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Steven Stone was a man of many crowns.
A five-time (and current) Champion of Hoenn, renowned petrologist, amateur paleontologist, heir to a multibillion-dollar empire that was the Devon Corporation, and the region’s undisputed Steel-type savant- if there was a resume for greatness, his had bullet points to spare.
If only one of them included fishing.
By the banks of the warm shallows of Route 128, sleeves rolled to the elbow, silver-blue hair mussed by the sea breeze, and a faint scowl tugging at his otherwise composed features, Steven had been trying- and failing- to catch a single Luvdisc for over four hours. Luvdisc. Silly name. Silly fish. Silly that he , of all people, couldn't catch it.
Another bob of the line. Another splash. Another empty hook.
He adjusted his stance like it mattered. Cast again like it would help. Somewhere in the distance, a Magikarp flopped out of the water in mockery.
Beside him, his Metagross shifted its massive frame with a metallic groan, claws scraping against dirt in a slow, circular pattern. It drummed a claw against a rock with an impatient rhythm.
“I know,” Steven sighed, casting his line again. “This is just a minor setback.”
Metagross didn’t respond. It simply adjusted its weight again, the shift almost bucking Steven sideways, as if to say: Seriously, why are we still here?
Steven’s cheeks colored, and he quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth while clearing his throat. He could almost feel Wallace’s calm hands over his own, patiently guiding him as he reeled in his line, Wallace’s whispers brushing against his ear, Just a little more.
He shook his head, trying to erase the image of Wallace’s knowing smirk, though it left a stubborn warmth in his chest.
Wallace had an infuriating habit of making Steven blush whenever and wherever he wanted. He’d lean in just close enough to whisper something only Steven could hear, something innocent, but delivered with such confidence it left Steven’s cheeks burning and words tangled on his tongue. He’d catch Steven off guard when he would casually brush a lock of hair from Steven’s forehead. He’d tease Steven with little compliments, ones that felt so genuine, that all Steven could do was stammer. The worst part was that Wallace always seemed to be pleased by it.
How was it even fair that a man could be so refined, so clever… so stunning? How could Steven dare to stand when Wallace made him fall over and over again?
His thoughts drifted back to the day Wallace had gifted him a palm-sized carnelian sphere. Steven could still remember how his breath caught as Wallace revealed it with a theatrical sweep of his cape. He hadn’t dared meet Wallace’s eyes, just stared at the stone in his hands, heart hammering in his chest. He hadn’t expected Wallace to be so bold. Not that he minded. But still- Arceus damn it, still - he’d never managed to return the favor. For all the times Wallace had made him blush, Steven had never once made him flustered in return.
So he would catch a Luvdisc, and present it with the awkward charm of a man far too in his head.
And maybe, just maybe, if the stars were kind, Wallace would flush pink to his ears and cover his face the way Steven always dreamed he might.
Metagross suddenly shifted, drifting closer to its Trainer with a low, urgent hum, its eyes fixed on the now frantically bobbing hook. Steven glanced over, puzzled, until the line gave a sudden pull that snapped his attention forward. He fumbled for the reel, pulse quickening. Maybe it was a Luvdisc. Please let it be a Luvdisc.
The line yanked hard again, nearly pulling Steven off balance. He dug his heels into the sand and gritted his teeth, reeling in with all the stubborn determination that had won him five Championship titles, but fishing, apparently, was a different kind of battle.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, his arms straining.
Metagross let out a low, exasperated hum behind him. The tension on the line vanished as it casually took over with Psychic, leaving Steven feeling slightly judged and extremely grateful. The surface of the water parted with a sudden splash, and then-
A tiny, heart-shaped Pokemon arced into the air, glinting in the sunlight as it trailed droplets like diamonds behind it before landing with a wet plop on the rocks beside them.
Steven stared at it as it flailed weakly on the rocks, water gleaming along its pink scales. For a long, stunned moment, he didn’t move. This was it. A Luvdisc. The Luvdisc. His Luvdisc. He was suddenly very aware of how dry his throat was.
Metagross gave him a nudge with one claw. Do something, it seemed to say.
“Right,” Steven muttered, fumbling for a Poké Ball, then pausing. “Wait. I need to weaken it.”
Metagross’s red eyes flicked sideways, unimpressed.
Steven quickly unclipped another Poké Ball from his belt. “Skarmory, I need you.”
In a flash of light, the steel bird soared into the air with a metallic screech, wings catching the sunlight like polished blades. He circled once before landing lightly beside him, head cocked in curiosity.
