Archive of Our Own

— Do you think I’m crazy, Carlos? — Lando asked, standing a few meters away from the café, looking at his friend.

Carlos let out a nasal laugh, adjusting the strap of his equipment bag before crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at Lando. He knew that expression; it was the same one Lando had when he found the perfect location for a photoshoot, but with an extra touch of adorable panic that only the counter of that café seemed capable of causing.

— Crazy? No, Lando. “Crazy” implies you’ve lost your reason. What you lost was your sense of shame — Carlos replied, teasing his friend with a light shove on the shoulder. — You’re an award-winning photographer, you travel the world capturing high fashion models, and here you are, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, trembling because a boy in an apron with flour-stained hands gave you a more enthusiastic “good morning” on a Tuesday.

Lando huffed, running a hand through his messy hair and checking, for the tenth time, if the lens cap was secured. He felt like his professional dignity was melting under the morning sun.

— He’s not just a “boy in an apron,” Carlos. Did you see his bone structure? The way the morning light hits that counter and makes Oscar look like… I don’t know, a Renaissance painting? It’s a technical matter! — Lando tried to justify himself, but his voice faltered slightly at the end. — And he helps his mother. He’s cute, okay? He’s calm while I’m a walking disaster. If I go in there today and order another croissant I won’t even be able to eat because of nerves, he’s going to end up calling the police.

Carlos rolled his eyes and started walking toward the café door, forcing Lando to follow him or be left behind talking to himself.

— You’ve been editing his photos for three days straight, Lando. I saw your monitor. You have more pictures of Oscar cleaning tables than of your last Vogue shoot. If you don’t walk in there right now and at least ask his name — which you already know, but he doesn’t know that you know — I’m taking your camera away from you myself. Now move, the “cute boy” is looking at the window and you’re blocking the way.

Lando froze. He saw Oscar’s silhouette through the glass, arranging some flower vases near the entrance. The photographer’s heart jolted in a way no image stabilizer could fix. With a sigh of defeat and a courage he definitely didn’t feel, he followed Carlos, praying his hands wouldn’t shake when it came time to hold the cup.

☕

Lando walked into the café trying to keep his composure, but his feet suddenly felt too heavy for the tiled floor. He slipped into the corner table, the one with the perfect view of the counter, and sank into the wooden chair, opening the laminated menu with a speed that bordered on desperation. Carlos sat across from him, with exasperating calm, watching the scene as if he were witnessing a romantic comedy firsthand.

Behind the safe barrier of the menu, Lando narrowed his eyes, focusing on Oscar. The boy was concentrated, wiping the marble counter with rhythmic movements. The morning sun streamed through the window, illuminating the contour of his face and highlighting the contrast between his pale skin and brown hair.

— Carlos, look at this — Lando whispered, his voice filled with genuine indignation.

— Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Carlos tilted his head slightly, watching the barista for a second before turning his attention back to his spiraling friend.

— I’m seeing a guy working, Lando. What exactly is sending you into a crisis now?

Lando lowered the menu just enough for his wide, anxious eyes to peek over the edge.

— Why does he have such soft cheeks, Carlos? It’s humanly unfair. It makes you want to bite them, you know? Squeeze until he complains — he muttered, feeling his face heat up. — And that natural blush? There’s no way someone wakes up with that color on their cheeks without running a marathon or using an Instagram filter in real life. It’s an aesthetic absurdity. How am I supposed to photograph professional models after seeing this for free every morning?

Carlos let out a small laugh, watching Lando bite his lower lip as Oscar glanced up for a moment to organize the cinnamon jars.

— The “natural blush” is probably just the heat from the coffee machine, you dramatic photographer — Carlos pointed out, though he had to admit the boy really did have a captivating aura. — But if you keep staring at him like that, he’s going to think you’re a food critic about to give a zero rating, not a normal guy wanting a date.

Lando quickly raised the menu again, hiding his entire face when he saw Oscar walking toward their table with a notepad in hand.

— He’s coming. He’s coming, Carlos! — Lando hissed from behind the paper. — My God, the lighting is perfect and I’m going to forget how to speak.

Lando felt his chest buzz in a way that bordered on ridiculous. He had been backstage at the most famous fashion weeks in Europe, had given direct instructions to models who graced global magazine covers, and never once stuttered. But there, sitting in a creaky wooden chair, with the smell of fresh coffee filling his lungs, he felt like an intern on his first day.

— Breathe, Lando. You’re a professional, for God’s sake — he whispered to himself, gripping the edges of the menu so tightly the paper began to bend. — You’ve photographed Naomi, you survived shows in Paris… why are a pair of flushed cheeks and a chocolate-stained apron destroying your nervous system?

Carlos, noticing his friend’s silent panic, simply leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, amused by the irony of it all.

— The problem is Naomi didn’t serve you cappuccinos with crooked heart designs, right? — Carlos teased quietly as Oscar wiped his hands and took the last few steps toward their table. — And models don’t usually look like they just stepped out of an indie romance film. Face it, Lando. You’ve fallen under the barista’s spell.

— It’s not a spell, it’s… it’s the angle of his face! — Lando tried to argue, his voice pitching slightly higher than usual. — It’s purely technical. How am I supposed to focus on my lens tomorrow knowing this kind of organic perfection is serving slices of cake here on the corner?

Before Carlos could respond, Oscar’s shadow fell over the table. The photographer felt a shiver run down his spine. He slowly lowered the menu, meeting Oscar’s eyes, which held that calm, slightly curious sparkle.

— Good morning again — Oscar said, his voice soft and steady, with that accent that made Lando’s legs feel like jelly. He tilted his head slightly, noticing Lando’s slightly disheveled state. — The usual, or is your friend going to try something different today?

Lando opened his mouth, but for a second, no sound came out. All he could think about was how the natural blush on Oscar’s cheeks looked even more vivid up close.

Lando was hypnotized. Up close, the “technical problem” of Oscar’s cheeks was a thousand times worse for his self-control. He watched the way the café light reflected in Oscar’s irises, his own green eyes wide, fixed on every tiny detail of that face. Lando looked like he was adjusting the focus of an imaginary lens, completely oblivious to the fact that the real world was still spinning.

Oscar, noticing the prolonged silence and intense stare, tilted his head slightly, a confused yet gentle smile starting to form.

— Lando? — Oscar called softly, amused by the sudden paralysis.

That was the trigger for disaster. Lando opened his mouth, his thoughts filtered only by the urge to squeeze those soft cheeks, and the words slipped out before his brain could process the danger:

— I… I’ll have your cheeks…

Before the sentence could fully come out or the meaning — that he literally wanted to bite the barista — could register with Oscar, a sharp crack echoed under the table. Carlos, acting with the reflexes of a pilot, delivered a precise kick to Lando’s shin.

— OW! — Lando jumped in his chair, his expression instantly shifting from “entranced admirer” to “victim of physical assault.”

— He meant he’ll have the chocolate cheeks! — Carlos cut in at lightning speed, forcing a strained smile at Oscar while keeping his foot pressed against Lando’s to make sure he wouldn’t speak again. — Those round little breads in the display case, you know? He loves them. Almost as much as coffee. Right, Lando?

Lando, eyes watering from the pain in his shin and his face now competing in redness with Oscar’s natural blush, nodded frantically.

— Yeah! That! Cheeks… chocolate cheeks. The bread. Round. Soft. — Lando stammered, looking anywhere but at Oscar’s face, feeling like if he looked again, he might confess he wanted to take him for a ten-hour photoshoot or straight to an altar. — With lots of coffee. Please.

Oscar blinked a few times, clearly finding the interaction strange, but let out a soft laugh that made Lando’s stomach flip.

— Ah, the chocolate brioches — Oscar corrected gently, writing it down. — I’ll bring two, then. And your usual coffees. I’ll be right back.

As soon as Oscar walked away toward the counter, Lando collapsed onto the table, hiding his face in his hands while Carlos looked at him with a mix of pity and amusement.

— “I’ll have your cheeks,” Lando? Seriously? — Carlos whispered, incredulous. — You’re a danger to society.

Lando let out a muffled groan against his palms, feeling the heat of embarrassment burn across his own cheeks, which at that moment must have been as red as a showroom Ferrari. He straightened up in his chair, roughly rubbing his face as if trying to reset the gears in his brain that had just short-circuited.

— It’s automatic, Carlos! — Lando hissed, his voice a desperate whisper as he gestured frantically. — I spend all day analyzing faces, framing, textures. My brain processes beauty in terms of image capture! I saw that angle, that light, and the words just jumped out of my mouth before my common sense could leash them.

He huffed, exasperated with himself, and pulled his backpack onto his lap with a sharp movement. Opening the zipper and pulling out his laptop was almost a defense mechanism, a technological shield to hide from the reality that he had almost asked for the barista’s cheeks as a dessert.

— I’m a renowned professional, I have an award-winning portfolio… and here I am, getting knocked out by a human brioche — he muttered, sliding the laptop onto the wooden table and plugging in the card reader with fingers that still trembled slightly.

As the computer booted up, Lando took out his camera — an expensive piece of engineering that looked out of place in that rustic café — and began transferring the files. The soft click of removing the memory card felt like the only sensible sound in the chaos of his mind. Carlos simply watched, a smirk on his face, as the first thumbnails of high-fashion professional photos began to appear on the screen, quickly ignored by Lando.

— I’m going to edit the Vogue shoot so I can go back to being a normal person — Lando declared, trying to reclaim a dignity that had already gone down the drain. — Work. Focus. Professionalism. No cheeks, no natural blush, just fashion.

However, as soon as he opened the editing software, the first thing he did — almost instinctively — was create a hidden folder called “Light Studies: London,” where he already kept, “strictly for technical purposes,” the candid photos he had taken of Oscar over the past few days.

