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om_mainTowards the middle of the cast party, Eames and Pietro meet up... and discuss that not-quite-successful Arthur apology + a bunch of other stuff. For a second!
Eames came to the party stag, leaving Arthur to the peace and quiet that could not be found at a crazy cast part with a bunch of crazy theater kids and their cohorts. Speaking of cohorts... Eames wandered over to Pietro as soon as he spotted him, about to say something when he saw the image streaming across his phone. The boy was seriously tuning into the basketball game.
"Don't you know that sports and athletic prowess aren't allowed at a theatrical gathering? Sacrilege dear Pietro."
"Ohmigod, but Mohammed was ejected for shoving LeBron, and the Bulls are still winning. This game is ridiculous!" Not that Pietro didn't see Eames' point, but honestly, this game felt more like the East Final than the Semi.
"I just checked the app for the score, but I had no idea shit would be this real." He glanced over at Eames, finally. "But. Good point."
"You just spoke some alien language. I am channeling my inner diva. I have no clue what strange Greek you just intoned. Running of the bulls?" he winked.
"Ha-ha." Pietro tried to sound flat, but utterly failed, a grin cracking through easily. A cheer erupted from his phone. "Oh my god, Robinson. Seriously, he's like 5'9" and he's killing these seven-foot--"
Right, though. Pietro shut off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, grin going vaguely sheepish. "No more Greek. Only the King's--or my American version. Better?"
"Better," Eames agreed. After a pause he reached and smacked Pietro lightly upside the head. "Also, there is your beating for the day. If I hear you are asking anyone else to smack you around I am going to rat you out to your sister. No one is bruising you outside of a mutual fistfight without signed permission from Wanda or me, am I clear?"
Pietro made a face and rubbed at his head, the rearranged his hair. "That little tattle-tale. I just offered, jeez. And I woulda made sure you never knew."
"Arthur doesn't take that shite the way we do. If he hits someone, he means damage. He's a black belt martial artist, love, he doesn't fuck around and use people as punching bags. Trust me, I've poked those buttons. He uses what he knows for self-defense, not for punching out the complicated best friends of his potential love interest." Eames reached and messed Pietro's hair up all over again by threading his fingers through it, ruffling softly. "If you still feel shitty give him space and don't poke him. Hurting you will not make him feel better. Hurting you will also make me very, very livid. I'm serious. I will type up a permission slip. I want proof of good intent before anyone goes beating you up."
Pietro had thus far wavered violently between hoping Arthur was a black belt and not wanting to find out, so Eames' little speech didn't change a damn thing. All he could do was be grateful he wasn't drinking tonight, after all... And not like he tried to shake off the hair ruffling, either.
It did calm his initial reaction, anyhow which was to smart off, turning it into a pout. "I already got the no hitting speech from you. And I got the leave me alone speech from him. I get it."
Eames pulled him closer---by the hair--and wrapped an arm around him to hug him. "I know what you want--and I'm sorry you can't get that without breaking something fundamental in him. Can't you just encourage Laura to embrace bruising wall slamming make-out sessions to make things better?"
At first, Pietro hugged back. He was about to say that Laura already embraced those just fine...
And then he realized what Eames was actually saying.
Slowly, Pietro pulled away, enough to look him in the eye. He wanted to say something, but his throat was all tight. He tried to swallow whatever it was in there, but it didn't work. So the question was silent, mostly in his eyes, but it wasn't even really a question.
Victor had kind of guessed. Sort of. Eames, on the other hand... Pietro really didn't want him to know.
Eames kissed his forehead. "You and I are cut from the same cloth," he whispered softly. "There is nothing you should ever feel ashamed of around me."
Pietro leaned into him a little, letting himself have a long moment to absorb that. To really register it, to try and rearrange his thinking.
He failed, but he'd expected to, so it wasn't that bad. The long seconds were enough time to swallow whatever was blocking his throat, to find his voice in there somewhere, and move on. At least, vocally. Mentally... That was gonna take all night. A really, really long night, without any alcohol, too.
