yet another dream

They were washing the windows and hanging up the curtains. The conversation started... blurry... on how the past year had gone. Neither of them was happy. They hated each other.

She said something along the lines of "well it doesn't matter if you're moving out... you don't even like me"

"I do, actually - I like you a lot" he retorted (maybe he muttered "when you're not being a bitch").

She snorted and pulled a face, unbelieving.

"Well, no, that's not true" he said, thinking. "I take that back. I don't like you at all; sometimes I just can't stand you...." then he was serious, lowering his voice. "But I want to like you. I want to get to know you. I want to... doesn't that count for something?"

She looked up at him from where she was kneeling on the floor, hands in the bowl of soap suds. She looked cross, flustered and imperious. And oddly cute, as she replied. "Well you know what this will mean, don't you?". She was telling him off now. It was her way of accepting.

"This will mean doing things properly. I mean, you'll have to meet Daddy"
"Ok"
"...and the Lords... and the House of Commons..."
"Sure..."
"...and go down to London"
"fine... I'll do anything"

She threw the flanel down into the bowl of water, stood, and marched upstairs, retreating. Going red.

"fine then..."
"fine..."

And with that exchange, apparently, they were a couple.