#lev ozdil

Laelia knew her audience.

The band had been going strong for a few years now, and she figured it was well past time for a proper Pride concert. After all, there wasn't a single member of the band who wasn't somewhere in the queer community, so doing a fundraiser to celebrate both the band and its community just felt right. What better way than to kick it off with a cover of a queer anthem about her city?

While her band was kicking the night off, they had a whole lineup of queer artists. Walking to the microphone, Laelia was surprisingly nervous, not in a way that she was at other concerts. "Howdy, guys," she smiled, trying her best to ignore the fluttering in her heart and keep her voice steady. "The girls and I pitched an idea for this fundraiser to a few other bands, and we were blown away by the feedback. All proceeds from tonight are going to the Trevor Project and GLAAD. Thank y'all for bein' here; I really can't express that enough."

She was amazed just how many metalheads knew every word to Pink Pony Club flawlessly.

Backstage, after their setlist was done and the other bands were playing, Laelia had some time to relax with her partners and friends. She laid in Daphne's lap, relishing in the feeling of her playing with Laelia's hair, legs rested atop Oz's thighs. It was the first time L.A. had ever truly felt like home and not just a long vacation. "I'm so lucky I get to love you two," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Oz only smiled, but Daphne laughed.

"This fundraiser's made you such a mush," she teased.

"She's always a mush," Oz corrected. "But it's okay. The feeling's mutual."

"Absolutely," Daphne agreed.

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You enter the kitchen with a groan, your hand shielding your eyes from the sunlight filtering into Oz’s kitchen.

“Good morning,” Oz greets happily. He pulls the collar of your oversized band tee up from where it had begun to slip off your shoulder. “I saved you the last donut with sprinkles,” he adds.

“Ugh,” you grumble, leaning forward until your forehead meets his shoulder. “It’s too early. And too bright.”

“So, you don’t want the donut?” Oz inquires, smiling as he slips his hand past the hem of your shirt to rub your back.

“’Course I want it,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“You going back to bed?”

“No.” You straighten, your lips quirking up when Oz smiles at you. “I have some errands to run. Might as well get them over with early.”

“Anything fun?” Oz asks, holding your face.

“My favorite store is having a sale, so I might get a new outfit. Unfortunately, they’re boring errands like groceries and a stop at the bank.”

“Get the groceries delivered,” Oz encourages. “I’ll make dinner tonight.”

“I love you,” you hum.

“I love you more,” Oz counters.

He kisses your forehead, then nudges you toward the donut box on the counter while he turns to finish getting ready for work.

An hour later, you’re walking out of the house when you see Oz’s lunchbox on the counter. It’s probably past its prime, but he insists on continuing to use it because you doodled all over the bottom of it, black stars and leafy swirls.

“Gotta do everything around here,” you muse as you pick it up. “Eh... What’s another stop?”

You glance down to make sure your outfit looks okay, then lock the front door behind you and walk to your car.

“I never put the visitor’s badge on either,” the woman you share the elevator with confides. “Always clashes with my outfit.”

You nod, frowning at the sticker adhered to the back of your hand.

“Are you going to Major Crimes?” she asks.

“Yes,” you reply shortly.

“Cool. Me too.”

The rest of the ride is silent, you looking at your boots while the woman beside you steals glances at your reflection in the door. When you follow her off the elevator, she shoots Daphne a look, then tips her head toward you. It’s less than subtle, but you choose not to comment on it.

“Sweetheart!” Oz exclaims when you step into the bullpen.

“Sweetheart?” Morgan repeats incredulously.

“You forgot this,” you say, passing Oz his lunchbox.

“Thank you!” Oz takes it from you carefully, then sets it on his desk, and moves closer to you. “While you’re here, want to see Karadec?”

You tap the bobble head on Oz’s desk and shrug. Morgan watches you and Oz, shocked by the stark difference between the two of you. You turn first, walking toward Soto’s office. Oz trails behind you, watching you move.

“Okay, I’ve got some questions,” Morgan tells Daphne.

“You get used to it,” Daphne replies. “She’s a lot sweeter than she seems.”

“I tried to make small talk in the elevator, and she looked like she wanted to jump out,” Morgan hisses. “And then Oz is being super sweet to her and she just- she’s just standing there!”

“Stoicism doesn’t make her mean,” Daphne argues with a chuckle. “You of all people should know not to judge someone on their appearance, Morgan.”

“But, Oz,” Morgan continues, watching you greet Karadec with a terse nod. “He looks like he’s giving a whole lot more than he’s getting.”

Daphne pushes back from her desk and smiles. “You have no idea how wrong you are, Morgan.”

“Nice outfit,” an officer calls, smirking at you. “Is that a kids’ size?”

“Why?” Oz barks, standing behind the chair you’re sitting in. “Looking for one for the kids you’re supposed to be a role model for? Or did their moms finally come to their senses?”

“Easy,” you murmur, barely moving your lips.

“Sorry,” the officer adds, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Huh,” Morgan scoffs when the officer leaves.

She watches Oz give you a hand to help you up, and the smile that stretches across his face when you kiss his cheek in thanks. Your brows furrow as you wipe the remnants of your lip gloss of his skin with a murmured comment that makes him laugh.

“Maybe you weren’t entirely wrong,” Morgan admits to Daphne. “They are pretty cute together.”

“Wow, keep talking like that and they’ll ask you to give a speech at the wedding,” Karadec deadpans.

“They’re getting married?!” Morgan demands.

“Eventually,” Daphne answers. “We’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Morgan thinks I give you more than you give me,” Oz tells you.

You pull your black silk pajamas out of his drawer, where they reside tucked amongst his things. Looking back over your shoulder, you raise a brow.

“That supposed to sound dirty or am I just a lost cause?” you inquire.

“Oh, no, I hear it now, too,” Oz admits. “She’s wrong, though.”

“I give you enough?” you check.

Oz lifts his arm, smiling as you curl against his side. “More than enough.”

You kiss his jaw, then rest your head on his chest. “She doesn’t like me. Which, I know that I probably don’t look like I’d be with you. More accurately, you don’t look like you’d be with me. But I do love you. I hope you know that.”

“Of course I know that,” Oz promises. “And I think you look exactly like someone I’d love.”

“So, me grumbling and complaining and being the black cloud to your silver lining doesn’t bother you?” you ask, already knowing the answer. “My stoicism isn’t jading you to the beauty of life and butterflies and donuts?”

“Quite the opposite,” he answers, interlacing your fingers. “Especially because I know you love me as much as I love you. You and your grumpy outbursts and your cat-like tendencies.”

“Which makes you what? A golden retriever?”

“If that’s what you want,” Oz agrees.

You smile, kissing him again.

“They’re waiting for me to propose,” Oz tells you a few minutes later, his confession whispered against your shoulder.

“You think we’ll have a normal wedding?” you ask.

“No chance,” Oz answers immediately.

“Good,” you sigh, inching closer to him. “And if or when you’re ready to talk about that… I’m in.”

“Yeah?” Oz asks, shifting to see you better.

“Of course. You… you’re the bright spot I didn’t know I wanted, or needed, until you came along.”

“Sweetheart,” Oz mutters, “you’re getting soft.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” you grumble. “You’re not that good.”

“Sure.”

You both know he’s better.