Darling,

It all starts with a job gone wrong, too much alcohol, and not enough discretion.

No wait – rewind. We’re getting too far ahead of ourselves here. It starts much before that, at the fault of someone he wouldn’t have thought to blame for all this. It starts when he’s much younger, less stiff, when he’s still trying to figure everything out. He doesn’t quite know yet what he wants to do with his life, nor has he quite figured out that perhaps it doesn’t suit him to wear anything but dark neutrals, navy, and the occasional accent of deep, dark red. He’s lost, but Dom helps him find his way, and if Arthur hadn’t been so faithfully loyal to the man, he probably would have blamed him for everything that follows.

He’s merely twenty when it all begins, fresh out of college after having graduated two years in advance. He attended MIT, graduated with top marks, and now holds a degree in material sciences, not that he knows what to do with that. He majored in it because it seemed interesting at the time, because it seemed like a good idea, but now that it’s all over and done with, he’s not sure where to go from here.

He’s sitting by himself at a café near the apartment he’s been renting for the past two years, sipping at a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, perhaps a week or maybe a little more after graduating, when he gets the call. He’s not hungry even though the proper time for lunch came and passed an hour and a half ago and he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and the weather is warm and pleasant and not too humid.

He picks up his cell phone from where it’s sitting on the table and flips it open, bringing it up to his ear without even checking the screen. He knows that there are only a few people who have this number, and he wouldn’t mind getting a call from any of them at the moment; he’s bored out of his mind, restless already after only spending a week without anything to occupy himself with. He needs something to do, and soon.

“Here,” Arthur says by way of greeting. He’s not really one for formal hellos.

“Ah,” a man’s voice comes through the phone. “Arthur, glad I got a hold of you.”

“Dom,” Arthur says, folding up his newspaper and placing it on the table in front of him. He takes a sip of his coffee and lets his eyes wander around the surrounding area, the shop fronts and people strolling around, enjoying their day, people who seemed completely content to waste their days away doing absolutely nothing. Not Arthur.

“I think a congratulations is in order,” Dom Cobb says conversationally. “MIT in two years. That’s impressive.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth curves up into something like a smile. “Thank you,” he says. He drums his fingers on the table in front of him, but it’s not out of impatience and it’s not any sort of nervous tic either; it’s merely for the sake of having something to do with his free hand.

“So,” Dom says, and Arthur hears a tone of finality in Dom’s voice, a sign that he’s getting to the point of this conversation, something Arthur appreciates because he’s not exactly fond of longwinded anecdotes or digressions. He’s all about efficiency, directness, nothing of all that pomp and circumstance.

“Do you like it in Boston?” Dom asks.

Arthur doesn’t see the point in this question. Yes, of course he likes it here, or he wouldn’t have chosen to come to school here (also, technically, it’s Cambridge, not Boston, but Arthur doesn’t bother correcting Dom).

Regardless, he trusts that Dom has a goal in mind, so he answers with a truthful, “Yes, I like it. It’s alright.”

Dom makes a contemplative sound. “Would you like it better in LA?” he asks.

That’s when everything clicks into place and Arthur gets it. He likes moments like this, when everything suddenly makes sense, when he figures everything out. He feels clear and confident and very satisfied with himself every time it happens, like it’s worth all this effort he’s put into his life.

“You want me to move to LA,” Arthur states, because it’s true; that’s what Dom’s trying to get at, and they both know it.

Dom chuckles. “Nothing gets past you, Arthur,” he says amusedly, with a certain fondness in his voice. And then his tone turns to a more serious inflection. “Have you gotten any job offers yet?”

The abruptness of the change in subject catches Arthur by surprise a little bit, but he quickly composes himself before it even shows on his face, much less in his voice.

“No,” Arthur replies, and it isn’t like he’s really expecting any job offers so soon, so he’s not disappointed, and even if he were, he’d never admit it so easily.

“Would you like a job offer?” Dom asks, and he sounds like he already knows how Arthur will respond, which he probably does.

