I don't know why I love writing angsty Pokéshipping so much. I just somehow don't want to see them happy (of course I do, haha, but... ANGST, you know?)

I hope that one day I will write a cute, fluffy, happy Pokéshipping fic. This is not one of them, but hey, hey, who doesn't LOVE an angsty romance? They're so fun to write! I absolutely love reading them too, so if ya'll have any angsty romances that you adore, note them down in a review (totally not a desperately obvious attempt at trying to get reviews, hahaha) or PM me!

(a review would be Godsend, though)

Misty's a pretty strong character, so I feel bad for always angstifying her in my fics to the point she's just plain pitiful, but uh... it's fun to write, so meh.

WARNING: 'Tis VERY dramatic. Like, extremely dramatic. If extreme drama isn't your cup of tea, don't read this.

Anywho, to the ones wishing to brave the stupidity and drama, read and PLEASE review; I want to hear your opinions. Did you like it? Dislike it? Is it the worst thing you have ever read? Do you sympathise with any of the characters? Was it cute (given that this is an angst, I'd be very worried if you thought their suffering was cute)? I don't mind what you have to say, so long as you say it! (Though, please refrain from monosyllabic reviews that don't relate to anything (e.g. "hi", "lol" and "no") unless you intentionally want me too seek you out and mentally scream at you for getting my hopes up.)

Slow Release

Ash goes down on one knee, a master-ball in his hands. Misty can't breathe, and—

—is her heart even beating at this point? Arceus, she is the most nervous and surpised she's ever been.

He clears his throat. "Misty Waterflower," he announces, shrugging off the stares, matching his eyes of saccharine promises glazed in honey and chocolate to hers of everlasting oceans. He opens the master-ball, and Misty's cheeks are as florid as fire.

Arceus, it's a ring. Dainty, and maybe not a diamond, but Misty doesn't suit diamonds anyway. Instead, embedded in the centre, is a single embellishment of frozen dew, crystalline and glistening under the sun.

"Ash," Misty murmurs, "Ash, what are you—"

"Misty Waterflower," Ash repeats, more resolute in spite of his reddening cheeks as he attempts to muster his courage, "will you please date me with the intention of marriage?"

And yes, they are only sixteen, and yes, they are too young to consider something as daunting as marriage, and yes, they are still immature, but Misty doesn't care about whatever the crowd's whispering.

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes!"

And before he can execute his childish victory pose, she kneels down and kisses him.

"I'm leaving, Misty."

Misty stops writing (the Gym reports aren't due for another two weeks, so they can wait anyway).

"Where are we going?" she asks, and he would smile if it weren't for her misconstrued belief.

"Not we," Ash mutters, heart breaking as he watches Misty's smile falter. "Just me."

"But haven't we always travelled together?" Misty reasons, gesturing with her hand to emphasise her point. "What's so different this time?"

"I..." Ash is trying to look for the right words, somewhere amidst the cacophony of her questions and the possible routes this conversation can go that his mind keeps conjuring up. He pulls his cap down, stares at her trainers, not her eyes.

Trainers. She always wears trainers. He doesn't think he's ever seen her without them. He doesn't think he's ever seen her in heels either. She doesn't like them. Too easy to stumble, she had told him. Too hard to run away. They're impractical.

"We said we'd pursue our dreams together, Ash," Misty presses, walking up to him, kneeling so he is no longer looking at her trainers but her eyes. He looks away anyway. "You can't just tear me away from the picture."

She sounds angry, she sounds hurt. He gulps.

"It's for our dreams, Mist," he says at last. "Just for a little while. I'm going to train up at Mt Silver and explore the regions to become stronger and complete my Pokédex."

"And me?"

"You're a Gym Leader, Mist; you'll get the opportunity to train with the Elite Four if you stay. That's what's best for your dream. I'm not that lucky, so Mt. Silver is the next best thing."

Misty eyes him for a long time, before finally giving in and placing her hands on her hips. "I guess that's a reason I can accept," she says, "but make sure you come back soon."

His face lights up. "Don't worry!" Ash laughs. "I will."

He is sobbing into her shoulder, and Misty swats him and reminds him that this was his idea in the first place. "Besides," she tells him, "it's not for that long, anyway. Time flies quickly, so we'll be back together before you know it."

"And we'll hold our wedding."

