Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen! Arthur, OCs, and of course, Eames / Arthur, last chapter, muhaha ~

Disclaimer; when the person reading this doesn't lose the game.

Author's Notes; Whoa ho, last chapter, guys! S'been fourteen ... short weeks, and now it's over. Thank you all for reading this far! And thanks for all the anonymous reviewers, English muse-loving moomin, mudkiprox, GreenAwesomeness, FaiNeko, JRoss, OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles, biblioholic, psycholiki, miki, 3, LastResortUsername, SushiBar, FrozenBloom, robyn redhead, Ashleigh Errow, Lazarus76, Sir Gnome the Giant, Gunnr, Michi Li, nikalove345, SlipIntoTheDream, SuddenPsychosis, emmyxogats, CountryPixie, Akkalia, BlackxValentine. Special thanks to Voldemort's Spawn, lynxzpanther, Lauren James for reviewing every chapter up to this point. I love all of you guys! And, well, here's the last chapter. C:

Eames folded the menu up and set it down the moment Arthur seated himself across the table.

"Long time no see," the young teen greeted.

"Long time no talk," Eames responded.

Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, so he simply fell silent.

His eyes raked the man's face in front of him, observing. It was the face that he had thought of constantly throughout his day during the weeks, but this face was a little different. There was a noticeable stubble that Arthur suddenly had an urge to yearn and touch, but of course, his control kept him back. His eyes then took in the sight of Eames' lips— the mouth he missed dancing with along with his or against his cheek.

And then, the eyes. Arthur remembered seeing everything in them. He saw the glee when Arthur first came into his sights; he saw the panicked one; the upset one; the relieved one; the joyful one; the lusting one; the loving one; the one that hurt; the broken, and the shattered one. Now, he was looking at unknown ones. Eames was just staring back at him, nothing spiraling in his eyes.

Arthur dropped his gaze to the slightly rough hands that were strung together and laid on top of the menu. His thoughts flickered back to the times when Eames would hold his hand, threading their fingers together, holding him close. At such, Arthur felt his fingers twitch, but luckily, they were underneath the table so that the other was unable to see the overwhelming want Arthur possessed to reach out and grab the hand.

"You should get to work." The voice snapped the student back to reality.

Arthur glanced up to meet the familiar eyes once more. Eames' oceanic orbs were still not warm. They were hard, staring into Arthur as if he could see his soul.

"What are you doing here?" His question wasn't supposed to come out in a whisper.

Then again, Arthur wasn't even supposed to be in this condition right now. He shouldn't want to apologize, grab Eames' hand, and kiss the other.

"I was bored," came the English drawl. "I took a walk and ended up here."

Arthur felt his chest clenching.

"Oh." So Eames didn't come to see him, but he somehow doubted that, though; if Eames didn't see want to see him, he would have gotten up and left.

But Eames coming here didn't mean that he cared either. Maybe he just came for a visit, and that was it. That made Arthur feel horrible thinking about it.

He didn't want to be nobody to the Englishman. He wanted to be cared for; he wanted to be lo—

"You have customers." Eames nodded to the table behind him.

Arthur didn't want to look away. He wanted to say "fuck it", grab Eames, and kiss him, but that wasn't the case. He took a peek over his shoulder. There, seated around the table was a couple. Exactly what he needed.

Arthur gazed back to Eames, he still returned his look with a blank stare. He didn't want to leave the man, but work called for it. And Eames seemed strung on shooing Arthur away.

"Good afternoon. My name is Arthur, and I'll be your waiter for today. May I start you on some drinks?" The forced smile wasn't natural to him, so he was quite sure it looked eerie to the two, but nevertheless, he tried to manage as best as he could.

"I'll have a coke."

Arthur nodded once and gazed towards the female.

She beamed up at him. "Same."

"Alright. I'll be back with your drinks and the menus."

As he ushered away to fill the order, he sneaked a look in Eames' direction. The other was mindlessly sipping his sweet tea, it seemed like, while looking at the menu.

