Archive of Our Own ^beta

He's heard about Feinberg. Of course he's heard about Feinberg.

Everyone has heard about Feinberg.

And, quite honestly? Purpled's fucking sick of hearing about Feinberg.

How good can he be?

Well, pretty good, apparently. Purpled's not stupid, and he pays far too much attention to every single rumor about every single guy who performs well enough to be someone around here. So he would know.

So he knows about Feinberg alright.

How he's "so good" and "OP as shit" and "good even for a speedrunner" and a bunch of other fluff that quite honestly just sounds like sucking up, and not in a good way.

Seriously, how good can he be?

Maybe it's about time that Purpled finds out for himself.

The problem is that he doesn't really know how to make that happen. Sure, he could, theoretically, waltz up to whoever (because he doesn't know who) has the key to HBG's door and just, ask to be let in or something. But that would be a hassle, and embarrassing as fuck. So that's out of the damn question.

He could ask Couri, because that would be a reasonable shot. And he, you know, has spoken to Purpled before. Which would make Purpled's life a whole lot less annoying.

But also, no thanks.

Because how in the absolute godforsaken nine circles of hell would he explain that without sounding insane?

So, alas, he won't be knocking on Fein's door to demand his life story or whatever.

Thank fuck for that.

But that means that the problem remains.

Funnily enough though, the Universe seems to be kind(?) to him lately.

Because just a few days after he started his pondering on how to make Operation Haze Feinberg happen, Wolfeei gives him a call.

Purpled, who is simply lazying around on his couch, answers without thinking about it.

"Wolfeei."

"Hello, Purpled, I've got some news for you!"

He's greeted by excited ramblings, kind of like the man on the other side is in a hurry.

He's not, but Purpled knows that this means business. Even if Wolfeei hadn't said it already.

"Evidently, if you're calling me. What's up?"

"You up for another round of Block Wars next weekend?"

Purpled almost has the energy to scoff.

"Yeah, obviously. I'm in-"

A thought strikes him.

"Who else will be there? Any… noteworthy people?"

It takes a few, very noticeable seconds for Wolfeei to answer. Enough seconds to make Purpled wonder if the question was too straight-forward.

"Anyone in particular on your mind?"

Especially when Wolfeei's voice comes back with a doubtless hint of curiosity. That, and something else that Purpled refuses to figure out what it is.

Time to choose his words carefully.

"... I don't know, not really? Anyone interesting? Like, I don't know, Feinberg?"

Nonchalant. Cool. Smooth.

Purpled can do all of those.

But it doesn't take a genius to know that he missed all of those words by a landslide. And that's being generous about it.

At least Wolfeei can't see him wince through the phone.

Actually, when he does eventually answer Purpled's opposite-of-tactful question, the only thing he sounds is genuinely excited.

"Oh- Yeah, of course Fein'll be there- I'm not teaming you though!"

Purpled does not resist the urge to roll his eyes. But Wolfeei can't see that either.

But hey, as good of a cover as any.

"That's not what I'm asking! I was just wondering! He was just the first who came to mind!"

"Alright, if you say so-"

"Anyways, whatever, bye, Wolfeei!"

Purpled presses the end call button so hard he almost drops his phone on the floor.

Seriously, skillissue doesn't even begin to cover it.

But, try as he might to make time stop, or anything else useful, Purpled's not picky, the weekend comes around soon enough.

And true to Wolfeei's words, he and Feinberg aren't on the same team.

Purpled would say that's a loss for his current objectives, but honestly? He's perfectly fine where he is. It lets him observe, analyse, even. It's objectively the better vantage point.

"Hey, Purpled, what's up with you? You've been staring daggers at Fein for minutes now."

Okay, maybe he was analysing a bit too hard.

"I'm not staring, thank you very much. I'm observing my competition. Everyone thinks either he or I will get first individual today. And, if you can't tell, I'm not gonna get second."

Hannah, who's standing next to him sipping a smoothie, simply sends him a raised eyebrow.

She doesn't need to speak for Purpled to know that she thinks that's bullshit.

Sadly, Purpled can't deny it either.

