Warning: Homosexuality and heterosexuality, oh my! Also, sexual themes and (minor) abuse.

The Lass

Black couldn't remember her name. He didn't think it was so unusual that he would forget the name of his first love, considering they were five at the time. She had freckles and dark wavy hair that she wore in pigtails, and she never wiped her nose, not even in winter when everyone was cursed with a permanent cold.

She wasn't a particularly nice girl. Black couldn't figure out why he liked her, if only because that would mean admitting the extent of his lameness, because, really who decides that the girl he's going to marry is the first girl who talks to him?

"I'm bored. I want to play on the slide instead."

"Okay."

That was how they talked, most of the time. Their 'sweet nothings' consisted of her barking orders, and him happily obeying, trailing two paces behind her like a dog after its master.

She broke it off after a week.

"I don't like this game any more."

His first rejection, and Black didn't take it well. He locked himself in the boys toilets, sank to his knees on the sticky floor and flat-out bawled for what was probably the better half of an hour. The teachers couldn't get a full sentence out of him, and eventually they had to call his mom. Probably because he was crying for her by that point.

A cuddle and a mug of hot chocolate later, Black was back on the playground with his friends.

It took a while for the pain that panged in his chest whenever he looked at her to stop.

That is to say, it took about three days.

Cheren

At first, Black blamed his experience with The Lass for the feelings he began to develop at age thirteen. Suddenly, public toilets became a very awkward place for him because – oh God, I just looked at his penis. And the changing rooms after baseball practice were even worse. Black could almost feel the heat of his friends' flushed bodies enveloping him. It got to the point where he didn't dare use the showers any more, for fear of what might happen.

It had to be that girl's fault. If she hadn't left such a deep emotional scar on his poor fragile heart, then this would never have happened! That was undoubtedly the reason Black had been unable to garner any girl's affections since then. His fear of female rejection had somehow messed up his genes.

Looking back, maybe Cheren hadn't been the best person to first confess to. Bianca would've been more understanding, and White, who took great pride in being the oldest of the group by six months, would've been more mature. But it was summer, and they were both on holiday, leaving Black and Cheren all alone, side by side, sitting on a wall just outside Numeva Town. It was warm and comfortable, with barely any biting flies to ruin the atmosphere. And the evening sky was so beautiful, a wash of orange and yellow and purple, mottled with pink clouds. It had seemed so perfect, at the time.

"I-I-I think I m... I mmm... mmmight like g-g-g-guys."

"Talk properly. I can't understand you."

"I c-c-ca-ca-can't help it!" Black said indignantly. "You kno-o-ow I c-c-c-can't."

"I know," Cheren admitted, not looking at Black. "I was just changing the subject."

"Wh-wh-why?"

"Just because."

"D-D-D-Don't worry, I'm n-, I'm nnng, I'm nnnnot gonna st-t-t-tart coming ont-t-to you," Black said quickly (or as quickly as he could manage).

"I-I wouldn't mind," Cheren mumbled.

"What?" Black was legitimately surprised – he knew Cheren liked Bianca, he'd told him so. But Cheren's bowed head and pink cheeks said otherwise, and Black didn't know what to do. Sure, he'd experienced a fleeting attraction to other boys, but he'd never thought of Cheren in that way.

But Cheren was attractive. He couldn't deny that. Not in the mischievous, boyish way that his team-mates in baseball club were. He was attractive in the same way that girls were attractive. He was pretty, really. He was shorter than Black, thinner, more delicate. His body was smoother, the tight jeans he had taken to wearing accentuating every curve – curves that he wasn't supposed to have – and his glasses hid large, dark eyes, and the longest eyelashes Black had ever seen on a boy. Longer than White's, even with all her mascara. There was no doubt that if Cheren had been born a girl, he would be Numeva's resident Ice Queen. But maybe, Black thought with some amusement, he was that anyway.

Black knew he was going to kiss him about a second before he leaned in.

The setting might have been something ripped straight from a romance film, but the kiss was anything but romantic. Black had his eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows knitted together, and he couldn't see Cheren's face. But his lips were hard and thin, like he was clenching them together, and Black could feel an exposed slither of teeth.

He pulled away quickly.

"S-sss-s-s-sss-sss-"

"It's okay," Cheren bit out, saving Black the further embarrassment of sounding like he was doing a terrible impression of a snake.

"Y-You sure?"

