Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (11/16)
Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (11/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,302
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Robert Fischer, Yusuf
Rating: PG-13(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Track Eleven: Give Me Novacaine
Arthur laid on the floor of that classroom for what felt like hours, listening to the sound of his own breath and the subtle shifts Eames made every few minutes or so. The carpet was uncomfortable, thin and flat against the tile underneath, and since it was the weekend the air conditioning wasn't on in the building (being that classes weren't in session in the East Building), so he was gradually becoming slick and sticky with sweat, but he still didn't move even to pull up his pants for a long time, almost like he was paralyzed in the moment... like he didn't want it to end.
When he finally did move, it was as if in slow motion, and he discovered quite quickly that he was having difficulty looking Eames in the eye as he buttoned up and adjusted his clothing and hair accordingly. "I should go," Arthur mumbled, tugging his shirt down and smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "Some people might get suspicious. I should definitely just…"
"I'm sorry," Eames said quietly. "I should have told you I was going to do that."
"Just do whatever you want, Eames," Arthur replied in frustration, starting down the steps, but Eames was more prepared to move than Arthur was, catching him by the wrist before Arthur had even made it down the third step.
"I mean it," he said sternly. "Don't just walk away from me, Arthur. Tell me what's wrong. Chew me out if you have to. Just, for the love of God, look at me."
"I don't believe in God," Arthur whispered.
"Why is that?" Eames asked calmly, slackening his grip just slightly.
"If God was real, he wouldn't have spent so much time going out of his way to let me down. I can't imagine that someone like God would be able to have the kind of time to torture me, what with all of the other people in the world… I almost thought for a minute that maybe he was, that he was… when you showed up in my life, when you made me feel good about myself… but then you went and fucked me over too… I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was."
"Technically my sexuality being public or not has nothing to do with you," Eames said, agitation just barely lacing his words.
"Bullshit," Arthur hissed, chuckling bitterly. "It has everything do with me, and you and I both know that. Don't even pretend it doesn't."
"Arthur-"
Arthur turned on him then, eyebrows sinking on his forehead, mouth flattening into a thin line for a moment. "Your sexuality has everything to do with me because that's what you fucking use it for. It's for me."
"Sexuality is a self-identifying factor, Arthur," Eames said, letting go of his wrist to place his hand against his jaw instead. "My love is what is for you. That is what I give to you, not sexuality."
"Then why the fuck did you do it, Eames?" Arthur asked. "Why'd you do it if you love me? You had to have known… You-You had to have known what this was going to do. You're the one who told me what was going to happen if you came out. That was the whole point of keeping it a secret. Now everyone is going to be obsessively following you. It'll be even harder for us to see each other without being caught. I don't… I don't want to be on the covers of magazines or awakened out of sleep when reporters come knocking on my door looking for some sort of quote they can take out of context to make me look like a bastard. I don't want people to give me the eye or bombard me with questions. I don't want my teacher to hate me and rob me of my opportunities. Why did you do it, Eames, when you knew all of that?"
"I… I came out so that people wouldn't find it bizarre if they saw me with another man. I did it so that we could be together."
"Did you even think about what that would do to my private life?" Arthur asked, voice cracking. "Fuck, Eames, I thought you knew how important my privacy was to me. I don't like the spotlight that much. I get really shaken up when I'm put under a fucking microscope, and I… I don't want to be known just for being your fucking boyfriend. I want to be my own person, damn it."
"Did you honestly think we could keep doing all of this sneaking around?" Eames asked, clearly getting fed up. "What did you expect, Arthur? Did you expect us to keep stealing around in the middle of the night to each other's rooms, to fuck and run off before anyone saw us? You thought you could just hide me forever? Are you that bloody ashamed of yourself for loving someone?"
"That's not-That's not what I said at all," Arthur countered, not angry… Not angry, but hurt. It hurt in the absolute worst way. "I thought that we could be like Cobb and Mal, that we could-"
"They're going to slip up eventually, Arthur," Eames interrupted. "It's only a matter of time. You know that… and when they come out, it's going to be dramatic, but it's not the same as you and me. When word got around that you and I were together, I wanted everyone to already know that I was gay. I didn't want anyone to accuse you of turning me or anything stupid like that-I just wanted to make it easier for the both of us."
"It's not going to be easier, Eames," Arthur said hopelessly. "Once I got out of school, I thought that maybe we could… that I could…"
"Hide out in my trailers and hotel rooms every night? Wait for me to come to you?" Eames asked. "What? What did you think we could do?"
"I thought that maybe we could have a place-that we could be-that… I don't know what I thought, okay? I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but I thought that if I was out of school and in steady work then it would be… then it would be easier…" He'd gone and caught himself doing the same thing that Eames had been doing, trying to make things easier.
"What would be easier?" Eames asked, sounding tired, shoulders slumping.
…and Arthur realized that neither of them had raised their voices for the entire argument. Both of them just sounded defeated… This wasn't how arguments were supposed to be. They were supposed to be angry and shouty-to blow up with words nobody really meant and then to resolve everything with sweet kisses and sex and post-coital apologies later… but that wasn't what was happening. Arthur didn't feel sorry for a single word, and he knew Eames didn't either, and there wasn't anger in any part of it. It was just an empty pit in his stomach, like a realization.
"I thought it would be easier to be with you then."
"Did you believe we'd still be together by then?" Eames asked, voice heartbreakingly hopeful. "Did you really believe it, or are you just saying that now?"
"I didn't know… I don't know… I knew though that I… that I wanted to be with you then. Eames, I-I love you. I meant that when I told you before. I still do…"
"I know that," Eames assured him, and Arthur could see tears pricking at his eyes. He must have noticed the bizarreness of their argument as well, the way it was starting to turn. "I've loved you about as long as I've known you, Arthur… I love you every day more than I did the day before…" He hesitated before saying. "There's a clause after what you've said. You've got something else to say to me, don't you?"
Suddenly Arthur found his voice leaving him, and he uselessly looked around the classroom for it, hands trembling.
"Tell me, Arthur," Eames said, voice thick with tears, and he was shaking too. "Just tell me what's on your mind. Please don't leave me hanging here. Say it. Just say it."
