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Lando had never been what anyone would call athletic. He hadn’t stepped foot in a gym in years and hadn’t played a single sport in high school.
Now, though, he was deeply regretting every one of those choices.
He was running down the streets of London, desperately trying to get to work on time. The cold morning air burned his lungs, and his legs felt like they were filing formal complaints with every step.
He glanced down at his watch.
Late.
Of course he was late.
His day could not possibly get any worse.
And as if summoned by fate itself, he remembered the wise words his mum used to tell him when he was a kid: “Watch where you’re going.”
Well.
To cut to the chase — he wasn’t.
He didn’t realize just how terrible of a decision that was until he collided with something.
“Collided” might be generous. Lando wasn’t athletic, so what he considered a sprint was probably closer to an enthusiastic jog. Still, it was enough.
He didn’t notice the coffee in the man’s hand until it was already splattered across the pavement.
Thank you, universe, he thought miserably.
“I am so, so sorry,” Lando rushed out. “I wasn’t looking — which is obvious — because if I was, I wouldn’t have ran into you. I mean. Clearly.”
He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. But he was already stressed, already late, and now he had just body-checked a stranger into caffeinated tragedy.
He braced himself and finally looked up.
And promptly forgot how to function.
He came face to face with what might have been the most handsome man in the world.
There was something effortlessly elegant about him — refined, but soft. Patient. His eyes were the warmest shade of brown Lando had ever seen, steady and impossibly calm. And his hair—
His hair looked like it belonged on a runway rather than on a London sidewalk at eight in the morning.
Lando’s brain, already unreliable under normal circumstances, completely shut down.
He stared at the man for a few seconds or what he thought were a few seconds.
He then realized he hadn’t said anything in a concerning amount of time.
The man was still looking at him.
Not like he was about to punch him.
But also… not not like he was about to punch him.
Lando couldn’t quite read the expression — it was calm, almost amused, but there was something unreadable beneath it. And that somehow made it worse.
The man opened his mouth to speak.
Panic took over.
Lando fumbled for his wallet, nearly dropping it in the process, and yanked out the first bills he could grab. He shoved them toward the man with the urgency of someone attempting to bribe fate itself.
“For the coffee,” Lando blurted. “And for making your day as miserable as mine.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
He couldn’t.
This interaction had already exceeded his daily quota for humiliation.
He turned to leave — then, because his brain apparently wanted to ensure maximum embarrassment — he spun back around.
“Don’t be a stranger!” he called.
Why did he say that?
Why would he say that?
They were already strangers.
And then he was off again, launching into what he generously referred to as a sprint — though any nearby pedestrian might have described it as “mildly urgent jogging.”
He didn’t dare look back.
Which, historically speaking, had already proven to be one of his flaws.
Lando made it to work.
Barely.
He pushed through the café doors looking like he’d just completed a full marathon — hair disheveled, shirt slightly untucked, breathing like oxygen was a limited-time offer.
It felt like a marathon too.
And then he saw them.
Kimi and Ollie were already behind the counter.
Which meant one thing.
He was very late.
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
Thirty minutes.
Thirty.
Minutes.
“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.
Kimi looked up first, one eyebrow raised. “Nice of you to join us.”
Ollie leaned against the counter, grinning. “Did you run here from Scotland?”
“I live fifteen minutes away,” Lando shot back weakly, still trying to catch his breath.
“Clearly,” Kimi said, unimpressed.
“I had a morning,” Lando defended, dropping his bag behind the counter. “It was… eventful.”
Ollie’s eyes lit up. “Eventful how? Like you forgot your keys eventful or you committed a minor crime eventful?”
“I body-checked a man and made him drop his coffee,” Lando admitted.
There was a beat of silence.
Then both of them burst out laughing.
“You what?” Ollie wheezed.
“I didn’t mean to!” Lando said quickly. “I was late. I wasn’t looking. Which my mum specifically told me not to do when I was seven, by the way. ‘Watch where you’re going, Lando.’ And did I listen? No.”
Kimi crossed his arms. “Did he at least look intimidating?”
“He looked—” Lando stopped himself.
Handsome. Ethereal. Like he walked out of a magazine and into my personal humiliation.
“He looked fine,” Lando said instead.
Ollie smirked. “Oh, he looked fine?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re blushing,” Ollie added helpfully.
“I am not.”
“You are,” Kimi confirmed calmly.
Lando groaned and tied his apron. “I gave him thirty dollars.”
There was another pause.
“You gave him what?” Kimi asked.
“For the coffee!” Lando defended. “And emotional damage!”
“A coffee doesn’t cost thirty dollars,” Ollie said.
“I panicked!”
“You absolutely panicked,” Kimi agreed.
“And then,” Ollie prompted, delighted, “what happened?”
Lando hesitated.
“I told him not to be a stranger.”
Ollie had to physically grab the counter to steady himself from laughing.
“You told a stranger not to be a stranger?”
“Yes, thank you, I am aware of the irony.”
Kimi shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
Lando sighed internally.
Why am I like this? Why do I say things? I need to stop speaking. Forever.
A few hours later, the café had fallen into a rare, peaceful lull.
Kimi had stepped out to grab supplies. Ollie was in the back reorganizing something he claimed “desperately needed reorganizing.”
Lando was alone at the register.
Which, in hindsight, felt like foreshadowing.
The bell above the café door chimed.
Lando looked up.
And froze.
Oh.
Oh no.
It was him.
The man from this morning.
Standing there. Calm. Composed. Still unfairly handsome.
You have got to be kidding me.
Lando stared for half a second too long before blurting, “Oh. It’s you.”
Smooth.
Very smooth.
The man’s lips twitched slightly. “It is.”
Why did his voice have to be nice too?
Lando’s brain began short-circuiting immediately.
“I mean — obviously it’s you. That sounded weird. I just meant I didn’t expect you to come here. Not that you can’t come here. It’s a free country. Well. Not free. You have to pay. For coffee. Which I already overpaid you for. So technically you’re ahead.”
