Work Text:
Today is the day the guy is finally gonna enter the shop. Eames could cry happy tears to celebrate this moment. The guy is drooling from the shop window, like usual, but he's lingering this time, looking intently at the art on the wall. Eames can barely believe it. A lot of people need time before they can choose a tattoo, sure, but with this guy it's been insane. Eames was getting frustrated for him.
“You just want a better look at that pretty face,” Ariadne would say.
“Oh, please. Why, do you think he’s coming in today? Do I look good?” Eames would reply.
But Ariadne isn’t here today and the guy is looking at the door, he's- he's actually coming in. Wow. Eames didn’t think he’d get this far.
The kid is gorgeous up close, confident and casual, hair gelled perfectly into place. Prep school meets your wildest dreams. Yeah. Problem is he's almost certainly not 18. Fuck, Eames wasn't expecting that one. Surprising as it may seem, Eames is actually very fond of, you know, not going to jail and all that. He turns back to his drawing with a sigh.
The guy doesn't take it as the dismissal that it is. No, he stands up straighter, closing the door behind him. He means to head straight to the desk and approach Eames, Eames is sure, but he gets distracted along the way. All the art he was only dreaming of from behind the glass, right within his reach.
And the parlor is beautiful.
Eames tries not to get snobbish over the whole thing, really, but he knows he did a fine job. There's big arm chairs on one side of the room, the other with a black wall where nine or ten different framed drawings hang scattered against the dark background. There's hardwood flooring and some decorations that together cost a small fortune, all afforded from his illegal gambling days. But they have paid off every penny. He thinks half the people that go into the shop just want an excuse to admire it all.
It's not the case for this guy though. He's here for Eames. Eames learned how to tell a long time ago. And, obviously, he's also here because-
“I'd like to get a tattoo.”
“Sorry dear, no can do.”
His drawing is coming along nicely. Eames is getting the shading just right. He could be finished in an hour.
“You're a tattoo artist,” the guy says, like that solves everything. Eames stops what he's doing for a moment and glances up, raises an eyebrow. When the guy doesn't follow that up with anything else Eames looks down at himself, looks around his shop.
“Wow. I seem to be.” Eames can't help himself. He's genuinely amused now.
“Dick,” the kid says, under his breath, but he's already distracted. He's trying to peek at Eames’ drawing from over the decorative antique cash register at the desk. Eames moves the notebook further out of sight, just to really be a dick.
“Why are you at the desk anyway? Shouldn't you have a receptionist, or an assistant for that?”
“I do.” As you already know because you've been looking over the shop window for weeks, Eames doesn't add. “She wanted the day off.” He finally brings the notebook back and let's the kid see.
“It's gorgeous.”
Most of the mane is done, but the lion still needs details, a bit more shade and depth. Lions are one of their most requested choices, Eames is getting quite brilliant at them.
“It's a work in progress,” Eames finally says, but he's proud in spite of himself. “I'm not gonna tattoo you, dear. Sorry.”
“Wha-” The kid stops, clearly not expecting that. “Why not? I have money.”
“I'm sure you do.”
“But then- why...-”
“Well. For starters, you need to be 18 or older to get one of those in California.”
“I am! I'm 21.”
Eames looks the kid up and down, which has the unfortunate side effect of looking the kid up and all. He's still very much gorgeous, self assured and arrogant in a way that is fun to watch. He's still very much not 18. Eames crosses his arms and leans back on his chair.
“Yeah, try again.”
“I am, I have my dri-“
Eames just keeps looking. Though if the kid really does have a fake id he'll give him some credit. Came prepared and all that.
Eames sees the moment the kid relents.
“...just turned 18?”
It's a question, like he's asking Eames if that's good enough. Eames wants to laugh.
“17,” he finally confesses. “Most of the way to 18, if it helps.”
“And you thought you'd speed up those last annoying months, I get it kid-”
“Arthur.”
“Pardon?” Eames takes a second to catch up.
“I'm not a kid. Call me Arthur.”
Kid has an attitude to him, Eames likes it. He sure can work with that.
