La Lune Bleue is a small, yet sophisticated café located just a few blocks away from La Louvre. One could easily mistake the interior for a stroll in the park under the night sky due to the azure walls paired with pinewood floors, chairs, and tables. Little potted plants scatter around the café to give it an earthy feel. A lush, white sofa situated a few feet away from the front window pops from the somber-looking café, beautifully giving that contrast of dark vs. light.

 It's not the most welcoming looking café from inside, but I can assure you that the atmosphere is simply divine. The baristas are the friendliest people I've come across since I arrived in Paris, and you just can't help but relax. Besides, the intoxicating scent of coffee beans roasting every hour is enough to capture any passersby wandering outside within a five foot radius.

I've been sitting here for half an hour already just people watching as I wait for Stephanie. I didn't bother bringing writing materials because I knew it'd be useless. I simply can't write during daylight hours. The anxiety's kicking in now. 

My café au lait surprisingly hasn't gone completely stone cold yet. I think it has to do with the humidity wafting through the open door from outside. 

I sigh deeply and nervously run a hand through my hair whilst keeping my eyes peeled for a head of brown hair with green eyes. Maybe she's catching up on assignments and forgot to ask for a rain check. Or she could be standing you up. No, Ashton. Don't think about that. There could be a plausible reason for her tardiness. But she could have at least told you if she was going to be late.

I suspiciously eye the mocha colored liquid as I lift the black ceramic mug, squinting my right eye for any possible signs of contamination. After a few seconds, I just shrug my shoulders and down it, which definitely wasn't the brightest idea. Too lukewarm for my taste. I can't stand coffee that's not either piping hot or ice cold. I don't understand how people can leave their drinks to cool when it'll get cold in a matter of a few minutes.

"Eet got too cold for you, eh Ashton?" a familiar voice questions, seeming oddly close.

My eyes shift from the now empty ceramic mug to emerald eyes directly across from me. Michael waves and smiles small when he notices that he has my attention. He's wearing the outfit he wore to work: a checkered flannel, black skinny jeans, and boots. Michael took the liberty of seating himself without asking. Stereotypical rude, French jerk! I think to myself upon seeing my flat mate at this surprisingly early time. Wait a second...

"Michael, what are you even doing here? Don't you have five-year-olds to look after?" I question, eyeing the deliciously tempting plate of macaroons on the table.

"Non," he simply answers as he daintily selects a strawberry macaroon from the pile and pops the entire thing in his mouth. "C'est 16h 15. I came 'ere after talking to one of ze keed's parents about somesing." (No. It's 4:15.)

I rip my glasses off and slam them onto the table in disbelief while staring at Michael. He's got to be kidding, right? There's no way that I've been here for three hours already. I swear it's only been a half hour, at most. Either my perspective of time is really slow or I'm getting delusional from my lack of sleep.

"Tu parles!" I exclaim. "There's no way! I got here around 1:15 and I swear it's only been a half hour, at least!" (You're lying!)

Michael shakes his head and chuckles. "Ashton, Ashton, Ashton. You really need some sleep, mon ami. Zis is why you should write before meednight and not after. Eet's affecting you so terribly!"

"I told you, Michael. I haven't been able to sleep properly," I argue as I cross my arms. "And I write better after midnight. Remember? That's when it's more peaceful outside."

"Je sais, je sais! L'écriture, c'est ta vie. But you can't sacrifice your 'ealth or wellbeing for eet, Ashton," he advises in concerned tones. "What are you even doing 'ere in ze first place? You said you 'ave been 'ere for trois heures, but why eez zat?" (I know, I know! Writing is your life.)

"Um...well you see..."

As if on cue, Stephanie bolts through the opened door looking frazzled. This morning, she looked so well-put, even with the apron on and flour speckled all over her face. But now, her face is flustered red from the heat, she looks out of breath and in dire need of water to cool down, and her hair's all poofy. 

Stephanie gives me a weak smile before pulling out the vacant seat between Michael and me, and sits down. She runs a hand through her hair and curses under her breath because of how knotty it's become; she couldn't effortlessly comb her fingers through her hair, which looked really frustrating for her. Michael's eyes wander from Stephanie to me in confusion as he nibbles on a chocolate macaroon.

"Michael, this is Stephanie Lune. I met her yesterday and she works at your grandma's bakery. Stephanie, this is Michael Clifford, Amélie's grandson who's a preschool teacher," I mention.

