Hello again everyone! Happy summer!

Ah, I always take way too long to write my stories. Hence the awkward breaks between postings. I guess I need to work on that.

A (late) entry in the July Advanceshipping Fanfiction Contest on Bulbagarden: theme - Lights.

Split into two chapters, 1) Before and 2) After for your viewing pleasure. Hopefully it's easier on the eyes. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. And also, warning: one sided Contestshipping, because I love internal conflict.

Lots of symbolism in this piece; I have planned it down to the very last color. And yes, I abused the usage of semicolons.

Sort of an offset of magical realism. This chapter is really the prelude of the fic; I promise the next one is a lot more interesting ;)

As always, I hope you enjoy :)

paperback: prelude.

I.

She remembers sleeping beneath the trees. She remembers dreaming. She remembers being happy.

She remembers the ocean, the salty-sweet mists and the waves embedded with turquoise. She remembers a lavender sky, a setting sun. Her heart now swims alone.

She remembers singing to the jaded hills and the thistle coated clouds. She remembers his laughter, which reminded her of cornsilk and wheat fields. I'll take you there someday, she wanted him to say.

She especially remembers his eyes, wide and bright when he smiled, full of promise and holding the innocence of all the world. She remembers his hands too, firm, square hands with weathered olive skin. I love your hands—they are what made me.

(She remembers roses too.)

But what she remembers most is the silence of each early morning, when the sun rises one ribbon at a time and the whole world is at peace. She remembers staring at his youthful face and marveling (just like that first day), marveling at how thisboy, this silly, beautiful boy, had changed her life so much.

She remembers sighing, she remembers smiling. The candy pink clouds make no complaint to her authenticity and absorb all the sound around her like cotton—all except for the beating of her heart, because the heart is never silent.

. . . . .

Seven years later, she doesn't remember anything at all.

II

[She had lost her heart, once.]

It's almost midnight. The sky has dressed herself for the occasion, traditional silk skirts the color of forget-me-nots. The moon hangs overhead like a cold, shiny button, pensively quiet.

It's a lovely backdrop, May thinks—almost like a canvas sewn together by messy cloud stitches. In her haste, the sky has scattered silver rhinestone stars in an attempt to mask the imperfections. Charming, really—the night has always been impervious to criticisms anyway.

Peaceful it may be, certainly, but May feels anything but content. She hadn't really acknowledged it at first, but in the silence of her own thoughts, she's beginning to realize—she just feels so empty. She had mistaken it for homesickness at first, (traveling would do that to you) but it took only a few minutes before she discerned that it definitely was not—the feeling was too strong for that. Confused, she lays on her sleeping bag with growing unease, shifting her attention from the patchwork trees, the small puddle of moonlight by her feet, the sound of the ocean, miles away—until she knows for sure that the emptiness is coming from inside of her, the pinpoint of her chest, shifted to the left.

It's almost strange; she flutters her hand over her skin, and the stark silence of an empty chest tells her what she fails to believe. Her heart seems to have fled—where it could have gone, she has no idea. Perhaps it had been gone for quite some time now, and she just hasn't noticed? These things are gradual though, she'll admit—there are many reasons (excuses, she would remind herself later) why it might have taken her so long to notice. She's been quite preoccupied for the past few years of her life now.

May frowns and ponders her heart's absence at length, worrying at her bottom lip. Had she lost it? Misplaced it? Or simply just left it behind? May pillows her head on her arms and tries to remember, anything. Yet all she can conjure up is an overwhelming sense of closure—just last week, she had won the Hoenn Grand Festival, having returned to claim the prestigious Ribbon Cup seven years after her defeat the first time. She was truly a renowned coordinator now; after winning her first Grand Festival in Johto six years prior, May had traveled across the world, from Johto to Sinnoh then Kanto and finally Hoenn once more, tracing her old footsteps to where her pokemon journey had first begun. From there, with three Ribbon Cups safely in her possession, she traveled across the region to Lilycove City and won the last Cup; this one was arguably the most valuable to her. It had taken years and years of blood, sweat and tears, but now here it was—the symbol of her dreams.