“I'm Eames, pleasure to meet you, dear. Point being, I get it, but I'm not taking that risk. I can't tattoo someone underage.”
Arthur is silent for a few moments. Eames turns back to his drawing and waits him out.
“Can I at least wait to see it done?”
“…what?”
“The lion,” Arthur clarifies, with a tilt of his head.
Oh.
Honestly, Eames should say no. He should, really, but what’s the harm in it? Right?
“Sure dear, why not?”
The kid- Arthur seems happy enough to wait. He pulls out a book from his backpack and makes himself comfortable in one of the armchairs.
The parlor is silent for a while. There's an easiness to the company that Eames didn’t expect, but he finds he enjoys.
When Eames is done he turn the notebook around and shows the guy the final result. His eyes light up at the art in front of him.
“It's amazing.”
“You like it, then?”
“Eames, it's beautiful. He looks so real. I could easily get something like this tattooed on me.”
“You still might, dear. I’ll be happy to do it, if you're a good boy and wait until you’re eighteen.”
“Or if I can change your mind.”
The gal on him, honestly. Eames is amazed.
Well, why not? Might give the kid something to do. This could be fun.
“Or if you can change my mind. You won't though.”
The kid smiles beautifully, like Eames has made his year.
“We'll see.”
*
The next time the kid comes around Eames is in the middle of the tattoo. But he still notices, of course he does, knows the minute the guy walks in through the front door and chats away with his receptionist. Eames can't pay them much mind though. He’s busy at the moment. And he's close to done anyway.
The client is very satisfied with the result, luckily. The lion covers all of his left shoulder blade, the mane just out of proportion, blowing in the wind. Eames gives him advice on all the dos and don'ts while the skin heals over the next couple of weeks, and walks him off to the front door, and says goodbye with a wave, and only then acknowledges the stubborn guest he got himself stuck with.
"Still not gonna tattoo you,” he tells Arthur, as he closes the door. Arthur is not discouraged.
"Keep hope alive, right?" Arthur says, and smiles. Eames raises an eyebrow at that.
“I see you've met my receptionist. Is he giving you any trouble, doll?”
“Not at all. He's been a sweetheart. Did you know that he's not, in fact, eighteen?”
“I did notice, yes.”
“Funny that.”
Ariadne clearly has some more thoughts on the matter. Eames is saved from the whole thing by the metaphorical bell.
“Oh, look, a walk-in. Don't you have some receptioning to do?”
Ariadne sighs and gives him a look that says this isn't over. Oh, Eames knows it isn't.
“So,” Ariadne starts up again, once both client and not-old-enough-to-be-a-client leave.
“So,” Eames answers, and plops himself down on a chair. “Nice weather we're having.”
“So, your shop window crush is actually jailbait.” Ariadne was never good at letting things go.
“Yep.”
“Any thoughts on that?”
“Nope.”
“C'mon, work with me here.”
Eames shrugs. “He seems genuinely interested in tattoos and he'll be 18 in a couple months. If he still wants one then I'll be happy to tattoo him.”
“Just FYI I'm not bailing you out of jail.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”
“Ari, please. Of course not. But I'm not gonna tell him to stop coming. We could be friends.”
“That doesn't sound like a terrible idea at all.”
“Well, you know me,” he picks up his tablet and the notes he made for his 4 o'clock client. “I love a bad idea.” He winks at her, and starts his drawing.
*
"I'm really not gonna tattoo someone underage,” Eames says, the third time he comes back from lunch break to find Arthur chilling in one of the armchairs. “Did Ariadne let you in again?”
“Yep. She's getting coffee across the street. She said she wouldn't take more than 10 minutes.”
“God, she's a bad receptionist.”
Arthur doesn't bother to defend her, still flipping through the book on his lap. “You like her.”
“I do. I'm not gonna tattoo you, dear.”
Eames expects more of a protest this time, but Arthur just smiles, says, “Not today. I know.”
“Then whacha doing here?”
Arthur shrugs.
“I may be wearing you down. Also, it's on my way home.”
