Michael awoke behind closed eyes, feeling the soft warmth around him of bedsheets clinging around his waist. In a furious swirl of memories, he realized he was still laying here, clutching a pillow, his face buried halfway into the soft collection of fluff, though the warmth accompanying it forced him to equate it to something far more lovely.

He lazily rolled onto his back, suddenly bringing his hand up to shield his eyes as the morning sun assaulted him, leaving him lying there, quietly. He could tell he still had no clothes on, though he was quite beyond embarrassment within the presence of the woman he'd shared the bed with the night before. Apparently, as his eyes slowly opened, Amélie had much the same attitude.

As his eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight from the window, he slowly began to make out the body of Amélie, standing there, perfectly nude; her arms crossed as she held a dark mug of coffee, staring out the window into the vastness of the world before her.

Michael couldn't help but remain quiet, wanting only to stare at the body which had become a part of his just a few hours ago, though Amélie's voice, although gentle, arose with her characteristic monotone, "I know you're up; you can quit staring."

She turned her head at the sound of Michael's grin, her face quickly returning the gesture, even if her smile was far more sad than his. As soon as he noticed this, Michael immediately frowned, realizing what had been on her mind. She slowly returned to the window, sadly, taking a sip of coffee as she stood there, her arms not leaving their crossed pose.

Michael's hand ran across his face in loss, but he quickly sighed as he lifted himself up, turning his body off the bed, leaving him sitting there, still watching the cygne larmoyante as she peered, fearlessly, out the window.

He stood up, making his way toward her, wrapping his arms around her from behind as he rested his face against the back of her shoulder, his eyes staring over her and out the window. To his surprise, he could see the vast land between the building, with most of Paris in the distance; though, for however vast the world appeared out that window, the only part of it he truly cared for was the single piece of it that now rested in his arms. that would soon be lost to him.

He tenderly kissed at her cheek as he shut his eyes, wanting nothing more than to cease his senses that wouldn't immediately connect him to this being, "Doesn't anybody worry? About you being out all night with no explanation, that is."

Amélie shrugged as best she could with him against her, "I have my own place; it's not unusual or anything. It will be, soon enough, I suppose."

Michael sighed as she took another sip of coffee, their bodies warming in the gentle sunlight, simply enjoying the other's body against theirs, leaving Amélie with not much else to say, "I have movers coming today, so you have until then."

"'You'?" Michael questioned, earning a sidelong stare from her.

"We" she corrected, a gently smirk appearing there.

She enjoyed his body shaking against hers as he chuckled approvingly, reminding her of their bodies quivering against one another the night before. Finally, she leaned forward to rest her mug on a nearby table, escaping Michael's grasp as she returned to the foot of the bed, leaning down to collect the assortment of clothing that had been strewn across the small room.

"You know," Amélie began, softly, "I thought it would be awkward when you awoke, but… I mean, we're barely talking and it's just sort of-"

"Comfortable?" Michael finished, earning a quick nod from her.

She paused what she was doing, "Yeah."

The two stood there for a moment, not moving, though Amélie knew she'd opened herself to a topic or two that she'd have preferred not to have. As if to show indifference, she returned to gathering up her clothing, but Michael spoke up anyway, beginning with a sigh.

"Look, there's something that-"

"I don't want to hear it," Amélie answered, harshly, turning to him, "Everything I said, everything I did; it was all true. Don't take any of this as me saying I regret a thing; what we had last night, it was something I'll never think back upon with anything other than a heartwarming fondness."

She sighed, lowering her head, "But today's a new day. I really don't want you to hurt any more than you're going to."

Michael shrugged, "Are you wanting me to leave?"

"No, just-" Amélie groaned, "You know. I don't want to ruin it or anything."

"Ah," Michael nodded, knowingly, "I could have left right after, I suppose; I know men are supposed to be professionals at that sort of thing."

Amélie gave him a crooked smile, rolling her eyes sarcastically as she stood up, "You know what I mean."

"Okay then, how much time do we have together?"

She looked at a nearby clock, "I don't know; maybe an hour or two until the movers get here."

Michael give an absent-minded nod as he looked away, as if his mind was elsewhere, but in a moment, he began walking toward Amélie, whose face watched him curiously. He collected his underwear and pants before walking past her, toward the bedroom door, as if he owned the place alongside her.

"Do you have a kitchen in here?" he asked, sincerely.

She pointed him along, his voice returning, "Okay; go take a shower and I'll warm up a towel for you and make you breakfast. How's that for a perfect morning?"

Smiling, Amélie nodded slowly, "Just one thing- no talking about anyth-"

"I got it," he answered, warmly, "Let's pretend that we'll be here tomorrow morning as well."

She smiled weakly, unable to keep from thinking of the reality of the situation, though she wanted to be as strong as Michael, at least, appeared to be. He stared at her for a few moments longer, taking in her body a final time, before relinquishing his attention to her, leaving toward the kitchen, fiddling with his clothing as he went. Amélie turned her head to the ground, smiling at his gesture, especially since she couldn't ever remember anybody making her anything as melancholy as breakfast.

She looked over at her nightstand her phone still sitting there, unmoving. Sighing, she headed for the bathroom, running the water and stepping into the tall, transparent box that made up her shower, eyes closed as she enjoyed the hot water, trying her best to keep her mind off of the inevitable. As much as it pained her to hurt this man, they had both known they couldn't be together, and as much as it would hurt him, she knew that she couldn't even begin to fathom how deeply this week would affect her.

Her eyes opened, looking down at the placid shape of her stomach, her finger running across one of her scars. It was funny, she thought; she knew how, just a morning ago, she would do the same and find herself ugly or ruined. Despite knowing that, she couldn't help but return to the night before, seeing Michael kissing that very spot, running his hand over it. Somehow, she thought, he'd made it beautiful to her, and that was a thought that she knew she'd never forget.

Concealed by the running water that ran across her face and down her body, she didn't bother crying there, silently, thinking of losing such a person. Still, she sighed, taking a moment to breathe, not wanting to ruin this morning.

The door opened and Michael stepped into the bathroom, standing there, trying for a peek at her, though the tempered glass was too blurry for much of anything of the sort, "One warm towel for the mademoiselle. I'll leave it here for when you get out."

Before he could do so, Amélie shut the water off, signaling her exit, "Hold on."

Michael did as instructed, struggling mightily to keep his jaw up as she stepped out from the shower, almost shining. Her wet hair clung to her skin, and she appeared to be like some mermaid or sea nymph suddenly allowing him a glimpse. She grinned, twirling around and backing up toward him so that he could wrap the towel around her shoulders.

She grabbed at its edges, holding the warm cotton against her skin, Michael's arms remaining around her as he buried his face into her shoulder once again, "Breakfast is almost ready. I cant guarantee the taste; my pallet was sort of ruined forever last night and nothing will ever taste quite as good."

Amélie fancied a blush, though lifted a leg and playfully threw it backward against him, leaving him laughing, "Oh come on; I thought French was the language of love."

"Love, not raunchiness," Amélie explained, clearly, with a smile, "There's a fine line there, you know. Two people can do a lot without there being love in between."

Michael was happy that he was behind her, as he was sure his face was making some expression that he wouldn't want her to have seen. While he understood their needing to part ways, he also knew that nobody on earth would ever come close to this being. After all, who else would stumble upon him enough to get to know him so well without being so turned off by his romanticism or plain looks?

Still, his thoughts remained toward a pleasant morning to cap a wondrous, yet still heartbreaking, night. Only because of this woman, he'd felt things he'd never felt, tasted what he hadn't tasted, seen what he couldn't have seen with his own eyes. Even her words, her succulent sounds that rang through his ears simply due to his own work were noises he hadn't heard before. His senses had so heighted that, now, most of what he could experience would dull so tremendously.

"Hey," Amélie perked up, trying to get his attention, "Won't the food burn?"

"Oh, no; I've got the over on low, don't worry."

She frowned, "It runs hotter."

Michael stared off into the distance for a few seconds, absently, before pulling away and hurrying out the door, grasping the threshold as he spun off down the hall, leaving Amélie with an amused smile which faded ever so gently.

Michael sighed with relief as he slid the eggs out from the modest pan, asking curiously, "For one so elegant, you certainly live with simple things."

He spun the pan in his hand, examining its beaten shape, as though it had been bought second-hand at a garage sale. In fact, most of what she owned seemed as such, bought as used objects, though it seemed to match the dull, olden walls of the building.

