The arena's view was quickly deadened. Its lights sacrificed for the sake of dramatic tension. Silencing hushes and whispers trickled through the stands - spreading curiosity to those who hadn't been paying attention, excitement to those who had, and uneasiness to those who had a fear of the dark. A thick ocean of mist crawled across the floor, climbing against the seatings, and kissing its occupiers with a cooling dew. The sounds of footsteps followed after, echoing loudly through well-buried and hidden microphones spread throughout the open field below. Its haunting vibrations gave chills to those already entranced by the awesome scene. Its cheesy effect made already bored viewers roll their eyes expectedly.
Scripted, yet amusing. Amusing, yet scripted. That was how it had felt. That was how the entire tournament had felt from the very beginning to this very moment.
Some of the viewing audience had taken it for face value and considered its fakeness as good fun. Few would take it seriously and find nothing false in its shallow depths. And most took it as unnecessary intermission for the action they paid to see. And it was payment that the 'unnecessary' was built for. Enjoyed or not, arena prices often grew with the production value.
For the sake of ratings and attendance, this arena had jumped on the entertainment train - adding special effects, sound systems, and novelty designs to each of its events. What flairs that had once been reserved for the unforgettable opulence of Pokémon City Gyms, was now spread throughout all stages, colloseums, rings, and, of course, arenas. Each place of battle, hall, contest, concert, and media production was now a specifically-themed, heavily-costumed palace of wonder and thrill.
Yet with the overabundance of such exciting sights and sounds come the fogs of desensitization, stagnation, and bland-sameness that would drown out the many who had once demanded for its copious supply. With time that had gone on for too long and exposure that had burned away all sense of decency, the rosy tint of the audiences' glasses faded away.
And this arena, this venue - covered in banners and flags to represent the City Gyms of Kanto in a medieval fashion - was not exempt from such things. It would take a great feat to salvage its respect from the rubble of shallowness and greed. A great feat - or something unexpected.
The footsteps continued. Though not in the timing it had meant to follow: A dark silhouette, lit only by the dim glows of the tunnel behind it, walked into the outer ring of the arena - awkwardly. Its steps were quick, yet halting, as if pushed into the area without their permission. The figure staggered in odd patterns, rotated constantly to view the scenery around it, and seemed keen in turning back. What purpose or desire it had, mattered comparably little to the audience. All that mattered was that the echoing sounds of footsteps were not matching in time with this figure's movements. This entire tournament was indeed scripted. And this one actor had failed to play the part.
Spotlights ripped through the darkness and blinded all who stared directly into its beams, including its target. A young man - of youthful yet maturing age - of average height; not stunningly tall nor questionably short - stood. His hand raised to the sky, attempting to shade his eyes from the harmfully bright lights that marked him as the center of all attention. His clothes were plain, if not loose on some ends and tight on others. They were the colors of primary - an old fashion considered obnoxious by those who had once worn the same. A baseball cap was found at the tip of his fingers; red and white were its shades, with an unfinished '4' as its central emblem. It was a collectible cap - rare, limited, discontinued - one that had only recently been brought back through cheap copies in semi-official stores and shops. The intricate placement of the emblem, along with the faded yet strong red colors, showed that it was no copy. An original. Collectors studying the figure gripped their hands tight in jealousy. Beyond that particular trait, the young man held nothing more of interest. Other than the oblivious expression on his face.
"Um -"
A blaring screech and hum burst from the large speakers above - forcing many to cover their ears. A few yelps of surprise and pain were loosed. Laughter followed suit - many gladdened to be forced out of their doldrums. Their laughs shrank to give way to the young man's clearing voice.
"S-Sorry..." he spoke.
The young man was adjusting a headset against his ear and mouth. Its awkward angle had revealed that it had only recently been forced onto his head. It was poorly fitted. He continued to fumble with its settings as he untucked a side of his shirt with one hand. The young man was a mess of nerves and unprofessionalism. Pitied chuckles and charmed giggles rippled through the crowds... forcing the young man to blush.
Realizing the pathetic perception he was falling into, he forced himself into character. He cleared his throat yet again. He straightened his back. He placed his cap onto his head. And pointed stiffly to the opposing side of the ring. "My name is Ash Ketchum!" he shouted with a tried serious tone, "You'll have to beat me to get your Rank!" And his voice echoed.
Lights fully flickered back into life. The arena's view expanded, re-revealing the flags and banners, the 'stone' 'towers', the 'steel' 'gates', and the once-interesting 'vine' decor that lined its edges. With these and far more, the main event had also returned to relevance: Another young man, though significantly younger in comparison, stood across the field. He was the challenger of the arena. And his amused, patient expression contorted to one of annoyed confusion upon hearing the name and purpose of the older man facing him. This confusion soon reflected on the majority of the audience.
