Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, OCs
Disclaimer; when the person reading this doesn't lose the game.
Author's Notes; This is probably, more than likely, the second to last chapter, because I don't want to extend it too much. It's already 100k words (goodness!). Thank you all for still reading and reviewing! Special thanks to Voldemort's Spawn for the restaurant tips! Annnd, I think that's it. Enjoy this chapter ~
It wasn't Adrian that made the work like hell; in fact, it was the customers. In the five hours he worked, he came in contact with snobby ones, indecisive ones, and even ones that completely ignored him. Around eight, the hour before the closing time, the place buzzed with more activity. He barely had time to look over and see what his fellow workers were doing since he had to serve two tables that had a mass of children flocking the parents. And on top of that, they were loud and messy. Arthur found his nose crinkled slightly at the sight of them when he was away from the tables. He didn't like children; they were bothersome.
But he did his job, anyways.
By now, he was sure that he had the gist of almost everything. He knew that when serving food, he shouldn't use his bare hands because that may very well burn them. He learned that he had to make the salad, which came in two occasions over the hour. Luckily, Dom was around to instruct him on how to correctly make the salad. During that time, Arthur just stood to the side thinking about why was salad making so specific. But he didn't mention such; he simply thanked Dom for his time before ushering out with the salad for the two that ordered them.
Ten minutes later, the family of five, including three kid's ranging from two to six, got up and paid. Arthur was left to deal with an extremely messy table that made him cringe at the mere sight of it. On the bright side, the people did leave three dollars tip. After sweeping the money into his pockets, he continued to clean the table.
And of course, Mal and Eames chose that exact moment to waltz in. Then Eames, having no such courtesy, greeted him with a loud "hello, darling" which probably, more than likely, gained looks.
"Not now, Eames," Arthur hissed, bringing the dishes to the back, but ended up handing them to Mal who offered to take them.
As he washed the cloth and went back to the table to finish cleaning, Eames' hand ghosted down his back.
"You look gorgeous," the Englishman murmured in his ear before seating himself down at one of his assigned tables.
Bastard.
Arthur still had a table of six (four kids!) and a snobby couple to take care of.
After he finished cleaning the table, he turned to Eames and was faced with both Eames and Mal sitting at his specific table.
Fantastic. More work.
"Is there anything you want?" he questioned, quirking a brow.
Mal smacked his arm. "That's not how you greet guests," she scolded, but Eames, on the other hand, went a step farther. "I want you and your lovely arse, thank you."
Arthur didn't even bother to look in the light brunet's direction. His sights strayed on Mal as best as he could. "My apologies." He cleared his throat and began again. "Good evening. My name is Arthur, and I'll be your waiter for the evening. May I start you on any drinks?"
"Mm, can you get us the menus?" Mal questioned, smile stretching on her lips.
Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly.
Mal didn't need a menu; she knew it frontwards, backwards, and inside out (they had a memorization game yesterday to help Arthur learn the menu).
Nevertheless, he complied. "One moment," he responded, excusing himself and scurrying away while cursing softly under his breath.
As he returned with the menus and asked for their drink orders once more, Mal decided that it was humorous to test him.
"Do you have any tea?"
He turned the menu over and pointed to the drinks section. "All the drinks are listed here."
She peered down for a moment before speaking again. "Does the ice cost extra?"
What kind of question was that?
"They come with the drink."
And then, Eames, such a bastard, added onto the mess. "Would it be considered three drinks if I tell you I want Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper in one cup?"
"Eames," Arthur scowled.
Mal smacked his arm again. He gave in once more.
"It is considered one drink."
"Mm, alright. I'll have that, and no ice." Arthur wrote the three down before turning to Mal. "And for you?"
"Cafe au lait with a dash of whip cream, s'il vous plaît." Coffee. She had to order coffee.
Reluctantly, the young waiter scribbled her order down before informing the two that he would be back with their drinks shortly.
After setting up the coffee maker for the order, he ushered to the snobby couple. They were just finishing up after a good hour of talking and laughing much like hyenas. He placed the check down on their table and forced a smile.
"Here is your check. Pay up front when you're ready." And leave a fucking tip, because you both been assholes, he thought. "And have a lovely evening."
Arthur then moved away to check up on the large family. They waved him off with a fine, which forced him to go back to grab the coffee and mixed drink. As he arrived at Mal's and Eames' occupied table, he spotted Dom sitting next to Mal, arm slung around her shoulder. They both made conversation while Eames sat silently, menu in his face. Arthur wasn't fooled; it was obvious that the Englishman still didn't like Dom. It wasn't like Arthur could do anything about it anyways.
Setting the orders down, he turned to Eames. "Are you ready to order?"
The other lowered the menu slightly and peered at him. Again, Eames was going through the no-amusement-no-smile phase that made Arthur's heart start thundering.
"Where's the restroom?"
"On the right side of the counter."
Eames placed the menu down. "Thank you." The words thrown at him were stiff, but held no bite. The oceanic eyes, though, lingered on him for a moment before Eames hastily made his way to the restroom.
Arthur, thinking nothing of it, returned his gaze with Dom and Mal. "Are you ready to order?" he questioned, beating away the fact that Dom's arm was around her shoulder.
The brunette beamed up at him. "Yes. A chicken salad would be lovely." And of course she would order a salad.
"Alright. I'll be back shortly with your order."
