HELLO! If you've read the original first chapter, I'll just let you know that I made some minor changes to the first chapter (just changing some adverbs, moving some commas around, blah blah)...nothing important, though. Er, I hope I didn't make any major changes and forget about it. Hahaha.

OKAY COMMENCE STORY


Ash paced around his hotel room, pausing only to look out the window. The sky was seemed suddenly full with grey clouds.

After hearing her voice (even if it was just an annoyed "hello") had made part of—well, okay, most of him want to walk all the damn way to Misty's door and sweep the girl into his arms with a brilliant kiss.
Then the smaller part of him wanted to walk to the nearest pub and drink till he was unconscious.

But before he knew it, he was out of his room, down the stairs, and on the quiet streets of Cerulean City at night. What was he doing?!

"What are you doing?!" he hissed at himself.
He didn't drive because he probably would have run into a tree or a fire hydrant or a person in his anxiousness; he didn't stay in his room because he probably would have gone to the bar and woken up naked with some girl he wouldn't have remembered meeting. He just had to see Misty.
What time is it? He checked his watch. 8:00…not too late to grab a cup of coffee, right? Or—or tea, if she doesn't drink coffee. Or maybe a smoothie…?

Ash wondered where these thoughts came from; although he might've been a courageous fighter on the battlefield with Pokémon, he was no warrior in the battlefield of love. The only reason, he had to admit, that he'd scored with girls previous was because he was, well, famous. Granted, he wasn't famous enough to be constantly stalked by paparazzi, but was definitely famous enough to be stopped on the street by hot girls every once in a while. Ash knew their intentions, though (hot, kinky sex with Mr. Almost-Pokémon-Master, and a good story about it), and didn't want to be reduced to some kind of man-whore. As cheesy and cliché as it was (I'm practically made of cheese and clichés, he mused), he compared every girl he met to the red-headed force of nature he used to know well.

It started to rain a warm, summery rain (Ash cursed. He had forgotten about the summer showers in Cerulean); now there was really no turning back.
He picked up his pace to a steady jog because it was beginning to rain harder, and he thought about how ridiculous he'd look when Misty saw him, drenched in his shirt and jeans.

Or maybe I'll look mysterious and sexy, he joked in the back of his mind.

--

It was interesting how, when upon seeing a lost face, Misty could suddenly recall memories she hadn't come close to in years: the chorus of crunchy leaves under three pairs of shoes, skipping stones on the watery reflection of the full moon, his always-dirty socks, her old red shoes…

Misty remembered all these things and more when she opened the door to see Ash Ketchum.

It was extremely awkward and silent for a while before Ash offered a timid "Uh, hi." Misty could only blink in astonishment, still silent as her wide eyes traveled up and down Ash's body, making him shift his weight unsurely.

Misty realized she was staring and jumped.
"Oh! Oh, you're wet. Um, come inside." Ash stepped into the gym, comforted by its slightly drier and cooler atmosphere. Misty disappeared into a room and reappeared with two bath towels; Ash received it with a meek "thanks" and followed her into the kitchen.

More awkward silence.

"Frankly, Ash, if it wasn't raining and if you weren't soaked, I might have closed that door on you." She chuckled dryly and opened the refrigerator door. "Want some orange juice?" It seemed to strange to Misty that she was talking to Ash so casually—she was offering him a glass of orange juice, for goodness sake, when the typical thing to say would have been "How are you" or "Where the hell were you all this time?!"
Then again, Misty and Ash weren't your "typical" people.

"Uh, sure. Thanks." Ash thought it strange, too, that Misty had not decapitated and/or slammed the door on him. He almost didn't want to drink the orange juice anymore, in case it was poisoned or something. The glass was already in front of him, though, and the fresh, cool drink was a welcome relief. Misty sat down at the small table they were standing by, and Ash followed suit, slipping into the chair opposite hers.

