Archive of Our Own

Oscar Piastri was stitching a man’s chest closed when the thought ruined his entire day.

It arrived uninvited, somewhere between the third suture and the steady beep of the monitor, casual and devastating in equal measure.

Shit.

Do all my exes have names starting with L?

His hands didn’t falter they never did. He is thirty-two years old, already a trauma surgeon at St. Thomas hospital and very good at compartmentalizing.

He tied a knot, trimmed the thread, moved on to the next stitch like his brain hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the middle of a perfectly controlled operating room.

“No,” he told himself immediately. No, that’s ridiculous.

Plenty of names started with L. It was a common letter, linguistically popular, pretty sure it was entirely normal yes this meant nothing.

“Vitals stable,” someone said.

“Good,” Oscar replied, voice calm. Inside his head, however, the thoughts had already begun—unwanted, thorough, impossible to stop.

Lily.

Lily had been his first. His first real relationship in high school. She's sweet, the kind of girl who wrote notes on the backs of receipts and believed distance could be conquered by good intentions alone.

It couldn’t, they'd broken up before uni hugged awkwardly and promised to stay friends.

They hadn’t.

Of course that didn’t count. First relationships never counted they were practice.

Logan came next. Introduced through mutual friends. Six months of decent wine, decent sex, and conversations that never quite went deep enough. Logan had been kind about the breakup, which somehow made it worse.

Two was not a pattern, Oscar finished another suture his jaw tightening.

Luke was a phase. Oscar owned that. A gym-heavy, protein-shake-fuelled, emotionally unavailable phase.

Luke had been beautiful and distant and allergic to vulnerability. They’d burned bright and fast and collapsed under the weight of their own lack of substance.

Okay, three. Three was…still technically a coincidence. Do I have a thing for L names? his brain asked, unhelpfully.

“No,” Oscar thought back, firmly. I have a thing for emotionally unavailable people and poor timing. The letter is incidental.

Luna—Oscar exhaled slowly.

Luna had wrecked him. Art student, she's mysterious, has a soft voice, and sharp eyes. The kind of person who saw straight through him and liked what she found just enough to leave a mark.

That breakup had taken months to recover from, and if he was being honest, maybe he still hadn’t fully. He refused to analyze that one, absolutely refused.

The final stitch was placed. The incision looked clean. Perfect, even. Oscar stepped back, peeled off his gloves and told himself again that this was nothing.

Then came Liam. Liam had been the rebound that wasn’t supposed to be a rebound. “This time it’s serious,” Oscar had said.

Liam had nodded, smiled, believed him. It hadn’t been serious. It had ended quietly, like a door closing in a draft.

Five.

Five Ls.

Oscar finished scrubbing up and leaned back against the counter in the trauma bay, the adrenaline ebbing now that the patient was stable and wheeled off to recovery.

The hospital hummed around him voices, footsteps, the distant clatter of a trolley but his mind was far too loud. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t have a type,” he said quietly, as if the trauma bay might argue with him. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

He paused then added softer this time more stubborn. “It’s just…names.” then, because denial was a powerful thing, Oscar straightened, he rolled his shoulders, and pushed away from the counter.

Fine, whatever this absolutely meant nothing. He went back to work, blissfully unaware that the universe was already preparing to introduce a sixth L and that this time, denial was not going to save him.

Oscar Piastri liked Wednesdays.

Not in any loud, enthusiastic way he wasn’t the type but in the quiet, settled way someone appreciates a routine that never surprises them.

Wednesdays sat comfortably in the middle of the week, untouched by the dread of Mondays or the false promises of Fridays. They didn’t ask for optimism they didn’t demand endurance.

They simply existed. This Wednesday began exactly as expected. “Have you heard?” Oscar didn’t look up from the chart in his hands. “Heard what?”

Nurse Jane, eternal source of information and chaos, leaned against the nurses’ station with the air of someone who had been waiting all morning for this moment. “We’re getting a new pediatrics doctor today, transferred in.”

“Good for pediatrics,” Oscar said absently, flipping a page. “We’re short staffed.”

Charles Leclerc, currently nursing his third coffee and looking far too awake for 8.12 a.m snorted. “Oh, come on, mate at least pretend to be curious.”

Oscar glanced up. “I am curious, medically.” Jane rolled her eyes. “He’s from Bristol.”

“Great,” Oscar said. “Lovely city.”

“Fast tracked onto the consultant track,” Charles added lifting his coffee like that detail should mean something.

“Good for him.”

Jane narrowed her eyes at Oscar, studying him like a puzzle she was determined to solve. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Oscar frowned slightly. “Doing what?”

“Being deeply, aggressively uninterested.”

“I am interested,” Oscar insisted, a hint of offense creeping in. “Just…quietly.”

Charles leaned forward then, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal something classified, something important “His name’s Lando Norris.”

Oscar’s pen paused just for a fraction of a second—barely noticeable, really. The kind of pause you could easily miss if you weren’t looking for it, then he continued writing. “Oh,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Okay.”

Jane’s entire face lit up. “Oh okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” Charles stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Oscar looked up again, genuinely confused. “What would you like me to have? Fireworks?”

Jane folded her arms, a grin spreading slowly across her face. “You don’t think it’s funny?”

“Why would it be funny?” She tilted her head. “Because of your…history.”

Oscar’s spine straightened almost imperceptibly. “I don’t have a history.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, deeply unconvinced. “Mate. You dated five people with the same initial.”

“That is not—” Oscar stopped himself, exhaled through his nose, and recalibrated. “That is not relevant.”

Jane beamed, delighted. “So you have noticed.”

“I noticed yesterday,” Oscar muttered, far too quickly and immediately regretted it.

Charles grin turned sharp. “Yesterday?”

“It’s coincidence,” Oscar said, faster now. “Pure coincidence. L is a common letter. Statistically speaking, this is entirely unremarkable. There are entire languages built around it.”

Jane laughed. “Right and now fate is delivering you another one direct to A&E.”

“Fate isn’t real,” Oscar replied flatly. “And I’m not dating a coworker.”

Charles hummed into his coffee. “You say that now.”

“I say that always.”

Jane glanced down the corridor, like she expected this mysterious new doctor to materialize on cue. “Anyway, apparently he’s very good. Great with kids calm under pressure. The nurses at Bristol were gutted to lose him.”

Oscar nodded once, professional again in an instant. “Good. That’s important.”

“And,” Charles added, far too casually, “from what I hear…very charming.” Oscar looked up a little too quickly this time. “Why would that matter?”

Jane and Charles exchanged a look, the kind of look that carried entire conversations inside it. “It wouldn’t,” Jane said sweetly. “At all.”

The intercom crackled overhead before Oscar could respond, a voice paging pediatrics to A&E. The sound cut cleanly through the conversation sharp and immediate pulling everything back into focus.

Oscar turned away without another word, already moving, already slipping back into the rhythm of work.

Charts, patients, decisions. Things that made sense and things that followed rules.

This was a normal Wednesday. Nothing unusual was going to happen. He did not have a type. He did not care about initials. And whatever this Lando Norris looked like, sounded like, smiled like, it meant nothing to him. 

Absolutely nothing.

Somewhere down the corridor, footsteps approached for the first time—light, unhurried, unfamiliar against the polished hospital floors.

A voice followed, soft but clear, exchanging greetings with the nurses, carrying just enough warmth to linger. Oscar did not look up, not even when the air, somehow, felt different.

Oscar noticed the scrubs first.

It was blue, not the usual dark navy most people wore, but a brighter shade of hospital blue that somehow looked… cheerful.

Almost soft under the harsh fluorescent lights. Which was ridiculous. Scrubs weren’t supposed to be cheerful. They were meant to be practical, neutral, forgettable.

The man in front of him wearing them was none of those things. “Dr. Piastri?”

Oscar turned just in time to nearly walk straight into him. Up close, the pediatrics doctor was worse. Younger than Oscar had expected early thirties maybe hair slightly unruly like it refused to stay professional, stethoscope hanging around his neck and absolutely covered in stickers.

Dinosaurs, a cartoon heart something that looked suspiciously like a star with googly eyes. Oscar stared. “Oh—sorry,” the man said quickly, flashing a grin that felt entirely too bright for A&E.

“I’m Lando Norris, the new pediatrician, they said you’re trauma?”

Oscar’s heart did a thing. A very stupid thing. It wasn’t dramatic no skipped beat, no full-on panic but it thumped, heavy and insistent, like it had just been reminded it existed. Like it had opinions, like it wanted to get involved.

Oscar hated it immediately. “Yes,” he said, a beat too late. “Oscar, from Trauma.”

Lando’s grin softened, just slightly. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve been told I’m basically glued to A&E for the foreseeable future.”

“That tracks,” Oscar replied. He gestured down the corridor. “We’ve got a pediatric trauma coming in, bicycle accident, got a head injury, possible internal bleeding.”

Lando was already walking beside him, stride easy despite the urgency. “Got it.”

