Fanfic: Unbroken [ Arthur / Eames ]
Title: Unbroken
Rating: Teen
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames / Arthur
Disclaimer: If I owned them, would I be writing fanfiction? No. I don't own the characters.
Warnings: OoCness, m/m relations, mild gore
Summary: Written to fill a prompt on inception_kink . Arthur may be whole in the dream world but in the real world, his lower left leg is now a metal prosthetic that, over time, he has learned to compensate for perfectly. He feels he can't let anyone know that he's damaged in the real world, especially Eames.
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Winter used to be Arthur’s favorite time of the year. As a boy he loved playing in the snow and building snowmen, going ice skating and play hockey with the neighbors. The only way someone was able to get him out of the snow and into the house during those years was a threat or a promise for some hot chocolate adorned with whipped cream. When he thinks about those years now, he almost wishes he could return to being so carefree and happy about something so simple but he knows he can’t. Even if he could get the mentality, his body as it is now would never be able to handle it.
To be honest, the accident wasn’t his fault. He had been in the army, serving in Iraq. The mission itself had been routine until the vehicle had to stop in the city to find something important. What it was, he couldn’t remember now but he knew that whatever it was they would never find it. One of the insurgents had a bomb not too far from where he and his unit were walking slowly and while it didn’t have a very strong blast it had been near enough and strong enough to blow a large chunk of his leg off and warrant an amputation. Even now, he can still feel the phantom pains of that day in the mangled remains of the leg he still has while he pretends that his knee and everything below it is still made of flesh and bone.
He can no longer enjoy the winter as he once did. Now he has to be careful to avoid standing outside too long in case the metal joints should freeze up and while he can run through the ice and snow he doesn’t quiet have the same sense of balance on that one leg he had once had. He can’t ice skate for the same reason and hockey is too dangerous to play. A metal shin can cause some serious damage if he checked or was checked in the wrong way. Yes, as much as he used to love the winter, it’s something he finds he can no indulge himself in anymore, not without risking the others finding out the truth.
In the business that he’s in, it’s important to make sure that one is seen as indestructible. He has to appear perfect, flawless, whole in every sense of the word. No client is going to put their confidence in someone who doesn’t appear to be put together much less have a less than 95% success rate when it comes to their kind of business. After he had been discharged from the armed forces, it had taken time to be able to learn how to walk with the same grace he once used to or at least mimic it well enough to fool even the most skilled of forgers. Even now he has to be careful when he sees them around, especially Eames. There is a reason the man was known as the best, even if he was annoying boisterous outside the dream world.
But beyond business, there is another reason why Arthur chooses to hide his handicap from the forger, one he feels a perfectly valid reason even if Cobb does not. The man, after all, knew nothing of what it like to be anything less than a physically whole person and how difficult it was to keep up a relationship with someone when you were missing something so vitally important as a limb. Arthur couldn’t stand the idea of being pitied, of having a lover who would try to accommodate the handicap instead of treat him like a regular person. So long as he kept the fact that his left leg below the knee was only made of metal and plastic a secret, Eames would continue to treat him no different than before. Their banter / flirting could continue and there would be no change in the way that they interacted.
When they go into the dreams, it is of no concern. Eames and Cobb and Ariadne have seen him fight, run and seamlessly walk amongst the projects without being any wiser. His handicap doesn’t transfer there. More than once Eames had had to pull up his pant leg to see to a wound in this thigh or calf and his leg had been whole. His mind didn’t believe his body was anything less than completely human and he made sure it stayed that way. It made things a lot easier outside the dream anyway.
But today things are going badly. Something, Arthur figures, must have it out for him, because he can’t come up with another explanation as to why it is that so many things conspire against him at once. The latest job he signed up for turned out to be in Moscow, a place he never wanted to be in winter, but he had had no choice but to accept it as it was Cobb who called him in. To make matters worse it was in the Russian winter and the warehouse they were hiding out in didn’t have the heating that most buildings might have had as it had no electricity. To turn it on would be to reveal their location so the team had to suffer through the icy temperatures (though thankfully they were protected from the bitter wind). The client this time, for some unknown reason, was a member of a very powerful local gang that wanted information about the rival gang leader’s plans. Why it was that Dom accepted the work is beyond Arthur but it doesn’t matter all that much now. If they back out now, they’re dead men.
To make matters worse, the hotel Arthur ended up reserving was too close to take a taxi but far enough away that the cold was obnoxious through his clothes. He knew the second he made the first trip to see Cobb and get the minor details hacked out that his leg would be bothering him the whole mission. The knee joint didn’t like the cold of the Russian winter and the ankle kept freezing up if he didn’t move the foot for a while. At least he had been able to take comfort in the fact that, when Cobb gave him some details, there was no need for a forger. He had thought that that would mean that Eames was not going to be required for this mission and as such wouldn’t be here.
Today’s proven him wrong though. When he got up this morning, the first thing he had done was check on the weather and he had known the moment he looked at his laptop’s weather bug that it was going to be another day where he was going to be glad it was only him, Cobb and a pair of veterans in the field, a chemist and an architect. It was getting to freezing points that made his human joints stiffen him and his metal ones brittle. He would not be surprised to find ice in the ankle joint by the end the day and he knows that he’ll have to manipulate the foot physically every thirty minutes or so just to make sure that it was still mobile enough to look completely human. At least, he thought, he could get away with that with these new comers. Cobb already knew about the false leg and it wasn’t like he was trying to impress these new men.
But when he had gotten into the warehouse, dressed in a black suit under a black frock coat with insulated leather gloves, insulated snow-boots, warm scarf and a black felt cabbie hat that offered his ears some protection against the cold while still looking fashionable. He could feel, in the way he walked inside, that the ten minute walk in these temperatures had made the knee itself stiff and the ankle didn’t have the usual amount of gentle give it usually had. He doesn’t expect to see an extra person inside the warehouse around the small fire they had built for themselves to give some semblance of heat while they spoke, nor does he expect a certain familiar pair of eyes to turn on him with a playful smile touching full lips. “Ah! There you are, dahling,” Eames says, “the team and I were starting to wonder when you would finish your preening.”
Arthur barely takes a moment to recover his usual attitude but what he says in response he doesn’t particularly pay attention to. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of, “Some of us actually care what we look like when we leave the house in the morning” but he couldn’t be entirely sure. His mind was too focused on trying to make his walk look as natural as possible but he knew from the way Eames’ eyes flickered to his bad leg that it was noticed anyway. Still, he’d put forth an effort for now.
