Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1 : New Arrivals
Lando woke up to someone aggressively stealing the blanket.
He opened one eye.
“Oscar,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “you are literally six foot tall. Why are you stealing fabric from me instead of getting your own?”
Oscar, face half buried in the pillow, did not open his eyes.
“I’m cold.”
“You’re cold because you sleep naked like a corpse.”
“You sleep with more layers than an hibernating bear. You don’t need the blanket.”
“Normal people wear pyjamas instead of conducting medical research into hypothermia.”
“And yet,” Oscar yawned, “you’re the one complaining.”
Lando stared at him for a long moment.
This still happened sometimes.
The staring.
Usually in quiet moments like this one — pale winter light through Oscar’s apartment windows, tangled sheets, the distant sound of early traffic somewhere below.
Moments where Lando’s brain abruptly caught up with reality and went:
Oh.
Right.
That’s my boyfriend.
Which was frankly still insane.
Not because Oscar being attractive was surprising. That had been a problem from the beginning.
No, the shocking part was that Oscar somehow existed like this in private too.
Soft.
Warm.
Sleep-rumpled.
One arm lazily wrapped around Lando’s waist beneath the blankets like it belonged there.
Like Lando belonged there.
Dangerous behavior, honestly.
Lando reached over and pushed Oscar’s fringe out of his eyes.
Oscar made a dissatisfied noise and caught Lando’s wrist without looking.
“Stop moving.”
“You have to go to work.”
“So do you.”
Oscar finally opened one eye.
“You’re dramatic in the mornings.”
Lando gasped, “I’m correct in the mornings.”
Oscar shifted closer without opening his eyes fully.
“Mm. Tragic.”
Oscar’s mouth twitched.
Tiny.
Brief.
But devastating enough that Lando immediately leaned forward to kiss him.
Oscar kissed like he did everything else: efficiently, and with alarming competence.
Which was unfair at seven in the morning.
Lando shifted closer automatically, half climbing over him beneath the blankets, and Oscar’s hand slid instinctively up his spine.
There it was.
That terrifyingly domestic thing they kept doing now.
Neither of them had officially acknowledged that Lando was essentially living here.
But his charger was permanently plugged into the wall beside Oscar’s bed.
His shampoo had appeared in the shower three weeks ago.
And yesterday Oscar had bought Lando’s specific coffee beans without asking.
Which honestly felt more intimate than sex.
Speaking of—
Oscar kissed him slowly once more before pulling back just enough to murmur:
“We’re going to be late.”
“That sounds like a future problem.”
“You said that last week.”
“And?”
“We were late.”
Lando considered this.
“Okay but in my defense, you started that.”
Oscar looked entirely unrepentant.
Which was another issue.
Before dating Oscar, Lando had genuinely believed him incapable of mischief.
Now he knew better.
Now he knew Oscar occasionally said things specifically to watch Lando short-circuit.
Which was deeply rude behavior from a neurosurgeon.
“You’re evil,” Lando informed him.
“You’re dramatic.”
“You like that about me.”
Oscar’s expression softened in that quiet way that still made something nervous flutter low in Lando’s chest.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Lando forgot how breathing worked for approximately three seconds.
This was becoming a problem.
Lando recovered by shoving his face dramatically into Oscar’s shoulder.
“You can’t say things like that before caffeine.”
“I just did.”
“Horrible man you are, Mr Piastri.”
Oscar laughed softly against his hair.
And there it was again:
that impossible feeling of warmth spreading through Lando’s chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
God.
He was in trouble.
The emergency department at seven-thirty in the morning already looked like society collapsing in real time.
Phones ringing.
Monitors alarming.
Someone yelling for imaging.
Lando walked through the automatic doors carrying two coffees and immediately had one stolen from his hand.
“Thanks,” Priya said.
“That was mine.”
“You’re sleeping with neurosurgery now. Financially you’ll recover.”
“I’m not sleeping with neurosurgery,” Lando replied automatically.
Priya stared at him.
Then at the very visible hickey peeking above his collar.
Then back at him.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “sometimes I genuinely worry about your neurological function.”
Lando looked offended. “Rude.”
“You’re dating a neurosurgeon. Ask him if you’re salvageable.”
Lando snatched his coffee back.
Priya rolled her eyes fondly before turning toward the trauma board.
