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Elite Red was a weak five when he was plugged into the world of data downloding and military simulations, sat next to the loudest smeet he had ever heard. He was a wobbly ten when he first saw the surface of his home and had to squint against dim beams of sunlight reflecting off of a blurry somebody's PAK. He was nearly twenty when he helplessly witnessed his tallest be torn limb from limb, clinging onto the arm of the soldier by his side. He's only fifty something more odd years away from maturing and entering his centuries, and two seconds away from punching Elite Purple square in his stupid face.
"All I'm saying is you were slacking a little in training today," Purple says with a shrug, stepping to the side and dodging a punch to the shoulder. Red lets out a breath, hardly relieved at all from nearly knocking his once-nemesis's lights out. He tried to let it go, let Purple tease him and think it meant something, but letting it go on too long always led to him thinking he had won. Now was one of these times, and Red knew Purple was aware of how annoyed he was. "Whatever," Red huffs, settling with shoving into Purple's side to sate his rage, "say it again and you'll be in the med bay for a week."
Purple ponders replying, snapping back with something witty to shut his partner up, but falls back and accepts the loss. Red was hard to argue with, and impossible to trump. He carried himself with pride, cool and collected, a certain type of self assurance that held him together. He knew who he was, and what he was going to be, and if no one else in the entire squadron knew anything else about Elite Red, they knew this. Purple knew it, he'd been assured by Red many times. He'd tell him, I'm made to fly that ship, the Massive is meant for me. I'm telling you, he'd say, staring up off into the stars on late training nights, I'm gonna be up there. With all the greats. The almighties. Purple entertained his rants, mostly saw them as nothing more than childish dreams Red had yet to stop chasing. He looks at him as he is now, marching a couple paces ahead of him in his big metal boots, dark and wild eyes scanning the area as they snuck their way out of the boot camp's bounds. Wishful as Red was, Purple knew deep down he was more than that. He was going to be great some day and show everyone on this damn planet that they were wrong. Purple tries to push these thoughts down, though, tried not to focus on futures. He only held one hope, one lousy little hope compared to Red's reservoir of dreams, that when Red was tallest, he wouldn't forget what it was like when he was Elite Red.
The rest of their trek is spent in silence. Red walks along, hands stuffed in the pockets of his utility belt, steel toes kicking rocks across the gravelly ground as he goes. Purple stays close behind, watching him, his every move, how his simple stride oozed with confidence, the way he carried the weight of the possibility of being caught cutting training with ease. Commander Poki was diligent, disciplined. She had caught and punished many smaller irkens for lesser offenses than playing hooky. If she were to spot two tall heads missing in her line up, they'd be bloody pulps by the time she was through with them. Purple couldn't deny that he was worried about the possibility. He didn't dare tell Red this, though. Red would only shrug him off, hit him for his stupidity, or worse, simply laugh at him. Because Red was cool, cooler than anyone else Purple had ever known across his years on Devastis. Red had stained sparring spears for trophies lined up underneath his bunk, would pull them out periodically and look them over with pride. Red had a ray pistol he loved like a life partner, kept it tucked inside his pillow, would have kept it hung up like a mounted skull above his bed if he could. Red had a heart that ran on tar rather than blood, had a spirit that knew no end such as death. Red let nothing stand in his way, not even Purple. Red took the reigns on life, and Purple latched on and let him ride it out, because Red was cool and Purple was the only one who saw that. They made a good team, the two of them. Purple liked life better when Red lead the way, as he was now.
