Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen&panicky! Arthur, OMC/Arthur, OMC/Ariadne, homophobia
Disclaimer; when Arthur doesn't want specificity.
Author's Notes; I glad you guys stuck with me. I know OC/Canon usually turns people off, but bare with me! I have a few questions for my lovely readers; 1) does this fic seem to be moving too fast? 2) does Arthur seem like a gary-stu? in fact, do any of the characters appear like a sue/stu? So ... I'm practically flailing at this moment. It's been ten weeks. I've never been this far with a fic before, so asdfghjkl— yeah. I'll shut up now. Hope this chapter, ehm ... pleases you? 8D
His parents were not going to be happy when Mal arrived on the doorstep, especially since his father just told him off an hour or so ago. Or maybe they left to get some fresh air, if he was lucky. Whatever the reason, Arthur needed to stop Mal from knocking. He didn't want to get in more trouble and certainly, he didn't want her to see his parents in such manner, but he couldn't call her back. He was in a panicking state about Eames dying in the mirror. He had really gone crazy.
Perhaps Eames was just sleeping. In a deep sleep, because he hadn't gotten some in a day or two.
That was likely, but—
"Arthur!"
He flinched at the sound of his father's booming voice. Nonetheless, he didn't hold in his spot for long. He quickly threw open the bedroom door and strolled into the hallway.
"Yes?"
"There's someone—"
Dammit, Mal.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur ushered down the stairs. His father was peeking out the window, but Arthur went straight towards the door and opened it.
Mal wasn't smiling, and she pushed past him to get inside. Though, the moment Arthur's father straightened up and cleared his throat, she glanced over and flashed a charming smile.
"I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I'm here to return Arthur's book. He left it back at his desk when he hurried out."
Arthur took that excuse and quickly headed up the stairs.
"I need to return your notes to you from Wednesday," he lied, nodding once in her direction and completely ignoring his father.
Mal continued to smile as she took off her shoes. "Excuse me," she said politely towards his father before starting up the stairs.
Once they were in the bedroom, Arthur closed the door as softly as possible and locked it. When he turned around, he saw Mal examining the mirror. His mouth ran dry as she began to frown. It was only when she straightened up and shot a look in his direction did he begin to fear.
The look in her eyes appeared murderous, but the murderous look was only there for a split second.
"What happened?"
Arthur knew that question would be brought up sooner or later.
He glanced away.
"He called me ... something and I was angered by it, so I threw my pencil holder."
"What did he call you?"
He was far embarrassed, but he answered reluctantly. "Slut."
His teeth bit his lip as he waited an answer.
And when that question wasn't enough, another question was shot at him.
"Why?"
Arthur's breathing hitched slightly. "Classified information."
At the sound of movement, the young brunet peered up.
Mal was standing a feet away, and she was leering. Her eyes demanded an answer, and finally, Arthur gave in. There was just something about her that made him fear if he didn't comply.
"He caught me kissing someone."
Her face darkened. "Dom? That was last—"
"No. A different person."
She fell silent for a moment. Her dark orbs continued to eat him, but after a bit, she returned to the mirror.
"How did he react when you threw it?"
Arthur thought back to when he threw the object. He remembered his mother coming in to see what was going on, but what happened before that?
Well, when it landed, Eames did clutch his side— the side in which the mirror was broken— and he did make painful noises. But it couldn't be—
"He grabbed his side and made noises in pain."
Her fingers, which was tracing the broken glass, froze. Arthur felt himself going still as well.
Was it possible that Eames was the mirror? That he felt everything that happened to it? Which meant that he felt Arthur's lips?
He shrugged off those thoughts.
"We need to stop this crack from spreading."
He knew that much.
"Eames? It's Mal. I'm here."
She tapped the mirror lightly, looking worried.
Arthur couldn't help but become worry too.
Just what if— what if he caused Eames to die?
"Eames, love. Answer me. If needed, I'll send Arthur out."
Still no answer.
Arthur was getting nervous.
"Eames."
She tapped the side of the mirror, the the broken part of it. This time, there was a reply.
A grunt was sounded, snapping Arthur away from his worries. His sights jerked towards the mirror and there he was. Eames, not looking the best, clutching his side, taking in shaky breaths— Arthur knew that he caused it, and his heart began to pound. Eames didn't look at him, though, and vaguely, Arthur wished he did. He wished Eames would at least acknowledge him, even if it meant that he would be called a slut in his face again.
"Tell me what happened," Mal instructed softly, still stroking the broken part of the glass.
Eames' breathing hitched. "It hurts. Feels like my bone was broken or something."
Arthur glanced down, unable to watch.
"Where does it hurt?"
"Right hip."
"How are you able to stand?"
"I heard your voice."
Arthur's chest tightened at the sound of that. There was a very light spark of hope in Eames' voice, and it wasn't directed towards him.
"Is the pain spreading?"
"A little, yeah."
"Hm. So it appears that your body is connected to the mirror. Can you feel my touch?"
"Yeah. Yeah— it feels nice."
Another clench, but this time, it's in his heart.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly.
"Do you have any idea how to make it better?"