“From high school? Christ, you're truly a kid.”
“Shut up. I’m taking my last finals in a couple of weeks. How old are you, anyway?”
“23.”
"You're not that old. How long have you been a tattoo artist?"
Eames glances at him from the desk, but there doesn't seem to be anything there. No secret plans. Just genuine curiosity.
“Unofficially 3 years. Little less than 2 since I got the license. Had the shop for six months.”
Arthur looks impressed “It's a really nice shop. Everything, I mean.” He makes a hand gesture meant to convey the room the at large. Eames knows what he means.
“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
“You didn't go to college, then, right?”
"Wasn't for me. I did get certified to be a tattoo artist though, you know, if that's what you're worried about. I have all my documentation up to date. Not like I'm gonna tattoo you anyway."
Arthur glares a little at that.
"That's not- I wasn't insinuating anything. I just wanted to know more about-" Arthur cuts himself off but the you is clear.
Christ.
Eames let the kid go and get himself a crush while he wasn't paying attention. What the fuck is he supposed to do?
"In how long will you be 18, again?"
"4 months."
Eames wonders if he's going to hell.
"Ask away then. What else do you wanna know?"
*
Arthur does ask. He asks a lot, honestly, often, and uses it as an excuse to keep coming back to the shop. Eames doesn't know if he can consider it sneaky or not.
One week Arthur wants to know all about the first tattoo Eames made on someone else, full story.
“Infinity sign.”
“Boo, boring.”
“We all have to start somewhere, dear.”
Another time he's just dying to know when did Eames decide to be a tattoo artist, and how was that for him?
“I was 16. Always had quite an artistic side and little patience for academia. Sounded like a path that catered to both.”
“Nice. You've been practicing since then?”
“Yeah. Started an unofficial apprentice program that same year, following a tattoo artist around the studio and learning the basics. It's what Ariadne does, besides the reception, when she's actually around.”
“You're kidding. She wants to be a tattoo artist? I'd never say.”
“Yep. She goes to college for architecture, which makes a lot more money actually, I tried telling her that. But she was getting bored. She likes the creative part of art, the challenge, and architecture wasn't quite what she expected. I was looking for some help around the shop and she replied to the ad. She thought she'd see what this was like. So far she likes it.”
“Is she going to drop out?”
“God, no. She's forbidden. She came too far to not get a diploma. That's why I'm flexible with her hours, when she needs extra time to study for a test or work on a project, I don't mind. But she's a pretty terrible receptionist.”
“You like her.”
As if on cue Ariadne rushes in through the door, almost out of breath and balancing three different bags.
“I'm so sorry I'm late, I was studying all night for a test I was gonna have this morning but then I completely blacked out at like 4 am and missed the alarm clock and had to beg the teacher to let me take it late. Like, I had already studied so much?? If only I was given a second chance, I said, and he was like ugh fine. I rushed to the studio as soon as I was done, I swear. Here, for you.” Ariadne pulls a coffee cup from somewhere, clearly exposing her own lie of coming straight here, and holds it out for him.
“Bribery doesn't look good on you,” he tells her, but accepts the coffee anyway. “She has her qualities,” Eames answers Arthur, and lets him have the coffee first like he clearly wants to.
Arthur drowns half of it on one go. Jackass.
“How did you do on the test, dear?”
“Well, not to be arrogant, Eames, but if I got anything less than a 10 I'll honestly be surprised.”
“That's my girl.”
Another time it's just urgent for Arthur to know what's up with Eames and Ariadne. Well. Urgent after the one hour he spends working himself up to the question. Eames waits him out, honestly amused. He's drafting the Shanghai skyline for a Chinese customer that will be back later. Arthur is squirming in his seat for the hundredth time that day. When Ariadne excuses herself to the restroom he finally spills it out.
“Are you two- I mean, I don't mean to pry. I was just wondering if you and Ariadne- Well,-”
Eames is having fun, no lie. He crosses his arms and waits it out.
“I just mean, you're familiar with each other--”
Meh, it hasn't been that long since he was hormonal and with a crush. He can have some empathy. He finally ends Arthur's struggle.