They moved fast, controlled chaos unfolding around them. There was blood, a noise coming from a child crying somewhere behind a curtain.

Oscar snapped back into himself the way he always did, voice steady, hands precise. “Pressure here,” he instructed.

Lando was there instantly, gloved up, speak very calm. “Hey, buddy,” he said gently to the patient, voice warm without being patronizing. “You did great. We’re just going to help you feel better, okay?”

Oscar watched him for half a second longer than necessary. Lando was good, naturally so. He had a kind of confidence that wasn’t driven by ego. Bright without being distracting.

His stethoscope clinked softly as he moved, stickers catching the light like tiny, inappropriate decorations in the middle of blood and urgency.

Do not think about the stickers, Oscar told himself. Do not think about how he chose them. Do not think about how many children probably gave them to him.

“Vitals?” Oscar asked.

“Stable, for now,” Lando replied. He glanced up, eyes meeting Oscar’s, and smiled very quick, but reassuring like they were already a team. “We’ll keep him that way.”

Oscar’s heart did it again.

Nope.

This was nothing. This was first-day energy. Professional respect, it's just adrenaline.

Yes that was all. His heart was reacting to the situation, not the person. Definitely not the person named—

No. Stop.

They worked seamlessly, handing things off without friction, anticipation falling into place like they’d done this together a hundred times before.

When it was over and the patient was wheeled off, Oscar finally stepped back, exhaling. Lando pulled off his gloves and beamed at him. “Good work.”

“You too,” Oscar said automatically.

Lando tilted his head, studying him for a moment. “You always this intense, or am I getting the special first impression?”

Oscar blinked. “I—what?” Lando laughed, light and easy. “Kidding, mostly.”

There it was again. That warmth, that ease. That L name shaped curse settling comfortably into Oscar’s life without permission.

Lando adjusted his stethoscope, stickers shifting. “Anyway, I’ll probably see you around, a lot.”

“Right,” Oscar said. “A&E.”

“Exactly.” Lando waved once and disappeared down the corridor, blue scrubs vanishing into the controlled madness of the department.

Oscar stood there, staring after him far longer than necessary. His heart finally slowed and he frowned at his own chest. “…shit,” Oscar muttered.

This was not normal. This was not fine and it was definitely not just the name.

Oscar Piastri was not avoiding anyone. He was simply…repositioning. There was a difference.

He stood at the nurses’ station, shoulders squared, typing up a trauma report with the intense, almost clinical focus of someone who had learned early, and exceptionally well how to keep everything exactly where it belonged.

At thirty-two, already a trauma surgeon at St. Thomas, Oscar did not get distracted. He did not get flustered, he did not, under any circumstance, lose control of a situation.

Which meant he was absolutely not acknowledging the very specific presence hovering far too close to his left side.

“Hey, Osc.” Oscar’s fingers froze. A full, system-wide pause. Slowly far too slowly, like turning toward an oncoming problem he could not surgically remove he looked up.

Lando Norris was right there. Blue scrubs slightly wrinkled like he’d been moving all morning. A cluster of childish stickers clung stubbornly to the pocket over his chest—one peeling at the edge.

Coffee in hand, close enough that Oscar could see the tiny chip in the mug’s rim, the faint smudge of ink on Lando’s wrist, and smell something warm and faintly sweet—hazelnut, maybe, layered over hospital antiseptic.

Oscar shifted half a step to the right, Lando shifted with him. It felt…deliberate. “Hi,” Oscar said, carefully neutral and professional. “Can I help you?”

Lando leaned his elbow on the counter like he belonged there, like proximity was a given. “Just finishing a note thought I’d do it here.”

Of course he had Oscar gave a short nod and turned back to his screen, eyes scanning the report without actually processing a single word.

He was suddenly aware of everything, the soft brush of fabric when Lando adjusted his stance, the faint rhythm of him humming under his breath, the quiet tap of his fingers against the counter.

This was fine. Doctors shared space all the time. This was a hospital, personal bubbles were a luxury, not a right still, Oscar edged another inch away, so did Lando.

Is he following me? Oscar thought, immediately shutting it down. No, that's irrational. He’s standing, standing is not following. That would imply intent. There is no intent.

“Busy day?” Lando asked being too friendly.

“Yes,” Oscar replied, typing harder, faster, as if force alone might create distance.

“Same kids everywhere.” Lando took a sip of his coffee, grimaced slightly at the temperature, then continued anyway. “One of them tried to give me a sticker again.” He sighed, but it was fond, soft around the edges. “I had to tell him my stethoscope was full.”

Oscar’s brain stalled.

Again?

He did not ask he absolutely did not want to know how that worked, logistically or ethically. “Right,” Oscar said. “That happens.”

It did not happen.

Lando glanced at the screen, leaning just a fraction closer. “Oh, that’s my patient from earlier.”

Oscar went still. “It is?”

“Yeah.” Lando smiled—gentle, unguarded in a way Oscar found deeply inconvenient. “He’s doing well. Mum says thank you she wanted me to tell you.”

Oscar swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Good.”

The word came out rougher than intended. Less polished. Less…him.

Lando tilted his head, studying him not intensely or intrusively of course but enough to feel seen in a way Oscar didn’t particularly appreciate. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Oscar answered too quick. He stepped away from the counter, picking up another chart with the kind of precision that suggested purpose.

Lando followed but not in a way that could be called following, it's like their paths aligned by default. Like this, this closeness just made sense.

He’s everywhere, Oscar thought pulse ticking up in quiet defiance of his own composure. He’s just…everywhere.

“You heading to Trauma 2?” Lando asked.

“Yes,” Oscar said.

“Cool! Me too.” Of course. They walked side by side down the corridor, fluorescent lights reflecting off polished floors, footsteps falling into an accidental rhythm.

Oscar was acutely aware of the easy swing of Lando’s stride, the way he matched pace without effort—no adjustment, no hesitation, it's pure instinct.

Oscar sped up, Lando sped up when Oscar slowed Lando slowed too. This is not happening, Oscar told himself. This is coincidence, spatial coincidence, statistically insignificant.

They reached Trauma 2 at the same time. Lando gestured lightly toward the door, polite, unbothered. “After you.”

Oscar looked at the doorway then at Lando and back at the doorway, as if it might offer an alternative exit. It did not.

His heart thumped steady, but louder than he preferred he stepped inside Lando followed, Oscar exhaled slowly through his nose.

This meant nothing. He was not hyper-aware he was not unsettled he was simply…adjusting to a new colleague that was all.

Still, as he scrubbed in, water running over steady hands that had held lives together more times than he could count, he caught his reflection in the stainless steel.

Mildly haunted and somewhere behind him, Lando hummed again—soft, absentminded, entirely unaware that he was currently dismantling, piece by precise piece every inch of Oscar Piastri’s carefully constructed denial.

Jane was bored this was important context.

A bored Jane was a dangerous Jane—observant, caffeinated, and fully prepared to entertain herself with whatever drama wandered into her line of sight.

She leaned against the nurses’ station, mug of tea cradled in her hands, when Charles joined her, equally bored and equally invested.

They stood there in companionable silence for exactly ten seconds. Jane’s eyes narrowed. “Oh,” she said softly.

Charles followed her gaze. “Oh.” Down the corridor, Oscar Piastri and the new pediatrics doctor were walking side by side toward a patient bed.

Lando Norris leaned in slightly as he spoke—easy, casual, like personal space was merely a suggestion.

Oscar, meanwhile looked like someone had replaced his spine with a steel rod. Shoulders squared jaw locked arms held a fraction too close to his body.

Jane took a slow sip of her tea. “That’s him.” Charles hummed. “That’s definitely him.”

They watched as Lando gestured animatedly, stethoscope swinging stickers catching the light while Oscar nodded stiffly, gaze fixed straight ahead like eye contact might actually kill him.

Lando leaned closer, Oscar did not move away, he also did not relax.

Jane’s smile turned feral. “Look at his posture,” she whispered. “He’s bracing.”

Charles snorted into his mug. “Mate looks like he’s about to be examined by the General Medical Council.” As if sensing he was being observed he was not Oscar cleared his throat and sped up slightly.

Lando, entirely unbothered, matched his pace without even looking like he’d tried. Jane’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, this is delicious.”

Charles nodded solemnly. “That man is in trouble.” They watched as Oscar stopped at the patient bed, professional mask snapping firmly into place.

Lando leaned in again, this time to check vitals, shoulder brushing Oscar’s arm and yes Oscar went rigid.

Jane slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did you see that?” Charles did of course he did. “He froze.”

“He froze,” Jane echoed. “Like a deer in scrubs.”

Lando said something probably about the patient, because he was a professional and not a menace and smiled at Oscar.

Oscar swallowed.

Jane leaned closer to Charles. “How long do you give him?”

“Till lunch,” He replied instantly. “Max.” Oscar said something short and clipped, then gestured a little too sharply toward the monitors.

