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Any doubts burn away when their eyes lock. Even with his heart faltering, he swallows down the anxiety-adjacent knot in his throat. He flexes his fingers, and his nails scrape against grass-stained denim. Red’s brows furrow almost indiscernibly deeper, and his palms press more firmly against the top of Green’s thighs. When did his hands get so big? How is Green supposed to catch up?!
The crinkling of the packaging snaps his attention back before his thoughts can wander too far away from him. Red spares a questioning glance towards the others as he balances the uncoated end between his teeth. Green misses whatever smartass remark Gold has, but he catches the way the pocky shifts when Red purses his lips. A large hand returns to his knee as their eyes meet again. “No shame in chickening out, Red,” he taunts, even as he scrapes his nails along the seams of his jeans. All he offers is a narrowing of his eyes, so Green leans forward to capture the other end of the pocky.
“Okay boys,” Blue hums. “Remember, first one to the center wins. Break the pocky and you lose!” The packaging crinkles again, but he keeps his focus on the other boy in front of him. “Alright, three, two, one…” He takes a deep breath. “Go!”
Green isn’t stupid. He knows what the point of this game is, and he knows what course of action he’s supposed to take. He’d nibble on the biscuit carefully, approaching his partner with a smooth grace. Maybe, just maybe, he’d bring his hand up to caress their cheek or slide to the back of their neck. After all of the romance stories he’s read and movies he’s watched, Green had this all planned out. He would knock his partner off their feet and leave them breathless, just like a proud Kalosh man should.
But this is Red. There is no pretense of a competition, there simply is.
The snap of the pocky is drowned out by a nauseating crunch, but the biscuit jamming into his uvula has him retching before he can process anything else. He pulls his hand back from his mouth, and it comes back crimson. The world becomes a blur, a darkness closing in, and it’s only through sheer willpower that Green doesn’t blackout completely. He curls up on the ground as he refocuses, but he finds an unfortunately familiar acridity in his mouth. There’s a commotion from the rest of the group, and the pounding in his ears only adds to the cacophony. Between that and the stench of metal and the pain in his nose he’s very quickly becoming aware of, Green is sure a migraine is inevitable. He closes his eyes before the sight of his, and likely Red’s, blood can overwhelm him.
Shit. No way Red isn’t dealing with a similar injury with how hard they smacked into each other. He’s pretty sure their teeth even clashed, if the pain in his mouth is anything to go by. Green already had plans on fighting any of them that tried to claim Red was his first kiss just because he drew his name from a hat, but after whatever disaster this was, he’s definitely going to kick any of their asses. Even Yellow. Just because their lips met, technically speaking, doesn’t mean anything! Sure, he agreed to this game for the exact same reason Gold suggested it, and maybe the thought of kissing Red wasn’t the worst thought in the world, but potentially breaking his nose and puking on himself absolutely does not count!
What is he thinking? He tries to reign back in his runaway thoughts with limited success. Red isn’t a cute girl, and puberty has him in its acne-ridden clutches. But he isn’t unattractive. Combined with his innate intelligence, his undeniable status as one of the most skilled trainers in the world, and just how kindhearted he is, Green knows that Red is a hell of a catch. A hell of a catch with a possibly-broken nose. Focus! They’re both injured, and the peanut gallery is unlikely to be of much help. But he can’t open his eyes. If he does, he’ll almost definitely lose consciousness. Green angles his face closer to the floor as he pinches his nose. He needs to get it together.
“I totally won,” he manages to hiss around the blood. In retort, he receives a sharp kick to his shin. “Fuck you, yes I did!” Red kicks him again, and all Green can do is reach over to smack him with a bloodied hand. It earns him a smack in return, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again. But if nothing else, he’s stubborn to a fault, and he aims another whack in his direction–
A towel is tossed over him, effectively cutting off his attack. He grumbles as he tries to fight it off of him without opening his eyes. Someone is saying something, but it’s drowned out by the indignation of being treated like a naughty skitty. But once he’s free, he takes another swipe in Red’s direction. All he hits is an empty space on the floor, no matter how many times he smacks around.
Next thing he knows, there’s a hand in his hair, and Green reflexively halts his attack on the poor, abused floor and relaxes. He hears Blue’s voice in the near distance, but he doesn’t process what she says. The familiarly large hand turns his head upwards, and then a cool, wet cloth is wiping away the mess on his face.
Green’s heart staccatos as it twists in his throat. He wipes his hands on his pants and swallows, but the blood once again sours his stomach. Somehow, he fights it down, even when something warm drips onto his face. A dull ache is already setting behind his eyes, but the cool cloth is more of a relief than he could possibly hope to express.
Someone else kneels down next to him and sets something on the floor. “How’re you doing, Green?” It’s Crystal’s voice. Red reaches over, and water sloshes around before he continues cleaning off his face. Next to him, he can hear Crystal scrubbing away the mess on the floor.
He doesn’t know how he scrapes together his voice. “I totally won.” Maybe it’s spiteful competitiveness.
“Your piece is on the floor,” comes a raspy voice.
“WOW.” It’s definitely spiteful competitiveness. “You open your mouth, and that is what you say to me. I think you broke my nose!”
Crystal sighs. “You definitely broke Red’s.”
Green swallows. Shit. “...Sorry.”
Red pats his chest but says nothing more. He just continues wiping away the blood.
A door opens nearby. Crystal pauses her scrubbing. “How is he?”
It’s quiet for a long moment, then Silver finally speaks up. “I didn’t know Gold was so weak. He can’t stand the sight of a little vomit without throwing up himself.”
Green still hasn’t opened his eyes, but he can hear Crystal’s frown. “That’s a rather normal reaction, Silver.”
There's a scoff. Then the back of Red’s knuckles brush across his cheek, and Green misses whatever Silver retorts with as his thoughts screech to a halt. It was too firm to be accidental, it had to be, but Red seems oblivious to the sharp breath he draws in. Why didn’t he think of that? An unusual gesture, something special, and if it leaves him breathless, it was sure to do the same to anyone else. He swallows and slowly exhales, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes. Not even when the door opens again.
“I think you killed your boyfriend,” Blue says from somewhere above him.
“Fuck off,” Green chokes out, trying not to fixate on the calloused thumb rubbing circles against his cheek. He doesn’t bother giving her the whole spiel that he’s given her countless times: Red is a guy (probably) and Green isn’t into guys (probably). He swallows yet again. His head is spinning far too much to acknowledge a question tugging at the back of his mind, much less actually grapple with it.
Green is certain of one thing at least. Red has, once again, dragged him out of his depth.