Sinful.

Eames has just finished making the pasta when Arthur’s friends arrive. He’s putting everything onto four plates, one for each of them, and Arthur goes to get the door to let them in. It’s that tall, slender woman Eames met briefly once at the farmer’s market (Mal, is it?) and some other man Eames has never seen before. Mal greets Arthur with a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering something in his ear that makes him glare at her. When she laughs, a sound sort of like tinkling wind chimes rings out through the air.

“This is Eames,” Arthur says, motioning to Eames, and Eames notices Arthur sounds a little uncomfortable or maybe just annoyed. He obviously doesn’t want to be making these awkward introductions. He doesn’t really have enough practice in it, and it feels foreign and strange.

Mal’s face lights up with recognition and she goes to shake Eames’ hand politely. “I think we met once,” she says. Eames can hear a distinct French accent coloring her voice. “At the farmer’s market, am I correct?”

Eames tells her she’s right, and Mal smiles at him with a close-mouthed smile. Arthur introduces the man next; his name is Dom and Eames discerns very quickly that Mal and Dom are dating. The atmosphere in the room is kind of awkward as they all try to make small talk, but Eames ignores the discomfort and smiles anyways and suggests that maybe they’ll have dinner now.

As they all settle down to eat, it seems a bit easier to talk, a bit more comfortable for all of them. They talk about food and how the weather’s been unnaturally cold and gloomy for summer and how expensive it is to fly out of the country to, say, Paris, because that’s where Mal’s from, where she and Dom first met, and Eames went there once for three days and Arthur desperately wants to go there sometime preferably soon. In no time, they’re getting along as well as if they’ve been friends all along. Eames has a something of a talent for this, for finding a way to break the ice with people he’s just met.

“So, Eames,” Mal says conversationally. “Arthur tells me you’re going to art school this fall.”

“Yes,” Eames beams. “I’ve always wanted to be an artist. It’s probably my mum’s doing, actually. She was always the more… eccentric one, if you will; always encouraged me to try new things and do what I want.”

Mal laughs softly. “She sounds like a wonderful woman,” she comments.

Eames knows Mal doesn’t mean any harm with this careless comment, but he can’t help the pang this causes and he smiles a little sadly, a little nostalgically. “Yeah,” he sighs softly. “She was.”

He realizes a second too late, only after the words leave his mouth, what he’s just said implies. It’s not what he wants to say; he doesn’t want this to come out, not yet, not now. He wasn’t planning on this, but he can’t exactly take back his words so he just falls into stride with this and smiles and hopes it passes unnoticed even though he knows it won’t.

And sure enough, Mal furrows her eyebrows delicately at him. “What do you mean?” she asks.

Eames feels Arthur’s eyes on him, sharp and piercing, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He was going to tell Arthur this in due time anyways; this just isn’t how he pictured it.

“My mum, um… she passed, a couple years ago,” Eames says, mostly succeeding in keeping his voice level.

“Oh,” Mal says quietly, and her voice is soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Eames smiles brightly, convincingly, and waves that notion off. “Oh, don’t be,” he says. It bothers him when people say I’m sorry when they hear that something unfortunate has happened to others. “It’s not like it’s your fault or anything.”

Eames still feels Arthur’s eyes on him, but it’s less severe now, though equally as intense. He turns to meet Arthur’s gaze and smiles briefly before going to put his now empty plate in the sink. And even from the one momentary look, he can tell that they’re going to be talking about this later; Arthur will want an explanation and Eames will tell him, but that will be later, when Mal and Dom have gone and it’s just Arthur and Eames sitting with all the lights off on Arthur’s bed, the lit city outside the window silhouetting them against the darkness.

A light moment of silence hovers over them and then Dom speaks, mentioning a party in about one week’s time that he and Mal are planning on going to and Arthur should go too. Arthur frowns and flat out refuses. Eames raises his eyebrows at this.

“Why not?” Eames wants to know. “It sounds like it’d be a lot of fun.”

“Arthur never goes to parties,” Mal complains with a dainty roll of her eyes.

Eames turns his eyes to Arthur and his lips pull up into a smirk. “You should go,” Eames insists.

“Ha!” Mal exclaims, grey eyes sparkling excitedly, and Dom chuckles. Arthur frowns.

“Why in the world would I want to go to some mindless party hosted by someone I don’t even know?” he deadpans, his expression of one entirely unimpressed with the situation at hand. Eames thinks it’s kind of cute, in a very Arthur-ish sort of way.

“Because you’ll be bringing me,” Eames says around a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Arthur scowls. “I most certainly am not,” he snaps.

“And you do know the host,” Dom points out. Arthur narrows his eyes at Dom and Dom continues, unfazed by the death threat held in Arthur’s gaze. “Yusuf, from my thermo chem class. I’m sure you’ve met him before.”

Arthur seriously looks like he’s about to punch someone in the face right now. It’s probably just because he knows he can’t win, and it definitely has something to do with the way Mal is smirking at him victoriously. Despite being the best of friends, the two of them are unbelievably competitive with each other.

Eames takes a step over to Arthur and slides his arm around Arthur’s waist. He thinks he feels Arthur relax just a touch, but Arthur’s sharp glare doesn’t falter.

“Oh come on now,” he coos. “No need to be such a stick in the mud. It’s your last year of college, is it not?”

“His last semester, actually,” Mal corrects.

Eames is mildly impressed, though he had expected Arthur to be ahead; it’s such an Arthur thing to do.

“Your last semester, then,” Eames amends. “Don’t you think that’s something you ought to celebrate? You’re only in college once, you know. You might as well take the opportunities to have some fun.”

Arthur stares at Eames impassively, like Eames is the most ridiculous person Arthur has ever had the misfortune to meet, and Eames smiles placidly back. Eames is vaguely aware that Mal and Dom are watching with amused expressions, but all he’s really focused on is the slight shifts in Arthur’s expression. It’s his eyes that give first, warming up to liquid chocolate, and then his muscles relax and his mouth curves up almost imperceptibly and he shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Eames.

“Fine,” he says, trying and failing quite miserably at hiding the fondness seeping into his voice. “I’ll make an appearance, if it means that much to you.”

Mal cheers and gives Arthur one of those mocking looks because she’s won this round. Arthur gives her a half-hearted imitation of a glare.

“And you’ll be taking me with you, of course,” Eames adds, and Arthur sighs.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Arthur waves that notion off with his hand as if it goes without saying, which, if Eames really thinks about it, it probably does. “I know you won’t ever leave me alone if I don’t.”

Arthur tries for unaffected but only succeeds in exasperated affection, and Eames laughs and kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth. When Arthur turns to frown at Eames, Eames catches Arthur’s lips with his own, and Mal whistles at them and Dom chuckles and looks away, and Eames thinks, not bad, as far as first impressions go, not bad at all.