'Ash Ketchum? Who's he?' some questioned.
'He holds a Rank here?' more questioned.
'Where did Misty run off to now?' all had wondered at the back of their minds.
The murmurs and whisperings grew. Dissatisfaction inflated. Sighs were traded. It was an old story with a common twist - and the most recent twist carried very little interest.
Misty, the official Rank Holder of this decorated arena, had gone missing once again. Without a replacement, the Ranking Summer Tourney would have been dragged to a halt. Luckily for the Battle Leagues of Kanto, a replacement was always found. Unluckily for the replacements, they had to play the part that the original Holder had abandoned: A scripted performer and Trainer, made to push the challenger to their very limits, yet allow them victory if the crowd favored them throughout the battle.
Of course, a performer charged with the title and responsibilities of a Rank Holder would be nothing without considerable renown or history. Being skilled, lucky, or powerful in the Ranking Tourneys meant little to the contenders and watchers. Notoriety held far more weight. 'I beat this Gym Leader', 'I beat this Contest Winner', 'I won against a celebrity' and more phrases belonging to likes of braggarts were the rewards of competing within the Ranking Tourneys. 'Rankings' offered recognition and connections in several fields - where Battle Tourneys and Contest Rings could only reward few glories in fewer fields. The Ranking Tourneys were, in essence, trials challenged solely for honor and pride. And neither would be found if the Rank Holder challenged was a no-name.
To make the young man currently substituting for a true Rank Holder worthy of his role, he had to market a name and face that held value to the audience. And so, he was 'fitted' into his old fashion - clothes similar to the ones that he had worn at the start of his journeys within the Kanto region - before he had left his home and made a true name for himself known throughout the world. 'Ash Ketchum', 'The Lightning Spark', 'The Boy Who Charmed Fate', 'The Pallet Legend', 'The Hero From Kanto'. No one had never heard of his name. No one was unfamiliar of his face. No one dared to underestimate him in a battle... in the old days.
It had been years since the boy named Ash had competed in the Pokémon Leagues. Unusual distractions, growing responsibilities, and the burdening desire for rest had kept him from ever re-entering the competitive tournaments until this very moment. And in the time he had spent in absentia, the world of Pokémon Battles had drastically changed. Old Gym Leaders were retired. New ones took their place. Famous cities had dropped in reputation and were forgotten. Small, formerly unknown towns grew in popularity and became limelight cities. Routes previously filled with a natural maze-like beauty had become straight-road highways littered with careless trash. And organizations that were once known as enemies of every region, had reinvented themselves as their allies in business and commerce. Standing at the foreground of these altered events, the grown figure named Ash Ketchum could only be seen as a trivial relic. In this new age, he had no name and no face. Only those who had been in direct contact with him could recall his forgotten identity.
And it was his buried legacy that forced him onto the arena now.
"I was just looking for Misty..." he sighed to himself.
"I was just looking for Misty..." his sigh echoed - his microphone still attached and working.
The echoing blunder caused Ash to blush again. The audience laughed at his misfortune. Embarrassed to the point of panic, he turned back towards the tunnel he had been thrown through and gestured for unseen attention. 'What am I supposed to do now?' he mouthed silently at the dark entrance and gave an exaggerated shrug.
'Just keep going!' a voice only he could hear answered back, 'You're doing good!'
He shook his head frantically. 'They don't even recognize me in this outfit. I feel ridiculous!'
'Whatever. Just call out your Pokémon and dazzle the crowd with a fun battle.'
'You know how long it's been since I've battled?'
'By the day. And I know for a fact you haven't lost your touch.'
'How would y-'
"Excuse me!" a lightly accented voice, similar to the native dialects of Unova, interrupted the silent conversation, "Are we going to battle now?" It was the young challenger. A Poké Ball was nervously rolled between his hands.
Ash faced his opponent, then swiftly turned back to the tunnel. A look of disappointment filled his features. Whoever he had been speaking to, was gone. And now he was left to tackle his situation alone. With a deep breath, he forced a determined smile on his lips and returned his attention to the young man. "Whenever you're ready." he said as he walked to the middle of the Holder's ringside.
The boy only grew more confused by the confident response. "Aren't you going to say what the rules are?"
Ash nearly tripped on himself. "Er..." He regained composure immediately. "A one-on-one. Your best against mine. Sound fair?"
"Sounds perfect." the boy responded with glee. He gripped the Poké Ball in his hands tightly. "By the way, what're you famous for? I need to know what kind of battle I'm looking forward to."
