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The Monaco podium still felt like a dream.
The lights of the Principality reflected off the trophy’s shine as Lando stepped down from the platform, his hair tousled by the sea breeze and his cheeks still flushed with excitement. The champagne had dried on the collar of his suit, and his legs were buzzing with that familiar mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. He had won. Finally. In Monaco. That didn’t happen every day.
Oscar caught up to him right in the mixed zone, giving him a light pat on the back.
“Good job, mate. You deserved it.”
Lando smiled, not saying much. Not because he didn’t want to, but because his mind was already halfway into the night.
Then came the press round. Journalists, flashes, repeated questions.
What does it feel like to win here?
Did you expect this result?
Happy to close the gap with your teammate?
“Well, yeah, it’s always a relief, we all want to win here,” Lando replied honestly. “Oscar and I are good friends and we try not to think about that, but once we’re in the car, everything’s different.”
(...)
Back in the paddock, on their way to the hospitality, Lando mentioned his plan in passing, almost as if it wasn’t something he’d been organizing for weeks:
“Party at the usual old bar. The one with the blue lights and the sticky couches. No excuses accepted.”
“You actually managed to book that place?” asked Carlos, surprised, as he wiped his neck with a towel.
“Obviously. I’ve got my contacts,” Lando replied proudly. “Besides, it’s for me. No one says no to a Monaco winner.”
Franco, a little further back, raised a shy hand.
“And for me too, right?” he winked at Lando. “We’ve gotta celebrate that I finished my first race of the season.”
“Obviously,” said Lando. “It’s your unofficial welcome. Oscar’s buying your first round.”
“Me? Why?” Oscar hadn’t expected Lando to say his name, his gaze had been fixed on nowhere in particular.
“Because you finished third, mate. Every time I finish behind you, we go out to dinner and I’m the one who pays. You can’t say no to me.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Not really. Not when Lando was looking at him like that, with that wide smile and eyes shining like everything was perfect. And for a moment, Oscar wanted to believe it was.
The night was full of promise.
But first, a nap.
All the drivers had agreed to take a shower and sleep for a couple of hours before heading to the bar, just to make sure they recharged after such an exhausting day.
Lando and Oscar took a relaxing shower first, then left the paddock together since they were sharing a hotel room. The ride was quiet and calm. They talked a bit about the race, but not much. During the week they always had a day assigned to review their results and keep planning strategies to stay ahead in the championship.
The hotel room was modern, quiet, and completely bathed in the afternoon sun. Two double beds waited, perfectly made. One of them, right next to the large window, was lit as if the sun had decided to camp there forever.
“Do you want that one?” Oscar asked, pointing at the sunlit bed.
Lando stepped closer, squinting at the brightness.
“No way. It’s like sleeping inside a lamp. I’d melt.”
Oscar thought for a moment, looking at the other bed, farther from the window, in the shade, and clearly more inviting.
“What if we share that one? It’s just a nap.” He faked as much casualness as he could, but his eyes avoided meeting the older driver’s.
“Sure. There’s plenty of space anyway,” Lando replied, shrugging with a casual tone he didn’t fully feel.
They both knew they could sleep separately, but neither insisted.
They got settled with an almost comical awkwardness: one adjusted the pillow for far too long, the other folded the blanket unnecessarily. Lando took off his shirt without thinking, and Oscar tried not to look. Oscar removed his watch with absurd slowness, and Lando tried not to comment on how pointless that was for a nap that wouldn’t last more than two hours.
The mattress creaked as they both lay down, back to back, carefully maintaining the space between them.
“Isn’t it a bit... cramped?” Oscar asked after a moment.
“Do you want me to move to the other bed?”
“No. I mean… if you’re going to do it, do it now before I fall asleep. If you wake me up later, I’ll have to kill you.”
Lando smiled, unseen in the dim light.
“How considerate of you.”
“I’m an excellent teammate,” Oscar mumbled jokingly.
Silence.
