The Ash is in Our Clothes (prt. 2)
Arthur wakes up with a head stuffed with cotton. His arm is slung over Eames's chest, and the other man is snoring quite loudly. It's cold in the apartment, and Arthur thinks the heat must have gone out again, so he kisses Eames's cheek and crawls out of bed in search of fixing it. He grabs the first thing he can find off the floor, Eames's stupid sweater, and tugs it on.
In the kitchen area, he bangs the radiator until it starts working again, and then he puts the kettle on. He figures Eames will want tea, and frankly Arthur has enough of coffee at work every day.
He looks back at Eames in the bed, remembering the night before with a soft, fond smile. He can't remember the last time he's had sex in his own bed, or with someone who didn't leave afterwards. He can't remember the last time he woke up feeling satisfied and without a hint of regret.
He's pretty sure he's in love with Eames.
When the man awakens, sits up with a mess of bedhead and smiles sleepily at Arthur, he's sure of it.
In his next therapy session, he tells Mal about Eames.
"Arthur, that's wonderful," she says, and for once her smile isn't tilting towards sympathetic or worried. She seems genuinely excited. "I'm so happy for you."
Arthur can't help but smile back. "He's really great," he tells her. "He's the only thing in my life that feels right… I don't… I don't think I've ever felt this way before about anyone."
It's the first time he's ever really opened up to her, and this doesn't go without notice. "That's so fantastic, Arthur. I'm so happy that you have someone in your life to talk to. You're always so quiet at these sessions. I don't think I've ever seen you look this healthy."
Arthur thinks back on his first session, restless and twitching, rail thin and constantly darting his eyes around the office. He'd let her talk to him, tried to follow through with her advice, but he hadn't said a word the entire session.
"He sounds like a fine young man. I'd love to meet him. Perhaps you could bring him with you to your next session."
"Oh…" Arthur says, expression falling. "No, ah… well, I mean… I haven't exactly… told him about… all this…"
Her eyebrows knit together in concern. "Don't you think that you should discuss your past?"
"I don't see why it's relevant," Arthur mumbles, shutting down immediately. "He's not a part of my past, and it doesn't matter."
"Arthur," she says softly, folding her hands on her desk. "I understand your hesitance. It's hard to tell the people we love about mistakes we've made. However, I feel like you should explain your situation to him. If he loves you, I promise you he'll understand. It'll be beneficial to your recovery. You'll have someone to discuss it with besides me, and he can help you to avoid situations which trigger your need to use-"
"Yeah, but I'm not going to relapse," Arthur interrupts, a bit more loudly than he intended. "If I'm not relapsing, then he doesn't have to know."
"As much as I hope that's true and am rooting for you every step of the way, the fact is that there is a high percentage of relapse in methamphetamine users within sixth months of sobriety. I am just hoping to help you take preventative measures."
Arthur frowns, jaw set. "I don't need preventative measures because I'm not going to use."
She sighs, trying to mask her frustration. Sometimes he wishes she would just let it all out, scream at him until she feels better. Instead, she calmly responds, "All right then."
At the end of the session, Arthur leaves her office and stands on the corner, waiting for the bus, and he smokes a cigarette. The burn feels good in his chest and helps him to forget the anger he feels.
He gives Eames a key to his apartment and hopes it's the right thing to do.
Eames's rehearsals start up, so Arthur doesn't see much of him, though most evenings Eames will come over and sleep in Arthur's bed. Most of the time they have sex (and it's as mind-blowing as the first time, at least for Arthur), but sometimes Eames just crawls into bed and wraps his arms around Arthur, and that's really nice too.
They talk, little pointless conversations in quiet voices, both of them drifting on the edge of sleep. Eames smooths his large hands down the planes of Arthur's body, leaving gentle kisses to the back of his neck and tells him that he's beautiful.
Arthur knows he isn't, but he feels beautiful when he's with Eames… or at least he feels less hollow.
He tells Eames this, voice scratchy and laced with oncoming dreams, and Eames kisses the corner of his mouth.
That night he wakes up in tears, but all that Eames has to do is tug him closer. Arthur hides from the world in Eames's arms.
In a way, Eames has become Arthur's new drug of choice.
