Everything's Okay

Eames

September. Arthur first kisses him at band practice one afternoon. Casual, like that's just what they do. Like it's natural. Normal. Everyday. Eames thinks, I could get used to kissing you every day, and kisses him back. Because loving someone is all the more wonderful when they love you too.

Ari hangs around after band practice. They sit on the back doorstep outside, drinking coffee.

"So you and Arthur, huh?" she says.

"Er, yeah. That happened."

"Of course, I called it first. The way you looked at him when you met. Like…"

"Like what?"

"Like you couldn't take your eyes off him."

Eames smiles.

"I still can't."

Ari smiles, then stops.

"You know he… he's not always okay. Well. Before you came, our drummer was this guy called Nash. Dom's friend. Bit of a waster really. You know, drugs and that. But he and Arthur… I don't really know what happened. But he didn't treat Arthur right. He hurt him. And I don't want that. Not for Arthur. So just… be careful with him. Take it one step at a time."

Eames nods.

"I'll go slow. It's fine. I've got all the time in the world to woo him."

October. As it turns out, he doesn't.

Here is the way things should be: hardly changed at all. The Dream Workers still practising in Eames' garage, playing Keane and First Aid Kit and Coldplay. Still tramping about college in ripped jeans and old Converses and tired Kasabian t-shirts, wearing their V Fest wristbands. Eames still hanging about the basketball court with his mates at lunchtime. But with some changes. With Arthur kissing Eames hello when he comes round for band practice. With them tramping around college together, Eames holding Arthur's hand, or draping his arm round his shoulders, or threading his arm through Arthur's. With Arthur coming to the basketball court and putting his fingers through the wire fencing and Eames coming out to kiss him, giving his mates the finger when they wolfwhistle. Things should be the same, but different. Better. But it's not the way things are.

Because this is the way things are: changed completely. It's Imran Ali's fault. He's in lower sixth, he's angry, he's ignorant. He picks a fight with Eames.

"Alright, gayboy?" he says.

"Fucking brilliant," says Eames, and punches him square in the jaw.

They fight. Before long, everyone's piling in – Imran's mates against Eames'. Eames doesn't know he has a knife until Imran's on the ground, his blood seeping out across the tarmac. And then he doesn't know what's happening anymore.

They tell him he's lucky Imran wasn't much hurt. They tell him he's lucky Imran isn't going to press charges. They tell him he's lucky he's not going to prison for this. But he doesn't feel lucky at all. He gets expelled, of course. Again.

His parents want him to finish his A-Levels. There's a place he can go. It's hopelessly far away. He's expecting Arthur to be angry, sad, upset. But he's not. He's just. Cold.

"My parents are sending me to fucking Wales."

Arthur just shrugs.

"You should just be bloody thankful that's where you're going, and not to prison."

"I was never going to go to prison. Imran didn't even press charges. Cowardly little fuck."

Arthur looks at him.

"You have no idea, Eames, do you? You really have no fucking idea."

Eames is starting to think he doesn't.

November. And that's it. He's going to lose Arthur. His darling, darling Arthur, who he's loved since he first saw him, all pale and quiet and vulnerable. They sit at the train station, numb.

"Is this what happened before?" Arthur asks, "At those private schools?"

"More or less. I'm okay for a while, and then I'm not. I just… I get angry."

Arthur nods, looks down.

"I was trying," says Eames, "For you. I didn't want to leave this time. I wanted to be with you."

"Well, you can't be with me. Not anymore. None of this even matters now. We weren't together, and now we're not going to be. It doesn't mean anything."

Eames reaches over, takes his hand.

"My darling, of course it does. Love always matters."

Arthur looks up at him.

"How can you love me when you're not even here anymore?"

That's the question. How can he love Arthur now. Now that they're so far apart. Now that they're not going to see each other for months. Now that Eames has been such a fucking idiot.

December. And this is the answer. It's easy to love Arthur. He's loved him for months. He just doesn't stop. He writes. He writes Arthur long letters in his scrawled handwriting, tells him everything. What the people are like, what his lessons are like, what the weather is like. (Bloody awful, on all counts.) Tells Arthur he misses him, wants him, loves him. Then he tears them all up.

It's another private school. There are rooms for the international students, so Eames stays with them. They're from Hong Kong. They speak near-perfect English, are painfully polite. They leave Eames to himself. Everyone leaves Eames to himself.

And then there's Fischer. He's dangerously beautiful. Forget-about-your-boyfriend-and-fuck-him beautiful. He's also a wanker. Takes one look at Eames and dismisses him. Acts like he's superior, like he can be a dick because his daddy's rich. Eames gives as good as he gets, and then some. A fortnight in and Eames has shoved his head against the wall. Gives him a black eye. He's not so beautiful now.

"I think you should hit him again," says one of the Hong Kong boarders, "Get his other eye. He'll look like a panda then."

Eames chuckles.

"You got a name?" asks the boarder.

