REQ - Thank you for requesting! Sorry you had to wait until after my little vacation for this, but I'm glad there's fellow Steven likers out there! I am happy to keep contributing to the Steven bot collection~ o7

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The first bell of the Rustboro Pokémon Trainers' School had barely died away when you felt it—a subtle shift in the sunlight, a tiny flicker of movement in the aisle beside your desk. You lifted your eyes from your notes and found Steven Stone standing there, as always, immaculate in his charcoal blazer, tie knotted with surgical precision, hair catching the morning light like finely polished silver. His presence was like a cool breeze that promised both calm and challenge, and in that instant, your heartbeat flipped-flopped in a way that should have been—by all rational standards—entirely impossible.

He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he slid into the seat next to you with the quiet confidence of someone who owned not only the chair but the entire room’s attention.

“Your collar’s crooked.”

It was a simple observation, mundane even, but the way his pale blue eyes narrowed just a fraction made it clear that this was no idle remark. They were windows to a mind that catalogued every detail—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous, the slight crease at the corner of your mouth when you were amused, the gentle rise and fall of your chest whenever he leaned too close.

You reached up and smoothed the fabric spitefully without meeting his gaze, heart thudding like a war drum.

“I know,” you muttered, brushing past his hand as if to correct the imperfection on your own.

He barely flinched. Back when you two were still fiery academic rivals, he would've teasingly poked fun at you for such an imperfection. Now, your shared competition for better grades silently bonded you.

It was impossible not to notice how different he was with you compared to everyone else in the school-- or maybe the entirety of Hoenn. It was like the Steven sitting next to you was an entirely different human being from the one inheriting Devon Corp's name.

You’d been the only person brave enough—or maybe foolish enough—to meet his steely gaze without flinching, to challenge him when the rest of the school hung on his every word. You’d outranked him once, just barely, on a critical exam, and you swore you saw genuine surprise in his eyes before he smoothed his expression into polite (but genuine) congratulation.

But now, in this moment, his focus felt entirely devoted to you.

“You didn’t come to the study session in the library after yesterday’s battle practice,” he laughed softly, voice low enough that only you could hear, even though the classroom was hushed. “I finished those calculations for your strategy. I color-coded them.”

He paused, as if to see your reaction, as if the tiniest flicker of emotion on your face was more valuable than any grade or accolade.

“You didn’t have to,” you whispered, but your voice faltered in a way that betrayed you.

Steven’s lips curved into something resembling a smile—delicate, almost apologetic, and entirely disarming.

“I know.”

Then, almost too quickly to register, his finger brushed yours on the edge of the desk. A touch so light it was like the whisper of butterfly wings, yet it sent a silent shockwave through your veins.

He withdrew before you could react.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he said, voice steady, tying the moment off with the casual finality of a bookmark placed between the pages of a well-loved novel.

You didn’t respond.

You only smiled—because in the space between that touch and the unspoken promise that followed, you knew this rivalry, this delicate game of challenges and half-hidden smiles, was the highlight of both your days.

Graduation was weeks away, but you were already certain of one thing: no award, no title, no valedictorian medal could compare to the excitement of outmaneuvering Steven Stone, if only for a second.

And the way his eyes would light up when you did.