Arthur

September. Arthur kisses Eames. It's everything he's wanted for a long, long time. It's the start of something. It's the start of Eames and him.

Saturday afternoon. Band practice.

"Ari," says Eames, looking through her notebook, "Are you writing lovesongs?"

"What?" says Arthur, leaning over his shoulder to see.

"Give that back!" says Ari, grabbing the notebook.

"Who are they for?" Eames asks teasingly.

Ari turns crimson. Her eyes flicker across the room to Dom.

"No-one!"

"Really?" says Eames, nodding towards Dom.

"Shut up!"

Arthur and Eames burst into laughter. Ari gives them the finger and stalks off.

"Those two? Really?" says Eames.

"Ssh!" says Arthur, sitting on him.

"You don't write me lovesongs."

Arthur blushes and looks down.

"You do?" says Eames.

Arthur shrugs.

"They're not very good. They're just – I don't know. Happy."

Eames presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Happy is good."

Arthur smiles.

"Could I have a listen sometime?" asks Eames.

"Maybe. If you're good."

Arthur applies to university early deadline. His Physics teacher thinks Oxford's worth a shot. So he applies for Natural Sciences. He wouldn't have, before. He would have said it was never going to happen. But now, things are different. He's kissed Eames. Anything could happen. Eames could be his boyfriend. Arthur could go to Oxford. They could do anything.

October. Arthur's happy, until he's not. For a moment, he has Eames, and all that could mean, and all they could have. And then he doesn't. Eames hits a kid at college. And then he stabs him. Expulsion is inevitable. Imprisonment is possible.

"How could you do this?" Arthur cries, "How could you do this to me? After everything that's happened. You just throw me away because you can't control your fucking temper. You make me scared of you, Eames. You stabbed some kid you don't even know. What could you do to me?"

"Arthur, I would never do anything to hurt you."

"You already have."

The kid's called Imran. Arthur finds him, begs him not to press charges. He tells him he'll do anything he wants. Just so long as he lets Eames walk. Imran watches him beg, desperate and lost. He seems to enjoy it.

"What is ya, then? 'is boyfriend?"

"No. I'm – I'm just a friend."

"But ya fancy 'im, right?"

"I… I just don't want him to go to prison."

Imran shrugs.

"Bet 'e'd love it there. All them fags. I'm doin' 'im a favour."

"Please, Imran. I mean it. I'll do anything. Give you anything you want."

Of course, anything is a big promise to make. But it doesn't feel so big when you're in love.

November. Eames' parents send him away to a boarding school in Wales. Good, says Arthur's head, because it's best if Eames is far away from Imran. Bad, says Arthur's heart, because it's awful if Eames is far away from him. Either way, he goes. Arthur thinks, maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's better if he doesn't talk to Eames. Because now, Eames won't fuck things up again. Now, Arthur won't get hurt anymore. Fuck Eames. Fuck all the time Arthur's wasted on him. He doesn't need him anymore. He's better off without him.

It's drugs. That's what Imran wants. Someone to get hold of them, so he doesn't have to. A delivery boy. So, Arthur walks down dark streets late at night, gets the stuff, takes it to Imran and his mates. And that's what his life has become now. He's breaking the law so a bunch of dirty teenagers who treat him like shit can get high every Friday night. He hates them. He comes to hate them the more he knows them. The more they use him, the more they taunt him, the more they call him Arty, the more they push him around. But he doesn't stop. Because he's doing this for Eames. He's doing this because Eames saved him once. He's doing this because he was a bloody idiot and went and fell in love with him. And he shuts himself in the bathroom and starts cutting himself again, because that's what he does when he doesn't know how to cope anymore.

Eames feels very, very far away. Oxford feels further. Still, he sits an admission test. He goes to an interview. Then there's nothing he can do anymore. He just has to wait.

December. The band keeps practising together, in spite of it all. Eames is gone, Arthur's quiet and moody again, and they haven't found another drummer. But they play on. Ari persuades them to enter the battle of the bands. It's full of college kids, and some a little older. It's in a packed club, dark and hot, crammed with teenagers, bodies pressed against bodies. Alcohol and glass on the floor, the lights pointing at the stage white and harsh. They stand backstage, waiting to go on, Arthur biting at the sleeve of his hoodie, Ari twisting her fingers in her tangled hair, Dom drumming his fingers along the wall. Ari squeezes Arthur's hand before they go out. Arthur gives her a small smile and follows Dom out onto the stage.

"We're The Dream Workers," says Ari, fighting her nerves, "And this is 9 Crimes."

They play. Arthur and Dom are serious, frowning, fingers quick and focused, but Ari relaxes quickly, puts on a show. It always did come easier for her. They come third place.

They go out onto the street afterwards, bursting with success, the winter air cold, the sweat drying on their clothes, passing a WKD between them. Dom gives Ari a piggyback ride and she spills it down his shirt, laughing and saying, "Sorry baby," and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Tipsy and happy, she pulls Arthur in for a kiss too, sloppy and warm, on the mouth, and he laughs, says, "I'm not drunk enough for that just yet."

