Eames doesn't wake up for another few hours, and he's not feeling so hot about that decision when he does. Usually Eames is a morning person, someone who's awake when he wakes up, but right now he feels awful and he groans and presses his face into the pillow in protest of this whole being awake situation. It doesn't smell like his pillow though, and Eames lifts his head and squints at the room until he realises where he is. (And how he appears to be using the entirety of the covers.)
The least surprising thing so far is when he gets out of bed and realises he's naked, though the fact that his clothes from last night seem to be everywhere would be amusing if Eames' head wasn't throbbing and his tongue didn't feel like fat sandpaper, and he gathers them all onto a chair with a tired sigh and a sweep of his hand. Helping himself to one of Arthur's baggier t-shirts in the meantime while he tries to get his head on right.
What feels like about 20 years later, Eames finally comes out of the bedroom, footsteps slow and lazy and he calls (well, croaks) Arthur's name tiredly with a follow-up, "you still home?"
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The least surprising thing so far is when he gets out of bed and realises he's naked, though the fact that his clothes from last night seem to be everywhere would be amusing if Eames' head wasn't throbbing and his tongue didn't feel like fat sandpaper, and he gathers them all onto a chair with a tired sigh and a sweep of his hand. Helping himself to one of Arthur's baggier t-shirts in the meantime while he tries to get his head on right.
What feels like about 20 years later, Eames finally comes out of the bedroom, footsteps slow and lazy and he calls (well, croaks) Arthur's name tiredly with a follow-up, "you still home?"