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"There are so many things that can break you if there's nothing to hold you together."
Arthur’s having a bad brain day.
Eames knows this the minute he opens his eyes in the morning to find Arthur staring blankly at him. Arthur is a creature of habit. Normally, he gets up in the morning at seven to go for a run. Then, he comes home to shower, make himself coffee and Eames tea, and he does all of this even before Eames has a chance to roll out of bed.
On his bad days, though, days like today, that routine is broken.
At this point in their relationship, Eames doesn’t have to ask Arthur if he’s okay; he just knows that he’s not. Two years ago, when they first moved in together, Eames had no idea how to help Arthur on his bad days, no idea whether what he did was too much or too little.
It took a while, but Eames knows what to do now. Mostly.
Arthur’s blank expression doesn’t change when Eames reaches out to place a hand on his cheek.
“What can I get you?” Eames asks, voice still heavy with sleep.
Arthur shrugs.
Eames realizes he needs to take things slower today, so he starts over. “Are you hungry?” Arthur shakes his head. “Thirsty?” A slight nod. “Water? Smoothie?” Eames hopes he’s not overwhelming Arthur with too many choices.
“Both?” Arthur asks as if he doesn’t know Eames would fly to the ends of the earth to get him whatever he needs.
Eames smiles, his hand sliding away from Arthur’s face. “’Course, love. You just stay right here. That okay?”
Arthur nods. “Thank you.”
Eames presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead before getting out of bed. He makes his way into the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him. Days like this have become few and far between, but that just means that they hit Arthur even harder now, making them hit Eames harder, too. Eames doesn’t have the experience with depression that Arthur does, so it’s hard for him to fully understand what’s going on in Arthur’s head.
Eames just knows it’s not fair.
It’s not fair that Arthur feels this way, like he’s drowning, like he can’t breathe, like he’s being bombarded with emotions and he doesn’t know why. Arthur has a different analogy for every bad day he has, and each one makes Eames hate the bad days even more, makes him want to tell depression to go fuck itself.
He tries not to let his emotions overtake him as he throws spinach, orange juice, frozen bananas, mangoes, and pineapple into a blender for Arthur. He knows that the best he can do for Arthur right now is to listen if he wants to talk and take care of him the best he can. Eames has learned that he doesn’t need to cure the depression, he just needs to be here.
After the smoothie is blended, and after Eames fills up Arthur’s water bottle, he heads back into their bedroom. Arthur is on his side, facing Eames when he walks in. Arthur is staring at nothing, but maybe everything, and when he blinks, a tear rolls down his cheek.
Eames places the two drinks on the nightstand next to Arthur’s side of the bed and then squats down so that he’s face level with Arthur.
“Alright?” Eames asks, wiping the tear from Arthur’s face with his thumb.
Arthur closes his eyes when Eames whole hand comes up to massage the back of his head. He takes a shaky breath in. “Yeah.”
It’s a poor attempt at a lie; Eames knows they both know it.
“Where do you want me today?”
Arthur shakes his head, opening his eyes back up to reveal that they are much redder than before. “Not here. Not right now.” He pauses and then quietly adds, “Sorry.”
Eames tightens his grip on the back of Arthur’s head. “Hey, none of that. You don’t need to apologize for setting boundaries. Ever.” Arthur just hums in response. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything at all.”
Eames stops in their closet on his way out to throw on a t-shirt and some sweatpants, and then he sets up camp on the couch in the living room. On some bad days, Arthur clings to Eames and never lets go, and on other bad days, Arthur can’t stand to be around anyone. Some days are in between. Eames has learned that he shouldn’t take any of this personally. It isn’t Arthur’s fault that he’s feeling this way, and he isn’t intentionally shutting Eames out. Arthur has reminded Eames of this many times.
Eames pulls out his phone to see a text from Ariadne asking when they wanted to meet for lunch today.
Shit.
He immediately calls her to clue her in on what’s going on, getting up and walking out onto the balcony so as not to disturb Arthur.
