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          "I will never leave you," Blue whispered, "I will love you until the end of time." Blue was fuzzy and post coital, wrapped around Bun tightly, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as they always had.
          "That's good," Bun whispered back, its voice husky and broken around the edges, worn out with age and the healthy sex that never failed them.
          Blue had saved Bun, a broken old thing, pulled Bun off of the rubbish bin, so that everyone looked at Bun with a new respect, surprised by the pairing, wondering if maybe there was something they had overlooked, some special hidden quality of grace that attracted Blue.
          Blue just loved Bun's little ears and kindnesses, the way Bun made Blue feel new and sweet.
          Blue could hear Bun's gentle snore as it feel asleep, and it comforted Blue, filling up the silence that had seemed deafening during their breakup, that had sent Blue into one after another unfulfilling liaison with objects half as smart, half as sweet as its darling Bun. None of them fit Blue the way Bun did, none of them made it feel safe like this.
          But when they fought, it was terrible. Bun would turn on Blue, not vicious, only cold, and refuse to let Blue anywhere near it. "I don't want to talk about it! Go away!" Bun sounded like a little child, but Blue was left desperate and empty.
          Bun and Blue had created between them one whole entity and without Bun, Blue felt ineffectual and grasping, a weak thing, its wounds clearly visible to everyone. Without Bun, Blue fell to trying to take care of everyone and succeeded only in annoying them all. Without Bun, Blue felt old.
          Now Bun was back and their love remade Blue. They fell into their old rhythms together, recreated their old world of soft, slow days. How was it that this old thing could make Blue feel that there was all the time in the world? Bun, world weary, had seen all there was to see, done all there was to do. Bun had been batted about enough, now all it wanted was to sit and be happy with its sweet young thing. And next to Bun, Blue relaxed under sunlight like molasses, let its dreams of becoming really important melt into golden puddles, pretty and meaningless.
          Bun regaled Blue with cynical anti-pep talks, advice delivered with a sardonic tone that brooked no argument. "The world just uses you up and throws you out. Believe me, I know it better than anyone, don't you remember where I was when we met? What was the point in becoming important, when in the end I was deemed useless? I tell you, the only problem with being in the rat race, is even if you win, you're still a rat."
          "Oh, Bun," Blue would protest, not recognizing the Lily Tomlin quote, "You're not useless!" Bun would pout, and Blue would stroke, and eventually Blue would succeed in puffing Bun up again, a process that made Blue feel beloved in the way that someone else's dependency almost never fails to do.
          Everyone was sure that Bun and Blue were in it for the long haul. They had made it past the whispered disapproval over their age difference, the pointed stares at parties. They seemed perfect for each other.
          They had made each other perfect for each other.
          Blue slept the sleep of the well-loved, and if it sometimes wondered what else was out there, there was never enough to send it out looking.