Your Life In Paris (Ray x Male Reader)

A First Date

The restaurant you found was old and rustic. The walls were made from stone bricks that seemed to be from the early 1800s. The patio you were on overlooked a small lake, and you had a wonderful view of the bridge above it. The patio itself rested on a cliff that stretched out into the lake, surrounded by a rustic fence. Far in the distance, the famous Eiffel Tower could be seen. The rising sun was casting it's first light over you and Ray as you sat down at your table on the edge of the cliff. There were two chairs, and in the center of the table was a rose in a glass vase filled with water. 

"Puis-je prendre votre commande?" The waitress said as she stood over the table. You speak a bit of french, and you can tell (with the help of context) that she wants to take your order.

"Je veux les pains, s'il vous plaît." (I'll have bread, please.) You say slowly, going over each word. 

"Et vous?" (And you?) She turns her gaze to Ray. 

"Er-" He's obviously confused. 

"Mon amis ne parle pas francis, madam." (My friend doesn't speak french) You chime in. Then you look at Ray. "She wants your order." 

"Oh, I'll just have what you're having." He tells you. He looks a bit embarrassed. He probably feels useless or something, not being able to speak for himself. 

"Il veut les pains, aussi." You tell her. And then, she walks away to get your order. 

"Wow," Exclaims your boyfriend. "I didn't know you spoke this much." 

"Well, I might have gotten some conjugation wrong. But it was taught in the schools where I grew up!" This was a blatant lie to make him feel better. You know your conjugation was perfect.

(AUTHOR NOTE: All the french spoken by you is french I know myself. If I can't translate English into french without the internet or dictionary, than the character can't either. This makes it more realistic. ^-^)  

You rest our elbow on the table, and hold your head up on your fist as you look at Ray. 

"You're so cute." You flirt, your [Y/E] eyes locked onto his dark green ones. 

Ray blushes and breaks eye-contact. It seems he does this whenever he gets flustered. 

"You can't say that in public!" He mutters angrily, it's almost like a growl. "People like us aren't accepted! You know that."  

"I don't care. You're too cute." You say, grinning at him. "Besides, no one here speaks English. I'm sure of that." 

"How can you be so sure of that? After all, you speak French. Why can't they speak English?" 

"Heh," You chuckles gently. "Watch this..." You take a deep breath and then yell. "Does anyone here speak English? I need a translator." People around the patio look at you due to the noise, but no one answers. You ask again, this time in french. "Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?" (Do you guys speak English.)

The people sitting at the patio all let out "Non.". 

"Non means no." You tease Ray as a smirk grows on your face. Your proud that your right, but you won't rub it in directly. 

"Heh, looks like you were right." Ray smiles. He pauses before speaking again. "In that case, I think you're adorable too." He reaches out and runs a single finger down your [Y/H] hair. As you look at Ray, you can't help but think of how wonderful this horrible situation could be. There's an adorable boy sitting next to you, running his finger through your hair and gazing at you with love in his eyes. And all because you had to leave your home and everyone you love. You let out a single, half-hearted chuckle as you think about it. 

"What's so funny?" Ray asks, taking his hand out of your hair. He was probably a little embarrassed because he thought you were laughing at his display of affection; after all, he's new to the whole thing. 

"Well, I was just thinking about how fair this situation is." You explain. "We were forced to leave everything behind and move to a foreign country. But then the universe gave us eachother." 

Ray looks at you with a very unamused look on his face. 

"Ughh. That's pretty corny." He cringes. 

"Hey-" 

"And besides, do you really think that love is worth having to struggle to survive?" Ray asks rather seriously. He has a good point, you know it well. But you are honestly convinced that something as beautiful as love can be worth every missed meal and unsheltered night. 

"It depends what we make of it." You coo lovingly as you grab Ray's hand which was resting on the table, you lean in closer to him to stress your point. "Love can be worth everything we're going through. One of he beautiful things about love is you can decorate it with romance and affection. If you don't decorate something, it's dull and boring; and in that case it's not worth having. But if you decorate it and make it beautiful, then it can be worth every struggle in the world!" 

"That was pretty wise for a 16 year old." Ray exclaims with wide eyes and blushed cheeks. 

"Yeah." You let out a breathy chuckle, surprised with yourself as well. 

"But I suppose you're right." Ray admits, holding the back of his neck and shifting his gaze to the water below the patio. 

"Voici votre pains!" (Here is your bread.) Says a smiling waitress as she places two plates of bread on the table. 

"Merci beaucoup!" (Thank your very much!) You press your hands together to express thanks and return her smile. 

"Er- merci?" Falters an uncertain Ray as he repeats what you said, hoping it meant 'Thank you'. 

She waved at you two as she moved to the next table. 

"Do we have enough money to tip her?" Ray frets as he realizes that you guys probably don't. 

"Oh, heavens no." You say dismissively, shaking your head and waving a hand slightly. "I'll just make up a sad story about how we can't afford to because we're immigrants. 

The two of you eat your bread, talking about how excited and nervous you are about your new life. And eventually, the check comes. You pay the two euros for the meal, and instead of giving a tip (which you can't do even if you wanted to), you tell the waitress what happened. So you put on a sad face so that she doesn't feel too ripped off by not getting the tip, and prepare your saddest french accent. 

"Madam, nous n'avon pas plus de l'argent pour vous! Nous sommes les immigrants." (Madam, we don't have any more money for you. You see, we're immigrants.) Your voice has an apologetic tone to it, but you forgot how to say 'We're very sorry' in french. 

"Oh, vous devez être l'un des immigrants de [Y/C], je suis tellement triste d'entendre cela. Ne vous inquiétez pas, s'il vous plaît." She consoled, a look of pity on her face. You didn't quite catch what she was saying, but you can tell she was fine without a tip. 

(ARTHOR'S NOTE: If you wanna translate that, [Y/C] refers to your country.)

You and Ray walk back to the meeting place at the beach. Once you get there, you notice Emma and Norman still haven't arrived quite yet. And since no one is watching, the two of you lay down on the sand and on eachother. Your lips and tongues touch, and before long it turns from a gentle kiss to a violent one. Your tongues thrash around like two thumbs in a thumb war. And your mouths appear to do the same. All the while, the beach's gentle waves splash the two of you. After a few minutes, you stop and just stare at eachother lovingly as you wait for the other two to arrive. Maybe this life won't be so bad. Maybe it would be even better. . .