Archive of Our Own

❀ ❀ ❀

Burning.

Early dawn, she wakes up to an ache spiking in her throat and a heavy chest. The temples of her skull pounds as a throbbing headache overwhelms her ability to think straight. It is a strange and unfamiliar lump of fire. Differing from a sore throat, sudden worry spikes as she realizes that she never felt this sort of pain before.

Water. Misty needs water.

One hand on her trachea, a dull pain pumping, and the other reaching for the glass on the night table beside her. She lifts it to her mouth almost desperately to find it empty except for a few careless drops.

Misty groans at herself and slams the glass against the table in a loud thump. Kicking her cotton sheets off herself in a swift kick, she pulls herself out of bed. Her fingers grow shaky from the pain as she holds on to whatever is near her in the haziness that was her room.

Passing down the hall for what feels like an eternity, she pushes open the door.

The pain spikes and she doesn't bother scurrying for a light switch.

In the darkness, she finds the ivory ice of the bathroom sink and flicks on the faucet. Water cool to the touch eases her confused, uneasy nerves as she cups some in her hand. She groans as it trickles down her throat, down the side of her cheeks. It eases the immediate pain but she still feels soreness.

It's not enough for her.

Misty's head settles against the streaming faucet and she swallows what she can, lifting to breathe. She winces as her chest lets out a hard cough, causing her head to reel.

Soft sunlight seeps through the tiny window blinds and she can see her reflection. Bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and a pounding headache.

She knows she has to be up in an hour to open up the gym. To feed the pokémon, to face incoming challengers.

"Fuck," she blurts out to no one.

What is wrong with you? She asks herself, looking in the mirror.

A wave of nausea hits her as her body concaves into a coughing fit. Her face contorts into something nasty as if needles plunged into her. The coughs grow harsher and harder on her sore throat, bringing her knees to hit against the bathroom tile. A clammy hand cups over her mouth to conceal the noise. It echoes throughout the bathroom.

A hypothetical image of Daisy, Lily, and Violent bursting through the door breaks her focus. She imagines her sisters coming to her aid as she hacks out a lung as they screamed and scrambled for their phones with their nighttime mud masks on. She wonders if she would even want those three seeing her in such a state. Part of her thanks the Legends for them being away on work, part of her wishes she wasn't alone.

Her eyesight grows cloudy from tears brimming around her eye. Misty decides that to experience whatever the hell this is, it is better in solitude.

Managing to breathe through her nose eased her rising panic as she feels hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Clenching irritated eyes closed, Misty clutches her neck as she feels a tickle at the roof of her mouth and forces a loud hack to escape the back of her flaring throat and onto her trembling hand.

Then air finally reaches her lungs and she can breathe. She takes a shallow inhale as she opens her watery eyes. Looking down at her bile coated fingers, she flinches and tightens her jaw.

Misty freezes in wide-eyed horror.

There were blue petals. No more than five tiny blue petals, some speckled in dots of blood and others colored a pure blue, in the palm of her left hand.

And like flowers, fear and confusion bloom within her.

You're okay, Misty tells herself. You're okay.

She manages to stand and lean herself against the cold sink.

Disbelief washes over her as she drops her hands under the running water. Her attempt to drown the petals fails as does her attempt at holding back hot tears from running down her face.

Dunking her face and splashing it with water helps clear her senses.

Clear senses bring her to her last memory before she laid to rest for the night. A memory that led her to dream about a beach and a sunset. She stands and waits among the tide. Watching the sunset, far from her was a boy that she couldn't reach. She tried to step forward, to reach him, but she wouldn't let herself. All she could do was watch him as he looked ahead at the sun with his arms behind his head.

Misty's throat throbs when she remembers him dropping his arms down to his side, his attention leaving the sky and turning to her. She watched from afar as his face broke into a smile made of gold. It was a familiar smile, like a vision from another time. Then the dream of him slowed and all became blue and felt endless as the waves rose higher and higher, crashing into them and enveloping her. Screams turned to bubbles as she watched him be swept away into nothing but seafoam.

She recalls panicking; she recalls the sinking feeling of water in her lungs barely phasing her. In her nightmare, drowning was not what frightened her.

Misty presses her chapped lips into a thin line.

She has no time for petal-filled vomit or whatever that dream meant. Dreaming of him, and it felt slow, and blue and endless. Sunrays bursts through the window and shines throughout the bathroom.

For now, mild disorientation and a morning shower would have to do. Later, she'll pop ibuprofen and face her challenges of the day.

She'll swallow the petals if she had to.

❀ ❀ ❀

Hours pass and Daisy calls her on the gym's video phone. Daisy recites Violet's draft of their plan for a short film. It is a period romance that involves a young woman reluctant about her arranged marriage.

Daisy expects a developed and thoughtful critique from her younger sister, almost demands it. Fully knowing how sharp Daisy's keen eye could be, Misty puts on her show like the actress she was bred to be because what daughter of their family hasn't sat through at least one acting lesson.

Misty adds in her two cents and listens carefully. She hopes that a fall in her expression doesn't spark any warranted questions. Instead, Daisy quirks her freshly threaded eyebrow at her younger sister and asks, "Honey, are you wearing concealer?"

Misty's fingers touch her hidden dark circles. She offers a forced grin.

"Uh-huh."

Daisy beams and Misty thinks she resembles a Sunflora.

"Concealer on a workday. Good for you!"

Misty laughs for the first time that day.

❀ ❀ ❀

"Trainer Lindsay of Eterna City, Sinnoh challenges Leader Misty for the Cascade Badge. The battle will be three on three. Challenger, please proceed to the platform."

Sparkly eyed and energetic, the young lass practically dances towards the main gym arena. "You have a beautiful city," Lindsay sings.

"Thank you. I take it you must've come a long way from Sinnoh."

The lass smiles at Misty. "Oh! Yes! I was an apprentice under Leader Gardenia of the Eterna City Gym!"

Clipping her pokémon from her belt, Misty releases her corsola with a little less enthusiasm than usual. "Go! Corsola!"

"Cora-co!"

Lindsay takes her cue and releases her pokémon. "Roselia, come on out!"

The grass-type twirls on its twig legs like a ballerina as it balances itself on one of the floating platforms of the water field.

Misty admires how beautiful and bright Roselia's roses were. Red and blue bulbs waving in the air in preparation for Misty's move.

A grass-type, she says to herself. Ironic.

❀ ❀ ❀

Lindsay won the Cascade Badge. Her Roselia left hundreds of petals throughout the field to which she profusely apologized for. Misty assures her that there is no need to fret over something so minor. Unknown to Lindsay, she was internally shoving the image of petals scattered at her feet out of her mind.

Lindsay leaves giddy as can be as she tells Misty that her next goal is winning the Rainbow Badge from Erika of Celadon City and ask for her in marriage. She wishes Lindsay luck with a strained chuckle, slightly hoping she was joking about the last part.

Misty takes in the battle as she avoids staring at the floral debris surrounding her. A strong floral scent tickles Misty's nose and churns her stomach as questions overcome her mind in a series of bubbles.

Am I sick?

Is it an infection?

Did I hallucinate the petals? They were so small they were barely existing.

Why is it painful?

What if it is a side effect of being in contact with certain pokémon? Like a grass-type.

Grass-types. Erika.

Erika, master of ikebana and the art of perfume, knew flowers. If anyone might have a clue, it would be Erika.

❀ ❀ ❀

Misty, anxious with a bag of tangerines in her lap, rides the 9:30 train to Celadon City on her next day off. Erika had just woken up from a nap when Misty called her to tell her that she wanted to meet and talk about something not as lighthearted as romance novels. Erika, in her angelic sleepy glory, doesn't ask any questions and tells Misty to come whenever she can.

Years of being a gym leader have made stronger connections between her and the other Kanto leaders. With Erika, the friendship blossomed naturally as they understood the pressures of being representatives of higher status women trainers in the region. Kanto is not as nearly as conservative as it was before opening its league but they still deal with the backlash.

A newly hired league official once suggested that women like Misty, Erika, and Sabrina took up space for fine, young male trainers full of potential. He would've stayed longer at the meeting if not for the hot tea seeping through his suit. The suit ran out of the meeting with a red face without hearing Erika The look of satisfaction on Erika's face brought such joy to Misty's heart.

Misty had to hold in a loud pfft when Erika broke the stunned silence by saying, "Damn these yukata sleeves."

The train station is two blocks away from Celadon University. Erika mentioned that she was teaching a morning class on botany and to meet her outside the Arbuks Coffee.

Misty arrives at the campus and walks for five minutes before spotting the large green Arbuks logo with the outline of a hissing arbok. The scent of roasted coffee beans comforts her but the sight of Erika sleepily yawning into her hand like a disgruntled grandpa is most comforting.

She opens her mouth to shout out her friend's name but clenches it shut as the itch in her throat strengthened to borderline painful. Taking a deep breath and firmly grasping the bag of tangerines, Misty speeds up and jogs toward Erika instead.

The grass specialist turns and smiles brightly. "Misty!"

She returns the smile as Erika met her halfway, wrapping her arms around her in a warm hug. "It's good to see you."

"You too. You made it here safely! I'm so thankful."

Misty snorts. "I took your advice and decided not to bike from Cerulean this time."

Erika shakes her head and loops their arms together. Misty adjust the bag of fruit to her side as they walked towards the trolley stop. "How you maintain enough energy to do such a thing is beyond me," Erika says as they board the trolley towards the Celadon City Gym.

She gives Erika a tired, strained smile. "Haven't been feeling as energetic these days," she replies. Feeling somewhat winded, Misty catches her breath. Standing up and holding the loops of the cable cart, she watches the people and pokémon pass her from out the window.

Erika grips Misty's shoulder, her amber eyes soft. "Let's go home."

❀ ❀ ❀

Entering the Celadon City Gym is entering a wild forest of fantasy. The hazy mist of sweet scent and the rustling of leaves paints a beautiful picture. Misty loves visiting Erika's gym and all of the patrons. The scent of gardenias and orange blossoms differ from the salty smell Misty is used to at her gym.

The garden portion of the gym was empty except for a small party of grass types, some waddling glooms, and twirling bellosoms, giddy at their arrival. They greet the pokemon and make their way towards a wooden gazebo housed in the corner of the greenhouse. In the middle was a modest table and two of Erika's ladies setting up what Misty could tell is a platter of tea and treats.

"Lady Erika, Leader Misty," the taller of the two lasses welcomes them. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," Misty says, slightly embarrassed at the formality.

"We've set you up with tea, mochi, and some fruits. If there is anything else you need, please let us know."

"How lovely, girls," Erika compliments them and takes her seat. Misty does the same. "Thank you. Now, if you can go check up on the bulbasaur eggs for Professor Oak for me, please."

"Of course," the girls say in unison then bow before scurrying off.

Misty blinks at the arrangement of fine porcelain and colorful mochi.

"Okay, they love you," she tells her friend as she admires the green tea mochi. "Most of my trainers at the gym just mix me up protein shakes and put me in a headlock."

Erika laughs into her kimono sleeve. "Well, you do house a number of jocks."

Misty sighs and settles the bag of tangerines on the table. "We were so caught up in our ride here, I almost forgot I had these."

Erika grins widely. "Oh! You didn't have to do that! I do appreciate good citrus in the early afternoon."

They peel them together and share pieces.

"I forgot to ask—how did the lecture go?"

"Other than me yawning during the standard q and a, I say it went fine. A lot of students from other regions joined the university so it's interesting to see the perspective on how botany coincides with their native grass-types. Not to get too overzealous but hearing about new environments makes me almost want to squeal."

Popping a slice in her mouth, Misty ignores the stinging of her throat and swallows. The acidity is enough to sting and feels harsher than she remembered. She was able to have pineapple and berries a few mornings ago and now even the sweetness of tangerine is painful. Staring at the arrangement in front of her, Misty warns herself to trail lightly. A little nibble of plain mochi should be fine but she finds herself weary of everything else.

Erika watches Misty. Golden amber eyes peering as Misty winces again.

"Tea?"

Misty panics slightly and flexes her hands up to turn down the offer. "Oh, thank you but—"

Erika naturally lifts the teapot and pours some into Misty's cup.

"It's a sencha from Lavaridge Town, Hoenn," she informs her. "I once had a tremendous love affair with their gym leader. Beautiful place with hot springs. Beautiful girl. Tall, loved to wear low rise jeans. Of course, you understand why it didn't work out."

She has been able to handle room temperature water but something as boiling as tea? She hasn't even tried due to fear of coughing up layers of her trachea.

"…I don't understand how you even have time for a long-distance love affair, but I'm am in awe of you."

Erika giggles into her sleeve. Misty cups the rigged porcelain into her cold hands.

Nervously, she brings the tea to her mouth, blowing on the warm steam that tickles her nostrils. It smells like earth and a faraway memory.

"Drink, Misty."

She feels Erika analyzing her every motion.

A single sip is more than just tea. It is accepting the undeniable. It is accepting that she is in the dark and in need of help. Misty trusts Erika.

So, she drinks tea.

The pain is slight then soothed as she takes another gulp. Thirsty for relief, Misty feels like she is poking at a canker sore hidden in her inner lip over and over with her tongue. Painfully gratifying, she takes a clear breath and wipes away a tear that escaped from the corner of her eye.

"How do you feel?" Erika asks, reaching over to place her palm over Misty's shaking hand.

One half of Misty feels studied. Vulnerable on a cold, metal table with blades inching closer to her throat. The other half feels held and taken care of. She clutches onto her other half and pushes away her younger self screaming at her to run away into the sea.

"…Better. Much better."

"I've been told that the tea has healing properties that aid in inflammation of the throat. I'll make sure to pack you some."

"Thank you," she says with a nod. "How can you tell?"

"That your throat hurts? Well, your voice is coarser, and you never looked so strained."

Misty lowers her cup. "I see…"

"Am I right then? You have a bad case of a sore throat."

"I don't know if I do," she admits, reaching in and toying with the little vial of red-stained blue petals in her pocket. "It's a little more complex than just a bad throat thing."

Misty pulls it out and places it before Erika. Quirking her head to the side in confusion, Erika brings the vial to the light as realization settles in.

"…Oh."

Misty nervously bites her bottom lip. "Do you know—"

"—For how long?" Erika cuts her off.

Misty answers her, her head hanging low. "About five days."

It's quiet between them. Misty begins feeling antsy, her leg shaking underneath the table. She doesn't know or understand anything past she just woke up one morning with a bundle of flowers escaping her mouth.

Misty curses at herself because she never gets sick. When she was a child and her sisters were tucked in their beds with hot lavender towels draping their necks with a nanny rushing to their every need, she was outside playing in murky rain puddles and digging her nails in mud. She prides herself over her immune system, even if it's such a stupid thing to be content about.

Erika quietly continues to analyze the remains of her morning coughing fit. Her face was unreadable but her pursed lips worried her.

"Come with me," Erika orders, raising herself out of her seat and latching onto Misty's arm with mild force.

"Wha—Erika!"

The brunette glides across the floor as Misty awkwardly keeps up behind, their arms attached. Erika brings them to the other side of the greenhouse. They stand directly under a canopy of green.

Erika lets go of Misty's arm and kneels gently before a cluster of powder-blue flowers with bright yellow centers. "Please, come forward and look down."

Misty listens to her friend, talking to her knee and admiring how perfectly tiny they were individually but how many there were.

"These are growing within you," Erika whispers, staring at the soft bundle before them. "They are called forget-me-nots."

"Forget-me-nots," Misty repeats in a hush, her hand on her chest. "I never heard of forget-me-nots before."

"Misty, are you familiar with flower language?"

"Well, I didn't know flowers could talk," Misty snorts, earning a critical eye from her friend. "Um, slight joke there."

"Anyway," Erika continues, "the language of flowers is ancient and ever-changing. It is communication through the use or arrangement of flowers."

"Should…I uh be taking notes or—?"

"Forget-me-nots signify remembrance. Used to signify recalling old memories or feeling nostalgic about the past."

Misty's memory takes her to Viridian forest: stew and warm white rice served, the laughter around the fire, hiding away in a cave as rain poured in, some wins and some losses.

"But forget-me-nots are also known to mean true love."

And then, the rest is history: their hands finding each other in the dark, a toothy grin, leaning against each other as sleep took them, heads bonking against each other in the heat of a fight, him carrying her as the storm began, her swimming towards a storm to save him, their goodbye.

She feels her throat tingle and her mouth go dry. "They look…different."

Erika taps her fingers against one of the stalks, tilting it towards them. "These are fully grown and living, love. What you hide in your chest hasn't grown to this stage yet luckily."

"What do you mean by yet?"

"It's difficult to explain in medical detail and I don't want to frighten you—"

"Erika, please," she insists, her voice stern.

"It's called Hanahaki Disease. It's an illness that stems from an archaic grass-type move that functioned similarly to stun spore. It began only inflicting pokémon but unlike other status conditions, it had long-lasting effects that coincided with mating rituals. Researchers discovered that for pokémon inflicted with hanahaki if their mating advances weren't returned, the illness will grow and lead the pokémon to their death. Well, with the development of technology and breeders, hanahaki is extremely rare amongst pokémon. It…was then that disease became more common amongst humans that researchers and doctors have been trying to connect it to its source. They theorize that cases of humans randomly being inflicted by the status condition move led it to become a slow-acting illness."

"…No wonder the university hired you," Misty manages to say in a hum, swallowing and only wincing slightly at the feel. "I thought I, uh just had some bad bronchitis." Hugging her knees to her chest to not lose herself to what she was hearing, she remains quiet as Erika continues in a strong and tender voice.

"For humans, it is born from unrequited love. The growth of flowers in your lungs is your body's response to whatever deep-rooted feelings you have for this person. It is both mind and flesh. The mental and physical. An ever-growing but painful manifestation of love."

Love. Misty's heart stops at the mention of it.

Looking up at Erika, eyes the size of a full moon, her first reaction is to snort, then followed by a laugh spilling out of her by how utterly ridiculous it all sounded. Misty knew fantasy. Hell, she used to argue over the existence of merpeople. She drew the diagrams and did the research. She dreamt of the fantasies of swimming towards the deep sea to find a civilization as if the pressure wouldn't cause her to shrivel until she exploded. It was hard to believe in a disease that had flowers basically shitting out of someone's mouth.

"And then what happens?"

"…there are options, but I think it's best to speak to a doctor about them, Misty. You have to be seen by a professional."

Hanahaki felt less like a fairytale curse by the second. Her stomach woozy and her mind dizzy with too many things to dissect. She felt lost. "I don't have the time with the gym and—"

"You'll make time," she firmly assures. "The League will understand. One of your sisters can cover or you'll close the gym. You have to see a doctor no later than tomorrow."

Letting out a humorless huff with no hesitation. "My sisters aren't going to know about this. No one is going to know about this."

"But you don't understand—"

"They can't know. I barely even have a grasp on what's happening to me so can you imagine those three tripping over themselves."

She pictures their red, blotchy faces crying and fretting. They would be unhelpful as all get out. Her being sick could be a downhill spiral. The league could retract her license for having an illness and then Cerulean City resorts to subpar battling experiences. She won't have it. She has sweated out her heart as a gym leader and the last thing she has in mind is stopping. She'll let her chest concave to a garden before she let them take it away from her.

Misty's tone left Erika quiet. "Okay."

"Okay then."

"This must be overwhelming for you."

"I…I just think I don't really believe it," she responds in a daze. "Something told me you would know, so if anything, I'm grateful for now."

"I'm so sorry that you're in pain, love," Erika says with outright empathy, pulling Misty's hand in hers. "It will all be resolved, I promise. I have a specialist that you can make an appointment with. He'll explain your options."

Misty's lips quirk. "Thank you."

They sat together in silence. Misty gazes at the bundles of powered blue forget-me-nots. She recoils and jolts, pressing her free hand tight against her mouth as she erupts into a small fit of coughs.

Immediately, Erika cries her name out of concern and wraps her hands around her shaking shoulders.

"I'm okay, Erika. Really.'

In silence, Misty tries to process everything said and what it all meant. She squints and groans, throwing herself on the ground. Erika blinks in surprise.

"Do you—"

"—Need a minute? Nah, just leave me here. Forever."

"Why don't I go get one of the girls to brew more tea and I go make your appointment for tomorrow?"

Misty groans lightly in response.

"I'll take that as a yes."

❀ ❀ ❀

"Dr. Proctor will see you soon, miss."

The nurse shuts the door close before Misty has the chance to say thank you. She doesn't remember the last time she was in a hospital. They all look the same to her. A plain, chilled room filled with uncomfortable plastic seats and jars upon jars of different sized cotton balls. And pastel yellow walls covered in anatomy posters circling her. Hospital rooms are best defined as pure exposure, like being held up into the light like a newly hatched pokémon being checked for discoloration or absurdities.

