Chapter Text
“Are we yogis now, darling?” Eames asks over dinner. Their plates are loaded with grilled chicken and vegetables and Eames has brown rice which Arthur only made after unbelievable amounts of whining over the lack of carbs. Arthur had insisted the first step to a good night’s sleep was a good healthy meal and Eames would never turn down an offer like that.
“What.”
“People who do yoga are called yogis,” Eames says over a forkful of rice and chicken. He’s been carefully skirting around the vegetables and hoping Arthur won’t notice. “I googled it,” Eames adds in response to Arthur’s probing look.
“Who taught you how to use Google?” Arthur asks fondly.
“I am a grown man, fully capable of working out how to-”
“Eames.”
“Ariadne,” Eames says with a heavy sigh, as if admitting a great defeat. He glares at Arthur as the other man ducks his head and grins at his plate. “Did you know there’s a fantastic website that looks up nearby restaurants for you? And you can share your thoughts on the food for the whole world to see.”
“Oh my god, Eames are you a yelper?” Arthur nearly chokes in surprise.
“Well don’t look so shocked,” Eames puts on an air of mock offense and sniffs. “I have an exquisite palette. The entire internet loves my reviews.”
Arthur gives him a skeptical look.
“Look,” Eames pulls out his phone and opens up his yelp app. It’s the only app he ever uses (or knows how to use). He scrolls to one of his first reviews and waves the phone in Arthur’s face.
Arthur rolls his eyes and takes the phone from him, snatching up his reading glasses from where they hung off the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, I told you to eat here,” Arthur says, sounding pleased. “So tell me,” Arthur slides Eames’s phone back towards him, “what does your palette think about my cooking?”
“Hmm” Eames draws out the syllable and pretends to be deep in thought as he chews and swallows. “It’s communicating to me that your food is delicious.”
Arthur beams, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His dimples are showing and Eames wants to reach across the table and dip his thumb into the gentle crease of them.
“If only you weren’t so hung up on being healthy,” Eames sighs wistfully.
“Asshole,” Arthur says, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “Eat your vegetables.”
+++
He sleeps in Arthur’s hotel room again that night. After yoga he stays awake long enough to convince Arthur to let him take the sofa bed before collapsing in a heap of exhaustion.
When he wakes that night he tries to listen for Arthur’s breathing, but there is only silence around him. The silence is loud, deafening, unbearably heavy. He lays there for what feels like hours, incapable of falling asleep, until he drags himself out of bed and peers into the bedroom.
Moonlight filters in through the large glass doors that lead out to the balcony. Arthur hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains and the soft, blue light illuminates the bed. Arthur’s wrapped himself in a cocoon, the top of his head only barely visible above the twisted, tangled mess of blankets. Eames lets himself in and breathes softly, quietly, as he eases himself onto the bed. It dips under his weight and he cringes as the bed springs creak, cutting through the quiet.
“Eames?” Arthur mumbles, his voice completely sleep wrecked. He pokes his head out from inside his nest and squints across at Eames.
“I just- I need help with the- the meditating,” Eames says in a hoarse, hushed whisper, unwilling to look at Arthur.
“Sure,” Arthur whispers after a long pause.
Eames lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
+++
“How do you manage to find the best hotels,” Eames says, grinning delightedly up at Arthur from the water. He’d conned his way into the pool that morning, after he’d woken up and decided a morning swim was exactly what he needed to stretch out the soreness of his muscles.
“Are you planning on ever getting ready for work today, Mr. Eames?” Arthur squats down near the edge of the pool. He’s fully dressed in a striped shirt and a beautifully patterned burgundy tie tucked into a dark sweater. His dark hair slicked back and his sleeves are rolled up, probably uncomfortable in the humid indoor pool. He’s sipping on another one of his atrocious green smoothies and smirking down at Eames and Eames can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.
“Nope. I’m just going to float here til I shrivel up like a raisin,” Eames says blissfully, leaning back and kicking away from the edge of the pool.
Eames does a few laps under Arthur’s gaze, just to show off his form, but by the time he finishes his last one Arthur is already gone.
Eames does go to work eventually, after trying out the jacuzzi and the steam room. His hair is still dripping wet when he walks in and Arthur only glances up briefly to nod at Eames before going back to his files.
He finds a smoothie and a room key for Arthur’s hotel waiting on his desk. He looks up to find Arthur watching him apprehensively from his desk.
“Cheers,” Eames says with a grin, raising his glass and tipping it Arthur’s direction. Arthur shakes his head and returns to his work, a smile on his lips.