It's Like Being On Broadway

This is without a doubt the gayest thing I have ever written.

And it's Allen/Lenalee—that is SAYING something.

And, meh, it's a short fic. Will likely have four to five chapters, and probably with be updated at a normal pace until I get close to the end. Because, if you know how I do, then you know how I do.

Disclaimed.

Allen Walker and Lenalee Lee first met in a co-educational secondary school, as all clichés will go.

It was a generally anticlimatic affair—one would think that love at first sight would have more sparkles and explosions and action and adventure.

Well, Lenalee frowned. Maybe love at first sight was like that. Like, the two never did fall in love or even stumble anything past a purely platonic like back then.

"But don't get me wrong," she told Allen in her eleventh year of schooling. "You really are a sweet kid." She meant it, too. "There's just something…off about you."

Allen Walker, that sweet, short, skinny, young, white-haired, scarred kid from Manchester. He took it all in stride.

"What might be so off about me?" he had joked back then, twirling a lock of his white hair. "Perhaps, my hair?"

Lenalee laughed, but she never did actually answer.

But, she had a good reason not to! It was more like she never discovered the answer until the untimely meddling of fate years in the future.

(It's Like...)

"Hmm, a little short on the left," a tall, curly-haired Frenchman commented, circling the dummy head of a mannequin. "But, the back layers are simply magnifique! Once again, Lenalee—your styling is nothing less than excellent!"

Lenalee blushed, laughing sheepishly. "Thanks, Tiedoll," she said demurely. "I try."

"Mmm," but her elation was abruptly cut short once she heard the horrible, terrible, presumptuous hum from her one and only rival, her sole enemy, her personal antagonist. "You were actually trying? Pfft, how grand."

The Chinese woman narrowed her eyes. "You know what, Allen?" she replied with a smile. "Get fucked. Your hatertude is messing up your darling complexion."

Allen goddamn Walker quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Now it sounds like you're implying two things," he countered in his thickly accented tenor. "One, that you actually have things to hate on. And, two, that I need to have sex in order to be happy. We all can't be you, Miss Lee." He smiled charmingly, leaning against his station.

Homo, Lenalee thought spitefully. You…you penis-lover! She pointed her scissors at the man with as much threatening intent as possible.

He just shrugged at her, smiling more.

What happened after she graduated, Lenalee found herself lamenting again. She's been lamenting this a lot lately.

Her old friend, that sweet yet odd boy who would always be one year younger than her, he seemed to have died a horribly violent and bloody death in a car accident. This must've happened pre-cosmotology school, see.

As it was, in his place came this asshole—the taller, smarter, polite yet severely more sarcastic Englishman with a perpetually stylish haircut.

No, actually, screw that—everything about Allen Walker was stylish. It was like he knew the trends before Paris, he knew what was in before it was even out, he knew the definition of style better than Merriam-Webster.

Allen Walker, the twenty-year-old cosmetology student, really came across as a stand-offish metrosexual.

Like, you know—those gay guys that you can't call gay just because they work in a hair salon, but they sure do seem like homos. Metrosexual, or "metro" for short.

"You—" Lenalee started, sniping the scissors in her fingers threateningly.

Tiedoll laughed, delighted. "Allen, Lenalee, calm down," he said kindly. "No need for animosity. Lenalee, you are definitely rising above the styling ranks with your punk, prepatory cuts. And, Allen," the Frenchman wandered over to Allen's station, rubbing his goatee. "You…you…"

The man and woman stared him down, awaiting his answer. His grading of Allen's work would make or break their rivalry, so it was terribly important that he make the correct choice.

Tiedoll eyed the mannequin. "The gentle swoop of the bang towards the left," he said seriously. "The way in which the hair falls in one peculiar direction—the attention you give to the hairline! It's amazing, Allen—fantastique! My only problem is the right side, as it is a little bland. You seem to focus all of your attention on one particular side, if that makes any sense."

Allen sighed, flipping his white hair out the way of his eyes. "Of course," he replied with a smile. "I understand completely."

"Wonderful!" Tiedoll chuckled, patting the young man on the shoulder. "Then, that is that. I'm going to give you both a ninety-four—hooray!"

A ninety-four? The twenty-one-year-old woman's eyebrow twitched. That put her current grade at a ninety-six, which was the same grade as her rival, which meant that nothing has changed in the order of who is the best stylist.

Lenalee forced a smile upon her face. "Oh, yeah," she said tersely. "That's, uh, great."

"Fantastic," Allen agreed with his teeth clenched as well.

