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The evening streets of Mesagoza are busy, crowded with students and adults alike, hurrying about their own business. Florian weaves through the crowd, trying to avoid getting jostled too much. He’s just returned from a long day of champion duties, and all he wants to do is collapse into his warm bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
Ever since Geeta stepped down from her duties as the Top Champion, Florian took over all the administrative affairs together with Larry’s help. When he asked her the reason for choosing him over everyone else—including Nemona—she just smiled and said “you would suit the role”. He knows Nemona would hate being trapped in a job like this, sitting in front of a desk and boring holes into endless paperwork, but the latter is a member of the Elite Four now, and Florian is jealous of her freedom over his confinement in an empty title.
While she left with Rika for research in another region, Florian himself had previously been engaged in deep exploration and experimentation in Area Zero until he decided to take a break and return home. Now that he thinks of it, the idea of returning to the same city he graduated from feels a little wrong—it’s almost like he wishes that he’ll find a different person waiting for him there. Someone to change up the scene for him.
And besides, Florian likes being busy doing something more interesting than filling out forms and writing research papers. Even if the task is tedious and mind-numbing at times, it’s better than being stuck behind a desk and staring at screens after screens in different labs.
He regretted it immediately. The work of a Top Champion is gruelling, and new piles of paperwork awaits him every day. There is barely any time to relax; only a handful of hours per day allotted for sleeping. It isn’t fair that someone who’d spent his entire life in excitement and discovery was forced to be subjected to this, and Florian is not sure that he’ll ever get used to it, despite spending almost two years in Area Zero with poor Terapagos.
Recounting the long and tedious day he had, Florian’s steps hasten in a desperate desire to return to the apartment he bought in Mesagoza. He really wants to go to bed.
But that’s not happening. He sighs. Not yet at least.
The thought barely has time to register itself in his mind before something—or someone—collides into him, knocking the wind out of him. For Arceus' sake, his day just keeps getting worse!
A familiar scent, warm and sweet, like the drizzle of honey and summer, fills Florian’s senses before he even processes who just barrelled into him. Then—
“Ah—! Sorry, I wasn’t—”
That voice…
Florian’s breathing comes to an abrupt stop. His head snaps up, heart hammering relentlessly in his chest, and all he could see are those amber eyes. Kieran blinks at him, wide-eyed and breathless, cheeks flushed from the collision.
“...Florian?”
Florian’s lips twitch, before breaking into a smile.
“Hey,” he exhales.
Kieran’s mouth falls agape, and a dozen emotions flicker across his face all at once. Surprise, disbelief, joy, shock. Then his eyes glisten, and Florian’s heart does an odd flip as he takes in the full sight before him. Kieran’s hair hangs loosely tied up, violet strands falling around his face. His features have lost some of the boyish softness they had as a teen, the lines of his face are sharper, and he’s taller now, by a lot. He’s beautiful.
They stand there for a moment, breathing heavily and staring at each other like a pair of startled Deerlings. Florian should say something, anything, but his brain feels like it’s completely shut down, thoughts frozen and words stuck in his throat. It’s painful.
The sounds of the crowded street fade into the background, and all he can hear is the sound of his own erratic heartbeat, thundering in his ears.
Kieran, surprisingly, is the first one to break the silence, letting out a shaky exhale in return. “You—you look… different,” he stammers, eyes fluttering over Florian’s face with an odd sort of intensity.
Florian lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Is that good or bad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows his appearance hasn’t changed in the slightest since years ago; Kieran is so cute when he tries to find conversation starters, even when they’re such blatant lies.
Kieran’s gaze drops to his neck, to the scarf settled around Florian’s shoulders, and the faintest hint of a flush creeps up his face.
“Good,” he says quietly. “...good.”
Florian’s heart does that stupid flip in his chest again; it’s a quivering, unfamiliar feeling, and his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch Kieran’s own. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets instead, trying his hardest to look casual.
“What about you?” he asks, as relaxed as he can manage. “You look… grown up.”
Florian berates himself for spewing such stupid and obvious statements, but Kieran’s blush deepens, and he looks away—not before Florian catches the way his lips turn into a tiny, pleased smile. Arceus, he feels his heart swell at the gesture.
“...You too,” he murmurs.
The ambience of the street fades back into existence; the chatter of trainers, the distant cry of students in battle, and Florian suddenly remembers they’re standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. The sun is slowly setting, almost reaching the horizon as it casts a warm glow over Kieran’s face. He can’t believe this is happening. It feels much like a fever dream, and the world he sees is unfocusing as time seems to stop in their conversation.
“So… what brings you to Paldea?”
Kieran straightens, finally looking up again, and Florian sees it. That familiar spark in his canary eyes—the same determination from six years ago in that championship match.
“I’m here to challenge the Champion,” he says, voice unwavering.
Florian blinks. Then, slowly, his smile widens. There’s a fond expression on his face now, his lidded eyes looking into Kieran’s own.
“Oh?” he says, tilting his head. “Is that so?”
Kieran meets his gaze, and for the first time in six years, Florian feels the familiar feeling of rivalry course through his veins. Of course, he considers Nemona a great rival, too, but nothing ever came close to the feeling of battling Kieran. Of being on the field opposite him, fists clenched as they give it their all.
“Yeah.”
