Chapter Text
The hotel balcony overlooked the ocean so perfectly it almost looked fake.
Lando stepped out into the warm afternoon air, one hand resting against the railing as the Mediterranean stretched endlessly below him, blue melting into gold beneath the lowering sun. Boats drifted lazily across the water. Somewhere farther down the coast, music floated faintly upward from a beach bar.
Spain was unfairly beautiful.
The breeze pushed softly through his hair, carrying salt and warmth with it, and for a moment he just stood there quietly, taking it in.
Lando was grateful for a lot of the things that have happened in his life, but every single time he entered a new city, he felt a sense of excitement he rarely felt anywhere else.
He’d seen more of the world in eleven months than he had in the previous twenty-four years of his life combined.
And somehow, despite all of it, despite every beautiful thing he’d stood in front, his chest still tightened the second he thought about one particular boy in Melbourne with permanently tired eyes and a sarcastic mouth.
Annoying, really.
Lando sighed through his nose and stepped back inside.
His suitcase sat half open on the bed. He unpacked slowly, tossing shirts into drawers without much care, hanging up the one jacket Carlos would inevitably force him to wear at some point during the wedding week.
By the time he got to the bathroom bag, he frowned.
No lemon juice.
Over the past three months, he’d developed a weird obsession with lemon water. On his third day in Iceland, he ordered water at a bar, only came to taste it and there was a little tang of lemon and he had not gone back since. He drank it constantly now.
Lando grabbed his room key with a sigh and headed out into the hallway, on the hunt for Lemon water.
Do they have that in Spain?
The corridor was quiet, washed in warm gold from the enormous windows at the far end. He’d barely made it ten steps before he noticed an elderly woman struggling with two massive suitcases near the elevator.
One of them tipped sideways dangerously.
“Oh—shit. Sorry, sorry,” Lando said quickly, jogging over before it could fully topple. “I’ve got it.”
The woman looked up at him, startled for half a second before relief softened her expression. “Oh, you sweet boy. Thank you.”
“These things weigh more than me,” Lando muttered, hauling one upright.
She laughed warmly. “That is because my husband refuses to pack like a normal person.”
“Honestly, same,” Lando admitted. “I carried wore sweater across four countries,”
That earned a laugh.
He helped carry the suitcases down the hall toward her room, listening as she explained very passionately, that her husband believed every vacation required at least six pairs of trousers “in case of mood changes.”
Lando immediately liked her.
“Well,” she sighed once they reached the door, “thank you, darling. You’ve saved my back.”
“No problem.”
Opening the hotel room door wider, she said, “I was just about to make tea. And you look like someone who desperately needs tea.”
Lando hesitated for approximately half a second before accepting.
Honestly, traveling alone for a year had completely destroyed his sense of stranger danger.
Ten minutes later, he sat at a tiny table near the balcony doors while the elderly woman aggressively insisted he take more biscuits.
Her name was Eleanor. Her husband, currently asleep in the bedroom, was named Richard and apparently snored “like a dying lawn mower.”
“So,” Eleanor said, dumping an alarming amount of sugar into her tea, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“And you traveled for an entire year? Alone?”
Lando nodded, sipping carefully.
Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Voluntarily?”
“Mostly.”
“Good Lord.”
He laughed softly. “It sounds worse than it was.”
“And what do you do for work?”
“I, uh, photograph. Couple gigs here and there.”
She smiled warmly. “Then I imagine seeing all those beautiful places was actually a blessing.”
Lando shifted slightly in his chair. “Yeah. I got some of the best shots of my career, honestly—”
He didn’t get to finish.
At that exact moment, the bedroom door swung open and an older man wandered into the kitchen looking deeply confused and only partially awake.
His eyes landed on Lando immediately.
“Eleanor,” he said slowly, “who is this random boy you’ve kidnapped?”
Eleanor gasped in offense. “Oh, hush. He’s my new friend. He helped me with the suitcases.”
Richard looked back at Lando. “Be careful with her. She’ll talk your ear off and suddenly it’ll be Tuesday.”
“Richard!”
Lando laughed quietly as the two of them bickered back and forth with the ease of people who had spent decades with each other.
Lando admired every second of it. The teasing. The very clear love there.
He had almost forgotten what love looked like when it wasn’t etched in so much heartache.
