Inception - Pretend That You're Alone (7/11)
Title: Pretend That You're Alone (7/11)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,030
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames
Rating: R(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32)
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.
Part Seven
"Your friend seems nice," Arthur said as Eames unlocked the door to his home.
"He is nice… most of the time," Eames shrugged, shutting and locking the door. He turned to find Arthur shrugging out of his coat, leering at him as he did the same. "Is there a problem?"
"No," Arthur replied, hanging up his coat next to Eames's. "I just like the way that shirt fits you." He popped up on his tip-toes and pecked Eames on the lips and then sauntered to the settee and threw himself down on it, snagging up the book he'd left on the coffee table.
Eames stood there for a long moment, taking in what had just happened. Normally, he wouldn't have thought anything of it, not really, but Yusuf had mentioned his doe eyes. Yusuf had mentioned his doe eyes and Arthur had gone and done something oddly relationship-y. Eames really wasn't sure what to do with the information, so he tucked it away and joined Arthur on the couch.
"You enjoyed your breakfast then?" Eames asked.
"It was awesome," Arthur said contentedly, "but you haven't told me what got your friend Yusuf's panties in a wad."
"There's a lot of things you haven't told me either, if I may remind you," Eames replied. He couldn't just tell him that Yusuf had accused him of making doe eyes. Arthur would either laugh at him, or worse-confirm it. He didn't like being laughed at, but he most definitely didn't like the accusation that he had any feeling other than friendliness towards Arthur…
…even if it was completely obvious that friendliness was far from an accurate description of whatever it was they were doing. Eames had never really had many friends that were half his age, and he didn't generally tend to be very sensual with the friends he did have (the women he'd slept with in the past weren't people he was particularly close to, thinking back on it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to one of them at length).
So… what exactly were they?
Eames was concerned not only that Yusuf had questioned that, but he was definitely questioning it too. Despite the fact that he knew he absolutely couldn't (or at least shouldn't) have any other feelings for Arthur, there was definitely something going on beneath Eames's surface, something sparking between the spaces between the two of them.
He had a feeling that Arthur knew it too.
"What's with your face?"
"What?" Eames asked, coming out of his thoughts to lift an eyebrow at Arthur.
"Your face," Arthur said again. "It was like this." He proceeded to furrow his brows and frown deeply, and Eames couldn't help but snort and snigger at that.
"I certainly hope I wasn't looking so daft," Eames grinned.
"You were," Arthur replied, flipping a page in the book. "What's on your mind?"
"Oh… nothing," Eames said, shrugging, "just the students."
Arthur huffed, clapping his book shut. "You need to stop caring so much about them and start caring about yourself. Who cares if they fail? What's important is that you do your job and you do it to the best of your ability. If they refuse to do their jobs to the best of theirs, then it's their own fucking fault."
"My students are the proof of my abilities-"
"No. They're not. They're not." Arthur moved closer to Eames so he could look right into his eyes, and Eames couldn't understand why Arthur was taking this so serious. "The only thing that is proof of your ability is your own satisfaction at your work. You can half-ass a job and pretend you did it well, but in your gut you'll always know the truth. It's only when you know that you've done the absolute best that you can that you know you've succeeded."
"Well, what if I have been doing my best but I'm still not satisfied?" Eames countered.
Arthur sat back, digging out a cigarette. "Well, first, you've got to be honest with yourself and know for sure if you really have been doing your best. I can just about guarantee that you haven't been because you're so caught up in the fact that your students are failing that you've gone and failed yourself by caring too much about what they aren't doing."
He paused to light his cigarette and take his first puff. "Second," he continued, "if you do end up at the conclusion where you've done your best and you're still not happy, then you're in the wrong profession. You've got to do what makes you happy, right? That's what America's all about, right? The pursuit of happiness."
"You're barmy," Eames said.
"That's what you told Yusuf when he talked about me," Arthur said with a smirk, and Eames immediately wondered how much Arthur actually had read from their conversation. "Do you only hang out with lunatics, Mr. Eames?"
"Crazies tend to associate with other crazies I suppose," Eames sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I don't hear you denying your own insanity either, might I say."
"Oh, well, why should I?" Arthur asked, tilting his head back onto the back of the couch and blowing smoke into the air. "Who's to say I'm not crazy?"
"I would think you'd have an opinion on the matter, and probably a therapist as well."
Arthur's hand with the cigarette dropped to his lap, but he kept staring at the ceiling. "Do you think that I'm crazy?"
"Why would it matter if I did or not? Aren't I crazy too?"
"It matters to me."
"Well…" Eames snagged the cigarette from Arthur before it burned down to his fingers, taking a drag off of it before putting it out in the cup Eames had set out for him a few days ago. "I'd have to know you a bit better before I could accurately make that assumption."
