Chapter Text
The Wyndon photo studio smelled of freshly brewed coffee and Pokémon care products. It was an oddly cozy scent for such an industrial space, with its soaring ceilings, white spotlights aiming at interchangeable backdrops, and that constant hum of monitors displaying live shots. Leon had been there since eight in the morning. He arrived on time, as always, with his cape crisply ironed, his champion shirt spotless, and that rehearsed smile he had perfected over years of photo shoots, interviews, and public appearances. To him, this was just another Tuesday.
“Leon?” The photographer's voice—a thin man in thick-rimmed glasses named Cedric—snapped him out of his thoughts. “We’re going to start with the solo shots in a few minutes. Want to review the concept?”
“Go right ahead,” Leon replied, turning toward him with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times.
“The League wants something fresh. Two young champions, two different regions, but united by the same passion. You represent Galar: tradition, spectacle. And the kid from Alola...”
Cedric paused to check his tablet.
“Ash Ketchum. Seventeen years old. First official champion of the newly established Alola League. He’s only held the title for a few weeks, but he’s already creating quite a stir. He hails from Pallet Town in Kanto, though he’s traveled through nearly every region. He’s a very... colorful profile.”
“Colorful,” Leon repeated without much interest, adjusting one of his gloves.
“Yes. Spontaneous, energetic. Nothing like the protocol we’re used to here in Galar. The session might be a bit... unpredictable.”
Leon raised an eyebrow. Unpredictable was not a word he particularly liked. He preferred orderly things, clean battles, calculated strategies. Improvisation was for rookie trainers, not established champions. Still, he nodded with professional courtesy and stepped over toward the refreshment table as Cedric began issuing instructions to the lighting assistants.
Beside him, Charizard emerged from his Poké Ball without needing to be asked. The imposing Fire-type stretched his wings lazily, his flaming tail dimly illuminating the corner of the studio where they stood. A few crew members flinched—it was impossible to get completely used to the presence of a Charizard indoors—but Leon barely blinked. He rested a hand on his partner's flank and murmured:
“Another shoot. Another campaign.”
Charizard let out a low, almost sympathetic grunt. They had been together since Leon was just a kid dreaming of becoming champion. They had weathered every kind of event, from the most glamorous to the downright absurd: Gym inaugurations, interviews asking what he ate for breakfast, autograph sessions that lasted until his wrist throbbed. This was no different. A new champion. A few photos. Handshake. Smile. Done.
Or so he thought.
The clock read a quarter past ten when one of the assistants, a young guy with a headset dangling around his neck, approached Cedric.
“Has the Alola Champion arrived yet?”
Leon, who was mentally reviewing his schedule for the week, paid little attention. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He had heard about the creation of the Alola League, of course; everyone in the professional circuit had. The tropical region had taken decades to establish a formal competition system, and when it finally did, it drew trainers from all over. The winner of the inaugural tournament was, inevitably, a topic of conversation in champion circles.
“Ash Ketchum?” Cedric asked, double-checking the name on his tablet.
“Yeah. He just got here. He’s in reception.”
“Send him in, send him in. We’re already running behind.”
Leon pushed himself off the edge of the table where he had been leaning and assumed his position. Years of experience had taught him that first impressions were crucial. It didn't matter who the other champion was: a veteran from another region, a newcomer, someone who had been in the circuit for decades, or someone who had just claimed his title. Protocol demanded a welcome that was warm yet firm, professional yet approachable. Leon had perfected that balance into an art form.
He smoothed his cape—an automatic gesture—and mentally rehearsed the words: “It’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard great things about your victory in Alola. Welcome to Galar.” Simple. Proper. Unobjectionable.
And then he turned around.
There was no fanfare. No grand entrance.
The studio door opened with a faint squeak, and Ash Ketchum walked in as if he were arriving at a friend's house rather than an international photo shoot organized by the Pokémon League.
The first thing Leon noticed was the Pikachu. The small Electric-type was perched on Ash’s right shoulder, ears erect, little black eyes shining with curiosity as he took in the studio with the same fascinated expression a child would have in a candy store. His red cheeks crackled faintly as they picked up the static electricity from the lighting equipment, and he let out a soft “Pika” that sounded more like a greeting than a warning.
