Title; Lined with Silver
Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen & confused! Arthur, somewhat ludicrous
Summary; Arthur moves from the big city of Chicago to the small town of Limbo. Everything in the town is to his liking— well, everything except for the full-body mirror, that contains a British man with ridiculous fashion sense, in his new bedroom.
Disclaimer; if only, ohoho ~
Author's Notes; I actually have a chapter out within a week. Whoo! That'safirst. Thank you for the three reviewers! I love you all ~. Annnd, I think that's it. c:

Arthur felt himself freeze; his eyes widened, and when he sat up to make sure he wasn't seeing things, his mouth dropped open. He watched, unblinking, as the man in the mirror began to panic. The other's eyes masked with shock as well, but what surprised Arthur the most were the words.

"I didn't realize— don't be frightened, darling."

Of course, that was exactly what Arthur was: frightened. Yet, quickly overcoming his state of shock, Arthur scrambled out of his bed and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. In this case, it was his cellphone, and at the moment, he could really care less if his cellphone was smashed into pieces if that would mean that the mirror would be broken. He raised the object, his heart thundering against his chest, his expression still expressing a mixture between fear and surprise.

The figure in the mirror swung out his arms. "You don't want to do that—" he started, but Arthur cut him off.

"What ... what do you want?"

For the first time in a long time, he heard the weakness in his voice. There was no longer confidence in him, and with that thought, he began to fear deeper. He wanted to run, but his effort had already gotten him out of bed. His bare feet locked to the ground as he dwell in horror. The man didn't make it any better by actually replying to him.

"Nothing! I want nothing; just don't break the glass— I'm Eames. My name is Eames— no, no, don't you dare—"

Arthur threw it, and due to his horrid hand-eye coordination at the moment, the cellphone hit the silver rim of the mirror and fell to the ground. He stiffened visibly, his eyes becoming wide again. He braced himself, but by how his body was iced over, he found it hard to even move into a defense position.

The figure, Eames, raised both hands in the air slightly in a surrender motion. "Let me explain—"

He didn't get a chance to. The lights turned on, and Eames disappeared. Arthur inhaled and exhaled a couple of times before realizing that his father had asked a question. He glanced over at his guardian before pointing at the mirror.

"There's a man in the mirror. I swear—"

His father gave him a look, which only cued Arthur to start protesting.

"That's not a normal mirror. I saw it—"

His father silenced him with a hand and another pointed look. "Son, you just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

Before Arthur could complain, his father flicked off the light. Immediately, he felt the odd sensation sweep over him, and this time, he refused to let it get to him. Without moving from his spot in fear that he would trip, he called out to his father.

"Can we please move it?"

The answer was distant. "Sleep, Arthur. You should be grateful that the last owner's daughter left you a gift." Even though the last part was murmured, he still heard it.

Arthur shut his eyes and tried to suppress the thoughts. He bit into the insides of his cheek as he climbed into bed blindly and turned on his left side. His blanket clutched closely to him as he curled into a ball. That didn't help any. He heard the voice again— the deep male voice with the British accent, and if he was imagining this all, he was sure that he had gone crazy.

"I won't hurt you, dear."

Arthur tried his best to shut out such voice, but it continued.

"Don't be frightened. It's never my intention to scare or hurt anyone, honest."

There was no way his imagination could get this wild. Clutching his bed sheets tightly, he sat up and gazed over. The man was still there. Arthur felt his heart start to thunder again, but he didn't dare back down. With all the courage he could muster up, he stared back.

"What do you want from me?" he asked again, this time, his voice holding more strength than last time.

At the question, he watched as Eames' lips curling up into a small smile, and he feared the answer. Much to the contradiction of his thoughts, the figure did not say anything along the lines of his blood, his body, or something horrid. Instead, it was a suitable answer.

"I just want to talk to you."

A grin still played on Eames' mouth as Arthur continued to stare.

He didn't know what to think— the whole ordeal of a figure in the mirror talking to him was outrageous, but at the same time, it perked his interests. If this was some sort if invention, why wasn't it sold to the world? Surely people would appreciate talking mirrors. Unfortunately, Arthur was not categorized in the same group that wanted talking mirrors. He, after all, didn't fancy looking into the mirror and seeing someone else rather than his own appearance— especially if that someone was a pink button-up wearing, faintly unshaven, no taller than six feet, British person. And see, if Arthur had imagined this all, he would had, at the very least, made the clothes less ludicrous. But of course, that didn't seem to be the case. Then again, the clothes did set a distinguished personality for Eames, and it so happened to be a personality that Arthur wasn't fond of since it involved talking nonstop.

