[fic] this is why we don't like black widow: (1/3)

[forpetrichor]

Title: this is why we don't like black widow
Rating: R
Genre: slash, het, college au
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb/Ariadne, the rest of the cast makes an appearance
Word Count: 22,000+
Warnings: strong language and some violence and sexual content
Summary: After being coerced by his roommate Dominick Cobb to take a class on the art and history of comic books, Arthur meets Eames, a cocky, British smartass, who after kicking the back of Arthur's chair in class one day to keep him awake has yet to break the habit. Arthur wants nothing to do with him, but upon discovering that Eames is good friends with Ariadne, (a girl he's been crushing on since meeting her last year in his physics class), decides to put up with his antics in order to get closer to her. Complications ensue when Arthur and Eames are paired up for the class project-creating their very own comic book. Herein lies a tale of deceit, misunderstandings, love lost, love found, and really, really bad comic books.



Masterpost

It starts with Dom. But then again, it always starts with Dom.

If questioned, Arthur has nothing to say but good things about his roommate Dominick Cobb. They’re best buddies, inseparable; but to any outsider their relationship would look strained, unnatural. They’re always trying to one-up the other, and Cobb, with his imagination and drive, is always spouting out crazy ideas, and Arthur, with his down-to-earth practicalities, is always shooting them down.

Or, at least, trying to.

So really, when Dom comes bursting into their dorm room that Thursday morning before classes begin, Arthur should have seen it coming.

Arthur’s in their dorm room, studying his Second-Edition Principles of Economics textbook, when the door slams open with enough force to smack against the wall and swing back closed with a reverberating crash. Arthur jerks around in surprise, just in time to see Cobb opening the door again-a great deal more gently this time around. Cobb stands in the doorway, hands on his hips in what Arthur thinks is his attempt to look heroic, and glares at Arthur.

“You’re going to ask me to do something,” Arthur says. “So let me stop you right there and say: no. ”

“Three words for you, Arthur,” Cobb says without pause, and he holds up three fingers for emphasis. “Comic. Book. Class.”

“Oh my god,” Arthur groans, “it’s worse than I thought. Teenaged prostitution, I would be okay with. Hell, joining the mafia would’ve been a better-”

“Arthur. Shut up,” Cobb snaps, impatient. Arthur sighs, but acquiesces with a wave of his hand. “So it’s a new class, ‘The Art and History of Comic Books’,” Cobb continues. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Arthur recognizes well-too well. Arthur knows right then that he is well and truly fucked. “Professor Saito is teaching it, and you get to draw comic books instead of doing a final. Anyway, what I’m trying to say, Arthur, is that it’s the class to take on campus. And we? We are taking it.”

“Cobb,” Arthur sighs, looking at his friend in exasperation. “Once, in third grade my teacher gave my drawing of a cat an ‘F’. Dom, we didn’t even have grades in that year. Dom, I failed art in the third grade. ”

There’s a heavy pause, then: “Your point being?”

“Argh!” Arthur exclaims, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “My point being, how could you possibly think I’d take a goddamned art class, now, in college, when the grades actually matter? I can’t. Do. Art. ”

“But Arthur…” Cobb says solemnly. “Comic books. ” He gives Arthur another imploring look. “Comic books. ”

“Nothing you say or do will compel me to take that class,” Arthur says with finality, and he swivels his chair around so his back faces Cobb. “The answer is ‘no’, and it will always be ‘no’.”

“But-”

“No.”

“There’s a-”

“No.”

“Ariadne’s taking it.”

Arthur freezes, and all at once his heart begins to pound wildly away in his chest. Slowly, inch by inch, he turns his chair back around to face Cobb once more.

“…what?”

“I got you,” Cobb exclaims jubilantly, eyes bright, and he points a finger at Arthur. “I got you good. ”

So Arthur may or may not have the biggest crush in the history of life on Ariadne, a girl he’d met last year in his Physics class. It is a highly debatable subject, and one that Arthur does not like to frequently dwell on. And if it’s Ariadne’s face he imagines every time he jerks off in the dorm showers, well. She does have a very pretty face.

“I guess that’s a ‘yes’ then,” Cobb says, grinning, and the look in his eyes is much too knowledgeable. “Which is good and all, seeing as I’ve already signed you up. Well then bye!” Cobb cries out triumphantly over Arthur’s indignant hiss. He beats a hasty retreat, the textbook Arthur had thrown in rage hot on his heels.

It’s only after his morning classes that Arthur has time to check his class schedule online, and sure enough, the empty time-slot he used to have Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings is gone, replaced with the damnable Art and History of Comic Books.

Of course, Cobb times springing the news on Arthur perfectly; schedules became permanent at 11 that morning, right when Arthur was still stuck in his class. There’s no possible way out of it.

“I am going to kill him,” Arthur says calmly.

The freshman sitting next to him on the bench glances up, takes one good look at the expression on Arthur’s face, and hurriedly walks away.

“Well not you, obviously!” Arthur calls out after him. The freshman yelps, and walks faster. “Idiot,” Arthur huffs, and snaps his laptop shut determinedly. Getting up from the bench, he stuffs the computer into his shoulder bag and makes off for the Student Lounge. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon. Cobb will be there.

