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With the time and date agreed upon, a perfect plan had now been set into motion; it was simple really, the gift of a home he and Cygnus could call their own, a home that would give them both the means and opportunity to visit each other more than they had in the past. The gift, however, seemed to be much more thoughtful and caring than Gaultier had anticipated, and not being a man of romance, he spent the day attempting to convince himself it was only a means of privacy, a place hidden away where the fucking could continue for hours without disturbing the neighbours. Of course, in the end, there was no denying the fact Cygnus had grown on him, had become an important part of his life, and perhaps this was a way of showing the man precisely how much he meant.

A heavy sigh escaped slightly parted lips as Gaultier collapsed (rather dramatically, mind) into the nearest chair where he took another long sip of the golden liquid of whiskey that currently filled his glass. It was a gift, from Cygnus, and perhaps that was why Gaultier found himself drinking it. The vile alcohol would have otherwise been locked away with the rest, and left there for an emergency. But this, this was an emergency -- Gaultier was feeling anxious, like a teenager, his stomach twisted into knots. As if Cygnus would deny him, reject the gift .. but still, the thought was there, and it was all Gaultier could do to keep himself from growling out in frustration over the subconscious nagging.

Is it even seven yet?