Chapter Text
Don't belong to no city
Don't belong to no man
– Hurricane by Halsey
It was a chilly, early afternoon, and Stiles was sitting in Coutume - his second favourite Parisian café on the corner of Rue de Babylone and Rue Vaneau. He was barely paying attention to the cover of “La Vie En Rose” playing from the speakers above his head as he was consumed by a medical journal article. Drinking hot beverages and EC correlation . While his left brain side was comprehending the studies presented, his right brain side instructed him to keep sipping on his hot vanilla latte.
A notification from Instagram popped up on his tablet. ‘Malia91 posted for the first time in a while’.
Yes, Stiles was still following his ex.
Yes, even though they broke up five years ago.
No, he obviously couldn’t unfollow her since he was way too proud to show that he cared enough to do that.
Even though he did care. Apparently he cared a lot.
He looked down at his left hand on his lap and unclenched it.
He should've at least muted her. Maybe that’s what normal people did. People who cared about their mental health. Instead he was seeing her popping up on his feed, leading her amazing Cali life and one by one parts of his soul were dying.
Usually he was happy for all of his exes regardless if their life choices fit his own taste. He was fine with seeing posts of Jess living it up in Maine, getting photoshoots at a pumpkin patch, or Jason going to concerts in Austin or Elijah kayaking on the Great Salt Lake. But the moment he saw Malia posting about another hike up in the Hills his stomach turned.
Maybe because of the damn city. His damn city. The one he lived in for years and yet felt miserable in (it’s not that leaving it changed the part of him being miserable).
Maybe because his breakups before were amicable but with Malia? He never saw it coming when she broke his heart.
He clicked on the notification before thinking better of it. Colossally bad idea. A picture of Malia at a beach in Malibu (location tagged in the middle of the photo) popped up on his screen. Stiles rolled his eyes but took a better look at the picture. You could barely see her face in the photograph as the focus was set on the background - the orange sunset. She was clasping her mouth with both hands in front of her, lo and behold there was a man kneeling. He was in the first gear, a bit blurry, but then the focus was on what he was holding. A red carnelian ring with a diamond halo. The caption read: ’I said yes *diamond emoji*’. Stiles thought he might just sick up in the middle of the café.
Ugh. This was Stiles’s punishment for not muting his exes. Something like this was bound to happen at one point. You snoop, you lose. This could actually be his punishment for having, and using social media in the first place. His father has told him that he’s becoming more of an extension of his phone, than a phone being an extension of himself.
God, seeing this post reminded him again why he left. Even though running away from his ex and self-obsessed culture were only the two of many reasons.
He was closing on thirty now and sure he had been to some weddings but most of his friends were single. This was just another unnecessary reminder that he was getting old.
He was fine .
He was dating. Thank you for asking. Marcel and him were going the distance for 3 months now and it was his longest relationship since Malia. The longest relationship he’d had in 5 years.
And they were fine.
But now he began asking himself all the questions about the future. Did he want to marry Malia? No. But a more scary question creeped in on him. Did he want to marry Marcel? He saw a big opportunity of having dual citizenship. He would gladly say ‘bye bye’ to long queues he had to stand in as an American when he was arriving in the EU countries.
He entertained for a moment pulling a Hilaria Baldwin, and just pretending he was French after his hypothetical marriage. His French left a lot to desire but he could do a fake french accent while speaking english, which would be enough to fool an average American.
But did he want to spend the rest of his life with Marcel? Marcel who created his seventh start-up in the past year with his parents' money (after he bankrupted the previous six). Marcel, who was the definition of a guy who didn’t have anything figured out. But maybe that was okay because Stiles was that type of guy too.
The sex was average, and Marcel agreeable That could be the two top adjectives that Stiles could use to describe their companiononship. The way he could describe his life at this moment.
Nothing was wrong, but nothing was quite right either. He was holding all the pieces together like puzzles but it seemed that nobody told him the picture he would be putting together would be so bland. Was Marcel his greatest love? No, but he was here, now and that was enough for Stiles. He felt weird, like he was making a legal case to convince himself this was what he wanted.
