Chapter Text
Arthur can't stop grinning. He must look like a loon, starring at his feet and smiling fit to burst. He's just advanced to the semis at state, the farthest he's ever gotten. He can hardly believe it's really happened.
He normally rushes through changing after a match, usually even waiting to shower until he gets home. He has this probably paranoid, but very real-feeling, fear that in the future, someday when he's publicly out, some former teammate will be uncomfortable about having spent so much time undressed around Arthur when they were teens. Honestly, he tries his best not to sneak too many peeks, but it's difficult.
The thing is, since school started in September, it's like blinders have been lifted from his eyes. He can't stop checking everyone out, noticing who has a pretty face, or sexy forearms or a great butt. Not that he's particularly interested in anyone, but it's just fascinating that he'd known most of these kids his entire fucking life and never noticed who was good looking before. Now he can't stop.
But there are funny little clues that show he must have subconsciously picked up on people's appearances and felt attractions, even if he hadn't really been aware of doing it. Like how he'd defended Jamie Craighill so strenuously their junior year when he'd been accused of stealing. Despite plenty of evidence that he'd had every opportunity to do so Arthur had remained staunchly on Jamie's side of the story. The thing is, Jamie is incredibly handsome--not in a clean-cut way like Brent Jenner, the captain of the football team, or Louis Freesen, the soccer star--more in an up-to-no-good, scruffy way.
Arthur, apparently, has a type. Embarrassing.
He'd tried jerking off thinking about Jamie a couple of times, but he always ended up just thinking about Eames. No matter who he tries thinking about--actors, musicians, his dentist's sexy assistant with the skin-tight tee-shirts--he always finishes thinking about Eames.
They've emailed pretty regularly over the past couple of months. Arthur isn't sure how much Eames is holding back about his college life, but he seems pretty open and candid, anyway. He apparently loves his classes--especially life drawing--gets along with his roommate, spends a lot of time exploring Chicago while it's still warm enough to venture around freely, and is growing out his hair.
Arthur tells Eames most things about his life. Although he had censored a fairly eventful story about Lux, because it touched on some uncomfortable subjects.
At the end of September Ziggy had broken up with her--over the phone no less!--because he felt like having a high school girlfriend was holding him back in college. What an asshole. Arthur had found her crying in the newspaper's storage room and, unthinkingly, put his arms around her as he had Ari when she'd sobbed into his shoulder on the bus leaving camp. But Lux had misunderstood his intent and tried to kiss him again. Arthur had recoiled, horrified, not really thinking about how it might make her feel, just sort of shocked that he'd miscalculated so badly. She'd run off once again in tears and he'd felt compelled to go over to her house and tell her the truth that night. She'd been surprised, but completely accepting and they were closer friends than ever now.
But he couldn't tell Eames about all that.
First of all, Ziggy and Lux's breakup was exactly the sort of thing Arthur had been so sure would happen between he and Eames if they'd tried to stay together after camp. Talking about it would only bring all those fights back to the surface. Or worse. Eames could tell Arthur that he'd been right to insist on the split, basically confirming all of Arthur's worst fears now that they're apart.
Secondly, there was the attempted kiss to consider. Arthur didn't want Eames to get the wrong idea, to think that he was here at home making out with people right and left. And he certainly didn't want Eames to share any stories in turn.
Arthur had almost told Eames about it when he'd called him on his birthday a few weeks ago, but the conversation had turned to Ari's recent visit to Arthur's house and he'd lost his nerve.
Ari had visited on her Fall break at the end of October. She'd been supposed to go stay with Robert and his father in Massachusetts, but they'd broken up just a week before the planned trip and she hadn't wanted to stay at home feeling sorry for herself, so she'd come to Arthur's instead. She'd met all his newspaper friends and come to one of his tennis matches. His parents had loved her.
Everyone had assumed she was his girlfriend, never mind that he'd repeatedly denied it. It should have made him glad that his secret was so safe. But instead he kept thinking about how if Eames ever were to visit him, he'd either have to lie about the nature of their friendship or hide him entirely from the prying eyes of everyone at school. Or come out. But he was nowhere near ready to do that yet.
But it had been great to see Ari, regardless. He'd missed having someone to talk to in that easy way from camp, where nothing else about their lives mattered, just their relationship to each other. He'd kept in touch with Doug, too, as promised, and Yusuf had emailed him a few times, and he'd even gotten an honest-to-God letter from Mal, French stamps and everything. But nothing was as great as sitting in his parents basement just shooting the shit with Ari while she played her guitar.