Then paused.
“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Your new attending starts today.”
Lando blinked. “Already?”
“Mmhm.”
“What’s he like?”
Priya gave him a look.
“That depends. Professionally or according to the nurses?”
“That’s never a reassuring distinction.”
“He’s hot.”
Lando sighed. “Every time.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
Before Lando could respond, someone called Priya’s name from across the department and she disappeared into the chaos.
Lando headed toward the staff station, still half asleep, only to stop short when he saw an unfamiliar man leaning against the counter flipping through patient charts.
Dark hair.
Expensive watch.
Infuriatingly well-fitted scrubs.
The man looked up.
Smiled immediately.
And oh.
Now he saw what the nurses must have been gushing about. The man was charming, by definition.
“You must be Norris,” he said, accent warm and smooth. “Carlos Sainz.”
Lando shook his hand automatically.
“Lando. Welcome to the disaster zone.”
Carlos glanced around the emergency department.
“I’ve worked trauma in Barcelona.”
“That explains the lack of fear.”
Carlos grinned.
“Should I be afraid?”
“Yes,” Lando said instantly.
“Excellent.”
Something about him felt immediately easy.
Not forced.
Not performative.
Just warm in a way that settled naturally into conversation.
Lando liked him within approximately thirty seconds, which unfortunately meant Priya was probably right.
“This place always this chaotic?” Carlos asked.
“No,” Lando deadpanned as a patient vomited loudly somewhere behind them. “This is one of our more elegant mornings.”
Carlos laughed.
And annoyingly, his laugh was attractive too, making heads turn around him. Lando briefly thought the universe was deeply unfair, because apparently one man really could have everything.
“Okay,” Priya announced suddenly, reappearing beside them. “Important question before I decide whether I tolerate you.”
Carlos blinked.
“…hello?”
“Coffee order.”
Carlos stared at her.
Lando watched the exact moment realization hit:
survival here depended entirely on whether the nursing staff liked you.
“Flat white,” Carlos answered carefully. “One sugar.”
Smart man.
Priya considered him.
“Acceptable.”
“Thank God.”
“You’re still on probation.”
Carlos placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“I’ll try to earn your trust.”
Priya narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Lando was still laughing when his pager went off.
Room twelve.
Chest pain.
“Duty calls,” he sighed.
Carlos pushed off the counter immediately.
“I’ll come.”
And just like that, they fell into step beside each other naturally.
Too naturally, maybe.
Because by lunchtime they were already moving around one another with the easy rhythm that normally took weeks to develop between ER doctors.
Shared procedures.
Quick communication.
Matching pace.
At one point during a trauma assessment, Carlos handed Lando exactly the instrument he needed before he asked.
Lando looked up in surprise.
Carlos shrugged casually. “You telegraph your thinking.”
“That’s either nice or insulting.”
“Depends how you want to take it.”
Lando snorted.
Behind them, Priya made a strange choking sound into her coffee.
A few weeks later, Oscar was at his usual spot in Neuro, attempting to focus on his work and failing spectacularly. Eventually, he gave up entirely and spun slowly in his chair, head tipped back toward the ceiling.
Oscar’s day had already been a catastrophic mess before Charles Leclerc appeared in neurosurgery.
“This is your fault,” Charles announced.
Oscar looked up slowly.
“…hello to you too.”
Charles sat down heavily across from him looking deeply offended by existence itself.
Objectively, Charles was beautiful.
Annoyingly beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that made old women flirt with him during cardiac consults.
Today, however, he looked like someone nearing psychological collapse.
Oscar returned to his charting.
“What happened?”
Charles stared at him.
Then said, with immense bitterness:
“George Russell happened.”
Oscar paused.
“…the chief resident?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still unclear on the problem.”
Charles looked personally betrayed by the question.
“He keeps following Max around.”
Oscar blinked once.
“…right.”
“And Max lets him.”
There was a deeply loaded silence.
Oscar slowly put his pen down.
Ah.
Unfortunately, Oscar knew about this situation.
Not intentionally.
But hospitals were ecosystems built entirely on gossip dependency.
Everyone knew Charles and Max had dated in med school.
Everyone also knew they now behaved like two people aggressively pretending the other did not exist.
Which somehow made the unresolved feelings more obvious.
“I thought you said you were over him,” Oscar said carefully.
