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“Lay back, both of you.” hushed Yusuf in a soft tone.
Arthur sat back in his chair and combed a loose hand through his smooth dark hair. Eames swiveled backward, letting his muscles loosen and getting ready for sleep. They were going to explore some tension they had been feeling lately by going into a shared dream together. It was suggested by Ariadne as a special kind of therapy.
Repositioning themself behind Yusuf, Ariadne tugged on their brown sweater, carefully pulling on the buttons. Yusuf adjusted a few knobs and clicked a few switches. He motioned for Ariadne to give the two guys injections from the PASIV machine. Everyone fell into their seats with ease.
“Is everybody ready?” Ariadne uttered. Arthur nodded and Eames replied, “Whenever you are.”
As soon as Yusuf pulled the infusion trigger, they entered the dream. They took the two men to a dimly lit room. Young teenage boys, maybe between the ages of 15 and 17, were laid out on the bunk beds that bordered the wall. Some were reading comic books about superheroes, while others had been throwing around a plush teddy bear. It seemed to be one laundry away from falling apart. With the top of his head resting on the backboard and his legs folded up to his chest, one child was making marks on a sketch pad in the corner. Peering in through the window, Eames and Arthur were standing outside the entrance leading to this dormitory.
The gritty smell held an unsettling familiarity. Arthur remained motionless as he narrowed his eyes on the door, remembering where he had spent his formative years. Eames, who was standing behind him, squeezed the other man's shoulder with his hand.
“You never mentioned you went to a boarding school.”
Arthur didn’t say a word, he only took a few steps closer to get a better look at the window that boarded him and the room behind it. This was the boarding school where he spent his formative years. Memories long buried surged to the forefront, and his usual composed demeanor wavered. Stepping back, Arthur bumped into Eames who scoffed and then walked around the first layer. Eames followed quickly behind because only Arthur knew this place better than anyone.
"Would it kill you to share a bit more, darling? We are knee-deep in dreams here, and I'd rather not be left stumbling blindly in the dark."
They trailed down a long empty corridor lined with seemingly identical doors bearing brass nameplates. Presumably staff members' rooms and classrooms. Coming to a stop at the end of the corridor, Arthur fixated on a specific door, and Eames couldn't help but roll his eyes. The nameplate read 'Winston Freeman' in stark white letters, and Eames couldn't resist the urge to mockingly comment,
"Ah, Winston Freeman, headmaster extraordinaire. Fancy keeping that little tidbit to yourself, didn't you?"
Arthur turned to face Eames, a wry frown playing on his lips. "Well, Eames, some skeletons are best left in the closet. Keeps life interesting, doesn't it?" He gestured casually towards the door with his father's name on it. "Besides, you always did enjoy a good mystery. Now, shall we focus on the suggested therapy, or would you prefer a guided tour of my adolescent angst?"
Arthur reached over to grab the doorknob and tried turning it slowly. The door unlocked and swung wide open with a loud scream. Except for the office window being open and allowing an uncomfortably humid breeze to enter, the room was entirely black. The moonlight revealed the silhouette of a man standing near the window. Sighing, he turned to face the open window. Searching the wall for a potential light switch, Arthur landed on one and clicked it on.
The sudden illumination revealed the room, its walls adorned with faded photographs of a young Arthur and a desk stacked with weathered paperwork. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of history, and the figure by the window turned to face them.
Winston Freeman.
He looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and resignation. "Arthur," Winston spoke, his voice carrying the weight of both the past and the present. "I never expected you to revisit this place, especially not like this."
Arthur's expression remained stoic, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed a complex array of emotions. "It wasn't my intention," he replied, his voice steady yet tinged with an undercurrent of vulnerability. Winston gestured towards the room. "I presume you're not here to see your old man. What brings you back, son?"
Arthur hesitated and went silent. Eames appeared behind him poking his head into the doorway. Sliding a hand behind his neck rubbing it uncomfortably. Winston's gaze shifted from Arthur to Eames, an eyebrow raised in inquiry. Eames, unfazed, offered a casual smile.
