undergrounds | [Meatball Parade on loop for 10 hours]

"It won't," he says, inspecting the bottle to check how much is left, and then gives Arthur a bit of a wry smile, "or it shouldn't, but I haven't eaten today so who knows."

"I'd be in the hospital," Arthur says casually, like he's resigned himself to this mortal life and relatively low tolerance. "Or dead."

Eames makes a soft, amused noise, taking another liberal swig from the bottle. "Benefits of immortality, I suppose." He offers a wry smile, "no alcohol poisoning and a long time to build a tolerance."

"I'm almost jealous," Arthur replies. He's not actually jealous - it'd take far too much money to get the relaxing buzz he's come to get used to on his free evenings.

"Eames, there has to be something I can do here," he says, adjusting restlessly in his chair.

"Like what." Eames snaps, voice sharp and harsh, "I don't know if you've noticed this, Arthur, but we're not even people as far as this fucking city is concerned. Nobody's about to line up behind you to defend us."

He scoffs, a bitter sound as he drinks from the bottle, and the next thing he says is under his breath. To himself with the weight of all that bone-deep exhaustion he's feeling, "maybe I should go back. Wait it out and hope for the best."

"Eames--" Arthur starts talking like he's about to tell Eames to calm down or be reasonable or something equally as dismissive, but he wisely cuts himself off before he gets any further. At this point he honestly wouldn't fault Eames for going back to the Other Realm and staying there until the current sentiments have died down a bit. That almost seems like the smart thing to do. He selfishly doesn't want that to happen, and he also knows that Eames has made kind of a life for himself here that he probably doesn't want to leave, but he knows it's not necessarily the coward's choice so much as the path of least resistance.

He sits back with a sigh. "I don't think right now is the best time to make any big decisions," he says, quieter and more sympathetic. "All I meant is that there has to be something I can do right now, to make tonight a little more bearable."

"Oh--" Eames drags a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed at himself for snapping like that, but he can't help it. He feels like he's coming apart at the seams, just constantly being ground down because it's always something with no respite.

He's just full to bursting with anger and tiredness and this acute kind of distress he doesn't even know how to name, and he shakes his head because he can't even begin to know how anybody could help with that.

"I don't know."

Arthur takes another deep breath when Eames says what Arthur suspects he'll say. He can't say he knows exactly what Eames is feeling, but he can empathize with this directionless frustration and anger. It takes him a moment of deliberation, but finally he stands up, leaving his glass abandoned. This might be a bit presumptuous but the worst that can happen is Eames telling him to fuck off.

"Come to bed. You can bring the bottle if you want."

That's a confusing request, and Eames looks at the bottle in his hand and then up at Arthur, eyebrow raised in open questioning at what Arthur's going for right now. He assumes it's sex, and typically it's not a wrong assumption that it'd do a lot for his mood, at least temporarily, but right now he can't find it in himself to be even a little excited by the prospect.

"I'm really not..." He trails off with a gesture, assuming Arthur will catch his meaning. He's fairly certain he wouldn't be any good in bed right now, not with how he's feeling.

Arthur clenches his jaw as he shifts his weight - that thought honestly didn't even enter his mind and he's both embarrassed and impatient that Eames thinks that's what he wants right now.

"I just think you should lie down," he says.

Eames looks even more suspicious at that for a moment, squinting at Arthur a moment before he eventually stands. He's already established that he cares somewhat about Eames' wellbeing, and laying down does sound good, so he nods and starts to head up to the bedroom.

You bet he's taking the bottle with him too.

Arthur follows him at a respectful distance, running his fingers through his hair as he goes. Part of him just wants to put Eames to bed and leave him be, and another part of him wants to get into bed with him just for the warmth and the companionship, but he knows the latter is selfish.

When they get to the bedroom he sits down at the foot of the bed and waits for Eames to settle in.

Eames is still deeply uncertain about what's going on here, watching Arthur as he sits on the bed and swings his legs up on the mattress. He doesn't fully understand what's happening here and that's an uncomfortable feeling-- as much as he can intellectually understand it, it's difficult to pair that knowledge with it being Arthur of all people. They had that conversation the other day, but it's still... Early? Difficult?

