american dream || pulisic

seventeen

"Say Bonjour, je voudrais un croissant."

Christian cleared his voice. "Bonjour, je voudrais un crois—un quasont?"

"Eh," she laughed, linking her arms with his own. "Close enough. You'll live."

"It's like that one vine—the ugh, stop! I could have dropped my croissant!"

"Oh my God, Christian," she shoved his shoulder, making him almost trip as they walked on the streets of the second arrondissment of Paris, laughing.

Yesterday, after a bunch of whining from Christian for them to stay at her place for the rest of day, Ellie had finally gave in. They had spent much of yesterday watching Youtube videos on her Macbook (which she gave a five minute lecture on why that was the first thing she bought when she moved to Paris) and eating cakes from the patisserie the day before. Not to mention some...stuff happened last night too.

But Ellie kept her promise when she said that she would take Christian on an adventure in Paris or whatever the fuck that was.

They were in second arrondissement, quite a while from her apartment in eighth arrondissement, but they had been here for quite a while now since she had today and tomorrow off. It's about noon right now with Christian looking at all the cafés, restaurants on the sides for a place to eat. All the while, Ellie's been giving him French 101 lessons.

Christian, recovering from having almost tripped in the middle of it all, came back to Ellie's side, intertwining their finger together. "Well, what are we gonna do now?"

"That's the fourth time you've asked that in the hour."

"Yeah because I literally have no idea what to do here. I'm a dumb tourist in Paris for the first time, I have no idea what to do." He's been whining for the past hour, too. Mainly about the fact that he doesn't understand anything, but also because he's hungry but can't make up his damn mind. Christian Pulisic, for you all. "We could have gone to the Eiffel Tower like your friend and her boyfriend do all the time."

Marcelle. "That's their thing. They go there all the time, and we should have our own thing."

"I, for one, say that our thing is not knowing what to do."

Ellie's not gonna even argue against that because she knows it's true. "Sure. Okay, how about we just eat at Chipotle today? It's literally down the corner."

"No!" God, he sounded like a kid. "We're in France—I'm in France. We should be like, some cheesy cliché couple eating at bakeries and cafés! Like this one here!" He brought to her the display of a patisserie, pointing at the various cakes and such.

Ellie's been here before—it was actually the first place she ate when she came to Paris, so of course it had meaning and value to her. The cakes were small but elaborate, looking as if you could just eat right through the display.

On the other hand, Christian was practically drooling all over the display. Who knew cakes could look so beautiful? But they would never match up to the beauty he saw in Ellie.

She had that soccer player aesthetic—looks good wherever and whenever despite certain circumstances—Christian doesn't even know how she does it. Hell, she doesn't even try, and she's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

He wanted the strawberry shortcake—no, the mango mousse. Maybe both. He's on break right now, so might as well.

"I wish my boobs were a little bit bigger."

He paused, turned to Ellie, and make such a confused face. "What?"

How did she think of boobs from looking at cakes?