|Coffee and tea
Author: FireandSmoke PM
High school fic. Eames just moved to New York, where he meets a certain mysterious posh boy called Arthur. Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Dom.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Eames & Arthur - Words: 925 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 3 - Published: 08-14-11 - id: 7287078
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The house is of a classic American style, one you see in typical rom-com comedies. It has the white picket fence that enclosed the garden, freshly moved grass which separated for a concrete path that led up to the porch. The porch had a welcome mat lying underneath the door, there was a make shift seat from the fence that stood on the edge of the porch. There was also a swinging chair covered in sheets and plump cushions. The whole picture was sickeningly sweet and felt even painful for Eames to accept as his home.
His life before wasn't anything like this promised. It was a lot harder. His friends were burned out junkies who stayed off school, they were older but took an interest in him so to keep their interest in Eames alive he would copy them and try to show that he was a lot older than he seemed. It worked and for a number of years he was constantly getting into trouble, one case got so bad he was almost arrested and put into juvie if it wasn't for one of his mates taking most of the blame so he could avoid the rent he was forced to pay after getting kicked out. Then when his grandfather got ill and eventually died, he fortunately left them enough money for them to move to America and start a new life. His mother thought getting away from the crowd he was in would be the best option for Eames, he agreed.
So that's now why the stood in suburbs of Long Island, outside their classic American house; their boxes stood proudly inside waiting to be unpacked. Eames took this time for the first time to probably look around their house. The kitchen was fairly spacious, but as long as food was there when he wanted it he couldn't care less on how big it is or what the kitchen even looked like. Upstairs was the bathroom, his mother's room with her en suite, a study for his mum, and finally his room. Inside there were his boxes for him to unpack standing proudly in the middle of the room. His bed was a queen size with childish, but his favourite, doctor who bed sheets. A fairly average size wardrobe stood just to the side of the door. In the corner was an oak desk with a blue laptop sitting on top.
Hours later after helping out his mum with the unpacking, then a tremendously awkward, painfully long Skype conversation with his uncle and aunt and showing them round the house with the laptop while his mum talked about the craftsmanship of the house for his uncle. His was finally allowed to have a wander outside.
He shrugged on his hoodie and walked quickly away from his house, even in the darkened evening sky the house still was annoyingly perfect to look at. Yet that was the problem with the entire street, each house looked the same, each garden was incredibly well kept. It was too perfect for it to be normal so he couldn't help but think how many of these housewives were having affairs. And as he walked past one garden he believed an old troublesome flame was buried, these thought oddly comforted him.
It didn't take long for him to find his way into town, and more importantly into a coffee shop, the thing with America is tea is there he just doubts it will be anything like back home.
The coffee shop felt like they were trying too hard to be cool for the average teenager. It smelt like freshly brewed coffee, but there was a section that felt like it was an internet café. What caught his attention the most was a small stage almost hidden away, it was clear no performances were on tonight but he couldn't wait to see what the local talent was like.
He was so absorbed in the sight of the local coffee shop that he bumped into the person in the line. Eames quickly apologised, as the teen he bumped into turned around Eames was intrigued by the sight in front of him. The teen was roughly the same height, maybe just an inch taller, and was lean. He was wearing snug fitting jeans, a button up shirt tucked into the waist ban and a black cardigan covered the button up shirt. His eyes were a dark chestnut brown, and his black locks fell softly around his face. Yet what surprised him most was the boy's smile when talking to Eames, he's more used to people either giving him a dirty glare or angry yells for being bumped into.
"It's fine," the boy said easily, he paused for a moment while he scanned Eames quickly "you're not from around here are you?"
Eames laughed nervously while scratching the back of his head and replied "no, is it that obvious?"
"Given the wide eyed stare and the British accent it's fairly obvious."
"Oh yeah, I guess I do have the accent now."
The boy just laughed, and then walked up to the counter for his order. Then drink in hand he walked past Eames not before giving him one more smile.
Eames thought about the boy and wished he talked to him more, but soon enough his attention was brought to his tea and his doubts were correct as he drank the common tea on his walk back home.