It's only after Red's vanished that Green realizes he's the center of his universe.
The revelation is sudden and immensely disturbing. It comes one day while Green's watching the news, his eyes glazed over like some kind of zombie, and he wonders what the hell he's doing—he never used to be this lifeless. He searches in the memories of his past and concludes that he's lost all the passion that used to burn inside his eyes.
Where did all his fire go?
He watches an interview of the new champion of somewhere-or-other, and anger swells inside his heart. It should be Red on the screen, creeping the reporter out with his silent, crimson-eyed stare, while Green laughs his ass off from his comfortable position on the couch.
God knows he needs something to laugh about.
The anger changes to a strange sort of bemusement when he realizes how perfectly Red has integrated himself into his life. It's not really that surprising; they grew up next to each other, after all. But most childhood friendships ended after the Pokémon journey began, whereas theirs twisted, distorted, and changed into something almost unrecognizable, though ultimately remaining intact. They became rivals, pushing each other forwards until they were standing at the top of the world.
That's what he's missing: the challenge. With Red gone, there's no one who can challenge him anymore.
Why won't that idiot come back already and free him from the monotony?
Green scowls. He hates relying on Red for anything, partially out of principle but also partially because his former neighbor is a scatterbrained numskull. But the sad, sad truth is that without Red, life is dull. He might be an airheaded nitwit, but at least he's an airheaded nitwit that keeps things interesting.
It's then that Green realizes, with deep horror, that Red is pretty much the center of his life. He pinches himself a few times, makes a few frantic phone calls to Daisy (who has a more objective view of their relationship), and does his best to convince himself it's not true.
But it is.
Step One.
.
.
.
Red's on the top of Mt. Silver.
Green got the news from that boy Gold, who went up there and coincidentally stumbled upon Red's cave. Or maybe it was Red who found Gold. Who knows? He wouldn't put it past that bastard to have somehow guided Gold to him with his weird man-of-mystery superpowers. 'I'm Red the Champ, so I can defy the laws of nature by surviving on the top of a freezing, snow-covered mountain with approximately zero supplies while wearing short sleeves!' and all that crap.
Gold says that he fought Red (and lost epically), only it's hard to figure out the details of it cause he's telling Green all about his journey while simultaneously arguing with Silver on his PokéGear. It takes him maybe half the day to get even that much out of him and by this time, Green's gotten so fed up with him that he kicks Gold out of the gym and closes up early, just in case the idiot tries to come back.
So now he's staring at his television (again) and it's all so mindless that he wants to scream.
Even if he did, no one would hear him.
Step Two
.
.
.
He finds the letter while searching for a pen in the middle of doing paperwork. It's tucked into the back of a drawer that he hasn't opened in maybe three years.
I'm sorry that I hurt you
—Red
Something rises in his throat at the sight of these words and there's a funny feeling in his chest, a little idiot, it wasn't your fault, it was mine and something else he can't recognize.
Instinct compels Green to flip the paper over.
I'll be back, the hastily scribbled message says.
There's something written in miniscule font down at the very bottom of the page. Green squints. Digs out a magnifying glass and holds it up to the words. Finally, he manages to make out the tiny little letters in Red's messy script.
I love you.
The revelation is earthshattering.
Step Three
.
.
.
Green closes his eyes, rubs his nose, and leans back in his chair. It's late at night. Everyone else has already gone home, but he stayed back to finish up a few miscellaneous tasks. Behind him, Eevee snores lazily on the floor.
He quashes the surge of loneliness that wells up in his heart, thinks fiercely to himself, I don't need anyone else. He wants it, no, it has to be true. He refuses to need anyone, because needing creates reliance. Expectations. And if there's anything he's learned in his fourteen years of life, it's that no one will ever live up to your expectations. You'll always be disappointed.
