Chapter Text
# Chapter 2: Administrative Errors
Oscar arrived in England on a Tuesday.
This was not relevant.
Oscar simply liked knowing things.
It was Tuesday.
It was raining.
The rain appeared to be coming from several directions at once, which Oscar considered unnecessary.
England was making an immediate and deeply committed first impression.
Logan had texted him six times during the flight.
The messages consisted of:
don't die
bring back a british accent
if you start saying cheers for everything i am ending the friendship
Oscar had replied:
thank you for your support
Logan responded:
you're welcome
then:
seriously don't get murdered
Oscar put his phone away and stared out at the grey sky.
England.
He was here.
This was good.
Objectively.
The university had a strong programme. The course structure made sense. The department had funding, which Oscar had learned was not something to take for granted. His acceptance letter had arrived three months ago, and he had spent the following week reading it with the same controlled satisfaction most people reserved for winning the lottery.
He had wanted this.
He still wanted this.
It was simply unfortunate that wanting something did not prevent it from being wet, cold, and full of unfamiliar bus routes.
His accommodation was a small university flat shared with three other postgraduate students.
Oscar met the first one approximately forty-seven seconds after entering.
The door to one of the bedrooms opened.
A blond guy looked up from his phone.
They stared at each other.
The guy took exactly one look at Oscar’s cap, plain shirt, and thongs, then pointed.
“Australian?”
Oscar blinked at the familiar accent.
“Yeah.”
The guy nodded.
“Good.”
There was a pause.
“Why?”
The guy considered this.
“I had a French roommate last year.”
Oscar waited.
“He called Vegemite a disgrace to humanity.”
Oscar winced.
“Rough.”
“Unforgivable.”
“Yeah.”
The guy stuck out a hand.
“Jack.”
“Oscar.”
Jack shook it.
Then pointed towards the kitchen.
“Tea?”
“Yeah,” Oscar said.
Jack nodded, then asked very seriously, “Important question first. Did you bring Tim Tams?”
Oscar smiled despite himself.
It was, Oscar decided twenty minutes later, the easiest friendship he had ever made.
The other two flatmates were less straightforward.
One was a German engineering student called Nico, who spoke approximately six words per week and somehow made every single one of them sound final.
The other was an Italian architecture student called Matteo, who apparently compensated by speaking enough for all four of them.
Jack and Oscar adapted quickly.
Mostly by communicating through increasingly judgmental looks whenever Matteo started another forty-minute story about lighting design.
By the end of the first week, they had developed the sort of friendship built almost entirely on sarcasm, shared nationality, and the mutual understanding that if either of them finished the last Tim Tam without asking, the flat would become legally uninhabitable.
Which suited Oscar perfectly.
The university itself was larger than he had expected.
Every building looked vaguely historic, and every hallway looked identical.
Oscar got lost four times during orientation.
This irritated him.
He fixed the problem by spending an entire evening creating a multi-layered campus map.
Jack found him at the kitchen table, laptop open, three tabs of floor plans visible, notebook beside him, highlighter between his teeth.
“What are you doing?”
Oscar removed the highlighter.
“Mapping my routes.”
Jack looked at the screen.
“Like… to class?”
“Yes.”
“You know there are signs.”
“The signs are bad.”
“They’re signs.”
“They’re bad signs.”
Jack leaned over his shoulder.
“Did you colour-code it?”
Oscar stiffened.
“No.”
Jack squinted.
“You absolutely did.”
“The colours indicate building categories.”
“So yes.”
Oscar went back to typing.
“Organisation is important.”
“You’re terrifying.”
Oscar accepted this as a compliment.
The first week of lectures passed without incident.
The second did not.
The trouble began when Carlos Sainz sat beside him in Research Methodologies.
Oscar knew of Carlos before he knew Carlos.
It was difficult not to.
Carlos was the kind of person people seemed to recognise in hallways. Not in a celebrity way. More in the way one recognised a weather event. He appeared, conversations gathered, people waved, and somehow Oscar would end up overhearing him speaking three languages before ten in the morning.
Oscar had no plans to become involved.
Then Carlos sat beside him.
“Hi.”
Oscar looked up from his notes.
Carlos was smiling.
Oscar immediately distrusted this.
“Hi.”
“You look clever.”
Oscar blinked.
“Thanks?”
Carlos pointed at the lecturer.
“Can you explain what he means by reflexivity?”
Oscar looked at the board.
Then back at Carlos.
“He just explained it.”
“Yes.”
“So…”
Carlos nodded encouragingly.
Oscar stared at him.
Carlos stared back.
After a moment, Oscar sighed and turned his notebook slightly.
“It’s about recognising your own position in the research process. Basically, how your assumptions affect what you observe and how you interpret it.”
Carlos looked at the board again.
Then at Oscar’s notes.
“That makes more sense when you say it.”
“It was the same sentence.”
“No, yours was less boring.”
Oscar did not know what to do with that.
He returned to his notes.
Five minutes passed.
Carlos leaned over again.
“Do you have friends?”
Oscar’s pen stopped.
“What?”
“Friends,” Carlos repeated, as though Oscar’s issue had been vocabulary.
“I know what friends are.”
Carlos nodded.
“That is good.”
Oscar stared at him.
Carlos did not appear bothered.
“You seem like somebody who needs some.”
Oscar looked down at himself, then back up.
“What exactly about me suggests that?”
Carlos considered him with concerning seriousness.
“The notes.”
“My notes suggest I need friends?”
“The notes suggest you might scare them away first.”
Oscar should have found that annoying.
He did find it annoying.
Unfortunately, he also almost laughed.
Almost.
Not quite.
Carlos saw it anyway.
This seemed to encourage him.
“We are having lunch after this.”
“Are we?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Carlos smiled.
“Okay. See you at lunch.”
Then he turned back to the lecture as if the matter had been settled.
Oscar discovered two things shortly afterwards.
The first was that Carlos apparently knew everybody.
The second was that resistance was often less effective than simply allowing Carlos to get bored.
