AN: Based off of "Memories" by Panic! At The Disco. I don't own, etc. Enjoy. :)

If there was anything the two lovers knew, it was that their love was worth fighting for. Even in the moments where everything seemed to be going to hell and nothing made sense, it was still worth fighting for, even if they'd forgotten what they were fighting for, exactly. It was nothing new to them, fighting, because their start hadn't been easy. They had fought every second of their relationship to make it last, and this moment was no different. It was the outcome that needed to change.

Even at the beginning, there was something there. From that first electric moment when they locked eyes (ironically, in front of a hearse that had smashed her glasses, and coincidentally made him notice her), they knew there was a connection they couldn't fight. But oh, how they had tried. From denying their obvious attraction to themselves and to friends, to fighting tooth and nail on remarks made to fighting their desperate urges to jump each other and have at it before they admitted to themselves that yes, indeed, they did like each other, they spent every minute of their beginning fighting. That was, until fate stepped in and forced them to do something about the fact that they would very clearly like to be in an abandoned classroom doing ungodly things to each other. With fate came the first kiss, and the final moment of fighting it before they finally brushed noses and lips and gave into each other. Of course, the second their lips parted, he had gone straight back to fighting his feelings. She convinced him, eventually, to just be with her, even though it was fighting against the odds to do so.

They had fought to stay together, initially, but eventually fought to stay apart when they did end things. Thankfully for him, they lost that battle, and returned to each other, though admittedly challenging themselves to stay open and honest. They fought through his first year of university, and the challenges that presented, before fighting fate with her acceptance to two of the top schools in the province. That was a fight that went two ways. He wanted her to take the chance to love the other university, so as not to force her into staying with him, while she argued for going to his school. This was three weeks of terse remarks, and glancing back and forth to avoid pointed looks and clever pressures, before he finally caved into accepting her decision (which, honestly, was the one he wanted her to make, but he would never force her into it, no, she had to want to stay with him on her own terms).

Still, even with the idea of going to school together and not being separated, everything was a fight. First, it was convincing her to move in. That fight lasted for two weeks, until she realized that the apartment had two bedrooms, and just because they weren't currently having sex didn't mean that moving in meant they had to start. Telling her parents was a different story, and once the final boxes were cleared out of her room under their glare, she promptly burst into tears and locked herself in her room—the one separate from his that she had insisted on. There was yelling, and banging on the door, and he must have spent three hours pacing back and forth in front of the locked down, trying to convince her to come out and eat something, but after she had yelled back at the top of her lungs, he banged a fist on the wall, cursing loudly, and gave up. He retreated to his room, turning up the Dead Hand, and slammed the door shut. He was angry as hell, and tired of the back and forth fighting, but refused to give in. Around 2 in the morning, after he had given up on a decent night's sleep and was merely tossing and turning in desperation, a light padding entered his room, and a small figure climbed in his bed and rested its head on his chest. Apologies were mumbled, and the fighting had stopped—at least for the moment.

By the time he felt he could make a proposition, it had been two months since she moved in. She had begun creeping in his bed at night, until it was more of a habit to tuck her into his bed and carry on with his nightly routine while she fell mostly asleep, only slightly waking up to move into his arms once he got in bed. The second bedroom, he felt, was largely unnecessary, and it would only make sense to turn it into a room of greater use—like an office, or an altar to the rock gods. He mentioned this idea one night while holding her before falling asleep, and instead of the compliance he had expected, he was suddenly left with no blanket, no girlfriend, and a set of slamming doors as she apparently retreated back to her bedroom that was mostly for show at this point. Groaning, he waited. For over two hours, he waited for her to come back, until he heard the soft snores that meant she had gone to sleep crying. Sighing, he rolled over, and tried to sleep until the following morning, to no avail. HE stumbled towards the kitchen, the coffee maker being his idea of salvation and rushing to turn it on before realizing that she was sitting at the breakfast table, with an entire meal set before her, an apology evident in her eyes, and the frame of her bed dismantled in the living room behind her. They quickly spent the rest of the day making up for lost time and finding out just how great it was to have the extra room devoid of a bed.

He refused to push the idea of sex, however. That was one fight he didn't want to get into. He knew her rules, as they had been in place for years, and while he enjoyed testing the boundaries of those rules (much to his delight, the boundaries went quite far), he didn't want to go near the landmine of actually talking about the act, since that would create another fight. To his surprise, however, he came home one day to find her sitting on the bed, dressed in black lace, and dangling her ring in front of him, propositioning him. Shocked (and slightly unable to trust himself in this particular situation), he had thrown a pair of sweatpants and a shirt at her, demanding that she change, and had run out of the room, telling her they'd talk once she had changed. This, of course, led to the biggest fight yet. And the use of the spare room again. For two weeks, she fumed, stating that obviously, he didn't want to have sex with her at all if he didn't take the opportunity then and there, and he retaliated that she had done this once before and taken it back, and he wasn't going to do something she would regret later. Their silent fight continued until she one day jumped him before he was about to take a shower, practically tackling him to the ground, placing her ring on his pinky, and declaring that if he didn't take her then and there, he would have to watch while she took care of it herself, and he wouldn't be allowed to help at all, that she had thought long and hard (of course, using her hands to make a point that he simply couldn't ignore) about the matter, and that she was sure, and had been for months, and that he was the only person she could ever give herself to, and before she could even finish her speech, he had pulled her into the shower and begun to ravish her body in a way he had wanted to since he was sixteen.

Sex proved beneficial for them. It was a great end to arguments, and the more they yelled, the better the outcome. Oftentimes, their best rounds were right after arguments, yelling almost nose to nose, almost whispering the words they knew not to be true, before one or the other lost it and jumped into arms, or tackled onto the bed, releasing their tension in the best way possible, making it a contest to see who would apologize first from the pleasure. They fought tooth and nail for dominance, and it brought them together in the best way possible. Their apartment had been proofed and reinforced, after a particularly embarrassing moment waking up the next morning to find the coffee table was cracked down the middle, and most of the lamps were either knocked to the ground or hanging on by the cord. It was their haven, sex in their apartment, and anything they did was only for each other, even if it did usually come from an argument.

Fighting had become the norm in their relationship, and he wasn't sure why it bothered him, particularly if it led to great sex. Something was off, missing, almost in their relationship. Instead of fighting again, or ending up almost declaring hate at each others' lips before tangling in the sheets, sweating and panting until a defeated "I love you" slipped from one of their mouths, there needed to be a sort of ceasefire. And as much as he had fought the obvious solution, it had nagged at him time and time again until he finally set foot in one of Those Stores to merely shut the voice in his head up. Of course, instead of shutting up, the voice got louder until he found what he had been unconsciously looking for since he was sixteen (though he would never admit that he'd thought about it for this longer, never, not even to her), and upon seeing it, he realized that the ceasefire would come with the purchase, and he grumbled to himself as he pulled out his wallet, purchasing something he never thought he would be caught dead with.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to wait long to change the outcome. That opportunity came later that night, over the dishes not being in the dishwasher the right way. She was screaming on and on about it, until he decided he couldn't fight it anymore, and promptly grabbed her by the waist and kissing her until she was properly distracted, then begrudgingly slipped the Thing out of his pocket and onto her before she knew what was happening. As he pulled away, he simply waited. She would figure it out soon enough, and once she did, there would be no fighting it. Surely enough, two minutes later, she brushed her curls behind her ear and caught sight of the diamond now sitting on the fourth finger of her left hand. He smirked, she shrieked, and in a matter of moments, they had just barely made it to their bed. For once, there was no fighting. There was only agreement, and mutual happiness, and a lifetime of it to come.