Hey all. For all of you who read my Circus Horror story, this is an A/U fic. For all of you who haven't, yay!!! Because I loved this coupling so much from the horror story and ::cough:: things do not work out for them very well in that fic that I had to write this one. Plus I have a few friends who would DIE to read a fic completely focused around this coupling. So, for those of you who are following the Circus story, this story has NOTHING to do with it save the fact that I am using the same characters. Okay, have fun reading and please review. Oh, and I SHOULD probably warn that the main coupling in this story is..::cough:: two really sweet boys so if you have issues with that, please don't read. And if you do read, don't flame me because I warned you. Okay then! Now that that is all out of the way, have fun!!

Naivety Left Behind

Ahhh..and before we get confused. This story is written in the first person, but each chapter is told by a different speaker. The title of the chapter tells you who is speaking. Just wanted to say that cause it may be a little hard to understand.

Chapter One: Adrian's Introduction

Maybe it's me? Maybe it's my naivety and stupidity that made me fall so hard for a perfect stranger? For so long, I blamed him for this. I blamed him for being so moody and cold to me. I blamed him for the way he looked at me and the way he would make my heart beat so fast that I felt weak. I blamed him for all of the unwanted, unneeded and unrequited love that he forced me to feel. I couldn't help it, he was a drug. I needed him, I was addicted to him and every breath that I breathed was for him. It was so wrong, all of those feelings. He was a high school student, and, for the life of me, I couldn't stop beating myself for loving a high school student!! We were so different, polar opposites. He was French; I was English. He loved the ballet and classical music and the naturally beautiful; I loved fashion and beautiful people and the materialist things of life. He was cold and moody and sexy and mysterious; I was warm and sweet and cute and innocent. Maybe it was our differences that made us fall so deeply for each other. It was nighttime, isn't it always the way it goes, you meet you're love in the night. Why couldn't it have been the day?

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"I am truly a failure," I said, sliding down in my chair, sulking over the fact that I had been in the beautiful city of Paris, France for the past three weeks and I had yet to find what I had come there for, "I mean, what good is a designer who cannot design?"

"You're right." My friend said. He took a sip from his tea cup and wiped a piece of raven black hair from his dark face and brought it back behind his ear. It seemed, in all of the years I'd know Francois, he could never get all of his hair back into the braid in which he wore it. He placed his cup back on the small café table and straightened his tie. He always dressed so lovely. He always wore the most expensive suits, pinstriped to perfection. He opened his eyes, emerald green and so beautiful that it almost seemed uncharacteristic for him to be the owner of them. He was striking and handsome, but not...beautiful per say, "You are a failure. Can we go now? We've been sitting here for an hour and whatever that special something is you're looking for obviously isn't going to show up tonight. Let's go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Tomorrow we have to pack and get back to work." He looked around at some of the passersby and shook his head, "Plus, people are beginning to stare at us like we're a couple..."

I nodded and smiled, but it was false. What he had said was meant to strike at my heart and hurt me. In truth, he had once told me that he loved me. It was when we first met and I was in a down time after something God Awful happened to one of my loved ones and I was stressed and depressed and he had come to me as a friend and then admitted to loving me in a passion sense. I didn't know what to say. I mean, he was a HE! I didn't like boys?! Did I? He tossed some money down on the table and stood up, buttoning his jacket and slipping his hands in his pockets. His suit looked jet black in the moonlight, but in reality, it was a deep red. He was dressed up compared to me. For it being so late, there were a lot of people out. People with their beautiful clothes and wild hats and poodles. France truly was an amazing country.

I walked over to meet Francois, but before I could reach him, something, or someone hit me dead on, bringing me toppling to the ground. It was hard to keep balance on platform shoes, I am telling you. But I need them to boost me a few inches. I am, sadly, not very gifted in the height department. I hit that pavement so hard that the shock of the blow made even my teeth ache. I placed a hand behind my aching head and opened my eyes. Everything was blurry and I instantly became very dizzy. My glasses must have fallen off. I reached around for them, but that was a failed effort. Why people LOOK for their glasses is beyond me. I cannot see anything without them. Oh, right, there was a person on top of me. He pushed himself up from me just enough so I could prop myself up on my elbows. I couldn't see what he looked like, his face was a blur to me. All I could hear was his beautiful voice.

