#grenvioux

As Red’s steps brought him closer and closer to home, he slowed. Would his mother be there, he wondered? Did he want her to be there? And what would she do, when she saw him here after so many years of absence? Would she be happy? Upset? Angry? In that moment, all of those emotions seemed equally as likely.

Red stopped before he could reach the threshold. He stared at that familiar door, as immobile as if he’d been turned to stone.

I can’t do it.

Not yet, at least. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t just--not yet, he told himself.

His throat tight, Red spun around and hurried in the opposite direction. Running again, he thought. He looked at nothing except his own sneakers. He couldn’t bare to even raise his head.

Between that and his rushed pace, Red didn’t have time to see the person in his path in time to stop. His shoulder collided with their chest. “Sorry,” he murmured. But then, he glanced up at their face, and saw--

“Green?”

Red stopped, stared. All the words he’d wanted to say, all those things he’d rehearsed a thousand times on his way back to Pallet, seemed to flee his mind. All he could think was: He looks older.