"I'm not famous for anything anymore, sadly. But if you want a title you can brag about taking, then one of them used to be..." Ash raised his hand to its furthest extension and snapped his fingers. A burst of light - brighter than the spotlights that had blinded him before - erupted in the sky above. Electricity hissed and popped through the air, biting and sizzling against the plastic rods that held the arena's conical ceilings in place. Hazardous currents traveled through every metal pole and shard, creating star-like patterns that converged into a single area. And at its center, hovered a small creature of faded yellows and marking reds. "The Thunder Storm." Ash breathed out the title with a dramatic tone. Reacting on cue, the creature hovering in place shot down in a fierce spear of lightning. It landed beside its human partner, loosing several more thousands of volts to create a tower of blinding electricity. The tower faded with a slow, humming pulse... revealing the inseparable duo, Ash Ketchum and Pikachu, ready for battle.
The audience roared in applause. It had been the first time in months that an amazing display in the arena was made without the use of special equipment or shoddy coordinations. What they had witnessed, what they had experienced, was the real thing. It was a dazzle and flair that only the Gym Leaders and Elite Fours of old could produce. It was not something created or prepared for the desire of popularity or increased sales. It was a true show of force - a symbol of who the Trainer was and what they had become a Trainer for. They did not know who Ash Ketchum was by name or title. But through this single spectacle, they had come to acknowledge everything about him that ever needed to be said.
"Give it all you've got!" Ash shouted in excitement.
"Try and keep up!" the challenger yelled in reflecting exhilaration, "Scolipede, let's go!"
"Pikachu, I choose you!"
"Please! It's not too difficult of a job. You're a natural. We'll pay you thirty-percent more. No, fifty-percent! If you want, we can even set you up for a trial contract. Two months. No, one month. Just one month is all we ask. Get a feel for it. If you don't like it, drop it and that's it. We'll stop bothering you afterwards. Does that sound good?"
"No, I-"
"One-hundred-percent raise, then! We'll pay you double what we paid her! And if you choose to keep working with us after the month, we'll put you on a Commissions contract with our branch of the League! We have several connections and-"
"I'm really sorry, but I can't!" Ash shoved the man's head through the slit and pressed the door to a closed lock. Only seconds of silence were allowed before knockings and muffled voices sounded against the wooden frame. Ash sighed heavily. He leaned against the vibrating door and slid to a seated position on the floor. "These people, I swear..."
"Well, you did give them a good show."
Ash looked up. Dim golden eyes were staring back at him. They belonged to a young woman, only two years junior to him. She was casually crouched on top of a kitchen counter. The kitchen was neither his nor hers, yet she had still taken off her shoes and let her bare toes grip around the marble surface. She loved feeling the smooth textures slide against the pads of her feet, and letting the cool temperature take away the warmth that had accumulated between each of her toes. It was a curious habit of hers. A personal one. One that she was only comfortable initiating around him. Outside of his private supervision, she was just an ordinary girl, lacking the knacks and interesting behaviors that made her a woman who loved to perch barefoot atop smooth, cold platforms. In the eyes of others, of friends and family, she was 'adjustedly plain' - a sort of 'plain' formed from the losing stalemate between her natural tomboyishness and her inner desires to become more feminine. In the eyes of others, of strangers and acquaintances, she was just a young woman named Angie. Of average age, height, personality, and history. Nothing special, in the most positive of ways.
In the eyes of Ash Ketchum, there was far more depth to her. She was quirky, encouraging, and fun to be around. Sensitive, aggressive, and far too naive. Too similar to him to be of help. Too different from him to be of use. Like a second left foot where a right one should be. Or a mirror that was at an odd and disorienting angle. In the eyes of Ash, Angie had far more flaws than anyone could have imagined, in the most positive of ways. They made her far from plain, and further from average. Her age told an interesting tale - her height strangely fitted her - her personality was just crazy enough - and her history was one he was proud to be a part of. Reflecting on their past together, Ash realized that she was amazingly different now - far more matured in heart and grown in appearance since he had first met her at the Summer Academy many years ago. Yet, at the same time, she hadn't changed at all. A paradox of perspectives. Back then, she was just his rival and friend. She still was. But now, her newest title seemed to change every concept and detail there was to her: She had become his fiancee.
Ash smiled at that knowledge.
"What's with that smile? Did you finally get the joke I made earlier?" she asked in a teasing tone - the same one she had used while speaking to him through the arena's tunnel.
He shook his head and his smile grew. "Just having fun."
"Well, that explains why you came in here. There's no other door out except for the one behind you. And there's a mob of administrators, managers, and reporters waiting to pounce on you once you go through it." she reminded, making the both of them over-aware of the whispering voices seeping through the door's cracks. "Having fun with them is good and all, but you really didn't think this through, did you?"
Ash shrugged. "Hey, I only went in here because you walked in here."
