Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lessons blur together, and facts mix and blend until he can’t pick them apart and sort them into their proper categories. A mug is set down next to his books, and he looks up to see his mother’s gentle smile.

“Green,” she murmurs. “It’s time for a break.”

He shakes his head, wiping his hands on his pants at the same time she wipes hers on her apron. “I gotta memorize everything if I want—“ He’s interrupted by a yawn, but he pushes on. “If I want to be a professor.”

“Mon petit chou.” His mom brushes his hair back from his face. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. You’re plenty smart as is.” With her other hand, she slides the book away from him. “Many kids your age wouldn’t be able to even read something like this.”

“So?” He obstinately pouts up at her. “There’s more to learn!”

“There’s always more to learn,” she agrees. “But you won’t learn anything like this.” She closes the book and tucks it between her apron and shirt. “You need to take breaks to process what you’ve read.” As she speaks, she pushes the mug closer. “So take a break. I made hot chocolate, just as you like it.”

Green hesitates, swallowing as he glances between the mug, the book peeking from his mom’s apron, and the books on the shelf nearby. He wipes his hands on his pants again.

He doesn’t miss how her face falls, even if it’s a split-second slip. Green hastily grabs the mug with an “okay, maman” and takes a sip. It’s delicious, just as it always is. Her smile has returned, but he doesn’t know what to make of it. He never does. But if he says anything about it, it will make her sad again. She’ll try to hide it like she always does. 

There is something he can do to make her laugh. “Can we go to Viridian again tomorrow?” He licks the whipped cream spilling over the rim of the mug. “Gramps won’t let me try to grab the brass ring on the carousel.”

She chuckles. “Only if you promise to stop studying tonight.”

“Maman,” he whines. “I gotta study to be a professor!”

“Those are my terms.” She walks over to the shelf to put the book away.

He huffs, muttering a “fine” before taking another drink of his hot chocolate.

Chapter Text

He’s ten today. Finally. The days have been ticking down, marked by scribbled out days on the calendar on his desk. The excitement only makes it so much easier to drag himself out of bed. Eight in the morning is an hour that simply should not exist in his opinion, but that won’t change the fact that it does. And the excitement for the day doesn’t stop him from audibly hissing when he steps onto the cold hardwood floor. He can’t get his shoes on fast enough.

His grandpa has already headed off for the lab. Nanami is still eating cereal at the table when he passes by, and he ignores the grunt she makes around a full mouth. He gets his own bowl and sits across from her soon enough, so he really doesn’t think he deserves that kick in the shin, but it’s still too early for anything more than a groan in response.

“Green,” she says with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “Red brought a gift for you.”

He freezes, spoon halfway to his face. “I… see.” He closes his mouth and sets down the spoon, swallowing the lump in his throat. “What was it this time?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” She pushes the large box closer to him. The wrapping is clumsy, more tape than anything else. How could he think that was supposed to be a gift from her? He rubs his hands on his pants and refuses to meet her eyes. “Green.” He huffs and begins to unwrap it.

It isn’t something particularly special. The gift isn’t the berries Green planted in the pots in his room, and it isn’t the apricots that he learned to cut and carve out into almost-pokeballs. The potions could easily be bought in Viridian City or even obtained from his grandpa’s lab. Green wipes his hands on his pants again and still doesn’t meet Nanami’s gaze.

The pendant weighs heavily on his neck. Why hasn’t Red given up on him yet? It’s been years. What does he see that’s worth chasing? He swallows again and rubs at his eyes. Nanami stays mercifully silent even when his breath begins to shake. Green is ten today. He has been looking forward to this day for as long as he can remember.

But Red is still nine. He will be nine for a hundred more days. He will be stuck in this quiet little town and won’t be able to do anything about it. Green pushes away from the table and grabs the box. A hundred more days. A little over three months, after the dreary winter has passed and when the flowers are in bloom. Just a hundred more days, and the sun will be theirs again. He can wait that long, can’t he?

Nanami calls after him, but he continues up the stairs. There is no point in being forced to remember that eight in the morning exists if there is nothing special about today. He sets the box on his desk and circles April 14th on his calendar. Then he’s tossing his shoes to the side and changing back into his pajamas and crawling into his bed. A hundred more days.