Lando nodded, still smiling, entirely comfortable in Oscar’s orbit like he’d always belonged there. Jane sighed dreamily. “I love new staff.”

Charles raised his mug. “To Lando Norris.” Jane clinked her tea against it. “May he remain completely unaware.”

Down the corridor, Oscar Piastri stood at the bedside, heart racing, body stiff, and denial cracking quietly at the seams utterly oblivious to the fact that he was currently the most entertaining thing in A&E.

The pager went off mid-denial.

Jane’s voice cut through the corridor, sharp and urgent. “Pediatric trauma incoming. Seven years old, car accident—suspected internal injuries.”

Oscar was already moving. The world narrowed the way it always did, sound dulling, focus sharpening, his body slipping into the familiar rhythm of purpose.

He scrubbed in quickly, fingers methodical, his mind locking onto anatomy, protocol, and nothing else. This was where he was safe.

He shook his hands dry and reached for his surgical cap just as Lando walked in.

Blue scrubs, slightly rumpled now, his expression different from earlier—still calm, but sharper at the edges. Like this was just another normal day. Exactly where he needed to be.

Oscar nodded once. “You’re with me.”

“Already am,” Lando replied easily.

They scrubbed side by side, silence settling between them not awkward, but efficient. Oscar tied his gown, slipped on his cap, and turned toward the empty patient bed as Lando reached up.

It happened without warning, without hesitation, without permission. Lando’s fingers brushed the edge of Oscar’s surgical cap, adjusting it gently where it had folded in on itself. “There you go,” he said softly.

Oscar froze completely. Every thought evaporated in a white-hot second of nothing.

The touch was brief, professional almost absent-minded but it landed like a shock straight down his spine. His heart slammed once, hard enough that he felt it in his throat. 

Oscar stared straight ahead, afraid that if he turned even slightly, something irreversible might happen—like his brain short-circuiting or his denial collapsing on the floor in front of everyone.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice steady through sheer force of will. Lando smiled and moved past him, already done with the moment Oscar was not.

The patient was wheeled in then—a small body, pale, monitors screaming urgency and instinct snapped Oscar back into place. Orders were barked, hands moved, focus returned. “BP’s dropping.”

“Prep for surgery.”

“On my count.” Oscar was brilliant. He always was. But somewhere beneath the layers of gloves and muscle memory, his pulse was still racing—not from the trauma, not from the blood, but from the quiet certainty that something had shifted.

They worked seamlessly again, Lando anticipating, Oscar responding. No friction, no wasted movement, like they had been doing this together for years instead of hours.

When it was over, when the child was stabilized and wheeled off Oscar stepped back, pulling off his gloves with a sharp exhale.

Lando looked at him. “Good save.” Oscar nodded once. He did not trust himself to speak.

Because all he could think about was the way Lando had fixed his cap—like it was nothing, like it was natural, like it was already allowed.

Oscar stared at the floor and swallowed, a tight feeling settling in his chest. This was bad, very, very bad, and he had the horrible, sinking feeling that Lando Norris had absolutely no idea what he had just done.

Oscar got home at 11.07 a.m.

This was normal night shifts did that to him turned mornings into evenings, made the world feel slightly off-centre.

He kicked off his shoes by the door, dropped his keys in the bowl without looking, and stood in his kitchen for a moment longer than necessary, staring at absolutely nothing.

His heart was still racing which was unacceptable. He hadn’t been in surgery. He hadn’t run up any stairs. He hadn’t nearly died or watched anyone else do so.

He had simply existed in the same general vicinity as Lando Norris for the better part of twelve hours. That was not a medical emergency.

Oscar exhaled, rubbed a hand over his face, and told himself firmly that he was tired. Sleep deprivation did strange things to the brain.

Heightened emotions, false associations, poor judgment. This was science. He made it halfway through taking off his jacket before the image popped into his head again.

Some curly haired man in blue scrubs, stethoscope full of stickers, those bright green eyes.

Oscar groaned aloud and dropped onto the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his face like he could physically erase the memory. “No,” he told the empty flat. “Absolutely not.”

His heart thumped in traitorous agreement with something, and Oscar ignored it. He pulled out his phone just to check the time, just to scroll a little just to distract himself until sleep arrived and reset his brain back to factory settings.

Instead, ten seconds later, he was staring at a blinking cursor in a search bar. He frowned at it then slowly, like this was a perfectly reasonable use of his time he typed,

why do I keep liking people with the same first letter

He stared at the results, jaw tightening as the screen filled with links, articles, forums, a psychology blog with far too many exclamation points in the title alone.

None of them looked particularly credible, and yet they all seemed very certain of themselves.

Okay, he thought exhaling slowly. Refine the question.

Is name attraction real in psychology?

This time, the results looked worse. Cleaner, yes more structured, bullet points everywhere, that was almost more suspicious.

Oscar leaned forward slightly, squinting at the screen with the same clinical focus he reserved for scans and charts. He read each line like it had personally challenged him.

Oscar scoffed under his breath. “This is rubbish.” but the next article loaded anyway, uninvited.

He paused reading that, and scrolled back up to read it again. His jaw tightened. “No,” he muttered, sharper this time, as if correcting a misdiagnosis. “Correlation not causation.”

A forum thread sat just below it.

“Why do I only date people with the same first letter???”

“HELP!! my ex, my current partner, and my crush all have the same name.”

Oscar physically recoiled. “Jesus Christ.”

He locked his phone with more force than necessary and tossed it onto the cushion beside him like it had personally offended him.

The screen dimmed, mercifully silenced but the implication lingered, irritating and persistent. He leaned back, running a hand over his face.

Absolute nonsense and yet annoyingly it had just enough structure, just enough terminology, to sound like it could be real.

Which frankly made it worse. “No,” he said again, more stubborn now. “I don’t like names. I like people.” He stared at the ceiling as his heart betrayed him by speeding up anyway.

“This has nothing to do with him,” Oscar muttered. “He’s just…new doctor and competent and—” He stopped and his eyes he did not finish that sentence.

The problem wasn’t the letter L. The problem was that his body had started reacting before his brain could stop it.

The problem was that every time Lando was nearby, his pulse climbed like it was anticipating something.

Which meant Oscar sat up abruptly “Nope.” He stood, paced once, then twice, then stopped in the middle of the living room.

“This is just a crush,” he said aloud. “A stupid, sleep-deprived, situational crush.” His heart did not slow.

Oscar sighed, picked up his phone again, and typed one final search purely for academic reason, obviously.

How to stop developing feelings for a coworker

He stared at the screen then dropped the phone, face-first into the sofa cushion, and groaned.

Somewhere across the city, Lando Norris was probably doing something harmless. Smiling at someone, fixing a sticker in his stethoscope. 

While Oscar lay on his couch, eyes wide awake, heart racing, denial fraying at the edges and absolutely nowhere near ready to admit that this time, it had never been about the name at all.

Oscar decided very deliberately that today would be normal.

He walked into A&E with the same routine he’d had for years coffee first, chart check, a brief nod to the nurses’ station.

No spiralling. No hyper-awareness. No heart palpitations caused by pediatricians with stickers.

“Morning doc,” Charles said, already leaning back in his chair.

“Morning,” Jane echoed, sipping her tea. Oscar nodded at both of them, successfully making it three whole steps into his shift and then he saw him.

Lando was already there, leaning against the counter in blue scrubs, stethoscope hanging loosely, stickers still on.

He was eating a KitKat like it was the most peaceful thing in the world, completely at ease in Oscar’s space like he’d always belonged there.

Oscar’s heart did that thing again he ignore it. “Hey, Osc,” Lando said brightly. “Want one?”

Before Oscar could respond, Lando snapped the KitKat clean in half and held one piece out to him, just like that.

Oscar stared at it, Jane went very still, Charles’s eyebrows shot up. “I—” Oscar cleared his throat. “I don’t usually—”

“It’s fine,” Lando said easily. “I’ve got another one if you change your mind.”

Oscar took the chocolate anyway, he did not know why. “Thanks,” he muttered, because he had manners and also because his brain had temporarily stopped functioning.

Lando smiled, satisfied, and went back to his snack like he hadn’t just ruined Oscar’s entire morning.

Jane watched them both with the expression of someone observing a slow-motion car crash. “Anyway,” Charles said innocently, “we’ve got a consult in bay three.”

Work saved Oscar from further damage barely.

The shift blurred into motion—alarms, voices, movement and Oscar threw himself into it with professional fervor. He could do this, he was good at this, he was excellent at pretending everything was fine.

Until mid procedure, when Lando appeared at his side again. “Your glove,” Lando murmured, already reaching out.

Before Oscar could react Lando tugged gently at the edge of his glove, smoothing it back into place where it had folded over itself. 

Oscar’s breath hitched. There it was again that jolt, straight through his chest, sharp and immediate. “Got it,” Lando said, already turning back to the patient.