"No. I wish. This pain's—"
There was a strangled gasp and a sound of collapsing. Arthur's gaze shot towards the mirror. Eames had fell, but Mal continued stroking the broken part of the mirror.
"We'll— I'll help you the best I can. Just hold in there."
The Englishman nodded slightly. "I trust you to."
Mal then straightened up and peered over at Arthur. From her expression alone, the student could tell that she had no idea what to do, and Arthur certainly didn't either.
How could they fix a broken glass? Replace it, of course, but Eames wasn't replaceable. Eames would end up breaking.
Arthur's body trembled at that thought. That was not what he wanted. He didn't want the man to die. After all, he was still human, even though he's in a mirror.
If Eames did die, then, what would happen? Was it possible that Arthur could be charged for murder? There wasn't proof, though, unless the mirror transformed into Eames and the other ended up dying on the floor.
But no— it was still impossible for him to be blamed. His fingerprints weren't on the man. There was no proof— that was, unless Eames wasn't dead and told everyone that it was his fault.
Arthur paced over to his chair and sat down. He shouldn't be thinking about the future; he needed to care about the current moment, and the situation at this time was healing Eames.
His gaze turned towards Mal.
She was deep in thought.
Arthur tried to come up with a few ideas, but he couldn't with Eames wheezing in the background.
He leaned back in the chair.
There was absolutely no way to fix a broken glass unless magic was a subject, but where's would they find a magician? Where could they locate Nash or someone helpful? If they put a 'Magician Wanted' sign, people would think that they had gone insane. The only option was to wait and see, and from the looks of it, Mal had the same thought.
"I should be going," she announced a second later. "Your father would start wondering. Call me again if something happens." She then switched her gaze to Eames. "Keep holding on, alright? I'll think of something."
With a small smile, she turned, dropped the fake smile, and headed out.
Arthur was left in the chair, eyes on the floor, listening as Mal said a farewell to his parents. He wished to have one last word with her, but it was too late now.
And Eames' wheezing was getting on his nerves because he couldn't do anything about it.
When the wheezing stopped, though, Arthur peered up.
Eames was gone again, and he merely assumed that the Englishman had retired to another part of the room provided within the mirror.
Arthur sighed and closed his eyes.
How did he get himself into this mess?
— ox — xo —
"Hello?"
"Hey, Artie. Where are you?"
Lorenzo.
Arthur sat up in his bed.
"I'm at home."
"I thought we have a date."
"I didn't agree to it."
There was a pause, then laughter. "Well, I'm here now. Houston and Ariadne are flirting. It's actually quite hilarious. You should come."
Arthur glanced to the mirror for a brief second before making his decision. "I'll be there in a few."
As he got dressed in silence, he listened to any sounds that would give away Eames watching him. When there was none by time he finished dressing, he gave up. He wanted to tell the other that he was heading out, but he ended up contradicting that action.
Turning away, Arthur grabbed his necessities and walked out of the bedroom. He passed his mother on the way out, but he didn't speak to her either. What was the point? She betrayed him, and she wasn't even his actual mother anyways. He didn't need to try to get along. It was obvious that they didn't click. She didn't say anything either, so all was well.
As he got in the car and drove to the cafe, he began thinking of ways to tell Lorenzo no without being offensive. By time he reached the cafe, no thoughts approached him, so he went in without a backup plan.
Ariadne, Houston, and Lorenzo greeted him with bright smiles. It was a difference compared to yesterday afternoon.
He forced a small smile before taking a seat next to Lorenzo, since Houston and Ariadne had taken up the other side.
"Would you like anything?" Ariadne questioned, prepared to stand.
Arthur shook his head with a small smile. "I'm fine."
"Nah, get him a piece of cheesecake. On me," Lorenzo butted in.
Ariadne grinned. "Coming right up."
Getting up, she ushered behind the counter. Seconds later, she appeared with a slice of cheesecake drizzled in caramel.
After thanking her, Arthur picked up the spoon and took a bite with all eyes cast on him. Swallowing, he nodded in approval.
"It's good."
Ariadne shared a grin with Houston.
Arthur quirked his brow. "Are you two—?"
"The question is," Ariadne shot back, leaning towards him, "are you two?"
Arthur opened his mouth to retort a no, but Lorenzo had already snaked an arm around his waist and answered. "You can say that we have something going on."
When Arthur threw the other man a look, Lorenzo winked.
Arthur huffed. "We have nothing going on," he murmured, sticking another spoonful of cheesecake into his mouth.
Lorenzo nudged him slightly. "He's just embarrassed. Such a cutie, isn't he?"
Ariadne nodded in approval, making Arthur's face burn for a moment.
"Shut it, Lorenzo," he hissed.
The table irrupted with laughter, making Arthur's cheeks tint in red again.
"And what about you two?" Lorenzo piped up, leaning towards the other two and waggling his eyebrow suggestively.
Ariadne and Houston answered at the same time.
"We're not together."
"We're going out."
They both then looked at each other and broke into giggles.
Arthur, now seeing that he wasn't center of attention, was amused as he shared a knowing look with Lorenzo.
"You haven't even asked me out yet," Ariadne prompted, pouting slightly.
"Date me?" Houston asked, putting an arm around her.
