DISCLAIMER: this was a dare. and i laughed for about fifty years after writing it. it's not supposed to be good okay.

Aside from the occasional wailing noise, the funeral of Samuel Oak was largely small and inoffensive.

Awkward is a word for it, maybe; creeping back into your hometown after being technically completely missing for a decade. For all Ash knew they could have filed countless missing person reports, jumped the gun and grieved his death prematurely - so much for no news is good news - but when he slid through the church door and took a seat in one of the vacant pews, the reaction told him otherwise, and it was bizarre for him. He seemed completely invisible, rather like he blended into the faded and greying old wood of the seats. Okay, maybe it was just tricky old time again; age beats the crap out of you, and maybe he wasn't too recognisable anymore. Not to mention he couldn't remember the last time he wore a suit - he was surprised it even fit him anymore. It was a little tight on the waist when he slumped onto his elbows, and he feared if he bent his arms too much, the seams would rupture. Okay, maybe it was just a little too small…

Maybe his mother would have looked at him if she weren't soaked up in alcohol near the back of the service. Maybe they had gathered before the funeral for a drink? Ash didn't know, he trundled into the town a good couple of hours late, then again he wasn't there to make up for lost time. Honestly? If the funeral hadn't presented itself to him with such inherent obligation, he wouldn't have thought of coming home at all. Tapping on his bristled chin, he bleakly stared at the casket without really paying attention to it - it was more like he was staring right through it, transparent ebony against a dull church wall. He hadn't even thought of home in years now. He'd been operating under a false identity in a faraway land out of pure impulse. He'd wonder why, but he wasn't too sure he'd care.

The wake was slightly less calm and more chaotic, but you can't expect things to stay tame under a mask of grief and an open bar on the side. Ash tucked himself away to one side of the room, completely unnoticed. He didn't talk to anyone, and nobody talked to him.

"I didn't think you'd turn up," well - all except for one person. And there was Ash, just trying to count the seconds before he could leave without a trace. Gary Oak stood across from him, as lanky and as lithe as he could - unfortunately - remember well. Ash afforded a testy glare over the lip of his glass.

"I didn't think I would either," he said.

"Y'know, I almost didn't recognise you," Gary admitted. His slender arms were loosely folded; long, pale hands cradling a tumbler of whatever whiskey he deigned well enough for him. "We all thought you died or something," the tone was slightly less than grim, in fact there was a certain melody to it that Ash didn't find so savoury. What was it… apathy? Whatever, Ash overlooked it. He couldn't help but notice that someone had grown up looking not too shabby. Was that bad of him?

"Not quite," he replied. His tired eyes lost contact with Gary's and absent-mindedly drifted off. He liked how Gary's suit tapered on his slender waist. "Nice t'see you guys rollin' out the red carpet for me, though, nice touch."

"Whatever, smartass, your mom pretty much already had your funeral," Gary was almost spitting now.

"Gee, slap my hand n' send me to my room," Ash said, rolling his eyes. "I mean I doubt that, she ain't exactly jumping into my arms in relief or anythin' like that."

"She's been drinking since 10am; she thinks she's at her knitting club right now."

"She knits now?"

"Yeah, she knitted— wh— no, stop changing the subject, asshole!"

Ash shrugged, a terse yet thick silence swallowing them up after. The lights outside had seemed to darken as the night rolled in, the bar seemed almost smaller. The expectant look on Gary's face hadn't changed, in fact it had gotten more severe, his pale, slender features contorting with a simmering anger he was only just keeping a lid on.

"Do you really not give a shit?" He said, "About any of this?"

"I dunno," Ash said around a mouthful of his drink. "D'you really give a shit? That I'm back?"

"Of course I do you fucking douchebag, the hell is wrong with you?"

Ash offered up the same little blasé shrug.

"I just haven't thought about home in a while," he admitted. "I left home the last time you saw me, dove off the rails for a little while, trained to be an Aura Guardian five years ago," he rattled away noncommittally. "Been spending some time in the Mediterranean - y'know, Italian chicks are great l—"

"Cut the crap, I don't wanna hear it," Gary seethed.

"Is that a little jealousy I can hear?" Ash asked with a smirk. He realised he needed to sort out his priorities, but that could wait. Man he's hot when he's mad. "You didn't even notice me roll into the funeral earlier."

"Of course I did, how could I miss that eyesore—"

"Ow, my feelings." Ash drawled.

"Whatever, man." Gary rolled his eyes, his defensively folded arms tightening.