He shook himself out of that thought. This wasn’t what he should be focusing on now. The problem wasn’t his relationship anyway. The real issue was Malia pushing HER relationship down everyone's throats. Well his throat, to be exact. And the remaining 2 million of her instagram followers.
His tall coffee cup was empty now. Yet again he was craving more caffeine to get through the day. He tried to catch the barista’s - Pierre’s if he remembered correctly - eyes from behind the counter. He really didn’t want to stand up again, and he was a regular here. For the last 3 years he hadn’t ordered anything other than a Caramel Latte in his broken, and spoiled by an american accent, french. No luck in making eye contact with the french though, so Stiles resigned, put his ipad into his bag and dragged his feet to the counter to wait in line.
‘Ah Pierre, un autre latte, s'il vous plaît’
He pulled out his credit card to pay, his thoughts already wandering miles away.
He closed his eyes and saw the engagement on the beach post again. Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding. Or a joke. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and Malia wasn’t actually getting married.
After all, she was also only dating this guy for less than a year.
Stiles hated that he knew that. But Malia was never the one to keep her love life away from social media. Compared to Stiles, who he wasn’t sure if he had any trace of Marcel in his social media. He had actually never posted a ‘loved up couple’ picture online. Like ever, in his life.
This was actually a topic of his and Malia’s first fights. Maybe a week into dating when she wanted to announce it, and he told her that he ‘didn’t really do that’. That didn’t go over well. Back then, she probably was worried that he was cheating or wanted to cheat on her. Which was laughable, if you knew anything about Stiles. But then, maybe at that point she didn’t know. Anything about Stiles that is. They were merely dating for a week. And now she was dating some guy for 50 weeks, and deciding to spend the rest of her life with him.
Cool.
Anyway, he was fine. He was dating someone. He wasn’t posting pictures of them online, but that didn’t make it less real.
“Oh, pardon” a voice next to him exclaimed,
Stiles took a glance at him and he could already tell he was a tourist. One might call it a hunch. A hunch based on signs. Sign number one: no french person would chat you up in a cafe. Sign number two: the person was speaking in a Boston accent. Sign number three: the damn khakis. ALmost identical to what Stiles was wearing.
“Don’t worry about it” Stiles gave him a court smile and was just about to turn and walk to the table he was just sitting at, hoping it was still free.
“Sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?’ The stranger asked.
“Just one of those faces” He shrugged as if to apologize for having a face so similar to others.
“You look familiar though” The guy wasn’t going to let it go. “Did you go to UCLA?”
“Nope” if the other was waiting for more information, he wasn’t going to get it because Stiles received the worst news and his social skills were rusty today. He finished Uni almost 5 years ago, got his English Lit degree from NYC but he wasn’t really happy to share his life story with a random coffeeshop stranger. Stranger danger and all that.
He could make up something else, but he recently lost his touch when it came to lying. Which was a shame because he used to be really good at it as a child.
“Ah okay, enjoy your coffee” the stranger nodded courtly at him.
“You too,” Stiles noted, realising a little too late that the stranger ordered cake and no drink. It didn’t matter. In two steps he was back, sitting at his table. Pierre was putting a new warm cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
‘Merci.’
‘Vous êtes le bienvenu.’
It was hard to become friends in Paris, but he thought him and Pierre were somewhat acquaintances. He still wasn’t sure if the other man knew his name, well a nickname at least. Everytime he introduced himself people here would look at him weirdly, like he was telling a joke. Like it was an irony he was called ‘Style’ while not actually having any. He had to explain he was using his last name, and that caused the reaction - Oh like in Harry Potter? Sure, like in Harry Potter.
He breathed down on his coffee to cool it down, and took a sip.
He really needed to snap himself out of thinking about Malia, or her relationship. Or people getting married. He was living his life to the fullest. And he would repeat this statement over and over in his head until one of two things would happen - he would lose his marbles, or it finally turned out to be true.
