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The crowd went crazy when the roars of the engines were crossing the line in the Qatar GP.
"Max Verstappen-win the Qatar grand prix 2023!" The commentator's voice declared the one who took the first place, followed by Lando Norris, and Carlos Sainz.
They were having a little chat in the cooldown room before stepping onto the podium for the anthem before having the champagne war where the top three were enjoying the mess.
The winner-Max, looked fine, nothing dragged his interest, didn't notice anything, just before realizing that there was another view stage leading him to another familiar interaction. Found Lando yet Carlos seems closer and closer every time they meet on the podium either off the track. They hug like they don't want to let go, sometimes he sees Carlos pinching Lando's cheek but occasionally, kisses it. He didn't want to remember that? but his mind found that.
But hey, what are they? Boyfriends? Verstappen just thought it, probably.
But another person came to the stage, this guy didn't know Lando's relationship with Carlos, he stepped without a single note about the 55 numbered driver behind the curtain.
The person who was admiring Lando Norris since F2 was Oscar Piastri, a random guy chosen by McLaren to be one of their drivers in Formula One. He had a special feeling for him, but something went different when he signed. He sat side by side with him, worked together in the same factory, and he can see the man's smile more often too. More conversation with him grew his thoughts about him, more into a love, he didn't notice it. Until he did.
And still, he was just able to watch him at a distance, so far, away from him.
Oscar's naive soul had always believed in honesty, especially about his feelings. But when it came to his teammate, Lando, he hesitated. But for him, timing is everything, and he wasn't sure if he could find the right timing to lighten the candle.
On the track, however, things were clearer-or at least, they should have been. Oscar had never won a podium in Formula One before, though he'd come close. Too close.
This time, he can see the hope, a worthwhile victory for him. He was about to claim third place. But his team's dreaded command echoed through his radio:
"Swap position."
The words stung, as they always did.
Oscar hated those words. He hated what they meant. But he always complied, giving up his chance without a fight.
Now, though, something stirred within him. 13 December has passed-Lando's birthday. As his finger pressed the radio button, he muttered with a faint smile inside his helmet, "Tell him, sorry for the late birthday gift from me." Then, with a deep breath, he slowed down, letting Lando overtake him.
Did Oscar know his radio wasn't working? No, he didn't.
He watched Lando's McLaren zoom past him and an ache bloomed in his chest. Something didn't feel right.
"Nothing wrong." The words slipped between his heavy breath, telling himself if everything is going to be okay.
"If he's happy, so am I."
It was a mantra, a spell he used to keep his emotions in check. But this time, it felt hollow.
Ironically, he didn't see Lando's ego and slowly saw him as a pathetic person because of his position lost time by time. Didn't even glance.
The commentators' voices filled the air: "What an unbelievable move from Oscar Piastri! Sacrificing the third place for his teammate, Lando Norris, at the Vegas Grand Prix!"
The trade was done. Oscar finished fourth.
He climbed out from the McLaren's F1 and again, waiting for Lando's podium like a lost kid in the shadows.
The light of the podium is bright, but Lando's is brighter.
Once he saw him, his heart lifted. And it just drew a wider smile as he thought Lando smiled at him when it was actually for Carlos who stood behind him.
He will never know if he was always in the shadow, watching the light that never shine for him.
Oscar's chest tightened further, but he pushed the feelings away.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself. "Tomorrow I'll tell him."
In the dark, he had the candle, he wanted to light it up and give it to Lando. But where's the match? It's in his throat.
After the podium, Oscar gathered his courage and went to Lando's driver room. He invited him out for Monday, though Lando seemed less enthusiastic about the place idea.
"I- it's ok. But, oh, you don't thank me?" There was a gap between Oscar's statement to his question, he didn't really mean to ask it, the words were just slipping out before he could stop them.
"For what?" Lando replied, raising an eyebrow.
"...Forget it." The podium. That's what he'd meant. But he didn't have any strength to say it to him.
He lied to his mom about the reason he gave up his place today. And he got nothing.
