Perpetually Pugnacious: EgoShipping Oneshot Collection

Chapter 2: Autumn


“I love autumn.”

There is a certain association that I feel concerning the Fall. If I may be so bold as to say, it’s perfection in a time of the year. I’m reminded that the season retains the warmth of summer moments during the day, but peaks into the colder tendencies of the winter time in the evening. The colors of nature are alive and vivid; all those reds and oranges and yellows and purples are woven into leaves and decorations, just before they are become fleeting and dying, turning brown and ashy and depressive where once was nothing but brightness and joy. The smells are more spiced than the sweet of summer, but not quite the power packed into the winter selection that is soon to come.

But autumn also makes me think of a certain perfect gym leader I know, strange as that embodiment sounds. He’s an autumn connection to me because of his cinnamon hair that glows in the sunset, glittering with reddish highlights that flicker like a fire pokemon’s flames. And because of his viridian eyes, that watch and know everything, look golden now with the reflected light hitting them perfectly. And the orange cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck loosely, standing out against his black leather jacket that he never leaves the house without. And his pumpkin scented body, which I’m currently pressed against as I look up at him while being huddled within his arms. We bathe in the autumn sunset from Cerulean Cape, my favorite location in this watery city.

It’s also perfect for us together, this particular time of the year. It’s not the spring where we sniffle with allergies from the freshly pollinated trees and croak apologies for sneezing on each other. Nor is it summer where the heat is stifling and it's nearly impossible to hold each other for more than minutes at a times. And it’s definitely not winter where it’s too cold and our faces are hidden away under thick woolen scarves and bodies packed tightly into coats so poofed that I can barely manage to feel his outline. It is perfect to be settled into his arms, warm and comfortable, no worldly worries other than each other.

“And I love you.” His breath puffs cinnamon into my neck as my nose catches the scent. He teems with the signs of this season.

“Gary Oak, you’re so sappy.” I tuck myself further into his rustic autumn body, embarrassed and overjoyed all at once.

“Misty Waterflower, you were fishing for that declaration of love with your autumn appreciation.” I love autumn, it’s true; but only because it means so much perfection for him, for us.

“I do love autumn. But I love you more.”



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