Dom shrugs.

"I probably am."

Ari giggles and kisses him again.

Arthur gets a few university offers. That world seems so alien, so distant. He can't think about them just yet.

January. Arthur realises that Imran's just going to keep using him. When he asks when this will be over, Imran just laughs and says, "I thought you said you'd do anythin' for Eames?" And fuck, he would. If he has to do this, then he will. But he hates this. Hates what he's doing. Hates drugs. Hates dealers. He passes addicts curled up in doorways, their eyes glazed over, their heartrates fast as rats'. They're the empty shells of people. They scare him. Repel him. He tries not to look at them. Doesn't want to have anything to do with them.

The thing is, he already does.

"Arthur? That you?"

Arthur stops, the weight of his name heavy in his ears.

"Arthur?"

Arthur looks at the figure saying his name. One of the junkies, slumped against the wall, dirty and shivering. He takes a step closer.

"Don't you remember me, babe?"

Babe. Of course. He's only known one person who's called him that. He only knows one person who's had little pinpricks on the inside of his arm.

"Yes, Nash," says Arthur, "I remember."

He looks at Nash, the pathetic figure he is now. So, this is what he's become. It didn't take him long to lose himself.

"Didn't know you were into this shit," says Nash, nodding to the small package in Arthur's hand.

"I'm not. This isn't for me."

"You're dealing?"

"No. Just… delivering."

Nash gives him a sideways look.

"Now what on earth did you do to wind up doing that?"

Arthur shrugs.

"Long story."

"You never did like talking much, did you?"

"Talking is hardly what you were interested in."

Nash spreads his hands.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yeah. Yeah I can, actually."

The next time he sees Nash, he crashes into Arthur, weak and desperate. He begs Arthur to give him something, eyes wide, hands shaking. Arthur gives in. He's scared. He's scared of what Nash might do. He's scared of what Nash is now. He's scared of himself now, too. They're both monsters. Drugs made Nash a monster. Love made Arthur one. They're both as deadly as each other.

Then Nash finds him one night, soaked in rain, hair stuck to his head, eyes empty. Says, "Help me."

And Arthur, God help him, does.

Arthur doesn't know why he cares about Nash. Why he gives a shit about whether he spends the rest of his life on the streets, lying and stealing to get a drug that's slowly killing him. Maybe he wants to see if a person can leave the thing they need most. Maybe if Nash can get off his addiction, Arthur can get off his. Although his drug of choice is quite different.

February. One day, Arthur signs in to UCAS Track, and finds he's got another offer. Oxford University. He can hardly believe it.

Valentine's Day. Couples walk into college holding hands. Dom finds a card in his locker. Ari bites her lip and looks innocent. Arthur feels sick. He gives in. He phones Eames. He's missed him. He still misses him. He's like Nash. He's trying to be without Eames, but he just can't stick it. He might be telling Nash that he needs to stop, but in the end, he can't stop himself.

March. Arthur helps Nash through the tough times. He finds a charity that can help, but there's so much they can do, and so much you have to do yourself. It's a starting point. The rest Nash has to do himself. Arthur tries to be there for him. When he goes cold turkey, when he gets violent, when he screams and cries because Arthur won't give him what he wants. When he's exhausted, when he collapses sobbing, and Arthur holds him, silent, because he doesn't know what else he can do. Nash loves him and hates him, as he loves and hates the drugs. He wavers. He goes clean, he goes back. It's impossibly hard.

"Why are you doing this?" Nash asks.

"I don't know. I suppose… I'm forgiving you for what you did to me."

"What I did to you? You walked out on me, Arthur. You messed up my head."

"You fucking touched me up. I didn't ask for that."

"You gave as good as you got."

"That doesn't mean – I – I didn't know what I wanted, okay?"

"That is okay. But then don't blame me. How could I know what you wanted if you didn't know yourself?"

Arthur knows he's right. He didn't know what he wanted then. He doesn't now.

April. He stops doing what Imran wants. He doesn't say anything. He just doesn't turn up anymore. Imran finds him at college.

"Forgotten our deal, 'ave ya, gayboy? You give me what I want, an' ya boyfriend don't go ta prison."

"You say one word against Eames and I'll tell the police what I've been doing for you. You'll be in prison with Eames then. I don't think you'd like that, would you?"

Imran shoves Arthur's head into a locker. Leaves.

Stalemate.

May. Eames turns up out of the blue. He tells Arthur everything that's happened to him since they've been apart, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Arthur can barely take them all in. Eames tells him he's a thief, tells him he's a liar, tells him he's a bad person and he doesn't know what to do. Arthur lets him confess, because Eames needs someone to be brave. Arthur wishes he could do the same. Wishes he could break down, tell Eames about Imran, about Nash. But he doesn't. He just holds Eames and shuts his eyes, because things may be awful, but he has Eames in his arms, so it can't be that bad. Nothing is impossible when they're together like this. That's why he tells Eames to finish his A-Levels, to come back home to him. That's why he tells Eames he'll be waiting for him at the station when he comes home. Because, right now, it's not impossible that Eames comes back and kisses him. It's not impossible that Eames comes back and loves him. It's not impossible now. It is, later.

