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Oscar Piastri had never thought the word 'floral arrangements' could haunt him, but here he was—standing in his kitchen, staring at the latest email from the wedding planner while the kettle screamed in the background.

Two weeks to the ceremony. The dress rehearsals done, the deposits paid, the honeymoon booked. The guest list, the suit fittings, the little name cards Lily had handwritten herself—everything was done.

Except apparently, Lily.

She arrived unannounced, on a Saturday morning dressed in soft beige—a simple, flowing dress that brushed just past her knees, fabric light and understated, like she was trying not to make noise even in color.

Her curly brown hair was still damp from the shower, and she had that look, the one people have when they’ve rehearsed something awful in their heads and finally come to say it aloud.

“Oscar,” she started gently.

He smiled anyway, because habit was hard to kill. “Hey, I was just—do you want coffee? The good beans are—”

She shook her head. “I can’t do this.” He blinked. “Do what? The coffee? It’s fine, I can—”

“The wedding.” The words hung there between them, heavier than the quiet that followed.

The kettle still screamed until Oscar shut it off, because it was the only thing he could control right now.

He turned back to her, a little laugh bubbling up—nervous, and automatic. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” Lily answered with that serious look on her face.

“Lily,” he said slowly, like he was trying to fix the tone of her name, “we’ve spent a year planning this. Everything’s—you just finished choosing centerpieces yesterday.”

“I know.” She pressed her lips together, voice soft. “And I shouldn’t have. I kept pretending everything was fine, but it’s not.”

There was a flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe or fear.

Oscar felt the weight in his chest tighten, his brain catching up to his heart. “So what, you’re just walking away? Because of what, cold feet?”

“It’s not cold feet,” she said, too quick. “It’s clarity.” That stung worse.

He ran a hand through his hair, half-laughing in disbelief. “Wow. That’s—okay. That’s great. So glad you got clarity two weeks before the wedding.”

“Oscar, don’t—”

“What?” His voice cracked between anger and exhaustion. “Don’t get sarcastic? Don’t act like I’m surprised? Because I am, Lily. We were fine last week.”

She exhaled shakily. “We were comfortable. That’s not the same as happy.” It landed.

He wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe part of him knew she was right.

They’d both been going through the motions—her Pinterest boards, his work distractions. It wasn’t passion, it was procedure.

Still, it hurt like hell to have someone say it aloud.

Lily reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring—gold, simple, and looked perfect. She set it on the counter. The faint clink echoed louder than any shouting could’ve.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and just like that, she was at the door.

Oscar stood there, staring at the ring for a long time, the silence wrapping around him like static.

Outside, the city kept moving, buses, chatter, the usual London gray. Inside, his kitchen felt too bright, too empty.

He sank into a chair, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes until he saw sparks.

“Well,” he muttered to no one, voice dry, “guess the seating chart just got easier.” It wasn’t funny but it also kind of was.

The kettle hissed again for one last time, leftover steam and Oscar laughed, hollow and tired.

Two plane tickets, one ocean view villa, and zero bride. Some honeymoon this was going to be.

Oscar had never hated the words “no refund policy” more in his entire life.

He was three phone calls deep—airline, villa, then some travel agency that apparently outsourced their customer service to people who read scripts like robots and every single one had said it,

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s a promotional package. It’s non-refundable, non-transferable, and non- negotiable.”

By the third “sir,” Oscar was pacing his kitchen like a man possessed.

“Right,” he said flatly into the phone, rubbing his temple. “So if I break both legs and can’t travel, do I still lose the money?”

“Unless you purchased trip insurance, yes.” He stared at the ceiling. “Brilliant. That’s just brilliant.”

The woman on the line chuckled awkwardly. “Maybe you can still enjoy the trip?” He hung up.

By Monday morning, Oscar was back at his engineering office, fluorescent lights, endless spreadsheets, and too many sympathetic smiles from coworkers who definitely read between the lines of his ‘wedding postponed’ email.

“Mate,” his colleague Carlos leaned over the cubicle wall, grinning far too brightly for a Monday. “You look like someone canceled Christmas.”

Oscar groaned. “Try my wedding.” Carlos blinked. “Oh.” A beat. “Right..that.”

Oscar rubbed his forehead. “I already filed my two-week leave. The honeymoon villa’s fully paid. So I’m either going or I’m… sitting at home watching Netflix cry-eating pasta.”

“Go,” Carlos said instantly. “Seychelles, right? You can cry in paradise. It’s classier.”

“I’m not going alone,” Oscar muttered.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “So take someone.”

Oscar scoffed. “Oh, sure. ‘Hi, I have a spare honeymoon ticket because my fiancée dumped me. Interested?’ That’s not weird at all.”

“You’d be surprised,” Carlos said, half-serious. “You know how many people would kill for a free beach trip?”

“Yeah, but they’d have to endure me.” Carlos grinned. “Point taken.”

Later that evening, Oscar was sitting on his couch, phone in hand, debating every bad idea that crossed his mind.

The apartment was too quiet—no Lily humming while she cooked, no faint smell of her perfume on the cushions.

Just him, the leftover takeout box, and a half-watched documentary he wasn’t absorbing at all. He opened his messages.

Carlos:

Mate just go alone 

Oscar:

No. That’s sad.

Carlos:

Then bring someone else. Max maybe?

Oscar frowned as he scrolled. Max Verstappen, his other friend from uni, was the least romantic person alive—but desperate times called for it.

Oscar:

Hey, random question. Want a free week trip to Seychelles?

Max:

With you?

Oscar:

Yes.

Max:

No.

Oscar:

Rude.

Max:

I have work. Also I like my holidays without emotional baggage.

Oscar threw his phone onto the couch, sighing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Everyone says no to paradise.” He spent the next hour aimlessly scrolling flights again, as if hope might magically appear in the fine print.

No refund, no change, no luck. Eventually, he shut his laptop and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe he should just go alone. Get tan, read books. Forget everything but then again…maybe not.

Because the idea of sitting on a beach surrounded by couples and honeymooners while he drank overpriced cocktails alone? That was the exact kind of pathetic he wasn’t ready for.

He groaned into a pillow. “I need someone,” he mumbled—and fate, as it always does in rom-coms, was already around the corner, preparing the most inconvenient, infuriating answer possible.

London had a cruel sense of humor.

Four years. Four entire years without running into Lando Norris—his hard to forget, impossible to ignore ex—in a city that had, what, nine million people? And yet somehow, today, when Oscar looked like he hadn’t slept in two nights and was stress-eating croissants in a coffee shop corner, that’s when fate decided to make its move.

It started with the sound of a laugh. That laugh, a little too bright, a little too familiar —the kind that used to make him forget whatever he was talking about mid-sentence.

Oscar looked up, there he was.

Lando Norris, standing in line with a paper cup already in hand, sunglasses perched messily on his head, hair sun-touched and lighter than before, skin tanned to the kind of golden brown you could only earn from too much travel and too little sleep.

He was dressed in that casual way that screamed effortless—plain white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a smile that looked like trouble and comfort all at once.

It hit Oscar like a gut punch, four years.

Four years since that fight in Barcelona, since the last message that said “we’re not good for each other,” since all that warmth turned into polite distance.

And yet, looking at him now, Oscar’s chest did that stupid, traitorous thing again. It ached, he tried to duck his head, maybe sneak out quietly, pretend he hadn’t seen him—too late.

“Oscar?” That voice still had that soft tilt of surprise, and when Oscar looked up again, Lando was already smiling, walking over with that familiar easy stride.

“Oh my God, it is you,” Lando laughed, setting his coffee down on the table before Oscar could even react. “I thought I was hallucinating for a sec.”

Oscar blinked, forced a polite smile. “Hey. Yeah, uh… hi.” Smooth, Piastri, real smooth.

