I Hate This Part

Songfic

Kalosshipping (Calem x Serena)

Romance

One-shot

Hey, so this idea came out of nowhere and hit me on the head like an 8" diametre frying pan when I was listening to Pandora and trying to work on a different story. That's how it usually goes. Anyway, the song used is "I Hate This Part" by The Pussycat Dolls. Granted, it's not quite the song's message, but I was inspired by some lines anyway. Oops. If you like it, leave a review. Heck, if you don't like it, leave a review.

Start time: 22.37

End time: 2.18

"That's great, thanks...hmm? Oh, right, I heard about it. No, I'm fine." The young woman on her handy unconsciously started to pick at the few crumbs left on her plate from the delicious coffee cake she'd really finished ten minutes ago. "I haven't seen him around much. No, we don't. Not much." She took a long pause, her eyes glancing out the window of the small café. It was getting late, but one could barely tell; all day the sky had been covered by grey clouds that had obstinately settled over Lumiose, spitefully, without even some snow flurries to bring a more festive mood to the city. There hadn't been a sunrise or sunset visible. The holidays were approaching alarmingly quickly, and it seemed every storefront in the place had been bedecked with varying decorations to prove it, in outright rebellion against the hardly appropriate weather. One couldn't walk two feet without catching sight of another tinsel-laden doorway or snowy display.

"Really, Shauna, it's fine," the woman sighed, a little exasperated with her interlocutor's ardour for poking her nose into others' business. "Listen, I'll talk to you later, all right? Of course. Just like every year. À lundi, au revoir." She hung up, flipping her mobile closed and sliding it into the pocket of her grey peacoat. She stood carefully, clutching the now impossibly clean plate and silverware to her chest and manoeuvering around tables and empty chairs to get to the counter. With a brief "merci" and an adjustment of her woolen scarf, she stepped out onto the city sidewalk, still bustling with last-minute gift shoppers and tourists admiring the holiday lights and décor. As the cold struck her with a whoosh, and she considered returning to the warmth and gently wafting scents of the cafe. The streets were even more crowded than usual on account of the timing, and the woman decided her feet could use a rest, so she weaved through the throngs of people to arrive at a designated taxi stop.

She clutched the strap of her satchel tightly, her knuckles turning even whiter than they'd been from the cold. Her breath came in puffs, visible in the faded yellow light of the stop that shone tiredly on the swirls of honey-coloured hair escaping from under her scarf. Soon (but not soon enough, she thought bitterly) a taxi cab pulled up to the station. One of the older models, she noticed, eyeing the jaded design critically. But it'll do. She slid into the front passenger seat, arranging her bag on her lap.

"3 avenue Printanier, merci," she shot off in rapid French to the driver, who responded with a curt nod. She occupied herself with observing the interior of the vehicle, hardly more modern than its outside. Newspaper clippings were stuck haphazardly in the vanity mirror of the sun visor, left halfway down after some sunny day that seemed long ago now, under the ever-present, heavy winter clouds. The most recent one, from just a week or so ago, chronicled the rise of the region's latest and greatest champion (youngest, as well), a dark-haired fellow of just twenty years of age. Reading that one would never do, she thought as she scanned the others addressing topics from classified adverts for flats to an particularly caustic editorial on infrastructure development in Lumiose. She'd cut out that article and, like a proud mother, displayed it on her refrigerator to read every morning. The sentiments weren't exactly the same, though. Rather for her, it served as a constant reminder of memories that were, on the whole, bittersweet.

"Ça va?" the driver asked, in an attempt to soften the silence between the two the woman had only just noticed, snapped out of her focus on the articles.

