NebulaDreams
Ace Trainer
- Partners
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And now for some bonus content! I wrote this as a prequel to Beasts Like Us since I liked the idea of seeing Glen and Barry’s start to their relationship in person and it ended up being a fun way to introduce a couple of new elements to their dynamic.
However, I originally wrote this with a… different intent. I had to cut a significant chunk from this story to make it safe to attach to this fic since I didn’t want to lock people out of experiencing this story just because of a couple of scenes. However, I believe those scenes change the context of the story in a way that this version unfortunately loses.
I won’t tell you where to find that version, but you can probably do some digging on AO3. As it is, this prequel story is rated T, with the same content warnings as before, with an implied fade to black near the end.
Before Beasts: Inhumane and Beautiful
I light up while I watch the Mach n’ Van crew trying to wedge an oversized settee into the narrow doorframe of our client’s terraced house. I’ve done my part, driving them up here, and they don’t need me slowing them down. Besides, I’ve got Barry on my mind.
I love him, from the tip of my hat to where my tail used to be down to the bottoms of my feet. Every part of me yearns for him, his touch, his kindness, his every essence. Yet he’s a human. Every human I get tangled with turns out to be a massive douche. But Barry’s different. I hope.
The grass rustles. I slump, anticipating Hammer’s usual slap on the back whenever I’m smoking behind the van.
“Hey, Glen,” Hammer says, holding up a chair with his back set of arms. I swear he does it just to show off. “You’re awfully quiet today. Even more than usual.”
I tap my cigarette; the wind carries the ashes of its burned-out tip away. “Uh huh.”
“And you’re not gonna tell me why, I bet.”
I suppress my breath, smoke pluming from my nostrils. I try to read his face, though his brow ridge doesn’t give me a lot to work with, and Machamp just always look smug with those big lips even when I know Hammer’s got more sense than that. Why don’t I just spit it out?
I can’t. I might as well quit my job right now if I tell Hammer I’ve fallen for a human. But who else can I talk to?
“I’ve got a date tonight,” I half-lie. It’s not technically a date since neither of us have confessed, but there’s a lot between us that’s unsaid. Friends don’t generally go to someone else’s house for drinks after a dinner and a show.
“That’s it?” He snorts. “I thought you were gonna tell me that evil landlord kicked you out.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him, but no.” I sigh. I’m not looking forward to begging the landlord to fix the leaking sink for the millionth time.
“What, so it’s just Butterfree in your stomach?”
I take a long deep drag. How much do I tell him?
So many names flash through my mind. Scott, Axel, Mister Sir Jeff Motherfucker. Their faces, like masks made of human skin, haunt me.
“I’ve also just been burned by so many others before. You think you can trust someone with this little piece of you, then they rip it from you and stamp on it like… I dunno, a packet of crisps.”
I kick away a stray Pokemunch bag on the pavement. For a split second, that itch to fight surges through me like a phantom limb, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears. I keep puffing, trying to mask the feeling with yet another nicotine hit.
“It fucking sucks.” Cursing in human provides little relief. “I’m either gonna blow it tonight or they’re gonna disappoint me like always—“
Hammer grips my shoulder, chair still nestled in his back arms. I try to shrug it off, but the fight in me goes with his touch.
“It’s okay. You’ll either bag a nice Machoke, or you won’t.” He tilts his head. “Sorry, some other fighting type your age.”
Most of the Machoke in the current delivery crew are basically roided-up teenagers. Two of them are playing catch with a fragile box as we speak.
“Hey!” Hammer yells. “Cut that out!” He shakes his head. “See what I mean? But you get my point. If it doesn’t work out, just try again.”
It’s easy for a Pokémon like him to say when he rubbed shoulders with the Elite Four. At least he doesn’t slip in a humblebrag about his League career this time.
“I guess that’s all I can do, just try.”
“Good. And if that Pokémon of yours wants some honest work, I’ll put in a good word for them.”
I watch Hammer carry the chair into the flat as I take one last, long drag, right down to the tip. Whatever I’m feeling still gnaws at my gut, and it probably will throughout the day’s remainder. But whether I fuck it up or Barry fucks it up, at least I tried. That’s more than most lovesick humans would probably say.
“So you’ve got a table for… two? Where’s your trainer?”
I suck in a deep breath. I saw that question coming from a mile away, and it touches a nerve every time, but I will not be rude to the waiter, no matter what.