Carlos did not get bored.
So Oscar ended up at lunch.
The table was already occupied when Carlos dragged him over.
Not physically.
Oscar would have objected to that.
But Carlos had a way of walking beside someone with such complete confidence that refusing to follow him would have required more public effort than Oscar was willing to spend.
There were five people at the table.
Charles.
Max.
George.
Alex.
And, regrettably, Carlos.
Oscar knew their names within thirty seconds because Carlos introduced everyone with the enthusiasm of a man presenting a very strange collection of houseplants.
“This is Charles. He is dramatic but harmless.”
Charles looked offended.
“I am not harmless.”
Carlos ignored him.
“This is Max. He is not dramatic but also not harmless.”
Max nodded.
“Yeah.”
“George is tall.”
George blinked.
“That’s my introduction?”
“And Alex is nice.”
Alex smiled.
“Best one so far.”
Carlos sat down beside Oscar and looked pleased with himself.
“This is Oscar. He is Australian and clever.”
Oscar put his bag down slowly.
“I’m leaving.”
“No,” Carlos said.
Charles leaned forward.
“You’re Australian?”
Oscar nodded.
Charles turned immediately to Max.
“You owe me two pounds.”
Max frowned.
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“The accent.”
“He said two words.”
“That was enough.”
George sighed.
“Are we betting on people’s nationalities now?”
Alex looked at Oscar.
“They are. I’m not involved.”
“You guessed New Zealand,” Max said.
Alex shrugged.
“I was close.”
Oscar sat.
This was mostly because his food was there and he was hungry.
The group appeared to have accumulated organically over several years.
Nobody seemed entirely sure how.
Carlos had met Charles through a language exchange event that neither of them needed.
Charles had met Max through an argument in go karting when they were kids.
George and Alex had met in first year when George accidentally stole Alex’s umbrella, then returned it with an apology email that Alex still claimed was “deeply weird, but kind of sweet.”
Soulmate dynamics certainly did not help.
Oscar noticed them because it was difficult not to.
Max and Charles sat close enough that their shoulders brushed whenever one of them shifted. Charles had a strip of black ink curling under his sleeve, half-hidden by his watch. Max looked down at his own arm every few minutes with the irritated expression of someone receiving unsolicited commentary.
At one point, Charles frowned at his arm.
“You are so rude.”
Max did not look up from his food.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It appeared on my skin, Max.”
Max finally glanced over.
“And?”
Charles turned his arm, showing him the sentence.
Max read it.
Then shrugged.
“It is true.”
Charles looked personally attacked.
“It says stop buying ugly jumpers.”
“Exactly.”
“They are not ugly.”
George looked tired.
“They are a little ugly.”
Charles gasped.
Alex shook his head.
“Don’t involve us.”
Oscar listened quietly.
Soulmate conversations happened around him more frequently than he liked.
Not because anybody was particularly obsessed with the topic.
The opposite, really.
In a world where soulmate bonds were common, people treated them like any other relationship. A soulmate bond guaranteed connection. Nothing else. It could become love. It could become friendship. It could become nothing at all. It could be important without being permanent.
Oscar appreciated that.
Theoretically.
In practice, he preferred not thinking about it.
“You?” Alex asked suddenly.
Oscar looked up.
“What?”
“Your soulmate.”
Oscar’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
It was subtle.
Not subtle enough.
Alex’s expression shifted.
Only slightly.
Oscar disliked observant people.
“What about them?”
Alex hesitated.
The hesitation alone told Oscar he had failed to seem casual.
“You don’t mention them.”
“I’ve been here an hour.”
“Fair enough.”
Oscar took a sip of coffee.
“No reason to mention them.”
A pause.
Then Alex nodded.
“Okay.”
The subject vanished immediately.
Nobody pushed.
Nobody looked judgmental.
Charles simply began complaining about the university coffee. Carlos started telling a story about soup. Max disagreed with the structure of the story before it was halfway through.
Oscar appreciated it more than he said.
The sixth member of the group arrived seven minutes later.
“Sorry, sorry.”
A voice appeared before its owner did.
Then somebody dropped into the empty chair beside Alex, slightly out of breath and carrying three smoothies in a cardboard tray.
Brown hair.
Bright smile.
A hoodie with what looked like dog hair on one sleeve.
“Who had the blueberry one?”
Alex raised a hand.
The newcomer passed it over.
“Mango power?”
Max held out his hand.
“That leaves the one that tastes like dirt.”
Charles smiled.
“It’s detox Kale. It’s called having joy in your life.”
“It’s called having no working taste buds.”
“It is called ‘mind your own business’.”
The newcomer laughed, then noticed Oscar.
“Oh. Hi.”
Oscar looked back.
The stranger pointed with the last smoothie.
“New person.”
Carlos straightened proudly.
“I found him.”
“You found him?”
“Yes.”
“Was he lost?”
“No.”
Oscar said, “I got kidnapped.”
The stranger grinned.
It was quick and bright and seemed to change his whole face.
Something about it immediately stuck with Oscar.
Not because it was unpleasant.
But because Oscar had not decided whether he liked him yet, and apparently the stranger’s face had decided to make that more difficult.
“I’m Lando,” he said, offering a hand.
Oscar shook it.
“Oscar.”
Lando’s eyes narrowed for half a second.
“Australian?”
Oscar blinked.
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
“How?”
“I’ve been around enough of you to be able to tell immediately.”
Carlos groaned quietly.
“Oh not again.”
Lando frowned.
“What?”
“He’s doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Collecting Australians.”
“I don’t collect Australians.”
Everyone at the table looked at him.
Lando looked betrayed.
“I don’t.”
Alex raised his eyebrows.
“Jack.”
“Jack doesn’t count. I got assigned as his campus buddy.”
“Daniel.”
“Daniel definitely doesn’t count. I had nothing to do with his family deciding to move next to ours.”
“Mark.”
“That was one seminar.”
Max said, “You went to his birthday.”
Lando pointed at him.
