The first time that Eames met Dominic Cobb was after a spectacularly long and boring orientation to his first American (but third overall) boarding school, a non-secular academy that was recommended to his mother by a childhood friend. Apparently it was very popular among successful British expats who feared that any traditional American school would reduce their children to….well….Americans.

A truly tragic fate, to be sure.

The orientation included a long and rambling explanation about its prestige but all Eames managed to retain was foreign and domestic educators and charming, learning-oriented environment. For the rest of the time Eames just let himself be lulled by the flat American syllables of the headmaster. He was an unusual case, he was sure, coming in over halfway through his third year of secondary school, and his punishment for the inconvenience seemed to be an attack of the most boring hour and a half of his life.

By the time it was over his eyelids were heavy and he snuck several yawns behind the headmaster's back when he rose to follow him into the hall where they met a tall, light-haired young man wearing the school uniform and a polite smile.

"And now, Mr. Eames, you will be given a tour of our facilities by our student body president, Mr. Dominic Cobb."

"Please, call me Dom." As they shook hands Eames contemplated actually calling him please-call-me-Dom and decided that joke had been done, and with a lot more cleverness, and just settled for a lazy smile and replying with his own name in turn.

"Nice to me you."

"Ta, mate. Likewise."

There was nothing particularly striking about any of it. No reason for Eames to think anything in particular, especially not anything along the lines of We are destined to become lifelong friends and I will be at his wedding and be godfather to his children despite how true that would prove to be in the future.

In fact what he vaguely remembers thinking was more along the lines of There better be food on this bloody tour, I'm starving.

"So what brings you here, in the middle of the year?"

"Depends on who you ask." Eames studies the high, dark hallways and wonders why, no matter what country you're in, boarding school hallways are all checkered tile and overworked molding. "I got several conflicting reports. Got some lovely bird pregnant, stole a car, burned down the headmaster's office…. Which, though it did burn down, is entirely untrue. I had absolutely nothing to do with that. Totally innocent."

Dom doesn't look convinced, which is fine because neither was the headmaster. Or his mother.

"Officially, though? Mum got a job here. Nice one, transferred over from the London branch of BBC."

Dom asks him a few more traditional (boring) questions. Eames isn't inspired to answer in any other way than blandly. It's not awkward, but it's not particularly interesting.

At least it isn't until they turn down a corridor heading towards the dorms and Dom gets tackled and half-dragged into an empty classroom. Eames just stands there, stunned and a little delighted, before something (Someone?) slams into his back and he falls headfirst in after him. Dom is leaning against the professor's desk, looking amused and being half straddled by a lovely little thing with short dark hair, her uniform skirt rolled up at the waist to put it well above her knees and no stockings to be seen.

"You must be Eames." Says a pleasant voice behind him, and Eames is ashamed to see the person you shoved him bodily into the room is nearly half his height and a tiny slip of a thing. "I'm Ariadne." She motions with her chin at the girl who is now, for lack of a better word, climbing up Dom to suck his soul out through his mouth. Eames is amused at how Dom's hand keeps slipping from her waist to her backside before he notices, panics, and like a gentleman puts it back. "That's Mal. We're all charmed, I'm sure."

Eames discovers that meeting Dom means meeting Mal, and he thinks he might adore them a little.

(And Ariadne, of course.)

Mal loves him instantly, and Ariadne seems equally taken. That seems to be all Dom needs and they're all joking and laughing and quite enjoying themselves in no time. By late afternoon Eames has even met two of Dom's closest male friends.

Of course, to be fair, Dom didn't really have a choice but to introduce them. Saito was the prefect for the Eastern wing boys' dorms, where Eames would be staying, and Yusuf would be Eames' new roommate.

"What happened to your old roommate?"

"His eyebrows were singed off somehow." Eames gives Yusuf a very pointed look and carefully guides the man's gaze with his eyes to the many empty beakers and glass tubes on his desk.

"That may have had something to do with it, yes."

That's all the information he gets and he doesn't really push it. Yusuf amuses him almost instantly and he sees no reason to be concerned. He's never had any particular sentimental attachment to his eyebrows anyway.

Somehow it's Dom's best friend that Eames meets last and when he does meet him for the first time he's completely unaware who he is, other than a condescending, possibly anal-retentive asshole.

It starts out in Physics. He's behind, because he's never taken Physics before, and how he got enrolled in it in the first place is a mystery to him (though he suspects his mother had something to do with it). The professor suggests he work with another student to get caught up.

Eames isn't sure how the kid manages to do it, but he somehow manages to look overdressed. They wear uniforms. Identical uniforms. Maybe it's the way everything is ironed so neatly, while most of the other students have slight creases or wrinkles in their shoulders of along the rides of their hips and waists. Maybe it's the way his hair is slicked back just as neatly, just as orderly, as his clothes.

Or maybe it's the way he holds himself at attention and speaks in direct, tight sentences, gaze unwavering and focused.

"This is Arthur. He is one of our best students." She smiles and him dotingly. "Arthur, do you think you could contribute to enriching this young man's education without it adversely affecting your studies?" And oh bloody nora, is she for real?

"Yes ma'am."

Yes ma'am. Just like that. Yes ma'am.

If Eames were a malicious person, he'd dislike Arthur on the spot. But Eames is more of the harmless, good-natured teasing sort and chooses instead to just be baffled.

"Wonderful. You can take the seat in the back, away from the other students. We were only going to discuss the assigned homework problems. Many of the students had difficulty and I believe they'll need another day's preparation. You didn't have any trouble with the assignment did you, Arthur?"

"No ma'am." Of course not. How silly of you to even ask.

"Very good. Good luck, both of you." And was it just him or did her tone shift from adoring to suspicious when she looked at Eames?
"Do you have the text with you?" Arthur looks him straight in the eyes when he talks, but Eames gets the distinct impression that he's look through him.

"Oops, must have left it in my other trousers. Darn. Reschedule this then?" Arthur doesn't so much as crack a smile, and Eames wants very much to pout.

"We'll work out of mine for now. I've highlighted the important aspects of the chapters, so it will help us focus on the material you'll need to know for the next exam."

Eames feels like he's swallowed a lemon. But that's okay, because Arthur looks like he's sitting on an exceptionally large stick that's wedged itself straight up his-

"Delightful. It's good to see you're so prepared, luv." Arthur's frown may have gotten a little deeper, but it's hard to tell.

"Our most recent material has been a study of Euler's formula and its applications, and we just started Lagrangian points." And if that sounded like gibberish to you folks, you're not alone.

"I'm afraid Physics isn't my strong suit love. You're speaking Latin to me."

"Euler was Swiss."

"Very well then, darling, you're speaking Swiss to me."

"In Switzerland, they speak German, though French and Italian are also-"

"That's absolutely fascinating. Do tell me more."

For a brief second, Arthur looks like he might hit him, and so far it's the highlight of Eames' incredibly boring morning. Instead he pulls off his carrier bag and begins to go through it. It's got thin plastic dividers in it and Eames doesn't think he's ever seen anyone with a bag that orderly in his life. It looks like he's carrying the inside of a file cabinet.

"Here." Arthur pulls out a black notebook with a neat little label on the bottom right-hand corner that reads Physics, Term 1. "This is my first set of notes from last term. Read over them, familiarize yourself with them. If you have any questions, ask. I'm going to work on some lecture notes." Eames flips open the notebook and isn't surprised that Arthur has the neatest, straightest handwriting he's ever seen. It fills every page with solid text, no sign of doodles or scribbling anywhere except for the carefully copied diagrams that pop up occasionally.

"Why don't I just read the bloody textbook?" He grumbles, flipping through a few pages. Arthur doesn't look up from his laptop that he's already pulled out and set up.

"Because the textbook has 946 pages and that notebook only has 120." Ah. Right-o then.

Eames spends the rest of the course period having his brain slowly and torturously melted down to nothing, the incessant clacking of Arthur at his keyboard not helping at all. When the period finally ends Eames thinks Oh thank the bloody lord and tries to hand Arthur his notebook back. Instead of taking it, Arthur hands him another, nearly identical one, except the label in the corner reads Physics, Term 1 Book 2 and Eames thinks he might be ill.

"Keep them. You'll need to review them tonight so we can begin going over the new material tomorrow."

"You can't be serious. It will take me all night to actually go over all of this." Arthur stares up at him, calmly and methodically packing up his carrier bag as they spoke.

"The first exam is in four weeks. We'll be covering all new material from now until then. You don't have time to lag behind. Read the notes. If you have questions or don't understand something, keep a list and I'll go through it with you tomorrow." Arthur doesn't give him time to argue and just gets up and heads for the door, Eames gaping after him indignantly. One of the other boys must feel his pain because he gets a hard clap on the shoulder and a dry voice says

"Yeah, that's Arthur. Ignore him, pretty much everyone else does."

He goes two blissful periods without intersecting Arthur again and is pleased that his last course before lunch is French composition, but only because he's in it with Yusuf and they have a merry time pretending to massacre the language together. They leave together, meeting Saito in the hall as he leaves Concepts of Business Management and head to lunch together. They hang back a bit when they enter, apparently waiting for Dom's little posse of sycophantic student-council followers to leave. From across the dining hall Eames can tell they're the type of friends he would expect someone in Cobb's position to have, all clean cut and pretentious.

Eventually Dom sees them and waves them over with a warm smile, and that seems to be an unspoken dismissal of the others, because they immediately begin to disperse. Most of them don't look at him or Yusuf at all, just nodding politely to Dom and Saito as they pass. A select few shoot him and Yusuf suspicious, distasteful looks that Eames responds to by blowing them kisses and smiling wolfishly, and Yusuf responds to by staring down at his shoes. They take their seats at Dom's table and everything goes back to normal, that odd sense of friendly camaraderie that Eames has never felt before making him feel warm. They exchange greetings and start eating, and Dom asks him how is first day is going.

"Physics. First period. Most painful experience of my life." Eames responds with a groan and Saito and Dom both look sympathetic. Yusuf is rather invested in his mashed potatoes and doesn't appear to be listening. "I fancy myself to be quite a genius, but Physics is taking advantage of me in unpleasant and completely non consensual ways." Yusuf must be paying attention, because he grins.

"My best friend is in Physics." Dom's looking thoughtful. "I could let him know you're having trouble. I'm sure he'd be willing to help. He's the only reason I passed last year." Eames is instantly relieved, because he'd been certain he'd be stuck working with Arthur for the rest of term.

"Where is your right hand man, anyway? He usually pops up out of nowhere the second your devoted followers are gone." Yusuf, Eames decides, has terrible table manners. He talks with his mouth full.

"He headed up to the professors' offices to give Professor Brost the notes he took from the guest lecturer last week."

That probably should have tipped Eames off right there, but he remained blissfully unaware until after last period, and by then it was too late.

It turns out that Arthur was also in Eames' Literature class, where Eames was significantly more caught up. It also turns out the Arthur has no imagination whatsoever. They're comparing the prophetic futures of 1984 and Brave New World to modern day society and Arthur could not be more literal and unyielding in his interpretations if he tried.

Some people don't have a knack for literary interpretation and analysis. Fine. Dandy. Move on with your life and leave in alone. But Arthur, Arthur is so stubborn. He refuses to surrender, keeps up the debate, frustrating in his tenacity. He's not wrong exactly, which is worse because if he was wrong Eames could just shut him down and that would be that. Instead he's….right, in the simplest, least flexible way anyone could be right.

Halfway through the debate Arthur is insulting Eames' wardrobe and Eames is showing off his colorful array of British, American, and French expletives. The professor has to shelve both of them so that the rest of the class can participate. Then he has to end the debate entirely because no one else in the class is quite as effective as Arthur at delivering the meat of the material and no one is quite as intuitive as Eames at interpreting it. It's like trying to follow up Celine Dion on a power ballad.

Just not happening.

Eames spends the rest of the class finding ways to catch Arthur's eye so he can give him lewd smiles or wiggling his eyebrows or winking lasciviously. Anything to make the tips of Arthur's ears go red… which also means anything that makes Arthur look within seconds of murdering him. Twenty five minutes of that and when they're finally released from class Arthur storms out like the queen he is. Eames enjoys it all immensely.

He met Dom after his last period so they could hang out before dinner. Apparently it was something of a ritual for Dom and his friends to spend the hour and a half between classes and dinner playing various card games in the student-body meeting office, to which only the president (Dom) and the Vice President had the keys. Mondays are poker night. Yusuf and Dom were already there waiting when Eames arrived so the three of them make themselves comfortable waiting for Ariadne and Dom's mysterious BFF to arrive. Saito and Mal have archery practice on Mondays, which gives Eames a good chuckle because, really, he didn't think that was still something people did, let alone have clubs for, but to each his own.