"It's a bad time to talk, isn't it?" came the voice again, drawling out the words as if he were testing them for the first time in years.

The teenager glanced at his alarm clock for the briefest moment before returning his gaze to the other. "It's two in the morning," Arthur answered dully, which fascinated him, since he thought he would stumble over his words again.

"Oh, so it is."

For moments proceeding that, Arthur found himself continuously staring at the mirror, trying to make sense of what was going on. The whole thing was impossible; he must be in a dream state or something.

Eames thought otherwise. "A convenient time to talk without disruptions, if I must say so myself. Let me introduce myself again, pet. My name is Nicholas Eames; feel free to call me Eames. I prefer it, actually. I was cursed into this mirror—"

Arthur decided to cut in there. "I would like you to leave me alone, thank you."

Laying back down again, Arthur turned to his left and pulled the covers up to his chin. He heard a huff coming from the other's direction.

"No need to be rude, pet. But good night to you too."

He couldn't sleep at all, and Eames seemed fully aware of that, considering that he, Arthur, felt a prickling along his body telling him that someone was watching him. And to all honesty, he would like nothing more than to throw the mirror out the window or get out of his bed and go sleep on the couch, but both options showed to be bothersome. He heaved a sigh, drawing out his breath slowly. He wanted to say something along the lines of 'stop watching me, you creep', but decided against it. Instead, Arthur merely continued to force sleep on himself. He couldn't, though, considering that there was a mirror with a reflection of some unknown man, sitting on the right side of the bed. He trembled and snuggled deeper into the blankets. In the midst of the silence, he heard a breathing aside from his own. That meant Eames was still there, probably watching him. This frightened and gave him the chills.

At two thirty on the clock, he couldn't handle it anymore. He sat up and threw a glare at the mirror's direction.

Eames grinned. "How was your nap, love?"

To that, Arthur merely scowled and slipped out of his bed. Fear began creeping up inside him as he neared the mirror, but he did his best to tie them down. He arrived at the foot of the mirror and grabbed the sides. Eames suddenly chuckled, which made Arthur spring back in surprise. He wasn't expecting that, nor did he expect the words following that.

"You look more dashing up close. What did you say your name was?"

"Is," Arthur corrected automatically at the same time he chose to ignore the question. He placed both hands on each side of the mirror and attempted to move it.

It didn't budge.

"Iz? I would expect a name like Eduardo or Antoine from you, but Iz is fine. And I wouldn't try that, pet. A girl tried the same thing, as did her father. This mirror can't move, so fortunately, I won't be going anywhere."

Arthur pulled back and folded his arms across his chest. This was getting more ridiculous by the moment. A mirror that talked and could not be moved—what exactly is wrong with the entire picture? Giving up on that, Arthur dragged a blanket off his bed and proceeded to make his way out of the room.

"Hey, it's not my fault that—"

After closing the bedroom door to shut out the voice, he proceeded down the stairs and into the living room. The sofa wasn't as comfortable as his bed, but he found it easier to relax into since all the hair that had been standing up at the back of his neck was now nonexistence. But of course, that didn't rule out his paranoia and whatnot.

Arthur laid awake and stared at the TV screen as if he expected a person to appear there. It didn't do anything, so him pulling an all-nighter wasn't necessary. He yawned and pulled the covers closer to him. The sun was peeking out of the horizon now, lighting the place with a warm feel. And with the light, he felt more courage return to him.

Using that as an advantage, he gathered his blankets into his arms and made his way back to his room. He opened the door slowly and peered in, expecting some sort of destruction to be within. His room looked the exact same as he left it. Content with that, Arthur moved forward, conscious of his surroundings. He placed his blanket on the bed before looking in the mirror's direction. He saw nothing but what a regular mirror was supposed to reflect. Did that mean that he dreamed up the whole ordeal? He doubted that, so he didn't dare draw close to move the mirror elsewhere. Instead, he grabbed one of the two bedsheets strewn over his bed and threw it over the object. This satisfied him up to the point when he finished taking his morning shower and grooming up. As he walked back into his room to dump his clothes, the familiar voice returned.

"You know, I can't see your pretty face with this over my sights."

Arthur's first instinct was to jump and run, though he only fulfilled half of that; he jumped, allowed goosebumps to travel up his arm, before calming himself down so that he could throw the clothes into the pile he made yesterday. After promptly completing that task, Arthur glanced in the mirror's direction and stared. He was half-expecting his white bedspread to whip up and off the mirror, but all he got in response was the Englishman's voice.