“It was a good birthday on a boat. How could I say no do DJ-ing on a boat ??”
Oscar looked between them.
“My flatmate Jack?”
Lando turned back to him.
“You live with Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, he’s great.”
“He asked if I brought Tim Tams...” Oscar trailed off before explaining, “They're Australian snacks, before even asking where I was from.”
Lando nodded. “That sounds like him.” He smirked. “My favourite are the double caramel coated ones.”
He winked at Oscar, letting him know his snack game was strong.
Carlos began counting silently on his fingers.
Lando saw him.
“Stop.”
“I am only counting.”
“Stop counting.”
Oscar found himself smiling.
Unfortunately, Lando noticed.
Even more unfortunately, he looked pleased.
“What?” Lando asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, come on. You’re judging me.”
“I don’t know you well enough to judge you.”
“That has never stopped anyone here.”
Max nodded.
Oscar looked at Lando.
“You seem very defensive for someone who apparently doesn’t collect Australians.”
Lando opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Alex laughed into his coffee.
George smiled.
Carlos looked delighted, as though Oscar had performed exactly as expected.
Lando pointed at Oscar.
“Careful.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
“Was that meant to be intimidating?”
“No. Just… be careful.”
“Right,” Oscar drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You’ll see.”
“I’m very worried.”
Lando looked like he was trying not to smile.
He failed.
Oscar told himself not to find that interesting.
This was generally a poor sign.
For the next two weeks, Oscar saw Lando everywhere.
This was not an exaggeration.
It seemed impossible for one person to occupy that many places without breaking several laws of physics.
He saw Lando in the library, balanced on the back legs of a chair while explaining something to a first year who looked close to tears.
He saw him outside the student union, holding a stack of flyers and arguing with someone about animal shelter donations.
He saw him in the café, where three different people stopped to talk to him before he managed to buy a sandwich.
He saw him walking across campus with George, both of them laughing at something on George’s phone.
He saw him in the research building, asleep in an armchair with a textbook open on his chest.
And then, eventually, he saw him in class.
This was the problem.
Not the seeing.
The class.
Collaborative Systems and Design was a module Oscar had chosen because it sounded useful.
It was useful.
It was also apparently designed by someone who believed postgraduate students needed to learn teamwork through suffering.
The lecturer, Dr. Bennett, explained this with the cheerful cruelty of a person who would not have to participate.
“The assessment will be completed in pairs.”
A small groan passed through the room.
Oscar remained still.
He could handle pairs.
Pairs were manageable.
Groups were where organisation went to die.
Dr. Bennett continued, “I’ll assign them today. You’ll be working with the same partner until the end of term.”
Oscar’s pen stopped.
That was worse.
That was significantly worse.
A list appeared on the projector.
Oscar scanned it.
Then stopped.
Piastri, Oscar — Norris, Lando
Oscar stared at the screen.
Beside him, someone made a small, amused sound.
He knew who it was before he looked.
Lando was two rows over, twisted around in his chair, smiling at him with the air of someone who had been handed free entertainment.
Oscar looked back at the screen.
Perhaps if he ignored it, reality would change.
It did not.
After class, Lando appeared beside him.
“So.”
Oscar zipped his bag.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say this could be fun.”
“Exactly.”
Lando laughed.
Oscar did not.
Mostly.
Dr. Bennett handed them the project brief on the way out.
Oscar read it before they had even reached the hallway.
“Has anyone ever told you that speed isn't always the most important thing?” Lando teased, waggling his eyebrows.
Oscar kept walking.
The brief required them to design a research-backed proposal for improving accessibility in a campus system of their choice. They needed interviews, observations, a written report, and a presentation.
Oscar immediately began dividing tasks in his head.
Lando said, “We could do the library booking system.”
Oscar paused.
“That’s actually a good idea.”
Lando looked offended.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“That’s rude.”
“It was honestly good thinking.”
Lando bumped his shoulder lightly against Oscar’s.
Oscar stopped walking for half a second.
Not because it hurt.
It was simply unexpected.
Lando did not seem to notice.
“We should get coffee and talk about it,” Lando said.
“I have another lecture.”
“After that?”
“I have reading.”
“Tomorrow?”
Oscar looked at him.
Lando looked back.
His expression was open.
Easy. A little too hopeful for a group project.
Oscar glanced down at the brief again.
“Tomorrow. 1 pm.”
“Brilliant.”
“1pm.” Oscar repeated.
Lando saluted with two fingers.
“Noted. You’re always so strict ?”
“Yes.”
“Kinky.”
Oscar choked on his own breath.
Lando cackled and took off before Oscar could retaliate, clearly pleased with himself.
It was not noted.
Oscar discovered this the next day when Lando arrived twenty-three minutes late.
Oscar had already ordered coffee.
Lando rushed into the café, hair slightly messy, backpack half open, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“I’m sorry.”
Oscar looked at his watch.
Lando winced.
“I know.”
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“I know.”
“We agreed on 1pm.”
“I know.”
Oscar waited.
Lando took the seat opposite him.
“There was a thing.”
Oscar continued waiting.
“A dog thing.”
Oscar blinked.
“A dog thing.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It kind of is, if you know me.”
“I don’t.”
“Right. Fair.”
Lando took a breath.
“I volunteer at the shelter. One of the regulars called because they were short today and there was this spaniel, and she hates getting her medicine from everyone except me.”
Oscar stared at him.
Lando looked awkward for the first time since Oscar had met him.
“I know it sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
Lando blinked.
Oscar looked back down at the brief.
“It sounds like something you should have texted me about.”
“Yeah,” Lando said quietly. “I should’ve.”
That was good.
An apology.
Oscar appreciated directness.
He pushed the brief across the table.
“We’ve lost twenty-three minutes.”
Lando’s mouth twitched.
“Right.”
“So we need to be efficient.”
“Yeah.”
“And you need to close your bag. Your laptop is going to fall out.”
Lando looked down.
“Oh. Cheers.”