Then he saw the boy.
Ash was wearing his Alola Champion clothes: a white t-shirt with blue and red details, dark shorts, comfortable sneakers. No capes, no medals, no badges. His backpack hung from a single shoulder, swaying with every step. His black hair, as messy as ever, seemed to defy any attempt at professional styling. And his face...
Leon felt time slow down in an absurd, almost ridiculous way.
Ash wasn’t trying to impress anyone. That was the most baffling part. He hadn't posed, he hadn't practiced an entrance, he didn't wear the expression of condescending superiority Leon had seen in so many other champions over the years. He was simply standing there, looking around with genuine curiosity, pointing at a corner of the studio, and muttering something to Pikachu, who replied with subtle twitches of his ears.
“Look, Pikachu, those spotlights are huge. Do you think they’ll use one of those for the photos with Fire-types? That’d be awesome.”
“Pika-pika.”
“Yeah, I know Charizard is a Fire-type. That’s exactly why I’m saying it.”
Leon didn't register the words. Not consciously, at least. The only thing that hit him was the voice. A warm, carefree voice, delivered in a tone that suggested Ash Ketchum spoke to his Pikachu in the exact same way he would speak to anyone else. No hierarchies. No posturing.
Oh, Leon thought.
It was a simple thought. A single syllable. Not even a real thought, honestly; rather a feeling that settled somewhere between his chest and his throat—a sort of warmth that had nothing to do with the Fire-type Pokémon resting behind him.
He blinked.
The world kept turning. Cedric was barking orders. The assistants were adjusting the lights. Charizard snorted impatiently.
Yet Leon remained completely frozen.
Ash finished his conversation with Pikachu and stepped toward the center of the studio. His eyes swept across the room until they landed on Leon, and then his face lit up with a smile that had nothing rehearsed about it. It was a genuine smile—the kind that starts in the eyes before reaching the lips.
“Leon?”
Silence.
Leon felt his brain go entirely blank. All the phrases he had prepared, all the rehearsed greetings, all the professionalism cultivated over years of public appearances... gone. Vanished like the smoke from Charizard’s tail when snuffed out.
“Leon?” Ash repeated, tilting his head slightly. Pikachu mimicked him, adding a curious “Pika?”
Charizard, behind Leon, let out a low growl. It was the sound he made when his trainer was about to mess up and he already knew it.
“Yes?” Leon managed to articulate. His voice sounded strange. Too high. Too... something.
“I’m Ash,” Ash said, stopping right in front of him. Up close, Leon could see his eyes were a warm brown, flecked with gold that caught the light of the spotlights. He smelled faintly of a ocean breeze, of salt, of something tropical that didn't fit in at all with the controlled environment of the studio. “Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town. Well, Alola Champion now. But I’m still just Ash.”
He extended his hand.
It was a simple gesture. Direct. Lacking the stiffness of the formal greetings Leon was used to receiving at League events. Just an outstretched hand and a smile that seemed to light up the whole studio.
Leon shook it.
Ash’s skin was warm. Calluses lined his palm and fingers—the marks of someone who had spent years throwing Poké Balls, scaling mountains, and clinging to his Pokémon through storms. Leon felt every single one of those textures in the brief instant the contact lasted, and his brain—the very brain that had devised strategies to defeat elite champions, the very brain that had memorized types, moves, and stats for over four hundred Pokémon species—decided at that precise moment to go on strike.
He let go of Ash’s hand. He opened his mouth.
He had to say something. Something normal. Something like, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard incredible things about your victory in Alola,” or “Welcome to Galar, I hope you enjoy your stay,” or simply, “Pleased to meet you.” Any of those options would have been acceptable. Any single one.
Instead, what tumbled out of his
lips was:
“Your... Pikachu is yellow.”
The silence that followed was so absolute Leon could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. Near the back of the studio, someone dropped something—a clipboard? A coffee cup?—but no one moved to pick it up. Cedric, who had been mid-sentence giving directions, stood frozen with his mouth half-open. The assistants exchanged disbelieving glances.
Ash blinked. Slowly. As if processing the words and verifying that he had, in fact, heard correctly.
