Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (14/16)
Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (14/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,020
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Robert Fischer, Yusuf, Nash, Saito
Rating: PG-13(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Track Fourteen: Put Me Back Together
Everyone stared in an awed and surprised silence when Arthur showed up for the rehearsal on the S.O. S. stage on Friday, toting his violin as he always did. He tried to act like he hadn't been gone all week and that his peers hadn't last seen him leaving from the auditorium with blood on his face and fear in his chest, but it wasn't like any of them had forgotten that. Clearly, by the looks on their faces at least, they most definitely remembered.
Arthur felt even more uncomfortable when he realized Mal wasn't there, probably off doing an interview, but he took his seat just the same and prepared his violin to play.
There was no way Jacobson could badmouth his playing. He'd been practicing practically non-stop since Wednesday afternoon, and his worries about playing robotically were definitely not a problem anymore. If Eames had accomplished anything good in their relationship, it was giving Arthur a reason to play with emotion. Sure, everything seemed kind of angry or kind of sad, but it wasn't like the violin played the most joyful music anyway.
Arthur poured himself into his music, and he was surprised to find that the whole tortured artist thing actually had some merit to it after all. His playing was spot on. It was the only thing that could really make him smile.
Even Jacobson couldn't make a remark about his playing when he joined in with the rest of the orchestra. He felt as if he'd never played so brilliantly in his life. All Jacobson could even say was, "Nice of you to finally join us, Arthur," and that was all the bitterness Arthur got from him.
Knowing he needed to see Eames again was a surprising motivator to stay focused, and focus he did. He wanted to be at his absolute best. He wanted to prove that whether or not he'd been with Eames romantically, sexually, or otherwise, he was a damned good violinist and no one was going to tell him otherwise. He wasn't sure where the burst of confidence had come from, but he was determined to prove his worthiness, not only to Eames, but to himself. If Eames really had been stringing him along, the man was going to know just what he was missing out on.
He didn't stick around for questions after practice ended, instead going home to practice more.
Eames had been right about never being able to reach perfection, but Arthur was going to get as fucking close as he possibly could.
Ariadne apparently heard about his appearance because within the hour she was knocking on the door. He couldn't say that he was entirely surprised.
"I have been worried sick about you," she growled when he opened the door. "You bastard, how dare you go off the grid like that and leave me hanging? I thought we were friends!"
"I'm sorry-"
"No, fuck you! Don't say you're sorry because you're not sorry at all! If you were sorry, you wouldn't have fucking done it! You're a jerk. You're a giant, self-centered jerk."
"Are you done berating me yet or is there more to this rant with preferably meaner names to call me other than 'jerk'?" Arthur asked, and she huffed, signaling that she was finished.
"Are you okay?" she asked instead of continuing her rant, sounding defeated.
"I'm okay," Arthur said stepping aside to allow her in. "I'm… all right, I guess. I'm kind of just trying not to focus on how I'm feeling right now. I guess I just decided that numbness was better for the time being… but anyway…"
"You can't just go numb whenever you feel things, Arthur. That was part of your problem in the first place," Ariadne said, eyebrows furrowing as she took a seat on the sofa.
"It's not like that," Arthur explained, going back to his chair and taking a seat. "I'm not ignoring my emotions at all. I'm just not getting caught up in them right now because I need to focus on my music. I'm focusing them only on my music… trying to get a better handle on them or whatever…The show is tomorrow after all. Tomorrow is my one chance to talk to Eames and get all of this sorted out, and tomorrow is the day I move on with my life for certain."
"You're not going to try to win him back?" Ariadne asked.
"I broke up with him, Ariadne," Arthur said, lifting his violin to his chin and starting into a song. "If I was someone he hooked up with on the side or if he's found someone new, I don't really think it'll work out. I love him, and I know that, and if he wants to be with me then… well… I don't know… but I need to talk to him. I won't be able to get over all of this unless I do, and that's why I need to practice. I don't want to have to be practicing in the wings before each song. I want to be able to catch him and speak to him. I'm only hoping there's somewhere where we can talk privately, like a trailer or something. I didn't really have time to check to see this afternoon…"
"Well… what if he was lying to you?" Ariadne asked hesitantly. "What will you do then?"
"Move on. Sure, my heart will be broken, but I'll survive. I'm sure I'll eventually find someone else… I don't know how anyone could make me feel like…" he swallowed, stopping himself before he went down that road and got himself all torn up again. "…but really, it's all that I can do."
"Well, if he was fucking you over, I will never listen to Radical Notion ever again," Ariadne decided, crossing her arms and nodding. "Ever."
"Don't be stupid. You shouldn't hate on them just because of Eames. They are one of the few bands on the radio with genuinely good music. Besides… even if Eames was-even if… well… I ah…"
"You can't hate him," Ariadne finished for him, eyes gleaming a little, and Arthur feared for a moment she might cry.
"I never could," Arthur said sadly. "To claim that I never cared about him and that I hate his guts is not only counterproductive but denying how I felt. I can't deny those feelings. I've never felt something so strongly in my life."
"Stop, okay, just stop!" Ariadne wailed, and Arthur paused, confused until she said, "talking like that and playing that sad violin music is really, really bringing me down. I can't take it. If you're going to talk to me, stop playing. I hate it when you do that."
Arthur huffed but did stop. He didn't really want to make her any angrier than he already had. She really didn't deserve all the grief he'd been giving her, even if he'd had his reasons. "It's just… It's just the truth," he said softly.
She crossed to him and put her hand on his shoulder, the way Eames had done and gently said, "I know. I believe that, Arthur… but I don't want to see you hurt anymore. It's killing me, and you know how I worry about you."
