It's hard to write when your mind's clouded like tonight's sky. Taupe serves as the canvas while Gainesboro clouds bring a softness to this picturesque painting, creating a solemn and ominous vibe to the vivacity of the brightly lit capital below. Not a single star is present to shed light to this bleak work of art. Even the moon's visibility is nonexistent! Yet the juxtaposition between the two scenes before me are what make moonless nights intriguing. Everyone romanticizes Paris under a starry night; the city seems more romantic on nights like this. It's just more vibrant and its lights get to radiate to their full extent without the add-on from the sky. It's just beautiful to see Paris shine bright like a diamond under a dark, starless night.

Michael thinks that I don't write on nights when the moon's not out, but he's definitely wrong. Just because my source of inspiration isn't physically visible doesn't mean that it's not looming in the night sky. We have this weird concept that if something isn't visibly noticeable, then it's not really there. That's basically what Michael thinks whenever la lune isn't making her presence visibly known and that's why he thinks I don't write on nights like this. But that's preposterous. That's the same thing as saying mental illnesses aren't real or important because the pain they inflict on their victims can't be seen. Sometimes the most beautiful and melancholic things are invisible to the naked eye; what a shame that a lot of people don't realize it.

I peer into the distance and tap my pen on my left knee. The night is still very young, as it's only fifteen till midnight. I turn my attention back to the scene I've been editing over the past hour and groan. When I initially wrote it down, it seemed perfect. Reading through it now, I don't feel like it's the best way to carry on the story. My mind's going insane just thinking about how I'll have to completely scrap this scene and start anew. I don't have that much time, and I know how eager Luke is for me to hand in the finished product. He's literally handing this opportunity to me on a silver platter, but I might not be able to take advantage of it because I'm having major doubts about my writing.

For some reason, writing the songs have been a piece of cake compared to the actual script of the musical. I think it largely has to do with my brain being able to conjure melodies out of nowhere—my mind is more musical than I thought—and lyrics following suit. This typically occurs after finishing or reading through a scene. It's like my mind picks out areas within the script that allows for a grand number to seamlessly fit. So far, it's been doing a kickass job at song placement; composing the songs with actual instruments happens before I head to the roof to write for the night.

I stare blankly at the first page of the scene I'm about to scrap, holding it up just nanometers away from my face. I glance at the sky for a minute to drink in the somber colors displayed above and hopefully gain some inspiration to compensate for this soon-to-be fallen piece of the story. At least it's the last scene you've written. You'd be screwed if it were near the beginning or middle. You'd have to literally start from scratch if that were the case!

As the City of Romance sparkles below me like a sea of glistening treasure, I grip the pages of that last scene and look down. I can see a number of cars driving by and hear the vivacity of the Parisian night life. The wind now harshly howls as its gusts increase in speed, creating the perfect source of transportation for the rectangular sheets of carbon imprisoned by my fist.

After about a minute or so, I close my eyes, breathe in the cool air, and release my grip on the papers. I immediately open my eyes and watch as the invisible jet of air carries the papers, steadily allowing them to rise before drifting away. My eyes follow their path until finally, they're out of sight. If anyone finds them on the streets, they can do whatever they want with it. It's not like they're going to get much from three pages worth of dialogue; without the rest of the script, the text makes no sense at all.

With that out of the way, I turn my attention back to the rest of my script. There isn't that much to write, Ash. You've basically written most of the script; you just need to fine-tune the songs and edit so everything's ready to go. You've only got a few weeks left to get everything done. Stay focused and don't let anything distract you from this night forward. Your main priority is getting this musical fully written before you go back to Sydney. Forget about Steph for now; she's just a distraction no matter how much she's inspired you lately. Don't forget why you came here, Ashton. You didn't come here for a girl; you came here to draw inspiration for your writing and to potentially get noticed. You've accomplished both of those tasks, and all you have to do is stay on the right track. No more talking to Steph and no more nights out. Writing, composing, and editing is all you have to do until this script is in Luke's hands.

***

I skipped out on going to Menardin this morning because I knew it'd mean running into Stephanie, and I was extremely exhausted from staying up all night, so I slept in. It's 2:17 PM. I'm kinda surprised that Michael isn't lashing out on me, asking me why I didn't go to the boulangérie like he normally does whenever I decide to sleep in. His emerald eyes watch as I rummage through the fridge and pull out some leftover pizza from last night. He doesn't say a word when I place it on a pan and chuck it in the oven, or when I mosey over to coffee pot to brew a fresh batch of caffeinated liquid for myself.

I don't know why he's being so quiet this afternoon. It's highly abnormal for him. He's such a talkative and sassy guy that this silence is a scary sound. I don't like it one bit; it's ominous. His silence still holds as I sit at the table beside him with my pizza and coffee.