Sometimes, at times like this, when the silence was soft and the space between the two was big enough, Purple wants to ask Red what he is thinking now. Red was always thinking, always wondering. There had been something hushed, though not meek, stuck in his mind since smeethood. Something crazed, constantly pacing between the bars of the cage of his brain, looking for an escape in every crevice. Red let it pace, let it run laps in place, felt himself sharpen with restlessness, and he loved it. He loved the routine of it, the mind numbing madness of thought, how it felt to return to reality after indulging in the all encompassing enormity of his own mind, what it was like to finely tune himself up like a machine and run on a clockwork schedule. He runs on it now, slinking along the outskirts of the camp he discovered long ago in search of the bent up barbed wire sectioning off the bounds of the ships boarding docks. He interrupts the mechanics of his mind and reaches out to it, kneels down and ducks under the tangled mess of metal thorns. Pauses and looks up at Purple. Purple looks back, and asks him what he's thinking. Red, pondering saying you, as always. Red, cold machine that he is, saying nothing instead, retreating past the fence without waiting to be followed.
Dusk was an isolating time on Devastis. Late hours of the evening slowly droning on, a temporary twelve hour purgatory. Soldiers and trainees alike trudging back to their barracks, ghoulish shapes illuminated by the edge of the setting sun, shadows at their heels. Sometimes Purple turns his face to the horizon just to see. Red never did. Red only liked to look at the stars. Precisely the reason the two had snuck out of their end-of-the-day exercises in the first place.
The dim sun had lowered below the bases lined across this side of the camp, its weak light only now visible by looking at one's own shadow. Purple glances at his. Then to Red's. Again and then back. They walk together in time, mimicking, flickering in the setting sun. He watches as they distort, wobbling against the rolling, rocky ground. He watches as Red's straightens up, picks up the pace and skips up over the hill ahead of them. Purple lifts his eyes to look at his partner's back now, watching the last rays of light reflect off the rounded surface of Red's PAK. Red stops, stands at the top of the hill looking out over the rolling nothingness of the wrecked west side of Devastis. Left long ago dim and dull and hopeless due to the energy outtage, unaware of its useless state. Red looks it all over and remembers what it used to be, how it bumbled with busy bundles of irkens marching through the little military town, the way the whole planet seemed to stay awake while it's soldiers slept. He was only a rookie then, new to the ranks. Terrified fresh meat. He looks at the rows of long abandoned barracks. Can't recall which he resided in now. He sniffs, raises an arm and wipes the sweat off his cheek onto his sleeve. Doesn't stifle, doesn't show any assent to Purple as he approaches.
Purple stomps up the hill, legs as heavy as lead from the distance walked, stops at Red's side with a sigh and stuffs his thumbs into his belt. When he had landed on Devastis, he had not been prepared for the weather. The sun was weak here, weaker than Irk's, but long and grueling training underneath its rays for twelve to twenty hours each day left the elites sweaty, suffocated. It felt as if time stopped somedays, as if the torturous heat never stifled, leaving the soldiers helpless like insects trapped under a shard of glass angled against the sun. He couldn't think straight in such conditions. He learned to turn the chatter in his head down soon enough, to tune out all distractions and focus instead on the driving forces of training, the physical parts of it. Learned soon enough what it was like to be chewed up and spat out as something new, something tougher, something with things to do other than think. Red never did. Red never learned. He stands sweating in the setting sun silent and stern and still had it in him to look out over the once occupied side and think, think, think.
Out of the corner of his eye, Red watches Purple watch him. Sees the gears in his skull trying to turn, trying to keep up with the motors of Red's own mind. Purple always tried to keep up with Red, tried to step in the path his grooved soles left in the ground, a little tag-along. Even now, he made a point to stand up straight for once, to stretch out and make himself as tall as his friend. Sponge that he was, he stands and stares at Red, tries to think like him. Tries to conjure up what it's like inside his head.
Red runs his tongue against his front teeth, tastes the afterthoughts of the mess hall's grits and gruel there. He watches as Purple bites his bottom lip, as if feeling it there, too. It becomes a reflection, a feedback of understanding. Red understood well. Red understood how to come to terms with many things. Something about feeling your muscles burn, feeling your lungs swell with heavy breaths and your legs buckling underneath you, taught him how to come to terms with life here. For instance, sparring with Purple. Their days spent as rivals swiping a little too close at each other's throats during mock face-offs in combat training. The closeness achieved in holding a spear to someone's chest and seeing their heart thump through it. The impossibility of untangling yourself from someone once you've held the string of their life stretched tight. This is where Red first was understood, he thinks. With Purple, young and scrappy and something to prove. Head to head in the summer heat. Here on this hill. A line crossed so often it's smoothed down into an undefined edge, something without a beginning or an end. They met naturally, like the shoreline and the sky—the start of Red was the end of Purple. If this could even be distinguished. If either of them even wanted it to be.
