All I Want For Christmas Is You

(and the Star Trek Voyager Complete Collection DVD, but mostly you)

Now, before we begin, there's a few important things you need to know, otherwise this story won't make much sense. This story is about a boy called Arthur. It's also about a boy called Eames. And a load of other people too. And a ghost. And Christmas. But mostly Arthur and Eames.

Arthur is a geek. Well, Beverley Arthur Marlowe-Farrell is a geek. He doesn't like being called Beverley, and really, you can hardly blame him. You can get teased about anything when you're a kid – for wearing glasses, for being a geek, for having a funny name, for liking other boys – and Arthur's been teased about all of those. I suppose that's what happens when you're different. Arthur's in his second year of college, studying Physics, Chemistry, Maths and Geometry. He's sent in his application to University now. He's applied to Oxford, and he's done an interview. He doesn't really expect to get in. He doesn't really know what he wants to do.

Eames is a drop-out. Eames has always been just Eames – everyone just calls him by his last name. Like Arthur, he doesn't like his first name. What it is in anybody's guess. (Ariadne's made some interesting guesses. "What about Shirley? Cherokee? Dakota? Oh come on, no boy wants to be named after a woman, a Native American tribe, or a state of America!") Eames dropped out of Hartley College a while ago now. He'd been doing Theatre Studies because he liked it and, let's be honest, it was a complete doss. But now he's living on his own in a little flat. He has friends, but it's lonely. He didn't really expect things to turn out this way. He doesn't really know what to do.

They're both eighteen, and they're both a little lost.

Arthur's sixteen when he meets Eames. It's their first day of college. Arthur's cycling in and he's not looking where's going and then there's someone in the way and he swerves but he still ends up crashing into him. He half-falls off his bike, knocking Eames onto his back and landing, sprawled, on top of him. Eames smiles up at him, his eyes cold blue, and said, "Well, hello there." Arthur's been in love with him ever since. They're not close, just friendly. Eames has his own mates and Arthur has Dom, who's his best friend even though he's a douche, and seems to have this strange idea that Arthur has a thing for Eames. Because. No. Arthur actually doesn't have a crush on Eames, no, shut up, Dom, you douchebag, he doesn't, OK, and yeah, he supposes Eames is attractive, if you're into that sort of thing, which he isn't, by the way, just because he's gay doesn't mean he likes every guy he comes across, and Dom, if you mention Yusuf's 18th again, you won't live to see the series finale of Doctor Who.

What exactly Arthur and Eames did at Yusuf's 18th is a much-disputed tale among the college kids. Nothing will persuade Arthur to tell anyone what happened, not even the original script of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan. But Saito is only too happy to tell the world his own version of events. Saito's the resident rich kid at Hartley College. The lower sixth kids basically worship him, because he has a huge house – no, not a house, a mansion, and that's just the one in England – and his parents don't seem to care about what two hundred college kids are doing to it at four in the morning. There's a cluster of them gathered around him about two months after Yusuf's 18th, and he's regaling them with the tale.

"Guys. Shut up. No guys, just shut up. Don't tell Arthur I told you this, he's kind of touchy about it – well, actually, if he knew I told you, he'd probably kill me by wrenching his Xbox from its socket and bashing my head in with it, but that's a risk I'm willing to take. Dom, shut up, you douchebag, I'm trying to tell these guys a story. Your mum is boring. Anyway, guys, no really, shut up, anyway, so, Yusuf had this big house party – he managed to get his parents out of the house, or he drugged them with some kind of soporific, I forget which – and practically the whole year came. Of course, everyone got hammered, which was kind of awesome, 'cause we managed to persuade Ariadne she didn't have any toes, which was hilarious, until she started crying, so we gave her chocolate and then she started building towers out of it, which was a bit weird to be honest.

"And Arthur was just sitting there in the corner, looking more awkward than, I don't know, something really awkward, because Dominick here was in the hallway making out with Mal. I know, I know, she is way out of his league – because you're a massive nerd, Dom, that's why. You are very pretty, though, I mean, I thought you guys were a lesbian couple. To be fair on Mal, she had drunk about five bottles of wine by that point, and French girls don't get drunk easy, but when they do, they will get on anything that moves, I'm telling you. Oh shut up, Dom, you've only been trying to get in her pants for the last, like, four years. Yeah, so, Arthur literally had one bottle of beer, and he'd just been sitting there drinking it for over an hour, it was pretty tragic, and his alcohol threshold is as low as a baby hedgehog's or something, seriously.

