Archive of Our Own ^beta

PARIS NIGHTS

Paris wasn’t nearly as fancy as it looked on TV. Actually, it kind of sucked.

The hostel Shawn was staying in was totally overstuffed. There were so many drunk Australian backpackers in his room that he’d begun to think in their slurred accents. The one in the cot above him had a fun habit of narrating his dreams aloud. If his dreams were anything like reality, then Mr. Down Under’s black book would put Shawn’s to shame.  

Wet rats raced through the streets, grime stuck to every bare surface, and the whole place was drenched in a perfume Shawn could only describe as Eau de Piss. 

He really didn’t get what the big deal was. As far as he was concerned, Paris was just a pricier, Europe-ier version of Philadelphia.

But Paris did have something Philly didn’t.

A goofy smile split his face as he caught sight of her leaving the Metro, eyes scanning the street for him. He cupped his hands to his mouth. 

“Angela!”

She whipped her head fast, and he caught her in a hug so tight her umbrella tumbled to the pavement. He felt her breath on his ear as she spoke, her voice too golden for a long-distance call to fully capture.

“I missed you.”

Maybe this was the city of love after all. 

---

“So.” Shawn ran his fingers through his hair and smiled at Angela. “What’s there to do around here?” 

They’d narrowly missed the rain, ducking into a little café with peeling red-washed walls. The air was warm, the waiter was rude, and the latte was possibly the best Shawn had ever tasted. Chatter and soft bossa nova wrapped them up like a hug. He nudged her pinky with his own on the sticky table, and she linked their fingers.

“There’s way too much. I think the Musée d’Orsay has some Van Goghs if you want to try that.”

“You know, he really does speak to me,” he grinned, thinking about the last time they’d looked at Van Goghs, back at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. That day, he’d been just as invested in enjoying the masterpieces as he was in finding new ways to kiss her. Today, he was definitely less interested in paint strokes and more interested in…well.  

“I don’t need anything fancy though,” he said. The wicker chair creaked as he leaned back. “Just show me whatever you like best.”

“You sure?” She smiled mischievously. 

“I was before you said it like that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

With her cheek resting on her hand, she looked as innocent as an angel. But oh no, Shawn knew that look. When Angela looked her sweetest, she hit the hardest.

She took a sip of her iced tea. “I hope you packed some good shoes, Shawnie, ‘cuz we’re going dancing tonight.”

He groaned. “Angelaaaaa.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. 

“You are such a baby. It’ll be fun! There’s this club the girls and I have been going to that’s incredible.”

“Wait, wait, wait, ‘the girls’? You’ve only been here for like a week!” 

“I met them at a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Company.” She shrugged. “They’ve got good taste.”

He shook his head with a grin. “Beautiful and cosmopolitan. You amaze me.”

She nudged his knee under the table with her own. “So is that a yes to dancing?”

Despite the cold, her skin was warm against his. He leaned forward and took a sip of her tea before smirking.

“You think they’ve got ‘Hot Stuff’?”

---

According to Angela, Boum Boum was the only club in Paris where you could really dance.

“It’s so cozy, you don’t even notice that it’s not as big as Le Coq.” 

He choked. “As big as–”

“There it is!”

Even if Angela hadn’t pointed it out, Shawn was pretty sure he would have spotted it. After all, how many clubs with ten foot tall neon signs could there be in Paris? Every few minutes, actual flames shot out of the sides of the sign. Subtle it was not.

As they walked in and flashed their IDs, Angela exchanged pleasant conversation with the bouncer. Or at least Shawn assumed it was pleasant, since he couldn’t understand a word of it. Not that it mattered. Her voice sounded really sexy in a French accent, all low and fast. He’d listen to her read a phone book if it meant she’d keep talking like that. 

He stared at her, impressed. “When did you learn French?”

“In Mr. Feeny’s class. I took it for six years straight.” She nudged his shoulder with her own. “You were there!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“C’est la vie, ” she teased.

As Angela pulled him through the maze of the club, Shawn couldn’t stop staring. Not so much at the club itself—although it was pretty incredible, with gold chandeliers in every room, and mannequins dripping in gems and furs—but at her. He’d thought half a day would be enough to get reacclimated, but wow. The thumping strobe lights flickered like comets across her skin and glinted off the cuffs in her braids. A short silver dress clung to her body like dew. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He honestly couldn’t believe he hadn’t yet. 

Before they could climb the stairs to the dance floor, he caught her hand and pulled her to the side. “Wait a second, wait a second.”