About twenty minutes later, after Eleanor and Richard had argued passionately about soup options for lunch, Richard finally wandered off downstairs to find food.
The second the hotel room door closed behind him, Lando glanced back toward Eleanor.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How long have you two been married?”
Eleanor’s entire face lit up instantly. “Forty-three years.”
Lando blinked. “Jesus.”
She laughed. “That’s usually the reaction.”
“No, I just…” He shook his head slightly. “That’s a really long time to choose the same person every day.”
Eleanor smiled softly into her tea.
Lando looked down at his cup before continuing quieter, “How do you even do that? Stay together that long without ruining everything?”
Something in his tone must’ve given him away, because Eleanor’s expression shifted slightly. More thoughtful now. More observant. “That’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”
Lando looked up too fast. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not asking me how marriage works,” she said gently. “You’re asking whether love can survive mistakes.”
Well, okay. That was deeply unfortunate levels of accurate.
Lando let out a breathy laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re very good at reading people.”
“I’m old,” Eleanor replied simply.
That got another laugh out of him. But it faded quickly. “There’s just…” Lando paused, searching for words carefully. “Someone I’m going to see this week.”
Eleanor stayed quiet, letting him continue.
“We used to be really important to each other. And things got messy. Then I left for a while and…” He shrugged lightly. “Now I’m back.”
“And you’re frightened.”
Lando smiled faintly into his tea. “Is it that obvious?”
“Oh darling,” Eleanor said kindly, “you’ve been twisting that napkin for the last five minutes.”
Lando glanced down.
Right.
“I think I’m just worried he’s moved on,” he admitted quietly. “Or maybe he hates me now. I don’t know.”
“And what do you want to happen?”
The answer came immediately.
“I don’t want him to hate me.” Lando exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I think part of me knows I can’t expect things to stay the same between us. But another part of me…” He shook his head slightly. “Another part keeps hoping maybe they did.”
Eleanor watched him carefully for a moment before smiling softly. “You know,” she said, “Richard and I nearly split up once when we were younger.”
Lando looked genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes. We were stubborn and dramatic and absolutely exhausting.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Didn’t properly speak for months.”
“What happened?”
“He turned up at my apartment looking miserable and said, ‘I think being without you is making me stupid.’”
Lando laughed despite himself. “That’s either incredibly romantic or deeply concerning.”
“Both,” Eleanor replied fondly.
The room settled into comfortable quiet again.
Then she added gently, “You’re assuming you already know how this person feels about you.”
Lando frowned slightly.
“And maybe you do,” she continued. “But people are often much worse at hiding love than they think they are.”
Something about that lodged itself deep in his chest. Something simple and quiet, dare he say hope.
Eleanor reached over then, patting his hand once.
“Just don’t spend so much time fearing the conversation that you forget to actually it. Tell him what you mean, be honest, that’s the best thing you can for him, and for yourself,”
And somehow, hearing it phrased that way made everything feel a little less impossible.
——
Gold light spilled from chandeliers the size of small planets. Crystal glassware glittered on linen-draped tables. Laughter ricocheted off impossibly high ceilings. A string quartet threaded something romantic and expensive through the air.
The party was packed. A hundred people at least: family, childhood friends, strangers who barely knew Carlos and Charles
And Lando stood at the entrance far earlier than he needed to be, hands tucked into his pockets to stop them shaking.
He’d faced airport lobbies with less adrenaline in his bloodstream.
He smiled. Hugged. Shook hands. Accepted claps on the back.
“You disappeared!”
“Fifteen countries?”
“You look different.”
He answered automatically. Yes, it was good to see them. Yes, South America had been insane. Yes, he’d learned to surf badly and cook worse. Yes, he was well.
He was very well.
But every conversation had a timer on it. Every laugh felt partial. Because under the noise, under the lights, under the orchestral swell—
Where is he?
His eyes scanned constantly. Over shoulders. Between clusters of guests. Toward the bar. The balcony. The far corners of the room. Nothing.
His pulse climbed.
It was ridiculous. Oscar had every right to be here. He should be here. He was practically family to Charles. He wouldn’t miss this.
Unless—
Unless he didn’t want to see Lando. Unless he’d decided the cleanest thing was distance.