Lando tilted his head, studying him. “Four years and you still don’t know how to greet people?”

Oscar huffed a laugh despite himself. “Guess some things don’t change.”

Lando grinned wider. “Some do. You look… different.”

He didn’t mean it as a throwaway compliment—his gaze lingered, curious and soft. Oscar coughed, deflecting. “You look exactly the same.”

Which was not true. Lando looked better. More grounded, somehow like the chaotic boy who used to leave cereal bowls everywhere had grown into someone steadier, someone with softer edges but the same bright core.

“So,” Lando said, sliding into the chair opposite him without asking. “What’s new? Last I saw you, you were moving in with that—what was her name—”

“Lily Z” Oscar supplied, trying not to wince.

“Right. Lily.” Lando paused. His grin dimmed slightly. “And how’s that going?”

Oscar hesitated. There was a tiny moment where he could’ve lied, could’ve smiled and said great, could’ve kept it surface-level. But his brain chose violence.

“She broke up with me last week,” he said flatly. “Oh,” Lando said, blinking. “Shit. Sorry.”

Oscar waved it off, forcing a laugh that sounded thinner than intended. “It’s fine. These things happen.”

Lando’s eyes softened, that old empathy still there. “You okay?” Oscar shrugged. “Define okay.”

Lando smiled faintly. “Still dramatic.”

“Still nosy,” Oscar shot back, but there was no bite to it.

For a beat, they just sat there—two people with too much history, not enough words, and a coffee shop between them.

The silence wasn’t bad just…dense. Then, because the universe clearly hadn’t finished laughing at him, Oscar blurted “Do you want to go to Seychelles with me?”

Lando stared. “…what?”

Oscar blinked. “…what?”

The words hung there, both of them processing the sheer absurdity of what just came out of his mouth. “You—” Lando frowned, half-grinning. “You’re inviting your ex-boyfriend on…a vacation?”

Oscar groaned, rubbing his face. “Forget I said that.”

Lando leaned forward, absolutely not forgetting it. “No, no, wait—let's rewind. Seychelles? That’s not exactly a weekend getaway.”

Oscar sighed. “It’s a honeymoon trip I was supposed to take with Lily. Flights booked, villa paid and yes it's non-refundable.”

Lando’s brows lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Ah. So you’re looking for a replacement travel buddy.”

“I’m looking to not lose four grand,” Oscar muttered.

Lando chuckled. “And you thought of me.”

Oscar shrugged helplessly. “You were here.” Lando barked a laugh, warm and sharp. “That’s your criteria now? ‘In the same room available, once broke my heart’?”

Oscar gave him a flat look, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you just invited me on a vacation,” Lando said, smirking.

For a second, it felt like they were right back in their rhythm, bickering, laughing, slipping into the old comfort that had once been everything.

Lando leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting. “So, Seychelles, huh?” Oscar looked at him warily. “…what about it?”

“Just saying,” Lando said casually, standing to leave, “if you actually mean it, you know where to find me.”

He tossed a few coins on the table for his coffee and gave Oscar that infuriatingly soft grin—the one that always said you’ll think about me later.

And then he was gone walking out into the London drizzle, leaving Oscar staring after him, wondering what the hell he just started.

By Friday night, Oscar had convinced himself he wasn’t going to do it.

He wasn’t going to text. He wasn’t going to accidentally run into Lando again and he definitely wasn’t going to beg his ex to come on a pity vacation halfway across the world.

That was the plan. The plan lasted exactly until Carlos texted,

Pub night? The old place near campus. You need beer and people, mate.

And Oscar, against his better judgment, found himself walking into the exact pub where everything had started years ago the one where he and Lando first met during a uni trivia night, both pretending not to notice how much they were noticing each other.

It smelled the same faintly of old wood, beer, and bad decisions.

Carlos was already there with a few coworkers, waving him over. “You made it! Finally decided to leave your flat of despair.”

“Don’t make it sound so dramatic,” Oscar muttered, sliding into the booth.

Carlos grinned. “Mate, you’ve been talking to customer service reps more than humans this week.”

“Because humans keep rejecting my holiday offers,” Oscar deadpanned.

Carlos laughed and ordered a round. They talked about work, football, anything but Lily.

Oscar tried to relax, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses almost enough to drown out the ache.

Almost.

Then a voice from behind him “You still come here, huh?” Oscar froze, he didn’t have to turn around. He knew that voice.

Still, he did and there he was again. Lando Norris, framed by the warm light and the hum of Friday night, hair a little messy from the rain outside, sleeves rolled up, and that same stupidly unfair smile.

“Lando,” Oscar said, surprised, the name slipping out softer than intended.

Lando smiled, that tiny curve at the corner of his mouth that always looked like it came with history.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. You never really liked this place.”

Oscar shrugged. “I like the beer.”

“You liked coming with me,” Lando teased, sliding his hands into his pockets. Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Still true,” Lando said easily, glancing at Carlos before nodding in greeting. “Mind if I steal him for a minute?”

Carlos raised both brows, smirking. “Be my guest.”

Outside, the London air was cool, the street still buzzing with the sounds of laughter and music spilling from open doors.

Lando leaned against the brick wall, looking effortlessly at home like he always did like he belonged wherever he stood.

“So,” Lando said, “you’ve been thinking about that offer.” Oscar blinked. “What?”

“The Seychelles thing.” Lando tilted his head, smirking. “You wouldn’t have looked that panicked if you weren’t.”

Oscar scoffed. “I wasn’t panicked.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Lando said, crossing his arms. “So what’s the story? Still got that spare ticket?”

Oscar hesitated. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I might’ve… considered still going.” Lando raised a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Alone?”

Oscar grimaced. “That was the plan. Then I remembered how depressing it sounds to order a romantic dinner for one.”

Lando laughed bright and quick and warm in the night air. “So you’re saying you need company.”

“I’m saying,” Oscar muttered, “that the ticket’s already paid for and I’d rather not waste it.”

“Uh-huh.” Lando leaned a little closer, voice dropping playfully. “And you’re asking me because?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because you’re available?” Lando snorted. “Wow. That’s heartfelt.”

“Because,” Oscar continued, ignoring him, “we… know each other. It’s easier than bringing a stranger and I thought maybe— I don’t know, you’d want a free trip.”

Lando studied him quietly, his grin fading into something softer, more thoughtful. “You really don’t want to go alone, huh?”

Oscar looked away. “No one likes being the guy who got dumped and still took the honeymoon.”

Lando’s smile tilted, just a little. “Fair point.”

A beat of silence. The sound of the street filled the space—laughter, clinking glasses, a bus rumbling past.

Then Lando straightened up, eyes bright. “Alright.” Oscar frowned. “Alright what?”

“I’ll go.”

Oscar blinked. “You will?”

Lando shrugged. “You offered. I’ve got time off next week. I like beaches, and you clearly need someone to stop you from turning into a sad rom-com protagonist.”

“I’m already living one,” Oscar muttered.

“Then I’ll be your comic relief,” Lando said, grinning.

Oscar huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Lando said, pushing off the wall, “but I’m also great company.”

He started to walk away, then paused, turning back with that teasing glint again. “Text me the flight details, yeah?”

Oscar blinked. “You’re actually serious?”

Lando’s grin widened. “You think I’d say no to a week in Seychelles with you? Come on, Piastri—even I’m not that boring.” He winked, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and disappeared back into the night crowd.

Oscar stood there a moment longer, trying to process what just happened.

Well two tickets, one ex, and no idea what he’d just agreed to. He groaned quietly, muttering to himself, “This is going to be a disaster.” Somewhere, fate probably laughed.

Oscar Piastri regretted his life choices approximately twenty-three minutes after checking in at Heathrow.

Because apparently, Lando was the kind of travel companion who turned an international flight into a social event.

