Chapter Text
By midnight, their bedroom looked like a logistical crime scene.
The large black suitcase lay open on the floor, gaping like it had given up on life entirely. Clothes radiated outward in careless constellations—Lando’s things soft, bright, and emotionally scattered, Oscar’s folded into sharp, disciplined stacks that implied he’d mentally packed three hours ago and was only now performing the physical act out of courtesy.
The door was wide open. Which Oliver interpreted as consent.
The orange menace launched himself straight into the suitcase, landing squarely on a pristine stack of shirts, paws kneading with visible pleasure as if claiming ancestral land.
“No—Oliver—absolutely not,” Lando snapped, freezing mid-fold. His voice shifted into something sharp and managerial. “That is not yours.”
Oliver blinked at him. Did not move. Oscar, seated on the bed with his back against the headboard and his laptop balanced on his thighs, glanced over the screen. “He looks settled.”
“He’s contaminating the system,” Lando hissed, peeling a sweater out from under a stubborn paw. “Okay. New rule. One suitcase. One. It’s efficient. Less chaos.”
Oscar nodded instantly. “Agreed.”
Lando paused. Slowly turned. “You agreed too fast.”
“I agree with you often.”
“That’s suspicious.” Oscar’s mouth twitched.
Lando turned back to the suitcase like he was preparing for battle. Shirts were folded with excessive precision. Pants rolled so tightly they looked threatened. Socks paired aggressively, like they’d personally offended him.
Then— He stopped.
“Oscar,” Lando said carefully, dread creeping in.
“Yes?”
“Where are your toiletries.”
Oscar didn’t look up. “In the bathroom.”
Lando stared at the suitcase, at the clearly designated, very empty toiletries corner. Back at Oscar “I told you to put them here,” Lando said, voice rising. “Why aren’t they here? Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
“You’re stressed,” Oscar said calmly, clearly unbothered.
“I am not stressed,” Lando snapped, instantly sounding stressed. “I’m being preventative.”
Oscar closed the laptop with maddening calm and set it aside. “We still have time.”
“That’s what you said last trip and you forgot your body lotion,” Lando shot back. “You committed grand theft moisturizer.”
“It was a cream.”
“That was a war crime.”
Lando planted his hands on his hips. “Oscar. Come here. Now. Put all your things in the suitcase. All of them. Immediately.”
Oscar stood, unbothered, moving with the energy of a man preparing for a mild inconvenience rather than impending disaster. “And your gym shorts!” Lando called, already rummaging through a drawer. “I want to ride a bike in Singapore.”
Oscar blinked. “You want to—”
“Yes. Outside, sun, movement, bikes.”
“…You don’t ride bikes.”
“I can ride bikes.”
“You fall.”
“That was once.”
“It was three times.”
Lando whirled around, finger stabbing the air. “You’re not stopping me. This is happening.” Oscar sighed, retrieving the shorts anyway and placing them neatly into the suitcase, gently nudging Oliver aside.
Oliver made a deeply offended noise and immediately relocated—sitting directly on Oscar’s folded clothes.
Traitor.
Lando watched Oscar pack with irritating precision—no wasted movements, no panic, like this wasn’t a high-stakes operation. The contrast between them was absurd Lando vibrating with restless energy, Oscar grounded, calm, already resigned to whatever emotional spiral this would become.
“…Why are you not panicking?” Lando asked suddenly.
Oscar glanced up. “Because you are.”
“That is not comforting.”
“You’re good at this.” Lando froze.
“Oh,” he said softly. Then immediately “Okay but you forgot your jacket last time.”
“I did not.”
“You borrowed mine.”
“You offered.”
“You were panicking.”
“I adapted.”
Lando groaned and flopped backward onto the bed, arms splayed. “I hate traveling with you.” Oscar leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “You love it.”
Lando peeked up at him. “…I do.” Oliver chose that moment to curl up inside the suitcase, perfectly centered, eyes closing in bliss.
Lando stared. “…We are not packing the cat.”
Oscar, calm as ever, said, “He’s made his choice.” Lando screamed into the pillow.
The suitcase stood upright by the hallway wall, zipped and locked, looking far too confident for something that had caused this much emotional damage.
Lando stared at it. Then at the apartment. Then back at the suitcase. “Oh no,” he said faintly.
Oscar, already halfway through checking his phone, glanced up. “What.”
“We’re leaving Oliver,” Lando said, voice spiking instantly. “We’re leaving him alone. For a week.”
Oscar closed his eyes for half a second. Just a fraction too long. “He’ll be fine.”
“He will not be fine,” Lando said, horrified. “He doesn’t understand time. He’s going to think we disappeared and start a villain origin story.”
“That feels—” Oscar paused. “—dramatic.”
Lando rounded on him. “He sleeps on my hoodie.”
Oscar opened his mouth. Closed it, pivoted. “There’s a pet hotel downstairs.”
Lando froze. “Downstairs.”
“In the building,” Oscar clarified. “Third floor. Twenty-four-hour staff. Vet on call.”
Lando stared at him like he’d just announced a miracle. “…Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“I assumed we weren’t choosing chaos.” Too late. Lando was already moving.
“Okay,” he said briskly, power-walking toward the bedroom. “We can do this. Flights are in the morning. This is manageable.”
Oscar followed more slowly, bracing himself as drawers began opening at unsafe speeds. “Lando,” he warned, “he doesn’t need—”
Lando reappeared with an armful of clothes. “He needs familiarity.”
“That’s a sweater.”
“That’s my sweater,” Lando said, stuffing it into a tote. “In case he misses me.”
Oscar blinked. “He’s a cat.”
“He’s an emotional cat.” Lando dropped to the floor and scooped Oliver up, pressing their foreheads together dramatically.
“Okay, buddy,” he whispered. “You’re going on a little holiday.”
Oliver yawned, profoundly unbothered. The packing became intense. Food measured precisely. Toys gathered and counted. The crinkly mouse. The feather thing. The string he was obsessed with for reasons no one could scientifically explain.
Oscar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re acting like you’re sending him abroad for school.”
“I am,” Lando said, shoving treats into every available pocket. “What if he thinks we stopped loving him?”
“He’ll think you’re loud,” Oscar replied. “And warm.”
Lando shot him a look. “You’re supposed to support me.”
Still, Oscar picked up the carrier and held it steady while Lando tucked Oliver inside, fingers lingering dramatically.
“Okay,” Lando murmured. “Be brave.”
The pet hotel was quiet. Polished. Expensive-looking in a way that made Lando’s guilt worse and Oscar’s soul leave his body preemptively.
Soft lighting. Clean floors. A receptionist smiling like she’d witnessed this exact emotional spiral multiple times today.
“We’re checking in one cat,” Oscar said.
Lando leaned over the counter. “He’s very sensitive.”
Oscar shut his eyes. The receptionist nodded solemnly. “Of course. Any special requests?”
“Private area,” Lando said immediately. Oscar snapped his head toward him. “What.”
“He needs space. And quiet. And dignity.” Oscar stared. “He sleeps in a laundry basket.”
“He has grown.” The receptionist typed without judgment. “Private suite.”
Oscar watched the screen, unease blooming. When the invoice printed, he took it. Looked at it. Tilted it slightly. Like the numbers might rearrange. “…Is this price real,” Oscar asked carefully.
“Yes,” the receptionist said brightly.
“This is per day.”
“Yes.” Oscar turned to Lando slowly. Lando smiled, completely unrepentant. “Oscar. Pay up.”
“You booked him a hotel that costs more than mine,” Oscar said faintly.
“He deserves luxury.”
“He’s orange.” Lando kissed Oliver through the carrier grate. “He’s perfect.”
Oscar sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate and handed over his card. “I’ve accepted my life choices.”
Lando beamed. As they walked back toward the elevator, carrier now empty, Lando slipped his hand into Oscar’s.
“Thank you,” he said softly. Oscar squeezed once. “If he prefers the staff to us when we get back, I’m never financially recovering.”
Lando smiled anyway. Oliver would be fine. Oscar’s bank account, however, would need time.
Monday was already wrong by 9:01 a.m.
No CEO at the front of the room, arms crossed, silently judging everyone’s posture. No PA sprinting down the hallway with a tablet, coffee, and three crises actively defused mid-run.
Stand-up started… awkwardly. Someone asked who was leading. Someone else checked the calendar again, like the answer might magically appear.
By lunch, denial was gone. The cafeteria buzzed in low, dangerous frequencies. Trays slid together. Chairs dragged closer. This was no longer eating. This was a summit.
Alex sat at the center of the table like a man with a mission. “So,” he said, folding his hands. “The CEO and his PA are gone for a full week.”
“Dubai,” someone said.
“Then Singapore,” another added.
“Just the two of them,” Alex confirmed.
“No CEO glare this morning,” someone sighed.
“No Lando running down the hallway fixing our lives,” another added mournfully.
Alex nodded. “The ecosystem has collapsed.” Someone frowned. “Okay but—business trip. That’s normal.”
Alex smiled. Slowly. “Is it?” Before anyone could answer, a small voice piped up from the end of the table.
“Um.” Everyone turned. It was the intern. Sweet, earnest. Still wearing his ID badge like it was a security blanket. “Yes?” Alex said gently. Too gently.
The intern hesitated. “I—this might be nothing.” Alex leaned forward immediately. “It’s never nothing.”
“Well,” the intern said, cheeks pink, “on Friday, I heard Lando on the phone.”
The table went silent. “He was walking past the copy room,” the intern continued, apologetic already. “And he was saying something about… arrival times.”
Alex’s eyes lit up. “Arrival times where.”
“…The hotel.” Someone gasped. Someone else covered their mouth. “And,” the intern added, clearly regretting everything, “he asked if they had Mr. Piastri’s preferred coffee beans ready. Like—specific ones. From a certain roaster.”
Dead silence. Alex sat back slowly. “Specific. Beans.”
“He said it very politely,” the intern rushed. “And he thanked them twice.”
“Oh my god,” someone whispered. “That’s domestic.”
“That’s not PA behavior,” another said. “That’s—”
“Personal,” Alex finished. Someone stabbed their fork into their food. “Why does the CEO have preferred beans at a hotel.”
“And why does the PA know them,” someone else added. Alex nodded gravely. “Excellent question.”
“So you’re saying—” someone started.
“I’m saying,” Alex cut in, “they’re alone in a foreign country, with coordinated arrival times and customized coffee.”
“Dubai,” someone whispered again, like it meant something deeper now.
“Then Singapore.”
“And no one else,” Alex reminded them. That one always hit. The intern raised a hand timidly. “Also—he smiled when he hung up.”
Chaos. “That’s it. That’s the proof.”
“No one smiles at hotels.”
“That’s emotional attachment.”
Alex exhaled, satisfied. “I’m not saying anything definitive.”
He paused. “But if they come back acting different? If the hallway energy shifts?”
He shrugged. “We’ll know.”
A phone buzzed. Everyone froze. The intern checked it. “…Just my mum.”
Disappointment rippled through the table. Alex sighed. “Damn. Thought that was the sign.”
They went back to eating, but no one was hungry anymore. Monday dragged on—CEO-less. PA-less. Quiet in all the wrong ways. And somewhere between Dubai and Singapore, Alex was certain— Something was happening.
Dubai greeted them with heat. Not the polite kind. The kind that pressed in immediately, clinging to skin, making even the air-conditioning feel like a suggestion rather than a solution.
By the time they reached the hotel, both of them had already abandoned their jackets.
Oscar left his suit jacket draped neatly over the back of a chair, sleeves of his navy shirt rolled just enough to be practical. It was the first time Lando could remember seeing him like this for work—no armor, no extra layer. Just shirt, trousers, and the quiet authority that came with him anyway.
Lando mirrored him, loosening his tie, jacket forgotten almost instantly.
They didn’t linger. Suitcase dropped. Shoes changed. A quick glance in the mirror to make sure they still looked like people who knew what they were doing.
Then straight back out.
The partner office was cool in that overly efficient way, marble and glass and controlled lighting. Everything smelled faintly of coffee and something sweeter. They were ushered into a meeting room, greetings exchanged, hands shaken.
A tray appeared on the table not long after—small porcelain dishes arranged with care.
Dates.
Lando noticed them immediately. He took one. Then another. Then, after a thoughtful pause, a third. Oscar caught it in his peripheral vision, the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth.
Lando chewed happily, nodding along as someone spoke, fingers already hovering near the tray again.