"You know what I'm going to say," Arthur accused, face screwing up as understanding stopped up his sinuses. "You know it, don't you?"
Eames said nothing. He just stared into Arthur's eyes, his visage blurring as Arthur's own eyes became cloudy with tears.
…and Arthur said, "I can't do this, Eames."
"Can't do what?" Eames asked.
"You know what, Eames."
"I would never ask you to stay for my sake," Eames replied hoarsely, allowing one tear to break free and slip down his right cheek. "Maybe… maybe it's better this way. You deserve better than this, Arthur, better than having to sneak around under the radar of everyone just for… just for silly old me."
"So…" Arthur swallowed, tears sticking like dew drops to his eyelashes. "This… This is it then. We're just… done. We're over."
"I… I guess we are," Eames said solemnly.
"I… I'm actually breaking up with you, aren't I…"
"That's ah… that's what I gathered, yes."
"I'm sorry," Arthur said, voice a splintering, wobbly mess. "I don't want to… I just can't…"
Eames pulled him into his arms, shushing him, but there was something in the way Eames's hands were trembling that made Arthur believe that he was holding Eames for support as much as the other way around. "You don't have to leave," Eames said desperately. "I can-I can quit the band, and we can just settle down somewhere together and-"
"I would never ask you to do that for me just like I know you wouldn't ask me to do it for you… You know you'd resent me if I made you do that," Arthur said into the fabric of Eames's shirt. "Maybe we're just not… right… Maybe this just isn't the right time…"
Eames buried his face in Arthur's neck. "No… that can't be true… You're lying, you have to be…" he whimpered. Just the pathetic sound of his voice made Arthur's heart crack and break apart.
"I'm sorry, Eames-I-I'm really sorry… If I hadn't been such a fucking desperate-if I hadn't-none of this would have happened if I'd just controlled myself, and I never meant to hurt you, and I never should have-"
"Shut up and never say that again," Eames said, taking Arthur's face in both of his hands. "Don't ever make it sound like you regretted it because if you do, I will just fucking die…"
Arthur exhaled and let Eames press a hard kiss to his lips and then another and another. "Never say it again," Eames commanded, borderline hysteric.
"I'm so sorry," Arthur kept saying, unable to come up with anything more to say, and not capable of it anyway, and when they both ran out of words they just stood there holding each other for a lot longer than they probably should have.
Arthur was the one to break away, and when he did, he ran. He grabbed his violin case and ran as fast away from the room as he had run to it. He ran to the parking lot and sped home, locked himself inside, sat down in the middle of the floor, and sobbed.
When Eames didn't say anything for the entire drive back to the hotel, he wasn't too surprised when Yusuf caught him at the door to his room.
"What happened? Your eyes are red-rimmed," Yusuf said.
Eames sighed and smiled ruefully at him. "Arthur dumped me because I came out on television. He did it to protect his privacy."
"Oh…" Yusuf said. "I-I'm sorry-"
"Don't be," Eames said turning to go in with Yusuf tailing behind him. "It's better for him if we're not together, and you said so yourself that the best thing to do was to get him to break up with me. It's easier for him to move on this way. Besides, at least I didn't dump him, so he'll be all right. He can go have revenge sex with someone else, just like you said, and he'll be over me, and he'll be able to move on." It was physically painful to say.
"Okay… but… what about you, Eames? Will you be all right?" Yusuf asked.
Eames flopped face first down onto his mattress and rolled onto his back. It still smelled like Arthur. How could it fucking smell like him? "I'm an artist, Yusuf. My heart may suffer but my art shall flourish. I've already got ideas for two to three more songs. It'll be great for us."
"Uh-huh," Yusuf said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, "and when I find you choked to death on your bed sheets, should I just write a song about it?"
"I'm not going to be doing anything of the sort, Yusuf. I'm perfectly fine."
"You don't seem fine. In fact, you look like you've been hit by a truck," Yusuf countered.
Well, Eames hadn't believed the lie either.
"Okay, so I'm not fine," Eames said, feeling fresh tears threatening to well up, "but I will be… in time. I'll be all right. It's just a broken heart is all. It's nothing to worry about."
"Are you sure?"
Eames stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before admitting, "Actually, no. My heart is in a million pieces, and I honestly have no idea how to put it back together, but if you don't mind, Yusuf, I'd like to keep saying that I'm okay until I can force myself to believe it, if that's all right with you."
"All right then…"
There was a long, agonizing moment of silence which was entirely too consumed with the memory of Arthur.
"It's bollocks is what it is," Eames continued when the silence roared too loud for him to handle anymore, even though he was sure Yusuf had assumed he was done talking about it and had probably been desperately attempting to concoct another subject they could talk about. "I mean, I went and outed myself to everyone for him, and now I'm going to be hated on and ridiculed… and I don't even have anything to bloody show for it. I understand that he wanted people to leave him alone, but… fuck… He could have at least attempted to see what I was trying to accomplish… I really botched this up spectacularly, didn't I…"
"Believe it or not, there is actually quite a lot of support for you, Eames. I checked out some of the internet blogs on my phone this afternoon. I've seen quite an outpouring of people talking about how proud they are of you and how much it actually means to them," Yusuf said.
"I'm sure there is plenty of hate though as well, isn't there," Eames said flatly.
"Yes, but mostly it's just from old wankers and overly-religious zealots. I generally don't care about anything that comes out of their mouths as I'm sure you know. It's next to impossible to take them seriously."
"Don't be surprised if they make an appearance picketing at the damned concert next weekend," Eames said, rubbing his eyes. "Twats."
Fuck, he used to call Arthur a twat.
"I'd say it seems likely. They'll picket for anything. You'd think they'd have something more productive to do with their time," Yusuf said idly, digging out one of his self-rolled cigarettes (that was probably more than tobacco if Eames knew Yusuf) and lighting it up.
"Let the discrimination and loathing come. There's no way they can harm me anymore than I've already harmed myself. I'm ready for anything they can both figuratively and literally throw at me."
"You do realize that you've put all of us in danger, right?" Yusuf asked, smirking a little. "If you want to travel down a path of self-destruction then that's all well and good, but I certainly hope you don't intend to bring us down with you… Well, you can drag Nash down with you, but at least leave Cobb and me unscathed. You owe us that much for being friends even when you didn't deserve it."