“It’s booked under Barry,” I say. “He’s working late.” At least I hope that’s the reason he’s late. Hopefully this human doesn’t call my bluff.
“Okay, can’t argue with that.” The waiter picks up two menus. “Come right this way.”
He leads me through the restaurant. All sorts of couples and families dine together, with seldom a Pokemon to be seen. From the stares diners shoot me to the way the waiter hovers over my shoulder as if I need a crash course on how to order a fucking steak, it’s clear I don’t belong here. The Captain’s Table totally isn’t my vibe, but I thought it would’ve been a good middle ground between my tastes and Barry’s.
My pocket itches. There’s no way they’d let anyone smoke in here, let alone a Pokémon. I’d order a beer to soothe my nerves, but there’s an even slimmer chance they’d serve a Pokémon alcohol.
“I’ll just get two Psycho Sodas at the bar.” I whip out my wallet. “Put it on my tab.”
“That’s, um, that’s fine.” The waiter excuses himself; now I can drink my cheap sugar water in peace.
Barry’s soda sweats onto the foam coaster. The thing’s drenched by the time I finish my drink. The waiter ducks in and out, clearly trying to avoid talking to the strange Machoke but still checking that I haven’t picked a fight or some shit.
My eyes start wandering to the stock photos of pasta dishes on the walls, then to a human family of five celebrating their son’s eighteenth, marked with a big blue balloon. His father has his arm around his shoulder, they’re talking about his gap year plans to visit Sinnoh, then the son impresses them by talking in Sinnohan.
This is silly, I know. It’s nothing more than a pipe dream. Yet I imagine what a Machop of my own would look like, and if he would thrive in a world like this. Maybe by the time I’m old and he’s a Machoke, he’d be able to pick up Sinnohan lessons or would go off to uni to do whatever. I’d want to treat him like that family treats him, ordering a cake with a sparkler to the table.
The son glances at me just before he dives into his desserts. Shit, he noticed. I check my phone. No messages. For Arceus’ sake, come on, Barry.
I bet he bailed on me, like humans do when stuff gets too real. What am I thinking, wanting some loser like him? Then what’ll happen about the gig at The Cave? If he has the balls to show up without me, I’ll rip them off. I think I would do it if pushed.
Just when I think about asking for the bill, Barry dashes through the restaurant, collapsing at the table in a panting, sweating heap.
I don’t say hi, even if I’m glad to see him. I just stare as he catches his breath.
“You could’ve sent me a message,” I growl.
“I’m—“ He grips his mullet with his meaty hands. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot, Glen, I—“
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, though! I said I’d be on time but the staff training overran and I had to get a taxi back, and I should’ve said!” He wiped his moist forehead. “It’s not fair on you.”
I pinch my snout. He’s doing this again, being so hard on himself. Takes one to know one. That’s what makes him so different, whereas everyone hurt me and didn’t care. To think he was going to stand me up.
I so badly want to squeeze his hand, to feel his warmth, to tell him it’s alright, but we can’t. Not here. I don’t even know if he feels the same way yet.
“Well, you made it.” I gesture to his glass, the ice fully melted. “That’s for you.”
“Okay, thanks.” Barry swigs. I gulp as the liquid pulses down his plump neck. Although he’s sweating in a cheap shirt and his hair’s as greasy as a drowned Tangela, he looks smart. After he’s done, he exhales and slumps in his seat. “What a day.”
I hum in agreement. I’d ask what his training’s about, but every time the conversation shifts to work, I block out half of what he says. Besides, I think he’d rather take his mind off of it. “So, what band are we seeing again?”
“Starving Boltund. Did you see the music video I sent you?”
I sigh. “Crap, I didn’t, sorry. I know they’re, like, industrial dance metal, which is kind of a mouthful.”
“Industrial metal, yeah. But I think you’d enjoy their songs just going into them blind. I’ve been listening to their album non-stop today.”
“Shame I can’t just blast stuff like I used to when I travelled alone. I’d probably have given them a shot otherwise.”
“Can’t you talk to your team? Maybe they’d like it.”
“Maybe.” I cross my arms. I feel bad for not socialising as much as I should, but it’s still new working with a crew of younger Machoke, especially one that changes around so much. “I know Hammer hates metal. I played Weezing Lung Destruction once and he almost punched the speakers out.”
