Scömìche One-Shots

Seafood

*Scott POV*

I took a deep intake of breath, savoring the view as the plane descended.

Paris. The city of love.

I loved nothing more than visiting my mother. I counted down the days, the minutes until the moment. Screw LA. Paris is definitely the best city on earth.

---

I just flew in. My flight had landed at 7, since I took off in the evening in New York, so I had time to explore.

I decided to go shopping because, why not? Go ahead, call me feminine. I am proud to be a beautiful womanly man.

I walk for a while, until I come across an interesting looking clothing shop.

Perfect.

"Salut! Bienvenue! Mon nom est Ariah , si vous avez besoin d'aide , viens me trouver ." A voice over-excitedly boomed from behind the counter.

(^Translation: Hi! Welcome! My name is Ariah, if you need any help, just come to me.)

No, I don't speak a lot of French, but I know a few words.

"Um, Parlez-vous anglais?" I ask, hoping I didn't screw up.

(^Translation: Um, Do you speak English?)

"Oh! Of course. I am sorry, s-sir." She said with complete confidence, although it sounded like a nervous stutter.

"I just flew in today and this is the first place I saw. Any recommendations?" l ask. She looks nervous and I see her flip through a dictionary, mouthing some of the words I said. Must've confused her a bit.

"Um, here we sell only clothing, but the store down the street sells, um, groceries and... N-necessities." She says, looking embarrassed.

"Thank you. I am only looking for clothing. I'll come if I need anything." I say, hoping I don't confuse her. She nods, looking proud that she understood me.

I walked past clothing racks of shirts, pants, and even belts, but I noticed a woman eying me. I looked over, and gave her a small wave, making sure to show my ring, so she would get the message. A look of realization claimed her face, before she blushed and looked away.

No, I'm not married, it's just to shoo women off. I'm completely single. As if I would be lucky enough to find a man. Yes, a man. I'm gay. Call me what you want, I don't care.

I walked around until a certain section caught my eye.

---

I went through probably 5 or 6 shirts before I found one that looked like something I would wear. It was a black button-up flannel, slightly see-through, with cuffs at the wrists. I was looking for a jacket to match it when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Monsieur? Pourriez- vous me dire vos pensées sur cette chemise ?" A sudden voice interrupts my thoughts. (^Translation: Sir? Could you tell me your thoughts on this shirt?)

I turn around to see a sweet-looking blonde holding up a cute blouse.

"Il semble belle," I say with a smile after taking a second to pause and think. (^Translation: It looks lovely.)

"M-Mer..." The woman sighed. "Do you happen to speak English?" OH THANK THE HEAVENS. I was getting tired of this.

"Yes. I suppose you're American?" I reply.

"Well, I'm technically of English origin, but I was born in America. So yes." The lady corrected.

"Ah. Well, miss technical, that blouse looks very lovely." I reply, then turn back to the clothing rack, seeing if I can find this shirt in my size.