Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon. I can only claim my OCs.

Warnings/Reading Deterrents:This collection of stories will be set in a High School Alternate Universe. It will not feature any Digimon partners. There will be mentions, but nothing otherwise. OCs will be abundant. Active pairings will include: Tai/OC, Sorato, Koumi, Takari and Kenyako, with Davis/OC. Dub names will be used.

A/N:This is a SHORT STORY COLLECTION expanding on the events that occurred in The Center of Everything. Individual chapters will, unless otherwise stated, be one-shots. The events that occur are NOT to be taken in sequential order (with a few noted exceptions).

xXx

- A Boy and Girl Affair-

xXx

Summary: High school relationships are precarious to begin with. Sentiments are young. Affections are new. But, for some, the infamous teenage fling presents a challenge, and Tai is determined to make his more than just 'a boy and girl affair.' In this collection of short stories, Tai and the rest of the Digidestined experience the ups, downs, and nuances of budding, teenage romance.

xXx

Paris: Part I

(Toucher)

xXx

toucher – (v.) to touch; to approach, to be/to go near; to affect.

xXx

He watched her step off the plane with a kick in her step and a swagger in her narrow hips. Her loose braid lay slung over a shoulder, revealing a patch of pale skin at the nape of her neck. The mild atmosphere of the Parisian summer blew in from the airline exit and ruffled the ends of her dress. She tilted to the side, tugging at the small carry-on in her grasp, her sloped neckline drooping and sneaking him glimpses of her nude bra-strap and the sharp contours of her prominent collar bones.

He would have kept staring, itching to make contact with her skin, but a flight attendant's greeting drew his attention. Tai's brown eyes veered away.

A painted smile welcomed him with a cheery, "Bienvenue à Paris." He grinned.

"Merci!" he said brightly, giving the uniformed woman a nod before falling into step with his girlfriend. He transferred his backpack to his other shoulder and touched Hana in the spot he had been looking at, sliding his fingers over the skin beneath her braid.

"Excited, are we?" she asked.

Her neck was warm—not overtly, not enough to make either of them sweat—but soothingly, like a balmy breeze. His fingers inched up, poking into her hair.

"Meh," he said, shrugging. "Not really."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, catching the faint, floral fragrance of her perfume. Both of them were mindful not to trip as they followed her father down the connecting corridor to the airport.

She chuckled, preening at the open display of affection while simultaneously calling his bluff with an elbow nudged in his side. His hand glided down her spine, sensitive to the tremors of her laughter, and paused at the small of her back where her dress bunched. He reconsidered and opted to grab hold of her fingers.

The airport was bustling when they exited, the squeaks of countless rolling suitcases magnified to a full blown clamor—of footsteps hastening over the tile, of the wide, circular swell of murmured French. Overhead, the P.A. system blasted flight updates. People passed by in all sorts of directions, shouting into cell phones, juggling baggage, searching for scattered loved ones. Many others were stationary. Wayfarers sat at café tables and stared up at the constantly changing flight schedules. Those with layovers caught forty winks on vacant benches or seats.

Her voice, when she called out to him, was nearly lost in the din.

"Français, s'il te plait," she said primly, jutting her chin. She must have been listening to him jabber about his hankering for a French croissant. He was starving, and Mr. Kurosawa had led them past five cafés without pause—not that he had been counting.

Two days prior, he had been in Japan, painstakingly preparing for his trip to Paris. His mother and sister shared their frenzy over the items and clothes he'd have to pack while his father was busy reminiscing about his experience backpacking through Europe as a young adult. The senior Kamiya would stare absently at the ceiling with a wistful rub of his chin while the missus and Kari would ransack Tai's closet, pulling clothing off by the hanger, themselves alone deciding whether or not the item in hand was suitable, at least according to Parisian standards.

When he wasn't arguing with his mom over his clothes or ignoring his father's anecdotes, Tai was with Hana, practicing his French. Because he had told her of the hubbub centering on his ill-planned departure—which his mother kindly pointed out was Hana's fault—she had been 'creative' with her teaching methods.

"Répète après moi," she said in a hitched breath during one lesson. He hovered over her on her bedroom floor, his forearms planted by each side of her head, the clothing both of them kept on making them feel like they were baking in the scorching August sun. He kissed her, fire on his lips, her hands raking through his hair, and she broke away and finished her sentence: "J'ai faim."

In a pant, he echoed the words formed on her tongue, and the cycle would repeat until they were both, regrettably, 'Frenched'-out.