Making his way out, Arthur disappeared behind the closed door to tell the chief about the order. As the older man, Dom's dad, started on the chicken, Arthur took up the spot of making the salad. It wasn't long until it was finished and served with Ranch, according to Mal's request.
By now, Dom had returned to the back to help around, which left Arthur standing there and watching her try the salad.
"How is it?" He asked, seeking for approval.
Thankfully, approval was given to him. She gave a slight nod. "Pretty good. And you should check on Eames before cleaning the table over there."
Arthur lifted his gaze and saw that the snobby couple was gone. He gave a curt nod to her before reverting his steps and heading to the restroom.
There were only two small restrooms; one for the females and one for the males. Assuming that Eames went into the males', he knocked.
"Eames? You alright?"
He was actually quite fearful of what he would see when and if the door opened. Would Eames give him a murderous look? Would he play it off with a smile? Maybe he was crying? Arthur didn't think that the other would go that far (it wasn't that bad), but Eames was always unpredictable.
Speaking of unpredictable, the door opened and he was hauled inside. The next thing Arthur was aware of was that he was shoved into the door, closing it with a slam, and lips were on his own. He had taken the contact by sheer surprise, which gave him the advantage of shoving Eames off, but he didn't. He ended up letting Eames pull a breath away after a few seconds.
"It's about bloody time," the Britishman scowled, pecking his lips once more. "I hate that man," he continued, punctuating each word with a kiss on his lips or neck. "Arthur, can we please—"
"I have a table to clean," the young teen responded, trying to keep his excitement at a low level.
Eames' eyes met his own. "Can it wait?"
"Can you wait?" Arthur shot back.
Eames broke into a crooked grin. "No, darling, I can not. I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted you and your gorgeous arse."
Arthur, despite the fact that the atmosphere was different seconds ago, found himself smiling in return. "I know you weren't."
Eames hummed a note before leaning in and touching their lips once more. Arthur's eyes closed immediately as his arms circled the older of the two's neck.
Their kiss, this time, was drawn out. It was filled with passion and desire, but at the same time, it seemed cautious and hesitant. Arthur was nervous slipping his tongue past Eames' lips, and in return, the other tested the waters by touching his tongue with his own, and then curling it around and deepening the kiss. Arthur wasn't exactly sure why there was confusion of whether to do this or not, but kissing Eames, he felt that that didn't matter at the moment. But unfortunately, the kiss ended when Eames pulled away, again, and pressed their foreheads together.
"I'm the luckiest man in this world."
Arthur leaned forward to place a chaste, quick kiss on the beautiful mouth. "Are you?" he teased.
A chuckle escaped from the man's throat. "I'm able to kiss you. And believe me, I will kiss you until the world ends." Eames leaned over and pecked him again. "I love you," he whispered, breath tickling Arthur's lips. It was actually those words that set his heart beating, pulling him back to reality.
"I have to get back to work," he said hastily, eyes gazing elsewhere.
Eames sighed and moved away. "I can't keep doing this, Arthur."
The student's gaze returned, confused.
"Every time I tell you that I feel strongly for you, you wave it off, and then you kiss me as if we ... as if we're lovers."
"I—" Arthur cut off his own words, not sure of what to say.
Eames, hearing this, seemed to give in. He reached over and unlocked the restroom door.
Arthur moved aside so that the door could be pulled open.
Eames then met his gaze once more. "I don't want to be your toy."
Those words pierced the younger male. A flicker of regret flashed over Arthur's face, but Eames offered nothing but a small, probably forced, smile.
"See you outside, dear."
Arthur's head was whirling as he tailed Eames back to the table. He was gifted with two tables to clean now, as Mal kindly pointed out. With a faint sigh, Arthur went around and began clearing away the table. As he did, he snuck glances in Eames' direction. Each time, the other would meet his gaze with a smile, making his heart skip a beat.
He liked and didn't like the feelings that Eames gave him at the same time; this he discovered from repeatedly gazing over. He didn't like it because it made him seem weak in some way— as if his control— his shield was broken down by said Englishman. He felt as if he could simply give himself in for Eames. But at the same time, he liked the feeling. It felt nice being touched, kissed, and cared for. The fluttery after feeling only made him desire more.
Eames had a point, though. What exactly was he doing? He kissed back; he wanted it more, but yet, he didn't know exactly if he wanted Eames. It was a difficult feeling to understand. He wanted Eames to touch, kiss, and care for him, and he would gladly return it— didn't that mean that they were friends with some benefits? Arthur didn't think so. The feeling of confusion wasn't mutual. Eames said many times that he liked ... loved him. Maybe Arthur just wasn't cut out for relationships such as this. He was a teenager, after all, and this would be the first sort of relationship, romance wise, that he would get himself into.
The topic continued to make him nervous. He didn't like the talk of this, but with Eames bringing it up every day, it was hard to avoid it. Yet, Arthur didn't blame him. If he were in the light brunet's shoes, he would be impatiently demanding an answer as well so that he would know that his time was being wasted or not.
Arthur hoped that Eames didn't come to that thought. He wanted Eames' time— but that wasn't the main question. The main question was whether or not he felt the same.
Thinking about it now gave him a headache, which made work worse, so he shrugged it off for now.
As he finished up with the two tables, he ushered back to get a rag. Adrian and Cheyenne were there as well, talking under their breath about some customer. When he cleared his throat, Adrian threw him a look and Cheyenne threw him a rag. Not wanting to get involved with them, he turned around and headed back.