"How'd your afternoon classes go?" Dom asked, shuffling the cards as a preemptive measure.

"Alright. I think I'm turning Lit into Romeo and Juliet, though. Without…you know, all the nudity and unrealistic love affairs." Yusuf looked confused but Dom grins.

"Well that only leaves the duels and vows of revenge."

"We'll get along great as long as I don't get stabbed." Eames agrees, with a smile that defeats his solemn tone. Dom tilts his head, looking thoughtful again.

"Hey, Arthur's in that Lit too, I think." And Eames jolts a little at the name.

"Arthur? Yeah, He's Tybalt. You know him?" Yusuf looks suddenly very uncomfortable and Dom's expression gets….odd. "What?"

"Arthur is…."
"Here." A soft, familiar voice answers and the door to the office is pushed all the way open. "I'm here." And bloody hell, it's Arthur followed shortly by Ariadne and it hits Eames rather hard in the stomach because Cobb's BFF is Arthur. Arthur who he just spent most of the day (okay, only two periods, but still) exasperating to his last wit.

Their eyes meet and Arthur just stares at him. Dom's expression is concerned and it occurs to Eames that his position in his new little group of friends may be compromised.

"Arthur. You've met Eames, I hear?" Dom sounds deceptively light hearted. Arthur's head tilts slightly to the side.

"…Yes."

"He's new here. I invited him to play poker with us." Another long pause follows Dom pointing out the obvious.

"I can see that." Arthur had been staring Eames down this whole time, expression completely neutral. "Are you going to deal us in? Because dinner's in an hour."

And the tension leaves the room as Arthur and Ariadne sit down at the table. If Eames is the type to question unexpected generosity, he would wonder why that all went down so smoothly.

Arthur's acceptance (however grudgingly it may be given, Eames can't tell) of Eames at the poker game seems to be a sign that he's a full-fledged member of their odd little group. Eames suspects that Arthur will come to regret this, as being in their circle of friends gives Eames what is basically a free pass to torment Arthur to his wits end, as long as he doesn't cross the line into being purposefully mean.

Which isn't a problem, because Eames isn't a bully, and mean is…well…mean.

Physics is a lot more fun now and Eames makes testing Arthur's patience into a game. The man has as close to an unending supply as Eames has ever seen in anyone and quickly learns to tolerate Eames blatant antagonism with a calm that Eames' mother would envy. Within the first week Eames has only managed to make Arthur slam his laptop shut once, grit his teeth six times, and on one memorable occasion, snap a pencil.

Of course, in a week Arthur has also managed to initiate Eames into the fine world of Physics and he's managed to get a decent enough grasp on the material from notebook#1 and is a quarter of the way through notebook #2. Arthur is sneakier than Eames ever suspected, because he had no idea he how much he was actually learning during their little sessions when his primary goal had been drive Arthur mad.

So imagine his surprise when Arthur unexpectedly asks him a question about Impulse and Momentum and Eames actually has an answer. Arthur looks smug and Eames knows that he knows that Eames thought he was avoiding all the learning with all his incessant teasing, and yet here they are.

With Eames up one broken pencil and Arthur up nearly an entire bloody term worth of Physics.

Arthur, Eames decides, is a sneaky bastard.

He knows that his reputation at this school isn't the best. He's made little attempt to hide the fact that he's kind of a smart ass, and not at all interested in the gentility of the high-school social structure. He doesn't bother ironing his uniform every day and the professors fuss and frown at his disheveled appearance. A few times he's gone in to use the lavatory only to have its previous incumbents abruptly stop talking (which is odd, because isn't gossiping in bathrooms a girl thing?) and Cobb's little pep-squad pals always shoot him those funny looks.

Yusuf, it turns out, is also at the bottom of the social pecking order. He's got a mad-scientist vibe that makes his classmates suspicious (burning off eyebrows doesn't help) and he apparently once suffered from a stutter that no one seems to be willing to let go, even though it's been two years since it was actually a problem. He knows that some of the boys sometimes say things to Yusuf, but he never catches them in the act and they never do anything…physical. It takes Eames only a short time before he realizes it's because Yusuf is Dom's friend, and Dom's friends have some kind of diplomatic immunity by association. This doesn't stop the animosity, but it keeps it quiet and covert.

Eames thinks Yusuf has the worst of it.

Until after a while he starts to notice that no one speaks to Arthur in Physics except him. And no one argues directly with Arthur in Lit except him. Even Yusuf has his fellow science geeks to marvel over the realm of biology and chemistry and have mini-science orgasms together. Arthur doesn't appear to regularly interact with anyone outside of Dom, Mal, Ariadne, and now (rather reluctantly) with Eames.

He remembers how after his first session with Arthur in Physics one of his classmates just told him to ignore Arthur.

Because that's what pretty much everyone else does.

Arthur checks over his homework for him every day before Physics, calmly explaining to him if he's made mistakes and nodding in silent approval if he hasn't. Four weeks in, the night before their first exam, he meets Eames in the library and reviews with him. Eames passes the exam with an 84%, something of an accomplishment, considering he had only started learning Physics four weeks earlier. Arthur congratulates him, stealthily hiding the 98% Eames saw him get when the professor handed them back.

Eames doesn't understand why everyone ignores Arthur.

Eames likes how relaxed Arthur is during the pre-dinner card games. He smiles, small and content, in a way he doesn't anywhere else Eames has ever seen him. He's got dimples and warm eyes and the first time he smiles at Eames the Brit feels something very fundamental shift, but he's not sure what it means.

Every Saturday Dom and Arthur get to leave the school grounds until 8pm as a reward for their scholastic performance and excellent records. Eames, thanks to Arthur's tutoring and Dom's good influence (they're corrupting him. Absolutely ruining his bad reputation) is given his first free Saturday a week after his first Physics test. Dom invites him with him and Arthur to meet up with Mal and Ariadne. Eames is delighted to come, especially when he sees Arthur pinch the bridge of his nose in agitation when he hears Dom's invitation.

A chance to spend a lovely afternoon with two gorgeous ladies while driving Arthur mad?

How does anyone say no to that?

They head out shortly after 10am (a travesty, to get up so early on a Saturday, but Dom only has ten hours to make a spectacular fool of himself fawning over Mal and he apparently wants to make sure every second counts). Eames rolls out of bed at 9:30am, brushes his teeth, throws on the least wrinkled clothes he has and hops out the door. Dom looks a tad more done up than Eames, with his hair neatly combed and his clothes tidy. No doubt in honor of his lady-love.

Arthur is wearing a white button up with a black vest, a red tie cinched neatly around his neck. Eames stares intently at him as they make their way through the windy little streets to the outdoor shopping center where they're meeting the girls. Arthur pretends not to notice for a while, until Eames nearly walks into an oncoming car because he won't stop stubbornly staring at Arthur with the most ludicrous expression on his face.

"What, Eames?" And, gee, he doesn't have to sound so put out about it.

"You ironed your shirt." Arthur doesn't respond. "You ironed your shirt….on the weekend." Cobb snickers somewhere in front of them, but Eames is still having a staring contest with Arthur's tie.

"And that offends you in some way?" Arthur drawls and Eames knows he has the stupidest grin on his face but he had never heard Arthur drawl before. It sounded splendidly American and was the most relaxed Eames had ever heard Arthur's voice. Eames suspected it might have had something to do with the increasing distance they were putting between them and the school. Arthur was always tense, at school.

"Oh, absolutely, darling. Offends my sensibilities to the core. I'd faint right here if I thought either one of you fine, strapping gents would catch me." Eames placed a limp hand against his forehead at this, pretending to swoon. Cobb, who hung back when he noticed how far behind they were falling, was grinning. Arthur looked less than impressed.

"There is nothing wrong with my clothes."

"You're wearing a tie on a Saturday. That's like having sex in a church."

"I find it hard to believe that you don't condone having sex in church." Did Arthur's mouth twitch just then? Was he….mother have mercy…about to smile? Eames' grin was wide and he felt rather delighted with himself.

"Well, I wouldn't say I condone it, necessarily. Church pews are bloody uncomfortable. I do find it far less repugnant than I find ties on Saturdays. Which is why, Arthur darling, I'm taking the liberty of freeing you of yours." And Eames isn't one to brag (except when he's awake or having very lucid dreams) but the way he manages to slip the knot of Arthur's tie free and yank it off the other boy's neck before Arthur can stop him is positively artful and he is skilled.

"Eames! Give that back!"

"No."
"This is ridiculous. You are such a child. Give it back to me!"

"Nuh-uh."

"Fine. Don't give it back. See if I care."

"Okay."

"…..God, you are such an ass sometimes!"

"Did you just swear? Cobb! Arthur just swore! He's becoming a man! I am so proud!" Eames dodges Arthur's hands, which are settled to wrap around either his tie or Eames' throat, neither are sure which. All Eames really cares about is the fact that, for the next fifteen minutes it takes them to find the girls, he has managed to drive Arthur completely up the wall, and it's been great fun.

Arthur never gets his tie back. Somewhere along the line it vanished from sight. Later that night Eames will find it tucked into the band of his boxers, having been forgotten there most of the day. He makes a mental note to return it to Arthur tomorrow, but it ends up getting tucked away in one of his drawers and he never quite manages to get it back to him.

Arthur is late for Physics Tuesday (and by late, he means that Arthur isn't fifteen minutes early, like he is every day) and class will be starting in two minutes and Eames hopes Arthur doesn't make it because he can't wait to rub it in that he was on time (early) and Arthur was late. He's watching the seconds tick by with such intense concentration when ….Nate? Nick? Nash-something-or-other the Third sits down next to him and grips his shoulder in a chummy fashion that amuses Eames because they're not chummy, not really. Eames bums cigarettes from him, sometimes, but only once in a great while and only when he knows he'll have time to do the wash afterwards so Dom and Arthur don't smell it on him.

Yes, he knows that sounds sad and pathetic and he feels sad and pathetic when he does it, but you've never heard anyone nag until you've heard Arthur and Dom nag.

"How's the class treating you? All caught up?" The boy sits down next to Eames, in Arthur's usual chair, and Eames tries very hard not to frown at him in a very obvious way.

"Yeah." Eames draws it out into a question, staring at Nash (Nate? Nick?) curiously. Possibly-Nash-Maybe-Nick/Nate leans closer, still smiling.

"So you're a free man." Eames is very strategic with his facial expressions, so it's no accident when his face very clearly reads And just what are you on about, mate? Which seems to give Nash (?) pause. "Look, the guys just wanted me to let you know that you're free to come sit with us, you know, if you don't need to be tutored all the time." Eames looks over Nash's shoulder at the six boys who regularly sit against the far wall of the class, slouched strategically against window ledges with their uniform ties undone. One of them has a visible tattoo and two others Eames recognizes as the some of the lavatory-smokers that are always almost getting themselves caught during lunch.

"That's great, mate." Eames feels strange, because these are the type of people who have always been his type of people, and he's a little put off by his own hesitation. "Thanks." Nash stares at him, clearly waiting for something Eames doesn't plan on delivering. "But I'm pretty comfortable here. I have an excellent view of…..the clock and the….blackboard." And yes, it sounds just as lame out loud as it did in his head, but Eames can't help it. He has no intention of moving seats. He likes it here, with the clock and the board, and Arthur, who never talks in Physics except with Eames.

Nash doesn't understand, and Eames knows he doesn't understand. But after a few seconds of a rather awkward staring contest the other boy gets up and leaves without saying anything else. Almost as soon as he's gone Arthur slides into his chair and begins to organize his desk just-so.

"Were you here that whole time?" Eames flicks Arthur's pencil, which sends it on a crash course into his two other pencils, ruining the neat little line Arthur had made.

"Yes." Arthur doesn't elaborate and Eames isn't sure what he expects him to say so he just watches him. Arthur has, quite possibly, the most perfect skin in the world and Eames is rather jealous. It's smooth and light and sometimes Eames has to suppress the urge to touch him to see if he's got invisible stubble.

"Would you have missed me darling?" Eames sighs dramatically, batting at Arthur's tie like a cat. "If I had run off with another man?"

Arthur looks up at him, heavy lidded and smiling a little. More than he's ever smiled in Physics before.

"Don't be silly. Of course not." He leans in a little as he speaks. "But I have it on good authority the clock would have been devastated."

