Work Text:
Arthur lifts the phone to call for room service.
“What’re you doing?” Eames asks, voice drawling. He’s taken off his shirt.
“Ordering alcohol.”
“Why?”
“Well, if we’re gonna do this,” Arthur says tersely, “I’ll have to be really fucking drunk.”
“In that case, let’s not.” Eames’ voice is not to be argued with.
Arthur looks away.
“Well, then,” he says, forcing military into his voice.
Eames watches him rise from the bed.
When Arthur reaches the door, Eames says “Cobb fucked you up bad, didn’t he?”
What’s Arthur supposed to say to that?
He just nods. Then he walks out.