It was odd not having Eames meet his gaze and wink at him. Instead, it gave him an unsettling feeling, but, like always, he batted the feeling away.

As he returned the cokes and the menus to the couple, he squashed the regretful emotion.

When he left the table, though, he found that the other two tables were unoccupied, and that Eames needed to be waited.

Arthur immediately felt nervous, so, in turn, he glanced around for Kendell (there was no way he was calling out Adrian or Cheyenne). Kendell, unfortunately, was on the other side of the restaurant chatting away with his customers. He didn't want to go all the way over there to get the opposing waiter.

Besides, he didn't want Kendell flirting with Eames. There was no doubt that the two would have a flirting war which would probably end in a game of gay chicken or something. That thought was uneasy in Arthur's head.

He waved the thought off quickly, and after discovering that he had to wait Eames, the young student exhaled slowly. He then squared his shoulders, held his head high, straightened up, and then proceeded to walk over in a brisk manner.

"Would you like a refill?"

His voice hadn't cracked yet, but he was sure that it was going to soon; he was holding on tight to a string of control. But what he was trying to control was a mystery to him— it was either tears or desire, though.

"I'm fine," Eames murmured, not peering up.

It was as if something stabbed his heart.

Arthur gritted his teeth together, willing himself to keep his posture and mask.

"Then, would you like to order anything?"

Eames lifted his gaze and looked at him.

Arthur could imagine the answer right now: Eames would say "you", and then grab his collar, haul him in, and kiss him senseless. Unfortunately, that was only his imagination. In reality, Eames surveyed him for a moment before his sights landed back on the menu.

"Not yet."

Arthur felt himself trembling a bit.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Eames was not supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be stealing kisses from each other, giving each other knowing looks, holding hands, and being happy that they have each other.

But they weren't. And that just killed Arthur.

Never before had he felt the overwhelming want for Eames to be in his arms. Never before had he felt so strongly for someone, Eames specifically.

"I'm not ready to order yet." That was the 'go away' tone again.

How could Eames be so cruel? Couldn't the other see that he was literally breaking down on the inside?

Apparently not.

Arthur wanted to grab Eames, tell the other that he felt the same way, that he wanted Eames, but he didn't. He chickened out and walked away, accepting how it felt to have a taste of his own medicine.

The sight of the couple only made his mood more foul. They weren't all over each other, like the snobby one from weeks back, but they were close. Their hands were joined underneath the table. The female was leaning against the male. They were both talking in whispers, laughing, and supporting each other.

Normally, Arthur would have thought that they were quite appealing, but in the situation he was right now, he just wanted to curse them for gracing him with their presence at this ungodly time. Couldn't they have waited until he had gotten over Eames?

And now, he had to greet them again and take their orders.

It was hard trying to smile and nod while, in the back of his head, he was planning their death and having flickers of Eames' face. When he was safe to usher away and give the order to the cook, his thoughts and body relaxed.

Only then, he was having to wait fifteen or so minutes for the food to be finished. During those minutes, he stepped in Eames' direction many times, wondering if he should ask if the other wanted a refill now (since the tea was gone and Eames was chewing on his straw), but he backed out at the last moment. So he stood to the side, pretending to wipe the counter while watching Eames from the corner of his eye.

The Englishman only gazed his way once, and Arthur lifted his sights to meet the eyes, but Eames had already dropped his gaze, which made Arthur's heart drop in response. He shrugged off the feeling, though, and brought out the food for the couple who had finished sharing a quick kiss and thanked him for the food. Arthur, not trusting his voice, gave a curt nod and turned around.

He, after a moment's worth of consideration, approached Eames' table again. "Would you like a refill?"

"That would be lovely."

Arthur picked up the empty cup and, without further words, headed to the drinks station. It was only then that he noticed a small sticky note on the bottom of the cup. He took it off and leaned over to the trash can to throw it away, but the moment he took note of the three words scribbled on there, he halted.

'I miss you.'