"You know, this is nearly transparent, which means I can nearly see you. Your tactic isn't really fool-proof, love."

Arthur found himself fearless at the moment. He was merely torn between reality and the dream world. Everything aside from the mirror itself was real, and he was sure of that. It couldn't be that he was lonely enough to conjure up something like this? If that was the case, then why didn't this Eames person appear elsewhere? Like the bathroom mirror (which he was anxiously aware of while he took his shower) or the television? Would that mean that he wasn't imagining this?

Arthur's brows furrowed ever so slightly as a small breath drew out of him.

"I can still see you, pet," came the sing-song voice, thick on the British accent.

The teen shot the mirror a cold look and decided for the moment that it wasn't his imagination. After all, why would he come up with someone who was a pathetically annoying creeper? And if that was the case, then, what the hell? There was a man named Eames trapped inside the mirror, that sat on the right of his bed, and the mirror, itself, wouldn't budge.

He considered trying again, but with the blanket over it, the man's actions were unpredictable. He might as well be pulled into the mirror while trying to grab it ...

No— no.

He was simply out of his mind. The summer's heat was just getting to him. The mirror was probably a toy the girl of the last family left behind to scare him. That made some sense, but not much. Unless it was advanced technology, Arthur doubted that it could respond like a human would, and with an accent on top of that.

"If you insist on a staring contest, the least you could do is remove this bloody thing so I can see if you're cheating or not."

Arthur contemplated for that moment how much trouble he would get in if he were to smash the glass. Though, before he could even come to a conclusion, he heard another voice, and he jumped.

"Was that you?"

It was the soft and delicate voice of his mother. He breathed in relief, but that didn't stop him from heaving while regaining his posture. She blinked at him, and Arthur quickly tried to relax his wildly pounding heart before looking over. He opened his mouth to say the first thing that came across his mind, but she spoke again.

"Why is the mirror covered?"

Arthur didn't want to sound like a lunatic, so he lied. "I was cleaning up ... and I had to put the bed sheet aside."

It was a pitiful excuse, but it was the only thing he came up with at that particular moment.

"Oh." His mother turned back to him. "Were you mimicking a voice?"

Arthur's gaze flickered to the mirror for a split moment before nodding.

She clasped her hands together while her expressions lit up. "You can pull off the English's accent perfectly."

And to all honesty, he thought his mother sounded like a fangirl, but he didn't voice his thoughts in fear that she would question him how and why.

He forced a small smile. "It takes practice," he merely responded, not wanting the awkwardness to take over. After that, he quickly changed the subject. "What are you doing up this early, mother?"

She inspected him for a moment before strolling towards the mirror's direction. "I wanted to see the sun rise. You look as if you were up for a bit of time." She stopped next to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at him. "This mirror has been here through five families," she informed. "I suppose it's a welcome gift from the original house owners."

She smiled at him and moved to take off the bed sheet, but Arthur yelped out a no. Luckily, his mother halted in time, and in return, he received a questionable look. He flushed from embarrassment. "Is something the matter?"

Arthur shook his head. "Just remembered that I forgot to pick up my summer reading books," he murmured while hating the fact that he had to lie constantly.

His mother twisted up her expression but gave a slight nod. "Alright, then. Just make sure to take the sheet off from the mirror."

Arthur had never felt more relieved to see his mother leave. He exhaled slowly before seating himself on the edge of the bed. Not only two moments later did Eames talk.

"It's bad to lie to your mother."

The teen just glared to his right. "Stop talking to me," he hissed.

That didn't work.

Eames mimicked a soft gasp. "I'm truly hurt, darling. I, for one, love to talk, so I can't just stop, and two, you're not really giving me an option."

Arthur didn't even ask what the other was rambling about. He just removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mirror. After pulling the bed sheet off, he came face-to-face with the Englishman again. And being this close in the sheer daylight, he could fully inspect him.

There wasn't a doubt about it; Eames was quite attractive for a man. Aside from the hideous fashion sense and the fact that he was in the mirror, Eames was fair— well, fair to point in which made Arthur stare for more than the intended moment, which was a horrible decision considering that the Englishman caught onto his staring.

"Your eyes are beautiful," he commented, which caught Arthur off guard.

The young brunet blinked, then leaned away from the mirror.

