Eliot Waugh

Eliot had been somewhat moody since his failed attempt at a love letter on Monday. (He was calling it a love letter ironically, of course, he wasn't in love with Quentin, he just had a very large crush on the ridiculous nerd boy and oh god he was doomed, wasn't he.) He had a lovely crop of moody scruff going, and was lazing about the house in proper tragically romantic despair, wearing his silk robe over what he was sure what Quentin's favorite of his waistcoats and watching all the period dramas he could find on Hulu and Netflix.

It was probably pretty insufferable, sorry, Margo. But at least he was mixing up some fantastically moody cocktails to go with the tragedy of it all?

[expecting one!]