She looked up at him curiously. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had a soft shimmer of eyeshadow on her dark lids. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful, it made his head ache. “Paris looks good on you,” he said, low and slow. Was this the right moment?

“Having you here doesn’t hurt.” She placed a light hand on his chest. Oh yeah. This was the right moment. He was about to lean in and kiss her when he heard a squeal from behind him.

“Angie!” He and Angela both turned to the voice, and Angela slipped around him and ran to greet a Naomi Campbell look-alike with waist length braids.

“Ah, salut Sira,” Angela grinned, and kissed her on both cheeks. 

From behind Sira, a pipsqueak of a blonde popped up, and Angela greeted her the same way, introducing her as Camille. All three girls spoke in rapid French as Shawn’s eyes bounced back and forth between them like a pinball.

“Hey. I’m Shawn.” He stuck his hand out to shake, but Sira leaned forward to kiss his cheeks too. If this was how friendly all girls were in France, he was starting to get the appeal. He combed his hair back out of his face. It was getting long again and driving him crazy. He’d make Cory cut it when he got home. 

As his too long bangs fell back into his eyes, the blonde one checked him out from head to toe. “Vous êtes canon!” she purred. He might not understand French, but flirtation was his native tongue. He looked at Angela with a nervous smile, trying to telepathically cry for help. Angela and Camille stared at each other for a second before bursting out into laughter. “Désolée, Angie!” Camille said between giggles. ”Mais où l'as-tu trouvé?”

Sira rolled her eyes and smiled at Shawn like they were both in on a joke.

“So Shawn, how do you like Paris so far?” These were the first words he’d heard her say in English, and he was surprised to hear she had a thick British accent.

“It’s cool! I mean I’ll probably drop dead from jet lag in an hour, but hey, I’m here now!” 

She nodded, and winked at Angela. “And you’re Angie’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Shawn said.

“Kind of,” Angela said at the same time. They stared at each other, surprised. There was a long, painful moment of silence before Sira clapped her hands. She spoke with an enthusiasm that sounded suspiciously forced. 

“Right! Let’s head to the floor before it heats up.” 

“Good idea,” Angela said quickly.

“Good idea,” he repeated, half-dazed.

The music pulsed like a migraine. It was sweat and bodies and light and sound. Kind of. He wasn’t going to make a big thing out of this. “Kind of” wasn’t “no” after all. But as they danced, he kept trying to catch her eye, and she kept looking away. His smile slipped. Maybe this was a bad idea. Kind of.

The Spice Girls faded to Destiny’s Child kind of Destiny’s Child faded to Aqua kind of Aqua faded to some bizarre europop he’d never heard before and he was starting to lose it. Angela pointed toward the bar, and mouthed the word “water” over the pumping music. Camille was screaming along to the weird song. 

“Can you get us some too, babes?” Sira asked. 

“I’ll help you carry them,” Shawn said in a low voice, following her out of the cloud of dancing bodies.

They leaned on the bar top and Angela waved down the bartender.

“Can I get three waters? You want one?” She asked, looking at Shawn.

“Kind of,” he said, without thinking.

Angela exhaled through her nose and turned back to the bartender. 

“Just three then.” The woman behind the counter nodded and headed to fill up the plastic cups. 

“I’m not trying to make this a big deal–” he started.

“Shawn,” Angela started to say, but the words kept running out of him.

“Look, I’m just really confused here. I mean, we’ve been writing emails nonstop for the past six months, I came to France to see you, and now…and before you left I thought…have we been on a break this whole time?” 

“I don’t know. We never discussed it.” She looked as upset as he felt. Except that didn’t make sense, because wasn’t she the one who said they were only “kind of” together?

“No, we didn’t.” He searched her eyes. “But you want to be broken up?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she said, frustrated, before balancing the three cups and walking back to her friends. 

“Ange.” He reached for her arm but she moved it out of the way. Great. He’d been here for what, nine hours? And he’d already managed to screw up everything. He’d thought it would be so easy to just come here, like nothing had changed. Man, was he naive. 

He watched the bartender pour something Kool-Aid red into a martini glass. The drinking age was only 18 here. It would be so easy to trade a handful of francs for a bottle of something bitter and strong. He wouldn’t, of course. But he could. Maybe the rules didn’t apply here. Maybe that generational thing that made alcohol poison to him, real poison, couldn’t find him here. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Kind of. 

He nodded to the bartender who came over. “What can I get you?” 

Shawn stared at the glass bottles, lined up like toy soldiers against the wall. He sighed. “Just a water. Thanks.”

