For the longest time, Silver believed that friends were for the weak. Strong individuals didn’t need others weighing them down. A strong Pokémon trainer only needed himself, and he was sure he wasn’t weak.

But now, he was beginning to think he might be.

He sat still, scowling, as a fellow trainer applied a clean bandage to his arm. They weren’t friends per se, they were acquaintances. Sometimes, they would cross paths, fight, and then go their separate ways. That’s how it had been for months, and that’s how Silver liked it. Their strength made them stand out in his mind. It made them relevant to him, someone of importance.

This time, however, the trainer noticed his poorly bandaged arm while walking by on a lone route.

He’d gotten too rough while training with his Pokémon, and his Golbat had given him a nasty scratch. He’d pushed his team too hard. Again.

“You don’t have to do that,” he grumbled, halfheartedly trying to pull his arm away from the trainer, only to receive a sharp glare in return. Silver wilted under the trainer’s icy gaze, begrudgingly allowing them to finish.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but being fussed over like this felt kind of nice. The thought was horrifying, so he tried to push it out of his mind. He promised himself that he would leave as soon as they were done.

But when the trainer pulled back, Silver didn’t move. He sat there in the grass, just staring. “Don’t expect a ‘thank you’ from me,” he muttered, in a poor attempt to save face.