Sinful.

It’s another week before Arthur comes looking for him like Eames expected. It’s sometime in the afternoon, and Eames’ roommate is out, probably still in class, and Eames is doodling in his sketchbook with some watercolor pencils he unearthed from somewhere, his feet propped up on his desk as he leans back in his chair. He hears a light knocking from his door.

“Come in,” he calls out, not looking away from his sketchbook, though he’s drawing a little less furiously now, listening.

The door clicks open briefly before shutting again, and even though he doesn’t speak for a long time and Eames still doesn’t look his way, Eames already knows it’s Arthur. He assumes someone, most likely Mackenzie, let Arthur into the dorm building, probably in hopes that finally talking with Arthur would alleviate the glum mood Eames has been in for the past few weeks.

“Eames,” Arthur says softly, in as close to a pleading tone as Eames has ever heard Arthur use, and hearing Arthur say his name again after so many weeks makes Eames’ chest twist in strange ways.

Eames very resolutely keeps his eyes trained on his sketchbook even though he can’t find it in him to draw anymore.

Arthur sighs and takes a few more steps into the room. “You’re upset with me,” he says, and Eames snaps.

He slams his sketchbook down on his desk and whips his head around to glare at Arthur, trying to ignore the way Arthur visibly flinches at this, trying to ignore everything about how Arthur looks nothing like himself, how his skin is pale (well, paler than usual, anyways) and his cheeks look hollow and there are bags under his eyes, how he hasn’t bothered to smooth back his hair so it’s falling in his face, and it all seems like such petty, trivial details, but Eames knows Arthur and he knows that Arthur is all about attention to detail, and seeing Arthur like this is a little hard to take.

“Gee,” Eames hisses, “I wonder why.”

Arthur draws in a breath and his thin frame seems to tremble. He shifts his gaze to the floor uncomfortably and the gesture is so unlike the confident, quietly proud Arthur that Eames has come to know that Eames wonders why he’s bothering being angry in the first place. But then Eames remembers how Arthur hasn’t spoken to him in more than a month, how he’s ignored all of Eames’ phone calls and texts and it’s not something Eames is willing to forgive so easily.

Eames sighs when it seems like Arthur’s not getting anywhere with this apology or explanation or whatever it’s supposed to be.

“Why are you here?” Eames asks, trying to keep his voice as level and indifferent as possible.

Arthur takes a deep, measured breath and lifts his gaze to meet Eames’ eyes again. “I just wanted to see you again,” he says, and Eames hates the way it sounds like I just wanted to see you one last time.

Arthur laughs, sharply, a sort of broken sound, and looks down again. Eames feels this overwhelming urge to rush over and kiss all this nonsense away, but he doesn’t move and instead waits for Arthur to speak again.

“I was an asshole for reacting the way I did,” Arthur says, and it sounds like he’s admitting defeat. “I understand if you never want to hear from me again, but I just need to say this. I’m just— I’m not good at this, at being in a relationship and depending on and trusting someone completely. I’m not good at this and anytime someone I care about tries to get closer to me, all I end up doing is push them away.”

He looks at Eames with wide eyes, begging him to understand. Eames doesn’t give any noticeable reaction but his heart is racing.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says finally, and his voice doesn’t shake but if he were anyone else, he’d probably be a mess by now. This sounds like goodbye. “And, for what it’s worth, I… I love you.”

Arthur’s voice is quiet, unsure like Arthur never is, and Eames is so shocked he doesn’t quite believe he’s heard right for a moment or two. But then as it slowly sinks in, Arthur’s sighing and turning to leave, and Eames still doesn’t move.

Eames half wishes he could just glare and stomp his feet and say took you long enough before accepting Arthur’s apology and trying to make things alright again, but it’s a little hard to have the capacity to do that when he’s so full of more than a month’s worth of irritation. Apologies and I love you’s aside, Arthur still ignored Eames for far too long without any sign that he still knew Eames actually existed, and that is simply unacceptable. Eames is going to need some time to think about this.

Arthur pauses at the door, one hand on the doorknob, and turns slightly to look at Eames one more time.

“James misses you, you know,” he says, in that very matter-of-fact, precise way he always speaks. There’s a slight edge to his voice, though, a thread of the anguish tearing at his insides. “She cries for you sometimes.”

And it’s one of those times that’s happened so many times before, when Eames can’t tell if they’re actually talking about the kitten or something else altogether. But Arthur will never admit an I miss you because he’s not that type of a person and Eames will never ask for one. They’ll just continue dancing around the edges of things neither of them have the courage to say and they’ll just know.

Arthur turns away slowly and slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Eames can hear the sound of Arthur’s footsteps retreating down the hallway, and Eames cradles his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

This is one of those times when Eames wants to tell himself he’s done the right thing, when he keeps telling himself that it’s best this way, that it couldn’t have happened any other way. He tells himself things will work themselves out because they always do, and then he proceeds to call Ariadne and freak out over this whole thing for the next couple hours until his roommate comes back from a day of classes.