"I'll do what I can," Eames responded with a halfhearted grin, and added, "to drag Nash down with me, that is."
"So, ah… since you and Arthur are kaput, does that mean I can't date his pretty friend? The cute little one with the long chestnut hair and the scarf?" Yusuf asked, disappointment finding its way into the words.
Eames snorted. "Who, Ariadne? She'll probably want me dead after this. It really depends on what plain her love for Radical Notion and her love for Arthur is. I honestly don't know her well enough to know which one she loves more, but I'd almost guarantee it's Arthur."
Every time he said his name he felt his heart squeeze again.
He'd never handled a break up quite so dismally before…
…but then again, he'd never loved anyone like he'd loved Arthur…
For a little while, he'd almost thought that they'd…
"Ariadne, eh? Her parents must have been big fans of Greek mythology."
"That, or perhaps they just like naming their children bizarre names. Maybe she has a brother named Doorhinge, a sister named Kroger, and an iguana named Reginald."
Yusuf laughed, and Eames managed to bark out a chuckle as well, but it made his chest hurt. He couldn't help but think of Arthur's smile, warm and dotted with dimples on each side, face half-pressed into a pillow, hair loose and tumbling around his forehead in not black, but dark brown curls. The corners of his eyes would crinkle in a way that no one but Eames had seen, and he would lean in and press a soft kiss on his lips just because he could, and…
Eames took a deep breath and let it out to keep the tears from welling up again and said, "Well, for the record, she's a huge groupie for us, so you may end up stuck with a squealing fan."
"She's a groupie? Well, that's good. That's bloody fantastic. That means I might actually stand a chance."
"Comb your hair and trim your goatee, stop wearing those baggy clothes, and I bet you can be irresistible to loads of women."
"Who says that I'm not? I'm just an acquired taste is all."
"Like curry," Eames nodded.
"You're so cruel," Yusuf said, "and racist, you wanker."
"I like curry," Eames shrugged.
"That doesn't make it better."
"You're the one who went and made it that way, Yusuf. Curry is an acquired taste, and that's all I meant by it. It wasn't a shot at your ethnicity at all. I don't even know what ethnicity you are, honestly, so it's bloody difficult for me to tease you about it."
"You're a right arsehole, Eames."
"I just got dumped. If you want someone all lovely and sympathetic, go talk to Cobb. I'm sure he can tell you all kinds of sugary stories about his future children and the songs he'll write about them and how he'll get their names tattooed over his heart even though tattooing names on you is bad luck."
"I don't think I'd be particularly interesting in hearing about any of that either, to tell you the truth."
"Neither would I… Honestly though, I don't know Ariadne that way, but I think you two might hit it off. Good luck with that." He caught himself before saying that maybe he could talk to Arthur about it and see if he could get Yusuf the hookup. The idea that he couldn't (or at least shouldn't) speak to Arthur anymore absolutely blasted through him like a gunshot right to his chest.
Yusuf apparently noticed the look on Eames's face as he pulled himself away from the wall to make his exit. "Don't kill yourself. I'll be back later with tons of alcohol to drown your sorrows in," he said warily, walking to the door. "I swear, I'll be back soon so don't do anything drastic."
Yusuf really was far too paranoid for his own good. It probably had a little bit to do with the marijuana that was surely in the rolled cigarette of his.
Still, as soon as it clicked shut, Eames thought aloud, "I wonder what Arthur is doing right now," and he thought that maybe drowning his sorrows in the bathtub would be a better option than drowning in alcohol.
It turned out Arthur was already out drowning his sorrows.
Ariadne had had to break into his apartment and drag him to Starkey's, getting a blubbering wail of an explanation on the way. As he had expected, she had been under the impression that he was depressed over the fact that he'd frozen up on the stage… Of course, when she brought that up, he felt unbelievably worse and begged her to take him back home. She told him that she wouldn't let him be alone on that night and listen to sad classical music until he was ready to kill himself.
He tried to reiterate to her that he was the one who broke up with Eames, but it hurt too much to say.
So, he was stuck at Starkey's. He always seemed to end up there when he was in distress, and he wondered if he was well on his way to becoming an alcoholic like his father.
Oh, well, he thought, might as well drink away that fear as well.
He was halfway into his third drink when his and Ariadne's table was suddenly occupied by Alisha and her boyfriend, Ally, and Robert Fischer.
"Arthur!" Ally exclaimed, sliding in on one side of him. "Jesus, I was worried about you. You just ran out today. Damn, look at that slash on your cheek. That must have hurt like hell."
"I don't want to talk about it," Arthur slurred and shot-gunned the rest of his glass.
"Jacobson was so pissed when you ran out," Fischer said. "At least, he was until Mal got to him. She chewed him a new one, I hope you know. I wish you could have been there."
"I wish I'd seen it too," Arthur said and raised his hand to signal to the bartender of the evening, Mia, that he wanted another. "Might've added a little light to the worst day of my life."
"The day's not over yet," Alisha said, grinning mischievously. "You never know what could happen."
"I'll buy you a hooker if you like," Alisha's boyfriend, an exchange student from the UK with a purple Mohawk named Charlie, said. His accent made Arthur's heart ache even more, so he buried his face in his arms.
"What's his problem?" Ally asked Ariadne. "It's not just the whole freezing up thing is it?"
"Subtle, Ally," Ariadne said flatly.
"Someone get me another goddamned drink," Arthur complained, banging his fist on the tabletop.
"Yes, your highness," Fischer said as he stood, and Ariadne glared at him. "Just because he's upset and embarrassed doesn't mean he has to be rude," he scoffed and wandered over to the bar.
Thankfully, everyone seemed to get the hint that Arthur didn't want to hear other people talk about it anymore than he wanted to talk about it, and the conversation switched in another direction. He sat quietly, downing as many beers as he could while listening to quite a few stories he'd already heard before and some he hadn't. The drunker he got, the easier it got to smile and not think about Eames, and he was all for that.