Oscar nearly laughed.
Cheers.
The very word Logan had warned him not to start using. Just last night, too, complete with an entire lecture about not picking up Britishisms.
Oscar was never hearing the end of this.
Unfortunately, Lando turned out to be clever.
This was inconvenient.
Oscar had been prepared for several possibilities.
Lando being useless.
Lando being charming but useless.
Lando being charming and expecting Oscar to do everything.
He had not prepared for Lando being late, messy, distractible, and still annoyingly good at understanding people.
Whenever Oscar focused on structure, Lando focused on experience.
Oscar pointed out that the current library booking system was inconsistent across departments.
Lando pointed out that first years were embarrassed to ask for help because the instructions made them feel stupid.
Oscar made a spreadsheet of potential interview questions.
Lando crossed out half of them.
“These sound like a police interview.”
“They’re clear questions.”
Lando read from the page.
“Please provide a detailed account of the failure points encountered during your most recent interaction with the booking interface and your overall satisfaction level.”
Oscar frowned.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Mate.”
“What?”
“Nobody speaks like that unless they’re about to sue someone.”
Oscar took the paper back.
“It’s precise.”
"It's terrifying. Make it easier. Those poor students are running on Red Bull, three hours of sleep, and vibes alone. This sentence is going to finish them off."
Oscar rewrote the question.
Lando leaned over.
Oscar was suddenly aware of how close he was.
Not in a way that meant anything. Just close enough that Oscar could smell coffee and rain on his hoodie.
Oscar moved the paper slightly.
Lando read the new version.
“What went wrong the last time you tried to book a room?” he said.
Oscar nodded.
“Better?”
Lando squinted at him. “Marginally. Now it sounds more like a customer satisfaction survey for a love hotel.”
Oscar stared.
“A what?”
“You know—Rate your stay. Were the mirrors satisfactory? Condom number alright ? Would you book again?”
Oscar's jaw dropped.
Lando snorted at his expression. “Don't act so scandalised.”
“I am scandalised,” Oscar said, his ears already turning pink. “And slightly concerned that you came up with that so quickly.”
“I've got a creative mind.”
“You've got issues.”
Lando grinned, utterly unbothered. “Yet somehow you're the one writing the love hotel questionnaire.”
Oscar groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
“You’re distracting.”
“I’ve been told.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I enjoy feedback.”
Oscar stared.
Lando smiled wider.
Oscar looked back down at his notes.
He decided, privately, that Lando was a problem.
A problem like a pen running out of ink during an exam, or rain starting when he had decided to walk without an umbrella.
Manageable.
Annoying.
Persistent.
For the next week, their project progressed in alternating bursts of productivity and frustration.
Oscar created a timeline.
Lando agreed to it enthusiastically, then missed the first internal deadline by six hours.
Oscar sent him a message at 11:04 p.m.
Oscar: you said you’d upload the interview summaries by five
Lando replied at 11:07.
Lando: I know sorry
Lando: doing it now
Oscar waited.
At 11:26, three files appeared in the shared folder.
They were useful.
Actually useful.
The summaries were informal, but they captured things Oscar might have missed. Lando noticed hesitation. Tone. The way people said they were “fine” with something while describing a system they had clearly given up on.
Oscar stared at the files for a while.
Then typed:
Oscar: these are good
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Lando: thank you boss
Oscar: i’m not your boss
Lando: okay project manager
Oscar: worse
Lando: your majesty
Oscar locked his phone and put it face down.
A minute later, it buzzed.
Lando: sorry
Lando: thanks tho
Oscar did not reply.
He did, however, smile at his desk.
Very slightly.
Unfortunately, six hours late was still late.
And Lando kept being late.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Once, thirty-two.
Each time, he had a reason.
Not an excuse.
An actual reason.
Someone needed help moving flats.
Alex had a migraine and needed notes from a missed seminar.
The shelter was short-staffed.
A first year from his tutoring group had panicked before a presentation.
Oscar understood that things happened.
He also understood that if things happened constantly, one was meant to account for them.
By the third late meeting, his patience ran out.
Lando arrived at the library, flushed and apologetic.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Oscar closed his laptop.
Lando stopped.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
Lando’s expression changed.
The smile faded first.
Then the rest of him seemed to still.
Oscar did not enjoy that.
He continued anyway.
“You can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Lando looked down.
Oscar felt like an arsehole.
This was irritating because he was also right.
“We’re being graded together,” Oscar said. “If you’re late or you miss deadlines, it affects me too.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“I know you did. But saying sorry doesn’t fix the time we lose.”
Lando’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I’m still doing the work.”
“You are.”
That seemed to surprise him.
Oscar leaned back.
“The work is good. That’s not the problem.”
Lando looked at him then.
Oscar kept his voice even.
“The problem is that I can’t plan around you because I never know which version of you I’m getting. The useful one, or the one who disappears for half a day and sends me three messages saying sorry.”
Lando stared at him.
For one unpleasant second, Oscar thought he had gone too far.
Then Lando looked away.
“Right.”
Oscar waited.
Lando ran a hand through his hair.
“Yeah. That’s fair.”
Oscar blinked.
He had prepared for defensiveness.
He had not prepared for that.
Lando took the seat opposite him.
“I’m not trying to mess you around.”
“I know.”
“I just…” He stopped. “I say yes to too many things.”
“That’s obvious.”
Lando gave him a look.
Oscar shrugged.
“It is.”
A faint smile appeared and vanished on Lando’s face.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Oscar opened his laptop again.
“We can make a schedule that accounts for your actual availability, not your imaginary one.”
“My imaginary one?”
“The one where you apparently have thirty hours in a day.”
Lando looked at him.
Then laughed.
It was quiet, embarrassed, but real.
Oscar felt something ease in his chest.
“Fine,” Lando said. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
So they did.
Oscar made Lando list every fixed commitment he had that week.
Lectures.
Tutoring.
Volunteer shifts.
Work shifts.
Study group.
Football.
Shelter fundraiser planning.