“Use Aerial Ace. Gently. Gently. ”
Skarmory blinked, then beat his wings once, sending a controlled burst of slicing wind toward the Luvdisc. It gave a distressed blurble and flopped once more before stilling, panting and clearly weakened.
Steven nodded, clutching the Poké Ball tighter in his palm. “Okay. Now.”
He threw the ball and it struck the Luvdisc, opened with a click , and in a flash of red light, drew the Pokémon inside.
The ball trembled once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, longer than the rest.
Steven leaned forward, breath caught in his throat.
Ping!
Steven exhaled all at once, staggering forward to collect it with both hands. “Yes,” he whispered, clutching it like it was one of his many finds in Granite Cave. “Yes. We did it.”
Behind him, Metagross rumbled approvingly, while Skarmory gave an almost dismissive shriek as if to say, That was barely a battle.
Steven ignored them both, still holding the ball in a daze. He could already imagine presenting it to Wallace with all the poise he could muster- which was not much, honestly, considering Wallace's mere existence turned him into a fidgeting wreck. He looked up at the sky, now streaked with warm afternoon gold. “Now I just have to figure out… how to say it.”
“Skarm,” chirped Skarmory dryly.
Metagross let out another of its low, droning hums, somewhere between pity and mockery.
Steven turned red. “Yes, yes, I know. I’ve only been planning this for months.” He could already hear Wallace’s melodic voice: You caught this? For me?
He sighed.
“...Maybe I’ll start by brushing a lock of his hair back first,” he murmured, a small, nervous smile forming on his lips.
Skarmory shrieked in disbelief.
Metagross, exasperated, bonked him lightly on the shoulder with a claw. Steven rolled his eyes and checked his watch.
His heart stopped. The air around him might as well have turned to solid rock. “Oh no.”
He blinked again. The time didn’t change.
Two hours. Two hours late.
The Contest Spectacular in Lilycove. Wallace’s Contest Spectacular. Wallace’s first Contest Spectacular in years. The one Steven had promised, no, sworn , he’d attend. Front-row seat. Corsage ordered and everything.
“Oh no no no no-” he stammered, shoving the Luvdisc’s Poké Ball into his pocket like it had personally betrayed him.
Metagross let out a soft whirrr , blinking slowly at him. Judgmentally.
“I know I’m late!” Steven hissed, already fumbling for Metagross’s Poké Ball. “Don’t look at me like that, I got caught up!”
Metagross rumbled dryly.
“Yes, I said it would only take an hour, I know !”
Metagross leaned closer, its eyelight narrowing slightly.
Steven groaned. “Yes, you told me so. Can we please save the lecture for later?” With a flash of red light, he recalled Metagross in a beam. “I’ll make it up to you.”
He turned to Skarmory, already stretching his wings, talons digging into the rocky shoreline.
“I need you,” Steven said, his voice tight with urgency, “to get me to Lilycove. As fast as you can go.”
Skarmory gave a sharp cry, head high and proud. He loved a challenge.
Steven leapt onto his back in a single practiced motion, fingers gripping the smooth, cold steel of his neck plating. “No detours. No gliding. We fly straight .”
Skarmory beat his wings once, twice, then launched into the air with a fierce cry and a rush of wind that scattered the shoreline sands and left the water rippling in its wake.
Steven clung to Skarmory’s neck, hair whipped back by the rushing air, his jaw clenched.
Wallace was going to kill him.
Or worse.
Wallace was going to smile sweetly and act like it didn’t matter and then somehow make him feel it all the more deeply.
The skies blurred into streaks of blue and gold as Skarmory sliced through the clouds with razor precision, every beat of his wings a hammer against the clouds. Steven hunched low, his blazer flapping violently behind him. His eyes narrowed against the rushing air. Lilycove's coastline crept into view on the horizon, bright, bustling, and far too far away.
"Faster," Steven murmured. "Please, just a little faster."
Skarmory let out a shrill cry, answering his plea with a sudden surge of speed that made Steven's stomach lurch. Wind screamed past his ears. The city grew larger with every passing second- the sparkling sea-side rooftops, the cluster of Contest Hall spires, the glimmering pink banners with stylized Milotic motifs flapping along the causeway.
He was late. Not fashionably late. Not forgivably late. Catastrophically late.
As they approached the city outskirts, Skarmory tilted into a tight spiral, banking hard toward the Contest Hall.
"Lower!" Steven shouted over the roar of wind, pointing toward the rear rooftop landing platform reserved for coordinators and staff. “There!”
