Red wakes to the soft tone of wind chimes coming from his pokegear. He groggily pushes himself up on one arm, rubbing sleep out of one eye and using the other eye to stare at the pokegear on the nightstand. It's easy to forget about the device after years of carrying barely any modern technology on him, and he's certain he forgot to have it on his person yesterday.

It's not so urgent when only two people usually call him. One of those people appears to be in the bathroom of the hotel suite, washing up in the fancy tiled shower. Red's lips quirk when he also picks up the sound of Green's voice, humming loudly to the same tune from the opening show yesterday. Red flips open the pokegear, stares at the name displayed on the screen, then presses the call button after a hesitant second.

"Hi."

"...Oh! Oh, Red." His mother laughs softly, as though surprised to hear him. "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time. I wasn't sure with the time zone, or the scheduling..."

"It's fine. It's morning here." Red glances over to the nightstand, reading just after nine on the digital clock there. "The next battles start in a couple hours."

"Oh, good. I hope they're giving you enough time to rest after traveling. The tournaments sure look exhausting on the TV."

"It'll be fine." Red hears paper rustling in the background; his mother must have found some brochures or programming guides. "It looks like there are some good Trainers here."

"Well, I'm glad you're having fun. How's Green doing?"

"Good." Red glances over to the bathroom door, humming still present. Green has a decent singing voice. "Eating up the cameras."

"Of course he is." That gets his mother to laugh – gentle, like chimes in a garden. "He sure does work hard to put himself in the spotlight."

"Yeah."

Silence passes for a few seconds. Red swallows, feeling his pulse pound in his throat.

"Well, I'm sure you need to get back to everything," his mother says to break the silence. "I'll call you again in a few days, alright?"

"Okay." Red rubs his eye again. "Do you want a souvenir? There's, uh..."

"Oh, you don't have to." She laughs again, light like wind. "You coming to visit when the Tournament is over is all I need."


Nothing is more predictable than the fact that it goes right to Green's head whenever a reporter calls for his attention by starting off the conversation with Champion Green.

"Well, not everyone has the determination or talent for it," Green babbles on, bumping into Red's shoulder as he leans into a confident pose in front of the cameras surrounding them in the stadium's lobby. He then hunches forward, rubbing two fingers together and putting on his most serious face possible. "It takes a little, as they say in Kalos, je ne sais quoi."

Red yanks down the brim of his hat to hide the roll of his eyes. Cameras or not, he doesn't even want the tip of his chin visible in this impromptu interview that must be dragging into its tenth minute. Fortunately, the reporters are too focused on eating up Green's inspirational tales to consider switching over to the other Champion. He wonders if it's a brilliant tactic on Green's part, being deliberately loud and impressive so that Red can avoid any press interaction, but, well, it is Green.

"And what does that mean?" one Johto reporter gasps, whipping her microphone back to Green.

He smirks and puts his hands on his hips in a photo-worthy pose. "I don't know what."

"What?" The reporters glance at each other in confusion, and Red's pretty sure one of the cameramen starts chuckling. Green sputters and waves a hand.

"No, I mean, I know what it means, and it's actually – well, it's not literally that, kind of..."

Red ducks away while Green fumbles with being lost in translation, cutting through the crowds until he's freed from the miniature solar system surrounding Green. Voices echo back and forth in the lobby, and he ignores each one that sounds like his name. The League did affirm that the press would be present and plentiful, and to expect a camera or microphone to be shoved in their faces when walking around. Red has nothing in mind to say for an interview, nor is he sure what he could come up with on the fly if asked. Getting out of the hub of reporters seems like the easier option.

Red lifts his head just enough to do a quick look around the grand hall of the Tournament building. The main lobby seems as crowded as possible, bursting with fans, press, and local celebrities. Ahead of him, the upper floor of the lobby is blocked off from the press – a sunny, open loft accessible by stairs or elevator, but only for Tournament VIP. Red shows his face long enough to be recognized by the security staff guarding the staircase, and he makes his way up once they step aside for him.

At the top, he finds Erika sitting on a bench that's nestled between some large potted plants. Rays from the sunroof directly above her illuminate the upper floor in soothing light. She nods at him when Red slowly approaches and takes a seat on the bench, then chuckles when she sees Green still blabbering away in the distance.

"He seems to be enjoying himself."

Red looks over the crowd as well, picking out Green smiling for the cameras and Janine signing brochures for a group of children around her. Blaine seems to be preparing to perform fire tricks in front of some reporters, until two security members grab him by the arm. Despite the hundreds of people milling around, one in particular is still missing.

"Red." Erika rests gentle fingers on his forearm. "I wish we had done more."

"Have you seen him?" he asks quickly. Erika retracts her hand, staring with surprise at hearing him speak, then politely shakes her head.