Amélie tilted her head indifferently as she stabbed her fork into a small piece of bacon, "I mean, I'd been around 'pretentious' things, as you say, my entire life. So when I moved out, it seemed intriguing to surround myself with things that weren't perfect and new."

Michael grinned at her slightly liberal usage of the term, though he understood where she was coming from, "Makes sense. I figured you just had expenses; I knew ballet wasn't cheap, and I'm sure that viola cost a bit."

She nodded, "I buy new shoes for every performance, and you actually get them all imported. The one family-owned business we get ours from, I actually went from person to person until I found a shoe I liked. That's how precise it is, and how different one maker can be from another. Especially for my very specific preferences."

"Huh," Michael acknowledged, absently, as he was mesmerized by Amélie's current action.

She'd lifted the small silver-dollar pancake up off her plate, scrutinizing it intently, flipping it from side to side, as if confused, leaving Michael with just a grin, "Never seen a pancake before?"

"I know what they are," she replied, slightly peeved, "I've just…never had one before."

Michael nodded, "Well, you had the stuff to make them, so I figured why not. I only made enough for three or four- without syrup, there's really no point."

She eyed him, sarcastically, "So let me get this straight. You fry up some cake and then douse it in maple syrup to start your day?"

He gave her a thumbs up, "Well, that's how I used to do it anyway."

Amélie grimaced, still pulling the round piece toward her mouth, taking a bite, "Eh, it's… You know, there's a bakery right downstairs. If you wanted dessert for breakfast, they have eclairs and madeleines and a bunch of other-"

In a second, Michael had leaned over the counter separating the kitchen from the bar, stealing a quick kiss from her lips before standing again, smiling boyishly as he continued sliding the pan back and forth across the stovetop. Amélie stared at him, lost, as he eyed her lowly, still smirking.

"J'ai déjà mon dessert," he muttered, sticking his tongue out, teasingly.

Amélie shook her head, slowly, "You don't even know what that means in English."

Michael met her heavy stare, grinning smugly as if he was about to get away with something. He dropped the pan onto the burner, wiping his hands on a rag as he made his way around the counter, never losing eye contact. Once he made his way behind her, he grasped her sides, causing her to inhale, suddenly from his grip as his face reached up beside her head, his lips nearly coming right onto her ear.

"[I already…have….my dessert]," he whispered into her ear, not noticing her chest suddenly exhaling as she lost her breath, only because of the heat at her hear- she could only assume he was repeating himself.

He kissed her neck, sucking at her skin for only a brief moment before standing back up and repeating his previous path in reverse, returning to the kitchen with the most mischievous of smiles on his face. Amélie felt her body heat up, making her slightly uncomfortable in her clothes, even if all she had on was a long shirt she wore during rehearsals…and nothing else.

Still battling her loss of breath, she gently grasped at her knees, still sitting at the barstool as Michael went on sliding the pan as if nothing had happened. She rose her head, watching that cocksure grin as if he thought she was his to do with for this final hour or two of their time.

She knew she couldn't have this, she thought, her hand suddenly reached up to clutch at the bar, her voice still, "How do you say 'amenez-moi au lit' in English?"

Michael's grin grew as he turned up toward her, a tuft of his hair falling over his forehead as he eyed her heatedly, "It'd probably be better to show you."

He slid the pan of food over onto another burner, shutting off the stovetop as he rounded the counter once more, reaching down to grab at her hand, pulling her to her feet. Her face ran red as he bent down, and in one single motion, pulled her up into the air in his arms, looking into her eyes as her arms quickly reached up around his neck for support.

"It means to pick me up?" she asked, innocently.

He grinned once more, turning toward the bedroom, "Almost."

He sidled in through the threshold, careful not to hit her bed, and in only a few more strides, had her over the bed, gently lowering her atop her mattress, his lips hurrying to her own as she lay there, her hands reaching up to his chest, running over his sturdy frame as his body lowered and rose back up slightly, his mind so lost in her lips.

Suddenly, Amélie's hands shot to his sides, right beneath his arms as her leg came up to the bed, pushing him over to the side as she followed along, not on all fours above him, staring down at him with a wily look on her face.

"This is my place still," she whispered, lowering the front of her body as if about to pounce, "You're my guest. I decide what you do, when you do it, and for how long."

