SoulSilver Shipping Oneshot
He stood at roughly five feet, six inches, his head topped with a disheveled mass of red hair that hung down to about his shoulders in the back. It had been forever since he cut it: he never really had the time, with his busy schedule and all. His body was thin, obviously starved, another thing he spoke to her, her voice filled with concern for him, to be "nunya" – none of her business. His skin was pale, covered by a black jacket that seemed to hang off him, and a pair of jeans, both dirty beyond belief. But she continued to bug him about it, every time they encountered...
God damn it, why did she care?
His hand tightened around the ball, its top a bright, annoying red, bottom a pale and depressing white... the two sides contrasted with each other, but seemed to connect, refusing to pull apart to the commands of any but the "gods themselves", the thumb of some trainer pressed against the release switch. In this case, him. It was a strange, exalting feeling to be able to tear them away from each other... but even then, he realized that they hung together by some loose thread... why?
Why did they refuse to seperate? Surely, the pale white bottom of the sphere wanted to relieve itself of the annoying weight that the bright, perky, annoying little red top placed on its shoulders... but it still hung on.
He was sick to his stomach. Not because of that one Pecha Berry he had just popped into his mouth, but because of that thought, that the two opposites refused to be torn apart, as if they needed each other somehow to survive in the strange world around them.
She stood in front of him.
He would admit to the Gods themselves that she was beautiful. Big, brown eyes that echoed a sense of worry, of concern for him... that brown hair that was about as long as his, bangs coming down over her eyes to conceal their maternal feeling a bit, but not too much... the bright red bow in her hair. A darker red shirt concealing her black undershirt, visible only due to a small dip in the red shirt's collar. She even made a style he had always hate, overalls, look rather nice. Socks reaching up to about her knees, then her neatly tied running shoes... the only part of her he DIDN'T like was that hat... but even perfection had its flaws, didn't it-
He chided himself for even letting the thought strike his mind, and flinched visibly because of it: More concern in her gaze.
His training style was harsh, but from what he could tell it was effective. He trained day in and day out, constantly forgetting to do basic things: Eat, drink, clean himself... he was a mess, but his team was one of the strongest in Johto side of the Elite Four... and her.
Strength... it was an obsession. Only one or two other things occupied his mind. He wanted strength to prove to a certain someone that he could be strong too. Stronger than him. His life had been ruined, because that certain someone had been weak.
Had it not been so? He would not be standing across from her, her back close against a wall in the cave, his own blocking the exit to that very cave – the exit of her existence in the world of trainers, and into the world of the Elite. No, he wouldn't have that. He would prove himself strong: the strongest. Because strength meant he could put his life back together again.
Had it not been so? He would, instead, be sitting in some luxurious chair, lounging back with his eyes focused on some wide-screen TV, no concerns evident in his mind that was supposed to be young, innocent...
He heard her speak. That broke him from his chain of thought, and his finger moved immediately over the release switch of the sphere in hand, tossing his arm forward... he found it difficult, for some reason. Strain put on his muscles, that wasn't supposed to be. But nonetheless, a bright flash of white light illuminated the cave momentarily, and his Pokemon now stood on the cold, damp floor.
"... Silver, you look sick ..."
He wished she would shut up. Why did she care? It was his business as to his condition, not hers. To her, he should be a block in her road to victory. A block that she should crush without any form of mercy. That was how it should have been... but it was not.
"…Release your Pokemon, or I'll just go ahead and attack you…"
He spoke, and he realized it was barely above a whisper; a hoarse, dry whisper.
"...Silver, you need to get to a doctor..."
Her voice again. Why wouldn't she just be quiet?
"...Why do you care?" He found himself asking, now. He hadn't planned on asking her that question, just to crush her and continue on, but his curiosity mixed with his loathing, and he found himself spitting it out spitefully.
"...You're a friend, Silver-"
A friend? Ha. He had no friends, not even his own Pokemon. Tools to be used for strength. Strength to get his life back into one piece again, like it was in the old days, when he looked up to that man with respect instead of contempt... he couldn't stop telling himself that it was strength that was the key. It was the only option that made sense.
"...Friend? I have no friends, and I am friend to no one!"
"...That's a lie and you know it, Silver-"
"A lie? No, you're the liar, Lyra! You're just trying to soften me, take me down...I won't let-"
His legs were suddenly struck with the feeling of weakness, as if someone had taken a hammer and pounded away at his kneecaps until they shattered into millions of fragments. He fell to the ground, his hands colliding with the damp, cold rocky flooring and he realized then that he was losing consciousness. His neck craned up to look at her for one last moment...
…she was rushing over toward him, slinging her bag over her shoulder as if to free her hands, only to move them down to her belt; a Pokeball. So he was right... she was taking advantage of his condition at the moment, the care only a facade to crush him with...
…a Rapidash. His semi-consciousness was full blast now, the world around him fuzzy. He could hear her voice, feel her skin touch his own to pull him up with the assistance of his own Pokemon, which he felt grabbing at him with his own scaly skin...his last bit of strength he used to return the Feraligatr, as he felt both his bottom hit the Rapidash's back and his remaining view on the world slip away into nothing more than a warm darkness, her voice sweet and high, panicked, filled with genuine concern... but he couldn't contemplate that now. He couldn't contemplate a damned thing.
Then suddenly it was on him again, barely present but present all the same. A blurry, noise-filled world, beeps and voices, his own breathing steadier than he could remember it being in quite a while. His head was against something warm... was it a pillow? It had been quite a bit of time since he had gotten to use such a treat... his torso was warm. A blanket? Another luxury he was not used to.
And the most luxurious of all, he realized as his eyes slowly regained their usual level of awareness, was to feel his hand clasped between two of her own, as that beautiful brown-eyed gazed focused with an odd mixture of concern and happiness upon his own jet black one.
His mind, still trying to work itself back into the daily grind, raced with a variety of thoughts, one in particular that was almost like an epiphany to him, though he realized that he knew it all along:
There was a key somewhere in this world. A key that would open the door that slowed his progress in life, in growth, in happiness and let him push it out of the way. A single golden key, that until now had eluded his grasp: His conscious mind thought for a long time now, that it had been strength. It was what his life revolved around, a constant struggle to prove himself strong...
But that key, his subconscious mind now let loose in a stream of information to his conscious mind, was a certain brown-eyed girl that sat at his bedside, and he spoke above the doctors and nurses, beeping of intercom and machines attached to his body, the conversations in the hallways of this hospital that she had brought him to.
" …Lyra… "
She leaned in closer to him, to hear his raspy, strained voice better.
"...No problem, Silver. No problem at all."
And in a move that surprised both of them, he craned his neck to the side to lightly press his lips against her cheek.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This thing is about five months old. I had forgotten about it: it was one of my favorite shipping one-shots I've ever done. So, yes, here it is, a little fixed up. Enjoy.