"Don't worry about a thing, Ariadne," he said, glancing up at her. "I have a plan."
"Oh? What is this plan exactly?"
Arthur smiled a little and all he said was, "You'll see."
Eames was in misery.
It certainly didn't help that Nash had Maroon 5's Misery playing on his laptop while they sat in the private jet, making their way back from the U.K. to the S.O.S. concert.
"Are you trying to torture me?" Eames asked. "You've caused enough damage, after all."
Nash glared, pausing the music. "Okay, first of all, my playlists playing music you miserably relate to has nothing to do with me because it was just a coincidence, and second of all I already said I was sorry about all of that. How the fuck was I supposed to know that it was Arthur? I didn't even know he knew your number. Let it go, man. You'll see him at the concert, and you can explain everything and shit will be all hunky dory again. Fuck, I'll tell him myself that it was me."
"Keep talking like that and you'll start convincing everyone that you actually like Arthur," Yusuf mentioned idly, unceremoniously trimming at his beard, using his laptop screen as a mirror.
"I do like Arthur," Nash replied. "I like him a hell of a lot more than I like this showboating moron that blames for freaking everything." Nash squinted at Eames accusatorily.
Well, all right, Eames thought, maybe Nash had a little bit of a right to be snippy. Eames and Yusuf had encouraged him, and what were the odds that it would have been Arthur when reporters had been calling for what felt like an eternity? Sure, Nash was an asshole, and he was Eames's go to guy when it came to blaming people for things (and most of the time he had damned good reason to as well), but… this time…
Well, Eames could admit that the only reason he was blaming Nash was because he didn't want to think about how it was his fault. He already felt bad enough without Arthur around (he honestly had no idea how he'd gotten by without the guy before), and he could have quite possibly gone and made things horrendously worse and possibly unfixable.
Still, he wasn't going to apologize to Nash. His pride wouldn't allow him to do that, considering Nash had dared call him a showboater. He would let up on bitching at him though, if he could help it.
"Things aren't going to be all right," Eames explained to him, "this hunky dory nonsense… Whether Arthur knows it was a joke or not, whether he wants to be with me or not, he can't just sacrifice his privacy so that he can be mine. I know he doesn't want to do that, and I would never ask him to."
"Yeah, yeah, we get it, you love him and all that," Nash said with a roll of his eyes. "Hey, Saito, can I smoke on the plane?"
Saito shrugged from his seat, never looking up from whatever paperwork he was reading. "I own the plane. I don't enforce the rules."
"Yes, you do," Yusuf scoffed.
Saito lifted his tumbler of scotch and shook it, signaling the flight attendant that he needed a refill.
"No smoking on the plane," the flight attendant informed Nash as she passed, pointing to the No Smoking signal and then proceeding to pour Saito another glass.
"Lame," Nash grimaced. "Anyway…" he turned back to Eames. "If Arthur really loved you back, wouldn't he be willing to do that for you?"
"Don't go questioning his loyalty just because he doesn't want his life to consist of running from paparazzi," Eames spat back.
"I didn't say that he didn't want to. Of course he doesn't want to. None of us do most of the time. I said he would be willing to do that. It's not the same thing."
Eames exhaled through his nose, staring but saying nothing for a long time.
Nash shrugged when he got no response. "I'm just saying is all. There are tons of things we all never want to do for the people we love, but the people we love are way more important than our dislike of whatever we don't want to do. Staying at someone's bedside in the hospital when you hate hospitals, for example, or you know ah-going to see a stupid chick flick just because she wants to see it, uh-holding bags at the mall, going to the mall in general, visiting the parents… stuff like that."
"I hardly think destroying any bit of privacy he ever had qualifies in that category. At least someone's getting something out of those sacrifices. Neither of us like being followed and chased by paparazzi."
"I guess you'll just have to teach him the techniques we all use to get around them without being seen-disguises, wild goose chases, travelling late at night, having security goons-well, you know, if he still wants you, that is."
Eames remembered why Nash was so easy to hate on but still refrained from saying anything incriminating. He didn't really have all that many people on his side at the moment, and the fact that, of all people, Nash liked Arthur and didn't seem to mind Eames's relationship with him (whether it was in the past or present) was something Eames should have been grateful for. So, he kept his silence.
"I don't know what Arthur is going to do… Hell, I don't even know if he'll speak to me. I guess if he doesn't, I'll already have my answer, but I would like the opportunity to explain myself at least," Eames sighed, carding his hands through his hair. "Even if he can't be with me, I do want to end this on… on good terms…"
"You don't want it to end," Yusuf said. "Don't say that you want it to end on good terms when you don't want it to end at all. You'll make a liar out of yourself, Eames."
"Thank you for that, Yusuf, you're extremely helpful," Eames responded in exasperation. Eames was looking forward to getting off the plane and away from the both of them. He'd been cooped up with them long enough, and he was starting to hate them.
"Enough," Saito said, raising his glass and his voice like a father talking to bickering children in the back seat of the car. "Why don't you all take some sleeping pills and a nap?"
"He started it," Nash grumbled, indicating Eames. "Don't blame me for him getting his underwear in a wad."
"Admittedly, his knickers being in a twist has a lot to do with you," Yusuf offered.
"Shut up, Yusuf! Nobody even asked you!" Nash spat. "You were laughing and playing along too so you're just as guilty."
"You're the one who fucked it all up though," Yusuf replied simply.
"You don't know that-and really it's Arthur's stupid fault for dumping Eames in the first place! If he hadn't done that, then he wouldn't have even had to make that dumbass phone call."
"He was only doing it to protect himself!" Eames interrupted. "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Nash!"