Arthur leaned his head so that he could look at Eames. "You know me well enough to touch your dick, but you don't know me enough to tell me if I'm insane? You really are insane."
"You're sixteen, I'm thirty-two, and you're just now realizing this?"
Arthur lunged at him, and when their mouths connected Eames momentarily wondered why feeling this good was insane.
When Eames woke up, he was sprawled out on the couch with his shirt hiked up to his chest and his trousers and underpants pulled to his ankles. Arthur was gone.
He righted his clothing and got to his feet, hunting the place for the boy, but he was nowhere to be found. He had left the premises.
Without anything else to do, Eames locked himself in his office and started grading classwork. As he read over the students' work, he couldn't help but think about what Arthur had said about satisfaction on the job.
Yeah, it was bollocks; Arthur had the tendency to spout bollocks in order to get Eames over to his side… but he'd had a point. Eames really did spend all of his focus on his students. He half-assed his lesson plans and assignments, graded them haphazardly, gave up on them as soon as they made one mistake because he'd gotten so used to it. He really hadn't been bothering with his job because he just didn't care anymore…
No wonder his students hated him. They never had a chance.
If Eames wanted them to do better, he was going to have to show himself a little more respect and give a shit about what it was he was teaching. He'd been so upset at them for not caring about the pursuit of knowledge when he'd been breezing by just like the rest of them.
Well, fuck.
After Eames finished with the papers, he pulled out a moleskine and started writing down a new lesson plan. He wasn't sure why he hadn't bothered to try changing things up considering that used to be his methods for just about anything that wasn't working. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results was insanity.
Well, at least that solved the dilemma of whether he was crazy or not.
He was just leaving his office when he heard the front door slam shut.
"Arthur?" Eames called out, but just as he rounded the corner, Arthur shoved passed him and locked himself into the bathroom.
Eames knocked, but Arthur didn't answer, didn't open the door.
He stayed in there for the rest of the afternoon.
By suppertime, Arthur still hadn't come out of the bath, so Eames tried knocking again with the same result.
"Arthur," he said into the door. "You've got to come out of there sometime. What's wrong, darling?"
There was no response.
"All right, fine then, but I'm going to cook supper now. You can come out if you're hungry."
Eames made Mexican rice and chicken in the hopes that the strong scent of the spices would carry under the door to Arthur's nose and bring him out, though he had eaten a lot of breakfast and could probably hold out. He figured it was at least worth the effort.
He was halfway through his meal when Arthur emerged, looking as though he'd scrubbed his skin raw with soap, eyes dazed. Eames raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation, and surprisingly, Arthur gave one without even speaking.
When Arthur entered the kitchen and entered the light, Eames's eye was immediately drawn the dark bruising around Arthur's right eye, the purplish spot on the right side of his jaw, the dried blood crusted in his nose… "What happened to you?" Eames asked, instantly getting to his feet.
Arthur sniffed, averting his eyes. "Nothing… just a scuffle... Don't worry about it."
Eames crossed the kitchen in two strides, cupping Arthur's face gently with both hands. "It's not 'nothing'. Who the fuck did this to you?"
Arthur tried to turn his face away from Eames's hands, but eventually gave up when he realized Eames wasn't going to let him. "It was just… It was just this guy, all right? One of my 'customers' or whatever… He um… he wanted me to… to um… but he didn't have the cash, so I told him no, and he beat me up."
Eames sighed, moving one of his hands to run it through Arthur's hair a couple of times. "That's all he did?" Eames asked, concern lacing his voice.
Arthur swallowed thickly and nodded jerkily. "Don't be stupid," he mumbled.
Eames moved to the refrigerator and dug out a bag of frozen peas. "Here," he said, handing it to Arthur. "Hold that over your eye. It will help the swelling go down. Why didn't you just come to me? Why'd you go and lock yourself in the bath?"
Arthur pressed the bag of peas to his eye, wincing slightly. "I… was mad…" Arthur murmured, still not looking directly at Eames. "I didn't want to take it out on you because I thought that…"
"You thought I'd make you leave?"
Arthur hesitated just long enough before saying, "Yeah…" that Eames was convinced Arthur had something else in mind, but Eames wasn't going to press the matter for the moment.
"Go sit down," Eames said. "I'll fix you a plate, all right?"
Arthur hunched in his chair, still holding the bag over his eye, silent until Eames set the plate down. Arthur's hand leaped out and grabbed hold of Eames's fingers before he could move away, and he looked up at him with his good eye and said, "Eames… I… thanks for… just…
"Thanks."
Eames adjusted his hand so that he was holding Arthur's, rubbed his thumb over the knuckle that was slightly bruised (he must have retaliated) and said, "It was my pleasure, Arthur. I hate to see you in pain."
