THE CITY OF LOVE ❁ PHAN

cinq

The streets of France were lit up by dim street lights and and neon signs that were reflected in the lakes that surrounded the beautiful city. Flowers bloomed in a long trail around the lake, roses and tulips alike danced in the soft breeze that fluffed our hair and tickled our noses. The air was fresh and was filled with the distant scents of fresh baked bread and pastries filled our noses, distracting us from the magnificent view of the collage of glittering stars above us.
The restaurant Phil had taken us to was absolutely beautiful, with adobe brick walls and a tempting option to sit outside.
"Qu'aimerais-tu commander?" a waiter spoke above us, settling two glasses of water with a lemon sitting on the edge of the cup in front of us.
"Ahh, je vais avoir la bouillabaisse s'il vous plaît," Phil said, pointing to a picture on the plastic menu that was placed in front of him when we sat here.
He turned to me questioning along with the waiter, who was tapping his pen on his notepad patiently.
"Um.. I'll have the um," I scanned over the names nervously, settling on a random one and pointing to it and displaying it to the man, "Cette s'il vous plaît," I spoke carefully, remembering how Phil told me to say it, though I stuttered.
The waiter nodded hesitantly before trotting away back into the restaurant.
Phil practically burst out laughing, his lips turning up into a glee and humor filled grin and he giggled softly.
"What's so funny?" I huffed, refusing to look at him out of embarrassment and instead filling my gaze with the view of the various customers conversing and eating through the windows.
"You just ordered lambs' feet," he smirked devilishly, fixing his fringe with a flick of a finger.
My jaw dropped and my eyes widened in shock, my stomach suddenly turning and flipping as he planted on a smile filled with only apology.
"Well, fuck," I muttered.

--

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, by the way," Phil sighed as he threw his coat onto the back of the sofa when we walking in.
I continued shoving my shoes off my toes, "It's alright, you were right, I was selfish," I mumbled.
"No, it was none of my business; I just wanted to help you do what was right," the ebony haired man said lowly, beginning to unbutton his black dress shirt, averting my eyes from his face to his porcelain chest.
"Wha-what are you doing?" my voice wavered as I questioned his obscure actions, Phil's head tilting in confusion.
"I'm taking a shower?" he giggled at my red cheeks as I backed up as far away from his gorgeous, naked torso and his teasing smile as possible.
My back hit the wall and Phil had no mercy on he as he stood unreasonably close, a single finger lifting my chin so I looked right up at his crystalline blue irises. I couldn't breath.
"Is that a blush I see? As you look at a man?" his lips turned up in a relentless smirk, "Regarder ces petites joues mignon."
He ruffled my hair briefly before turning away, toddling down the hallway to the restroom and the haze of blue dissipated from my foggy head, along with the thoughts that my mother would slap me for imagining.

--

"Have you settled in well?" a voice called from the door, startling me into almost falling out of my chair.
I recovered before answering, "Yes, I have, thank you for asking," I warily smiled at the man Phil had introduced to me as Chris. He seemed like a very energetic, joyful man; it was nonetheless entertaining for a landlord.
Phil had told me he moved here from America when he was very young, but his parents still insisted he learn both English and French. He seemed interesting, like he had a lot of stories to tell.
"So, how'd you meet little Philly?" the brunet giggled inviting himself into the room and leaning against the door frame.
"I met him on the flight here actually," I smiled at the fond memory, "He seems nice."
"Yeah, he's had a hard past, take care of him for me," Chris said, and before I could even think up a reply he was out the door, his heavy footsteps could be heard tumbling down the stairs. I was flabbergasted, take care of him? I'm not his wife, certainly never will be..
My thoughts trailed off from that, and moved on to what else Chris said, a hard past? What happened to him? Did it have something to do with his wife?
Questions raced past my eyes, confusion was the only thing that filled my brain. I decided that that night, the next time that I saw Phil, I would try and dig for any more clues to his mystery. I looked forward to it.

I didn't sleep much that night, partially because the bed that was provided was small and creaky but also because of my aching thoughts of Phil; the dark and tempting expression he had when he pushed me up against the wall and the way his voice became gravelly and deep, chilling me to the very bone. The way he towered over me, almost intimidatingly. The sharp curve of his jawline and how his eyes seemed so cold and far away.
But also the sheer mystery of the man, the way his eyes became distant as he stared off into space or how he only let a little bit of information slip off of his tongue at a time. I wanted to figure out the mystery of Phil Lester.

TRANSLATIONS:
> Qu'aimerais-tu commander? = What would you like to order?
> Je vais avoir la bouillabaisse s'il vous plaît. = I'll have the bouillabaisse, please.
Bouillabaisse is a traditional boiled fish stew with scorpionfish, sea robin, herbs and spices.
> Cette s'il vous plaît. = This, please.
> Regarder ces petites joues mignon. = Look at these cute little cheeks.

Byebyebyebyebyebye