looks at the first ever text Steven sent him. An address in Mossdeep. The address to Steven’s home. Though Wallace doesn’t feel like he can handle conversation with Steven, he knows it would be best if he just got this over and done with. Harbouring secret feelings only ever results in overreacting to things—things like Steven bringing Wallace flowers and inviting Wallace to dinner with Mr Stone and telling Mr Stone that Wallace is his partner—and, somewhere down the line, resentment. Wallace doesn’t want to live like that.
He looks up from his phone and at the nameplate. He already knows he’s at the right place, he just needs to triple check because… because… because he’s stalling. The sooner he gets this done the sooner he can get back to Ever Grande and just… sit in what he’s anticipating it’ll all make him feel.
Time both drags and rushes past as Wallace raises his hand to the door and knocks. Steven opens within seconds, almost as if he’d been waiting by the door. The pleasantries feel more like routine and what’s expected than anything Wallace is actively engaged in, though it does register somewhere at the back of his mind that Steven’s place is nice despite being sparsely decorated or furnished.
And then they’re both seated on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen and not touching the refreshments on the coffee table before them. The silence feels like it lasts anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours, and it only makes Wallace feel more and more reluctant to say anything. But, well. He didn’t come here for the silence. And again, the sooner he gets it over with…
“Steven.”
Wallace’s voice cracks. He doesn’t look away from the TV screen—doesn’t look anywhere in Steven’s direction. He clears his throat. Tries again.
“Steven.” Smoother. “I just wanted to… to talk to you. And.” Deep breath. Hold. Release. “Come clean about… something. Because I believe that our—” ‘—relationship—’ “—association might be impacted by it if I don’t address it directly. Just…”
It really does feel like Wallace’s throat is tightening. Like the flow of his words is getting dammed up and the longer he waits, the harder it’ll be to get anything out. Now is best.
“…I—” ‘—have been in love with you for about a third of my life now and I don’t know what life looks like without carrying that feeling around with me anymore.’ “—have a crush on you.”
And now, it feels like the dam that had been building has shattered to pieces and all the words can no longer be held back.
“I’ve been crushing on you a pretty long time, and I haven’t had the courage to say it cause we didn’t know each other too well, and then we got to know each other and I felt like saying it would ruin the direction we were going in and—”
Steven’s hand covers Wallace’s, and his thumb caresses the back of his hand. Wallace’s gut flutters, but he feels himself get calmer. If anything, the fact that Steven is taking his hand may be a sign that the things Wallace feared might not come to pass.
“—and I was scared saying it would ruin stuff either way, but it was scarier thinking about the ways keeping it secret could mess everything up even worse.”
Finally. That feels like a massive weight off Wallace’s chest. But with the weight gone, it feels like Wallace needs to readjust—easier to handle largely because Steven is still caressing the back of his hand. Then:
“Wallace,” says Steven softly.
The softness with which Steven congratulates Wallace on his wins. With which Steven told Wallace that he considered them friends. With which Steven told Mr Stone that Wallace was, in many regards, his partner. It’s the very softness Wallace never knows how to react to.
Steven stops stroking, and instead squeezes Wallace’s hand.
“Wallace,” Steven says again, soft still, but a lot more like a request. A request for Wallace to look at him.
Steven says nothing else. Eventually, Wallace does as requested, and… and Arceus, he’s never seen Steven’s eyes, steel blue and dazzling, as soft and as warm as they are right now. He does his best to keep his breathing even as Steven raises his other hand to cup his cheek. If only Wallace’s exes and crushes had been this gentle about letting him—
“Wallace,” Steven says.
Breathes.
And it makes a shudder run through Wallace’s whole body. Is Steven leaning closer?
“I’ve wanted this, wanted you, wanted us, a long time too.”
And then, just as Steven’s words register in Wallace’s head, Steven closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Wallace’s, and the shock at what’s happening lasts so little it might as well not exist, because Wallace shuts his eyes and lets the feelings he’s been holding back finally flow free, this time by moving his lips against Steven’s, and—
***
The year Wallace turns thirty-three, he wins his championship match against Steven for the second year in the row, which is the first time that’s ever happened. He then promptly proceeds to lose squarely to Glacia.
It’s the last year Juan steps down from his post in the Sootopolis gym, and the first year Wallace doesn’t take it up. It’s the first year Wallace takes a break from contest appearances. From active research. From his more involving duties as a Sootopolitan.
It’s the first year Steven takes a step back from his own research as well, and from being a one-man excavation team at Meteor Falls and Granite Cave and all the rest of Hoenn’s cave systems.
It’s the first year that Steven and Wallace have spent together not just as rivals, not just as colleagues, not just as fellow champions, but as partners. Romantic partners.
And yes, that comes at the cost of dealing with smug silences from Juan and the occasional dinner with Mr Stone, but it also comes with more calls and more perfumed letters and more holding hands under tables and more sitting together silently and more kisses and more and more and more and—
“Have you ever been to Sinnoh?”
Wallace gives Steven a look. Steven laughs. It makes Wallace want to kiss him. Which he does. Because he can. Because they’re partners. Steven laughs again, even brighter than before, and Wallace can foresee this turning into them kissing and laughing uncontrollably, so he settles for pulling the man closer and burying his face between his shoulder and his neck.
“Yes, Wallace, I remember witnessing you make Pokemon contest history. What I meant was: have you ever been to north-east Sinnoh?”
***