He has been staring. Like a lot. But, if you ask Purpled, he's perfectly justified in that.

There's just something so… weird, about Feinberg.

He's so lax, and casual. Far too relaxed, as far as Purpled cares.

He's just standing there, laughing and joking around. You'd think he was preparing for some no-stakes charity event or something.

But no, Feinberg just looks… He just looks like that. Chill and calm and arguably a little bit graceful. His form-fitted jacket in blue, and pink, and white certainly makes him look that way, at any rate.

Like most speedrunners, his outfit is far more function than anything even considered form; his headphones adorned with ten billion buttons the only thing on him that could be considered fancy.

And yet, he looks perfectly at home. Well equipped and well prepared.

Confident.

Effortlessly cool.

It makes Purpled's skin itch and his blood boil.

He can't look away even if he tried.

And let it be known, he tries.

What's up with that anyways?

Sadly, this is when Purpled realises that he should be more careful about what he asks himself.

Because, apparently, the Universe wants him to have a terrible day today.

Because Feinberg notices him staring.

And sends him a grin and a wave about it.

Purpled, too stunned (disgusted, actually) to respond, can only watch as Feinberg follows that up by excusing himself from his group.

And starts walking towards him.

He barely registers Hannah's cackling. And good for her, because if he had the sense to react, he'd give her quite the piece of his mind.

But Feinberg's got all his attention. And their eye-contact doesn't break. Not as Fein walks across the lobby, and not as Fein stops right before him.

"Yo."

And not as he sends Purpled a far, far too easygoing greeting. Grin all boyish and curious, hands in his pockets and stance relaxed.

"Hi, Fein!"

Purpled's so occupied with staring  that Hannah has to answer for him.

Worse yet, Purpled's only brought back to reality when she sends a sharp elbow into his ribs.

"Ow- Motherfucker- What was that for?"

As Hannah responds only with a far too smug grin, Purpled plans to send an elbow back right towards her.

And then he remembers where he is. And who is standing before him.

So he simply pushes Hannah away by the shoulder and turns back to Feinberg.

"'Sup."

His heart beating a billion miles per minute be damned, he better not look as tense as he feels right now. Not that he has any reason to.

Sadly, Purpled can't even convince himself as Hannah's cackling returns in full force. Something which only makes a very particular heat start to creep up his neck.

Seriously, what's the deal with that? It's just Feinberg. He just isn't that special.

Purpled's literally just exchanged two words with the guy. And that's counting both him and Fein's words.

He can't be that special.

When neither of the two say a word, for what must surely be multiple minutes, Purpled, despite his best efforts, decides to finally break that silence. Because, frankly, he cannot deal with this. With Fein just standing there. Far too comfortable just… staring at him.

Purpled does not like those tables being turned. Does not like how it makes his skin crawl, makes him want to escape from his own body. How it makes his throat dry and his eyes look anywhere but at the man in-front of him.

Effortlessly cool. That's all he's got to be. Cool, and effortless.

"Did you… want anything?"

Nailed it.

And what does Feinberg do with that? He laughs. Purpled gets the thought that it reminds him of bell chimes.

Wow. Actually, the only thing he needs to do is to get a fucking grip.

Bell chimes? What is this? One of Walli's rom-coms?

"I could ask you the same thing, dude. You seemed like you wanted something from me."

Ah. Well, Purpled can't exactly deny that, can he?

Welp, time to think. And quickly at that.

Seriously, he really hasn't thought this through.

He prepares to say something, whatever comes to mind first that doesn't sound entirely stupid.

But Fein beats him to it.

"Or was all that staring just for your own entertainment?"

And every thought Purpled had had up to that moment escapes through the fire exit.

To say that he blanks is an understatement.

When Purpled comes up short, again, Fein laughs. Again.

That blush must surely be all over his face by now.

"I- I was just… checking out my- Yeah, right. I was just checking out my… competition."

Hey, at least he got some words out. That's an improvement, compared to the last… too long.

Feinberg raises an eyebrow Purpled's way, eyes glittering curiously. Purpled swears it's just the sun reflecting off of his visor funnily.