"What's up?" I ask as I blow on the rim of my mug and inhale the intoxicating scent of the coffee.

"Rien. (Nothing)" he simply replies with a shrug.

Something's definitely up. Whatever it is, it's bothering the hell out of him. I need to know what it is so he doesn't continue on like this for the remainder of my stay. I can ask him about it countless times and he can deny it all he wants, but there's some underlying problem cooped up in his mind that needs to be addressed. Michael can trust me. I mean, I'm his roommate and I won't judge him for whatever it is.

Michael and I continue this awkward silence while I finish the rest of my meal. I glance over at him a few times and notice how worn out he looks. The sullen expression on his face isn't something I'm used to seeing, and so is the alabaster tone of his skin. I've never seen him so pale and disconcerted since I started living with him! I know I have nether lived nor known Michael for that long, but he's usually livelier than this. This silent, hollow Michael is absolutely horrifying to watch.

Unable to take things any longer, Michael deeply exhales and rises from the seat once getting a text. He anxiously runs a hand through his hair—it looks incredibly unruly, which is unnatural for him—as he takes a second to read the message on the plastic brick. His eyes meet mine for a minute. The greenness of his irises have become duller and it's apparent that he's been stressing over something.

"You look like shit," I observe. "Tell me what's wrong, Michael. Whatever it is, I can help."

Michael crosses his arms as he takes my words into consideration. He looks at me skeptically, as if wondering whether or not I'm worthy of being told this secret. I shoot him an assuring nod and small smile to let him know that I sincerely do mean what I say. Defeated, he stomps back over to the table and sits down.

"D'accord. You know 'ow we're going to ze ballet with Luke tonight?"

To be completely honest, I totally forgot about that piece of information. Somehow, that moment when Luke ran into me and asked to accompany them to the ballet slipped my mind. It's like that moment never existed because it seems like it never happened. I can't believe I forgot about that because that's when I learned about Michael having a girlfriend! In my mind, I piece together what that means. Horrified at the thought of seeing Stephanie again, my eyes widen. We didn't even call each other last night, so I never got the opportunity to ask her about it. I'd look like such an idiot as the fifth wheel!

"Yeah..." I quietly respond as I rub the back of my neck. "I uh—Steph's not coming because I forgot to ask her about it. I've been too busy getting the musical written. Must have slipped my mind. What about it?"

Michael sighs and looks at me intently. "You're going to meet Océane for ze first time, Ashton. Je suis desolé pour le secret." (I'm sorry for the secret.)

"It's okay," I assure him with a pat on the back. "I respect your need for privacy. But even if I had known about Océane, I wouldn't have made a big deal out of it. How long have you kept her presence known from me? Actually, how long have you guys been together?"

Michael blushes from embarrassment as the color returns to his face. "Ze entire time I 'ave known you, Ashton. We've been togezer for two years."

"T-TWO YEARS?" I exclaim with wide eyes and mouth agape. "You've had a girlfriend this whole time I've been here, and you haven't told me about her at all? Why?"

"Je sais pas! Je pensais que c—" (I don't know! I thought that—)

"It wouldn't be a good idea?"

Michael nods his head and sighs. "I love her a lot, Ashton. I just deedn't want you to meet 'er and zen ruin our relationsheep."

"Michael, you literally have nothing to worry about. I kinda have my own problems like this musical. I have to get it done so I can give it to Luke before I leave," I morosely remind him. "Besides, there's no way I'd ruin something that makes you happy. That'd be stupid and I'd be the shittiest roommate."

"Il y a quelque chose que je dirais..." (There's something else I have to say...)

I didn't think I'd be this interested in Michael, but the anticipation brewing in my stomach is killing me. I just want him to spit out whatever it is right now so I don't burst. Something tells me that he's about to say something serious about Océane and him, like he's gonna propose to her tonight or something. Wait a second...

"YOU'RE GONNA PROPOSE TO HER, AREN'T YOU?!?!!" I excitedly blurt out.

"Oui! Soyez silenceux! C'est un secret. I want to de eet after we see ze ballet. S'il te plaît, Ashton! Protégez le secret. Swear to me zat you'll keep eet a secret until ze moment comes." (Yes! Be quiet! It's a secret...Please, Ashton! Keep it a secret.)

I've never seen Michael look intensely horrified. It's like his life depends on my silence tonight, which it kinda does. I feel so powerful, though. One sentence, and I could ruin this entire secret for him, but I'm not gonna be the asshole who does that. Ashton Irwin isn't a secret breacher; he's a secret keeper.

"You have my word, Michael. It's probably going to slip my mind when we actually get to Palais Garnier, so you really have nothing to worry about. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be too intimidated by Luke's presence to remember what you've just told me."

Michael breathes a sigh of relief and chuckles. "Are you going to call Stephanie about tonight or should I do eet?"

