fic: There is no, this is no modern romance (1/3)
Title: There is no, this is no modern romance (1/3)
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: A N G S T
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 2,300 (this part)
Rating: PG
Warnings: none.
Summary: So basically, this is Arthur's life: Arthur and Eames are friends. Eames likes Arthur. Arthur knows Eames likes him. But Arthur doesn't like Eames.
A/N: so this here is some lovely high school AU because in my opinion, high school angst is really the best kind of angst. this will have a happy ending, eventually, when Arthur stops being so dense.
(title borrowed from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs)
It’s not like Arthur asks to be hit on all the time, okay? It just so happens that there’s this one guy Arthur is sort of friends with who seems to like him for some reason, and this guy just won’t leave Arthur alone. It took a while for Arthur to catch on, because he’s never good at telling when people actually like him or when it’s just a figment of his imagination (oh god, Sally Henderson in the seventh grade, what a disaster that had been), but Arthur knows; he knows, and he almost feels like he should do something about this, but this isn’t exactly his area of expertise, so he keeps on smiling like he has no idea that the British foreign exchange student who sits next to him in their fifth period AP French class nearly every day has a thing for him.
His name is Eames, and he’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary, unless you count his being foreign and outspoken and far too careless about everything, which actually isn’t too out of the ordinary, save the foreign bit, because nearly everyone in high school thinks they know everything and have better things to do than study. Except for Arthur, of course; he’s better than that, only probably in thinking that, he’s no better than the rest of them, but that’s not the point. It’s just that Eames is, well, Eames is Eames and he’s loud and opinionated and amusing where Arthur is more reserved. And he’s Arthur’s friend, if only tenuously, and Arthur’s ninety-nine percent sure that Eames likes Arthur and he flirts with Arthur all the goddamn time, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do about it, because Arthur doesn’t like Eames, not more than what they are, not more than as a friend, but Arthur would feel bad shooting him down because of the fact that they are friends.
And that is the point.
---
“You look rather lovely today.”
Arthur blinks and looks up from his work. He’s sitting outside on a bench in the quad during his free period, and he’s trying to get some work done while also soaking up the last rays of sun autumn has to offer before winter sets in. The white paper of the book in his lap is shooting a harsh glare up at Arthur’s face, and Arthur blinks again to get the spots out of his eyes. Eames slides onto the bench next to him, casually draping an arm over the back of it, just barely brushing Arthur’s back.
“Can I help you with something?” Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows at Eames.
Eames grins, casual as always. “You look nice,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Arthur. “Special occasion of some sort? Someone you’re trying to impress?”
Arthur looks down at his own outfit, dark jeans that fit him just right and flatter him in all the right places, button up shirt, wine colored sweater vest that Ariadne says makes him look sweet, and black bowtie. It’s nothing terribly strange, though alright, he doesn’t wear bowties to school all that often; but really, there’s no reason for Eames to pay particular attention to him today.
“I’m allowed to look nice,” Arthur says, turning back to his book. “It’s my birthday.”
“Is it now?” Eames says, looking quite surprised. “Well, happy birthday then, Arthur.”
Arthur flashes Eames a brief smile that feels odd on his face. “Thank you,” he says shortly and then cringes inwardly because he feels almost bad for being so detached, because they are friends. He sighs and tries for a slightly nicer tone. “Don’t you have work to do, Eames?”
Eames shrugs. “I have time,” he says, leaning back and making himself comfortable. He glances over at Arthur. “Missed you at Yusuf’s party on Friday.”
Arthur arches an eyebrow at Eames, a little surprised that Eames actually noticed Arthur had ditched the party in favor of having a movie marathon and pigging out on ice cream with Ariadne.
“I had better things to do,” Arthur says, flipping his book shut as he resigns to the fact that he’s not going to be getting any work done.
“Better than spending time with me?” Eames teases, leaning in close.
“Yes,” Arthur says levelly, hating how it sounds like his heart isn’t in it. Eames grins like he knows and it’s times like this that Eames really, really infuriates Arthur, because Eames sometimes will look at Arthur like he can read Arthur so clearly, like he can discern Arthur’s thoughts and intentions so easily, when really, there is no way Eames could possibly know, because Arthur and Eames, they’re really not close at all, only barely friends from sharing one class together each day.
“Maybe next time, then,” Eames says, and Arthur allows himself a small smile.
“Maybe.”
---
Ariadne sighs as she flops down into a seat next to Arthur during morning break. They’re in the art room to work on their most recent art project because both of them, Arthur especially, are meticulous when it comes to their artwork and always need to spend more time than everyone else on their art.