The memory was blinked out of his eyes as they took the tram to baggage claim, Hana's pull on his hand yanking him back to the present. As they alighted at their gate, he put what he learned that eventful afternoon to use.

"J'ai faim," he said.

"Je sais," Hana replied, grinning at his efforts to speak her language. "Moi aussi." Even on her tiptoes, she couldn't quite reach his face for a kiss, so she grabbed his chin and unleashed her praise on his cheek.

"But, in all honesty, Tai," she said, pausing behind her father at the conveyor belt. "We probably won't be eating for a while. My aunt wants to treat us this evening when we arrive at her apartment."

His stomach growled as if on cue, and Hana patted his middle affectionately, her index finger tracing a cola stain he got on their fourteen hour flight. When their luggage came around, Tai, Hana, and Mr. Kurosawa reached for their corresponding suitcases, heaving the hulking things off and wheeling them out to the line of idle taxis parked by the main exit.

After a few words with a cab driver, they were on their way into the city, beginning the half hour drive from the airport to the heart of Paris. Tai spent most of the time looking out his window while Mr. Kurosawa informed Hana on the goings-on of her late mother's only sibling, who happened to own the apartment they would be staying in for their three-week vacation.

On the flight to Paris, Tai had been cautioned not to take Hana's eccentric painter of an aunt too seriously. She had described her Aunt Suzanne "Zsazsa" Livry as 'your typical, mentally-imbalanced artist, who paints in her studio dressed in nothing but a pair of overalls, her tits hanging out, and a cigarette in her hands.'

It was during that time that Hana graciously added that her aunt's apartment was located in Paris's fourth arrondissement, in Le Marais district, which was not only an historic and opulent center of the city, but also a hotspot for budding artists and gay culture.

"It's safe, bright, and lively," she told him, grinning from ear to ear. "You'll like it."

He shouldn't have doubted her. It was upsetting enough for him to hear that his getaway in Paris with Hana would not land him in a five-star Parisian hotel with chocolate bon-bons waiting for him on his king-sized bed, the Eiffel Tower silhouetted in the glorious sunset outside their window, or that Mr. Kurosawa would be their constant and vigilant chaperone during all times. But as they cruised closer to their destination, he perked up. He leaned his elbow on the window ledge, neck craning as he looked up at the antique visage of the city.

His eyes roved over the iron-wrought balcony railings of the nineteenth century buildings edging the streets. On street corners were cafés, alive with activity, the chairs and tables on their terraces brimming with diners. People were everywhere, walking, biking, zipping by on their mopeds—but not at the frantic, determined pace he was accustomed to in Japan. There was leisure in the steps of these people, contemplative pause. It was busy—every city was, really—but not desperately.

They turned a corner down a narrow, cobble-stoned rue, the cab getting squeezed under the shadows cast by the tall buildings on opposing sides. The atmosphere calmed. Fewer pedestrians ambled down the narrow sidewalks.

Smoothly, the taxi came to a halt beside their apartment building. Its façade was aged, the stone dirty, but it stood regally on its side of the street, flowers perched on the black iron window railings. Large windows reflected squares of light.

Inside, the building was cool and dim. Their footsteps and voices echoed in its cavity, up its flights of stairs, which they had to climb—all five sets of them, luggage in tow—before they reached their temporary living quarters. They were still recovering by the time Hana's Tante Zsazsa opened her studio and greeted the people on her doorfront with an indecipherable cry and a spread of her skinny, tan arms.

"Mon beau-frère!" she shouted, giving Mr. Kurosawa a hug and a bisou on the side of his face. "Et ma jolie nièce!" Her pencil thin fingers seized Hana's face, squishing her cheeks before smothering the surface with kisses that left the cold smell of tobacco in the air.

Tai felt a bead of sweat gather around his temples when her blue eyes set on him, her thin, nigh invisible eyebrows rising and her lips pursing into a perfect 'o.' She was dressed in a paint-splattered tank-top and faded jeans rolled up over her knobby knees.

"Et vous?" she questioned, almost incriminatingly. "Qui êtes-vous?" She looked at Hana. "Où est Ryo?"

Smiling sheepishly, his girlfriend of four months explained his relation to the Kurosawa family. Tai couldn't help but notice that Hana played with the tail of her braid ceaselessly while she spoke, a nervous tic she took on since she wore no headband.

