Paris|| Pierre Gasly

Four

We lay there, looking at the sky. It was a good thing it was a clear one, I never appreciated the beauty of the night sky. I don't think I have seen a beauty just like it. I tilt my head to the left and saw Pierre watch the night sky as well. Maybe something else can be compared to the bright dusts covering all of space, or someone. His hands were intertwined together and was placed on top of his stomach. I watch it slowly go up and down slightly because of his steady breathing. His nose is a perfect shape I wish I could have. This side view of his face is astonishing. If I could paint, I would produce a copy of what I am seeing right now and it would be a masterpiece.

"I can feel it you know?" He spoke and chuckled a bit. I furrowed my brows in confusion. He then faces me. "I can feel you looking at me."

"Oh— uh." I stuttered. I couldn't exactly explain why I was staring at him. My tongue was tied, so I went back to looking straight at the sky. This time though, he was the one staring. I can see from my peripheral. I tried to keep a straight face to let him think that I didn't notice his gaze. But the longer he stared, the more I felt insecure. I looked at him from the corner of my eyes without turning my head and quickly covered my face with my hands. "Stop it." I muffled through my palms, hoping he would hear me.

"I didn't say that when you were watching me." He laughs and places his weight on his right side so his whole body is facing me. He grabs hold of my wrists softly, pulling on it. "What are you hiding from?" He asks.

"I most likely look like a glazed donut, Pierre." I separated my fingers so my eyes can see in between them.

"Let's be glazed donuts together."

Ahem, what?

I hid my smile in my hands, my blushing face too but the night already did that for me. But this is getting cheesier every second. I removed my hands from my face and looked at him. I take in every feature of his face. It was just as pretty as the side view version. From his blue irises to the scruff he was growing.

"You're French, right?" I randomly croaked out. He nodded and scooted nearer. I sighed and said, "Must be nice to live in France." 

"It does," he replied. "You do not like it here?" He asks. I'm starting to really like his accent. How he drags his words and how there is sometimes an 'uh' tucked in between his sentences.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it here. It's home." I said but furrowed my brows slightly as I explained. "I just don't feel like I belong here."

"Do you want to talk about it more?" He willingly asks.

"Are you sure?" He nods.

"Well," I started, shifting my weight on my left side facing him, mimicking his position. "I've got no one to talk to. That isn't because I'm horrible at Mandarin, but because I don't know who to open up to, other than my parents who are busy." He nods, listening to me intently.

"How about your friends?"

"Fake as fuck." I spat out. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"You said you're bad at Mandarin, no?" I nodded. "So how do you communicate with them?"

"I studied at an international school so most of them are pretty fluent in english." I say as I lay my back flat on the grass again. I looked at the sky one more time. "And that's not the only reason why I feel like I don't belong but for some reason I couldn't find the answers."

It went silent for a while. I realised I opened up to a person I only knew for five hours or less. But that is okay. What is the probability of the both of us meeting again? Of them meeting me again?