It wasn’t that Blaine felt entitled. Not at all. The Fan Club very seldom opened its doors to non-members, and he was fine with that. Even before he’d first visited Vermilion City, he knew how exclusive their events were. That was just common knowledge. He wasn’t even bitter about the fact that he had traveled two hours to get there in the first place. He just didn’t think he was out of his depth for believing that surely if they’d invited Gary Oak to the event personally, they must be willing to take Blaine as well.

He had been doing this for seven years, after all. Much like the other trainers of Kanto, Blaine began his journey at age ten, when he stepped up to Professor Oak’s podium with knots twisting in his stomach and chose his first companion. It wasn’t five minutes later—while Blaine was testing out his Pok�dex—when Oak’s grandson strutted in and scoffed at him.

“And what did you choose, Anderson?”

“Charmander.”

“Figures.” Without missing a beat, he spun around and beckoned Oak. “Gramps, I want the Squirtle.”

“Are you absolutely sure? This will be your first ever Pok�mon, Gary.”

Gary gave Blaine a pointed look before responding with, “Yeah. I have a feeling Squirtle will give me the upper hand.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and he looked over to Oak’s assistant to ask him silently if he could believe Gary’s bullshit. The assistant shrugged helplessly.

“Smell you later, Anderson,” Gary mocked as he made his way out of the lab.

Blaine blinked several times as his eyes followed the boy, undoubtedly to the obscenely expensive sports car that he shouldn’t have been able to drive yet, and tried to ignore the heat in his face. He wants to. . . smell me?

The year after that, during Valentine’s Day, Blaine gave Gary a star piece. Gary then immediately pawned it off for half what it was worth and thanked Blaine for letting him practice his legendary haggling skills. Blaine glared sullenly at all the happy couples in public for the rest of the week.

So yeah, it turned out Gary was straight as a ruler. And yeah, even if he had been gay, he was still a complete asshole with a penchant for trying to make Blaine feel inferior every time they came into contact. It probably wouldn’t have worked out. The surprising thing about Gary, however, was his indifferent reaction when Blaine came out of the closet.

“I thought you’d be making fun of me mercilessly,” Blaine admitted to him at the time.

“Oh, Anderson,” Gary said as if he were addressing an adorable, small child. “There are so many more things about you to make fun of than that.”

After that, Blaine couldn’t help but have a begrudging respect for the guy. But that didn’t change the fact that Blaine had just as much right to be at the Unevolution Convention as he did. Last time he checked, being related to the resident professor and having personal cheerleaders in tow to chant praises at any given moment did not make someone any more qualified as a trainer. And Blaine had won the vast majority of his battles with Gary, even if you counted the time Blaine refused to battle him as a “loss by default” after he came out of fucking no where at the very end of one of Blaine’s rigorous training sessions in Victory Road.

Oh, and there was that time Blaine single-handedly caused the disbandment of Team Rocket.

So, in terms of merit and community service, he should be the one rubbing elbows with the wealthy—and somewhat senile—club chairman.

Instead, he stood in front of the travel hygiene section of the Pok� Mart, trying to make the day at least a productive one. Vermilion served primarily as a sea port, and the only recreational activities were reserved for the Pok�mon Fan Club, so his best bet was to roam about Route 11 and train. He was well-prepared in the way of training supplies, but was still saving money for vitamins and had made a habit of forgoing hotels to spend the night en-route.

Suddenly, there was a yelp as something bumped into his leg.

Blaine’s knee-jerk reaction to this, ever since he was a lone child braving the tall grass of the Viridian Forest, was to kick at it furiously and clutch his first Pok� Ball to call Charizard and burn it into submission. It wasn’t until he realized he was kicking away a frightened Umbreon that it occurred to him bringing out a two-hundred-pound dragon to set fire to a bewildered Pok�mon and the building around it was maybe too much. Soon enough, a boy with a beret rounded the corner and rushed to calm it down.

“Oh! I’m sorry! He’s usually not so skittish.” With care, he picked it up and softly shushed it.

“Pok�mon need to be kept in-capsule here, sir,” the store owner called from the register.

“Just give us a minute,” said the boy, gesturing to the trembling Umbreon in his arms.

Once the disorientation of the ordeal faded, Blaine began to notice things. Like how this boy’s voice was high-pitched—not in a grating way, but a soft way that still wasn’t inherently feminine. Like how he had a similar softness in his face, even when it was hard with anxiety, and how that face was connected to a body and that body was wearing very flattering clothes.

As he considered this, Blaine soon realized he had been staring at the boy a few seconds too long and snapped his attention back to the Umbreon, asking, “Are you both new here?”

Its owner gave a nervous smile. “Yeah, we are. And he’s usually okay with crowds and things like that, we just haven’t had much rest in the last twenty-four hours and it put us all on edge a bit.” He eased the Umbreon back onto the floor, petting it a few times before standing up.

“Well, if you need someone to give you a tour or give you directions or just train with you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

The boy exhaled sharply in amusement, seemingly relieved by the offer in the way the corners of his eyes creased. “Thanks! I might take you up on that last one.”

Warmth swelled in Blaine’s chest and through his fingers as he held out a hand. “My name is Blaine Anderson. From Pallet Town.”

