FIC: Carve Your Name Into My Arm (Instead of Stressed I Lie Here Charmed) 3/4
MASTER POST
See part one for warnings etc. (updated!)
Part two
Word Count for part three: ~4600
A/N: Longer than I thought (again), and yet still not finished. :O
One more part to follow!
In the mean time, here's part three, in which Eames has a plan (sort of), and Arthur has vodka. These two things may or may not be related.
*
It was stupid, but once the thought had crossed his mind -- in the middle of a math class, at that -- Eames couldn't stop thinking about it. So what if he blurred the lines a little more; he and Arthur were already making out in private, as per his request. What did it matter if they took it a little further? He knew it was a bad idea that would just make everything harder for him in the end, but he couldn't quite talk himself out of it, either.
Maybe Arthur didn't want to be friends with him, but he was getting tired of playing by Arthur's rules. He wanted to see if there could be at least one part about their relationship that was real. They got along well enough, so he didn't see why being friends for real was out of the question. For the sake of their so called relationship, Arthur could stand to spend a little more time with him. If not, well, he was free to call the whole thing off any time he liked, Eames thought, even if thinking about how easy it would be for Arthur to drop the charade and, consequently, Eames, wasn't encouraging in the least.
He couldn't quite figure out why he would want to torture himself by pushing himself into the life of someone who didn't particularly want him there, but he thought it was probably safe to blame it on his stupid, stupid crush. It seemed that Arthur brought out his masochistic tendencies, which on further reflection might not have been a sign of a healthy relationship, fake or not. His fixation on Arthur and its effects on his mental health aside, he did feel better after making a decision, foolish as it might be. At least he had a plan -- sort of, vaguely -- instead of just waiting for Arthur to appear so he could follow him around like a lost puppy. A charming, witty, handsome puppy, but still, it wasn't really his style.
As far as math classes went, it had been an uncommonly productive one, never mind that his teacher didn't seem to agree.
-
Eames' plans were delayed by a few days because Arthur had gotten a weekend pass and was gone before the classes were over on Friday. When Eames next saw him on Monday, he was sporting a black eye and was in a foul mood. He didn't respond well when Eames tried to joke about it in a thinly veiled attempt to find out what had happened, and for the rest of the first half of the week Eames only saw glimpses of him.
All Eames knew about his supposed boyfriend's current circumstances was that he'd been sent to see the school counselor, and he knew this not because Arthur had felt like sharing, but because Yusuf, the gossip, had told him. He'd also had to dodge Ariadne's concerned questions all week, which aggravated him to a point where he felt like confessing to her that he and Arthur weren't really together, if only to get her to leave him alone. His only consolation was that Ariadne had to be harassing Arthur just as much, and felt vindicated when she complained that Arthur was being even more tight lipped than Eames.
Towards the end of the week, Arthur's mood mellowed out again, making it easier to both find him and be around him. Operation Hijack Arthur's Time was a go. Over the next couple of weeks, Eames learned that,
a) Arthur sucked at video games, which made Eames uncharitably gleeful.
b) Arthur hated losing, which made him an easy target for teasing, which in turn led to Eames' attempts to keep a lid on it, for personal health purposes.
c) Arthur was a decent tutor, and would probably have been even better if Eames hadn't been constantly distracted by him doing things like speaking, or making a point by gesturing with his hands, or looking at Eames, or looking down at his notes, or, like, breathing. Eames fully recognized that that it wasn't entirely fair to hold such things against Arthur's capabilities as a tutor. The good news was that despite his preoccupation, he was doing better in his classes now that he'd managed to talk Arthur into tutoring him. In truth, it had never been a question of intelligence, he'd just never been all that interested in school. Turned out that wanting to impress a boy genius was great for motivation.
d) Arthur hated the coffee in the school cafeteria, but drank it anyway. He didn't use milk or sugar, either, the weirdo. He claimed that since Eames didn't drink coffee at all, his opinions were, by default, not valid.
e) Hanging out with Arthur inevitably meant hanging out with Cobb. To his surprise, Eames found that he and Cobb got along rather well. The fact that Arthur was inexplicably irritated by their easy conversations was a plus.
f) The closeness between Cobb and Arthur made Eames privately question exactly how close their relationship really was. He tried not to let it affect his behavior.
g) Ariadne was nosy and had no compunctions about inserting herself where she hadn't been invited. She also quite possibly had a crush on Cobb. Eames did his best to encourage the latter.
h) In a perfect world, Ariadne and Yusuf would never have met. On their own, they were a handful. Put together, they were terrifying.
i) Arthur had a fondness for bitter, dark chocolate, but rarely indulged himself.
j) As far as Eames could tell, keeping Arthur occupied and distracted meant that he was drinking less, which was encouraging.
k) The more he found out about Arthur, the harder it was to imagine losing him. He tried not to think about it too often.
l) Arthur's smiles, though still rare and too seldom aimed at him, had the ability to take his breath away. He was also becoming concerned about what the combined equation of Arthur + English classes on poetry + Midsummer Night's Dream was doing to him. His thoughts bordered alarmingly on maudlin at times, these days.
m) Every time Arthur closed his eyes when they were making out Eames wanted to tell him to open them, to look at him, but never did. He tried not to wonder if Arthur was thinking about someone else.
n) Operation Hijack Arthur's Time had been a bad idea of epic proportions. Eames had no regrets.
-
Spotting Arthur ahead of him in the hallway, Eames sped up to catch up to him. When he got to Arthur's side, he slowed down and threw an arm across his shoulders.
"Hello, darling," he said, leaning in a bit.
"Hello, Eames," Arthur said, rolling his eyes a little, but nonetheless turned his head towards Eames for a quick kiss.
"Where are you headed?" Eames said. He still had one class to go that afternoon, but he'd been keeping track of Arthur's schedule, and his classes should have been finished for the day by now. Arthur shrugged, appearing nonchalant, but Eames could feel tension in his shoulders.
"I have an appointment with the school counselor in a bit," he said.
"When do you get out?" Eames said, deliberately not asking about the therapy session, or whatever the deal was with Arthur's scheduled visits to the counselor's office. He'd deduced that Arthur tolerated his increased presence much better if he didn't get too nosy. While he still wished he knew more, he'd decided to make do with what he was given rather than push and be completely stonewalled. "Wanna meet up, after?"
"Yeah, okay," Arthur said. "It might run a bit longer than your class, though."
"S'okay," Eames said, feeling content. "I'll wait."
-
Eames was loitering in the hallway across from the counselor's office when he spotted Robert Fischer, who also had a part in the school's production of Midsummer Night's Dream, coming his way.
"Yo, Fischer," Eames called out to him. Robert's head jerked up and his back bag slipped from his shoulder, causing him to stumble. Eames took a few steps forward, helping him to straighten up again. "Balance problems?" He asked, amused.
"Ah, thanks," Fischer said, lifting his chin in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. "No. I mean, I'm fine."
"That's good," Eames said, letting go of him.
"I actually wanted ask you," Fischer said, shifting uncertainly on his feet. Eames raised his eyebrows questioningly when Fischer didn't continue.
"Ask away, then," he urged.
"Um." Fischer said, looking uncomfortable. The pinched look wasn't really doing any favors for him, but Eames doubted he'd appreciate the insight. "Do you know where I might find Ariadne? I wanted to go over some things... with her. About the play."
"About the play, sure," Eames drawled, smirking. "You could try the cafeteria. Or the common room of the third floor dormitories, she's been spending a lot of time with Yusuf, lately."
"Oh," Fischer said, frowning. Then his eyes caught something over Eames' shoulder and he blinked rapidly. "Oh, uh, thanks."
Eames turned to see what Fischer was looking at, smiling for real as he saw Arthur coming their way. Arthur tucked himself against Eames' side, sliding an arm around his waist.
"Hey, you," he murmured, pressing an unexpected, lingering kiss on Eames' lips.
"Hey," Eames said, curling his arm around Arthur's shoulders, happy to accommodate him. Arthur turned to look at Fischer, who was now blushing a little and trying not to stare, and tilted his head curiously.
"Robert," he said. His voice was level, but the way he stared Fischer down was a bit unnerving.
"Arthur, hey, I was just going," Fischer said, edging past them. "Bye."
Arthur turned his head a little to watch him go.
"What was that about?" Eames asked, just as Arthur turned back to him and said,
"What did he want?"
"I asked first," Eames said, starting to walk to the opposite direction from Fischer, pulling Arthur along with him. Instead of twisting away and making space between them, Arthur followed without complaining, keeping his arm around Eames' waist.
"What is this, elementary school?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Answer the question."
"Snappy, aren't we," Eames said lightly. Arthur pinched his waist.
"Ow, stop that," Eames complained, making a face. "He asked about Ariadne; between you and me, I think he has the hots for her. Or possibly Saito, you know, the --"
"I know who he is," Arthur said, relaxing ever so slightly.
"Right, well, they're in orchestra together," Eames nodded. "You know, I'd wonder how I know these things, except that Fischer can't stop talking about him at rehearsals, so. Also, Yusuf is my best friend."
"Point," Arthur said, sounding amused. "After that afternoon we spent getting high in that storage room in the East wing, I now know far more than I'm comfortable with about the school's interpersonal relationships."
"And he didn't even start on the celebrities," Eames said, chuckling. "You should count yourself lucky. Anyways, you like getting information, don't even try to tell me otherwise."
Arthur inclined his head in a sort of maybe, maybe not kind of gesture.
"Doesn't mean I can't find said information disturbing," he said.
"I suppose," Eames allowed. "Hey, you think Fischer's entertaining ideas of a threesome? Ouch!"
He rubbed at the spot where Arthur had smacked him -- not hard, but still. What had gone wrong in his life for him to be surrounded by such violent people? Jeez...
"What did I just say about disturbing information?" Arthur asked with a pointedly raised eyebrow. "Keep your threesome fantasies to yourself."
"They're not my -- okay, fine, I take your point. If it consoles you any, I don't think he has much of a chance at turning that fantasy into reality," Eames said. "He might get Saito on board, but Ariadne's totally into Cobb."
"What?" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "She is not."
Eames good mood suddenly soured. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, shrugging.
"I'm just saying," he said. "You really haven't noticed the way she looks at him?"
"I don't -- I guess I haven't," Arthur said, frowning, and at any other situation Eames might have enjoyed the way he was floundering. "Dom hasn't said anything."
Of course he hadn't. He was too wrapped up in his own head to notice much of anything, or anyone. At least, Eames thought, uncharitably and with a pang of guilt, he hoped so. Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Arthur.
"I didn't say there was anything between them," he said, "just that she probably wishes there was. What, you jealous or something?"
"Jealous?" Arthur frowned, uncomprehending. "That Ariadne might like my best friend?"
"Or, you know, that Cobb might go for it."
Arthur barked a short laugh. The sudden gust of wind as Eames pushed open the doors to outside made him blink, dark lashes fluttering. He shook his head as they started to cross the yard towards the dorms.
"You think I'd be jealous if my best friend got a girlfriend?" He asked incredulously. "Frankly, I'd be glad," he said, his gaze becoming distant, muted somehow. "I loved Mal, but I hate watching her death bury him alive, little by little, day after day."
"Wait," Eames said, dragging them to a stop. Arthur turned to look at him questioningly, his arm falling away from Eames' waist. "You knew Mal? How is that even possible?"
Arthur looked briefly surprised, and then his mouth twisted into a rueful smile.
"We used to go to the same school," he said. "When I skipped a grade, I started having classes with them. We were tight, for a few years there."
They resumed walking, side by side, neither of them speaking. Arthur was smiling slightly, but the look in his eyes was heartbreakingly sad. Eames felt it tugging at his insides and wished there was something he could do to make it go away.
