Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen & a bit dirty minded! Arthur, hinting ats, LOLKIDSGAMES

Disclaimer; if only, ohoho ~

Author's Notes; I was torn between whether Arthur would have a dirty mind or not. In character, he wouldn't ... really, but ffffffuuuuu— you can't really hold a long, non-sexual conversation with Eames. Anyways, hope you enjoy this one. It's sort of a relaxed chapter! :3 andthankyouforthereviews,darlings ~ And oh, dark brunet refers to Arthur while light brunet refers to Eames— just clearing that up.

His father had the courtesy to, for the first time ever, strip him from his freedom. His car keys, cellphone, and his treasured laptop was taken away from him, which literally caused him to throw a tantrum. But of course, he didn't argue back. Arthur accepted the punishment for his actions without much regret.

On the other hand, his mother had pulled him aside and asked him what caused the fight. Once more, he found himself lying for obvious and stupid reasons, but seeing that there was no way taking it back, he left it at that. After drawing away from his mother and ignoring the disapproving look from his father, Arthur retired to his bedroom where he, like before, shut the door.

He had completed his homework in the morning, and now, he had nearly seven more hours to himself. Books entertained him for nearly an hour, but seeing that they were ones he already read, they didn't perk his interest much. So, for once, he was actually glad that he had a man in a mirror, no matter how creepy it was.

Eames was irritating as usual, but over the time, Arthur waved the small teasing and flirtatious gestures off as barely nothing. Conversations seemed to flow easier between the two, since it involved how to get back at the bullies (the young teen wasn't all that interested, but hey, hearing Eames' wild imagination of revenge was rather interesting).

When the clock stroke nine, Arthur climbed into bed, fresh from the shower and ready to fall to slumber. Yet, Eames was continuously speaking to him, and all Arthur could do was reply (it was common courtesy, after all).

At ten, Arthur turned away from the mirror with a small smile on his lips. Eames bid him a good night, and soon, the dark brunet fell into a blissful sleep while thinking that being stripped from his belongings wasn't that bad.

— ox — xo —

Arthur woke up Sunday morning to the sound of silence, which isn't particularly odd, but nonetheless, it made him curious of the time. After seeing that it was seven, he rose from his bed and promptly hobbled his way to his door and peered out. The sun's light allowed him to see around, and from the looks of it, his parents weren't up yet. Waving it off as nothing, he made his way to the bathroom and settled on getting ready. Once presentable, he returned to his room.

"Morning," came a drowsy voice to his left.

And again, Arthur, who still hadn't gotten use to the voice piping up at random times, felt his body freeze over. It was only for a split second, since he soon realized that it was Eames. At that, he threw the mirror a dissatisfied look.

"Stop that."

The Englishman's lips curved into a small smirk. "Why? Did I manage to frighten you again?My apologies, darling."

The dark brunet scowled, but chose not to reply to that. Eames seemed to have ignored the fact that Arthur didn't answer, since he continued speaking a couple of seconds later.

"Have you given thought to egging Timothy's house? Or toilet papering his car?"

The tension began ceasing there as Arthur managed a feeble shrug. "That would be too much work, and, I would need to spend money on the toilet paper and eggs. Mother won't be pleased when she wakes up one more and find both of our stocks out."

"How about writing something on his car or locker? You can always use the ketchup packets from lunch," the other pressed.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't need more suspension days. I already have three on my record. Why are you aimed on me getting revenge?" He quirked an amused brow at the other. "Is it because you enjoy my company? Or are you just fond of watching my failure?"

There was a hint of teasing within his question to which Eames caught.

"I do enjoy your company very much, pet—"

"Arthur."

"— Arthur," the Englishman tried again, but this time, purring out the name. This sent an odd shiver down the younger of the two's spine. "And I'm not keen on watching your step falter, love. It is hilarious, though, how much you make a big deal out of something so little."

At that, Arthur threw the other a glare.

"I mean no offense, though," Eames continued, flashing him a winning smile.

Arthur huffed before walking out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. As he was making himself breakfast, his brown eyes took notice of a note posted on the refrigerator. Without much hesitation, he walked towards it and read the words scribbled down by his father.