"Euh, bien," she responded glibly, pursing her lips at the man's outright informality. It was downright imprudent; he was acting as though they were friends, hardly the strangers of actuality. She wouldn't have been surprised if he started addressing her with the familiar "tu"! For some reason, though, there was a fleeting moment of...je ne sais quoi. She almost thought she heard his voice instead of this overly...frank...man's. She glanced out the passenger window at the brightly lit boutiques, most still open despite the lateness of the hour. She briefly deliberated asking to be dropped off here instead, among the popular shops, to find a gift for her friend (an activity which had unfortunately been procrastinated), but decided against it, settling for heading out the next day in the light of morning, after a filling breakfast.

After several minutes, the young woman got the strangest feeling of déja vu. Certainly they'd passed that street before? Yes, she would recognise that café anywhere. Her nose scrunched with impatience, but a feeling of dread she did not show lingered in the pit of her stomach.

"Monsieur, savez-vous où nous allons?" she asked tentatively. She was convinced that they were driving in circles now. The driver's hands tightened on the steering wheel almost imperceptibly, and the woman momentarily wondered how much faster the trip across the city would have taken had she walked instead. She shifted slightly in her seat, checking the time on her watch. Already forty-two past ten. What time had she left the café? She scolded herself for the carelessness, not recalling even what time she'd received the call from Shauna.

"Of course I know where you live, Serena," the man answered after a hesitant silence. The woman was thoroughly stunned by his response. She turned her face with widened eyes to him, meeting his eyes. Dark grey, far too familiar eyes. A strand of dark hair fell untucked from behind his ear as he turned his attention back to the street ahead.

"Calem?" Serena breathed, still not quite believing what she could now clearly see in front of her. The curve of his jaw silhouetted in the city lights, the subtle strokes of his visage that she had once known as well as her own, it could be no other.

"Serena," he returned smoothly. This driver, this man, hardly disguised and sitting half a metre away, was the boy of her childhood journeys? She knew it, despite the improbability, she knew it without a trace of doubt. The difficult step was processing this sudden turn of events.

The first thing that came to mind was anger, threatening to boil over like a pot.

"Why did you leave?" she asked harshly. "One year ago, you left. Without anything. No explanation. Then you suddenly appear in the paper, newly crowned Champion of the Kalos region." She was seething, her hands opening and closing into fists. The feelings from that time, those of a jilted lover, reopened despite her best efforts over the past several months to ignore them, and tears, hot angry tears, welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill over her flushed cheeks.

"I needed to spend some time alone, without anyone to bother me." It was a moment before the full implications of his statement hit her, immediately plunging the car into a frosty silence that could have rivalled the temperature outside. The rebuff was evident in every bit of his tone, his body language, his expression.

"I hope the solitude was everything you hoped for," Serena responded flatly, resisting the urge to snarl at him.

"And more," the driver said derisively, throwing a glance toward the rear-view mirror. "But I what I can't fathom is why you seem to be so upset over this. Oughtn't friends be supportive of one another's endeavours? Help me understand, Serena."

"I'd prefer to watch you struggle and try to sort it out yourself. Consider it returning the favour." Calem smiled in spite of himself at this spunky reply, this derring-do, reminiscent of those adventures that couldn't have possibly happened only one year ago, but he did not retort to her lashing out. The atmosphere was cold again, frigid, really. Neither driver nor passenger was inclined to touch the heating mechanism, lest by some way they manage to brush fingers with the same aim. An irrational thought, but a thought that ran through their minds nonetheless. Serena turned her attention to the view outside her window again, seeing the same café for...what? The fourth time? Fifth?

"We're going in circles," she stated, her voice laced with annoyance.

"And we're going to keep going in circles. I'm not stopping this car until you tell me how I've hurt you so badly." She almost imagined she could hear concern, but she shrugged it off as wishful thinking.

"Enjoy yourself wasting petrol," she snapped.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm now extraordinarily wealthy. Your argument is rendered invalid." She didn't need to look to know that that familiar, self-satisfied smirk had found its way onto his face. "Now, tell me. Better sooner than later. I wouldn't want to keep you up too late." He looked pointedly at the digital display on the dashboard. 11 o'clock had come and gone. When she didn't bother to form a response, leaving the two in yet another uncomfortable silence, he continued. "I've already spoken with, I've already visited the others. Shauna, Trevor, Tierno... They all welcomed me back with open arms." He could feel her tense up, and the corners of his lips curled into a slight smile. Oh, how he loved to get under her skin. Even still, there was an element of thrill to provoking the young woman. She was going to say something now, indubitably.