"How come no one knows any of that?" He asked after a while. "I mean, if anyone did, Yusuf would've found out by now, and he tells me practically everything, whether I want to hear it or not."
Arthur glanced at him and then away, saying, "We didn't go to school around these parts back then, and I only just transferred here. No reason for anyone to make the connection."
"I guess so." Eames hummed. "I wouldn't know, I've only been here for a couple of years, myself. So, what happened?"
Arthur shrugged. "We were tight, like I said. I was living with my mom at her sister's place, until she, well, like I told you, my uncle sent me to military school when I was thirteen. I didn't have much contact with them during that time. A couple of years later, around the time my grandmother pulled both me and Nash out of the military school --"
"Nash?" Eames put in.
"Oh, right. My cousin. Technically. We're not related by blood, he came as part of the package when my aunt married her second husband."
"The uncle who sent you away," Eames filled in.
"Right," Arthur said with an unhappy twist to his mouth. "Anyway. I heard about Mal around the same time."
That seemed to be all he was going to say about it, but Eames didn't mind, it was already far more than he'd been expecting to get from Arthur. Not knowing what to say, he tentatively reached out to take Arthur's hand, squeezing a little.
Arthur let him.
-
Maybe it was because of how well everything had been going lately, but it completely blindsided him when Arthur suddenly went off the rails.
It was Saturday, and Eames hadn't seen Arthur all day. Late in the afternoon, he found Cobb in the third floor dorms with Ariadne and Yusuf, who was killing her at Mario Kart. Ariadne was complaining about Yusuf cheating and that she'd rather be playing Mirror's Edge, anyway, while Yusuf was taunting her, telling her what a sore loser she was. Their competitive bickering had attracted a small crowd of bored students, among them Cobb, who seemed content to watch, refusing to take sides or take part in the bickering.
Eames pushed his way into the inner circle, tapping Cobb on the shoulder to get his attention. Cobb turned his head, raising his eyebrows when he saw Eames standing next to him.
"Eames, hey," he said.
"Hey," Eames said. "You seen Arthur?"
"No," Cobb said, frowning a little. "I thought he was with you."
"I thought he was with you," Eames said, and Cobb turned to face him more fully. "I haven't seen him all day."
"That's..." Cobb said, trailing off. "Did you check his room? Behind the shed?"
"Yes, and yes. Also the library, and the cafeteria, and --"
"I get the picture," Cobb said, his mouth thinning. "You could... There's a maintenance hallway near the library, a staircase there leads to the roof. The lock's busted, he goes up there sometimes to smoke." He seemed to hesitate. "If you'd rather, I could --"
"No," Eames said, maybe a little too sharply, motioning Cobb to stay put. "I'll check it out."
"Alright," Cobb said, looking at him thoughtfully. "But if he's not there, or if you... need help with him, or whatever, text me. Actually, text me anyway, just so I don't have to worry."
"I'll do that," Eames said, already turning away.
Cobb snagged his sleeve. "Hey," he said, forcing Eames to pause and meet his eyes. "I mean it. Text me."
"I said I would," Eames said, forcing himself to stay still under Cobb's scrutiny. Finally Cobb nodded and let him go, allowing him to elbow his way out of the small crowd of the students milling around, watching the gamers, some waiting for their turn.
He made his way back to the main building, using one of the back doors, and then spent the next few minutes looking for the maintenance hallway Cobb had mentioned. Once there, it didn't take long for him to find the staircase leading up to the roof. He took the stairs two at the time. The door at the top was heavy, but like Cobb had said, had a busted lock and didn't give him much trouble. He let the door fall closed behind him, shivering a little as the wind hit him.
He spotted Arthur right away, but his relief was short lived when he realized that Arthur was sitting on the ledge framing the rooftop, his feet dangling over the edge. It looked like he'd been there for a while. As Eames watched, he raised a bottle of clear liquid to his lips, taking a swig.
Eames approached him uncertainly, trying to think of something, anything to say.
"Hey, Dom," Arthur said when Eames got closer, apparently hearing his footsteps. He sounded careless, unworried.
"It's not --" Eames started, then cleared his throat. "It's me." Arthur paused, the bottle half way back to his lips.
"Oh," he said. Then he unfroze and took another drink, longer than the last. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Yeah," Eames said, stepping closer. "Surprise."
"I hate surprises," Arthur said, not turning to look at Eames, his gaze fixed on the view in front of him. Eames stopped a few feet from him, feeling horribly out of his depth. He eyed the bottle Arthur was nursing between his hands -- vodka, by the looks of it, more than half empty. Eames sincerely hoped that it hadn't been full when Arthur had started drinking.
"Not enough to throw yourself off the roof as a protest, I hope," he said, striving for a light tone of voice even though he was beginning to feel genuinely worried that Arthur might actually do that, by accident if nothing else. Arthur laughed, but it sounded choked off, like he wasn't amused at all.
"What are you doing here, Eames?" He asked, sounding weary.
"I haven't seen you all day. I was..." Worried, Eames didn't say. "I was looking for you, and Cobb told me you might be up here."
"Of course he did," Arthur said, sounding derisive, which Eames didn't understand at all.
"Why don't we go see if Ariadne pestered Yusuf into switching games yet," he suggested. "They were arguing up a storm when I last saw them."
"No," Arthur said, shifting unsteadily so he could look over his shoulder at Eames, holding up the vodka. "Want some?"
"No, thanks," Eames said, his mouth dry.
"Suit yourself," Arthur said, facing forward again and drinking deeply. "You know, you could just go back on your own. I don't need a keeper."
"From where I'm standing, it seems like you do," Eames said without thinking, but to his relief, Arthur didn't seem to have taken offense.
"Are you offering?" Was all he said, laughing a little, like he found the idea ridiculous. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully and said, in a more philosophical tone, "Anyway, you could always just sit down. Problem solved."
"That's... really not the point, darling," Eames said.
"What is the point?" Arthur asked. It sounded more like a rhetorical question than anything else. Eames watched him swallow another mouthful of vodka. "Why are you here, Eames?"