"Out for the day. Will be home soon. Don't do anything reckless, and do not try to go anywhere," he murmured.

With a sigh, he ripped the note off from the fridge and threw it away. He wouldn't think of going anywhere anyways. He didn't have a car to drive him places; he couldn't call Ariadne, since his cellphone was taken, and he was sure that the home phone line was being monitored in some way. He didn't dare walk out either. The ones that victimized him knew where he lived, so he could get jumped. He could go out with a weapon, but then, he could get framed for attempt in murder or something along those lines. With a suspension on his record, he didn't want to jeopardize it anymore. Furthermore, he decided to stay inside and dwell on how boring the day would be. Then again, Eames provided him entertainment most of yesterday.

Arthur didn't want to highly depend on the Englishman (because hey, Eames was in a mirror— what if he suddenly disappeared?). If only he was allowed to go to the library; or, at the very least, invite Ariadne or Dom over so he would have some company. Everything was just relatively boring with the things that were taken from him.

Yet, he didn't want to dwell on those thoughts. After finishing his breakfast (which was far from his mother's usual eggs, bacon, and toast because Arthur can't cook worth his life), he headed back up to his bedroom.

"Eames," he addressed, which was a first, since the other was usually the first one to speak. Nevertheless, the Englishman didn't seem to bother with the fact that he had been greeted first.

"Hello again, pet. How was your breakfast?"

Arthur seated himself on his bed and faced said mirror. "Could have been better. I have a request."

"At least you get to eat something. Cooped up here, I don't even manage to eat anything. Strange, since I seem to be aging. It'll be my birthday soon." A cheeky grin passed on the light brunet's lips. "And what's your request?"

While lightly finger the sheet on his bed, Arthur spoke. "Because it was your suggestion, I have three days of suspension, a weekend, and am probably grounded for the rest of my life. Seeing that's the case, I think it's only fair that you entertain me until I'm ungrounded."

Eames quirked an eyebrow, then, a second later, he laughed. "Demanding, aren't you? Mm, I'll take you up on that request, since I'm not really given a choice. Besides, that means that I would have your attention."

Arthur sniffed and folded his arms across his chest while reflecting the raise of eyebrow. "Well?" he drawled, waiting for the other to start doing something that would be amusing.

Eames hummed to himself before noting Arthur's impatience. "Would you like to hear a song? A story? A joke? I have a few up my sleeves. Or are you content with me telling you how adorable you look this morning?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at the compliment, but he made no move to answer it. "Why do you disappear at various times?" he questioned, wanting to change the subject that was thoroughly embarrassing (he was not adorable, dammit; the only word that should describe him is handsome).

"I can't always stand in front of this mirror. I need to move around and lay down as well. I'd imagine that I would have back problems by now, but luckily, I haven't been struck by that curse."

Arthur allowed his arms to fall into his lap as he leaned forward slightly. "You have room to move around?"

"Just a bit; it's like a prison cell here— small, but manageable."

"What if you die in the mirror?"

Eames blinked at the sudden question. "I'm not sure if that's—"

"You said you were fourteen when this happened." Arthur shifted once more before continuing. "You don't look fourteen."

"I figured that I age without eating. Magic from the bastard, Nash, I suppose. ... Do I look presentable? Or do I look rubbish to you?"

Arthur glanced over the opposing male. "Save the fact that you look atrocious in the clothes you're wearing, I suppose you could be presentable. ... So, it is possible that you can die."

"Well, I wouldn't fancy dying, and I doubt that would happen. I'm aimed on you, Arthur. I truly believe that you're the one."

Okay. Arthur didn't mean to bring the sappy fairy tale back into conversation— he didn't want to either, since it made him feel downright awkward.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject once more. "Just a room?"

Eames nodded. "You would think that that bastard would've had the courtesy to at least include a bed, but no. Just a room."

No wonder there was a dark gray background behind Eames; it was the color of the room.

"Imagine being cooped up in here for years," the other murmured. "It's not the best experience. At least you have something to do and a bed."

Arthur found himself laying down on his bed during those words. He felt pity for the Englishman, but what could he do? Nothing, at the moment.

