Chapter Text
Wemmbu was dying.
Not literally.
Probably.
But after six straight hours trapped in the experimentation wing with nothing to do, he was beginning to consider it a possibility.
He'd trained until his arms hurt.
He'd poked at the combat dummy until he got bored.
He'd counted ceiling tiles.
Twice.
He'd even tried reading.
That was how desperate things had become.
The book had lasted three minutes before he threw it across the room and declared war on literacy.
Now he lay upside down on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
White.
Of course it was white.
Everything in this stupid facility was white.
The walls.
The floor.
The lights.
The scientists.
If somebody cut one of the scientists open, Wemmbu was convinced they'd probably bleed white too.
A groan escaped him.
He missed Eggchan.
At least when Eggchan was around, boredom didn't feel like a terminal illness.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when the cell door slid open.
Wemmbu blinked.
The door stayed open.
Nobody entered.
Nobody spoke.
No scientists.
No guards.
Nothing.
“...Huh.”
He sat up.
Still nothing.
Wemmbu looked left.
Then right.
Then left again.
Just to be professional about it.
The hallway beyond was empty.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
“No way.”
The scientists hadn't accidentally left his door unlocked.
Right?
...
Actually, knowing these idiots, they absolutely could have.
Wemmbu was already sprinting before common sense could object.
The door hissed shut behind him.
Too late.
Freedom.
Well.
Facility freedom.
Which mostly meant wandering through different white hallways instead of being trapped in one specific white room.
Still counted.
Wemmbu raced through corridor after corridor, taking random turns whenever he felt like it.
Eventually he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was.
Then he noticed the doors.
Red rank housing.
“...Oops.”
Not really oops.
More like interesting.
Before he could explore further, something bounced off his forehead.
Tap.
Wemmbu froze.
Another pebble landed at his feet.
He slowly turned.
A familiar voice called from one of the open cells.
“Hey.”
Flame.
The Red Rank sat inside his room with his arms crossed, looking annoyed at the world.
Which wasn't exactly unusual.
Wemmbu rubbed his forehead.
“Did you just throw a rock at me?”
“It got your attention, didn't it?”
“That's not an answer.”
Flame pointed toward the cell.
“Come here.”
Against every survival instinct he possessed, Wemmbu did.
Mostly because he was curious.
And because curiosity was responsible for roughly ninety percent of his bad decisions.
When he reached the doorway, Flame gestured toward the training mannequin in the corner.
“Fight me.”
Wemmbu stared.
Then stared harder.
“...What?”
“Fight me.”
“The mannequin's useless.”
Flame kicked the training dummy.
The thing wobbled sadly.
“You're not.”
Wemmbu looked around.
Then pointed at himself.
“You want me?”
“You're the only Purple Rank.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“It answers mine.”
”...That made zero sense.”
Flame shrugged.
“Fight me.”
Wemmbu genuinely considered how hard he'd have to hit his head against a wall to understand Red Ranks.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I'm bored.”
“That's a terrible reason.”
“It's a great reason.”
“No, it's not.”
“It is.”
“It really isn't.”
Flame leaned back against the wall.
“You scared?”
Wemmbu immediately pointed at him.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The stupid thing.”
“What stupid thing?”
“The thing people say when they want a fight.”
Flame rolled his eyes.
“So you are scared.”
“I'm not scared.”
“Then fight me.”
“I don't want to.”
“Scared.”
“I literally escaped confinement five minutes ago.”
“Scared.”
“I broke out of a high-security cell.”
“Scared.”
Wemmbu stared at him.
Flame stared back.
Neither moved.
Finally, Wemmbu let out a sigh.
“What if we play a game instead?”
“A game?”
“Yeah. If you win, we can fight. If I win, we hang out without fighting.”
“...Hm. Deal. What's the game?”
“Uhh... a rhythm game.”
“Boring. But fine. Which one?”
After Wemmbu explained the rules, they started playing, singing along together.
