Chapter Text
Arthur stepped through the door and immediately felt ill at the sight of so many people around him. People leaning against the walls with their plastic cups of beer. People sitting on couches and the stairs and the floor with their shoes on, shouting over the too-loud music. People spilling drinks and probably smoking weed and knocking greasy chips over on the carpet. Arthur honestly couldn’t tell if he wanted to get out or clean up. And of course Ariadne had abandoned him before he’d even gotten his bearings, running off with her new boyfriend? friend? drinking buddy? and leaving him feeling ridiculous and awkward amongst people he didn’t know. Why had he agreed to come? Oh right, Ariadne had promised him they could bake some cookies or something afterward. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to leave his house, but his mother had jumped at the opportunity to see him go out with friends. She didn’t seem to care what they would be doing, as long as “her Arthur was out socializing”. And so here he was, doing the same thing he could be doing at home, just wandering around awkwardly.
He didn’t even know whose house this was; he didn’t hang with this crowd at all. He didn’t really hang with any crowd, really, only Ariadne, who had been his next-door neighbor and best friend of many years, and well, some people looked familiar from classes or around town. He checked his watch. It was only ten. Ariadne made him promise he’d stay past midnight and not spend New Year’s Eve alone. But did it count now that he felt even more alone while at a crowded party than holed up in his own room?
He tried to find the kitchen to see if he could get something to eat that wasn’t going to make him leave greasy fingerprints everywhere. His sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor and he winced. He would take off his shoes, but he had spotted little puddles of what he hoped desperately was water, but he wasn’t taking his chances with stepping in whatever it was in just his socks.
The kitchen table was set with bowls of various snacks: more chips, cheese puffs, salsa, animal crackers, even. He finally settled on an animal cracker, deciding it would make the least mess. He nibbled gently on the horse? zebra? buffalo? covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles, and grimaced. He hadn’t had one of these since--
“How could anyone look so miserable eating a lovely pink biscuit?” a voice from across the room asked.
Arthur looked up.
Eames.
Eames, the soccer player. Eames, the wonderfully British, built, friendly soccer player. Arthur had doubts that Eames even knew him, they hadn’t really had any classes together, but Eames was popular and friendly to everyone, apparently, even to Arthur, who most of the time, was sullen as all hell.
“Um.” Wow, smooth, Arthur. “It’s really not...uh, lovely?”
Eames nicked the biscuit from his fingers, popping it in his mouth. Arthur wondered distantly about germs as he watched Eames chew thoughtfully.
“It’s...”
“Stale, innit?” Eames made a face, and even Arthur had to smile a bit. “Kind of a weird snack to serve at a party, if you ask me. Unless they were expecting primary school children to show up.”
“Yeah.” Arthur was constantly at a loss for words around other people that probably came from being so anti-social all the time. Eames was even worse; he was so friendly that he made Arthur feel like he needed to ramble on or do something to make up for seeming grumpy. “I don’t suppose they go well with beer?” he offered, trying to make a joke. He had failed miserably, hadn’t he?
To his surprise, Eames laughed. “Did you want to try?” he asked, offering Arthur his cup.
“Er, I don’t really...”
“Ah, what we should really be asking the host for is some milk to dip these biscuits into.” Eames winked. “Be right back, love.”
Love. Arthur savored the word in his mouth. Bleh. The stale animal cracker taste was still there.
He was sitting at the kitchen table after finding some water, scrolling around on his phone absentmindedly.
“Ah, good, Arthur, you’re still here!” Arthur turned around to find Eames and a very curly-haired boy. “I’d like you to meet my mate, Yusuf.”
Yusuf clasped him suddenly in an emotional, back-thumping hug. Eames must have seen his surprised look, because he pulled Yusuf back. “Sorry about him, he’s a bit drunk. The lovey-kind of drunk, you know?”
Arthur nodded like he knew what Eames was talking about.
“Your girl’s been real nice to me, Arthur,” Yusuf said, slurring his words a little bit.
“My girl?”
“You know. Ariadne.”
It’s not be the first time someone’s thought that. “Oh, she’s not--”
“But she goes on about you all the time. Are you sure, mate?” Yusuf squinted at him.
“Yes, I’m very sure,” he said firmly.
“Well, if you say so.” Yusuf looked at him like he didn’t really believe him.
Eames watched this exchange curiously. “Is this the new girl you’ve been seeing, Yusuf?”
Out of nowhere, Ariadne appeared like a small, tipsy fairy. “Oh, I was wondering where you had gone, Yusuf.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Arthur! There you are!” She pecked him on the cheek as well.
Arthur blushed.
“Excuse me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” Arthur watched as Eames took her hand like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman and kissed it. “Ariadne, I presume?”
Ariadne giggled. “You got it in one.”
“Eames.”
“Of course. I know who you are.” She giggled again and kissed him on the cheek too. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Oi! Eames, you infernal charmer, get away from her!” Yusuf jokingly pushed Eames away, snatching Ariadne back protectively. Yusuf and Ariadne began making out sloppily and passionately, as drunk teenagers do.
“Right then, Arthur, I can see we’re not wanted here. Let’s go on the porch,” Eames said, pulling Arthur along.
Eames pushed the screen door open. It was cool, but not terribly cold, despite it being New Year’s Eve. Arthur could get away with just his sweater, though he had no idea how Eames wasn’t shivering in his long-sleeved Henley.
Arthur leaned against the wooden railing of the wraparound porch, gazing up at the twinkly lights that bordered the roof above them.
“So, no book to accompany you tonight?” Eames joked.
Was that some kind of insinuation? “Hey, I’m not some kind of--” Arthur started.
“No need to get your hackles up.” Eames held his hands up in mock surrender. “I just...always see you walking around with your nose buried in a book, even at lunch.”
“Sorry. I just didn’t think people...” like you... “noticed me.” Arthur felt himself blushing, though he hoped Eames think his flush was from the cold. And why would people notice him? He mostly kept to himself at school, save for finding Ariadne when they had the same lunch period. Otherwise, he stayed glued to his books so he wouldn’t have to make unwanted conversation.
“How could I not? You’re like the best dressed person in school.” Eames gestured at his sweater and placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And you seem cool. I would’ve talked to you, I just never wanted to interrupt your reading.”
Eames’s hand felt warm, even through Arthur’s sweater.
“Well, we can talk now.”