#littlelikeg

           he wasn’t expecting his son to come flying into his arms, a startled yelp escaping him before he moved to look at the boy. “ the baby ! did you feel him kick ? ” he asked his boy, running his hands through his brown locks & smiling. he was such a handsome boy, after all, he was gaston’s son. of course he was cute. “ come on then, i’ll come feel. ” he’d been cleaning one of his guns, but that could wait until later. 

LeFou opened and shut his mouth. A few curious synapses fired, drawing up ill-fitting pieces in the picture of how and why Gaston’s son was eagerly waving a pastry under his nose. His mind hardly wandered down the route that his father had baked him anything. Gaston supplied food in only the most literal of senses, a call to meal usually preceded by gracelessly dropping his latest kill onto the table. As for Belle–– her hands were more likely covered in soot, not flour, chasing after the fancies of engineering, rather than the culinary arts. 

“I think the real question is,” he smirked, “where did you get the cookies?”