"No."

It was a simple word, hard to misinterpret, but Tony just smiled and shook his head, letting me know that my answer meant nothing to him.

"It's going to be fun," he said. "Everyone likes Paris. And it's free."

"No," I said.

"You're already packed, lover boy."

"N-o." I spelled it out for him.

"Want me to call King?" He asked, stretching out his phone towards me. I felt a bit angry, thinking that Arthur was going to answer his call after ignoring me for so long.

"Yeah. I want to talk to him," I said. Tony didn't miss a beat. He dialed Arthur and handed me the phone. I placed it against my ear and waited. He picked up after a couple of seconds, and I heard his voice on the other side.

"Arthur King here. Hello." He had a pleasant phone voice, and I could hear music in the background and, if I tried, some traffic.

I didn't know what to say, and he didn't add anything else. Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"Hi. Ugh, it's me," I said, finally. It took me seconds to realize that maybe he had no idea who "me" was, and I was about to confirm my identity to him when he spoke again.

"Tristan," I could almost hear a smile in his voice. "I'm guessing Tony is there, and you got my gift."

"Yes."

"Splendid." He made a pause, and it sounded like he was drinking something. "I thought about our first date." He continued. "You wanted something different, Chicago deep-dish pizza or that authentic sushi. Unfortunately, all I can do for now is confit de canard; I know a place."

I didn't answer.

"I hope you're not awfully mad at me," he said. "And I have faith that you'll at least allow me to atone for my mistakes. I promise it'll be grand."

"Can you speak French?" I asked, remembering how easily he spoke Korean with Yeong-Gi.

“Bien sûr. Une seule langue n'est jamais suffisante," he said and I had no idea what it meant, but it turned me on. “Will you come?”

"I don't know."

"Please?"

I looked over at Tony, and he had the most annoying smirk on his face. I flipped him off.

"Alright. But only if it's first-class."

"Obviously."

"And a five stars hotel."

"Naturally." He chuckled.

"And, you can't ditch me for work."

"Never."

"And I get a fancy dinner," I added, just because I could.

"It has already been planned."

"Ok then," I said. "I'll come to Paris."

"Wonderful. Thank you, Tristan."

Tony tapped my apartment's door with his foot. "Plane's tomorrow morning. No partying tonight."

"I spend all my time in a club, what makes you think I want to party during my weekends?"

He smiled and patted me on the shoulder, very bro-like of him.

"And you're here because?"

"Because I love carrying suitcases with me just to make an impression," Tony said.

"You're coming?"

"I'm just making sure you're not going to get lost tomorrow, on your way to the airport."

"And the suitcases?"

"Arthur said, you need clothes." He shrugged. "Just accept it, he's weird when it comes to fashion. I think that he has a thing for dressing others."

"Ok," I said and took the suitcases. I knew for a fact that resistance was futile, so it was better just to accept whatever it was and move on with my evening. "Thanks. You can go now."

"Aw, you're sending me away?" He asked, looking at me with faux pain in his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Cold." Tony touched his chest but still smiled. He wasn't all that affected by it. "I have to go anyway. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Be ready."

"Yeah, yeah."

I dragged the suitcases into my apartment and locked the door behind me. I never liked the way my apartment smelled; no matter how much I cleaned it or what kind of air freshener I used, it still held onto a sort of old, moldy smell. I hated it. For now, though, I was going to ignore it. I had two suitcases filled with God knows what, and I was curious to find out.

The suitcases had a brown and black checkered pattern, and while I was opening them, I noticed the LV symbol. Arthur was throwing his money away, and hopefully, he wasn't expecting to see them again because I sure as hell wasn't going to give them back.

The clothes inside were nice. All of them. And they were all something I would wear. That made me appreciate Arthur even more, simply because he got clothes that I would like, not things that appealed to him. Everything still had labels, but the prices had been cut off.

