Work Text:
Arthur puts his phone down, again. It’s only been a day, less than, for fuck’s sake. He hardly needs to text Eames every damned time he thinks about him. Shit. He has to get his head back on the job. Pressing a palm over his moleskine to open it flat he checks the mark’s Google calendar, a simple hack. It’s not until he looks back to the notebook to record a date that he notices the fat little bumblebee in the bottom corner. He turns the page and it’s there as well, Eames’ fluid pen-strokes instantly familiar. Bemused, Arthur flicks through to see that all hundred or so of the leaves have art nestled into the rounded corner.
It’s clearly a flip book. He’d made one himself in third grade, painstakingly copying a rocketship over and over to animate liftoff when he should’ve been doing fractions. Warmth blooms in his chest as he realizes that Eames must have done this after Arthur packed last night, as he slept.
Resisting the impulse to glance around furtively, he moves the moleskine to his lap. When Eames is involved it’s generally best to assume discretion is warranted but at base Arthur just isn’t willing to share this.
A steady riff of his thumb brings Eames’ drawings to life. The bee makes a lazy loop then swoops down to tug crooked letters onto the page: an E and moving left, N...I...M. A poppy springs up, heavy bloom arching the stem into a question mark. Arthur knows he’s grinning, blushing, probably flashing his hated dimples, but he can’t help ghosting his thumb over the final image: Bee mine?
He grabs his phone, not caring who suspects that he’s texting his…well, his Eames and sends “Always.” followed a moment later by “All ways.”