Michael's eyes narrowed as her head fell toward his chest in a second, burying her lips in his chest, trailing kissing up along his sternum, crawling further up the bed as she made it up his neck, his chin, his lips; a parade of kisses like a Roman triumph, claiming what was hers.

She wrapped her arm around his head, clutching onto him as her head rested against his scalp, taking a breather for just a moment before her head trailed down against his soft hair, her lips parting only once they reached his ear.

"Me. Now. and until they knock that fucking door down."

Michael might have laughed if not for the sudden appearance of breasts directly above his face, right beyond the loose neckline of her shirt, the sight absolutely mesmerizing to him. They fit her slender body so well, simply adding another dimension to this body whose endless number of shapes had captivated him.

Slowly, her body slithered down again as she prescriptively pulled her shirt up, ensuring nothing would get in her way as she sat back atop his midsection, her knees holding him in place as she reached down to touch his chest. She grinned wryly as her hand massaged his taut skin, his eyes in a haze from both the sight and her touch.

"This is sort of embar-"

"You spent approximately fifteen minutes doing whatever you wanted to my chest last night, and don't even get me started on the length of time you spent on my-"

She paused, blushing as she looked away, leaving Michael with a grin of his own, "Did you lose count?"

"Shut up," she grumbled angrily, "Do you want this?"

"More than my next breath," he answered.

"Good," she mumbled, her body slowly dropping onto his as her waist slid down atop him, her lips brushing his chin, "Because your breaths are going to be sparse for the next while."

Amélie ran her arms up and around his head, grasping around him, almost for dear life as her mouth opened atop his, breathing hot breath against his skin as she felt him entering her, the feeling still relatively new to her, though she relished the thought of it, as well as the two strong arms that wrapped around her, those of Michael trying to pull as much of her body against him as he could.

They remained that way, unmoving, for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of being bound together, the two breathing heavily against the other, their bodies rising and falling out of sync, only allowing them the chance to realize just how close the other was. Amélie mustered the strength to push her upper body up, the new sensation from beneath causing her to twitch with a gasp, though she quickly held onto Michael's chest, pushing all her weight onto him, though he didn't even move from the pressure.

She smiled, lazily, as she panted heavily, her hands running across his broad chest, finding his ribs. Her finger ran through their ridges, contentedly, Michael happily willing to lay there, allowing her whatever enjoyment she coveted.

"Nine…ten…eleven…twelve," she counted through gradually evening breaths, "All there. Just making sure."

Michael eyed her curiously, her lips curling into a soft smile, "Just making sure you weren't missing one. You know, in your making of paradise."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at her hubris, concealing a quiet chuckle as he shook his head, "I can't exactly complain."

Amélie sighed happily as her knees pushed her up only slightly, a quiet moan escaping her before a sudden, wet yelp arose from her lips as her body fell onto him again, Michael's hands grasping at the sheets as he struggled to keep his eyes open, not daring to miss the vision of beauty atop his body.

He gritted his teeth, his breath seething as Amélie's hand ran down his chest, the pads of her fingers turning into her claws, the burning pain only serving to further enhance the succulent pleasure steaming between the two.

Michael's hands reached up to grab her own pair, Amélie desperately trying to reorient her hands so that their fingers could mold together, her eyes staring down into his through a teary screen above a lovely smile. Their hands now bound together, Michael slowly pulled his apart, Amélie's arms going along as she slowly fell toward him, resting atop his chest so that he could get further kisses in, their arms outstretched as Amélie tried her best to continue rolling her midsection down and onto him.

She pulled away for a breath, Michael noticing a trail of saliva running down her chin, a grin forming across his face as he reached up to kiss her clean, another supple moan escaping her as he rolled his waist toward her, his length running further along inside of her as she shivered, suddenly.

"Please," she whispered, still with tears running down her face, "Please find someone else. I hate that I had to hurt you, but… Maybe if you find somebody… Somebody who deserves you, you won't…"

Michael shook his head to quiet her, his breath haggard under the pleasure, "You're a fool if you think anybody else could even hope to match what I've had with you."

His hands left hers, hurriedly wrapping around her waist as her tears grew only slightly, a few dropping down onto his face as he grinned, "I'm used to getting hurt. Don't worry; I can handle it."