He can wait a hundred days if it means he can fix all of his mistakes.

Chapter Text

Control slipped through his fingers a long time ago.

A cacophony echos against the tile walls. Splattering water does little to drown ragged breaths and choked sobs. He tries to focus on the sharp pain as he makes another line across his wrist. The blood follows the flow of the water, all the way down the drain. Just like the rest of his life. Flowing down the drain, into the sewer, and out to the ocean.

The ocean…

He digs the blade in again and hisses. No, no, he can’t lose himself. He’s supposed to be getting better! The medication is supposed to be working! That was the agreement. Green could stay here, in Kalos, as long as the medication works. He can’t risk it. He can’t go back home, not now, not like this. Being a dropout is not fitting for an Ookido. Gramps would never let him hear the end of it. What a disappointment he would be, just as he is for losing the champion title as soon as he won it. And Nanami… Her stubborn compassion would be even worse. Just salt in the wound. Perfect Nanami, the spitting image of the professor’s late daughter with the kindness to match. She deserves his praise and affection. It doesn’t matter that she has her good-for-nothing father’s vocabulary or his pokerface or uncanny ability to pick out the easiest person she could manipulate. None of it matters, because Nanami is a good person. No one would ever think she is related to a man who abandoned his daughter and his heavily pregnant wife. But no one would doubt that vermin’s relation to his son.

No. Stay here. Take a breath. Draw more blood if that’s what it takes to open his lungs. If Wataru knows, he won’t give Green a choice. Back to Kanto. Back to doctors who dump him on other doctors. Back to hushed conversations he isn’t supposed to hear. Back to an empty room collecting dust, shelves lined with journal entries. Just next door to where he would be expected to return to. A perfect monument to all of his failings as a person.

The razor blade glints in the dim light. He turns it over, watching as the water pushes his blood off and down to the drain. Maybe he should follow. Down the drain, to the ocean. No more of Nanami teaching him how to breathe with that sad smile. No more of Wataru's hellfire escaping through the cracks when another psychiatrist gives up because they don't specialize in children. No more of Kikuko telling gramps that Green is his mother's child.

Metal clatters against tile and a bloodied hand slaps over his mouth to stifle the sob. A new realization tears him apart, piece by microscopic piece. The thoughts he has, the same thoughts she had, they're all--

Shoulders heaving, he bites his hand and pulls at his hair. No, no, stay here. Stay here. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to leave!

Green's sobs wrack his body as he curls tighter up on himself. Whispers of truths and lies resume their crescendo. Soon, they'll overwhelm that spark of clarity. He can't risk losing himself again. He has to remember.

He wants to be happy.

Chapter Text

Green knows him better than the back of his hand. Yet every time he thinks he knows exactly what Red is thinking, he manages to pull Green right back out of his depth.

His leg bounces in time with the rapid tapping of his pen against his glasses. The data isn’t adding up. The phenotypic diversity of meowths continues to shrink, supposedly. Yet Gold is still calling Green on a weekly basis to excitedly prattle on about an unexpected coat expression, and owners circulate pictures throughout the entirety of the internet that seem to contradict the numbers in front of him. There’s a compulsion to set the blame on the researcher that dropped the notebooks on his desk. But he knows he’s biased. Of course he wants to believe the observations of his close friend over the student with seemingly no respect for his own logs. That isn’t science. He’ll have to send out other students to verify the numbers, and even then he’ll have to survey the area himself.

Green hardly even registers the forgotten mug of coffee being replaced. He mumbles a “thanks” as he picks it up and takes a sip. The arms draping around him and hand placed over his heart doesn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder to deadpan at his boyfriend. “Camomile tea? Really?”

Red’s actions are easy to translate. The hand pressing more firmly against his chest says I love you. The way he nuzzles into his neck is I’m sleepy. His yawn into his shoulder confirms it. Green spares a glance to the window. Sure enough, when he was preoccupied with the suspicious data, the sun had set and the sky became an inky black. Whoops. Well, that explains the forced meal break half an… evening ago, apparently.