She picks up right away. “Hey, Eames,” she says cheerily.
“Hello, poppet, how are you doing?”
“Can’t complain. What’s up?”
Eames sighs. “Arthur and I won’t be able to make lunch today; he’s not feeling well.”
“Is everything okay?”
“He’ll be fine, just under the weather is all,” Eames explains, avoiding details. “I do apologize for the short notice.”
“No, that’s okay, don’t apologize. Do you want me to pick up food and bring it to yours? I could even make some soup for Arthur.”
Eames chuckles at the offer, at Ariadne’s willingness to always go above and beyond for them. “You’re too kind, love, you really are. I’m afraid Arthur’s not up for company, though. Rain check?”
Eames would explain to Ariadne the specific nature of Arthur’s situation, but it’s not his place to explain it. He’d have to confer with Arthur about it, and that would most certainly not be happening today.
“Absolutely,” Ariadne responds. “Tell Arthur I’m thinking of him.”
“I will. Talk soon?”
“Duh.”
*
Three episodes of Game of Thrones later, Eames hears movement behind him and turns around to look at their bedroom. He sees Arthur standing there, resting against the doorframe.
Eames smiles at him. “Hi, my love.”
Arthur smiles softly back at Eames, but Eames can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes. Eames gets off the couch and cracks his back before walking over to Arthur.
Arthur is still in his boxers and has his arms crossed at his chest. Eames takes in his tense and exhausted appearance. He thinks about wrapping him up in his arms but stops himself, not wanting to cross any boundaries that Arthur may have today that he hasn’t already explicitly stated.
Instead of initiating anything himself, Eames just opens his arms slightly. Immediately, Arthur relaxes and steps forward into Eames. Arthur doesn’t wrap his arms around Eames, just rests his body against his. Eames, however, does wrap his arms around Arthur. Tightly.
“What’s it like today?” Eames asks cautiously.
Arthur clears his throat. “It’s like… It’s like a weight, and it’s like I can’t move or do anything, and I feel small and terrified,” he admits softly.
Eames could cry hearing the pain in Arthur’s voice. He pulls away to search Arthur’s eyes. “Terrified of what, darling?”
“Of everything. Life. The whole fucking thing.”
When Arthur’s voice breaks and his eyes start to water, Eames pulls him back into his arms.
“We’ll stay inside today, then, yeah? We’ll close all the curtains and lock all the doors and be shut-ins. Hell, Arthur, I’ll barricade the doors. Life won’t get you here.”
Anything.
God, Eames would do anything to make Arthur feel safe today and every day.
Eames can feel Arthur smile and snuggle in closer to his shoulder, probably not realizing that Eames is being deadly serious. It doesn’t matter; to get Arthur to smile today is the best damn thing Eames can do. As soon as it’s there, though, it’s gone.
“I need to shower,” Arthur says, pulling out of Eames’ embrace, his voice back to being almost monotone.
Eames furrows his eyebrows. “You don’t need to do anything.”
“I think I want to, though.”
“Right, well that’s different.”
Arthur looks down at the ground. “Can you…,” he trails off. “Stay close by?”
Eames’ heart lurches. Arthur is a different person on his bad brain days. A man who normally takes charge, who is never afraid to say what’s on his mind, is going all sheepish about something he shouldn’t even have to ask for.
“Hey,” Eames says, and Arthur looks back up at him. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you want me to join you?”
Arthur shakes his head. “Maybe just…”
Eames can see the frustration build in Arthur’s face as he tries to decide what he wants. Eames frames Arthur’s face with his hands and rubs his thumbs along Arthur’s cheekbones.
“How about I sit right outside the door with some nice warm clothes for you when you get out?”
Arthur sighs in relief. “Yes, yeah. Thank you.”
*
Ten minutes later, Eames is exactly where he said he would be: sitting with his back against the wall right next to the master bathroom, a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and joggers folded neatly next to him. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of the shower.
