UPDATED VERSION!: why didn't anyone tell me this chapter got butchered by some weirdo upload or something? wellllll...fixed. now it should at least be legible. :)

disclaimer, which i regrettably forgot to add in the last chapter: i don't own pokemon. apologies go out to the beloved satoshi tajiri for forgetting to mention this. ;)

author's note: i'm deciding to change the rating on this to 'teen' because i don't think i'm going to go through with the initially intended raw, sheer, and gutsy pain i had planned for all the characters to endure. apologies also go out to whatever audience is following this story because of this.

Misty's blue backpack sat open on her bed as she searched frantically through her closet, tossing aside clothes that might be of interest in the grand finale of her closet excavation. Blurs of motley colors smeared past her blue walls– shirts, jeans, shorts, socks– cutting through the lovely sugar scent that masked her room and landing comfortably near, around, and, on a lucky shot, on her bed. I'll sort through it later, she had told herself. She was looking for one shirt in particular, a shirt she was sure would catch her eye the instant her eyes met it, even if it were to be in the peripheral of her vision. Casting more attire through the air, digging deeper into the depths of her unsorted, chaotic closet, she caught a glimpse of something a pallid shade of teal, something silken, something sleeveless...the item she had been searching for initially. She clutched at it and released it from the closets hold with a hard tug. It snapped back at her, the garment now limp in her grasp. Misty held the other strap up delicately, softly examining the turquoise tank top. Folding it over her arm, she walked slowly over to her bed, perching quietly on the edge of it. Her eyes trailed softly over the minor details of the tank top; it was a pastel turquoise hue, soft and wispy just like the sky on a breezy summer day. A delicate, tiny bow adorned the baby doll style material at the gathering right under the bosom, and a single row of little ruffles trailed daintily at the bottom seam of the shirts edge.

Misty remembered the last night she had worn it. It had also been the last time she had seen Ash, an entire year prior. She vacantly bundled the material into her tiny fists and brought it up to her face. She breathed in and a light gasp escaped her mouth–oh, those smells! Though ancient and tainted with the slightest scent of dusted closet, she knew those smells. A much less potent version of that night came rushing at her, breaching her nostrils. She smelled the faint wisps of buttered popcorn, and the sticky-sweet scent of candied apples accompanied soon after into the alluring potion. But, no, those were only undercurrents to the main flow of odor that tantalized her brain, teasing and pricking sharply at her growing nostalgia. The primary odors were sandalwood and a deep, somehow masculine vanilla, combined with dirt and holding, still, hints of peppermint and coffee and so many other scents. Misty was incorrect when she thought you couldn't shove the smells into a single word, because the word came abruptly to her mind.

The word was Ash.

A frustrated growl, almost feral, ripped through her vocal chords. Ash, Ash, Ash! Was it even healthy for her to be seeing him so suddenly? With only two days to sort through the memories she had so blatantly forced herself to ignore?

No. She didn't think it was healthy in the least. But she was going through with it, for Mrs. Ketchum. Whether or not she would even talk to Ash was still debatable, with the scale leaning far more towards the shut-up-and-get-out-of-there-as-soon-as-possible hemisphere of the seesaw. Her brow furrowed when she even attempted to think of words to say to him. Their last encounter left her too bewildered, her position with Ash in total chaos.

Total chaos...or total oblivion, she thought solemnly to herself.

Ash probably forgot entirely of their last meeting; it wasn't likely to hold much vitality in that thick head of his. She could understand why it wouldn't, though. With girls like Dawn and her glossy, long, royally blue hair and May with her angelic face, blue eyes beaming beautifully, she was positive Ash had classified Misty as unimportant. She didn't totally blame him.