Alex’s birthday dinner.
A meeting Oscar did not understand that apparently involved helping first years learn where the washing machines were.
Oscar stared at the list.
Lando looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“What?”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It’s not that much.”
Oscar turned the laptop towards him.
Lando looked at the calendar.
Then paused.
“Okay, it looks worse like that.”
“It is worse like that.”
Lando rubbed his face.
Oscar watched him for a moment.
He looked tired.
Oscar softened before he could stop himself.
“That’s why you’re late all the time.”
Lando looked up.
“I mean, no. I should still be better.”
“Yes, definitely.”
Lando huffed.
Oscar continued, “But this is also ridiculous.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t praise.”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Oscar moved two project meetings on the calendar, then blocked out three short work sessions instead of one long one.
Lando watched quietly.
“What are you doing?”
“Making this possible.”
Lando’s expression did something strange.
Oscar decided not to notice.
“That one clashes with the shelter,” Lando said.
“I know. That’s why it’s not there anymore.”
“Oh.”
Oscar kept typing.
“And you’re not allowed to agree to anything else on Thursday.”
Lando opened his mouth.
Oscar pointed at him.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Lando closed his mouth.
Then said, “You’re kind of mean.”
“Good.”
“It’s helpful.”
Oscar looked at him.
Lando shrugged, a little sheepish.
“I mean it.”
Oscar nodded once and went back to the calendar.
After that, things changed.
Not all at once.
Lando did not become punctual overnight.
Oscar did not become relaxed.
Neither of these things would have been believable.
But Lando texted when he was running late.
Then he started being late less often.
Then he started arriving early, usually with coffee, and looking far too proud of himself.
The first time it happened, Oscar walked into the study room to find Lando already there, laptop open, two drinks on the table.
Oscar stopped in the doorway.
Lando looked up.
“What?”
“You’re early.”
“Yep.”
“Are you ill?”
Lando rolled his eyes.
“I bought you coffee.”
Oscar approached the table.
“How do you know my order?”
“You always get the same thing.”
Oscar took the cup.
“That’s…observant.”
“I have layers.”
“Doubt it.”
Lando grinned.
Oscar sat down.
The coffee was correct.
This was concerning.
The group noticed the shift before Oscar did.
Or rather, Oscar noticed the shift.
He simply chose not to assign meaning to it.
He and Lando worked together.
That was all.
If Lando started saving him seats at lunch, that was because they had a project.
If Oscar started correcting Lando’s references before Lando asked, that was because consistency mattered.
If Lando sent him photos of dogs from the shelter, that was because Lando sent everyone photos of dogs from the shelter. Not because Oscar once told him about his family’s pets : Rosie the Bernedoodle and Basil the Maltipoo.
The first photo arrived on a Friday afternoon.
It was a small brown dog with ears too large for its head and an expression of profound betrayal.
Lando: this is biscuit
Lando: biscuit hates rain
Oscar looked at the photo.
Then at the rain outside his window.
Oscar: biscuit is correct
Lando: THANK YOU
Lando: everyone says he’s being dramatic
Oscar: everyone is wrong
Lando: knew you’d get it
Oscar stared at that message for longer than necessary.
Then put his phone down.
Then picked it up again.
Oscar: his ears are ridiculous
Lando: don’t be mean to my son
Oscar: your son looks like a haunted sock
Lando: blocked
Oscar smiled.
Jack saw him from across the kitchen.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“That was a text smile.”
Oscar looked up.
“A what?”
“A text smile.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is when people get weird.”
“I’m not weird about someone.”
“Didn’t say someone.”
Oscar stared at him.
Jack grinned.
Oscar went back to his phone and decided the conversation was over.
It was not, in fact, over.
Because Jack knew Lando.
Of course Jack knew Lando.
Everyone knew Lando.
The next week, Jack appeared in the kitchen while Oscar was making toast and said, “So. Norris.”
Oscar kept buttering.
“What about him?”
“You’re doing a project together.”
“Yes.”
“He’s good.”
“At the project?”
“At people.”
Oscar glanced over.
Jack leaned against the counter.
“He seems messy, but he’s good.”
Oscar returned to his toast.
“I know.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose.
Oscar regretted speaking.
“You know?”
“He does his work.”
“Right.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Sure.”
Oscar put the butter knife down carefully.
“Do you have a point?”
Jack looked far too pleased.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Just saying. He’s easy to like.”
Oscar picked up his plate.
“He’s easy to find irritating.”
“That too.”
Jack let him leave.
This was suspicious.
Oscar did not think about it.
Much.
The soulmate topic returned once in late October, mostly by accident.
They were at lunch, and Carlos had his sleeve pushed up, looking at a fresh line of ink on his arm with mild confusion.
“What does it say?” Charles asked.
Carlos frowned.
“It says, ‘The soup was not worth it.’”
Max looked up.
“Again with the soup?”
Carlos sighed.
“My soulmate has a complicated relationship with soup.”
George nodded solemnly.
“Don’t we all.”
Alex leaned over to read it.
“Are you ever going to meet them?”
Carlos shrugged.
“When it happens.”
“That’s very calm of you,” Charles said.
“I am a calm person.”
Every single person at the table looked at him.
Carlos ignored this.
Oscar kept eating.
He had become skilled at existing through soulmate conversations without appearing involved.
It was almost peaceful.
Then Lando, sitting beside him, went very quiet.
Not visibly.
Most people probably would not have noticed.
Oscar did.
Lando’s smile stayed where it was, but something behind it closed.
Alex noticed too.
His eyes flicked over, then away.
Carlos continued talking about soup.
Charles began arguing that tomato soup wasn't actually soup at all. Since tomatoes were fruits, he insisted, tomato soup should be classified as juice.
Max disagreed on principle.
George looked like he was considering leaving the table entirely.
Oscar watched Lando’s fingers tighten around his fork.
Then loosen.
After lunch, Oscar found himself walking beside him.
This had started happening recently.
Just… happening.