☕

— You’re doing it again, aren’t you? — Carlos asked, leaning forward to try to see the screen.

Lando quickly turned the laptop, shielding it from his friend’s view.

— I’m transferring files, Carlos! It’s a complex backup process! — he lied shamelessly, while his right hand reached for the mouse to zoom in on a specific photo of Oscar laughing with a customer, an image Lando swore captured the essence of “organic happiness.”

He sighed, his expression softening as he looked at the image on the screen. The contrast between his hectic life as an international photographer and the peace that café radiated was almost painful. He was there, surrounded by cutting-edge technology, trying to understand why a simple “good morning” from Oscar had more impact than any studio flash he had ever operated.

— I need to stop coming here — Lando murmured, even though they both knew he’d be at that same table the next morning, camera ready and heart in his throat. — Or I’m going to end up proposing to him instead of ordering an espresso.

Lando was in his element. The rhythmic clicking of the mouse and the glow of the retina screen seemed to create a protective bubble around him. He slid the saturation and contrast sliders with the precision of someone who had done it thousands of times, adjusting the shadow on the face of a high-fashion model posing in front of a monument in Paris. Carlos, beside him, was slouched in his chair, his thumb lazily scrolling through his phone, occasionally letting out a small chuckle at some video.

The metallic sound of a tray approaching made Lando’s shoulders rise a millimeter. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen, but his senses sharpened instantly. The smell of warm butter from the brioches and the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the space before Oscar even spoke.

Oscar approached with the ease of someone who knew every loose plank on that floor. He slid Carlos’s cup first, a clean and silent movement, then placed the plate with the chocolate brioches — the famous “cheeks” — right in the center of the table.
As he positioned Lando’s cup, Oscar’s gaze inevitably fell on the laptop screen. He saw the vibrant colors, the absurd sharpness of the image, and the stunning woman wearing clothes that probably cost more than the café’s monthly revenue. His eyebrows lifted slightly, impressed by the quality of what the “corner customer” did, but he looked away in less than a second.

His mother had always been strict about service etiquette: “A good host is invisible and respectful, Oscar. The customer’s table is his office, not your living room.” He tucked his curiosity into the pocket of his apron, focusing only on making sure the silver spoon was aligned with the handle of the porcelain cup.

— Here you go. Two coffees and the brioches — Oscar announced, his voice maintaining that soft, professional tone.

Lando finally looked up, blinking a few times to adjust his vision from the blue light of the screen to the warm light of the café. He saw Oscar tucking the tray under his arm, ready to leave without asking questions, without asking to see more, simply being the epitome of politeness.

— Thanks, Oscar. Seriously. You saved my morning — Lando said, trying to sound like a functional adult and not like the guy who had nearly had a breakdown over soft cheeks.

Oscar gave a respectful nod, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips.

— Nice work on the photos. They look… important — he commented simply, already starting to walk away to attend to an elderly woman who had just entered.

Lando stayed there, his hand hovering over the keyboard, watching Oscar’s back.

— He didn’t even ask anything, Carlos — Lando whispered, feeling a mix of relief and a sting of disappointment. — He saw a Vogue campaign right in front of him and just said it looks “important.” He’s perfect. How can someone be so grounded?

Carlos let out a low laugh, setting his phone aside and picking up his coffee with an irritatingly natural ease. He took a long sip, watching Oscar walk away with that unshakable calm that seemed to be the boy’s trademark.

— It’s because he’s Australian, Lando. He probably saw a shark at breakfast before coming to work — Carlos joked, shrugging. — Those people are cold-blooded. The world could be falling apart, a supermodel could be on your screen, and they’d just say “nice one, mate” and move on.

Lando huffed, stirring sugar into his coffee with disproportionate force.

— “Nice one, mate”? Carlos, I’m editing a campaign that’s going to be on every billboard in Piccadilly Circus next month! — Lando whispered back, feeling a mix of shock and deep admiration. — Any normal person would’ve taken a peek, asked a question, I don’t know… asked for a spoiler! But him? He just set the brioche down like my job is as common as frying an egg.

He glanced at Oscar, who was now talking to his mother near the register, laughing at something she said. The sunlight hit the counter, highlighting that profile Lando had already memorized from every possible angle through his lenses.

— That just makes everything worse — Lando muttered, turning back to the screen but unable to focus on any color adjustments now. — On top of having the most biteable cheeks in Europe, he’s also detached? He’s not impressed by the glamour of fashion? What do I have to do for him to notice I’m not just the weird guy who orders “chocolate cheeks” and nearly passes out?

Carlos took a generous bite of the brioche, chewing slowly before pointing at Lando’s camera.

— Maybe you should stop hiding behind that lens and show him what you actually see. Or, you know… talk like a normal human being without mentioning parts of his face like they’re items on the menu.

Lando sank into his chair, feeling the weight of the suggestion. He looked at his Leica, then at the laptop, and finally at Oscar.

☕

Lando was on edge, his fingers tapping against the body of the camera as he tried to recalibrate the focus to mask his nerves. He didn’t notice that, in the confusion of transferring files and hiding folders, he had bumped the settings dial.

— Let me just test the exposure here in the shadow under the table… — Lando murmured, pointing the lens in Carlos’s direction without really looking.

CLACK-BUM!

An absurdly powerful flash, set for dark studios, fired like lightning less than a meter from Carlos’s face. The blinding white burst turned Carlos’s vision into a blur of black spots instantly.

— ¡DIOS MÍO, LANDO! — Carlos shouted, jerking backward in shock.

The reflex was disastrous. Carlos’s hand, which was holding a full cup of coffee, flew upward. The dark, hot liquid traced a perfect arc through the air before landing with a heavy “splash” directly onto Lando’s illuminated laptop keyboard.

— FUCK! CARLOS! — Lando jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over, his heart leaping into his throat.

Panic hit instantly. Lando grabbed the laptop by its edges, flipping it upside down in a frantic motion, trying to keep the coffee from seeping into the thousands of dollars’ worth of circuitry holding both the Vogue photos and Oscar’s.

— Help! Paper! Someone give me a cloth! — Lando exclaimed, shaking the computer slightly as drops of coffee dripped onto his sneakers. — Carlos, you blinded me with your reaction!

— I blinded you?! You detonated a supernova in my face, you idiot! I can’t even see my own hand! — Carlos shot back, rubbing his eyes, still dizzy as he tried to fumble around the table for napkins.

The scraping of the chair and Lando’s shout echoed through the quiet café. At the counter, Oscar froze with a teapot in hand, eyes widening at the scene of absolute chaos at the corner table.

Lando looked like a cartoon character in slow motion, trying to balance the upside-down laptop while expensive coffee dripped onto his designer sneakers. The panic was so intense he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

— No, no, no! Vogue! Spring-Summer! Oscar! It’s all going to turn into one big printed circuit latte! — Lando exclaimed, his voice rising two octaves.

Carlos was still blinking rapidly, trying to recover his vision after the “end-of-days flash” Lando had blasted into his face.

— I can’t see anything, but I can smell the disaster from here! — Carlos grumbled, blindly patting the table for anything that wasn’t soaked.

That was when Oscar’s calm figure appeared like a guardian angel in the middle of the chaos. He didn’t run, but he reached the table with efficient speed, already extending a thick, clean dishcloth.

— Easy, Lando. Give it to me — Oscar said, his voice sounding like a balm of calm in the middle of the meltdown.
Without waiting for an answer, he took the laptop from Lando’s trembling hands with firmness, keeping it upside down. With his other hand, he pressed the cloth against the keyboard, soaking up the liquid before it could seep deeper.

— My mom always says coffee solves problems, but not inside computers — Oscar commented with a half-smile, glancing briefly at Lando. — You okay? You look like you saw a ghost. Or caused an explosion.

Lando froze. He was inches away from Oscar. He could smell the soft hint of vanilla and coffee that lingered around him, and up close, those cheeks he wanted to bite were right there, dangerously close.

— I… I… the flash… Carlos… — Lando stammered, completely losing his train of thought while watching the skillful movements of Oscar’s hands cleaning his work equipment. — I ruined everything, didn’t I? I’m a walking disaster.

Oscar looked up, meeting Lando’s green eyes. The hint of amusement on the Australian’s face was unmistakable.

— Relax, mate. I think we saved the photos. But maybe you should put the camera down for a bit before you blind someone else or flood the entire café.

Carlos finally regained his sight in time to see Lando staring at Oscar with such obvious adoration that it was almost embarrassing.

— He’s always like this, Oscar — Carlos cut in, wiping his own face with a dry napkin. — A genius with a lens, but a constant danger to himself and everyone else.

Lando felt the last scraps of his dignity slip away along with the coffee dripping onto the floor. Before he could stammer out some pathetic apology, a warm presence, scented with a hint of lavender, approached. Nicole, Oscar’s mother, stopped beside the table with her hands clasped over her apron, her expressive eyes filled with genuine concern that only a very kind Australian mother could have.

— Oh, heavens! What was that flash? It looked like lightning struck inside my kitchen! — Nicole exclaimed, looking from Lando’s pale face to the soaked laptop in her son’s hands. — Are you all right? Nobody got burned?

Lando opened his mouth, but Carlos was faster, pointing an accusing finger at the photographer while still blinking to get the black spots out of his vision.

— Your favorite customer decided to fire a supernova in my face, Mrs. Nicole — Carlos joked, though his voice still carried a slightly dazed tone. — And the coffee decided to take a vacation on top of his computer.

Nicole let out a sigh of relief when she saw no one was hurt, but soon frowned at the state of the expensive equipment. She looked at Oscar, who remained in absolute silence, focused on drying the crevices of the keyboard with surgical precision, his lips pressed into a straight line.

— Don’t panic, dear — Nicole said, gently touching Lando’s shoulder. — Oscar can take a look at that for you. He’s not just a pretty face behind the counter, you know? He studies IT in college, he’s a genius with these electronic things. He fixes everything at home.