The actual meeting isn’t anything unexpected. Arthur sits with his ankle and knee outstretched toward the fire, letting the heat thaw out the metal while he writes notes in his note book as usual. His penmanship is a little clumsy with the gloves in the way but it’s better than losing his hands to the cold. Eames tries to make his usual jokes but the point man has been around the man long enough to tell that most of them have a few notes of concern. He makes sure his responses are purposely cold and even a little cruel. He can not have this happen, not now. As much as he feels he may be in love with Eames, he knows that it’s a fool’s dream and nothing more. To allow the man to get close is to allow the man the chance to find out that he’s not the strong person he keeps trying to portray himself as and be left behind.
Whatever his intentions were, however, they didn’t turn out the way he had meant them to. When their meeting was over and the final touches to the plan were put into place, Arthur turns and tries to hurry out into the Russian winter so he can get back to the hotel, eat his dinner in the restaurant downstairs and get some sleep. Well attempt at sleep anyway. His mind would never let him truly rest the right before a job. It was too busy running scenarios about what could possibly go wrong and coming up with solutions to them. It was both his gift and his curse and why he and Cobb were some of the highest ranking extractors in the world of illegal extraction.
He doesn’t get the chance to get far into the icy winter when a warm hand grabs his elbow and purposefully swings him around, causing him to have to spin on his heel and pray that he can avoid falling. Just walking on these streets is especially difficult right now with a stiff leg that has no real traction on it, regardless of the boot. Eames steadies him with a second hand but that worry from earlier is now back ten fold. Arthur wishes he could bring himself to pull away from the warm hands but after spending the last six hours in the cold of that warehouse, even with the fire, he is grateful for human warmth. “What’s wrong with you love?” the man asks, his voice lower and serious, “There is no point in hiding it.”
He tries to wrench away but doesn’t find the strength. “It’s none of your business Mister Eames.” He tries to sound as cold as the world around him but he can’t tell if he’s managed completely. He’s too busy trying not to slip and keep his voice down so that he doesn’t attract attention. Neither of them are speaking Russian but that makes them attention getters in this part of town. It’s not exactly known as a tourist spot. “Now let me go. I have things to do and places to be.” He tries one more time to force Eames to release him and this time it works, perhaps a little too well.
He lands on his stiff leg unnaturally and ends up slipping on the ice, taking a rather nasty fall backwards against a brick wall, his head thankfully cushioned by his hair and hat but not enough to stop the mild head ache that came from the hit anyway. Eames tries to catch him but he’s not quick enough. He winces as Arthur slides down the wall while he fights to regain his senses. The snow is going to soak into his neat suit pants but at the moment the throbbing pain in his head took precedence. He just needed a few seconds to force the pain away and he’ll be fine.
His lack of attention at that moment makes him straighten his leg for a few seconds before he tries to gather the good one underneath him to stand up properly. The few seconds is a mistake he doesn’t realize yet. All it takes for a forger as good as Eames is a few seconds to see something to critical about a target. “Next time, do as I ask the first time, would you?!” Arthur snaps, a gloved hand to his the throbbing back of his head as he bends to find his hat and slip it back on, “this would have been perfectly avoidable had you chosen to listen to me.”
He turns to go but Eames follows him. Neither of them say a word until Arthur is in his room and has hung up his protective outer layers. It’s Eames that starts talking while Arthur sits on a bench to untie his boots and trade them for his sleek shoes. “You down, dahling, in this kind of business, one’s background is relatively important information for his teammates to know.” He scratches at the back of his head while he talks and Arthur watches the movement warily but says nothing as he continues with his task. “Most things are of no consequence one way or another but in your case I think this little tidbit of information would have been useful to know before this job.”
A dark eyebrow quirks at the Englishman as Arthur straightens and checks his suit in a full length mirror just inside the closet door to make sure it’s not terribly wrinkled from the day and that the snow from earlier hasn’t left an unseemly wet spot on the back of his trousers. It might not have been able to soak completely through the frock coat so he might have been able to spare the suit. “What kind of information might you think I’ve been hiding from you?” He keeps his attention on his appearance for a moment longer before he turns around, only to find Eames has stepped much closer than the mirror would suggest and is a few strategic movements from boxing in the leaner man. He manages to keep his exterior calm when inside he’s nervous.
Eames’ expression is serious, bordering on angry but not quite there yet. “Don’t play dumb with me Arthur. You may have had me fooled for a while now but I know a good liar when I see one.” His dark eyes flicker to Arthur’s pant leg then come up to meet his eyes again. “How long have you worn the false leg?”
Arthur’s nervousness was tempted to surface but he fought it down again, deciding that anger was the better way. If he could push Eames away, make him back off now, then this would never come up again and he would be safe. His body wanted to be wrapped in his co-workers strong arms but his mind and heart knew better. “It really doesn’t matter to you, Mister Eames,” he says in clipped tones, “how long I’ve worn it so long as I haven’t worn it longer than I’ve known you. Then you can’t be blamed for having missed something so obvious as a prosthetic leg and you haven’t lost your skill.” He smirks, despite how unnatural it feels on his face. “Rest assured, you’re not the first nor the best forger I’ve tricked.”
But Eames isn’t going to let this go easily. Arthur tries to step around him but the slightly shorter man uses his bulk to not only block the way but force his co-worker to step back into the hotel room. Eames’ expression is almost murderous in it’s anger but Arthur can’t understand why that is. “Wrong answer,” he snaps, his voice low and dangerous while his hands flex at his sides but make no move to punch or grab the point man, “though I would give you points for evasion if I was in such a mood. As it is, this is not about me or my abilities as an observer. This is about how long you’ve kept hidden from your teammates something so critical as the fact you’re sporting a peg leg instead of a real one.”
“Metal.”
“What?”
“The leg. It’s made of metal.”
“Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“And I still won’t answer it.”
“Why?”
“Why do you want to know? All that should concern you is whether or not I can handle the mission and I can just fine. Problem solved. Now step back.”
“Goddamn it Arthur!” Eames explodes his fists punching the wall behind his co-worker and no doubt leaving dents while cracking some bones and shredding knuckles. Arthur would have winced in sympathy if he wasn’t trying to keep his persona up. “Why must you be so difficult?”