“I am.”
Oscar looked at him.
Charles looked back.
Oscar waited.
Charles sighed dramatically.
“Fine,” he admitted. “But I’m over emotionally engaging with his existence.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It should be.”
Oscar resisted the urge to rub his temples.
“George is probably just bothering him about work again.”
“No,” Charles said darkly. “You don’t understand. Max hates being bothered.”
Fair.
Max Verstappen was many things:
brilliant,
terrifying,
alarmingly good in trauma surgery—
but patient was not one of them.
Except apparently with George Russell.
“He should have snapped at him weeks ago,” Charles continued. “But instead he just… tolerates him.”
Oscar frowned slightly.
That was unusual.
Charles slumped lower in his chair.
“And now George keeps showing up everywhere.”
“Maybe they’re working together.”
Charles gave him a deeply unimpressed look.
“Oscar. Yesterday George brought him an energy drink. And he didn’t even get the brand wrong.”
Oscar blinked.
“…oh.”
“Exactly.”
There was another silence.
Then Charles narrowed his eyes. He must have caught something in the neurosurgeon’s expression, because he immediately switched into investigative mode.
“What’s wrong with you lately? You’ve looked vaguely haunted all week. Should I be concerned?”
Oscar looked away too quickly.
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I really don’t.”
Charles stared at him for several long seconds.
Then, slowly — horribly — his expression changed.
“Is this about Lando?”
There.
Oscar’s poker face slipped for half a second.
“Oh my God,” Charles whispered.
Oscar immediately regretted everything, because while Charles was catastrophically oblivious to his own problems, he was unfortunately extremely observant when it came to everyone else’s.
But realistically, how could he really know what has been plagging Oscar’s mind for weeks. It would be creepy. Right ?
“You’re not someone who gets mad easily, Oscar. Especially not at Lando.”
Oscar said nothing.
Charles narrowed his eyes.
“And the idiot is still wandering around downstairs completely unaware, so whatever this is…” He trailed off, thinking.
Oscar immediately disliked where this was going.
“You’re not angry at Lando,” Charles said slowly. “You’re annoyed at something around Lando.”
Charles stared at him.
Then frowned.
Then blinked once.
“Wait.”
Oscar looked away.
Charles pointed at him slowly, like he was approaching a dangerous animal.
“And you only started acting like this after Carlos started downstairs.”
A pause.
Then Charles’s eyes widened in dawning horror.
“Oh my God.”
Oscar closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re jealous.”
“What..?”
“You’re jealous of the new ER doctor.”
Oscar froze like a deer caught in headlights.
“I’m not.”
Charles pointed at him like he’d just solved a murder.
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
Charles gasped quietly.
“Oh, this is incredible.”
Oscar considered faking a pager emergency.
Charles said, delighted now. “This is amazing. You’re usually terrifyingly well-adjusted.”
“I’m not well-adjusted.”
“You’re in a stable relationship. Same thing.”
Oscar hated this conversation already.
Especially because he knew exactly what had triggered it.
Carlos Sainz.
The new ER attending.
Oscar had met him once.
Briefly.
Long enough to notice: confident, charming absurdly attractive and immediately good with Lando.
Which shouldn’t matter.
Except it did.
Not rationally.
Oscar trusted Lando completely.
That wasn’t the issue.
The issue was more embarrassing.
Carlos made Oscar feel— for the first time since this relationship began—replaceable. Stealing his place in the LandoSphere.
And Oscar hated himself a little for that.
“You need to communicate,” Charles announced.
Oscar stared at him blankly.
“You,” he said slowly, “are the least qualified person on earth to give relationship advice.”
Charles ignored this.
“You’ll become weird if you keep bottling it up.”
Oscar felt strangely attacked.
“I don’t bottle things up.”
Charles laughed out loud.
Actually laughed.
“You are a neurosurgeon, Oscar.”
Oscar opened his mouth to respond.
Then froze slightly as movement outside the office caught his eye.
Lando.
Laughing.
Carlos beside him.
The new attending said something quietly and Lando immediately doubled over smiling.
Something unpleasant twisted low in Oscar’s stomach.
Small.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Beside him, Charles followed his gaze.
Then looked back at Oscar with devastating understanding.
“Oh,” Charles said softly.
Oscar looked away first.