Jay's POV
The city glowed beneath us.
The Eiffel Tower shimmered like it was made of stars, the lights reflecting in the river below. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of pastries and night-blooming flowers. People laughed somewhere in the distance, but up here — on the quiet overlook — it felt like the world had paused just for us.
Keifer stood beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the view.
But I wasn't looking at the view.
I was looking at him.
The way the golden light brushed against his skin. The way the breeze lifted his hair. The way he looked so at peace — like Paris had softened something in him.
He turned, catching me staring.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"What?" he asked softly.
"Nothing," I whispered. "Just… you."
He stepped closer, his expression shifting — softer, deeper, like he was seeing something in me he hadn't noticed before.
His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of my jaw, gentle and warm.
"Jay," he murmured, voice low, "you look beautiful."
My breath caught.
He took another step, closing the space between us until I could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The city lights blurred behind him.
All I could see was him.
He cupped my face with both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.
I nodded.
He leaned in slowly — not hesitant, just savoring the moment, like he didn't want to rush a single second.
His forehead touched mine first. Then the tip of his nose brushed mine. Then his breath warmed my lips.
And finally—
He kissed me.
Soft at first. Feather-light. Like he was testing the moment, tasting it, memorizing it.
Then the kiss deepened — not rushed, not heated, just full of emotion. Full of everything we'd been through. Full of everything we were becoming.
His hands slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer with a gentle certainty that made my heart flutter. I curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only steady thing in the world.
The kiss grew slower, deeper, more lingering — the kind that made time stretch, the kind that made the world fall away, the kind that felt like a promise whispered against my lips.
He pulled back just a little, just enough to breathe, but not enough to let me go.
His forehead rested against mine, our noses brushing, our breaths mingling.
"Jay…" he whispered, voice rough with emotion, "I think I fall in love with you more every time I kiss you."
My heart melted.
I slid my hands up to his shoulders, pulling him back in.
"Then kiss me again," I whispered.
He did.
Longer this time. Deeper. Full of warmth and certainty and everything we didn't have words for.
The Eiffel Tower sparkled behind us. The city hummed softly below. And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, with his lips on mine—
Paris felt like it belonged to us.