american dream || pulisic

twenty-eight

When Christian came to Paris, it was a now or never situation.

Over three weeks since their breakup, Christian had decided to drag his ass to Paris to try and make it up to Ellie. He still has the address of her apartment building, walking on the streets through the pouring rain as his heart beat heavily in his chest. He was scared, oh, he was so fucking scared.

He's been uneasy about his ever since he boarded the plane, but he knew this was right decision. He can't afford to lose the girl he was so hopelessly in love with for months even though he knows that he doesn't deserve her. But he'll make the effort if it means that he'll come clean about being such a dickhead and possibly win her back, but that last part probably isn't going to happen. If he's lucky, he might build the Lego Death Star with her and see Stefan the lizard again, but even if that's all that happens he'll be fine.

He feels fine when he walks up to her apartment number but once he steps into her floor, his heart starts beating like crazy.

You don't deserve her. I mean—who breaks up with a girl when she's celebrating something important for her? And who tells a girl that you're not willing to put in the effort in a relationship that you wanted? Come on, Christian!

His hands shake as he holds the gigantic Lego bag holding the Lego Death Star box, walking closer to her door until he stops right in front of it.

He's dressed nice today—jeans, a sweater topped off with a black bomber jacket—he wants to make a presentation of himself to her, maybe that'll boost his chances, but honestly, he thinks that he dressed up for nothing.

This is it, this is probably the only moment Chris has to talk to her before she kicks him out, and he wants to make the most of it. He took no time in knocking on her door, hand falling back to his sides as he waited.

Just remember—acknowledge how stupid you were. Tell her that you're an asshole and then cry—no. Just explain and tell her everything.

It's good thing he has some time before the door opens to think about it. What is he going to say when he sees her again? What about her? What is she going to say? Will she even let him in? Is she going to slam the door on him? And is the door going to even open?

A good five minutes, no answer.

He hesitates to knock again, not wanting bother her as he thought it would degrade his apology.

No answer.

He knocks again. And again. And again.

Until the neighbor steps out, clad in a bathrobe and hair wrapped in a white towel was a short little French lady (not Marcelle) who looked about the age of thirty-five crossing her arms on her chest. She doesn't look too pleased with all the knocking Christian's done.

She looks at him up and down, unamused. "Qu'est-ce que tu fait? C'est dix heures et les gens dorment."

Christian's breathing hitched, not knowing what to say as he understood no French at all. "I, uh...I came to talk to her." He pointed at the door. "Is she..."

"She's not here," the lady scoffed. "She's in Montpellier for a match, she left yesterday morning. Should be back tomorrow afternoon."

Christian's heart drops, seeing that he won't be able to see Ellie today.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day.

//

So this time, Christian really went out.

He made sure he was mentally prepared by stuffing his mouth with sandwiches, had a platter of cheese and wine, and ate two scoops of mango sorbet and by now, he thinks he's pretty well prepared so what awaits for him. He has Felix on the phone as he walks up to Ellie's floor.