Chapter Text
Vibrant chirping vibrated through the dense canopy, a symphony of birdsong weaving through the trees as golden light streamed through the towering branches. Shadows stretched and shifted on the mossy forest floor, flickering between thick undergrowth and gnarled roots. The air was fresh, crisp with the lingering scent of damp earth and leaves, the perfect kind of day for a peaceful walk.
Not that he was in any position to enjoy it.
Because, for the past three hours—if his rough estimation was correct—he was fucking lost.
With an annoyed huff, he pushed through a cluster of ferns, their feathered leaves brushing against his arms like grasping fingers. His boots sank slightly into the soft, damp ground, the squelch of mud clinging to the treads with each step. Every now and then, a stray branch would snag at his sleeve or whip against his cheek, adding to his growing frustration.
Grass brushed against his ankles as he scanned the surroundings for anything remotely familiar—an oddly shaped tree, a break in the foliage, hell, even an animal trail. But everything looked the same.
Endless.
Frustration prickled at the back of his neck as he continued trudging uphill, his steps uneven against the hidden roots beneath the soil. He hadn't been here in a while, not since he'd stopped needing to. The forest was massive, a labyrinth of tangled pathways that even the most seasoned forager could get lost in. And it wasn’t just the risk of losing your way—it was the wildlife. Wolves, boars, even rumors of bigger predators lurking between the trees.
Back then, foraging had been a necessity. He hadn’t exactly had the luxury of choice when his wallet was thinner than a sheet of parchment. But things had changed. He could afford to buy food now. No need to risk getting mauled or poisoned just for a handful of berries.
So why was he here again?
Right.
Because he had promised Puffy that he’d gather raspberries for the bakery.
The shops were running low, and he vaguely remembered stumbling upon a massive bush of them here once. It had seemed like an easy enough errand at the time—just pop in, pick a few berries, and be out before anything could go horribly wrong.
Yet here he was.
Regretting everything.
A distant noise cut through his thoughts—a steady, rhythmic sound. Water. His gaze snapped in the direction of the noise, an idea sparking in his mind. A stream meant a direct route out of the woods. If he could find it and follow the water downstream, he’d eventually hit a road or a clearing.
Pushing forward, he navigated the uneven terrain, the ground sloping downward as he drew closer to the sound. The rush of water grew louder, drowning out the rustling leaves and distant chirps. Just a little farther, and—
His foot landed on a loose stone.
It shifted.
The ground tilted beneath him.
Shit. Was the only thought he could think of before he started his rocky descent.
————-
Purpled hadn’t expected the forest to be this vast. If he had, he might’ve reconsidered his route. Maybe stuck to the dirt road. Maybe ignored the damn vampire markings that had tempted him into thinking he could cut down his travel time with a shortcut through the trees.
It had been a mistake.
A mistake he wouldn’t be making again.
Now, he was walking alongside a creek, his water supply freshly refilled, methodically scanning the surroundings for any signs of an exit. Food wasn’t an issue—he had eaten that morning—but his mind was occupied with something far more concerning.
The vampire trail.
He had followed it for a while, tracing the claw marks and footprints, only for them to abruptly vanish near this creek. That put him on edge. Vampires didn’t just disappear. Which only meant they were conscious of their trail and maybe even him.
So this either was a trap made for hunters and he'd fallen for it or something else was happening that he couldn't quite grasp.
Either way, he wasn’t about to let his guard down.
Fingers tightening around the handle of his hatchet, he remained alert, ears trained on the rustling of leaves, the subtle shifts in the air.
Then—
A noise.
A sharp, erratic crashing through the foliage.
His instincts flared, body tensing as his grip firmed. Something was coming.
No—someone.
A blur of blonde barreled down the slope, limbs flailing wildly.
Acting on reflex, Purpled sidestepped, just barely avoiding being taken down. The figure hit the ground hard, momentum carrying them forward until they skidded to a stop on their back with a winded ‘oof.’
For a brief moment, Purpled just... stared. Then, muscle memory kicked in. With practiced ease, he stepped forward and pressed the cold steel of his hatchet against the stranger’s throat.
————-
"Don't move," Was the first thing he registered, before this coldness against his throat appeared. Instinctually he wanted to get up, but the moment he titled his head up the cold pressure on his throat increased pulling him back down. He decided not to do it again, instead trying to stop his vision from spinning. Which fucking sucked, since he wanted to throw up.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his vision to steady, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to make him retch right then and there.
