Summary: Red is tired of this.

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

"What do you have that I don't?!" Reaper sobbed, staring imploringly at the russet potato in his hands as he further curled up on the tattered, dusty sofa cushions beneath him.

"Well, for one, it has some dignity." Red snidely grumbled, watching the death god from his kitchen doorway with a bottle of mustard in hand. "Now, when the hell are you going to move off my couch? It's been a fucking year, and I'd sure as hell love to be able to get my ass back on there. It's hard to have an excuse to be lazy when there's nowhere to laze."

"Geno!" Reaper howled pitifully. All the while, burying his face in the cushions.

Red grimaced. "Stars, you're such a sad sack of shit... We need to get you on a dating app."