"Pour l'amour de Dieu, NON! Ne le fait pas, s'il te plaît!" I groan in disdain. "I'd much rather be your fifth wheel than have her come along. I don't think I can see her again after what happened at Parc des Buttes-Chaumont." (For the love of God, NO! Don't do it, please!)

"Because you keesed 'er and now you don't know what to do?" Michael correctly guesses with a smug grin. "You're een love with 'er, Ashton. C'est très évident. Parlez." (It's so obvious. Speak.)

"Easier said than done! No. I'll just tell Luke she's sick or something. I can't have her there when my future career depends on tonight."

"Il t'aime. Tu n'a rien à craindre. Mais MOI? J'ai le monde à craindre!" (He likes you. You have nothing to worry about. But ME? I have the world to fear!)

"Michael, it's a proposal, not your life."

"But zis proposal ees ma vie! C'est mon future!" (...my life! It's my future!)

"Trust me, Mikey. We're gonna have a great night and she's gonna say 'yes.' I can promise you that much. I've got a feeling that everything's going to be amazing tonight."

Michael brings me in for a massive hug, nearly suffocating me because his grip's so strong. I choke on my breath as he pats my back. If I knew being a supportive friend would hurt this much, I probably wouldn't have said those words.

"Sanks, Ashton. Merci pour être un bon ami," he softly says as his eyes look at me with the vivacity I've grown to know. (Thanks for being a good friend.)

I might be having trouble breathing at the moment, but those words make it all worth it. He can be pretty difficult to deal with at times, especially when I'm trying to write, but Michael has one of the kindest souls I know. How else would anyone be able to tolerate working with kids all the time? I just hope tonight isn't jinxed and we can get through the ballet in high spirits. The last thing either of need is for our moods to drop. I'm not going to have Stephanie to worry about, so it's not like anything extremely terrible will happen...unless Océane says "no" to Michael.

***

I promised myself that I wouldn't go out anymore during the night because that would deplete my working time. Well, I lied. Tonight's the only exception. I mean, I can't possibly pass off an offer Luke made. Michael told me this afternoon that he likes me, but there's a little part of me that says I should be cautious about the young businessman and play my cards in his favor. Refusing tonight's offer would be the opposite of that.

Michael, Océane, and I met Luke and his wife Adélaïde at a stunning restaurant whose name I'm currently drawing a blank.. I honestly felt so embarrassed when I fessed up about Stephanie, but Luke didn't seem to find it a problem and told me it was okay. He actually apologized for my potential fifth wheeling, but I assured him it was all good and the ballet would keep everyone busy.

During dinner, I couldn't help but study the two women in the boys' lives. Adélaïde Hemmings is simply captivating with her wavy, auburn tresses, big hazel eyes, and a style that any fashionista would envy. I have to admit that I felt apprehensive in her presence because there's an air about her that screams "noblesse," but she's merely a young, working-class mother. Then there's Océane Gringoire, the belle of Michael's heart. Her golden locks are styled in an elegant up do that compliments her heart-shaped face, making it easier for me to see just how beautiful she is. Her electric blue eyes immediately draw you in; no wonder Michael's so enamored by her!

Both women were extremely gracious to me during dinner and pitied me for the whole Stephanie debacle. They were really kind to give me advice about the situation—Adélaïde was very insistent on helping me—and told me that any girl would be lucky to have me. I don't know why, but having them around made me open up more about Stephanie. I literally poured my soul out to those women while Michael and Luke were deep in discussion about the Paris Saint-Germain game earlier. It was nice to get a woman's perspective on things, and having two to talk to made everything much better.

Now that we're walking towards Palais Garnier, I'm feeling in a much better mood about Stephanie. You could say that Océane and Adélaïde's advice inspired me; I'm literally itching to get back home and write. As my mind's stirring about the musical, my eyes are in awe of the grand opera just feet away.

The exterior of the grand opera is an architectural masterpiece. Gilt copper electrotype gilded L'Harmonie and La Poésie crown the apexes of the principal façade's left and right avant-corps while two gilded Galvan plastic bronze busts of various composers are housed between the columns of the theatre's front façade. Then you have the stage fly tower, where there's a sculptural group of Apollo, Poetry, and Music located at its apex of the southern gable, and two smaller bronze Pegasus figures at either end. Under the dimly lit night sky, these figures shine brightly and overlook the opera like guards on duty.

Once step into the building, and I feel like I'm being set back in time when Erik haunted Palais Garnier and Christine Daaë appeared out of nowhere to outshine Carlotta. Of course I'm referring to Phantom of the Opera. I mean, that story is essentially located in this very opera! As my eyes wander around the eleborate and eclectic ornamentation with Neo-Baroque decorative elements such a multi-colored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statues, I'm imagining myself as someone living in the 1900's.