"I told you to just go and find Misty already. 'We'll meet at the parking lot', I said that, remember? You didn't have to follow me in here."
"I followed you in here because you seemed upset."
"I'm not upset. Just impatient. How long are we going to be here looking for her? How long are YOU going to be here looking for her?"
"Angie..."
"What? Wha'd I say?"
"Don't be jealous."
Her toes gripped tightly against the counter's edge. "Whoah! I'm not jealous! Unless I have a reason to be. And I don't. Do I?"
"You don't. But you still are." Ash sighed. "Look, I'm just inviting her to the wedding. That's it. Maybe catch up on a few things. There's nothing going on between us."
"I know. I trust you on that. I know she's an awesome friend and you two have a history together, so it'd be stupid not to invite her. But she didn't respond to your invitations, no phone calls, no e-mails, nothing. So we came here to drag an answer out of her, right? So go drag an answer out of her. I'm just impatiently waiting for you to get this over with. We've got other things to do at home, y'know?"
"See? That's what I mean."
"What?"
"You just said 'to get this over with'. You never say that unless you're upset at something. You're jealous."
"I am so not jealous!" Angie growled in irritation as she scratched at her head. "It's just... I'm upset that you're going through all this trouble for her and not being bothered by it at all. She wasn't at her house. She wasn't at her Gym. She wasn't with her sisters. She wasn't at any of the places you thought she'd be. You find out about this place, and you come searching for her in here. Then you get dragged into some circus-show of a competition because you showed up at the wrong place, at the wrong time. And not once have you complained about her! She's putting you through all this trouble and you don't even give a grumble! I've heard you sigh. I've heard you groan. I've heard you mutter. But never was it against her. It's always about what's happening to you. Meanwhile, I'm cussing up a storm about her whenever we have to leave a place empty-handed!"
"Maybe you're just complaining enough for the both of us?"
"Yeah, me and the entire friggin' world! The people watching you battle were complaining about her. That kid you fought was complaining about her. Her sisters, her friends, her manager: Everyone's been complaining about her! And they had a right to. But you, even though you have the most to complain about, with her never answering your calls and texts, day and night, day and night, knowing full well that she got your messages but she's giving you a cold shoulder for no reason whatsoever, aren't even slightly annoyed at her! Why? You complain about me. You complain about your mom. You complain about everyone like any normal person does. But not her!" Her foot stomped hard against the marble. A light crack was heard. The two quickly looked around to find where the damage had been done. None could be found. She sighed with faint relief... before returning to her worries. "So yeah... I guess I am jealous.
"Misty's getting special treatment. You're forgiving her for outrageous things for reasons I don't know about, and I'm too scared to know about. I don't want you to tell me. I just want to trust you. But it's hard for me. It's hard for me to sit at the sidelines and watch my husband-to-be crossing seas and climbing mountains for a girl who obviously doesn't want anything to do with him anymore... Is she mad at you? Is that why she's avoiding you? Or is it something else? I just get this feeling in my gut. A sick feeling. I don't think there's nothing between you two. I believe it when you say it. But it takes two to tango, Ash. And I don't think she's done dancing with you..."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Which was soon broken by a light knock on the door.
"Ash? Are you in there?"
The uncomfortable silence lodged itself in both Angie and Ash's throats. They found themselves unwilling to speak, as the voice on the other side of the door had belonged to the subject of their worries.
"It's me, Misty... I... uh... It's okay. I scared my manager off. No one's here now. You mind opening up?"
Ash eyed Angie in bewilderment. His nervous facial expression silently spoke his question, 'What should I do?'
His fiancee only turned away in response. 'Do whatever you want.' her frowning lips made her thoughts clear. Tears filling the edge of her eyes punctuated an entirely different message.
Ash quickly pushed himself off the floor and reached his arm out. It was halted in place by her firm grip.
'I trust you.' she voicelessly mouthed, her depressing features turning strong and serious, 'You don't need to wipe away my tears, because these tears are unfounded. Right? I'm just being stupidly jealous and crazy. Don't pay it any mind.'
'Anj...'
She sighed. Her hand let go of his and she turned to face him. The moisture in her eyes were wiped clean with her forearm. 'I'm not asking for pity. I'm asking for you to prove to me that I'm just being stupid right now. You can talk to her in private. I'll leave the room. Just give me a sec to put my shoes back on... And greet her while you're at it.' her last words were spoken in whisper. With a nod, she pushed him away from her and hopped off the counter.
Ash patted her back in comradery, immensely touched and thankful for her trust in him. A pat was all she would have wanted. 'We're partners first. Lovers second. Remember that.' is what she had told him many arguments before, and he remembered it always. He blinked his eyes clean of any arriving tears before turning towards the door and unlocking it. Stiff pressure at the knob made it clear that the person on the other side was keen on letting themselves in. With the bolt lock disabled, the knob shifted firmly, and the door slowly creaked open.
