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Notre vie pour l'amour,
Notre amour pour la vie.
Mon amour, tu es ma vie.
-Edith Paif
***
Thrumming with excitement as Bitty pushed his key into the lock, he sucked in a long breath, then pushed it out. It was more than just the prospect of the summer stretching in front of them, it was more than the echoes of Jack’s excitement of getting to properly celebrate Bitty’s Captaincy, or the near-win of the Falcs—the disappointment having faded into a dull roar, which had been taken over with pride that they’d still won the conference finals and Jack still won the Conn Smythe.
It was actually the little things. Bitty being able to spend more than a handful of days with Jack. Being able to linger in bed, to wake up to Jack’s face every morning, to kiss him good night every night. To settle into a routine that was theirs—and only theirs—which held the promise of a long future. Something he was no longer terrified to face, and something Jack had been whispering fantasies about for a long while now. It was a taste of what things would be like, when Bitty graduated, and was no longer beholden to school or other obligations. When he had a say in where he worked, and what he did, and where he slept.
He knew Jack was up to something, though. Jack’s face over facetime had that cheeky little smile he got when he had plans up his sleeve, and it was either going to be something over the top, or a day of chirping—either of which Bitty would take because frankly he just wanted to be able to put his arms round his boyfriend.
Pushing inside the apartment was like coming home after a long holiday, even if he spent less time there than anywhere else. It just felt…right.
He was only two steps into the door when it slammed behind him, when he was pushed up against the cool wood, his shirt rucked up so Jack could splay his hand flat over Bitty’s abs, the other reaching up to cup Bitty’s face. Jack’s breath smelt sweet—of mint toothpaste and gum he was always chewing—and his lips were pliant and soft as they teased along Bitty’s.
“Hey, you,” Bitty murmured. “Miss me much?”
“If someone had let me pick him up at the airport, I might have stopped missing you a lot sooner,” Jack grouched.
Bitty laughed, pushing his fingers into Jack’s hair. “But then our first seconds together couldn’t have been this,” he punctuated the sentence with a soft, plying kiss, “and I hate when I have to hold back.”
Jack’s brow furrowed, but he kissed back all the same, held Bitty as tight as he always did, pulling back to drag his lips along the cut of Bitty’s jaw. “I have a surprise for you.”
Bitty sighed, but smiled with it. “I thought you might. You had that look on your face.”
Jack’s smirk was returned, full-force, and he pulled away, leaving only their fingers tangled together. “It’s a big one. So I need to blindfold you.”
Bitty swallowed. “Like a sex thing or…?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I would never spring that on you, bud. Seriously, I’m trying to be romantic here.”
“Lord, well this is what I get when you have NHL players to get advice on romance from.” All the same he sat, and he let Jack push a sleep-mask over his face, stopping to kiss under his ear. “You sure it’s not a sex thing?” Bitty pressed.
“I’m sure,” Jack murmured. “I have to…do a thing. So just wait here and I’ll be back for you in a second.”
“And then?” Bitty pressed. This was the boy who thought an appropriate Valentine gift was to fill the haus with roses, so he was unsure where this was going.
“Then I’m going to lead you down to the car, and we’re…going on a date.”
“A date,” Bitty echoed. “Honey…you and I can’t…”
“Trust me, Bits. Please,” Jack said.
Bitty took a breath, then nodded firmly. “Okay, sweetpea. I trust you.”
He was obedient, sat on the sofa with his arms crossed only a little petulantly, listening to Jack moving about, opening the front door, closing the front door. Finally the warm body was in front of him again, drawing Bitty to stand, taking very, very careful steps out the door, and to the car.
Bitty didn’t entirely love the whole blindfold thing, but he was comforted by the weight of Jack’s hand on his thigh as he drove, the way he spoke in low tones, listening to Bitty rant about his momma who had finally learnt about The Jam.
“…and lord knows I miss our summers together, and I’ll miss camp, but this is so much better,” he said, just as Jack’s car slowed to a halt. He heard a noise, almost like a machine beeping, and then sounds of…echoing. “Honey…where are we?”
“We’re almost there, bud. I promise.” Jack’s car drove at a crawling pace, then pulled to a stop. Bitty didn’t reach for the blindfold, listening to Jack’s breathing, the way it hitched a little as he worked through his thoughts. “Okay I think you should…yeah. Take it off now. I wanted to wait until we were inside but…” Instead of waiting for Bitty to pull the sleep mask away, his hands tugged at the edges and pulled it down in front of Bitty’s chin.
They were in…
A parking garage.
