Complexity

A/N: Been QUITE some time...sorry, hectic life, and couldn't find time or room. Sorry, but here you go: WAIT. GODDAMN, (excuse my laguage) CHAPTER FIVE ALREADY? I love you guys. And for the soundtrack, copy and paste it into youtube, cuz it's foriegn.

Chapter Five: The shards that bite my skin will comfort yours (here in this glass prison)

Soundtrack: Quest Pistols - "Ты Так Красива"

The world is quiet to Ariadne, watching her in the damp, heavy fog that's settled over Paris. Arthur hasn't come over in some time, and she hasn't acknowledged his exsistence. But tonight she'll dream. She's heard that Arthur has stopped dreaming altogether, and she feels something stirring in her gut when this is said, but she ignores it the way she ignores him staring at her. It's been around a week since she met him- and he's messing up everything.

But she can't take it much longer. The thought, hovering in her mind like a fat fly, refuses to be unkown or not acknowledged; instead, it sits there and reminds Ariadne that she might (might) want other company. And Arthur, damn him, is exactly who she needs.

She'll admit this sore truth, but certainly won't act on it.

She finds herself on the same park bench she met him last week. She finds herself dissapointed should he be there, but she can't see anything in the damn fog, just her hand inches away from her face. The park bench is wet with dew and a bit slippery, but she sits on it anyway and takes out her sketch pad.

Instead of drawing she writes.

I've heard you stopped dreaming

whatwouldyoudreamabout?

Is it a sore loss?

I'll dream today-

It takes her a full twenty minutes before she finds she's writing what she would say to him, if he was there. With a sigh and a noise that's halfway a snort and a giggle, she rips it out and crumples it. Then she stuffs it into her bag and leaves.

.later.

She finds him purely on accident. She walks into Professor Miles' classroom, and there he is, fiddling with the tubes connecting to the PASIV. He looks up with an expression that she can't name. Ignoring (she seems to be doing this a lot) her hammering heart, she sits on the lawn chair next to him.

"I hear you've stopped dreaming," she whispers. More to herself then him, but he looks up at her anyway. His eyes look an almost-brown in the light falling in through the windows. "Yes," he says. And like that, Professor Miles is swooping upon them like some great beast. A bird, maybe, with his beak-like nose and huge shiny glasses. Ari has to concentrate on not giggling outright. Professor Miles gives her a sore look, and the smile drops off her face as he hands them each a needle, connected to the tube. "Remember, you won't dream for a couple of weeks after this, and if you do, they'll mpst likely be nightmares. So don't go around watching Scream 2 or Chucky or Scary Movie 3 or something."

All Ariadne can think is how Scary Movie is a comedy, but she says nothing and accepts the needle.

Ariadne feels, in the moments before Professor Miles arrives, that the splintered air between them was probably nothing. Or just blistered. But she has nothing to say, and she's grateful.

Arthur has stopped dreaming- she doesn't know what that will feel like. He seems to be bearing it pretty well, though- functioning like normal. Although she's pretty sure even if he was shot or being tortured, Arthur would still act the same. Arthur is calm, steady, reliable ol' Arthur. When Ky was a reckless, unpredictable reck, Arthur would stay the same, a steady (if not weathering, he already has premature wrinkles) rock in the winds or sands, she could never remember, of time. But Ariadne's extremely prone to nightmares.

"Okay, guys- get ready to go," says Professor Miles. She inserts the needle into her wrist and lies back into the chair, while Arthur settles himself in the chair next to her. Right before everything goes black, his eyes find hers.

Beautiful, is the first thing she thinks when she enters the dream. The angles and colors are exactly how she saw them in her dreams, and twisty and turny and the sunlight falling just right, making her feel like it's autumn again, back in Vermont. Pretty and earthen and unrealistic, and her dreams did it justice. Simply an architect's dream- it is, her masterpiece.

She feels like she can melt into a little Ariadne -shaped puddle on the ground. Arthur smiles a little next to her (bringing out the aforementioned premature wrinkles), raising his eyebrows again. Ariadne takes a deep breath.

"Wow."

Not what she intended to say. She tries again. "You never told me…it was like this." Aha. The right words.

He looks at her. She notices his hair looks ruffled a little. "Thing seem different when you actually see the, Ariadne. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but the question is, can easiest thing to describe."

He has a terrible sense of dry humor, she thinks. And he sounds like he's stealing a quote. "Except for the picture worth a thousand words bit, was that a quote?"

Full out grinning, he shakes his head.

"Nerd," she whispers under her breath, and he smiles. Ariadne finally notices they're in a hotel room, with a red futon. Arthur looks at the futon too, and he looks almost..sad. Before she can figure out why, he's leading her outside into the hallway,