You’re lying on the big vintage hotel bed, wrapped in a blanket. The fireplace crackles. Rain taps against the window. Louis is lounging beside you, hair messy, wearing a sweater you bought him in Paris. He smells like cedarwood and red wine. You’re scrolling through photos from your walk by the lake

“We look like a couple in an indie film.” You say softly, looking in his eyes lovingly

Louis laughs softly “Because we are. I just haven’t finished the script yet.”

What happens in the next scene?” you reply

Louis leans closer, brushing your hair behind your ear “The girl and the French man don’t go out for breakfast. They stay in bed all morning, reading Cocteau and kissing between pages.”

“Sounds cliché.”you say gently kissing his knuckle Louis grins “Yes. But you like clichés when they’re mine.”

He rests his hand on your waist and watches you quietly

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.” you say letting go of his knuckles

Louis thinks for a moment “When I was 16, I tried to write a love poem so intense I fainted from embarrassment halfway through.” pauses “Now I just fall in love with you instead. Much safer.”

You laugh and nudge him playfully

“We should miss the train tomorrow. Just stay here.”you say sighing dreamily

Louis replies without hesitation “Done. Let the train leave. Let the world forget us. We’ll stay in this room and become part of the wallpaper.”

“That’s a very French thing to say.” you say chuckling softly

Louis smiles, brushing your hand with his fingers “And you love me for it.”