…and in that moment Eames almost thought Arthur would cry, but instead he just gave him a watery smile, moved his hand away, and started to eat. "This is really good," Arthur said, letting Eames card a hand through his hair as he went to take his seat again.
"There's plenty of it, so help yourself," Eames replied, digging his fork back into his own meal.
They sat there quietly for a few minutes, listening to the clinks of their dishes and silverware, to the sounds of each other's chewing. Eames couldn't stop looking at the dark bruise around Arthur's eye and the way his eyes were solemnly downcast at his plate as if he would burst into tears at any second. He wanted to say something to him, but he was afraid of the breakdown, afraid he'd be completely at a loss over what to do. He never did handle situations like that well.
…because, the thing was, Eames was very good at faking emotions, but he tended to avoid using the real ones very often. Emotions often led to baggage and baggage often led to trouble. Eames didn't want to get too close to someone because most of his relationships in life had gone down the path of utter destruction. His father had been married to his work and eventually stopped coming home at all and his mother had been an alcoholic. Eames wasn't even sure if he was his father's son since his mother had quite a few 'admirers' in the day. He couldn't trust them with his secrets and fears because they couldn't even trust themselves with their own well-being.
Friends in school had come and gone, but the only one he'd ever really gotten close to was Jules, and then Jules had up and left, barely remembering a 'take care' to Eames and the rest of his friends… like Eames was just like them. While Jules had been incredibly special to Eames, he had meant nearly nothing to Jules, merely another face to blend in with the sea of faces that were his mates. When Eames had realized it, it had been a devastating blow. To love someone who barely recognized his existence and to still feel his heart get stomped on when he left… it was too much to bear. He was an awkward, confused teenager who had just wanted some sort of affection, just one person, one person to understand what he was going through.
…but there wasn't anyone…
He shut down after that, only pulling at real emotions as inspirations for the acted out ones. He was still charming and charismatic, which led to him meeting Yusuf in the university and also led him into the exciting world of being an adult. He'd drank and experimented with a couple of drugs (nothing with too terrible a reputation of course), had sex with dozens of women whose faces he could no longer recall through the haze… and he'd thought then that the slightly lessened emptiness in his chest was the happiness he was looking for, but when he would crawl into bed in his dormitory alone, the sinking feeling was still there, growing deeper and deeper every time. Like a drug, he craved more of it and yet got less satisfaction. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth the effort.
When he started teaching, the black pit in his heart slackened quite substantially. He found himself excited to be alive again, enthused by the incentive of his students' thirst for knowledge. He may not have felt happy, but he felt appreciated and that was the closest to true happiness he had ever come. When the enthusiasm gradually faded, so did that feeling of appreciation, of pride, of accomplishment…
…and there was the hole again, deeper and hollowed out than ever.
…and then Arthur…
"I sort of… hoped you'd be here. It's nice to have someone who doesn't just pass me off as completely invisible."
"Man, how can any of your students not think you're cool?"
"Am I worth the effort?"
"Don't you ever get lonely?"
"You don't have anyone in the whole world and neither do I. I don't believe in 'destiny' or any kind of shit like that, but maybe you and I found each other because we need each other. So what if I'm a teenager? So what if people can't know? What's so wrong with having someone to go to at the end of the day? To like… I don't know, let out your frustrations on so you can fucking sleep at night?"
"If you need somebody in your life, I can be that person."
"It's really all I've got to offer."
"Sometimes I feel like I've been lonely my whole life."
Arthur understood him…
…and Arthur filled in that chasm inside him… almost like he fit perfect and snug right there… It wasn't the sex or the blow jobs or the dirty words or the way Arthur told him to use him. It was the crinkle in his eyes and the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, the way he was happy to see him when he returned from work, the way his laugh was charming even when he was being a brat, the way he was smart and clever and silly…
…the way that… even when the entire world seemed to be trying to tear him to shreds, to shit on his dignity and piss all over his hopes… Arthur still had a reason to smile…
…and had given Eames a reason to.
Thinking about it, Eames was no longer surprised by the idea that he'd been giving the boy doe-eyed looks.
Arthur stood, taking Eames's empty plate with his to the sink and setting them down with a quiet clunk. "I'm sorry that I… locked myself in the bathroom. You might have needed to use it," he said quietly.
"Let's just not let it happen again," Eames assured, him, snaking an arm around his neck and leading him back to the bedroom. "If you're upset, you don't have to be afraid to come to me, all right? I'll take care of you. Get into bed, all right? Tomorrow we'll go see a film or something to get your mind off of that wanker who hit you."
"Aren't we going to-" Arthur started, but Eames interrupted.
