Pairing: Yullen

Rating: T/PG

Setting: AU.

A/N: So I was trying to get my writing mood back, and I've been out of practice (sorta). So Starisia-the-Shadow-Demon gave me a song "If this was a Movie" by Taylor Swift to poke my plot bunny. Turned out kind of different than the song though.

King-Rabbit looked it over for me and encouraged me to post this anyway, so here you go :)


-If This was a Movie-


Allen doesn't bother to turn on the light when he steps into his—their—room and drops himself unceremoniously on the mattress, legs dangling over the side of the bed. He puts an arm over his eyes and exhales heavily into the still air.

He can hear the ticking sound from his wristwatch and the muted drizzles of rain outside of his window. The room is cold, but he has no desire to move and get the blankets.

He still gets cold under the blankets anyway, because now the bed is lacking the warmth of another body in it.

Blindly, Allen uses his free hand to search for a pillow before turning on his side and hugging it close. He burrows his face into the soft material and takes a deep breath once, twice… he hasn't washed the cover for a while now, and yet he doesn't want to. Not this particular pillow.

He inhales deeply and smells what is left of Kanda's scent lingering in there.

.

.

.

"You're still locking me out," Allen had said one night, and Kanda raised his eyes from his laptop before turning his head to where Allen is seated on the bed.

"What are you talking about?" came the bland, if a little confused reply. "We're in the same room."

Allen sighed and leaned back against the headboard, tilting his head back to stare at an interesting spot on the white ceiling. "You know I didn't mean it literally."

There was a pause stretching into the seconds, before the sound of Kanda's fingers hitting the keyboard filled the otherwise silent room once again. "I'm trying to work here."

"You're always trying to work."

Kanda's fingers hit the keyboard with more force than necessary, before turning in his swivel chair just by the bed to face Allen. "What do you want?"

"For you to open the bloody door," the younger man challenged.

Allen could see the emotions swirling behind those dark eyes before Kanda's face shut down completely. He returned his attention to his laptop only to close the lid and pushed his chair back. This had happened a lot that Allen's heart stopped feeling like it was dropping to his stomach with dread.

"You're going to the coffee shop?" Allen asked tiredly, already guessing they wouldn't have this conversation for the night.

Kanda's hand paused at the doorknob. "I need a quiet place."

"Sure, the coffee shop would be quiet at this time of night."

"Don't push me."

And that was all it took for Allen to relent. The three words squeezed out through gritted teeth, barely audible and yet they were loudly ringing in Allen's ears. He looked down to his lap, hand fisting the bed sheet beside his thigh. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just—"

"I know. I'm trying."

The words were spoken in a voice so soft, that when they registered in Allen's mind, Kanda was already halfway out the door.

The soft click that followed seemingly echoed in their bedroom, but Allen made no move to stand nor to call Kanda back. Because he would, eventually. When the sun was peeking through the horizon and Kanda thought he was already asleep. Allen just wished Kanda would stop sidestepping the issue.

"I just want you to let me in…"

.

.

.

Thinking back now, Allen should have probably stopped him.

No, he should have stopped Kanda since the first time he walked out of a conversation. So that it wouldn't have become a habit, and Allen wouldn't have gotten used to it.

Lifting his forearm from over his eyes, Allen pushes himself up and off the bed, walking slowly in small, lethargic steps until he reached the window. The glass is cold when he touches it, sending chills down his spine. He moves to sit on the windowsill and leans his forehead against the cold glass.

Cold.

Kanda's hands were always cold on his skin.

Allen closes his eyes.

If his life was a movie, Kanda wouldn't even have left to get out of a conversation. Or ignore him for the rest of the night. They would talk things out, maybe with fewer insults and more emotions shown than what Kanda would have let on.

But this is no movie, and Kanda's a far more complicated individual then a character in a romance movie would be. There were always too many walls erected around Kanda's heart, that even when Allen had broken through one, there was always another he crashed into. And sometimes, it tired him out.

And yet, Allen wished to be with Kanda. Still wishes for it even now. He imagines Kanda would be down there, under the fat raindrops, staring up at Allen through the window in silent apology.

Or maybe not apology. Allen doesn't want Kanda's apology. He only wishes Kanda was here, and it hurts knowing that no matter how hard he wishes—prays, begs, demands—for Kanda to come back—

.

.

.

The phone landed on the carpeted floor with the person on the other land still calling his name. But Allen simply stared at nothing with wide, unseeing eyes, because everything was dark.

He stood there, silent and unmoving for what seemed to be eternity. Then he stumbled back and fell onto the couch, cell phone remained ignored next to his right foot.

.

.

.

—he will never get Kanda back.

Allen knows this—has known this logically for bloody six months now—but his heart refuses to let go.

Maybe, he doesn't want to let go. He clings to whatever little things left of Kanda—his clothes in their wardrobe, his shoes on the rack by the entrance, the uncooked soba noodle in the kitchen's drawer, the scent on his pillow, and his shadows in every nook and corner of their apartment—

Allen doesn't want to let them go.

Because they are the only things connecting him to Kanda.

Because even in movies, no one would come back once they've gone to the heavens.


-end-


I wasn't sure if this was even decent, so yeah…please lemme know what you think? I would really appreciate comments :')