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Code, she couldn't do this.
The job had already been hard. She'd barely weaseled out of it at the end, paid in full for the services she provided and just avoiding the other thing by a narrow margin. She knew she wouldn't have been able to keep up her act if they goaded her into it.
But whatever. She was paid, and she was heading home.
Home, to that empty, dingy apartment. To the gray place that could barely even be called a house that she'd barely furnished, where no one knew how to find her and where she hid what few things she wanted to keep for herself. It wasn't... a home, it wasn't-
Before she knew it, she found herself flying away. Far away. She ran, and she launched into the sky on her elytra, and she flew out of the city with all the fear of someone who knew they would be hurt if they went home.
But that was ridiculous. No one was there to hurt her.
No one was there...
She stumbled when she landed. She never stumbled when she landed.
But... Mango's house was right there. His door was right in front of her. She just needed to go up, and knock.
Purple took a step, and her legs nearly gave out.
Cursors. She couldn't be doing this. Not now.
Gradually, slowly, step by step, she pried herself through what seemed to be honey, eager to trip her and either suspend her in the air or make her bash her head open on the concrete steps. But somehow, she made it; she raised her hand, and knocked, and in seconds (or minutes, or hours, or-) Mango opened the door.
She straightened up and tried her best to smile at him. "Dad. Hi, Dad."
She'd made it. She'd been intending to give him a hug, or maybe even just flop entirely limp into his chest, but instead she stepped past him when he let her in. Her arms were crossed; she would not let him see her.
No matter how she chewed on her own tongue, wishing for something else there, or how tightly she hugged herself to keep the smallness from getting too huge.
"Hi, Purple-?" Mango responds, sounding vaguely confused. Probably because she just walked right by without so much as making proper eye contact. Code, that was rude of her.
"I'm just here for a bit," she reassures him, turning around with her eyes closed and waving a hand. "The city got too- overwhelming, and, you know, rent's not due for another week or so."
It was taking everything she had not to let her voice slur. It took too long to even think of the word "overwhelming," much less say it. But she turned around again, going for the couch next to what used to be his I'm Crazy Wall. She could still see some of the marker lines that hadn't quite washed off yet.
Back during the war, he had been so kind when he wasn't mad. Much kinder than she deserved. He didn't hold her, but he ruffled her hair and patted her head and praised her when she did something well. It was so much more than she had ever gotten. It was so much effort not to let the fuzziness consume her.
She realized she had stalled for a brief second. Her feet kept going when she willed them to, albeit with a bit of lag between her brain and her body. Ever so carefully, she lowered herself onto the couch, and smiled at Mango again.
"If it's alright, I'd just like to rest here for a bit." She was repeating phrasing. Darn it. "You don't have to do anything for me, and I'll clean up whatever mess I make. I just…"
She couldn't think of another way to say it, so she just tilted her head and hummed. Mango nodded almost instantly.
"Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Stay as long as you want."
She laughed quietly, at that. She most certainly would not be staying "as long as she wanted." She just needed the time to let her head settle so she could go back home. It was dizzying to move too much, her thoughts felt fuzzy like static, and-
Oh. Oh, no no no no. Not this again. Not another dizzy day. Purple didn't like her dizzy days. They made her so dependent, so useless, like a little doll that wouldn't move unless prompted, because her limbs just felt so heavy and her brain wouldn't work right, and darn it, it was getting worse now that she was thinking about it.
Mango walked past the couch into the kitchen. Maybe he had been cooking before she came in-? That would explain it. Perhaps some tea… tea sounded nice… with lots of sugar and honey, and a bag she could keep in her mouth afterwards. Her teeth still rested in her tongue. She still suckled on it like it hadn't always been there.
Darn it!!
Ever since her classification as- what was it called, a little, it was getting harder and harder to resist these days. It was the whole reason she'd fled here in the first place. Because Mango was getting so weirdly good at pinpointing when these days were, and he probably knew already.
And he… probably wouldn't throw her out for it. As far as he knew, every other time had been a mistake. What would he say if he knew she had come here on purpose-?
The kettle was whistling. Maybe he was making tea.