Soon enough, the whole table was pretty drunk, and Ariadne was up on the stage wailing out a Fleetwood Mac song with Ally on back-up vocals. Alisha and Charlie danced to it, alcohol apparently warping their sense of hearing while they spun and sang along. It left Arthur and Robert at the table alone.
"So," Robert said, and it was astounding how sober he could sound even when he was most definitely not. "What's really bothering you anyway?"
Arthur hunched over his glass and quietly admitted, "I broke up with my boyfriend."
"Then why are you sad? Shouldn't he be the one with the proverbial tear in the beer?"
"I still love him," Arthur said, gulping down another swallow.
"Then why did you dump him?" he asked.
"Loving him wasn't… a good enough reason to sacrifice everything else in my life. I didn't want to come out of the closet. I didn't want people to spot us together. I didn't want my life to consist of the title of 'his boyfriend'. I'm a selfish dick, basically."
"Sounds like perfectly legitimate reasons to me," Robert shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "You can't just give your life to someone. A lot of people think that's what love is, but it's not. Love isn't sacrifice so much as it is meeting in the middle."
"He didn't ask me or tell me to give up anything though," Arthur replied solemnly. "I just knew it was inevitably coming, and I'm already enough of an emotional wreck as it is. The last thing I need in my life is more stress, and I know a lot of it came from him… even if he did mean well."
"You've got to take care of yourself," Robert agreed, taking a swig at his beer.
"…Yeah… I guess…" Arthur mumbled. "I didn't think it would hurt this bad… I've never felt this terrible in my entire life. It's like… It's like there is this hole where my heart used to be."
"Take it one day at a time, and that pain should gradually fade," Robert shrugged. "It does hurt like hell though."
Ally and Ariadne jumped into a new song.
"There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it's bringin' me out the dark…" the two girls sang, and Arthur felt like every word was striking him like an arrow. It was like the whole goddamned world was mocking him.
"I don't want to be here anymore," Arthur said, looking frantically at Robert for some kind of support. "Could you help me get home?"
"I can't drive because I'm trashed, but if you want we can walk back to my place. It's pretty much right across the street," Robert suggested. "I have a couch you can sleep on."
"Thanks," Arthur sighed, sliding out of the booth to trail along behind him. Ariadne was too caught up in her song to notice he was leaving, even if he was stumbling and noisy while he was doing it.
Out in the parking lot, Arthur asked Robert, "How do you know about what I'm going through anyway? How'd you know I was gay and all that?"
"Because I've lived it. I had a boyfriend in high school that I was fucking nuts about, but I couldn't tell anyone because he was my teacher."
"So, you're gay like me," Arthur said blearily.
"Uh… yeah, I thought that was obvious. Man, for a homo, you sure are bad at finding other homos."
"Yeah… I guess…" Arthur sighed, blushing a little in embarrassment. "Well, how come Jacobson treats me like crap but doesn't treat you like crap?"
"Well, actually, he does, but no one has heard confirmation from me that I'm gay anyway. You're the only one I've actually told, so don't go spreading it around, all right?"
Arthur blinked. "Why'd you tell me?"
"Because I know you aren't about to swing a baseball bat at my head for it. I mean, yeah, we go to art school, so I'm sure there are a lot more of us-in fact I'm positive of that-but you're the only one I'm actually moderately close to."
"Your parents don't even know, do they?" Arthur asked.
"Of course not! Do you think I want my head chopped off, or worse, to lose my trust fund? I'm not stupid."
"How is losing your trust fund worse than death?" Arthur asked.
Robert laughed, swinging an arm around Arthur's neck. "Do you know how much I'm worth?"
Arthur just smiled a little because he was warm like Eames was warm. He was warm and safe, and he made Arthur not feel like he'd gone and exiled himself to an island all by himself. His smile made his heart feel a little less broken (but only a little), and his eyes were just so, so blue.
"Don't let this break up stuff get you down, Arthur," Robert continued, and maybe he did sound a little airier when he was drunk. "You'll bounce back. Just pour all of your angst into your music. That's what all the tortured artists do, you know. That's what I did. I composed five ridiculously dramatic piano concertos the day that I got dumped, and I swear to you that it was one of those pieces that got me through auditions and into Cobol. They said that they were impressed with my passion or something ridiculous like that, but it really did work out for the best. I guess everything really does happen for a reason. Go figure."
"I don't think I can write anything."
"Sure you can," Robert smirked. "When we get back to my place, you can use Kathy's violin and cry pitifully until you've got something-I guarantee you it will only take you fifteen minutes or so. Ah, see, Kathy is my roommate, but she's out of town because her father's having heart surgery-actually, you could probably sleep in her bed if you wanted to."
"So, what, you want to write something together? Like… collaborate?"
Robert shrugged. "Sure, we could do that, or we could just practice. I can play when I'm drunk, and the piece you're performing does have a piano part underneath it. I was actually going to offer to play the accompaniment part underneath your solo today, but you ran out before I could."
"Why would you want to play with me? I'm not passionate. I play like a robot, and I freeze up when it's important."
"Well, admittedly, you have played pretty robotically in the past, but your songs never felt that way. It was just your expression. I think people didn't know what to do because when you were stony faced and your piece was dramatic, it was difficult to connect the dots. You can do it now though, so I don't really know what you're so uncomfortable about. They put you in first chair for a reason, Arthur. You're the best violinist we've got, and I completely admire your skills."
"My boyfriend taught me how to play with my emotions… but I hadn't used them in so long, so I still don't know how to use them or what to do with them… I'm a fucking mess, Robert. You shouldn't admire me. I'm probably going to fail epically at the concert… that is, if Jacobson even lets me play."
"Man… fuck Jacobson. You're twice the violinist he ever was and ever could be, and you can fucking tell him that I said that. I don't even care."
Arthur was sure that, had Robert been sober, he would care very, very much, but the sentiment was nice and he appreciated it.
"Mal will make sure you have your solo," Robert continued, "and you're going to do a great job at it without a doubt. Stop talking yourself out of things before you do them."
…and when they reached the doorway of Robert's apartment, Arthur may have stumbled into his arms.
…and when Fischer had asked him if he was all right, he may have kissed him.
I'd tell you guys not to panic, but I have a feeling you're going to anyway...
