When Hermione steals Ron's clothes <3

Drew her after a long time, it was nice pose practice.

Fireworks <3

Misty is mesmerised by the fireworks, Ash is mesmerised too. Now he's thinking of more places that he wants to show her in Alola to get a similar reaction.

You see, she is very much smitten, and he has no clue. But (Spoiler alert) He is absulutely smitten too, but she has no clue either.

She just likes to make him smile and laugh at her silly jokes.

Read into things, Misty

Misty blinks. Did she hear that right?

“What do you mean, Ash’s here?” She frowns. “Of course I know he’s here–it’s his party, Brock,” she states flatly.

Brock, who is standing beside her with a bottle of fruit beer in hand, smiles knowingly. “Then why haven’t you talked to him yet?” he asks.

The tone infuriates Misty. 

What kind of question is that? She crosses her arms. Why hasn’t she talked to him yet? He is busy, obviously! He is the world Champion– people are lining up just to shake his hand.

The lawn buzzes with conversations and laughter. The night sky above them glows as if the party lights have seeped into the stars. Across the yard, the long buffet tables groan under the weight of the dishes so enticing they seem to beckon guests towards them almost comically. Professor Oak’s estate is large enough to fit the whole town, along with every acquaintance Ash has ever made, without feeling cramped.

She hears Brock chuckle.

Her head whoops in his direction, eyes glaring at the older friend. “What now?” 

Brock shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just…” He shrugs, taking another sip out of his fruit beer.

Misty slaps his arm lightly. “Talk.”

“Okay,” he says, grinning. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“What?” She points at herself.  “Me? Weird?”

Brock nods. “Ever since we got back from our journey, you know, after Ash won the coronation series?”

“We just got back, like, a week ago Brock. You haven’t seen me since and this party started, like, an hour ago. How can you accuse me of something so preposterous?” She huffs, throwing her hands in the air.

Brock  calmly nods, again. He enjoys watching Misty act just like her sisters in a state of panic. It’s funny to him knowing how much the girl despises her sisters’ behavior most of the time. Amused, he decides to add fuel to the fire. “I’m aware, yes. But I can still tell you’re acting differently. Does it have something to do with your crush on Ash?”

Misty chokes on air, coughing as she rubs her chest. She straightens up quickly, ready to redeem herself. “What?”

“Not beating the allegations with that reaction,” he teases.

She steps closer to Brock, her face flushing with what she believes is anger. “I do not have a crush on Ash, okay?” she hisses.

Brock leans in, smirking. “One question: Why are you so dolled up then?”

She glances at her shoulder, shifting away from Brock. Brock smirks at her, waiting to hear the excuse she must be cooking in her head. “Because–” she stutters. “Because it’s a party and…I couldn’t just wear my regular clothes.” Her hand absentmindedly finds the hem of her flowy, blue dress, scrunching and caressing it like it has a mind of its own.

“Oh, please,” Brock scoffs, rolling his eyes. “This coming from a girl who wore bicycle shorts on her sixteenth birthday is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous…” Misty murmurs.

And then, as if summoned by sheer irony, the very person Misty swears she hasn’t been thinking about emerges from the crowd.

Sixteen-year-old Ash Ketchum, dressed nicely for once— in his best white shirt, his only black slacks, and a leather jacket added (probably) just to look cool—grins ear to ear as he strides toward them.

“Did you guys eat that fancy stuff? It was so good!” He gushes, his eyes sparkling as he steps closer to the duo.

Brock laughs, patting the younger guy on the back. “I’m glad fame hasn’t changed your appetite!”

Ash grins. “Never will.” Then, he looks at Misty, who consciously fixes her posture. “My friends from other regions are here—want to meet them?”

Misty smiles.“That'd be great, Ash!” 

“Hey—” Ash pauses mid-thought, suddenly noticing Misty. “You look different, Mist.”

Misty’s face heats up. “It’s just… a dress. What is it with you two today?”

Ash nods. “Nice…”

A silence settles, enveloped with the faint murmurs and soft music of the party. 

Brock grins from behind Ash, the same teasing expression he had earlier.

“Maybe you’ve never noticed her before, Ash,” Brock says, eyeing Misty.

“Of course, I have plenty of times,” Ash replies casually, unaware of Misty’s subtle jump of surprise and Brock’s widened eyes. “Hey, I’ll be right back, then we’ll meet my other friends.” 

