pot·hunt·er

1. a person who hunts for food or for profit without regard to the rules of sport
2. a person who seeks artifacts from past civilizations for personal use, sometimes by illegal means, without adhering to professional standards of archaeology

"What the hell," Steven coughed into his coffee cup, upon reading the newspaper's headline. He almost didn't realize he'd said it aloud, but would've rather died than to look surprised at himself, considering the company.

"Ah, yeah," Wallace replied, off-hand, still dizzy with sleep. Salvation!, Steven thought, immensely relieved. Wallace wouldn't notice the different shades of surprise in Steven's voice while he didn't have his coffee. "What? It was bound to happen, come on. They're young and energetic enough to bond over sports, or, y'know, whatever."

No, they're not, Steven's mind argued, despite himself; what do they even have in common? He blinked at that, then stilled, locked it away for later. Wallace was moaning at the microwave, as if that would will it into warming up his milk faster; Steven returned to his own mug, contemplative.

"How did they even get wind of it?" he continued, the tone of his voice casual and light-hearted. Wallace grumbled something at him – he was so moody in the mornings! What would his legion of fans say if they knew? Steven grinned at that, hid his smile behind a sip of coffee. "I mean," he went on, while Wallace glared at the state-of-the-art microwave, "I work with them and I had no idea."

"You're as oblivious as the rocks you love so much," Wallace returned dryly, cerulean eyes still not completely open, "and your microwave sucks."

"It's a tragedy. If only you had one at home," Steven said, smiling brightly, enjoying the chill that ran up Wallace's spine at the mention of his own abode. Ah, yes; an opening to change the subject had appeared, and Steven took it gladly: "You know, Wallace," he said, after swallowing down the rest of his coffee, "I don't mind having you around, but you're going to have to face the issue eventually."

"You can't make me leave," Wallace replied grouchily, and glared at the microwave when it went off beeping. This is the man hailed as the most gracious trainer in Hoenn, Steven thought, pursing his lips. "'Sides, you were the one who said I should talk to her! Look what you got me into!"

"I said talk to her," he said, a little too defensive for his liking, "not enumerate her many flaws of character. You're all alone on this one, Wallace."

"They aren't many," Wallace replied droopily, sipping at his milk like a child. Steven ignored him, bringing up the newspaper and skimming the article on Flannery's and Brawly's 'scorching hot fling', while the other man mumbled his dejections into his breakfast.

By the time Roxanne's call came, like a planned avalanche, Wallace was (thankfully) already in the bathroom. Steven, an avid researcher of geology in specific and of people in general, was mostly unsurprised by the call. Roxanne was still young, still unskilled at hiding her emotions – not that she'd ever really tried to, though – and though the news had left him aghast, the fact that Roxanne was in deep, deep denial over her attraction to Brawly did not.

"Have you read the Rustboro Times? Or any other newspaper?" Roxanne's image droned, as soon as Steven clicked the button of his pokénav. Steven went on packing his things into his bag – he'd have to swing by Devon before he left for Fortree …

"Good morning to you too, Roxanne," Steven said, smiling briefly at the holographic screen before he clicked his bag shut. "As a matter of fact, I did. Is there something you would like to discuss with me? I've been very diligent in weather-watching, I assure you—"

"Hmph," she cut in, all sternness and defiance, "you are perfectly aware this isn't about any weather reports. I said, and I do repeat: did – you – read – the – papers – today?"

Steven sighed slowly enough that she wouldn't be able to pick up on the sound. Never had the perk of knowing the pokénav system intimately been so useful before. He threw his bag over his shoulder; far away, Wallace was humming a pop song.

"Flaming passion ignited by fighting spirit? I mean," she scoffed, her voice hiking, "like, what's up with that, right? Did you have any idea at all that this was – I mean – um?" Roxanne blinked then, as if aware of the spectacle she was setting up, and then calmed down, taking a long, disciplined breath. "Okay, look," she tried anew, "I know you're not the Champion anymore, but—"

"And even if I were, I doubt I'd have anything to do with what my colleagues do in their—"

"—but it was your responsibility to keep gym leaders in check when you were! A romance between colleagues showcases nothing but lack of professionalism and blots the image we present to the media!"