Arthur realizes this when he's on break at work, January 15th, and he's smoking a cigarette. He's been a foul mood all day because he hasn't seen Eames in two, and while Yusuf seems to find it kind of funny, the customers sure don't. The theatre Eames is working in is clear across the district, and with the snow still coming through in white-drenching intervals, it's not always a wise investment for him to drive all this way for coffee or tea, especially if he wants to get back in time.
Arthur is jonesing for Eames, and the cigarette doesn't really help. He finishes it anyway and stubs it out in the ash tray before returning to work.
He's stopped going to therapy.
It's probably not his best move, but he can't stand the way Mal looks at him, like she's waiting for him to slip up. He doesn't like the way she asks about Eames, asks about how Eames is treating him, the way she thinks (he knows she does, he saw it on her face) that it's entirely too soon for Eames to have a key to his place. It seems that since he started dating Eames, they've stopped talking about meth and started talking about Eames instead. He hates it because it's not her business. He hates it because he can't help but think that she's trying to take that happiness away from him, that she wants him to be miserable. When he accused her, she told him that she wasn't, that she was looking out for him, that she didn't want him jumping in with both feet in case there wasn't a life preserver, and that was when Arthur had walked out.
Still, it's lonely when Eames is busy, and now he doesn't have anyone to discuss the feelings with. Now that he is feeling things again.
He wipes down the tables for the third time in an hour, fixes himself a cup of coffee, and hopes it takes the edge off.
That night, Arthur gets home to a note on the table with a key.
The note, in Eames's indelicate scrawl says: Sorry it took so long. Finally got your key made. I have rehearsal late tonight, but feel free to test out the key if you want to and make yourself at home. -E
Arthur does. He buries himself in Eames's sheets and breathes him in, and it's not enough, but for the moment it is.
Around midnight, Eames shuffles in, tossing his coat over a chair (Arthur can see the shadow on the wall through the open door). He closes his eyes and pretends that Eames didn't wake him as the man wanders into the room, but when Eames strips down and crawls into bed Arthur turns right into his arms and kisses his chest.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" Eames asks, combing his fingers through Arthur's hair.
"It's okay," Arthur mumbles. "I missed you."
Eames hums, shimmying down so that he can meet Arthur's lips, kissing him earnestly.
They fuck, slow and languid, and Arthur falls asleep in Eames's arms when it's over. When he wakes up the next morning though, Eames has already left.
It's Arthur's day off, so he ends up wandering around the city, finishing off a pack of cigarettes and buying another. He ends up in the same part of town as his old workplace, finds himself looking inside the window at what used to be his office.
There's a girl there, long waves of brown hair, eyebrows furrowed as she studiously focuses on a drawing. Even with the intense concentration, he can tell that she's enjoying herself. She seems so young and full of energy, and Arthur wonders if he was ever like that.
No, he remembers, he wasn't. He was never excited about his job because he never wanted to be an architect.
Arthur has never known what he wants to do.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to walk away, but he's caught off guard when he nearly runs into Dominic Cobb, his old boss. He stumbles backward, eyes wide and a panicked. He has no idea what to do or say.
"Arthur?" Cobb says, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "It is you, isn't it?"
Arthur nods and thinks that Cobb's wary smile is perfect for Mal's sympathetic one. They'd make a great couple.
"You grew your hair out. I barely recognized you. You look good," Cobb says, and Arthur at first thinks he's just being polite. Then, he remembers the ashen skeleton boy he was last time he and Cobb saw each other and thinks that he's probably being serious.
"I guess," Arthur says, looking not at Cobb but at an unidentified spot over his shoulder. "How are you?"
"Good," Cobb says lightly. "Working hard, you know."
"Yeah… I know…" Arthur mumbles.
"So, where are you at now? Architecture still?"
"No, uh… no," Arthur says, head screaming. You fired me! He thinks bitterly. Who would be stupid enough to hire a meth head like me?
He reminds himself that he's not on meth anymore.
"Just… you know, keep on keeping on," Arthur shrugs, forcing a smile. "Just wandering, searching for something to do."
"I was headed to lunch, if you want to join," Cobb offers, and Arthur already knows the man won't take no for an answer.
Cobb takes him to a Thai place, and halfway through his massaman curry, Arthur starts talking. Cobb becomes a surrogate therapist at that table, Arthur unable to hold it in.