“Do you always talk to strangers?” Oscar muttered as Lando somehow got the flight attendant to laugh while storing his luggage.

“I’m charming,” Lando said, sliding effortlessly into the window seat. “People like me.”

Oscar deadpanned, “People tolerate you.”

“Same thing,” Lando replied cheerfully, leaning back. “You’re just mad because you didn’t think to ask for extra snacks.”

Oscar looked away, trying not to smile. It was ridiculous—he’d invited Lando, and yet somehow Lando was the one who made it look like he was doing Oscar a favor.

When the plane took off, Oscar put in his headphones. Lando, predictably, talked anyway. “So,” he said, nudging Oscar’s arm, “what’s the plan once we land?”

“Get to the villa, check in, sleep all day,” Oscar said flatly.

“No itinerary? No, like, sightseeing plans?”

“I didn’t exactly plan this as a leisure trip.”

Lando grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I did.” Oscar sighed. “Of course you did.”

Nine hours later, when the plane finally descended, the world outside turned into a watercolor, deep turquoise ocean fading into endless white sand, ringed by mountains draped in green.

Seychelles looked like something out of a movie warm air that felt like a hug, the smell of salt and sunlight, and a view so surreal that for a moment, even Oscar forgot he was here by accident.

They stepped off the plane, and instantly, Oscar’s carefully planned stoicism began to fall apart.

Because Lando—of course Lando had gone into the tiny airport bathroom before customs and re-emerged dressed like an influencer on vacation.

Gone was the hoodie and jeans. In their place a short-sleeved button-up patterned with palm leaves, linen shorts, and dark sunglasses that made him look too tan, too relaxed, and too comfortable with himself.

Oscar blinked. “You changed.”

Lando spread his arms, grinning. “We’re in paradise, mate. I adapt to my environment.”

“You look like a walking postcard.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Lando just laughed, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Come on, grumpy, we’ve got a car waiting.”

Oscar followed, trying very hard not to notice how good Lando looked against the bright light—his skin golden, his smile easy, his hair catching the sun like it remembered every summer they’d ever had together.

In contrast, Oscar wore a plain white t-shirt and black shorts. Comfortable, neutral, so practical.

Exactly the outfit Lando had seen him in countless times before and judging by the small smirk tugging at Lando’s lips, he remembered every one of them.

The drive from the airport wound along cliffs lined with palm trees, the road curving lazily as if it had nowhere urgent to be.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft flashes, and every so often the view opened up—perfect stretches of blue ocean breaking through the gaps, bright and endless, almost unreal.

Salt hung in the air, warm and clean, carried in through the open windows along with the distant hush of waves crashing far below.

Lando rolled the window down immediately, sticking his arm out into the wind like a kid, fingers cutting through the air.

“This is insane,” he said, grinning, turning his head to take everything in like he couldn’t look fast enough. “You’re telling me you weren’t planning to come here? Alone?”

“I was planning to not think about it,” Oscar said, eyes fixed somewhere ahead, steady on the road but not really seeing it.

“Well,” Lando said, settling deeper into his seat, “lucky for you, I’m great at not thinking.”

Oscar snorted, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. “Yeah. That’s your specialty.”

Lando laughed, easy and bright, the kind of laugh Oscar remembered too well. He tipped his head back slightly, letting the sun hit his face, eyes half-lidded like he belonged exactly here—like he always did, wherever he decided to be.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the hum of the car, the rush of wind, the ocean appearing and disappearing at the edge of Oscar’s vision.

It felt… familiar, too familiar. Lando glanced at him then, something softer flickering beneath the teasing. “You missed me.”

Oscar kept his gaze forward, jaw tightening just slightly. “Debatable.”

“Not really,” Lando said softly and somehow, Oscar didn’t argue.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it's full—like something unfinished stretching quietly between them, waiting.

By the time they arrived at the villa, the sun was dipping low painting the sky in shades of gold and peach.

The place was ridiculous an ocean-view villa with a private pool, open deck, and white curtains that fluttered in the sea breeze.

At the entrance, two smiling staff members greeted them with cold towels and floral leis—delicate necklaces made of fresh hibiscus and frangipani.

“Welcome to Seychelles!” the woman said warmly. “We hope you enjoy your stay at Mahé Island.” Her gaze flicked between them, her smile widening just slightly. “Congratulations on your honeymoon.”

Oscar blinked, Lando didn’t even hesitate. “Thank you,” he said easily, stepping forward like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Oscar turned to him sharply. “We’re not—” But the other staff member was already stepping closer, beaming as she gestured toward the ocean.

“Such a beautiful place to celebrate love,” she added, clearly delighted.

Lando bent slightly so she could place the necklace over his head, his grin wide and boyish. “It really is.”

Oscar accepted his a little more stiffly, heat creeping up his neck as he avoided eye contact.

“Enjoy your special trip,” the woman said again, giving them both a knowing look before stepping back.

They barely made it a few steps past the entrance before Oscar hissed, “Honeymoon?”

Lando glanced at him, completely unbothered. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“You could’ve corrected her.”

“Could have,” Lando agreed lightly, already walking toward the deck. “Didn’t want to.”

Oscar stared at him, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

Lando looked over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Relax, it got us upgraded energy.”

“You made that up.”

“Did I?” Oscar tried to ignore the way his chest did something weird at that.

“You look good in flowers,” Lando added, smirking. “Shut up,” Oscar muttered, cheeks warm.

But Lando only laughed—that same soft, easy sound that filled the space like sunlight.

Inside, the villa looked straight out of a travel brochure white walls, big windows, ocean view right from the bed.

There were two rooms, but one of them was clearly the main suite—huge bed, balcony, the works.

Oscar hesitated. “I’ll take the smaller one.”

Lando turned, tossing his bag onto the big bed. “Nah. You booked this—take it.” Oscar gave him a look. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Still here, though,” Lando said with a wink.

Later that evening, when Oscar stepped outside, Lando was already by the pool barefoot, shirt unbuttoned halfway, beer in hand, staring at the ocean like it personally belonged to him.

Oscar stood by the door for a moment, watching him—the slow, rhythmic sound of waves mixing with quiet laughter from somewhere down the beach.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not anymore but there it was. The familiar pull the same one that made falling for Lando feel inevitable once upon a time.

Lando turned his head slightly, catching him. “You coming out or just staring at me from the shadows?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, stepping forward. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” Lando said, grinning. “Already did.”

That night, the island settled into quiet waves against the shore, soft hum of crickets, and somewhere between them, a truce.

The faint dangerous feeling that paradise might be the worst place to try and forget someone.

Oscar woke to sunlight spilling through sheer white curtains, the sound of waves sliding lazily against the shore.

For a moment, he forgot where he was. The bed was too big, too soft. The air smelled faintly of salt and hibiscus.

It was too quiet—no city noise, no phones buzzing, no Lily humming next to him and then a voice cheerful, entirely too awake—called out from the terrace. “Morning, sleepyhead!”

Oscar groaned of course.

Dragging himself out of bed, he followed the smell of coffee to find Lando Norris already up, already barefoot, and somehow looking like an advertisement for island relaxation in human form.

He was wearing loose linen shorts, hair still damp from what was probably a morning swim, skin glinting gold in the early light. A pair of sunglasses rested on his head.

In front of him sat an almost comically extravagant breakfast spread fruit, toast, eggs, fresh juice like something out of a honeymoon package brochure.

“You ordered all this?” Oscar asked, blinking.

Lando looked at him, grinning. “No, it just appeared magically. Of course I did. The concierge said breakfast’s included.”

“I thought you were still asleep when I—”

“I wake up with the sun now,” Lando interrupted. “It’s my new island lifestyle.”

Oscar stared. “It’s not even twenty four hours.”

Lando shrugged, spreading jam on his toast. “I adapt quickly.”

