Archive of Our Own ^beta

One dusky winter evening, the sky painted in smears of mottled purple, three year old Oliver Norris’ neon green trainers squeaked on the rain-damp grass, his favorite toy clutched in his chubby hands. He toddled his way over to the mossy, timeworn well that had sat at the edge of the Norris’ Somerset home for generations. It was perched on a tiny hill and surrounded by an isolated glen, connected to the main grounds by a dirt trail overgrown with creeping vines.

Oliver’s nanny always told him stories of faeries older than time itself, wily immortals that lived in the in-between moments of a human life. A warm breeze caressing his cheek was a benevolent faerie brushing a kiss. When Oliver’s mighty block tower toppled, a mischievous pixie was to blame. With a twinkle in her eye, his nanny would spin tales of the fae granting mortal wishes and fulfilling their greatest dreams. Ancient wells were one of their favorite haunts. On moonlit nights, the fae danced around them to an enchanted tune only they could hear.

Every time, a warning followed. The fair folk and their gifts were never truly as they seemed. They were exchanges disguised as wondrous blessings. You would always owe a faerie a debt, unless you could offer them something of equal value. Otherwise, the fae collected their due as they saw fit, often in the form of a fatal favor.

Oliver was undeterred. There was something he wanted with all his heart. Maybe the faeries would grant his wish. He hoped there was one nearby who would hear him. He had been practicing for a whole week, choosing his words carefully, rehearsing each syllable so that he wouldn’t stumble when the time came. Oliver peered over the stone edge as best as he could and whispered his wish into the dark of the well’s mouth, face scrunched in concentration. Determined, he carefully placed his beloved toy atop a tuft of bluebells nearby. A glossy orange miniature race car, polished to perfection, with wheels that really rolled, stood out starkly against its bed of violet. Oliver covered the toy car with the biggest elm tree leaf he could find, adjusting its placement as needed until he was satisfied, so that no one else but the faerie would discover it.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of grass and the crunch of leaves. Her footsteps followed, delicate even after fighting her way through a thicket of thorny shrubs. Oliver squealed in mock terror as his mother scooped him into her arms.

“There you are! You know you shouldn’t run off this late in the day, Ollie. It’s not safe for you to be out alone when it starts getting dark. Reckless little boy,” his mother chastised with a smile, unable to stay upset at him for long. “Thank goodness Maeve told me you were talking about going to the old well today.” She paused, thoughtful. “Did you wish for something, darling?”

Oliver nodded sleepily into the crook of her neck. “I wished for a younger brother. I want someone to play with all the time,” he murmured softly.

When Cisca looked down, Oliver was already fast asleep, chest rising slowly in time with hers.

The sun seemed to rise early the next morning. The whole family sat down to breakfast, a full English spread across the table. Oliver watched his father move to spear a sausage just as someone barged into the breakfast nook. The sausage went flying into the air and onto the floor, the dogs swarming it immediately. Thomas, the groundskeeper, stood at the end of the table, panting and red in the face. His mother slid a cool glass of water over to him, which he took gratefully.

“There’s a baby ma’am,” Thomas said in between gulps of the water. “Out back by the old well. No one knows whose he is. I discovered the poor thing this morning when I decided to clean up the trail to the glen. He was shrieking his little lungs out, wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t dare move him. I’m terrible with children. My sister would attest.” He chuckled for a second before his voice sobered again. “You all must go down there. I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with a baby.”

Dining room chairs were pushed in with a screech and coats were hastily thrown on. They were out the front door and into the crisp bite of the southern wind in a minute flat.

Oliver tugged on his mother’s hand as they hurried down a rolling hill. “Mama, what if my wish came true? What if the baby is my little brother?”

Instead of dismissing her child, Cisca hummed thoughtfully, a faraway look in her green eyes. “Maybe you’re right, darling.”

They heard the baby before they saw it. A piercing wail cut through the normal calm of the glen. Drawn closer by the shrill cry, Oliver saw a baby boy laying on a bed of bluebells, atop the little hill. The baby was exactly where he had set down his shiny orange race car last night. Oliver laughed delightedly, the sound bright and airy. He was certain this was the baby brother he had so desperately wished for.

The baby certainly didn’t seem like a faerie child. Yet, the longer Oliver looked at him, small details emerged that gave him away as someone not quite human. Already, there was a whisper of unruly brown curls atop his head. The baby’s skin seemed to hold a faint golden glow, his eyes an oddly enchanting mismash of colors. Perhaps the most obvious attribute was the way that his ears came to soft, barely noticeable points.

His mother seemed to realize that this baby was the faeries’ answer to Oliver’s wish right as he did. Wordlessly, she turned to his father and started to explain what Oliver had done last night.

Tuning his parents out, the boy tentatively reached out a hand to his new brother. The baby stopped crying, his pudgy face splitting into a cheeky grin. He giggled as Oliver ducked behind his fingers again and again, pulling a new face every time he reappeared.

“Darling, your father and I think you should get to name your new brother. He was your wish,” his mother told him as she knelt down. Oliver nodded solemnly and considered his new brother. This was a serious task that deserved to be thought through with the utmost care.

Harry seemed to mundane a name for a faerie child. Barnaby made Oliver think of the Norris’ solicitor, a portly man who constantly reeked of heady cologne. He thought that Oliver was obviously the best name, but it would be too confusing to have two Olivers in a family.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. Oliver’s favorite bedtime story was about a fluffy bunny that went on exciting adventures across the countryside before returning to its burrow on the side of a hill to sleep safe and sound. Little Bunny Lando was a well-loved book in Oliver’s collection. He had requested it so many times that Maeve had the entire story and the complex shadow puppet routine that accompanied it memorized.

“Lando,” Oliver announced. “His name is going to be Lando, for the little hill the faeries put him on.”
—-
The day Oscar Piastri became roommates with Lando Norris, the latter was falling up a flight of stairs while being irritatingly handsome.

Oscar’s day had started out normally enough. The grating rumble of the six o’clock train woke him right as the sun was rising. He grumbled and grudgingly rolled out of bed to trundle to the bathroom, comforting himself with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn for much longer. At this point, Oscar would do unforgivable things just to be able to sleep in until ten. He slipped his feet into koala slippers, a moving away gift from his mother. Fumbling around in his closet, Oscar pulled on shorts and his forest green hoodie that was a size too big but by far the most comfortable thing he owned. Oscar would be buried in that hoodie if he had a choice. Well, technically he did. But adding a clause to his will about how to dress his corpse was a new level of control-freak that Oscar was hesitant to reach.