"Only when we both achieve our dreams." Misty laughs, not even bothering to comment that they'll probably be still too young to get married by the time he returns.

Five years later, she laughs at her naivety.

Twenty-one and still the fiancé of a man of whose condition she doesn't know. She didn't think it would take this long.

Twenty-three and she has achieved more than just her dream; she is now a member of the Elite Four. She has men falling at her feet, with promises to gift her diamond rings far more extravagant than the one already on her finger. Misty refuses them.

She's still waiting.

She is a woman of water, a heart always murmuring, always hungry for a name she doesn't want to say because if she does (even though it's a matter of when), she'll crumble all over again.

Emptiness is a paradox, Misty decides as she holds the sunset in her hands. If emptiness denotes nothing, then it's not possible to feel what one doesn't have. But she can feel this emptiness, his absence, every time she looks at the ring on her finger, every time she accidentally glances at his photograph that she was supposed to have stashed away somewhere.

How long has it been? So many years that Misty has lost count. She wonders whether he's grown a beard now (for the sake of playfully spiting her, because she once told him he would look dreadful with facial hair, and he responded with a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat), or if he has had that extremely delayed growth spurt yet, or if he's gained weight, or something.

Everything she doesn't know is killing her.

"For how long do you intend to love a man who never returns to you?" Daisy is fuming in the most benign way Misty can imagine. Her lips, ruby lined, furl and she settles beside her little sister. Her brows are lightly furrowed, her hand atop Misty's.

"As long as it takes," Misty replies, adamant, determined.

"I'm saying this because I care about you, baby sis," she says, "but your life is not worth throwing away all for some idiot who doesn't know how to value you. You have the potential to be one of the greatest water-type trainers ever, like you've always wanted, but you're wasting time waiting for him. He's not worth it, Misty."

But she's waited this long. If she stops, all her effort, all her patience, all her love would go in vain.

The click of her sister's heels is amplified in the silence Misty lies in.

What Daisy doesn't understand is that, when she's so far in, she can't let go.

(She's too scared to.)

He hasn't even sent her a single letter. Or a call, or a text, or anything. Even a word would do.

Misty is twenty-five years old and wondering whether the man she loves even exists.

Daisy is right.

Misty, twenty-seven and tired, throws everything away, far away. If she isn't important to him, then why on earth should she place his being on a pedestal? She is done.

Their story isn't complete, but who cares? Misty's writing a new one. And it starts in green eyes of a(nother) Pallet boy.

(But she doesn't throw away the ring.)

At first, she agrees to date him because he is everything Ash couldn't stand (that said, their rivalry was friendly; precious, even).

But later, she discovers his weird quirks, his admirable intelligence, his sensitivity, and she falls for him, and so when he proposes to her two years later, she says yes.

She doesn't regret it.

Misty will never love anyone quite as much as she loves Ash, and she knows that she can never stop loving him, but she needs to move on. Ash can't make her happy, but Gary can, and Gary does, and he is the one she wants to be with.

So of course she says yes, and she doesn't regret it.

(But she doesn't throw away the ring.)

Ash is too scared to talk to Misty.

He sees her on TV everywhere; she's a siren, a mermaid, with finesse unrivalled in water and a master of aquatic pokémon. She's a member of the Elite Four with longing clouding her eyes. She has achieved her dream, and now she's waiting for him.

But Ash? What is Ash? Ash is the boy unknown, a random, Pallet-born traveller who just can't win. And he's trying. He's been trying for so long that he's losing hope. Misty has achieved so much yet he has achieved nothing.

But he's still trying. He won't return to her until they are equals, until he has even a fraction of his dream in his grasp. What would the people say if Misty marries a man like him? A wanna-be Master who always loses? They would criticise her, criticise him, and Misty doesn't need that.

Misty deserves better.

And Ash won't stop trying until he is exactly that.

Five losses. Five. But it was all worth it because now— now, Ash is Champion of Alola. He's won the tournament.

He's won.

He heaves out a breath, wipes the sweat from his brow.

Ash Ketchum, twenty-nine years old, is excited to return home.

Ash Ketchum is a naive idiot of a moronic brat, is what she tells him. Except, this is not what she tells him. This is only what he wants to be told.

If there's a time Ash ever thought the truth to be painful, that time is now.

He doesn't remember Kanto ever feeling so cold.

