When Felicity stepped outside that afternoon, she winced.
She’d gone outside to enjoy a glass of wine in the late setting sun, but she didn’t realise Oliver was still out there. When he’d gone to lay out in the sun, she thought he’d have gotten up a few hours after and gone for his usual afternoon run. It was odd to think that they’d developed a routine out here. Not that she didn’t think they’d have a routine. Just that a routine was weirdly domesticated of them - in a good way, of course. Who wouldn’t want a domesticated Oliver Queen because wow, the guy could make folding laundry look like explicit material.