[FIC]: I Will Title This Later (3)
1. wow, I'm sorry, guys. I am really terrible at updating promptly.
2. (my feeble excuse is that I drowned in Harry Potter the last two weeks.)
3. unbetaed and things, as usual.
4. am I ever going to name this fic?
Title: I Will Title This Later (Part 3; Prompt: Fall)
Author: papered
Team: Romance!
Prompt: Fall
Word count: 2800
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ... language?
Summary: In which Arthur is a university student, and Eames is that really famous actor who happens to be starting at the same university.
Previously: 1; 2
~
The thing about Arthur is, he's stubborn. Once he's made up his mind about something, it's unlikely for him to change his mind again. Fortunately, he usually has a long list of all the reasons why he's stubborn about that particular matter. Unfortunately, that list isn't always logical or rational - or, at least, so Ariadne insists as she nags at him after yet another less-than-productive conversation with Eames, during which Eames had tried to hit on Arthur no less than five times and Arthur had masterfully shut him down each time.
"I just don't get it. Why do you hate him so much?" Ariadne asks, shoving a large spoonful of pasta into her mouth.
"I don't hate him. He's just annoying."
"Okay, maybe hate is a little strong, but you're always so hostile. I don't know, but it's not like you, Arthur." She frowns at him as she chews, and Arthur sighs as he closes his laptop. He can tell this isn't going to be a conversation where he's going to be able to do his architecture homework at the same time.
"I'm only hostile because he comes around to annoy me at every opportunity."
"But the thing is, he isn't." She shrugs. "Obviously, I wasn't there the first time you guys met, so I can't say, but all the other times? He's been flirting with you."
"Exactly," Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "The same way he flirts with anything else that moves."
"Yeah, so you say, but you don't see him asking anyone else out for coffee."
Arthur sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Didn't we have this conversation already the other day? Why do you care so much, Ari?"
Ariadne looks at him in a way that makes him feel like a terrible person. "Because I'm your friend, Arthur, and I care, and it's my job to call you out on things." She pauses to take a spoonful of yogurt. "Besides, when was the last time you went on a date? It's been at least a year and a half since you broke it off with Lance."
Arthur stares at her. "How is that even relevant to what we were talking about?"
"Oh please, even if you're too busy pretending to be irritated by him, you know Eames is totally your type."
"He is not," Arthur says in outrage. "I don't even have a type!"
"Your last four boyfriends were all dark-haired, built like a brick house, and looked like thugs." Ariadne looks smug. "Also, don't think I didn't notice how you didn't argue the pretending-to-be-irritated part."
"My exes did not look like thugs, for god's sake," Arthur says in exasperation. "Lance was in pre-law!"
Ariadne waves a dismissive hand at him. "Whatever! My point is, Eames is hot, he's asking you out, and all you do is be rude to him." All of a sudden, she looks serious. "He seems like a nice enough person, but you just seem determined to believe the worst about him. And even if you're honestly not interested, you could be nicer about turning him down. Right now, you're being kind of cruel." She aims a reproaching look at him, the one he's always had trouble ignoring. "Promise me you'll try, at least?"
Arthur sighs heavily. "Fine. I promise."
He grudgingly admits, if only to himself, that Eames does have a marked resemblance to his last few boyfriends, but that doesn't mean anything's going to happen. Aside from the fact that he doesn't have time to date right now, Eames is Eames. He's rich and famous and charming and there are people falling over themselves to please him, and Arthur doesn't need that kind of egoism in his life right now.
Ariadne probably has a point though. He supposes he can make an effort.
In an effort to make an effort, Arthur does his best not to completely shoot Eames down the next time Eames tries to ask him out for a drink. It's hard work, because Eames seems to get on Arthur's nerves without even having to try.
"I don't have time for dates right now," he elaborates instead of his customary answer of "no, leave me alone", and Eames blinks at him for a second in surprise before a look of delight spreads over his face.
Arthur valiantly ignores this.
"And what's been keeping you so busy, pet?"
"Unlike you, some of us actually have to study, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, forcibly ignoring the endearment and keeping his tone mild through sheer will. He taps his fingers against the side of the elevator, wondering how it could possibly take so long to go up four floors. He really should've taken the stairs.
"What exactly do you major in?" Eames seems genuinely curious, which is the only reason Arthur manages to reply rather than tell him to mind his own business.
"I'm double-majoring in English and Architecture, minoring in Econ." It occurs to him abruptly that he has no idea what Eames is here to study. Luckily, Eames tells him without Arthur actually having to ask.
"No wonder you're so busy," he says with a low whistle. "I'm just doing English Lit with a Theatre minor, and that's already keeping me busy."
In Arthur's opinion, Eames doesn't seem to be very busy at all, considering how many parties he seems to attend on a weekly basis, but remembering his promise to Ariadne, he keeps his mouth shut and merely nods instead.
When the elevator doors finally slide open, Arthur grabs his bag, gives Eames a small nod, and steps out before Eames can say anything else. Disaster averted. He's digging for his keys in the bottom of his bag when Eames' voice comes from down the hallway.
"By the way, I never said I was asking you on a date, darling. Bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?" He pauses while Arthur tries to not gape at his audacity. "Funny how you assumed that, isn't it? But if you're interested, you know where to find me." Eames smirks, and before Arthur can think of a suitable retort, he's shut the door of his room behind him.
"Arrogant bastard," Arthur mutters under his breath, finally managing to get his own door open. Getting inside, he barely resists the urge to slam it shut behind him like a petulant teenager.
The whole thing just proves to Arthur that Eames is every bit as annoying and egotistical as he'd initially thought - and he would probably be a lot more vocal about this to Ariadne if it isn't for the fact that the very next day, he gets his paper for his Modern Critical Theories class back.
He gets a C+.
The professor gives some general feedback on it before moving on to the discussion group, but Arthur can't tear his eyes away from the red ink at the bottom of his page. C+. The last time he'd gotten anything less than an A- on a report was back in first year, and that was only because first year Biology had been mandatory and Arthur had never done a proper lab report before in his life. This is different. This is fourth year, and this is for a core course, and this is going to completely screw up the GPA he's been working so hard for.
Ariadne pats him on the back and is suitably sympathetic, but her comment that "it's normal to not always get an A, you know" is not appreciated. Arthur manages to glare at her for about a minute before she gives him her yogurt as a peace offering. Arthur deflates and takes it. It's peach flavoured, his favourite, and he takes a big spoonful into his mouth with a sigh. "This isn't over, you know," he says as he swallows. "I'm going to office hour tomorrow to talk to the professor."
It goes horribly.
The professor tells him that while he'd submitted an excellent paper and his references were flawless, he'd apparently "misinterpreted the given topic", and all things considered, he's "lucky to be getting a C+". Considering that the topic wasn't discussed during lecture beforehand, Arthur would think that it would be perfectly normal for every student to interpret it any way they like - and plus, isn't that the point of higher level courses? So that you can actually give your own opinions, rather than conform to the instructor's interpretations?
But the professor refuses to budge, or negotiate, or give Arthur any sort of extra credit to redeem himself with no matter how many times he explains him reasoning. Arthur stares at her blankly as she ushers him out of her office forty minutes later with the claim that it's time for her lunch break. It feels bitterly unfair that the paper he'd spent so long working on is going to drag down his entire grade, and he's just wasted a good portion of his own lunch break trying to explain himself to an instructor who doesn't even seem to care. Maybe it's stupid to get this upset over a grade, but he feels a little like crying.
He bumps into someone on his way out of the building, and his paper, still clutched in his hands, go flying.
"Watch where you're going," he snaps, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.
"Arthur?" comes a familiar voice.
Of all the people who could've run into him, of course it had to be Eames. Knowing that he must look a mess, Arthur keeps his eyes on the ground, leaning down to pick up his papers. "Hey," he says brusquely.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Eames asks, dropping to his knees to help him gather the rest of the papers, which is exactly what Arthur doesn't want because that puts Eames at eye-level with him.
"It's nothing," Arthur says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He's not going to make a fool of himself. Not in front of Eames. He's going to gather his things, and then go to his next class without making a scene. "I have to go," he mumbles, turning to leave before Eames can ask anything else.
Except a hand on his arm stops him from leaving. "Arthur? Are you sure you're okay?" Eames asks, his grip unnaturally strong, and Arthur hates the concern in his voice, hates the way Eames has the worst timing ever and always manages to make him feel humiliated and angry and out-of-control.
"Let me go," he says sharply, grasping at the anger and pushing everything else away. It's the least embarrassing thing he feels right now, and he needs it to get through a conversation with Eames if he doesn't want to end up looking completely pathetic. "Just leave me alone."