“Oh yeah, you’re the best.” Lando’s reply was sincere, though Oscar didn’t know it.
Oscar didn’t answer. But he didn’t move either.
And so, between soft breathing, shared warmth, and unspoken thoughts, the nap began. Neither of them fell asleep right away.
But neither moved to the other bed, either.
(...)
Oscar was the first to wake up. He looked at his phone, afraid he had overslept, only to realize that just over an hour and a half had passed. He was still in the same position he’d fallen asleep in: arms crossed over his chest, lying on his left shoulder, with his back turned to Lando.
After a few minutes of hesitation, he gathered the courage to turn and see if Lando had woken up or not.
Clearly, he hadn’t. Lando loved sleeping, he had an almost magical ability to fall asleep anywhere: on the floor of the motorhome, curled up in the backseat of a car, or even sitting upright in a noisy paddock room. He never missed a chance to rest, especially in the early mornings when they met before starting the day. What he had done, though, was turn over, now facing Oscar.
He smiled at the sight before him, Lando's curls completely messy, his long eyelashes visible from that distance, his mouth slightly open, occasionally letting out small snores or long sighs.
Oscar always took advantage of the moments when Lando was distracted, asleep, or lost in thought to look at him. He did it silently, with a devotion that bordered on painful. He had memorized every mole on his face, every expression line left behind by easy laughter, every tiny scar that told a story Oscar didn’t dare ask about.
He knew him the way someone studies a work of art, certain they’ll never be allowed to touch it.
And he felt like he could die of love every time he saw him.
It was a love that had no place. A love silenced, forbidden, out of time.
And he hated it.
God, how he hated himself for it.
He hated himself for getting carried away, for letting his feelings grow out of control, for needing Lando in a way he couldn’t even explain without shame.
When he was offered the seat as McLaren’s second driver, he didn’t hesitate. He accepted instantly. Not just because he had no intention of staying at Alpine, but because he knew who the first driver would be. He knew it would be Lando.
And against everything reason begged of him, his heart pleaded for him to say yes.
Before that, they had only crossed paths a few times, brief greetings in the paddock hallways, a polite smile, a passing “hey.” Oscar was almost certain Lando didn’t even know his name back then.
But he didn’t care.
From the first time he saw him in person —so alive, so radiant, so damn charming— he knew he was doomed.
Those bright green eyes, full of life, and that mischievous smile that felt like a promise.
And he knew he had screwed up.
Because it wasn’t good for him. Because in that world, there was no room for what he felt.
Teammates were, at best, temporary allies. At worst, silent enemies.
There was no space for tenderness. Much less for longing.
And still, Oscar broke the most basic rule from day one.
Even before he had a guaranteed seat in Formula 1.
Even when he was just another spectator, dreaming of making it.
He was already looking at him with that kind of love you only feel once in a lifetime.
And he already knew he wasn’t going to come out of it unscathed.
Lando shifted in place, squeezed his eyes shut, and cleared his throat. Oscar knew him well enough to tell he was about to wake up, so he turned his head in the opposite direction, closed his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.
The older one stirred even more, letting out a loud yawn and rubbing his eyes with his right hand. He took a moment to arrange his half-asleep thoughts and finally checked the time on his phone.
He relaxed a little upon realizing they still had time to sleep, and seriously considered the option, but he knew that if he gave in, they’d end up being late.
He sighed and looked over at Oscar. The younger one was still asleep, but Lando knew his sleep was light, the slightest movement or sound would wake him. It was as if he was always on alert, like he wasn’t allowed to relax.
Lando watched him for a while without moving, barely breathing, knowing any noise would wake him.
And then, like so many times before, he felt that familiar tug in his chest. A mix of tenderness, fear, and a kind of affection he didn’t know how to hold back. Loving Oscar was so easy. So natural, so inevitable.
What am I supposed to do with this? he thought, with a sad smile. He loved him. Not in a casual way, not as some fleeting impulse, but with an intensity that sometimes made him dizzy.