The thought hollowed him out.
Lando excused himself at some point, he didn’t even remember from who, and ducked into the bathroom just to breathe for a second. The marble counters reflected a new face.
He looked steadier now. Calmer. The sharp grief that had defined the months after the broken engagement had softened into something quieter. He had traveled the world trying to outrun the ache, and somewhere between sunrise in Bali and cold air in Patagonia, he had realized something devastatingly simple:
He had never fallen out of love with Oscar.
He had tried. God, he had tried.
He had told himself their timing was always wrong. That they were young. That loving someone that fiercely at twenty was reckless and unsustainable.
But no one else had ever fit. Not like that.
Not like breathing felt easier when Oscar was in the room.
Not like every version of Lando: arrogant, insecure, ambitious, terrified, had been seen and sharpened and steadied by him.
Oscar was the reason he’d believed he could be more. Do more. Become more.
He didn’t just love him. He built himself beside him.
And when that foundation disappeared, Lando had felt unmade.
He exhaled slowly, trying to gain composure he didn't feel. All that haunted him was seeing Oscar again.
He had imagined it over and over again the past year: what he would say, what Oscar would say. He wondered if it would be awkward or would they flow into their usual banter that not even time could ever take from them. He wondered if Oscar would ignore him, pretend he didn’t exist. He had every right, Lando just hoped he would give him a chance to speak.
He kept repeating Eleanor’s words, desperate to make her proud, even if he barely knew the woman.
The bathroom door opened and Lando snapped back into reality. He slowly stepped back into the ballroom, cautious more than anything.
As he made his way, the crowd shifted.
Laughter swelled somewhere to his right.
And then just as the room parted enough, Lando saw him.
There, at the far end, near the absurdly elaborate dessert table, stood Oscar Piastri.
Lando didn’t breathe. He couldn’t.
Oscar was turned slightly away, studying something (chocolate, maybe), one hand resting lightly against the table, posture relaxed in a way that looked practiced.
He looked… older. So much older.
His suit was a dark blue and fitted him perfectly, outlining shoulders Lando remembered gripping, steadying himself against. His hair was styled deliberately, in a way Lando had never seen him do before.
Heat rushed through him so fast his knees nearly gave out. It was physical. Violent. The kind of reaction you couldn’t fake or rationalize away.
And as if sensing it, as if some invisible thread had tightened between them, Oscar went still. Then he looked up, directly at him.
The immediate eye contact hit like an impact. Destabilizing Lando.
God.
Those eyes.
Oscar’s expression didn’t change much. But something flickered there, surprise, yes. And something else..
Lando realized he’d been staring. He then forced his feet to move.
Each step felt deliberate, unreal, like walking through water. The noise of the ballroom dimmed into background static. He was aware of nothing but the narrowing distance between them.
Oscar didn’t move.
Lando stopped a foot away.
And up close was worse.
Oscar’s face was exactly as Lando remembered. The faint crease between his brows when he was thinking too much, the barely-there scar near his jaw, the warmth in his eyes he pretended not to have.
Lando’s throat went dry. Say something, you idiot. Anything.
“Hey.”
They said it at the exact same time.
A startled breath of laughter escaped both of them, quiet, disbelieving, like neither quite trusted the moment to be real.
For a moment, neither of them knew what to do with their hands. It was absurd, they’d known each other’s bodies like second nature once, and now they stood there like strangers at a networking event.
Lando stepped forward instinctively.
Oscar mirrored him.
It became an awkward half-hug. One arm each. Careful not to longer.
And yet the second their bodies touched: Electric.
Lando’s brain short circuited. His heart slammed so violently he was convinced Oscar could feel it through layers of fabric and restraint. Muscle memory lit up everywhere at once.
He pulled back too quickly.
Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t.
“How are you?” Lando blurted, voice pitched slightly too high. He cleared his throat. “I mean — hi. Obviously. You’re— you look—” Reset. “How are you?”
Oscar’s mouth twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “I’m good.”
Silence swelled again, thick and expanding. Lando could feel it pressing at his ribs. Words lined up in his head and then scattered like frightened birds.
Oscar tilted his head slightly. Studying him. “What about you? You traveled to, what, almost twenty countries? Are you well?”