As soon as Michael and Stephanie's eyes meet, they both smile. Frankly, I don't like it one bit. Despite Stephanie's obviously bewildered state, her beauty's undeniable, and I'm sure Michael can see it. I don't even know why I'm getting jealous about them when I just met Stephanie yesterday. I don't know that much about her, but she's a pretty cool person from what I know. Michael takes her hand and kisses it, causing her to let out an adorable giggle.

"Enchantée," he breathes, flashing his pearly whites at her. (Nice to meet you.)

"It's nice to meet you, too!"

"Es-tu americaine?" (Are you American?)

"Ouah! Mais je parle le français aussi," Stephanie responds with a grin. "So you're the infamous Michael Ashton complained about this morning." (Yeah! But I also speak French.)

"I wasn't complaining about him!" I groan as I take a macaroon, which doesn't go unnoticed by Michael, but I really don't care.

"Yes you were, Ashton! Don't lie about it," Stephanie chides before turning her attention back to the blond preschool teacher. "Your grand-mère (grandmother) is amazing! I haven't been here for a year yet, but I'm already learning so much from her."

"She eez, eezn't she?" Michael asks with a big grin. "She taught me everysing I know about life. She raised me to be ze man I am aujourd'hui (today). Mes parents died when I was about two, so she took me in. I know eet's morbid, but I couldn't 'ave asked for anyone better to raise me."

"That's beautiful," Stephanie softly exclaims, resting a hand on Michael's.

This is news to me. Michael's never mentioned his parents' death to me before, yet he can easily say it when Stephanie's around? I don't know if I should feel betrayed, jealous, or sympathetic. I guess it's a mélange of all three with a few other emotions dabbled in.

I lower my gaze to the table and sigh, not wanting to look at either of the two. "Michael, why haven't you told me about that? We're flat mates."

"Desolé. I didn't want eet to upset you. Aussi, I didn't sink want to make you feel sad about eet since you're still getting used to being away from your famille," he quietly apologizes. "C'est pas personnel." (Sorry....It's nothing personal.)

"I feel like I shouldn't even be here right now..." Stephanie voices.

I lift my gaze to look at Stephanie. She looks so...shattered, like she's intruding on a conversation only meant for Michael and me. Somehow, my hand finds its way to hers and our fingers intertwine. Internally, I'm relieved she didn't shrug me off.

"Don't be stupid. I came here to have coffee with you, not Michael. Which, by the way, you're super late for since it's past 4 PM."

Stephanie groans and lightly slams her head on the table. "Ugh, I know! I'm so, so, so sorry, Ashton! I totally forgot I had a 1:30 class today, and I totally blanked out on telling you I'd be late. You're probably been here for ages and I sincerely apologize. On the bright side, you probably gained some writing inspiration, right?"

Michael and I burst into laughter, definitely puzzling Stephanie.

"Ashton doesn't get 'eez inspiration during ze day," Michael notes once he's calmed down. "Ashton doesn't write during ze day at all. 'Ee stays up to write."

The confusion on Stephanie's face isn't surprising. At the same time, she shouldn't be this confused. I'm pretty sure I told her that I write at night. Maybe that bit of information slipped her mind. I mean, she basically confirmed how forgetful she can be, so I'm not going to hold it against her.

"Michael calls me 'l'écrivain du soir' because I can't write during daylight hours," I explain with a shrug. ('the night writer.')

"Wait, you can't write during the day...at all?" Stephanie quizzically questions. "So Michael calls you the Night Writer because of that?"

"Yup," I simply answer as I run a hand through my curls. "Day time is so boring."

"He's joking, right? Ashton can't possibly think daylight hours are boring," Stephanie unsuccessfully whispers to Michael.

"I'm not joking at all," I scoff. "My creative juices just simply don't flow during the day."

"C'est pouquoi il peut pas dormir," Michael whispers to Stephanie. (It's why he can't sleep.)

I roll my eyes and scoff, grabbing the last macaroon on the table. Michael just gives me a sinister smirk and takes my mug and the plate to put them in the tray for dirty dishes, leaving me alone with Stephanie. The brunette chuckles, blushing slightly in the process, as I sigh. She lays a hand on my shoulder, sending light shocks of electric through my body, and smiles.

"He means well, you know," she assures me. "Michael just doesn't want you to be an insomniac."

"It's a bit too late for that now," I mutter.

"Ash, you're like a little kid when you're grumpy. Thank goodness Michael's a preschool teacher! He wouldn't be able to cope with you if he didn't already know how to handle kids."

