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She was the first person to ever beat him.

He always thought gambling was something he was born for, what he was meant to do—it was the only thing he was good at. And he was good at it, acting reckless until a single coin held his life, and then winning everything back. Repeat. That was his entire existence, and he thrived from it. It was always enough.

And then she came along. At first he laughed at her determination, her will, something that was always crushed by the end of the first game.

But she simply smiled at his crude remark, pushing all her chips to the centre. Back then, Grimsley laughed, happy for a quick end. “Oh, grow up,” he said, as he pushed all sixty-two thousand of his too, just to teach her a lesson.

He left empty-handed, shamed by the people who, just five minutes ago, adored him.

Yet despite all that, thinking back on it now seated at his favourite sofa in Shauntal’s library, he didn’t feel hatred for the girl who humiliated him.

He couldn’t pinpoint the way he felt at all—maybe he was feeling nothing—but it wasn’t at the end of the hatred scale. But he didn’t want this, because it didn’t feel like him; he wanted to hate her, to be able to go back to that casino and beat her on the first move. Yet he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried.

The League was closed already, being past nine in the evening. Grimsley avoided the casino for quite an obvious reason, but he felt a tug, pulling him to it. He tried to resist, yet he still found himself walking on the route to it.

The sky was starless tonight. He was alone on the path, the sound of crickets and dim streetlights his only companions. He was starting to doubt that the casino was even open at all, when he found another traveller in his path.

Oh, no.

It was the girl—the same very girl who crushed a grand portion of his social life with a simple card last week.

She was standing with her head staring up at the stars at the edge of the path, completely oblivious to his presence.

He wanted to turn around and leave immediately, but something brought him to her. As the distance between them shortened, she took her attention from the heavens and onto him.

And when her eyes laid on him, he felt a chill go up his spine—one that he has never felt before. The right edge of her lips turns up at the sight of him so confused.

“Good to see you here,” she greets, a smug expression on her face, stepping aside on the pavement to make room for him to pass. “Are you here to try your hand against me again?”

He grimaces. So she’s not as nice as he believed her to be. Though she might be trying to take her revenge for the awful way he treated her, so he bites down on his lips and forces the intrusive thoughts away.

“Perhaps,” he breathes out, steadily. “Maybe I’m visiting to have a game or two.”

“The best use of a casino,” she laughs, and the vibe he associates her with becomes a little lighter.

Grimsley’s about to head out again as she calls out a question. “May I know the name of the man who gave me fame?”

Smugness and that dark sense of humour again, but he still answers. “Grimsley.”

“Grimsley?” she asks for reassurance. And while she does, her head tilts in a slight way—he doesn’t want to admit it, but it looks cute. “I think I’ve heard of you before. Hmm. The Elite Four, perhaps?”

He feels his throat go stiff for no reason at all, but he manages an answer out. “Y—yes.”

“Oh.” Her face goes grim, thinking of the way she had acted to him. How she’d completely humiliated him. She stares at her hands clasped together below her. “I truly apologise. If I had known your background and the means to keep your reputation—”

“I forgave you a long time ago, on that day. So there’s no need to be sorry.”

She presses her lips together, silent, still feeling partially responsible. Then she suggests: “It’s getting cloudy. Would you like to walk with me?”

So he does, for the last hundred metres. And she’s silent the whole way there, until she stops at the entrance. She stares at the wall, then parts her lips and tells him her name.

“Find me on the poker table,” she whispers to him. “In an hour. I’ll give back everything.”

He wanted to tell her that he didn’t accept handed out victories, but she’s gone in a fraction of a second.

Walking through the crowd with his head low, he contemplated the possibly if he did win against her today. Would that bring the thrill of it back at all?

Then his thoughts came to touch a topic he had never considered—breaking his addiction. He was well known in the region not only for the Elite Four, but also for his fondness to gamble.

And he felt like she was curing it.

If he went back, he might get addicted again to the point of no return. But he wanted to see her, so he sat at the poker table in the allotted time.

When the last game gets cleaned up, he sees her face opposite of his, a slight smile on it.

It goes smoothly at first, the makings of a long game. People gather and gather, realising they’re the duo who played the best game a month ago.

And then she pushes her entire pile towards the centre. Spectators gasp; Grimsley’s eyebrows knit.

“May I inform you I do not take handed victories,” he says, rearranging the cards in his hand.

“This isn’t a false game, dear Grimsley,” she replies, flicking a loose strand of hair away from her vision, using the other hand to show her cards. A flush. “Hopefully you too are playing genuinely.”

He throws his cards on the table—a four of a kind. The audience is silent for a moment, but then erupts to cheers, and she’s smiling and shaking her head.

As dawn comes up, they both step outside into the misty morning. Grimsley feels content and shows it on his face for the first time in a year. She, however looks the opposite.

He places a weary hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“It’ll take me hours to get home,” she explains immediately, not returning his gaze.

“Where do you live?”

“Nuvema town.”

He pauses for a moment. “That’s on the opposite side of the region.”

“I know,” she sighs. “I should leave now, to get back before noon—”

“The League is two towns away,” Grimsley interrupts. “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

She turns around to face him—she has a look of confusion on her face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He holds out his hand to her.

When the sun is fully above the mountains, they arrive in Grimsley’s room. It’s a mess and normally he would be embarrassed; yet she didn’t judge him at all. She acted like she expected this of him.

“I’ll sleep for a while,” she says, putting her bag down. “Just for a while, so I can get my energy back up. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“I’ll be downstairs.” He holds the door open and looks back to her. “Shall I wake you up at noon?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

He forces himself to stay awake, staring at the clock, sitting on the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in his hand. Caitlin comes in exactly in the ten a.m. mark, and her eyes widen when she sees him.