Either way, he's still uncomfortable and uncertain and he doesn't really know what Arthur expects to happen here.

Arthur can tell Eames isn't entirely at ease, and he knows this is pretty awkward. He wishes they could just lay down and not talk about it or worry about each other's motives.

His mouth twists into a wry smile as he thinks about all the things Eames could possibly wonder about this situation. "Why do you look so suspicious?"

"I don't..." He huffs a little, perhaps surprisingly petulant for someone his age, and looks down at the bottle in his lap. If there's something he hates more than not understanding a situation, it's admitting that he doesn't understand, and Eames has to wrestle with himself to admit it, looking back at Arthur with a tight frown.

"I don't understand what you want from me right now."

Arthur studies Eames' expression for a moment before he looks down at the floor with his own frown. It's a tough question to answer, especially because he's been so intent on avoiding answering it to himself.

"I just want to help," he says with a shrug, "but I'm not really that good at it unless I know exactly how to do it." He looks up at Eames with a wry smile. "Either that or I decided I didn't want to sleep alone tonight and was hoping you'd want company."

He's quiet for a few moments, unsure how to process that, like the idea of wanting to help is completely alien to him.

But a warm body in his bed sounds good, whatever the reason, and Eames nods slowly. A little relieved that Arthur seems unsure himself, reassuring Eames there's no ulterior motive here. Arthur's not a good enough liar to trick him that way.

"You have to actually get in the bed to share it with someone," Eames finally says, forcing some lightness into his voice.

Arthur lets out a soft laugh and nods, looking down and contemplating it for a moment before he stands to sit down on the other side of the bed from Eames. He undoes his pants quickly and slips them off, taking off his shirt next, and when he's done he lifts the covers to slide underneath them.

He's not getting up to get rid of his trousers, much as he prefers to sleep without, but he does get rid of his shirt before he slips under the covers too.

The booze is coming too. His truest friend, his confidant. It stays for all of two seconds before Eames takes a swig and decides the potential mess isn't worth it and reaches over to put the bottle on the nightstand.

Arthur watches all this happen with a blank expression as he lays on his side facing Eames. He only speaks when it seems like Eames has finally settled and they might be able to actually start the going to sleep process.

"Better?"

"Maybe." He doesn't know. His head is swimming and it's not the pleasant fogginess of alcohol but the stressful haze of life.

But he's tired, and there's an attractive man laying next to him, and maybe that's enough for him to actually get some rest. Something to help calm his head enough that he can figure out his next steps from here.

Eames sighs softly, turning on his side and offering Arthur a bit of a lopsided smile, "it's not worse?"

Arthur makes an amused sound as he shifts to get comfortable and closes his eyes.

"I'm gonna sleep," he says, as if that wasn't obvious. "Wake me up if you need anything."

Eames grunts something to the affirmative and settles quietly, closing his eyes and curling up a little as he tries to sleep.

He utterly fails at it, but maybe if he pointedly lays here with his eyes closed for a while his body will take the hint.

Arthur sleeps soundly through the night, only as restless as he usually is, and while Eames' body heat is very tempting he manages to keep to himself on his side of the bed. As he falls asleep he can't deny that it is nice but he also can't help but feel just a touch foolish about the whole thing, constantly telling himself to stop worrying about whether this is awkward or too much or whatever else his brain is telling him, but it doesn't manifest as anything on the outside.

Eames really doesn't sleep, and the effort of trying to sleep only makes him more tired. He ends up sitting up at some point during the night and polishing off the rest of that scotch. The rest being something between a third and half of the bottle, but Eames does it. He's a trooper that way.

Asleep or not, at some point he's obviously decided to give sleep another go and ended up on his side spooning the empty bottle. At least he's way too preoccupied with this to give much thought to the strangeness of having Arthur stay in his bed without them having had sex first. He doesn't need that on top of everything right now.

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