Then he looked at Pikachu. Pikachu looked at him. Both turned their heads back toward Leon in unison—a movement so coordinated it almost looked rehearsed.
“Yeah,” Ash said slowly, drawing out the word as if explaining something obvious to a small child. “Pikachu are usually yellow.”
Leon wanted to vanish.
Literally. Fade away into nothingness. He wanted the floor to split open beneath his feet and swallow him down into some deep, dark place where no champion had ever embarrassed himself so spectacularly. He felt a wave of heat rush up his neck, over his cheeks, and into his ears, until he was dead certain his face was as bright as the Poké Ball on his belt.
Behind him, Charizard let out a sound that could only be described as a sigh of pure secondhand embarrassment.
“I... ” Leon began, scrambling to fix it. “What I meant was... he’s a very... vibrant Pikachu. The yellow. Very... yellow. Intense. An excellent yellow.”
By all the legendary Pokémon, stop saying the word 'yellow.'
Pikachu tilted his head to the other side.
“Pika.”
And then Ash laughed.
It wasn't a mocking laugh, nor cruel, nor condescending. It was a genuine, surprised burst of laughter that bubbled straight from his chest, filling the studio with a sound Leon felt reverberate somewhere deep inside him. Ash brought a hand to his mouth, trying to hold it back, but his eyes were shining with the spark of someone who had just found something unexpectedly delightful.
“I think we’re going to get along just fine,” Ash said, a grin still plastered across his face.
Leon felt his heart take such a violent leap he was convinced Charizard could hear it.
“That... would be good,” he managed to murmur.
And he knew—with the absolute certainty of someone who had just tumbled off a cliff and hadn't hit the bottom yet—that he was in very, very deep trouble.
Cedric leaned over his monitor, double-checking the raw captures while gesturing to his assistants.
"Alright, let's move to the joint dynamic poses. I want interaction this time. Something less static!"
Leon shifted on his mark, desperately trying to mentally reset. He was a master tactician. He had dismantled the elite strategy of the region's fiercest gym leaders. He could manage a simple promotional photo shoot without looking like he had been struck by a Thunderwave.
Ash uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders with an easy, fluid motion that drew Leon’s eyes right back to him.
"So," Ash said, turning fully to face Leon, his hands resting lightly on his hips. "A big promotional campaign for the World Coronation Series, huh? Does this mean we're going to get to battle later?"
There it was—the sharp, unmistakable glint of a born competitor flashing behind those warm brown eyes.
"That depends," Leon managed to say, his voice finally finding its natural, resonant register. "Are you prepared to face the undefeated Champion of Galar?"
"Always," Ash replied without a second of hesitation. The grin that erupted across his face was so blindingly bright that it rivaled the studio’s softbox lights. "Pikachu and I don't back down from anyone."
"Pika-chuuu!" the electric mouse chimed in, pumping a tiny paw in the air.
For a fraction of a second, the overwhelming awareness of how close Ash was standing faded, replaced by the sheer magnetic pull of Ash's energy. It was contagious. It made Leon want to step onto a pitch right then and there.
"Good," Leon said, stepping half an inch closer before he even realized he was doing it, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier stiffness. "Because I don't hold back."
"Good!" Ash shot back, leaning in just as boldly. "I wouldn't want you to!"
Flash.
"Hold that! Exactly like that!" Cedric shouted, frantically snapping a rapid sequence of shots. "The intensity! The eye contact! Perfect!"
Ash didn't break the stare. Neither did Leon.
Up close, Leon could see a tiny dusting of freckles across the bridge of Ash's nose, the quick rise and fall of his chest, and the utterly fearless way he held Leon's gaze. It wasn't just competitive fire—there was a genuine, unfiltered joy in Ash's eyes that made Leon's chest ache with something entirely unfamiliar.
"You really don't get nervous, do you?" Leon murmured, low enough that only Ash could hear over the clicking shutter.
Ash blinked, the competitive tension softening into a look of mild confusion. "Nervous? About a photo? Nah. Battles make my heart race, but this is just... taking pictures." He tilted his head, his smirk returning. "Why? Are you nervous, Champion?"
Leon’s heart did a sudden, chaotic gymnastic routine against his ribs.
