Fic: You Have To Want It [1/?] (Inception, Arthur/Eames)
Title: You Have To Want It [1/?]
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG to PG-13.
Summary: Inception AU. Arthur is a student at a college for the arts. Eames is, too. Arthur's not so sure how he feels about this.
Author's Note: Thank you to dragonlet for beta'ing this when I threw it at you. >> ilubb.
Arthur had not made his decisions in life lightly. Every move had always been planned, every choice carefully weighed before it had been committed to. This decision, despite his parents' shock and doubt, has been made no less carefully. He had sat up countless nights, comparing paperwork and listing pros and cons and possible future plans for every fork in the road. His final choice had been truly well-researched and completely thought out. That did not, he was aware, preclude it from being stupid.
He had the choice of any college or university he had wished. He applied to a fair number of them, and had consequentially been accepted to most of those he sent in his application to. Each acceptance letter had been carefully labeled, documented, and filed. He spent multiple weeks considering all of his options, narrowing them down one by one until only two remained. At that point, he reached his most important decision. To live his life and choose his career for success, or for enjoyment. Neither course entirely excluded either of these qualities, but each clearly favored one side or the other.
In the end, he finally made his choice. He had chosen to, in the end, be happy in his career before becoming successful in it. He found this to be the best decision, as he wasn't of the sort of temperament to suffer until taken notice of, and - seeing as a large part of life was suffering without being noticed - decided that if he were forced to suffer, it would be in a field where the suffering would be at least somewhat enjoyable.
His parents were not impressed with his decision.
Arguably, he told them, there was no reason to assume he had chosen the wrong course. The field of study which he wished to enter was a growing, prosperous industry. Many opportunities for advancement and success existed. It was entirely possible, should he succeed, for him to live quite comfortably. If he succeeded, that is. They still were unimpressed, and made it quite clear they would have preferred he attend an Ivy League school, but the choice was ultimately his.
All of this deliberation led to his standing where he currently was, staring up at a squat, four-story brick building that would be his - And all 200 of the other freshmen's - home for the next nine months. He was so absorbed in studying the old building that he had been paying no attention to the bustle of students moving in around him. He hadn't heard the warning shout of the large boy now barreling into him, nearly knocking him off of his feet. Arthur staggered, dazed, as a distracted figure in horribly bright paisley shouted a half-sincere apology back at him.
“Sorry, darling! Coming through!”
Arthur regained his balance and began to dust himself off, looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. By the time he looked up again, the boy had disappeared -- before Arthur could tell him that his name was most certainly not 'darling'.
Perhaps art school had not been the right decision after all.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Arthur's roommate was a quietly jolly Middle-Eastern boy who introduced himself as Yusuf. He had already claimed the left half of their room, his desk a mess of electrical wires, computer equipment, and wire models. Arthur was fairly sure he saw a chemistry set, and he decided not to ask - it seemed safer. His parents helped him to set his boxes down on his half of the room, each one clearly and neatly labeled with its contents. Once all of his things had been brought up, he saw them off for their long drive home. His mother kissed his cheek, leaving a pinkish-brown smudge of lipstick behind. His father ruffled his impeccably-groomed hair, called him sport, and then they both were into the car and away with only enough time between for Arthur to look briefly disturbed at the mussing of his carefully-ordered appearance and to say a hurried good-bye.
He returned to his room and began to unpack. Despite the disarray of his desk, Yusuf appeared to keep his space rather neat, which was all well and good for Arthur. He started to organize his clothing in the tiny closet and drawers they had been provided. He had brought his own hangers, and those were also labeled. Each article of clothing had its place, and there was a place for each and every article of clothing. He carefully hung up every shirt, every pair of neatly pressed pants, and every vest. They were organized by color, by cut, and by occasion. He stood back to survey his work, a small smile on his lips.
“Are you OCD?” Yusuf asked from across the room, sounding innocently curious.
Arthur wasn't really surprised by the question. He was oddly neat and organized, he knew. It wasn't as if mess disturbed him - It simply seemed to have no point. He was fully capable of organizing everything and keeping his space clean, leaving room for countless other useful endeavors. Why leave it an unmanageable mess? Clutter in the home cluttered the mind.
“No.” He said, unoffended. “I just prefer to be orderly. A messy desk is the sign of insanity, you know.” He raised an eyebrow, grinning at Yusuf's cluttered work area.
Yusuf snorted, pretended to throw a shirt at Arthur in mock-protest, and returned to unpacking. He seemed to accept the answer without asking anything further. Despite his possible odd habits - Arthur eyed the possible chemistry set again - he actually rather liked his roommate.
The room seemed abysmally small once both boys were entirely unpacked. They had only a few feet of crowded walking space, despite having both lofted their beds to within a foot of the ceiling, causing them to sway precariously when they clambered up the sides of the beds to sleep or relax. Yusuf had supplied them with a small mini-fridge, which further took up space, and Arthur felt distinctly claustrophobic.
“Home sweet home.” Yusuf said brightly. “For the next nine sardine-like months. How much are we paying for this again?”
