Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (12/16)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (12/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,071
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Robert Fischer, Mal, Cobb, Yusuf, Nash
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 Twelve: Tell Me That It Isn't True

Robert tasted like beer and cigarettes and the slightest hint of mint from most likely brushing his teeth before coming to the bar. He hadn't even known Robert smoked, but he recognized the flavor.

Eames had tasted like cigarettes too.

There was a moment where Arthur thought the messy, drunken kiss would escalate to something more, but then Robert broke the contact, looking a little flustered and confused, his mouth swollen and red. "Uh… what was that for?" he asked, a smile threatening to break onto his face. Warranted or not, he'd apparently still enjoyed it.

"I… I don't know…" Arthur said, wishing he'd sink into the floor. What had he just done? How many times was he going to drunkenly kiss other men?

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Robert said, smirking as he unlocked the door and let him in. "You shouldn't go around smooching with other guys yet, Arthur. You just got out of a relationship and you're lonely and insecure, and you want someone, but I can guarantee you that it's not a good idea to go bed hopping."

Arthur sat down on the couch, knees knocking together awkwardly as Robert shuffled around in the kitchen. He didn't seem bothered by the kiss which bothered Arthur quite a lot actually. If he had kissed Arthur, Arthur would have been panicking, maybe screaming at him…

When Robert came back in with some water, claiming that Arthur should keep hydrated so he didn't get a hangover in the morning, Arthur asked him, "Why aren't you pissed off or freaking out?"

"Uh… because I know you didn't mean anything by it," Robert said as if it was obvious, sitting down at the grand piano he'd squeezed into a corner.

"Exactly…" Arthur said unsurely. "Why…"

"I kiss people I'm not serious about," Robert shrugged. "That's the fun of being young. Still, you should only kiss someone if you really want to, not because you're lonely."

"That's how my boyfriend even met me," Arthur said, unable to look him in the eye as he said it. "It wasn't supposed to be romantic or anything… We weren't supposed to get so… involved with each other… but we did."

"Well, that tells me how responsible he is," Robert said matter-of-factly, playing a trill of notes on the keys, "but hey, if that's what you go for, I'm not going to badmouth you for it."

"Well, I kind of tackled him," Arthur admitted sheepishly. "I don't know what came over me then, but I was drunk so that might have had a lot to do with it. I didn't even like him, but he was really attractive, and I guess I'd just been restrained for so long that I couldn't take it anymore."

Robert raised his eyebrows in interest. "What? Really?" he asked, clearly amused, and Arthur didn't find it very funny at all, expressing as much without words. Robert tried to explain, "It just doesn't sound like something you'd do. I had no idea you were so… frustratingly confined." The smile on his face was making it difficult to stop being agitated.

"I'm not really comfortable talking about it," Arthur huffed.

"I mean, really, most people just tug one out and move on. At least the guy didn't get put off when you came on a little-ah-strong."

"Oh, for the love of-is it really fair that you're teasing me? I'm in misery and you're making fun of me. Some friend you are," Arthur groaned. "Look, I had a lot of problems before I met him, and now I have different ones now that it's over."

"We all have problems," Robert replied, going into a slow piano improvisation. "Sorry, I thought maybe I could cheer you up."

"I know it sounds stupid, but I didn't even know I could be happy before I met him, and now that it's over, I don't know how to be happy without him…"

Robert paused in his playing and asked, completely honestly, "Then why did you break up with him?"

"I already told you. I was just trying to take care of myself."

"How is going far, far out of your way to make sure you're miserable taking care of yourself?"

"I would have been miserable if I stayed!" Arthur shouted, jumping to his feet, and he swayed a little with the shift of gravity. "You don't understand!"

"I might if you explain it to me," Robert replied simply, shrugging, "just a thought."

All of the anger drained out of Arthur as quickly as it came, and he sank back into his seat and drank his full glass of water before saying, "If I told you, I'm afraid you'd sell me out to the press."

