fic: There is no, this is no modern romance (2/3)
Title: There is no, this is no modern romance (2/3)
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: angst!
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 2,200 (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: denial! conflicted feelings! emotional dilemmas! onwards to part two!
Part 1
It’s always been a rather annoying coincidence that Arthur shares the same fifth period AP French class with Eames. Arthur’s always appreciated this fact and has tried his hardest to switch to a different period of AP French, but seeing as how the only way that would work would be giving up the period he devotes to debate, it’s a little difficult. It’s made even more annoying by the fact that Hannah also shares this same AP French class with both of them, and when Eames walks into the room, just shy of being late as always, he grins at her like they’re great friends and slides into the empty seat next to her.
And this should really have no affect on Arthur at all, but he finds himself feeling inexplicably angry anyways. It makes absolutely no sense at all, because Arthur knows that Eames and Hannah are friends, that the two of them hang out all the time, that it shouldn’t be a big deal because Arthur doesn’t fucking care, but Arthur feels this niggling annoyance in the pit of his stomach anyways and scowls and very resolutely doesn’t look at Eames for the rest of the period, because suddenly ‘Missed you at Yusuf’s party on Friday’ has a whole new meaning.
When the bell rings for the end of the period, Mal sidles up next to Arthur and slips an arm through his.
“Hi,” she says, easily falling into step with him.
“Hi,” he says shortly, not really in the mood to talk.
Mal raises an eyebrow at him. “Well someone’s grumpy today,” she grins, light and teasing. When Arthur doesn’t smile and elbow her like he usually does, her expression falls into something thoughtful. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Arthur says, because that’s it, isn’t it? There’s nothing to talk about; he’s just having an off day, that’s all.
Mal purses her lips at him, eyes narrowing in that calculating way she gets when she thinks he’s not telling her something, and it’s just ridiculous, because Arthur has nothing to hide.
“Arthur,” Mal says slowly, and Arthur can tell she’s right on the brink of falling into some sort of attempted psychoanalytical questioning.
“Look, Mal,” Arthur says, and he probably would feel guilty for snapping at her if he weren’t already so irritated with everything. “I just have a lot of work to do this week and I’m kind of stressed out, okay? Nothing’s wrong.”
Mal gives Arthur a look that screams that she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. Arthur sighs and shakes his arm free of her grasp.
“I need to get to class,” Arthur excuses himself quickly and makes a hasty retreat.
---
Arthur actually manages to not think about the Eames situation for the next few days, because he really does have a lot of work to do. He has a French essay, a history term paper rough draft, and a biology lab report to write, as well as a math test all in the same week and it’s keeping him fairly busy. Arthur’s in the library furiously working his way through a stack of books he’s found, hoping that some of them might have more pertinent evidence he can use for his term paper, when Eames finds him next (and that’s always how it works, isn’t it? Eames always comes to find him when it’s convenient for him and then otherwise doesn’t make much effort).
“Hey,” Eames says, sliding into a seat at Arthur’s worktable.
Arthur glances up for only long enough to flash a brief smile and mumble a quick greeting before he’s back to his books. Eames flips his laptop open and hums as he eyes Arthur’s pile of books.
“Term paper?” Eames asks, as if there’s any other assignment that would warrant Arthur’s finding fifteen different art history books. Eames picks up one of the books from Arthur’s reject pile to peek at the cover. “What’s your topic? I bet it’s good.”
Arthur can’t help smiling a little at that and just shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Postwar British painting,” Arthur says. He sighs and glares at his books. “God, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m writing anymore. My paper sucks.”
Eames shrugs and makes a face like he doesn’t believe Arthur. “I’m sure you could write something about postwar painting reflected the culture and psychology of the time and it would be fantastic,” Eames murmurs. He grins and sets the book he’d taken from Arthur back in its pile. “It’s better than mine, anyways. You would think witchcraft trials would be pretty interesting, but it turns out there’s really not a whole lot to be written about it that isn’t already apparently obvious.”
Arthur hums his sympathy, because he knows the feeling. He slams the book he’s been looking through shut, tossing it aside with the other books that are of no use to him. Arthur huffs with impatience as he reaches for the next book in his stack. As he’s flipping through it to what the book claims to be the appropriate pages (Arthur’s learned not to trust books on these things over the years), he glances over at Eames, who’s typing away at his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between his teeth.
