LOVE WILL MAKE FOOLS OF US ALL
A/N: This has been sitting in my folder, unfinished, for a long time. It ends the way I always planned to end it, but I know that it will annoy and disappoint some people, so I hesitated in posting it. Anyway, here we have the sequel to Bros Before Hos. This story, unlike the one before it and How Could I Forget is written from Arthur's point of view, so that's different. Anyway, hope you enjoy this final part, and thank you all for your lovely reviews for the first two. You're all too kind!
Arthur wakes as soon as the clock hits seven. It's a habit ingrained in him during his military days that he has never been able to shake, no matter that almost twelve years have passed since he deserted. The sunlight streams through the window of his third-story LA apartment and falls across his legs. It's the heat that wakes him. Arthur usually runs cold, and so is abnormally sensitive to heat.
Eames always radiates heat. And this thought makes Arthur groan. While he manages to keep the militaries strict morning regime, his best friend does not. In fact, Eames had not been particularly good at adhering to the waking times even when they were in the army together. But at the moment, Eames is staying in Arthur's apartment, which means that he has to wake up at the same time as his host. Arthur always feels uncomfortable when there's another person sleeping naturally in his house when he is not.
But waking Eames is almost always a mostly unpleasant and mildly uncomfortable experience. The other man is not a morning person. And, of course, there are other reasons behind Arthur's discomfort. He rolls over, moaning, and squishes his face into his pillow, hoping to force himself back to sleep.
-00000-
You see, Arthur remembers the exact moment he realised he was in love with Eames. It had happened almost a year ago, and had not been some dramatic leap on Arthur's part, but rather, a small step to the left, like suddenly he was seeing the man from a slightly different angle. Really, he felt the same way he always had for Eames, a strong friendship, a want to see the other man happy and to be there when he needed him, a small amount of mentorship and even a grudging hero-worship. He was well aware that without the forger he would not have developed into the man he is today.
But something had changed. There were subtle differences that had all the importance in the world. On the nights he and Eames slept in the same bed, Arthur wanted to wake up and lie there as he watched Eames follow him out of sleep. He wanted to comfort him in actions, as well as words. He wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to run his hands through that short brown hair and over full lips. There was no overpowering lust, no desire to leap on the forger every moment he saw him, no uncontrollable urges at inopportune moments. Rather, it was a quite, deep love, one only achieved through years of getting to know one another. Arthur felt almost the same way he always had for Eames. But now he wanted making out to be involved.
Really, not much of their relationship dynamic changed because of Arthur's epiphany. He and Eames were still best friends, still disagreed professionally, and still got drunk together in between jobs. Arthur's new, underlying physical attraction did not get in the way of the friendship they had built over almost 14 years.
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Almost a year ago...
The door slammed in Arthur's face as he stood there in shock. He hadn't really liked the girl all that much, she was too needy, but it was never nice being dumped. It always happened this way with the girls Eames picked out for him. The Brit would get their attention and then deflect them to Arthur. They would then chat with Arthur, and he would ask the girl out. They would date for a while, but then she would start asking too many question, and he would begin to distance himself from her. And then it would all end with Arthur getting a door slammed in his face, ears ringing with accusations about his 'emotional distance,' and apparent 'fear of commitment.' And he had not been surprised that it had not been any different when it came to the girl he picked up during the militarisation of Saito's mind.
Sometimes, Arthur wondered if he should date someone from his line of work, but it was largely lacking in women, and the only one he had worked with more than once outside of the military was Ariadne. And while he had had a small 'thing' for her, it had never really gone anywhere. She was pure and untaintable, and also completely gone for Cobb. Which was both beautiful and terribly sad.
Arthur made his way slowly down the stairwell, pulling out his phone as he did so. The dumping many not have really hurt him, but he still felt a little bad about it. Arthur fired off a quick text to Eames.
Meet me at the bar in twenty minutes. Bring lots of money.
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After 13 years, Arthur should really have learned that going out drinking with Eames was not a good decision. The Brit was a handsy drunk, and very susceptible to the suggestions of those around him one had had downed six or seven glasses. But the forger was mostly sober. Rather, it was Arthur who was well on his way to attempting to table dance or take part in karaoke.
Arthur's head was pleasantly fuzzy as Eames wrapped an arm around his waist and supported him as they made their way up the stairs to Arthur's apartment. He knew that he had had a little too much to drink, but was mostly past the part where he cared about these things. There was little that could make it into his brain through the sludge besides the strange thought that the warm pressure around his middle was oddly comforting, so he leaned into it a little more.
If Eames was a handsy drunk, then Arthur was a talkative one, and said everything that was on his mind, no matter how out there it was. And so it was because of his lack of brain-to-mouth filter that he blurted out "Girls are stupid," as soon as the thought popped into his head. Eames grunted in approval, and Arthur took this as a sign to continue of the train of thought that had leaped into his mind in all it's strangeness. "I mean, they always want stuff, and they always want to talk and know what you did all day. Sometimes, Eames, I wonder what it would be like if you and I were in love. I think it would be so much easier. Don't you?"