"Hey, I was just trying to help," Eames says, a hint of hardness in his voice. "It wouldn't hurt you to occasionally show some gratitude, you know."
"Yeah, well, I don't need your help, thanks."
Eames stares at him for a second. "Look, what exactly is your problem?" he finally says. "Do you make a habit of insulting people who try to do something nice for you?"
"Maybe I just don't want anything to do with the likes of you," Arthur snarls, biting out the first retort he can think of.
He regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth, and in the abrupt silence that follows, Arthur knows that he's managed to cross some line. Before he can figure out how to take it back though, Eames' face goes frighteningly blank. Dumping the papers he'd picked up into Arthur's arms, he leaves without saying another word.
Ignoring the sudden guilt gnawing at his stomach, Arthur goes to his next class - he's going to be late as it is. Whatever just happened with him and Eames, he can figure it all out later, he tells himself. It's all going to be fine.
Later doesn't happen until nearly three days later. Arthur's always up at the crack of dawn and doesn't get back to his dorm until almost midnight, and although that's never stopped him from running into Eames before, Eames must be avoiding him or something because he abruptly stops seeing the other boy around. It's not until he's cutting through campus after his French elective that he sees Eames coming out of the student union building. For once, he's alone rather than surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur approaches him, making an attempt to have a smile on his face in case Eames looks up and catches his eye. He knows he needs to apologize - he'd been out of line the other day, and after all, Eames had only been trying to help. When he gets there though, the words stick in his throat. Arthur's always been crap at saying sorry, and since he hasn't had time to obsessively rehearse this in his head earlier, he has to figure out now how to say it properly.
Except Eames doesn't bother to slow down at the sight of him. In fact, he barely looks at Arthur.
"Hey, Eames, wait-" Arthur calls out, wondering if Eames has somehow managed to miss him despite being a foot away. Before he can consciously think about it, he reaches out and grasps Eames' arm to catch his attention - but then Eames is looking at him and shaking his head in disbelief.
"Oh, just fuck off, will you?" he says crudely before Arthur can say another word.
"Wait, what?" Arthur replies dumbly, taken aback despite himself.
When he finally comes to a full stop, Eames' face is dark, without a hint of his usual smile. "Look, Arthur. Whatever your problem is, I'm sick of it. I've been trying to be friendly this whole time, but all I get from you is attitude. And you know what? Fine." He sneers, the expression twisting his face into something ugly. "Unlike some people, I'm not exactly desperate for friends here."
Arthur had come to apologize, he really had, but Eames, as usual, manages to wind him up from zero to a hundred in less than half a minute, and the words come spilling out before he can stop himself. "Sure, friendship. I'm sure that's what all the girls who are throwing themselves at you want."
"You think I don't know that? You think I can't tell that they only want a piece of me because I'm famous?" Eames' voice goes deceptively soft, but his eyes are narrowed and there's a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You think you're so much better than them, Arthur, but at the end of the day, you're no different."
"Excuse me?" Arthur says, something cold unfurling in his chest.
"Oh, please. You think I couldn't tell? You were perfectly friendly until you found out who I was, and then you turned into a complete tosser. But you don't even know a single thing about me."
The worst thing is, Eames is right. Arthur has been a dick to him, and if it had been anyone else, Arthur's sure his conscience would have stopped him by now. As it is, he's been ignoring it just because it's Eames, and the rest of the world is unfairly in love with him - like that fact is some sort of justification for his own behavior. Some small part of Arthur has realized that all along, and being confronted with it now, he just feels sick, the unreasonable rage from before draining away and leaving him with just the shame in the pit of his stomach.
"I know that you're an egotistical dick, and all you ever try to do is annoy me," he says, digging himself deeper into the hole. His voice lacks conviction to his own ears, but even now, Arthur doesn't know how to back down gracefully.
"Oh what grounds? The tabloids? And sorry to break the news, Arthur, but it's not always about you." Eames sighs, and all of a sudden, he just looks tired. "You know what? Whatever, I don't care. You want me out of your hair, so I'll stay out of your way." He pauses, and Arthur notices the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. "But do me a favour and just leave me alone, Arthur.
There's a small crowd gathering by the benches a few feet away - not so close that their exchange would have been overheard, but close enough that surely it's obvious that they're not exactly having a friendly conversation. Eames looks over at them for a second before seeming to close in on himself. With an audible exhale, he roughly shrugs off the hand Arthur's still got on his arm before walking away.