Instead, Lando ended up suggesting a spot for their meeting; a quiet underrated park, not far from their hotel. Oscar agreed, though he hadn't expected Lando to casually mention he'd be bringing someone else along.
That's good.
Oscar walked away, not looking back, and locked his eyes on the floor. He should be happy but his sense told him the opposite, something didn't feel right.
He realized this wasn't his invitation. It was Lando's idea all along. Whatever it is, he didn't take it seriously.
***
That night, Oscar lay awake, nerves gnawing at him. Overthinking kept him company.
What should I bring him?
A bouquet, maybe? Or something else?
Would he even like it?
All of his thoughts turned into lullaby, his eyelid heavy, unable to resist the weights his mind caused, made his way to just sleep.
Forgetting everything and waiting for another new day.
As the sunrise crept into the room, Oscar rubbed his tired eyes, convinced he had probably wrecked them from lack of sleep. But he brushed off the thought, reasoning that Lando wouldn't notice the dark circles anyway.
"I just need a shower."
***
At 9 a.m., Oscar left the hotel, dressed in a casual outfit and walking miles to a flower shop. He had one goal: to pick out the perfect bouquet. The flowers were vibrant and fragrant, bursting with life. Everything about them seemed perfect-beautiful, like the sentiment behind them.
He pictured Lando's reaction, imagining the subtle surprise on his face, maybe a smile.
By 10 a.m., Oscar planned to be there, bouquet in hand, ready for whatever came next.
But the universe had another plan.
A cold raindrop fell on his hand. Then another. Within seconds, the sky turned hostile, rain pouring down like a sudden act of vengeance.
"Oh..." he whispered, ducking under the awning of a nearby store. His eyes traced the storm clouds overhead, their gray anger rolling and churning.
His weather app hadn't mentioned rain, and of course, he hadn't brought an umbrella. Things were getting worse when he was smiling.
"What do I even say to him now?" he hissed, pulling out his phone. Lando's name appeared on the screen, but the signal was gone, leaving him staring at an empty bar where hope should've been.
Just as frustration threatened to boil over, a voice broke through the storm.
"Hey."
He turned, startled. A girl stood nearby, holding an umbrella, a smile on her face.
"You're Oscar Piastri, right?" She asked.
"Uh, yeah," he replied, his voice hesitant.
"Here," she said, offering the umbrella. "Take it. Go give that bouquet to whoever is waiting for it."
Oscar blinked, taken aback. Slowly, he accepted her gift, his voice soft. "Oh, thank you, you're a lifesaver." He sighed.
She smiled. "Good luck. See you in the paddock!" she called as he ran off, bouquet in hand, rain still falling around him.
The streets were chaotic. Cars splashed through puddles, horns blaring in every direction. Oscar's watch mocked him-he was late.
"Damn it," he muttered, weaving through the busy road.
Water sprayed his legs, the bouquet already looking worse. His heart pounded in his chest. Calm down, he told himself. Stay focused. But the rain, the noise, the pressure, it all weighed on him.
A car sped past, too close.
He almost died, but his soul cost what?
He just realized, the bouquet slipped from his grasp, scattering across the wet road. He barely made it to the sidewalk, his breaths shallow, heart racing.
"No... no, no, no!" he gasped, his eyes locking onto the ruined flowers. The Sunflowers, Irisses, Asters, Peonies, they were 'gone'. Rain battered the petals, turning them into a soggy mess. His umbrella lay forgotten in the street, flattened by passing cars.
Oscar bent down, fingers trembling as he picked up a single flower-the only one that had survived. An Anemone flower. He held it tightly, as if it might somehow save the moment.
It will be okay,
Landos still there.
When he finally reached the park, drenched and exhausted, he saw Lando. He was still there.
Standing under Carlos's umbrella.
Oscar froze. Lando's expression was unreadable, his eyes sharp, showing a face devoid of emotion. Carlos stood beside him, glancing at Oscar with quiet confusion.
Shame churned in Oscar's chest. He wanted to explain, to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come.