Orange. The color of timeless memories. Of countless changes and infinite possibilites. It was the color of her hair. And seeing its specific, unforgettable shade always gave Ash an intense sense of nostalgia. Her hair smelled the same. Or rather, the memory of it did. Another scent was fighting for his attention - one far less important. Perfume. A new one. One she never wore before. The door opened further. Green eyes. The color of emerald stones. Or of a hidden lake trapped within a beautiful forest. They were always expressive. Always communicating hidden intentions. And at this moment, they expressed forced-courage. 'What am I doing? What am I doing?' her eyes cried out, but her brows pressed down to silence them. "Ash..." she began to speak. "O-Oh. Hello." her tone changed.
Angie, finished tying only one of her attached shoes, had walked up to the door and stepped between the two reunited friends. "Misty." she greeted with a nod, "We've been looking everywhere for you."
"Oh. I'm terribly sorry." Misty's voice took on the tone of a mature businesswoman, one that Ash had never heard before, "I was caught up with a few promotions back at the Cerulean Sky Mall. The one recently built down the Cloyster Drive. It's a lovely place, but a bit too crowded for me. Ah, where are my manners? My name's Misty. Of the Cerulean City Gym. You must be Angie. It's a pleasure to meet you. Ash has said a lot of amazing things about you."
"Did he? Was that before or after you started ignoring his calls?" she coldly responded, her eyes refusing to meet with hers.
Misty seemed comfortable with the alienating treatment, and continued to speak, "Oh no. Did he call recently? My phone is back with my Agent. I've been getting call after call from some Contest Halls that I've already said 'No' to, you see. And I got so tired of them that I left all my phone dealings with my Agent. I apologize if he hasn't answered any of the -" A loud song cut off her words. It was coming from her pocket. "Ah. Um. That's my other -"
Angie held up her own cellphone, showing the name of the outgoing call: 'Misty'. Her gesture quieted the Gym Leader into an embarrassed frown. "With all the chasing you had us do today, the least you could do is hold back on the fake excuses. ... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get a drink. At the fifth floor. Without the elevator. You'll have plenty of time to talk and catch up and whatever else you wanted to do while I'm gone. You can give me any half-hearted 'congratulations' and-or complaints slash insults when I get back. Until then, please don't waste my fiance's time with any lies. He doesn't deserve that." She gave one last nod, walked past her, and disappeared into the hallway.
The door shut on its own.
"Coffee?" Misty offered to pour the rest of the pot into an empty mug. Ash shook his head. He never cared for coffee's strange flavor.
Misty sat herself on the kitchen counter, the exact spot where Angie had rubbed her feet against just minutes before, and sipped from her own mug. The coffee she drank gave off a soothing caramel aroma, which spread into thin, therapeutic puffs as her nostrils breathed against its warm liquids. Her lips barely made a sound - trained to never show distracting mannerisms around anyone who watched her eat. As she placed her cup down, she straightened herself to a perfect posture - yet laxed into a slightly alluring pose shortly after. She held no motives in her movements. None meant to impress or tempt the young man across from her. Like how she drank her coffee without a sound, this idiosyncrasy was trained into her for the sake of her appearance towards and acceptance from her peers. Her entire propriety had been molded into a perfect balance of maturity and professionalism, with a subtle layer of knowing dominance. Added with the fading scent of her coffee and her ensemble of business-appropriate fashion and cosmetics, Misty had taken on the complete essence of a proper, respectable, successful adult. And it had suited her in many ways.
Ash quietly admitted to himself that he didn't care for the 'many ways', as he drank from his box of fruit punch. He was completely aware that his still-costumed appearance and immature tendencies made him seem jealously foolish by comparison, but he considered himself to be correct in this distaste - when Misty was involved, at least. When her character came to mind, Ash had always preferred the honest, simple, and childish side of her. But that side of Misty rarely ever showed itself these days - and in the days before. Since the start of their history together, the orange-haired and green-eyed girl had always strived to become more of an 'adult'. Even as a child, she wished to be seen as beautiful through the eyes of the mature and experienced, be taken seriously in the most professional of sense, live in the luxuries earned from a truly disciplined lifestyle, and to 'grow' in the 'subjects' that ladies were always expected to excel in. The life and rewards of a child were not for her - and she pushed herself to leave it as soon as possible.
Now, sitting within a short distance of a woman that looked older than him by at least a decade, Ash had come to realize that Misty had greatly succeeded in her wishes. The woman in front of him now was indeed beautiful, professional, successful, and 'well-developed'. She had become everything she had ever wanted to be - everything she had ever strived to be. And yet...