Sucking in a breath through her gritted teeth, she sauntered to her closet, picking up the clothes she had thrown aside which somewhere in her dig she had decided were appropriate for the upcoming events. Gathering them, she folded them, and placed them in her bag. Misty folded the cyan top last, hugging it to her nose one final time and allowing herself to sink once more into the worldly aroma of the Cerulean County Carnival; into the sweet baked pastry of fried dough and the heavenly sugar-smell of cotton candy. Into the delightful smell of a crisp night sky, into that wooded yet sweet cologne of that raven-haired boy who seemed to cloud almost all rational thought in her psyche.

Misty pulled it from her face and delicately placed it into her bag.

Enough with the bullshit, Mist, get it together.

But even those commands from the harsher corridors of her mind brought back memories of him. 'Mist' had been his nickname for her. Go figure.

She knew to be able to get to Pallet Town without having some sort of panicked mental breakdown she was going to have to get her thoughts in order. And to do that, she was going to have to analyze that last night she and Ash were within each other's presence. She heaved a sigh out angrily in defeat, and crawled to the center of her bed, burying her head underneath a feather-stuffed pillow.

Where to begin....

Misty heard the faint, soprano squeals and giggles of her sisters in the bedroom next to her own. When the outburst seemed as if it had died out, she again lifted her mascara brush back up to her eyelashes, only to be again interrupted by a low murmur that sounded something along the lines of "Josh is like, totally going to be in love with you when he sees your, like, boobs in that shirt", which was then proceeded by another unified chorus of girlish didn't help that she wasn't exactly a master at the whole makeup thing, only wearing it on family holidays and days her sisters decided to experiment their own cosmetic skills on her.

She balled up her fist and slammed it into the wall in front of her.

"Will you guys just shut the hell up for two minutes, please?" she yelled furiously into her wall.

The room was silent for a minute, but she heard the thin walls betray her sisters and resonate a soft "Tch, like, what is her deal?", followed by a string of agreeing "yeah"s and "totally"s.

Misty took advantage of the rare silence and finished applying her makeup, gliding lip gloss over her lips and popping them satisfyingly once she was done.

She stood back from her mirror, doing one last self-examination. The top she wore was sleeveless, and though it clung only to her chest and was loose and flowing everywhere else, it had an elegant touch to it, the aquamarine bringing out the peachy blush in her cheeks, the bronze in her shoulders and face, the soft blue twinkle in her placed her hand on her hip, shifting her body and looking at her reflection over her shoulder. Her skinny jeans clung to her curved feminine hips, and her hair, finally long now after years of growing it out, cascaded into a curled waterfall of fire down her back. She turned back around, smoothing out her shirt, and grabbed her cellphone and cash. Placing it in her back pocket, Misty turned off the light in her room and shut her door quietly, hoping to not attract any attention from her siblings.

Sure, her sisters drove. Sure, they would've saved her a twenty minute walk. Sure, she would've arrived in style in their shiny new Camaro. But, alas, she decided to save the headache, the brain cells, and the sanity for the carnival that night. She slid down the stairs as quietly as she could, rushing through the battle room in the hopes that the sharp chlorine smell from the Gyms pool wouldn't cling to her. She snagged her sandals from in front of the door, pulled them on, and snuck out the door.

Misty rested her hands in her jean pockets, breathing in the frosty September air. The temperature cut into her bare arms almost too instantly, and she realized she should have grabbed a sweatshirt, but, avoiding both the possibility of her sisters catching and antagonizing her on her for once girly attire and the sheer impatience of not getting to fair grounds fast enough, she decided not to chance it.

The night was unbelievably clear and fresh, almost every star twinkling despite the harsh veil from the Cerulean City lights. The moon was full and round and freckles of existing craters could even be spotted upon further scrutiny.

Misty was lost in the stark beauty of the night sky, and almost too soon the atmosphere changed to that of a feverish, chaotic feel. The clean smell of ozone was replaced with that of the carnival and the frost gone with the warmth of baking foods and brushing bodies of bustling people, the glorious muteness now a rumbling mixture comparative to a school chorus, except with each person assigned to sing a different song at a different pitch at a different volume and with hundreds of more members than a school chorus would assign under normal circumstances. Whirling, blinking lights from the amusement rides flashed in her peripheral, streaking and whistling in their swiftness, screams melting together like molasses as the passengers of these rides exclaimed their terror.

