Title: Casting
Association: Yu-Gi-Oh! ZeXal
Pairing: Droite/Gauche
Summary: Sometimes who you are just isn't enough. Proctorshipping with mentions of dilate/anxiety. All lyrics are from Darling, I want to Destroy You by AFI.
AN: I apologize in advance for any switches in tense throughout this. Present tense was inspired by Novella, written by RangerHitomi. Please feel free to point out any errors.
Also, I'm sorry.
So here's the final scene
Where I finally come clean
...I've watched you for years
oooooooooooooooo
He's not Kaito.
The words coat his brain like hot wax.
Sure, the two of them get along well enough, but Kaito is his polar opposite. He's not quite sure how Kaito designates himself, but Gauche likens himself to a wild boar. He's mouthy at times and a little too forward, but he also sees himself as caring and loyal and what the fuck does she even see in that douchestick anyway?
The photo slips through his fingers accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. Gauche rolls an eye toward the alarm clock, groaning at the time.
Two hours. Just two more hours.
Exasperated and bored, the redhead allows himself to slip off the bed and onto the floor. For a bit he just lays there, hard gaze fixed on the ceiling fan. The drone of it only pisses him off further.
He doesn't want to do this.
Maybe I should just call and cancel...
Gauche looks toward the bed once more, flopping an arm over the top until his fingers graze the picture from before. He snatches it and holds it high over his face. It's his favorite photo—the one of him and Droite together as kids. There's been several taken over the years, but the one he holds is the only one he's salvaged. It remains his most precious keepsake. He sighs once more, knowing that tonight must come to pass. Despite this, he smiles.
He smiles because he knows how the scene will play out. He smiles because he'll relish it for the rest of his days. He smiles because he'll wake up that much stronger for having done this.
Time crawls slowly.
It's an hour until show-time and Gauche is beyond caring. His mind draws a blank as he shuffles through his closet, looking for his Sunday best. It's not Sunday, but today is momentous.
Today is the most important day of his life.
He pulls out a tux that he doesn't remember having and a simple red button-up. Tonight has nothing to do with how he looks, but Gauche knows she'll be dressed to the nines. Hopefully wearing that all-black ensemble he loves. She owes him that at least.
He makes a silent promise to himself to not get too shitfaced tonight as he takes one, two, three shots in a matter of seconds.
He's not an honest man tonight.
Forty-five minutes.
It's forty-five minutes until Droite meets with the man of her dreams, and she's not smiling. On the contrary, she's crying, and she's all too thankful she has yet to apply her mascara. She fully expects to look a wreck before the evening is over.
She's crying because her heart isn't in this and she's ten shades of torn and she doesn't want to hurt him. She cries because there's no way around it.
She loves Gauche, but she's not in love.
There isn't a thing in the world not to love about him either, she tells herself. He's strong and gorgeous, and he'll go to the ends of the Earth to protect her. Gauche has all the potential in the world to make her the happiest woman alive.
But she'll never let him.
Because Gauche isn't Kaito.
No matter how many times Kaito's ignored her advances and cast her aside, Droite just can't seem to let go.
She knows he's a lost cause at this point; he's been with Chris for almost two years and they're on the verge of exchanging vows any day now. That's not the point.
The point is that Gauche deserves better.
Furious hands scrub at her eyes, and she's not okay with any of this, but she has to get some sense of control back before she meets Gauche because there's no way in hell she can let him see her this distraught. The second he pulls her into his arms, it'll all be over. He'll tell her he loves her; she'll repeat it back to him, and for a moment she'll truly believe it. It's every date they've ever been on. She'll fool herself into thinking once more that a future with him is not only possible, but also what she wants.
She's a slave to his touch and nothing more.
Droite takes a look at herself in the mirror, adorned only in her bra and panties. She'll be wearing all black tonight.
He doesn't just deserve better...He deserves the best.
Thirty minutes.
It's half-past the hour and Gauche is ready. He's wearing the cologne that Droite gushes about because it's her favorite. Tonight must be perfect, after all. He tugs at his tie a bit and decides to hell with it, taking the accessory off and popping open the first couple of buttons to his shirt. Dressing up isn't really his thing, but she'll throw a fit if he tries to wear that tacky fucking coat to dinner again. He chuckles at the memory and realizes there's a hard knot in his throat. The laugh comes out an anguished cry. Hands clamp over his mouth in a futile attempt to stifle it.
Three more shots and he's out the door before he changes his mind altogether.
Fifteen minutes.
Droite is never late. She doesn't intend to make a habit of it now.
She's wearing the earrings that Gauche gave her for her birthday. They don't really go with her dress, but tonight isn't about her. It's about them. She genuinely hopes Gauche will appreciate the sentiment.
He always notices the little things.
That's what stuns her most about him. As brash and narrow-minded as he comes across, Droite knows there's a big softy under that bulky exterior. She loves him.
