and tear me on down, well I am unforgiveable

[eamesofdreams]

Locked to elegantinmind || Futility!Verse.

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[elegantinmind]

[If Arthur were doing anything more thought-provoking than attempting to reply to e-mails from his incredibly persistent sister, then the sound of the radio might have been an irritation, but instead it fell into the background, became part of the peaceful atmosphere around them, and because it was Eames that chose to put it on in the first place before he snatched the laptop up he didn't have the heart to close it off

[eamesofdreams]

[It takes him three cigarettes and an answering message on his godfather's machine before Eames starts to feel the panic clawing its way up his throat. His hands shake as he holds the cigarette to his lips, tries to think about what he should do, what he could do. He's leaning against the cold brick of their building, half inside the alleyway, watching the people mill about and all he can think about is how very young and adrift he feels all of a sudden.

But one thing is clear. Before now Eames might have run, he might have just upped and left and got bladdered in the first bar he found. But all he can think about is how he needs Arthur, how Arthur could stop him feeling like he's suffocating, because even before they were involved, the other man knew how to take care of things, and he could take care of Eames now

[elegantinmind]

[Relief begins to flood through Arthur's entire being when the door moves, a warm mug of tea sitting on the kitchen counter beside the coffee he's been anxiously sipping at, burning the inside of his mouth with the eager gulps

[eamesofdreams]

[He ends up with his fingers twisted in Arthur's shirt like he's too scared to let go in case the other man disappears forever. He tries to shake his head, protest because he had hated him, and he doesn't need the sympathy, doesn't deserve Arthur's care. But all he can do is make a low, almost wounded noise in the back of his throat, bury his face into the slope of Arthur's neck and breathe.]

I didn't even - [There's a tremble in his voice, something that matches the way his hands shake, body shuddering and he's not sure what this feeling is and if he should despise himself for it, because it's too close to relief, too much like being set free only to find you're drowning in it.] Can I just - I didn't -. [Sucking in a breath.] Sorry, sorry. I don't need you to be nice, I don't deserve-. He's gone, he's gone, and I'm not sad. I'm not. I just don't know what I'm doing, Arthur. Don't go anywhere, just stay.