Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through their flat's windows in that particular way that made everything look softer, more forgiving. Oscar sat at the kitchen counter, McLaren sketchpad spread before him, pencil moving in careful, deliberate strokes. His hair was still messy from sleep, and he wore the old university t-shirt that Lando had threatened to throw away at least six times but never actually touched.

"You're going to wear a hole in that paper," Lando said from where he sat cross-legged on the sofa, laptop balanced on his knees. The screen showed a timeline of campaign clips—footage from the NGO's latest environmental push, all needing editing before the afternoon deadline.

Oscar looked up, pencil pausing mid-stroke. "Just thinking through some aerodynamics stuff. Nothing urgent."

"Mmm." Lando's attention had already drifted back to the screen, but Oscar could see the slight furrow between his brows that meant he was only half-listening. The kind of distraction that came from having too many things pulling at the edges of your mind.

The flat around them bore the comfortable signs of two people who had learned to live together without losing themselves. Oscar's technical drawings were pinned to a corkboard next to Lando's printed articles about carbon policy. A pair of Oscar's trainers sat by the door next to Lando's wellies. The coffee maker—Oscar's contribution—hummed next to the fancy tea collection that Lando had slowly accumulated over the past year.

It was domestic in the way that had once terrified them both, and now felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar's phone buzzed against the counter. A text from Rosa: Stop ignoring my policy notes. You promised edits.

"Rosa's getting impatient," Lando said without looking up, as if he'd read the message through osmosis.

"When isn't she?" Oscar replied, but fondly. Rosa had become their anchor in ways neither of them had expected—the friend who called them out when they were being ridiculous, who brought wine when they needed it, who somehow always knew exactly what to say to cut through their overthinking.

Lando made a small sound of agreement, then saved his work and closed the laptop. "I should probably actually look at those notes. She's been working on this proposal for weeks."

The silence that followed was comfortable, broken only by the soft scratch of Oscar's pencil and the distant sounds of London waking up outside. But there was something else in the quiet—a weight that neither of them had acknowledged yet.

On the small table by the window, half-hidden under a stack of Lando's environmental magazines, sat an envelope. White, official-looking, with their landlord's return address in neat black print. The lease renewal they'd both seen delivered three days ago and had somehow managed to avoid mentioning.

Oscar glanced at it, then at Lando, who was now staring at his phone with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was actively trying not to look at anything else.

"We should probably—" Oscar started.

"Yeah," Lando said quickly. "We should. Just... not right now?"

Oscar nodded, understanding perfectly. They'd gotten so good at this—at being together, at loving each other without the constant fear of it falling apart. The lease renewal felt like a test they hadn't studied for, a question about the future that they'd been content to leave unanswered.

The morning light shifted, and Oscar went back to his sketches. Lando reopened his laptop. The envelope stayed where it was, patient and persistent, like all the best important things.

Outside, London hummed with its usual energy. Inside their flat, they existed in their careful bubble of now, where everything was exactly as it should be, and the future could wait just a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Ella arrived in London the way she did everything—with an elegance that seemed both effortless and intimidating. She stood in the doorway of their flat in perfectly tailored linen trousers and a silk blouse that probably cost more than Oscar's monthly McLaren parking fee, her blonde hair caught back in a way that looked casual but clearly wasn't.

"Still haven't outgrown your awkwardness," she said, pulling Oscar into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and something that might have been success. "I'm proud of you."

Charles appeared behind her, carrying what looked like half of Harvey Nichols in designer shopping bags. "Oscar," he said warmly, leaning in for the continental kiss-on-both-cheeks that Oscar still fumbled slightly. "You look well. Domestic life suits you."

"Thanks, I think," Oscar said, stepping back to let them in properly. "Lando's just finishing up some work."

As if summoned, Lando emerged from the bedroom where he'd been frantically trying to make it look like they were the kind of people who made their beds every morning. He'd changed into his better jeans and the jumper that Oscar had once said brought out his eyes.

