Perfect? Well, of course he was, Gaultier knew this himself since the ripe age of five when even his mother regarded him as such. Since then it was clearly written in how he acted, portrayed himself amongst the others. With Cygnus' admission, however, perfection suddenly took on much more meaning; Gaultier couldn't help the unknowing smile given in response as a hand firmly clamped down around Cygnus' own. "After you."

With a brief squeeze to Cygnus' hand did Gaultier's drop and settle to the small of his back, urging him forward and into the newly purchased home. Each piece of furniture had been chosen specifically by those who modeled homes as a profession -- if Gaultier was to do this, as a gift at any rate, he'd be sure it was done properly. The woods matched, the cloths each related to the theme of the room, and the lighting was neither too bright nor dim: just as he, it was perfect.

"It's not quite as big as I'd have liked, but I imagine we can manage with what we have here."