Notes: This has spoilers for the latest Pokemon Special/Adventures manga in the Black and White series. This fiction stems from the Subway scene between Black and White when they depart from one another, but holds no spoilers past that (at least from what I know of, because, admittedly, I haven't read past that chapter). I sincerely hope you enjoy.

General disclaimers apply.

They should've stopped by now. The emotions. The missing, the subtle whisks of loneliness, the impending feeling of carrying such a heavy heart around.

But they don't.

He doesn't question why though. Black never does. He's never been the one to dwell over things that are out of his control or reach of understanding and, instead, tries to push forward instead. It's a lot harder this time, he muses, and he doesn't really know why.

Eventually, despite these lingering feelings that leave a lasting burn on his body that he can't seem to subdue, he quickly falls back into routine. He finds himself in the midst of training his gradually growing team of pokémon, of traveling around to the unknown corners of his once sheltered world; of clearing his mind when it clouds over and fogs too much. Just like before, except with a little more progress than previously.

And in order to make progress, he figures, it is best not to look backward toward the walkways of his past.

In doing so, he tries not to think of his initial start to this seemingly endless journey like when he first received Tep, or the constant battles of good and not-quite-evil-but-not-quite-good between himself and Team Plasma, and especially not her.

His eyes often shy away from the brightly lit parts of an area now, and he doesn't touch items that are donned the color that represents her name.

White.

He really, really tries not to think of her. And when he does, his mind immediately hazes over and it takes his Munna several minutes to unveil what so suddenly and abruptly glazed over within the depths of his head.

With his Pignite patiently waiting by his side, staring on with intuitive and knowing eyes, he pretends not to remember how his mind was much, much clearer when she was around. The girl that was now mostly the reason behind his mind being clouded, so heavily and so thickly, in the first place.

Once this session is done, he pats Nite on the head, earning a soft squeal of worry and anticipation from his companion. In reply, he assures quietly, "all better now, buddy. Can't you see?"

The piglet doesn't seem the least bit convinced of his trainer's well-being health-wise and when it returns back into the confinements of its pokéball, Black chuckles quietly to himself, alone.

"Yeah, me neither."

He notices, weeks into their departure from one another now, it's harder to dream.

He doesn't necessarily pin it (or more definition-accurate, blame it) on White leaving him. Because it's not her fault she left to pursue her own dreams, instead of scampering after him and his shadow, and besides, she's much too bright a star to let her life revolve around something dark and dull like him.

Glittering opportunities and chances orbit around people like White, and people like Black easily accept this, because that's what they're used to. Being left behind, looked over, and forgotten. People like Black fall back into the shadows of this world, and people like White gleam in its sunlight.

One evening he stops dreaming all together.

He isn't bitter or angry or even the slightest bit frustrated over his sudden and recent loss. Although, if he was, it'd be more than understandable, because who wants to lose the one thing that separates them from the links of reality? Who wouldn't miss the one concept that anchors you down to your own tangible fantasy? Not Black, never Black.

He almost expects this to happen, in a way.

He finds himself in another unknown city, preparing to fight another unknown gym leader and the faceless trainers that work under them, hoping one day they'll slip up and one of those glory-hungry novices can step onto their pedestal.

This place appears just as mundane and trivial as the rest but––

His eyes flash as they catch a small glimpse of familiar brown hair, the back of a white cap, and denim shorts. Nite grunts as his trainer bolts forward without warning, loyally barreling after the frantic, desperate boy. He hasn't seen Black like this in weeks, so lively and filled with such large bursts of energy. It's hard to keep up.

Black can't even recognize his voice; the urgency and panic dragging it out of his mouth, loud and unfamiliar. All he hears is someone screaming, "hey, hey! White! Stop! STOP!" It doesn't register until he's feet away from this girl that those animistic, raw yells are is his own.

"Hey!" he shouts again, almost viciously, sharply extending his arm out and pushes the girl in front of him. His heart feels lodged in his throat when she finally turns sharply to him, eyes ablaze and narrow, and all that come spluttering out of him at this climax is, "o-oh, s-sorry, I… I-I didn't, I mean, I thought you w-were someone el-else––"

The girl slaps him across the face, emerald eyes fuming. "What the hell is your problem, kid? You don't shove a girl like that around, ever!" He opens his mouth to explain but she rages on. "You're lucky I'm not reporting assault on you!"

She storms off, her dark locks wiping about and trailing after her and leaving the stunned and brutally ashamed trainer behind.

"Shit," he hisses to himself, his eyes downcast, and Nite looks up alarmingly at his trainer, nudging his nose into the side of the brunet and breaks the anxiety building within Black. The trainer looks at his companion, trying to force a smile to surface at his lips and instead he feels his eyes sting.

He doesn't cry, but he sure comes damn close to it.

Black misses her, and he tries to convince himself otherwise.

He tries not to think of the terrifying aspect of never seeing her again or her forgetting about him. Even with his Braviary on her team, he could easily fall to the backward of her bright, bright mind as the days continue to rotate and their paths separate further and further.

But even more so, he tries not to think of them actually meeting once again. Because he's certain he's still going to be hot-tempered and immature and an awkward boy still trying to find his way and White will be this dazzling enigma he can't possible dissect and analyze, let alone comprehend or understand.

It's supposed to be like this, he decides finally. White is supposed to propel forward, she's supposed to shine. And in her long, looming shadow, he's supposed to accept that. Even though it's so difficult to, and when he attempts to now, he feels like he can't breathe and he's falling, falling, falling. But he's going to have to sooner or later, he knows. Even if he can't right now. But despite that, when people (not many, though, because only a few know those two even have any history behind them) ask him––

"Don't you miss her?"

Like Bianca questions, frowning to herself when she phones him one day.

When he fails to reply, she adds, "Not even a little bit?"

––It doesn't take long for Black to respond with a simple,

"No. Why would I?"