Stop talking. Stop talking right now.
He didn’t.
“My mum always says I should think before I speak. Or maybe it was count to three. Or ten. I clearly never did that. I also never watched where I was going this morning, which— you know. Coffee incident.”
The man simply watched him.
Not interrupting.
Not stopping him.
Just… looking at him with that same patient, unreadable expression.
Which somehow made everything worse.
“I promise I’m normally… less like this,” Lando continued. “Actually that’s not true. I’m usually exactly like this. Which is unfortunate. For everyone.”
Oh my god. I am so stupid. I need to stop making a fool of myself. Why am I like this? Just breathe. Just breathe and shut up.
He finally stopped.
Silence fell between them.
Lando swallowed.
“…Sorry,” he said again.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded bills.
“I believe this is yours,” he said, holding out the money.
Lando blinked. “Oh. No, that’s— that was for the coffee.”
“A coffee does not cost thirty dollars.”
“I know but— it was emotional damage coffee.”
The man’s mouth curved slightly. “It was four dollars.”
“Well. Inflation?” Lando tried weakly.
He gently pressed the money back toward Lando. “I insist.”
Lando hesitated.
Take the money. Don’t argue. Stop making scenes.
“No, really, it’s fine,” Lando insisted. “I ran into you. Literally.”
“And I am still alive,” the man replied evenly.
“That’s reassuring.”
There was the faintest hint of amusement in the man’s eyes now.
“Please,” he said. “I’ll pay for my own coffee.”
Lando stared at the money.
Then at him.
Then back at the money.
“…Okay.”
He took it.
Their fingers brushed for the briefest second.
Oh my god. Be normal. Be normal. BE NORMAL.
“So,” Lando said, attempting professionalism and failing slightly, “what can I get you?”
“A coffee,” the man said calmly.
“Right. Yes. That makes sense.”
And this time, Lando rang it up properly.
Four dollars.
Paid in full.
By the man himself.
And somehow, despite everything, Lando had the feeling this would not be the last time he embarrassed himself in front of him.
A few days passed.
Lando did not see the man again.
Which was both a relief and, annoyingly, a disappointment.
He told himself it was for the best. Fewer opportunities to humiliate himself. Fewer spontaneous speeches about his mother’s life advice. Fewer moments where his brain was completely unplugged.
Still… every time the café door chimed, he looked up.
Just in case.
Across the city, Oscar was driving.
He didn’t usually.
Most days he worked from home, comfortably tucked behind multiple monitors in his flat, solving problems that required more logic than people. As an engineer, his work rarely required him to sit in an office or deal with unnecessary meetings.
Today was different.
Today he had a meeting. An important one. A potential contract — the kind that could shift things significantly.
He wasn’t nervous.
He rarely was.
But he was focused.
Traffic was steady as he approached a busy intersection in central London. The light turned red, and he eased to a smooth stop.
A woman began crossing the street.
She was older — careful, deliberate in her steps. The kind of careful that suggested she had learned not to rush the world, even when it rushed her.
Oscar watched the pedestrian signal blink down.
The light turned green.
She was only halfway across.
Behind him, a horn blared.
Then another.
And another.
Oscar didn’t move.
He didn’t honk.
He didn’t even sigh.
His hands rested loosely on the steering wheel as the cars behind him grew more impatient. He could see them in the mirror — exaggerated gestures, visible frustration.
He ignored them.
Normally, he would have gotten out to help her. He was that type of person. Quietly helpful. No announcement. No fuss.
But it was a busy intersection, traffic flowing in multiple directions. Stepping out now would only make things more chaotic.
Another honk.
Oscar remained still.
The woman glanced up, visibly flustered now by the noise.
And then—
A familiar figure appeared from the pavement.
Oscar blinked.
The man jogged — not quite a sprint, more enthusiastic determination — toward the woman.
It was him.
The coffee collision.
The rambling apology.
The thirty-dollar overcompensation.
The “don’t be a stranger” stranger.
Oscar didn’t know his name.
But he recognized the energy immediately.
The man reached the woman with an apologetic smile, speaking animatedly, gesturing gently as he offered his arm. She took it gratefully.
Together, they crossed the rest of the street.
The horns quieted.
Oscar felt something unexpected tug at the corner of his mouth.
Of course it was him.
Of course the chaotic one would be the one to rush in without hesitation.
The man said something that made the woman laugh before guiding her safely to the other side. Once she reached the pavement, he gave her a small wave — slightly awkward, slightly bright.
The light was still green.
The cars behind Oscar had stopped honking now.
But suddenly, he wasn’t in a hurry anymore.
Not at all.
It was night by the time Lando got home.
His shift had dragged in the way only slow days could. Too much thinking. Not enough distractions.
He showered, letting the hot water wash away the smell of coffee and syrup, but the restlessness stayed.
His flat felt too quiet.
Too still.
He didn’t feel like sitting with his thoughts tonight.
So he grabbed his camera.
And left.
London at night was different. Softer. The noise dulled into a low hum. Streetlights reflected off wet pavement, neon signs flickered against brick walls, and passing buses painted brief streaks of red through the dark.
Lando walked slowly, quietly, camera hanging from his neck.
He took pictures of anything that caught his attention — light hitting glass just right, a stray cat perched like royalty on a railing, the glow of a late-night takeaway shop.
Through the lens, everything felt manageable.
Framed.
Controllable.
He wandered farther than he meant to, eventually finding a peaceful stretch near a small park. It was dim, mostly empty, the city noise reduced to a distant murmur.
Or so he thought.
He was looking down at his camera screen, scrolling through the photos he’d just taken.
Okay. That one’s good. Oh wait, that’s actually really good. Maybe I’m not completely useless at everything.
He smiled faintly.
And kept walking.
At the same time—
Oscar was checking his watch.
He liked running at night. Fewer people. Cooler air. A steady rhythm of breath and pavement. It cleared his head after long days of numbers and negotiations.
He glanced down to check his pace.
And that was when he noticed a figure directly in front of him.
Too close.
