He carries himself with the bearing of a troublesome school boy who’s just been called to the principal’s office. That is to say, all too amused and aware of his misconduct, yet confident he will get away with a slap on the wrist. ❛❛ Dunno what you’re on about. What’s wrong with the ones I bought? ❜❜
"—'what's WRONG with them'?" to claim that his voice is the epitome of exasperation would be an understatement. he's teetering on the brink of agitation; only one rash motion away from giving in to impulse and follow his partner's example as far as the handling of underwear is concerned. yes. he should just rip this thing right here and now. ... instead, it continues to dangle from his inconsolable grasp like a red flag would before a bull's eyes. "they don't cover anything! what do you think the point of underwear is?!" certainly not this minimalist approach with only two slim straps available for it to remain latched onto his hips. whether resorting to this design makes for a fate better or worse than foregoing the garment altogether ... is something he really doesn't want to think about either. in the meantime, the culprit of the not-so-mysterious underwear extinction in his dresser drawer is wielding an expression far too smug for his liking. ( ... perhaps he really should've known better than to task him with its re-population ).
a long-drawn sigh escapes his throat and he lowers the 'thing' back onto the table. "god. make sure to return these. i'll just order a few pairs online."