Oscar leaned slightly closer, voice low. “Don’t.”
“Mm?” Lando murmured, already reaching. Oscar placed a hand over the tray—not abrupt, just enough. “Don’t empty it. We can buy them later.”
Lando blinked, genuinely surprised. “But they’re good.”
“I know,” Oscar said evenly. “That’s the problem.”
One of the partners smiled politely, pretending not to notice.
Lando glanced around, then back at Oscar, chewing slowly. “…I’ve only had four.”
Oscar looked at the tray. Then at Lando. Then back at the tray.
“You’ve had four,” he repeated.
“They’re small.”
“They are not.”
Lando’s mouth curved, unapologetic. He slid his hand back—barely—and plucked one more.
Oscar sighed, deep and long, the kind of sigh that meant acceptance rather than resistance. He shifted his chair just enough to block the tray with his arm.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Meeting focus. You can have as many as you want after.”
Lando leaned back, hands raised in surrender, still chewing. “You’re no fun.”
Oscar didn’t look at him. “I’m very fun. After we close deals.”
Lando watched him for a second, expression softening, something fond slipping through the mischief.
The meeting continued. Slides advanced. Numbers were discussed. Lando listened—really listened—but every so often his gaze flicked back to the tray like it might vanish if he didn’t keep an eye on it.
Oscar noticed. Of course he did.
He hid a smile behind his glass of water. By the time they stood to leave, hands shaken once more, Lando leaned in just enough to whisper, “We’re stopping at a shop, right?”
Oscar adjusted his cuff, calm as ever. “Yes.”
“Buy all of them?”
“Yes.” Lando beamed. Dubai, apparently, had already made its first impression. And Oscar Piastri was learning—quickly—that business trips were going to be different now.
Lando treated lunch like a personal mission. The moment they stepped outside, his energy tripled.
“Osc—okay—wait—what about that place?” Lando said, already half a step ahead, phone out, spinning slightly as if the city might rearrange itself faster if he moved. “No, actually, this one. It has photos. I trust photos.”
Oscar followed at a calmer pace, hands in his pockets, watching Lando zigzag between sidewalks and Google Maps like a guided missile fueled by enthusiasm.
“You’re walking like we’re late,” Oscar noted.
“We’re not late,” Lando said cheerfully. “But we could be early for food.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
They passed glass-fronted cafés and polished hotel restaurants—places that screamed business lunch. Lando rejected all of them on principle.
“Too quiet.”
“Too fancy.”
“That place looks like it would judge me.”
Eventually, Lando stopped short in front of a smaller restaurant wedged between two towering buildings. Warm light spilled out through the windows. The air smelled incredible—spices, grilled bread, something sweet.
“Ooooh,” Lando said reverently. “This one.”
Oscar glanced at the sign, then inside. Middle Eastern food. Casual, so comfortable, and very local.
“Good choice,” Oscar said.
Lando beamed. “I know.”
They were seated quickly. Menus barely had time to land before Lando leaned across the table.
“Okay, so we still have two meetings today,” he began, already bouncing slightly. “We need to reorder the agenda because if we open with pricing, they’re going to derail it, and then we’ll lose fifteen minutes and—”
Oscar smiled into his water glass. “Yes,” he said.
Lando didn’t notice. He kept going. “Different buildings,” Lando continued. “Second one’s across town. Third floor. Glass-heavy. Lots of windows.”
A server arrived mid-sentence, setting plates down between them. Warm bread. Hummus. Grilled meat and rice that smelled unreal.
And—on a small side plate—dates. Lando gasped like he’d been personally blessed.
“They sell them here,” he whispered, awed. “Osc. They sell them here.”
“I can see that,” Oscar said calmly, already reaching for the bread.
They ate. Lando talked.
He talked about tomorrow’s meeting. About the schedule in Singapore. About follow-up emails he’d already drafted in his head. He gestured with his fork. With bread. With absolute confidence.
Oscar listened, nodding when needed—refining a point here, grounding a timeline there.
To anyone watching, it was perfectly normal.
Two coworkers. CEO and PA. Efficient, comfortable, and very professional.
Oscar was quietly grateful for that. He knew how easily things were noticed, misread. This—this was safe. Meanwhile, Lando was chewing happily, entirely unaware he was being perceived at all.
“These dates are even better than before,” Lando said, mouth full. “I think it’s the texture. Or the vibe. Or maybe I’m just emotionally attached now.”
Oscar hummed. “You’re always emotionally attached to food.”
“Only the good ones.” By the time the plates were cleared, Lando leaned back in his chair, blissed out.
Oscar glanced at his phone. “You’ve memorized the schedule.”
“I like knowing where we’re going,” Lando said, scrolling. “Also—jet lag check.”
Oscar looked at him. “It hasn’t kicked in.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
Lando hummed. “Okay. Because if it does, we can reshuffle. Or I can take notes while you glare at spreadsheets.”
“I don’t glare.”
“You absolutely glare.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched.
They settled the bill and stepped back outside, the city noise rushing in. Minutes later, they were in the car, Lando already back to talking—tablet balanced on his knee, stylus tapping lightly as he rambled through timings, follow-ups, reminders. Who needed what. What could wait. What absolutely could not.
Oscar listened. Quiet, grounded, letting the sound of it settle. This he realized—was familiar now. The rhythm of it. Backseat, tablet open, Lando talking like the world made sense as long as it stayed organized.
The car slowed as they approached the next building.
The meeting ended, but no one moved right away.
The screen dimmed. Chairs shifted. Water glasses were refilled. Beyond the glass wall, Dubai stretched out beneath the noon sun—sharp lines of buildings, pale roads cutting clean paths through the city, everything bright enough to feel unreal.
Lando stayed seated, hands resting on his tablet, fingers finally still. His notes were done. His brain, however, was still catching up.
Oscar stood near the window, speaking softly with one of the partners, posture relaxed now that the numbers were put away. From here, he looked almost casual—like he hadn’t just spent the last hour fielding questions sharp enough to draw blood.
Lando let himself breathe. A presence settled beside him. He glanced over to find one of the partners’ PAs taking the empty chair at his side, movements quiet, practiced. She smiled politely.
“Do you still have a schedule after this?” she asked.
Lando straightened automatically. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “One more meeting. Then we’re heading back to the hotel.”
She nodded, thoughtful, then reached into her folder and pulled out a post it notes. “If you have time while you’re here,” she said, sliding it across to him, “you might like some of these.”
Lando looked down. A short list. Neatly written. Suggestions, not obligations. “This city can be a lot,” she added lightly. “But some places are… softer.”
Lando smiled. “Thank you.” She tapped one line in particular. “Dubai Garden Glow. It’s better at night.”
He glanced up. “We’re not very good at resting.” Her smile widened, just a fraction. “No one who comes here for work ever is.”
Oscar turned then, conversation finished, eyes flicking instinctively to Lando. He paused when he saw the card, brow lifting in a silent question.
Lando held it up. “Recommendations.”
Oscar walked over, leaning in to read it over Lando’s shoulder. “You want to add this to the schedule?” he asked quietly.
Lando considered it, gaze drifting back to the city beyond the glass. Sunlight glinted off distant buildings, relentless and bright.
“…Maybe,” he said. “If we’re still human by tonight.” Oscar’s mouth curved, faint but genuine. “We’ll see.”
They gathered their things not long after, polite goodbyes exchanged, hands shaken once more. As they headed for the elevator, Lando tucked the card carefully into his bag, right beside the tablet.
Outside, the heat met them again—immediate, unyielding.
Lando adjusted his grip on his backpack and glanced sideways at Oscar. “One more meeting,” he said.
Oscar nodded. “One more.” The car door closed behind them, sealing them into cool air and quiet again as the city moved past outside.
For now, the schedule held. And somewhere between numbers and glass towers, the rest of Dubai waited—patient, glowing, and just out of reach.
The last meeting ran long.
Too long.
By the time they stepped back into the car, Lando’s hair had lost whatever structure it had started the day with, strands sticking up in defiance. His shirt was wrinkled at the sleeves and collar, tablet abandoned in his lap like even it had given up.
Oscar sank into the seat beside him, shoulders finally dropping.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
The city slid past the windows, bright and relentless, but the energy to notice it was gone.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Lando said finally, voice flat with exhaustion.
Oscar exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Good. Because I don’t think I can stand upright for leisure.”
The car turned toward the hotel. “Let’s just order room service,” Oscar added. “Eat, shower. Exist horizontally.”
Lando nodded immediately. “Perfect.” The elevator ride up was quiet, the kind that came after a day spent performing competence for strangers. Lando leaned back against the mirrored wall, eyes half-lidded, then blinked.
Frowned. Then squinted. “—O boss—” he started automatically, then corrected himself with effort. “Oscar.”
Oscar glanced over. “Yes?”
Lando tilted his head, studying him. Really studying him now that they were standing still, lights unforgiving overhead. “…Did you wear the sunscreen I give this morning?”
Oscar nodded. “Yes.”
Lando stared. Oscar’s face was flushed—not tired-pink, but angry red. The color crept down his neck, visible above the collar of his shirt, uneven in a way that suggested heat had won several battles.
Lando stepped closer, peering. “Oscar.”
“Yes.”
“You are… red.”
Oscar blinked. “I’m tired.”
“You’re sunburned.”
“I am not.” Lando lifted a finger and gently touched the side of Oscar’s neck.
Oscar hissed. “—Okay. I might be.”
“I knew it,” Lando said, horrified. “You didn’t reapply.”
“I was in meetings.”
“You were outside between meetings.”
“For five minutes.”
“That’s how it gets you.”
Oscar sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “I forgot.”
Lando pressed his lips together, already planning. “Okay. Aloe. Cold towels. No spicy food.”
“I’m ordering spicy food.”
“You are not.” Oscar opened his mouth to argue just as the elevator dinged.
Lando stepped out first, already reaching for the keycard. “You’re not allowed to make decisions when you’ve been cooked.”
Oscar followed, muttering, “I’m a grown man.”
“A crispy grown man,” Lando shot back. Inside the room, Oscar dropped his bag and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
Lando disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a small bottle raised like a trophy. “Aloe.”
Oscar eyed it suspiciously. “Why do you travel with that.”
“Because I love you,” Lando said simply. Oscar closed his eyes.
Yes. This was his life now.
They slept like people who had earned it.
No alarms. No half-waking panic. Just the deep, uninterrupted kind of rest that only came after a day spent holding yourself together in public.
Morning arrived quietly. Oscar was already awake.
He sat propped against the headboard, hair still neat in that unfair way it always was, TV murmuring low in the background—some news channel he wasn’t really watching. The room smelled faintly of coffee. A tray sat on the table near the window, already arranged with deliberate care.
Breakfast had been ordered. Of course it had. Lando stirred, groaned softly, then blinked his way into consciousness. His eyes landed on the tray. “…You ordered without me,” he accused weakly.
Oscar glanced over. “You were asleep.”
“That’s rude.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched. “You were unconscious.”
“Semantics.” Lando pushed himself upright, hair an unrepentant mess, shirt wrinkled from sleep. He squinted at the table—eggs, toast, fruit, coffee—
Then his eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said, sitting up straighter. “My dates.”
Oscar didn’t look surprised.
Lando scrambled out of bed immediately, not bothering with slippers, not bothering with dignity. He crossed the room, unzipped his backpack, and pulled out one of the boxes like it was a life-saving device.
He opened it. Relief. He didn’t even shower. Didn’t even pretend to consider it. He took a date straight from the box and bit into it with visible gratitude.
Oscar watched him over the rim of his coffee. “You’re eating first.”
“I earned this,” Lando said, already chewing. He dropped onto the bed beside Oscar, legs folded awkwardly, dates balanced on his knee. “Okay, so. Schedule update.”
Oscar shifted slightly, angling toward him. “I’m listening.”
“So,” Lando said, tapping the edge of the box, eyes bright now despite the sleep. “I managed to push a little. Just a little.”
Oscar raised a brow. “Define little.”
“We can leave around four.”
Oscar paused. “Four?”
“Yes,” Lando said, clearly pleased with himself. “Everything else still fits. No fires. No sacrifices.”
Oscar considered this, then nodded. “Impressive.”
“And,” Lando continued, unable to help the grin spreading across his face, “tonight we can go to Dubai Garden Glow.”
Oscar glanced toward the window, where sunlight already pressed insistently against the glass. Then back at Lando, who was watching him with open, hopeful expectation, date forgotten in his hand. “…Alright,” Oscar said.
