Green calls him a chatty gossip and grins because no one understands the truth of it. Maybe to anyone else it's silence, but to Green it's:
I love you in the doorway, a lingering brush of hands as Red passes by, trailing after Pikachu;
I've waited for you from two stories up as Green unlocks the front door to their apartment building, visible only as a flash of red cloth through the sun-painted windowpane;
I'm thinking of you in a postcard stamped from Kanto as Green travels across Kalos, tucked into the shirt pocket closest to his heart;
Good morning in a glance from the small kitchen table, Red's hands tucked around a mug of tea as its partner sits wafting steam from the other seat;
I'm home in a gentle tip of his cap, a slight smile that creases dirt-smudged cheeks.
Green sits down at the table with him and laughs at the story Red tells him through quiet gestures and shifts in his expression. There are a million things Green will never understand about him—a million things that will never be said—but the simplest things, the most important things, are clear enough.
"I love you too, you know," Green says, his eyes flicking downward, a blush crossing his face even though he's said it countless times before.
Red nods once, as if to himself, and there's a look of pleasure in his eyes. They don't look at each other, but their hands reach for each other in tandem, fingers intertwining; and that's communication enough.