Skarmory screeched in confirmation and dove.
They landed with a metallic clang , talons biting into the rooftop tiles as Steven jumped off mid-touchdown. His knees nearly buckled, but he didn’t stop moving. He unclipped Metagross’s Poké Ball and tossed it out without slowing his stride. “Hold Skarmory here and don’t let anyone move him.”
Metagross emerged in a flash and gave a curt nod, already reaching out a claw to settle the gleaming bird.
Steven was already sprinting down the back stairwell, his boots thundering against the wooden steps, the corridors a blur of polished marble and contest posters. He passed a pair of shocked stagehands, nearly collided with a Beautifly mid-preen, and only barely ducked under a floating camera drone.
The roar of applause vibrated through the walls now. He was close.
He reached the velvet side curtain of the main stage, breath catching as he peeked around it.
Wallace stood in the center of the spotlight, radiant in his final outfit, a cascade of silken blues and seafoam greens, embroidered with pearls that shimmered like stardust. Milotic was coiled gracefully beside him, the absolute picture of elegance.
Steven forgot how to breathe.
Wallace was bowing.
Shit.
It was over.
The crowd was erupting into a standing ovation, a wave of cheers and flashing camera lights. Pale purple petals rained down from the rafters. Wallace raised his head, smiling that gentle, enigmatic smile, and then turned, eyes scanning the audience.
He was looking for him.
Steven’s heart twisted as he eyed his empty seat in the front row, a corsage pathetically seated in his place.
Wallace didn’t find him. Of course not.
That smile softened at the edges, wilted just slightly, like a flower in too much shade. And yet, he turned again, bowing once more with all the grace of a man who didn’t need anyone.
Steven couldn’t let that be the last bow.
He burst onto the stage, hand rising halfway in greeting, but-
He hadn’t counted on the audience.
Rows upon rows of people stretched out before him in a golden amphitheater haze, all of them watching him, him , waiting to see what Hoenn’s Champion, pristine, poised, perfect, would do.
And suddenly, he couldn't remember how to move .
The hand he’d raised faltered in midair. His throat constricted. His knees locked.
His mind went entirely blank, save for the screaming thought: What am I doing up here?!
He stood frozen, caught in the brilliance of the overhead lights, his blazer tangled around his hips, a damp spot still clinging to the hem from where he’d knelt beside the water. His hair was windswept, his shirt wrinkled, and one boot was still crusted with sand.
Wallace, bless him, took only a second to understand.
His eyes softened from surprise into something warm, something that saw right through Steven’s panic and chose, as always, kindness.
He crossed the stage in a sweep of silk, offering Steven his hand with the same elegance he gave every performance.
“Steven,” he said gently, for his ears only, though the crowd surely caught the name. “You’re here.”
Steven swallowed, unable to answer, heart pounding in his throat.
Wallace didn’t wait. He laced their fingers together, called Milotic back to her Poke Ball, and turned to the crowd with a practiced smile. “If you’ll excuse us, my dear audience,” he said with a teasing lilt, “it seems Hoenn’s Champion has arrived with perfect comedic timing.”
Laughter rippled through the auditorium, delighted and warm.
With a subtle tug, Wallace guided Steven offstage, the two of them vanishing behind the velvet curtain as the stage lights began to fade.
Once safely behind the curtain, the world dropped back into real time, quiet, muffled, filled with the faraway echo of applause.
Wallace didn’t let go.
He steered Steven down the hall, his other hand unpinning his elaborate shoulder cape as they walked. When they slipped into the dressing room and shut the door behind them, the noise of the world was locked out.
Only then did Wallace speak.
“You,” he said, voice soft with disbelief and fond exasperation, “just ran onto my stage like a man possessed.”
Steven let out a weak laugh and leaned back against the door, finally letting his knees give out. “I’m so late.”
“Two hours,” Wallace said, already reaching for a silk towel to blot the sweat and sea mist clinging to Steven’s temple. “You missed my entire performance, nearly crashed the curtain call, and somehow managed to upstage me without saying a word.”
Steven groaned and covered his face with both hands. “Arceus, Wallace, I-”
“-looked stunning,” Wallace interrupted, crouching so their eyes were level. “Disheveled. Slightly lost. But stunning. A windswept knight who crashed the wrong fairytale.”
Steven peeked between his fingers as his cheeks flushed pink. “You’re not mad?”
Wallace blinked, then laughed, a soft, musical sound that always made Steven feel like the world had more color than it did a second ago.