And sure enough, Arthur sees Cobb at their regular table towards the back of the building, eating lunch from his tray in front of him. Arthur determinedly strides over and slams his bag down hard on the table, making Cobb jump in surprise. “I should’ve never told you my student ID number,” he says bitterly, sliding into the chair next to Dom. “Also, I am going to kill you.”

“The fact that you think I’d need your number is cute,” Cobb shoots back with a cheeky smile, taking a bite out of his apple. He chews thoughtfully, and then adds, with a mouth still full of fruit, “well, it certainly didn’t hurt.”

“Ugh. Ugh, ” Arthur groans, and he grabs a fork from Cobb’s tray before stabbing his friend’s pasta with murderous fury.

Cobb chomps out another bite of the apple. “Buck up, kid,” he says, patting Arthur on the back.

“What are you, seventy? ”

”I do have a mind wise beyond my years,” Dom says solemnly.

Arthur huffs around a mouthful of penne. “How were you not bullied in high school?”

“Quick wit and the ability to run fast, of course.”

“Oh, oh, of course. ”

Cobb frowns. “Someday, when you’re older-more mature-you’ll get tired of mocking me.”

“Never,” Arthur says immediately, his grin feral.

Cobb suddenly stands up, animatedly pointing his half-eaten apple at Arthur. “SO REMEMBER, ARTHUR,” Cobb yells abruptly, seemingly tired of the direction their conversation is heading, “COMIC BOOK CLASS TOMORROW AT TEN.” He takes a vigorous bite from the apple and strides pompously away.

Arthur’s grin falters with this reminder. “Bastard,” he mutters under his breath, and furiously stabs out another bite of Cobb’s forgotten pasta.

In Arthur’s mind, Ariadne is the perfect girl.

She’s pretty, funny, and knowledgeable; she can talk for hours highlighting the critical flaws in the fiscal policies of the United States, and just as easily wax poetic about her favorite Lady Gaga outfits of all time (Arthur knows she has seven). Of course, a lot of this Arthur knows from word of mouth, or from innocently overhearing her conversations during class. That he’d always sit near enough to eavesdrop is understandable; it’s a crush for god’s sake, what’s he’s supposed to do?

At first, Arthur had been a bit taken aback by this apparent crush, as it had been quite some time since he’d last been attracted to a girl. It had been Mary back in his first year of middle school, who’d picked him to be her racquetball partner in zero period PE. She’d been his first kiss too, but after being followed by a string of guys-some mere infatuation, some actual relationships-Arthur had almost started to think of himself as being completely and utterly gay. Then Ariadne had come out of nowhere, and Arthur surrendered to his apparent fluid sexuality.

They’d met after he’d sat next to Ariadne on their first day of class. Arthur likes to think it hadn’t been mere coincidence, that her very presence had drawn him in, (in actuality, he’d been the third person into the auditorium, and sitting next to or even near the heavy-browed goth in the corner of the room hadn’t really appealed to him.) So next to Ariadne was. She’d been sitting there sketching, yellow scarf tied skillfully around her neck, red sweater-vest fitting tightly to all her curves. The instant Arthur had sat down he knew it’d been the right choice, because folded neatly in half and resting precariously on top of her books had been the Business section of that morning’s newspaper. Arthur, being Arthur, just had to call her out on this fact, and they’d fallen right into a discussion. That had been the first and only time they’d talked, but it was enough.

They’d continued to say casual ‘hello’s,’ waved if they happened to pass by each other outside of class, but Arthur never had the nerve to strike up another conversation. It was disheartening to realize that it was only after Arthur discovered how right Ariadne seemed for him, that his body and his brain froze up, and the courage he’d found to talk to her when she’d just been yet another nameless face in the crowd had disappeared.

Ariadne being in this new class gives him the opportunity he’d so foolishly thrown aside. It’s another year, another semester, and now Arthur has another nine months to find the courage he’d been lacking the year before, to take the leap and not just say ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ but to take it a step further, to talk to her, and to listen to her voice without feeling guilty about it, and to look at her freely without feeling like a creep.

Arthur doesn’t want to take the class, but he knows he has to; in all actuality, it’s his only hope.

* * *

On Friday morning, Arthur is rudely awoken by a pillow.

It’s a very fine pillow, soft and fluffy, with just enough down to be the perfect firmness. It’s the kind of pillow one would want to be hit with, if one had no other choice than to be hit with a pillow.

But Arthur is pretty goddamn sure he has a choice in this matter. And Arthur does not want to be pillowed awake, no matter how fine a specimen of a pillow it is.

“I will fucking make you bleed, motherfucker,” Arthur snarls, grabbing his sheets and pulling them over his head, in a poor attempt at blocking the blows.

“Wake up, Arthur!” Dom exclaims, unperturbed, as he thumps Arthur over the head again.

Arthur wonders when Dom stopped taking his threats seriously.

Arthur wonders if Dom ever took them seriously at all.

With a great sigh, he heaves the sheets off his body and sits up in bed. “Look, look, I’m up.”

“Good,” Cobb says, and takes another swing at Arthur’s head. Arthur sees it coming, but his reflexes, still muddled from sleep, are not quick enough to avoid the blow.