"Alright. We're officially dating," she announced with a grin.
Lorenzo scoffed, and a teasing smile was brought upon Arthur's lips.
"Now we can go on double dates!" exclaimed Houston enthusiastically.
"We're not dating," Arthur began.
Lorenzo looked offended, but the expression was a playful one. "I asked you out. You're here now. This is a date. Therefore, we're dating."
"It's a friendly gathering," he proposed, pressing the subject.
Houston snorted. "Better catch him before he runs away, Renzo."
Lorenzo embraced him from the side. "He can't leave me now."
Arthur lightly shoved the other man away, but he refused to move.
Not that Arthur minded.
For some reason, the arms actually felt warming. It was as if Lorenzo was giving him the attention that he had lost once he discovered Mal's and Dom's relationship, Eames' situation, and his father's disapproval. Before, he felt as if he was in the midst of wrong. Here, with Lorenzo, he didn't feel as lonely; it felt nice.
But he shouldn't be enjoying this. It was wrong and a sin, as his father said. Well, Arthur already knew it was wrong in society's eyes, but he couldn't help who he thought was attractive, and in this case, it was more men than women.
He needed to change that. Maybe this was simply a phase and he would get over it. That should be easy, yes?
Not exactly, since Lorenzo was touching him lightly, now.
Arthur felt a hand ghost his back while another fingered the tail of his shirt. The actions may have gone unnoticed by the others, but Arthur had a difficult time trying to digest it.
He leaned out of the touches, but they didn't cease.
In the end, he simply stood up.
"I need to get back. My parents aren't in the brightest mood."
Lorenzo peered up at him, his expression wearing disappointment. "Do I get a kiss goodbye?"
Arthur's gaze flickered to Ariadne's and Houston's steady gaze before turning back to Lorenzo. He wouldn't mind a kiss, but his father would, and besides, he needed to get away.
"Come on, baby," the other murmured, standing up and leaning in.
Arthur, again, had the decision to turn away from this, but again, he didn't.
He leaned over and pecked the lips, which caused his heart to soar again.
Lorenzo chuckled and captured his lips again.
It was slow and mesmerized, but it was broken when Arthur grasped reality once more. He pulled away, bidding a goodbye to the three, then quickly making his getaway.
He felt guilty for kissing back and allowing the kiss to happen. He had just disobeyed his father again, and if this was reported, he would surely get kicked out. He was playing with his fate, and of all things, it was not something to be played with.
— ox — xo —
It was another shameful and quiet night, which Arthur spent on his bed, running through the events of the day and looking at the cracks in the mirror.
He hadn't spoken to Eames, and in return, the other hadn't presented himself. Arthur could only wonder how the other was doing.
He rolled to face the wall, but he still laid awake. He couldn't sleep knowing that he might have caused a death. He had stayed up the previous night, but he knew that if he stayed up for this round, he would be knocked out tomorrow and Monday.
His eyes closed, and he breathed out slowly.
Nothing.
He couldn't sleep.
Giving up, Arthur sat up and turned on the light.
He gripped his head. It didn't stop spinning from thoughts. All the pressure seemed to weigh on him, giving him stress.
He wanted an escape. He needed Lorenzo again, but it was far too late to call the other over. Nevertheless, his father wouldn't approve, and Arthur didn't fancy sneaking out.
His hands dropped to his lap.
He had one other source of distraction, and at that moment, that source was not talking to him.
His gaze switched to the right side again, taking in the sight of the broken mirror.
He wondered if Eames would— no.
No, he wouldn't.
He wasn't on the brightest terms with the other, and there was no doubt that Eames hated him at the moment.
Maybe he could go sleep in one of the guest rooms— but what would that do?
Absolutely nothing.
Arthur turned his body to face the mirror. His eyes raked his reflection, seeing how he has changed. His hair had grown a bit longer and wasn't slicked back, and he looked tired. He also looked weak and pathetic.
His eyes closed.
He didn't look like this; he should be alive, proper, and well.
A breath drew out of his slightly parted lips again.
The time was ticking by slowly as he tried to even out his thoughts.
By time he opened his eyes and checked the clock, it was already eleven.
He didn't budge, though; he stayed rooted in the spot, eyes taking in his reflection once more.
Eames had said earlier on that he could Mal's brushing fingers. If that was the case, then he would be able to feel his, right?
Curious, Arthur slid off the bed and slowly made his way to the mirror. When he was fixed on the spot, he raised his hand and lightly brushed the broken spot on the mirror.
There wasn't a reaction, but he continued to lightly stroke the area.
He felt the areas in which the glass was broken. He felt the edges that could have cut him if he wasn't careful.
His hand dropped to his side.
He continued to stare, as if hoping for Eames to show, but the other never did.
He retired to bed twenty minutes later.
— ox — xo —
Sunday came uneventful.
Arthur decided it was best to stay in.
No one bothered him until two in the afternoon, and it just so seemed to be Lorenzo calling that pestered him.
"Hey, babe."
"It's Arthur."
"Artie—"
"Arthur," the dark brunet pressed.
"Fine. Arthur. Houston and Ariadne were wondering about a double date at the movies tonight at four."
Arthur shifted on the bed, considering. "What movie?"