Lando felt his heart skip. IT? The boy with the soft cheeks and natural blush was a computer genius? The contrast between Oscar’s gentleness and technical skill only made him ten times more interesting — and intimidating.

— He… he does? — Lando asked, his voice coming out a bit higher than intended. He looked at Oscar, waiting for confirmation, a joke, anything.

Oscar, however, stayed silent. He didn’t look away from the laptop, but Lando noticed the tips of the Australian’s ears turning slightly red. He seemed suddenly very interested in a specific screw on the computer casing. His silence wasn’t unwillingness, but that contained shyness Lando was already beginning to recognize as Oscar Piastri’s secret charm.

— Oscar, dear, don’t be shy — Nicole encouraged, giving her son a gentle pat on the back. — Take the young man to the back, to our notes table. It’s quieter there and you’ve got your tools in your backpack, don’t you?

Oscar finally looked up. He met Lando’s green, pleading eyes, who looked like a puppy that had just broken its owner’s favorite vase.

— Yeah… I can try — Oscar said at last, his voice short but not harsh. He cleared his throat, quickly looking away. — Just don’t expect miracles if the coffee reached the motherboard. Come on… follow me.

Lando stood up so fast he nearly knocked the chair over again, grabbing his camera with one hand and following Oscar like he was the last lifeboat in a sea of caffeine. Carlos stayed behind, picking up the last piece of chocolate brioche and waving at Lando with a “good luck, you’ll need it” smile.

Lando followed Oscar down the narrow hallway leading to the back of the café, feeling like he was entering a forbidden sanctuary. The panic over the laptop was still there, throbbing in the back of his mind, but it was quickly overtaken by a purely aesthetic — and highly unprofessional — observation.

With his camera hanging around his neck and uncertain steps, Lando fixed his gaze on Oscar’s back. The Australian had taken off his apron as he passed through the kitchen door, revealing a gray cotton T-shirt that fit perfectly across his shoulders. Lando, who spent his life analyzing proportions and anatomy through high-definition viewfinders, felt the air leave his lungs.

My God, he has… definition?, Lando thought, eyes widening as he watched the movement of Oscar’s shoulder blades beneath the fabric. Does he lift weights between lattes? Is that a tricep?

An involuntary, audible sigh escaped Lando’s lips. He quickly covered his mouth, hoping the sound of the coffee machines out front had muffled his very unsubtle admiration. Oscar looked so delicate and calm behind the counter, but here, in that confined space, he seemed… solid. Strong in an athletic, functional way that made Lando’s heart jolt technically.

— You can sit here — Oscar said, pointing to a sturdy wooden table cluttered with accounting notebooks and an old desk lamp.

He turned suddenly, and Lando nearly tripped over his own feet to avoid crashing into the boy’s chest. Oscar raised an eyebrow, noticing Lando’s face redder than a ripe strawberry.

— You okay? — Oscar asked, his calm voice contrasting with the photographer’s internal chaos. — You’re sighing like you just ran a marathon.

— I… it’s the oxygen! — Lando blurted, the first nonsensical excuse that came to mind. — The café has a strong aroma, you know? Filters the air. Back here the oxygen is… different. Purer.

Oscar let out a soft nasal laugh, the kind that made his cheeks lift and the natural blush show in full force. He pulled out a chair for Lando and sat in the other, already opening a small toolkit he retrieved from under the table.

— Right, “oxygen specialist.” Give me the patient — Oscar teased, extending his hand for the laptop.

Lando handed it over, but his fingers brushed against Oscar’s for a second longer than necessary. The touch felt like a low-voltage electric shock. Lando sat down, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands, completely forgetting about Vogue as he watched Oscar handle a tiny screwdriver with precision that would make any surgeon jealous.

— You really know what you’re doing, don’t you? — Lando murmured, hypnotized by the sight of Oscar focused, the lamp light highlighting his jawline.

Oscar gave a modest nod, the kind from someone who doesn’t like to brag but knows exactly what he’s doing. He placed the laptop on an antistatic cloth and started unscrewing the casing with a speed that left Lando mesmerized.

— Let’s just say I’m in my sixth semester, so I’ve seen enough motherboards not to panic — Oscar commented, his voice low and focused. — I’ve fixed a lot of friends’ computers and almost all the self-service terminals my mom insisted on buying for the café. But coffee with milk… sugar is the real villain here. It sticks to everything.

Lando swallowed, watching Oscar’s hands. They were firm, but moved with a technical delicacy he had only ever seen in luxury watchmakers. The desk lamp cast shadows that highlighted the tendons in Oscar’s arms as he pried open the back cover.

— Sixth semester… so you’re basically a software engineer already? — Lando asked, trying to keep his voice steady while his mind processed the fact that the “cute café boy” was probably smarter than his entire London social circle combined.

— I can barely set my camera’s autofocus when I’m in a rush, and you’re here operating my livelihood wide open.

Oscar hummed thoughtfully, removing the cover with a sharp click that made Lando’s heart skip.

— Software is what I study, but hardware is my hobby — Oscar explained, leaning forward. The movement brought him closer to Lando, and the photographer could see tiny droplets of coffee trapped near the memory sticks. — You’re lucky this model’s casing is well sealed. I think the damage is superficial.

He grabbed a can of compressed air and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, starting the cleaning with absolute seriousness. Lando, meanwhile, completely forgot he had a Vogue contract at stake. He was too busy noticing how Oscar lightly bit his lower lip when he found a harder spot to clean, and how the “natural blush” on his cheeks seemed to glow under the yellow lamp light.

— You’re really calm, you know that? — Lando let slip, a bit louder than intended.

Oscar paused for a second, looking up at Lando. A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

— Someone has to keep calm at this table, Lando. And from what I saw earlier, you already used up your entire adrenaline quota with that flash.

Oscar pressed his lips together, letting out a low sigh as he analyzed the inside of Lando’s laptop under the strong light of the lamp. He tilted his head, making an involuntary little pout of concentration that almost made Lando’s heart stop for a second. That pout was the most dangerous thing for the photographer’s sanity, who was already mentally calculating how many megapixels it would take to capture that exact expression.

— Problems? — Lando asked, his voice a little hoarse, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Oscar’s face was barely thirty centimeters from his own.

Oscar leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair and letting out a sound of contained frustration.

— It’s this pentalobe screw near the battery connector — Oscar explained, pointing with the tip of the screwdriver at a tiny component. — The coffee seeped behind the shielding. I’d need a TS4 precision screwdriver to open this without stripping it, and mine’s at my workstation, at home. In the sixth semester we learn never to force expensive hardware with the wrong tool.

Lando swallowed hard. The idea of being without the computer that held the Vogue photos was terrifying, but the idea of having an excuse to see Oscar outside the café was… interesting.

— So… the patient’s going to need a home surgery? — Lando joked, trying to mask his nerves while watching Oscar close the back cover with almost maternal care.

— That’s ideal — Oscar admitted, looking up at Lando. The gray-blue of his eyes seemed more intense back there, away from the harsh light of the front window. — I can take it home tonight, clean everything properly, and bring it back to you tomorrow morning. If I leave it like this, the sugar residue might corrode the board traces by tomorrow.

Lando nodded frantically, as if Oscar were offering a cure to all his problems.

— Of course! Definitely! Take it, do whatever you need. I trust you, Oscar. I mean, I trust your sixth-semester IT skills — Lando quickly corrected himself, feeling his cheeks heat up. — But… my photos? You’re not going to… you know… look at anything, right?

Oscar gave one of those typically Australian side smiles that left Lando breathless.

— Lando, I study cryptography algorithms and system architecture. Looking at a clumsy photographer’s photos isn’t part of the repair protocol — he said, his tone pure gentle sarcasm. — But I promise I’ll keep my eyes on the circuit boards, not your files.

Lando let out a sigh of relief, though a small and idiotic part of his brain wanted Oscar to see just how good he was at what he did.

Lando took a step forward, entering Oscar’s personal space with a haste he could barely disguise. The smell of coffee and something faintly metallic from Oscar’s tools wrapped around him, and for a second, the photographer forgot he was there because of a technological disaster. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket with almost comical speed, fingers fumbling on the screen as he opened the contacts app.

— Right, right. Makes sense. Safety first — Lando said, his voice coming out a little faster than usual, trying to pretend he was just being a pragmatic client. — Can you give me your number? You know, so I don’t have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the night imagining my hard drive melting in caramel. I need to know if… if the patient survived the surgery.

Oscar looked at the extended phone and then at Lando. There was an amused glint in his eyes, a quiet awareness that Lando might be just a little too excited about a simple hardware repair. He reached out and took the phone. The touch of his fingers, firm and slightly cool from the isopropyl alcohol, sent a jolt up Lando’s arm that made him want to hold his breath.

— You want to save me as “Oscar IT” or something? — Lando ventured, trying to peek over the Australian’s shoulder as he typed.

Oscar let out that short, airy laugh Lando was already starting to consider his favorite sound in the world.

— You can just save it as Oscar. If you add IT, I’ll feel obligated to charge you for consulting — Oscar replied, handing the phone back with a smooth motion. — Done. Send me a message so I can update you if I open the shielding and see how bad it is.

Lando took the phone back like it was a sacred treasure. He looked at the name on the screen: Oscar Piastri. There was even a small screwdriver emoji that Oscar had added at the end, a detail so unexpectedly cute it made Lando’s legs wobble.

— Perfect. Thank you, really. You’re saving my career, Oscar. And my liver, because I’d probably drink ten liters of chamomile tea out of anxiety if I didn’t get updates — Lando joked, scratching the back of his neck and giving that intense green-eyed look that usually disarmed any model, but only seemed to earn a slight eyebrow raise from Oscar.

