Pokeshipping Week : 2016 Collection

"sleeping together"

Disclaimer - I don't own any of the things. I swear it.

Author - Warlordess

Notes - Welcome to my fourth and final fic contribution to Pokeshipping Week, everyone! It's one of, like, two where I used the actual theme given and not one of the alternates, but I also rely heavily on symbolism here.

As a warning, I wrote this one right after finishing chapter one's prompt so the style is pretty similar. The warning is being posted due to a few people claiming that they didn't care for the style much as it was rather jarring, leaping from hard emotion to hard logic; I intended it to be that way on purpose but since it rubbed some the wrong way, I just wanted to clarify. I would even go so far as to say it's paired with my day one entry, in case anyone wants to read it again, though it's absolutely fine to just read this one as a stand-alone as well.

Anyway, I won't spoil the setting like I did for that one since the fic starts out explaining that… so please enjoy and share it around the fandom if you feel like it! I'd greatly appreciate likes and reblogs!

OoOoO

This is the story of Ash Ketchum's secret.

Well, okay, it's more the story of Ash Ketchum's secret to sleeping.

It's been four days into his Hoenn region travels when the full-blown insomnia sets in. And, to be honest, it had been building up within him for a good week before reaching this point, though Ash had, at first, assumed it was due to his not being much accustomed to a real bed anymore, seeing as he'd been back home at that time.

And again, at that point, he'd just had trouble falling asleep, but that trouble had slowly grown, and grown, until it consumed almost all of his nights with tense, wide-eyed pleas for a sandman he wasn't sure existed.

This is unacceptable, he knows. How can he hope to knock out all of his competition, earn all his gym badges, and become the greatest Pokemon Master of all time if he can't even get a good night's rest?!

But admonishing himself does no good, of course. Beating himself up mentally won't put him to bed physically.

(oh, if only)

One glance at May, breathing even and rhythmic, a little smile on her slightly parted lips, sprawled out awkwardly underneath her covers, leaves him envious. Another at Pikachu, curled up in a small ball right beside the raven-haired trainer's head leaves him irate and haggard at the same time. It takes everything in him to keep from ripping his own hair from his head.

Instead he huffs and wrenches the comforting plush of his sleeping bag more tightly around him, still aware enough to keep an eye on Pikachu in case the electric mouse accidentally ends up jostled by his abrupt motion.

It's not fair, he thinks, as he eyes the sky filled with pearly stars glowing above him. Not fair, he repeats, as he glares at the moon, all bright and in-his-face and distracting, but not in the good way.

He doesn't have the faintest clue what his problem is but he can already tell it won't be going away anytime soon. So he gets up, still cautious of his Pokemon, prone and peaceful at the top of his head, and begins to shake himself free of his sleeping bag. Maybe all he needs is a cup of water or something.

(if only it were that easy)

(but of course it isn't)

So he instead whiles away the next ten or so minutes by rifling through his backpack. Maybe if he has a snack he can eat or a game he can play or a magazine he can read or–