orbitingspacejunk
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Summary
Lando wakes up to the sound of rain and the weight of Oscar’s arm across his stomach.
For a moment, that’s all there is. Grey light leaking around the curtains, the soft drum of drizzle on the glass, the radiator grumbling in the corner. The flat feels small and warm and theirs.
He lies there, smiling at the ceiling, counting quietly in his head.
One, two, three—
On four, Oscar usually lets out this little grumpy exhale, buries his face deeper into the pillow and mutters something about “five more minutes.”
Today, he doesn’t.
OR
Oscar buys tulips. Lando provides unsolicited commentary. There’s a grave. It’s fine.
Bookmarked by orbitingspacejunk
18 Apr 2026