Chapter Text
pt. 1 so if you don't mind, i'll walk that line
Beca and Jesse have three different fighting styles.
The first is the "I'm mad at you but not really in an angry way but more like I'm going to complain until you're fed up" style. They're silly and petty, usually over something trivial like dinner plans or movie selections.
They typically look a little something like this:
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
Jesse groans. "Why not?"
"Jesse," Beca says slowly, exasperated. "Are you seriously asking me why not?"
He nods.
"Because I'm not spending $350 on a fucking glider hoverboard."
"But Be-caw," he pouts. "It'll be like in Back to the Future!"
"I don't fucking care."
A week later, Jesse's spinning circles around Beca's body on his noise-free glider.
Beca doesn't speak to him for a whole day, instead opting to cooly ignore him while they were out studying on the quad.
That is, until he manages to lose his balance and nearly face plants into the pavement.
And ten minutes later, she's still laughing uncontrollably at his mediocre attempts at wooing her.
Sometimes, they go like this:
"Jesse, baby," Beca says sweetly, batting her lashes into Jesse's disturbed face.
He's only mildly concerned. "Er, what?"
"Hand me the remote, won't ya?" She smiles cutely, eye crinkles and everything.
He could say yes, but Napoleon Dynamite was on next, and he hasn't seen that movie since he was thirteen. So, naturally, he needs to watch it.
"You're cute," he grins, pinching her cheek stiffly. "But no."
She groans in frustration. "Please? There's a new episode of Kitchen Nightmares and you know Gordon Ramsay's ape-shit rage turns me on."
"Aren't you hilarious? No." He hides the remote somewhere Beca can't see, much to her dislike.
When Napoleon Dynamite finally starts, Beca won't shut up.
"This movie sucks."
"Honestly, what the hell is this?"
"This is stupid."
Sure, her commentary gets old (and, dare he say, downright annoying), but there's a part of him that sort of agrees with her. What was once called brilliant in his middle school days, was now called dull and, well, middle-school humor.
Nonetheless, he wasn't going to fork over the remote that easily.
"You don't have to be here if you don't want to," he says gruffly, his eyes narrowed as Beca continued spewing more insults at the film. "Just saying."
She stares at him blankly. "Okay."
She gets up from her spot wedged between him and the couch and promptly leaves.
He sticks it out the entire movie, feeling a little bit smug but also a little bit bad. Maybe his stubbornness needed to tone down a notch.
So he pulls out his phone and texts her, "Fine. I'll admit it. The movie was terrible."
And fifteen minutes later, she's back in her spot in his dorm room, gloating over her victory as they watch Gordon Ramsay lose his shit.
Hell, they had silly little fights before they even became a couple:
They're at the dining hall in the morning for breakfast. They usually get there at the same time and get the same thing, a mini package of Frosted Flakes, and then they have a casual breakfast together before heading off to their first classes of the day.
This day was different.
There was only one package of Frosted Flakes.
Jesse seems to spot this first, quickly speeding up next to a confused, groggy Beca. She squints at the shelf of cereals, suddenly realizing his motivation, and almost breaks out into a sprint in order to get it first.
"Those Frosted Flakes are mine, nerd!" She screeches, nearly colliding into another student.
He swiftly dodges incoming students, his eyes dead set on the shelf of cereals. "Nope, Tony the Tiger is calling my name."
She tries to shove him to her side, but she's too tiny to do any real damage, as strong as she is in that compact body, and he ends up at the shelf just a second before her. He grabs the package and holds it high over his head, snickering at her attempts to snatch it from him.
"Seriously?!"
"Yes."
"Give it!"
"No?"
"Jesse!"
"Beca."
"Fork over the Frosted Flakes, Swanson!"
"Finders keepers, losers weepers!"
She glares at him, still jumping at the cereal. "Are you an actual toddler?"
"No, but you look like one," he retorts, amused at her measly attempts to grab the package.
"Screw you," she grumbles.
He moves away, still amused, but decides to pick up a bottle of milk for her. She's grimacing when she grabs the Raisin Bran, and she stubbornly takes Jesse's pity milk. They pay for their items and instinctively sit at their usual table.
"That was an asshole move."
"All's fair in love and war," he reasons, maybe a little too smugly for her tastes.
"You're at an advantage," she complains, grudgingly pouring the milk over her cereal. "You have longer legs and arms. It's not fair."
"It's not my fault I have perfect physique."
She scowls.
He feels bad about his behavior and buys her a family-sized box of Frosted Flakes later that day, complete with wrapping paper and a bow.
These kind of fights, as shown, don't last very long.