Welp. That's the final nail in the coffin. Is there really any point trying to pretend they aren't both talking about the same English gentleman?

"Believe it or not, it isn't about you." Crichton grips Parker's forearm to try and keep him from putting on more pressure. "You still ain't gonna like it."

There's another long pause during which Crichton's face contorts through all five stages of grief like a spinning roulette wheel until, finally, landing on depression.

"Arthur's my frelling roommate."