Oscar said nothing. He finished the procedure on autopilot, hands steady through sheer muscle memory. When it was done, he stripped off his gloves and walked away a little too fast, not stopping until he was alone in the locker room.

The door clicked shut behind him, Oscar braced his hands on the bench and stared at the floor, breathing slowly. “Okay,” he told himself. “Okay.”

This meant nothing. Some people were just… like that. Physically expressive especially in pediatrics. It made sense kids needed reassurance parents needed calm touch was part of the job.

Lando was just friendly just kind just generous with chocolate and personal space.

Oscar straightened, rolling his shoulders. “He does that with everyone,” he said out loud, like repetition might make it true. “It’s not about me.”

His heart did not agree, Oscar grabbed his bag and headed back out, denial patched together just enough to function—completely unaware that Jane and Charles had already drawn their conclusions and were absolutely not going to let this go.

All Oscar wanted was a sandwich. A bread, protein, and caffeine preferably within walking distance of the hospital and far away from pediatrics.

“That place on the corner?” Charles asked, already shrugging into his jacket.

“Yes,” Oscar said immediately. “Please.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the hum of the hospital fading behind them, replaced by the distant noise of traffic and the low murmur of the street.

Oscar welcomed the cold air against his face, the way it cut through the lingering warmth of fluorescent lights and antiseptic.

It felt like distance, even if it was temporary. This was good, this was grounding. Charles took a sip of his electrolytes water, then glanced sideways at him. “So.”

Oscar stiffened almost imperceptibly. “No.” Charles grinned. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“True,” Charles admitted. “Okay, hear me out.” Oscar sighed, dragging a hand briefly over his face. “I’m already regretting this.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, like he’d been waiting for that exact permission. “I don’t think you have a type for L names.”

Oscar stopped walking.

It was abrupt enough that Charles had to stop too, turning to face him with the earnestness of a man about to say something deeply unhelpful.

“I think,” he continued, “that L names have a type for you.” Oscar stared at him. “…what?”

Charles gestured vaguely, like he was outlining a scientific diagram only he could see. “Think about it. They keep finding you, like you’re some kind of magnet.”

“That’s not how magnets work,” Oscar said automatically, the response coming out faster than he meant it to.

“Sure it is,” Charles replied. “Metal doesn’t choose the magnet. The magnet just… attracts.”

Oscar resumed walking, faster this time, shoulders a little tighter. “I am not a magnet.”

Charles jogged a step to keep up, unbothered. “Mate, you’re a trauma surgeon with a soft voice, sad eyes, and a hero complex. Of course you attract people.”

“I do not have a hero complex.”

Charles hummed under his breath. “You literally run toward chaos for a living.”

They reached the café, the familiar bell above the door chiming as they stepped inside.

Warm air wrapped around them instantly, thick with the smell of coffee and toasted bread. They ordered by habit, barely needing to look at the menu.

Oscar clutched his coffee as soon as it was handed to him, fingers curling around the cup like it was something solid to hold onto.

Charles leaned back against the counter, watching him. “And now there’s this one.” Oscar didn’t respond, focusing instead on peeling the sleeve off his cup.

Charles smiled. “The new one.”

Still nothing, Charles took that as encouragement. “Let me guess—blue scrubs, always standing too close, fixes your gloves like he’s been doing it his whole life?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “He does that with everyone.”

“Does he?” Charles asked lightly, not pushing, just letting it sit there.

Oscar hesitated. It was brief, barely noticeable—but it was enough. Charles’s smile widened. “See? Magnet.”

Oscar shook his head, sharper this time, grabbing his sandwich as soon as his number was called. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading exactly into it,” Charles said, pushing off the counter to follow him. “You don’t notice people unless they get under your skin. And this one—”

“He’s just… like that,” Oscar cut in, a fraction too quickly. Charles raised an eyebrow. “Friendly?”

“Yes.”

“Touchy?”

“It’s pediatrician.”

“Bright?”

“…yes.”

For a second, Oscar’s gaze drifted—unwillingly back toward the hospital across the street, like his brain hadn’t quite let the subject go.

He could picture it too easily blue scrubs, easy smile, hands moving without hesitation, closing distance like it meant nothing.

Charles watched him, quiet and satisfied. “You’re doomed,” he said finally.

Oscar let out a breath and turned away, already moving toward the exit. “I’m not having this conversation.”

Charles followed, entirely too pleased with himself. “All I’m saying is maybe it’s not the names. Maybe it’s you.”

Outside, the cold hit again. Oscar took a bite of his sandwich as they walked, chewing mechanically. He tasted absolutely nothing.

This was ridiculous. He was fine. He had survived worse than this—longer shifts, harder cases, real heartbreak. This was just proximity, coincidence, a magnet metaphor taken too far.

Still, as they walked back toward the hospital, the building growing larger with every step,

Oscar found himself thinking briefly, traitorously that if Charles was right, then this was about to get a lot harder to ignore.

Oscar was spiralling again.

This time from the safety of his own flat, shoes kicked off somewhere near the door, jacket abandoned over the chair like evidence of a crime.

He paced the living room, phone in hand, heart thudding far too loudly for someone doing absolutely nothing. This was the stage.

He knew this stage—the noticing, the overthinking, the sudden, horrifying clarity that the other person was, very quietly, expressing interest.

Lando lingered, Lando shared food, Lando touched him without hesitation, like it was already allowed.

Oscar groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “No,” he said aloud. “No, no, no.” He stopped pacing and stared at his phone.

Lando Norris.

The name sat there innocently in his contacts, complete with the stupid little coffee cup emoji Lando had added himself earlier, paired with a grin and a, “So you know it’s me.”

Oscar scowled at it. “This is how it starts,” he muttered. “Absolutely not.”

He did not date coworkers. He did not date people who disrupted his heart rate and he definitely did not date people with names starting with—no.

He made a decision. A bad one, but a decisive one. Oscar opened the contact, scrolled, and pressed delete contact.

His phone asked, are you sure?

“Yes,” Oscar said firmly, thumb hovering. “Very sure.” He hit confirm and immediately locked his phone, tossing it onto the sofa like it had personally betrayed him.

There. Problem solved.

He stood there, breathing hard, waiting for the relief to kick in. It did not. Instead, his chest felt tight, hollow, like he had just amputated something important without anesthesia.

Oscar frowned. “This is fine,” he said. “This is healthy.” He sat down, stared at the wall, and very deliberately did not think about blue scrubs, or stickers, or the way Lando said his name like it was already familiar.

Fifteen minutes passed Oscar checked the clock then his phone buzzed. He froze, slowly dread pooling in his stomach and picked it up.

Unknown Number:

You home?

Oscar let his head fall back against the sofa. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He stared at the screen, heart racing again angry now, like it had been waiting for this.

You home?

There was only one person who would text him like that.

Oscar unlocked his phone, thumb hovering over the message he didn’t reply. Instead, he opened his contacts, added a new entry, typed in Lando Norris and saved it. He didn’t even hesitate this time.

Then he stared at the message again sighed and typed back,

Yeah. Just got in.

Three dots appeared almost immediately, Oscar closed his eyes.

This was bad. This was really bad and no matter how many times he told himself Lando wasn’t his sixth wasn’t an L, wasn’t a pattern his heart had already made up its mind.

Denial, it seemed, had a very short half-life.

Oscar was late. This almost never happened.

He sprinted down the corridor toward A&E, blue scrubs slightly wrinkled, white coat folded awkwardly over one arm, hospital ID badge still dangling from his fingers because he had somehow forgotten to clip it on.

His hair was a mess, his coffee untouched, and his heart was already racing. This was Lando Norris’s fault, entirely.

He skidded to a stop just outside A&E, sucking in a breath and forcing himself still, pasting on professionalism like muscle memory. Then he stepped inside and immediately ran straight into him.

Lando was already there. Of course he was. Blue scrubs, unwrinkled this time. Stethoscope in place, stickers intact smiling so brightly it felt borderline offensive at this hour.

Oscar stalled for half a second.  “Morning, Osc!” Lando said easily, eyes flicking down and then back up again. “You look—”

Oscar straightened too fast. “Fine.” Lando’s smile softened instantly. That was worse. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern slipping into his voice like it belonged there.

Oscar’s brain short-circuited.

Osc.

No one called him that. Not really, not with that tone gentle, worried, like Oscar’s wellbeing was something worth checking on. “I’m fine,” Oscar repeated, tighter this time. He gestured vaguely at himself. “Just… running late.”

Lando frowned slightly, eyes scanning him in a way that felt far too attentive. “You sure? You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Oscar swallowed. “Night shift.” Lando nodded, immediate understanding. “That’s rough. You should’ve texted—”

Oscar stiffened. “You shouldn’t worry,” he interrupted, a bit too sharply. Lando blinked. “I wasn’t—I mean, I just—”

Oscar immediately regretted it. He forced his shoulders to relax, clipped his badge onto his white coat with hands that were only slightly shaking, and cleared his throat.

