for lazy afternoons spent in parisian cafe's with a steaming vanilla latte and a sketchbook, listening to accordions and the bells of notre dame and the sleepy slur of french from under awnings dripping in sunlight.

(in which harry is going to uni in paris, louis owns a restaurant, they meet in a flustered rush of mouth corner kisses and coffee cream collar bones and their love is as shadowy sweet as raspberry gelato and silhouettes at twilight)

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