“Hey.” A voice in his ear, a hand on his arm. Angela was back. 

She nodded toward a flight of stairs that curled up. “Let’s talk.”

---

The rooftop was as beautiful as the rest of the club, lit with rows of twinkling lights and covered with a forest of flowers. Unlike downstairs, it was completely empty. No surprise there. The rain had left every surface from the chairs to the railing covered in droplets. By the look of the clouds, it’d be back for more business soon. 

Angela turned on her heel to face Shawn, crossing her arms across her chest. The look in her eye was fierce. 

“All right. We’re gonna get everything out right here, okay? Honesty night.”

“It’s a trap,” he said to himself weakly under his breath. He immediately thought back to Jack and Rachel’s awful dinner party freshman year, and the mess it became after they all played that stupid honesty game. 

“Shawn.” Her voice had an edge he definitely wasn’t willing to test.

“Fine.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “Go for it.” 

She didn’t hold back. “Did you order a drink while I was gone?” 

“No!” he said defensively. After a hesitant pause, he turned, leaning his arms against the railing and sighed. “But I thought about it.” He looked sideways at her. “This past year, did you really think I wanted to go on a break?”

“Didn’t you?” She asked earnestly.

“No. Why did you think that?” He took a deep breath. “No, I mean. Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “Last time was so hard, Shawn. I didn’t want to ask a question unless I was sure I wanted the answer.” She looked out over the railing, down at the building lights that twinkled like fireflies. “You know what I mean?”

He did, and he hated that he did. The day they’d finally gotten back together, he’d promised himself he'd never do anything to mess this relationship up ever again. He’d tried to be so careful, tried to tell her what he was feeling every step of the way. Even if talking about his feelings was… well, he wasn’t like Cory. And even though he’d tried so hard to make sure he never hurt her again, even though he wanted to be perfect for her, the scar of their break up was still there. Sure, he understood. And he hated it. 

“Have you seen any other guys since you left?” he asked.

“No. Have you seen any girls?”

“No. I just wanted you.” Now, it was time for the painful one. “Are you glad you left?

She nodded. “I am. It means everything to have this time with my dad. It’s really changed my life, you know? I just wish I didn’t have to lose a year with you to gain one with him.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but what she asked next caught him off guard.

“Do you still love me?” She asked it so casually, so straightforward. There wasn’t a single crinkle in her face. To anyone else, she’d look like she didn’t even care about the answer. But he knew her tells. The tapping of her nails on the railing. The slight tilt of her head. She was scared. 

She’d always had to be strong, hadn’t she? He didn’t want her to think she ever had to be that for him. He stepped forward and took her hands, his eyes intense.

“Angela, I love you more than anyone in the world. Except Cory.” She whacked his arm. “Hey, it’s honesty night!” He raised his hand to her soft cheek, brushed the skin with his thumb. “Do you still love me?”

“More than anyone in the world.” She smirked. “Except Cory.”

“Okay then.” He slipped his other arm around her. He was grinning so hard his face hurt, but he couldn’t stop. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” 

She laughed then, and it was probably the best sound he’d ever heard. “Of course I do.”

“Great. Please don’t make me ask that ever again,” he pleaded. 

She didn’t answer, just leaned into his hug. He slipped his hands to her waist as he pulled back. 

“You know, I’ve heard the French know a thing or two about kissing,” he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

She bit her lip. “When in Paris…”

She pulled him into a passionate kiss. Finally, something he was good at. One kiss couldn’t possibly make up for months of long distance, a break up scare, or another six months without being able to touch her. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that. But, it was a really, really great kiss.   

Angela pulled back just enough to speak, her fingers still curled into his collar, and her eyes still closed. “Is the heavy bit over?”

“Yeah,” he said against her lips. She kissed him one more time, long and deep, before pulling back. The lights reflected like full moons in her black eyes. He fell in love with her all over again. 

“Then we’re gonna go back out there and dance all night,” she said. “And when we can’t stand any more, you’re gonna walk me home and make out with me until I pass out, got it?”

“Yes ma'am.” He grinned as she pulled him back to the raucous music down below.

---

Shawn kept his word. They danced with Angela’s friends until their feet were sore and their throats were hoarse from screaming along to the music. 

And then he walked her home, the pavement shining. She pointed out all the places she’d been with Sira and Camille, and with her dad’s friends. They talked about the books they were reading, the poetry they were writing. And sometimes they didn’t talk at all. He’d missed this, not having to perform, just being able to exist.

And then there was this. Oh god, he’d missed this. Making out with her, being wrapped up in her. Her tropical lip gloss, the spice of her hair oil, his fingers on her soft thigh, her tongue against his. Her. Her. Her.

