#thepointman

[forgereames]

look at him. look at his crinkly eyes and huge grin and dorky ears i’m in love

[agenttrevor]

@thepointman liked for a text starter !

[ text: Arthur ] Someone just genuinely tried a ‘when you fell from heaven’ line on me.

[ text: Arthur ] In this day and age! At four in the afternoon!

[ text: Arthur ] Poor guy looked so worried I couldn’t even bring myself to laugh at him, too. That’s the worst.

[ text: Arthur ] Anyway, someone has to share in my misery here, and you’re the lucky candidate.

[forgereames]

@thepointman

[Text: Darling] Happy birthday, darling.

[Text: Darling] If you thought I’d forget and miss an opportunity to make fun of you for still looking like a 15-year-old, you’re sorely mistaken.

[forgereames]

@thepointman​

“-And he’s gonna be your toughest competition, because while he might not be bigger than you, he’s a good four inches... Hey, you git, I’m talking to you.” Robbie stops from where he’s wrapping Eames’ knuckles to cuff him over the head; Eames has frozen, staring unblinkingly through the doorway of the locker room, his attention caught by someone passing by. 

He doesn’t respond to Robbie’s taunt, doesn’t even flinch at the light hit. Instead, he narrows his eyes, shoulders tensing underneath his hoodie before he stands, pushing Robbie idly aside to stalk out of the locker room and into the hall.

A part of him hopes he’s wrong, that he hasn’t just seen Arthur moving down the hall, but sure enough, he catches up to him in time to step in front of him before Arthur rounds the corner to head back out into the main arena.

“Hey,” he says, accusatory, like Arthur is somehow intruding on his turf. “What are you doing here?” He looks surprised, and a little miffed, and maybe even uncomfortably unsettled, though he hides it well under a tough, bristling exterior. His mind clamors for a reason for Arthur to be here, but he draws up a blank. Dom has been out of the game for a long time. Does he have a new fighter? There’s a chance he’s here to watch, but Eames knows Arthur has never enjoyed this for the spectacle. There has to be some sort of gain, the same reason Eames fights.

All at once, he regrets confronting him, if only because it draws up far too many painful memories. Eames shoves that down, however, deciding to turn every ounce of hurt and reminiscence into frustration and annoyance. Mostly, he’s frustrated because now he’s totally distracted, but that’s his own fault, not Arthur’s. Doesn’t mean he can’t blame him.

[forgereames]

@thepointman

[Text - Darling] okay, so i know you said not to text you on this job except for emergencies because you’re going to be ~very busy~

[Text - Darling] but i was watching the telly and there was this movie and i don’t. really remember the name. but? they were holding HANDS

[Text - Darling] i’m heartbroken. when will you be home

[forgereames]

@thepointman

[Text - Darling] i wish to dream if only to feel as if i am with you

[forgereames]

@thepointman

[Text - Darling] So let’s say, theoretically, that the oven starts smoking whenever I turn it on.

[Text - Darling] ...Does that mean it’s broken? 

[forgereames]

continued from x

@thepointman

Of all the clever retorts Eames expects to come out of Arthur’s mouth, that is not one of them. He stares, dumbfounded, the words ringing in his ears, disbelief clear on his features even as Arthur tries to somehow amend his words.

If Eames was listening correctly -- which he’s not at all positive he was -- Arthur just suggested that they should be engaged.

He blinks and frowns, brows pinned, his head slowly beginning to shake even before he has words to retaliate with. He’s not letting Arthur shirk off that thought without some elaboration. He doesn’t care if it was an instantaneous response, one fired back without consideration -- it’s one of the only times Eames has managed to force Arthur’s hand without allowing him ten minutes of contemplation to carefully choose his words, and he’s going to milk it for all he can.

“That is not what you meant,” Eames says, jabbing a finger at him, even though he can feel the anger dying down, replaced with confusion and puzzlement and a strangely overwhelming feeling of anticipation, for what he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even remember what they were fighting about, because all he’s thinking of now is the idea of being engaged to Arthur. Being married to Arthur. Being Arthur’s husband.

Sure, the thought has crossed his mind. How could it not have, given all the years they’ve been together? They’ve been friends and enemies, lovers and boyfriends, something more and something less all at once. Arthur is his world -- that’s not hard to admit. Eames hasn’t even so much as looked at someone else in what feels like a lifetime. Every hole in his life Arthur seems to fill, seamlessly and naturally, like he’s meant to fit there. Eames doesn’t ever want to turn over in the middle of the night to any sight other than a zombified Arthur sleeping soundly next to him.

But marriage is so permanent. Marriage is vows and promises Eames doesn’t know if he can make. Marriage is compromise and hardship and sacrifice, and Eames has spent his whole life building walls so that he doesn’t have to bend for anyone else. He knows what it feels like to be vulnerable; to lay yourself down for someone only for them to tread all over you without a second thought. But Arthur? Eames thinks that for Arthur, he’d gladly take that risk.

The thought used to terrify him.

Now it feels like something else entirely.

“You meant- Did you mean…?” He’s struggling to find words, failing miserably at any attempt to piece a sentence together. He’s scared and confused and desperate to cling to whatever knee-jerk reaction had made Arthur plant such a thought in his mind. Eames stares at him numbly, hoping that for once, Arthur will pity him and give him something instead of shutting down.