"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked her in interest.
"H-Huh?" Misty's superior look broke momentarily. "I thought you were the one looking for me, Ash."
"I was. But then you asked if you could come in here. I assumed it's because you wanted to speak to me?" Ash tried his best to change his casual way of talking into that of a 'professional adult' - in an attempt to be seen as an equal. It was a failing attempt.
The young man's loose grasp of the concepts of 'maturity' and 'equality' nearly made Misty smile. In pity or in humor. Perhaps both. But her mind left the curious topic behind in order to focus on the one she faced now. What that was, specifically, she failed to recall. The intriguing circumstance she found herself in now - where she was finally alone in a small room with Ash, speaking to him directly in-person, in private - had muddled her mind with several half-thought questions and blurred responses. She could make no sense of her own concerns now that she was here - in a situation she had secretly been wanting for weeks. The realization made her stomach spin. Nervous. She was nervous. "Y-Yeah... Um... Honestly, I forgot what I was going to say. Or if I really had anything to say, that is..." she answered him with a fading tone.
"Oh... So, um..." his voice trailed away along with hers. He realized he was instinctively copying how she spoke now. Though he wasn't entirely sure what the true reasoning behind the mimicry was. It had felt as if his real intentions were beyond the concern of 'being seen and treated as an equal'. But what they were, remained hidden even to him. The only thing he could do was continue the conversation in the most natural sequence. A subject came to mind. One that had been his sole purpose in searching for her. "Did you get my e-mail?" he asked in a volume louder and in a tone happier than he had intended.
She nodded solemnly, unaffected by his outburst of friendly energy. "All ten of them. Just today. On all three accounts. And the six voice mails. Just today. And the thirty or so texts - most of them came as half-finished copies, by the way. Even four of the invitation letters. Just this week. And my sisters kept bugging me about it too, of course. After they started getting calls from you and Angie. Yeah. Yeah, I received your e-mail."
Her counted answer caused Ash to blush in embarrassment. He sounded like an absolute stalker. "Ugh. Sorry. I wasn't sure if you were actually getting the messages, so I kept -"
"You don't take a hint very well, do you?"
It was a blunt question, made to strike him hard in the ribs to make him shut up. And it made him smile. This was the Misty he knew - the one he had been wanting to speak to again after all these years. "You could have just told me 'No', y'know?" His friendly tone returned, though it was intentional this time around.
"It's not that I didn't want to go." she responded with a sigh. "I love weddings. I just... didn't really want to see you get married, is all."
"Don't like me getting ahead of you?"
Misty frowned and her twitched. "Not that." She kicked her foot out, letting her high heel fly from her ankle and land across Ash's face. "... Stupid. How long are you planning to play dumb?"
Ash peeled the heel's straps from his cap and set it on the counter beside her. His own frown responded to hers. "Like I would play dumb about this." he said in tired seriousness, "I just wanted to avoid saying the wrong thing. Nothing wrong with friendly banter. Especially since we haven't seen each other in so long."
"So you want to keep playing dumb to act smart. A bit redundant, don't you think?"
"You're one to talk. You've been avoiding me all day just so you wouldn't accidentally say something unprofessional or rude to my face."
"Or maybe I didn't want to hurt your feelings in front of your fiancee."
"Or maybe you didn't want to hurt your own feelings in front of me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
Their eyes broke away as they sighed simultaneously. They were having an argument. One they didn't care to finish. Neither of their hearts were intent on its victory - as the battle held between them was leaning in the wrong direction. Ash was winning. Misty was losing. Every argument they had as children always held the opposite balance; with Ash as the loser by default, and Misty as the stubborn victor. Now, and in every argument they had fought in the last few years: Ash was always the clear, logical winner. And Misty would win only through allowance.
So many things had changed drastically between them during the years they had been apart. Or rather: Misty had.
"I saw Brock the other day..." Ash mentioned in the silence. He played with a Poké Ball in his pocket, shrinking and expanding its size in the hopes to add another noise to the stiffening quiet. The last thing he had wanted was for their meeting to end in discomforting and irritated quiet.
"Oh yeah? How was he?" Misty asked in whisper as she pushed herself away from the marble counter and pulled up a seat next to her childhood friend. Her hand held his - preventing him from playing with the device in his pocket. She knew well that it was one of his many ways of making him seem as the more irresponsible listener - to give her a chance at winning the argument with a lecture. She didn't want that. Not anymore. "Is... Is he still taking care of his brothers and sisters?" her voice was tense, slightly breaking. A pain was striking at her chest, and it grew stronger the longer his hand was held in hers. It was an addicting pain. Her hand gripped tighter to poison herself in its sensation.