Sometimes when Arthur has a particularly industrious or efficient morning he comes to meet Eames early at his and Yusuf's room (possibly to make sure Eames arrives on time, though this has yet to be officially confirmed). He'll sit primly at Eames' desk, the only surface he trusts (and only after some inspection) to be clear of crumbs, dust, or sodium bicarbonate or whatever some-such Yusuf is playing around with that week. Eames will be throwing his scattered materials into his shoulder bag and trying to half heartedly straighten his hair and Arthur will occasionally point him in the right direction (Book bag? "Bathroom." Homework? "Under your pillow. Honestly, do you think you'll absorb it in your sleep?") to speed the process along. Arthur tolerates the sight of Eames' uniform in pieces scattered around the room better than Eames expected, although he suspects that the occasional twitches he sees in Arthur's fingers are some repressed urge to tidy, but Eames doesn't point it out. There's something sacred about these mornings and Eames almost never teases, except for sneaky little smiles he knows Arthur always understands even if Eames himself isn't sure he does.

Eames discovers that if he's just subtly oafish enough Arthur can't help but make himself useful. The first time is the hectic morning when Eames discovers a large blue stain-of-mysterious-origin on his dress shirt and actually contemplates wearing it anyway.

"You have to have at least one clean shirt." Arthur accuses, shifting through Eames' closet. "Even if it's wrinkled you-" He stops talking for a moment and Eames, who is sitting shirtless on his bed until he gets a shirt that's Arthur-approved, cranes his upper body over the side of the bed to see what's going on. Arthur's fingers are frozen on the sleeve of Eames' black leather jacket that he hasn't had a chance (reasonable excuse) to wear. Arthur's fingers look absurdly pale against the smooth, dark material.

"Any luck, pet?" Eames knows Arthur hears the smirk in his voice because he drops the sleeve abruptly and lets out a huffy sigh.

"Where's the shirt you wore yesterday?"

"Under the bed." And Eames takes special care that he's lying just so when Arthur turns around but Arthur doesn't so much as glance at him, attention doggedly focused on the white sleeve poking out from underneath the vacuum of his bed. He pulls it out, inspects it suspiciously, before tossing it in Eames' face.

"You'll look homeless, of course, but your jacket should hide the worst of it." Eames is most assuredly Not pouting as he tugs the sleeves over his arms and gets to his feet.

"I was thinking more ruggedly handsome than homeless." He grumbles, trying half-heartedly to button his cuffs. Arthur must think he's pouting (even though he's NOT) because he rolls his eyes and takes Eames' hands into his, neatly handling the tiny white buttons and folding back Eames' cuffs just the way he likes. Arthur's fingers are cool and smooth, except for small calluses on his index fingers that Eames assumes are from his compulsive note taking.

Arthur is very close and Eames' shirt is very unbuttoned, and every once in a while Eames can feel warm breath on his neck. Arthur finishes his cuffs and starts to button up Eames' shirt, knuckles occasionally brushing his chest or abs. Arthur is watching his own hands with strange, heavy lidded eyes and Eames thinks that's good because he's not sure what he'd do right now if Arthur looked him in the eyes. Soon Arthur is straightening his collar and Eames tries not to go mad when Arthur bites his own bottom lip and briefly rests his hands on Eames' chest when he's done.

"There. Done." He murmurs and his eyes flick up in a way that Eames suspects is involuntary. Eames wants to kiss him and he thinks Arthur might want him to.

But then there's a chime in the distance that marks the hour and Arthur realizes they have five minutes to get to class and the moment is broken as Eames gets a bag shoved into his gut and is practically dragged to Physics.

One Friday each semester the students are given a day off in which their parents are invited to come visit them. Eames' mother lives within fifteen minutes from the school and has actually come to visit him on several mortifying occasions, and yet she still feels the need to come to the family breakfast the school hosts, which Eames thinks is actually secretly the school's way of making parents feel guilty enough to make large, lump-sum charitable donations to the school that is enriching the minds of their children. Eames isn't sure how he feels about this, even though Cobb keeps reassuring him that parents can rarely manage to embarrass their children at the event because there were too many other people's parents for anyone to really care about one set over another.

Eames responded by reminding Dom that his parents, who were in the middle of a second honeymoon in Europe, wouldn't be coming, which meant he had all the time in the world to examine and judge. Dom responded with an amused "well, yeah" and a chipper smile that made Eames want to feign illness. He felt much better when Yusuf and Saito informed them that their parents were coming, especially when Yusuf mentioned in agony that his father was obsessed with stamp collecting and carried around a wallet full of rare stamps he regularly showed off to strangers.

"Have I mentioned I love our friends?"

"It's come up. I think the last time was when you found out Yusuf knew forty different ways to make stink bombs that don't give off smoke." Cobb didn't see the beauty in stink bombs. His loss.

"What about you, darling? Your parents going to show up and wipe smudges off your face with anagrammed handkerchiefs and give out mortifying baby pictures of you to all your friends?"

Eames didn't know what exactly it was he had said that was wrong, but both Dom and Arthur stiffen and Arthur abruptly closes the book he was reading.

"I just remembered I was supposed to be helping Professor Leaver with transcribing his notes before class." Arthur gathers up his lunch things with firm and steady hands. "I'll see you all this afternoon." Arthur's completely unexpected departure made Eames look over at Dom expectantly, but the other boy shrugged unconvincingly and looked away. When he looked at Saito and Yusuf they wouldn't make eye contact and immediately changed the subject.

The Students are given a free evening so that the students whose parents had come in from out of or across the country could spend the whole weekend with their parents, but since Mal and Dom's parents couldn't make it and Eames and Ariadne's parents live in the area, and see their beloved offspring often, they manage to sneak off for the evening without much fuss and so they head off to a little restaurant a few blocks away that is a favorite of Mal's. When they arrive the ladies are already there and Mal stands up to kiss both of their cheeks affectionately as they take their seats.

"Where is Arthur?"

Eames thinks its Dom's expression that makes Mal ask. They hold hands across the tabletop, which is awkward because he's sitting directly across from Adriane and Mal is sitting across from Eames, so their arms cut a diagonal line across the table.

"He's having dinner with his parents." The expressions on the two women's face make Eames feel uncomfortably outside the loop, a feeling he hasn't had since he became an impromptu member of their little Circle of superfriends.

"Will he…..will he be joining us after?" Ariadne asks, picking at the edge of the tablecloth.

"I told him where we'd be, if he wants to join us." Dom mutters. Mal says nothing, just purses her lips and takes a ladylike sip from the glass that looks suspiciously like it could hold wine.

The night proceeds slowly, and Eames knows that they can all feel Arthur's absence as distinctly as he can, like they are missing a limb, leaving them with phantom pain. Dom keeps glancing at his watch and checking his phone.

It isn't until around 9:45pm that Arthur finally shows up and Eames feels the tension at the table go up a notch and he's not sure why until he takes a good look at Arthur's face. His expression reminds Eames of the first time they met in Physics, stiff and unresponsive. Arthur's face has locked down tight, even his eyes are expressionless, focusing intently at some distant point of which no one else is aware. He takes a seat next to Eames, thanks them for inviting him (Like, you know, it's a surprise that they should invite him out with them) and informs them that he hopes their evenings are going well. Mal and Ariadne humor him, quickly beginning to describe, in excruciating detail that only women (and Arthur) can manage, but it grows more and more awkward and Arthur just continues to stare in stony silence at them, his face blank.

Then Dom reaches his arm past Eames' shoulder and places his hand firmly on the back of Arthur's neck, squeezing, for all the world looking like a concerned older brother. Some kind of recognition sparks in Arthur's eyes and he turns to Dom and looks at him, just staring, and for Eames, who is sitting (rather awkwardly, at this point) between them, it seems to go on forever. Then something loosens slightly in Arthur's shoulders and his eyes soften. Mal and Ariadne smile in relief and the younger girl offers him some of her chicken. Dom removes his hand slowly, replacing it on top of Mal's in the center of the table.

Arthur is still stiffer than usual, but it's not that strange alien emptiness of a few moments before and Eames is…pleased.

Pleased, but also…confused. And….and maybe just a little…..

A tad, mind you…..jealous. Not because he, you know, likes Arthur or anything, its just….

It's just….Dom and Arthur are such good friends, such very good friends, and sometimes there just doesn't seem to be any room between them for…..you know, other friends.

Eames glances at Mal and Dom's hands, their fingers now entwined. Well, Mal fit herself in well enough. And then Eames glances over at Arthur, who is looking down at the menu with his usual quiet intensity. Not that Eames, you know, thinks he and Mal are the same. Ariadne makes a joke that isn't very funny but makes Arthur's expression go warm when he looks up at her. He could be like Ariadne. That'd be nice. His good, good, platonic, good pal. His good buddy. His….

Arthur looks up at him, brown eyes, eerie dead focus gone.

"Did you want something?" He asks softly. Eames thinks his brain has malfunctioned and he stares at Arthur, helplessly unable to answer that question. There are three nearly grown men on their side of the booth, and they're all very close together. "Eames, we're ordering desert. Did you want anything?" And Eames blurts out Cobbler but is really thinking You.

Can I have you?

And it's really only alarming because when he thinks it, it's not an innuendo.

It was wine that Mal was drinking and they all end up with glasses of it from a waitress that they tip very well and who is clearly of questionable morals but excellent character.

They drink too much and it's lucky for Arthur that both Dom and Eames are better at holding their liquor than he is because when they slink back three minutes before curfew with Arthur carefully, and as inconspicuously as possible, sandwiched between them they barely make it past the check in before Arthur stumbles and they catch him midway to getting a face full of stone floor. From there Dom loops an arm casually as possible through one of Arthur's and steers him towards his room, while Eames slips his hand just under Arthur's jacket to hook his fingers through the other boy's belt loops.

"They'll have one of the professors watching over East wing, since Saito's gone with his parents. I won't be able to go all the way up with you." Dom murmured apologetically, glancing down with amusement when Arthur, who is apparently a sleepy drunk, or at least is tonight, nuzzles his head into Dom's shoulder and mumbles something incomprehensible into his skin. It reminds Eames of Cobb's hand on Arthur's neck at the restaurant and he suddenly feels like an interloper into their private, intuitive friendship and it kind of….hurts. Just a little. Inside. "Will you be able to get him to his room alright? His roommate is out for the weekend, too, so as long as you're quiet enough to get to the room itself you shouldn't have to worry about waking anyone up while putting him to bed."

Bed. Putting Arthur….into bed. Dom is staring at him funny.

"Eames?"

"Uh, yeah. No problem. He's not the first drunk I've escorted to bed." Eames manages to make that sound lighthearted and funny, the way his feelings for Arthur should be.

No, wait- the way his feelings for Arthur are. Bloody jam on toast.

"Uh-huh. Please don't make me regret this tomorrow, when I'm lucid enough to recognize this for the mistake that it is." Dom grumbles, slowly shifting Arthur's weight so that the man is standing up fully on his own again. Arthur yawns and looks between them, utterly unable to keep up with the conversation. Eames finds this adorable, as he didn't think anything let alone something as simple as too much red wine could render Arthur this…complacent.

"You gonna walk with me luv?" Arthur looks at Eames thoughtfully, cocking his head (also adorable. Bloody Arthur and his bloody big brown eyes).

"…Yes." Arthur's voice was lethargic. "Good night Dom." He tugged the older boy's sleeve lightly as Dom finished pulling away. The blond man smiled.

"Night, kiddo. Sleep well." And then Dom, with unexpected skill, vanished silently down the dark hallway.

"Alrighty, then. Just you and me, darling. Let's hope they put anyone but Webster or Portman as the hall guard tonight, or we're busted for sure." The French and German teachers were notoriously strict and incredibly observant.

"It'll be Frost." Arthur moved forward, not too unsteadily, but slowly and with more weight in his step than usual. "She's the east-side advisor." Eames caught Arthur lightly when he stumbled into the first step, not realizing they'd reached the staircase already.

"Hope you're right, luv. That old bird wouldn't notice a thing even if she did catch us. Yusuf said he set an entire row of test tubes on fire in her class last week and she thought the sun was setting. At two in the afternoon." Arthur lets out a surprised peel of laughter that makes him stumble a tad, so Eames pulls him close with a loose arm around his back. Their sides are touching but Eames can't feel Arthur's body heat through their jackets and clothes.

Pity. He thinks, before he can stop himself.