Lando gasped. “Really?”
“Yes,” Oscar replied calmly. “We’ll go.”
Lando beamed, leaning sideways into Oscar without thinking, shoulder knocking lightly against his arm. “Best boss ever.”
Oscar snorted. “I regret agreeing immediately.”
“You don’t.”
“I don’t,” Oscar admitted. They sat like that for a moment—TV murmuring, coffee cooling, dates steadily disappearing—talking quietly through the rest of the day’s plan.
Outside, Dubai was already awake. Inside, for now, they were exactly where they needed to be.
An hour passed. Then another. Lando told himself he was being normal about it.
He turned on the TV and kept the volume low, the sound filling the room just enough to stop the silence from screaming. Some unfamiliar channel played—bright hosts, canned laughter, a world moving forward without him. He didn’t really watch. He just let it exist.
He scrolled through TikTok, thumb moving on muscle memory alone. Videos blurred together—dogs, jokes, music he didn’t register. Nothing stuck. Nothing felt real.
At some point, he opened the box of dates. He told himself he’d only have one. Then another.
They were too sweet, cloying at the back of his throat, but he kept reaching for them anyway. Something to do with his hands. Something to fill the waiting.
When he finally noticed the box was half empty, his stomach twisted—not with hunger, but with the growing weight in his chest. The room felt too quiet now, even with the TV still murmuring in the background.
Still nothing.
No text. No call. No sorry, got held up.
Lando checked the time again. Two hours. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, pacing the length of the room, fingers threading through his hair. “I waited. I waited.”
He stopped, phone in his hand. Oscar’s name stared back at him like a question he was afraid to ask.
His thumb hovered.
Did you forget? Too sharp. Too accusing. Like he already knew the answer.
Are you okay? Too soft. Too desperate. Like he was already apologizing for needing anything at all.
He locked the screen instead.
The disappointment crept in slowly, settling behind his ribs like something heavy and unmovable. He’d been ready. Properly ready. He’d planned, adjusted, counted minutes like they mattered—because they always did to him.
Apparently, not enough.
Lando grabbed his bag, movements sharp now, precise in that way that meant he was holding himself together by sheer force. He shoved his wallet inside, pulled on his sneakers without sitting down, laces yanked tight. The remaining dates went into his backpack, forgotten and unwanted.
He stopped at the door. Hand on the handle. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the wood grain like it might tell him to stay. Like Oscar might suddenly appear, breathless and apologetic, watch still on his wrist.
Nothing happened. So Lando left. Outside, the city swallowed him whole.
It was louder out here. Brighter. Heat pressed in from all sides, unfamiliar and overwhelming. The world felt too big, too alive compared to the hollow space in his chest.
He followed directions on his phone, shoulders hunched, backpack pulled tight against his back like armor. People brushed past him without noticing. No one ever did.
By the time he reached the entrance to Dubai Garden Glow, dusk had begun to settle.
Lights flickered on one by one, colors blooming against the darkening sky—neon arches, glowing animals, installations designed to make people stop and stare in wonder. Families streamed in. Couples laughed softly, fingers intertwined. Children tugged impatiently at hands, bouncing with excitement.
Lando slowed to a stop. He stood there for a long moment, taking it all in, chest aching in a way that felt stupid and childish and painfully real.
This was supposed to be theirs. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, swallowing hard.
Alone. And somehow, that hurt more than the waiting ever had.
He bought a ticket anyway. The attendant barely looked at him. Money changed hands. A small, efficient transaction for something that was supposed to matter more.
Inside, the lights were beautiful. Too beautiful.
Soft and unreal, glowing sculptures stretching into the distance, colors spilling across water and glass like they were alive. People stopped to take photos. To laugh softly. To lean into one another and share the moment as if it were obvious that joy was meant to be shared.
Lando moved through it all quietly.
He walked slower than everyone else, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to take up less space. He lifted his phone more than once—took pictures of glowing tunnels, illuminated trees, reflections that trembled gently on the surface of the water.
He didn’t send any of them.
He paused at displays Oscar would’ve liked. The cleaner lines. The subtle symmetry. The installations that weren’t loud but thoughtful. He could almost hear Oscar’s voice beside him, explaining why he liked it, fingers brushing Lando’s wrist without even realizing it.
Lando swallowed and moved on.
At one point, he sat on a low bench near the path, backpack resting at his feet, knees pulled in slightly. His hands folded together between them, restless, unsure where to go.
Under the lights—too big for him, too bright—he looked suddenly, painfully small.
Like a child who’d lost sight of the one person he trusted not to disappear. “I hate this,” he whispered.
He wasn’t sure if he meant the place. Or the waiting. Or the way disappointment felt heavier than anger ever did.
The lights kept glowing. Unbothered. Constant. Indifferent. And somewhere else in the city, Oscar Piastri was still not there.
Lando blinked hard, eyes burning, and forced himself to stand. He squared his shoulders, like posture alone could hold him together.
If this is our first fight, he thought distantly, it’s a stupid one.
No yelling. No words. Just absence. And somehow, that hurt the most.
Oscar realized too late. He glanced down at his watch mid-sentence—numbers and projections still hanging in the air—and felt his stomach drop so sharply it was almost physical.
5:56 p.m.
“—and for next year’s projection—” someone was saying.
“I’m sorry,” Oscar cut in, sharper than intended.
The room stilled instantly. He stood, already gathering his things, heartbeat spiking. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.” Confused looks flickered around the table. “We’re aligned on the rest,” he added, voice steadier now but final. “Thank you.”
No one argued. The drive back to the hotel felt endless. Red lights, traffic. Time stretching cruelly thin. Oscar checked his phone once—then again.
Lando’s chat. Missed calls. Messages he hadn’t seen. His chest tightened. The elevator ride was worse. Every floor felt too slow. Every second another failure stacked neatly on top of the last.
When the doors opened, Oscar walked faster. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Silence.
The room was empty in a way that felt deliberate. The bed untouched, lights off. No shoes kicked carelessly near the door. No jacket slung over a chair. No trace of Lando’s presence—no noise, no movement, no warmth.
Except the smell. That faint, sweet note of Lando’s perfume lingering in the air. The one he wore when he went out. When he wanted to feel good. When he was excited. Oscar stopped cold. “…Shit,” he breathed.
His bag slipped from his hand and hit the floor, forgotten. He pulled out his phone and dialed Lando immediately.
Ringing.
Once.
Then silence.
Declined.
Oscar stared at the screen, pulse thundering in his ears. “No,” he muttered, already calling again.
Voicemail.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing now, guilt sharp and immediate, slicing clean through him. Images flooded in uninvited—Lando waiting on the bed. Checking the time. Rechecking it. Convincing himself it was fine.
He shouldn’t have stayed. Should’ve checked. Should’ve known fifteen minutes was never just fifteen minutes. He opened their chat, fingers hovering uselessly.
I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—Please pick up.
He stopped, swallowed hard, then typed anyway.
Lan. I messed up. I’m coming to you.
No reply.
Oscar dropped his bag, keys clenched tight in his hand, already halfway to the door. He paused only once, glancing back at the empty room.
At the lingering scent that now felt less like comfort and more like accusation.
This wasn’t a scheduling error. This was worse. And for the first time since arriving in Dubai, Oscar felt something dangerously close to fear.
Not about the deal. Not about the numbers. About the person he’d left waiting. He shut the door behind him and hurried back into the city, heart racing, holding onto one fragile hope— That Lando hadn’t already learned how to stop waiting for him.
Oscar ordered a taxi with hands that weren’t quite steady.
The mirror caught him briefly as he slid into the back seat—white shirt still crisp, sleeves rolled with the unconscious efficiency of someone who’d spent the entire afternoon convincing a room full of people that he had everything under control. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a boardroom and directly into a mistake.
The ride was too slow. Every red light felt deliberate. Every passing second pressed heavier against his chest. He checked his phone twice, three times, thumb hovering uselessly over Lando’s name as if staring hard enough might make it light up.
Nothing.
Dubai Garden Glow rose ahead of him in a wash of impossible color, lights spilling outward like something alive. The place was already crowded—families drifting in loose clusters, tourists stopping mid-step for photos, laughter overlapping in soft, careless waves. Music pulsed faintly somewhere deeper inside the park.
Oscar stepped out of the taxi and felt immediately wrong.
Too formal. Too late.
He pushed through the entrance, eyes scanning instinctively, heart already racing. He tried calling again as he walked.
Straight to voicemail. “Shit,” he muttered, breaking into a faster stride, weaving around people who were moving far too slowly for a night that had already slipped through his fingers.
He tried again. This time, the call connected. “Yes…?” Lando’s voice came through the speaker—quiet, distant. Like it had traveled a long way to reach him.
Oscar stopped walking. “Lan,” he said immediately, breath catching. He didn’t bother trying to sound composed. “Hey. Listen to me, okay? I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I really did.” His chest tightened. “Where are you, sweetheart?”
There was a pause. Noise bled faintly through the line—music, voices, something metallic chiming in the distance. Lando didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched until Oscar felt it start to claw.
“…I,” Lando said finally. Oscar held his breath. “…I’m near the glowing flowers.”
The words came out thin. Fragile. Oscar swallowed hard, already turning in place, eyes darting over the park—arches of light, illuminated animals, towers glowing in neon and pastel hues.
“Okay,” he said gently, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”
The line stayed open. Oscar moved faster now, pushing through the crowd, heart pounding, eyes burning from the constant brightness. Then—
He saw them. The flowers rose tall and unreal, glowing softly in blues and pinks, light pooling at their bases like something breathing. People clustered nearby, posing for photos, laughter drifting past.
And just off to the side— Lando.
Hands shoved deep into his pockets. Backpack hanging from one shoulder. His posture drawn inward, shoulders slightly rounded, like he was trying to fold himself smaller. The light painted his face in color, but his eyes were dull, unfocused—like he’d already accepted the idea of not being found.
Oscar didn’t think. He crossed the distance in seconds.
“Lando...” Lando looked up. That was it. That was all it took.
Oscar stopped in front of him, suddenly unsure where to put his hands, guilt crashing down hard and immediate. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”
Lando didn’t respond. The lights continued glowing. People passed. The world kept moving like nothing had gone wrong. Oscar lifted his hands slowly, carefully, giving Lando time to pull away if he wanted to.
“Can I…?” he asked.
Lando hesitated. Just a beat. Long enough for Oscar to feel it. Then Lando nodded. Oscar stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.
No rush. No force. Just presence.
He held him the way you hold something fragile you’re terrified of breaking—arms firm but gentle, chin resting near Lando’s temple, careful of where they were, of who might be watching. His hands spread flat against Lando’s back, grounding.
For a moment, Lando stayed completely still.
Then he exhaled. One long, shaky breath that sounded like it had been held for hours.
His forehead tipped forward, resting against Oscar’s chest. His hands came up slowly, fingers gripping the front of Oscar’s shirt like he needed proof that this was real.
Oscar’s arms tightened instinctively. “I’m so sorry,” Oscar murmured, voice low and rough. “I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have let it go that long. I know better.” His throat worked. “I know you better.”
“I waited,” Lando said quietly. The words were simple. Flat and devastating.
Oscar closed his eyes. “I know,” he said immediately. “And you shouldn’t have had to.”
They stayed like that—surrounded by glowing flowers and strangers and music that felt wrong for the moment. Someone laughed nearby. A camera flashed. Oscar didn’t let go.
“I thought you forgot,” Lando admitted after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “Or that… something more important came up.” He gave a small, humorless huff of breath. “It felt stupid to be upset about it. But I was.”
“It’s not stupid,” Oscar said firmly. He pulled back just enough to see Lando’s face, hands still steady at his sides. “You mattered. You matter. I messed up.”
Lando’s gaze dropped. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” he said. “So I just… came anyway.”
Oscar leaned his forehead lightly against Lando’s—no kiss, just closeness. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “I did.” He stayed there for another second, then eased back fully, hands open now, deliberately giving Lando space.
“It’s okay,” Lando said gently. “I know you think about a lot of things at once.”
Oscar shook his head immediately. “No.”
Oscar stopped brushing lando fingers, forcing Lando to look at him. The lights painted his face in warm color, but his expression was serious now—focused, deliberate.
“I should have prioritized you first,” Oscar said. “Not the projections. Not the follow-ups. You.” He lifted Lando’s hand and kissed his knuckles once—then again, lingering this time. Like he was anchoring himself there.
