To me, you are (an overextended metaphor)
-x-
Sometimes Red just stares.
It's the most unnerving thing, seeing those pools of auburn fixed on you like a predator, a growlithe, silently watching its prey. Red is much like a growlithe, Green thinks. Not one of those overexcited puppies you give to children to fawn over, not an angry watchdog as the police trains them, but rather―a wild one. Untamed and full of rugged beauty, with the calm aloofness of royals and the deathly senses of a natural born killer.
Not that he would kill Green―at least not at the breakfast table―but still.
He has that fire in him, an ember simmering silently beneath the serene surface, only to flare when aggravated, burning bright enough to blind your eyes, rendering you sightless, and you―you wouldn't even mind. Not after witnessing him in all his blaze and glory, the rowdy pup evolved into a magnificent beast.
Green sighs and tries to immerse himself in his half of the Viridian Post. It's a futile effort though, with Red's unwavering gaze trailing his every move like a shadow. There's no getting rid of him, once he's like this.
Not that Green would want to―not when he finally has him (indefinitely)―but still.
In those moments he finds himself wondering whether it is, after all, he who more resembles an ever-loving, ever-loyal canine. He has a suspicion, too often proved true, that he'd put up with anything Red could think to do―any stunt he might pull, any wound he might inflict, Green would take it in a stride all while longing for treats and praise. It has something to do with guilt, but guilt he's learned to deal with long ago. More acutely it's about love―and now that is something he can't really handle.
He wrinkles his nose and folds the paper neatly by the seams. Red watches the movement of his fingers intently, raising his eyes to meet Green's own only after they're completely still.
"What?" Green asks. More than often he doesn't.
Red smiles, the tiniest of pulls on his lips. "Nothing."
Green raises his brows and wants to scream and cry and tear his hair apart for how much he can't understand the man in front of him. He doesn't. Instead he scoffs softly and kicks Red's calf under the table (even more softly), and when he feels the sharp (because Red never could quite control his strength) kick of retaliation, he laughs. Red looks at him with the vague ghost of confusion lurking around his face and, heart swelling, Green figures it must not matter all that much which one of them is the dog and which the master.
Sometimes it's okay to let it be.
-x-
A/N: I keep writing from Red's point of view and sometimes Green gets very annoyed with my favoritism. This here is an ode to his inner workings and it still manages to be more or less centered around Red. Go figure.
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