Feeling vulnerable and slightly anxious, her mind quickly pulls out her outdated, cracked pokégear to send a message to Lily about testing the salinity and pH level of the pools. It wasn't that Misty didn't trust her sisters with the gym. The three ran it for years but no one can deny that they had certain habits and didn't mind putting their priorities over work.

Lily replies with a sassy emoticon and a close-up picture of Psyduck's bill. Misty groans at her sister's lack of communication but coos at the immediately saved photo. "Sooo cute."

"Oh, beginning our session with a compliment?"

Misty stiffens in her seat at Dr. Proctor's sudden but silent entrance. Clipboard in hand, long-white trench coat, and a broad smile. He looked oddly familiar.

She looks at him blankly, giving an awkward chuckle in response and flexes the photo of her yellow blob of a pokémon to show who she was referring to.

The doctor purses his lips and shakes his head at the display. "You pretty trainers and your pokémon…"

"Guilty," she admits with a shrug of the shoulders, putting away her tech.

"Anyway," the doctor begins at the click of his pen, "how about we start with how you're feeling today, Misty?"

He looks up from the clipboard that she figures has her information and medical history attached.

"Good. Sleep-deprived."

The tea Erika gifted to her made her mornings easier, but bedtime has grown to be significantly difficult. Nights made up of constant coughs that caused her body to curl into itself, with her trying to avoid spitting up phlegm and drool on her clean jersey sheets. It's become a habit to spend at least two hours in the bathroom at night, hunched over the toilet.

The flowers have grown.

"A young woman like you needs to be getting over eight hours of sleep minimum."

Misty's laugh is loud as she almost doubles over at that statement.

He raises his thick brow, utterly stoic.

"—You were serious?"

The doctor's expression shifts into curiosity.

"Say, I know you…you're the little lady who came in here with that short kid and his pikachu years ago."

She blinks, recalling the time that Pikachu almost choked on an apple and lead them to a hospital for people. Chaos pursued them and led Ash, Misty, and Brock to taking care of an entire shipment of sick pokémon as the doctor on duty crashed out from being injected with a random needle. It was a mess but boy, was it fun.

"…You remember that?"

"I can never forget such a sweet face," he replies wholeheartedly.

Misty rolls her eyes because men.

This is the expert Erika knew about?

"Or of course the hundreds of pokémon in the lobby of our hospital but you know, life sure is crazy that way."

He clicks his pen and chuckles, scribbling down something on his clipboard.

"Now, how are you feeling?"

She wiggles her fingers in her lap. "I'm good."

Scribble.

"Hm. Have you been sleeping?"

"Less than usual."

Scribble. Scribble.

"And do you feel like it's affected your mood—your energy?"

"I think…I think it's been harder to function, I guess."

Quickly, Dr. Proctor reaches for a small flashlight from his pocket protector, with a switch of the bottom he lifts it over her eyes.

Eyes watering, she blinks at the light.

She blinks and then there is a wooden tongue depressor in his hand.

"Open wide, please."

Mouth opened and dry, she listens and clenches her eyelids shut as he peered in. It feels like forever and then—

scribble, scribble, scribble.

"I am going to check your heartbeat now, okay?"

She can slightly hear her heart quicken, breathing growing uneasy.

"You can open your eyes now, Misty."

So, she does. She doesn't want to, but she does anyway. Watching as he took an uncomfortable-looking seat, in one of those sad beige hospital chairs with wheels attached, and wheels over.

"So, there are some more tests we are going to have to do, like bloodwork."

Misty nods, cracking her fingers nervously.

"But, due to the samples taken earlier and the state of your throat, we need to take some necessary precautions."

Her hand reaches for her throat.

"So, I really do have…"

"Hanahaki disease. My diagnosis is that it's in one of the early stages—"

One of them?

"The minor growth hasn't caused any serious damage to your nerves or respiratory system as of yet but by as you expect, untreatable hanahaki will take over your bronchi and spread to your trachea as it extends past the central lung area."

She wishes she was home. She wishes she could lie down and hold something to her chest and heal.

"Doctor, that's good news, right?"

"Yes. I can guarantee it'll all be okay."

"…good. Good." Is all she can mutter.

"How familiar are you with hanahaki disease, Misty?"

"I just recently learned about it…about how it's born from one-sided feelings."

"Right. I'll be sure to send home some readings for you to go over whenever you best works for you but I want to spend most of our time together going over your options."

The room felt colder, smaller. Dr. Proctor's voice echoes as she listens in on his explanation.

"Hanahaki disease is an illness, as you know, born from one-sided love. The patient suffers from growth and excess of the growing flowers. There are multiple stages, depending on the age of size of the individual, and is considered fatal when untreated."

Misty thinks of the beautiful blue of her flowers. How innocent, how pure. It was difficult to wrap her mind around it. Erika warned her. Dr. Proctor confirms the potential danger of the diagnosis. Sprouts and flowers are forming as a fresh start to every new day, the flowers awakening within her body are proof enough, but it is still difficult to believe how something so delicate could be so deadly. There is a soreness, shortness of breath. An ache and yet, she doesn't want to face the truth.

"—Are you ready to hear about your options, Misty?"

"Huh?"

She's zoning out, her body feeling colder. She swallows her cough and nods, silently edging him to continue.

"There are two cures: the first option is to neutralize what triggered it. The feelings the hanahaki are stemming from being returned by the subject of your affections. Second option: we dispose of the flowers, buds, and any trace of a root system. We burn them out of your lungs. The effects of the removal vary from patient to patient, but the aftermath of most cases is the patient losing recognition of the subject of their affection."

What?

"The memory loss isn't utterly absolute. It functions like…well you would remember the subject in a way that is like if you battled them but never saw them again. They become just a figment of a memory. Just a face, one of the multiple we recognize in our day to day life. What you know of their existence beyond their face, maybe a name is obsolete. Whatever memories you as the patient has with or of the subject are forgotten. We have found that this effect is caused by the neurological link—"

Her whole body goes rigged, eyes wide and brimming with questions yet nothing but blood and blue spills out her mouth onto her lap.

He curses under his breath and reaches to grab her some room temperature water from beside him, fearing that cold water might intensify the pain. Managing to drink, her raised chest settles to a calmer pace.

"Are you alrig—"

"Ah-" she manages to choke out, crushing the paper cup between her shaking fingers. Misty could feel the strange taste of sweet blood and drool overflowing her tongue.

The room was suffocating. His words were suffocating.

"I'm fine, I'm fine—" she assures, her face twisting in disbelief. "Dr. Proctor there has to be another option."

His face drips with sympathy, his voice calm and patient. "I understand how distressing it sounds, and I apologize, but those are your only options. I can prescribe you a coughing suppressant, but this is verbal confirmation that if by your second appointment with me the disease is still present, we will have to proceed with the surgery as soon as possible."

"And if I refuse?"

"Many choose not to forget," he states. "In Kanto, you are of legal age to make independent medical decisions, but because hanahaki disease is completely preventable through surgery, it is highly advised that you critically think about the risks. It is my responsibility to ensure you understand that your life is at stake if proper precautions are not taken."

She remembers how desperate and apologetic Erika was when explaining hanahaki. It wasn't just a bad case of bronchitis; it could alter her livelihood beyond flowers blooming within her.

It would cost Misty her life.

"I know your feelings are complicated, but your health is at great risk."

Misty swallows the petals caught in her throat. She wants to argue, tries to conceptualize what it meant to truly forget him, but the burning itch in her throat keeps her from fighting. She tries not to be the type that aimed to shoot the messenger, but her emotions often got the best of her. She calms her nerves down. Misty straightens her back and closes her mouth tight, wanting to appear stable and understanding. Dr. Proctor doesn't comment on her body language or her silence, so he continues explaining logistics and how to combat the daily stress of hanahaki. At the end of the hour, he notifies the front desk to schedule her second appointment.

"See you in a month, Misty. If you have any questions, please reach out."

She hides her urge to be volatile behind a thank you and accepts the thin pink slip that listed her medication. The front desk hands her a rainbow of pamphlets. Feeling defeated and out of control of her own fate, she holds back from crying hot tears on the train back to Cerulean.

❀ ❀ ❀

"How did your appointment go?"

It's the first thing out of Erika's mouth when Misty picks up her video call.

"It was a lot. I didn't realize I've met Dr. Proctor before…"

"Really? Small world. Were you able to schedule a future surgery date?"

"Isn't that a little premature?"

Misty watches as Erika's supportive smile morphs into a straight line.

"It's important to schedule it ahead so you can incorporate days off for recovery."

"I mean, I haven't decided if I was going to go through with the surgery or not."

"—You can't be serious."

"It's a huge decision. How can I just decide in a few hours?"

"You decide to save your life is what you do."

Misty's eyebrows furrow in thought.

"Erika." She pauses to take a breath. "How did you know how to get into contact with Dr. Proctor specifically?"

"...It's complicated."

"You don't have to share anything with me if you feel uncomfortable—"

"I'm not uncomfortable," she interjects. "I just don't want your opinion of me to change."

"You're my friend," Misty says wholeheartedly, her hand over her chest. "That won't change."

Amber eyes shift to the side, in shame.

"...You haven't had it have you?"

"No, not me."

Misty is taken back.

"In the past," Erika begins, taking her time to find her words, "I have seen some of the women I have been with suffer from hanahaki. Knowing the leading specialist in Kanto came with learning more about the disease and what it does to people."

"Those women—" Misty pauses, collecting her thoughts. "Was it because of their feelings for you?"

"...Yes."

"And immediately you just sign them up at the doctor and push them into the surgery?" Misty's tone comes off as accusatory.

"No! No, it wasn't like that. When I couldn't return their feelings, the only reasonable solution was to pursue surgery. The decision was never easy for them but when your life is on the line, what other reasonable choice is there?"

Erika describes the first time it happened. It was five years ago, in the springtime, after Erika met a florist who owned a neighboring flower shop. She called her petunia. Misty's heart sank when Erika explained the story of what it was like to see petunia for the first time since her surgery. The smile on her face as she pruned some potted flowers outside her shop, blissfully unaware of Erika's presence across the street. Erika didn't have the heart to reintroduce herself, to hear the florist's singing voice a final time. Under her parasol, Erika watched petunia sing to herself for minutes before finally walking away.

Then the next year, she hired an aspiring artist from Alola to paint a mural outside her gym. She called her hibiscus. Then it was rose, chrysanthemum, and orchid. Misty learns of her secret. How Erika plants and tends for flowers named after each woman. Taking care of the flowers in her way of pouring out the words "I am sorry for all the pain I put you through. I am sorry you suffered from a love unrequited. I'll remember you." into the void.

"To see you go through the same thing...I can't just stand idle and not tell you the truth."

Misty knows Erika is right. She knows Dr. Proctor is right.

She knows that the disease will eat her from the inside out if they don't set her chest on fire. She doesn't welcome the disease; she just doesn't know if she could say goodbye.

"I don't want to forget him." Her quiet fear pierces through her, as it was the first time she openly admitted it. Erika looks as if Misty took her words, formed them into a shank, and pierced her chest. She tells Misty: "I didn't want to be forgotten."

❀ ❀ ❀

"How did the check-up go? All that kombucha you've been drinking working for you?"

Misty answers her sister Lily with a strained grin, making her way to the storage where they kept the dry pokémon food. She'll work, she'll clean—all to distract herself from the fatal truth thrust upon her in the form of seedlings.

"It was fine, just basic stuff. They might want me to follow up with another appointment soon because my throat has been a little sore but that's about it."

Violet walks in carrying Azurill as Misty finished her sentence. "Oh, I hope we don't all catch it—we need our vocals to not sound like a dying Persian."

Azurill immediately jumps into Misty's arms. He cuddles closely to her chest, listening in on the lethargic rhythm of her heartbeat. Misty pets his ears softly, whispering that she is okay over and over.

The new topic of musical auditions opening in Vermillion sends Lily and Violet into a whirlwind of a conversation. As her sisters begin to plan out their outfits and monologues, Misty quietly takes a bucket of chow and formula and continues her duties by picking up their half-ass attempt.

Later she takes a bath and scrubs her skin till it was Himalayan salt pink. As soft and pink as a peach. Misty lays her back to the tub, exposing the self-induced welts on her neck to the hot water. She makes a mental note to cut her nails short. The scratching is both noticeable and rough on her skin.

Whimpering softly, she winces at the sensation of new petals emerging as she spat them out. Forget-me-not float in the water like synchronized dancers. Clearing her throat, she spits whatever is left in the back of her throat and dunks her head under the water, letting out a fierce screech.

❀ ❀ ❀

Overtaken by a state of being, in simple exhaustion, Misty crashes onto her bed after hours of kicking her feet in the pool. Face to silk pillow. It was the blue hour. The time of day right before the sun begins to rise—a slither of time where the skies cast a muted blue light. The transition between midnight and the bright sky blue.

Sleep has been difficult as the recurring coughing fits worn her out mentally but keeps her physically awake and haggard. In her usual healthy state of being, she swims. She swims till skin on her fingers and toes shape into rivets. She swims to feel free. She swims to strengthen her body, to ease her stress knots hiding within the shoulder blades. The act of washing away the negativity in life. Now she can barely hold her breath long enough to swim a few feet. It has been a break in the waves, this sickness. She was beginning to resent herself for limiting her, for hurting herself.

She feels misplaced by her own heart. There was something troublesome about what this love meant. What love was so dangerous that if unrequited it could trigger a deadly future? Was it not enough for her to remain bittersweet in her private lonely-hearts club? It could be considered penitence for not confronting her emotions. She never admitted her feelings nor announced it. When she was younger, there may have been moments where she has dreamed of herself through her beloved's eyes: an idealistic, lovely view in which her flaws didn't exist for the sake of obtaining perfection. But Misty has developed. She has grown from a hopeless romantic of a child to a romantic realist. She drinks coffee in cozy independent bookstores slash cafés to feel out her romanticisms—not cough out her lungs and its debris for in the name non-reciprocal love. This love lacked authenticity for it wasn't in practice outside of Misty's inner self and nostalgic lens of a shared youth.

He didn't know that she loved him.

She didn't know how he truly felt about her until the last day of their adventure together. And whatever he felt, was not a love that would cause painful flowers to grow through his heart. It wasn't like hers.

His friendship and the platonic love they shared has always been enough for Misty. She accepted her place in his life to the extent that she felt no obligation to confess or pursue. Their paths have rarely crossed because of distance—so she questions how powerful can an unrequited love be if it subjects her to pain against her will?

Years of repressed emotions could kill a person—who knew? She has always been told that she was perfectly healthy and to just watch out for late sugary snacks that'll keep her up all night. Earlier, she settled for a candy-coated pill prescribed to her and washed it down with lukewarm tea.

Salty tears and specks of blood stain her pillowcase as the overwhelmingly loud thoughts stop flowing. Sleep finally overcomes her as the day welcomed the sun.

In her dream, she doesn't say his name. He responds to forget-me-not wearing a smile, reaching his hand into her chest. Her ribs open for him like a bloody cage as he grips the bundle of flowers, kisses the side of her face, and rips them out fiercely by the roots disguised as blood vessels until she collapses into an empty shell.

❀ ❀ ❀

Misty doesn't recognize herself in the mirror. The girl before her was a willowy ghost. Pale, skin red and irritated right under her snotty nose, and cracked plump lips. Dry patches around the sides of her mouth. Scratch marks scarred the skin around her throat, as she developed the habit of constantly scratching it to soothe

There is a lack of glow in her eyes and a lack of elasticity in her skin. Sullen purple eyebags droop downward, showing the whites of her eyes clearly irritated by barely sleeping through the night. Despite her trying to drink tons of bottles of room temperature water a day, it didn't help her look or feel any better.

Above all else, it hurts and yet, she does her best to wake up and begin her day as if nothing was wrong other than a stubborn cough. She drowns the fully-grown flowers in the sink, flushes the stems in the toilet after throwing up as much as she can after a random coughing fit. There is no evidence of the hanahaki. Her sisters haven't caught on yet and haven't heard the gagging sound coming from her room. Luckily for Misty, they were preoccupied with rehearsals and haven't been at the gym for days.

Battling has become difficult. She has developed a technique of clearing her throat, focusing on her movements and breathing in, out, in, and out with a monitored steadiness. It has been helpful but taking breaks in between battles has lengthened her gym hours, keeping trainers antsy and displeased with the wait.

Fearing the league will take notice and send someone to review the gym, she does her best to accept every battle and keep breaks to a minimum. She has postponed her doctor's appointment, earning multiple calls from Erika and Dr. Proctor's office.

No one else must know. No one else must see.

Which is why, after the gym is closed at sundown, she locks herself in the bathroom connected to her room. The sound machine is playing ocean sounds outside as Misty felt like she was wasting away on cold bathroom tile, tilting a flask of tepid water into her mouth as a dull pain in her chest heightened. She shakes two pills from the orange container right into her mouth, swallowing despite her throat feeling like there was steel wool coating it. Wiping away the few flecks of blood at the corner of her lips, she then slaps her face to stay awake.

A pile of blue petals surrounds her in a crooked, fairy-ring circle. As the days went on, the flowers have multiplied in size and amount.

She nearly chokes as she hears loud knocking come from outside. Someone calls her name from the other side of the door, alerting her. A light-headed Misty doubles over, spitting out a relentless glob of phlegm and full-sized flowers swimming in it. Her breathing intensifies as the loud knocking from behind the door stops, and swings open in a harsh bang, hitting the wall she was kneeling against.

"Misty!"

Cringing, she opens her eyes to see a familiar face standing over her tense figure. "…Brock."

Triggered into another coughing fit, her battered body keels over again and she presses her forehead into the floor beneath her. Her mind was growing foggy, her vision growing dark with bright specks of white as she felt herself faze out slowly then all at once.

❀ ❀ ❀

She wakes up to the sharp sound of a tea kettle whistling. Slowly, she lifts her head and finds herself on the couch in the small staff room within the gym. The cold cloth wrapped on her forehead falls into her lap. Pulling the blanket off of her chest, her attention turns to Brock's back as he filled her ceramic staryu mug with boiling water. He takes the honey from the top shell, a spoon, and mixes a dollop into what looks like his signature black tea, cinnamon, and lemon concoction.

Brock turns around at the groan that escapes Misty's throat.

"Don't overexert yourself," he warns, gently handing her the mug. "Here, drink this."

Carefully, she takes a small sip with a whimper. The sweetness is nostalgic, reminding her of cold nights on the road. The taste of iron on her tongue washes away. Brock grips a chair from the table nearby and plants himself right beside her, watching her closely. He instinctively takes her temperature, pressing his hand to her forehead then her cheek. Retracting his hand, he folds his arms against his chest and frowns.

"Your sisters told me you were feeling under the weather, so I came to check in on you. I couldn't find you throughout the gym so I figured you'd be in your room…"

"Thanks for stopping by."

"—What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

"Brock, I'm just sick." Her grip tightens around the mug as she flinches as the heat goes down her throat.

He frowns at her. "That isn't just sick."

"I didn't expect you to find me like that."

"I'm glad I did. You looked as if you were barely able to catch a breath."

"It's worse some nights than others. It isn't as bad as it looks."

"Flowers floating in a pool of vomit isn't bad?"

Misty sighs into her tea. "Do you know what hanahaki is?"

Brock's facial expression shifts into something shocking. "Don't tell me…"

"It's been a couple of weeks since I visited the doctor but it's still in its early stage...I think."

He groans into his hands, physically upset by her news. Misty feels guilty that Brock, known for his sensitive heart, had to find her in such a vulnerable state. It was unlike her to look unwell. She can only imagine how he felt picking and cleaning her up. Gratefully, she rubs his back and promises him that everything, including her, will be okay.

And that the surgery was something she was avoiding.

"You have to think about this."

"It's my choice," she says adamantly. "Of course, I have been thinking about it. If I were to have surgery, sure yeah, my body will heal but eventually, it will feel like some piece of me is missing. I don't know if I can go the rest of my life looking for something I can never find."

"You're right, it is your choice. But trust me when I say that you have to think about this because I understand."

Misty's face twists in bewilderment.

"I know I am the type to swoon after every new face but I have only been in love once. I was slightly younger than you are now but the memory is distant."

Who? When?

"I remember having hanahaki and what it was like living on the island but...every time someone mentions her name I feel a dull sadness. Like I've lost something I never quite had."

"Professor Ivy?"

Brock physically shrinks from hearing Ivy's very name and presses the palm of his hands into his eye sockets.

"I am so, so sorry, Brock. I didn't know."

"It was a long time ago. I haven't been there since I left."

"But how do you remember that it was her?"

"One of her assistants wrote to me, explaining that after surgery I wouldn't be able to live at the lab anymore. I decided to get treated in Pewter but before that, I don't know if I confessed to her or what exactly happened on the island but I remember feeling lost."

"Then I found my way back to you guys."