...but seriously, DON'T PANIC. It's not over yet.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,302
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Robert Fischer, Yusuf
Rating: PG-13(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Track Eleven: Give Me Novacaine
Arthur laid on the floor of that classroom for what felt like hours, listening to the sound of his own breath and the subtle shifts Eames made every few minutes or so. The carpet was uncomfortable, thin and flat against the tile underneath, and since it was the weekend the air conditioning wasn't on in the building (being that classes weren't in session in the East Building), so he was gradually becoming slick and sticky with sweat, but he still didn't move even to pull up his pants for a long time, almost like he was paralyzed in the moment... like he didn't want it to end.
When he finally did move, it was as if in slow motion, and he discovered quite quickly that he was having difficulty looking Eames in the eye as he buttoned up and adjusted his clothing and hair accordingly. "I should go," Arthur mumbled, tugging his shirt down and smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "Some people might get suspicious. I should definitely just…"
"I'm sorry," Eames said quietly. "I should have told you I was going to do that."
"Just do whatever you want, Eames," Arthur replied in frustration, starting down the steps, but Eames was more prepared to move than Arthur was, catching him by the wrist before Arthur had even made it down the third step.
"I mean it," he said sternly. "Don't just walk away from me, Arthur. Tell me what's wrong. Chew me out if you have to. Just, for the love of God, look at me."
"I don't believe in God," Arthur whispered.
"Why is that?" Eames asked calmly, slackening his grip just slightly.
"If God was real, he wouldn't have spent so much time going out of his way to let me down. I can't imagine that someone like God would be able to have the kind of time to torture me, what with all of the other people in the world… I almost thought for a minute that maybe he was, that he was… when you showed up in my life, when you made me feel good about myself… but then you went and fucked me over too… I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was."
"Technically my sexuality being public or not has nothing to do with you," Eames said, agitation just barely lacing his words.
"Bullshit," Arthur hissed, chuckling bitterly. "It has everything do with me, and you and I both know that. Don't even pretend it doesn't."
"Arthur-"
Arthur turned on him then, eyebrows sinking on his forehead, mouth flattening into a thin line for a moment. "Your sexuality has everything to do with me because that's what you fucking use it for. It's for me."
"Sexuality is a self-identifying factor, Arthur," Eames said, letting go of his wrist to place his hand against his jaw instead. "My love is what is for you. That is what I give to you, not sexuality."
"Then why the fuck did you do it, Eames?" Arthur asked. "Why'd you do it if you love me? You had to have known… You-You had to have known what this was going to do. You're the one who told me what was going to happen if you came out. That was the whole point of keeping it a secret. Now everyone is going to be obsessively following you. It'll be even harder for us to see each other without being caught. I don't… I don't want to be on the covers of magazines or awakened out of sleep when reporters come knocking on my door looking for some sort of quote they can take out of context to make me look like a bastard. I don't want people to give me the eye or bombard me with questions. I don't want my teacher to hate me and rob me of my opportunities. Why did you do it, Eames, when you knew all of that?"
"I… I came out so that people wouldn't find it bizarre if they saw me with another man. I did it so that we could be together."
"Did you even think about what that would do to my private life?" Arthur asked, voice cracking. "Fuck, Eames, I thought you knew how important my privacy was to me. I don't like the spotlight that much. I get really shaken up when I'm put under a fucking microscope, and I… I don't want to be known just for being your fucking boyfriend. I want to be my own person, damn it."
"Did you honestly think we could keep doing all of this sneaking around?" Eames asked, clearly getting fed up. "What did you expect, Arthur? Did you expect us to keep stealing around in the middle of the night to each other's rooms, to fuck and run off before anyone saw us? You thought you could just hide me forever? Are you that bloody ashamed of yourself for loving someone?"
"That's not-That's not what I said at all," Arthur countered, not angry… Not angry, but hurt. It hurt in the absolute worst way. "I thought that we could be like Cobb and Mal, that we could-"
"They're going to slip up eventually, Arthur," Eames interrupted. "It's only a matter of time. You know that… and when they come out, it's going to be dramatic, but it's not the same as you and me. When word got around that you and I were together, I wanted everyone to already know that I was gay. I didn't want anyone to accuse you of turning me or anything stupid like that-I just wanted to make it easier for the both of us."
"It's not going to be easier, Eames," Arthur said hopelessly. "Once I got out of school, I thought that maybe we could… that I could…"
"Hide out in my trailers and hotel rooms every night? Wait for me to come to you?" Eames asked. "What? What did you think we could do?"
"I thought that maybe we could have a place-that we could be-that… I don't know what I thought, okay? I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but I thought that if I was out of school and in steady work then it would be… then it would be easier…" He'd gone and caught himself doing the same thing that Eames had been doing, trying to make things easier.
"What would be easier?" Eames asked, sounding tired, shoulders slumping.
…and Arthur realized that neither of them had raised their voices for the entire argument. Both of them just sounded defeated… This wasn't how arguments were supposed to be. They were supposed to be angry and shouty-to blow up with words nobody really meant and then to resolve everything with sweet kisses and sex and post-coital apologies later… but that wasn't what was happening. Arthur didn't feel sorry for a single word, and he knew Eames didn't either, and there wasn't anger in any part of it. It was just an empty pit in his stomach, like a realization.
"I thought it would be easier to be with you then."
"Did you believe we'd still be together by then?" Eames asked, voice heartbreakingly hopeful. "Did you really believe it, or are you just saying that now?"
"I didn't know… I don't know… I knew though that I… that I wanted to be with you then. Eames, I-I love you. I meant that when I told you before. I still do…"
"I know that," Eames assured him, and Arthur could see tears pricking at his eyes. He must have noticed the bizarreness of their argument as well, the way it was starting to turn. "I've loved you about as long as I've known you, Arthur… I love you every day more than I did the day before…" He hesitated before saying. "There's a clause after what you've said. You've got something else to say to me, don't you?"
Suddenly Arthur found his voice leaving him, and he uselessly looked around the classroom for it, hands trembling.
"Tell me, Arthur," Eames said, voice thick with tears, and he was shaking too. "Just tell me what's on your mind. Please don't leave me hanging here. Say it. Just say it."
