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Arthur looks on as Miles helps Phillipa free a bundle of lavender balloons. Standing near Mal’s grave, he feels numb down to his toes but for the ache in his chest that accompanies every inhale he drags into his lungs. Arthur stares blankly up at the sky as the balloons rush up towards the clouds and then drift apart lazily in the afternoon sun.
“I know you loved her a lot,” Eames says quietly from just behind Arthur. The hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stands on end at Eames’ proximity, the clean scent of his cologne overtaking Arthur’s senses.
“Yeah,” Arthur replies, unable to say more as his voice wavers.
Eames gently presses his fingertips against the curve of Arthur’s back. “Come on, then, love,” he says kindly. “I think you could use a stiff drink.”
Arthur doesn’t protest as Eames leads him away from the grave site, away from Mal.
Eames reaches between them as they walk, unexpectedly twining their fingers together. Arthur feels something loosen in his chest at the touch. With his totem clenched in one hand and the other in Eames’ grip, Arthur pushes closer to the warmth of the man at his side.