The flat image of Roxanne inhaled and exhaled, her shoulders drawing up and down with the movements. Steven peered at her face, eyes narrowed, and concluded that her pink complexion was actually there and was not just a hologram bug.

"It's just … I can't possibly talk to May about this – she's still so young and inexperienced, and I don't want to drag her into the public eye over a scandal."

Didn't seem so young and inexperienced when she defeated me, Steven thought with a hint of bite, and then kept wisely quiet. In the hologram, Roxanne's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"And Winona has been in this mood lately," she went on quietly, her eyes catching onto something behind her pokénav, "so there's really not many people I can talk to – Flannery is out of the question, as you might presume – "

"Roxanne, I am also not a therapist," Steven cut in, finally feeling like he'd had enough prattling (he was feeling exceptionally patient today, it seemed). "Plus, as you've recalled yourself, I am no longer your superior – and even if I were, I don't think the weight of my opinion would be enough to dissuade two people in love."

Even if the thought of having to go to meetings and seeing the aforementioned two people in love did make him uncomfortable. Roxanne didn't have to know, so she wouldn't; Steven carried on seamlessly, used to keeping a straight face, used to pretending things were fine.

"I suggest you simply keep to yourself, and try not to churn the waters too much. After Maxie's arrest, the news have been slow, and I'd rather not see the media frothing at the mouth because of a gym leader love triangle."

Roxanne's pink face turned into a redder shade; the conversation turned into a shouting match.

"First of all, how dare you—" the hologram screeched, turning blurry at the edges, and Steven recoiled, surprised, "—imply that I have anything but the utmost concern for my coworkers! I have never—" she groaned, huffed, and locked eyes with Steven then, a digital fury in her stare: "I didn't want it to come to this, Mr. Stone, but you leave me no choice!"

"What," a dumbfounded Steven managed.

"You will get this under control or you'll have to deal with one of the gyms going on strike!" Roxanne concluded triumphantly, the ire in her gestures so palpable Steven was afraid she'd manage to hit him through the video call.

And then she hung up, leaving him staring at his pokénav.

"But I'm not your superior anymore," he said, still astonished. In the background, Wallace finished both his song and his shower.

Joseph did not exercise much sympathy for Steven's plight. When they got past Devon businesses and settled into a polite chat, Steven accepted a glass of scotch and sunk into the one of the expensive chairs his father kept around his office, emotionally exhausted. The Devon Scope was resting by his bag, a repeated reminder that he would have to swing by Fortree before he acted on Roxanne's request. He sighed inwardly; it was only noon yet, but he felt like he was already done for the day.

"Of course they'll still look up to you for advice, Steven," his father was telling him, the look in his eyes skeptic rather than consoling. "The new champion is a child, and the Board wants her to stay out of the public eye until she is old enough to speak publicly. Or did you forget why Wallace is the new spokesperson for the Champion?"

Steven looked inside his glass. There was only a sliver of amber left, playing hide-and-seek in-between the ice cubes.

"You're right," he admitted, letting his head sink back into the plush chair. "But why not bother Wallace, then?"

Joseph sighed as he sat behind his desk, the wheeled chair squeaking just slightly.

"Steven, stop pretending to be obtuse; I raised you better than that," he admonished, his brow curved like the downward slope of his mouth. "You were the Champion for years, you continue working alongside the gym leaders as an unofficial advisor despite what you might tell the press, and Wallace is still too much of a leader to offer advice to someone like Roxanne."

"He'll grow into the job," Steven protested.

"I am aware, dear son, as I am aware you're changing the subject," Joseph said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Now, please move along – I have a meeting with a Silph employee and I really mustn't have her distracted."

Steven weighed the pros and cons of making a face at his father, and ultimately decided it wasn't worth it – but he did swallow the last of his scotch with a rude, loud slurp.

"Hey, mister, what's pothunting?" asked the kid with the white hat. What was his name again … ? He was Prof. Birch's son, wasn't he … Steven narrowed his eyes at him, both analyzing his expression and slightly annoyed by the way he'd said the word mister.

