Fic: I Still Do
Title: I Still Do
Author: spyndisguise
Rating: R
Written for: Harlequin Challenge 2011
Warnings: slash, some mentions of underage
Shipping: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2,704
Summary: Shy librarian Arthur needed to live a little. And a chance meeting with childhood love Eames proved Atlantic City was the perfect place for a wild weekend. So wild, in fact, that they barely remembered getting hitched.
Eames hadn't seen Arthur in years...and now he was his husband! He was every bit the schoolboy fantasy he remembered. But he'd spent the past seventeen years weighed down by family responsibilities, and now all he wanted was to enjoy the carefree bachelor life. He didn't want to be tied to sweet, beautiful, deliciously innocent Arthur...did he?
Notes: Thanks to kaitmaree77 for the support and beta. You're the best!
Arthur wakes up in a foul mood, not unlike yesterday, or the day before. Or the last ten days, to be precise. It’s been thirty-three days since he decided to take that trip to Atlantic City for his thirtieth birthday, a stupid whim that he indulged in. A whim that landed him in the honeymoon suite at Hilton Niagara Falls, no less. Honestly, it was so ridiculous; the room even had a Jacuzzi.
Of course, that first day, he hadn’t been in a foul mood when he first opened his eyes. Hung-over, yes, but his head had been pillowed on warm skin, his legs tangled in the Egyptian cotton sheets, and he’d felt…content. Had even drifted off, back into sleep for a couple more hours, memories of the night before flashing through his mind.
But he can’t think about that now. And besides, his bad mood is completely justified, he thinks. Today is the day he gets divorced.
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“Oh, for the love…Arthur! Where did you put my shoes?!” Eames says.
Arthur sighs, slams The Great Gatsby closed (carefully, though, it’s a first edition), and walks into the front hallway. “Why are you looking for your shoes here?”
“Because this is where I left them.” Eames looks perplexed, as if somehow his god-awful topsiders walked away, possibly in absolute shame of being actual topsiders.
“They’re in your closet. In the bedroom. Where I put them every day.”
Eames stalks into the bedroom angrily, and Arthur trails behind. “I don’t know why you insist on wearing boat shoes, it’s not like you’re actually getting onto a yacht anytime today.”
“I like them! And I don’t like you touching my things. I didn’t like it when you organized my side of the dorm room, and I still don’t like it now.”
Arthur flinches, and he knows he shouldn’t get upset over this, that they’re both getting used to this…marriage…but.
“Well, excuse me for getting tired of tripping over your junk!”
So much for the no-arguing-on-Sunday rule.
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Arthur gets ready for his trip to the mediator’s office, choosing a sweater the color of Eames’s eyes, because he likes to torture himself. He’d taken the morning off from his job at the New York Public Library, and he’s already dreading the questions when he gets in later today. He straightens his tie in the mirror, and a flash of gold catches his eye.
His wedding ring. Right.
He doesn’t know the proper protocol for this. Does he take it off now, or wait until the papers are signed? He’s not very familiar with most things about divorces, seeing as how he had every intention to only marry once in his life, like his parents. That was why he’d even tried to work things out with Eames in the first place.
Well, that, and the fact that he’d been in love with him since he was thirteen.
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Eames’s father had insisted he spend his teenage years in an American prep school, to give him some “world experience.” Why he couldn’t gain experience in say, Florida, or California, and not bloody cold, rainy Boston, he didn’t know. But here he was, walking down the hallway to his home away from home.
He located 804 after what seemed like an hour, and threw the door open with a flourish. “Honey, I’m - ”
“Ow, fuck, ow,” moaned the brunet on the floor. Apparently Eames had flourished the door right into his roommate’s forehead.
“You must be Arthur,” Eames says. When no response is given, he kneels down next to the boy, spotting the knot already swelling on his head. “I’m Eames. My mum named me after the chair.”
Arthur (presumably) looks up at him, blinking slowly. “Wow…”
Eames laughs. “Yeah, it’s a dumb name, but I don’t mind so much. Those chairs are better looking than I am, anyhow.”
