the blurred lines of our lives



They are a stark contrast—with her brown locks and white sundresses, and his blond hair and blue military jackets—, and it is harsh, the way to their romance, because oceans lie in between them, and there is no chance of the oceans being crossed, for they're both gym leaders (battlers), and so they cannot abandon their gyms. But—there are some days when they can walk on the beach (of whatever city) and peer out of the lighthouse windows (near whichever gym), and they hide their faces from the tabloids and the cameras, for they aren't the kind of people who search for attention.

"Tell me a story," she murmurs, one of those days, holding his hand loosely, and he closes his eyes and speaks.

"Once upon a time," he starts, "there were two people—they were very similar, and yet very different. They met on a beach, in his hometown, and he recognized her immediately—you see, they were colleagues, in different regions—, so he picked her up and he brought her to his home."

She laughs, clear as the light from her lighthouse. "I didn't ask for our story, Volkner."


He is just a boy, with blue-blue eyes, and she is just a girl, with a ringing laugh, and they are in love.

It is one for the storybooks.