"Never," Leon lied smoothly, though the flush creeping back up his neck betrayed him completely.
Ash let out another short, musical laugh, stepping back just as Cedric called out, "Wrapped on this set! Great job, gentlemen! Take ten!"
Ash immediately turned to check on Pikachu, crouching down to let the Pokémon scramble back up to his shoulder. Leon stood frozen on his mark, watching the way the sunlight from the high windows caught the messy strands of Ash's hair.
Ten minutes, Leon thought, his pulse hammering against his throat as Charizard let out a low, mock-sympathetic huff behind him. I have to survive ten more minutes of this.
After the first round of photos, Cedric called a short break to adjust the lighting. The main spotlights were overheating, and one of the assistants suggested taking advantage of the pause to hydrate.
“It's hot in here,” Ash commented, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Pikachu nodded emphatically from his shoulder. “Is there any water?”
“Over at the refreshment table,” Leon indicated, pointing toward the corner where Charizard was resting with half-closed eyes.
They walked over together. Or rather, Leon walked, and Ash followed with that light step that seemed to make no sound on the studio's polished floor. Charizard opened an eye when he saw them approaching and let out a grunted greeting directed more at Pikachu than at the humans.
“He's incredible,” Ash said, stopping in front of the Fire-type Pokémon with an expression of genuine admiration. “I've wanted to meet him for so long.”
Leon felt a wave of pride catch him off guard. Charizard was his oldest partner, his calling card, the Pokémon that had carried him to victory countless times. To have someone like Ash—a champion, a trainer who had traveled the world—show so much admiration for him...
“He's been my partner for many years,” he said, his voice sounding warmer than he had intended.
Ash reached a hand out toward Charizard, waiting for permission. Charizard, who was usually reserved around strangers, tilted his massive head and allowed Ash to stroke his snout. The Pokémon's tail flared with satisfaction.
Leon watched the scene.
And then, without warning, his brain played a cruel trick on him.
Ash was standing right there, petting Charizard, murmuring soft words Leon couldn't quite make out. The studio lights bounced off his hair, traced the line of his jaw, and made his eyelashes cast tiny shadows across his cheeks. The smile curving his lips as he interacted with Charizard was so genuine, so entirely free of pretense, that Leon felt his throat go completely dry.
“So beautiful...” he whispered.
Ash looked up.
“Charizard?”
Leon blinked. The world came rushing back all at once, as though he had just snapped out of a dream.
“Yes,” he said, way too fast. “Charizard. Exactly. That's what I said. Charizard is beautiful. I mean... imposing. Majestic. An incredible Pokémon.”
Charizard slowly turned his head toward his trainer. His reptilian eyes, usually unreadable, were brimming with a mix of disbelief and resignation. It was a look that said a thousand words: “Seriously, Leon? After all these years? After all the battles we've fought together? After everything I've done for you?”
Leon held his Pokémon's gaze with a silent plea: Don't say a word.
Charizard snorted. A tiny plume of smoke escaped his nostrils.
“I was clearly looking at Charizard,” Leon added, as if saying it out loud could somehow warp the lie into truth.
Ash, bless him, didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he was kind enough not to bring it up. He simply smiled and went back to petting the Fire-type, who decided to accept the affection as compensation for the secondhand embarrassment his trainer was putting him through.
It was then that Leon, attempting to recover his composure, grabbed a bottle of water from the table.
“Would you like one?” he asked Ash, in a desperate attempt to act normal.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Leon grabbed his own bottle and opened it.
He opened it way too hard.
Or maybe the bottle was defective. Or perhaps the entire universe had conspired to humiliate him. Either way, the cap popped off with an unexpected snap, and a stream of water shot straight up like a tiny geyser, arching gracefully through the air before landing dead center on Leon's shirt.
On his shirt. Not on Ash. On him.
The water soaked through the white fabric, darkening it and sticking it to his chest in a way that was anything but dignified. A cold trickle ran down his stomach and vanished beneath his belt.
“Are you okay?” Ash asked, and Leon could see the titanic effort he was making not to burst out laughing. His lips were trembling. His eyes were sparkling. Pikachu, holding back far less, had covered his face with his paws, emitting high-pitched sounds that were unmistakably giggles.