“What’re you working on?” Arthur asks.
“French essay,” Eames replies without looking up.
“That’s due at the end of the day, you know,” Arthur points out.
Eames grins and winks at Arthur, “Exactly why I desperately need to finish it.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames. What a typical slacker, Arthur thinks; this is why he always tries to get his work done ahead of time, so he doesn’t have to freak out about it last minute. His method usually works beautifully, with the exception of with term papers, which happens to be the case at hand. Arthur’s term paper rough draft, all twelve pages of it, is due on Monday, giving him only the weekend to finish it up, and he’s only just barely hit the seventh page. He’s going to be up all weekend working on this thing, and his eyes are already burning with exhaustion.
“Hey,” Eames says sometime later. He looks less harried now, and Arthur guesses that probably Eames has thrown together enough to pass as an essay, so he doesn’t have to worry about the state of his French grade now.
Arthur looks up from his books. “Hmm?”
“You free sometime this weekend?” Eames asks, tone too casual.
Arthur gives a tense, stressed laugh and gestures to his books. “I’m pretty sure we both have a term paper rough draft to write,” he says. “I probably won’t even have time to sleep this weekend.”
Eames shrugs and turns back to his laptop but doesn’t start typing again. “Well yeah, me neither, but I was thinking we could both probably use a break from term papers at some point,” Eames says. “Maybe we could make a Starbucks run, like a study break or something.”
Arthur worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks this over. Had it been Ariadne or Mal suggesting something like this, Arthur wouldn’t have even thought twice about saying yes, but as it is, it sounds an awful lot like Eames is trying to ask Arthur out, and Arthur knows that Eames likes him (well, okay, he’s a little less sure after the whole Eames-hooking-up-with-Hannah thing, but still). And the thing is, while Arthur is friends with Eames, while Arthur gets along just fine with Eames, he’s not attracted to Eames in any way, but it’s the very fact that they’re friends that makes this so difficult, because Arthur would just feel like such a jerk if he decided to turn Eames down just like that. He already feels guilty for sometimes playing Eames’ game, for going along with it and flirting back, and no, he doesn’t want to lead Eames on in any way, but he doesn’t want to reject Eames either, because rejection sucks and they’re friends and Arthur doesn’t like for his friends to have to suffer like that. It’s a dilemma with no way out.
“Okay,” Arthur hears himself saying. “Sure, maybe, if I have time.”
Eames finally looks back over at Arthur again, characteristic grin in place. “You still have my number, right?” he asks, and Arthur does, though he doesn’t quite remember how he got it in the first place. “Text me if you want to meet up, just for a little bit, and then we can go back to freaking out about term papers, yeah?”
Arthur smiles and nods and goes back to his books, and Eames turns back to his essay, and Arthur wonders if he’s doing the right thing, because he still feels awful, like he’s only making the situation worse by having agreed to go out for coffee with Eames. Maybe he should’ve just thought up an excuse to say no, like, for instance, that his parents were putting him under house arrest for the entire weekend so he could work on his term paper (and that wouldn’t have been a terribly big lie either). Arthur wonders why he didn’t just do that, because then he could’ve avoided this situation altogether. He sighs and closes his book to flip through the next one.
---
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a date on Saturday?”
Arthur blinks. It’s morning break on Monday, and Arthur’s gotten all of about three or four hours of sleep in the past two days, but he’d turned in his term paper rough draft this morning, all twelve pages of it, so he’s fairly proud of himself, if exhausted. He and Ariadne are sitting on a bench in the quad, and Ariadne’s sitting next to him, Indian style, her arms crossed over her chest in a very unhappy manner. It takes a moment too long for Arthur to realize that she’s talking to him.
“What?” he asks intelligently.
“I can’t believe you went out with Eames and didn’t tell me,” Ariadne says. “Though I guess I should be glad you finally came to your senses. Do you have any idea how painful it is watching you two-?”
“Came to my- what?” Arthur shakes his head vigorously, as if this will help him scramble his sleep jumbled thoughts back into place. “What are you talking about, Ari? What date? Eames and I never went out.”