"No, no, of course not," Eames said, tossing him one of Eames's own shirts to sleep in. "I've already told you that you don't have to. I've been telling you so since the beginning."
Arthur nodded slowly and tugged his shirt over his head. He had purple and green and yellow bruises and awful scrapes across his chest too, as though he'd been shoved into a wall or something. "I wouldn't mind…" Arthur said so softly that Eames almost didn't hear it, "I wouldn't mind if it was you."
"…what?" Eames asked because he certainly must have misheard him.
"You know how some people are all about being tied up and gagged and talked to like a bitch?" Arthur asked, gingerly sitting on the bed to remove his shoes.
"Um… yes," Eames said, snorting as he undressed as well. "Why?"
"You know… most people think it's all fucked up and crazy. People think there's something wrong with those people… but I was thinking about it today, and you know, I think it's actually kind of almost romantic, don't you think?"
"Not really sure why you would think that," Eames replied, flopping down onto his side of the bed. "Bondage doesn't really sound very romantic to me. It would feel like being held prisoner, I'd imagine."
"Well, yeah, if you just look at it at a strictly surface value, it totally looks like that, but… well… think about it…" Arthur said, dropping his jeans and kicking them into the corner along with his underwear, digging out a clean pair from the drawer. "Letting somebody take complete control over you, allowing that person to see you completely and utterly vulnerable… that takes an unbelievable amount of trust and affection… I mean, allowing someone to touch you that way, to trust that they won't hurt you any more than you want to be hurt… that's something special. That takes closeness."
Arthur crawled under the sheets, snuggling up next to Eames for warmth.
"What on earth even made you think of that kind of stuff?" Eames asked curiously.
"I was walking by one of those sex shops earlier, saw some of the stuff in the window."
"So… what, you're into S&M now?" Eames chuckled.
"No," Arthur replied. "I would never submit myself to anyone. I don't trust anyone enough to do that. I was just thinking it was surprising that there were people who could do that."
"Mm," Eames replied vaguely. "You don't trust anyone at all."
"No one's given me any reason to."
Silence.
"…but… but if I were to trust anyone… you'd come the closest."
"Is that so?" Eames asked, adjusting Arthur's shirt back onto his shoulder. "What would I have to do to get you to actually trust me, I wonder?"
"Oh, I don't know, let me tie you up and beat you?" Arthur teased, smacking Eames's chest playfully.
Eames laughed too, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head. "I don't know, perhaps we could give it a go. I've been discovering all kinds of surprising things about my sexuality lately."
"It's kind of depressing that I'm the one teaching you how to master the art of sex, you know," Arthur chuckled. "Shouldn't you be the one teaching me?"
"There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about that," Eames admitted quietly. "I worry about you, you know?"
"I don't know why."
"…because… Well, because you give me reason to all the time. I just want you taken care of, darling. There isn't anything wrong with that, is there?"
"Well… yeah, actually, there is," Arthur said, sitting up on his elbow. "I mean… I'm not your son or your ward. I'm not your boyfriend or your student… I'm just… Arthur. I'm just this random kid you met in the park, and now you've gone and done all this nice stuff for me, and all I've done in return is suck your cock, and you didn't even want me to do that. Not that I mind all the attention or the help, but… I guess I just don't understand why."
Eames chewed on his bottom lip, hunting for the right words, but all he could come up with was, "…because… because you were right about me… I'm lonely, and… and when you're around, it's not quite so bad. I feel… useful, important… wanted, really… When you're around, I don't feel invisible either."
"Oh," Arthur whispered.
Eames hadn't realized just how personal that statement was until he saw Arthur's expression. He feared he might have revealed too much and scared the boy (it was certainly terrifying for himself)… but then Arthur just sank down next to him again, pressing himself as impossibly close to Eames as he possibly could.
"No one's ever said anything like that to me before," Arthur murmured.
Eames was pretty sure no one had really told Arthur that they loved him before and meant it either, but Eames wasn't about to go and do that…
…even if it very well could have been true…
Eames wasn't about to go and say something regrettable and really freak the boy out. After all, Arthur didn't seem too terribly capable of trust, much less love. Besides, Eames wasn't positive that love was even what he was feeling. He'd never really and truthfully been in love before, and it just didn't seem possible for him to fall for the very bratty, very young homeless male prostitute.
That just wouldn't do.
Still, he did wonder just what the feeling in his heart was when he had the boy pressed against him. It was warm and sweet and calming and… and it most definitely filled up that void in his heart. He wouldn't go jumping to any conclusions, even if he had never felt quite this way before.
Right now, everything was fine.