As he was fixing breakfast, his phone pinged loudly, reminding him that he needed to run by a Marylebone apartment to meet up with a potential roommate at eleven. Oscar arranged his schedule for the day in his planner between bites of warm cinnamon porridge.

Logan was always giving him grief about his painstaking organization, but Oscar swore that writing everything down was the only way he maintained his sanity. Life as a pre-law student and part time engineer wasn’t for the faint of heart, hence the need for some modicum of order. There was something incredibly satisfying about the scratch of a perfect pen against paper to Oscar, leading to his impressive writing utensil collection.

Despite the jokes his best friend cracked about his habits, the American was actually the reason Oscar had three dozen different pens and five feather quills. Every single one of Oscar’s birthday and holiday gifts from Logan were, without fail, some sort of new writing instrument. Once, Oscar had asked him where he sourced all his luxury pens, baffled by the sheer variety of them that Logan managed to procure. Logan said had nothing and mimed zipping his lips before swiftly turning their conversation back to the merits of American football. For all Oscar knew, his best friend was buying them off the black market or in some backstreet alley from a sketchy trench coat wearing dealer. Oscar wouldn’t put it past him to pull something like that.

Oscar cursed London’s recent cold snap as soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He briefly thought about running back up to his flat to throw on a pair of joggers, but ultimately decided against it. If he didn’t make it to the Underground in five minutes, he’d have to wait on the platform for another half hour before his train returned, which he didn’t particularly want to do. Instead, he quickened his pace and braced himself against the sharp September breeze, letting out a breath of relief when he finally stepped into the warmth of the subway car.

He got off the Underground at the Marylebone stop, and walked on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes until he reached a warmly-lit red brick building. The bell over the door tinkled when Oscar walked into The Prancing Lion Toy Shop, blending with the vaguely classical piano music soundtrack that was playing.

His coworker Kevin’s absolutely adorable daughter had a birthday coming up, and Oscar wanted to get her a gift. Turning six was a once in a lifetime occurrence, after all.

The toy store’s wooden shelves were stocked to the brim with whimsical colors and fantastical baubles. Oscar spotted a scarlet rocking horse stashed in a corner, right next to a basket full of little lion stuffed animals. Tiny trains chugged across the whole store on carefully laid miniature railroads. An illustrated map of the world was splashed against a wall. Surely, he would find Laura the perfect present here.

Something fuzzy brushed against his leg. When he looked down, two identical bengal cats were curiously nosing at his ankles. Oscar bent down to pet them, and his eyes caught on the bookshelf opposite of him.

On display was a book, Tales of Faerie: A Collection printed across the front in swirling golden script. The cover was painted in delicate watercolor, gamboling faeries daintily flitting about in a charming meadow.

“Perfect,” he whispered. Laura, who was enamored with fairytales, would love it.

Once the cats wandered off to bat at the swinging pendulum of a cuckoo clock, Oscar eagerly grabbed the book and made his way over to the front desk, where he rang the bell for assistance. The co-owner Charles, a lovely Monegasque man with unfairly good bone structure, checked him out. Somehow, while handing Oscar’s change back to him, he managed to knock over the tip jar, sending bunches of coins clattering to the ground. Oscar’s attempts to help were waved off exasperatedly by the older man, who said that Oscar didn’t need to worry about it and that he’d get his husband to clean it up with him later.

The bell rang again as he swung the door open to leave. On his way out, Oscar could hear Charles calling to his husband.

“Max! There’s been an inchident!” A few seconds later, a fond, long-suffering sigh came from the store room.

Newly acquired child’s birthday gift tucked under his arm, Oscar checked his phone for the time. It was a quarter till eleven.

After walking five minutes to the apartment building, he still had another ten to spare before he could head up to the flat. Oscar spotted a bench a couple of feet away and took a seat, Tales of Faerie: A Collection propped up on his lap.

His fingers twitched to crack open the front cover. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit interested. It had been a long time since he’d last read a fairytale. Sue him. Oscar remembered being four years old and tucked up against his granny while she read to him from her battered collection of folktales, each story steeped in enchantment. After a moment's hesitation, Oscar gave in to the lure of magical whimsy promised by the book. For the next ten minutes, he flipped through the first chapter: “Qualities and Attributes of the Fae,” utterly engrossed.

His phone pinged jarringly. It was finally eleven. Oscar slipped the book into his backpack and stood up from the bench to anxiously adjust his rumpled sweatshirt. He ran his fingers through his brown hair a couple times for good measure. He might as well try to make a decent first impression.

After using the keycode he had been provided to get into the building’s lobby, Oscar made the unfortunate discovery that the elevator was currently under maintenance. He sighed, defeated. Oh joy! Steps all the way up to the eighth floor! He silently apologized to his poor knees and began trudging up the seemingly endless flight of weirdly steep stairs.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor, Oscar paused. He was pretty sure he heard something thud in the distance, like it had fallen down the stairs. He waited for a second. There’s no way a fall like that wouldn’t hurt like hell. When nobody started yelling for help or screaming in pain, Oscar shrugged it off and kept on going. Maybe someone was moving furniture upstairs.

Somewhere between the sixth and seventh floor, Oscar stopped. Not to catch his breath. Thanks to Logan’s recent passion for Peloton, Oscar’s aerobic capacity had actually drastically improved. Not even because his geriatric joints gave out like he had originally predicted they would.

Oscar stopped because there was something blocking his path. Or rather, someone. A man was sprawled out across the steps, navy blue hood over his head, groaning as he tried to pull himself off the floor. Evidently, he was the thud Oscar had heard a minute ago. Wincing in sympathy, Oscar reached out a hand to help the stranger up.

“You okay there, mate? Sounded like a rough fall. I heard it two floors down,” he asked, concerned. The man stiffened for a second, shoulders rising almost imperceptibly. However, he seemed to get over his initial surprise fairly quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. You wouldn’t believe how often this happens,” the man replied cheerily. He reached back and grabbed Oscar’s outstretched hand. “It’s pretty hard to keep me down.”

The man’s hood fell back as Oscar hauled him to his feet.

If you asked Oscar, no one should look attractive with a massive bruise blooming across their jawline after failing to walk up stairs. It’d be a violation of the laws of nature.

Obviously, the stranger didn’t get the memo. He was beautiful. Painfully so, with fluffy curls and dark lashes that framed eyes the color of a sunlight-dappled river. From where the man’s hand was clasped with his own, Oscar noted deliciously toned forearms and broad shoulders. His hoodie slid to one side, exposing a collarbone, and Oscar found himself wondering what it would feel like to run his lips along its soft curve and trace the line of the stranger’s neck with his tongue, to press a kiss to that perfect mouth. He could imagine the breathy little sounds he would make as-

Oscar blinked, mildly concerned at how rapidly his train of thought had derailed. Fantasizing about a stranger was definitely a new low for him, no matter how perfect the aforementioned stranger’s face was.