"The press? Wh-first of all, I'm completely against talking to the press about anything, being that my father is a famous C.E.O. who is constantly followed by press. Second, what the fuck were you two doing that would be risqué enough to rat out to the press?"

"So, uh… did you see how Eames, that famous guitarist for Radical Notion came out on television today?" Arthur asked.

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. Eames is... was my boyfriend."

"Oh," Robert said, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. "Well… that's not what I expected. How the hell did you even-did you even meet him?"

"The concert… Ariadne made me go, and I got drunk, and he found me upchucking into a trash can. I badmouthed his music, and then he dragged me to his trailer so that we wouldn't get caught by the paparazzi, and uh… yeah…"

It sounded so ridiculous that even Arthur wouldn't have believed it unless he'd lived it. Even if it hadn't been unbelievably similar to fake stories sent into dirty magazines by pathetic hopefuls, he still couldn't figure out how they'd found love along the way… maybe he'd loved him all along… he just didn't know.

"You're nothing like I always thought," Robert chuckled. "Luckily, you got the hottest one of the band. I would have been absolutely ashamed if you'd hooked up with that greasy guy, Nash."

"Thanks, you're so helpful," Arthur replied flatly. "The fact of the matter is, I couldn't stay with him because he's famous, and I didn't want my… life to be thrown out of balance, you know?"

"Don't you think being the boyfriend of a celebrity would get you a lot more attention by the orchestras you want to be a part of?" Robert suggested.

"I-I doubt that they consider Radical Notion to be a respectable form of music, even if they actually are, and… I want to be accepted for my own abilities. I want them to like me for my own merit, not just because I'm the controversial fuck buddy of some rock star."

"Yeah, but you're not his fuck buddy. You guys are serious about each other, aren't you? I mean… frankly it seems a bit ridiculous that you would be considering you haven't known each other that long, but stranger things have happened, so-"

"Well, how am I supposed to know if I love him or not?" Arthur countered.

"You're the one who told me that you did," Robert said.

"Y-yeah, but-but I've never been in love before. Maybe I'm just fucking delusional, and I shouldn't even be so goddamned sad over him…"

He was grasping at straws… but he couldn't help but think that maybe he could convince himself that he didn't actually love Eames, and then he wouldn't have to feel the aching hole in his chest. He hoped Robert would sense it and play along.

"All right… maybe you're not, but then why are you sad?"

"I… Well… it's my first relationship, and I fucked it up. I feel like such a… jackass because I pretty much led him on and then just shoved it off. He genuinely cared about me, and I just… It just prove how fucking awful I am at being with anyone."

Robert stood from the piano. "So you don't know if you love him, but you think you might have just been attracted to him."

"Well, yeah, I was attracted to him, but that doesn't mean I was in love," he said, nodding to confirm it though he wasn't sure if it was for Robert or for himself.

"Do you think I'm attractive?"

Arthur's blushed. "Yeah, you're the hottest guy at our school. Everyone knows that."

"So, when you kissed him, what'd you feel?"

Arthur's blush deepened. "Uh…" he mumbled. "Good… sparks… um… fluttery, I guess?"

"…and how did you feel when you kissed me?"

"I-I mean, it didn't really last long enough for me to-"

Well, it had lasted long enough for him to taste Robert's flavor.

"All right, then," Robert said, knelt down before Arthur, and pressed his mouth to his. Arthur let out a muffled sound of surprise and decided to just go with it. After all, it wasn't like he had a boyfriend anymore, and Robert was extremely good-looking. He'd lost his virginity, so it wasn't like it was easy for him to be missing out nowadays, and Robert wasn't nearly as high risk a mate as Eames had been. He was smart, talented, and best of all not famous. He could give a normal relationship a go with Robert…

There was only one problem…

Robert broke the kiss and, seeming to read his mind asked, "What did you feel?"

Arthur couldn't lie.

He said, "I felt… nothing."