"I told you," Eames said.
"Right," Arthur interrupted. "'Cause Dom told you to."
"He just told me where to find you. I came because I was worried."
Arthur peered down to the ground, swinging his legs a little. Eames took a deep breath, wishing he could just grab Arthur and haul him away from the edge, but he thought that in situations like this, sudden movements were probably a bad idea.
"You want to know why I got transferred?" Arthur asked out of the blue. He didn't wait Eames to reply before continuing. "I almost killed my cousin, that's why."
"Nash?" Eames asked, trying to keep up.
"Yeah," Arthur said, distaste in his voice. "Nash." He knocked back a mouthful of vodka as if to wash the name off his tongue.
"What happened?" Eames asked, hesitating before leaning against the ledge a few feet from Arthur. He glanced down to assess how far there was to fall, and then wished he hadn't.
"He said -- it doesn't matter what he said. We got into a fight. It got ugly fast. He's had training, too, but I'm better, and I... I think, maybe, if they hadn't pulled us apart, I really would have killed him. I wanted to."
"You don't mean that," Eames said quietly.
"I think, back then, I really did. I fought them when they tried to stop me, when they tried to pull me off."
"But they did pull you off," Eames said. Whoever 'they' were. Teachers, maybe. Other students. Eames had no idea if he was saying the right things, or just making everything worse. "You didn't kill him. You'd wouldn't be here if you had."
"Right," Arthur said. "Lucky me."
For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Arthur laughed. It sounded broken.
"You know what the fight was about?"
"No," Eames answered. "Tell me?"
Arthur looked at him with a twisted smile. He was shivering a little, but didn't seem to have noticed it himself.
"It was my mother's birthday," he said, and laughed again, like it was all some big joke.
"Arthur, come on. Let's talk more inside, okay?" Eames said, as close to pleading as he'd ever gotten. "It's bloody cold out here."
"You," Arthur said precisely, as if making an announcement of utmost importance, "are so bloody English."
"Yes, I am," Eames said agreeably. "And my English constitution would really appreciate some hot tea right now. Or coffee, even."
"You hate coffee," Arthur said, swallowing down more vodka.
"That should tell you how much I want off this roof," Eames said, trying to smile.
"I'm not cold," Arthur said. "But you can go."
"Maybe you don't realize you're cold, what with all the alcohol in your blood," Eames said. "But trust me, you're cold."
"I don't care," Arthur said, holding the bottle in front of his face, watching the liquid slosh inside. God, but Eames was getting to his wits' end.
"Maybe you could try caring about your pretend boyfriend freezing to death because of you, then," he said. Arthur frowned, pouting, almost.
"I told you to just go."
"Well, I'm not going to, unless you come with me. So there." Not the greatest argument Eames had ever had, but he wasn't exactly at his best at the moment.
"You are," Arthur said, "the most..." he trailed off, shaking his head sharply as if to clear it.
"I'm the most what, darling?"
"Don't. You shouldn't call me that," Arthur said, rubbing at the tip of his nose with one hand, holding the bottle of vodka precariously against his thigh.
"I'll stop calling you darling for a whole week if you come down and let me take you inside," Eames promised.
"Would you catch me if I fell?" Arthur wondered, apropos to nothing, ignoring him completely. He was holding the bottle of vodka loosely in his hand, dangling in the air with his fingertips.
"I --" Eames said, his breath hitching. "You won't fall. You can't."
"Right," Arthur nodded. "I can't. I promised."
"You promised?" Eames asked, his heart beating against his ribcage like it was trying to escape.
"Dom. I promised Dom I wouldn't," Arthur said, blinking rapidly. "I can't do that to him. It's just, some days. Some days I really want to."
"God, Arthur, please." Eames exhaled, his heart in his throat. Apparently he could do outright begging after all, he thought dizzily.
"It's just," Arthur said, closing his eyes briefly, then sighed. For a moment, it looked like he was finally, finally about to do what Eames had asked him to do and get off the ledge -- Eames almost swallowed his tongue in relief -- except apparently Arthur's version of getting to safety involved standing up while still on the ledge.
Arthur stumbled a little, the bottle of vodka slipping from his hand and falling, falling, crashing and shattering somewhere below them. Arthur, the drunken fool, swayed as he leaned to look down at it. Eames was close enough that he thought he could make a lunge for it if Arthur's balance betrayed him, wishing he could just rush forward and drag Arthur to safety, but he was frozen to the spot, afraid that one wrong move would send Arthur down the wrong side of the ledge.
"Baby, please," Eames begged. "Please come down."
"You shouldn't call me that," Arthur said, looking at Eames with wide, serious eyes. "I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's. It's better that way."
Then he did lose his balance, but ohthankyougod, it was towards the roof, not the ground, and Eames was there, catching him before he could hit the rooftop. Eames staggered a little, clutching Arthur to his chest. He was breathing hard, and felt shaky. Arthur was shaking too, though in his case it was probably more from the cold than anything else. Arthur made a weak attempt to find his feet, but thankfully didn't try to extract himself from Eames' hold completely; Eames wasn't sure he could have forced himself to let go, and felt nothing at all like trying.
Arthur looked up at him owlishly.
"My mom was an alcoholic, you know," he said. "She committed suicide when I was fifteen."
"That's," Eames swallowed, trying to get his head straight. His heart was still racing from excess adrenalin. "I'm sorry."
"It's just funny," Arthur said, the line of his mouth crumbling a little. "Ironic, or something."
"I don't think there's anything funny about any of this," Eames said carefully, but Arthur just shook his head, then shrugged.
"Like mother, like son, right?" He murmured, and Eames felt his heart clench. He rested his palm against the back of Arthur's head as if he could somehow protect him from the world, from himself, and wrapped his free arm tighter around Arthur's waist for support. Arthur leaned against him like he was too tired to hold his own weight.
Eames wished, stupidly, that he could always be there to hold Arthur up when he didn't have the strength to stand on his own.