Like a gust of wind, he was gone—probably off to greet another well-wisher—leaving Misty and Brock standing there, still processing what just happened.

Brock whirls toward Misty, eyes wide with mock shock. “Of course, I have plenty of times!” he mimics, then snickers. “That was so intentional.”

“Was not,” Misty snaps, ignoring the tickle in her chest.

“It so was.”

“Ash doesn’t have the comprehension skills to be subtle, Brock. If he did—” She stops, blushing. “Never mind.”

Brock raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh, no, no. You can’t just stop there. If he had what, Misty?"

Misty groans, rubbing her temples. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Brock leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If he had, you’d be swooning right now?”

Misty jerks back as if he just accused her of a crime. “Excuse me? Swooning?” She scoffs, crossing her arms so tightly they might fuse together. “The day I swoon over Ash Ketchum is the day the world ends.”

Brock hums thoughtfully. “You know, I think I saw something on the news about a comet approaching us.”

“I will dump your fruit beer on your head.” She deadpans. 

He chuckles, taking a sip as if testing her patience. “Alright, alright. But you have to admit, that was interesting.”

Misty fidgets with the hem of her dress again. "What was?"

"Ash. The way he looked at you."

She opens her mouth and closes it. Because no, Ash Ketchum didn’t look at her. Not in that way. He barely even noticed she was wearing a dress—he just pointed out she looked different.

Right?

She rolls her eyes, trying to shake off the heat creeping up her neck. “You’re reading into things again, Brock.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums knowingly, taking another sip. “Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight.”

“Huh?”

He grinned. “Just notice how he acts around everyone else compared to you.”

A voice suddenly calls from across the lawn. "Misty! Brock! Come on!"

Misty turns her head just in time to see Ash waving at them with a grin. He is surrounded by a bunch of people, some Misty recognises, some she doesn’t. 

“Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight.”

The party lights cast a golden glow around him, and for the first time, she actually registers how different he looks. Not just his clothes, but him. The same Ash Ketchum, but taller– not taller than her, but taller. Sharper. Is it the refined jawline? Is it his longer hair? Is it the tan skin? Is it the brown eyes? Still smiling like a dork, but something about him feels… different. Is it the sweet smile? 

She blinks. What the heck was that thought?

Brock nudges her with his elbow, his smirk returning. “Well? Are you coming, or do you need a moment to process?”

Misty scowls and shoves him lightly before walking ahead, ignoring the way her heart does an annoying little flip when Ash grins wider at her approach.

She is not swooning.

Absolutely not.

As she walks closer to the lot, everyone turns towards her, but most evidently, Ash steps ahead, welcoming her into his little circle.

Or maybe she is reading too much.

“Brock! Misty!” he says, flashing that same wide grin. Then he turns to his other friends, who wait patiently for him to finish the introductions.

Misty and Brock exchange polite smiles with the group, nodding at familiar faces and offering small waves to strangers. It’s nice meeting them—at least, it would be if Misty weren’t hyper-aware of Ash standing just a little too close.

Is that musky scent coming from his hair?

Amidst the chatting and celebration, Misty shoots Brock a glare, making a mental note to kill him–after the party—for putting this ridiculous idea in her head in the first place, for asking her to read into things tonight. How dare he chat so casually with Cilan after setting a monstrous spark loose in her perfectly fine head. She will not condone this. 

“Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight.”

What the hell? That stupid idea has ignited her curiosity, burning away any lingering shame. And so, against her better judgment, she grudgingly lets her gaze drift toward Ash. 

Try to read into things.

She stares at Ash’s face, glowing under the soft fairy lights. His smile is just as wide with Dawn as it is with her. Of course, it is. Dawn is just as close to Ash as she is, after all.

“Hey, Misty, what are you up to these days?” May’s voice cuts through Misty’s daze.

Following the conversation with May, Misty makes it her mission to read into things tonight.

She watches as the group decides to eat, how Ash remembers Iris’ dislikes towards ice cream just as well as he remembers Misty’s hatred for carrots and peppers. 

That doesn’t bother her. Why would it? Of course, Ash remembers Iris’ dislike of ice cream and May’s dislike of spicy food. That’s how it’s supposed to be. If it were up to stupid Brock and his crazy ideas, then Ash must be in love with everyone in his friend circle.

