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The constant clack of keyboards, notifications chiming every three seconds, and the unbearable hum of the fluorescent lights in the Communications building were, on normal days, things Lando could manage to ignore. But not at the end of a university term in England, under a fine drizzle that felt like it hadn't stopped for four days straight.
At twenty-four, Lando Norris was exhausted by a routine that felt prefabricated. Majoring in Social Communication had seemed like a great idea on paper—he liked people, stories, the dynamic of understanding how things connected. But in practice? His life had turned into a endless sequence of deadlines, social media management for companies he couldn't care less about, Zoom meetings, and the uncomfortable feeling of living inside a screen.
He needed real noise. Not notifications, but something that made him feel like the world still existed outside his noise-canceling headphones.
His discovery of the project happened on a Tuesday, at two in the morning, in a completely unassuming way.
Lando was supposed to be writing an essay on "Communication Strategies in Non-Governmental Organizations," which led him to search random NGO websites around the world for examples. That's when he stumbled onto the page of an ecological sanctuary and coastal conservation project in Hervey Bay, on the east coast of Australia.
The website was terribly designed. It featured outdated fonts and slightly out-of-focus photos, but the text had an honest simplicity to it:
Volunteers wanted for the nesting season and rescue of sea turtles (Chelonia mydas). No prior experience required. Just a willingness to wake up early, get dirty with sand, and put in the work.
Lando blinked, staring at the photo of a sunny beach under the Australian sky.
In that exact moment, the contrast couldn't have been more painful. He looked at his cup of cold coffee, at the window fogged up by the Bristol rain, and then back to the screen. He knew nothing about marine biology. He didn't know the difference between a green sea turtle and a hawksbill. But the idea of spending two months miles away from any studio, with his feet in the sand and no obligation to be "connected," suddenly felt like the only logical option to keep from losing his mind.
Three weeks later—after a quick exchange of emails, a paid registration fee, and the approval of his temporary deferral from university—Lando was on a plane crossing the globe.
The arrival at the research station was anything but glamorous. The Australian heat hit him like a punch to the chest as soon as he stepped off the small local bus. The project compound consisted of a simple wooden structure, a few rustic cabins, and a main shed surrounded by rehabilitation tanks and diving equipment.
The coordinator of the facility, a friendly middle-aged man named Marcus, welcomed him with a firm handshake and a glass of ice water.
"You must be Lando. The communication kid from England," Marcus said, laughing at his tired face. "Ready to stop staring at screens and start hauling buckets?"
"Definitely," Lando smiled, his voice raspy from the jet lag. "I just need to know where to drop my things."
"Cabin three. You'll be sharing the workspace and patrols with Oscar. He's our resident biologist for this season. He knows everything around here, but... well, just try not to step on his toes. He takes the routine pretty seriously."
Lando nodded, thinking it would be easy. After all, how complicated could it be to live with a biologist in a tropical paradise?
The answer came less than an hour later.
After throwing his backpack onto the simple bunk bed in the cabin, Lando decided to explore the main shed. The smell of sea spray and antiseptic filled the air. In the back, near a large saltwater tank, someone was crouching down wearing gumboots, a pair of worn-out shorts, and a grey project t-shirt.
"Hey!" Lando called out, approaching with his usual curiosity, hands in his shorts pockets. "You must be Oscar. I'm Lando, the new volunteer..."
The young man stood up slowly. Oscar was tall, with slightly messy brown hair and dark eyes that seemed to analyze Lando from head to toe in a matter of milliseconds. He held a waterproof clipboard with near-surgical firmness.
"Lando," Oscar repeated, with no apparent enthusiasm. His voice was deep, low, and incredibly calm—typically Australian. "You were late for the four o'clock briefing."
"Ah... my bus broke down on the way from the airport," Lando explained, stepping forward to look inside the tank. "What's in there? Is it an injured turtle?"
"It's a hawksbill turtle in rehabilitation," Oscar said, taking a quick step to the side and subtly blocking Lando's view. "And the first rule of the center is not to approach the edges of the tanks without proper footwear and sanitized hands. You're wearing flip-flops."
Lando looked down at his own feet, then back up at Oscar, letting out a soft laugh.
"Right. No flip-flops near the patient. Got it."
Oscar didn't smile. He just adjusted the pen on his clipboard.
"The dawn patrol starts at four-thirty AM. Don't be late. If you miss low tide, we can't collect data from the nests."
"Four-thirty? In the morning?" Lando's eyes widened, genuinely surprised.
"That's when the turtles nest and when the hatchlings emerge, Lando," Oscar said, keeping his tone painfully patient, as if explaining a basic concept to a child. "They don't adapt to volunteer schedules."
Before Lando could respond or ask one of the ten questions already forming in his mind, Oscar turned his back, going right back to jotting down the water's pH levels on his clipboard, ending the conversation right then and there.
Lando took two steps back, staring at the biologist's back. An involuntary smirk began to form on his face.
He had come to Australia looking for peace, quiet, and something different from his predictable routine. Looking at Oscar's rigid posture and hearing the distant sound of the ocean waves, Lando had the uncertain—yet fascinating—certainty that this summer was not going to be quiet at all.
Lando's phone alarm went off at four in the morning with a sharp, blaring sound that seemed to echo through the whole cabin. He jumped out of bed, his heart pounding, completely disoriented. The air in the room was dense, humid, and warm, lulled only by the continuous hum of the ceiling fan spinning slowly.
When Lando finally managed to put his sneakers on—properly closed this time, to avoid another lecture—he threw on a long-sleeved shirt and stepped out onto the porch, finding Oscar leaning against the wooden railing.
The biologist was already up, wearing a light jacket against the sea breeze, holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a red-light flashlight in the other. He looked terribly awake for such an inhumane hour.
"Four twenty-eight," Oscar said, without looking back as he heard Lando's footsteps. He took a sip of his coffee. "Punctual. Surprising."
"I haven't slept less than six hours a night since I started uni," Lando grumbled, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he walked down the steps. "This is torture. How do you guys live like this?"
"The ocean doesn't wait for you to wake up, Lando," Oscar replied in his usual calm voice, handing him a red flashlight. "Red light only. White light scares the nesting females and disorients the hatchlings trying to make it to the sea. If you turn on your phone flashlight, I'm throwing it in the water."
Lando blinked, trying to decipher if that was a joke. Oscar's face, however, remained completely unreadable in the dim light of dawn.
They walked in silence along the coastal trail to the beach. The sound of the waves crashing against the reef was loud and rhythmical, and the chilly early morning wind sent an immediate chill down Lando's arms. The sky was still a dark navy canopy, dotted with thousands of stars that seemed so much brighter than anything Lando had ever seen in England.
As soon as Lando's feet sank into the soft sand, his exhaustion began to get swallowed up by an inevitable fascination.
"Okay, but explain something to me," Lando started, taking quick steps to keep up with Oscar's long, steady stride. "How do you even know where to look? The beach goes on for miles. Are we just walking around randomly hoping to trip over a turtle?"
