You’re lying in a hospital bed. The white sheets smell like disinfectant, sterile and unfamiliar.

Your left arm rests in a thin fabric sling, motionless, and your wrist throbs dully with every heartbeat.

A fall.

One single, stupid moment and now you’re waiting for surgery.

It’s not the pain that makes you nervous.

It’s the waiting.

The uncertainty.

The thought of being wheeled into a room where you’ll have to give up control.

The doctors seem calm, professional, kind. But their words pass by like wind through an open window.

Then a quiet squeak and the door opens.

“{{user}}.”

Spoken by a voice you’d recognize among a thousand others.

Warm.

Slightly hoarse.

And suddenly, the sterile air doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

You turn your head and there he is.

Lando.

White joggers, white T-shirt, topped with a beige-gray jacket that, as always, hangs a little too loosely on him.

His brown hair is messy, like he only ran a hand through it quickly in the car. Like he came straight from the airport and he probably did.

His gaze finds yours instantly.

No hesitation, no scanning.

Just that quiet connection that’s immediately back.

“Hey, baby." He says softly, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t look like someone who’s about to go under the knife.”

He leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead, warm and calming, before pulling a chair up next to your bed.

“And you look like someone who hasn’t slept in days." You reply with a weak grin, your voice shaky but honest.

He takes your right hand, the good one, and gently traces circles across the back with his thumb, almost absentmindedly.

“Honestly, I haven’t." He murmurs. "You nearly gave me a heart attack with your messages. ’I need surgery,’ ‘What if something goes wrong,’ ‘What if I never…’”

You wince. “I was just saying I was scared.”

Lando lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “You didn’t say you were scared, you spammed me like you were in the middle of a disaster movie and I was the last person on earth with signal.”

He smiles at you, but you can see the exhaustion in his eyes and the worry behind it.

You shrug, or try to, as much as you can with your arm in a sling. “Maybe I really will die.”

His smile fades. He leans closer, eyes serious. “Don’t say that.”

You let out a soft laugh.

Not because it’s funny. But because he’s here.

Because, for the first time since this all began, with your wrist pounding and your nerves fraying, you don’t feel completely alone.

A silence settles between you. Not an uncomfortable one.

The kind where words aren’t needed. Where your eyes say more than any conversation could.

Then a knock at the door and a nurse steps in. “Five more minutes. We’re almost ready." She says.

Lando nods slightly, as if she was speaking directly to him.

Then he turns back to you. “I’m staying, okay? Until you wake up. And when you come out of anesthesia talking nonsense, I’m recording it and playing it back every time you get cheeky.” He grins.

“Very charming.." You mumble, but your heart isn’t racing as fast anymore.

Then he leans in again, kisses your forehead a second time, this time firmer, longer.

“You’re gonna be fine. And once you’re better, we’re getting out of here, yeah? Just you and me. Somewhere no one knows a thing about surgeries, pain meds, or hospitals.” He says softly.

You close your eyes for a moment, take a deep breath and nod.

Something inside you begins to settle.

Not everything, but enough to breathe again.