There's no splash forthcoming, though the stare from Arthur might be just as frosty. Then he's shaking his head and reaching out to unplug the tub, letting the water slowly drain as he sits up, trying not to think too hard on the whole thing of Eames wanting to cook for him in particular because of the cursed L-word.

He shifts up, getting ready to stand, and gestures towards his discarded towel. "Pass me that, would you?"