"Oh, shut up!" I groan, lightly shoving her aside.

Stephanie giggles and runs a hand through her hair. Now that she's cooled down a a bit, Stephanie looks more like the well-put girl I met yesterday. Also, she does have a really cute giggle. And pretty eyes...and hair...and lips...I'm gonna stop now. 

Seconds later, Michael returns with three berry tarts, one for each of us. We all devour the sweet, delectable confectioneries with no problem at all. By that, I mean we all pop the tarts into our mouths in just one bite because we're animals like that.

"As great as eet would be to stay 'ere and chat, Ashton et moi should problablement (probably) leave," Michael says as he swiftly looks at his watch. "And I'm sure you 'ave some school work to get done, so eet would be rude for us to keep you 'ere."

"It's like, six," I note, checking the time on my phone. "The night hasn't even begun since the sun's still out. It's not going to get dark for another three hours, Mikey."

"C'est vrais, mais tu a un grand jour demain," my blond flat mate alludes. (It's true, but you have a big day tomorrow.)

"Mikey, no I don't. I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow."

"Wait, how can Michael know what you're going to do, but not you?" Stephanie chimes in looking rightfully perplexed. "That doesn't make sense when you're not Ashton, Michael."

"C'est très simple. Ze keeds are all bringing somesing in for show and tell demain," Michael nonchalantly explains. "Zey also want me to bring in somesing alors..."

The way both pairs of green eyes are looking at me is freaking me out. The only difference between Michael's and Stephanie's eyes is that Michael's have a sinister twinkle embedded with emerald. I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at Michael with wide eyes and a little voice inside telling me that I'm his show and tell for the kids. I don't understand why he'd want to take me to see the kids when all I am is a writer.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I grumble. "There's no way I'm coming to work with you. I'm pretty sure bring-your-flat-mate-to-work day is nonexistent."

Michael claps a hand on my back and smiles. "Nope. Pas de tout. Zat may not exist in real life, but I'm breenging you to show and tell, mon ami. Ze kids are going to love you, Ashton!"

***

With humidity at 80% and an ominous mist hovering just above the rooftops, it will be hard to form any thoughts tonight. There are no stars out tonight due to the fog and the moon is barely visible, but it shines bright enough to make Paris know that it's present tonight. Even if I couldn't see la lune, I'd somehow try to find something in the sky to spark my imagination and get the gears in my noggin oiled and running. I just need one thing to set things off. It's always the moon but on nights like this, I need to focus on a different celestial object. Or I could focus on a spot in the distance and pray that an epiphany will arise.

As I sit on a beach towel with a notebook perched on my lap and my handy dandy felt-tipped pen clenched between my teeth, I gaze into the distance for a sign, any sign. I slit my eyes and fix my glasses to get a better look at my surroundings. 

Too bad the moon's not as bright as I'd like. There's just so much fog in the sky that it's misting my mind! Why did this weather have to happen tonight of all nights? In lieu of Stephanie, Michael's throwing me off tonight.

I've been up here for nearly two hours and the only words I've scribbled down aren't cohesive enough to form a solid plot. All of those words are quite dark, too. Mysterious. Vague. Darkness. Crime. Nightmare. Light. I'm trying to wrap my head around how those words can turn into a musical that hasn't been done in the past. Many have dark undertones. I could list them and explain their plot lines, but that'd be a waste of time and energy. Just like the stars, there are an infinite amount of combinations to pair those words, yet I can't think of a single good one right now. I'm that lost.

My phone suddenly makes the little notification noise, so I fish it out of my pocket. I smile at the text from the other lune in my life, the one that just appeared out of nowhere. I know I should try to concentrate, but what harm would it do to chill out for a bit and be a normal guy in his twenties by texting a girl?

Stephanie: Visibility tonight's not so great, is it? How are you supposed to write in these conditions?

Me: I'll manage. I've written a few words down. No sentences or plot ideas yet, though. I think the fog's fogging my mind.

I stare at my screen as an ellipsis appears, dropping the pen in my mouth and setting aside the notebook. With both hands on my phone and a welcoming breeze drifting in the air, I'm anxiously awaiting her response. I shouldn't be anxious about a stupid text, especially since Stephanie and I just met. It seems like it takes forever for her to type when really, only ten seconds have passed.

Stephanie: Don't over think it. Let the words come to you and just look out for anything in the sky that might peak your interest.

Me: Easier said than done, but thanks for the tip, Miss Moon.