Thwump, goes the pillow. “Mmph, ” goes Arthur.

And Dom, the son-of-a-bitch, just stands there laughing.

“Someday this is all going to come back to bite you in the motherfucking face, ” Arthur warns, as he rubs his sleep-crusted eyes.

“That’s what you always say, Arthur,” he replies, still chuckling. “Anyway, you now have,” he checks his watch, “twenty-seven minutes to get ready for class.”

“…what? Fuck!” Arthur exclaims, as he looks over at his bedside alarm clock. 9:33 twinkles mockingly back at him.

Dom has the gall to snicker.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Arthur screeches, and he‘s springing out of bed and throwing on clothes before Dom can even blink.

“I had Professor Miles at eight, remember?” Dom says, and much to Arthur’s chagrin doesn’t sound very sympathetic. “Look, I reminded you last night to set your alarm,” he points out.

Arthur spares an apologetic glance over at Dom. “I know, I know, I messed up,” he says, hopping around on one foot as he yanks on a sock, “thanks for waking me up at all then. Though you could’ve done it, I don’t know, a little more gently? ”

Cobb grins. “Hey, well, the end justifies the means.”

“I’m talking Hiroshima with you later,” Arthur huffs in retort. “In the meantime; shoes?”

“Closet, I believe. Anyhoo-”

“Seriously, how were you not bullied?”

“-I’m off to class. Don’t want to be late on the first day,” he continues, amused.

“Oh, fuck you to hell.”

“I do hope you’re not late, Arthur,” Cobb singsongs, and then he’s gone, and Arthur is left scrambling around the room in a hunt for his shoes alone.

“Fucking idiot, this is all his fault, ” Arthur hisses to himself, as he finally slips on his newly-found shoes (underneath his bed, Cobb the lying bastard). With that, he whirls out of the room and makes a quick stop into the bathroom, to piss and to splash water on his face in an attempt to feel somewhat clean.

With fifteen minutes to spare, Arthur hurries over to the Student Center to grab a banana, and finally, three minutes before ten, Arthur finds himself in the Cobol building, opening the door to Auditorium B.

The auditorium is packed with students, two hundred at least, and a cursory glance around the place shows the professor to be missing. Arthur wanders up the rows, and manages to find a seat next to a small-looking Asian girl, somewhere near the back of the room, and finally allows himself to breathe.

His reprieve is short; just a few chairs in front of him, a bit to the left, someone is turned around and waving in Arthur’s general direction.

It’s Cobb. Of course.

“What?” Arthur hisses, and Cobb stops waving, instead points somewhere towards the front of the room. Arthur follows his finger and that’s when he sees Ariadne.

She’s surrounded by a gaggle of her friends, all architecture students by the look of it. She’s currently laughing at something one of them just said, her whole face aglow with amusement. The world seems to melt away for Arthur, until she’s the center of his universe, and he is totally and completely enthralled.

But then the door of the auditorium suddenly crashes open, revealing a tall, imposing Japanese man striding with purpose to the front of the class, and the moment is gone. Arthur manages to tear his gaze away from Ariadne and face the front of the room, where the professor is leaning on his knuckles over the top of the desk, studying the class closely. Arthur just manages to catch a glimpse of Cobb’s knowing grin before his friend turns towards the professor as well.

“If you do not want to be here, leave,” Professor Saito suddenly barks out in heavily accented English.

A nervous silence sweeps over the auditorium.

“If any of you-any of you, ” he reiterates, scanning the classroom, “don’t want to be here, you will be spending the last few days of your semester filed with regret, waiting to fail alone.”

There’s a murmur of dissent among the students at these words, and Arthur coughs guiltily, before settling down a little lower in his seat. “Dramatic, much?” someone with a distinctly English accent mutters behind him, and a few of the students sitting around Arthur titter with nervous amusement.

“No one wishes to leave?” Professor Saito asks. The professor scans the crowd again, and Arthur shields his eyes nervously with a hand, as if Saito would be able to spot him amongst the hundreds of other students in the auditorium. He’d contemplated leaving before, but no matter how much he doesn’t want to be there, nothing could get him to leave now, when all eyes (most especially Ariadne’s) would be upon him.

“Very well,” Arthur hears the professor finally say, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Professor Saito then launches into a passionate speech outlining the various influences of comic books on society without even skipping a beat.

After a few minutes of listening to the professor drone on, Arthur’s cell suddenly buzzes in his pocket with a text message, and he pulls it out to read.

From : Dominick
Received : Fri, Sept 10 10:06 am

haha :D

Arthur sighs, rolls his eyes and vows revenge later.

* * *

Arthur supposes that going to sleep at six am the night before instead of his usual twelve might have been a mistake.

See, the thing is; it’s really warm inside Auditorium B, and Saito’s droning voice is admittedly very soothing to listen to, and when he’s keeping awake with just a weak cup of coffee and sheer determination alone, it’s not surprising that he’d be nodding off in class.

In Arthur’s defense, staying up until six had been unavoidable. Because he has a six-page paper due in Economics in a Digital Age just an hour after this class, and he really had had no time whatsoever to work on it before last night, because of… issues.