They kissed against the brick wall that separated her apartment complex from a garden. She pushed back softly on his chest, wiping her smudged lipstick off of him. He kissed her wrist as it brushed by, then leaned in to kiss her neck. 

“Am I coming up tonight?” He asked, his voice low and seductive. 

“Boy, you really are trouble.” He could feel her laugh through her skin, against his lips. She took his cheek in her hand, and led him back up to her lips. They’d been going at it for the past hour, but this kiss was different, gentler. 

“Was that an ‘of course, let me ravish you’ kiss?” He asked hopefully.

“I think it was more of an ‘if Sergeant Moore finds out you were in my bed he’ll fly here to kill you himself’ kiss.”

“So back to the hostel.” He smiled sheepishly.

She nodded her head. “Mmm hmm. Good night, Shawn.” 

“Good night, Angela.” 

She kissed him one more time, then walked to the front door of the apartment building, and waved. He stayed there on the cobbled street, looking at her building until a light flicked on in the window on the third floor. He saw her shadow against the curtains. 

“Angela!” He shouted up to her, making a megaphone with his hands. She popped her head out of the window and held a finger to her lips to shush him. 

“I love you!” 

She shook her head, and flashed that little half smile that twisted him inside out. She leaned out a little further, and despite the darkness and the distance, he could read her lips: I love you, too.

Shawn smiled the whole way home.

NEW YORK MORNINGS

For the first time in a long year, Angela woke up with Shawn’s arms around her. For the first time in a long year, she was home. It was still dark out; when she checked the little clock on his bedside table it read 3:25 am. It was the witching hour, and she was ready for a bit of magic.

She kissed his pale chest, and he smiled, eyes closed. “Mmm. I could get used to waking up like that.”

“You’d get spoiled.”

“You didn’t seem to have any problems spoiling me last night,” he yawned.

“You’re. A. Pig!” She said, punctuating each word with a poke in his ticklish sides. He laughed sharp and loud, waking up enough to wriggle away from the ambush of her fingers.

“And you’re… an… angel!” He wheezed. With that she lifted her hands up in surrender, a serene smile returning to her face. She placed a little kiss on his forehead.

“Damn straight.”

She slipped out of bed, headed off to brush her teeth and wash her face. Last night, she and Shawn had been too busy with other activities to stop by Duane Reade to pick up toiletries, so she just used his. Well, maybe not everything. She wasn’t so down bad that she’d use the five-in-one shampoo he claimed worked as face wash. But she did use his toothbrush. There was something weirdly intimate about it. This would totally gross Cory out , she thought to herself with a giggle. 

After unwrapping her silk headscarf and shaking down her twists, she headed back to Shawn’s room. She crawled back into bed and folded her arms on his chest. For a moment, Angela just lay there, soaking him in while he scratched little circles on her back.

“You know what I want right now, more than anything in the world?” she asked, running her finger along the thin gold chain he always wore. 

“To go for round four?” His eyes flickered over to the night stand, littered with unopened condoms like confetti. 

“I want a cup of terrible coffee from a real New York diner.”

“At 3 am?” He groaned, burying his face in a pillow.

She poked him in the side. “Isn’t this the city that never sleeps?” 

“That doesn’t mean I have to be the Shawn that never sleeps.”

Okay, so this was how he wanted to play it. No sweat. Two could play at this game, and Angela always played to win. She rubbed his back with gentle fingers, pressing a kiss on the nape of his neck. “You’re right, honey. I’ll let you rest. You need your beauty sleep.” She gave him a little pat on his back before getting up. “In fact, you should really keep the whole bed to yourself. I think I have another friend in the city who has a queen I could sleep in. Now, what was his name… ”

He caught her hand and tugged her back to him. “You’re evil, you know that?” 

Hook, line, and sinker.

—

It was perfectly cozy in the diner, but Angela was hesitant to slip Shawn’s leather jacket from her shoulders. It smelled like him, his soap and musky cologne, the acidic hint of chemicals from the darkroom. She’d missed having it on her. She’d missed having him on her.

Really, she’d missed everything about him. The charming crackle of his voice, still so boyish and sweet. Running her fingers through his soft hair. He’d cut it short again, and he was growing out his stubble, and the new look worked for him. He looked like a beatnik from the back flap of some 50s poetry collection. She’d missed sitting like this and just talking, figuring out that strange, goofy, wonderful, delicate heart of his. And now she didn’t have to miss him at all. 

