You're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
All that's left is the ghost of you
- "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men
phantom cold
"You're so lucky," Daisy had said, tracing the red mark on the inside of Green's wrist. It was like a tattoo, the lines crisp like calligraphy from a master, as permanent as if it'd been branded onto him.
At the time, Green hadn't really thought much of it. Words like marriage and love and soulmate didn't mean much to him, and as for Red being with him forever, well, what was so new about that?
Of course Red was always going to be with him. They were best friends.
"You'll never have to worry, never have to think about being lonely…never have to look for anyone to love." She had sighed, and Green had dismissed it as a weird girl thing. Later he would understand it as envy, from his sister with bare white wrists that she hid by piling them with bangles.
He and Red had had matching marks for as long as he could remember…
"Lucky, my ass." Green grumbled. He was alone at the bar, nursing the drink he'd ordered two hours ago still. It was half-gone, and though it was good beer, it wasn't enough to distract him.
White snow, a wind that cut like the sharp edge of a Scyther's wings…he'd dreamed with Red again last night. Red, up on the mountain, lording it over him. They were calling him The Legendary Red now, in hushed voices, even though Lance had been reinstated as Champion over a year ago. Trainers came to earn his badge as a pit stop on their way to being the first to scale Mt. Silver and come back victors.
Green took a special pleasure in crushing them into nothing. It was petty, but if he had to be alone, then so did Red.
"Probably doesn't even care. Weirdo."
"You're talking to your beer." Green looked up to see golden eyes and a backwards hat. "It's not going to answer you."
"Who're you?" Even as Green said it, he recognized the face; it was that kid from Johto. The new Champion. The reporter had called him 'a Champion in the style of the Legendary Red, the youngest Champion…' and Green had turned off the tv, sick of people forgetting that he held the record for youngest. Sick of thinking that Red was going to be the best for the rest of his life, probably in the history books, while Green ran his stupid gym and battled stupid trainers and slept in his stupid, cold bed.
(If he was honest, it was only the last that mattered.)
"Johto Champion Gold." The kid introduced himself. The bartender brought him a shot, and he downed it without flinching. "You're Green, right? I came here to fight you."
"Gym's open in the morning."
"I heard you make little kids cry when they lose." Gold said seriously.
"I don't take it easy on them."
"Cool." Gold raised an eyebrow at him. "So, why were you talking to your beer?"
"I wasn't." Green lied. Gold had different hair, but something about the hat and the stance made him think of Red. It was depressing.
Gold shrugged. "See you in the morning. Probably." He left, and Green watched through the window as he ran to a redheaded guy hanging around outside. From the way Gold snatched at his wrist, they were probably sporting identical symbols.
Green stared down into his half-drunk beer. It held no appeal to him, not like the metallic shock of melted snow, the smoky intensity of rations cooked over an open fire…
…the phantom traces of Red that bled through, even though the days when Red had been anything like his felt like a lifetime ago.
"I'm back!" His – not his date, exactly, but the woman who'd asked him to come here – returned from the bathroom. She sat beside him, smiling. "Sorry about that."
"Don't worry." He said. "What were we talking about?
"You were trying to reject me in the politest way possible." She said kindly. "I guess it was too much to hope you'd be single."
"It's not that." He showed her the inside of his wrist, the lines as sharp as they had been when he was a child. She gasped.
"Oh, that's amazing." She pauses to take a long drink. "Only one percent of a population even have them? How long have you known?"
"Since I was a kid."
"How romantic! I didn't know you were already with someone. You never talk about yourself."
"I'm not." Green repeated , already regretting telling her. But he couldn't just reject people; it wasn't their fault that this had been decided for him long before. "He doesn't…"
She understood, and reached out and touched him on the shoulder. Her smile was a little more tremulous, but she carried it well. "I'm sorry for even bringing it up, Green." She stood up and grabbed her purse off the bar. "I'm going to go, but…we can hang out, if you want. You…seem lonely."
She left, and he was alone with his drink again.
He gulped down the last of it. It tasted like nothing, and the bar suddenly seemed too dark and smoky, too much like a cave. He fled.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Green saw the first three digits of his grandfather's number and let the phone continue as he looked over this month's expenses. The Professor always called once a month, at five, like clockwork.
Just as the ringing ended, he pressed the speaker button.
"Green?"
"Gramps."
There was a huffy noise, as though Green didn't always answer the phone the same way.
"Have you heard from him?"
Green glanced down at his numbers and found that they'd come in under budget again. Excellent. With the extra cash, he could begin thinking about redoing the training area under the gym, making it even better…maybe having some kind of weekly sessions for the public.
"The situation is rather delicate, Green. Delia is extremely worried and I—"
"I'm fine, thanks for asking. The gym's placed in the top every month since I took over. They're saying that if I keep it up I'll get pushed up into the Elite Four in a few years. I hired another gym trainer, some kid from Sinnoh who likes the weather here better."
"Green." His grandfather sounded entirely disapproving.
"No, I haven't seen that dick. No one's seen him in over three years. If you're that interested, stop wasting my time and go look for him!"
"This attitude is why he left you, you know."
Green stared at the phone in silent, incomprehensible fury. Then he hung up.
It was pointless to work after that; he and Eevee worked out for a while, and then he took her upstairs to the apartment. He brushed her and watched as she curled up into her basket, head tucked into her fluffy tail.
He sat there on the edge of the bed – large, luxurious, bought in an attempt to make himself feel successful – and did nothing. It was snowing up in the mountains where Red lived like a ghost, forcing everyone below him to mourn him in perpetuity. Nothing could drive out the chill of missing him from Green, not even the white-hot anger of knowing that his own family only called to ask about Red, not even embers of jealousy that reminded he would always be second best.
"What are you doing up there?"
He fell back against the bed, imagining the stars of his childhood in place of the ceiling.
"Are you ever going to come back?"
The 'to me' at the end of the question went unspoken.
It is not the fire that warms him, though it burns orange and red and blue, casting dancing shadows on the rock around him. Charizard keeps it roaring as he lies beside it, wings folded in for warmth; Venusaur tilts his flower towards it, trying to use the firelight as fuel. Blastoise is already in his shell for the night.
Snorlax is further back in the cave; his thick fat keeps him warm there, and Lapras is beside him, her head on his stomach.
Pikachu is in his jacket, ears pressed down sadly against his head. "Pi?"
He is almost somewhere else, in a room he has never seen. The ceiling and walls are cream-colored, the rich color of the bedspread impossible after years of seeing only snow and rock. The room is warm, the heat on what must be full blast, and it is warmer still under the blood-colored comforter.
Green's body is still as he sleeps. Red breathes with him, feeling every little movement as if it were his own. It is only the weight of his body against the stone floor that keeps him there; otherwise he feels like he could float into Green, down to his side, and feel that warm breath against his skin.
Not yet, Red thinks, and he looks down at his hands. The medal Green had handed over to him the last time they'd met is resting against the back of his palm. He tips it into his lap and turns his hand over, revealing the mark on his wrist. He is not ready.
But someday…the snow will stop falling…maybe someday soon, he will venture down again, where the sun still burns hot and the colors hurt his eyes. Where Green lives, his arm still marked with Red's love, waiting…