It wasn't a secret that you were very different from the people around you. Your upbringing meant French customs were unfamiliar to you, and their mannerisms were extroverted, energetic and enthusiastic, the exact opposite of what you were used to.
Back at home, you'd usually just recieve a hug from a family member, and a comment about how much you'd grown.
Your nationality just made you stick out like a sore thumb. It seemed to define you, the foreigner in the school, the one from the land of crumpets and lemon curdle.
As each day passed, you grew more and more discontent with life. You loved the friends you'd made here, you truly did, but you missed London so fucking much, and the few other people you knew in England.
Everything seemed to just drag along—school didn't interest you, your job at Starbucks left you tired and lonely at the end of the day—you couldn't find joy in anything you did.
At some point, a new villain would attack, or something, it was all getting so repetitive. It was all so dull, there was no flavour in anything.
Well, apart from one thing.
Lucinda and you had become surprisingly close, after you'd saved her mother. The girl had given you some backstory; they were both fully French, but her parents had divorced when she was barely six months old, leaving her and her mum in less than favourable circumstances. She was a lovely person, reminding you vaguely of a kid in your class called Mylene, since their problems with anxiety seemed to be similar.
(Honestly, you could kind of relate, though.)
She went to a public school in the area, one which you then begged your parents to transfer you to, but they didn’t let you, saying that your current place of education would look much better on your CV, as much as they liked the idea of not having to pay fees.
“It must be fun as hell,” you complained to her, over a cup of tea one afternoon. “While I’m stuck in the fucking damn College Francais Dupont. There are only a handful of kids that I find decent, and a certain blonde makes things seem even worse.”
Lucinda giggled, sipping her tea, whilst eyeing you teasingly over the rim of her cup, “I wouldn’t say that. The toilets stink, and everyone’s really rowdy. It makes me nervous.”
“That, I can understand,” you admitted, “problem is where I am, there's no proper spice. It’s all just petty stuff like, who looked in Chloé’s locker, or who got in trouble because Kim dared them to do something… I need some excitement, real life excitement! Like the toilet blowing up because someone shat too hard!”
“That was… oddly specific,” Lucinda remarked, blinking questioningly.
“It may have happened at my school in London,” you mumbled.
However, you backtracked, and thought back to your earlier rant. Chloé’s locker, Kim’s dares… dares… why was that important to you, somehow? Was something happening? You frowned hard, scouring your brain for some type of information; then it hit you.
“Fuck! The roller skating thingy!” you screeched like a pterodactyl, standing up abruptly.
“... Pardon?” Lucinda asked weakly, startled by your sudden outburst.
YOU ARE READING
Uptown, Downtown (Chat Noir x Reader) - Book 1
RomanceMoving to Paris from London was not what you wanted. Nevertheless, for the sake of your parents, you try very hard to adapt to your new setting; attempting to speak fluid French, and fit in at your new posh school. Two young men, one a handsome mode...