When Mlle. Livry's eyes fixed on him a second time, he was prepared to properly introduce himself. His mouth was even open to speak, but she beat him to the first word.

"Tai."

She enunciated his name in her heavy French accent so that it sounded more like 'Tai-uh.'

"Enchantée."

By reflex alone, Tai mumbled his version of the greeting, "Enchanté," before extending his hand to her and giving a short bow, to which she responded with an amused titter.

"Non. Je ne serre pas la main. J'etreins," and with that, she brushed his hand away and embraced him.

Afterwards, she cooed something in French to Hana as they made way into her apartment, the comment making Hana giggle nervously and her father cough into a fist. Tai was tempted to ask what Mlle. Livry had said, but never got the chance. He stopped midstride in the foyer, poised to take off his shoes as was routine of him, when the stench hit, swiftly followed by a fitting sight to accompany it.

The polite smile he had had plastered to his face was crumbling faster than the worn siding of the apartment building. Hana's TanteZsazsa's studio smelled overwhelmingly of the chemical fetor of paint mingled with the aromatic clouds of cigarette smoke that seeped deep into every piece of upholstered furniture. Clothes, newspapers, paint tarp, and brushes were strewn across the wooden floors like debris from a hurricane. What was supposed to be a dining room was lined in squares of canvas, folded up easels criss-crossing over each other on the paint-specked floor cover. Books were stacked high on a littered coffee table, pages ripped out, some open and some face down, others being used as coasters to numerous mugs of week-old coffee.

Tai knew he kept his own bedroom no neater than a pig sty, but that was by his mother's standards. Compared to Mlle. Livry's quaint and disastrously cluttered abode, he was the perfect image of order.

Hana must have noticed his misgivings about his home for the next three weeks. His girlfriend seized his hand and dragged him into the living room, muttering a quiet reminder not to take off his shoes lest he contract hepatitis.

Mlle. Livry quickly brushed off a heaping pile of dirty art tools on her tattered couch and gestured for them to sit while she eased a bony hip onto a neighboring stool. She retrieved a cigarette from her jeans' pocket and lit it in their midst.

He was still surveying his surroundings, trying not to make his wandering eyes obvious to his hostess, while Hana, Mr. Kurosawa, and Mlle. Livry spoke. Tai saw no point in following their conversation anyway, as they spoke rapidly and exclusively in French. Throughout, Hana had her arm looped through the crook of his. Once, she interlaced their fingers loosely, enough to casually maneuver his arm so that, when she let go of him, his hand rested on her lap. He wanted to pinch her thigh at that moment, and she knew it, her motives betrayed by the thin, lop-sided smirk curling her lips.

"Alors…"

Mlle. Livry got off her stool with a yawn and stretch of her arms. She flicked the stub of her cigarette into the growing sea of trash at her feet before grinding it with the heel of her bare foot. After re-twisting her graying blonde hair into a loose bun, her hands were thrust into her pockets, and she eyed the people on her couch. Her gaze settled on Tai.

"Someone tells me you are famously known for your appetite," she said slowly, suppressing her accent and failing at it. "You all must be starving. Shall we eat?"

Tai expelled a longwinded sigh of relief, nearly melting into the couch as the breath escaped him. Hana was mindful to keep him from throwing his head fully back, as his scalp would have collided into the sharp edge of a palette knife. He had already received stitches back there once before, and he didn't need another set.

"Yes, please!"

xXx

The clock in Mlle. Livry's bedroom ticked in time to the aria Mr. Kurosawa was badly belting out in the bathroom. Though presently unattended, Tai and Hana were strangely quiet, conversing only in the lowest, most gentle of tones, both their eyes droopy with fatigue.

He rested his head contentedly in between Hana's open legs, her hands on his chest, the swell of her full stomach as she breathed softly pushing against the back of his skull. He lay on Mlle. Livry's neatly kept bed, the down comforter beneath him cushioning his body like a cloud. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Mlle. Livry's bedroom and bathroom were immaculate, the very picture of Parisian sophistication. When Tai had stepped through its French doors to head for the shower, he thought he had been magically transported to the five-star hotel of his dreams.

His wonder over the realization had been the last thing discussed as he and Hana reclined on her aunt's bed, and Hana did not hesitate to give him her aunt's reasons for keeping her sleeping quarters tidy.

"Forget I asked," he had groaned, regretting ever delving into the private life of Hana's oddball aunt—unintentional though it was.

At present, the cliff-dive that was jet lag was finally hitting him, coupled with the food he had wolfed down at the Algerian restaurant Mlle. Livry had brought them. He was so full upon leaving that Mlle. Livry teased that he was about as well fed as the lamb they had consumed. She even went so far as to give his stomach a pat, and he flinched when she touched him.

"I think she likes you," Hana said, giving him an impy smile. Her face was upside down over his as she leaned forward.

He returned her gaze with a lift of his heavy eyelids.

"Lucky me…"

Hana laughed.

"Then again, my aunt's a notorious flirt. Hence why she's fifty and unmarried, even though she changes boyfriends like her underwear. She'd only break your heart, Tai."

They spoke openly about her aunt's liberal loving because the subject of their gossip wasn't in the apartment, for reasons that only added to Mlle. Livry's reputation as an incurable bachelorette. Apparently, what had been discussed among Mr. Kurosawa, Hana, and her Tante Zsazsa while Tai had stared at the mess in her living room was how she would not be in Paris for the following three weeks. A 'patron' of hers, an Italian businessman fond of her art (and other assets), had invited her to spend her holiday at his Tuscan villa.

"And of course she accepted," Hana explained. "A free vacation in Italy with a rich man to wait on her hand and foot? I'm pretty sure she'd say only a fool would say no."

Her aunt's flight was early the next morning, and so to save the Kurosawas and Tai the trouble of her nocturnal presence (Hana claimed she suffered from bouts of insomnia), Mlle. Livry left them shortly after dinner to head over to the hotel where her Italian patron was staying.

"I should be back before you leave for Tokyo," she had told them, giving them all kisses goodbye—even Tai. "But don't be surprised if I'm not," she added with a wink.

"Alors…" Tai yawned, imitating the absent Mlle. Livry. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Hana began playing with his hair.

"Well… we can do the tourist thing and I can show you the popular sites in Paris, or we can pay a visit to my old friends from school and ballet, which means I can show you off."

Tai blew out a puff of air, snickering.

"Before or after you explain to them what happened with Ryo Hiraki?"

She tapped a finger on his nose.

"Don't be a grump, Taichi," she said. "And don't underestimate your sexiness."

"I'm sexy, huh?"

It wasn't asked out of doubt. It was asked for the sole purpose of being reaffirmed as fact, as betrayed by the wicked flicker in his eye when he looked up at her, his grin wide and smug. He watched her eyes narrow just slightly, and he sped her reaction with a raise of his eyebrow, looking every bit the rascal he was.

"Oh, yes," she purred, chuckling as she lowered her head and touched her lips to his. Her mouth was warm, but her breath was still cool and minty from brushing her teeth. She rewarded his cheek with a few more kisses until he invited her to be more adventurous with her affection by introducing some tongue.

Her mouth parted in reply, and she moaned in surprise, probably—like him—discovering the novel pleasure of Frenching each other upside down. Her hands wandered away from his chest, up to his face, cupping over his ears, fingertips massaging the back of his head. Tai couldn't keep idle anymore. He sat up and eased her flat on the bed.

Before he could even angle south for another kiss, she planted her open hand on his chest and pushed him back.

"Tai," she said, a warning teetering on the tip of her tongue.

The sound of the bathroom faucet running magnified in his ears, making him aware that even though he and Hana were alone in the bedroom, Mr. Kurosawa was meters away in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

"I heard him turn on his electric toothbrush less than ten seconds ago," he said. "That means we have roughly two minutes before he comes out."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You know down to the second how long it takes my dad to brush his teeth?"

"No," he retorted, annoyed by her implication. "It's just an estimate." He paused, looking down at her. "Besides, why are you fighting this? Didn't you like it?"

"Well, of course I did," she replied. "But I'd rather not be sucking on your face when my dad exits the bathroom."

"You didn't have any problems when we made out in the study room at the university library… or in the restroom at the dance studio."

Hana colored in two distinct spots on her face.

"Well, my dad wasn't going to spontaneously pop out of nowhere at either of those instances," she argued. "It's not that I don't want to, Tai. It's just…"

She never finished. Her father stepped out of the bathroom at that instant, and Hana quickly slipped out from under him before her father could wipe the steam from his fogged-up glasses. She didn't look back at Tai while she pulled out a pair of rolled-up air mattresses from a closet. Even as he helped her plug them in and shift them around in the room, she said nothing. It was only when the sheets had been fitted and the pillows thrown onto the airbeds, and Mr. Kurosawa was going around the apartment switching off lights, that Tai came up behind her and gently put an arm around her shoulders.