“Hey—”
Oscar reacted first.
He reached out instinctively, hands coming forward just in time to steady the person before impact.
Lando’s camera swung slightly as he was abruptly halted.
He blinked.
Looked up.
Oh.
Oh no.
It was him.
Again.
For half a second, Lando’s brain froze.
Then it restarted at full volume.
You have GOT to be kidding me. Is this fate? Is this karma? Why does he look like that? Why does he look even better tired? That is unfair. That is criminal. The universe is mocking me.
Oscar was slightly breathless, hair damp from sweat, t-shirt clinging just enough to make everything significantly worse for Lando’s ability to think.
His hands were still lightly on Lando’s arms.
Warm.
Steady.
Very real.
This was a mistake. A cosmic joke.
They both spoke at the same time.
“Sorry—”
“I wasn’t—”
They stopped.
Lando immediately felt the rambling rise up his spine like a reflex.
“I swear I don’t usually make a habit of almost assaulting you in public spaces,” he blurted. “This is— statistically unlikely. I mean, twice? That’s— what are the odds? Also technically this one was both of us because I was looking at my photos and you were looking at your watch, so really it’s shared responsibility.”
Stop. Stop talking. You look insane.
Oscar didn’t move his hands away right away.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly.
“You’re right,” he said calmly. “This one is fifty-fifty.”
Oh.
He was teasing.
Lando could hear it now.
There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
Which only made Lando more aware of everything.
The night air.
The proximity.
The fact that Oscar looked unfairly stunning under streetlights, slightly flushed, breathing heavier from the run.
Why does he look like he stepped out of a sports campaign? I need to get a grip. I need to get several grips.
Oscar finally let go, though his eyes stayed on Lando.
“You always walk without looking?” he asked lightly.
“My mum would say yes,” Lando replied automatically. “She’s been telling me to watch where I’m going since 1999.”
Oscar’s lips curved.
“I’m starting to think she was right.”
Rude.
Accurate.
But rude.
“I could say the same about you,” Lando shot back, surprising himself.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You could.”
A pause settled between them — this one different. Not awkward. Just… aware.
Lando adjusted his camera nervously.
“So. You run here often?” he asked, then immediately winced internally.
Did I just say that? Who am I?
“Most nights,” Oscar replied. “It’s quieter.”
Lando nodded. “Yeah. I come out to take pictures when I can’t sit still.”
Oscar glanced down at the camera. “Photographer?”
“Trying to be,” Lando said. “Barista by day. Accidental pedestrian hazard apparently at all other times.”
That earned a soft huff of laughter.
“I’m Oscar,” he said finally.
Oh.
A name.
A very good name.
“Lando,” he replied quickly. “That’s my name. In case that wasn’t clear. Which it wasn’t. Because I hadn’t said it yet.”
Oscar smiled properly this time.
“Nice to officially meet you, Lando.”
Oh my god. He said my name. Calm down. Be normal. You are a person. Just a person.
“You too,” Lando managed.
And for once—
He didn’t immediately ruin it.
They stood there a moment longer under the glow of the streetlights, the city humming quietly around them.
Maybe the universe wasn’t mocking him.
Maybe it was just… persistent.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The city hummed softly in the background — distant traffic, a faint breeze through the trees, the glow of streetlights casting everything in warm gold.
Lando adjusted the strap of his camera, forcing himself to breathe.
Okay. He’s just a person. A very attractive person. A very unfairly attractive person. But still. Human. Presumably.
“So,” Lando said, this time more measured. “You run every night?”
“Most nights,” Oscar replied. “Helps clear my head.”
“From what?”
“Work.”
Lando nodded. “Office job?”
“Engineer,” Oscar said. “Mostly from home.”
Oh.
Smart and looks like that.
Of course he’s an engineer. Of course he builds important things while I build latte art hearts that sometimes look like blobs.
“That’s impressive,” Lando said, and meant it.
Oscar shrugged lightly. “It’s a lot of staring at screens.”
“I stare at screens too,” Lando said. “Mostly at pictures I just took, trying to convince myself they’re profound.”
Oscar stepped slightly closer. Not invading space — just enough to glance at the camera in Lando’s hands.
“Can I see?”
Lando hesitated for half a second before holding it out.
Their fingers brushed again.
This is becoming a pattern. I am not surviving this pattern.
Oscar scrolled through the photos quietly. Street reflections. Silhouettes. Light hitting glass. A blurry bus streaking red through the frame.
“These are good,” he said simply.
Lando blinked. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not.”
He handed the camera back, their hands lingering just slightly longer this time.
“You have an eye for details,” Oscar added.
Lando felt his face warm.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.”
There was a pause — not awkward this time. Just softer.
Oscar tilted his head slightly. “You’re calmer tonight.”
Lando let out a small laugh. “I’m trying a new thing. It’s called ‘thinking before speaking.’ Early results are… mixed.”
Oscar smiled slowly. “I don’t know. I find the unfiltered version interesting.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Is that flirting? That feels like flirting. That has to be flirting. Why is he looking at me like that?
“I can assure you,” Lando said, attempting composure and failing halfway through, “it’s mostly chaos.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“That wasn’t meant to be a compliment.”
“I took it as one.”
Lando huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe.”
Oscar’s tone was light, but his gaze didn’t waver.
Lando swallowed.
He is absolutely doing this on purpose. He knows I get flustered. He can see it. Oh my god, he can definitely see it.
“So,” Oscar continued casually, “do you always wander around at night, or is this just a coincidence?”
“I come out when my flat feels too quiet,” Lando admitted. “Helps me think.”
“And nearly collide with runners.”
“That too.”
Oscar stepped back slightly, stretching his shoulders like he’d almost forgotten he was mid-run.
“I should probably finish my route,” he said.
Right.
Of course.
He had somewhere to be. A life. A schedule. Lung capacity.
“Yeah,” Lando nodded quickly. “And I should probably head back before I accidentally walk into a lamppost.”
“I’d stop you,” Oscar said.
The words were simple.