Oscar let out a soft sigh, keeping his eyes fixed on the tide line.
"We look for tracks. Sea turtles weigh over a hundred kilos. When they come out of the water, they leave deep marks in the sand that look like tractor tire tracks. Hard to miss."
"And what if the tide washes the track away before we get there?"
"That's why we wake up at four-thirty in the morning."
"Makes sense," Lando nodded, absorbed. They walked a few more meters before he spoke up again: "And what's your favorite turtle? Do you have one? Or is that like asking a parent who their favorite kid is?"
Oscar stopped walking for a second, closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and started walking again.
"I don't have 'favorites,' Lando. Every species has ecological significance."
"Oh, come on, everyone has a favorite!" Lando laughed, lightly nudging Oscar's shoulder with his elbow. "Mine is the one with the funny face. The... what's it called? The one that looks like it's always angry."
"Hawksbill? Eretmochelys imbricata?"
"That's the one! I saw a picture on the bulletin board in the shed. It looks like you when I arrived yesterday."
Oscar froze in his tracks. He turned around slowly to face Lando, lit only by the reddish glow of the flashlight. The expression on the biologist's face was one of pure, painful patience—the kind of look elementary school teachers give to particularly difficult students.
"Lando."
"Yeah?"
"We've been on the beach for fifteen minutes and you've already asked seven questions, made a bad joke, and almost stepped on a marked nest right there."
Lando looked down instantly, jumping backward. Scarcely inches from his right sneaker was a small wooden stake painted yellow, marking a nesting area.
"Oops," Lando muttered, raising his hands in surrender. "My bad. Didn't see it."
"Which is exactly why you need to pay attention and save some of that energy," Oscar said, crouching down to check the stake and read the number written on the reflective tape. He pulled out his clipboard and began filling in the coordinates. "This nest here is due to hatch in the next three days. If you keep talking without watching where you're going, you'll end up stepping on the soft sand and compacting the nest, which stops the hatchlings from digging their way out."
The gravity in Oscar's voice made Lando's playful mood disappear for a moment. He looked down at the marking in the sand, imagining the dozens of tiny lives underneath, trying to fight their way to the surface. The contrast between the urgency of that ecosystem and his own shallow world of engagement metrics and social media hit him hard in the chest.
"I get it," Lando said, his voice turning surprisingly quiet and sincere. "I'm really sorry. I'll pay attention."
Oscar looked up from his clipboard, looking slightly surprised by the Brit's sudden shift in attitude. Lando's eyes showed genuine, unironic curiosity. For a split second, Oscar's gaze softened.
"It's fine," Oscar murmured, clearing his throat and standing back up. "Just... watch the ground."
As they continued their patrol, the eastern horizon began to paint itself in vibrant shades of pink, orange, and gold. The sun rising over the Pacific Ocean turned the beach into something spectacular. Lando, who had spent the last few years trapped between classroom walls and computer screens, stopped for a second just to take in the view.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Lando commented softly, without the over-the-top excitement from earlier, just genuinely awestruck.
Oscar stopped a few steps away. He looked out at the sea, the wind messing up his brown hair, and then glanced over at Lando, who had a goofy, amazed smile on his face illuminated by the morning light.
"Yeah," Oscar replied, and for the first time since they had met, the biologist's voice held a subtle, almost imperceptible hint of a smile. "It's the best part of the job."
Lando looked over at him, catching the exact moment Oscar let his guard down. The biologist's calmness, which had previously felt like coldness, began to strike Lando as something far more interesting.
He knew it was going to be a long summer. And, for the first time in a long while, Lando was looking forward to every single second of it.
The following weeks in Hervey Bay didn't change overnight. The Australian summer didn't take any dramatic pauses to announce that something between them was different; instead, the shift crept into their routine subtly, almost imperceptibly, piling up in the smallest details of daily life at the research station.
At first, what existed was purely functional collegiality. They were two cogs in a small, isolated system: an intensely focused biologist and a British volunteer trying to prove his worth. But little by little, being forced to share the same roof and the same canopy of stars began to smooth out the harshest edges.
Lando learned quickly that the best way to work with Oscar wasn't trying to change him, but finding cracks in his shell of seriousness. By the second week, Lando knew exactly how Oscar liked his breakfast after the morning patrol: strong, with a splash of milk and no sugar, served in a chipped ceramic mug featuring the faded logo of an old expedition. In return, without a single word ever being spoken on the matter, Lando began finding his water bottle always filled with ice in the freezer before they headed out into the suffocating ten o'clock heat.
Lando's extroversion, which on the first day had seemed to annoy the biologist, ended up becoming a sort of background soundtrack to Oscar's life. Lando would hum British pop songs while cleaning sand out of the tanks; he made silly jokes about the scientific names Oscar tried to teach him; and he named the recovering turtles ridiculous nicknames that made the Australian knit his brow in disapproval, even if the corners of his mouth betrayed his serious front.
One afternoon, while measuring the carapace of a young hawksbill recovering from accidentally ingesting plastic, Lando blurted out:
"This one definitely looks like a 'Barnaby.' Look at his nostrils, Oscar. He's a pure Barnaby."
Oscar, holding the tape measure with his usual precision, paused for three whole seconds. He looked at the turtle, looked at Lando—who was staring at him with childlike expectation, eyes shining with amusement—and let out a defeated sigh.
"Barnaby is not an acceptable scientific name for the project database, Lando."
"But you can put it in parentheses," Lando insisted, leaning closer to hold the animal's hind flipper with the care he had learned to practice. "Eretmochelys imbricata (a.k.a. Barnaby). Marcus won't care."
Oscar shook his head, but Lando caught the exact second he jotted down a small pencil "B" in the upper corner of the tracking sheet. That was a quiet victory, and Lando held the moment close to his chest with a strange warmth.
Their friendship wove itself together like that: in the gentle friction between one's expansive nature and the other's composure. Oscar started giving him space. He no longer blocked Lando's view in the shed; instead, he would gesture with his head to show the Brit small things—the rapid heartbeat of a hatchling under a vet stethoscope, the difference in texture between different feeding algae, or how the tide formed perfect natural pools on the south side of the island.
But what truly brought Lando close to Oscar was the ability the Australian developed to read his pace.
Lando was, by nature, a loud person. He filled spaces with conversation because he had been taught his whole life to be the communicator, the fun guy, the one who kept the mood light.
However, there were mornings when the accumulated exhaustion of uni, the distant longing for home, or simply the weight of his own hyperactive brain hit him before he even opened his eyes. On those days, Lando woke up quiet, shoulders hunched, staring blankly at the horizon.
Anywhere else, people would ask him twenty times if he was okay, demanding a performance of joy he didn't have the energy to deliver. Not Oscar.
The first time it happened, in the fourth week of the project, Lando walked down the cabin steps at four-twenty in the morning without making a sound. He didn't even greet the biologist. He just picked up his red flashlight and stood on the cold sand, staring out at the dark sea.
Oscar noticed immediately. He didn't ask questions. He didn't try to make small talk about the patrols or drop sarcastic comments about the time. He simply handed a mug of hot tea into Lando's hand, adjusted his own backpack, and started walking down the beach in absolute, protective silence.
