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The letter is a bit stained in his hands. The paper crumbled from where Green had dislodged it. On the envelope the handwriting was messy and childlike, but a name stuck out clear as day:
To: Green Oak
He sat down in the desk chair as he carefully ripped through the flimsy seal, barely needing to make an effort due to age. Inside, a small photo fell out, and he leaned down to pick it up off the floor where it had fallen.
The film was grainy, picture blurry and clearly taken and not developed right, the few colors that stained the image messy. Only one color had to stick out to him however, and his eyes honed in on the red next to his own figure, both smiling. Red had clearly been forced to put on one by his mother, but Green’s own was real and truly happy. His arm slung around Red’s shoulder as they both held onto slightly melted ice cream cones.
He held back a frown, he could guess what the letter inside would say. Yet, through all reluctance, Green still found his eyes drawn to the paper, starting to read what was laid out for him.
Dear Green (that’s me!),
Today I thought I wanted to write a letter for myself because what’s cooler then future me looking back at all the awesome stuff we did! Gramps says it’s dumb but I don’t want to listen to him anyways.
Right now I’m learning to be a pokémon trainer with my best friend in the whole world Red!! Were gonna be champions together isn’t that cool?
I’m not sure what else to write here. Daisy said something about what I like but I just like pokémon! School stinks. I can’t wait to start my journey. I hope this letter finds you well and I hope me and Red never stop being friends! There’s a photo in here too, I had Daisy take it earlier so I could put it in but I got too excited and the photo got a little messed up. It’s fine though!
Much Love, yourself
Green thought about the champion room and his own Grandfather’s scalding look after the battle, and the many, many tears shed into his pillow that night. About the strained connection between him and his loving sister. How he chose to reside in his apartment above Viridian now instead of that room at home that felt so numbing.
He picked up a pen and flipped over a random paper, the other side having a letter from the League printed on it. Whatever. If it’s that important they’ll resend it.
Dear Green,
Your letter reached. And I’m afraid none of that happened.
Well it did, but you were too young to know there can only be one champion. Too young to think about how you’d start to resent your best friend who had tried so many times to make ends meet. Bending himself over backwards just to try and get you to look so he could just get a glimpse of your eyes.
His cheeks flushed a bit as he looked at the lettering. It was stiff- formal. The childlike wonder from the preexisting note falling away into the boring normality of an adult life. Even at seventeen, he wondered why he felt so old.
Anyways, Red is gone now. You scared him away. Off to someplace nobody even knows if he hasn’t fallen off the face of the earth entirely. After the his championship victory (over you) he decided to leave it all behind.
Some days I wonder what was going on in his head. I wonder if I had listened a bit more to him, would Red have left like he did? If somebody stood by to understand him, if I didn’t leave him behind-
Would we still be-
Green doesn’t write the words, but he thinks them and that’s enough for him. Nobody would read the paper anyways, but that word, together. It holds too much weight for him. Can’t bring himself to write the eight simple letters. It’s embarrassing. Perhaps childish or immature, but he can’t (doesn’t want to) find it in himself to care. Instead he keeps writing.
It doesn’t matter. Everything is well now. You run Viridian Gym. You’re the youngest gym leader in Kanto’s history. Isn’t that interesting? Not exactly what you had planned, but it works well. Better than hanging around the Professor every day and listening to unending lectures about your life.
Briefly he thinks about writing more, but the paper already feels a little too all over the place for his liking, instead simply signing it with a Smell you later. Folding it and the original, shoving both into a drawer.
All that sits on the desk now is the faded photo, a ballpoint pen, and his mushy feelings. Yet he still has battles planned today, and tomorrow the process will repeat. Yet in his heart while he sleeps, a part carved out for a friend lost will still linger.