But the way he said them —
Lando’s brain short-circuited again.
“Oh,” he managed intelligently.
Oscar’s lips curved.
“I’ll see you around, Lando.”
Not if.
Around.
“Yeah,” Lando replied, trying not to sound too hopeful. “See you around, Oscar.”
Oscar gave him one last look — warm, amused, something unreadable beneath it — and then he was jogging away, steady and effortless.
Lando stood there for a moment, watching until he disappeared down the path.
Okay. That happened. That definitely happened. I did not completely humiliate myself. I only mildly embarrassed myself. Growth.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and turned toward home.
The walk back felt lighter.
When he reached his flat, he dropped his camera gently on the table and leaned back against the door.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Maybe the universe isn’t making fun of me.
He glanced down at his hands, still faintly aware of where Oscar had touched them.
“I hope I see him again,” he murmured to the empty room.
And for once—
The quiet didn’t feel so heavy.
Three days passed.
Three very normal, completely uneventful, absolutely not spent-looking-at-the-door-every-time-it-opened days.
Lando told himself he wasn’t waiting.
He was simply… observant.
There was a difference.
I am not waiting for him. I have a life. I have hobbies. I have a camera. I am well-rounded.
The bell above the café door chimed.
Lando looked up automatically.
And froze.
Oscar.
Standing in the doorway like he hadn’t just rearranged Lando’s internal stability three nights ago.
He looked composed. Dark jacket, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair perfectly unfair in that effortless way. Calm.
Confident.
And very aware.
Their eyes met.
Oscar smiled first.
It wasn’t subtle.
Oh no. He knows. He absolutely knows.
Kimi, who had been wiping down the counter, followed Lando’s line of sight.
Ollie did the same.
Silence fell behind the counter.
“Is that—” Ollie started quietly.
“Yes,” Lando hissed under his breath.
“The emotional damage coffee guy?” Kimi asked calmly.
“Yes.”
Oscar approached the register with steady steps, gaze never leaving Lando.
“Hi,” he said.
Just that.
Hi.
Like they hadn’t nearly collided twice. Like Lando hadn’t handed him thirty dollars in a panic. Like Lando hadn’t almost malfunctioned under streetlights.
“Hi,” Lando replied, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near nervous enthusiasm.
Kimi and Ollie were very obviously pretending not to listen.
Very obviously.
Oscar leaned slightly against the counter.
“You didn’t run into anything on your way to work today, did you?”
There it was.
The tease.
Lando narrowed his eyes. “No. I triple-checked all corners.”
“Good,” Oscar nodded thoughtfully. “I was worried.”
“You were worried?”
“Statistically, it’s becoming a pattern.”
Ollie made a choking noise that suspiciously sounded like suppressed laughter.
Lando shot him a warning look.
“What can I get you?” Lando asked, attempting professionalism.
“A coffee,” Oscar said.
“Four dollars,” Lando replied automatically.
Oscar’s mouth curved. “I’m aware.”
Their fingers brushed again during the handoff of the card.
Lando’s brain:
Be normal. Be normal. You are at work. There are witnesses. There are cameras. Probably.
“You’re working today?” Oscar asked lightly.
“I work most days,” Lando said. “Unlike some engineers who only show up for important meetings.”
Oscar’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
“You remembered.”
Lando froze.
“I mean— you said it. Once. Casually. In passing. During a conversation. That I was fully present for.”
Kimi coughed loudly into his fist.
Oscar glanced briefly at them, then back at Lando.
“And you’re calmer today,” he observed.
“I’m at work,” Lando replied. “There are rules.”
Oscar leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough.
“And outside of work?”
Lando’s brain shut off for approximately three seconds.
“I— uh— take pictures,” he managed.
Oscar smiled properly at that.
“I’d like to see more of them sometime.”
That was not subtle.
Not even slightly.
“Oh,” Lando said intelligently. “Okay. Yeah. I mean. Sure.”
“Good,” Oscar replied, straightening up as Lando handed him his drink.
Kimi and Ollie were staring now. Fully staring.
Oscar took the cup.
“I’ll let you get back to not colliding with customers,” he added smoothly.
“Appreciated,” Lando muttered.
Oscar paused before stepping away.
“See you around, Lando.”
Again.
Not if.
Around.
And then he left.
The bell chimed.
The door closed.
Silence.
Lando stood there, still holding the receipt.
Very slowly, he turned around.
Kimi and Ollie were grinning like men who had just witnessed live entertainment.
“Oh my God,” Ollie said first.
“He’s into you,” Kimi stated calmly.
“He is not,” Lando snapped, far too quickly.
“He asked to see your photos,” Ollie pointed out. “That’s basically Victorian courting.”
“And the leaning,” Kimi added. “There was leaning.”
“There was no leaning.”
“There was leaning,” they said in unison.
Lando buried his face in his hands.
I am never living this down. I need to move cities. Possibly countries.
“You’re smiling,” Ollie sing-songed.
“I am not.”
“You are,” Kimi confirmed.
Lando dropped his hands.
He was smiling.
And he couldn’t stop.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Ollie leaned over the counter. “So when’s the wedding?”
“Please clock out,” Lando said flatly.
Kimi shook his head, amused. “Just try not to charge him thirty dollars again.”
“No promises,” Lando replied.
But as he glanced toward the door Oscar had just walked through—
He hoped it wouldn’t be long before it chimed again.
A few evenings later, Lando found himself back at the park.
He told himself it was because the lighting was better here at night.
Which was true.
But it wasn’t the only reason.
The air was cool, the paths dimly lit by old streetlamps that cast long golden pools across the pavement. The city noise felt distant again, like background static instead of something pressing in.
Lando adjusted his camera settings, crouching slightly to capture the way the light hit the edge of a bench.
Okay. That’s good. Moody. Artistic. Possibly award-winning. Probably not. But still.
He stood, scrolling through the image he’d just taken.
And started walking.
Without looking up.
Again.
Across the park, Oscar was midway through his usual route.
He hadn’t consciously decided to adjust it.
He just… happened to pass this way more often lately.
Pure coincidence.
Obviously.
He rounded the curve near the lampposts—
And spotted a familiar figure walking directly toward one.
Head down.
Completely oblivious.
Oscar slowed.
He watched the inevitable unfold for half a second.
Surely he’ll look up.
He did not.
Oscar broke into a quicker stride.
“Lando—”
Too late.
Oscar reached out and caught him gently by the arm, pulling him back just before Lando could walk face-first into the metal post.
Lando stumbled slightly from the sudden movement.
“What—?”
He blinked, disoriented, heart jumping into his throat.
“I— was there a—?”
Then he turned around.
And froze.
Oscar.
Standing close.
Still holding his arm.
Breathing slightly heavier from the run.
“You were about to lose a fight with that lamppost,” Oscar said calmly.
Lando glanced behind him.
The lamppost stood there, innocent and unmoving.
“Oh.”
He looked back at Oscar.
“Oh.”
Of course it’s him. Of course it’s him again. I cannot keep being rescued by this man. This is becoming a pattern. A humiliating pattern.
“You really don’t look where you’re going,” Oscar added, though there was no real criticism in it.
Lando huffed softly. “In my defense, it was very stationary and very aggressive.”
“The lamppost?”
“It knew what it was doing.”
Oscar laughed — properly laughed this time.
The sound did something inconvenient to Lando’s internal stability.
Only then did Oscar seem to realize he was still holding him.
He let go slowly.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lando replied quickly. “Very much not concussed. Thanks to you.”
Oscar tilted his head slightly. “I seem to be developing a habit of preventing your accidents.”
“I didn’t ask for a personal safety supervisor.”
“You clearly need one.”
“That’s debatable.”
“It’s really not.”
Lando felt his face warm again.
Why does he look at me like that? Why is he always this close? Is this cardio for him? Because my heart rate is concerning.
“I was distracted,” Lando muttered, holding up his camera slightly.
“By?”
“Light. Shadows. The meaning of life. You know. Normal things.”
Oscar glanced at the screen. “Show me.”
Lando hesitated — not because he didn’t want to, but because standing this close while Oscar leaned in was… a lot.
Still, he turned the camera so Oscar could see.
Their shoulders brushed this time.
The contact was light.
But deliberate.
“These are good,” Oscar said again, quieter now.
“You said that last time.”
“And I meant it.”
Lando swallowed.
Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. This is normal. Two people. Looking at photos. Not a rom-com. Completely normal.
“You always run this route?” Lando asked, trying to regain some footing.
“Lately,” Oscar replied.
That word lingered.
Lando glanced at him. “Coincidence?”
Oscar’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe.”
Oh.
Oh that was intentional.
“You’re enjoying this,” Lando accused softly.
“A little.”
Lando shook his head, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“I’m going to start wearing reflective gear,” he said. “For public safety.”
“I’ll still find you,” Oscar replied easily.
The words were casual.
But they landed.
Lando’s stomach flipped.
He cannot keep saying things like that. That should be illegal.
“Well,” Lando said, clearing his throat, “thank you for saving me from public embarrassment.”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “I think it suits you.”
Lando gasped softly. “That’s rude.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
Oscar stepped back slightly, giving him space again.
“I should finish my run,” he said. “Try not to challenge any more street furniture.”
“No promises.”
Oscar started jogging backward for a step or two.
“See you around, Lando.”
There it was again.
That certainty.
Lando watched him disappear down the path, heart still racing for reasons completely unrelated to lamppost avoidance.
He looked back at the metal pole.
“…You almost ruined everything,” he muttered to it.
Then he smiled to himself.
And for the first time—
He didn’t mind getting a little lost on the way home.
A few nights later, Lando went back to the park again.
This time, he told himself he wasn’t hoping.
He just liked the lighting.
That was all.
The air was colder than usual, his breath faint in front of him as he adjusted his camera. The trees rustled softly overhead, and the lampposts cast their familiar golden glow across the pavement.
He walked more carefully tonight.
Very carefully.
Growth, he told himself.
He was mid-shot — focusing on the way the light caught the edge of a puddle — when he heard steady footsteps approaching.
Not rushed.
Not accidental.
Deliberate.
He didn’t look up immediately.
Part of him was almost afraid to.
The footsteps slowed.
Stopped.
“You’re clear of all lampposts,” a familiar voice said.
Lando’s lips curved before he could stop them.
He turned.
Oscar stood there — not mid-run this time. No breathlessness. No watch-checking. Just there.
Like he had meant to be.
“Good to know,” Lando replied. “I’ve been practicing spatial awareness.”
“I can tell.”
There was something different tonight.
Oscar wasn’t teasing as sharply. He wasn’t leaning in just to watch Lando short-circuit.
He looked… steady.
“I wasn’t running,” Oscar said after a moment.
Lando blinked. “Oh.”
“I came to find you.”
That did it.
That fully did it.
He came to find me. On purpose. This is not a drill.
“You— what?” Lando asked, because eloquence had once again abandoned him.
Oscar stepped a little closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.
“You said you come here when your flat feels too quiet.”
Lando nodded slowly.
“So I thought I’d see if you were here.”
The simplicity of it hit harder than any teasing comment.
No joke.
No smirk.
Just honesty.
“You didn’t have to,” Lando said softly.
“I know.”
Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t heavy. It was warm.
Lando shifted his camera nervously. “I thought you were going to say something sarcastic.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched faintly. “I can, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“No,” Lando said quickly. “No. This is good.”
Oscar studied him for a moment — not in a way that made Lando flustered, but in a way that felt… careful.
“Can I ask you something?” Oscar said.
“Depends. Is it about my collision history?”
“It’s not.”
Lando relaxed slightly. “Okay. Then yes.”
“Why photography?”
Lando hesitated.
No one had asked him that in a while.
He glanced down at his camera, running his thumb over the edge.
“It makes things feel… still,” he said quietly. “Like I can hold onto a moment before it disappears. I don’t know. Everything moves so fast. People move fast. Days move fast. When I take a picture, it’s like I get to keep something.”