"Ella!" The hug they shared was warmer, more familiar. "You look incredible. How's your mum?"

"Fully recovered, thank god. Back to her old self, which means she's already planning the engagement party even though we haven't set a date yet." Ella's smile was radiant, the kind of happiness that seemed to illuminate everything around her.

Charles laughed. "My mother called yesterday to discuss venues. Apparently, they've been texting."

"Of course they have," Lando said. "Come on, sit. I'll make tea. Or do you want something stronger?"

"Tea's perfect," Ella said, settling onto their sofa with the kind of grace that made their IKEA furniture look almost chic. "Tell me everything. How's the NGO work? How's McLaren? Are you two still disgustingly happy?"

Oscar felt heat rise in his cheeks. "We're... good. Really good."

"They're like a domestic drama with IKEA sponsorship," Charles said, but kindly. "It's actually quite sweet."

Lando returned with the tea tray, and they settled into the easy rhythm of catching up. Charles had news—Ferrari had offered him a long-term position, something with real security and the kind of opportunities he'd been working toward for years.

"It's everything I wanted," he said, his hand finding Ella's automatically. "The pay is excellent, the work is challenging, and I'll be working with some of the most innovative minds in the industry."

"That's incredible," Oscar said, and meant it. He'd always liked Charles, appreciated his quiet intelligence and the way he seemed to genuinely care about making Ella happy.

"We're thinking about Monaco," Ella added. "Charles's family is there, and with the new position, we could actually afford something nice. Maybe buy instead of rent for once."

"Monaco," Lando repeated, and Oscar could hear something wistful in his voice. "That sounds amazing."

"It does," Ella agreed. "But seriously—" She turned to look at them both, her expression shifting into something more focused. "What about you two? What's next?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. Oscar felt Lando tense beside him, saw the way his fingers tightened slightly around his mug.

"Next?" Oscar said carefully.

"You know. Plans. The future. You've been together for... what, almost five years now? You're living together, you both have stable jobs. What's the next step?"

Charles seemed to sense the sudden shift in the room. "Ella, maybe—"

"No, it's fine," Lando said quickly. "We're just... taking it as it comes, I suppose. No rush."

Ella's expression softened. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I just... I remember when Charles and I were where you are now. Happy, but not really talking about the future. And then one day we realized we were both just waiting for the other person to bring it up."

"How did you know?" Oscar asked. "What you wanted, I mean."

"We talked about it," Charles said simply. "A lot. About everything. Money, careers, families, where we wanted to live, what we wanted our lives to look like in five years, ten years. It wasn't always easy, but it was necessary."

"And now?" Lando asked.

"Now we know we want the same things," Ella said. "Or at least, we want to figure out how to want the same things."

Oscar glanced at Lando, who was staring into his tea as if it might contain answers. The lease renewal letter flashed through his mind, still sitting unopened on their table.

"It's not that we don't want to talk about it," Oscar said finally. "It's just... complicated."

"Everything worth having is complicated," Ella said gently. "But you two are good together. You just need to decide what you're building."

The room fell quiet again, but this time it felt different. Less comfortable, more charged with possibility and uncertainty.

Charles cleared his throat. "We should probably head to the hotel. Long day tomorrow—we're viewing flats, meeting with Charles's new colleagues."

"Of course," Lando said, standing. "Let me call you a cab."

As they gathered their things, Ella pulled Oscar aside. "You know I love you, right? Both of you. I just want you to be happy."

"I know," Oscar said. "We are happy."

"I know you are. But are you happy enough to build something bigger than just being happy?"

Oscar didn't have an answer for that. After they left, he and Lando cleaned up the tea things in silence, both of them carefully not looking at the envelope that seemed to have grown more insistent in the past few hours.

"They're good together," Lando said finally.

"Yeah," Oscar agreed. "They are."

"Do you think..." Lando started, then stopped. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Do you think we're hiding from something?"

Oscar considered this. "Maybe. But maybe we're just not ready yet."

"And if we're never ready?"

