Paris, France. February 12'th, 2020

Across the room, Jongin hollows his cheeks over a cigarette. His features pull taunt under the setting sunlight and smoke flutters lifelessly from the stick dancing between his lips, "The sunset looks beautiful, you should come look." He says.

The expanse between them is tinctured with of orange, red, and yellow. Kyungsoo glances up for only a moment, quickly raising his camera to snap Jongin peering outside. The other isn't startled in the slightest by this and merely huffs more gray into the air.

"No really, you're going to miss it. Stop looking through the lens for one second."

Kyungsoo begins to press through the pictures on the screen, observing how saturated the warm light is over the ridges and angles of Jongin's face and draped tunic. He finally caves when the other beckons with fond exasperation, adding to the abstraction of the skyline, neatly built with sculpture and layers of shaded metropolis. As a reflex, he takes the cigarette out from Jongin's mouth and presses it against his own in a kiss of death.

"I've seen plenty of sunsets. I've lived here just as long as you, remember?"

Smoke obscures his view for a moment, and Jongin lets out a dry chuckle, "This one is special. You ever heard of living in the moment?"

"Heard of it."

The model reaches for the cigarette again, even though it's only been a moment without it pumping nicotine into his lungs. Ever the fiend, he smiles, "Funny. Maybe you should quit photography and become a comedian instead. Branch out a little."

Kyungsoo doesn't say anything to that, and merely scans his eyes over the filter cast across the world in its last wakeful moments. It's as if the earth were shutting its eyes ever so slowly, drifting into black sleep. A few stars are peeking out through the color and Jongin points a finger towards the sky, "You really should be taking pictures of this instead of me. This is amazing."

"The sky doesn't photograph well." He says. His hands itch to take more pictures before this golden hour slips away, but Jongin seems a little lethargic under the gaze of his lens tonight.

"Doesn't that just mean your camera is low quality?"

"Since when did you know anything about cameras?" Kyungsoo teases with a tilt to his voice, nudging the taller with his shoulder. Jongin keeps his skin pressed into his side as Kyungsoo goes on, "The camera I brought is a cheaper one. It's super grainy and doesn't pick up details so It's more of an aesthetic thing." He explains.

"I see." Jongin sighs out more vapor, and it fades into the Paris breeze along with his words. "I think I just pick up things you say here and there. I don't really know anything about cameras. Or photography."

The sun begins to hide behind one of the high rise buildings, one with old statues carved into the sides. It's smoothed over in glossy white marble and golden rims, ancient and blatantly European. Kyungsoo hums, "I mean, there are things you can learn with cameras. But photography is just subjective, like all art. Eye of the beholder kind of thing. There's not much to know."

Jongin pulls a face and ashes the cigarette over the whitewood. It was getting darker by the second. He still has a smile, "Let me take one of you."

"That's the first time you've asked instead of just grabbing it and taking it."

"I'm full of surprises." The boy leans to entangle the camera cord from around his neck and slot it over his own. Kyungsoo is almost positive the camera can't pick up the portrait Jongin's looking for, if anything it would be a mere silhouette against the backdrop of the wall, but the model holds it up to his eye regardless and hovers over the button.

"Pose."

Kyungsoo stills, face contorting into an awkward grimace of sorts, "How?"

"Do what you usually do. Hurry."

He pushes back his bangs and shoots a timid grin at the center of the glass, as a click goes off softly, both immediately huddle to watch it develop onto the screen. The shot is heavily shadowed, enveloped in midnight cadence as the curvatures of his face curl and bleed into darkness, Kyungsoo shakes his head and laughs, "I look a hundred years older. That is not a good picture of me."

Jongin fakes a look of offense and holds away the device as it's grabbed for, "I like it! When you print these you have to give me this one, okay? I genuinely like it."

"You're such a liar. That is obviously blackmail." Kyungsoo's eyebrows furrow with his usual seriousness. The seriousness that hardly ever phases Jongin.

"No. Those pictures you have of me from after the gala is black mail. This is just a cute picture of a friend." Jongin responds airily, he gives the camera back and pretends not to notice when Kyungsoo flushes rose-tinted in the dimness.

"They weren't . They were half . And frankly, those pictures never saw the light of day."

"True." Jongin smells like smoke, and he's hardly visible as he slinks across the room to flicker on a lamp. It's suddenly brighter, and everything looks a bit harsher behind the thin fabric and dangling beads. "I still have them somewhere. Probably buried under all my French books. Did you know I'm trying to learn more French?"

Kyungsoo has heard this before, but shrugs and chooses to rest his back against the window pane. The cool air feels refreshing over his exposed skin, and it comes up to ruffle at the back of his hair like a small embrace. "Practice on me." He offers.

Jongin begins to aimlessly wander about the room, adjusting things and wiping invisible dust off the armchair, his eyes are upwards in thought. Kyungsoo can see them clearly now in all their half-mooned glory, the color of pressed coffee and chocolate; Two things they both developed appetites for since they breathed in the Paris air all those years ago.

The model finally stops and rests on the edge of his leathery seat, "Hmmm, lets see. Bonjour, ou est l'arret de bus?"

Kyungsoo thinks for a moment, then clicks his tongue, "Descendre deux blocs." He says.

"Um, gauche ou droite?"

"Je pense que c'est derriere toi." He answers, smirking when he sees Jongin freeze up. "Know what that means?"

"You said...'I think' and then something else. Was I correct?" Jongin's expression sparks up into a blinding simper, feet bending over the the side of the couch. It makes his legs look too long, contrasting in the elegance they carry over the runway or in a photoshoot.

Kyungsoo never can say no, and with a breath and a roll of his eyes he mutters, "I said: I think it's behind you. Since you asked for directions to the bus stop."

"How do you remember French so well? It's nothing like Korean. You sound fluent too."

"Practice. I don't like when people talk to me like I don't know anything. I also thought it would help me with school. Which it does."

Jongin lays completely down, neck crooking on the other end of the loveseat. He ogles Kyungsoo curiously, like always. Like Kyungsoo preaches gospel with every word. It always makes Kyungsoo feel like he's on a stage.

"I get by with pretty bad French, but I want to get better. You would be my teacher, right?" He laughs freely, "That would be fun. You'd help me out, like you always do."

"Like I always do." Kyungsoo echoes dully. He chooses to peer outside the window again, over the rooftops and beige paneling. It's so dark.

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