The deadline comes when he has to put down his firm and insurance choice for university. He puts down Oxford and Birmingham. Because, right now, it's not impossible.

June. Nash gets worse. Arthur's doing his exams. He needs to get three As. He needs to get to Oxford. Because it's possible now, it's within his reach. He doesn't have time for Nash. His life just isn't as important as Arthur's right now.

"Ugh," says Ari, "All that is getting me through these exams is the thought of me and Dom in Paris."

"You two at uni in the city of love," says Arthur, "Do you think you'll do any actual work?"

"Shut up! We're just friends. Anyway, I'll be far too busy learning to be an architect to think about him. Not that I do anyway. Well, I mean, I do, but not in that way."

"Don't tell me nothing's ever happened between you."

"It hasn't!"

Arthur gives her a look.

"It was just once. It doesn't matter now anyway."

Arthur thinks about what Eames said, that love always matters, and wonders if that's true for Ari, for a girl in love with someone who doesn't love her back.

"Anyway," says Ari, "What are you going to do about Eames?"

"Who says I'm going to do anything about Eames?"

"Come on. It's been eight months since he left and you haven't moved on. I think you're going to do something about him. Or just do him. I mean, you've certainly taken your time about it."

"Ari! I'll see him when he comes back after exams. That's all. We'll… see how it goes."

Ari stops smiling, puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur, just – just be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."

Arthur smiles.

"I think it's a bit late for that now."

July. Arthur gets a phone call. It's the police. They want him to identify a body.

That moment, the world stops.

And then he's looking down at a pale corpse, its face harsher and more angular in death than it was in life, a mess of bruises blotched across its neck. And he thinks, addiction is ugly, but death is far, far worse. It just serves to show how wasted life is.

"How did you know I knew him?" Arthur asks afterwards, sat in the canteen in the police station, an untouched cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

"There was a note," says the police officer, "It was addressed to you."

Arthur

This is a fight I can't win. Not even with you standing alongside me. I'm going to kill myself before this drug can. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to get better, for you. I suppose I love you. I don't suppose you love me. I don't suppose you ever would. Thank you for everything, babe.

Nash

"Fucking idiot," Arthur breathes, his head in his hands, "Jesus fucking Christ. What a fucking idiot."

He doesn't know who he's talking about.

He goes home, curls up in bed, cries. Wakes up the next morning feeling like shit. And then he realises that yesterday was the day Eames was coming home. And he's missed him. He goes to him the next day, tries to explain, but Eames won't let him. He doesn't listen. And Arthur just can't be bothered with this shit. Someone has died and Eames is giving him shit for not picking him up at the fucking train station. He's tired of giving other people so much of himself. He's tired of Eames expecting so much of him. Eames is the one who fucked off to Wales. Who left him to ferry drugs, to care for a drug addict, to hurt himself again after months of being okay. He shuts himself in his room and cries. It's becoming a habit now.

August. Eames apologises. Arthur forgives him. Of course he does. He doesn't know how not to.

Wednesday morning. Arthur goes to the funeral parlour.

"I want to kiss him. Can I do that?"

The funeral director shakes her head.

"I'm afraid that Mr Nash said he didn't want Samuel in the chapel of rest to visit."

"Please. I just… I want to say goodbye."

"Listen, love, I know how you feel –"

"No you don't! You fucking don't! Don't you know why he's here? He killed himself. He loved me and he killed himself. He was going to get off the drugs. He was going to be okay. And then he fucking hanged himself. So don't you fucking tell me you know how I feel."

She lets him kiss Nash, after that. It's the first time he's ever kissed Nash. There's something so fucking pathetic about that.

"I'm sorry," says the funeral director, "You must have loved him very much."

"No," says Arthur, "I don't think I did."

They're the only people at the funeral. Nash's dad doesn't come. Ari holds Dom's hand tightly, her makeup smearing, as they stand by the grave. Arthur slips his hand into Eames'. The sun shines fiercely. They stand there, the four of them, smothered in black, facing death. And this is how it ends for Nash. With a handful of people standing around his grave on a midsummer's day.

"At least now he's in a better place," says Ari.

"He's not anywhere," says Arthur, "Except in a hole in the ground."

Eames squeezes his hand.

"Oh, darling."

Arthur falls into him, presses his head into Eames' chest, lets Eames hold him tightly.

"What was the point? What was the point of any of it?" says Arthur.

Eames presses a kiss to the top of Arthur's head.

"Sometimes there isn't any point. Sometimes things just happen. You couldn't change his death, but you changed his life. And he loved you for it."

"Love. Is that it? What does that come to?"

"Love always matters, darling."

Arthur shuts his eyes, wonders if that's true for Nash, a boy in love with someone who didn't love him back. Wonders if that's true for him, a boy in love with someone who keeps making mistakes. He looks up at Eames.

"I don't know that it does."