And the moment his head stopped spinning, he locked eyes with the person holding the weapon.
Neon purple.
Weird.
The guy was pale as hell, draped in some oversized black cloak that made him look like he walked straight out of a gothic fantasy novel. That’s when he noticed—
The pressure on his throat was gone.
The guy had already turned away, as if nothing had happened.
"What the fuck, man?!" he wheezed, realizing he had been holding his breath.
The guy barely spared him a glance. "What?"
What?
It was a weird response to say the least, and for a second he thought the guy had short term memory because he was acting like nothing had just happened. "What? What do mean by what? You nearly killed me."
"Oh." He blinked in surprise, like this was the first time he had heard of such a thing and numbly replied, "My apologies."
"You better be!"
Silence.
And then, as if the whole interaction was a mere inconvenience, the guy just... turned and started walking away again.
He stared.
Absorbing the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Then, with a groan, he pushed himself up and dusted off his clothes. Before remembering his initial plan. Following the downstream of the creek, which meant following the same path as Mr. Emo Bitch.
This was going to suck.
————-
The blonde was following him for a while now, staying a good few feet away, and he honestly didn't really appreciate it. It reminded him of the many times he's been hunted, mostly by vampires, and the aftermath. Of course there was a difference here, the gaze wasn't one of hunger or malice but more like annoyance. He still didn't appreciate it though, since he didn't like his back turned to anyone. So, he decided to speak up.
"Why are you following me?"
The other huffed, crossing their arms. "Am not!"
"Then what are you doing?"
"None of your fucking business emo bitch." He flipped the bird at him, causing a slight irritation to bloom through him but not enough for him to do anything about it. Purpled a few years ago probably would've let the annoyance bloom into anger and let it consume him to utilize it in his endeavor to kill the person that would dare insult him. Show everyone that he wasn't to be trampled on so easily, so he could survive. But that was years ago, and he wasn't there anymore.
Doing such a thing at the current moment would be stupid anyway. Anger was a stupid emotion in this profession and some vampires would even evoke it to cause hunters to become more predictable in their movements and thought processes.
"Geez, you're so weird." Snapped him out of his thoughts, making him realize that the other had somehow gotten closer without him noticing.
"Well, you're quite strange yourself."
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You tumbled down out of nowhere and then started following me."
"I am not following you. You're following me!"
He snorted at the sheer logic, getting a scowl from the other. "I'm following the creek."
"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever." The other seemed unconvinced, but he honestly didn't care what he thought. They were probably only going to be together for a small while and then he'll never see him ever again. So, there was no sense in conversing and caring.
"So, what are you doing here?" Seemed to break the temporary silence.
"Hunting."
"Got anything yet?"
"Nope."
"Wow, suck that much?" The other smirked mockingly, and he decided that he didn't like this kid that much. The feelings were probably mutual on the other end.
"Vampires are quite nimble and cunning, hunting takes a while so I am not deterred."
"Wait, wait, vampires?"
"Yes."
Feeling the sweat start to form on the handle of the hatchet, he quickly swapped hands. Wincing slightly at the pain pulsing from the receiving hand.
He glanced over at the other seeing him analyzing him before deciding to comment, "I've never seen a vampire hunter, but I didn't expect them to look so... scrawny."
"Well, you're not any better."
The other scoffed, seeming to be taking personal offense. "Well, at least I'm taller."
"Well, that just makes you more of a target for a vampire."
"No one can catch a big man like me. I'd be too fast for them."
He stifled a laugh at the ridiculous comment, earning another spiteful stare from the other.
"Hey, what are you laughing at?"
"Nothing, nothing." He covered his mouth with his hand, stopping the laughing after a few seconds.
And from then on they continued this chatter, until they left the forest's canopy and arrived at a grassy field stretching over ahead. The creek, now only a small little trail of rocks and water.
They both stopped, observing the view before the other commented, "Well then I guess this is a bye bitch boy."
The other turned around and hopped over the small stream.
"Wait, what's your name?" He blurted out before he could even think.
"Oh, it's Tommy."
Tommy. What a generic name for such a rowdy personality.
"What about you?"
"Purpled," He answered, causing the other to squint in confusion.
"What kind of name is that? You're literally named after a color."
"Yeah, it's weird. Isn't it?" He smirked, the memory of the receiving of his name coming to the forefront of his mind.