“Perfectly fine,” Leon said, with all the dignity he could muster.
He was drenched. Water was dripping from his chin.
“Sure,” Ash replied, and this time a soft laugh slipped out. Quick, brief, but unmistakable. “Of course you are.”
Charizard snorted another puff of smoke. This time, Leon could have sworn the Pokémon was laughing at him.
The shoot resumed with Leon still slightly damp, though fiercely determined to redeem himself. Cedric, having witnessed far worse disasters during his years as a League photographer, made no mention of the incident and simply began issuing new directions.
“Now I want a more informal shot. The two of you waving to the camera, as if you were greeting your fans. Keep it natural, friendly. Ash, you have plenty of experience with this, right? I've been told you're great with people.”
“I guess,” Ash replied with a simple shrug. “In Alola, everyone is super friendly. Waving is easy.”
“Perfect. On my mark, then.”
They both stepped into frame before the lens. Ash raised his right hand in a casual wave, his fingers spread wide above a beaming smile. Pikachu, ever in sync with his trainer, raised a tiny paw to mimic the gesture.
Leon raised his hand as well.
And that was when he committed his third mistake of the morning.
Because while Cedric had explicitly ordered, “Look at the camera,” Leon—for reasons completely beyond his comprehension—was not looking at the camera. His eyes—rebellious, traitorous, completely insubordinate—had drifted off to the left. Toward Ash. Toward his profile lit by the softboxes, toward the raised hand in that signature wave, toward the curve of his smile.
And his hand, apparently, had decided to follow his eyes.
He extended his hand toward the camera. More or less. In reality, he was extending it directly toward Ash.
The resulting image was unmistakable: Leon, Champion of Galar, the undefeated trainer, the man who had crushed dozens of opponents without batting an eye, was waving straight at Ash Ketchum like a fan sitting in the front row of a stadium.
Flash.
Ash slowly lowered his hand and turned his head to look at him.
“Are you... waving at me?”
“No.”
A pause. Far too long.
“Yes.”
Ash’s grin widened. He didn't mock him. He didn't make a single sharp comment. He simply let out another one of those soft laughs that were already beginning to engrave themselves into Leon’s memory, shaking his head as if he had just witnessed something thoroughly endearing.
“You’re weird, you know that?”
Leon—undefeated Champion of Galar, pride of Postwick, the trainer children pointed at in the streets with awe-filled eyes—felt his cheeks burn hot.
“Thank you,” he managed to say.
And he honestly couldn't tell if he meant it or not.
For the final series of photographs, Cedric suggested something different.
“I want to capture the bond between trainer and Pokémon. Ash, you have Pikachu, of course, but I've been told you've trained many different species. Is there any particular Pokémon you'd like to include?”
Ash paused, lost in thought for a moment.
“Honestly, any of my Pokémon would love to be part of it. But I don't want to keep anyone waiting. Pikachu and I can just do it ourselves.”
“As you wish. Leon, you have Charizard, obviously. He's your emblem.”
“Of course,” Leon said. At least with Charizard by his side, he had something to anchor himself to. Something familiar. Something that wouldn't make him look like a complete idiot.
Charizard took his position behind Leon, his massive wings folded, his flaming tail casting a rim light effect that Cedric applauded enthusiastically. Pikachu, meanwhile, had scrambled back up to Ash's shoulder, watching the Fire-type with a mixture of respect and curiosity.
“Ash, feel free to interact with Charizard,” Cedric suggested. “It'll give the shot a natural feel.”
“May I?”
“Of course. He's a very well-trained Pokémon.”
Ash stepped closer without a trace of fear. He extended his hand, just like before, and waited. Charizard lowered his head to allow the touch, letting out a low rumble that sounded almost like a purr.
“I've wanted to meet him for so long,” Ash repeated, and this time there was a note of genuine awe in his voice. “When I was a kid, even before I started my journey, I saw a Charizard battle on TV. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen. Ever since then, I knew I wanted to be a Pokémon trainer.”
Leon watched him.