Arthur shakes his head, wincing a little. “You’re beautiful.”
Eames is momentarily stunned into silence, and then breaks into a grin at Arthur’s rapidly growing blush. Looks like he might get that experience after all.
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“Of course I was attracted to you back in school, bloody hell! This fight is absurd, Arthur, really.”
“You were not! You didn’t want to have sex with me then, and you don’t want to now!”
Eames would almost laugh at the picture they must make right now, if he weren’t so damn angry. Arthur in silk boxers and tall socks, Eames in a tweed jacket and khaki pants, now covered in…iced tea? Apparently a good dousing in whatever beverage Arthur had handy is the punishment for working late on Valentine’s Day.
“Pet,” he tries, only to be met with that glare again. “Alright then, Arthur. We were thirteen. I wouldn’t have even known what to do with someone else in my bed, not for a lack of desire.”
“We were fourteen before you ever kissed me, and you had me in your bed plenty, Eames! Just not good enough to fuck, right?”
“Arthur, darling-” But he’s speaking to the back of his head as he storms down the hall.
Eames scrubs his hand over his face, giving himself a chance to think. Only one week of marriage and they already fight like cats and dogs. Which, apparently Arthur wants to have soon, one of each, or so he learned this morning over breakfast. To make them well rounded, he’d said. Pets first, then they can discuss children.
Christ, the hangover never ends.
Not that being married to Arthur didn’t have its perks, mind you. He was downright gorgeous, could do sinful things with his tongue, and gave the greatest book recommendations. He didn’t like to go out much, which could be a bit of a problem in the future, but for now, he didn’t mind. This way they didn’t get arrested for indecent exposure whenever he drove Eames out of his mind, talking about Ulysses or Atlas Shrugged as if he’d written the damn things himself.
Eames walks slowly to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as he goes along. He has to give Arthur something to be pissed about in the morning, after all.
He crawls under the sheets, tangling his cold feet with Arthur’s. He sighs, but he doesn’t move away, and Eames takes that as a sign he could possibly weasel his way into forgiveness tonight. He shifts closer, wrapping him up in his embrace.
“I made lasagna.” Arthur sniffles.
Eames kisses his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne. “It’ll reheat.”
“I bought you a present.”
“You’re my present.” Eames smiles into his skin, knowing Arthur will fall victim to his charm. He always has. “My smart, sexy, librarian present.”
Arthur snorts, but leans back into him. “I’m not attaching a bow to any part of my person, Eames.”
Eames just laughs, turning them until he can straddle his hips. “Ah, well, maybe Christmas, then.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m Jewish, remember?”
“What?! Lemme see!” He teases, crawling down to peek in his boxers. His playful actions finally earn him a glimpse of his absolute favorite things on Earth - Arthur’s dimples.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” But he’s still smiling, and then his husband is kissing him and god, maybe this wasn’t a hangover. Maybe it was the best fucking dream of his life.
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Arthur climbs into Eames’s little twin bed, all awkward elbows and gangly legs, which is not unusual these days. What is unusual, however, is that instead of allowing him to scoot over and make room, he scrambles on top of him, dropping unceremoniously onto his ribs.
“Oof,” Eames exhales. “Well, hello there.”
Arthur leans over, nearly kissing him before he pulls back suddenly. “Did you brush your teeth?”
Eames grins. “Minty fresh, just for you, darling. Now shut up and give me my goodnight kiss.”
Arthur does just that, slipping his tongue into Eames’s waiting, parted lips, sliding his hands down his sides. He rocks their hips together gently, both of them already getting excited.
Jesus, Eames thinks dazedly, this is worth going to bed early.
He starts to say something after they pause for breath, but he’s silenced with another kiss, this one rougher, more dangerous. Their teeth clash, neither one experienced enough to avoid it, but they don’t care. There’s a lot of clumsy shifting as they both struggle out of their boxers. Arthur hesitates, looking him in the eyes, searching. Whatever he wanted, he seems to find it.
They rut against each other, breathless and panting, hands exploring foreign territory. They’re lost in their own little world, coming close together, both boys ending up a happy, exhausted mess.
