It depends on my mood, apparently. He doesn't tie me down, but he doesn't go exploring himself, either. I want to talk about this even less, especially over the phone. Can we go back to the psychoanalysis?
[ But true to his word, Blake shows up not long later, knocking on the door and then waiting for it to open. He's got some whole bean coffee in a brown paper bag dangling from his hand, and the other's being used to scrub at his face. He looks like shit, as he warned Eames, but at the very least he's recovering. Every day that passes is a day closer to feeling a bit more like normal again. ]
[ Eames opens the door in a pair of fainted blue jeans and a tee that stretches over his chest, making the Rolling Stones logo grin just a little bit. His expression mellows into a fond smile and he steps aside to let Blake in.
The apartment is already styled a little bit in true Eames fashion, eclectic and colour mismatched in a way that should be unpleasing but actually fits rather nice together when you give it a chance. There's no couch but a big hammock couch hanging at one side of a curiously shaped coffee table and a couple of mismatched armchairs. A soft rug on the floor and pillows thrown around.
Where the bed is at? Should be right there in the studio apartment. But it's not. Maybe he sleeps in the hammock? ]
You... look a little worn out, sweetheart, [ Eames comments with a small smile. ] What happened?
[ Knowing Eames, the bed's tucked away in some secret place utterly undetectable without his help. Blake's cottoned on to the way Arthur can manipulate the dream world and like hell is he going to believe Eames doesn't have the same powers of dream persuasion at his behest.
The thoughts leave his mind quickly after he gives the place a good once over, his attention turning back to the other man. ]
Good to see you, too. [ It sounds like sarcasm except he means it. ] Two years in this place happened. Or are you looking for specifics already?
[ Setting aside the bag of coffee on the nearest flat surface, he goes about wandering a little to investigate the unfamiliar layout. ]
[ Eames simply leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest as Blake explores his flat. There's an easel at the corner already but no finished paintings, just a few empty canvases. It's going to take a while to build up the same kind of setting he had before. ]
Always a delight, [ Eames murmurs, his mouth quirking at the corners. Blake isn't any less forthcoming than Arthur about himself.
Finally, he pushes himself away from the wall and walks into the open kitchen. ] So, do you want scotch or coffee? Or both? [ Eames needs a drink. A strong drink. But he's not going to shove one down Blake's throat if he's not in the mood for it. ]
[ Blake watches as Eames moves around, hands coming up to rub at his face. He actually happens to be slightly more forthcoming than Arthur, but it's probably going to take some time for Eames to see as much. For now, he's just happy to have the company, especially the kind of company that would help him to look after his twin. ]
Coffee's good, thanks.
[ He'd like to drink, trust me he would, but for the time being it's certainly better that he doesn't. Not after the last handful of weeks. ]
Last month I was kinda buck-wild. Pretty much drank like a fish. That's how the sayin' goes, right?
[ Blake's fucked enough in the head that he's not quite sure, not that he's bothered at the idea of being wrong. ]
[ Eames shrugs and fills up the coffee machine while downing a few fingers of scotch himself. ]
Yeah? Feeling the perpetual hangover, I suppose?
[ For Eames it's usually the opposite. He gets sharp when things go hell in a handbasket. When it gets quiet, he dives into the bottle, because that's when he has too much to think.
The coffee machine gurgling behind him, he leans on the door frame while looking at Blake. Asking about last month isn't probably what he should do - Blake has made it clear he's not going to talk. So, instead Eames decides to lighten the mood by asking: ] Have you already published some of your work or are you still writing your smut simply for private pleasures?
[ Blake huffs and shakes his head. He doesn't really want to think much about it, but Eames is having him over, warts and all, so he figures he can't pass on every opportunity to talk. ]
No, I took my fantasies to the real world instead. I'd started pokin' 'round writin' again, but I don't have the heart for it at the moment. Why? Need somethin' to read?
[ There's some comfort in just being around other people too. Eames is not surprised that Blake doesn't want to talk. He's the same, Arthur's the same. Every attempt feels like weakness being exposed and it feels exponentially worse when you're already down for the count.