They walked for nearly two kilometers side by side, listening only to the rhythmic crash of the waves and the soft crunch of their footsteps in the sand. Oscar set a pace that didn't require Lando to struggle to keep up. When they found a nest that needed re-excavation, Oscar did the heavy lifting without asking for help, letting Lando just hold the clipboard and record the numbers at his own pace.
At the end of the patrol, as the sun began painting the sky in gold, Lando sat down on the dry sand, tired, but with a chest that felt infinitely lighter. Oscar sat beside him, keeping a respectful distance of a few inches, saying nothing. The silence between them wasn't tense or awkward; it was dense with a mutual understanding Lando had never experienced with anyone else.
"Thanks," Lando whispered softly, his voice raspy from the morning wind.
Oscar didn't even look at him. He just kept watching the sea, arms crossed over his knees.
"You don't have to be 'on' all the time around here, Lando," Oscar said, his voice soft and steady like the low tide. "The ocean doesn't demand a performance from anyone. Neither do I."
Those words hit Lando with the force of a physical impact. For the first time in years, he felt like he didn't have to prove anything. He didn't have to be the brilliant Communications student, the funny friend, or the guy who smoothed over awkward silences in the room. He could just be. And Oscar was right there beside him, guarding that silence like it was something precious.
It was from that morning on that Lando's perception began to shift course, slowly sliding from a deep friendship into something he was still afraid to name.
The change didn't come like a bolt of lightning, but like the imperceptible rise of high tide. Lando started noticing things about Oscar he had previously overlooked. He noticed how the biologist's brown hair curled at the ends when damp with sea spray; the tiny mole he had just below his left ear; the remarkably soft tone his voice took on when speaking to the rescued animals—an adorable contrast to the stiff posture he kept around project supervisors.
Lando caught himself searching for Oscar's eyes across the shed just to see if the Australian would look back—and more and more often, Oscar did, holding eye contact a second longer than strictly necessary before returning to his clipboard with subtly flushed cheeks.
Their gestures of affection remained small, disguised in the work routine. It was the quick brush of Oscar's fingers against Lando's hands when passing a medicine bottle in the lab; it was Lando pulling a dry leaf out of Oscar's hair as they walked under the trees on the grounds; it was the way they settled onto the wooden pier at night, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, letting the warmth of each other's body ward off the chill of the sea breeze.
It was a feeling growing in the dark, very slowly, fed by Oscar's painful patience and Lando's endless curiosity. A feeling Lando didn't yet dare put into words, terrified that speaking it aloud might ruin the perfect peace he had found in that forgotten corner of the world.
He had come to Australia seeking quiet away from people. But sitting there next to Oscar under the hot noon sun, watching the biologist patiently explain species migration while adjusting his glasses, Lando realized with terrifying clarity: the peace he had been searching for wasn't a place.
It had the calm voice of an Australian biologist and the unmistakable scent of saltwater.
The scent of damp earth and sea spray seeped into the cabin through the wooden slats. Outside, the sky lacked the cozy, pinkish glow typical of a Hervey Bay dawn; instead, it carried a heavy, dense grey. One of those tropical storms typical of the Australian coast had arrived uninvited—they knew it would pass, but that it would take long hours to ease up.
The wind howled softly through the coastal brush, and the rain beat against the roof with a steady, rhythmic force. The weather, usually muggy even in the early hours, had cooled down significantly.
Upstairs in the cabin, curled up under two thick layers of blankets, Lando stared at the wooden ceiling. The space was surprisingly roomy: the mezzanine housed the two beds and a simple chest of drawers where they organized their clothes, with Lando occupying the top bunk by his own choice.
From up there, resting his arms on the railing, he could see most of the small living room below, while the kitchenette remained hidden behind a thin wooden partition.
Lando didn't even need to look down to know Oscar was awake. The soft clinking of a spoon against ceramic and the cozy aroma of fresh coffee gave the biologist away.
A harsh crack of thunder echoed on the horizon, making the cabin shake slightly. Lando hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket tighter around his neck with a heavy sigh. It was a ridiculous irony—a guy born and raised under the grey drizzle of Bristol hating stormy days—but the aggressive noise of thunder always left him strangely restless, in an annoying state of high alert.
Despite having zero desire to leave the warmth of the bed, Lando decided to move.
He dragged himself over to the dresser, pulling on one of his oversized Quadrant hoodies—the clothing and content brand he had founded with friends during his first months of uni, which was currently under Max's full management and structured leadership while Lando took his gap year in Australia. The familiar fabric carried a comforting scent of fabric softener that made him sigh in relief.
With the hoodie covering half his hands and still wearing his pajama shorts, he walked down the wooden mezzanine steps. The staircase creaked softly with every step.
The wall clock near the door read 5:47 AM. With no viable beach patrol in this storm, the research station was on a forced hiatus. Lando walked silently to the couch in the living area and curled up, pulling his knees to his chest and tucking his feet under the extra blanket he had brought down. He looked like a small fortress of fabric, with only his curly hair and sleepy blue eyes visible.
A few seconds later, Oscar emerged from behind the kitchen wall.
He was carrying two steaming mugs, wearing grey sweatpants and a worn-out navy t-shirt. As he stepped around the partition, he paused for a split second. Oscar's dark eyes landed on Lando's completely wrapped-up figure on the couch, taking in the scene in silence.
Without uttering a single word—respecting Lando's morning quietness with his usual surgical precision—Oscar walked slowly over to the living area. He set one of the mugs on the coffee table, right within the Brit's reach. The steam rising from it brought the scent of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon, not coffee.
Oscar sat on the other end of the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between them. He rested his own mug on his thighs and looked out the window, where water ran down the glass in thick streams.
"Tide came up fast because of the wind," Oscar said, his voice deep and soft, kept low so as not to break the spell of the rain. "Marcus called off field monitoring until noon."
Lando blinked slowly, pulling one hand out of his hoodie to reach for the warm mug on the table. The heat of the ceramic against his cold fingers made his body relax instantly. He took a small sip, feeling the sweet flavor warm his throat, and looked at Oscar over the rim of the cup.
"Hot chocolate?" Lando whispered, his voice raspy with sleep.
"You don't drink coffee when the day starts like this," Oscar answered simply and directly, without turning around. He kept his calm gaze fixed on the storm outside. "And I thought you needed something that felt like England."
Lando stared at the biologist's profile. The sharp jawline, the nearly unshakable calm, the way he seemed to read exactly what Lando needed without him having to spell out a single syllable. A sudden wave of affection—warm and intense—hit Lando's chest, mingling with the sound of the heavy rain outside.
Another clap of thunder went off, a bit further away this time, but still loud enough to make the cabin windows rattle.
Instead of shrinking further into his blanket, Lando made a quiet decision. He slid slowly across the couch cushions, closing the distance between them until his shoulder was firmly pressed against Oscar's. He grabbed the edge of his blanket and, without asking permission, draped part of it over the Australian's legs.