“Ugh,” Ariadne sighs as she sits down with the enormous pile of soda cans that’s been accompanying her in art class for some time now. They’re doing a unit on sculptures made from recycled items and though not everyone has chosen to take the traditional approach to ‘recycled,’ Ariadne has and it’s been giving her a lot of grief. “Please tell me why I decided to do such a complicated sculpture. Why couldn’t I have done something simple?”
Arthur peers over at the intricate labyrinth of empty doorways and unsupported stairs and long corridors she’s constructing out of the tin cans she’s collected. It’s an absolute maze of a building, only without any apparent supports or walls or ceilings and it’s so very Ariadne, and Arthur is a little in awe of how incredible her work is.
“It looks really good,” Arthur offers as he sits down next to her with his own project. He’s taking a thick volume of a world atlas and cutting out a hole in the middle of it so he can make something of a treasure box out of it. It’s probably not his most original idea, but then again, he’s never claimed to be an extraordinary artist.
Ariadne grins at him and goes to hook up her iPod to the speakers that live in the art room so they can listen to some music as they work. She’s probably the person he considers his best friend; they’ve all but grown up together after meeting in the second grade when Ariadne had stolen his markers. And sure, Arthur has a handful of other people he gets along just fine with, but he’s closest to Ariadne because she’s warm and honest and blunt when she needs to be, and besides, she puts up with all of Arthur’s bullshit and that’s more than enough, because Arthur’s lost more than a couple friends by being, generally, an asshole.
As Ariadne’s selecting something to listen to, Mal slips into the room, cradling her laptop in her arms. She sits down at her usual worktable across the room from where Arthur and Ariadne usually sit and flips her laptop open, immediately getting to work on something or another. She’s in Arthur and Ariadne’s art class, right after break, and Arthur’s always been friends with her because she seems fond of him for some reason or another.
“Hi Mal,” Ariadne greets as she clicks on some music.
Mal glances up from her laptop and smiles. “Hello,” she says in that easy, soft way of hers.
“What’re you working on?” Ariadne asks, mostly for the sake of making conversation.
Mal frowns, a delicate downturn of her mouth. “Some stupid presentation for French class,” she mutters, glaring at her computer screen as if she can stare it down.
Arthur arches an eyebrow. “How are you even allowed to take French?” he asks. Mal moved here from France when she was fourteen, and she’s in Arthur’s AP French class and frankly, he thinks it’s a bit unfair. “Isn’t that considered cheating?”
Mal laughs and gives an innocent shrug. “If they let me get the easy A, I’ll take it,” she says. Her fingers fly over the keyboard of her laptop as she jots down some more ideas for her presentation. She glances over at Arthur and smirks a little, “I didn’t see you at Yusuf’s party on Friday. I thought I’d made you promise me you’d make an appearance.”
Arthur shrugs and cuts out another page in his atlas. “Sorry, something came up,” he says, not sounding quite sincere enough.
Mal smiles knowingly at him. “Of course, of course,” she says as she continues typing away. “Something always comes up.”
Ariadne giggles and Arthur glares at both of them. So what if he avoids parties like the plague? He can think of countless better ways to spend his Friday nights than drinking himself sick with a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like. He just doesn’t see the fun in parties; is that such a crime?
“Any good gossip from the party?” Ariadne asks Mal, curious as always. “I heard there were a lot of hookups.”
Arthur snorts. It’s always been funny to him that they go to a small enough school that people hooking up is a big deal, but in a school of about five hundred students total, it’s not very often that things get terribly crazy, so he supposes it makes sense. High school thrives on drama, and well, people hooking up at parties is basically the most scandalous you can get at a small private school like this.
“Don’t scoff at me,” Ariadne snaps at Arthur, only half as serious as she could be. “You know you’re curious too.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at her and stabs viciously at his atlas with an x-acto knife. “Please,” he says. “I couldn’t care less if people decide it’s a good idea to shove their tongues down other peoples’ throats while drinking themselves to oblivion.”
“Uh huh,” Ariadne says like she doesn’t believe him, which is ridiculous, because he really, really doesn’t care at all what other people do with their time. She turns her attention back to Mal, asking excitedly if anything worth noting happened at the party. And Mal smiles and indulges Ariadne, because though she doesn’t admit it, Arthur harbors a deep suspicion that Mal loves nothing more than dishing out some exciting gossip.
Arthur pretty much tunes them out as they discussed how Nash had run around pretending like he was drunk so he could hook up with girls (and how he’d gotten turned down by every single girl he approached) and how poor Robbie Fischer had drunk too much and thrown up. As Ariadne squeals and coos over the things Mal is telling her, Arthur dutifully continues cutting up his atlas, paying very much no attention whatsoever to their conversation because he doesn’t care who or what they’re talking about until one name draws his attention.