Cobb of course, is not surprised by Arthur's experience with drugs. He'd seen him wither away from its use, had to fire him for not showing up not because he wanted to but because his supervisor made him. Arthur doesn't really find any comfort in that information, mostly because at this point he doesn't care. He tells Cobb about rehab, about his shitty job and his shitty apartment and his shitty life, and then he tells him about Eames.
"So, you guys are pretty serious then," Cobb says, "Congrats."
Arthur sniffs. "Well, I think we're serious, and there are times I think he's serious about me, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if he feels the same way or as intensely as I do. He's never told me that he loves me, and that freaks me out."
He's never admitted that even to himself, so he's a little surprised when it comes out of his mouth.
"It just takes some time for people," Cobb assures him. "You two haven't been together all that long, after all. Just be patient."
Arthur frowns because he's a bit tired of being patient. He's been patient in his attempts to be happy, he's been patient in his attempts to find color, in his attempts to stay sober. He feels like he's waiting on life to pick back up and that he no longer has control over whether it does or not. He's tired of waiting. He wants things to happen.
He doesn't tell Cobb this, instead letting Cobb talk about a few of his ex-lovers and how their relationships worked or didn't. They talk about work, though Arthur's not terribly invested in the conversation, discuss how good the food is… By the end of the meal, Arthur's food is paid for and Cobb has Mal's number.
Arthur is still walking the streets by that evening. He's tired, but he doesn't want to be back at the apartment alone, especially with his thoughts as heavy as they are.
He's never told me he loves me.
That particular thought just will not leave him alone, and he starts to wonder if Eames is serious about all this. Maybe it took a long time for Eames to get the key made because he wasn't sure about letting Arthur in (but you have the key now, though maybe he just felt guilty). Maybe Eames sees other people in his off time (he doesn't have off time though, not really, not when he's doing a show-but how do you know that, really? What if that's just what Eames tells you?).
He's feeling worse and worse, anxiety coiling up his spine like a snake, its fangs already sinking into his skin and filling him with venomous thoughts.
Of course he doesn't love you.
Why would he want you?
You're ugly.
You're a loser.
There's a reason why you were alone before him.
He'd been told by Mal that should these negative thoughts arise he should call her, but he can't think of her now, can't remember this, partly because the poison is seeping in and partly because he doesn't want her to be right.
He stops, takes a few deep breaths, and digs out his last cigarette, lighting it in the hopes of calming his nerves.
Eames doesn't even know you smoke.
He looks up to watch the Don't Walk sign, waiting for it to change, and that's when he sees.
Across the street, in the restaurant, Eames is sitting at a table with another man. A beautiful brunette who is smiling at Eames like he's the greatest thing ever… and Eames, Eames is smiling back, and Arthur feels ill, feels like he's going to collapse under this new information as Eames laughs with the man, completely unaware.
There could be a logical explanation, but all Arthur can think is that he's right. He's right about Eames not caring, and he's right about how he has no reason too.
And he breaks.
It's three days later before Arthur sees Eames again.
Arthur is feeling good, feeling golden, wearing a glow stick around his neck, hair in disarray. He's not entirely sure where he's been, it all a blurry, smudgy memory of club after club, grinding against strangers, drinking any drink someone fancied to buy for him, and whittling away the meth he'd bought until it was gone.
It takes him several minutes to get his front door open because he's dizzy and the keys keep slipping out of his hands since they're so sweaty, and then he's inside, and there's Eames.
Eames is sitting on his couch, looking like he hasn't slept. Eames is in his apartment, staring at him like he's a ghost, and then he's crying out, "Oh, thank God," and pulling Arthur into his arms.
Arthur vibrates against him for a few moments, eyes looking everywhere around the apartment, searching for cameras. He's not entirely sure why Eames is so relieved.
"Jesus," Eames hisses. "Fuck, where have you been? I stopped by your workplace and Yusuf said you didn't show up, so I came back here thinking maybe you were sick or you overslept, and you weren't here, and you weren't at my place, and I looked everywhere, everywhere-I called the police, I called them, and-"
And suddenly Eames is crying.
He's crying.
"That's stupid," Arthur finds himself saying, petting Eames's head. "I'm fine. How long have I been gone for?"
"Like… two day-two days," Eames says, stepping away from Arthur and staring at him, eyebrows furrowing. "How would you… how is that stupid? How would you not know that? What-what's wrong, what's going on?"