"I don't think they would let him walk around or speak to the press. But he should be appearing with us in the Kanto tournament tomorrow..."

Red finds nothing to say to that, so he chooses to sit there in silence. Erika eventually rises, gives him a courteous, small bow, and goes down the stairs to rejoin the bustling crowd.

Red watches her gradually disappear between all the reporters still crowded around the main lobby, rolling in waves like a temperamental ocean. He ditches the bench with a frown and heads for the elevators, hitting the up button for the VIP level above. Green won't mind him ducking out from the attention, or probably won't even notice him missing for the next hour.

The button doesn't immediately light up when he presses it. Red reaches to press it again, then stops when the entire building suddenly plunges into black. The excited chatter from the lobby changes into startled gasps and awes at the apparent power outage, but only a few seconds pass before the interior lights buzz back into life.

Moments later the elevator dings, still seeming to be functional, so Red pulls down the brim of his hat and enters to escape the revived conversations.

There's another person in the elevator with him, but Red can only see a pair of highly shined shoes beneath his hat brim. He keeps his head ducked, presses the button for the third floor, and leans against a wall once the doors close.

Just when the elevator begins to move, a hand reaches out and hits the red emergency stop button on the console.

"Hello, boy."

A familiar drop plunges in his stomach, one that he hasn't felt since that fiery night at the top of Silph's tower. His arm jerks in reflex to grab a pokeball from his belt – any ball, any he can grab first – and moves so fast that his elbow smacks against the metal wall behind him. It tingles numbly, stunned from the impact, and he's not quick enough with his other arm to stop the man's hand from clenching into his shirt and slamming the rest of his body into the wall. Red grabs onto the arm pinning him, breathing hard through his teeth and finally looking up at the man who's been a plague in his mind since the World Tournament was officially announced.

Giovanni. Each inhale brings a whiff of tobacco lingering on the man's black clothes, and Red knows from past experience that it's going to sit in his nostrils for the next hour. Even with less of a height difference between them now, Giovanni still knows how to appear large and imposing, draped in a heavy coat and hovering directly over Red like a starving Fearow. Few things seem to have changed, but up this close, there's no missing the deeper lines in his face and the streaks of silver along his hairline that his hat can't hide.

Red's not going to question why here, why now, and why this happened in the first place. He peels one hand away, aiming for a pokeball again, until Giovanni speaks.

"You know the Johto Champion, don't you?"

Red blinks, hand hovering just next to his belt, trying to not appear dumbfounded at the unexpected question in their first encounter in years.

"What about him?" he asks slowly.

"Who are his friends?"

Red can't be sure what to say in a conversation he never expected to happen. Giovanni leans in more to make his point, and Red scrunches his nose, catching another waft of cigarettes.

"I'm sure my retainers have noticed I'm gone by now, so we don't have the time. Who are the Champion's friends?"

"I..." Red shakes his head, going for confused honesty in his answer. "I don't know. I don't really talk to League members."

They both jolt when the elevator groans to life and starts to move. Red lowers his arm when Giovanni releases him and steps back, simply observing him with a thin smile. Red doesn't want to take his eyes off him, still expecting some sort of trap or attack.

When the elevator dings and the doors open to the lobby floor, he realizes he already fell into the trap the moment he stepped into the elevator.

He winces when camera lights flash in rapid succession and the elevator floods with noise. Red holds a hand up to his eyes and peers through his fingers, seeing the sea of reporters right outside the elevator, only held back from a tight line of security personnel. Three guards rush into the elevator and surround Giovanni in a ring, ushering him out and past the press before they can get to him. Some reporters still try to lean over security, yelling out questions and holding up their microphones in hopes for a sound bite. The rest keep their cameras pointed at Red.

Giovanni looks over his shoulder as he's guided away, shooting another sharp smile at Red. One of the guards hits the elevator button, and the doors close, shutting Red in and sealing away the lights and noise.


Later that night, Red lies sideways across the couch while Green stands in front of their room's television, arms crossed and remote in hand as he watches the nightly news.

It's all in Unovan, but there's no mistaking what the top story is about. Video footage of Giovanni emerging from the elevator plays on a constant loop from different angles, half of them also revealing Red standing in the back of the elevator, wide-eyed as the doors close a couple seconds later. Bright red text runs at the bottom of the screen a mile a minute, regularly showing their names written in Unova's lettering, and multiple commentators pitch their conspiracy theories on what could have happened.

Red finds he prefers not to know what they're saying. He pulls his hat down to block the screen and rolls onto his back, hearing Green sigh and the television powering off.

"Well?"

"What?"

"How did this happen?"

