The heart, the moon & the craters.
Act I: Eliot & Alexandre — The Breakup
Somewhere in Paris, mid‑afternoon. Two men sit at a bar. They look close. A coffee and a half‑full Coke rest between them.
One of them keeps stirring his spoon, a faint smile on his lips.
– “What did you say?”
– “I want to love you,” Eliot replies.
– “I don’t understand you.”
Eliot gets up so abruptly that the glass Coke bottle nearly topples over before Alexandre catches it. Eliot stands in front of him, eyes locked onto his:
– “What exactly is there not to understand? Wanting. Loving. You. You, and no one else. I. WANT. TO. LOVE. YOU.”
Alexandre jumps up and presses a hand over Eliot’s mouth, urging him back into his chair.
– “Shut up, you idiot. People could hear you.”
– “So what? Let them hear. The only person who needs to hear me is you. And clearly, you’re not listening. You’re not even trying to understand.”
– “Stop, Eliot. You know it’s not that simple.”
– “I knew from the beginning… and still, I went on like a damn fool.”
– “I never hid anything from you.”
– “Oh, come on,” Eliot snaps.
– “Okay… the first time, yes. But after that, I told you. I was honest right away.”
– “Right after we fucked? Sure. And then you weren’t hiding him anymore — you were hiding me.”
– “Please, stop. You know I love him. I care about you, but I love him. You and I weren’t supposed to become… this. This often. This much.”
– “No. You stop. ‘We weren’t supposed to be like this?’ You mean it was supposed to be just sex? See each other, fuck, and maybe start again whenever you got bored of his arms? Then explain to me why we’re in a café right now. Explain why, in the dark of a movie theater, you grab my hand. Explain that, Alex.”
– “I didn’t do anything, Eliot. I told you about him. I never made you promises.”
– “And now you didn’t do anything? You don’t hear me, you don’t understand me, and now you claim you never did anything? Maybe that’s the point — you let everything happen. You could’ve stopped me. Kept me as your little ‘he’s not home tonight’ hookup. But no. You didn’t. And I got attached.”
Alexandre holds his gaze.
– “I… got attached too. But — ”
Eliot cuts him off, voice trembling:
– “But you chose him. From the very beginning. Why would you choose me? We didn’t even know each other, and he already had everything with you.”
– “He’s my everyday life. You know what it takes for us to build something like that… He gets along with my mother, I go fishing with his father. It’s all connected. It’s a beautiful whole I can’t abandon.”
– “Yeah. I know. But I don’t know where I stand with you. It’s because of all the things you have with him that I want to love you. Everything you share — I wish I could give that to you. I wish I could be him. That’s why I want to love you.”
Alexandre’s eyes soften.
– “You’re beautiful. And what you’re saying is beautiful too. But not every want can be fulfilled. You’ll get to love someone — but it can’t be me.”
– “So what now? We stop seeing each other, you go back to your perfect couple‑life, and I go back to… what? Being single? Alone?”
– “If we continue, you’ll suffer even more. I can’t let that happen. That’s why I asked to meet today. Because yes — this shouldn’t be happening. Seeing each other so often, betraying him, watching you get attached…”
– “Shouldn’t be happening. Exactly. I’m not allowed to want to love you. And with your calm, casual tone, you’re clearly giving me permission to miss you.”
Alexandre looks at him again, tenderness in his eyes.
– “That’s why I’m attached to you: the force of your feelings. It makes you even more beautiful.”
Eliot smiles despite himself.
– “Idiot. That force has a name — passion. And I’m far too passionate. It drives me insane. You drive me insane.”
Alexandre grins, amused.
– “I know.”
– “And you think that’s funny?” Eliot’s tone shifts, suddenly serious.
– “There’s nothing funny about it. I can open my heart — maybe too easily — but I’m not afraid of emotions. I’m not afraid of passion. Not even afraid of wanting to love you. But even the most beautiful feelings can hollow us out. Don’t worry, others have carved deeper than you. But my heart… it’s not a heart anymore. It’s a moon. The moon is beautiful from afar. You barely see its craters. Just like when you look at me — you see me as ‘pretty,’ and can’t see the craters in my heart. And it’s tired. It doesn’t want to be cold and distant like the moon anymore. It wants to shine — like a warm summer sun. And people like you are suns. You have everything. But have you ever seen the moon and the sun side by side? No. It’s impossible. Just like us.”