Barry shrugs, stroking the tip of his beard, something I’ve noticed on and off. “Mind you, I wouldn’t like being forced to listen to something. My boss keeps blasting pop songs in the office all day.”
“I’d throw Hammer out the fucking van if he turned that shit on.”
Barry chuckles the way he usually does, hiding it behind his pudgy hand as if he’s embarrassed. I don’t know why; he's got such a lovely smile. Now he’s here, I just feel at ease being around him. He has no trouble looking at me like I’m just some regular human, like he did when we first met outside The Cave.
I can just about feel the electricity between us. I know we can’t touch hands, but my foot inches towards Barry’s beneath the table, hoping that his foot will do the same.
“Oh, you’re here!” the waiter interrupts. “Now, what would you like to order?”
Barry orders pasta carbonara while I order a sirloin steak, plus drinks. Mine is slightly more expensive than Barry’s, but he doesn’t know that I’m going to pay for his meal yet. It was my idea to come here before the show, after all.
“How’s work?” Barry asks.
I sip my Psycho Soda. I never know how to answer that question, especially not in front of Barry since his job sounds much more important than mine, but he wants to know. That’s more than I can say about most humans.
“Same as usual. We met a couple of students who were moving flats. Their old place had black mold everywhere.”
Barry winces. “Do you see a lot of that around?”
“Yeah. Some places we move stuff from are in a right state. People either dump their shit from one flat to another, or landlords just don’t care much.”
“I’ve been through that myself. I don’t miss being a student.”
“I bet.” I don’t know if the timing’s right, but I lean in a little closer, lowering my voice. “There was one place we went to not too long ago that kind of gave me the creeps. There was this… guy who couldn’t walk who lived alone with his male Gardevoir.”
I hope Barry can see where I’m going with this. He leans in as well. “Go on.”
“So, the Gardevoir was telling me how his trainer got tangled up in some sort of accident on his journey, so they wanted to move somewhere with better wheelchair access. The Gardevoir handled most things on his own, like where he wanted the boxes or where he wanted the furniture to be placed.”
“But he wasn’t like you.”
“No. He was a carer for his trainer, so he did a lot of housekeeping on his own, but they were pretty attached to the hip.” My voice lowers even more, just barely audible under the generic rock music playing through the restaurant speakers. “The trainer barely talked to us. He only looked at his Gardevoir. And whenever the Gardevoir wheeled him around, the way they looked at each other…”
A whole mix of emotions whiz through me. I kind of hate myself for gossiping about other Pokemon, and the whole thing still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, like cheap boxed cider, but it has to be said. I want to test how Barry feels about this.
Barry scrunches his bushy eyebrows and swigs his soda. “Hmm. I can’t say I know them, so I don’t want to suggest anything, but I can’t blame you for being creeped out.”
“Just seeing a trainer and a Pokemon like that together, you know. You never know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“What brought this on?”
He still looks at me with that gaze of his, completely non-judgemental, warm, inviting, serious, but also vulnerable, as if he’s ready for the other shoe to drop. Just like me. But I’ve already said too much and this isn’t the time or the place for talks like these.
“I dunno. It might be a bit TMI.”
“That’s fine. I was just more curious than anything.”
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you later. We’re still coming back to yours after the gig, right?”
“That’s the plan. I bought some Pekkochu, by the way.”
He even bought beer for me, how does this dude not want to be my boyfriend? Time melts away like the ice in my glass as we talk, either about work or music; turns out Barry’s oh so important training was this ‘compliance induction day’: just those three words make me want to jam the steak knife into my eye. We don’t really get past those two topics, but that’s fine. It’s nice to have someone to share it with.
And here comes food. This Miltank cut isn’t half bad albeit a little overdone; it has the right amount of meat with not too much fat, then there’s the side salad, rocket drizzled with razz berry balsamic, somewhat healthy. But then Barry has this thick, creamy carbonara, and I kind of wish I had it instead even though it looks like a carb and dairy nightmare.
“Oh,” he says, dabbing his chin, “would you like some?”
“Only if you have some of my steak. It’s good shit.”
The rest of the meal flies past us, even as Barry orders afters. I forget there are other humans in the room. Everything fades around us in a screen of warm light, like I’m seeing it through a misted car window, except Barry’s the only one in focus.
When the waiter comes with the bill, I’m the first to draw out my wallet. It’s thinner than I would like, but that doesn’t matter for a night like this.
“Wait, I thought I was paying,” Barry said.