Saying something, changing something… that would only inevitably lead to disaster…
…even if Arthur already was a disaster.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 4,030
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames
Rating: R(this part)
Warnings: language, underage, age difference (16/32)
Summary: AU. Eames is a burned out university professor who goes to the park for lunch to get away from the chaos of his life. There he meets 16-year-old Arthur and begins to befriend him for his ability to have an intelligent conversation with him. When he discovers the boy is homeless, he decides to take care of him, but things with Arthur get more complicated than he could ever expect.
Part Seven
"Your friend seems nice," Arthur said as Eames unlocked the door to his home.
"He is nice… most of the time," Eames shrugged, shutting and locking the door. He turned to find Arthur shrugging out of his coat, leering at him as he did the same. "Is there a problem?"
"No," Arthur replied, hanging up his coat next to Eames's. "I just like the way that shirt fits you." He popped up on his tip-toes and pecked Eames on the lips and then sauntered to the settee and threw himself down on it, snagging up the book he'd left on the coffee table.
Eames stood there for a long moment, taking in what had just happened. Normally, he wouldn't have thought anything of it, not really, but Yusuf had mentioned his doe eyes. Yusuf had mentioned his doe eyes and Arthur had gone and done something oddly relationship-y. Eames really wasn't sure what to do with the information, so he tucked it away and joined Arthur on the couch.
"You enjoyed your breakfast then?" Eames asked.
"It was awesome," Arthur said contentedly, "but you haven't told me what got your friend Yusuf's panties in a wad."
"There's a lot of things you haven't told me either, if I may remind you," Eames replied. He couldn't just tell him that Yusuf had accused him of making doe eyes. Arthur would either laugh at him, or worse-confirm it. He didn't like being laughed at, but he most definitely didn't like the accusation that he had any feeling other than friendliness towards Arthur…
…even if it was completely obvious that friendliness was far from an accurate description of whatever it was they were doing. Eames had never really had many friends that were half his age, and he didn't generally tend to be very sensual with the friends he did have (the women he'd slept with in the past weren't people he was particularly close to, thinking back on it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to one of them at length).
So… what exactly were they?
Eames was concerned not only that Yusuf had questioned that, but he was definitely questioning it too. Despite the fact that he knew he absolutely couldn't (or at least shouldn't) have any other feelings for Arthur, there was definitely something going on beneath Eames's surface, something sparking between the spaces between the two of them.
He had a feeling that Arthur knew it too.
"What's with your face?"
"What?" Eames asked, coming out of his thoughts to lift an eyebrow at Arthur.
"Your face," Arthur said again. "It was like this." He proceeded to furrow his brows and frown deeply, and Eames couldn't help but snort and snigger at that.
"I certainly hope I wasn't looking so daft," Eames grinned.
"You were," Arthur replied, flipping a page in the book. "What's on your mind?"
"Oh… nothing," Eames said, shrugging, "just the students."
Arthur huffed, clapping his book shut. "You need to stop caring so much about them and start caring about yourself. Who cares if they fail? What's important is that you do your job and you do it to the best of your ability. If they refuse to do their jobs to the best of theirs, then it's their own fucking fault."
"My students are the proof of my abilities-"
"No. They're not. They're not." Arthur moved closer to Eames so he could look right into his eyes, and Eames couldn't understand why Arthur was taking this so serious. "The only thing that is proof of your ability is your own satisfaction at your work. You can half-ass a job and pretend you did it well, but in your gut you'll always know the truth. It's only when you know that you've done the absolute best that you can that you know you've succeeded."
"Well, what if I have been doing my best but I'm still not satisfied?" Eames countered.
Arthur sat back, digging out a cigarette. "Well, first, you've got to be honest with yourself and know for sure if you really have been doing your best. I can just about guarantee that you haven't been because you're so caught up in the fact that your students are failing that you've gone and failed yourself by caring too much about what they aren't doing."
He paused to light his cigarette and take his first puff. "Second," he continued, "if you do end up at the conclusion where you've done your best and you're still not happy, then you're in the wrong profession. You've got to do what makes you happy, right? That's what America's all about, right? The pursuit of happiness."
"You're barmy," Eames said.
"That's what you told Yusuf when he talked about me," Arthur said with a smirk, and Eames immediately wondered how much Arthur actually had read from their conversation. "Do you only hang out with lunatics, Mr. Eames?"
"Crazies tend to associate with other crazies I suppose," Eames sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I don't hear you denying your own insanity either, might I say."
"Oh, well, why should I?" Arthur asked, tilting his head back onto the back of the couch and blowing smoke into the air. "Who's to say I'm not crazy?"
"I would think you'd have an opinion on the matter, and probably a therapist as well."
Arthur's hand with the cigarette dropped to his lap, but he kept staring at the ceiling. "Do you think that I'm crazy?"
"Why would it matter if I did or not? Aren't I crazy too?"
"It matters to me."