But he knows that stress tends to pile up and when it gets to a point of never being able to find a release, it fucking ruins you.
So, what's he's doing is not pushing. Let this be a stress free moment, easy to breathe, yeah? ]
Hey, I'm always looking for good things to read.
What happened to your heart? I've heard writing is a good way to unload pretty much everything. [ There's a faint twitch at the corners of his mouth, not quite a smile but getting there. ]
Not sure I'd want to commit this kinda stuff to paper.
[ He rubs a hand down his face, feeling more tired by the moment. It's all a blur now — stuff his brain doesn't want to access — and while he's been terribly reticent about talking to anyone about it, he does feel like Eames isn't the type to go sharing his pain around town. ]
Did stuff that hurt some people I care about and what really messes me up is that I didn't think it was all that big of a deal until it blindsided me. Like I just knew what was fine and good for everyone and I was untouchable or somethin'. Shoulda known better'n that.
[ The coffee pot gurgles behind Eames as he listens to Blake quietly, arms folded over his chest. No, he's not going to talk about this to anyone. There is some honour among thieves after all. ]
What did you do? [ he asks quietly. Obviously it's bothering Blake quite a bit and Eames gets that, holy shit, he really gets that because it hits home like a hammer on a nail and he has a feeling Blake even has a good reason for what he did, whatever it is, unlike Eames. ]
[ Eames frowns a bit. This sounds more like something he would do. Blake seems too damn nice for it. ]
Was it some sort of status effect this place seems to give to people or just felt like fucking around? [ he asks calmly. ] That seems a little excessive even if you were on a bender for dick.
Christ, I dunno. Maybe. I mean, I was comin' off seein' Arthur die, seein' my friend Dick gettin' burned alive, and... I dunno. Think I needed the distraction, but that's not usually the way I go 'bout these things.
[ He takes in a shuttering breath and runs a hand down his face, clearly irritated with himself. ]
Think that coffee's ready yet?
[ Please, god, anything to take the spotlight off his poor decision making skills and crippling self doubt. ]
Black's fine. And you're prob'ly right, but I think what's makin' me so antsy is that I wasn't sorry. Not like I am now. I came back, cried my eyes out on my friend's shoulder, thought I made amends, and then it all came right back to punch me in the face days later.
[ He huffs. ]
I'm not blind to the fact that casual sex isn't as easy a thing for some people, not to mention cheating, but I'm naive enough to believe when someone says things're okay when they're not. What sense does that make?
[ It would take far too long for Blake to explain the lengths of the particular relationship he'd meddled in and it's definitely not his place, but suffice to say, there's a lot more there to navigate the just the regular relationship dynamics. ]
Honestly, I'm not entirely sure he wasn't thinkin' similar to what I was. Neither of us seemed to think it'd make the mess it did.
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None taken, though. It was a shot in the dark.
And besides, I thought your pants were quite well secured from all entrances but one. Or do you and Bruce have an open relationship?
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And more over, I'm free right now.
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text; -> action;
[ But true to his word, Blake shows up not long later, knocking on the door and then waiting for it to open. He's got some whole bean coffee in a brown paper bag dangling from his hand, and the other's being used to scrub at his face. He looks like shit, as he warned Eames, but at the very least he's recovering. Every day that passes is a day closer to feeling a bit more like normal again. ]
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The apartment is already styled a little bit in true Eames fashion, eclectic and colour mismatched in a way that should be unpleasing but actually fits rather nice together when you give it a chance. There's no couch but a big hammock couch hanging at one side of a curiously shaped coffee table and a couple of mismatched armchairs. A soft rug on the floor and pillows thrown around.
Where the bed is at? Should be right there in the studio apartment. But it's not. Maybe he sleeps in the hammock? ]
You... look a little worn out, sweetheart, [ Eames comments with a small smile. ] What happened?
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The thoughts leave his mind quickly after he gives the place a good once over, his attention turning back to the other man. ]
Good to see you, too. [ It sounds like sarcasm except he means it. ] Two years in this place happened. Or are you looking for specifics already?