He cleared his throat a little, fisting the back of Eames' shirt, but turning away to face the larger party. "To be fair, that's only why I offered. I made another bad joke about it right before I left because I didn't know what else to do. I know--nothing. The one thing I don't know how to do."
There, yeah, better subject, right there, as far as Pietro was concerned. Sort of.
As Arthur was not coming at all tonight Eames felt no qualms wrapping his arms around Pietro and holding him securely. "If you want help figuring things out you can talk to me about anything. Current situation means I cannot debauch you, but I am still here to soundboard anything and everything."
Pietro laughed silently and bumped his forehead against Eames'. The holding helped. Right after... That getting aired, it was good to have that 'I know what you are and I don't hate you for it' sensation properly. Their way.
"I know. But I don't think it matters. I said he could yell. I said he could punch. He... Seemed to think I didn't actually give a shit, but I guess he has some idea now. I left the offers all open. He won't take me up on any. Too bad." He bumped his forehead again. "You can kiss and make up with him. I can't. S'okay."
"The secret to Arthur is time and quiet. He hates talking. He's as emotionally fucked as we are in a completely different way. Conversation are like torture, and he just wants to keep distancing until everything snaps back into place." Eames nuzzled him gently. "He'll diffuse. Meanwhile, deep breaths, and amazing distractions in the form of a girl who can actually shred your clothes off."
Pietro thought: Or he says fuck it and blames me forever. Which would be fair. Which I'd rather, than him blaming you.
Or he says one fuck up is enough and decides I'm not worth it. Which would also be fair. I wouldn't die of it. But I wouldn't like it, either.
Pietro said: "She is far more consuming than a distraction. Not just because of the clothes shredding, but it doesn't hurt."
For way more reasons than that, but Eames knew that.
Apparently, Eames knew a lot of things. What the hell.
Considering Eames' main occupation was studying people, and the people he'd spent the most time with since coming to this school were a hard tie between Arthur and Pietro... he knew many things. Pietro was easier to read. He knew Pietro intimately enough that he found it frustrating now that he couldn't pull out every cheat code he knew to shut him up---mentally, in the spinning whir that was his very neurotic but loveable brain--and really, he needed to find completely new techniques for making Pietro okay. Because all his very, very easy cheat-codes had physical actions.
Eames just hugged tighter and kissed his temple.
"I am very curious what the future might hold, once she understands everything better. Girl is a quick study."
"I learn something new every fucking time I talk to her, that's for sure." Which was saying a lot, since Pietro not only took every excuse to talk to Laura, but had finally come to the point where he didn't need an excuse. "But in a different way from anyone else. There's like this weird language everyone has. Hers just works in my head."
It was kind of like what he'd said to Shinobi on that ridiculous, embarrassing, but also ultimately excellent night with the Jameson and the emo. Not just sex, but that part was never more obvious than right now, when everything he would naturally do to make himself understood with Eames, even just to say thank you, was no longer an option.
But it was still right there, was the thing. Which Pietro had also told Shinobi, even then. Before... The inevitable mess. He nuzzled back, this time smiling a little.
"I'm really glad. I can't say I understand her as well, but I think I understand more through you."
"Well, I can keep you in the loop about how to please Laura's insatiable lust for life experiences, and you can keep me updated about how to nothing Arthur into liking me again, and we'll all live happily ever after." Pietro bumped his head. "Don't know that they're ever gonna get along, though."
Because, those two. Ha!
"Alas," Eames said dryly. "I do not recommend many double dates in the future."
Pietro laughed, but his face sobered quickly when he had another thought. Obviously this conversation occurred because Arthur was annoyed with him (still, again, more, etc). Possibly because Pietro had tried to be chatty about a subject he didn't like (which was every subject ever ATM, but that wasn't the point), possibly because he had just told Eames the whole story, and Eames had picked out that one bit because issues.