"You're only my imagination," he said in return, hoping that he could plant the idea that this was all part of his mind so that he insured his sanity.

Eames wasn't helping, though. The man's lips curled into a small smile. "I assure you I am more than a figment of your imagination."

At the sound of that reply, the corner of Arthur's mouth dipped slightly into a frown.

Furthermore, the proceeding comment made him scowl. "But I'm happy to hear that you include me while you're daydreaming. What else do you imagine?"

That was about all he could take of the babbling male. He glanced around for an item to use as a throwing object. For the briefest moment, he considered his cellphone again, but seeing how he almost broke it the last time, he decided against it. But that didn't stop him from using his cylindrical pencil holder. As he picked it up and tested its weight, he heard the protests once more.

"Now, you don't want to do that, darling. There are other ways—"

Arthur didn't give him time to respond. He paced over to the mirror and prepared to smash the object against the glass. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the antique, but he became hesitant. His father and mother would not be happy to come into his room and see glass all over the floor. So seeing that the best thing to do was to cover the mirror back up, he did just that. Not wanting to hear the complaints, he placed the pencil holder back in its original place before strolling out of the room.

He approached his father with the request to remove the mirror three hours after his exit of the room. At first, his father seemed reluctant to comply, but once Arthur insisted upon it being moved, he came along. As he led the older man into the room, he inquired that he was preserving the mirror from dust, thus why there was a bed sheet over it. His father merely grunted in disapproval before moving to the front of said mirror. Arthur watched as his father curled his fingers around the sides of the mirror and attempted to lift it. He failed on the first few attempts, so Arthur pitched in to help. Even with four hands and doubled strength, the mirror refused to budge. The younger of the two scowled in frustration as the older figure crouched down to the foot if the full-body mirror.

"It's nailed to the ground."

Their gazes met, and his father frowned at him.

"Why do you want to move it?"

Arthur sighed and repeated himself from earlier. "It sets the tone of my bedroom off." It wasn't a complete lie; the silver framing and the position of the mirror did look odd in his room.

His father stood up and gave him a firm look. "Deal with it for now. I'll call someone in to pry these nails off. They look sturdy enough to hold bricks together."

Without saying more, the authoritative figure left.

Arthur frowned and bent down to inspect the nails as well. There wasn't a doubt it; they seem firmly intact into the ground. He drew back up moments later. It was obvious that the owner of the mirror had wanted it to stay in the room for whatever reason he didn't know of. If the owner had wanted to keep the mirror in fine condition, then why didn't he move it? Maybe the original owner was scared of the man in the mirror? Perhaps; it was a possibility. But why was there even a man in the mirror, if it wasn't his own input of a subconscious? It could mean that the owner was in the mirror, but—

"Told you, darling. I'm afraid you can't get rid of me that easily."

Arthur felt insects crawl up his arm, making his hair stand up as the words were spoken in a taunting way. He found Eames' voice and accent charming, yes, but how they would randomly sound near his ear, at the least imaginable time, made him cringe.

Arthur heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

It truly was; never before had he dealt with something that seemed related to magic, or, if he were to not believe in that, related to his imagination running wild, then completely off course. It didn't help that he was torn between the two either; for one, he didn't believe in magic. He was sure that there was some sort of reasoning behind each magic trick. Unless the owner or producer of the mirror was extremely skilled, then it was some sort of magic. But the thought itself was still unbelievable. He needed proof, but proof was staring him straight in the face. And he still couldn't function his brain properly to accept that it was something out of this world.

On the other hand, it could be just his newfound imagination; maybe all of the creativity from the uncreative thoughts had bind together to create this mass production. But everything was based on something. Arthur was positive that he hadn't picked up anything relevant to a man in the mirror, specifically, a man that was completely opposite of him. The whole ordeal didn't make any sense. It was some sort of extremity, but he couldn't believe in any sort of magic. It couldn't be his imagination either, because if it was, something was definitely wrong with him and he would need to seek help immediately before the man appeared everywhere.

"Perhaps if you sit down, remove this coverage, and listen, I'll tell you my story."

The words snapped Arthur from his string of thoughts. He became hesitant over his decision, which was a first (he usually knew what he wanted). In the end, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He found himself dragging the bed sheet off the mirror to reveal the familiar face of the Englishman.

After that, he stepped away and pressed himself against the farthest wall to avoid any danger that could lash out on him. And at that thought, he glanced around for a weapon of some sort. He decided the pencil holder was the best he had in the area, so he went with that. As his fingers curled around the object, he turned his attention back to Eames.