Cheren nodded, and made a weird, jerking movement with his head, like he was thinking about going in for another kiss, but didn't quite know how to go about it. He couldn't decide which way he was supposed to tilt his head. Taking this as a positive sign, Black thought, screw normality. He'd just kissed a boy, what difference was one more going to make? He raised a hand to cup Cheren's cheek, gently nudging his head to one side to grant him better access to his quivering lips. This time, they were soft.

Cheren wiped his mouth when they broke apart. "Not like that," he said. "You're not my boyfriend."

Black swallowed nervously, and took hold of Cheren's hand. His palm was cold. Black's felt horribly hot and sweaty in comparison, but Cheren didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on Black's fingers.

It was strange, how big Cheren's hands were. Almost as big as Black's, who didn't have the tiny, slender body to make his look out-of-proportion.

They sat that way for almost an hour, mumbling and fidgeting and sharing shy, scared pecks on the lips until they were both blushing to the tips of their ears.

The next day, White came back, and Cheren sternly told Black to keep quiet about what had happened the previous evening, that no, he didn't want to talk about it, and he would much rather forget it ever happened.

Black had not yet mastered the art of detecting when a person was saying the exact opposite of what they meant, and why. He followed Cheren's orders precisely, and he didn't think Cheren ever forgave him for it. And by the time Black figured it out, it was too late.

Bianca

Black had been delighted when he developed an extreme and rather obvious crush on White. It made faking heterosexuality a lot easier. Sadly, White was headstrong, impatient, and equipped with a rapidly-expanding bust that made her the number one target for local teenage boys in their hormonal prime. Black short, lacking in muscle, and going through a particularly bad bout of acne. His voice hadn't even broken yet. And with having known White for so long, it was understandable that she thought of him as nothing more than a little brother.

Bianca was the one that was always there. She was closer to White than he was, and many of their conversations revolved around her, and how pretty/funny/strong she was. It made sense really. Black was head over heels for White, and Bianca wanted to be just like her. It was their own personal, if somewhat creepy, fan club.

It came to the point where White wasn't a real girl any more. The White in Black's head was different to the one he spoke to every day. She was milder. Dorkier and a lot clumsier, and her face was less beautiful now, and could be more accurately described as 'cute'. She seemed to have even shrank a few inches.

"You're so nice," Bianca mused one day after Black let her win yet again on Super Smash Brothers. "You really are. White's crazy not to like you."

"That's not t-t-t-true," Black said. He was blushing, and he didn't know why.

"Yeah, it is," Bianca insisted. "You should ask her to be your girlfriend."

"She'd p-p-prob-bably f-f-fall asleep before I g-g-g-got to the end of the sss-s-sentence."

Bianca laughed. "You're so funny, too," she said. "You should ask her. She might say yes. I'd say yes."

Black turned his head back to the TV screen to hide his bright red face.

"Oh, I-I mean, if I was White," Bianca blurted. She was obviously embarrassed, and she wasn't the only one. Black quickly skipped through the character list.

"D-D-D-Do you w-w-want to be K-Kirby this time?" he asked.

"Yes, yes..."

They stumbled their way through a few more battles, but neither was in peak condition any more. Bianca kept kept Falcon Punched, and Black walked poor Link into a pool of lava more than once.

He threw down his controller.

"B-Bianca!" he burst out, not meaning to shout but doing it anyway. "D-D-D-Do you like me?"

"Uh, yes," Bianca replied, eyes wide and looking rather shell-shocked.

"D-D-Do you want to g-g-g-go out with m-me!"

"Yes."

"Y-Yes?"

"Yes!"

It was probably what Black would call his first 'proper' relationship. It was innocent and full of giggles and chaste little kisses. Bianca's father would've burst several blood vessels if he knew his sweet baby girl had a boyfriend at fourteen, though, so their relationship was kept strictly platonic, save for the few times every week when they would sneak off behind Professor Juniper's laboratory and kiss or touch or simply hold hands and talk. Bianca had the softest hair Black had ever felt, light and feathery, like the silky down found on the heads of very young children. He loved running his fingers through it.

It wasn't long, though, before the cracks started to appear. It was so easy to slip back into old habits. Their visits to the shadows of the lab dwindled into nothing, and the friendship act they put on for Bianca's father became less and less of an act as time went on.