“Why must you be so persistent?”
“Maybe because I actually give a damn if you make it out of these jobs alive and unharmed more often than not!”
“How surprisingly sweet of you.” The words come off his tongue sarcastic but he means them.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
That statement makes Arthur scoff though he is confused. “I’m a point man, not a mind reader. I can gather information once it’s available to be had, not a moment- ”
What it is he is about to say is cut off when Eames, despite his hurt hands, grabs his face and holds him still while bringing their lips together in a hurried and angry kiss, one that has teeth clashing and mild flashes of pain radiating for a moment until Eames loosens his control and allows the young man he’s holding onto to adjust his position to make the kiss more comfortable. At first Arthur isn’t sure he’s computing this right. Something has to wrong. Even as he’s kissing Eames -a mantra he’s repeating to himself over and over in his own head because he doesn’t believe it’s indeed happening- he’s checking his totem’s weight, praying that this isn’t a dream but not holding any true realistic hope that it is.
His totem tells him it’s reality and he’s tempted to pull away in order to roll it to be sure but to do that would be to break this kiss he’s been craving and secretly fantasizing about long enough to nearly drive him insane. He lets go of the totem and brings his hands up now, one of them pulling on Eames’ belt loop so their bodies are closer together while the other buries itself in the man’s soft, black hair. He may have moaned a little when the kisses became open mouthed and the hands on his face let go so that the hands could roam over his suit, indirectly exploring his body as best the could with three to four layers in the way. As badly as he wants to pull this Eames into the bedroom and finally give in, his mind is reeling from this quick turn of events and his heart is wary. This wouldn’t be the first time he was used by a man who pitied for sex in his life but he would be damned if he let this man twist him in the same way.
He pulls away, his hands trying to decide between pulling Eames closer and shoving him away. His mind and heart are at war with one another. “No,” he says to himself, closing his eyes and trying to decide which part of himself he’s rooting for, “I won’t do this. I won’t let you do this to me.”
“Do what dahling?” Eames asks him but Arthur turns his face away, unwilling to answer. He turns and tries to leave but the bulkier man won’t let him. “Tell me what you mean. What won’t you let me do to you?”
Arthur growls and opens his eyes to glare at Eames. “I won’t let you make me another one of your whores,” he snaps, angry and cold and aiming to be cruel. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand being so close to what he wants when he knows he’ll only be hurt in the end. “If you want sex go find a willing body down stairs. I’m sure there are more than a few who will be more than happy to fall into bed with you.”
Eames doesn’t back up but he shifts the way his arms are resting beside Arthur’s head so that they are instead pinning his shoulders to the wall. Arthur’s hands automatically come up to catch his elbows, ready to pinch some nerves to make the man let go but he stops himself in time. For a long moment they stare into each other’s eyes, Arthur disinterestedly while Eames all but glares. What exactly he said to anger the man is beyond him but Arthur is trying to shut his emotions out of this argument. He believes its for the better.
“That is really unfair of you to assume that I would sleep with you just for the sake of sex. Have you never heard of giving the benefit of the doubt?”
“Not when it comes to this.”
A look flashes across Eames’ expression for only a second or two and all Arthur is able to read into it is surprise and disgust. It makes his blood boil. “If you think I’ll just use you and toss you aside-”
Arthur scoffs. “-I’m wrong? I doubt that. I’m an information gatherer Eames. I’ve seen the trail of men and women you leave behind you every place you go. Just because I’ve managed to catch your attention on one of my bad days doesn’t mean you’re going to change.”
Eames is fed up. One hand flies back and comes down to slap Arthur hard enough across the face to have the younger man stumbling. Arthur manages to catch himself against a door jam but all he does in response is adjust his jaw as if to make sure it is in place. This lack of retaliation has Eames on the edge so he keeps his guard up and doesn’t back down.
“I have never been more insulted in all my life, Mister Arthur Greene, and you’re lucky I’m in a more generous mood than a should be or that slap would be the least of your worries.” He watches as Arthur straightens and fixes fairly indifferent eyes with his. “But I also know the game you’re playing with me. I don’t know if I should feel more insulted about that or the actual words you just spat at me.”
The mark on Arthur’s face is already starting to redden. His earlier anger is replaced nothingness. The slap to the face has done more than simply knocked some “sense” into him. One of his former lovers was like that too. “It hardly matters, Eames. Get the fuck out of my room. Now. I have work to finish up.”
“Not until you tell me exactly why it is you’re trying to push me away so hard you’re actually going to let me get away with slapping that pretty face of yours like that.”
Dark eyes meet Eames’ eyes that look older than the young face they belong to. “How does trying to save what’s left of my dignity for today sound?” Arthur says as he walks away from the wall and further into the room, brushing by his co-worker and this time not being stopped. The warmth of the room has allowed his leg the chance to thaw but now he needs to take it off to allow the metal to dry completely. “Or better yet, I’m trying to get you out of my room so I can work without wearing the damn leg on.”
Eames does not look impressed. He raises his eyebrows when he asks “And you can not remove the prosthetic with me present because…” with a straight expression.
Arthur laughs bitterly as he sits on the bed to take off his shoes carefully and then his socks. “You’ve probably never dealt with being less than normal your whole life. I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” Once the two sets are off, Eames can see the false foot and metal ankle for the seconds it takes for his companion to stand and start undoing his suit. He walks over to a closet while he unties his tie and undoes he first few buttons at his collar. “It’s one thing to admit to being less than a full man to someone and another to actually prove it.”
The tie is hung up as Eames steps closer and the suit jacket and vest go onto a separate hanger, both open so that Arthur can add the pants to it when he gets to that point. He pointedly doesn’t look at Eames as he turns to the bed to retrieve the t-shirt he was going to wear to bed with his boxer shorts. He knows the man has followed him into this part of the room and is just watching for now. He’s fine with letting the other think while he changes. The shirt tails are pulled out of the pants as the cuffs are undone and the precious links are set to rest on the bureau for now. He gets about half way through unbuttoning his shirt when Eames speaks again.
“I think I must have misunderstood you, Arthur. Did you just tell me you are less of a man because you have a fake leg? I could have sworn that was what you just told me.” There is disbelief and mild mockery painting the words but the point man finds he can care less.