"Then we'll figure that out too," Oscar said, and hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

Chapter Text

The pub Rosa had chosen was the kind of place that tried very hard to be authentic—exposed brick, mismatched furniture, and a chalkboard menu that listed things like "artisanal chips" and "locally sourced hummus." Lando arrived to find her already at a corner table, a half-empty pint in front of her and a stack of papers covered in her neat handwriting.

"You look like someone who's been thinking too hard," she said without preamble, not even looking up from her notes.

"Hello to you too," Lando said, sliding into the chair across from her. "And I haven't been thinking too hard. I've been thinking exactly the right amount."

"Which is why you texted me at eleven last night asking if I was awake, then immediately followed up with 'never mind, sorry.'" Rosa finally looked up, fixing him with the kind of direct stare that made it impossible to deflect. "What's going on?"

Lando signaled the bartender for a pint, buying himself time. "Ella and Charles were in town this weekend."

"Ah." Rosa leaned back in her chair. "The beautiful, successful, intimidating couple with their beautiful, successful, intimidating life plans."

"They're not intimidating," Lando said automatically.

"Lando."

"Okay, they're a little intimidating. But in a good way. They're happy, they know what they want, they're building something together."

"And you're not?"

"I don't know." The words came out more honestly than he'd intended. "I thought we were. Oscar and I, I mean. But then Ella asked us about our plans, and we just... we didn't have an answer."

Rosa's expression softened slightly. "What kind of plans?"

"Future plans. Life plans. Where we want to live, what we want to do with our careers, whether we want to..." He gestured vaguely. "I don't know. Get married. Have kids. Buy a house. Normal couple things."

"Do you want those things?"

"I don't know," Lando repeated, frustrated. "Maybe? Some of them? I've never really thought about it seriously."

"Why not?"

"Because it's terrifying," he said, the words coming out sharper than he'd meant. "Because what if we want different things? What if we talk about it and realize we're not as compatible as we thought? What if—"

"What if you're completely fine and you're just scared because it's new territory?" Rosa interrupted. "Lando, you've been together for almost five years. You live together. You've integrated your lives. You're already building something."

"But what if it's not enough? What if we're just... existing? What if we're hiding from the real questions because we're scared of the answers?"

Rosa was quiet for a moment, studying him. "Do you want their life or your own?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ella and Charles. Do you want their specific life—the Monaco flat, the fancy jobs, the clear ten-year plan—or do you want what they have? The certainty, the partnership, the sense that they're moving in the same direction?"

Lando considered this. "I don't know. I don't even know what mine looks like yet."

"Then draw it messy," Rosa said simply. "But draw it."

"What?"

"You're a planner, Lando. You've always been a planner. You plan campaigns, you plan policy initiatives, you plan dinner parties. But you're treating your relationship like it's this delicate thing that might break if you think too hard about it."

"Maybe it is."

"Or maybe it's stronger than you think, and you're just scared to test it." Rosa reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Look, I love you and Oscar. You're good together. But you're both overthinkers who are now overthinking your overthinking, and it's making you paralyzed."

"So what do I do?"

"Talk to him. Not about the lease renewal or the practical stuff. About what you want your life to look like. About what scares you and what excites you and what you can't imagine living without."

"And if we want different things?"

"Then you figure out how to compromise, or you figure out that you can't. But you don't know until you try."

Lando's pint arrived, and he took a long sip, thinking. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple. Not easy, but simple. You love each other, right?"

"Yes."

"And you want to keep loving each other?"

"Yes."

"Then everything else is just logistics."

"Logistics," Lando repeated, as if testing the word.

"Messy, complicated, sometimes frustrating logistics. But still just logistics."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Rosa returning to her notes while Lando stared at his pint and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a plan, to know where he was going and who he was going with.

"Rosa?"

"Mmm?"

"What if we're not ready for the big conversations yet? What if we need more time?"

"Then you take more time. But you take it together, and you be honest about what you're doing. Don't hide from the questions—just agree that you're not ready to answer them yet."