Arthur watches him go.
2. (my feeble excuse is that I drowned in Harry Potter the last two weeks.)
3. unbetaed and things, as usual.
4. am I ever going to name this fic?
Title: I Will Title This Later (Part 3; Prompt: Fall)
Author: papered
Team: Romance!
Prompt: Fall
Word count: 2800
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ... language?
Summary: In which Arthur is a university student, and Eames is that really famous actor who happens to be starting at the same university.
Previously: 1; 2
~
The thing about Arthur is, he's stubborn. Once he's made up his mind about something, it's unlikely for him to change his mind again. Fortunately, he usually has a long list of all the reasons why he's stubborn about that particular matter. Unfortunately, that list isn't always logical or rational - or, at least, so Ariadne insists as she nags at him after yet another less-than-productive conversation with Eames, during which Eames had tried to hit on Arthur no less than five times and Arthur had masterfully shut him down each time.
"I just don't get it. Why do you hate him so much?" Ariadne asks, shoving a large spoonful of pasta into her mouth.
"I don't hate him. He's just annoying."
"Okay, maybe hate is a little strong, but you're always so hostile. I don't know, but it's not like you, Arthur." She frowns at him as she chews, and Arthur sighs as he closes his laptop. He can tell this isn't going to be a conversation where he's going to be able to do his architecture homework at the same time.
"I'm only hostile because he comes around to annoy me at every opportunity."
"But the thing is, he isn't." She shrugs. "Obviously, I wasn't there the first time you guys met, so I can't say, but all the other times? He's been flirting with you."
"Exactly," Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "The same way he flirts with anything else that moves."
"Yeah, so you say, but you don't see him asking anyone else out for coffee."
Arthur sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Didn't we have this conversation already the other day? Why do you care so much, Ari?"
Ariadne looks at him in a way that makes him feel like a terrible person. "Because I'm your friend, Arthur, and I care, and it's my job to call you out on things." She pauses to take a spoonful of yogurt. "Besides, when was the last time you went on a date? It's been at least a year and a half since you broke it off with Lance."
Arthur stares at her. "How is that even relevant to what we were talking about?"
"Oh please, even if you're too busy pretending to be irritated by him, you know Eames is totally your type."
"He is not," Arthur says in outrage. "I don't even have a type!"
"Your last four boyfriends were all dark-haired, built like a brick house, and looked like thugs." Ariadne looks smug. "Also, don't think I didn't notice how you didn't argue the pretending-to-be-irritated part."
"My exes did not look like thugs, for god's sake," Arthur says in exasperation. "Lance was in pre-law!"
Ariadne waves a dismissive hand at him. "Whatever! My point is, Eames is hot, he's asking you out, and all you do is be rude to him." All of a sudden, she looks serious. "He seems like a nice enough person, but you just seem determined to believe the worst about him. And even if you're honestly not interested, you could be nicer about turning him down. Right now, you're being kind of cruel." She aims a reproaching look at him, the one he's always had trouble ignoring. "Promise me you'll try, at least?"
Arthur sighs heavily. "Fine. I promise."
He grudgingly admits, if only to himself, that Eames does have a marked resemblance to his last few boyfriends, but that doesn't mean anything's going to happen. Aside from the fact that he doesn't have time to date right now, Eames is Eames. He's rich and famous and charming and there are people falling over themselves to please him, and Arthur doesn't need that kind of egoism in his life right now.
Ariadne probably has a point though. He supposes he can make an effort.
In an effort to make an effort, Arthur does his best not to completely shoot Eames down the next time Eames tries to ask him out for a drink. It's hard work, because Eames seems to get on Arthur's nerves without even having to try.
"I don't have time for dates right now," he elaborates instead of his customary answer of "no, leave me alone", and Eames blinks at him for a second in surprise before a look of delight spreads over his face.
Arthur valiantly ignores this.
"And what's been keeping you so busy, pet?"
"Unlike you, some of us actually have to study, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, forcibly ignoring the endearment and keeping his tone mild through sheer will. He taps his fingers against the side of the elevator, wondering how it could possibly take so long to go up four floors. He really should've taken the stairs.
"What exactly do you major in?" Eames seems genuinely curious, which is the only reason Arthur manages to reply rather than tell him to mind his own business.
"I'm double-majoring in English and Architecture, minoring in Econ." It occurs to him abruptly that he has no idea what Eames is here to study. Luckily, Eames tells him without Arthur actually having to ask.