“It was my idea.”
“No, please.” Barry brings a debit card out. “I got dessert, so it’s not fair for you to pay extra.”
“But I got the fancy steak. That’s even more than your pasta and tiramisu.”
“But…” Barry turns the card over and tugs at his beard. “It doesn’t feel right. It’s just… you’re–”
“I’m a Pokemon, is that it?”
Damn it, and here I thought Barry was different. He still is, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking like a human. I’m about to complain when the waiter leaves the bill on the table.
“Sort it out between you two,” he says in a tone that suggests he’s so totally done with his shift tonight.
I jab my elbows into the clothed table. “I can pay for my own meals, Barry.”
“I wasn’t…” Barry shrinks in his seat, as if the big lug can possibly make himself look smaller. “Sorry. I’ve messed things up again, haven’t I?”
I groan. I swear he’s doing this on purpose. “Stop apologising.”
“Sorry–” he cuts himself off–”I mean, all I meant was… you don’t get paid that well, from what you’ve said. And I thought it’d be nice to treat you, after all this time.”
I rub the red streaks across my arms, staring at my lap. I want to believe those words, but something presses on my brain, like a Hypno’s spell, telling me not to trust it.
“We can split it. That’s what people do, compromise, right?”
“Yeah.” Barry takes a deep breath. “Of course I find a way to overthink paying the bill.”
“Don’t even think about it, I was being a dick anyway.”
“You’re weren’t– you’re not, Glen. You’re great.”
I’m great. I haven’t heard those words… ever. I’m trying not to let it get to me, but…
Barry’s eyes. I want to escape into them, swim in them, pretend I’m anything but a Machoke, yet I can’t, not when I see my ugly, big-nosed face staring back at him.
No, why do I feel like this now? That feeling of nausea gnaws at my belly, yet I know it isn’t from what I ate. Whatever it is, I don’t have a name for it, but it’s got its hooks deep in me, like a slab of frozen meat. Meat. Miltank. Pokemon. Machoke.
“I…” I get up, tossing 3000 Pokedollars for my half of the bill onto the table. “I need to go to the loo.”
“That’s fine, take your time.”
He smiles as I dash to a free cubicle. I look down at the clean, tiled floor. I should be admiring how sparkly it is for a public toilet, but all I can think of is that time me and Scott… no, it’s too painful.
I stare at my arms, those red streaks snaking down them like blood trails. This is what a Machoke looks like. This is normal. Yet… my stomach turns at the thought that I’m trapped in this body. That I look like this, that I’m just this slab of muscled meat that’s only good for fighting, and I can’t even get that right. How can Barry look at this and say I’m great? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me?
I don’t deserve this. I should run back to my shitty flat and ghost Barry. Disappear and never risk feeling this way again. No, this feeling isn’t new. It’s all in my head. Barry wants to see me. I need to remember that.
I wait for this god awful feeling to ebb away, but it doesn’t. I just glance at my phone clock, then turn it over, check my phone, turn it over, repeat, until I know it’s too late for me to be freaking out right now, and charge out of the toilets. I try not to look at myself in the strip of mirrors, like ghosts haunting me from the other side, and head back into the restaurant. Barry stands as soon as he sees me.
“We’re missing the support.” Barry buttons up his jacket. “You good?”
I’m not good, but I force a smile and head for the exit, power walking to the venue. I know the way, it’s only five minutes long, and Barry must be able to catch up with me, but I want to walk hand in hand with him even when I know we can’t, so I light my cigarette, almost swallowing it as I walk-run.
Air’s cold, it’s night, mostly humans out, but a couple of Pokemon keep to themselves. I swear I spot a Zoroark and a Zorua stalking the night together. I bet they can pass as humans. I envy them. Feral Thievul flit past my feet, the poor buggers, and Garbodor pick at rubbish bins in alleyways just off the high street. How do they live like this? How does any Pokemon live like this?
Clumsy dress shoes pitter-patter behind me.
“Glen, wait a sec!” Barry huffs. “I can’t catch–” another huff–”up with you.”
I don’t respond. We need to get to the show, and we do, but not before I throw my smoke away. I show my ticket to the human bouncer who’s built like a brick shithouse, but I can barely look at his questioning eyes burning through me, asking why I’m even there, but no, there are other Pokemon that come to The Cave to either watch and perform, so I’ve got nothing to worry about.