There was an abundance of t-shirts and dress shirts and jeans, even a couple of gorgeous suits. There were shoes too, from my standard, casual sneakers to more dress like shoes like derby and brogues. I also had two pairs of boots. I knew the name of them all because they had stickers on them.

How long was I going to stay in France?

I trusted that King wasn't going to harvest my organs, and I was glad to get away from my bartending job and all the assholes that snapped their fingers at me. Arthur was undoubtedly his own brand of asshole, but at least he didn't snap his fingers or clap his hands like I was a dog.

For the next three hours or so, I paraded the clothes around, and they all fit. I didn't want to think about how Arthur found out my sizes. It felt great to know that my shoes were worth more than my rent.

I fell asleep late that night and woke up when my phone started spasming under my pillow. I answered, half asleep and heard Tony's voice telling me he'll be there in twenty minutes.

I rolled out of bed and started getting ready. At least I didn't have to pack anything for the trip.

This time around, Tony drove like an average person. I wondered if Arthur had anything to do with it. My gut told me it did.

Before I knew it, I was at the airport.

Arthur picked me up in Paris. He looked like he almost belonged in the picture, with his dark washed jeans, white shirt, black coat, and the cream scarf thrown around his neck. But his hair was pink, and he was wearing his clear-framed glasses. He looked tired. Exhausted. His dark circles were impressive, but he smiled and gave me a peck. He smelled nice.

"Hey," he said. "How was your trip."

"Long."

"Well, you're here now." He smiled. "Hungry and tired, I presume?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "Are you ok?"

"As well as I can be," he said and took one of my bags. "Let's go to the car; I'll drive. You will absolutely love the hotel."

"What have you been up to here?" I asked once I found myself in the passenger's seat next to him.

"Work mainly," he said. "My mother really wants to get her hands on the Portrait of Louis the XIV  by Hyacinthe Rigaud, which coincidentally is at Louvre right now. And she absolutely needs the Lady With A Glove by Carlous Duran. Or Charles Duran, whatever you prefer.

"Also at Louvre?" I asked though I had no idea what those paintings were. My knowledge of art stopped at Picasso and da Vinci.

"No." He shook his head. "Musée d'Orsay. And it would've been an effortless job if not for her outrageous standards."

"What do you mean?"

"She wants to be able to trick a professional with them. And to do that, God…" He sighed. "Well, I'm not saying it can't be done. I'm saying it extremely expensive, and we need to study the original. And let's face it, nobody's going to let me scrape off the paint from any paintings."

"So, what are you going to do."

"Hire a third party." He sighed. "I detest hiring third parties. There's always the chance they fuck you over."

"Sounds rough."

"Oh, trust me." He puffed a laugh. "If they fuck me over, it's going to be rough." He turned towards me for a moment, just to smile. "How's the new job?"

"Pays well," I said. "And the club is nice."

"I'm glad to hear that," Arthur said.

"You promised you're not going to ditch me while I'm here."

"I won't," He said.

"You seemed like you've been stressed over the last weeks or so. You won't disappear in the middle of the night to do your illegal activities, right?"

He laughed. "God, no. Worst case scenario, I'll answer my phone."

"I'll believe you."

We reached the hotel, and Arthur gave his car keys to someone to park it. He refused help with the luggage and explained to me that he always liked carrying suitcases and any other kind of bag. It made him feel important or busy.

The room wasn't a room. It was a suite.

"Lucky Seven," Arthur said and tapped the number on the door.

There were two bedrooms, a large living room, and a magnificent bathroom. Everything was white, and gold and just being there made me feel very rich.

Arthur poured himself a drink.

"Want one?" He asked, holding up the crystal whiskey bottle.

"I don't like to drink."

He smiled again. "You can't blame me for asking. What do you want then?"

"Water? Soda? Whatever is fine."

Arthur opened a can of Coke and poured it into a whiskey glass, along with some ice, and gave it to me.

"Thank you," I said. "Why didn't you call?"

