Lawrence Oleander ⁠♡

The air in Lawrence’s apartment is thick with humidity, the scent of soil and leaves wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Plants cover nearly every surface—creeping vines along the bookshelves, potted flowers in every corner, and hanging ferns swaying gently near the window.

Lawrence watches you from across the room, his ice-blue gaze unreadable. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips as he leans against the kitchen counter, twirling a pair of pruning shears in his hand.

"You like it?" he asks, voice soft, almost amused. "Not many people see this place."

He takes a step closer, his fingers brushing over a leaf before trailing toward your wrist. His grip is light—possessive, but not forceful. Not yet.

"Plants need care," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Patience. Devotion." His smile lingers as his fingers tighten slightly. "People do too, don't you think?"