"Wow," I breathe once the Grand Staircase is in sight. "I can't believe it...that's the staircase from The Phantom of the Opera."

I'm sure the quartet I've come with think I'm crazy, but all I see is the white marble of the staircase with balustrades of green and red that divide into two divergent flights of stairs. Albert-Earnest Carrier-Belluse's female torchères decorate the pedestals of the staircase to give it a dash of intricacy amidst the already lavish marble. It takes me a few minutes to come to and climb the stairs behind the two couples. One by one, my boots ascend the grand set of stairs; I feel like my boots aren't worthy of touching such artwork! My eyes wander to the beautifully painted ceiling, which was painted by Isidore Pils and depicts a number of scenes. The Triumph of Apollo, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opéra are all shown on the grand staircase ceiling.

The grand staircase leads into the Grand Foyer, the 18 m high, 154 m long and 13 m wide hall that was designed to act as the Parisian society drawing room. Again, my eyes can't help but wander up to the ceiling, part of which is painted by Paul Baudry, depicting Music in the central rectangular panel while the oval panel at the western end is Comedy. I honestly feel like I'm at a museum rather than an opera building because art is oozing from every angle.

Luke gives me a little nudge to bring me back to reality. Michael, Océane, and Adélaïde shoot me a more understanding look than I think I deserve. By now, it's pretty obvious how beautiful things can distract me, whether it's la lune or art. I'm not gonna apologize for being so enraptured by Palais Garnier's exquisite interior when it's my first time in the building. I'm allowed to have a little gawk, right? Nothing too out of the ordinary for a non-native.

"Desolé," I say with an apologetic look. "L'art est très magnifique." (Sorry. The art is magnificent.)

"Je comprends. Ce n'est pas ta faute," Adélaïde assures me with a small smile. (I understand. It's not your fault.)

"We should head in before the ballet starts. It's nearly time," Luke reminds us as he anxiously glances at his watch.

"Right," I mutter. "Allons-y!"

The auditorium is exactly how I envisioned it. Okay, that's a lie. Phantom of the Opera is the reason why I already know the layout of the auditorium. The Palais Garnier auditorium has a transverse section and traditional horseshoe shape. With the largest stage in Europe, it can accommodate as many as 450 artists. Even from where we're standing at the entrance, I can see how the canvas house curtain was painted to represent a draped curtain complete with tassels and braid.

The usher swiftly guides us to our seat, which happens to be Box Number 5; anyone who's read Gaston Leroux's novel knows that it's the Phantom's box. With a beautiful view of everything below and ten minutes to spare before show time, I scan the auditorium. Of course I'm drawn to the ceiling, which was originally painted by Jules Eugène Lenepvneu and painted anew by Marc Chagall in 1964 on removable frames over the original. The ceiling depicts scenes from operas from fourteen composers—Gluck, Beethoven, Mozart, Debussy, Mussorgsky, Wagner, Ravel, Stravinsky, Rameau, Tchaikovsky, Adam, Bizet, Verdi, and Berlioz.

Naturally, my eyes are more drawn to the 7-ton bronze and crystal chandelier than the paintings. Designed by Garnier and casted and chased by Lacarière, Delatour & Cie., and the chandelier cost a not so cool 30,000 francs and the use of the central one was criticized for obstructing views of the stage by patrons. The infamous scene in Phantom of the Opera where the chandelier broke as Erik kidnapped Christine was actually inspired by the May 20, 1896 incident, when one of the counterweights broke free and burst through the ceiling into the auditorium and killed someone in the audience.

I know it's been ages since that happened, but now I'm feeling a bit apprehensive thinking about how it could happen again. The scene from the movie is actually playing in my mind right now, and it's not an appealing sight. I deeply exhale and close my eyes. I'm legitimately shaking just thinking about it even though I'm not on the floor.

"Ash, you okay?" Luke's voice asks.

I flutter my eyes open and look at him with a deep sigh. "Yeah. I was just thinking about things and got really anxious. I'm alright, though. Don't worry about me."

He pats my shoulder and smiles. "Alright. But just so you know, Steph's here."

"Steph as in Stephanie Lune?" I ask in fear.

"Yeah. She's here with her sister. The girls ran into her in the bathroom. Addie recognized her as the woman who comes to pick up Thierry from school and then they got talking. Guess she wouldn't have come with you even if you had asked," he explains with a light chuckle.

Before I can utter a single syllable, the houselights dim and the chatter that filled the entire auditorium dies. Seconds later, a bright icterine spotlight appears and the crimson curtains part to open the scene. I don't even know what this ballet's about. I should shove Stephanie out of my mind so I can focus on that instead of the possibility of running into her later. Michael's proposal is one thing, but I don't need Steph to create more stress tonight. I just need to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Maybe it'll help me with ideas for the musical.