#fic drafts

Ash quickly turns back to his own drink, his face warming with embarrassment before he can stop it. He’s been gripping his glass so tightly for the last five minutes that his hand is starting to cramp into a claw, but he busies himself with it regardless, hoping it will hide the way his cheeks are probably turning pink.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters.

“Turns out another year away didn’t change too much, then,” Gary says, his voice laced with amusement.

Ash knows it’s an empty insult. Whatever petty back-and-forth he and Gary used to thrive on years ago is mostly behind them, but he still sputters out a lame “Shut up” mid-sip of his cocktail, more out of instinct than anything. He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of the dress shirt Dawn had forced him into earlier. It’s far too tight around the neck, but Dawn had shot him a look over a steaming iron and warned that if he showed up to his own party in a hoodie and cargo shorts, she’d disown him for committing a crime against fashion.

Ash could admit she might have had a point; everyone else was dressed up too. Guests had arrived head to toe in a dress code Ash hadn’t even been aware of. His mom had gone all out again for the party, with gold and green colour-coordinated decorations and tropical floral centrepieces to celebrate his Manalo Conference win. The whole garden was full of familiar faces, soft dresses and sharp suits, all gathered around tables beneath lanterns as the summer skies starts to darken.

Amongst the crowd, he watches for a moment as Brock spins Bonnie in a ridiculous circle that she keeps demanding to go faster under. Professor Oak is leading his mother in a dance that doesn’t match the upbeat tempo of the music playing, and Pikachu is darting between feet with Piplup and Psyduck in tow.

And his frown melts.

For a moment, Ash forgets all of Gary’s meaningless comments, focusing instead on the fact that his oldest friend and oldest rival had even bothered to show up. Walking into the garden earlier to the sound of his companions and friends celebrating had made his chest squeeze just as tightly as it did now.

He couldn’t have asked for a better welcome home.

But…

He catches the way Misty’s hair shimmers again under the lantern light as she spins, red strands catching the glow and dancing with her, and he becomes aware of the eyes on him as much as his own on her.

“That’s seven,” Gary states. “You’re staring.”

Ash turns away. “I'm not,” he lies.

Then, less than a second later, he’s looking back, blaming it on the fact that Misty shrieks with laughter. The swift scowl he’d been directing at Gary fades as she grins, her head tilting, eyes crinkling in delight when May grabs both her hands and pulls her into another twirl.

Gary sucks on his teeth. “Eight times in the last ten minutes.”

Ash just groans. “Do you count everything?”

“Only when it’s this entertaining. Did they not teach you how to ask someone to dance in Alola?”

The insinuation leaves Ash making a noise that isn’t quite a word, somewhere between a scoff and a cough. He turns to the buffet behind them and starts loading his plate, shoving food into his cheeks like a Patrat storing berries. “I’m not asking anyone to dance.”

Somehow, even the fancy cheese and cured meats taste different than they had minutes earlier. He forces himself to chew, to swallow a painful mouthful, and to stare at his shoes instead.

If he hadn’t already thought it before, he did now: Gary had no idea what he was talking about. Ash had been darting around guests since he'd arrived, and he'd danced plenty, with or without Misty. He'd only spoken to her twice all evening, both brief, both pleasant enough, but that didn’t mean he wanted to dance with her. Maybe he just wanted to talk. And that, he knew, could come later.

Party or not, being home always meant seeing Misty.

But even he was aware that this wasn’t like the usual times he’d returned home to find her flopped across his bed before scrambling to the garden for a battle with him. No, Misty had arrived at his party looking like she’d stepped off a Contest stage, with something sparkly in her hair that matched the way her dress looked like glitter when she shifted.

And, Ash thinks hurriedly, it’s not like he wasn’t allowed to look. To notice that her hair was longer than it had been on her trip to Alola.

“Thats nine. Still staring,” Gary says lazily, not even bothering to sound smug this time.

“I am not,” Ash hisses under his breath.

Gary just shrugs and pops a piece of pineapple into his mouth from Ash's plate. “Sure. Just don’t wait another eight years to ask her for that dance.”

He’s about to ask Gary what exactly is in his drink that has him acting insane, but there’s a weight to the comment that forces Ash to pause.

Eight years. They have passed quicker than he'd like to admit, celebrating a victory he'd been chasing all that time, standing there in the same garden of a house he left all that time ago.

When he left. When he met Pikachu, and met—

And once more, he finds red hair in a crowd of green and gold. This time, Misty glances up, catching his eye from across the garden and offering him a big, familiar smile.

His mouth goes so dry that he has to throw back the remainder of his drink just to force down the lump in his throat. His stomach flips, bubbles, at the mere thought of approaching her. He can feel, suddenly, the space that time has carved out without his permission.

Ash decides he doesn’t want to get used to whatever that feeling is.

Without another word, he shoves his empty glass into Gary’s hand. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, loosening the top button. Determination sets on his face, and he takes a step forward. It's more of a stomp than a stride towards the dance floor, which Gary is probably glad to have a front-row seat to after Ash has spent the last five minutes denying having any interest in.

But that seems to matter less and less with each step, because by the time he reaches her, Misty’s face lights up so brightly that it’s the only thing he can focus on.

Gary's laughter, however, still manages to filter through the crowds as he calls after him: