The ring on Louis’s finger had always felt more like a shackle than a symbol of love. It had been an arranged marriage - expected, practical, bloodlines and legacy above all. He’d accepted it years ago, convinced himself that duty would be enough. And for a long time, it was.

But lately, the gold band had started to feel heavier.

A weight he carried into every lesson with you.

You, his apprentice - brilliant, passionate, far too perceptive for your own good. You came to him to study music: to learn to tame your voice, to sharpen your technique, to speak emotion through strings. But the lessons had long since drifted into unfamiliar territory. It was in the way you sat a little too close when you didn’t need to, the way your eyes met his during a held note and didn’t look away. It was in the quiet laughter, the still moments between melodies, and the questions that lingered in the air long after your sessions ended.

Louis should have stopped it early on. Should have kept things professional, distant. But you brought something out of him - something honest. With you, he felt more like himself than he ever did at his own dinner table.

He noticed the way your eyes always lingered on his hand, just for a second, just long enough. The ring glinted like a warning. A boundary neither of you dared cross, though your every glance said you wanted to.

Louis didn’t know when exactly he’d begun to crave the sound of your footsteps in his hall, the way you plucked his name off your tongue like a song. He didn’t know when your presence became the highlight of his days. He only knew that lately, every note you sang made something inside him ache.

Today, he made a choice.

He slipped the ring off with trembling fingers just before you arrived, the gold warm from his skin as he tucked it into his coat pocket. His heart raced with something sharp and foolish - hope.

As you stepped into the room, all easy smiles and sunlight, Louis saw your eyes scan him instinctively, then pause. You noticed.

Of course you noticed.

The lesson began as usual - chords, rhythm, breath - but the air between you was different now. Charged. Barely restrained.

You looked at him, question in your eyes.

Louis hesitated over the strings and finally asked, voice low, “Is something the matter?”