“Kurt Hummel,” he replied, shaking hands firmly. “I’m from Azalea Town in Johto.”

“Johto,” Blaine said in surprise. “So that would explain the Umbreon.”

He’d met trainers with Johtan Pok�mon before, but he’d never before seen someone native to the region. His mind went to a conversation he’d had with Oak a few years back about why some Pok�mon from Kanto didn’t evolve like they do in Johto; something about the differences in the same species making evolution obsolete in Kanto. There was plenty of cross-breeding nowadays, however, and plenty of breeders setting them free in the wild, so Oak figured it was only a matter of time before the differences would evaporate. Even so, there was something even more new and foreign about Kurt’s Umbreon, and while Blaine had originally chalked it up to the new and foreign nature of the boy himself, he couldn’t help but point out:

“The ones I’ve seen all had yellow markings. Not blue.”

Kurt put his hands on his hips, looking down at his Umbreon with something resembling pride. “It was pretty unique as an Eevee as well. It’s what you might call a rare breed.”

“Oh,” Blaine said brightly, thinking he’d figured it out. “You’re here for the Fan Club, then?”

Kurt drew together his eyebrows for a split second as his brain seemed to catch up with the words and then shook his head, saying, “No, I just got here from the ferry this morning. It’s purely business, I’m afraid.”

“Sir,” said the exasperated voice at the register. “You need to have all of your Pok�mon in-capsule while you shop here.”

Blaine waved a hand, saying, “Okay! We were just on our way out.”

As Kurt followed him through the mart, he murmured, “You don’t have to leave with me. Isn’t there something you came here to buy?”

“Nothing life-saving. Someone needs to supervise you and your dangerous creature, after all.”

The giggle that erupted from Kurt made Blaine’s responding smile all but a reflex. They fell into step side-by-side once they made it out into the street, Umbreon tailing behind them. The clouds that sheltered the sun earlier seemed to have passed through and the chilly autumn day was a little warmer for it. Vermilion was naturally orange year-round, but never more so than when the reddened trees shed over the ground and the sun was low enough in the sky that the only thing of a different color from everything else was the ocean. Kurt pulled on his sleeve to check his watch and asked, “So, are you here to see Lieutenant Surge?”

“No, I got his badge years ago.”

Kurt gave an interested hum. “I guess your advice will be a little outdated then, when I’m up against him next week.”

Definitely not a hobbyist, then. “Next week? Is he really that backed up?” He glanced in the direction of the gym.

“Oh, no. I just have things to do in the meantime.”

The sad thing was, it wouldn’t have been that implausible. While it was true most trainers dropped out of competitive battling while they were still teenagers, there were still a lot more than there were when Blaine first walked into the Vermilion Gym without an appointment. The dream was too big, and with every trainer that failed to achieve it, the Gym Leaders became that much stronger and more difficult to defeat.

“Hopefully those things to do don’t involve the Fan Club convention, because I’ll be terribly jealous.”

Kurt let out another giggle. “Nothing like that, don’t worry.”

“Good, because I’ve been waiting for someone to commiserate with me,” Blaine said with a wink and a smile, stepping around to adjust the collar of Kurt’s coat.

And then Kurt tensed, eyes fixated on the hand on his collar, and Blaine drew back and inwardly cringed as Kurt took a few moments to meet his eyes again. His definition of personal space was much looser than most everyone else’s—he knew, but sometimes the fact bypassed him, especially when nice pretty distractions were in the picture and now Kurt was creeped out by him and Kurt might not have even been gay and he could practically hear Professor Oak chiding him: “There’s a time and place for everything, Blaine! But not now.” And the last thing he needed at the moment was a figment of Oak advising him on flirting etiquette. There had to be a way to salvage himself.

He’s a trainer. A trainer, Blaine. He trains. Offer to do trainery things with him.

“If you want, we could go out to Route 11 and maybe catch Pok�mon together. Fill out our encyclopedias a little more. . . better.” As the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself. A little more better? Wow. Very eloquent, Blaine.

“Route 11 is where I’m headed next, but I’m actually not much of a collector,” said Kurt apologetically. “I’m strictly a battling guy. In fact, I really only keep my Pok�dex for strategic purposes.”

The smile on Blaine’s face widened slightly as he nodded, compensating for the sinking in his stomach.

“Besides—I have an appointment with the Cinnabar Island Gym Leader and if I want to be there in time, I have to leave. . .” He glanced at his watch again. “. . . now.”

“Oh. Awesome,” replied Blaine, doing his best to hide any disappointment. “I was, uh, named after him.”

“I’ll be sure to send my regards.”

“And he’s bald,” he added, subsequently willing his fist not to fly up and deck his face to keep it from vomiting more useless drivel all over the cute boy.

Kurt’s mouth curved up in amusement. “Thanks for warning me.” He looked down to his Umbreon and said, “Are you ready to go? Hmm?”

The Umbreon cooed.

And with that, Kurt began walking backwards, his Umbreon following closely. “Bye, Blaine Anderson from Pallet Town.” His eyes crinkled again—blue, not orange.

Blaine sighed quietly as Kurt turned around.

“Bye.”