“I’m fine,” he said again, softer now. “Really.”

Lando studied him for a moment longer, then smiled—smaller this time, but still warm. “Okay. Just checking.”

That shouldn’t have made Oscar’s chest ache, but it did.

Jane watched from the nurses’ station with open fascination while Charles leaned over beside her. “Tenner says he combusts before lunch,” he murmured.

Jane sipped her tea. “I’ll take that bet.”

Oscar adjusted his coat, finally settled, and turned toward his first patient, heart still racing, nerves frayed, denial wobbling dangerously.

Behind him, Lando followed without question. Oscar blamed him for that too.

The sirens started all at once. Not one, not two. A chorus, loud and relentless tearing through the hospital walls like a warning the ground itself couldn’t ignore.

“School bus collision!!” Jane shouted across A&E. “Multiple pediatric and adolescent casualties incoming!”

Oscar was already moving. His body knew what to do before his mind caught up—running, barking orders, pulling gloves on as stretchers flooded the department.

There's Blood, people crying, shouting. The sharp scent of antiseptic barely masking the iron in the air. “Trauma One, Two, Three split them up!”

“I need suction now!”

“Where’s the pediatrician?”

“I’m here!” Lando’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and clear.

Oscar didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. Lando was already beside him, already working, already exactly where he was supposed to be.

They were handed a kid—fourteen, or maybe thirteen uniform still half on, stomach soaked red. “Penetrating abdominal trauma,” Oscar said, eyes scanning fast. “BP?”

“Dropping,” Lando replied. “She’s lost too much blood.”

“OR, now.” They ran. The world narrowed to the table, the incision, the clock ticking louder than it ever had before. Oscar’s hands moved fast, precise, desperate. “Clamp.”

“Suction.”

“More blood get me more blood.” It wasn’t enough it was never enough. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. The monitor screamed what Oscar already knew but refused to accept.

He tried again, and again, and again. “Come on,” Oscar muttered under his breath, fingers slick, working harder, faster. “Come on, stay with me.”

The line flatlined as silence fell in a way that was worse than noise. “Time of death,” someone said quietly.

Oscar didn’t stop. His hands kept moving, stubborn, frantic like if he just tried one more thing, if he just refused—

“Oscar.” Lando’s voice was gentle, Oscar ignored it then Lando reached out not to the patient but him.

Lando’s hand closed softly around Oscar’s fingers, stopping them mid-motion. “Oscar,” he said again, quieter. “It’s okay. You can stop.”

Oscar froze. His breath came sharp, uneven. He stared down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him anymore, like they had failed him.

“I—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “I had more time. I could’ve—”

Lando shook his head, barely perceptible. “You did everything.” Oscar finally looked at him, Lando’s eyes were wet, but steady like it anchored him.

He didn’t let go. The room resumed around them slowly people moving, machines silenced, the world cruelly continuing on.

Oscar stepped back, hands trembling now that there was nothing left to hold together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t know to whom.

Lando squeezed his fingers once before letting go. “Me too.”

Oscar turned away, ripping off his gloves, chest tight like something had lodged there permanently. He walked out of the OR without another word.

Behind him, Lando watched him go. Oscar didn’t tell himself this is nothing. Because this, this ache, this grief, this quiet understanding this was real.

Oscar sat on the emergency stairwell floor with his back against the cold concrete wall. The blue of his scrubs was darker at the knees and along one sleeve, dried blood stiff against the fabric.

He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t really noticed. He’d just walked until the noise faded and the stairwell swallowed him whole, fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead, the smell of disinfectant and dust mixing into something sterile and lonely.

He hated this part. Hated that after all these years after the training, the experience, the statistics he could recite in his sleep it still hit like this.

That the losses never softened. That they never became routine, no matter how many people assumed they should.

Oscar pressed his forearms to his thighs and bowed his head. He should’ve done more he should’ve been faster he should’ve—

The door creaked open Oscar didn’t look up he already knew.

The sound of footsteps quiet, a bit careful then the soft sound of someone sitting down beside him, close enough to be there but not close enough to demand anything.

A cold can touched his fingers. “Hey,” Lando said softly.

Oscar stared at the energy drink for a second before taking it. His hands shook just enough that he hoped Lando wouldn’t notice.

“Hey,” Oscar replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite make it all the way. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Lando said. “I wanted to.” They sat in silence for a while. The kind that didn’t rush the kind that understood.

Oscar cracked the can open, the hiss loud in the small space, and took a sip he didn’t taste. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“I hate this part,” he said eventually. His voice was rough, scraped thin. “Everyone thinks you get used to it. That after a while it stops—hurting.”

He swallowed. “It doesn’t.” Lando nodded once, slow. “No. It doesn’t.”

Oscar laughed weakly, breathless. “I keep thinking if I’ve done this long enough, maybe one day I won’t feel it so hard.” He shook his head. “But then days like this happen, and it’s like the first time all over again.”

Lando leaned back against the wall, shoulder brushing Oscar’s he didn’t pull away. “I don’t think that means you’re bad at this,” he said gently. “I think it means you’re human.”

Oscar closed his eyes that did it. His breath stuttered, chest tightening, and suddenly the dam he’d been holding shut all night cracked open.

He dragged a hand over his face, trying—and failing to keep it together. “I lost her,” he whispered. “She was just a kid.”

“I know,” Lando said quietly.

“I was right there,” Oscar continued, voice breaking. “I could feel her pulse fading. I kept thinking just give me another minute just one.”

Lando shifted closer then, their knees touching. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to fix it.

He just stayed. After a moment, Oscar’s shoulders sagged, the fight bleeding out of him. He let his head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer absolution.

“I’m glad you were there,” he said, barely audible. Lando’s fingers curled lightly around the can in Oscar’s hand, grounding. “Me too.”

They sat like that two figures in bloodstained scrubs on a cold stairwell floor, breathing through the aftermath until Oscar’s heart finally slowed and the world stopped spinning quite so violently.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Oscar didn’t push Lando away and Lando didn’t leave.

Lando stayed. That, in itself, felt significant.

He kept talking light things at first, inconsequential things about a kid earlier who’d tried to trade him a sticker for his stethoscope, about how the vending machine on the third floor definitely hated him specifically.

He exaggerated just enough to make it funny, his voice warm and animated, like he was gently coaxing Oscar back into the room with him.

Oscar found himself listening. Then against his will smiling. It was small barely there but it happened.

“There it is,” Lando said quietly, glancing at him. “I knew you hadn’t lost it completely.”

Oscar huffed a weak laugh. “I wasn’t aware that was at risk.”

“Oh, it was,” Lando replied easily. “Touch and go for a bit.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder now, the space between them nonexistent, and Oscar realized something unsettling.

He felt…lighter. Still sad, still feel raw and exposed but the crushing weight had eased just enough to breathe. “I’ve got something funny,” Oscar said suddenly.

Lando turned to him, surprised but pleased. “Yeah?”

Oscar nodded, eyes still on Lando’s face like if he looked away, he might lose the moment. “It’s stupid and not funny in the traditional sense.”

“That’s my favourite kind.”

Oscar hesitated then, with a soft, incredulous laugh at himself, he said, “I realized that I’ve dated five people.” Lando blinked. “Okay.”

“And all of them,” Oscar continued, “had names that start with L.”

There was a beat then Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “All five?”

“All five,” Oscar confirmed. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.” Lando stared at him for a second, then broke into a grin. “That’s…statistically impressive.”

Oscar laughed, really laughed this time, breathy and disbelieving. “Right? It’s like a curse.”

Lando tilted his head, studying him in that way he had—soft, attentive, far too perceptive. Then, with absolutely no warning and zero hesitation, he said, “Well.”

Oscar waited, Lando smiled. “Should I join?”

Oscar choked, he coughed hard the sound echoing embarrassingly in the stairwell as he bent forward, one hand bracing on his knee. “What—”

Lando was instantly concerned. “Hey—sorry, too much? Are you okay?”

Oscar waved him off, cheeks burning, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape. “No—yes—I mean—”

He finally looked up, meeting Lando’s eyes.

Big mistake, Lando wasn’t joking. He wasn’t smirking he wasn’t teasing. He was calm so open and curious.

Oscar felt heat crawl up his neck and settle firmly in his cheeks. “You’re—you’re very… to the point.”

Lando shrugged lightly. “I like clarity.” Oscar swallowed. “I—”

He stopped and took a breath. Denial tried to rally and failed spectacularly. “I don’t… date coworkers,” Oscar said weakly.

Lando nodded, accepting that immediately. “Okay.”

“I also,” Oscar added, because apparently he was committed to this now, “don’t date people with names that start with L.”

Lando smiled again—soft, patient, devastating. “Yeah you mentioned.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“Probably because you trust me,” Lando said gently.

Oscar froze. “Oh.” Silence settled between them—not awkward. Lando bumped his shoulder lightly. “No pressure. We don’t have to talk about it now.”

