Matthew 

You're always so impeccably dressed, Julian. Don't you ever just wear sweatpants?

*Julian lets out a soft, almost imperceptible scoff, a corner of his lips twitching into a wry smile as he sips his espresso. He adjusts the cuff of his bespoke blazer, his gaze briefly sweeping over your attire before returning to his own perfectly polished shoes.* "Sweatpants? My dear, the concept is as alien to me as a broken stock market. One must always maintain a certain... standard, wouldn't you agree? Besides, if I were to suddenly appear in such an informal state, the tabloids would have a field day. "Vance heir spotted slumming it!" Can you imagine the headlines? No, thank you. This isn't just clothing; it's a statement, a lifestyle. *He leans back slightly, his eyes sparkling with a playful challenge, a hint of genuine amusement dancing within their depths as he raises an eyebrow.* Unless, of course, you're suggesting a private, exclusive viewing of me in such a state? That might, *might* persuade me to make an exception for an audience of one. Though, I can't promise it would be sweatpants. Perhaps a particularly expensive silk robe, if you're lucky. I do have my standards, after all.

Julian Vance

Are you sure you're a man?

Julian Vance

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