So really. Unavoidable.

Clearly.

And that… that’s why he’s nodding… off in class. That’s…

Thwump.

Arthur jerks awake with a huff, disoriented. Was that…? Did someone just…? Did someone just kick his chair?

Thwump.

And there it is again; his whole chair shudders as the guy behind him kicks his fucking chair.

Arthur whirls around. “What the fuck was that for?” he hisses, glaring.

“You were falling asleep, mate,” the guy replies, in an English accent of all things, and he shrugs.

Arthur takes the guy in; he’s wearing a light brown polo shirt, popped collar, opened to reveal tattooed skin, and one of those tacky shark-tooth necklaces dangles in between his collarbones. Great, just what Arthur needs; a bored, stunningly attractive frat boy looking for some poor soul to bother.

“Yeah, well… thanks,” Arthur begrudgingly says. “But you can stop it now.”

The guy smiles to reveal quite a set of crooked teeth. “Okay, whatever you say then,” he says unconvincingly, and Arthur nods briskly before turning away. A few moments pass, and he sends a silent prayer to every deity he can think of, hoping that the guy will let things lie.

Thwump.

Arthur doesn’t even flinch. “Oh my god.”

The guy just sniggers, and aims a few taps in quick succession at the back of Arthur’s chair.

“Stop it,” Arthur snarls under his breath. “Or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“Sorry, darling, but this is entirely too much fun,” the guys whispers, and Arthur spares another glance behind him. The guy is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, expression smug. ‘Hi,’ he mouths, once he sees Arthur looking at him. Arthur groans and whirls around, stubbornly facing forward even when the kicking begins anew, a steady unceasing rhythm.

And then the kicking unexpectedly stops. Arthur waits with bated breath.

“I’m Eames,” the guy suddenly whispers into his ear. Arthur yelps, and a few students give him inquisitive glances. Arthur tries his best to make himself look disinteresting, and once they look away, Arthur turns around.

“‘I’m Fucking Dead,’ you mean,” Arthur snaps, trying to quell the blush currently struggling to his cheeks from his embarrassing outburst.

The guy-no, Eames-smiles. “You wanna tell me your name then?”

“Hell no.”

“If you don’t tell me your name, I’m gonna have to make one up for you.”

“Get that right out of Star Trek, did you?”

“What’s Star Trek?” Eames asks.

“What’s Star Trek? What’s Star Trek? ” Arthur hisses in disbelief, but when he turns around he sees Eames grinning mischievously. “Oh, ha ha, absolutely hilarious,” he deadpans, turning back around.

“So you’re not going to tell me your name?”

“Obviously.”

Then Arthur can feel a heavy presence at his back, and out of the corner of his eye can see Eames leaning forward, craning his neck to see over his shoulder. “Oh, so it’s Arthur, ” he says triumphantly. “See, it says there, on your notebook,” Eames explains, pointing. Arthur glances at where his finger is directing, and sure enough ‘Arthur’ is spelled out in neat block letters in the top corner of one of his notebooks. Fuck. Arthur quickly moves a hand to cover his name, before looking behind him and glaring.

“Arthur. Arthuuuur,” Eames says, rolling the name about in his mouth. “Like the king. ”

“Are you a bit touched in the head?” Arthur asks.

Eames just grins. Suddenly, his face goes serious and he straightens up, and Arthur looks at him quizzically.

“Gentlemen!” a voice calls out. “Am I interrupting something?”

Arthur freezes, and then quickly whirls back around. Sure enough, the professor is gazing steadily at them both, eyebrows raised in warning.

“Sorry, Professor Saito,” Arthur mutters, trying to ignore what seems like thousands of eyes all looking at him.

“Thank you,” Saito says, and with one last hard glance at the two of them, turns back to his lecture.

“Oh shit, in trouble on the first day of class,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s ear a beat later, voice gleeful, as if he’s trying to hold back laughter.

“Shut the fuck up,” Arthur snarls, and finally, finally, Eames leaves him the fuck alone.

“Who was that talking to you?” Cobb asks after class. Arthur had shot out of his seat just as the professor dismissed them, in an attempt to avoid any more unwanted interaction with Eames, and as result almost missed seeing Cobb walk out of the classroom.

“Some annoying frat boy,” Arthur replies. “He kicked my chair to keep me awake, but then just kept doing it.”

Dom laughs, pats Arthur sympathetically. “Just get there early on Monday, so you don’t have to sit next to the guy again.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, scanning the crowd milling about in front of the Cobol Building for a glimpse of Ariadne, (he’d lost her in the press of students, god dammit) “I think I will.”

Dom smiles and claps him on the back, before trotting down the steps in the direction of their dorm. Giving up hope on finding Ariadne, Arthur runs to catch up. They walk slowly, meandering through campus, until their dorm finally comes into view.

Arthur sees Mal first.

She’s standing just under the small copse of trees right outside their dorm, clutching a small stack of books to her chest, and rhythmically scanning the few students milling about in front of the building with steady eyes. She has this peculiar expression on her face, and Arthur knows her well enough to know what’s going to happen next.