Red knew where this line crossed led. When he watched Purple, he felt it. Tugging and pulling him. Towards something, towards a torrent within someone other than himself, towards the eye of a storm in someone else's stare. Tempered and measured. It ached. Red had ached for a long time. The way a smeet aches in the artificial womb. Even now his body and soul felt sore, nearly newborn. He has carried an agony inside him, this tugging he hadn't yet addressed.
"A lot of thinking tonight," Purple says, sighing, "over this little place."
This particular area, this specific set of rolling glades, was a special spot for the two. They had spent many nights here, snacking on stolen rations and staring at the stars. Sometimes they made shapes. Sometimes they could make out the almighties of the past up there. Red could spot them easily. There's a tallest there, he'd say, pointing to a cluster of the little lights. Looks like Almighty Miyuki, said with a certain soreness, closely recalling that star snuffed out too soon. Purple couldn't see these constellations, these pictures of the past. All looked like a bunch of balls of light up there. At nights like this, though, if he looked into Red's eyes at the right time, he could see them all. Blazing fury looking back at him. He glances at his friend's face in search of them.
Red turns his cheek, eyes squinted. "Comfortable silence," he says, almost matter of factly. Purple's stare doesn't falter. Uneasy from the attention, Red turns around on his heel and lowers his body onto the hill. He sits down, keeping his gaze away from Purple's, awkwardly lays back on his elbows. "Haven't you run out of things to talk about today, anyways?"
Purple pauses for a moments thought. "No," he replies, punctually sarcastic. He unhooks his thumbs from his belt and begins to strip it free from his body, taking the time to unzip two pockets and pull free handfuls of colorfully wrapped candy. Red feels himself smile in spite of himself. If Purple was anything, he was a damn good stealth. Sly little soldier that cut corners and stashed commissary snacks. Red respected it. His eyes follow his friend's hands as they tear open the shiny foil paper and pop a little colorful sugared rock into his mouth, the slight pull of his lip at the tangy sweetness. He lies there and eyes the little palmful of treats until Purple takes the hint and tosses him one. Red catches it in cupped hands and rolls it over to read the little labels. Sour cherry. His favorite flavor. Evidence of their time spent together, their time spent learning each other. He untwists either end of the wrapped paper and takes the sugary crystal out and into his mouth, sucking it against his teeth as he watches Purple pick out a second piece. Notes that he picks sour cherry this time. Purses his lips and tastes it at the same time as him. Tag-along, he thinks, tongue in cheek.
Purple rolls the little rocks around in his mouth, tasting the sugary crystal coating melt on his tongue. Sour, then sweet. He watches Red watch him. A familiar thing, that taste was. Sucking the remnants of the sweets down, he peels his eyes away from his friend, tries to forget how he got so lost in his gaze, feels his stare bore into his back even still. His eyes scan the area, the distant remains of the once occupied west side of Devastis, the rolling glades of overgrown moss and marshes, the rocky edge of this land as the hill ended and a cliff began.
Purple had heard stories of those who throw themselves from cliffs like these, the legends of many soldiers who had once done so and still haunted Devastis. He had remembered the fear on the faces of his peers flickering in and out of the campfire light while commanders told these stories. He had remembered the sick smile on Commander Poki's face as she emphasized all the guts and gore with a gritty satisfaction, the gnarly sound one's skull would make as it collided with the ground, the gnashing of bones being grinded inside the body upon impact. He had remembered Red there beside him, unphased and unimpressed, whittling away on sticks with his pocket knife. Most of all, he remembered the common denominator across all these stories: those irkens, those that lived to tell their tale, regretted it. As soon as they hit free fall, as soon as their feet left the safety of the cliffs edge, the regret hit them sooner than the ground could.