"No, but yes... He's taking care of a few of their kids now. They're still completely dependent on him, even as adults."
"Well, that's what he gets for spoiling them. Since he spoiled them too much with a happy life, they didn't know what to do with themselves without him. Even as an adult... You get all the independence, but you break yourself away from that safety. And you'll always want to go back."
"But if they keep depending on him, they won't ever get to achieve their own dreams."
Misty pressed her forehead hard against Ash's shoulder, breathing heavily to stop the tears forming at her eyes. "Sometimes..." she swallowed hard to hide the cracking tone of her voice, "Sometimes when you get your hands on your dreams, you realize it was just something so stupid. So trivial. That it's only satisfying when you're not thinking about it. But when you really look at it, honestly look at it, and remember everything you went through to get to it, you begin to realize that you missed out on something even better than that dream. But you were just too busy sleeping to see it sitting next to you all that time."
Ash was shaking. The hands gripped tightly to his sleeve were shaking him. The head firmly pressed to his shoulder was shaking him. The young woman that he had known as his best friend and his first companion, was shaking immensely. Her spirit was shaking to the point of shattering. "I..." Ash closed his eyes and exhaled. A hundred thoughts ran through his mind and beat against his heart. He could only listen to one of them at a time, and he had no time to listen to more than one. Whichever one he chose to give audience to, would decide the end of this conversation - and the final outcome of their relationship from this moment on.
"I miss you too." he spoke the words of the first and last thought. They were the best and worst words he could have ever said.
Misty shattered entirely. Words of her own tried to form a response, but they only came out as loud wails. She sobbed and screamed into his shoulder, clawing at his body as the pain in her chest overwhelmed her senses. There was nothing left for her. No reason remained for her to lie, to hold a false sense of maturity, to pretend that she had ever outgrown the boy who had stolen her heart at a very young age - who still, to this very day, cradled her heart in his hands t with tender care and attention, even though he no longer had room or reason to carry it as a precious treasure.
"Don't -!" she cried, "Don't go! Don't -! NO!" They were the only coherent words she could say. The only words she could ever repeat in this state. And the only words she had meant since the years she had grown into an 'adult'. Age differences, times since past, and superficial impressions no longer mattered. Ash was leaving. He had left countless times before, on countless adventures. He had stood beside strangers she had never come to know, and partnered with several other women who had also considered him as more than just a friend. But he was never going anywhere, she had thought. Ash would come, Ash would go, but he always came back to her. Through a visit, a call, a letter, or in other ways far more amusing. And when he would come back, she would see that he hadn't changed at all. She would smile, he would smile, and they would have fun again - like they used to, like they always had.
But he was leaving now. Truly leaving. He was off to marry some girl she had only heard about in letters and phone calls. The only girl to ever have the guts to ask him out directly. The only one to ever make him consider them as more than just a friend. One that she had once worried over, fearing she would be the one to take Ash away - but tossed aside such worries when Ash still sent her the same letters, gave the same calls, planned for the same visits, the same vacations. He was never going anywhere, no matter what had happened, or whoever came along, she had always - always thought. He would always be Ash. The energetic, naive, competitive boy that was just a passing fancy for her. She was convinced that was all he ever was and ever could be. Yet he proved her wrong.
Through his most recent letters, voice mails, e-mails, and texts, Ash had shown he could be someone different. A caring, and loving husband. Someone who was willing to admit he was wrong when he was wrong - who was willing to discipline himself in order to protect and provide for the one he cared for - and who was genuinely attentive and romantic towards the person he loved. With every word she read and heard from him, she felt betrayed. A stabbing ache at her heart. She felt as if she was fooled into thinking he could never be those things. She felt as if she had been blinded by his patterns for years while he went and showed his true self to some random girl he had met at a pit stop between his real adventures. She felt hurt that he had never given her the same chance to see that side of him. When she was sure that she, of all people, should have been the very first one to ever see him in that light. And yet...
Yet, over time - through hours, days, and weeks - she came to realize that he had never hidden anything from her. Ash Ketchum had always been that way. He had shown humility in his losses, discipline and protection over his Pokémon, and complete care for every true friend he had made along the way. The Ash Ketchum she had read and heard about in the newest letters was always right in front of her. She had just prevented herself from seeing him, so she could move on with her own life. But the last thing she ever wanted, the greatest of all fears she had ever come to know, was to see him to move on with his own.
"I'm not going anywhere." he whispered into her ear, "I'm not going anywhere."