She never wore high heels.

Too easy to stumble, she said. Too hard to run away.

So maybe it hurts a little more than it should, seeing her walk slowly towards him, red high heels impaling the snow (him).

Misty is not a coward anymore. She will not run, and if she stumbles, she will pick herself up (she has learnt this the hard way, from the boy who was never there to help her).

"Misty?" Ash says. There is uncertainty in his voice.

"Ash," Misty replies. Her voice exudes confidence.

He doesn't know what to say. What can he say? He eyes her heels, and his heart aches. "Heels?" The word comes out strained, but it finally comes out. "You never used to wear them."

"A good thirteen or fourteen years is enough to change someone, Ash."

He doesn't know what it is that embitters his heart; the fact that she has changed, matured, grown as a human ought to, or that he, himself, has remained as unevolved as ever, an anomalous constant stranded between those who stride forward at the same rate a clock ticks.

Either way, he feels like he has lost a home in her. And it's probably his fault, too, if he's the only one amongst everybody who hasn't changed, if he is the one rejecting time, if he honestly thought that Misty could wait and that everything would be the exact same.

And he still does honestly think that she is waiting and that everything can be the exact same. At least, he hopes he believes it. If he doesn't at least, then there will be nothing left to tie them together.

Foolish boy, grappling onto last straws, refusing to accept that they grew into strangers the way a child outgrows their oversized clothes (too fast).

"Misty," he breathes, matching his warm, chocolate gaze to her serene waters. He reaches for her hand.

It is when he finally grabs her hand that her heart lets go.

His fingers brush over the ring.

In the end, it is him who looks away.

"Ring," he manages to say, gulping. "It's not the—"

"I'm engaged," she breathes out.

At first, he is confused. He knows she's engaged. He practically proposed to her at sixteen.

Misty realises this, and he can feel her hands stiffen in his hold. She pulls them away. "I'm engaged," she repeats, more firmly, and Ash is about to comment but she cuts him off: "to Gary. I'm engaged to Gary, Ash."

He doesn't say anything, letting go of her hands almost immediately, ruffling his hair with one as the other falls limply to the side. His grin is too wide and too cheesy, and he doesn't look at her.

"Congrats, Mist!" he exclaims, almost choking on his excessive mirth and warmth. "Gary's sure to make you happy. He's a bit arrogant, but he's a big softie on the inside! Probably."

She looks horrified, brows knitted and eyes wide. "Ash—"

"I came back to tell you to move on, anyways," Ash lies, smiling so wide that his cheeks start to ache, "so that's good. You see, I was planning on leaving Kanto for good, and I wanted to say my final goodbyes to everybody. So this is good. Congratulations, and sorry for wasting thirteen years of your life."

Misty eyes him, her seas clouded with worry. She knows him, and she knows he is lying. She states her belief as if it is fact.

It is fact, but Ash denies it anyways, throwing Misty's words back at her:

"A good thirteen or fourteen years is enough to change someone, Mist," Ash says, before correcting himself quickly and continuing: "Misty. Maybe you don't know me as well as you used to, anymore."

This hurts her. Badly. Ash can see this. But he believes that this is for the better. Misty is still the Misty he fell in love with, and he can see that she still loves him, but in a way that hurts her (he can see it in the way she talks to him now, in her horror and shock and, dare he say it, disappointment). He can't keep holding her back. She is evolving, moving on, and he cannot be the one jeopardising her life and happiness.

So Ash needs to do this. Ash needs to cut all the strings that tie them together, Ash needs to make her hate him so that she can move on entirely with her life, without him as a constant shadow, and so that he is the only inflicted party when he turns his lie into a truth.

(And this is easier for him, too; it gives him a reason to never come back. He doesn't want to face his heartbreak head on because, contrary to belief, even he is not that strong.)

"What about Delia?" Tumultuous storms brew in her thrashing seas. Her fists clench. "She has been worried sick about you. Surely, you can't leave your own mother behind?"

Ash hadn't considered this. He gulps. His stupid lie has one too many flaws.

"I'll take her with me," he says, feeling the sweat trickle down his face.

"She's too sickly to travel, Ash."

Ah. He hates this. He doesn't respond.

Misty scoffs, cheeks turning red with anger. "You are so, fucking selfish, Ash Ketchum," she seethes. She digs through her pockets, producing the ring Ash had given her at sixteen. He tries not to react. She throws it at his feet. "Here," she hisses. "Have your ring back."

