The Molière Affair

Joong stared at the last mozzarella stick languishing on the greasy plate, its cheesy aroma a siren's song of deep-fried heaven.

Across the table, Nine was taking selfies, attempting to get the busy Parisian market in the background. It was a struggle. Every time Nine managed to frame it just right, a cloud overhead would darken the shot or a hungry pigeon would divebomb its way into the scene.

The temptation to snatch the lone stick and shove it whole into his mouth was nearly overwhelming. Driven by some deep, animalistic instinct to eat or be eaten, Joong inched his hand toward the plate, his eyes never leaving his boyfriend. Just a little bit further and--

Suddenly, Nine huffed and tossed his phone on the table. "I give up. The sun refuses to cooperate and these goddamn birds won't stop pulling focus."

"Sure. Blame it on Mother Nature," Joong grinned. "Maybe the subject's the problem." His hand was only inches from the edge of the plate.

Nine rolled his eyes and plucked an imaginary thread from his new, just-for-Paris button-down. "Fuck you. I always look good."

"Maybe you should try the stalls behind you. It's probably brighter over there," Joong offered helpfully, his eyes lingering on the cheese stick.

Nine had spent the morning going on-and-on about 'all the romantic little cafes' and yet, here they were, finally at one of those romantic little cafes, and Nine was focused on the perfect Instagram picture and he was distracted by cheese. So much for a romantic get-away. 

Joong discreetly began sliding the plate toward his side of the table, barely hiding his triumphant smirk when Nine glanced distractedly over his shoulder.

"Yeah, maybe I'll try--what the hell, Joong!"

Joong froze, eyes wide, mouth open, mozzarella stick halfway to his mouth.

"Who said you get the last stick?" Nine frowned, reached across the table, and yanked it from Joong's hand. "We said we'd split them. This one's mine since you had four and I only had three."

"We both had four! And I'm still hungry, so I get it!" Joong snatched it back and dunked it into the small ramekin of marinara sauce.

"This is stupid. Just give it to me," Nine demanded. He lunged out of his seat and smacked the cheese stick onto the table, bits of marinara flew everywhere.

For several heartbeats, both men stared at the stick. Then, like a pair of synchronized swimmers, they dove. Time moved as if underwater, each second slower than the last. Passersby stopped to observe the growing spectacle.

Nine reached it first. Clutching it above his head and crowing victoriously, he puffed his chest and faced the onlookers with a wide smile. He pumped his fist in the air, as if expecting applause. When none came, he narrowed his eyes.

Not to be outdone, Joong sidestepped the table and raised his own hand into the air, aiming for the lofty cheese. He stumbled and grabbed Nine to stop his fall. However, Nine was a much smaller man than Joong, and both men tumbled to the ground in a heap. Amongst the tangle of limbs, a lone hand emerged clutching the mozzarella stick.

This began yet another struggle between the two men. Joong seemed to have the upperhand due to the sheer genetic luck of being six feet tall. But what Nine lacked in genetics, he made up for in persistence. Before long, they were nose to nose, hands in the air, the cheese stick growing colder by the second.

It was in that moment, just when Joong was about to suggest splitting the damn thing because they were in romantic-fucking-Paris, when a pigeon that had been circling silently overhead, darted and plucked the mozzarella stick from their outstretched hands.

A stunned silence followed as they watched the bird grow smaller and smaller against the Parisian skyline. The small crowd dispersed and the market resumed its busy transactions. The empty plate on the table glistened in the Instagram-ready sunlight.

Sheepishly, Joong turned to Nine. "Wanna split some crepes?"