Work Text:
Red blinks awake, their hand moving to cover their bleary gaze, visor squinting in response to the sudden dim light in the room. There's rummaging, then urgent footsteps moving around the room—not unlike how a robber would act.
Red shoots up and immediately identifies the intruder as Purple. A cap is tugged low on their face. They're wearing that black hoodie they like to wear on Mondays and Mondays only.
"Purble," Red mumbles, the words breaking through their sleepiness to make themselves decipherable. "What the hell are you doing?"
Purple shoots them a glance; Red catches a split second of the elated, manic grin that twitches on their face.
"Oh, good! You're awake!"
"And you're breaking into my apartment," Red says as they gain clarity. "Purps. I—I haven't seen you in a week."
"Yeah, well, just goes to show how busy we BOTH have been! Haha! It's funny because I'm blacklisted and unemployed. Anyway, I feel pretty lucky you still live here and somehow haven't changed the lock. Who's to say you haven't moved to some swanky uptown penthouse by now? I mean, they gotta paying you corporate big shots something, right?"
Red gapes. "—Okay, wait, wait, hold on. I don't understand. Purple. What are you doing here? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but I thought you…"
Purple waves their hand without sparing Red a glance. "Hey, forget it. Better start packing your things, buster. And go put your backpack on," they dismiss, flinging open one of Red's drawers and picking through t-shirts. They toss a white shirt that reads Live, Laugh, MIRA! but hold onto another shirt that says I Paused My Game To Be Here.
"What? Why?"
"Because we're gonna be late."
"Late for what??"
"I'll explain on the way there. Just get up and ready to leave." Purple continues to search through Red's things, judging what to shove into their backpack and what to leave. Red's favorite mug decidedly makes the cut. "And yes, you're gonna wanna pack your crocs for this one."
Red baffles and lets out a harsh sound. "Purple, I'm not leaving."
This seems to seize Purple's attention. At least, it gets them to stop rummaging.
"Seriously, what's going on?!" asks Red, a frustrated sigh threatening the edge of their tone.
"—Oh! Ohhhh, yeah. Right—right, right, sorry! Probably should've started with that." Purple's visor is wide as they scramble over to Red. "Red—Redsy," they grin, taking their hands and giving them a pat there. "Don't worry, I've got it all figured out."
Red barely gets to question it before Purple turns back to making a mess out of Red's room. "Now, where was I…? Oh, we're definitely taking this, heh." Purple pockets a photo strip of them taped on Red's minifridge.
At this moment, Red is finally awake enough to pinpoint what exactly is so unnerving. And it's not Purple crashing at their place—that's pretty normal, actually, but—it's their uncomfortable desperation. A desperation twisting at Purple's features and jutting in their movement. Purple is jittery and practically reeking with it. Desperation, that is. And the lack of showers.
"It's—jeez, Purps, it's two hours until daybreak."
"Uh, yeah. And if we wanna be on time, we're gonna have to leave before that."
"Uh, sure," mocks Red. "If only I knew what you were referring to!"
Purple whips around with the urgency of a kindergarten teacher who just heard the words fork and outlet. The main difference here being that they're smiling.
"Don't you get it, Redsy? I've found a way out."
"Okay, but there's no 'way out,'" scoffs Red, sitting on the edge of their bed; their feet almost touching the floor.
"Except that there is!" exclaims Purple, brandishing two ratty, crumpled tickets, marching over to wave them in front of Red's face. "Do you understand now? You and me, Redsy."
Purple gestures wildly as they speak, grinning with a renewed excitement that Red's only ever vaguely seen on them when hiked up on caffeine.
"This is our ticket outta this dump! We don't have to stay here and work for these chumps, we could find a new home! Somewhere they haven't touched—a sea that isn't poisoned, a sky that isn't trashed, a land that isn't polluted. Build our own place, our own life. Come on, you know I always wanted a beach house. We can do that! Literally, just, do that!"
Red swats Purple's hand out of their face before they take one of the tickets from Purple, their own hands heavy with hesitation in the face of Purple's exhilarated expression.
"…Purple, where did you get these?"
"I had to do a little this and that, talk with a few people and the like—but overall, it was, heh," Purple sniffles proudly, "no biggie."
Red frowns. "That sounds dangerous."
"Okay, that's not exactly what I want to hear after going through the hurdles of getting us space train tickets to another planet. You knowing stowing away's a little harder than it sounds, right? This is practically first class."
Red stands up.
