camera roll

The quiet hum of the ceiling fan above us was the only sound filling the room, a stark contrast to the chaos that erupted from downstairs. The villa, which had been peacefully still just moments ago, was now alive with the unmistakable sounds of our drunken friends returning from their night out. The front door slammed against the wall, followed by the clatter of heels on wooden floors, overlapping voices, and the unmistakable shatter of glass.

It was as if a tornado had blown through, carrying with it the scent of spilled tequila and expensive perfume.

Lando, still sprawled across my bed, only smirked. He wasn't wearing much—just a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers and that insufferable grin that made me want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure.

"You should go to your room," I murmured, though I made no effort to move him.

He raised an eyebrow, shifting just enough to prop himself up on one elbow. "Why?" His voice was low, teasing. "I was planning on sleeping here tonight."

I exhaled through my nose, staring at him. It wasn't a question—it was a statement, one that carried more weight than he likely intended.

We were in a good place, finally. The tension that had kept us apart, the unsaid words, the stubborn silence—it was gone, at least for tonight. Maybe I should have been harder on him, given him the same cold shoulder he'd given me for weeks. Maybe I should have let him suffer a little longer. But I wasn't strong enough for that.

Not when he was lying here like this. Not when I wanted him close just as much as he wanted to stay.

"They'll figure it out," I said, gesturing toward the door where our friends' drunken antics continued outside. Someone shrieked with laughter. A deep voice—probably Claire's boyfriend—grumbled something incoherent. More footsteps. More noise.

Lando let out a short, amused laugh. "Davenport," he said, shaking his head. "They already know."

And of course, he was right. Our friends weren't stupid. They had eyes, they had instincts, and judging by the way Claire had been throwing me knowing looks all day, she probably saw this coming before I did.

I let out a defeated sigh. "Fine. You can stay."

His grin widened in victory, but before he could say something undoubtedly smug, I climbed back into bed, launching myself onto him with little grace. He let out a surprised chuckle, his hands instinctively finding my waist to steady me.

"Left side is mine," I added quickly, pressing my palm against his chest as if to stake my claim.

He hummed in mock consideration. "Hmm, I don't know. Might have to fight you for it."

Without thinking, I leaned in.

His lips met mine in a short, fleeting kiss—barely more than a second, but enough to send a warmth spreading through my chest. It was nothing extravagant, nothing deep or desperate. Just a moment. A quiet confirmation of what we already knew.

And yet, it meant everything.

I pulled back, my fingers still resting lightly against his skin, and found him already watching me. There was no smirk this time, no teasing remark. Just something soft in his gaze, something I wasn't sure I was ready to name.

Outside, our friends continued their drunken parade through the villa. The night was still loud, still chaotic. But in here, in this little pocket of space where it was just us, I had everything I needed.

I had him.

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the Mediterranean in shades of orange , red and pink as we made our way to the restaurant. The warm breeze carried the scent of salt and summer, mingling with the distant laughter of tourists strolling along the harbor. The restaurant we had chosen for dinner was tucked away at the edge of the marina, its terrace offering an uninterrupted view of the sea. Fairy lights were strung overhead, swaying gently in the breeze, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables.

Our group moved as one, voices overlapping as we settled into our seats. It was one of those effortless moments where everything just fit.

Claire sat beside me, her arm draped casually over the back of her chair, already deep in conversation with her boyfriend, while Max and Pietra debated over which bottle of wine to order. Lando slid into the chair next to mine, his presence so easy, so familiar, that it no longer felt like something I had to question.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

The conversation flowed without hesitation. Despite our differences—different careers, different worlds, even different ages—nothing felt out of place. There was no awkwardness, no barriers. Just laughter, teasing, and the kind of warmth that only comes with being surrounded by people who get you.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the atmosphere wash over me. Claire was animatedly telling a story about some disaster that happened at her office, gesturing wildly as she spoke, making everyone laugh. Across from me, Lando was locked in a good-natured argument with Max about football—something about Man City being overrated.

It was easy. It was effortless.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was trying to hold something together that was destined to break.

When the food arrived, everyone dug in immediately. Plates of fresh seafood, grilled vegetables, and handmade pasta filled the table, the scents mixing in the air and making my stomach growl. Wine glasses clinked together, laughter echoed, and time seemed to slow, just for a little while.

I turned slightly to Lando, catching the way the candlelight flickered against his face. He looked content, relaxed, like he belonged here just as much as the rest of us. There was no tension, no weight of unsaid words between us anymore.

"You're staring," he murmured, amusement dancing in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes, pretending to focus on my plate. "You wish."

His knee nudged mine under the table, subtle and familiar. "Maybe."

Before I could come up with a snarky reply, Claire suddenly leaned across the table, phone in hand.

"You two look cute," she announced, pointing her camera at us.

I barely had time to react before she snapped the photo.

I turned toward Lando instinctively, caught mid-laugh as he smirked at whatever joke Max had just made. His arm rested loosely along my shoulders, our hands tangled together. iI closed my eyes and smiled. Neither of us was trying.

It was just us.

Claire grinned at the picture, flipping her phone around to show me. And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

We looked... happy. Really happy.

It wasn't the forced smiles of staged photos or the careful distance we had kept before. It wasn't tension disguised as banter. It was something else entirely. Something softer, something real.

My heart clenched in my chest.

"Send it to me," I said, voice quieter than I intended.

Claire's smirk widened knowingly. "Already did."

I glanced at Lando, half-expecting him to make some teasing remark, but he only gave me a look—one that I couldn't quite decipher. Something flickered in his expression, something unreadable, before he turned back to his conversation with Jake.

I looked down at my phone, at the photo that now lived in my camera roll.

It was the first picture of us.

The first picture where I didn't feel like I was standing on shaky ground.

And for the first time, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

Like the last piece of the puzzle had finally clicked.