Out of the blue, Lando broke the silence. "Oscar, do you even know what love is?"
Oscar blinked, struggling to process the question.
"Love is...a heart?" he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but somehow Lando can hear it.
Lando's response came swift and cold. "That's why you haven't even got a podium."
Then he turned and walked away, Carlos following without a word.
Oscar stood there, rain dripping down his face, his fingers clutching the single flower like it was his lifeline. The world around him blurred, the rain pounding harder, but the weight in his chest was unbearable.
Alone.
"Oh, Lando is Carlos' boyfriend? I didn't know that." The words slipped out softly, a whisper lost in the storm of his mind.
He ended up choking on his own arm on its way to reach the match. He couldn't turn the light on. Lando walked away, left him in pain, in the darkness. He needed to stop, but he couldn't, instead, he rested.
From that moment, the world shifted for Oscar.
It wasn't dramatic, no fiery outburst or visible crack. It was quieter, subtler, a slow unraveling. His once-bright eyes now carried a hollow emptiness, devoid of any spark. They no longer reflected the dreams he once nurtured or the ambitions he used to chase.
A year passed, and he didn't wonder anymore. He didn't dream. His thoughts seemed to vanish into the void. He moved through life like an alive dead body, a zombie. Outwardly, he was fine. Healthy, focused, driven. But inside? He was a mess. And no one noticed.
He put all of his anger in racing. He didn't give a fuck with the swap position order and simply win, he didn't apologize for it.
It was in this emptiness that Oscar became something 'better', flying beside Max Verstappen. He transformed into a driving machine, programmed with one purpose: podium, podium, podium. Or better yet, win, win, and win. That season, he became Max' fiercest rival, an unstoppable force on the track.
But deep down, there was one thing that fueled him more than any victory. It was the sight of Lando suffering, stuck with the third place or not going up on the podium. Watching his teammate crumble under the weight of Oscar's dominance over him was the only thing that brought the aussie any semblance of joy.
From the top step of the podium, Oscar would sit, cross-legged, champagne raining down as Max and Lewis celebrated beside him and showered him with champagne. He didn't care about it, the cameras, and the cheering crowds. His eyes searched for one thing.
Lando.
And when he found him, struggling, tormented by Oscar's relentless performance, he couldn't help but smirk-a dark, prideful smirk that curled across his lips.
"That's what you get for loving someone, honey." he murmured behind the palm resting on his mouth, his voice low.
His gaze lingered, analyzing every flicker of emotion on Lando's face.
"How pathetic."
His expression darkened, then softened into something stranger, something fleeting.
"How..."
The thought barely formed before Oscar buried it, refusing to let it take root. No. He wouldn't allow himself to feel. Not for Lando.
Avoidance became his strategy. If he could steer clear of Lando, he would. Always. But the media noticed. And when they noticed, they questioned.
One day, the cameras turned to him during a press conference. The reporter's voice was sharp, cutting through the room.
"Oscar, you've been avoiding Lando, your teammate, for the past few months. Is there a reason for this?"
Oscar leaned back in his chair, his gaze cold and unwavering. Zhou, Gasly, and Yuki next to him seem curious about his answer.
"Maybe I hate him," he said with a light tone on the mic.
It hung on the air.
The room froze. Reporters exchanged shocked glances, drivers didn't expect that came from Oscar, their jaws dropping. It wasn't just the words-it was the ease, the conviction with which he said them. No hesitation, no explanation. Fix and valid.
The same reporter threw another question, pushed further. "Uh, oh wow, that doesn't sound like the Oscar we're used to. Is there something going on between you two?"
Oscar's reply was swift, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Ask Lando."
And just like that, the room descended into chaos. Social media erupted, divided into factions. Some dismissed his words as a joke, a meme to lighten the mood. Others took it seriously, dissecting every detail, speculating endlessly.
But all eyes eventually turned to one person; Lando Norris.