Misty reached the barrier of the carnival, stepping from calm and serene into excited and electrified. She felt her blood run a bit quicker and her limbs lighten as the new aura settled into her bones. Looking around, her eyes met forty, maybe fifty others sets– blue, hazel, green, gray, even brown– but not the pair of eyes she was looking for. Just as she reached for her phone in her back pocket it buzzed, indicating a text message.

She pulled it out, flipping it open.

Where are you?

Misty's heart raced even more speedily as she looked at the sender's name on the screen. Looking at the rows of concession stands surrounding her, she chose the closest, a little tent labeled "Sean's Smoothies", and typed it back into her phone, sending the response back to him.

Eventually as Misty decided she must have looked very stupid standing there alone, her mind split between continuing the wait and wandering off on her own search. She was about to turn on her heel and walk off when she felt a warm pair of arms envelope her from behind, folding around her waist gently. If her nostrils hadn't immediately detected the soft notes of spiced vanilla and wooded sandalwood, whoever was holding her would've been greeted with a sharp kick to the crotch. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his barely-there prickle of five o'clock shadow brushing her arm, thick tufts of black hair tickling her cheek and neck. She felt his breath on her arm, masked in an odd but alluring mixture of chilly spearmint and somehow countered by the scent of a warm roast of caramel coffee. A chill ran down her neck, and before she let him have the chance to feel the pins of goose bumps run across her skin, she pulled his hands from her waist. The second she removed the embrace she missed it, craved it even, but self control was at the top of her priority list and she wouldn't let Ash's false show of affection touch her heart. She bubble wrapped her ribs back up, forcing back the choke of love she felt boil in her at his touch.

Sarcastic, mean stabs of humor always helped. She'd go with that route.

Turning around and looking up almost a foot to meet his gaze with a glare, she forced a witty smile on her lips and said, "You're lucky I could recognize your stench from a mile away Ketchum, otherwise you would've had my fist to your mouth in an instant."

Ash's eyes were a molten mocha, ablaze with some sort of emotion she couldn't decipher: he'd been wearing it a lot lately and it bugged her to no end that she couldn't read what it was that was on his mind. Tonight the look was even more sparkly, his eyes melting into a cocoa whirlpool of unknown emotion. He was grinning idiotically now, his arms withdrawn and behind his head, supporting it as he stood towering in front of her comfortably.

"Love ya too, Mist," he said, still smiling playfully, his eyes remaining softly on hers. The words stabbed a barbed dagger into her heart. She assumed it belonged to Cupid, that bastard. She brought up the will power to gag a throaty, disgusted heave of a sigh and, breaking the stare first, rolled her eyes dramatically.

Ash just laughed, his eyes never averting hers.

She averted his, however.

Misty hadn't noticed him at first, but Ash had brought Brock with him, as well. Brock stood there analytically, looking back and forth between Ash and Misty, weighing the amount of tension between the two and whether or not it was enough to tip the table into a fight. He decided it wasn't enough though, his muscles relaxing and his back straightening. He smiled at Misty and said, "Hey Misty, long time no see."

Misty skipped small talk and hugged him tightly, her words muffled in his chest.

"I haphn't theen you in forefer, Vrock!" she said through the material of his vest.

He hugged her back tightly, and they released each other a second after.

"Seriously, though, don't be a stranger. I know you're busy with the new married life and all"–Misty exaggerated the 'married life', making her tone around the words sound as if the idea of marriage was illogical and stupid–"but whenever you have a minute, stop by the Cerulean Gym so we can catch up!"