If Arthur were more sober, and even mostly in control of his brain functions, he would have felt the way that Eames stiffened at that, his whole body pausing and going ridged out front of Arthur's bedroom door. Had Arthur been listening, he would have heard the "yes, darling." breathed almost reverently beside him. But he wasn't, because his mind quickly moved on to the next topic.
"Now, Mr. Eames," he declared, "I need to go to bed." Eames led Arthur into his bedroom and deposited the pointman on the bed, before turning around and making his way out of the room. Arthur was confused. Normally, when one of them was as drunk as he was, the other would share the bed with them incase they got nightmares, which they both still did under the effects of alcohol. But it seemed as if Eames was breaking the time-honoured tradition. "Where are you going, Eames?" Arthur asked. "Aren't you going to stay here the night?"
Eames looked at Arthur. He seemed so vulnerable at that moment that he wanted, more than anything, to simply crawl under the covers with him and watch him as he fell asleep. But Arthur's words before had struck a chord, and Eames was not sure how he was going to handle it yet. He couldn't risk it. "No, Arthur," he rasped. "Not tonight, not tired. But I'll just be in the next room if you need me."
Arthur nodded, and Eames left the room. He felt better knowing that Eames was there. For some reason, having the older man around made him feel safe. Always had. It was the reason he had talked to Eames, the big, confident, British man, that day in the cafe. But he was too drunk to wonder why that was. So, instead, he fell asleep thinking about it.
-00000-
Arthur awoke at seven the next day, sporting an uncomfortably strong hangover and a strange feeling of missing something. He wasn't sure what it was, until he rolled over and saw that his headache was not accompanied with the image of a sleeping, and slightly snoring, Eames. They were things he had come to associate with one another over 13 years of getting drunk. Arthur had a very vague recollection of what had gone on last night, but he did remember Eames saying he would be in the next room. So Arthur dragged himself out of his incredibly comfortable bed and made his way sluggishly into the living room.
Eames was there, asleep on the couch. There was a half-finished game of solitaire on the table, which the forger had obviously drifted off in the middle of. Eames could keep himself amused for hours by playing cards by himself. It was a talent Arthur was immensely jealous of. Arthur leaned down to wake Eames up. If Arthur had to suffer, than the forger did too. But something stopped him in his tracks.
The morning light was peaking through the window and threw strange shadows across Eames' face. There, in the lighting, Eames looked perfectly innocent. Something in the way his jaw was covered in a light stubble, his hair and clothes ruffled, made Arthur pause. He'd seen Eames this way hundreds of times before. They'd shared a room together for a year and a half in the military, it was unavoidable to not have watched the forger sleeping a few times. But it was as if Arthur was seeing the other man in a slightly different light. As if the friendship they had was just suddenly deeper. Like he had taken a small step to the left and realised something that he had know for a long time.
He was in love with Eames.
Arthur had, of course, loved Eames for years. The man had played so many different rolls for him in the most difficult parts of his life, had supported him through so many decisions, and been there for him through everything. But it had been a platonic love. And now, it seemed that that love had just taken the final leap, and realised that it was no longer simply platonic.
Arthur was in love with Eames.
But his brain, already muddled by the hangover, was not able to fully process this information, so Arthur stumbled into the kitchen and made himself a coffee.
-00000-
As the liquid made its way down Arthur's throat and past the fog in his brain, parts of last night began to come back to him. He remembered meeting Eames at some backend bar, and then the forger buying him drink after drink as Arthur's stories about the actions of his ex became crueler and more far-fetched. Arthur was not the kind of person who took being dumped well, mainly because he preferred to do the dumping. He remembered Eames listening carefully to what Arthur had to say, and joining in in the ex-bashing when appropriate. He remembered Eames helping him home and then making him go to bed.
And then Arthur's thoughts stopped in their tracks, because he also remembered the conversation he and Eames had had just before Arthur had fallen asleep. He remembered the forger helping him into his bed, and then he remembered telling Eames that he had wondered what it would be like if they were in love. It had not been the first time the thought had crossed Arthur's mind. After many of his break-ups, Arthur had thought it would be a lot easier if he could just be in a relationship with Eames. They knew each other almost completely anyway. But Arthur had never voiced this out loud, and he'd never seriously considered it either. It seemed the two came hand-in-hand.
And Arthur remembered Eames' reaction to his statement. The older man had frozen, and then refused to spend the night in Arthur's bed. And suddenly, Arthur knew why. Eames was afraid Arthur was in love with him. And Eames didn't feel the same way. So instead of damaging their friendship, Eames had ignored the musings of a drunken man in the hope they would go away.
Arthur found he was okay with the idea. If Eames just wanted to be friends, then Arthur was sure he could handle it. After all, it was what they had been doing for 13 years.
Arthur put the kettle on for Eames' tea. His feelings for Eames had not changed so drastically that he could not control himself. Eames would never know that something had changed. Because Arthur did not want to lose Eames.