They clean up as best they can, then curl up, impossibly comfortable on the crappy mattress. Arthur strokes Eames’s chest, waiting until he falls asleep before whispering how much he loves him, knows he’ll always love him, can’t imagine a day without him. How he knows it’s for real.
In the morning, a call from England comes, and Eames is on a plane headed far away from Arthur not too long after that.
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It’s two and a half weeks in now, and they’ve shifted improbably into a sort of newlywed bliss. One complicated by the most ridiculous fights possible, but the make-up sex is so worth it. Eames has coaxed Arthur into using far too many vacation days, and they’ve explored the city as if they were tourists, making out at the top of the Empire State Building, eating soft pretzels from a questionable street vendor named Peggy.
They talk to each other about all the things they’ve missed, Eames sharing how his mother’s death had changed everything. His father had fallen ill not long after, and he’d spent years managing the family’s business in everything but name. His brother had recently taken over, and that’s when Eames had hopped a plane to New Jersey.
Arthur takes him to the library one rainy morning, holding his hand as he shyly introduces him to his coworkers. He looks uncertain, even here in what he calls his second home, and Eames just wants to kiss that look off his face.
So he does.
When he pulls back, he expects…well, he doesn’t expect to see Arthur so happy at being kissed in front of his boss, but he is. His heart does a little flip, and all he can think is how utterly grateful he is for the monstrosity that is Trump Taj Mahal.
Arthur makes Eames get a library card, because there are rules, and he can’t just use Arthur’s, apparently. He checks out four books, three that are approved, and one that earns him a stunned question.
“An X-Files…book?”
“Yeah, this is the one I could never find! I can’t believe it’s here.”
“Well, we do try to have something for every reader…”
And honestly, he looks so concerned for Eames’s sanity, that there’s no way he can’t press him against the nearest wall and kiss him until a disapproving mother interrupts.
Eames gives her his most adorable smile. “Gotta pay those late fees one way or another, am I right?”
Arthur just laughs, pulling him out into the rain, all the way back to the place they now both call home.
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The sun is shining today, some sort of mockery of their fate. Arthur makes his way downtown, rubbing his thumb over the ring he just can’t convince himself to take off.
This is what he wants, Arthur thinks. You’re supposed to set him free, like all those beach novels you pretend not to read say.
He keeps his head down, avoiding everyone on the subway. He’s never really felt like a failure, not until today. He’d never realized that he wasn’t cut out to be someone’s husband before, that really he was only someone’s drunken mistake.
He finds the designated building, walking quickly inside. He hesitates before getting in the elevator, and then sets his shoulders, determined. He loves Eames, and he would rather Eames be happy than himself. Their story was over, and it wasn’t a happy ending.
At least he wouldn’t have to see him today. The mediator assured him Eames’s appointment would be over long before Arthur was due in.
“Hold the lift!” Arthur hears, and he panics as the young blonde presses down on “Door Open.”
Of course, that didn’t mean Eames wasn’t running late.
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Arthur wakes up alone in bed on the twenty-third morning, and frowns. He can hear Eames on the phone, trying to be quiet. He strains his ears, but he can only make out bits and pieces.
“…yes, I said married…spur of the moment thing…”
“No, Lara and I did break it off…you wouldn’t know him…”
“…I won’t be able to take the job anymore…yeah, it’s a great opportunity, but I’m stuck in New York for the foreseeable future.”
Arthur can’t bear to hear anymore. He wills himself not to cry, blood roaring in his ears. He gets out of bed automatically, packs himself a small bag. He puts on whatever clothes he first lays his hands on, and sits, perched on the edge of the bed.
Eames comes back into the bedroom a little later, stops short at the sight of Arthur. He smiles crookedly. “Are we going on a trip?”
He shifts his grip on the handle of his bag, swallowing down his indecision. “I want a divorce.”
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Eames hurries onto the elevator, fresh coffee stains dotting his French blue shirt. He looks directly at the blonde, thanks her for holding the door, then goes back to wiping at his shirt.