The man seemed aware of the item in his hands, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he merely requested the door to be closed so that his voice wouldn't project. In response, Arthur bitterly replied that that wasn't necessary, when in reality, he just didn't want to be trapped inside. When the Englishman offered him a seat, he also refused that, seeing that that would only bring him closer to the mirror. In the end, the man rolled his eyes, but began upon Arthur's command— or rather, Arthur's threat.

"I was born on the fifteenth of September in the year of 1977."

Arthur couldn't help but calculate how old the other was, but Eames spoke his answer before he can even accept it.

"Which makes me 20 years old, if your calender's correct. I was born in England, then moved to this town when I was thirteen or something. I lived here, in this very room, for a year."

Arthur felt a tingle run up his arm, and he wanted nothing more than to run. How Eames was staring at him with those startling blue eyes and how his full lips curved to form every word was beginning to get to him with each passing second. Yet, he couldn't look away. It was as if there was an invisible string that attracted him towards the other. If he had scissors, perhaps he could cut away the so-called string. Though, the thought was quickly shaken away so that he could listen to the proceeding words.

"I use to go to Limbo High School. I was a freshman, but I was one of the well-known ones."

Arthur thought that the other was far cocky than inspected.

"I was also a prat."

Point proven.

"I would lead girls on, making it seem like I fancy them. On top of that, I would tease the boys that prefer males by shamelessly flirting with them."

At that, Arthur felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he spoke nothing of it so that Eames could continue telling his bizarre tale.

"One of them was Nash. He wasn't as attractive as others, but he was a closet homosexual. When I realized that, I began teasing him. I flirted; I touched, and he would blush and become a school girl. It was only a week later that I received news that Nash actually fancied me. It disgusted me when I came to the thought that, instead of embarrassing him, I was actually pleasuring him. So on a Friday, after school, I gathered a few members of the basketball team— yes, I played basketball— and we went to seek him out."

Eames paused in his words, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. Arthur, examining this, questioned the motion by scrunching up his face, but nevertheless, he continued to remain silent. The man started once more once his gaze returned to the teen's a few seconds later.

"We picked on him. We kicked him around, then we left him in a ditch. He was alive and breathing, but I'm sure we broke his rib cage or something."

Eames' eyes no longer filled with cheerfulness; instead, they showed regret of many sort. Arthur's sights downcast in response.

"I regretted it. I still do. But that night, I couldn't sleep at all. I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I should go back and help. Face the charges. But I didn't have to. I was alerted by Nash's voice on my right. He simply said 'love is blind', and the next thing I knew was that I was looking at him, but he was standing beside my bed. I was in the mirror."

Arthur was sure he heard the crack in the other's voice then.

"I asked what was going on. I pounded on the glass and demanded freedom. Nash just stared at me and told me words that stuck to me till this day."

There was another pause in which Arthur peered up. Eames was seated, his arms wrapping around knees. His eyes were cast upon the floor. Nevertheless, he continued, but this time, with a less bold voice.

"He told me that I'm in the mirror that could not and can not be moved. He didn't say what would happen if someone— or I— break the glass, so I fear the worst. What he did say was 'next time you decide to break someone's heart, think about how they would feel; until you discover the feeling and what love is, you won't be free.' He disappeared after that. I thought it was nothing but a fairy tale— that I was dreaming. But I wasn't. I'm not. This is reality. I made a mistake, and this happens."

Eames inhaled sharply.

"I was pronounced missing. I shouted for help whenever I could, but it didn't work. I soon realized that they couldn't see me, so every time they would hear me, they would think it's their imagination. My grandparents moved out three months later.

"A new family moved in a month later. They had a baby girl no older than three. I talked to her, but she didn't place where I was. When her mum came in, I tried to get her attention. She flipped. They called the paranormal investigators. They discovered nothing. She was labeled insane.

"I shut up for some time after that. Nearly half a year later, another family moved in. It was two men, actually, and their adopted baby girl. The girl couldn't see me, but one of the men did. At first, he thought this was a joke, but when I actually started responding— that family left.

"A family of five resided next, a year or something later. They had a daughter, age fifteen, I'm assuming. She saw me. And like the other families, she had her family move out two months later.

"This house was unoccupied for a long time. I lost track of the day, the time— everything. But over the years, I thought over his words— I thought and considered everything. I realized the mistakes I've made.

