Arthur was, let's just say, broken. his walls had cracked. He was used to being straight-faced and upright. Suddenly, he was listening to the thunder crash and occasionally concentrating on the flashes from the lightning, curled up in bed at his organized flat and wondering what the hell had just happened that made him so upset.

Everyone had been joyful, but separately. Cobb went to his kids, seemingly forgetting about his closest friend. Ariadne flew to France to complete her degree. Yusuf went back to mixing those chemicals or whatever the hell he did. Saito had went to his mansion and probably grabbed a couple of prostitutes on his way. And Eames… well, no one knew where he was. He had just up-and-left.

After their "mission" together, everyone had gone their separate ways. Arthur understood that. He had planned to stay in touch with Cobb but for everyone else… he probably wouldn't see them until their funerals which was a morbid, but probably true, thought. Apart from Eames. How?

Well, they were all saying their goodbyes to each other as they hopped off the plane, hugging and shaking hands. Eames, though… he had just disappeared. Left. And this hurt Arthur more than it should. He had wanted Eames' number, at least. Over the duration of this… thing, they had become friends, had they not? Joking and teasing, relying on one-another?

Apparently, the feeling was not mutual.

So Arthur ran away from the rest of them in his despair, desperate to get to his apartment. When he had arrived there he realised that, outside of the dream-business, he had no job and no income.

Eames leaving so abruptly felt even more painful. But why?

Maybe Eames didn't want to stay in touch. Maybe Arthur shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Maybe -

A knock at the door halted that thought process. Curiousity burned him up, blocking out all noise. Then suspicion settled. Who would visit him? He had just gotten here. However, a certain voice got him leaping off of him bed.

"Arthur? You there? This had better be the right door."

No, it couldn't be…

Arthur bolted to the front door, passing though his perhaps too clean apartment. He peeped through the peep hole and saw…

"EAMES!" Arthur shouted, yanking the door open. And there he stood.

The first thing Arthur noted was that he was soaked. His black leather jacket had droplets of rain sliding down its' smooth surface, like watered down oil. Dirty blonde hair was drowned in the product of the ferocious weather and Arthur could see that his hands were pink from the cold.

"Are you going to let me in? Walking down the hallway here is like walking in the North Pole in only your swimming trunks."

Arthur looked up to his face, cheeks flushing, and saw him smirking. Cheeky bastard.

"Where did you go when we all got off of the plane?" asked Arthur, as he moved aside to let Eames pass. Only then did he notice the enormous suitcase Eames was lugging behind him. "And what the hell is that?"

Eames dumped the suitcase, letting the white carpet soak up its moisture. He leapt onto the couch and swung his feet on to the coffee table. Normally, Arthur would demand he lift his feet off but he was too happy to see his friend. "Well, I went to buy a phone so I could save your number but you had disappeared by the time I came back. And this is all my belonging which have to fit into your closet because I need to crash here for a while."

Arthur just stared incredulously at Eames as he shut the door. "What? Won't you help a poor, homeless friend? I'm ashamed! I thought you were more hospitable than that."

What? Poor? Homeless? "You can stay. What happened to your… previous accommodation?" questioned Arthur.

Eames looked hesitant, "Um… I may or may not have paid for the house with stolen money. Also the person who I stole the money from may… or may not have been a drug dealer. But you said I could stay, right?"

All Arthur could do was blink. That was so Eames. "Okay. You know, you could have just told me you were away to buy a phone. I would have waited."

Eames just shrugged slightly, and Arthur found it quite… endearing. "Sorry, but you should have known I would want to continue what we have going on."

"Right, okay then sweetie," Arthur said casually. Then he realised what he said.

Before he could take it back, Eames was walking over to Arthur, chuckling. Arthur backed himself into the door„ but Eames just kept walking at an achingly slow pace. When he was everything but touching Arthur, he breathed, "What did you call me?" The stared into each others eyes for a second; Arthur's the most delicious chocolate and Eames' a clear sapphire.

"I didn't mean it," Arthur finally whispered.

"But you have been thinking it, right?" Eames said, looking determinedly at Arthur.

Arthur may as well be truthful, "You were sort of endearing," he teased.

Unbelievably, Arthur felt chapped, cold lips on his own warm, soft ones. At first, he stood still, unable to comprehend what was happening. But just as Eames sighed and began to pull away, Arthur grabbed his face and pulled him back in.

It was like they were listening to an orchestra play and kissing to the music. First, it was slow and soft, as if warming up. Every touch was tender and sweet, every breath was warm but not desperate.

Arthur felt hands on his hips, pulling him closer to Eames, and the music became louder, more frantic. Arthur's fingers danced at Eames' collar, sometimes tugging on it to pull him closer. As if they were psychic, they both parted their lips at the same time to allow tongues to rub against each other, heated and exposed.

Ready to snap from the teasing, Arthur nearly began to grind up against Eames but, as if reading Arthur's mind, he pulled away and stood in the same position as before; everything but touching. Eames leaned forward and whispered into Arthur's ear, "I've been wanting to do that since I 'kicked' you, darling." He pulled back and turned. He sauntered towards the door on his right, which lead to the kitchen.

"Tea?" he shouted, and Arthur wanted to slap the smile out of his voice.

Cocky, cute bastard.