Bitty frowned. “This is…”
He didn’t get another word out, as Jack reached over and laid something on Bitty’s lap. A computer print-out with small writing, that looked like…
“Plane tickets,” Bitty said, very slowly as his eyes took in the destination. “Jack. Why…does it look like there are two tickets to Paris in my lap.”
“Because there are two tickets to Paris in your lap,” Jack said, his voice hesitant and unsure. “I um…you always talk about wanting to experience the world, and how you’d love to go try actual French food, and you wanted to…you had that list and I thought…you just…you did so well this year, and you made Captain and I…”
“Jack,” Bitty breathed out, overwhelmed but so, so touched he wanted to cry. “Jack, this is the sweetest thing and while I think it might be a bit much to take your boyfriend to dang Paris as a congratulations gift…”
“Well, it’s for us,” Jack said, his voice much softer now. “No one will know me there. We can…we can walk on the Seine and hold hands and no one is going to care. We both worked hard this year. I wanted to do this for us.”
“Oh, honey,” Bitty said, and tugged Jack over the console, into a firm, lingering kiss. “Then I can’t wait. Let’s do this.”
“Yeah?” Jack asked, a bright smile widening across his face.
Bitty’s face echoed the gesture. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go to Paris.”
***
Bitty was somewhat unprepared for what a long flight like this felt like. He would have been more familiar, he supposed, if his figure skating had landed him in international tournaments. But his longest flight to date had been to LA when he was a kid for a meet, but his mother had given him Benadryl both ways, and he’d slept through almost the entire flight.
This was…different. They had an hour long layover, then a stretch of nearly ten hours over the sea which felt strange, and endless. He supposed it was more comfortable in Business Class, and definitely nicer being able to snuggle up to Jack and share a film—even if the food was terrible, and even if he was stuck with a migraine for the last two hours of the journey.
He felt like he could sleep for a week the moment they touched down, clinging to Jack’s hand as though it was the only thing keeping him up, trudging through to get their bags, separating only for a short while through customs, and meeting again to flag down a taxi to their hotel.
There was something wonderful about the way Jack slipped into French, purposefully making his accent more posh in order to avoid being othered. Bitty was unused to the way Jack now rolled the words off his tongue, but he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of listening to it.
He smiled, all tucked up against Jack’s side as his eyes closed and he listened to Jack make polite conversation with the cab driver all the way to the hotel.
They checked in swiftly, and bypassed any thought of food or shower in favour of closing the black-out curtains, and sleeping until they felt at least somewhat human again.
***
Bitty woke in Jack’s arms, and smiled, never getting tired of that view.
***
“So, we have the entire week head of us,” Jack said, playing gently with the tips of Bitty’s fingers as they strolled through a large crowd, past a string of over-full cafés. They had eaten at the hotel, but coffee sounded nice to combat the lingering jet-lag. “What do you want to do?”
“Caffeinate,” Bitty said, then laughed when Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m not like you, sweetpea. I can’t just shake it off. And you know how bad I am when I have to take the train, imagine how I feel now.”
Jack sighed, but yanked Bitty in close, wrapping an arm round his waist, nuzzling into his neck for a moment. “Alright, fine. But no Starbucks. French things only.”
Bitty sighed, as though put upon, but laughed when Jack shoved him into a quicker walking pace, and eventually they managed to find a decent café without a queue out the door.
The coffee was different, but Bitty supposed it was more about the experience than the taste, really. He got an espresso shot to try, served in a small, white cup with a single sugar cube perched at the end of his spoon, and a large biscotti which would have soaked up the entire contents of his cup in a single dip.
He passed that off to Jack, who was sipping tea, and stirred in the sugar. “I feel like this is going to be terrible.”
Jack held up his phone and made sure to snap the photos of Bitty’s faces. “Shitty’s going to love this,” he muttered.
Bitty kicked at him under the table, and they both laughed.
The espresso was a far cry from Bitty’s over-sweet, over-milky lattes, but it did the trick, and he was humming with energy as they took back to the streets. The hotel wasn’t far from Notre Damme, so Bitty declared that their first stop. He hesitated at the sight of the crowds in front of the doors, knowing Jack’s anxiety didn’t do well in places like this, but Jack was smiling softly, holding his camera aloft.
“I’m fine, bud. I promise.”
Bitty trusted Jack to tell him the truth, so they ploughed forward, and braved the chaos.
They did the same for the Eiffel Tower, making the long climb to the top, Bitty spending too much money on trinkets he knew his mother would like. Jack snapped too many photos of Bitty, who eventually struck ridiculous poses until he stopped. They went full rom-com, as Shitty would call it, kissing by the edge, the city spread out beneath them, the sun shining gently overhead.
