"I'll take this as my cue to leave, boys." Eames announces to the small table he's been perched at, laying down his cards and giving Arthur the barest of looks as he stands. They protest slightly, the game is in full swing and the bar crowded, but Eames only shrugs on his jacket, avoiding the cellophane wrapped around the top of his arm. A new tattoo that can only be hours old at least.

He's been drinking for a while, liquor thrumming through his system as he moves away, towards Arthur because there's no point running, no point if Arthur can find him halfway across the city in the dingiest of pubs. When they draw level with each other, Eames' face is masked, hard and lacking all sorts of the gentle teasing, tone of voice too clipped and cut off to be anything other than a series of vowels locking the real emotion behind it,

"Should we take this outside, Arthur?" he asks, brushing past him into the night. He throws a smile over his shoulder but it's not pleasant, not at all, "Wouldn't want to cause a scene."