Purple did not understand suicidal tendencies, did not understand the kind of mental torture anyone could be subjected to in order to make them want to end their own life. Irkens had evolved too long, too hard to survive for him to understand how one could look at life so bleakly. He understood their regret, though. He knew he would, had he took the faithful leap, too. Red's teeth cracking open his candy turns his attention back to him. Purple looks at him, over the hill, then back. Red would not regret it. Like he took all things, Red would take that leap and take it with ease. Red would drift through the air and feel free. Knowing him, he'd probably pull up at the last second, take flight and fly far, far away from this planet and into the stars like an Icarus. Even now, lying back on his elbows, he stares up at them with wanderlust, with something wanton and wild in his eyes. Purple hopes Red never has to risk regretting before he reaches them.
Purple turns around and walks towards Red, pops another sweet into his mouth, tosses another into his companion's palms. He sits down beside him, criss cross applesauce, the way he was scolded for sitting in lectures as a smeet. Red takes his sweet into his mouth and rolls it around under his tongue, against his teeth. "Man, it's nice to get away," he says, sucking down on the hard rock of candy, "people were starting to get on my nerves."
Purple tilts his head. "People like Tak?" She had always been a pain in the boys' neck. She took training too seriously, and was set on surpassing all their scores at any chance.
Red pauses, gives Purple a grumpy look. "Don't know why she can't leave me alone," he grumbles.
Purple shrugs, unwraps another piece of candy. "I don't know. Maybe she likes you," he says, leaning over to elbow Red in the rib.
"Shut up," Red says, shoving Purple's elbow back into himself, hitting him in the stomach. Purple lets go of a breathy laugh, leaning back.
Red simply shakes his head, stares off somewhere over the hill. Purple stares at him for a moment, still smiling, but doesn't tease again. So, they let the comfortable silence creep in once again, and just sit there together, the two of them. For a moment, Purple thought it might get awkward. It was not strange for them to often sit together without talking, simply enjoying each other's company, but they usually had stolen rations to ease them into conversation when needed. All Purple had was a dwindling handful of hard candy, and they'd run through that in no time. Red was easy to be around, though, snacks or no snacks. They end up sitting in silence til the sweets are gone, and then they started to talk, til the sun had finally set fully.
They'd been doing this, ditching training and coming up to this spot, their spot, for several months now. It wasn't something they had particularly arranged to happen. They'd found it naturally one day while skipping out on sparring practice, far off from the safety of the barbed wire bounds of the barracks, nicely settled out over a scenic cliffside. Soon they'd started to unconsciously drift off and come back to this spot, sneak off to the seclusion and bask in the militaristic ambience of Devastis in the distance. They spent many nights here rather than in their bunks where they belonged, star gazing, sharing rations, didn't matter what they did. Purple, who was not the most socially savvy, was grateful for some good company, and Red didn't seem to mind it either. Rather, he seemed to actually enjoy it, even if he didn't let on.
The nights they weren't there, Purple wondered when they could come back, wondered why he wanted to so badly. At first, he thought he missed the peace and privacy. He wondered what it would be like, to rank up to invader and be sent out on missions all alone, no other irkens around. What it would be like without anyone smaller than him to bump into when lining up for morning attendance checks, without anyone to trip over in obstacle courses, without anyone to stand in his way. No irken to ask him for half his rations, to laugh with at some smaller's misfortune, to sneak into his bunk at night and beg to be held til sunrise. Purple knew deep down what he truly missed when he was away from here, this hill.
A boy. A boy with big, red eyes, and a big, bad attitude. A boy who, as far as he had known, had wanted him dead up until now. A boy who probably should have took it upon himself to kill him long ago, to make sure he'd never have the chance to feel this way about another boy.