"Aside from that," Eames said louder, a few seconds later, telling the young teen that he was changing the subject as well. "Have you ever been in love?"

Arthur decided that he hated this topic very much, but he answered, regardless. "No."

"Have you had a crush?"

His thought immediately ran to Dom, but he passed it off as nothing. "No," he repeated, frowning slightly.

"Will I be your first everything, then?"

Arthur jerked up in bed and glared at the man in the mirror. "This conversation is over."

"Alright, alright. Let's talk about ... your favorite food?"

Arthur gave him a pointed look.

"What? I'm not sure if you noticed this, dear, but you do cast off an unapproachable aura. Consider yourself lucky that I'm interested in you." The corners of the Englishman's mouth curved into a small smile. "Smile a little, won't you, darling?"

The smile didn't come upon the young teen's lips; instead, he continued to give the other a 'is this seriously how you're going to entertain me?'

"Oh, stop being a stick in the mud, love. Alright, alright— let's try this. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

Arthur frowned. "That's not even funny anymore."

"Such a party pooper. Okay. Yo momma's—"

"Don't insult my mother."

"It's a joke, but fine. You know, it's hard to impress you. Just what impresses you?"

The dark brunet placed both palms on the bed behind him and braced himself up. "Intelligence."

Eames mimicked a gasp and placed a hand over his heart. "Your words wound me! I said before that I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box. But, hm ... knock, knock."

"No."

"Come on, this one is actually a good one. Mal told it to me."

Arthur sighed and sat up straight once more. "Who's there— hold on. Did you say Mal?"

Eames blinked, the smile immediately wiping off his face. "You know her?"

"Mallorie Miles?"

Some sort of light broke out on the other's face. "Where do you know her from?" The excitement in the other's voice brought curiosity to the younger of the two.

"School," he answered.

"You're joking— she told me that he had to move away!"

The Englishman began to frown. "It hasn't even been a year, I don't think ... is it possible that you could bring her here? Or ask her about me?"

So Mal was the one that brought on the fact that Eames was in a fairy tale. He would need to thank her later for giving such idea and having Eames pine after him.

Or maybe he could save himself from this and bring Mal back. Maybe then, Eames wouldn't be strung on him. It wasn't a bad idea— it only involved the fact that he would need to bring a female to his room, which would raise suspicion, and he didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. Well, there was always an alternative; he could connect them via phone— but he doubt that she could do anything just by talking.

"I'll ask about you," Arthur responded, not believing that he was actually helping the other out.

Eames broke into a grin. "What a coincidence— she's a beauty, isn't she?"

Again, Arthur found it very awkward; he wasn't one to talk about a classmate without critiquing them. He could say that Mal was a bit pushy, seeing that she seemed to believe that he wasn't straight— but that was it, and besides, if he said that, Eames would probably spend an hour defending her, which would lead to more conversations on her. That, of course, would continue to make him feel odd, because what if— just what if there were video cameras around and people were watching him? What if this was some sort of TV show that would reveal him to the rest of the world? It didn't explain the phenomenon behind the talking of the mirror, though. Now he was just being paranoid.

Shrugging the thoughts off, the male nodded in slight agreement. Eames didn't stop there though; he continued to blabber endlessly about the first day he saw her and whatnot.

Twenty seconds in, Arthur was already tuned out. Eames was providing pitiful entertainment, but Arthur was amused by the other's lips and accent. It was fucking mesmerizing, and he knew that he was staring.. Unfortunately, before he could correct himself, Eames caught him.

"My eyes are up here, darling."

Arthur's hues traveled up to meet the bright blue-green ones. Quickly, he felt warmth creeping up in his cheeks, but he quickly waved it off with a non-embarrassing thought.

"I can not stress how bloody adorable you look," Eames murmured. "How do you even keep your face that smooth?"

Another frown dawned on the younger of the two, which cued Eames to quickly take back the question.

"Let's talk about you. Tell me more about yourself."

"This is not entertainment," Arthur muttered.