"Whatever they choose, I guess. Can you come? It's going to be awkward as a third wheel here."
Arthur fingered the end of his shirt. "I'll see about it."
Lorenzo huffed. "Well, you better come. Later, Art."
"Yeah, later."
As he clasped the phone close, the young student peered at the mirror. He looked much better than last night, but did he want to test the waters again? He didn't want to give Lorenzo a feel that they're dating when they're not. It was just friends with benefits. Or something.
But did he want to go? Truthfully, yes.
He wanted a distraction and to get away, and the only way he could do that was through Lorenzo. But going there would mean more touching and more touching would lead to other actions, which would be against his father.
He could always stop the actions, but like before, he wasn't sure of he could. Experimenting the moment, he was usually captivated. It was only moments after did he pull away, and by then, it would be too late to take anything back.
He shouldn't go to the movies, but at three thirty on the clock, Arthur grabbed his keys and went.
As he pulled into the only theatre in the town, he felt rebellious. It felt nice, since he had a taste of freedom, but at the same time, he felt horrible. He thought about turning back, but once he was out of his car and was spotted by the other three, it was already too late. He put on a smile and paid for his ticket to some horror flick Houston and Lorenzo thought was amusing.
As they entered, Arthur felt Lorenzo's arm snake around his waist. At first, he allowed it to linger there, but when they found sears in the cinema, he pushed it off.
Arthur was sandwiched between Ariadne and Lorenzo, but with Houston on Ariadne's other side, it felt as if he was alone with Lorenzo. Since, after all, Ariadne was leaning towards Houston and Lorenzo was leaning towards Arthur.
That didn't help his situation any, but at least Lorenzo wasn't touching him everywhere. This way, Arthur could actually focus on the movie.
The movie began at night with random people screaming and running through the streets. Arthur was amused, but he could see Ariadne curling up in a ball as she leaned against Houston.
"Officer, any clue what's going on here?" a cop on screen shouted to another.
The officer that was addressed fondled with his gun, looking wary of the screaming citizens.
"Not sure. I hear there's a zombie apocalypse."
The first man snorted. "I doubt there's such things as zombies."
A second right after he said that, something jumped onto both men. The thing seemed to have been skinned alive, blood dripping off said body. The face was disgusting.
It gave Arthur a startle. Beside him, Ariadne gasped, and Lorenzo, well, he screamed and the people around turned to look at him. The scream caused Arthur, and a few others to burst out laughing. When the laughter ended, Lorenzo nudged Arthur, sharing an amused grin. Arthur couldn't help but roll his dyes before returning his gaze to the screen.
The zombie lookalike was tearing down the two officers. It was pretty gory, and Arthur found himself reminded of the news report of that murderer from New York. His body chilled at that thought, but he waved it away to focus on the movie. By now, new characters have been introduced.
It was a family of four. A mother, father, and twin brother and sister. The mother was panicking, holding an axe. The children, looking no older than eight, wield a gun each. The father, on the other hand, was busy getting the car ready. Arthur thought that this was a really predictable movie where the father would die, then one of the children would die, leaving the mother and remaining child begging for mercy. And then that child turned into a zombie or something.
But alas, he couldn't see the end since his phone began vibrating in his pocket.
Excusing him and whispering to Lorenzo that he had a call, Arthur slipped into the lobby area and answered. "Hello?"
"Where are you?"
Arthur inwardly cursed.
It was his father.
"With my friends."
"Are you. You didn't ask permission. I want you back here in five minutes."
The other line hung up.
Arthur scowled. There went his afternoon.
Nonetheless, he complied to the orders.
As he made his way towards the entrance, he called Lorenzo. "Father wants me home," he explained.
"Wait. Don't leave yet."
Arthur halted at his place near the exit.
Seconds later, Lorenzo jogged out. "Hey," he greeted.
"I have four minutes to get home," Arthur said pointedly.
"Oh. Okay, we'll make this quick."
Grabbing the back of Arthur's neck, Lorenzo planted a kiss on the lips. This time, Arthur didn't kiss back; he pushed the other away.
"We're not dating," he repeated.
Lorenzo looked hurt again, and this time, he wasn't sure if the disappointed expression was fake or not.
"So you—"
It all came rushing to Arthur; mindlessly, he leaned up and pecked his classmate's lips and before anything else could be done, he drew away and made a beeline to his car.
— ox — xo —
His father was furious when he arrived at the foot of the door. His face was visibly darkened, his lip tightened, his hazel eyes glaring. He held his hand out, and Arthur knew exactly what his father was wanting. Reluctantly, he gave his keys over, but that wasn't the end of it.
"Where were you?" the older man questioned again.
"With my friends," the young teen repeated.
"Specifics."
"At the movies."
"And who was there?"
"Houston, Ariadne ... and Lorenzo."
He didn't mean to hesitate before saying the last name, but he did and his father, unfortunately, caught onto it.
"Lorenzo?"
"A friend," Arthur answered hastily.
"Hm. And what did this Lorenzo do to you?"
"Nothing," he replied, pressing the matter.
"Why is your shirt untucked?"
Arthur glanced down.