Oscar carefully packed the laptop into his backpack, pulling the zipper with a sense of finality that signaled their time in the “secret office” was ending.

— Don’t thank me yet. Wait until I see if I’m not going to fry your processor first — Oscar said, standing up and facing Lando. Being in the back made everything quieter, and the proximity made Lando notice that Oscar’s “natural blush” was even more adorable under the dim light. — We’ll talk later, Lando. Try not to break anything else until then.

Lando nodded, unable to wipe the silly smile off his face as he watched Oscar prepare to return to the counter. He left the back room feeling like, although he had lost his laptop for a few hours, he had gained the most valuable prize of that morning: direct contact with the owner of the most famous cheeks in his memory card.

Lando walked out of the back practically floating, with a grin from ear to ear he didn’t even try to hide anymore. As soon as he stepped through the door and faced Carlos — who was still sitting at their usual table, finishing his coffee with saint-like patience — Lando couldn’t contain himself. He gave a little jump of happiness, a nearly childish hop, and waved his phone in the air like he had just won the lottery.

— Carlos! You have no idea! — Lando whispered excitedly, dropping back into his chair with renewed energy, completely ignoring the fact that the table still had traces of dried coffee.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, watching his friend with the look of someone who had seen everything, yet was still impressed by Lando’s level of infatuation.

— What is it? Did the laptop come back to life by miracle or did Oscar give you an honorary IT degree? — Carlos asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

— Better! I got his number, Carlos! — Lando whispered, leaning closer so no one else would hear. — And he studies IT! Sixth semester! He’s smart, he’s calm, he has that voice… and he’s taking my laptop to his house. Do you understand what that means?

Carlos crossed his arms, letting out a small laugh.

— It means he’s a nice guy trying to save your thousands-of-dollars job while you freak out over his bone structure.

— Don’t be cynical! It means we now have a direct communication channel — Lando shot back, staring at his phone screen and rereading the name “Oscar Piastri 🛠️” over and over. — He said he’d text me. I’m going to have a message from Oscar Piastri on my phone, Carlos. This is a historic event.

Lando gave another small excited bounce in his chair, clapping his hands against his knees. The panic over the spilled computer had been completely replaced by the adrenaline of getting his muse’s contact. He glanced at the counter one last time, seeing Oscar focused on grinding fresh beans, and felt like the kick Carlos had given his shin earlier had been, ironically, the best investment of his career.

— I’m going to be the most patient client in history — Lando declared, already planning how he would reply to the first message. — If he takes three days, I’ll wait ten. If he asks me to pick up the laptop on the moon, I’ll rent a rocket.

Carlos let out a dry laugh, the kind he saved for when Lando was being overly romantic and ridiculous, and leaned forward on the table, crossing his arms with a narrowed gaze and an expression that suggested he was about to drop a “bomb” into all that excitement.

— Okay, I get it, he’s a genius, he has angel cheeks, and now his number is on your phone — Carlos began, his voice lowering into a more suggestive tone that instantly shifted the mood at the table. — But tell me something, Lando… If he asks you to give it to him, will you?

Lando froze mid-motion while putting his phone away, his green eyes widening so much they looked like two 50mm lenses at maximum focus. The silence that followed was filled only by the distant sound of Oscar’s espresso machine, but in Lando’s mind, the world had just short-circuited.

— Carlos! — Lando hissed, his face exploding into a shade of red that would make any sunset look pale. — My laptop? You’re talking about my laptop, right? My work equipment, my…

Carlos smirked, the kind of smile from someone who knows exactly the effect his words have, and took a slow sip of his coffee without taking his eyes off his friend.

— Yeah, Lando. The laptop. What else would it be? — Carlos said with a slow wink, mischief dripping from his tone. — But judging by your face, it seems like you’ve already thought about other things you’d hand over on a silver platter to that Australian if he asked with that calm accent of his.

Lando sank into his chair, feeling the heat rise to his ears and down his neck. He tried to form a dignified response, a professional defense about ethics and friendship, but all he could picture was Oscar’s little pout of concentration and the way he handled the screwdriver.

— You’re an idiot, Carlos. A complete idiot — Lando muttered, hiding his face in his hands, though his fingers trembled in a way that had nothing to do with the kick to his shin. — I just want my computer back. And maybe… maybe find out if he likes photography. That’s all.

Carlos just laughed, standing up and patting his friend on the shoulder as he started walking toward the exit.

— Yeah, sure. “Photography.” Good luck waiting for that message tonight, Romeo. Try not to break the refresh button on your messaging app.

Oscar’s apartment was quiet, lit only by the articulated LED desk lamp he used for his hardware projects. Lando’s laptop was open on an antistatic rubber mat, surrounded by organized containers of screws and cotton swabs lightly stained with isopropyl alcohol.

Oscar ran a fine brush between the keys one more time, making sure no trace of coffee sugar remained. He was methodical by nature — the sixth semester of IT taught that haste was the greatest enemy of an integrated circuit — but, for some reason, he felt a different kind of pressure that night. Maybe it was the fact that the owner of the device was the most expressive and chaotic person who had ever stepped into his mother’s café.

Oscar’s phone vibrated beside the workbench. He didn’t even need to read the name to know who it was.

Lando: Hey, Oscar! Did you manage to open the patient? Did he survive the surgery? Please tell me he’s going to live 🙏

Oscar let out a soft nasal laugh, the corner of his lips lifting into a half-smile. He could perfectly picture Lando right now: wide green eyes, messy hair, and that anxious energy that seemed to fill the entire space around him.

He set the phone aside for a moment, refocusing on the battery connector. He fitted the flat cable with surgical precision and took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. Before closing the casing, he pressed the power button.

The soft whir of the fan starting up was music to his ears. The screen lit up, illuminating Oscar’s face in the dim room. He waited for the system to load, his fingers lightly tapping against the wooden surface.

— Come on… don’t make me look bad — he whispered into the silence, feeling genuine satisfaction when the desktop appeared, sharp and functional.

Oscar picked up his phone to reply, but paused with his thumb hovering over the screen. He couldn’t help his eyes drifting to the laptop’s wallpaper. It wasn’t one of those famous model shots he had seen at the café. It was a candid black-and-white photo of a rainy London street, captured with a sensitivity Oscar hadn’t expected.

He felt something strange in his chest. Lando wasn’t just a clumsy guy who ordered “chocolate cheeks”; he was actually talented. He had a way of seeing the world that was… beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the way he blushed when Oscar talked to him.

Oscar shook his head, trying to refocus professionally, and typed quickly:

Oscar: The patient is stable, Lando. I opened it, cleaned the contacts, and it just powered on. I’ll keep it under observation for an hour to make sure nothing shorts, but it looks like you got lucky. 🛠️

He locked his phone, but kept staring at the laptop screen for a few more seconds before starting to screw the casing back on. There was something about that photographer that made him curious, a different frequency from the Australian calm he was used to. And for the first time, Oscar wasn’t just fixing a computer; he was looking forward to returning it the next day.

The silence in Oscar’s room was broken only by the dry click of the mouse. He wanted to test the cursor response, make sure the coffee hadn’t affected the trackpad or USB ports, so he moved it precisely. In a mechanical motion, he double-clicked a folder that didn’t have the name of any luxury brand or famous model. It was simply labeled with a date and a lens code.

The laptop screen, with its absurd retina resolution, exploded into a mosaic of thumbnails.

Oscar froze. The air seemed to grow heavier around the workbench.

— Huh? — The sound slipped out quietly, filled with genuine confusion.

He wasn’t looking at designer clothes or Paris monuments. He was looking at himself.

There were dozens of photos. Some in perfect focus, others with that artistic blur Lando loved. There was one of Oscar laughing at something Nicole had said behind the counter; another of him focused, making that little “pout” while grinding coffee; and a third, in profile, where the morning light hit the contour of his face just right, highlighting the natural blush Lando admired so much.

Oscar felt his face heat up in a way isopropyl alcohol never could. He dropped the mouse as if the plastic were burning, but couldn’t look away.

These weren’t the photos of a stalker. As an IT student and someone who appreciated technique, Oscar could see the difference. These were the photos of someone who saw the world in a special way. Lando had captured details Oscar had never noticed in the mirror: the calm in his gaze, the lightness of his hands, the quiet peace he carried even in the chaos of a busy morning.

— He… he’s been taking photos of me this whole time? — Oscar whispered into the dim room, his Australian accent stretching with the surprise.

He remembered Lando always hiding behind the menu, or pretending to edit important shoots while the camera lens always seemed pointed in a very specific direction. Suddenly, all of Lando’s stuttering, the comment about the “cheeks,” and the panic with the flash made perfect, overwhelming sense.

Oscar felt a chill in his stomach that had nothing to do with circuits. He closed the folder quickly, feeling like an intruder in a secret he wasn’t meant to discover that way. He shut the laptop and sat there in the dark, his heart beating in a rhythm no line of code could explain.

His phone vibrated again on the table. Another message from Lando:

Lando: Thank you, seriously, Oscar! You have no idea how much those photos mean to me. They’re… special. See you tomorrow?

Oscar looked at the message and then at the closed laptop. He gave a small side smile, feeling a sudden and inexplicable urge to see the photographer in person—not to charge for the repair, but to see if the green in Lando’s eyes would shine the same way when they met without a lens between them.

The silence in the room suddenly felt heavier, filled only by the low hum of the fan and the lingering image of those photos in Oscar’s mind. He stayed there, still, his hand hovering over the mouse as if he had just touched something forbidden.

He licked his lips, tasting the metallic hint of the coffee he’d had earlier, and slowly exhaled. Seeing himself through Lando’s eyes felt like reading a diary he didn’t know existed. They weren’t just records; they were moments where he seemed… important. The way the light wrapped around his face in every shot revealed a patience and admiration that went far beyond a regular customer waiting for a latte.