Oscar poured himself a cup of coffee, trying to look unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Still made you smile,” Lando said without missing a beat.

“I’m grimacing.”

“You’re adorable.”

Oscar sighed, muttering something under his breath that sounded like this was a mistake but sat down anyway.

The morning sun warmed the wooden deck, painting the ocean in that almost unreal blue that only existed in travel magazines.

Seabirds wheeled overhead, and the sound of waves mixed with Lando humming—off key but happy.

For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Then, inevitably, Lando spoke. “So,” he said between bites, “what’s the plan for today?”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “Relax.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“No hiking, snorkeling, local markets, or finding ourselves moments?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “You can find yourself. I’m going to read and pretend none of this is real.”

Lando grinned. “Fun.”

Oscar arched a brow. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. You can go do your influencer routines or whatever you’re calling this new island lifestyle.”

Lando chuckled. “I might. But where’s the fun in leaving you here to brood alone?”

“I don’t brood.”

“You absolutely brood,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been brooding since I saw you at that café.”

Oscar opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. “…fine maybe a little.”

“Progress!” Lando beamed.

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you wanted me here anyway,” Lando said softly, that made Oscar pause—just long enough for Lando’s grin to fade into something smaller, almost tender.

They held each other’s gaze for a second too long before Lando broke it, reaching for a slice of pineapple.

“So,” he said, casually again, “how about a swim later? The beach is right there.” Oscar hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Perfect.” Lando smiled. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

An hour later, Oscar walked down the path to the beach simple black swim trunks, towel slung over his shoulder, trying to look nonchalant about the fact that his ex was waiting for him shirtless by the water.

Lando turned as he approached, hair slicked back from the sea, droplets catching sunlight on his skin.

Oscar froze for half a second, mentally cursing the universe. “About time,” Lando called, grinning. “I thought you bailed.”

“Yeah, well,” Oscar said, kicking off his sandals, “I had to mentally prepare for whatever this is.”

“This,” Lando said, spreading his arms dramatically toward the horizon, “is paradise.”

Oscar walked into the surf beside him, cool water washing around his ankles. “Feels too good for two people who definitely shouldn’t be on vacation together.”

Lando smirked. “Maybe that’s what makes it interesting.” Oscar glanced at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,” Lando said easily. “I’m here with you.”

Oscar looked away, pretending to focus on the waves. “You really haven’t changed.” Lando smiled faintly. “You have, though.”

Oscar blinked. “What do you mean?”

Lando’s gaze softened. “You used to laugh more. I’m gonna fix that.”

And before Oscar could reply, Lando dove straight into the water, splashing him completely. Oscar sputtered, shouting, “Lando! you’re insane!”

Lando surfaced, laughing so hard he could barely stay afloat. “Told you! Adapted to island life!”

Oscar glared at him then, against his better judgment, laughed.

By the time the sun began to set, the beach had turned golden, and both of them were stretched out on towels, watching the light sink behind the horizon.

It was easy, suddenly. The kind of peace Oscar hadn’t felt in months, maybe years. “Still think this was a bad idea?” Lando murmured, voice low, lazy.

Oscar smiled faintly, eyes still on the waves. “Ask me again in a week.”

Lando chuckled, turning his head to look at him. “Deal.”

The last bit of sunlight kissed the ocean, the air warm and soft between them and in that quiet, somewhere between nostalgia and something new, Oscar realized maybe this trip wasn’t such a mistake after all.

The next morning, the smell of coffee drifted through the villa before Oscar even opened his eyes.

Somewhere beyond the curtain, waves whispered against the sand, steady as breathing. He rolled out of bed, stretching, blinking at the sunlight spilling through the glass doors.

A warm breeze brushed through the room, and for a moment, he forgot where he was again—until he heard a clatter of dishes and Lando swearing softly from the kitchen.

Oscar groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t break something.”

“Nope!” Lando called then, after a pause “Almost did, though.”

Oscar stepped into the kitchen to find Lando exactly how he remembered from years ago messy-haired, barefoot, wearing only a pair of soft gray shorts and a shirt that looked like it hadn’t decided if it wanted to stay buttoned or not.

He was standing at the counter, halfway through slicing fruit, and somehow still managing to look like he belonged here.

Oscar leaned against the doorway. “You’ve turned into one of those holiday people who wake up cheerful, haven’t you?”

Lando grinned, not looking up. “Maybe I’m just naturally radiant.”

Oscar snorted. “You’re naturally something.”

“Admit it,” Lando said, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re impressed I didn’t burn the place down making breakfast.”

“Barely.”

Lando chuckled, handing him a mug of coffee. “Peace offering.”

Oscar accepted it reluctantly though the first sip nearly made him sigh out loud. It was good. Warm, rich, perfectly brewed.

He mumbled, “Okay, fine. This is decent.” Lando smirked. “See? I’m full of surprises.”

Oscar raised a brow. “You were never full of surprises. You were full of chaos.”

“That’s just my brand of surprise,” Lando said, setting two plates on the table outside.

They ate on the terrace again, barefoot, with sunlight dancing across the pool. The air was soft and sticky with sea salt.

Lando’s hair was still damp from a quick swim, falling over his forehead in a way Oscar used to tease him about.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Just the sounds of waves, the occasional bird, and the quiet scrape of forks against plates.

Then, softly, Lando said, “This feels weirdly familiar.”

Oscar looked up. “How so?”

“Like…our mornings back then,” Lando said, his voice light but his eyes somewhere else.

“You, sipping coffee first and me trying to cook something without setting off the smoke alarm. You pretending to hate it.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t pretend.”

“You did,” Lando said easily. “You still ate it every time.” Oscar smiled into his coffee. “Because I didn’t want to starve.”

“You didn’t want to hurt my feelings,” Lando said quietly.

Oscar looked at him—then really looked—and for a split second, he saw it, the faint flicker of them from four years ago, laughing in a cramped apartment kitchen, Lando barefoot and humming badly, Oscar trying not to smile as he failed to fix the toaster.

He cleared his throat, setting his mug down. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“I try not to,” Lando said with a little laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Silence again, gentle but heavy. Finally, Oscar said, “You know…we weren’t always terrible.”

Lando smiled faintly, gaze on the horizon. “No. We were really good for a while.” That quiet truth settled between them, warm and sad all at once.

Then Lando, being Lando, grinned suddenly. “And then you ruined it by getting a real job.”

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. “Right, because responsibility’s the enemy.”

“Of fun? Absolutely,” Lando answered. The tension broke, laughter spilling easily again.

When breakfast was done, Lando leaned back in his chair, sun catching on his tanned skin, and said, “We should go out later.

The resort staff said there’s a market down the road music, food, locals.. could be fun.”

Oscar hesitated, torn between caution and curiosity. “You just want to drag me into chaos, don’t you?”

Lando grinned, eyes glinting. “Come on, engineer boy. Live a little.”

Oscar sighed the kind that sounded annoyed but wasn’t. “Fine. But if I end up carrying your shopping bags, I’m leaving you there.”

“Deal.”

Lando stood, stretching, sunlight painting gold across his shoulders. “An afternoon adventure it is.”

Oscar watched him walk away toward the deck that same easy stride, that same mess of hair and lightness, that had always followed him and for the first time since arriving, Oscar realized he was smiling without trying.

By midday, the island was alive with color.

Down the hill from their villa, a small local market stretched along the beach road bright stalls draped in fabrics, handmade jewelry, carved wooden turtles, and spices that filled the air with the scent of cinnamon and sea salt.

Oscar followed half a step behind Lando, mostly because Lando moved like a kid in a candy store, darting from stall to stall with the attention span of a seagull.

“Look at this!” Lando said, holding up a loud, patterned shirt. “Tell me this doesn’t scream tropical chic.”