"Enough!" Saito said sternly.
All three of them fell into an uncomfortable almost silence. Yusuf shuffled his feet, and Eames licked his teeth, and Nash clicked and typed away on his laptop, and Saito tilted the drink back to his lips with a tinkle of ice against glass.
…and then Nash hit a button, and his laptop started blaring out "ALL BY MYSELF, DON'T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF…"
"I will fucking end you!" Eames shouted, struggling to get out of his seat to beat the wildly cackling Nash over the head with his laptop while Yusuf held him back. "Do you think you're fucking funny? You're nothing but a wanker!"
"Flight attendant, I'm going to need another drink," Saito said, lifting his glass. "Keep them coming. I don't remember ever having any children, but it certainly seems that I do… How much longer will we be on this flight for?"
"Approximately seven hours, sir," the flight attendant replied, pouring him another glass.
"You wouldn't happen to have any sedatives in the form of blow darts would you?" Saito asked flatly. "If I'd known this was going to happen, I would have booked a separate flight."
Ariadne fell asleep on Arthur's couch that night while he was practicing, and after she had, he really got to work. He started editing and cutting down, playing and replaying parts until they were flawless, listening to pop and rock and indie music while he ate or changed clothes or tried to straighten up the disarray that his apartment was slowly becoming as he got more and more engrossed.
There was not a moment that night that went without music.
There also was not a moment that went without Eames.
Eames, a ghost of him at least, lingered in every doorway, every corner, watching and waiting and egging Arthur on to continue working, to keep practicing until everything was absolutely as perfect as it was going to get. Sometimes Arthur was angry at the memory of Eames, sometimes brokenhearted, sometimes sweetly reminiscent of the good times and full of hope that things were going to be different…
…and sometimes Arthur would get caught up in horror over the idea that everything he was going to set out to accomplish in the morning. Arthur had always feared failure; it had been bred into him by his parents since day one… and there was a damned good chance that all of this was going to blow up in his face, in front of thousands of people, and if it did he would probably never recover from it…
…but…
…well…
He had to try, didn't he? What was the point of living without taking risks?
It was a marvel to Arthur that he was thinking that way after so many years of being the opposite. Good or bad, Eames had really done a number on Arthur's personality in the short time they'd known each other…
Hell, Eames had done a number on Arthur's everything. He'd changed his perspective, changed the way that he played, changed the way he thought about himself when he played, changed the fact that he had never been kissed, changed the fact that he'd been a virgin, changed the fact that he'd never been in love, changed the way he used to shut down, changed… everything…
…and Arthur didn't hate the change like he thought he would. He'd been somewhat reluctant (understatement) in his attempt to move away from his dark, lonely isolation and into Eames's arms, but even if Eames had fucked him over in the end, he'd done a lot of good for Arthur's life.
He knew this.
He accepted this.
…but God, he hoped and prayed that he hadn't been fucked over…
…and since when did he start believing in God anyway?
When he snapped awake, he was sprawled out in a bed of sheet music, clutching his violin to his chest, and sunshine was beaming across his eyelids. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it was seven in the morning.
He had to be at the concert in two hours.
So, he told himself in the mirror as he stripped down to shower, "I can do this… oh yeah, and fuck everybody else."
The words made him smile a little bit, even if they were a bit ridiculous. Everyone had their own ways of building self-esteem, he supposed.
He left with his violin case and a satchel of supplies, and he left the never disturbed Ariadne asleep on the couch with a note left on the coffee table with a front row ticket he'd reserved especially for her.
I'll be waiting for you at the concert, the note said in Arthur's elegant scrawl, You can count on it that this will be a concert you'll never forget. See you there. Don't be late.
He left it vague because he honestly had no idea which way it was going to go. It could be awesome or it could go up in flames. As much as he could hope it would be the former, he'd definitely prepared himself for the latter.
What he hadn't prepared himself for was the appearance of his parents in the audience, looking as agitated at the loud whoops and hollers of the crowd as he had surely looked back at the Radical Notion concert before all of this had started. Had he really looked quite that snotty? He couldn't help but wonder. Surely Eames had thought he was just horrendous if he looked like that. How could they have gotten anywhere near love when he'd looked like that?
Arthur had gone and distracted himself with thoughts of Eames again. The important thing at that moment was the fact that his mother and father were there. Why were they at the concert? They rarely came to anything he did, so why did they have to choose this one?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Mom, Dad, hi," Arthur greeted, forcing on a smile as they approached him. Oh, his plans were going out the window already… He couldn't talk to Eames with them there. They would find out, they would. They always seemed to just know when he was up to something they disapproved of. He was pretty sure fornicating with a very male rock star was pretty high up on the list, even if they weren't aware of it yet.
"Arthur," his father responded with a curt nod and shook his hand as if they were business partners rather than family.
"Arthur," his mother greeted in the same way and tacked on, "there are so many hooligans here today. I hardly think that this could be considered dignified. Did your professors not realize what they were getting themselves into when they allowed this… this satanic music to be played at the same concert as true, quality music?"
Arthur decided to not respond to that with any real answer, choosing instead to nod and shake his head at the same time. "Well, I've ah… I've got to go and-you know, go rehearse so-"
"Don't stammer, Arthur. It makes you sound like a fool," Arthur's father said.
"Sorry, sir," Arthur said. "I'm going to go rehearse now. Enjoy the show."
He didn't stay to see his parents exchange sneers, as if he had commanded they enjoy the show and now they were going to hate it just out of spite. Had he really been that much of an asshole just a few weeks ago?
