30. now that it's raining more than ever, know that we'll still have each other
HURT & COMFORT RP [EXPANDED]
Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.
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Storming out afterward and ending up fucking a guy they both knew - and Arthur not able to hide his guilt - had all led to this. To him being alone and getting ready to get back on the damn bus that brought him here and head to another city.
Because he couldn't stay here as long as Eames was here. He couldn't keep asking his friends to let him sleep on their couch. Friends that knew both him and Eames, that kept asking him if he was "okay", and saying that he'd be able to "get through this". He couldn't stand it any more. It had become unbearable.
He'd leave and find another job, another apartment and just... try to move on. And try to forget Eames and everything they had been through since meeting in that bar fight so long ago.
So, since he had all of this sorted out and resolved in his head, he didn't know why he wasn't already on the fucking bus. Instead he was sitting on this stupid ass park bench with his bag beside him and hadn't been able to move from it for the past four hours.
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He remembered the hurt when Arthur had finally told him what he'd done. It wasn't like they hadn't slept with others before - Arthur more interested in it than Eames was, and they'd come up with their odd rule that Arthur could range if Eames could watch, but this had broken that rule and they'd both known it was different.
Eames had wanted to get angry, his infamous temper to flare, but he'd been nothing but hollow and hurt and letting Arthur leave. The apartment was theirs, but Arthur had left; only after he did had Eames gotten angry and kicked and cursed, broken a few lamps and then later sullenly cleaned them up.
He knew why he was hurt and that was why he'd been angry. He loved Arthur, and he'd already made allowances for Arthur's wish to fuck others, and he felt as if he'd offered his heart and had it trampled on.
But, Eames had never said it either.
And he hadn't tried to contact Arthur, going between depression and anger. It had taken a friend phoning Eames, after she'd talked to Arthur and he'd mentioned leaving, for Eames to kick into gear.
Some might say he was stupid for wanting Arthur back. Or desperate; but he hadn't talked to Arthur at all since he left, and he needed to know why. Why he'd done it, why he'd hurt Eames, why he was leaving. And Eames needed to tell him how he felt.
They both at least deserved that.
And so he'd driven to the bus stop in the vain hope Arthur hadn't left already. There was no one at the bus stop who'd seen Arthur and Eames was walking away from the building, hands running through his hair.
It was pure damn luck that he looked up and spotted the familiar figure on the bench. Eames didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to start saying it. So what he did was end up sitting down next to Arthur.
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He didn't know why the other was here - just like he didn't know why he was still here when there was clearly nothing here for him anymore. He just needed to move. To get up and leave.
It wasn't like there was any love in this relationship, just fucking. Arthur had wanted more, had been angry at Eames not giving him that, not saying it, and so he kept sleeping with others in the hope that maybe Eames would tell him he didn't want Arthur to be with anyone else. it had been a stupid way to go about it but, fuck, it wasn't like he could tell someone like Eames he wanted to be loved. To be in an exclusive relationship. What kind of pussy-ass says that to an ex-convict?
And so he'd gone and fucked up whatever it was they did have. It wasn't like it was anything worth preserving...
Even if Arthur had felt horrible after breaking "the rules" they had established.
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But that wasn't how Arthur worked.
Eames had wanted Arthur all to himself. Every time Arthur had slept with someone and he'd watched he'd always come after them, kicking them out and using hands and teeth to mark Arthur, because he was better than them and Arthur was his. He'd wormed his way into the other man's life fair and square. The fairest way he could manage.
Eames was silent a long time, seeing the fists Arthur was making. Finally he swallowed, cleared his throat.
"I don't..." He started, and then stopped. "I can't... I can't understand why you did it." He dug his fingernails into the wood of the bench. "I was trying - I was giving you everything I had. It wasn't enough?" He turned to look at Arthur finally, blinking rapidly. He was Eames and he didn't cry.
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Maybe Arthur was just wanting too much.
Maybe this was a sign that he couldn't have everything he wanted. And if that was the case... then Arthur didn't want any of it. Living what they had been for a while now just hurt him too much. He felt hollow and unclean.
And even a little lost.
He swallowed hard, still not looking at the other, blinking his own tears firmly back, "There's no point to any of it, anyway. I don't even know why I'm still here." It came out harsher than Arthur had thought he was capable of sounding at that moment.
