Sugar

Sugar: 2/10 Cup

There were few things in life Dorian would admit he loved, because 'the l word' wasn't something he said often, or even at all. Order, though. That was something he loved. Order was something he knew intimately, and he considered it his closest friend.

It was one of the reasons why he enjoyed cooking so much. Each ingredient, each technique, each second had its purpose, and it all came together to form a cohesive body that worked.

Dorian hated many things, but above all, he despised a disorganised environment. His home was one that always remained sleek and clean, with everything in its place and not a single thing laying where it wasn't supposed to be. He could walk through his house with his eyes closed and locate his keys, his wallet, or even walk through his kitchen and identify every ingredient simply because of where it was placed.

Order. He would be the first to admit that he had a problem with it. He'd obsessively colour code, arrange in alphabetical order, or numeric order, or something to make sure everything was arranged how it was supposed to be. Even numbers especially, were his favourite. He found comfort in them, knowing that he could add or subtract a certain amount and the result would always be divisible right down the middle.

Four throw pillows on every sofa, two sofas, four pots, four pans, two skillets, two ladles, a set of six cast iron cooking equipment. Everything in his house was in even numbers, including the number of books on each shelf, ordered from largest to smallest from the left to the right, and the numbers of shelves in his home.

There were six bedrooms, four bathrooms, two half baths, a parking garage with space for six vehicles, twelve steps on every set of stairs from floor to floor and his house was an even twelve thousand square metres. His property as well, was a flat twenty acres, and even the number of posts lining the fence of his land was even.

So yes, Dorian loved order. He loved routine and predictability, he loved control. Order was one of the ways in which he controlled his environment down to the last detail, and in this he felt comfortable enough to relax. If something was out of place, he'd be tense and on edge until it was fixed once more.

Perhaps that's why he had been single for so long. He was a man with needs and a fair share of momentary partners, but he couldn't seem to pluck up the courage for anything beyond that. Anything further seemed wrong, and despite the constant nagging from his sister to settle down, he couldn't imagine sharing his space—his sanctuary, with another human being. One who would disrupt his order of things.

It was this thought that set the sour scowl on his face as he wandered through his sister's penthouse, trying his best to avoid the chirpy woman that was Cora from dragging him to meet yet another group of her bachelorette friends, hoping he'd strike up a connection with one of them. He already knew he wouldn't.

At that point, Dorian was sure he didn't want to. His life was fine the way it was, and he didn't want the stress of Cora's airhead friends screeching in his ear all the time, something his sister didn't seem to understand. He loved her to death, but her friend group was very annoying.

"I just saw Dorian around somewhere, let me go find him," He heard Cora say, prompting him to quickly duck into the kitchen with an exasperated sigh. He recognised the pace of her walk as she passed by the entrance to the cooking area.

The sound of chopping and soft laughter caught his attention, bringing his sight toward the counter. Chef Obisani was stood there, cutting the stems off mint leaves and placing them into a bowl of ice water delicately. Unable to help himself, Dorian approached the woman with curiosity, hearing as she spoke to her assistant chef.

"—it stops them from wilting like that. I keep all my fruits and some vegetables in jars of water in my fridge, you know."

"Your fridge looks like a lab. I half expected to find pig heads in one of the jars."