"No wonder you're so busy," he says with a low whistle. "I'm just doing English Lit with a Theatre minor, and that's already keeping me busy."
In Arthur's opinion, Eames doesn't seem to be very busy at all, considering how many parties he seems to attend on a weekly basis, but remembering his promise to Ariadne, he keeps his mouth shut and merely nods instead.
When the elevator doors finally slide open, Arthur grabs his bag, gives Eames a small nod, and steps out before Eames can say anything else. Disaster averted. He's digging for his keys in the bottom of his bag when Eames' voice comes from down the hallway.
"By the way, I never said I was asking you on a date, darling. Bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?" He pauses while Arthur tries to not gape at his audacity. "Funny how you assumed that, isn't it? But if you're interested, you know where to find me." Eames smirks, and before Arthur can think of a suitable retort, he's shut the door of his room behind him.
"Arrogant bastard," Arthur mutters under his breath, finally managing to get his own door open. Getting inside, he barely resists the urge to slam it shut behind him like a petulant teenager.
The whole thing just proves to Arthur that Eames is every bit as annoying and egotistical as he'd initially thought - and he would probably be a lot more vocal about this to Ariadne if it isn't for the fact that the very next day, he gets his paper for his Modern Critical Theories class back.
He gets a C+.
The professor gives some general feedback on it before moving on to the discussion group, but Arthur can't tear his eyes away from the red ink at the bottom of his page. C+. The last time he'd gotten anything less than an A- on a report was back in first year, and that was only because first year Biology had been mandatory and Arthur had never done a proper lab report before in his life. This is different. This is fourth year, and this is for a core course, and this is going to completely screw up the GPA he's been working so hard for.
Ariadne pats him on the back and is suitably sympathetic, but her comment that "it's normal to not always get an A, you know" is not appreciated. Arthur manages to glare at her for about a minute before she gives him her yogurt as a peace offering. Arthur deflates and takes it. It's peach flavoured, his favourite, and he takes a big spoonful into his mouth with a sigh. "This isn't over, you know," he says as he swallows. "I'm going to office hour tomorrow to talk to the professor."
It goes horribly.
The professor tells him that while he'd submitted an excellent paper and his references were flawless, he'd apparently "misinterpreted the given topic", and all things considered, he's "lucky to be getting a C+". Considering that the topic wasn't discussed during lecture beforehand, Arthur would think that it would be perfectly normal for every student to interpret it any way they like - and plus, isn't that the point of higher level courses? So that you can actually give your own opinions, rather than conform to the instructor's interpretations?
But the professor refuses to budge, or negotiate, or give Arthur any sort of extra credit to redeem himself with no matter how many times he explains him reasoning. Arthur stares at her blankly as she ushers him out of her office forty minutes later with the claim that it's time for her lunch break. It feels bitterly unfair that the paper he'd spent so long working on is going to drag down his entire grade, and he's just wasted a good portion of his own lunch break trying to explain himself to an instructor who doesn't even seem to care. Maybe it's stupid to get this upset over a grade, but he feels a little like crying.
He bumps into someone on his way out of the building, and his paper, still clutched in his hands, go flying.
"Watch where you're going," he snaps, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.
"Arthur?" comes a familiar voice.
Of all the people who could've run into him, of course it had to be Eames. Knowing that he must look a mess, Arthur keeps his eyes on the ground, leaning down to pick up his papers. "Hey," he says brusquely.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Eames asks, dropping to his knees to help him gather the rest of the papers, which is exactly what Arthur doesn't want because that puts Eames at eye-level with him.
"It's nothing," Arthur says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He's not going to make a fool of himself. Not in front of Eames. He's going to gather his things, and then go to his next class without making a scene. "I have to go," he mumbles, turning to leave before Eames can ask anything else.
Except a hand on his arm stops him from leaving. "Arthur? Are you sure you're okay?" Eames asks, his grip unnaturally strong, and Arthur hates the concern in his voice, hates the way Eames has the worst timing ever and always manages to make him feel humiliated and angry and out-of-control.
"Let me go," he says sharply, grasping at the anger and pushing everything else away. It's the least embarrassing thing he feels right now, and he needs it to get through a conversation with Eames if he doesn't want to end up looking completely pathetic. "Just leave me alone."
"Hey, I was just trying to help," Eames says, a hint of hardness in his voice. "It wouldn't hurt you to occasionally show some gratitude, you know."