Oscar froze for a fraction of a second at the contact. He turned his face slowly, his dark eyes meeting Lando's from just inches away. There was a silent question in the biologist's gaze, a quiet curiosity about that subtle boundary being crossed.
"It's cold," Lando justified softly, resting his head against Oscar's shoulder naturally, keeping his mug secure in both hands. "And you're hogging my blanket anyway."
For a few seconds, the silence between them was filled only by the relentless sound of the storm beating down on the roof.
Then, Lando felt Oscar's body relax completely. The biologist let out an imperceptible sigh, adjusted his posture on the couch, and slowly wrapped his arm around Lando's back, bringing his hand up over the Brit's shoulders and pulling him closer in a firm, protective hold.
"If you say so..." Oscar murmured, resting the side of his head lightly against Lando's curls.
There, sheltered from the rain pouring over the Australian coast, surrounded by the smell of hot chocolate and the warmth of two bodies sharing a single blanket, the line separating collegiality and friendship dissolved completely. And neither of them showed the slightest intention of trying to draw it back.
Around ten in the morning, the aggressive pitter-patter of rain on the cabin roof began to lose its force, turning into a fine, almost imperceptible drizzle. The fierce wind that had been shaking the palm trees softened into a cool breeze, bringing with it that unmistakable smell of damp earth, salt, and washed greenery. The slate-grey clouds began to part on the horizon, giving way to wisps of a light blue sky that seemed to shimmer with the golden sunlight emerging once again.
Lando stretched slowly, untangling himself from the warmth of the couch where he had spent the last few hours practically fused to Oscar's side. He picked up his mug—now empty, but still warm—and walked to the wooden door leading out to the cabin's small porch.
He didn't take off his oversized Quadrant hoodie, nor did he bother putting on shoes. He simply stepped barefoot onto the wet wood of the deck and settled into one of the old lounge chairs, pulling his legs up to his chest and hugging his knees. He stayed there, quiet, watching the steam rise from the damp sand and the glint of sunlight reflecting in the puddles formed along the dirt path.
Inside the cabin, Oscar was organizing mugs by the sink. He caught himself moving the utensils with an unusual slowness, his eyes constantly drifting toward the open door.
From where he stood, Oscar had a clear view of Lando curled up in the chair on the porch.
And it was in that exact moment that something inside Oscar seemed to shift. It wasn't a shock or a thunderous revelation, but a quiet, overwhelming realization that settled in the bottom of his chest with the precision of an anchor.
Oscar realized he was completely, irredeemably fallen for Lando Norris.
And it wasn't just for the Lando the world likely saw—not just for that outgoing, electric guy who made bad jokes about the turtles' names and filled every room with contagious energy. Oscar had fallen for the real Lando.
For the Lando who woke up quiet on grey days, who appreciated the value of saying nothing. For the guy who sat on the porch with that calm, deep gaze fixed on the horizon, as if trying to absorb every piece of this world far away from home. For the delicate way he blew on the steam of his tea before taking a slow sip, and how, almost without realizing it, he always held out his mug toward Oscar first, offering a sip before thinking of himself.
It was in those tiny gestures—in the unguarded vulnerability Lando only showed when the cameras and expectations of his life back in England weren't around—that Oscar had lost himself completely.
Oscar dried his hands on the dish towel slowly. He didn't say a word. He felt no need to voice what he had just accepted. He simply held that certainty close to his chest, feeling a calm warmth spread through his veins as he watched the Brit wrapped in the grey hoodie, curls messy from the fresh breeze.
"Rain stopped," Oscar's voice sounded soft as he crossed the porch doorway.
Lando blinked, coming out of his contemplative trance, and looked back over his shoulder with a soft, tired smile.
"Sky's opening up pretty nicely," Lando commented quietly, gesturing with his chin toward the ocean line. "Think the sun's back."
"Come on," Oscar said, extending a hand to him without a second thought. "Let's head to the beach. The tide probably brought in some interesting stuff, and the air out there is better."
Lando looked at Oscar's outstretched hand for a second. A small flash of surprise crossed his blue eyes before he accepted the touch, letting Oscar pull him to his feet easily. Oscar's fingers wrapped around Lando's with a warm firmness that made the Brit's stomach do a pleasant flip.
They walked down the porch steps and strolled along the damp sand trail. Lando's bare feet sank slightly into the cool sand, but he didn't seem to mind. The contrast between the storm's cold air and the warm sunlight breaking through the clouds was invigorating.
When they finally rounded the last sand dune and reached the open beach, Lando stopped abruptly, letting out a small gasp of awe.
Spanning the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, stretching across the still-greyish eastern sky until it faded from view in the north, stood a double, extraordinarily crisp rainbow. The colors seemed to vibrate against the late-morning light, reflecting off the wet sand like a giant mirror.
"Woah..." Lando whispered, eyes wide, a grin spreading from ear to ear. He looked like a kid watching a magic trick. "Look at the size of that, Oscar! It's massive!"
Lando took a few steps forward, getting closer to the edge of the frothing waves, keeping his eyes locked on the sky. The hoodie sleeves were pulled down past his knuckles, and the sea breeze messed up his curls without mercy.
Oscar didn't look at the rainbow.
He took two steps to the side and stopped, keeping his eyes fixed entirely on Lando. The reflection of the sky's colors shined in the Brit's light eyes, and the look of pure wonder on his face was the most beautiful thing Oscar had ever seen in his entire life. The biologist felt the corners of his own lips lift into an inevitable, deep smile.
Lando, noticing the silence beside him, turned his head to ask if Oscar was seeing the same thing. But the words died in his throat.
Oscar was staring at him. Not with the professional distance from the beginning, nor with the resigned patience of patrol days. He looked at Lando with a calm, absolute presence, completely devoid of any mask or barrier.
Lando felt his chest heave softly. The beach breeze seemed to freeze for a second. He took a slow step toward Oscar, closing the tiny bit of distance left between them.
"What?" Lando asked in a whisper, his voice wavering slightly under the weight of that gaze. "Is there something on my face?"
Oscar took another step forward. He raised his hand slowly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before touching Lando's face. His fingers, cool from the sea air, brushed the Brit's flushed cheek, moving up gently to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The touch was so light, so filled with quiet affection, that Lando closed his eyes for a second, leaning his face instinctively into Oscar's palm.
"No," Oscar said, his deep, soft voice echoing far too close. "There's nothing on your face."
When Lando opened his eyes again, Oscar was still there, just inches away, his fingers sliding slowly down to the line of Lando's jaw.
"I was just thinking..." Oscar continued, his thumb stroking the soft skin of Lando's cheek, "...that you are easily the worst volunteer this station has ever seen."
Lando let out a short laugh, a breathy sound escaping his lips, his heart beating so hard against his ribs it felt ready to burst.
"Is that so?" Lando whispered, his eyes dropping for a second to Oscar's lips before rising back to meet the biologist's dark eyes. "Then why haven't you sent me back to England yet?"
