in the dark streets of paris, hidden behind all the glamour and rich history of the city, there was a bar that was only visited by those who knew of its existence. it appeared like a typical liquor store from the outside, but only once you entered the place's true nature would show.
the walls were covered with shelves, displaying all of the vices you were told not to engage in when you were younger. mother wasn't around to tell you off for it. of course, mother hasn't been around for a long time.
the burgundy carpets made for a classy entrance into the bar, where perhaps only ten people were seated, all men who needed company, but couldn't find it in the arms of any woman and so had turned to the wines, anything that filled up that horrible, but familiar emptiness.
you took a seat right by the bar where a lively bartender was preparing himself for a long night with the patrons that he has come to accustomed to. you weren't among those patrons, but the bartender recognized you as well and slid over your usual drink.
the liquor made your throat burn, but you ignored it as it made you feel warm inside, something that you haven't felt in forever. just a year ago you would said you'd never turn to alcohol when in such position, but here you were, drinking all on your own with a pack of cigarettes in your pocket, just waiting to be lit on.
you were expecting another lonely night yet again. the glass was empty within minutes and when the bartender took note of it, you could only say no to his offer to get another drink. you had all the reasons to drink, but none to get drunk.
that was until a certain brunette with the sweetest smile ever on his face sat next to you. he ordered something, but you couldn't hear what it was. you were more focused on the way the different colored lights in the bar highlighted his muscles, the way his t-shirt stretched around his arms when he only slightly flexed them.
it was only when you took a cigarette out of your pocket that he finally paid attention to you. tapping his fingers oh so delicately against his glass of expensive red wine, he gave you a smile that you'd never forget in your life. he was beautiful and when he spoke, he sounded like an angel. you wondered, perhaps this is what people mean when they compare someone to a god?
his name was james. he had said it in such a soft voice, one that only you could hear. he took a lighter from his pocket as he leaned closer and lit the cigaerette for you, mumbling something about how you had forgotten to do so before taking one out of your pocket for himself. he didn't light it though and when you asked, he shrugged.
it didn't take long before you found yourself holding the godlike human in your arms. sometimes somewhere on the third floor of an old, broken down hotel, the most precious memories were made and this was one of them. not once did he lose that beautiful smile, the reason he had attracted you to him in the first place. he became more and more perfect the longer he stuck around.
he didn't light his cigarette until you were both done. the white blankets covered half of his body as he sat by the window, looking down at the streets of paris. you were in the little kitchen making coffee for the both of you, but he frowned when you handed him the cup.
you didn't take any offense and just set the secone cup aside as you sat across from him and watched the streets together. it was silent and if it weren't for the occasional smoke being exhaled, you'd think he wasn't there with you anymore.
he looked even more stunning than before and you wondered where this man came from. you asked and he seemed hesitant for a second before answering colombia. he said he was new to paris, which would explain why you had never seen him before. when you asked if he wanted to have dinner sometime, he laughed, but didn't say anything.
there wasn't much he could say without hurting your feelings, you realized, as he leaned over and gave you one of his intoxicatig kisses, the one that tou won't forget until the day you die, but one that you won't ever get to see again. he gave you one of his signature smiles before putting out the cigarette.
that cigarette on the table would also be the only evidence of your night together as the very next night at the bar, no one seemed to remember the boy with the smile who could make any man fall in love within a second.
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writing in this style feels so weird tbh, does anyone even like it???
