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Cold air nips at his fingertips and the end of his nose, the whole spread of his cheeks, and Green shudders for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. It's that month when the weather is at its worst, and he doesn't know why anyone would ever call this their favourite time of the year, let alone adopt a foreign holiday that meant going outdoors in it more than necessary.
But people do, and people have, and the reason he's even out here is apparently because he's as much of a moron as the rest of them, hearing too loudly the way his jacket squelches with each step he takes. Saffron is as bad as Celadon in the blinking lights department around every other store window, the fake fluffy white snow lining the lower framing and the same five pokémon on display, whether as plush toys or plastic props.
He doesn't care for any of it. His and his gramp's house is bare of any tacky decorations, his visit this year unplanned (or, rather, unmentioned), and his grandfather wasn't about to decorate an empty house when he spent all his time at his lab—which did have a few bits here and there, thanks to his aides.
( "We can always do up the house," his grandfather had offered.
Green pulled a face. "No thanks." )
The stores are more inviting for their heat than their colours. Nothing's caught his eye, but there's a noise - a squeal, followed by laughter - that makes him pause, pulls him to examine again the bookstore he was about to past.
A mistletoe hovers close over to the doorway. Fun, innocent; for couples (like the two now) to spot and fuss over, excuses for parents to pick up their little ones and give kisses on the cheek.
Green's face sours, and he shoves his scarf over his mouth, and turns his head away quickly, moving on.
But he's already thinking about it—why he's doing this at all.
Red had gone with him to help pick up a package for his gramps from the Viridian pokémon centre a previous year. It was also the first time he'd seen tinsel covering every edge of a centre in Kanto (usually they didn't bother, not the ones outside the major cities), and he'd groaned audibly at the popular shades of red and green intertwined, the plastic tree set up near the visitor seats with fake gift parcels underneath, the colourful bulb lights and oversized snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.
"I think it's nice," Red had commented sincerely. Green held back the want to roll his eyes.
"You would."
The collection took no longer than five minutes to fill their arms with the insane amount of— whatever the hell were in the boxes, files sent over from another professor too assed to go all the way to Pallet Town. Green huffed as he got his arms comfortable, ready to leave and tell his gramps to get someone else to be his errand boy next time, one of his aides, whoever, so long as it wasn't him—
"Hey. Don't you do something with those?"
Green turned his head, an impatient "What?" leaving him, and he saw Red looking up. His gaze followed to the source, and there—a plant above their heads? A sprig of something that he'd seen around, but couldn't recall.
The nurse behind the nearby counter helpfully chimed up.
"You kiss whoever you're standing under them with! You don't need to, but we thought it would be nice to hang."
The tips of his ears tinged with a heat, his head snapping back to Red and his mouth already pulled in a grimace. But as suddenly as the embarrassment hit Green, he inhaled it back down; because what did it matter that they were standing under it? It didn't mean anything, and what actually mattered was getting out of this place and shoving this box onto one of his pokémon to carry.
Red tipped down his chin a second later, eyes locking in with his. He blinked.
"You wanna?"
Green choked on the air in his lungs, then the words—"What- you, the hell—!?"—that tried stumbling out. He didn't wait for an answer; he turned on his heel, making sure to shove his shoulder hard into Red's, not hearing a clatter of a box falling along with one dumbass (what a damn pity), but not bothering to double-check.
"It was a joke!" Red called out once he got himself out of the pokémon centre. But all Green wanted to listen to was the sound of his feet against snow, forgetting to even let out his pokémon to help until about halfway along that stupid, hilly route.
And somehow, the worst damn part was when he was still thinking about it that night.
Red shows up by the twentieth. Green hears the commotion of his arrival outside his - friend's? rival's? - ugh, outside Red's mother's house from his bedroom, the sound of Charizard's feet crunching down hard on the snow, and how Red feels the need to loudly proclaim that they're back. He strides over to his window to peer outside, Red already fussing over his pokémon and puffing out exhausted clouds of air next to the charizard's face, who lifts his chin to catch his gaze.