When they broke apart, Bitty caught the eye of a couple not too far off, and he felt warm all over when they both shared a knowing smile. Bitty didn’t really buy into the whole city of love thing, but he certainly couldn’t deny the joy of being able to kiss his boyfriend, right there in the open, and no one would care.
***
Heavy rains plagued them the second day, and Jack found Bitty with his forehead pressed against the glass, his gaze trained out at the rich fog. “I have an idea,” he murmured.
Bitty turned his head, sliding into a kiss before he said, “What’s that, honey?”
“There’s a few castles I really wanted to see up north, so I thought we could get a car, stay in a couple B&Bs? Then we can come back and spend the last few days here in the hotel, maybe do one of those dinner boat tours on the Seine?”
Bitty’s face fell into a gentle grin. “That sounds amazing, baby.”
Jack smiled. “You don’t mind looking at old, boring history stuff?”
Bitty laughed. “Are you trying to say ancient castles in the French countryside are boring?”
Jack shrugged, then laughed as Bitty bossed him backward onto the bed, and rained kisses down all over his face.
***
The drive was more uneventful than Bitty expected. It was greener than he was used to, and the rain seemed to stretch across every providence. But it was nice all the same. The air still had a hint of summer humidity to it, and each little village they passed felt like it was ripped straight out of a storybook.
“I have family from here,” Jack said softly.
Bitty startled at that, turning to look at him. “Really? You never said. Your dad’s family?”
“My mother’s,” Jack said with a laugh. “Papa’s still irritated about it.”
Bitty had heard the rants Bob got on about how the French treated French-Canadians, the superiority complexes, and disparaging of their language. “Yeah, I reckon he would be.”
Jack snorted. “We visited here a few times when I was little, but we never stayed long.” Jack sighed, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “It was always a small point of contention between my parents. I never weighed in, but…I always liked it. My uncle had a farm. He taught me how to collect eggs, and shear sheep.”
Bitty couldn’t hold back his laugh at the image of little Jack doing farm-work. “Oh lord, honey. That’s too cute.”
Jack shrugged, his cheeks faintly pink. “I enjoyed it. It was nice to get away from everything hockey, you know? At home, I always felt a little guilty when I started getting interested in other things. I felt like…as my father’s son, it would be some sort of…cardinal sin to squander my talent. But here, there wasn’t hockey. Anywhere. I was allowed to just…focus on something else.”
Bitty’s heart twisted. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Jack shrugged, then offered him a shy smile. “I’m getting better at it again, eh? Loving things that aren’t hockey.”
Bitty couldn’t help a tiny laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re practically an expert now.”
***
They stopped at a tiny restaurant for lunch, then followed Jack’s GPS into what felt like the middle of nowhere—rolling green hills, orchards on every side. The castle was tucked on a long stretch of very green lands, the lawns manicured, peacocks and swans roaming freely. There was a moat, a drawbridge, and though the tour was in French only and Bitty understood only the words his beginner-level got him, he still enjoyed every second.
Jack spent a long time after walking through the cathedral, studying every pane of stained glass, every statue, the small glass box that contained a saint’s relic.
“Is it like this? In your church?” Jack asked, letting his fingers wander into the shorn back of Bitty’s undercut.
Bitty shook his head. “No. Ours is a lot of plain pews in a warm building, a big ole cross on the wall, and a piano up front. We got hymn books, but none of the ritual. Not like this.”
“It feels…” Jack sighed, staring up at the rafters which arched high above them. “Alien,” he decided.
Bitty shrugged. He was no stranger to the idea of saints, to the Virgin Mary, to the idea of a demi-god raised from the dead, but it was more metaphor than it was displayed out like this in statues and the bones of the dead captured in glass boxes.
“It always felt strange to me,” Jack mused, staring at the carving of crucified Christ on the wall. “So much blood consumption in the name of a Jewish man.”
Bitty was only just learning about Jack’s own faith, but he knew that much so far. “Is it bothering you, being in here?”
Jack shook his head, smiling. “I like to learn about it.” He bit his lip. “Grotesque though, isn’t it?” He pointed to the rivulets of blood suspended in motion on the carving’s forehead, hands, and legs.
Bitty sighed. He couldn’t argue with that.
***
In spite of the more sombre afternoon, their mood stayed sweet, light between them as they walked the grounds, then took their leave back to the village. They ate out, then retired to their rooms which were small, the floors wood, the heat over-warm from the furnace propped under the window.