A waitress came around with drip coffee and filled their white mugs almost to overflowing. Angela raised the cup to her lips, and Shawn bit his lip in mock anticipation. She took a sip. “This is awful.”

“My girl asks, and I deliver.”

“You treat me so right, baby,” she teased. 

“And that’s why you keep me around.”

“That and your cute butt.” She winked.

There was something so familiar about this picture. Them sitting across from each other in a booth, him holding her hands and rubbing little circles against her skin. It reminded her of the day when he’d first dumped her back in senior year. How had a two week casual fling led them to sharing fries and terrible coffee in New York City? Her tongue was bitter, and her heart was full, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Shawn Hunter.

It was all a bit overwhelming. So she let it out the only way she could think to. She giggled. 

“What?” He asked. “Is there something on my face?”

She laughed harder at that, especially when he wiped his face with his napkin and actually got a smear of ketchup on his nose. Angela, queen of the stoic and subtle, laughed so hard her stomach ached. From across the diner, she heard a lady faintly whisper to her husband, “I’ll have what she’s having,” and she started up again. She laughed and laughed till tears streamed down her cheeks.

Shawn leaned forward with a confused look on his adorable, earnest face. “Babe, if you don’t tell me the joke I’m gonna call an EMT.” 

She took a deep breath as a few more giggles snuck out and she took another sip from her mug. “I’m okay, I’m okay it’s just… I’m really, really happy to be here.” She leaned across the table to kiss him.

He beamed. “Remind me to take you out for crap coffee more often.”

---

“What baby needs a convertible?” Angela asked, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“A rich one,” Shawn said, and they both laughed.

They were walking home through Brooklyn, passing by the brownstones they’d never afford and the niche shops they’d never need, and they’d gotten drawn into the window of a ridiculous baby boutique. It boasted silk diapers and baby-sized cars, and they’d been making fun of it for the last 15 minutes.

“Maybe Topanga will be able to get it with her lawyer money,” Shawn said as they walked away, hand in hand.

“I still can’t believe they’re having a baby,” Angela said. 

“I know. It feels like just yesterday Cory and I were blasting each other with Super Soakers.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “That’s because you had a water war in Prospect Park last weekend.”

Shawn sighed wistfully. “Where does the time go?”

Angela knew he was joking, but there was something sad in his smile. She’d seen the same look on his face in the days leading up to Cory and Topanga’s wedding. The feeling of being left behind. Her heart ached.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do when the baby comes?” She asked cautiously. 

“Not really sure. I want to be around, obviously. But I don’t want to get in their way… ” His voice trailed off, and he glanced over at Angela with nervous eyes.  

“Actually, I have been thinking about something,” he started again. “About us.” 

“Shawn, I love you but I am not getting pregnant so that you and Cory can have twins,” Angela said, her voice deadpan. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He said, eyes wide. And then he smiled a bit guiltily. “Although, okay, that would be awesome.” She narrowed her eyes and he raised his hands in surrender. “Kidding, kidding!”

He stopped and squeezed her hand. He looked like he had something big to say. Maybe something huge. She wasn’t sure if she could handle “huge” at 5:00 am. 

“Angela, I think we should get out of here. Just you and me.”

“Shawn… ”

“I’m serious. Why shouldn’t we?” 

Angela took a second to process, hands against her forehead. “Okay. Let’s say I said yes. Where would we go? What would we do?” She looked up, eyes fierce. “‘Cause I am not doing the Cory and Topanga thing.”

“You don’t want to be like Cory and Topanga?” He asked, as if he couldn’t quite process it.

“ No ,” she said emphatically. “I want to be like Shawn and Angela. What would we do?”

“We’d hit the road. Find an old car and see where it takes us. Meet interesting people. Learn about life and stuff.”

“Hmmm. Maybe you could bring your camera and make a portfolio,” she said thoughtfully. 

She saw the corners of his lips quirk up, although it looked like he was trying to hide it. “' Maybe .’ I like the sound of that.”

All around them, the city started to wake up. Yawning businessmen ran past them to the subway and bodega owners rolled up storefront gates. Angela glanced at Shawn, and squeezed his hand. She wouldn’t mind seeing more cities wake up with him by her side. They walked in comfortable silence, the only kind they ever had. After a moment, Shawn looked at her.

“You know, last year, before you left, I almost asked you a question,” he said.

“You did?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I’ve got time now.”

“Nah, I’ll ask you later. But just know, when I do?” He grinned. “The answer’s gonna be yes.”

As they walked home in the soft morning glow, Angela had a feeling he was right.