Lando swallowed. “Osc—”
“I can think about many things,” Oscar interrupted softly, “but you are not something I schedule around.”
Lando’s breath caught just slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like you come after my work,” Oscar continued. “Ever.”
Lando squeezed his hand. “I don’t.” Oscar searched his face anyway, like he needed proof. “Okay,” Lando said finally, offering a small smile. “I hear you.”
Oscar exhaled, tension easing out of him in a slow release. He leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against Lando’s.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m serious.”
Lando let out a quiet laugh, nudging him. “I can tell. You’re talking like you’re closing a billion-dollar deal.”
Oscar huffed a soft laugh. “Old habits.”
“Okay,” Oscar said gently. “Here’s what happens next.” Lando looked up, eyes red but listening. “You choose,” Oscar continued. “We can stay. We can leave. We can walk around. Sit somewhere quiet. Eat. Go back to the hotel.” His voice didn’t waver.
“Whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Lando looked around—the lights, the crowd, the flowers glowing patiently beside them. Then back at Oscar. “…Can we just walk?” he asked. “Not rush. Just… walk.”
Oscar nodded immediately. “Of course.” He offered his arm, slow and careful. Lando took it. They moved forward together, side by side, under the lights—still hurt, still tender, but no longer alone.
They walked slowly after that.
No rush. No schedule. Just following the path as it curved through the park, lights blooming around them in soft, impossible colors. The earlier tension faded with every step, replaced by something gentler, easier.
Lando stopped short. “Oh,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god.” Oscar followed his gaze.
Ahead of them, towering and ridiculous and glowing, stood the entrance to the dinosaur park—massive illuminated shapes rising against the night sky, teeth bared in frozen roars, tails curling through neon-lit foliage.
“I want to see that,” Lando said immediately, already tugging Oscar’s hand. “We’re going there.”
Oscar didn’t even pretend to resist. “Of course we are.”
Lando grinned and took off, dragging him along like this was the most important decision of the evening. Oscar laughed under his breath, tightening his grip just enough to keep Lando close as they moved through the crowd.
Inside, Lando was everywhere.
Stopping. Pointing. Tilting his head back to stare at the glowing dinosaurs like a child who’d just discovered something magical. Oscar trailed half a step behind, phone already out without thinking.
“Lan,” he said, amused. “Hold on.”
Lando turned, confused—and Oscar snapped a photo.
Then another. “Hey,” Lando protested weakly, smiling anyway. “You didn’t warn me.”
“You look happy,” Oscar said simply, taking another one.
Lando rolled his eyes but leaned in closer, shoulder brushing Oscar’s arm. “You’re taking too many.”
“I’m documenting,” Oscar replied, dead serious.
They moved on, hands linked now, Oscar’s thumb tracing slow circles against Lando’s knuckles as they walked. Every few steps, Oscar stopped to take another picture—Lando beneath glowing trees, Lando pointing at a dinosaur mid-rant, Lando laughing with his head tipped back.
At one point, Lando caught him. “You haven’t put your phone down,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Oscar checked the screen, then slipped the phone into his pocket. “You’re right.”
Lando smirked. “Good.”
They didn’t make it ten steps before Oscar pulled it out again.
“Stand there,” Oscar said. Lando laughed. “You’re impossible.”
Still, he did.
Later, they asked a stranger to take a photo of them together. Then another. Then one more because the lighting was better this way. Oscar’s arm stayed firm around Lando’s waist, Lando leaning into him without thinking, easy and natural.
They checked the photos afterward, heads bent close together, shoulders touching.
“These are terrible,” Lando said, fond.
Oscar smiled. “They’re perfect.” They walked on, dinosaurs fading behind them, lights stretching endlessly ahead.
And for the rest of the night, Oscar didn’t let go of Lando’s back—not once.
At night, the city felt different.
Louder, somehow—but not in a way that overwhelmed. Brighter. Like it had spent the entire day holding itself taut, waiting, and now finally let go. Light spilled across walkways in soft neon washes. Music drifted in fragments from unseen speakers. Laughter cut through the warm air, overlapping, careless, alive.
Lando was fully back to himself.
Whatever heaviness had followed him earlier had dissolved into motion—into smiles that came easily, laughter that burst out at nothing at all. His fingers stayed threaded through Oscar’s hand, grip firm and absentminded, like letting go simply wasn’t an option he’d considered.
He leaned into Oscar as they walked, shoulder bumping his arm on purpose, once, twice. Testing. Teasing.
Oscar let it happen. Let himself be nudged off balance, let his steps adjust to Lando’s pace without thinking about it.
This—this was the part he loved most. Not the grand gestures. Not the planning. Just walking beside him while the world hummed around them.
Lando slowed suddenly, squinting down at his phone before slipping it back into his pocket like it had served its purpose.
“Okay,” he announced, satisfied. “I think we should go back.”
Oscar glanced down, thumb brushing lightly over Lando’s knuckles. “You’re tired?”
“No,” Lando said immediately, almost offended by the suggestion. “I’m… done.” He searched for the word, then smiled. “I’m satisfied. We already have so many photos.”
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s true. My phone’s officially out of storage.”
“Exactly,” Lando said, nodding like this confirmed everything. “That’s how you know it was a good night.”
They slowed near the exit, the glow of the park softening behind them, lights blurring into something gentler as the path widened. Oscar tilted his head slightly, already slipping into decision mode out of habit—then consciously easing back.
“Should we get dinner somewhere,” he asked, voice easy, “or order room service again?”
Lando stopped walking altogether. “Oh,” he said, eyes lighting up like he’d been waiting for this exact question. “No. No, no. I saw this place on TikTok.”
Oscar blinked once. “Of course you did.”
“It’s like—” Lando waved his free hand, words tumbling over each other. “Late-night, very local, people sit outside, there’s shawarma and grilled meat and bread and garlic sauce and it looks genuinely life-altering.”
Oscar considered him. The flushed cheeks. The animated hands. The way happiness had settled back into him so naturally it almost hurt to look at. “You want street food,” Oscar said calmly.
“Yes.”
“In this heat.”
“Yes.”
“At this hour.”
“Especially at this hour,” Lando said, grinning.
Oscar watched him for a second longer than necessary, then sighed—not in frustration, but in quiet surrender. “Alright.”
Lando’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes,” Oscar said without hesitation. “Lead the way.”
Lando squeezed his hand like he’d won something precious.
The taxi ride was a blur of excited rambling. Lando pulled up directions, talking at a mile a minute about wrap sizes and sauces and how apparently the tea was included “for free???” like this was revolutionary. Oscar listened, half-smiling, arm resting easily behind Lando along the seat, close enough to feel his warmth.
He didn’t interrupt. He never did when Lando was like this. The place was exactly as promised. Busy, noisy and alive.
Smoke curled from the grills into the night air. Orders were shouted and answered in rapid-fire exchanges. Flatbread moved from hand to hand, hot and steaming. People stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing, waiting, eating without ceremony.
Lando bounced on his toes. “Smells good, right?”
Oscar inhaled once, slow and appreciative. “It smells excellent.” They ordered too much. Neither of them commented on it.
They stood outside with their food, leaning against the hood of the taxi, grease already bleeding through the paper. Lando took the first bite of his shawarma and made a noise that probably should’ve embarrassed him.
“Oh my god,” he said around a mouthful. “Oscar.”
Oscar laughed softly, biting into his own. “You’re happy.”
“I am thriving,” Lando declared, utterly serious.
They ate slowly, unhurried. Fingers brushed when they reached for napkins. Shoulders touched and stayed that way. The city moved around them—cars passing, voices overlapping, life continuing at its own pace.
No meetings, no schedules, no waiting. Just warm air. Shared food. And the quiet, steady understanding that tonight—finally—belonged to them.
They made it back to the hotel slightly damp, smelling faintly of smoke, spice, and heat.
Lando kicked off his shoes the moment the door closed behind them. “I’m sticky,” he announced. “I hate this.”
Oscar loosened his collar, equally warm, equally tired, but smiling. “You had street food.”
“I know,” Lando said, already heading for the bathroom. “Worth it. Still disgusting.”
The shower started once. Then, somehow, twice.
Steam fogged the glass almost immediately. Lando laughed when Oscar nudged him gently toward the wall, palms flat against the cool surface, just enough to make him yelp in surprise. “Hey—!”
“You were blocking the water,” Oscar said innocently.
“That is a lie.” Oscar didn’t deny it.
Somewhere between rinsing and arguing about soap, Oscar discovered the bubbles. He scooped up a handful of shampoo foam and, with quiet determination, shaped it on top of Lando’s head.
Lando squinted at the reflection. “What are you doing.”
Oscar tilted his head, assessing. “Art.”
“That looks like a dinosaur.”
“That was intentional.”
Lando burst out laughing, water dripping down his face as he tried—and failed—to wash it away. Oscar only laughed harder, attempting to add more bubbles instead.
“This is sabotage,” Lando accused, breathless. “I already showered once!”
“You volunteered for a second,” Oscar replied.
“I was encouraged.”
Eventually, they emerged—clean, warm, skin pink from heat and steam. Both of them ended up in bathrobes, hair damp, moving slower now, energy finally spent.
Lando flopped onto the bed, sprawled dramatically. “Okay.”
Oscar sat beside him, towel draped loosely around his shoulders. “Okay what.”
“I’m hungry again,” Lando said, staring at the ceiling. “I want something sweet.”
Oscar blinked. “You ate an entire shawarma. And dates.”
“Yes,” Lando said seriously. “But that was savory.”
Oscar considered him for a moment, then sighed—the fond, familiar one. “What kind of sweet.”
Lando turned his head, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “Anything. Dessert, maybe chocolate or a cake. Room service has lava cake, right?”
Oscar reached for the phone. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Lando said, smiling lazily, “you love me.” Oscar paused just long enough to glance over at him. Then dialed. “Yes,” he said simply.
The lava cake arrived still warm.
Steam lifted faintly when the server set it down between them, the scent of chocolate rich and indulgent in the quiet hotel room. Outside, Dubai glowed faintly through the curtains—city lights softened into something distant and unreal.
Lando didn’t even pretend to wait. He leaned forward immediately, spoon breaking into the center with practiced excitement. The cake gave way easily, chocolate pooling lazily onto the plate like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Lando froze. “Oh,” he breathed, reverent. Then, softer, like he was afraid to scare it away, “Oh my god.”
Oscar watched him for a half second longer than necessary. The way Lando’s eyes lit up. The way his shoulders relaxed. The simple, unfiltered joy of it.
Then Oscar took a bite of his own. He paused. Actually paused. “…Okay,” he admitted slowly, eyebrows lifting. “That’s dangerous.”
Lando grinned, already on his second spoonful, utterly unashamed. “You love it.”
“I do,” Oscar said, thoughtful and sincere. He studied the spoon like it had personally betrayed him. “Which is concerning.”
“Why?” Oscar leaned back against the headboard, robe loose, one arm resting comfortably behind Lando. His spoon hovered mid-air as he considered this very seriously. “Because if I’m dating you,” he said, “I might gain weight.”
Lando stopped chewing. Looked at him. “Excuse you?”
“You eat constantly,” Oscar continued, tone calm, observational. “And you make it look… enjoyable.”
“That’s because it is enjoyable,” Lando said, incredulous. “You’re allowed to be happy and eat dessert.”
Oscar glanced back down at the cake. Took another bite. Slower this time. Less resistance. “This is how it starts,” he murmured.
Lando laughed and scooted closer, thigh pressing into Oscar’s side, warmth unmistakable. “You’re literally eating lava cake in a hotel robe in Dubai. I think we passed the point of no return.”
Oscar considered that. The room. The quiet. Lando’s shoulder against his chest. Chocolate still warm on his tongue. “…You’re right,” he said.
They talked while they ate. About nothing important. About dinosaurs and whether they’d survive in modern cities. About Oliver—whether he’d miss them or secretly enjoy the silence. About the strangest moments from meetings that day that had nothing to do with numbers, projections, or responsibility.
Oscar listened more than he spoke. He always did. Watching Lando talk with his hands, watching his expressions shift mid-thought, watching the way happiness came back to him in layers.
It felt easy. Light.
When the plates were empty and the sweetness lingered pleasantly, Oscar wiped his hands with a napkin and glanced sideways at Lando, expression deliberately casual.
“How about tomorrow,” he said, like it was an afterthought, “after work—we try that famous Dubai chocolate?”