“Oh god,” Mal is saying, “You should’ve seen Eames. He was absolutely smashed.”
Arthur’s ears perk up at this, but he keeps his gaze very carefully focused to his artwork as he continues eavesdropping.
“He hooked up with Hannah, you know,” Mal says, wiggling her eyebrows a little. Arthur’s stomach clenches in ways he doesn’t want to acknowledge at the thought of Eames hooking up with someone (someone else, his mind very helpfully supplies). “I heard she was really into it. I don’t blame her, though. I’ve heard he’s a very good kisser.”
“What?” Arthur blurts out, unable to keep himself out of the conversation any longer.
Ariadne shoots Arthur a look that’s equal parts smug and amused. “I thought you didn’t care,” she says.
“I don’t,” Arthur says quickly, because he doesn’t, goddammit, he really, really doesn’t. What does he care that Eames hooked up with some girl? It’s not like he and Eames are even all that close. It shouldn’t matter to him what Eames does; it doesn’t matter. So what if Hannah is what of the hottest girls in their grade? (Because even Arthur, who isn’t even interested in girls at all, has to admit, she’s pretty damn attractive) So what? Arthur doesn’t care, not at all. After all, maybe this will finally get Eames out of his hair, stop Eames from flirting with him all the time. This is a good thing. Isn’t it?
“Eames is my friend,” Arthur says defensively, when all he gets are dubious looks from the two girls.
Something shifts in Mal’s expression, as if she can see something he doesn’t. “Of course he is,” she says slowly. And then she smiles and shrugs, “Well, they hooked up. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard she was very, very into it.”
Arthur almost wants to ask ‘and what about Eames?’ but stops himself before the words can form, because it makes him look too interested and he’s really, really not. Eames can make out with whoever he wants. It doesn’t bother Arthur at all. Why would it?
Arthur quietly goes back to work on his project, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, not quite letting himself hope that Mal and Ariadne will go on about this topic. But they don’t. They start talking about something else altogether, and Arthur’s shoulders sag, not in disappointment, no, never; it’s relief really, more than anything. He doesn’t need all of this mindless chatter anyways. He doesn’t care.
---
Part 2
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: A N G S T
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 2,300 (this part)
Rating: PG
Warnings: none.
Summary: So basically, this is Arthur's life: Arthur and Eames are friends. Eames likes Arthur. Arthur knows Eames likes him. But Arthur doesn't like Eames.
A/N: so this here is some lovely high school AU because in my opinion, high school angst is really the best kind of angst. this will have a happy ending, eventually, when Arthur stops being so dense.
(title borrowed from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs)
It’s not like Arthur asks to be hit on all the time, okay? It just so happens that there’s this one guy Arthur is sort of friends with who seems to like him for some reason, and this guy just won’t leave Arthur alone. It took a while for Arthur to catch on, because he’s never good at telling when people actually like him or when it’s just a figment of his imagination (oh god, Sally Henderson in the seventh grade, what a disaster that had been), but Arthur knows; he knows, and he almost feels like he should do something about this, but this isn’t exactly his area of expertise, so he keeps on smiling like he has no idea that the British foreign exchange student who sits next to him in their fifth period AP French class nearly every day has a thing for him.
His name is Eames, and he’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary, unless you count his being foreign and outspoken and far too careless about everything, which actually isn’t too out of the ordinary, save the foreign bit, because nearly everyone in high school thinks they know everything and have better things to do than study. Except for Arthur, of course; he’s better than that, only probably in thinking that, he’s no better than the rest of them, but that’s not the point. It’s just that Eames is, well, Eames is Eames and he’s loud and opinionated and amusing where Arthur is more reserved. And he’s Arthur’s friend, if only tenuously, and Arthur’s ninety-nine percent sure that Eames likes Arthur and he flirts with Arthur all the goddamn time, and Arthur doesn’t know what to do about it, because Arthur doesn’t like Eames, not more than what they are, not more than as a friend, but Arthur would feel bad shooting him down because of the fact that they are friends.
And that is the point.
---
“You look rather lovely today.”
Arthur blinks and looks up from his work. He’s sitting outside on a bench in the quad during his free period, and he’s trying to get some work done while also soaking up the last rays of sun autumn has to offer before winter sets in. The white paper of the book in his lap is shooting a harsh glare up at Arthur’s face, and Arthur blinks again to get the spots out of his eyes. Eames slides onto the bench next to him, casually draping an arm over the back of it, just barely brushing Arthur’s back.