Oscar nodded, still flushed, heart still racing but for the first time, he didn’t feel like running and that scared him more than anything.

They didn’t rush to stand.

Eventually, though, the moment loosened its grip the way all quiet things did and Oscar pushed himself up from the stairwell floor with a soft grunt.

He brushed at his scrubs automatically, fingers flicking at dust that probably wasn’t there, at blood stains that definitely were.

Lando stood too, mirroring him without thinking. Same motion, same absent-minded swipe at his own scrub top.

Oscar noticed, he noticed everything now, which was deeply inconvenient.

Lando smiled at him still warm, still open, like nothing awkward had happened, like Oscar hadn’t just confessed a deeply cursed pattern and nearly died from embarrassment.

Stop, Oscar told himself immediately. Lando’s smile was… fine. Objectively pleasant lots of people smiled like that.

It didn’t mean anything, Oscar swallowed and looked away then Lando stepped closer.

Oscar barely had time to register the movement before arms wrapped around him—gentle, firm, sure—pulling him into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar stiffened for exactly half a second. Lando’s head tipped forward, resting against Oscar’s shoulder easily, comfortably, like it belonged there.

Oscar was taller, he always was. Lando fit against him like this with irritating precision. “There you are,” Lando murmured, voice soft near his collarbone. “Let’s go back to work.”

Something in Oscar’s chest gave way. He lifted his arms without thinking and hugged him back.

Lando exhaled, a quiet sound against Oscar’s shoulder, and for a moment the world narrowed again but this time not with panic or grief a grounding warmth.

He’s just like this, Oscar told himself desperately. This is just how he is with everyone.

The thought rang hollow. They pulled apart after a beat, neither of them acknowledging how long it had lasted.

Lando’s hand brushed Oscar’s arm once lingering, unhurried before dropping away. “Ready?” Lando asked.

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.” They walked back toward A&E side by side.

Oscar’s heart was calm now, strangely steady—but his head was a mess, filled with smiles and shoulders and warmth he had no business cataloguing.

Inside his stupid, stubborn head, denial made one last, weak attempt to stand its ground.

This doesn’t mean anything, he told himself.

But as the doors swung open and noise rushed back in, Oscar had the uncomfortable, undeniable sense that something had already shifted and this time, he hadn’t pulled away.

Charles finished his food with the satisfaction of a man who knew he was about to stir the pot again.

He wiped his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and said casually, “You know, he has a thing for names starting with L.”

Lando laughed, surprised but not shocked. “Oh yeah he told me.” Jane froze mid-sip, Charles blinked. “He what?”

Lando nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. Five exes all Ls. He was very distressed about it.”

Jane slowly lowered her cup. “And you’re just… fine with that?”

“I think it’s kind of unique,” Lando said honestly. “Like a fun fact.”

Jane stared at him. “You are unbelievable.” Charles laughed. “Mate, he’s spiralling about it.”

“Oh, I know,” Lando said gently.

Jane rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “He’s panicking because it’s true. He’s clocked that he has patterns, and now his brain’s doing that thing where it tries to logic its way out of feelings.”

“That also tracks,” Lando agreed. Charles leaned forward, intrigued. “And you’re not worried you’re… I don’t know. Number six?”

Lando tilted his head, considering. “Not really.”

Jane spluttered. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t think I’m a number,” Lando said simply. “I think I’m just… me.” There was a beat, Carlos smiled into his drink, Charles blinked. “Right. Of course you are.”

Jane sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Why are you like this?” Lando shrugged. “He didn’t choose them because of their names. The names are just… coincidence.”

“And Oscar hasn’t realized that yet,” Jane said pointedly. Lando smiled, fond and soft in a way that made Charles groan. “No. But he will.”

“And until then?” Charles asked. “Until then,” Lando said, picking up his fork again, “I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Which is?”

“Being there,” Lando replied. “Not pushing. Not disappearing.”

Carlos nodded approvingly. “That’s healthy.” Charles sighed. “He’s doomed.”

Jane raised her cup in a mock toast. “To Oscar Piastri. May he survive realising he likes someone without an L-shaped excuse.” Lando laughed, warmth blooming in his chest.

As he took another bite of lunch and thought quietly, confidently that sometimes patterns were just the long way around to something real.

Sunday mornings in A&E were eerie. Not quiet never truly quiet but softer, like the hospital itself was exhaling.

No sirens, no shouting, only a low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clink of mugs at the nurses’ station.

Oscar sat there, coffee cooling untouched in front of him. Lando wasn’t in. Oscar had noticed immediately again, not dramatically, just a small, hollow awareness he hadn’t asked for.

“He’s off today,” Jane had said earlier, casually. Oscar had nodded good, he’d thought.

Charles slid into the chair beside him, stretching. “Quiet, huh?” Oscar nodded. “Feels wrong.” Charles hummed, then, far too casually, added, “You know Lando’s in love with you, right?” Oscar’s brain shut down.

“No,” Oscar said immediately—too immediately. “He’s not.”

Charles didn’t even look at him, just stirred his coffee. “Mm.”

“That’s—no,” Oscar continued, doubling down. “He’s just friendly. He’s like that with everyone.”

Charles finally turned, rolled his eyes, and said plainly, “No. He’s like that with you.”

Something in Oscar’s head made a noise like a computer fan giving up. “That’s not—” Oscar stopped.

But then he replayed it. The lingering, the closeness, the hugs, the concern. The way Lando stayed.

His chest tightened and Charles leaned back, crossing his arms. “Mate, he doesn’t hover around me. He doesn’t fix my gloves. He doesn’t bring me chocolate or sit with me on stairwells after bad calls.” Oscar stared at the desk.

“He doesn’t look at me like that,” Charles added gently. Oscar swallowed. “He asked if he should ‘join’ your list,” Charles continued.

“That wasn’t a joke.” Oscar’s mouth opened, then closed again nothing coming out.

Jane appeared at his other side like an omen. “Your denial has been very impressive,” she said. “Truly, Olympic level.”

Oscar dragged a hand over his face. “I—I can’t—” Charles softened. “You don’t have to do anything. But you should stop pretending you don’t see it.”

Oscar let out a shaky breath, thinking about the staircase. “Oh,” he whispered. Charles nodded. “Yeah.”

Oscar stared at the empty space where Lando usually stood—too close, too warm, too present. For the first time, the absence hurt more than the fear.

His brain didn’t just blue-screen. It rebooted and when it came back online, the truth sat there—unavoidable and terrifying in its clarity.

Lando wasn’t just like that. Lando was like that with him. Oscar closed his eyes. “Oh,” he said again.

Oscar was being ridiculous. This was the conclusion he arrived at exactly one hour before the end of his shift, staring at the nurses’ station clock like it had personally wronged him.

Lando wasn’t even here which somehow made everything worse. Charles had been right, Jane had been right, and the empty space beside the counter where Lando usually leaned, too close, smiling softly—felt louder than any siren.

Oscar finished his last note, logged out, and sat there doing absolutely nothing. No plans, or excuses, or emergencies to hide behind.

His phone felt heavy in his pocket. Don’t, he told himself. He pulled it out anyway.

Lando Norris

The contact stared back at him, like it already knew he’d come back.

Oscar exhaled sharply. “This is insane,” he muttered. He opened the message thread, typed, deleted, typed again.

Hey.

Too casual.

Are you free?

Too vague.

He rubbed his face, heart thudding—not panicked this time, but anticipatory, the kind that meant he already knew what he wanted and was just afraid to admit it. Finally, he typed,

Hey. I know you’re off today, but do you want to grab lunch? My shift ends in an hour and I don’t really have plans.

He stared at the message, then hit send before he could overthink it into oblivion.

Oscar immediately locked his phone and placed it face down on the counter like it might explode. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay.” He focused very hard on existing for the next thirty seconds. His phone buzzed, and Oscar froze for thirty seconds.

He flipped it over.

Yeah. I’d love that.

His breath caught, another message appeared.

Just tell me where and I’ll meet you.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, heart racing—not with fear this time, but with something bright and terrifying and new. “Oh,” he said softly. Across the station, Charles’s eyebrows climbed, Jane’s smile turning knowing.

Oscar looked down at his phone again and typed back, hands steady now.

There’s a café near the hospital. I’ll text you when I’m done.

Three dots appeared.

Perfect.

Oscar smiled—and didn’t try to stop it. For the first time, he didn’t tell himself this was stress, or coincidence, or a pattern playing tricks on him. This was just him asking and Lando saying yes.

The moment Oscar stepped out of the hospital, he regretted everything. Not in a small way. In a what have I done, I have ruined my own life kind of way.

Why had he texted first?

He didn’t do that, he waited he evaluated he considered all possible outcomes before making emotionally catastrophic decisions. He absolutely did not invite coworkers to lunch on their day off.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath as he crossed the street.