Lando froze. For exactly half a second. Then he launched himself forward.
Oscar barely had time to react before Lando wrapped around him completely—arms tight, legs tangled, face buried against Oscar’s chest like this was the only reasonable response.
“YES,” Lando muffled. “Absolutely yes.”
Oscar laughed, startled and genuine, arms coming up automatically to hold him, palms firm and steady against his back. “Alright. Alright.”
“You’re the best,” Lando said into his robe. “This is the best trip.”
Oscar smiled, chin resting briefly against Lando’s hair, breathing him in. “We’ll see,” he said softly.
Later, the lights were off.
The city glowed faintly through the curtains, distant and quiet. They lay tangled together beneath the sheets, Lando tucked in close, Oscar’s arm firm and protective around his waist like it belonged there.
No alarms set. No schedules left to manage. Just the quiet rise and fall of shared breathing. And when sleep finally came, it found them already holding on.
Lando Norris was, by nature, incapable of being offline.
It started harmlessly. A TikTok first—thirty seconds of hotel-room light and soft laughter, his voice a little hoarse from jetlag, joking about time zones, dates, and how everything tasted better when you weren’t the one paying for it.
He didn’t overthink it. He never did. It felt nice to document the moment, to pin happiness somewhere it couldn’t slip away.
An Instagram post followed. Dubai at night—glowing, blurred lights streaking like stars dragged across the screen. Artsy enough to look intentional. Casual enough to look like him.
Then the stories came. Coffee cups. Elevator mirrors. A view through the car window, city lights stretching endlessly forward.
Nothing incriminating. Nothing obvious. He followed people, too. All of them.
Every coworker from the office—marketing, finance, even that intern who’d once cornered him with a very serious question about font choices. Lando tapped follow with reckless generosity, never pausing to consider privacy settings or curated lists or the fact that his account was very much his, unfiltered and wide open.
Oscar noticed, of course. He noticed everything.
But he didn’t say a word. He simply stayed close—quietly, instinctively—like love was something practiced in proximity rather than declarations.
The last meeting of the day ended cleanly. Polite applause. Handshakes. Thank-yous exchanged with the exhausted warmth of people who’d done well and survived it. Relief loosened Oscar’s shoulders the moment they stepped out of the room.
Without thinking, he guided Lando forward with a hand at the small of his back. Not possessive. Just there.
“You promised!!” Lando said lightly, glancing over his shoulder, already smiling like he knew the answer.
“I did,” Oscar replied, just as easily. His voice softened without effort when it was meant for Lando. “Come on.”
They stopped at a place everyone online had sworn by—small, crowded, bright. Chocolate stacked behind glass like it was something rare, something reverent. Gold accents. Green pistachio filling glowing faintly under warm lights.
The famous Dubai chocolate. Oscar didn’t like chocolate. Not really. Too sweet. Too heavy. He usually passed without comment.
But Lando was already leaning closer to the display, eyes bright, practically vibrating with anticipation. “This one,” he said, pointing. “Everyone says this one changes lives.”
Oscar smiled—not at the chocolate, but at Lando. At the way joy came to him so easily. At how simple it was to want something and say so.
“Alright,” Oscar said gently. “We’ll get it.”
They shared one. Lando broke off a piece first, bit into it, and froze—eyes widening in genuine shock. “Oh my god,” he said immediately. “This is insane.”
Oscar watched him like the world had narrowed to this moment alone. He reached out, took a small bite—not because he wanted it, but because Lando did. Because sharing mattered more than taste.
It was sweet. Too sweet. Oscar didn’t care. Lando lifted his phone without thinking.
Snap.
No checking the frame. No edits. No hesitation. Just instinct. The story went up immediately a half-eaten chocolate bar, green filling visible where it had been bitten into, glossy and rich beneath warm lighting.
And there—unmistakably—holding it, a hand.
Pale fingers. Clean nails. A relaxed grip, familiar and unguarded. And on the wrist, catching just enough light to be recognizable to the wrong set of eyes—an expensive watch. Understated. Intentional. The kind that belonged to someone who didn’t borrow chargers or forget where they left their badge.
Lando smiled at his screen, satisfied. “Best chocolate ever,” he said, pocketing his phone like nothing else in the world could possibly matter.
Oscar hummed softly. “Good?”
“Life-changing,” Lando replied, already walking again, already moving forward.
Oscar followed without hesitation. Somewhere else—far from Dubai, far from warm streets and glowing lights—notifications began to bloom across screens. Screens that noticed details. Screens that knew what to look for.
But Lando Norris didn’t. He just kept walking beside the man who loved him quietly, deeply, and without conditions—unaware that something small and sweet had just shifted the ground beneath them.
Wednesday in London was suspiciously peaceful.
Too peaceful. The kind of calm that only happened when the CEO and his PA were out of the country and no one was around to silently judge posture, tone, or font choices.
The office still worked—emails sent, calls answered—but the tension had evaporated. Someone laughed out loud. Someone reheated fish.
Alex Albon had time. Which was dangerous.
He sat at his desk, chair tilted back, phone in hand, scrolling Instagram with the idle confidence of a man who did not yet know his life was about to change.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Gym mirror. Coffee art. Someone in Dubai posting that stupid viral chocolate again. Alex frowned. “Why is everyone eating that chocolate,” he muttered.
He tapped back. Paused. Scrolled forward again. His thumb froze. “…Wait.”
That handle.
@lando
Alex sat upright so fast his chair squeaked. First story, Lando, grinning like a menace in front of a glowing dinosaur statue, neon lights reflecting off his face. T-shirt. Shorts. No sign of adult supervision.
Alex scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Solo trip. Makes sense.”
Tap.
Second story hotel room. Lando sprawled dramatically across the bed, complaining about his laptop like the world had personally wronged him. “Fine,” Alex said. “Expected.”
Tap.
Third story. Alex’s soul left his body. It was just a photo. Just a chocolate bar. Half eaten. Green filling. Glossy. Expensive-looking. Alex almost scrolled past—Then he saw the hand. “…No.”
He zoomed in, the hands, and fingers. Long and pale and very much not Lando's. Alex zoomed more. “Enhance,” he whispered, dragging his thumb like this was a crime documentary. And then—The watch. Black. Heavy. Obnoxiously understated.
Alex felt his heart drop into his stomach. “No,” he said out loud. He zoomed again. And again. And again until the pixels protested.
That was a Richard Mille. A black Richard Mille.
Alex slapped his hand over his mouth. “WHY,” he hissed, “IS MR. PIASTRI EATING DUBAI CHOCOLATE?”
The intern looked up. “Sorry, WHAT?” Alex didn’t break eye contact with the screen. “WHY,” he continued, voice rising, “IS HE EVEN THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?”
He zoomed further. Tilting his phone like the angle might reveal new secrets.
“DID THEY HAVE A MEETING THERE?”
“IS THIS A THING IN DUBAI?”
“DO IMPORTANT PEOPLE JUST… EAT CHOCOLATE TOGETHER?”
He spun his chair halfway around, looking wildly at no one in particular. “TELL ME,” Alex demanded. “TELL ME.”
The intern blinked. “Alex…?” Alex ignored them completely. “That watch does not travel for snacks,” he muttered. “That watch travels for intent.”
His fingers flew. Screenshot. Screenshot. Screenshot. Evidence.
He leaned back slowly, staring at the frozen image on his phone Lando’s chocolate. Oscar’s hand. That stupid, expensive watch. “…Oh my god,” Alex whispered.
Somewhere behind him, Taylor Swift hit the bridge. Alex Albon lowered his phone, eyes bright with revelation. “This,” he said to absolutely no one, “is not a coincidence.”
The office remained calm. But Alex? Alex had just found the chocolate.
By lunchtime, the office cafeteria was no longer a cafeteria. It was a crime scene.
Not the usual kind—this had nothing to do with deadlines, deliverables, or who’d double-booked Conference Room B again. This was electric. Dangerous. People weren’t eating; they were hovering. Trays sat abandoned. Phones were out. Whispers bounced between tables like gossip with legs.
At the far end of the long table, Alex Albon was standing.
Not sitting, standing.
One foot planted on a chair like a revolutionary addressing the masses, one hand clutching his phone, the other slicing through the air with the confidence of a man who had seen the truth and was not emotionally prepared to carry it alone.
“Look,” Alex said, voice sharp. “LOOK at this.” He shoved the phone toward the center of the table.
Everyone leaned in instantly. The intern took it first, instinctively—pinched the screen, zooming with the careful precision of someone who had once been warned very seriously about HR. “That’s… a hand,” she said, cautiously.
“Zoom. More,” Alex ordered. She did. Pale fingers. Clean nails. Casual grip. The angle intimate in that way you only notice when you shouldn’t.
Alex slapped the table. “It’s Mr. Piastri.” Daniel, mid-bite, froze. Leaned over. Squinted. “Hold on—zoom the watch.”
The intern obliged, dread creeping in. Daniel inhaled sharply. “Yeah. No. That’s him. I’ve seen that watch in meetings. He taps it when he’s thinking.”
Praya folded her arms, eyes narrowing as she studied the screen. “I mean,” she said slowly, cautiously, like she was defusing a bomb, “it could be casual? Just… normal snack time?”
Alex spun on her like she’d committed a personal offense. “Normal?” he repeated. “You think Mr. Piastri would go there and eat that?”
He gestured so violently he nearly took out a water glass. “If he were with us,” Alex continued, pacing now, voice rising, “he’d choose a quiet café. Neutral colors. Minimal noise. Seating that discourages joy. Not a viral chocolate place where people queue for an hour and film everything!”
Someone nodded solemnly. “He once left a restaurant because the music was ‘too enthusiastic.’”
“EXACTLY,” Alex said, pointing wildly. “And look at the framing!”
He leaned in, stabbing the air above the phone. “That is not an accidental hand. That is a familiar hand.”
The intern frowned. “But why would Lando—”
“EXACTLY,” Alex shouted, pointing at her like she’d unlocked a secret level. “WHY would Lando post it without thinking?”
Silence hit the table. Then it spread. “Oh,” Daniel said quietly.
Praya’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”
Alex planted both hands on the table, leaning in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that somehow carried anyway. “Ladies and gentlemen… they are not just on a business trip.”
No one breathed. The intern whispered, “Should we… stop zooming?” Alex straightened, eyes blazing. “Absolutely not.”
Around them, the cafeteria continued as normal—forks clinking, espresso machines hissing, someone laughing at a meme completely unrelated to corporate implosions.
But at that table? Everyone knew. Something was happening in Dubai. And Alex Albon was about to be unbearable about it.
The airport at night felt different. Dimmer. Quieter. Like the whole place was running on borrowed energy while the rest of the city slept. The departures board glowed softly overhead, midnight flights blinking patiently in neat rows.
They moved through it side by side. Oscar pushed the suitcase with one hand, jacket folded neatly over the handle, movements efficient even this late.
Lando walked close enough that their shoulders brushed, fingers tugging absently at the hem of Oscar’s hoodie like it was an anchor. “Oscar…” Lando said quietly.
Oscar glanced down. “Yes sweetheart?” Lando hesitated, then tucked the hoodie closer around himself, sleeves too long, fabric warm from Oscar’s body. “I’m kind of nervous,” he admitted. “First time in Singapore.”
Oscar slowed just a little, enough that Lando had to look up at him. “Nervous how?” he asked, gentle.
“I don’t know,” Lando said, shrugging one shoulder. “New place. New meetings. New rules. I don’t want to mess anything up.”
Oscar’s hand left the suitcase handle long enough to settle at Lando’s back, firm and reassuring. “You won’t.”
“You say that like it’s a fact.”
“It is,” Oscar replied easily. “You’re prepared. You pay attention. And you ask questions.”
Lando hummed, unconvinced but comforted anyway. He leaned in slightly, letting Oscar’s hand stay where it was as they headed toward the lounge.
Inside, the space was calm and softly lit. People spoke in low voices. Coffee machines hissed gently. The night felt suspended.
Oscar parked the suitcase and turned toward Lando fully now. “We’ll land in the morning,” he said. “We’ll take it slow. You won’t be alone for any of it.”
Lando looked at him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “Besides,” he added, “you survived Dubai.”
Lando snorted. “Barely.” Oscar leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to Lando’s hairline, unbothered by the quiet audience around them. “You’ll be fine.”
Lando relaxed against him, fingers still curled in the hoodie. “You better not disappear again.”