He had fallen, fallen hard for him. Despite everything in him, Purple hoped Red shared the sentiment. Everything he did, the way he looked at him, how naturally he looked next to him, it all gave Purple hope, hope that this pining had an end—and, Irk, did he want it to end. He hated it, loathed the feeling of his heart aching with each lingering gaze from his friend, the way it pulled and tugged his patience. He was not sure how much longer he could go without letting his heart have what it wanted. And it wanted.
Presently, another silence has fallen over the pair of friends after a long while spent gossiping about their peers. Purple has his eyes on Red, who is pretending not to notice. Sighing, Red lies down on the grass and stretches out, lazy and cat-like, unfolds his long legs from under himself. Not for the first time, Purple admires it, admires him. Admires the boyish muscles in his biceps that he'd trained so hard to accomplish, admires the sheer stretch of his height that some would die to have, admires the little jut in his lower jaw caused by the unruly childhood teeth he'd yet to lose. Red was a sight to behold. A spectacle, truly. His attitude earned him many strikes from his superiors. His snark was under-appreciated in training and over-praised by Purple. He was all theatrics, tacky gestures and a grandiose temperament. The loudest in a room and the tallest in a crowd. He stuck out when he could, as if afraid of being forgotten if his presence was not known. When it was just the two of them, though, just Purple for Red to perform for, he was different. As if he had dropped an act, as if finally comfortable. Softer, smooth around the edges, smaller even. Like he knew he didn't have to impress Purple. That Purple's attention was on him anyways.
Purple lies back too, empty palms to his chest. Their sweets were gone now. The buffer between them has been forgotten. Softly, after a few moments of thought, Purple turns his head to the side and asks, "Red?"
Red hums some noise of assent. Purple glances down at his fingers, drums them on the little metal dome on his chest connected to his PAK. Blinks and looks back. "Tell me about the stars tonight?"
Red stays silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. When he speaks, he does so with a sigh, a content little sound. "Well," he begins, eyes scanning over the span of the sky, "let's see..." He trails off, thinking of where to start. It takes a moment, but the shapes come to him soon enough. "There, right there. There's an almighty right there." Silence as Purple stares up and tries to pinpoint the stars. "See her?"
"Her?" Purple says, quizzical. "How can you tell those stars are a her?"
"'Cause I know this constellation," Red answers matter-of-factly. "And I know it's a her."
Still confused, Purple tries to see the shape for a few seconds longer before shaking his head. "Alright, well, I don't see her."
"What?" Red says, rolling his head to the side to stare at Purple, "How? She's right there." He watches Purple squint up at the sky, strain to see what is being shown to him. Red scoffs and raises an arm up, pointing straight up. "Right there. That's Almighty Razz."
"Razz?" Purple says, struggling to recall a tallest of that name. She must have been tallest long ago, because the furthest back he can remember is Almighty Miyuki, who he distinctly recalls coming into power when he first emerged from the education plug. "How do you know her name?"
"Because I paid attention to all those Irk history lectures in the plug," Red says, slightly uppity. "She was tallest for three centuries, until her death. Miyuki came after." He stops there, dwells on the words death and Miyuki, still sore from mourning her the year before. He blinks, tries to keep the memories at bay. "Razz the robust," he continues, softer now. "Known for her fearless search for snacks across the universe, and, for coming up with the concept of tableheads."
"Woah, woah, woah," Purple says, lifting his hands and waving them in surprise, "you're telling me this tallest I've never heard of invented tableheads?"
"Yes," Red says, "I am."
Purple scoffs. "You're full of it."
"No, really!" Despite himself, Red feels himself start to smile. "Look, I'll show you another one. Let's see... There. That's Almighty Zip."
"Zip?" Purple squints, pausing to search for the cluster of stars. "Okay, now you're making things up."
"I'm not! I swear." Red is really smiling now, smiling big. "Don't you know these stars show you the past?"
"I thought they told you the future."
"Well, they can. Depending on the time of day," Red says, shrugging, "or something. The way they were aligned when you were activated, something like that."
