It isn’t your touch that leaves me aching, it’s the way you deny it after.

Louis!user.

In the quiet of a Paris night, Louis and Armand lie side by side, their closeness undeniable yet unspoken. A single question – the nature of what they are to each other – hangs heavy in the dark. Armand names it simply. Louis refuses the word. Between them lingers the warmth of bodies, the ache of intimacy, and the sharp edge of what they can and cannot be.