"That was very rude of me, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he said, his finger tracing down my chest. "That was terribly rude. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"I'll hold you up to it."

"I wouldn't expect less," Arthur said and lifted his glass to take a sip. Up close, he looked even more tired. His eyelids were a bit purple-ish, and it made me worried that it had been a while since he last had a decent night's sleep.

"I think I'm going to grab a quick snack and go to bed."

"We have room service," he said. "What do you feel like eating?"

"Pasta," I said. "I'm craving carbs."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, and it wasn't a polite smile. He was amused. "Oh? Pasta? Well, alright. I love a good pasta dish."

Arthur picked up the phone and called room service. He ordered in French, and it sounded fantastic coming out from his mouth.

"So, you know Korean; you know French. What else are you hiding?"

He laughed. "You'll have to find out."

I watched him walk towards the couch. He sat down and tossed his feet up on the coffee table before letting his body sink into the pillows. He closed his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. He was barely holding his glass, letting it dangle between his fingers.

"Feeling alright?"

"I have this headache that won't go away."

I stepped behind him and started rubbing his temples.

"You fried your hair," I said, and he laughed.

"Yeah." He didn't open his eyes. "It'll grow back."

"You're the only person I know that can still look classy with fried hair."

"Think I'll look better with a haircut?" He asked.

I moved my fingers through his hair, pulling it back gently. He had excellent features, a lovely forehead, good complexion; he could probably look good bald.

"You want one?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don't care one way or another. Maybe I'll get one from a fancy place in Paris. One that serves champagne."

"I'll come with you. I won't get a haircut, but I'll watch you get drunk and hit on the hairdresser."

"Please. I only hit on my own employees."

I smiled and tugged his ears gently. "Asshole." Then I took his glasses off and looked through the lenses. "Jesus." I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy. "You really can't see shit."

"Oh, wow, really? When did that happen?" He looked at me, and his eyes were slightly irritated. It made their color even more intense.

Room service knocked at the door, and I gave him back his glasses. He got up, moving like a tired, bored cat towards the door. He greeted the employee and tipped him handsomely.

We ate, and Arthur poured himself another drink. He didn't check his phone once, even though it vibrated a couple of times on the coffee table.

"I think I'll go to bed," I said and tugged gently on a strand of his hair.

"Coming."

"A bit later," he said. "I need to check some things."

"Work?"

"Hm. Yes." He pulled out a small laptop from under the couch and lifted the lid. "Work."

I pushed the lid back. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone."

"Oh, that's so not fair. I'm fairly sure I didn't mean it like this."

"No, no. You meant it like this too." I nodded. "Please, let's just sleep. You're tired. I'm tired. The bed… have you seen the bed? Lord…"

He smiled. "Alright. If I go broke overnight, you're paying for everything."

"Promise."

I placed his laptop on the coffee table and took his hand.

"Those beds are massive," I said. "I don't think you want to be alone tonight."

I heard him laughing. "No. I'm fairly sure I don't. Please, do me the honor of sharing a bed with me."

"Oh, if you insist."

Arthur changed into some shorts and Coca Cola shirt, and he looked like a completely different person.

"What?"

"Nothing. I like the look. Oh, and thank you for the clothes. They're great."

"Thank you. And you're welcome." He took his glasses and fell face down on the bed. I placed my hand on his back.

"Please, don't sleep on the blanket. I'll kick you out."

"Fuck you," He muttered. "I'm not moving."

"You're charming." I tugged the blanket from underneath him, making him roll on his back. "Please, turn off your phone."

"You are so demanding," he said.

I tossed the blanket over us. "Just go to sleep. You still owe me that fancy dinner."

"Mhm…" He nodded but kept his eyes closed. I could tell that he was going to fall asleep any second.

I looked at the ceiling for a couple of minutes.

"You still haven't told me why you didn't call."

Arthur didn't answer. He was sleeping. I wasn't mad at him anymore, and that made me angry at myself.