Chapter Text
"Joshie and Sammy got divorced, by the way." Purple says, sitting on the counter while the dough in the oven bakes. "I never got to tell you that, but I thought you should know."
Red pauses, two cold sodas in each hand.
"Well, if they couldn't make it," Red passes Purple one of the sodas, leaning against the counter as they pop open the tab. "What hope is there for the rest of us?"
"Right??" Purple opens their own can and takes a swig. "They were THE power couple. They've been together since forever. Joshie proposed in their childhood treehouse. Sure, it was structurally unsound, had been abandoned to the elements for seven years with no upkeep, and couldn't support the weight of two twelve-year olds by then, let alone two twenty-year olds but still! They got pretty sick matching scars once the casts came off."
"How many stitches did they get?"
"Fourteen. Joshie won because they had to get an extra six for their forehead."
The dough in the oven crackles.
"You should have seen it." They say, quietly. "Joshie put it in their wedding vows. They didn't even need rings. The scars were enough."
"It was probably really cool." Red agrees.
"It was." Purple agrees, too.
"But, I mean come on." Red continues. "Marriage? In this economy?"
"I know." Purple snorts, kicking their feet. "Groceries?"
"Dental."
"The downward trickle of fast fashion pieces into the thiftstores, making quality clothes even more inaccessible."
"Dwindling wages."
"Inflation."
"So much inflation." Red agrees, agrees, agrees. "And then you bring kids into it."
"I'm so glad they didn't have kids, it'd be an actual disaster." Purple smacks their forehead. "Imagine the legal fees. The child support payments. The custody arrangements."
"Who do you spend Christmas with!"
"Where did you leave your good pants."
"Not to mention when your parents start dating again."
"Ew." They say, in unison.
"Yeah," Purple rolls the can between their hands, the liquid inside sloshing. "I don't know why I ever thought we could be anything like them."
The fire hisses. Pops.
"Maybe it was better this way." Maybe this is the kinder way. "Joshie and Sammy were really bad together, in the end. Sammy left Joshie the house, but they couldn't make the mortgage payments, so they had to foreclose anyway, and don't get me started about their cat—"
"I got you a ring."
Purple snaps right back up to look at them.
"What?"
"The first check I got from MIRA," Red toys with the sweat off their soda can. "After the NDA. I wasn't even— I wasn't promoted to Captain right away. They expedited my application, so I'd make the cut-off for basic training. And since I was an official MIRA cadet, I had benefits, like insurance, and a stipend."
Red shuts their visor tight.
"We weren't even talking by then. I had no idea where you were. I hadn't even planned on it, but I got the first bit of money I've ever made in my life and the first thing I did was buy a ring."
A plain silver ring. They didn't even have enough to qualify for the complimentary engraving. It would have looked good on Purple, bright and brilliant.
"It wasn't even a nice ring, mind you. MIRA cadets aren't paid that much. But I thought, hey, maybe by the time I'm actually a Captain, I'd have enough to have it replaced before it tarnished—"
Purple grabs Red's hand, and sticks a soda can tab on their pinky.
"I've heard aluminum doesn't tarnish." Purple turns Red's hand this way and that, backwards and forwards. "It's not a sick ass scar, but I think it doesn't look half-bad."
Purple looks at them, fond and quiet, visor crinkling at the edges.
"Do you?"
And really, was there ever any other option?
"I do." Red says.
Then coughs, rubbing the back of their head, hot as a lightbulb.
"Do think it doesn't look bad, either, I mean." They pinch at the soda tab. "Because that was what you were asking about, the question I was answering, not at all because I wanna still marry you, which I still do, but I'm TOTALLY about respecting your decision to stay coworkers for however long you want—"
"Your bread's burning, Redsy."
"RIGHT! BREAD!" Red turns to the oven, yanking the oven door open and letting all the smoke out. The smoke detector doesn't go off, and no sprinklers turn on. Typical MIRA.
"There are spousal confidentiality laws, too, by the way." Purple hops off the counter to peel the fire extinguisher off the wall.
"Wait, there are—" But the kitchen door shuts behind them.
A honeymoon to Industria doesn't sound too bad either.