"I apologize for not having tricks up my sleeve, and you did refuse to hear my jokes. Give me a little base, pet. Talking to you's about the only thing I can do. Cooperate with me, won't you?"

A slow breath drew from the student before he began. "Fine ... I grew up in Chicago and went to private schools. I was never ... harassed until I moved here. And I want to be teacher."

"A teacher, hm? I would expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer, but a teacher works. Enlighten me on the reason why, though."

Arthur gazed elsewhere for a moment, ashamed, because he was sure his parents would have expected the same out of him once he were to admit his goal of being a teacher.

"I suppose I like to correct others and ... teach." His gaze returned to opposing figure. "Don't criticize me."

"I wasn't going to, darling," Eames responded with a smile. "I think you would make a wonderful teacher, since you already have the clothes for it. What subject and grade do you want to teach?"

"English, possibly junior or senior years in high school. I find a fascination in literature." He mindlessly gestured at the drawer full of his books. "There are more than a hundred classics in there. My grandmother gave them to me the moment I could read at a fifth grade level."

Eames stared. "You could read them at the time?"

"Not Shakespeare. Just ones that are plain English, yes. I caught onto Shakespeare in seventh grade." Arthur could tell that the Englishman was impressed; he couldn't help but allow a small smirk to override his lips. "Impressed?" he taunted.

Eames huffed. "Am I! I still don't get what Shakespeare's rambling on about, and I'm actually English. Perhaps you should read to me some time." The light brunet raised his hand and gestured at nothing. "You know, for practice just in case you have to read to your class?"

It actually wasn't a bad idea. Though he was sure that he didn't need any practice anymore (his speech voice was projecting, and he trained himself to make eye contact and whatnot), he could do it to pass time. Besides, he had already impressed the other; why not impress him more? It wasn't as if Arthur was aimed on impressing Eames specifically, but he liked the praise given to him in the end, even though, in this case, it would be praise from the other. Then again, Eames could just be saying nice things to him— well, that wouldn't matter as much; Arthur knew he had reading out loud down, and he didn't need anyone to tell him otherwise. But still, it wasn't the worst idea.

"Maybe," he answered, a small smile tinting the corner of his mouth.

Eames also caught that small movement. "I should go gush over how cute—"

The small smile disappeared. "Your flirting is obnoxious."

"Oh, but I'm merely complimenting you, darling. I can very well flirt as well."

If Eames was complimenting him before, Arthur would hate to see what actual flirting was.

"I'm fine," he responded.

"I certainly agree." Eames was holding a small smirk, and by now, Arthur was sure what that meant: competition.

"Good for you. It's nice to see that you have some fair tastes."

"Mm, I might not be the most charming man with the best tastes, but you are talking to me."

"It's common courtesy to reply when spoken to," Arthur replied, a smirk tinting his own lips. This was providing more amusement, even though the pick up lines Eames used weren't as clever.

"Hm. Well, if I rearrange the alphabet, I would put U and I together."

That one was overused, which made it easier for Arthur to come up with a comeback. "I'd rather keep N and O together, and it's you and me. Proper grammar, Eames."

Eames pouted slightly, then straightened and continued to say another. "Did it hurt?"

The young teen leaned forward slightly, the mischievous smirk still in play. "Did what hurt?"

"When you fell from Heaven?"

"No, but I did scratch myself when I climbed from Hell."

Judging by the expression the other gave in response, it was obvious that he hadn't heard that before. Arthur was perfectly content with that.

He waited for the next line to come, but Eames had fallen silent. Blue-green eyes were strayed on his own, making Arthur feel slightly uncomfortable again. He cleared his throat, and the Englishman snapped out of his trance.

"Oh, sorry, mate. Do you have a map? I got lost in your eyes."

The dark brunet rolled his eyes and suppressed another smile. Eames continued.

"Are you tired, darling?" he questioned, dropping his voice into a husky tone that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. "Because you've been running through my mind non-stop."

"I can only imagine who you use these pick up lines on," the student commented.

Eames beamed. "Are they working?"

Arthur snorted. "I've heard them before."

"Hm ... I might not be a rock singer, but I can guarantee to make your bed rock." Eames gave him another cheeky grin.