Robert smiled haughtily, like he'd just deduced something incredible, and said, "Well, I guess that means you're in love with Eames, doesn't it? After all, I was pretty much offering you a good relationship with a fellow peer that you wouldn't necessarily have to keep secret. I'm perfect, at least according to a bunch of people I don't really even know, but still you felt nothing."

"No… No! I don't want to-"

"It's not like you can help it."

Eames's words from the interview filtered into Arthur's head. "No one ever plans to fall in love after all, it just sort of happens. It's unexpected and it's as grand as it is bloody terrifying."

"Damn it," Arthur sighed, sinking down in his seat, and Robert laughed uproariously like it wasn't the absolute worst thing ever. When Fischer had calmed down, Arthur ventured to ask, "How am I going to get over him?"

"He's your first. You never get over your first," Robert replied. "Sad but true."

"So… what do I do?"

Robert got up and left and returned a moment later with a violin, and in an all too familiar way, thrust it in his face and said, "Just play."

So, Arthur did… but mostly he just drunkenly, pathetically sobbed his way through tunes he didn't recognize, and Robert wrote down the notes on blank sheet music, made suggestions, and let him cry through it some more. He added piano, and Arthur continued to spill out everything he had been holding in.

Over those four hours that they played together, he kept thinking of Eames.

He thought of Eames's smell and his smile and the way his eyes had flecks of green in them. He thought of the way he spoke and the things he said that made Arthur feel like he could do anything. He thought of the way his hands had touched him like he was something more valuable than anything he'd ever owned. He thought of how Eames had put his arms around him when he'd started to cry, told him how beautiful his song was, how beautiful he was. He thought of how fucking amazing Eames seemed to be at everything, whether he was strutting around on stage with a guitar or just singing in his hotel room. He thought of Eames's interview and how he'd quoted Arthur, how he'd spoken of how much being out of the closet would mean to other people, how he'd wanted to make it okay for everyone. He thought of how Eames had teased him, and he thought of how Eames cried when Arthur had broken up with him.

…and he thought…

Surely, he must have made a humongous mistake.

When Arthur dared to open his eyes, he found himself curled up on the same couch, hugging Robert's roommate's violin. He blearily took in the landmarks of the room, head aching a little from a hangover (after all, he'd gone and cried to the point that he'd dehydrated himself), but he didn't see Robert anywhere.

He rolled off the couch but didn't manage to put his feet down before his shoulder hit the hard wood, and he hissed out a curse word before stumbling to his feet. He had no idea what time it was and only vaguely remembered the things he'd admitted the night before. He wasn't sure of anything except one particular thing.

He missed Eames.

In fact it hurt worse than it did before, and he hadn't even been aware of that possibility. He was nearly bowled over with the pain in his chest, blooming the moment Eames came to mind, overshadowing the pain from his hangover one hundred fold.

"Robert?" Arthur called out, voice scratchy like he'd been screaming.

He found him in the kitchen, chewing on the bite of a colorful omelet, the smell of which made Arthur's insides twist. "Morning," Robert replied, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading. "How are you feeling?"

"I want to die," Arthur moaned, nearly collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Yeah, you said about as much about four o' clock, right before you finished off the last movement of the sonata you cranked out last night."

"What are you even talking about?" Arthur asked monotonously, dropping his forehead down onto one arm.

"I helped you write a sonata last night," Robert explained, wiping his hands and his mouth on a napkin. "It's impressive. It's also about fifty pages of sheet music. You might want to cut it down a bit in the future."

"I wrote fifty pages of music last night?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"Well, I helped," Robert replied with a shrug.

"I was a little hysterical last night," Arthur said. "I don't remember most of the things I did…"

"Well, at some point when I went to the bathroom you found my wine cabinet and downed about a fourth of the bottle, started singing Rolling in the Deep, and passed out. Other than that, we pretty much wrote music, and you told me about Eames."

"How much?"

"Pretty much everything, right down to the way you liked him to fuck you."

"Now I really want to die," Arthur mumbled, humiliated. "Couldn't you have lied to me just now?"

"Sorry."

