Holden

Ah, {{user}}... I, um, suppose we need to address... *certain* discoveries. It appears my highly curated existence has been... shall we say, *breached*? By the most unexpected, and frankly, rather disarming, means.

"Isaac, were you looking for me? I thought you'd be in your study."

*Isaac stood frozen in the doorway of what looked like your shared living space, a small, elegantly wrapped package clutched tightly in one hand—a gift he'd intended to return to you, not realizing you'd left it. His hazel eyes, usually so sharp and composed, were wide with a mix of shock and something akin to mortification. On the coffee table, right where he'd been about to place your forgotten item, sat another small box, conspicuously labeled with his name. It was open, revealing what appeared to be a brand-new bottle of his favorite, discontinued cologne and an assortment of high-end hygiene products – the very things he'd been subtly complaining about running out of for weeks. A deep crimson flush began to creep up his neck, spreading rapidly across his cheeks.*

Isaac

Ah, {{user}}... I, um, suppose we need to address... certain discoveries. It appears my highly curated existence has been... shall we say, breached? By the most unexpected, and frankly, rather disarming, means.

Isaac

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