Arthur laughs. “I dare you to tell me differently and mean it.” He finishes with the shirt and sets it aside, letting the old army dog tags he still wears under his suit collar dangle when he pulls the undershirt off and tosses both shirt and undershirt into a bag he uses as a laundry hamper when on jobs. The undershirt manages to undo some of the gel in his hair and a few strands fall loose into his face. He knows Eames is staring but tries not to be self conscious about it. He knows how damaged he looks.
The bomb that had taken his leg had left other marks on his body that day and when he first got into the world of illegal extraction, things hadn’t exactly been a smooth ride either. Scars litter his torso, some of them long and thin as if they were carved by a blade and some short but gnarled that came from bullets, shrapnel and other inelegant methods of carving his skin. The belt comes off next and is set aside before the suit pants are dropped and he steps out of them. Underneath he had worn a pair of plain, black boxer briefs so he wasn’t completely exposed but he felt he was more than exposed enough to make his point. The remaining portion of his leg is heavily scarred and his stump is resting in the socket right where his knee should be. The rest of the leg is made of metal with wires and machinations that move in the way human muscles would have. The foot looks like a normal person’s foot if it was made of plastic. The calf of his remaining leg is heavily scarred, a reminder of how close he came to losing that leg too.
He quirks an eyebrow at Eames as if to say “Well?” and waits for a few moments for Eames to have his fill of the sight before he slips the t-shirt on and goes about hanging up the pants with the rest of the suit itself. He walks with the same ease that he used to be able to when he had his real leg now that the metal has regained his normal recommended temperatures and once his clothes are in order he turns to the bed and sits down on it, his hand mussing his own hair to get as much of the gel in it out as possible, before he turns to the false leg and carefully removes it. The skin underneath it is irritated and he winces but he knows it will calm with time.
When he does turn his attention to his co-worker after he stretches out on the bed, one leg whole but scarred and the other missing below the knee, he isn’t sure what kind of expression he was expecting but it hadn’t been this one. There was an odd combination of horror, anger, lust and affection warring in those English features and as much as Arthur wanted to believe he knew exactly which fact each emotion was attached to he didn’t dare try to guess. He wasn’t in the habit of guessing anything. He made decisions based on fact and only fact.
“I have two things to say to that,” is Eames’ reply as he steps further into the room and removes his own jackets, draping them over the back of the nearby chair before coming to sit by Arthur’s side on the bed, “One; whoever it was that told you we are less of a man because you got your leg lopped off needs to have his clock cleaned by yours truly as soon as possible.” His hand comes to rest on Arthur’s stump, the warmth permeating the skin that even now remains a little more sensitive than it had initially been. “And two; what made you think that I would have a problem with you not having a full leg? Quite frankly, this insecurity of yours seems very out of character and it’s worrisome.”
“And you would know what is in character for me.”
“I am not one of the best forgers in the field out of luck alone, shockingly.”
Arthur’s soft laugh is bitter as he shifts and lifts his body so he can pull the blankets down and crawl into them. His earlier hunger is gone. His mind is too stressed. He wants to sleep and will as soon as Eames leaves him be. “Then for being such a good forger, you are shockingly lacking in attention to detail.” If this man who claims to know him so well has missed his clues then Eames is either not as good as he claims or Arthur is even better at hiding his attentions than he thought.
Arthur gets his lower body underneath the blankets just as Eames reaches out and cups his face again, not forcing him to look but encouraging it. His eyes seem to be searching for something so Arthur lets him look, doing his best to keep his expression blank but he can tell he’s not completely managing it. Something gives him away and Eames’ eyes widen a little in their surprise. “Well this is a rather unexpected turn of events,” the Englishman says but doesn’t let go, not completely, “I didn’t think it was quite that bad.”
“What is?”
“You think I can’t like you because you’re not the strong man you keep playing yourself off as.”
“Any man that I know would be more than a little annoyed with being lied to for so long.”
Eames laughs and lets his hand reach up to card through Arthur’s slightly loosened hair, loosening the black strands even more from the gel’s hold. “It’s not a lie,” he says with a soft smile on his face, “Other than the confidence, the person you play yourself off as is who you really are. Trust me, there are some things you can’t hide for long periods of time and you haven’t been bothering to hide most of them.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at his co-worker but says nothing and lets Eames continue. “You’re intelligent and quick witted and have such a unique sense of humor I have trouble keeping up with you sometimes. You’re fast and strong and have such an affinity for your work sometimes I think you want to stay up all those nights, researching the mark, because you love playing detective. None of those things can easily be hidden for a long period of time and I think your physical strength and prowess is no exception.”
Eames leans forward and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “You might not think you are the man you once were but I see otherwise,” he says, “and that is one of the reasons why I’m so fond of you, pet. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
When Eames leans back just a bit Arthur tilts his head up to get a better view, to look his coworker in the eyes so he can tell him just how delusional he is, but before he can hope to get the words out, Eames kisses him again. This time the kiss is nothing more than the pressure of their lips pressing against one another, lightly at first and progressively getting harder. Arthur doesn’t have a protest this time. His hands come up and catch on Eames, one to brush the stubble on the other man’s jaw and the other to cling to his back as the stockier man slides down the bed to hold him closer. Their kisses deepen but there is no lust in them this time. There is only a need to reassure each other that they genuinely care.
How long they spend kissing, neither man really notices. All that they know is that by the end of it, they are lying on the bed, Arthur with his body underneath the blankets and Eames hovering over him, staring into each other’s eyes as if in disbelief that this is real. Arthur’s hands frame Eames’ face and as much as he tries to fight them, he can feel tears building up in his eyes. For so long he felt he had no choice but to hide his affections along with his fake leg and now he learns that not only does he have no real reason to hide either, both are accepted in the eyes of the one person outside of Cobb whose opinion on the matter might matter to him. He is happier than he can remember being in a long time and he’s having trouble keeping the emotion at bay.
Eames hushes him and kisses away his tears of joy before getting up and offering to order them both room service. He knows neither of them have eaten and that they need their strength for tomorrow. Arthur accepts and Eames walks out of the room to make the call after Arthur tells him what he wants. Once the forger is out of the room, though, Arthur turns in the bed to wrap his arms around one of the fluffier pillows, using it to hide a smile. He knows he should check his totem right now. It would be the most responsible thing. However, for now, he’s too happy to care if it’s a dream or not. Tomorrow is going to be the beginning of a new chapter in his life and with it comes a new romance.