Either way, he knew they weren't going to enjoy it. He was sure of that…
Fuck. Arthur was in the middle of a moral dilemma. There was absolutely no way that he was going to get out of this concert without ruining one aspect of his life, and while he knew which parts were more important to him, he still couldn't help but feel concerned about what the coming days were going to bring.
He ducked his head to avoid slamming his face into a sign, and as he did, he realized that the groups of people holding signs were protestors. Protestors for what? He paused a short distance away to read their signs, and it only took him a couple of moments to register that they were there for Eames. They were there to bash Eames for being a homosexual.
Things were really starting to spiral into disaster. All Arthur could do was stare at them for a long time and keep thinking that the whole universe must have had it out for them. Maybe being gay really was a sin.
Oh, well, too late to go back on it now.
"Arthur!"
Arthur was startled out of his daze by the calling of his name, and still his heart hammered against his chest with the little hope that it might be Eames. Of course, it wasn't because Eames wasn't stupid enough to go running up to Arthur in the middle of a crowd, especially in the middle of a crowd that included people who were currently waiting to get their hateful little mitts on him.
It was Robert, signaling him over where he was standing in a cluster of other students. "You're late, come on!" Robert called out, big blue eyes wide and lips thinned in frustration. He'd clearly been worrying about what Arthur had been up to, perhaps scared that he wouldn't show at all.
Arthur jogged over, mumbling little useless apologies, explaining that he was just having an audience with his parents, but of course he was going to get a scowl, but nothing more than a scowl out of Jacobson since Mal was there. She made eye contact with him as if trying to send him a mental message, but they clearly couldn't talk about whatever it was while everyone else was around.
Eames.
She wanted to talk about Eames, he knew it, he just knew it.
…but he didn't want to talk to her about Eames. He wanted to talk to Eames himself. He tried to relay as much mentally to her, hoping she'd understand that he wanted absolutely no opinions or theories clouding his judgment.
…well, none other than his own.
Robert passed Arthur the itinerary for the day and a program informing him of what order the bands would be performing in, all the while whispering, "Might be some bad news."
To top off the impending disaster stemming from the fact that his parents were there, that protestors were there, Arthur realized that Jacobson had cram-piled the orchestra and soloists with a completely full schedule, and Arthur was a part of all of it. There was literally not one minute where he could sneak away and talk to Eames about all that had gone on.
So, that was it then.
His chances were already blown.
Eames would probably be flying out as soon as the concert was over to avoid the paparazzi and the protestors, and Arthur would never get to talk to him, and probably never see him again. The show hadn't even started and he'd already failed.
So much for all of his planning and hard work.
Oddly enough (or perhaps not), he was much more distraught over the loss of Eames rather than the loss of his plan.
There was absolutely nothing he could do. Everything was failing and there was absolutely nothing that he could do.
Unless…
No, no, he couldn't. He couldn't.
…but he had to do something if he didn't want Eames to walk out of his life without ever having the chance to even give him a proper goodbye. He had to do something if he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in everlasting misery, spending all of his time wondering just what could have been if he'd gotten the chance, hating himself for not going through with it and hating himself for getting into this whole falling in love mess in the first place. He didn't want to spend an eternity wondering if he would ever be able to fall in love again, sprawled out alone in his bed and staring at the ceiling fan, forced into fantasies of nights long ago when he hadn't felt completely and utterly alone.
Just thinking about it made him feel sick. If he had to live like that, he probably would end up slashing his wrists in the bathtub to the tune of Mozart's Lacrymosa and waiting for someone from the photography club to come and find him there.
He couldn't live like that.
The feelings that Eames had erupted inside of his heart were worth every single little crack and break he'd given to the organ. To spend his time being unsure was no way to go on. He just couldn't do it. Having Ariadne and his music, it just wasn't enough anymore, and he'd learned that being a little selfish and a little weak wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. Vulnerability wasn't so bad when someone was there to accept it with open arms… even if it had been fake… but the longer he thought about Eames and himself, the less likely it seemed. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it, wanted to cling onto the idea that he'd meant every word he'd said, just like he'd proclaimed in Ariadne's car, but…
…Eames had spoken to him without words.
Eames had treated Arthur so preciously, tenderly touching him in just the right places like he'd been doing it to him for years. He'd started talking about them possibly having an actual relationship, rather than just sex, before Arthur had even been able to admit that he loved him. He'd been worried about him when he'd gone missing and kissed him even with vomit on his breath, smiled at him when he was a mess. He'd seen through all of the catastrophe that was Arthur, seen through all the hissy fits and the venomous words and the cold shoulders and the bullshit and found someone absolutely beautiful underneath, someone Arthur didn't even know existed.
…and that was an effort, Arthur was sure of that. Why would Eames go through that sort of effort for someone he didn't care about in the slightest? It just didn't make any sense for him to do all of that for absolutely no reason.
…and if Eames had had a boyfriend before but genuinely fallen in love with Arthur, who was he to stand aside and not fight for him?
Arthur had always been the kind of person to fight for what he wanted, whether it was his solos, his scholarships, or even the last piece of pie in the school cafeteria. He sure as hell could fight for Eames. He sure as hell would.
That settled it.
He had to do it, no matter the cost.
Just for safety's sake, he crossed himself and for good measure, prayed. He prayed to the God he had so long not believed in, apologizing for being so negligent and begging him to not let his life become nothing but a fucked up mess after this, to at least let one thing in his life go right for once… and then he apologized for using the word 'fucked' in a prayer, figuring that was a bit unprofessional of him, but after all, he was new at it.
There was only one way to go at this point. One beginning.
He only wished there weren't a million possible endings.
"You can do this," Arthur mumbled to himself.