“No, dear. I thinks she's single. I'm pretty sure her type is like, people who are over 18, but try your chances.”
Arthur flushes. God, he's pretty. Being young is terrible, you really wear your every thought on your face. Eames spares a moment to hope he wasn't that bad on his time, but who is he kidding, of course he was.
“I- I wasn't trying to date her.”
Yeah, no shit.
Arthur finally seems to notice that Eames is messing with him and flushes even more, glares and rolls his eyes. Eames can't quite keep the smile in.
“Whatever, you couldn't get together with someone like that anyway,” Arthur finally tells him.
“Oh? And since when are you her number one defender?”
“Since 20 seconds ago, when I apparently got a crush on her, or so I hear.”
“Keep hope alive, dear, one of these days she may give you a chance.”
Arthur puts a hand over heart, pure comedic drama.
“You really think so?”
When Ariadne finally comes out of the restroom Eames is laughing his heart out. She pauses, shakes her head at them and goes back to work.
“How’s being friends working?” Ariadne asks, on closing time.
“It's going good, thank you very much.”
“Ten dollars says it will lead to pain and heartbreak,” she says, pulling out a ten. Eames matches it.
“You're on. I'll take that side of the bet, though.”
“Hey, that's cheating!”
*
“How old were you when you got your first tattoo?” Arthur asks, out of the blue one day.
“15,” Eames answers, absentmindedly.
Arthur stares for so long that the weight of it has Eames glancing up.
“Oh.” He finally catches up. “My tattoo artist was a lot shadier than I am, dear. I hold myself to a higher moral standard.”
Arthur gives him a look, like he doesn't buy it, like Eames doesn't scream out good christian boy with high moral standards. Eames resents that. It's true, of course, but he resents the implication. He raises an eyebrow. After a moment Arthur sighs.
“Did you regret it? Your first tattoo?”
“Of course. I was fifteen. The design was awful, some stylized skull thing that was supposed to show how much of a badass I was.” He still remembers the look on his mother's face when she first saw it. That was priceless.
“You're smiling,” Arthur points out.
“It's a good memory.”
Arthur’s amused, like he won the argument they weren't quite having. Eames doesn't correct him. Smug, unfortunately, looks beautiful on Arthur.
Eames pulls up the right sleeve of his t-shirt. “I've since covered it up with this beauty over here.”
Arthur gets up and walks over to his table, to get a closer look.
It's an intricate design, a royal flush seemingly falling out of nowhere, a few stacks of chips and money around. The cards are just out of order, ten to king above the ace, the king with a skull-like face that covers all of the card and incorporated most of the old tattoo, and a heavy background where the rest would have been visible. He didn't do it himself, of course, but he did draw a lot of it, the friend in charge of the task finishing the last details on his skin. It's gorgeous. But Eames may be biased.
“It's gorgeous,” Arthur says, and well, you didn't hear it from him.
“Does it have any meaning?” Arthur asks, looking up. Eames kinda wishes he wasn't so keen on eye contact all the time. It's kind of overwhelming.
“I've always been a bit of a gambler. I take chances on things, I take risks. Sometimes, not always, mind you, but sometimes they pay off. And they make all those other times worth it in the end.”
“And when was the last time you really took a chance on something? A risk, just in the hope you may be right?”
Eames regards him for a moment. Imagines giving up the fight. Imagines pressing him up against a wall and kissing him stupid. Imagines, just for a moment, giving him what he wants.
“May be going too far, dear.”
“Alright, alright,” Arthur says, putting his hands up, universal sign for backing off. But his mind is extrapolating, Eames can feel it. Arthur lets the moment pass and points to the tattoo again. “Is that your favorite?”
“These are my children, Arthur, I can't play favorites like that. But I am quite proud of it.” He smiles. Arthur smiles too, leans a little onto his table.
“Did it hurt?”
Eames blinks. “...when I got the tattoo?”
“No, when you fell from heaven. Yes, when you got the tattoo, Eames.”
“Dick. You never asked something like that before. And you did want to get one yourself.”