Before Green can back away, Red's spun around and spotted him too. His face lights up more, somehow, and he waves an arm with far too much energy. "Heyyy! Greeeen!"
Green waves back dismissively, and then yanks the curtains to. But Red's over about an hour later, poking his head through the door first, "Green?", and then letting himself in with a smile. A plastic container sits in his hands.
"My mom's made cookies. Let's catch up!"
Is this what they call tradition?
There was always a day when Red would come over with a homemade batch of something when they were younger: mostly cookies, shortbread or chocolate chip, but sometimes even wrapped slices of fruit cake or blocks of fudge, for him and his grandfather to share (with Red and Green helping themselves first, of course). Sometimes, Red knocked on these visits. Most of the times he didn't.
The last winter before they came trainers, he didn't. Red dragged Green's name out of his mouth, went straight over to his bed and sat himself down as he always did, making the springs bounce under him.
"Mom says you and the professor should come over and have dinner with us this year," he began rambling right away, in that loud, loud voice of his. "Our house's smaller, but you can sleep over if you want. I already asked, and I just know my mom got me a new videogame this year—we can be up all night playing it!"
He couldn't read over anything Red. His voice was like a drum that had been growing louder since their birthdays that year, and the way he spoke like playing games was the most exciting and greatest things in life. Just like a kid, with no dreams, no ambitions.
It had become so painfully obvious to Green.
"Wow, Red, that sounds fun," he flatly replies, arm slinging over the top of his chair as he leans back on it. "Too bad I remembered I had a birthday recently and grew up. Are you going to spend the rest of your life playing dumb videogames?"
"What do you mean?" There came that indignant tone, that puffy face pout—exactly like a baby. Hah. "We're not too old to play videogames. We're only eleven."
"You know what my gramps was doing when he was eleven? He," Green says, prodding a finger at the book splayed on the desk, "had been a pokémon trainer for a year! And then he became Champion by fourteen! And now that's what I'm going to do!"
"Whuh? Yoh're ohn 'bout dat aghain?"
He can practically hear the food being spit out by that mouthful, cringing as he shoots Red a glare.
But why should he bother? Why should he waste his energy on someone he knows won't listen, who'd rather rot away in some tiny town whose single piece of interest was his grandfather's presence in it?
He'll never understand. So Green turns back to his book, his interest in the cookies waning, his interest in Red— nonexistent.
"Go bug your mom, Red. I don't have time for games."
Red doesn't move from the bed. He asks, upset rising in his throat, "What about us?"
But Green just lifts a hand, waves him off with wiggling fingers.
"Baibai, Red."
It takes a while, but Red eventually leaves with a huff. When Green looks over again, the cookies sit forgotten on the bed.
It's hardly the first lot of cookies from Red's mother he's eaten this month (or second, or third), but Green moves over to the bed - his bed - and sits on the edge, peering into the opened plastic tub. It's gingerbread today in different shapes and sizes, and Green picks out a tree with green icing, for no other reason than it looks the smallest. He's never been that crazy about ginger cookies.
"Mom told me they've been looking for someone to take over the Viridian City gym, and you're thinking about it. Is it true?"
Green thumbs a crumb at the side of his mouth, looking across at Red under a narrow gaze. "Who told her that?"
"Your gramps," Red shares, and Green gets out a tch; of course he did. "Do you want to be a gym leader? What about the pokédex?"
What about the pokédex? he wants to throw back, but he doesn't, because he's gotten over that; the bitterness carried at the progress he lost years ago, pretending that his new dex with Red's copied data didn't bother him. It's not what he bites his teeth into and swallows down, but the cookie. "I can do more than one thing at a time. Anyway, what about my life? We're not all going to jump at the chance to climb Mt. Silver just to get stuck up there for three months 'cause of some rumour about an undiscovered pokemon."