Oscar squinted. “That screams midlife crisis.”

Lando pouted. “You have no taste!”

“I have eyes.”

Lando rolled his own dramatically and turned back to the vendor, switching effortlessly into the kind of polite charm that made strangers adore him.

Within thirty seconds, he’d convinced the old man behind the stall to knock off ten percent and to tell him the story behind every pattern.

Oscar watched, amused despite himself. Lando’s laugh blended with the noise of the crowd, warm and easy.

“You’re enjoying this,” Lando said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

Oscar’s face immediately went neutral. “No, I’m not.” Lando grinned. “Caught you.”

Oscar sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Lando said, bumping his shoulder lightly as they walked, “you invited me.”

Oscar groaned. “If I had a dollar for every time you said that—”

“You’d be rich enough to extend our stay,” Lando said, laughing.

After the market—a blur of color, laughter, and Lando somehow ending up with two bracelets and a questionable straw hat they made their way down to the harbor.

The afternoon light was lazy and golden, the ocean calm as glass. A few locals offered short boat rides out along the coast, and before Oscar could object, Lando was already handing over cash.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Oscar toward the small wooden boat tied to the dock. “You can’t come to Seychelles and not see the reefs.”

Oscar eyed the boat skeptically. “That thing looks like it’s one good wave away from sinking.”

“Live dangerously,” Lando said, climbing in.

Oscar muttered, “Said every idiot before dying dramatically,” but followed anyway.

The boat rocked gently as they drifted away from the shore. The driver chatted in soft Creole, pointing out tiny islands and coral patches beneath the clear water. Lando leaned over the side, grinning like a child.

“Look at that,” he said, peering down. “You can see fish from here—oh, shit—” The moment happened in a blur.

Lando leaned too far. The boat tilted sharply. His hand shot out to steady himself but missed.

For a split second, Oscar saw the inevitable happening, Lando tipping clean over into the ocean before pure instinct kicked in.

Oscar grabbed his wrist, hard. Lando’s body jerked forward, momentum colliding them chest to chest, the boat wobbling dangerously.

They froze. Lando’s breath hitched, fingers curled instinctively into Oscar’s shirt. His sunglasses slipped down his nose, and when he looked up, he was close enough for Oscar to see the small flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

For one impossible second, the world went still just the ocean, the wind, and the sound of both their breathing.

Then Oscar muttered, low and rough, “You’re an idiot.” Lando’s mouth curved, soft. “You caught me, though.”

Oscar exhaled sharply, releasing him but not quite stepping back. “Only because I don’t want to explain to immigration why my ex drowned on day two.”

Lando grinned. “So you do care.” Oscar gave him a flat look. “Barely.”

But his heart was doing that dangerous thing again beating a little too fast, a little too familiar.

When they got back to shore, Lando was still laughing about it, dripping saltwater from his hand where he’d splashed himself for effect.

“You nearly flipped the boat,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “Worth it,” Lando said, still smiling.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

Lando looked at him, tone lighter but his eyes not. “I’ll try not to be.”

Oscar didn’t have a reply for that instead, he said, “Dinner?”

Lando’s grin returned. “Now you’re talking.”

That evening, they found a small seaside café lit by lanterns, the sound of waves rolling softly just beyond the tables.

Over grilled fish and cold beer, they talked about work, about how the city had changed, about stupid things that didn’t matter.

Somewhere between the laughter and the easy teasing, Oscar realized he was actually…enjoying himself.

For once, the ache in his chest felt lighter. Lando raised his glass toward him, smiling. “To not drowning.”

Oscar clinked his glass with a sigh. “To your questionable life choices.”

Their laughter blended with the ocean breeze, easy and warm and for the first time since everything fell apart, Oscar thought maybe, just maybe—he didn’t regret asking Lando to this.

The night fell slow and heavy over the island.

Somewhere down the beach, faint music drifted through the palms, but up at the villa it was quiet—only the steady hush of waves against the shore and the soft crackle of the porch lanterns.

Oscar sat on the couch outside, feet propped on the low table, a half-empty bottle of beer beside him.

The sea was black glass and the sky littered with stars so clear it almost hurt to look at them.

He heard Lando before he saw him—the creak of the deck boards, the soft thud of bare feet. “Couldn’t sleep?” Lando asked, voice low, a little rough around the edges from salt and sun.

Oscar shook his head. “Too much going on in this head.”

Lando eased down beside him, handing over another bottle. “That’s dangerous.”

Oscar gave a weak laugh. “Apparently.”

They sat there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, the air warm and close. The kind of quiet that only existed when you’d run out of small talk.

Then Lando said, softly, “You don’t have to tell me, but… what really happened? With her.”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the water until his reflection blurred. “She said she loved me,” he began, voice careful, “but she didn’t understand what we were becoming.”

He let out a quiet breath. “She wanted clarity. Something defined. A future that felt certain.”

Lando glanced at him, brow furrowed. “And you couldn’t give that?”

Oscar shook his head slightly, gaze still fixed ahead. “I didn’t know how to. I didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean yet.” A small, humorless smile. “I thought we had time to figure it out.”

The waves rolled in, steady, indifferent.

“She didn’t want time,” Oscar continued. “She wanted an answer. And I didn’t have one.”

Lando was quiet for a moment. “So she left.”

“Yeah.” Oscar’s voice softened. Then, almost defensively, “I mean… I thought it was clear. We were planning a wedding.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head.

“Fuck, the wedding was two weeks away when she told me she couldn’t do it.” His jaw tightened slightly. “I thought that meant something. That she’d know I was serious about her.”

His fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. “But I guess… she wanted to hear it. Not just assume it.”

Lando took a sip of his beer, gaze distant. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t care.”

“I did,” Oscar said, finally looking at him. “I just… didn’t know how to prove it in the way she needed.”

Lando’s expression shifted, something thoughtful settling in. “You always were better at showing up than saying things out loud.”

Oscar huffed a quiet breath. “Turns out that’s not always enough.”

Silence stretched again—comfortable, but aching at the edges.

After a while, Lando spoke, softer still. “You know, I think I owe you an apology.”

Oscar frowned. “For what?”

“For how I left,” Lando said. “Four years ago. I was an idiot. You wanted something solid, and I was…restless. Always chasing the next thing, the next trip, the next rush. I told myself it was freedom, but really, I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of you being right,” Lando said simply. “That love could be quiet and still mean everything.”

He hesitated, then looked away, fingers picking at nothing. “And—” he huffed a quiet breath, almost embarrassed. “You’ve got a new job now. A good one. Everything’s… sorted for you.”

Oscar’s brows knit together slightly.

Lando shrugged, like he was trying to make it sound like nothing. “I just think maybe you’re too shiny for me now.” A small, crooked smile. “And I’m still just… me.”

Something in Oscar’s chest tightened.

Oscar didn’t know what to say to that. His throat felt tight, the kind of tight that comes from too many unsaid things. He finally murmured, “We were young.”

Lando’s laugh was small and sad. “We’re still young.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “But now we know how to mess up slower.”

That made Lando laugh for real, warm and genuine, and it pulled a smile from Oscar before he could stop it.

They kept talking, voices drifting lower as the night deepened—about old apartments and broken toasters, about work, about the stupid song that used to wake them up on Saturdays.

At some point, Lando’s head found the back of the couch, tilting toward Oscar. Oscar’s arm brushed his shoulder, and neither moved away.

The sea kept whispering. The lantern light grew dim. Lando’s voice, barely a murmur now “You know what I miss?”

Oscar hummed. “What?”

“Falling asleep next to you. It was…easy.”

Oscar’s chest ached in that quiet, familiar way. He didn’t answer—just let the silence fill in for him.

Minutes, maybe an hour later, the conversation faded into drowsy breaths. Lando shifted, half-asleep, his shoulder pressed against Oscar’s arm.