Oscar stood up abruptly, the wooden chair creaking against the floor. He needed space. He took a few short steps around the room, running a hand through his hair before stopping by the window overlooking the distant city lights.

— “Light Studies,” huh? — he murmured to the fogged glass, letting out a small nasal laugh before he could stop himself.

He wasn’t angry. In fact, there was a strange warmth rising up his neck, a mix of Australian shyness and renewed curiosity. Oscar had always seen himself as the practical one—the café owner’s son studying IT, living a linear life. But Lando saw him as art. Lando saw him as the center of a perfect frame, even when he was just wiping down a greasy table.

He turned and looked at the closed laptop on the workbench. The device held secrets Lando would probably die of embarrassment knowing had been exposed. Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the cool wall. He remembered every time Lando stuttered, every time he hid behind the menu, and that absurd comment about his cheeks.

— You’re a disaster, Lando Norris — Oscar murmured with a small smile, that calm glint in his eyes now carrying something deeper.

He picked up his phone. Lando’s message notification still glowed on the screen. Oscar thought about replying, about saying he had seen everything, but decided to keep that card in his hand. He wanted to see Lando’s face the next morning. He wanted to see if the photographer could maintain eye contact now that the “muse” knew his secret.

He went back to the workbench, putting away his tools with deliberate calm.

Tomorrow wouldn’t just be another equipment return. Tomorrow, he would have to decide whether he would let Lando keep taking photos from a distance—or give him a reason to finally put the camera down.

☕

Lando walked through the café door at exactly 10:30, as if he had timed every step since the moment he woke up. He hadn’t slept well; he had spent the night alternating between relief that the laptop was alive and absolute panic that he had left “criminal evidence” of his aesthetic obsession in the hands of an IT student.

He walked straight to the counter, backpack slung over one shoulder and hands shoved into his coat pockets to hide how sweaty they were.

— Good morning, Nicole! — Lando said, trying to project confidence he didn’t have. His voice came out slightly louder than necessary, drawing a glance from a nearby customer reading the newspaper. — I—uh—has Oscar arrived yet? He said he might finish the “transplant” on my laptop this morning.

Nicole looked up from the register, breaking into a warm, maternal smile when she saw the photographer.

— Good morning, dear! Punctual as a clock, huh? — she laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. — Oscar did come in, he’s in the back organizing some stock boxes, but he told me your “patient” had a miraculous recovery. He brought his backpack pretty full today, so it must all be in there.

Lando felt his stomach flip. The back room. The place where the oxygen was “different.”

— Ah, great! That’s… great. I feel better now — Lando stammered, tapping his fingers against the wooden counter. — Can I… I’ll go get it from him? Or does he prefer I wait here at the crime scene table?

Nicole gave him a playful wink.

— You can go back there, Lando. He’s just checking invoices. I think he’s been expecting you to show up any moment.

Lando nodded, gave an awkward little wave, and walked toward the back hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last. He took a deep breath, fixed his hair, and pushed the half-open door, expecting to find the same technical, professional Oscar as always.

There he was. Oscar had his back turned, organizing some cables, but as soon as he heard the door creak, he stopped what he was doing. He didn’t turn immediately; first, he let out a quiet sigh, as if preparing himself for the encounter.

When Oscar finally turned around, he had that enigmatic half-smile on his face. He leaned his hip against the table where Lando’s laptop sat closed, pristine, inside a protective sleeve.

— Five-thirty on the dot — Oscar commented, his voice calm and drawn out, eyes locked on Lando’s. — You really like being first in line, don’t you?

Lando nodded, his neck so stiff the movement looked almost mechanical. He kept a safe distance from the table, as if the laptop were a ticking bomb ready to project all his secrets onto a giant LED screen.

Oscar, with that unshakable calm that seemed like an Australian superpower, pulled the heavy backpack onto the wooden table. The sound of the zipper echoed through the quiet storage room, making Lando’s heart lurch.

— Here it is — Oscar said, taking the laptop out with almost reverent care and sliding it across the table into Lando’s hands. — I had to open the secondary shielding and replace a few connectors that were starting to oxidize because of the sugar. I also cleaned the fans completely. It’s running faster than when it left the factory, I guarantee it.

Lando let out such a long sigh of relief that his shoulders finally relaxed. He touched the cold metal of the device, feeling whole again.

— You’re a genius, Oscar. Seriously. A hardware miracle worker — Lando rambled, already reaching for his wallet. — Just tell me how much I owe you. And don’t give me that “on the house” thing, because I know how much work this takes. Charge me market price, emergency price, or… I don’t know, the “putting up with my meltdown” price.

He opened his wallet, fingers quick as he searched for bills, ready to pay anything just to leave before saying something even more embarrassing.

Oscar, however, didn’t reach for the money. He stayed leaning against the table, crossing his arms over his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching in all the ways Lando had definitely noticed the day before. He tilted his head slightly, studying Lando with an analytical, amused look.

— Put that away, Lando — Oscar said, his voice a little lower in the confined space. — I don’t want your money.

Lando froze mid-motion, a bill suspended in the air.

— What do you mean? You worked all night! Sixth semester IT isn’t free, Oscar. I insist—

— I said I don’t want money — Oscar interrupted gently, stepping closer and closing the gap between them until Lando could feel his warmth. — But since you insist on paying… I think I’d accept a trade.

Lando swallowed hard.

— A… a trade? — he stammered, his mind short-circuiting into a thousand scenarios.

Oscar gave that half-smile Lando both loved and feared.

— Yeah. I was looking through some… “files” while testing the system — he said casually, eyes locked onto Lando’s reaction. — And I found your work very interesting. Especially the “Light Studies” part.

Lando went completely pale, then instantly flushed bright red. The bill slipped from his trembling fingers.

— Oscar, I… I’m so sorry! — Lando blurted, voice cracking. He stepped back into a metal shelf, making it rattle. — I swear I’m not a stalker! It’s just… you’re… the light… the way you move—

He covered his face for a second, overwhelmed.

— I was going to delete them! Or hide them better! I just… you’re incredible to photograph. It’s artistic, I promise! But I get it if you want me banned or— I’m an idiot—

Oscar’s expression softened immediately. He hadn’t expected this.

— Hey… Lando, look at me — he said quietly, stepping forward and gently touching his shoulder. — Breathe. I’m not mad. Seriously.

Lando slowly looked up, eyes still glossy, expecting judgment.

Instead, Oscar looked… shy.

— I didn’t think it was weird — Oscar admitted, voice softer now. — I actually spent some time looking at them last night.

Lando blinked.

— You… you didn’t?

— No. — Oscar let out a small, nasal laugh, cheeks slightly flushed. — I thought they were beautiful. I’ve never seen myself like that. You make me look… interesting. Like there’s something special there.

Lando’s breath caught.

— You are special, Oscar — he said without thinking. — The light just loves you. I only press the button.

Oscar glanced at the laptop, then back at him, his smile turning a little more daring.

— Then… if you want to keep doing your “Light Studies”… I guess I could be your official model. No more hiding behind menus.

Lando let out a breathless laugh, relief flooding him.

— Are you serious? Because if you say yes, I’m taking like a thousand photos a day.

Oscar looked away shyly, hands slipping into his apron pockets.

Lando smiled—wide, genuine, that soft heart-shaped curve appearing naturally.

Oscar froze.

— You… have a funny smile — Oscar said quietly.

— Funny how? Bad funny? Clown funny? — Lando teased, stepping closer.

Oscar shook his head, eyes still fixed on his lips.

— No. Funny like… something I’d want to photograph too. If I knew how.

Lando’s cheeks warmed.

— I could teach you — he murmured. — We could go out Saturday? London has amazing light by the river in the afternoon. And I promise not to spill coffee on anything.

Oscar’s heart skipped.

— Saturday — he repeated. — I think my schedule has room for a very clumsy photography teacher.

Lando lit up instantly, energy snapping back.

— Perfect! Deal, partner! Golden hour, no disasters, scout’s honor! — he said, giving Oscar a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Oscar stayed there, processing the emotional whiplash.

— I gotta run to the studio now or they’ll serve my liver on a plate — Lando added, already backing toward the door, nearly tripping but recovering. — But hey, I’ll be back around five to grab a coffee. And don’t poison my latte now that you know my secrets!

Oscar chuckled softly, arms crossed.

— I’ll think about it, Norris — he called out. — Five o’clock. Don’t be late… or your coffee gets cold.

Lando gave one last wave of his hand and walked out to the main hall, passing by Nicole with a “See you later, Ms. Nicole!” that echoed throughout the whole place.

Oscar stayed there in the back for a few more seconds, the silence of the storage room suddenly feeling much emptier without the photographer’s presence. He looked at his own shoulder, where Lando had patted him, and felt a tingling that had nothing to do with the force of the hit.

— “Brother”… — Oscar murmured to himself, shaking his head with a small smile he couldn’t hold back. — He’s a complete disaster.

Lando walked into the studio as if he were stepping on clouds, the weight of the laptop on his back feeling like a feather compared to the relief in his chest.

But his bubble of happiness burst the moment he crossed the main door and ran straight into the usual chaotic “vibe.” In the middle of the set, the scene looked straight out of a low-budget reality show. George stood with his hands on his hips, the impeccable posture of someone born to give orders, firing off a technical, detailed lecture at a Max who looked about five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

— Max, for the fifth time, fill light is not a suggestion, it’s mathematics! — George exclaimed, gesturing with one hand while holding a schedule with the other. — If you keep moving the reflector without warning, the sensor will blow out and we’ll lose the model’s skin tone!

Max just huffed, arms crossed, wearing that expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else in the world — preferably in a racing simulator — than listening to George talk about angles of incidence.

— George, it’s just a white background, loosen the screws a little — Max shot back, his voice carrying that limited patience he had for unnecessary drama.