As he whisked by Mal's and Eames' table, he felt a hand brushing his wrist, running down to his fingers, then slipping away. When he glanced back, Eames busied himself with sipping his drink while Mal finished her salad.
Normally, Arthur would question who did that, but he knew the answer already. The small quirk of a smile upon Eames' lips proved that the other had done that, but Arthur was nice enough not to call it out.
On the other hand, Kendell, the waiter that he hadn't spoken to, caught the interaction and decided that announcing it would be the best possible thing to do.
"Ohoho! I saw that!"
Thank God there weren't any customers around. But Arthur wished there were so that Kendell wouldn't pull off something like that. He tried to ignore the outburst, but with Kendell bouncing up to the table he was cleaning and sticking out a hand, he couldn't find himself ignoring such.
"We haven't met yet. Customers and all. I'm Kendell, call me Kenny, and I am fabulous!"
Arthur blinked, then shook the hand out of courtesy before introducing himself. "Arthur."
"Arthuuur, you and the guy." Kendell gestured wildly at the only occupied table. "How long?"
Again, Arthur blinked, but that only made Kendell wrap his arm around the brunet waiter's shoulder.
"I'm good at keeping secrets. Don't you worry." Kendell then flicked his nose and pulled away with a laugh.
Arthur found himself frowning a bit.
"Now, now. Don't do that, darling. You'll get wrinkles on your pretty face, and let me tell you this, putting on cream is a pain!"
Kendell pinched Arthur's cheeks before raising a hand and flailing it about. "Adri-darling, you never told me that the new waiter was cute!" Kendell gazed back at him, eyes twinkling.
Arthur's cheeks began to burn as he attempted to move away. He didn't get far, though, since Adrian closed in.
"Stop being gay, Kendell," the soccer player said, frowning as well.
Kendell mimicked a dramatic gasp. "Stop being gay? How you wound me with words!" He then turned and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Don't worry about this grouchy bear, dollface."
"Kendell," Adrian drew out, sounding dangerous.
Kendell then switched sides and threw an arm around the athlete. "Awh, you're just jealous. But! Bad news. Arthur's already taken by a lovely man that I don't mind banging!"
Adrian scoffed at the sound of that, and Arthur wasn't happy.
"He's not— we're not—" Arthur started awkwardly, but Kendell piped up.
"Together? Ooh, that means you'll have a chance." The redheaded waiter gave a playful punch to Adrian's arm.
Adrian scowled, rubbing his arm. "Your girlfriend's going to think that you're a fag."
Arthur's face darkened at the sound of that word, but that didn't stop Kendell.
"Ooh, naughty word. I should spank you for that. But alas, Gwen doesn't care."
"You're a disgrace to straight guys," Adrian murmured, tossing Arthur a look before walking off.
"You're just jealous!" Kendell called after before turning back to Arthur. "Sorry for that. He's usually a bastard anyways. I'm going to pester him more. Nice meeting ya, Art! And oh, tell your boyfriend that I said hi and that he has lips to die for. Tata!" With a wave, the waiter hurried off to bother the other.
Arthur had never been so glad to get out of a conversation with people. Kendell, in his opinion, was irritating, but much better than Adrian would ever be.
Shoving them from his head, the student finished cleaning the table before returning to Eames and Mal.
"Do you need anything else?"
Mal shook her head while Eames peered at him. "Is he interested?" he asked, nodding in Kendell's and Adrian's direction.
Arthur quickly shook his head. "He has a girlfriend."
The Englishman stared at him in disbelief.
"My gay radar was going off too the first time I met him," Mal murmured, "but he's one of the straightest guys you'll ever meet."
"Good," Eames replied with a little more than needed enthusiasm. Arthur gave him a pointed look, and Eames grinned. "I'm possessive," he inquired, running his fingers through Arthur's own.
"I realized, Mr. Eames," came the faintly annoyed response, but Arthur wasn't all that irritated. Though usually he would hate to be possessed and claimed in any way, from Eames, it wasn't as bad.
"Are we ready to go?" Mal questioned, breaking them from their intense staring contest.
Arthur glanced at the time. It was past nine. He gave a short nod. "I have to clean up first."
Mal stood up an gathered the small mess. "Oh, don't bother. I'll take this to Dom. You two head home, alright? I'm going to ask Dom about where you two can stay."
Oh, right. He forget that Mal was leaving tomorrow.
"When are you leaving?" Eames asked, beating Arthur to it.
"We're thinking around noon tomorrow. If I can't get Dom, I'll try Ariadne."
Arthur nodded a bit. "Thanks, Mal."
She beamed at him. "Not a problem. Now, run along and take a shower."
Arthur flushed, but complied.
After saying farewell to those within the restaurant, he exited the place. The immediate second the cool air breezed through, the young teen gave a sigh of relief. Eames, in response, laughed softly and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
"Hard day?" he murmured.
Arthur tilted his head back slightly. "Somewhat. You two made it complicated."
"Mm, I'm a complicated man." Eames kissed his ear. "Shall we?"
"I need to pick up more clothes and my textbooks." The second Arthur said that, he felt the other tense.
"We're not going back."
"You don't have to go in."
"If you think I'm going to let you in alone—"
"It'll be better if you stay in the car."
Eames' grip tightened around his body. "We can buy new clothes."
"The books—"
"We can have Mal retrieve it."
"We're relying on Mal too much. I'll be fine."
"No, Arthur."