As if the universe was listening he heard
‘ Bonjour , sorry I’m late.’
Stiles looked up and Marcel - the guy he’s been dating for three months now was standing in front of him.
‘I’ve missed the 303 métro. ’ Marcel sounded breathless.
Stiles felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He got so caught up with Malia and her insta engagement, he almost forgot they had a date scheduled for today. To be even more frank - he was fine hanging out in a cafe, just him and his thoughts, no matter how self-destructive they were. And now that Marcel was here - more than half an hour late - it felt too crowded. Stiles felt a disappointed tingle that he was no longer at the liberty to enjoy his own company in peace.
At least he didn’t have to worry about starting a conversation because Marcel was already talking. Monologuing rather. Stiles would get annoyed that Marcel didn’t even ask how his day was but then he was barely listening to Marcel rambling. Something about how the métro was crowded. And how the weather was too hot. It seemed like a reasonable temperature for autumn, but Marcel missed the colder weather they used to have. The way he talked one might think he was in his fifties not twenties. Stiles was partly there, partly in his own world, trying to solve the problem he had now.
Okay, so should he acknowledge the post with a double tap? Should he leave a comment? What could he even say? ‘Hey Malia, we haven’t spoken in three years but I’m so happy for you! So excited to hear you’re gonna tie the knot! Can’t believe it since every time I mentioned marriage you changed the topic! Haha. Funny that.’
‘-- so, I’m moving to Japan’. He heard Marcel say and Stiles had no context of where that sentiment was coming from. That’s why he should listen to conversations. That, and because he has heard it’s a polite thing to do.
‘Huh?’ Stiles asked adequately.
‘I’m moving to Japan. I have a flight next Tuesday.’ Marcel looked uncomfortable.
This threw Stiles off, because Marcel? Not a spontaneous person. Moving countries on a whim? That’s what a spontaneous person would do.
’Oh? Cool.’
He had never heard Marcel talking about Japan or him even knowing the beginner level of the language. But he guessed it was a nice culture, and the cities looked clean. Stiles had never been, but he guessed now he would have a reason to visit. He heard they had those amazing toilets — and oh, he looked at Marcel and he was not wearing a face of someone who was proposing a long distance relationship.
Stiles was in the middle of a breakup.
Stiles didn’t really know what to say. Not because he was hurt -- Well maybe a little because he was hurt. Even though he wasn’t in love, his ego hurt a little. It’s not nice to be broken up with.
‘What about your startup?’ Is what Stiles blurted out instead.
‘That fell through two weeks ago’ Marcel sighed with a blank expression.
Did he tell Stiles that? Marcel did speak a lot about himself and his life. Too much almost, and Stiles didn’t realise but at one point he just stopped listening to him. Stopped caring. Or maybe he only ever pretended to care and then he stopped pretending. Well it didn’t matter which one it was anymore, as it was soon going to be over anyway.
‘Ah. Well, hope you have fun then’ Stiles said and waited for the unsaid to be said.
‘Thanks’ Marcel’s face twisted. God, if he was going to draw this out forever, it might be the worst break up Stiles ever had the misfortune to be a part of. Well, in 5th grade Greenberg broke up with him behind the bleachers after throwing up on his ’Fall Out Boy’ concert t-shirt, so maybe second worst.
The silence was even more uncomfortable, and Stiles thought maybe he should just say it to rip off the bandage.
‘I don’t really do long distance relationships’ Marcel finally said, looking like he was in pain.
Like being on the other end of the breaking up wasn’t fun for him either. Stiles guessed it might not have been, but couldn’t know for sure as he was somehow always the one ending up getting dumped.
‘Right’ Stiles replied, now focused on his latte cup. He tried to take a sip but realised it was already empty. He drank it already? When? He pretended to take the sip out of the cup anyway, just to escape the awkward silence for a minute.
He should just say something. Anything.
‘So are you thinking of learning Japanese, or?’ He let the sentence hang and winced at how awkward that sounded.