Misty's heart swells with empathy. Someone so close to her, who wore his heart on his sleeve, fell victim to a similar circumstance. She has pulled Brock away from multiple women, his devotion pouring out of his mouth in ridiculous confessions and hilarity. It's hard to imagine Brock going through the same thing as her. Brock has always been a rock, strong and unmoving. The picture of him hunched over in tears, flowers waving and constricting around his heart made her feel a fit of burning anger. She couldn't help being upset at the idea of Professor Ivy welcoming Brock into her home only to kick him out once it got complicated.

"I'm glad you found us," Misty musters, taking a stand. "I'm feeling better. Wanna take this outside?"

He gives her an understanding smile. "Couldn't hurt."

They find themselves out in the back of the gym's balcony. With renovations, Misty requested a balcony be attached to her living quarters so she could have a private area to take her morning coffee and plant some easy herbs. They look to the sky. Misty tries to take a deep breath of fresh air but the congestion in her throat and nose makes it difficult. She shudders, earning a cautious look from Brock.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" He asks.

She raises her hand over her chest. Yes, she admits in private silence.

"No," she lies to Brock.

Despite his visual apprehension, he nods like he understands and grips her shoulders. "You know if you need anything I'm here for you always, right? I respect your boundaries but I know it's going to be difficult, especially if you're going through this without knowing who it's all for."

Misty stiffens, feeling the heat on her ears and cheeks pulse.

Brock tightens his hold on her shoulders and in a soft voice of realization, says, "...You already know who you are in love with."

They exchange a knowing look. In her silence, he knew the answer.

"After all this time?"

Crack.

"Don't make me say it out loud."

"Misty—" He wasn't using a firm tone, her name rolled off his tongue more like a whisper.

Misty's heart screams: "Always. It's him always and forever till my ticker sticks to a final beat. For I am a vast and oceanic heart, and I cannot hold a love less than extraordinary. He is extraordinary for he is both my adventure and my home. For me, in this life, I unapologetically decided that it is him or no one."

Misty, despite her beating heart, says, "It was a seed planted when we were young, Brock. It...it just grew."

There is a pause, her eyes fall shut as her heartbeat thudded loudly. Beating at the very thought of this love of hers made from nostalgia existing within her in its physical manifestation. She felt slightly masochistic, allowing it to continue and grow, using her nutrients and flesh as some high-grade fertilizer and soil. On the other hand, she was raw and exhausted to the extent that she considered carving the disease out with a machete before Dr. Proctor or Erika or Brock or her sisters would even notice her opened and bleeding chest.

His hands drop from her shoulders. "He has to know," Brock insists.

"Absolutely not." She looks away from him.

"It gives yourself a shot at avoiding surgery. It gives you a shot at happiness!"

"My happiness doesn't depend on him or whether he knows how I feel or whether we are together! We were children. Children. I don't understand how something that began when I was just a kid transformed into this. It has always been a crush. I mean, I won't lie and say I don't know my own feelings. To accept that I'm losing myself something so hopeless, so groundless. The truth is: he and I haven't seen each other in over two years, we send letters and call when we can but he is so far away and I live here..." Tears were beginning to form as the truth flew from her both in a jumbled mess, hurting herself. Her head twirls around to face Brock, her clenched fist close to her. "I haven't seen him….I haven't seen him but he is here with me, always." A pause. The palm of her hand hits her chest. "And that's why this is happening."

Brock shakes his head. "It's more than that. Your love is real and true and I see that. Even when you were young, you took care of him and he took care of you. Call it what you will but it there was trust and it was love."

"Even when we were young, he'd look at me and I'd look away, selfishly keeping my first love to myself. To have to confess against my will—"

"To save yourself," he interrupts.

"To go against me," she reiterates. "I don't want him to know under these circumstances. You out of all people should understand, Brock."

His chiseled jaw tightens, face falling to a frown. "What I do understand is that this disease is deadly, and life isn't always fair. We all must make sacrifices. Misty, this may not have been the way you imagined it, but this way could heal you."

"Ash," his name escapes her like a blue petal, "Ash doesn't love me."

"You don't know that."

"I know him enough to know what he holds for me isn't romantic. I can't just tell him when I'm like this!" Her hands spazz as she gestures to herself, fingers clamping in her hair. "And then I would have to get the surgery because the fucking flowers won't settle for a one-sided confession!"

"But then we are caught in a cycle, Misty! You don't want him to know and yet you don't want to have the surgery fearing that you'll forget him.

A beat. "What is it that you want to do?"

She lowers her hands in a defeated pose. "I…I haven't decided."

"You haven't decided and yet you are completely assured there is no way Ash could ever love you back?"

"It's true!" Misty chokes out bitterly. "I'm okay with Ash not feeling the same, I accepted that long ago. He isn't obligated to save me from some self-inflicted illness. I'll get by; I'll live."

She'll live and let go, not because she doesn't care but because she knows the only person you can really have control over is yourself. To be permanently branded by the surgical scars, a reminder of a forgotten someone. If she could avoid such a fate, she will.

"Misty, you're an awful liar," he defies, running his fingers through his hair. "You are someone who believes in love. In its potential, in what it takes to fight for it. Why aren't you fighting for him?"

In his words, Brock was the one wielding a machete. And it cuts deep.

"I—I…" Triggered, she feels a pinch in her throat, tasting salt in her mouth, and falls to her knees as blood coats the spaces between her fingers. Her shaking body struggles to stand but is caught by Brock, who stands beside her cursing at himself. He brushes the flowers and leaves away from her lap and apologizes profusely for being too strong with his words, for not considering her health.

She doesn't have the voice to tell him she's the one that's sorry. For being weak, for doing nothing but bear the pain because she convinced herself it was the justifiable thing to do when you love someone who could never love you.

Exhausted with love and her useless, constricted lungs, Misty crashes once again and doesn't wake till morning. Brock stays over and makes her favorite Misty's Mystery Omelette with no peppers and heavy mushrooms. She can barely get through three bites, but she feels full for the first time in a long time. The two rekindle and say their dues, admitting how life may be cruel but friends don't have to be. Brock explains how he has the next couple days off from his internship at the hospital, requesting that he could be the one to take care of her. She asks him about his free time, about being able to make use of his time off. Brock shushes her, gently hitting her with a cotton rag he was using to clean up the counter. "It's my decision. I’ll decide when I’m ready."

Gratefully, she wraps her blanket around her tight, wearing it like a cloak.

That morning, she calls up Dr. Proctor's office to reschedule her appointment. Erika doesn't receive a call, instead, Misty writes her a letter and sends her love, explaining her choices in deeper context—not because she owes it to Erika but because she knows Erika cares. After sending off her letter, she conspires a way to tell her sisters. It's difficult in every scenario but at this point, they would start to notice she wasn't getting any better.

She was suffocating. Suffocating by the flowers that continue to grow, stronger by every bud, and by her indecisiveness. Longing for relief, for that freedom she felt on the road, she remembers how fresh the air was when they reached the tops of mountains. The adrenaline of running fast and diving headfirst into a watering hole. The sky opening after a strangely calming thunderstorm and the smell of rain. Her adventures. Their adventures. The feeling of being alive beyond simple eating and breathing.

What a time, she ponders to herself, admiring the pictures she hung up throughout the hallway between the gym and her living quarters. A number of them were of her past journey with Ash, Brock, and Tracey. Some of them featured May and Max. She turns to face a framed photo of Ash and Pikachu. In the photograph, he is tickling Pikachu's chin wearing content, joyful smile. Misty took the candid with her novelty film camera, right before Brock ushered them to eat breakfast. She then turns to a photo of them together. Ash, with his tongue sticking out and eye bag pulled down comically, beside Misty who wrapped her arm around his neck in a light chokehold.

Psyduck, notorious for escaping his pokeball, waddles from the other room till he is at his trainer's knees. He had the habit of being the first of her pokemon to start their day, he liked to be by her side as she performed her duties. Like he was her little skipper. A concerned Psyduck knocks his yellow head against her legs, nuzzling her. It's become a habit for Psyduck, to distract Misty when he senses something is bluer about her.

Misty coos and leans down to his level, knocking her forehead against the top of his head. "You're so silly," she tells him, voice full of love. "Thank you for checking in on me but I'm okay. Brock is here and I think he brought some of his special chow. You want some?"

"Psy-psy!"

She giggles and rubs the top of Psyduck's head. "Come on then."

❀ ❀ ❀

"I love how he eats with his little paws," Brock remarks, placing a saucer of water beside Psyduck's food bowl. "Here you go, bud."

"Psyyyy!" Psyduck cries happily, sticking his beak right into the water in an impressive splash.

"Don't drown." His trainer warns.

"...Can you even drown in a saucer of water like that?"

"Psyduck has come close," Misty says with a shrug, leaning against the counter.

Brock, visibly impressed, rubs his chin and nods.

"So," Misty begins, her voice hoarse, "what do you think of taking a small trip to Pallet?"

Brock stands up from his squatting position, wiping his hands on his pants. "My answer depends on how well you're feeling to be honest with you."

"I'm good enough to go, honestly. It may make me feel a little winded but fresh air and nature are all I need. Mrs. Ketchum will be a sight for sore eyes and we can see Tracey and Professor Oak! We can leave later tonight, the gym is closed for the weekend anyway."

He seems hesitant to agree, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't know…"

"She'll be happy to see us."

"And I would love to see her but don't you think being in Ash's childhood home might spark something for you?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she answers honestly. "I can't promise it won't but this daily routine of spitting half of my heart out into a ceramic toilet is getting old. If I'm gonna vomit, it might as well be on a big tree."

Brock gives her one of his looks, shaking his head. "Oh Misty...alright. Let's give her call first and not just expect Mrs. Ketchum to not be busy."

"Okay true."

Misty thought to herself how natural it always was to pick up and go visit Pallet. It felt like another home. Mrs. Ketchum, family, warmth and simplicity all blended together in Misty's mind, like a large pot of stew.

"Mrs. Ketchum, does this have carrots in it?" Misty asks, twirling her spoon in the bowl of vegetable and beef stew. Ash and Brock sit on either side of her, happily eating away and dumpling jasmine rice into their bowls.

Mrs. Ketchum smile drips with patience. "Do you not like carrots?"

"No, not really."

"Do you remember why you don't like them?"

"Hm. I haven't really had them in a long time."

"Then why not give them a second chance?"

So, Misty does. The stew was thick, creamy, and bursting with flavor. She could barely taste the carrots, and what she could taste of the carrots wasn't necessarily as bitter as she expected. Without a second guess, she licked her bowl clean.

Misty's reflective smile turns into a slight frown as she reaches for her throat. She hopes if Delia does make any food, that it's soft and tender. Swallowable.

They decide to call her as soon as possible. Mrs. Ketchum answers their call within minutes. On the screen, she was wearing An athletic headband and patterned leotard. Misty suspects she just got back from her morning run. As they ask her how she is doing, she immediately discusses her day then transitions into a friendly guilt trip as to why they haven't visited her recently.

"Well, actually Brock and I were thinking…"

Her face, tinted pink from the sun, turns into a bright smile and claps her hands in excitement. She assures Brock and Misty that they'll have fun even if she is an old broad to which they almost slam their hands on the table in disagreement. They book two seats on the bullet train that brings them right into the Pallet Town station and inform her of the time they expect to be at her house.

Misty battles two rookie trainers in the afternoon with Starmie and Goldeen, she sends out Kingdra and Vaporeon against a more experienced trainer from Hoenn later on in the day, and by the evening, Misty and Brock made it on time to the next train out of Cerulean.

❀ ❀ ❀

"You sure you don't want to call a cab? I'm not sure if walking this much is good on your…"

"Lungs? Body? Patience?"

Brock grunts in that way make him seems more like a grandfather rather than a med student.

"I won't die from walking."

Running on the other hand…she ponders.

He moves so quickly Misty barely blinks before she yelps from Brock tug on her ear. "Ow!"

"If you refer to yourself dying again, I'm going to rip your ear off," he proclaims, turning around and heading south towards the Ketchum residence.

"I'm not going to break." Misty pouts, rubbing her ear. "I was just saying! Brock, wait up—" She watches a few feet away as Brock pulls out and calls someone from his phone.

Catching up to him in a winded trot, she hears him shout a quick thanks before ending the call. "We should wait here."

"For what exactly?"

"You wanted to appreciate nature. We can appreciate it for just a moment before we head home."

Misty presses her lips into a line. She turns her head towards the forest, she could see the faint outline of a nest of pidgey resting. She listens to their quiet coos as she looks towards the sky. Stars gleam high above, much more visible in Pallet countryside than in Cerulean. Beautiful but instant existential dread flickers through her, as her thoughts trailed and the vastness made her choke up a bit, it felt like a rough vine trailed around her chest and weeded around her neck in a vice. Pressing her finger into the soft spot on her neck in an attempt to find some peace of mind and body, she hears something.

From behind them, flashing lights signal their attention with a beam and a honk. They turn around and see a crimson red car pull up to their side.

"Need a lift?" A young man asks, flicking his sunglasses downward.

"Tracey?" Misty says, wearing surprised looks on her face.

"...Was that cool or—"

Misty snorts as Brock gives their friend a supportive thumbs-up. "Man, that was super cool."

"Yeah, it's super cool to wear sunglasses at seven o'clock at night."

"Brock, you're free to be in the passenger seat. Misty, trunk."

"Hey!"

Brock cheerfully climbs into the convertible and gives Tracey a fist bump as Misty rolls her eyes all the way to the back seat. Tracey shifts the gear and they drive off, the wind hitting their faces lightly.

"This car is super familiar...wait is this Gary's?" Misty blinks, feeling the worn and cared for interior.

"It's actually under Prof. Oak's title until Gary pays off the rest of his parking and speeding tickets."

"Oof."

"With a research assistant salary? Good luck."

"Brock, you did not."

"I'm a medical intern, I have the right to be real."

Within minutes they were at the front of the Ketchum home, surviving the bumpy ride. Tracey parks out in street, barely scratching the red paint against the picket white fence.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Don't let Daisy give you any more lessons, Tracey."

Brock gasps lightly. "Personal lessons from Daisy…an honor truly."

"Nope," Misty says point-blank, ushering out of the car and walking towards the Ketchum house. A blushing Tracey and dazed Brock follow behind her. A single knock at the door and then Delia Ketchum welcomes them with a smile just as warm and bright as her front porch light.

"Hello! I am so happy you all made it safe!" She ushers them inside then wraps her arms around Misty and Brock. "It's been sooooo long," Mrs. Ketchum draws out, taking a quick look at Tracey. "Oh, it's been to seconds since I last saw you."

"Hi Mrs. Ketchum," they all reply in unison. Mr. Mime signals a greeting from the corner of the room, eagerly dusting away at a shelf.

Letting go with a clap of her hands, Delia moves towards the kitchen. "Now, let's have dinner!"

Misty's mouth waters at the scent of fresh seasonings in the air. Peeking her head over to the kitchen, she sees a pot of soup on the stove. Her heart leaps for joy at the fact that she can handle a broth, it's the solids that enter dangerous territory.

She sets plates. Brock helps serve. Tracey pours the drinks.

Laughter fills the room as they sit together enjoying their meal of vegetable miso soup. Across from Misty is an empty chair. She stares at the space, feeling bittersweet. Not only for his absence but for their memories and meals shared together. She looks down at her bowl of soup and sees a bobbing carrot slice. She slightly hesitates, then captures it with her spoon and brings it to her mouth.

It stings when she swallows but there is little regret. Part of her wishes she could eat chocolate mousse for dessert, maybe a parfait with lots of strawberries and blackberries. She misses what it meant to dine and feast.

Dinner ends, the three thank and praise Delia's cooking as Tracey gets up from the table and apologies for leaving before tea. "I have to get back and edit some lab reports. Thank you so much for dinner I know Prof. Oak is gonna be incredibly jealous."

Delia smiles. "I'll pack up some soup for him, give me one second!"

As she takes her leave into the kitchen, Brock looks over to Misty. He doesn't ask but his attentiveness says it all. His eyes asking her if she's okay. Misty nods, waving his concern off. Tracey doesn't catch the silent exchange as his focus turns to Delia handing him a thermos.

Brock takes a stand. "Trace, I'll walk you out."

"Thanks, Brock. Bye, Misty!" Tracey waves, "Mrs. K, thanks again for the food."

The boys take their leave as Misty waved good-bye, purposely avoiding the use of her voice. Misty smiles a little to herself and taps her water glass with a fingernail. Delia comes from behind, bringing a cup of tea and setting it in front of Misty.

Misty mouths thanks and wraps her hands around the teacup, clinging onto its warmth as she takes a shaky breath before suddenly reeling over in a loud cough. The cup spills over her hands, stinging her skin. Delia gasps as Misty hisses sharply, jumping away from her seat. "It doesn't hurt—" she says around the lump in her throat. She doesn't have the chance to rush to the sink to cool off the heat before several forget-me-nots emerge from Misty's mouth and onto the table linens. Jaw unhinged; she couldn't swallow.

"Misty!" Delia cries out, coming from behind and putting a cold towel on her scalding skin. Misty braces the towel around her hand and coughs out the remaining blood-tinted petals, fumbling with each step.

"Bathroom—can I use the bathroom?" She begins to wheeze.

Delia wraps her arms around Misty's shoulders, guiding her up the stairs towards the bathroom. Misty is at the sink as Delia clings to the doorframe, watching as blood and dribble smears along her cheek. Hot tears leak from her face as she turns on the faucet, sticking her red-hot hand under the cool water. Blue petals stick to the edge of the white porcelain. Misty spits out what she can down the sink, looking into the mirror to see Delia stare in horror.

"How long has this been going on?" Her question comes off more like a demand.

"A little over a month," she answers, turning the faucet off and wiping away the dribble from her mouth. Watching the petals drown down the sink in a whirlpool, Misty takes a deep breath of composure and turns to face Delia. She ignores her stinging skin as she washed out her mouth with water and mouth wash. Listening in on Brock's footsteps, she pinches the bridge of her nose at the idea of another encounter and instant guilt.

Brock is at the door frame behind Delia in seconds, standing in the hallway with a strong presence. He opens his mouth, then closes it. "I—I just went to use the mop and it wasn't in the cleaning closet."

Delia stares at Misty in the mirror, slightly in shock. "...By the kitchen door."

"Thanks," he utters, looking at Misty. He nods in her direction and leaves the hallway towards downstairs. Misty knew he was going to clean up after the mess she left behind which makes her want to sink into a hole. On one hand, it was a touching display of their friendship but on the other hand, it was proof of weakness. Understanding that sometimes it is right and just that friends pick up after their friend's messes, she doesn't follow Brock. Despite this Misty couldn't help but feel a sense of shame, especially with Delia's expression burning her. It's a look of shock and concern.

"Not you," the older woman exclaims, her hand reaching to wipe the wetness on Misty's cheek. "I cannot believe this is happening to you…"

Misty nods into the palm of Delia's hand, holding back tears. "...I'm so tired."

Delia's eyes soften. "Then you'll rest," she suggests, taking her hand to guide her to one of the bedrooms.

They stop in front of Ash's room. The door was wide open and the room dark. Delia opens her mouth to say something but stops herself.

Misty stares into his bedroom, her pupils dilated, and makes out the shapes of his belongings. Stuffed pokémon dolls spread throughout the space with outdated posters along the walls. Trophies and badges, free of dust, placed on the furniture. The scent of fresh cotton hits her senses and she is taken back.

Delia squeezes Misty's hand before letting it go as the redhead moves forward to stand in the middle of the room.

"You know Ash would always let me have his bed," Misty says out of the blue, smiling to herself. "Usually, the boys would sleep on the floor after a long journey if there was only one bed. I didn't think it was a big deal until we visited Pallet for the first time and he just brought out a futon from the closet and set it up on the floor in front of me. At first, I thought it was for me until he told me to be careful climbing the ladder, that it can be slippery."

"Good," Delia responds fully confident of her son. "I taught him that much. Now, I'm going to get your bag and some fresh sheets."

"You don't have to—"

Delia waves her hand to dismiss Misty's protest, leaving her to go downstairs. As defective as she felt, a wave of calm washes over her as she recalls the memories that came with Ash's room. Sleepovers, early mornings met with warm milk tea and how things taste so much sweeter when you're young. The way Ash kicked his feet in excitement after highlighting a battle he won that day. How fun the pillow fights were and the gentle breathing one does when drifting off to sleep.

Memories feed the part of her where the illness lives in starvation. She loves the old days, but to think of the old days brought pain and a sense of hopelessness. It adds fire to her fear that it's all superficial. A superficial reaction to an emotion crafted from pieces of her memory. Just a girl stuck in the past because the past was safe. The hanahaki may be real but Misty felt ill at the notion that her feelings weren't sincere but selfish. If that was the case, then Misty will resort to utter shame. It would be blatant disrespect to their friendship if her feelings for him were based on a shallow pipe dream fantasy.

And yet, deep down, she knows that's bullshit. It may be repressed, it may be swallowed for the sake it's easier for her to cope, it may not be announced to every individual she meets but that doesn't mean she doesn't care about him.