"Don't know." Red flicks his hat back up, but keeps his gaze away from Green. "He must've gotten into the elevator before the power..."

He trails off, just now reflecting on the logistics of that explanation. How would Giovanni be able to slip into the elevator undetected by the dozens of watchful eyes around him, all while knowing exactly when to take advantage of an unexpected power outage?

Green drops the remote onto the coffee table and hovers over Red, trying to get his eyes back on him.

"Hey. I'm not gonna make you do it, but I think you should submit a statement to that inspector."

Red frowns, feeling irritation bubble in his stomach. It's the last subject he wants to talk about right now, when the newscasters' chatter hasn't stopped ringing in his ears.

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter how long ago it was, and I care."

"You didn't care back at Silph."

Red's never regretted something he's done so quickly before. He plants a palm over his mouth, as though scolding it for letting those words out, but the damage is already done. Green's heading for the door, well out of reach by the time Red pushes himself upright from the couch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't–"

"You know what? Don't even start. I need some air."

Red can't get in another word before Green slams the door shut. He falls back to the couch and drags a hand down his face, clenching his teeth until they ache.


Red has committed the crime of reminding Green about himself at his worst.

The hollow silence in the hotel suite is much like the empty caves of Mount Silver, despite the bustling city and Tournament activity just outside the building. Red observes people milling about from the bedroom window, pointlessly trying to pick out a messy orange hairstyle cutting through the crowds. Green's definitely gone, mixed into an unfamiliar city, and for the first time in his life, Red can't bring himself to chase after him.

Even with the empty room and blissful silence, Red finds he needs something more within it. He paces around the suite, stopping to stare at the elaborate furniture and overpriced water bottles in the mini-fridge. The television is an immediate no, with its channels probably still running footage of Giovanni on loop, and Red can't remember how to operate the radio on his old pokegear. He lets out Pikachu from his pokeball, who chirps in greeting and climbs onto his shoulder.

The least he can do in the downtime is attempt to unpack. He picks through his small suitcase, remembering he meant to hang the one decent shirt he brought for the ending ceremony, but it's missing, along with most of the other items he packed. Red frowns and checks the closet, seeing the shirt already hung and free of wrinkles. Green must have done it himself in the morning, knowing that Red would forget. Next to it, the rest of Green's clothes are already hung and taking up as much of the closet space as possible. Red remembers how Green toiled over his fashion the week before, assembling outfit after outfit to ensure he looked the absolute best each day the world's eyes would be on him.

Red takes a step back to peer around the corner to the bathroom. It looks as though Green's also arranged all their toiletries, with toothbrushes and products here and there on the counter. It's really just a toothbrush and razor for Red, and everything else is for Green – hair products, face cream, and that nice cologne that Red won't say aloud smells incredible on his skin.

It doesn't matter what Red chooses to look at – every corner of the room reminds him of Green in some way. Red shuts the closet door and rests his forehead against it, bumping up the bill of his hat. Pikachu, sensing his Trainer's mood, sighs along with him.

Then his stomach growls.

The room service menus are thankfully provided in multiple languages, but Red still struggles to comb through them. Each item looks luxurious, as though the hotel's imported the fanciest dishes right out of Kalos, and all are marked with prices that make Red's eyes cross. The trip is paid for, all travel, lodging, and food expenses included for each VIP guest, but he can't bring himself to add onto the League's bill so dramatically. Pikachu sighs with him again as he closes the menu.

Red sets the menu on the desk and notices that Green's left his pokegear behind. He picks it up and rotates it around in his palm, noting the device's sleekness and clear lack of scratches, unlike Red's older model pokegear. He flips it open, not expecting to see anything, and raises a brow when he does.

The photo gallery is open, and it appears Green's been busy snapping pictures since they landed in Unova, mostly of the scenery or himself. There's just a few of Red so far, either in the middle of training or cramming breakfast pastries into his mouth. Red scrolls through the gallery aimlessly, seeing snapshots of them eating out in Viridian, lazing around in their apartment, and their last getaway to Johto.

Red's thumb freezes once the scenery in the pictures changes to their trip to Hoenn last year. Green's holding the pokegear up in the last photo taken there, the device reflected in his sunglasses, and sporting his biggest smile while Red's occupied with stuffing his face over a sundae, a smudge of ice cream on his cheek. Red remembers this happening just before sunset, and afterwards Green took him by the hand onto the beach, where he asked a particular question.

It was a question that Red didn't have an answer for then, and still doesn't to this day.

He drops the pokegear carelessly onto the desk when he hears knocking at the door. Red rushes over and barely remembers to flip the lock before yanking open the door, stepping forward and just managing to stop himself before colliding with the person standing outside.

It's Lance, with a to-go cup of hot tea in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. They stare at each other quietly for several moments before Lance clears his throat and speaks.