“Thanks for the help, mate.” The man continued on, unaware of the crisis he was causing Oscar. Abruptly, he paused and squinted slightly, like he was finally seeing Oscar’s face. His green eyes flickered in confusion. “Wait. You don’t live here. Are you the delivery man or something?”

“Do I look like a delivery man to you?” Oscar snipped, gesturing broadly at his distinctly non-uniform outfit. Evidently, his internal meltdown had turned off his brain to mouth filter. Damn pretty people and their pretty eyes. “Besides, how are you sure I don’t live here? There’s no way you know every single person who lives in the building, mate. It’s massive. Maybe I live a couple floors above you.”

“Trust me, I would’ve remembered a face like yours. Especially if it was above me.” The smirk he wore told Oscar that the painfully obvious innuendo was intentional.

Oscar wanted to pass out, because an attractive man flirting with him while he was running on four hours of sleep was not something he was equipped to handle. His brain was actively melting to mush, all because of a pretty boy. Gosh, he was pathetic. On the outside, Oscar held it together, just barely, his face schooled into his carefully practiced expression of polite stoicism. He didn’t spend all of secondary school working at the local Nando’s for nothing, listening to customers complain about their chicken being too spicy even though they were the ones who picked Hot.

“I’m actually here to meet with someone about potentially rooming together. Do you happen to know which apartment Lando Norris lives in?”

The handsome stranger’s smile grew impossibly wider, revealing his dimples. Oscar wanted to touch them. “Yeah. Of course I do. After all, it’d be pretty unfortunate if I forgot my own address.”
---
“And this one is a P14.” Oscar absentmindedly passed the shiny metal pen into Lando’s outstretched hand, already pulling another one out of his organizer. “It’s pure iron, which is pretty cool.”

His head whipped back towards the Brit when he heard a sharp yelp and the clang of the pen hitting the ground. He smelled something burning. For a morbid second, the scent reminded Oscar of a barbecue gone terribly wrong.

“Lando, oh my god, are you okay?” he screeched once he saw his roommate’s hand. An angry slash of red was stamped on Lando’s palm in the unmistakable shape of a P14 metallic carbide. A similar shade was printed on the inside of his fingers, where he had curled them over the pen.

“I may have forgotten to mention my very severe iron allergy,” Lando admitted sheepishly. “All of the apartment hardware is silver and the appliances are aluminium. My skin’s just hypersensitive when it comes to iron, I guess.” Oscar thought he wasn’t nearly as disturbed by his blistering skin as he should be. “Quite frankly, it’s a bit embarrassing. What sort of grown man can’t handle touching metal?”

Oscar was horrified. “I am so, so, so sorry! I swear I had absolutely no idea.” He frantically sprinted towards the bathroom, where they kept all their first-aid. “Do you have burn ointment anywhere?”

Lando shook his head. “It’s all right, not your fault. I should’ve said something.” He watched, bemused, as Oscar scoured their bathroom cabinet for a tube of Neosporin. Warmth bloomed in his chest, a fond smile on his face despite the fast-fading pain in his right hand. Lando thought it was sort of nice seeing his normally unflappable roommate so worked up, especially over him. “Oscar,” he called. No response from the Aussie, still absorbed in his search for burn ointment. “Oscar!” he tried again, louder this time.

Lando was relieved when Oscar turned to look at him, a strand of soft brown hair falling over his dark eyes. “While I appreciate how committed you are to my wellbeing, there’s really no point in patching me up. My immune system and I have a love-hate relationship, so the burn will be gone by tomorrow morning at the latest. Maybe in the next few hours if I’m lucky. Healing freakishly fast was probably the universe’s way of apologizing for giving me this stupid allergy. Besides, we need to conserve the bandages so that we’ll have enough for when you inevitably break your leg against that footstool you keep tripping over.”

“Lando. You do realize you’re some sort of crazy medical anomaly, right? I’m roommates with the cure for cancer or something. You definitely escaped from a lab,” Oscar teased as he walked over to the couch, a roll of bandages in one hand, yellow tube of burn ointment in the other. “It would explain a lot of things about you.”

“Mmm yes, Oscar,” Lando moaned exaggeratedly, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes like a really bad pornstar. Oscar tried to ignore how good his name sounded on Lando’s tongue. “Talk dirty to me, baby. I just love being called a freak of nature.”

“Shut up. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Oscar shot back, laughing. “Even big, tough medical anomalies need to apply Neosporin to their second degree burns, no matter how fast they heal.” He patted the orange couch cushion next to him. “Sit down. I’ll bandage you up.”

“Didn’t take you for the nurse roleplay type, Oscar. Kinky.” Lando winked. “Don’t worry though, I’m down for anything as long as it's with you.” Oscar went from faintly pink to bright red. He would never understand how the Brit could say things like that so casually. Just once, he wanted to see Lando flustered.

“If you don’t sit down right now and let me treat your hand, I swear I’ll get a live fish from the grocery store and let it flop around on your pillow before cooking it for dinner tomorrow.” Lando paled at the threat.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he professed, hastily plopping down on the couch and extending his hand to Oscar. The Aussie smiled to himself. Lando’s hatred of seafood always made for easy negotiations. He gingerly took the proffered hand and almost dropped it because of how cold it was, despite the angry burn cutting through it.

“Are you okay? Your hands are frigid.”

“Well no, I’m not okay. I have a burned hand and a very persistent roommate who insists on bandaging it even though I’ve told him I’ll be fine,” Lando snarked. He softened once he registered the genuine concern on the other man’s face. “It’s no big deal, I just tend to run cold. I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember.”

Oscar hummed in acceptance, turning his attention back to Lando’s hand. Oscar could feel his roommate’s eyes on the side of his face, unwavering. When he glanced over, his heart caught in his throat. Lando was looking at him with something in his gaze. His dark pupils blown wide, gold light flickering between threads of vivid blue-green, a secret nestled in a sea of jade. Oscar couldn’t name what he saw, but he knew he was desperate to see it in Lando’s eyes again. For a second, with the fading sunset backlighting his face, Lando looked hauntingly ethereal, almost inhuman in his beauty.

He reluctantly looked away to rip off a strip of bandage. Having forgotten to grab scissors, Oscar settled for tearing it with his teeth. Bandage still in his mouth, he heard Lando’s breath hitch. Oscar looked up at him expectantly. Knowing him, Lando was probably gearing up to make a comment about Oscar’s “unhygienic practices.”