So what now? May finds herself asking (a question she had wanted to avoid). Since she was ten years old, her only dream was to become top coordinator, to see the world and experience all it had to offer. Now, at seventeen, she was left dream-less; wandering lost in the world as big as the sea. In retrospect, it wasn't that she was ungrateful, no far from it. It was just that now, May realized that she wasn'tsure what she wanted anymore.

That must be it then, May finally decides, returning the hand to her chest. She had left her heart behind on the Hoenn Grand Festival stage, left it there with her dreams as she traded them in for the elusive Ribbon Cup. For the first time since, May finds herself truly missing that familiar sound thump, thump, thump—it had always been a sort of constant in her life, a steady reminder of who she was and why she was and what she was meant to be.

(where have you gone?)

She doesn't know, and that scares her. May curls up on her side, biting her lip. After careful consideration, she takes a shaky breath and reaches deep into her chest, searching the dark crevices left and right—but she comes up with nothing. As expected, she thinks. Nevertheless, she retracts her hand and stares at it, her skin pale white under the moon. Maybe, if she just thinks hard enough, she can pretend that the emptiness between her fingers is really a heart—her heart.

And so she does just that; she imagines, she pretends—fingers curled in, she cups the air between her hands and just watches it—beating there.

(everything has gone silent)

III.

A few days later, May runs into Drew at the Pacifidlog Town Pokemon Center.

She's merely training on a whim now, slowly making her way home to Petalburg. Her pokemon seem to know something's off with their trainer—more than once May had accidentally commanded Beautifly to use Fire Spin or Munchlax to use Aerial Ace or Venusaur to use Ice Shard—something strange like that. She sat down in the sand with her head between her knees after that, and all her pokemon had gathered around her, making the isolated sandbar they were training on seem a little less lonely. May had waved off their concerns though, smiling weakly at her beloved companions; this just wasn't fair to them. They had worked so hard to help May achieve her dream, and now she was just letting them down with her melancholy.

She can't help it though—her heart's just not into it (ironic as it may be, May thinks to herself with a bitter laugh).

The sun is just beginning to set on the small archipelago—flocks of Wingull and Pelipper dot the amber orange sky, casting the surrounding ocean aglow with gold foam and saffron waves. The beginnings of stars are mapping out the path of night, and the lights of the small sea village are beginning to flicker off. The Pokemon Center shines bright as ever though, and May sits at one of the Formica-topped tables in the courtyard. Her pokemon are inside for checkups—Nurse Joy had promised it wouldn't take long. May had only sent her a small smile and excused herself outside, and now she sits with her legs crossed on a plastic chair, a half-empty glass of lemonade cradled between her palms. She should be heading back in soon—the salty ocean breeze is starting to cool for the night.

"Thinking about something important there, May?"

She jumps at the sound of her name, nearly spilling her drink. Seven years she had traveled with that sound; she'd know that voice anywhere.

"Drew?"

She turns to face him, and the green haired coordinator is smirking, one hand on his hip. "Yeah, that's me," he says, and tosses his hair out of his face. His Roserade is out of its pokeball again—pressed close to Drew's side, the bouquet pokemon hums in amusement at May's incredulous expression.

"What are you doing here?" May asks, eyes wide as if in shock. Drew chuckles quietly, and the smirk softens just a bit. "I could ask you the same thing," he counters simply. "I thought you were going home."

May turns away from him, hair obscuring half of her face. "Yeah, I was."

She doesn't go on to say more, so Drew just sighs and gives a blithe shrug. "All right, I was just wondering. I saw your pokemon with Nurse Joy, so I thought you might still be training." His eyes are piercing now as they look over her pallid face. "Though, you would wonder what a top coordinator like yourself would still need to train for."

There's a hint of bitterness in his voice, and May doesn't blame him. Looking up, she tries unsuccessfully to form words. "Look Drew, I..."

He puts a hand up to cut her off. "I don't need to hear it May. You deserved that Hoenn Ribbon Cup—but that doesn't mean that I didn't want it too." He looks away for a bit to pat Roserade on the head, and the grass pokemon leans in toward his touch. "Don't let your head get too inflated though," he says, voice warmer now from teasing. Safe territory, May thinks to herself. "Don't forget that I still beat you in the Sinnoh Grand Festival three years ago." There's a note of vindictive pride in those words, whether he means it to be there or not.

