AN: Holy guacamole! Huge thanks to everybody who reviewed and put this story or ME on their alerts! I'm honoured that you took the time out of your day to read my fic Anyways so here I am continuing this, I hope you like it. Once again I'd like to ask you to please met me know how I'm doing, I'm very open to constructive criticism. I thought I'd take a shot at developing Arthur in this Chapter, he's such a mysterious character in the movie (not to mention Joseph Gordon-Levitt? Yummy.) As per usual, every single review is much appreciated and I love you all! xx


He couldn't sleep. His entire body felt exhausted but his mind felt electric. He had collapsed into his bed and shut his eyes as soon as he got through the door, but images of Ariadne's dreams kept floating back into his mind, as if they were burned on the back of his eyelids. He couldn't stop himself from envisioning the way her pretty, pale hand dipped into the silvery ocean, or the way the pallid blue moonlight hit her face when she was perched on that ledge, her legs crossed at the ankles.

It was a mystery to even himself how suddenly his feelings had hit him. Over the years, he had had girlfriends who he thought he had strong feelings for, but deep in the back of his mind it felt like he was only with them because he was supposed to be. It always felt like they were obligated to be with him, and he was always looking for something more, something beyond what was possible.

But Ariadne fascinated him. His reluctance to recruit her to the team had been short-lived, for as soon as Cobb introduced them an unfamiliar curiosity overcame him. Who was this pretty young girl, with a paisley scarf tied around her neck and big bright eyes that looked up at him so helplessly? He had to will himself to keep walking when he saw her bent over the machinery that night at the warehouse, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. He'd considered asking, but had refrained for fear that she would see him and he would have to, you know, talk to her.

But he couldn't stop himself. He was only five paces out of the building before he turned back and ran into her work station. His heart pounding, he had entered her dreams quietly, not able to control his interest in what exactly Ariadne was up to.

And so he had watched, nothing more, nothing less, just watched. Without a word he had simply watched as she began to realize what she could create with a dream. He kind of liked being the whisper in the wind that made her turn around and look, the shadow on the wall that was there one moment and gone the next.

He turned over in his bed and opened his eyes. They had adjusted to the darkness of his room, and he fixed his eyes on the bands of moonlight that peeked through his blinds onto the wall. He wondered how she perceived him. Did she see him as shy and sensitive? Driven and hard working? Painfully uptight and anxious? He hoped it wasn't the latter, he had noticed her smiling and laughing along with Eames whenever he poked fun at Arthur for this clean shaven appearance and immaculately organized workspace.

He hadn't always been like that, however. Growing up, his life was completely consumed by his Father's alcoholism. Arthur's Dad had often locked himself away in his office, claiming to be doing business but really taking shot after shot of his expensive, imported Scotch. His own Father had transformed before his eyes, transitioning from a wealthy, powerful businessman to a struggling addict who tried hopelessly to keep it together. He felt a deep, passionate hatred when he thought of how his Father had put him, and his family in serious jeopardy.

The disappointment and resent he felt when he thought of his father always brought on a strange sensation in Arthur. He hadn't spoken to him since he left home, at only age eighteen. He didn't want to speak to him, he didn't need to, but it was his Father's addiction that drove him to succeed. Of course he was wealthy, an heir to a multimillion dollar fortune, but seeing his Dad like that had made him vow to never, ever let that happen to the people he loved.

And so he had studied hard, went to the most renowned educational facilities the world had to offer. He was smart, cultured, one could almost go so far as to say he was a genius. When Dom had approached him about extraction years ago, he had jumped at the chance. Now he was the addicted one, constantly chasing the high of the subconscious.

He sighed, exasperated, as a few weak rays of sunlight managed their way through the blinds. He hadn't gotten any sleep. He was still in his clothes from last night, except by now his black trousers and navy blue pinstriped dress shirt were wrinkled beyond belief and spotted with dust. He coughed as he sat up and removed his dishevelled tie from around his neck. Blinking slowly, he stumbled out of bed and into his study.

He sat down before his burgundy wood desk and on impulse took out a fresh piece of stationary from a pile to his right. His hands began to work steadily, suddenly, grabbing the paper and folding and folding until before him lay a perfect paper crane.

He studied the crane for a few seconds, turning it over and over in his hands. He remembered something he had learned in Japan when he had studied there. If you make one thousand paper cranes, you get a wish. One wish.

For a split second he contemplated taking it to the warehouse, giving it to Ariadne.

And just like that, his hands were ripping the paper crane to shreds.