***
part four
See part one for warnings etc. (updated!)
Part two
Word Count for part three: ~4600
A/N: Longer than I thought (again), and yet still not finished. :O
One more part to follow!
In the mean time, here's part three, in which Eames has a plan (sort of), and Arthur has vodka. These two things may or may not be related.
*
It was stupid, but once the thought had crossed his mind -- in the middle of a math class, at that -- Eames couldn't stop thinking about it. So what if he blurred the lines a little more; he and Arthur were already making out in private, as per his request. What did it matter if they took it a little further? He knew it was a bad idea that would just make everything harder for him in the end, but he couldn't quite talk himself out of it, either.
Maybe Arthur didn't want to be friends with him, but he was getting tired of playing by Arthur's rules. He wanted to see if there could be at least one part about their relationship that was real. They got along well enough, so he didn't see why being friends for real was out of the question. For the sake of their so called relationship, Arthur could stand to spend a little more time with him. If not, well, he was free to call the whole thing off any time he liked, Eames thought, even if thinking about how easy it would be for Arthur to drop the charade and, consequently, Eames, wasn't encouraging in the least.
He couldn't quite figure out why he would want to torture himself by pushing himself into the life of someone who didn't particularly want him there, but he thought it was probably safe to blame it on his stupid, stupid crush. It seemed that Arthur brought out his masochistic tendencies, which on further reflection might not have been a sign of a healthy relationship, fake or not. His fixation on Arthur and its effects on his mental health aside, he did feel better after making a decision, foolish as it might be. At least he had a plan -- sort of, vaguely -- instead of just waiting for Arthur to appear so he could follow him around like a lost puppy. A charming, witty, handsome puppy, but still, it wasn't really his style.
As far as math classes went, it had been an uncommonly productive one, never mind that his teacher didn't seem to agree.
-
Eames' plans were delayed by a few days because Arthur had gotten a weekend pass and was gone before the classes were over on Friday. When Eames next saw him on Monday, he was sporting a black eye and was in a foul mood. He didn't respond well when Eames tried to joke about it in a thinly veiled attempt to find out what had happened, and for the rest of the first half of the week Eames only saw glimpses of him.
All Eames knew about his supposed boyfriend's current circumstances was that he'd been sent to see the school counselor, and he knew this not because Arthur had felt like sharing, but because Yusuf, the gossip, had told him. He'd also had to dodge Ariadne's concerned questions all week, which aggravated him to a point where he felt like confessing to her that he and Arthur weren't really together, if only to get her to leave him alone. His only consolation was that Ariadne had to be harassing Arthur just as much, and felt vindicated when she complained that Arthur was being even more tight lipped than Eames.
Towards the end of the week, Arthur's mood mellowed out again, making it easier to both find him and be around him. Operation Hijack Arthur's Time was a go. Over the next couple of weeks, Eames learned that,
a) Arthur sucked at video games, which made Eames uncharitably gleeful.
b) Arthur hated losing, which made him an easy target for teasing, which in turn led to Eames' attempts to keep a lid on it, for personal health purposes.
c) Arthur was a decent tutor, and would probably have been even better if Eames hadn't been constantly distracted by him doing things like speaking, or making a point by gesturing with his hands, or looking at Eames, or looking down at his notes, or, like, breathing. Eames fully recognized that that it wasn't entirely fair to hold such things against Arthur's capabilities as a tutor. The good news was that despite his preoccupation, he was doing better in his classes now that he'd managed to talk Arthur into tutoring him. In truth, it had never been a question of intelligence, he'd just never been all that interested in school. Turned out that wanting to impress a boy genius was great for motivation.
d) Arthur hated the coffee in the school cafeteria, but drank it anyway. He didn't use milk or sugar, either, the weirdo. He claimed that since Eames didn't drink coffee at all, his opinions were, by default, not valid.
e) Hanging out with Arthur inevitably meant hanging out with Cobb. To his surprise, Eames found that he and Cobb got along rather well. The fact that Arthur was inexplicably irritated by their easy conversations was a plus.
f) The closeness between Cobb and Arthur made Eames privately question exactly how close their relationship really was. He tried not to let it affect his behavior.
g) Ariadne was nosy and had no compunctions about inserting herself where she hadn't been invited. She also quite possibly had a crush on Cobb. Eames did his best to encourage the latter.
h) In a perfect world, Ariadne and Yusuf would never have met. On their own, they were a handful. Put together, they were terrifying.
i) Arthur had a fondness for bitter, dark chocolate, but rarely indulged himself.
j) As far as Eames could tell, keeping Arthur occupied and distracted meant that he was drinking less, which was encouraging.
k) The more he found out about Arthur, the harder it was to imagine losing him. He tried not to think about it too often.
l) Arthur's smiles, though still rare and too seldom aimed at him, had the ability to take his breath away. He was also becoming concerned about what the combined equation of Arthur + English classes on poetry + Midsummer Night's Dream was doing to him. His thoughts bordered alarmingly on maudlin at times, these days.
m) Every time Arthur closed his eyes when they were making out Eames wanted to tell him to open them, to look at him, but never did. He tried not to wonder if Arthur was thinking about someone else.
n) Operation Hijack Arthur's Time had been a bad idea of epic proportions. Eames had no regrets.
-
Spotting Arthur ahead of him in the hallway, Eames sped up to catch up to him. When he got to Arthur's side, he slowed down and threw an arm across his shoulders.
"Hello, darling," he said, leaning in a bit.
"Hello, Eames," Arthur said, rolling his eyes a little, but nonetheless turned his head towards Eames for a quick kiss.
"Where are you headed?" Eames said. He still had one class to go that afternoon, but he'd been keeping track of Arthur's schedule, and his classes should have been finished for the day by now. Arthur shrugged, appearing nonchalant, but Eames could feel tension in his shoulders.
"I have an appointment with the school counselor in a bit," he said.