“Sure you did,” she says, still clearly annoyed that Arthur apparently doesn’t trust her enough to tell her about a date he doesn’t even remember going on. “Mal told me you and Eames had coffee together.”
Arthur groans and rubs at his eyes. “It was a study break,” Arthur says, hating, once again, how it sounds like his heart isn’t really in it. He’s way too tired for this. “We were both just overwhelmed with that term paper draft, so we just hung out and talked for like an hour or so. It wasn’t a date.”
Ariadne glares at Arthur like she doesn’t believe him, and she’d probably go on except for then Mal and her boyfriend Dom approach and drag a bench over to join them, and Ariadne gets distracted. Arthur lets out a breath of relief and lets his head rest against the back of the bench, eyes slipping shut. He loves Ariadne, he really does, but that girl always seems to have so much energy, and he just can’t deal with that today.
“Arthur,” Mal says, drawing him back into the conversation some minutes later. “Did you hear what I said?”
Arthur blinks his eyes open. He wonders if he fell asleep.
Mal sighs. “I said, in a couple weeks, my parents are going to visit a good friend of theirs, and they’ll be away all weekend,” she says. “I’m hosting a party at my house and you’re coming.”
“No ’m not,” Arthur mumbles, because he might be tired right now, but he’s not out of his mind. He doesn’t like parties; why would he go to one, even if it is going to be hosted by Mal?
“Eames will be there,” Dom offers, as if this helps in any way.
Arthur glares halfheartedly at him, too tired to put much heat into it. “Why would I care?” he asks.
Dom’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You two went out over the weekend, didn’t you?” he asks. “I thought you liked him.”
“God,” Arthur groans, covering his face with his hands. He can hear his pulse pounding in his ears. “Why does everyone think that?”
Dom looks even more confused now, and Mal just laughs and pats Dom’s knee.
“So you’re coming to the party, then, right?” Mal asks, and Arthur means to say no, he really does, but he’s always found it a little hard to say no to Mal.
“Fine,” he sighs, resolutely ignoring Ariadne’s cheers of delight and Dom’s still confused expression. “Just stop telling people Eames and I went out on a date.”
Mal grins victoriously.
“Deal.”
---
Part 3
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: angst!
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 2,200 (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: denial! conflicted feelings! emotional dilemmas! onwards to part two!
Part 1
It’s always been a rather annoying coincidence that Arthur shares the same fifth period AP French class with Eames. Arthur’s always appreciated this fact and has tried his hardest to switch to a different period of AP French, but seeing as how the only way that would work would be giving up the period he devotes to debate, it’s a little difficult. It’s made even more annoying by the fact that Hannah also shares this same AP French class with both of them, and when Eames walks into the room, just shy of being late as always, he grins at her like they’re great friends and slides into the empty seat next to her.
And this should really have no affect on Arthur at all, but he finds himself feeling inexplicably angry anyways. It makes absolutely no sense at all, because Arthur knows that Eames and Hannah are friends, that the two of them hang out all the time, that it shouldn’t be a big deal because Arthur doesn’t fucking care, but Arthur feels this niggling annoyance in the pit of his stomach anyways and scowls and very resolutely doesn’t look at Eames for the rest of the period, because suddenly ‘Missed you at Yusuf’s party on Friday’ has a whole new meaning.
When the bell rings for the end of the period, Mal sidles up next to Arthur and slips an arm through his.
“Hi,” she says, easily falling into step with him.
“Hi,” he says shortly, not really in the mood to talk.
Mal raises an eyebrow at him. “Well someone’s grumpy today,” she grins, light and teasing. When Arthur doesn’t smile and elbow her like he usually does, her expression falls into something thoughtful. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Arthur says, because that’s it, isn’t it? There’s nothing to talk about; he’s just having an off day, that’s all.
Mal purses her lips at him, eyes narrowing in that calculating way she gets when she thinks he’s not telling her something, and it’s just ridiculous, because Arthur has nothing to hide.
“Arthur,” Mal says slowly, and Arthur can tell she’s right on the brink of falling into some sort of attempted psychoanalytical questioning.
“Look, Mal,” Arthur says, and he probably would feel guilty for snapping at her if he weren’t already so irritated with everything. “I just have a lot of work to do this week and I’m kind of stressed out, okay? Nothing’s wrong.”