‘We should break up.’ Marcel said in a flat tone, Stiles particularly disliked.
‘Ah. Cool.’ Stiles wished he had known some better words to say for when you’re getting dumped.
‘It’s okay if you’re upset.’
And that suggestion actually got Stiles upset. Angry upset. For Marcel to start and try to play this armchair psychologist all of the sudden.
‘I’m not upset’ He said, his teeth gritted.
"No?" Marcel asked, french accent heavy on his tongue.
"Nope." Stiles popped the ‘p’ at the end. He has made a bad case of showing he wasn’t upset. But what else was he supposed to say? He was acutely aware of not fitting in in this situation. Aware how there he was - an alien, sitting in a cafe in Paris, his-soon-to-be-ex sitting opposite him.
"I wish you all the best for your future endeavours." He sounded like a Jane Austen character but he didn’t care. So what if he couldn’t actually remember how to sound like a normal person. The sunlight was sneaking in through the café window as if it was calling him to leave.
"Have a good life” he almost kicked the table with his rapid movement as he stood up. He tried to regain his posture as if nothing had happened. “Goodbye."
What else was there to say? He didn’t want to stay in the awkwardness any longer, and didn't want to give Marcel a chance to say anything back. He wanted to have the last word for once. He picked up the rest of his dignity, took his bag and walked out of the cafe.
Once he was outside he was hit by a slight Autumn breeze. Paris was not known for the clear air, and since Stiles had always lived in big cities, he was used to it by now. He might never know what real clean air feels like. But maybe that was okay. He looked behind himself, but Marcel wasn’t there. He did not follow him to say he takes it all back in a big rom com gesture.
Stiles was now a single man.
And his ex just got engaged.
But he was a single man in the city of love.
His temporary home.
But maybe he didn’t really have to care that he got dumped right now, as long as he was in a nice city of bright lights and loud noises. He took a deep breath and let his legs lead him to the one way he knew without having to think where he was going.
It was a 5 minute walk and he was ready, he pulled out his phone and thought about messaging Lydia. The worst part of living on the other side of the globe from your best friend and your family was that Stiles had to do math almost everyday, subtracting six hours to check if it was an hour where Lydia would already be up. That, and the fact that he didn’t have a physical friend who he could meet up with.
It was still morning for her, so she might have classes at MIT. Stiles decided to play the safe bet and send her a message, so she could reply at a convenient time.
‘Remember Malia? She’s getting married.’
Sent
Stiles turned the key and walked into his two bedroom flat. It was a great location, that he could only afford as a shared rental.
First thing he saw, as he walked in, was his roommate, Isaac sitting on the couch.
‘Ah roommate!’ Isaac exclaimed. He split the syllables in a way that made it seem Styles ate his room. ‘Salut! Good to see you. Come come, meet mon ami Jacque. Jacque this is Stiles.’
Oh no, this was a sixth friend Stiles was meeting this week, and judging by the sounds coming from Isaac’s bedroom, him and Stiles had different definitions of what a friendship entailed.
Jacque was wearing a leather jacket with a white tee underneath, and he still managed to look like a coverboy. Isaac was a model and most of his ‘friends’ were models. Jacque looked him up and down as if to judge. ‘Style? Is that a nickname?’
‘It’s Stiles’ He corrected. ‘Yeah, I don’t use my name, unless it’s when talking to my grandma.’
Jacque didn’t look like he got it. He looked like he wished Stiles would disappear, which sucks to be him cause Stiles had nowhere else to go.
‘Ah, you are a model as well Stiles? Jacque asked. Stiles tried to hide his eye roll.
‘No, I’m not.’ Stiles answered.
Jacque nodded, as if the world made sense to him again.
‘I’m a freelance writer.’
‘Oh, you write?’ Jacque didn’t sound interested.
Isaac jumped in ‘Yeah, Stiles’ a journalist. He wrote a column for the Guardian about Mouvement des gilets jaunes. Isn’t that right?’