He really hoped he was right.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,020
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Robert Fischer, Yusuf, Nash, Saito
Rating: PG-13(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Track Fourteen: Put Me Back Together
Everyone stared in an awed and surprised silence when Arthur showed up for the rehearsal on the S.O. S. stage on Friday, toting his violin as he always did. He tried to act like he hadn't been gone all week and that his peers hadn't last seen him leaving from the auditorium with blood on his face and fear in his chest, but it wasn't like any of them had forgotten that. Clearly, by the looks on their faces at least, they most definitely remembered.
Arthur felt even more uncomfortable when he realized Mal wasn't there, probably off doing an interview, but he took his seat just the same and prepared his violin to play.
There was no way Jacobson could badmouth his playing. He'd been practicing practically non-stop since Wednesday afternoon, and his worries about playing robotically were definitely not a problem anymore. If Eames had accomplished anything good in their relationship, it was giving Arthur a reason to play with emotion. Sure, everything seemed kind of angry or kind of sad, but it wasn't like the violin played the most joyful music anyway.
Arthur poured himself into his music, and he was surprised to find that the whole tortured artist thing actually had some merit to it after all. His playing was spot on. It was the only thing that could really make him smile.
Even Jacobson couldn't make a remark about his playing when he joined in with the rest of the orchestra. He felt as if he'd never played so brilliantly in his life. All Jacobson could even say was, "Nice of you to finally join us, Arthur," and that was all the bitterness Arthur got from him.
Knowing he needed to see Eames again was a surprising motivator to stay focused, and focus he did. He wanted to be at his absolute best. He wanted to prove that whether or not he'd been with Eames romantically, sexually, or otherwise, he was a damned good violinist and no one was going to tell him otherwise. He wasn't sure where the burst of confidence had come from, but he was determined to prove his worthiness, not only to Eames, but to himself. If Eames really had been stringing him along, the man was going to know just what he was missing out on.
He didn't stick around for questions after practice ended, instead going home to practice more.
Eames had been right about never being able to reach perfection, but Arthur was going to get as fucking close as he possibly could.
Ariadne apparently heard about his appearance because within the hour she was knocking on the door. He couldn't say that he was entirely surprised.
"I have been worried sick about you," she growled when he opened the door. "You bastard, how dare you go off the grid like that and leave me hanging? I thought we were friends!"
"I'm sorry-"
"No, fuck you! Don't say you're sorry because you're not sorry at all! If you were sorry, you wouldn't have fucking done it! You're a jerk. You're a giant, self-centered jerk."
"Are you done berating me yet or is there more to this rant with preferably meaner names to call me other than 'jerk'?" Arthur asked, and she huffed, signaling that she was finished.
"Are you okay?" she asked instead of continuing her rant, sounding defeated.
"I'm okay," Arthur said stepping aside to allow her in. "I'm… all right, I guess. I'm kind of just trying not to focus on how I'm feeling right now. I guess I just decided that numbness was better for the time being… but anyway…"
"You can't just go numb whenever you feel things, Arthur. That was part of your problem in the first place," Ariadne said, eyebrows furrowing as she took a seat on the sofa.
"It's not like that," Arthur explained, going back to his chair and taking a seat. "I'm not ignoring my emotions at all. I'm just not getting caught up in them right now because I need to focus on my music. I'm focusing them only on my music… trying to get a better handle on them or whatever…The show is tomorrow after all. Tomorrow is my one chance to talk to Eames and get all of this sorted out, and tomorrow is the day I move on with my life for certain."
"You're not going to try to win him back?" Ariadne asked.
"I broke up with him, Ariadne," Arthur said, lifting his violin to his chin and starting into a song. "If I was someone he hooked up with on the side or if he's found someone new, I don't really think it'll work out. I love him, and I know that, and if he wants to be with me then… well… I don't know… but I need to talk to him. I won't be able to get over all of this unless I do, and that's why I need to practice. I don't want to have to be practicing in the wings before each song. I want to be able to catch him and speak to him. I'm only hoping there's somewhere where we can talk privately, like a trailer or something. I didn't really have time to check to see this afternoon…"
"Well… what if he was lying to you?" Ariadne asked hesitantly. "What will you do then?"
"Move on. Sure, my heart will be broken, but I'll survive. I'm sure I'll eventually find someone else… I don't know how anyone could make me feel like…" he swallowed, stopping himself before he went down that road and got himself all torn up again. "…but really, it's all that I can do."
"Well, if he was fucking you over, I will never listen to Radical Notion ever again," Ariadne decided, crossing her arms and nodding. "Ever."
"Don't be stupid. You shouldn't hate on them just because of Eames. They are one of the few bands on the radio with genuinely good music. Besides… even if Eames was-even if… well… I ah…"
"You can't hate him," Ariadne finished for him, eyes gleaming a little, and Arthur feared for a moment she might cry.
"I never could," Arthur said sadly. "To claim that I never cared about him and that I hate his guts is not only counterproductive but denying how I felt. I can't deny those feelings. I've never felt something so strongly in my life."
"Stop, okay, just stop!" Ariadne wailed, and Arthur paused, confused until she said, "talking like that and playing that sad violin music is really, really bringing me down. I can't take it. If you're going to talk to me, stop playing. I hate it when you do that."
Arthur huffed but did stop. He didn't really want to make her any angrier than he already had. She really didn't deserve all the grief he'd been giving her, even if he'd had his reasons. "It's just… It's just the truth," he said softly.
She crossed to him and put her hand on his shoulder, the way Eames had done and gently said, "I know. I believe that, Arthur… but I don't want to see you hurt anymore. It's killing me, and you know how I worry about you."