"And that's okay?"

"That's perfectly okay. As long as you're both choosing it, and not just defaulting to it because it's easier."

Lando nodded slowly. "I should probably go home and talk to Oscar."

"You should. But first, tell me what you really want. Not what you think you should want, not what Ella and Charles have. What you want."

Lando closed his eyes, trying to reach past the fear and uncertainty to something more fundamental. "I want to wake up next to him for a long time. I want to support his career and have him support mine. I want to travel together and fight about whose turn it is to do the dishes and figure out how to be adults together."

"That's a good start."

"I want to not be scared of wanting more than that."

"Even better."

"And I want to stop comparing our life to other people's lives, because ours is pretty good, actually."

Rosa smiled. "Now you're getting somewhere."

Chapter Text

Oscar was at the kitchen counter again when Lando got home, but this time he wasn't sketching. Instead, he was staring at his phone with the kind of focused intensity that meant he was either reading something very important or very upsetting.

"Everything okay?" Lando asked, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair.

"Yeah. Maybe. I'm not sure." Oscar looked up, and Lando could see something uncertain in his expression. "I had a call with the team today. About a potential opportunity."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"A transfer. To the Woking facility, but with a lot more travel. More responsibility, better pay, working directly with the race engineers instead of just the development team."

Lando felt something cold settle in his stomach. "That sounds... big."

"It is. It's the kind of opportunity I've been working toward for years." Oscar set his phone down, but kept staring at it. "But it would mean relocating. Not necessarily immediately, but eventually. And I'd be away more often."

"Away where?"

"Race weekends, testing, sometimes weeks at a time. And the base would be outside London. Possibly Milton Keynes, or even further depending on the specific role."

Lando felt something snap inside him, a sudden sharp anger that surprised him with its intensity. "So now we're planning without talking again?"

The words hung in the air between them, harsher than he'd intended. Oscar's head shot up, eyes widening.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're sitting here making career decisions that affect both of us, and you're doing it alone." Lando knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Just like you always do."

"I'm not making decisions," Oscar said carefully. "I'm just... thinking about it."

"Are you? Or are you already planning how to tell me you're leaving?"

"Leaving?" Oscar stood up, confusion clear on his face. "Lando, I'm not leaving. I'm talking to you about it right now."

"Are you? Because it sounds like you've already decided this is what you want."

"I haven't decided anything!" Oscar's voice rose, then he visibly tried to calm himself. "I got a call today. I told them I'd think about it. That's all."

"And in your thinking, did you consider that maybe I'd want to be part of that conversation?"

"Of course I did. That's why I'm telling you now."

"You're telling me about a decision you've already started making in your head. That's not the same thing."

They stared at each other across the kitchen, both breathing hard. The silence stretched between them, filled with all the things they weren't saying.

Finally, Oscar spoke, his voice very quiet. "I was scared if I brought it up, you'd think I was leaving you behind."

The anger in Lando's chest deflated as suddenly as it had risen. "What?"

"The opportunity. It's everything I've been working toward, but it would change everything for us. I was scared if I even mentioned it, you'd think I'd already chosen my career over you."

"Oscar." Lando moved closer, saw the genuine worry in Oscar's eyes. "I've never been scared of you leaving. I've only been scared of us freezing."

"Freezing?"

"Staying exactly where we are forever because it's safe. Because it's easier than figuring out what comes next."

Oscar was quiet for a long moment, processing this. "Is that what we're doing?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." Lando ran a hand through his hair. "Rosa said something today about how we're both overthinkers who are now overthinking our overthinking."

"That sounds like Rosa."

"She's not wrong, though. We're so afraid of making the wrong choice that we're not making any choices at all."

"So what do we do?"

Lando looked around their flat—at the unopened lease renewal, at Oscar's sketches still spread across the counter, at the life they'd built together in this small space. "I don't know. But I want to figure it out with you."

"Even if it means everything changes?"