"By the time Eames got there, Arthur was pretty drunk, and he's an affectionate drunk, not like Dom, who gets emotional and cries because he's worried about the environment and yells at people to recycle if they go near him. Dominick, love? Shut up. So, Arthur was really glad to have someone to talk to, 'cause he'd just been marinating in his own thoughts for ages, so he basically flung himself on Eames, crying, 'Oh God, don't leave me!' and Eames had to hug him for about ten minutes until he calmed down enough to let go of him. And then Eames was like, 'Let's sit you down on the sofa, love,' and he was going to go get him some water, but Arthur pulled him down and crawled on top of him, and it looked like he was going to rape him or something, but he just cuddled him. He got really into it, he was nuzzling his neck and saying, 'I love you,' and everything, and Eames just laughed and ruffled his hair and said, 'I love you too, darling', it was actually so cute. It made a nice change that no-one having sex on that sofa for once, I've been to four parties at Yusuf's, and someone's been having sex on it every time. Hey, Dom, it was only that one time, and we were both pretty hammered. We call it the shag sofa, that's why it has those stains on it.

"Yeah, so, Arthur and Eames were there for hours, and in the end, they fell asleep, though how they managed to with Ariadne screaming at Dom for knocking over her chocolate tower and him screaming at her because cocoa plantations aren't environmentally sustainable, I'll never know. I have photographic evidence that you were, Dom, don't deny it. Yusuf said Arthur and Eames didn't wake up until like, one o'clock the next day, and Eames was just like, 'Morning beautiful' and made them some tea, 'cause that's like a religious ritual if you're English, and Arthur was so embarrassed. And then everyone put pictures of them up on Facebook, and Dom commented saying 'get a room' and Yusuf said 'you and Mal were using it' and Arthur untagged himself from everything. This was like, two months ago now, though. I can't believe they're not together, they'd be such a cute couple."

And that's probably enough of Saito talking for one day. There are many ways to tell a guy you like them, but Arthur's method is probably not the best. He spent the month following Yusuf's 18th avoiding Eames like a Xenomorph facehugger. To be fair, it's not really his fault he can't flirt – it's not like he has a lot of experience. He used to have a thing for Dom, for the love of God. Those dark days are over, but things haven't exactly improved a great deal. It's been about eight months since Yusuf's 18th now. He's still a dork, he's still socially inept, and he still likes someone who's completely out of his league, not to mention straight. Well, Eames has been single for the past, what, year, which is, well, how did that happen, he's actually gorgeous, who wouldn't want a piece of that, but he used to go out with Ariadne, and they weren't together for that long, but still, that's enough to convince Arthur of Eames' disappointing but inevitable heterosexuality. Anyway, it's not like he likes Eames, because he doesn't. He doesn't daydream about him while doodling hearts in his Maths exercise book, or feel funny when he sees him, like he's been zapped (non-fatally) by a Dalek, or put his headphones on and sing along to One Direction thinking about him, really, shut up Dom.

Anyway, that's all you need to know about Arthur and Eames, for now at least. Otherwise you'll end up finding out about irrelevant things, like how Eames got so bored hanging around all day that he's started a YouTube channel where he just sort of rants about stuff but he's got 124 subscribers, or how Arthur likes eating M&Ms in colour order, or how Eames has awful writing that looks like a spider's crawled across the page, or how Arthur has an almost unhealthy love of all things science fiction, or how Eames secretly likes Glee. So let's just get on with the story now, before you get bored with all this backstory and go onto Twitter and tweet just read a crap story, lol. or go and watch EastEnders or something.

So, today is Sunday 21st December, and Arthur's cycling to Dom's on his worn-out bike with a rusty bell that croaks half-heartedly like a wookie with a sore throat, and should probably be wearing a helmet, but it's only a short journey and he can't find his helmet so stuff it, he'll live dangerously today. He's wearing fingerless gloves and a blue cardigan and skinny jeans and tatty red converse and thick-rimmed glasses which are actually prescribed because he's not a hipster, and a t-shirt that says Zombie Mozart is Decomposing because his mum got in for his birthday and it makes him smile even though he does prefer Beethoven (really, just look at their piano concertos, KV. 449 doesn't compare to Opus 733, no-one cares about what you think, Dom, shut up). He's not exactly the coolest kid on the block, but he is pretty cute, with those long dark curls and dark eyelashes and skinny frame. At least, that's what his mum says. If you saw him, you'd probably agree with her.

He cycles past Eames' house, because that's the way to Dom's, it's not like he looks in the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of him, it's not like once he saw him getting dressed and nearly crashed into his elderly neighbour Mr Nash because it was that distracting, and Eames is in the front garden, leaning against a table with stuff heaped onto and around it, and there's a cardboard sign with the words GARRIDGE SALE scrawled onto it. (His handwriting's awful, and so is his spelling.) And Arthur's living dangerously today so he stops the bike and feels rather reckless for it.

"Arthur!" Eames calls, grinning, "I'm clearing out. Care to sample my wares? I'm sure I can tempt you with something."

