Couple: Preciousmetalshipping

Gold's fist was hovering in the air above his flat, calloused hand. He eyeballed Silver with a stern gaze, regarding him with more graveness than a corpse in a coffin. It was as if Silver was here to relinquish his champion title from him and reign supreme as the leader of both the Kanto and Johto Indigo Elites. Gold saw him now as a challenger and not a friend; not a comrade who had dropped in to make sure he was getting by all right, that his toilet wasn't plugged or that the food in his fridge wasn't molding over.
Silver, instead, was the world's biggest threat to Gold and his ability to play Rock, Paper, Scissors.

"You wanna go?" The edgy tone of Gold's voice was bold, the cockiness that Silver had grown accustomed to. His fist shook with false pretense. "C'mon, burglar. I won't let you mooch off me and my stuff without a fight."

Silver rolled his eyes and placed the two plastic shopping bags on the counter of Gold's ramshackle kitchen. He'd stopped by the Goldenrod department store beforehand to pick up lunch, cleaning supplies (because Arceus forbid Gold could keep his apartment tidy for five seconds before becoming bored of the responsibility), and a potion or two to aid in Gold's training. "Gold, I am not a thief," Silver said. "I brought you food and other necessities, since you usually forget to eat without my prompting. And no games. I hate games."

Gold's dimpled mouth drooped downward into a foolish pout. "Aw, Silver," he whined. "You're such a drip. I was just confronting you with a test to make sure you truly are the real Silver and not a murderer in disguise."

"I am the real Silver," Silver snapped. "If I wasn't, would I have known enough to have purchased this?" Reaching into one of the bags, he removed a footlong hoagie sandwich, a true magnum opus with Italian bread, turkey meat, slightly browning lettuce, and five slices of provolone cheese. This, to his gathered knowledge, was Gold's favorite midday meal, alongside a can of Coca-Cola (which, if nothing else, Gold always kept well-stocked in the pantry). Silver had picked that up for him at the deli on the corner of the bricked street beside the Pokemon Center, where the staff knew even the most token of Gold's quirks when it came to his food. He himself had settled for a six-inch ham on plain white bread. As one might gather from his lean stature, Silver wasn't dependent much on food.

Grabbing hold of the sandwich, Gold inspected it eagerly. "Did you tell them to put mayo under the lettuce?"

Silver sighed. "How could I forget? You're such a picky eater that you've practically imprinted your habits on me."

"Woohoo!" Gold cheered as he unwrapped the sticky clear Saran wrap that surrounded the sandwich and took a gleeful bite. As he chewed, he grinned up at the slightly taller, more ethereal redhead, pieces of turkey and a slew of mayonnaise coating his teeth. "I fuppose you arf the real Silfer," he mumbled around a muffling taste of sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Silver scolded with the solemnity of a brooding mother. "It's inappropriate."

Gold swallowed the bite and shrugged. "Whatever, no one's around to see it." He gnawed with continued rudeness on his meal, chewing loudly and noisily. Silver was aghast at Gold's bad table manners—and the fact that Gold had unashamedly disregarded his presence. One minute ago, Gold had jokingly mistaken Silver for a robber, and now he was concerned with food.

His short attention span was almost endearing. Almost.

Sighing, Silver dipped his head. "You're utterly hopeless," he told his friend.

"Hey, at least I got friends who buy me sub sandwiches," Gold answered as he placed his provisions down on the naked counter that Silver feared was swimming with every breed of malicious bacteria known to man. A depression from his thumb in the top slice of bread curved inward and was sharp at its rim like a crater. He turned to Silver, who had proceeded to unpack the rest of the groceries and was now eating his own modest sandwich. With blinding speed, Gold slapped his hand out in the famous Rochambeau position, as he had been perched so ninjalike when Silver had walked in the door earlier. Silver, in mid-bite, studied Gold with confusion.

"What?" Silver had made sure his mouth was clear of chewed food before he faced the brazen young man.

"You think I was kidding about the Rochambeau tournament?" Gold said, waggling the fingers beneath his fist persuasively. "Now that I've had sufficient sustenance, I'm ready for a battle." He smirked. "Come on, fight me. Or are you a chicken? A skeletal chicken?"

"I am not a coward," Silver said, absently consuming his food and trying his best to ignore Gold. "I simply don't play frivolous games like Rock, Paper, Scissors. Real men solve problems with their fists or their Pokemon."

"This is my fist," Gold whined. "And there is no problem. I just want to play a game. Is it that difficult for you to loosen up once in a while? You never have fun."

Silver sighed in exasperation. Why did his friend always have to squash him so infallibly with his skewered logic? "I do too have fun," Silver protested. "I battle Pokemon."

"That's work."


"Just this once," Gold pleaded. "Humor me."

"Fine." Silver polished off his sandwich and positioned himself before Gold, placing his hands one on top of the other in typical Rochambeau fashion. "How are we going to play this?"

Gold gawped at him. "Don't tell me you've never played Rock, Paper, Scissors before."

"I have," Silver corrected. "It's just that there are several versions. Which one are we playing?"

"What the heck do you mean? There's only one way."

"And what way is that?"

"Say 'Rock, Paper, Scissors,' then throw."

"Not 'Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot'?"

"No. Only pussies play it like that."

Silver decided not to tell him that he had grown up around the second style with the few children that he did mingle with as a young boy. To Gold, everybody was a pussy—especially those who trounced him in battle. "Fine. Let's do this, then."

"Okay." Gold readied himself. He lifted his fist. "Ready?"


In unison, they struck their hands against their open palms, reciting the axiom known by millions: "Rock, Paper, Scissors." Within a second, they stood before each other with their fists remaining in the same position. They had both thrown Rock.

"Stalemate," Gold whistled.

"It doesn't work that way," Silver snapped. "Let's do it again."

So they did; and this time, both threw Paper—their fingers uncurled into an even plane, representing a piece of paper.

"Really?" Silver grumbled.

Once more, they dueled. Finally, opposing sides resulted—Gold continued with Paper, but Silver had thrown Scissors, his index and middle fingers pointed horizontally like a pair of clippers. Throwing up his arms in acceptance of the loss, Gold shrugged. "You got me, Sensi," he said.

Silver dropped his hand. "This is pointless."

Gold assumed the position again. "Best two out of three?"

"No way."

"Will you kiss me, then?"

"… What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know," Gold said, pokerfaced. "I'm so bored."

"So eat."

"Eating isn't that great."

"Considering your size, I would not have assumed that was your stance on the matter."

Gold felt punched in the gut. The air escaped his lips, stealing away with a noise identical to that of helium pouring out from the nozzle of a balloon. "Silver!" He gasped, faking offense. "I'm insulted. How dare you poke fun at my size?"

"It does indeed look pokeable," Silver observed.

"I'm not that fat, am I?" Gold moped.

"No, you're not," Silver said, hiding a smile. "I was only kidding. You're a very healthy weight."

Gold trekked forlornly back to his sandwich, his confident skip replaced with mock sulking at his defeat in Rochambeau and Silver's playful affront. Reaching for it, it collected the sub and nibbled. "At least I'm not an antisocial creep who breaks into people's apartments," he mumbled.

"I did not break in. I have a key."


With a cracking of his knuckles and a grunt of disdain, Silver took his sandwich wrapper and the plastic shopping bag their sandwiches had been put in and tossed them offhandedly into the stainless steel garbage can by Gold's oven. He made his way over to his friend, snaked an arm around the boy's oddly slim hips, and bent to peck the shorter man gently on the forehead.

The apples of Gold's cheeks were dusted with a light pink at the action. "W-what was that for?" He asked.

Silver smiled and left the apartment without another word.