The low noise of indignation Red gives satisfies Green's ears, somewhat. "I still say I saw something up there! I really did!"
"Sure that wasn't the lack of oxygen going to your brain?" He grins into his next bite, feeling Red's scowl without needing to see it. But he looks anyway, since why wouldn't he? "Gramp's pokedex is going to be fine. Shouldn't you be thinking about what you want to do?"
The annoyance Red wears falls into confusion. "Mmmhh... What's wrong with what I do?"
"Nothing. S'not like I care what you do. But more people have been working on it too — it's not going to be forever."
He dusts his hands, one gingerbread more than enough, falling onto his back. Nothing was forever; dreams of a Championship studied and exhausted over, a simple and easy childhood where Green knew he always wanted more, but there had come a tipping point to it, where idle, pointless days were no longer satisfying. And here he was now, wanting more again. More of...
"What if I went somewhere far away?"
Green opens his eyes, and finds Red hovering over him. His hair's gotten longer around the fringe, pieces peeking over from the back of his neck, and for a second, he thinks he recognises the age Red's gained over the years through the image of him he knows.
He breathes in quietly, shifting an arm under his head. He only breaks eye contact for a second.
"Be smelling ya, then," he answers flatly.
Red doesn't react. He doesn't smile or argue, doesn't pout, which is strange, but his lips twitch and the tip of his tongue rolls over them, giving them a slight sheen, and that distracts Green more than whatever else Red should've been doing. He watches them, his own parting slightly in wait, and he only needs to look so far up to know that Red's watching him.
All it takes is that look for Red to dip his head down and for Green to lift his chin, their mouths meeting.
"We're not kids, so don't think you're sleeping over."
He's sprawled out on his bed, nursing a full stomach and a light buzz from the wine that'd been served with dinner. Not that he's really nursing it, because it's not like one or two glasses is enough to get to him, but just that he can feel it there, in his head.
Just like he feels when Red clambers onto his bed, thankfully not bouncing all over it.
"Hey, Green..." Red asks, slowly. "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
"Wha-?" That gets Green to focus on Red, who's sitting there so— dumb, normal, like he didn't just say something stupid. Why does he even let this guy into his room? "Seriously, are you on about that again? Give it a break, will you?"
"What? This is the first time I've brought it up!" Red huffs, and the mattress moves as he does, closer to Green, sitting on his knees. "Anyway—do you want to do it?"
The question is hurried, but that doesn't make it any less asked, said, requested. Green nearly rolls onto his back to face Red properly, the other shadowing over him, blocking out the light above his head - what if he does something weird, what if he makes a move? - and Green shifts up into a sitting position, back knocking into his pillows to create some distance.
"Are you crazy?! With you?!"
He's all too aware of the two downstairs, who probably wouldn't pay attention to them even if they heard them, but it still pulls his voice down some, if only a little.
"It's just a kiss, right? I wanna know what it's like."
So why can't Red be aware of them too? Not that there isn't some flush to his skin, easier to tell when he leans back, a pout on his lips like he has any reason to pout in his situation.
Green inhales a breath, then lets it right back out. "Then get a girlfriend—or, or a boyfriend, or whatever," he forces himself to say, the subject twisting something deep in his stomach uncomfortably.
Red must feel it too when he flushes harder, blurts "Why have you gotta make it weird?", giving way for Green to throw back, "You're the one being weird right now!", his arms out like— god, like he wants to strangle this doofus, but Red slaps his knee, so Green goes for his shoulders instead, shaking him—
and Red starts laughing, making him falter, and then stop. It means Red can laugh harder, his entire body shaking as he lets it out freely until it finally simmers down to giddy giggles. There's tears at the corners of his eyes that make them glisten in the light, and the most widest smile Green's seen on Red's face since (the Champion battle—) forever, his cheeks coloured merrily.
He brushes at his eyes with the back of his hand, keeping the last few chuckles inside his mouth.
