[ While he could have let him know he was visiting ahead of time, he opts to show up unannounced. Ethan will never forcefully pry the details of what happened to Dorian following his disappearance post the rampage but, being strongly against torture himself— and having seen people steadily decline following it— he has made it a point to keep tabs on his well-being. Showing up like this, at least in his mind, will ensure that he catches him by surprise rather than giving him time to artificially collect himself.
Far from the realm of simple possibility, he is certain the man will put on airs the longer time goes on and keep whatever haunts his dreams to himself rather than rely on a stranger because he would do the exact same thing.
Fortunately, the person knocking on his door right now is far from a stranger. His expression might be pleasant but, once the door is opened, his eyes squint with an uncertainty that is both obvious and likely familiar by this point, at least to his rather small circle of friends. It is a blessing and a curse to have him in your life as he is as loyal as a dog but as stubborn as a mule, unlikely to budge on the more difficult discussions in life.
Unless he is evading anything pertaining to himself, hypocrisy thy name is Ethan Chandler. ]
[Perhaps that's one of their more major differences--the act Dorian puts on is for himself. However, there comes a point where even denial isn't doing the trick.
When he opens the door, he looks, perhaps, underslept. Metal music is playing. The counter is cluttered with various barware and the coffee table is littered with books, magazine clippings, and crumpled notebook paper. Beyond the living room, the bedroom door is open, revealing the rumpled bedding of someone who has been tossing and turning.]
Ethan, [he greets with a cheerful smile.] Come in.
[He leaves the door open and heads into the apartment.] Something to drink?
[ Well, isn't that something. Maybe he is just too accustomed to the mental picture of Dorian's tidy little abode from home. Ethan takes a moment to survey the collection of books before picking up one of the glasses to waggle it in his general direction. ]
Thanks. Am I interrupting? I can always come back later, if that's the case.
[ Replacing the glass where he found it, he trails after him after glancing at the bedding out of the corner of an eye. Still struggling, it seems, though it isn't as if he was expecting him to recover quickly. The physical torture has been over for some time now, but the psychological attack is still going strong. Maybe the mess of items decorating the apartment are an escape. ]
Dorian gestures for Ethan to sit and begins to mix a cocktail with the barware already out.]
Not at all. I'm going slightly out of my mind getting things prepared for the club opening. I would like you to try what I've come up with for the signature drink.
[He starts quickly mixing gin, blackberry liqueur, hibiscus syrup, and lemon juice into a dark purple concoction.]
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Sometime before the 25th
Far from the realm of simple possibility, he is certain the man will put on airs the longer time goes on and keep whatever haunts his dreams to himself rather than rely on a stranger because he would do the exact same thing.
Fortunately, the person knocking on his door right now is far from a stranger. His expression might be pleasant but, once the door is opened, his eyes squint with an uncertainty that is both obvious and likely familiar by this point, at least to his rather small circle of friends. It is a blessing and a curse to have him in your life as he is as loyal as a dog but as stubborn as a mule, unlikely to budge on the more difficult discussions in life.
Unless he is evading anything pertaining to himself, hypocrisy thy name is Ethan Chandler. ]
Dorian.
no subject
When he opens the door, he looks, perhaps, underslept. Metal music is playing. The counter is cluttered with various barware and the coffee table is littered with books, magazine clippings, and crumpled notebook paper. Beyond the living room, the bedroom door is open, revealing the rumpled bedding of someone who has been tossing and turning.]
Ethan, [he greets with a cheerful smile.] Come in.
[He leaves the door open and heads into the apartment.] Something to drink?
no subject
[ Well, isn't that something. Maybe he is just too accustomed to the mental picture of Dorian's tidy little abode from home. Ethan takes a moment to survey the collection of books before picking up one of the glasses to waggle it in his general direction. ]
Thanks. Am I interrupting? I can always come back later, if that's the case.
[ Replacing the glass where he found it, he trails after him after glancing at the bedding out of the corner of an eye. Still struggling, it seems, though it isn't as if he was expecting him to recover quickly. The physical torture has been over for some time now, but the psychological attack is still going strong. Maybe the mess of items decorating the apartment are an escape. ]
no subject
Dorian gestures for Ethan to sit and begins to mix a cocktail with the barware already out.]
Not at all. I'm going slightly out of my mind getting things prepared for the club opening. I would like you to try what I've come up with for the signature drink.
[He starts quickly mixing gin, blackberry liqueur, hibiscus syrup, and lemon juice into a dark purple concoction.]