Darling, This Is Paris

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Sometimes, Louis and Eleanor's relationship puts a massive smile on my face and makes me write dumb things like this. Even if you don't ship 'em, you've got to admit they're pretty darn cute together (*weezes*).




Frosty December air beats down the perfectly architected triangular roof of a museum in Paris, slipping off the edges, and onto the sleepy heads of university students shuffling their way in through the open doors. It is currently eight-thirty a.m. on a Monday, and most students are craving their (uncomfortable) dorm room beds and warm blankets. The dark circles beneath their hollow eyes reveal stories of late night readings, confusing biology labs, and several cups of coffee they work tremendously hard to afford.

One student, a brown haired art history major, focuses her eyes on the enthralling framework of the grand museum instead of the utter exhaustion coursing the lengths of her body. Her name is Eleanor. ‘A pretty name for a pretty girl,’ her Dad always chimed. She is tall at five nine; her height alone placing her at an advantage to most girls in her small class. She wears her hair up, in a loose bun with spare locks bordering her petite face. She is dressed in dark wash jeans, a well-worn shirt, and a toffee painted coat that reaches just below her mid-thigh. On her feet are a pair of winter boots she’s not entirely sure why she purchased to begin with as they are worth more than her meal-plan at Clementine University.

Okay, so maybe she’s exaggerating that part. But they are damn expensive, so she’s got to take good care of them.

She trails ahead of the rest of the group, her ears following the miniscule sound of the tour guide’s light footsteps while her eyes grasp the beauty of the paintings, sculptures, and historical artifacts they hurriedly pass. Mentally, she is jotting down notes for each display she will return to when the tour ends and they are permitted to go off on their own. Thankfully, everyone is far too invested in their weariness today to gossip about her and who she used to be. It feels…liberating. She does not have to worry about who she is today, which is a luxury that almost never comes around anymore.

“The history of LeMusée du Louvre dates back to the sixteenth century when it was rebuilt to serve as a royal palace for France’s infamous King Louis XIV. When the King relocated to Versailles, LeMusée du Louvre became an art museum, that of which thousands of people visit each year,” explains the frantic tour guide as a rush of boys unintelligently begin shoving their faces onto glass enclosing priceless artifacts. 

In the end, as the tour falls more to the hands of panicky almost happenings, Eleanor retreats from the rest of the group and travels to the back of the museum on her own. She follows a trail set out on her map, locating the famous Mona Lisa and heading straight for it. She finds an empty lift that will take her en route the quickest to the second floor where the painting is. There is no one inside when she first reaches the lift, but just as the doors are about to close, a leg stops it.

“Come on, Zayn!” A familiar voice shouts with their head turned in the opposite direction. Her breath catches in her throat as she desperately looks away, hoping the person won’t see her. Unfortunately, they are a lot quicker in the department of haste glances and see her straight away, stunned recognition flittering across their features. “E-Eleanor?”

In a fit of desperation, Eleanor jabs her index finger on the ‘close doors’ button of the lift while the taller male retreats his leg in utter shock. She prays he won't stick another body part in to hold the doors and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t. Once alone, she fidgets back and forth on her legs, anxious to leave. She cannot wrap her head around the fact that he is here, in a place that is her tranquillity and peace-of-mind. She hasn’t seen him for months and seeing him now…it is far too much to take. When the doors to the lift open again on the second floor, she is astounded to find the same boy she had left downstairs standing in front of her again, like he had been on the lift instead of her.

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