“What?” A beat passed.

“Nothing,” Lando answered, sounding oddly strained, as if something had lodged itself in his throat.

“If you’re going to complain about me using my teeth to tear the bandage, you can go grab a pair of scissors and I’ll cut you a new one,” Oscar told him. “I won’t be offended.” He dolloped a circle roughly the size of a pence coin on his finger and started gently rubbing it over the raw skin of Lando’s hand. Oscar felt Lando shiver at his touch and cursed himself for not warming it up a little bit.

“I don’t mind teeth,” Lando murmured, smirk on his face. Oscar rolled his eyes at the sheer Lando-ness of his response, settling back into the familiar rhythm he knew so well. Whatever was in the air between them dissipated into the comfortable lull of their friendship.
---
It all started because of Logan and a bunch of empty protein bar wrappers.

The American had been so swamped with his aerospace engineering coursework that he hadn’t had the chance to go grocery shopping for the week, subsisting solely on a family sized box of Crunchy Peanut Butter Clif Bars stuffed in the back of his pantry.

Oscar discovered this concerning situation when he went over to Logan’s studio apartment to help him study, ransacked the kitchen in search of food to make dinner for both of them, and found nothing but half a packet of instant rice.

Being the absolutely wonderful best friend he was, Oscar then offered to run to the store and pick up some stuff to make dinner. Logan eagerly agreed, nose still buried in a hulking textbook, and chucked his credit card at him. Oscar caught it as he walked out the front door.

A couple minutes later, Oscar pushed a shopping cart with squeaking wheels on Tesco’s beige-speckled floor. They were running a promotion on seafood, so he grabbed a tray of salmon from the freezer. A head of lettuce, carrots, garlic and ginger, a bottle of soy sauce, and a couple of avocados were tossed into his cart. Salmon lettuce wraps were one of the few things he knew how to cook.

Inevitably, Oscar ended up wandering the ice cream aisle in search of dessert. Logan liked Bomb Pops, said that they “reminded him of home.” Why a British grocery store was stocking red, white, and blue striped ice lollies was a mystery that would continue to baffle Oscar. Nonetheless, he grabbed a box. His best friend would be ecstatic.

Acting on pure instinct, Oscar found himself reaching for a tub of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream next. Lando’s favorite flavor. He figured his roommate would probably need a pick-me-up after taking the mid-term he had incessantly complained to Oscar about for weeks. From experience, he knew nothing cheered Lando up more than a bunch of sweets and a Fruit Punch Capri Sun. Oscar would repay Logan for the ice cream once he got back to the apartment.

On the sidewalk, grocery bags in one hand, Oscar pulled out his phone and called his friend. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, dude. What’s up?” Logan’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Do you mind if I run by my apartment and drop off something real quick? I grabbed a pint of ice cream for Lando because he had a difficult exam today and I’m worried it might melt while I’m at yours. I owe you five pounds for it, by the way,” Oscar explained.

“Oh yeah, totally. Go for it! And don’t worry about the five pounds. I’m still indebted to you after the Bald Eagle Incident.” The Aussie chuckled, the night burned in his memory. It had involved his very patriotic best friend, a historical reenactor, multiple stuffed bald eagles, and several shots of straight vodka.

“Okay cool, sounds good. See you soon!” Oscar moved to hang up on the call.

“Hold up, you don’t think you’re getting off the hook that fast, do you?” Logan shrieked directly into the mic before lowering his voice to a more reasonable volume. “Let’s talk about you and Lando for a sec.” Oscar could actually hear the evil smirk on his friend's face. “Buying him ice cream? You’re down so bad, Oscar.”

“Logan, I quite literally got you ice lollies. Doesn’t mean I’m madly in love with you.”

His friend scoffed. “Obviously. Ice cream, on principle, is way more romantic than ice lollies.”

“Respectfully, that might be the single dumbest thing you’ve ever said, mate.”

Logan continued on like he hadn’t heard. “It’s also different because you never shut up about Lando. Never. It’s so frequent that sometimes I get worried I’ll start crushing on him simply through exposure to you. Your heart-eyes when you talk about him are getting out of control, dude.” The American started to mimic Oscar’s accent. “Ugh, isn’t he just dreamy? Logan, did you see Lando’s hair today? Doesn’t it look so good? I just wish I could grab it while I fuc-”

“Logan!” Oscar hissed, blushing furiously. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Bro, that’s a lie and you know it. Don’t even try to deny the allegations.”

“That’s it, I’m hanging up. I hope your textbook crushes your toes. Goodbye.” Oscar declared, Logan laughing maniacally in the background.

He tried not to think too hard about anything Logan said while he walked to his apartment. The grocery bags swung against his leg every few steps.

It was just a small crush. He’d get over it. They’d be able to stay close friends and Oscar would forget that he ever wanted Lando in any way that wasn’t purely platonic. Easy. Obviously, Lando couldn’t ever find out. He had grown to be one of Oscar’s favorite people, and Oscar wasn’t about to sacrifice his friendship because of his incredibly inconvenient one-sided feelings.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Oscar didn’t even realize he had arrived at his apartment. He steeled himself and prayed Lando wasn’t somehow able to see into his soul and discover his crush as he fumbled for his keys and pushed the front door open.

Oscar could see a Lando shaped lump of blankets wiggling around on the couch, Step Brothers playing on the TV.

“Lando, I’m back!”

The pile of blankets rustled for a second before Lando’s head popped out, curly hair adorably mussed and plush mouth bitten red. Oscar fought the urge to brush the pad of his thumb against his lower lip to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Oscar! I have so much to tell you. Remember that one really annoying guy in my Econ class I was telling you about yesterday? Guess what he said tod-.” Lando froze, eyes growing comically wide and voice rising to an alarmingly shrill shriek. “Oscar Jack Piastri. Do not tell me you brought fish into this home! And salmon at that! We’ve discussed this, mate. All types of fish, especially weird pink fish, stay away from the sanctity of the Piastri-Norris household!”

Oscar rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics in faux exasperation and brandished the pint of ice cream. “I brought you dessert. It’s chocolate chip cookie dough.” Lando brightened for a moment before he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Was it near the salmon?”

“Nope.” Well acquainted with Lando’s habits, Oscar had purposefully bagged the ice cream separate from everything else.

Satisfied that his ice cream was free from contaminants, the Brit made grabby hands, gesturing for Oscar to bring him the carton.

“Mate, I’m not bringing your ice cream to the couch. You can get up like the grown adult you are and grab it yourself.”

“Please, Oscar!” Lando whined, drawing out each syllable of Oscar’s name in his breathy accent, leaving the Aussie’s carefully built up inhibition in shambles. “I promise I’ll make you those crispy potatoes you like.”