"Oh, come on, based on when you were born?"
"Uh-huh. That's what I was told."
"Huh," Purple says, a little surprised now. He hadn't expected that there was more to the stars than the dim light they provided at dusk. "Well, what do they say? Can you tell your future just by lookin' at 'em now?"
"Um," Red trails, "maybe. It's different every year, I think. I think I remember the symbol of my birth, though. Was something with horns."
"Huh. Like a digestor?"
Red snorts, snickers. "Yeah, I guess so. When were you activated again?"
"A week after Painful Overload Day."
Red thinks it over, notes that he's a little older than Purple for future teasing purposes, and tries to remember the list of birth symbols by the stars. "The twins, I think. That's yours."
"Twins?" Purple asks, lip curling back in a sour look of incredulous disappointment. "That's stupid. I don't even know what that means."
"It means you have duality," Red says, trying to sound much more knowledgeable about the topic than he is, "that you're adaptable. Like you can do two things at once and are always changing. Something like that. I think it fits you."
Purple pauses, thinks about it. Decides then and there that it doesn't fit. "No, I don't like that. The stars don't tell me who I am, I do."
Red scoffs playfully. "What, you're telling me you're gonna make up your own star symbol?"
"Yeah, I am. Something cooler than twins. Let's see, um, I think I'm..." Purple trails off, biting at his lower lip in thought. After a couple moments of pondering, he speaks again, feeling satisfied with himself. "A snarlbeast."
Red sits up straight, folding over in a fit of laughter. Purple squints at him, a little insulted. "What's funny?"
"A snarlbeast, really?" Red snickers, shaking his head. "What makes you say that?"
Purple sits up too, straightening his posture and replying in a slightly uppity tone, to make himself a little smarter. "Because I am more than what I seem."
Red laughs a little while longer, trailing off into little giggles as it goes. When he's finally still, he thinks Purple's reply over, takes a long look at him and applies it to him. "Huh. You know what, I think I see that. Now that I actually know you, at least."
Purple pauses, stare turning from the stars and onto Red. It lingers there, expectant eyes twinkling in the twilight. "Was I more than what you thought I was?"
Red stops, snaps his smile shut and swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He turns his head and shys away from the attention. "Um, I mean, I guess so." He keeps it open-ended, too shy to answer straight.
Purple's heart skips as he picks up on the timid side in Red's tone, as he picks up on what Red really wanted to say. What he hoped Red wanted to say.
"Kind of like the shapes in the stars?"
Red turns to look at Purple then, quickly makes the connection in his mind. Something that was more than what it seemed, the stars and their shapes and all the stories they told the longer you looked. Red sees them now, all the little figures reflecting off of his friend's eyes. He stares at them, follows the way they flicker in and out of those big orbs, the way they twinkle and whisper tales to him. For a moment, he swears he sees a future in them. "Like the shapes in stars," he finally replies, soft and shy.
Red feels the gentle graze of fingers across his hand, just the ridge of his knuckles, and his whole body tenses with poor restraint. His eyes shift sideways, shy under Purple's stare. It could not have been an accident, not like this, not so coincidentally timed, not when the two were so close. Still, Red shakes the thought, tries to convince himself he's merely imagining more to these accidental touches. You need to stop, he thought, need to get out of here or get ahold of yourself. Then it happened again, more than one finger this time, a whole hand sliding over top of his own. Stilling, he turns his eyes back to Purple, who's stare remained weak, wanting, unwavering. Red felt frozen in place, like some prey animal waiting for a predator to go in for the kill, painfully aware of how huge and pleading Purple's eyes are and how soft his palms were. His attention now was narrowed totally down onto Purple's hand on his, the feeling of his fingertips nudging his in little twitching movements, the sight of his shallow breath hitching as he closes in and curls them around. Intertwined, he clasps onto Red's clammy palm, clawing into him as if he'd lose hold of him forever if he let him go. Red purses his lips in anticipation and looks Purple all over, reads him and knows it then and there. Purple was ready to take a plunge, ready to drown in Red if he had permission to dive. Red holds his breath, feels his heart beat through his tunic, and begins to hold his friend's hand back.