Oscar didn't answer with words. Instead, he simply closed the remaining space between them, tilting his head slowly until his lips finally met Lando's under the golden sunlight and the shadow of the rainbow over the sea.
The kiss wasn't rushed at all. It was, in fact, the very definition of everything they had been building: slow, deep, and incredibly calm.
Oscar's mouth was warm against Lando's, a delicious contrast to the cool air coming off the ocean. The moment their lips touched, Lando dropped his empty mug into the soft sand, completely forgetting its existence, and brought both hands up to grip Oscar's waist. The fabric of the biologist's worn t-shirt was slightly damp with sea spray, but Lando could only pull him closer until there wasn't a single inch of air left between them.
Oscar sighed against Lando's mouth, a low sound lost in the soft crashing of the waves a few meters away. The hand that had been on his cheek slid up slowly, tangling his fingers into the Brit's soft curls, while Oscar's other hand moved down to the middle of Lando's back, resting flat against the oversized Quadrant hoodie and holding him with a firm, almost possessive grip—as if to guarantee he wasn't going anywhere.
When they pulled apart, it was only enough for air to return to their lungs. Restings foreheads together, Lando's eyes were still closed, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm as he absorbed the weight of every second of that moment.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found Oscar's fixed on him. There was a darker, denser shade in the biologist's eyes, but the smirk beginning to form on his lips was pure affection.
"You talk too much, Norris," Oscar whispered, his voice even deeper than usual, gently brushing his nose against Lando's.
"And you took way too long to do that, Piastri," Lando shot back in a banter-filled whisper, though the massive smile spreading across his face completely betrayed his teasing.
Lando leaned his head forward and pressed his lips to Oscar's twice more—short, sweet kisses—before pulling back just enough to bury his face in the Australian's neck. He wrapped his arms around Oscar's broad shoulders, feeling the heat of his body radiate through the layers of clothes. The scent of salt, cinnamon from the hot chocolate, and the subtle fragrance of plain soap coming from Oscar was, without a shadow of a doubt, his favorite thing in the whole wide world from that moment on.
Oscar rested his chin on Lando's head, keeping his arms firmly around his waist, looking out at the expanse of the Pacific Ocean ahead. The double rainbow was beginning to slowly fade in the sky, melting into pastel shades as the last grey clouds dissipated entirely.
"Now what?" Lando asked, his voice muffled against the skin of Oscar's neck.
"Now we grab your mug off the sand before the tide takes it," Oscar said, though he made no move to stir or let Lando go. "And then... well, I guess we have a nest report to finish before Marcus loses his mind."
Lando let out a muffled laugh that made Oscar's chest vibrate. He pulled back just enough to look at the biologist, his blue eyes shining under Hervey Bay's clear sun.
"You're a hopeless romantic, you know that?"
"I'm a biologist, Lando. I have priorities."
"Right," Lando smiled, stepping out of the embrace to bend down and retrieve the ceramic mug, brushing off the sand stuck to the base before taking Oscar's hand again. Their fingers intertwined with a natural ease, as if they had always belonged together. "But starting today, Barnaby is officially our cupid."
Oscar shook his head slowly, but didn't let go of Lando's hand for a second as they turned on their heels to walk back toward the project complex.
"The turtle's name isn't Barnaby, Lando."
"Yes it is. And if you don't accept it, I'm telling Marcus you give pet names to reptiles when no one's looking."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, Osc."
As they walked side by side along the dune trail, their bare feet leaving prints in the wet sand, Lando glanced over at Oscar. The biologist maintained his usual calm profile, but the warm grip of his hand and the soft crinkle beside his eyes said everything that needed to be said.
Lando had gone to the other side of the world looking for a reason to quiet his own mind. He had found a whole ocean, the hard work of early morning patrols, and the vastness of the Australian sky. But above all that, he had found the quiet that only Oscar's gaze could give him—and for the first time in a long time, Lando was in no rush at all to go home.
The rest of that day at the research station went by at a strange, almost surreal pace. The afternoon sun dried the earth and sand with the same speed the storm had arrived hours earlier, leaving behind clear, crisp air.
To anyone looking from the outside, Lando and Oscar were still just two young guys working at the complex: testing the water in the tanks, filling out spreadsheets, and cleaning diving gear under Marcus's watchful eye. But between the two of them, the air had shifted drastically.
There was an electric current running under every movement. When Lando passed Oscar in the narrow shed hallway, the biologist's hand brushed discreetly against his waist—a touch lasting less than a second that sent shivers all the way down Lando's spine.
When Oscar leaned over the rehabilitation tank to check on the female green sea turtle, Lando stood leaning against the wall just watching the outline of his shoulders in the sunlight, unable to hide the silly smile that kept surfacing on his face.
Marcus, for his part, seemed happy just not having to hear Lando complain about being tired.
"What got into your British volunteer today, Oscar?" Marcus asked late in the afternoon while putting tools away in the shed. "He cleaned the tank filters without asking for two coffee breaks, and he even sang half the setlist of some old band."
Oscar, who was recording data at the counter, didn't even raise his head from his clipboard, though the corners of his mouth twitched subtly.
"He just realized that if he works faster, he finishes earlier, Marcus. No miracle here."
Lando, coming into the shed carrying a clean bucket, caught the answer and tossed a dry towel at Oscar's back. The towel hit the floor, and Oscar turned his head slowly, staring at Lando with an raised eyebrow and that painfully patient look.
"Oops," Lando said, entirely unremorseful, walking past him to put the bucket away. "Slipped out of my hand, Osc."
When night finally fell, the day's heat gave way once again to the cool ocean breeze. After communal dinner in the main mess hall with the other volunteers, they walked back to the cabin at slightly different times, maintaining their usual caution.
Lando was the first to head up to the mezzanine. He took a long shower in the small downstairs bathroom, threw on light shorts and a worn white t-shirt, and climbed the wooden ladder, flopping onto his back on the top bunk. The wooden ceiling felt cozy as ever.
Shortly after, the click of the door latch announced Oscar's arrival. Lando listened to the biologist's calm footsteps downstairs, the sound of the tap running for a few seconds, and then the quiet creak of the wooden stairs.
Oscar appeared at the top of the mezzanine. He was wearing only grey cotton shorts, his brown hair slightly messy, his bare chest still holding the clean scent of soap. He stopped beside Lando's bunk, looking down at the Brit lying on his back with his hands folded over his stomach.
"What?" Lando asked, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. "Is your bed too far away?"
"My bed is hot and small," Oscar replied in his deep voice, a low tone that seemed to vibrate right through the bedroom's woodwork. "Yours is the exact same size, but it has you in it."
Lando felt his chest flip. Without saying a word, he scooted toward the wall, clearing a generous space on the twin mattress.
Oscar didn't hesitate. He climbed into the bunk with quiet agility and lay down beside Lando. The mattress sank slightly under their combined weight, forcing them shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped space.
Lando pulled the thin sheet over both their legs and turned onto his side, resting his head on the pillow to face Oscar's face just inches away. The soft moonlight filtering through the mezzanine window traced the biologist's features in silver and shadow.