Arthur is just standing there in his underpants and a tee-shirt, spacing out like he usually never allows himself to do while changing in public, when he feels a persistent prickle on the back of his neck. Or perhaps it's something in his peripheral vision, because he turns and sees the top-seeded player, Matthew Lichty, a sophomore from Allentown, eyeing him from the corner of the locker room.
He hurriedly finishes dressing, pleased that the predicted winner apparently considers him a threat, but not wanting to linger and face any more scrutiny despite the flattery. He heads out into the sunlight and strolls in the direction of the hotel where he and the other competitors are staying.
He eats a sandwich at the cafe outside, texting his parents the news of his victory. When he's done he grabs a Gatorade and granola bar from the shop in the lobby and strolls toward the elevators, where he sees Matthew Lichty lounging on a velvety love-seat and flipping through a magazine.
He's on the verge of telling the kid off for acting like a creepy stalker, top seed or no, when their eyes meet in the mirror and Arthur realizes, to his complete and utter shock, that Lichty isn't scoping the competition, he's checking Arthur out.
Arthur's lips form a tiny, silent "oh" as he and Lichty remain frozen, starring at each other via the mirror. The elevator dings open and then slides silently closed again without either of them moving. Finally, Arthur breaks the gaze and hits the call button again, breath still caught in his throat.
It's not that he finds Lichty particularly handsome--although he is reasonably cute with floppy red-tinged curls and big brown eyes, if a bit too gawky and long-limbed. It's that while post-camp life has brought a new depth to Arthur's observations of his classmates, the only guy Arthur has ever known to be attracted to him in return before now is Eames. He feels sort of ashamed about it, but there's something enticing about the attention, about the way Lichty looks at him in the mirror's reflection.
When the elevator doors open once again, Arthur offers a tiny grin and turns enter. Lichty surprises him by hopping off the love-seat and joining him.
OK. This is unexpected.
Deep breath.
"What floor?" he asks, making every effort to keep his voice calm.
"I'm on 10, but I'm not going to my room yet. I just wanted to talk to you for a sec."
Arthur gives Lichty his best no-nonsense look. What does this kid think he's doing?
"Is this some kind of intimidation technique?" he asks, refusing to play into it if it is.
Lichty's brow creases in a frown.
"No. I just thought you were ... looking at me like ... I thought you might ... " he bites his lip in hesitation and Arthur's can't help but stare at his mouth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But it's all the approval Lichty needs, apparently, because he darts forward and kisses Arthur.
The embarrassing part is that he gasps with pleasure when he feels Lichty's tongue licking against his lips and automatically, without thinking about it at all, arches against him, pressing their bodies together as he opens his mouth to return the kiss.
"What are you doing?" his mind screams at him. But his body is starved for touch and he can't stop himself. He brings his hands up to clutch at Lichty's shoulder, just as the elevator dings for his floor.
He breaks away and sticks his foot out to keep the door open. But he's unsure of what to do next. Should he ask Lichty to his room? He doesn't really want to, but he doesn't want to just walk away and pretend this never happened, either. Should he ride back down to the lobby and talk about it with him on that love-seat? Should he let the door close and go back to kissing without a plan in sight?
Thankfully, Lichty seems to have a clue.
"'I'm supposed to be resting. Not expending myself, if you catch my drift. But if you want to celebrate tomorrow after the match, I'm in 1012."
Without thinking about the implications of the invitation Arthur responds: "Celebrate my victory you mean?"
He doesn't actually think he's going to win, or probably even advance to the final, but he can't let Lichty's obscene confidence go unchecked.
Lichty merely raises an eyebrow at the remark.
"You're a cocky bastard," Arthur responds and, to his glee, Lichty blushes at the words, probably thinking about them in an entirely other context.
"Come find out tomorrow," he chokes out, but he's not nearly suave enough to pull it off without making Arthur laugh.
"Maybe," Arthur says, unsure of what he wants to come of this strange encounter.
Then he leans forward, brushes one last, quick kiss across Lichty's lips and strides out of the elevator while he feels like he's still got an ounce of dignity.
What the fuck was that?
He tries very studiously not to think about it for the rest of the evening.
It's incredibly difficult at first, alone in his room with nothing else to occupy him. But once the team meets for dinner, everyone bursting with excitement at Arthur's advancement, anything not strictly tennis-related flies straight out of Arthur's mind. He falls asleep visualizing his serve.
---
Everything goes very quickly the next morning--so fast he barely registers any of it. He's heavily favored to lose the match, but the visualization must have worked, either that or he really, really wants to meet Lichty on the court, because he bests his opponent thoroughly.
His coach is over the moon. He calls his parents, who are ecstatic.
