Ages

ASH AND MISTY: 22

BROCK: 24

I stared at my best friend of twelve years as she slept peacefully, her turquoise covers pulled close to her body in order to hide the rest of her. I couldn't help but think about how beautiful she looked with her mouth slightly ajar and her red hair sprawled around her face. Before I could stop myself, I brushed the loose hair behind her ear, exposing the rest of her face. As if I had touched fire, my hand suddenly recoiled. What was I doing?  Before I could do anything else, I stood up, pulled on my clothes, and walked out of the room.

Despite the events of the previous night, the gym was pretty clean with only a few remnants of the party visible. Grabbing a small garbage bag from a cabinet, I began cleaning up the fallen decorations and scattered plates and cups. As I passed through the family room, I stopped before a clear, glass bottle sitting on the coffee table. It sat there taunting me with its few remaining sips, reminding me of how it had ended up that way.

I could feel my anger start to bubble to the surface, inhibiting me from thinking properly just like the bottle had. Picking it up, I threw it across the room as hard as I could. I watched as the bottle flew across the room and shattered into pieces as it ricocheted off the opposite wall. Maybe if I destroyed the bottle, I could erase everything that had happened. I just didn't understand how something that was supposed to be great and make you feel whole could make you hate yourself and destroy something you had worked at for years. And it had only taken one night.

"Ash!" Misty yelled, throwing her arms around her long-time friend. "I'm so glad you're here! I've missed you so much."

"Me, too," he replied as he squeezed her gently in return.

"Come in! Come in!" she ushered him, closing the door behind him. As she led the way, she continued talking. "Everyone's in the family room and the food and drinks are in the kitchen."

"Hey, Ash!" Brock greeted him with a quick wave. "Long time no see!"

"Same to you. Things good at home?"

"Yep. Been teaching my brother how to battle."

"That's good," Ash replied, but his thoughts were elsewhere, distracted by the people he hadn't seen in a long time.

After another year spent traveling, he had finally come home to visit for a few weeks. Demanding that he make time to visit her, Misty offered to throw him a welcome home party at the gym with all his friends. 'That way everyone can see you at once' she had told him. To accommodate everyone's schedule, the party had been planned toward the end of his visit, two days before he would leave again.

Throughout the party, he chatted with all his friends, catching up on everything he had missed while traveling. Even Pikachu had spent time playing the Pokémon friends he hadn't seen in years.

As the night began to die down, he said goodbye to some of his friends until he, Brock, and Misty were the only three left. At the suggestion of Brock, Misty brought out a bottle of alcohol and three shot glasses to celebrate this special visit. At first, they had toasted to the friendship they had and the memories they had shared together. Before long though, their celebration turned into a game of revenge as they forced each other to take a shot for the things they had forced the other to suffer through. Brock had to take a shot for all the times he hit on Nurse Joy and Officer Jenny while Misty suffered for all the times she had complained about her bike. Finally, Brock and Misty demanded Ash take a shot in honor of all the times he had gotten them lost in the woods.

"You and Misty have to take a drink for all the times I suffered through your stupid arguing," Brock declared. "Right Pikachu?"

"Pika!" the Pokémon agreed.

"Fine," they both sighed before refilling their glasses and taking a shot.

"All right guys. This was fun, but I need to head home. You two going to be okay?" Brock asked them as he stood up to leave.

"Yeah. We'll be fine," Misty assured him as she hugged him goodbye. "We're not kids anymore, Brock." The look Brock gave her said he believed otherwise.

"Thanks for coming, Brocko," Ash added, giving Brock what Misty had deemed a 'manly hug'. "I'll see you around?"

"I hope so."

Once Brock left, Ash and Misty turned back toward the coffee table, silence falling between them. Without Brock to help direct the conversation, neither knew what to say.

"So...shall we continue where we left off?" Misty asked.

"Shouldn't we stop? I mean it is getting kind of late," Ash replied, glancing at the clock on his PokéGear. "Plus, haven't we had enough to drink?"

"We're not going anywhere, Ash," she replied, slinging her arm around his shoulders. Gently, she led him back toward their seats. "A few more won't hurt."

Giving in to her persuasion, Ash refilled his and Misty's glasses. "What's this one for?" he asked.

"For stealing my bike," she told him, a huge smirk on her face.

