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The Pokemon World Tournament isn't the farthest that Green has been from home, but it's the farthest he's ever been with Red. Sweating beneath the hot stadium lights, flashing his trademark careless salute to a sea of onlookers, is more exhilarating than he expected. It reminds him of how it used to be, when he steamrolled gyms without a second thought, when he thought the world would lay itself at his feet.
It brings something out in him, brings a swagger to his step and a proud glint to his eye. His pokémon pick up on it, and use a bit more dazzle and a bit less finesse than they might have otherwise. It's enough to get him through most challengers, but it's not enough when Red steps in front of him after the day's fights are over. Red lifts an eyebrow, and then lifts a poké ball in one clenched fist, and Green just laughs.
Red issues challenges like this now and again, but Green's always refused him. He learned his lesson when he was eleven, he says. But the approval of the crowd is still thrumming in his blood, so this time he laughs and says, "Why not?"
Green's not a teenager any more. He's a veteran trainer with six years of gym leader experience under his belt and a team hardened from thousands of battles. Red's style has changed too, less flint-edged, more malleable. The fight starts out as a flurry of all-out offense but quickly changes to probing attacks and wary circling. Red and Green's eyes lock over the backs of their bulky pokémon and hold there.
In the end it's Eevee and Pikachu, old friends, older enemies. They're both light, canny fighters, both quick to attack and quick to leap away. The empty stadium settles into a crackling quiet, broken by the crack of lightning, the scuff of paws on soil, and harsh arrhythmic gasps. Green gets lost in it, gets lost in the call and response of Red's attacks and his counters, forgets about everything outside of this room.
Eventually they stop, panting. Eevee flops onto her side, not defeated but not wanting to continue, either. Pikachu comes over and nuzzles her, static sizzling between their cheeks. Red is still looking at him, but there's a new expression there. A vulnerability that Green has only seen in glimpses before.
"This isn't what I want," Green admits, his voice raw and over-loud for the quiet. Nerves have always forced him to brashness, to violence. "I want—"
And then Red is moving towards him, quickly, passing Pikachu and Eevee curled together in the center of the ring without a second glance. Green stumbles forward, reaching out, and Red seizes him, his hands a steadying pressure against his shoulders. Then Green's mouth is hot on his and it's right in a way he's always longed for.
"Me too," Red mumbles against his mouth when they part. "That's why I kept challenging you."
Green huffs a laugh, his fingers tangled in the cloth of Red's jacket, pulling him in. It feels impossible, he thinks, to be this close and want him closer still. "Draw?"
"Draw," Red agrees before kissing him again, and then Green has no words for anything else.