"Your shirt is usually tucked it. Your hair is usually slicked back." His father narrowed his gaze on him. "Do you have something to tell me?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, sir. Lorenzo is just—"
The other held up a hand for silence, and Arthur bit back his further words.
"You are forbidden to talk to him." His father held out his hand again. "Cellphone."
Arthur stared for a moment before unwillingly giving the device up.
"I already took your laptop, so there's no use looking for it."
Arthur's lips pressed together to refrain himself from saying something that could get him into more trouble.
"Your mother will drive you to school. You are grounded until you've improved. Dismissed."
With the final word heard, the dark brunet started up the stairwell.
He couldn't believe it; he hadn't even— alright, he had, and he probably deserved this.
And being grounded— that would mean that he would have no source of entertainment for however long he was grounded, meaning, he needed to change himself back to his original state and fast.
But he wasn't even aware that he had changed. Sure, he may have slacked off in some fields, but he didn't need to be all dressed up for the movies, right? Apparently he had to, according to his father.
He arrived at the foot of his room, scowling.
His father was being completely unfair. Then again, Arthur had disobeyed him, so this was obviously punishment. At least his father didn't find out; that would result in a worse punishment. So, basically, he had to suck it up and change. But at the moment, he didn't feel like doing anything.
He closed his door and proceeded to his bed where he continued to lay, thinking, for the next few minutes.
Gradually over time, his gaze somehow turned towards the mirror.
How did he act before to the sight of Eames? He ignored him and was suspicious. Now, Arthur didn't want to ignore him and rather hoping that he wouldn't die inside the mirror.
The cracks were getting bigger, though. And he couldn't even contact Mal until the next day.
Well, even if he did tell the other, she wouldn't be able to do anything. Since he was grounded, it meant no visitors, and since he didn't have his cellphone, that was out of the question as well.
So, basically, there was nothing that could be done. Eames would end up suffering and dying.
What would he do if he was stuck in a mirror and in the Englishman's situation? He would demand to be fixed, but from the looks of it, the other wasn't seeking his help. Did that mean that he was willing to die or suffer the pain? Or was he simply lying so that Mal could comfort him?
Arthur didn't know which was which and there wasn't a way he could prove it.
No— actually, there was one way. He could press into the cracks. If what Eames claimed was right, then the other would feel a jab of pain. If not, then he was either trying to suffer or it was all a lie.
Arthur decided to test his theory out. After all, he had nothing else to be doing anyways.
Getting off his bed, the student paced over to the mirror with cracks that spread towards mid-centre. His fingertips brushed these cracks before trailing to the area where it all started. There, he pressed a bit firmly, then, seeing that the glass wasn't going to break, put more pressure on it. He was rewarded with an answer.
"Stop that."
At the sound and sight of the Englishman, Arthur jerked his hand away and stared, bewildered.
Eames looked absolutely horrible. He was clutching his side, his face twisted into a pained one.
Alright, so the other wasn't faking everything.
"That hurts, you know," the man continued coldly, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut after wards.
Instinctively, Arthur reached out and wordlessly ran his fingertips over the broken glass.
A few short breaths came from Eames before he peered up. Arthur's eyes met the oceanic ones again, and he saw something familiar within those eyes.
It was a common emotion— hope, want, gratitude? That's what he saw, but he wasn't sure what Eames saw in return. What was in his own eyes? Pity, need, and confusion? Probably.
He drew his fingers away.
Their gaze continued to linger, but Arthur made no sound.
Eames didn't say anything either.
Five minutes in of their staring contest and soft wheezing, Eames left, leaving Arthur to stare at his own reflection.
— ox — xo —
Nothing could be more awkward than sitting in the car Monday morning with his mother as she drove him to school. Arthur was seriously debating on whether or not he should confront her, but strangling her seemed like a more logical action than taking it coolly. But he did neither.
Instead, he looked out his window, observing the houses and people he passed. They seemed free, wearing whatever they want and not have their parents starting to wonder. Arthur, on the other hand, was dressed just as before— button up, tucked in, tie, belt, slacks, dress shoes, hair slicked back, a cold expression on his face.
He continued to wear this expression as he got out of the car without word and proceeded to his locker. Lorenzo was there, greeting him with a smile.
Arthur wanted go say something, but he kept his mouth closed. He ignored the other and with his needed books, he walked off.
Lorenzo didn't grab him back, and as for Ariadne, when she asked for what happened yesterday, he replied with a stiff "nothing" and had the conversation end there.
Math class, he found it hard to ignore Dom. He almost smiled, but he caught himself before that could happen.
Gym, the class before lunch, Ariadne tried talking to him, but he stayed quiet.
It was only when she demanded an explanation did he finally give in.
"I'm grounded until I change back to my original self."
"Oh."
She glanced away, thinking.
"I think ... your parents are being ridiculous. I like the new you. And Lorenzo—he really likes you. He won't give up easily."
Where had he heard that before?
Arthur scoffed. "He can move on."
Those words— they were the same directed to himself and to Eames and Mal.
Ariadne grabbed his arm. "You can be yourself here. Your parents won't know."
He jerked his arm away and glared at her. "No."
That was the last conversation he held with Ariadne in that class.