"Well, then that one's for all the times you called me dense," he grinned back, pointing to her glass.

"Deal."

Despite what Misty had assured him earlier, a few more had turned into a lot more. As she spoke, Misty's words carried a heavy slur to them, and her movements became more dramatic. She had nearly whacked him in the face several times. Ash, on the other hand, started to feel confidence like none other. He felt like he could do anything and never be stopped.

As the clock struck midnight, Misty set down her empty glass and announced she was heading to bed. As she stood up, though, she teetered back and forth before falling clumsily into Ash.

"Oh my gosh! I'm sorry," she tried to apologize, but instead, it came out more like a giggle.

"It's fine," he replied as he tried to help her back onto the couch. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks," she slurred, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close. "You're the best, Ash."

As he turned to look at her, he could feel her breath hit his mouth as she breathed in and out. Her kind words and the proximity of their faces was all it took for Ash's sudden increase in confidence to take over. Without thinking twice, he leaned forward and kissed her. He didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or the kiss, but he could instantly feel the adrenaline rush through him as his mind took a backseat to his emotions.

He would have stopped if she had pushed him away or slapped him, but she didn't. He felt her move his hands from her shoulders to her waist before she wrapped her own arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Just like he had imagined, her lips were soft, and he could feel patches of heat wherever her skin brushed his. Shifting his weight as he leaned forward, the two fell backward into the couch, a small laugh escaping from Misty's mouth.

With his hands on either side of her, he poured all his emotion into kissing her as he slowly moved to her chin and down her neck to her exposed collarbone. The sweet smell of her perfume mixed with the smell of her that reached his senses was more intoxicating to him than the alcohol had been. He could hear her sigh in what he hoped was happiness as her hands inched their way under his shirt, sending waves of heat rushing through his body.

"Ash," he heard her whisper, but it sounded miles away.

"Hmm?" he replied, barely acknowledging her words as he was on a completely different planet.

"Your hat," she pointed. He sighed in relief, knowing that it was just his hat that had stopped her. He knew that she might tell him to stop, but he secretly wished that she wouldn't. Turning his hat to face backward before he resumed kissing her.

Suddenly, he felt her begin to tug at the waistband of his jeans. For the first time since this had all started, he looked her in the eyes, questioning her actions. He had just wanted to kiss her, not to go any further.

"Please," she whispered, her cerulean eyes burning bright.

"Misty, I don't know," he told her. "We've had a bit to drink." He was torn between the possibility of what he might experience and the small bit of him that could at least think about the potential consequences.

"I know, but I want this," she told him. And because his hormones were driving him forward and he was as drunk as she was, he believed her.

Scooping her up, he gingerly carried her up the stairs to her room. When he laid her down on the bed, she pulled him down with her. And when she used her fingers to unclasp the button of his jeans, he let her without question. Once the final article of clothing between them had been removed, any chance of turning back had been lost.

As I kneeled in front of the broken pieces of glass, I carefully picked each one up, fearful that I would cut myself on one of the shards. More than likely, the sound of the bottle smashing against the wall had woken Misty up, but I didn't want her to see me like this. I had ruined everything between us. Why had I listened to her? I knew she was drunk and didn't know what she was saying. I should have said no, but I didn't. Why didn't I?

It was the alcohol. And the stupid hormonally driven lust I couldn't even begin to understand. I was careless, letting my emotions get the better of me when I knew this was something that always got me into trouble. I could just picture her yelling at me, her going on about how I never think before rushing into something. Why couldn't I have changed when it really mattered?

What am I going to do?

Nearly thirty minutes later and Misty had yet to appear. What if she didn't remember what happened? What if she was furious and told me she hated me? That she never wanted to see me again? I wouldn't have time to try and patch up our friendship. I had to head back home today and then back on my journey tomorrow. I would just be leaving with unanswered questions hanging in the air. I needed to talk to someone about it, but the only person I could talk to was the one person I was scared to talk to. I needed to know where we stood now, having crossed the boundary between friendship and something more. Was there even a "something more" between us?

As I heard her footsteps echo through the halls, I quickly snatched up the remaining pieces and prepared myself to face her. I knew deep down I felt something more than friendship toward her, but as she got closer, I knew that no matter how many bottles I broke or how much I wished I could, I couldn't' take it all back. And I knew as she entered the room and her face paled when she saw me, that there was no turning back.