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Eames is the one doing the chasing, it’s a foregone conclusion.
It's mistaken.
Everyone sees Eames doing the chasing because that is what he wants them to see. It’s not a favor out of consideration for Arthur, but a rough strategy to disguise Eames' uncertainty. Only the two of them know the truth now: Arthur loves Eames with the intensity of a burning sun.
I.
Eames calls Arthur darling, love, pet, babe; it rolls easily off the tongue, makes everyone react one way or another, and, best of all, makes Arthur stiffen with pleasure masked as annoyance. It’s a thing of beauty.
Yusuf, completely off-mark, tries to advise: “You should lay off a bit with the teasing; one day he’s gonna shoot you outside the dreams.”
Eames guffaws: “Is that really what you think?” But Yusuf appears to be seriously worried, so he allows: “I’ll tone it down.”
He stops addressing Arthur other than with his name and a darling here and there, and he flirts occasionally rather than frequently. Arthur gets more snappish with the passing of days and glowers at everyone except Cobb.
“Mr. Eames, a word,” he demands one day.
Yusuf, not as Arthur-knowledgeable as Eames or Cobb, sentences himself: “Man, I told you to lay off the flirting.”
Arthur stops short, and Eames only has time to send a prayer for Yusuf's soul before he touches Arthur's elbow and says, conciliatory: “What is it, love?”
Crisis averted, Eames sends a rueful smile to Yusuf, who looks as if he's reached enlightenment.
Eames calls Arthur darling, love, pet, babe; it's a balm, administered by Eames, over Arthur's broken heart, also by Eames.
B.M.
“I love you,” whispered Arthur, head over Eames' chest, left arm embracing him.
Eames thought to reply: “I know.” Thought to mention: “It’s only sex, pet.” Thought to say: “That’s too much,” and get out. But he wasn’t that brave. So he said nothing and pretended to be asleep.
Arthur knew he wasn’t asleep. Eames knew that Arthur knew he wasn’t asleep. Arthur knew that Eames knew that he knew. Therefore Arthur took the hint and left.
(That was one of the many nights Mal consoled a crying Arthur.)
He had sex with Eames again anyway. On various occasions.
I.
Ariadne didn’t understand why Arthur didn’t like Eames. Eames was smart, funny, amiable, and competent. She knew Arthur liked competent people: he liked her!
She tried asking Eames: “Why doesn’t Arthur like you?”
Eames reeled, bewildered as if he couldn’t envision such a thing: “What?” Then he noticed how serious she was, and asked, loudly: “Darling, you don’t like me?”
Arthur, some distance away in the warehouse, looked up and answered, calmly: “Of course, I don’t like you, Mr. Eames.”
Ariadne grimaced sympathetically, but Eames just said: “Ah.” Then: “Of course, he doesn’t like me, silly Ariadne! He loves me.” And he beamed, beatific.
Ariadne saw Arthur's stiff shoulders and neck, Eames' eyes, and managed a “Huh.”
She went to find Cobb.
B.M.
Hot hot hot! Burning hot! What bloody god descended to Earth to bring a sunny day to London? Eames would like them to reconsider.
He enters the warehouse and sees his three previous favorite people: Cobb, the git, Mal, the goddess, and Arthur, the prissy bane of his existence. He used to like working with them, and he used to love messing with never-unprepared Arthur; before Arthur went and fucked it all up by confessing his blistering love for him.
Now it’s just awkward.
The job must go on, however.
Eames says: “Hello, lovely people and Cobb,” ignores Mal's glare, accepts Cobb's eye roll, and directs a leer at Arthur's blank expression.
The smoldering heat of Arthur’s love makes a horrible combination to this particular day's London weather; it’s gonna be a long job.
He’s become rather complacent of this team anyway.
A.M.
Cobb calls Eames for the Inception job. Arthur greets him with a polite “Hello, Mr. Eames,” and sticks close to Ariadne, the new young architect of the team. This makes Eames unexpectedly jealous; he’s used to always being Arthur's center of attention. He lets the petulance surround him, even though he's the best at improvisation (at everything, if Arthur is asked.)
He feels himself become offended and defensive, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Arthur watches him sharply, but only when not teaching Ariadne about the PASIV and the dream sharing. Eames resents him.
He indulges in mocking banter and childish jabs, but it doesn’t help his discomfort. So much for love and all that.
Then there’s the job, so at last, the thinking gives him rest. Until Arthur touches his arm and says, with that wonderfully no-nonsense voice: “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”
Eames can’t help but be pissed for only now realizing he missed him and his scorching emotions that corrode Eames' self.
B.I.
Eames looks at Arthur's lovely face, his creased suit, and feels an unexpected pang of longing hit him.
He blames that for his unintentional jerk and the subsequent squeeze of the trigger. Even when the plan was to shoot him, he’s not in the habit of making amateur mistakes.
He gets Arthur on the side, and refuses to feel guilty when he lays him down on the ground and tells him: “I’m a professional, Arthur.”
He goes for the mercy hit.
(Arthur's devastated look would not leave him alone for a long time.)
A.I.
After Inception, Eames finally acknowledges the hints that Arthur leaves him every time he changes locations or gets a job, and finds him.
Outside Arthur's safe house in an unremarkable place, Eames tells Arthur: “I want to try.”
Arthur's face breaks. He appears to want to remain frozen, but his lips tremble and his eyes get large and dewy. Eames stares unforgivably.
He blurts, sincere, aware this might be cruel, but unable not to: “Listen, Arthur. I want you, but you have to know that I don’t love you.”
And Arthur, unimaginative Arthur, realist, and cautious Arthur counters, with a tremulous but cheeky smile: “Not yet.”
Eames concedes the point.
B.M.
Arthur met Eames on a job.
The only relevant details about it were Eames' bright presence, Eames' surreal skills, and Eames Eames Eames. Arthur was a professional first and a man after, but the professional and the man couldn’t hope to win against sheer brilliance and chaotic competence.
Cobb was bemused by Arthur's defensive snapping, Eames was delighted by the challenge, and Mal was amused.
Arthur was infatuated.
(Later, when Arthur told her about it, Mal understood; she loved Cobb the same way.)