Arthur stops walking abruptly, scowling. “What’s she doing here?” Arthur asks, motioning his chin in Mal’s direction. Dom glances over at her sharply, and his shoulders tense immediately upon seeing her. “Mal,” he whispers, and almost as if she heard him, Mal’s gaze snaps over to them immediately.

“I’ll take care of this,” Dom replies, surprisingly calm, but as he strides over to where she’s waiting, the tense set of his shoulders betray his anxiety.

Arthur stays put, watching them closely. At first they look calm, collected, but then Mal reaches out to cup Dom’s cheek and Dom flinches as if her touch is scorching, and the damn breaks. Soon they’re both hissing at each other, spitting mad and equally disgusted.

Mal finally stalks off, stopping her feet as best she can in her heels. Dom watches her go with a scowl; Arthur approaches him cautiously. “Let’s go,” he says, but Dom hesitates, as if he’s going to run after her, but thankfully he turns to follow him inside.

“So what’d she want?” Arthur asks, as they walk up the dorm’s stairs to their room.

At first, Arthur thinks Cobb isn’t going to answer, but he takes a shaky breath and replies.

“Nothing really. Wanted a chance to talk, is all.”

“You two broke up five months ago and she still wants ‘a chance to talk’?” Arthur scoffs, doubtful. “No, there’s something else going on. I mean, the way you two were snapping at each other.” Arthur stops climbing mid-step, struck with a sudden thought. “She’s not… she’s not still threatening to kill herself, is she?”

“Fuck no, Arthur,” Dom snaps, and he gives Arthur a shove right between his shoulder blades. Arthur stumbles up a few steps, but remains standing. He glares at Dom.

“Remember how I can always tell when you’re lying?” Arthur replies, crossing his arms angrily. “Right now is a prime example.”

“Look, I can handle this, alright?” Dom exclaims.

“Right,” Arthur says, totally unconvinced. “Because that’s exactly what you fucking said when you two were still together. Tell me, how did that work out? Is she still in therapy?”

“Look, she didn’t talk about… that,” Dom mutters.

“Oh really?” Arthur groans, rolling his eyes. “What did she say to you then?”

Dom glares daggers. “Would you stop being so nosy?"

“Would you stop being such an idiot?”

“Never, you meddler.”

“Fucker.”

“Nuisance.”

“Dickface.

“Interloper,” Dom snaps, and he shoves Arthur again, this time in the chest.

“Seriously, where do you get this stuff?” Arthur asks, shoving him back.

Of course Dom nearly falls down the stairs after that, and then Arthur prevents him from climbing back up the stairs by shoving his hand in Dom’s face, and when Dom finally manages to ascend the last few steps he pushes back at Arthur’s face with his sweaty palm. So they’re standing on the landing of their floor grappling with each other’s faces and Dom is laughing so hard he can’t even breathe and Arthur is grinning like a maniac, which is kind of gross because he can feel Dom’s fleshy palm on his gums, but then kind of funny too and it’s not like he can just stop smiling when they’re fighting like this.

“You look soooo much better with my hand covering your face,” Dom jibes, voice muffled by Arthur’s palm, and that is definitely gross because now Dom’s wet lips are moving and Arthur can feel the words being spoken into his hand. Arthur loves Dom and all, but really; boundaries. Arthur draws his palm away with a sound of disgust.

“Not even my hand can make your face look better,” Arthur jibes back, wiping his palms vigorously on his jeans.

“Arthur, I don’t have cooties,” Dom says, staring pointedly at Arthur’s hand as he wipes it enough more thoroughly on his shirt.

“Seriously, who still even says that?”

Dom simply snorts, and moves on down the hall towards their room.

Arthur sighs, resisting the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation, and follows.

It’s only hours later, as Arthur lies in bed ready for sleep, that he realizes he’s completely forgotten to quiz Dom further on what had gone down between him and Mal that afternoon.

But Arthur’s sleep-addled mind hazily contemplates this over and over again, until it finally decides it’s not worth the eventual fight. He forgets about it and falls asleep.

* * *

“So this is Eames,” Dom announces, as Arthur walks up to him just before class come Monday, and he gestures at the guy sitting behind him, to the left. “He’s from England. ”

“Hi, Arthur,” Eames says.

“Oh my fucking god,” Arthur says. “You! ”

“No way. No way, ” Dom exclaims, surprised. “It’s the guy? This is the guy? ‘Annoying Frat Boy’ from Friday?”

“I’m ‘Annoying Frat Boy’?” Eames asks. “You mean Arthur gave me a nickname? ”

“Oh god, please, someone get me out of here,” Arthur pleads, dejectedly plopping into the seat next to Dom.

“Poor Arthur,” Dom says.

“Fuck me,” Arthur says.

“Arthur, you gave me a nickname!” Eames says.

Arthur groans.

* * *

As Arthur’s luck would have it, Dom and Eames are fast friends.

Sometimes he’s lucky, and gets to class late enough that the only empty seats are nowhere near where Eames is sitting.

Sometimes he’s not so lucky, and gets to the lecture hall on time. On those days, no matter where he sits Eames finds him, and promptly sits in the chair right behind him, prime kicking-backs-of-chairs real estate. Fortunately, Dom is usually there with him, so provides a wonderful distraction that gives him some measure of relief from Eames’ attention.