Oscar listened without interrupting.
No teasing.
No commentary.
Just listening.
“That makes sense,” he said after a moment.
Lando looked up. “It does?”
“You notice things other people don’t,” Oscar replied. “That’s not accidental.”
The words settled somewhere deep.
Lando wasn’t used to being seen like that.
“Why engineering?” he asked gently.
Oscar let out a soft breath.
“I like building things that last,” he said. “Systems. Structures. Solutions. I like knowing that something I worked on is steady. Reliable.”
Lando smiled faintly. “You like things that don’t walk into lampposts.”
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”
Another pause.
The kind that feels like standing at the edge of something new.
“I printed one of your photos,” Oscar said suddenly.
Lando blinked. “You what?”
“The one with the bus lights streaking through the frame.”
“How did you—?”
“You left your portfolio link on your café’s community board,” Oscar said calmly. “I looked.”
Lando’s brain fully stopped.
“You looked?”
Oscar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded print.
He handed it to Lando.
Carefully.
Lando unfolded it.
It was his photo.
Printed on thick paper. Clean. Intentional.
Not just something on a screen.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lando said softly.
“I wanted to.”
The park felt quieter somehow.
More private.
“I keep it on my desk,” Oscar added. “It reminds me to look up from my screen sometimes.”
Lando swallowed.
He keeps my photo. On his desk. This is real. This is happening.
“That’s… kind of a big deal,” Lando admitted.
Oscar shrugged lightly. “So are you.”
Lando’s breath caught.
There was no teasing in his voice this time.
Just truth.
For once, Lando didn’t ramble.
Didn’t deflect.
Didn’t joke.
He just looked at him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Oscar nodded.
And then, after a beat—
“Would you maybe want to do this intentionally?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Meet. Without almost colliding first.”
Lando laughed softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Oscar smiled — not amused, not teasing.
Just happy.
“Good,” he said. “Me too.”
And somehow, under the soft glow of the streetlights, it didn’t feel like coincidence anymore.
It felt like the beginning of something built carefully.
On purpose.
They had exchanged numbers the night Oscar asked to meet intentionally.
Lando had stared at the new contact in his phone for a solid five minutes before saving it.
Oscar.
Just that.
No emoji.
He told himself that was mature.
The morning of their date, Lando woke up earlier than necessary.
He checked his phone.
Nothing.
Which was fine.
Normal.
Healthy.
He lasted until 9:07 a.m. before texting.
Lando: Good morning. Try not to run into anything today.
The reply came two minutes later.
Oscar: I’ll do my best. You too.
Lando smiled at his ceiling like an idiot.
The texts were light throughout the day. Casual. Easy.
Oscar sent a photo of his coffee with the caption: Paid four dollars for this.
Lando sent back a dramatically offended response.
By mid-afternoon, the nerves began.
By late afternoon, they had fully taken over.
Lando had already showered. Twice.
Changed outfits three times.
Then changed back into the first one.
Then reconsidered.
Why am I like this? It’s just dinner. It’s just Oscar. Oscar who looks like he belongs in a magazine. Oscar who keeps my photo on his desk. Oscar who is picking me up. In what? A normal car? Probably a normal car. Please let it be a normal car.
He was ready a full forty-five minutes early.
Which meant he now had forty-five minutes to spiral.
He paced.
Sat down.
Stood up again.
Checked his reflection.
Adjusted his hair.
Do I look fine? I look fine. This is fine. I am fine. He has seen me almost fight a lamppost. The bar is low.
His phone buzzed.
His heart stopped.
Oscar: I’m outside.
Outside.
Already.
Lando rushed to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly.
And froze.
Parked in front of his building was a very expensive-looking car. Sleek. Polished. The kind that definitely did not cost four dollars.
“Oh my god,” Lando whispered.
Of course he drives that. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? I need to breathe.
He watched as the driver’s door opened.
Oscar stepped out.
And Lando’s brain completely shut down.
He was leaning casually against the car, jacket fitted perfectly, dark shirt underneath, hair styled just enough to look effortless.
He looked like he had stepped off a runway and accidentally wandered into Lando’s life.
And then Lando noticed—
The flowers.
In Oscar’s hand.
Peonies.
Soft pink peonies.
Lando’s stomach flipped.
No. No way. That cannot be a coincidence.
He stepped away from the window and pressed his hands to his face.
“Okay,” he muttered. “You are a functioning adult. Go downstairs.”
He grabbed his jacket, took one last look in the mirror, and left the flat.
The walk downstairs felt like the longest journey of his life.
When he stepped outside, Oscar straightened.
And smiled.
Not the teasing smirk.
Not the subtle amusement.
A real smile.
“Hi,” Oscar said.
Lando forgot how to speak for a second.
“Hi,” he managed.
Oscar stepped closer and held out the flowers.
“These are for you.”
Lando took them carefully, like they might disappear if he moved too fast.
“They’re—” He looked down at them, almost afraid to confirm it. “Peonies?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why peonies?”
Oscar shrugged lightly, almost shy for the first time.
“I don’t know. They just… felt like you.”
Lando blinked.
“Like me?”
“They’re soft,” Oscar said. “But they stand out. And they’re kind of impossible to ignore once you notice them.”
Lando’s heart did something very dramatic in his chest.
That is not fair. That is not allowed. You cannot just say things like that.
He looked back down at the flowers.
“They’re my favorite,” he said quietly.
Oscar’s expression shifted — surprise, then something warmer.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I never told you that.”
“I know.”
Lando looked up at him.
“How did you—?”
“You had a photo of them in your portfolio,” Oscar said. “Three different angles. Same flowers. I guessed.”
Lando felt his throat tighten.
He noticed. He actually noticed.
“That’s…” Lando exhaled softly. “That’s kind of incredible.”
Oscar stepped a little closer, voice gentler now.
“I pay attention.”
The world felt smaller somehow. Quieter.
