8In States of Metamorphosis
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It was a marvel.
Eames could feel each breath of Arthur's as he inhaled and exhaled. He could feel the other man's chest rise, and he could feel warm breath on his neck when Arthur exhaled. It was proof that the other man was really there beside him. That Eames hadn't imagined this as a cruel, teasing fantasy.
Eames wondered when he had become lucky enough for this to be his reality.
He was in a bed he shared with Arthur, in an apartment he shared with Arthur, in a city that Arthur willing explored every day with Eames. Arthur shared a life with Eames, and Eames could barely breathe himself for how breathless that thought left him.
The lights in the room were off but Eames could still see Arthur's features. His eyes closed; his mouth slack with sleep, his forehead smooth with untroubled sleep. This was Arthur lying beside him.
Arthur trusted him.
That thought alone sometimes made Eames feel as if he were too weak to ever walk again. It made him stutter in whatever he was doing. It made him feel as though he had won everything; every take there ever could be.
Eames moved a hand in the lightest of movements up and down Arthur's back. He skimmed just above the man's t-shirt and could just make out the warmth of the body beneath.
Arthur trusted him.
Sometimes the thought was so strong and so astounding that it formed a mantra in Eames' head and he was unable to think of little else for entire minutes. It made him unnerved in the most exquisite way.
It made Eames' decision, his choice, alarmingly easy.
Eames' other hand held two platinum bands, one sized for Arthur, the other sized for himself. He'd hidden them for days, and today he'd kept them in the pocket of his pants, nervous for the entirety of the day. He kept them with him as he slid into bed, marveling again as Arthur merely shifted to wrap strong arms around him, his eyes not even open. Another example of how much he was willing to trust Eames.
Eames had never had that level of trust from anyone that truly mattered before. He'd had no problem with living his life the way he had up until now. He tended to trust no one, tended to falsify everything he did with lies, and had certainly never willingly cared for someone as dangerous as Arthur before.
Eames transferred one of the bands to his other hand, carefully not jarring Arthur. He reached down; picked up the left hand Arthur had carelessly stretched across Eames' stomach, and slid the ring down the appropriate finger until it was past the knuckle and resting firmly.
Arthur's breath hitched, more than likely at the sensation of the cool platinum, but he didn't wake and after a moment his breathing evened out again.
Eames dropped his head back against his pillow, letting out a breath. Relief was flooding his veins; he'd been so nervous up until this point.
Eames hooked the second ring onto his own finger and relaxed a little further. He looked back down at the man that trusted him enough to rest beside him at night. Eames thought this was the height of his good luck, and figured that he should avoid both casinos and Interpol from now on. He was sure that anything besides this right here, lying beside this man, would be pushing the envelope. There wasn't any luck left in the world because Eames had used it all up.
Eames snaked a hand around Arthur and followed the skin of Arthur's arm down to his wrist. He pressed two fingers lightly against Arthur's wrist and steadied his own breath as he measured the beats of Arthur's pulse.
Eames breathed out when Arthur did.
Eames breathed in when Arthur did.
Eames matched every breath, movement, and heartbeat to Arthur's own. He reveled in the nearness of the only other person in the world that would ever matter to Eames.
It was a marvel. It was a gift.
It was a marvel that this was really Eames' reality.