Mal gives Arthur a look that screams that she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. Arthur sighs and shakes his arm free of her grasp.
“I need to get to class,” Arthur excuses himself quickly and makes a hasty retreat.
---
Arthur actually manages to not think about the Eames situation for the next few days, because he really does have a lot of work to do. He has a French essay, a history term paper rough draft, and a biology lab report to write, as well as a math test all in the same week and it’s keeping him fairly busy. Arthur’s in the library furiously working his way through a stack of books he’s found, hoping that some of them might have more pertinent evidence he can use for his term paper, when Eames finds him next (and that’s always how it works, isn’t it? Eames always comes to find him when it’s convenient for him and then otherwise doesn’t make much effort).
“Hey,” Eames says, sliding into a seat at Arthur’s worktable.
Arthur glances up for only long enough to flash a brief smile and mumble a quick greeting before he’s back to his books. Eames flips his laptop open and hums as he eyes Arthur’s pile of books.
“Term paper?” Eames asks, as if there’s any other assignment that would warrant Arthur’s finding fifteen different art history books. Eames picks up one of the books from Arthur’s reject pile to peek at the cover. “What’s your topic? I bet it’s good.”
Arthur can’t help smiling a little at that and just shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Postwar British painting,” Arthur says. He sighs and glares at his books. “God, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m writing anymore. My paper sucks.”
Eames shrugs and makes a face like he doesn’t believe Arthur. “I’m sure you could write something about postwar painting reflected the culture and psychology of the time and it would be fantastic,” Eames murmurs. He grins and sets the book he’d taken from Arthur back in its pile. “It’s better than mine, anyways. You would think witchcraft trials would be pretty interesting, but it turns out there’s really not a whole lot to be written about it that isn’t already apparently obvious.”
Arthur hums his sympathy, because he knows the feeling. He slams the book he’s been looking through shut, tossing it aside with the other books that are of no use to him. Arthur huffs with impatience as he reaches for the next book in his stack. As he’s flipping through it to what the book claims to be the appropriate pages (Arthur’s learned not to trust books on these things over the years), he glances over at Eames, who’s typing away at his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between his teeth.
“What’re you working on?” Arthur asks.
“French essay,” Eames replies without looking up.
“That’s due at the end of the day, you know,” Arthur points out.
Eames grins and winks at Arthur, “Exactly why I desperately need to finish it.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames. What a typical slacker, Arthur thinks; this is why he always tries to get his work done ahead of time, so he doesn’t have to freak out about it last minute. His method usually works beautifully, with the exception of with term papers, which happens to be the case at hand. Arthur’s term paper rough draft, all twelve pages of it, is due on Monday, giving him only the weekend to finish it up, and he’s only just barely hit the seventh page. He’s going to be up all weekend working on this thing, and his eyes are already burning with exhaustion.
“Hey,” Eames says sometime later. He looks less harried now, and Arthur guesses that probably Eames has thrown together enough to pass as an essay, so he doesn’t have to worry about the state of his French grade now.
Arthur looks up from his books. “Hmm?”
“You free sometime this weekend?” Eames asks, tone too casual.
Arthur gives a tense, stressed laugh and gestures to his books. “I’m pretty sure we both have a term paper rough draft to write,” he says. “I probably won’t even have time to sleep this weekend.”
Eames shrugs and turns back to his laptop but doesn’t start typing again. “Well yeah, me neither, but I was thinking we could both probably use a break from term papers at some point,” Eames says. “Maybe we could make a Starbucks run, like a study break or something.”
Arthur worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks this over. Had it been Ariadne or Mal suggesting something like this, Arthur wouldn’t have even thought twice about saying yes, but as it is, it sounds an awful lot like Eames is trying to ask Arthur out, and Arthur knows that Eames likes him (well, okay, he’s a little less sure after the whole Eames-hooking-up-with-Hannah thing, but still). And the thing is, while Arthur is friends with Eames, while Arthur gets along just fine with Eames, he’s not attracted to Eames in any way, but it’s the very fact that they’re friends that makes this so difficult, because Arthur would just feel like such a jerk if he decided to turn Eames down just like that. He already feels guilty for sometimes playing Eames’ game, for going along with it and flirting back, and no, he doesn’t want to lead Eames on in any way, but he doesn’t want to reject Eames either, because rejection sucks and they’re friends and Arthur doesn’t like for his friends to have to suffer like that. It’s a dilemma with no way out.