It ended, four months later, much as it had started, with Black and Bianca sitting on the floor of his bedroom, playing Smash Brothers. He didn't have to let her win any more. She played a mean Princess Peach.

It didn't feel like they'd lost anything by breaking up. There was no shouting, no tears, not even a slight ache of loss or regret.

That night, Bianca slept over at Black's house for the first night in four months.

White

White had been the one to approach Black, in the end, which had been surprising, not least because Black had backed off lately, and stopped following White everywhere, hiding behind conveniently-placed trees and lampposts whenever she glanced over her shoulder.

"Black, are you ever going to ask me out?"

Even after so long, Black still had a soft spot for White. He liked her. But he wasn't sure he liked dating her. Her kisses were brisk and impatient, and she always pulled away before he was ready. She insisted that she liked him, but she didn't act like she did. The way Black saw it, White was Miss Popular, and he was her pity-date.

Like with Bianca, it was simply easier when they were being 'just friends'. When she was in a good mood, White liked to test her strength against him. Arm-wrestling sometimes turned into full-out wrestling, with the two of them rolling around on the grass, laughing and grabbing at each other.

Black was stronger, but White had more stamina. He grew used to being pushed down, wrists pinned at his sides until he ceased his futile struggling. White would sit back on his hips, her long legs, bare due to her tiny shorts, straddling his body. Panting, hair messed up and teasing around her flushed, smiling face. Her breasts seemed to move a second after the rest of her body, they bounced when she moved. It was understandable, the effect she had on the body of a healthy fifteen-year-old boy.

The first time, she'd been furious. She leapt off him, scooping up her hat and pulling it on so violently that it stretched right over her eyes, she called him all sorts of names.

The second time, she didn't make such a fuss.

By the fifth time, Black was certain she was doing it on purpose. Her shorts were even shorter than usual, she had shed her jacket, and had chosen to go the day with a bra. In his naivety, Black thought she was doing it to find an excuse to berate him. It wasn't until she took his hand and tentatively led it to her breast that he understood.

"Wh-Wh-White..."

"Shut up," White snapped. Her face was still red, but Black didn't think it was because of the wrestling.

He gave a nervous squeeze, and she let out a small sigh. He didn't sit up from where he was laying, and kept his eyes focused on the clouds creeping across the sky. White took his other hand and pressed it against her other breast, and the sky began to swim. He could l her nipples, hard against his palm, and when he squeezed she made quiet, contented noises, and he didn't dare look at her for fear he would cream his pants right there and then, with his erection pressing firmly against her thigh.

When White slid her hand beneath the elastic of his underwear, he spasmed uncontrollably, body stiffening and curling into a humiliating foetal position, effectively forcing White off him. She looked hurt, then amazed, as if she couldn't quite believe his reaction was genuine.

She broke things off not long later. Her strong pride couldn't allow it to continue, not after that humiliation. She looked sad, when she told him, though she tried to hide it.

"I know you don't love me any more... so we should probably break up. I don't want to hold you back!"

As it turned out, she had been uneasy about it from the start. Her aggressive confession made her feel like she had forced him into dating her, and she was always the one to instigate kisses and touches, giving the impression that Black wasn't interested, and was only dating her out of sympathy or fear. It was okay, she assured. He didn't have to worry about her. She didn't love him any more, either.

Black felt terrible. And regretful. And inadequate, once he found out that White had sparked a relationship with an attractive waitress called Aurora only a few days after their messy break-up. It seemed that something had been going on for a while between them. In some ways it was a comfort – maybe the reason White didn't want to be with him was because she was a lesbian? That would mean there was nothing intrinsically wrong with him. But then there was the illogical paranoia that often took hold of him, asking him, how bad must he be, to put Numeva's resident boy-magnet off the entire male sex?

He cried a bit, after the split. He couldn't go to Bianca for comfort – he didn't want a girl to see him cry, even if it was her – and he knew Cheren would have little to no sympathy with him for being so stupid in the first place.

So he did what any other person would have done.

He went on the rebound.

The Beauty

Her name was Devon, and she was older than him. She was a lot older than him, at least she had seemed to be at the time. Black had insisted that, at fifteen (nearly sixteen!), he didn't need a babysitter for when his mom went out with her friend Katie on Tuesday nights, but his mom was unshakable. There was no way she could leave her darling baby boy all alone for three whole hours.