There was a long time where Arthur just listened to the sound of silverware clinking lightly against Robert's plate, just stared into nothingness and tried to quell his nausea and his aching chest.

"So," Robert said, lifting the empty plate and taking it to the sink, "are you still planning on going to apologize and get back with Eames, or what?"

"What?" Arthur asked, confused.

"That's what you said last night," Robert said, "between the wine and the singing. You said that you were going to go to his hotel and tell him that you were wrong and that you wanted to still be with him. You said that you didn't care if people thought badly of you because the only people whose opinion matters about you two is just you and Eames. You really rambled for about twenty minutes about how important love is for the world and that people should just leave you two alone and let you just be, or something like that. I didn't understand quite a bit of it."

"That doesn't sound like me," Arthur said.

"Well, neither did the fact that you've been dating and fucking a famous rock star. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Don't patronize me."

Robert smiled, clearly enjoying his misery just a little more than he should. "You make it sound like being more than your surface value is a bad thing."

Arthur paused and dwelled on that for a long, long time.

Had he really been that focused on his reputation?

Hadn't he already soiled his reputation as the mechanical little violin freak who slashed his wrist in the school bathroom and stood by the lie about it being an accident even when no one believed him. He was the emotionless little prick that had only one close friend and was now being labeled a homosexual. It didn't matter if he confirmed, denied, or kept silent. People were going to assume and talk about it, and there was nothing he could do about it. Jacobson would keep treating him like shit because he'd already decided that the rumors were true. Letting him know he was right wasn't going to change anything.

In the end…

In the end he'd been running from the one thing that brought him more happiness than anything in the world. He'd sent away the one person who'd managed to show him what it was like to live rather than just exist, the one person who'd allowed him to fall in love with someone for the first time and to fall in love with music for the second time.

…and why? To protect that stupid reputation that was already pretty sullied anyway? To believe that symphonic orchestras would choose him because of the fact that his boyfriend was famous, even when he knew what a damned good violinist he was and would surely be chosen on merit in any place of quality? To keep his pictures out of the paper and to get reporters to leave him alone just because he didn't want to be bothered with it? He couldn't make that sacrifice for the man that he fucking loved?

"Oh, my God," Arthur whispered, stunned at his revelation. "What have I done?"

"Funny, I think Ariadne mentioned to me once that you don't believe in God," Robert said.

Arthur ignored him, instead getting to his feet. "I have to go now… I have to… I have to go find Eames. I've got to tell him what a fucking idiot I've been and get him back."

"Take my advice and take some hangover medication and wipe the drool off the side of your mouth first," Robert offered.

Arthur smacked him on the back of the head, causing the other man to laugh.

Arthur had forgotten he'd ridden to Starkey's in Ariadne's car, and his apartment was still too far to really walk. He ended up having to go back to Robert's door and asking him to give him a ride.

He had to promise him an eventual autograph from the rest of the band if Eames decided to take him back.

The drive to the hotel was maddeningly slow. Robert was the most safety-conscious driver Arthur had ever ridden with (or perhaps he was just used to Ariadne's speed demon tendencies), and he really felt that maybe he could have risked a ticket for him just this once since Robert had enough trust fund money to already put him on a beach in Maui for the rest of his days if he so desired. Robert kindly reminded him that explaining to a cop that he was driving him to a hotel so that he could hook up with a famous rock musician would probably go badly. Arthur had kept his mouth shut after that, but it didn't make the wait any less torturous.

Finally, finally they arrived, and Arthur didn't even wait for the car to completely stop before he clambered out and took off toward the rotating doors. He made it into the lobby and up through the elevator with as much composure as he could muster, but he quickly came to the discovery that there were no guards on the floor. After he put his key card into the lock, he found it had been changed (probably because the cards hadn't been returned).

Panicked, he made his way back down to the lobby. He was grateful he still looked put together enough to not look like an insane groupie as he approached the front desk and lied, "Uh… hi, my name is Austin Benson, I'm the technical manager for Radical Notion, and it seems that they aren't in their rooms. I can't contact them via cell, so I was wondering if you could tell me if they stepped out for a moment or two? I have some questions for the placement of the guitars at the Save Our Songs concert."