"When do you get out?" Eames said, deliberately not asking about the therapy session, or whatever the deal was with Arthur's scheduled visits to the counselor's office. He'd deduced that Arthur tolerated his increased presence much better if he didn't get too nosy. While he still wished he knew more, he'd decided to make do with what he was given rather than push and be completely stonewalled. "Wanna meet up, after?"
"Yeah, okay," Arthur said. "It might run a bit longer than your class, though."
"S'okay," Eames said, feeling content. "I'll wait."
-
Eames was loitering in the hallway across from the counselor's office when he spotted Robert Fischer, who also had a part in the school's production of Midsummer Night's Dream, coming his way.
"Yo, Fischer," Eames called out to him. Robert's head jerked up and his back bag slipped from his shoulder, causing him to stumble. Eames took a few steps forward, helping him to straighten up again. "Balance problems?" He asked, amused.
"Ah, thanks," Fischer said, lifting his chin in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. "No. I mean, I'm fine."
"That's good," Eames said, letting go of him.
"I actually wanted ask you," Fischer said, shifting uncertainly on his feet. Eames raised his eyebrows questioningly when Fischer didn't continue.
"Ask away, then," he urged.
"Um." Fischer said, looking uncomfortable. The pinched look wasn't really doing any favors for him, but Eames doubted he'd appreciate the insight. "Do you know where I might find Ariadne? I wanted to go over some things... with her. About the play."
"About the play, sure," Eames drawled, smirking. "You could try the cafeteria. Or the common room of the third floor dormitories, she's been spending a lot of time with Yusuf, lately."
"Oh," Fischer said, frowning. Then his eyes caught something over Eames' shoulder and he blinked rapidly. "Oh, uh, thanks."
Eames turned to see what Fischer was looking at, smiling for real as he saw Arthur coming their way. Arthur tucked himself against Eames' side, sliding an arm around his waist.
"Hey, you," he murmured, pressing an unexpected, lingering kiss on Eames' lips.
"Hey," Eames said, curling his arm around Arthur's shoulders, happy to accommodate him. Arthur turned to look at Fischer, who was now blushing a little and trying not to stare, and tilted his head curiously.
"Robert," he said. His voice was level, but the way he stared Fischer down was a bit unnerving.
"Arthur, hey, I was just going," Fischer said, edging past them. "Bye."
Arthur turned his head a little to watch him go.
"What was that about?" Eames asked, just as Arthur turned back to him and said,
"What did he want?"
"I asked first," Eames said, starting to walk to the opposite direction from Fischer, pulling Arthur along with him. Instead of twisting away and making space between them, Arthur followed without complaining, keeping his arm around Eames' waist.
"What is this, elementary school?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Answer the question."
"Snappy, aren't we," Eames said lightly. Arthur pinched his waist.
"Ow, stop that," Eames complained, making a face. "He asked about Ariadne; between you and me, I think he has the hots for her. Or possibly Saito, you know, the --"
"I know who he is," Arthur said, relaxing ever so slightly.
"Right, well, they're in orchestra together," Eames nodded. "You know, I'd wonder how I know these things, except that Fischer can't stop talking about him at rehearsals, so. Also, Yusuf is my best friend."
"Point," Arthur said, sounding amused. "After that afternoon we spent getting high in that storage room in the East wing, I now know far more than I'm comfortable with about the school's interpersonal relationships."
"And he didn't even start on the celebrities," Eames said, chuckling. "You should count yourself lucky. Anyways, you like getting information, don't even try to tell me otherwise."
Arthur inclined his head in a sort of maybe, maybe not kind of gesture.
"Doesn't mean I can't find said information disturbing," he said.
"I suppose," Eames allowed. "Hey, you think Fischer's entertaining ideas of a threesome? Ouch!"
He rubbed at the spot where Arthur had smacked him -- not hard, but still. What had gone wrong in his life for him to be surrounded by such violent people? Jeez...
"What did I just say about disturbing information?" Arthur asked with a pointedly raised eyebrow. "Keep your threesome fantasies to yourself."
"They're not my -- okay, fine, I take your point. If it consoles you any, I don't think he has much of a chance at turning that fantasy into reality," Eames said. "He might get Saito on board, but Ariadne's totally into Cobb."
"What?" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "She is not."
Eames good mood suddenly soured. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, shrugging.
"I'm just saying," he said. "You really haven't noticed the way she looks at him?"
"I don't -- I guess I haven't," Arthur said, frowning, and at any other situation Eames might have enjoyed the way he was floundering. "Dom hasn't said anything."
Of course he hadn't. He was too wrapped up in his own head to notice much of anything, or anyone. At least, Eames thought, uncharitably and with a pang of guilt, he hoped so. Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Arthur.
"I didn't say there was anything between them," he said, "just that she probably wishes there was. What, you jealous or something?"
"Jealous?" Arthur frowned, uncomprehending. "That Ariadne might like my best friend?"
"Or, you know, that Cobb might go for it."
Arthur barked a short laugh. The sudden gust of wind as Eames pushed open the doors to outside made him blink, dark lashes fluttering. He shook his head as they started to cross the yard towards the dorms.
"You think I'd be jealous if my best friend got a girlfriend?" He asked incredulously. "Frankly, I'd be glad," he said, his gaze becoming distant, muted somehow. "I loved Mal, but I hate watching her death bury him alive, little by little, day after day."
"Wait," Eames said, dragging them to a stop. Arthur turned to look at him questioningly, his arm falling away from Eames' waist. "You knew Mal? How is that even possible?"
Arthur looked briefly surprised, and then his mouth twisted into a rueful smile.
"We used to go to the same school," he said. "When I skipped a grade, I started having classes with them. We were tight, for a few years there."
They resumed walking, side by side, neither of them speaking. Arthur was smiling slightly, but the look in his eyes was heartbreakingly sad. Eames felt it tugging at his insides and wished there was something he could do to make it go away.
"How come no one knows any of that?" He asked after a while. "I mean, if anyone did, Yusuf would've found out by now, and he tells me practically everything, whether I want to hear it or not."