“I won’t,” Oscar said immediately. “I’m right here.”
They settled into the lounge chairs, suitcase within reach, night stretching out in front of them. Outside the windows, planes waited patiently on the tarmac, lights blinking like distant stars.
Another city. Another morning. And this time, Lando wasn’t walking into it alone.
Lando loved free food. This was not a secret.
He joined the lounge queue with the focus of someone on a mission, scanning trays like he was drafting a strategy. Plates passed. Tongs clicked. He selected carefully—something warm, something sweet, something he could eat without thinking too hard.
He grabbed a hot chocolate for himself, piled high with optimism, and a black coffee for Oscar, no sugar, because some habits were sacred.
Balanced both cups expertly, he made his way back toward their table.
That’s when he noticed Oscar wasn’t alone.
An older man sat across from him now, posture relaxed, silver at his temples, speaking with the easy confidence of someone used to being listened to. Oscar leaned in slightly, attentive, nodding along, fully in that polite, professional mode he slipped into so seamlessly.
Lando slowed his steps. As he approached, the man looked up—and smiled. “Oh,” he said warmly, gesturing between them. “So you’re traveling with your younger brother?”
Lando bit the inside of his cheek.
Hard.
He kept his grin in place, shoulders relaxing as he set the coffee down in front of Oscar first—automatically—then placed his hot chocolate beside himself.
“Younger brother,” Lando repeated thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Wow.”
Oscar’s eyes flicked up, a fraction too late. “Oh,” Oscar started, already realizing the mistake. “He’s actually—”
Lando waved a hand. “It’s okay,” he said cheerfully. “I get that a lot.”
The man chuckled. “You look alike. Similar energy.”
Lando leaned his elbow on the table, grin widening just enough to be dangerous. “Yeah, he’s always telling me what to do.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “Constantly,” Lando added. “Very bossy. Takes my coffee order without asking.”
Oscar shot him a look. “You ask for the same thing every time.”
The older man laughed. “Sounds like family.”
Lando hummed, sipping his hot chocolate. “Something like that.”
Oscar finally managed a smile that was half apology, half warning. “We work together,” he said smoothly. “Closely.”
“Makes sense,” the man replied. “Good to have someone you trust with you on trips like this.”
Lando met Oscar’s gaze over the rim of his cup, eyes warm, amused. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It does.”
The man stood a moment later, shaking Oscar’s hand before nodding politely at Lando. “Enjoy Singapore.”
“You too,” Lando said easily. Once he was gone, Oscar exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
Lando laughed, bumping his knee against Oscar’s under the table. “Relax. At least he didn’t say son.”
Oscar groaned. Lando took another sip of his drink, perfectly content, and leaned back in his chair.
Brother.
Sure. He glanced at Oscar, smile lingering. They both knew better.
Boarding was smooth, almost hushed. The cabin lights were already dimmed, windows dark with nothing but reflected stars and blinking runway lights.
Lando sank into the flatbed seat with a satisfied sigh, stomach pleasantly full, limbs heavy in the way that meant sleep was inevitable.
Oscar settled beside him, already efficient—seat adjusted, bag stowed, laptop retrieved like muscle memory.
The screen flickered to life. Lando cracked one eye open. “…Boss,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep as he tugged the blanket up to his chest. “One hour. Okay?”
Oscar glanced over, amused. “One hour.”
Lando yawned, stretching lazily, feet nudging Oscar’s calf in the process. “If you’re still opening that laptop after one hour,” he added, eyes closing again, “I will physically force-close it.”
Oscar chuckled quietly, fingers already moving over the keyboard. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be,” Lando said, words slurring slightly as he shifted onto his side. “I’m very strong when I’m tired.”
Oscar leaned over, brushing a hand through Lando’s hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. “Sleep well, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’ll wake you when the service food comes.”
Lando hummed, half-asleep already. “If it’s dessert… wake me twice.”
Oscar smiled, watching him drift off, breathing evening out within minutes. He turned back to his laptop—but slower now, gentler—like he was careful not to disturb the quiet they’d settled into.
Outside, the plane lifted smoothly into the night. And inside, Lando slept, safe and warm, while Oscar kept watch just a little longer.
Singapore greeted them with heat.
Not the dry kind. The kind that wrapped itself around you the moment you stepped outside, heavy and insistent, like the air had weight to it. Lando felt it immediately and peeled the hoodie off with zero hesitation.
“Nope,” he said, stuffing it into his bag. “Absolutely not.”
He wore just a t-shirt and shorts now, hair still slightly rumpled from sleep, already squinting at the brightness. “Why is it wet outside.”
Oscar, somehow, was still wearing his jacket. Lando stared at him. “You’re going to pass out.” “I’m fine,” Oscar said calmly, adjusting the strap of the suitcase. “It’s manageable.”
“You said that in Dubai and you turned red like a warning sign.” Oscar ignored him and kept walking.
The drive to the hotel was quiet, both of them moving on autopilot, the city sliding past the windows in clean lines and greenery. By the time they reached the lobby, Lando was already planning survival.
“Okay,” he said, ticking things off on his fingers as they rode the elevator up. “Quick shower. Quick breakfast. Then we go straight to the university, right?”
Oscar nodded. “Yes.” Lando glanced at him, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “Your first schedule in Singapore.”
Oscar hummed, unlocking the door. “It’s just a talk.”
“It’s not just a talk,” Lando corrected immediately, following him inside. “You’re a guest speaker. At a university for Economics forum!”
Oscar shrugged off his jacket at last, hanging it neatly. “They asked.”
“They invited you,” Lando said, like this mattered deeply. “Last week. I saw the email first, remember?”
Oscar paused, turning slightly. “You did.”
“And I was so proud,” Lando added, unabashed. “I almost replied for you.”
Oscar smiled—small, genuine, the kind he didn’t use in meetings. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Rude,” Lando said, but he was grinning. He kicked off his shoes and headed for the bathroom. “Still. You’re going to talk about the economics in Singapore, to guest and students.”
Oscar leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a second longer than necessary. “You’re more excited than I am.”
“As I should be,” Lando said over his shoulder. “This is a big deal.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, already turning the shower on, humming something off-key. Oscar stood there for a moment, suitcase still by his side, listening to the sound, the city waking up beyond the window.
Yes.
It was hot, It was early, And the day was going to be long. But somewhere between the humidity and the schedule, Oscar felt steady. Because Lando was proud of him. And somehow, that made everything else feel manageable.
While Oscar showered, the room filled with soft, steady sounds—running water, distant traffic, the muted hum of a city fully awake.
Lando moved on instinct. He opened the suitcase and knelt beside it, unzipping carefully, like the contents were fragile. Everything inside was still mostly organized—Oscar’s doing—but Lando knew exactly what he was looking for.
The suit. He lifted it out with both hands, careful not to crease it further. Black. Clean lines. No tie. Formal without being stiff. The kind of suit that said I belong here without needing to announce it.
Perfect for this.
He hung it up, then reached for the iron. The hotel one was small and underpowered, but Lando made it work, smoothing out the fabric with practiced focus. He leaned in close, checking seams, running the iron once more over the sleeve, then the back.
Oscar would never ask him to do this. But Lando always did it anyway. By the time the shower shut off, the suit looked sharp—ready.
Lando stepped back, satisfied, then glanced at his own reflection. He was already dressed white shirt, crisp and clean, sleeves buttoned neatly. Navy trousers, tailored just enough. Professional, but still him.
The jacket stayed on the hanger. He didn’t need it yet.
Oscar emerged a moment later, hair damp, and half naked. He stopped short when he saw the suit hanging there. “…You did that?” he asked. Lando shrugged, casual. “It needed it.”
Oscar walked closer, fingers brushing the fabric, eyes softening in a way that had nothing to do with clothes. “Thank you.”
Lando smiled, small and warm. “You’re going to be great.” Oscar looked at him then—really looked—and nodded once.
The day waited outside the window. And inside the room, everything was exactly where it needed to be.
Backstage was warmer than the hall. Lando hovered close, fingers smoothing the front of Oscar’s suit jacket again—too careful, too familiar, like muscle memory had taken over.
His palms were damp now, nerves bleeding through excitement, and he wiped them quickly against his trousers before touching the fabric once more. “You’re going to do great,” he said, soft but certain.
Oscar turned his head slightly, lips parting to reply— “Mr. Oscar Piastri?” The moderator’s voice cut cleanly through the space.
Showtime. Oscar inhaled once, steadying. “That’s me.” He squeezed Lando’s wrist briefly—grounding, reassuring—then stepped away and toward the stage.
And just like that, the room changed. Oscar walked out under the lights like he belonged there—because he did. No hesitation. No performance. Just presence.
Lando slipped into a seat among the audience, heart still buzzing, posture straight but brain already unraveling.
Oscar’s voice filled the room. Calm, even. Confident in a way that didn’t demand attention—but took it anyway.
Slides shifted behind him. Graphs appeared. Lines climbed and dipped. Economic forecasts unfolded like they were the most natural thing in the world.
Lando did not understand a single one of them. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the way Oscar stood.
Shoulders squared. One hand resting lightly against the podium, the other lifting occasionally—precise, minimal, deliberate. His jaw set just enough. His eyes sharp, intelligent, focused.
Hot. Unfairly hot.
Lando leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, trying very hard to focus on literally anything else. “GDP growth… structural reform… fiscal—” Oscar continued smoothly.
Lando’s brain short-circuited. Oh my god. Why is he like this?
Oscar tilted his head slightly as a question came from the audience, the corner of his mouth lifting in that restrained, controlled way he used when he knew he was right—when he was about to explain something and make it sound inevitable.
This man talks about numbers like this, Lando thought helplessly, and then comes home and clean Oliver's litter box.
Lando swallowed.
His jacket suddenly felt too warm. The collar too tight. His heartbeat had absolutely no reason to be doing that in an economics forum.
This should not be attractive, he told himself weakly. It absolutely was.
Oscar shifted his weight, answered another question, voice steady, unflinching. The room listened. Leaned in. Trusted him.
Lando stared. And somewhere between a sentence about monetary policy and a discussion of long-term market resilience, the realization hit him—soft, slow, unavoidable.
Oh.
Oh no.
He wasn’t just proud. He wasn’t just impressed. He was—deeply, undeniably—gone.
When the applause came—loud, sustained, deserved—Oscar smiled. Not flashy. Not performative. Just proud, grounded and secure.
His eyes flicked briefly across the audience. Found Lando and softened. Just for a second. It hit Lando square in the chest. He leaned back, exhaling slowly, one hand dragging down his face as he muttered under his breath, “This is a problem.”
A very serious problem. Because now—now—Lando Norris was painfully, disastrously, hopelessly attracted to a man explaining monetary policy on a stage in Singapore.
And he still had to sit through the rest of the forum pretending he was normal about it.
Lando shifted in his seat. Once. twice, then again.
Mistake.
Because the moment he lifted his phone—just to check, just to ground himself—the front camera betrayed him instantly.
Pink cheeks. Eyes too bright. Lips pressed together like he was physically restraining himself from saying something reckless out loud.
Oh no.
“Oh no,” Lando whispered under his breath.
This was not the place. This was not the time. This was an economics forum—rows of neat chairs, polite applause, bottled water sweating on white tables. People with titles. People who said things like macroeconomic outlook with straight faces, and a student who still eager to learn.
On stage, the moderator opened the floor for questions. And of course—of course—Oscar was being impossible.
Someone asked about market volatility. Oscar answered smoothly, voice even, measured, confident. His posture was relaxed but precise, shoulders squared, jacket sitting perfectly on him like it had been tailored with intent.
Another question—challenging, slightly aggressive.
Oscar didn’t flinch. He dismantled it calmly, numbers lining up neatly, tone polite but firm. The room leaned in, people nodded, someone murmured appreciation.
Lando tried to focus. He really, genuinely did. He stared at his notes. He read the same sentence four times. He nodded at the right moments like a functional adult.
But then Oscar shifted his stance. Just slightly. One hand lifted to gesture—controlled, elegant, fingers moving with deliberate emphasis—and Lando’s brain short-circuited entirely.
Those hands.
Those hands—now perfectly respectable around a microphone—were the same ones that slid into the small of Lando’s back without warning. The same ones that pulled him close, thumbs warm and grounding at his waist, fingers curling like they’d always belonged there—
Stop it. Stop thinking. You are in public.