"You know what I'm going to say," Arthur accused, face screwing up as understanding stopped up his sinuses. "You know it, don't you?"
Eames said nothing. He just stared into Arthur's eyes, his visage blurring as Arthur's own eyes became cloudy with tears.
…and Arthur said, "I can't do this, Eames."
"Can't do what?" Eames asked.
"You know what, Eames."
"I would never ask you to stay for my sake," Eames replied hoarsely, allowing one tear to break free and slip down his right cheek. "Maybe… maybe it's better this way. You deserve better than this, Arthur, better than having to sneak around under the radar of everyone just for… just for silly old me."
"So…" Arthur swallowed, tears sticking like dew drops to his eyelashes. "This… This is it then. We're just… done. We're over."
"I… I guess we are," Eames said solemnly.
"I… I'm actually breaking up with you, aren't I…"
"That's ah… that's what I gathered, yes."
"I'm sorry," Arthur said, voice a splintering, wobbly mess. "I don't want to… I just can't…"
Eames pulled him into his arms, shushing him, but there was something in the way Eames's hands were trembling that made Arthur believe that he was holding Eames for support as much as the other way around. "You don't have to leave," Eames said desperately. "I can-I can quit the band, and we can just settle down somewhere together and-"
"I would never ask you to do that for me just like I know you wouldn't ask me to do it for you… You know you'd resent me if I made you do that," Arthur said into the fabric of Eames's shirt. "Maybe we're just not… right… Maybe this just isn't the right time…"
Eames buried his face in Arthur's neck. "No… that can't be true… You're lying, you have to be…" he whimpered. Just the pathetic sound of his voice made Arthur's heart crack and break apart.
"I'm sorry, Eames-I-I'm really sorry… If I hadn't been such a fucking desperate-if I hadn't-none of this would have happened if I'd just controlled myself, and I never meant to hurt you, and I never should have-"
"Shut up and never say that again," Eames said, taking Arthur's face in both of his hands. "Don't ever make it sound like you regretted it because if you do, I will just fucking die…"
Arthur exhaled and let Eames press a hard kiss to his lips and then another and another. "Never say it again," Eames commanded, borderline hysteric.
"I'm so sorry," Arthur kept saying, unable to come up with anything more to say, and not capable of it anyway, and when they both ran out of words they just stood there holding each other for a lot longer than they probably should have.
Arthur was the one to break away, and when he did, he ran. He grabbed his violin case and ran as fast away from the room as he had run to it. He ran to the parking lot and sped home, locked himself inside, sat down in the middle of the floor, and sobbed.
When Eames didn't say anything for the entire drive back to the hotel, he wasn't too surprised when Yusuf caught him at the door to his room.
"What happened? Your eyes are red-rimmed," Yusuf said.
Eames sighed and smiled ruefully at him. "Arthur dumped me because I came out on television. He did it to protect his privacy."
"Oh…" Yusuf said. "I-I'm sorry-"
"Don't be," Eames said turning to go in with Yusuf tailing behind him. "It's better for him if we're not together, and you said so yourself that the best thing to do was to get him to break up with me. It's easier for him to move on this way. Besides, at least I didn't dump him, so he'll be all right. He can go have revenge sex with someone else, just like you said, and he'll be over me, and he'll be able to move on." It was physically painful to say.
"Okay… but… what about you, Eames? Will you be all right?" Yusuf asked.
Eames flopped face first down onto his mattress and rolled onto his back. It still smelled like Arthur. How could it fucking smell like him? "I'm an artist, Yusuf. My heart may suffer but my art shall flourish. I've already got ideas for two to three more songs. It'll be great for us."
"Uh-huh," Yusuf said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, "and when I find you choked to death on your bed sheets, should I just write a song about it?"
"I'm not going to be doing anything of the sort, Yusuf. I'm perfectly fine."
"You don't seem fine. In fact, you look like you've been hit by a truck," Yusuf countered.
Well, Eames hadn't believed the lie either.
"Okay, so I'm not fine," Eames said, feeling fresh tears threatening to well up, "but I will be… in time. I'll be all right. It's just a broken heart is all. It's nothing to worry about."
"Are you sure?"
Eames stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before admitting, "Actually, no. My heart is in a million pieces, and I honestly have no idea how to put it back together, but if you don't mind, Yusuf, I'd like to keep saying that I'm okay until I can force myself to believe it, if that's all right with you."
"All right then…"
There was a long, agonizing moment of silence which was entirely too consumed with the memory of Arthur.
"It's bollocks is what it is," Eames continued when the silence roared too loud for him to handle anymore, even though he was sure Yusuf had assumed he was done talking about it and had probably been desperately attempting to concoct another subject they could talk about. "I mean, I went and outed myself to everyone for him, and now I'm going to be hated on and ridiculed… and I don't even have anything to bloody show for it. I understand that he wanted people to leave him alone, but… fuck… He could have at least attempted to see what I was trying to accomplish… I really botched this up spectacularly, didn't I…"
"Believe it or not, there is actually quite a lot of support for you, Eames. I checked out some of the internet blogs on my phone this afternoon. I've seen quite an outpouring of people talking about how proud they are of you and how much it actually means to them," Yusuf said.
"I'm sure there is plenty of hate though as well, isn't there," Eames said flatly.
"Yes, but mostly it's just from old wankers and overly-religious zealots. I generally don't care about anything that comes out of their mouths as I'm sure you know. It's next to impossible to take them seriously."
"Don't be surprised if they make an appearance picketing at the damned concert next weekend," Eames said, rubbing his eyes. "Twats."
Fuck, he used to call Arthur a twat.
"I'd say it seems likely. They'll picket for anything. You'd think they'd have something more productive to do with their time," Yusuf said idly, digging out one of his self-rolled cigarettes (that was probably more than tobacco if Eames knew Yusuf) and lighting it up.
"Let the discrimination and loathing come. There's no way they can harm me anymore than I've already harmed myself. I'm ready for anything they can both figuratively and literally throw at me."
"You do realize that you've put all of us in danger, right?" Yusuf asked, smirking a little. "If you want to travel down a path of self-destruction then that's all well and good, but I certainly hope you don't intend to bring us down with you… Well, you can drag Nash down with you, but at least leave Cobb and me unscathed. You owe us that much for being friends even when you didn't deserve it."
