The urinals in the men's bathroom were rancid and stained with a number of...substances, and Red was currently getting well acquainted with its surface.

Technically, there was a stall just a few feet away, with more privacy in case someone happened to walk in. Technically, they were all empty, so he could take whichever one he liked. But technicalities didn't matter to Red's internal organs, all of which seemed to be waging war against each other. There was little he could do but clutch the sides of dirtied porcelain and wait for the sweet release of the unconscious-

His stomach rippled, and Red's train of thought went out the window.

Dimly, he heard the soft creak of the bathroom door open. More noises seeped in from the doorway: the blare of an overheard sound system playing overused pop songs, the incessant clicking of slot machines, the jingle of coin on coin. He was in the Game Corner, he recalled, chasing down rumors of Team Rocket behind its operations. You'd think international crime syndicates could stand to keep their restrooms cleaner.

There was a hand resting on his back, but that was when another contraction hit and Red was doubling over, vomiting into the urinal again. Through the haze of everything, he heard a very obnoxious, very familiar cough.

"You know," Green said, "The stalls're right there."

Red muttered grumpily into the clogged drain. "No."

"I wouldn't have asked you to take shots if I knew you were this much of a lightweight, you fucking idiot."

Involuntary shudder. "Mmph."

A pause. Then he felt something hard and cool being shoved against his shoulder. "Here. Hold the bottom part of the glass; I don't want your pee-crusted hands touching mine."

Red gratefully took the water (grabbing at Green's hands, making him flinch away with a yelp) and washed down the acid in his throat. He was sitting on the cold tiled floor now, vision spotting at the edges. He took a big gulp of the stale bathroom air.

It smelled amazing.

Green watched him a little ways away, back bent awkwardly in a way that was so different from his uptight, cocky self, Red had to smile.

"Loser," his rival sneered, hauling him up with wrench to his arm, "You should come back to the 'Center with me. Some custodian's gonna come in, think you're shit, and mop you up." Green's voice was sardonic, but his face was twisted with concern, his posture oddly wary. Guilty about what he had done, Red realized.

He allowed himself to be hauled onto his feet and led out of the bathroom, leaning on Green's shoulder as the trainer hissed, complaining about Red "staining his jacket".

He never did shove him off though.