Stephanie: I'm not the one who coincidentally chose a café with my last name on it. You did that, Irwin.

Me: Good point. That was my idea only because it's my favorite café in the city.

Stephane: Well, it's a good choice.

My back's starting to kill me from sitting on this roof, so I decide to lie on the towel. Now that my eyes aren't directed towards the city, the only thing in my peripheral view is the midnight blue sky, bed of fog that's thinned down a little, and the now-visible moon. 

I can't help smiling because both of my moons are in perfect harmony. There's the scintillating one in the sky, and the one sending me texts. We don't have to continue our conversation in a text now that I have her number. It seems a bit silly to wait for her response to show up when she can just tell me straight after I ask.

"The moon's visible now," I happily breathe into the receiver once the line connects. "And it's so beautiful."

"Did you seriously call me to rave about the moon, Ashton? What about your writing?" Stephanie questions.

"Can't I take the night off to talk to you?" I innocently ask.

I can hear Stephanie adorably chuckle into the receiver. She's probably flustered right now because I tried to flirt with her. Oh fuck, why did you have to sound so whiny, Ashton?

"That's really sweet of you to say, but writing's your life, Ashton. Don't jeopardize it if you don't have anything," she firmly instructs. "Michael told me how distraught you were last night because you couldn't write and you literally scrapped the idea you already had."

"Yeah? Well, maybe it was stupid and I needed something better," I challenge. "I just need more inspiration, you know? I need this to work. In order for that to happen, I need an amazing concept, characters, and songs. I need this to be the best damn thing I've ever written, Stephanie!"

Stephanie snorts. "You need songs? What kind of writer are you?"

"The Andrew Lloyd Webber of this generation," I respond matter-of-factly.

"So...you want to write the next Phantom of the Opera?"

"You think it's stupid, don't you?" I pout with a sigh as I rub the back of my neck. "I know he's a composer, but he's written a lot of music for musicals. You probably think it's stupid that I want to make a living off of writing musicals."

"NO! Ashton, that's a ridiculous assumption! Speaking of, do you know who you remind me of?"

"The only people we happen to share in common are the Cliffords," I point out. "So no, I don't know who I could possibly remind you of."

"You remind me of Christian from Moulin Rouge!" she extols. "You moved to Paris, you're writing a musical, you're charming in your own way, attractive..."

"I have yet to fall in love with a prostitute," I mention, causing both of us to chuckle.

"No. But you've got your own muses. So tell me, Ashton, why do you only write at night?"

"Because it's when the sun settles down and the moon comes out to play," I reply with ease. "I told Michael this yesterday morning, actually, but I'll say it to you so you can understand. I can't write when the sun dances in the sky and watches over the world like some king overlooking his kingdom. My inspiration comes from the moon because it shines in the night sky with a strong presence. It sounds cheesy, but the moon is the apple of my eye when I'm sitting on my roof each night. The star, the lights, the fresh nighttime air, and the moon are my writing inspirations, Stephanie. I can't write without them."

"Wow," she breathes. "I'm just gonna need to take a second because that was more beautiful than weird. It's actually quite poetic."

"Um...thanks?"

"I mean it, Ashton. I'm not mocking you at all. What friend would I be if I didn't support your methods? If it works for you, then there's no reason why I should judge the way you work. Hey, it's almost 2 AM and I've got to get to Menardin's early."

"Are you trying to tell me good night, Stephanie?" I ask, amused.

"Goodnight, Ashton Irwin. I'll see you at Menardin's in a few hours," Stephanie says with an adorably sleepy yawn. "And uh, have fun with Michael and the kids."

"Oh thanks, I almost forgot about that!" I groan. "I'll tell you all about it if I survive. I'm pretty sure preschoolers are savage."

"Hey, don't be so negative about it! Same time tomorrow?"

As I look up at the sky, I smile. "Yeah, same time tomorrow night, Steph. Night."

I breathe a sigh of relief as I put my phone in my pocket and stare at the sky. The big grin on my face isn't something I can wipe off right now. I'm pretty sure it's going to stay there until I decide to head inside. It may be only 2 AM, but I'm not tired at all. Talking to Stephanie definitely woke me up. Not only that, but she gave me an idea, one that just kinda came to me before she hung up.

"The most beautiful thing about life is spontaneity. The moment someone enters your life, you don't know how grandly their effect will be."

It's not much, but it's a start. And a start is better than nothing at all. Hopefully tomorrow's conversation will build on that though and as the nights pass on, I'll have an amazing story waiting to be seen by the world.