“Still do.”
“Well, kinda seems like something you should have worried about before.”
“Meh. I'll be fine. Not like you're gonna tattoo me soon anyway, or so I hear again and again.”
Eames leans back on his chair, crosses his arms.
“Or at all, if you keep up with that attitude,” he warns him.
“Oh, is that so?” Arthur crosses his. Bastard does love a challenge.
“Uh huh. 18 or not, I could just tell you no. You should start being nice to me or you may need to find yourself another tattoo artist.”
Arthur grins. “You want me to be nice to you? I can do that. I can be real nice.”
Eames didn't expect that one. He holds it in for a second but he finally laughs, shakes his head. “I give up, you won this round. This round, mind you. Go see if Ariadne is done sanitizing the guns in the next room and bring her over. We can order a pizza.”
“Sure thing, Eames.”
“So, updates on being friends?”
“Zero felonies so far,” he answers, and holds the door open for her.
“Good for you.”
*
Another time it's been complete silence in the store for an hour, save for Eames’ pencil working on paper or the occasional flip of a page. Arthur finally finishes whatever he was working on and turns back to Eames, stretching his arms above his head.
“In some countries I'm old enough, you know,” Arthur says.
“Sure. Back home in the UK the age of consent is 16, in China I think it's 14. Doesn't make it right.”
Arthur snorts.
“I meant old enough to get a tattoo.”
Eames stops, thrown off track.
“Yeah. For the Netherlands it's 16, some countries approve with parental consent, some others don't have a regulation for this. But, I mean- It's still. It's quite a commitment. Not everyone is ready for that.”
“You were.”
“Well, I can't be a reference, dear. I clearly like tattoos.” He makes a hand gesture to the parlor at large.
“I like them too,” Arthur says, with a hint of a challenge.
“It's something you need to be sure, Arthur, you can't regret this forever.”
"What if I am?" Arthur asks carefully. "I know myself, Eames. Could even trust me to be sure?"
“It's not about trust. It's something you could regret for the rest of your life. You would have to be really sure, because, putting the illegal part aside, if you regretted this when you couldn't take it back anymore, then I was older, and should have known better than to let you-"
"I wouldn't regret anything about you."
Eames sighs. "Boy, I sure love talking about getting tattoos with you." Arthur honest to god winks. Eames lets out a surprised laugh at that.
“If you're sure now you're still gonna be in a few months. You'll just have more time to think about it. Being 18 is non-negotiable. Some people enjoy the illegal part, you know, the thrill of getting away with it and I understand. God, I do. Getting my first tattoo was a lot like that for me, Arthur, and I enjoyed it, I won't lie. But I'm not willing to be your thrill ride for you. It's honestly insulting. Look me up if you're still interested when you're legal.”
Arthur is stunned into silence. A few moments pass before he responds, quietly, “All right.” He leaves not too long after that. Eames isn't sure how he's supposed to feel.
“So… being friends?” Ari asks.
“Oh, fuck off,” Eames tells her, and pays her her money.
*
And then, well, it's not like Eames has any right to be surprised, Eames was clearly telling Arthur to piss off in no uncertain terms but Arthur proceeds to do… just that? And stops coming to the shop. Eames doesn't hide his disappointment. He tries to think if he was too harsh, if he offended him somehow, but he truly just said what had to be said. That's all. Maybe- Maybe Arthur really was just looking for some forbidden, easy fun to cross off a bucket list. Eames tries not to feel hurt by that. He fails.
He holds out hope that maybe- But the two month mark, around when Arthur's birthday should have been, comes and goes and Eames spends the week thinking maybe he'll show up again, maybe he was just following the limit Eames imposed, maybe they'll at least get to talk again, he could swear they were becoming friends—but Arthur doesn't show up at the shop and Eames stops waiting for him to do so.
Maybe 5 months pass. Not that Eames has been counting. It's with a great sense of déjà vu that he sees Arthur again.
