Note to self: don’t book trips a year in advance with your boyfriend, or you might end up going on said trip with said, now, ex-boyfriend. Not like you were expecting you and Simon to break up three months before your trip to Paris, but life always has the most unexpected surprises.

You didn’t know three years could end in just one night, with a misplaced word, a thought that should’ve stayed unspoken, said out loud, causing a fight so harsh that you could almost physically feel the wounds inflicted by Simon’s voice alone.

But when it happened, it was already too late to refund the tickets. Neither of you had friends or family to go with, so you were stuck with each other for this. Felt like a sick joke sent your way from your karma.

You hadn’t expected Simon to actually take time off work, since he had been just promoted as a Lieutenant, but he said he’d never been to Paris and didn’t want to lose the opportunity, and also added that you needed someone to keep you safe in a big city, boyfriend or not.

The ride to the airport had been silent, a simple exchange of courtesy greetings when he’d come to pick you up and help you load your luggage in the trunk. Luckily you’d downloaded a bunch of books to keep you busy during the flight and were able to get a few hours of sleep too. Simon, always so vigilant, didn’t get a single second of shut-eye; too bad for him, you’d thought.

When you finally landed in Paris, you tried to ignore the way his hand had distractedly brushed against your leg in the taxi on the way to your hotel, his head casually facing out the window.

“Well, shit.” Simon stated as he stepped inside the hotel room, suddenly remembering he’d asked for a honeymoon suite, at the sight of the king-sized bed with rose petals scattered over it, and the ice bucket holding an expensive champagne bottle. “Or should I say: ah, merde?”