And They Call Her Cinderella

Wednesday, October 31, 2012
2:17 a.m.

Eames ran his fingers absentmindedly through Arthur's hair as his head was laid on his chest. Again, the young man had fallen asleep before Eames. He didn't mind, though. He liked listening to Arthur's breathing and feeling the weight of his head against his heart.

While they had been eating at the café, Eames began to feel less guilty about having not called Arthur sooner. He could tell before, during the few moments they'd sat in Arthur's classroom and the trip to the cafe, that Arthur was disappointed. Four days was a long time to put off calling. Though Arthur's eyes lit up when he walked in the room, Eames could tell that he'd somehow let him down.

But as they talked (or even didn't talk) in the classroom and the car, Eames saw Arthur slowly relax. He tried his best to be on his guard, but with Eames' eyes watching his every move and his face flushing at every sound the man made, he couldn't help but to fall back into that easy-going state of mind he'd been in on Saturday.

As he filed papers and cleaned his desk for the night, Arthur noticed his eyes drift over to where Eames was sat in one of the students' desks. He tried to make himself unaware of the tiny smile gracing Eames' lips, and almost succeeded. Almost.

The two, once again, talked primarily about Arthur. This time Eames asked about Arthur's family (his parents lived near Albany) and his childhood (it was normal, Arthur said: he had lots of neighborhood friends and a dog). His answers were short and not very descriptive. Eames was delving into a topic of conversation that Arthur didn't even want to think about. So Eames turned the conversation to a different subject (why did Arthur prefer tea over coffee?).

"Coffee is bitter," Arthur said.

Eames laughed and laid his head on Arthur's shoulder (the two were now sat on Arthur's couch). "Arthur, love, you drink tea without sugar. It's bitter, too."

Arthur looked down at Eames and shook his head. "Not as bitter as coffee."

"Whatever you say, love."

Arthur's eyes never left Eames'. "And what about you? You're English. Shouldn't you prefer tea over coffee?"

"Oh, we're getting into stereotypes now, are we?" His eyes gleamed.

"That isn't an answer, Eames."

The large man only smiled and leaned further into Arthur's body.

Eames stared down at Arthur's sleeping face. He knew that he should be getting up soon. He knew that he should leave; return to his own apartment. Both he and Arthur had to work in the morning. It wasn't proper for him to stay the night, especially when he hadn't technically been invited to do so.

But something was telling him to stay. It might have been the way Arthur's cheek was warm against his chest, or it could be that Arthur looked so small and happy lying in his arms.

Eames looked over at the alarm clock that was beside him and saw that it was nearing three o'clock. His eyes drifted back down to Arthur. He stared at his face for a few minutes before wrapping his arms more tightly around his body. Eames closed his eyes and settled into bed for the night.