This was moving too fast. Was this a date? It wasn’t a date. He hadn’t said it was a date. It was just lunch. Colleagues had lunch all the time.

Then why did his pulse feel like he was about to scrub into surgery?

He slowed his pace. He could still turn around. He could text—Sorry, something came up. He could fake exhaustion. Claim he needed sleep. No one would question that.

That would be smart and that would be safe. His feet kept walking. “Traitor,” he whispered to himself.

He reached the café corner and stopped, he stared at the door muttering to himself this was fine.

He could handle lunch, he had handled far worse things. Emergency surgeries, bus crashes or even heartbreak.

This was just…Lando. His stomach flipped.

Just Lando.

Oscar stepped closer to the window before he could think himself out of it and there he was already inside.

Sitting at a small table near the window, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair falling a little into his eyes. No scrubs today—just a soft jumper and jeans, casual in a way that made him look almost unfairly relaxed.

He was stirring something absent-mindedly, glancing at the door every few seconds waiting for him.

Oscar’s breath caught he could still leave, Lando hadn’t seen him yet. He could disappear. Pretend he’d been delayed. Pretend—Lando looked up.

Their eyes met through the glass and Lando’s entire face lit up.

Oscar felt it like impact. There it was again—that warmth, that stupid, traitorous pull in his chest that had nothing to do with initials and everything to do with this.

Lando raised a hand in a small wave. Oscar’s body moved before his brain could object.

He pushed the door open and the bell chimed above, just like that retreat was no longer an option.

Oscar ordered automatically. “Booster. Double shot, extra ice.”

The barista nodded like this was routine—which it was. Oscar always ordered this mid-shift. Strong enough to keep him upright. Cold enough to shock him into focus.

He reached for his wallet—“It’s fine,” Lando said easily. “I’ve got it.”

Oscar frowned. “You don’t—”

“I know,” Lando replied, smiling. “I want to.”

There was no performance in it just Lando being too kind. Oscar let him and took his drink to the table by the window. The sunlight was soft, filtered through thin clouds.

Outside, traffic hummed inside, it was warm and quiet in a way that didn’t feel like a hospital. Oscar waited for the awkwardness. It never came. Lando didn’t make it strange.

He didn’t tease him about texting first. Didn’t make a big deal out of the invitation. He just sat there, stirring his drink, looking pleased to be exactly where he was. “So,” Lando said gently, “did you actually eat today?”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You had a shift. Did you eat?”

“Yes,” Oscar lied automatically.

Lando tilted his head, Oscar sighed. “…half a sandwich.”

“That’s not a meal.”

“It counts.”

“It doesn’t.” Oscar rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You’re not my nutritionist.”

“No,” Lando agreed lightly. “Just concerned.”

Oscar’s chest tightened at that. He took a sip of his drink instead of answering. Lando didn’t push. He just shifted topics easily, like he always did. “What do you do on your days off?”

Oscar blinked again. “Sleep.”

“Other than that.”

“…laundry.” Lando laughed softly. “You’re thrilling.”

Oscar huffed. “What do you do?”

“Long walks bad TV. Sometimes I try new coffee places.”

“You go alone?”

“Sometimes.” There was a small pause there, Oscar felt it. “And sometimes?” he asked, quieter.

Lando’s smile softened. “Sometimes I invite someone.”

Oscar’s pulse ticked up—but not painfully this time.

They talked like that for a while. Easy and unhurried. Lando asked questions that felt genuine, not interrogative. About where Oscar grew up, about why he chose trauma about whether he’d ever wanted to do something else.

Oscar found himself answering. Really answering.

He talked about med school exhaustion. About Luna, briefly—without naming her. About the weight of losing patients and why he stayed anyway.

Lando listened. At some point, Oscar realized his shoulders weren’t tense anymore.

He wasn’t bracing. He wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong. He was just sitting across from someone who made the world feel a little less sharp. He looked at Lando properly then.

At the way he smiled without forcing it. The way he leaned in just slightly—not crowding, just engaged. The way he asked, softly, “You okay?” when Oscar went quiet for a moment too long.

Oscar felt something shift inside him. Maybe he liked this, maybe he liked him and maybe it had never been about letters or patterns or fear.

Maybe it was just that being with Lando felt… steady, Oscar exhaled slowly. “I’m glad I texted you,” he said before he could stop himself.

Lando’s eyes warmed immediately. “Me too.”

Oscar didn’t look away this time. And for the first time since this whole thing began, he let himself sit in it this quiet, dangerous, wonderful possibility—without trying to outrun it.

Maybe just maybe he wanted this.

They didn’t rush to leave.

The cups were empty. The conversation had softened into comfortable silence. Outside, the sky had shifted just enough to signal the afternoon moving on.

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Oscar said, standing a little too quickly. Lando raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

They stepped out into the cool air together. The pavement was busy but not crowded. Their shoulders brushed once, then again not accidental, close enough to notice.

“You should just bring your car,” Oscar said as they crossed the street. “It’s easier.”

Lando laughed lightly. “I just wanted to walk a bit.” Oscar glanced at him. “Why?”

Lando shrugged, smiling in that infuriatingly gentle way. “Felt like it.”

Oscar knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t push.

They reached the station entrance too quickly. It annoyed him, how time seemed to compress around Lando—like hours turned into minutes without permission.

Lando turned to face him. “Remember to eat,” he said, mock-serious. “And drink more water.”

Oscar rolled his eyes—but nodded. “I will.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

There was a small pause. The kind that could stretch into something more if either of them let it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lando said softly.

Oscar’s chest tightened but not painfully just aware. “Yeah,” he replied. “Tomorrow.”

Lando stepped back toward the station doors. Oscar raised a hand in a small wave. “Text me when you get home.”

It came out naturally no hesitation. Lando’s smile widened. “I will.”

He hesitated for half a second like he was considering something then simply nodded and turned toward the entrance. Oscar stood there longer than necessary, watching until Lando disappeared down the steps.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

I’m not even on the tube yet and you’re already worried.

Oscar smiled. He typed back, 

Just making sure you are safe.

Three dots.

You’re unbelievable.

Oscar slipped his phone back into his pocket, warmth settling in his chest—not sharp, not frantic. Tomorrow didn’t feel terrifying anymore.

It felt… anticipated and that, more than anything, told him he was in deeper than he’d ever planned to be.

Monday did not explode.

No dramatic sirens. No chaos big enough to distract them from themselves and yet everything felt different.

Oscar noticed it immediately. Lando was already at the nurses’ station when he walked in, coffee in hand, stickers catching the light as usual.

He looked up the second Oscar stepped through the doors their eyes met. Neither of them looked away. “Morning,” Lando said, softer than usual but steady.

“Morning,” Oscar replied.

Jane looked between them like she was watching a tennis match. Charles leaned back in his chair, whispering, “Told you.”

They worked like they always did but now, there was something underneath it. A quiet awareness. When their hands brushed passing instruments, neither flinched.

When Lando leaned in, Oscar didn’t stiffen. When Oscar spoke, Lando listened like it mattered.

They grabbed lunch together without discussing it.

At the nurses’ station later, they shared coffee, shoulders touching lightly while reviewing notes.

Lando laughed at something Oscar said, head tipping back, and Oscar realized he was smiling before he could stop himself.

They looked like they’d been doing this for months. Jane actually clutched Charles's arm. “It’s sickening.” “Give it two days,” Charles muttered.

The shift ended too soon. The sky outside had turned that deep blue that meant winter was tightening its grip. The air was sharp when they stepped out of the hospital.

Oscar hesitated this was the moment. He could let it end here. “I brought my car,” Oscar said, voice steady despite the way his heart had started pounding. “I can drop you home. It’s too cold.”

Lando blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to,” he said gently.

“I know.”

There it was again Oscar swallowed, forcing himself not to backtrack. “It’s on my way,” he added, which was a lie. “And you shouldn’t have to take the tube in this weather.”

Lando studied him for a second too long then he smiled. “Okay,” he said.

Oscar exhaled slowly, pretending his pulse wasn’t climbing. They walked to the car together, close enough that their hands brushed once this time neither of them pretending it was accidental.

Inside the car, the heater hummed softly. Oscar started the engine and just like that, the energy had shifted again.

Forward.

Days passed. They worked, they shared coffee, they stood a little closer than before. They walked to lunch together without announcing it. They texted nothing intense, just Have you eaten? and Home safe? and the occasional bad joke.

It became… easy. Which terrified Oscar slightly.

The emergency stairwell became theirs without discussion. Not a hiding place—just a quiet corner when A&E got too loud. Coffee cups balanced on the step between them. Shoulders brushing. Silence that didn’t demand anything.

One afternoon, between cases, they slipped in there again.

Lando sat beside him, sipping his coffee, watching Oscar in that thoughtful way he had. “You’ve been thinking,” Lando said.

Oscar didn’t deny it. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me,” Lando replied lightly.

Oscar stared at his cup. “I keep worrying,” he admitted finally. “That this is… a pattern.”