“I’m running so late, I didn’t have anything to wear so I got this shirt, and now look at me. I just hope I make it in time.”
He’s talking to the girl, seemingly taking no notice of Arthur, pressed into a back corner. He babbles on about coffee stains as the elevator goes upwards. Eames practically leaps out onto the tenth floor, Arthur following slowly after. He thinks about hiding out for while Eames signs his part of the paperwork, and that’s when he hears it.
“I’m looking for my husband, Arthur? He’s tall, well-dressed, handsome? I need to talk to him before he signs anything, it’s an emergency!”
The receptionist just smiles at him, pointing back at Arthur. “I’m guessing that’s him?”
Eames turns around, and Arthur can see the look of absolute relief on his face. He rushes over, grabs his hand and pulls him into a more private area of the lobby.
“Eames, what in the world-”
“Sshhh, just listen for a minute,” Eames says, waiting until Arthur nods. “I know we probably didn’t go about this the right way, and that we have so, so much to work on, but I want to do this with you. I love you; I’ve been in love with you for seventeen years.”
Arthur blinks, unable to speak, so Eames continues.
“I want to be married to you, I do. And I think you want to be married to me, too. I just…I want you to move all my things where I can never find them, and make fun of me for my taste in television, and wake up with you every morning. I want you, Arthur. I always have.”
The silence surrounds them, long moments passing between the men. Eames’s confidence falters, then seems to shatter as his shoulders drop.
He takes a step back, and that’s when Arthur sees it. He’s still wearing his ring. It’s a stupid thing to focus on, really, especially after everything he said but it tells him everything he needs to know.
“Eames, wait. You’re not wrong, you know.”
“I’m not?” He looks nervous, hopeful.
“When you said you think I want us to stay married. I’ve wanted to be your husband for a long time, and I still do.”
Eames lets out what can only be described as a shout of joy as he picks Arthur up, swings him in a circle. People are clapping, the sound echoing in the marble lobby, and it’s like every bad Harlequin romance Arthur ever read.
It’s corny, and it’s perfect, and hey, maybe it’s a happy ending after all.
Author: spyndisguise
Rating: R
Written for: Harlequin Challenge 2011
Warnings: slash, some mentions of underage
Shipping: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 2,704
Summary: Shy librarian Arthur needed to live a little. And a chance meeting with childhood love Eames proved Atlantic City was the perfect place for a wild weekend. So wild, in fact, that they barely remembered getting hitched.
Eames hadn't seen Arthur in years...and now he was his husband! He was every bit the schoolboy fantasy he remembered. But he'd spent the past seventeen years weighed down by family responsibilities, and now all he wanted was to enjoy the carefree bachelor life. He didn't want to be tied to sweet, beautiful, deliciously innocent Arthur...did he?
Notes: Thanks to kaitmaree77 for the support and beta. You're the best!
Arthur wakes up in a foul mood, not unlike yesterday, or the day before. Or the last ten days, to be precise. It’s been thirty-three days since he decided to take that trip to Atlantic City for his thirtieth birthday, a stupid whim that he indulged in. A whim that landed him in the honeymoon suite at Hilton Niagara Falls, no less. Honestly, it was so ridiculous; the room even had a Jacuzzi.
Of course, that first day, he hadn’t been in a foul mood when he first opened his eyes. Hung-over, yes, but his head had been pillowed on warm skin, his legs tangled in the Egyptian cotton sheets, and he’d felt…content. Had even drifted off, back into sleep for a couple more hours, memories of the night before flashing through his mind.
But he can’t think about that now. And besides, his bad mood is completely justified, he thinks. Today is the day he gets divorced.
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“Oh, for the love…Arthur! Where did you put my shoes?!” Eames says.
Arthur sighs, slams The Great Gatsby closed (carefully, though, it’s a first edition), and walks into the front hallway. “Why are you looking for your shoes here?”
“Because this is where I left them.” Eames looks perplexed, as if somehow his god-awful topsiders walked away, possibly in absolute shame of being actual topsiders.
“They’re in your closet. In the bedroom. Where I put them every day.”
