Title: Leaving Town
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Tristan/Duke
Warnings: Slash

Summary: Duke tries to break up with Tristan, but things don't go quite the way he'd planned. I needed a break from all the stress of Indecent Rhythm, and while I was looking for a good song to inspire me, I stumbled across an awesome one.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, nor do I own Leaving Town, performed by Dexter Freebish, which this was written in response to. Just…go look up the song. Seriously.

The suitcases dropped to the sidewalk with the grate of plastic on concrete.

"Mm-hm. By this time tomorrow, I'll be in San Francisco. It's all up from there."

"It's not that easy, you know."

"That's your point of view." Duke took a last long drag on his cigarette before he let it fall, squinting past Tristan where the highway vanished into sky. He knew he was being watched, but the best he could do was shrug it off and save Tristan the embarrassment of knowing that he knew. He bent over, jamming his key into the lock of his trunk. It popped up and both men reached for the same suitcase at once. Their hands touched. They stopped.

Tristan looked up. "You decided to wear it after all." He reached out and fingered the necklace dangling free of Duke's collar. A simple silver disc on a heavy silver corded chain. It was a locket, and he'd given it to the other man for his birthday without explanation.

He wished he'd bothered to explain. Or at least asked to see what Duke decided to put inside it.

Then again…it was probably empty.

Duke straightened, untangling the chain from Tristan's fingers. He tucked it back inside his shirt and shrugged. "Yeah, I like it." He reached over and shoved Tristan's shoulder. "You've got better taste than you give yourself credit for."

"I don't know about that."

It was a veiled slight, and Duke winced despite that the other man didn't elaborate further. Tristan only picked up the other's suitcases and shoved them into the trunk. "Is this all you're taking?"

"It's all I'll need. I'll keep the old place for a while so I don't have to move everything, and if I need it, I can send for it." Another shrug as he slammed down the lid and pulled the keys out of the trunk lid with a flourish. "Probably won't. Most of it's stuff I don't want anyway – I'll sell the rest of it."

"You're not coming back then?"

"If my luck holds out," Duke replied with a shake of his head and a careless smile, knowing that he was being very cruel. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked Tristan to go crazy over him. Considering his history, the guy really should have known better, you know? Better to pop the bubble – knowing Tristan, if Duke didn't do something about it now, the poor guy would wait around for months before he finally decided to get over him. Well…he was that irresistible, after all. Kind of an ego-stroke.

"You'll come back," Tristan arched an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Which wasn't quite the reception Duke expected his answer to get.

"Like I said, I don't want to come back," he insisted, leaning against the passenger side door while he fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. "I've had about all I can take of this place. Two years is more than enough time to waste in one spot."

"Hey, I lived my whole life here."

"Good for you," Duke muttered from the corner of his mouth, cigarette clamped between his lips now. He tucked the pack back into his pocket and dug out his lighter from the glove compartment, tipping his head to one side as he cupped his hand around the flame. He looked up then, examining Tristan's expression. Why the fuck did I fall for this son of a bitch? – that was what those pretty brown eyes should've been saying.

They weren't. He was smiling.

Duke stared at Tristan in shock, green eyes narrowing.

"…What?" Tristan asked.

He whipped the cigarette out of his mouth. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not the one running off."

"I am not running off." Duke retorted, leaning towards Tristan in irritation. He'd been in some messy possessive relationships before, but usually the whole 'indifferent-while-smoking' routine made the message pretty clear, even to the idiots.

"Yes you are."

"I am not."

"Are."

"Not." Duke blinked and crossed one arm over the other, careful not to burn his shirt. "What the fuck are we, in third grade?"

"Nah-ah," Tristan shook his head, still looking amused, which irritated the ponytailed man leaning against the car door even further. "I stopped playing pretend in third grade."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Really. The nerve some soon-to-be ex-boyfriends had. Duke prided himself on being able to split up without going through the 'it's not you, it's me' talk. Was Tristan actually so dense that he'd have to say 'I'm leaving you'?

Tristan put his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. "Nothing at all."

"I'm going now."

"Fine." There was a long pause. "You're coming back."

"You're making this a lot harder than it's supposed to be," Duke pushed away from the car and walked around the front to the opposite side. He flicked the cigarette down at last – still mostly whole – braced both hands on the door of the convertible there and stared across the open cab at the other man.

Tristan only smiled, and stepped back onto the curb. "That was the idea."

