[ call me 00? ] and it only hurts when I breathe
This had to end.
Eames had made his living ever since high school by walking the streets, canting his hips and smiling prettily at older men, boys; anyone who could pay them for his time. As he got older he got wiser, choice to walk around places where there were businessmen and women away from their partners, who would see him or have an itch to ( Read more... )
They hadn't had sex, just curled up and slept together. It had been, privately, wonderful, even if Eames itched slightly with the desire for his fix (putting it out of mind by pressing closer to Arthur).
And then, making breakfast had felt oddly domestic, but Arthur had revealed he wasn't a big cook and Eames could already see something he could do, at least, to help out since he didn't have a job, by making meals.
He had called the super in the morning, telling him he was moving out - and that he could keep the rent that he'd paid up. Still, the balding man had met them at the door to give back the security deposit, since Eames had given him more than that in future rent and he doubted the boy had 'fucked anything up too badly' in his own words.
Eames had sheepishly nodded and pocketed the money, before letting Arthur into his flat - something Arthur had never seen.
Indeed, the flat was very spartan. The couch was old and sagging, the telly set up on an old crate; his books sat on a peeling table, nearly overflowing off them (indeed some littered the floor). The kitchen was small and stained, only a few dishes visible in the sink (it was all he had) and his bedroom had no door (the rotting dresser and bags that held his new and old clothes, his bed piled high with comforters and a space heater that looked recently acquired), and the bathroom was just a shower and loo and sink.
Eames felt a little embarrassed letting Arthur see it, but he looked around and scratched his head.
"Not... too much to pack up, actually."
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It churned his stomach to think about Eames giving himself over to people that would treat him like that... But he had and used to for money. Because he had needed it.
Well, Arthur was determined to never let it be like that for him again if at all possible.
Just like having the night they had together; just laying there, holding each other. He felt that Eames had never been able to experience that before...
And seeing his apartment later the next morning... Arthur felt a sense of deja vu almost, remembering how he lived before Sylvia had found him. His apartment had been one room and had much less but it still made Arthur imagine his lover shaking at night, cold and trying desperately to warm himself with what blankets he had, sitting in the shower, not moving, just holding his legs to his chest, head bowed and letting the silence engulf him...
He had to shake himself back to the present, saying, rubbing his hand down Eames' back soothingly, "Then we'll be out of here by lunch."
He then took up one of the boxes and started packing up the books. Pausing to hold up the handful he had, "You do want to keep these, right?" It just occurred to him Eames might not want them all.
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Eames had grabbed another box to head for the bedroom, wanting to get his lovely comforters and clothes. He paused with it in hand, looking at Arthur slightly surprised.
"God, yes. If I could only take one thing out of here it'd be those," he said, earnestly. The collection was everything he'd bought with spare money, found, stolen at times, used copies and new ones of beloved books he remembered in school. "The second being my clothes," he added sheepishly, nodding to where he was headed for the bedroom.
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The books had ended up taking up three boxes and when he was done closing those up he went to go check on Eames, hanging in the doorway of the bedroom, "Need any help?"
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When Arthur entered, Eames had filled two boxes with clothes, folding the comforters and sheets to be carried on their own. He looked up and smiled slightly at seeing Arthur.
"Mostly done in this part... don't know if the telly's worth taking, but the pans in the kitchen should come along. I'll get the bathroom, and once you're done in the kitchen - oh can you do the kitchen? - you can help me if I'm not finished."
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Throwing over his shoulder as he walked towards it, "You want to take the food with us?"
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He moved into his bathroom gathering the towels, toiletries, shampoo and soap; the few painkillers he had, his shaving supplies and toothbrushes, hair gel, and dumping it into a box.
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He packed the pots and pans first, adding the food that didn't need to be refrigerated to what room there was left before filling another box and then dumped some ice into the cooler and packed the rest of the food.
When he was done, he looked up, letting out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair as he checked to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
"Eames, " he called when the younger man still hadn't emerged by that time, "do you need any help in there?"
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Actually, he had left some needles in his bathroom. And he had had to stash them quickly into a garbage back, so that he could toss them out. (He didn't want to bring them into Arthur's home.)
He glanced around, looking at the packed up boxes and then back into his own room, and nodded. "Well, I think we can start carrying stuff out now..."
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Nodding, "I can start taking them down." Turning to Eames, "Is there anything else you want to take?"
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His hands massaged his chest slightly. "I'm glad I did too. I'm still scared as shit, but I am glad," he laughs softly.
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(He's pretty sure Eames doesn't know what he does for a living; he's tried hard to make sure the younger man doesn't and that it will stay that way [at least for a while]. He doesn't want his profession to be the thing that drives the other away if he finds out...)
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"I just... I'm so used to the other shoe dropping. Any time I get something good something bad happens too. And I still... I don't think I'm good enough." Looking away, over at the table that was peeling and old, "Afraid you'll get tired of me or I won't live up to your expectations and you'll make me leave. Even if I don't think you would, I keep expecting it."
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Nuzzling into Eames' hair, "How could I do that when all I want is to get to know better?" When I just want to make you happier than you've ever been before?
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