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A loud knock on your bedroom door pulls your attention away from your paper.
(Bad. You’ve been trying to get this thing done for too long. It’s due in two days and you’re just now able to start it.)
“Gym's closed for the weekend,” you call out.
The knob rattles, then whoever it is knocks again, even louder this time, almost like the person on the other side is trying to break it down. Incessant and annoying. You heave a sigh, stand from your desk, and glare at the door. “Who is it?”
“Me.”
(You recognize that voice, even though it sounds different, sounds deeper than it did three years ago.)
You nearly trip over your feet running to your door. You do trip over Umbreon, who’s currently lounging in the middle of your bedroom, and crash loudly to the floor. Umbreon barks at you. You see her rings glow a little, and the door unlocks itself.
The knob turns, and gently, the door creaks open. “...you good?”
You’re currently still face down on the carpet. A hand pushes your shoulder a little and a pair of worn out sneakers enters your vision. You roll over onto your back, and staring down at you with a concerned frown gracing his wonderfully punchable face is your best friend.
“...’sup,” you say.
“Hi,” Red says. “You hear the n-news?”
“No. What?”
“K-kanto’s Darling is...back in town.”
You stare at him. He stares back, lips pulled tight like he’s holding in a laugh. You lose the staring contest, snorting loudly, and feel laughter bubble up in your chest. He quickly follows suit, a grin breaking out on his face. “No, I just found out. How’s he doing?”
He gives you a weird face, like he’s trying to think of something. “...he’s, uh…alright,” Red says with a small smile. “Tired, a l-little cold. Hungry. G-got any food?”
You take in his appearance. He’s in desperate need of a haircut; what isn't pushed back into his cap is tied into a ponytail. He’s kind of skinny, but not so skinny that it’s concerning to you. He’s taller. You aren’t the same height, anymore; he’s gained a few centimeters on you. Acne has popped up around his face, his cheeks, his forehead. You shake your head. “It’s good to see you, you son of a bitch.”
“Right b-back at you, shithead.”
Red puts his hand out, reaching for you. You clasp his hand with yours, and allow him to pull you up. Once you’re standing, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he yanks you close, and wraps you up tightly in a hug. You let yourself fall against him, breathing in the brisk winter that still clung to him. “Kris gave me your message,” you say. “She went through the entire gym puzzle just to flip me off and leave.”
Red laughs. You feel it rumble against your chest. “You...gave her that m-move just to, to fuck with m-me.”
You hold back a smile. “Maybe, maybe not.”
(You did. You’re ecstatic it worked.)
Red squeezes you tightly. You squeeze back. “Let me give you a haircut,” you say, yanking his ponytail back. “You look ridiculous.”
“Sure, okay.”
Red sits at the dining table, cap sitting next to the bowl of cereal he poured for himself. You yank a comb through his mess of hair, nearly breaking it from the tangles and knots stuck within. “Ow. Ow. Ow,” he jokes. “Ow. Ow. C-can't you be, I, I dunno…gentle? Or is that t-too hard for you to, to m-manage?”
“Shut the hell up.” You tug hard on a particularly stubborn knot. That one makes him hiss. “Good grief. You know the center at the base of the mountain has free showers, right?”
He doesn’t answer you. Probably because he just shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. (Probably on purpose.) You let out an exasperated sigh. His hair isn’t disgusting, but you can tell it hasn’t been washed in at least a week. You should have wrangled him into the tub so you could give him a bath like a muddy Lillipup. Or showered him outside with the garden hose like you do Gyarados. “So, tell me,” you continue, “how was your…” You hum, thinking of the right word. “...extended vacation?”
“Hm, fine.” He turns his head to glance back at you. “...a-and the gym?”
“Hm, fine,” you mimic, imitating his tone and voice to a tee.
He gives you an unamused look. “Shut up.”
Sure, you’re teasing, but you’re telling the truth. The gym is fine. You like being a Gym Leader. In fact, you love it. You love the strategy that comes with using pre-selected teams, with using Pokémon you wouldn’t normally use day-to-day. You love helping the younger kids catch their first Pokémon. You love teaching them about their new partners.
(You love being in charge.)
Looking at his face like this, up close, you can really see how badly you fucked him up back then. You can still remember the way the blood flowed over his mouth, his chin, the way his nose felt snapping under your knuckles.
(His nose will be crooked for the rest of his life. A permanent reminder of the damage you dealt.)
“I missed you.”
