As Michael and I munch on our breakfasts, the copy of this morning's Le Monde in my hands feigns interest. Last night has been replaying in my mind since I came home. It's more like a dream than reality; I'm still trying to figure out how we didn't get caught. The other thing I've been trying to figure out is our relationship. I mean, we kissed and she caught on that the moon isn't my only source of inspiration anymore because j'ai deux lunes maintenant. But we never discussed whether or not we're more than friends now. (I have two moons now.)

"C'est Stephanie, n'est-ce pas? Elle est tombée amoreuse de toi hier soir apès votre promenade, non?" Michael guesses through a mouthful of chocolate scones, green eyes peering over his copy of the same paper in hand. "I just can't get you outta my 'ead, girl your love eez all zat I sink about." (It's Stephanie, isn't it? She fell in love with you last night after your night, no?)

"Occupe-toi de tes oignons, Michael!" I angrily spit as aggressively grab my mug, accidentally spilling some coffee on myself. (Mind your own business, Michael!)

"Ah, mais c'est très évident, Ashton! Les yeux disent tout. C'était magique quand tu l'a embrassée, n'est-ce pas?" (Ah, but it's so obvious, Ashton! Your eyes say it all. It was magical when you kissed, wasn't it?)

"Um..."

Michael swiftly drops the paper to give me a cheeky smirk. I'm turning into a tomato right now because the glimmer in his eyes appear like two sparkly emeralds in the rough. I don't even know how he knew that we kissed! I didn't tell him about it because I knew he'd mock me for it, so I don't understand what happened between the time arrived to now that made him come to that conclusion.

"H-how did you know?" I skeptically question.

"Comme j'ai dit, c'est évident. Ze moment you walked in ze door, I knew. You just 'ad zis air about you and a leetle spark in your eyes. Tu peux pas simuler le vrai bonheur comme ça sauf être actuer. Tu n'es past acteur, Ashton. Tu es écrivain et Stephanie est ta lune." (Like I said, it's obvious...You can't fake true happiness like that unless you're an actor. You're not an actor, Ashton. You're a writer and Stephanie is your moon.)

"You're not gonna let that go, are you?" I mutter.

"Non! Car eet was love at first sight. Baby, when I saw you for the first time I knew we were meant to be as moreeeee."

I roll my eyes and whack Michael upside the head with my newspaper. "What's embarrassing is you singing Kylie Minogue songs. You really need to stop or else it'll carry on when you get to work. Your students think you're pretty punk rock now, but wait until they hear about this!"

"Ça m'est égal." he counters quite proudly. "Now eef you excuse me, I 'ave enfants to teach. You should go out and try writing during daylight 'ours. You're almost done, non?" (I don't care.)

"If you mean halfway there, then yes, I am 'almost done' writing the script. I can't waste anymore nights doing things besides writing. I need to focus now."

"Allez! Écrivez quand le soleil brille de temps en temps. Start today and write in a different environment." (Go! Write when the sun shines from time to time.)

Michael rises to grab his keys on the counter. I keep my attention to the plate of food before me, not even reaching for something to eat. I stare blankly at the toffee-colored liquid in my mug for a few seconds before chugging its contents, letting out a disgusted cough at how cold it quickly became. I should start drinking my coffee whilst it's still piping hot rather than waiting for it to cool down. There's my lesson learned.

I head back to my room and look out the window as I sit on the left corner of the balcony's ledge. The morning's still young. It's only 8:30. The sky is a gorgeous cerulean with crisp, white cumulonimbus clouds creating a blanket of fluff for the goldenrod sun. 

Maybe he's right. Maybe I should try day writing again. It was a major bust the last time I did it; I was distracted and burning up due to the raging heat. My creative juices just don't flow when my brain's being fried.

I can clearly see Reim's Cathedral, aka Notre Dame, in the distance. As I squint to look at it, I'm eminded of the Disney movie, envisioning Quasimodo in the bell tower and Claude Frollo watching him like a hawk as he oversees the city's daily activities. Normally when people peek the building, they're captivated by its architecture, grandeur, and historical significance. But here I am, looking at what's probably the most famous Parisian cathedral from my bedroom balcony and thinking about a goddamn Disney film.

