The Duke’s university campus is almost empty during the long break, the usual buzz of students replaced by a quiet hum. You’re tucked into one of the worn armchairs in the student rec room, The Iliad open in your lap. The words blur together as you try to focus, but your thoughts keep drifting—until you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

Louis leans against the doorframe, a coffee cup in one hand, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “I thought you might need this,” he says, his voice rich with a thick French accent. He hands you the cup with an ease that feels practiced.

You take it, grateful for the warmth, and he sits across from you, watching you over the rim of his own mug. His gaze is steady, thoughtful. He doesn’t rush to speak, allowing the silence to settle between you.

“Difficult?” he asks, nodding toward the book in your lap. “Or just… distracting?” His accent softens the words, the r in “distracting” rolling like a purring cat.

You glance at him, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “A bit of both.”

Louis leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Perhaps I could help,” he says quietly. “I’m sure you could use a break from this war. It’s quite brutal, non?”

You chuckle, but his expression doesn’t change—it’s a quiet invitation, a moment where he offers not just help, but a small piece of his time, his attention.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, as if the rest of the world has paused, waiting for you to decide how much you’ll let him in.