They do manage to get to Arthur's room undetected, and Eames slips in with him. Even though Eames knows Arthur's roommate isn't there, he doesn't turn on the main light because he'd rather they not draw too much attention to themselves, so he settles for fumbling around until he finds Arthur's lamp. The light is dim, but enough to see and Eames is graced with the sight of Arthur stripping down to nothing but his button up white undershirt and black boxers. He licks his lips and wishes he hadn't.

Arthur looks up at him, eyelids heavy and Eames knows it's because he's tired. Only because he's tired.

"Are you leaving?" Arthur asks him when Eames starts to ease his way back towards the door, and even though he knows he should, Arthur's tone stops him and they stare at each other.

"Well I'm not sleeping in your roommate's bed. Rumor has it he keeps a very…explicit collection for nighttime perusing." It's meant to be a joke, but Arthur's expression just gets all thoughtful.

"We could share my bed. I don't keep explicit collections of anything." The idea that he would is so ludicrous Eames lets out a loud bark of laughter before remembering they're on a covert operation and he covers his mouth to muffle the sound. His mind eventually returns to the part about sharing a bed and it clears up his giggle problem real fast.

"I'd rather live to see old age, thanks." Arthur just looks confused. "Dom would kill me." Arthur frowns.

"But we're just going to be talking and sleeping. Dom won't be mad." Not at you. Eames thought petulantly. And only if I can prove that's all that happened. "He and I used to do it all the time, before he got a new roommate." And well, isn't that just wonderful imagery. Maybe he should just preemptive strike and kill Dom.

"Please?" And Eames comes undone at the unexpected request given in a tone Eames has never heard Arthur use. He sighs and moves forward, flopping his back down on Arthur's bed and staring up at the dark haired boy framed in dim lighting. "Yeah, okay." He drawls and Arthur's lips might have tipped up a little in what could almost be a smile. A smile at Eames.

Arthur crawls down and curls himself in the space between the wall and Eames' right side and it hits Eames that he drank quite a bit tonight too and suddenly his mind is reeling.

"I don't like how cold it is here sometimes." Arthur's breath puffs out warm against the bare skin of Eames' arms. "When someone is close, it's warmer."

"Mmm." Eames, full of wonderful contributions to conversation.

"You're warm. Warmer than Dom, I think." And Eames has never been simultaneously smug and jealous before and it's quite a curious combination.

"Where is your dad?" Arthur's voice asks softly from somewhere near the curve of elbow. "I didn't see him with your mom at the parent's breakfast, and you never talk about him." Eames suspects that this has been something that has been bothering Arthur for quite some time, because he jumps straight to it.

"Yeah, he's out of the country. My da considers himself something of an entrepreneur, even though he's always mucking it up with his bad business sense. He hops around from here to there, trying to get something off the ground. Only shows up a couple times a year."

"That must be hard. For your mom."
"Eh, it has its moments. But my mum is one tough lady and she's yet to leave his sorry arse completely, so there must be something worth hanging on to." Arthur hums softly and Eames wonders if he's aware that he's started to trace small patterns on to the skin where Eames' shirt has ridden up.

"Do you miss him?" He'd been asked this question several times before, especially back when he was dating girls and they thought it would unlock some secret angst inside him that would help them heal him into a deep, everlasting love. Then, you know, he came out and whatnot. Nice try, ladies.

"Less than when I was young." It's the first time he's ever answered honestly. "Used to hurt like hell, never having a father around when everyone else did. But I've come to appreciate what I do have. A da who's always trying new things, getting creative even if it's messy and doesn't work out….ever. A mum who makes the best damn cobbler in the bloody world." Arthur's fingers stop their merry little dance across Eames' abdomen and the older boy is feeling….odd.

"Sometimes I think I wouldn't miss my father, if he were gone." Arthur seems to regret what he's said the minute he says it, because he jolts into a sitting position and stares down at Eames in horror.

"I didn't…..I wasn't….I didn't mean, like, if he were dead. I didn't mean it the way it sounded! I just meant…if he were not around I wouldn't….." Arthur looks sick with himself and Eames can't really stand it and he reaches out to do the neck thing Cobb did at the restaurant (which he may be a tad obsessed with) but somehow ends up cupping Arthur's cheek instead and running his thumb along his cheekbone.

"Relax, luv. I know." Arthur doesn't pull away and his eyes get so soft as he stares down at Eames, whose head is still resting comfortable on Arthur's pillows.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Arthur murmurs as he lowers his head until their foreheads are touching and Eames heart is pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. They stay like that for awhile, Arthur so close that Eames can smell the sweet red wine still lingering in his breath and it reminds him of why he needs to be on his best behavior.

"Lay down, luv. You'll feel like hell enough tomorrow without being utterly exhausted too." He wraps an arm around Arthur's waist as he says this and rolls the boy down beside him. Arthur doesn't resist, letting his head fall down onto Eames' shoulder and one hand on his chest.

"Will you stay until I'm asleep?"

"Of course love."

Eames stays a tad past that, watching Arthur sleeping for a while before he slips out into the hall and sneaks back to his room where Yusuf, who is up to some suspicious mixing at his desk, gives him a curious glance that Eames doesn't answer.

It takes a surprisingly long time for Eames to have his first dream about Arthur, and when he does its wonderful and he remembers it with disturbing clarity the next morning. It starts out with Arthur inexplicably underneath him, buttons of his shirt undone and eyes hazy and utterly stunning. His hands are gripping at Eames' biceps as the Brit works slowly over him, letting the movement of his body over Arthur's stroke them both slowly. Arthur's hair is a mess and Eames can almost remember what it was like to bury his fingers in and knead thick dark hair apart between his fingers.

"Eames." He slides up and his name on Arthur's mouth comes out as a stuttered moan. "Oh god Eames."

The dream is too short. It ends shortly after that, with Arthur making soft noises and Eames' body beginning to tremble with the need to thrust faster, harder, to get more.

Yusuf's still asleep, but Eames can't convince himself it's okay to ease the tension in his body because he knows he'll only be able to think of Arthur and that doesn't seem…..right somehow.

So he lays there as long time, until he's a little less…riled up. Then he slinks along to the boy's showers and turns the water on ice cold until the only thing left of the dream is the image of Arthur underneath him, gasping his name. Eames thinks it will be imprinted onto his brain forever.

Dom is a year older than them, and will be graduating once term ends. Eames knows that Arthur knows. Eames knows that Arthur is acutely aware of it. Sometimes Dom will mention graduation, or how he plans on buying a flat with Mal, or how exciting it will be to study architecture in one of the best schools in the world and Arthur's eyes will glaze over or flicker up or off to the side. He's panicked, or hurt, or just plain miserable, Eames can't always tell which. Dom tries not to bring it up, but he can't always help it, especially if Saito is around because Saito is graduating too and they bond over their impending departure. Yusuf mentioned to Eames once that things will be very different for him once Dom is gone. Eames understands what he means- he's known enough bullies in his time to know that the vacuum Dom leaves will be like an invitation.

Will everyone keep ignoring Arthur? Or will it get worse?

He's been itching to ask Dom since he noticed it. Been itching to know why.

He can't ask Arthur. Every time he starts to, Arthur will look up at him will those impossibly expressive eyes and the words dry up. He's stopped calling Ariadne and Mal Darling. He only calls Arthur darling. The dreams haven't stopped, and they've gotten worse. Many of them aren't even sexual anymore. Last night he dreamed he was having Arthur over at his mum's place and she was force-feeding Arthur cobbler and turkey and more potato dishes than should ever be served at one table. He would kiss Arthur every time his mother wasn't looking, stealthily, on the chin, cheek, neck, just under the ear….

He woke up happier than he'd ever remembered being.

"Eames?" He jolts, realizing how out of it he's been. Arthur is smirking at him. "Do I need to call search and rescue to find whatever brain you keep in there?"

Eames laughs. Arthur making jokes is still something of a novelty. Smiling is even more rare, and infinitely more precious.

"Now, Darling, no need to get insulting. If you want my attention, you have only but to ask, and your wish is my command." Arthur wraps long, graceful fingers around Eames' forearm and pulls him forward.

"Lunch is over. It's time for Lit. Or do you want me to just leave you here, spacing out all day?"

Eames secretly thinks he wouldn't mind sitting here forever, thinking about Arthur.

Which is the exact moment he realizes he's become a sappy, pathetic, lovesick girl.

And it'd be godawful embarrassing if anyone else knew.

Arthur doesn't sneak out with them past curfew the night Eames asks Dom about Arthur. It's not because Arthur wouldn't- he's actually quite sneakier than he has any right to be, consider how the professors swoon and dote on him. It's because he agreed to help Saito prepare some sort of bond-option-stock field analysis something-or-other for the company Saito is planning to intern for in the summer. Arthur warns them to be careful, don't forget that there's a hall patrol every forty five minutes starting at 6:15pm (as if they would forget), and not to get anyone pregnant.

Eames promptly announces Arthur is a certified fun-killer and he and Dom march out the door (and by "March" he of course means slunk out like the creeping-sneaking naughty schoolboys they are). They are meeting, of course, Mal and Ariadne, but something goes wrong on their end and they can't make it (It would appear that the girls' wing had much tighter security than boys. What does that imply about society?). So he and Dom decide to get rightly sloshed and share life stories that start out funny (Dom met Mal on a dare, in which he was told to ask the first random girl he met if she enjoyed dancing naked with the devil in the pale moonlight. She had responded by telling him every third Wednesday of the month and inviting him to join her) and start becoming increasingly personal (Eames tells Dom about the first boy he ever liked, and how he'd never been more terrified in his life).

At some point during their male-bonding Arthur comes up. Eames didn't even plan it- he didn't bring him up in the first place.

"If I ever fell in love with a boy." Dom slurs. "I'd fall in love with Arthur." Eames stares at him, foggy headed and slightly tipping out of his chair.

"You can't." Eames frowns down at his glass. Because it wouldn't be fair. I can't compete against you. "Cus yer with Mal." Dom nods empathically.

"Yeah. Mal. I….love Mal." His voice is fond. He's not swaying, but Eames thinks he's close. This café of Mal's is a dangerous place. "I love her so much. She's….she's….so….everything. You know? Everything."

Eames thinks he knows.

"But Arthur….Arthur is….you don't even know what Arthur is." Dom's voice is haunted, strained, but with an undeniable sense of worship.

"Tell me." Eames tone is dead serious. He's staring Dom down now, feeling more sober than he's felt in a while, even before he'd been drinking. Dom looks uncertain.

"Dom." The other boy stares at him. "Tell Me."

And Dom does.

"There was this teacher. He coached soccer too. I made the team 7th year, when I was twelve. Arthur and I started the year before, but we'd known each other awhile. Our dads knew each other- it's how we ended up in the same school. My dad recommended it to his dad. He was always my best friend. I was excited, because we were on the team together." Dom rambles a little. Because he's been drinking. "It was….wonderful. For the first month or so. I was….I was so happy. The coach said I was one of the best players in….in forever. He told me I could be good as any professional, if I practiced more." Dom's smile isn't a smile at all. It's twisted. "I was so young."

"He made me think it was my idea. He made me ask him for more lessons. For more practice. For weeks we practiced a little extra, an hour or so, every day. Everyone got real comfortable with our routine, everyone knew he was coaching me extra, so we could spend lots of time together with no one noticing. Or caring. Except Arthur." Dom leans closer to Eames, losing his balance a little so Eames has to hold him up. "Arthur knows people. He gets…feelings about them. He didn't like the coach. I told him he was being stupid. I kept going, for more practice."

"He…never…not….all the way, you know? The coach. Just….touching." Dom shudders. "But everything felt wrong. I pretended it was an accident, at first, but it kept happening. I don't know how Arthur could tell, but after a while he did. He came to me, asked me what was going on. Begged me to come forward, to tell the other teachers. But I….I couldn't…I thought it was my fault. I thought I invited it, because I…..I….you know? I went to the practices. I spent all that time alone with him. I thought…I had led him on, or something." Dom is shuddering and Eames maintains strategic points of contact with him. A firm grip on his shoulder, but no touching of the knees. Eye contact, but carefully constructed distance between their faces.

"So….So Arthur gets this idea. He doesn't tell me. Doesn't tell me anything. He starts going to the coach's office after hours. The coach taught Biology, and Arthur pretended he needed help. Except he didn't, Arthur never did, not with science." Dom looks like he might be ill. "Three weeks, I didn't know, he keeps going. Then, all of the sudden, he comes forward. He says….He says it's him that the coach has been…touching. Everyone panics. The teachers, the headmistress, the parents. There's this huge uproar, because, because….who else might he have been doing it to? Who else?" Dom is beginning to sound a bit hysterical and Eames convinces him to drink water and take deep breaths.