And for Oscar, that was enough. Life wasn't easy, but this? This felt like justice
***
Carlos burst into Lando's hotel room, his face tight with concern. Lando's earlier message had been vague, but it was enough to pull him away from whatever he was doing.
"Lando, what happened?"
What he didn't expect was to find Lando sitting on the edge of the bed, head down, his face streaked with tears.
"Hey," Carlos said, his voice softening. "Are you okay? Talk to me."
Lando didn't answer. His shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked his body.
Carlos sighed, glancing around the room for a clue. That's when he saw Lando's phone lying beside him, the screen still lit.
Carlos leaned over and skimmed through the flood of comments, his jaw tightening as he read the comments of the earlier press conference reel.
Tn032
YOOO you know how strong the word "hate" is
@184444
I know right?!!
@hTn032
like- damn oscar what happened to you, what did he do to my pookie😩
racerwithoutlicence
What in the drama💀
@chris_ams
nothing, just Lando fucked everything up lol. hes a loser that he cant even get a podium without a pacifier in his mouth and sucking mamas thumb
racerwithoutlisence
imagine the most patient, humble, friendly, yet honest person in your group being so fucking outspoken and a menace at the same time just because THAT ONE annoying person🙏🏻
@pfnlmh___
yeah but this one is an absolutely massive twist.
oscar4lan
so sad to know it but i wonder why people are hating on Lando? he did nothing😔
@manema
"nothing"🤡
@nonchalant101
fr, we don't know what actually happened that time…
And on. The hate was massive.
They were tearing into Lando, blaming him for Oscar's sudden change. Comments questioning his influence, his worth, even his presence in the sport. They know Oscar and the person in the reel wasn't Oscar, the way he sat, he talks, his words choices, it wasn't him. And amidst it all, Carlos couldn't help but feel a pang of anger. Not just at the faceless trolls but at Oscar himself.
Carlos knew how much Lando had been hurting because of him, yet Oscar had done nothing to ease the situation. If anything, his recent behavior had made it worse.
"Lando," Carlos said firmly, sitting beside him. "You can't let this get to you. These people? They don't know you. And they don't deserve to have this kind of power over you."
Lando shook his head, wiping his face with his sleeve. "But they're right," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I couldn't help him, Carlos. I couldn't stop him from... becoming this. I shouldn't threaten him like that. It's my fault. He hated me."
Carlos's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare to blame yourself for him. Oscar made his choices, not you. And frankly, if he's going to treat you like this, he doesn't deserve you worrying about him."
Lando looked up at him, his tear-filled eyes filled with doubt.
"You're better than this, sweetie," Carlos added, his voice steady. "You're better than him."
The words hung in the air, a lifeline in the storm of doubt and guilt. Carlos stayed with Lando, offering his unwavering support, even as his own feelings toward Oscar simmered beneath the surface.
Lando kept surviving, barely. Each day felt like wading through quicksand, his mental health nowhere to be found. Every lap on the track became a struggle; his focus shattered, his confidence crumbling. He narrowly avoided hitting the wall more than once during practice sessions, and his pit crew's concerned glances were becoming harder to ignore.
And then came Sunday.
Monaco GP
The race day atmosphere buzzed with energy, and Lando felt nothing but dread as he walked into the team garage. He caught sight of Oscar, seated on the engineer's table, his posture oozing confidence. One leg was propped up, his race gear on, and his gaze was sharp, piercing.
That view is not Oscar's, he wouldn't sit there and pose like that.
Lando hesitated, his stomach twisted. Accidentally, their eyes locked, Oscar's frown turned into a slow, mocking grin.
Lando's eyes widened. It was a mocking grin, but why was something inside him feeling something weird? The feeling that stirred in him-strange, conflicting; a mix of anger, confusion, and something he didn't even know. This version of Oscar scared him.
He needed to leave.
On the other side, Oscar noticed. His grin faltered, leaning casually against the wall. His dull eyes followed Lando's movement who was hurrying away.
"Oh. What?" Oscar muttered under his breath,"Is he embarrassed for being third? That's... disgusting." He's starting to make thoughts.