The two of them were quiet for a while, listening to the rain outside but really thinking about each other. Questions upon questions upon questions raced through Misty's mind—and she was very confused. Why wasn't she angry at him anymore? Wasn't she supposed to be bitter? She had thought about this moment—about Ash coming back to say sorry or something—for a very long time. It went down like this: Her doorbell would ring one pleasant sunny afternoon while she was eating lunch, and she would open it to find the one and only Ash Ketchum standing there, maybe with a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand. He would offer her the bouquet with a humble smile—but she wouldn't take it! No, sir! She would rip the bouquet out of his hands and destroy it, yell something obscene and biting, kick him in the crotch (or decapitate him, maybe), and slam the door shut. Then she would return to her lunch and eat as if he wasn't out there.

It wasn't a pleasant, sunny afternoon, though—it was raining. And it was past 8 at night. He had no bouquet—he was a little scraggly and looked tired—and, for some reason, he looked a little sexy out there in the rain. What was he doing here? How long would he stay? Why did he come?

Ash cleared his throat to begin, drawing Misty out of her tumultuous thoughts.
"I'm, uh. I'm sorry."
Misty blinked at him, still not really believing that the grown man sitting across from her was really Ash.
He gulped some cold orange juice down for courage. "I'm sorry. You know, for, uh…disappearing. For a really long time. It was that girl—no, I can't totally blame her. I just…I don't know, Myst."—he mentally kicked himself, her heart clenched—"Misty. I guess I was just so scared and ashamed and embarrassed. You knew me well, and I just didn't want to face you after all the crap I got myself into." It was a strange, almost naïve question to ask, but Ash felt compelled to ask it anyway.
"Are we still friends?"
He was talking to his glass of orange juice the whole time, really (it helped him be honest). He didn't want to meet Misty's eyes while he was talking—he was afraid of what emotions or hopes or fears might come out of the contact—but after he was finished he found a little string of courage to lift his head with.

Their eyes met with a silent click.
Misty had been looking at Ash's face the whole time; she was only able to do so because he wasn't returning her gaze. But when he finally looked up at her—honest, sincere, waiting (his voice had all those things, too)—she felt like crying. And she almost did. Her nose stung a little and she could feel the wetness collecting at the bottom of her eyes. She wondered if Ash could see it, too.

"Ah," Misty said, her eyes dropping this time, "Well. Since I've taken you in and given you a glass of orange juice, I guess that makes us friends, right?" Their eyes clicked again. Ash was still looking at her with the same honesty and sincerity, only he looked a little more pained this time. Maybe he didn't want a half-joke.
She smiled a little, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh. Unclick. "It's weird, Ash. I think I—I've set up these scenes in my head where you come over and apologize to me, kind of like what you're doing now, and in that scene I reject you and hate you and stuff. But, I dunno. I don't think we ever stopped being friends…I mean, I think we're the same people, right? Just a little beat up?" One final click. Ash looked relieved and laughed because he was about to make himself look like a fool; he knew it.

"I've, uh. I've been here. In Cerulean. For a week now. I've kind of been…watchingyoufromoutsideyourstore." He thought about pausing to look at Misty but decided against it. "Not—not in a creepy way, though! I mean, I guess I haven't really been watching you, but I've just been trying to—" He was cut short by Misty's burst of laughter. He could only look upon the redhead with surprise. Was she seriously laughing at him? Well, he reminded himself, you knew you were going to make a fool out of yourself, Ketchum.

"You've—" (Misty took a deep breath to calm herself down) "—you've been stalking me."

"NO. No! I said 'not in a creepy way'!"

"But you were watching me, sitting outside my store. I think that qualifies as stalking. How long were you sitting out there?" His face was flushed. "Oh my God. Ash Ketchum, you're stalking me." She began laughing again and took Ash's empty glass. "More orange juice?"

"No thanks, I'm good. And you know," he said, a little annoyed but mostly amused, "It's really not that funny."

"Oh, but it is," she snorted. She couldn't stop laughing, and soon enough Ash began to laugh, too, matching her giddiness. We must sound like lunatics, Misty thought as she stood at the sink, shoulders shaking and eyes shining from almost delirious laughter.