Lando grabbed onto this conversation like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” he nodded quickly. “Yeah, it was… a lot. In a good way. I learned I’m terrible at surfing. I got food poisoning in Thailand. I almost adopted a dog in Argentina.” A nervous laugh. “I didn’t. For the record.”
Oscar’s smile widened, barely, but enough.
He had missed that smile.
“But,” Lando continued, humor softening into something steadier, “it was good for me. I think I needed to strip everything back. Figure out who I was without all the noise.”
His voice settled, less performance and more truth now.
“I’m happier than I’ve ever been, actually. I feel like I’ve found myself. In my career. In my head. I don’t feel like I’m constantly trying to regulate my emotions.” He hesitated. “You, uh— you know what I mean,”
Lando needed him to know he was better, that he’s not messed up like he used to be.
And Oscar’s full attention hit him like gravity.
He had forgotten what it felt like to have it. That quiet, unwavering focus. It made Lando feel important. Seen. A little undone.
“I actually do,” Oscar said softly. A small exhale followed. “A lot happened.” He shifted, almost uncomfortable in the vulnerability. “I, uh… I actually applied for an engineering job at McLaren and accepted recently-.”
Lando blinked. “What?”
Oscar shrugged lightly, but he couldn’t quite hide the pride. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God, are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Oscar, that’s amazing.”
And this time, there was nothing frantic about Lando’s enthusiasm. It was pure. He remembered the late nights. The textbooks. The stress fractures from pushing too hard in college. He remembered Oscar pretending it wasn’t that important when it clearly meant everything.
Few people knew how much work had gone into that moment.
Lando did.
“That’s huge,” Lando said more quietly. “I’m proud of you. Truly.”
A flush crept up Oscar’s neck, blooming across his cheeks. He’d never known what to do with praise, Lando would know, since he once spent an entire week only speaking to him in compliments and watch him increasingly get more uncomfortable.
“Thanks, Lando.” The sincerity in his voice landed between them.
Then Oscar asked, almost carefully, but also rather abruptly. “Did you accomplish everything you wanted on your time away? You know since you said you’re a lot happier…”
The question caught Lando off guard.
He exhaled slowly. “Honestly? Yeah. I think I did. My head feels… screwed on correctly now. Like I’m not constantly fighting myself. I feel like I got everything I wanted.”
He paused.
There it was again: that pull in his chest.
“Apart from one thing.”
His eyes lifted fully to Oscar’s.
Silence thickened, heat and gravity and unfinished sentences all at once.
Oscar didn’t look away.
“And what’s that one thing?” he asked quietly.
Lando’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was it.
No pride. No timing excuses. No audience.
He could say it.
You.
The word rose to the surface—
“Oscar!”
Charles burst into the moment like sunlight through a window. Bright, grinning, entirely unaware he’d just detonated something fragile.
Typical Charles.
He wrapped Oscar in a full embrace, pulling him a step away.
The spell shattered.
Lando blinked, disoriented, like someone surfacing from deep water.
A hand clapped his shoulder from behind.
“Mate! Been looking for you!”
The room rushed back in all at once.
Music. Laughter. Glass clinking. Too much light.
Oscar was laughing at something Charles said, but just before he fully turned away, his eyes flicked back to Lando.
Just for a second.
And in that second, there was something raw there.
Unresolved. Open.
Lando let himself be tugged into conversation, nodding automatically, responding to words he didn’t register.
Only focusing on the fact that he had done it. He had stood inches from Oscar after a year apart and hadn’t fallen apart.
Lando was halfway through something aggressively floral that Carlos swore would “change his life”.
“It actually tastes like perfume!” Lando muttered, inspecting the glass like it was poison.
Carlos didn’t even blink. “It is elderflower, chico. Expand your palate, you’re in Spain,”
“My palate is expanded. It just has standards, and this? This does not meet them,”
Carlos hummed, amused, taking a slow sip of his own drink. He looked perfectly at ease. Sleeves rolled, posture relaxed, wedding-week glow practically radiating off him.
Lando watched him for a second. “You’re insufferably happy, you know that?”
“I am getting married,” Carlos replied calmly. “That tends to do it.”
“Yeah, well. Tone it down. Some of us are fragile.”
Carlos smirked. “You? Fragile? Please.”
Lando was about to fire back something dramatic when it happened.
