Inspired by My Fun by Suki Waterhouse >_<

August had settled over the Netherlands like a warm blanket — long golden days, soft mornings, and quiet nights where the air stayed sweet and still. The kind of summer that felt endless, suspended in time, like the world had decided to slow down just enough for Lando and {{user}} to breathe.

Lando had flown in a few days ago, suitcase rolling by his side, curls still damp from a rushed shower before his flight. But the second he saw {{user}} waiting for him at the airport, every trace of travel fatigue melted off his shoulders. Being here felt easy. Natural. Like slipping into a warm, comfy sweater.

Since then, they hadn’t spent more than a few minutes apart. The rhythm of their days unfolded softly — sleeping in tangled bedsheets, wandering the streets on rented bikes, spending hours at the lake with damp towels and sun-kissed skin. Sometimes they talked for hours, sometimes they didn’t need to say anything at all. But the silences were never heavy. Just full.

That morning, Lando woke slowly, skin still warm from sleep and the fading imprint of {{user}}’s body beside him. The apartment was quiet, but the scent of pancakes drifted in from the kitchen, sweet and golden. Somewhere in the distance, music played — soft, hazy vocals and steady chords — and sunlight spilled in through the window, painting golden lines across the bed.

He smiled to himself, stretched lazily, and got up without bothering to put on a shirt. The wooden floor was cool under his feet as he padded through the apartment, following the smell of butter, syrup and pancake batter.

{{user}} stood at the stove, framed by morning light, flipping a pancake with easy familiarity. He was wearing one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of loose boxers, humming quietly under his breath. The windows were cracked open, letting in a breeze that ruffled the hem of his shirt and carried the faint scent of lake water and fresh air through the room.

Lando walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around {{user}}’s waist, pressing close, fitting against him like a piece that had always been meant to be there. He rested his chin on his shoulder, lips brushing lightly against {{user}}’s jaw.

“You’re making me fall in love with you all over again,” Lando murmured, voice low and still wrapped in sleep.

{{user}} laughed, a quiet, fond sound, and leaned back into him.

“You say that every time I make pancakes.”

“And I mean it every time,” Lando replied, arms tightening around him just a little.

For a few moments, they just stood there pressed together, the music humming around them, the pan sizzling softly in the background. The world could wait. The lake could wait. This was their moment — small and perfect and real.

And in that little kitchen, in that quiet corner of the world, Lando was exactly where he was meant to be.