She locked herself in the bathroom again. Every time there was an argument, she would hole herself up in the little room, sit on the stool, and stare out the window. He could imagine her sitting there: her legs warm from the heater, her arms cold from the drafty air that floated through the cracks in the windowpane, her green eyes as wild as her dyed-brown hair, and fluffy, white piles of used Kleenex lining the bottom of the old metal trashcan.

He was lying down on the queen-sized bed in the room next to the bathroom. His head, covered in spiky, electric-blue hair, lay at the foot of the bed, while his bare feet with black painted toenails squirmed on a feather pillow. He hated making her cry, but he just got so pissed off, and she was so emotional, and...he sighed. His index finger absent-mindedly played with his newly-pierced tongue barbell. She had gotten one, too, and they would have gotten matching sun tattoos, but she said that her parents would have killed her.

The crying stopped. The water turned on; she must be washing her face. Her sniffs were briefly muffled by the towel she was using to dry her face. He sat up, his hazel eyes alert now that she was coming out.

She unlocked the door and opened it, but didn't exit the room. How could she face him? She loved him so much, yet it seemed like all they did was fight about petty, stupid things. After a minute, she left her safe haven and faced him. Her red, puffy eyes locked onto his, and she almost burst into tears again remembering the topic of today's fight: he had asked her what she wanted to do tomorrow, and she had replied that it didn't matter, whatever he wanted to do would be fine. He had complained that she was being too passive and childish and that he was sick of making all the decisions all the time. When she didn't reply, he had exhaled loudly and told her that she needed to make a decision now. Decision-making not being her best quality, she had blurted out the first thing that came to mind: How about a picnic? He had glared at her moodily and pointed outside, where rain was steadily pouring onto the lawn. He had hissed that it was a stupid idea, since the weatherman had predicted storms for the next three days. Why couldn't she think every once in awhile? That's when she had broken down and started to cry.

Staring at her now, he began to regret yelling at her. He didn't mean to get pissed off; he had just been having such a shitty day. First, the steady rain had kept him from earning fifty bucks for doing yardwork for a neighbour--money he needed to buy her a two-year anniversary present. Then, the barbell had hurt like a bitch. He didn't even really want the piercing or the tattoo, but went along with the idea because it was something she had wanted to do. Finally, he had caught her as one of her odder personalities. She was acting like a little kid: meek, silly, and overly-sensitive. He had tried to get her back on track by planning their next outing. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and he had ended up acting like an ass.

The awkward silence continued. She leaned miserably against the doorway, not looking at him, but somewhere just behind. He looked closely at her: her red-orange roots were beginning to show, and he realized that this was the first time that he had seen her without any make-up on at all. Usually after a fight, she would apply layers of Goth make-up just to make him mad, but this time, she was totally natural. Her clothes were vintage something or other, and she had his name painted onto her fingernails. It hit him: he loved her. She finally met his gaze and murmured in Spanish that it didn't matter to her what they did, as long as they did it together. She always spoke to him in Spanish when she was trying to be serious.

He replied to her, in English, that he felt the same way she did. He said that he loved her and that he just wanted her to be happy. He promised her that he would try to never yell at her again and that if it made her happy to let him make decisions, then he would. She looked up, her eyes teary again, a smile slowly rising on her face. She ran to embrace him, her sandaled feet slapping the wooden floor. She laughed and said that she would make more decisions, the first being that he kiss her. He picked her up and dropped her onto the bed, falling next to her. They began to passionately kiss, their tongue piercings clinking together as the storm quieted outside the curtained window.