"Good evening, Red. Were you on your way out? I just wanted to drop this off."

Red steps back and drops his gaze to Lance's feet. The envelope appears in his vision, and he slowly takes it from Lance's hands.

"I know you haven't decided on anything yet, but I'd appreciate it if you took at look at this. Let me know what you think?"

"What is it?" Red's fingernails dig into the thick paper. It must be about the supposed police case into Giovanni, but he assumes Lance won't outright say it, in case it makes Red shove the envelope right back into his face. That thought seems to be confirmed by the way Lance simply waves him off with a cheery grin, already stepping away to go back down the hallway.

"Just some pictures. We can talk more about it tomorrow."

Red stands in the doorway long after Lance has left, picking at a corner of the envelope. The center of it has confidential written in red ink, and the flap is sealed down with a few layers of tape. Red shakes his head and tucks the envelope beneath his arm, finally moving to close the door.

He stumbles a step when the door resists and presses back. He peers around it, smelling something hot and fresh that makes his stomach groan with renewed hunger. It's Green on the other side of the door this time, pushing it open with one hand and holding a brown pizza box in the other.

"You would not believe how long the line was at this place," Green starts, rolling his eyes and passing by Red like he hasn't been gone for several hours. "And right when I try to leave they're asking for autographs, which I'm gonna give them, of course, but the food's gonna be ice cold by the time I get out of there–"


Red's back to where he was a few hours ago, lying on the couch and staring at everything but Green. He can still see him in the corner of his vision as Green paces around the suite – one hand on his hip, the other holding a pizza slice – and makes up for the lack of conversation by munching on his dinner noisily. When Green dips into the bedroom for a moment, Red pushes aside the pizza box and slowly pops open Lance's envelope. As he slides out the contents onto the coffee table, his meal rolls queasily in his stomach.

There's four photographs inside of four different people – two of whom he's unsure if he recognizes, and two of whom he hasn't thought about since he was in Sevii. Red grips onto the picture of a blue-haired man until the corners crease. There's no note in the envelope, nor any writing on the back of the photographs, but Red's certain they're the same group that rose from the ashes that Giovanni left behind, based on what Ethan's told him. He can't tell if this means the League's found out that he cleared out Team Rocket's Sevii operation all those years ago, or if Lance is just trying to throw any leads he has at Red and see what sticks.

Green returns to help himself to another slice of pizza and pauses, eyes locked on the photographs for a few seconds. Red curls his toes in his socks, daring the risk of bringing up more topics that Green won't take kindly to.

"Have you seen them before?"

"Nah, never." Green shrugs flippantly and goes back to determining which is the next-largest slice to take. "What about them?"

"They were in that Sevii warehouse."

Green glances up briefly, locking Red's gaze for the first time since he returned to their hotel room.

"The League doesn't know about that one, right?"

"Right." Red catches himself tapping a heel to the floor, and forces himself to stop. "Giovanni asked if I knew Ethan's friends."

"What?" Half of the toppings on Green's slice falls into the box. "Why that of all things?"

"No idea." Red looks up at Green, ignoring the spot of red sauce on his chin for now. "You know them, don't you?"

Green makes a sour face, not from the topping-less bite of pizza he's having, but from reflecting on the chatty Johto Champion.

"I mean, Ethan might as well be friends with everyone." Green joins him on the couch, sitting next to his legs. Red feels warmth as their bodies gently touch, and he inches a bit down the couch to soak in more. "But I think there's those two he normally hangs out with. Lyra and...a boy with red hair. What was his name again...?"

Hours later, they pull up the bedsheets and face opposite ways as they tuck in for the night. Red sleeps poorly, tossing and turning like the unforgiving ocean currents around Seafoam Islands. Memories of Team Rocket have never disrupted his sleep like this, but his mind buzzes and churns, desperately trying to dig up something fuzzy from several years ago. The smell of that warehouse in Sevii was the worst out of all their hideouts, sickly and rotten in the air, and Red quickly found out why as he broke in. At least Silph's labs were kept to basic sanitation standards even when overtaken, as though some of the Rocket scientists still cared, but the Sevii warehouse was full of members who didn't concern themselves over whether the Pokemon's cages were washed daily.

That group was the foulest, with their ringleader smiling coldly and his whip licking hotly against trapped Pokemon, and it doesn't surprise Red that they would emerge from their own filth years later in front of Ethan – but there's a different underlying factor that makes Red shift restlessly through dawn. One of the Rocket pseudo-scientists, who stuck behind with the strange radio machines while the rest of the Grunts fled, made a declaration that Red didn't care about back then.

By the time he thinks he's about to unearth it, he finally falls asleep.