Bet, it was a lie, and he knew it. He saw Lando's rosy cheeks. That statement clawed at the strong constructed walls he'd built around himself. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to ignore it, to focus on the race ahead.
Meanwhile the pre-race proceedings carried on, the tension lingered in the air already.
The lineup was surprising, everyone was hyping for it, it was Alex Albon on pole, Max Verstappen in second, Oscar Piastri in third, and Lando all the way back in seventh.
As Lando approached his car, the sound of the crowd hit him like a physical blow.
Boos.
"The race hasn't started yet..." his breath spoke.
The jeers echoed in his ears, louder than anything else. Each one chipped away at the fragile remains of his confidence, feeding the anxiety already coursing through his veins.
He climbed into the cockpit, his hands trembling as he gripped the wheel. The weight of the past weeks bore down on him, threatening to crush him completely, but he just kept it.
The race lights flashed. The engines roared to life. All pilots on their grid.
And so it began.
The lights went out.
Cars launched forward, tires screeching as they fought for position into the first corner. Alex held his ground at the front, with Max right on his tail. Oscar, aggressive as ever, darted into the gap between them, jostling for position.
Further back, Lando struggled. His reflexes were slower than usual, his confidence shaken. He lost a spot on the first lap, dropping to eighth.
"Focus, Lando, everything is alright." came the voice of his race engineer through the radio.
He muttered a shaky, "Yeah," his grip on the wheel tightened further.
Up ahead, Oscar was putting on a clinic. He made a daring move on Max in Turn 4, taking second place. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Lando barely noticed. His eyes were glued to the track, his heart pounding as he fought to maintain his position.
Lap after lap, the race unfolded in a blur. Alex dropped to fourth and Oscar tried his best to hold Max in second. Meanwhile Lando was locked in his own fight further down the field, struggling to hold off the cars behind him.
The pressure was mounting.
By Lap 20, the rain started to fall, light at first but steadily increasing. The track grew slick, and visibility worsened. Lando's tires skidded slightly on a turn, and his heart leapt into his throat.
Max did a beautiful overtake in the rain before box, took the first place from Oscar. His car danced through the wet corners with unnerving precision. But Oscar was a shark, he was still hunting for the number one.
"Box for inters, box for inters," his engineer called.
Lando dived into the pits, joining a flurry of cars making the switch to the green line tires. The stop was quick, but the seconds lost still felt like hours.
Rejoining the track in tenth, Lando's frustration boiled over. He needed to push harder, to prove he wasn't broken.
Lap 25. The rain intensified.
Lando, further back, was pushing harder than ever, desperate to claw his way back up the field. His car slid dangerously close to the barriers on several occasions, but he didn't back off.
He couldn't.
Lap 30.
The straight loomed ahead. Lando's foot slammed on the accelerator, his car screaming down the stretch. The rain pounded harder, making the track a treacherous mirror.Then it happened.
As he approached the next corner, his car hydroplaned. The rear lost grip, and before he could save it, the car spun violently.
"Shit!" Lando shouted, panic seizing him.
The car slammed into the barrier with a deafening crash, the impact reverberating through the cockpit. Like it wasn't enough, two other cars crashed on him at another crazy speeds, stacking onto him like his car was a pillow. They were Lance and George. The Canadian driver's attention was stolen by Lando's flashed car when he was speeding, indirectly, he lost his focus, followed by his grip. A Mercedes was behind who was incredibly close to the Aston Martin trying to avoid him, but he couldn't.
An almost spinning Stroll plus a speeding George was being an absolute hammer onto Lando.
Carbon fiber shattered, debris flying in all directions. His car wasn't in shape anymore.
The red flag waved immediately.
Inside the wreck, Lando's world blurred. Pain radiated through his body, but worse was the suffocating realization: he might not run away from this one. He can feel something inside him injured because of the hard collision.
Hurt.