If not for the fact that the cup was hovering an inch above the counter, Arthur would have dropped it.

He stared at the note, groping for comprehension. When he finally allowed it to pass through his head, he clutched the sticky note in his palm.

Eames missed him. Maybe everything would be alright.

With a spark of hope, Arthur filled up the cup and ushered back.

"Eames," he started as he placed the drink down. "I-I mi—" Fuck. "—would you like ... to order now?"

He couldn't bring himself to admit it. Not in front of everyone.

"No, just give me the check."

Arthur's first thought was 'shit'. His chance was buried, but maybe he had another.

He excused himself to go grab the check. He then turned it over and scribbled two words down. 'I'm sorry.' And he honestly was.

Making his way back over, he placed the check on the table, back faced up so that Eames didn't miss it his small response. He then watched as the light brunet read his words.

The Englishman merely glanced at it for a split second before standing up.

"Sorry isn't enough," he stated, not meeting his gaze, then continuing toward the cashier.

Arthur didn't bother to look over his shoulder at the other; he just stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his teeth clenched, tears choked back.

Of course sorry wasn't enough. Just what did Eames want from him?

— ox — xo —

School was practically Hell on Earth. Arthur found it harder to focus on each subject, or people for that matter, during the entire day. It went as far as him being called out twice by a teacher to pay attention and a few times by Ariadne and the others.

Ariadne pestered him about Eames through looks rather than words, since they both settled the fact that Eames was a touchy subject to Arthur.

Lorenzo was not like Ariadne. The other was just like he was before, putting his arm around him, leaning into him, joking— it was as if Eames didn't exist at all.

And then there was Mal. Arthur, for sure, knew that she was cooking up a plan, and the main goal of the plan was to get Eames back to him— or at least, that was what Arthur hoped, since he was practically helpless.

— ox — xo —

Work was no better. Though the crowd was thinner, considering that it was a weekday, it still kept Arthur on his feet. The first four hours were alright. They could have been better if he hadn't noticed all the couples coming in. At eight on the clock, it wasn't a couple that came in. Instead, it was Eames.

Arthur watched with his heart pounding madly against his chest as the Englishman took a seat at the same table as yesterday.

If sorry wasn't enough, then why was the other even here? Arthur was afraid to ask in case Eames decided to get up and leave. That wasn't what he wanted.

Sucking it up, he headed over.

"Good evening, sir. Would you like anything to drink?" Arthur honestly felt like a robot. The greeting was repeated so many times that he said it before he could even process it, but saying it or not was not on his mind.

What was was why Eames was here. He didn't accept Arthur's apology, so the only reason Arthur could see was that Eames wanted something. He had a fair idea on what that was, but he wasn't entirely sure. Eames wasn't making this easy for him.

"Every cloud is lined with silver," Eames responded, peering at his palms on the table.

Arthur blinked, confused.

"Every cloud has a silver lining," he corrected, though still confused.

"Same difference. Do you know what a silver lining means?"

This topic was random, which, in turned, confused the hell out of the young teen.

"No ... ? Yes?"

Eames gazed up at him, eyes still stale. "A hopeful or comforting prospect in the midst of difficulty."

Arthur stared at the Englishman for a while before he functioned what the words meant and how they were relevant.

Eames was lined with silver. No— he was the silver lining, the hopeful and comforting prospect, that helped Arthur through his difficulties, his ups and downs. Eames was always there. And now, he wasn't entirely sure if this was true or was only what he hoped was true, but he was pretty sure that Eames wanted him to be the silver lining. Eames wanted him to be the hope, the comfort, through this situation, this difficulty. That was why the subject was brought up. It made sense.

"Sprite, no ice."

Arthur snapped from his thoughts. "Pardon?"

"Sprite," Eames repeated, "with no traces of ice."

Arthur's mouth was parted a bit, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He wished to swoop down and capture the lips, but there seemed to be a barrier. Eames' eyes weren't welcoming him. He was missing something; Eames wanted something else, and he didn't know exactly what it was.

