disclaimer: Pokemon ain't mine.
a/n: this is different-ish. and a little angsty. and feedback would be loved.


Petrichor
—it's the smell of rain

.

Sometimes the rain was the ugliest thing in the world— it would pound against your skin, hammering; burning your cold flesh, till you couldn't even breathe. Then it would stop; leaving you will still be standing there, alone. Sometimes you watched her, hiding under the trees.

There were times, many times, when you wanted to reach out and touched her hand. Maybe clasp your hand around hers and intertwining your fingers together. Tie the golden threads of your fate together, into one. Other times, you wanted to kiss her. Brutally, with her against the surface and the rain hiding the both of you in the turmoil or maybe you'll kiss her gently and let the rain envelop you in a blanket of trust and hope.

But the relationship you two shared will never be gentle at all, but explosive and raging just like the volcano on Cinnabar Island, the one you recall seeing as you followed Gold as you strove to be a stronger trainer. But she doesn't know that, she doesn't even know you, except you are that boy who hurt her most precious friend.

I hates you, she says. She spits out the words as her Chikorita bristles next her, watching your gaze with one of its own. As if one touch from your hands will taint the very pureness of her skin. Then she spins on her heels and walks away, with the anger of a little girl.

It's rather amusing.

Then there are the days when she is somewhat kind, allowing you to take a seat next to her on the bench, allowing you to breathe her air and see her sights. Those are the days you crave most, and think if life went the way it was supposed to go this would be happening right now, instead of shadows and loneliness.

Maybe you could hold her hand on those days, or lean in close enough to smell her hair; maybe you could even fall in love with her. But you laugh and think that's impossible, because in this world there is no such thing as love and even if there was— love was never ever meant for you. (The day you told her that, watching her sitting on the park bench, she yelled and yelled because she is one of those silly, silly girls who believe in loves and fairies and happily ever after.)

Sometimes she would bring an umbrella on rainy days, sporting a dress instead of her usual outfit of choice. It made her look like a young widow, who never got to experience to prime of her youth. She says that she never truly did get to experience the prime of her youth with him, and flinch— because it's just another painstaking reminder that it's your fault that Gold's gone, gone, gone to whatever hero-complex filled heaven he's in.

She looks on the look of pain on your face and reminds you he isn't dead, he's dreaming. You just scowl because he's in a coma and that's just as good as being dead. How long will Prince Charming stay asleep, shouldn't she go kiss him on the lips and wake him up, you wonder. But the look on her face showed you that she already tried that.

It's not her kiss that will wake him up.

And she knows that, but still she believes because that is the kind of girl she is. And you don't blame her for it. She's a rather desperate girl, who's brave and strong and makes no sense at all.

She breaks down in your arms, sobbing and crying with the rain adding on to her tears, then washing them away as you shield her. To an onlooker it maybe a romantic scene, of a girl getting together with her boyfriend, but it wasn't anything close to that image. It was just a girl accepting fate, a broken heart and a boy, you, who was okay being second best for once, if it meant her.

It just wasn't love, but it was close.

The rain stopped.

Later there was no love story, or even one kiss left in the end of this story. Just the sweet melancholy of petrichor, the smell of the rain and something so damn close to love the both of you could taste it. (Maybe in another future, you'll be able to see her in the light and finally will be able to hold her hand.)

.

the end