That doesn’t bother her at all.

She’s happy instead. Gosh, what would she have done had he actually treated her differently? If he saw her differently or…or if he liked her.

She shakes her head.

She is glad that’s not the case.

The buzz of the party only increases from then on. The music gets louder and the people more cheerful. The Pokemon and their trainers all frolic around the lawn; some dancing, some laughing, everyone lost in celebration.

Misty, along with the girls of the lot, finds herself lost in laughter as they dance together, spinning and swaying under the fairy lights. The music thrums through her veins, the night air is crisp against her skin, and as she twirls in her flowy, blue dress, she feels a rush of happiness as the girls cheer her on. 

The music gets faster, and Serena holds her hand, the girls making each other twirl like two platonic soulmates. Then the girls form a circle again, singing the lyrics of the song on the top of their lungs, jumping and swaying with joy. The music is so loud that Misty has to put in extra effort to hear her own voice. 

And yet, even as she dances with joy, her gaze keeps drifting.

Across the lawn, at a different corner every time, Ash is deep in conversation. Every few minutes, he’s with someone new—laughing with an old rival, shaking hands with a professor, letting some wide-eyed kid gush about his battles. He’s always moving, always talking, always smiling.

She shouldn’t care.

She shouldn’t notice.

But she does.

Every time.

“Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight.”

She wants to do herself a favor and use her mallet on Brock.

Because she’s read into things plenty tonight. And it feels like reading a comic book—loud, colorful, impossible to ignore.

Ash takes care of Lillie as she spills juice on her dress.

He shares some inside jokes with Clemont that no one else understands.

He steadies Goh with a firm hand when he stumbles on his own feet.

He brings Serena a cold drink when she slumps on a chair, exhausted.

He hugs Tracey as the older guy gives him a nicely wrapped box.

He–

The world tilts. Or maybe she is the one spinning. The joyful music suddenly starts to feel nauseating. The cheers of everyone around her suddenly feel scrutinizing. The Soft, glowy lights now burn her eyes.

Somewhere along the way, she’s stopped moving. She stands frozen in the middle of the laughter, the celebration, the party that suddenly feels too loud.

“Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight.”

She doesn’t need to. She already knows.

She doesn’t need to read into things to know why she picked this dress.

She doesn’t need to read into things to understand why Brock’s words rattled her.

She doesn’t need to read into things to recognize the pitiful truth—that she let herself believe, even for a 

second, that Ash would finally see her.

That now, with his dreams coming true, he’d finally notice something other than Pokémon.

That he’d notice her.

That he’d notice how long she’s been waiting.

She forces her legs to move, pushing herself out of the celebration  before her bleeding sorrow paints anyone else blue. 

She weaves through the crowd, bumping into people as she goes. No one notices. They’re too immersed in the joy to notice. Or maybe she has become too good at hiding.

The music fades as she walks further into the Oak estate, swallowed by the vast stretch of green.

Away from the golden lights, into the moon-less dark.

 Away from the laughter, toward the quiet hum of chirping Pokémon.

 Away from the warmth, into the cold embrace of the wind.

She’s read into things. And now?

From now on, when she watches him battle on screen, she won’t search his face, trying to guess if he’s tense or exhausted. She won’t linger on every article that mentions his name.

She’ll smile when she sees him. Talk to him like always. Act like nothing’s changed.

And it will all be normal.

She doesn’t cry, though. Maybe somewhere in her heart, she always knew. 

She’s been telling herself to wait.

Wait till he travels through Hoenn.

Wait till he conquers Sinnoh.

Wait till he explores Unova.

Wait till he becomes the Kalos champion.

Wait till he returns from Alola.

Wait till he becomes the World Champion.

And he did.

And like a starry-eyed little girl, she held her heart in anticipation.

Maybe something will change if she joins him on his journey.

Maybe something will change when she teases him like old times.

Maybe something will change when she bids yet another goodbye.

And each time, she looked at him—waiting for him to look back.

"Then do me a favor, Misty, and you try to read into things tonight."

She’s been reading into things forever. She’s tired.

The wind is soothing. It threads through her hair, brushing against her cheeks like a whisper. Her dress flutters with it, moving in sync as if the night itself is holding her.

Then-

Read the rest on AO3, it's too long lol