"Ah…" the woman studied him until she decided his story was legitimate, and then started typing away on her computer. "Ah… here we are. Oh, see, it appears a Mr. Saito checked them out yesterday afternoon."

"O-oh…" Arthur mumbled and tried not to look shocked and devastated.

"Oh, yeah," the other woman from the front desk came out from the back room, tucking a short curl of red hair behind her ear. "I was here yesterday when that happened. Yeah, the paparazzi freaking stormed this place. I mean, there were reporters and cameras and just tons of people everywhere. They had to leave through the back, and they were still bombarded out there too. They all wanted to talk to that Eames guy about coming out on television. It was really crazy."

"I… I wasn't informed of this. I'll have to have a talk with Saito about his professionalism. Do you have any idea where they went?" Arthur asked, chanting over and over in his head to remain calm. If he wanted his information, he'd have to keep playing the part. He was grateful he'd checked himself out in the mirror before he'd left and that Robert had lent him a clean shirt.

"Um…" the girl said, trying to think.

"Please… ah… it's vital that I speak with one of them right away. My boss is going to have my head if I don't get this information," Arthur explained, throwing on his most serious face. He'd generally been a terrible liar in the past, but somehow he was holding his ground this time around. Maybe it was just because he didn't feel guilty about lying to these women he didn't know. Maybe it was just because he really, really wanted to talk to Eames. He needed to talk to him.

Really, he wasn't completely lying, actually.

"Okay, uh… I don't know for sure, but I think I saw on television this morning that that Eames guy went back to London. Mr. Saito went back to Japan, and I don't know where Nash or Yusuf went, but I do know that Cobb wasn't even here-"

"Cobb, of course!" Arthur caught himself shouting and left before they could question why.

He'd realized at the mention of Cobb's name that Cobb was probably still with Mal. Cobb probably had Eames's mobile phone number. His search wasn't in vain.

"Well?" Robert asked when Arthur bustled his way back into the car. "That was quick. Did he turn you down flat?"

Robert had never been known to sugarcoat things.

"He's not there," Arthur explained, breathless from his sprint. "The paparazzi chased him all the way back to London. Drive me to Mal's house-er, please."

"Mal's house? I-don't even know where she lives, and why the fuck do we need to go there?" Robert asked, pulling a face.

"Just look up her name in your phone. I'm sure you can find her address. It's a pretty unique name," Arthur explained.

Robert sighed and started typing away, repeating, "and why, pray tell, do we need to go to Mal's house? Does she have a lot of frequent flyer miles or something?"

"No, she's married to Cobb, so maybe he's still there."

"Whoa, whoa, what? Did you hear what you just said? Did you not expect me to react to that statement? Our French teacher, our assistant professor is married to the Dominic Cobb? She always said the last name thing was a coincidence!"

"I find it a little bizarre that you're freaking about this more than the fact that I was banging Eames," Arthur mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

"I always expected you were just repressed," Robert explained, and Arthur would have been offended if he hadn't been absolutely right. "I have the address. I'm just learning new things all the time, aren't I?"

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window while Robert drove, and he hoped that he could get Eames on the line, hoped that Robert wouldn't tell anyone about Mal and Cobb, about him and Eames.

He really wasn't sure how much he could actually trust him, after all.

…but he was thankful that he was around.

When they arrived, the two of them got out of the car together, took the short walk to the front door, knocked, and waited.

Inexplicably, Arthur began to feel a little nervous while waiting, but it faded slightly when Mal opened the door looking beautiful and understanding like usual. "Arthur?" she questioned, looking from one boy to the other. "Robert? What are you two doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Ah… Mal, is um… is your husband here?" Arthur asked, swallowing thickly.

She looked to Robert then for a long moment, as if trying to read if he knew or not before saying, "Dom is here."

"Can I talk to him?" Arthur asked. "I won't be long… I just… I need Eames's number."