"They come to me. They start asking me. And I tell them. My parents, and the other teachers. I tell them everything. They interview tons of students. Everyone knows what's going on, all the students, but no one knows who it is who started it all. The coach was really popular, especially with the soccer boys. They all start turning on each other, trying to figure out who's been lying about the coach. They make threats. They keep pushing, trying to find out, and I knew, I knew they would eventually because….because stuff like this never stays quiet. And then everyone will know how I led him on. How I let him touch me. How I screwed everything up."

"But they don't. Because Arthur tells everyone it's him. Not directly- he leaks it. I know he did it on purpose, because only his name got out, and not mine and if it was an accident, it wouldn't have been like that, right? No. He did it on purpose. And then everyone knows about Arthur, and the coach, and the Biology. And everyone knows he lied because everyone knows Arthur is good at Biology. So people start….thinking. Thinking….about Arthur and why he would lie about Biology and how the coach is this…amazing guy that they all love and that he would never, never do what Arthur says. So all this…thinking goes on and someone….someone decides…" Cobb is choking, and Eames doesn't comment, just hands him the flask their sharing.

"Someone decides that Arthur set him up, because Arthur is gay, and the coach spurned his advances." Dom snarls and Eames has to grab his arm to keep him in his seat. "And this….this prick from a grade above ours starts telling everyone how Arthur tried to kiss him once, because Arthur is a fag and a sick one. But the teachers know- they know it was me, they know Arthur was looking out for me. So they're careful, and watchful, and no one is allowed to say anything to Arthur about the incident. So…."

"So they all stop saying anything to him at all."

Eames knows there's more, because near the end Dom starts calling Arthur's father a bastard, but the story has taken too much out of him and he's started to babble. Eames gathers him up, heavy with alcohol and exhaustion, and starts dragging him back to school where between 2:45am and 3:30am there will be no patrol and where the lock to the maintenance tool shed that connects to the school's crawl space that has an open vent into the boy's lavatory on the bottom floor is rusted and can be opened by a sharp jiggle and a downward yank.

Eames spends the next week or so reeling. He expects Dom to be embarrassed or panicked or horrified the next morning, when he realizes what he's done, what he's said but all Eames gets is the most tired, aching look and Dom's soft warning to

"Look after him, alright?"
And Eames realizes, quite suddenly, that Dom hadn't been tricked or coerced by accident into telling Eames that story. He had meant to tell him. The whole night- sneaking out just the two of them, getting drinks, telling stories- had been a build up to Dom's bombshell. Dom was getting ready to graduate, and it weighed on him just as much as it weighed on Arthur because Arthur was Dom's best friend who had done something maddeningly heroic for him, taken a bullet for him, and Dom was forced to leave him alone, unprotected, behind.

Eames was Dom's successor. Dom had chosen Eames as the one to know The Story. Because Eames had to understand, had to know what he was protecting.

Arthur, stunning, wonderful, stupid, brilliant Arthur who Eames was in love with.

"Of course mate." You don't even have to ask.

The weekend before Arthur and Eames' next Physics test Yusuf is gone home to celebrate the birth of his new sister. Eames thinks it's crazy, having a new sibling when you're seventeen years old, but Yusuf says it's a sign that his parents are still madly in love. Most of his married aunts and uncles stopped having children a four or five years into their marriage. Arthur and Eames claim his bedroom as their study space and basically camp out in the evenings, once Dom and Saito wander off. Dom tries to get them to come out with him and the girls, but Arthur is insistent that they study. Eames knows it's his fault Arthur is being such a stickler- Eames mind isn't built to wrap around Physics, and he's getting frustrated.

So they study for hours together, until Eames brain needs a break and he starts distracting them both, in his usual way.

"For the fifteenth, and final time, if you don't stop poking me with your pencil I will shove it up your nose." Eames grins and pokes him faster. Arthur looks almost murderous. "Come on! Let's watch a movie. You brought your laptop, I brought my extensive action/adventure film collection- turn it on and let's get some men-with-guns-blazing action going on in here!"

"The test is Monday Eames and you still haven't been able to successfully complete any of the calculation problems from chapter 14 or chapter 15. We haven't even gone over chapter 16 yet!" Eames pouts.

"We've been at this for hours! I can't possibly learn anything more tonight- my brain has turned to mush!"

"You're brain came as mush."

"I'd be offended if I wasn't too brain dead to care about your silly opinions of my intelligence. Plus, I'm right, and you're wrong. Game, set, match." Arthur just gives him a long, hard stare.

"You're right. You are brain dead. That was gibberish." He conceded defeat by pulling out his laptop and Eames leaps to his feet, delighted.

"Boondock Saints."

"Whatever happened to good old-fashioned British-Irish antagonism?"

"Someday I'll be just like them. Cool weapons, awesome tattoos, sexy accent." Eames says dreamily. "Only mine will be better, because it will be an elegant, sophisticated British accent, and not some Irish trill."

"Ah, there it is." Arthur grumbles. Eames grins.

"Come lie down, pet." Eames waves him over. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this right. You don't watch films at desks unless they're documentaries. And you don't watch any of those at all, if I have my say in things."

"So what? We're gonna huddle around it on your bed?" Arthur is staring at the single wide with as if trying to work the logistics out in his head. "We won't fit. It's too small." Eames just gives a huff and rolls his eyes. He grabs the DVD and Arthur's computer and sits down, waving Arthur over. He still looks doubtful, looking down at Eames with suspicion. Eames stretches himself out, resting the laptop gently on his thighs, pressing himself against the wall. His arm is stretch out across the bare half (or, kind-of-half) of the bed and he pats the pillow, a message for Arthur to lie down too.

"Are you kidding? I'll practically have to be on top of you!"

"Don't sound so put out, luv. I don't smell, I don't bite, and I'll only feel you up if you beg for it." He grins when Arthur turns a little red, around his high cheekbones. "Now lie down, or I'll drag you down, and I won't be careful about it." He emphasizes his threat by jiggling his leg a little, and Arthur's laptop jumps. Its owner's dark eyes follow it with clear agitation.

"…..fine. But keep your hands where I can see them."

Halfway through the movie Arthur falls asleep, head curled into Eames' chest and his hands gripping the edges of Eames' jacket in what is, quite possibly, the most terrifying fragile thing Arthur's ever done. Eames' wraps his arm around him tight, keeping him close, and when the movie ends he shuts the laptop and reaches over Arthur as carefully as possible to set it on the bedside table.

They sleep side by side and Eames wakes up first, desperate to kiss him, even if his breath is probably awful, and even though his arm has fallen asleep.

After Dom told him about Arthur Eames knows he can go to him for answers about Arthur's father, but he won't. He won't. Because he and Arthur are definitely at least friends now, if not something treading closer to more-than-friends and Eames refuses to go sneaking around behind his back sniffing for clues from their mutual friends when he could just be patient and let Arthur tell him.

Eames in not, as a general rule, a big fan of being patient. That does not, however, mean he isn't very good at it.

So he makes an off-hand comment about Arthur's father, as casually as he possibly can, and lets it simmer in Arthur's mind. A week passes and Arthur says nothing. Two weeks pass and Arthur keeps looking at him thoughtfully. A month has passed and Arthur has almost told him twice but they're interrupted, first by Dom in the student council room and once by Arthur's normally MIA roommate. A month and four days, he and Arthur are sitting outside in the quad, enjoying the increasingly warm weather. They're removed some from their classmates who have congregated in the middle of the quad for a poorly organized game of football (real football, not the silly American version). Dom's team is smaller and he's struggling to keep them together, especially with players jumping in and out of the game from the sidelines.

Arthur is almost leaning against him, but is instead pressed into the trunk of an oak that's newly trimmed but still offers enough shade for the two of them.

"My mother is dying. Cancer." They have their heads bent together, gravitating towards each other the way they sometimes do. They're close enough that Arthur doesn't have to worry about Eames hearing him, even though he's talking softly and it's windy. "They were optimistic, at first, but now we're pretty certain she's not going to make it much longer."

Dom fails to stop a goal. To be fair, though, Robert Fischer (Dom's VP in student council) is one of the few skilled players and his shot was dead on.

"We found out almost a month after our soccer coach was fired." Arthur studies Eames' face for a moment, to make sure Eames understands what he means. He knows Eames knows. Dom must have come clean. Smart boy. " The rumors were the worst right after. I got beat up several times, despite the teachers and Dom watching me like hawks. People called my house, screamed things over the phone, even after I changed my number. They called me a queer. They wrote fag on my desk and on my dorm door. My mother would get the calls, sometimes. It was…hard for her."

Eames plays with the fingers of Arthur's right hand, hidden behind their bent knees. He tickles Arthur's palm and the smile he gets in return makes him giddy.

"My father was furious. He heard the rumors, heard what some of the other boys' fathers were saying. Some of them were his business partners. He wanted to know if it was true. If I was queer. I didn't want to lie to them. When I told him, he thought I deserved it. That I brought the treatment on myself. When my mom got sick, he said it was my fault. That I'd worn her out, worn her down, made her vulnerable." A breeze kicks up and a strand of Arthur's hair slipped free and fluttered against his forehead.

"Nothing she said made a difference to him. He blamed me. He'll always blame me." Eames takes a risk and pulls Arthur's hand up to kiss the back of it lightly. No one, including Arthur, seems to notice. "She doesn't, though. And I won't, either. I love my mother, I'd never want anything bad to happen to her, and I'm not what's killing her."

Dom's team is outnumbered and losing and he waves them over to help. Arthur has the quickest reflexes Eames has ever seen outside of professional games and Eames is an aggressive player by nature, which scares off the faint of heart. He offers Arthur a hand up and Arthur accepts.

"But sometimes it's still hard to hear."

Eames holds Arthur's hand a little longer than necessary before they join Dom on the field.

They win the game.

Dom chooses to go to Uni in San Francisco. He cites several reasons, justifies it from every possible angle, but there's an unspoken suspicion among all his close friends that it's got something to do with everything else, and a lot to do with Arthur. But the school is still a good one, he gets a full scholarship, and Mal's one request in staying in the U.S. was reasonable access to the ocean.

Dom gets a flat near his university and its only twenty minutes from the boarding school. He and Mal start living together over the summer. Ariadne's family have taken her abroad, Saito has his internship in Japan, and Yusuf has gone home so it's just Dom, Mal, Eames, and Arthur, who can't travel because of his mother's deteriorating health. His father keeps him on a short leash, so they don't see him as often as they'd all like, but they congregate at Dom's little flat as often as they can. It feels intimate, just the four of them, and Eames finds himself taking more liberties- rubbing Arthur's shoulders, mussing up his hair, sitting closer than necessary on the couch when they watch films.

It's wonderful for awhile but then Arthur's mother takes a turn for the worse and Arthur disappears for a few weeks while she recovers. Eames doesn't want to leave Dom's place, in case Arthur does have time to visit. His mother stops calling when he doesn't come home because she knows where he'll be. He has his own set of toiletries in the bathroom and sheets for the pull-out couch. Mal is teasing him about making him pay rent when Dom gets the call. He gets up to get his phone that he left in his and Mal's bedroom on the bedside table and never comes back. When they go in to see what's going on, Dom is sitting listlessly on the bed, cell phone held loose in his palm and he's very pale.

"Arthur's mother just passed."

They get to see him once before the funeral. He's pale and red-eyed and sobs into Dom's arms, Mal's shoulder, Eames' chest as he holds him tight. His hair is a mess from too many long nights and his white dress shirt is untucked. Eames has had dreams of Arthur looking this rumpled, but it seems wrong and hollow now, made sick by grief.

Mal strokes his face and whispers love and tenderness in French. Dom never really stops holding him- gripping his arms, hugging him tight, pressing their foreheads together and looking at Arthur with half-mad protectiveness that makes Eames thankful for Arthur's friends and their love for him. Eames slips in and out, occasionally whispering with Mal his love and support, touching Arthur's neck and waist and arms strategically. He can't seem to stop saying Darling and it's like he's saying I love you but Arthur is too devastated to hear it. Eames doesn't care, he just needs to say it.

Darling. I'm so sorry Darling.

Arthur tells them he'll be gone for two weeks. They're taking the ashes back to New York, where his mother grew up. Dom wants to go with him but Arthur tells him no because he'll be back soon and he wants them to wait for him. All they can do is agree.

