SIX PM | matters of safety, protection and completion
Living atop a mountain wasn't just ridiculously dumb; it was also dangerous. Green knew Red had handled all its elemental threats without any help for several years, but it didn't mean a broken bone or poisonous Golbat bite wasn't waiting just around the corner for him. Red was prone to careless mistakes, Green believed; he hadn't changed a bit since they were so much younger. Thus, when he had the chance, he would close up the gym just before six, slip on a stuffed backpack, and trek up the mountain before it got too dark.
He brought endless supplies: bandages, disinfectant, pills, tape, clips to add to the meager first aid collection Red kept in the back of the cave. He always seemed to have a new cut on his arm or bruise on his knee whenever Green visited, but somehow he was able to patch all his injuries up and heal perfectly, like the cut or bruise never even happened in the first place. Green soon began insisting that he fix up all of Red's injuries with rather weak excuses to defend his noble cause: my supplies are newer, I know how to use them better, you're too tired to do them yourself anyway, stop moving and just let me help.
Red quietly gave in to the demands, only if Green caught him in the middle of secretly wrapping a cut. It took Green back to when they were kids, when Red would tremble and blink away the tears that stubbornly escaped over a simple scraped knee. Green would call him weak and demand for the crying to stop, but he always helped patch up the scrape and get Red back on his feet. His reward for all his efforts was one of Red's small smiles – the biggest and best thing Green could ever receive.
Now, years later, Green wasn't needed to dab his eyes or stop the bleeding. It was his worst nightmare; the fact that maybe, he wasn't needed anymore.