ash x gladion oneshots

Early morning

A/N- they aren't dating yet, sorry for not uploading, I have some really important exams coming up and forgot to upload!

TW: suicidal thoughts...? Not angst I promise

When he wakes up, he already feels that it’s going to be one of those days. A slow day. A nothing day.

He spends two hours laying in bed from three am, staring at the ceiling. It’s like an invisible force pins him to the bed, straddling gently, not even pushing down that hard but not relenting either.

At five a.m. Silvally noses him out of the blankets and onto the ground. The impact hurts, but only dully. It’s really, nothing. Umbreon nudges him with a paw, keening softly. He takes it as a cue to get up, off the ground. Brushes his teeth. Changes into clean clothes. Almost announces, “I’m going for a run,” before realizing that’s not a very good idea.

Not today.

(he ends up there eventually, anyways.)

He doesn’t even want to run or do anything, but, well,

Says, “Let’s go to Ash’s,” instead, even though he knows the boy will be sleeping, because not even the oricorio are awake yet, and he doesn’t feel like battling, either.

That’s really the first red flag, that he doesn’t feel like battling.

He doesn’t really feel real, like a real person, in the utter morning silence.

The walk to the professors’ (and Ash’s) house is ten minutes. It takes him thirty.

He doesn’t quite remember why.

He thinks he stopped at a bridge.

Leaning over the edge of the railing to see the water, catches a glimpse of a milotic, rare as it is.

Doesn’t lean too far.

Not like last year, when

‘-over the edge-

-playing back a voice message, again and again and again-

-sending one of his own, promising-

-“i’m sorry for... everything... i have to go now-“

-screaming-‘
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He doesn’t knock on the door. Most likely, nobody’s awake to answer.

Instead, he lets Silvally boost him into the roof, returning it to its pokeball, then climbing inside through the sky-facing window. Lands softly on the loft surface, slips down the stairs, quiet as a ghost. Familiarizes himself with their kitchen, loses himself in a sudden rush of motivation and, one rushed trip to the grocery store later, ends up making too much food.

He regrets asking Hobbes to teach him how to cook.

But the food is already made, so he shifts some of it onto a plate, noting the temperature (he can barely feel the burn. His fingers are numb. Too numb. Everything is returning to that numb detachment,)

While waiting for it to cool, he washes the dishes. Plates more food. Packs the rest away. Writes a note. Sits on the ground and breathes.
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Ash wakes up drowsily to a dimly lit room. The sun has just begun to rise, faint light emanating from the open sunroof. Their old green couch granted an uncomfortable crick in his neck, so he sits up in an attempt to alleviate it, basking in the crisp air, for once not waking up to the electric shocks of his companion. Instead, the space beside him is mournfully warm, Pikachu nowhere in sight.

...well.

A close listen to the near-silent morning reveals the sound of tiny pattering feet, and his pokémon’s face peers up at him from atop the loft ladder. There’s really no need to get up, at least not this early in the morning when no one else is awake. He intends to lie back down in the cushions and catch another couple hours of sleep, already shifting his weight downwards.