Two weeks go by and Arthur hasn't come back. Three days after arriving in New York Dom lost contact with him. Arthur is not accepting calls and their emails go unanswered. Dom is like a worried parent, frantic and touchy. Mal suspects something she's afraid to voice and Eames can't think about anything except what they'll do when Arthur gets back or he'll go mad like Dom and Arthur doesn't need both of them going crazy.

It's been three weeks and Dom gets a letter, the old fashioned kind with postage. It's from Arthur and its short and was written by a steady hand.

I'm not coming back. Father has been transferred to the New York branch. He thinks I should continue my education here. Thank you for everything, I'll miss you –A

Dom buys a plane ticket and if Eames didn't know Mal needs at least one of them here he'd be on the plane right next to him. Mal is pregnant.

Since the beginning of summer to the time Dom gets back, Eames has basically been living in their apartment for a month and a half and it's been wonderful, terrible, horrible, and now, unbearable. Arthur's father is exacting revenge on his son for his wife's death. He's enrolled him in some military school and refuses to give him a cell phone. His computer usage is monitored in order to ward off distractions. He's a prisoner in his own home. Dom is allowed to speak to him for a half an hour before Arthur's father throws him out. Arthur asks him not to fight it, not to get into trouble, not to do anything stupid. He begs him, reminds Dom how he owes Arthur, and sends Dom away. He's devastated, Mal is devastated, Eames is devastated.

They huddle together, like survivors of some horrific tragedy, trying to recover. The term nears and Ariadne and Yusuf return. Saito is hired on full time in Japan but promises to visit. They are all crushed by the news about Arthur, but they can't quite understand the pain of his absence like they can, the survivors.

Eames starts getting into trouble for sneaking out but after awhile the professors just stop caring. He still shows up to class (though his performance has suffered, but only slightly) so they look the other way when he slips out to spend the night with Mal and Dom. They're engaged, have been since the pregnancy, so he gives them some space, but he's still there four or so nights out of seven. They write letters to Arthur they doubt he's getting and they work together to keep their lives going. Mal goes to school part time even as the child within her grows. She and Cobb keep making plans for their wedding, but they keep pushing it back, and Eames knows it's because Dom is missing his best man. Cobb is a full time student and he gets hired on as an intern for a professor in his department. They make ends meet, and someday they'll do better, and neither regrets her early pregnancy.

Yusuf and Ariadne are the only reason Eames hasn't failed out (or dropped out). They work together to make sure he does his work and focuses on his studies. They have more patience than most, but nowhere near as much as Arthur and sometimes he exhausts them. Ariadne loses her temper one night while trying to help him prepare for his French midterm. She asks him if Arthur would be proud, knowing he's failing out of school and he suddenly can't help but try harder. If- when- he sees Arthur again- he would be someone Arthur would be proud of.

Arthur turns 18 on February twelfth and Eames, Mal, and Dom celebrate by playing poker in silence. They can't drink, because Mal can't drink, because she's 8 months pregnant. It's a Friday, so Eames doesn't even bother going back to school and just sleeps the whole weekend on the familiar couch. So on Saturday night at 3am when someone rings the buzzer to get in Eames is the first one up, groggy and confused though he is. He hits the intercom and tries, to the best of his ability, to tell whatever sloppy drunk locked himself out and is disturbing the peace, to Fuck Off. He makes his it half way back to the couch before the buzzer rings again and Eames, growling obscenities, just hits the release button so the arsehole doesn't wake Mal up. He grumbles "You better live here, bastard" and glances over to see Dom awake at the bedroom door, looking as befuddled as Eames feels.

"Whosit?" He mumbles and Eames just shrugs.

"Some bloody prick coming back from the pub." Eames prepared to flop back down on the couch and almost yells in frustration when someone starts knocking on the door. Cobb looks alert and suspicious now, instincts of a soon-to-be-father making his skin prickle. Eames snarls a little as he yanks open the door, with the intention to sock the bastard on the other side in the face.

Fortunately he wasn't as fast or as reckless as most would like to think, or Arthur would have come back to a bloody nose. Instead he was greeted by a thoroughly stunned Eames with tossled hair and no shirt on. Arthur doesn't think, he just pitches himself forward, tired and numb, wrapping his arms around Eames waist and practically collapsing against him. Eames stumbles back a bit under his weight.

"Darling." It comes out as a breath, like relief. He can hear Cobb moving around behind him and pulls Arthur into the apartment, half believing this is all just a dream and Arthur will vanish on closer inspection. Cobb lets out a strangled cry of joy and if Eames wasn't so happy to know that Cobb can see Arthur too he'd be offended when Arthur is yanked out of his arms and into Cobb's. Instead he just laughs, shaky and delighted, watching them stumble into the main room. Arthur is smiling, tired and strained as it is. Mal, heavy and slow with child, is finally up and at the door and has silent tears running down her face.

Eames catches sight of luggage, a black bag and suitcase, and drags them in before carelessly closing the door behind him and rushing to steal Arthur back. Cobb barely puts of a fight, handing Arthur off gently so he can go and wrap his arms around Mal who is openly sobbing with joy now. Eames wraps his own arms around Arthur from behind, pressing his face into his hair, smelling him, feeling him.

"Darling, darling." He pants against him, helplessly unable to control his voice. "Don't ever do that again, luv." Arthur turns his head and their eyes meet over Arthur's shoulder and Eames thinks it would be a simple thing to finally, finally kiss him.

So he does, light and quick, so fast Arthur barely feels it except for how his whole body heats up.

"I'm home." He whispers, leaning his head back into Eames' shoulder and staring up at him. His voice is raspy and faint. "Did you miss me?"

Eames tightens his arms around him and laughs.

"Oh, luv." He can't get anything else out and he doesn't need to because Mal's before them, cupping Arthur's face and kissing him frantically all over, calling him her brother, her child, her dear one. Cobb grips Eames' shoulder over their bodies and they meet each other's eyes with a significant message passing between them.

They're never going to let him go.

It went like this:

A week before his 18th birthday Arthur tells his father he's required at the school library for a school project. He logs into the computer at school (parents can request copies of their children's computer usage) and hands it over to a boy in his world history course whose homework he's been doing for weeks. Arthur tells him what topics to pretend to browse and that he'll be back in two hours. He heads over to the office of his mother's lawyer.

The lawyer insists she can't tell Arthur anything about the estate, but heavily hints that Arthur should consider filling out the preapproval paperwork to have anything his mother has left him wired into his account once he's a legal adult. The lawyer was a friend of his mother's from school and says Arthur has her eyes.

Arthur fills out the paperwork. The lawyer has no reason to mention it to Arthur's father, because until Arthur turns 18 the paperwork has absolutely no relevance to him or his accounts. The week creeps by and Arthur carefully starts making mental lists of everything of value to him, personal or otherwise, that can fit in his two smallest luggage cases.

The Thursday before his birthday he pretends to sleep until 4am and gets up, quickly packing everything he's been subtly preparing. He disables the home security system, despite not having the pass code and maybe he wouldn't have been able to if he had actually told his father when he saw him get the system installed that these particular systems short out if magnets are applied to the electronic code reader. He doesn't regret withholding this little detail in the least. He thinks it makes them even, since his father didn't bother to mention he would be kidnapping and imprisoning him within this strange house that wasn't Arthur's home.

He's at the lawyer's office when it opens at 8am and his lawyer started processing his information at 6am when she was allowed to enter the building. He uses her office phone to call his bank and have his father removed from his account. The money will actually hit is account in 24-hours, which is fine because any transactions he does today won't hit his account for 24 hours either so he orders the earliest plane ticket to San Francisco he can find. His lawyer kisses him on the cheek and wishes him happiness and a safe trip. She drives him to the airport and spends the whole car ride talking about how lovely his mother was, how clever, how kind. Arthur thanks her fervently as they part ways.

He invites her to visit him, if she's ever in San Francisco. She doesn't tell him to visit her if he's ever in New York because they both know he's not planning on coming back.

Dom and Mal get married two weeks after Arthur arrives. It's a simple affair full of love and obvious devotion. Mal wears her mother's wedding dress, Dom rents a tux, Arthur plans everything in that stunningly efficient way of his. Mal will have the baby soon yet it's hard to tell under the soft, loose lace. Arthur and Eames stand in the little ceremony and Ariadne is the maid of honor. Saito doesn't make it, but buys them both plane tickets three months from Mal's due date. They'll have a rather late honeymoon in Japan.

The baby is born three weeks early and Eames and Arthur are the only ones around. Eames is frantic, babbling about breathing and hot water bottles and not knowin' nothin' bout birthin' no babies. Arthur unbuttons his cuffs, rolls up his sleeves, squeezes Mal's hand and says "Call the hospital, we're bringing her in". They get her the first cab they see (Eames may have jumped into oncoming traffic just to make it stop) and Arthur sits in the back seat with Mal's head in his lap telling her how she's doing well and how strong the baby will be. Mal begs for Dom and Arthur tells her he's never far away. Mal smiles and clutches his arm, grabs his fingers for dear life. Eames sits up front with the cabby (who's right mad about the whole matter but knows better than to say anything). He meets Arthur's eyes over the back of the seat and he's smiling, brow damp with sweat, hair curling up at the edges. He looks young and strong and happy and Eames wants to taste every inch of him. Mal cries out in pain and Arthur bends down, pressing his forehead against hers and Eames can't hear what he's saying but he knows it's just the right thing to say.

Eames calls Dom from the hospital. He arrives twenty minutes later sweating and panting and only stops to ask Eames what room she's in. He makes it in time for the birth. Phillipa is beautiful and healthy and perfect.

The apartment wasn't meant to house four people, even if one is an infant. The landlord has started to notice and gives them suspicious, irritated looks. Eames will graduate in a few months and Arthur has already managed to apply for his diploma, having taken enough extra courses to apply for graduation early. Arthur's father has cut him off completely, but the money his mother left him will be enough to live off of for several years, though college expenses will be taxing and Arthur is going to need to live conservatively and he's already decided to take preemptive measures by getting a job with whatever university he attends (he hopes to attend Uni near Cobb, but he's applied several places). He wants to get his own place even though Dom and Mal insist he's always welcome.

Eames spends more nights at school so Arthur can have the couch but he's still there as often as he can manage and sometimes he still crashes on the floor (but somehow always wakes up sprawled out on the pull-out with Arthur). He wants to ask Arthur to live with him. They could get an apartment together. He's not sure why he's so nervous about asking. It's a practical idea and Arthur is sure to appreciate the logic of it.

He debates for a while and decides to pick a random day in the next two weeks and just blurt it out. He chooses a Wednesday.

"After graduation move in with me." The words come out as word salad but Arthur's eyes go all warm and he smiles enough for his dimples to show.

"Okay."

"I don't like you so far away." Mal complains, holding Phillipa at her waist with easy care. Arthur continues unpacking, his boxes neatly organized and carefully wrapped. So clearly it's one of Eames boxes he's currently unpacking because he pulls out a single paisley sock and a novelty figurine of the Eiffel tower with a perplexed look on his face.

"Mal, we're twenty minutes away, walking distance." Arthur reminds her.

"But what if Phillipa wakes up and wants you? Or what if you get a red wine stain on one of your dress shirts? You know you only trust Dom to handle your shirts. Well, Dom and that dry cleaner on Beauville."

"And the tailor on 32nd."

"Mais oui." Mal mutters, still pouting. "You'll visit?"

"So often you forget we don't live there." Eames assures her, kissing her cheek as he brings in the last box. "We'll even eat your food and neglect to change the toilet paper rolls so you'll feel our presence even when we're gone!" The look on Arthur's face says quite clearly that they will be doing no such thing. Eames blows him a kiss and nearly drops the box he's holding.

Living with Arthur is a little like being regularly but spontaneously electrocuted. Eames will be minding his own business, lounging around the apartment as one does, and Arthur will disrupt it by existing. The first time Eames saw Arthur post-shower, with his hair all damp and curly and in nothing but a t-shirt and sleep pants, Eames fell out of his chair.

Literally. He'd been leaning back in his chair, reaching for something on the counter behind him, took one look at Arthur and bit it. It had hurt like bloody hell.

Then off course there were the occasional awkward moments when one of them would walk in on the other. Their bathroom didn't lock properly.

He'd seen Arthur with no shirt on twice. After the first time he'd walked head first into the door in his haste to leave when Arthur freaked (the prude). The second time he made it all the way to the living room before he hit the living room table with his knee and nearly lost them their good lamp.

He's never been so clumsy in his life.

