Eames remains where he is, listening to Arthur go about his business, grab the clothes, click there goes the bathroom lock. He drinks a few more glasses of scotch, standing by the table, leaning against it with his eyes fixed on the bathroom door.
He's thinking, quietly assessing the situation. It's not much different than he expected it to be to be honest. It had always been an assumption between himself and Arthur that there were no feelings involved and Eames had sort of betrayed that trust, hadn't he?
It doesn't make the ache any less so in his chest, though.
He's about to go back to the kitchen to fix Arthur something to eat when he hears the the crashing of glass in the bathroom. He pushes himself up quickly and to the bathroom door in the next moment, knocking on it gingerly.
"Arthur?" he calls through the door. "Are you alright? What happened?"
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He's thinking, quietly assessing the situation. It's not much different than he expected it to be to be honest. It had always been an assumption between himself and Arthur that there were no feelings involved and Eames had sort of betrayed that trust, hadn't he?
It doesn't make the ache any less so in his chest, though.
He's about to go back to the kitchen to fix Arthur something to eat when he hears the the crashing of glass in the bathroom. He pushes himself up quickly and to the bathroom door in the next moment, knocking on it gingerly.
"Arthur?" he calls through the door. "Are you alright? What happened?"