Lunch and afternoon rest are a daze. Ending his high school career in the state championship finals is more than he ever could have dreamed. Playing under the lights for the first, and honestly probably only, time in his career. He couldn't ask for more.
Well he wishes his parents could be here, but he understands. His dad can't really close the store for a whole Saturday, which is his busiest day of the week. And his mom wasn't able to change her shift at the clinic. Anyway, they wouldn't be allowed to attend the banquet afterward. That's for players and coaches only, so it would be sort of a long trip to not get to spend much of any time with Arthur.
Also, there's the matter of after the banquet ... He's trying not to think about it, but Lichty's invitation is lurking in the back of his mind. He's not sure what to do about it, but he doesn't want it to distract from his focus from the championship match.
Of course, he loses.
But he doesn't even feel that disappointed about it. He'd played his best and it's much farther than he's ever gotten before now.
He does, however, feel an overwhelming sense of melancholy about his final season being officially finished and not having any more matches to which to look forward ever again. A big part of his life from the age of seven onward is now done forever. It's weird.
Lichty winks at him during the presentation of their awards and Arthur lets his anxiety about the situation come flooding in, overwhelming him.
What should he do?
The kiss was nice. He hasn't been touched like that since August and only after it ended had Arthur realized how much he'd truly missed feeling someone else physically close like that, someone male, particularly someone male and interested in him. And Lichty is reasonably cute. And he's confident, seems to know what he's doing. It would probably be fun, if maybe a little awkward.
But ... Eames.
Arthur knows that they've made no promises to each other. But he can't help feeling like it would be a betrayal anyway. Lichty is a stranger. Eames is one of the most important people in his life.
The whole time he's showering and dressing--thankfully in an otherwise empty visitor's locker room--Arthur debates with himself about what, if anything, he owes Eames. If he's just following the letter of their arrangement, the answer is nothing. But he can't help feeling that he owes Eames everything.
Without Eames he would have left camp frustrated and still confused, or possibly humiliated having tried something with Robert or some other guy. But it's more than that. Last summer Eames was his best friend. Is still one of his closest friends. If Arthur hadn't insisted on them keeping their distance from each other this Fall, they'd probably still be as close as ever, maybe closer.
And even setting that aside, does Arthur really want to be the kind of guy who goes to some stranger's hotel room?
It's not that he thinks it would be wrong to do so, but it's not really how he pictures himself. Arthur wants to be a boyfriend-type guy, not a random-sex-and-never-see-each-other-again guy.
He's only 17. Even though Lichty is just a sophomore, Arthur still feels like he's too young for this sort of thing, nevermind that every other guy he knows would almost-certainly jump at such an opportunity with a girl. Maybe. Or perhaps they'd feel the same way and all that talk is just for show. Arthur has no idea, honestly.
He's not even sure what would happen if he went Lichty's room. I mean, sex, obviously, but ... what if Lichty wants something more than Arthur is used to or isn't ready for? Or what if his confidence extends only to kissing and he expects Arthur to teach him what to do beyond that? What if it's painfully awkward?
Or what if ... he can hardly allow himself to even think it ... what if it's better than it is with Eames.
But the very idea is laughable. What he and Eames have, or had, is ... well it's more than just sex and although Arthur doesn't like to think about the emotions there too hard, he can't lie to himself and say that his feelings aren't a part of what made their activities over the summer so ... intense.
More than anything, he wishes he could call Eames and ask for advice. But, of course, he can't. It would be utterly inappropriate.
He could possibly reach Ari, but he's not sure he wants to listen to what she has to say on the subject. She'd practically forgotten all about Robert hours after breaking up with him, already scheming how to get the attention of a guy she liked from school. She wouldn't understand the precariousness of the situation, the fragility of their connection.
Maybe he could call Eames, just to call ... to tell him about the tournament. That would be a legitimate reason to call, right?
But it's Saturday night. He might be out partying and not notice his phone ringing in his pocket. He might be hooking up with some art school guy in a paint - splattered dorm room, furiously tearing off each other's clothes ... he can't let himself think that way. It's too painful.
As he walks back to the hotel, Arthur decides that he'll call Eames as soon as the banquet ends. If he answers and wants to talk, then Arthur won't go to Lichty's room. If he doesn't ... well he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
Arthur forces himself to pay attention during the ceremony, although all his brain wants to do is think about calling Eames--wondering whether he'll answer and what he'll say. But this is his last time being here--and his first time being in second place--and he's got to enjoy it no matter how much he wants to race up to his hotel room and curl up with his phone.
He ignores Lichty the entire ceremony. Hopefully not in a cold way. He just doesn't want to send off any confusing signals until he knows what will happen with Eames. He makes sure to leave the banquet with a group of teammates, so that Lichty doesn't try to catch his eye.