We’re in. It’s thick with mostly human sweat and makes me feel trapped like I’m inside a Pokeball again, especially since there’s zero room to move between everybody on the stage and at the bar. I almost flinch when Barry brushes my shoulder, his hand still cold from the outside.
“Are you sure you’re okay?!” he shouts over the music. “Drink? I’m getting a drink! You want one?!”
It’ll just be Psycho Soda again, even though I can hold my liquor. But fine. I nod, and Barry disappears. I back against the brick wall, panting, not from all the walking but from whatever’s still clawing into my belly. Again, I check my phone for no other reason than to do something with my hands. When that doesn’t work, I try to slip into the stage crowd as they watch the supporting act.
A Toxtricity’s noodling around on a guitar. I guess this is the support; his name’s supposed to be Toxic Love on the billing. I try to get lost in the music, even if it’s just to support my fellow Pokemon, but I don’t think there’s any structure to his music, just jams upon jams. At least the crowd’s kind of into it, though I don’t know how much of it is for novelty’s sake.
Not gonna lie, it kind of blows. It’s doing nothing for my mood either, as my throat still feels tight. I need a hit.
Barry’s taking a while. The bar’s looking pretty full, just from a glance. Now’s the perfect time to go and light up outside, along with a couple of other stragglers. Safety in numbers, I suppose. Some humans stare at me, as if they’ve never seen a smoking Machoke before.
“Hey, queen!” one human shouts, some twenty-something woman who can barely stand upright.
I sigh, thinking they’re talking to me, when one figure steps out and strikes a pose, blowing kisses with two sets of arms, a cigarette in the other set.
“Y’all better come to my show later!” a Machamp says in a feminine voice. “I’ll throw in an autograph!”
“Slay!” the human’s drunken friends shout as they walk past the alleyway.
…what just happened? This Machamp’s wearing a wig, and an honest to Arceus skirt, black and neon green like everyone else’s cyberpunk-y attire. Do they think it’s some dress up party? They turn, hair whipping behind them, and strut back to the wall beside me to smoke, sequined heels clicking against the cobblestones. Even the way they smoke oozes confidence as they people-watch, whereas I try to make myself as small as possible.
I can’t help but gawk at them since they clearly want to be in the limelight.
“You’re wearing high heels,” is the first thing that escapes my maw.
“And?” he bellows, dropping the voice. So it’s an act. Or is it?
“Never mind.” I take another drag, figuring out how this strange feeling into words. I don’t know if I envy him, but… “How do you do it?”
“Practice.” He wiggles his heeled foot. “It’s freaking hard, though, you don’t pick this up in the league, that’s for sure.”
“No, I mean…” I sigh. “I feel like a freakshow at the best of times. But you don’t seem to care.”
My voice is strained. Maybe it’s from the smoke, but it comes right from the gut, which still hurts.
“Honey,” he says, “this is my life. I do what I want and I dress how I want. Some humans like a little show, too.”
He winks; is he wearing mascara as well, or are those fake lashes? I blink, suppressing a cough.
“You should come some time. I’m Quadruple Threat, by the way, Druple, for short. My next show’s in a week.”
He’s just as shameless as he looks. But is that a bad thing?
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Druple crushes the cigarette beneath his stiletto. “Take care of yourself.”
He disappears into The Cave, leaving me to finish my smoke. I don’t know what the hell I just witnessed, but it’s a welcome surprise. That gnawing feeling fades. It’s still there. It’s always kind of there. But I don’t feel it as much.
That Toxtricity’s stopped playing now. Good. I feel like I should talk to Barry; he’s probably stuck holding two glasses as we speak. I take a deep breath and head back into the neon-soaked depths of The Cave.
“Hey, I wondered where you were!” Barry shouts, handing me a cold one. He hasn’t even bought a beer for himself yet. I chug half the contents down, clearly needing it. “Are you okay?”
I am now, sorta. I wasn’t earlier. I want to talk about it, but I don’t want to ruin the good vibes.
“I’ll tell you later!” I shout back.
He nods and raises his arm, as if he’s about to touch my shoulder. He catches himself, and stuffs his hand back in his pocket.
“Let’s get to the stage, yeah? Try and get somewhere in the middle!”
Starving Boltund is probably going to have one hell of a mosh pit. I don’t want to miss it, even if I’m not as familiar with their music.
“Yeah! Let’s!”