Green thinks back to his fifth birthday, when his grandfather promised him that he'd be home in time for dinner and then they'd eat cake together and he'd help Green open his presents. Green spent the entire day waiting at the door in nervous anticipation, careful not to make any noise for fear of missing the very moment Grandpa came home. He had it all planned out in his head. The door would open and Grandpa would come in, taking off his shoes and giving Green one of those wearily happy smiles. He'd say, "Welcome back, Gramps!" and his grandfather would reply, "Happy Birthday, Green." Daisy would poke her head out the kitchen door and say, "Dinner's ready!" Then the three of them would sit down to a home-cooked meal, Green would have his grandfather's undivided attention, and they'd be a family.
But none of that happened. Sunset came and passed. Night fell. Dinner grew cold on the table. Green stayed up long past his bedtime (Daisy let him get away with it out of sympathy), because Grandpa had promised.
Finally, it was past midnight, Green was nodding off from his position on the staircase, and Daisy said, "I'm sorry, Green. Maybe next year." She made him some cocoa to eat with his reheated dinner before sending him off to bed.
He heard that Grandpa had stumbled in sometime around half-past three in the morning. "I'm sorry, but I was just making so much progress," he'd said to Daisy. "So I stayed a little longer to finish up. You understand, don't you?"
He didn't realize anything, not even when Daisy clued him in on the date. It wasn't until she yelled, "It's Green's birthday!" that he remembered the broken promise. By then it was far too late.
Grandpa apologized the next day, promising to make it to his next birthday instead. In fact, he promised to take the whole day off.
It didn't happen, of course. Green wasn't even surprised.
Step Four
.
.
.
Green just wants the world to go back to normal.
Red screwed up everything by leaving. He destroyed the hopes of Pallet Town (and his grandfather), broke his poor mother's heart, and sent the Pokémon League into a tailspin. Not to mention disappointed masses of adoring fans.
Alright, Green admits to himself, he'd actually gotten a laugh out of that last one. Red had always hated his fangirls, froze up whenever he saw one. It was nice to see Red being creeped out by someone for a change. He used to plan endlessly for April Fool's Day just to get the drop on Red. But that was when they were little.
Green wishes they were little again. When they were little, they were the best of friends, and everything was simple. The world was no bigger than Pallet Town and the two of them were content to stay within these safe limits.
And best of all, Green didn't have to deal with these feelings, the strange sensation like burning that he feels whenever someone says Red's name, that haunts his dreams and prevents him from falling asleep at night. They didn't start until he found Red's letter, so Green blames Red (maybe unfairly) for the whole mess.
But sometimes Green closes his eyes, remembers the loneliness of a childhood spent craving for the attention of an absent figure, one who was supposed to be watching out for him but never did. And then he realizes that his childhood really wasn't so great after all.
Step Five
.
.
.
Green's apartment feels empty sometimes.
It isn't surprising that he feels that way. After all, he's a teenaged boy living alone in a city without any of his relatives. He hasn't really got any friends in Viridian and it's not like he has a love life (aside from that one letter), so he's all alone in the big city, with no one but his Pokémon for company.
It doesn't help that Green grew up in a small town full of sunshine and nature, the complete opposite of this artificial city of steel and concrete. Pallet Town was bursting full of natural wonders, while the towering skyscrapers of Viridian are more forbidding than elegant, as its architects had intended them to be.
Still, Green supposes he's happy in a strange way that he wasn't before. Here, he's judged by his merits as a Gym Leader instead of as Professor Oak's grandson. He'd like to say it's because the people of Viridian are better than that, but Green isn't naive enough to really believe it. Instead, it's probably because outsiders tend to base their opinion of any place by its attractions—in Viridian's case, the Gym. It doesn't matter whose relative he is if he can't keep the reputation of their Gym up. That's the simple truth of it.
But all the respect in the world can't fill his lifeless apartment.
The hardwood floors are cold beneath his feet. The air is silent, stagnant, permeated only with his warm, shallow breaths. Pale light casts a harsh gleam on the whitewashed walls.
It can be suffocating.