“You’re so needy,” he grumbled, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and walking over to the couch.

“I’ve heard that once or twice.” He smiled smugly around a mouthful of ice cream. “Thank you, Oscar!”

“No problem,” the Aussie called over his shoulder on his way out, Logan’s groceries in tow.

It occurred to Oscar later that night while he was lying in bed that he hadn’t even told Lando about the salmon before he began freaking out.

The grocery bags were made of brown paper. Lando had been on the couch the entire time. The packaging had been completely intact as well, so it wasn’t like he could’ve smelled it. How in the world had Lando known there was fish?
---
The club was too loud. Thumping bass rattled Oscar’s bones and booming EDM rang in his ears.

When he had agreed to go out with Lando after his exams, he had been envisioning something a bit quieter. He should’ve known better. Of course Lando wouldn’t settle for the local pub. Instead, Oscar found himself in one of London’s swankiest underground clubs. It was the sort of place where everyone had at least half a million followers on social media and a couple of brand sponsorships on top of their trust fund. How Lando managed to sweet talk them in, he had no idea.

Oscar sat at the bar, a bright pink drink clutched in his hand. He was pretty sure it was his third one of the night. Honestly, he had no idea what was in them, but Lando kept on bringing them over and Oscar trusted him enough to keep on taking them.

He wasn’t normally a big drinker, but he’d like to forget his Public Law final. A cloyingly sweet, paper-umbrella garnished cocktail seemed like the quickest way to get there.

Also, it was very difficult to say no to Lando Norris. Especially on nights like tonight, when he had his black shirt unbuttoned dangerously low and the sleeves rolled up, tight pants clinging to his every curve. Even Lando’s eyes seemed different. They glowed impossibly bright, reflecting the club’s color changing LED lights.

“Is this seat taken?” Caught off guard, Oscar turned to glance at the stranger who had approached him. In the dim club lighting, all he could make out was a shock of platinum hair and eyes that seemed vaguely blue.

Oscar shook his head. “It’s all yours.”

“My name’s Henry,” the blond man said as he sat down. Oscar was a bit confused as to why Henry was still talking to him. He did realize Oscar wasn’t the bartender, right? “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

It finally hit Oscar that he was trying to flirt with him. “Oscar.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” Henry ran a hand through his gelled hair, no doubt trying to appear cool and suave. Unbidden, Oscar thought of the way Lando effortlessly tousled his curls with practiced carelessness. Henry could use some pointers.

“It’s really not. But thanks, I guess,” Oscar replied, unsure of how to act. He wasn’t used to being hit on in clubs. That was more his roommate's thing. The stranger seemed undeterred by his apparent disinterest.

“So, Oscar, did you come here with anyone?” Henry moved to grab Oscar’s thigh. The Aussie quickly moved his leg away. The man ended up grasping thin air before awkwardly retracting his arm. “More importantly, are you planning on leaving here with anyone?”

“Oh, um. Lando should be around here somewhere,” he said, searching the club for the Brit. Oscar could’ve sworn Lando was dancing by that table a second ago. Where did he disappear off to?

“Lando’s your friend?” the blonde asked. “Boyfriend?”

On a normal day, Oscar would’ve vehemently agreed with the first option and furiously denied the second. However, tipsy and tired out of his mind, words suddenly became very difficult. “Lando is my,” Oscar trailed off as he waved his hands around abstractly. Calling them friends seemed too simple, best friend was reserved for Logan, roommate didn’t sound right, and boyfriend was unfortunately off the table. “Lando,” he finished lamely.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” the blonde leered. “Because if you’re single, I have some ideas on how you can spend the rest of your night.”

“Don’t call me that,” Oscar said automatically.

“Don’t call him that,” a familiar voice snapped at the same time. Oscar whipped his head over his shoulder. Sometime during his conversation with Henry, Lando had materialized beside him, still shining with a faint layer of sweat from the dance floor. Oscar thought he looked delicious.

Henry raised both of his hands placatingly in the air, mocking set to his brow. “I take it you’re his Lando?” Oscar felt Lando glance at him.

“Your Lando?” he mouthed at Oscar. He seemed strangely delighted, a smirk playing on his lips. Trying to hide his blush, Oscar playfully shoved his shoulder into Lando’s side and resolutely looked straight ahead.

Henry’s gratingly posh accent cut through their silent exchange. “Oscar and I were in the middle of a conversation that didn’t involve you, so I’d really appreciate it if you would leave the two of us alone.”

“No need. Oscar’s coming home with me,” Lando told Henry, already helping the Aussie to his feet. “Right now.” Oscar almost choked on his drink until he remembered that they were roommates, and therefore lived together. He almost felt a little sad that Lando wasn’t propositioning him. Huh. He must be more drunk than he realized.

Everything else passed in a blurry haze until they made it to their apartment. Craving the comfort of a heavy duvet, Oscar threw himself onto the first bed he found, kicking off his shoes and nestling beneath the covers. The comforting scent of home settled over him. He hummed contentedly.

Lando cleared his throat. “Oscar, you’re in my bed. Yours is the next door down,” he said, a smile in his voice. Sober Oscar would be mortified and immediately flee to his own room. Drunk Oscar was secretly delighted and simply wrapped the blanket tighter around himself.

“Too tired,” he mumbled. Shifting his head to the right, Oscar stared at Lando pleadingly, giving him his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes. Sober Oscar would be mortified. “Can I just stay here?”

He heard Lando sigh fondly. “Yeah, yeah, sure Osc. Anything for you.” Oscar wasn’t coherent enough to register the nickname. “I just need to wash up. I promise I’ll be fast.” The Aussie grunted in acknowledgment, already nodding off.

The first thing Oscar saw when he blearily opened his eyes a couple minutes later was his shirtless roommate. He must’ve made some sort of noise, of shock or arousal he wasn’t sure, because Lando looked over at him.

“Sorry, Oscar. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’re you doing?”

Lando blinked, bewildered. “Getting ready to sleep? You didn’t think I would let you kick me out of my own bed, did you?”

“Naked?”

“I keep my boxers on, if that helps.” Oscar groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “But if it bothers you, I can pull on a t-shirt and pajama pants. It’s all the same to me.”

“No, it’s cool,” Oscar said. “It’s your bed, do what makes you comfortable. I’m fine either way.” Sober Oscar would kick Drunk Oscar if he robbed himself of the chance to share a bed with a shirtless Lando Norris.

“Okay, mate. If you say so.” His roommate flipped off the light switch as he climbed into bed. Oscar felt the mattress dip.

