Title: Paragon
Fandom: Pokemon.
Warnings: Minor angst, hemoptysis, pining, all of the general stuff with Mt. Silver fics.
When the lights first blink, slowly, Green wonders if his eyes are tricking him. They're very pretty, and he finds himself drawn to the flickering mass of errant colors. He can't focus on any particular shade or tone (they dance too much, dance from red to white and back again), and it irks him to the point where Green finally decides, blearily, to stop staring at his Christmas tree. Particularly the crimson lights, whose strikingly dull overtones remind him unpleasantly of Red. Green on red, the tree tells him. Green on red.
The idiot still hadn't returned from Mt. Silver, even after five years. Five years, for Arceus's sake. Green does visit, frequently — about once a week, and he's glad that Red never seems to realize that anything is wrong (though the mere fact that Red is still up that mountain is very wrong indeed). Your mother, Red, don't you ever worry about your mother? Green wants to say, and he tries so hard every time, but he never manages to muster up a sufficient amount of anger.
Fortunately for Red, he's sorely tempted to punch some sense into his rival (friend) only after he's already returned to Viridian City. And after that, Green doesn't want to see any sign of Red around for at least six more days.
During each aforementioned visit, Red is painfully oblivious to the happenings in the world around him. He did not bring any technology with him when he climbed the steep, treacherous mountain, and Green is sure that Red had intended for it to stay that way, except for the fact that during the first visit, Green brought him his phone (which he never uses—useless, useless, Green thinks bitterly). It is strangely amusing, the emotionless way that Red reacts to every modern development when Green describes them to the other. It brings Green a sort of childish joy to see Red responding, even if he really isn't. Though he's been oblivious to most things for a long time, Green does know that he is merely deceiving himself — because deep in his soul, he feels that Red is no longer the person he once was.
(He aims to change that, but not even he himself knows that he wants to.)
Sometimes, there is another boy on the mountain with Red, and he's strangely familiar (probably another of his many challengers at the gym), but Green hardly cares about him. He talks too much, stands too close to Red, and is a general nuisance in his opinion. He causes Green to feel some sort of unidentifiable envy, though he isn't sure how it even happened. What was there to be envious over? There are far more pressing concerns than matters of his own heart (which Green, in fact, does not understand wholly. He might have to ask his grandfather about it eventually, even if he likes the old bat as much as he does rotten carrots). For example, Kanto and its people.
Green, of course, is always careful not to face them directly. Through a cautiously-woven web of deceit, Green has not yet roused the attention of any person in the world (and the media stalk him like a firefly to a lantern), and plans to keep it that way until he cannot, until he breaks. That which he could not control would only be another liability, another thing to prove that Green is nothing without Red. It isn't true on the color wheel, so why should Green obey the wishes of the world now?
The problem is that he is afflicted, and has identified it himself as hemoptysis. Green doesn't even know when or why it started; he only knows that one day, his tea became fogged with dark red blood. Time is not something that Green keeps track of, not anymore, and so he is also unsure as to how long it has been. All he understands is to visit Red six sunrises after a previous visit; everything else is routine. Clockwork. Things that he doesn't care about.
All of his days are typical, and they will never change very much. It's a matter of 'get up, do morning rituals, battle, work, do afternoon rituals, work, battle, do nocturnal rituals, work, battle, sleep and hope that the stress doesn't kill you' which happens without fail. On days that he has to visit Red, Green simply inserts a 'make sure that Red isn't dead' in place of 'battle' (or sleep, but he'll never admit that to anyone) and the process cycles over. Hemoptysis does interfere with his schedule occasionally, but it customarily retreats after Green stops working. Luckily for him, it hasn't yet struck during a battle, and he hardly gets dizzy or short of breath until he's back in his welcomingly unwelcome home.
It still doesn't feel like it's his.
Green sighs and redirects his green-eyed stare at his Christmas tree, whose shadow holds dozens of presents yet persists to look absurdly lonely to the owner of it all despite the warm (red) fire roaring in the fireplace. They're still blinking, and Green's mind is dragged back into the realm of lights, of fairy and falsity, of the supernatural and the unreal. He thinks of blank white parchment, its smooth unblemished edges curled up slightly, and is suddenly angry that such things can exist in a world like his. But it's a world of the fey, of the irrational, and in the midst of it all, red exists unshaken, the paragon of calm superiority amongst destruction.
It has never occurred to Green that only his world seems shattered, and it never will, but he is determined to resolve this without any form of help (and his grandfather, always willing to favor Red over Green, would likely hear this with contempt). Suddenly possessed of some completely harebrained desire to visit Red and make sure that he hasn't kicked the bucket, Green throws open the door and strides out, haphazardly tossing a winter coat over himself and closing his eyes as the snow rockets into his house from the back door, which stands invitingly open, its nonexistent arms happily welcoming in the blizzard. Irritated, Green fixes his brown hair and shoots a glare at his exit.
Now in a thoroughly bad mood, Green kicks it shut, calls out one of his faithful Pokemon, and flies to Mt. Silver. He's pretty sure that he has no clear reason to be going there despite the lie that his silver tongue made up for him (to exact his revenge), so perhaps he could sort out right and wrong in a place that didn't have lights. That didn't have green on red or red on green.
He flies toward the horizons, determined, and wipes away the specks of blood rolling slowly down his chin. Green is going to survive, and no one will stop him from it. He can finally prove that he isn't Red's shadow, chasing him wherever he goes (though ironically that is what he is doing at that moment).
Alighting down on the snow, Green returns his Pidgeot to its ball and contemplates the meaning of what he's going to do. In a few more seconds, he has it all planned out — he'll visit Red today, cure himself when he gets back, and then go up the mountain for the last time to beat up and drag Red off of his addiction to dangerous subzero mountaintops.
(No one will ever know that it's because of his thirst for real attention, attention that he needs, attention that he'll never admit to himself that he needs, attention that Red can unrealistically give, attention that — he doesn't even know anymore.)
Twisted logic, yes, but love was never truly rational.
A/N: Horrible ending, I understand. R&R, please.