く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡

So a pattern forms.

Lando walks into the office and heads to his side of the table. You go to yours.

You spend the morning sorting through the 2024 files — and it goes without saying that the room is now a complete disaster, with box after box stacked beside your desk — while Lando answers the newest emails, handles the most urgent financial matters, takes phone calls, and signs whatever important documents have landed on his desk that day.

At some point, he disappears to get coffee.

He comes back, absently places a cup on your desk, and returns to his own side of the room with his.

Then you switch.

Whatever you weren’t able to finish in the archives, he picks up. And while he does that, you organize everything he worked on throughout the day, keeping the current spreadsheets in order before they have the chance to become the unbelievable mess the previous administration somehow managed to create.

Probably because they didn’t have an assistant as good as you.

The thought earns a quiet snort of amusement.

Across the table, Lando glances up from whatever he’s reading, curious about what could possibly be funny.

You shrug. A smile — barely there — tugs at the corner of his mouth before he lowers his gaze and returns to work.

And that’s how the days pass.

At some point during the week, Oscar stops by the office with Max. The silence alone is suspicious enough that, before entering, he asks Logan and Esteban whether something is wrong. The two guards simply shrug. How would they know?

So when the king finally steps inside and finds you standing beside Lando’s desk, leaning over a spreadsheet while explaining something to him, his first reaction is to frown and exchange a glance with Max. Not because anything is wrong. No. Because it looks far too right.

You turn toward the printer a moment later and let out a startled yelp, immediately clapping a hand over your own mouth. Oh, shit.

Lando startles too. Mostly because you never yell. He twists around in his chair, only to find the two men standing near the doorway like a pair of ghosts.

“I think it would be polite to announce yourselves next time,” Lando says, shaking his head as he turns back to his computer, absentmindedly biting the corner of his thumb. “Just my opinion, though.”

You let out a slow breath and quickly dip into a curtsey, which earns a quiet laugh from Oscar.

“Good afternoon,” he says warmly. Then he makes his way over to Lando’s desk. “Since I’m already here, may I interrupt for a moment?”

“If you're here to bring me more problems, then no. If you're here to praise me, then yes,” Lando says without looking up from his work. “Golf invitations will also be accepted. I'm starting to think my arse is taking the shape of this chair.”

“No golf. No praise. And no problems, I don't think,” Oscar replies before glancing at Max.

“I don't think so either.”

At that, Lando finally looks up at both of them, one eyebrow slightly raised, wearing the unmistakable expression of a man already bored by whatever this conversation is about to become.

“I'm listening.”

Oscar looks over at you, who had been far too busy trying to make yourself invisible during the conversation. The moment his eyes meet yours, you realize you're part of this now.

A small smile appears on the king's face.

“So,” he begins, “we're making a small change regarding office space.”

Max, standing beside him, folds his arms.

“You're getting kicked out of this office and moving somewhere else,” Max says bluntly.

Oscar's lips purse into a small pout. He shrugs.

“Yeah. What he said.”

For a second longer, silence settles over the room. It's as though the gears in Lando's head are turning, slowly piecing the information together. Yours are doing exactly the same thing, which is why you've unconsciously shifted back in your chair.

“You bastards,” he says flatly. “You are bringing problems.” He points vaguely around the room. “We don't have time for this. Have either of you actually seen how much stuff is in here?”

“Don't worry,” Oscar replies, as though that solves everything. “You have until the end of the week to move.”

Lando stares at him. You stare at him too.

“Hm... Your Majesty?” you say, slowly raising your hand as though you're in a classroom.

“Yes?” Oscar says, and suddenly everyone's attention shifts to you.

“Are you aware of the issue with the 2024 gap?” you ask.

“I am,” Oscar replies calmly.

You nod once.

“Then do you really think it makes sense for us to... move all of this across the palace while risking the loss of information stored in these boxes?”

A brief silence follows.

“That is actually a very fair question,” Oscar admits. He glances toward Max before looking back at the two of you. “Would you like to see the office you've been assigned before moving everything there?”

“We would,” Lando answers immediately.

His expression remains thoroughly unimpressed. Oscar and Max exchange another look. This time, both of them smile.

“Come on, then.”

The first thing you notice about the new office is the light.

It's upstairs, which means climbing yet another flight of stairs. You're still busy thinking about how inconvenient that is when Oscar opens the door and gestures for the two of you to step inside.

And—

Wow.

A wall of glass stretches almost from one end of the room to the other. There's even a small door leading out onto a balcony.

Your eyes widen immediately.

“I thought a place like this might suit you better,” Oscar says, stepping in behind you. “More natural light. More space. And a bit more separation between work areas.” He gestures around the room. “You each have a clearly defined side now. See?”