But she's not in love.
Berating herself for the final time, she adjusts her dress and applies lipstick. It's the cherry red she almost never wears, but tonight is special and it reminds her of him and it'll be all that's left after...
She can't bring herself to even think about it.
Ten minutes.
Gauche's car is the junkiest piece of shit to ever grace the roads of Heartland City and he's nervous and excited and overwhelmed all at the same time. He really needs the alcohol to kick in right about now because he's not sure he can even go through with this, and he's swerving a bit, but the roads are clear as he's ever seen them and the lack of traffic allows him to take his time. He's meeting Droite at the restaurant as opposed to picking her up and he's all the more glad for it. It's not proper etiquette; they've been dating for over a year now, but this isn't one of their casual dates in the park. It's not them sitting on the bench discussing their jobs or their decks or their fears.
It's about their future.
He fiddles with his pocket as he pulls up curbside to wait.
Five minutes.
She doesn't live far from the restaurant they'll be dining at this fine evening, so Droite decides to walk the few blocks there in an attempt to steady her nerves. She's losing her resolve with each and every step.
She's fighting every urge to sprint the opposite direction in her three-inch heels.
Four minutes.
Gauche is prepared. He thinks.
He's leaned up against the wall having a smoke before she gets there. His gum is tucked away in his jacket on standby. It has the strongest mint flavor he could find.
He already knows what she'll say, but it's not going to stop him.
Three minutes.
She's no more than four blocks from her destination and she can't stop looking at her watch.
Two minutes.
The cigarette is a forlorn-looking smudge on the concrete and an O-bot is scolding him over littering.
He's a little less confidant than he was two minutes ago.
One minute.
The restaurant is in sight and so is Gauche. Her hands are shaking so bad she nearly drops her clutch three times.
She's not in love.
But her heart is racing.
Show-time.
She's as pale as he's ever seen her in his whole entire life and looks like she might collapse any second. He's apt to grab her hand, but refrains. There's plenty of time for that later.
Gauche speaks with the host and they're taken to the second level of the restaurant. He leads them to a private table on the balcony and closes the glass doors behind them with promises that their drink order will be taken shortly.
Gauche pulls the chair out for Droite and catches her as she nearly misses the seat in her attempt to sit, nerves all but shot from the walk over. He can't help but laugh at her expense and she glares, but there's a mysterious spark in her eyes and he knows he's got her attention.
Dinner is both a quiet and an enlightening affair. But Droite is smiling for a change, and so Gauche does too. She's laughing because all the compliments from Gauche are generic bullshit, but she's happy because, well, they're no less genuine. He's nothing if not honest.
She's here tonight to break up with him, not to fall in love.
And she's not in love.
Not with him.
And just as she's about to point that out, he opens his mouth to speak.
"You first," she mutters, unable to meet his eyes.
Gauche smiles. It's as fake a smile as he's ever worn. "I think it's better if you do."
She sighs. Her hands are trembling again and he wants to grab them so badly but he knows better.
He's ready.
"Gauche, I can't do this anymore."
A pause. "I know."
No more needs to be said on Droite's end, really. She just stares at him. "You...knew?"
"Yeah." He stops smiling and gives her a look she's never seen before. His voice is monotone. "I thought about that before coming here tonight." He's not looking at her anymore and her heart is breaking, but he ignores her pained expression. "Look, we both know I'm not Kaito, and I'm never going to be. I can't compete with him. So I'm not going to anymore." Gauche reaches for his pocket and pulls out the little black box, sliding it across the table to Droite. "I want you to have it anyway."
Droite catches it and looks at Gauche before prying it open. His face is masked with indifference, but the damage has already been done. He's draining his drink faster than ever.
The most beautiful ring is staring her in the face and it's only fitting that she baptizes it.
"Gauche," she chokes, but he's already standing, slamming the empty glass back down as he turns away. "Why?"
He turns from her and a weight clamps down on her shoulder. A soft caress of her cheek and a kiss on the forehead is about all the contact he can stomach.
"It's a parting gift."
The next thing she feels is the gust of wind from the glass doors behind her.
He never did take her hand.
Without thinking, Droite's on her feet and she's sobbing as she clutches the little black box. She won't run after him, but she moves to the edge of the balcony just in time to see him leave the building. His backseat is stuffed so full she can barely see into it.
And that's when it hits her.
He's leaving her.
And the image of him getting into that tiny beater of a car is the funniest thing on the planet, because he looks like the fucking Hulk stuffing himself into a Fisher-Price toy, and the whole goddamn car shifts as he gets in, but she's far too blind to see it clearly. Perhaps she's been blind all along.
Because he isn't Kaito.
And that's exactly what she loves about him.
oooooooooooooooo
And here's my favorite part
Where you beg for my heart
And I disappear...
FIN