"I wanted—I wanted to take you out for coffee or something. At 8 in the evening," he sighed, stomach tight from his laughing fit. "And then it started raining. Typical, right?" Misty drew back the curtains from the window above the sink.

"Well, it's stopped now. I could go for some 'coffee or something' right now." She smiled at him, a genuine smile. "But…your clothes." Ash looked down at himself, and, sure enough, his jeans were still wet from the rain. His shirt was dry, though. "Why were you out in the rain? You didn't drive here? Where are you staying?"

"Ha, um. I'm staying at the Seaside Hotel—which, by the way, is not by the seaside. What's up with that? And, uh, I didn't drive because…I wasn't expecting the rain, and I needed to clear my head."

"Well, unless you want to stop by your hotel room, I've got some sweats lying around that I think will fit you. They're clean and new. Don't ask," she called, for she had already left the kitchen halfway though her sentence, probably to retrieve said sweats. She entered the room again with a neatly folded pair of grey sweatpants in hand. "I'm not sure what you're going to do about your boxers, though—or is it a thong, because that probably would have dried already."

"Ha ha," Ash said, rolling his eyes. "They're boxers, thanks very much, and I'll dry them with that…thing you girls use to dry your hair with. Got one? Or do you not need one because you're wearing a wig?"

"Touché!" Misty's eyebrows rose with amusement. "I'm proud, Ashy-boy. You've learned much about verbal battles since I last saw you—but you'll never beat me. Follow me, I'll show you where the blowdryer is."

--

Twenty minutes later, and Ash was all dried up and comfortable in a fresh pair of sweatpants.

"It's nine now," Ash said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Still wanna go?" It's still so surreal, Ash thought, to be standing here with her.

"Yep," Misty answered from a inside a walk-in closet. She emerged, grinning like a little girl, with two yellow ponchos in hand. "Got these for the trip! Just in case, ya know. I wanna walk there. You okay with that? Meh, it doesn't matter if you're not, we're walking there anyway." Everything was so quick and sudden—her words, the poncho being shoved into his hands—that Ash simply donned the shiny yellow cloak and followed the girl outside.

"Daise, Lil, and Vee are somewhere for the weekend," Misty said with a wave of her hand. "They're taking care of the gym now, although I'm sure that in your stalkerness you already know that." Ash scoffed, but she was half right: he did know, but it was Brock who delivered the news.

Small talk. Their friendship was reduced to small talk. Well, maybe you don't have to adopt such a glum outlook on things, Misty thought. Stupid weather. Besides, you're just…trying to make things a little lighter. Yeah, making things lighter.

They both fell silent, lost in thoughts. Misty could imagine the view of both of them from the back: two bright yellow figures, brighter under the occasional streetlight, walking together at a good distance for acquaintances. Ash glanced over at Misty, whose eyes were glazed over in memories. He had the stupidest inclination—not to kiss her, not to make love to her, but to simply hold her hand. He took extra caution (and he was sure she did as well) to reserve a space between them big enough so that they would not accidentally touch, but now he was beginning to miss the warmth of her hugs, the scent of her shampoo. Ash was sad now, because despite the laughs and the smiles they had shared in the hour, he could still feel something wedged between them—it was definitely larger than the physical space between them.

"Ash, I'm getting married." Misty said suddenly, and Ash stopped dead in his tracks.


Author's Note: Wow! It's a miracle! I have a second chapter up! So yeah, while I was writing this chapter, I was squeezing my brains out, trying to think of something that would shake things up. Okay, okay, I know the shaker is not unique at all, but what else could be less cliche? Dying of cancer? World's gonna end? Worry not, I'll shape this runt of a story into a big, fat masterpiece! (-cough-YEAHRIGHT)
Mm, thanks for reading, and please, if you have any constructive criticism, constructively critique away! PLEASETHANKS. (Seriously, I need all the advice I can get. -looks at you better writers with shiny eyes-)

Next update will be in another year! (Ha ha, joking...maybe...)