Lando tilted his head. “The name thing?” Oscar nodded. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“Say it anyway.”

Oscar inhaled slowly. “All of them had L names and it ended badly. Every time and now there’s you.”

“I keep thinking,” Oscar continued quietly, “maybe I’m just repeating something. Maybe I don’t actually like you. Maybe I just—” he gestured vaguely “—attach to familiarity.”

Lando took another sip of coffee, completely unruffled. Then he said, very calmly, “That’s ridiculous.”

Oscar blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s ridiculous,” Lando repeated. “You don’t date letters. You date people.”

Oscar stared at him. “I don’t care about your exes’ initials,” Lando continued. “And I definitely don’t care if mine matches.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “You’re not worried I’ll… panic again?”

“You already are panicking,” Lando said mildly. “And you’re still here.”

Oscar huffed a surprised laugh. Lando smiled softly. “Patterns aren’t destiny. They’re just stories we tell ourselves when we’re scared.”

Oscar went quiet at that. “I’m not them,” Lando added, steady and simple. “And you’re not who you were with them.”

The stairwell hummed faintly around them. Oscar felt something inside him loosen. “You really don’t care?” he asked, almost boyish.

“About the letter?” Lando shrugged. “No. I care about you.”

The words landed gently,  Oscar let out a breath that felt like he’d been holding it for weeks. “That’s… annoyingly reasonable,” he said.

Lando grinned. “I try.” Oscar laughed then—fully, openly. The tension draining from his shoulders. “Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ve been a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Lando agreed. They sat there, knees touching, coffee half-finished, the air no longer heavy with unspoken fear. For the first time since this started, Oscar didn’t feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The shift had been brutal.

Twelve hours of relentless cases. No clean breaks. No time to breathe. By the time Oscar and Lando stepped out of the hospital, the night air felt like a reward.

They didn’t talk much on the walk to the car. They didn’t need to.

Inside, the heater hummed softly. The world outside was dark and quiet, London settling into sleep while their bodies still buzzed with leftover adrenaline.

Oscar started the engine but he didn’t drive.

Lando noticed. “You okay?” he asked gently.

Oscar stared at the steering wheel. He was tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that stripped you down to what was real and left no room for pretense. “I’ve been thinking,” Oscar said.

Lando smiled faintly. “You do that a lot.” Oscar huffed a quiet laugh then he looked at him. “I don’t think this is a pattern,” Oscar said slowly. “I think I’ve just been scared.”

Lando didn’t interrupt.

“I’m good at work,” Oscar continued. “I know what to do. I know how to fix things. But when it comes to this…” He shook his head slightly. “I panic.”

His hands were still on the steering wheel. “I kept telling myself it was the name or timing or coincidence because that’s easier than admitting I actually like you.” The car felt very small suddenly.

Lando’s voice, when it came, was soft. “You don’t have to be scared with me.” Oscar swallowed. “I am,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to run.”

That was the difference. Lando’s eyes warmed, something unguarded there. “Okay.”

Oscar exhaled slowly then he did something he had not planned. He reached over, hand brushing lightly against Lando’s wrist first—checking, asking without words.

Lando didn’t pull away when Oscar leaned in. The kiss wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t desperate or rushed or reckless it was gentle.

Their foreheads bumped slightly before they adjusted, both smiling softly into it. Lando’s hand came up to rest at the back of Oscar’s neck—not pulling, just anchoring.

It felt grounding. Like standing on solid ground after weeks of pretending the floor wasn’t tilting.

Oscar deepened it just slightly still soft, still deliberate. Like he was proving something to himself.

I’m here. I’m choosing this.

When they pulled apart, they didn’t move far. Their foreheads stayed close. “You kissed me first,” Lando murmured, a smile in his voice. Oscar’s lips curved faintly. “I did.”

“Very brave.” Oscar huffed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Silence settled again—but this time it was full of something warm and steady.

Oscar rested his forehead lightly against Lando’s one more time. “Okay,” he said softly and for the first time, it didn’t feel like denial.

It felt like beginning.

The next morning felt normal, suspiciously normal.

Oscar walked into A&E with his usual calm stride. Lando was already there, leaning against the nurses’ station with coffee in hand, blue scrubs bright as ever.

“Morning,” Lando said.

“Morning,” Oscar replied.

But something subtle had shifted. Their eyes lingered a second longer. Their smiles were softer. The space between them was no longer cautious it was chosen.

Jane clocked it immediately and Charles followed her gaze and froze. “Oh,” Charles whispered.

“Oh,” Jane echoed.

The morning unfolded fast—two admissions back-to-back, a suspected appendicitis, one nasty fall.

Oscar and Lando moved like they always did seamless, efficient, anticipating each other without needing to ask.

“Clamp.”

“Already.”

“BP?”

“Stabilizing.”

It was almost unfair to watch but then in the middle of adjusting a monitor, Lando leaned slightly closer and said, without thinking, “Careful, love.”

The room got silence, no hospital silence there Charles's soul left his body. Jane physically grabbed his arm to stop him from reacting.

Oscar froze for half a heartbeat and, very calmly he adjusted the monitor and said, “I am.”

Like it was nothing like it was routine but his ears had turned red and Lando blinked he just realized what he said, and coughed lightly. “Sorry,” he muttered, too quiet for most people to hear.

Oscar didn’t look at him—but his mouth twitched. “It’s fine.” Charles stared at Jane, Jane stared at Charles.

Internally, Charles was screaming. They watched the rest of the shift like wildlife observers documenting a rare event.

The way Lando’s hand lingered briefly at Oscar’s back when passing behind him. The way Oscar leaned slightly toward Lando when listening. The way they worked—focused, locked in, yet orbiting each other with unmistakable gravity.

At one point, between cases, they disappeared down the corridor together. Jane gasped softly. “They’ve gone.”

Charles clutched his chest. “Alive. They’re alive.” Carlos, who had dropped by briefly, glanced up. “You’re both exhausting.”

Charles shook his head in awe. “We witnessed the slip.” Jane nodded solemnly. “He called him love.”

Carlos blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” Charles replied. Down the corridor, hidden from the nurses’ station chaos, Oscar and Lando stood shoulder to shoulder near the supply room.

“You said love,” Oscar murmured, voice low. Lando winced. “I know.”

Oscar turned to him. “I didn’t hate it.”

Lando looked up and smile,  “Good,” he said softly.

They didn’t kiss, didn’t need to. When they walked back into A&E, composed and professional, the department felt more alive somehow.

Jane leaned toward Charles. “It’s official.” Charles nodded. “Told you.”

And at the center of it all, Oscar Piastri who once thought he was cursed by a letter worked in perfect sync with Lando Norris.

Two years later, the hospital no longer felt like the center of their universe.

Lando had transferred out of A&E a year ago—still pediatrics, just less chaos, more clinic hours, fewer midnight sirens.

Oscar was still a trauma surgeon, but no longer stationed in emergency. His hours were steadier now predictable, even.

They had learned something about balance, about coming home.

Tonight, the flat was warm and quiet. Rain tapped softly against the windows. The world outside blurred into soft reflections of streetlights and passing cars.

Lando was stretched out on the sofa, half on top of Oscar, head resting comfortably against his chest like it had always belonged there.

Oscar’s hand was threaded absentmindedly through Lando’s hair, fingers brushing slow in a familiar paths.

The TV was on but neither of them were watching it. “I was thinking,” Oscar said lazily. Lando hummed against him. “Dangerous.”

Oscar ignored that. “I’m done dating people with L names.”

Lando’s shoulders shook with laughter immediately. “Oh, are you?” he asked, lifting his head slightly to look up at him.

“Yes,” Oscar said solemnly. “Absolutely finished.”

“Brave decision.”

Oscar smiled faintly, unrepentant. “But,” he added, as if this were a serious policy update, “if we have a kid…we can name them maybe Louisa or Lewis.”

Lando burst out laughing. His laugh is so delighted, a bright laughter that filled the room. “Of course you would,” he said fond and exasperated all at once.

Oscar grinned down at him. “What? They’re good names.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You knew that.” Lando shifted closer instead of pulling away, pressing his cheek back to Oscar’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

That heart, the one that once panicked over patterns and initials and coincidences. Now it beat slow and calm beneath his ear.

“You realize,” Lando said softly, “that this completely ruins your no more L names’ rule.”

Oscar shrugged slightly. “Rules evolve.” Lando smiled against him. “Do they?”

“Yes, also,” Oscar added pretending to think deeply, “we could compromise like a middle name still with L.”

Lando laughed again, softer this time. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Oscar didn’t deny it this time. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Lando’s head.

Two years ago, he would have overthought this moment, questioned it, over analyze it until it lost shape.

Now, it was just theirs Lando tilted his head up slightly. “You know,” he murmured, “I never cared about the letter.”

Oscar smiled softly. “I know.” And this time, it had never been about the name. It had always been about the choice.