Lando let out a small laugh, but stopped when he saw Daniel sitting on one of the studio’s leather couches. The older Australian was watching everything like it was the most entertaining movie in town, shoving his hand into a giant bag of cheese snacks.

— Well, well, look who’s here! The man who almost caused a blackout at breakfast! — Daniel shouted, flashing a huge grin that revealed orange crumbs between his teeth. — So, Lando? Did the computer turn into scrap or did the cute technician pull off a miracle?

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that insisted on showing up. He walked over to the couch, keeping a safe distance from Daniel’s hands, which were completely covered in that fluorescent snack powder.

— The computer is brand new, Daniel. And clean your hands before touching any lens, for the love of God — Lando warned, pointing at his messy fingers.

— Oscar is a genius. He didn’t just clean the coffee, he made the system fly.

Daniel burst out laughing, shaking the snack bag toward Lando.

— “Oscar is a genius”… Yeah, yeah. By the look on your face, he could’ve handed you a brick wrapped like a gift and you’d still be grateful.

— Can you two stop gossiping and come help here? — George shouted from across the set, throwing a deadly glare at the couch. — Lando, you’re late! And Daniel, if a single crumb of that cheap cheese falls on my 4K monitor, I swear I’ll kick you out of the studio!

Lando sighed, patting his backpack. He had work to deliver, a George to calm down, and a Max to save from a nervous breakdown, but his mind was already counting the minutes until five in the afternoon.

The studio, already a chaos of shouting and cheesy crumbs, suddenly dropped into a second of absolute silence when a pile of white sheets on the corner couch started to move.

With a jolt straight out of a horror movie, Carlos sat up all at once, the sheet slipping off his shoulders and revealing a crumpled face of someone who had traveled through multiple dimensions in his sleep.

— WHAT? WHO? WHERE’S THE COFFEE? — Carlos exclaimed, his voice hoarse and eyes wide as he tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the harsh studio light.

— ¡HOLY SHIT! — George jumped back, almost knocking over the main camera tripod. — Carlos! You were there the whole time? I thought you were a pile of winter collection wardrobe!

Max, who had been getting lectured, took the distraction as his chance to step away from George, letting out a nasal laugh.

— He got here before everyone, said the “siesta” wasn’t optional, and passed out — Max explained, wiping sweat off his forehead. — I honestly forgot he existed.

Daniel, mid-bite, almost choked from laughing, pointing his orange-covered fingers at the messy Spaniard.

— Look at the state of this man! — Daniel laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. — Carlos, you look like you fought a bear and the bear won by knockout. You slept so long you missed Lando getting kicked out of the café and coming back as the IT guy’s new best friend.

Carlos blinked a few times, running a hand over his face to try and smooth it out. He looked at Lando, who was still standing near the door with his backpack, and a mischievous smile began to form on his sleepy face.

— I didn’t miss anything… — Carlos yawned, his voice returning to normal. — I was dreaming about a world where Lando doesn’t spill coffee on everything he touches.

But then I woke up and saw reality is way funnier. So, Lando? Have you set the wedding date with the golden-cheeked Australian yet, or does the “brother” still not know you’re the president of his fan club?

Lando felt his face heat up instantly under everyone’s gaze. George frowned, confused; Max looked interested in the gossip; and Daniel was ready to add fuel to the fire.

— Shut up, Carlos! Go back to sleep! — Lando muttered, trying to walk toward his editing desk to escape the interrogation.

☕

The studio clock was nearing six in the evening, and the environment was dipped in that typical end-of-day technical dimness: only Lando’s and George’s editing monitors glowed, casting bluish light over the team’s tired faces. Carlos was fully awake now, discussing game strategies with Max in one corner, while Daniel unsuccessfully tried to clean cheese stains off a reflector with a dry cloth.

Lando was so focused on adjusting the color curves of a Vogue shoot that the world around him had ceased to exist. His headphones blocked out sound, and he didn’t even notice when the heavy acoustic door opened.

Unlike Daniel’s noisy entrance or George’s authoritative arrival, the door moved slowly, almost politely. Oscar stood in the doorway, holding two coffee cups in a cardboard carrier and a brown paper bag that gave off an intoxicating smell of vanilla and freshly roasted beans. He still wore the same gray shirt Lando had admired earlier, but now carried a light jacket over his shoulder.

Silence fell over the studio like a bucket of cold water.

Daniel was the first to freeze, his hand halfway to his mouth. George adjusted his glasses, analyzing the “intruder” with his usual clinical look.

Max simply raised an eyebrow, recognizing the face from the café counter but confused about his presence there. Carlos, however, let out a low, mischievous whistle that cut through the air.

— Well, well… if it isn’t the miracle worker of technology — Carlos commented, crossing his arms with the smile of someone who had just won the lottery.

Lando, sensing the shift in energy, ripped off his headphones and spun his chair so fast he almost hit the tripod. His heart slammed violently against his ribs.

— Oscar? — Lando exclaimed, his voice cracking. — What… how did you…?

Oscar stepped inside, looking surprisingly calm for someone who had just interrupted a meeting of elite drivers and photographers. He walked straight to Lando’s desk, ignoring the curious looks from the others.

— You said you’d come by at five — Oscar said, his voice soft, that drawn-out Australian accent filling the space. — It was five-thirty and I figured that if you forgot the coffee, you probably forgot to eat too.

Lando blinked, completely disarmed by Oscar’s practical kindness.

— But how did you know where the studio is? I didn’t give you the address — Lando asked, his cheeks starting to take on that pink shade Oscar already knew well.

Oscar gave that half-smile, placing the coffee carrier on the editing desk, far away from the freshly fixed laptop.

— I’m in IT, Lando. Remember? — he joked, though there was a softer glint in his eyes. — Actually, your business card was in the camera bag you left open on the counter yesterday. Wasn’t hard to Google “lando jpg.”

— He’s a reverse stalker! — Daniel shouted from the couch, laughing loudly. — Lando, you found your perfect match! One cleans the computer and the other cleans the image!

Lando wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but Oscar just looked at Daniel with unshakable calm.

— I came to bring what he asked for. And a blueberry muffin, because he looked like he needed sugar — Oscar said, turning his attention back to Lando, completely ignoring Carlos and Daniel’s teasing. — Here’s your latte. And mine… well, I decided to have it here, if you don’t mind.

Lando looked at the cup and saw that, on top of the milk foam, Oscar had drawn a perfect heart with latte art. His eyes lit up and he felt like he could melt right there, under the attentive gaze of the entire team, who now watched everything like it was the finale of a romantic comedy.

The silence that followed was so thick you could hear the hum of the editing servers in the background. Lando looked at the blueberry muffin, its vibrant purple color looking delicious, and felt his heart tighten. He desperately wanted to eat it just because it came from Oscar, but his immune system had very different plans.

— Thank you! — Lando started, his voice small and laced with a shyness that made his shoulders hunch. — But I… uh… I’m allergic to blueberries. If I eat that, my face turns into a balloon in ten minutes.

Oscar froze. The hand still holding the paper bag stopped midair, and the confident glow he had brought from the café disappeared instantly, replaced by pure shock with a hint of technical horror.

— You’re allergic? — Oscar repeated, his voice rising half a tone.

He stared at the muffin like it had just confessed to a crime. The silence lasted about five eternal seconds as Oscar processed the information with the same intensity he would process corrupted code.

— I didn’t know! — Oscar exclaimed, his Australian accent coming out stronger with the surprise. — It’s just… one time you ordered blueberry! At the café, with my mom. I remember writing it down! I thought you liked it…

Lando felt his face burn. He remembered that day exactly. It was the day he was so hypnotized watching Oscar’s arm while he cleaned the machine that when Nicole asked what he wanted, he just pointed at the first thing he saw in the display without even reading the label.

— Ah… that day — Lando stammered, scratching the back of his neck and looking away at the editing monitor. — I… I was distracted. I didn’t even eat that muffin, Oscar. I gave it to Carlos as soon as I left the shop.

From the couch, Carlos let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back.

— It’s true! He got into the car looking like he’d seen a ghost and handed me the muffin like it was a grenade! — Carlos shouted, enjoying the chaos. — I ate it and it was great, by the way. Thanks, Oscar!

Oscar closed his eyes for a second, running a hand over his face. The “perfect IT student” had just made a basic database mistake: assuming a preference based on a single faulty input.

— Great. I almost killed the photographer before the first official date — Oscar muttered to himself, but loud enough for Lando to hear. He quickly grabbed the muffin back and shoved it into the bag like he was hiding evidence. — I’m sorry, Lando. I… I’ll throw this away right now. Or give it to Daniel, he looks like he eats anything.

— Hey! I’ll take it! — Daniel raised his hand, already getting up from the couch with his snack-covered fingers.

Lando stepped forward, lightly touching Oscar’s arm to stop him from running away in embarrassment.

— Hey, it’s okay! — Lando smiled, that heart shape returning to his lips, softening everything. — You brought the coffee. And the coffee doesn’t have blueberries. That’s what matters. And you remembered a detail from weeks ago… that’s kind of cute, actually.

Oscar looked at Lando’s hand on his arm and then at his smile. The panic in the Australian’s eyes gave way to a new, deeper kind of shyness.

— I remember a lot of things about you, Lando — Oscar confessed quietly, ignoring the whistles coming from the rest of the team in the background. — I just need to update my cache of information about allergies.

George rolled his eyes with a dramatic perfection only a Brit like him could manage, crossing his arms and letting out a long “suffering” sigh as he watched the exchange of looks between Lando and Oscar.

— Honestly… this is way too much sweetness for a professional photography studio — George muttered, his voice laced with refined sarcasm. — Disgusting, couples… They radiate that afternoon rom-com energy. Someone clean the sugar off the floor, please.