They left at the same time. Went in the same general direction. Sometimes neither of them spoke for several minutes, and it was fine.
Oscar liked that.
He liked a lot of things about Lando, apparently.
This was becoming inconvenient.
“You okay?” Oscar asked.
Lando glanced at him.
“Yeah.”
Oscar waited.
Lando smiled.
“Why?”
“You went quiet.”
“I’m allowed.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Maybe I was thinking.”
“Were you?”
Lando exhaled a laugh.
“No.”
Oscar nodded.
They walked past the library steps.
Students sat there with coffee cups and scarves, pretending the wind was not affecting them.
Lando shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket.
“It’s just soulmate stuff.”
Oscar’s chest tightened.
He hated that it still did that.
“Right.”
“Not a big deal.”
Oscar looked ahead.
People said that when it was a big deal.
He knew because he did the same thing.
“You don’t talk about yours,” Lando said.
Oscar did not answer immediately.
Neither did the rain.
It simply continued being rain.
“No,” Oscar said eventually.
Lando nodded.
“Same.”
That was interesting.
Oscar did not want it to be.
He looked at Lando.
Lando was watching the pavement. His expression was carefully casual.
Oscar recognised that too.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Oscar said.
Lando looked over then.
Something softened in his face.
“Yeah. You either.”
Oscar nodded.
And that was it.
No questions. No confessions. No unnecessary drama.
Just the two of them walking through wet pavement and grey light, holding the same silence from different sides.
Oscar should have felt relieved.
Instead, he thought about it all evening.
The project presentation took place three weeks later.
Oscar had prepared for several possible disasters.
Technical failure. Missing slides. Bad questions.
Lando improvising something insane.
He had not prepared for Lando being excellent.
Which was foolish, because by then he had plenty of evidence.
Lando stood at the front of the room with one hand in his pocket and spoke like he was having a conversation instead of giving an assessed presentation. He was clear without sounding rehearsed. He made people laugh once, naturally, without derailing the point. When a student asked about participant bias, Lando glanced at Oscar.
Oscar answered.
Then Lando built on it.
Seamlessly.
Like they had planned it that way.
They had not.
Oscar hated being surprised.
But he liked this surprise.
Dr. Bennett gave them a high mark.
Oscar would later claim this was the important part.
It was.
Mostly.
Afterwards, Lando followed him out of the classroom, still buzzing slightly.
“We smashed that.”
Oscar looked at him.
“We did well.”
“We smashed it.”
“We did well.” Oscar corrected.
Lando grinned.
“That’s Oscar for smashed it.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
Oscar adjusted his bag.
“You almost skipped slide nine.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You almost did.”
“Didn’t.”
Oscar looked at him.
Lando looked back, smile softer now.
“Come on,” Lando said. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That we were good.”
Oscar sighed.
“We were good.”
Lando’s face lit up and made a happy dance.
It was ridiculous.
Oscar looked away.
“Stop being a weirdo.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m celebrating.”
“Do it quietly.”
Lando bumped his shoulder against Oscar’s.
By then, Oscar had stopped freezing when he did it.
Mostly.
“Thanks,” Lando said.
Oscar glanced at him.
“For what?”
“For not just doing the whole thing yourself.”
Oscar frowned.
“I wouldn’t never do that.”
“Some people would.”
“That would be inefficient.”
Lando laughed.
“Of course you’d say that.”
Oscar slowed near the stairs.
“And you did your part.”
“After you bullied me.”
“I did not bully you.”
“You made me put my life in a calendar.”
“It helped.”
“It did,” Lando admitted.
Then, after a beat, “Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. I know you, Mr Piastri. You can sit there pretending to be unimpressed, but I know you're secretly proud of me for sticking to that absolute nightmare of a calendar to the T.”
Oscar scoffed softly, lowering his gaze in a futile attempt to hide the smile threatening to break across his face.
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
Lando immediately pointed at him. "There! I saw that."
"You saw nothing."
"I absolutely did. That was a proud smile."
"It was not."
"It was! You've gone all soft on me, Mr Piastri."
Oscar shook his head, pressing his lips together to suppress another smile.
"You're insufferable."
"And you’re still smilling," Lando said smugly.
Oscar groaned and turned away, which only made Lando beam wider.
Lando laughed again.
The sound followed Oscar for the rest of the day.
After the project ended, there was no real reason for them to keep spending time together.
They did anyway.
This happened gradually enough that Oscar could pretend not to notice.
At first, Lando still sent him articles about accessibility design because “you’ll hate this methodology.”
Then Oscar sent back comments.
Then Lando sent a picture of Biscuit wearing a small raincoat.
Then Oscar, against all principles of dignity, asked if Biscuit had forgiven the weather.
Then Lando invited him to the shelter.
Oscar said no.
Then, two days later, he went.
The shelter smelled like cleaning products, damp fur, and hay.
Lando looked different there.
He wore the same hoodie, the same trainers, the same slightly chaotic expression.
But he moved with a different kind of confidence.
He knew which dogs barked for attention and which ones needed space. He knew every cat by name. He held a nervous greyhound’s lead with the sort of patience Oscar had not expected and then immediately felt stupid for not expecting.
Lando introduced him to Biscuit.
Biscuit stared at Oscar with deep suspicion.
Oscar stared back.
Lando crouched beside them.
“He’s shy.”
“He looks judgmental.”
“He is.”
Biscuit sniffed Oscar’s shoe.
Then sneezed.
Lando laughed.
Oscar smiled.
It felt easy.
That was the problem.
By November, people had started saying their names together.
Not always.
But often enough to become noticeable.
“Where are Lando and Oscar?”
“Ask Landoscar.”
“Landoscar had the notes, I think.”
The first time Carlos said it, Oscar frowned.
“What?”
Carlos looked innocent.
“What?”
“You said Landoscar.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a person.”
“No. It is both of you.”
Oscar looked even more confused.
Lando, beside him, looked delighted.
“Landoscar. I like it. It flows on the tongue.”
“No.”
