𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐄 | [VARIOUS/Reader] | POKÉMON

IX

9.
ROUND OF EIGHT

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pov. y/n
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I'm not sure why we still do this, and pretend we're the best of friends.

Don't get me wrong, the four trainers of us maintain a great work relationship. We usually don't argue on the job and we can confess our problems and worries to each other if necessary. I get along with all three of the men, most had been with me for over a year now, and despite popular belief, while I usually refrain from talking to Lance, I don't hate him.

I couldn't, even if I wanted to.

Though, between them, I do sense a kind of rivalry. I feel excluded in this rivalry and sometimes, it feels as if there's something they know that I don't.

Though, I do think Steven actually dislikes Cyrus. Something in the way he talks to him feels... indifferent. Steven has often told me he doesn't trust the other blue haired male. The way he appeared out of thin air and keeps silent most of the time unsettles him.

It felt the same for me at first, I wasn't going to lie. Though time proved he is worth trusting. If one wanted to sabotage us, they wouldn't need to stay undercover for two whole years to do so.

Cyrus either doesn't notice Steven's behaviour or simply doesn't care, either way the treatment is not reciprocated. He talks to him just like to the rest of us.

That being said, Steven and Sycamore thoroughly hate one another. Which is no surprise since... well, they're both flirty morons and past their appearance, have a lot in common. Imagine how uncomfortable it is for me, being squeezed between the two. It's a war in its own right.

My fingers curl around the cold glass, and I lift it to my lips. The liquor burns as it runs down the back of my throat and I can barely keep the outcry of disgust behind shut lips.

"Wow. That's terrible," I rasp, clearing my throat to get rid of the slime.

"Blue ordered," Steve says, raising a brow at the boy sitting in the corner of the booth. The teen rolls his eyes.

"Not my problem you old geezers aren't used to hard stuff anymore."

"Hard doesn't require it to taste terrible," I bark. He shakes his head.

"It does."

"Next time," Steven interrupts, lifting his hands above the table, "I order."

Blue shrugs, chugging happily on his drink.

"Suit yourselves."

We clink our glasses, dedicating this round to all our brothers and sisters, alive and dead. The next sip I take tastes much more bitter than the last.

"Arceus," I hear Lance silently curse, grimacing. The faces all around the table depicted the clear discomfort.

"Well, I know who won't be ordering for us anymore," Steven jokes. Although no one answers, it's clear everyone agrees. Blue scoffs, frowning even as he's elbowed in the side by a grinning Red.

"How's the shoulder doing?" Lance asks. He sits opposite me. To my left and right are Steven and Cyrus.

"Fine. It don't hurt one bit," Cyrus utters.

"Good thing you wore protection,"

As the words leave Lance's mouth, Blue begins to giggle. With a groan, Red punches his arm, muttering, "Disgusting".