Ash and Angie boarded the plane that would take them home. They gave one last wave in the direction of the airport terminal they assumed Misty to be in, before turning towards their aisle and seating themselves accordingly. Their flight was smooth, yet filled with buzzing interest. They had bickered over who deserved the window seat in its start, forgot about its importance halfway through, spoke with passengers and flight attendants who had recognized Ash in the Ranking Battle he had won, panicked in their frantic attempts to keep Pikachu hidden in one of their duffle bags so as to not pay for an extra ticket, joked and laughed about the events that had happened throughout the day, watched an in-flight movie starring an old friend of Ash's named Duplica, and at its end - looked over what souvenirs they had bought, been given, and scrounged in their time in Cerulean City.
The aloof Gym Leader and Rank Holder of Cerulean, Misty, was not going to be attending the wedding of Ash and Angie Ketchum. Nor did she have any plans to congratulate them.
Instead, as her only proof of her acceptance of their marriage, she had gifted them two tickets to a luxury cruise line - one that traveled from Kanto to Johto, and every island in between. The couple, who have been known to find themselves financially burdened even in the face of cheap bus prices, had accepted the expensive gift graciously. She saw them off to their departure, but never mentioned more than a few words towards the bride-to-be. Her only encouraging words were, 'Give me time.'
'Give me time.' were her last words towards Angie. And 'Give me time.' were the first honest words she had said to Ash in years.
'Give me time.' she had said to him, with her tears dried out and her voice hoarse. A smile of sadness and happiness, genuine in both emotions, creasing her face. 'I just can't see you getting married right now. I just can't see you in that way. That's not who you are to me. To me, you're still the boy I met a long time ago. The one who owed me a bike, and who owed me so much more when he finally repaid me. I can see how you've changed, and I can see how you're more than just that image I have in my head of you. But I haven't gotten to actually know you in that way. Give me a second chance to get to know you - the real you. And give me more time to understand who you are to me. Until then, it'd be disrespectful for me to attend a wedding that I can't wrap my head around. I'd be lying to myself if I smiled during your celebration. I'd be lying to both you and your bride. And that would be cruel of me. And it would be cruel of me to be honest in trying to hold you back. So... Don't sign me up for any reservations. I've already tossed out the RSVPs. Don't even think I'm attending it in spirit. Because I'm not. I'm probably just going to be sitting in a corner looking through the old letters you sent me. That's what I should be doing then... spending time getting to know you all over again.'
She had gently slid her fingers between his and clasped them closed. Both their cheeks were warm. Her voice had hiccuped oddly - halfway between an endearing laugh and a mournful sob. No tears were left in her eyes. Only her deep gaze she reserved just for him. 'Ash... Let's spend more time together. Let's talk to each other more. I want us to be closer. In what way, I don't know yet. But maybe, once all this is over, I can accept that you're married... that you truly love that girl... and that you two make a wonderful couple that I would never dream of breaking apart. Or maybe I'd just end being jealous and keep telling you every day to 'get a divorce already'. Either way, in any way we can imagine, in ways I can't even fathom, I just want to be with you more. Not as a friend or as an acquaintance. But as Misty. And you can be Ash. And we can just be who we are to each other. And just be with each other. No more lies or excuses between us. None of that. I want us to have a clear picture of each other. How it should have been from the very beginning. A fresh start, but on the right foot this time. We won't split up and move on our own anymore. Because where I want to end up is by your side. Growing old and staying young beside you. That's where I always felt most at home. I just... I just want to go home. That's all I really want. Is that okay?'
At the year's end, Misty would move away from her homecity of Cerulean and purchase a large house in the smaller town of Solaceon. There, she would reunite with a young man named Ash Ketchum. He and his wife ran a modest Nursery for Pokémon of all shapes and sizes near the hills. It was a business that had more than a fair amount of customers - many of them arriving just to meet Ash, who had been become popular with the new generation of Pokémon Trainers for his stories. When he had time between work, and time reserved away from his old tales, he would spend it entering small tournaments and exploring places people rarely cared to look through. No matter where he went or what he did, he would always find adventure. And beside him, through the thick and thin, would be his ever-loyal wife Angie, his ever-trustful Pokémon Pikachu, and his always-nagging, always-lecturing friend Misty.
In the quiet town of Solaceon, these four lived every day to its fullest. And after each day was over, they would return home.
Author's Note: Greetings everyone. I apologize for my long, long absence. Things in my life, of massive and tiny, have dragged me kicking and screaming from my writing. But fear not, I have returned. And ready to return to my writing, precisely where I had left off. I wrote this little one-er for the sake of getting back into the flow of writing styles - so please excuse its rather all-over-the-place feel. Now's the part where I say: Sorry, but I have no plans of continuing this little oneshot. When I write a one-er, I leave it at that. But that doesn't mean I have no interest in writing future works of similar coupledoms and situations. For now, I thank you for reading this warm-up and for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy my upcoming uploads. Sincerest, Niner.