“Go ahead and go to bed, babe.” Green stretches as best as he can with Red draped over him. Despite his words, he reaches up to absentmindedly run his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “I gotta figure this out. Something isn’t sittin’ right with the numbers here.” Red lifts his head up and reaches over to follow his gaze with a finger tracing over the page. 

Green can’t see his face at this angle, but he can feel the tensing of his jaw and hear the faint click of his tongue. Someone did something bad. He taps on one number, then another a few lines down, then a few more. When he starts at the top again, he repeats the tapping with another set. Green sucks in a breath.

“You’re right,” he mutters, tacking on a few choice words and insults. Red’s knack for patterns is, admittedly, a sometimes-irritating lifesaver. The numbers are too predictable. “Great, now I gotta open an investigation.” He reaches for his laptop, but Red grabs his arm. “My beloved. I gotta start on this.”

That pet name usually gets Green what he wants. Not this time. Red brings his hand up to him, gently turning it over and brushing his lips against the years-old scars. It’s an action he never had to guess the meaning of—I’m worried about you.

With an exaggerated sigh, Green relents. “Alright, alright, I’ll go to bed with you.” Red’s body briefly relaxes before he pulls away. Green sets his glasses down and follows after him. They get ready for bed together, and while he goes through his complicated skincare routine, Red returns to the bedroom to start his nightly stretches.

But when Green returns, he finds Red sitting on the bed with two mats rolled out on the floor. He frowns. “Babe, you know there’s no way I’m falling asleep yet. It’s only—“ He glances at the clock. “10:12.” Very early for him, but quite late for the other. “I’ll lie down with you, but you know I’m gonna get back up.” But Red continues to stare intently. Green sighs. Routine be damned, he just can’t say no to those eyes. He steps onto his mat, and once Red joins him, they begin their exercises.

The mats are put away, and they maneuver around a few pokemon to tuck themselves under the covers. Green expects the arm around his waist and the brief kiss to his lips, then his forehead, then the top of his head. What he doesn’t expect is to end up on his back with his boyfriend straddling him. 

“Red!” He doesn’t respond, instead fishing for something between the headboard and the mattress. “Aren’t you tired? What’s gotten into you?” Green reaches up and sets his hands on his shoulders. No pushing away. No pulling closer. Just touching as he tries to piece together the meaning of the deviation of Red’s routines. He pulls back with a plastic bag, a slight quirk of his lips, and pure mischief in his eyes, and it all clicks. “Oh, you cheater!!!”

Red lays his entire weight on Green before he can hope to push him off. Each insult and slap to his back is returned in silent laughter in his ear. The warmth melts away enough of the stubborn indignation for Green to cease his futile escape attempts after only two minutes. “I’m gonna get you back for this, Red.”

Another laugh, another kiss to his head, and then they fall into stillness. It doesn’t take long for Red to drift off. Green looks to the bag left well within his reach. A pouch of fruit gummies fell out to tempt him, but they taste best when he’s fighting with his boyfriend over them. Maybe in an hour or two, when his midnight cravings hit, he’ll grab one of the snack cakes. For now, trapped beneath his infuriatingly heavy human blanket—and his pikachu!—all Green can do is let his mind wander. 

Red always hated accessories. The only exceptions are his trusty hat and sturdy wristbands. But he never replaced the ones he outgrew by the time he was sixteen. Maybe he changed his mind. Green bites his lip. What if he changed his mind? What if he made the wrong choice and—

Red sighs in his sleep. It gives Green enough pause to remember to breathe as well. No. No, this is Red he’s thinking about. He still has Green’s frankly atrocious first attempt at an origami skarmory sitting on his desk. Even if he were to never wear it, it wouldn’t mean that he doesn’t appreciate it. He hopes he appreciates it.

The carefully boxed wristband has been tucked away among a stack of potions for nearly a week now. Words had been experimented with and repeated in front of a mirror for over three months until he could almost-decide what to say. Now he just needs to find the perfect moment to ask.

Green knows exactly what Red thinks, better than he knows the back of his hand. He is certain Red will soon do something to once again send him reeling. Maybe it’s bad for his heart, but his boyfriend is so unashamed to be himself that Green can’t bring himself to be concerned with that. Not when his love and devotion seeps out of every single unspoken word. 

All he wants is for Red to tell him yes.