He gave a jerky nod and went off to get the Sprite. As he returned with the drink, he caught sight of Ariadne, Houston, Mal, and Lorenzo seating themselves at one of his tables. All Arthur could think at that moment was 'oh, shit', because Lorenzo was here, and so was Eames.

He needed to get someone else to run that table— but Mal already caught his eye. Cursing himself for glancing at her and meeting her gaze, Arthur turned away and proceeded to deliver the drink to Eames. He then lingered for a bit, as if he expected a word of thanks or something, but the Englishman said nothing. He merely sipped on his drink and fondled with his fingers. Arthur was hesitant on deciding whether to leave or ask what Eames wanted to eat. Eventually, before he could even do anything, the Englishman began.

"That's him, isn't it?" Eames leaned back in his chair and fingered the straw wrapper while peering up at Arthur, as if challenging him to answer yes.

And so he did, because he knew who Eames was referring to. "Yes."

The other gazed to Arthur's left, peeking at the occupied table.

"Well ... he's attractive." Not as attractive as you, Arthur wanted to say, but he ended up biting his lip and ignoring the stab at his heart.

"Is there anything you want?" Specifically me? he added in his thoughts again.

Eames dropped his sights to the wrapper once more. "Fries."

Arthur gave a slight nod before heading back to give the order. When he returned, he came back with menus, a pen, and his notepad. With a relaxed breath, he started to the other occupied table.

"Good evening," he greeted, but not as enthusiastically, as he handed out the menus. "Shall we start with the drinks?"

He quickly gave Mal a knowing glare as he asked this. She perfectly knew of Eames' and Lorenzo's situation. Then again, so did Ariadne. And yet, they still brought him here. That wouldn't be bad if Eames wasn't present, though. But even then, Arthur was suspicious. This could not be some coincidence.

"Three Cokes and a Sprite," Lorenzo ordered with a grin.

The young waiter felt a sickening twist in his stomach, but nevertheless, he continued to ignore all the feelings and proceeded with his job. After he delivered the drinks, he felt Lorenzo's fingers brushing gently across his wrist, an indication wanting him to come closer. Arthur jerked said wrist away, threw a glare in the other's direction, then headed back and picked up the plate of fries Eames had ordered.

Yet, before he strolled over, he set the plate down behind the counter and gently pushed the fries to one side of the plate with a napkin. He then arranged a few fries to spell out 'I MISS YOU'. Inspecting his work a few seconds later, he wondered if he should show Eames it or not. But it was true; Arthur did miss Eames terribly, and the other did give him the sticky note the previous day. But it was embarrassing, more embarrassing than apologizing, since it was basically screaming out his feelings. That was what he aimed for, though, and that was probably what Eames wanted.

Tossing the napkin away, he picked up the plate and made his way towards the table the Englishman currently resided in. As he set the plate down, he observed Eames' reaction. He was upset to see there wasn't one.

The light brunet merely picked up a fry from the I and ate it.

Arthur simply broke. He couldn't stand it— Eames ignoring him; Eames being this distant and cold. He turned and made his way out if sight. Luckily, the men's restroom was free, so he shut himself in there without consideration to others.

The moment he locked the door, he backed against the blockage and slid to the ground, pushing the thought away that the floor could be dirty. He cupped his head, his teeth clenching, his fingers fisting his hair that was delicately slicked back.

He didn't get Eames at all. Why didn't he respond? He didn't even give him a look. He didn't say anything either. Maybe Eames did hate him. Or perhaps he thought that Arthur still hated him. But Arthur apologized and sent the 'I miss you' message.

What else was Eames expecting? An actual confession? If only he could talk to Eames outside of the restaurant, then maybe.

Eames needed to be considerate, and so did he— but at least he was trying. All Eames was doing was making it harder for him. And— fuck. This was not worth crying over.

Arthur tilted his head back and drank back the tears. He needed to calm down. He was only seventeen. He didn't need this in his life. He could move on— just not from this point.