When that happens, Green gets to work. He brews tea in the kitchen to send the scent wafting through the rooms. He turns on all the lights (he doesn't care it's a waste of electricity; it's better than the suffocation). He turns on the radio in his room and picks a random channel on the TV.
It's surprisingly easy to distract himself like this.
Sometimes though, when he's alone and Eevee's asleep, Green thinks he hears Red's voice and he wonders if he's going insane.
Step Six
.
.
.
Red said he'd come back. But he hasn't.
His mother is frantic with worry, so much so that his grandfather actually deigns to call Green for once to see if he's got any information.
Figures. I haven't seen him for over a year, haven't spoken to him since I became Gym Leader, and the first time he contacts me is because of his darling Red, Green thinks bitterly. He wonders what his grandfather would say if he told him that his little protégé was in love with him, Green Oak, the failure who the esteemed professor had always deemed unworthy of his attention.
For a moment, he considers withholding the little scraps of news he has, but dismisses the thought almost instantly. No matter how much he despises his grandfather, he can't torture Red's mother like that. He can't.
So instead, he quietly feeds the man he loathes most the precious few words entrusted to him by the absent champion, hating every syllable that slips through his lips. He knows he's doing a good deed, but to him, it only feels like slow surrender.
It's not him you're doing it for, Green reminds himself. It's Red's mom. Red's mother, who'd always been more of a parent to him than his grandfather ever had.
There's silence when he finishes. "Thank you," Professor Oak finally says, his voice odd and strangely thick, almost choked, as if maybe he knows how hard it was for Green to tell him.
For a moment, Green considers forgiving him (a little).
Then there's a click and the sound of the dial tone, and the moment vanishes.
Step Seven
.
.
.
It's been five years and Red still hasn't come back.
Green, at sixteen, has long accepted that he loves Red (no matter how much he doesn't want to). Even so, he's doubtful that Red is still alive. The stupid numskull has always kept his word, no matter what, so the only reason that he wouldn't is if it were physically impossible. Dead men don't walk. Can't return.
Or maybe Red is still on that cold mountain, waiting for God knows what, and fully intends to come back someday. Just not now. Because it would be so like that inconsiderate idiot to make everyone worry like that. Red has always been like that, rising back to his feet just when you think he's down for the count and freaking the hell out of everyone.
Green does his best to dismiss these thoughts, insists to himself that he doesn't care. It doesn't matter to him if Red breaks his promise, because he doesn't believe in those sort of things, in their significance. He refuses to.
Yet somewhere, deep down inside of him, a part of him still does.
He tries to force down that irritating optimism (naivety, he calls it). Even if Red comes back, he'll have changed. There's no guarantee that what he said in his letter still holds true. He probably doesn't love him anymore.
Maybe, though, says part of his soul, the only part of it that hasn't yet been crushed and broken. Maybe he does.
But Green doesn't believe, can't believe, since faith for him only exists in fairy tales. He has no faith in himself to inspire love, no faith in Red to stay in love, because five years is a long time alone on top of a mountain.
It shakes him to the core, changes him in a way he doesn't recognize. Outwardly, he pretends he's alright, because he can't stand the reactions. Their tones are always saccharine concern concealing pity for the pathetic little kid everyone can tell he is.
In reality, he's a robot in disguise as a teenage boy. He doesn't feel a thing because he's only metal and wire, and his cybertronic heart is incapable of emotion.
Sometimes he feels a little like Pinocchio.
So Green goes throughout his day (don't think, don't think). At night, he climbs into bed and swallows some pills so he can fall asleep (don't think, don't think).
If he thinks, he's going to break.
It's as simple as that.
Fini
Alright, folks, here's the really screwed up part of this.
The reason why Red hasn't come back? He's, uh, waiting for Green.
Yeah. He went up the mountain as an apology to Green, and he figures once Green shows up, that means he's forgiven. That's my theory, anyways. And I really should know, considering I'm the one who wrote this, but I didn't really plan it out all that well.