Alexandre is speechless. He absorbs Eliot’s words, struck by how beautiful — and painful — they are.
– “I truly hope you find someone worthy of who you are. You’re all heart, overflowing with emotion and sensitivity,” he says, matching Eliot’s seriousness. “It’s rare. Almost unique. That’s why I didn’t keep you as the guy I only sleep with when he’s not home. And that’s why you shouldn’t love me. We have to stop. You’re right — you are the moon. You shine brighter than every star. And you’ll find the one star that shines back at you. And when you do, the nights won’t be cold anymore.”
He pauses, eyes glistening.
“I’m sorry. You’re right — I didn’t protect you. I’m so sorry.”
Alexandre holds back tears. Eliot can’t anymore, and quiet tears spill.
After a long silence — a silence that says everything — Eliot finally whispers:
– “I think I should leave. We’re dangerously close to a point I won’t recover from. And believe it or not, you just kept me from crossing it.”
He stands. Alexandre can’t speak. He watches Eliot put on his light beige teddy.
– “I…” Alexandre stammers.
– “You’ve said enough. Don’t worry.” Eliot wipes his tears, pushes the chair back under the table, nods at the bartender, and walks out without looking back.
Act II: Ferdinand & Christopher — The Film
The sounds of the café slowly seep back into Alexandre’s awareness.
Being with Eliot had felt like living inside a bubble — everything else blurred, softened, disappeared.
The espresso machine hisses again.
A woman taps at her laptop.
Laughter rises from the terrace outside.
Alexandre looks out the window and is just about to finish his coffee when suddenly a voice cuts sharply through the room:
– “Aaand CUT! Perfect! I think we finally got it this time! That was unbelievable. Ferdinand, that emotion in your eyes at the end… yes, that’s exactly what we wanted!”
The director rushes in, not even giving Ferdinand a moment to answer.
He turns toward Christopher, the man who had walked out of the café moments earlier and just walked back in.
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– “And Christopher — my God, Chris! That body language, that exit… it was stunning. Pure presence. Bravo!” he says, patting him on the shoulder.
“Alright everyone, that’s a wrap for today. Pack everything up! Tomorrow we fly out early from Orly to JFK, so please — no wild nights.”
Christopher walks over to Ferdinand.
– “Well… just like our characters, I guess that’s it. The end.”
– “Seems like it, yeah. But honestly? It’s a beautiful project. I can’t wait to see the final edit with all the other short films. You?”
– “Absolutely. Though I hope the rest won’t be as emotionally intense as the end of ours. Man, I swear, my heart nearly broke,” he laughs softly.
– “Tell me about it. I was fighting so hard not to cry, and every time I saw a tear roll down your cheek, it was torture.”
– “Guess we have great chemistry when it comes to breaking up on camera.”
They exchange a wide, genuine smile.
– “Since we’re not flying to New York tomorrow… and since it’s still nice out… want to grab a drink somewhere? Anywhere but here — the memory of our breakup is still way too strong,” Christopher jokes.
– “I was literally about to suggest it. As an apology for my imaginary boyfriend and my fishing trips with his dad.”
– “Deal. Let’s go freshen up and meet at the corner? I know a really nice bar near Carreau du Temple.”
– “Perfect. But no coffee and no Coke, okay?”
– “I’ll buy the first bottle of rosé, you buy the second. Deal?”
– “Deal,” Ferdinand laughs, shaking his hand.
The two men head upstairs, to the apartment above the café — temporarily converted into a greenroom and technical storage for the shoot.
Act III: Eliot & Alexandre — The Terrace
It would’ve been pleasant to tell you about that first drink between Ferdinand and Christopher. Their evening, walking through a warm Parisian night. To narrate the story of a love, perhaps just beginning. Or the birth of a beautiful friendship.
But instead — let’s rewind just a little. Let’s tweak one simple detail in the introduction: Let’s replace “afternoon” with:Somewhere in Paris, early evening. Two men sit at a café terrace.