And sometimes life just shits on his face, because there are those days that Eames and Arthur end up just the two of them together (and it’s always Eames sitting behind him, Arthur just doesn’t understand it), and without the buffer of Dom between them, they almost always end up squabbling. And the kicking. The non-stop kicking. It just drives Arthur up the motherfucking wall.

“Why do you hate Eames so much, Arthur?” Dom asks him, when they’re both heading over to the Student Lounge for lunch.

“I don’t hate him. He’s just so, well I guess, bothersome. ”

“Bothersome,” Dom repeats, eyebrows raised.

Arthur nods, pleased with his description. “Yeah. Bothersome. ”

Cobb just laughs and leaves it at that.

And then it all changes.

Because there’s one Wednesday that Arthur gets to class early for once, and the auditorium is just beginning to fill up with students, so Arthur can quickly spot Eames in his usual seat, talking to a girl whose back is facing Arthur. As he walks up the steps of the lecture hall, Eames notices Arthur and waves.

“Hey Arthur,” Eames calls out. “Come meet my best friend.” And then the girl Eames is talking to turns around and Arthur’s heart nearly shudders to a halt.

“Hi, Arthur,” she says brightly.

“Hi, Ariadne,” he replies.

And suddenly, Arthur can’t think of any other person he’d rather have bother him.

So he walks up to the pair with a pounding heart, takes the seat in front of Eames and gives in; if all it takes is a little tolerance to get him closer to Ariadne, well… there’s really no debate, is there.

* * *

“How does a person like you even know Ariadne?”

Eames raises his eyebrows in surprise, and the pencil he’d been gnawing on falls from his lips, forgotten. “I could ask you the same question, darling.”

It’s a Friday morning and the whole class is waiting for Professor Saito, (Dom is sitting beside Arthur, even more completely oblivious to the world with his noise-canceling headphones on) and Arthur can’t help but use this time to his advantage. Learning of Eames’ and Ariadne’s friendship a few days ago had completely taken him aback; it’s such an unlikely pairing that he can’t help but be curious.

And well, if he has to admit it, jealous.

“Well I don’t really… I don’t really know her,” Arthur stutters, staring furiously at the blackboard. “I-I mean, we’ve talked. But just. Just in class last year. We had Physics together.”

“Oh, I see,” Eames replies, tapping his pencil rhythmically on his desktop. “Quite hard to bond over vectors, I understand.”

“It’s not- Eames, ” he groans, and Eames has the gall to chuckle. “Now stop fucking ignoring my question,” Arthur continues, and he whirls around, slamming his hand down on top of Eames’ to get the damned pencil-tapping to stop. “Answer it already, I fucking asked you first.”

“No need to get so testy,” Eames replies with a haughty sniff, shaking Arthur’s hand off. “There’s not much to tell really,” he continues primly. “She was in the dorm next to mine last year, and we bonded over loud music and keeping the floor up until the ghastly hours of the morning. Those little tossers seemed to think they could make it through college going to bed before midnight.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and Arthur decides never to share with Eames that he attempts to do just that. “Anyway, Ari moved into a house with a bunch of her mates this year, but she’s apparently decided that we’re going to be attached at the hip until the end of time.” He smiles fondly. “She’s an absolute love, isn’t she.”

“I know,” Arthur breathes out quietly, gazing longingly at Ariadne’s back, She’s in the front, surrounded by all her architect friends yet again, but most of her attention is directed to her phone, which seems to buzz quite consistently. Arthur now knows it’s Eames she’s texting, that lucky son-of-a-bitch; he wishes he knew Eames better, and had the balls to steal away Eames’ phone and text her himself.

“Sorry, what was that?” Eames asks, leaning forward, eyebrows raised in inquisitiveness.

“What?” Arthur snaps, literally feeling the blood flooding to his cheeks. “Nothing. ”

Eames looks like he’s about to say more, but Saito calmly strides into the room with a flourish of his hands, loudly announcing, “Let us begin, class!”

As the professor regally peels off his coat and throws it on the desk before him, Arthur gives Eames a shrug and fixes his attention back towards the front of the room.

* * *

Using Eames proves to be a lot harder than Arthur originally thinks.

It takes planning, preemptive thought, figuring out what to say before he says it. Because he can’t go ahead and say ‘hi I’m only taking up on all of these offers to hang out with you because I have a huge-ass crush on your best friend.’ So instead he suggests it subtly; sneaks it into conversations he has with Eames in class; even has the courage to take the initiative and ask the two of them before Eames has to suggest it.

It all seems to work just fine.

And it wasn’t like he was really using Eames. Being friends with a person only because they happen to be best friends with a year-long crush doesn’t exemplify ‘using,’ right?

Okay, so maybe it does. But thankfully, Eames isn’t bright enough to catch on.

Dom does, though. Of course he does.

He figures it out after class some Friday, when the three of them (sans Ariadne, dammit) head over to the local burger joint for their usual lunch. They’re just getting in line when Eames takes over the conversation.

“You know,” Eames says, offhandedly to Arthur, “that local independent theater on campus just started screening old pictures, every Wednesday night. I’d like to go, and thought you’d might like to join me.”