Oscar let his head fall back too, eyes fluttering shut.

By the time the moon slipped behind the clouds, both of them were asleep on the porch—too close, too familiar, and maybe, finally, not running from it anymore.

It's mid-afternoon when the island sky had gone strange—bruised purple clouds rolling in from the horizon, the kind that meant rain heavy enough to drown out thought.

Oscar had seen storms like this in pictures. He hadn’t expected to watch one swallow the ocean in real time.

Inside the villa, the air felt close and electric. Wind slipped through the shutters, stirring the curtains and carrying the smell of rain.

Lando stood barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, humming off-key while trying to rescue dinner.

“Please tell me you actually know what you’re doing,” Oscar said from the counter.

Lando grinned over his shoulder. “Define know.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’ll be fine. I watched a video.”

Oscar groaned but stayed where he was, watching Lando move around the small kitchen like he belonged there—hair damp, cheeks pink from heat, salt clinging to his skin.

The sound of rain started soft against the roof, then louder, until the whole world seemed to hum with it.

By the time thunder cracked, dinner was chaos. The power flickered, the sauce boiled over, and Lando was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“Stop laughing, you’re burning it!” Oscar said, snatching the pan off the stove.

“It’s fine!” Lando doubled over, clutching his stomach. “You’re such a control freak!”

“I’m trying to not die of food poisoning!” They dissolved into helpless laughter again, shoulders bumping, both breathless and damp with heat.

When the lights finally steadied, something in the air shifted—laughter fading into the soft rush of rain, the steady crackle of thunder somewhere far off.

Lando turned first, still smiling, but it softened at the edges. “See? Not so bad.”

Oscar looked at him, smile fading too. “You’ve said that before.”

“When?”

“Barcelona,” Oscar said quietly. “Right before everything went to hell.”

Lando’s breath caught. The rain filled the silence between them. “I didn’t mean for it to,” Lando said after a moment. “I was scared and stupid.”

Oscar stepped a little closer. “And now?”

Lando’s eyes met his. “Still scared.”

Thunder rolled. The power flickered again, dimming the lights to a faint glow.

For a second neither moved, both of them standing too close in the half dark—Lando’s hands still holding the dish towel, Oscar’s breath shallow in his chest.

It would’ve been easy. Just a lean forward, a shared breath, a heartbeat and then it happened.

Lando’s hand brushed against Oscar’s wrist, a soft touch that pulled every memory back at once.

Oscar froze, then leaned in without thinking—slow, hesitant, the space between them dissolving until their foreheads almost touched.

Lando’s breath hitched, eyes flicking down to Oscar’s mouth—then he pulled back, sudden and sharp, shaking his head. “We shouldn’t.”

The words fell heavy between them, louder than the thunder outside. Oscar’s voice came quiet, rough. “We never should, or we never did?”

Lando’s eyes closed for half a heartbeat—too long, too telling. Then he stepped back, forcing a small smile. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

Oscar didn’t move. The rain beat harder against the roof, matching the pulse in his throat.

“Right,” he said finally, voice low. “Dinner.”

They ate in silence—two plates between them, both pretending the air wasn’t charged, pretending their hands hadn’t almost found each other again.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, everything else did too.

Morning came slow and gray, the storm finally thinning into a light drizzle that left the villa wrapped in fog.

Everything smelled faintly of rain and sea salt—fresh, but heavy.

Oscar woke first, disoriented, his neck stiff from having fallen asleep sideways on the couch. The plate from last night’s half-eaten dinner sat on the table.

The room felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that follows after something you don’t know how to talk about.

Lando was already awake, sitting on the porch with a mug of coffee, knees pulled up, eyes fixed on the water still churning below.

Oscar lingered in the doorway for a moment.

He looked tired—hair messy, shirt creased, sunlight pale across his face. Still beautiful, of course, in that effortless Lando way that always made Oscar’s chest feel complicated.

“Morning,” Oscar said, voice low. Lando glanced over his shoulder. “Hey.” Neither smiled.

Oscar stepped out, taking the empty seat beside him. “You were up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Lando said. “Too loud.”

“The storm?”

“The thoughts.”

Oscar swallowed. “Yeah. Same.”

The ocean stretched endless in front of them, gray and restless. Neither said anything for a long while. The sound of waves filled the silence—soft, insistent.

Finally, Lando broke it. “About last night…”

Oscar stared at the horizon. “Yeah?”

Lando exhaled slowly, the words catching somewhere between apology and confession. “I didn’t mean to— I just, it’s hard being around you again. Feels like my brain forgot we’re not… us.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened around his mug. “You think I forgot?” Lando looked at him then, eyes sharp and tired. “You act like it.”

Oscar turned, meeting his gaze. “I’m trying not to make things harder than they already are.”

“By pretending nothing ever happened?”

“What do you want me to do, Lando?” Oscar snapped, sudden heat in his voice. “You walked away. You left, you don’t get to show up again and expect everything to make sense.”

Lando blinked, stunned for a second, but didn’t flinch. “You’re right. I don’t but I didn’t come here to rewrite history, Oscar. You invited me.”

“I didn’t invite you to open old wounds.”

“Then why did you?” Lando’s tone softened, but it cut sharper. “Why me? Out of everyone you could’ve asked?”

Oscar froze, lips parting but no answer coming. Because he didn’t have one that wouldn’t sound like the truth.

Lando leaned back, shaking his head. “You could’ve gone alone, but you didn’t. You could’ve picked Carlos, Max, anyone. But you asked me. You knew what that meant.”

Oscar’s voice came quieter, strained. “I didn’t think it through.”

“Yeah,” Lando said softly. “That’s kind of our problem, isn’t it?”

Silence again, thick and alive. The waves crashed harder, filling every pause between breaths. Finally, Oscar muttered, “You make it sound like I planned to… feel all this again.”

Lando gave a sad little laugh. “You think I didn’t?”

Oscar looked up. Their eyes met—old frustration, regret, and something else humming underneath.

“I hate that you can still make me feel like this,” Oscar said, voice breaking a little.

“I hate that I let you go,” Lando replied quietly.

The honesty stung. It sat between them, fragile and real. After a long pause, Oscar sighed. “Maybe we were right back then. Maybe we weren’t good for each other.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Maybe or maybe we just weren’t ready.”

He turned his head, watching the surf, the corners of his mouth tightening into something like peace. “Either way, we can’t fix the past.”

“No,” Oscar agreed. “But we don’t have to ruin the present, either.” Lando looked at him again—searching, uncertain. “What are you saying?”

Oscar’s tone softened. “We stop trying to figure it out. No more fights, no more… whatever last night was. We just—enjoy the trip.”

Lando studied him for a long moment, then nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said. “A truce.”

Oscar extended his hand halfway, hesitant. “Temporary ceasefire.” Lando smiled faintly and shook it. “Fine. But you’re still buying lunch.”

Oscar huffed a laugh, tension breaking just enough. “Typical.”

They sat there for a while longer, watching the clouds thin over the ocean. The sunlight broke through in pieces—soft and warm, like the world itself was trying again.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something that looked a little like hope.

The day rose hot and bright, the kind of sun that made the ocean shimmer like glass. The storm had washed the air clean, leaving everything too blue, too alive.

It should’ve felt awkward after what they’d said in the morning. But instead, something between them had shifted—easier, lighter, like they’d finally stopped holding their breath.

Lando was already outside when Oscar came out, lying on a deck chair with sunglasses perched on his nose, skin glinting gold under the sun.

“Truce still active?” Lando asked without looking up.

Oscar poured himself coffee. “Until you say something annoying.”

“So… twenty minutes?”

“Ten.”

Lando laughed, a full, warm sound that melted whatever walls were left.