A laugh.
Loud. Bright. Familiar.
It sliced through the music and chatter like muscle memory.
Lando froze before he even consciously turned.
And there he was again. Oscar.
Head tipped back slightly, hand resting on George’s shoulder as George finished whatever ridiculous story he was telling. The laugh was full-bodied, unguarded. It looked the same. It sounded the same.
He was right there.
Real.
Breathing. Laughing. Existing.
Carlos cleard his throat softly.
Lando didn’t even register it.
Carlos cleared it again, pointed this time.
“What?” Lando said, genuinely confused, still staring at the Australian.
Carlos took his time. Long sip. Slow swallow. Eyes very deliberately not looking where Lando was looking.
“So,” he said lightly. “How did your conversation go?”
That does it. Lando snapped his attention back to Carlos like he had been caught doing something illegal.
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Fine. Good. It was-, uhm, normal.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow.
“We just talked,” Lando continued too quickly. “About what we’ve been doing. I told him about the traveling and the… you know. Finding myself. Yada yada yada.”
Carlos said nothing for a moment. Just watched him. Not judgmental, more analytical.
It made Lando’s skin itch.
“I wasn’t aware ‘yada yada yada’ was a self-discovery milestone,” Carlos said dryly.
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you,” Carlos replied gently, “are deflecting.”
Lando looked away again, back to Oscar.
Still with George. Now Charles had joined them, dramatically inserting himself into whatever bit was happening. Oscar’s smile softened when he looked at Charles. Affectionate, easy.
Lando’s stomach tightened as realized something.
He hadn’t seen Oscar with anyone. Not once tonight.
Just Charles. Just George.
The thought hit him fast, uninvited:
Does he have someone?
The idea of Oscar with a boyfriend: someone steady, someone kind, someone who knew how he took his coffee and what made him quiet instead of loud, made Lando’s chest feel like it was collapsing inward.
I mean it would make sense, Oscar was one of the most lovable people he knew.
And now, Lando needed to know, more than anything.
“Hey. Uh. Carlos?”
“Yes?”
Lando gripped the stem of his glass a little too tightly. “Is— Is Oscar— like— is he… You know, is he-“
He trailed off, hating himself.
“Is he what?” Carlos replied sharply.
Lando sighed, giving Carlos a stare, annoyed he couldn’t possibly figure out what Lando was trying to say.
It’s the frustration that pushed Lando. “Is Oscar seeing anyone?” It’s abrupt, and slightly loud.
There it is, the slow, dawning smile on the Spaniards face.
“You’re asking me if Oscar is single.”
Lando closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, Carlos. I am.”
He just couldn’t stop humiliating himself, could he?
Carlos let out a soft laugh, not cruel, but delighted.
“This is incredible!”
“Don’t,” Lando warned. He didn’t have the capacity to be made fun of right now.
Carlos lifted his free hand in surrender. “Relax, Lando,”
He studied Lando for another beat, deciding how much to say.
“As far as I know,” he began casually, “he is not seeing anyone.”
Relief flooded through Lando so hard it was almost dizzying.
Thank God. Thank every cosmic force that might be listening.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” he continued, voice lowering slightly, “but he hasn’t brought anyone around. Not to dinners. Not to parties. Nothing consistent.”
Lando swallowed.
Carlos shrugged lightly. “I remember maybe three times he left with someone after events. But it was… transactional. He never spoke about them. Never followed up. It was never a thing.”
Each word felt like a strange mix of relief and something sharper.
The idea of Oscar with other people, strangers, made Lando’s stomach twist. Not anger. He had no right to anger.
Just something raw.
Something territorial he doesn’t want to name.
“Ah,” Lando said, forcing neutrality. “Okay. Good. I mean— not good. Just. Thanks.”
Carlos smirked. “For your sanity?”
Lando shot him a look.
Carlos leaned in slightly. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I would say you still—”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Carlos laughed, delighted. “Alright,” His tone was teasing.
They stood there a moment in companionable quiet, watching the party hum around them.
Then Carlos added, almost teasingly gentle, “You could always have just asked him yourself. You don’t need to go through me,”
Lando snorted. “Yeah, let me just casually ask my ex situationship of the past years if he’s celibate for me,”
Carlos grinned. “Now that would be a speech.”