"It's like...we're friends again."
The way Red says it—with his face the colour it is, his lips turned like that—shouldn't catch him so off-guard, or make him annoyed, but it does. It twists at his stomach more, makes him aware of his tongue in his mouth.
He feels a mistake coming on.
But a lot of stupid things usually start with Red's mouth.
A mouth that's soft, he finds, when he leans in and goes for it before Red can say another thing. Dry, too, the texture strange, but these things are hard to tell when every part of his body flares up in heat and fills a white noise in his head. It should be enough of a reason to stop, and a single kiss was all Red asked for, because that was what this was about; but it's the fact he can't concentrate on it, that it doesn't feel quite right, that—if he was going to kiss him, shouldn't he know what he just did?
So he kisses him again, if the first thing could've been called a kiss and not just a peck, and—and he isn't alone he feels, the touch of Red's lips moving against his both too much and yet bringing him in, some kind of stubborn irritation refusing him to back away.
When he finally does somehow manage to, Red's face is more flushed and dazed than he's ever seen it, but he doesn't have it in him to make fun of him when his skin feels hot enough to have him mistaken for a magmar. They stare at each other silently, some part of Green wanting to move back in again, but he resists it. Red's mouth moves to begin to speak, but when Green glares, he actually listens, and zips it back up.
Except that just leaves the option, the only option, of course, of kissing more, and so Green gives in.
When Green returns from a few errands and letting his pokémon out, Red's putting up decorations in his living room, boxes dragged down from the attic sitting around on the floor and couch.
"I'm gonna call the cops."
"Don't just stand there, c'mon, help me out! We've got the hallway to do after this."
Sure, Green helps — himself to a drink, that is, pushing aside a box to sit and watch, baffled but growing somewhat amused. Particularly when Red hangs a glossy star from the ceiling, admires his handiwork from ground level, and has it fall on his face not a second after.
Red throws the decoration at him when he laughs, then gets a drink to join him with, pleased with the work he's done otherwise.
"Getting everything down here was a pain," Red gripes, leg bumping into Green's. He gives it a knock back.
"No one asked you to."
Red hums between agreement and indifference. He's picked hot chocolate over the tea Green chose, blowing over the surface over and over to cause tiny ripples that Green watches a while before huffing, and returning to his own drink.
"You don't think your grandfather has any reason to come home early, right?"
His lips pause around the rim of his cup, and he lowers the cup, slowly.
Why would he?, he nearly asks, but doesn't. Instead: "Why?"
"Because..." Red starts, slowly. "You'd freak out if he walked in on us like this."
Like what? But Green knows like what. Close enough for their legs to be touching, comfortable in each other's presence—or they were, a second ago. But now Green's acutely more aware of it, and what it'd mean for anyone out looking in, like they might get the wrong impression. It wasn't like that, for them.
Was it?
He shifts in his seat, torn between moving away (like he should) and staying (like he—wants?), and staying wins out, the more reasonable(?) side. Gramps wasn't going to be home for hours, so why should he move? He clears his throat, jabbing an elbow lightly into Red's side, if only out of consideration for his own drink.
"What, about sitting next to a dork? Sure, my gramps would have reason to be concerned, but - don't make a big deal out of it."
Green leans back into the couch, bringing up his cup as a way of silencing subject. He knows Red is looking at him, but what is he expecting from him?
They finish the hallway later, Red annoying him into helping out, and Oak's face lights up in a pleasant surprise to see everything so colourful around them.
He makes Green come out in the freezing cold to see him before he leaves, endless snowballs drumming at his bedroom window so hard Green thinks it might break. It's the thought of smashing a snowball into Red's face that helps him leave the warmth of his room, but only so much.