“The cranes are flying,” Wemmbu said.
“Where?”
“Far.”
“How many?”
“Ten.”
“One.” Flame slapped Wemmbu's hand.
“Two.” Wemmbu slapped Flame's hand back.
“Three...”
“Four.”
...
“Nine...” Flame started waving his hand around, trying to dodge Wemmbu's incoming slap. If Wemmbu landed it, he'd lose.
Unfortunately for him, Wemmbu's hand connected right on time.
Flame groaned.
“Yes!” Wemmbu cheered.
“Fine. What do you want to do?”
“Do my hair.”
“What?”
“Do. My. Hair.”
“I heard you the first time, idiot. How am I supposed to do your hair?”
“Just do something with it. As long as it looks pretty, I don't care. Egg usually does it for me, but I guess you'll do.”
Flame let out a long sigh before dropping onto his bed.
Wemmbu immediately knelt on the floor between his legs, turning his back to him and waiting expectantly.
“You're way too comfortable with this,” Flame muttered.
“Are you doing my hair or not?”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold still.”
Flame stared at the curtain of purple hair spilling down Wemmbu's back.
It really was ridiculously long.
“How does Egg even deal with all this?” he grumbled, carefully gathering the silky strands into his hands.
“By not complaining every five seconds.”
“I'm starting to see why everyone leaves you places.”
“Mean.”
“True.”
Wemmbu huffed and crossed his arms.
Flame ignored him, running his fingers through the hair to untangle it. To his annoyance, it was impossibly soft. Not a single knot.
“Your hair is stupid.”
“My hair is beautiful.”
“That's basically what I said.”
Wemmbu grinned.
After a moment of awkward silence, Flame began separating sections the way he'd vaguely seen Egg do before in the cafeteria.
“What are you making?”
“I have no idea.”
“That doesn't inspire confidence.”
“You said you didn't care.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Tough.”
Wemmbu opened his mouth to argue, but Flame tugged lightly on a section of hair.
“Hold still.”
“Bossy.”
“Quiet.”
“Rude.”
Another tug.
“OW.”
“Then stop moving.”
Wemmbu muttered something under his breath but finally sat still.
A few minutes passed.
To Flame's surprise, this wasn't completely terrible. Repetitive, sure, but simple enough. Divide sections. Cross them over. Try not to accidentally strangle the idiot in front of him.
Eventually he tied off the end with the ribbon Wemmbu was wearing earlier.
“There.”
Wemmbu immediately reached behind himself, feeling around.
“Well?”
“You haven't even looked at it yet.”
“I can feel whether it's ugly.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It does to me.”
Flame rolled his eyes.
Wemmbu scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the mirror across the room.
The moment he saw his reflection, he froze.
Flame suddenly felt a flicker of panic.
“What?”
Wemmbu kept staring.
“What?”
Still nothing.
“Is it bad?”
Slowly, Wemmbu turned around.
His expression was unreadable.
Flame sat up straighter.
Then Wemmbu's face lit up.
“It has little flowers.”
Flame blinked.
“Oh. Yeah.”
Somehow, during the process, he'd woven a few tiny purple flowers he'd found on the windowsill into the braid.
“I didn't mean to.”
“It has little flowers,” Wemmbu repeated, sounding genuinely delighted.
“Okay?”
“It looks pretty.”
“That's literally what you asked for.”
Wemmbu looked at himself in the mirror again, smiling softly.
For a second, he seemed almost uncharacteristically quiet.
Then he spun around and pointed dramatically at Flame.
“You are now my official backup hair stylist.”
Flame groaned and collapsed backward onto the bed.
“Absolutely not.”
“You already have experience.”
“No.”
“You have talent.”
“No.”
“You made me beautiful.”
“You already thought you were beautiful.”
“Exactly. And now I'm even more beautiful.”
Flame dragged a pillow over his face.
Unfortunately, he could still hear Wemmbu talking.
“Egg is going to be so jealous when he sees this.”