They seem close. A half-full coffee and a Coca-Cola sit between them. There — that’s better. Now let’s pick the story back up:
He stood up. Alexandre couldn’t say a word.
He watched him slip on that light beige teddy jacket.
— “I…” The words stuck in Alexandre’s throat.
— “You’ve said enough,” Eliot cut him off gently.
He wiped the last tears forming in his eyes, pushed his chair back into place, gave a quick nod to the barman, and left — without looking back.
Little by little, the sounds of the café and the street returned.
Whenever Eliot was there, Alexandre always felt like the world faded away.
But now, he could hear it all again: the barman pulling pints. A group of girls laughing loudly a few tables over. Cars humming down the street.Lost in thought, he reached for his coffee.
And then — A black car.
A man inside.
Gunfire.
He wasn’t aiming at anyone in particular. That night, anyone sitting at a terrace was a target.Dressed all in black, only his eyes showed — eyes filled with a chilling emptiness.
It’s November 13th, 2015. Café Bonne Bière. Rue du Faubourg du Temple. Paris, 10th arrondissement. 9:32 p.m.
Those eyes will be the last thing Alexandre sees. One bullet shatters his coffee cup. Another pierces his heart.Terror has arrived.
The unimaginable is unfolding. People scream. Run. Collapse.
Paris is falling into one of its darkest nights.
Alexandre lies on the ground, heart stopped. He who tried to protect Eliot’s heart — has just lost his own. The moon is shining bright. But the cold is stronger than ever. The car speeds off, leaving devastation in its wake. Some are screaming. Some are silent. Some are already helping
Waiting for ambulances that feel light-years away.Just a few streets away, Eliot is crouched between two parked cars with a group of strangers.
None of them fully understand what just happened. They’d heard shouts — “Allahu Akbar!” — and then deafening bursts of gunfire, followed by screaming.
Then — silence.
A silence that crushes.
A silence of death.
Everyone tries to call someone. The police. A friend. Check the news.
Understand. — “It’s a terrorist attack!” someone next to him whispers.
“There were explosions at the Stade de France too…”Eliot hears nothing. He’s frozen. Dialing and redialing the same number. No answer. Each ringtone crashes louder than the last inside his chest.
— “Hi, this is Alexandre. Please leave a me — ” Cut. Hang up.
Call again.
And again.
And again.
The tears fall. Unstoppable.A man crouched next to him places a hand on his shoulder.
— “Hey kid, you can’t stay here. It’s not safe. We need to hide. These psychos are hitting every terrace. Come with us.”
Eliot sobs harder.
— “He’s… he’s not answering… We were just… just at that café… five minutes ago…”
The man pulls him into a hug.It’s strange, how a stranger’s arms can feel like shelter when the world collapses. In moments like these, all barriers vanish. What remains is humanity.
— “Come on. We’ll try calling again. But we can’t go back.
That woman over there” — he gestures —
“She lives on the corner. She offered to let us stay there until we know what’s going on.”
Eliot’s body is trembling. Despite the fear clearly visible on the woman’s face, she offers a small, warm smile — the kind that reminds you of your mother telling you, ‘It was just a nightmare. Everything will be okay.’
— “Thank you. Thank you so much, ma’am,” Eliot says softly, walking toward her, alongside the man and the others.
Epilogue: The Power of Words
Words can change everything.
Just one tweak to the story — a time of day, a setting, and suddenly, the whole narrative shifts.
I started with something ordinary. Two men, at the end of something.
I filled it with emotion. Then wrapped it in fiction — the comfort of a film shoot.
But when we rewound — when we returned to the original story,
and just shifted a few details — everything collapsed into horror.
If you followed me through these emotional twists and turns —
then I’m honored.
Because this is why I write.
To feel. To make you feel.
Writing is about undoing. Rebuilding. Escaping. Transforming. Remembering.
I write to feel something deeply.
To breathe life into emotion.
So if, for even a few moments, you felt what I feel
— when, in the middle of the night, my heart races and drags me into the world of words, then I’ve succeeded.
You choose where to leave Eliot and Alexandre. At the end of their story.
In the fiction of Ferdinand and Christopher. Or with one walking away,
and the other left behind.
This time, it’s up to you.
THE END.
