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Entry tags:
the third tuesday
Simple Math [WIP]
Arthur/Eames | PG-13 | 1000 words [this part]
i.e. The Fake Boyfriends High School AU
thursday | friday | tuesday | the second friday | monday
I'm trying to get as many updates in as I can before my vacation, I PROMISE.
The next few days are filled with a strange tentativeness. Arthur doesn’t know what to make of it, this awkward circling that’s suddenly taking place. The embarrassment over losing his grip in front of Eames is still there, but it’s dulled somewhat, now that he knows about the plays sitting on Eames’ bookshelf. It’s stupid and makes no sense, but it feels as if they’ve each shared a secret, only this time there’s no mocking involved.
He gives Eames his trig homework the next morning just before the first bell, and when Eames looks up from his locker and meets Arthur’s eyes, a small, very careful smile flickers across his face. It’s not a full-blown grin like Arthur normally gets; somehow, this one feels genuine.
And the soft, “Hey,” he says as Arthur hands over the notebook pages feels real, too. Arthur has never heard that tone from him before--except the one time Eames woke up on his bed all hazy-eyed and half-asleep--
“I, um, made some notes on the last page,” Arthur says quickly. “You said you had a test coming up. I’ve had Mr. Sallyer, he likes to make you write stuff out. I just. Thought you should probably know.” He tugs at the straps of his backpack. A couple of cheerleaders walk past and smile approvingly at him.
Eames bites his lip, eyes scanning over Arthur’s scribbled notes. “Thanks. Uh, I can really use these.”
“It’s no big deal. But you’re welcome.” It’s so weird, the way they’re being...polite to each other. He keeps waiting for Eames to ask how he’s doing, if he’s okay, and Arthur prepares himself to roll his eyes and tell Eames in a low voice that it’s none of his business, even if he did let Arthur crash on his bed. And fall asleep on his pillows that smelled like him. And then wake up on said bed and on said pillows after having a dream about kissing him.
Arthur rubs at his neck, the skin warm to the touch. “Okay, well, I’m just gonna head to--”
Eames suddenly huffs loudly and leans his forehead against the door of his locker. He mutters something that sounds like, “bugger,” under his breath.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he says quietly, “but I don’t really know if I have a choice.” Eames sounds slightly miserable and more than a little embarrassed.
Against his better judgement, Arthur leans closer until they’re huddled in the doorway of the locker. “You didn’t do something illegal, did you? Because I’m not bailing you out of jail.”
Eames snorts. “Please. If I needed bail, you’d be the last person I’d call, believe me.”
Oddly enough, the statement makes Arthur’s stomach drop. He clears his throat. “So, what?”
“Do you have practice tomorrow?”
Arthur shakes his head. “It’s a rest day, we’ve got a meet on Friday.”
“Then lucky for you, you’ll be able to accompany me to my family’s dinner party tomorrow evening.”
He doesn’t expect the instant rush of heat in his cheeks. “Your--your family has dinner parties?” It’s the first thing that pops into his head, other than oh god, what.
Eames smiles sheepishly. “My parents gave up afternoon tea when they moved us here, but the dinner parties were another thing entirely. My mother lives for them. It gives her a chance to nitpick my aunts and all my cousins.” His cheeks are pink, too, and Arthur secretly finds that comforting.
“And your parents, they...know about our--that we--”
“My brother heard about it and told my mum. She’s, um, been nagging me to bring you over for a week now.” Eames fidgets with the cover of his chemistry book before sliding it off the top shelf of his locker and shoving it into his backpack.
Eames’ brother, Rafe, is thirteen and in the eighth grade. If kids in the junior high school knew about Arthur and Eames, the whole world probably knew. “You could always tell them I’m busy,” Arthur says. He mostly says it for Eames’ sake.
“I tried that. But, ah, the thing is--um. My mum remembers your mum from when they worked together, and she--well, she also remembers hearing about the accident, and--” Eames winces. “Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, Arthur, but she’s calling your mum today to personally invite you both to the bloody thing.”
Arthur’s eyes widen. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not this cruel, mate. Not even to you.” There’s a hint of a smirk behind the words, maybe even something affectionate. “I just...I didn’t want you finding out when you got home. At least now you’re prepared.”
He can just see the eager smile on his mom’s face the moment he walks in the door, hear her say happily, “We’ve been invited to have dinner with Eames’ family, isn’t that lovely of them?”
“What do you want me to do?” Arthur asks softly, because he doesn’t want to focus on the irritating flutter of anticipation in his belly. If Eames doesn’t want him to go, he won’t, he’ll think of something, maybe fake a cold, stomach flu, a pop quiz--
Eames slowly licks his lips and replies just as quietly, “I want you to come.”
Arthur’s chest clenches.
“I mean, your mum’s coming, right? It only makes sense. We won’t even have to sit together.”
The irritating flutter vanishes. Arthur tells himself Eames is being perfectly logical, which he is. Arthur should be relieved. “Yeah, good call.”
The first period bell rings, startling them both out of their weird little bubble. Arthur takes an awkward step back. “We’ll just, uh, talk about this at lunch, I guess.”
Eames shakes his head, glancing absently over his shoulder. “Nah, I’m skipping lunch. Running lines with Catelyn.”
Arthur frowns for no reason. Catelyn Forbes is the senior class president, in all of Arthur’s AP classes, and an aspiring model/actress. He likes her well enough. “She’s playing Ophelia?”
“Yeah, and if we don’t get these first few scenes down, it’ll be our necks.” He shrugs his backpack onto his shoulders and adds, almost like an afterthought, “I’ll see you later.”
Arthur watches Eames head down the hall, then turns in the opposite direction.
