disclaimer: Pokémon ain't mine.
dedication: Ibuberu, happy birthday!
(i wasn't sure what pairing to write, so i mentioned them all.)
also: Bugsy is surprisingly fun to write about. And Chuck Palahniuk quote, don't own that or the song Miss Delaney by Jack's Mannequin.
she's so good, but she's no good for me
He's in love with a woman.
His name is Bugsy and he's just a kid compared to her, despite her being the same age as him. His name is Bugsy and he's in love with a girl with silly pink locks who just so happens to be the most powerful trainer in her town. His name is Bugsy and he's in love with a girl named Whitney, the incredibly pretty girl.
Her name is Whitney, and sometimes he has boyish dreams of kissing her in the rain and running his hands through her pretty pink hair. But the course of true love is never easy and she's in love with a man named Morty, whose blonde hair and knowing smiles make him a prince.
And compared to the prince, he's just some commoner kid. (But he's a boy in love, and that right there is a good reason to fight, so he picks up his sword and fights. He's inexperienced, though— so he trains and trains to win her love. But even if he does win, chances are she won't even notice.)
There are days when he sneaks out of his gym and go to Goldenrod City, where he sees her name flashing in lights and just can't believe that she was from that humble, little family raising Miltanks. He finds it rather cute, and maybe a little too charming that she came from such origins.
Sometimes he dreamed that they were like Buck and Marley. Because those two were more than partners, they were lovers, whose battling skills are one. And he realizes that he would give anything, anything at all for that kind of happily ever after. But she keeps fluttering her lashes at the ghost-type trainer, not realizing that the one you love and the one who loves you is never ever the same person.
He doesn't love her, but he's in love with her.
And in the end, doesn't that fact only matter?
(Maybe one day, when walking across the street, she just might notice him. And those sparks would fly; buzzing around them would be thousands of Beautiflys and Butterfrees. And that right there would be love.)