"Don't worry about a thing, Ariadne," he said, glancing up at her. "I have a plan."
"Oh? What is this plan exactly?"
Arthur smiled a little and all he said was, "You'll see."
Eames was in misery.
It certainly didn't help that Nash had Maroon 5's Misery playing on his laptop while they sat in the private jet, making their way back from the U.K. to the S.O.S. concert.
"Are you trying to torture me?" Eames asked. "You've caused enough damage, after all."
Nash glared, pausing the music. "Okay, first of all, my playlists playing music you miserably relate to has nothing to do with me because it was just a coincidence, and second of all I already said I was sorry about all of that. How the fuck was I supposed to know that it was Arthur? I didn't even know he knew your number. Let it go, man. You'll see him at the concert, and you can explain everything and shit will be all hunky dory again. Fuck, I'll tell him myself that it was me."
"Keep talking like that and you'll start convincing everyone that you actually like Arthur," Yusuf mentioned idly, unceremoniously trimming at his beard, using his laptop screen as a mirror.
"I do like Arthur," Nash replied. "I like him a hell of a lot more than I like this showboating moron that blames for freaking everything." Nash squinted at Eames accusatorily.
Well, all right, Eames thought, maybe Nash had a little bit of a right to be snippy. Eames and Yusuf had encouraged him, and what were the odds that it would have been Arthur when reporters had been calling for what felt like an eternity? Sure, Nash was an asshole, and he was Eames's go to guy when it came to blaming people for things (and most of the time he had damned good reason to as well), but… this time…
Well, Eames could admit that the only reason he was blaming Nash was because he didn't want to think about how it was his fault. He already felt bad enough without Arthur around (he honestly had no idea how he'd gotten by without the guy before), and he could have quite possibly gone and made things horrendously worse and possibly unfixable.
Still, he wasn't going to apologize to Nash. His pride wouldn't allow him to do that, considering Nash had dared call him a showboater. He would let up on bitching at him though, if he could help it.
"Things aren't going to be all right," Eames explained to him, "this hunky dory nonsense… Whether Arthur knows it was a joke or not, whether he wants to be with me or not, he can't just sacrifice his privacy so that he can be mine. I know he doesn't want to do that, and I would never ask him to."
"Yeah, yeah, we get it, you love him and all that," Nash said with a roll of his eyes. "Hey, Saito, can I smoke on the plane?"
Saito shrugged from his seat, never looking up from whatever paperwork he was reading. "I own the plane. I don't enforce the rules."
"Yes, you do," Yusuf scoffed.
Saito lifted his tumbler of scotch and shook it, signaling the flight attendant that he needed a refill.
"No smoking on the plane," the flight attendant informed Nash as she passed, pointing to the No Smoking signal and then proceeding to pour Saito another glass.
"Lame," Nash grimaced. "Anyway…" he turned back to Eames. "If Arthur really loved you back, wouldn't he be willing to do that for you?"
"Don't go questioning his loyalty just because he doesn't want his life to consist of running from paparazzi," Eames spat back.
"I didn't say that he didn't want to. Of course he doesn't want to. None of us do most of the time. I said he would be willing to do that. It's not the same thing."
Eames exhaled through his nose, staring but saying nothing for a long time.
Nash shrugged when he got no response. "I'm just saying is all. There are tons of things we all never want to do for the people we love, but the people we love are way more important than our dislike of whatever we don't want to do. Staying at someone's bedside in the hospital when you hate hospitals, for example, or you know ah-going to see a stupid chick flick just because she wants to see it, uh-holding bags at the mall, going to the mall in general, visiting the parents… stuff like that."
"I hardly think destroying any bit of privacy he ever had qualifies in that category. At least someone's getting something out of those sacrifices. Neither of us like being followed and chased by paparazzi."
"I guess you'll just have to teach him the techniques we all use to get around them without being seen-disguises, wild goose chases, travelling late at night, having security goons-well, you know, if he still wants you, that is."
Eames remembered why Nash was so easy to hate on but still refrained from saying anything incriminating. He didn't really have all that many people on his side at the moment, and the fact that, of all people, Nash liked Arthur and didn't seem to mind Eames's relationship with him (whether it was in the past or present) was something Eames should have been grateful for. So, he kept his silence.
"I don't know what Arthur is going to do… Hell, I don't even know if he'll speak to me. I guess if he doesn't, I'll already have my answer, but I would like the opportunity to explain myself at least," Eames sighed, carding his hands through his hair. "Even if he can't be with me, I do want to end this on… on good terms…"
"You don't want it to end," Yusuf said. "Don't say that you want it to end on good terms when you don't want it to end at all. You'll make a liar out of yourself, Eames."
"Thank you for that, Yusuf, you're extremely helpful," Eames responded in exasperation. Eames was looking forward to getting off the plane and away from the both of them. He'd been cooped up with them long enough, and he was starting to hate them.
"Enough," Saito said, raising his glass and his voice like a father talking to bickering children in the back seat of the car. "Why don't you all take some sleeping pills and a nap?"
"He started it," Nash grumbled, indicating Eames. "Don't blame me for him getting his underwear in a wad."
"Admittedly, his knickers being in a twist has a lot to do with you," Yusuf offered.
"Shut up, Yusuf! Nobody even asked you!" Nash spat. "You were laughing and playing along too so you're just as guilty."
"You're the one who fucked it all up though," Yusuf replied simply.
"You don't know that-and really it's Arthur's stupid fault for dumping Eames in the first place! If he hadn't done that, then he wouldn't have even had to make that dumbass phone call."
"He was only doing it to protect himself!" Eames interrupted. "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Nash!"