"Just less than a year ago, I think, a family of three moved in. They had a daughter, age sixteen. She could see me. She wasn't scared of me. She didn't even tell anyone about me. We became friends. For once, I felt what it was like to be accepted again. I began to fall for her, but before I could be head over heels, she told me that she was moving away. I was heartbroken. But she spent the last few hours with me; just talking to me. I told her everything, and in return, she gave me her thoughts. She thought that this is somewhat like a fairytale and suggested that the reason why I was visible to some is because I'm capable of falling in love with them or something. She also joked that I would need true love's kiss to break the curse. I asked her for a kiss. She laughed it off."

Eames sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"She was a lovely girl."

The blue eyes returned to Arthur along with the soft smile.

"And now, you can see me, correct? If she's right, then I'm capable of falling in love with you."

"Ludicrous." The word slipped out of Arthur's mouth before he could even help it.

But it was true; the entire story seemed as if it was made up— like it was some beginning to a tragic fairytale. Not to mention, Eames saying that he was capable of falling for Arthur? That was ridiculous as it sounded; Arthur was sure he had a repelling charm where he sent people that fancied him away. Though, really, it wasn't needed. No one had actually approached him in such manner, and he was sure if they did, they would turn and walk away. Arthur didn't care about relationships at this point. Truthfully, he just wanted to finish school, get a job, then settle down with whoever he takes an interest to. And all that should be completed within five years, if not less. At this moment, he was simply wasting his time staring at the man in the mirror who was trying to convince him that the story was real. Arthur could have been doing something better, like reading, but he agreed to hear the story out; he just didn't agree that he would believe it.

And yet, Eames seemed determined.

"It's true. How else would you explain this?"

The question caught the teen stumped. He pondered over it for a few moments before folding his arms across his chest and answering. "You could be part of my—"

Eames didn't allow him to finish, which made Arthur frown; he didn't like being interrupted. "This is reality. I, Nicholas Eames, am stuck in mirror. And I would like to get out, thank you."

Arthur's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Amuse me," he challenged in a murmur, hoping that Eames caught it as pure sarcasm.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

"Kiss me."

That actually caught Arthur off guard, and he found himself masking an expression of confusion. Kiss him— a mirror? He could only fear how his parents would react if they stepped in the room at the moment. They would think that he was either in love with himself or officially gone insane, which wasn't a really good thought. Eames, on the other hand, seemed to have an objective.

"That's how fairy tales are like, no? Sleeping Beauty wakes up from a kiss; Ariel's kiss would have allowed her to stay with the prince; Belle's kiss broke the beast's spell. Your kiss might bring me out."

Arthur refused to believe that this was all in his imagination now; he wasn't that desperate. Therefore, he declared this as reality, which meant that there was actually a man in the mirror, and that man wanted a kiss. Which, of course, Arthur immediately protested. He allowed his arms to fall to his side as he answered.

"No."

And that cued more words from the other. "You're not actually— you're just kissing the mirror! I'm tired of being in here. I've learned my mistakes—"

"No."

Arthur glared in hopes of having Eames disappear again so that the reflection was his own. Eames did the opposite; he continued trying to convince him.

"It's just a kiss. I promise I won't bother you. It's just one favor."

The corner of the teen's mouth twitched. "I'm not your fairy tale's true love," he stated as coolly as he could while trying to settle his pounding heart.

"Oh, but you can be."

Arthur didn't wish to reply to that; he just wanted to cover the mirror back up, and he wondered, for the briefest moment, if it would shut the other up if he duct taped the entire mirror. But alas, his parents wouldn't appreciate that. Nevertheless, he wouldn't be able to get duct tape without his guardians asking why. So he just settled with a blank look.

"No."

He expected the other to continue whining, but much to his luck, Eames just fell silent yet continued to watch him. Arthur glanced elsewhere, wondering if he could successfully make it out of the room without being called back or something. Though, at the feel of someone watching him, he turned and looked back. Eames was still staring at him, but a second later, he glanced away with a sigh.

"You can't blame a man for trying," he murmured. "I had so many chances to fall in love; I just took them for granted. Look how I turned out." The blue eyes returned to the younger male. "I blew my chance again, didn't I?"

Arthur didn't answer, but he kept his expression firm.

In a quieter voice, Eames continued. "Are you going to move away anytime soon?"

There was a string of silence in which Arthur used to consider whether he should answer or not. And he wasn't sure why he decided to answer, but he did. "Not anytime soon."

Ever so faintly, a smile curved up on the man's lips. "Good. We have time to fall in love with each other."

That alone rendered Arthur wordless.