Jacque winced ‘You’re American.’
It sounded more like a statement than a question but Stiles still nodded affirmingly.
Stiles almost jumped at a notification vibration alert he felt in his pocket. Saving him from having to continue staying in this shipwreck of a conversation. Lydia had written him back.
- Strawberry Martini-
‘Malia, the its-not-me-it’s-you Malia?’
He excused himself, and went to his room, to reply to the text in peace. Free from French judgement.
‘don’t think I know any other.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah’
Stiles was so glad there was at least one person who he could share the gravity of this situation with. Sure, there was his dad. But who wants to share their exes’ love life update with their dad? Besides, his Pops was already busy, trying to prepare himself to retire. He was preparing himself for that for the last 3 years, Stiles would believe it once he saw it.
There was also Scott - his step brother slash best friend. They had known each other since Kindergarten. But the last message they exchanged was from their parents' anniversary, when they were buying a gift for their 5 year anniversary.
Stiles was about to message Scott, he really did. But something always came up, or it didn’t seem like the right moment, or he didn’t have anything to say. And he didn’t feel like just opening now with ‘Yikes dude, my ex is getting married, what’s up with you?’ He still had some ounces of social skills left. Not many, but some. Besides, maybe their friendship transpassed the need for texting. Maybe they had the type of relationship where you cared for a person but don’t need to actually talk to them.
He could tell Isaac. Isaac was fine. Maybe his conversation with his new lover was awkward, but Isaac actually had been nothing but a great roommate to him. But then Isaac didn’t know the backstory and he didn’t really feel like delving into it right now.
He quickly moved his fingers to write the text back:
‘It’s in December, probably in LA
Thinking about crushing it’
‘Crushing the Wedding?
‘That’s low.’
‘i feel like you’re not supportive of my life choices’
‘I’m not, if you’re being a dumbass.’
‘am I ever not a dumbass?’
‘Fair.’
‘So would you be my plus one to crush her wedding?’
‘I don’t think you need a plus one for that’
‘And if’
‘Can’t you just take oh idk
your boyfriend?’
‘he broke up with me’
‘Wow you’ve hold onto that piece of information
When?’
‘Today’
‘Tough 24 hours?’
‘More like 3 hours’
‘even worse news’
‘he got the cafe in the divorce’
‘the one next to my place’
‘I’ll have to go to a starbucks to get ‘coffee from now on’
‘sturbucks, lyds’
‘You could always walk two streets down’
‘Starbucks it is’
*Lydia sent him a gif of some old lady looking stern and disappointed.*
‘my life is a series of unfortunate events
‘please share any good news
‘I;m begging’
‘Well, Mars is wetter than expected’
‘I meant personal news Lyds’
‘Third year at uni is the busiest
I don’t really have the time to slack off’
‘The genius at work’’
‘You know me’
‘Should we schedule a call?’
‘Can’t this week - studying for exams’
Lydia was busier than usual this year, which said something because Lydia was always extremely busy. He sometimes doubted she was human. If there were secret androids on earth that already mingled in between the averaged human Joes, his money was Lydia was one of them.
Since she was so busy they hadn’t video chatted for two weeks, which was their personal record. Stiles wondered if it was something they could submit to a Guiness book. Also not seeing Lydia for two weeks seemed like forever. He should get a medal.
And even the last time they talked was cut short. She had some university project to work on and couldn’t really stay. Which Stiles absolutely understood. It was a side effect of being friends with a genius that was going to help the human race inhabit Mars, or any of the other planets one day. And if Stiles's sacrifice was to have some facetime cut short he was willing to bear it.
See you thanksgiving then?
Can’t wait.
Thanksgiving and Christmas was the only time Stiles would see his family and Lydia since he moved across the Atlantic. Since childhood, and this was something he only told Scott and Lydia (after they both swore not to tell Santa) Thanksgiving was his favourite holiday.
He couldn’t wait to see everyone.
And leave the life mess behind. After all, running away was what he did best.
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