Work Text:
The sound of laughter crackled through Oscar’s laptop speakers.
Lando’s laugh, specifically—loud, boyish, infuriatingly charming.
He was streaming again. Twitch chat flying. Max Fewtrell in the background, trash-talking his gameplay, the two of them bantering like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Oscar hadn’t meant to click on it.
He saw the notification by accident.
Then twenty minutes passed.
Then forty.
Now he was sitting on his couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees drawn up, just watching. Quietly. Like it was some kind of secret.
“Mate, why are you like this?” Lando was yelling at Max F on-screen, cracking up mid-sentence.
Oscar smiled without meaning to.
Then blushed—alone. In the dark. Like an idiot.
God, he was so lovely.
When the stream finally ended, the screen dimmed and left Oscar staring at his own reflection in the black monitor.
Silence.
And then… panic.
He picked up his phone. Opened Lando’s messages. Typed:
hey the stream was fun
Paused. Deleted it.
you were really funny today
Deleted that too.
He tossed the phone on the couch and covered his face with his hands.
Why was this so hard?
He just wanted to talk to him. To tell him he watched. That he missed hearing his voice. That it made something in his chest ease, just a little, after such a long, quiet week apart.
But would that be weird?
Would Lando think he was too much?
Did teammates even do this?
Oscar picked the phone back up.
Typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Nice stream tonight. I might’ve watched the whole thing.
He hovered over send.
Thumb shaking.
He could still back out. He could pretend he didn’t see it.
He could stay safe.
But God, he missed him.
Oscar hit send.
And immediately dropped the phone like it was radioactive.
Then he sat there, heart pounding, hoodie drawn tight, staring at the screen like it might explode.
Lando’s reply had come through within minutes—quickly, breezy, and so Lando.
haha really? what a nerd 😎 glad you liked it, was a good one lol
That was it.
One message. No follow-up. No “what made you watch?” or “miss you too” or even a teasing “you just like watching me, don’t you?”
Just lol.
Oscar’s thumb hovered over the phone again, blood rushing through his body like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
He stared at the message. Re-read it three times.
His mouth was serious. His brows were neutral. His hands were steady.
But his chest?
A mess.
Why was he smiling?
Why was his face warm?
Why did his entire body feel like it had been plugged into a socket?
He should just put the phone down.
Let the conversation end.
Lando wasn’t trying to keep it going. He wasn’t reading into it. It didn’t mean anything.
Oscar swallowed hard and stood up. Walked to the kitchen. Came back. Sat down.
Opened his phone again.
Paused. Thought.
do you have any plans this weekend?
He stared at it.
Deleted it.
if you’re around, I was thinking maybe we could—
Deleted it.
His heart was racing now. It didn’t make sense. They were teammates. Friends. Close. It wasn’t weird hanging out.
Except… it was.
Because every time Lando got close, every time he leaned his head on Oscar’s shoulder during a plane ride, or grabbed his hand mid-laugh, or teased him in front of cameras—Oscar felt something. Something wrong and right at the same time.
And Lando was always like that.
Touchy. Loud. Magnetic.
With everyone.
He’s not doing anything special with you. That’s just Lando.
Oscar sat back on the couch, hands in his hoodie pocket now, staring at the ceiling like it might answer the question for him.
What even is this feeling?
He stayed on the couch for a while and it was like his body didn’t quite fit anymore. His knee was bouncing. His phone rested face-down beside him. Like it had betrayed him by being too quiet.
He should leave it alone.
He’d already sent a text. Got a reply. That was enough.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
He wanted to talk to Lando again. Wanted to say more. He missed him—not in the loud, dramatic way Lando missed people—but in the quiet ache of someone whose days felt too long without a familiar face.
He opened the chat again.
Stared at the last message:
haha really? what a nerd 😎 glad you liked it, was a good one lol
Oscar inhaled. Typed.
you know for someone who can’t aim, you’re surprisingly watchable.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
was it the gameplay or the forehead that made the stream go viral?
Deleted it.
His chest ached now.
Finally, he settled on something—cheeky enough to match Lando, but soft underneath.
entertainment value aside… you doing anything this weekend?
He hovered. Breathed.
Then added—quickly, like ripping off a bandage:
we could hang out if you’re around. just a thought.
And hit send.
The moment the message disappeared, Oscar closed the app like it burned him.
Put the phone down again. Stood up. Paced.
God, what if it was too much?
What if Lando read it and sighed?
What if he thought Oscar was being clingy?
They already saw each other every weekend. Every shoot. Every sim session.
Surely Lando wanted space. Wanted someone else’s voice in his ear for once.
Oscar was halfway through rehearsing how to play it off—”haha just kidding, I’ve got plans anyway”—when his phone buzzed.
He froze.
Picked it up.
One message.
yea sure. come over whenever
Oscar blinked.
No teasing. No weirdness. Just yes.