Arthur looks over him, smoothing his hair back from the bump on his forehead from the door and tenderly inspecting the bruise on his knee. He jokes about Eames' lack of coordination and lectures him on knocking before entering, but his hands are always gentle and sometimes without realizing it he'll make soft little tut-ting noises as his fingers examine the injuries. Eames just sits there, basking in the contact, thinking about things like the subconscious and self-sabotage and Arthur bites his lips when he's concerned.

Arthur gets in to Uni and he and Cobb come as close to jumping around and screaming as two self-respecting men can. Mal and Eames share a friendly eye roll at their expense and Phillipa spits up. They share a bottle of wine and Eames, who has the strongest constitution, rocks the baby to sleep while Mal yawns sleepily against Dom's shoulder. Arthur is talking about a job that's open in the tech department and whether or not Dom thinks they'd hire a first year.

Phillipa spits up on Eames' jacket and he pouts. Mal laughs and he passes her off to her mother so Arthur can dab at his shirt with the most ridiculous, scrunched up look on his face.

"You should just throw it out. It's an awful shirt anyway." He grouses, but nevertheless wipes Eames clean.

Arthur is always gone. He has morning classes at Uni and works in tech support in the evening until 2am Monday through Friday and from 8am to 5pm on Saturdays. When he is home he's too tired to do anything other than eat and toss himself into bed. Eames works during the day but in the evenings he feels Arthur's absence like a hole in every room he's in. He finds himself growing irritable and on Sundays, the one day they both have off together, he can't seem to stop picking fights. Arthur always insists on using Sundays to catch up on the cleaning and errands they put off all week or to catch up on his assignments. Eames just wants him to relax, for once.

They argue. Arthur is overworked and says as much. Eames takes it personally, even though Arthur isn't trying to imply anything other than that he's tired and they somehow end up screaming at each other. If Eames weren't so busy being angry and vengeful and lonely he'd realize a great deal of his frustration probably has something to do with the fact that they are still very much undefined.

They've kissed twice, the quick, nearly platonic one when Arthur first came back from the states, and once more after Mal and Dom's wedding, drunk on wine. But they haven't talked about it or done anything else. It's making Eames feel crazy half the time. He doesn't realize how much this is affecting his moods, either. Or Arthur's.

The week after they argue they barely see each other and don't speak. Saturday at work a few of Eames' coworkers tell him they're going out and Eames, not wanting to awkwardly avoid a silent, stony Arthur, decides to join them. He gets drunk and stupid and ends up in an apartment he doesn't recognize with his tongue in someone else's mouth and a hand down his pants. It tastes awful and feels worse. Eames comes, but feels sick directly afterwards and he's not sure it's the liquor. He collapses onto a bed- any bed- and falls into unhappy sleep. He wakes up at Noon the next day and feels like crying. He's got three new voicemails.

Saturday, 6:02pm: Hey….It's me. I'm out of work. I was thinking of picking up Thai food for dinner. If you want. Just…call me with your order. Be home soon.

Saturday, 6:35pm: I got you the Pad Thai, since you never called me back. I had them make it spicy, since you're always complaining its not Thai food unless it burns at least a little. Be home soon. L- uh, bye.

Sunday, 1:47am: Pad Thai's in the fridge. *Click*

Eames presses the heels of his palms against his eyes to ease the burning. He wants to be home, in bed. He wants to eat Pad Thai and watch reruns of the Nanny and watch Arthur make faces whenever the nasally American actress whines. He wants to flick rice at Arthur until they're wrestling on the couch in a way that's too anticipatory to really be playful. He catches a cab and by 1:03pm he's back as his apartment. There's no sign of Arthur. The Pad Thai is indeed in the fridge but Eames has lead in his stomach and can't eat. He cleans, following Arthur's neurotic cleaning patterns. Two hours in and he still feels guilt, with a growing edge of panic, as if something vital is about to be lost to him.

Mal calls. There's only concern in her voice, no accusations. She tells him Arthur just left and he's been unusually quiet. Did something happen?

Eames tells her and it feels like confession. She sighs, but there's still no blame in her tone.

"Oh, Eames. You need to tell him."

Eames will. He knows it can't keep on like this.

But he doesn't deserve to. Not yet. Not when there's still the lingering taste of a stranger on his tongue and his whole body feels dirty.

He makes dinner but waits until Arthur returns before he eats. When Arthur comes back he hesitates at the door, studying Eames, who's leaning against the kitchen counter. He sighs and moves towards him, leaning into Eames body to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Eames breath comes up short.

"I'm glad you're home."

Eames pulls him tight, burying his face in Arthur's hair and Arthur hugs him back. They stay like that for a long time and Eames feels the tension bleed from them.

"I missed you."

Eames isn't sure which one of them actually says it, but it reverberates through them both.

Their schedules don't change too much (they can't, really, they've grown into the inflexibility of adulthood) but after a few weeks they both manage to get Saturday afternoons off. They use this time as productively as possible, not letting themselves get out of the habit of working. Everything that cluttered up their Sundays is now designated to Saturday afternoons. They clean the apartment together (and after awhile Arthur even stops being counterproductive and re-cleaning Eames' portion of the apartment because it's not to his satisfaction) and do the grocery shopping. Sometimes, if Arthur has a lot of assignments, Eames will pick up the groceries by himself so Arthur can power his way through assignments that would baffle lesser men (and have, apparently. Arthur claims seven students have already quit the course). They prepare dinner together, or they order in, and they go to bed early because they're both exhausted but they don't want to be by tomorrow morning.

Sundays are their day.

They sleep in as late as Arthur's strict constitution will allow (9:30am) and Eames makes breakfast because Arthur's idea of breakfast is whole grain toast and grapefruit and Eames doesn't tolerate such nonsense. He determines through trial-and-error that Arthur will only eat pancakes if they have fruit in them (blackberries are his favorite), he likes his omelets vegetarian, and he will only eat French toast with his hands if Eames pretends not to be watching him lick his fingers (even though he always is because…..well because it's Arthur licking his fingers and its sexy and adorable and utterly perfect.) They spend the afternoon doing whatever activity one of them has planned for the day, and it's usually Eames (and the fact that Arthur lets Eames plan his day for him shows a level of trust that makes Eames helplessly happy all day). Around 5pm they head to Dom and Mal's for dinner, where they dote endlessly on Mal and the beautiful little Phillipa while harrying Cobb relentlessly.

If they leave Mal and Cobb's early enough they watch the telly until they're nearly falling asleep on the couch. It only takes a few Sundays for them to settle into a pattern of what can only be described as cuddling on the couch, Arthur's back tucked in against Eames' stomach and his head resting on the curve of Eames' shoulder.

Going out, really going out isn't something they do often because they're overworked and underpaid and there simply isn't many opportunities. But Saito and Yusuf are both visiting and Mal and Dom have hired a babysitter and Ariadne begs them, so they go out. Mal, as usual, picks the place because she always knows. They're not disappointed. The club is clean, plays good dance music, and isn't overcrowded. Patios and balconies offer retrieves for anyone who finds the pounding beats overwhelming. Dom and Mal are ecstatic and barely leave the floor except for the odd cocktail and beer. Ariadne bounces on the tips of her toes, still too shy to dive in but watching the dancers with obvious intent, standing besides Eames and Arthur at the bar.

The sight of Arthur makes Eames pant.

He's wearing a black button up shirt with no tie and with two buttons undone. His shirt is untucked (untucked) from dark wash jeans. It's not a startling transformation- they live together and Eames has seen Arthur is various levels of casual (Arthur sleeps in plain t-shirts and shorts) but the setting adds something breathtaking. He's a bit ruffled from pushing through the crowd, rumpled, and sweat has caused his hair to curl up at the edges. His eyes are alert but not weary and a shy smile creeps up his face every time he meets Eames' eyes. They order drinks that they finish off quickly and Eames talks him into doing a shot, which Arthur manages valiantly despite having little practice, doesn't even cough. Eames does, embarrassingly enough, and he can't even excuse himself because the only excuse he could use would be that he was distracted by the sight of Arthur's throat when he swallows.

That is no less embarrassing than choking on a shot.

A song comes on that makes Ariadne squeal and she lurches out onto the floor with all the courage she has. Arthur laughs as she disappears into the crowed and he's so bloody gorgeous. Eames presses in close to Arthur on the pretense of whispering into his ear "Want to join her, luv?" But Arthur just shakes his head and wraps his fingers around Eames upper arm.

"I'll stay here, with you."

Kiss him. Kiss him you bloody fool.

"Rum and Coke, 7 & 7?" The bartender shoves two drinks between them and Arthur leans back, away from him and Eames growls to himself but you can't hear it over the sound of something vaguely techno. Dom and Mal wander up and get identical glasses of wine and Yusuf and Saito drag them over to the table they've snagged. Arthur's smile is rueful and Eames thinks Arthur might feel his irritation.

There's always something.

They drink, Eames quick (as he always is with rum) but Arthur takes him time. Arthur likes to study things and Eames always knows when he's experiencing something for the first time, because he does it with patient, examining thoroughness that, like everything else he does lately, makes Eames think of sex. Of Arthur running his hands over Eames' body to get the feel of him, of tracing his muscles and tattoos with his tongue to get the taste of him. Arthur has never ordered a 7&7 before, and he is considering it as he drinks. Eames forgoes ordering another drink for a moment so he can watch.

Arthur's eyes catch his and the little prat makes a good show of licking a bit off his mouth and Eames thinks he's knows, the sodding tease! But he'll never be able to prove it. Arthur trails a finger around the rim of the glass to see if it rings but the noise of the club is too loud to tell, though Eames doubts it will. Eames thinks this is all just a way to get his eyes caught on Arthur's finger, going round and round in delicate little circles, trapping him hypnotically like a looping paradox. He's entranced.

"….help her." Eames jerks back into awareness when Arthur's finger stops circling abruptly. What?

"What?" He blurts out and Arthur gives him a funny (but still perhaps a bit smug?) look before nodding out into the crowd.

"Are you going to help Ariadne? I think her virtue is at risk." And Eames turns to follow Arthur's gesture, to see what the fuss is about. Sure enough, Ariadne is on the dance floor shooting him Save me! Eyeswith some thug draped all over her. Eames sighs and turns to give Arthur a put-upon expression that gets him no sympathy.

"Why me?" He raises his voice briefly over a particularly loud song. Arthur lifts up his glass, still half full and nods pointedly at Eames' very empty one. Ah. He thinks sagely. Never waste good liquor. So, like the gallant and self sacrificing chap he is he leaves Arthur at the bar to maneuver Ariadne to safety with as little confrontation as humanly possible. He finds fortune in the shape of a tipsy blond upon whom he stealthily deposits Ariadne's over-exuberant (and unwanted) dance partner. Ariadne asks her valiant rescuer to dance, and he, being a gentleman, is inclined to accept. One dance turns into two, three, four, and Eames is sweating and smiling and Ariadne has lost any semblance of coordination in her enthusiasm to move. It's charming in its freedom and Eames only reigns her in enough to keep her from slamming into other dancers or from getting whisked off into the crowd and back into unwanted arms.

Ariadne slows briefly to catch her breath and sees something over Eames' shoulder that she tries to point out to him but he can't see it. They work around a bit so he's standing with a better view of the bar and he feels simultaneously hot and cold. Arthur is leaning against the bar, languid and heavy lidded, another drink of something Eames can't identify held loose in his grip. There's a man angling towards him, looking at him, but Arthur can't seem to be bothered. He's watching Eames.

It's thrilling, when their eyes catch and Eames feels a little bit like he's being worshipped from afar. Even from a distance Arthur's focus feels like a physical presence. The stranger at the bar touches Arthur's hip lightly, tilts inward to say something against Arthur's ear. Eames feels a throb of possessiveness and wants to break the man's fingers for being so presumptuous. Arthur lets him have his peace, listening politely to whatever the man is saying, but he's still just staring Eames down and when he tilts his chin up a little Eames knows it's an invitation.

Like some choreographed dance Cobb and Mal appear like magic and sweep Ariadne up into a little circle that Eames is cut off from, freeing him without pause. He wonders if it was Arthur's doing or Mal's, but can't be bothered to ask her as she sweeps off into the crowd, one arm wrapped around each of her dance partners' waists. Eames is at Arthur's side in seconds and lays his body out against Arthur's, pressing him into the bar and pressing his face into the curve of Arthur's shoulder. He watches from beneath his eyelashes as the stranger pouts and wanders off, leaving him smiling smugly against Arthur's neck. He feels Arthur's throat move and knows the other man is laughing at him.