"Of course!" their teacher just laughed in his forever ignorant manner, and he toddled away from his two best students. "Well, I'll see you two on Monday. We'll be working on long hair next week, so get your hair ready!" And he walked out the room, chortling in delight.

The air instantly turned heated in that classroom slash salon.

"Jesus, Allen!" Lenalee snapped, placing her hands on her hips in offense. "Can you quit being a self-important ass and just let me have my top spot? Can you?"

Allen snorted, crossing his silk-clad arms. "Which I would be more than happy to do if you would allow me my glorious victory, Lenalee Lee!" he retorted, huffing.

"Augh!" She wanted to rip out her hair—really, she did. "You're insufferable! Incompatible! Insane! Inbelievable!"

"Inbelieveable is not—"

"This is my care face, Walker," Lenalee said seriously, pointing at her unimpressed visage. "Do you see it? The care? Because I don't. Do you know why I don't see the care? Because I simply don't care."

"Or so I found myself understanding," Allen replied drolly. He flipped his white bangs out the way of his eyes, again, and stepped from behind his station. "As much as I'd love to stand here and banter with someone such as yourself, it's time for lunch." He smiled like a goddamn angel.

Lenalee rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, placing her mannequin in a duffle bag. "As long as I don't have to look at your face anymore today."

"The feeling is, indeed, shared," he muttered, shouldering his styling 'laptop bag' that looked more like a purse.

"Truly."

"Indubitably."

They stared each other down, frowns upon their lips.

"Goodbye, Lenalee," Allen finally said, walking away.

Lenalee stared at him as he left through the classroom door.

Those skinny jeans made his ass look a little round, she mused without realizing it. Then, she blanched, because that was not the thought process one has for their academic rival!

"Hmph!" she huffed, tossing her duffle over her own shoulder. "God, it's great I won't be seeing him again."

(It's Like...)

Damn you Allen Walker, Lenalee found herself thinking for the nth time that day. Damn you to homo hell! Or wherever it is gay people go when they die. San Francisco?

This required some research, she decided as she sipped on her ice water with a tang of lemon. She glared at Allen the entire time, though. It wasn't like the man didn't spend some of his free time staring at her, the creeper.

Lenalee was a trendy young woman, and she knew this. Her hair reflected the style of the time but five times better, her clothes were always above and beyond the normal flow of the average woman, and her shoes. There was nobody in this city who could possibly contend with her concerning shoes.

It only made sense that a trendy woman and a trendy man would have the same circle of friends, regardless of their feelings for the other.

"—congrats on passing your hair test thing," Lavi, no last name, said exuberantly, patting Lenalee on the shoulder in a masculine but gentle way. "I knew you could do it."

"I'm glad someone did," Allen muttered in such a quiet voice that one would think he never said anything.

But Lenalee heard him.

And she wasn't impressed.

"Bitch I'll kill you," she said cheerfully. "And quit hating—it makes your pale, splotchy skin look gross."

Allen cocked an eyebrow, rubbing his cheeks with one gloved hand. "Does it really?" he asked with faux-worry, the jerk. He turned to the man next to him, still rubbing his cheeks. "Kanda, do I look gross to you?"

"You look like you have AIDS in the face," Yuu Kanda answered honestly. Lenalee loved that guy—he was so blunt it was cute.

Too bad he was, you know. Gay. Not metro, though—she was pretty sure that Kanda only liked dick, cock, and penis too. Allen was just…confusing.

Lavi laughed, bringing his martini to his lips. "Naw, dude," he said in a reassuring manner. "You look as gorgeous as ever, my favorite Englishman."

Allen was pleased. "Why, thank you, Lavi," he replied in what sounded oddly flirtatious.

Manho, Lenalee thought, guzzling down her water in spite. "Anyway!" she started, putting in an active effort to turn the conversation away from Allen Walker. "How did your test go, Kanda?"

Kanda cocked an eyebrow, crossing his intriguingly ripped arms. Dear Lord he was hot for a jackass. "I passed, duh," he replied like it was so obvious.

"Passed with what?" Allen asked, leaning his chin against the palm of a hand. "With a ninety?"

"What? No." The Japanese man snorted at the mere thought of such. "I passed with a fuckin' seventy-two, ass."

Lenalee and Allen found themselves sharing a look, as terrible and completely mortifying as it was to have something in common.

"Um." Lenalee furrowed her eyebrows. "Why?" Kanda was the best, and she meant best, barber she knew. He was great with all kinds of haircuts—the crew cuts, the flattops, the high and tights, the hime cut (well, that's because he sported it himself), and even the high-top fade cuts. Kanda was amazing.