"Yeah, I definitely will Misty. I miss you. Maybe I'll take Julia down with me to introduce her to you. She's a real sweetheart, you know. I would've brought her tonight but she's working–a cavern collapsed on a family of Growlithe and she was called in on an emergency. I'm assuming you've met the nurse from Viridian City before?"

Misty nodded, remembering vaguely the time she was twelve and she, Ash, and Pikachu managed to blow up her Pokemon Center. Ash had only been ten then, newly setting out on his Pokemon adventure. Her eyes darted to him for a minute and he smirked, giving her a mischievous, knowing look. She mentally swore at herself for letting the heat run to her ears from that smile. Thank God it didn't reach her cheeks in time to give her away.

"Yeah, I've met her before," Misty responded, still nodding. "She seemed...nice. I'm happy for you, Brock. It's about time you've found yourself a good girl. All those years of chasing after Jennys and Joys finally rewarded you, eh?" She punched his arm playfully for emphasis.

Brock smiled, his heavily-lidded eyes glimmering.

"Yeah, I'm lucky. And everything I went through...everything I went through, I'd do it all again if it still meant winning her at the end. My Jules was worth everything."

Misty's eyes lit up.

"That's so romantic," she beamed.

Brock smiled, and looked as if he was suddenly brought back to reality, his eyes focusing and looking between Misty and Ash.

"So, uh, what's on the menu tonight?" Brock questioned, changing the subject.

Misty hadn't known either, and brought her gaze to Ash in response. It's funny how the situation worked out, Ash automatically re-becoming the leader again in minutes. Though their group had been separated for only five months and Ash and Misty for only a week, taking a break for Brock's new found life, it was as if Ash was composed by some form of omnipotent being to always be the leader among them. Misty figured it was some sort of radiation his DNA let off. She snorted at the theory.

"Come on guys, it's a fair! You can't think of anything to do?" Ash chuckled softly, his arms finally dropping from behind his head to his sides once more.

Misty looked around, taking in once more all the rides, all the concession stands, all the food.

"Rides?" Misty piped up, looking doubtfully between Ash and Brock.

"Ugh, Misty," Ash gargled, holding his stomach dramatically, "I'm so hungry though."

Misty hid her giggle with a glare, shoving his shoulders back with a light push.

"If you knew the answer then why'd you ask?" she interrogated angrily.

"Just testing your leadership skills, Mist. You gotta work on those, 'specially if you're still dreaming big on becoming the best water-type trainer ever."

Her glare hardened.

"Whatever, Ash."

Ash cut her off with a super-hero-ish pose and a point to the nearest fried dough stand.

"To the food!" Ash exclaimed, meandering off, Misty on his tail and Brock following shortly on hers.

They ordered their food, talk of the past, present, and future inheriting most of the conversation at the table between bites of warm fried dough. They joked, they argued, they laughed– just like old times. Misty felt her heart throb at the desire she suddenly felt to travel back in time to relive those days. She had took them for granted, no doubt. When Ash spoke of the future adventures he was planning on having beyond and afar, he spoke boldly in mountainous boasts, and though totally exaggerated (as she knew Brock could pick up on as well), she said nothing and instead used the opportunity to look at his nearly-mature face, his hardening jaw, his melted chocolate eyes, the soft curvature of his lips....

And even when he wasn't speaking and Brock instead was, she'd sneak peaks out of the corner of her eye and between coils of hair that fell loose from behind her ear, examining his profile, his responses, his nods and his expressions and even blinks. She was surprised to actually meet his gaze a few times when she looked at him. He smiled delicately at her when this happened, and she returned his smile with a dirty look. Classic Misty, she figured. Might as well give him what he expected.

The night finally started winding down, crowds dispersing and the buzz of chatter dying down to a mere whisper in comparison. Brock had just finished a heated argument with Ash about the effects of catnip being added into Pokemon food, Ash defending his point with facts Gary had handed to him the last time they met and Brock countering them with his own knowledge. At the end of it, Ash won, only because Brock knew a fight against the thick-headed boy would be entirely pointless.