Arthur cocks his head to the side and realizes he's fighting the giggles, and Eames's expression becomes more concerned.
"Arthur?"
"Don't worry about it I'm fine I was just out having a little fun I mean honestly I'm allowed right," he says, forgetting his punctuation.
"You're drenched in sweat," Eames says.
"You should take my clothes off," Arthur says, grinning manically, and he stumbles up onto the couch, taking them off himself.
"Arthur, just sit down for a second," Eames says, voice shaking, and God, Eames is so bright and pretty. Arthur just wants to devour him whole, so he can fill this hollow void that seems to have opened up inside his chest. He paws at the skin there to make sure he hasn't been entirely split open.
"You should invite that guy you had dinner with over," Arthur tells him, bouncing on the sofa cushions and falling gracelessly over the arm of the couch when Eames grabs for him. "We can have a threesome if you want. We can do that, and then everything will be okay."
"What are you talking about?" Eames demands and finally manages to catch Arthur when Arthur gets caught up with trying to get his pants off and can't quite figure it out because he's too dizzy.
Eames grabs Arthur by the arms and forces him to face him, to look at him, and says sternly, "Arthur!"
Arthur grins at him. "I'm sorry," he says, head rolling around on his neck like he's forgotten how to make it stay up. "I'm high as fuck right now. I can't think straight." He sniffs.
Eames's expression goes momentarily carefully blank. "You're high," he says.
"Mm-hmm," Arthur says, closing one eye while rapidly blinking the other one as a headache starts to set in. He nearly collapses on Eames for a moment, and then Eames is shoving him into a chair. "I feel good," he tells Eames. "I felt really bad but right now I feel really good so the really bad is gone but I've got this hollow place still and it still feels icky but I'm not thinking about that right now."
"What did you take?" Eames asks, voice dangerously low as he checks Arthur's pupils. Arthur bets they're dilated, remembers they were when he saw his reflection at some point over the past couple of days.
Arthur kisses Eames but is abruptly pushed off. "What? What's wrong?" Arthur asks because he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why Eames is upset. He's letting Eames have his cake and eat it too, isn't he? He offered to let Eames sleep with the handsome brunette.
"What did you take?" Eames demands, and he looks angry, angrier than Arthur's ever seen him. His eyes aren't sparkling at all, instead deep, black pits. His mouth is a thin line, his jaw set, and underneath that anger there's something else, something frightened, something broken.
"My mouth is really dry," Arthur says.
"Arthur," Eames growls.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says, realizing that he's done something wrong, though right now he's not entirely sure what that is. He's dizzy.
"Arthur, I'm not going to be mad," Eames says, trying to sound calm, and Arthur realizes that he himself is rocking back and forth and whimpering now. "Arthur, just-just talk to me. Tell me what you took. I need to know what you took."
"No, you'll be mad. You're already mad."
"Arthur, please."
"I'm scared."
"Arthur," Eames's voice cracks around the word.
"My mouth is dry."
Eames stares at him, lips quivering.
Finally, Arthur answers, "Meth."
"Jesus Christ," Eames breathes, dropping his chin to his chest for a moment. When he lifts his head again, he looks on the brink of tears and Arthur squirms, wanting to escape. "Why, Arthur? Why?"
"Because it always makes me feel good when I feel bad."
"You…" Eames cuts himself off, shakes his head, exhales. "You've done it before?"
Arthur nods. "You said you wouldn't be mad."
Eames looks like he's trying very hard not to be.
"You never… you never told me," Eames whispers, thumb brushing against Arthur's cheekbone, and Arthur realizes there's a tear there. He also can't stop shaking. "Why… why didn't you tell me, Arthur? Why? You should have… I don't… I don't know what to do, I…"
Arthur momentarily becomes distracted by the feel of Eames's thumbs constantly brushing against his cheekbones, the way his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth. Eames is still talking.
"You… I… we can't. We can't talk about this. Not right now. You need to sober the fuck up. You need… You need to go somewhere where you can sober up. Give me what all you've got left."
"Don't got any left."
Somehow Arthur still ends up stripped nude. Eames searches every last article of his clothing and goes through his whole apartment before he's sure Arthur's telling the truth.
Arthur stands, stark naked in the middle of the room, watching Eames as he throws things back in drawers. When Eames looks up at Arthur he looks ashamed, though if it's ashamed of Arthur or ashamed of himself for being so foolish, Arthur can't be sure.