"I'm competition to you?"

"Yeah? Obviously? Have you met yourself?"

All of a sudden, Purpled's braincells have returned in full force. Because, seriously, what a fucking statement. Get the bullshit police on this fucking case.

Competition? Feinberg?? With a questionmark???

Seriously, where the fuck are the cameras?

"Everybody's talking about you, like, all the time. Also, I don't know if you've seen the betting sites going into today, but you're literally the highest in the odds."

Fein shrugs. Fucking shrugs.

"Oh? Am I? I don't really check the odds, actually."

All of a sudden, Purpled's been taken over by an immense urge to punch this guy in the face.

He resists only because it'd be a shame to ruin such a pretty one.

"Well, for your information then, Mr. Feinberg-"

And this is when Purpled's brain catches up to itself.

And the braincells have once again fled to the opposite end of the world.

He is not watching rom-coms with Walli. Ever again.

While Purpled busies himself with forcing his braincells back into place, Feinberg simply blinks at him curiously. It's almost puppy-like.

Actually, of all thoughts, that gets Purpled back on track. If only because of the sheer absurdity of that very thought.

"For my information, what exactly?"

Purpled sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, nothing. Whatever. It's just…"

Yeah, you know what? Fuck it. Might as well get this… whatever it is over with.

"You don't make any fucking sense, dude."

This time, Feinberg only scoffs.

"I don't?"

"No the fuck you don't. Like, what's up with that?"

"What's up with what?"

And right about here is where the urge to punch Fein in the face comes back.

"You realise that everyone thinks you're nuts, right?"

After letting Purpled's comment sink in, Feinberg's face breaks out into a massive grin. It lights his entire disposition up, really.

"I mean, yeah? I kind of am, aren't I? Of course people would talk."

"So, obviously, I'm wondering what's up with you, since I haven't gone against you before."

"Ah, that's what this is about."

Purpled just straight up sighs.

"Yes, that's what this is about. Because… I don't fucking know-"

Purpled gestures vaguely in Feinberg's general direction. He'll get the point.

"You're nothing like I expected. You're… like- Nice! You're nice! And sociable! And you talk to people! Normally! I expected at least a little bit of boasting, you know? And before you say anything, that little comment just now doesn't count! That's fucking nothing, dude. Have you met the other S-tiers? And before you ask, yes, that includes me-"

When Feinberg eventually answers him, he looks at Purpled as if he had offended the entirety of HBG at once.

"Eh, yeah? I'd like to think I'm nice? I try to be? Intentionally, even?"

This fucking guy.

Purpled groans, unable to stop himself from face-palming.

"No- It's like- You're just-"

And this is when Purpled's sad excuse for a counter-argument gets interrupted by a familiar notification that the event will be starting soon.

And as Purpled stares at the monitor of his watch, mouth open in what can only be described as pure injustice, he vaguely hears Fein somewhere in the background.

"Ah- That's our cue. Seeya around, dude! Good luck!"

But before he leaves, he squeezes Purpled's shoulder. For just a second, because that's all he has time for before he's going. His shoulder burns white-hot anyways.

And when Feinberg's gone, all Purpled can do before the game starts, is to let out a scream of very genuine frustration. That, and send Hannah one last final glare before they're teleported to their voting positions. The nerve of that woman, he fucking swears.

…

Good luck Purpled's ass.

Actually, there's a whole lot of things that he could be saying that about at the moment.

The common denominator between all of them? Feinberg.

Forget absolutely everything that Purpled thought of him before, all of that is out of the window and then some.

This guy fucking sucks!

Or, well, no. He's fantastic. That's kind of the problem, actually.

He doesn't admit this often, but Purpled's getting his ass handed to him. Man, is he about to lose himself some money on those betting sites tonight!

There's just nothing he can do about it. Nothing. Fuck all. And he tries, he tries way harder than he'd like to admit. And even then, he's just utterly cooked!

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

His PVP? Wack.

His movement? Bonkers.

Problem solving skills? Insane.

Comms? Clean.

Does the list go on? Yes.

Is Purpled tired of glazing this guy in this mind? You bet.