“Okay,” Arthur hears himself saying. “Sure, maybe, if I have time.”
Eames finally looks back over at Arthur again, characteristic grin in place. “You still have my number, right?” he asks, and Arthur does, though he doesn’t quite remember how he got it in the first place. “Text me if you want to meet up, just for a little bit, and then we can go back to freaking out about term papers, yeah?”
Arthur smiles and nods and goes back to his books, and Eames turns back to his essay, and Arthur wonders if he’s doing the right thing, because he still feels awful, like he’s only making the situation worse by having agreed to go out for coffee with Eames. Maybe he should’ve just thought up an excuse to say no, like, for instance, that his parents were putting him under house arrest for the entire weekend so he could work on his term paper (and that wouldn’t have been a terribly big lie either). Arthur wonders why he didn’t just do that, because then he could’ve avoided this situation altogether. He sighs and closes his book to flip through the next one.
---
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a date on Saturday?”
Arthur blinks. It’s morning break on Monday, and Arthur’s gotten all of about three or four hours of sleep in the past two days, but he’d turned in his term paper rough draft this morning, all twelve pages of it, so he’s fairly proud of himself, if exhausted. He and Ariadne are sitting on a bench in the quad, and Ariadne’s sitting next to him, Indian style, her arms crossed over her chest in a very unhappy manner. It takes a moment too long for Arthur to realize that she’s talking to him.
“What?” he asks intelligently.
“I can’t believe you went out with Eames and didn’t tell me,” Ariadne says. “Though I guess I should be glad you finally came to your senses. Do you have any idea how painful it is watching you two-?”
“Came to my- what?” Arthur shakes his head vigorously, as if this will help him scramble his sleep jumbled thoughts back into place. “What are you talking about, Ari? What date? Eames and I never went out.”
“Sure you did,” she says, still clearly annoyed that Arthur apparently doesn’t trust her enough to tell her about a date he doesn’t even remember going on. “Mal told me you and Eames had coffee together.”
Arthur groans and rubs at his eyes. “It was a study break,” Arthur says, hating, once again, how it sounds like his heart isn’t really in it. He’s way too tired for this. “We were both just overwhelmed with that term paper draft, so we just hung out and talked for like an hour or so. It wasn’t a date.”
Ariadne glares at Arthur like she doesn’t believe him, and she’d probably go on except for then Mal and her boyfriend Dom approach and drag a bench over to join them, and Ariadne gets distracted. Arthur lets out a breath of relief and lets his head rest against the back of the bench, eyes slipping shut. He loves Ariadne, he really does, but that girl always seems to have so much energy, and he just can’t deal with that today.
“Arthur,” Mal says, drawing him back into the conversation some minutes later. “Did you hear what I said?”
Arthur blinks his eyes open. He wonders if he fell asleep.
Mal sighs. “I said, in a couple weeks, my parents are going to visit a good friend of theirs, and they’ll be away all weekend,” she says. “I’m hosting a party at my house and you’re coming.”
“No ’m not,” Arthur mumbles, because he might be tired right now, but he’s not out of his mind. He doesn’t like parties; why would he go to one, even if it is going to be hosted by Mal?
“Eames will be there,” Dom offers, as if this helps in any way.
Arthur glares halfheartedly at him, too tired to put much heat into it. “Why would I care?” he asks.
Dom’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You two went out over the weekend, didn’t you?” he asks. “I thought you liked him.”
“God,” Arthur groans, covering his face with his hands. He can hear his pulse pounding in his ears. “Why does everyone think that?”
Dom looks even more confused now, and Mal just laughs and pats Dom’s knee.
“So you’re coming to the party, then, right?” Mal asks, and Arthur means to say no, he really does, but he’s always found it a little hard to say no to Mal.
“Fine,” he sighs, resolutely ignoring Ariadne’s cheers of delight and Dom’s still confused expression. “Just stop telling people Eames and I went out on a date.”
Mal grins victoriously.
“Deal.”
---
Part 3