Antichambre: prologue

"I never wanted it to happen." Arthur said, more to himself than anything else, even though he knew Eames was listening.

There was a strong taste of alcohol on his tongue and his whole body was chilling. Arthur had been sitting at the balcony of Eames' hotel room for a few hours, and meanwhile had half-emptied one of his bottles of scotch. He couldn't even remember the last time he drank so much, or the last time he felt this much like hell.

Now he sat curled up like a ball, head against knees and wearing only a thin buttoned-up shirt and his black vest, which could be the main reason he was freezing.

"I know you didn't, pet." Eames replied in a low voice, disregarding the fact the speech wasn't really directed to him.

"Stop calling me pet." Arthur's own voice was harsh as he raised his gaze from the floor, staring with blurry eyes at the dark sky instead. "I'm not your pet. I'm not your pet, I'm not your dear, or your darling, or your love."

"You are all of them." And Arthur could feel the smile in Eames' face, and hated himself for being able to project that smile on his mind with such perfection.

He silenced, and after a few moments felt Eames' fingers touch his shoulder very slightly. It brought heat right away to his cold body, but Arthur moved it away nonetheless.

"Let's get inside. You're freezing." Eames said quietly. He seemed to realize just then that Arthur was more than a little tipsy by the alcohol and not in the mood for anything.

"I won't. It's my own fault, I've made it easy to you, Eames, and now for you it's like it'll always work this way, I can tell. Eames–" Arthur attempted to get up in a swift motion, but balance escaped him the second his feet fully touched the cold floor; his eyes went wide, but before his head could meet Eames' hideous rug, the forger had his arms around him, his chest against Arthur's back. "–it will not always work this way." He finished breathlessly, as if Eames was even paying attention anymore.

"Careful, darling." Was the only thing he muttered while helping the point man stand still. Arthur figured it wasn't entirely intentional, but Eames' full lips were only inches away from his ear as the forger made sure he could stay on his feet without tumbling again. Even through the bliss he felt Eames' breath was kind of heavy, which triggered two opposite reactions from him: number one, he turned around and grabbed Eames' collar; number two, he cursed himself, and wasn't entirely sure he'd done it out loud.

"I never meant for it to happen. It's your fault, too." Arthur started again, so full of frustration it brought heavy tears to his eyes, and through blurriness he watched the forger's eyes go wide. "My life was fine. It was damn fine. I didn't need you here, but since you came in everything is going downhill."

He stopped, partly because he was running out of oxygen but mostly to make room for Eames to say something.

But, for once, the man looked as if at loss for words. Instead of talking, he reached out and held Arthur's waist with both hands to steady him.

The point man sighed deeply, feeling so much more lost than before. He couldn't stand the pained silence, so he just kept throwing his distress at the forger's troubled face.

"I didn't need you in my life. What are you doing in my life? You're only here to bring mess, you're by my side and then you disappear, God knows where." Arthur interrupted himself again and quickly swallowed a sob Eames should never hear, but there was no way to disguise the trail of tears that fell to his cheeks.

It was when he realized that, despite the fact he was embarrassing the hell out of himself, screaming at Eames' face the things that were consuming him felt almost like relief.

"It's okay." Eames tried to sound soothing, but failed. "Arthur, it's okay."

"It's not." Arthur refuted right away, eager for something to disagree with. "It's a lie and you're the one who pretends to believe in it."

The forger said nothing; his grip at Arthur's waist tightened.

Another heavy sigh escaped Arthur's mouth and suddenly he became conscious of how tired he was and how much his angered speech had weakened him. For the sake of resting his head against anything solid, he leaned against Eames' forehead.

It was the first moment that could be called peaceful since Eames had found him at his balcony. Arthur's eyes closed on their own, his hands still grabbing Eames' collar, the light pressure the forger's hands made on his waist turning the world into bliss and erasing his mind with such effectiveness Arthur only realized what he was doing when a content sigh coming from Eames' lips hit his own from less than an inch away.

"Dear God." Arthur pushed back so harshly he almost stumbled once again, but none of them had let go from where they were holding on to; Eames' grip was still firm on his waist.

"You were always really good at ruining the finest moments," Eames said almost casually while pulling Arthur back to where he stood before, but their faces weren't touching anymore. "You're making it complicated, dear, when it doesn't have to be like that."

"You see, that's what I mean." Arthur cried out, shaking Eames back and forth as if to prove an invisible point. "I'm not making it complicated. You made it complicated when you walked in. Now I can't think, Eames, because of the bloody mess you've made. I can't think about anything else."

The red alarm went off on his head, warning Arthur he was spilling out much more than he should, but the point man didn't pay any attention to it. He couldn't bring himself to stop right now; instead he pulled Eames closer until their mouths were almost touching once again.

"You started it all, and can you fix it? You can't. And I can't even wish you would just walk away and disappear, because I hate it when you do, Eames."

He breathed in and out slowly and repeated pointlessly, "I hate it."

Eames kissed him.

It wasn't a real kiss, only the feel of his full lips against his own. It also wasn't made of passion, Arthur could tell. Eames was trying to calm him down and, mostly, shut him up.

It worked very well.

Arthur wished it would last until the sun rose, only so he could forget the whole world for a while, but Eames pulled back after a brief moment.

"Let's get you to bed," he said in nothing more than a whisper. "Right now."

"No. Stop it, you're going to listen to me, Eames." Arthur refused, trying to break free from those hands.

"Let's get you to bed." The forger repeated, his tone quieter and deeper, but the franticness was clear within his bright eyes. Arthur stared at them, wishing he could join that mess. "Right now."

With that said he began to walk in careful steps towards the glass door, never looking away from Arthur. When they had both reached the edge of the bed Eames helped Arthur sit down and gave him the weakest smile ever.

Arthur himself felt dizzy; before he could tell Eames had moved, the man was holding a plain white undershirt in front of his eyes.

"It probably hurts for you to blink, but I know you hate to sleep on your pretty clothes, right, Arthur." He was talking in a low, almost embarrassed tone, as if someone else was trying to hear them talk, and held the pained smile while Arthur showed he was still able to unbutton his vest and shirt; then turned on his heels and walked into the bathroom.

Arthur's head was spinning. He felt the urge to cry. Damned Eames couldn't ever let Arthur hate him, with true passion, give him a reason to never want to see him again. Eames could have let him cry his feelings out until his throat hurt and his tears dried, just because he would have never done it if he hadn't swallowed half a bottle of scotch. Eames could have let him drown in regret the next morning; actually, Arthur could swear that was the ideia Eames had of good fun.

He didn't. Couldn't give Arthur an excuse to loathe him. He made Arthur shut up and made him go to sleep.

By the time Eames walked in again, Arthur was curled up on the bed and trying to dry his wet face without being noticed.

He didn't know where the forger was heading to now, since he was the one stealing his bed, and found himself suffocating from the want to reach out his hand and ask him to stay.

"I know you think you're unpredictable, but to me you're not," Arthur managed to say, without meeting Eames' eyes, because that could put in risk his ability with words. "By the time morning comes, you will have vanished."

After a few moments of his heart trying to kill him, Arthur felt the bed shift beside him and a well-known heat creep to his body.

"You're only giving me excuses to contradict you, love."

Once again, and to Arthur's great pain, Eames was spectacularly right.