“Can I help you with something?” Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows at Eames.
Eames grins, casual as always. “You look nice,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Arthur. “Special occasion of some sort? Someone you’re trying to impress?”
Arthur looks down at his own outfit, dark jeans that fit him just right and flatter him in all the right places, button up shirt, wine colored sweater vest that Ariadne says makes him look sweet, and black bowtie. It’s nothing terribly strange, though alright, he doesn’t wear bowties to school all that often; but really, there’s no reason for Eames to pay particular attention to him today.
“I’m allowed to look nice,” Arthur says, turning back to his book. “It’s my birthday.”
“Is it now?” Eames says, looking quite surprised. “Well, happy birthday then, Arthur.”
Arthur flashes Eames a brief smile that feels odd on his face. “Thank you,” he says shortly and then cringes inwardly because he feels almost bad for being so detached, because they are friends. He sighs and tries for a slightly nicer tone. “Don’t you have work to do, Eames?”
Eames shrugs. “I have time,” he says, leaning back and making himself comfortable. He glances over at Arthur. “Missed you at Yusuf’s party on Friday.”
Arthur arches an eyebrow at Eames, a little surprised that Eames actually noticed Arthur had ditched the party in favor of having a movie marathon and pigging out on ice cream with Ariadne.
“I had better things to do,” Arthur says, flipping his book shut as he resigns to the fact that he’s not going to be getting any work done.
“Better than spending time with me?” Eames teases, leaning in close.
“Yes,” Arthur says levelly, hating how it sounds like his heart isn’t in it. Eames grins like he knows and it’s times like this that Eames really, really infuriates Arthur, because Eames sometimes will look at Arthur like he can read Arthur so clearly, like he can discern Arthur’s thoughts and intentions so easily, when really, there is no way Eames could possibly know, because Arthur and Eames, they’re really not close at all, only barely friends from sharing one class together each day.
“Maybe next time, then,” Eames says, and Arthur allows himself a small smile.
“Maybe.”
---
Ariadne sighs as she flops down into a seat next to Arthur during morning break. They’re in the art room to work on their most recent art project because both of them, Arthur especially, are meticulous when it comes to their artwork and always need to spend more time than everyone else on their art.
“Ugh,” Ariadne sighs as she sits down with the enormous pile of soda cans that’s been accompanying her in art class for some time now. They’re doing a unit on sculptures made from recycled items and though not everyone has chosen to take the traditional approach to ‘recycled,’ Ariadne has and it’s been giving her a lot of grief. “Please tell me why I decided to do such a complicated sculpture. Why couldn’t I have done something simple?”
Arthur peers over at the intricate labyrinth of empty doorways and unsupported stairs and long corridors she’s constructing out of the tin cans she’s collected. It’s an absolute maze of a building, only without any apparent supports or walls or ceilings and it’s so very Ariadne, and Arthur is a little in awe of how incredible her work is.
“It looks really good,” Arthur offers as he sits down next to her with his own project. He’s taking a thick volume of a world atlas and cutting out a hole in the middle of it so he can make something of a treasure box out of it. It’s probably not his most original idea, but then again, he’s never claimed to be an extraordinary artist.
Ariadne grins at him and goes to hook up her iPod to the speakers that live in the art room so they can listen to some music as they work. She’s probably the person he considers his best friend; they’ve all but grown up together after meeting in the second grade when Ariadne had stolen his markers. And sure, Arthur has a handful of other people he gets along just fine with, but he’s closest to Ariadne because she’s warm and honest and blunt when she needs to be, and besides, she puts up with all of Arthur’s bullshit and that’s more than enough, because Arthur’s lost more than a couple friends by being, generally, an asshole.
As Ariadne’s selecting something to listen to, Mal slips into the room, cradling her laptop in her arms. She sits down at her usual worktable across the room from where Arthur and Ariadne usually sit and flips her laptop open, immediately getting to work on something or another. She’s in Arthur and Ariadne’s art class, right after break, and Arthur’s always been friends with her because she seems fond of him for some reason or another.
“Hi Mal,” Ariadne greets as she clicks on some music.
Mal glances up from her laptop and smiles. “Hello,” she says in that easy, soft way of hers.
“What’re you working on?” Ariadne asks, mostly for the sake of making conversation.
Mal frowns, a delicate downturn of her mouth. “Some stupid presentation for French class,” she mutters, glaring at her computer screen as if she can stare it down.
Arthur arches an eyebrow. “How are you even allowed to take French?” he asks. Mal moved here from France when she was fourteen, and she’s in Arthur’s AP French class and frankly, he thinks it’s a bit unfair. “Isn’t that considered cheating?”