Rating: Teen
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Eames / Arthur
Disclaimer: If I owned them, would I be writing fanfiction? No. I don't own the characters.
Warnings: OoCness, m/m relations, mild gore
Summary: Written to fill a prompt on inception_kink . Arthur may be whole in the dream world but in the real world, his lower left leg is now a metal prosthetic that, over time, he has learned to compensate for perfectly. He feels he can't let anyone know that he's damaged in the real world, especially Eames.
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Winter used to be Arthur’s favorite time of the year. As a boy he loved playing in the snow and building snowmen, going ice skating and play hockey with the neighbors. The only way someone was able to get him out of the snow and into the house during those years was a threat or a promise for some hot chocolate adorned with whipped cream. When he thinks about those years now, he almost wishes he could return to being so carefree and happy about something so simple but he knows he can’t. Even if he could get the mentality, his body as it is now would never be able to handle it.
To be honest, the accident wasn’t his fault. He had been in the army, serving in Iraq. The mission itself had been routine until the vehicle had to stop in the city to find something important. What it was, he couldn’t remember now but he knew that whatever it was they would never find it. One of the insurgents had a bomb not too far from where he and his unit were walking slowly and while it didn’t have a very strong blast it had been near enough and strong enough to blow a large chunk of his leg off and warrant an amputation. Even now, he can still feel the phantom pains of that day in the mangled remains of the leg he still has while he pretends that his knee and everything below it is still made of flesh and bone.
He can no longer enjoy the winter as he once did. Now he has to be careful to avoid standing outside too long in case the metal joints should freeze up and while he can run through the ice and snow he doesn’t quiet have the same sense of balance on that one leg he had once had. He can’t ice skate for the same reason and hockey is too dangerous to play. A metal shin can cause some serious damage if he checked or was checked in the wrong way. Yes, as much as he used to love the winter, it’s something he finds he can no indulge himself in anymore, not without risking the others finding out the truth.
In the business that he’s in, it’s important to make sure that one is seen as indestructible. He has to appear perfect, flawless, whole in every sense of the word. No client is going to put their confidence in someone who doesn’t appear to be put together much less have a less than 95% success rate when it comes to their kind of business. After he had been discharged from the armed forces, it had taken time to be able to learn how to walk with the same grace he once used to or at least mimic it well enough to fool even the most skilled of forgers. Even now he has to be careful when he sees them around, especially Eames. There is a reason the man was known as the best, even if he was annoying boisterous outside the dream world.
But beyond business, there is another reason why Arthur chooses to hide his handicap from the forger, one he feels a perfectly valid reason even if Cobb does not. The man, after all, knew nothing of what it like to be anything less than a physically whole person and how difficult it was to keep up a relationship with someone when you were missing something so vitally important as a limb. Arthur couldn’t stand the idea of being pitied, of having a lover who would try to accommodate the handicap instead of treat him like a regular person. So long as he kept the fact that his left leg below the knee was only made of metal and plastic a secret, Eames would continue to treat him no different than before. Their banter / flirting could continue and there would be no change in the way that they interacted.
When they go into the dreams, it is of no concern. Eames and Cobb and Ariadne have seen him fight, run and seamlessly walk amongst the projects without being any wiser. His handicap doesn’t transfer there. More than once Eames had had to pull up his pant leg to see to a wound in this thigh or calf and his leg had been whole. His mind didn’t believe his body was anything less than completely human and he made sure it stayed that way. It made things a lot easier outside the dream anyway.
But today things are going badly. Something, Arthur figures, must have it out for him, because he can’t come up with another explanation as to why it is that so many things conspire against him at once. The latest job he signed up for turned out to be in Moscow, a place he never wanted to be in winter, but he had had no choice but to accept it as it was Cobb who called him in. To make matters worse it was in the Russian winter and the warehouse they were hiding out in didn’t have the heating that most buildings might have had as it had no electricity. To turn it on would be to reveal their location so the team had to suffer through the icy temperatures (though thankfully they were protected from the bitter wind). The client this time, for some unknown reason, was a member of a very powerful local gang that wanted information about the rival gang leader’s plans. Why it was that Dom accepted the work is beyond Arthur but it doesn’t matter all that much now. If they back out now, they’re dead men.
To make matters worse, the hotel Arthur ended up reserving was too close to take a taxi but far enough away that the cold was obnoxious through his clothes. He knew the second he made the first trip to see Cobb and get the minor details hacked out that his leg would be bothering him the whole mission. The knee joint didn’t like the cold of the Russian winter and the ankle kept freezing up if he didn’t move the foot for a while. At least he had been able to take comfort in the fact that, when Cobb gave him some details, there was no need for a forger. He had thought that that would mean that Eames was not going to be required for this mission and as such wouldn’t be here.
Today’s proven him wrong though. When he got up this morning, the first thing he had done was check on the weather and he had known the moment he looked at his laptop’s weather bug that it was going to be another day where he was going to be glad it was only him, Cobb and a pair of veterans in the field, a chemist and an architect. It was getting to freezing points that made his human joints stiffen him and his metal ones brittle. He would not be surprised to find ice in the ankle joint by the end the day and he knows that he’ll have to manipulate the foot physically every thirty minutes or so just to make sure that it was still mobile enough to look completely human. At least, he thought, he could get away with that with these new comers. Cobb already knew about the false leg and it wasn’t like he was trying to impress these new men.
But when he had gotten into the warehouse, dressed in a black suit under a black frock coat with insulated leather gloves, insulated snow-boots, warm scarf and a black felt cabbie hat that offered his ears some protection against the cold while still looking fashionable. He could feel, in the way he walked inside, that the ten minute walk in these temperatures had made the knee itself stiff and the ankle didn’t have the usual amount of gentle give it usually had. He doesn’t expect to see an extra person inside the warehouse around the small fire they had built for themselves to give some semblance of heat while they spoke, nor does he expect a certain familiar pair of eyes to turn on him with a playful smile touching full lips. “Ah! There you are, dahling,” Eames says, “the team and I were starting to wonder when you would finish your preening.”
Arthur barely takes a moment to recover his usual attitude but what he says in response he doesn’t particularly pay attention to. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of, “Some of us actually care what we look like when we leave the house in the morning” but he couldn’t be entirely sure. His mind was too focused on trying to make his walk look as natural as possible but he knew from the way Eames’ eyes flickered to his bad leg that it was noticed anyway. Still, he’d put forth an effort for now.
