flashes ✦ julian draxler

deux : the luxurious life of stella greaves

[context : The Cosy Club is a British restaurant, described on Google as a grand building with an easygoing, rustic interior and feel-good, light menus. I decided to just throw one into this story in my laziness of not wanting to think up a name for a place to eat.]

| paris, france

"YOU'RE COMING TONIGHT, RIGHT?" Serge asked immediately once she had accepted the call.

"You've called me on FaceTime-" she craned her head to look at his surroundings, "-while walking the streets of Paris just to ask me that?"

"I remembered right then, and I wanted to call you instantly," he reasoned, "And i'm FaceTiming you because I feel like it."

"Whatever," she laughed, "And yes, i'm coming tonight. I had no plans, so I thought, why not? I haven't been to one of your matches in forever. Who are you playing?"

Serge paused for a moment to recall, "Bastia. It's the Coupe de France, not Ligue 1, but all in all the same. They're in the same league as us anyway. How can I give you your tickets?"

"Where are you right now?" she hummed, "I'm free until three if you have them on you."

"As a matter of fact, I do. I'm near your penthouse because i'm going to The Cosy Club. Want to join me for a quick brunch?" he offered.

"Love to," she quipped, looking at her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing a velvet top and a teeny-tiny miniskirt, in which one wrong move would show off her ass. Although, on top, she had a black overcoat and to keep her legs warm, she had on her signature black over-the-knee velvet boots with a considerable amount of chunky heel to add to her 5'10 frame.

"Alright, i'll see you in a bit," Serge said.

After blowing him an amicable kiss, she ended the call and grabbed her Von Greaves bag before locking her apartment and heading for the lift. There was no need to call someone from her family's security team, or ask a guard from the fancy apartment block to escort her to her favourite brunch restaurant, since it was literally a three minute speed-walk to the grand space through a handy shortcut.

Soon enough, she walked through the glass doors of the fancy place to see its familiar cosy interior. She and Serge often sat at the corner of the room, where there was two floor to ceiling window panels on each side of the wall which meant a lot of sunny, natural lighting. There were two square white wooden tables surrounded by some rustic chairs.

She immediately found Serge in the room, despite him hiding behind a menu.

"Bonjour, Aurier," she greeted him with kisses on the cheek, "Comment tu vas?" ("How are you?")

"I'm feeling great!" he whooped happily, "Match day, sun's out, having brunch with some nice people."

"Nice people? There's only me here?" she frowned.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Julian's coming," Serge said sheepishly.

Over the past week or so that Julian had been in Paris, Serge took an immediate liking in the German midfielder, mostly down to the fact that they were the same age. They were often partners in training sessions and hanged out off the football scene too.

Stella hadn't seen Julian since the gala on the third of January, which was four days ago. He had been nice that night, conversing with her easily since they shared his native language. Along with Serge, they danced, or rather just bounced along to the mostly-crappy music that had been played.

Every now and then, someone would greet the young fashionista and she would proceed by introducing them to her companions. To no surprise, she'd gotten the same question from Karl of 'is he your boyfriend?' about Julian from the people and she'd have to correct them. They never asked about Serge since he had already attended the gala twice before and he was often seen with her. It had been made very clear to the media that Stella and Serge were simply great friends and they didn't get the question often.