"… A pothunter is someone who pilfers archaeological sites for personal uses, often by illegal means. I assume that is a verb derived from it," Steven said, looking around the route with searching eyes. Why was the Birch boy even here? Steven only even knew him because he was that one kid who lounged around May all the time; they'd never been formally presented.

"Oh," said the Birch boy. Steven fidgeted with the lapel of his suit, waiting for him to leave. Attracting kecleon was hard enough without noise, and Steven wanted to test out the Devon Scope as quickly as he could, lest Roxanne make her threat come true. "So a thief?"

Steven inhaled the dry mid-day air, feeling hot and uncomfortable.

"Yes, I suppose the term serves," Steven replied, starting to wonder if standing here waiting was really worth it. The thought of using his metang for shade ran across his mind, but then he wouldn't have an excuse to leave. "Anyway," Steven continued, smiling politely –

"My dad says a pothunter is someone who hunts for profit, though," the boy cut in, without visible effort, the tone of his voice light as a taillow's song. Steven blinked abruptly to hide the twitch in his smile, and then remained stitched to his spot, waiting for Birch to continue. "Like, I dunno, I suppose some people steal for themselves?" There was a pause. The boy's expression was slightly bored, but also wide-eyed in casual acceptance, like he was only now realizing some things in the world wouldn't change. Then, he turned to look at Steven, those brown eyes pinning him down: "People who steal are terrible, wouldn't you say?"

Steven paused to think, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth. There was a point Birch was trying to get at, but Steven wouldn't have taken the bait even if he knew what the boy was fishing for. He'd just pass it off like he wasn't getting it –

"Oh!" a female voice called out instead, surprising Steven alone. He turned to look over his shoulder, and –

"Oh," Steven said tightly, and somehow (miraculously) didn't add 'crap' to the end of his sentence.

"Steven," Winona greeted, with a smile that could put Glacia's team to shame.

"Hi! It's been a while!" May said, the warmth in her grin momentarily overshadowing Winona's. Steven couldn't help but to offer a brief smile back, feeling fond, though his expression smoothed into polite interest when he turned to Winona again.

"It's good to see you," Steven said, while the two kids exchanged words.

"How dare you," Winona said, narrowing her eyes. I should've gone straight to Dewford to talk to Brawly, Steven thought, hating himself for even thinking that today would've taken a turn for the best. He really was obtuse. "Is he here?" she went on, looking over his shoulder with an angry (yet oddly graceful) stretch of her neck, as if Wallace was hiding in the tall grass behind them.

"No," Steven said. He's at my apartment hiding from you, he said, to himself, in the private safety of his mind, where Winona couldn't get to him. "As if he'd ever step in there, anyw—"

"Oh, shut up," Winona growled, crossing her arms and turning her face away. May strolled into the conversation like a well-timed breeze, dragging the Birch boy by the elbow. He seemed to be vacillating between blushing and looking annoyed, and was doing both at the same time; Steven suppressed the urge to chuckle.

"How have you been doing?" May asked, with a soft giggle.

"Fine enough," Steven replied, keeping up a pleasant tone as he fiddled with his belt, "I was actually on my way to Dewford—"

"Really? Me too!" May said, clapping her hands together. The Birch boy turned to look at her with wide eyes, and she adopted an innocent looking expression, blinking several times. "Um, I mean – us too!"

"No one is going to Dewford," Winona cut in, the expression on her face declining any sort of resistance. "You," a jab into Steven's shoulder, "are going to have a training match with me, while you two," a jab in the two kids' general direction, "are going to deliver that letter to Capt. Stern, because his ship leaves today and I want it to get to Unova this week!"

The Birch boy widened his eyes at her accusing finger, while May peered at it as if she was curious. Winona took a breath, then stared at each of them in turn:

" … Understood?"

"Yessum!" the wonder twins called out, releasing two swellow while Steven rubbed his shoulder. As they got them ready for flying, the Birch boy gave Steven a very meaningful look from behind May's back, narrowing his brown eyes almost (could it be?) threateningly, at the same time May grinned and waved goodbye. No way, Steven realized, so that's why –

And the two flew away in a flurry of stray grass strands and wind, leaving Steven to his surprise and amusement until Winona reminded him she was there, by courteously grabbing onto his arm and dragging him back to her gym.