Lando doesn't answer. He's too busy looking. Taking everything in. Observing.

“Look at that,” Max says, unable to resist. “The pretty boy suddenly has nothing to say.”

Lando shoots him a look.

“Go on,” Max continues. “You can admit it. It's a nice office. Much better than that basement.”

But Lando's hands disappear into his pockets. He swallows once and lifts his gaze toward the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls are white. Modern. The lighting is warm. The placement of the desks is… Okay. There aren't many cabinets. Right. Problem.

“In case neither of you noticed,” he says slowly, “I don't think there's enough room here for all those boxes.” He gestures vaguely toward the office behind them. “And we've already discussed storage concerns. Physical records are important for maintaining the integrity of the work, especially when the internet goes down or there's a power outage.”

Oscar hums thoughtfully, pressing an index finger against his chin.

“Well, I'd like to think there's a brain inside my head,” he says.

Then he starts walking. To the other side of the room. Toward… a door.

You, who had been standing by the window this entire time, turn to exchange a glance with Lando. Together, you move closer. By then, Oscar has already disappeared through it.

Oh. Damn.

You step inside. Lando stops in the doorway. Because what you're looking at is practically another room entirely — nearly the same size as the main office. Except this one… This one has shelves. Lots of shelves.

Shelves for the boxes from previous years and the years yet to come. Filing drawers tucked neatly into one corner. A climate-control system specifically designed to preserve paper records. Proper lighting that won't damage documents over time.

And for a moment, Oscar isn't there. Neither is Max. Your eyes drift to Lando instead, and you bite the inside of your lip to hide your smile, simply waiting to hear what he's going to say.

He looks at you. Then at the shelves. And you know exactly what he's thinking. Because there is absolutely no way he's any less excited than you are.

“Well...” he begins. “That’s quite a few stairs. Logan and Esteban are going to wear their legs out going up and down all day.”

“I think they'll survive,” Oscar replies. “They're strong lads.”

“They are,” Max agrees from the doorway, inspecting his own fingernails. “I can provide the medical reports if necessary.”

Lando exhales slowly.

“And?” Oscar asks, crossing his arms. “Pretty nice, isn't it?”

Lando stares at the shelves one last time. Then at the drawers. Then at the climate-control system. Then at the shelves again.

...

“We'll take the new office,” he says, sounding utterly defeated.

You nod enthusiastically, the smile still trapped between your teeth, your hands clasped behind your back. It's as if you're physically restraining yourself from bouncing on the spot.

“Very good,” Oscar says with mock solemnity.

He steps over to Lando and places both hands on his friend's shoulders.

“You didn't really have a choice,” he says. “But this is much better, isn't it?”

“Bastard,” Lando replies. “Again.”

There isn't a trace of irritation in his voice. If anything, he's smiling. Oscar laughs and moves past him, heading out of the archive room. As he goes, he gives Lando's arm two light pats.

“We'll leave the two of you to figure out how you're going to handle the move,” he says. Then he gestures vaguely around the room. “Welcome to the new Royal Treasury office.”

Max follows the announcement with a completely fake military salute. Together, the two of them leave and just like that, you're left alone in the room. Alone with the shelves. The boxes. And each other.

Lando looks around the room again, finally pulling his hands out of his pockets. He walks over to one of the shelves where the climate-control panel is mounted, picks up the remote, and studies it as though it's a completely novel invention.

Alright.

He can very easily get used to the idea of working somewhere that isn't surrounded by those horrific boxes.

“You...” you begin. “Do you think we should start moving things now?”

He places the remote back where he found it and lifts his eyes to yours.

“Maybe. But we'll probably need today, tomorrow, and the day after that.” He glances around the room once more. “There's a lot of stuff. I think it's going to slow down the work quite a bit.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But we'll have to do it eventually, and...” You shrug. “The work never really ends. Besides the gap, we don't have that many urgent issues right now. You already dealt with most of them this morning.”

Lando narrows his eyes slightly and tilts his head.

“You really want to move in here,” he says.

The accusation is obvious. Your eyes immediately roll. Your arms cross over your chest.

“As if you hated it.”

A smile appears. Small. Caught. Then he steps closer, passing by you on his way to the door.

“Come on,” he says. “Let's move.”

When the two of you finally return to the old office, the first thing you realize is that—

“We're kind of messy,” Lando says. His voice cuts through the silence.

You continue staring at the boxes scattered across the floor, genuinely unsure how they managed to multiply to this extent.