They spent the morning swimming—the water cool and impossibly clear. Oscar dove beneath the surface, eyes open to coral and flashes of color below.

When he came up, Lando was floating lazily on his back, sunlight haloing his skin, hair plastered to his forehead. “You look like a sea otter,” Oscar said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lando replied, flipping water in his direction. “It wasn’t.”

“Still taking it.” They grinned at each other, and for a brief, quiet moment, the world narrowed to sunlight and laughter.

Afterward, they wandered down the beach, dripping seawater, stopping at a small stand selling homemade ice cream.

The old man behind the counter smiled and handed them two cones—coconut for Lando, mango for Oscar.

Lando licked his, then tilted his head. “You’ve got something.”

Oscar frowned. “Where?”

“Right here.” Lando gestured vaguely toward his cheek. Oscar wiped at it. “Did I get it?”

“Nope. Here.” Lando reached out without thinking, thumb brushing the corner of Oscar’s mouth. The touch was light, almost nothing but the second stretched, slow and fragile.

Oscar’s breath hitched, heart kicking hard in his chest. Lando dropped his hand quickly, stepping back with a half-smile. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said quietly.

“Anytime,” Lando murmured, turning toward the waves again.

By late afternoon, the sun was merciless. They’d dragged a pair of towels under a palm tree near the water, the sand hot beneath them. “You’re going to burn,” Oscar said, glancing over at Lando. “I’m fine.”

“You’re pink.”

“I’m tanned,” Lando insisted, but he winced when Oscar poked his shoulder.

Oscar sighed, shaking his head. “Stay there.”

He got up, returned a minute later with a bottle of aloe from the villa. Lando groaned. “You’re not seriously—”

“Shut up,” Oscar said, kneeling beside him. “You’ll thank me when you can move tomorrow.”

He squeezed a bit of the gel onto his hand, cool against his skin, then smoothed it gently across Lando’s shoulders.

The moment stretched—soft, quiet, too intimate for what it was. Lando’s breath hitched again, a low hum escaping him. “You’re good at this.”

“Stay still,” Oscar muttered, but his voice wasn’t steady.

Lando turned his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, grin lazy. “Didn’t know you cared so much.” Oscar’s hands paused. “I don’t.”

Lando smiled wider. “You always say that when you do.”

“Lando.”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense—it was thick, humming. The air smelled of salt and aloe and something neither of them wanted to name.

Oscar’s fingers moved slower now, tracing the edge of Lando’s shoulder, down the curve of his arm. Lando’s lashes fluttered a small sound left his throat, soft and involuntary.

Oscar stopped. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, turning to meet his eyes. “Just feels nice. You being careful.” Oscar’s chest tightened. “I’m trying not to make it weird.”

Lando smiled faintly. “It’s already weird. Might as well enjoy it.” They both laughed, too quietly.

When Oscar finished, he sat back, trying to ignore the way his palms still tingled. Lando leaned back on his elbows, gaze on the ocean. “Thanks, doctor,” he teased.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome, patient.”

“Not bad bedside manner,” Lando said, smirking.

“Don’t push it.” But Lando just laughed again, warm and easy and something in Oscar’s chest loosened.

That night, back at the villa, they watched the sunset from the deck—orange fading into pink, the horizon swallowing the day.

Lando leaned his head back, sighing happily. “Best truce ever.” Oscar glanced at him. “You mean best vacation ever.”

“Same thing,” Lando said, looking at him sideways, smile soft. “You look good when you’re not overthinking everything, you know.”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“Just saying,” Lando said, shrugging. “You look… lighter. I missed that.” Oscar’s heart gave a traitorous thud. “You’re saying too much.”

Lando grinned. “That’s new?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, shaking his head but he was smiling now, really smiling, the kind that reached his eyes.

The night settled warm and quiet. Somewhere inside, two toothbrushes sat side by side on the counter.

They didn’t talk about what that meant. They didn’t need to.

The day bled into a soft, heavy evening—one of those island nights where the air felt slow, sweet, and full of possibility.

The horizon glowed deep orange, the sound of waves rolled in steady and low.

Dinner was casual. Barefoot at the villa’s deck, plates balanced on their knees, laughter mingling with the ocean breeze.

Oscar felt loose in his skin for once. He wasn’t thinking about London, or Lily, or anything that came before.

It was just him and Lando, and the easy rhythm of now.

Until it wasn’t.

Lando was halfway through another joke—something about how Oscar’s “resting engineer face” scared the hotel staff—when he stopped mid-laugh, looking at Oscar in that open, unguarded way that always made him forget what to do with his hands.

“What?” Oscar asked, smiling faintly.

Lando shook his head. “Nothing just… you’re different here.”

“How so?”

“You're more relax, and real.”

Oscar frowned a little. “I’m always real.” Lando’s voice dropped lower. “Not like this.”

Oscar turned to the water, suddenly too aware of the closeness, of Lando’s knee brushing his. “Don’t start,” he murmured.

“Start what?”

“Whatever this is.”

Lando leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You know what this is.” Oscar’s chest tightened. “Don’t.”

But Lando’s tone stayed quiet, steady. “I never really got over you, Oscar.”

The words landed like a punch—gentle but direct, slicing through the warm night. Oscar froze. “Lando—”

“I thought I did,” Lando went on, his voice shaking just a little. “I tried. Other people, other places. But every time something felt right, it just… wasn’t. Not in the way you were.”

“Lando.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lando said quickly, eyes searching his. “I just—needed to say it. You don’t get over someone who knows you that well. You just… wait for the part of you that misses them to stop hurting.”

Oscar stared at him, jaw tight. His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

He wanted to say something, anything—but everything inside him felt like it was spiraling. “Why would you tell me that?” he said finally, too sharp.

Lando blinked. “Because it’s true.”

“You think that helps?” Oscar stood, pacing toward the railing. “You think dropping that in the middle of a holiday makes everything fine?”

“No,” Lando said softly. “But pretending it isn’t there doesn’t either.”

Oscar turned around, frustrated and confused and aching. “You left, Lando. You decided you didn’t want—you thought you couldn’t do it. That I was… too much, or too right, or whatever it was.” His voice tightened. “And now you’re here, what, saying you’ve changed?”

“I did change,” Lando said, voice firmer now. “I grew up. I know what I lost.”

Oscar let out a small, humorless laugh. “And you think I’m just supposed to—what—forget everything that happened? Pick up where we left off?”

Lando’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t know what I think. I just know I meant it. I never stopped caring.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, struggling for breath that wouldn’t come out shaky. “You always do this. You say something that cracks everything open and expect me to handle it.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” Lando said, standing now, closer than before. “I just—wanted to be honest for once.”

“Well, congratulations,” Oscar said tightly. “You did it.”

The words were sharper than he meant. The second they left his mouth, guilt hit him hard.

Lando’s jaw tightened. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Right. Okay.” He stepped back, the air between them suddenly colder. “I’ll give you space.”

“Lando—” But he was already turning, barefoot against the deck, heading down the stairs toward the beach.

Oscar stayed there, frozen, watching him go—Lando’s silhouette small against the dark sand, swallowed by the night and the sound of waves.

The villa felt too quiet after. Oscar sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. His chest felt tight, too full of everything he didn’t say.

He wasn’t angry at Lando—not really. He was angry at himself. Because hearing Lando say it had woken something he’d spent years trying to smother.

He wanted to believe he’d moved on, that Lily had been proof he could. But now, under the Seychelles moon, he wasn’t so sure.

The truth pressed down like a tide he wasn’t indifferent. He never had been.

Outside, down on the beach, Lando stood ankle-deep in the surf, staring at the horizon where the water met the dark. The waves broke softly around him.

He tilted his head back, eyes tracing the scattered stars above—bright, distant, uncaring.

A quiet breath left him. “Stupid, Lando…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, like maybe saying it out loud would knock some sense into him.