There is more to learn about herself; there is more to learn about love and what it means to love someone.

She secretly hopes there is time for her to experience it all because physically she felt like she was coming undone.

The forget-me-nots are tightly coiled, branching out towards her questioning cracked heart longing to take over the rest of the carrier's body. Her care for Ash rose above all other thoughts, as she chooses to forget her sickness and held her hand over her heart in acceptance. Hanahaki was painful but loyal, unlike other things in life, it isn't quite yet fleeting.

It's become a strange, overbearing friend. A friend who forced Misty to take her emotions by the throat, open her eyes to see and open her mouth to speak the truth.

And the truth feels free.

"I love you," she sobs softly into the dim darkness of his room, tears escaping her lash line. "I love you."

Only the night hears the whispers of honesty.

❀ ❀ ❀

Delia Ketchum brings blankets, water, a salve for the chest, towels, and anything else she believes is necessary. Misty, feeling gutted, washes up then carries her tired body into bed. She sets up Misty in Ash's bed despite the redhead's mild protests. Her maternal energy cuts through the air and all Misty's fighting ceases in a second as she holds a blanket up like a shield. Shaking her head, Delia wishes her a good night's rest, leaves his clefairy nightlight on, and leaves the door slightly cracked open.

Aching muscles relax as her head hits the pillow, settling in with an exhale and the inability to go right to sleep. Clearing her throat, she closes her eyes and pictures herself deep in the sea. She doesn't need to reach the surface for air, she doesn't need to know the direction—she is guided by water pokémon that light the way for her. Swimming, her body comfortable and agile, she heads towards serenity and liberty by latching onto the fin of a huntail who patiently follows an energetic gorebyss.

Misty closes her eyes shut, lonely in fatigue, and thinks of the image of the blue unknown brighter and clearer than before.

❀ ❀ ❀

Brock meets Delia at the end of the stairs.

"How is she?'

"She seems tired but with enough energy to fight me a little," Delia answers, folding her arms over her waist as she walked towards the table. It was cleaned, with no proof but the scent of lavender cleaner.

"Not surprised," he says with a curt laugh, taking his seat and going back to his tea.

Delia presses her fingers deep into her skin. "She's…so young."

"So was I," Brock admits, bringing his mug to his face.

"Oh, Brock…you and that damn heart of yours," she wipes a tear from her cheek. Reflective, Delia brushes her fingers over her lips in remembrance. "Long ago a young man I was involved was at my doorstep with a bouquet of daffodils. I turned him away—I didn't realize. Next time I saw him he was in the hospital bed and the last time I saw him he was holding a rally. I was in the front row and he didn't even…look my way. His Persian—just stared at me like it knew. But even as the crowd dispersed and he walked past me…he didn't even look my way."

Brock listens in disbelief. "Oh Mew," he says to the tiny reflection of himself floating in the mug of honeyed tea.

"It was sad to say that I was relieved. For his health, for the surgery. But that guilt lived with me for some time after. I was young, I couldn't promise my heart or my future. To see Misty on the other end—"

"It's hard seeing her like this, I won't lie to you. She's always been stronger than most."

"Who are they? The one this is all for."

Brock looks like she just threw a bucket of ice water on his head. He freezes before turning towards a framed photo of Ash hanging on the wall.

Delia's brows furrow as realization hits.

"Well…fuck."

❀ ❀ ❀

Misty, feeling like an insomniac, stares at the ceiling until her eyes grew weary, sunken with exhaustion. Hours have now passed since dinner and laying on her back for too long without being able to fall asleep felt as if she was decomposing. She patiently listened to Delia and Brock head to bed then counted Mareep to counteract the intrusive thoughts and fears creeping upon her train of thought.

The taste of earth, salt and bile still present on her clean tongue and makes her want to cut it out with a switchblade. She bites her tongue instead. Quietly, she grabs her windbreaker from her bag and makes her way downstairs. Brock, peaceful and stiff as a board, is on a futon in the middle of the living room. Misty opens and closes the door, extra careful not to wake him.

The brisk outside sends a shiver down her spine. Walking out into Delia's prized flower and herb bed, she pauses in the garden and pushes her lungs to breathe. Moonlight touches the shadowed flowers. Delia's flowers, in all their color and loveliness, seem to tease her. Flowers cultivated under tenderness and care are a stark difference to her sea of bloody forget-me-nots. It brings her to wonder if her insides were as beautiful; how her inner system would look if it was set ablaze?

Kneeling to press her hands in the soil, careful not to uproot or disturb anything, Misty begins to weep. At her most vulnerable, she lets herself be seen and known by only the flowers. The flowers understand because the flowers wilt and wither in silence.

Unlike Misty, who feels stunted, flowers grow.

Through her watery vision, she sees a flash of yellow move towards her. A tiny paw touches her knee.

"Pikachu Pi?"

She feels someone touch her back—their hand brings light and life to her skin. A bizarre sensation; a healing touch. The familiar voice calling her name has an alarming edge to it, and it grounds her and brings security.

"Misty—"

Tears slip from beneath her lashes despite the attempt to blink them back. She rolls her head to the side, upward and finds him. One look at him and her heart opens, her chest opens, and his presence reaches inside. Unearthed, exposed and right in his line of sight, tears stream down her face.

In all their years of friendship, she never cried so freely in front of him. Now, her feelings rush out relentlessly, like the sea following the moon or weeds growing between cracks in concrete.

"You're here," is all she could choke out in mild disbelief, a crack in the sound of her voice. Misty thinks for a moment that she successfully willed his existence into being through some prayer or manifestation but accepts that as confusing as it may be, the universe is just funny that way.

Ash! Her heart sings in stubborn happiness. Over and over, heart hammering in the rhythm of his name. Ash! Ash! Ash! He has found us.

He kneels beside Misty with no concern about his pants getting covered in dirt. Pikachu sniffs her hand before sliding his head under it, rubbing his fur against it till she pets him back. "And you're out here crying in the middle of the night. What's wrong?"

Misty ignores his question. "I can't believe you're here," she says out loud with a hearty laugh that stings her throat. "Damn you."

He frowns at her, staring at her not like she's strange or terrifying, but like it's just Misty at her truest. "Hey! Damn you back."

Around them wind picks up, blowing their hair in the wind and rustling the garden. Pikachu shakes under Misty's fingers and edges closer to her before jumping into her arms. Pikachu licks her tears to which she offers a true smile at the little one's attempt to console her. If only kindness was enough to cure an illness.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"What's your favorite flower?" she asks him, gentling petting Pikachu's fur.

"Aloe vera, I think."

"That's a plant," Misty argues.

"But it's my favorite! Mom would cut some off if I ever had a bad sunburn or a scar. I like the insides—how it's like natural jelly."

She laughs at his sincerity despite the pain throbbing in her throat. A surge of affection for him courses through her. She prays silently to the being treating her body like a marionette on some thinning strings to keep her from turning into a mess of pure nature spluttering out deep-rooted blossoms into his lap. Swallowing all the spit in her mouth, she fails to breathe in deeply and lets out a short cough into her sleeve. A smaller prayer is sent so that he doesn't catch on.

"That sounds lovely." You are lovely, her heart swoons in correction.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Mhm."

She takes note of his flickering eyes and awkward pause before settling on the words.

"Did someone hurt you?" His expression is tight and serious. Ash looks as if he was preparing himself for a battle against a contender he didn't even know yet. He was naturally protective.

"No one did anything," she answers, clearly fatigued. "It's just…me."

"Oh. But are you okay? It's just uh, I wasn't expecting to see you out like this."

"I wasn't expecting to see you at all."

"Well, I don't always tell mom when I'm dropping by. I got earlier today and listened to some talks at the League, by the time I got out and I figured just to come home light and surprise her in the morning. She visited me in Alola last time so…"

Alola, both paradise and the earthly embodiment of joy, was Ash's home away from home; Ash was their beloved champion. He travels on and off competing through different regions, often returning to regions he has visited before to participate in ranked tournaments but in recent years, he always returns to the tropics. She also loves Alola. For its environment, for all of Ash's people that quickly became her friends, and for their specialty pancakes.

"Brock and I just thought we would stop by and catch up a bit. A funny coincidence."

Ash broke out into that goofy grin. "It never really is a coincidence with us, huh?"

"I guess not," she says, smiling too. Warmth pooling within her as she felt the heat in her cheeks spread. It was just the two of them. And Pikachu, of course. It's been some time since they've been alone together.

"Your voice sounds nasty," he states. "Are you sick?"

"Gee than—"

The palm of his hand is already on her forehead before she can even complete a fighting sentence. Ash inspects her temperature with a hum, staring into her eyes as he moved his hand to brush against her cheek. "You feel warm…"

Misty jumps ever so slightly, head reeling. She sighs deeply, eyes closing shut with little inhibition, and leans her cheek into his hand. And he holds her face, gently but in mild confusion. As calloused and hard as they seem, his hands feel healing to her.

"You're burning up. We should go inside."

"No no. Here is good." She almost falls into him, her breathing going unsteady with every intake of air. Pikachu looks at Misty with a critical instinct then turns to his trainer, shaking his head.

"Come with me," Ash begs.

"Stay with me," she fights on, groaning lightly. Bloodshot eyes peer into wide dark ones as he moves to grip her forearms. "For once, just stay. Just a moment and I'll never ask you to stay again."

Misty puts her hand on his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. Stunned and lips parted, Ash's voice drops. "If I was the one in your position, you would've thrown me inside by now by the scruff of my neck. No mercy."

"In a heartbeat."

He scowls at her stubbornness but she looks away, choosing to gaze at the flower bed. Around the rocky part of Delia's garden, she notices true blue forget-me-nots growing between the tulips and marigolds.

A bittersweet smile flickers across her face.

"You're my burden," Misty confesses wholeheartedly. "And I can't stand the thought of being yours."

Misty senses Ash stiffen beside her, looks back and up to notice his eyes gloss over and his cheeks burst into a deep blush. Her hands began to feel clammy as she takes him in. Slightly flustered, he seems to be deciphering her words, his Adam's apple bobbing till he settles his throat with a swallow.

Something, she doesn't even know what to call it, hangs in the air between them. He looks uncertain and it sets her alarms off. Misty shakes her head, bites the bottom of her lip as she curses under her breath. Taking a wobbly stand, she presses her hand to the temple of her forehead. Ache; her head aching, her chest aching, her muscles aching.

"—Be careful!" Ash warns and jumps to his feet, Pikachu on his back. He reaches to her out of concern but she pulls her arms to her chest in defense.

Teeth gritting, she shuts her mouth completely, feeling herself go into a twisted daze. Blood cascades from her nose onto her top lip; she murmurs fuck through her tightened jaw. Swiftly, she wipes the blood with her sleeve. A sharp pinch swells in her throat and pushes upward without warning, causing her entire mouth to throb.

Then the forget-me-nots creep and emerge from their seedbed into her shaking hands. Another bundle of relentless flowers takes control of her senses and she staggers to the ground, only to be caught.

Ash rolls her into his arms as Pikachu jumps from his shoulders, heading towards the front door in a bolt. Naturally, Misty's face dips into his neck as Ash positions her upright, listening to how she struggles to breathe. The petals fall to the ground and drip down to her chin, smearing across her lips.

Warm and affirmed, she drifts off after hearing the words: "I got you."

❀ ❀ ❀

Ash listens to Misty's heartbeat; slow and steady. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of the pitter-patter.

Carrying a limp Misty pass the front door without startling Brock awake was difficult but Ash knew Brock was a deep sleeper. He silently thanks Pikachu for being able to guide him in the dark as they slowly but surely go upstairs. Ash almost trips only to catch himself—biting his lip in focus.

Making it up the stairs, he looks at the door to his mom's room then looks away, following Pikachu's path to his room but looks back at the bathroom door in the corner of his eyes before entering his room. Conflicted, his hands shaking, he settles Misty down on the floor, with a careful effort not to drop her. She groans lightly in protest, her hand clinging to the fabric of his vest.

"I'll be right back," he informs her without missing a beat, dropping his backpack in the corner. "Pikachu, don't crowd Misty."

Ash power walks out of the room and tries his best not to resort to panic, his mind still reeling from the cluster that just happened. The turmoil rolling in his stomach at the vision of Misty in clear pain. He doesn't want to think too much about what she meant early when he found her alone in the middle of his mother's garden. All he could focus on was her state of being.

For now, that's all he wanted. To ensure that Misty will be okay.

In the bathroom, he rummages through and finds a roll of cotton for her nose and a hand towel. He blinks and takes note of the streaks of red on the sink. A few withered blue petals. He wets a cotton towel with warm water and wrings out the excess.

After a moment, Ash returns to her side. "Misty, I'm here."

She hums at his return, craning her neck to face him. Misty was tired; the unsteady rise and fall of her breathing twist his insides out of concern.

His fingers spread as he swallows nervously, dragging the wet cloth across her skin. The red comes clean off, leaving her skin a flushed pink. Cupping her face in his hand, he wipes away the residue and softly inserts the cotton up her rosy nose to prevent any bleeding. She winces and shifts against him, almost hitting her head against the wall she was up against. He adjusts her with a hush, glancing up at his lofted bed.

"I'm going to put you to bed now," he offers, with the kind of tone Brock or his mom used whenever he spent too much time watching late-night battling recaps on ES-POKE-N. "Can you climb up the ladder?"

Misty shakes her head, looking weary with that hazy and half-lidded gaze.

He scratches the side of his cheek in thought and begins considering another option. Quickly, he settles on pulling the futon from his closest. Ash silently thanks his mom for keeping it fresh as he sniffs its fabric and notices how it was free of that old storage smell.

Ash moves whatever was in the way and unrolls the futon in the middle of his room. Pikachu climbs up the ladder of the loft bed and throws down any pillows by the grip of his teeth. The trainer looks back at Misty, crawling over to the corner of the room she was settled in.

He holds her awkwardly, trying to shuffle her by her knees to practically usher her into the futon. Helping her out of her windbreaker, he averts his eyes from her exposed midriff and legs. Quickly, he pulls the futon up to her chest, and let's go like it stung him. He takes note of her hair and removes her ponytail, running his fingers through the locks. A wave of sea salt and coconut hits his nostrils as he moves her hair. Misty sinks into the comfort of the futon and Ash's touch; a mew escapes her that brings him to pull back his hand like her hair was made of fire.

Letting out a sigh, Ash stands and minds his footsteps as he pulls out fresh t-shirt and sweatpants from his dresser. Naturally, he moves to undress only to remember a half-asleep Misty was still present. Ash gulps and steps out to finish his routine in the bathroom.

Sleep starts to hit him as he finishes getting dressed for bed and cleaning up. He scratches his torso under his shirt as he yawns, walking back to his room and closing the door behind him. It would be pitch black if it were not for his old nightlight gracing them with warm light.

"You awake?" he asks, taking note of the rise and fall of her chest.

She nods against the pillow, her hand clutching the fabric.

Ash goes to his backpack, drops his cap on it, and pulls out his green canteen. He kneels beside her and hands it over.

"It's fresh I promise."

Shakily, she sits up and takes it. Water lightly dribbles down the side of her mouth as she struggles against the coldness. She swallows hard, releasing a shuddering breath and whispers an apology.

It was strange to hear her sound so strained with an unfamiliar low voice. Meekness didn't suit the girl who yelled so loudly and felt just as strongly. An unapologetic girl.

Strong is a good word for her, Ash thought to himself.

Ash gave a short laugh. "Don't be sorry. It's strange hearing you say sorry."

"I am sorry," she replies, her head hitting the pillow in a flop.

"It doesn't suit you."

"Well, maybe people change."

He takes a sip of water himself and closes the top of the canteen, throwing it to the side. Ash looks at his bed and looks back at a half-asleep Misty with her eyes fluttering shut. Considering the ordeal outside, if another nosebleed or something worse were to happen later, he wants to be as close as possible. He owes it to her. Pulling down a blanket from his messy bed, he lays down beside her and floats the sheet on top of them. Pikachu moves from the space near Misty's head and yawns as he settles sandwiched between their legs.

In the early nights, they would usually sleep next to each other. He remembers how quickly she'd touch his leg with her cold feet when they shared a tent—how he would yelp her name. Her eyes twinkling with mirth as she giggled into her hand. A sleep-deprived Brock enduring their late-night arguments or conversations as they kicked against the cloth of their sleeping bags. Ash always liked Misty's sleeping bag. It was a coral red color and had the image of a swimming goldeens along a bunch of bubbles.

The first night in Viridian forest after he just caught Caterpie and Ash and Misty slept back to back between a tree trunk. Her sleeping bag was the only nice thing he could say about her.

How quickly that changed for him.

Listening in to Misty's labored breathing, he frowns and settles closer to her chest, moving his fingers to check the pulse of her warm neck then checks her forehead for fever. The skin wasn't outrageously warm, but it was peculiar. Realization knocks him on the skull and Ash blinks, his heart pattering as their noses barely graze each other.

It can wait tomorrow, he rationalizes, hoping the situation doesn't become dire throughout the night.

Serenity reflects in her sleeping expression and calms down the stir of worry in his gut and the loudness of his chest. He shakes the thoughts and rumble away, inching his closer towards her till their foreheads touched, and finds himself asleep.

❀ ❀ ❀

Misty awakes to dawn bursting through the crack between the curtains. Half-asleep, she peeks around her surroundings and finds herself in the middle of Ash's room on a large, soft futon. It was the first morning in a while where she did not wake up stricken with a sense of suffocation. She immediately feels rolled-up cotton in her nose, a curled-up Pikachu by her legs, and Ash lying beside her, his arm wrapped over her body. Sharing a bed like little kids.

The cadence of her heart stumbles. She doesn't remember how they got tangled like this. All she recalls are flowers and blood pumping out of her and warmth coming over her. His body radiating heat and life.

Blinking slowly, her confused mind turns to admire him. Long, dark lashes and full eyebrows, his mother's arched nose and light scars that mark his tan skin. Foreign lines and creases, from adventure and age, grace the thinness under his eyes. Unlike her, he appears healthy and still had just a hint of childish roundness around his cheekbones. His skin is almost russet-colored. Golden and warm beside her.

She hears her heart breaking. Paying mind of how Ash shifts in his sleep, his face twitching like a nidoran as he rolled over to his side, pulling his arm off and away from her.

Do you hear it too? Misty ponders, staring at Ash's back. The nape of his neck exposed aside from the tufts of uneven and unruly black hair.

On a whim, she presses the palm of her hand to the middle of his back. Misty breathes in and out as if she were blossoming. Petals tucking to a close at night only to bloom at the rise of a new day. It's a minor moment in the grand scheme of the universe, but she takes it as a treasure and remembers her choice.

The connection between them severs as Misty jerks her hand away at the sound of Pikachu yawning. He flicks his bright ears, peeking open an eye. Misty lifts her head, pressing a finger to her lips to emphasize quiet. Pikachu returns to sleep, nuzzling against the blanket. Moving out from under the covers while guiding herself to not wake Ash, Misty organizes her thoughts in an attempt to find some sense of rationality.

Misty stands up, grabbing her jacket from the floor while reaching for her bag, careful not to forget anything. She tiptoes to the door and quietly turns the knob open. A pause. Glancing at his sleeping form, her mouth cracks into a somber smile, and she leaves it behind with the soft shut of the door.

She grimaces while throwing away the rolled up bloody cotton from her nose. A break in the bathroom leaves her with a clean mouth, fresh clothes, and a warped sense of self. The stairs creak under her feet as she makes her way down to an illuminated first floor as rays from the early morning sun filter through the windows; all felt like a fever dream.

At the foot the stairs, by the entrance of the door, she finds and slips on her red high tops. She notices Brock isn't asleep on the couch. Instead, his blankets were folded neatly on top of the cushions.

"Good morning," Brock greets her, coming from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand. "You're up early."

"Morning—" Slightly off guard, Misty adjusts her bag on her shoulder.

"…Are you going somewhere?"

She looks up to find Delia ascending down the wooden steps, one hand on the rail while the other fastened her robe around her waist. "I was about to get started on some pancakes."

A strained smile surfaces. "Thank you for everything but some extra work came up for the gym so it's probably best if I leave now," she fibs, bowing to Delia and then looking back at Brock. "I'll call you later?"

From kindness to confusion, Brock's eyebrows furrow in disbelief. Almost dropping the glass, he leaves it on the closest surface. Delia takes a step forward and looks like a sympathetic kindred spirit in her pure ivory linen robe.

"Eat a lot of pancakes for me!" With false amusement and a wave goodbye, she walks past the corridor towards the door handle. Fingers grace the cold iron before Brock is a few feet to the side of her.

"Misty—"

Her grip tightens. "Ash is home. You should go say hello."

"Wait what?"

She opens the door and walks out only for Brock to follow. He doesn't make it past the front steps. With his hand on the door frame, Brock calls her name once more.

There is a shift of fear carrying her out of sight but despite its growth, she looks back. Her friend stands in front of the Ketchum home that holds something so dear and it's the first time she felt undeserving of being there.