The expensive car. The street. The passing traffic.
None of it mattered.
Lando clutched the peonies to his chest like proof that this was real.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.
“I wanted to,” Oscar replied simply.
There was that steadiness again.
That intention.
“Ready?” Oscar asked.
Lando looked at him — at the car, the flowers, the quiet confidence.
He felt nervous.
But in a different way now.
Less spiraling.
More hopeful.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I’m ready.”
And as Oscar opened the car door for him —
Lando couldn’t help but think—
Maybe walking into things wasn’t the worst habit in the world.
Not if it led here.
The city blurred past in warm streaks of light as Oscar drove.
Lando sat in the passenger seat, peonies resting carefully on his lap like they were fragile treasure. He kept sneaking glances at Oscar — at the way his hands rested confidently on the steering wheel, at the quiet focus in his expression.
He drives like he runs. Calm. Controlled. Meanwhile I trip over stationary objects.
“So,” Lando said after a moment, “do you always bring flowers on first dates?”
Oscar glanced at him briefly, lips curving. “Only when they feel right.”
“That is an extremely dangerous answer.”
“Why?”
“Because now I have expectations.”
Oscar huffed softly. “Good.”
Lando’s stomach flipped again.
They pulled up outside a restaurant that was elegant but not intimidating — warm lighting spilling onto the pavement, soft music barely audible through the door.
It wasn’t flashy.
It was intentional.
Oscar came around to open Lando’s door.
Again.
“You’re making this very difficult for me to remain normal,” Lando muttered as he stepped out.
“I’m not asking you to be normal.”
That should not have made his heart race the way it did.
Inside, the lighting was low and golden, the tables spaced just enough for privacy. It felt intimate without being overwhelming.
They were seated near the window.
For the first few minutes, there was that gentle first-date rhythm — menus lifted, small smiles, subtle glances over the top edges of paper.
“You look nice,” Oscar said simply.
Lando looked up.
“Nice?”
“Very.”
Lando felt warmth crawl up his neck.
“You clean up well for someone who challenges lampposts,” Oscar added.
“There it is,” Lando sighed. “I was waiting.”
Oscar smiled into his water glass.
They ordered. The conversation came easier than Lando expected.
They talked about work — Oscar explaining a project he was excited about, Lando describing a regular at the café who insisted oat milk “tasted philosophical.”
Oscar laughed more tonight. Openly.
And Lando found himself calming down again.
Not because he was trying to impress.
But because Oscar listened. Really listened. Asked questions. Remembered details.
At one point, their hands brushed across the table.
Neither of them pulled away immediately.
And then—
It happened.
Lando, mid-story, gestured a little too enthusiastically.
His elbow caught his water glass.
Time slowed.
The glass tipped.
Water spilled across the tablecloth.
Right toward Oscar.
“Oh no. Oh no no no—”
Lando jumped up immediately, grabbing napkins.
“I am so sorry. I don’t know why my limbs betray me like this. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed near liquids.”
Oscar stood too, but he was laughing — not annoyed. Not frustrated.
Just amused.
“It’s water,” he said gently. “I’ll survive.”
“This is the second time I’ve assaulted you with beverages.”
“Technically this one didn’t hit me.”
“That is not the point.”
The waiter rushed over, helping mop up the spill. It was handled quickly, discreetly. No disaster. No ruined clothes.
But Lando’s heart was pounding.
Of course. Of course I spill something on the first date. Why wouldn’t I?
When they sat back down, Lando covered his face briefly.
“I promise I’m not usually this much of a hazard.”
Oscar leaned forward slightly.
“I know.”
Lando peeked through his fingers. “You do?”
“You’re not clumsy,” Oscar said quietly. “You’re just… animated.”
Animated.
That was a kinder word than chaotic.
“You get excited,” Oscar continued. “You move when you talk. It’s not a flaw.”
Lando lowered his hands slowly.
“You don’t seem bothered.”
Oscar held his gaze steadily.
“If I was bothered, I wouldn’t be here.”
The noise of the restaurant faded for a moment.
Lando swallowed.
“You’re very calm,” he said softly.
“I build things,” Oscar replied. “I don’t panic when something shifts. I adjust.”
The meaning landed deeper than the words.
Lando smiled faintly. “So spilling water isn’t a dealbreaker?”
Oscar’s eyes softened.
“Not even close.”
Something in Lando relaxed fully then.
The rest of dinner felt different.
Easier.
They shared dessert — one fork, quiet smiles, subtle glances that lingered a little longer than necessary.
At one point, Oscar reached across the table and gently brushed a crumb from the corner of Lando’s mouth without thinking.
They both froze for half a second.
But neither of them pulled away.
When they stepped back outside into the cool night air, the city felt softer again.
Not overwhelming.
Just full of possibility.
Oscar walked him back to the car, then drove him home in a comfortable quiet.
When they reached Lando’s building, neither of them moved immediately.
“I had a good time,” Lando said.
“I know,” Oscar replied.
Lando narrowed his eyes. “Confident.”
“You were smiling the whole night.”
“I spill things when I’m nervous.”
“You smiled when you spilled it.”
That was annoyingly accurate.
“I had a good time too,” Oscar added, more softly.
They stood there for a moment under the streetlight.
Close.
Not touching.
But close enough to feel it.
“Thank you for the peonies,” Lando said.
“I’ll remember that they’re your favorite,” Oscar replied.
“You already did.”
Oscar’s mouth curved slightly.
“Yeah.”
The space between them felt smaller now.
Intentional.
If Lando leaned forward—
No.
Too soon.
Maybe.
“Text me when you’re upstairs,” Oscar said gently.
“I will.”
Lando stepped back toward his building, clutching the flowers again.
Halfway to the door, he turned.
Oscar was still watching him.
Not teasing.
Not amused.
Just there.
And for the first time in a long time—
Lando didn’t feel like he was about to walk into something.
He felt like he was walking toward it.
The week after their first date felt different.
Not dramatic.
Not overwhelming.
Just… steady.
They texted every day.