We push and shove our way into the crowd. I’m so crammed, my snout’s poking the back of some guy’s armpit. This is what I sign up for every time I go to a gig here. Fun. But then it becomes fun for real when Starving Boltund comes in, wearing actual freaking Boltund masks, as Pokemon cries playing from the amps mix with loud claps. It doesn’t faze me, not after listening to some human’s spoken word poetry that one time.
They don’t even introduce themselves, they just park by their instruments, standard except for a keyboard, laptop and saxophone, and the pulse of amp feedback and distortion thumps to a beat. The Boltund guy with the saxophone starts first, then the band explodes in a sea of noise, taking everyone on stage with them, including me and Barry. I join in the mosh pit, backing into the human, who pushes me back into a long-haired Scrafty, who smiles as she shoves me hard into Barry.
He catches me, only to push me again, and he joins in, both of us bouncing across the pit like pinballs.
This is why I love The Cave. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a human or Pokemon, all that matters is that you’re enjoying the music together. This is the closest I feel to getting that fighting spirit back without actually being in a fight. And Barry…
Barry looks so dishevelled as his hair becomes slick with sweat, dripping down his face. He’s so hot.
Who am I fooling? This human is the person I want to spend all my time with. I’ll tell him that when we get back to his place, but for now, I get lost in the beats and the heat from all the bodies.
The night air cools my moist skin as I wait for Barry to unlock his front door. Man, that gig was a blast. Barry’s got good taste. He told me he’s built up a record collection back home, and I can’t wait to see it and to hear him nerd out about it.
“Doesn’t look too shabby,” I say, even though it’s on the second floor of a crude-looking block of flats and there’s an air conditioner leaking along the outside wall. There’s also this Murkrow who’s perched on the railing, staring at us.
“Piss off!” he caw-caws. “Piss off! Piss off!”
The Murkrow turns his head back to the night. I blink, trying to process what the hell I just heard.
“That’s Pissoff.” Barry sighs. “My neighbour called him that, and he comes out here every night parroting it.”
I don’t remember what my name was before Glen, but I like my own name a lot better. It means ‘small valley’, which just fits.
“Seems like that’s setting a Pokemon up for failure, calling them Pissoff.”
“I told him that and he told me to mind my own business.” He groans. “Neighbours.”
“I heard that!” Pissoff caws. “Pissoff’s just some banter!”
Barry rolls his eyes. “Okay, then, piss off, Pissoff.”
“That’s more like it!”
Barry must be a magnet for weird fucking Pokemon, not that I can say much. He opens the door and invites me in. I’ve seen worse places. There are a few clothes strewn about on the floor, mostly pairs of dirty socks, and empty noodle pots placed at odd parts of the living room.
I’ve seen worse. Fucking Axel and his pee-filled beer bottles. At least Barry’s place gives off the vibe of visiting an old friend’s place rather than a stranger’s hovel. Barry leaves his shoes by the door and collapses on the settee.
“I’m beat,” he says, massaging his socked feet.
I stand by the door, shoes still on, almost frozen to the welcome mat. I wait for the right moment to tell Barry I love him, but what if I’m wrong? What if that ruins what we have between us?
No, all he wants me to do is sit. It doesn’t have to lead to anything if the cards aren’t right. I squeeze in beside him, feeling a surge of electricity as his shoulder brushes mine. It’s gone just as quickly as Barry sits up, walking in and out of the kitchen with cans of Pekkochu.
“This is the premium shit too. Super dry.” I crack it open and take a big swig. Man, that wheat-y, hoppy taste is something else. I clink Barry’s can, say cheers, and down another swig.
We stare at the TV. Do people still say ‘let’s Natuflix and chill’? But Barry doesn’t reach for the remote, doesn’t help that it’s wedged between the settee cushions.
“Do you wanna put something on?” I ask. “I’m not too tired.”
“Maybe.” He swirls his drink. “I’m fine with just chilling. Or chatting about whatever.”
For Arceus’ sake, why can’t he spit it out? Not that I’m plucking up the courage myself since my mouth is frozen shut. I feel like I’m being watched, even though we’re in the privacy of Barry’s home. Then again, I always feel watched. That sinking feeling in my stomach isn’t going away either. That’s not going to stop even if I get this off my chest.
The conversation at the restaurant flashes through my head.
“Say,” I say, “you asked me why I brought up the Gardevoir story.”
Barry strokes his beard, then takes a sip. “Mmm?”