May rolls her blue eyes, but feels a bit more like herself again. (She doesn't remind him that she beat him in the Kanto Grand Festival a year later—it would be pointless anyway).

"I'll try my best," she says with playful acid. The green haired coordinator smiles for real this time, eyes crinkling. A moment of silence passes between them, until Drew breaks it again.

"So, why Pacifidlog?" he asks, raising his arms to gesture at the peaceful ocean town. "You could have taken a ferry directly to Slateport you know, if you wanted to get back to Petalburg."

It's May's turn to shrug now, and suddenly she's completely engrossed in her lemonade glass. The ice has long melted and clear drops of condensation have beaded on the sides. "I dunno...I just, needed to stop by I guess. Too many memories to leave it behind."

Drew nods slowly, as if her explanation makes sense. "Oh, I remember. This iswhere you won your fifth ribbon for your first Grand Festival, right?"

May hums in neutral agreement, looking out toward the sea. But that's not why, she wants to say. That's not it at all.

"This has been your dream. Pacifidlog is the last contest, and your last chance to get into the Grand Festival right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then you really ought to go for it!"

(his hands are warm on my shoulders. I can't breathe.)

May shakes her head, and the memory flees.

Drew suddenly sighs, folding his arms across his chest. May looks at him curiously, but the green haired coordinator just stares further out into the darkening horizon.

"It really has been a long time, hasn't it?" he asks quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "We've come a long way in seven years; it's almost hard to imagine that we're still the same people."

May shifts in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "I...suppose you're right..."

Drew looks back, green eyes still distant, but the smirk is slowly returning. "Well, I mean, some of us have changed more than others." He chuckles a bit, the teasing air returning to his face.

May tries to laugh in reply, but the sound comes out all wrong. Drew stops and gauges her expression, as if suddenly realizing something.

"...You're suffering from post-coordinator depression, aren't you?"

May blinks at the unfamiliar term. "Huh?"

Drew rolls his eyes and unfolds his arms. "Post Coordinator Depression," he says a lot slower, enunciating each word as if talking to a child. May scowls, but Drew cuts her off before she can say anything. "Solidad told me about it once. Apparently, some coordinators—and trainers too, I guess—experience this after they've won a huge victory of some kind. Instead of feeling accomplished, they feel alone and lost...probably because they feel like they have nothing left to look forward to in life."

May's eyes widen in understanding.

"Did...did you feel it before then?" she asks him carefully. Drew looks up at the sky in thought, shrugging.

"I guess so. After the Sinnoh Grand Festival, I was holding the Ribbon Cup and suddenly just felt so...disappointed. As if achieving my goal wasn't as amazing as I had expected it to be."

May nods in agreement, catching on. "And did you feel like part of your chest was missing too? Like, empty? As if your heart was missing or something?"

She immediately regrets saying anything when Drew stops talking and looks at her oddly.

"Uhm...no...not really...why would I feel like that?"

May curses herself for letting her tongue run out of her control. Instantly, she tries to backtrack, waving off Drew's confusion.

"Ah, n-nothing, it's nothing. Forget I said anything."

The green haired coordinator nods slowly, unconvinced but unwilling to push the question further. "O-kay. Anyway, post coordinator depression. Sounds like you've got it pretty bad."

Blue eyes troubled, May looks away so Drew can't see the frailty of her lie. "Yeah, that sounds right. Post coordinator depression. That must be it."

(is this still what you want?)

The two coordinators fall silent. The cool waves rise and fall on the sandy shores—the sound explores their fixation, probing at old wounds.

"How about it May?"

She bites her lip, looks into his eyes. She remembers another boy, long ago, whose eyes did not remind her of the earth, but the sun.

He clears his throat again, hesitantly, rose outstretched into neutral territory, and she nods once before taking his hand.

"Okay."

The Pokemon Center doors suddenly slide open, and Nurse Joy sticks her head out of the lobby, fluorescent light from inside the building spilling into the darkening twilight.

"Drew?" she calls out gently. "Your pokemon are ready now, if you want to start heading out again."