“Speak for yourself. Have you seen my spreadsheets?” Your tone is flat, mostly because you're still trying to process the situation. “How exactly are we supposed to get all of this up those stairs?”

Beside you, Lando finally moves.

He lets out a long sigh and starts undoing the buttons at his cuffs. You blink. Because, well… Because he's rolling his sleeves up to the middle of his forearms, and you're almost certain that's inappropriate somehow, even if you couldn't possibly explain why. Anyway.

You clear your throat.

“I think we should... prioritize the boxes on the floor,” you say, already slipping into planning mode. One hand rests behind your back while the other covers your mouth as you think through the logistics. “They're the ones we need to catalogue into the digital system first, after all. Right?”

Lando nods.

“Sounds good.” He glances around the room. “Okay. Let's do it.”

You lift both hands and start gathering your hair into a bun. It falls apart once. Then again. Only on the third attempt does it finally stay in place. Lando, who is already crouching down to start sorting through the stacks of files, lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. You simply shake your head. Then slip off your heels.

You sit down on the floor beside him, cross your legs and look at the pile of papers he's sorting through and immediately frown. A second later, you click your tongue and give the back of his hand a light slap.

“You're mixing the boxes.”

“They're all from the same year,” he says, looking genuinely confused as he turns toward you. As if you're some entirely new species he hasn't encountered before.

You shake your head and grab one of the empty boxes and hold it up.

“First-half batch…” You point to the other one. “Second-half batch.”

Lando looks down at the papers in his hands. Then at the boxes. Then back at the papers.

“Right. Okay.”

He says it quietly, already beginning to reorganize everything according to the numbering system. A satisfied little hum escapes you. You start sorting through your own stack as well, adding neatly organized piles beside his.

An hour passes.

The two of you finish sorting the chaos scattered across the floor, seal the boxes, and then discover that neither of you actually has any tape. Lando has to leave the office to track some down from someone, somewhere. When he finally returns victorious, tape in hand, you seal everything that needs sealing, stack the finished boxes on top of the table, and move on to the second phase of the relocation.

Slowly, the older archives begin making their journey upstairs. One box at a time. Back and forth across the palace.

The process earns curious looks from Logan and Esteban, along with several questions about what exactly is happening. Staff members passing through the corridors stop to stare. Housekeepers. Tutors. A few members of the royal household. Even Oscar's sisters pause to watch the spectacle unfold.

Until that day, you hadn't exactly been known for wandering around the palace. Now you're carrying boxes through it like a woman possessed.

At one point, while Lando is returning from the new office and you're heading toward it with another box balanced in your arms, your foot catches on the edge of a stair. You stumble. The box tilts dangerously. Lando stops immediately. He reaches you before either you or the documents have a chance to hit the floor, one hand steadying the box while the other catches your arm.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then he exhales.

“Lucky for you I wasn't carrying anything.”

And just like that, he lets go and continues downstairs to fetch another load.

The work goes on. Trip after trip. Box after box. The sun begins to sink lower in the sky, turning the light streaming through the palace windows gold. And still, neither of you is finished. Sweat trickles down the back of your neck. The back of Lando's shirt is damp between his shoulder blades.

The moon is already high in the sky.

There's still work left to do, but most of it is finally behind you.

You're sitting on top of one of the new desks, absentmindedly swinging your legs while Lando stands by the climate-control panel, lowering the temperature and rolling his neck until it lets out a satisfying crack.

“Good thing we organized everything inside the archive room before moving it,” you say between a yawn. “Having to stop and sort everything again afterward would've been unbearable.”

Lando nods in agreement. Then he spreads his arms dramatically in front of the stream of cool air pouring from the vent.

A laugh escapes you immediately. You don't even bother trying to hold it back, because yes. You understand completely.

“Everything alright over there?” you ask.

“Oh, it's perfect,” Lando replies.

He closes his eyes for a second, standing directly beneath the air conditioning like a man having a religious experience. But the moment is interrupted by a knock at the door.

Lando opens one eye.

“Would you mind getting that?” he asks, making absolutely no effort to move.

A smile tugs at your lips. You hop down from the desk and head for the door, glancing around the new office as you go. Then you turn the handle.

A man is standing on the other side. You don't know him, but he gives absolutely no indication that he's in the wrong place.

“Good evening,” you greet, pulling the door fully open.

“Good evening, miss.” He inclines his head politely. “His Majesty asked me to deliver this to you.”

That's when you notice it. Your eyebrows shoot upward as the man pushes a serving cart into the office. On top of it sits a silver bucket holding a bottle of champagne, two crystal flutes, and two covered plates.

You blink. Then blink again. Your delayed reaction is enough to catch Lando's attention.