"Everything's already changing. We're just pretending it's not."

Oscar nodded slowly. "The opportunity... it's not just about the job. It's about what kind of life I want. What kind of career, what kind of future."

"And what do you want?"

"I want to do work that matters. I want to be good at something important. I want to build something that lasts."

"And you want to do it with me?"

"I want to do everything with you," Oscar said simply. "That's the only part I'm sure about."

Lando felt something ease in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "Then maybe that's enough to start with."

"You think?"

"I think we're both scared of the same thing. That if we talk about the future, we'll discover we want different things. But what if we don't? What if we want the same things and we're just too scared to say it?"

Oscar reached for him, and Lando let himself be pulled close. They stood there in their kitchen, holding each other, both of them shaking slightly.

"I don't want to freeze," Oscar said into Lando's shoulder. "I don't want us to stay the same forever just because it's safe."

"I don't want that either."

"But I also don't want to lose this. What we have right now."

"We won't," Lando said, and hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. "We'll just... build on it."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But we'll figure it out together."

They stood there for a long time, holding each other in the gathering dusk, both of them finally ready to admit that not knowing what came next was okay, as long as they didn't know together.

Chapter Text

They sat on the floor with their backs against the sofa, a pot of tea between them and a blank notebook in Lando's lap. The lease renewal letter lay open on the coffee table above them—they'd finally read it, finally acknowledged that they had three weeks to decide whether they were staying or going.

"Okay," Lando said, pen poised over the paper. "Rosa said we should draw our life, even if we draw it messy."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"I think it means we stop trying to have all the answers and start figuring out what questions we want to ask."

Oscar considered this. "Like a map of hopes instead of a plan?"

"Exactly." Lando wrote "MAYBE LIST" at the top of the page, then looked at Oscar expectantly. "What do you want? Not what you think you should want, just... what you want."

"I want us to have a place that feels like home."

"What does that look like?"

Oscar was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Somewhere with good light for drawing. A kitchen where we can both cook without getting in each other's way. A window seat where you can read and I can work on my laptop."

Lando wrote: A flat with a window seat.

"What else?"

"I want..." Oscar hesitated. "This is going to sound stupid."

"Nothing sounds stupid right now."

"I want a dog. Maybe. Someday. A little one that can travel with us."

Lando grinned, adding to the list: A little dog (Oscar says maybe).

"Your turn," Oscar said. "What do you want?"

"I want us to have a shared workspace. Somewhere we can both work but still be together. Your engineering stuff and my policy research all mixed up."

A shared workspace.

"And I want to travel. Not just for work, but together. I want to see Monaco, obviously, but also... everywhere. I want to show you places I love and see new places with you."

Visiting Monaco someday.

"What about careers?" Oscar asked. "What do you really want there?"

"I want to do work that matters. I want to help make the world a little bit better, even if it's just in small ways. And I want to be able to support your career too, wherever it takes you."

"Even if it takes me away sometimes?"

"Even then. As long as you come home to me."

They continued like this for an hour, building their list slowly, thoughtfully. Some items were practical: Save money for a house deposit. Learn to cook more than pasta. Get better at arguing productively. Others were dreams: Take a year off at 30. Write something that matters. Build something that lasts.

"What about the big stuff?" Oscar asked eventually. "Marriage, kids, all that?"

Lando looked at him carefully. "Do you want those things?"

"I don't know. Maybe. With you... maybe. But not right now."

"Good. Because I'm not ready for that conversation yet either."

"But someday?"

"Someday," Lando agreed, and added to the list: Talk about the big stuff when we're ready.

"What else?"

"Time," Lando said immediately. "I want more time. Always more time. Time to figure things out, time to be together, time to grow up without rushing."

Time. More time. Always.

Oscar leaned back against the sofa, studying their list. "It's not very specific, is it?"

"No. But it's honest."

"I like that it's full of maybes."

"Me too. I don't need everything figured out," Lando said. "I just need to figure it out with you."

"Even if we make mistakes?"