The actual meeting isn’t anything unexpected. Arthur sits with his ankle and knee outstretched toward the fire, letting the heat thaw out the metal while he writes notes in his note book as usual. His penmanship is a little clumsy with the gloves in the way but it’s better than losing his hands to the cold. Eames tries to make his usual jokes but the point man has been around the man long enough to tell that most of them have a few notes of concern. He makes sure his responses are purposely cold and even a little cruel. He can not have this happen, not now. As much as he feels he may be in love with Eames, he knows that it’s a fool’s dream and nothing more. To allow the man to get close is to allow the man the chance to find out that he’s not the strong person he keeps trying to portray himself as and be left behind.
Whatever his intentions were, however, they didn’t turn out the way he had meant them to. When their meeting was over and the final touches to the plan were put into place, Arthur turns and tries to hurry out into the Russian winter so he can get back to the hotel, eat his dinner in the restaurant downstairs and get some sleep. Well attempt at sleep anyway. His mind would never let him truly rest the right before a job. It was too busy running scenarios about what could possibly go wrong and coming up with solutions to them. It was both his gift and his curse and why he and Cobb were some of the highest ranking extractors in the world of illegal extraction.
He doesn’t get the chance to get far into the icy winter when a warm hand grabs his elbow and purposefully swings him around, causing him to have to spin on his heel and pray that he can avoid falling. Just walking on these streets is especially difficult right now with a stiff leg that has no real traction on it, regardless of the boot. Eames steadies him with a second hand but that worry from earlier is now back ten fold. Arthur wishes he could bring himself to pull away from the warm hands but after spending the last six hours in the cold of that warehouse, even with the fire, he is grateful for human warmth. “What’s wrong with you love?” the man asks, his voice lower and serious, “There is no point in hiding it.”
He tries to wrench away but doesn’t find the strength. “It’s none of your business Mister Eames.” He tries to sound as cold as the world around him but he can’t tell if he’s managed completely. He’s too busy trying not to slip and keep his voice down so that he doesn’t attract attention. Neither of them are speaking Russian but that makes them attention getters in this part of town. It’s not exactly known as a tourist spot. “Now let me go. I have things to do and places to be.” He tries one more time to force Eames to release him and this time it works, perhaps a little too well.
He lands on his stiff leg unnaturally and ends up slipping on the ice, taking a rather nasty fall backwards against a brick wall, his head thankfully cushioned by his hair and hat but not enough to stop the mild head ache that came from the hit anyway. Eames tries to catch him but he’s not quick enough. He winces as Arthur slides down the wall while he fights to regain his senses. The snow is going to soak into his neat suit pants but at the moment the throbbing pain in his head took precedence. He just needed a few seconds to force the pain away and he’ll be fine.
His lack of attention at that moment makes him straighten his leg for a few seconds before he tries to gather the good one underneath him to stand up properly. The few seconds is a mistake he doesn’t realize yet. All it takes for a forger as good as Eames is a few seconds to see something to critical about a target. “Next time, do as I ask the first time, would you?!” Arthur snaps, a gloved hand to his the throbbing back of his head as he bends to find his hat and slip it back on, “this would have been perfectly avoidable had you chosen to listen to me.”
He turns to go but Eames follows him. Neither of them say a word until Arthur is in his room and has hung up his protective outer layers. It’s Eames that starts talking while Arthur sits on a bench to untie his boots and trade them for his sleek shoes. “You down, dahling, in this kind of business, one’s background is relatively important information for his teammates to know.” He scratches at the back of his head while he talks and Arthur watches the movement warily but says nothing as he continues with his task. “Most things are of no consequence one way or another but in your case I think this little tidbit of information would have been useful to know before this job.”
A dark eyebrow quirks at the Englishman as Arthur straightens and checks his suit in a full length mirror just inside the closet door to make sure it’s not terribly wrinkled from the day and that the snow from earlier hasn’t left an unseemly wet spot on the back of his trousers. It might not have been able to soak completely through the frock coat so he might have been able to spare the suit. “What kind of information might you think I’ve been hiding from you?” He keeps his attention on his appearance for a moment longer before he turns around, only to find Eames has stepped much closer than the mirror would suggest and is a few strategic movements from boxing in the leaner man. He manages to keep his exterior calm when inside he’s nervous.
Eames’ expression is serious, bordering on angry but not quite there yet. “Don’t play dumb with me Arthur. You may have had me fooled for a while now but I know a good liar when I see one.” His dark eyes flicker to Arthur’s pant leg then come up to meet his eyes again. “How long have you worn the false leg?”
Arthur’s nervousness was tempted to surface but he fought it down again, deciding that anger was the better way. If he could push Eames away, make him back off now, then this would never come up again and he would be safe. His body wanted to be wrapped in his co-workers strong arms but his mind and heart knew better. “It really doesn’t matter to you, Mister Eames,” he says in clipped tones, “how long I’ve worn it so long as I haven’t worn it longer than I’ve known you. Then you can’t be blamed for having missed something so obvious as a prosthetic leg and you haven’t lost your skill.” He smirks, despite how unnatural it feels on his face. “Rest assured, you’re not the first nor the best forger I’ve tricked.”
But Eames isn’t going to let this go easily. Arthur tries to step around him but the slightly shorter man uses his bulk to not only block the way but force his co-worker to step back into the hotel room. Eames’ expression is almost murderous in it’s anger but Arthur can’t understand why that is. “Wrong answer,” he snaps, his voice low and dangerous while his hands flex at his sides but make no move to punch or grab the point man, “though I would give you points for evasion if I was in such a mood. As it is, this is not about me or my abilities as an observer. This is about how long you’ve kept hidden from your teammates something so critical as the fact you’re sporting a peg leg instead of a real one.”
“Metal.”
“What?”
“The leg. It’s made of metal.”
“Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“And I still won’t answer it.”
“Why?”
“Why do you want to know? All that should concern you is whether or not I can handle the mission and I can just fine. Problem solved. Now step back.”
“Goddamn it Arthur!” Eames explodes his fists punching the wall behind his co-worker and no doubt leaving dents while cracking some bones and shredding knuckles. Arthur would have winced in sympathy if he wasn’t trying to keep his persona up. “Why must you be so difficult?”