Eames stalks into the bedroom angrily, and Arthur trails behind. “I don’t know why you insist on wearing boat shoes, it’s not like you’re actually getting onto a yacht anytime today.”
“I like them! And I don’t like you touching my things. I didn’t like it when you organized my side of the dorm room, and I still don’t like it now.”
Arthur flinches, and he knows he shouldn’t get upset over this, that they’re both getting used to this…marriage…but.
“Well, excuse me for getting tired of tripping over your junk!”
So much for the no-arguing-on-Sunday rule.
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Arthur gets ready for his trip to the mediator’s office, choosing a sweater the color of Eames’s eyes, because he likes to torture himself. He’d taken the morning off from his job at the New York Public Library, and he’s already dreading the questions when he gets in later today. He straightens his tie in the mirror, and a flash of gold catches his eye.
His wedding ring. Right.
He doesn’t know the proper protocol for this. Does he take it off now, or wait until the papers are signed? He’s not very familiar with most things about divorces, seeing as how he had every intention to only marry once in his life, like his parents. That was why he’d even tried to work things out with Eames in the first place.
Well, that, and the fact that he’d been in love with him since he was thirteen.
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Eames’s father had insisted he spend his teenage years in an American prep school, to give him some “world experience.” Why he couldn’t gain experience in say, Florida, or California, and not bloody cold, rainy Boston, he didn’t know. But here he was, walking down the hallway to his home away from home.
He located 804 after what seemed like an hour, and threw the door open with a flourish. “Honey, I’m - ”
“Ow, fuck, ow,” moaned the brunet on the floor. Apparently Eames had flourished the door right into his roommate’s forehead.
“You must be Arthur,” Eames says. When no response is given, he kneels down next to the boy, spotting the knot already swelling on his head. “I’m Eames. My mum named me after the chair.”
Arthur (presumably) looks up at him, blinking slowly. “Wow…”
Eames laughs. “Yeah, it’s a dumb name, but I don’t mind so much. Those chairs are better looking than I am, anyhow.”
Arthur shakes his head, wincing a little. “You’re beautiful.”
Eames is momentarily stunned into silence, and then breaks into a grin at Arthur’s rapidly growing blush. Looks like he might get that experience after all.
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“Of course I was attracted to you back in school, bloody hell! This fight is absurd, Arthur, really.”
“You were not! You didn’t want to have sex with me then, and you don’t want to now!”
Eames would almost laugh at the picture they must make right now, if he weren’t so damn angry. Arthur in silk boxers and tall socks, Eames in a tweed jacket and khaki pants, now covered in…iced tea? Apparently a good dousing in whatever beverage Arthur had handy is the punishment for working late on Valentine’s Day.
“Pet,” he tries, only to be met with that glare again. “Alright then, Arthur. We were thirteen. I wouldn’t have even known what to do with someone else in my bed, not for a lack of desire.”
“We were fourteen before you ever kissed me, and you had me in your bed plenty, Eames! Just not good enough to fuck, right?”
“Arthur, darling-” But he’s speaking to the back of his head as he storms down the hall.
Eames scrubs his hand over his face, giving himself a chance to think. Only one week of marriage and they already fight like cats and dogs. Which, apparently Arthur wants to have soon, one of each, or so he learned this morning over breakfast. To make them well rounded, he’d said. Pets first, then they can discuss children.
Christ, the hangover never ends.
Not that being married to Arthur didn’t have its perks, mind you. He was downright gorgeous, could do sinful things with his tongue, and gave the greatest book recommendations. He didn’t like to go out much, which could be a bit of a problem in the future, but for now, he didn’t mind. This way they didn’t get arrested for indecent exposure whenever he drove Eames out of his mind, talking about Ulysses or Atlas Shrugged as if he’d written the damn things himself.
Eames walks slowly to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as he goes along. He has to give Arthur something to be pissed about in the morning, after all.
He crawls under the sheets, tangling his cold feet with Arthur’s. He sighs, but he doesn’t move away, and Eames takes that as a sign he could possibly weasel his way into forgiveness tonight. He shifts closer, wrapping him up in his embrace.