Max, who was leaning against one of the tripods just observing the scene with his usual straightforward calm, tilted his head slightly. He frowned, looking at George as if he had just said gravity didn’t exist.

— But we are a couple, George — Max said, his voice dry and logical, not understanding why his boyfriend was complaining about something they themselves did, even if in a much more competitive and less “cute” way.

The entire studio burst into laughter. Daniel nearly fell off the couch, slapping his knee, while Carlos pointed at George with a victorious grin.

— Take that, “Prince of King’s Lynn”! — Daniel shouted, brushing snack crumbs off his shirt. — Max just destroyed you with facts!

George froze for a second, his mouth slightly open, his face starting to turn a shade of pink that matched the set lighting perfectly. He looked at Max, then at the rest of the group, trying to regain his composure by adjusting his shirt collar.

— That is… that is completely different, Max! — George stammered, trying to keep his posture. — We are a functional, pragmatic and… and technically superior couple! We do not bring deadly blueberry muffins to other people’s workplace!

— You brought me a green detox juice yesterday that tasted like freshly cut grass, George — Max shot back, merciless, a small smile forming on his lips. — I prefer the blueberry risk.

Lando, who still had his hand on Oscar’s arm, started laughing so hard he had to lean on the Australian to stay standing. Oscar let out a low laugh too, suddenly feeling far more at ease with that group of chaos than he had imagined.

— At least Oscar knows what I ordered once! — Lando joked, looking at George. — You don’t even know if Max likes green juice!

George opened his mouth to argue back, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he searched for a dignified way out of that public checkmate. His face was already turning a deep crimson that rivaled any of Lando’s editing filters.

— I was distracted! — George exclaimed, his voice going up an octave as he tried to reclaim his authority as the director. — It was a momentary lapse in nutrition! I perfectly know what he likes! I know my little lion’s favorite juice is strawberry, shut up!

The silence that followed in the studio was deafening.

George froze instantly. His eyes widened and he brought his hand to his mouth too late, realizing that the ultra-private nickname — the one he only whispered into Max’s ear when they were alone in their apartment — had just echoed through the studio walls for all the “vultures” to hear.

Daniel stopped mid-chew. Carlos, who was about to open the blueberry muffin, froze with his mouth open. Lando and Oscar exchanged a look of pure shock.

— “Little lion”? — Daniel repeated, his voice coming out in a high whisper before exploding into laughter that nearly knocked him off the couch. — MY GOD, GEORGE! The “Prince of King’s Lynn” has a pet lion!

Max, on the other hand, stayed still. Heat rose up his neck, but instead of running away, he just crossed his arms and gave a small sideways smile, looking down as he tried to hide the fact that he found his boyfriend’s embarrassment the most adorable thing in the world.

— George… you promised you’d never say that in front of anyone — Max murmured, though his tone was far from angry. It was almost affectionate.

— I… I… — George stammered, looking around as if searching for an emergency exit. — I’m going to check the memory cards! I have a lot of work! Lando, take your… your IT technician to the balcony right now! Out! Everyone out of my line of sight!

☕

Lando, laughing so hard his ribs hurt, grabbed the coffee Oscar had brought and pulled him by the hand.

— Come on, Oscar. Before the “little lion” decides to roar at us too — Lando joked, guiding the Australian toward the balcony door to give George some privacy and oxygen.

Oscar just shook his head, following Lando with an amused smile.

The studio balcony was a peaceful refuge, with the cool London breeze blowing softly and the city lights beginning to dot the horizon like tiny diamonds. Lando, still chuckling at George’s embarrassment, pointed to two gray canvas beanbags tucked into a more secluded corner.

They sat side by side, sinking into the soft fabric. Lando took a long sip of his latte, feeling the warmth of the coffee and the perfect taste of the foam Oscar had prepared so carefully. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with steady breathing and the distant sound of traffic below.

Oscar didn’t drink his. He sat slightly turned toward Lando, watching him with a calm intensity, a half-smile playing on his lips. There was something about the way the bluish light from the buildings hit the photographer’s face that made Oscar forget any line of code or circuit board.

Lando noticed the look. He felt that flutter in his stomach again, but instead of stuttering or running away, he decided to embrace the chaos. He glanced at his own cup and then at Oscar, raising an eyebrow.

— You know, Oscar… I was thinking — Lando began, with a fake seriousness that fooled no one. — If your work on my laptop was a “transplant,” I think you forgot something important on the operating table.

Oscar frowned, genuinely curious.

— What? I checked all the screws and flat cables, Lando. What did I forget?

Lando smirked, leaning his face just a few inches closer.

— You forgot to install an antivirus in my heart. Because every time you look at me like that, I feel like my operating system is about to crash and I’ll need a manual reboot.

The silence that followed lasted only a second — just enough time for Oscar to process the level of cringe of that IT pickup line. He tried to keep his serious Australian composure, but it was impossible.

Oscar burst into loud, unguarded laughter, throwing his head back. When he looked at Lando again, his smile was wide and genuine, revealing his two slightly prominent front teeth — his “bunny teeth” that he rarely showed so openly.

Lando was mesmerized. He had never seen Oscar’s full smile, and discovering that the serious IT guy had bunny teeth was the most adorable thing he had ever witnessed.

— My God, Lando… that was the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life — Oscar said, trying to catch his breath, still smiling from ear to ear. — Seriously. Zero for creativity, but a ten for effort in making me embarrassed.

— It worked, didn’t it? — Lando shot back, his green eyes sparkling. — Look at you, you’re laughing! And I just discovered that London’s most feared IT technician is actually a disguised little bunny.

Oscar covered his mouth for a second, blushing slightly, but didn’t stop smiling.

— Don’t spread that around. My reputation in sixth semester depends on my mystery — Oscar joked, lowering his hand as his gaze softened again, leaning a little closer to Lando. — But… if you promise not to use those computer pickup lines anymore, I’ll let you take a picture of that smile on Saturday.

Lando felt his heart race. He set his coffee aside and rested his chin on his hand, looking at Oscar with an admiration that no longer needed cameras to be real.

— Deal. But I don’t promise anything about the pickup lines. I’ve got one about HDMI cables that you’re going to love.

☕

Lando walked down the building steps with an energy that not even three shots of espresso could explain. The conversation on the balcony still echoed in his mind like a song stuck on repeat; he now knew that Oscar’s Tuesdays were chaos between his internship and networking classes, and that the Australian preferred the silence of the library over the chaos of the university café.

He adjusted his loose pants, pulling his belt up a little, and felt the familiar weight of his backup camera bumping against his chest. His backpack was packed with lenses, memory cards, and, secretly, a pack of cookies he was absolutely sure did not contain blueberries.

As he walked toward the square, Lando checked his phone one last time. The Saturday sun was perfect — that “golden light” he had promised — bathing London’s streets in a soft orange glow.

As soon as he turned the corner and the square opened up in front of him, Lando’s heart jolted so hard he almost lost his step.

There was Oscar.

He was leaning near a wooden bench, wearing pants that fit his legs perfectly without being too tight, and a shirt that gave him a casual yet impeccably well-dressed look. He looked like an indie magazine model, but what really made Lando freeze in place was what Oscar was holding.

A bouquet of flowers. Colorful, fresh, and vibrant.

Oscar looked around, eyes slightly squinted because of the sun, searching for a familiar cap in the crowd. When his eyes finally met Lando’s, that half-smile appeared, and his “bunny teeth” showed for a brief second before he tried to regain his IT composure.

Lando approached a bit awkwardly, one hand gripping his camera strap like it was a shield.

— Hi! — Lando exclaimed, stopping at a safe distance but with that heart-shaped smile overflowing. — You… you look really good, Oscar. Seriously. And those flowers? Did a motherboard die and you’re heading to a funeral?

Oscar let out a soft laugh, lowering his head slightly and extending the bouquet toward Lando with a shyness that the photographer found the most beautiful thing in the world.

— Funny — Oscar murmured, his Australian accent soft in the afternoon air. — Actually, I passed by a flower shop and the owner guaranteed that none of these cause allergic reactions in clumsy photographers. I thought it would be a better apology than a killer muffin.

Lando took the flowers, feeling the soft scent and the texture of the wrapping paper. He looked at Oscar, warmth blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

— They’re beautiful, Oscar. Thank you. Really — Lando said, eyes shining. — But you know I’m going to have to take about two thousand pictures of you with this bouquet now, right? The light is perfect and you’re holding flowers… Carlos is going to have a heart attack when he sees the result.

Oscar stepped closer, closing the distance between them until Lando could smell him — a mix of soap and that subtle hint of coffee that seemed to be his signature.

— I agreed to be your model, didn’t I? — Oscar teased, adjusting Lando’s cap with a light touch of his fingers. — So come on, professor. Where do we start?

London’s Saturday weather felt like it had been ordered by a cinematographer. The sun wasn’t harsh enough to create strong shadows, but it wrapped everything in a golden softness that made Lando’s eyes look even greener.

They walked along the wide sidewalk toward the river, and a route that would normally take ten minutes was taking twice as long. Neither of them seemed in a hurry. Lando, with the flowers tucked in one arm and the camera hanging from the other, took short steps, which made his shoulder “accidentally” bump into Oscar’s every three seconds.

Oscar, far from complaining, returned the gesture. He stepped sideways, bumping his hip into Lando’s on purpose, making the photographer stumble slightly and let out that nasal laugh Oscar was already getting addicted to.

— Hey! Are you trying to knock down your photography professor? — Lando joked, bumping into him again, harder this time.

Oscar let out a low laugh, his eyes shining with amusement while his hands stayed tucked into his pockets.

— I’m just testing your balance, Norris. A good photographer needs stability, right? — Oscar shot back, stopping for a second and looking at Lando with that half-smile that let his bunny teeth show.