At lunch, he sat to himself, but he ended up next to Timothy, Cheyenne, and their new group. A few times, his gaze would stroll to the other table, and a few times, he would meet one of his original group's gaze, but none of the looks lasted long.
He finished his lunch and dismissed himself from the table.
As he wandered the empty hallways outside the cafeteria, he was fully aware that someone was following him. It was someone from his own group; he knew that much, and from the sound of the footsteps, it seemed to be a male.
Arthur was sure that it was Lorenzo, but he was wrong. It was Tadashi.
He and Tadashi weren't on the closest terms as he was with the others, so Arthur assumed that Tadashi was sent out because of Ariadne and them.
Arthur paused in his tracks and turned, looking steadily at the ravenet. "May I help you?"
The younger male said nothing but merely handed him a note before walking off.
Arthur glanced around, checking the scene as if he was about to commit a crime, then opened the note.
It was from those at his original table.
Arthur —
Your parents won't know. Just put up a tough face at home. You can't ignore us forever. - Ari
Hey, babe. I want you to know that I forgive you for ignoring me earlier now that I know what's going on. Like Ari said, you should just ignore the rules here. Rules are meant for breaking, remember? - Renzo
Suck it up, bro. You're making my Ari worried, and Renzo won't shut up about you. - Houston
Though I'm not the biggest rule follower, you should just be yourself. Parents can't tie you down if you want to talk to us. Tell Eames Happy Birthday, by the way. - Mal
You're better with your other personality. I don't like this one. - Dom
I don't even know you, but for them to waste my piece of paper and my ink to write this to you, it would be helpful if you come back to us. - Tadashi
Arthur kept the letter. He knew it was safer to throw it away, but the letter simply made him happier on the inside. He had people that cared— even though Tadashi didn't know him that well, but still.
How bad would it be to follow Ariadne's advice?
He could pretend, just as they stated, but the challenge was, he had to play both roles. He wasn't the best actor or liar, but the note itself gave him enough hope to at least try.
His first attempt came at history class with Ariadne.
He greeted her, as usual, with a smile, and she greeted him back.
Everything seemed fine after that.
When the bell rung, though, he forced his smile away. He ignored all that turned his way and continued on like he did in the morning.
In the car with his mother, he proceeded to stay silent. She did as well, thankfully.
When he arrived home, Arthur headed straight to his room. There, he closed the door and settled in. As usual, he got started on homework, but once that was done and he had nothing more to do, he turned his attention to the mirror.
"Mal said Happy Birthday," he started, not sure if Eames heard him or not.
There wasn't an answer, so Arthur simply assumed that he was being ignored.
The young brunet sighed and made his way to the mirror. His fingers stroked the broken glass again.
"Happy birthday," he murmured a moment later before retiring for dinner.
Dinner didn't go as well as planned. His mother remained silent throughout and his father was practically preaching what was right and wrong. Though his father wasn't a religious person, he still pressed the point that homosexuality was a sin and downright disgusting. Arthur, at the moment he heard that, couldn't help but want to retort something along the lines of "have you tried kissing Lorenzo yet?" but of course, such would get him in trouble, so he accepted it and moved along.
When dinner ended, Arthur returned to his room, checked on the mirror, then headed to take a shower.
When he came back fresh and clean, he found Eames in the mirror, seated. As Arthur froze and stared, the Englishman glanced up, then disappeared.
This continued for the rest of the week.
Arthur had approached Mal about it, and like he thought, she had no clue what to do.
So all of Saturday, Arthur puzzled over Eames' case while stroking the cracks in the mirror. By now, he had learned that they were soothing for the other man.
That was all he could do.
Promptly around three in the afternoon, Eames finally appeared.
Arthur drew his fingers away, like normal, and just watched as Eames leaned to one side, still clutching his side, and suffering the pain.
Arthur felt helpless. He was standing here watching someone die, and he could do nothing about it. Eames was heaving and grunting. They weren't talking, but Arthur could tell that the other was suffering.
He sat, his back against his bed, peering at the British male at the same level.
This continued for ten more minutes before Arthur reached up and began stroking the cracks again.
Eames inhaled sharply, and then seemed to relax.
Again, their eyes met, but no words were uttered.
Arthur searched the hues for a message, anything, but Eames wasn't showing him anything that wasn't seen before.
Fifteen minutes later, the teen pulled away and stood up.
As he prepared for dinner, he heard one word from the other man.
"Thanks."
And that was it.
As he ate dinner, he contemplated the word of thanks. What was Eames thankful for? Arthur stroking the broken glass? For throwing the pencil holder?
He wasn't entirely sure of the reason, but the tone of the other's voice was sincere.
It felt nice to be thanked, though, even if the reason was unclear. For the past few conversations, they had argued, so the word of thanks was completely unexpected.
He finished his dinner in a clattering manner within minutes. As Arthur went to dump the dishes in the sink, he felt his father's eyes pin to him.
Obviously, he wasn't doing the best job of returning to his original self. He didn't bother with it, though.
Not bidding a word of goodnight to his mother or father, he proceeded back up the stairs.
And of course, Eames wasn't present.