Though he didn't really want to know which, the first did mean that Arthur would probably hear some kind of explanation. And that... was okay, as long as it was the right one. "This might be stupid--but I'm not sure how the rules work, right now. But you won't say anything to Arthur, right? I mean, you can tell him the thing about me just being frustrated about not having any options for being proactive and flinging terrible ideas around a lot. I don't want to know what he told you.
"But don't tell him where I got the punching idea. Or why it thought it'd work in the first place. Or anything." Yeah yeah, no need to be ashamed, but Pietro wasn't there yet. Heat crept up his neck. He was seriously never looking Arthur in the eye again, either way. He really hadn't meant it that way...
Well, except that it had come from that place, in the beginning. So he kind of had.
Eames squeezed him softly. "All I'll tell him is that we talked, and that you will try to give him some space. He doesn't need more details. Don't worry."
"All the space ever." Pietro relaxed a little--hadn't even realize he'd gone tense. But hey, not being able to look Arthur in the eye would actually work to his advantage, so whatever, right? "Like, ever."
Eames nuzzled him again. "It won't be awkward for all eternity. I promise."
Pietro hummed in agreement; it wouldn't be. One way or another. Unfortunately, a day could feel like an eternity for Pietro so... welp. That was why god invented self-medication, right? Of all kinds. Including the friend one.
He squeezed Eames and changed the subject for good this time--and refrained from checking the score on his phone again. For now. "Look at all these kids having fun, and here we are like old-timers. I haven't even had a Coke all night, I'm being so goddamn well behaved."
"I know," Eames agreed miserably. "I don't feel right getting smashed around fourteen-year-olds. Heaven help me, I have limits."
"Same," Pietro agreed, making a face like he'd just bitten into the bitterest, sourest lemon ever. "I had to come this far to find them but... here they are."
Eames gave Pietro an undignified squeeze, lifting him up briefly. "Well, these at least are honorable limits. We could be much worst people. Imagine, what if our only limit was polyester vertical stripes?"
Eames came to the party stag, leaving Arthur to the peace and quiet that could not be found at a crazy cast part with a bunch of crazy theater kids and their cohorts. Speaking of cohorts... Eames wandered over to Pietro as soon as he spotted him, about to say something when he saw the image streaming across his phone. The boy was seriously tuning into the basketball game.
"Don't you know that sports and athletic prowess aren't allowed at a theatrical gathering? Sacrilege dear Pietro."
"Ohmigod, but Mohammed was ejected for shoving LeBron, and the Bulls are still winning. This game is ridiculous!" Not that Pietro didn't see Eames' point, but honestly, this game felt more like the East Final than the Semi.
"I just checked the app for the score, but I had no idea shit would be this real." He glanced over at Eames, finally. "But. Good point."
"You just spoke some alien language. I am channeling my inner diva. I have no clue what strange Greek you just intoned. Running of the bulls?" he winked.
"Ha-ha." Pietro tried to sound flat, but utterly failed, a grin cracking through easily. A cheer erupted from his phone. "Oh my god, Robinson. Seriously, he's like 5'9" and he's killing these seven-foot--"
Right, though. Pietro shut off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, grin going vaguely sheepish. "No more Greek. Only the King's--or my American version. Better?"
"Better," Eames agreed. After a pause he reached and smacked Pietro lightly upside the head. "Also, there is your beating for the day. If I hear you are asking anyone else to smack you around I am going to rat you out to your sister. No one is bruising you outside of a mutual fistfight without signed permission from Wanda or me, am I clear?"
Pietro made a face and rubbed at his head, the rearranged his hair. "That little tattle-tale. I just offered, jeez. And I woulda made sure you never knew."