The bed was small, and it creaked as Jack hovered over Bitty, kissing him, making love to him until Bitty was certain he could see stars twinkling along the shadowed ceiling.
They fell against each other and slept, better than Bitty had in a long, long time.
***
They went to Normandy the next day, making the drive to Mont Saint Michel. Bitty loved watching the wonder play out on Jack’s face as they walked the bridge toward the island, pausing so Jack could take photo after photo.
“We never got to come here when I was a kid, but I did a report for my history class one year,” Jack said, tugging Bitty’s hand into his own. “I always wanted to visit.”
“Well now we are,” Bitty said, nudging Jack carefully.
They both laughed, and Jack paused to kiss him, over and over and over until the stiff breeze forced them to walk, if only to stay warm.
***
Returning to Paris felt like a goodbye, in a way, even though they still had three long days ahead of them. Bitty tried not to feel morose about it—the only thing waiting for them on the other side were their lives, and objectively, their lives were very nice.
But Bitty was going to miss this—being able to hold Jack whenever he wanted, walking around without feeling compelled to look over his shoulder—having to tell the Falcs PR team to keep Bitty out of their photos. He wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it didn’t always feel great.
Bitty was sat at a café the day before their flight was leaving, sipping on a café au lait which wasn’t as good as his latte, but better than the espresso. He was people watching, waiting for Jack to return who had gone on an errand half an hour before. He was just starting to feel antsy when he saw Jack turn the corner, looking like a dream in his casual polo shirt and jeans. He had a bag dangling from his wrist, his hands in his pockets, a casual stroll that made Bitty want to jump up and close the distance between them.
Instead he gripped his mug and gulped down the rest of his coffee.
When Jack approached, he put one, warm palm against the back of Bitty’s neck, pulling him into a kiss, then murmured into his ear, “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
Bitty let himself be drawn up, pulled down the street with Jack’s arm at his waist, both of them adjusting their stride as Jack led the way down busy roads, and through one alley until suddenly—twenty minutes later—they were at the entrance to a bridge.
“There was this tradition before—love locks,” Jack said, pushing Bitty off to the side, crowding him against the railing with one arm on either side of him. “Lovers would come to Paris, write their initials on a lock, then clip it to a bridge. We can’t really do it anymore—but…” Jack pulled up the bag, and pulled a charm out of the bag. It was a mall Eiffel Tower, with a red padlock hanging off the side. In black ink, Bitty could make out JLZ-ERB inside of a heart.
“Sweetheart,” Bitty breathed.
Jack kissed him again, still pinning him to the bridge. “I love you. I love every single thing about you, and everything you do makes me…makes me so proud, Bits. I know I’m not always the best at saying things—I don’t know if I’m ever going to get better at it. It’ll probably never feel natural. But I try to make sure you always feel it.”
“I do, honey,” Bitty said, his voice thick with emotion as he reached up to touch the side of Jack’s face. “I swear I do.”
Jack smiled, nuzzling into Bitty’s palm for a moment. “Well I’m on a roll now, so let me just…let me just say this, eh? Before I lose my nerve.”
Bitty’s toes went numb with anticipation, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I’d…I want to…I’d hope you…” Jack shook his head and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I could ever do the one-knee thing. But I’m hoping this is just as good. I plan to do it right one day, with a ring and everything but…”
“Jack,” Bitty breathed out. “What are you…”
“I want to marry you. Some day, you know. After you graduate, and when we feel it’s right. And I will get you a ring, I promise. But this week has done nothing but remind me I don’t want to live without you. Not for a single second. So I’m just…this is just me stating my intentions. To love you, as long as you’ll let me.”
Bitty swallowed, blinked hard against the warmth in his eyes, tried desperately to make his tongue work, his lips to form words. “Is…is forever okay? To let you?”
Jack let out a wet laugh, then let go of the railing to hold Bitty by the waist, firm and with purpose. He kissed him, drawing it out, and out, and out. “Forever sounds perfect, bud.”
Bitty flushed from head to toe. “So do you think this is what they mean about Paris being the city of love?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said, burying his nose in the side of Bitty’s hair. “I think any city is, if we’re in it together.”
“Oh,” Bitty said, and stopped when his voice cracked. “You charmer.”
“Your fault,” Jack said with a huge grin, and leant in to nuzzle their noses together. “Was that a yes, by the way? To my question?”
“Oh lord, Jack Laurent. Of course it was a yes. It was an absolutely, without a doubt, yes. Some day, when we’re both ready, we’ll get married.”
“Swawesome,” Jack said, then kissed him once more.