Arthur glanced at him and then away, saying, "We didn't go to school around these parts back then, and I only just transferred here. No reason for anyone to make the connection."
"I guess so." Eames hummed. "I wouldn't know, I've only been here for a couple of years, myself. So, what happened?"
Arthur shrugged. "We were tight, like I said. I was living with my mom at her sister's place, until she, well, like I told you, my uncle sent me to military school when I was thirteen. I didn't have much contact with them during that time. A couple of years later, around the time my grandmother pulled both me and Nash out of the military school --"
"Nash?" Eames put in.
"Oh, right. My cousin. Technically. We're not related by blood, he came as part of the package when my aunt married her second husband."
"The uncle who sent you away," Eames filled in.
"Right," Arthur said with an unhappy twist to his mouth. "Anyway. I heard about Mal around the same time."
That seemed to be all he was going to say about it, but Eames didn't mind, it was already far more than he'd been expecting to get from Arthur. Not knowing what to say, he tentatively reached out to take Arthur's hand, squeezing a little.
Arthur let him.
-
Maybe it was because of how well everything had been going lately, but it completely blindsided him when Arthur suddenly went off the rails.
It was Saturday, and Eames hadn't seen Arthur all day. Late in the afternoon, he found Cobb in the third floor dorms with Ariadne and Yusuf, who was killing her at Mario Kart. Ariadne was complaining about Yusuf cheating and that she'd rather be playing Mirror's Edge, anyway, while Yusuf was taunting her, telling her what a sore loser she was. Their competitive bickering had attracted a small crowd of bored students, among them Cobb, who seemed content to watch, refusing to take sides or take part in the bickering.
Eames pushed his way into the inner circle, tapping Cobb on the shoulder to get his attention. Cobb turned his head, raising his eyebrows when he saw Eames standing next to him.
"Eames, hey," he said.
"Hey," Eames said. "You seen Arthur?"
"No," Cobb said, frowning a little. "I thought he was with you."
"I thought he was with you," Eames said, and Cobb turned to face him more fully. "I haven't seen him all day."
"That's..." Cobb said, trailing off. "Did you check his room? Behind the shed?"
"Yes, and yes. Also the library, and the cafeteria, and --"
"I get the picture," Cobb said, his mouth thinning. "You could... There's a maintenance hallway near the library, a staircase there leads to the roof. The lock's busted, he goes up there sometimes to smoke." He seemed to hesitate. "If you'd rather, I could --"
"No," Eames said, maybe a little too sharply, motioning Cobb to stay put. "I'll check it out."
"Alright," Cobb said, looking at him thoughtfully. "But if he's not there, or if you... need help with him, or whatever, text me. Actually, text me anyway, just so I don't have to worry."
"I'll do that," Eames said, already turning away.
Cobb snagged his sleeve. "Hey," he said, forcing Eames to pause and meet his eyes. "I mean it. Text me."
"I said I would," Eames said, forcing himself to stay still under Cobb's scrutiny. Finally Cobb nodded and let him go, allowing him to elbow his way out of the small crowd of the students milling around, watching the gamers, some waiting for their turn.
He made his way back to the main building, using one of the back doors, and then spent the next few minutes looking for the maintenance hallway Cobb had mentioned. Once there, it didn't take long for him to find the staircase leading up to the roof. He took the stairs two at the time. The door at the top was heavy, but like Cobb had said, had a busted lock and didn't give him much trouble. He let the door fall closed behind him, shivering a little as the wind hit him.
He spotted Arthur right away, but his relief was short lived when he realized that Arthur was sitting on the ledge framing the rooftop, his feet dangling over the edge. It looked like he'd been there for a while. As Eames watched, he raised a bottle of clear liquid to his lips, taking a swig.
Eames approached him uncertainly, trying to think of something, anything to say.
"Hey, Dom," Arthur said when Eames got closer, apparently hearing his footsteps. He sounded careless, unworried.
"It's not --" Eames started, then cleared his throat. "It's me." Arthur paused, the bottle half way back to his lips.
"Oh," he said. Then he unfroze and took another drink, longer than the last. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Yeah," Eames said, stepping closer. "Surprise."
"I hate surprises," Arthur said, not turning to look at Eames, his gaze fixed on the view in front of him. Eames stopped a few feet from him, feeling horribly out of his depth. He eyed the bottle Arthur was nursing between his hands -- vodka, by the looks of it, more than half empty. Eames sincerely hoped that it hadn't been full when Arthur had started drinking.
"Not enough to throw yourself off the roof as a protest, I hope," he said, striving for a light tone of voice even though he was beginning to feel genuinely worried that Arthur might actually do that, by accident if nothing else. Arthur laughed, but it sounded choked off, like he wasn't amused at all.
"What are you doing here, Eames?" He asked, sounding weary.
"I haven't seen you all day. I was..." Worried, Eames didn't say. "I was looking for you, and Cobb told me you might be up here."
"Of course he did," Arthur said, sounding derisive, which Eames didn't understand at all.
"Why don't we go see if Ariadne pestered Yusuf into switching games yet," he suggested. "They were arguing up a storm when I last saw them."
"No," Arthur said, shifting unsteadily so he could look over his shoulder at Eames, holding up the vodka. "Want some?"
"No, thanks," Eames said, his mouth dry.
"Suit yourself," Arthur said, facing forward again and drinking deeply. "You know, you could just go back on your own. I don't need a keeper."
"From where I'm standing, it seems like you do," Eames said without thinking, but to his relief, Arthur didn't seem to have taken offense.
"Are you offering?" Was all he said, laughing a little, like he found the idea ridiculous. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully and said, in a more philosophical tone, "Anyway, you could always just sit down. Problem solved."
"That's... really not the point, darling," Eames said.
"What is the point?" Arthur asked. It sounded more like a rhetorical question than anything else. Eames watched him swallow another mouthful of vodka. "Why are you here, Eames?"