The green haired coordinator nods politely. "Thanks Nurse Joy." As she heads back in, Drew turns back towards May with a wink. "I have to go I guess—I have a lot of ground to cover. Need to catch a ferry back to Lilycove before returning to LaRousse City."

May smiles slightly at her long time rival. "Okay. Stay safe then—it was...nice seeing you." She holds out a hand to shake. Drew accepts it firmly, but holds on a bit too long, searching May's eyes intently with his own. Slightly uncomfortable, May leans away, and only then does Drew let go, an unnervingly shrewd smile on his face.

(she's always hated that; when he looks like he knows something that she doesn't.)

"Take care," she says halfheartedly. "You too Roserade." The bouquet pokemon smiles a little in reply, turning to follow its trainer, who has already begun walking towards the Pokemon Center.

He's halfway there when Drew suddenly stops and turns back, "Oh, and one more thing!"

May turns back around and stares dubiously at her rival. Drew grins and reaches into his pocket, extracting something before throwing it back towards May. She catches it without thinking; really, at this point, the rose shouldn't surprise her anymore.

"Something to remember me by," he says audaciously, flipping his hair once more before disappearing between the sliding doors. May stares after him, twirling the delicate, thorny stem between her fingers.

"Thanks, I guess," she whispers, knowing that he can no longer hear her.

(some things never change.)

It's completely dark now. The stars are glittering like a string of pearls in a black ocean. May contemplates the red rose for another second before laying it beside her lemonade glass on the table, tilting her head up towards the sky instead.

"It was way back in Terracotta town. Ever since I went off by myself, it's been my good luck charm."

May smiles, but the gesture is tinged with sadness. She remembers another night like tonight—just as lovely, but different somehow. Looking around to make sure no one else is watching, May gently reaches into her shirt to extract a jewel-encrusted chain, hanging from it a halved pink ribbon, worn with age but still gleaming bright.

("you still have it, don't you?")

She can't stop them now; the memories break through her control and pull her under. Never has the tide been so bittersweet. Too tired to try and reign them back in, May succumbs, letting them wash over her skin, one by one—if she's going to drown, she might as well enjoy it.

Eventually though, she realizes that she's still breathing—her lungs are protesting and her chest feeling as empty as ever, but it's nothing she can't handle. May opens her eyes (when did she close them?) and looks back up at the sky, the stars—they had known all her secrets, once upon a time.

Seven years later, do you have an answer for me now?

The night stays as silent as ever. Perhaps, in the past, this wouldn't have bothered her. But now, it just makes May feel even more alone.

IV.

She should have expected to run into a sort of festival as she entered Slateport City.

The streets are filled with jovial people, families, children, friends, all meandering through the open air market with smiles and laughter abound. The cloudless blue sky stretches above the commotion, polished with friendly sunlight and the promise of the harvest season. There are booths lined up everywhere, with cheerful vendors selling everything from ripe produce to candies, fresh seaweed to glass vases. There must be an annual event going on, or a grand opening of some sort—whatever it is, the city has adopted an infectiously merry atmosphere that just can't be ignored.

A little awestruck, May wanders the fair alone, her hands tucked in her pockets. It's nice, she thinks. It reminds her of home.

. . . . .

The day passes quickly, and it's already late sunset by the time the festival begins to mellow out. May finally reaches the city's edge after a long day of meandering through the streets. In her left hand she holds a bag of Ganlon berry sweets, half-empty. In her right hand, she holds a bright yellow balloon, floating gently beside her.

It's surprisingly peaceful now that the sun has gone down. May takes a deep breath of the salty ocean harbor, and the smell carries wistful memories from what seemed to be forever ago. This is where she had entered her first Pokemon contest, way back when she was still young and naïve and silly. This was also the site of her first Grand Festival, so long ago now that the memory seems airbrushed with a layer of rosy powder.

May gives a tart laugh. Maybe she still does have a heart, hidden somewhere, protected in its naïve stupidity. Or maybe it's just that her mind had learned to be just as capricious.