"Night, Han," he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly.

He didn't know she had smiled, her hand patting his forearm, lulled by the warmth of his chest on her back.

"Bonne nuit," she whispered back, "mon soleil."

xXx

They met on the steps of the façade of the Palais Garnier, which looked bleached white in the bright sunshine. Traffic in the area was light, the rumble of cars and buses broken sporadically by the shriek of a car horn. He held her hand as she paused before the famous opera house her late mother used to perform in, both their palms damp and sticking. Her free hand served as a visor while she scanned the loiterers on the steps for a quartet of familiar faces.

For his second day in Paris, the weather was temperate and inviting—perfect, really—and she had decided to wear a dress again. The skirt of it billowed in the breeze, sometimes dangerously close to revealingly, though Tai didn't notice. He was too busy staring open-mouthed at the squat, ornamented structure before him.

Her friends found them before she did.

"Hana!"

The cry of delight was unmistakably female. Before Hana had even turned to the sound of the voice, she was tackled with an embrace, both she and her embracer colliding into Tai who, thankfully, was solid enough on his feet to make sure none of them fell.

While the girls exchanged burbled, shrill greetings, Tai eyed the three others that joined their growing circle: two boys and another girl. If they paid him any attention, it went unnoticed. The three pairs of eyes were trained on his girlfriend, who was laughing so hard she was nearly in tears.

"Easy there, Han," Tai joked, rumpling her hair lovingly. "Don't faint."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmured, controlling her giggles. She weaved her fingers through his, clinging to him tightly as she calmed herself. He was glad of the gesture, glad that even though she had been swarmed by old friends, her reality was anchored by him.

"How'd you find us?" she asked her friends when she had recovered. "I swear I was looking for you for a straight ten minutes."

"Wasn't difficult," said the blonde who had embraced her first. "You told us to watch out for a puff of brown hair, and…" She pointed at Tai. "Well, here we are!"

"So that's what I am to your friends?" jested Tai, poking her in the ribs. "A hairball?"

Hana giggled.

"No, no." She paused and turned to her audience. "Guys, this is Taichi 'Tai' Kamiya." Her mouth thinned into a broad, toothy smile. "…mon petit ami."

The blonde pursed her lips.

"Ooh la la," she sang. "Tu aies été trés occupé au Japon, oui, Han?"

"Tais-toi," Hana laughed, rolling her eyes at the suggestive wink. "Anyway, Tai." She gestured at the girl leading the group of faces. "This is Céline Mortier, who has been my lovely dancing buddy since I was five."

Céline did a poor mockery of a curtsy in front of Tai before accepting his handshake. She was a thin, wisp of a girl, with hair and coloring that condemned her to a life of being compared to a fine piece of china. Her hair was white-blond, extremely fine, and done up in a loose bun that sat like a nub on the top of her oval head. The clothes she wore suggested she had stepped right out of a fancy yacht party.

"And these are Lucas, Nina, and Enzo," Hana introduced. "Lucas and Nina used to be my neighbors. We all went to the same school, and Enzo is my former..." She chose her next words carefully, "… dancing partner in ballet."

Tai looked at the fellow teens before him and happily smiled in their company, his brown eyes squinting in the blinding rays of the sun. Lucas was perhaps the only person who could meet Tai's gaze without having to look up. His hair was a sandy brown, gelled into a spiky faux hawk. A pair of hazel eyes stared back from an abundantly freckled face. Tai took note of an embroidered insignia over the pocket of Lucas's navy blue polo shirt, the mark of a football club.

"Soccer fan?" he asked, almost teasingly.

Lucas wrinkled his nose a bit, shrugging as he played along.

"Who? Moi? Perish the thought." He laughed. "But, yeah. I'm a bit of an aficionado." He patted the badge on his polo affectionately before waving a hand in between him and Tai, gesturing at Tai's own shirt—the jersey for Japan's national team. "It's nice to meet a fellow hooligan. You're welcome to play a few games with me and my mates while you're in Paris, Tai. I'm sure Hana's bored you with ballet already."

"Hey!"

The outcry was uttered simultaneously by Céline and Hana, each girl giving Lucas a flick on the arm.

