RGBY.
Them thighs.
I'd cuddle up with her in a tent along Route 8, and we'd wake up the next morning and continue our pokemon adventure together. After we beat Saffron Gym, I'd propose to her, and we'd get married. The honeymoon would take place on the S.S. Anne, where we would dance into the wee-hours of the morning, then retire to our cabin to make sweet, passionate love for hours on end.
In the end, we'd grow old together in a small cabin outside Viridian Forest. Our children would grow up to be pokemon trainers, and our grandkids would spend the days being regaled about the stories of our budding romance in our teen years, and our triumph as a team.
And then I'd wake up alone in my tent on Route 8, clutching my pillow, tears in my eyes, with my Riolu looking at me with the saddest stare known to man. He feels my pain. He knows my struggle.
We pack up camp, and he walks alongside me, holding my hand as we make our way to Fuschia City. He knows my strength is fading, and my courage is waning. But he stands by my side regardless, because he's my pokemon. My companion. My friend.