You blink. Red blinks back at you.
You both said it at the same time.
“...you did?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “Believe it or not, I did.”
“...I did, too.”
You stare at each other for a little longer.
(His eyelashes are long; they always have been. He still has a round, young face, even at fifteen, one that makes him earn his nickname. “Kanto’s Darling Champion.” At first, you thought it was way too cutesy for him, but…)
(Yeah, you can see it. With his sharp cupid’s bow, pudgy cheeks, and long hair, you can’t help but think…)
Red smiles at you, just a little. It’s different, from smiles you’ve seen from him before. Red's usually pretty expressive, but this one seems kind of...shy. It’s the tiniest of tiny smiles, one where the corners of his lips are just barely twitched up.
(...Red is pretty cute, for a boy.)
Red is not a boy.
This sudden, and quite intrusive, thought nearly makes you flinch back. It wasn’t yours. You aren’t sure whose it was, but it wasn’t yours. Someone just spoke to you through your mind. Someone is reading your mind. Does Red have a Psychic type? You swallow, and take a short breath before grinning and saying aloud, “Well, of course you did! I am your best, and only, friend, after all.”
Red’s face drops its smile immediately. He acts like he’s annoyed; he rolls his eyes and blows a raspberry at you, but you can tell he’s amused.
“So, how short do you want it, pal? Just a trim? Or shaved bald?”
Red hums, his eyes wandering. He seems none the wiser to your mental intruder. “...m-maybe like…how it was b-before?”
“Like when I came up for your birthday?” It was sort of long then, too. Way shorter than this, but longer than the cropped style he wore during his journey. He nods. “Sure. I can do that.”
Black hair falls to the floor around your bare feet. Red’s gone quiet, fiddling around with his PokéGear. You’ll have to mess around with it, upgrade it, so he can get all the good radio stations from other regions. Maybe you can get your Porygon2 to hack into it or something.
(Now that Red is home…things can finally go back to the way they were before.)
The only sound is your scissors snipping away. Comb, snip. Comb, snip. Umbreon crunches on her food at the other side of the room. You find your mind wandering.
(It's nice having Red back. You missed him, a lot more than you'd ever openly admit. You've never performed a haircut on someone else, so you're genuinely shocked he even agreed to it, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.)
(He...)
Your thoughts grind to a halt.
Red is not a boy.
That voice before startled you so much, you didn’t even really register what it was saying. But now that you have a moment alone with your thoughts, or so you assume, you're processing it, and you're realizing how drastic this is.
You are not supposed to know that information.
That voice, one of Red’s Pokémon, just outed your best friend to you.
Even if Red isn’t aware of it, you’re pissed off for them.
“Nothing’s new with me,” you say suddenly. Red flinches just a little, a tiny jerk in their shoulders. “Same old, same old. You’ll be shocked, but I haven’t changed my name in over a year. I think I’m gonna stick with Blue for good.”
You’re trying to give information, trying to get information, and trying to make conversation, all at the same time. Red hums and nods, their hair slipping out of your grip. You click your tongue. “You keep moving,” you warn, “you’ll end up looking like I did when I was ten.”
“Sorry. I, I’ll keep still.”
Red falls silent again. Looks like your attempt at conversation fell flat. You snip more hair, more dead ends drift down around you. “...I l-like that name,” they say softly, after a while. “It fits you.”
(You only picked Blue at first because it matched their name. Well, their nickname, at least. But Red might as well be their name at this point, because literally no one calls them “Jack,” not even their mother. You only changed your name to Gary when you lost the championship because you were bitter and infuriated, and you would've rather been caught dead than have a matching name with Red.)
(But for how long will “Blue” match?)
“What about you?” You ask.
“Huh?”
“Anything new going on with you?” You try to say it as casually as possible. “Any…new team members? Any big plans? It’s been years, pal, let’s catch up.”
“Oh. Um…” They shrug. “Eevee evolved. He, uh, he's an Espeon n-now.”
“Oh, yeah? That's cool.” So it was Espeon who invaded your thoughts. You have a grudge against him, now. “I thought you would have gone with a stone evolution.”
“N-no. Well, uh, maybe.” Red shrugs a little again. “I uh…didn't get the, the chance. And, uh…no plans, n-not really. So…no. N-nothing...new.”
They're lying to you. About everything. About why they chose Espeon for Eevee’s evolution, about their future plans, about anything else that's new. They’re lying about literally everything. Why are they lying to you?
