You weren't a grand trainer like mo

You weren't a grand trainer like most people your age seemed to think they were. You were just plain average, in your own eyes; in both everything Pokemon and just in general. You weren't pretty, you weren't talented. You were just you, (y/n) (y/l/n); that one trainer from Rustboro that could hardly pass trainer's school in the first place, yet alone defeat a Gym Leader in battle.

Yet, here you were, nearly an ocean away from your home town in some dark, damp cave. And for what, you kept asking yourself?

To deliver a damn letter to some guy named Steven who liked to play in caves for some reason.

After having finally snuck your way through the hell that was Dewford Cave, you found yourself before literally the only other person you had come across on your exploration of the place. Your Cacnea, who was more of a wimp than even you and hadn't done much to help you fight off the rather aggressive Makuhitas that plagued this place, trailed behind you as you observed the man before you; letting out a small cry as it clutched to your pants leg fearfully.

You had to admit, he was rather easy on the eyes.

But, you were tired, and wanted to just get home already. Back to your quiet, warm apartment complex in Rustboro. Even if you did live alone, it was still preferable to this hell hole.

"Would you happen to be named Steven?" You cut right to the point as the male turned to face you fully after you called out to him, catching his blue gaze with your own (e/c) one as you did. The male seemed shocked when you asked him such a thing, before simply nodding in reply.

"Yes, that would be me." He replied shortly, to which you practically sang a sigh in relief. Upon receiving his confused glance, you simply shrugged it off; basically skipping up the few steps separating the two of you as you dug through your pockets. Before the confused male could utter a word, you shoved the letter you had received from Mr. Stone in your home town towards him.

"Then, I have a letter for you." Offering only that as an explanation, you practically grinned once he took the parcel from your possession. It dawned on you that there could be any number of Stevens around Dewford, and that this one, dressed in awfully fancy clothing for the setting, might not be the correct Steven Mr. Stone had in mind. However, your fatigue urged you not to care as the taller male moved to open the envelop; stretching your aching arms before turning your back to the boy. You didn't even care to know what the letter was about. You just wanted sleep. Now.

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