It hurts, a lot. The sting from inside of his head were too much, feels like the crowd were throwing rocks at him. His eyelids felt so heavy, he wanted to cry, from a lot of things, but he just couldn't bear the weight, the poor eyes closed before he could mutter a word.
In the pit lane, Oscar sat frozen, his hands gripping tight on the steering wheel. His heart raced, a storm of emotions swirling inside him.
He pressed the radio button, asked his engineer about what just happened.
"Was that Lando?"
-"Uh, yes."
"Is he okay?"
-"It's impossible to say yes, the crash was something else."
As medics swarmed to Lando's mangled car, the world held its breath. The broadcast cameras cut to the crash repeatedly, and the commentators' voices were hushed with concern.Oscar, still seated in his car in the pit lane, he felt like his heart was being squeezed in a vice. He had wanted Lando to suffer, to feel pain for what had happened between them-but not like this. Never like this. This isn't what he wanted it to be.
A voice crackled through his radio, but he barely heard it. His eyes were glued to the screen showing the live footage, searching for any sign that Lando was okay.
Finally, the update came.
"Lando Norris is alive and being extracted from the car. Conscious but injured."
Was it a lie or not? Only the fans standing there can see it; to see the blood, to see the scars, to see Lando. Because the cameras are not brave enough to place their eyes on him.
That's why Oscar exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Relief washed over him without knowing something, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of guilt.
Was it his fault? Did he push him to this?It was his fault. Yes he is.
He fucked up, badly. Now it's messy.
The race was suspended indefinitely. Oscar climbed out of his car and stood in the rain, staring blankly at the chaos on the screen, Lando wasn't there. Other drivers passed him, murmuring condolences or offering words of reassurance, but he barely acknowledged them.
Lando was rushed to the hospital. Reports confirmed that his injuries were severe but not life-threatening-at least physically. The crash left his body battered, but the fact? That was another story.
Oscar, despite himself, after the race found his way to the hospital. He didn't know what he was doing there. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was something he still couldn't admit.
When he arrived, Carlos was already there, his protective instincts in overdrive. He shot Oscar a glare that could kill from miles away.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Carlos growled, stepping between Oscar and the door to Lando's room.
"I just-" Oscar hesitated, the usual sharpness in his voice gone. "I needed to see him."
"You've done enough, let me give you the news. He needed a heart donor because he is leaking." Carlos spat.
"And you know what's worse? There's no stock of it, and they have none of the A.H ready." He added. "Go back to crying or whatever you care about these days."
But Oscar didn't leave. He waited, leaning against the cold hospital wall, ignoring the stares and whispers from others passing by. Even when Carlos wasn't there anymore, he's still there in the waiting room, waiting.
He sat alone, the rain tapped against the windows, mirroring the storm inside his mind.
He replayed every moment.
The flowers he had bought, the press conference where he let his bitterness spill over, and Lando's eyes the last time they locked gazes in the garage.
"Love is a heart."
The thought hit him like a truck. He was feeling something weird, something wasn't right. He felt hollow, like he had missed the point this whole time. Not until one question filled the air.
"Do I love him?"
The word that jolted him alive-love.
Lando had given him things he hadn't felt before, something that feels so real for him. And Oscar had crushed all of it underfoot, letting his pride and ego get in the way. "It's my fault." His voice thin under his breath.
Oscar, the man who was seeking for Lando in his life. He could see him eyes to eyes, Lando's eyes shining hazel like a beautiful emerald under the sun, shining so beautiful that he wanted a picture of him on his retina, he could felt his smile and warmth of it, felt so warm that makes his heart melted sweet, he made him feel funny things.
Oscar never knows if he loved him so much. Like that. He let out a shaky sigh after because at the end, his soul still knows what to say, he still feels the same.
"Lando, you're always in my mind. How can I hate you like this?" His thought lingers, his tongue managed to drag the last word from the insides of his heart.
"I think I love him..."
"I love him. Does he love me?"
His mind silent abruptly.
"It doesn't matter. If he don't, I will-"
His breath hitched.