"Eames."

"Well, Eames, any guy who hurts Fischer is a friend to me. I'm Saito."

You might think that things are better, when you have a friend. But that really depends who your friend is.

January. Here's the thing: Saito is a bastard. And here's another thing: Eames kind of is too. Saito is wicked. He's intelligent, he's bored, and he doesn't have much in the way of morals. He's a terrifying enemy, and a terrifying friend. They get on like a house on fire. They steal things. Money from the office safe, food from the kitchens, laptops from the IT rooms.

"When's the last time you got any?" Saito asks when they're playing poker one evening.

Eames shrugs, fingers through his cards.

"Ages ago. Start of college. Guy called Neil. Punched him in the face for calling me a gayboy. Ended up with him giving me head. You?"

Saito lays down his cards, a Full House.

"Fischer," he says.

And he doesn't need to say anything more.

February. College is all A2s and uni and UCAS and student finance. Eames doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know what to do. He's missed the deadline for applying to uni now anyway. It's too late now.

Arthur phones. They don't talk for long.

"I haven't heard from you," says Arthur.

"I've been busy."

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. You?"

"Yeah. Okay."

A pause.

"So, what's been happening?" says Eames.

"Not much. We came third in the battle of the bands."

"Well done."

"Thanks. We did an acoustic set. No drummer."

"You haven't found a replacement, then?"

"No-one good. We're shit with drummers. We're like MCR or something."

Eames chuckles.

"Does that make you Frank?"

"I guess."

Arthur takes a breath. Then, "I just got an offer. Oxford University. Natural Sciences."

"That's great," Eames says.

Tries to sound like he means it.

"It's funny," says Arthur, "I'd never have thought about going to uni, before. I'd have been too scared. But now… Now, I don't feel like there's much left to scare me. I think… it's going to be good. What about you?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."

"Eames, I –"

"I've – I've got to go now. But, it was good to hear from you. Um, all the best, and all that."

He hears Arthur sigh, a wave of static over the phone.

"Goodbye, Eames."

"Yeah. Bye."

It's only later that he realises it's Valentine's Day.

March. The school starts to pick up on the thefts. Eames is more scared than he lets on.

"The best way to avoid suspicion," says Saito, when they're in the gameskeeper's shed, splitting the cash from the canteen till, "Is to pass it onto someone else."

Eames grins and steals the cigarette from his mouth, taking a pull.

"Who are you thinking of?"

"Who do you think?"

Eames laughs.

"That's cruel."

"So what? He's a wanker."

"So are you."

Saito steals his cigarette back.

"And yet you put up with me. What is it you fancy? The money, or me?"

"A bit of both, love," says Eames, winking.

They fight for the cigarette.

Fischer thinks he's got them trapped.

"I know it was you," he says when he finds them, smoking behind the bikeshed, "You fucking fags. And I'm going to prove it."

"Ooh, we're scared," says Saito, blowing smoke in his face.

"You should be. This could get you expelled."

"Fischer," says Eames, "Sweetheart. I've been expelled from thirteen schools. Do you really think I'm fussed about getting expelled from this one?"

"And don't call us fags," says Saito, "This is an all-boys' school, what did you fucking expect?"

The cleaners find a paper bag of notes stuffed under Fischer's bed. He says it was Eames and Saito. They say it wasn't. Say Fischer has something against them. Say they're perfectly innocent.

They give Fischer the finger when he walks out of the school gates, snorting with laughter.

"Fucking mug," says Saito.

"Oh, you're a bad man. You're enjoying this."

"And you're not? You're just as bad as me, Eames. You just tell yourself you're good."

Saito leans in, covers Eames' chest with his hand.

"But you know, in here, you're rotten."

"My heart's rotten?"

"Of course it is. You're a dirty little thief, and a violent one. You might like to think your heart's full of that kid back home, but it's not. It's full of your greed. Your anger."

"How do you know about Arthur?"

"You should find a better way of getting rid of your letters to him than just tearing them up."

"You nosy bastard," says Eames, and smacks him upside the head.

Saito just keeps laughing.

April.

"I'm fucking bored," says Saito, when they're out in the grounds, chain smoking and sharing the flask of godawful whiskey they nicked off one of the cleaners, "Let's steal something."

"We always steal things."

"Well, we've either got to steal stuff or fuck, because otherwise, I'll die of boredom."

"You want to fuck me 'cause you're bored?"

"No, I want you to fuck me. I have since you came here. Being bored just makes me want it worse."

"What do you want to steal?"

Saito rolls his eyes and groans.

"You're not holding out for that kid Arthur, are you? Jesus. He must be something fucking special."

Eames shrugs.

"He kind of is."

"How far d'you get?"

Eames pulls a face.

"Er, first base."

"You are throwing me over because of a guy you got to first base with? You fucking saddo."

"Awh, I love you too, babes."

Saito laughs and finishes the whiskey.