Brock sighed heavily, sounding almost like a senior citizen, taking a glance at the watch circling his wrist.

"I'm going to go home and pass out though, breakfast tomorrow with Jules and the in-laws...," Brock trailed off lazily, a yawn shaking his body, "It was nice seeing the two of you again, though, really," he smiled kindheartedly, nodding in recognition at both Misty and Ash.

Ash and Misty said their goodbyes, and Brock departed from the table they were at.

It was just them. Misty shivered at the thought.

Ash noticed the display, and questioned softly, "Cold?"

Misty remembered that she hadn't grabbed her sweatshirt from the coat rack before she left.

"No," she responded stubbornly, but before she could say anything else, Ash smiled and got up from the table, taking off the royal blue zip-up hoodie he was wearing and gestured it towards Misty for her to take. When Misty shook her head in nonacceptance he rolled his eyes dramatically, snorting.

"You've always been so stubborn," and with that he draped it over her shoulders in the chair.

It was difficult to concentrate with his warmth, his cologne, his essence suddenly enveloping her. Every breath she took she realized she was inhaling him. She tried not to look too drugged as she spoke, taking in shallower breaths to try and cleanse her train of thought.

"Thanks," she muttered, and stood, slipping her arms into the too-long sleeves, rolling them up to her dainty wrists.

"So...what now?" she continued when he said nothing.

"You tell me, future-water-type-champion," he said, sticking his tongue out playfully.

Misty swirled on her ankle, looking at the closing concession stands and rides, the dying fair grounds.

"You wanna just...walk around for a bit? The carnival is dead. I bet they're gonna kick us out soon, anyways...," she drifted the sentence into silence, looking around at the sweeping carnies who, on occasion, would look up from their job and shoot them a dirty look that clearly read leave.

Ash shrugged, "Sure."

They walked aside each other in silence, leaving the fair, walking down an anonymous street in the darkness. The stars were exquisite, lighting the city and the very street they were walking on brilliantly. The world around them was shut-off and dim, but that's the way the world always was when she was with Ash. Even the crickets ceased their chimes of gossip and the wind its whistling cries.

Misty had her arms crossed over her chest, her head down and eyes watching the yellow double-lines which indicated the center of the lane. A small smile rested at the edge of her lips, though barely noticeable. She didn't mind the quiet, as long as Ash was by her side to endure it with her. That's the way it had always been: her going through hundreds of obstacles which she wasn't exactly the most in favor for, all just to remain in his company. Ash strolled quietly, his hands in his jeans pockets, looking down at the road. Misty shot inconspicuous glances at him through the corner of her eye. His jaw was tense and she saw his teeth digging into the soft tissue of his bottom lip in heavy concentration. His brow was furrowed and he looked almost as if he were in pain.

They continued walking, Misty starting to feel paranoid about his concentrated demeanor, when Ash alas broke the silence.

"Tonight was fun, huh?"

Misty responded with a faint mhm.

"Who'd have ever thought Brock would find a girl! I mean, our Brock!" Ash chuckled softly.

"Yeah, but...I'm happy for him. He deserves the best. Personally, I'm glad he found her," Misty pursed her lips to stifle a smile as she recalled how Brock's eyes glazed over when he spoke of this "Jules" woman. Misty had always been a sucker for any kind of romance, Brock's romance having no different effect on her mind. She genuinely thought it was adorable.

"Me too," Ash agreed while nodding.

"I'm envious of him, to be able to find that in another person," Misty confided, her voice weakening in volume. What she really had meant though was that she was envious of him for being able to find that in another person and have the feeling returned.

Ash said nothing.

She dared another quick glance at him through her eyelashes to see that the pained expression had returned to his face.