"I told you," Eames said.
"Right," Arthur interrupted. "'Cause Dom told you to."
"He just told me where to find you. I came because I was worried."
Arthur peered down to the ground, swinging his legs a little. Eames took a deep breath, wishing he could just grab Arthur and haul him away from the edge, but he thought that in situations like this, sudden movements were probably a bad idea.
"You want to know why I got transferred?" Arthur asked out of the blue. He didn't wait Eames to reply before continuing. "I almost killed my cousin, that's why."
"Nash?" Eames asked, trying to keep up.
"Yeah," Arthur said, distaste in his voice. "Nash." He knocked back a mouthful of vodka as if to wash the name off his tongue.
"What happened?" Eames asked, hesitating before leaning against the ledge a few feet from Arthur. He glanced down to assess how far there was to fall, and then wished he hadn't.
"He said -- it doesn't matter what he said. We got into a fight. It got ugly fast. He's had training, too, but I'm better, and I... I think, maybe, if they hadn't pulled us apart, I really would have killed him. I wanted to."
"You don't mean that," Eames said quietly.
"I think, back then, I really did. I fought them when they tried to stop me, when they tried to pull me off."
"But they did pull you off," Eames said. Whoever 'they' were. Teachers, maybe. Other students. Eames had no idea if he was saying the right things, or just making everything worse. "You didn't kill him. You'd wouldn't be here if you had."
"Right," Arthur said. "Lucky me."
For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Arthur laughed. It sounded broken.
"You know what the fight was about?"
"No," Eames answered. "Tell me?"
Arthur looked at him with a twisted smile. He was shivering a little, but didn't seem to have noticed it himself.
"It was my mother's birthday," he said, and laughed again, like it was all some big joke.
"Arthur, come on. Let's talk more inside, okay?" Eames said, as close to pleading as he'd ever gotten. "It's bloody cold out here."
"You," Arthur said precisely, as if making an announcement of utmost importance, "are so bloody English."
"Yes, I am," Eames said agreeably. "And my English constitution would really appreciate some hot tea right now. Or coffee, even."
"You hate coffee," Arthur said, swallowing down more vodka.
"That should tell you how much I want off this roof," Eames said, trying to smile.
"I'm not cold," Arthur said. "But you can go."
"Maybe you don't realize you're cold, what with all the alcohol in your blood," Eames said. "But trust me, you're cold."
"I don't care," Arthur said, holding the bottle in front of his face, watching the liquid slosh inside. God, but Eames was getting to his wits' end.
"Maybe you could try caring about your pretend boyfriend freezing to death because of you, then," he said. Arthur frowned, pouting, almost.
"I told you to just go."
"Well, I'm not going to, unless you come with me. So there." Not the greatest argument Eames had ever had, but he wasn't exactly at his best at the moment.
"You are," Arthur said, "the most..." he trailed off, shaking his head sharply as if to clear it.
"I'm the most what, darling?"
"Don't. You shouldn't call me that," Arthur said, rubbing at the tip of his nose with one hand, holding the bottle of vodka precariously against his thigh.
"I'll stop calling you darling for a whole week if you come down and let me take you inside," Eames promised.
"Would you catch me if I fell?" Arthur wondered, apropos to nothing, ignoring him completely. He was holding the bottle of vodka loosely in his hand, dangling in the air with his fingertips.
"I --" Eames said, his breath hitching. "You won't fall. You can't."
"Right," Arthur nodded. "I can't. I promised."
"You promised?" Eames asked, his heart beating against his ribcage like it was trying to escape.
"Dom. I promised Dom I wouldn't," Arthur said, blinking rapidly. "I can't do that to him. It's just, some days. Some days I really want to."
"God, Arthur, please." Eames exhaled, his heart in his throat. Apparently he could do outright begging after all, he thought dizzily.
"It's just," Arthur said, closing his eyes briefly, then sighed. For a moment, it looked like he was finally, finally about to do what Eames had asked him to do and get off the ledge -- Eames almost swallowed his tongue in relief -- except apparently Arthur's version of getting to safety involved standing up while still on the ledge.
Arthur stumbled a little, the bottle of vodka slipping from his hand and falling, falling, crashing and shattering somewhere below them. Arthur, the drunken fool, swayed as he leaned to look down at it. Eames was close enough that he thought he could make a lunge for it if Arthur's balance betrayed him, wishing he could just rush forward and drag Arthur to safety, but he was frozen to the spot, afraid that one wrong move would send Arthur down the wrong side of the ledge.
"Baby, please," Eames begged. "Please come down."
"You shouldn't call me that," Arthur said, looking at Eames with wide, serious eyes. "I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's. It's better that way."
Then he did lose his balance, but ohthankyougod, it was towards the roof, not the ground, and Eames was there, catching him before he could hit the rooftop. Eames staggered a little, clutching Arthur to his chest. He was breathing hard, and felt shaky. Arthur was shaking too, though in his case it was probably more from the cold than anything else. Arthur made a weak attempt to find his feet, but thankfully didn't try to extract himself from Eames' hold completely; Eames wasn't sure he could have forced himself to let go, and felt nothing at all like trying.
Arthur looked up at him owlishly.
"My mom was an alcoholic, you know," he said. "She committed suicide when I was fifteen."
"That's," Eames swallowed, trying to get his head straight. His heart was still racing from excess adrenalin. "I'm sorry."
"It's just funny," Arthur said, the line of his mouth crumbling a little. "Ironic, or something."
"I don't think there's anything funny about any of this," Eames said carefully, but Arthur just shook his head, then shrugged.
"Like mother, like son, right?" He murmured, and Eames felt his heart clench. He rested his palm against the back of Arthur's head as if he could somehow protect him from the world, from himself, and wrapped his free arm tighter around Arthur's waist for support. Arthur leaned against him like he was too tired to hold his own weight.
Eames wished, stupidly, that he could always be there to hold Arthur up when he didn't have the strength to stand on his own.
***
part four