"Well…" Eames snagged the cigarette from Arthur before it burned down to his fingers, taking a drag off of it before putting it out in the cup Eames had set out for him a few days ago. "I'd have to know you a bit better before I could accurately make that assumption."
Arthur leaned his head so that he could look at Eames. "You know me well enough to touch your dick, but you don't know me enough to tell me if I'm insane? You really are insane."
"You're sixteen, I'm thirty-two, and you're just now realizing this?"
Arthur lunged at him, and when their mouths connected Eames momentarily wondered why feeling this good was insane.
When Eames woke up, he was sprawled out on the couch with his shirt hiked up to his chest and his trousers and underpants pulled to his ankles. Arthur was gone.
He righted his clothing and got to his feet, hunting the place for the boy, but he was nowhere to be found. He had left the premises.
Without anything else to do, Eames locked himself in his office and started grading classwork. As he read over the students' work, he couldn't help but think about what Arthur had said about satisfaction on the job.
Yeah, it was bollocks; Arthur had the tendency to spout bollocks in order to get Eames over to his side… but he'd had a point. Eames really did spend all of his focus on his students. He half-assed his lesson plans and assignments, graded them haphazardly, gave up on them as soon as they made one mistake because he'd gotten so used to it. He really hadn't been bothering with his job because he just didn't care anymore…
No wonder his students hated him. They never had a chance.
If Eames wanted them to do better, he was going to have to show himself a little more respect and give a shit about what it was he was teaching. He'd been so upset at them for not caring about the pursuit of knowledge when he'd been breezing by just like the rest of them.
Well, fuck.
After Eames finished with the papers, he pulled out a moleskine and started writing down a new lesson plan. He wasn't sure why he hadn't bothered to try changing things up considering that used to be his methods for just about anything that wasn't working. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results was insanity.
Well, at least that solved the dilemma of whether he was crazy or not.
He was just leaving his office when he heard the front door slam shut.
"Arthur?" Eames called out, but just as he rounded the corner, Arthur shoved passed him and locked himself into the bathroom.
Eames knocked, but Arthur didn't answer, didn't open the door.
He stayed in there for the rest of the afternoon.
By suppertime, Arthur still hadn't come out of the bath, so Eames tried knocking again with the same result.
"Arthur," he said into the door. "You've got to come out of there sometime. What's wrong, darling?"
There was no response.
"All right, fine then, but I'm going to cook supper now. You can come out if you're hungry."
Eames made Mexican rice and chicken in the hopes that the strong scent of the spices would carry under the door to Arthur's nose and bring him out, though he had eaten a lot of breakfast and could probably hold out. He figured it was at least worth the effort.
He was halfway through his meal when Arthur emerged, looking as though he'd scrubbed his skin raw with soap, eyes dazed. Eames raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation, and surprisingly, Arthur gave one without even speaking.
When Arthur entered the kitchen and entered the light, Eames's eye was immediately drawn the dark bruising around Arthur's right eye, the purplish spot on the right side of his jaw, the dried blood crusted in his nose… "What happened to you?" Eames asked, instantly getting to his feet.
Arthur sniffed, averting his eyes. "Nothing… just a scuffle... Don't worry about it."
Eames crossed the kitchen in two strides, cupping Arthur's face gently with both hands. "It's not 'nothing'. Who the fuck did this to you?"
Arthur tried to turn his face away from Eames's hands, but eventually gave up when he realized Eames wasn't going to let him. "It was just… It was just this guy, all right? One of my 'customers' or whatever… He um… he wanted me to… to um… but he didn't have the cash, so I told him no, and he beat me up."
Eames sighed, moving one of his hands to run it through Arthur's hair a couple of times. "That's all he did?" Eames asked, concern lacing his voice.
Arthur swallowed thickly and nodded jerkily. "Don't be stupid," he mumbled.
Eames moved to the refrigerator and dug out a bag of frozen peas. "Here," he said, handing it to Arthur. "Hold that over your eye. It will help the swelling go down. Why didn't you just come to me? Why'd you go and lock yourself in the bath?"
Arthur pressed the bag of peas to his eye, wincing slightly. "I… was mad…" Arthur murmured, still not looking directly at Eames. "I didn't want to take it out on you because I thought that…"
"You thought I'd make you leave?"
Arthur hesitated just long enough before saying, "Yeah…" that Eames was convinced Arthur had something else in mind, but Eames wasn't going to press the matter for the moment.
"Go sit down," Eames said. "I'll fix you a plate, all right?"
Arthur hunched in his chair, still holding the bag over his eye, silent until Eames set the plate down. Arthur's hand leaped out and grabbed hold of Eames's fingers before he could move away, and he looked up at him with his good eye and said, "Eames… I… thanks for… just…
"Thanks."
