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Red's personality has always been larger than life. Blue doesn't always know how to deal with it, but somehow, they still get along.
And get this, they've been dating for the past five years, and they haven't fought at all, and it isn't even just because Blue is a pushover.
Well, he is. So there's that. But it's mostly because Red knows when to stop fooling around and rein Blue in right back to him.
Red bursts into Blue's room, staggering in like a deer on two stilts, holding a Diet Dr. Pepper in his hand. He smells like fucking booze. And it's cheap booze, too. The Diet Dr. Pepper is for after he gets drunk. To cleanse his palate.
"Jesus, Red," Blue says, his head pounding as he lifts himself up from the sheets tangled in his long stick-like arms and legs. It's a good thing he's decent, but somehow he's sure Red wouldn't mind if he was only wearing his dirty boxers. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you asswipe. What time did you get home?"
"I dooon't know," Red croons. "Like, three?"
"Three?" Blue says, rubbing his eyes with his balled fists. "You were supposed to be home at twelve." He sniffs. "And you smell like shit."
"Babe, I'm perfectly clean. Here I come!" Red jumps into Blue's bed like a beach ball, and the bed creaks beneath Red's weight. "See?"
Blue closes his eyes. Red pins him down with his arm snaking around the small of his waist.
Blue opens his eyes again. The ceiling isn't shaking. The house hasn't toppled over yet.
Somehow, the frame hadn't broken but the damned bed springs might bite them in the ass someday. Red is pretty fucking heavy, but he uses Blue as his personal body pillow every morning anyway, so Blue can't complain.
"You're going to be the death of me someday," Blue says solemnly as Red turns to face him, because he knows it's true. "You really are."
"Aw," Red whines, "I thought you loved me."
"I never said that," Blue lies, because he has. Everything Blue does, he does just for Red.
"Come on, Blue." Red makes a kissy face at Blue. He hiccups and pushes back his spit. "Give me a kiss before I puke all over you."
Blue's lip curls at first, but he reaches into Red's pocket, pulls out a halfway-used pack of wet wipes, and wipes Red's dirty mouth clean.
"Aw," Red says, his glossy, half-lidded eyes coming to a close. "Aren't you the sweetest?"
Blue's hand stops wiping. The wet wipe drops to the bed, and Red reaches toward Blue.
Blue doesn't back away. Because it's Red. It's Red who's doing that. What could Blue do?
"Blue, my beloved," Red says, nuzzling against Blue's chest and pushing his head against his heart, "I told you I smell perfectly clean. Like cookies! Come on, smell me, babe. Smell me!"
Blue mimes sticking his finger down his throat.
"Eat shit," Red intones from where he is lying down on Blue's sheets. Blue looks at him. And as if that isn't enough, Red also adds, "Dick."
"If I'm a dick," Blue says calmly, his hand on Red's nape, "then why are you dating me?"
"Because it's you," Red says, loud and clear. It isn't thick and gravelly anymore like it always is when he's hungover, and Blue's breath can't help but catch, hitch. "Because you're you."
Blue opens his mouth to retort, say something clever. And then Red promptly passes out.
Blue tucks Red into the sheets. And then, with only some reservations, he dips his head down and kisses his cheek. He does smell good.
Like cookies.
Red smiles in his sleep, happy and warm.