“What—” he begins. Then he sees the man. Recognition flashes across his face, though there's still a distinctly suspicious note of confusion lingering beneath it. “Oh. Hello, Hugh.”

“Good evening, Mr. Norris,” the man replies with a small bow of his head. “I was just telling the lovely young lady that His Majesty sent a little surprise. He said it was a reward for the excellent work the two of you did this afternoon.”

“Oscar sent this,” Lando says, stepping closer with his hands on his hips, his brow drawn so tightly together that his eyebrows are nearly touching. His eyes land on the small card tucked into the ice bucket, and he reaches over to pull it free. “Well. That's sweet.”

He holds it out for you to read as well, and you move closer.

Excellent work, you two. Thank you for your dedication. Enjoy dinner, and next time, take breaks.

— Oscar Piastri, King.

“Thank you, Hugh,” Lando says, lifting his gaze to the man with a small smile.

Hugh inclines his head in farewell and heads for the door. You give him a little wave, and a moment later he steps out, closing it behind him with a soft click.

“Well…” You shrug. “I suppose we should eat.” Your eyes drift toward the balcony doors. “There’s a table outside, by the way. Have you seen it yet?”

“Seriously?” Lando asks, glancing across the room. “No. I... haven’t gone out there yet.”

You shrug again and tilt your chin toward the balcony, silently instructing him to go first. Not that he has much choice. You’re already wheeling the cart in that direction before he can even think of refusing. And you’re right: there really is a table out there.

And the view is incredible. Lando honestly can’t explain why he hadn’t stepped onto the balcony sooner.

He walks over to the balustrade and looks down at the palace gardens below, the ones Queen Nicole has always cared for with almost excessive devotion.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been down there,” Lando says, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face.

“Hm?” you murmur, leaving the cart beside the table as you walk over to join him.

“The gardens.” He points down below. “They’re beautiful. Have you ever gone down there?”

You shake your head.

“No. I think I mostly go from the office to my car, from my car to home, and from home back to the office,” you reply with a quiet laugh. “Oh! No, that's not true. Sometimes I go to the cafeteria, obviously.”

“To get coffee?” he guesses.

“To get coffee.”

Lando shakes his head.

“Unacceptable.”

You glance at him, amused.

“This place is incredible,” he continues. “You should explore it a little. There are all sorts of corners around the palace worth seeing.”

Then his gaze shifts toward the table.

“But...” He gestures toward the food. “Dinner first.”

A pause.

“And maybe some rest?”

“Rest. Yes.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “My back is dying.”

The ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he pushes himself away from the balustrade and waits for you to join him by the cart.

Lando picks up one of the plates and hands it to you. You place it in front of one of the chairs.

Then the other.

The glasses.

The cutlery.

By the time everything is set, the table almost looks elegant enough to belong in a magazine.

“Right,” Lando announces, reaching for the chilled bottle of champagne. “You're going to need to stand back.”

You don't need further instructions. You already know exactly what he means. Immediately, you dart behind him.

“Count,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as he places a finger against the cork.

A laugh slips out of you.

“One... Two...”

The bottle explodes. The cork shoots across the balcony. Foam erupts from the neck of the bottle.

You jump even farther back, laughing so hard you nearly double over, while Lando hastily angles the bottle toward the cart to avoid covering the floor in champagne. His ridiculous dolphin laugh immediately follows.

“I didn't even finish counting!” you protest, reaching for the napkins on the table.

Lando shakes with another burst of laughter before waving one hand through the spray, grabbing a napkin, and using it to wipe both himself and the bottle.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn't think it would make this much of a mess.”

He's still smiling as he begins pouring the champagne anyway. When he's finished, he sets the bottle down in the middle of the table, between the plates, and picks up one of the glasses.

Then he waits.

You pick up yours.

“A toast...” he begins. The expression on his face is one of complete false solemnity, and he knows it. “To the Royal Treasury team...”

“And to the boxes,” you add. He nods immediately. “And to the day off my boss is giving me tomorrow.”

One of Lando's eyebrows rises.

“You can forget about that.” He takes a sip of champagne before continuing. “We still have twenty more boxes to carry upstairs. The printer. And about a thousand other things.”

He sounds deeply offended by the suggestion. You roll your eyes.

“To the assistant whose favorite hobby is making my job more difficult.”

Another laugh escapes you.

“Fine. No day off tomorrow,” you concede, lifting your glass toward his.

“No day off tomorrow. Cheers.”

His glass clinks lightly against yours.

“Cheers,” you reply.

And just like that, the two of you drink the champagne as though it were an end-of-year office party.

He smiles, and you make your way around the table before settling into your seat. Lando does the same.