She finally reaches the city arch where a line of cars are preparing to depart, and it's only when she tosses her empty bag of sweets into a trash receptacle that she suddenly notices the yellow balloon still tangled in her fingers, the ball of helium bouncing happily along behind her. May hums lightly in thought, staring up at the floating sphere, then to the sky, darkened by streaks of red.

(tell me, little one, why do you want to be free?)

Impulsively, May slowly unties the string, holding on for a second longer before letting go. From there, she watches the balloon float away from her outstretched hand, up, up, up until there's nothing left but a dot in the sky.

V.

What May has always missed about Hoenn is how gently and subtly it eases into autumn.

True, it's mostly tropical year long, she corrects herself, with buttercup summers and temperate springs. But when fall and winter comes along, the region settles into a cooler sort of warmth, like a stream bathed in goldenrod sun. It's hard to explain, but May has missed it nevertheless.

Petalburg isn't very far now. She'll be home within a few days if she keeps up the pace.

It has been a quiet midmorning, white sunlight filtering in through the trees and flooding the small clearing where May had set up camp overnight. The grass is spotted tortoiseshell green from the shadows cast by the leaves, and there are millions of shy white daisies stitched into the verdant carpet.

Humming in slight amusement, May reaches for her backpack, rubbing leftover sleep off her eyelashes. Her dreams had been vacant last night—she can't remember exactly what had happened, but all she knows is that it was very cold, very dark, and very quiet. The silence had been unnerving.

The half smile that had been on her mouth smoothes into a thin line.

Her hand delves deeper into her backpack, rummaging around for a bottle of water and something to eat. But, as she reaches for a bar of chocolate, her hand brushes something...soft. Looking in, she suddenly realizes: it's Drew's rose.

With careful hands, May takes the wilted flower from inside the bag. Two days had taken a toll on the flower, whose petals are now a starved dark red.

Curiously, May pinches one of the petals between her thumb and forefinger, velvet in the center but slightly dry at the edges now, and tugs it off before letting it drop into the grass.

(he loves me, he loves me not)

Within minutes, May carefully dismembers the rest of the rose, one petal at a time, creating a lopsided halo in the daisy-covered grass. Dark angels robed in heavenly white.

Like velvet little corpses, she thinks with slight morbid fascination.

(you tell me.)

Presently, a light breeze drifts through the clearing, rustling the trees and the grass with soft, invisible fingers. The leftover rose petals lift slightly in the air before falling back to earth. The daisies however, young and bright with life, all seem to release their delicate petals into the wind's embrace; at once, the clearing is filled with tiny white parachutes, and May can almost imagine them calling out—"goodbye!" "goodbye!" "goodbye!"

And, in the midst of their farewells, May smiles and whispers something too—a farewell of her own.

[1] "...when the sun rises one ribbon at a time..." - A direct reference to Emily Dickinson's poem "A Day." Fitting, or punny?

[2] "...seven years later, do you have an answer for me now?" - Alludes to May's wish in Jirachi Wishmaker. Also a reference to my last fanfic, Starcrossed.

[3] "...bright yellow balloon..." - Yellow is light. It symbolizes happiness and joy, but can also symbolize cowardness. Looks like May is letting something (or someone?) go. Brave or not? I can't say. Interestingly enough, a yellow ribbon also symbolizes waiting love, and was worn by women as a symbol of hope for men to come home from war. Lots of ribbons popping up.

[4] "...jewel encrusted chain..." - A reference to a previous fic of mine, Halves Make a Whole.

[5] I will come back to daisy symbolism later.

[6] If you're utterly confused, here is the timeline thus far (I've sticked to canon as much as I could): at 10 years old, May began her pokemon journey. At 11, she entered the Hoenn Grand Festival (her first one) and lost. At 12 she traveled with Ash to Kanto and lost the Kanto Grand Festival. At 13 she left the group for Johto and wins the Johto Grand Festival. At 14 she loses the Sinnoh Grand Festival to Drew. At 15 she wins the Kanto Grand Festival after trying once more. At 16 she tries the Sinnoh Festival again and wins. And finally, at 17, she returns to Hoenn and wins her last Ribbon Cup.

Okay, onto the next chapter? Sorry this one was short. I promise the next one is absurdly long.

—Wings of Rain