Blaine wasn’t counting on an overly ornate answer to questions he purposefully kept as simplistic as possible, lest they be returned. Truly digging deep wasn’t a habit he let himself indulge in that much these days. Instead, he used his straw to poke at what was left of the ice in his glass of vodka and cranberry juice. The crimson barely tinted the liquor inside making it a dull pinkish mess of Grey Goose and what could have tasted good thirty minutes ago. Grinning, hazel eyes turned his attention back to the man beside him. “A pistachio ice cream loving Christmas guy. What brings you to New York? Or are you a local? I’m Blaine, by the way. I think Joe’s got some pistachios behind the bar if you need a fix?”
@eiightisgreat ; continued from here.
pianokeysandbowties 