Devon came from Sinnoh. The first night she stayed over, she let Black stay up late and watch a horror film with her, something his previous sitter (an elderly woman with a face that looked like menopause had given her cravings for raw lemons and wasps) had never done. With her, he had always been in bed by nine o'clock.

Black wasn't good with horror films, but the one Devon had chosen was awful. Z-list celebrities and laughable special effects, it wouldn't have scared a five-year-old. Still, halfway through the film, Devon took hold of his hand.

"I'm really scared," she whispered.

Black couldn't believe his luck. She was really pretty, she was beautiful, tall and slim, with long blonde wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, and with all the curves of a real woman. Black didn't consider himself ugly by any standards, but he wasn't anything special. Devon was out of his league – five years out.

Her soft hand transferred from his hand to his thigh in less than ten minutes. On the TV screen, a young woman with red hair was predictably murdered, and Devon let out a high-pitched yelp and clung to Black's arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, but she didn't let go. And when Black turned his head to look at her, she kissed him.

Black was certain he'd never blushed more in his life. Devon giggled.

"Was that okay?" she asked shyly, fluttering her eyelashes.

Black nodded.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"S-S-Sorry."

"That's okay. Is it hard for you to talk, with that...?"

"Sometimes," he said. "I-I-It's hard to explain, i-it's like, m-most people use the left side of their b-brain to p-p-process speech, but st... people with speech imp-p-pediments use the r-right side, a-and there's like, a g-glitch with the... ssspeech muscles so they d-d-don't... it's not psychological, it's-"

Devon pressed a manicured finger to his lips, and he felt a shiver run through him.

"I d-don't know when it'll happen," Black whispered against her skin, watching as her face drew closer to his. "Any s-s-syllable could... set off a... ssspasm, like, a-a-a chain of-"

She kissed him again, and pushed him down on the sofa. The movie blared in the background, forgotten, and Black decided that maybe he didn't mind having a babysitter at fifteen after all.

With age came experience. Devon's long, slender fingers knew exactly where to touch and what to do. Black didn't stiffen when she touched him, like he had with White. He did the opposite; after a few minutes of heated kissing on the couch he would go limp, and lay, panting, on his back, hands weak and useless at his sides as Devon straddled him, hands squeezing, glossed lips sucking at his neck.

It scared him.

He was sensitive in places he didn't even know existed. He begged Devon not to put her hand down his pants, but she didn't need to. Her hands burned through his clothes as she stroked him. It didn't take her long to coax him from the couch to his bed, where she took of his shirt, worked him onto his hands and knees and leaned over him, squeezing his nipples and thighs until his elbows buckled and he fell face-first into the sheets.

He was so cute like that, she said. So sexy, with his ass sticking up in the air. Black whimpered and hugged his pillow as Devon's expert hands stroked over his hips and between his legs. Her finger poked a place that made him gasp.

"No," he breathed, hiding his face in his pillow.

"Don't you love me?" Devon asked sweetly.

Black didn't know. She was attractive, she was older than him, and he was flattered. He liked that she liked him. And he didn't want to ruin things like he had with White. So he let her rub that secret spot between his legs until he was weak and whimpering and burning from the inside out.

Afterwards, she hugged him and kissed him and told him how amazing he was, and Black was quick to blink away the tears that had welled up in the corners of his eyes.

On her sixth week, her sixth visit, Devon led Black to his room and sat him on the bed with her legs draped over his lap.

She hooked her hands around the back of his head and started kissing his neck.

"Black, baby," she said between kisses. "Would you mind if I brought some friends over next week?"

"Friends?" Black gently pushed her away, running his hands through her hair and he did so.

"Yeah, just a few guys," Devon explained. "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?"

"N...No, I-I wouldn't tell anyone."

Devon took it as an 'okay', and smiled brightly. Black didn't have the heart to refuse her, especially when she laid down on the bed and tugged him down on top of her. She made sure to roll over so she was above him. Black had went limp on top of her a few times, which had resulted in a lot of embarrassment and apologies on his part.

She waited until he was sapped of all his strength before she started taking off his belt.

Black grabbed her wrists with weak hands. "Wh-What are you d-d-doing?" he mumbled, staring at her with heavy, half-lidded, confused eyes.

"We'll have to do it quickly, before your mom comes home," she said.

"D-Do it?"

"You don't want to stay a virgin, do you?"

"I... I d-don't..." Black's protests caught in his throat as Devon's big blue eyes pleaded with him. "I c-can't..."

