Chapter Text
It isn’t the last time they’ll ever meet, but it’s getting closer. Arthur can feel it in his bones. Eames would say it's just his age getting to him, old injuries sparking with incoming storms. But it’s a fine sunny day, not a cloud in sight or on the forecast.
“Know what you’re having?” Eames says, not looking up as Arthur sits down. The cafe menu is limited and they’ve been here so many times as to have tried everything already, but Eames still pores over it like he hardly understands the language.
“Americano,” Arthur responds anyways, “and a Cobb salad. Side baguette.” Same as always.
Eames does look up, then, squints at him suspiciously. “Do you get those salads as a bit? It’s not a funny one.”
Once upon a time, Arthur might’ve argued that he really did like Cobb salads, or that it was funnier than Eames could grasp. Now, he just sighs and glances towards the bustling street, faceless Parisians rushing past. “I know.”