Yes, Louis' reading room. It had been his. It was his now. Touched inevitably, inescapably, by the minimalism and monochromatic aesthetic that had marked their shared Dubai penthouse, housed Armand's tree reaching up towards the filtered light. But it has been Louis', always.

"Sometimes I see her there. Claudia."

Claudia. Claudia, burning to ash beneath the light. Sometimes, lately, Claudia sitting, smiling, looking at him.

"Sometimes I dream you there."

Maybe nonsense. Maybe. His fingers remain there, thumb at Daniel's chin, knuckles brushing Daniel's throat. He can feel the inhale, exhale of his breath. The beat of his pulse. Daniel, alive. Indulging Louis in this conversation, in this stolen closeness.

"I changed some things," he murmurs. "Could show you, next time you got a couple weeks to spare."

Assuming Daniel ever wanted to set foot in that penthouse again.