Sinful.

Eames gives Arthur another week before he really starts getting upset, because okay, if Arthur was surprised about the whole “I love you” thing, he’s had time to get over it now, and if this is Arthur’s way of saying he really doesn’t want this serious of a relationship, then he could at least have the decency to tell Eames instead of just pretending like Eames doesn’t exist; that’s just rude.

“Just call him,” Ariadne says to Eames over the phone as he’s ranting to her.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Eames sighs, trying his hardest not to sound frustrated with the poor girl, but it’s a little hard to keep his voice from sounding frayed. “He won’t pick up.”

“Hmm,” Ariadne hums and she’s quiet for a moment and Eames knows she’s thinking. She draws in a breath once or twice like she’s going to say something but thinks better of it, and all she ends up saying is a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Eames exhales through his nose and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be sorry, petal,” he murmurs. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just wish there was something I could do,” Ariadne says and she’s very clearly distressed on Eames’ behalf, which makes Eames almost regret calling her because he really doesn’t need to trouble her with things like this but talking to her always makes him feel better, so he knows he’d have called her regardless. “Did you try talking to one of Arthur’s friends? Maybe they know what’s up.”

Eames tells her he’s already tried that. He managed to get in contact with Mal a couple days ago, but all she’d said was, “I’m sorry; I am afraid there is not much I can do for you, and trust me, I would help you if I could – I don’t think I have ever seen Arthur as happy as he is around you. Maybe he is simply going through some tough times.”

Eames had frowned at her and asked why Arthur wouldn’t have called if that were the truth.
“He’s not very good at relying on others,” Mal had said after a moment’s thought. “He’s not very good at admitting that he needs anyone for anything.”

She’d patted his arm and told him she was sure Arthur would come around soon enough, and she really had to get going, because she had class to go to. Eames keeps turning this conversation over and over in his head, because it’s all he’s got to work off of concerning Arthur, and he’s not sure if he’s more worried or furious at this point.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne says again, even though she knows Eames hates hearing that. She doesn’t know what else she can say.

Eames sighs for the umpteenth time and scrubs his free hand over his face. “Can we talk about something else, please?” he asks, feeling a little depressed. He needs something to take his mind off of this.

Ariadne pauses like she thinks that’s a bad idea before conceding, “Sure.”

Arthur isn’t mentioned for the rest of their conversation, but Eames doesn’t stop thinking about him for a moment.

-

Another couple weeks pass and Eames still doesn’t hear from Arthur. He’s getting frustrated with this and he doesn’t know what to do and he’s taken to ranting to Mackenzie about it because Ariadne’s not always available and Mackenzie always seems more than happy to listen and offer some advice, except for everything Mackenzie says is pretty much the same as whatever Ariadne has said, everything Eames has tried, but it’s still nice to have someone to talk to.

“You could go visit him,” Mackenzie suggests. She’s in her art studio throwing paint at a giant canvas that takes up an entire wall and she’s got paint all over her hands and the smock she’s wearing and even a few streaks of color in her hair. Eames is sitting on an empty worktable alternately watching her and skimming some articles for one of his classes.

Eames just shrugs and looks down at his feet. He hears a soft pattering sound and then Mackenzie’s bare feet appear in his line of sight. He looks up at her again.

“You don’t want to?” she asks.

She’s got a spot of bright yellow paint on her cheek, right under her eye. Eames chuckles and wipes the paint off with his thumb. Mackenzie doesn’t even blink. Much like Ariadne, she’s grown quite accustomed to and doesn’t even give a second thought about Eames and his complete disregard for personal space and his use of endearments and his shameless, often unintentional flirting.

“I don’t think he would want me to,” Eames says, and it’s true, he’s thought about going to see Arthur once or twice to force an explanation out of him (and he very well could, technically, because he still has the spare key to Arthur’s apartment) but then he thinks about how Arthur always holds himself at a distance, always keeps himself apart from everyone else, and then Eames thinks it might not be such a good idea after all. “He’s a very… independent person, if you will.”

“Huh,” Mackenzie hums. She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to one side. “So you’re just going to sit around, then? Wait for him to come to you?”

Eames shrugs and looks away, eyeing Mackenzie’s giant canvas of colorful paint splatters with mild interest. It does sound kind of pathetic when she says it like that.

“And what happens if he doesn’t come looking for you?” Mackenzie counters.

“He will,” Eames says immediately. His voice is sure and doesn’t shake. “He doesn’t like leaving things hanging like that. He needs certainty; he’ll come looking for some sort of closure sooner or later.”

What Eames doesn’t say, what he doesn’t need to say because his tone speaks for him, is that he’s not sure he’ll like what Arthur has to say when he finally comes around, because as much as Arthur holds himself to routine, he’s also very unpredictable at times, and Eames has a feeling this is going to be one of those times.

Eames shrugs again and looks back at Mackenzie, smiling a cheap imitation of his usual cheerful smile. “We’ll see,” he says with false casualness.

Mackenzie rolls her eyes and throws her hands in the air in defeat. There are multicolored handprints on her smock where her hands were just resting, one on each hip.

“You’re impossible,” Mackenzie announces and turns back to her painting.

Eames laughs weakly and looks down at the articles he’s holding in his hands. He feels a tug at his chest because Mackenzie’s exasperated tone reminds him so much of Arthur, and it’s probably bad that everything somehow makes him think of Arthur, but then Eames thinks, well, that’s the price you pay for love, right?