"I highly doubt you ever slept with any of them." Now it was Calem's turn to sit in a stunned silence, searching for the right words.

"This is what it's all about?" he asked quietly, almost dangerously. "Because we did something that made you think we would stay together forever? Sorry that you were naïve, but-"

"It wasn't just some summer fling, Calem," Serena interrupted, her voice rising in intensity. "You know? I really thought it was special. Apparently I was wrong." She put a surprising amount of venom in the last sentence.

"Well, I guess you were." It was all he could think to say. Unbelievably, the temperature seemed to drop another few degrees in the ensuing silence. The number of passerby had considerably lessened by that point, Serena observed as they drove down Vernal Avenue yet again, crawling along the pavement. There was hardly anyone in sight besides the occasional late-night stroller. Calem rolled to a stop in front of a well-kept flat complex, turning off the engine but not making a move to either get out himself or demand the woman's exit. Both sat in the quiet, and Serena now noticed white flakes drifting down, spiraling onto the windshield.

"I thought we were going to keep driving," Serena wondered aloud, finally looking over to gaze at the man's face, and he reciprocated, locking eyes with her grey ones.

"You answered my question. Ergo, you are permitted to leave." Neither his stilted words nor his solemnity escaped her.

"How...anticlimactic," she mused.

"You answered my question," he repeated. "Today I reconnected with an old friend, and I discovered some important things about her. Two birds, one stone." He didn't bother to elaborate on these "important things", and Serena wasn't sure if she wanted to hear them anyway. She swiftly gathered her belongings and got out of the taxi; checking her watch to see that she could have been there an hour earlier, she shut the door to the car a bit more forcefully than she had intended. Another slam was heard, and she looked over, brow furrowed, to see Calem standing outside the vehicle, overnight bag in hand.

"I've decided to stay over; it's terribly late," he offered as an excuse at her bemused expression.

"I thought you were the 'extraordinarily wealthy' one here," she retorted, her voice caustic. "You needn't invite yourself over like this."

"You're right," he acquiesced. "I'm not obligated to, but I will anyway. You should feel honoured, the Kalos Champion staying the night at your humble abode," he couldn't resist adding, for the sole purpose of riling her up. He was proud to see the tics that he still remembered, the twitches in her nose, her lips, that always reminded him of a storm brewing.

"Well, why don't you come in then?" she asked stiffly, her hand clenching tighter on the bag strap. Snow had settled itself in both of their hair, dusting their coats with white to match the frozen, chapped skin of her tensed fingers.

"It'd be my pleasure."

Somehow, when she wakes up the next morning and sees that he's still next to her, tousled sheets managing to cover anything indecent, she has this swelling sense of justice. Especially when she carefully extricates herself from the bedspread (and, very gently, one of his legs), silently changes into day clothes, and walks out of the flat, stopping to blow a derisive kiss to the man's still sleeping form but not leaving so much as a note behind.

I love this pairing. It's one of my OTPs, along with...well, a lot of other ones. (My hoennshipping and hoennchampionshipping have been rekindled with the purchase of OR; I briefly considered making this about Steven following May to Kalos, where she's decided to explore next.) I did not, in fact, write this while listening to music, an unusual occurrence. Rather, I listened the entire time to ambient café noises. It worked surprisingly well. However, I did listen to a Fall Out Boy station on Pandora while editing. "CENTURIES" 4EVER

That's my headcanon song for Steven Stone, as a side note.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, /That I shall say good night till it be morrow. [Exit above] If you can think of a song that better suits this fic, I'd be grateful for suggestions! Adieu, and review!