breakingdreams | pokemon | Unclouded Skies

Title: Unclouded Skies
Pairing: Morty/Sabrina
Wordcount: 458
Summary: A brief conversation underneath the night sky.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon in any shape or form.
Notes: I've never written these characters before— well, other than a brief appearance by Sabrina in Scarves & Snowflakes— and I've never paid much attention to Morty at all, so I'm worrying a bit about characterization. This was written for

areyougame's current round, and the prompt in question was this:

Pokemon, Sabrina/Morty: precognition - You can see my future but not your own?

How could I resist? Crossposting to

areyougame, and perhaps

pokefics as well.

Unclouded Skies"So, can you see the future?" Morty asks suddenly, his voice echoing oddly into the night sky. The grass is cool and dry beneath them, and the stars shine clear and bright in an unclouded sky.

"Yes," Sabrina answers, amused despite herself as she curls her fingers more tightly around his. She does not understand why he persists in asking these questions, but there is no malice in his curiosity, like that she had so often experienced as a child, before she had learned how to be cold and distant. There is only interest, and the simple desire to know.

"Anyone's future?"

A breeze wraps around her, or perhaps a spirit; it is too close to her own skin for her to tell. She shivers at the chill.

"Yes," she says. A half-truth, this time.

He smiles at her, a simple, boyish smile. "Cold?" he asks, and this time he does not wait for a reply. He simply scoots closer to her and wraps his scarf around her neck. She closes her eyes, pleased, and something warm rises in her chest.

"So you saw that we would meet?" Morty mutters, low and soft into her ear. She shivers again, this time not from cold. "Saw this?"

"No," she says, her voice softer than anyone but him has ever heard from her. "I see the futures of others, not my own."

He does not ask after his own future, for which she is glad. He has ever been unclear to her, his mind and future both the rare glimpse of sun on a clouded day. She wonders, sometimes, if he knows that it is not only Pokémon by which he is beloved. If he knows that the spirits of the dead wrap themselves around him in a lover's caress and mutter sweet nothings into his ear, that they cling to his body in their helpless affection for him.

It's rare, when this thought comes to her; it is he who is the curious one, not she.

She doesn't know if he would understand, even if he did know, how the spirits that press close to him in their own dance blinds her like mist to his thoughts, his future. How in the roaring ocean that is humanity, he is the sole glade she has found. How it is to look at someone and not know what they will do next, what it's like to sit by another and share their warmth and hear nothing but silence.

There is much that he does not know and may not understand, but he will always try, and that, she thinks as he lowers his head to meet her lips in a cool, sweet kiss, may be the most precious thing of all.