“And you are?” questioned Freeman sternly.
“I don’t believe that is important at this very moment. What is going on here Mr. Winston Freeman,” Eames declared, his tone assertive but measured.
Winston Freeman's office seemed to tighten around them as the air thickened with tension. His eyes once filled with curiosity, now held a calculating glint. As Arthur and Eames exchanged wary glances, Winston began to pace around the room, his movements deliberate, his gaze fixed on Arthur.
"You always were the disappointment, Arthur," Winston sneered, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Falling into dreams as if it were a respectable profession. I had hoped for more, but alas, you continue to be a stain on this family's legacy."
As the headmaster continued, he backed up, step by step, until he found himself dangerously close to the open window. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on his face, emphasizing the malevolence in his words. "You always thought you were smarter than everyone else," Winston continued, his voice a venomous whisper. "But here you are, playing in dreams like a child with his toys. I should have put an end to this nonsense years ago."
Suddenly, Winston leaned back, his hands gripping the window ledge, teetering on the edge. A twisted smile crossed his face as he played with the perilous balance, as if tempting fate.
The room fell into a charged silence."What's the matter, Arthur?" Winston taunted, his voice carrying over the precipice. "Can't handle the truth? Perhaps you'd prefer it if I were to fall. The burden of me gone forever."
With a rough grip on Arthur's shoulder, Eames leaned in, his voice cutting through his thoughts “He isn’t real, Arthur. He is just a projection of your guilty subconscious. Whatever went down in your past, this is all a dream. So, pull yourself together.”
Suddenly, Freeman fell backward, disappearing into the abyss beyond the window. The room quivered as the sound of his descent echoed, but instead of an ominous thud, there was silence. The oppressive weight that had gripped Arthur's subconscious seemed to lift. Eames, ever observant, raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on the window.
"Well, that's one way to resolve daddy issues," he quipped, injecting a note of levity into the heavy atmosphere.
The boarding school underwent a subtle transformation before Arthur got to speak. The boundaries of the room wavered, and the duo found themselves standing in the middle of a new dreamscape — Eames' layer.
The two arrived in the middle of the rainy streets of London. The pair decked out in plaid suits in creme and gray hues. Eames fitting a dark gray knitted cap shielding him from the raindrops. Cobblestone streets lined with work buildings recreated from Eames' memory welcomed them. Gas lamps flickered with an otherworldly glow, casting long shadows across the narrow lanes.
As Arthur and Eames strolled through the ethereal streets, the dreamscape unveiled the familiar yet fantastical sights of Eames' old hometown. Markets reminiscent of London bustled with peculiar wares, and an old pub named "Piper’s Tavern" beckoned with an enigmatic energy. The two walked down the streets towards the Royal Palace and shared a glance.
As they slowly made their way up the road, Eames remained surprisingly relaxed, but Arthur, despite his calm exterior, felt the weight of anticipation.
“So, Arthur, might as well cut to the chase. We're here to extract some royal secrets from the Queen's palace. Nothing fancy, just a bit of classic thievery.” Eames declared.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Straight to the point, aren't we?” Eames flung his hand out and gestured, “Always, darling. No need for pretense in dreams. It's all a bit theatrical, don't you think?”
As the two advanced toward the grand entrance of the palace, Arthur hesitated. His gaze lingered on the ornate doors, and a rare vulnerability flickered in his eyes. He fumbled with his coat pockets fingering a light handkerchief.
“Eames, there's something I-” He took a deep breath “It's important.” Arthur scratched his neck awkwardly.
“Spit it out, love. We're in my dreams, after all. No secrets here.”
Before Arthur could voice his thoughts, the air around them tensed. The regal presence of royal guards materialized, their polished armor gleaming in the dream's distorted light. Wielding long silver swords pointed in their direction.
“Intruders, halt! Surrender now, or face the consequences.” Announced one of the guards firmly, drawing their weapons.
Eames through his hands up in defense and turned to face Arthur swiftly. Hinting in his eyes and whispering under his breath. “Change of plans, darling. We're going to need a bit of royal armor for our grand exit.”