Eames adjusted his hand so that he was holding Arthur's, rubbed his thumb over the knuckle that was slightly bruised (he must have retaliated) and said, "It was my pleasure, Arthur. I hate to see you in pain."
…and in that moment Eames almost thought Arthur would cry, but instead he just gave him a watery smile, moved his hand away, and started to eat. "This is really good," Arthur said, letting Eames card a hand through his hair as he went to take his seat again.
"There's plenty of it, so help yourself," Eames replied, digging his fork back into his own meal.
They sat there quietly for a few minutes, listening to the clinks of their dishes and silverware, to the sounds of each other's chewing. Eames couldn't stop looking at the dark bruise around Arthur's eye and the way his eyes were solemnly downcast at his plate as if he would burst into tears at any second. He wanted to say something to him, but he was afraid of the breakdown, afraid he'd be completely at a loss over what to do. He never did handle situations like that well.
…because, the thing was, Eames was very good at faking emotions, but he tended to avoid using the real ones very often. Emotions often led to baggage and baggage often led to trouble. Eames didn't want to get too close to someone because most of his relationships in life had gone down the path of utter destruction. His father had been married to his work and eventually stopped coming home at all and his mother had been an alcoholic. Eames wasn't even sure if he was his father's son since his mother had quite a few 'admirers' in the day. He couldn't trust them with his secrets and fears because they couldn't even trust themselves with their own well-being.
Friends in school had come and gone, but the only one he'd ever really gotten close to was Jules, and then Jules had up and left, barely remembering a 'take care' to Eames and the rest of his friends… like Eames was just like them. While Jules had been incredibly special to Eames, he had meant nearly nothing to Jules, merely another face to blend in with the sea of faces that were his mates. When Eames had realized it, it had been a devastating blow. To love someone who barely recognized his existence and to still feel his heart get stomped on when he left… it was too much to bear. He was an awkward, confused teenager who had just wanted some sort of affection, just one person, one person to understand what he was going through.
…but there wasn't anyone…
He shut down after that, only pulling at real emotions as inspirations for the acted out ones. He was still charming and charismatic, which led to him meeting Yusuf in the university and also led him into the exciting world of being an adult. He'd drank and experimented with a couple of drugs (nothing with too terrible a reputation of course), had sex with dozens of women whose faces he could no longer recall through the haze… and he'd thought then that the slightly lessened emptiness in his chest was the happiness he was looking for, but when he would crawl into bed in his dormitory alone, the sinking feeling was still there, growing deeper and deeper every time. Like a drug, he craved more of it and yet got less satisfaction. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth the effort.
When he started teaching, the black pit in his heart slackened quite substantially. He found himself excited to be alive again, enthused by the incentive of his students' thirst for knowledge. He may not have felt happy, but he felt appreciated and that was the closest to true happiness he had ever come. When the enthusiasm gradually faded, so did that feeling of appreciation, of pride, of accomplishment…
…and there was the hole again, deeper and hollowed out than ever.
…and then Arthur…
"I sort of… hoped you'd be here. It's nice to have someone who doesn't just pass me off as completely invisible."
"Man, how can any of your students not think you're cool?"
"Am I worth the effort?"
"Don't you ever get lonely?"
"You don't have anyone in the whole world and neither do I. I don't believe in 'destiny' or any kind of shit like that, but maybe you and I found each other because we need each other. So what if I'm a teenager? So what if people can't know? What's so wrong with having someone to go to at the end of the day? To like… I don't know, let out your frustrations on so you can fucking sleep at night?"
"If you need somebody in your life, I can be that person."
"It's really all I've got to offer."
"Sometimes I feel like I've been lonely my whole life."
Arthur understood him…
…and Arthur filled in that chasm inside him… almost like he fit perfect and snug right there… It wasn't the sex or the blow jobs or the dirty words or the way Arthur told him to use him. It was the crinkle in his eyes and the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, the way he was happy to see him when he returned from work, the way his laugh was charming even when he was being a brat, the way he was smart and clever and silly…
…the way that… even when the entire world seemed to be trying to tear him to shreds, to shit on his dignity and piss all over his hopes… Arthur still had a reason to smile…
…and had given Eames a reason to.
Thinking about it, Eames was no longer surprised by the idea that he'd been giving the boy doe-eyed looks.
Arthur stood, taking Eames's empty plate with his to the sink and setting them down with a quiet clunk. "I'm sorry that I… locked myself in the bathroom. You might have needed to use it," he said quietly.
"Let's just not let it happen again," Eames assured, him, snaking an arm around his neck and leading him back to the bedroom. "If you're upset, you don't have to be afraid to come to me, all right? I'll take care of you. Get into bed, all right? Tomorrow we'll go see a film or something to get your mind off of that wanker who hit you."