Arthur was beginning to wish he'd gone to Yale after all.
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: PG to PG-13.
Summary: Inception AU. Arthur is a student at a college for the arts. Eames is, too. Arthur's not so sure how he feels about this.
Author's Note: Thank you to dragonlet for beta'ing this when I threw it at you. >> ilubb.
Arthur had not made his decisions in life lightly. Every move had always been planned, every choice carefully weighed before it had been committed to. This decision, despite his parents' shock and doubt, has been made no less carefully. He had sat up countless nights, comparing paperwork and listing pros and cons and possible future plans for every fork in the road. His final choice had been truly well-researched and completely thought out. That did not, he was aware, preclude it from being stupid.
He had the choice of any college or university he had wished. He applied to a fair number of them, and had consequentially been accepted to most of those he sent in his application to. Each acceptance letter had been carefully labeled, documented, and filed. He spent multiple weeks considering all of his options, narrowing them down one by one until only two remained. At that point, he reached his most important decision. To live his life and choose his career for success, or for enjoyment. Neither course entirely excluded either of these qualities, but each clearly favored one side or the other.
In the end, he finally made his choice. He had chosen to, in the end, be happy in his career before becoming successful in it. He found this to be the best decision, as he wasn't of the sort of temperament to suffer until taken notice of, and - seeing as a large part of life was suffering without being noticed - decided that if he were forced to suffer, it would be in a field where the suffering would be at least somewhat enjoyable.
His parents were not impressed with his decision.
Arguably, he told them, there was no reason to assume he had chosen the wrong course. The field of study which he wished to enter was a growing, prosperous industry. Many opportunities for advancement and success existed. It was entirely possible, should he succeed, for him to live quite comfortably. If he succeeded, that is. They still were unimpressed, and made it quite clear they would have preferred he attend an Ivy League school, but the choice was ultimately his.
All of this deliberation led to his standing where he currently was, staring up at a squat, four-story brick building that would be his - And all 200 of the other freshmen's - home for the next nine months. He was so absorbed in studying the old building that he had been paying no attention to the bustle of students moving in around him. He hadn't heard the warning shout of the large boy now barreling into him, nearly knocking him off of his feet. Arthur staggered, dazed, as a distracted figure in horribly bright paisley shouted a half-sincere apology back at him.
“Sorry, darling! Coming through!”
Arthur regained his balance and began to dust himself off, looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. By the time he looked up again, the boy had disappeared -- before Arthur could tell him that his name was most certainly not 'darling'.
Perhaps art school had not been the right decision after all.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Arthur's roommate was a quietly jolly Middle-Eastern boy who introduced himself as Yusuf. He had already claimed the left half of their room, his desk a mess of electrical wires, computer equipment, and wire models. Arthur was fairly sure he saw a chemistry set, and he decided not to ask - it seemed safer. His parents helped him to set his boxes down on his half of the room, each one clearly and neatly labeled with its contents. Once all of his things had been brought up, he saw them off for their long drive home. His mother kissed his cheek, leaving a pinkish-brown smudge of lipstick behind. His father ruffled his impeccably-groomed hair, called him sport, and then they both were into the car and away with only enough time between for Arthur to look briefly disturbed at the mussing of his carefully-ordered appearance and to say a hurried good-bye.
He returned to his room and began to unpack. Despite the disarray of his desk, Yusuf appeared to keep his space rather neat, which was all well and good for Arthur. He started to organize his clothing in the tiny closet and drawers they had been provided. He had brought his own hangers, and those were also labeled. Each article of clothing had its place, and there was a place for each and every article of clothing. He carefully hung up every shirt, every pair of neatly pressed pants, and every vest. They were organized by color, by cut, and by occasion. He stood back to survey his work, a small smile on his lips.
“Are you OCD?” Yusuf asked from across the room, sounding innocently curious.
Arthur wasn't really surprised by the question. He was oddly neat and organized, he knew. It wasn't as if mess disturbed him - It simply seemed to have no point. He was fully capable of organizing everything and keeping his space clean, leaving room for countless other useful endeavors. Why leave it an unmanageable mess? Clutter in the home cluttered the mind.
“No.” He said, unoffended. “I just prefer to be orderly. A messy desk is the sign of insanity, you know.” He raised an eyebrow, grinning at Yusuf's cluttered work area.
Yusuf snorted, pretended to throw a shirt at Arthur in mock-protest, and returned to unpacking. He seemed to accept the answer without asking anything further. Despite his possible odd habits - Arthur eyed the possible chemistry set again - he actually rather liked his roommate.
The room seemed abysmally small once both boys were entirely unpacked. They had only a few feet of crowded walking space, despite having both lofted their beds to within a foot of the ceiling, causing them to sway precariously when they clambered up the sides of the beds to sleep or relax. Yusuf had supplied them with a small mini-fridge, which further took up space, and Arthur felt distinctly claustrophobic.
“Home sweet home.” Yusuf said brightly. “For the next nine sardine-like months. How much are we paying for this again?”
Arthur was beginning to wish he'd gone to Yale after all.