A few moments later, he straightened up and checked himself. Honestly, he thought he looked like shit, even though he appeared no different than he did three weeks back (save the fact that his hair was a bit out of place). And maybe there wasn't the glow of happiness anymore. That was it, though.

Heaving a sigh, the young teen washed and dried his hands before dismissing himself from the restroom. His strong and straight mask came back on as he graced by Eames' table in order to reach the quartet to take their orders. Both Mal and Ariadne happened to order a salad. He was tempted to say that they didn't have lettuce, but that wouldn't earn him anything. He jotted the courses down before turning to Houston and Lorenzo.

"And you?"

"Steak, medium-well. Side of mashed potatoes."

His gaze turned solely on Lorenzo. "And for you?"

Lorenzo glanced over the menu before switching his sights back to the waiter. "Can I have Arthur with a side of a date?"

Arthur's brows furrowed. "Seriously," he said.

"You're no fun anymore. I'll have the same as Houston."

After scribbling this down, the student waiter turned and briskly walked back to the cook. A few minutes later, he helped himself to making the salads while dwelling on both Lorenzo and Eames.

They were similar with their cocky, outspoken attitude. He vaguely wondered why he was more attracted to Eames. Perhaps because the Englishman was always there for him? Or use to be always there? The accent? Could be.

He finished with the salads and placed the plates in front of the females, but before he could move away, Mal grabbed his arm, eyes peering at his own once more, stern and knowing.

"You and Eames—"

He was expecting that.

"Please don't," Arthur cut off hastily. "I'm not in the mood to talk about him."

Something flickered across her expression as she slowly moved her hand away and lowered her voice to say, "I'll always be here for you if you need me."

Arthur didn't bother to say a words of thanks. He simply gave a stiff nod, then strolled away.

As business died down, since it was almost time to close, Arthur found himself gazing at both of his occupied tables. Mal, Ariadne, Houston, and Lorenzo were laughing and chatting. Eames was playing with his fries. Across the restaurant, Adrian and Cheyenne were peering in his direction, apparently talking about him. And Kendell, for once, was quiet as he cleaned the tables.

The customers, aside from the ones in his area, were already heading out the door. And from the looks of it, the four and Eames weren't leaving anytime soon. He didn't want to give them the check, either, because that basically meant that they should get out. Dom wouldn't want that for Mal's group. As for Eames, even though they weren't specifically talking, Arthur still wanted to watch from afar; he still wanted to admire the beautiful figure, the delicate movements, the gorgeous lips that should be curved into a smile rather than being pressed into a slight line.

But the restaurant was closing, so Arthur was forced to give out the checks. He placed one in front Eames, then ushered over to Mal's group and set the check down there. He then witnessed a slight bicker among the group, Mal offering to pay, but Ariadne claiming that it wasn't fair. In the end, they decided to each pay for what they ordered. But they weren't getting up. Arthur was pretty sure that they were waiting for Dom, and that, in the mean time, Arthur was their source of entertainment.

"So, how much do you make a day?" Ariadne started, leaning over a bit.

"Forty and tip. About sixty, usually."

Ariadne smacked his arm, pouting. "Lucky! I should have taken up on Dom's offer."

"Hey, hey." Lorenzo grabbed Arthur's other arm and pulled him over. "Don't hit him. He's delicate."

"Lorenzo—" Arthur gave the other a pointed look, but Lorenzo only grinned at him before brushing his fingertips along Arthur's wrist and palm.

"It's true."

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed upon the seated figure. He attempted pulling his arm away, but Lorenzo kept the grip locked.

"This is against the policy—"

"You know," a drawl came behind him, cutting Arthur from his hiss, "it would have been much easier to tell me that you prefer him over myself, hm?"

Arthur felt his heart churn in tempo as he glanced over his shoulder quickly. "Eames—"

The Englishman gave him a frown. "It would have saved me trouble from trying to mend us."

Arthur watched, jaw dropped, as Eames moved away to pay for his drink and fries.

