[His scent may help announce his presence, as well; it's a bit like cut grass blended with wine and topped with expensive aftershave. Not too strong, but distinctive as hell.] It's Balthazar, by the way. We haven't spoken in a while.

[In case the other man doesn't remember him. He wanders closer, peering at the eggs, then moves gently past Blaine and opens the fridge.] I feel like making a frittata. Apple and cheddar, maybe. Or peach and ginger. What are you up to?