Purple sat there, refusing the urge to curl up into a comfortable, small ball in the corner of the couch, because that would be showing weakness and it would be a sign of what was happening, and so long as she didn't let that happen, it would be fine. She would be fine.
Mango came back a few minutes later with a single cup in his hands.
Oh. Right. She'd said he didn't have to do anything for her. Why would he have made a second cup…?
Purple shifted to the side a little to let him sit. He smiled at her as he did so.
"So, any plans for today?" he asked, and she didn't think she was imagining that glint in his eye. "Anything to do with that wretched little polycule?"
She hummed, thinking for a moment. Was there anything-? "No, I don't think so. Just resting." For her, at least. Knowing them, they were probably getting into some wacky hijinks. Maybe even infiltrating a public Minecraft server to play games with actual players. She chuckled at the thought. Mango laughed back. At what, she didn't know.
"Well, do you wanna hear some stories? The gossip at the ice cream parlour is getting pretty crazy."
She sat up straighter. "Are Tangerine and Madang still fighting?"
"Oh, better than that."
And so she sat there and listened, as her dad Mango recounted the latest workplace drama of two apparently-lovers who had been quarrelling almost daily. This time, they had actually sat at different tables, instead of that one in the corner they always went to. Neither one had taken the corner table, though— and they had kept shooting wistful glances at each other the whole time, as though they missed the slightly hushed yelling. Midway through Mango thinking back on the bets him and his coworkers had made, Purple thoughtlessly brought her knees up to her chin and rested her head on them. Almost immediately, her head blurred and her ears filled with cotton, until she blinked and refocused and realized she had missed how much money Peppermint was placing on one of them proposing to the other.
Well, this just wouldn't do. She couldn't go without such a crucial part of the story— how else was she to react appropriately when the bet was settled?
So she shifted closer. And a little closer. Until she was only a few pixels away from leaning against his side. He smiled (maybe knowingly?) at her as he raised his arm, and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. He didn't stop the story, but- oh, this was a problem. She couldn't hear much of it at all, even with her ear to his chest.
Her eyes drooped. She blinked them open again. She hadn't been this tired a moment ago, had she-?
Mango kept talking. The hum of his voice was nice. So very deep, and rumbling, and muffled just slightly by his sweater… his sweater… she liked his sweater.
She moved a hand to grasp it, running her fingers between the woolen lines. Her eyes were closed. She found she couldn't care much. Mango kept talking. His hand was rubbing her shoulder.
Then, for a moment, he stopped. Her eyes fluttered open again, jostled by the pause in his voice. Then he nudged her a little.
"Hey," he said, and that was about all she could hear before it faded into nice, baritone droning again.
"Purple." He shook her a little, this time. Purple groaned, blinking, and looked up at him. Apparently, she was supposed to listen, now. "Are you okay?"
She hummed a soft "mhm," nuzzling back into his side. If that was all he wanted, oh well.
"Are you small?"
She jumped. She grimaced. Darn it. Double darn it. She hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding it, huh?
Mango's other arm came in to pull her upwards. What in the world-? Was he gonna throw her to the floor now that she'd dared to show weakness?
… No. The answer seemed to be no. He just settled her against himself again and started rocking.
"Hey, it's alright if you are. That's why I'm here, baby." Purple's mouth twisted. But she was so needy, and… and helpless when she was like this… and she couldn't even pull herself out of it. She couldn't act big when she wasn't, it was the whole reason why… why…
"Shh, it's okay, sweet thing..."
Purple whined despite the rocking. She squirmed upright, burying her face in her dad's shoulder and grabbing at the fabric of his sweater again. He just smiled, and continued rocking back and forth, with his little girl safely in his arms.
"Oh, you're just so tiny, aren't you?"
She tried to whine again— all that came out was air. Squinting through the haze her brain seemed to be stuck in, she looked up, and only saw her dad looking back. Somehow, the sight made her mind settle. Despite him being part of the problem, trying to pull her down into this littlespace, she still calmed down any time she saw that smile of his. The small, gentle one that said "you're my girl, my daughter, my little one, i love you i love you i love you." Purple shoved her face into the crook of his neck and whined louder. The sound came out as a violin note, this time.