“Why must you be so persistent?”
“Maybe because I actually give a damn if you make it out of these jobs alive and unharmed more often than not!”
“How surprisingly sweet of you.” The words come off his tongue sarcastic but he means them.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
That statement makes Arthur scoff though he is confused. “I’m a point man, not a mind reader. I can gather information once it’s available to be had, not a moment- ”
What it is he is about to say is cut off when Eames, despite his hurt hands, grabs his face and holds him still while bringing their lips together in a hurried and angry kiss, one that has teeth clashing and mild flashes of pain radiating for a moment until Eames loosens his control and allows the young man he’s holding onto to adjust his position to make the kiss more comfortable. At first Arthur isn’t sure he’s computing this right. Something has to wrong. Even as he’s kissing Eames -a mantra he’s repeating to himself over and over in his own head because he doesn’t believe it’s indeed happening- he’s checking his totem’s weight, praying that this isn’t a dream but not holding any true realistic hope that it is.
His totem tells him it’s reality and he’s tempted to pull away in order to roll it to be sure but to do that would be to break this kiss he’s been craving and secretly fantasizing about long enough to nearly drive him insane. He lets go of the totem and brings his hands up now, one of them pulling on Eames’ belt loop so their bodies are closer together while the other buries itself in the man’s soft, black hair. He may have moaned a little when the kisses became open mouthed and the hands on his face let go so that the hands could roam over his suit, indirectly exploring his body as best the could with three to four layers in the way. As badly as he wants to pull this Eames into the bedroom and finally give in, his mind is reeling from this quick turn of events and his heart is wary. This wouldn’t be the first time he was used by a man who pitied for sex in his life but he would be damned if he let this man twist him in the same way.
He pulls away, his hands trying to decide between pulling Eames closer and shoving him away. His mind and heart are at war with one another. “No,” he says to himself, closing his eyes and trying to decide which part of himself he’s rooting for, “I won’t do this. I won’t let you do this to me.”
“Do what dahling?” Eames asks him but Arthur turns his face away, unwilling to answer. He turns and tries to leave but the bulkier man won’t let him. “Tell me what you mean. What won’t you let me do to you?”
Arthur growls and opens his eyes to glare at Eames. “I won’t let you make me another one of your whores,” he snaps, angry and cold and aiming to be cruel. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand being so close to what he wants when he knows he’ll only be hurt in the end. “If you want sex go find a willing body down stairs. I’m sure there are more than a few who will be more than happy to fall into bed with you.”
Eames doesn’t back up but he shifts the way his arms are resting beside Arthur’s head so that they are instead pinning his shoulders to the wall. Arthur’s hands automatically come up to catch his elbows, ready to pinch some nerves to make the man let go but he stops himself in time. For a long moment they stare into each other’s eyes, Arthur disinterestedly while Eames all but glares. What exactly he said to anger the man is beyond him but Arthur is trying to shut his emotions out of this argument. He believes its for the better.
“That is really unfair of you to assume that I would sleep with you just for the sake of sex. Have you never heard of giving the benefit of the doubt?”
“Not when it comes to this.”
A look flashes across Eames’ expression for only a second or two and all Arthur is able to read into it is surprise and disgust. It makes his blood boil. “If you think I’ll just use you and toss you aside-”
Arthur scoffs. “-I’m wrong? I doubt that. I’m an information gatherer Eames. I’ve seen the trail of men and women you leave behind you every place you go. Just because I’ve managed to catch your attention on one of my bad days doesn’t mean you’re going to change.”
Eames is fed up. One hand flies back and comes down to slap Arthur hard enough across the face to have the younger man stumbling. Arthur manages to catch himself against a door jam but all he does in response is adjust his jaw as if to make sure it is in place. This lack of retaliation has Eames on the edge so he keeps his guard up and doesn’t back down.
“I have never been more insulted in all my life, Mister Arthur Greene, and you’re lucky I’m in a more generous mood than a should be or that slap would be the least of your worries.” He watches as Arthur straightens and fixes fairly indifferent eyes with his. “But I also know the game you’re playing with me. I don’t know if I should feel more insulted about that or the actual words you just spat at me.”
The mark on Arthur’s face is already starting to redden. His earlier anger is replaced nothingness. The slap to the face has done more than simply knocked some “sense” into him. One of his former lovers was like that too. “It hardly matters, Eames. Get the fuck out of my room. Now. I have work to finish up.”
“Not until you tell me exactly why it is you’re trying to push me away so hard you’re actually going to let me get away with slapping that pretty face of yours like that.”
Dark eyes meet Eames’ eyes that look older than the young face they belong to. “How does trying to save what’s left of my dignity for today sound?” Arthur says as he walks away from the wall and further into the room, brushing by his co-worker and this time not being stopped. The warmth of the room has allowed his leg the chance to thaw but now he needs to take it off to allow the metal to dry completely. “Or better yet, I’m trying to get you out of my room so I can work without wearing the damn leg on.”
Eames does not look impressed. He raises his eyebrows when he asks “And you can not remove the prosthetic with me present because…” with a straight expression.
Arthur laughs bitterly as he sits on the bed to take off his shoes carefully and then his socks. “You’ve probably never dealt with being less than normal your whole life. I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” Once the two sets are off, Eames can see the false foot and metal ankle for the seconds it takes for his companion to stand and start undoing his suit. He walks over to a closet while he unties his tie and undoes he first few buttons at his collar. “It’s one thing to admit to being less than a full man to someone and another to actually prove it.”
The tie is hung up as Eames steps closer and the suit jacket and vest go onto a separate hanger, both open so that Arthur can add the pants to it when he gets to that point. He pointedly doesn’t look at Eames as he turns to the bed to retrieve the t-shirt he was going to wear to bed with his boxer shorts. He knows the man has followed him into this part of the room and is just watching for now. He’s fine with letting the other think while he changes. The shirt tails are pulled out of the pants as the cuffs are undone and the precious links are set to rest on the bureau for now. He gets about half way through unbuttoning his shirt when Eames speaks again.
“I think I must have misunderstood you, Arthur. Did you just tell me you are less of a man because you have a fake leg? I could have sworn that was what you just told me.” There is disbelief and mild mockery painting the words but the point man finds he can care less.