It wasn't like Arthur was expecting it, anyways. But he couldn't help but long to see the Englishman again as he was preparing for bed, but returning from his shower, Eames still hadn't appeared.
Arthur heaved a sigh and paced over. Though he had no intentions of purposely calling the man out, it didn't stop him from brushing his fingers along the cracks. No answer was given to him, so moments later, Arthur drew his hand away and headed bed.
He watched the mirror for quite some time.
Over time, he began to think.
What exactly was his relationship with Eames now? What would it be in the future?
Arthur didn't include the Englishman in his future. He had planned to leave Eames somewhere, or in this case, alone. But he knew that, even with Eames gone from his future, he would still hold the memories.
It wasn't like the memories were bad— it was just everything else that came along with it. If he were to think back and remember Eames, then he would also remember Dom, Lorenzo, and the whole ordeal he was in right now. He would remember how his heart fluttered one day, then broke another. He would remember his first, second, and third kiss (even though one wasn't returned and one was to glass). He would remember how his father shamed and grounded him.
And then, he could possibly remember the companions he made along the way— Mal, Ariadne, and them. And remembering them would be okay.
But for now, Arthur didn't need to remember. He was living the moment, and instead of dwelling about the future, he should be focused on the present. The present problems were making his parents, specifically his father, happy, and Eames.
He was in the process of turning back to his original self, at home, of course, but Eames— he didn't know what to do anymore.
Mal had nothing either.
All they could do was wait it out, which meant Arthur had to deal with it without the knowledge of how to solve it.
— ox — xo —
He woke up Sunday morning and heard breathing.
His heart began pounding as his mind quickly processed where the breathing was coming from. He glanced over. Eames was there, looking a bit more horrible. He was sucking in breaths and didn't seem to notice that Arthur woke up. Arthur surveyed his sights; the crack on the mirror was relatively bigger, which effected Eames' appearance. The Englishman was still clutching his side, wheezing, and supporting himself against the mirror.
Arthur, without thinking, threw his covers off and headed over to the mirror.
Eames noticed him then.
"Arthur—" His name was gasped and strangled, but it was actually nice to hear.
Arthur swallowed and raised his hand. He hesitated, his fingers floating a centimeter away from the broken glass. His eyes met the oceanic ones; pain— that was all he saw. It was pain, and probably the most unbearable sort.
Arthur's hand fell and he took a step back.
Eames squeezed his eyes close and slid down so he was sitting against the mirror.
"Been watching you," Eames whispered in short breaths. "All night. I ... I—" There was a sharp intake in air. "It hurts." The light brunet's free hand grabbed at his hair, pulling and tugging. "Arthur, I'm—"
"Be quiet," Arthur commanded, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over the cracks. "You're getting through this."
Eames laughed, but it was dry and lasted no more than two seconds.
Arthur's brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You will."
Eames peered up at him and cringed.
Arthur, his hand still stroking the part of the mirror, crouched down to the other's eye level. "I mean it, Eames."
The Englishman managed a small smile, though it was most definitely forced. "`s lovely how you say my ... my name."
"Does it hurt to talk?" Arthur questioned, ignoring the comment completely.
"A bit, yeah."
"Don't talk, then. Just ... just work with me."
Arthur trailed his fingers over the reachable area of the broken glass.
Eames' gasps became more even and softer. "Don't mind. Talking to you ... darling."
Arthur's chest tightened at the familiar nickname, but he paid no attention to it.
"You're hurting yourself more."
"You're worth it."
Arthur's hand froze and he stared. Eames stared back.
For some time, Arthur tried processing the words. He was worth it? He knew that, but to Eames? He caused this mess. He wasn't worth being spoken to unless he was being told off— but that would only hurt Eames more.
Just what was going through Eames mind? Putting up with pain just to reply to him? If Arthur was in that position, he would have ignored everyone. Or maybe not. He may never know; after all, he couldn't imagine being stuck in a mirror.
"You're ridiculous," he muttered, pulling his hand back to tend to his clenching chest. "Stop hurting yourself more."
Another dry laugh.
"This pain on my ... side is—" Another hiss of pain. "— nothing compared to another pain."
Arthur frowned. "Another pain?"
Eames smiled at him once more. "In my heart."
The feeling was entirely mutual, and knowing that, Arthur panicked.
Without word, he stood up and scrambled away from the mirror, needing room to breathe and think.
He left the bedroom hastily.
Arthur knew he was overreacting, that maybe it was a common feeling, but the feeling was mysterious to him; he had felt clenches in his chest before, but none were as painful as this.
Now, Arthur never studied much about heart diseases and heart attacks, so he wasn't sure if this was a symptom— who was he kidding? It was just a painful clench in his chest. He was a healthy kid, so it shouldn't be related to a heart disease.
If that was the case, then what was it? What was this feeling of dread and worry? Regret? Yes, he now regretted throwing the pencil holder, seeing that this was the consequence. He didn't intend for everything to end this way.
He needed to get Eames out somehow, but what could he do?
Obviously, the kiss didn't work. Stroking the glass was like stroking a wound— it wasn't going to heal.
What else could he do?
Arthur questioned himself repetitively as he paced along the hallways. In the end, he came to a conclusion that nothing could be done. Nothing at all.