“It’s efficient. You like efficient, right ?”
“It’s stupid.”
“It saves time.”
“It saves one syllable.”
“One important syllable.”
Oscar turned to George.
“Make him stop.”
George shook his head.
“I’ve known him longer and failed.”
Alex patted Oscar’s shoulder.
“You learn to live with it.”
Oscar glared at Lando.
Lando grinned back.
“Landoscar,” he repeated quietly.
Oscar hated that stupid grin.
But this was becoming less convincing by the day.
The problem was not that Lando was always around. The problem was that Oscar started expecting him to be.
A seat beside him at lunch, a message during lectures, a pastry appearing beside his laptop in the library.
A ridiculous photo of Biscuit or a cat called Margaret who seemed to hate Lando personally.
Oscar found himself noticing things.
Lando chewed the end of his pen when he concentrated.
He laughed more loudly when he was trying to make someone else comfortable. He said he was fine in a weird tone when he absolutely was not. He covered awkward pauses too quickly. He was generous with his time in a way Oscar found admirable and alarming. He got tired and pretended he was not.
He cared too much.
About dogs.
About friends.
About strangers who looked lost outside lecture halls.
About Oscar, apparently.
That one was harder to place.
Oscar was not used to being cared for casually.
Logan cared loudly and aggressively. His parents cared because they were his parents.
But Lando cared in small, irritating ways.
He remembered Oscar hated mushrooms. He sent him reminders before deadlines Oscar already knew about, but somehow did not resent. He saved him the corner seat because Oscar liked having his back to the wall. He once appeared at Oscar’s flat with soup when Oscar had a cold.
Oscar opened the door in a hoodie, miserable and suspicious.
Lando held up the container.
“Jack said you were dying.”
“I’m not dying.”
“You look awful.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s soup.”
“I can see that.”
“Carlos made too much.”
Oscar was beginning to suspect Carlos' soulmate's frankly concerning obsession with soup had finally rubbed off on the man.
“Carlos made soup for me?”
“No. Carlos made soup because Carlos is Carlos. I stole some.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It’s good.”
Oscar accepted the container.
Lando lingered in the doorway.
Oscar looked at him.
“You coming in?”
Lando blinked.
“Oh. Yeah. If that’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t.”
“Right.”
Lando stepped inside.
Jack, passing through the hallway, took one look at them and smiled in a way Oscar disliked intensely.
Oscar pointed at him.
“Go away.”
Jack raised both hands and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lando looked amused.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was nothing.”
“Okay.”
He clearly did not believe him.
Oscar ate his soup on the sofa while Lando sat at the other end, talking quietly about a dog at the shelter who had learned how to open a cupboard and splurged on all the dog snacks hidden there.
High on fever, Oscar fell asleep halfway through the story.
When he woke up, there was a blanket over him.
And Lando was gone.
His phone had one more message.
Lando: dog criminal update tomorrow
Oscar stared at it.
Then smiled. Then panicked slightly.
Because smiling at a text from Lando while wrapped in a blanket Lando had draped over him, after eating a meal Lando had brought him, felt like the sort of behaviour that belonged to other people.
People who were not sensible. People who made poor decisions.
People who fell for their friends.
Oscar put the phone face down, sighed, then picked it up again.
Oscar: fine
Oscar: only because I need to know how much he ate
Lando replied almost immediately.
Lando: knew you cared
Oscar did not answer.
He did, unfortunately, care.
December arrived cold and sharp.
The end of term pulled everyone into the library with the grim inevitability of a natural disaster.
Even Lando slowed down.
Not completely.
That seemed impossible.
But his replies came later. His smiles took a second longer. Sometimes he sat beside Oscar in the library and did not speak for an hour, which was how Oscar knew he was truly exhausted.
One evening, Oscar found him asleep at a desk on the third floor.
His laptop was open.
His notes were spread beneath one arm.
There was a pen still loosely held in his hand.
Oscar stopped beside him.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Lando looked younger like this.
Not young exactly.
Just unguarded.
The constant motion gone quiet.
Oscar glanced around.
The library was nearly empty.
He should wake him.
That would be sensible.
Instead, Oscar saved the document on Lando’s laptop, closed it carefully, and pulled the hood of Lando’s jumper up because the library was cold.
Then he sat across from him and opened his own notes.
Twenty minutes later, Lando stirred.
He blinked at the desk.
Then at Oscar.
His voice was rough with sleep.
“How long was I out?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Lando sat up, rubbing his face.
“Sorry.”
“For sleeping?”
“For being useless.”
Oscar frowned.
“You’re not useless.”
Lando looked at him.
Oscar held his gaze.
“You’re tired.”
There was a difference.
Lando looked away first.
“Yeah.”
Oscar pushed one of the drinks across the table.
Lando stared at it.
“When did you get that?”
“Before you woke up.”
“You bought me coffee?”
“No.”
Lando looked at the cup.
Oscar looked at his notes.
“I bought too much coffee.”
“You bought two coffees?”
“Apparently.”
Lando’s smile was small.
“Right.”
They sat there until the library closed.
The last week before winter break, the group went to the pub.
Oscar almost refused.
Then Lando texted:
come on
then:
please
then:
max and charles are already arguing and I need backup
Oscar replied:
that sounds like a reason not to go
Lando: rude
Oscar: but accurate
Lando: i’ll buy you chips
Oscar: fine
Lando: cheap date
Oscar stared at the message.
Then typed:
haha …not funny
Lando:
you’re the one who agreed for chips
Oscar put his phone down.
His ears felt warm.
Annoying.
The pub was loud, crowded, and unpleasantly sticky.
Oscar lasted fifteen minutes before deciding he hated it.
Then Lando appeared with chips.
Oscar hated it less.
They squeezed into a booth with the others. Charles was sitting half on Max despite there being space. George and Alex were sharing a basket of onion rings and speaking too quietly for anyone else to hear. Carlos was telling Jack, who had somehow joined them, that paella in England was a human rights issue.