Arthur shook his head. "You're in a mirror," he pointed out.

"Well, once you kiss me, and I get out of this mirror, we can do some math. All we need to do is add a bed, subtract our clothes—" Arthur felt the temperature rise in his cheeks once more. "— divide our legs, and multiply the pleasure."

That, he had never heard before, and the hints at were getting to him.

"I win," Eames proclaimed after Arthur remained silent for more than a few seconds.

Though he didn't want to lose, Arthur found himself giving in. The last one had definitely caught him off guard, and because of that, he had to forfeit. To make matters worse, he knew Eames wasn't going to let it go. After calming the blood that rushed to his cheeks, he exhaled slowly and returned his gaze to Eames' smug expression.

He scoffed. "The very least you could do is keep it PG-13."

"We're both seventeen and older, no?"

"Yes, though—"

"You're a blushing virgin—"

"I am not!" Which of course, was a total lie, because now, Arthur was flushed again.

Eames merely chuckled. "Not anything to be ashamed of, love. Believe it or not, so am I."

Arthur puffed his cheeks slightly. "You're stuck in a mirror—"

"Well, there's this thing called—"

"I don't want to hear it. Please change the topic."

Though Eames looked very amused by his reaction, he, thankfully, changed it upon request. "How about a story, love? I've done a bit of talking on my part. It's only fair if you do your share."

As an answer, the dark brunet slid off the bed and made his way to the drawer. While he looked through for a suitable book, he told himself that he could walk away and ignore Eames for quite some time for even mentioning blushing virgin, but the moment his fingers plucked out a short novel, he already made up his mind.

Two pages into the reading, Arthur was sure that Eames wasn't even listening. He was watching him, yes, but Arthur could very tell that the other wasn't focused on the reading.

"She was decked in a green turtleneck that corresponded with the color of her eyes." The young teen peered up from reading. "What color turtleneck was she wearing?" he questioned, faintly amused when Eames blinked a few times to dawn back down to Earth.

"Pardon?"

Knowing that he very well caught the Englishman in the act, he bookmarked the page and closed it. "You're not listening."

"You just asked me one question— I don't pick up on everything—"

"What is the protagonist's name, then?"

"Well—"

"Is the protagonist a male or female?"

"Female."

Arthur placed opened the book back to the front page. "Jason was ..."

"Jason could be a feminine name."

"— peering at his shoes," the dark brunet continued reading, his brow quirked curiously at the opposing figure.

The man in the mirror huffed. "Fine, fine. You caught me."

Arthur clasped the novel close once more before putting it aside. "Then, there's no point reading to you."

"What do you propose we do, then?"

The student shrugged slightly as he stepped off his bed and returned the novel to its original place in his drawer.

If reading was now out, then what was left? It was only two in the afternoon. They seemed to have talked about everything yesterday and an hour ago. There was the option of the television, but he rarely watched TV unless it was for some sort of homework assignment. Besides, what sort of shows were on on Sunday at this time? Nothing interesting, he could imagine. Plus, he was sure that his parents would highly disapproval when they came home and saw him lounging on the couch.

"We can always try kissing—"

Arthur's gaze snapped to the light brunet. "No."

"—your parents aren't home."

"No."

Eames made an impatient noise before sitting down and saying no more. On the other hand, Arthur made his way around the room, pacing on the things he could do. There was practically nothing. Well, he could to his homework for the days that he was going to be missing, but he didn't have the assignments, and with the way he was cut from any sort of communication with the outside world, there was no way to get said assignments. Unless—

"Eames. Is it possible for you to travel to other mirrors?" He peered curiously down at the man sitting.

The other gave a faint sniff. "If I could, darling, I would have been out of here by now, and more entertained. But unfortunately, I'm stuck in this one."

That answer was good and bad; it was good because Arthur then knew that Eames wasn't peeking in when he showered (if he were to trust the words), and bad because that didn't help him any.

With a defeated sigh, Arthur climbed on the bed and laid down.

"We could play games," Eames suggested only five minutes later.

At this moment, Arthur could care less what they do as long as it brought him entertainment for the rest of the day and Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

"What game?"

