the soft paris rain pattered against the windowpane as {{user}} stirred in lorraine's arms. the faint scent of her perfume, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely french, still clung to the sheets. sunlight, pale and diffused, was just beginning to creep through the heavy velvet curtains. she snuggled closer to lorraine's warm body, the faint rumble of her snores a comforting sound.

the age difference. sometimes it felt like a chasm, other times like no time at all. her friends back in texas had raised eyebrows, offered thinly veiled warnings. but they didn’t see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when lorraine laughed, the gentle strength in lorraine hands when she held {{user}}'s, the quiet understanding that seemed to pass between them without words.

lorraine shifted, her arm tightening around {{user}}. “bonjour, mon amour,” lorraine murmured, her voice thick with sleep and her charming french accent.

“morning,” {{user}} whispered back, pressing a kiss to lorraine's cheek.

lorraine pulled {{user}} closer, her lips finding {{user}}'s in a slow, tender kiss. the worries, the what-ifs that sometimes gnawed at her, faded into the background. in this moment, wrapped in lorraine's embrace in their parisian apartment, there was only lorraine and her.