[ Setting aside the bag of coffee on the nearest flat surface, he goes about wandering a little to investigate the unfamiliar layout. ]
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Always a delight, [ Eames murmurs, his mouth quirking at the corners. Blake isn't any less forthcoming than Arthur about himself.
Finally, he pushes himself away from the wall and walks into the open kitchen. ] So, do you want scotch or coffee? Or both? [ Eames needs a drink. A strong drink. But he's not going to shove one down Blake's throat if he's not in the mood for it. ]
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Coffee's good, thanks.
[ He'd like to drink, trust me he would, but for the time being it's certainly better that he doesn't. Not after the last handful of weeks. ]
Last month I was kinda buck-wild. Pretty much drank like a fish. That's how the sayin' goes, right?
[ Blake's fucked enough in the head that he's not quite sure, not that he's bothered at the idea of being wrong. ]
so sorry for the slown!!
Yeah? Feeling the perpetual hangover, I suppose?
[ For Eames it's usually the opposite. He gets sharp when things go hell in a handbasket. When it gets quiet, he dives into the bottle, because that's when he has too much to think.
The coffee machine gurgling behind him, he leans on the door frame while looking at Blake. Asking about last month isn't probably what he should do - Blake has made it clear he's not going to talk. So, instead Eames decides to lighten the mood by asking: ] Have you already published some of your work or are you still writing your smut simply for private pleasures?
Likewise!!
No, I took my fantasies to the real world instead. I'd started pokin' 'round writin' again, but I don't have the heart for it at the moment. Why? Need somethin' to read?
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But he knows that stress tends to pile up and when it gets to a point of never being able to find a release, it fucking ruins you.
So, what's he's doing is not pushing. Let this be a stress free moment, easy to breathe, yeah? ]
Hey, I'm always looking for good things to read.
What happened to your heart? I've heard writing is a good way to unload pretty much everything. [ There's a faint twitch at the corners of his mouth, not quite a smile but getting there. ]
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[ He rubs a hand down his face, feeling more tired by the moment. It's all a blur now — stuff his brain doesn't want to access — and while he's been terribly reticent about talking to anyone about it, he does feel like Eames isn't the type to go sharing his pain around town. ]
Did stuff that hurt some people I care about and what really messes me up is that I didn't think it was all that big of a deal until it blindsided me. Like I just knew what was fine and good for everyone and I was untouchable or somethin'. Shoulda known better'n that.
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What did you do? [ he asks quietly. Obviously it's bothering Blake quite a bit and Eames gets that, holy shit, he really gets that because it hits home like a hammer on a nail and he has a feeling Blake even has a good reason for what he did, whatever it is, unlike Eames. ]
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[ ... ]
And another friend's man. And some stranger I met at the bar.
[ Ugh. He sounds like such a prick when he hears himself say it out loud. Why was he ever okay with this in the first place? ]
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Was it some sort of status effect this place seems to give to people or just felt like fucking around? [ he asks calmly. ] That seems a little excessive even if you were on a bender for dick.
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[ He takes in a shuttering breath and runs a hand down his face, clearly irritated with himself. ]
Think that coffee's ready yet?
[ Please, god, anything to take the spotlight off his poor decision making skills and crippling self doubt. ]
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You take milk or sugar? [ he calls out. Then continues: ]
You know, I don't know if it matter if it was you or this place. People do shitty things all the time.
I guess what matters is that you're sorry?
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[ He huffs. ]
I'm not blind to the fact that casual sex isn't as easy a thing for some people, not to mention cheating, but I'm naive enough to believe when someone says things're okay when they're not. What sense does that make?
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Generally people in a relationship aren't really okay with casual sex, [ he says as he takes a seat in one of the mismatched chairs and leans back. ]
But it takes two to tango. Your friend's man should've said something if it's not okay, I imagine.
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Honestly, I'm not entirely sure he wasn't thinkin' similar to what I was. Neither of us seemed to think it'd make the mess it did.
[ He makes a face. ]
Honestly, it's makin' me re-think that drink...
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