Arthur is also sure that Eames can tempt him with something. He ditches his bike on the lawn and goes over to him. He's surrounded by random objects – stacks of old CDs and DVDs, musty books, worn-out clothes, an ugly black vase, a dusty lamp, faded blue crockery. Arthur considers buying one of Eames' old hoodies just so he can wear it at night and smell him, and then he realises that that is sad, verging on psychotic, but this doesn't really bother him, which is probably more disturbing.

"How're you doing?" Arthur asks.

They both know the real question is What are you doing with your life since you dropped out of college? but Eames just says, "Oh, I'm OK."

Arthur grabs a few old paperbacks and thumbs through them, but he's not really looking, he just needs something to do with his hands and eyes.

"No luck with work, I guess?"

"No," Eames says, and it's abrupt, like he's answered the question a hundred times before.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says, looking up from the books.

Eames shrugs.

"Hey-ho, that's life."

Arthur bites his lip, doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry you're unemployed and living alone and only have six GCSEs doesn't really sound that great. Everyone knows it's like that, though, everyone knows Eames has been out of college and out of work for nearly six months now. It's pretty grim.

"There's no need to look at me like that," Eames says, "I'm not quite done for yet."

Arthur ducks his head, looks down at the books he's holding.

"Oh darling, it's alright," says Eames, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I'm a drop-out, there's a recession, what do you expect, eh? Something'll come along."

Arthur realises that they're kind of having this conversation the wrong way round, and he should be the one comforting Eames, but he's mostly focusing on the fact that Eames is touching him and calling him darling, which he totally doesn't enjoy a bit too much and hasn't featured in any fantasies at all, shut up, Dom.

"Yeah," he mutters.

"Anyway, how are you?" Eames asks brightly, patting his arm reassuringly before letting go.

"I'm alright," says Arthur, rubbing the back of his neck, "Just… doing college stuff, really."

"Good for you. You'll do brilliantly, Arthur, I know you will, and go to Oxford and make us all proud."

"Well, Oxford's a bit of a long shot," Arthur murmurs.

"I'm sorry," says Eames, sarcastic but fond, "What were your grades again? If I remember correctly, it was straight As, wasn't it?"

Arthur smiles sheepishly.

"Er, yeah."

Now, Arthur doesn't know a great deal about what other people find attractive, but he's guessing intelligence isn't a big turn-on. To receive a compliment about your intellect is great from your teacher, but not really from your crush. Not that Eames is Arthur's crush. Because. He's not. Just to clarify that. Still, it's always nice to know that you're valued for your mind, not just for your great body.

"Clever clogs," says Eames warmly.

Arthur feels like he should say something nice about Eames too, because it's only polite, but he can't think of anything to compliment him on apart from his face or his torso or various other parts of his anatomy which he probably shouldn't have seen but then Eames should learn to use curtains, shouldn't he.

"You gonna buy that?" Eames asks, gesturing towards the books Arthur's been holding for the last few minutes.

"Er," says Arthur, looking at them.

It's a collection of romance novels. The one on top has a picture of a man and woman doing something they probably shouldn't be on a bed, really, what if children saw that, and the title is The Playboy Sheikh's Virgin Stable-Girl. What the actual hell.

"Why do you have this?" he asks slowly.

"Why are you looking at it?"

"Er, I didn't notice what it was, virgin Sheikhs and… playboys aren't really my, er, cup of tea," Arthur stammers, putting the books down, "I'm – I'm more into science fiction."

Arthur knows that saying he prefers battles with hybrid alien clones to racy encounters with Sheikh stable-girls is probably worthy of losing at least fifty man points, but well, he's said it now.

"Did you – read that?" he asks hesitantly, curiosity getting the better of him, and we all know that curiosity leads to cat deaths, which isn't good, unless you don't like cats, in which case it's OK.

Eames winks.

"I skipped to the good bits."

I can only describe Arthur's expression as a What are you on, Eames? look.

"I'm only joking with you, darling!" Eames grins, "I found this lot in the bookshelf when I moved in."

"Oh," says Arthur, relieved, "I was going to say."

Then Eames starts laughing at him, face scrunching up, and it is actually really cute, but Arthur never likes being laughed at because he's been laughed at all his life, which is what you get, I suppose, if you're a nerdy kid with braces, and he frowns and hits him, not very hard, but hard enough to feel his muscles, and, woah, he needs to sit down or something now, seriously.

"Your face," Eames chuckles, ruffling his hair, "Awh, bless you."

Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying these displays of affection. Luckily, no-one's asking him about it, so he doesn't have to lie, because lying is wrong, kids, even though we all do it, even grown-up people who should know better. Arthur pouts, but he can't stop himself from smiling when Eames tucks a curl behind his ear fondly. He bites his lip, and knows he's blushing, because Eames' hand is brushing his face, and he's always liked his hands, because they're strong and reassuring and just nice, and ugh, he's going to lie awake tonight and think about this and – totally not do anything inappropriate.