Arthur laughs. “I dare you to tell me differently and mean it.” He finishes with the shirt and sets it aside, letting the old army dog tags he still wears under his suit collar dangle when he pulls the undershirt off and tosses both shirt and undershirt into a bag he uses as a laundry hamper when on jobs. The undershirt manages to undo some of the gel in his hair and a few strands fall loose into his face. He knows Eames is staring but tries not to be self conscious about it. He knows how damaged he looks.
The bomb that had taken his leg had left other marks on his body that day and when he first got into the world of illegal extraction, things hadn’t exactly been a smooth ride either. Scars litter his torso, some of them long and thin as if they were carved by a blade and some short but gnarled that came from bullets, shrapnel and other inelegant methods of carving his skin. The belt comes off next and is set aside before the suit pants are dropped and he steps out of them. Underneath he had worn a pair of plain, black boxer briefs so he wasn’t completely exposed but he felt he was more than exposed enough to make his point. The remaining portion of his leg is heavily scarred and his stump is resting in the socket right where his knee should be. The rest of the leg is made of metal with wires and machinations that move in the way human muscles would have. The foot looks like a normal person’s foot if it was made of plastic. The calf of his remaining leg is heavily scarred, a reminder of how close he came to losing that leg too.
He quirks an eyebrow at Eames as if to say “Well?” and waits for a few moments for Eames to have his fill of the sight before he slips the t-shirt on and goes about hanging up the pants with the rest of the suit itself. He walks with the same ease that he used to be able to when he had his real leg now that the metal has regained his normal recommended temperatures and once his clothes are in order he turns to the bed and sits down on it, his hand mussing his own hair to get as much of the gel in it out as possible, before he turns to the false leg and carefully removes it. The skin underneath it is irritated and he winces but he knows it will calm with time.
When he does turn his attention to his co-worker after he stretches out on the bed, one leg whole but scarred and the other missing below the knee, he isn’t sure what kind of expression he was expecting but it hadn’t been this one. There was an odd combination of horror, anger, lust and affection warring in those English features and as much as Arthur wanted to believe he knew exactly which fact each emotion was attached to he didn’t dare try to guess. He wasn’t in the habit of guessing anything. He made decisions based on fact and only fact.
“I have two things to say to that,” is Eames’ reply as he steps further into the room and removes his own jackets, draping them over the back of the nearby chair before coming to sit by Arthur’s side on the bed, “One; whoever it was that told you we are less of a man because you got your leg lopped off needs to have his clock cleaned by yours truly as soon as possible.” His hand comes to rest on Arthur’s stump, the warmth permeating the skin that even now remains a little more sensitive than it had initially been. “And two; what made you think that I would have a problem with you not having a full leg? Quite frankly, this insecurity of yours seems very out of character and it’s worrisome.”
“And you would know what is in character for me.”
“I am not one of the best forgers in the field out of luck alone, shockingly.”
Arthur’s soft laugh is bitter as he shifts and lifts his body so he can pull the blankets down and crawl into them. His earlier hunger is gone. His mind is too stressed. He wants to sleep and will as soon as Eames leaves him be. “Then for being such a good forger, you are shockingly lacking in attention to detail.” If this man who claims to know him so well has missed his clues then Eames is either not as good as he claims or Arthur is even better at hiding his attentions than he thought.
Arthur gets his lower body underneath the blankets just as Eames reaches out and cups his face again, not forcing him to look but encouraging it. His eyes seem to be searching for something so Arthur lets him look, doing his best to keep his expression blank but he can tell he’s not completely managing it. Something gives him away and Eames’ eyes widen a little in their surprise. “Well this is a rather unexpected turn of events,” the Englishman says but doesn’t let go, not completely, “I didn’t think it was quite that bad.”
“What is?”
“You think I can’t like you because you’re not the strong man you keep playing yourself off as.”
“Any man that I know would be more than a little annoyed with being lied to for so long.”
Eames laughs and lets his hand reach up to card through Arthur’s slightly loosened hair, loosening the black strands even more from the gel’s hold. “It’s not a lie,” he says with a soft smile on his face, “Other than the confidence, the person you play yourself off as is who you really are. Trust me, there are some things you can’t hide for long periods of time and you haven’t been bothering to hide most of them.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at his co-worker but says nothing and lets Eames continue. “You’re intelligent and quick witted and have such a unique sense of humor I have trouble keeping up with you sometimes. You’re fast and strong and have such an affinity for your work sometimes I think you want to stay up all those nights, researching the mark, because you love playing detective. None of those things can easily be hidden for a long period of time and I think your physical strength and prowess is no exception.”
Eames leans forward and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “You might not think you are the man you once were but I see otherwise,” he says, “and that is one of the reasons why I’m so fond of you, pet. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
When Eames leans back just a bit Arthur tilts his head up to get a better view, to look his coworker in the eyes so he can tell him just how delusional he is, but before he can hope to get the words out, Eames kisses him again. This time the kiss is nothing more than the pressure of their lips pressing against one another, lightly at first and progressively getting harder. Arthur doesn’t have a protest this time. His hands come up and catch on Eames, one to brush the stubble on the other man’s jaw and the other to cling to his back as the stockier man slides down the bed to hold him closer. Their kisses deepen but there is no lust in them this time. There is only a need to reassure each other that they genuinely care.
How long they spend kissing, neither man really notices. All that they know is that by the end of it, they are lying on the bed, Arthur with his body underneath the blankets and Eames hovering over him, staring into each other’s eyes as if in disbelief that this is real. Arthur’s hands frame Eames’ face and as much as he tries to fight them, he can feel tears building up in his eyes. For so long he felt he had no choice but to hide his affections along with his fake leg and now he learns that not only does he have no real reason to hide either, both are accepted in the eyes of the one person outside of Cobb whose opinion on the matter might matter to him. He is happier than he can remember being in a long time and he’s having trouble keeping the emotion at bay.
Eames hushes him and kisses away his tears of joy before getting up and offering to order them both room service. He knows neither of them have eaten and that they need their strength for tomorrow. Arthur accepts and Eames walks out of the room to make the call after Arthur tells him what he wants. Once the forger is out of the room, though, Arthur turns in the bed to wrap his arms around one of the fluffier pillows, using it to hide a smile. He knows he should check his totem right now. It would be the most responsible thing. However, for now, he’s too happy to care if it’s a dream or not. Tomorrow is going to be the beginning of a new chapter in his life and with it comes a new romance.