Once he's alone in his room though, Arthur is seized with terror about actually making the call. What if Eames doesn't answer? What if he does, but seems distant or distracted?
Since they've only spoken once all Fall, and it was planned in advance, Arthur honestly has no idea how Eames will react. He's not really prepared for the heartbreak that might happen if it doesn't go well.
On the other hand, that kind of hurt and anger would probably give him the courage to actually show up at Licthy's door, which might be a good thing.
He takes three deep breaths and dials the number.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
Arthur is disheartened. Some part of him had always believed Eames would answer. But then, just as he thinks it's about to click over into voicemail ...
"Arthur?! Are you all right? Is something wrong?"
Eames sounds so worried and Arthur is flooded with guilt. He should have texted first so as not to incite panic. He knows he would probably freak out if Eames called him out of the blue, given their arrangement.
"No, no everything's fine. ... I just ... I wanted to talk, if you're free, of course. It was just my last tennis match ever, or seriously competitive one anyway ... I feel ... Weird, I guess? But it's OK if you're busy. We didn't plan this or anything."
"Not too busy, no. I'm just in the studio mucking about with some paints. But I'd much prefer hearing about your match."
The tight feeling in Arthur's chest unwinds, all the anxiety about making the call--and about Lichty--completely forgotten. Eames' voice is so warm and welcoming, so clearly happy to set aside his work and talk to Arthur.
"What are you doing painting on a Saturday night anyway?" he teases.
"I'm not in painting class until next semester. But I like to sneak over here and mess about when it's mostly empty. Although it's never entirely empty. There are always seniors somewhere about toiling away on their final projects and acting paranoid about someone else seeing their work."
"Be nice to them. In a few years that will be you."
They joke about a future Eames sleeping on a pile of shredded canvas and eating out of the vending machines, beard grown out like a mountain man and clothes full of holes.
Then Arthur tells him about making it to the final game, about how thrilled he is to end his career this way, but also how sad he's starting to feel about it too.
"You could always try to play at university," Eames notes.
"I know, but ... I know where I want to go and I'm not going to pin all my future plans on which school let me play for their team. It's time to move on. I feel it ... I just ... This is the right thing for me. I just want to feel sad about it for a little while first."
"Perfectly understandable. I'm really proud of you, Arthur, for doing so well."
Arthur's body goes warm all over.
"I was worried. I'd never taken a summer off before. But it must have done me some good."
"May I confess, now, that I would have felt terribly guilty if you'd had a poor showing this season?"
"No, you can't. I won't accept such thoughts."
"Well I'm just glad I don't have to have then."
They talk for over an hour, Arthur trusting Eames to let him wallow in his strange mood without it taking on further significance. He can hear Eames moving around through the phone, doing arty things in the studio while he listens. It feels like old times.
Arthur knows, without a doubt, he made the right decision to stay in his room and call Eames. It doesn't even matter if they're on the path to getting back together, or just to becoming better friends again. He needed this--to be able to talk and relax and be himself--much more than he needed whatever Lichty would have given him, no matter how starved for contact he might feel.
When Arthur yawns loudly, however, Eames says he should go and let Arthur sleep.
"You must be knackered after a day like this."
"I am, but ... "Arthur trails off, unwilling to say that he doesn't want this perfect moment between them to end.
"You can ring me anytime, you know," Eames says, anticipating Arthur's worries, as usual.
"Well, I am hoping to visit Northwestern and University of Chicago next month. So maybe I'll call to arrange for us to meet up while I'm there?"
"Brilliant! I can't wait to see you, Arthur. Whatever you need, just let me know."
"I will. I promise."
"Thank you for this."
"No thank you. I can't believe you actually picked up."
"As if I wouldn't, darling"
The endearment cuts like a knife. Arthur knows Eames called him that before they'd started dating. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. But Arthur realizes how much he wants it to. God, he hopes he hasn't made the biggest mistake of his young life by letting Eames get away.
After they hang up he dials the front desk and asks to be connected to Lichty's room.
"Hey, it's Arthur."
"What the fuck, dude? Are you coming or what?"
"No. Sorry. I ... " he decides a lie is easier than the truth in this situation. "I'm seeing someone. We got in a fight before I left town and I thought maybe it was over. But ... well, it isn't. I'm sorry to be a dick. We just got off the phone."
Lichty surprises him by saying, "no I get it. I'm really glad you found someone. Gives me hope, you know?"
"Uh ... thanks. Great match today and good luck next year."
"Thanks, Arthur. Have a good night."
"You too."