A/N: Yes, yes. I'm working on more new things instead of finishing my old projects, terribly sorry for that. There comes a certain point of writer's block, laziness, and wasting the last of my vodka to try and break the first two where I just have to give up and do whatever my brain tells me. In this case, it was blaze my way through this story in just over 3 days, most of it written during lunch breaks or insane hours of the morning.
That's right, this is actually all but done already, 14 pages knocked out in an obscenely short amount of time compared to what I've been writing lately. I'm posting it chaptered both because it flows better that way, and because my editor's only got the first part done so far anyway.
For all the comedy and smut I write, this is actually the type of story I enjoy writing the most; ones that are just simple and touching, that express a moment in time, especially from a past we don't otherwise see for a character. I used to shy away from them, despite my love of them, out of a fear they'd be lost amongst more serious or more graphic stories, but OtBW has been so well received that I went ahead with this at last.
Speaking of graphic, however, there will be a more graphic edit posted on AFF once I'm done, for the people who prefer that sort of thing.
Okay, longest author note ever done.

Truly Inspirational
Lyraeon/Lyra Kamiya

Tomorrow was the final day. Graduation. Four years of college, completed at last. Lenora had turned in the last of her thesis hours before, then sat down to pour through another book before bed.

Burgh had thrown open her door with nothing resembling care, a bag of groceries in one hand and a mostly-finished dress in the other. "You should be celebrating, not holed up in this tiny apartment," he'd coaxed, already pulling down the necessary pots and pans.

"You're one to talk," she laughed, turning another page. "You've been missing for three days. Did you forget the Calculus final?" The two friends had different majors, but had managed to keep at least one class together each year none the less.

"Yes," he admitted, kicking the stove when the gas didn't come on at the first try. "But I passed anyway."

Lenora stayed quiet under the sound of running water and pots clanging, a knowing smile crossing her face. They'd known each other since elementary school, so by now she was used to the fact that Burgh would have matched her 4.0 average were it not for his hatred of mathematics. Even when he sewed, there was no measurements involved beyond estimation – he had an excellent eye for sizes, and she hadn't known him to make any mistakes with that instinct, not since the first time he'd brought her a shirt in junior high. She knew his latest project would be brought around the corner in just a moment, and started counting silently as soon as the kitchen grew quiet.

"One... two... three..."

"I want you to try this on," he called unceremoniously, and she turned to look over at him. To her surprise, his arms were hidden behind his back, only the barest edge of the green fabric visible around his skinny frame. "But I want you to close your eyes."

"...Not this again," she laughed. "I love your surprises, but how am I supposed to get changed if I can't see?"

He frowned, taking the kind of slow breath he only took when he'd been drinking a little and needed to gather his thoughts.

"I hope you brought some for me," she teased, finally putting her book away and slipping off the couch.

"Better," he answered. "And I can put it on you for you."

She stared at him for a moment, eyebrows slowly rising as she tried to decide if he was serious or not, before she burst out laughing. "That's real cute honey, but it's not happening."

"I've painted you naked before," Burgh countered, and her laughter fell short.

"You didn't turn those in, did y-"

"Of course not. I don't smoke before class. They stayed in my sketchbook."

Lenora nodded, reaching up to push her hair behind her shoulder.

"Please. This dress... its full potential won't be reached until you're wearing it. I just know it."

She blushed. He always said things like that; always designed things especially for her. Even as her figure had begun to broaden in the last two years, and she'd started to see her mother when she looked in the mirror, he'd remained insistent that her height and her curves made her the ideal woman for his designs.

"Please," he repeated, taking a step forward. "I bought a new roll of film for the Polaroid. I want you to wear this dress and I want you to pose down by the old train yard. You're the last light in this dying city."

She smiled softly, sighing as she relented. "Let's eat first, so I don't risk getting it dirty."

"Of course."

"Alright then, let's get back in that kitchen."

Lenora held her breath for several seconds, both to keep still while Burgh closed the last inch of zipper, and to give the hit she'd taken a moment to sink in before she exhaled. "So what made you decide green was my color?"

"Emerald," he corrected, "and ivory is your color, but it's too hard to work it with the flash. Call this a compromise."

Lenora chuckled as he let go. He was always the sort to have the last thing planned out that anyone would expect – like how he came with noodles and beef for stroganoff because he knew she was never going to bother with the last of the sour cream otherwise.

"I made that homecoming dress for you, it was just a little lighter," he continued, tying her sash deftly and smoothing the loose ends.

"Oh right. Junior year, I think?" She shifted impatiently, the floor creaking under her. For most things, she could handle the wait, but combining the anticipation of seeing Burgh's latest creation with the nervousness of letting him dress her directly left her too aware of each second.

"Yes. With the flowers."

"I think that was the only thing you ever made for me that I hated," she admitted, trying to sneak a glance downward before one of his hands clapped over her eyes.