"Hey...are you alright, Ketchum?" Misty asked, her tone saturated in a concern she would've masked with sarcasm under normal circumstances, circumstances where he wasn't so indecipherable and maze-like. Ash's emotions could usually be read as clearly as a common recipe book, but whatever was brewing in his mind seemed to be some sort of venomous concoction, tainting his usual happy-go-lucky attitude with something more similar of a parent discovering their child had some incurable sickness. He looked depressed, the glimmer that had previously been building in his eyes demolished.

"I've just been thinking lately," he replied vaguely.

Silence once again glazed between them. When Misty realized he wasn't about to say more, she pressed, "About...?"

Ash looked at her now, a forced smile curving his lips up. It didn't touch his eyes, the shimmer still hibernating deep within him. Misty silently pleaded in her head for it to return.

"Nothing really," he said, his voice low.

Misty groaned, "Oh, come on Ash. Just spit it out already!"

He stopped walking then. She followed suit, discontinuing her steps on the yellow equators of the road. He continued staring at the ground, and now that they were facing each other, his thick fringe of his dark bang covered his eyes. She could still see his lips though, and observed that his teeth were still sawing into the soft tissue of them.

"You don't really...I mean...you don't...ugh, God I'm going to sound stupid–" he shook his head and a dark chuckle fell through his lips, "But...you don't really hate me, do you?"

Misty stared at him, a blank expression crossing her features. She wasn't expecting that. The question caught her off guard, and every response she'd formed in her head–I'm here for you Ash, or Just keep trying, Ash, or Don't give up, Ash, or Just leave me the hell alone and go find Dawn and May, maybe they can help you with your problems, Ash–none of them could even answer the question he shot at her. He kept his face down, his expression unreadable.

"Uh–" Misty cleared her throat stupidly, "Well...uhm...do I get three lifelines on this one?" she tried joking, to no avail as Ash remained quiet.

Finally, she came up with the best response she could: "I don't really get where you're going with this."

Ash looked up fiercely, a new flame in his eyes, though less brilliant than the glint he'd had previously that night.

"Of course you don't," he accused, his tone icy and his intense glare still colder.

Misty narrowed her eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" she spat vehemently, turning to him and shoving his shoulders back, hard. His mood swings were giving her whip flash. What came next? Joy? Anger? Fear? Sorrow? And yet none of those were the feelings she yearned for. Her heart was doing something similar to what the Titanic did on its final day of life: broke in two, and sank into the dark roiling depths of the frigid ocean. Tonight it was becoming painfully more obvious that her feelings would never be returned by this amazing boy, this boy who'd saved her on numerous occasions and ruefully held the metallic skeleton key to her heart. Especially now: was it contempt he was throwing at her? What did she even do to deserve that? How many more punches to the face could she take before her skull deteriorated?

She felt her cheeks boil and her eyes sting with the briny betrayal of tears. Misty fought them as hard as she could, using every bit of willpower her body could bring forth. They were on the verge of spilling, she felt it, and very soon it would be gravity betraying her as well.

If you cry Misty Waterflower, I will go home and jump you right off the roof of the gym. I will drown you in the pool, I will find someway to rev up a disturbed and well-deserved payback if you let those spill from your eyes. SUCK IT UP, NOW.

But as threatening as all those scenarios were, she couldn't control them. She felt them balancing precariously on her bottom lids, almost daring her to do or say one more thing wrong.

"My problem? Really, Mist? What is yours? That was the original question, after all," he said back angrily, the 'after all' speeding in mockingly for the finale.

They didn't recognize it, but they were both yelling now. The crickets had joined in the chaos, and the winds picked up viciously once more, gales whipping and howling and screaming past the two in the road.

"YOU!" Misty screamed, her strong wall of self control annihilated. The tears flooded over the red-rimmed barrier of her bottom lids. "YOU ASH KETCHUM! YOU ARE MY PROBLEM!"

She spun on her heel, her hair spinning like a wheel of fire as she turned. She was desperate to get away now, to wipe savagely at the traitor tears that painted her cheeks. Misty didn't want Ash to see them, for him to see that she did have weaknesses, weaknesses besides bugs or carrots or peppers. Real weaknesses. Especially since that weakness was him.