"I'll do what I can," Eames responded with a halfhearted grin, and added, "to drag Nash down with me, that is."
"So, ah… since you and Arthur are kaput, does that mean I can't date his pretty friend? The cute little one with the long chestnut hair and the scarf?" Yusuf asked, disappointment finding its way into the words.
Eames snorted. "Who, Ariadne? She'll probably want me dead after this. It really depends on what plain her love for Radical Notion and her love for Arthur is. I honestly don't know her well enough to know which one she loves more, but I'd almost guarantee it's Arthur."
Every time he said his name he felt his heart squeeze again.
He'd never handled a break up quite so dismally before…
…but then again, he'd never loved anyone like he'd loved Arthur…
For a little while, he'd almost thought that they'd…
"Ariadne, eh? Her parents must have been big fans of Greek mythology."
"That, or perhaps they just like naming their children bizarre names. Maybe she has a brother named Doorhinge, a sister named Kroger, and an iguana named Reginald."
Yusuf laughed, and Eames managed to bark out a chuckle as well, but it made his chest hurt. He couldn't help but think of Arthur's smile, warm and dotted with dimples on each side, face half-pressed into a pillow, hair loose and tumbling around his forehead in not black, but dark brown curls. The corners of his eyes would crinkle in a way that no one but Eames had seen, and he would lean in and press a soft kiss on his lips just because he could, and…
Eames took a deep breath and let it out to keep the tears from welling up again and said, "Well, for the record, she's a huge groupie for us, so you may end up stuck with a squealing fan."
"She's a groupie? Well, that's good. That's bloody fantastic. That means I might actually stand a chance."
"Comb your hair and trim your goatee, stop wearing those baggy clothes, and I bet you can be irresistible to loads of women."
"Who says that I'm not? I'm just an acquired taste is all."
"Like curry," Eames nodded.
"You're so cruel," Yusuf said, "and racist, you wanker."
"I like curry," Eames shrugged.
"That doesn't make it better."
"You're the one who went and made it that way, Yusuf. Curry is an acquired taste, and that's all I meant by it. It wasn't a shot at your ethnicity at all. I don't even know what ethnicity you are, honestly, so it's bloody difficult for me to tease you about it."
"You're a right arsehole, Eames."
"I just got dumped. If you want someone all lovely and sympathetic, go talk to Cobb. I'm sure he can tell you all kinds of sugary stories about his future children and the songs he'll write about them and how he'll get their names tattooed over his heart even though tattooing names on you is bad luck."
"I don't think I'd be particularly interesting in hearing about any of that either, to tell you the truth."
"Neither would I… Honestly though, I don't know Ariadne that way, but I think you two might hit it off. Good luck with that." He caught himself before saying that maybe he could talk to Arthur about it and see if he could get Yusuf the hookup. The idea that he couldn't (or at least shouldn't) speak to Arthur anymore absolutely blasted through him like a gunshot right to his chest.
Yusuf apparently noticed the look on Eames's face as he pulled himself away from the wall to make his exit. "Don't kill yourself. I'll be back later with tons of alcohol to drown your sorrows in," he said warily, walking to the door. "I swear, I'll be back soon so don't do anything drastic."
Yusuf really was far too paranoid for his own good. It probably had a little bit to do with the marijuana that was surely in the rolled cigarette of his.
Still, as soon as it clicked shut, Eames thought aloud, "I wonder what Arthur is doing right now," and he thought that maybe drowning his sorrows in the bathtub would be a better option than drowning in alcohol.
It turned out Arthur was already out drowning his sorrows.
Ariadne had had to break into his apartment and drag him to Starkey's, getting a blubbering wail of an explanation on the way. As he had expected, she had been under the impression that he was depressed over the fact that he'd frozen up on the stage… Of course, when she brought that up, he felt unbelievably worse and begged her to take him back home. She told him that she wouldn't let him be alone on that night and listen to sad classical music until he was ready to kill himself.
He tried to reiterate to her that he was the one who broke up with Eames, but it hurt too much to say.
So, he was stuck at Starkey's. He always seemed to end up there when he was in distress, and he wondered if he was well on his way to becoming an alcoholic like his father.
Oh, well, he thought, might as well drink away that fear as well.
He was halfway into his third drink when his and Ariadne's table was suddenly occupied by Alisha and her boyfriend, Ally, and Robert Fischer.
"Arthur!" Ally exclaimed, sliding in on one side of him. "Jesus, I was worried about you. You just ran out today. Damn, look at that slash on your cheek. That must have hurt like hell."
"I don't want to talk about it," Arthur slurred and shot-gunned the rest of his glass.
"Jacobson was so pissed when you ran out," Fischer said. "At least, he was until Mal got to him. She chewed him a new one, I hope you know. I wish you could have been there."
"I wish I'd seen it too," Arthur said and raised his hand to signal to the bartender of the evening, Mia, that he wanted another. "Might've added a little light to the worst day of my life."
"The day's not over yet," Alisha said, grinning mischievously. "You never know what could happen."
"I'll buy you a hooker if you like," Alisha's boyfriend, an exchange student from the UK with a purple Mohawk named Charlie, said. His accent made Arthur's heart ache even more, so he buried his face in his arms.
"What's his problem?" Ally asked Ariadne. "It's not just the whole freezing up thing is it?"
"Subtle, Ally," Ariadne said flatly.
"Someone get me another goddamned drink," Arthur complained, banging his fist on the tabletop.
"Yes, your highness," Fischer said as he stood, and Ariadne glared at him. "Just because he's upset and embarrassed doesn't mean he has to be rude," he scoffed and wandered over to the bar.
Thankfully, everyone seemed to get the hint that Arthur didn't want to hear other people talk about it anymore than he wanted to talk about it, and the conversation switched in another direction. He sat quietly, downing as many beers as he could while listening to quite a few stories he'd already heard before and some he hadn't. The drunker he got, the easier it got to smile and not think about Eames, and he was all for that.