And in Lando’s typical way—easy. Open. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Oscar didn’t realize he was smiling until his phone screen dimmed and reflected his face back at him.
—
Oscar rang the doorbell with hands that didn’t look shaky—but God, they were.
His heart was a quiet riot in his chest.
Still, on the outside, he was calm. Serious. A little awkward, maybe—but always Oscar.
The door swung open.
“There he is!” Lando’s face lit up with that boyish, chaotic smile.
He was laughing before Oscar even said anything. “Took you long enough.”
Oscar managed a small grin. “Didn’t realize there was a time limit.”
“There’s always a time limit when I’ve got snacks waiting.”
They fell into rhythm like they’d done it a thousand times.
Video games first—Lando shouting at the screen, half-laughing, half-threatening the controller. Oscar barely tried, letting himself smile more than he usually would. He lost the match on purpose. Twice.
Then came scrolling through Instagram reels, both of them crying laughing at dumb videos, heads tilted toward each other on the couch.
Oscar had been afraid it might be weird, quiet, too exposed.
But it wasn’t.
With Lando, it never was.
It was easy. Effortless.
Lando cracked him open like it was nothing.
Pulled the smile from him like it had always been his to take.
And Oscar let him.
Even when Lando wasn’t looking, Oscar kept glancing—soft, lingering glances he didn’t mean to make.
He watched the way Lando laughed, the way he threw his head back when something really got him. The way his eyes squinted just before a joke. The way he tapped Oscar’s knee with his knuckles when he got too excited.
God, he was lovely.
It was late now.
Takeout boxes were stacked on the kitchen counter.
Their phones were in hand again, both leaning into the couch, still laughing, still teasing. But Lando’s energy was clearly winding down.
Oscar could see it in the way he moved a little slower.
The way he blinked just a little longer between reels.
But he never stopped. Not Lando.
He didn’t crack.
Still, Oscar noticed. And despite every part of him wanting to stay, wanting this night to stretch on longer…
“I should probably head home. It’s getting late.”
Lando didn’t protest. He just chuckled and nodded, still grinning. “You old man, go get your rest.”
They walked to the door together, still trading jokes. Still laughing.
Oscar stepped out, turning halfway, still chuckling at something Lando had just said.
Then—suddenly—
Lando grabbed his hand.
Just gently. But enough to stop him in his tracks.
Oscar's head turned, startled.
Lando gave his hand a tug, spun him around, then dropped it like it was nothing.
Tapped a finger against his chest.
“You muppet. It was fun. Had a great time. See you Monday. Gym session—don’t forget, don’t be late.”
He said it like it was normal. Like pulling Oscar back, touching him like that, wasn’t shattering.
Oscar blinked, words stuck in his throat.
“Uh—yeah. Haha. Of course. See you then.”
And then he turned and walked down the driveway, trying not to let his knees give out.
The door shut softly behind him.
Oscar slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door—
And broke.
Not in a bad way. Not in a painful way, or sad.
He just started laughing—full body, breathless laughter.
The kind that shook out of him without control.
Not because it was funny.
But because he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
The nerves. The joy. The confusion. The touch.
The stupid way Lando looked at him like that was just normal.
Oscar leaned back in his seat, heart pounding.
He didn’t know what this was. He didn't know what he was feeling.
But he was definitely feeling something.
Oscar drove home with the windows cracked just enough to let the night air in.
The laughter still lingered in his chest, warm and light, but quieter now. Fading.
He gripped the wheel a little tighter.
His hand still remembered Lando’s.
That stupid, casual little tug. The finger tapping in his chest like it was just something they did.
He replayed it in his mind—over and over.
The timing. The look. The way Lando smiled like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just reached out and touched Oscar in a way that made something stutter inside him.
It didn’t mean anything, he told himself.
Because with Lando… that’s just how he was.
Loud. Free. Unfiltered.
He touched people. He joked. He laughed with everyone.
Oscar wasn’t special.
But still… he hadn’t stopped smiling since it happened.
The drive was short, but it felt longer in the way thoughts stretched time.
He kept picturing Lando—shirt slightly wrinkled, eyes tired but bright, sitting on the couch beside him, laughing at reels like they didn’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders every other weekend.
Oscar parked outside his place. Let the engine run for a second too long.
He leaned back in the seat and let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know what this is,” he mumbled to no one. “But I think I’d do it again.”
I want to.
He reached for his phone.
Opened Lando’s chat.
Typed:
hey, we should do that more often. goodnight 😊
Paused.
Smiled.
Didn’t send it.
Instead, he sat there for a long time.
Thinking about how gym would feel on Monday.
If Lando would say something. If he’d act like nothing happened.
If Oscar would be able to look at him without remembering how it felt to be pulled back—not with words, but with a hand.
He shook his head. Laughed softly at himself.
“You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, “it’s whatever.”
Then climbed out of the car and walked inside.
Still smiling.
Still confused.
Still warm.