"Trying to mend us?" the young teen scowled after regaining his mind. "You did nothing bit push me away!"

Eames didn't even save him a pitied look; he simply ignored him and left.

Arthur was blurred with anger. He ripped his arm away from Lorenzo's grasp and started after Eames.

"Whoa, chill!"

"Arthur, calm down—"

"Calm yo tits, dollface!"

He ignored Lorenzo, Mal, and Kendell all together and tailed Eames out of the restaurant. The immediate second he caught sight of the other walking away, after peering around for a bit, Arthur cleared his throat, then proceeded to call out.

"Eames!"

The Englishman continued walking, obviously still ignoring him, and Arthur was having none of that.

"You're an ass!" the younger of the two announced as he quickened up his pace to catch up to the other. "This is not my fault! Stop ignoring me, you bastard."

The teen reached out and grabbed the Englishman's shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

"My fault? I wasn't the one leading someone on."

"I— you— I'm not a slut! I'm not a whore— or whatever you're thinking. I'm not— I ... I like someone. One. Not two."

Eames glowered a bit, a little something quirking up at the corner of his mouth. Arthur couldn't tell if that was a mere twitch of the lips or the beginning of a smile.

"Are you going to surprise me and tell me a name of a person I haven't even met yet?"

He had no idea how Eames could be so dense.

Or maybe Eames knew, he just wanted a confession.

Well, he was getting his wish.

Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur allowed the words to draw out of his mouth. "I like you, alright? These three weeks have been absolute Hell without you. I want you, Eames. I don't want— I don't need anyone else."

Eames stared at him for a bit before moving his hand up and grabbing Arthur's wrist to remove it from his shirt.

"Are you telling the truth?" he questioned in a mere whisper, some sort of light flooding back into the cold eyes.

Arthur frowned a bit. "Of ... course. Why would I be lying? You're an annoying bastard, but I still ... want you in my life."

A grin broke loose on Eames' face; his lips stretched into a wide smile, a spark of life back in his eyes.

Arthur's heart hammering against his chest was more noticeable now. If he knew it was this easy to admit this, he would have done it earlier, but he didn't regret admitting his feelings now. After all, Eames was smiling at him again, and it felt like nothing else mattered.

"You have no idea how happy I am, darling. I waited so long to hear those words. I waited—"

Arthur raised a hand and slapped him, cutting the words off, but a second later, with a grin settled on his own lips, he cupped Eames' face and pressed their lips together.

— ox — xo —

Father;

You may or may not remember who I am, but I'm positive that I left much of an impression for you to not forget. This is your son, Arthur, and this letter is to tell you how my life is now.

First and foremost: fuck you. You may be my father, but you have no right to call yourself such after kicking me out and having me struggle to support myself.

I'm thankful for my friends, the people that actually care about me. Without them, I wouldn't have survived. After you kicked me out, my step-mother, your wife at the time, handed me two thousand dollars in an envelope and nearly a thousand more a week later. Before you panic, no, it was not your money. It was from her own pocket. It's nice to know that she, who isn't even my biological mother, cares more than the man who raised me my first seventeen years.

I was taken in by my friend, Mal Miles. If not for her, Eames and I would be at lost. She was the one who got me a job and a place to stay temporarily. Ariadne Dutch took Eames and me in next. For the rest of the year, I stayed with Ariadne and Eames stayed with Yusuf, a friend of ours. After Christmas, Mal took Eames and me back in and we lived under her roof for a bit.

When I turned eighteen, I managed to snag an apartment. Thanks to the money I earned from the job I worked hard on, I kept up with this apartment. School was hard, but I also managed that. I would have graduated as valedictorian, but with the crisis, I fell in ranks. According to the papers, I was ranked number seven in the entire school.

But, aside from that, you are probably wondering who this Eames I'm continuously talking about. Remember the man you caught me with before you kicked me out? His name is Eames, and he is my boyfriend. That is not a misprint. And what I'm about to say is not a misprint either: thank you.