Mango's hands shuffled, shifting her further into his arms like he wanted her there. Like she belonged there. And, honestly, thinking was too hard to argue with herself about it. She squeezed her eyes shut again.
"Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart. You're gonna be okay here," her dad responded with a little kiss on her head.
Mango poked the tip of something at her mouth, and, however reluctantly, she opened it. It must have shown, because he so gently ran his knuckles down her cheek, along the edge of her braid, and tilted what appeared to be a baby bottle into her mouth.
It was milk. Thick and warm and sweet, tasting faintly of oats but more like sugar. Like the leftovers from cereal.
Purple didn't realize her eyes had closed until her head was nestled snug into her dad's shoulder, and by then, she hardly wanted to move.
Oh, she was teeny tiny. Mango had expected a hard drop from her, but she was barely fighting at all— not him, not herself. She fit perfectly in his arms with no intention of moving, it seemed.
Even knowing what her classification said about her, and knowing how mean she was to herself about it, it still astounded him just how solidly small she became with a little pushing. He'd never force her, he would never do that after everything, but the thing was, it didn't even take that much. If he treated her like she was small, she would be, even if he had misjudged the "signs."
... It worried him. It worried him a lot, actually, but just as he would never make her do anything she didn't want to, he would never deny her care. The oversized baby bottle and "angel milk" recipe he'd gotten came in handy this time. He'd even made it beforehand, knowing how clingy Purple got when small.
Code, she was precious. He wouldn't exchange her for anything in the world.
Mango twisted his head to give her another little kiss, and the quiet joy that bloomed on her face was worth anything. He'd give anything to keep her feeling this safe, this loved, for as long as she wanted it.
She continued suckling on the baby bottle, almost absently. The milk inside wasn't dairy — they'd both learned their lesson a long time ago, after an indulgent fast food dinner complete with ice cream — but it was a kind she seemed to prefer. Or, at least, he found it running out quicker than the other ones.
This was certainly running out pretty quick. Purple's eating habits were horrible... she was probably hungry enough to have downed the whole thing even if she wasn't a baby.
The realization hit him so hard he stopped breathing for a second. Oh, cursors, she was a baby, wasn't she? The age range listed in the email was a pretty big one, as far as these things went, placing her anywhere from preteen to toddler. But here she was, docile and silent and unmoving, and drinking with the easy readiness of someone who knew little else.
Code, he remembered Gold at that age... And he could almost imagine Purple, just as tiny and light as a bundle of grapes in one arm.
He shifted his shoulder and tilted the bottle a little more. Purple sighed and somehow relaxed even more. She was half-asleep by now. Judging by the way she held the bottle teat in her mouth, he'd have to invest in a pacifier.
Oh, that image sent an arrow through his heart. Little sleepy Purple with a pretty pacifier in her mouth...
"I'm gonna spoil you so much, sweetheart," he whispered with a smile. "Just you wait."
His daughter (his daughter, his baby, his little girl) breathed in a way that was probably supposed to be a hum. Maybe she didn't even hear him. Maybe she was already off to dreamland.
He considered putting her to bed up in the attic— but, no, she was clingy when she was little for good reason, and the attic might be a little spooky and cold for such a tiny girl. On second thought, she probably wouldn't want to be separate from him at all.
Ever careful to not jostle her or the bottle too roughly, Mango stood up from the couch (ignoring the crick in his back, protesting against Purple's weight in his arms) and made his way over to his own bed. He sat down, and Purple's eyes only fluttered open for a second, soft dark blue looking at nothing at all before she shifted, stretched, sighed, and fell still again.
Ohh, he might literally die. His heart was going to explode. The cuteness was just too much.
Potential heart explosions aside, though, he moved slowly, slowly, gently, to lay down and bring her with him. A little naptime would do them both some good.
Purple didn't fight as he did so. She didn't even seem to notice, save for a bit of squirming so she could keep using him as not only a pillow but an entire mattress. He couldn't resist hugging her a little closer. But then her little head was lolling backwards, and he rushed to support it so she wouldn't choke.
Well, his plans for a blanket may not be entirely feasible anymore... but that was okay. He'd make up for it later.