"Arthur doesn't take that shite the way we do. If he hits someone, he means damage. He's a black belt martial artist, love, he doesn't fuck around and use people as punching bags. Trust me, I've poked those buttons. He uses what he knows for self-defense, not for punching out the complicated best friends of his potential love interest." Eames reached and messed Pietro's hair up all over again by threading his fingers through it, ruffling softly. "If you still feel shitty give him space and don't poke him. Hurting you will not make him feel better. Hurting you will also make me very, very livid. I'm serious. I will type up a permission slip. I want proof of good intent before anyone goes beating you up."
Pietro had thus far wavered violently between hoping Arthur was a black belt and not wanting to find out, so Eames' little speech didn't change a damn thing. All he could do was be grateful he wasn't drinking tonight, after all... And not like he tried to shake off the hair ruffling, either.
It did calm his initial reaction, anyhow which was to smart off, turning it into a pout. "I already got the no hitting speech from you. And I got the leave me alone speech from him. I get it."
Eames pulled him closer---by the hair--and wrapped an arm around him to hug him. "I know what you want--and I'm sorry you can't get that without breaking something fundamental in him. Can't you just encourage Laura to embrace bruising wall slamming make-out sessions to make things better?"
At first, Pietro hugged back. He was about to say that Laura already embraced those just fine...
And then he realized what Eames was actually saying.
Slowly, Pietro pulled away, enough to look him in the eye. He wanted to say something, but his throat was all tight. He tried to swallow whatever it was in there, but it didn't work. So the question was silent, mostly in his eyes, but it wasn't even really a question.
Victor had kind of guessed. Sort of. Eames, on the other hand... Pietro really didn't want him to know.
Eames kissed his forehead. "You and I are cut from the same cloth," he whispered softly. "There is nothing you should ever feel ashamed of around me."
Pietro leaned into him a little, letting himself have a long moment to absorb that. To really register it, to try and rearrange his thinking.
He failed, but he'd expected to, so it wasn't that bad. The long seconds were enough time to swallow whatever was blocking his throat, to find his voice in there somewhere, and move on. At least, vocally. Mentally... That was gonna take all night. A really, really long night, without any alcohol, too.
He cleared his throat a little, fisting the back of Eames' shirt, but turning away to face the larger party. "To be fair, that's only why I offered. I made another bad joke about it right before I left because I didn't know what else to do. I know--nothing. The one thing I don't know how to do."
There, yeah, better subject, right there, as far as Pietro was concerned. Sort of.
As Arthur was not coming at all tonight Eames felt no qualms wrapping his arms around Pietro and holding him securely. "If you want help figuring things out you can talk to me about anything. Current situation means I cannot debauch you, but I am still here to soundboard anything and everything."
Pietro laughed silently and bumped his forehead against Eames'. The holding helped. Right after... That getting aired, it was good to have that 'I know what you are and I don't hate you for it' sensation properly. Their way.
"I know. But I don't think it matters. I said he could yell. I said he could punch. He... Seemed to think I didn't actually give a shit, but I guess he has some idea now. I left the offers all open. He won't take me up on any. Too bad." He bumped his forehead again. "You can kiss and make up with him. I can't. S'okay."
"The secret to Arthur is time and quiet. He hates talking. He's as emotionally fucked as we are in a completely different way. Conversation are like torture, and he just wants to keep distancing until everything snaps back into place." Eames nuzzled him gently. "He'll diffuse. Meanwhile, deep breaths, and amazing distractions in the form of a girl who can actually shred your clothes off."
Pietro thought: Or he says fuck it and blames me forever. Which would be fair. Which I'd rather, than him blaming you.
Or he says one fuck up is enough and decides I'm not worth it. Which would also be fair. I wouldn't die of it. But I wouldn't like it, either.
Pietro said: "She is far more consuming than a distraction. Not just because of the clothes shredding, but it doesn't hurt."
For way more reasons than that, but Eames knew that.
Apparently, Eames knew a lot of things. What the hell.