"You know what?" Lando whispered, reaching out to gently trail his fingers along Oscar's jawline.
"What?"
"My semester back in England is going to be an absolute nightmare after this."
Oscar let out a soft huff of laughter through his nose, closing his eyes for a second to enjoy the touch on his face before opening them again.
"Why?"
"Because there's no sea over there, no turtles, the coffee is terrible, and..." Lando paused, the playful tone leaving his voice, replaced by something far more vulnerable. "...and you won't be there to tell me to shut up at four in the morning."
Oscar's expression lost any trace of teasing. He raised his hand and cupped the back of Lando's neck, pulling him softly forward until their lips met again in a slow, warm, comforting kiss. There was none of the morning's urgency from the beach—just the quiet certainty that they were exactly where they wanted to be.
When they pulled apart, Oscar kept his hand on the back of Lando's neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin behind his ear.
"There are still four weeks left of the season, Norris," Oscar said softly, resting his forehead against Lando's. "Don't suffer in advance. It's a terrible communication strategy."
Lando laughed softly, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Oscar's waist, burying his face in the biologist's warm chest. The steady beat of Oscar's heart became the only sound Lando needed to hear.
"You hate it when I bring up uni," Lando murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.
"I hate it when you think about the future instead of paying attention to the present," Oscar corrected, pulling the sheet up a bit higher and wrapping his arm around the Brit's back, tucking him close to his body. "Go to sleep, Lando. Low tide is at four-forty tomorrow."
"You're insufferable," Lando said, but snuggled deeper into Oscar's embrace, pressing one last kiss against the skin of his chest.
"I know," Oscar whispered into the top of Lando's curls, closing his eyes with a smile that lasted all night long.
There, in the small wooden bunk under the research station's roof, listening to the steady rhythm of the waves crashing on the Australian coast, Lando finally fell asleep without a single racing thought. Summer was only halfway through, the future remained uncertain thousands of miles away, but for the first time in his life, Lando Norris had zero desire to be anywhere else.
The next four weeks moved to the unpredictable rhythm of the tides: slow when separated by daily chores, and terrifyingly fast whenever they realized how many pages the calendar in the shed had lost.
The routine at the research station had found a new kind of balance. Where before Lando had to go out of his way not to seem like a burden on Oscar's patrols, now the two operated almost like a single unit. During the day, they kept a calculated distance in front of Marcus and the other volunteers—not out of shame, but out of an almost selfish desire to protect what they shared. That bubble was too precious to be exposed to outside opinions or jokes.
Even so, little slips happened. It was Oscar's hand resting on Lando's knee under the breakfast table when Marcus turned his back; it was Lando handing data clipboards over to Oscar and letting his fingers linger on his a second longer than necessary; it was the knowing look they exchanged whenever Barnaby—the hawksbill now swimming with renewed strength in the main tank—splashed water at them with his flippers.
The four weeks turned into two. Then into one. And suddenly, there were only twenty-four hours left.
The final night at the research station arrived clear, with a light breeze blowing from the east and the sea whispering against the pier. Lando's bags were already packed in the corner of the cabin, closed and heavy, looking like an alien element in that wooden space that had become his home.
Lando was sitting on the edge of the wooden pier, legs dangling over the saltwater. He was wearing the same oversized Quadrant hoodie from the day of the storm, arms crossed over his knees, staring at the bright reflection the full moon cast on the water's surface.
The familiar sound of footsteps on the wooden planks announced Oscar's arrival. The biologist walked over slowly, carrying two cold bottles of beer. He sat beside Lando without a word, handing one of the bottles to the Brit.
"Airport taxi gets here at seven," Lando said, his voice low, almost fading out. The clink of his bottle against Oscar's was the only sound breaking the silence for a moment. "Can't believe this time tomorrow I'll be on a plane back to Bristol."
Oscar took a sip of his beer, eyes on the horizon. The biologist's usual calm seemed slightly more strained tonight, as if he too was fighting the impending weight of saying goodbye.
"The rain in Bristol is going to feel freezing after this," Oscar commented, trying to keep his tone light, though there was no smile on his face.
"Yeah," Lando agreed, letting out a weak, humorless laugh. He spun the bottle between his hands. "I'm going to miss the rain here. The hot chocolate. The inhumane patrols at four in the morning..."
Lando paused. He turned his head to look at Oscar's profile. The moonlight carved the Australian's sharp jawline, and Lando felt a painful squeeze in his chest, a suffocating feeling he'd been trying to ignore for days.
"I'm going to miss you, Oscar. In a way that hurts before I've even left."
Oscar stopped the bottle halfway to his mouth. He turned his head slowly, dark eyes meeting Lando's. There was no analytical serenity left in the biologist; there was raw vulnerability, the look of someone also about to lose his only anchor.
He set his beer aside on the pier, turned his whole body toward Lando, and reached up with both hands, cupping the Brit's face with an almost desperate firmness.
"Then don't talk like this is an ending, Lando," Oscar said, his deep voice cracking slightly for the first time since they had met. "Do you really think I'm just going to let you disappear back to your life in England after all this?"
Lando blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in Oscar's voice. The biologist's fingers stroked his cheeks with urgent affection.
"But we live on opposite sides of the world, Oscar," Lando whispered, his eyes welling up slightly. "You have your research here, the nesting season... and I have uni, the Quadrant projects in London..."
"I know exactly where you live. I know you hate waking up early, I know you drink hot chocolate when you're scared of thunder, and I know you give human names to turtles," Oscar interrupted him softly, bringing his face close until their foreheads rested together. "The ocean is big, Lando, but it's not an obstacle. I spend half my year traveling to conservation conferences in Europe anyway. And you have one semester left to finish before deciding what to do with your life."
Lando let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he absorbed the words. Oscar's hands felt like the only solid thing in a world spinning too fast.
"Are you telling me we're going to try?" Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm telling you there is zero chance I'm letting you walk away without being certain I'm going to see you again," Oscar answered, and before Lando could reply, the biologist pressed his lips to his in a deep kiss, filled with a silent promise that warmed Lando's chest completely.
Lando kissed him back with everything he had, pulling Oscar by the collar of his t-shirt, etching every detail of that touch, that scent of sea spray, and that warmth into his memory.
When they parted, the moon was high in the sky. They stayed sitting at the end of the pier until late into the night, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands, talking not about the fear of saying goodbye, but about the plans for what would come next.
The next morning, at six-thirty, Lando's bags were already in the trunk of the project's small car that would take him to the bus stop. Marcus gave the Brit a tight hug, thanking him for all the hard work and saying the station doors would always be open.
Oscar stood a bit further back, leaning against the porch railing with his hands in his shorts pockets. He was wearing the same project t-shirt from their first day.
Lando walked over to him. There were no other volunteers around at that moment, but neither of them cared about appearances anymore. Lando simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Oscar's neck in a tight hug. Oscar welcomed him immediately, burying his face in the Brit's neck and holding his waist tightly for several long seconds.
"Let me know when you land in London," Oscar whispered against Lando's skin.
