Arthur Hamilton noticed everything.
As point man, it was his duty to do so, and Arthur was nothing if not serious about his job. So perhaps he could be excused for noticing the way the new architect candidate's brightly-colored sweater hugged her trim frame, her small breasts. How a strand of her dark hair had escaped to curl across her high, intelligent forehead. How her eyes held such an intriguing combination of naiveté, curiosity, and wit.
But though he noticed, Arthur said nothing, preferring, as usual, to keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he slipped the needle into her soft, smooth arm, turned on the PASIV device, and watched as those long-lashed eyes fluttered closed and she joined Cobb in his dream.
When she awoke, gasping, fighting for breath as the effects of whatever disaster she encountered in the dream coursed through her system, Arthur let himself take her by the arms to calm her. He noted, with a herculean effort at detachment, the effect those eyes had when trained solely on his, even as her fear ebbed and anger took its place. He listened as she berated Cobb, realizing that she had met Cobb's projection of Mal in the dream. He watched in silence as she stormed out of the warehouse, not really listening to Cobb as he insisted that she'd be back.
He doubted that she had noticed him at all.
Ariadne Gray was in love.
She was in love with the architecture of dreams, the way she could bend physics to her will, the sheer power of pure creation. Sleep was unnecessary; she spent half the night drawing fantastical layouts, mazes with constructions impossible in reality, buildings with hundreds of secret rooms and corridors. Several times she forgot to eat, and found herself stymied that the time had suddenly flown from morning to deepest night, engrossed as she was in her work.
But maybe, just maybe, Ariadne's fascination with dream architecture had a tiny bit to do with the handsome, mysterious point man, with whom she spent a great deal of her dream-time. She couldn't help but notice how his impeccable three-piece suits hung so perfectly from his slim, muscular body. How a rare smile brought the light of humor into his serious, dark eyes.
But Ariadne's job as architect involved careful attention to detail, so perhaps she could be excused for noticing.
In any case, the point man affected such a calm, detached demeanor that Ariadne doubted he saw her as anything other than a young, inexperienced architect. So she held her tongue, focusing her energies on building dreamscapes, and worrying about Cobb's obvious psychological issues over his dead wife.
She told herself it didn't matter whether the point man noticed her or not.