“Steven, darling,” Wallace said, tilting his head as he helped Steven up, “I nearly stopped the show when I thought you weren’t coming. You could’ve burst in while riding your Metagross and I’d have applauded.”
Steven’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He blinked. Swallowed. Tried again. “I… I…”
Wallace tilted his head again, expression warm and endlessly patient. “Lost your voice?”
Steven nodded helplessly. His heart was hammering, his pulse loud in his ears, and Groudon, Kyogre, and Rayquaza - why did Wallace have to stand so close?
Wallace’s hand rested as light as breath on Steven’s waist, the other braced beside Steven’s head against the door. Steven’s brain couldn’t stop cataloguing every detail: the soft weight of Wallace’s hand, the faint scent of sea salt and floral cologne, the brush of silk sleeve against his own, and oh stars , the proximity.
Steven was acutely aware of his back pressed flat to the door, of Wallace’s body angled just above his, and of the fact that, if he moved even an inch forward, if he just let Wallace tip his chin up, they would-
Wallace smiled. “You’re blushing again.”
Steven let out a noise that might’ve been a strangled groan. “I-I’m not-”
“You are,” Wallace said, voice pitched teasingly low. “Just a little pink right here.” He lifted his fingers, grazing them along Steven’s cheekbone, featherlight. “And here.”
Steven didn’t dare move. The door was cool against his back, but every other part of him felt too warm - his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears, all red under the press of Wallace’s gaze.
“I didn’t mean to make a scene,” Steven managed, voice hoarse. “I just- I wanted to be here. Even if I was late.”
Wallace’s smile softened into something far more dangerous. “You were late,” he agreed, “but you were dramatic about it. I suppose I can forgive you.”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Steven muttered, hating how flustered he sounded. “But now it just feels ridiculous.”
“Nothing about you is ridiculous,” Wallace said. “You crossed half the region soaking wet and sand-covered just to see my show.”
“I also almost fell in the water,” Steven admitted.
“I would’ve applauded that too.”
Wallace’s hand, still braced beside Steven’s head, slid just slightly, knuckles brushing his hair.
Steven was drowning .
He turned his head slightly, trying to escape the magnetic pull of Wallace’s closeness, but all that did was bring their faces even nearer.
Wallace’s breath caught, just for a second.
And Steven, Steven Stone, who had never lost a single official battle save for the man impossibly close to his lips, who could face dragons and meteors and monsters without blinking, found himself saying in a voice that barely qualified as a whisper:
“Wallace…”
That was all. Just his name.
But Wallace inhaled softly, and for once, his own cheeks tinted the faintest shade of rose.
Neither of them dared to move as they drank each other’s faces in. Wallace tipped Steven’s chin upwards, and Steven fluttered his eyes close, anxiously waiting for plush lips to meet his-
As if the world snapped back into focus all at once, Wallace straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from Steven’s lapel.
“Well,” he said, smoothing his sleeves, though his voice was just a shade too airy, “I should probably make an appearance at the reception.”
Steven blinked, still trying to catch up. “Oh. Right.”
He watched Wallace rest a hand on the knob, watched the slope of his shoulders, the slight tension in his posture. Steven’s heart stuttered. He decided right then and there that he wasn’t going to shove it down. He didn’t second-guess himself or think of all the ways this could go wrong. Because Wallace- oh brilliant, magnetic, exasperating Wallace- had always danced just out of reach. And Steven had spent too long staring after him, too afraid to close the distance.
“Wait,” Steven said, voice suddenly hoarse.
Wallace’s eyes widened, lips parted like he’d been caught mid-thought. And there it was, that flicker in his gaze, like he was holding something back.
Fuck it.
Steven stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of Wallace’s coat, fingers curling into the silk, and yanked him down.
Their mouths collided in a kiss that was all fire and frustration and finally .
Wallace made a surprised noise against him, muffled and breathless, but didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands caught Steven’s hips instinctively, grounding them both. Steven kissed him like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it, pouring in everything he didn’t know how to say- you drive me mad, you make me better, you undo me with every smile and I don’t know how to be composed around you, and fuck, fuck , I don’t want to be .
Wallace responded in kind, his surprise melting into something far more hungry, fingers digging into Steven’s sides as he deepened the kiss. For all of Wallace’s usual elegance, there was heat beneath it now, all polished edges stripped away.
When they finally pulled apart, gasping, Wallace’s eyes were wide and his lips just slightly bruised.
Steven was flushed and breathless, heart thundering. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “I-I wasn’t sure if you-if we-”
Wallace smiled, his fingers brushing Steven’s cheek with infinite tenderness.