"Come on. You know you want to." Devon started unzipping his pants, and Black sobered up fast, backing away and yanking his clothes out of her grip.

"D-Don't."

"It'll feel good..."

"I don't want to."

"This says otherwise," Devon snapped, gripping his erection roughly, and Black hit her.

"Oh my God," he whispered, covering his mouth with both hands as Devon's cheek began to turn red. "I-I-I'm sorry..."

Devon stayed completely still, eyes fixed on a background that didn't exist, and for one horrible moment Black thought he had triggered a seizure or some other serious medical condition. But then, slowly, she got up and turned her back on him.

He tried to check if she was okay. He hovered around her, pleading with her to show him her damaged cheek, but she refused to look at him, and when he tried to take her hand, she snapped and wheeled around, those once-warm blue eyes like two shards of ice. She screamed at him. He was just a stupid kid who didn't know anything. Why did he have to make things so difficult? Stupid, stupid little boy.

Black cried. He sat on the bed, hugged the duvet to his chest and howled as Devon shouted at him. That was probably the worst thing he could have done; it made her even angrier.

"Why are you crying? Stop crying. Stop it!" she snapped, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "You're such a baby!"

He couldn't stop crying. Eventually, Devon's voice turned raspy, and she gave up shouting and stormed downstairs to soothe her raw throat. Black pretended to be asleep for when his mom came home, stifling his sobs under his hands and hiding under the duvet. When he came out, it was morning and Devon was gone.

She never came back.

The following week, three men appeared on Black's doorstep, and were greeted by his rather put-out mother, who had been dragged from the shower. When she demanded to know who they were, they were very vague about it, and eventually summarised that they'd got the wrong house. Black's mom shut the door on them and retreated to the living room, shaking her head, and was bemused to discover Black hiding behind the couch, white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

She didn't go out with Katie that night.

N

At first, Black thought it was because of N's sheltered upbringing that he had such an innocent disregard for social conventions, but after a year and a half of living in a human-dominated world, certain aspects of N's character remained unchanged, and Black was convinced that he must've been born with a glitch in his inner wiring. His embarrassment gene was so recessive it might as well have been non-existent.

He liked to watch Black when he touched him. When Black pulled him close to brush his hands over his body, N would wriggle away, shyly lift up his shirt and watch, transfixed, as Black's nervous hands stroked his bare skin. And after a while, he would start squeaking, desperately, like a small animal, and he would squirm and writhe his way into all sorts of strange positions, sometimes so violently that Black had to sit on his legs to stop them kicking. When Black sat behind him on the couch and played with his nipples, N could hardly stand it, and would jerk around so much that Black got head-butted in the teeth a few times.

"Stop, Black, stop..."

And Black would stop, and N would whine in protest, and Black finally had to learn the art of detecting when a person was saying the exact opposite of what they meant, and would touch N until he had wriggled halfway off the couch, his arms splayed out on the floor and his long green hair spread out around his head, while his bottom half stuck up in the air, legs still clinging to the sofa.

Black was embarrassed by the fact that he liked it. N couldn't figure out why.

"I just don't understand" he said. "It's difficult to explain..." He raised a finger. "Beautiflies! You know when you see beautiflies in mating season, they fly around each other like they're dancing. You know it means something, but you don't know what. Well, that's similar to how I feel. I'm just not very good at being human, I suppose."

"D-Don't say that," Black said. "I-It's not like... I k-kinda like it, act-tually."

"Me too. I like it a lot, even when it's not spring," N said earnestly.

"I t-t-told you, humans d-don't have a mating season."

"And I told you, I don't believe you," N said haughtily. "I looked it up, they did tests on female lap dancers, taking record of how much they earned over two months, and they earned much more money when they were at the most fertile stage of their menstrual cycle."

"D-Do you even know what a lap d-dancer is?" Black frowned.

"I assume it's someone who dances on people's laps. That doesn't sound very comfortable, though."

Black smiled resignedly. "You wanna g-go out? White's having e-e-everyone over at hers."

"Hmm. I should talk to their pokemon," N said.

"Why are you s-so sus-spicious of them?" Black asked, merely curious, as he stuffed his feet into his sneakers. "I thought you were over that." N bent over to put his shoes on, and Black patted him teasingly on the bottom.