Eames wraps Arthur in a blanket and hands Arthur his cell phone. "Call someone. Someone who can help you with this. I can't… I can't do this right now. Call someone right now, and it better not be someone to bring you more drugs. I can't… I need to go. I can't be here right now. I need to go and… I have to leave."
Arthur wants to beg him not to go, wants to say he's sorry, wants to tell him he won't do it again if he just stays…
But he doesn't.
Instead he just stands there, twitching, chewing his lip until it bleeds, hand trembling as he dials a number on his phone, and then the door shuts, and Eames is gone.
"Hello?... Arthur?" Mal says over the line.
Arthur sits with his knees folded up to his chest in a chair in Mal's office, pale and twitching restlessly. He's dressed in an old pair of jeans and the sweater Eames gave to him, and they hang on him because all he's been doing for the past few days is sleeping. He's dropped about six pounds, chewed his fingernails down to the quick and then bloodied his fingers chewing on the skin.
"So," he says, biting at the skin on his thumb and not looking at her, "Last week I relapsed."
Mal knows this much. She came to his apartment that night and rocked him to sleep in her arms. He doesn't remember much about it other than that he cried and cried and cried.
"How are you feeling?" Mal asks, voice sober and soft.
"Really… really bad," Arthur mumbles. "Worse than before. Worse than ever. Eames left. I'm wearing this sweater because it smells like him… I wouldn't have even gotten out of bed otherwise."
Mal nods, expression solemn. "You haven't spoken to him then."
"Don't have the guts," Arthur says dismally and buries his face in his knees. "I wish I was dead."
"Arthur," she says, voice barely above a whisper. She gets out of her chair and combs a hand through his hair, a comforting gesture. "Don't say that. All is not lost. It's going to be all right-"
"No, it's not. It wasn't before. It's not going to be better. The only thing that made it good was Eames, and now Eames is gone, and it's all my fault."
He says it all to his knees, voice blank, hollow.
"All the colors are gone… I don't want to be alive. People aren't supposed to feel like this when they're alive."
He cries there in her office, but he doesn't make a sound as he does it.
He doesn't need her pity.
He doesn't deserve it.
He refuses to go back to the rehabilitation center over a slip-up, and somehow Mal convinces him not to kill himself if only because he needs to see Eames again and talk to him.
He gets a haircut.
He goes back to work, because there's nothing else to do.
Yusuf watches him suspiciously and Arthur tries not to burst into tears in front of anyone.
Mal comes by whenever she can for coffee, but he still doesn't know what to say to her, so he just lets her try and encourage him.
It's two weeks before Arthur sees Eames again, and when he does, Eames is as unexpected as he always is.
Arthur's cleaning tables when he looks up and watches a flash of yellow come through the door, shaking off the snow. Arthur doesn't know if he wants to start sobbing or if he wants to run into the kitchen and hide. He does neither.
Eames looks at Arthur and, fuck, this is the most awkward moment of his life.
"Hi," Eames says.
"Hi," Arthur replies, voice hoarse.
Silence.
Eames shuffles his feet, rubs the back of his neck. "Ah, how-how are you?"
"I'm…"
Miserable, borderline suicidal, brokenhearted, and so, so, so sorry…
"I'm okay…" Arthur lies. "You?"
"I'm all right… you know…" Eames shrugs. "I ah… I didn't think you'd be here."
"I can… just… I'll just go," Arthur says, every one of Eames's words stabbing through him.
And then Eames cries out, "No! No… stay. I was hoping… I was hoping that you would be, I just didn't think you'd…"
Arthur looks at him and wants to fall into his arms. He almost does.
Eames sighs and says, "I've missed you."
"I missed you too…" Arthur says, and he can't help the way his voice cracks in the middle. "S-so much… I…" He has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to keep from bursting into tears, but then, all of a sudden he starts talking and he can't stop. "Eames, I… I'm so, so… sorry… I should've told you about-and I haven't since, I haven't, and I won't again, it was just a minor relapse because I saw you with that other guy and I thought you had someone else and I felt so alone and hollow and scared and I couldn't stand it, I couldn't stand it, and the drugs made it go away for a minute, for just a minute, but then you left for real and-"
"Arthur," Eames says, grabbing hold of Arthur's arms, and Arthur freezes there, staring at him through wet eyes, and when did he start crying?