"Désolé..." he said, leaning forward and reaching behind me. His chest touched mine and I felt my cheeks heat up. He smelled so wonderful, very expensive cologne, I'm sure. He was a creature of the finer things in life. He leaned back and he had something in his hands, "Vous portez des lunettes?" he said, and I had to squint to see what he was holding. My squinting was the answer to his question. He slid my glasses on to my face and for the first time, I was able to see him. He was absolutely breathtaking, with his dark, tanned skin and catlike eyes that seemed to eat away at my shell and devour my soul. His hair was twisted into dreadlocks that he obviously made himself, for they were gorgeous and perfect and soft. He was thin, with graceful movements and long limbs. He brushed some hair out of my face and stared into my blue eyes and smiled. He had the most perfect smile, "Vous avez de beaux yeux..." He leaned forward a little to look at them closer and I could feel my entire body tense up at his very touch. He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my face. I had never been that close to someone for a little over a year and my body was erupting in yearning. I wanted him to touch me and I wanted him to speak those beautiful words again, and he would have...if only.

"DMITRI!!" A shrill female voice screeched making that boy look behind me, "ALLONS ! ! Nous allons être en retard ! !" He pushed himself from me and brushed himself off. I noticed that he was wearing simple jeans and a tight sweater but he wore it so well that I wanted to complement him, but I couldn't say anything. I was stuttering. He looked down at me and smiled once again.

"Au Revoir..." and he began to walk away and I wanted to call him back, to tell him that I thought that he was my model! The very thing that I needed to help me design, but I couldn't. I just sat on the ground until Francois walked over and knelt next to me.

"I-I-I-I-I-I-" I stuttered and he cocked an eyebrow.

"You what?"

"I-I-I-I...don't speak French..." Francois rolled his eyes and reached down and helped me up. I was devastated. I didn't speak a lick of French at all. You would think that someone who traveled to Paris on a regular basis would at least have picked up a few French words. Nope, not me. I am from London...I speak English and that is all. Francois pulled me off the ground and straightened my glasses for me and he brushed me off. I didn't really notice those small displays of affection back then. My mind was swimming in the remembrance of that boy, that Dmitri. I didn't notice Francois at all right then. Well, up until he said-

"I speak French, remember?" My head snapped over to him and I grabbed his jacket and he glared at me. I didn't care if he wanted me touching his jacket or not. I NEEDED to know what he said. It was important to my very existence that he tell me! Francois could speak a variety of different languages. He was born in Italy but lived all around the world. He spend years in France. I couldn't BELIEVE I was so lucky. Well, I would have been lucky if it was anyone else. Francois never did anything for me without asking for something, "And I will tell you what lover boy said when we get back to the hotel because I am tired and mildly annoyed and hungry."

"Then let's go!"

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It seemed as though that drive back to the lavish hotel in which we were staying took days. I was so anxious to hear what he had to say to me that I couldn't even sit still. I was fidgeting in my chair. I was playing with the music and the lights and my bracelets and all of that mess and I knew that Francois, although he promised that he would, didn't want to tell me what that Dmitri said. He was so adorable, even though he didn't want to be. He cared for me, I knew he did. I broke his heart, so I can understand why he wouldn't want to repeat the message to me. But we arrived at the hotel, he couldn't drive around forever. We walked slowly up to the room and he fiddled with the key in the lock and he entered the room, and I followed him close in tow.

"Spill it Francois," I said, slamming the door behind me and he flopped down on the bed and closed his eyes. I crawled on the bed next to him and crossed my arms, "Come on, It can't have been that romantic, we don't even know each other and-"

"He said that you have beautiful eyes, that's all," Francois opened his eyes and looked at me, "He's right, you know."

He turned over and closed his eyes and I smiled. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and then gestured for me to turn off the light. I did. He was my best friend in the entire world. We had been through so much together. Still, I couldn't get undressed in front of him. Even back in my modeling days, I had a lot of trouble getting undressed in front of people. Once I stumbled back to my bed and slipped under the soft, silken covers, I took a deep breath and shut my eyes, taking off my glasses and placing them on my night stand. I was exhausted and stressed out and my back hurt but for some reason all of my problems and stress were mooted and the vision of that stranger floated into my mind. I couldn't get rid of it, the effort was futile. It isn't possible, is it? To be so obsessed with someone you've only met for a few seconds? I suppose it is possible because I remember nodding off to sleep, asking myself the same question over and over again. 'What is he doing right this moment?...'

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I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please review and I'll see you in chapter two.