Le Monde Dans Vos Yeux // The World In Your Eyes

Chapter 2

Rest stop. Rest stop. Rest stop. Jon had been chanting this mantra in his head for twenty minutes. Brendon's head was slumped over onto his shoulder, face relaxed through quiet snores and body bouncing lightly with the bumps under the bus's tires. Jon just stared out the window, bored out of his mind and wishing he could just go taste the city...

A chime came through the speakers. "Attention everybody!" The hostess's voice was cheery and harsh. "We will be arriving in Paris shortly, so sit tight, and enjoy the view of this wonderful city." It wasn't quite her voice that irritated Jon. It was the fake way she said Paris (Pah-ree). She was obviously a foreigner. She should say it like a foreigner.

Jon gathered his bags, careful not to wake Brendon up until they were ready to get off the bus. When they pulled up to the junction, Jon shook Brendon's arm. Brendon groaned a little and rubbed his eyes, mumbling something like "Nghhwaddoyouwant?"

Jon chuckled. "We're in Paris, get up." And it only took Brendon three seconds to wake up before he bounded up and out of the bus, leaving Jon to lug the bags behind him.

"Welcome to Paris, boys," the hostess grinned as they stepped off the bus. "I assume you will be able find the bus stop in the morning?"

Jon smiled at her and nodded, "We'll be fine, thank you."

"The bus will be back here again at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't be late!" She shut the door of the bus.

Jon and Brendon looked around, bags in hand. The hotel was huge, what looked like five stories high, intricately designed. Gorgeous architecture to say the least. They could see the Eiffel Tower from the front of the Hotel de Crillon, and the streets were busy with cars and busy people. It wasn't exactly tourist season, but they could spot some people who were obviously there on vacation.

Brendon was excited. He marveled at the view he had, just five minutes into their stay. He turned to look at Jon with wide eyes before diving into his duffel bag for his camera that would stay around his neck for the rest of his vacation in Paris. Jon laughed to himself. It was just like this in Germany and England and the other countries they'd seen so far. Brendon would get an awed look in his eye, and then spend the rest of the trip behind the lens.

"Let's go check in. I want to see the view from the room," Brendon spoke from behind the camera, snapping pictures of the hotel, the streets, Jon, and just about every minor thing in sight.

Jon agreed, rolling his eyes and picking up the bags into the lobby. It was golden, tall pillars, and chandeliers. It was elegant, the furniture and even the people. The boys felt a little out of place in their jeans and cotton shirts. Jon set the bags down by the front desk and checked them in. They had been staying at the more expensive hotels on their trip, instead of with the rest of the tourists. He was glad this hotel spoke English. The one in Germany refused to speak English, and he had to pull out the embarrassing German-English dictionary of doom to just check them in or ask for room service.

Finally, they got the room keys. They were up on the fifth floor in the Bernstein Suite. A tall, lanky bellboy stepped up to them with a courteous smile, pulling a cart behind him, and tucking his long hair behind his ear.

"May I take your bags?"

And Brendon kind of really loved French accents.

The Suite was well worth their money: the bathroom was ten times better than Brendon's back home, and it even had its own main room. The reason they picked it over the others was the piano. There was a piano and Brendon was more excited about that than the mini-bar Jon was currently distracted with.

The bellboy set the bags on the table in the main room and smiled. "Welcome to Paris."

"Thanks, man," Jon said, "What's your name?"

"Quoi—oh! William."

"I'm Jon." He smiled and fished out a bill for 5,00 euros from his wallet, handed it to William.
"Thanks so much."

"Merci." William beamed, and left with a nod.

Brendon was long gone by now, exploring the suite and Jon heard a muffled shout of his name coming from the other room. He quirked an eyebrow and pulled the bags into the bedroom, where Brendon was splayed face-down on the bed.

"Itssocomfortable," Brendon mumbled against the comforter.

"You know," Jon started, "They say never to sleep on the comforter of hotels."

Brendon peaked his head up and looked at him skeptically. "Why?"

"You never know what's been done on there." He grinned and dropped Brendon's bag next to him.

"I highly doubt that, Jon. This place isn't some cheap motel."

Jon just shrugged and unpacked his bags, slightly smirking at Brendon's disgusted face.

Brendon's eyes landed on the clock beside the bed. It was still late in the afternoon but he was still tired from traveling. "Hey Jon, I think I'm gonna sleep or something, can you wake me up before we have to leave? We don't want to miss the bus, do we?"

Jon rolled his eyes and grinned. "Sure, Bren. I'll wake you up."

And he didn't notice the evil inflection in Jon's voice: he was already half asleep.