electronic [martin garrix] - REWRITING

one.

"What is that thing on your head?" I laughed out loud at the sight of the beret on his head.

"What?" He took it off, his brown hair a bit messy. "I was trying to be as French as I could for you." He grinned as he opened his arms for a hug.

"Shut up, Hugo. You're already French." I couldn't stop smiling as I accepted his embrace. After a while in his arms I sniffed and pulled away. "I missed your French accent and you smell like baguettes."

He laughed. "I'm French as fuck."

"And I'm tired as fuck." I smiled tiredly. "How far away is Nantes?"

"A lot farther," he picked up one of my bags as I held the other. "We better set off early. C'mon," he led me out of the arrivals area and into the parking lot. We put my stuff in the back of a grey Volvo and sped out the airport after that.

"Do you want to grab coffee?" He asked when we were in the highway. But I didn't hear him right away, we were cruising through the streets of Paris and the view mesmerized me.

"Do you know the nearest Starbucks?" I asked grinning, knowing how it would irritate him.

"You're such a white girl; you're supposed to be Asian." He rolled his eyes.

"Ha. Nice one, Hugo." I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now answer the question."

He sighed. "Yes, I do know the nearest Starbucks. But you're in Paris! Let's go to one of those cliché cafes down by the river."

"Do they have macarons?" I inquired smiling.

"Of course they do."

"Then okay." I agreed, leaning back into the seat and shifting my gaze out of the window.

A few minutes later, (with me trying my best not to fall asleep as to not fuck up my sleeping schedule) we arrived at his cliché cafe. It was a little after lunch so there weren't much people but the scent of pastries and baked bread with coffee hit me like a wave, although this was a foreign country, it smelled like home. We sat at a booth beside the huge glass windows. After we'd taken our orders, Hugo suddenly pulled out his phone.

"Selfie." He announced, his face settling into a lazy smile. I just stared emotionlessly at the camera with my fingers in a peace sign.

"So who's the white girl now?" I asked teasingly.

"That was for social media," he tapped away on his phone. "What was your Twitter account name again?"

"Don't pretend like you don't stalk it every day."

"Alright. You got me." He smiled then gave me his phone.

I looked at the selfie with a face. "Wow, I look like shit."

He squinted his eyes. "Well...you look like a person who had a sixteen hour flight with four hours of sleep running on twelve cups of coffee." The waiter arrived with my mug of coffee and a tray of creamers and sugar. "Now, thirteen." He corrected.

"You just summed up my whole entire flight." I admitted with humor, the accuracy was impressive. "Though you forgot the two hour layover in Tokyo."

"Ah, yes. Of course." He chuckled. "I bet you wished you had more layover time."

"You bet correctly." I sipped at my coffee just as his order of pasta arrived. "So when do I meet with your managers for the official contract again?"

"When we get to Amsterdam," he answered. "Which is about...two days from now, I guess? Our flight is a day after tomorrow."

"Yes! I get a day of sleep!" I rejoiced.