"The ones we played when we were kids. You know— I Spy, Tic-Tac-Toe, 20 Questions, Hang Man, those things. Mal use to have board games and cards, but you don't seem to have any laying around. Any other ideas?"

Arthur rolled on his stomach and peered down at Eames. "Not really," he answered. "Hang Man sounds alright."

The Englishman gave him a small smile. "Brilliant. You have paper, right?"

Pushing himself up, Arthur crawled over to his nightstand and fished out a notebook and a pencil. As he returned, he flopped back down on his belly. "Who starts?" he asked ad he turned to a blank page.

"Why don't you start?"

"Alright."

Fixing his brown eyes on the blank page, Arthur racked his mind for something that wasn't that easy or hard. In the end, he went with something along the lines of what he was thinking. After drawing nineteen blanks (two blanks, a space, four blanks, a space, two blanks, another space, six blanks, a space, and five more blanks), he drew the post.

"Guess a letter."

"Mm, E?"

Giving a nonchalant nod, Atthur wrote in where the E's went and then turned the notebook around to show the opposing male the blanks. (_ e :: _ _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e _ _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)

"A?"

Flipping the paper back, he filled in the blanks and, once more, showed the other. (_ e :: _ _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)

"M?" (_ e :: m _ _ _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _ e _.)

"S." (_e :: m _ s _ :: _ e :: _ e a _ _ _ :: _ _ _e_.)

For some time, Eames pondered over letters. Over a few minutes, with only a head, a body, and both arms, he guessed it. "Is it 'we must be really bored'?"

Arthur smiled and filled in the remaining blanks.

Eames gave a soft snort. "You didn't have any better suggestions. Alright, let me think of something."

The dark brunet tapped the pencil lightly against the notebook as the Englishman thought over what to make him guess. When a good minute passed by, he finally spoke up. "Three blanks, apostrophe, two blanks, space, and six blanks, period."

Arthur pondered over this for some time; the first word seemed pretty easy, since there weren't many possibilities, but he didn't want to take the chance.

"E."

After a bit of contemplation, Eames nodded once in Arthur's direction. "One E at the end of the first word, and the fourth letter of the second word." (_ _ _ ' _ e :: _ _ _ e _ _.)

"R," because Arthur knew quite well that it couldn't be 've', considering 'they' nor 'we' fit the first blanks.

"Before the first E, pet." (_ _ _ ' r e :: _ _ _ e _ _.)

After filling it in, the younger of the two was pretty surely that he could guess the first word. But just in case— "Y."

"First blank of the whole phrase, and last blank." (Y _ _ ' r e :: _ _ _ e _ y.)

"O."

"Second blank for both words." (Y o _ ' r e :: _ o _ e _ y.)

The first thought that came to his head the moment he overviewed the entire thing was 'you're gooey', but of course, that didn't fit and besides, it didn't make any sense. There wasn't really a point in guessing the letter U, since it was deadly obvious. The U didn't seem to fit in with any of the other letters in the second word either— unless it was a foreign language or some unheard of word. So, Arthur began guessing letters.

"M?"

Eames' face wore a cheeky grin. "Nope."

Hating the fact that he was wrong, but still being fair, he drew a circle for the head.

"N?"

"No N," the other returned with much amusement tinting his lips.

The dark brunet furrowed his brow at the blanks after adding a body to the head. His mind reeled with possible words that could fit in. Twenty seconds of silence later, Eames spoke up. "It's not that hard, love."

For the first moment, Arthur didn't catch on, but after said moment, he peered up. "You're lovely?" he answered, quirking his brow.

A beam split on the Englishman's face. "Why, thank you for the compliment, darling! I never thought that you had it in you to admit your fascination for me!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but manage a weak grin. "The puzzle, idiot," he reminded, filling in the blanks, then showing it for the light brunet to see.

"Oh, so you're right. Your turn."

Their hang man games continued for nearly another hour before Arthur grew tired of it (though he enjoyed guessing the compliments Eames was paying him). They moved onto twenty questions, which Eames took a fancy in very much, and in return, cued Arthur to feel awkward.