"You're making fun of me!" N said accusingly, standing up straight as an arrow and pressing his back protectively against the wall, covering his rear with both hands. "You shouldn't look down on me for being uncertain. You haven't even fucked me in the ass yet."

Black walked into the door instead of opening it. "Wh-What? N, what are you-"

"One of the people at the halfway house – Laura – asked me about you. I said you were my manfriend, and she asked me if you had fucked me in the ass, and when I said no, she laughed at me!" N said indignantly.

"Stop s-s-saying that!" Black cried, feeling his face turn red.

"Saying what?"

"F-Fucked in the ass!"

"You just said it," N pointed out.

"I know, I just – th-there are some things you just d-d-don't say," Black said. "I-I mean, not in that way. It's d-demeaning."

"Aha," N said, nodding and widening his eyes. "A disphemism. What is the point in them? There's no reason to create a word if you're not allowed to use it."

"N, d-do we have to have this conversation?"

"No. But I'd like to."

"Ok-kay," Black said, holding N's hand as the left the house. "See, I know I said people have s-sex when they care about each other, but they d-don't have to... Having sex with someone-"

"Fucking them in the-"

"Yes, yes, that, it-it-it doesn't mean you love them. A-And loving someone d-doesn't mean you have to have sex with them."

N lowered his eyes. "You always have to explain things to me. Doesn't it bother you?"

Black shrugged. "S-Sometimes."

N winced.

"S-Sorry!" Black said quickly. "I-I just thought you'd want me to b-be honest with you."

"I do," N said. "It's okay. I can teach you things as well. I know how to talk to pokemon, not many people can do that. And I'm good at science, and mathematics. Physics! I can tell you your velocity."

"How can you t-tell, just by looking?"

"The answer to that question is rather obscure; I'm not telling you because you probably wouldn't understand anyway," N replied, a small, proud smile on his face.

"H-Hey!" Black pushed him gently.

"You offended me, so that was my revenge," N explained. "But now you've pushed me, I'll have to get you back again!"

"I-It wasn't a big push!"

"I don't care."

Black grinned and caught N by the wrist, reeling him in like a fish. Weaving his arms up around his neck, under his hair, he pressed their foreheads together. "C-Could you... really teach me how to work out v-vel-velocity?" he asked cheekily.

"I could. But I won't," N replied. "You know lots of things I don't, so it's only fair. I could teach you chemistry though.

"I hate chemistry."

"It's interesting!" N insisted, resting his hands on Black's hips. "Atoms are like humans. Carbon atoms, when connected with other carbon atoms, create a very strong bond called the covalent network. It's beautiful, only carbon and silicon can do it. But the carbon one makes diamonds, and that's the strongest compound in existence. I'd like to make diamonds with you, if I was an atom. Well, if I was an atom I wouldn't have a brain, so I suppose I couldn't want to, but you understand what I mean, don't you?"

"I-I... think so?" Black said. N was blushing, so he could only assume that what he was saying was rather gushing and emotional, in N-language.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," said N dejectedly. "I'll try again, see, you could be chloride, because you always worry about silly things, you could have a negative charge. That would make me sodium, because I'm positive, you know, I'm positive I want to be with you." He laughed lamely at his own joke, and Black smiled too, if only to ease N's nerves.

"What I'm saying is-" N paused to kiss Black softly on the lips. "I'd like to be sodium chloride with you."

Black nodded, thinking that maybe he understood. "I-I'd like to be sodium chloride with you too," he said jokingly. "But I'm n-not sure I'm ready for the whole 'b-bonding' thing yet."

"That was a euphemism!" N said delightedly.

"Yes, it was," he replied, smirking. "White's going to w-w-wonder where we are."

"I don't care."

"Yeah, m-me neither." Black grinned. "I love you."

"I love you too. I love you a lot!"

"Let's n-not go crazy."

"Black!" N wailed. "That's not funny!"

Black kissed his forehead and ducked out of his arms, jogging off in the direction of White's house. N stumbled after him, calling out, "Don't kiss me like that!"

After a few steps, Black stopped and let N catch him, and they made their way down the street together.

–

Can you believe I thought of an entire story to go with this title?

I think I may now ship Black/White/Bianca/Cheren/N in a big pile. And I didn't know there were no Beauties in Unova! That made things a bit more complicated, still, Devon does exist in the games, so if you see her, hide your children, hide your wives, hide your husbands, etc. Poor Black, I made him suffer.