Arthur scowled. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
"And I'm older than you. I don't want you to see him—"
"I won't talk to him—"
"No."
Arthur broke out of the arms and glared at the opposing figure. "He won't be able to kill me, alright? Relax."
Except, Eames didn't relax. He became the opposite.
"Don't," he began stiffly, taking a step close, "ever mention yourself and that."
Arthur stood his ground and met the fiery eyes.
"I don't want to hear that ever again."
"He won't—"
"I don't want to lose you. I don't want to think about losing you."
This side of Eames made Arthur's knees weak, and not for a good reason either. He hated the look Eames was giving him.
"Do you understand me?"
Arthur gave a jerky nod and Eames stepped away.
"Let's go," he mumbled, rounding Arthur's vehicle and getting into the passenger seat.
Arthur was hesitant as he removed himself from the state of shock enough to climb into his seat and close the door. He didn't move past that, though. Eames didn't make a noise to talk, either. So they sat in silence for a minute or two before Arthur managed to work up the courage and start the car.
The ride back was very awkward and dreadfully quiet. Many times, Arthur glanced over and opened his mouth to say something, but he ended up chickening out at the last moment and turning his attention back to driving. He didn't know how Eames could change him so easily.
Before, he was sure that he could pop out any comment with sharpness and not a tone of pity in his voice. It was as if he was afraid to say something. Though he doubt Eames would attack him, he was still hesitant. It was probably the thought that he didn't want Eames to go or become mad at him or something along those lines.
After all, both frightened him. It wasn't the jumpy scare either; it was more of the "what will happen?" nervous scare. If Eames left, Arthur wasn't sure how he would react. The mere thought of that pained him. He was pretty sure that it would be much worse when it happened.
At that, he gripped his steering wheel tighter. He didn't need to think about this at the moment; he needed to get them home safely. That was the priority at this moment.
Luckily, the house was around the corner.
Arthur slowed a bit to turn before pulling into the parking area. From there, he turned off the engines and sat back against the seat. He didn't make a move to get out and from the sounds of it, neither did Eames.
The silence was killing him. Arthur wanted to say something, but what? He shouldn't apologize for saying something like that. It didn't imply anything. Eames was just overreacting. And well, Eames was overreacting because he cared, no? Arthur didn't know what was going through Eames' head.
At least, he didn't know before.
When Eames shifted over, placed a hand on the back of Arthur's head and pulled him into a kiss, Arthur knew exactly what was going through the other's head— or so he wanted to think. He returned the hungry kiss, teeth scraping against Eames' bottom lip.
This kiss differed from the ones before. There was no use of tongue, but it was still heavy, resulting in many short intakes of breath and the collision of teeth. It was almost power-hungry, a storm, a mess. Arthur leaned into it, hand placed on Eames' neck, drawing him closer. The contact of their mouths ended, though, when Eames' lips slipped down to his chin.
"Dammit, Arthur," came the hoarse whisper. "You're going to be the death of me."
Arthur peered at the eyes looking at his own.
"Don't say that," he murmured, echoing Eames' words from before.
Eames ducked his head and grinned against his neck. "It's alright if I'm the one dying first."
The clench in his chest was absolutely painful to the point that Arthur almost teared up. Almost.
"No, it's not alright."
The hand that rested on Eames' neck went up and touched his cheek. Eames drew up slightly and met his gaze once more.
"No?"
"It'll never be alright."
"My apologies, darling. I'll never mention it again. If I do, slap me."
Arthur's lips curved into a soft smile. "Alright." He then kissed the gorgeous mouth again before unbuckling himself. "Mal's here," he announced, which made Eames draw back and get out of the car. Arthur followed the action and glanced over at Mal.
She gave him a pointed look. "I don't even want to know what you two were doing. But come on." She opened the front door, announced her arrival to her father, and then stripped herself from her shoes.
As Arthur did the same, she began once more.
"Dom can't have you over, but Ariadne said she has a small guest room. Better than nothing."
"I don't really want to bother," Arthur started, rising to his feet after straightening his shoes' placement on the floor.
"It's fine," Mal responded. "Besides, Ari seemed rather enthusiastic having you and Eames over. I can only imagine how she would react when she finds out that Eames is British." She glanced over his shoulder and winked at the other male. "I'd suggest packing now and washing your clothes. I can lend some of father's old ones if you need."
Arthur gazed over at Eames before giving a slight nod. "That would be helpful, but I can manage—"
"He doesn't even wear them anymore. So it's nothing. I'll go pester him now about it. You two run along and don't do anything." Her eyes narrowed on the both of them before she bounced up the stairs.
Arthur met Eames' eyes once more.
"She's like an angel sent from Heaven," Eames murmured.
The young teen found himself agreeing as he proceeded to the guest room. "Yeah, I appreciate her existence."
Eames snorted at the sound of that, and Arthur's mouth stretched into a familiar grin.
As they packed, they did so in silence much to his dismay. Arthur, though usually prone to silence, simply wished that some sort of conversation would strike up so that it wasn't necessary that his thoughts would run freely.
He didn't want to think anymore; he was far too tired, and he needed to take a shower before throwing all the clothes into the washer.
Luckily, though, they didn't have a lot of items, so Arthur was free to step under the sprinkling water within fifteen minutes.
He washed himself thoroughly, allowing the scent of his shampoo travel around, giving him a smell that was much better than the sweat-like one he possessed moments ago.