"Feeling better?" Steven asked, handing Winona a fresh water.

"Not really, considering I lost, but," and she left the words hanging in reluctance. Steven smiled at her, signaling he'd understood. "Sorry, I might have overreacted a bit," she added, unscrewing the plastic cork and taking small, quiet gulps.

"Is the move not going well?" Steven asked, sitting down beside her.

They could allow themselves to shed the work persona, at least during the lunch hour – the summer heat forced most trainers into an AC-provided Pokécenter (or into the closest body of water). Winona's gym was thankfully empty, offering them a silence only interrupted by the sounds of birds resting outside.

"It's complicated, and I don't want to talk about it," Winona replied, shaking her head with a self-depreciating smile. Steven understood, and let the subject die, enjoying the silence. "Thank you for the spar – I needed it. It's been a while since I've had to go to a Pokécenter."

Steven nodded, taking a sip of his own water bottle.

"And you? You could've told me you were going to be around, you know," she added, and though her tone was collected, Steven could gather the hurt from the way she'd phrased it.

"I was actually working – trying to update a Devon gadget," Steven said, shrugging his remorse away. "The Devon Scope's range is still too small, and if a competitor arises – "

"Which it won't," Winona supplied, voice bulging with amusement this time, "since you're always at the top of your game."

"Because the company keeps testing and upgrading," he said, triumphant.

"Ah, yes," Winona said, "I see your point. That's still no excuse for not telling me."

"You caught me," Steven said, grinning. "I was merely under the assumption you wouldn't want to see me. As it … has happened in the past—"

"Ugh, I thought we'd agreed not to bring up the Wine Incident again," she cut in, scrunching up her nose in distaste. Steven held up his palms with a small smile. "Very well, I concede. Just – don't do it again. I'm always in the mood for a good battle. Plus, if not while sparring, when do I ever get the chance to see you?" Steven blinked, remorseful again, but Winona got to her feet before he could say anything, rotating her shoulders in smooth, measured circles. "I'm going to the Pokécenter now. I take it you'll be going to Dewford, then?"

He lingered between apologies, and then abandoned them all.

"Yes, I was asked to go there, too," he said, shrugging, like he didn't feel guilty that he was making it sound like Devon-related business. He just didn't want to talk to her about love stuff right now, not when she and Wallace were at such a delicate balance, at such a critical point – what would she say about Brawly's and Flannery's fling if he mentioned it?

He was better off not mentioning anything at all.

"Quite the busy man," Winona quipped in good nature, as they made their way down to the doors. "Say hi to Brawly for me, if you see him – it feels like I haven't seen him forever, too, with the summer schedules and all. Oh, and congratulate him on finally making the move! I've been rooting for him!"

What.

"Are you sure she said 'finally making the move'? Those were her exact words? Why did she know about this? When did this happen? Why didn't I see this coming? What happened to the Roxanne-Brawly thing? Weren't they a thing? They so were a thing!"

"Calm down, Wallace," Steven said, mildly impressed by his friend's air reserves even after decades of knowing him.

"I can't believe she'd want to say hi to Brawly and not talk about me is all," Wallace replied, his voice unnaturally bitter.

"Of course she wouldn't want to talk to me about you, I'm your best friend," Steven said, and only didn't roll his eyes because Wallace would definitely make a scandal. Only a few more minutes to Dewford now … How should he approach this thing with Brawly? Should he just pretend he was in town for some old-fashioned rock digging and decided to catch up? He wasn't his boss anymore, so maybe that would be the easiest way to –

Land was nearing. Steven made up his mind, and turned to Wallace.

"Look, I have to go, I'm almost there," he said, over the wind, when his skarmory began to lower, "but listen, Wallace?"

"Yeah?"

"Just talk to her," Steven said, and hung up, the talons of his skarmory scratching wounds into the beach. He watched them filling up with seawater as he made his descent, and patted his pokémon on the shoulder for a job well done, before returning it.