Because of your crude actions, you drew me closer to Eames. Eventually, you pushed me to a point where I needed him. So when you kicked me out, Eames was my silver lining.* You made me realize that I am capable of falling for someone. I just needed a little push, which my friends gave.

I remember the night we became one quite clearly, and I'm going to tell you so that you can suffer. You may very well throw this note away, but I know your curiosity perks you.

Back to the subject; the first day at Ariadne's house, when we moved in, I fought vigorously with Eames, but verbally, not physically. After that, Eames left, and I was having to deal with it. Along with the fact that I was kicked out, not having Eames supporting me as I moved through each day was Hell for me.

But three weeks later, Mal devised a plan, as she admitted a few days later after Eames and me became a couple. The objective was for me to admit my feelings to Eames. In order to achieve that, she used Lorenzo, the one that you forbade me to see and converse with. Lorenzo was willing to go along with it. And Eames knew of this plan too, so he played along until I finally just broke. That happened a few months back— mid-October, actually.

Now, I'm still with Eames, and if you are wondering, yes, I do love him. I can even say that I love him more than you, but that's simply cruel. I'll let you interpret my feelings for you on your own.

This letter isn't all about Eames and myself, though. Let's talk about you again, shall we?

I remember when mother, my actual mother, and you were together. That was back when I was three. And then she was gone. You never gave me a specific reason why, but I found out a few weeks ago. She's living in Canada, remarried. I assumed that she divorced you because of something you did, or specifically, something you decided.

You didn't change, either. You remarried when I was seven, and then, after you kicked me out, she divorced you.

You need to learn from your lesson.

And if you are married now, I sincerely hope that the woman gives you Hell. My apologies if that sounds harsh.

Aside from that, I'll have you know that I'm on fair terms. My finance is coming along fairly well, thanks to everyone who pitched in. Even Adrian and Timothy, who didn't fancy me as much, toned down on the teasing, which helped tremendously as I coped throughout each day.

To wrap this up, I'm doing well without you. I just thought you would like to be informed of such.

Sincerely,

Arthur Irvings

P.S. I don't appreciate you donating my books to the library without my consent, but considering that it's for a helpful cause, I suppose you're forgiven.

* silver lining is a symbolism of hope among difficulty.

Mr. Irvings, thanks for Arthur, but fuck you.

Have a wonderful life,

Eames

P.S. And yes, I do love Arthur.

Arthur exhaled as he closed the father's mailbox after putting the letter in.

"Well, that was easy."

He glanced over and grinned at the Englishman. Eames chuckled in response and threaded their fingers together.

"I told you so," he murmured, nosing at the now-graduated student's neck.

Arthur gently pushed him away. "Publicity, Mr. Eames."

The other tossed him a small pout before tugging him down the road in the direction they walked from.

"One day, Arthur, you will succumb to me."

Following along, the dark brunet managed a soft huff. "Not any day in the future."

"Ah, so wounding. Must you grace me with horrible news, darling?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Shush, my love." Eames had paused briefly and pressed a finger to Arthur's lips. "Let us walk in peace."

Arthur made a noise of protest, but Eames placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, silencing him.

"I love you, Arthur."

The younger of the two sighed lightly and leaned over to place a peck on the other's cheek.

"Love you too."

Eames' lips curved into a soft smile once more as he took both of Arthur's hands and touched their foreheads together.

"What do you propose we do now?" he whispered.

Arthur peered at the oceanic eyes. "I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps we should get out of the middle of the road?"

"Mm, brilliant idea. But whatever happens, we'll be together."

"The car will hit me first," Arthur retorted.

Eames shushed him twice before kissing him and squeezing his hands. "Don't be a pessimist, love."

"It's not being— I'm just stating—"

"You think too much. Relax. Stand with this moment."

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Thank you."

Eames hummed in response.

"I hear a car," Arthur mumbled moments later.

"We should probably move then, mm?"

"Yeah."

— ox — finished — xo —