His muscles relaxed as well when he massaged them. But the shower he took was a quick one. Though he was tempted to dwell and think about everything, he knew that that was probably not the greatest idea. Pushing it from his mind, Arthur stepped out of the shower and dressed himself. When he returned, he was greeted with a large box in which Eames was going through, trying on the items with Mal supervising.
"Do they fit?" the Englishman questioned, drawing close to the other two. Eames turned to him, flaunting a Christmas colored t-shirt that read "JUMP".
"You tell me." Arthur honestly thought it was hideous, but Eames seemed to work it well. "Good enough."
Mal picked something out of the box. "These were dad's teenage clothes, so I'm sure most will fit you both. But I suggest washing them first, since it has been thirty years or so."
Arthur gazed at the jacket she was holding up. "My thanks to your father."
Mal beamed at him before tossing the jacket back into the box. "He just wants to be helpful. He was actually kicked out once, so he knows the feeling."
Well, that was coincidental.
"S'probably the main reason why he succumbed easily to me asking. But aside from that, where's your laundry?"
Arthur pointed to a pile of clothes located at the very corner of the room.
"Alright. I'll get them washed. There's dinner on the table, by the way. Call me if you need anything."
After scooping the clothes into a basket, Mal hurried out. Arthur tried calling her back, embarrassed by the fact that she would be handling his underwear, but she shouted that it was fine and that she did her father's on a normal basis. Eames wasn't much of a help either when he chuckled.
The dark brunet, attempting to bat off that thought, huffed softly before proceeding to the kitchen table. His stomach curled with hunger as he spotted the food that was covered by plastic wrap on the table. Once observing all that was offered, Arthur dug into the pasta.
It was the best pasta he ever tasted, save the one his mother made. He completely savored his share of it. and he didn't bother hiding his hunger from Eames, who seated nearby, either. Arthur continued to scarf down said pasta and a few rolls before cleaning up after himself.
As he did the dishes, he crossed the thought that he wouldn't taste this sort or his mother's kind of foods again, and he cursed himself for not standing around and learning how to cook the dishes.
— ox — xo —
"So this is the Eames you're talking about!" Ariadne exclaimed the moment she threw open the door to her house and greeted them.
"Talking about me?" Eames drawled, nudging Arthur a bit. "I'm honored."
While Arthur beat down the blush that bloomed in his cheeks, Ariadne, as Mal predicted, made a comment about Eames' accent.
"He's from England! Wait. Is this the Eames that went missing?"
Arthur automatically turned to Mal, who shared a common, panicked look. Of course it was the same Eames, but they didn't actually take the time to make up a story.
But luckily, Eames still stood; he cleared his throat for a split second. "Yeah. Went to England for a few years. Needed to take care of my mum— she came down with the bloody breast cancer."
Arthur knew that that was a lie; he was aware of Eames' mother's status.
"Oh, I'm sorry. And come inside." As she gestured them in, she continued to spit out questions. "Arthur was obsessed over you—"
"Ariadne!" Arthur said sharply, but he was ignored.
"— I can only imagine his expression when he actually met you! Anyways. Here's the guest room. I'll have to find one of those blow up mattresses—"
"It's fine," Eames said briskly, brushing past them to put their belongings down. "Me and Arthur share the—"
"That would be lovely," Arthur responded, a bit louder so Eames' words weren't heard.
And Mal, standing off to the side, laughed.
"So ... you two are ... ?" Ariadne quirked a brow.
"No," Arthur said quickly before Eames got a chance to breathe. "He just—" Shit, how was he supposed to explain why Eames was with him? He wasn't one to pick up a random hitchhiker. "—just came back to visit the house, and—"
"—I was mistaken for his boyfriend, so we both got kicked out."
Ariadne didn't seem convinced, and Arthur wouldn't be either if he was hearing this. Everything was made up on the spot, and since he was playing the nervous card, he couldn't find a correct story. Mal wasn't much of a help either.
"And you kept him?" Ariadne was suspicious, which could be seen from the way she was looking at them with narrowed eyes.
"It's the British charm," Eames finished, beaming as if he just won an award.
"I see ..." She gave Arthur a pointed look that clearly demanded the real story at a later time.
Arthur tried ignoring this look by glancing over at Mal. "Thanks for everything, Mal. We owe you."
"Don't mention it. Take care of them, Ariadne."
She opened her arms and Ariadne fell into the embrace. When Mal finished with hugging Ariadne and Eames, Arthur wrapped his arms around her. Arthur wasn't one to hug. He always hated hugging or casual contact in general, but he figured it would be a nice appreciative gesture if he returned said hug.
"Don't let Eames seduce you," she whispered before pulling away and patting his cheek. "Alright. I need to go back and help dad pack up. See you soon, and update me with what's going on here."
With a smile and a wave, Mal left.
"You are a horrible liar." That was the first thing Ariadne said to him after they sent Mal off.
"Thanks for blowing it," Eames added on, patting his shoulder. "No pun intended." He winked playfully at Arthur before turning his sole attention to Ariadne. "Yes, we're very much—"
"—appreciative of your hospitality until I can manage by myself," Arthur gritted out, throwing Eames a glare that lasted a split second so that Ariadne wouldn't catch it.
"It's nothing, but—we're going to have a bit of a problem if he's your ... boyfriend." She chewed on her bottom lip.
"He's not," Arthur found himself assuring, brows furrowed a bit.