The southern beach was mostly empty at this time of day, the sun too harsh for the tourists that spent their holidays here; there were, however, some surfers who waved out at him from the water. Steven returned the wave with a smirk, making his way to the gym.

When he entered the gym, his arm was already holding onto his jacket, and he profusely thanked the air-conditioning units as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Brawly's gym was as empty as Winona's, it seemed, for not even the guide was there today.

"Brawly?" Steven called out, making his way over the moving walkways.

The blue-haired man peered around the last of the walls, and then grinned, disappearing from view once more. There was a clang and a woman's voice – was he training?

"Hey," Brawly called out, finally stepping into view; he was removing a pair of boxing gloves and motioning for Steven to come into the room. "It's been a while, man! How've you been?"

Steven smiled, despite the unease in his body, making it seem like every one of his movements was unnatural and stiff. How to tell a friend he shouldn't date another friend without – without confessing Roxanne was in love with him and this was all her fault, god damn it, why the hell was he even doing here?

"It's simply too hot," he began, and Flannery stepped into view then, smiling awkwardly at Steven and waving politely. Stupid, he thought,, frozen of course they'd be together – they just made it official, of course they'd be together. "But I do manage," Steven completed, and then cleared his throat, blinked, and continued: "How have you been holding up down here?"

"It is pretty hot," Brawly said, and Steven really hoped that wasn't an innuendo because he was setting his arm around Flannery's shoulders, oh, god, it was going to be an – "with this fire starter around here, how couldn't it?"

Flannery's face went through seven shades before it settled on crimson. Steven stared until he remembered staring was rude, and also weird, and moved his attentions to Brawly, keeping the straightest face he could. Brawly didn't seem affected, instead grinning obliviously and waiting for Steven or Flannery to add to the conversation.

"It's – nice to see you again," Flannery squeaked from under Brawly's arm, still the same color as her hair. She was wearing shorts today, Steven noticed, and decided to forgive the heat, after all. "I-It's been a while, hasn't it! You haven't been going to the meetings lately."

"Yeah, what's up with that? I thought you'd said you'd help out Wallace with stuff," Brawly completed.

"Some … things got in the way," Steven lied, thinking back to the weeks of obsessive research and spelunking and keeping off-radar, after losing to May. Smiling politely, he concluded: "But I'm almost back to duty."

"Yeah?" Flannery asked, her excited eyes on him. "When do you plan on coming back?"

Steven couldn't help but smile at her behavior; he'd forgotten how energetic the younger gym leaders could be, how they were so warm and –

"Oh, well, I am not sure of it yet. There's still some business I must attend to, such as Devon," he answered, or like you two and Roxanne, "but I do hope it gets resolved – sooner rather than later."

Flannery smiled at that, while Brawly nodded at Steven.

"Hope so, dude; you're the only one out of the rest of us young folk who can stand up to Norman! But anyway, what brings you around here? Lemme guess – more rocks? Haven't you dug up my island enough?" he joked, letting go of Flannery's shoulder in order to shake his finger at Steven. The boxing gloves hung from his other hand, bouncing slightly when he moved.

"Rest assured, I didn't dig anything today," Steven replied, finding it easier to smile when the two lovebirds weren't displaying their personal affection, "I just had to take some more pictures of the murals."

"They're really cool, right? I was just telling Flannery that! Can you believe she's never seen them?" Brawly exclaimed, inching forward like he was stopping himself from jumping up and down. "I'm about to take her there – "

"Oh," a tiny voice rang out, from the entrance, "should I come back later then … ? Um … ? I thought the gym was open, sorry – "

Brawly's face fell for a second, before he regained his smile and pep once more, turning to Steven with bright, determined eyes.

"It's fine," Steven said, smiling, as the two of them made way across the beach, "I might not be a native, but I do know my way around Dewford Cave."