"You're leaving," Brock's voice is rough, almost pensive, with a crease in his brow.

Frozen. She cranes her neck to the side. "I was wrong. This wasn't a good idea."

Misty is determined to not mess up—to not ricochet upstairs, grab Ash by the shoulders and let him know. Now was not the moment to jump on the impulse to spill herself in desperation for some resolve. Misty fears watering herself down may stifle her spirit but there was no going back on her decision. Ash may have seen them but he didn't have to know who the flowers were for.

Her friend's passive gaze assures Misty that she can head forward without being followed. Brock fails to berate or judge. Facing forward, she wraps her shaking hand around her throat as a reminder of what is at stake.

"…Will you regret it?"

Again, her grip tightens. Misty's blood runs cold.

"I won't."

She doesn't have the heart to look back as she walks away.

❀ ❀ ❀

Tracey was out feeding some rapidash by the wooden corral surrounding the western part of Prof. Oak's laboratory when she found him. The outdoor sanctuary part of the lab went on for ages but luckily for Misty it only took her searching for twenty minutes before she was able to spot her friend.

Many peg Tracey as somewhat goofy but most don't have the luxury of knowing him as painfully loyal. Even if visibly reluctant, Tracey would drop his life savings on a friend's bail in minutes. So, when she asks him for a ride home, he locks up the feeders, sends a quick message to the professor to wake up to, and offers to travel by land or air.

The idea of flying throughout the skies on a dragonite or fearow makes her stomach perform backflips. They settle on the Oak hotrod and go northbound on country roads before hitting the highway.

It'll take an hour and forty-five minutes though Tracey assures her that Prof. Oak will be more than okay with handling some of the morning chores on his own.

Tracey drives with the music blasting; Tracey doesn't press.

"Thank you…for not making me sit in the trunk," Misty tells him at a stoplight.

He lets out an amused chuckle that brightens her up just a little. "Anytime."

❀ ❀ ❀

Declining Tracey's offer to walk her inside and help with any duties that may have piled up, Misty thanked him once again for everything and reassures him that she is more than okay. Even at the moment, they went over the archway, she failed to hide a wet cough but still, she is okay.

Tracey's lips thinned into a disapproving line. He reminded her that he'll be back to bother her in some way shape or form if she doesn't accept some extra help from him soon. In response, Misty mentioned how Daisy needed help in a physical, less administrative context if he preferred that.

The color on Tracey's cheeks shifts into a noticeable red as he let out a frazzled farewell and smacked his forehead onto the steering wheel before driving off.

Misty unlocks and enters the gym through the main entrance. Part of her was adjusting to the recent renovations (mostly over how difficult it was to tear down the tacky dewgong statue that graced the dome) but the environment could be considered aesthetically pleasing in a zen but modern sort of way.

Psyduck emerges from a flash coming from Misty's bag. The yellow fiend looks up at his trainer and tilts his head in confusion. Psyduck's webbed feet smack against the tile in uneven steps as he trips on his way to her. Misty kneels, holds him up in a hug, and presses her face onto the top of his feathery head. They stay like that for a moment, tears slipping from her eyes as she brushes the wetness off her cheeks before getting up. Walking past the corridors to the pool, waiting as Psyduck waddles behind her. Misty is more than aware of how he did his best to keep up.

She pulls her keychain from her bag and on it was a tiny remote. Pressing a button, she signals the pool lights.

The water glimmers brilliantly. The heavy scent of chlorine hits her nose.

All she craved was to dive deep to the bottom. Tipping her feet wasn't enough. She wants to swim so far down and pretend that she didn't need to resurface for air.

Rummaging through her bag, Misty pulls out four pokeballs: Gyarados, Staryu, Kingdra, and Corsola. In a flash, her pokémon appear in the pool with happy cheers.

"I'll be right back," she says in a hurry, quick on her feet to return with more pokeballs and whatever clean bathing suit she had around their sleeping quarters. With the flick of her wrist, Politoed, Azurill, Starmie, Seaking, Caserin, Vaporeon, Dewgong, and some of her sisters' pokémon appear.

"Are you all okay with just some swimming for today?"

They cheer and spurt water into the air in joy. The water-types plunge into the pool and cause a series of waves, flecks of water splashing their trainer. Quickly, she undresses and slips on a black one piece. She doesn't hide the red, blotchy skin around her neck and chest.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Psyduck presses his paw at the back of her calf, and she calls over Gyarados. Her steady swims towards her, waiting patiently for pets. Misty

"Sweetheart," she greets the blue beast, "can I just…hold you for a bit as you swim? I don't think it's a good idea if I try too hard to keep up."

Gyarados roars something beautiful and dips his head downward. Misty climbs on, motions for Psyduck to join them but he declines with wild shakes of his rounded head. Misty relaxes in her spot on Gyarados's head, stretching out her joints and cracking her fingers.

Together, they glide through the saltwater pool with Gyarados diving deeper and deeper till his entire body was submerged except for the head. Misty hangs on tight with trust, letting go of all that tension she held in her muscles. The brisk water sends shivers down her spine as her skin tingles. Embracing the moment, she lets go of all that weighed her down.

Misty floats. She doesn't break out into freestyle or breaststroke.

Her attention goes towards how freely her pokémon swam and caused minor waves. Misty wishes she could be as malleable as water-types. Visually beautiful but she found that the most enticing thing about water pokémon was their innate adaptable nature.

They were open in a way Misty could only dream of being.

Closing her eyes, she imagines there were all out at sea. The Seafoam Islands or possibly some shore off the Hoenn coast. Maybe they travel to some marshlands and see mangroves for the first time. Eat an orange straight from a tree.

"Hi, stranger."

She lifts her head and sees her sister's frame. Daisy looks like she's been out in the sun all day as Misty notices how some of her freckles peeked through her powdered foundation. Carrying shopping bags as she strutted over, Daisy's shoes click-clacked against the wet tile with poise.

Her sister lifts her glasses and hangs them on the top of her head. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Gyarados swims towards the edge of the pull on Misty's command allowing her to talk to Daisy face-to-face. "What happened to you spending a weekend in Pallet?"

Misty scrunches her face. "Nothing. I just wanted to be home."

Her sister's pearly teeth shine as she grins. "How about I go change and join you?"

Daisy turns around and skips towards the door before Misty could even reply. She sighs and buries her face in the crease of her elbow. Minutes pass and Daisy return sporting a swimmer's cap and cherry patterned two-piece. She gives herself a head start running before diving right into the pool. A vibrant dash of summertime.

Daisy was beautiful and carefree, as were Lily and Violet, in a way Misty felt she couldn't experience. Misty feels beautiful in her own skin but she was different. Daisy wore swimming caps while Misty's hair was slightly damaged from seawater. Daisy had straight, pearlescent teeth while Misty's right canine was slightly crooked to the point it stood out a bit.

Daisy wore her heart on her shoulder while Misty spat her heart out on a chipped wooden table, stabbed it with a fork and swallowed it down over and over.

The blond arises and breaks the surface wearing a bright smile and flushed cheeks as she paddles over to Gyarados. "When was the last time you practiced a free routine?"

Misty pictures the red lipstick and vaseline on her teeth. Her sisters twirling in perfect synch while she fell behind.

"Daisy, I suck at synchronized swimming."

"Lameeeeee. Whatever! Just come do some laps with me."

"Hard pass."

"That's unlike you. You like swimming laps."

"I don't feel good, Daisy," Misty says curtly through clenched teeth, her patience wearing thin.

Daisy brushes it off in a way that only an older sister could. "Stop being pissy and tell me what's wrong. You haven't felt good in weeks."

"Gyarados, can you take me to the edge please?"

Daisy calls after her but Misty doesn't stop.

She climbs off and lands on the tile, feet wobbling. Gyarados makes noise out of concern as she leans on him for support. Misty tries to stand up on her own but fails as she falls to the ground. Being unable to run away was salt to the wound.

Daisy manages to catch up and climbs out of the pool to her sister's side. Misty's breathing intensifies as she presses her hand to her chest, water dripping off her skin.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" She asks as she helps lift Misty up.

"—No." She averts her eyes and measures her breaths to appear composed.

Daisy frowns at her younger, stubborn sister. "Let's go sit."

"I want to stay swimming."

"You weren't actually swimming anyway."

Misty's expression falters. Her pokémon eye her out of concern, some of them racing to get out of the water. She reassures them she is alright and orders them to continue.

Daisy sits her down by some of the benches and grabs her a towel from some of the cubbies by the door. Misty wraps herself and lifts her knees.

"Thank you."

Daisy takes the seat beside her. "So, like, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

A strange feeling consumes her. It tastes close to guilt. "I don't know if I can explain anything serious to you with you looking like an egg and all."

Daisy gasps comically. "You're so RUDE!"

Misty lets out a giggle as she rests her cheek on her knee. "It's just hard to handle."

Daisy leaves the cap on out of defiance. "I know we aren't always around but we can piece things together. You haven't been eating well, you've been tired, you spend a lot of the time in the bathroom—you look unwell."

"Well, it's not the first time you called me ugly."

"Misty!" Daisy shouts. "I…I don't mean it like that. Jokes are jokes but please don't take it to heart."

She sighs. "I know you don't."

"We should get you back to the doctor."

"What?"

"To see what's wrong. If you aren't going to take care of yourself then I will."

Misty grimaces and the guilt sinks. "I already know what's wrong," she says, hiding her face between her knees. Daisy places a hand on her sister's back.

"Flowers are growing in my chest"

"How…" Daisy starts to ask.

"It's Ash."

She takes note of her sister inhale. Daisy hesitates at the name and settles on rubbing her back to soothe her. "That…that is some shit."

Misty's expression shifts as she laughs with gusto. The eldest of their family always did have a way with words. "It is. It really is." A strained breath follows as her laughter ceased. Her chest feels heavy. She takes a mental note to take some of her medicine as soon as possible.

Daisy looks like she wants to ask a million questions. She settles on one.

"Does it hurt?"

Misty looks taken back. "Does what hurt?"

"The love that you have for him," Daisy explains. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes. It's like an ache but then sometimes it feels…warm."

"It's an illness, right? Flowers growing in your chest because of love?"

"Unrequited love. They call it hanahaki disease. I learned about it through experience but before that, it's not something I ever thought could be real. It's uncommon but I just think people don't talk about it…like it's shameful."

"Does Ash know?"

Misty lifts her neck and shakes her head. "…Have you ever loved someone so much you think it might just kill you?"

Daisy looks down at the tile, ripping her swimming cap and letting her locks of hair fall in front of her face. "I have never loved or been loved by someone that deeply," she admits. "Adored? Absolutely. But thinking about love makes me uber crazy, ya know?"

"I feel like love is a bitch." Misty tightens the towel around her.

Daisy smiles to herself. "Maybe because you know how to love better than any of us." A beat. "You were always like that…love has been painful for you."

Her sister's sincerity and words seep into her in a way that makes her feel seen. Taken aback, Misty just sighs and rests her head on Daisy's shoulder.

"That can't be true."

"And argue. You know how to argue."

Daisy's company dulled the pain Misty was beginning to feel arise in her throat. "Fair enough."

"Listen, like I know it's weird to hear it because I can't understand what you're going through but I'm here for you. I wish you told me sooner, but it must have been hard for you. We both know that there is still so much for you to accomplish." Daisy reaches to hold Misty's hand in hers. "You're going to be okay. I'll make sure of it."

Misty's breath caught in her sore throat as tears start to fall as she considers her sister's promise. "Thank you."

They sit like that for a moment. A memory of Misty holding onto Daisy's neck as they swam far out to sea resurfaces and she feels like she is a nervous child going into primary school.

"I've been to a specialist but I haven't gone back for a consultation about the surgery. I think removing it is the best option but I have been avoiding it."

"Are there other options?"

"Not any real ones."

Daisy gives her questionable eyes. "It's not like I can confess. It's…"

Terrifying. Her inner voice rattles, but Misty finishes her sentence with a different sentiment. "It's a lot to put on a friend."

"You would be communicating with your friend. You aren't going to go on your hands and knees begging for some salvation. You can tell him your feelings and go on from there. If he doesn't feel the same…it won't be easy but you can always resort to getting medical help. But immediately going into surgery without even giving yourself a chance for closure? It isn't fair to you."

Daisy's points made Misty's insides twirl. "Brock said something similar."

"Ash cares about you."

Misty fidgets beside her sister as the image of Ash smiling her way flashed in her mind. "Yeah, you're right."

Daisy stands up and offers her hand to Misty. "When you're ready to go back to the doctor, let me take you."

She shivers and uses the towel to dry her hair a bit as the sisters stood by the pool to admire the splashing the pokemon were passionate about creating. "I don't think that's necessary," Misty insists. "You don't have to."

Daisy raises and claps her hands together with a brightness in her eyes. Misty could tell she was trying her hardest to be present, to be there for her. "No, I want to. I can drive!"

Misty jumps back. "Okay, I'd rather that you didn't. I'm already vomiting flowers. Can you imagine if I shit bricks on top of that?"

"Ew! Misty! I hate poop talk."

She giggles at how easily her sister sticks her tongue out in mild disgust. Misty's to-do list compiles in her head yet she allows her future self to take responsibility. She decides that the first thing on the list is to spend time with those she is grateful to have in her life. Those that showed her care, consideration, love, and presence in a time of difficulty. A little lost, she found light through them even if it was hard to accept. She wants them to know how thankful she is and to apologize for being her. But it could all wait, as she knows they will understand that. For the moment, Misty lives in the present and separates herself from the worry plaguing her daily life.

❀ ❀ ❀

The comforting smell of Delia Ketchum's infamous crispy pancakes wakes him up. Thin, slight burnt at the ends but a warm buttery color that melts in his mouth. They are sweet but not sweet like Alolan-style fluffy pancakes. His mom slathers on unsalted butter and apple compote. He shakes on a pinch of cinnamon sometimes.

Ash feels Pikachu curled along his stomach. When he is fully awake, he notices Misty’s absence. Probably downstairs, he considers. His hand presses the empty space beside him before rubbing his eye till it stung. Petting Pikachu awake, earning a squeaky yawn from his partner, Ash sits up and gets out of bed.

“Good morning,” he greets Pikachu. “How ‘bout it, bud? Want some breakfast?”

Pikachu stretches himself out and jumps off the futon as Ash kicks the thick comforter off. Ash heads to the bathroom to freshen up with Pikachu following close behind. After splashing warm water on his face, he brushes his teeth in crazy motions. His stomach rumbles as he imagines the taste of homemade apple spread. Pikachu takes a step off the bathroom counter and breezes past Ash as they travel out the bathroom towards downstairs.

They were welcomed by a sugary scent in the air. He finds his mom and Brock leaving the kitchen with plates of food as Mr. Mime sets the table. His mom places the pancakes on the table before looking up to greet him with a bright, warm smile.

"Honey, oh! Welcome home! I didn't even hear you come in last night…" Delia says as she rushes over to him and pulls him into her arms. Ash had a good couple inches on her but she couldn't help squeezing him upward like he was a toddler. Ash lifts her instead, earning a gentle slap to his shoulder and giggle. "You're gonna crack something!" She bellows as he sets her down.

Brock greets him with a clasp of their hands that turns into a tight hug. Ash pats Brock’s back as they separate. “I’m happy to see you.”

“Likewise. It’s been a minute.”

Ash looks around the room as they all took a seat at the dining room table. Pikachu and Mr. Mime settle for the floor, eating pieces of pancake and kibble mixed together. “Misty out back or something?” He questions, serving himself a tall glass of fresh orange juice.

Brock’s smile falters. “She went back to Cerulean City.”

Disbelief washes over Ash’s features. It takes him a second to consider Misty picking up and leaving without a good-bye a possibility.

“Oh. That’s…weird.” Delia passes him the unsalted butter. “She left even though she was so sick like that?” The idea of Misty traveling alone after what happened last night sends his gut to coil in worry.

"She might've had some unexpected business back home, dear. Or she felt uncomfortable being sick here. It's understandable." Delia's reassuring voice fails to soothe his growing anxiety.

Ash lets out a frustrated sigh and grips his fork in his hand. “But she can be comfortable here! This is just as much of a home for her as it is for us, right?”

Brock remains quiet as Delia stirs honey in her tea. “Misty knows that, Ash. She wouldn’t want you to worry.”

He knows they don’t know what happened. They didn’t see Misty last night.

Unsatisfied, Ash slathers on apple compote and cuts the pancakes up as he mindlessly chews. Brock and his mom talk freely throughout breakfast.  From gardening to produce to hormonal siblings, Ash chimes in occasionally with short answers. Neither his mom nor Brock pry as to why he cleaned up a little too aggressively, almost dropping a plate on Mr. Mime’s feet. He curses and apologizes to Mimey to which Delia pushes him out of the dining room and to the backyard of the house with Pikachu in tow.

“Get some fresh air,” she orders as she pushes him outside firmly. “I won’t be having you break my kitchen set.”

Jumping at the slam of the backdoor, he scurries towards the patio furniture they kept in the back. Ash’s years of being a son to a loving countrywoman taught him that it’s best not to argue. 

Pikachu climbs on top of the picnic-style wooden table as Ash took a seat under the closed umbrella. It takes him back to when he and his friends would visit home from traveling for days and sit at the back, admire the blue sky, and talks for hours as they helped themselves to fresh barley tea.

Ash hears the click of the back door as Brock steps outside.

“You got in late last night,” Brock comments, taking a seat across from Ash. Pikachu jumps on the table, leaning his head towards Brock and waits for the breeder to pet him. He smiles and obliges. “Did you sleep well?”

He thinks of how close they were—tangled by the legs and skin to skin. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ash coughs and nods. “Yeah for sure.”

They lapse into silence as a gentle wind brushed against them. Even the air was different in Kanto. The air in Alola has a sharp, salty taste that filled your lungs with energy. In Kanto, the air varied depending on how close you were to a city, but Pallet was free of any congestion that the air tickles a person's senses with the earth. Air that generations of families woke up to take in every morning.

“Man, we’re older.”

Ash raises a brow.

“Like two old grandpas sitting on some rocking chairs.”

“With some watermelon,” Ash adds.

“And a pinch of sugar.”

“One day it’ll be true.” Brock leans his head back and sighs happily. “I’ll be an old son of a bitch. Married for years, my lovely wife and I love each other to the point there are songs written about how our love was one of the greatest. Our kids would be beautiful but so sick of us. Beautiful and well-fed of course.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“We all have our dreams. I may be on the path of becoming a doctor but I have other aspirations. Love and family are just as important to me.” Brock peers off, almost wistfully. “In some way or another, we all fall in love.”

Ash quirks an eyebrow. “Not everyone ends up with someone.”

He feels guilty for picturing his mom alone in the kitchen.

“Humans are strangely diverse,” Brock states. “We fall in love with ideas, experiences, places, ourselves, and other people. Just because you may not end up dancing with someone at the end of your life does not mean you can’t know love. It’s just in life, I believe some people are one of the lucky ones that get to have a dance.”

"I never thought about it like that," Ash admits, sitting back in his chair and eyeing the sky above. "I have a lot to learn." Loving life, his journey, his friends, and his pokémon came to him naturally. Other than a few kisses and outings, Ash doesn't feel developed in the romantic side of things. His focus on training and his career takes up most of his energy but that doesn't mean he is opposed to anything new. Frankly, it was somewhat embarrassing to think about most of the time and often left him with sweaty palms.

“To be fair, I grew up with two grossly enamored people for parents that failed to change of few of their kid’s diapers. I wouldn’t say I know everything there is about love but I’m excited to learn.”

“Brock, you’ll be a lucky one. I feel it in my bones.”

His old friend smiles. "Thanks, man. And what about you? Are you going for one of those old hermit masters that travel the world barefoot? Namaste and all of that."

"I haven't given it much thought. I… don't know if I'm ready to explore all of that."

“You have time but can I offer some word of advice?”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t be closed off to new experiences. There is more to life than just battling.”

“Like watermelon and sugar!” Ash snaps his fingers and points at Brock with a matter of fact smile tracing his lips.

“Exactly. Like watermelon and sugar.”

Pikachu jumps from the table and runs towards the dandelions blowing in the wind. The pokemon begins chasing some of the spores that flew into the air.

“Pikachu! Your allergies!” Ash calls out as a warning as he watched his partner sneeze.

“You sound like your mom,” Brock comments, leaning his cheek into his hand.

Ash shivers. “Don’t remind me. I gasped at a coupon book the other day at a good sale. I…I think I’m evolving.”

“Maybe you can learn how to cook a thing or two.”

"Hey! I know the basics. I can fry an egg, make rice, and make little sausages look like little octillery," he lists.

“Can I tell you a secret? You were better at molding onigiri than Misty. You had a gentle hand and she…she would squish.”

Ash remembers a frustrated Misty eating the pickled plum or salmon filling as she molded the onigiri to look more like balls of chunky mochi covered in broken seaweed flakes.