He felt as if he was assuring— persuading himself of that. The mere thought of being Eames' ... partner sent his heart thundering, but also with that thought was all the confusing emotions. He was torn again, and now was definitely not the time to think about it.
"Problem?" he asked.
"We're supposed to meet Houston and Renzo area the cafe in—" She glanced at the time. "— ten minutes."
Arthur didn't see how that was a problem, but the moment he noted Eames' frown, it clicked.
Eames and Lorenzo were definitely not going to get along.
"And we were talking about a double date—" Ariadne glanced over at Eames' nervously. In response, the Englishman shifted relatively closer to Arthur and touched his elbow gently as if to command him to say no. "Even if I go with Houston, you'll be there with—"
"Say I'm went shopping." Arthur, somewhat consciously, grabbed Eames' wrist as if he was afraid that Lorenzo might jump out of the closet and tackle Eames down.
"He'll wait."
"Can you cancel it? Say that your mother—"
Ariadne shook her head.
"Shit," Arthur murmured. "Can we stay here?"
"Dad doesn't feel comfortable—"
"Eames can just be a customer. I'll deal with Lorenzo."
The female planted her hands on her hips. "He's not going to be happy when he finds out that you've been leading him on," she stated.
"We didn't agree that we were dating. It was just a friendly gather—"
"How old is he anyways?" Ariadne cut in, her eyes set on Eames.
"Twenty one," the light brunet responded, the answer stiff and without any sort of emotion but dislike.
Ariadne's gaze returned to Arthur. "I thought it's illegal—"
"We're not dating," Arthur pressed, drawing the hand he had around Eames' wrist away in attempt to prove what he just said.
"Does it matter?" Eames questioned. Arthur felt arms circling his waist and he quickly batted them away. Eames refused to move them. "It's his decision."
"I'm not against it!" Ariadne said quickly, looking flustered. "You two are adorable and— but it's ... he can get arrested."
"Ariadne," Arthur stressed, pulling himself from the Englishman's grip. "We're not dating," he repeated for a final time.
She eyed him. "Does that mean you might be interested in Renzo?"
If he had the strength and guts to pull out all his hair, Arthur would have done so by now.
"Can we not talk about this?"
"You should answer the question," Eames murmured.
"I'm not interested in Lorenzo. Now, about the situation—"
"I refuse to be a customer."
"Would you rather be locked in the car?"
"He might make a move."
"I can take care of myself, Eames."
"Arthur, you know—"
"Yes, I know—"
"You two are like an old married couple." At the sound of that, Arthur's gaze snapped to Ariadne. He had forgotten that she was there for a moment.
"Can I have a moment with Eames?"
She nodded in response and back away.
Arthur closed the door and then turned back to the older male. "Just cooperate for once."
"You can't ignore me, Arthur."
"I'm not—"
"Oh, so I'm just a mere customer sitting around, minding my own business while watching you and Renzo touch each other." Oceanic eyes narrowed a him. "How nice of you to think of me, darling."
Arthur scowled. "It won't be anything like that. He's not as bad as your making him."
"So you're taking back your words, mm?"
"You're being inconsiderate."
"I'm being inconsiderate?" Eames hissed, drawing dangerously close to Arthur.
He wanted to take a few steps back for space, but he stood his ground. Eames was not winning this.
"Did you ever consider my feelings? You knew my heart was broke when you kissed Dom. And yet, you bring Renzo home and make out with him in front of the goddamn mirror. Do you know how I felt? I was so angry— I felt hopeless. Used. Useless. You broke my heart, and then you fucking shattered every one of those broken pieces. You know— Mal said the same to me. Said that I was inconsiderate." Eames was glowering now and practically emitting waves of bitter anger.
Arthur, truthfully, wanted to run. He wanted to be a coward and run away from these feelings and Eames, specifically, but he couldn't. His feet were rooted on the spot as if he stepped into a puddle of super glue. His eyes refused to flicker off the blue-greens ones as well.
He kept his posture; he kept his straight face, but on the inside, he felt everything come undone. He wanted it to stop. He wanted Eames to shut up. But it didn't stop there.
"She told me that I'll be fine. That you like me. That you won't do anything stupid. She lied to me." Eames' lips curled into a faint snarl of disgust. "I tried to believe her. I put on a smile. I pretended that seeing you and Dom together was okay, but it's not. And it won't be better with this Renzo. But you know what, Arthur? Despite the fact that I'm a moronic, pining, selfish prick, I still consider your feelings. I want you to be happy, alright? Just like I told you before. When you're happy, I'm happy. Seeing you smile, even if it's not to me, makes me appreciate what I had with you."
Eames let out a shaky breath before leaning forward slightly so that their breaths mingled.
"But I'll have you know that I will never be truly happy without you. That's what you did to me, Arthur."
That was the end of the confession, thankfully, but Arthur wasn't about to yank Eames in for a kiss. He wanted to, but it wasn't the time and place for such action. In turn, he let out a few exhales before starting, his eyes still strayed on the other.
"You're not as considerate as you make yourself. You keep telling me your feelings, and I've stated many times that I rather not talk about them. Yet, you insist—"
"— It wasn't necessary that you had to reply."
"Let me finish," Arthur returned sharply before taking out a breath and starting again. "And with Lorenzo, I was needy, alright? I wanted to feel wanted."
"I was always there for you."
"It wasn't what I needed."
"You fucking played me."