"No peeking. And no, you hated the skirt I made you for your 14th birthday, too."

"...Did you even know how to pleat correctly?"

"I didn't know the meaning of the word," he laughed, his voice traveling around her in a slow circle as he looked her over. He snatched the pipe from her hand, and she heard him inhale and pause before he added, "Alright... open your eyes."

She did so, slowly, and turned a few inches to the left to get a full view of herself in the mirror.

Burgh was right. The dress looked brilliant on her, hugging each curve of her body perfectly, somehow making her look at once as womanly as she was now at 22 and as slender as she was at 17. "This is... amazing," she whispered, fingers running across the silky material, tracing the accents and the slit that ended on her thigh.

"I saw some shoes on 8th street that would make it just perfect. Oh, and that gold necklace your aunt gave you."

"I'm surprised you didn't say gloves. You always say gloves," she smiled as she turned to look at the back, which extended high enough for her hair to cover.

"It's summer. Besides, this material would have pinched too much at the fingertips," he answered, setting the bowl to the side and reaching for the jewelry box she kept on her dresser.

"Why the train yard?" She held her hair up as he clasped the necklace. "That place has been dying for 20 years."

"And yet it hangs on," he countered, smoothing her waves once she let them go. "It wants something to bring a spark back to it."

She giggled again, picking their pipe back up. "I know how much you love your creations, but a few photos won't bring back an entire district."

"Maybe not," he agreed, and Lenora couldn't help but notice the sparkle in her old friend's eye. "But I still want to see those shots."

As she stood in awe of his grin, she pitied – not for the first time, either – his lack of interest in her gender. Burgh didn't seem fully aware of his status, but he'd never had a second date in his life, and no one graduated a virgin without either trying to do so or being gay. Part of her still wanted to believe that he was holding out for just the right girl, or that he could clothe her without even a joking spank purely because he respected her. But she'd seen his gaze linger too long on equally pretty boys, and so she'd given up on him, flirting with the more practical men her literature classes afforded her.

"Then... let's go."

They made their way across town arm in arm, she in her dress and most comfortable high-tops, he in the brightly patterned sort of clothes he'd picked up on his last trip to Castelia. Twice he stopped, coaxing Lenora to pose.

"I heard they're trying to close it down," she murmured during their second pause, gazing at the museum across the street. "Not enough funding. No one cares about a bunch of dusty old rocks."

"You do."

The faintest hint of a smile crossed her face, only to be wiped off when she was suddenly blinded by his camera's flash.

"Sorry. I just knew you'd never be able to hold that look."

She rolled her eyes and then tried to rub the spots away, before snatching his sketchbook from him and starting to page through it as they continued down the street. He fanned the Polaroid in one hand, watching as she tilted the book to catch the glow of each passing streetlight. The sketches were split equally between his two favorite subjects, fashion design and the flora and fauna of nearby Pinwheel Forest. By now, Lenora was accustomed enough to his habits to look for the similarities between the two – more often than not, something from the wilderness drawings would appear in the clothes on the following pages.

"Arti?"

"Hmm?" he glanced up at the sound of his old nickname. She was the only one who still used it, or indeed his first name at all, and whenever she did he knew she was going to ask him something particularly important.

"You ever thought about training pokemon?"

"I might get a pet Purrloin..."

Lenora shook her head, chuckling and turning the page. "No... really training"" He didn't have to ask her why, his silence did so for him, and she continued, not ever looking up from the sketchbook. "There's talk of organizing an official league."

He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned. "In Unova? They'd never..." But her face said she was serious, so he cleared his throat and kept walking. "Well. We don't really have time for things like that. Still, it's nice to hear things are loosening up a little again."

She gave a soft nod, finally handing his book back to him, which he promptly slid into his satchel. He caught her trying to peek into the bag – it was bulging more than usual tonight, which didn't seem right for the sleek and organized Burgh. When he quickly sealed it again, she smirked. He noticed, cutting her off before she could ask what was in the bag.

"Were you thinking about training, then?"

Lenora sighed, knowing she'd have to choose between asking him and continuing with her own conversation. "Well... Grandpa had a Stoutland when I was really little. Scoundrel, I think was his name. And sometimes he'd show off some of the neat things Scoundrel could do... beams of ice, digging tunnels big enough for us kids to play in..."

"So you think you'd need a trainer's license just to have a pet like that, right?"

"I don't know, they might be useful even in other ways. Imagine if I had a pokemon that could dig like that on expeditions? I'm just thinking about the academic applications."

"And how soft and cuddly Scoundrel was, too, right?"

They both laughed before she scowled playfully. "You be careful... Dress or not, I can still kick you."

Burgh scoffed, "You wouldn't." The two exchanged another knowing glance, their hearty laughs ringing out over the silence of the night.

To be continued very soon.