He couldn't return to his room. He felt ashamed, regretful, like an accidental murderer.
He couldn't face Eames. Couldn't face being told thanks or spoken to— why was Eames even trying to make conversation with him? He's obviously in no state to talk, and yet, he pushed his limits to reply to Arthur, and their conversation wasn't even considered important. It was casual and could easily be avoided.
But what if, per se, that's all Eames wanted? For Arthur to be there and talk to him? It wasn't realistic, but Arthur kinda hoped that it could be. He enjoyed talking to Eames— just not the arguments and slip of unspeakable words. And Arthur wouldn't mind being around. He caused it, and all he wanted now was to resolve it.
Thing was, he couldn't muster up the courage to face Eames.
Why, though? It wasn't as if Eames could cone out of the mirror and strangle him. What exactly was he afraid of, then?
Arthur didn't know.
— ox — xo —
Monday returned once more.
Arthur rose up from his bed and rubbed his eyes from sleep. He yawned and then proceeded to make his way to the bathroom. The night before, he had stayed up past midnight simply thinking. At one point, he could sworn Eames had shown himself, but when he rolled over to check, the other was gone. It was probably just his imagination. Now, Arthur was trying to push the thoughts out of his mind. It was two weeks before Fall Break, which meant that quarter tests were coming up. He needed to focus on studies now. When he gets home, he could think about the case.
"How's Eames?"
Already, it was the end of the school day, and Arthur was at his locker, extracting his homework materials out, when Mal approached him with the question.
"Gradually worse, it seems like."
Mal fell silent, and Arthur used that time to finish grabbing his items. After closing and locking his locker, he turned to the other female. "There's nothing we can do."
Mal stiffened. "There must be something," she whispered feverishly.
Arthur shifted the books in his arms.
"Have you tried ... kissing him again?"
Arthur's eyes flashed. "No," he replied sharply. "It didn't work. It won't work now."
"Have you stroked—"
"Everyday," he admitted. "It doesn't make him better. Why is this—" he hesitated briefly. "— why is he important to you?"
Mal gave him a sharp look. "He's human."
The answer hurt. Of course Eames was human.
"Do you care?" she questioned in response, but in a quiet voice.
Arthur tried to ignore the question by side stepping Mal and making his way towards the exit. He knew he was panicking again, because the moment he heard the question, his head screamed yes. Yes, he did care. He cared to a point in which his thought revolved around the Englishman every other minute. Or maybe it was just worry.
"You're running away," Mal called out.
Arthur hustled out of the building, not wanting to hear from Mal until he could draw his head from the confusion. On his way out, he ignored Ariadne's greeting, but luckily, before she could ask what was wrong, she had caught sight of his parent's car and bid a farewell.
Arthur slid into the vehicle without word and closed the door behind him. His mother drove him home in silence. When the engines were turned off, she finally spoke.
"I'm sorry."
Arthur had pushed the door open, but he didn't get up. He listened.
"I didn't think your father would react like this. It's unfair, but we're doing what's best for you. You'll only get beaten up and hated if you ... like men."
Arthur's face turned dark and he glared at the woman. "I can take care of myself," he said with a hint of snap in his voice.
He didn't stay around for the rest of the lecture.
After grabbing the keys and his items, he headed towards the door. As he entered, his mind escaped from his mother's words to Eames, and with that, he bolted up the stairs.
His backpack dropped to the ground and his items in his hands were discarded on his bed. He made his way over to the mirror in a bouncy manner.
"Shit," he whispered, trailing his fingers along the cracks.
By now, one of the cracks had reached the other end of the mirror. It wouldn't be long until the whole mirror was broken.
"Eames," he called out softly, his heart thundering in his ear. "Eames? Are you alright? Fuck." He stroke the cracks. "I'm here, Eames. Jesus—"
Just what the hell was he doing? This was not him. It was far from him. Arthur wasn't suppose to care.
His fingers clenched into a fist as he drew it away from the mirror.
He was shaking. His hands were trembling, and his legs could barely hold him up.
He sat and cupped his head.
Maybe Eames was sleeping. Maybe he was just sleeping.
Arthur tried to convince himself of that, but it wouldn't seep through.
"Dammit, Eames," he hissed, fingers curling around his locks. "This is your fault. Entirely your—"
"Arthur ..."
At the sound of his name, the young teen snapped from his thoughts and quickly scrambled to the mirror.
"Eames—"
Eames was on the ground, arms around his stomach, looking very much in pain and equally horrible.
"God, Eames. I thought—"
"Arthur," the other wheezed, placing a hand on the mirror to steady himself.
Arthur, fuck everything, placed his hand over the one on the other side of the mirror.
"`m sorry. I'm so ... fucking sorry, Arthur."
"Shut up. Stop talking."
Arthur gazed at the eyes that glazed with tears. He dropped his gaze immediately afterwards.
"Forgive me—"
"Shut up, Eames! Goddammit, you're dying— you're dy ..."
No, he was not going to cry. He won't.
"I lo—"
"You're dying, you bastard! Shut the hell up for once!"
Arthur jerked his hand away and pushed himself to his feet before briskly walking to the bathroom.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Eames was dying, and it's his fault.