Day in, day out they'd snipe at each other. They'd throw sarcastic, sardonic, ironic, just plain mean comments into each other's faces; they'd talk about each other behind the other's back, and nearly everything they said or did was wrapped in a potentially painful package, even those things that were meant to be nice—because they weren't nice. They were unable to say one nice thing about the other; out of fear of losing cover, losing safety and stand bare in front of the other and knowing they'd see every flaw, every bad and painful and embarrassing streak about one.

And that was exactly the way she wanted it. Romance was something she had always despised; even as a teenager, there had been nothing she found more ridiculous than other girls' giggly conversations about red roses and pink hearts and "I'll love you forever and beyond".

She didn't believe in forever. Those who said so were being unrealistic; even if a couple stayed together until death, that still wouldn't be together because death was, well, death. The end of everything one was, including love. Love didn't last only because you hadn't taken it back.

No, love declarations weren't something she wanted, needed, or found even remotely pleasant. And if Perry ever made one to her, it'd be probably the most painful moment ever of their whole relationship—or whatever it was they had—because she knew he didn't believe in them either, and him making her a love declaration still was the equal to a teenager boyfriend telling his teenager girlfriend that he hated her guts, thought all her views were ridiculous and that she was the most ridiculous being on earth and he wasn't ever going to honestly feel something, anything for her except for contempt.

But he didn't, hadn't, wouldn't ever do something like that, she knew; they had no restrains to their relationship, were painfully honest with each other, and there was a liberation and freedom in that that was beyond everything other couples had. Each of them always knew what the other thought about them, each other; no little secrets, no tiny untruths that were meant to "keep the other from pain" or something equally ridiculous. She could say to him whatever he wanted, and he'd say to her whatever he wanted, and they could spend the whole day sniping at each other and still would go to bed with calm hearts and calm minds, because they'd always know this: despite all those things that annoyed them about each other, despite everything they threw at each other and into the other's face, it all came down to the little fact that they still were together.

She couldn't tell if they were meant to be forever—and adding the fact that she didn't believe in neither "meant to be" nor "forever", that didn't seem to be such a bad prospect.