"So you are jealous…"

"Wh— no! Don't be stupid!" If Ash didn't know any better, he'd say Gary was about one step away from throwing his drink on him. Gosh, what's gotten him so riled? Bad timing, maybe.

"Gee, I'm not so sure about that, I mean look at you," Ash said, taking a daring step closer to him. He had either grown a lot or Gary hadn't - they were almost eye-level now. "All mad after that thing about Italy…"

"I'm mad because you disappeared for ten years and nobody heard anything from you," Gary hissed. It was nice to see him flushing a deeper shade of red at least. His green eyes trembled subtly. Probably the suspected rage, but Ash could misconstrue things all he wanted if it got a rise out of his silly old rival, right?

"I guess this has nothing to do with what happened on the beach when we were 17," he sighed. "You're so easy to wind up, Gary," he said, smiling amiably. "So you missed me?"

Gary looked incredulous. "I—" and then he heaved a sigh, low and ragged. "You're an asshole, you know that right?"

"I'll take that as a yes,"

"You do that," Gary's eyebrows raised briefly, a curt and forceful nod in all but resignation. Pity Ash could read him like a book, even all these years later. He was probably still bitter about their last little clinch down on the south beach. And yes, Gary did miss him. Ash could pick out his white lies like they were painted in red on his forehead. There was a long, uninterrupted pause, Gary's gaze averted and still full of a rage he wasn't quite letting out. Ash gave him time, took it up watching his throat twitch.

He figured that since the last time they saw each other, and got drunk down on the beach together, he wouldn't really feel a thing about it now. That was water under the bridge, right? They were young, kinda wasted, and they only made out after all. Nothing huge. They're both twenty-seven years old now. Gary probably has a girl to squeeze somewhere by the bar. Ash wouldn't lie about it, though, that idea did make him burn with envy. Maybe it wasn't water under the bridge after all.

Outside, the neon signs of nightclubs out on the high street streamed down through a murky window, and reflected in Gary's green eyes. It reminded Ash of his sordid nights in Goldenrod, but now the memories left a rather bitter taste in the back of his throat.

"Yeah, I missed you," Gary finally spoke up, his resignation and quietness speaking all the volumes his anger never did. His shoulders had sank in some breed of defeat, and his head had sank even further.

"I missed you too."

Gary's head snapped up again, glaring. "Then why the fuck didn't you come home?" He hissed, jabbing a slender finger against Ash's broad chest. "Or call? Or send something— anything?!" He went on. "Y'know we could live without any of that because— oh I don't know, a jackass like you would have ended up on the news at least once—"

"No news is good news, right?"

"No!" Gary's voice took a turn for the sharper. "We thought you were dead— I thought you were dead, and after that time at the b—"

"There we go, back to the beach thing,"

"Why not?" Gary was looking more and more hapless by the second. "You left me high and dry, fuckface."

"Oh like it even meant anything to you," Ash rolled his eyes again. Surprisingly, he wasn't met with a look of submission. Gary stared at him, brows furrowed beneath his messy auburn hair, and his arms squeezed in a tight knot.

"You mean it wasn't anything to you?"

"I…" and finally, Ash faltered. He visibly sank, and for the first time all night, he actually looked like he regretted something. "I mean… I guess it was?"

"Then why did you go?"

"I don't know, okay? I just— I guess I just felt the need? I don't know!" Was that the truth? The more and more he thought about it, maybe it was. He didn't know why he needed to run off all the time. It was like a pathological urge buried deep in his mind. Wanderlust was one thing, but this was something else. He watched in silence as Gary's breathing evened, and Ash gave in to a subtle weakness. "Can we just… can we not talk about this? Right now?" Bit by bit, he was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic. Was Gary getting closer or was it just the room darkening around them?

"Fine, but I'm not dropping the other thing," so it was Gary getting closer. Ash stared across at him uneasily, waiting for all of the little gaps to close. He didn't feel Gary's lips on his, but he definitely felt something. Close-range breathing, tension you could cut clean with a knife. "Look, Ash, there's something I need to tell you… I wanted to tell you way back then but you didn't give me a chance…"

And then, without admitting a reply from him, Gary leant closer to Ash and said lowly. "I need about tree fiddy."

Tree fiddy.

Well it was about that time that Ash noticed that Gary Oak was actually eight storeys tall, and was actually a crustacean from the Palaeozoic era; the Loch Ness Monster!

And he said "Damn it, monster, get out of this bar, I ain't giving you no tree fiddy!"

God damn Loch Ness Monster got him again. This is the worst funeral wake ever.