“I made lasagna.” Arthur sniffles.
Eames kisses his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne. “It’ll reheat.”
“I bought you a present.”
“You’re my present.” Eames smiles into his skin, knowing Arthur will fall victim to his charm. He always has. “My smart, sexy, librarian present.”
Arthur snorts, but leans back into him. “I’m not attaching a bow to any part of my person, Eames.”
Eames just laughs, turning them until he can straddle his hips. “Ah, well, maybe Christmas, then.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m Jewish, remember?”
“What?! Lemme see!” He teases, crawling down to peek in his boxers. His playful actions finally earn him a glimpse of his absolute favorite things on Earth - Arthur’s dimples.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” But he’s still smiling, and then his husband is kissing him and god, maybe this wasn’t a hangover. Maybe it was the best fucking dream of his life.
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Arthur climbs into Eames’s little twin bed, all awkward elbows and gangly legs, which is not unusual these days. What is unusual, however, is that instead of allowing him to scoot over and make room, he scrambles on top of him, dropping unceremoniously onto his ribs.
“Oof,” Eames exhales. “Well, hello there.”
Arthur leans over, nearly kissing him before he pulls back suddenly. “Did you brush your teeth?”
Eames grins. “Minty fresh, just for you, darling. Now shut up and give me my goodnight kiss.”
Arthur does just that, slipping his tongue into Eames’s waiting, parted lips, sliding his hands down his sides. He rocks their hips together gently, both of them already getting excited.
Jesus, Eames thinks dazedly, this is worth going to bed early.
He starts to say something after they pause for breath, but he’s silenced with another kiss, this one rougher, more dangerous. Their teeth clash, neither one experienced enough to avoid it, but they don’t care. There’s a lot of clumsy shifting as they both struggle out of their boxers. Arthur hesitates, looking him in the eyes, searching. Whatever he wanted, he seems to find it.
They rut against each other, breathless and panting, hands exploring foreign territory. They’re lost in their own little world, coming close together, both boys ending up a happy, exhausted mess.
They clean up as best they can, then curl up, impossibly comfortable on the crappy mattress. Arthur strokes Eames’s chest, waiting until he falls asleep before whispering how much he loves him, knows he’ll always love him, can’t imagine a day without him. How he knows it’s for real.
In the morning, a call from England comes, and Eames is on a plane headed far away from Arthur not too long after that.
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It’s two and a half weeks in now, and they’ve shifted improbably into a sort of newlywed bliss. One complicated by the most ridiculous fights possible, but the make-up sex is so worth it. Eames has coaxed Arthur into using far too many vacation days, and they’ve explored the city as if they were tourists, making out at the top of the Empire State Building, eating soft pretzels from a questionable street vendor named Peggy.
They talk to each other about all the things they’ve missed, Eames sharing how his mother’s death had changed everything. His father had fallen ill not long after, and he’d spent years managing the family’s business in everything but name. His brother had recently taken over, and that’s when Eames had hopped a plane to New Jersey.
Arthur takes him to the library one rainy morning, holding his hand as he shyly introduces him to his coworkers. He looks uncertain, even here in what he calls his second home, and Eames just wants to kiss that look off his face.
So he does.
When he pulls back, he expects…well, he doesn’t expect to see Arthur so happy at being kissed in front of his boss, but he is. His heart does a little flip, and all he can think is how utterly grateful he is for the monstrosity that is Trump Taj Mahal.
Arthur makes Eames get a library card, because there are rules, and he can’t just use Arthur’s, apparently. He checks out four books, three that are approved, and one that earns him a stunned question.
“An X-Files…book?”
“Yeah, this is the one I could never find! I can’t believe it’s here.”
“Well, we do try to have something for every reader…”
And honestly, he looks so concerned for Eames’s sanity, that there’s no way he can’t press him against the nearest wall and kiss him until a disapproving mother interrupts.
Eames gives her his most adorable smile. “Gotta pay those late fees one way or another, am I right?”
Arthur just laughs, pulling him out into the rain, all the way back to the place they now both call home.