He doesn’t stop frowning.
Arthur/Eames | PG-13 | 1000 words [this part]
i.e. The Fake Boyfriends High School AU
thursday | friday | tuesday | the second friday | monday
I'm trying to get as many updates in as I can before my vacation, I PROMISE.
The next few days are filled with a strange tentativeness. Arthur doesn’t know what to make of it, this awkward circling that’s suddenly taking place. The embarrassment over losing his grip in front of Eames is still there, but it’s dulled somewhat, now that he knows about the plays sitting on Eames’ bookshelf. It’s stupid and makes no sense, but it feels as if they’ve each shared a secret, only this time there’s no mocking involved.
He gives Eames his trig homework the next morning just before the first bell, and when Eames looks up from his locker and meets Arthur’s eyes, a small, very careful smile flickers across his face. It’s not a full-blown grin like Arthur normally gets; somehow, this one feels genuine.
And the soft, “Hey,” he says as Arthur hands over the notebook pages feels real, too. Arthur has never heard that tone from him before--except the one time Eames woke up on his bed all hazy-eyed and half-asleep--
“I, um, made some notes on the last page,” Arthur says quickly. “You said you had a test coming up. I’ve had Mr. Sallyer, he likes to make you write stuff out. I just. Thought you should probably know.” He tugs at the straps of his backpack. A couple of cheerleaders walk past and smile approvingly at him.
Eames bites his lip, eyes scanning over Arthur’s scribbled notes. “Thanks. Uh, I can really use these.”
“It’s no big deal. But you’re welcome.” It’s so weird, the way they’re being...polite to each other. He keeps waiting for Eames to ask how he’s doing, if he’s okay, and Arthur prepares himself to roll his eyes and tell Eames in a low voice that it’s none of his business, even if he did let Arthur crash on his bed. And fall asleep on his pillows that smelled like him. And then wake up on said bed and on said pillows after having a dream about kissing him.
Arthur rubs at his neck, the skin warm to the touch. “Okay, well, I’m just gonna head to--”
Eames suddenly huffs loudly and leans his forehead against the door of his locker. He mutters something that sounds like, “bugger,” under his breath.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he says quietly, “but I don’t really know if I have a choice.” Eames sounds slightly miserable and more than a little embarrassed.
Against his better judgement, Arthur leans closer until they’re huddled in the doorway of the locker. “You didn’t do something illegal, did you? Because I’m not bailing you out of jail.”
Eames snorts. “Please. If I needed bail, you’d be the last person I’d call, believe me.”
Oddly enough, the statement makes Arthur’s stomach drop. He clears his throat. “So, what?”
“Do you have practice tomorrow?”
Arthur shakes his head. “It’s a rest day, we’ve got a meet on Friday.”
“Then lucky for you, you’ll be able to accompany me to my family’s dinner party tomorrow evening.”
He doesn’t expect the instant rush of heat in his cheeks. “Your--your family has dinner parties?” It’s the first thing that pops into his head, other than oh god, what.
Eames smiles sheepishly. “My parents gave up afternoon tea when they moved us here, but the dinner parties were another thing entirely. My mother lives for them. It gives her a chance to nitpick my aunts and all my cousins.” His cheeks are pink, too, and Arthur secretly finds that comforting.
“And your parents, they...know about our--that we--”
“My brother heard about it and told my mum. She’s, um, been nagging me to bring you over for a week now.” Eames fidgets with the cover of his chemistry book before sliding it off the top shelf of his locker and shoving it into his backpack.
Eames’ brother, Rafe, is thirteen and in the eighth grade. If kids in the junior high school knew about Arthur and Eames, the whole world probably knew. “You could always tell them I’m busy,” Arthur says. He mostly says it for Eames’ sake.
“I tried that. But, ah, the thing is--um. My mum remembers your mum from when they worked together, and she--well, she also remembers hearing about the accident, and--” Eames winces. “Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, Arthur, but she’s calling your mum today to personally invite you both to the bloody thing.”
Arthur’s eyes widen. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not this cruel, mate. Not even to you.” There’s a hint of a smirk behind the words, maybe even something affectionate. “I just...I didn’t want you finding out when you got home. At least now you’re prepared.”
He can just see the eager smile on his mom’s face the moment he walks in the door, hear her say happily, “We’ve been invited to have dinner with Eames’ family, isn’t that lovely of them?”
“What do you want me to do?” Arthur asks softly, because he doesn’t want to focus on the irritating flutter of anticipation in his belly. If Eames doesn’t want him to go, he won’t, he’ll think of something, maybe fake a cold, stomach flu, a pop quiz--
Eames slowly licks his lips and replies just as quietly, “I want you to come.”
Arthur’s chest clenches.
“I mean, your mum’s coming, right? It only makes sense. We won’t even have to sit together.”
The irritating flutter vanishes. Arthur tells himself Eames is being perfectly logical, which he is. Arthur should be relieved. “Yeah, good call.”
The first period bell rings, startling them both out of their weird little bubble. Arthur takes an awkward step back. “We’ll just, uh, talk about this at lunch, I guess.”
Eames shakes his head, glancing absently over his shoulder. “Nah, I’m skipping lunch. Running lines with Catelyn.”
Arthur frowns for no reason. Catelyn Forbes is the senior class president, in all of Arthur’s AP classes, and an aspiring model/actress. He likes her well enough. “She’s playing Ophelia?”
“Yeah, and if we don’t get these first few scenes down, it’ll be our necks.” He shrugs his backpack onto his shoulders and adds, almost like an afterthought, “I’ll see you later.”
Arthur watches Eames head down the hall, then turns in the opposite direction.
He doesn’t stop frowning.
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