"Is it an object I can hold?"

Eames smirked. "Yes."

"Is it in this room?"

"Yes."

"Is it big?"

The Englishman leaned slightly closer and waggled his eyebrow suggestively. "I can say so, yes."

"Um ... is it red?"

Arthur caught the movement as Eames' eyes flickered down, then back up. "I believe it is."

"Is it visible to me?"

"Not at the moment."

Arthur nearly choked on his own spit. He had a clue on what the other was hinting at, but it was frustrating and rather embarrassing to even say it out loud. Then again, Eames could just be teasing him again. What else was red and in the room, but not visible to him? Eames wasn't wearing anything red, and he was sure that he wasn't either.

"Is it bigger than twelve inches?" That question just killed him to ask.

In response, Eames was practically laughing as Arthur fought to make sure he wasn't turning beet red. "No, but I'm sure it's around seven - eight inches." That didn't make it any better. "And it's hard," the older of the two hinted.

Okay. This was being taken too far.

"Mr. Eames, I don't think this is—"

"Appropriate? Arthur, get your head out of the gutter."

There was nothing other than what Arthur was thinking that was not visible, in the room, red, seven to eight inches in length, apparently big, and is hard.

Eames chuckled. "I was thinking about the book you read to me."

Oh.

Oh.

Dammit.

Eames was definitely doing that on purpose. The student huffed and glanced away. The man in the mirror was obviously entertained by his reaction.

Arthur was going to get revenge, and it wouldn't be funny anymore. He peered around the room. It didn't take him long to locate his target object. Drawing his gaze around the room once more to ensure the fact that Eames didn't follow his glance, he turned back to the other.

"Alright. Your turn," Arthur announced, wanting to wipe that smug look off the other's face.

"Mm. Is it possible that I can hold it?"

"Well," Arthur drawled, hoping that he was heavily implying something. "If you happen to get out of the mirror, maybe."

"Is it big?"

"Depends on your definition of big."

The smug look was now gone. "Longer than six inches?"

"I believe so. I haven't measured, but it appeared like it last time I looked at it." His brown eyes took in the sight of Eames peering down once more.

"Hm," the other started, looking up with hard eyes. "Is it hard?"

"Yes."

"Is the tip ... pink?"

Okay. Maybe this was getting a bit too far— never before had Arthur tried to imply something so ... disregarding. But still, Eames was turning a bit pink himself. Revenge was sweet sometimes.

"If we're thinking about the same tip, then yes. Though, it's more of a reddish-pink."

Where was this mind coming from?

"Can I see it?"

"Depending on where you're looking, perhaps."

Eames licked his lips and met Arthur's eyes. "Stop teasing me, darling," he said, his voice in a very faint growl.

Arthur mirrored the smirk once on the other male. "If you cleanse your mind, the answer would have been obvious. I was talking about my pencil." To show that he was telling the truth, the young teen held up his pencil.

Eames sniffed. "I admit defeat for this time."

All Arthur could do was send the opposing figure a lingering smirk, since the sound of a door opening cut any other taunting words from spilling out of his mouth. Jerking his sights away from the man in the mirror, he glanced out the window. "Finally," he muttered, sliding off the bed and making his way out of the bedroom to greet his parents.

His mother greeted him back, but his father managed a small grunt. There wasn't a doubt about it; his father still wasn't in the brightest mood, and he had a pretty fair idea that it was because of his suspension. And because the guilt returned, Arthur bounded down the stairs and helped his mother unload the groceries and whatnot.

After the groceries were put away, his mother offered to teach him a few dishes. On regular terms, Arthur would have refused, but holding up this sort of record and having nothing better to do, he agreed.

He should have known, though; ten minutes into the cooking, his mother gently approached him with the topic of his suspension and what was going on at school. He found that lying was pitiful at the moment, and besides, what was the point? She already knew the reason why he had gotten into the fight. As he began explaining in further detail, he began to become easier with the atmosphere. It wasn't as awkward as before, for some odd reason. After explaining his tale, Arthur heaved a sigh and continued to stir the soup. His mother threw in a few cut up carrots before replying.