Arthur sits up straight in his chair, not even caring how predictable this makes him. He hopes that he doesn’t sound too eager when he says that yes, he’d like that, he’d like it a lot, and maybe he hasn’t done a good enough job at pretending, because Dom chuckles softly again, but Arthur’s not in the position to care.

“I can fly you out here in a week,” Dom says. “Get packing.”

Arthur barely manages to get out a thank you before he’s snapping his phone shut and standing. He tosses a couple bills on the table and heads back to his apartment. It’s a small space, just enough for him to live in, so it’s not too hard to get everything packed up into various suitcases and boxes. His plane ticket arrives in the mail a few days later, and a few days after that, he’s landing in Los Angeles, the heat and humidity of the city hitting him full force, making his shirt stick to his skin with sweat.

Dom picks him up from the airport with a warm smile and a friendly clap on the back, and Arthur slides into the passenger seat of Dom’s car. The windows are rolled down and the wind whips through Arthur’s hair, throwing it out of its usual neatly-coiffed style, but he can’t bring himself to worry about it at this point. He has just spent the past six hours on a plane; the last thing he’s thinking about is the condition of his hair. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to see anyone, just two old friends who wouldn’t give a damn if he showed up in sweat pants and a ratty old t-shirt (not that he would ever walk out in public wearing anything like that, but still).

When they arrive at the house, it’s the same as Arthur remembers from a couple years ago, when he last came to visit them before going off to go to college. It’s large and spacious, modern angles in deep, rich wood. It’s sunny and open and Arthur doesn’t realize exactly how much he’s missed this place until this very moment.

As Dom pulls into the driveway, the front door of the house swings open and there’s a beautiful woman at the door, tall and slender with auburn curls shining in the sunlight. She smiles at the two men as they get out of the car and goes over to give Arthur a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She offers him a congratulations for graduating, and Arthur thinks for a moment, as he does every so often, that he might be a little bit in love with her, her grace and poise and the lilting French accent weaving in and out of her voice. But then he remembers that that ship has long since sailed and there’s no turning back, and he shakes himself out of that and accepts her warm words with a slight smile and a nod of the head.

Mal invites Arthur in, won’t take no for an answer, and offers him some coffee, which Arthur thankfully takes. Arthur’s suitcases sit off to the side and the boxes he already had flown over are nowhere to be seen. Arthur assumes Mal and Dom already received them and are holding them for him.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Mal asks, leaning against the kitchen counter across from Arthur.

Arthur shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, sighing contently at the warm drink. “Not yet,” he says. “I can just stay at a hotel until I find an apartment.”

Mal waves that notion off. “Nonsense,” she says. “No need for you to be wasting all that money. You will stay with us.”

Arthur gives her a look like he wants to protest, but she presses her lips together into that stern expression she pulls of so well and Arthur’s words die in his throat. He sighs softly and goes back to drinking his coffee. Dom laughs softly at this exchange. It’s a pretty well known fact that Arthur has always found it hard to say no to Mal (and only Mal. Arthur can turn anyone else down, no problem. It’s pretty safe to say that he’s got something of a soft spot for the woman).

“You start work on Monday,” Dom tells Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes shift to Dom and he tries to pretend that he wasn’t waiting for that, but he was and he’s really a terrible liar, so the eagerness manages to sneak into his brown eyes.

“You’ll be working at the university with the two of us,” Dom says. “Our department is looking to employ some more people in research.”

Arthur nods and thinks that over. Ever since they began working for the university a few years back, Arthur has heard a good deal about their department. It sounds interesting enough, and the more Arthur thinks about it, the more appealing it sounds. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps this will be – well, fun probably isn’t exactly the right word for it, really, but at least something like enjoyable.

“Alright,” Arthur says. And then he looks around. “Can you show me to my room?”

Dom nods and tells him it’s down the hall, second to last door on the left. Arthur thanks him and leaves to go unpack a bit and maybe take a shower (he always feels disgusting after getting off of a plane).

And that’s where it all starts.