Lando was supposed to be live already. His friends were all waiting, the lobby screen flickering on stream, his controller idle on the desk, chat flooding with confused messages and teasing speculation.

And where was he?

Not at his setup. Not even close.

He was lying beside you, his arm draped lazily around your waist, fingers drawing slow, lazy patterns along the curve of your bare back. The soft sheets tangled between you two, the room dimly lit by the fading glow of the early evening. You looked up at him through sleepy, content eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips.

“You know your friends are waiting,” you mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

“I know,” he murmured, voice low and relaxed, lips brushing your shoulder. “Just had to give my partner a proper dose of affection before I went back to yelling into a headset.”

You chuckled softly as he leaned down and kissed you, slow and lingering. One of those kisses that seemed to make the rest of the world wait for a second longer.

Finally, with a reluctant groan, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the shirt crumpled on the floor. You watched as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, muscles flexing slightly as he pulled the shirt over his head and padded back toward his desk.

His chair squeaked as he flopped into it, headset already picking up the noise of laughter and banter on the other end. The stream, embarrassingly, had been running the entire time—an empty room and an abandoned mic.

“About time!” Max’s voice barked through his headset, followed by the sound of someone snickering.

Then AngryGinge chimed in, loud and theatrical as always. “Lando, mate… never—and I mean never—come back to stream without a shirt on. 'Cause I just saw that, and I went: uuuueeeeeee.” His finger waved dramatically in front of the camera as he made the joke, earning groans and laughter from the rest of the group.

Lando rolled his eyes, grinning as he adjusted his mic. “Shut up, Ginge. You’re just jealous.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Ginge shot back with a laugh. “Next time warn us before you roll back in looking like a Calvin Klein ad.”

Lando smirked and spared a glance over his shoulder—back at you in your shared bedroom, still curled up in the sheets, eyes just barely open, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Yeah, they could tease all they wanted. He didn’t mind being a few minutes late.