Nina stood beside, silently giving Lucas a gentle rub on the back while Hana and Céline scolded him. Her features were decidedly pointy—sharp nose, narrow jaw, fine chin, and she was also the tallest of the girls—no heels needed. The ends of her brown hair were tipped in a shocking shade of scarlet, a pair of feather earrings hidden beneath the dual-toned waves, and, unlike Hana and Céline, who were ambitiously thin, Nina had muscle—proud, defined muscle.

"Enchantée, Tai," she said in a low, almost masculine voice, as she shook his hand.

The last to greet Tai was Hana's former dancing partner, Enzo, who exchanged looks with him behind a pair of ebony-rimmed eyeglasses. He was garbed in black jeans, which did little to hide the fact that his legs were slightly bowed, and his light grey t-shirt bordered on being fitted, the sleeves tight across his biceps. His hair was thick, black and tousled constantly by a restless hand.

Tai did his once over and tried not to look at him again. Enzo was damnably good-looking—as if he needed another fit, well-dressed, and handsome guy to upstage him. Tai already had that role filled in Japan, and it went by the name of Matt Ishida.

With introductions made, Céline offered to take them into the Palais Granier, insisting that it was only fair to catch up in the place Hana was purportedly destined to grace with her presence. On the way around the block to the visitor's entrance, Tai and Hana were separated. The girls hooked arms and fell behind the trio of boys leading the way.

Tai and Lucas resumed their initial conversation about soccer, discussing the positions they played for their school teams, their favorite players. Enzo only bobbed his head now and then, having nothing to share on the subject.

"Hana's incredibly dense about soccer," Lucas revealed, glancing over his shoulder at the girls chirping away behind them. "Nina brought her as often as she could to our school's games, but Hana would just sit in the bleachers and do her homework. As far as I know, she just thinks it's a bunch of guys on grass kicking a ball around—with the occasional gratuitous display of sweaty, shirtless young men."

"Well, I could say ballet is just a bunch of girls and guys in tights dancing weird on their tip-toes," Tai said. He tilted his head to his right, towards Enzo. "No offense."

Enzo smiled.

"None taken. I'm sure Hana's drilled you in some form or other on the physical demands of ballet." He paused, sideglancing Tai with a thin, omniscient smirk. "Or maybe she's had you experience it firsthand?"

"Well," said Lucas before Tai's eyes had narrowed, "it's Hana we're talking about here. And anyone who considers her a friend has done ballet at her behest." He shuddered as if recalling a nightmare.

"Boyfriends most of all," Enzo jeered, laughing afterwards.

They filed into the opera house, Enzo holding the door open as the girls passed through first. When Tai approached, the male dancer made as if to shut the door in his face but jerked the door back in time, giving Tai a playful smile.

"Almost had you there," he said, ignoring the obvious glare Tai threw at him. He had the nerve to come up to him and pat him on the back. "I have to keep you on your toes. Must be a reflex." He winked. "You know. Ballet and all."

Whatever form of retaliation Tai wanted to exact on Enzo's head was postponed. Hana reunited with him, snatching up his hand and taking off after Céline who happily led the way through the structure after they had paid for their admission.

If he thought the opera house where Hana danced in The Sleeping Beauty was a marvel, then the Palais Garnier was an architectural phenomenon. It was absurdly over-decorated, every surface of the walls and ceiling filigreed with gold or painted with the drifting, lusty bodies of Greek gods. Every inch of it was meticulously molded, the masonry exquisitely detailed to a dizzying extreme. It was overkill for his senses, and Hana breezed through the echoing halls, her feet clopping on the marble floors, like it was her home—familiar and banal.

It was only at the Grand Staircase did she and her friends take pause, the six of them standing at the landing where the two smaller steps melded into the main stair.

"C'est incroyable, non?" Hana whispered to him, strengthening her hold on his hand and leaning in. She looked up in the same direction as he, her eyes following what his eyes soaked in like sponges.

"Maybe if you're my grandparents."

Lucas's voice broke his shared reverie with Hana like a vase crashing on the floor in an otherwise silent room. They turned, Tai unable to suppress a grin at the jibe even though he was certain Hana was frowning visibly. Lucas was sitting down on the first step of the main staircase, his elbow propped on his knee and his chin in palm.

"You should see the stadiums when there's a soccer match. That's amazing. Not this. This is just… old… and fancy. Like my grandparents. Smells like them, too." He sniffed exaggeratedly and made a face.

Céline clucked her tongue.