When he closed his eyes to try to go back to sleep, all Oscar could smell was something woodsy and wild and achingly reminiscent of a forest on a balmy summer evening where wildflowers floated on the breeze and morning dew lingered in the air. It was distracting.

“You smell really good,” Oscar blurted.

“Hm? Did you say something, Osc?” came Lando’s sleepy reply. The sheets shifted under him as he turned to face Oscar.

“You smell really good,” Oscar repeated.

“Thanks,” Lando said. There was something odd in his voice. Oscar couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it made him feel warm. Safe. “I use Louis Vuitton L’Immensite. It was a gift from my mum. You can try it on tomorrow, if you want.”

Oscar shook his head. “You’re lying,” he announced petulantly.

“I quite literally have the bottle on my vanity right now,” Lando sputtered, indignant.

“I have a cousin who wears that. He doesn’t smell like you at all.”

“Okay Mr. Expert Perfumer. What do you think I smell like then?"

“The forest.”

“Can’t believe you’re telling me I smell like trees and dirt.”

“No, no, no, you’re thinking of it all wrong. Think less trees and think more enchanted forest. You’re like a fairy princess,” Oscar rambled. “You know that one Shakespeare play they made us read in Year 12? A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You smell like that. I’m pretty sure there’s a fairy princess in it too. It’s very you.”

“If you call me a fairy princess one more time, Oscar, I am kicking you out of bed. You can go sleep on the floor for all I care.” Oscar giggled.

“Goodnight, Lando.”

“Night, Osc.”

Oscar awoke to sunlight trickling in through curtained windows, an empty bed, and a brutal hangover. He threw his arm out to fumble around for his phone, still lying down. When he couldn’t find it, he begrudgingly sat up, and noticed the orange duvet pooled around his waist. His duvet was dark green. His sister had gone with him to pick it out from IKEA.

Panic rising inside him, Oscar looked over at the bedside table. Instead of the silver alarm clock and black phone case he had been expecting, there was a pile of beaded bracelets and a wallet, Lando Norris’ ID sticking out of it. Beside them was a glass of water and two ibuprofen tablets, which Oscar gratefully took.

He desperately wracked his memory for what happened last night. All he remembered was a lot of alcohol, some blond guy trying to hit on him, and Lando bringing him home. Oscar wanted to throw up. Did he drunkenly confess his feelings to Lando and get rejected? No, that wouldn’t explain how he ended up in Lando’s bed and not his own. Also, his eyes would definitely be red and puffy from crying if that was the case. Oscar threw his head back in frustration and immediately regretted it, pounding headache coursing back with renewed vigor. He really needed the drugs to start working faster.

He supposed that he would have to face Lando eventually, since they lived together and all that. No sense in dragging it out.

As soon as Oscar stepped out of the bedroom, the smell of cooking bacon assaulted his senses. Lando manned the stove wearing a ridiculously frilly “Kiss the Chef” apron Alex had gifted him, face lighting up the moment he noticed Oscar.

“Good morning, my sleepy little koala,” he smiled. Evidently, Lando hadn’t woken up much earlier than Oscar. His voice was still gravelly from sleep, and Oscar would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit affected.

“Don’t call me that,” Oscar grumbled. “Thanks for the water and ibuprofen, though. Literal lifesaver.”

“Do you want eggs?” Lando asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be making Oscar breakfast. The domesticity of it all sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Yes, please,” he managed to croak out.

His roommate chuckled. “So polite in the mornings.”

Oscar watched on in wonder as Lando assembled a platter of breakfast and slid it across the counter to him. The eggs were over easy, exactly the way Oscar liked them, but he didn’t recall telling Lando about his preference.

Any thoughts of asking Lando about what had happened last night slid out of his mind as he took a bite of the fluffy pancakes piled on his plate. They were perfectly soft and lightly sweetened, drowned in rich maple syrup and crowned with deep golden pats of butter. Oscar closed his eyes as he chewed, letting out little sounds of contentment. Normally he wasn’t this expressive when it came to food, but the pancakes were really fucking good.

Across the table, Lando coughed and began loudly cleaning up his plate to bring back to the sink.
---
These meetings were Oscar’s least favorite part of the job. There was only so long you could spend listening to people spew corporate jargon only they understood. He still hadn’t figured out what “break down silos” meant. So when they finally got dismissed for a brief ten minute recess, he breathed a sigh of relief and beelined for the company-catered lunch.

Food secured, Oscar retreated to a corner of the conference room, relishing in the quiet. Halfway through his club sandwich, he realized Kevin was waving cheerily at him from across the room. Oscar waved back with his free hand.

“I wanted to thank you again for Laura’s birthday gift. She absolutely adores the book. She’s been talking our ears off about faeries nonstop and asks us to read to her from it every night,” Kevin said as he walked over, drawing Oscar into a hug.

Oscar smiled widely, thrilled that Laura had liked his gift. “Of course! I’m so glad that she’s enjoying it. Fairytales were always really special to me.”

Right as Kevin was about to respond, their regional manager called for everyone’s attention, so he settled for jovially clapping the younger man’s back while they hurried back to their seats.

During the meeting, Oscar’s attention kept on drifting back to Tales of Faerie: A Collection. He had only gotten through the first chapter, but he found himself thinking constantly about it. Oscar entertained himself by trying to list off as many traits of faeries as he could while the speaker droned on, wracking his memory. Vulnerability to iron, heightened senses, immense beauty, the ability to heal both themselves and others at supernatural rates, pointed ears.

Something about the list kept on bothering Oscar. It felt like a tiny corner of his brain kept on trying to make a key connection that he was missing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Bored out of his mind, Oscar subtly looked down and checked his notifications.

lando: getting takeout from the china wok
lando: what do u want
lando: my treat xx

Oscar was in the middle of typing his request for kung pao chicken with a side of chow mein when everything clicked into place.

Oh.

Lando with his annoyingly pretty face and scarily accurate seafood radar. Lando and his weird immune system that gave him a “severe iron allergy” but also healed second degree burns in less than 24 hours.

Oscar Piastri was almost 100% sure that Lando Norris was a faerie.
---
Oscar was surprised by how easy it was to recognize all the signs that his roommate wasn’t quite human after piecing everything together. Thinking about all of it still made his head spin sometimes.

Lando’s pointed ears, so slight you could easily miss them, weren’t actually a random quirk of nature. The way sparks of gold seemed to appear at random in his eyes, which Oscar used to brush off as a trick of the light, was because he was a faerie. His incredibly rare iron allergy wasn’t actually because he lost the genetic lottery. The same went for his miraculous healing capabilities.