“What are they showing this week?” Arthur asks, and almost immediately a surge of excitement sends his mind whirling; will Ariadne already be coming? Or will Arthur have to initiate something?

“Dr. Strangelove,” Eames replies, watching Arthur from the corner of his eye.

“Oh?” Arthur says, a little breathless.

“You know, that old black comedy set during the Cold War?”

“I know what you’re talking about, Eames,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not Cobb. I know Dr. Strangelove.”

“What?” says Cobb, at mention of his name. He grins brightly. “Is that a soda?”

All Arthur has to do is cross his arms and smirk.

“….alright, I see your point. Don’t have to act so smug about it,” Eames says, laughing. “So. Dr. Strangelove. Wednesday night. What do you say?”

“I say it sounds awesome. Mmm, but hey,” Arthur adds, carefully nonchalant, and his heart pounds as he thinks of what’s coming next, “you should- you should get Ari to come along; sounds like something she’d like, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Eames replies.

“Yeah, I’ll bring this idiot along too,” Arthur replies, jabbing a thumb in Dom’s direction. “It’ll be fun.”

“Brilliant,” Eames says, smiling thinly. “Sounds like a plan then.”

As the overweight man ahead of them in line moves off, Eames steps up to order.

“Oh my god,” Dom suddenly hisses into Arthur’s ear, and Arthur has to resist the urge to swat at him. “I just totally figured something out!”

“I’m so proud,” Arthur replies. “Oh tell me, please.”

“Dude.” He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Seriously? You’re going to do this to me? Pause for dramatic fucking effect?”

“Oh shut up,” Dom says, rolling his eyes. “But dude, really, you are totally using Eames to get to Ariadne.”

The guilt spears him like a lightning bolt. Arthur’s annoyance gives way to sheer panic. He gives Dom a sharp look in warning and says, “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Which essentially means ‘fuck yes,’” Dom says triumphantly. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Arthur. So scandalous! I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Another stab of guilt; Arthur’s glare is icy. “Dom, if you value your life at all, you’ll shut up about it and order some fucking food.”

“Oh alright, alright,” Dom says. “Just know I’m on to you, buster,” and he wags a scolding finger in Arthur’s face. When he turns away, Arthur sighs.

When it comes to knowing shit, like the difference between soda and a fucking movie, Arthur can never rely on his friend Dom. But in matters like this; knowing peoples’ minds like the back of his hand, figuring out their hidden agendas, their dirty secrets, he’s like a fucking American James Bond.

Fuck, Arthur thinks.

He awkwardly avoids Eames’ gaze for nearly the rest of lunch.

* * *

“Look,” says Ariadne firmly. “All I’m saying is that Iron Man’s origin story is a more legitimate and believable turn of events. The reasons Wayne chooses to don a suit are petty compared to Tony Stark’s.”

“But darling, how can you condone the blatant racism that so evidently plays a part in Iron Man’s genesis?” Eames fires back, pointing a fork with chicken still speared on it at her vehemently.

“It’s all about perspective,” she replies easily. “You have to take into account the social norms of the 60’s. You can’t condemn aspects of important literature just because the common beliefs of society in the time it was written are vastly different than today’s ethical code.”

“…okay, that doesn’t even make sense, Ari.”

“Your face doesn’t even make sense, Eames. ”

“Okay, Eames?” Arthur interrupts, weary, but with a warm humor in his voice. “You do know she’s just going to take Iron Man’s side in any argument you start with her? She’s completely biased when it comes to that Robert Downey, Jr. guy”

“But those are movies, Ari,” Eames gasps, dramatically slapping a hand over his heart. “How can you be biased of a comic book character just because of the actor that plays him? ”

“I never said my bias is based in reason, Eames,” Ariadne chides, grinning around her straw.

Eames just shakes his head, and throws a fry at her.

“How did we get here, Dom?” Arthur whispers to his friend, as Eames and Ariadne launch into another heated but friendly argument over the lack of strong female superheroes in comic books, due to the prevalent male dominance of the comic book industry.

“Well,” Cobb says sagely, all likeness lost when he shoves an entire saltine cracker into his mouth before replying, “I’m pretty sure we walked in through the door over there, and-”

“No, fuckwad,” Arthur hisses,” I mean how did we get here, to this point, where we eat lunch every other day of the week with Ariadne? ”

“And how are you actually talking to her?” Dom adds, amused.

“Yes, shit, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well, there’s the using Eames bit. Just a bit immoral if you ask me,” Cobb says, nonchalant. He even admires his fingernails.

“Oh shut up,” Arthur replies, ignoring the stab of guilt he always feels when Cobb brings the subject up.

“But hey, all is fair in love and war. Because you do love her, am I right?” Dom waggles his eyebrows and looks at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur blushes, looks down at the table. “What? No. Fuck you, I don’t love her.”

“Don’t love who?”

Arthur whips his head up. Eames and Ariadne are both staring curiously at him. “Don’t love who?” Ariadne repeats, when Arthur sits there working his mouth but saying nothing.

“Black Widow,” Cobb says, doing his best to hold back his laughter. “Black Widow, of course.”