"Don't listen to Lucas, the bore," she rebuked, wagging a finger at her friend before moving to the middle of the staircase. She raised her arms in the air and struck a pose, even though there were other tourists wandering the area. "And I don't know what he's talking about. Soccer matches are loud and the stadium smells like sweaty men and beer." She twirled on her heel, practicing a pirouette, which was wobbly because of her wedge sandals.

Nina laughed and steadied Céline before joining Lucas on the step, sitting beside him and running a hand affectionately through his faux hawk.

"I think Tai is allowed some wonder. He's the stranger in a strange land," said Nina, prying her eyes away from Lucas to glance at Tai over her shoulder. "What do you think of it so far, Tai?"

Tai pretended to think a moment, though most of the time was used trying to figure out how to translate his words into French. He wanted to humor his girlfriend.

"C'est…um... c'est beau?" He hugged Hana to himself, a broad grin on his face. "Comme ma petite amie!"

Hana snorted with laughter, endlessly amused by his terrible accent.

"He speaks French!" crowed Enzo, with a sonorous clap of his hands while everyone else replied with some variation of "Aww," at Tai's clumsy use of language. The male dancer was leaning against the railing, almost sitting on it.

"But of course," Hana replied proudly, a fist on her hip. "What do you take me for?"

With a laugh, Enzo folded his arms and left his spot by the rail, coming towards Hana and Tai. He passed Céline and paused a few moments to give her a balance check as she continued to practice ballet forms in public, his hand gently pressing her torso as she bent forward.

His feet brought him before the couple, heels abreast each other, toes angled out in first position. He regarded Tai and Hana with that same secretive smirk before following Céline's example. With a flourish, he took a grand step backwards, one arm lifted in the air, the other curved in front of his puffed out chest.

With a grin, he slowly extended his hand to Hana, who understood the theatrical display well enough.

She offered him a mock pout, her hand loosening around Tai's fingers.

"For old times' sake, Han," Enzo added with a wink.

With a subtle roll of her eyes, she consented. She broke from Tai and accepted Enzo's hand, and together they made way down the staircase to the grand foyer, their bodies suddenly charged with a different energy—one that was controlled, liquid, and effortless.

"Enzo is such a show-off," Céline muttered, dropping her arms and plopping her bottom on the step beside Nina. Without turning her head, she waved Tai over. "Come on, Tai. Join us. I don't bite." She patted the spot beside her with the flat of her hand, and he eased next to her, the beauty of the venue no longer the focus of his vision.

He stared fixedly at Hana and Enzo as they began dancing.

"So… am I missing something?" he asked, idly scratching an imaginary itch on his head.

"Hmm?" Céline turned to look at him but saw that he wasn't staring at her. Her periwinkle eyes shifted to the former dancing duo. "Oh. You mean between Hana and Enzo?" She shrugged a shoulder. "They dated, yes. But it was… What would you call it? Umm… puppy love? Yes, that's it. They were dancing partners, which, as you can see, requires a lot of touching—and trust, of course. But, you know, kids that young. Girls think that just because a boy puts his hand on your waist that he loves you—when it's just hormones."

"I remember them being very good together," Nina reminisced, absorbed in watching Hana and Enzo dance. She wasn't the only one, either. Even Lucas, who professed to deplore ballet, was paying attention, and the other tourists that had been wandering the opera house were pausing to admire the impromptu show.

"They still kind of are good together," Lucas remarked, almost reluctantly.

Tai issued some noncommittal noise from the back of his throat, trying his best not to express disapproval. He admired Hana's touchy-feely nature, and he had never been bothered by her showing affection to other friends who were boys. In Japan, when she danced with her partner, Max, who was three years her senior, he could have cared less. But he didn't know Enzo, and the way he handled his girlfriend bordered on just a dash too friendly.

He felt coldly distant from her in that moment, like a spectator mesmerized by the unexpected charm of a busker on the street, enchanted by the loveliness of a stranger. He followed the movement of hands, how Enzo delicately held Hana's waist when she twirled on her toes, how the tips of his fingers teased the skin of her inner thigh when he sustained her arabesque. Hana didn't seem to mind that she was flashing them or strangers with peeks of her underwear. Her eyes were half-hooded under fluttering eyelids, closing fully at times. She was in a trance.

Her body responded to every gesture of her partner. His fingers trailing up the curve of her arms, his nose gliding up the rise of her neck. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, their chemistry compelling, exuding out of them like the sweat on their faces. Both Nina and Céline fanned themselves with their hands as they stared, awestruck.