But no can fucking do, apparently, because it just keeps on fucking going.

They're like halfway through at this point and Purpled hasn't seen Fein outside of the top three once.

What the fuck is up with that?

So, yeah, Purpled's changed his mind. Like, a lot. Totally and entirely.

Feinberg entirely sucks and he's a piece of shit and Purpled can't stand the guy.

For many reasons, should be noted.

Such as, but not limited to;

As mentioned before, being a little bit too fucking good. Purpled's not entirely sure if the guy has a bad game, and that is, frankly, annoying as fuck.

Pushing him off the platform seven times in a row for no apparent reason other than being a little shit about it. Which totally shouldn't be allowed, but Purpled's not that good friends with the organisers, so alas.

Taking first place from him in Game 3 by what Purpled swears was milliseconds, and then having the gall to wink at him afterwards. Like, who even does that?

And, currently, the biggest offence, being first by a margin that Purpled isn't that sure he can actually make up by the end of this whole fiasco.

Especially since they're about to go into the last game.

So, thanks for that, Feinberg.

Maybe Hannah had a point about not betting on himself…

Anyways, the point is that Feinberg should be really happy that nobody has the time to chat in-between and/or during the actual event. Because if Purpled got a say, at all, well, let's just say he wouldn't be allowed to play in the next five Blockwars and probably some other events due to poor sportsmanship.

But fuck sportsmanship, because if anything should get anybody banned, it's whatever Fein's on- Actually, maybe Purpled could ask for his dealer during the afterparty.

Although, that's assuming Fein's actually on something and not, you know, just like that. Which, sadly, Purpled has to admit, it kind of seems like he just is.

Which isn't helping his case at all because that's arguably even more annoying.

Anyways, enough about Feinberg and his stupid abilities and how he's apparently effortlessly just that good. Purpled has a first place to take back. Maybe.

…

Suffice it to say, he doesn't take first individual back. At all. Not even close.

The fact that he gets second barely even matters because Fein trumphed him so badly it might as well not even be a top ten placement. Or something. That's probably how it works. At least that's how it works right now because Purpled is pissed.

Which is why, instead of socializing or having a good time or anything that would be appropriate at a literal afterparty, he took the first can of whichever soda he could find and huffed and puffed his way into some dark, lonely corner.

Hannah would call him an edgelord, Purpled would claim it's a necessary post-loss ritual. Or something. Whatever.

And he didn't even win the soda RNG. Fucking useless.

So, here he is, being very pissed over a literal second indiv, sipping a soda he doesn't even like, leaning against a wall in the usual afterparty venue.

Because of Feinberg.

That's actually kind of sad.

And, speaking of Feinberg. Lo and behold! He has the nerve to enter Purpled's peripheral. Timely.

But when Purpled goes in to give him a stink-eye for the ages, he notices that Fein's not actually alone. He's standing off to the side of the dancefloor, seemingly discussing something with Wolfeei. He can't hear them for shit over the music, but it's not like he has anything better going on. He might as well try to listen in.

But sadly, Purpled can't guess what they're talking about even if he tried, because while Fein seems very serious about whatever it is, Wolfeei seems to be thinking in the exact opposite way. Actually, on closer look (not that Purpled was looking) Feinberg honestly seems defensive, quite literally waving Wolfeei out of his face about it (and let it be known, Wolfeei is very much in his face about it). Now, that, catches Purpled's attention (because Fein didn't have it beforehand, thank you very much).

Even more so when Wolfeei randomly turns Purpled's way, and almost literally lights up when he notices the not-at-all-edgelord standing very far away from everyone and everything. Normally, Purpled wouldn't consider that a good thing, but when Wolfeei follows his childlike glee up with, almost literally, throwing Feinberg in Purpled's general direction, well, what's Purpled gonna do? Not get intrigued? Because it's intrigue, whatever starts bubbling in his stomach as Fein actually does make his way towards him. Intrigue, nothing else. Maybe hatred, and a bit of spite, actually. But nothing else. Only that.

"Eh… 'Sup?"