The ticket is pressed back to Purple's chest. Red releases their hand, and Purple snatches it back.
"Red," warns Purple.
An inhale.
A glance, darting to the red moon in the window.
Then an exhale.
Red uncurls their fist.
"Please don't make me choose between you and my job."
"Excuse me?!" Purple balks. "Sorry—choose? It's like that?"
"Purple, this isn't about you, it's about—more than that! It's about the world we live in, it's about—"
"No, no, no, hold on—" Purple laughs abruptly and places up a hand. "Hooooold on. You're actually going with the NDA shit."
"Well, I signed it, didn't I?! I keep my promises!"
"Your promises are garbage! What the hell, Red?! You're seriously gonna look at me right now and tell me no?"
"You don't know how it's gonna be out there, Purple!! You don't know that we won't starve and you don't know if we'll turn on each other or if everything goes horribly wrong—"
"So, what?! You'd—you'd rather stay EXACTLY where you are?!"
"YES, PURPLE!! I WOULD!"
The beat of silence floods with Red's panting. They slowly continue to speak, chopping the air as they reason with Purple.
"I would, because at least then, I know what I'm getting into. And I know what's expected of me, and I know what I'm supposed to be—I've got something going on here, Purple! I'm building a career that means something—safety and survival and money."
"You'd genuinely rather work for the corporation that ignores the fact they ruined thousands of lives," Purple replies, cold and dry; the statement unceremoniously dropped like a rock into pondwater.
"Don't give me that," snips Red. "They'll ruin our lives too."
"They already have! And you want to go along with the charade of pretending it didn't happen just so you can have a cushy little office job and reserved parking space. Your so-called career-building has blood as its foundation. You're using a fucking tragedy to, to what—climb the corporate ladder?!What about the people who died?! What about us?!"
"What about us?! I'm just trying to survive—hell, we both are just trying to survive! You know this, Purple! So I'm working for a company that you don't like. Do you think you're better than me for that? When we're both doing the same thing? What about when you're on the streets, when you'll need to steal from others or kill starving dogs for food? Are you STILL gonna be better than me? Keep your moral high ground and everything?"
"MIRA isn't just a company I don't like," spits Purple, bitter and bitter and bitter. "I'd go as far as to call them murderers."
"Oh, yeah, and what do you want to do about that?! Because there's nothing we can do about that! Name ONE thing MIRA doesn't have connections to—absolutely NOTHING! They're a whole corporation for a reason!"
"I'd think you'd at least want to get away from it!!"
"I thought you'd realize by now how that's not possible," prickles Red.
"And I thought you'd realize by now that this is the worst decision you've ever made," sneers Purple, throwing up their hands. "But I guess not. Have fun being a spineless, corporate shill!"
"Yeah, well, have fun being homeless!"
"Maybe I will! God! I'd rather be homeless than you!"
"That's stupid. Do you hear yourself? You're stupid," snaps Red. "Actually, you're ridiculous!"
The buzzing of the lamp is loud.
It's a shitty lamp that stains the walls with dingy, yellowish light. They used to think that it wasn't so bad, that it looked quite warm and fuzzy, actually; when Purple was there, at least. Back when they crashed on Red's couch and they'd eat instant noodles and fall asleep there watching the 12-inch TV.
The lamp buzzes, and flickers, weak and bare as it fights to maintain itself as a steady source of light for small corner of the room. It sounds like a fly, buzzing over the impending quiet; a fuzzy hum.
Purple speaks up, in disbelief of their own words. "You know, you really suck, Red."
"I—"
"Doesn't matter," Purple shakes their head slightly, letting go of the tension in their shoulders. "Because you don't even wanna try."
"It's more complicated than that," insists Red. It's like pushing against a brick wall. "I can't just drop everything and run away with you."
Purple begs; terrible and wretched and vulnerable, all in one raspy syllable.
"Why?"
Because I'm scared. Because I'm a coward. Because I can't stand the way you're looking at me right now. Because it won't work out. Because they'll find us. Because we'll just get dragged deeper into this mess. Because your sense of justice will make us walk through hell. Because we can't afford to do that. Because they control everything that matters. Because they've already shown us how they can break us. Because they WILL break us. Because they'll chew us up and never spit us out. Because we will burn. Because we will be punished. Because I'm scared. Because I'm scared. Because I'm scared.
"Because I just can't," Red asserts. "And you know why."
"I thought you loved me." It's devastating.