“Are you serious, Eames?” Arthur glared at him addled in confusion.
The guards, unaware of the duo's whispered plot, tightened their grip. Eames and Arthur exchanged a knowing glance, the unspoken agreement hanging in the air as they prepared to turn the tables on the illusionary forces.
As the guards approached, the men orchestrated their audacious escape. In a seamless dance of calculated moves, Eames disarmed one guard with a swift kick, sending the weapon clattering across the cobblestone streets. Arthur, in tandem, utilized a series of precise punches and strikes to incapacitate another guard, his martial prowess on full display.
As the pair emerged into the palace's corridors, their stolen royal armor offered a mask of legitimacy. They navigated through the dream cautiously, they kid behind in the shadows, evading the peering eyes of patrolling guards. They stealthily approached the heart of the palace, guided by the subtle echoes of the Queen's presence. The dream had responded to their movements, casting illusions of flickering torchlight and veiled passageways. Reaching a lavish chamber, they found the Queen seated on her majestic throne, a mystifying figure shrouded in regal splendor.
“You two have quite the audacity.” remarked the queen tenderly reaching her hand out for the two to kiss her ring.
Eames lined up behind Arthur who begun stripping himself of his helmet to place a quick peck on the tip of her ring. Then after him was Eames who grasped her delicate hands and placed a kiss immediately. The men stepped back holding their silver helmets to their hips gazing up at the benevolent throne.
“It's what we're known for, Your Majesty.” Muttered the Forger satirically.
Eames began to go on a tangent spinning tales of grandeur, distracting the Queen with his silver tongue. Slyly extracting what was hiding in the back of her mind, and once she slipped, she became the catalyst for what came next. The grandeur of the palace faded, replaced by the serene beauty of a sun-kissed beach. The waves gently lapped against the shore, and a tranquil breeze carried the scent of salt in the air.
Eames spoke softly, "Well, well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" He swept the sand from his pants and rolled his jeans, which were formerly bottoms, into a suit. The waves gently struck the coast, submerging his ankles in frigid water.
"It's calming," Arthur murmured. He also unfastened his necktie slightly and rolled up his dress pants to the knee. Suddenly, with this fresh chance, he felt the need to let his guard down and become more open. Arthur finally found the moment to address the lingering sentiments between them.
“Eames, there's something I need to say,” Arthur spoke softly turning to face the other man. Eames arched an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink on their faces. It felt warm and the right time to share what had been on Arthur’s mind recently.
“It’s about us…” Arthur spoke his voice growing more serious but still had a gentler tone.
Before Arthur could elaborate, Eames interrupted with a knowing smile. “Do you finally admit that you find my charm irresistible?” Arthur rolled his eyes, “Don't get ahead of yourself. It's more than that.”
“Eames, I've always..” The man sighed, “There's something about you that I can't quite shake off. It’s more than just a companionship.”
Eames, his usual smirk replaced by a genuine expression, took a step closer to Arthur. “Arthur, you don't have to say it, but if it's what I think it is…” Before Eames could finish his sentence, Arthur closed the distance between them, gently placing a finger over Eames' lips.
Arthur whispered, “It is.”
At that moment, with the sun setting as a witness, Arthur leaned in, capturing Eames' lips in a tender kiss. The dream world seemed to pause as if acknowledging their development through all of this.
As their lips parted, the dreamscape faded, and the familiar feeling of waking up enveloped them. Arthur and Eames found themselves back in the real world, lying side by side on the shared dream machine. Ariadne and Yusuf, who had been monitoring them, approached with curious expressions.
Ariadne raised an eyebrow, “Well, did you two resolve everything?” Eames was back with his infamous smirk again, “Define 'everything.'”
“Some things are better left ambiguous.” declared Arthur.
Ariadne and Yusuf exchanged amused glances, realizing that the dream layers held more secrets than they could ever know. As the team chuckled at the playful banter, The two men shared a knowing glance.
Right Arthur was, some things are better left ambiguous.