Soon enough, the whole table was pretty drunk, and Ariadne was up on the stage wailing out a Fleetwood Mac song with Ally on back-up vocals. Alisha and Charlie danced to it, alcohol apparently warping their sense of hearing while they spun and sang along. It left Arthur and Robert at the table alone.
"So," Robert said, and it was astounding how sober he could sound even when he was most definitely not. "What's really bothering you anyway?"
Arthur hunched over his glass and quietly admitted, "I broke up with my boyfriend."
"Then why are you sad? Shouldn't he be the one with the proverbial tear in the beer?"
"I still love him," Arthur said, gulping down another swallow.
"Then why did you dump him?" he asked.
"Loving him wasn't… a good enough reason to sacrifice everything else in my life. I didn't want to come out of the closet. I didn't want people to spot us together. I didn't want my life to consist of the title of 'his boyfriend'. I'm a selfish dick, basically."
"Sounds like perfectly legitimate reasons to me," Robert shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "You can't just give your life to someone. A lot of people think that's what love is, but it's not. Love isn't sacrifice so much as it is meeting in the middle."
"He didn't ask me or tell me to give up anything though," Arthur replied solemnly. "I just knew it was inevitably coming, and I'm already enough of an emotional wreck as it is. The last thing I need in my life is more stress, and I know a lot of it came from him… even if he did mean well."
"You've got to take care of yourself," Robert agreed, taking a swig at his beer.
"…Yeah… I guess…" Arthur mumbled. "I didn't think it would hurt this bad… I've never felt this terrible in my entire life. It's like… It's like there is this hole where my heart used to be."
"Take it one day at a time, and that pain should gradually fade," Robert shrugged. "It does hurt like hell though."
Ally and Ariadne jumped into a new song.
"There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it's bringin' me out the dark…" the two girls sang, and Arthur felt like every word was striking him like an arrow. It was like the whole goddamned world was mocking him.
"I don't want to be here anymore," Arthur said, looking frantically at Robert for some kind of support. "Could you help me get home?"
"I can't drive because I'm trashed, but if you want we can walk back to my place. It's pretty much right across the street," Robert suggested. "I have a couch you can sleep on."
"Thanks," Arthur sighed, sliding out of the booth to trail along behind him. Ariadne was too caught up in her song to notice he was leaving, even if he was stumbling and noisy while he was doing it.
Out in the parking lot, Arthur asked Robert, "How do you know about what I'm going through anyway? How'd you know I was gay and all that?"
"Because I've lived it. I had a boyfriend in high school that I was fucking nuts about, but I couldn't tell anyone because he was my teacher."
"So, you're gay like me," Arthur said blearily.
"Uh… yeah, I thought that was obvious. Man, for a homo, you sure are bad at finding other homos."
"Yeah… I guess…" Arthur sighed, blushing a little in embarrassment. "Well, how come Jacobson treats me like crap but doesn't treat you like crap?"
"Well, actually, he does, but no one has heard confirmation from me that I'm gay anyway. You're the only one I've actually told, so don't go spreading it around, all right?"
Arthur blinked. "Why'd you tell me?"
"Because I know you aren't about to swing a baseball bat at my head for it. I mean, yeah, we go to art school, so I'm sure there are a lot more of us-in fact I'm positive of that-but you're the only one I'm actually moderately close to."
"Your parents don't even know, do they?" Arthur asked.
"Of course not! Do you think I want my head chopped off, or worse, to lose my trust fund? I'm not stupid."
"How is losing your trust fund worse than death?" Arthur asked.
Robert laughed, swinging an arm around Arthur's neck. "Do you know how much I'm worth?"
Arthur just smiled a little because he was warm like Eames was warm. He was warm and safe, and he made Arthur not feel like he'd gone and exiled himself to an island all by himself. His smile made his heart feel a little less broken (but only a little), and his eyes were just so, so blue.
"Don't let this break up stuff get you down, Arthur," Robert continued, and maybe he did sound a little airier when he was drunk. "You'll bounce back. Just pour all of your angst into your music. That's what all the tortured artists do, you know. That's what I did. I composed five ridiculously dramatic piano concertos the day that I got dumped, and I swear to you that it was one of those pieces that got me through auditions and into Cobol. They said that they were impressed with my passion or something ridiculous like that, but it really did work out for the best. I guess everything really does happen for a reason. Go figure."
"I don't think I can write anything."
"Sure you can," Robert smirked. "When we get back to my place, you can use Kathy's violin and cry pitifully until you've got something-I guarantee you it will only take you fifteen minutes or so. Ah, see, Kathy is my roommate, but she's out of town because her father's having heart surgery-actually, you could probably sleep in her bed if you wanted to."
"So, what, you want to write something together? Like… collaborate?"
Robert shrugged. "Sure, we could do that, or we could just practice. I can play when I'm drunk, and the piece you're performing does have a piano part underneath it. I was actually going to offer to play the accompaniment part underneath your solo today, but you ran out before I could."
"Why would you want to play with me? I'm not passionate. I play like a robot, and I freeze up when it's important."
"Well, admittedly, you have played pretty robotically in the past, but your songs never felt that way. It was just your expression. I think people didn't know what to do because when you were stony faced and your piece was dramatic, it was difficult to connect the dots. You can do it now though, so I don't really know what you're so uncomfortable about. They put you in first chair for a reason, Arthur. You're the best violinist we've got, and I completely admire your skills."
"My boyfriend taught me how to play with my emotions… but I hadn't used them in so long, so I still don't know how to use them or what to do with them… I'm a fucking mess, Robert. You shouldn't admire me. I'm probably going to fail epically at the concert… that is, if Jacobson even lets me play."
"Man… fuck Jacobson. You're twice the violinist he ever was and ever could be, and you can fucking tell him that I said that. I don't even care."
Arthur was sure that, had Robert been sober, he would care very, very much, but the sentiment was nice and he appreciated it.
"Mal will make sure you have your solo," Robert continued, "and you're going to do a great job at it without a doubt. Stop talking yourself out of things before you do them."
…and when they reached the doorway of Robert's apartment, Arthur may have stumbled into his arms.
…and when Fischer had asked him if he was all right, he may have kissed him.
I'd tell you guys not to panic, but I have a feeling you're going to anyway...
...but seriously, DON'T PANIC. It's not over yet.