“Good luck with that.” Florian steps closer, just enough that their shoulders brush.
At these words, Kieran blinks, and something in his expression shifts from resolution to almost sheepish. It doesn’t help that his face is still coloured in a rosy tint, and Florian finds it difficult to not stare.
“I…” he starts, before trailing off. “...I actually didn’t know you were the champion.”
Florian can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him—half amused, half exasperated. “Really? Didn’t do any research before you came here?”
Kieran huffs, arms crossing defensively, but the pink shade to his ears gives him away easily. “I—I did research! Just… not recent research. I’ve been busy training, and—and the last time I checked, you were still an Elite Four member…”
Florian’s smile turns into one of amusement.
“Ah, so you were keeping tabs on me.”
Kieran’s entire face erupts into flames.
The fading sunlight paints familiar streets in warm gold as Florian leads Kieran through the city, past bustling cafes and trainer-packed plazas, towards the hotel he’s staying at. His plan of crashing into the comfort of his bed is ruined, but he doesn’t regret it. However, Florian does feel lightheaded and exhausted from the workload today; it’s not unusual, but he secretly wishes it’ll go away so his time with Kieran isn’t cut short. Unfortunate for Florian, not every wish is granted.
Kieran’s been unusually quiet since their reunion, though Florian catches him stealing glances every few seconds, bright amber eyes flickering with something unreadable.
“So,” Florian starts, breaking the comfortable silence. “You never told me why. Why come to Paldea now?”
“...I wanted to get stronger,” he admits softly, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, “Strong enough to… finally…”
Strong enough to face you. Again.
He trails off, but Florian knows.
He stops walking and turns to face Kieran fully.
“You are strong,” he says, voice quiet, “You have always been, Kieran.”
Kieran’s breath catches as his eyes widen, and Florian resists the urge to reach out and hold his hand. A few passing trainers glance at them curiously, but neither of them seem to notice. Slowly, Kieran’s shoulders seem to ease and soften. He looks almost uncertain now, eyes searching for Florian’s face like he’s trying to find an answer. The Kieran he knew from six years ago would be asking for confirmation, for a sign, for proof, for anything that is an indication of a truth, but the Kieran in front of him only smiles. He smiles and whispers a “thank you” that Florian would think he misheard. Perhaps he did mistake those words, because the world around him seems to be blurring all of a sudden.
Florian blinks, almost thrown off balance by a wave of dizziness, and stumbles slightly. He feels… off-kilter. Like his head is spinning and the ground has shifted from underneath.
“Whoa—” He reaches out, instinctively, and his hands land on Kieran’s arms, fingers gripping weakly. “I—”
He shakes his head, trying to clear the sudden dizziness, and the world spins for a minute almost quite literally.
Kieran’s hands settle on his waist, steadying him. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
Florian swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how warm Kieran’s hands feel through his coat. His head is still swimming like it’s underwater, but he manages a small smile. “Just—just forgot to eat today, I think.”
Kieran’s grip tightens, and Florian could see the concerned expression on his face. “Florian…”
“I’m alright, I promise—” Florian waves a hand dismissively, but his balance still feels precarious. Kieran doesn’t look convinced in the slightest; if anything, he looks more worried.
“You look like you’re goin’ to pass out,” he says, bluntly. That’s great, Florian thinks, as his image of a mighty and strong champion gets instantly destroyed in the face of a stupid habit. “Maybe you need to lie down or somethin’...”
Florian protests, but it comes off more as a whine than anything else; he tries to brush it off as calmly as he can. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pass out just because I skipped lunch…”
He sways again, and this time Kieran’s hands on his waist is the only thing that keeps him upright. He tries not to show it, but Florian finds himself leaning into Kieran’s warmth more than he should be. It’s intimate, and sends a wave of an otherworldly feeling down his spine.
“Are you sure about that?” Kieran says, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re kind of swayin’—”
Florian stubbornly tries to shake the nausea away, to prove he is fine, but all he manages to conjure is another dizzy spell that leaves him leaning heavily into Kieran’s touch. His hands caress against Kieran’s, and he can’t help but notice how warm they are.
“Alright, that’s it…” Kieran mutters, shifting his grip before abruptly ducking down and scooping Florian up into his arms. Florian lets out a startled noise, face instantly burning as Kieran adjusts his hold, arms hooked securely under his knees and back.
“K-Kieran—”
“You’re obviously not fine,” Kieran huffs, face hot but his gaze stubbornly forward, “So quit arguing.”
Florian opens his mouth, fully prepared to protest even a little, but instead is forced to regretfully let his head lie against Kieran’s shoulder instead.
“...This is embarrassing,” he mumbles into Kieran’s jacket. Kieran’s steps stutter for a split second, before he adjusts his grip again so Florian could be in a more comfortable position.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters back, voice impossibly soft. “You can’t walk…”
And then he’s walking towards the Pokémon Center, with Florian cradled against his chest like a child. It would be so embarrassing for people to see this right now, Florian thinks, as he prays that they’ll come across nobody familiar. It definitely was not the reunion he had in mind, but that’s nobody but his own fault.
At the same time, somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, Florian realises two things:
- Kieran is way stronger than he looks. Not that he’d admit it, though.
- He hasn't felt this close to someone in a long, long while.