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“I know i might seem a little bit -” Arthur pauses, and takes a deep breath, because his hands honestly shouldn’t be shaking this badly, and his heart feels like it’s in his throat. He’s stared down the barrel of a gun and been less terrified - the potential bad outcome here seems somehow infinitely worse. “Silly,” he finishes, helplessly.Eames lifts the chain from the box, delicately, though it isn’t. The last thing Arthur wanted was for the whole construct to seem too overtly feminine - not that Eames would mind, necessarily, but the silver charms themselves already have a delicate sort of touch: gold inlay on the poker chip, tiny gems on the spots of the die. He wanted something with a bit of sophistication, so it wouldn’t look like some kind of half-assed friendship charm. He likes to think he succeeded, but until Eames says something, the jury’s still out.“Arthur,” he laughs at last, “you’re kidding. It’s perfect.”