She stomped angrily down the street, tearing off his hoodie and throwing it into the road. She never looked back to see if he was following her, not that she expected him to, anyways. Her stomps quickly shifted to strides and then to a full out run. Dawn or May or some other beautiful, model-esque girl was probably awaiting him. Why waste the time on her? She felt fresh tears come in a new wave at those thoughts, those thoughts that had been pent up for years now. The self-hatred, the guilt, the sheer sorrow that enclosed on her now almost buckled her knees. She hated herself. She hated everything about herself. Why couldn't she just be good enough? For him?

That was the thought that finally broke her down, her knees weakening and causing her to stumble in her course, collapsing forward. She felt the abrasion between skin and tar on her knees, grating them, turning them tender and raw. Her tears turned into sobs now, loud and wet and pained, but not because of her knees. Not because of the fall. Not because of her over-exertion of energy because of the run. Her lungs felt like they were caving in, and she was finding it difficult to suck in a full breath of air. She closed her eyes, desolate and broken and agonized, trying to regulate her breathing, her tears, her cracking heart.

And suddenly, she heard soft strides come around from behind her, coming to a stop in front of her. She felt a gentle thumb swipe ever-so-softly across her cheek bone, and another hand pillowed against the bottom of her face, supporting it. Opening her eyes slowly, she took in the features one by one. The angled jaw, the prickles and pines of overdue facial hair, the lush, spongy lips, slightly ajar, the perfectly sloped nose, the ebony feathers of hair that aimlessly whipped out from beneath his red and white cap, angelically falling over his eyes and his defined, cut out cheeks, and finally, on his eyes, the spark there thawed, glittering and melting in that renewed undefined emotion. He was so beautiful. So beautiful. She felt her eyes well up once more at this, at knowing that this beautiful man would never, ever be hers.

He again wiped away at her tears lightly, bringing his forehead to hers, cooing a "shhh, it's okay, I'm sorry, shhh...I'm sorry...."

And before she knew what was happening, she felt his hand slightly tip her chin up, the other gently stroking down her face and to the hollow in her neck, gently cupping it. He tilted his head, and somewhere in the back of her frenzy of thoughts she knew she too tilted hers the opposite way. She felt his lips, soft and graceful and careful, graze against hers, softer than silk on glass. And maybe that was a proper analogy: he was silk: beautiful, elegant, perfect in his shining manner. And she was glass, ready to shatter with the slightest push. And she questioned later whether or not this had been the push that had indeed broken her, leaving her a glittering mess of vase on the floor, all joy spilled when the smash occurred, de-embedding itself from the ghosts of gleaming shards.

Ash pulled back, pulling her head into his chest, softly stroking her arms and her back, all the while cooing a melody of "shh"s and "I'm sorry"s into her ear. She could hear his heartbeat, hammering away rhythmically in a soft, calming ballad. Even his heart was perfect. Misty pushed her face further into his chest, her eyes closed, marveling at the beautiful psalm his heart sang. And with every beat, she felt herself falling further into the frightening depths of love.

But, alas, they couldn't sit in the middle of the road forever. She couldn't scare her sisters by coming home late, knees bloodied and eyes swollen. She couldn't keep Ash from May or Dawn or whoever was next. She couldn't be selfish and keep him to herself, she didn't deserve him–Misty, the damaged, scared little girl she that she was.

So she pulled herself from his embrace. The second his warmth and nurture left her she ached to return to it, but she didn't dare touch him. Him, Ash, the implicit Zeus of her broken being, and she, Tartarus, the desolate, deepest known part of the underworld.

She never returned her gaze to his, didn't dare be so bold as to get caught in the gorgeous web that was his eyes, and with a soft, "I have to go now. Goodbye, Ash", she turned and walked out of his life for an entire year.