"Man, that douche said that I have 'bad people skills,'" the older man explained. "Said that calling the customer an 'asswipe' and telling them to 'go fuck themselves' wasn't good for a barber in training. I told him to touch his mother."

Lavi snortled, obviosuly trying not to laugh. "Because you are obviously the nicest guy here," he stated with minimum sarcasm.

"Shut the hell up, fuckface." Kanda scowled. "You don't even go to our goddamn school."

While Lavi faked a look of shock and hurt, Lenalee knew it to be true. The tall, one-eyed redhead didn't attend the Vatican School of Beauty; he didn't attend any cosmetology school.

Lavi was more like a freelance model and photographer. He just knew Kanda, who knew Lenalee, who knew Allen, who also knew Kanda, and then the cycle continues. Because of his connection, the man generally just wanders onto the campus to harass Kanda or rally the trio up for a lunch at the Order.

It was very bum-like, Lenalee believed, but whatever. He still dressed better than the majority of high society, and was handsome if you were into guys who were missing a few eyes.

"Oh, Yuu—"

"Shut your whore mouth, asshole."

Lenalee shook her head and smiled, and then she looked out the café window towards the busy, mainstream streets and crowded, colorful sidewalks.

She lived in this place—this small metropolitan area (if that made any sort of sense) in the United States of America. It was in California, yeah, but that only intensified the seriousness in which her success in this school had to show.

But, her train of self-expositionary thought was cut off by the prickling feeling of a particularly hard stare.

Lenalee turned around, cocking an eyebrow.

Allen continued to stare at her, drumming his long fingers against the table. Which, actually, was kind of weird, considering how he usually stopped staring once she turned around to catch his sneaky ass.

"…What?" she asked, immediately getting on the defensive. You just don't let your guard down around Allen Walker—people die or lose the top spot in class this way. "What do you want, jerkface?"

"A particularly mature handle, but not by much for your standards," the British man replied with so much sarcasm that it dripped from his lips.

"Look, jerk, if you're just gonna—"

He shook his head. "Okay, I apologize, Lenalee," he interuptted her calmly. "It's just that…how do I word this?"

Lenalee stared at him, waiting for the douche to finish his sentences.

"I can't stop thinking of you," Allen finally said, shaking his head with a small frown. The Chinese woman cocked an eyebrow—that wasn't the look of someone who was pleased with the thought of a pretty young lady like herself. "Everytime I go home, whenever I'm walking into the Hollister store, and even when I am watching Lifetime—I think of you."

Lavi and Kanda stopped arguing at this point, and even the bad-tempered Japanese man stopped to hear whatever Allen was trying to say.

Lenalee, though, was a little nervous. Was this an inkling of her old, best friend from secondary school? He didn't die a mortifying blood involving a tree and some drugs?

"And please don't think of me as presumptuous," Too late, Lenalee thought, hiding her expression behind her almost empty glass of water. "It's just…" Why the hell was he being so cute and nervous about this? Wait, she meant just nervous. Yes.

"Please, just say it," the woman said suddenly, rubbing her temples. "Just, just end this."

Allen nodded, smiling. "Then, may I style your hair?" he asked. "For my final project, that is."

The request, though, didn't really hit Lenalee until the water she was planning on swallowing somehow was projectile spat across the table.

Allen Walker wanted what from her?!

1! Or Maybe It Isn't

Fuck you FFN and your cockblock of my personal linebreaks SHIT

So, yeah, this won't be a long fic at all. Yep yep, it's a spur of the moment thing—it does not take precedence over other important fics, like AWYWI or this ultra-long one-shot I'm working on.

Be aware though that a metrosexual really isn't gay. It's just a guy that cares about how he looks, so don't worry 'kay guize?

By the by, if you know me, Novelist Pup (or Duke Kaza the 3rd), then you'd know that I frequently write faggots. And by frequently, I mean ALL THE TIME. This is the second heterosexual main pairing fic I have EVER written. Ever. Allenalee is NOT my OTP by a long shot—I actually think they are BFFs like whoa, and that any sexual relations is going to end in horrible horrible failure. I also thought that if they were in a relationship past platonic, that it would be the most BORING thing EVER. Then again, Kanda/Allen is also HORRIBLY BORING, so I decided what did I have to lose? And I took the gayest plot I could possibly imagine and stuck this pairing into it.

Yeah, I am JUST THAT AWESOME.

(No I'm not)

I still do not have spellcheck and I still possess an unnatural fear of a beta reader but feel free to tell me if there is a spelling or grammatical mistake.

But, if you find any need to tell me of anything else you don't like, such as the plot or characterizations, then feel free to NOT tell me about it. Like, at all. C: Love yooooou guuuuuize