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Summary
It was the city of lights, Jaemin explained.
No, the city of love, Mark gently corrected while not-so-subtly looking at Renjun, and yeah, Jeno thought, Jaemin’s camera completely forgotten in his hand. Watching Jaemin stand on the giant cement blocks laid out before him, smiling with his arms out like he was balancing on a plank and backlit by the moon, the city of love was right. Jeno didn’t care what France or the internet or random tourists said, if it was an official slogan or not. Seeing Jaemin wear moonlight like a halo in the middle of the night in front of one of the most famous museums in the world felt like love, filling him up, spilling from his pores.
“You’re staring,” Jaemin drawled, eyes still on his feet. If Jeno squinted, he could see the pink tint painting his cheeks.
How could I not?
or: Jeno spends the night with Jaemin in Paris.