 I think it's one of the best films from Disney's Renaissance period. The overlying plot is dark, as it should be since it was adapted from Victor Hugo's novel, yet goes unnoticed by kids when they watch it. I also believe it has the best soundtrack out of any Disney film. I mean, you can't have a more menacing villain's song than Claude Frollo's "Hellfire." The song is dark, but there's also the juxtaposition in his thoughts as he thinks about sinning and condemning  Esmeralda. I view The Hunchback of Notre Dame as a cinematic work of art and picked elements of the story into my writing in the past.

A light breeze flows in the air. It's pleasant and cool. I continue my panoramic scope of the city, slowly wandering from one point of interest to another until landing on Le Moulin Rouge. Naturally, my thoughts go to the movie. It's not my fault there's a clear association between certain buildings in this city and films. I swear musicals aren't all I think about, but they're fitting since I'm currently working on writing one. 

The love story of Christian and Satine is beautifully depressing. There's this poor writer who has fallen in love with a gorgeous courtesan. Despite their feelings for each other, the wealthy Duke wants her for his own and is willing to have Christian murdered to win her. 

It's ironic how Michael paralleled the two lovers in Moulin Rouge! to Stephanie and me. Christian's fuel for Spectacular! Spectacular! is Satine, and he cleverly uses their situation in the film to bring that musical to life. As much as I want to say we're not like them, Michael's kinda right. I'm in the same situation as Christian since I'm this writer who came to Paris to make something of himself. We've both fallen for someone who's become our inspiration, our muse, and driving force for our plays. The biggest difference is that Luke's trying to help me and Steph's definitely not a prostitute.

I chuckle at that thought as I watch the red windmill spin. We're already in Paris. If we were living in the early 20th Century, my life would basically be Moulin Rouge! It is, in a way. I'm living a modernized version where the wealthy businessman is a married father and the courtesan is an independent college student studying to be a pastry chef. The only real similarity is me, the writer who moved from his home country to Paris.

The bells of Notre Dame ring, indicating a new hour has come. The bells toll ten times, so it's already ten o'clock. Despite the soft-blowing wind, my hair is unruly. I sigh and give it a little tousle as I shift in my seat to make myself more comfortable. The sun's starting to glare into my lenses, so I shield my face with a hand. Much better.

I continue scouring the city and listening to the faint hum of cars zooming in the distance and birds flying in the sky. I shake my head and chuckle at the next building upon which my eyes happen to fixate themselves. Palais Garnier, aka "L'Opéra Populaire" as it's known as the setting in Gaston Leroux's Le Fantôme de L'Opéra. 

Yet another dark story about a misunderstood outcast trying to live his life. Of course, the Phantom seeks revenge against those who've wronged him growing up, and he loves Christine Daaë. I've always dreamed of going to Palais Garnier to see a show like the one in the musical, but that particular opera building's use is now for ballets...and I'm not much of a ballet person.

"Your mind's full of musical movies, Ashton. You need to get cracking on your own. Clock's ticking," I remind myself as I glance from Palais Garnier to the Moulin Rouge to Notre Dame.

One last look into the city, and I hop off of the ledge to make my way back inside. It's funny how different natural air is to the one indoors. I immediately feel the late morning heat once I set foot in my room. Once second inside, and my shirt clings to my skin. A quick shower is all I'll need to feel refreshed again before I head out. I don't know if I'm actually going to get any writing done, but it's worth the try. Even if it's just a few words in the script or the melody of a song, it'll be a successful writing session. I mean, I am the night writer. Daylight isn't my natural writing habitat, but I'll go out and give it a whirl as Michael suggested.