Oscar tilted his head as he explained a model, jaw tightening in concentration, eyes sharp, focused, devastatingly confident.
God.
Lando swallowed. His thoughts betrayed him immediately—unhelpful, vivid, way too familiar. Oscar’s mouth was doing that thing. The precise thing. The one that always came right before—
No. Nope. Absolutely not. This is a conference.
Then it happened. Oscar glanced toward the audience. And their eyes met. Lando knew—knew—he was finished.
Oscar took in everything in a single second the restless shifting, the bouncing knee, the way Lando’s lips parted like he was overheating from the inside out.
Oscar had know Lando long enough. He knew that look.
Oh.
A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of Oscar’s mouth. Subtle. Professional. Weaponized.
Lando froze. Full system shutdown. “Don’t,” he mouthed, horrified. Oscar raised an eyebrow—pure innocence, all executive composure—then turned back to the microphone without missing a beat. His voice stayed steady, his posture flawless.
The smirk stayed. Lando clenched his jaw, staring hard at his notes like they’d personally wronged him. “I hate you,” he muttered under his breath.
Oscar’s gaze flicked back once more—just long enough to clock the flushed ears, the tight grip on the armrest, the way Lando hadn’t moved an inch.
Good. Very good.
Oscar finished his answer to polite applause, nodding graciously, the picture of control.
Inside? He was already cataloging this. Filing it away. Planning—carefully, patiently—exactly how he’d deal with it later. Hands. Voice low. Reassurance that absolutely did not feel reassuring in the moment.
Lando slumped back in his chair and covered his face with one hand. “This man,” he whispered to absolutely no one, “is going to ruin me.” On stage, Oscar smiled politely at the room. At Hotel? He is so done.
The talk ended. The applause faded. Chairs shifted. The room loosened its breath.
Oscar stepped away from the podium like nothing monumental had just happened—like he hadn’t spent the last hour holding a room full of people in the palm of his hand. He thanked the moderator, accepted a microphone being clipped off, nodded politely as someone murmured something congratulatory.
And then the students surged.
Not rudely. Not chaotically. Just… eagerly. Lingering in that way that said they didn’t quite want the moment to end yet.
Questions came first. “Sir, about capital mobility—”
“What would you advise for emerging markets—”
“How do you see policy shifting in the next decade—”
Lando stood just to Oscar’s side, tablet hugged lightly to his chest, nodding at all the right moments while understanding none of the questions being asked. He smiled anyway. He always did.
He gently redirected people. “One at a time, please.”
“Let him finish answering.”
“We’ll do photos after.”
Effortless and automatic. Then someone held out a book. Lando blinked. It was thick, hardcover. Clearly well-loved—tabs peeking out, notes scribbled in the margins. “Sir,” the student said, a little breathless, “could you sign this?”
Oscar took it without hesitation. “Of course.”
Lando stared. A book? Not just a book. Oscar’s book. Finance, policy, markets. His name printed neatly on the cover like that was a normal thing. Lando’s brain stalled completely.
When did you write a book. Why did you write a book. Why did no one tell me you wrote a book.
Oscar signed it calmly, exchanging a few words with the student, asking what they were studying, listening like he had nowhere else to be.
More students followed. Photos, they smiles. Another book, then another.
Lando shifted closer, instinctively managing the flow—moving people along gently, making sure no one crowded too close, keeping the line smooth. His body knew what to do even if his mind was still several steps behind.
Because the truth was— He wasn’t thinking about logistics anymore. He was thinking about Oscar.
About the way he stood, relaxed but attentive. About how he laughed quietly at something a student said. About how his signature was neat and practiced, like he’d done this before—many times before.
You know exactly what you’re doing, Lando thought dazedly. Oscar glanced up at him once, mid-signature.
Just a glance. Eyes warm. Amused. A little too knowing. Lando felt it again—that annoying flutter low in his chest.
He’s doing this on purpose, Lando realized. Being like this. Standing there. Smiling like that.
Unfair. Criminal, actually.
As the last student drifted away, Oscar handed the pen back, rolling his shoulders slightly like he’d just finished something mildly taxing instead of deeply impressive.
“You okay?” Oscar asked quietly. Lando nodded, a beat too late. “Yeah. Totally. Fine.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched. They started toward the exit together, side by side. Lando cleared his throat. “You… have a book.”
Oscar nodded. “I do.”
“And students… bring it.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this.” Oscar glanced at him, expression innocent in a way that absolutely was not. “You didn’t ask.”
Lando stared at him for a long moment. Then shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”
Oscar smiled. And Lando, still a little dazed, accepted a new truth with quiet inevitability: Oscar Piastri wasn’t just brilliant. He knew it. And he was letting Lando see it—on purpose.
The session ended, eventually. By the time they left the university, it was barely three in the afternoon—but their bodies felt like it was past midnight. Applause, questions, standing, smiling, being on for hours. It all caught up at once.
“No meetings today,” Lando said quietly in the back of the car, already scrolling through tomorrow’s neatly organized schedule. “I packed everything for tomorrow last night.”
Oscar glanced at him. “You did.”
“Yes,” Lando replied, yawning. “I am efficient.”
Oscar smiled to himself. They went straight back to the hotel. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
The door had barely clicked shut when Oscar’s hand caught Lando’s wrist and turned him—firm, controlled, like he’d been holding this in since the forum lights went down.
“Oscar—” Lando barely got the word out before his back met the wall.
Not hard, not rough, just decisive. Lando yelped anyway—pure reflex—cheeks flushing instantly like his body had betrayed him hours ago. His suit jacket slipped crooked on his shoulders, curls already a mess from the movement.
Oscar leaned in. Close enough that Lando could feel the heat of him, the restraint finally thinning.
“Oh,” Oscar murmured, eyes dark now, voice low and dangerous, “look at that face.”
Lando swallowed. His hands came up without thinking, gripping Oscar’s sleeves like he needed something solid to stay upright. “Shut up,” he breathed—absolutely unconvincing.
Oscar smiled, slow and knowing. “You were like this the whole time.”
“I was not,” Lando protested weakly—then made a small, traitorous sound when Oscar’s forehead rested against his. “Okay, maybe a little—”
Oscar laughed under his breath. “You were humming.”
“That’s stress,” Lando hissed. “You were talking about numbers!”
“Mm,” Oscar said, unconvinced. “Seemed effective.”
Lando tipped his head back against the wall, eyes closing for half a second. “You’re evil.”
“And you love it.” Oscar’s hand settled at Lando’s waist—not demanding, just present—thumb pressing lightly, grounding him there. Lando inhaled sharply despite himself.
“Oscar,” he warned softly. “Hallway.” Oscar leaned closer, lips brushing just beneath Lando’s ear. “Bedroom’s overrated.”
Lando shuddered, then let his forehead drop to Oscar’s shoulder with a quiet groan. “I hate you.”
Oscar kissed his temple—gentle, affectionate, devastating. “No,” he corrected. “You don’t.”
Lando didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Because Oscar already knew how this would end—and this time, he wasn’t in any hurry at all.
Lando rode like the world had finally aligned in his favor.
The path curved along the water, smooth and open, the city unfolding beside them in glass and steel. The air rushed past, warm and clean, lifting his curls and pushing them back from his face like it knew exactly what it was doing.
“Oscar!” Lando called, voice bright over the hum of wheels. “Look at me!”
Oscar sighed—long-suffering, resigned—and pedaled a little faster to keep pace. “I’m looking,” he said. “I’m always looking.”
Lando laughed and stood on the pedals for half a second, wobbling just enough to be threatening. Oscar’s hand twitched, ready to grab him out of the air if necessary. “Don’t,” Oscar warned.
“I’m fine,” Lando said cheerfully, sitting back down. “Relax.”
Oscar did not relax. But as he rode beside him, something else caught his attention.
The light. The way it hit Lando’s skin—warm, even, unmistakable. The tan he’d picked up in Dubai sat perfectly on him, like it had always belonged there. Sun-kissed, effortless. Infuriating.
Oscar swallowed. When did that happen? he wondered, heart betraying him by picking up speed. And why does it look like that?
Lando glanced over his shoulder, grinning, eyes bright. “Why are you quiet?”
Oscar blinked. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Lando insisted. “You do that when you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about traffic,” Oscar said quickly.
“There’s no traffic.”
“…Then I’m thinking about safety.” Lando snorted and leaned forward again, pedaling faster, hair flying wildly now. Oscar watched the muscles in his legs work, the easy confidence in the way he moved, completely alive in the moment.
Unfair. Deeply unfair.
Oscar adjusted his grip on the handlebars, forcing his gaze back to the path ahead. “Slow down,” he called.
Lando didn’t slow down. He just laughed, the sound carried back on the wind, and Oscar felt it hit him square in the chest.
Why is he like this? Oscar thought helplessly. And why does he look so good doing absolutely nothing?
They rode on, side by side, the skyline stretching ahead of them, the water glinting softly at the edge of his vision.
Oscar stayed close. Always close. Just in case Lando decided—again—that gravity was optional.
Lando absolutely did not want to stop.
He was still buzzing—legs light, grin wide, energy reckless in the way that came from too much sugar and too little self-control. He stood on the pedals again, ready to push off for another lap.
Oscar moved first. He cut neatly in front of Lando’s bike and put one hand out—palm up, calm, immovable. “Okay,” Oscar said evenly. “That’s enough.”
Lando nearly ran into him. He braked hard, wobbling. “Hey—!”
“You’re vibrating,” Oscar continued. “And that’s saying something, coming from you.”
“I’m fine,” Lando protested, already trying to push forward again. Oscar didn’t move. He just looked at him.
“Remember,” Oscar said quietly, “we have dinner with our investor tonight.”
Lando froze. “…Oh.”
“That’s in,” Oscar glanced at his watch, “a few hours.”
Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “I can still—”
Oscar shook his head once, gentle but final. “Let’s rest a while, okay?”
Something in his voice—low, steady, unmistakably caring—cut through the sugar haze. Lando sighed, dramatic and long. “You’re no fun.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “I’m keeping you alive.” They dismounted and began walking their bikes instead, wheels clicking softly along the path. The pace slowed. The world widened again.
They wandered toward the grass near Marina Bay, where people had already settled in clusters. Couples sat shoulder to shoulder, shoes kicked off. Friends sprawled on picnic blankets, sharing food, laughter rising and falling with the breeze.
Lando pushed his bike with one hand, the other brushing Oscar’s wrist occasionally like he needed the reassurance of contact. His energy softened, excitement easing into something calmer.
“This is nice,” he admitted after a moment.
Oscar glanced at him. “It is.”
They stopped near the edge of the grass, skyline stretching ahead of them, the water catching the last light of the afternoon. Oscar leaned his bike against a railing and sat down, stretching his legs out. Lando followed, flopping down beside him with a contented huff.
“Okay,” Lando said. “You were right.” Oscar raised a brow. “I’ll mark the calendar.”
Lando bumped his shoulder lightly against Oscar’s. “Don’t get used to it.”
Oscar smiled anyway. They sat there for a while—watching, resting, letting the city move around them without needing to chase it. And for once, Lando stayed exactly where he was.
They ended up sitting on the grass anyway. Lando dropped down first, stretching his legs out, bike forgotten beside him. He leaned instinctively toward Oscar, shoulder angling in, body already halfway committed to closing the distance.
Oscar caught it immediately. He chuckled softly and shifted just enough to stop him. “Lan,” he said, amused, “remember—we’re not in London.”
Lando squinted at him, offended on principle. “Ugh. Why?” Oscar tilted his head toward the park around them. “Different place. Different cultures.”
“I just want to act like your boyfriend,” Lando complained, voice dropping dramatically as he leaned back on his hands. “Look at them.”
He pointed—subtly, but not subtly enough. A pair of teenagers sat a few meters away, heads close together, sharing earbuds, knees touching without a care in the world.
Oscar followed his gaze, then looked back at Lando. “Different culture,” he said gently. “Different expectations.”
Lando slumped. “We’re literally just sitting.”
“I know,” Oscar replied. “But remember Dubai? People were already sensitive there. Singapore’s not the same, but still—public affection is quieter.”
Lando groaned, flopping backward onto the grass. “This is cruel.”
Oscar laughed, low and fond, then leaned back too—close, but not touching, shoulders aligned. “You’re allowed to exist,” he said. “Just… subtly.”
Lando turned his head, peering at him upside down. “So no leaning?”