What keeps him from actually doing it for real is the lack of gloves, and the fact Red doesn't give him time for anything; not for his well-deserved complaints or questions, before he's dragging him stammering down the shady of his mother's house, and brings him into a kiss, arms wrapping around the back of his head. Green begins to push away like any sane human being, but Red clings onto him with, "there's no one around, no one'll see us", and brings their mouths in again with tiny kisses, until it's—soft, lingering. There's a tension in Green's shoulders still telling him to push away, but it's a want that doesn't meet his fingers, hovering uselessly over Red's jacket, and then curling into it.
When they break apart his head is dizzy, and he hates how stupidly happy Red seems with his cheeks not as nearly flushed as his own feel. Hates how hushed, just for them, his voice is when he speaks.
"Come home again next year; I'll come too. Okay?"
No; it's the answer of a ghost in his head, a too familiar response. But it's one he can't say, because the back of his throat won't let him.
"...Okay - fine."
All he can do is sound displeased, but what does it matter when Red's dragging him back in, into him, into a kiss; knowing, somehow, despite how stupid and wrong and clueless Green's always known Red to be, he likes it?
( But what the hell did they think they were doing?
What the hell was any of this—? )
"What's up? You've never been good at hiding anything, you know."
It's easy to tell Red has something on his mind the moment he walks through the door: when he actually knocks for once, actually asks if Green's busy, and doesn't have the same energy in his voice that he usually does when he goes through his usual set of questions for the day. It's like he's not even trying to hide it, except he still looks surprised when Green asks.
The look leaves after a second. Red turns away, rolling his lips between his teeth.
"...I had an offer to help a small team catch and study pokémon abroad, on another continent. It's going to be about for a year or two, and I'll be able to gather all the data on the pokédex," he adds, eyes flicking up to Green's, then lowering again. "I've already accepted to go - on the tenth, next month. I won't be able to keep the Champion title, but I think this'll be better than that, so..."
Red finally stops filling the empty space, waiting on him for something, anything.
Green doesn't recall what he says; other than it was little, and eventually led to Red slipping out of the room.
Their homes and doors were always open to one another. Each of their house keys came with a spare to the other's from when Red's mother would watch over them as toddlers, then stayed because it's convenient, because it's always been that way. So it makes sense when Red turns the doorknob to Green's bedroom and it doesn't open, he twists at it again, rattles it, doesn't understand right away it's the lock on its catch denying him.
Once Red finally gets it is when the rapping begins.
"Green? Are you changing?" It's silent when Green doesn't answer, until the knocking picks up again. "Is this about before? About becoming trainers? We can become trainers if you want, so stop being stupid. Why are you being a jerk for?"
He doesn't say anything, and just waits for Red to leave. There’s one last thump, hard at the door’s centre.
“You better apologise this time!”
But of course he didn’t.
Why would he, when he’s never felt guilty?
It takes one twist of the door handle for Red to accept that it's locked.
"You always shut me out," Green hears from other side, and, well - it's not his fault it's so easy to do.
Except this time, he just doesn't know what else to do.
It's just something close to familiar right now, and Green's never been one for sentimentality, but pushing Red out of the picture for a while seems like the right course of action. Next is the part where he blames it all on him.
It's a reasonable follow-up: Red was the one who asked him to come back home, had him going crazy thinking about what the hell he was going to do if he went there and Red didn't remember about last year, had lost interest; he was the reason Green wandered from city to city wanting to pick out a gift for him, like it really mattered what he got that dork. He'd be happy with a box of chocolates, knowing him, or treats to share with his pokémon, and smile in that way that got them in this mess in the first place.
Except he's old enough - and this time, for real - to know that it doesn't work that way. He knows he was the one to kiss Red first, just as Red had given up on the idea, and Green never said no to any of Red's advances after that. Red didn't know he'd be going off who-knows-where back then, and even then - did he want him to do something as stupid as not go?
Maybe.
"I can always talk to the door, you know."
The voice cuts into his thoughts, and his heart skips a beat. But he doesn't stir from the bed, continuing to stare at the wall.