He bumped Carlos’s shoulder lightly. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”
“Never.”
Lando shook his head, but there was affection in it.
Just then, Charles appeared like a hurricane in tailored trousers, balancing more drinks than necessary.
“What are you two giggling about?” he demanded.
Carlos answered instantly, “Lando is rediscovering his emotional range.”
“Carlos—”
Charles gasped. “Oh my God. Already? It hasn’t even been three hours.”
Lando groaned, but he’s smiling now, shaking his head as Charles handed him a fresh drink.
———
Midnight made everything feel softer and quieter.
The chandeliers had dimmed to a warm glow, the string quartet long gone, replaced by a playlist that pulsed lazily through the ballroom. Shoes had been kicked off. Jackets abandoned. Laughter had deepened into the reckless, uninhibited kind that only comes after too much champagne.
Oscar stood near the edge of the dance floor, nursing a glass he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.
Charles and Carlos were a disaster.
They were in the center of the floor, limbs tangled, foreheads pressed together, swaying off beat and grinning like idiots. Carlos kept dipping Charles dramatically, nearly dropping him each time. Charles shrieked with laughter that echoed through the room.
They looked disgustingly in love.
His instinct kicked in automatically, responsible friend mode. Someone should probably make sure they don’t attempt to climb onto a table. Or leave without their phones. Or attempt something deeply regrettable.
He scanned the room and he saw him.
A few feet away, arms crossed loosely over his chest, was Lando.
Watching them. Not laughing, not quite. Just observing with a small, fond smile. Babysitting. Grounded and present.
Lando looked different in the kind of way that couldn’t be reduced to a haircut or better tailoring.
He looked stronger.
Not just physically, though that too. His suit jacket strained slightly at his shoulders when he shifted. His forearms, visible where he’d rolled his sleeves earlier, were more defined. There was a solidity to him that hadn’t been there before.
But it was more than that…
He looked relaxed, comfortable. Entirely at ease in his own skin.
Oscar felt something hot and sharp twist beneath his ribs.
When had that happened?
He realized, with a slow and unsettling clarity, that he didn’t know.
He didn’t know what Lando’s mornings looked like anymore. Didn’t know what music he listened to. Didn’t know who he called when he had good news. Didn’t know what he feared.
It had been a year.
A year of oceans and continents and silence.
And Oscar suddenly felt like he was looking at a stranger wearing the face of the boy he once loved.
The distance between them felt immeasurable. He crossed it anyway.
He stopped beside Lando, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
“Think they know this isn’t the actual wedding?” Oscar murmured, nodding toward the dance floor. “Or are we letting them believe this is their final form?”
Lando startled. Actually startled.
His eyes went wide before recognition softened them. “Jesus—” he exhaled, laughing under his breath. “You move quietly.”
Oscar bit his tongue.
He could smell Lando’s cologne: something woodsy, subtle, layered over clean fabric and skin. Familiar enough to punch the air from his lungs.
“They’re gone,” Lando said, watching as Carlos attempted to spin Charles and nearly took out a centerpiece. “We should probably intervene before someone gets concussed.”
Though, Oscar found himself thinking about earlier.
“Apart from one thing.” Lando had said to him.
The memory burned.
He glanced at him. “We never finished our conversation from earlier,”
Lando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. We didn’t,”
Charles shouted something incomprehensible and nearly fell.
That ended the moment.
And dragging two drunken men across a hotel lobby at twelve-thirty in the morning was exactly as hard as it sounded.
Carlos insisted on singing loudly and very much off key. Charles kept stopping to kiss his fiancée mid stride, which made forward motion nearly impossible.
Oscar had one of Charles’s arms slung over his shoulder. Lando had Carlos.
“At least this is a one time thing,” Lando muttered as Carlos attempted to high-five a decorative plant. “Usually they’re dragging us out of places like this.”
Oscar huffed a laugh. “That is unfortunately accurate.”
Their shoulders brushed as they adjusted their grip. Oscar shivered.
They finally maneuvered the newlyweds into the backseat of the car. Charles immediately collapsed against Carlos, giggling. Carlos whispered something unintelligible into his hair.
Oscar hesitated only a second before sliding into the passenger seat. He shut the door, suddenly aware of how small the car felt.