He responds with a hearty laugh. “Can you please repeat that exact sentence to a not sick Misty?” 

“I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”

“You think we should go visit her in Cerulean?” He asks, admitting his private concerns. “If she is not feeling well then maybe we can help out. Scrub tile. Make some soup.”

Brock’s expression twists in uncertainty, scratching the back of his head.

“Maybe. We might just want to wait to see if she calls.”

Ash looks at Brock unsatisfied. “Is she that sick?”

“She probably just needs space, Ash. We have to respect that.”

“We’re her friends! It’s important to be there for her. She seemed out of it last night. How can she just pick up and leave just like that? Without saying goodbye.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It does.” Ash’s insides wring into knots, his heart sinks.

“Then it might be best that you ask her yourself.”

Ash thinks over Brock’s suggestion. Ash experiences these things: the image of a dazed Misty by the flowerbed vivid in his memory, the taste of pancakes and gala apples lingering on his tongue, and a burning sense of urgency.

❀ ❀ ❀

The consultation begins and ends with questions. Technically, it starts with Misty rolling her eyes at Dr. Proctor blatantly flirt with Daisy in the middle of the waiting room minutes before her appointment. Her hands itched to pull him away by the ear but she decides to walk and situate herself in the examination she remembers from last time. Dr. Proctor notices and apologizes to Daisy with a wink before reaching Misty.

The consultation takes time. X-rays are taken. Blood work is done. Vitals are observed. Test after test, Misty feels sick to her stomach. She listens as the doctor explains the range of sprouting, the specific size of the flower cluster (a rather large cluster he explained) and explains the current stage of the disease itself. He chides her on ensuring she is careful with strenuous activity to which she promises that she has been on perfect behavior. She's listening but she thinks about Brock's text messages from this morning.

(8:00 am) Ash is worried. He’s trying to respect your space but I think he’s going to bust at some point. Remember, he cares.

(8:01 am) Let me know how the consultation goes. Don’t bite the doc’s finger off.

(8:01 am) …

(8:01 am) what if it’s what he deserves?

(8:02 am) Valid point! :)

Dr. Proctor supplies words of encouragement and options for surgery dates. She picks the earliest option and he scribbles away at his clipboard. He almost forgets to write Misty up her prescription to which she crumbles it and she stuffs it into her letterman league jacket. She half-listens to his instructions on prepping the night before surgery and puts on a smile as she nods along to his words. Finally, it ends with a click of Dr. Proctor’s pen.

Daisy is waiting outside and slips her arm through Misty’s to escort her to the car. In synch, they enter Daisy’s hotrod.

“How did it go?”

Her seatbelt clicks in place. “Good. We scheduled the surgery for the 15^th.”

“That soon?” Daisy questions, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Why? You got something coming up so you can’t deal with your recovering sister?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She inches towards the car door, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand as she watches the passing scenery. “I don’t expect you to feed me crushed up hospital ice, Daisy.” The shaky breath that escapes her mouth almost brings her to shudder. She feels on the verge of tears but holds it in.

Daisy grips her hands on the stirring wheel tighter, flicking her sunglasses onto her face. “I would if you needed it.”

Misty remains silent despite Daisy’s attempts at information. Daisy takes a hint and turns up the car radio. Music drowns out the sisters’ silence.

With the surgery scheduled for the end of the week, Misty’s sense of hopelessness eases. Finally, a date has been set. It eases but not entirely. She feels like this pain can’t just cease to exist.

Even if they burn him away, the scars will live with her. Misty knows this and swears that she can bear it. Bear it through gritted teeth, even as her mind spirals and attempts to conceptualize that soon she will let him go. 

Their last moment together had him picking her up like broken pieces. She cannot accept that as the end. Misty must see him one more time. 

Time waits for no one; she reminds herself as she stared out the clear glass into fast urban scenes. Make the most of it.

❀ ❀ ❀

(There was a split moment Misty thought the flowers paused in its growth. She was able to swallow down some orange peels. Her throat didn’t even sting.Rushing to eat something else, anything else, Misty dips her fork into a piece of chocolate cake hidden in the back of the fridge.

The day was beautiful. No coughing. No forget-me-nots. No long pauses in between battles. No blinding pains.

It gave her hope. Maybe she was beginning to heal.)

❀ ❀ ❀

(She was wrong.

The taste of rust and bile flood her mouth. The remnants of chocolate and citrus remain in her back molars as flecks of blue petals get stuck between her teeth. The hanahaki possessed her, having her heave like a deflated puppet over the porcelain. Hot tears and sick sounds of frustration like a ‘pounding on the window’ kind of storm. Slamming her fist against the bathroom tile, she hits her fist till the knuckles bleed. There, on the cold floor, a bruised Misty vomits for two hours straight.

She was wrong and she hates being wrong.)

❀ ❀ ❀

“Don’t you think it looked better with the giant dewgong?”

“Pika-a! Pikachu pi.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It was fun!”

Ash spent the majority of the bus ride from Pallet to Cerulean listening to one of his battle tournament recap podcasts. Taken back by how quickly the ride went, he arrived wondering if it was the appropriate time. Then again, he figures (hopes) that Misty would be ecstatic to see him. It wasn’t like she purposely avoided him by not calling or sending a message—she had to be busy.

As Ash walks towards the front entrance of the Cerulean Gym, he passes a cheerful challenger leave swinging his cascade badge in the air. He catches a glimpse of how the trainer almost drops his badge into the moat enclosing the gym out of excitement. He feels old, shaking his head with a smile at how the youth never change.

Gyms under the Indigo League always made him feel some time of way but there was something about the Cerulean Gym that ignited electric energy in him. Memories of his first battle against Misty take over his mind as he reminisces over how significant it was to him.

Ash, a newbie trainer, ready to accept the badge without a battle to only be stopped dead in the tracks by a kid runaway. Misty standing on the bleachers declaring herself as the one who would win the fight, a booming voice filling up the entire battlefield.

“IF YOU WANT THAT CASCADE BADGE, YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO BEAT ME!”

Then it was a stubborn Pikachu unwilling to battle against his friend. Ash understood his partner but, in the moment, it made his temper flare. It psyched him up to take her down even if his only electric-type didn't want to challenger the water-type expert. Even if she didn't look tough (with her big ocean eyes and pink cheeks) Ash remembers the fierce energy that radiated off of her. It was so overwhelming and annoying and made him want to win badly. It may have been a tie but he gained a different insight into Misty that day.

Out of nostalgia, he wishes they never upgraded the gym as over the years he began to recognize how Kanto changes. It is the little ways like your favorite ice cream gets discounted or the big ways like your friends developing into unstoppable forces. Some changes can’t be helped, Ash muses to himself.

It changes without him. Misty changed without him.

Their last battle may have resulted in a win for him and Pikachu (who eventually learned to love battling against her as much as he loved her hugs) but Ash didn’t want it to end. The heavy rain and high winds pelting them as they stood opposite on the sea-like battleground. The beating pulse and pounding heart overcoming his senses as his cheeks ached from how hard he smiled throughout the whole experience. The fact that Misty had a Mega Stone, a Gyaradosite, and the audacity to wink at him like it was no big deal. Her “blue sweetheart” dominating the entire arena with pure, raging power leaving everyone on the stands in awe. The satisfaction and pride he felt at her shellshocked expression as he whipped out Gigavolt Havoc in his final move. Misty’s eyes on him and only him (a silent treasure he had to take with him when he returned to Alola) as they took in the final moments of their battle; fun he wished he could recreate.

As he crosses into what appears to be the empty main lobby, he hears a familiar voice call out to him.

“Ash? Pikachu?”

Daisy, head to toe in yoga gear, pops up from behind the front desk.

“Daisy! Long time no see!” Ash hasn’t seen her in anything but posters of the Sensational Sisters World Tour. “You look great!”

The blonde strikes a pose and grins. “Oh stop! I didn’t know you were visiting today.”

"Just thought I'd come to check in on Misty."

“Pika!” Pikachu nods happily, jumping off Ash’s shoulders and looking around

"Breakaway from your busy schedule as Alolan Champion to visit Miss Thing huh?" She teases, whipping her hair into a ponytail.

Ash adjusts the cap on his head. “Well…”

“I’m on the way to pilates. Misty is in the quarters doing some final check-ups before closing for today. Go right ahead.”

“Right. Bye, Dais-“

In a split second, Daisy towers over him, her bright blue-green eyes (the same as Misty's) flash with killer intent and sends a jolt down his spine. Confused, he fumbles and leans back till he was on the brink of tipping backward onto the tile.

“Ashy, like, be extra mindful of yourself today. Your words and actions mean a lot to some of us. Just a thought!”

A pearlescent smile graces her face. His blood runs cold.

Ash stares blankly as she walks out the door. “What…was that all about?”

“Pi…”

The shift of metal doors makes a sharp sound along with the sound of footsteps. A flash of blue hops towards him and squeaks at his feet.

“Azuuuu—zuuuu!” Azurill sings a greeting. Pikachu wags his tail and taps it against the water-types tail.

Ash melts at how Azurill’s ears twitch with excitement. “Hi, little one!”

“Azurill! Where did you go?”

Ash turns around to find Misty stepping into the room. She seems like she was caught in a wind tunnel, orange hair wild and cheeks all flushed. Wearing a look of panic across her face, she stares at him.

He speaks first. “What’s up, buttercup?”

She tears her attention from him and leans down to pet Pikachu on the head. The panicked look disappears as her eyes downcast, warmly cooing at his partner. Pikachu, a greedy little cretin, accepts each pet.

“Hey,” Misty says, her voice soft but different to him. Heavier. "I was looking for one baby didn't think I'd find two. And of course, sweet Pikachu.”

The baby, Azurill squeals in delight, and Ash’s grin jokingly falters and gives her a deadpan look. No matter how many years have passed, she truly was the queen of busting his balls.

"I am the epitome of maturity!" Misty ignores him and lifts herself, Pikachu happily in her arms.

Azurill jumps on its tail and hops repeatedly, inching closer to him.

“That means he wants to be carried.” Misty tilts her head as a gesture to the bubbly creature. 

Ash opens his arms and Azurill immediately climbs in, nuzzling against his chest. He melts, putting his hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. “…I could cry.”

“You’ve fallen victim.” Misty hums absently and turns to walk towards what Ash recognizes as the door to her office. He follows her.

From behind, he notices a white cloth covered in red streaks hanging out of her jacket pocket. Worried, he wants to say something but holds back his tongue, his voice caught in the throat like a lump of dry meat.

She looks back behind her shoulder as she opens the office door. “So, what brings you by?”

Ash stumbles back, slightly on edge. “To catch up! See how you are doing.”

“Well then, how do I look like I’m doing?”

The trainer blinks at her. Pikachu jumps from her arms to the planet covered desk as Misty hangs her jacket on the hanger by her desk. Photographs and knick-knacks occupy the space. Trinkets like tiny pokémon figurines, guidebooks and miniature boat replicas that remind him of how much of a geek she could be. Naturally, she pulls out a file from her cabinet and begins writing on a document.

"You look like you've had a long day," he tells her, scratching Azurill's ear. She appears less dazed than the last time they have spoken but he senses a greater shift in her aura. It is not absurd to link it to her being sick.

"I've had a couple of long days to be exact." Misty doesn't look up from the document as she signs at the bottom line then stamps it. The stamp is in the shape of a water drop. The ink a bright blue. "And they always end with a daily report." She taps against the paper and places it back in the folder labeled TO SCAN and shoves it back to the cabinet. Next to the cabinet are Misty’s priceless collection of Pokemon dolls she won the Princess Festival competition. 

Ash grins and holds out his hand.

“…What?”

“Stamp me.”

“With the official Cerulean Gym seal of approval?”

“Yup! Approve me.”

He can’t help but notice her fail to suppress a smile. Misty playfully rolls her eyes, laughing as she holds his hand and presses the stamp onto the back of it. Something pleasant burns in his stomach as her shoulders shake with giddy.

“It’s cute! I like it.”

“Tracey designed it. Daisy suggested it and he had it done the next day.”

Ash leans her body against her desk. “That’s interesting. How does one create a stamp…in a day? Don’t they have distributors for that?”

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “My guess is the power of infatuation.”

“Tracey likes Daisy? Like—like?”

Misty gives him a knowing smile.

“Oh.” He remembers Brock’s words on the patio. Ash looks back at Misty with wonder.

Did she have someone like that?

For some reason, he didn’t have the heart in him to ask.

Instead, he asks, "You want to go out for ice cream?"

Misty blinks at the offer, casting her attention to the side. “Right now?”

“You’re locking up the gym, right?” He sees Misty’s shoulders tense, feels her hesitation, and hastens to add, “It’ll be my treat!”

Her head snaps up to face him. Golden joy burns him as her lips formed into a smile. It wasn’t big but it was a step above that look of uneasiness that made him panic. Misty loves ice cream. Recalling the moment she tasted Kiawe’s family recipe for Moo Moo Milk ice cream, Ash smiled to himself at how she overflowed with joy. He wonders why she didn’t just grab him and rush out the door towards the nearest.

“Okay.” She nods. “Your treat.”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Vanilla cone with sprinkles, please!” Ash orders at the ice cream stand. It was a permanent stand that anyone could find near one of the most romantical spots in the entire region: Cerulean Cape, home to fleeting hearts and the lighthouse. In Kanto, it is a given that Pallet Town is where journeys begin but Cerulean City is where young lovers fall in love for the first time. Or so Ash has been told. He doesn’t completely catch Prof. Oak’s poetic rants on the Kantonian landscape despite his patriotism.

Ash never understood what made Cerulean a destination for lovers but notices the multiple couples feeding each other ice cream as they sit seaside. Ice cream does bring hearts together, he decides as he waits for Misty to order.

She quirks her mouth, looking indecisive, and finally asks for a small green tea in a cup.

"You don't want double chocolate?" Ash asks, utterly surprised by the simple flavor. It wasn't that he never has seen her order anything other than chocolate. Ash has listened to her strong opinions on ice cream and her love for peanut butter swirl, dulce de leche, cookies and cream, mint chip, brownie blast, melon, taro, and whatever was sweet on the menu. Even with all the flavors, she used to always come back around and choose chocolate.

“Chocolate is my first love,” Misty told him once, outside a gelato shop in Goldenrod City.

"Not today. I had a big lunch earlier." A mild voice.

Ash blinks at her, pure and simple, confused as to why that has anything to do with eating a large cone.

With a warm thank you, the old gentleman hands them their treats.

Excited and eager, he lifts his rainbow mess and digs in. He dips his finger and offers a dollop to Pikachu who happily accepts. Sticking the wooden spoon into the cup, Misty twirls the ice creams. The two of them walk near the lighthouse and admire the scenery. A rail between the trainers and the sea, salty air tickling their skin as gusts of wind encircle them. Little by little, visitors leave the area as it grew windier.

Ash feels Pikachu shiver and laughs when his partner presses his icy black nose to his cheek. Misty scoops up some ice cream into her mouth and swallows slowly, twirling and twirling her spoon. Azurill mews, opening wide for a taste. Misty obliges, sharing her treat. Ash continues to practically shovel the vanilla mess into his mouth, taking in the moment. He twists his head and gazes at Misty, thankful that she didn’t have that clouded far look in her eyes nor falling to her knees. After all that worrying, she was present in the moment beside him. Even if she doesn’t seem to be eating her ice cream.

They still had the view.

“You remember the sunset we saw when we camped outside of Prof. Kukui’s house?” He asks, taking a bite of his cone and feeding the last part to Pikachu.

“I do. It was beautiful.” She admires the roaring waters, golden hour illuminating her. “Alola is beautiful. I miss it.”

The corners of his lips twitch as if he’s fighting off an eager grin from forming but she doesn’t turn to him to notice. “There is still so much I want to show you, Misty.” Lana would die over Misty seeing Brooklet Hill and then there was Seafolk Village and everyone could come together again to watch clusters of minior fall down from space accompanied by a meteor shower.

Misty would love it all.

“You could use another vacation,” he adds, elbowing her arm supportively. “Since you’ve been under the weather and all. It could help with stress.”

She turns, staring at him for a moment, and he can’t quite understand the flecks of forlorn in her expression. “I don’t like you worrying over me,” she admits after a pause, feeding the rest of her ice cream to Azurill.

Ash raises his brows. “You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I worry? I want you to be okay and happy.”

She inhales, glancing down at her hands gripping the iron rail.

“You know what would make me happy?”

All he could do is watch as she leans back and takes a strong step forward, swiftly pokes his forehead (his face scrunches), and reaches for something at her hip. Ash blinks and senses a shift in her spirit.

“A battle,” she reveals, he takes note of an expanding pokeball cupped in the palm of her hand. “I challenge you. Right here, a one on one battle.”

Ash’s eyes widen, feeling the electricity course through his veins as nothing but the burning desire to battle her mattered. Lips curling to a grin, he flicks his wrist and tips his cap, and accepts her challenge.

❀ ❀ ❀

The flat area around the lighthouse becomes their arena. Ash on one end, Misty on the other, separated by space and an unspoken agreement. Azurill and Pikachu are on the sidelines, directly under the lighthouse, admiring their trainers as the little one rested against Pikachu. Ash basks in the excitement building within, heating his ice cream coated insides. Impromptu battles were his bread and butter—especially ones involving old friends. He practically barks from the joy, gripping his pokeball tight. And then there was Misty, head held straight standing confident; her sharp seafoam eyes hard on his, piercing through the golden hour as the sun settles over the horizon.  

They know the rules. They know the stakes.

They know each other.

Two lights emerge simultaneously as Ash and Misty call out their chosen team members.

“Go, my steady! Starmie!”

“Rowlet, let’s go!”

Misty’s starmie spins as it emerges, quick to take a stance in the middle of the field, while Ash’s rowlet takes flight to the sky, cooing as it soared in tight circles.

“Stay high, Rowlet.”

There is a hand full of times Ash has seen Starmie battle on solid ground. Misty mostly used it on the water when they traveled together so he couldn't rule that Rowlet had the upper hand environment wise.

Misty’s face falls even. “Psychic, Starmie. Rustle Rowlet up!”

Starmie's core illuminates brightly, slightly blinding its opponent, and emits an azure-colored barrier that encloses Rowlet in a defenseless bind. Swiftly, Starmie rotates like a gear and telekinetically swings the flying-type in multiple directions. Side to side, up and down, Rowlet's ivory face turns pungent chartreuse as nausea finally hits.

Awaiting the moment to break free from Starmie’s mental hold, manipulating Rowlet to dance midair, Ash bites his bottom lip. He catches Starmie falter during a shift, it’s core blinking low, and sees the barrier keeping Rowlet in place thin out to almost nothing.

“Don’t fight against it—focus your energy internally and use your strength to create a Seed Bomb!”

Rowlet blinks, staring directly at Starmie, and manages to cast the rock hidden in his cheek and fires at the red core as a flaming orange spitball.

Misty bites and grimaces at the sharp sound of the bomb breaking against Starmie's middle, leaving the psychic attack to waver and setting Rowlet free but distressed. Luckily, no ruby chips fall to the floor. Ash is thankful that the gem core didn't crack from the weakened Seed Bomb but clenches his fist at the lack of damage. The move left Starmie to slide backward on its bottom appendages.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Misty calls out reassuringly, her hand over her chest. Starmie’s fierce hyaahh brings a smile to her face. “Now, go fast.”

Ash’s pupils rattle at Starmie’s sonic movements across the area. Rowlet’s head twists as it tries his best to capture sight on the opponent’s agile movements. Like a shinobi, Starmie creates a rapid path of confusion that the grass-type cannot follow.  Misty’s fingers clutch her chest as she lets out a raspy command. “Hit him with Brine!”

A torrent releases, advancing straight towards a dizzy Rowlet. Quick to action, Ash raises his forearm and shouts, “Use Feather Dance!”

Rowlet speeds up—little wings unwavering with every rhythmic flap and heightened chirp. The grass-type flies backward, leaving a feathered husk in his place, leaving the pressured stream of saltwater to break the decoy and send a gust of icy wind across the field, tasting tangy like the air that hits you when you stand on the dock of a sailing ship.

The droplets of water hit Rowlet's wings and manage to weigh him down to the ground. Misty doesn't look pleased with the result and calls Starmie to settle back to the other side of the field. Its movements appear sluggish, lacking stamina.

"That was a close call!" Ash admits, tugging on the brim of his hat as a toothy grin form across his tanned face. Adrenaline pumps through him, hot and raw, warm air blows out his nose as he awaits her signal to formulate his next move. Misty's attention to playing Rowlet's weakness to distractions brings Ash to reminisce on how strategic she was throughout their journey. Fiddling with riddles and organizing escape routes, sometimes only to resort brute force to break through an obstacle.

It was Misty’s way.

“Not close enough for my taste.” Misty’s arm slices through the space surrounding her, saluting Starmie to slice through the arena towards Rowlet.