“Yes, I totally agree,” Eames says triumphantly. “Why do you all love the bloody regular people so much? Everyone knows the best superheroes are the ones with the actual superpowers.”

And as Ariadne predictably launches off on a tangent of why superheroes with no powers are preferable, Arthur gives Dom a brief nod of gratitude. Dom only smiles and shoves another saltine cracker into his mouth.

Arthur goes back to listening to Ariadne’s voice wage its complicated war against Eames’ like the obsessed, love-sick teenager that he is, because no matter how much he tries to deny it, to himself and to Cobb, what Cobb had said was right, was so damn right.

He is so in love.

* * *

Arthur is an economics major. His hours studying are spent crouched over graphs and charts, studies and reports, neatly organized onto small 8.5” x 11” pieces of paper or into compact, glossy textbooks. It’s orderly. It’s controlled. It’s just how Arthur likes it.

Dom, however, is an architecture major. And that means rolls of plans and blue-prints, large books and drawing instruments, all strewn haphazardly around their dorm room, spread out where Arthur sleeps and studies and steps and Arthur? Arthur can’t fucking take it anymore.

“I can’t fucking take it anymore,” Arthur exclaims, when for the fifth time that night Cobb throws another blue-print over his desk, covering his work. “I’m going to the fucking library.”

“Dude, I just needed your desk for like, a second,” Dom explains.

“Yeah, and then two seconds from now you’re going to fucking need it again,” Arthur snaps. “Look, I love you, man, but this is just too much. See you in a couple hours or something.” He shoves his books into his backpack, ignoring Dom rolling his eyes at him, and with that, stalks out of the room.

Arthur’s never been one to study in the library, as it always has a tendency to be crowded and filled with the various distracting noises of students slacking off, but it’s thankfully quiet that evening. There’s one study room still free, so Arthur slips into the room and settles down, looking forward to a few hours of solid study time.

And quite predictably, Arthur hears a hesitant knock on the door just a few minutes later. Arthur groans, resists the urge to hit his head against the tabletop, and gets up from his books to open the door.

A short Middle-Eastern guy, hair curly and glasses rectangular, stands in front of him. “Hi,” he says joyfully. “The other rooms are full; mind if we share?”

Arthur contemplates turning the guy away, but he’s standing there in the doorway looking so pitifully cheery, as if he can’t even contemplate Arthur not letting him in.

“Oh alright,” Arthur sighs in defeat.

“Brilliant,” the guy says, and he steps into the room. Arthur turns back around to sit down, and the other moves to follow, sitting across from him.

“I’m Yusuf,” the guy says suddenly. He then extends a hand across the table, looking at Arthur expectantly.

“Arthur,” he replies, shaking the guy’s hand.

And they both settle down to work.

* * *

After that first successful night, Arthur takes to studying in the library. In the beginning he studies alone, but then Yusuf appears again on a Sunday and it becomes an unspoken agreement between the two of them to share a study room.

Yusuf is a chemistry major-he understands the importance of work, and they can sometimes go hours without talking, but Arthur soon finds he can easily fall into conversation with Yusuf. The guy is brilliant, but he isn’t without a sense of humor, and he sometimes has Arthur clutching his side, roaring with laughter.

But as Arthur soon discovers, Yusuf has one drawback: he’s the biggest gossip Arthur has ever met, and he seems to constantly rant about his roommate. He can go on and on for hours about the one time his roommatedared to leave dirty underwear on the floor-

“It was disgusting, Arthur,” Yusuf exclaims, slapping his hand down on the table for emphasis.

“I believe you, really I do,” Arthur sighs, looking at Yusuf with a bored expression.

“I mean, what kind of animal just leaves their dirty underwear lying on the floor?”

“Horrifying.”

-or how often he drips paint all over Yusuf’s desk-

“It gets everywhere, and then if I don’t wipe it up fast enough it sticks to my desk and then I have to scrape it off! It can take hours!”

“Oh wow,” Arthur deadpans.

“I know, right?!”

-or how he sometimes stays up all hours of the night playing minesweeper-

“It’s just click-click-click-click-click, all night long. How’s a guy supposed to get any sleep with that infernal racket?”

“I don’t even know.”

But above all, Yusuf’s favorite topic is his roommate’s infatuation with his current crush-

“He keeps going on and on about him,” Yusuf complains. “If I didn’t love the guy so much, I’d literally shove a sock down his throat.”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur murmurs.

“You know what’s weird though? Dude, the roommate is crushing on a guy named Arthur. ”

“Oh, really,” Arthur deadpans, scanning his textbook while half-listening to Yusuf’s rant. “That’s nice.”

Yusuf nods vigorously. “Yeah. You don’t think it’s you the roommate is crushing over?”

Arthur lets out a distracted laugh. “I doubt it. It’s a big school, and I’m not very likeable.”

“That’s not true; I like you.”

“…but you’re a chem major.”

“Hey!” Yusuf cries out, appalled. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Arthur just smirks and scribbles down a couple notes from the text.

“…okay, I can see now why no one likes you,” Yusuf relents, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Shut up and study.”

But for all Yusuf’s drawbacks, Arthur can’t help but like him. But for all Yusuf’s drawbacks, Arthur can’t help but realize he’s found a friend.

Part Two