these guys are real sweethearts, and so are you! :)
In all the time that they've been going out — seeing each other, dating, going steady; sometimes he runs the words over his tongue just to feel them, because it makes him happy, every time — they're most often outside. It's just a natural habit now, from years of living, of adventuring, and of traveling, to want to stretch his long body out in the grass or curl up in a tree or have the open sky above his head. Red knows Yellow feels the same; her bedroom ceiling is awash with stars and clouds, and sometimes they just lie on the floor, holding hands and searching for swirls and specs in paint.
He likes those times; when he's at home again, lying in bed or at his desk chair, sometimes he tips his head back and closes his eyes and sees blue against the undersides of his eyelids.
So this is the truth of it. He's known her for almost twelve years, and dated her for nearly fourteen months, and he's been in her home less than ten times, total. He practically spent half his childhood in Blue's house when he was growing up, and for a while there Green stayed overnight as often as he didn't. So stopping by to pick her up or drop her off is still fascinating.
"What are you thinking about?" Yellow asks him sleepily. It's late now, and raining, and they've returned to her living room after a picnic dinner and forest stroll and tree climbing race in which he lost fantastically. They sit together on the couch, close, hands tangled, as he rubs her shoulder softly. Yellow doesn't have a television in her cottage house, just a radio stuffed in the back of some closet or another, so they listen to the rolling thunder outside. The furniture is cozy and there is enough for him to look at for days on end without blinking.
"You," he answers honestly, but she smiles and shakes her head and glances down.
"Charmer," she says softly, and he squeezes her closer. Still shy after all these years.
"Charmed."
"You're very cheesy," she says, looking up at him. He knocks the brim of his hat back with the back of his wrist.
Then, as if bored by the young couple's sweet exchange, thunder roars and lightning cracks, dousing the room in a sudden flash of white — and then the lights go out, fast.
"Spooky," Red laughs. So long as he's inside, he's always loved a good thunderstorm. He hopes Lt. Surge and his team are enjoying themselves. Pikachu, too, though Red's other yellow best friend is hanging out with Green and Crys in the lab this weekend.
When Yellow doesn't reply, he looks down. It doesn't help any; this far into the forest, there are no outdoor lights to lend them assistance, and the lights don't seem willing to return.
"You good, Yellow?" he says.
"Yes," says Yellow, and he pauses because she is lying. "I mean no. No, Red, I'm not." Panic lances through him; he takes her by both shoulders and wishes he could see anything at all.
"What is it?" he asks urgently, unable to tamper his gut reaction.
Then, in the driest voice he's ever heard from her, ever — except for maybe that one time with the Snorlax — she asks,
"Have you ever been struck by lightning?"
"No. You have?" He feels her shoulders move with the nod and a shiver. "When?"
"I was only seven or eight years old," she says, quiet again and high-pitched in her fear. "I was up in a pine with my binoculars for my usual flying-type studies. Thunder came, Pokémon flew, and I got struck by lightning."
"Oh, my girl," he says, thumbs going in small circles against her arms.
"I fell out of the tree. Didn't know what a concussion was back then, but now I'm pretty sure that's why my head hurt so much. Woke up to rain all over. Couldn't see anything."
"You're scared of the storm," Red realizes.
"No," okay, never mind that, "Scared of the dark," she admits, and the words tremble. In his head, he can picture the pink color flushing through her cheeks.
Oh.
"How can I make you feel better?" Red asks. This he can work with. Green is scared of fire and so is Blue, and the one time they both worked each other into a joint panic attack — it was like the worst duet ever — it was Red who soothed them. He talked down Green and patted Blue's back and he made them both smoothies, and he's very proud of the whole situation.
"Distract me," Yellow pleads, squeezing back much, much harder. "Talk to me, Red."
You're beautiful, he thinks automatically, because he has been thinking it nonstop for hours and it certainly distracts him often enough.
"I totally would've won that race," he says instead, grinning into empty air. Yellow forces a teasing scoff. "C'mon," he chides in a voice pitched unnaturally low, not letting go of her. "That's what I do. I win. It's kind of my thing."
"Not everything."
"Well. I won the girl. Don't think I need anything else anytime soon."
"Except maybe some candles?"
"I could do with candles," he concedes.
"We should get some." Her reluctant bravery is clear.
"I can go and you can wait here," he suggests.
"No," Yellow says quickly. That would leave her alone on this couch in the darkness. Oops. Red carefully cards one hand up the length of her arm until it's caressing her face. (He messes up just slightly, poking her in the chin, but he figures it out soon enough.)
"Okay," he says simply, Reassuringly. "Let's go together."
Together, together. He feels guilty about it, because she's frightened and all, but the little word makes him feel strong. Together, together, together.
"Alright."
So they stand, her doing so very carefully, and try to avoid the low coffee-table. Another smash of thunder and streak of lightning light the sky and she eeps! into his chest.
"I got you," he murmurs. "I got you." It takes them a long while to fetch candles from a closet across the room, but he holds her close and her shallow breathing evens out into laughter when he sings a dumb song about pirates. By the time they get the candles lit, all nine of them, the living room objects and occupants are visible again in a rather orange warmth.
Well, that suits them perfectly.