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The sun is shining today, some sort of mockery of their fate. Arthur makes his way downtown, rubbing his thumb over the ring he just can’t convince himself to take off.
This is what he wants, Arthur thinks. You’re supposed to set him free, like all those beach novels you pretend not to read say.
He keeps his head down, avoiding everyone on the subway. He’s never really felt like a failure, not until today. He’d never realized that he wasn’t cut out to be someone’s husband before, that really he was only someone’s drunken mistake.
He finds the designated building, walking quickly inside. He hesitates before getting in the elevator, and then sets his shoulders, determined. He loves Eames, and he would rather Eames be happy than himself. Their story was over, and it wasn’t a happy ending.
At least he wouldn’t have to see him today. The mediator assured him Eames’s appointment would be over long before Arthur was due in.
“Hold the lift!” Arthur hears, and he panics as the young blonde presses down on “Door Open.”
Of course, that didn’t mean Eames wasn’t running late.
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Arthur wakes up alone in bed on the twenty-third morning, and frowns. He can hear Eames on the phone, trying to be quiet. He strains his ears, but he can only make out bits and pieces.
“…yes, I said married…spur of the moment thing…”
“No, Lara and I did break it off…you wouldn’t know him…”
“…I won’t be able to take the job anymore…yeah, it’s a great opportunity, but I’m stuck in New York for the foreseeable future.”
Arthur can’t bear to hear anymore. He wills himself not to cry, blood roaring in his ears. He gets out of bed automatically, packs himself a small bag. He puts on whatever clothes he first lays his hands on, and sits, perched on the edge of the bed.
Eames comes back into the bedroom a little later, stops short at the sight of Arthur. He smiles crookedly. “Are we going on a trip?”
He shifts his grip on the handle of his bag, swallowing down his indecision. “I want a divorce.”
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Eames hurries onto the elevator, fresh coffee stains dotting his French blue shirt. He looks directly at the blonde, thanks her for holding the door, then goes back to wiping at his shirt.
“I’m running so late, I didn’t have anything to wear so I got this shirt, and now look at me. I just hope I make it in time.”
He’s talking to the girl, seemingly taking no notice of Arthur, pressed into a back corner. He babbles on about coffee stains as the elevator goes upwards. Eames practically leaps out onto the tenth floor, Arthur following slowly after. He thinks about hiding out for while Eames signs his part of the paperwork, and that’s when he hears it.
“I’m looking for my husband, Arthur? He’s tall, well-dressed, handsome? I need to talk to him before he signs anything, it’s an emergency!”
The receptionist just smiles at him, pointing back at Arthur. “I’m guessing that’s him?”
Eames turns around, and Arthur can see the look of absolute relief on his face. He rushes over, grabs his hand and pulls him into a more private area of the lobby.
“Eames, what in the world-”
“Sshhh, just listen for a minute,” Eames says, waiting until Arthur nods. “I know we probably didn’t go about this the right way, and that we have so, so much to work on, but I want to do this with you. I love you; I’ve been in love with you for seventeen years.”
Arthur blinks, unable to speak, so Eames continues.
“I want to be married to you, I do. And I think you want to be married to me, too. I just…I want you to move all my things where I can never find them, and make fun of me for my taste in television, and wake up with you every morning. I want you, Arthur. I always have.”
The silence surrounds them, long moments passing between the men. Eames’s confidence falters, then seems to shatter as his shoulders drop.
He takes a step back, and that’s when Arthur sees it. He’s still wearing his ring. It’s a stupid thing to focus on, really, especially after everything he said but it tells him everything he needs to know.
“Eames, wait. You’re not wrong, you know.”
“I’m not?” He looks nervous, hopeful.
“When you said you think I want us to stay married. I’ve wanted to be your husband for a long time, and I still do.”
Eames lets out what can only be described as a shout of joy as he picks Arthur up, swings him in a circle. People are clapping, the sound echoing in the marble lobby, and it’s like every bad Harlequin romance Arthur ever read.
It’s corny, and it’s perfect, and hey, maybe it’s a happy ending after all.