Ash grins. “Perfect! Rowlet, let’s finish with Bloom Doom!”

Rowlet gathers itself to break his trance, preparing to synchronize energy with Ash to prepare a Z-Move. Ash waves his arms in the first formation, his attention on his pokémon’s energy. A light green aura begins to envelop Rowlet, flowers emerging along the field, surrounding them as—

“Starmie, halt and freeze!”

The energy comes to a halt as Rowlet freezes inflight, and without delay, Starmie's Psychic rendering him stunted and suspended in the air as he was lifted upward in a flash. A twinkling light glimmers from "the gem of the sea" as Rowlet is dropped from the telekinetic bind and blasted by a beam of ice streaming from Starmie’s direction. The impact brings Rowlet to cry out and plunges onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Twinkles of frost veils Rowlet’s rigid form as he remains flat on the pavement. Starmie, visibly lethargic, manages to keep upright in the middle of the battlefield.

“Rowlet!” Rowlet doesn’t respond to Ash’s voice.

He fainted. It was Starmie’s win; no referee was needed for that fact.

Rowlet gathers enough energy to use his wing to roll over. A red flash zaps a cooing, dizzy Rowlet and recalls him back to Ash. "You did wonderfully," he praises with a bright smile and clicks the pokeball in place. "Ahhhh!! That was the best.” Raising his arms in the air, he calls Pikachu and Azurill over before running towards Misty.

“Thank you, Starmie.” She carries a soft smile. “For everything.”

Starmie blinks it’s red core and returns back to it’s pokeball. He jogs right up to her, their bodies almost colliding. “Misty,” her name leaves his tongue in a tingle, like a jolt of electricity, “that was—"

That part of Ash’s mind that blesses him with the ability to speak short-circuits, his eyes widen, and then it’s blank. All that could function within him was a resounding heartbeat thumping. His brain is slow in realizing Misty's arms wrap around his neck, closing the space between them—chest against chest. At first, Ash is caught off-guard, a little awkward and stiff, then she squeezes him sweetly and it warms him. He follows, no questions asked, inhaling the sea in and locks his arms around her waist. His senses spinning and the sun sets behind them, golden light shedding what little it had left of its existence.

Her breath tickles the skin of his neck and sends a shiver down his spine that renders him painfully aware of the flush crawling up his face. For a second, Ash forgot hot to breathe because she runs her hand through his hair, gripping it and not letting go.

And he didn’t want her to let go.

For a split second, it feels like they were ten again, grasping and holding hands through a dense thicket. He didn’t want her to let go then either, but she always pulled away first—her touch lingering in the form of sweat and comfort. All he could do was stuff his empty hand in his pocket as he watched her back while she walked away.

From afar, Ash hears Pikachu say something to Azurill, leading the younger one away from their trainers to give them space.

“Thank you,” she breaks the silence, loosening her arms from his neck. “It was a lot of fun.” Ash opens his eyes and looks at Misty’s face. Ocean eyes watering slightly, she smiles. Pretty but painful. The air in his lungs escape.

“It really was.”

Misty steps back, breaking away from their hug and Ash feels cold.

“I—” she pauses, watching him like he was from another realm then clenches her eyes shut, giggles bubbling in eruption, “I am just fucking happy that I won.”

“This round!” He barks out, starting to feel like he was walking on a thin cord that was on the verge of snapping. A muscle twitching in his jaw begins to throb. “I’ll win next time, I swear!”

The laughter subsides as her smile deepens, close to tears. "Next time then."

His train of thought remerges and his conscious whispers with Misty in mind: Why are you crying? Did I make you cry? Why did you leave the other day without saying good-bye? What did you mean by I’m your burden? Why does it feel like you can’t tell me anything important? Do you feel hurt? Are you sick? Do you want me to carry you home again?

The questions get stuck in his throat. No words. Ash’s hand moves the strand of hair framing her face, his knuckles gently touch the high of her cheeks wiping away the wet. She gasps but he holds on.

“What if I don’t recognize you?” It’s earnest, her tone. 

He pauses. “What?” It was a weird question.

“What if you come to me and challenge me to a battle but I don’t recognize you?”

A pause. “—Like if you forgot me?”

“Yes. What if I forget you?”

The thought isn’t a pleasant one to grasp.

“I…I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine a time when we don’t recognize each other.” Ash’s mouth tightens. “I think it would kind of make me angry.”

“Angry?”

“Well! How dare you not remember me after so long?”

“Unbelievable,” she spurts, head shaking in what he thinks is disbelief. Misty casts away and turns, her hand lifting Ash’s from her cheek, grasping it tightly. His friend faces the setting sun and he can't help but think that she might be made of fire. The soul may be oceanic but the body is a flame. Skin, a tanned peach. Tangerine strands touched by sunrays become a collection of golden threads kissed by light. Misty bathes in the sun and becomes softly blurred.

"I'm sorry. I'll do my best to remember." It is docile, her voice that is, and it is rare. Nothing about Misty is docile. The sunset's golden cast lingers on her form as he watches, wondering if any light reached him because he couldn't tell. All he could see was her. He watches. Closely. Trying to find anything—anything there for him to catch. To see. To understand.

Throughout his life, he often had trouble in the art of understanding. Not all the time because he isn’t totally useless—he knows things! Ash tries (his best) but sometimes all he knows how to do is feel, to empathize. But he gets up so caught up in the what, when, where, and why that he forgets the importance of who.

This is why he grips her palms tight and tells her what felt truest to him. “—I’ll remind you.”

Her head illuminates with the snap of her neck, golden orange threads almost flying; sea glass colored eyes glassy.

“So, you won’t forget,” he breathes out, “I don’t want you to forget.”

Her lashes flutter to a close. “It happens to the best of up. We grow old, we grow apart. Nothing is infinite, Ash.” That small voice says in name too calmly and grips his heart. “One day, we will be a memory—one that we forget.”

Crack.

“You’re wrong. For as long as I live, I will think of you and I’ll remember you.” Squeeze. Her hand in his like when they were just kids and he didn’t have the heart to see her go. He squeezes again as if to tell her: Understand me. Believe me. “I’ll remind you who I am, Misty.”

Eyelashes open, she stares at him in awe. The depth of her eyes lightens like the clearing of a sea storm. The bottom lip quivers, her face a dusted rose and highlight by dew, and it breaks through to him that Misty glows.

His mouth goes dry like it often does when encountering new, magical things. Things like a skyline of an uncharted city or a healing lake hidden in the middle of a forest or reaching the mountain peak or diving into open seas, swimming towards the horizon till every part of your body aches. Beautiful things.

“Fuck,” spills out of her, bittersweet. “I must really be in love with you.”

Waves crash against the cape. The sea is loud but he heard her.

(Some fall in love—some crash into it.)

“You love me?” Ash whispers eventually.

Dumbfounded, a deerling caught in the headlights, he raises his chest and shakes slightly, feeling like his breath had been stolen. He stares at her, stunned.

Misty pokes his forehead, wearing that smile that sort of made him want to cry. He blinks at the touch and suddenly she kisses his cheek, lips soft and fleeting. A kiss to the cheek sends a warm current down his body like electricity. She lets his hand go and calls out Azurill’s name. His heart races as he watches her take a few steps forward, walking away.

A hand reaches out but she sends him a look that stops him dead in his tracks.

Time stood still.

“Don’t follow me, okay? Stay here.” Her words give him the itch to argue. She coughs into her hand, a raw and heavy cough, and fails to conceal it. Opening his mouth, his eyes the size of saucers start tearing up, and as he raises his hands to grip her shoulders fearing she’ll disappear he hears, “—I’ll never ask you to stay again.”

He drops his arm to his side, feeling Pikachu grasps onto the bottom of his pants and tug. He watches her as she slips away, walking towards the path they took to watch the sea and sky melt together. Their time started out sweet but left a new taste in his mouth. A new warmth to his cheek.

She stops dead in her tracks. Turning around slowly like a flicker of a dying flame, she looks back at him. Cupping her hands along her mouth, Misty stands strong and screams her heart out.

“Ash, I love you!”  

Misty mouths it once more and from far away he reads the four-letter word on her lips. He couldn’t hear it over the waves and the buzzing of his heartbeat, but her confession hangs in the air for him to catch.

He holds onto his breath. He holds onto his voice.

Ash fears he might run after her and go against her wishes. So, he stays there, chaos and commotion dribbling in his chest like a ricocheting ball left to die out until his insides burn. Low and tender.

Go after her, Ash’s heart screams. Go! 

Body and mind betray his heart. Ash stays.

❀ ❀ ❀

She runs all the way home. Azurill follows her every hop of the way.

It’s exhilarating, really. The feeling of pushing yourself so hard that your body thinks you might just stop and drop dead. A racing heart pumping to the rhythm of her shallow breaths. Her insides pulse, everything stinging. A blood-pumping, muscle twitching sort of exhilarating that makes her give less than two shits that she is leaving forget-me-nots in her wake. 

Ash might follow the trail of flowers back to her. She hopes his shitty sense of direction remains true to character.

Even in the sadness she feels about losing him was vital; colors are brighter, every single tangible moment of happiness or melancholy or desperation or longing or madness exists beyond herself. They become more real, more complete; she may lose the memory of losing him, how it pained her to do so but for a moment, she burns restlessly through the streets and fills her mind with the ending to their story in only a language she knew: I’m glad we met. When we see each other again, I won’t know you. But you should know, I was happy with you. I was happy being in love with you. Even with the distance, even if it hurt, I was okay because I knew you were living a life free of burdens. I hope you never stop living that way. I think here I will leave you. In between the now and the end, if there is ever a moment you think of me when you look back at the beginning—if you happen to miss me or swear that you’ll never forgive me for leaving you—just remember that I loved you. The me that pulled you out of the stream, the me who saw you fall and get back up time after time, the me who was proud to be your friend, will always love you. I’ll always love you. Your friend till the end, Misty.

They would hate to know she ran without hearing his response. Some words are better left unsaid, she reminds herself, grinning through the tears.

❀ ❀ ❀

(To him, her I love you sounded awfully like a goodbye.)

❀ ❀ ❀

(She didn’t make the lover’s choice. She chose the past, releasing the chance for a future. For love, she disappears. Soon to be a fleeting, selfless love and a tattered girl ready for a new world. 

—What does it look like? She ponders. A future without Ash.

One where you live. A self-reminder. Don’t let it all go to waste. Live.)

❀ ❀ ❀

They came out ugly. Well, not all of them, but they weren’t the most artistic display. The forget-me-nots have been reduced to pressed flowers in her old traveling journals.

Misty places newer forget-me-nots next to an old entry—

hello.

today i fished a boy out of a swimming hole. i wanted a seaking or a shellder not some pipsqueak in a league cap. he had a pikachu in pretty bad shape in his arms but i slapped some sense to him and THEN what does the kid do? STEALS! MY! BIKE!

ridiculous. i found it along a dirty bath in the worst condition!! does everything he touch explodes? then i found him at the pokecenter and demanded he repay me for my bike. he acted like he had no idea what i was talking about BUT i swear i’ll follow him for the rest of our lives till he pays his debt.

my journey may have become crowded but you know what happens when you want something? you fight for it! i’ll fight to become a water-type master, i’ll fight for my bike!! i’ll fight for MYSELF!

tomorrow is a new day and a step closer to my dreams. goodbye and goodnight.

-misty

and presses the book down.

“Are you ready?” Daisy stands at the doorway to Misty’s room.

Her hand strokes over the journal then carry it over to her sister to keep.  "I'm ready."

❀ ❀ ❀

“Myosotis sylantica or myosotis scopioides?”

“I’m not sure, Dr. Proctor,” admits the accompanying masked physician. “I…am not familiar with flower classification. You’re the expert.”

Misty hears Dr. Proctor shuffle and from the corner of her sight, watches as he brings a sample to the light. Partially blinded by the brightness of the operating room, she can only make out his light green smocks. Fatigued, her chest heaves as she lays flat on the hospital table, icy and hard.

“Myosotis sylantica then. Average size is 15-60 cm. in height. Small in size but the patient has a large spread ranging throughout the upper body. Let’s begin with the chest region then proceed to using a lighter torch on the pharynx.”

Everyone talks around her like she isn’t there. The anesthesiologist reaches over and inserts an IV near the elbow crease then moves to add the anesthesia.

“Unfortunately, we are unable to provide the induction process through the usual breathing mask and gas technique due to the hanahaki infecting your lungs,” Dr. Proctor informed her earlier that day. “Hope you’re not afraid of needles.”

Pain subsides, as does her vision, as Misty drifts off to the sound of her pounding heart.

❀ ❀ ❀

The hallway is cold and blinding.

“Two days, huh?”

Daisy nods, looking at the gray tile and folding her arms over her chest. All three Sensational Sisters huddled together outside their baby sister’s hospital room like a pack of protective fearow. “They want to monitor her vitals and make sure the discharge goes smoothly.”

“I’ll go back to the gym and handle trainers then. I spoke with them and the league already approved for my request to temporarily handle battles. If anything, Violet can deal with documentation and scheduling and Daisy you should—”

“Lily…”

“Like, what Violet?!”

“You’re crying.”

Lily’s shoulders shake. Her cracked nail polished fingers touch her wet cheeks. “Shit.”

Instinctively, Violet gently holds onto Lily’s shoulder as Lily’s waterproof mascara failed to run. “I hate seeing her like that.”

“We know.” Daisy soothes her younger sister’s strawberry hair.

“She will heal from this,” Violet offers as a source of comfort. “It’s better this way.”

“That’s the thing like—what if it isn’t?”

Silence follows. Catching the sound of footsteps against the tile, Daisy lifts her head of bouncing curls to see Brock and Tracey approaching them wearing comforting smiles.

“Hello everyone,” the men say in unison.

The sisters straighten up with smiles, like the actresses they are, taking the center of the performance.

Brock is carrying a bento and thermos as Tracey holds a stuffed azumarill in his arms with a ribbon around the ears. Daisy pokes it, her eyes gleaming with mild curiosity. “It was the only thing I could think of,” Tracey laughs nervously.

“It’s cute. She’ll love it.”

“I brought some onigiri for us for a quick lunch and some stew for Misty. I uh figured it might be a little difficult to eat solid food right now.”

An authentic smile forms on Daisy’s face. The eldest sister knew Brock and Tracey saw Misty as a sister—someone to care for and protect. Even if they were not on the road together, Misty kept in constant contact with them. Daisy would just nod as Misty went on about Brock’s progress at school or Tracey’s work on publishing a book of his art. Whether it was Tracey helping Misty secure monthly data on her team or Brock making dinner for her without hesitation. The two young men saw Misty at her worst and her best.

Daisy was grateful for them. “Thank you so much. Really.”

Brock and Tracey melt into blushing messes as Daisy holds their hands with sweetness. Lily giggles as she nudges past them, following behind Violet. Violet sighs, clicks the door handle, and opens it wide. Everyone is quiet as they enter Misty's room.

A fresh breeze travels through the window into the hospital room, curtains rustling and air clean. Misty, draped in a hospital gown, is dead asleep in her bed and connected to a peeping heart monitor. Lily moves across the room to open the curtains.

No flowers in the hospital room.

"She looks so…fragile." Tracey is the first to speak. His voice is low as he squeezes the plush.

“Recovery will do that to anyone,” Brock offers in a low whisper, settling the food on a nearby table. He notices an card engraved with the Rainbow Badge and bag of loose leaf tea in a silk bag. The heart monitor is steady as is the silence between them. All of them taken by Misty’s state.

Brock opens the bento of onigiri, a mix of pickled plum and salmon, and—

"—Are those onigiris?" A slumped Misty asks, peeking one eye at the stacked bento.

"Yes, but not for you," Brock waves his finger, handing off onigiri to Daisy, Lily, and Violet. The youngest sister lifts herself, groaning lightly, and pouts. "I did bring you some stew whenever you are hungry."

Her pout shifts into a small smile. Daisy sits at the foot of Misty’s bed and leans over to pet her hair down.

“Misty, hi.” Tracey awkwardly shuffles to her side, showing the stuffed azumarill.

“Hey Trace,” she responds quietly, voice scratchy. “Is that for me?”

Tracey nods as she wraps her arms around the plushy and breathes out, squeezing it like an old friend. The artist is delighted as Misty rests her cheek against the toy. “Thank you. I’m happy to see you both. These three just come tempting me with their Arbucks.”

Lily gasps and almost drops her snack. “OH MY GOODNESS! Don’t act like you can’t only eat healthy food!”

“You didn’t even try sneaking me in a mocha frap. I would do in a heartbeat for you!”

“Easy, easy,” Violet breaks in, wiping off a grain of rice from the corner of her mouth. “As soon as we get the okay from the doctor we will be sure to fulfill your sugar addiction.”

Brock and Tracey chuckle at the siblings bickering while Daisy sighs at it, grabbing a scrunchie from her wrist and wraps it around Misty’s hair to form it into a side ponytail.

“Can I get some of the stew, please? They’ve only been feeding me smoothies and ice chips in this joint.”

Brock serves her some up in the thermos and gives her a spoon and napkin. She beams just like she always does when being fed. Less pain behind the eyes.

Misty happily eats a spoonful as they all ate lunch together. Conversations ranging from the Arbucks secret menu to some of the best hiking spots in the area.

They didn’t mention Ash’s name in the hour and a half they spent together.

Tracey offers to walk the sisters out, all of them hoping to get any updates from Misty’s nurse, and wishes Misty a warm goodbye.

Brock stays back for a moment. He doesn’t ask if she remembers Ash. He doesn’t bring up Pikachu or if she remembers their journey together. He doesn’t mention the summers in Pallet Town or Delia Ketchum. He just packs up his containers and pats the top of her head. “I’m sorry it happened this way, Misty.”

There’s a faraway sheen in Misty’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice thin and shallow. Her smile alone breaks his heart. “There’s always something to harvest from it, you know?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Thanks again for delivering the food, Brock. I know you’re busy.” Tracey says while carrying one of the buckets of homemade pokemon feed past the lab entrance.

Brock is right behind him carrying another load of feed. “Who can say no to Prof. Oak? Plus, I never mind making pokémon chow.”

Tracey and Brock go back outside to find Ash hauling the last bucket from the truck to the front step. Pikachu sitting on top of the bucket like a king on his throne. “Need a hand?”

“Ash, I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Tracey asks, adjusting his hair to fall behind his headband.

The younger trainer grins, carrying the large bucket past his friends into the lab entrance. “Just wanted to visit for a bit. I’m happy I found you guys. Is the professor in?”

“He’s hosting a presentation in Viridian and forgot to place an order for pokémon food for the rock and ground types we have in the lab. Luckily, Brock pulled through.” Tracey finishes with a smile, elbowing Brock.

“Ol’ reliable,” Ash comments.

Brock is sheepish. “I do what I can.”

The three of them head into the lab.

“Anyone want something to drink?” Tracey offers, heading towards the mini-kitchen to the left.

“Anything is good with me.”

“Same. Thanks, Trace.”

Pikachu jumps from the container and settles by Ash’s side. “You didn’t work today?”

Brock clasps his hands together like a prayer. “I’ll be on call at the center later tonight but right now I’m free thankfully.”

Ash whistles out of excitement, reclining against some lab aged lab equipment. “Big boy job! Big boy job!” His hand pumps in the air.

Brock, quick the match Ash’s wavelength, pumps his own fist as the edge of his mouth pulls up on one side. “What about you? Heading back to Alola anytime soon?”

“I don’t know,” Ash mumbles slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have some things I want to figure out before I head back.”

“Like what?” Brock digs, peering at his friend. “Did something happen?”

“Well, it’s a long story but Misty and I…”

Brock waits for Ash to continue, picking up on the trainer’s shift in energy.

“The other day I visited Misty after she finished up at the gym because I wanted to check in on her. She didn’t call or message me or anything so I figured why not go? So, I thought we could go for some ice cream! And we did but she really didn’t eat hers so that was weird but then we had the best battle, Brock. It was one-on-one and fast but slow at the same time? And she won! It made me happy to not hold back and just battle for the sake of a good time. It was fun! And I realized I really missed hanging out with Misty, ya know?” Ash laughs lightly, lacing his fingers together in a squeeze. “I guess we haven’t spent time like that together in a while, so it was…kind of different. It’s hard for me to explain but it felt like something…new. Unfamiliar but good.”

Brock could almost feel his walls breaking down. He held his tongue, let the pit in his stomach shake, and kept his lips tight. Think of Misty, he reminds himself.

Alola’s champion shuts his eyes. He inhales sharply and opens his mouth. Dark orbs flicker open. Lifting his head to look at Brock through his black fringe, smiling sheepishly. Brock catches a reddish tint to Ash’s cheeks and tips of his ears but keeps his doubts.

“Misty told me that she…” Ash’s voice wavers, tender yet full of that boyish shakiness he never did grow out of. It was as if the words choked him.

 “She lo—”

A squeal bursts into the room and interrupts the burning beacon that is Ash Ketchum.

