One Night in Paris [Han Jisung ff]

1 - English?

Y'all this is an introductory chapter.
It might be slightly boring but I assure you it gets better.

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Paris, the city of love. That's how everybody calls it, right? I've always wondered why, because to me Paris has always been the city of university, crazy summer heat and work.

If you ask anybody from Paris what they think of the city they will tell you it sucks. Maybe deep down they know that it is a nice city overall, but if you live there 24/7, twelve months a year, it's complete shit. Like Lee Minho from Stray Kids would say, "Paris shitty".

As you might have understood, I am a Stay, and I am from Paris. Well, my background is a little more complex than that, but let's just start by saying this.

One of my biggest passions is photography. I've always felt like capturing moments preserves them forever, photos are simply emotions trapped on a piece of paper. My hobby is wandering around cities and capture images, whether it is of flowers, people, or buildings. And cats. I love cats, especially the stray ones. They look so fierce and independent, living their best life tanning on a rooftop or stretching in some sunny corner of the street. No bullshit, just sunlight and chasing mice. What a perfect life.

But back to my hobby. I usually post the pictures I take on an Instagram account I purposefully created to showcase my art. I had a sort of aesthetic, a warm tones kind of one. I preferred gold, brown and orange to those cold colours such as blue and dark green. Actually, my favourite colour is red, the colour of passion and heat. I love it so much that I got red streaks on my black hair, the match perfectly contrasting with my blue eyes. To be honest, I just got those red streaks because I thought I looked sexy as fuck, but that's not the official story.

That Tuesday I had decided to walk around Montmartre during the golden hour, a perfect time to capture the stunning colours of that neighbourhood. Those shadows created by the sun just as it is about to set, everything assuming an orange hue, it's nature's art. I had snapped pictures of flowers, painters and random tourists. The streets were so crowded that I found it difficult to take pictures of people alone, but I managed to do it a couple of times. An old man sitting at a bar, two women dressed as if it was fashion week. Those were my favourite shots of the evening.

One thing about Paris is that you will always feel underdressed, there is always going to be somebody dressed better and fancier than you. However, despite this feeling, I had decided to try my best with my clothing, wearing black ripped jeans and a black shirt with delicate red and white floral patterns. A couple of chains as necklaces, a belt with silver eyelets, combat boots, and whatever you want to call this look is complete. I felt so good in that outfit, so powerful. It almost looked like I was a confident person.

It was already midnight when I thought of going towards the Moulin Rouge, where many rich people went to party at night. I was hoping I could get some good pictures of those crazily expensive outfits I only dreamt of wearing one day. I loved seeing the contrast between people dressed in smokings or long gowns and others dressed crazily as if it was the Met Gala. It was always a show, people wanting to prove how rich they were. Disgusting, but funny to watch.

I was about to walk away from the Sacre Coeur, when I spotted a boy sitting on a bench by himself, admiring the amazing view of Paris by night. He was dressed in a puffy white sweater and blue jeans, his copper dyed hair fitting amazingly his silhouette.

I quickly pulled out my camera and snapped two shots, careful to get some background in them as well. He was illuminated only by the light of one lamppost shining from his left, his hair looking shiny and glittery, the colour of his sweater fitting the shot perfectly. I was so excited of how the it had come out that I decided to show it to the boy.

It was something I would usually do: if I understood the person photographed liked the idea of being the subject of the picture, I would talk to them, even promoting my own Instagram account. It's called marketing, baby, and it had gotten me five thousands followers. Not bad, considering most of them are photography geeks.

I approached the boy, smiling widely as I kept on proudly admiring my work. I hoped he liked it as much as I did. I tapped on his shoulder, him turning towards me, slightly startled. He was wearing a mask, his doe eyes widely staring at me. I swore I had already seen those eyes, they reminded me of someone I had already met.

- Good evening, I'm Angèle and I'm a photographer. I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to show you a picture I took of you. - I spoke in French. His eyes widened even more, hints of panic behind them. A moment later, I understood why.

- U-Uh... English? -  My eyes widened at the realisation. I knew that voice. I had spent so many hours hearing it talk and say random things, from "go quokka" to "oh my God, Secret Secret, I love that song! That's so beautiful!".

Han Jisung.