Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or The Script's song "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" in which this fic is loosely based on.
The Man Who Can't Be Moved
His hands gripped the cup tightly, drawing warmth from the hot liquid inside. His golden eyes scanned the corner across the street. Searching. Waiting. Hoping to see her. The harsh wind sent strands of silver hair into his face and he brushed them back before taking a sip of his coffee in an attempt to warm himself up. If he had been here for any other reason but to wait for her, then he would have chosen the much warmer interior of the café to enjoy his lunch instead of the outdoor seating. But as that wasn't the case, he contented himself with the mere fact that where he sat had the perfect view. He even made sure to get the same table everyday and now it had gotten to the point that he needn't say a word to the hostess before she sat him in his usual spot. The spot that gave him a clear view of not only the corner across the street that he so fruitlessly stared at, but also of the corner that the café rested at. Their corner. The corner he so breathlessly stood frozen at when he spied her across the street. The corner where she had first noticed him staring at her in a daze. The corner where their relationship had started. The corner where their relationship had ended. And the corner where he would wait for her for however long it would take.
He knew this habit of his was quite unhealthy. How could it not be when he knew it was borderline obsessive? Obsessive. He didn't like that word. It made him sound like some psycho. He wasn't psycho, which is why he preferred to call this constant lunch outing a bad habit. A habit that was unlikely to yield any desired occurrence, but he could hope. That was all he had anyway. He didn't have her phone number. He didn't have her email address. But if she ever wanted to find him, she would come to their street corner. Of that, he was sure. So here he sat, waiting for her everyday at lunchtime. That was the time of day they had first met, after all.
It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to move on. He had. Most of the relationships never lasted that long, a month at the most. There always seemed to be something off, something he couldn't get past, and then the relationship would end. There was one particular relationship that lasted longer, one that had lasted four months. He knew why it lasted so long and it wasn't love. No, it was his selfishness. She had looked like her. To a point, at least. If he really looked at her, he could clearly see the differences. Her eyes were set a hairsbreadth closer. Her nose was shaped a little differently. Her lips were thinner. Her hair was straighter. But nothing was more different than her personality. Personality wise, they were polar opposites, and that was what had ultimately led to the end of that relationship. And finally, he just stopped altogether. Why try to move on when it was always her that occupied his dreams? When her image was the first thing he saw behind closed eyelids each night when he want to sleep?
When he wasn't here waiting for her, he was working. He worked harder than he had to. He needed to occupy his mind from thoughts of her. This habit of his was bad enough without him thinking about her every second of the day. He felt no need to torture himself more than he already was. But in those spare moments when he found himself with nothing to do, his thoughts always circled around her. Was she happy? Did she miss him? Was she as haunted by thoughts of him as he was by her? But when he was at the café waiting, his eyes glued to the corner across the street for any signs of her, there was only one question that went round and round in his mind; Would he ever see her standing on that corner waiting for him?
He sighed and shrugged into his jacket a little more as the relentless wind blew past him. It was brief moments like these that he despised as much as he loved. Moments when he would see a glimpse of her in the throng of people waiting for the glowing figure to signal it was safe to cross the street. He would always try his best to keep his eyes open. To take in the sight of her for as long as he could before he blinked and she was gone once more. Today was no different. He sat there, staring, eyes wide and burning. The wind wasn't helping him any as it quickly dried up the moisture that protected his eyes and soon, without permission, his eyelids shut themselves, squeezing tightly together before allowing him his sight back.
He sucked in a breath. The mirage that always taunted him remained. His limbs moved slowly, stiffly, as he stood and went to the railing that separated the café's outdoor seating from the rest of the sidewalk. He forced himself to blink before a gradual smile found its way onto his face. Hopping over the railing, he walked at a leisurely pace to their corner, waiting for her like he always did. The horde of people swarmed into the street and so did she. She looked so flustered as she weaved in and out of the crowd that he almost laughed. Almost. He couldn't laugh though, not when the whole time her eyes were locked on his with that look. The look that always took his breath away. So instead, he just stood there, a lazy smile on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets, looking like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he was there waiting for her. Which it was, but she didn't know that.
She drew to a halt in front of him, cheeks red from the biting wind and strands of hair flying all over the place as the wind whipped past them, "Hey."
He only grinned wider at her greeting. It said everything at once, yet nothing at all, "I was just about to order some lunch," He pulled a hand out of his pocket to gesture at his table, "Would you like to join me?"
"I'd love to."
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