"Especially if we make mistakes. As long as we make them together."

Oscar reached for the pen and added one more item to the list: Make mistakes together.

They sat in comfortable silence, both of them looking at what they'd created. It wasn't a plan, exactly, but it was something. A beginning. A direction.

"The McLaren opportunity," Oscar said eventually. "I think I want to take it."

"Even if it means leaving London?"

"Even then. But I want to take it with you. I want us to decide together what that looks like."

Lando nodded. "And I want to apply for that grant Rosa mentioned. The one for the policy research position."

"Even if it means more travel for you too?"

"Even then."

"So we're both choosing uncertainty?"

"We're choosing to build something bigger than what we have right now," Lando corrected. "Which is terrifying and exciting and probably exactly what we need."

Oscar smiled, the first genuinely relaxed smile Lando had seen from him in days. "Should we sign the lease renewal?"

"For now. While we figure out what comes next."

"And then?"

"Then we'll see. Maybe we'll stay in London. Maybe we'll move to Milton Keynes or Monaco or somewhere we haven't even thought of yet. Maybe we'll get that dog and the window seat and the shared workspace."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we'll figure out what we do want instead."

Oscar leaned over and kissed him, soft and sure. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Even if I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Especially because you don't know what you're doing. We're figuring it out together, remember?"

They stayed on the floor until late, talking through their list, adding and subtracting, dreaming aloud about futures they might want and lives they might build. By the time they finally went to bed, they still didn't have a plan, but they had something better: a shared sense of possibility, and the knowledge that whatever came next, they'd face it together.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, Oscar signed his contract renewal with McLaren—but with a clause for flexibility, the kind of arrangement that would let him take the transfer opportunity when it came up again, or something like it. He'd talked to his manager about long-term goals, about the kind of career he wanted to build, about the importance of having options.

"It's not about keeping my options open," he'd explained to Lando afterward. "It's about building toward something instead of just reacting to whatever comes up."

Lando had been working on his own version of the same thing—a grant proposal for Rosa's NGO that would fund a full-time policy research position. It was ambitious, probably too ambitious, but Rosa had looked at his draft and said, "This is exactly the kind of thing we need. You're thinking bigger than I expected."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's good. You've been thinking small for too long."

The grant was a long shot, but it was the right kind of long shot. The kind that felt like reaching toward something instead of running away from it.

Their flat had slowly started to change too. They'd moved Oscar's desk to the window where the light was better, and Lando had claimed the kitchen counter as his workspace. It wasn't the shared office they'd dreamed about, but it was a start. They could work in the same space now, occasionally looking up to smile at each other or share a thought.

The maybe list had found its way to the refrigerator, held up by magnets they'd collected from various trips. It had grown longer over the weeks, more detailed in some places, more abstract in others. Learn to argue productively had become Learn to argue productively (practice makes perfect) after a particularly heated discussion about whose turn it was to buy groceries that had somehow turned into a conversation about financial planning.

A little dog (Oscar says maybe) had been amended to A little dog (Oscar says maybe, Lando says definitely not yet) after they'd spent an afternoon at the park watching a man struggle with an overexcited terrier.

"Maybe in a few years," Oscar had said, and Lando had agreed. They were getting better at maybe, at the space between wanting something and being ready for it.

Rosa had taken to calling Lando a "soft-souled bureaucrat with good hair" ever since he'd submitted the grant proposal. It was meant as a compliment, he thought, though with Rosa it was sometimes hard to tell.

"You're learning to want things," she'd said over coffee the previous week. "It's about time."

"I've always wanted things."

"You've always been afraid of wanting things. It's different."

She wasn't wrong. Lando was discovering that there was a difference between knowing what you didn't want and knowing what you did want. The second was scarier, but also more useful.

Ella had texted a photo from Monaco the day before—a sun-drenched balcony overlooking the harbor, with the caption: Our new view. Guest room is yours whenever you want it.

Charles had followed up with: We saved you the good bed. Fair warning: Ella's already planning dinner parties.