"I used to use for two years, but I'd been clean for four and a half months when I met you, and you were the only thing that made me happy, and that's why I was so upset when I saw you with that guy…" Arthur says more slowly.
"Arthur, that man I was with was Robert Fischer. He's the one who wrote that play about dreams. He didn't have a part for me in that one, but he wanted to talk to me about a project that I would star in. He didn't think I fit the role in his play but really liked my acting. I was going to tell you about it when I got home."
"I'm sorry…" Arthur whimpers. "I should've told you everything… but I was afraid you wouldn't like me anymore."
"Like you?" Eames says, and then wraps his arms around Arthur. "Arthur, darling, I love you."
Arthur sobs, burying his face into Eames's yellow coat. He's warm and bright like the sun.
"You never said, you never said," Arthur blubbers pathetically, and Eames rocks him, shushes him gently.
"I know, love, I know," Eames says. "I'm so sorry… I was afraid things were going too fast. I didn't… I didn't realize how much you needed me… No one's ever needed me…"
Arthur curls even closer if it's possible, and for a long few minutes they just stand there like that. Finally, Arthur calms down and pulls away, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. Yusuf is watching from behind the counter, but Arthur doesn't care.
"I think… I think we've both made a couple of mistakes, haven't we?" Eames says. "I know one thing is for sure… as soon as I walked out of your flat, I knew I'd made a huge mistake. I was angry, and I let it fuel me, but I still love you. I knew that immediately… in fact, I was sure in that moment that I was, because even though I was so angry and so hurt, I knew I still wanted you in my life… I wanted to go back in there and hold you, but I… I was stubborn, and I couldn't."
"You were right to," Arthur sniffs. "I don't deserve you, Eames… I'm… a mess. I've never done anything with my life. I spent far too long trying to win my mother's approval, I crave meth every fucking morning, and I'm stuck in a nowhere job en route to a nowhere life… I should have turned you down the day you asked me out, should have known you were too good for me when I went into your home and saw how loved you were… when you held me so gently and spoke to me so nicely… I knew that being with me would just drag you down. You've got everything in the world going for you, and I'm just… an ex-junkie loser who hasn't even read half the books on your shelf."
Eames has that sympathetic look on his face, the sad one that Mal's been having in Arthur's latest therapy sessions.
Arthur continues, regardless. "…but… I couldn't let you go… because it hurt too much to think of life without you… You made me feel alive again… you made that sick hollow feeling go away… I could feel the sunshine again, and the sunshine was you. Even though it was freezing cold, it felt like summer… and when I thought you were playing me, I just… broke. I broke, and I wanted to not feel bad. I wanted that feeling that you gave me, and I thought that the drugs would… and they sort of did, but it was hollow, lifeless… it didn't feel right…"
Eames reaches out and thumbs away a tear. "It's still not okay, what you did…" he tells Arthur. "I don't want this to be the end, but… but it will be if you don't promise me right here and right now that you'll never do it again. You won't touch the stuff, and if you're ever feeling that hollow, sad feeling again that you'll tell me and let me fill your heart with all the wonderful thing that you are… everything perfect and fantastic about you that you don't see, not like I see… You're my sunshine too, you know. Every time you smile is a gift… I'm the only one who can really make you do it… It's mine…"
Fresh tears build in Arthur's eyes, and he tells Eames, "I don't need the drugs… I don't need them when I'm with you… I want… I need you, Eames."
Eames's blue-gray eyes are teary too, and both of them are just sniffling and staring at each other until Yusuf shouts out, "Oh, just bloody kiss already, would you?"
So they do.
Arthur's not afraid.
He knows how Eames feels, and he knows he's not going anywhere, and that's the most comforting news he's ever had. The next week, the snow melts, a warm front moves through, and the sun shines.
Winter is over.
And Arthur is ready.
He's ready to dust the ash off of his clothes, gather together his feelings, and rebuild. He's got Eames, and he's the perfect foundation, and so Arthur is prepared.
Arthur knows.
Arthur knows it's going to get better.
Holy shit, you guys I WROTE SOMETHING. It's been so loooong. Sorry I've been absent. Been distracted by school and consumed with writer's block. Here. Have this long, long fic.