The Greatest Thing

Green or Blue

Weeks turned to months and Christian felt himself becoming more and more familiar with Paris. When he first arrived, he would dance awkwardly to the rhythm of the night, and now his movements were fluid and second nature. His time was spent mostly writing or rehearsing, with the play slowly taking over his life. Getting to know Satine more and more, he grew to admire her, falling in love with the contrast that she represented. But, he knew they could never truly belong to each other. She was to be the Duke's, and he... well, he was beginning to wonder if his heart was truly his to give or if it still belonged to another. He thought of Estelle in fleeting moments, finding that the more he wallowed, the more disillusioned with this life he would become. Crumpled up papers littered his floor, the remnants of letters he destroyed before sending. None of them would be enough to undo the hurt he had undoubtedly caused her. He just hoped that she was happy wherever she was, and that she was being treated like the wonderful creature she was.

Words seemed to fail him every now and then as of late. He was stuck, unable to get past this one part in his draft where the penniless sitar player won over the courtesan. After spending hours with Satine trying to come up with a dialogue that felt natural, he'd gone home frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair as he fell back on his bed. The fact that the scene was later in the play comforted him, since he would have time to finish it, but he was still frustrated. He used to be able to wax on about love for hours, but lately he just found himself going through the motions. He could write treatises on freedom, beauty, and truth... but love? He was struggling. It vexed him even more that he couldn't write on the one topic he valued the most. His eyes fell over on the forgotten manuscript he had started when he first arrived in Paris. It had been left untouched for weeks, sitting there on the table and mocking him. His greatest love story, a story about falling in love while falling out of society, didn't have an ending. In truth, he didn't know how to end it, and thinking about how to end it was like a slap in the face. He could end it with the lovers growing apart, like some of the disillusioned literature of the time, but he wanted to give it a happy ending, but he also wanted that ending to be truthful. He sighed loudly. He could have a happy ending. Satine had offered him that happiness, and he could always go back to London if he was desperate enough. However, would he really be happy in either of those places? With Satine, he would never fully have her be his, and as much as he'd like to think he could handle that, deep down he knew it would tear him apart. In London, he'd grow bitter with society. Christian groaned.

"Is your play not going well?" a voice asked through the hole in his ceiling.

Christian looked up to find his short Parisian artist peering down at him.

"Toulouse, do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?" Christian asked.

Toulouse grimaced. "I feel like it's too early to be discussing what ifs. I think that if you've made a choice, then something told you it was the right thing to do in that moment."

Christian nodded. "And if you end up feeling miserable about it later?"

"Then you go upstairs to your neighbor's apartment and let him cheer you up," Toulouse grinned.

Christian smirked and shook his head. "I suppose I could use a distraction."

"Très bien," Toulouse winked before disappearing back into his apartment.

Christian went up the stairs and into the space, finding Toulouse staring intently at a canvas as he compared it to the woman in front of him.

"Christian, have you ever met Mademoiselle Avril?" Toulouse asked, gesturing to the woman.

"No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure. Although, I have seen you dance, Mademoiselle. You are quite good," he smiled.

"Call me Jane," she chuckled. "And, merci, Monsieur. They don't call me La Mélinite for nothing."