As the kettle began to whistle, Arthur made is way into the living room to wake the forger.
-00000-
It had been almost four months. And nothing had changed. Arthur was rather proud of his own self-restraint. It was not like him to hide something important from those around him. He was, in fact, upfront to the point of abrasiveness. He firmly believed that if something needed to be said, then it should be, no matter how it sounded. However, he was equally as sure that his feelings towards his best friend did not come under the heading of 'needed to be said.' They were both much happier without them being expressed.
Arthur had tried flirting with other men, but they held no interest for him. Despite his newly-discovered love, it seemed he was still largely straight. So then he tried girls, and though they were fun while they lasted, he always felt that he was missing out on something. But he wasn't about to let Eames get in the way of enjoying himself.
Arthur was nothing if not determined, and he knew he needed closure on the Eames situation. So he decided to talk to Yusef about it. The other man was Eames' best friend, apart from himself, and if anyone could talk on behalf of the Brit, it would be him. Arthur was sure that once Yusef rejected the notion of Arthur and Eames together, then he could move on with his life. Arthur was happy with the way things were before the unnecessary feelings had come along.
-00000-
Yusef was decidedly unhelpful. He was, however, a good listener, and Arthur found himself spilling much more about his situation than he had intended. But after confessing to his annoying love of his best friend, Yusef had simply replied with "Why don't you just tell Eames this?" And then left without a word.
He thought it was an odd reply for Yusef to give. Arthur had been expecting Yusef to tell him that Eames was in no way interested in men and for Arthur to forget about it, and move on. But the chemist had been perfectly sincere in his reply, and Arthur wondered why that was. There was a small part of him that hoped it meant that Eames felt the same way about him, and was hiding it equally as well as he was. But Arthur knew Eames, and he knew that if it was not for a job, the forger had a terrible habit of blabbing secrets to anyone who would listen.
The more rational part of his mind was sure that Yusef was just advising Arthur to talk about his feelings with the object of them in order to get them off his chest. But then there was the tiny, irrational part, that was sure the chemist only wanted Arthur to talk with Eames about it in order to break up their friendship and to have the forger all to himself. Arthur's brain was, after all, trained to examine all possibilities. At least, that was what he told himself before he squashed that thought.
Arthur did very much want to talk to Eames. He wanted to get it out in the open, to talk about how he felt, and then to move past it when Eames said he didn't feel the same way. But, more than anything, he wanted to keep his friendship with Eames. There was little lust involved when Arthur thought about being with the forger. It seemed that he had already moved past that part in the relationship, and had settled into the calm, comfortable faze, where just simple displays of love were enough. Arthur was sure he could continue simply being friends with Eames until his feelings went away.
Eames couldn't feel the same way. Arthur had only seen him with women. Eames didn't feel the same way. He would've told Arthur if he did, he wasn't the type to be shy about what he said.
And Arthur wouldn't tell him how he felt. Their friendship was simply too important.
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Present day...
Sleep is not forthcoming, so Arthur turns his head and squints blearily at the window. He wishes he could muster up some kind of glare at it, but his body does not seem to be co-operating with the messages from his brain. He huffs loudly and rolls over. Now, he supposes his a good a time as any to wake Eames. He reaches over to the head-radiating lump beside him and shakes what he supposes is an arm. The lump groans. Arthur tries again, and this time it rolls over to reveal a person. Eames.
The Brit blinks at Arthur, unfocused, before smiling benignly at him. "Good morning, love." He rumbles, voice gravely with sleep. Eames then rolls over a little further, flings a heavy arm across Arthur's stomach and buries his face in the younger man's neck before drifting off again.
Arthur lies on the bed wide-eyed, Eames pressed up against his side and snoring gently, breath ghosting against Arthur's collarbone. Arthur is shocked. Eames is never this amiable in the morning. Usually there's some grumbling and groaning and Arthur can't get a word out of Eames until the forger has downed at least a mug and a half of tea.
Arthur shrugs. He must have done something right last night. But not one to miss a good opportunity, Arthur shifts slightly so he is lying on his side, and wraps his arms loosely around Eames. He closes his eyes and once again tries to drift back to sleep, a contented smile curling across his face.
Sometimes, Arthur thinks it's nice to wake up his boyfriend.
A/N: Ha! I did it. I made them happy. Even if it was sappy and slightly unrealistic, I just couldn't leave them the way I did before. I can't stand to read sad stories, let alone be responsible for one. So I apologise to anyone who thinks that I just ruined everything I wrote before by having this ending. I'm so sorry, but I'm just a huge softy, ok! Anyway, it's not entirely unrealistic. In fact, happened to my friend, who realised he was in love with his best friend after almost 15 years of platonic friendship. So it's perfectly possible for something like this to happen. In the end, I just can't stand to see these two apart. I'm too much of a sucker for happy endings when it comes to them! The title should be 'Love Will Make Fools Of Us All (Especially Me).' I hope you don't hate me...and if you do, please be nice about it...haha
Reviews are love, which, apparently, I don't get enough of, as I'm projecting it into my stories...