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3.
“Always a pleasure, Arthur,” Eames greets, before Cobb can make the introduction. There’s a challenge in his too-familiar smile, but Arthur refuses to rise to it; he takes his offered handshake.
“Mister Eames.”
Cobb frowns. “You know each other?”
“Quite well,” Eames declares, just as Arthur says, “Only a little.”
Arthur doesn’t flinch. Eames hasn’t let go of his hand.
10.
“Marry me,” Arthur sighs into Eames’ chest.
“Have done,” laughs Eames, a giddy puff against Arthur’s sweat-damp hair. “That was you, right? Because if I’ve dreamt two years—”
“I’m serious.”
Propping onto an elbow, Arthur knows he probably looks ridiculous: heavy-lidded, still breathless, pink blooms of beard burn mottling his face and neck. It must do the trick, anyway; Eames’ teasing expression falters.
“An actual wedding, this time,” Arthur insists. “Maybe even in public.”
“What, with all four of our friends?”
“Sounds about right.”
Eames regards him silently, thoughtfully. When he says “yes,” the second time, Arthur discovers it hasn’t lost its shine.
1.
I’m about to disappear for a while
jsyk
and i thought we were getting on so well
Not like that
Family emergency. My friend needs my help.
i see
can i be of assistance somehow?
It’s fine
There’s nothing you could do
if you let me, perhaps id surprise you
Eames. I can’t.
This isn’t gonna work out
Just…not now
I’m sorry
right
i can also be a stubborn bastard
jsyk
37.
“You’re not as stealthy as you used to be,” Eames calls over his shoulder.
“Fortunately,” Arthur scoffs, maneuvering through the screen door. “Otherwise you’d’ve been blindsided by my nefarious plot to bring you coffee.”
“Oh,” Eames chirps at the mug Arthur deposits into his hands. As Arthur goes to sit, he fails to fully suppress a grunt; a smirk pulls at Eames’ lips, but he doesn’t comment.
“Happy birthday,” Arthur says, after a beat. “You’ve officially aged into the old-man-rocking-on-the-front-porch stereotype.”
“Mmm. It’s probably the second most surprising turn, in all my sordid decades.”
“What’s the first?”
When Eames smiles at him, clever and gray and beautiful, always, his lined eyes are still bright.
“Yeah,” Arthur murmurs. “Mine, too.”
0.
“Do you proposition all your new colleagues on your first day,” Arthur asks, calculatedly unimpressed, “or am I just lucky?”
“You could be.”
“Jesus.”
The man perched on his too-small desk grins impossibly wider. “Oh, Arthur,” he purrs, because he’s apparently determined to ignore the surname embroidered on Arthur’s uniform. “It wouldn’t be anything serious.”
He materializes a card, scrawled with a number; the name doesn’t match his own civilian contractor badge, either. Arthur doesn’t know what possesses him to take it.
“Don’t make me regret this…Mister ‘Eames.'”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”