“How much have you had?” Oscar asked, keeping his tone casual.
Lando buckled his seatbelt, shaking his head. “None.”
Oscar blinked. “None?”
“Haven’t really drunk in the past year,” Lando said lightly, pulling out of the lot.
It took a second for that to settle.
Oscar stared at the windshield.
Again, another thing he didn’t know.
The Lando he remembered would have had two drinks minimum by now. Would’ve been loud, teasing, reckless in the way that was half confidence, half deflection.
This version was steady.
His suit jacket came off at a red light.
Lando tossed it into the backseat without thinking, rolling his shoulders once. And it was quite devastating, because that was when Oscar made the mistake of looking.
The white dress shirt clung in ways that felt unfair. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing forearms that flexed easily as he gripped the steering wheel. The tendons in his hands shifted with every subtle movement. His neck, God, the line of it when he glanced over his shoulder to check traffic.
Oscar’s body reacted before his mind could intervene. Heat surged through him like a wave.
He’d been managing it all year. Keeping it controlled. Tucked away. Filing Lando under things that hurt too much to touch.
But proximity shattered that discipline.
Every detail was overwhelming. The way his fingers tapped absently against the wheel to the music. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The quiet confidence in his posture.
Oscar’s thoughts spiraled. He wanted to reach out.
To drag his thumb along the inside of Lando’s wrist. To see if the pulse there still raced like it used to.
He looked away sharply.
This was dangerous.
From the backseat, Charles’s voice floated forward, syrupy with alcohol. “I’ve missed this,” he mumbled. “You two… together. Makes my heart happy that you don’t hate each other.”
Silence swallowed the car.
Oscar felt it like a spotlight. He glanced sideways.
Lando was already looking at him. There was something naked in that gaze. Something unguarded. He was searching Oscar’s face for something.
Oscar swallowed.
Hate?
He could never.
He didn’t think it was physically possible to hate Lando.
Even when he’d been furious. Even when he’d been hurt. Even when he’d watched him build a life without him.
Oscar pushed the thought away.
They got Charles and Carlos upstairs eventually, half carrying, half dragging them into their suite. Shoes kicked off. Water placed on nightstands. Lights dimmed.
When the hotel room door finally clicked shut behind them, the hallway fell silent.
It was just them now.
Oscar leaned back against the wall opposite Lando.
They stared at each other. No buffer. No noise or audience.
Just the space between them.
Say something, you idiot. Anything.
Oscar opened his mouth—
“I have something for you,” Lando blurted.
Oscar blinked. “What?”
“It’s—” Lando cleared his throat. “Just. Can you- Come with me.”
He turned down the hall toward his own room.
Oscar followed automatically before he could think better of it.
At the door, though, reality slammed into him.
If he stepped inside—
He pictured it too clearly. The quiet. The closeness. The absence of people around them.
His self control felt like a thread already fraying, he didn’t need to be entering Lando’s bedroom.
“Uh,” Oscar said, stepping back slightly. “Maybe I should… stay out here.”
Lando paused. Understanding flickered across his face.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. Okay.”
He disappeared inside.
Oscar’s heart hammered against his ribs. He didn’t trust himself. Not tonight.
Not after watching the way Lando’s hands moved on the steering wheel. Not after remembering how easily they used to fit together.
The door opened again and Lando stepped out holding a small box.
He stood awkwardly in the hallway light, suddenly looking younger. Less composed, slightly more like the Lando he used to know.
“I know your birthday just passed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to call. I just— I didn’t know if I should. And I was in a different time zone every week. That’s not an excuse, I just—” He exhaled. “I didn’t forget.”
Oscar stared at him.
He hadn’t thought—
He hadn’t let himself think Lando had thought about him at all.
“You didn’t have to,” Oscar said quietly.
“I wanted to.”
The words landed heavy.
Oscar took the box carefully, like it might break.
He started to lift the lid but:
“Wait,” Lando said quickly. “Don’t open it here. Just… open it alone.”
Confusion flickered across Oscar’s face but he nodded.
“Okay.”
Their fingers brushed as the box changed hands.
“Thank you,” Oscar managed.
Lando gave a small nod.
Oscar turned and walked down the hall, the weight of the box disproportionate in his palm.
He didn’t look back.