It was exactly the kind of life Lando had once thought he wanted—the glamour, the certainty, the perfectly curated existence. But looking at the photos now, he felt something different. Not envy, exactly, but a kind of warm appreciation for the fact that his friends had found their version of happiness.

He'd shown the photos to Oscar, who'd smiled and said, "We should visit them soon."

"Monaco isn't exactly budget-friendly."

"No, but it's not impossible either. Maybe next year, if the grant comes through."

Maybe. There was that word again, but it felt different now. Less like an excuse and more like a promise.

The evening light was fading as they sat at their kitchen table, both of them working on their respective projects. Oscar was refining some technical drawings, and Lando was editing a report about carbon pricing policy. Domestic and ordinary and exactly what they'd built together.

"I've been thinking," Oscar said, not looking up from his work.

"Dangerous," Lando replied automatically.

"About what Ella said. About building something."

"What about it?"

"I think we've been building something this whole time. We just didn't realize it."

Lando looked around their flat—at the maybe list on the fridge, at Oscar's drawings mixed with his policy papers, at the keys in the bowl by the door that had somehow become the most important symbol of home he'd ever known.

"Yeah," he said. "I think you're right."

"And I think we're good at it."

"At what?"

"Building things. Together. Even when we don't know what we're doing."

"Especially when we don't know what we're doing."

Oscar finally looked up, pencil still in hand. "I'm not scared anymore. Of the future, I mean. Of not having it all figured out."

"No?"

"No. Because whatever happens, we'll figure it out together. And if we can't figure it out, we'll figure out something else."

Lando reached across the table and took Oscar's free hand. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Even if we never get the dog?"

"Even then. But we're definitely getting the dog eventually."

"Maybe we are."

"Definitely maybe."

They sat there in their kitchen, hands linked across the table, surrounded by the life they'd built without really trying. The future stretched out ahead of them, uncertain and full of possibilities, and for the first time in months, that felt like exactly what they wanted.

Outside, London hummed with its usual energy. Inside their flat, they existed in their carefully built bubble of home, where everything was exactly as it should be, and the future could be whatever they made it.

The maybe list rustled slightly in the breeze from the window, patient and persistent, like all the best important things. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The new flat had the window seat.

It wasn't exactly what they'd imagined—the cushions were IKEA rather than bespoke, and the view was of a busy street in Milton Keynes rather than a quiet London square—but it was theirs. Oscar had claimed it as his preferred spot for weekend morning coffee, laptop balanced on his knees while he caught up on technical journals. Lando preferred the kitchen table, where he could spread out his research papers and policy drafts.

"Coffee?" Oscar called from the kitchen, and Lando looked up from his laptop to see him holding up the French press they'd bought specifically for the new place.

"Please."

They'd been in the flat for two months now, ever since Oscar's transfer had come through ahead of schedule. The McLaren opportunity had turned out to be everything he'd hoped for—more challenging work, better pay, and a team that appreciated his particular blend of technical precision and creative problem-solving. The commute was longer, but the job was exactly what he'd been working toward.

Lando's grant had come through too, against all odds. Rosa had called him at seven in the morning, shouting over the phone about funding approvals and policy research initiatives until he was fully awake and properly excited. The position was everything he'd written in his proposal and more—a chance to work on climate policy at a national level, with enough flexibility to travel and enough stability to plan more than six months ahead.

"Look at this," Oscar said, settling onto the window seat with both mugs. He held up his phone, showing a message from Charles. "They're engaged. Officially this time."

The photo showed Ella's hand, elegant as always, now decorated with a ring that probably cost more than their monthly rent. But her smile was radiant, and Charles looked happier than Lando had ever seen him.

"About time," Lando said, accepting his coffee. "When's the wedding?"

"Next summer. Monaco, obviously. We're invited."

"We can afford Monaco now."

"We can afford a lot of things now."

