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rowanparis:
It was obvious Rowan didn’t belong on this side of the Seine. His hair was curlier than usual under a well-worn beanie. He’d been a complete spectacle.
The man who was dressed dashingly spoke first. Rowan grinned. The kitchen bustled behind him. Unless he was a fancy chef, somehow superior in not splashing sauces onto his expensive clothes, the man didn’t belong in this particular room either. Rowan held the door open for a waiter who didn’t think twice about either of them, oddly enough. “The bathroom is one door down, for chums.”
The curious look on his face turned into a sheepish grin. “Oh gosh, yes. You’re...” He pointed behind the younger man at the behind the scenes area where Guillaume strangely felt much more of a connection to than the glittering candelabras and champagne worth more than a month of a normal man’s salary.
“Well I wasn’t seeking out the bathroom, really.” He slipped a hand into his pocket as he leaned against the door languidly, said champagne having totally erased all good judgement from his mind. “I hope they feed you well here. God knows we didn’t need that much food out here.”