Green knows Red will be true to his word. "I didn't tell you right away because - I didn't know how you'd react. You always kept telling me not to think too much about what we were doing, but... I didn't know what we were one way or another, and— do I really have to talk to a door about this?!"
He hears the ignited embarrassment in tune with his own, and Green lifts from the bed, not exactly wanting to think about how well Red's voice might be travelling down the stairs his room is closed to, to be heard by his gramps.
Not that he feels ready to open the door either, but one is better than the other, and one is an option he should take, anyway.
Green pulls off the latch, pulls the door slowly in; and he sees Red below him on the floor, his arm slipping when it loses support, but he catches the floor in time he looks up. His face is half illuminated by the light of the lamp in Green's room.
"...Come in," he tells Red, backing from the door. They walk over to the bed, both taking an uneasy seat on the edge, side by side.
Green begins to speak, but Red interrupts him on the first word.
"—Do you wanna go out, Green?"
Green swallows, groans as he runs a hand through his hair, dragging it down. "Seriously, Red?" He mutters more under his breath, and all Red can say is "What?" and for once, Green knows he's the one being unreasonable, but—
He swallows again, glancing at Red out of the corner of his eye: watching him, waiting, his lips parted just slightly in confusion.
"...I don't know," Green admits, sighing. His gaze falls to the floor. "I wasn't thinking that far ahead either, y'know? I know about as well what I'm doing as you."
Which is amazing, both the truth of it and that he'd admit it.
"Well..." Red pauses, hanging on the word. "We can just...take it easy."
That makes Green turn his head, gaze narrowing. "When you're going off for two years? Real good time for that."
"I'm not going right away," Red reasons. "We still have some time."
"Ah huh."
"So we can see if like doing more than kissing and... we can call each other and e-mail each other—"
"Wait, hold up," Green interrupts, lifting a hand. "When you say doing more..."
Red blinks. "You know...like going on a date?"
Oh. "Oh." Some kind of knot loosens in his stomach, and he continues, just so Red doesn't ask: "Just checking. Anyway, do you really think this idea of yours is going to work? Calling and e-mailing? Sounds like a boring relationship if you ask me."
Red hums, not in total disagreement, but thoughtful. His hands are sitting at his sides on the bed, and he swings his legs a little.
"Well...if you get really bored, or you want to go out with someone else... that's okay too." Red gives a one-sided shrug. "I didn't know if you'd still be interested now, so..."
The conversation's reached the point where Green still feels a heat on his cheeks, a tension in his body, but - it's not the same as the start. He can't believe they're really talking about this, but what the hell?
"I did, didn't I?" He points out, as much to himself as to Red. Red faces him in turn - and smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes (but then, when didn't they ever?). It's hard to look at, but Green doesn't turn away.
"Yeah." Red leans in, nudging their shoulders. "You did."
Green scoffs, and then feels a touch at his hand; Red's fingers, creeping to rest over his.
"Let's make the most of it?" Red asks.
He sighs - and takes the hand, giving it a squeeze.
"Alright. Yeah."
"Here," Green says. "Your present."
He hands Red over a slim package, wrapped - decently enough, in his opinion. It's got Red guessing what it is anyway, by the way he turns it over, examining, giving it a careful shake. Thankfully, that's about as much guessing he goes for before pulling at the tape and ripping the paper from there, tearing apart the few layers it's got going on.
Red holds it up, eyes widening.
"You got me a hat?"
Green folds his arms, already feeling smug. "You've been wearing that same old one for years. About time you got a new one. So? Come on, try it on."
Red does, and it fits snug over his bed hair (or his everyday hair, Green's pretty certain). Green puts a hand to his chin, mouth pulled to a side.
"Hmm... yeah, I guess it'll do." He smirks, giving a small shrug. "Can't do much worse, eh?"
Red pulls a face, but only for a second, gives a "thanks" with a small smirk of his own, and then meets Green for a kiss.
And smacks his forehead with the brim of his new hat.