It’s just about the closing time and Eames and Ariadne are cleaning things up. For a second, Eames glances outside and Arthur is just there, admiring the shop from the window, looking intently at the art on the wall. Eames has seen that one before. Ariadne doesn't notice, and finishes her part. She leaves first, and Eames watches as she finally sees Arthur, as they hug and talk for a few moments before she looks back, makes eye contact with Eames through the window and makes a hand gesture to show that she's gonna go. Giving them privacy, she would say if she was close enough. Leaving Eames alone to deal with this, she means. He sighs, gathers himself, and finally leaves the shop as well, locking up the door behind him.
“Hi there,” Arthur says.
“Hi.” So, what, Eames doesn't feel like making things easy. Sue him.
“Long time no see,” Arthur starts, carefully.
“I'm sure you've had your reasons.”
“I- Eames, you're the one who told me to leave.”
“What?” Eames didn't. “I didn't!”
“Yes, you did.”
“I told you not to expect me to sleep with someone underage. I didn't say you couldn't come to the shop.”
“You said I was insulting you!”
Well. When he puts it like that.
“Maybe I did say that.”
Eames thinks there's more to it. He's almost afraid to ask. “…is that why you stopped coming to the shop?”
Arthur looks down. “Kinda?”
“Wanna talk about that?”
“Eames, I was trying to be- I mean, I was 18, and getting ready for graduation and then I was done with high school, but that was it, right? 18 year old fresh out of high school, I wasn't going to impress you or anything. If I wanted to ask you- I mean, I still wasn't- you know what I mean.”
“I really don't.”
Arthur waves him off. “So I got a part time job at the library, and got ready for college.”
That's something else that had been going through Eames' mind. That maybe Arthur hasn't been coming because he’s not in town anymore- Eames might as well ask, right?
“Did you move, for college?”
“Yeah. Not far though. I’m at Berkeley, it's like an hour away.”
“You got into Berkeley, huh? Nice.”
Arthur smiles a little, flushes, almost shy. “Thank you. Classes started a few weeks ago. And the library gig, I mean, it's fun, and I get to make money.”
“That part is always good. Look at you enjoying adulthood.”
“Yeah.”
“And I guess your big moment has arrived then. You can finally get your tattoo. Even pay for it yourself.”
“Oh,” Arthur looks surprised, like that somehow hadn't crossed his mind. “Oh, yeah. Sure, later. I hope so. Been looking forward to this.” He takes a deep breath, like he's working himself up to something. And then, “But, I could actually take you somewhere nice now. If you haven't met someone. And you still want to.”
For a moment there, Eames has a flash of an idea. It's unrelated, and he could be wrong, but somehow he doesn't think he is. The tattoo was an excuse. Sure, he knew that, but also- maybe Arthur doesn't even want one.
‘I'll be damned,’ he thinks, and reconsiders quite a few things.
“What would you have done? If I had said yes to your tattoo back then?”
“Oh,” Arthur is definitely caught out. Bingo. “I didn't have much of a plan. It was an impulse. I just wanted to talk to you, honestly.” Arthur smiles, self conscious. Not really embarrassed, though. Maybe he chose to own up to it. Eames likes the attitude.
Arthur considers the question for a moment. “I'd have gotten something small. Maybe an infinity sign.”
“Boo, boring.”
“We all have to start somewhere, dear.”
Eames smiles, watches him for a moment.
“I'll be damned, sweetheart,” Eames tells him, mock serious. He is nothing if not a flirt. “You're trying to woo me.”
“I want to do something nice for you. I'm sorry I made you feel like I just wanted to use you for the illegal thrill of it all. That was shitty of me. I didn't realize I was doing it and I'm sorry. But I like you. I still want to be your friend. And I was actually hoping we could have dinner, if you want to.”
It sounds rehearsed, but for the way he’s holding himself. He's ready to be turned down, Eames thinks, but he's here anyway, chin up. The chance is worth the risk.
The college student in front of Eames has come a long way from the guy he first met. But there’s still the glint in his eyes, that spark of fire that Eames has come to know so well.
God, Eames missed him. It's good to have him back.
“Sure, darling. Woo me away. Where do you wanna go?”