However, Oscar hadn’t been able to find anything about faeries and aversions to seafood, so that certain trait may just purely be a Lando thing. His ability to locate it anywhere within a mile radius could definitely be blamed on magic, though.

Wrestling with the existence of faeries and the fact that his friend/roommate/crush was one of them took Oscar about a week to come to terms with, before he eventually gave in and said “why not?” He valued his sleep too much to lose any more of it from distressing over something he couldn’t change. Oscar was a firm believer in science and logic, but the coincidences were too purposeful for it to boil down completely to chance. He might be stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid.

Oscar didn’t bring it up with Lando. He was hesitant to break up the comfortable rhythm their life together had taken on, their daily routines that Oscar cherished more than he would ever admit.

Questioning Lando about whether or not he was a magical creature that they used to read about in storybooks would probably end in him kicking Oscar out onto the street being a raving lunatic.

Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. Lando wouldn’t go that far.

He would probably just severely judge Oscar, ask him if he had a concussion, deny the allegation, and continue on with his day. But still! It was an awkward conversation to bring up.

He wasn’t even completely sure that Lando knew he was a faerie. He didn’t seem like the type to keep something that major hidden.

Considering how dramatic Lando was on a daily basis, Oscar was hesitant to be the one to break the news to him.
---
A couple weeks ago, Oscar wandered into the kitchen to grab a glass of water at five o’clock in the morning and had been confronted with a random man in his kitchen. He nearly grabbed a frying pan off the stove to defend himself until he noticed the massive hickey blooming on the stranger’s neck.

Realizing the man was someone Lando had brought home and not a robber here to steal their possessions, Oscar figured he should probably say something to avoid looking like a judgemental jerk.

“Hi, my name’s Oscar. I’m Lando’s roommate.” He introduced himself, offering a handshake and giving a friendly smile that he hoped wasn’t too awkward.

“A fellow countryman, I see,” the man grinned as he clasped Oscar’s hand. “I’m Jacob. What city are you from?” Oscar spent the rest of their short conversation simultaneously reeling over and brushing off the fact that Lando was apparently into Aussies.

He assumed it would be a one-off sort of thing. After all, as far as Oscar could tell since moving in with him, Lando didn’t really have a type.

But then it kept on happening. Every few days, Oscar would go into the kitchen for water and meet another one of Lando’s hookups by accident. Without fail, Oscar would have a brief but pleasant chat with them and discover that they were Australian, speaking with softened R’s and rolled vowels and lilted sentences. Exactly like me, a little voice in the back of Oscar’s consciousness whispered unhelpfully. Hell, Jacob was from the same suburb of Melbourne as him. One of the girls graduated from his sister’s high school. It was like Lando had set the filter to “Australians Only” on his Tinder or something.

Oscar never really minded Lando’s hookups. Obviously, his heart pinched uncomfortably each time he was reminded he would never have the privilege of knowing Lando the way that they did, but it wasn’t his place to tell his roommate how to spend his nights, and Oscar certainly couldn’t fault people for wanting to hook up with Lando. No sense in getting possessive over someone who was never his in the first place.

Something was different this time, though. The fact that the man he was embarrassingly besotted with was basically attracted to every single Australian in London except for him was just a tad bit upsetting. Okay, so maybe Lando didn’t want to date him. Fine, it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. But he wasn’t even interested in kissing him? Being the last choice bothered Oscar more than he’d like to admit.

Maybe it was for the better, though. He knew he wouldn’t be able to have Lando and walk away unaffected and unattached. It’d be better to crave what could’ve been than to have it all in a fleeting moment and spend the rest of his life aching for another taste.

Lando was Lando. He was a faerie for fuck’s sake. Being unbelievably gorgeous was quite literally in his description. Everything about him was enthralling, designed to lure people in and keep them there forever, and Oscar had willingly dove in head first, ensconced in the velvet warmth of loving Lando. It was like the Brit chipped at his soul, tenderly taking the glittering shards Oscar presented him with. Oscar offered every part of himself like the moon succumbing to the Sun’s pull, eternally caught in orbit around its brilliant light for the chance to bask in its glow. Turns out, he had given his heart up long before he even realized, swept away by Lando’s diaphanous magnetism.

Yet, Lando never took without giving back in equal measure. And he gave back generously.

His sparkling laugh, softened around the edges, whenever Oscar tripped over that one particular footstool. The crease that settled between his eyebrows, tongue absentmindedly darting out, while he attempted to beat Oscar in FIFA. His stupid jokes and even stupider innuendos. The determined set of his mouth when he quizzed Oscar on law cases to prepare for cold calls. His eyes in all their pale clarity, sunlight cutting through wisps of morning fog.

Oscar found comfort in the slivers of his roommate that Lando gifted him with.
---
“Should I do this shirt,” Lando shook a white linen button-up, “or this shirt?” Oscar looked up from re-organizing his pens to eye what seemed to be the exact same top in navy blue. To be honest, he had no opinion, but Lando had a habit of badgering him until he picked one, refusing to accept “I don’t know, whichever one makes you happiest,” as an answer.

“The white one.”

“Cool, cool. I was leaning towards that one too,” he said as he disappeared back into his bedroom, presumably to finish getting dressed for the club.

Lando was going out with Carlos and a couple of other friends. In typical fashion, he had tried to get Oscar to come with, but the Aussie turned the invitation down in favor of staying home and working on a presentation for his manager. Mark was very particular about his PowerPoints.

Oscar ended up so engrossed in his work that he almost missed Lando leaving.

“I’m heading out!” Lando hollered. “Sure you don’t want to tag along?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Have fun, though,” he replied.

He spent the rest of his evening at the kitchen counter, fiddling around with his PowerPoint, trying to make it presentable. Moments like these made him wish he was more like George, his coworker with a deep love for Microsoft Office. Finally, Oscar snapped his laptop closed and glanced over at the clock. It was almost midnight. He yawned as he went to wash up before bed. Just as he crawled under the covers, his phone started lighting up, texts pouring in.

lando: you dont understand
lando: want him so badddddd
lando: im so in love with him
lando: fuckkkk
lando: hes so perfect
lando: cant believe he actually exists
lando: qrjerffjajqiuefj
lando: just wanna hold him and never let him go and press kisses to his annoyingly cute face
lando: and wake up next to him every morning and make him breakfast and help him study and beat him in fifa and tell him all my jokes and touch his swoopy hair
lando: have you seen his hair
lando: its soooo swooopy
lando: whooshh
lando: id do anything for him

He read the messages over and over, each word weighing heavier on his chest until they nearly crushed him. Oscar’s heart twisted, a crimson ribbon unspooling into a tangled mess as he imagined it in painfully vivid detail.

