A/n: This is just a really, really, really short ficlet that I wrote on an index card while I was waiting for my psyche class to begin. It's pretty much whatever you want to make of it. So... Enjoy!


Enough

There's this really annoying couple sitting behind me and they might as well just be having sex right here in the middle of class. Though, it probably wouldn't make that much of a difference; they're practically doing it anyway.

What's more, this is the same couple that was having a screaming match with each other in the quad yesterday. It lasted a good fifteen minutes before he eventually just walked away from her while she continued to shout after him, crying angry tears. I watched the entire thing from the library window on the second floor, momentarily pausing my reading to roll my eyes at them.

I'm not really sure why I did that in retrospect. It's not like them fighting is anything new, just like them being all over each other isn't anything new. It was the same argument they always have too, and I bet they'll even have it again later today. If they don't, I'll honestly be shocked. They can't seem to go a day without arguing or groping each other in public. It's so ridiculous—I don't even try to pretend I understand.

Right now, though, they're in the sickening lovey-dovey part of the cycle. And while I'm not against PDA in small amounts, they're pushing it. They've been pushing it since they got together a year ago. It's gone well beyond the point of decency; there's just some thing you don't do in public, but they have no sense of that. I'm sure that if I look back at them, I'll probably see a tongue or a wandering hand under the desk. I'm not going to look back, though. I just ate lunch.

So, I sit here, head in hand, determinedly looking forward, trying to concentrate on what the professor's saying without much success. It's harder than most would think. I wish this class was more interesting—maybe then it would probably be easier to ignore the sounds they are making.

Sitting two rows in front of me, you turn around in your seat and catch my eye. A simple eyebrow raise is all you need to ask whether or not I'm okay. I am—I'm just exasperated. I roll my eyes a little to tell you that. You smirk at me (though your eyes glint like they do when you laugh), and then turn to face front again. Smiling to myself, I go back to taking notes.

The couple behind me is still making-out. Later they'll get into another argument and then tomorrow they'll repeat the whole process. And people expect that—they think that's how relationships are supposed to go. They've all seem to have forgotten that we've been together just as long as those two have. They don't consider us because we've never fought and we aren't all over each other in the back of the classroom. In their eyes, because we don't act like them, we aren't really a couple. What a weird perception of love people have.

But we know better. We don't have to act like them to prove we love each other. We just have to act like ourselves.

And that's more than enough proof for both of us.