Lost between sadness and indescribable pleasure, Amélie simply lowered her head, preferring to meet his chest rather than his face. She was no longer moving as Michael held her tightly, working the both of them as he grunted, bestially, throwing his waist into her as the both of them sought the release of all their pleasure.

Finally, the two of them erupted into sudden convulsions, Amélie forced to dig her fingers into Michael's sides as she lay above him, holding onto dear life as her mind burst into nothing but whiteness, the only thing being aware of was the mass of warmth that held her as she whimpered, pitifully, feeling returning to her as chemicals flooded across her body, still shaking after she'd finished.

She desperately lifted her head, meeting Michael's distant glare back at her, his mouth wide open to take in breaths, slowly disappearing into a weak smile. She slowly dragged her body across his, just able to make it close enough for them to kiss before giving up on ever returning strength to her body.

"You can't hurt me," Michael assured though labored breathing, "You can only bring me happiness. So please, don't think that you are."

Amélie managed a weak, "Okay…"

He smiled at her state of being, rather jealous that he wasn't quite able to indulge in such a plane as her, "I mean, it's not like you'll kill me or anything."

At that, she seemed to suddenly gain some strength as she adorable lifted a fist just barely off from him before simply releasing it to fall against him once again, owing back to her current weakness. He held her tightly still, not wanting this to end, though knowing the both of them were pushing it as it-

*knock* *knock* *knock*

Michael jerked, his head shooting toward the bedroom door as Amélie sighed longingly, just managing to push herself up. He jumped up, happy that his clothes were mostly on already, only zipping up and darting for his shirt, still adorning the floor. Amélie rolled off the bed as she stood up, her shirt so lovingly rolling down her body, nearly causing Michael another moment of disillusion.

*knock* *knock*

He panicked further, but Amélie took his hand, steadily, her face dropped in sadness as their eyes met. She pulled him along out of the room, toward the front door, though she turned him around.

"Got everything?" she asked, lowly.

He nodded, patting his pants pockets, "Yep. Everything but you."

Amélie sighed, "Don't say that."

"Sorry."

She looked back up at him, her open hands reaching to his chest, pushing him against the wall beside the door, where the door would cover up upon entry.

"I guess the sex ruined the goodbyes," he grinned, defeatedly.

"Making love," she answered, quietly, answering one of his points from some point in their time together that had all but become a blur in her mind, "And isn't that the best kind of goodbye?"

He looked away, smiling, "I forgot I was in France for a moment."

She kicked him playfully as-

*knock* *knock* "Movers!"

Amélie sighed, staring at the door. She shook her head, reaching for the handle, but before she grasped it, she jumped over in front of Michael, grasping his head with her hands as she pulled him down into another kiss, her hands running up and down his gentle hair, leaving him one last taste of her.

She whispered to him, "Goodb-"

"I love you."

Suddenly, that pain she knew she'd feel came stabbing into her heart as Amélie clenched her hands into fists, staring at the doorknob. It was all she could do to not reply, either in kind or in anger. Without saying a word, she reached out for the knob, swinging the door open, concealing Michael in the corner, from the movers, and from herself.

"Eh, so'ry madam; we didn't mean ta-!"

"Just in time!" she managed with a smile that nearly torn her apart the farther it reached across her face, "I need help with something. In here."

The two men nodded and followed her diligently into the other room, leaving the main room empty, save for the wooden door. Slowly, is pushed away from the corner, revealing Michael to nobody to himself, though he preferred that at this moment. He stared at the ground for a moment, realizing that that would be the last he'd ever see of this woman. This perfect being who'd taken him in so many ways that a woman could take a man.

He reached an arm of his sleeve up to wipe away the tears that had begun to form just above his cheeks, his body lithely emerging from behind the door before sidling out into the dark hallway of the apartment. He staggered further into the hallway, down the path he knew Amélie hadn't come from, before turning the nearest corner, slamming his back against the wall as he slid down to the ground, pulling his knees up, dropping his head into his crossed arms.

And he shook. Shook with tears, anguish. The same kind of shaking he had shared with Amélie just moments ago, though where those were because of their closeness, this came from his loneliness. What saddened him most wasn't the pain he felt sharply in his heart, though.

What saddened him most was that, just like their earlier shaking, they would be sharing these as well. For how long, he couldn't know.