"I do!" Because it's true.
"You'd rather work for MIRA than depend on me," snorts Purple. "Clearly I mean so much to you."
"That's why I want you to sign the NDA," Red pleads. "It's not too late, Purps. We can go back to the office. We can get the papers! I'm just settling into my new job, and sure it's weird but I'm sure you'd grow to like it there—"
Red is cut off with the soft shake of Purple's head. They've backed into the moonlight that aches from the opening in the window, the blanket of deep blue night and shadow but a twinkling shelter to retreat into.
"You know me," they say, falling back into the night—the night that is kind, that envelopes them with the comfort of starlit darkness. "So you know why I won't do that."
Red startles with a certain kind of sadness.
"—Yeah. I do."
Purple lets out a dry chuckle. They look around at the room, taking in the details like it's their last time. The corner with the TV, the weird stain on the carpet, the hole in the couch cushion, the drawing on the wall, the nook where the light doesn't reach…
"Are we still friends?" asks Red.
"That's a stupid question. No, Red. We are not friends. Have some goddamn self-respect. I guess I thought you'd grow a spine after a week with those asshats, and I guess—hah—I guess I was wrong about you."
How miserable this world is. "Right." Why would I agree with that?
"It's okay," says Purple. "You don't even need me. Evidently, you never needed me. I don't need you either."
Purple dumps the contents of their backpack on the floor. "Here's your stuff."
"Purple," says Red. "It doesn't have to be like this. Cling to your noble cause all you want, but the fact is that it doesn't have to be like this."
"But it does," Purple laughs. "What was it you said? You keep your promises."
"I don't want that to mean losing you."
"You made your choice, Red. You can't have both."
"But—" Say something, say something so Purple doesn't walk out that door. Say something, so Purple doesn't leave you forever. Say something, so that they realize that you're right. "—I'll miss you."
"Yeah?" A snort. "You better."
"…"
Red resigns.
"…Go home, Purple."
Purple sighs, long drawn and freefalling. But their grit returns, and Purple's voice is torn; bitter and hurt and infuriated more than it is restrained by exhaustion.
"Goodbye, Red."
It's shudderingly final.
Go after them. Do something. Stop them. Scream their name. Ask them to wait. Run away with them. Chase them. Do something, anything. Anything! The moment you let them leave, it's over!
Purple is already walking out the door, shuddering in the moonlight chill. Doesn't look back, not for a second.
It's cold.
(And it's BEEN over. The NDA was already signed. It's already over, you desperate fool.)
Red watches them go. Stares at their back until it's too far to reach, as distant as the stars in the sky.
They're not sure how long it is until they can move again; just that at one point, they sink to their knees, picking up the pieces of home that Purple left behind. Some of Purple's stuff is mixed up in there, too—the stuff that Purple deemed worthy enough to bring when running away.
Red reaches for a crumpled up note, but is only able to make it through the first line of Purple's scrawl: Second First Date Plans, it says, crossed out.
The note falls to the floor, and Red breathes in sharp; shaking as they crush the note with their fist.
Red can't read that. Not right now. They tremble, an overwhelming feeling shooting white-hot in their blood. Frustration. Frustration that is has to be this way. Why does it have to be this way? It has to be this way. This is the only way. Red did what they had to do, and Purple didn't. Purple made their choice, and Red made theirs. This is what Purple wants to do, and this is what Red wants to do. There's no regrets there.
They should stop caring. Caring would interfere with work. Purple can't act so high and mighty when Red is just doing the right thing. Purple can't seriously believe they can take down a world-owning corporation all by themself. They'll suffer for their disobedience, and MIRA will make sure of it—MIRA has already made sure of it, has already blacklisted Purple. What does Purple expect but punishment? They wouldn't accept Red's help, they wouldn't sign the damn NDA, and—well. They're not friends anymore.
That's what Purple said. And if there's anything Red can do, it's stay in their lane; just like MIRA wants them to.
This is the way things have to be, thinks Red. I don't regret anything. Why does it hurt so much? I don't regret anything, but it hurts so much.
I shouldn't care anymore. Purple clearly doesn't want me to. This is better for us. This is what we both wanted. Neither of us care. I have work to do. I have a job. Purple doesn't. I have to worry about myself.
And so, Red decides to ignore these thoughts of sentimentality. They fold Purple's shirts into a neat pile and organize their trinkets atop of it, just in case Purple comes back for it… but otherwise, there's nothing left to say here.