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“Eames, have you seen the - oh for fuck’s sake.” Arthur shoved the third incorrect box aside with a vicious snarl of disgust, just as Eames finally deigned to came down to the kitchen. “Who the hell taught you to label boxes?”Eames made a pathetic attempt to hide his amusement, pressing his lips tightly together even as crow's feet of repressed delight formed at the corners of his eyes. “I thought it would be funny.”Arthur physically choked on his retort, slouching against the kitchen counter, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Unpacking is not supposed to be this stressful.”Eames’ mirth melted away. He held open his arms, and when Arthur didn’t immediately move towards him, hooked him by the loops on his jeans, making sympathetic shushing noises against Arthur’s grunts and grumbles of protest until he had reeled Arthur into a full-on hug.“We don’t have to get everything in order right away you know.”Arthur grunted, pressing his face into Eames’ neck.“It’s our house. We could live out of cardboard boxes if we wanted.”Arthur laughed, shoving at Eames’ chest, though Eames refused to let him go. “We are not living out of fucking boxes. We’re not homeless.”Eames hummed, rocking back and forth slightly on his feet; Arthur hated to think it was an effort to soothe him, but he also sort of liked it. “Well, certainly not anymore.”