You and Rafe had been a long time coming. From being friends with Sarah in kindergarten, to her getting you a double date with JJ, to deciding to stay only friends whilst Rafe obviously pined and yearned over you like a madman.

It had started off as a present, the Eiffel Tower charm for your charm bracelet. It had been one you’d always wanted and you remember yourself asking. ‘Why Paris?’ He’d merely smiled, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Look under the tissue paper baby,’ he’d murmured and boom. There sat two first class flight tickets to Paris.

So after him buying you a $140 Chanel perfume and him nursing a whiskey in the first class lounge, you arrived in Paris, at no other than George V. Le meilleur du meilleur. Trust me. He’s splashed on everything this holiday, including the Imperial Suite, and a dazzling view of La Seine.

You both unpacked, and you found him on the blacking smoking a cigarette, basking in the Parisian life. Sigh. The man couldn’t get anymore perfect. Though his eyes were squinted the bright blue sliced through the air like blades, his skin contrasting wonderfully in that permanent sun-kissed state. His hair, shirt and buzzed looked divine, and it had been a beg of his to you for you to play with his hair.

You walked out on the balcony, freshly showered, light makeup applied and that new Chanel perfume on top. You slide under his arms. “You look handsome.” You murmur, feeling the exhale of his breath as he blows out smoke.

“And you look like the most beautiful woman on earth.” He murmurs back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before taking another drag. He checks his Rolex, he bought himself a new one for the occasion of the City of Love, “We’ve gotta get going baby. Reservations in 30 minutes. And I wanted us to stop for a drink before.”