"Standing up for yourself is right, but you don't need to lash back. You're an intelligent man; use witty comebacks instead of your fists." She gave him a soft smile before ordering him to put a teaspoon of salt in.

As he did, he contemplated her advice.

It wasn't bad, actually; it wouldn't get him in too much trouble ... as long as he said it, then ran for his life. Plus, he had tried a few comebacks with Eames— the whole ordeal seemed completely coincidental, but he didn't voice this out loud.

"I know your father wants you to have a good education as well, Arthur, but you need to have fun too. Do you ... like anyone?"

Oh, no. Not this—

"No."

His mother surveyed him. "You're lying," she replied, dipping a spoon in and tasting the soup.

Arthur stopped stirring and blinked. "How are you aware—?"

"I'm your mother, and keep stirring."

While half-consciously stirring, he watched her chop the celery. Sure, he may not have a lot of practice on lying before, but he thought he had made himself sound convincing. Apparently not, according to his mother— and obviously the others at his school.

"Tell me about her," she continued, scooping in the celery before moving to the spices cabinet.

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably before gazing into the dark soup. "He's ... the captain of the varsity boys' soccer team, and he's not that great at math."

Dammit, he just admitted his schoolboy crush on Dom.

To make matters worse, his mother froze and gazed at him. "He?" she repeated.

The fact that he was supposed to be straight crossed his mind at this moment.

Just— fuck.

He screwed everything up. Heaving a sigh, he removed his hand from the large spoon that was used to stir the soup. "It's nothing big, mother. He's just ... attractive. I don't think of him as—"

"Oh, no. I ... I'm just shocked. I don't have a problem with—"

Arthur knew that tone of voice. It sounded like she was disappointed, but only saying that to make sure that he was happy. He went over to the sink and washed his hands.

"I'm not in love with him, mother. I'll marry a suitable woman once I find her." The last sentence came out pointed and forced, but he didn't stick around to interpret her response.

After drying his hand, Arthur quickly retired go his bedroom. He had promptly ignored Eames' greeting (as usual) as he went to grab his items for a shower. As he stepped into the pouring, hot water, he drowned himself in his thoughts.

He needed to will himself not to fall for Dom, because he knew that that would be pathetic. Dom could be straight. Besides, Arthur couldn't really imagine himself in a relationship with the other. It was just attraction, he told himself.

As for a relationship itself, he wanted to make his parents happy— he did owe them one because of the mistake of getting into a fight. Maybe he could ask Ariadne out— she wasn't that bad; she was rather pretty and had been nice to him, not to mention, was there when he needed her. She wasn't a bad choice. Thing was, though, he wasn't attracted to her like he was in Dom. But maybe if he focused more on her, he would become more interested?

Wait.

What was he thinking about?

High school relationships?

He needed his time to be focused on studies and graduating— but his mother was obviously not impressed by the lack of fun he was having. Well, he could always get out and hang out with the group (Dom, Ariadne, Mal, Lorenzo, Houston, and Tadashi) more. They, after all, have weekly meetings at Ariadne's cafe on Wednesday afternoons (according to Ariadne, of course). Even though he felt as if he was intruding, it wasn't a bad idea either. And his mother would approve. But his father would still go unimpressed.

What could he do to get his father's respect back? Get straight A's on his report card? He had been doing that all his life (save the one B he had in sixth grade social studies because his teacher didn't like him and vice versa), and by this time, it wasn't much of an impression anymore.

Rinsing himself a final time, Arthur exhaled slowly.

He would come up with some sort of plan that did not involve getting in any sort of romantic relationship. He could maybe invent something and become famous for it— Arthur snorted at his own idea and shut off the shower.

After drying himself and getting dressed, he returned to his room.

Tossing his dirty clothes away and hanging the towel up, he paced towards the bed. After catching a glimpse of the clock that read that it was six, he climbed onto the bed and gazed at his reflection.

"Eames?" he called out softly.

Seconds after his request for he other's arrival, there still wasn't a response.

Given the thought that his conversation partner was probably asleep, Arthur stepped out of the bed and proceeded downstairs for dinner while trying not to worry about making his parents happy.