Lando stopped too, feeling his face heat up — not from the sun, but from the closeness. He lifted the spare camera hanging from his neck and handed it to Oscar.

— Since you’re so confident, hold this. Let’s see if the IT genius can handle something that doesn’t have a keyboard.

Oscar took the camera carefully, his fingers brushing against Lando’s for a moment that felt way too long to be just a handoff. He looked through the viewfinder, faking technical seriousness, while Lando stepped in front of him, holding the bouquet against his chest and striking an overly dramatic pose, tongue between his teeth.

— Take a picture of me, go on! — Lando challenged, flashing a peace sign. — Let’s see if you can capture my natural beauty or if you’re going to blow out the whites.

Oscar let out a genuine laugh, the sound echoing through the square and making a few people nearby smile too. He raised the camera to his eye, adjusting the focus with surprising ease for a beginner.

— Stay still, Lando — Oscar said, his voice soft yet firm. — George’s “little lion” might be his model, but you… you’re much easier to frame.

Lando felt his heart jump. For a second, he stopped joking, eyes fixed on the lens as Oscar pressed the shutter. The click felt like it sealed something right there, between bumps and soft smiles.

Lando couldn’t help it. The moment he heard the shutter click in Oscar’s hands, he forgot the dramatic pose and let out a smile that came straight from his chest. It was his best angle: head slightly tilted, green eyes squinting with joy, and that heart-shaped mouth opening into the brightest smile he had.

The sunlight hit from the side, lighting up the messy curls escaping his cap and highlighting the small gap between his teeth that Oscar admired so much. Lando held the bouquet with genuine care, as if those flowers were the most valuable trophy he’d ever received.

Oscar froze for a few seconds, finger still lightly pressing the shutter. Through the lens, he didn’t just see a famous photographer or a “brother” from the café — he saw the person who made him laugh at IT jokes and blush over a blueberry muffin.

— Did you get it? — Lando asked, keeping the smile but with a sweet expectation in his voice. — Or did I break your lens with all this radiance?

Oscar lowered the camera slowly but didn’t look away. He seemed slightly hypnotized, processing the image he had just captured — both on the memory card and in his own mind.

— I think… I think this is the best photo that’s ever existed on this card — Oscar confessed, his voice coming out in a sincere whisper that made Lando’s smile falter for a second, turning into something softer, deeper. — You shine a lot, Lando. It’s hard for the sensor to keep up.

Lando felt his face burn, but this time he didn’t look away. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

— Let me see — Lando said, moving so close that his shoulder pressed against Oscar’s chest as they both looked at the small LCD screen.

Oscar’s scent — that mix of soap and coffee — completely surrounded Lando. They were so close Lando could feel the warmth of his body. On the screen, the image showed a happy, vibrant Lando, and above all, someone being looked at with a kind of care that only the person behind the lens can give.

— It’s perfect — Lando murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He tilted his face up, meeting Oscar’s dark eyes just inches away.

The air around them, heavy with a soft and silent tension, exploded into chaos in the blink of an eye. Oscar, with that quick reflex of someone used to dealing with circuits and cables, saw the perfect opening. He let go of the camera strap and lunged, his hands finding Lando’s ribs with surgical precision.

— Oh yeah? It’s perfect, huh? — Oscar teased, fingers starting to dance mercilessly at Lando’s sides.

The photographer let out a high-pitched squeal — a sound that definitely didn’t match his Vogue reputation. He twisted, the flowers wobbling dangerously in one hand while the other tried, unsuccessfully, to push Oscar away.

— OSCAR! STOP! I SWEAR I’LL FIRE YOU! — Lando shouted between hysterical laughter, body bending backward as he tried to escape the relentless attack.

He turned abruptly to run, but the movement was too clumsy. Lando tripped over his own feet, and Oscar, on instinct — or just unwilling to lose his target — grabbed him tighter by the waist, pulling him close to keep him from kissing the pavement.

The impact brought Lando back against Oscar’s chest. Lando’s laughter was still fading from his lips, leaving them slightly parted and warm, when Oscar decided the fun had reached its limit.

Before Lando could catch his breath for another joke, Oscar tilted his head and captured his lips.

It was clumsy at first — the kind of kiss that happens between two boys who just tripped into each other. Lando tasted the earlier coffee and felt the warmth of Oscar’s breath against his skin. The surprise lasted only a split second before Lando exhaled and melted into it, his hands finding the back of Oscar’s neck while the flowers were forgotten, crushed between them.

They stumbled sideways, feet tangling again as they tried to keep both balance and the kiss. Oscar let out a muffled laugh against Lando’s mouth, feeling the heart shape of his lips fit perfectly against his own.

They only stopped when they lightly bumped into the back of a bench, but neither of them pulled away.

— Damn… — Lando murmured against Oscar’s lips as they parted by mere millimeters, his face redder than the bouquet. — I think my operating system just went into a full collapse.

Oscar smiled, his bunny teeth showing in a victorious way, and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of Lando’s nose.

— I told you you needed stability, Norris. Lucky for you I’m good at tech support.

☕

The rest of the walk was wrapped in a bubble of calm that not even London’s movement could break.

They walked with their fingers intertwined, hands gently swinging between them as they explored every detail of the city under the evening light. Lando stopped every two meters to photograph an old phone booth, a reflection in a puddle, or even the way Oscar’s shadow stretched across the pavement.

But the golden moment happened when they stopped in front of a small corner bookstore. Oscar was distracted, commenting on how the building’s architecture looked like a badly assembled puzzle, when Lando dropped one of his silly “bits and bytes” jokes.

Oscar couldn’t take it. He let out a free, unguarded laugh, throwing his head to the side — and there they were: the bunny teeth, perfectly visible and framed by pure happiness.

Click.

Lando captured the exact moment. The focus was perfect, the depth of field isolating Oscar against the blurred bookstore background.

— Got it! — Lando exclaimed, victorious, looking at the camera screen with shining eyes. — My God, Oscar, this is the photo of my life. Forget Vogue, forget everything.

Oscar stepped closer, still smiling, and peeked over Lando’s shoulder. He stayed quiet for a moment, seeing himself in a way he never had before: light, spontaneous and… hopelessly in love.

— You look really cute, “little bunny” — Lando teased, planting a loud kiss on Oscar’s cheek. — It’s decided. This is going to be my new phone wallpaper. And the laptop you fixed. And my high-end gaming PC. I’m going to see your smile on every screen in my house.

Oscar felt his face heat up but didn’t protest. He just squeezed Lando’s hand a little tighter, feeling that, of all the systems he had ever fixed, the photographer’s heart was the most incredible one he had ever had the pleasure to know.

— If you put that on your PC, your friends are going to see it next time you play there — Oscar warned, his tone amused. — Are you sure you can handle the teasing?

Lando shrugged, pulling Oscar along so they could keep walking, the bouquet now resting in his free arm while he kept his focus on his favorite “model.”

— Let them talk. If they complain, I’ll say it’s an advanced technique of… “Light Studies.” They won’t understand it anyway.

The night began to fall over London, bringing that deep blue tone Lando always said was the hardest to capture without the right ISO. They walked to a small Italian restaurant hidden in a stone alley, far from the noise of tourists. The place was so small they had to sit on a single wooden bench, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a margherita pizza while Oscar tried — unsuccessfully — to explain why Python was better than C++.

— You talk like you’re reciting poetry, but all I hear is “blah blah blah code” — Lando laughed, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

— It is poetry, Lando! Just for machines — Oscar shot back, though his expression softened when he saw the photographer yawn slightly, the day’s exhaustion finally catching up.

After dinner, they slowly walked to Oscar’s building. The city had quieted down, and the sound of their shoes against the pavement became the only rhythm of that goodbye. When they reached the dark metal door, the silence grew heavy again — not with nerves, but with that shared reluctance for Saturday to end.

Lando stopped in front of him, holding the camera strap in one hand and the slightly wilted — but still beautiful — flowers in the other.

— So… — Lando began, rocking on his heels. — We survived the first official shoot. And the first kiss. And the killer muffin.

Oscar stepped forward, closing the distance and wrapping his arms around Lando’s waist, pulling him into a calm embrace. He rested his forehead against Lando’s, feeling the brim of the cap brush his skin.

— I’d say it was a system success — Oscar murmured, his voice low and warm. — No critical errors. No blue screens.

Lando let out a soft laugh and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth.

— Are you going to text me when you get upstairs? — Lando asked, his voice quieter. — Just so I know my favorite technician didn’t get kidnapped by a computer virus in the elevator?

Oscar let out one of those little laughs that showed his bunny teeth, pressing a slow, tender kiss to Lando’s lips.

— I will. And I’ll be expecting that photo. I want to see if the wallpaper really turned out good.

They said goodbye with one last kiss — the kind that promises many more “golden light Saturdays.” Lando stayed on the sidewalk, watching Oscar go inside and wave one last time before the door closed.

As soon as Oscar’s elevator went up, Lando’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Oscar (IT Bunny): “I already miss my clumsy photographer. Also, I changed my wallpaper too. That heart-shaped smile of yours matches the glow of the screen.”

Lando smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. He walked back home under London’s lights, knowing that on Monday, when he stepped into Nicole’s café, he wouldn’t just be the guy who spilled coffee anymore. He’d be the owner of the smile now lighting up all of Oscar’s screens.

And so, between the glow of lenses and the code of complex systems, they discovered that life was far more vibrant when shared. Lando finally found in Oscar his fixed point — the rational calm and safe embrace that brought balance to his creative chaos — while Oscar found in Lando his personal spark, the dose of adrenaline and color missing from his logical routine. The feeling that tied them together needed no filters or updates; it was a love that overflowed in heart-shaped smiles and bunny glances, proving that sometimes the best fix someone can make is simply teaching another how to let their heart beat in the right rhythm.