“Always the same, yeah?” The words disappeared into the wind, swallowed by the sound of the ocean.

He let the cool air fill his lungs, tried to let it wash the ache away. Above him, the villa lights glowed faintly through the palms.

Neither of them slept much that night. One waiting for morning.

The other trying to find the courage to go back.

The sunrise came soft and gold, stretching thin across the horizon. The waves looked gentler now, like even the sea knew they’d both had enough chaos for one night.

Oscar didn’t sleep. He’d spent the early hours sitting on the porch with cold coffee, listening to the ocean and hating how empty the villa felt without Lando’s laugh filling it.

He saw him before he heard him—a familiar silhouette walking back from the beach, barefoot, shirt half unbuttoned, the early light catching in his hair.

Lando slowed when their eyes met. “Hey.” Oscar’s voice came quiet. “Hey.”

They stood there a long moment, neither moving. The air smelled of salt and morning. “Couldn’t stay away?” Oscar asked finally, a weak attempt at humor.

Lando huffed out a small laugh. “Didn’t really sleep. The sand’s not great for thinking.”

Oscar’s chest twisted—that familiar ache that sat somewhere between fondness and regret. He nodded toward the deck. “Come inside. Coffee’s still warm.”

They sat opposite each other, steam curling up between them. For a while, it was just the sound of waves and the faint clink of mugs.

Then Lando said softly, “I shouldn’t have dropped that on you last night. It wasn’t fair.” Oscar looked up. “You were honest.”

“Yeah, but honesty at the wrong time still hurts.”

Oscar let out a quiet laugh. “Seems to be our specialty.” Lando smiled, but it was small, careful. “Do you hate me?”

Oscar frowned. “No.”

“You should.”

“I tried,” Oscar said, eyes flicking to the sea. “Didn’t stick.” Lando’s breath hitched, just slightly.

Oscar sighed, setting his mug down. “You’re right, you know. I could’ve gone alone. I could’ve taken anyone else. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” Lando asked quietly.

Oscar looked at him then, really looked—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he never quite stopped fidgeting when he was nervous.

“Because,” Oscar said slowly, “I think I was still waiting for something that felt like home and as much as I tried to pretend otherwise… that’s always been you.”

Lando blinked, stunned for a heartbeat, his mouth opening then closing again. Oscar went on, voice steady but soft.

“I thought I wanted to start over with someone new,” he admitted. “But maybe I just wanted to start over right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was alive.  Lando’s fingers tightened around his mug. Then, almost in a whisper “You really mean that?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Lando’s laugh came out half-broken, half-relieved. “You always did know how to ruin a guy’s walls.”

Oscar smiled faintly. “You built them too high.”

“Guess we both did.”

They sat there like that for a long while not rushing it, not defining it, just letting the air between them breathe again.

Then Lando reached out, hesitating only a second before resting his hand lightly on Oscar’s. “So what now?”

Oscar’s thumb brushed the edge of his knuckles. “Now? We finish the trip. We don’t overthink it, we just…be.”

Lando smiled, a small, certain curve of his lips. “And if being turns into something more?” Oscar met his eyes, calm for the first time in days. “Then we don’t fight it this time.”

Later, as the sun climbed higher, they walked down to the beach together barefoot, quiet, the morning light glinting off the waves.

They stopped by the edge of the water. Lando turned to him, eyes soft, searching. “I don’t want to screw this up again,” he said.

Oscar smiled. “Then don’t.” It was that simple, that terrifying. Lando took a breath, stepped closer, and kissed him.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded or proved anything. It was slow, careful, like rediscovering something you thought was gone but had just been waiting.

When they pulled apart, Lando rested his forehead against Oscar’s. “Feels like we’re right where we should’ve been.”

Oscar smiled, fingers still brushing Lando’s. “Maybe we finally are.”

They stood there for a while—two silhouettes against the sea, sunlight breaking over them.

No grand promises, no perfect endings. It's just beginning that finally felt like the right one.

Their last morning in Seychelles came soft and golden, the light spilling through the open curtains, the smell of sea salt drifting in with the breeze.

The villa looked lived in now—towels drying on the deck, two mugs on the table, a pair of shoes kicked carelessly by the door.

It didn’t look like a place for strangers anymore. It looked like a memory already forming.

Oscar stood by the window, watching the waves roll gently onto the sand. Lando was behind him, folding clothes into his suitcase with all the precision of someone trying not to think about what came next.

“Flight’s at two,” Lando said quietly.

Oscar nodded, still staring out. “Yeah.” A pause.

“You’re quiet,” Lando added.

Oscar smiled faintly. “You always say that when I’m thinking.”

“Because you never stop thinking,” Lando said, chuckling softly. Then his voice gentled. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Oscar turned then, watching him—hair a little messy, sleeves rolled, skin still sun-warm. He looked at peace, in that rare, quiet way he’d always wished for him.

Oscar took a deep breath. “There’s something I want to give you before we go.”

Lando tilted his head. “You didn’t need to get me a souvenir, you know. I’m already taking half the sand in my shoes.”

Oscar smiled at that, but there was a nervous edge to it. “It’s not that.”

He crossed the room and pulled open the top drawer of his suitcase. Inside was a small velvet box—the one he’d brought without really knowing why.

Lando’s expression softened immediately. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” Oscar said quietly. “Lily gave them back when she ended things.”

He opened the box, revealing the two simple gold bands that caught the morning light.

“I thought about throwing them away,” Oscar said, voice low. “But I didn’t. I guess… some part of me wanted to wait until I knew what to do with them.”

Lando didn’t say anything. His gaze was steady, warm, and maybe a little uncertain.

Oscar looked down at the rings, turning one between his fingers. His thumb traced the edge like he was grounding himself.

“I know I just got my wedding cancelled,” he said softly. “And I know what this probably looks like…like I’m moving too fast.”

Lando’s brows pulled together slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Oscar exhaled, then looked up at him. “But this isn’t that.”

He stepped closer, holding the box between them. “I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not asking for promises, or… anything like that.”

A small, almost self-conscious smile flickered across his face. “I think I’ve learned my lesson there.”

Lando huffed a quiet breath at that, something fond in it.

“I just—” Oscar paused, then steadied himself. “I want you to have it, keep it. Let time do whatever it’s going to do with us.”

His voice softened, more certain now. “And I’m not going anywhere, Lan.”

The room went quiet in a way that felt full instead of empty.

Lando’s expression shifted—something deeper, something that landed right in his chest. He looked down at the rings, then back at Oscar.

“You’re serious.”

Oscar nodded once. “Yeah.”

Lando stepped forward slowly, like he was closing a distance that had been there for years. He reached out, taking the box from Oscar’s hands—careful, deliberate.

He turned one of the rings in his fingers, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You always did have terrible timing.”

Oscar let out a quiet laugh. “Guess it’s fitting we found it now, then.”

Lando glanced up at him, eyes softer than before, something settled behind them now.

He slid one ring onto his own finger, then took Oscar’s hand—warm, steady—and slipped the other onto his. “Now it’s ours,” he said simply.

Oscar’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak, so instead he just smiled—small, real, the kind of smile that carried every unsaid word.

Lando stepped closer, forehead brushing his. “So what now, engineer boy?”

Oscar breathed out a soft laugh. “Now we go home. See where home really is.”

Lando smiled, eyes glinting in the light. “As long as it’s not too far from you, I’m good.”

They left the villa hand in hand, the ocean stretching wide and endless behind them.

The flower necklaces hung by the door, faintly wilted but still fragrant—like something beautiful that had lasted longer than it was supposed to.

The plane would take them back to London, to the noise and the rain and the unknown.

But for the first time, the idea didn’t scare either of them. Because this time, they weren’t starting over from scratch.

They were just starting over right.