"Enough!" Saito said sternly.
All three of them fell into an uncomfortable almost silence. Yusuf shuffled his feet, and Eames licked his teeth, and Nash clicked and typed away on his laptop, and Saito tilted the drink back to his lips with a tinkle of ice against glass.
…and then Nash hit a button, and his laptop started blaring out "ALL BY MYSELF, DON'T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF…"
"I will fucking end you!" Eames shouted, struggling to get out of his seat to beat the wildly cackling Nash over the head with his laptop while Yusuf held him back. "Do you think you're fucking funny? You're nothing but a wanker!"
"Flight attendant, I'm going to need another drink," Saito said, lifting his glass. "Keep them coming. I don't remember ever having any children, but it certainly seems that I do… How much longer will we be on this flight for?"
"Approximately seven hours, sir," the flight attendant replied, pouring him another glass.
"You wouldn't happen to have any sedatives in the form of blow darts would you?" Saito asked flatly. "If I'd known this was going to happen, I would have booked a separate flight."
Ariadne fell asleep on Arthur's couch that night while he was practicing, and after she had, he really got to work. He started editing and cutting down, playing and replaying parts until they were flawless, listening to pop and rock and indie music while he ate or changed clothes or tried to straighten up the disarray that his apartment was slowly becoming as he got more and more engrossed.
There was not a moment that night that went without music.
There also was not a moment that went without Eames.
Eames, a ghost of him at least, lingered in every doorway, every corner, watching and waiting and egging Arthur on to continue working, to keep practicing until everything was absolutely as perfect as it was going to get. Sometimes Arthur was angry at the memory of Eames, sometimes brokenhearted, sometimes sweetly reminiscent of the good times and full of hope that things were going to be different…
…and sometimes Arthur would get caught up in horror over the idea that everything he was going to set out to accomplish in the morning. Arthur had always feared failure; it had been bred into him by his parents since day one… and there was a damned good chance that all of this was going to blow up in his face, in front of thousands of people, and if it did he would probably never recover from it…
…but…
…well…
He had to try, didn't he? What was the point of living without taking risks?
It was a marvel to Arthur that he was thinking that way after so many years of being the opposite. Good or bad, Eames had really done a number on Arthur's personality in the short time they'd known each other…
Hell, Eames had done a number on Arthur's everything. He'd changed his perspective, changed the way that he played, changed the way he thought about himself when he played, changed the fact that he had never been kissed, changed the fact that he'd been a virgin, changed the fact that he'd never been in love, changed the way he used to shut down, changed… everything…
…and Arthur didn't hate the change like he thought he would. He'd been somewhat reluctant (understatement) in his attempt to move away from his dark, lonely isolation and into Eames's arms, but even if Eames had fucked him over in the end, he'd done a lot of good for Arthur's life.
He knew this.
He accepted this.
…but God, he hoped and prayed that he hadn't been fucked over…
…and since when did he start believing in God anyway?
When he snapped awake, he was sprawled out in a bed of sheet music, clutching his violin to his chest, and sunshine was beaming across his eyelids. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it was seven in the morning.
He had to be at the concert in two hours.
So, he told himself in the mirror as he stripped down to shower, "I can do this… oh yeah, and fuck everybody else."
The words made him smile a little bit, even if they were a bit ridiculous. Everyone had their own ways of building self-esteem, he supposed.
He left with his violin case and a satchel of supplies, and he left the never disturbed Ariadne asleep on the couch with a note left on the coffee table with a front row ticket he'd reserved especially for her.
I'll be waiting for you at the concert, the note said in Arthur's elegant scrawl, You can count on it that this will be a concert you'll never forget. See you there. Don't be late.
He left it vague because he honestly had no idea which way it was going to go. It could be awesome or it could go up in flames. As much as he could hope it would be the former, he'd definitely prepared himself for the latter.
What he hadn't prepared himself for was the appearance of his parents in the audience, looking as agitated at the loud whoops and hollers of the crowd as he had surely looked back at the Radical Notion concert before all of this had started. Had he really looked quite that snotty? He couldn't help but wonder. Surely Eames had thought he was just horrendous if he looked like that. How could they have gotten anywhere near love when he'd looked like that?
Arthur had gone and distracted himself with thoughts of Eames again. The important thing at that moment was the fact that his mother and father were there. Why were they at the concert? They rarely came to anything he did, so why did they have to choose this one?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Mom, Dad, hi," Arthur greeted, forcing on a smile as they approached him. Oh, his plans were going out the window already… He couldn't talk to Eames with them there. They would find out, they would. They always seemed to just know when he was up to something they disapproved of. He was pretty sure fornicating with a very male rock star was pretty high up on the list, even if they weren't aware of it yet.
"Arthur," his father responded with a curt nod and shook his hand as if they were business partners rather than family.
"Arthur," his mother greeted in the same way and tacked on, "there are so many hooligans here today. I hardly think that this could be considered dignified. Did your professors not realize what they were getting themselves into when they allowed this… this satanic music to be played at the same concert as true, quality music?"
Arthur decided to not respond to that with any real answer, choosing instead to nod and shake his head at the same time. "Well, I've ah… I've got to go and-you know, go rehearse so-"
"Don't stammer, Arthur. It makes you sound like a fool," Arthur's father said.
"Sorry, sir," Arthur said. "I'm going to go rehearse now. Enjoy the show."
He didn't stay to see his parents exchange sneers, as if he had commanded they enjoy the show and now they were going to hate it just out of spite. Had he really been that much of an asshole just a few weeks ago?