Mal laughs and gives an innocent shrug. “If they let me get the easy A, I’ll take it,” she says. Her fingers fly over the keyboard of her laptop as she jots down some more ideas for her presentation. She glances over at Arthur and smirks a little, “I didn’t see you at Yusuf’s party on Friday. I thought I’d made you promise me you’d make an appearance.”
Arthur shrugs and cuts out another page in his atlas. “Sorry, something came up,” he says, not sounding quite sincere enough.
Mal smiles knowingly at him. “Of course, of course,” she says as she continues typing away. “Something always comes up.”
Ariadne giggles and Arthur glares at both of them. So what if he avoids parties like the plague? He can think of countless better ways to spend his Friday nights than drinking himself sick with a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like. He just doesn’t see the fun in parties; is that such a crime?
“Any good gossip from the party?” Ariadne asks Mal, curious as always. “I heard there were a lot of hookups.”
Arthur snorts. It’s always been funny to him that they go to a small enough school that people hooking up is a big deal, but in a school of about five hundred students total, it’s not very often that things get terribly crazy, so he supposes it makes sense. High school thrives on drama, and well, people hooking up at parties is basically the most scandalous you can get at a small private school like this.
“Don’t scoff at me,” Ariadne snaps at Arthur, only half as serious as she could be. “You know you’re curious too.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at her and stabs viciously at his atlas with an x-acto knife. “Please,” he says. “I couldn’t care less if people decide it’s a good idea to shove their tongues down other peoples’ throats while drinking themselves to oblivion.”
“Uh huh,” Ariadne says like she doesn’t believe him, which is ridiculous, because he really, really doesn’t care at all what other people do with their time. She turns her attention back to Mal, asking excitedly if anything worth noting happened at the party. And Mal smiles and indulges Ariadne, because though she doesn’t admit it, Arthur harbors a deep suspicion that Mal loves nothing more than dishing out some exciting gossip.
Arthur pretty much tunes them out as they discussed how Nash had run around pretending like he was drunk so he could hook up with girls (and how he’d gotten turned down by every single girl he approached) and how poor Robbie Fischer had drunk too much and thrown up. As Ariadne squeals and coos over the things Mal is telling her, Arthur dutifully continues cutting up his atlas, paying very much no attention whatsoever to their conversation because he doesn’t care who or what they’re talking about until one name draws his attention.
“Oh god,” Mal is saying, “You should’ve seen Eames. He was absolutely smashed.”
Arthur’s ears perk up at this, but he keeps his gaze very carefully focused to his artwork as he continues eavesdropping.
“He hooked up with Hannah, you know,” Mal says, wiggling her eyebrows a little. Arthur’s stomach clenches in ways he doesn’t want to acknowledge at the thought of Eames hooking up with someone (someone else, his mind very helpfully supplies). “I heard she was really into it. I don’t blame her, though. I’ve heard he’s a very good kisser.”
“What?” Arthur blurts out, unable to keep himself out of the conversation any longer.
Ariadne shoots Arthur a look that’s equal parts smug and amused. “I thought you didn’t care,” she says.
“I don’t,” Arthur says quickly, because he doesn’t, goddammit, he really, really doesn’t. What does he care that Eames hooked up with some girl? It’s not like he and Eames are even all that close. It shouldn’t matter to him what Eames does; it doesn’t matter. So what if Hannah is what of the hottest girls in their grade? (Because even Arthur, who isn’t even interested in girls at all, has to admit, she’s pretty damn attractive) So what? Arthur doesn’t care, not at all. After all, maybe this will finally get Eames out of his hair, stop Eames from flirting with him all the time. This is a good thing. Isn’t it?
“Eames is my friend,” Arthur says defensively, when all he gets are dubious looks from the two girls.
Something shifts in Mal’s expression, as if she can see something he doesn’t. “Of course he is,” she says slowly. And then she smiles and shrugs, “Well, they hooked up. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard she was very, very into it.”
Arthur almost wants to ask ‘and what about Eames?’ but stops himself before the words can form, because it makes him look too interested and he’s really, really not. Eames can make out with whoever he wants. It doesn’t bother Arthur at all. Why would it?
Arthur quietly goes back to work on his project, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, not quite letting himself hope that Mal and Ariadne will go on about this topic. But they don’t. They start talking about something else altogether, and Arthur’s shoulders sag, not in disappointment, no, never; it’s relief really, more than anything. He doesn’t need all of this mindless chatter anyways. He doesn’t care.
---
Part 2