Good morning messages that turned into mid-day check-ins. Oscar sending photos of half-finished blueprints. Lando sending snapshots of light hitting coffee foam just right.
They saw each other twice more — once for a late afternoon walk, once for takeaway eaten on a park bench.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing forced.
Just intentional.
And then, one evening, Oscar offered to cook.
“I promise I’m better with a stove than you are with glasses of water,” he had said.
Rude.
Accurate.
Lando showed up with peonies this time.
Pink again.
Oscar noticed immediately.
Dinner was quieter than the restaurant had been. Softer. The kind of quiet that felt earned. Music low in the background. Windows cracked open to let in cool night air.
They moved around each other easily in the kitchen.
Brushing shoulders.
Passing plates.
Hands lingering a second too long when trading utensils.
At one point, Lando reached past Oscar for something on the counter.
They both turned at the same time.
Too close.
Lando felt it first — that shift. That subtle pull in the air.
Oscar didn’t step back.
Neither did Lando.
“You’re going to walk into me one of these days,” Oscar murmured softly.
Lando’s breath hitched.
“I think that’s already happened.”
A faint smile.
But it faded quickly.
Not into seriousness.
Into something more careful.
After dinner, they ended up on the sofa, sitting closer than before. Not quite touching. But close enough that Lando could feel the warmth of Oscar’s arm through his sleeve.
Conversation slowed.
The pauses between words stretched.
Comfortable.
Charged.
Lando was the first to look at him fully.
Really look.
Oscar’s gaze dropped briefly to Lando’s mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
That was it.
That was the moment.
The question hanging there without being spoken.
If I lean in… will he?
Lando’s heart pounded.
Don’t overthink it. Just… move.
He shifted slightly closer.
Oscar’s hand came up slowly — not grabbing, not urgent — just resting gently at Lando’s waist, like he was giving him time to change his mind.
“You okay?” Oscar asked quietly.
The fact that he asked —
That did it.
Lando nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Oscar leaned in first.
Slowly.
Close enough that Lando could feel his breath.
And then—
Soft.
Barely there at first.
Their lips brushed like a question.
Like they were both testing the shape of it.
Lando’s hand found the front of Oscar’s shirt, gripping lightly.
Oscar’s thumb pressed just slightly at his waist.
The second kiss wasn’t hesitant.
It was deeper.
Warmer.
Certain.
Lando leaned into it fully this time, the nervous energy dissolving into something steadier. Oscar responded immediately, pulling him just a little closer.
Still gentle.
But no longer unsure.
Lando felt like the world had narrowed to this — to warmth and breath and the way Oscar’s hand slid carefully up his back.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to.
It was because they needed air.
They stayed close, foreheads almost touching.
Oscar smiled first — softer than usual.
“Still think I’m your safety supervisor?” he murmured.
Lando let out a quiet laugh, breathless.
“No,” he said. “I think I’m walking into this on purpose.”
Oscar kissed him again.
This time without hesitation.
And neither of them held back.
After that night, something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not in a way that felt overwhelming.
But in the quiet, steady way things change when they’re meant to.
They didn’t talk about the kiss immediately.
They didn’t need to.
It lingered in everything — in the way Oscar’s hand found Lando’s lower back when passing behind him, in the way Lando leaned in without thinking when they stood side by side, in the way their texts grew softer.
Drive safe.
Text me when you’re home.
I liked tonight.
A few evenings later, Lando was back at Oscar’s flat again.
This time without nerves chewing at his edges.
He had learned the layout of the kitchen. Knew where the glasses were kept. Knew which floorboard near the hallway creaked slightly.
He felt… welcome.
They were curled up on the sofa, a film playing in the background neither of them were fully watching. Lando was half-leaning against Oscar’s chest, Oscar’s arm wrapped around him in a way that felt natural now.
Comfortable.
Lando traced small, absentminded circles against Oscar’s sleeve.
“I like this,” he said quietly.
Oscar hummed softly. “The film?”
“No,” Lando murmured. “This.”
Oscar’s fingers tightened just slightly at his waist.
“I do too.”
Silence settled, but it wasn’t empty.
It was full of something unspoken.
Lando shifted so he could look up at him.
Oscar met his eyes immediately.
There was no teasing tonight.
No playful deflection.
Just honesty.
“So,” Lando began, suddenly aware of his heartbeat again. “Are we…?”
He trailed off.
Oscar smiled faintly. “You’re going to have to finish that sentence.”
Lando huffed softly. “I hate that you make me do that.”
“I know.”
Lando took a breath.
“Are we doing this?” he asked. “Like. Officially?”
There it was.
Out in the open.
Oscar didn’t hesitate.
“I thought we already were,” he said gently.
Lando blinked. “We are?”
“I don’t go looking for people in parks for fun,” Oscar replied. “And I definitely don’t buy peonies for just anyone.”
Lando’s chest warmed.
“So that’s a yes?”
Oscar leaned down slightly, brushing his nose lightly against Lando’s.
“That’s a yes.”
Lando smiled — wide and unguarded.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’m officially your boyfriend.”
Oscar’s expression shifted — something tender flickering through his eyes.
“My boyfriend,” he repeated.
The word settled between them like it belonged there.
Lando felt it.
Not rushed.
Not accidental.
Built.
Intentional.
Oscar kissed him again — slower this time, deeper but unhurried. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything.
When they pulled back, Lando rested his forehead against his.
“You know,” Lando murmured, “if I hadn’t been late that day—”
“You would’ve still run into something eventually,” Oscar replied.
Lando laughed softly.
“Probably.”
Oscar brushed his thumb along Lando’s jaw.
“I’m glad you did.”
And for once—
Lando didn’t feel like the universe had been mocking him.
He felt like it had been nudging him.
Toward someone steady.
Toward someone who noticed.
Toward someone who chose him on purpose.
Curled together on the sofa, the city glowing quietly outside the window, Lando realized something simple and certain:
He hadn’t walked into this by accident.
He had stepped into it.
And this time—
He wasn’t looking away.