“You’re not asleep?” she asks, yawning, opening the fridge. “But there was someone in your room—”

“A girl from the casino,” he explains, rubbing his forehead, leaning over the granite counter. “The girl who beat me.”

The left side of Caitlin’s lips tick up. She takes a bowl of sweets out of the fridge, closes it, then makes her way out. But before she leaves, she turns around and says, “I see. Have fun, and be safe.”

At noon, Grimsley makes his way upstairs. He knocks on the door softly, but she’s already awake. “Come in!”

She’s standing in the middle of the room, his blanket wrapped around her. And she just wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight.

“Thank you, Grimsley, for trusting me.” She tightens her grip on him.

He slowly hugs her back. Oh how, just twenty-four hours ago, he was sulking about the same very person in the same very room. “I misjudged you,” he whispers, smoothing the back of her head, breathing in her scent.

She stays quiet, then lets him go. “Hold on, let me change before we leave.”

She gathers her dress thrown on his bed, and heads to an old slide he has in the corner of his room from a gift. He smiles—at least it was used once in it’s lifetime.

Grimsley sits on the bed, hands clasped together, head swimming in thoughts. Then it hits him—the feeling he got when they’d first met wasn’t emptiness. It was something else entirely.

He wants to spend more time with her. He gathers up his courage and parts his lips. “A gym leader is hosting a ball,” he says to her back turned. “And I need a partner.”

He hears a pause and a rustle of clothes. “And you want your partner to be me?”

“Yes.”

She comes out the slide in her dress from yesterday, albeit a bit wrinkled. “Then tell me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

—

He rises before the sun does the day of the balł, excited. He spends the entire day on his appearance, finding the right suit, combing every strand of his hair.

Shauntal spots him in the library at four, a. rare occurrence. And a smile spreads on her face. “Changing your ways?”

“For today.”

“Well, it’s progress.”

Grimsley leaves an hour before it starts, and arrives five minutes early. As he walks through the ivory doors, his attention is caught in the grandness of the room. Two long, twirling staircases on the opposite side of the room, and between them a stage full of instruments. A high ceiling, marble pillars, and countless portraits are cradled in the form of a ballroom, and he thinks it’s as beautiful as her.

He then scans the crowd for her, eyes rushing around the room like his life depended on finding her.

And among them, he sees a frame caped in a dress what looks like the fabric of the galaxy, and he knows it’s her. She spots him through her black mask and makes her way over.

“It’s me, Grimsley,” she takes off her mask with her forefinger and thumb, staring up to him through her long lashes. “You look particularly stunning.”

“As do you, too,” he admits, a pink dusting over his cheeks.

Then the orchestra starts playing; violins and cellos and the like fill the air. It takes him a while to recognise this song, but it soon registers. It’s a waltz.

Grimsley holds out his palm to her. “Dance with me?”

She takes his invitation, and he twirls her around the ballroom, waltzing. The hand she has on his shoulder gives him warmth in every way.

They sway from the edges of the room to the other, spinning together, her frame a blur in the middle of the room, audience watching her dance.

He joins his hands with hers again, her soft ones gripping onto him tightly.

And the music and rhythm go slow. He tints a slight red as she pulls him closer, leaning her head on his shoulder.

And then in that moment, he felt content, in perfection. “Battle me,” he breathes into her ear. “On the roof. I’ll wait for you.”

He rushes there once the current song stops.

Standing there on the edge, he waited, Pokéball in hand. It was a clear night, and the sky lit up with stars. And he found himself

A minute later, she pushed through the door, a worried expression on her face. “Grimsley—”

“Let us start,” he interrupts without meaning to. Concrete makes claps under his shoes as he walks over to her and preps his stance.

She still hasn’t moved, her hands crossed and her eyes down.

So he asks: “Something wrong?”

And she steps onto the supposed battlefield, making her way to him. Her fingers glide over the lapels of his suit, her breath mingling with his.

“Grimsley,” she whispers, “I don’t battle anymore. I’m a fired Ace Trainer who decided to pour out my worries through betting my only lifeline.”

He frowns, frozen. She’s frowning too, but she moves away from him, going back to the exit.

But he’s not done. “W—wait!”

She turns, her hair swaying in the barely working ventilation fan. An arched eyebrow. It’s a simple movement, a single frame in the middle of thousands, but it breaks him all the same.

Now he doesn’t feel that confident. He looks down just to not see her face, balling his fists, nails cutting into his palm. There was a tightness in his chest, and he knew exactly why he felt that way.

She didn’t. “What do you want? I really need to get back, so make it quick.”

His throat is dry, and he disguises his nervousness giving an awkward chuckle. “I wanted to tell you,” he’s able to breathe out, lifting his face up again. But he sees her have a different expression on her features now—one of pity, not anger or annoyance—and he feels like he’s a child again, back at home with his parents looking down at him for doing so horrible in life.

She cracks her lips slightly. “Grimsley, dear, I wish I could wait for you to say what you need to say, but I must go back now.” And she turns. Her hand is grasped on the door to the roof when he buries all fear and just yells it.

“Um,” and then he feels his throat failing again, and he closes his eyes shut so hard tears start rolling. “I—I’m not sure how to say this, but,” he peeks a bit, and can see her looking back, curious. He needs to finish what he had started. “I really think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Silence at first. Then she laughs, like the first time they’ve ever met, but with the tables turned. “Oh, Grimsley,” this time she actually pulls the door open, and steps inside the room before replying. “Grow up.”

Those were the exact same words he had said to her the first time they’ve met.