Lando with his hands buried in some other man’s hair, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Swoopy hair. He had swoopy hair. Lando making heart-shaped pancakes for someone, spelling out “I Love You” with chocolate syrup, a proud smile on his face. Lando excitedly telling the jokes he normally reserved for Oscar to some other man. Lando laughing lightly, face radiant, eyes turned heavenward because of someone else.

It stung more knowing that Lando hadn’t even meant to break his heart. All the hurt Oscar was feeling was his own fault. He had no one to blame but himself.

He shakily typed out a reply because he was apparently a glutton for punishment.

oscar: who?

No response. Oscar turned his phone off, leaving him alone in the dark of his room. Drained, sleep took him swiftly.

He awoke to a knock on his bedroom door. Oscar groaned and flung an arm across his face. It could only be the one person he really didn’t want to see right now. Maybe if he didn’t say anything back, his roommate would get the hint and leave him alone.

“Oscar?” Lando asked, soft and gentle. Oscar almost crumbled right then and there. Why’d the man who broke his heart, albeit unintentionally, have to say his name sounding so sweet and sincere with his stupidly hot accent first thing in the morning? It was so inconsiderate of him. “I made you some oatmeal. Topped yours with cinnamon and brown sugar. Do you want pecans, too?”

Oscar couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend to live in this perfect domestic fantasy like last night didn’t exist. “Have you checked your phone?” he blurted.

“Um, no? It probably just finished charging. It died halfway through last night.” He could hear Lando’s confusion at Oscar’s uncharacteristically brusque question and sudden pivot in conversation. “Why?” Worry crept into his voice. “Did I say something?”

“Please go check your phone,” Oscar bit out. Wordlessly, Lando went. Oscar listened to his footsteps fade away.

A couple minutes that felt like an eternity later, Lando knocked on his door again. “I want to explain. Can we talk?”

Oscar took a deep breath. “Yeah, sure. Come in.” No going back now.

If Lando was about to use this moment to confess his undying love for another man to Oscar on a random Saturday morning, he might genuinely go and jump off a cliff.

“You can sit on the bed, if you want,” Oscar said to Lando, who had been standing stiffly in a corner, anxiously crossing and uncrossing his fingers.

“Oh, uh. Thanks. I will.”

Oscar was going to be sick. Even immediately after moving in, practically strangers, conversation between them had never been as stilted as it was now, after his feelings fucked everything up.

However, as soon as Lando perched himself on the edge of Oscar’s mattress, it was like a proverbial dam opened, and words started spilling out of the Brit.

“You were never supposed to get those messages. They were meant for Max. I was three drinks deep and must’ve clicked your contact by accident. I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

“Great to know you weren’t planning to tell me about the love of your life, mate,” Oscar snarked, emotions all tangled in a roiling knot of white-hot jealousy.

Lando continued on like he hadn’t heard him. “Ask your question again.”

Oscar sighed and braced himself for the final blow. “Who?” he gritted out, voice strained. “Who’re you in love with?” Instead of responding, his roommate picked up his phone and started typing. Oscar gaped, aghast, not believing what he was seeing. His front of cultivated chill blew over in an instant, replaced by livid anger. “Seriously, Lando? There’s no way you’re texting someone right now. This is literally the worst-”

His outburst was interrupted by his phone vibrating against his leg. He looked down. The screen was lit up, displaying one message.

lando: you

When Oscar looked up, Lando was smiling tenderly at him, flushed and dimples on full display. That same achingly familiar something he saw months ago was in his eyes again. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful.

“I am wildly and irrevocably in love with you, Oscar Jack Piastri.” Lando whispered his name like a benediction, shaping it into something sacred and divine that melted honey-sweet on his tongue.

“Can I kiss you?” Oscar pleaded, heart soaring, dizzy from the weight of Lando’s confession.

Lando stared at him through half-lidded eyes and fluttering lashes, gaze clinging to Oscar like he wanted to devour him. “Yes.”

Lando’s lips were soft and pliant under his, and he swore he could taste the lingering warmth of cinnamon and brown sugar. Oscar slid a hand into his hair, reveling in the softness of the curls. On a whim, he gave an experimental tug. Lando whined, lips parting slightly, just enough for Oscar to slip through. He could’ve stayed there forever, feeling every hitch in Lando’s breath, completely wrapped up in him.

“So, swoopy hair, huh?” Oscar teased as they broke apart. The Brit smiled and lightly punched his bicep before hungrily pulling him back in. “I love you, too.” Lando kissed him harder.
---
It was their six-month anniversary, and Oscar was determined to make it the most memorable one possible. He’d been thinking about it for a while, ever since he found out, and he figured now was as good of a time as ever.

“Lando, you need to promise not to panic, okay?” he instructed.

“Don’t worry, Osc. When have I ever not been calm, cool, and collected?” Oscar raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“You jumped on your desk and made me kill that tiny spider yesterday.”

“You’re an Australian! You’re used to that stuff! I was just deferring to your experience,” Lando sniffed. “And it was at least an inch big. That’s huge for a spider.”

“Mhm, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess.”

“Just get on with your surprise, babe.”

“If you say so,” said Oscar, before aggressively ramming his foot into that one particular footstool. Red-hot pain shot up his leg. He hobbled over to the nearest chair, gritting his teeth, while Lando began violently shrieking. For some reason, Oscar hadn’t expected breaking his toe to hurt this much.

“Are you okay? Why would you do that! I need to call 999 right now. Why can’t I unlock my phone! Oh my god, my boyfriend’s going to die because I can't unlock my phone!” Lando was panicking.

“Lando, breathe. Calm down. It’s just my toe, I’m not going to die.” His boyfriend attempted a few deep breaths, to minimal effect. “Besides, I know you can fix this.”

That sent Lando on another spiral. “What do you mean I can fix this? I’m not a med student like Alex! I don’t know if you forgot, but I’m a business major. I cannot magically heal your broken toe with the power of a SWOT analysis, Osc. How am I supposed to fix this? Through sheer willpower?”

A golden glow suddenly filled the apartment, drifting from Lando’s wildly gesticulating hands to settle atop Oscar’s foot. The two of them watched, entranced, as the ball of light sunk into Oscar’s foot and spread briefly before disappearing like it was never there. Feeling your bones reattach was a really weird sensation Oscar wouldn’t recommend.

“What the fuck did I just do.” Lando glared at his hands, as if maintaining intense eye contact would compel them to spill their secrets.

“Call your mom, Lando.”

The phone rang for a second before Cisca answered.

“Mum, can you explain how in the world I just mended my boyfriend's foot with a glowing ball of light?”