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The thing is, Arthur hates dating. He especially hates blind dating, and he positively loathes waiting; so he’s very much at the point where he’s giving this Eames - and honestly, what kind of a name even is Eames? - twenty, maybe thirty more seconds before he walks out of the restaurant without looking back.Which is, of course, right when a harried-looking blond guy walks through the front door and starts scanning the meagre Wednesday evening crowd. He zeroes in on Arthur almost immediately, and when he ducks over to the table, he’s a little out of breath, colour high in his cheeks.“Sorry, Arthur is it?” he says, and Arthur wasn’t expecting the accent, or the tattoos that are peeking through his open shirt collar and from the bottoms of his rolled-up shirt sleeves. When Arthur manages a nod, Eames practically falls into the other side of the booth. “Bloody hell, I didn’t think you’d still be here. My car broke down; I honestly didn’t mean to be this late, but I had to wait for a tow.”“It’s fine,” Arthur says, all of a sudden feeling remarkably forgiving. “I - uh - didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”Eames’ face breaks immediately into a charmingly crooked smile. “I’m sure that’s a lie; but why don’t we start with a drink and we’ll see if I can make it up to you.”