Heels clicking on the cobblestone, Alison glided through the busy street of Lilycove City, her golden locks flowing in the breeze. It was a beautiful early evening, the sun casting a warm, orange glow across the bustling street and its rooftops. Wearing a simple but stunning canary yellow chiffon two-piece top and skirt, shades, and a vintage pearl necklace, Alison weaved in and out of individuals in a desperate attempt to get to the local convenience store before it shut.

Most often then not, she was adorned head to toe in colours; strapped into bodice dresses and veiled by overtly flamboyant hats, every outing was often a dead giveaway of her career, of who she was. Normally, she would bask in it, happy to present her loved persona to those around her. Signing photos, posing into cameras. But today she had gone for something more subtle, hoping for nothing more than an unnoticed pitstop to grab some ingredients she’d forgotten for her stew.

It was ironic, really.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, causing Alison’s head to whirl in surprise.

Heart thudding in her chest, she took in the figure behind her. Crap! He’d scared the life out of her. She tried to determine if she was in danger, if this was some kind of ambush or a mugging, all the while trying to compose herself. Her eyes danced over him frantically, looking for some kind of weapon, some motive to hurt her. Nothing. She paused, taking in his countenance: handsome, fashionable, tall – wait, fashionable? A flash from one of the cameras drew her attention to the large set that had been compiled across the street, the wires sprawling out onto the pathway as various models giggled between each other and photographers cursed under their breaths.

Ah. Now she understood.

Lowering her head, her eyes looked over her shades and searched his face for familiarity. Did she know this man? She couldn’t say that a name came to mind. But from his stunned disposition, his shaken voice, his outlandish action to gain her attention, there was no denying he knew who she was.

She prayed it was for the right reasons.

”I’m sorry,” she laughed, her uncertainty masked easily with a heart-stopping smile as she pushed her glasses on top of her head, “You gave me quite a start just then. I'm Alison Everly .” She paused with effect. “Wrong person? Or… is that who you were hoping for?”

She already knew the answer.

sevastian beau

☉

It had been a while since Alison had seen someone so starstruck. So nervous to be around someone. Even longer since it had been someone meeting her.

As he spoke, flustered and stuttering, Alison felt a bout of anxiety rise in her chest. On one hand, she wanted to retreat, feeling unfamiliar in this once familiar territory. But in the other, she wanted nothing more than to bask in it. To be reminded of who she really was. Of everything she had achieved. To be celebrated again.

With a subtle breath, she allowed herself the latter.

“Please don’t apologise, it’s okay, you’re good” She reassured him, keeping direct eye contact – listening, “I’ve been in your position myself a few times. It’s scary as hell.”

She held out her hand as he offered it, well-polished and soft.

“It’s lovely to meet you Sevastian,” she said, polite and genuine, “One of the biggest? That means a lot for you to say, wow.

"Sometimes I forget my career can be more than just a spectacle to watch on the sidelines. I never realised it could inspire as much as entertain.”

Her eyes trailed over to the bustle of the photoshoot, the staff with headphones around their neck scrunching their eyebrows in confusion at Sevastian’s sudden departure, hands by the mouths to try and get him to hear them. Her lips lifted into a small smile, envious.

Envious?

“Seems that inspiration really got you somewhere. Quite popular, aren’t you?” she mused, “Big shoot today?”

sevastian beau

☉

“Oh?” Alison’s eyebrows raised at his offer. Her entire outing into the city had been in search of ingredients for her dinner, one she would later take cross-legged on the floor of her apartment. Alone. And with the time she was taking talking to Sevastian, she had a feeling the store would be shut before she even reached it. Meaning a cross-legged meal, alone, with a serving of – nothing.

His offer meant not only food, but company. Conversation.

She was happy to accept.

“You’re very sweet. That sounds lovely. Thank you. A reservation somewhere would be wonderful!” Her smile was picturesque, perfected to the point of almost looking natural. Almost. “Any preferences on where? I won’t deny that I’m peckish.

Her attention floated back over to the set, to the people who stood impatiently waiting for his return. Alison could remember times like that for herself, too. Of being doted upon. Watching as people flitted around her, redoing her makeup, polishing out her outfits, standing at her beckoning call while she simply sat and looked pretty. She missed the lights that used to shine upon her before they had abruptly darkened. Before her life had been ripped from her.

Her gaze momentarily flickered back to Sevastian, her supposed protégé, who had caught what had been thrown from her hands. And caught it well. Biting her lip, her bitter curiosity got the best of her.

“Do you want to meet up later or… Would you like me to wait here and watch?” Even though posed as a question, her fixed stare on the set gave away her desire.

sevastian beau

☉

She hadn’t had the luxury of trying this restaurant he was referencing since being in Hoenn, but Paldean food was one she had become particularly fond of from her travels. Seeing how keen Sevastian was to take her, she was excited to try it, and more interested to see how it differed from the authentic cuisine.

She smiled as his words trailed off from the interruption.

“That sound’s perfect," she reassured him.

As her somewhat obvious tactic of getting to stay was noticed, her smile deepened into a cheeky smirk. 

“Well, if you insist. I’ll try not to be too picky.” She was half-joking.

Alison watched from the sidelines by the crew as he rejoined his peers, quickly getting into position. Her eyes ran over the models as her brows furrowed with focus, settling on Sevastian after a prolonged stare at one of the girl’s haircuts. Even if she wanted to be nit-picky – which in a way, she did – it felt impossible. He was a natural. Every movement was fluid, every expression perfect, every pose practised. She folded her arms with mild frustration, a pang of jealousy radiating across her chest. Somehow, she kept her expression controlled.

When he finished, the crew beginning to disassemble the set, she clapped her hands slowly as he walked back towards her.

“Well done. Ugh, look at you! It’s ridiculous how easy you make it look. Can I get your autograph now before you make headlines next year?” her jest is sweet, friendly, despite her own inner conflict.

“I am,” she responds, restyling her fringe with a quick brush of her hand. “Please, lead the way. I'm absolutely famished.”

sevastian beau

☉