Chapter Text
Purpled had been tossing and turning in his stupid fucking bed for hours.
Last he checked his clock, it had been 2:39 in the morning. And lord knows he didn’t have an internal clock. (But seriously, who the hell does?)
He was beginning to go insane with how painfully soft this bed was. With how large yet
small
his room felt. With how closely his room was located to Punz’s own, and how far
his only safety, his mother
puffy was.
He turned to the window next to his bed, meeting his own disgustingly bright purple eyes in the reflection. He forced his gaze to shift to the tiny pinpricks of light scattering the night sky.
He used to think he should’ve lived out there.
In space, where nobody on this wretched earth could hurt him anymore. In space, where he could explore the vast mysteries of this universe that seems oh so corrupted and tainted.
Or maybe it was just earth that seemed that way.
Even so, he longed to get out. To escape this disgusting place everyone else seemed to call home. This was never a home, and it never would be, in Purpled’s opinion. Everyone he knew would disagree (except maybe Techno, but he had no desire to speak to the guy).
Purpled’s fingertips pressed against the glass of the window, the coldness seeping into his overly warm skin very much welcomed.
…
A sharp musical-ringing noise suddenly sounded from behind him, and he groaned. Who the hell is calling him at this ungodly hour?
He turned over, his hand pressed over his ear with a scowl. Taking a deep breath and squirming on his bed for a moment, he begrudgingly sat up and grabbed his phone from his unorganized nightstand.
Tommy.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Of course Tommy’s calling him at–
He looked at his clock again.
At 4:06 in the morning.
He ignored the warm feeling in his chest, and hesitantly swiped the call button on his phone and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” Purpled furrowed his brows, despite already knowing what the other wanted.
“Purpled! Hi, big man,” Tommy spoke a bit too energetically for someone awake at 4 in the morning, “I knew you’d still be up fucking sulkin’ or some shit.” There was an audible smirk in his tone.
Purpled just sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“I’m not ‘sulking’, Tommy,” His voice came out harsher than he meant it to, “Are you just calling to bother me? Because I was actually planning on sleeping.” No he wasn’t.
Tommy scoffed, “No you weren’t.”
A beat of silence passed.
“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Tommy’s voice was obviously intended to be soft, but it really never came out that way, “Usually you’re not even– like– fully awake when you’re up this late, so you’re usually much less of a prick–”
“Shut the fuck up, Tommy.”
More silence passed.
Purpled leaned back, letting himself flop down backwards on the bed. Pain pricked in his temples, and he winced.
Tommy spoke again, “Look, I–” he paused, “I don’t want to fuckin’ overstep or anything, man, I just– I miss when you’d actually want to fucking talk.”
Purpled didn’t respond to that.
He turned to the window again. The feeling in his chest had gone cold at some point during their conversation.
They hadn’t known each other long. 2 years isn’t much, when you think about it. But those 2 years felt like an eternity to Tommy, and Purpled knew that very well.
Tommy continued speaking, and Purpled rubbed his eyes again, “You don’t check your phone anymore. Everyone I know who knows you tell me you don’t ever read your messages, and you sure as hell don’t read mine. We could help you, why don’t you just tell us what’s going on, man?”
Because if he told them, they’d think he’s insane.
A danger to himself. To everyone else. But if Purpled told Tommy the other thing bothering him, then Tommy would stop talking to him.
He can’t exactly just tell the only person he willingly talks to, “Hey, I think I’m a tiny bit in love with you but I’m not actually sure. You just make me feel really warm and I never feel like that–” that was stupid.
He could barely stand Tommy, so why was it Tommy who made him feel comfortable? Why was it Tommy who made Purpled feel whole?
Why was it Tommy who made Purpled feel like Purpled , and not a mere spectator in a story not of his own?
“I fuckin’ miss you, Purpled.” Tommy muttered from the other end, and Purpled scowled. He couldn’t help the painful anger that shot through him or the wallowing sorrow wafting through his body.
Purpled could’ve helped the words he spoke though.
“I really don’t miss you.”
He was lying through his teeth, sure, and he knew Tommy would realize that sooner or later because Tommy wasn’t stupid.
Naive and emotionally-driven, sure. But not stupid.
“You’re one to talk about not accepting help,” He hissed, “I’m tired of trying to help you– trying to help everyone, when all you do is fight with me because you’re too fucking stubborn to listen!”
Purpled paused, just to sit up again and press his back against the window with a glare angled towards his phone screen (Even though Tommy couldn’t see him).
“If you want to get yourself killed, then go ahead!”
Silence filled the room again.
Purpled didn’t need Tommy.
He didn’t!
Tommy didn’t need him either. Nobody really did.
Tommy would forget the work Purpled even put in for him sooner or later, had Purpled decided to leave Tommy behind.
But Dream wouldn’t spare Tommy, and Tommy wasn’t strong enough on his own.
“That’s what you’re upset about? Because I don’t want your help?” Tommy scoffed, and then continued, “The help I never fucking asked for? If you wanted to quit, you could’ve just– You could’ve just said so, instead of being a prick.”
Purpled winced at that.
“Fuck you, Purpled.”
And then the call ended.
Purpled’s face eased into a neutral one, though it was still slightly pinched. Pain he wasn’t familiar with shot through his body, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
Why didn’t Tommy get it?
Why couldn’t Purpled explain himself as clearly as he wanted to? Nobody ever seemed to understand his point of view, not even Punz did.
He wanted to keep everyone safe.
But he was tired. Tired of the ridiculous conflict, tired of the struggle between balancing being a normal son and being someone who saves the lives of others (illegally, might he add).
It was a tiredness worse than what he felt when Punz yelled at him for reasons that were unbeknownst to Purpled. Worse than the tiredness he felt when Dream’s annoyed shoves turned into angry fists against his already bruised skin. Worse than the tiredness he felt when Puffy only stared at him with worry and disappointment, but never anger. Worse than the tiredness he felt when his blood stuck to the sink annoyingly, and he had to clean it. Worse than the tiredness he felt when the cycle repeated over and over again.
The pain he felt was weird, similar to when Punz refused to care for the wounds made by their
parents
or Dream (especially Dream).
But there was also emptiness. Emptiness like when Punz had declared that Purpled meant nothing to him, nothing that was comparable to what Dream meant to Punz. Like when Punz had stared at Purpled as he laid curled up on the floor, and all they did was stare at each other even as blood clung to Purpled’s head and bruises marred his body. Bruises and injuries he hardly even remembered getting.
And he could just leave.
He could leave all of this behind, if he truly wanted to.
Purpled didn’t need Tommy.
He didn’t.
But he knew Tommy needed him, and everyone else too.
So he turned back to the window, and whispered an apology to the stars for not adding one more gorgeous light. Maybe when this was all over, Purpled would be over too.