Eames mouths his neck without pressure, just running his lips along Arthur's skin. Arthur quakes beneath him and it's so unexpected Eames jerks back in surprise. Arthur wraps his arms around Eames neck and pulls him back. They rest their foreheads together and Arthur quirks his head to the side, just enough to make the angle perfect for kissing him.

"Go outside with me?" Arthur asks.

"Lead the way, darling." Eames responds and they're immediately weaving their way through the crowd until they find the crisp air of outside. Arthur tugs him away from the crowd that hovers around the entrance smoking and mingling and occasionally causing a fuss. But they find a quiet corner, relatively secluded, and Arthur lets Eames press him up against the brick wall.

"You were having fun in there." Arthur murmurs wistfully, and Eames isn't imagining Arthur's thumbs hooked loosely in his side belthoops, right?

"Weren't you?"

"Mmm." Arthur sighs, nuzzling Eames neck. It's an odd change of pace, feeling Arthur gently breathe him in. Eames is usually the one doing all the….cuddling. Unnecessary touching. Whatever. "You are a better dancer than I would have imagined."

"You wound me, luv. Every dashing rogue needs to be able to dance. How else are we to sweep fair maidens off their feet?" Arthur runs the tip of his nose down Eames' chin and, well, good-bye coherency and wit. "You…" Eames has to clear his throat before he continues. "You could have joined us." Eames pulls back a bit, to get a look at Arthur's face. He's baffled by tonight, by this tingling intimacy that Arthur is suddenly so comfortable with, that he's initiating.

"I liked watching you." Arthur's hands are sliding up Eames' chest. Eames can't stifle his slightly nervous laughter.

"Arthur, darling, how much did you have to drink while I was gone?"

Arthur's arms are up around his neck, but he is angling his head back so they can get a proper look at each other.

"Do you think I'm drunk?"

"It's a concept I'm beginning to consider."

"I'm not."

"Why don't you prove it by telling me how much you've had to drink?" Arthur is laughing at him, but it's very important to Eames that he know how intoxicated Arthur is.

" I want you to kiss me." Arthur is smiling. Eames is smiling back.

"Do you now?"

"I have for a very long time." Arthur tugs him in closer and he presses that smile against Eames' cheek. Eames breathes out heavily through his nose, firmly reminding himself that Arthur hasn't answered his question. His real question.

"Arthur."

"Eames." Arthur looks unimpressed. "You used to chew pens while you studied physics. You remember? Sometimes you wouldn't pay attention and put the wrong end in your mouth at first and get ink on your bottom lip and I'd spend all period thinking that if you didn't lick it off, I'd do it for you. You have a leather jacket I've only seen you in once, which is ridiculous because it does incredible things for your body and is highly preferable to your hideous tweed coats. You walk around the apartment shirtless, you lazy bastard, and if you think I'm doing any of this because I'm intoxicated than you are woefully less observant than you claim to be. Now call us a taxi so we can get home before I jump you in the street."

Eames is gaping, he knows he is, he can feel his mouth hanging open even as Arthur shuffles him off towards the roadside where he rather aimlessly waving down vehicles with the hope that one of them will eventually be a cab, because his mind's really too far blown to know the difference.

They make it to the bed, miraculously enough, before they collide, Arthur shoving Eames down and Eames taking him with him so they land in a mess on the bed. Arthur barely hesitates before he's touching Eames on every available inch of exposed skin and licking his way into his mouth. Eames drags him up his body so they're aligned better, Arthur on his hands and knees above him, Eames' legs slipped in between his. Arthur is fastidious in his exploration and once he's thoroughly catalogued every inch of Eames' exposed skin (and the inside of his mouth) he makes quick work of dragging off Eames' shirt. Arthur's mouth moves to his neck and Eames, after gulping in air, tries to lighten the mood with a teasing comment about Arthur only liking him for his sexy, sexy body.

It's meant as a joke but Arthur takes it seriously and when he pulls his mouth back, wet and red, he stares straight into Eames' eyes and says with complete conviction "I like everything about you." And it makes everything seem so much heavier and Eames tries vainly again to shake it off with a playful smirk and asking "even my tweed and paisley?" To which Arthur just smiles knowingly and runs his hands up Eames' sides. Shocks ride through him and Eames trembles, surprised at his own reactions. He had never dreamed it like this. He could have never imagined Arthur like this.

It was so much better than Eames could have imagined. So much more terrifying, so much more alarming, so much more intense.

Eames aches to touch back and reaches for the buttons of Arthur's shirt. He gets his shirt halfway undone before Arthur stops his own merry dance down Eames' chest and catches Eames' hands in his and kisses each of Eames palms, pupils swallowing up his eyes and making them black. "I love your hands." Eames chokes on words and decides his best response is to lean up and kiss Arthur's chest, just above his heart. Arthur smiles at him and they twine their fingers together, squeezing briefly, before Arthur sighs "and your mouth." And they're kissing again. It's getting sloppier and Eames licks a drop of saliva sheepishly off Arthur's chin. Arthur bears his neck for him and Eames pushes himself up to nip at the curve of Arthur's neck where it meets his shoulders. He has to use one hand behind him for balance but the other he digs into Arthur's hair, intent to destroy it completely. Arthur's hands intermittently squeeze Eames' biceps and cup his face, thumbs stroking the light stubble on Eames' jaw.

Arthur's neck is red and bruised by the time Eames is done, and no amount of collared shirts will hide it tomorrow. Eames feels predatory in his satisfaction.

Arthur places his hands flat on Eames' chest and shoves him back down, and Arthur kneeling over him is every bit as enticing as it sounds. Eames catches Arthur's hips, sliding fingers lightly under denim as he angles their hips together and thrusts upward. Arthur tries to balance on his own at first but loses himself quickly and has to grip Eames' shoulders for support. They're building up pressure and Eames grunts and groans each time their hips meet. Arthur makes lighter noises, soft hisses and muffled moans. At one point he takes a hand off one of Eames' shoulders to bite lightly into the heel of his palm to stop himself from crying out. Eames chokes out "None of that love" and Arthur surrenders, his head falling forward enough that Eames can feel him panting against his neck and he doesn't bother hiding the noises he's making anymore. They're delicious and Eames wants to taste them so he crushes their mouths together on a downward thrust and chases the kiss into the upward thrust and Arthur nips his bottom lip a little too hard by accident and Eames barely notices it except to moan.

It's not enough. Eames is half crazy, but he's knows it's not enough. Arthur knows it too and before Eames registers what's happening Arthur is undoing his belt and trousers and sliding him loose from his boxers and the touch makes Eames' legs spasm. Arthur laughs softly above him when he lets Eames' erection go and Eames growls.

Arthur, poor overworked Arthur, has to undo his own pants as well because Eames' hands have become fascinated with Arthur's nipples and with sliding his shirt down his arms where it catches on his elbows and refuses to go further without Arthur's assistance in the matter. Arthur ignores his (probably mortifyingly pathetic) whines while he lines their bodies up and Eames catches on just in time for him to catch Arthur's hips and pull him on the downward thrust so they press together long and hard. Eames jackknifes off the bed at the sensation and almost throws Arthur off of him, but the man has excellent reflexes so instead they just part for an absolutely-painfully long second before Arthur comes back down again. Neither of them ever got their pants all the way off, so each thrust leaves them with the light scratching of denim against their legs and the back of their thighs but they don't feel it.

"Eames." Arthur gasps, "Oh god. Eames." He's never heard Arthur whine. No one else has either, he'd wager. And no one else ever would and live to tell the tale. A red bruise on Arthur's neck catches his eye and Eames would laugh if he had any breath to spare. Mine.

"Darling." He groans into Arthur's shoulder, another downward thrust, he's going mad. "Luv, pet, darling, darling."

It's nonsensical. They can't understand each other. But they move in perfect synch anyway.

When Arthur comes his body tightens like a spring and he digs his nails into Eames' scalp, which sends Eames over instantly. They collapse against each other, sweaty and sticky and Arthur just yawns, like the adorable thing that he is.

"That was amazing." Eames manages and it's so much of an understatement it could almost be a lie. He feels Arthur's smile against his collarbone and Arthur, the smarmy bastard he is, has to go and say something much more appropriate, of course.

"I love you."

"No one would love you better than Arthur." Mal told him once. The two of them smoke together, rarely and usually only to reminisce about the days they had no reason not to smoke and how much those days suck compared to now.

"He's very good at loving people." Eames had agreed, leaning against the wall. Mal smiled.

"But he'd be especially good at loving you."

When Eames wakes up Arthur is curled against him, a hand on his chest and a nose in the curve of his neck. Eames doesn't smile consciously, he wakes up doing it.

"If I could choose when I died." He announces to no one in particular. "Now would suffice."

"Don't you dare." Arthur responds, voice perfectly clear and not at all sleepy, but his eyes stay closed and he's still completely prone against Eames' body. "I just got used to having you around. I refuse to break in another roommate now. It would take them weeks to understand the cleaning spreadsheet for the bathroom." Eames pouts.

"How long have you been up?" One amused brown eye opens to peek at him.

"Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes."

"You've just been lying there, watching me sleep? That's a tad obsessive, darling. " And also absurdly romantic. Eames is doomed.

"You're warm." Is Arthur's only explanation. "And breakfast is your job." Eames can't keep himself from grinning at everything.

"Aww, luv, is that your way of asking me to make us breakfast?" Arthur slides off him, arching his back and yawning like a cat, and Eames supposes that's a yes. He nips Arthur's wrist for good measure.

They make it out of bed with some degree of struggle (because Eames refuses to believe they can't get dressed and snog at the same time) and Eames makes French toast and ogles Arthur shamelessly when he eats them with his fingers and uses his tongue far more than Eames really thinks is necessary.

Not that he's complaining.

Mal and Cobb's one year anniversary is coming up and Arthur is watching their wedding video. There's a nostalgic smile on his face. Eames did a great deal of the taping, so there's a slightly juvenile feel to the way the camera occasionally jumps around. At one point, though, Ariadne stole the camera so she could get him and Arthur on-screen together. She cajoles them from behind the screen to wave and smile and laughs in delight when Eames kisses Arthur audibly on the cheek with a lusty wink- performing for the camera, for the audience of their friends, for Arthur who is too happy to be bothered to pretend not to be. He shoves at Eames with a grin but never wipes his cheek and just laughs along with Ariadne. Eames steals the remote from him to pause the video play-back to examine the look on Arthur's face as T.V.-Eames moves away to steal the camera back.

"Is that when you knew you loved me?" Eames teases, admiring the warmth in T.V.-Arthur's eyes and the wide, youthful smile. The current day Arthur smirks in a much more familiar manner.

"Wouldn't that be horribly cliché." He muses. "No, the day I realized I loved you wasn't the least bit extraordinary."

"Oh? You just looked at me and thought 'he'll do?'" Eames teases. Arthur smiles.

"Yes."

"Ah."

"What about you?"

"Me, darling?"

"When did you realize you were in love with me?"

"It's hard to say. It happens so often." Arthur looks confused but Eames is delighted by his own honesty. "I fall in love with you every day."

Arthur blushes from the tips of his ears down his neck.

"And I was worried that I might sound cliché." Arthur tries for dry, but his hand sliding up Eames bicep gives him away.

"You worry over the silliest things, darling." Eames agrees, happily kissing at his neck. "It's one of the things I love about you."

Eames tries to push Arthur down onto the couch to do wicked, wanton things to him but someone (probably Eames) catcalls in the wedding video and Arthur laughs and the mood is ruined.

Author's Note:

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have made this a boarding-school fic, since I know very little about them. By "very little" I of course mean: "wasn't Hogwarts a boarding school? Because I read that." Lol. So, yes, I should have stuck with a regular high school theme. I even re-did parts of this to make it more believable, because originally it was a boarding school in France, of which I have even less knowledge. So I apologize for any inconsistancies. This story is largely about fluff. So my other "warning" is beware the fluff-tasticness. I wrote this in two sleep deprived days in which all I wanted was a super-sugar-coated Eames/Arthur fanfic and kept coming upon Angsty-fics, which are great, when you're not on a mad hunt for cuteness and happy endings. I then attempted to edit it to the best of my abilities (I've never been consistant enough in writing to get a beta) over several weeks.

So, anyway, sorry if any of you have been over-fluffed by the cuteness level or if you have some sort of amazing knowledge of boarding schools and found that my woeful shortcomings utterly ruined the reading experience for you.

Otherwise, hope you enjoyed it. :D

*AthenaAlpha*