"Aren't we going to-" Arthur started, but Eames interrupted.
"No, no, of course not," Eames said, tossing him one of Eames's own shirts to sleep in. "I've already told you that you don't have to. I've been telling you so since the beginning."
Arthur nodded slowly and tugged his shirt over his head. He had purple and green and yellow bruises and awful scrapes across his chest too, as though he'd been shoved into a wall or something. "I wouldn't mind…" Arthur said so softly that Eames almost didn't hear it, "I wouldn't mind if it was you."
"…what?" Eames asked because he certainly must have misheard him.
"You know how some people are all about being tied up and gagged and talked to like a bitch?" Arthur asked, gingerly sitting on the bed to remove his shoes.
"Um… yes," Eames said, snorting as he undressed as well. "Why?"
"You know… most people think it's all fucked up and crazy. People think there's something wrong with those people… but I was thinking about it today, and you know, I think it's actually kind of almost romantic, don't you think?"
"Not really sure why you would think that," Eames replied, flopping down onto his side of the bed. "Bondage doesn't really sound very romantic to me. It would feel like being held prisoner, I'd imagine."
"Well, yeah, if you just look at it at a strictly surface value, it totally looks like that, but… well… think about it…" Arthur said, dropping his jeans and kicking them into the corner along with his underwear, digging out a clean pair from the drawer. "Letting somebody take complete control over you, allowing that person to see you completely and utterly vulnerable… that takes an unbelievable amount of trust and affection… I mean, allowing someone to touch you that way, to trust that they won't hurt you any more than you want to be hurt… that's something special. That takes closeness."
Arthur crawled under the sheets, snuggling up next to Eames for warmth.
"What on earth even made you think of that kind of stuff?" Eames asked curiously.
"I was walking by one of those sex shops earlier, saw some of the stuff in the window."
"So… what, you're into S&M now?" Eames chuckled.
"No," Arthur replied. "I would never submit myself to anyone. I don't trust anyone enough to do that. I was just thinking it was surprising that there were people who could do that."
"Mm," Eames replied vaguely. "You don't trust anyone at all."
"No one's given me any reason to."
Silence.
"…but… but if I were to trust anyone… you'd come the closest."
"Is that so?" Eames asked, adjusting Arthur's shirt back onto his shoulder. "What would I have to do to get you to actually trust me, I wonder?"
"Oh, I don't know, let me tie you up and beat you?" Arthur teased, smacking Eames's chest playfully.
Eames laughed too, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head. "I don't know, perhaps we could give it a go. I've been discovering all kinds of surprising things about my sexuality lately."
"It's kind of depressing that I'm the one teaching you how to master the art of sex, you know," Arthur chuckled. "Shouldn't you be the one teaching me?"
"There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about that," Eames admitted quietly. "I worry about you, you know?"
"I don't know why."
"…because… Well, because you give me reason to all the time. I just want you taken care of, darling. There isn't anything wrong with that, is there?"
"Well… yeah, actually, there is," Arthur said, sitting up on his elbow. "I mean… I'm not your son or your ward. I'm not your boyfriend or your student… I'm just… Arthur. I'm just this random kid you met in the park, and now you've gone and done all this nice stuff for me, and all I've done in return is suck your cock, and you didn't even want me to do that. Not that I mind all the attention or the help, but… I guess I just don't understand why."
Eames chewed on his bottom lip, hunting for the right words, but all he could come up with was, "…because… because you were right about me… I'm lonely, and… and when you're around, it's not quite so bad. I feel… useful, important… wanted, really… When you're around, I don't feel invisible either."
"Oh," Arthur whispered.
Eames hadn't realized just how personal that statement was until he saw Arthur's expression. He feared he might have revealed too much and scared the boy (it was certainly terrifying for himself)… but then Arthur just sank down next to him again, pressing himself as impossibly close to Eames as he possibly could.
"No one's ever said anything like that to me before," Arthur murmured.
Eames was pretty sure no one had really told Arthur that they loved him before and meant it either, but Eames wasn't about to go and do that…
…even if it very well could have been true…
Eames wasn't about to go and say something regrettable and really freak the boy out. After all, Arthur didn't seem too terribly capable of trust, much less love. Besides, Eames wasn't positive that love was even what he was feeling. He'd never really and truthfully been in love before, and it just didn't seem possible for him to fall for the very bratty, very young homeless male prostitute.
That just wouldn't do.
Still, he did wonder just what the feeling in his heart was when he had the boy pressed against him. It was warm and sweet and calming and… and it most definitely filled up that void in his heart. He wouldn't go jumping to any conclusions, even if he had never felt quite this way before.
Right now, everything was fine.
Saying something, changing something… that would only inevitably lead to disaster…
…even if Arthur already was a disaster.