“Took you long enough,” he murmured, voice low and warm as he leaned in once more and kissed Steven again. “But stars above , was it worth the wait.”
“That’s not all,” Steven said, and for once his voice didn’t tremble. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and carefully withdrew Luvdisc’s Poké Ball, its red and silver surface catching the light. He held it out to Wallace, palm open. “This is for you.”
Wallace blinked, momentarily thrown. His eyes flicked from the Poké Ball to Steven’s face, searching, puzzled. “You… got me a Pokémon?” he asked slowly, eyebrows rising as he accepted the Poké Ball with delicate fingers.
“Just trust me,” Steven said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in the barest hint of a smile. “Go on. Call it out.”
“If this is a Magikarp, I’m walking out.”
Steven chuckled under his breath. “It’s not.”
With a theatrical flourish more out of habit than anything, Wallace pressed the button.
Luvdisc spun into existence, glittering under the soft bulbs around the mirror. The heart-shaped Pokémon hovered gracefully in the air for a moment, then floated toward Wallace with a gentle little blip , trailing a few sparkling droplets behind it.
Wallace froze, his entire expression shifting. The color rose in his cheeks immediately , starting at the tips of his ears and spreading with startling speed until his whole face was flushed a soft, radiant pink. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.
The Luvdisc blinked up at him with bright, adoring eyes.
“You…” Wallace finally managed, his voice quiet, breathless. “You caught this ? For me ?”
Steven nodded, heart thudding but lips quirking into a self-conscious smile. “I thought, maybe… if I could catch one. If I could give it to you …”
Wallace looked at him, eyes luminous. His blush had deepened, and for the first time Steven could remember , Wallace looked completely undone. No flourish. No perfect poise. Just raw, unfiltered emotion written across every line of his beautiful face.
“You caught this…” Wallace repeated slowly, voice breathy, “ for me ?”
Steven gave a small, awkward nod. “It took… hours. Metagross was ready to leave me behind.”
“You caught me… a Luvdisc . Do you know what these symbolize?”
“I do now,” Steven said, voice low. “That’s kind of the point.”
Wallace looked like he had been physically struck. He turned away slightly, hand rising to cover the lower half of his face, but it did nothing to hide the way his lips trembled in a smile. He laughed, softly, helplessly, disbelieving. “You infuriating, brilliant man,” Wallace said, turning back just enough to look at him through his lashes. “You really wanted to make me blush, didn’t you?”
Steven shrugged, smug now. “I had a lot to repay.”
“Oh, that’s how it is,” Wallace murmured, a slow, knowing smirk curling across his lips as he gently lowered the Luvdisc back down, letting it drift lazily through the air beside him. His voice dropped a register, low and silken, and his gaze-Arceus, his gaze -pinned Steven in place like a well-aimed Ice Beam. “You do know what happens after gifting one a Luvdisc, right?”
Steven’s face flared crimson, and he instinctively looked away, but Wallace reached with his free hand, fingertips brushing under Steven’s chin, guiding his gaze back. “Mmm-mm,” Wallace tutted gently, his thumb ghosting along Steven’s jawline. “None of that. You go through all that trouble, give me this ”-he held the Luvdisc up before calling it back to its Poke Ball-“and now you want to look away?”
Steven let out a breathless laugh, his hands fidgeting at his sides, pulse racing, his confidence long gone. “I just… wanted to see you flustered for once.”
Wallace chuckled, slow and dangerous. “Oh, I am flustered,” he purred. “You just don’t know where.”
That sent a full-body shiver down Steven’s spine.
Wallace leaned back just enough to look him in the eyes, head tilted, his expression softening around the edges. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to be bold. And unbearably handsome when you succeed. ”
Steven had no clever response. He was flushed, warm to the core, and too busy memorizing every inch of Wallace’s face to think straight.
Wallace reached up, fingers sliding into the silver strands of Steven’s hair, pushing them gently back from his face. “So,” he said, his voice now just a whisper. “Is there anything else you’d like to give me tonight?”
Steven’s breath caught.
His heart was loud in his ears.
And slowly, carefully, he stepped forward, one hand finding Wallace’s waist.
“I can think of a few things,” Steven murmured.
“You do realize that the moment I get you alone, I’m going to kiss you until we’re both too dizzy to speak.”
Steven’s throat went dry. “I was counting on it.”
Wallace exhaled something between a sigh and a laugh and with a swift grace only he possessed, he tugged Steven in by the collar and whispered in his ear, “Then stop flirting like a gentleman and do something about it. ”