That's when Eames realises he needs to see Arthur.

May. He gets the train home on Wednesday morning. Turns up on Arthur's doorstep.

"Eames! What are you doing here?"

Eames tries to think of something to say to him. But he can't speak. He just steps forward and envelops Arthur in a tight hug.

"Oh, darling," he says, because he can't say anything else.

Which is how they bunk off college so Eames can spill his guts out to Arthur. They end up on Arthur's bed, Eames curled up on his side, his head in Arthur's lap, Arthur's arms around him. The curtains drawn, muted light falling on the small room. It's the first time Eames has felt safe in months. He tells Arthur everything, sins spilling from his lips, and Arthur listens quietly, fingers stroking through his hair, calming him down.

"So that's it," says Eames, "I'm a liar, and a thief, and a cheat. I'm a fucking nobody."

Arthur pulls Eames up to face him, holding his head in his hands.

"Eames. You are very, very beautiful and very, very loved. Okay?"

Eames smiles a little, looks down. Kisses Arthur's hand, resting by his lips. Wants to kiss him all over. Lips, neck, stomach. Arthur's thumb rubs across Eames' lower lip. Eames has a sudden urge to bite it. To take Arthur's fingers into his mouth and lick them, the way he did when Arthur pushed icing into his mouth at Dom's birthday. But he doesn't. Instead, he says, "What should I do?"

"You," says Arthur, "Should go back there. Do your exams. Don't get yourself kicked out. Just do your exams, then come back."

Eames nods.

"I'll get the three o'clock train."

"Okay."

"What should I tell them I've been doing?"

Arthur shrugs.

"Say you came home to see your boyfriend."

Something inside Eames twists, hot and scared. He reaches out for Arthur, puts his hands on his shoulders.

"Arthur…"

Arthur smiles, his eyes flicking down then up, like the massive fucking tease he is.

"When you come back, I'll be at the station, waiting for you."

June. Eames does everything Arthur said. He goes back, does his exams, doesn't get himself kicked out.

July. He does his exams, then comes back. He gets the train home, looks for Arthur's face at the station. Doesn't see it. He waits. And waits. And Arthur doesn't come. It doesn't break his heart. It just bruises it.

Arthur's at his door the next day.

"Eames. Yesterday… something came up."

Eames nods curtly, one hand braced against the doorframe. Confrontational.

"What kind of something?"

"It's just… it was this guy I used to know."

Something curdles inside Eames. A sickly-hot jealousy.

"Nash?"

"How do you know about him?"

Eames shrugs.

"I just heard you had a thing. Guess you still do now."

"What? No! Eames, you don't understand, I had to go to the –"

"I don't want to hear it. You can fuck off back to your fuck buddy."

Arthur's crying now, confusion and fear scrawled across his face.

"Eames! How can you say that? Don't you know me? I'm Arthur. I'm your Arthur. Your darling."

"Not mine," says Eames, "Not anymore."

And shuts the door.

August. He knows he's been stupid. Knows he's being stupid. Knows Arthur cares about him. Wants him. Maybe even loves him. Not that he deserves it. Certainly not now. But he's too stubborn, too scared, to admit that. To ask Arthur to forgive him.

Ari gives him a reality check. Has a stand-up argument with him on the street when he's taking out the bins.

"Stop being a twat."

"Nice to see you too, Ari."

"Seriously, Eames. Arthur forgives you for all your fuck-ups and this is how you repay him? By accusing him of going back to his ex the fucking junkie?"

"He did it before. He could be doing it now."

"Fuck you, Eames. I told you to treat him right. And I thought you would. I trusted you. Arthur trusted you. For all that you claim to care about him, you really don't give a shit, do you? You tell yourself you love Arthur, but you know, in your heart, you're – you're…"

"What?"

"Rotten," she says, and leaves.

"You can punch me if you like. I deserve it."

It's not much of an opening line. Eames isn't much of anything, nowadays. Arthur looks at him, a hunched figure outside his front door, his eyes hard.

"Is this you apologising for calling me a whore?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that. You can start with 'sorry'."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have said that. I was stupid and I was jealous. When I didn't see you at the train station, I just – I got angry. I've always been scared you'd like someone else better than me. God knows, you deserve someone better than me, darling."

"I thought I wasn't your darling anymore?" Arthur says, bitter and cold.

Eames looks up at him, tired and lost and a little bit broken.

"You were from the moment I first saw you. You always will be."

Arthur's eyes soften.

"Eames, Nash d–"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I believe you."

"That's more like it."

"Would you like some more grovelling?"

Arthur's lips twitch into a smile.

"It wouldn't go amiss."

Eames takes his hand, kisses it.

"My darling. You really are very, very beautiful. And you have a great arse."

"Eames!" says Arthur, laughing.

"Sorry. Some things just have to be said."

"You're forgiven. For saying I have a great arse, that is. The other thing… maybe. We'll see."

It's not much. But it's a start.