(You know they're lying, not just because you already know the information you're trying to weasel out, but because of the way they're acting. Even if you didn’t already know, you can tell when Red's lying.)
Lying doesn’t bother you, not really. You do it all the time. Lie, exaggerate. Sometimes it’s big things, sometimes it’s small things.
(You just thought…maybe they trusted you more than this.)
You comb through their hair a little bit before you ultimately drop the scissors to your side. (You know the reaction they're going to have.)
You say, “I’m bisexual.”
Red whips their head around to face you, proving you right. Their eyes are wide and confused, and an unasked question is on their lips. Why are you telling me, is what their face is saying.
“I just…wanted you to know,” you say with a shrug. “You’re my best friend. I don’t know. Figured you ought to know. You know?”
It’s really not a big deal, you know that. You know Red doesn’t really care about that. But it’s something about you that they never knew before right now. You've never actually even told anyone else. You have a feeling they know that, too.
But it's enough. Just a small secret to show you still trust them.
You see their throat bob a little when they swallow. Their tongue darts out to wet their lips, and they take a quiet breath before they whisper, “I’m...not a, a b-boy.”
(There it is.)
A part of you wants to say, I thought so. But really, you didn’t. You had no idea. You couldn’t even say, yeah, looking back, it makes sense, I can see it. Red was the perfect stereotypical little boy growing up. They liked playing in the mud, they liked climbing trees, they liked action figures and video games and sports and comic books.
Nothing about your childhood together could have caused you to predict this outcome.
(Really, the only reason why you're able to control your reaction is because of fucking Espeon.)
You nod. “Okay,” you say, because there’s not much else to say in response, but saying nothing would probably be worse.
Red shrinks away from you.
(Not the reaction you were hoping for. In fact, this is the exact opposite.)
“Sorry…for…n-not saying, earlier…” they say softly. “I...d-didn't really…know w-what to, to say.”
“Nah, I get it.” You carefully put a hand on their shoulder, and squeeze it. “Still Red?”
For a moment, they’re quiet. Then, they nod. “...yeah.”
“Are you going gender neutral?”
They look away for a second, thinking. “That's fine,” they say.
“Just fine?” You press.
Red rolls their eyes. “It's good,” they emphasize, and buzz their lips a little. “Yes, gender n-neutral. G-good grief. You're so annoying...”
“Just good?” You're holding back a grin.
“Stop it.”
“Just making sure!” You say, holding your hands up in surrender. Red smiles at you. “Well! Now that that's settled. Turn around so I can finish up your haircut, pal.”
Red doesn't turn back around. They're still looking up at you. “Blue.”
(You forgot how much you missed hearing your name from them. Red was the only person who never ever slipped up when you switched your name around. You knew you could count on them to be right, always, every time.)
“...Blue,” they say again, frowning.
“...hm?” You were staring. You were so busy reveling in hearing them say your name you completely forgot to respond.
If Red noticed, which you know they did, they don't acknowledge it. You’ll be grateful for that for…at least the rest of the day, because you know if it happens again, they aren’t going to let it slide. “Thank you,” they say.
“...for?” You ask.
“N-not…making a, a b-big deal.” Red shrugs a bit, along with another smile, this one a little more tense than before. “I know how you are. No...p-parties.”
“What, me? Pfft. Nah.” You're already planning a party in your head. “But…just…I dunno, out of curiosity. Do you still like chocolate?”
“You were always the, the b-big chocolate eater,” they say. “I...n-never liked it, as m-much as you. …why?”
They sound suspicious. “No reason,” you say. “Just wondering. For future reference. You know. Not for anything in particular, or anything.”
“No party.”
“I know.”
“I’m serious, Blue.”
“Right, right. Sure. Of course.”
You stare each other down. Red narrows their eyes at you. You grin wide at them. “...fine,” Red relents, and you let out a whoop. “B-but – do n-not invite all of, of the League. I’ll kill you.”
“Wasn't going to,” you say with a wink. “I know that's not your style. I got you.”
They look uncomfortable.
“It won’t be anything big, swear it,” you ensure. “Just…a little coming out party. For you, for me. I was thinking your mom and Daisy, maybe her boyfriend. That’s all. Oh – and a cake, made by yours truly. Sound good?”
“I m-mean, sure, just…” They frown. “...why?”
They look so…confused. Confused as to why you care so much. But why wouldn’t you care?
Red’s your best friend.
