Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.

Summary: The bystanders have their opinions; however, the only opinion that truly matters is White's. NWhiteCheren, requested by The Light's Refrain, oneshot

Alrighty! This is my first new Pokemon oneshot in a long while, and I really hope I do everything justice. I'm pretty excited about writing this idea, and The Light's Refrain has given me some great feedback. I hope that this is sufficient and that everyone enjoys! Thanks so much for reading!


Just a Matter of Perspective


Though their bloodline is the same, the three brothers could not be any more different.

Cilan is polite and mature, having his opinions on certain things, but expressing them so they do not ruffle any feathers. Chili is, of course, the fiery one, never taking no for an answer and always ready for a scuffle. Cress is as calm as the water he so loves and a professional through and through.

They fight about many thing - the best Pokemon type, the best way to win battles, the best way to make sure their customers keep coming back, the best way to wear their uniform...

And yet, they all agree on one simple thing.

Cheren. And White.

It is completely ridiculous to think of one without the other. The two of them move together as if they share the same thoughts. They fight like all-get-out, but none of it is hateful. Their words are playful determination; Cheren saying that he would beat White, and White shaking her head and crossing her arms with a snarky remark, and then the distant look in Cheren's eyes as he stares at her, and she doesn't notice. Not a thing.

And it is charming and passionate and unbearable all at the same time.


Lenora has always had a soft spot for Cheren.

She doesn't know why, but that was just how she thought of things. He's a good kid, she knows, despite his desire to be the best and the fact that he hates losing more than anything in the known world. That kind of fire is something she admires. Honestly, if more people had the fire that the bespectacled kid did, they'd be in a better place than they are now.

And, she might be imagining things, but he really seems to care about White.

She knows that this is rather early on their journey, but the way the act around each other is something that screams of a trust built up over the years.

She also notices the way he looks at her, his eyes soft behind his glasses, and how his hand twitches every now and then, as if wanting desperately to push back the strands of hair that escape her ponytail.

But he never does. He never touches her, never even almost.

The whole thing is unbearably sad, Lenora finds, and she hopes that someday Cheren will find it within him to make a move.

And that White accepts him, wholeheartedly.


Burgh finds that there is something heartbreakingly beautiful about this boy with the wild, green hair and the hurt eyes.

He would like to sketch N, he finds. He would like to put that unbearable sadness onto paper, but there are just some things that cannot be captured by even the most experienced artist's hand.

He's seen him around, just wandering about the streets, going into random shops and yet buying nothing. N is almost like a ghost, a transparency, floating about as if he has no purpose but his mission.

And then there's White. Always ready with a bright, unfettered smile, and a rough, perfect laugh. An ideal foil to N, now that the gym leader thinks about it.

Burgh sees them together - only once, but that is enough to cement his opinion. They run into each other by accident, and it is tense, at first, but then N smiles. Burgh does not think he has ever seen N smile like that, so easily and natural. It is enough to pain him. White looks at him incredulously as N walks ahead of her, purchases two Castelia cones, and hands one to her.

She looks wary, unsure if she should accept, but he says something that makes her relent and take the desert in one hand.

Burgh finds, now, that he wants to sketch the two together.


Elesa doesn't put much stock into romance.

Sure, she has had her share of relationships, but none last. They come and they go, and it's nice, for a while, but then she craves the freedom of being alone, or they disappoint her. Whichever comes first.

That's why, when she spots N and White next to the ferris wheel, talking heatedly about something, she scoffs and tries not to intervene. Obviously, something quite intense is going on, and yet a nudge at the back of her mind tells her not to interfere.

However, her cynical view on the two of them doesn't last long. N reaches out and presses his fingers to White's wrist, as if tugging her forward toward one of the ferris wheel's carts. She seems hesitant at first, but then follows him. The gesture was so sweet, almost insignificant, that it makes her feel a bit guilty for being so against it.

She finds herself thinking that she hopes it works, for the two of them, and then scolds herself for being so childish.


Clay could care less, really.

