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A few months ago, Oscar hugged him for the first time. A proper hug. A big bear hug - arms fully wrapped around him. A ‘lasted more than two seconds’ hug. And in the time since, over the break, Lando's been craving that kind of hug. He feels fairly pathetic about the whole thing, but. It was a really nice hug. It was warm and secure, firm but not bone crushing. It made him feel safe; it comforted anxieties he didn't even know he was feeling.
He's usually fairly tactile with those he cares about but right now, the idea of Max hugging him or Carlos throwing an arm around his shoulder makes him want to scream. It'd be too much; it'd feel wrong. All he wants is that hug - those strong arms holding him with a gentle, yet tight squeeze. He wants that hug that makes him feel like everything really is okay; like he can do anything. If he was feeling pathetic before, the feeling's dialled to eleven as he lays on his bedroom floor, hugging a pillow and sobbing into it. He really needs that same security he'd felt in Oscar's arms. He doesn't even know why. Nothing is particularly wrong. But not much seems to feel right at the minute.
Everything had felt right when Oscar held him; held him like he knew how much Lando’d needed it, even if he had no idea, himself. He'll see Oscar in a few days - he knows that. He could just ask Oscar for a hug when he sees him; a week isn't long to wait. It's fine. I'm fine; I'll see him soon and maybe he'll give me a hug if I ask nicely. Even if he doesn't, it's okay. And I'm okay. He pauses for a few seconds, thinking his own words may have sunken in through his blotchy skin before his shoulders are wracked by another sudden wave of sobs. Fuck.
--
Lando's eyes squint open against the harsh sunlight spilling through his open curtains. He's still crumpled on the floor, back aching and head pounding from the sudden brightness of the room and last night's unfortunate activities. He hasn't slept much. He peels himself up from the floor, shuffles his socked feet through to his bathroom and chances a peek in the mirror. Mistake. His eyes are red and puffy, his skin still a blotchy mess. He looks tired; the kind of tired that fills you from the inside out. The tired that sleep doesn't seem to chase away. He needs a hug.
Pushing his tired legs to make it to the living room, Lando plops down on the couch and tries to distract himself. He can do that. He's great at keeping himself occupied. The next few hours are spent gaming, randomly cleaning small corners of his house when the motivation hits, cooking some recipe he's wanted to try for a while, and - yeah ok, he's cried a lot too. His head is pounding again by the time the sun sets. Downing a couple paracetamol and a glass of water, Lando takes a minute to prepare himself for the night to come. He can still feel it - the incessant craving for Oscar’s arms around him. He can physically feel the want to be held in his body. It's uncomfortable and incurable. He trudges back through to his room, making sure to draw the curtains closed, and curls up on his bed for the long night ahead of him.
--
The following days are spent much the same. Waking up far too early for the time he'd finally managed to fall asleep - mostly just passing out from exhaustion. He's felt a constant chill clinging to his skin, no matter how many hoodies he piles over himself. He feels cold and lonely. He knows he's not - he'd seen a bunch of good friends only a couple days before, yet he can't shake that feeling. He feels completely over and under stimulated all at once. It's like floating in limbo. He makes it through the days, distracting himself and talking to friends - talking to Oscar, even. But it's all just momentary. As soon as he closes messenger, it's like the light conversations had never even happened. He's not depressed. He's not even really sad, either. He doesn't feel numb. He just feels. Cold.
--
Factory day - or ‘Oscar day’, as his mind had nicknamed it - rolls around and he's feeling a subdued excitement. It's going to be a lot; it'll be very busy and full of so many people. It'll be a lot for someone who's spent the last week crying with the blinds closed - feeling fairly pathetic for falling apart over a hug, or lack thereof.
As he stumbles through the lobby to the main couch/waiting area, Oscar stands and stalks over to the entrance to greet him. The bright smile sitting on his lips seems to droop a little - brows creasing in the centre. “Are you okay, mate? Look a bit tired’s all.” It's not much, but it's filled with concern - genuine want to help Lando feel better, however he can. The Brit feels himself smile, wobbly, as he takes a deep breath. “Can I have a hug, Oscah? Like. A proper one?” The Aussie doesn't even reply - just steps forward and pulls Lando into his arms. His soft curls are tucked beneath Oscar's chin as he presses his cheek into the younger's chest, Oscar's arms wrapped tightly around him as he holds his teammate close by the waist. It's comforting and secure - strong arms holding him carefully. He can feel Oscar's concern spilling through the hug as care and support. Exhaling deeply, Lando feels his shoulder relax properly for the first time in a while. He lets himself smile and melt into the embrace. He really doesn't know how he'll live without Oscar's comfort wrapped around him 24/7, but maybe he can settle for the occasional ‘top up’ of perfect hugs. Things feel good; he finally feels right. He feels at home.
He feels warm.