He loved him when he laughed with that contagious laugh that filled every room. He loved him when he got mad over silly things. He loved him like this, asleep, unaware of the mess he left behind in him.
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at him again. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of his hair with the tip of his fingers, as if he could treasure the moment without breaking it.
I wish you knew, he thought. I wish saying it were as easy as feeling it.
But there was no time left for mourning unspoken feelings, they had to get up.
“Osc…” he whispered softly, not wanting to startle him. “Osc, we have to get up.”
“Mm?” Oscar, perfectly committed to his role of just-woken-up, opened his eyes slowly and blinked as if the light in the room bothered him.
“We’re gonna be late,” Lando said with a pout. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s okay…” his voice came out hoarse, making his act all the more convincing.
They sat up in bed almost at the same time, both with puffy eyes, staring at the floor as they gathered the will to leave that comfortable bed.
Oscar was the first to head to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face to clear his thoughts and tried to tame the hair sticking out in every direction.
When he came out, Lando had already put his shirt back on and was standing there, stretching his arms behind his head.
"How do you even sleep with your arms crossed? I tried during my nap and now my arms feel all stiff," the older one complained, grimacing in pain, which made Oscar laugh.
"I don’t know, as a kid I always slept hugging my teddy bear, and I guess the habit just stuck," he shrugged.
"So you're saying you like sleeping while hugging something?"
"I suppose," he replied absentmindedly, walking over to his suitcase, ready to look for an outfit for the night.
"You could’ve hugged me if you wanted to," Lando said, just to tease him, but deep down, he was obviously hoping for a response.
Jokes were the best way to say things, weren’t they?
Oscar felt like he was suffocating, but he didn’t cough, that would give him away. Instead, he took a few seconds to pull himself together while pretending to look for clothes.
He finally settled on the response that best described him, someone who got nervous over a few simple, joking words.
“You’re an idiot,” he said with a laugh, as naturally as he could, tossing one of the many team t-shirts at the older driver.
“Ouch, I’ve never been rejected so fiercely,” Lando replied with a laugh, catching the shirt before it hit his face. He then stood up and headed toward the bathroom.
“Someone had to bring you back to reality.”
A comfortable silence fell between them as they rummaged through their suitcases, searching for something that didn’t have the team logo on it, which wasn’t easy. After all, during race weekends, most of their clothes were related to the paddock: merchandise, uniforms, technical shirts.
They didn’t spend too much time or effort on it. In the end, they both went for the basics: black jeans, comfortable and safe. What set them apart was their choice of tops, where each let a bit of their style show through.
Oscar went with a black shirt, simple but elegant, which he rolled up to his elbows with a casual gesture. Lando, on the other hand, chose a fitted white tank top and paired it with a black leather jacket, giving his look a rebellious edge.
“How do I look?” Oscar asked as he came out of the bathroom, already changed and styled. “Am I stunning, gorgeous, irresistible?” he joked.
“Yeah, as always.” Lando had to fight the urge to slap himself after saying those words, he wasn’t supposed to say them out loud, they were meant to stay as a thought.
Oscar smiled, slightly embarrassed as he felt his cheeks flush. Still, he couldn’t take it seriously when it was probably a joke, so once again, he used humor as a defense.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He gave himself one last glance in the closet mirror and ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m never saying anything nice to you again,” Lando said with a mock-proud expression. “You don’t deserve my compliments.”
Oscar burst out laughing and glanced at the time on his watch.
“Come on, dummy. We’re running late and I’m starving.”
Lando rolled his eyes and grabbed his car keys. They both made sure they had everything they needed, and finally left the hotel room.
(...)
After a lively dinner filled with laughter, exaggerated stories, and inside jokes, the group naturally began to disperse. Conversations slowly drifted toward the dance floor and the bar, as if carried by some invisible current.