The sheer insecurity in Feinberg's voice makes Purpled choke on his drink. If ever there was a word unfit for the guy before him, that would be it.

"Hi. What the hell was that?"

"Ah- You saw that?"

"Impossible to miss, actually."

When Feinberg reacts by scratching his neck, eyes darting anywhere except in Purpled's general direction, the latter has a most wonderful realisation. He's embarrassed.

Now to figure out what for.

So, naturally, Purpled can't help the massive grin he's spouting as he not-obviously pokes Fein for details.

"So, seriously, what was that about?"

"Oh, nothing important. Wolfeei was just… saying… stuff. He's probably tipsy or something. So, whatever, you know."

Purpled doesn't believe that for a second, and plans to tell Fein as much. But the man before him manages to speak before Purpled gets the chance.

"Anyways, what are you doing here? Isn't it more fun to, you know, have fun?"

That causes Purpled to slump back against the wall, dramatically sighing as he rolls his eyes.

"Oh, please, what's there to celebrate?"

Fein gives him a look like he's gone completely insane.

"You got second-"

And moments later, Fein's eyes light up as if a lightbulb has done just that inside his mind. An expression of realisation that quickly morphs into a massive grin that Purpled isn't entirely sure that he likes. It makes him feel like a deer caught in headlights.

"Wait. Are you mad that you got second?"

Now, it's Purpled's turn to look anywhere but at the guy he's currently in a conversation with.

"No. Why would I be? There's nothing to be mad about. Obviously. What made you think that?"

Hopefully, his retort doesn't come out as stilted as it feels to speak the words to begin with.

But when Purpled actually does sneak a glance Feinberg's way, he's met with disappointment on that front.

Feinberg's grin has somehow grown even wider.

"You are mad."

Purpled can't help the huff he lets out.

"And if I am?"

Fein remains silent for just enough seconds to make Purpled think that he's done something wrong. Shit, he isn't offended, is he? Purpled didn't think that he'd be a sore winner. Surely, he isn't? Wait, shit, did he actually hurt the guy's ego? Should he leave-

His frantic train of thoughts gets halted by Fein letting out a frankly ridiculous bout of laughter.

He's slumped over, definitely losing breath. It actually pisses Purpled off a little bit.

Fucking bitch.

"Oh, what now?"

"It's just- It's… You know- Shit, dude… Fuck-"

Purpled sends a very warranted scowl at the all-too-amused man before him.

"What?"

"You're actually… Whew- You're actually mad? At getting second? That's adorable."

"Oh, please, as if you'd-"

When Purpled actually catches up to watch Fein just said, he bluescreens.

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"... Adorable?"

"Yeah? And?"

Purpled can feel his braincells leaving again. Man, and he had just gotten such a wonderful streak of not having to rein them in…

What the fuck does Feinberg mean by that? Literally who says that-

"Anyways, if you're having a moment, I'll leave you to it. Wouldn't wanna interrupt your brooding or whatever."

And, as if he hasn't just said something utterly crazy, Feinberg turns to leave.

Not on Purpled's watch!

"Hey!"

So, naturally, he grabs Fein by the arm.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Eh… I'm leaving? As I said I would?"

"No the fuck you're not. I didn't said you could."

Purpled regrets the words the moment he finishes speaking them.

And then that regret instantly vanishes when Fein's expression morphs into something that Purpled can only describe as sheer curiosity.

"You get to decide that?"

He doesn't know what it is that makes him say it, but there's just something in Purpled's brain telling him to keep going. See how far he can push. His impulses have gotten him this far. Might as well commit.

Although, he's not exactly sure to… what.

"I do."

Feinberg turns around to fully face Purpled again, effortlessly shrugging off Purpled's grip on his arm. When he leans in, invading any semblance of personal space that was at least a suggestion up until this point, Purpled's mind goes entirely blank.

Not the sort that he's gotten far too used to lately. Something entirely different, a sort of foggy haze that feels exclusively pleasant.

The only thing on Purpled's mind is to chase whatever it is. See where it takes him.

Because no way is he letting Feinberg go now that he has him.

"And what are you gonna do to keep me?"

"Oh, you'll see."