"No, I meant – you probably have better stuff to do – " Flannery argued, fiddling with her hair as their footprints vanished behind them. The surfers from before had made their way around the pier and were messing with a napping fisherman's lines. "Um, I dunno. I can just wait in the gym, I'm sure Brawly won't mind – "

"It's fine," Steven cut in, and then blinked, slowed down: "Really, it's fine. I don't mind. At least in the caves it'll be cooler than here," he added, and motioned for her to enter first. Flannery smiled at him, looking relieved, and then darkness immersed them.

"Wow, it's … really damp in here," she supplied, looking around.

Steven laughed under his breath, and began walking after making sure she'd follow.

"Dewford Cave is half-surrounded by sea," he said, pointing at dripping corners of stone, "which explains the dampness and the smell," he added, smiling when she laughed. "But you can rest assured it has its charms, as well. ... Had you never been to Dewford before?"

She shook her head, falling into step beside him when he slowed his pace.

"I didn't get the chance to travel much, um, you know, with training for the gym and all," Flannery said, fiddling with her hair again. "Ever since I became a gym leader it's been really fun, traveling around and visiting different places – but I still have much to see."

"One place at a time," Steven replied, feeling a sweet sort of ache in his chest, one he had already learned to associate with wanderlust. "You picked a fine place to visit today, too, might I add – Dewford Cave's mural is one of my favorite historical monuments."

The walls shimmered with each step they took, the flashlight app of his pokénav splashing light into the cave. Flannery gasped in surprise at a fleeing aaron, its shell reflecting the light like the flash of a photographer's camera. Steven smiled at her reaction: she'd taken a step in his direction, unwittingly grabbing at his arm.

"Oh, um, sorry," Flannery said, moving away, and then Steven remembered why he was here, in Dewford, and the cave lost its dewy glow. He realized he'd forgotten to pass on Winona's message to Brawly, and that Flannery's hand was soft.

"Though I assume the cave, er, wasn't why you visited?" he managed, pleasantly, pulling himself out of his thoughts, out of the moment. Flannery flinched mid-step, her cheeks growing pink even in the dim light.

"I'm guessing you saw the newspapers," Flannery said, her smile growing awkward instead of apologetic.

"A little hard not to," Steven supplied, his tone warm but the words like a cold dish. Inwardly, he clicked his tongue at himself.

"Y-Yeah, sorry about that," Flannery managed, her voice tiny and embarrassed. "I'd never expect something like this to blow up like that."

"Well," Steven began, distracted; we're nearly there, he thought, almost relieved that he would be able to steer the subject into more pleasant bays, "when the beauty of the nation and the surfer star begin dating, isn't it obvious that the press would go wild?" His eyes caught the end of the stairway tunnel, and relief burst like a wave: "Ah, we're here, it seems!"

"Oh, um," Flannery replied, her face redder than before, a look of puzzlement in her eyes, "thank you?"

"Whatever for?" Steven asked back, looking down from the mural and smiling in polite confusion at her. Her gaze was bright as it ran back and forth, from his eyes to the floor, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

"For, um – I mean – for calling me that," she whispered, and Steven's brain did this click.

"Oh," he said, and couldn't find anything else to say for a full half-minute, until he finally settled on: "Well."

Another pause. He was staring again – he should be staring at the mural, should be telling her about boring facts about archeology.

"I mean," Steven murmured, his throat tight, her eyes wide, "it's the truth, though."

The silence was so loud, Steven was sure he'd be able to hear any falling drops of dew, no matter how far away they fell. Flannery bit her lip again, then inhaled, like she was about to say anything – then bit her lip again, the indecisiveness worrying her as much as her teeth did to her mouth. Steven read the signs, and edged forward without really realizing he was doing it, an oddly weightless feeling starting to bubble up his stomach and throat.

Flannery, however, realized it for him, firstly by sucking in a breath in trembling comprehension, and then by completing what he'd unwittingly started.

Steven's eyes went wide.

Her mouth was warm, soft, softer than her hands, and he grasped at her shoulders in reply, his fingers light and careful at first; firm and wanting once she brought him closer with a tug of his shirt. The kiss was long, and slow, but Steven still thought it ended too soon. Flannery's face was pink all over, her expression soft and vulnerable. His hands tightened around her shoulders, and he started to lean in for another kiss when he remembered Brawly's sincere smiles, of how this shouldn't be happening, should have never happened – he pulled back, the sharp sound of his step echoing in the chamber.