Oscar thought for a second. Then nudged his knee lightly against Lando’s. Casual. Easy. Barely noticeable to anyone else. Lando’s mouth curved instantly. “Oh.”
Oscar smiled. “See? We adapt.” Lando sighed, content despite himself. “Fine. But when we’re back in London, I’m clinging.”
“I’m aware,” Oscar said dryly. They stayed there, side by side, close enough to feel each other’s presence without crossing lines—watching the sky shift, the city breathe, the world moving gently around them.
Lando hummed quietly, eyes half-closed. Okay. He could live with this. For now.
They returned the bikes as the sky began to soften into evening.
The attendant barely glanced up as Oscar handed the bikes over, receipt printed, transaction done. Just like that, the adventure ended. They stepped back onto the path empty-handed, the hum of Marina Bay behind them, hotel lights calling from a distance.
They walked side by side, pace unhurried now. Lando kicked at a loose pebble, hands shoved into his pockets, quiet in a way Oscar had learned to pay attention to. “Osc,” Lando said after a moment.
Oscar glanced over. “Yeah?”
“I read somewhere,” Lando continued slowly, eyes fixed on the pavement ahead, “that employees usually still get a review from their supervisor. Like… feedback. Even after probation.”
Oscar nodded. “That’s standard.” Lando hummed. “I already passed probation.”
“Yes.” There was a pause. “Then why,” Lando asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual, “don’t you ever review me?”
Oscar stopped walking. Not abruptly. Just enough that Lando had to stop too. Oscar turned toward him fully, expression thoughtful now, careful. “Is that something you want?”
Lando shrugged, shoulders lifting and dropping. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just—” He hesitated, then sighed. “I want to know if I’m actually doing okay. Or if I’m just… there.”
Oscar’s brow softened. “You’re not ‘just there,’” he said immediately.
“I know,” Lando said quickly. “I mean—I think I know. But you’re still my boss. And sometimes I don’t know which version of you I’m supposed to listen to.”
Oscar absorbed that quietly. They resumed walking, slower now. “I didn’t review you formally,” Oscar said after a beat, “because I didn’t want to reduce what you do to a checklist.”
Lando glanced at him. “That sounds like a non-answer.”
“It’s not,” Oscar said calmly. “You passed probation because you exceeded it. You anticipate problems before they happen. You protect my time. You manage people without making them feel managed.”
Lando’s ears warmed. “And,” Oscar added, eyes forward, “you remind me to eat. To rest, to stop.” Lando smiled faintly. “Those are very important KPIs.”
“They are,” Oscar said seriously. They reached the hotel entrance. The glass doors slid open, cool air spilling out.
Oscar paused just inside and looked at him. “If you want a formal review,” he said, “I’ll give you one. Properly. On paper.”
Lando thought about it for a second. Then shook his head. “No. This is… good.”
Oscar nodded. “Okay.” They headed for the elevator together, shoulders brushing lightly.
Lando exhaled, something easing in his chest. “Still,” he added, glancing sideways, a grin creeping back in, “I expect glowing remarks.”
Oscar’s mouth curved. “Don’t get complacent.” Lando laughed. And as the doors closed, the day finally—gently—came to an end.
They barely had time to breathe.
Quick showers. Fresh shirts. The familiar rhythm of changing back into work versions of themselves—Oscar crisp and composed, Lando neat but a little looser around the edges. They didn’t bother with jackets this time. It was dinner, not a boardroom.
The restaurant was close to the hotel. Chinese. Warmly lit. Busy in that understated, purposeful way—round tables, lazy Susans already crowded with dishes, steam rising into the air.
There were more people than Lando expected. Ten, at least.
Oscar greeted first, of course—handshakes, polite nods, measured smiles. Lando followed half a step behind, mirroring him instinctively, offering his own greetings, careful and respectful.
Dinner flowed easily at first. Food appeared in waves. Conversations overlapped. Glasses were refilled without asking. Lando focused on eating neatly and not embarrassing himself, nodding along to discussions that drifted comfortably above his head.
Then— Halfway through the meal, an elderly man seated across from him leaned closer.
He was small, sharp-eyed, well into his eighties, watching Lando with a kind of curious calculation. “Do you married?” the man asked suddenly, English clipped but clear.
Lando froze. Then coughed, hard. Oscar paused mid-bite. “I—sorry?” Lando managed, reaching for his water like it might save him.
The man smiled, entirely unbothered. “I have daughter,” he continued calmly. “Very good girl. Smart. I need son-in-law.”
Lando nearly choked again. Oscar set his chopsticks down very slowly. “I—” Lando said, cheeks flushing immediately. “That’s very kind, but—um—no.”
The man frowned slightly. “Not married?”
“I’m not,” Lando said quickly, then panicked at how that sounded. “But I already have someone. Back home.”
There was a beat. The man studied him. “Ah.” Oscar’s jaw tightened—just enough to notice. “Very serious?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Lando said immediately, nodding hard. “Very serious. We—uh—we live together.”
The words came out before he could overthink them. From beside him smething unreadable flickered in Oscar’s eyes.
The man hummed, satisfied, and waved a hand dismissively, already losing interest. “Okay. Eat more.”
Lando exhaled like he’d just survived something. Oscar didn’t look at him. Didn’t say a word.
But under the table, his hand slid from his own knee to Lando’s thigh—warm, steady, resting there like it had always belonged.
Not squeezing. Not moving. Just there. Lando’s breath hitched anyway. He glanced sideways, lips pressed together to keep from smiling.
Dinner continued. But for the rest of the night, Lando ate a little slower, heart still racing, acutely aware of Oscar beside him—of the quiet weight of his hand, of the truth he’d just said out loud without thinking.
Apparently, he was now being assessed as potential in-law material by international investors.
What a trip.
Dessert arrived like a victory lap. Sweet soups, tiny pastries, glossy little bites arranged with care—everything warm and comforting and entirely Lando’s weakness.
He leaned forward immediately, spoon already in hand, eyes bright. “Oh wow,” he said around a mouthful. “This is dangerous.”
Across the table, the mood shifted. Folders appeared. Papers were aligned. Pens were placed with ceremonial precision.
Oscar straightened, expression settling into that calm, unshakeable seriousness that meant money was about to move. The elderly investor beside him adjusted his glasses, nodding slowly as someone slid the document into place.
The MOU, another one, another deal, another quiet, significant step forward for the company.
Lando noticed instantly. His spoon froze mid-air. His eyes widened. “Oh—wait—hold on,” he said, already scrambling for his phone, dessert still very much in his mouth. “This is a moment.”
Oscar glanced up. “Lan—”
Too late. Lando was already standing. He circled the table like a documentarian, snapping photos with reckless enthusiasm. Oscar signing. The old man nodding. The pen touching paper.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Okay boss man—” Lando said through a mouthful of something sweet and sticky, “—smile—mmf—this angle is good—”
Oscar signed his name without looking up. “Please swallow before speaking.” Lando ignored him completely. He leaned dangerously close. “Do it again—no, wait—don’t do it again—just look important.”
The old man glanced up, amused. “He always like this?”
Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Click.
Lando crouched slightly. “Okay now serious face. Serious finance face..yes. That’s it.” Oscar capped the pen and slid the document across. The old man signed neatly beneath it, final and decisive.
Applause—polite but sincere—rippled around the table. Lando clapped too, phone still raised. “YES,” he said loudly. “ANOTHER ONE.”
Oscar finally looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “You have chocolate on your lip.”
Lando wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unfazed. “Worth it.”
He leaned over Oscar’s shoulder to review the photos, grinning so hard it almost hurt. “These are amazing. Look at you. Very CEO. Very intimidating. Very rich.”
Oscar stood, smoothing his shirt. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m thriving,” Lando corrected, snapping one last photo. “I’m putting this in the internal newsletter.”
“There is no internal newsletter.”
“There is now.” The old man laughed softly, shaking his head. “Good assistant,” he said.
Lando beamed. “Thank you.” Oscar sighed—but his mouth curved despite himself.
Another agreement signed. Another deal closed. Another dessert demolished. And somehow, in the middle of all of it— Lando Norris, mouth full and phone in hand, looked like the happiest person in the room.
By the time they got back to the hotel, the city had softened.
Dinner was over. Deals were signed. Dessert still lingered pleasantly in Lando’s bloodstream. The hallway carpet muffled their footsteps as they walked side by side, jackets slung over arms, shoulders finally loose.
Tomorrow felt manageable. “Two meetings,” Lando said, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “That’s it. Then we go home.”
Oscar dropped his keys on the console, already shrugging out of his shirt. “Reasonable.”
Lando kicked off his shoes and immediately flopped onto the edge of the bed, phone lighting up his face. His smile faded into something far more familiar.
“Oh no,” he muttered. Oscar glanced over. “What.”
“Boss,” Lando said, already sighing, “please open your Slack.”
Oscar froze mid-movement. “It’s after dinner.”
“I know,” Lando replied patiently. “But Daniel has been spamming me for the last hour.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes. “About what.”
“Next month’s budget review,” Lando said, scrolling. “He’s asking if we’re moving it forward, backward, sideways, or into another dimension.”
Oscar closed his eyes for a brief, centering moment. Then reached for his phone. “Ignore him,” he said.
“I tried,” Lando replied. “He sent a thumbs-up reaction to my silence. That’s aggressive.”
Oscar snorted despite himself and opened Slack. “He does that.”
“Yes,” Lando said. “That’s why I’m escalating.”
Oscar read for a moment, expression flattening into pure CEO fatigue. “He wants to know if the revised forecast includes Singapore expenditures.”
Lando perked up. “It does. I already tagged them.”
Oscar glanced at him. “You did?”
“Yes,” Lando said proudly. “I also color-coded it.”
Oscar shook his head, typing quickly. “Alright. I’ll reply.”
He hit send. Lando watched him with open admiration. “You’re very hot when you resolve workplace conflict.”
Oscar didn’t look up. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.” Oscar set his phone down and finally relaxed, stretching his neck. “Anything else?”
Lando checked once more, then grinned. “Nope. That was the last fire.”
Oscar nodded. “Good.”
They moved around the room quietly—shirts swapped for softer ones, lights dimmed, the day finally slipping off them. Tomorrow waited, but it felt distant now.
Lando climbed onto the bed, rolling onto his side. “Two meetings,” he repeated. “Then London.”
Oscar joined him a moment later, settling in close. “You survived Singapore.”
Lando smiled sleepily. “Barely.”
Oscar brushed a hand through his hair. “You did great.”
Lando hummed, already drifting. Slack stayed closed. And for the rest of the night, work was finally—mercifully—off the table.
Morning arrived gently.
Light filtered through the curtains in thin, golden lines, catching dust in the air and painting the room warm and quiet. The city outside was already awake, but inside, everything still felt suspended.
Lando woke first. He lay there for a moment, watching Oscar sleep—face relaxed, hair a mess, blanket wrapped around him like he’d personally negotiated peace with it. Lando smiled, then leaned over and poked his cheek.
“Rise and shine,” he whispered brightly. Oscar made a noise. Something between a hum and a protest.
Lando poked again. “Good morning to the most handsome CEO in Southeast Asia.”
Oscar shifted, blanket tightening around him. “No.” Lando sat up, suddenly inspired. The light, the quiet, the way Oscar looked impossibly soft—it all hit him at once.
“The morning greets us like a promise,” Lando said dreamily. “A new day unfolding—”
“Stop,” Oscar mumbled, eyes still closed. “Stop looking for a poem on Pinterest.”
Lando gasped, offended. “This is original.”
“You quoted something,” Oscar said flatly.
“I absolutely did not.”
“You did,” Oscar insisted, rolling onto his side, still not opening his eyes. “You always do this when the light hits you like that.”
Lando leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “The sun kisses the horizon, and so too—” Oscar reached out blindly and covered Lando’s mouth with one hand. “It’s too early to be metaphoric.”
Lando laughed into his palm, pulling Oscar’s hand away gently. “You’re grumpy.”
“I’m tired,” Oscar said, finally opening one eye. “And you’re awake.”
“Yes,” Lando said cheerfully. “And I feel things.”
Oscar sighed, tugging Lando closer by the wrist until he toppled back onto the bed. “Lie down,” he murmured. “Save your poetry for after coffee.”
Lando settled against him easily, grin softening. “Good morning.”
Oscar pressed a sleepy kiss to his hair. “Morning.”
Outside, the city continued on. Inside, they stayed right where they were—wrapped in blankets, words unfinished, the day still waiting patiently.