Considering Eames' main occupation was studying people, and the people he'd spent the most time with since coming to this school were a hard tie between Arthur and Pietro... he knew many things. Pietro was easier to read. He knew Pietro intimately enough that he found it frustrating now that he couldn't pull out every cheat code he knew to shut him up---mentally, in the spinning whir that was his very neurotic but loveable brain--and really, he needed to find completely new techniques for making Pietro okay. Because all his very, very easy cheat-codes had physical actions.
Eames just hugged tighter and kissed his temple.
"I am very curious what the future might hold, once she understands everything better. Girl is a quick study."
"I learn something new every fucking time I talk to her, that's for sure." Which was saying a lot, since Pietro not only took every excuse to talk to Laura, but had finally come to the point where he didn't need an excuse. "But in a different way from anyone else. There's like this weird language everyone has. Hers just works in my head."
It was kind of like what he'd said to Shinobi on that ridiculous, embarrassing, but also ultimately excellent night with the Jameson and the emo. Not just sex, but that part was never more obvious than right now, when everything he would naturally do to make himself understood with Eames, even just to say thank you, was no longer an option.
But it was still right there, was the thing. Which Pietro had also told Shinobi, even then. Before... The inevitable mess. He nuzzled back, this time smiling a little.
"I'm really glad. I can't say I understand her as well, but I think I understand more through you."
"Well, I can keep you in the loop about how to please Laura's insatiable lust for life experiences, and you can keep me updated about how to nothing Arthur into liking me again, and we'll all live happily ever after." Pietro bumped his head. "Don't know that they're ever gonna get along, though."
Because, those two. Ha!
"Alas," Eames said dryly. "I do not recommend many double dates in the future."
Pietro laughed, but his face sobered quickly when he had another thought. Obviously this conversation occurred because Arthur was annoyed with him (still, again, more, etc). Possibly because Pietro had tried to be chatty about a subject he didn't like (which was every subject ever ATM, but that wasn't the point), possibly because he had just told Eames the whole story, and Eames had picked out that one bit because issues.
Though he didn't really want to know which, the first did mean that Arthur would probably hear some kind of explanation. And that... was okay, as long as it was the right one. "This might be stupid--but I'm not sure how the rules work, right now. But you won't say anything to Arthur, right? I mean, you can tell him the thing about me just being frustrated about not having any options for being proactive and flinging terrible ideas around a lot. I don't want to know what he told you.
"But don't tell him where I got the punching idea. Or why it thought it'd work in the first place. Or anything." Yeah yeah, no need to be ashamed, but Pietro wasn't there yet. Heat crept up his neck. He was seriously never looking Arthur in the eye again, either way. He really hadn't meant it that way...
Well, except that it had come from that place, in the beginning. So he kind of had.
Eames squeezed him softly. "All I'll tell him is that we talked, and that you will try to give him some space. He doesn't need more details. Don't worry."
"All the space ever." Pietro relaxed a little--hadn't even realize he'd gone tense. But hey, not being able to look Arthur in the eye would actually work to his advantage, so whatever, right? "Like, ever."
Eames nuzzled him again. "It won't be awkward for all eternity. I promise."
Pietro hummed in agreement; it wouldn't be. One way or another. Unfortunately, a day could feel like an eternity for Pietro so... welp. That was why god invented self-medication, right? Of all kinds. Including the friend one.
He squeezed Eames and changed the subject for good this time--and refrained from checking the score on his phone again. For now. "Look at all these kids having fun, and here we are like old-timers. I haven't even had a Coke all night, I'm being so goddamn well behaved."
"I know," Eames agreed miserably. "I don't feel right getting smashed around fourteen-year-olds. Heaven help me, I have limits."
"Same," Pietro agreed, making a face like he'd just bitten into the bitterest, sourest lemon ever. "I had to come this far to find them but... here they are."
Eames gave Pietro an undignified squeeze, lifting him up briefly. "Well, these at least are honorable limits. We could be much worst people. Imagine, what if our only limit was polyester vertical stripes?"