Then she storms away, never turning back to face him. She will never see Ash stare after her footsteps, and she will never see him collapse to the ground, and she will never see the Pallet boy cry as he picks up the ring.

This is for her sake. She can call him selfish all he likes. The more she hates him, the less he drags her down, the better it is for her future, and the better it is for him. He just wants what is best for her, and it's not him. Even if he has to sacrifice his mother, it's okay. Delia can learn to be happy with Misty and Gary, anyways. He wouldn't be able to keep her happy. This is also for her sake.

Ash laughs scornfully at himself.

Misty was right. He is selfish, and to top it off, he's a coward.

Ash is just plain pathetic.

In the end, he doesn't say goodbye to anybody. Not even his mother.

Especially not to this mother.

Ash knows Delia, and if he were to go over and say goodbye, she would undoubtedly beg to follow, disregarding her health all so she could be with him.

But Misty was right; Delia wouldn't last long if she were to travel with him. And Ash doesn't want to see her deteriorate further and risk her health for him.

Besides, Professor Oak, Gary and Misty are there. She'll learn to forget about her son, eventually. Hopefully.

This is all for the best.

(You are so, fucking selfish, Ash Ketchum.)

Before he leaves, he decides, abruptly, desperately, that he needs to see them all again before he goes.

He needs to see Misty, he needs to see his mother, and professor Oak, and even Gary.

He spies on the entire family from the bushes outside the church, and he melts and breaks all over again when he sees Misty walk along in her wedding dress.

She looks beautiful. Better yet, she looks happy.

Everybody does.

And Ash leaves as abruptly as he came; he doesn't want to see them exchange their vows. He's not as prepared as he thought he was.

He stumbles on his way to the ship, too tired to cry, too tired to do anything.

Ash doesn't know what on earth he's doing anymore. He has no aim, no direction, and all his dreams have crumbled.

Just where is he supposed to go?

(Perhaps he could reside in the summit of Mt. Silver, and watch the world mature and evolve whilst he remains as the damn anomalous constant that he is, still stuck with the same disposition he had at ten years old; and he would watch as the world forgets him with every passing dawn.)

Ash Ketchum is selfish, tired and lonely, clutching the ring in his pocket and wondering whether everyone is happy without him and guiltily praying that he is more important to them all than he thought, and that they are miserable without his presence.

Misty's words repeat in his head:

You are so, fucking selfish, Ash Ketchum.

He doesn't know how to make it stop.

He enters his cabin, and pulls the blankets over his head.

Ash never knew emptiness could feel so, so cold.

The end!

This has taken me months to write, purely because of the number of times I became demotivated to write this, so I apologise if that shows through in the writing. I had an idea, but I didn't know how to express it in a way that satisfied me. Buuut, I really wanted to finish this, so here I am! Sorry that you ended up with this dramatic stupidity.

Soz if the ending is super lazy. I'm God-awful at endings. But it's intentionally meant to be a little bleak, and hopefully, that came through.

So, most of the angst here was because of massive miscommunication issues, sort of, I think. Normally, that kind of thing is normally annoying to read, but I felt like it could work here. Maybe. I just feel like Ash is a miscommunication error in himself, to be honest. I just amplified this and his rash (and somewhat brash) decision-making to drive (?) this story.

So, yeah, Ash was very dramatic, haha. His decision may be a little (understatement) drastic, but when he's spent a good fourteen years trying to be someone worthy of an Elite Four member, to try and not drag her name through the mud (because society is very critical), coming back to the love of your life being engaged to somebody else is a little... heartbreaking, I guess? I dunno, he's always felt like an "all or nothing" kind of guy (so yeah, the rashness here).

Did any of it make sense? Because I feel like it may have gotten a tad bit messy and confusing from the middle onwards, especially with Ash's intentions. I'm generally awful at trying to express an idea coherently in writing (I'm a natural, rambling twit, so I'm almost always roundabout in the way I try to say things), so if you didn't understand anything, PM me, and I'll try to explain it to you.

If you've noticed any mistakes, please point them out! If you have suggestions for improvements, then brilliant! Review or PM me, and I'll happily take your constructive criticisms on board!

~Adieu!

X's and O's,

Liberty