🛏️ʀᴏᴏᴍ 713 - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11: ꜱᴏʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ🛏️
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ
ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ & ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱ
ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ / ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ
ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ / ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇ’ꜱ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ
ᴛᴇᴀʀꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ & ꜰʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
The hours following (Y/n)’s awakening moved like honey—slow, heavy, and golden with the possibility of healing.
The first light of dawn filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Room 713. Gentle sunbeams cast dappled shadows across the room, illuminating the sterile white walls with a soft blush. The steady hum of the heart monitor was the only sound breaking the quiet, a mechanical lullaby that counted every second she was still here.
(Y/n) was propped up by pillows, her IV tubes carefully repositioned by a nurse earlier that morning. Her complexion was pale, but warmth had returned to her cheeks, as though her body was remembering how to live. She turned slightly to the side, the hospital blanket drawn to her chest, as her eyes flicked to the figure sleeping with his head resting on the edge of her mattress.
She stared at him for a long time. His curls were messier than usual, crushed against the edge of the bed. His hoodie smelled faintly of jet fuel and leather, like the inside of a racing garage. She wondered if he had even gone home since arriving. A soft sigh escaped her lips, unintentional, but enough to stir him.
Lando’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked slowly, disoriented for a second before his gaze locked with hers.
“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice husky with sleep and something else—something deeper, heavier.
“I’ve been awake,” she replied softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips.
He sat up instantly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just…” He trailed off, searching for words that wouldn’t sound too heavy.
“I’m glad you stayed,” she whispered. Her voice cracked on the last syllable, betraying the weight behind those words.
Lando looked at her, really looked at her—eyes tracing the sharp lines of exhaustion etched under hers, the fading color of her lips, the fragile slope of her shoulders under the blanket. He hated how breakable she looked.
“I thought you forgot about me,” he said suddenly, eyes fixed on the blanket pooled between them.
“I tried to call. I wanted to,” she murmured, guilt softening her voice. “But they wouldn’t let me. The doctors… Madam Cho… they were afraid the stress would do more harm. I didn’t want to disappear on you. I didn’t want to become just another memory.”
A silence stretched between them—not heavy, not painful, just full of everything left unsaid.
Lando reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her wrist, testing if the contact was allowed. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned her hand over, their palms resting together, skin against skin.
“I was angry,” he admitted. “I thought you gave up on me. But all this time…”
“All this time, I was trying to live,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
They sat like that for a while, their fingers lightly intertwined, as the morning light grew bolder, stretching further into the room like a quiet blessing.
Madam Cho had left them a tray of food earlier, untouched and beginning to go cold. Lando stood and began unpacking it—warm congee, soft-boiled eggs, a small plate of sliced fruit, and a thermos of broth.
“You need to eat,” he said gently, placing the tray on her lap.
“You sound like Madam Cho,” (Y/n) teased, a small smile returning to her lips.
“She’s not wrong, though,” he said, sitting beside her again. He broke apart the wooden chopsticks and handed them to her. “Besides, if you don’t eat, I’m going to feel useless.”
She took a slow bite, and after swallowing, said softly, “You’re never useless, Lando. Never to me.”
Those words did something to him, unraveled a knot in his chest he didn’t realize he’d been carrying for months.
As she ate, he told her about the recent races. How Australia was chaotic but thrilling. How Oscar had messed up his tire strategy and ended up fourth. How Zak had been unusually quiet during debrief. How he’d wanted to text her after every single lap.
She laughed softly when he mimicked Oscar’s voice with exaggerated Aussie flair, her laughter a melody he hadn’t realized he missed so dearly.
Then she told him about the hospital. About the machines, the nurses, the long nights when she thought she wouldn’t wake up again. About the moments she’d tried to draw but couldn’t hold a pencil. And how Madam Cho sat beside her every evening, brushing her hair like she did when (Y/n) was thirteen and alone in the orphanage.
“I was so afraid,” she confessed, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Lando reached out and gently wiped a tear that slid down her cheek.
“So was I,” he whispered.
There were no declarations. No confessions. Just quiet knowing. Shared breaths. Silent forgiveness.
At some point, the nurse entered and did her rounds. Lando stepped aside, giving them space, but never left the room. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, watching the traffic far below—a city alive with stories, pain, recovery, and longing.
Later in the afternoon, a nurse came by with a wheelchair.
“You need a bit of sunshine,” she said kindly.
With gentle effort, they transferred (Y/n) into the chair, wrapping a knitted shawl around her shoulders. Lando pushed her down the sterile corridor, past rooms filled with quiet battles, to a rooftop garden where potted roses and tiny lemon trees danced beneath the breeze.
They sat by the edge, surrounded by life and sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, breathing in the scent of rosemary and mint.
“You are,” he replied quietly, staring at her.
She turned to look at him, lips parted slightly in surprise.
“I mean it,” he added. “Even like this. Especially like this. You’re not what I expected, (Y/n). You never were. You always surprise me.”
She looked away, hiding her blush beneath the collar of her shawl.
“I missed you,” she finally said, her voice fragile.
Lando didn’t reply. He just placed his hand over hers again, as the sun began to set behind them.
They stayed like that until the cold crept back in. Until the nurse returned with a blanket. Until stars began to bloom above the city.
And when they wheeled her back to Room 713, Lando remained by her side, a quiet promise resting between their hearts.
Tomorrow would be uncertain. The world still demanding, unforgiving, sharp.
But in this moment, in this quiet haven above the chaos, they had found something rare:
Solace in each other’s presence.
Hope in the smallest of hours.
🛏️ʀᴏᴏᴍ 713 - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12: ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ🛏️