“—So, Daisy called and she asked how I was doing and how work was and I was like confident telling her about this habitat I’m working on but in a natural way, not a way that was like too much." A flushed Tracey returns with glasses of barley tea, handing them to Ash and Brock. "Anyway, she said that Misty is going to be discharged from the hospital tomorrow morning and—" Tracey's eyes bulge in realization as Ash stares at him in growing confusion. "Shit."

The watcher’s words crackle in the boy’s eardrums like lightning striking the ground.

Pikachu, blinking at the three young men stiffen, clutches his tail for comfort.

Tracey, ever so smitten for the ethereal Daisy, bites the inside of his cheek.

Brock, utterly exhausted and heavy with secrets, sighs. 

Ash, completely caught by surprise and full of bite, spills his barley tea all over, almost cracking the glass. "What was that, Sketchit.”

It was more of a demand than a question, really.

❀ ❀ ❀

Delia’s morning routine goes like this:

Step 1: Wakeups and puts on her favorite fluffy robe Ash got her for mother's day three years ago.

Step 2: Wash up! Teeth, hair, and face!

Step 3: Feed Mimey or watch Mimey feed himself.

Step 4: Brew some tea and add milk and honey.

Step 5: Check mail.

The mail consists of the usual. Some bills. Campaign mailers for Mayor Oak’s reelection. She finds a small pale envelope and opens it to find a small manilla card.

Dear Ms. Delia Ketchum,

「Misty Williams has undergone surgery that erased Ash Ketchum from her memory. It is highly advised that you approach a relationship with Misty Williams with caution. Please do not mention Ash Ketchum to her as it may result in future health risks.

Thank you. 」

Sincerely,

Doug Proctor, M.D.

Department of Medicine:

Division of Pulmonary and Critical Care

Kanto Regional Hospital

❀ ❀ ❀

As Daisy filled out paperwork at the front desk, chatting away with the nurses, Misty escapes past the front lobby and straight out the door. She looks back at her azurmarill plush and decides it’s safe with her sister.

A cyan sky. The morning sunbeams. Misty squints at the rays and lifts her arm to cast a shadow, her eyes still sensitive from being inside for the last couple days.

Her nose twitches. The scent of cigarettes wafts and hits her sense of smell.

Misty turns to find Dr. Proctor leaning against the wall by the cigarette urns.

“Dr. Proctor, aren’t you a pulmonologist?”

The older man's face twists into a wry smile and blows out a cloud of smoke. "Consider it personal research."

“That checks out,” she deadpans.

Dr. Proctor squishes the filter between his fingers and flicks it to the urn. “Eager to leave us, huh? I must admit I’m a little sad to see you go.”

“I’m sure some other patient will give you a hard time.”

"Let's hope!" He laughs, smiles genuinely. "You take care, Misty."

Somewhat taken back, she half-smiles. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He gestures towards a rolling hill covered with wildflowers. Only a couple yards from where they stood. “Good spot over there.”

Once Dr. Proctor returned to inside, Misty treks ahead to the flourished hill and finds herself relaxing against the plush grass. She looks up at the endless sky, cracking her joints and neck, and makes the deliberate decision to let her body feel. Feel the aftermath bring her body to a lump of ache. Feel the weariness of her soul. Feel the pulse of her bruise over her throat. Feel pollen tickle her throat and scratch at the ground to catch dirt under her fingers. Sinking into the earth, she lets go and takes a deep breath.

“Pika chu?”

Looking down at the direction of where the small voice came from, she lifts herself and is surprised to find beady black eyes staring at her with an unreadable expression. It soundlessly passed the long grass without even making a rustle. Misty curls her knees up in front of her, holding her legs, tilting her head as she wonders how a random pikachu found its way to her.

Weird, she contemplates to herself. Misty lifts her fingers, signaling the pokémon that she means no harm. “Aren’t you cute—oh okay.”

The pikachu didn’t even take a minute to sniff and approach her on high alert. Naturally, the yellow thing mewed sadly and, in a flash, crawls over her legs and curls against her stomach. Bewildered, she watches as the ear perks against where her heart is and listens attentively. Pikachu pulls back after a couple seconds and lifts its face to look directly at her.

“Pikachu-Pi,” the electric-type says with a hint of sadness. “Chuuu.”

Misty pets the fluffy fur on top of the pikachu’s head. “Are you lost?”

Maybe this pikachu knows her? She couldn’t recall the last time she has seen a wild pikachu or battled one.

Pikachu, teary-eyed, shakes his head and presses his face against her, cheeks rubbing affectionately. Even if the pokemon was a foreign creature, it felt right, holding each other like this.

Maybe the pikachu sensed that she needed it.

A minute or two passed, just as she was about to say goodbye to the pikachu, just as she was about to return inside and find her sister, just as she was about to pick a wildflower—a loud, frustrated scream pierces through the air.

(Some fall, others crash.)

"Ouch! Ah shit!" A young man, frazzled and heaving, shouts from below the hill, picking himself up from falling on what Misty makes out as a pile of rocks. Dusting his clothes off, eagerly, he paces to run up the hill, and then, he realizes Misty watching him and trips over himself.

“Are you hurt?” Misty calls out to him, visibly perplexed.

“N-no.” Short and strained.

His face was hard to see at with that cap tilted downward. She notices how he is careful to avoid stepping on the wildflowers as he climbed up hill towards her.

She’s on alert until she feels the pikachu peek over her arm and shout something at the stranger in a jumble of pis and chus.

“Is this your pikachu?”

Standing tall at an angle, the guy hovers and Misty catches how he bites his bottom lip, adjusting his cap over his eyes. Sort of bashful. “Yeah,” he replies with a firm nod. "We're each other's alright." Pikachu chirps at the trainer and taps his paw against Misty's thigh repeatedly.

Misty couldn’t help but laugh at the display and rub the electric-types cheeks, careful not to poke the red sacks fearing a jolt of electricity might shock her. “Pikachu is very cute. You’re one lucky guy.”

Lifting her head, he finally looks at her properly, and their eyes meet. Sunlight hits his eyes and she finds specks of dark amber circling an inky eclipse, full of depth and clarity. Swallowing, Misty feels her mouth begin to water, nerves spiking as she admires him. Handsome. Tan. Wild, black hair. Long, dark lashes. Scars on the highs of his cheeks. Her stomach swoops and heart swells at the way the boy looked at her. With his mouth opened and eyes wide, blatantly gaping at her hard. Slightly embarrassed, Misty looks back down at Pikachu but senses his undivided attention.

“Uh thanks,” his voice slightly choked up. Pikachu’s trainer opens his mouth, lifting his hand slightly to only clench his fist and pull it back, looking like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

So, she helps him. “—Are you visiting someone at the hospital?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, voice pained. “A good friend.

Part of her feels for him. He seems a little lost. “Oh! Well, I hope they get well soon.”

Misty makes the mistake of peering back at him.

“She’s strong,” he tells her, his eyes watery but smile bright. “But I do worry.”

The trainer takes a step closer and Misty is paralyzed.

Short-circuiting, Misty's mind plunges into confusion as her stomach bottoms out. Waves of energy wash over her, and then the beating of her chest causes worry. But there was still this void. The mental block she was dealing with puts her on edge. This boy is new and strange, but something felt familiar. The more she thinks about it, the darker the void presses on her. Not even an inkling came to mind. Her post-surgery mind was fried. Fried and cloudy. 

“Can I sit with you?” He asks. Misty lets him in a hum. Spinning his heal against the dirt and taking a seat beside her, his throat makes a noise and he breathes in deeply, fingers dipping into the patch of wildflowers between them. Pikachu still pleasant in Misty’s lap, eyeing his trainer steadily.

Misty senses an uneasiness radiating from him. Looking down at the red and yellow wildflowers beside his hands, she takes note of a thick geometric bracelet around his wrist. "Hey! I've never seen anything like that before."

His eyebrows perk up, turning towards her bringing his wrist to view. “This thing?”

Misty nods. “It’s modern. Is it a battling item?”

“It is.” He tilts his wrist. “From Alola.”

“Alola is gorgeous. Are you Alolan? Visiting Kanto?”

Her question appears unsettling for him as his face drops. "No. No, I'm not."

“Oh.” Her lashes flutter as she blinks. “I just figured because…”

Misty feels a hand brush against her cheek, trembling but warm fingers. He cups the side of her face, bringing her to look at him, his expression piercing through and gives her heart a jolt. “Let me look at you—” is all she hears from him.

Pulling back and turning away from him, her stomach dips.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She questions, a tinge of heat on her sharp tongue.  Taking in a shuddering breath, tears threatening to fall from her, so she holds it in by a nervous bite down on her bottom lip. A tight feeling in her chest reemerges—as does the act of curling into herself whenever she felt the flowers bloom from within. She may have forgotten the person but the experience of hanahaki itself lived on in her memory. Dr. Proctor warned her prior, but Misty stopped listening as he went on about muscle memory and pain cycles and blah blah blah.

In his hesitance, she found the answer.

This was her fear. They will meet them again and then the seeds will start to sprout. It'll all repeat, it'll break through her chest and her gut and this time her body will be too weak to recover and then—

“Pikaaaa!” Pikachu taps her cheek with his paw. “Pikachu—Pi!”

And then she is grounded. The heavy breathing ceases as her sense of flight or fight calms down to a simple stay. Letting out a shaky laugh, she lifts Pikachu to her and knocks their foreheads together. “Does this mean we’ve met before too, huh Pikachu?”

“Chuuu,” a content mew escapes from Pikachu’s mouth as they nuzzled their heads together.

The wind picks up, brushing past them and bringing the wildflowers to twirl in a dance. Blossoms handing from their delicate threats, not breaking from the breeze. It's beautiful, really. Until nature laughs and brings the winds to heighten fiercely.

Misty shuts her eyes, keeping Pikachu close and protected from the brisk wind surfacing. “Dammit!” Peeking up at the boy as he cursed, noticing tears brimming his eyes, and she couldn’t conjure up enough sense to pull her hand away from him as he held onto her. Unsteadily, he brings himself up. “I need to tell you that—” all sense of composure gone as his foot slips from under him in a split second. Hand-in-hand, he begins to roll down the hill with Misty following him in a yelp, still holding on despite her mind cursing at her to let go. Quickly, he pulls her close to him, Pikachu squished between them, as he wraps his arms around her protectively. Hand on her head, kept near his chest. Rolling over and over, they plunged down to the end and in a loud thud, crash to a halt.

Covered in blades of crash and dirt, Misty hisses and unclenches her eyes to find him under her. Mouth twitching, a groan escapes from him but his arms remain wrapped around her. She was too sore to move—pain throbbing in her chest. Frustration makes her nose flare and then lifts her head to see Pikachu slip out from beneath her stomach and settles beside the trainer’s face, licking his cheek. A smile forms at his lips. Oh. She blinks at the tremor hiding below her ribcage.

Hung in the gap between forgetting and remembrance, Misty recognizes how unusually light she feels when seeing his smile. It’s warm and shameless. She may have hit her skull on the way down but she sees sparks flying between them. Maybe the sun was getting to her.

He catches her staring; his face pink and tinged by the sun. “Are you okay?” Lifting his back from the ground he sits up as they pull apart from one another. Misty sways back and forth, her head dizzy from the tumble. Cursing under his breath, he holds her by the shoulders. “Misty, are you hurt?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, covered in white bandages, but there is no taste of iron.  “—You know my name.”

It is him.

Feeling him tighten his grip on her shoulders, Misty wraps her hand around his forearm. He hangs his head low, his shoulders shaking. In a hushed, strained choke, he cries out mumbled words. Misty can’t understand but she presses her trembling fingers into his arm. “How many—” she hears faintly. “How many times have I hurt you?” Painful. His voice sounds painful.

His attention travels down to Misty’s throat but she lifts his head up, nose flaring. “Stop it,” she warns crossly, glaring at him. “I’m okay.”

Letting go of her, he twists his head to the side and lifts himself. With shortness of breath, the boy composes himself and tells her, finally, "My name is Ash Ketchum."

The name is barely a shadow in her mind, like any other word or name she was hearing for the first time. And yet looking up at Ash, this boy that filling the gaps of her memory, Misty feels a weight on herself. The weight of guilt and shame, and the want to hear his name again and again till it was etched onto her temple.

Ash gives her his hand and helps her up to her feet. Two hands clasped. Pikachu at Ash’s feet like the electric-type was waiting patiently.

"We met on April 1st," he continues. "You fished me and my pikachu out of a fishing hole the first day of my journey. You saved me but you slapped me, I stole your bike that ended up being electrocuted by Pikachu and you swore that day that you'd follow me until I paid you back for it." Ash's voice trembles as a fond laugh escapes from the back of his throat like anyone would with a funny memory. "I never did pay you back. I probably won't ever. It used to make you so mad that I couldn't help but run away when you remembered why we were together in the first place. Younger me was sort of a dick, always liked how easily you got mad. We fought a lot, but we were close. Close enough that we traveled together for a long time and made a lot of memories along the way."

She could taste the green of her journey on her tongue. Brock and Tracey were present but who filled the scorched stain on the old photograph? Ash claims it was him. And Misty knew herself well enough that it must have been terrifying and wonderful loving someone like him. Adventurous to a fault, with a dangerous smile and warm touch. She understood the other Misty but she pitied her too. Maybe if she had been a little kinder to herself, a little braver. Yet again, there is just as much bravery in letting go as there is in taking chances.

“I once told you that if you ever forgot about me—I’ll remind you.” A pause. “I can’t promise I remember all that we did and all that we were but let me try. Please.”

Forget-me-nots flood her memory. Blood splattered on tile and shaky hands reaching for water flood her memory. Her reflection, full of hopelessness and fear, flood her memory. Her friends and their pitiful stares flood her memory. Tears and the coldness of surgery tables flood her memory. Then there is him and nothing flows and it is just—

blank.

And it felt strange. Bizarre how nervousness and comfort seep into her when beside him. Both a thunderstorm and a calm sea. She didn’t know him anymore. The image of Ash as flimsy and faded as an old polaroid, soft edges and light saturation. So, why was it like this?

“Why?” She asks, voice low. “You didn’t—”

Love me back, Misty finishes her thought to herself, almost feeling like her heart was replaced by a bruised pecha berry. Tender, sickly sweet, and cracks dripping with nectar.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says instead, settling.

Her memory of him was a haze. It might drive her to insanity, trying desperately to retrace the images of him in her mind but here he was, willing to guide the way. But why?

His nostrils flare. “I want to do it! Ash bursts out, heat and frustration emerging on his face. “I choose to do it, idiot!” A pause. His eyes crinkle as he shouts, “I choose you.”

Ash stood there against the blue endless sky. Skin aglow. His words hang in the air and not out of desperation, but for clarity, she grabs onto them.

“You choose me? Misty whispers eventually, body unmoved.

"I need be part of your life," honest to a fault, he takes a step closer and she cannot help but muse how cruel but kind life can be. Amber eyes narrow with something she couldn't read and he grabs her by the hair, tugging her into him and he whispers eagerly, almost angrily, "And I need to have you in mine."

The ocean-eyed girl holds her hand flat on his back, head reeling at how his face settled in the crease of her neck, and carves her fingers into his cottoned shirt, bundling up the fabric as she held on for what felt like a new age. Confusion, frustration, a hint of bitterness, and hope run under her skin, coursing through her veins. And yet, all she feels is warmth as they sink into each other. 

She says something finally, voice unwavering, “I’m going to need some time.”

Misty pulls away hesitantly and she could swear his growlithe pup eyes were glued onto her as Ash didn’t look ready to let go yet, his hands trembling. “Whatever you need,” he assures. “Whatever you want! If you need space, I’ll give you space.”

Raising a curious brow, she couldn't help but smirk at his unfeigned intent. He shivers under her knowing look. "Doesn't seem like you're good with keeping space."

A mess of unintelligible words sputter out of him like vomit as his face exploded with color. Pikachu latches onto Ash’s leg and jumps onto his shoulder, chuckling as the trainer rubbed his neck. Muttering “Don’t laugh, Pikachu,” under his breath.

“And for the record,” she pauses, blunt nail pressing into his sternum, “you’re the one who’s the idiot.”

Blinking at her, the corners of his mouth lifts into an uneven smile. “Can this idiot say something then? You don’t have to respond but it’s for um, my Misty. But! It’s also for you, I guess. I’m still…trying to figure all this out.”

But I’m…ah. He means her. I see.  

“Okay.” Slightly uneasy, she listens. The scent of fresh grass calming her.

Ash takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice what you were going through. Knowing you, you probably wanted to keep it that way but I just—I thought you were sick. But it was because of me. And now knowing what you went through—I’m so sorry, Misty. I’m blind and stupid,” Ash hisses and clenches his fist, “and I don’t even know if I could’ve done anything to stop it. You made your choice and as your friend, I respect that but then you ran away after telling me that you…” he trails off quietly, then sighs and glances up to face her. “That you loved me.”

Her chest lurched at the unraveling words. She presses her fingers to her mouth, speechless.

He stuffs his shaky hands into his pockets, taking a step backward. Illuminated by the sky, the sunrays dance around him, creating a colorful light close to a prism casting a rainbow.

“Thank you.” A pause. “Thank you for loving me.”

There are no more words. Unable to speak, all Misty could give is an accepting smile as he looks at her full of longing, somewhat regretful. They stay there, looking at each other as if nothing else existed. For a moment, it was just the Ash and Misty among the wildflowers, fragments of their past blown away with the loose flower petals.

They plant a seed between them, calling the flower their new beginning, with direction and time, it’ll grow. In time, wounds will heal, and it’ll hurt to fill in the gaps but they’ll try. In time, they’ll realize they don’t have to; even if he misses how the way they were. In time, they will stop trying to relive the past and move forward. In time, they’ll grow.

❀ ❀ ❀

Burning.

The saltwater burns the tiny cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet. Most injuries from training, some from exploring with lack of necessary precaution. Like sturdy shoes or heavy-duty gloves. Luckily, he had the Alolan sea and her ability to heal.

Ash splashes along the Hano Beach shore, soaking in the early dawn and the briny scent in the air. The sky a pastel blur of reds, blues, and violets. Only the wingulls and pyukumuku were awake. Shame for everyone else that couldn’t experience the early sun at her softest hour. Like Pikachu who was sleeping contently on top of Ash’s sleeping bag within their tent.

To be fair, he was coerced out of bed. After all, it was her first time on this side of Akala Island. She told him she wanted to bask in it all, from sunrise to sunset. So, he wasn't surprised to find that she playfully knocked her knuckles against his back and booked it to the waters the minute he rolled over in his sleeping bag.

A couple of yards from where he stood, Ash finds her. Emerging from the shimmering water, draped in an ivory linen summer dress, dripping like a mermaid; Misty wrings the hem of her smock dry.

Ash stops in his tracks, lets his arms fall to his sides, and casts a lingering look at Misty as she carefully brushed her fingers through those dusty orange waves, damp from the saltwater. Misty must sense how his eyes were fixed on her; looking up, she catches Ash's gaze.

"Good morning!" He shouts, steps forward, and trips on a pale beach stone hidden under a bundle of seaweed. Landing straight into the seafoam, he groans and opens his eyes to find Misty kneeling over him. A wave of embarrassment washes over him as her laughter rings in his ears; the sly curve of her lips sends a spark of heat through his body. Offering her hand, he pouts and brings her down on top of him, tickling her sides as their bodies collided and became sprinkled in the sand; the ocean's ebb and flow kisses them slightly but not enough to pull them in. Her nonthreatening shouts bring him to hold her by the sides, bringing her closer. Misty's giggles continue to bubble against his neck, sending hot shivers down his spine. Together, they move to sit upright, unbothered by the approaching waves.

Looking back at what it took for them to reach this point, Ash recalls the days and nights of restoring a bond he feared wouldn’t mend. Through distance, tension, and moments of awkwardness, they laid the foundation. With patience, communication, and love, they rebuilt themselves. The healing never ends and the learning never ceases but they try.

And they are happy. As friends, as more.

Lifting her head, she pecks his jawline then moves her lips to the skin right under his left eye. Ash’s smile is brief as he laces a free hand through Misty’s hair, enclosing the space between them and capturing her with an eager mouth. He’s still kind of clumsy when he gets too excited, but she is just as fervent with the way she dips into him. Almost losing himself in the swipe of her tongue along his bottom lip, Ash makes a small noise of surprise when he feels Misty pull away.

The kiss lingers like lightning after a storm has passed. Ash moves the loose strands of hair falling in front of Misty’s face but then her eyes, almost like starbursts, crinkle into a lighthearted smile. A smile because of him. Breathless and tingling, his mouth twitches into a grin as he cups her face, kissing her lightly once more before pulling back, resting his forehead against hers. Intertwined, for a moment before the two begin their summer day, they bask in the blue.

❀ ❀ ❀

(To her, his good morning sounded awfully like an I love you.)

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