I search for the right words at the bottom of the Pekkochu can. “What if it was, y’know, just a human who happened to meet a Pokemon? Say the Pokemon can talk and think for themselves, and just happened to meet a super nice human they liked?”
Barry sets his can down on a side table, and looks me up and down, again, with zero judgement. His chubby cheeks raise, and his eyes look soft, especially under the dim ceiling lamp.
“Then… that human would be super happy to have them.”
That’s it. Barry doesn’t have to tell me he loves me, I just know.
I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. Someone loves me for who I am, even though I’m a Machoke.
Machoke. Pokemon. Human. Whatever’s in my stomach bubbles as Barry leans forward, Teddiursa eyes gazing dreamily into me. I so badly want to kiss him.
No, I shouldn’t want to. It’ll only end in disaster, like all the other times I’ve tangled with humans. I sit like a felled tree, waiting for Barry to make his first move, but he stops short.
“What’s on your mind?” Barry backs away. “You’ve been spacing out ever since we had dinner.”
Of course he noticed, because he’s Barry, because he doesn’t have to be told.
I shudder and lean against the headrest, nearly sinking into the cushions.
“We can’t hold hands in public, or whatever it is couples do.”
“I know.” His hand hovers over my shoulder, which he retracts and tucks in his lap. “It’s fine. I’m used to hiding.”
I want to pry into it, but now’s not the right time. I don’t fancy spilling my guts either.
“I want to feel okay about this, but I’m not sure I do.” I sigh. “Are we both just really fucked up for feeling this way?”
“Maybe.” His chest ripples against his shirt with each inhale and exhale. “I got bullied really badly in school. All because I had some art saved on my phone. And I dressed up as a Lucario on non-uniform day. I don’t know what that says about me.”
I don’t know what I should say to that, but I’m no stranger to embarrassing shit. “I cut out men’s fitness magazines before I found out about the internet.”
“Old school.”
“I know, right?” I close my eyes, searching deep within myself. Now we’ve gotten our deepest, darkest secrets out of the way, there’s nothing stopping me from telling him how I feel. “I was freaking out earlier, you know.”
A soft, warm hand squeezes mine, gently nudging me to go on. My tongue twists trying to find the right words. I don’t know if Barry feels the same way, but I’ve seen his anxiety attacks before. I’m sure he’ll get it.
“I get sick looking at myself sometimes. I expect to see a human face looking back at me, but instead, I get this.” I trace my free hand along my snout. “I want to cut this fucking nose off.”
“I’m sorry,” Barry says.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Sorry–” he chuckles–”no, I mean, I’m sorry to hear. If it helps, I’ve never really felt like a human.”
“You don’t?”
“Not when you’re told you need to lose weight all your life and you second guess every conversation you have.”
“I like you the way you are.” I squeeze his pudgy hand back. “And you’re fine.”
Barry leans into me, so close that his breath licks the back of my head. “I like you the way you are too, Glen, nose and all. I hope you know that.”
The living room’s silent. There’s no ticking clock. Barely any noise from the neighbours. Just the sound of us two breathing, except one of us is breathing faster, me. Just when that pang of nausea hits me, it’s gone as Barry slowly wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.
He’s oh so gentle even when he’s smothering me with his pecs, as he squeezes just tight enough that my snout has room to breathe. The light sheen of sweat from his dancing and the smell of his mint shampoo roll into one. He smells like home.
What’s home? It’s not my place. Nor is it the Mach n’Van. Nor being on the road. Nor anywhere else. The years have been so long. I’ve spent them with no one. That’s better than being hurt. But this touch…
That’s too much for me. Everything I’d been sucking in since that episode at the restaurant, and all those years of baggage, just spews out. I let out stuttered, shuddering cries against Barry.
“I… Barry…”
Fuck, I can’t even talk. Barry doesn’t try to talk either, he just rocks me back and forth. I’ve missed that so much, that touch, skin on skin, warmth on warmth. I’m so afraid he’ll shove me aside, or say it’s a prank, but it’s not, this is real. He’s real. And he’s here for me, even though I’m this… thing. Pokemon. Machoke. None of that matters. Not here. Not now.
“What…” I wipe the tears off my face, gathering myself. “What do you wanna do?”
“We don’t have to do anything. It’s completely up to you.”
Up to me… Before, it’s been on everyone else’s terms. Now it’s on my own terms.