In his mind he spoke. "Do nothing. I can't do anything about it. Why was I being cruel to someone just because he's not into me?" His face blank, his emotions mixed-sad, angry, guilt, a lot of faces that he can't express. Because at the end, he just has one.
I'm sorry.
Now, it was too late to apologize, too late to make amends. Unless…
He held his breath. A radical idea rooting in his mind, one that terrified and liberated him at the same time.
He went to the hospital's organ donation office.
***
A few days after the surgery, Lando's condition was stabilized. The hospital room was quiet, filled only with the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Carlos sat by his bedside, daydreaming and glancing at Lando every few minutes.
When Lando's eyes fluttered open, Carlos immediately leaned forward, morning sun beamed behind the curtain, morning birds were singing. All the world had waited for him.
"Sweetheart, you're awake," Carlos said, relief flooding his voice. "Don't try to talk too much. The doctors said you'll need time to recover."
"You're lucky to have a heart from an alive person and seeing you here make me relieved." Carlos chuckled.
Lando blinked slowly, letting out a hum as his response. Holding Carlos' hand.
His mind fuzzy, he felt the rhythmic thump of a heart in his chest-a feeling he never thought he'd experience again. Something different that make him felt special.
His eyes wandered to a plain envelope resting on the bedside table.
"What's... that?" Lando croaked, his voice raspy.
Carlos glanced at it and hesitated. "The doctors said it's from your donor. They left it for you."
Lando reached out weakly, his fingers trembling as they brushed the envelope. Carlos handed it to him, and he carefully opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper with neat, familiar handwriting.
He let go of his boyfriend's hand to read the letter.
The letter said:
"Good morning!"
"I'm glad you're still here,
You know what? I love you and that wasn't a secret between us both, it's ok if you are not feeling the same."
"Carlos deserve you more,
I'm serious!"
"Well. I have contacted my family (I won't read their response) and posted all the things in the social media to clear up any misunderstandings I've made, it's all my fault, and I told them if they try to hurt you, they will hurt me too because I'm living in your heart. That's sweet, isn't it?"
"I know what am I doing now is reckless, but if the doctors don't make it now, the beautiful sky would cry because your hazel eyes don't stare at them."
"I will always be by your side and make sure you're safe, because I hurt you a lot."
"And oh didn't deserve to stand on."
"I started it, so, I have to finish it."
I'm sorry.
He smiled, wondering who that silly soul was. But not after seeing the end of the letter, what did they do?
Lando flipped the letter.
"Lando,"
"Once I said love is a heart. It took losing mine to truly understand how much I meant it. Please live well, for both of us.
I hope you forgive me."
The time stopped for a moment.
"Oscar?"
Carlos glanced at him for a second when he muttered that name weakly. He stared blankly at the sheet of paper that someone had, reading at the neat handwriting getting messy word after word. He knew the donor.
Lando alive, with Oscar's heart beating for him, if Lando's beat, Oscar's too.
They're living together?
Lando's breath hitched as he read the letter. His chest tightened-not from pain, but from a crushing realization. Oscar's words were screaming, he can see some dry teardrops on the ink.
"No... no," he whispered, his voice breaking. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as he clutched the paper.
Carlos frowned, confused. "What's wrong? Do you know them? The donor?"
Lando shook his head, pressing the paper against his chest. He couldn't speak. He couldn't say it.
Carlos leaned back, concern etched into his face. "Lando, if you're not ready to talk about it, that's fine. But whoever they were, they saved your life. You should focus on recovery now."
But Lando wasn't listening. His thoughts were spinning, replaying every memory of Oscar-the way he used to look at him, the smiles he ignored, and the flower.
It all made sense now.
Oscar splitted his throat to reach the match, to lighten the candle, and give it to Lando in the dark. He can't say anything, he can't be heard, but his action is enough to make him know how he felt for him.
Oscar had loved him in his own broken way. And in the end, he had given everything he had left. In guilt.
Tears streamed down Lando's face as he clutched his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of Oscar's heart beating inside him.
Oscar's love keeps him alive.