***

The only way I'd have a chance of accomplishing any work is by writing in my natural environment: the dark when the moon's outside. As a result, I've come to the one café in the city where it feels like nighttime any time of the day, La Lune Bleue. I actually haven't been here since the day Michael kindly interrupted my little meeting with Stephanie. But here I am with all of my writing tools and a much needed plate of cakes and croissants to accompany my coffee. I feel like a proper writer because for the longest time, I always imagined writers spending their days at a café either scribbling down notes as inspiration comes, or rabidly typing away.

Despite the ambiance of La Lune Bleue and its name, I can't focus. I've been here for approximately half an hour now, and nothing has come to mind. I keep looking at the constellations painted on the glass roof and the ray of light beaming down from it. If the sky were zaffre rather than Capri, I'd feel more in my element because I could pretend that la lune is shining in the sky with its icterine rays illuminating the night and the constellations on the ceiling are from actual stars. But I can't do that since the shade of blue in the sky is too light and the sun's emitting more of a goldenrod light. The contrast between the two times of day is too grand for me to focus.

Just try, Ashton. You came here to write because Michael pointed out that you really need to haul ass and get this done. You also came here because you can't afford anymore distractions, and they seem to appearing during your usual working hours. But it's not your fault. It's not your fault you met someone amazing and she kissed you last night...

I really shouldn't let my thoughts dwell there. It meant something to me, but I don't even know if that kiss meant anything to her. I'm not gonna press her for answers, though. I guess I have to pretend like it didn't happen so it doesn't affect our relationship. I don't even know why I'm making such a big deal out of it when it's just a kiss! But after we left the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont last night, the air changed and we were both happier. We walked back hand-in-hand. That has to mean something to her!

I peer at the lyrics I scribbled down two nights ago for the opening number. It definitely needs a bit of rewording. It perfectly fit's the composition came up with for the song, but looking at the lyrics, I feel like something's missing. I just need a wow factor that'll grab the audience, or a little intro that'll give them a taste of what's to come. I really don't know.

"I'm so fucked if I can't get this done on time," I grumpily mutter before taking a massive bite out of a chocolate scone.

I flip through the songbook and carefully evaluate each one. Just as suspected, the opening number is the only one I really need to work on. Everything else is perfect. I deeply exhale as I move on to the script and read through the first act. I don't know how, but I'm actually getting some work done. I've drowned out everything around me and focused on the pages of notes, lyrics, and text that I've worked on. This entire time, I haven't even thought about it being broad daylight outside or the fact that I'm indoors; I never write indoors. It's like Michael's pep talk this morning pushed me out of my comfort zone for the better or something.

My great worth ethic comes to a halt when my phone goes off. I grumble as I reach into my pocket to check who could be calling me. Just as long as it's not Michael...

"Bonjour! Comment vas-tu ce matin?" Stephanie's voice asks through the receiver. (Hello! How are you this morning?)

"Pas mal. Je suis à La Lune Bleue pour écrire," I answer nonchalantly." (Not bad. I'm at The Blue Moon for writiing.)

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You, Ashton Irwin, are writing during daylight hours?" she exclaims. I can imagine the incredulous look on her face right now.

"Michael talked me into it, so sue him. And I'm surprisingly getting shit done, too. It's insane."

"I'll say! At least you've kept true to your writing methods in broad daylight."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that celestial object in the sky that's only visible at night, the one I thought was made out of mozzarella cheese until grade school?"

"You seriously thought the moon was made of mozzarella cheese?" I snort as I try to stifle a giggle. "Steph, la lune se trouve en espace...dans la Voie lactée." (Steph, the moon is in space...in the Milky Way.)

"Hey, I was six! Give me a break, Ashton! I also thought the Milky Way was a road made out of the chocolate bars until my sister told me it's in outer space."

"Astronomy definitely wasn't your strong suit in school, was it? Thank God you're an amazing baker!"

"No, it wasn't," she sasses. "Baking was much more appealing, and it still is. You can study its orbit and use it as a source for your writing, but you can't eat the moon, Ashton. I don't think dust particles would make a good cake."

"Then what are moon cakes?"

