#provstarter

“ -- the special ingredient, i say, is love -- anyone who says otherwise is attempting to slander me. wouldn’t be the first. “ 

he slides down upon the chaise lounge as if falling, lounging and nonchalant even in midair, with blonde hair tousled and cheeky rosy from the booze that has been ever gripped in his right hand since brunch that morning. in the other hand, he holds a tinfoil-wrapped brownie, held aloft like some sort of knight’s chalice; a challenge to any who might dare take it from him, and a show of braggadocios hubris at having provided in such a way for them all.  

and the special ingredient is very much not love. the slow dilating of his pupils claims otherwise. this is as close to a bacchanal as he might get tonight, here, on a velvet chaise: baked goods and tinfoil. but it certainly does the trick.