Shifting his weight, the envelope in his hand soaking through, Arthur's palm sweating, the words stamped on the paper burning holes in his mind, making him grit his teeth, inexplicably, alternating with a fond smile.
The words that weren't spoken then were sealed, scribbled with all the haste of wanting to get it out there, for Eames to know.
The doorbell rang with determination.
A rumpled Eames was revealed, with a look of schooled, mild interest on his face.
Foregoing invitations, Arthur brushed past him, waving the letter in front of Eames's face; "I take this as an open invitation."