"Tu es un idiot, Ashton. Tu le sais?" (You're an idiot, Ashton. You know that?)

"At least I'm an idiot who can write and appreciate the moon's splendor. You should really watch a documentary on it or something. I'm sure you'll change your mind about it."

"HA! I think I'll pass. Stephanie Lune watching a documentary on la lune while la lune is out at night. That is triple the moons, my friend. There's your inspiration."

"Okay. I see what you're doing Mlle Lune. Make fun of me all you want because even though the moon's not our right now, I'm sitting in a café called 'The Blue Moon' and actually using my daylight hours working like a normal person."

"Speaking of blue moons..."

Oh crap. She's gonna bring up last night and this entire conversation's going to go down the drain. Why did I have to make the perfect segue into the topic I was trying so hard to avoid? Way to go, Ashton. She's right. You are an idiot. You unintentionally fell for the trap. Now you have to use this opportunity and ask her about it.

"Thanks for convincing me to sneak into the park last night. I definitely wouldn't have taken the risk if it weren't for you," she mentions.

"Uh, yeah. I guess sneaking into parks with a curfew isn't your thing since you know...you're the president's sister-in-law and all. I could have gotten you into serious trouble if we had been caught. I'm sorry about that, Steph."

"Seriously, there's no need for an apology, Ashton! I had fun. And I definitely wouldn't have known about the blue moon if it weren't for you. We had the most perfect, uncliché view of it, too. I saw a lot of people capture it from around Blvd. de Montparnasse and Rue de Rivioli and it made me feel special that I was one of the two people who got to see it from the top of Île de la Belvédère. My sister definitely would have given me a good scolding if she had known where we went, but the risk was worth it. It's not every night you see une lune bleue right in front of the Temple de Sibylle. That moment is something I'll never forget for as long as I live."

I smile to myself like an idiot at those words. This is turning out a lot better than I expected. I really hope I don't jinx this or something.

"You said you wanted to see me in my element, Steph. The blue moon was an added bonus. I didn't anticipate the two to coincide until I looked up the moon's visibility for last night. It just seemed like the right thing to do once the realization hit me that we were going to see the moon like that. I couldn't let you see it from my rooftop!" I pause for a second to chuckle. "I had fun, though. I'm glad I took you there."

"I had fun, too."

Silence looms as static fills my ears. I'm waiting for her to say something else, to bring up the kiss, but nothing. My heart drops. Now that I have the chance to ask her about it, I can't bring it up. It shouldn't be that hard to segment the conversation into the kiss, but it is. And I have absolutely no clue why it is, either.

"So uh, I should let you continue working," she finally says. "I've got class soon, anyways, and I don't want to be late for that."

"Y-yeah. School's important, even if it's culinary school."

"Culinary school can be prestigious, too, Ashton," she sneers. "I gotta go. Call you tonight?"
"Yeah. You can tell me all about how class went."

The last I hear of Stephanie before she hangs up is a light chuckle. After putting my phone back in my pocket, I pick up the script again and try reading where I left off. No use. It's around mid-day now (I didn't check the time when the call ended) and I've got a significant amount of work done. I think it's time to call it a day and continue everything tonight. My mind will probably clear up and I won't be as hung up about last night than I do right now.

After finishing my food and placing my dishes in the dirty dish bin, I exit La Lune Blue with light blinding my eyes. It's definitely become a lot brighter as the day dragged on. Of course I didn't know that since I was indoors, which is weird since I've basically spent my days sight-seeing since I've been in Paris. The humid air wraps itself around my throat, nearly suffocating me by making it dry. Coffee isn't that great of a hydrator since caffeine's a depressant. I really need to get home and drink some water. I should probably get some sleep since I barely slept last night, too. Then again, I'm essentially an insomniac. There hasn't been a night where I've slept for more than three hours.