"Yeah, well, I don't need your help, thanks."
Eames stares at him for a second. "Look, what exactly is your problem?" he finally says. "Do you make a habit of insulting people who try to do something nice for you?"
"Maybe I just don't want anything to do with the likes of you," Arthur snarls, biting out the first retort he can think of.
He regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth, and in the abrupt silence that follows, Arthur knows that he's managed to cross some line. Before he can figure out how to take it back though, Eames' face goes frighteningly blank. Dumping the papers he'd picked up into Arthur's arms, he leaves without saying another word.
Ignoring the sudden guilt gnawing at his stomach, Arthur goes to his next class - he's going to be late as it is. Whatever just happened with him and Eames, he can figure it all out later, he tells himself. It's all going to be fine.
Later doesn't happen until nearly three days later. Arthur's always up at the crack of dawn and doesn't get back to his dorm until almost midnight, and although that's never stopped him from running into Eames before, Eames must be avoiding him or something because he abruptly stops seeing the other boy around. It's not until he's cutting through campus after his French elective that he sees Eames coming out of the student union building. For once, he's alone rather than surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur approaches him, making an attempt to have a smile on his face in case Eames looks up and catches his eye. He knows he needs to apologize - he'd been out of line the other day, and after all, Eames had only been trying to help. When he gets there though, the words stick in his throat. Arthur's always been crap at saying sorry, and since he hasn't had time to obsessively rehearse this in his head earlier, he has to figure out now how to say it properly.
Except Eames doesn't bother to slow down at the sight of him. In fact, he barely looks at Arthur.
"Hey, Eames, wait-" Arthur calls out, wondering if Eames has somehow managed to miss him despite being a foot away. Before he can consciously think about it, he reaches out and grasps Eames' arm to catch his attention - but then Eames is looking at him and shaking his head in disbelief.
"Oh, just fuck off, will you?" he says crudely before Arthur can say another word.
"Wait, what?" Arthur replies dumbly, taken aback despite himself.
When he finally comes to a full stop, Eames' face is dark, without a hint of his usual smile. "Look, Arthur. Whatever your problem is, I'm sick of it. I've been trying to be friendly this whole time, but all I get from you is attitude. And you know what? Fine." He sneers, the expression twisting his face into something ugly. "Unlike some people, I'm not exactly desperate for friends here."
Arthur had come to apologize, he really had, but Eames, as usual, manages to wind him up from zero to a hundred in less than half a minute, and the words come spilling out before he can stop himself. "Sure, friendship. I'm sure that's what all the girls who are throwing themselves at you want."
"You think I don't know that? You think I can't tell that they only want a piece of me because I'm famous?" Eames' voice goes deceptively soft, but his eyes are narrowed and there's a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You think you're so much better than them, Arthur, but at the end of the day, you're no different."
"Excuse me?" Arthur says, something cold unfurling in his chest.
"Oh, please. You think I couldn't tell? You were perfectly friendly until you found out who I was, and then you turned into a complete tosser. But you don't even know a single thing about me."
The worst thing is, Eames is right. Arthur has been a dick to him, and if it had been anyone else, Arthur's sure his conscience would have stopped him by now. As it is, he's been ignoring it just because it's Eames, and the rest of the world is unfairly in love with him - like that fact is some sort of justification for his own behavior. Some small part of Arthur has realized that all along, and being confronted with it now, he just feels sick, the unreasonable rage from before draining away and leaving him with just the shame in the pit of his stomach.
"I know that you're an egotistical dick, and all you ever try to do is annoy me," he says, digging himself deeper into the hole. His voice lacks conviction to his own ears, but even now, Arthur doesn't know how to back down gracefully.
"Oh what grounds? The tabloids? And sorry to break the news, Arthur, but it's not always about you." Eames sighs, and all of a sudden, he just looks tired. "You know what? Whatever, I don't care. You want me out of your hair, so I'll stay out of your way." He pauses, and Arthur notices the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. "But do me a favour and just leave me alone, Arthur.
There's a small crowd gathering by the benches a few feet away - not so close that their exchange would have been overheard, but close enough that surely it's obvious that they're not exactly having a friendly conversation. Eames looks over at them for a second before seeming to close in on himself. With an audible exhale, he roughly shrugs off the hand Arthur's still got on his arm before walking away.
Arthur watches him go.