It starts quietly; Eames can barely hear it over the sound of the running water. Nevertheless, it’s unmistakable: small, teary-sized sniffles, growing into larger, panic attack-sized sniffles. There are no sobs or whimpers or anything of that nature, but there’s just enough noise to make Eames feel that he’s on the wrong side of the bathroom door.
But what is Eames supposed to do? Arthur made it clear that he didn’t want Eames to join him in the shower, and that didn’t come with a qualifier of “you can come in only if I’m having a panic attack.” On the other hand, Eames can’t just sit out here, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyebrows, knowing that Arthur is struggling in there. He can’t fucking do it.
By this point, the shower is off and Arthur’s ragged breathing is much more prominent. Eames finally stands up and knocks on the door.
“Arthur,” he starts, “you don’t have to open the door, but I want you to know that I’m here, alright? I’m right here.”
Much to Eames’ surprise, the door opens almost immediately. Arthur stands in front of him with a towel tied around his waist, water still dripping from his body. His face is scrunched up, and he reaches out to Eames.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Eames mutters, pulling Arthur into him. Eames holds one hand on the back of Arthur’s neck, lightly tugging at his hair to tether him to reality while he silently sobs into the crook of Eames’ neck. “It’s okay.”
Arthur’s hands are fisted tightly around Eames’ shirt. “Eames,” he practically whispers, high and strained.
“I’m right here, darling,” Eames says, rubbing his other hand up and down Arthur’s back.
If possible, Arthur starts crying even harder, but he’s still barely making any noise. His chest starts heaving in silent hiccups because he’s is holding everything in and not breathing. Eames pulls back and holds Arthur’s head up with his hands, forcing him to look at him.
“Arthur, you have to breathe,” Eames says sternly. “Just let it out.”
Arthur lets out a long, strangled breath that comes with a sob at the end. Eames’ heart breaks as he pulls Arthur back into him. “That’s it, my love, that’s it.”
No one, least of all Arthur, should have to go through this, Eames thinks as Arthur now loudly cries into his chest. The shower is a truly dreadful place for festering dark thoughts. It doesn’t even matter that these bad days happen so infrequently now because they shouldn’t ever have to happen.
But here they are, and Eames can’t think about where they should be, just about where they are and what he can do. So he stands there holding Arthur for what feels like hours, his heart completely breaking, until Arthur slowly but surely starts to calm down.
Arthur pulls out of their embrace, and Eames watches as he glances over to the mirror on their left, taking in his appearance. Arthur wipes at his eyes and sniffs in loudly before turning back to Eames.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Arthur says.
Eames sighs and leans forward to kiss Arthur on the forehead a couple of times. “Arthur, I love you,” he starts. “I’ve never loved anyone more than you, and I never will. You are not a burden, okay? These things don’t warrant apologies.”
Arthur just nods, and Eames takes one step out into their bedroom to grab the pile of clothes still sitting on the floor. He hands them to Arthur. “Here are some fresh clothes. Take your time, but I’ll meet you back in bed? Unless you want to be alone?”
Arthur takes the clothes from Eames’ hand and immediately responds, “No, please stay.”
Eames leaves Arthur and closes the door behind him to give Arthur some privacy. On his way to their bed, he sheds his shirt that’s now damp from the wetness of Arthur’s body. He lays down on his back on his side of the bed, and Arthur isn’t too far behind him. As he leaves the bathroom, now fully clothed, Arthur wordlessly gets into bed and immediately curls up into Eames’ side, using his chest as a pillow.
Eames wraps an arm around Arthur, pulling him as close as possible. “Good?”
Arthur hums in confirmation. “Love you,” he mumbles, his voice already filled with drowsiness.
The words go straight to Eames’ heart. Sometimes things aren’t okay, and bad days are inevitable, but Arthur is still Arthur. And this right here? Arthur curled up next to Eames, quickly drifting off to sleep? This is better than okay. Maybe he’ll wake up and feel twenty times better, but maybe he won’t. That’s okay. Eames will be here, no matter what.