"I will. And you better answer, even if you're in the middle of a patrol," Lando teased, pulling back far enough to look into his eyes. He pulled a small screwdriver and a tiny piece of wood he had playfully carved the day before out of his hoodie pocket. "Keep this. So you remember Barnaby."
Oscar looked down at the misshapen piece of wood, which barely resembled a turtle, and let out a genuine, warm laugh, tucking the object into his chest pocket.
"You are unreal, Norris."
"See you soon, Piastri," Lando said, planting one last quick kiss on Oscar's cheek before turning around and getting into the car.
As the vehicle pulled away down the dirt road, kicking up a small cloud of golden dust under the morning sun, Lando looked out the back window. Oscar was still there, standing on the porch, watching the car go until it vanished around the bend.
Lando leaned his head against the seat, adjusting his headphones. He looked down at his hands, still feeling the warmth of Oscar's touch. The trip to Australia had started as a desperate escape for an exhausted guy looking for a bit of quiet. But looking out at the vast ocean stretching alongside the road, Lando smiled.
He wasn't going home empty-handed. He had left a piece of himself in that corner of the world, but he was bringing back something infinitely better: the certainty that, no matter the distance, that summer was only the first chapter.
The flight back to England felt like it took an eternity. Over twenty hours split between layovers, entertainment screens Lando could barely look at, and the constant hum of the plane's engines. But for the first time in his life, the silence of his own mind didn't bother him. He spent most of the trip staring out the window, watching the sea of clouds below and replaying every moment from the past month.
When the plane finally touched down at Heathrow, the contrast was immediate. The London sky was draped in that characteristic pastel grey, a light drizzle tapped against the airport glass, and the temperature barely hit twelve degrees.
Lando pulled his Quadrant hoodie hood over his head and turned on his phone as soon as the aircraft taxied on the runway. Within seconds, his screen was bombarded by dozens of notifications: emails from uni, group chat messages from friends, and updates on the brand's collections sent by Max.
Lando ignored all of them. He scrolled until he found the one name that truly mattered.
Lando (12:42 PM): Landed in London. It's raining, the air is freezing, and I hate everything here already. Get me out of here, Piastri.
The reply didn't even take three minutes to arrive, despite the crazy thirteen-hour time difference between England and Queensland.
Oscar (01:45 AM): Welcome back to civilization, Norris. It's almost two in the morning here and the beach is empty without a volunteer tripping over nest stakes. Go take a hot shower and sleep.
Oscar (01:46 AM): I miss you. Let me know when you get to your apartment.
Lando stared at the screen for a long moment, feeling a wave of warmth spread through his chest, instantly driving away the London chill. He smiled like an idiot right in the middle of the arrivals hall.
The following weeks in Bristol required an adjustment effort Lando hadn't anticipated.
Sinking back into the academic routine of his final semester in Social Communication felt strange. The classrooms felt too small, the debates on algorithms and engagement metrics sounded incredibly distant and superficial compared to the raw simplicity of saving marine life under an open sky.
However, there was a fundamental difference in how Lando handled it all now. He no longer felt suffocated.
His routine found a new rhythm, anchored by late-night video calls. Due to the time gap, Lando usually called Oscar around ten at night in Bristol, which meant nine in the morning the following day in Hervey Bay.
They spent hours on calls. Sometimes Lando would lie in bed in his apartment, laptop on his chest, studying for exams while watching Oscar on the other side of the screen working in the conservation shed, organizing data boards, or drinking his morning coffee on the cabin porch.
"Barnaby was released this morning," Oscar shared during one of those calls, about three weeks after Lando's departure. The biologist was holding his phone as he walked along the sunny beach.
Lando sat up abruptly, dropping his study binder.
"What?! You released my boy without me?!"
"He wasn't your boy, Lando, he was an Eretmochelys imbricata in rehab," Oscar teased in that calm, serious tone, though his eyes were bright. He flipped the camera to show the calm sea. "But he swam straight out into the ocean without looking back. He's doing great. Thanks to the team's hard work. And... a certain volunteer who insisted on talking to him every day."
Lando smiled, feeling a lump in his throat.
"I hope he knows his name is Barnaby."
"I'm sure he'll try his best to forget that part," Oscar laughed, turning the camera back to his face. The sea breeze tossed his brown hair. "How are things in England?"
"Max is stressing over the new Quadrant drops, my thesis is half done, and the rain won't stop," Lando sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "But I'm surviving. Mostly because I'm counting down the days."
Oscar's expression softened on the screen, his voice lowering.
"Less than twenty days left, Lando."
"I know," the Brit whispered. "Is the Geneva conference still confirmed?"
"Yeah. I land in Switzerland on the fourteenth. And after that... I have two weeks off before the new project in Sydney."
"Which means you're going to have to spend two whole weeks with me in London," Lando smiled, a good kind of nervous energy making his hands tingle. "Ready to see my real world?"
"If you promise not to make me wake up at four in the morning... I think I'll manage," Oscar replied with a gentle smile.
Their reunion didn't happen under the tropical sun of Queensland, but beneath the warm, yellow lights of Heathrow Airport in mid-November.
Lando had been standing near the international arrivals gate for over thirty minutes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wearing a heavy jacket and a scarf. He kept checking the automatic doors every three seconds.
When Oscar's tall figure finally stepped through the doors—carrying a large backpack and wearing a dark coat Lando had never seen on him—the world around Lando seemed to go quiet, just like it used to on the beach at Hervey Bay.
Oscar stopped for a second, scanning the crowd, until his dark eyes locked onto Lando's.
Lando didn't think twice. He picked up his pace and practically threw himself into Oscar's arms.
The biologist caught him with the same protective firmness as always, dropping his backpack to wrap both arms around Lando's waist, pulling him close and burying his face in the crook of the Brit's neck. The scent of cold airplane air mixed with the familiar fragrance Lando had grown to love months ago.
"You're here," Lando whispered, clutching the fabric of Oscar's coat, refusing to let go.
"Told you I'd come," Oscar replied, his deep, warm voice vibrating straight against Lando's chest.
When they pulled back slightly, just enough to look at each other, Oscar raised a hand and brushed a curly strand of hair off Lando's forehead—the exact same gesture he had made under the rainbow in Australia.
"You look like you need a real coffee," Oscar commented with a small smile.
"I need my biologist," Lando corrected, leaning in to press his lips to Oscar's right there in the middle of a bustling London airport, completely ignoring the people rushing past them.
The kiss was calm, deep, and filled with the certainty that all the time apart had been worth it.
As they walked side by side toward the exit, hands held under the fine London drizzle, Lando looked over at Oscar and realized this wasn't just a summer fling picking back up. It was the foundation of something solid, capable of crossing oceans and enduring distance.
Summer in Australia might have ended, but their journey was only just beginning.
The two weeks that followed in London were vastly different from the slow-paced, isolated lifestyle of Queensland, but they carried their own kind of magic.