He watched how Ash stroked Charizard's scaly neck with a tenderness that completely belied the image of a fierce champion. He watched the light in his eyes, that spark of childlike wonder that hadn't dimmed despite years of travel and battle. He watched his fingers move gently over the Fire-type's rough skin.
And before he could stop himself, he murmured:
“So beautiful...”
Ash raised his head.
“Charizard?”
“Yes,” Leon said, exactly like the first time. Because he was pathetic and never learned. “Charizard. I meant Charizard.”
But this time, Ash wasn't so easily fooled.
“Charizard isn't 'beautiful,'” he said, raising an eyebrow. “He's imposing, or majestic, or incredible. But not beautiful.”
“I... well...”
“You were looking at something else.”
I was looking at someone else, Leon thought. I was looking at you.
“I was looking at the light,” he lied. “The light on his wings is very... beautiful.”
Ash studied him for a second. Two. Three.
And then he smiled. A different smile this time. Slower. More knowing.
“If you say so.”
Charizard turned his head toward Leon. His reptilian eyes locked onto him, and this time there was no reproach in them. There was something far worse. Something Leon recognized instantly because he had seen it dozens of times during their toughest battles.
Amusement.
Charizard was thoroughly enjoying himself at his expense.
Flash.
The final photograph captured Ash petting Charizard, Pikachu waving from his shoulder, and Leon... well, Leon looking at Ash with an expression that Cedric would later describe as “intense, yet poetic.”
The sun was beginning to set over Wyndon when the crew officially wrapped up the session. Assistants began packing away the reflectors, rolling up backdrops, and unplugging monitors. Cedric said his goodbyes with a firm handshake and a promise to send over the edited proofs within a couple of days.
Ash approached Leon just as he was recalling Charizard into his Poké Ball. The Fire-type shot his trainer one last meaningful look before dissolving into the red beam, and Leon knew with absolute certainty that he hadn't heard the last of this.
“I'm really glad I got to meet you,” Ash said.
Leon turned around. Ash was standing right in front of him, Pikachu perched on his shoulder, his backpack dangling over one arm. The final rays of sunlight filtering through the studio’s high windows bathed his dark hair in a warm, almost copper glow.
And for the first time all afternoon, Leon managed to respond like a normal human being.
“Me too.”
Ash extended his hand once more. The same warm hand, mapped with the exact same trainer calluses.
“Do you think we could battle sometime?”
Leon took it. This time, he didn't freeze up. He didn't blurt out nonsense, drench his shirt, or wave at empty air.
“Definitely,” he said, the word coming far easier than he expected.
“Awesome.”
Ash turned to leave. He crossed the studio with that light, unbothered stride, Pikachu offering a tiny farewell wave with his paw before they disappeared through the very doors they had entered hours earlier. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded into the distance until nothing remained but silence and the low hum of the fluorescent lights.
Leon stood motionless, staring at the empty space where Ash had been standing just moments before. His palm still held the residual warmth of the handshake. His mind, finally freed from the agonizing pressure of attempting coherent speech, began to process everything that had transpired over the last few hours.
Charizard popped out of his Poké Ball of his own accord. He stared dead at his trainer.
“Don't say a word,” Leon said.
“Char.”
“I said, don't say a word.”
Charizard snorted. A trail of smoke, another silent laugh. His reptilian eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom—the kind belonging to a Pokémon who had watched his trainer crush fearsome rivals, overcome impossible trials, and stand unshakeable before roaring stadium crowds... only to completely melt into a puddle over a boy from Alola with a Pikachu on his shoulder.
Leon let out a long sigh. He ran a hand through his hair—still faintly damp from the water bottle incident—and blew out a heavy breath.
“I'm in trouble, aren't I?”
Charizard nodded. Emphatically.
“Huge trouble.”
Another nod.
“Do you think he noticed?”
Charizard tilted his head, weighing the question. Then he let out an ambiguous grunt that could have meant anything from “probably not” to “the entire studio noticed, Leon—literally every single person in the room.”
Leon decided to interpret it as the former. It was easier that way. Less of a headache.
“Well,” he muttered, returning Charizard to his Poké Ball once more. “Tomorrow is a new day. I'm sure I won't make a fool of myself again.”
Inside his Poké Ball, Charizard snorted.
He didn't believe him for a single second.