"Wait," he said, more to himself than to her, his fingers twitching when the brushed past hers, "I can't – it's – we can't do this – "

Flannery's eyes went wide, and she took a step back, still pink.

"I'm, I'm really sorry! I thought," she mumbled, "I thought you … ?"

"You're dating Brawly," Steven said into his hand, feeling like a hollow version of himself. Brawly and him had been friends for years now, had shared rooms in pokécenters and epic travels, and – "I just can't," he added, because though he wanted to, and though knew he could get away with it, the guilt was too strong a foe to beat.

"Oh, but I'm not, though?" Flannery said, cocking her head to the side and staring at him. "It's – I thought you knew – it's all just a misunderstanding, that's why I came here in the first place—"

"Oh," Steven echoed. "Would you give me a moment?"

With a swift gesture that clearly surprised Flannery, he whipped out his pokénav, feeling irritated.

"They're not dating," Steven droned as soon as the call connected, his arms crossed, his patience thin. The rock-type trainer stared at him, wide-eyed, taken by surprise.

"Huh?" she asked very eloquently, staring both at him and at Flannery.

"They're not dating," he repeated, word by word, nodding towards Flannery with a fond look. "They've never been, and probably – hopefully – won't ever be. You and I both need to stop reading the Rustboro times; I'm guessing the press intercepted the right message, but they got the wrong girl. And I won't say another word on the matter, because I know you're a clever woman, hmm?"

On the hologram, Roxanne's face turned pink again, and Steven almost stopped just to tease her, but managed to keep trudging on instead.

"Anyway, you're free to call up a press conference and dispel the rumors, if that's what you think is best," and Roxanne finally opened her mouth to reply, but Steven went on without mercy, feeling impatient: "Yes, Roxanne, I know that is what you think is best, otherwise I would not have suggested it. As I was saying; feel free to deal with the issue as you like, and, also?"

A sigh, a resting moment.

Back to offense.

"Roxanne, just ask him out. Don't give me that disgruntled skitty face, Roxanne, coworkers date, it's a fact of life and there's no rule in the League Legislation that forbids it. Stop using your prudish moral conduct to excuse your denial, or one day he's going start dating someone for real. Also, enjoy your holidays – don't just wallow around in the library."

Roxanne's mouth was wide open. He grinned, bright like the sun, bright like the red of Flannery's hair.

"Have a great summer!"

And he hung up, turning to Flannery and taking a step in her direction.

"Now," Steven said, comically serious as he stashed his pokénav in the breast pocket of his suit. The cave went dark around them, but he could still make out her face, the hue of her hair. "where were we?"

Flannery only smiled back, flooding up the whole cave with the warmth of a summer's day.

"What the hell," Wallace coughed into his coffee cup, upon reading the newspaper's headline. He gave Steven a wide-eyed glance, squawked, and then sputtered some more. Steven offered him an unaffected smirk, and took the newspapers from Wallace, feeling only slightly embarrassed that his new adventure had landed him a spot in the headlines.

"Ah, yeah," Steven replied, off-hand and skimming the poorly-written article. "What? It was bound to happen, come on. She's adorable, and I was in denial, or – you know, whatever." He stood up, packing away the newspaper and finishing his coffee. "Oh, also – you have a week to move out. I'm in a relationship now, can't really have you lounging around all the time; I suggest you crawl back to Winona sometime soon."

"What the hell," Wallace repeated, still in shock, his toast cooling, "I mean, really? How even?" Then his expression turned serious: "Also you have like fifteen apartments, don't play."

Steven sipped the last of his coffee, offered Wallace a simple nod, and walked out of his kitchen, chuckling.

"It's not funny, Steven!" Wallace shouted into the corridor; the front door slamming was the only reply he got. He waited for a few seconds, then ran up to the counter and stole back the newspaper, giddy with excitement.

"Flaming Beauty Singes Steel Prince," Wallace began aloud, taking a bite of his toast. "No wonder he didn't tell me."