They Used To Be...

Hiyaa, CheruBitzee here. OMG am I seriously DIODE-ing? Yes, yatta, yahoo! Cue in the celebrations because it's Diodeshipping Day!

I don't know what happened with this. I had the intentions of writing a drabble, but it turned into a retarded one-shot instead. My prompt: a coma AU. Unfortunately stupid stally me somewhat went away with it and...

This was born. I am so sorry. ;A;

I've done what I could to keep it, err, as realistic as possible, maybe? With the whole research and AU thing anyway. I can't even right now because I have this habit of writing angst stories for ship days. I warn you, AHAHA.

What else, what else? Diodeshipping = Ash x Clemont = shounen-ai. I do not own Pokemon or the many song quotes I've included. There's a really short scene about animal cruelty near the end (sorry) and quite a lot of cursing. Apologies for the somewhat distracting text format (I intended for this since it works with conveying emotions).

I love these two, but I'm still holding on to my Pallet, unyaa! I hope you like it, fellow Diodeshippers (however much this wtf-prose fic can be liked anyway)!

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When I wake up, the

dream isn't done/ /

I want to see your face and

know I made it HOME—

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Days.

Measuring in minutes makes the months feel too long.

Measuring in years makes it feel too short.

Seconds: even longer. Weeks? Not long enough.

...so days, it shall be.

There is no noise, no sunlight, save from the cranking of the dial and green glow of the screen. Whether it's midnight, or early dawn, or in between, he isn't so sure. Six hundred and eighty something now; surely this is the day. He cranks the dial one more time and, placing a flower inside the contraption, he begins his analysis.

Tick.

Tock.

Not much is happening, save for the emission of ultraviolet light. Dangerous, doubtful. Hard footsteps from above rouse him to take his eyes off of the spectacle for one second, inwardly annoyed at who could be disturbing him at this hour.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

What the fuck are you thinking, walking in on me like that? And what is that?

I'm... I'm... I'm s-s-sorry! Today's the day and I was just— I c-couldn't wait till morning. It's been years and I wanted to give you—

...get the fuck out of here now.

Tock.

One second is too long when you are trying to mess with time.

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He walks inside the room, just as he's done so for the past who knows how long. Nine am sharp, he checks, looking at both his wristwatch and the analogue clock somewhere on the furthest wall of the room. The sunshine is out today. He draws the curtains back to let the light in: clean, cream, flowy drapes following suit, ends billowing at the action. Crack the window open, bin the flower stalks. His chores aren't fun, but he tries.