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You remember Mituna before he’d had his little “accident”, as you like to call it. He would always laugh at your failed attempts at romance, red or otherwise. And you would punch him playfully in the shoulder just a little too hard, and he’d sneer at you a little less harmlessly.
You’d never really minded it either, when he’d get just a little bit too into your space and shove you, saying you were useless and nobody would ever fill your quadrants. You got the meaning behind it though.
Often you’d shove him right back.
“What’d you say??”
And you’d banter back and forth and wrestle just till one of you were against a wall or on the floor. Then he’d make one of his terrible sexual jokes, and you’d lose yourself in black.
Lips against lips and teeth pulled against skin. You grind up against him and he grinds harder down on you, his hands wandering all over, purposely avoiding the spots that he knows you love so much. And you glare into his beautiful mismatched eyes, and he glares back.
And when you both finally get your clothes off, and his bulge wraps itself around your own, and your nook is dripping with fluid. You’re panting and sweating and he’s muttering profanities in your ear. Up till the moment that you've both released and are covered with each others genetic materials.
Pailing with him was satisfying and fulfilling, because you so beautifully hated each other whenever it happens to be most convenient.
And you miss it.
You miss it because when you try to insult him, he only ever apologizes and never shouts back.
And his stupid helmet covers his eyes that you long to see.
And when you get too close, he pushes you away all too sincerely.
You miss the person he used to be. The only one who ever filled your quadrant and was ok with it.
Mituna, I miss you.