Page 82 of The Light Within

Julien’s grip tightened on Cinn’s hand, pulling him along with an urgency that matched the drumming of his heart. As they rounded a corner, the faint sound of footsteps and shouts from the guard echoed throughout the spiral of the staircase.

“Quick, quick, quick!” hissed Julien, who, unbelievably, was grinning. It really was unfair that Cinn was the convicted criminal of the pair of them.

The last few steps came into view. Bursting through a side exit, they sprinted back towards theChamp de Mars, the open expanse of grassand the nearby pond a welcome sight. Julien pulled Cinn into the cover of a nearby grove of trees, their chests heaving as they caught their breath.

No sign of the guard.

Cinn exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Well, that was fun. Where should we break into next?”

Julien, panting from the marathon they’d just run, eventually got out, “Anywhere... on... ground... level...” between gulps of air.

Then he burst into laughter, light and infectious. Cinn cracked, joining in. Their combined laughter collided in the cool night air, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Cinn’s heart slowed, the adrenaline rush dissipating like the mist from their breath.

The tower rose up behind Julien, perfectly aligned, the golden glow bathing him in glorious light. The brightest star in the Parisian night sky. Cinn reached out to brush Julien’s dishevelled hair away from his face, then captured his chin.

“Hey,” Cinn said, and for some reason, that one word alone was enough to make Julien smile as wide as the horizon. Cinn pressed gentle lips to each of his dimples in turn, his skin cold, wind-bitten. Cinn tightened the black wool scarf around Julien’s neck before slipping his hand underneath Julien’s coat to pull his suspenders. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

Julien hummed against his cheek. “There’s one more stop on your date. But don’t worry”—Julien slid a hand down Cinn’s thigh—“we’ll be back in our room soon enough.”

Protesting seemed ungrateful, so Cinn bit back his remarks about needing to rip Julien’s clothes off him in the next five minutes or he’d die.

They walked along the riverbank, hand-in-hand. There weren’t many people left out on the street this late to show their unwanted judgement, not that Cinn ever cared about that.

“Where are we off to, then?”

“A little place on the bank called Café Crescendo.”

Something about the name registered a ping deep in his memories.

“Wait… isn’t that the jazz bar you’re always banging on about?”

“It might be.”

Cinn didn’t hold back his groan.

“I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance! It’s a minute away from our hotel. And they do nice cocktails.”

Cinn had already given jazz lots of chances, mostly recently for hours at a time in his own house, but fine. “Fine.”

The temperature plummeted further, rendering Cinn frozen by the time they arrived at Café Crescendo, where the warm glow of street lamps reflected off the frosted windows, and soft strains of jazz seeped through an old brick facade.

The bar was comparatively boiling hot when they entered, so Cinn’s coat and hoodie went straight into the cloakroom. The attendant gave them an odd look when they aggressively refused his offer to check in the beanie hat and black scarf.

With no vacant tables, they had to stake a claim standing next to a column. On the stage, a tight-knit ensemble played upbeat jazz, the saxophonist, pianist, and bassist appearing lost in the music.

“Well?” said Julien.

“It’s… not bad,” Cinn managed. It was the truth. It wasn’tbad,it just wasn’t good.

The crowd was enraptured, eyes fixed on the stage, bodies swaying in time with the music. He may never enjoy the music, but jazz bars seemed to be an appropriate date setting. Couples sat close together, sharing whispered words between melodies, and the soft, amber lighting created an intimate ambiance that seemed to wrap around each pair like a warm embrace.

“Come on. My heart bleeds, but I won’t torture you.” Julien hooked his arm around Cinn’s, guiding him towards the small staircase in the room’s corner.

The top floor of the bar was completely empty, a quiet oasis of calm compared to the bustle of downstairs, though the jazz was still audible. A cosy, semicircular alcove tucked into one corner beckoned them, offering further seclusion.

A single cocktail menu lay on the table.

“This lighting is awful,” Julien murmured, slipping on his reading glasses. The thin goldenwire frames caught the dim glow, creating soft halos around his eyes.

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