Everyone knows he's a bit rough around the edges. His voice is hard, most days, his gaze no better. He is as tough as his Pokemon, hating defeat and thirsting for wins as if they were his lifeblood.

He does like that kid, though. Cheren, Clay believes his name is. And that's an odd thing, all things considered. Clay rarely likes anyone, but this particular boy has a drive to win, a calculated determination, that he just has to find admirable.

Then there's that girl. White, he thinks. She's a tough one, and that's a trainer after his own heart. Too many times he's seen trainers balk at the thought of being out in the wilderness, but he actually saw the girl grin when told she had to sleep outside because the Pokemon Center was full up.

Then Cheren, who had gotten into town before White, sees her and offers to share the room he reserved beforehand. With a slightly trembling hand, he presses his palm to the small of her back. She looks surprised for a moment and them beams at him.

Well, Clay thinks, an unwilling smile coming across his gruff features, how about that.


Skyla always tries to see the bright side of things, especially in regards to a boy and a girl and how they maybe, kinda, probably have feelings for each other.

Really, those stories are her favorites. The kind of stories that involve a girl and a boy and how their relationship develops. It's not love at first sight, but the kind that grows and develops and forms into something impenetrable, something that the two of them couldn't see not happening at the end of everything.

She believes this of N and White.

She makes it a point of always learning the names of the trainers that challenge her. Remembers them, smiles at them when she sees them next, make them feel important. White's name had been easy to remember, of course. She was strong, talented, skilled at battling as well as forging lasting relationships with her Pokemon.

She has heard of N, has seen him around. He never challenged her, but she remembers his name nonetheless. It is hard to not remember the name of someone that breathtaking.

And then she sees the two of them together, and thinks, That's it. They're it.

Because the way he looks at her is so tender, and the way she responds is equally such, that they can't be anything but in love.


Brycen, though a master of icy Pokemon, is not as frigid as his element dictates.

He knows of the importance of human relationships. How one man cannot hope to go it alone for the entirety of his life and not be the least bit different than one man with a partner. He knows the intricacy of these relationships, how they work and grow and fluctuate over time. He knows that sometimes, these relationships can form with the strangest circumstances.

This is proven to him as he watches White.

She watches as N climbs atop Zekrom and subconsciously moves just inches closer to him, her feet moving as if of their own volition. Her eyes never leave N, as if drinking in his very presence. This may be the last time she sees him, and she knows this.

There is a moment in which N looks over at White and raises a hand, waving at her as he flies away. White's hand is shaking as she waves back.

And then N takes off, leaving them there. Alone, wondering, questioning.

White's eyes doesn't leave the sky, even when the form of Zekrom is no longer visible.


Drayden would never have thought of it, had Iris not mentioned it to him.

She mentions the way that Cheren looks at White, and for a moment Drayden just thinks it's her way of being precocious, trying to delay her training with mentions of a boy loving a girl loving a boy.

Iris says that things are never simple, especially when it comes to affairs of the heart, and Drayden thinks that she might just need to stop reading all those romance books.

N loves White and White loves N but Cheren loves White and White loves Cheren. He can hear Iris' voice in his mind, almost as if she is talking right now, but instead she is looking ahead of her, hands clasped to her chin while she watches White become red-faced as Cheren touches her cheek, running his fingers over a particularly new cut on her face. She leans into his touch, almost automatically, before realizing what exactly she was doing. It is Cheren's turn to flush.

Iris mentions how cute they are, but how sad it would be if nothing happened. The two of them are like the great romances of childhood friends, she had said before. They love each other and it turns into something more.

Unlike his pint-sized counterpart, Drayden does not entertain many flighty ideas about romance; however, he is rather fond of the two of them, so he does not shoot them down entirely.


Cheren has loved her since he can remember. It was instantaneous, something that felt like breathing. Easy and comfortable, and yet difficult and all-consuming.

He cannot picture his life without her.


N was not sure when this woman had captured his heart. She snuck up on him, with her kindness and her fairness and toughness, her smiles that seemed like they were for him and him only.

He cannot picture his life without her.


White cannot picture her life without either of them, and she dreads the day she must choose.


End.