Something flicks within me. I’m hit with a sudden clarity that we’re together, human and Pokemon. I thought I’d feel ashamed, but this feels right. So right. I don’t know what the future holds for us both. We’ll probably have good or bad days together. But this has been one of the best nights of my life so far. If we keep it up as is, it will be the best night of my life.
“Let’s go to your room.”
I stir to the sight of Barry sifting through his wardrobe. It’s morning, curtains drawn, overcast autumn light filtering through the curtains, and he’s got work. I’ve got work too. I thought he set an alarm for both of us.
“Shit,” I growl, rubbing the crust from my eyes. “Must’ve overslept.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should’ve woken you up.” Barry moans. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool.” I blearily get out of bed. “I need a shower.”
“Time to speedrun getting ready for work.”
I glare at Barry. “What’s that mean?”
“Never mind. Get ready, I’ll give you one of my shirts.”
I smile and hop in the shower, scrubbing myself off in double time. At least I don’t have hair to shampoo. I scramble to get my clothes on and dress myself in Barry’s shirt, a plain black tee that’s professional enough for work, but fits really loosely on me. Oh well, I don’t have the luxury of choice here.
We’ve both got five minutes before we need to head off, as Barry needs to walk to his office and I need to drive to the Mach n’ Van base on Circhester’s outskirts. No time for breakfast. But Barry sits on the bed, tugging at his beard.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“Me neither.” I sit by his side and embrace him. “Last night was awesome.”
“Yeah.” He hums. “That’s another reason I wish I was a Pokemon sometimes. Maybe I’d avoid having to work.”
I pull away from him slightly, though my hand’s still on his back. “But you wouldn’t have as much choice. Don’t take that for granted.”
“I’m trying. I shouldn’t have said that, sorry.”
“What’ve I said about apologising?” I rest my head against his. “Don’t worry, lots of humans say that anyway.”
“I guess.”
We don’t have long, so I just enjoy his touch as much as I can. “When can I see you again?”
“You can stay around mine tonight, if you want. I’d like to try making a pasta dish.”
“And how come you never told me you can cook?”
“I can’t, all I do is look up recipes.”
“You can still cook.” I squeeze his hand. “I’d love to come.”
“Good. And we’ve got some Pekkochu left.”
I nuzzle his head. His cheek’s so warm. I want to feel it as much as I can. I check my phone. Shit, I should be leaving now.
“I’ve gotta run now.” I take a deep breath and peck his hot cheek as if it’s the last time. “Love you.”
I said it. I never thought I’d never be able to say that to anyone. Barry kisses me back. “I love you too.”
I try not to skip like a schoolgirl as I head out the front door, which clicks behind me with finality. It’s overcast, but that doesn’t ruin my mood as I head out the block of flats, seeing all the muted greys and greens of Barry’s neighbourhood with warmer hues.
I’m late by two minutes, and Hammer’s quick to let me know that as he clips me upside the head as soon as I step out of my car.
“Ow,” I say. Just one flick from a Machamp packs a mean punch.
“You’re never late,” he says. “Our client gave us a strongly worded call.”
I grunt, stomping to the van. “Shut up and get in so we’re not even more late.”
Nobody argues with that. I curse under my breath as I try to navigate the outskirts’ country roads, which leads us to a farmhouse not unlike the Mach n’ Van’s base. All the Machoke jump out as soon as I stop at the muddy parking space, and I’m about to do the same when Hammer grasps my shoulder.
“What?” I ask, squirming under his grip.
“How’d your date go?”
My date? Oh, with Barry. I almost smile, then slap my mouth. He can’t know about Barry. I know he’d fire my ass if I ended up with a human. I can’t afford to quit another job and move somewhere else to not leave a paper trail.
“It didn’t go well.”
Hammer’s face falls. “Well, that sucks. Hopefully you get ‘em next time.”
I fake a smile. “Sure.”
He pats my shoulder before he heads out to join the rest of the moving crew. I stay in the van, reaching for my screaming pocket.
My stomach bubbles, as it always has done when I’m reminded of just how not normal I am, that in the end, I’m still a Pokemon trying to find his way in a society built for humans. I feel like a massive dick for lying to Hammer. But this is the price I pay for being with someone who sees me for what I am.
I step out of the van and light my Sandy Numel, watching the much stronger Machoke move furniture out of the house. They’ll never know what it’s like to feel like I do. Maybe that’s for the best.