It was true. The combination of their new salaries and the lower cost of living outside London had given them a financial breathing room they'd never had before. They'd opened a joint savings account—after a surprisingly easy conversation about money and goals and who paid for what—and had been steadily building toward some of the items on their maybe list.

"Rosa's coming for dinner tomorrow," Lando said, scrolling through his messages. "She wants to see the flat properly."

"Good. I like having her approval."

"You have her approval. She thinks you're good for me."

"Am I?"

"You're perfect for me," Lando said, and meant it. "Even when you leave your sketches all over the kitchen counter."

"They're not all over the counter. They're organized."

"They're chaos."

"They're organized chaos."

This was the kind of argument they had now—gentle, familiar, more about the rhythm of being together than any real disagreement. They'd gotten good at this, at the daily negotiations of sharing space and life and future plans.

The maybe list had evolved too. Some items had been crossed off: A flat with a window seat (achieved), A shared workspace (sort of achieved—they'd learned to work in the same space without driving each other crazy), Save money for a house deposit (in progress). Others had been added: Learn to cook something other than pasta (Lando's contribution after a particularly disastrous attempt at risotto), Visit Oscar's family in Australia (a plan for next Christmas), Figure out how to be happy without comparing ourselves to other people (ongoing).

A little dog (Oscar says maybe) had been amended to A little dog (Oscar says yes, Lando says maybe, landlord says absolutely not) after they'd discovered their lease specifically prohibited pets. It had become a running joke between them, the theoretical dog that would someday exist in their theoretical house with their theoretical garden.

"I had a thought," Oscar said, settling more comfortably against the window frame. "About the dog."

"What about the dog?"

"Maybe we should visit some shelters. Not to adopt anything," he added quickly, seeing Lando's expression. "Just to look. To see what's out there."

"Oscar."

"I know we can't have one here. But maybe we could volunteer? Dog walking, or helping with adoptions? It would be good practice for when we do get our own place."

Lando considered this. Six months ago, he would have deflected, found reasons why it was impractical or premature. Now he found himself genuinely thinking about it.

"That's not a terrible idea," he said finally.

"Really?"

"Really. As long as you don't fall in love with the first dog you see and try to smuggle it home."

"I make no promises."

They sat in comfortable silence, both looking out the window at their new neighborhood. It wasn't London, and it wasn't Monaco, but it was theirs. They'd chosen it together, planned the move together, figured out how to build a life that worked for both of them.

"Do you miss it?" Lando asked. "London?"

"Sometimes. But not as much as I thought I would."

"Me neither. Though I do miss being able to walk to that good coffee shop."

"We can visit. London's not going anywhere."

"True." Lando curled up more comfortably in his chair. "Do you think we're doing this right? The adult thing?"

"I think we're doing it our way, which is probably close enough."

"Even though we still don't have a five-year plan?"

"Even then. Maybe especially then."

Oscar's phone buzzed with another message, this one from Rosa: Bringing wine tomorrow. The expensive kind. I'm proud of you both.

"She's bringing the good wine," Lando said, reading over Oscar's shoulder.

"We must be doing something right."

"We're doing a lot of things right."

"Most things, anyway."

"Most things," Lando agreed.

Outside, the afternoon was settling into evening, and they could hear the sounds of their neighbors coming home from work, children playing in the small garden spaces behind the building, the ordinary rhythms of a life they were still learning to live.

"I love you," Oscar said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

"I love you too."

"Even if we never figure out what we're doing?"

"Especially if we never figure out what we're doing."

"Good," Oscar said. "Because I'm pretty sure we're going to be making it up as we go along for a while."

"That's okay. We're good at making things up."

"We're excellent at making things up."

They sat there in their window seat and their kitchen chair, in their new flat with its imperfect view and its perfect light, surrounded by the life they'd built one maybe at a time. The future stretched out ahead of them, still uncertain, still full of possibilities, and that felt like exactly what they wanted.

The maybe list, relocated to their new refrigerator, rustled in the breeze from the open window. Patient and persistent, like all the best important things. And for now, and for always, that was enough.