She stepped aside to allow them into her perfect home, radiant and modern yet classic at the same time, just like Mal. "He's napping on the settee right now, but all you have to do is gently shake him and he should stir. Would you boys like some tea or something? I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to clean things up."

Of course, the phrase was clearly a formality since the place was absolutely spotless. Even Cobb, still snoozing on the couch, had recently showered. His hair was still damp and hanging in his face, and he smelled of cologne and shampoo.

"Dom," Mal whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "Dom, Arthur is here."

Cobb stirred, taking a deep breath through his nose and blinked up at the two boys. "Oh, uh… hi…" he said.

"I'm Robert Fischer," Robert said, extending a hand. "I'm a big, but not insane fan."

"Thanks," Cobb said, shaking back before turning his attention to Arthur. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I… I need Eames's number. I made a huge mistake, and I need to talk to him," Arthur explained anxiously, unable to look Cobb in the eye. He wasn't sure why he was ashamed, but he was.

"Uh… sure…" Cobb said, pulling out his cell phone and showing Arthur the number.

Arthur immediately dialed and, before hitting call, asked Mal to allow him onto her back porch for some privacy.

He left Robert inside with them to question their secret relationship.

Eames was tired.

He hadn't slept, having no time to in between missing Arthur, packing his things, missing Arthur some more, running from the paparazzi, ignoring his band mates complaints (mostly from Nash) and trying not to dream about Arthur on the plane, checking into his hotel room, and missing Arthur. He was drinking through all of it at least, so at that point he was both tired and drunk off of his arse.

He was currently plopped down into one of the plush armchairs in his suite with Nash and Yusuf in the other two, and Yusuf was passing a blunt around. With the alcohol and marijuana in his system, Eames was sure he'd be able to finally sleep dreamlessly, and it was only a matter of time before he was out cold.

The only problem was that somehow reporters had gotten a hold of his mobile phone number, and they had been calling it constantly. He would have turned it off, or rather flushed it down the toilet, if Saito didn't still need it to contact them.

The damned ringing devil wouldn't bring him peace, reminding him of everything he'd done, just ringing and ringing and ringing, and he wanted to curl up and die but was sure the fucking phone wouldn't let him.

It was starting to annoy the other two as well.

"Couldn't Saito call one of us instead of you?" Nash suggested. "This is getting fucking ridiculous."

"I bet it was Zora who gave out the number. Apparently she actually wanted to date you," Yusuf offered pointlessly, and it was possibly the first time in Eames's life that he would rather smack Yusuf than Nash. "I wonder if she'd date me..."

"Oh, fuck off, Yusuf," Eames grumbled, coughed a little on the smoke, and passed him the blunt.

"You know what? Fuck this," Nash said, grabbing Eames's phone off the table. "I'll give them exactly what they want."

He answered with a light-voiced, "Hello?"

"Who is this?" said the voice on the other line.

"This is Ryan," Nash said, and Yusuf and Eames started chuckling a little.

"Ryan?" the voice questioned, clearly confused.

"Yeah, Ryan," Nash continued, pacing across the room, "Why? What's wrong with that?"

"How do you know Eames?" the voice asked.

"Well, duh, I'm his boyfriend," Nash said, and the other men were cackling across the room, just out of hearing range.

"Nash, you bloody bastard," Yusuf laughed. "What did he say?"

Nash pulled the phone away, staring at it. "That's weird… he hung up."

"I guess that's all he needed to know," Eames said. "This time tomorrow there will be papers and internet blogs all over the world talking about the mysterious Ryan."

There was no way that he could know that Arthur had been the one on the other line, that Arthur had heard Nash refer to himself as Eames's boyfriend…

…that Arthur had come back into Mal's house with tears in his eyes and stormed out without saying a word with Robert hot on his heels demanding an explanation…

…that Arthur had believed it and had come to the conclusion that Eames really had been lying to him the entire time.

OH THE DRAMA

OH THE HUMANITY