Either way, he knew they weren't going to enjoy it. He was sure of that…
Fuck. Arthur was in the middle of a moral dilemma. There was absolutely no way that he was going to get out of this concert without ruining one aspect of his life, and while he knew which parts were more important to him, he still couldn't help but feel concerned about what the coming days were going to bring.
He ducked his head to avoid slamming his face into a sign, and as he did, he realized that the groups of people holding signs were protestors. Protestors for what? He paused a short distance away to read their signs, and it only took him a couple of moments to register that they were there for Eames. They were there to bash Eames for being a homosexual.
Things were really starting to spiral into disaster. All Arthur could do was stare at them for a long time and keep thinking that the whole universe must have had it out for them. Maybe being gay really was a sin.
Oh, well, too late to go back on it now.
"Arthur!"
Arthur was startled out of his daze by the calling of his name, and still his heart hammered against his chest with the little hope that it might be Eames. Of course, it wasn't because Eames wasn't stupid enough to go running up to Arthur in the middle of a crowd, especially in the middle of a crowd that included people who were currently waiting to get their hateful little mitts on him.
It was Robert, signaling him over where he was standing in a cluster of other students. "You're late, come on!" Robert called out, big blue eyes wide and lips thinned in frustration. He'd clearly been worrying about what Arthur had been up to, perhaps scared that he wouldn't show at all.
Arthur jogged over, mumbling little useless apologies, explaining that he was just having an audience with his parents, but of course he was going to get a scowl, but nothing more than a scowl out of Jacobson since Mal was there. She made eye contact with him as if trying to send him a mental message, but they clearly couldn't talk about whatever it was while everyone else was around.
Eames.
She wanted to talk about Eames, he knew it, he just knew it.
…but he didn't want to talk to her about Eames. He wanted to talk to Eames himself. He tried to relay as much mentally to her, hoping she'd understand that he wanted absolutely no opinions or theories clouding his judgment.
…well, none other than his own.
Robert passed Arthur the itinerary for the day and a program informing him of what order the bands would be performing in, all the while whispering, "Might be some bad news."
To top off the impending disaster stemming from the fact that his parents were there, that protestors were there, Arthur realized that Jacobson had cram-piled the orchestra and soloists with a completely full schedule, and Arthur was a part of all of it. There was literally not one minute where he could sneak away and talk to Eames about all that had gone on.
So, that was it then.
His chances were already blown.
Eames would probably be flying out as soon as the concert was over to avoid the paparazzi and the protestors, and Arthur would never get to talk to him, and probably never see him again. The show hadn't even started and he'd already failed.
So much for all of his planning and hard work.
Oddly enough (or perhaps not), he was much more distraught over the loss of Eames rather than the loss of his plan.
There was absolutely nothing he could do. Everything was failing and there was absolutely nothing that he could do.
Unless…
No, no, he couldn't. He couldn't.
…but he had to do something if he didn't want Eames to walk out of his life without ever having the chance to even give him a proper goodbye. He had to do something if he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in everlasting misery, spending all of his time wondering just what could have been if he'd gotten the chance, hating himself for not going through with it and hating himself for getting into this whole falling in love mess in the first place. He didn't want to spend an eternity wondering if he would ever be able to fall in love again, sprawled out alone in his bed and staring at the ceiling fan, forced into fantasies of nights long ago when he hadn't felt completely and utterly alone.
Just thinking about it made him feel sick. If he had to live like that, he probably would end up slashing his wrists in the bathtub to the tune of Mozart's Lacrymosa and waiting for someone from the photography club to come and find him there.
He couldn't live like that.
The feelings that Eames had erupted inside of his heart were worth every single little crack and break he'd given to the organ. To spend his time being unsure was no way to go on. He just couldn't do it. Having Ariadne and his music, it just wasn't enough anymore, and he'd learned that being a little selfish and a little weak wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. Vulnerability wasn't so bad when someone was there to accept it with open arms… even if it had been fake… but the longer he thought about Eames and himself, the less likely it seemed. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it, wanted to cling onto the idea that he'd meant every word he'd said, just like he'd proclaimed in Ariadne's car, but…
…Eames had spoken to him without words.
Eames had treated Arthur so preciously, tenderly touching him in just the right places like he'd been doing it to him for years. He'd started talking about them possibly having an actual relationship, rather than just sex, before Arthur had even been able to admit that he loved him. He'd been worried about him when he'd gone missing and kissed him even with vomit on his breath, smiled at him when he was a mess. He'd seen through all of the catastrophe that was Arthur, seen through all the hissy fits and the venomous words and the cold shoulders and the bullshit and found someone absolutely beautiful underneath, someone Arthur didn't even know existed.
…and that was an effort, Arthur was sure of that. Why would Eames go through that sort of effort for someone he didn't care about in the slightest? It just didn't make any sense for him to do all of that for absolutely no reason.
…and if Eames had had a boyfriend before but genuinely fallen in love with Arthur, who was he to stand aside and not fight for him?
Arthur had always been the kind of person to fight for what he wanted, whether it was his solos, his scholarships, or even the last piece of pie in the school cafeteria. He sure as hell could fight for Eames. He sure as hell would.
That settled it.
He had to do it, no matter the cost.
Just for safety's sake, he crossed himself and for good measure, prayed. He prayed to the God he had so long not believed in, apologizing for being so negligent and begging him to not let his life become nothing but a fucked up mess after this, to at least let one thing in his life go right for once… and then he apologized for using the word 'fucked' in a prayer, figuring that was a bit unprofessional of him, but after all, he was new at it.
There was only one way to go at this point. One beginning.
He only wished there weren't a million possible endings.
"You can do this," Arthur mumbled to himself.
He really hoped he was right.