Sinful.

Mal and Dom leave sometime later, and Eames stays behind to help Arthur clean up and wash the dishes and put things away. He’s helping Arthur dry off the plates when Arthur suddenly looks at him with an indiscernible expression, eyes calculating and lips pressed together in a thin line. Eames smiles and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?” Eames asks. “Something the matter?”

“No,” Arthur says slowly and looks at Eames for another long moment. And then he rests the dish he’s holding against the counter and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and asks, “Would you like to stay over tonight?”

Eames’ eyebrows shoot up and it’s pretty safe to say this catches him off guard. But he recovers quickly and smirks at Arthur.

“Do you even have to ask?” he says and Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames before turning to place the dishes back in their proper places.

Twenty minutes later, they’re settling down on Arthur’s bed and Arthur’s switching off the light even though neither of them is tired. Eames is in just his boxers because it’s just plain uncomfortable to sleep in jeans and he’s pretty sure nothing of Arthur’s will fit him. Arthur is wearing a pair of sweatpants and no shirt because he can never fall asleep if he’s wearing a shirt. The glow of the city around them lights up Arthur’s profile and Eames can tell Arthur’s thinking really hard about something. Eames wants to ask Arthur what he’s thinking about but holds his tongue, getting the feeling that Arthur will speak on his own accord.

And he does, and it’s probably not what Eames was expecting, but Eames takes it in stride anyways.

“What was your mother like?” Arthur wants to know.

Arthur is sitting with his back perfectly straight and staring directly in front of him and his expression is carefully controlled. Eames recalls painfully the breakdown Arthur had last time family was mentioned and hopes it won’t happen again, for Arthur’s sake. Arthur looks over at Eames, who’s now sitting up next to him, when Eames doesn’t answer.

“What happened to her?” Arthur asks softly, and he sounds curious and unsure and achingly vulnerable.

So Eames tells him; Eames tells him everything and doesn’t stop until he feels he’s done his mother justice, and Arthur listens quietly, barely even blinking, his gaze unmoving until Eames finishes speaking and silence settles around them to be their companion once more.

Eames’ mother, a woman by the name of Aurora, was a truly wonderful woman. Always smiling, always positive, she almost singlehandedly raised her son while her husband worked long hours and traveled all over the world doing business. She was the one who’d taught Eames how to cook, and, while her death wasn’t entirely unexpected as she’d had some sort of longstanding ultimately fatal disease, when she died, Eames had been devastated. He’d never been close with his father, and their relationship had gotten progressively more strained as time went on.

“We came to America about four years ago to get treatment for her,” Eames tells Arthur. “It didn’t really help all that much, and she passed a little more than two years ago. My dad and I continued to live here, though, so I could finish high school. And I decided that I wanted to stay here for college, but I’m pretty sure my dad’s going to move back to London once I move out.”

Eames isn’t sure there’s much else he can say, so he falls silent then and carefully studies Arthur’s expression, wondering what in the world Arthur might be thinking, and Arthur is turning over the way it sounds when Eames says Aurora, the way the syllables sound round and warm and buttery to him and he wonders if he’s the only one who thinks so. He wonders if Eames would ever say Arthur in the same way.

Arthur turns away a moment later and stares blankly in front of him once more. “I don’t have parents,” Arthur says finally, his voice soft and strained and trembling just a little. “I don’t know who they are. My earliest memories are of the orphanage where I grew up. I moved out when I was fourteen to attend a boarding school that I’d been accepted into with a full scholarship. The same with college – that was when I moved here. I’ve never really had a family, though; I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember.”

Arthur’s expression is completely emotionless, but he’s shaking just barely and Eames thinks he can see Arthur’s eyes glassy in the low light. He reaches out and slides his arms around Arthur’s waist.

“Oh, darling,” is all Eames says and presses his lips to Arthur’s shoulder. Eames gets the feeling that Arthur isn’t in the habit of telling this story very often. He wonders if anyone else has made it this far before, eased down the wall Arthur’s put up this much – which is why what Arthur says next changes everything, makes Eames feel a little special even though their topic of conversation isn’t necessarily anything to be happy about.

Arthur leans into Eames’ touch and turns to look at him with eyes wide, eyes definitely a little watery. “I’ve never told anybody that before,” he says quietly.

Eames smiles. “I guess I’m not just anybody, then, hm?” he murmurs, and he sees the corner of Arthur’s mouth curve up ever so slightly.

“I guess not,” Arthur agrees and he looks a little startled at this. He looks bewildered and lost and like he’s thinking really hard, and Eames suddenly realizes what time it is. It’s late, it’s really late, and Arthur definitely looks like he doesn’t need to be thinking anymore about this.

Eames smiles what he hopes is an easy smile at Arthur and suggests a little tentatively, “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we call it a night?”

He’s a little nervous saying this because he’s not sure how Arthur will react. He’s not nearly as good with people as he likes to act, and most of the time, he just sort of guesses how he should act and gets lucky, gets it right simply by chance, and everything is just that much more uncertain when it comes to Arthur, because Eames can’t read Arthur at all.

Arthur is tense for a moment and Eames holds his breath, fears the worst, fears he’s just set Arthur off, but then Arthur nods once and he relaxes slightly into Eames touch. He lets Eames ease him down and they curl up under the covers together and Eames is kind of surprised by how much he doesn’t care if nothing at all happens tonight; it’s just that Arthur’s there and he’s warm and his skin is soft to the touch, the way he tucks his head into the curve of Eames’ neck and trails his fingers absently along Eames’ side, restlessly mapping Eames’ skin.

“Arthur,” Eames coos softly, rubbing Arthur’s back soothingly. “You’ve got to calm down or there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep.”

Arthur hums into Eames’ neck and curls himself closer to Eames, and Eames is quite pleasantly surprised, as he finds he has been rather often recently. He hadn’t expected Arthur to be really one for cuddling; he always seemed too reserved and aloof for that, but there it is again, Eames is wrong, he’s always wrong about Arthur and it’s exciting and maybe a little scary that Eames can’t, for once in his life, figure someone out just by looking at them.

“Eames?” Arthur speaks quietly, after so long of a silence that Eames thinks he’s fallen asleep.

“What’s that, love?” Eames prompts.

Arthur seems to think for a moment and then he just says a very simple, “Thank you.”

Eames smiles and presses a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head, murmuring, “Anytime” into Arthur’s hair. Eames feels Arthur’s lips curve up against his skin, and then he realizes with a start that this is the first time Arthur’s called him just Eames, formalities forgotten, and it probably shouldn’t matter as much as it does, but it makes Eames feel a little bit giddy inside.