As I stroll down the streets and head towards my flat, all of the sounds I blocked out before suddenly rush down my ear canal. A cacophony of beeps, tweets, and chatter engulf me into the busy city life. Naturally, Paris is busy during the summertime and I should be used to it by now since it's been a couple of months. Usually, I am. However, that doesn't seem to be the case today. It's like the Earth is trying to warn me about some disaster because all I hear is this clashing of sounds that don't mellifluously mix. As much as I'd love to plug my index fingers into my ears to cease the noise, I'd look ridiculous. At least there's a more acceptable way of drowning out this sound.

With the Les Misérables soundtrack pumping through my earbuds, I continue my journey home in a slightly better mood. Musicals are clearly still on my mind. I would have gone for The Hunchback of Notre Dame OST, but I didn't want to overdo it since my thoughts already focused on that film today. And I say that my mood's "slightly better" because the humidity today is making this gorgeous weather very uncomfortable to walk through. I pass by Rue de Rivioli and take a moment to rest near a tree; the shade from its leaves is my savior right now. From where I'm standing, I have two very prominent landmarks before me. On my right is Les Halles, Paris' former central food market and now-shopping mall, while the Louvre stands to my left. For centuries, both have been pivotal parts of Parisian culture.

I never paid attention to the people walking by or even notice the tall blond walking up to me until he waved. A small pit forms in my stomach once I realize it's Luke. I anxiously run a hand through my curls and fix my glasses, making sure they're not sitting on my nose crookedly. I flash him a small smile and wave back in acknowledgement. He looks different outside of suit and tie. You couldn't even peg him for being a father if you saw him in his running attire. A white tee and black basketball shorts somehow makes him look he's a college student and not a successful and married young businessman with a daughter.

"Thought I recognized you," he huffs as he rests hand on the tree, using it as a prop to steady himself.

"My curls and glasses don't exactly make me blend in with the crowd," I chuckle. "Not to mention my outfit. I don't exactly look like a Parisian."

"You're right. Your Australian's showing, Ashton," he jokes as he claps my shoulder. "So uh, did you see the blue moon last night?"

"Y-yeah," I stammer. "I did see it. Stephanie was actually with me when I saw it. We were just walking around last night and I pointed it out to her."

The spark in Luke's cerulean eyes and the smirk on his lips is very suggestive. "So you went on a date with her last night? How'd that go?"

"It wasn't a date, really...more like two friends hanging out is all. It was really casual. I mean, nothing happened."

"Your words say one thing, but your eyes say another," he points out. "You can tell me what happened, Ashton. I'm not gonna tell Michael about it if that's what you're concerned about."

I sigh and cross my arms. "Okay. We kissed. I don't know how, but it happened. I talked to her earlier today, but the kiss never came up. I don't know where she stands."

Luke strokes his chin and taps his left foot. "Hmm...how were things between you two after it happened?"

"Uh, fine. Actually, it was more than that. The air seemed lighter and the stars seemed like they shone brighter. The mood between us when I walked her home was magnificent. We didn't talk, but we didn't need to," I confess with a shrug.

"That's good. It means there's hope."

"Hope for what?"

Luke shakes his head and chuckles before glancing down at his watch. He groans and runs a hand through his sweaty, blond hair.

"You and Steph. Look, I gotta go because school's about to let out in like, twenty minutes and I gotta get Fleur. But you know what? My wife and I are going to see Kaguyahime on Friday at Palais Garnier. We've got four extra tickets and Michael's already agreed to come with his girlfriend. You should come and bring Steph with you."

"M-Michael has a girlfriend?" I ask in disbelief. This is news to me. He never told me he was seeing someone.

"Yeah. I thought you'd know that by now since you're his roommate and all. Look, just think about it. You have my card. Call me if you're up for it, okay?"

Satisfied with my nod, Luke runs in the same direction he came from. There are a lot of blank spaces I need to have filled in, starting with Michael. When the hell did he get a girlfriend, and why didn't he inform me about this critical information? I guess the only way to find out is by going to the ballet.

{A/N: Occupe-toi de tes oignions is the French phrase for "mind your own business," but it literally translates to "occupy yourself with your onions" and I thought you guys would find that funny.}