Summary: The fridge is purple. Riley thinks it's fine. Brandon disagrees. Briley AU. Dedicated to tiramisuspice

Ships, Characters: Brandon (The Rebel), Riley, Briley (if you squint, I'm talking eyes wide shut here)

"Absolutely not."

"Riley!" Brandon whined, dragging out the syllables longer than normal people deemed it necessary. He and his wife stood at the fridge, where they'd been arguing for the past hour. Well, if it still qualified as a fridge. Every inch of the surface was adorned with purple paint and cats, varying in shapes and sizes, brought by only the Rileyest of Rileys.

"This fridge is perfectly fine!" she insisted, pulling up a chair and seating herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and snapped her head to the side, hair flying. The message was clear. Riley no talk Brandon.

"It has been simply decorated with my artwork."

"Simply!?" Brandon said incredulously, eyeing her with disbelief. "If it's so simple, where's the door?" He mimicked her position as she got up and walked over. "The whole thing's a door!"

"There is no door!"

"Come on!" she deadpanned."You're overreacting!" Riley threw her arms up in the air, listing her head slightly as her hands eased back into the cross. "It's perfectly fine, we don't need to get a new fridge!" She stepped closer to the fridge, stroking a purple cat lovingly. "Besides, Riley like cat."

"And Brandon like Riley, but she a lot of work," he said with a wink. "But she's wonderful, so she'll come buy a new fridge with me. One that doesn't look like a litter of purple kittens."

Her face brightened. "A litter of purple kittens!" With a squeal, she turned to face her husband, clearing her throat loudly the way she did when she wanted to sound sophisticated and professional, though it clashed with her excited gaze.

"We will not buy a new fridge, Brandon."

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Riley grumbled. "Not fair."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, but she didn't react, humphing. Which, admittedly, made her cuter in a way. "Love you."

The IKEA employee gave them a look but nevertheless led them through rows of refrigerators, emphasizing every expensive one that guaranteed him a tremendous commission. He droned on about how there was a tank in the back that adjusted the temperatures when an object was added or taken away. Riley cringed at the weird gurgling sound it made doing so.

Head shifting, she craned her framework of 27 year old bones and scanned the room.

Something snagged her attention.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a fridge, smaller than the others, painted purple.

Not just ol' purple, no.

Not prune.

Not grape (what was the thing about purple grapes anyway? Riley found that simply outrageous.)

Not plum.

Not . . . some other purple . . .

But purple cat purple.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing. The IKEA employee recoiled in disgust.

Ah, so it was a cheap fridge, then.

"An old model. Wouldn't you rather look at . . . anything else, really?" Riley shook her head, turning to Brandon with an expectant smile on her face. "Brandon?" she asked sweetly, rubbing the toe of her boot against the white marbled floor shyly.

"As long as you hang or paint no purple cats on it, its fine with me," he chuckled fondly. She barely concealed a squeal. "Purple cats?" the employee mouthed to himself silently, a dumbfound, flabbergasted, disbelieving expression appearing on his features.

"It's a very old model, Miss, it's – "

"I like it!" Riley announced, picking up the refrigerator manual beside it. She flipped through the pages, casting Brandon a look of approval. He laughed gave her a small nod, eyes glinting, and she handed the pamphlet back to the employee, who grumbled and said their fridge would arrive in three to four working days, seeing as it had yet to be repainted, which, he reassured Riley, would be the same shade.

"Yay," Riley grinned widely as they stepped out into the warm Brooklyn air, relishing in the swift yet comfortable change in temperature. She glanced at Brandon, who watched her with an indecipherable expression on his face.

"What?" she asked, growing self-conscious of his gaze. She couldn't believe it. They'd been married for quite some time and had been dating long before that too, but she was still not immune to his looks or his smiles or the way he kissed her.

"You have purple paint on your neck," Brandon chuckled, nudging his head in the general vicinity. She gasped, rubbing haphazardly around her neck, trying to get it off. The only thing, she presumed, coming off was her skin, and she winced.

"Is it gone?" she asked timidly. He nodded and she laughed nervously, pretending to wipe a bead of sweat from her brow. "Next time I paint the fridge, I'm wearing a bag."

"Next time?"

Riley proceeded to walk towards the car. "I liked the litter of kittens idea, by the way. Good thinking, Brandon."

"Don't tell me you're painting purple cats on our new fridge!" He groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"Of course not!" his wife retorted indignantly, hopping into the car with an earsplitting grin. "Purple kittens."

"Riley!"