He knew what was coming. He'd known it for a while now. This little dance of anticipation they were doing now had happened in the past, Purple leaning in and looking Red over like he'd die if he didn't feel his lips press to his. He'd kept Purple on a long leash of wanting, kept him a couple paces away from having him all this time. Purple would always find a way to nip at his heels. A starving animal once fed finding it's way back to him, howling and hungry for more. Red kept him busy, kept him thinking of other things besides kissing him, besides the selfish beast called love. The beast inside Purple could only starve for so long, though. It wanted it's fill of him, of his heart, and it intended to have it.
"Red." Purple speaks softly, hardly above a whisper, his heart hammering wildly. "Look at me. Please, look at me."
Red does, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He feels Purple slide his hand up his forearm, over the cool armor of his gauntlet, up to his shoulder where it tenses and rests there. Just do it, Red finally wills himself, swallowing dryly, do it, and then that hand is against his face, cupped at the joint of his jaw, and Purple's speaking again. "Please, only once." Specification is not needed. They knew what he was asking.
Tense, Red leans in. Hears the breath audibly push past Purple's lips. Waits there, patient, expectant. Lets Purple close the space between their faces and prove once again that he was braver and bolder than Red ever gave him credit for, and then it's happening.
Purple kisses Red full on, coming on strong. Teeth clicking together and lips awkwardly pressed into a tight lock. Inexperienced and inelegant, chaste and childish, it lasts a second or two or three. Purple makes a little pouting sigh as he pulls away, mourning the loss of Red's mouth, until Red's done deciding what he wants and draws him in once more. The second time is smoother, something more calculated and softer to the touch. Nothing strained or unnatural. Only exciting, and new, an exploration. Kissing not for the sake of kissing, nor kissing because it was simply the natural progression of things, but kissing deliberately because Purple wanted Red and Red wanted whatever would have him.
"Pur," Red breaks away to breathe.
"Red," Purple replies. "You have no idea. How much I've," he sighs, palm pinching the stubborn baby fat of Red's cheek, "how long I've..." He trails off into rambles, sweet, loving nothings, until Red decides that was enough out of him and cups his hand around the nape of Purple's neck, pulling him in again. Cradles his head and pulls him closer and closer, kisses him strong and sure. As sure as Red has ever been about anything.
At some point, somewhere between their third and thirteenth time returning to each other's mouth for more, they lie back, legs entangled on top of the grass, face to face. Purple's hands lie helplessly limp against Red's chest as he cups the sides of his head and pulls him in once, twice, three times to attack him with little kisses, on the mouth and cheek and anywhere else he can reach. Kissing with a fever Purple previously only saw when Red was on the field facing off with their peers in training, when he was after something, when he was sure of himself. When he finally exhausts himself, he pulls away, exhaling for the first time in forever, and looks Purple over. Pupils blown, cheeks blushed, beaming. Red cocks a crooked smirk and reaches out to him, smooths his twitching antennas down his head. Purple turns into the touch, rolling his head to the side, satisfied with himself. They stay this way a while, tangled up and shamelessly together. Purple cuddles up to Red's chest and fits perfectly. Red holds him and repeats Purple's promise to himself in his head, only once. Only this one time will he allow him to love him. Only here, on this hill.
Purple lifts his head once, leans it back and kisses Red at the joint of his jaw. Smiling softly, he speaks. "When you're almighty, where will your stars be?"
Red pauses, thinks it over. Smiles with him when the reply comes to him. "Wherever yours is." It might have been presumptuous, but Red knew Purple appreciated it, could see the way he processed the weight it held.
Giddy, Purple giggles and goes in again, lips practically crashing into Red's smile. When they part this time, he settles down into his arms again, silently thanks him for the kiss and swears he won't tell anyone about it, not even the stars.