I don't own Pokémon or anything related to it though the oneshot is written by me.

Sapphire's POV, and her thoughts about some of the Pokespe guys she's met (in my headcanon of course), so this is a character study of sorts that ultimately results in Franticshipping.

I. Red

She thinks she used to love him.

Raven hair, kind, boyish smiles, friendly demeanours. Truthfulness but complete obliviousness, a penchant to help others, talent in battling that she admired wholeheartedly. Always being there when you needed him, always game for some fun. A half- realised fascination towards a gentle girl with golden eyes and flaxen hair crowned with a simple straw hat and a flower.

He tutors her in the advanced tricks to battling; trains her to recognise more loopholes in which she can use more strategies, giving her more ways to win.

Somehow, she finds herself feeling strangely proud when people spot her with him, but not much more than that.

And she feels sad when he disappears to Mt. Silver, but is not at all shocked that he didn't leave her a message. She is sad, but she doesn't cry, not like her small, fragile senior of the forest does. Not wailing, sweeping sobs that shake her world to pieces, nor quiet weeping that reminds her of the sound of a breaking heart.

It takes weeks, months; but slowly and surely, she learns to train on her own, to push herself to her limits without needing him there to help her to. It's lonely at times, sure, but she'll make it. And perhaps that is a sign, because she realises that -

- maybe the reason why she found herself staring at his eyes was because they reminded her of his.

II. Gold

She will never love him that way.

Billiard cues, goggles atop a cap turned backwards, nicknames. Daring and recklessness, too much courage paired with too little caution, an unexpected talent as a breeder. Skidding to a halt to shout his salutations before dashing off again in pursuit of whatever he was chasing, constant lusting after every pretty girl in a two- mile radius (despite the fact that he only loved the one with blue hair and long legs).

He nicknames her 'Wild Child' when he first meets her, and she feels special for about ten seconds. That's before she notices that he nicknames literally everybody he knows, to the extent that he doesn't even remember their proper names.

She also notices that only 'Super Serious Girl' gets a three- word nickname, and that that's what's special.

Still, although it's painfully obvious who he likes (and it's not her, not that she has much problem with it), he does have a tendency to flirt with her with obnoxious boldness until she bares her fangs at him. And, well, she would be lying if she said that she didn't feel even slightly flattered. Though even that isn't special, because he's a player who flirts with everyone, but it helps her see that -

- maybe she only likes how ticked off he gets at seeing other guys flirt with her.

III. Them

She is supposed to love them.

Dull eyes, oily smiles, shiny, gelled- back hair. Smarmy accents and milk- and- water conversations, weak laughs and attempts to change the topic. High- class restaurants that just feel stifling, imported foods that she can't even pronounce the name of. Flowers that make her sneeze and love declarations she doesn't care for, because they are as cheap as the gold rings they present her with.

They are beautiful, they are flattering, gorgeous; exactly as a girl should want. Except that they are not what she wants (and she's not even sure if she's referring to the men or the goods they bear).

The thing is, they don't respect her for who she is. They look at her and they see Professor Birch's daughter, they see one of the heroes of Hoenn, they see only a girl. She is not just a girl and she is not just what her reputation makes her out to be. They will never fail to fail to grasp that.

And, most of all; they never understand this: they'll never be able to buy her heart, just as she'll never be able to sell it, because it's already been stolen.

Really, it's a comparison question; always a comparison question of them versus him. And, well -

- she never tells him, but (she thinks he knows) he always wins.

IV.

She is most definitely not supposed to love him. That much is obvious.

Crimson eyes, smirks, a white floppy hat that conceals a scar and a shared tragedy. Quarrels and fights and bickering, beauty versus brawns and midnight dances in the rain. Kisses that taste exactly like they're not supposed to taste like, whispers of "I hate you" and "I love you" in the same breath.

He is a part of her, a big part- she can't describe him without describing herself too. Distinguishing herself from him is like trying to find out where the horizon ends and the ocean starts.

And he teaches her how to love someone with so much passion that it hurts, all while he's learning himself. But at the same time, he teaches her how to hate someone so deeply, everything is black and blue and painful.

He also teaches her how he finds beauty in everything, and she wonders how he ever finds beauty in her.

Because, she is not the typical kind of person she imagines him liking. Because, they squabble all the damn time, they have the most serious altercations over the most trivial of matters. They fall out over harsh words they never ever mean, they crush each other and they're bound to crash and burn.

He's the only one who can ever make her run away and cry, and she's the only one who can make him mad enough to yell and punch the walls. They are the only ones who can bring out the worst (and yet the best) of each other.

That's why, sometimes, they swear they will forget each other.

But it always culminates in him running through the streets at 2a.m., dead sober, to get her back, and finding her collapsed on the sidewalks en route to his house, drunk enough for her to fake courage. It always ends and will always end in her falling back into his arms and falling back for him, and when she wakes up the next morning she gets these feelings whirling around in her head that are not caused by a hangover -

- and that's what love feels like.

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