“Well, because you deserve it,” you say easily. “So…why not?”
The chair is knocked back with a clatter, and before you can step away too far, Red is hugging you again. Their arms are wrapped up tight around you, clinging to you, squeezing the air from your lungs, and their nose is buried in your neck. They smell like dirt, like powdered snow, like charcoal from Charizard’s fire. You feel them take a big, deep breath against your chest, and they let it out in your hair.
“I’ll…tell you,” they whisper. “I, I’ll tell you everything. …eventually.”
“No rush,” you say. “None at all. It’s not like you’re gonna run off again.”
“N-no. I’m…I’m not.”
(And for some reason, you know you can believe them this time. You know they’re telling you the truth. Red is not leaving again.)
“I’ll be here,” you say.
“I know.”
“I’ll be right here, for everything.” They somehow hug you even tighter. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll even be your voice, if you need it. I’ll tell them to fuck off. I’ll tell them all to fuck off and eat shit.”
They snicker a little. “I know. I heard.”
“You heard?”
“I heard.” Red snickers again. “The, the center played K-kanto News 1, all, all the, all the time. I heard.”
The media hates you. They hate how volatile you are. They hate how aggressive you get. They hate your attitude. You hadn’t had an interview since you were twelve, when you cussed the interviewer out on air. Violently.
You remember every single word you said. Words no twelve year old had business knowing, words you picked up from older trainers, words you knew you weren’t supposed to say, but said anyway, because you were pissed.
(It was a massive scandal. Both Lance and Gramps apologized publicly on your behalf. Some people even called for your position to be revoked, but Lance is one stubborn motherfucker, and wasn’t about to look for someone else to fill the spot you literally just got. Instead, he gave you paid leave, which you used to travel around Johto for several months, and you blocked everyone’s number except for Red’s mom and Daisy.)
But the media loves Red. They love Red’s sweet, innocent smile. They love their politeness. They love Red’s kindness, their willingness to do good.
(Kanto’s Darling Champion, who's really an asshole and troublemaker at heart, but only you know that side of them. It makes you feel special, knowing that no one else really knows your best friend the way you do.)
You remember how they silently cried live on camera, overwhelmed by the stress and flashing lights, the day before they ran away. It was only one week after your match together. You weren’t talking to each other, because you were still stuck in your rivalry, but Red left you a letter anyway, telling you they were leaving. They didn’t tell you where they were going, just that they were leaving.
(How did you not notice, how much they still cared for you?)
Their mom was the one who told you Mount Silver. You will always remember her words. If anyone can get my baby to come back, it’s going to be you.
(And you did.)
“Stay here,” you blurt out.
Red pulls away from you, and makes a confused face. “What do you...mean?” They ask.
“Stay here, with me,” you say. “Just for a few days.”
(You want Red to yourself, just for a while, before the media inevitably catches wind of their return.)
“I wanna catch up,” you rationalize, before they have the chance to speak up. “It’ll just be like…a long sleepover. We’ll stay up late and watch movies and eat pizza and play video games. You’ve missed out on everything that got released for the last three years. We have a lot of work to do.”
(Just like before, you don’t say, before I fucked everything up. Before you called them names. Before you were rivals. Before you broke their nose.)
Red forgave you. A long, long time ago.
This sudden thought doesn't surprise you as much as the first one did; you've been expecting Espeon to pipe in at some point. You're still mad at him, but this little reminder makes you…relieved.
Red’s forgiven you, and you’re really, truly, best friends again.
Red makes a whole performance of pretending to think about it. They hum, they tilt their head side to side, they purse their lips, they close their eyes, before finally they nod. “Sure, I guess,” they say. “L-lance can wait a, a few m-more days.”
There’s a tear track on their cheek. You didn’t notice it before.
(They were crying when they hugged you.)
You reach up and wipe it away. Their cheek is warm, their skin is soft, way softer than you expected it to be. Your thumb lingers for a moment too long, and you yank your hand away. Red blinks in confusion, and their face flushes a little. “Sorry,” you say. “I just, uh—”
“N-no, it’s—”
“I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay—”
“If it was…okay,” you finish. “Okay, so that was weird! Let’s move on.”
Red snorts loudly, and it surprises you so much you start laughing, too. You feel tears build up in your eyes as you laugh at each other, laugh with each other, hands clutching each other’s arms, heads leaning in close together to share this stupid, awkward moment.
Your best friend is home, and you are never letting them go again.