"You're really pathetic, you know."

"That's your point of view," Tristan said, and Duke rolled his eyes at hearing his own words echoed back at him. Probably intentionally. Melodramatic bastard.

"You'd want me if I came back?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. Without waiting for an answer, he launched himself over the door and landed on the white vinyl bench seat.

"Why not?" Tristan asked. He looked like he knew something Duke didn't – and that only added to his aggravation. First the guy refused to get angry at him for wanting to leave, then volunteered to help him pack up, and now wouldn't play the breakup game the right way and talked like a fucking oracle.

He didn't know the future any more than Duke did, so how the hell could he know if he'd come back?

"Why not? Because I'm breaking up with you, you idiot!" Duke shoved the key into the ignition and spread his hands on the steering wheel. "Generally," he leaned forward as he spoke, emphasizing his words, and let his eyes roll back up to Tristan in exasperation, "people who I tell to back the fuck off don't take it this well."

"I'm not most people."

Why did it always go this way? The angrier and the louder he got, the less Tristan said? Duke turned the ignition over and tried to rev the engine viciously. As flustered and angry as he was, he forgot to press down the clutch. The car stuttered and died. His head whipped around at the suppressed laughter coming from the sidewalk, green eyes glittering with furious frustration. This was turning out to be more complicated than he'd expected – why had he told Tristan that he was planning on moving to California? Why hadn't he just gone?

Once again, Tristan was smirking at him, this time with his eyebrows raised in a kind of teasing, playful 'well?'

It was enough to make a person cry. And Duke wasn't even the crying type.

He managed to get the engine started, this time, and tore away from the curb without a good-bye. He probably wouldn't have even gotten one out of the cold bastard, just another fucking prophecy.

He wasn't coming back.

A stoplight flashed by, burning red, ignored.

Not ever…

Someone honked at him.

…and face down that smiling bastard?

The nose of his Cadillac bucked up the on-ramp to the highway.

No. No way was he coming back. He'd made it this far. He was going all the way.

-

The twilight was orange and purple when Tristan walked into his apartment to find the telephone ringing. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"…when are you going to get an answering machine? This is the second time I tried to call."

"Duke?"

"Who else?"

"Where are you?"

There was a long pause.

"You came back, didn't you?" Tristan asked, imagining the glare that Duke's receiver was probably getting right now.

Duke didn't have to answer. The silence on the other end of the line was answer enough.

-

Fifteen minutes later, Duke and Tristan lounged on the hood of the Cadillac in the parking lot overlooking the beach. Duke crossed his ankles, fingernails busy teasing the label off of his beer bottle.

"I don't get you," he said at last, "most people wouldn't even be talking to me right now. Most people wouldn't answer their phone for a week after that." He turned his head to look at Tristan, "Since you can't be bothered to get an answering machine."

"I'm not most people," Tristan replied, amber bottle wedged between his thighs as he curled his arms behind his head.

"I figured that out," Duke said, rolling his eyes.

"I knew you'd come back. You don't tell somebody you love them and then just leave. Not even you." Tristan said quietly. He shifted position a little, as though saying the words made him uncomfortable.

"It never occurred to you that I might have said that just so you'd sleep with me?" A dark eyebrow arched upward. "Are you really that naïve, or just one hell of an optimist?"

"Considering how terrified you are of those three words?" Tristan asked, turning now to meet Duke's gaze, "What, you think I don't pay attention?"

"Your performance earlier left me wondering…" Duke smiled.

"If you'd said it before, it would have been one thing. But you never have."

"There's always a first."

"Third time's a charm, you know," Tristan mused, changing the subject. He wasn't looking at him anymore, but leaning back against the windshield, eyes half-closed as he watched the growing field of stars overhead. "Next time you might actually make it."

"Oh, so now you think I'll leave? Thanks for the vote of confidence. It's about…" Duke leaned over, pulling Tristan's arm from behind his head and twisting his wrist up to push the day-glo button on his watch, "…twelve hours too late."

"That was only number two," Tristan murmured, leaning amiably to the side as Duke worked his way up from his wrist, hand over hand, until both arms were twined around his neck.

"What happens if I come back the third time?" Duke whispered against his ear.

"You quit trying to leave," came the soft reply, as Tristan turned his head and brushed the back of the other's neck, the ball of his thumb stroking the corner of his jaw.

"I'll think about it."

The soft sound of a kiss settled the matter for the night.