Hana and Enzo were both panting, their skin glistening, when they ended their pas de deux and playfully honored their spectators with a curtsy and bow.

"Bloody show-offs, the lot of you," Céline greeted in good humor when Enzo and Hana made their way back up the stairs to them, no longer walking hand-in-hand.

"You want a go, too, Mlle. Mortier?" Enzo joked, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Bah. Save it for someone who cares," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Like your cousin?" He laughed.

Céline rolled her eyes.

"Like Catherine would take two glances at you."

The mention of the name ran like a little shock of electricity through Tai. He straightened his back, alert, and was about to ask Céline what the last name of her cousin was when Hana sat herself on his lap.

"What'd you think?" she said, still breathing exhaustively through her nose. She licked off the sweat collecting on her upper lip. He opened his mouth to speak but was having trouble finding words. His mind had been focused on asking about Catherine.

"This must be boring you, huh?" she asked, amending her question.

"N-No," he fumbled. "You were great."

She smiled thinly, forcibly.

"Don't lie, Tai," she said softly. She pressed her hand to his cheek, her fingers tickling his hairline. "You weren't paying attention to me. Your eyes were on Enzo, making sure he didn't pull a jerk move."

He feigned surprise, though it comforted him to know she was aware of his presence, even if it seemed like the only person on her mind was her dancing partner.

"How'd you know that?" he asked.

She simpered.

"I could feel your stare on the back of my head, you goof." She took his hand and turned it over, palm up, her fingers pressed to his wrist. "I could sense your pulse in the air, growing angrier with every passing second. Your jealousy was pretty obvious, at least to me."

His eyebrows progressively wrinkled, whatever sense of assurance he felt being replaced with a mild resentment. He was mindful of his tone.

"You make me sound like the bad guy," he said, playing it off as a joke.

Hana's smile dropped like a lead weight.

"No. I didn't mean it like that, Tai, I—"

She was interrupted when he ran his thumb over her flushed lips, the fingers he had beneath her chin wanting to pull her mouth closer. He checked the urge.

"Let's talk later," he said instead. Hana nodded obediently and got off his lap and sat on the step in front of him, placing herself by Céline's feet.

His fingers curled briefly, his mind debating whether or not to take Hana's repositioning as a slight or an agreement. He knew he had upset her, cutting her off in the way he did—seductively, using his touch to get what he wanted from her: silence, but he had only done it because she had replied to his lies with one of her own. Even if she denied it a thousand times, it didn't change the fact that the only thing she read off of him was negative energy—jealousy, anger, a throbbing, excitable pulse. He wondered if he would ever be able to connect with her the way she had with Enzo, how they had moved fluidly in the charged stillness, invisible sparks igniting in between the narrow gaps separating their bodies.

While it was true they had moved beyond the superficiality of kissing hands, he hadn't received the impression that he had struck the same chords in her that she had struck in him. There was still the fist or forearm against his chest, pushing him back, engendering space between.

There was none of that restraint when she had danced with Enzo. She had been entirely uninhibited, answering his touch with her touch, welcoming each advance, re-inviting every stroke and feel with one of equal passion.

He looked at her, her back facing him, her ears listening to the continued repartee between Enzo and Céline. Catherine's name was tossed around like a ball in a game of monkey in the middle, making it impossible for him to catch the threads of their discussion. The nape of Hana's neck was exposed, the hair pulled away in another messy braid. Its whiteness behind the stark darkness of her hair beckoned him like a light in a tunnel. Without hesitation, his fingertips made contact with the surface of her body, the small area of flesh smooth and hot under his touch. He waited for her to register the invasion of her space, his silent, unannounced apology.

She did not turn around, and he was tempted to remove his hand, but the instant his fingers began to lift, she blindly reached up and held him back. Her hold was tight at first, unyielding, but gradually, she released him, leaving it to him to decide whether or not to remain where he was.

His mind was made without skipping a heartbeat.

He stayed.

xXx

A/N: So...? What'd you all think? A good start for Tai and Hana or a bad one? Their time in Paris will be split up into three parts, each centering on a specific aspect; and the chapters on Paris will be the only "structure" this collection of stories will have.

Also, just let me know if the French gets annoying, or if you'd like me to provide translations. My own knowledge of French is rather elementary. Sometimes I wish Hana knew Spanish. It would make my life so much easier. XD

Thank you in advance for your feedback! But, most of all, thank you, always, for reading!