Oscar sat beside Lando.
Their shoulders touched.
Neither of them moved away.
This was fine.
Normal even.
Crowded booth behaviour.
At some point, soulmate marks came up again.
They always did eventually.
Jack was comparing his latest message with Carlos’s soup saga. Charles was laughing at something Max had apparently thought directly at him. Alex showed George a line of ink on his wrist and George went pink in a way that made everyone pretend not to notice.
Oscar drank his beer and said nothing.
Beside him, Lando was his usual quiet show.
Oscar felt it this time rather than saw it.
The absence where there had been warmth.
He looked over.
Lando was smiling at something Carlos said.
It was almost convincing.
Oscar leaned slightly closer.
“You alright?”
Lando glanced at him.
“Yeah.”
Oscar gave him a look.
Lando’s smile turned more real for half a second.
“You do that a lot.”
“What?”
“Look at people like you’re reading subtitles.”
Oscar shrugged.
“Maybe you need subtitles.”
Lando laughed under his breath.
Then he looked down at the table.
His thumb rubbed once at the inside of his forearm.
A small movement.
Barely anything.
Oscar’s stomach tightened.
He knew that movement.
He had done it for years.
Lando saw him looking and pulled his sleeve down.
Not quickly.
But fast enough.
Oscar looked away.
He should leave it.
He knew that.
He had appreciated being left alone. More than once.
But later, when they were outside waiting for Jack to finish saying goodbye to seven different people, Lando stood beside him under the weak shelter of the pub awning, and the question slipped out.
“Is yours bad?”
Lando looked at him.
Oscar immediately regretted it.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s…” Lando shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s fine.”
Oscar waited.
Lando exhaled.
“You mean my soulmate?”
“Yes.”
The street was wet and orange under the lamps.
People passed them laughing, shoulders hunched against the cold.
Lando stared out at the rain.
“I don’t know if bad is the word.”
Oscar said nothing.
Lando seemed to appreciate that.
“They didn’t talk for years,” he said eventually.
Oscar’s heartbeat changed.
A small, sharp shift under his ribs.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Lando’s voice stayed light.
Too light.
“At first I thought maybe the link hadn’t opened properly. Then I thought they were shy. Then busy. Then I had a whole spy theory for a bit, but in my defence I was nineteen and sleep-deprived.”
Oscar should have smiled.
He did not.
“Then what happened?”
Lando rubbed the back of his neck.
“They answered eventually. Only to make it painfully clear they wanted nothing to do with me anymore.”
Oscar worried his bottom lip between his teeth, something aching in his chest that he couldn't quite put a name to.
Because this wasn't how Lando was supposed to look. Not quiet and defeated. Not with his shoulders slumped and his smile nowhere to be found. Lando was sunshine and noise and relentless optimism.
Seeing him dimmed like this felt terribly, terribly wrong.
Lando shook his head and looked away.
“Anyway, it was years ago.”
Oscar’s mouth was dry.
“What about you?” Lando asked.
Oscar looked up too quickly.
“What?”
“Your soulmate.”
Oscar’s arm felt suddenly too warm under his sleeve.
He thought of the old ink.
Australians suck. I hope my soulmate isn't Australian.
He thought of Lando beside him in the rain, looking tired and careful and still trying to make his hurt sound like a joke.
Oscar swallowed.
“Mine said something stupid to me when we were kids.”
Lando’s mouth twitched.
“That’s it?”
“Basically, said they wanted nothing to do with people like me.”
Lando blinked in surprise.
“Oh….”
A beat of silence passed.
Then Lando suddenly burst out laughing.
Oscar stared at him. “What's so funny?”
“No, because this is actually hilarious,” Lando said. “I refuse to believe we both got assigned absolute wankers.”
Oscar snorted.
“When you put it like that, it does sound a bit absurd.”
“A bit?” Lando grinned. “I think we're owed compensation.”
Oscar shook his head, unable to stop the soft smile tugging at his lips.
Then Lando thrust his middle finger towards the ceiling as if the universe itself might be watching.
“Fuck the soulmate system,” he declared. “And fuck my soulmate!”
A laugh escaped Oscar before he could stop it. He raised his own hand in solidarity.
“Yeah,” he said, looking up at the ceiling too. “Fuck them.”
Jack finally came out of the pub, waving at someone over his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw them, giving the pair a wary look that suggested he was trying to figure out whether they'd been drinking in his absence.
That night, Oscar lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling.
His room was dark except for the light from the street slipping through the curtains.
The flat was quiet.
Jack had gone to bed.
Matteo was still out.
Nico may or may not have been in his room; it was difficult to tell because Nico moved like a ghost.
Oscar pushed up his sleeve.
The words were there.
Of course they were.
They always were.
Australians suck. I hope my soulmate isn't Australian.
Oscar touched the ink once.
Twelve years.
It had been years for Lando too.
Why did that make his chest ache?
And why—why, of all things—did relief bloom in him at the thought that Lando's soulmate was basically nonexistent on the map?
Oscar felt sick.
He didn't like what that said about him.
Oscar closed his eyes.
No.
It did not have to mean anything.
He was simply tired.
And maybe a little drunk.
And maybe thinking about Lando too much.
That was all.
His phone buzzed.
Oscar turned his head.
Lando: home?
Oscar stared at the message.
Then typed:
yes
A reply came quickly.
Lando: good
Then, after a moment:
Lando: sorry if that was weird earlier
Oscar’s throat tightened.
Oscar: it wasn’t
Lando: you sure?
Oscar: yes
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Lando: okay
Oscar waited.
Then another message arrived.
Lando: night oscar
Oscar looked at it for a long time.
Oscar: night
He put the phone face down.
Then stared at the ceiling again.
Somewhere deep inside him, the bond sat silent.
Closed.
Waiting.
Oscar had spent many years pretending it did not matter.
He was very good at pretending.
Unfortunately, he was beginning to suspect Lando was better at seeing through him than most people.
And even more unfortunately, Oscar was beginning to care.