"I wasn't aware of your feelings—"
"That's a lie and you know it!"
"You're making this complicated than it actually is, Eames."
"Well, I'm sorry for caring. I should have never changed from my past self. Maybe then I wouldn't be here, trying to hold back from bawling like a baby."
"I never asked you to care."
"I didn't either. You could have left me out of the streets to starve and die." When Arthur didn't have a response, Eames continued. "But you didn't. What does that mean? You care about me. Don't lie to yourself. You're shit at lying. You—"
Before the rest could be said, there was a knock on the door.
"They're at the cafe," Ariadne reminded. "You know, if it's really a problem, I can just call in sick or—"
"It's fine, Ariadne," Arthur answered rather coldly. "Give us five more minutes." He glared at Eames who gladly returned his glare.
"Alright, five minutes."
When Ariadne said nothing else, Arthur began again in a lower vice so that Ariadne couldn't hear.
"This argument is a waste of time. Let's just go."
Eames' features darkened visibly. It reminded Arthur much of a storm. The furrows of the Englishman's eyebrows initiated the storm stirring. The sneer was thunder. The hateful look in the oceanic eyes were the winds— fierce, determined. And the darkness that crossed his features was the final straw.
"You're saying that all my feelings for you are bullshit."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it—"
"I did not! I was merely stating that we're being immature—"
"I don't even know why I chose you. You're an inconsiderate, stuck up bastard, and I still love you."
"I'm not sure why I do things for you. You're a inconsiderate, stupid prick, and I fucking—" Arthur's face was already flushed from the anger, but he felt his cheeks burn again. "— and I hate you."
Eames' narrowed his eyes. "You don't mean that."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"You're lying."
"I hate you, Eames. I hate you. You fucked up my future, my life. You—"
"You're not the only victim here. You fucked up everything for me too. I can't even look at someone else with interest. I can't even think that they're more beautiful than you are. I can't help the pain in my chest when I see you with someone else. I'm already fucked, thanks to you. And now, you're saying that you ... that you—"
Eames finally broke; he turned away and covered his eyes.
And Arthur felt absolutely horrible watching the scene unfold. He hated seeing Eames like this. He hated this situation. This fight. He hated himself for making decisions. He hated his confusion—
Eames sharply inhaled. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I can't. I just can't. I— I'm sorry."
Arthur reached out and touched Eames' hand shielding the eyes.
Eames bristled a bit and immediately batted the hand away. "Don't touch me. I'm done. We're done. I'll find shelter elsewhere."
"If you were sorry, then we should be okay," Arthur replied quietly.
Eames laughed. "For once, you're wrong. I'm not sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for falling with the most amazing, brilliant, adorable person I've ever met."
"Eames—" Arthur began, pulling his hand back with a frown.
"I'm sorry for caring— for being there when you needed me— for being there even if you didn't need me. I'm sorry for changing for you. And I'm sorry that I fucked up your life. You can just pretend none of this happened— that I never existed."
Eames brushed past him and opened the door. "I hope you're happy."
With that, Eames glanced away and gazed at Ariadne, who looked as if she had just seen a ghost.
"Take care of him."
And then, he was gone.
Arthur was simply shocked.
Did Eames just walked out on him?
He certainly did, and moments before, he was declaring his love and— shit, the bastard was not getting away now.
But Arthur wasn't chasing. He stood in place, staring back at Ariadne, looking like a dazed idiot. He didn't know if he should chase Eames or not.
Where would Eames go? No where. Maybe Yusuf's or Mal's house— but Arthur doubt that they were nearby.
What if Eames didn't come back? Though the other seemed sincere about leaving, Arthur knew that he would be back, because if Eames cared that much, he would come back.
But if Arthur cared, he would be chasing Eames right now. He wasn't, though.
He wanted to take everything back. He wanted Eames to come back, but he wasn't willing to chase him.
Fuck.
"You're just going to let him leave?"
"He chose to," Arthur said when he finally found his voice again.
"But don't you—"
"He'll come back."
"How can you be so sure?" she pressed.
"He always comes back."
— ox — xo —
Except, Eames didn't come back. Eames didn't come to the cafe. Eames didn't visit him at work. He didn't sleep in the bed Arthur almost cried himself to sleep in. He wasn't there to kiss him good morning, to talk to him, to care, to— fuck.
Everything was so different without Eames by his side, and it was only five PM the very next day.
His work shift could not be any longer and ridiculous.
Arthur was continuously pissed and found it hard to smile and be nice to the customers. In return, he ended up with ten dollars less than his average tip, but he could really care less. What was the point of earning more money if he had two thousand? He was still in high school. This was his final year as well. The two thousand should support him until the end of the year.
And with Eames gone, he didn't need to spend more— but that was pathetic itself.
Arthur felt odd buying one of everything instead of the usual two whenever they went out for a drink or some food.
And if that wasn't enough, then him addressing Eames out of habit was ultimate oddness.
"Is my tie right, Ea—" Arthur caught himself before he could say the name, because Eames was no longer there to tell him if his tie was right.
He never felt so lost.
— ox — xo —
"Is he okay?"
Arthur was immediately on his feet and grabbing Yusuf's shoulders when the other stated that Eames had been residing with him for the past week.
"He's fine. Said he's here on a visit and needed a place to crash."
"Did he ... did he say anything about me?" the young teen asked nervously.
"Not that I can remember."
Arthur's heart clenched and he pulled his hands away.
