MY FIRST AND ONLY FANFICTION- Inception, of course.
The Boy with the Porcelain Smile
The boy with the porcelain smile stares coldly at his feet
Stained with blood and dirt
A susurration of majesty
A yelp of indifference
Assassination of his dreams
A follower of resignation
There are pencil marks on the toe of his shoe
He drags it along the ground
Just to replace lead with mud
Stripped down and striped on
Arthur woke up in a cold sweat at six that morning, and the sheets that Eames had occupied during the night weren’t warm anymore. This was just what he needed. His first organic dream in a month and there was no body to cling to, no arms to wrap himself up in, and no lips to brush across his forehead. This surely had to be the worst way to wake up.
Beaten with drowsiness, Arthur looked around his usually comfortable room. After sighing with disappointment, he got up and walked around his roomy, two-bedroom apartment for Eames. Unsuccessfully, he decided to get dressed and go out onto his patio for fresh morning air. He went back into his room and picked out his favorite navy blue three-piece. He didn’t put on the suit jacket, but laid it slowly on the bed. It took him longer than usual that morning. After slipping on his shoes, he shuffled over to his bathroom to brush his teeth.
A torn piece of the LA Times lay ominously next to the sink.
Go back to sleep. I’ll explain later.
-E
Arthur stared at it for five minutes, waiting to feel something. Nothing happened. No anger came. No tears came. But most importantly, no anger. Not once did he have the innate need to feel his gun under the waistband of his pants.
All he could feel was disbelief. His fingers twitched towards his die, but instead, he sat down on the floor with his back up against the sink and closed his eyes. Who really gave a damn about wrinkles right now? Not Arthur, it seemed. Not that morning.
Or maybe he did. Less than ten seconds after sitting down, he sprang back up and stalked towards his patio so he could have his morning cigarette. To make the morning better, he was out of cigarettes. He had at least three last night when he went to bed. Damnit, Eames, he thought. Instead of his fist curling into the ball it usually would have, he found the corner of his mouth turning up into a slow smile.
Arthur imagined Eames waking up earlier than usual, padding out onto the balcony and taking out one of Arthur’s cigarettes with eyes half open. How his boxers and wife beater would be wrinkled, as it usually was in the morning. The way his hair would be in such disarray, as it always was in the morning. Suddenly, his half smile turned into a full, dimpled grin.
Since Arthur was out of cigarettes, he figured he’d need to go get some more. Given that he had been unable to quit, he had settled on having one a day, and in the mornings. Eames didn’t smoke before he met Arthur, but had done so just to continue a conversation they had been having. That was 3 years ago. Now, Arthur buys them both a pack every week. He knew he’d need another pack in a week, but the thought that he might have to go through the whole thing alone quickly erased his smile.
He grabbed his suit coat from the bed and put it on. He snatched his keys, already having decided that smoking through an entire pack alone was better than not smoking any at all. He left without locking the door that morning. That’s weird for Arthur. This is surely not a good morning.
Usually, when he goes to the convenience store for cigarettes, the young man behind the counter chatters at Arthur throughout the entire, short lived transaction. Arthur usually has to clench his teeth and wait for the cashier to press the appropriate ‘debit’ key on his machine so that the purchase will be approved and he could get the hell out. This day, the convenience store worker hardly whispered the total. Did Arthur look that miserable? Did he look that intimidating? Arthur couldn’t tell. His mind was elsewhere. So much so that he couldn’t even remember asking for the pack. Did he drive there? He suddenly couldn’t remember.
After realizing that he couldn’t go back to his apartment quite yet, he decided to go to sit in his car in the parking lot for a bit. He put the keys into the ignition enough to roll down the windows to get a breeze moving through. Arthur felt a small piece of hair trying to sway in the wind, but the hair gel restrained it from moving from its perfectly positioned place. The wind was more effective on a piece of paper wedged between the middle console and the passenger seat. The movement caught his eye and he looked down to see the newspaper there. Finally, a pleasant turn for the morning. Arthur could do the daily crossword while relaxing. He popped open the glove compartment to fetch a pen and flipped through the pages to find his crossword. Upon spotting it, he found a small section torn out right below. Maybe he would skip the crossword this morning and go back to sulking instead.
Arthur felt a slow rumble in his stomach and recognized his need to eat. How was it already eleven in the morning? He couldn’t remember how he spent the last two hours. He started his car quickly, rolled up the windows and pulled out of the parking lot. Once he got back to his apartment, he hung his keys back up and went into the kitchen to throw something into the microwave. He was not in the mood for cooking. As soon as he got the meal cooking, he heard the front door quietly crack open. Arthur’s hope and optimism could not override his military training; he reached for the gun he kept under the sink.
“It’s just me, darling.”
Arthur put the gun back under the sink and took a deep breath. This was a voice that usually made his heart race, but this day, his heart felt heavier. His heartbeats felt slower and louder than usual and he had to concentrate not to drag his feet to Eames.
“What is it, Eames?” Callous. Cold. Concerned.
Eames took a few shallow breaths before speaking. This was strange for a very confident Eames. Arthur braced himself and shoved his hands into his pockets, insensitivity on his brow.
“I… I’m sorry if you woke up chillier than usual this morning.”
These weren’t the words Eames wanted to say, or the words Arthur wanted to hear. Did his heart slowly beat its last beat? No, it didn’t. It was still thumping unevenly in his chest. Arthur had never succumbed to emotions, and didn’t plan on doing so now. But as he turned away to go stand in the kitchen and wait for his food, he felt like misery was controlling his movements.
Eames grabbed Arthur’s arm and whipped him back around, putting only a few inches in between their faces. Each face showed a different type of despair. Each face transformed the eyes of the other’s. A dark brown pair grew colder and froze. A quiet grey pair moved from tortured to amused.
“Oh come on now, love. Have some faith in me! Of course I would never leave you.” Eames’ voice dropped down to a murmur. “I can see it in your eyes. I love you too much to ever make you look this way.”
Perhaps Eames didn’t realize that this was the first time that word had been used seriously between the two of the men. Perhaps he did. Arthur certainly did. His slow heartbeat quickly picked up and made Arthur take shallow breaths, his eyes drooping a little.
Watching him work this over in his mind, Eames smiled softly. He gently placed his hand on the side of Arthur’s head, ghosting his thumb over the thin bag under his eye and pulling his head a little closer. This was how the morning should’ve started.
Arthur closed his eyes the rest of the way as Eames came closer to press his full lips to his. Right as their lips met, the microwave beeped. Arthur turned away, his cheeks blossoming a beautiful scarlet, and whispered, “My food is done.”
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That's it! Thanks for reading. Comments always welcome, of course.