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Arthur hadn't wanted to know how Eames was paying rent at first, with his dealing and hustling, but he eventually did know, especially when it had afforded, between Arthur's job and Eames' 'work', a better apartment.
An apartment that was too empty, now; no Arthur to cook for, to bother to wash the dishes, to press into walls and laugh into his mouth.
Because the happy moments were outweighing the pain of that stupid rule, of their frequent arguements (because Eames had never been good about his temper and Arthur had a way he wanted things). Because Eames loved those arguements too, sometimes (but not that rule.)
And now there was a bit of anger. "So you just did it to do it, then? Because I didn't - because none of that meant anything to you and you get to run away and leave me?"
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Grabbing his bag, ignoring how his legs shook as he turned and walked away, throwing over his shoulder at Eames, refusing to believe he was this close to crying, "I don't give a fuck what you do or who anymore."
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"You think it didn't mean anything to me?! I wouldn't have stayed so long if you were just some bloody tart! I wouldn't have gotten the apartment or put up with your stupid little game!"
He sucked his breath, deeply, but it was all pouring out now, and his fingers dug into Arthur's shoulder, keeping him in place. "I hated that fucking rule. I hated watching them but I put up with it because I cared about you. I wanted you to be happy, because I love you!"
And that had... never been his intention to tell him that way. Eames pulled his hand back and scrubbed both over his face, trying to push away the wetness at the corner of his eyes.
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And then, not feeling the two tears fall down his cheeks, "You... love me?" He felt the color drain from his face and his guilt, the ache in his chest, intensify to what felt like an absurd degree.
He put a hand to one of his cheeks as he felt himself sink down to the ground, to his knees. He was nineteen years old, dammit. He shouldn't be crying like some small child. Even as his voice sounded so small, the tears unwilling to stop, and not succeeding in wiping them all away, "That was all I wanted. I didn't want the others but you never said it and I couldn't ask if you didn't." And he didn't care if he was rambling. He was such a fool. Such a pathetic little fool.
Maybe he deserved to lose Eames at this rate.
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"Hey, don't- " And he was going to his knees now too, kneeling in front of Arthut and not caring that people were going to stare at them. He grabbed the hand Arthur was using to wipe his face.
"I always did. Fuck, I thought - That was why I was letting you. Do all that shit. I just wanted you, but I couldn't say it because - it's hard. I thought I was saying it loud enough already."
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It was all just one big mess. And it was all his own doing, wasn't it?
Miserably, humiliated and ashamed, "I thought you didn't care and... I couldn't stay here anymore if that was true. Just like being with you like that was too painful. I felt empty inside. Like I was dying slowly or something."
Arthur had finally gotten his sexuality back only to feel like he was being used through it.
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And he felt horrible to say that, because it was just as much his fault. Because he hadn't told Arthur how he felt.
After a moment he moved his other hand to Arthur's cheek, "I'm so sorry. I should have just told you I loved you."
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"I don't want to leave you. I'm sorry I hurt you but I do love you. I only wanted you. I only need you, I don't need the others. Please don't hate me, Eames, I'm sorry. I do love you, I've always loved you."
He knew he sounded stupid and deploringly cliche, just as he was rambling and most likely slobbering all over the other young man but he couldn't stop it, he couldn't hold it all inside anymore. And he wanted Eames to know what he really felt inside and this seemed to be the only way because... well, nothing else had worked.
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"I don't want you to leave, god no. I love you." It was suddenly easier to say, having said it already. "I love you and I'm sorry I hurt you, I know I'm a right git."
He pulled back to make Arthur look at him, his own face red and blotchy. "I don't want to share you, I never wanted to, you're mine, dammit."
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He nodded his head at that, agreeing with the statement that he was Eames', "Yes, I am." He kissed the other and then, hands to Eames' chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and tugging him closer, "And you're mine. I don't want to share you with anyone." And then kissed him harder, deeper, not caring they were in public.
If he couldn't tell Eames these things now, when it mattered most, then he truly felt his words were just that, words. And not carrying any of the meaning and weight he knew they carried in his heart.
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"Always yours," he said, agreeing, one hand wrapped around Arthur's waist and the other coming up to brush hair out of his face. "And mine. Each others."
If anyone wanted to stare, they could go fuck themselves. God, Eames had almost lost him, lost Arthur - that was fucking terrifying, more than anything.
Eames ducked his head to press his mouth to Arthur's neck, sucking a bruise onto the front of his skin, even if now was not the place to get into such actions.
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