Then Eames folds his arms and says, "So, anything I can interest you in?"

"Huh?" says Arthur.

Then he remembers the context of the situation, and that sentence doesn't sound so wrong.

"Oh, right, the garage sale, yes, um, I think I'll just get these," he says, grabbing a few DVDs that look vaguely interesting, some sci-fi stuff anyway, and they're probably a bit dodgy and old but he's seen some pretty awful films in his time, including Fertilize the Blaspheming Bombshell, no, it's a real film, look it up, and rummaging in his jeans pocket for a fiver that's crumpled up in there.

"I'd say, about three quid for that?" says Eames.

"Keep the change," says Arthur, shoving the note on him.

"You really don't have to."

"Oh, no," he glances at the DVD titles, "I'm sure, er, Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone is worth every penny."

He can't help but wonder what exactly the forbidden zone is, but he guesses he'll find out soon enough.

"Hey," says Eames, grabbing a worn desert scarf from the table, "Have this."

He puts it round Arthur's neck, the soft yellow material oddly working with his outfit.

"Don't catch cold, eh?" he says.

"Thanks," Arthur smiles shyly.

"No problem, darling."

Arthur clumsily shoves the DVDs in his bag.

"So, er, you doing anything for Christmas?"

Eames shrugs.

"Don't think so. I suppose I'll have to go round my dad's. But I swear to God, I don't know if I can put up with that woman for a whole day."

Arthur grimaces. He knows only too well how much Eames hates Shania, his dad's girlfriend. Eames has spoken passionately, if illogically, on the subject on a number of occasions. ("I mean, her name is Shania. Shania. How am I supposed to not hate her guts? Her name is Shania, Arthur.")

"We're having the whole family over for Christmas," says Arthur, shouldering his bag, "There's going to be, like, twenty-three relatives round my house. It's going to be carnage."

Eames chuckles.

"Sounds it."

Arthur fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. He really isn't looking forward to Christmas. He's just hoping his mum gets him the Star Trek Voyager Complete Collection DVD, and then it'll be worth it. Even if Dom will talk all the way through it when they have an all-night Star Trek Voyager marathon (because they totally will). But maybe Christmas doesn't have to be so utterly awful this year.

"Well, erm," he says, "There's going to be loads of us anyway, so, I mean, I don't think anyone would mind one extra, if you, you know, you wanted to come?"

It's possibly the worst attempt he's ever made to ask someone out, apart from that time he asked Eames round his and he ended up saying "Come back to my place". (But hey, it worked – he came round and they watched (500) Days of Summer and Eames made him laugh by saying "Awh, I love JGL. He's just, uh, just so nng, you know?" and then he slung his arm over the back of the sofa and therefore also Arthur.)

"Oh," says Eames, "That's – that's really nice of you, Arthur. I mean, if your mum's fine with it – I don't want to be a hassle for her."

Arthur's mind is struggling to compute the fact that Eames just said yes, but at the moment he's about as dull-witted as the Doog from Star Control II. (Don't look at me, I don't know either. Go on Wikipedia or something.)

"Yeah, no, yeah, no, no, she won't mind, she likes you, she thinks you're a nice young man, well so do I – er, what I mean is, mum will be cool with it."

Eames looks a bit confused, which isn't really surprising, considering that Arthur's making about 10-15% sense.

"So, I can come?"

"Yes, absolutely, it'd be great, if you want to, that is. I want you. To come. You'll have to stay away from Auntie Cora, she talks for ages about her health, and you really don't want to hear about her diseased gall bladder. And please keep Lily away from me, she's ten, she cornered me under the mistletoe last year, I am not doing that again."

Eames grins.

"You actually put up mistletoe?"

"My mum does. I'm pretty sure it's just so I end up kissing all of my elderly aunts. I mean, you're meant to get someone you like under the mistletoe."

"Maybe you could this year."

Arthur looks down, feels his cheeks growing hotter.

"Yeah. Maybe," he murmurs.

When he looks up, Eames has this amused half-smile on his face.

"What?" asks Arthur.

"Nothing. You're just very sweet."

Arthur shuffles from foot to foot, trying to keep a stupid grin off his face. He doesn't manage it.

"Um, so yeah," he says, snapping out of his Eames-just-said-I'm-sweet-even-though-I've-considered-making-vigorous-love-to-him trance, "Come over Christmas day, OK? I'll, I'll text you, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Cool."

Arthur dithers a little before Eames pulls him in for a hug, laughing.

"See you around, darling."

"Yeah, see you."

Arthur's about ten seconds away from swooning, but he stumbles over to his bike and climbs on. Eames gives him a two-fingered salute as he cycles away, and he is utterly ridiculous but Arthur loves it.