Lando showed Oscar his world. They walked through the bustling streets of Soho, grabbed coffee in hidden little spots to escape the relentless drizzle, and spent entire afternoons at the Quadrant office. Max and the rest of the crew welcomed the Australian immediately—though Max never passed up a single chance to tease Lando about "rescuing the beach boy" and how he'd returned from Australia suddenly obsessed with marine biology documentaries.
For Oscar, seeing Lando in his natural element was a revelation. The guy he had met chasing turtles and fighting storms in a basic shed was the exact same brilliant, creative, focused young man leading design meetings and brainstorming content strategies with effortless ease.
And for Lando, having Oscar in his Bristol apartment and in his day-to-day life made the city feel a little warmer, a little more alive.
On the penultimate day of Oscar's trip, they decided to escape the city hustle and take a train out to the coast of Cornwall. It was no Hervey Bay—the North Atlantic wind was biting, waves crashed violently against jagged grey cliffs, and the sand was cold and damp—but the vast expanse of the ocean was still there.
They walked along the deserted beach bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, holding hands inside Oscar's overcoat pocket.
"Not quite the same climate as Queensland," Lando noted, shivering slightly as the strong wind whipped through his curls.
"The water temperature here would kill half our turtles in twenty minutes," Oscar chuckled, watching white foam burst over the rocks. He stopped walking, pulling Lando around gently so they faced each other. "But the view is incredible."
Lando looked up at him, noticing the tip of Oscar's nose turned slightly red from the chill.
"What do we do now, Osc?" Lando asked, the question slipping out in an honest voice. "You go back to Sydney next week. I graduate next month."
Oscar met his eyes with the calm composure of someone used to facing the open sea. He didn't look the least bit frightened of the future.
"We keep doing exactly what we're doing," Oscar answered firmly. He pulled one hand out of his pocket to hold Lando's tenderly. "You graduate. Celebrate with your friends. And after that... you've got that Quadrant expansion project that involves traveling through Europe and Asia, don't you?"
Lando nodded slowly.
"And I have the new marine biodiversity research program that gives me three months of field leave next year," Oscar continued, a soft, welcoming smile opening on his face. "We're going to make it work, Lando. Not because it's easy, but because we want to. The world is big, but we've already proven we know how to find each other."
Lando felt the knot in his chest dissolve, replaced by a deep, comforting warmth. He stood on tiptoes and pulled Oscar down by his scarf, locking their lips in a long kiss under Cornwall's grey skies, with only the crashing sea for soundtrack.
Six months later, the sun was shining bright over Sydney Harbour.
Lando leaned against the guardrail, holding two iced coffees while watching the university research vessel maneuver into its dock. He wore a light t-shirt, sunglasses perched atop his head, and sports a fresh tan from a week spent exploring the Australian coast.
When the boat finally secured its lines, a tall figure in shorts, a project t-shirt, and a straw hat hopped onto the deck.
Oscar adjusted his backpack straps and scanned the pier until his dark eyes caught Lando. A genuine, radiant smile broke across the biologist's face.
Lando waved his free hand and walked toward the edge of the pier. As Oscar climbed the wooden steps, Lando didn't even wait for him to drop his gear; he set the coffee cups on the ground and wrapped him in a tight hug, getting lifted off his feet for a second as Oscar spun him around.
"You took your time," Lando murmured into Oscar's neck, laughing at the familiar scent of salt and sunscreen.
"The ocean doesn't run on my schedule, Norris," Oscar replied, setting him down and cupping his face for a quick, longing kiss. "How was the flight?"
"Horrible. Long. But worth every second."
Oscar smiled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and lacing his fingers through Lando's as they began walking together off the pier toward the city.
This time, there was no countdown on the calendar. No deadlines or painful goodbyes set for the next day. They knew distance would still be a frequent companion in their future, but they weren't afraid of it anymore.
Walking under Sydney's warm sun, Lando glanced at Oscar and then out at the ocean stretching in the background. He realized their love didn't depend on where they were, but on the simple, unshakable truth that no matter where the tide swept them, they would always find their way back to one another.
The afternoon in Sydney unfolded at the unhurried, cozy pace of people who no longer need to rush.
After dropping off heavy research gear at the university lab, Oscar and Lando walked to the small apartment the biologist rented in the neighborhood of Manly, just minutes from the beach.
The place was simple, featuring large windows that let the Pacific breeze roll in, and walls adorned with sea maps, old surfboards, and a framed photo—taken by Marcus months ago—showing Lando and Oscar laughing together on the Hervey Bay pier.
While Oscar took a long shower to wash off days of sea salt and dust from his trek at sea, Lando took charge of prepping a late lunch. He caught himself humming softly as he chopped vegetables in the small kitchen, surprising himself with how familiar this space already felt, even though it was his first time setting foot in it.
When Oscar emerged from the kitchen, hair still damp, wearing only shorts and a worn grey t-shirt, he approached Lando quietly from behind. He wrapped his arms around the Brit's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, watching him work.
"Did you learn how to cook, or is this just a jet-lag induced hallucination?" Oscar teased, his deep voice vibrating softly against Lando's ear.
Lando nudged him lightly in the ribs with his elbow, but didn't pull away, tilting his head back to rest his cheek against Oscar's.
"I am a man of many talents, Piastri. And you should show a little more gratitude for having a personal chef who flew twenty-four hours just to make you a meal."
"I am extremely grateful," Oscar answered sincerely, turning Lando's face gently to plant a slow kiss on his lips. "More than you know."
They ate lunch on the small balcony facing the water, feet propped up on the wooden railing, sharing stories from the past two months. Lando talked about expanding Quadrant products into Asia and the new rhythm of meetings he could now manage with so much more ease. Oscar spoke about reef monitoring expeditions, pointing out toward the ocean and explaining species migration patterns just like he used to when they first met.
Late in the afternoon, they strolled down to Manly Beach. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet, reflecting on the low waves where a few surfers were catching the last bits of light.
They sat on the sand, shoulder to shoulder, just like they used to do by the shed in Queensland.
"Max asked me yesterday if I wasn't sick of living out of airplanes," Lando commented, drawing abstract circles in the cool sand with a stick.
Oscar looked at him, giving him his full attention.
"And what did you say?"
Lando smiled, dropping the stick and looking out at the horizon where sky and sea merged into one.
"I told him life was always kind of messy anyway. But before, I was running to escape things... and now I'm just running to get to where I want to be."
Oscar didn't say anything for a moment. He simply reached out and laced his fingers through Lando's, squeezing them tenderly.
"And where do you want to be?" Oscar asked, a calm shine in his dark eyes.
Lando turned his head to face the Australian. He saw the sunset reflecting in his eyes, the soft smile that always grounded him, and the absolute certainty that there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.
"Right here," Lando answered, leaning over to rest his head on Oscar's shoulder. "With you."
As night settled over the Sydney coast and city lights flickered to life in the background, the two remained there, listening to the rhythmic crash of the waves. Life would keep demanding flights, crazy time zones, and tight schedules, but none of it mattered anymore.
They had learned that the sea keeping them apart was the very same one keeping them connected—and as long as they had each other, anywhere in the world would feel like home.