Eames had forgotten him. Eames no longer cared for him.
No— no, Eames still cared. Arthur knew. Eames wasn't one to give in. He'll come back. Arthur swore that he would.
— ox — xo —
Two weeks were gone. School started, and Arthur continued to stay at Ariadne's. His mother had visited him the weekend before and handed him a few hundred dollars. She also informed him that his father refused to accept him back, and that she was filing a divorce.
Other than that, Arthur began school once he received the books his mother brought to him.
He couldn't focus, though. He thought about Eames excessively, daydreamed about him, and worried his ass off.
— ox — xo —
And the third week was everything.
"I want to see him," Arthur inquired.
Yusuf blinked. "Alright."
Arthur was surprised that Yusuf agreed so quickly, which brought him to the thought that Eames was talking about him. But he didn't want to get his hopes up. Yusuf was just nice.
"Let's go, then," Arthur ushered before turning to the rest.
Ariadne was inspecting him from behind the counter, and Houston and Lorenzo were getting ready to leave. His gaze, though, focused on Lorenzo specifically, watching to make sure the other wasn't going to pull anything. But as usual, he did.
Lorenzo strolled close and leaned in. "So, movie this Saturday? No double date, just you and me."
Arthur glanced at Yusuf for a moment. Eames— that was who was on his mind. He couldn't, even if he wanted to—
"I'll decline."
"You declined the week before and one before that!" Lorenzo informed with a pout.
Ariadne cleared her throat. "Arthur has a boyfriend." And Arthur didn't even make a comeback for that. He just threw Ariadne a pointed look before watching Lorenzo's usual happy face turn to a frowning one.
"I thought we were dating," he whispered, drawing close and obviously ignoring Houston's snickers.
"I never agreed that we were actually dating," Arthur responded, standing his ground with the most manageable stance.
"How long?"
"Three weeks." The dark brunet's lips were tight as he uttered the answer to this. He wasn't Eames' boyfriend. He was using Eames as an excuse again. But that didn't mean that his heart and stomach couldn't flutter to the thought of it.
"How come I never seen him? Does he go to our school? Is he attractive?"
"Renzo!" Ariadne exclaimed, eavesdropping into the conversation.
Lorenzo glanced up. "What? I just want to make sure Arthur's with a right person!"
Some sort of relief brushed over Arthur. Lorenzo didn't seem angry; thank God.
"You need to bring him in. I'll evaluate him. One through ten for appearance, personality—"
"Let's go, Renzo," Houston cut in, placing a hand on the other's shoulder and patting him. "Leave Arthur alone."
Arthur gazed over Lorenzo's shoulder at Houston and gave him a sincere look of thanks. The other smiled back before leading Lorenzo out (who was whining that he didn't get enough information).
Finally, when they were out of sight, Arthur turned to Ariadne. He wanted to say something about her lie, but the words fell on his lips. Ariadne, on the other hand, had a bit to say.
"Well, you didn't deny it."
And that just made him flustered, so he turned to Yusuf for distraction. "Let's go," he murmured.
Yusuf gave a slight nod before leading the way.
It was only in the car did Arthur realize the time. He was only supposed to stop by Ariadne's for a cup of coffee. And now he had skipped out on the first thirty minutes of work.
"Shit," he cursed, quickly dialing Dom's number.
The other picked up immediately. "Where are you, Arthur?"
"Fuck, Dom, I'm sorry. I got carried away with a conversation. And— shit. I'll be there in a few, alright?"
"Better be glad Cheyenne agreed to run your tables. And the Eames guy is here too." Why was Eames there? "He keeps giving me these glares. Best come talk to him."
"Yeah, alright. Be there in five."
Clasping the phone close, he peered down at what he was wearing. He didn't have a tie on, but the outfit would do for uniform.
After the quick confirmation, he dialed Yusuf.
"Did you get lost?" was the first thing he was asked when the phone was picked up on the other end.
"No. I forgot about work. Eames' there too. I'm heading over."
"Oh, alright. Wait. How did he— I'm going to check on the house to make sure it's locked."
Just as the phone line cut off, Arthur turned into a parking space and frantically brushed himself up.
The greeter patted him on the shoulder, telling him that Dom was ticked, before ushering him in.
Arthur, ignoring what the greeter told him, was thoroughly embarrassed as he pulled on his waist apron and went to find Cheyenne.
"I apologize for that."
The blonde gave him a small smile. "It's alright. You only had one customer." She glanced over her shoulder at Eames. "Very charming."
She flashed a smile in Eames direction (when the other glanced over for a split second), before gazing back at Arthur.
"Do you personally know him? I saw him with Mal weeks ago. He's really hot, and that accent—"
Arthur's eyes narrowed a bit as he frowned. "Yes, I do," he answered, not wanting to hear the rest of her gushing.
"What's his name?"
"Eames."
"Do you have his number?"
"No."
She looked a bit down. "Oh. Okay. Do you know if he goes to our school or ... ?"
Arthur wasn't sure what came over him then, but he was simply blinded by jealousy. Lips tight, he found himself possessive.
"Don't bother. He's taken." The words were sharp and disarming, matching to his desire to shoo her away.
"Oh. I see ... lucky girl," she murmured. "Thanks anyways."
As Cheyenne moved away, Arthur glanced over at Eames.
The other wasn't looking his way, which meant that he had to approach him first. So, with a calming breath, Arthur headed over and prepared himself for the worse.