With One Accord

"Keep your heart open to love." He remembers it like the moon in the sky and the rain on his face and her fingers through his hair. "Because there will always be someone waiting for you." His hands were on her breasts and she refused to be embarrassed in public with parents and children holding printed umbrellas and staring with bright eyes. She's wearing her favorite scarf, decorated with mignonettes that might as well have been lilacs because Arthur honestly couldn't see the difference. He tugs at her lace collar with his lips pursed, she gently pushes him away with a disapproving tone in her voice when she tells him that it won't work anymore. Of course he's angry and upset and gets down on bended knee to take her hand and confess his undying love for her, but she keeps shaking her head and screaming vulgarities even though she doesn't mean it. "You can't do this to someone who loves you," he cries.

"No, no, no. You don't love me because I don't love you," she says before ripping his heart in half. She slips her totem into his palm and closes it before walking away in the opposite direction, never bothering to look back.

Tonight he wastes his time at the bar toying with a golden bishop and guzzling almond shrub because it was her favorite. The radio only plays sad songs with the exception of latin songs with lyrics that Arthur can't understand, he doesn't understand anything anymore, his cherished astronomy books, the lore of sleep, and people. Lately he only stares with curious eyes at nothing in particular and it kills him to know that his life was ebbing away all because of this girl he can't stop chasing.

The bristly bartender laughs from behind the counter. "Girl problems?"

Arthur ignores him and walks to the bathroom where he regurgitates all of his pride, devotion, and lunch. He loses so much energy throwing up that he can see stars and becomes enveloped in a nimbus of nausea, he collapses on the floor and makes folds and creases until he's as small as possible. At this point, he didn't even care that the stall door was open because he was alone anyway. Arthur sobs and tries to lift himself over the toilet bowl so that he can proceed to vomit his innards, his stomach punches and kicks until everything gives out and he wilts across the toilet seat.

"My, my, Arthur. I have yet to see you supine, but this is asbolutely pathetic." The voice was familiar and when Arthur looks up his eyes lock with Eames'. "Surprised to see me?" He doesn't give Arthur any time to answer, only holds out his hand to help him onto his feet. "How many drinks have you had?"

Arthur shrugs and nearly shatters as Eames grabs hold of his waist before he topples onto the floor. "You don't have to help me," Arthur garbles and Eames laughs at him.

"I'm always happy to help a friend," he chuckles.

"You're not my friend."

Eames grunts and drags him from the bathroom to a bar stool. The pudgy bartender rolls his eyes and tosses a hand towel at Arthur's face while comically whistling to himself, "You sure look kissable with all that shit on your mouth."

Arthur licks his lips and for a split second he could still taste marionberry from her lipgloss and it makes him cringe, along with the salty, bitter taste of vomit lingering. He spits on the bartender's ugly spinach green shirt and gives him the finger before his face turns red and he derides the man through clenched teeth. "Fuck off!" Arthur shouts and leaps over the counter. Eames grabs hold of his polo before Arthur has a chance to throttle the barkeep.

"Get out of here! Don't come back again!" The man scrubs at his shirt with a napkin and vodka. "Pussy."

Arthur jabs Eames below the belt with his elbow and when he breaks free he quickly grapples the bartender around the neck. By now he is on top of the counter, clobbering the rotted teeth from the barkeep's mouth and smashing beer bottles over his head, and even though he's in pain Eames cannot help but to be slightly amused. His cleft chin is dripping with blood and one gash in the man's face runs from his widows peak to his right ear, Arthur is surprised to see him crying.

"Fight! Fight!" Drunken slurs rattle the building but Arthur pretends not to hear them because now he has nothing to lose except dignity. He's an empty man and the only thing that fills him are the fireworks exploding inside his stomach due to the merriment he finds in using his fists as panoply. Back when Ariadne still crooned to him in slightly broken French was when he found solace in anyone's core, strings that played lovely tunes and blood the color of love was the only thing he could hold on to.

Eames strikes Arthur in the face and pulls his arms behind his back, all the while pushing him out of the bar before the police arrive. "Are you crazy, Arthur? What in Hell's name would provoke you to do something like that?"

"Did you hear what he called me?" Arthur mumbles.

When Arthur calms down and they reach the end of the block Eames releases him and sighs. "Is this all about Ariadne?"

"I'd rather not discuss it," says Arthur.

Eames wipes the sweat from his brow and pulls Arthur's hands into his own. "Let's go to dinner. We can talk about the situtation if you'd like and you can order tortellini alla panna because I know it's your favorite dish from the italian restaurant down the street. What do you say to that, Arthur?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Eames licks his lips before gently brushing them against Arthur's and the undermined man is pulled to lovely yellow pieces. He's scared that people around will judge him and when he tries to move away Eames bundles a bale of knitted cloth into his fist and yanks Arthur back to him, their lips disagree when they collide but eventually they work it out and Arthur begins to love the feeling in his stomach. His fingers are in Eames' hair and they're both laughing against each others face and the gusts of wind blow loose tendrils around, sandalwood smells so good on sweaty skin.

"Your lips taste like, vomit," Eames chuckles.

"Can you just take me to dinner now?" Arthur asks. Eames nods and smiles, butterflies tickle his stomach and he has never been this weak before. Their fingers are knotted together like mesh and they breathe with one accord, he doesn't like rain or verdant scarves or anything that can remind him of the girl that he fell in love with through inception.

"You're going to have to wipe that shit off your mouth first, it's very unattractive, Arthur."