The bar, reserved exclusively for them and any guests they wanted to bring —though no one had bothered to do so— offered a relaxed, pressure-free atmosphere. They were among friends, free from curious stares or intrusive phones, which allowed them to truly unwind for once.
Oscar and Lando had settled at the bar, each with a drink in hand, away from the noise of the dance floor. Lando was speaking enthusiastically about a new video game he’d recently started competing in semi-professionally, gesturing animatedly as he described the levels, strategies, and his favorite characters.
Oscar, though he didn’t fully understand everything Lando was saying, listened with a constant smile. He didn’t mind not keeping up with the technical details; what he really enjoyed was seeing Lando like this: relaxed, happy, eyes sparkling with excitement. There was something contagious in his voice, and Oscar felt he could stay there all night, just listening.
Suddenly, a new figure appeared on the scene, completely diverting Lando’s attention.
“Hey.” Franco stood in front of them with that wide, contagious smile of his, the kind that seemed to light up any place he walked into.
Lando’s eyes lit up instantly, as if something inside him responded just by seeing him. Beside him, Oscar felt his own smile stiffen, frozen in place where it had been a moment ago.
“I came to ask if you wanted to dance,” Franco said, looking straight at Lando, with a hint of shyness that made Oscar lower his gaze for a moment.
“Of course, sounds fun. Let’s go.” Lando didn’t hesitate for even a second, slipping off the high stool with a light jump, his excitement clear in his voice. Then he turned to Oscar. “Wanna come?”
“No… I’m not good at dancing. You guys go ahead,” he replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You sure? I don’t want to leave you here alone…” Lando said, his tone gentler.
Before Oscar could answer, Carlos appeared, approaching the bar with his empty glass in hand.
“I won’t be alone, I’ll be with Carlos,” Oscar blurted out, not thinking much before saying it.
Carlos raised his eyebrows, surprised to suddenly hear his name dropped into the middle of the conversation.
“Are you guys talking about me?” he asked, settling into the seat that had just been vacated.
“Lando and Franco want to dance, but they don’t want to ‘leave me alone’.” Oscar made air quotes with his fingers, trying to sound casual.
“Actually, I didn’t say anything. It’s Lando who doesn’t want to leave you alone,” Franco clarified, with a smile that wasn’t entirely friendly.
The comment dropped like a stone into the conversation, and the silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable.
“Good thing I showed up. Oscarcito won’t be alone,” Carlos chimed in cheerfully, breaking the tension with a wide smile as he patted Oscar on the shoulder.
Lando and Franco walked off laughing, disappearing into the growing crowd on the dance floor.
The younger man slowly lowered his gaze to his glass, and this time, he didn’t bother to fake a smile.
Oscar stayed with Carlos, but didn’t say anything for several long minutes. He pretended to listen to the Spaniard’s comments, nodded now and then, but his gaze was fixed far away, on the dance floor.
Franco and Lando were already among the crowd. Lando didn’t usually dance, not like that, not with that kind of free laughter, his shoulders relaxed, his body moving with the rhythm without thinking too much. But there he was, spinning around as Franco jokingly took his hand, as if it were a bolero instead of the electronic music pounding against the walls.
Oscar felt a knot form in his stomach.
He wasn’t sure what hurt more: Franco’s ease in getting close to Lando, or the thought that maybe he could’ve been there too, if only he had dared sooner. Sometimes it felt like Lando gave him signals. Other times —like now— it was impossible not to feel invisible.
And yet…
At one point, Lando stopped moving. He was still laughing, eyes squinting under the spinning lights, but his head turned slightly. He searched through the crowd. And he found him.
Oscar’s eyes were already on him.
Lando didn’t look away. It wasn’t one of those fleeting, polite glances. He looked at him. Held his gaze. As if speaking without words.
Oscar felt his chest tighten. He wanted to look away, to pretend nothing had happened, but he couldn’t. His fingers gripped the glass tightly, as if something inside him needed to hold onto something real, even if it was just glass.
From afar, Franco said something else. Lando responded, but his smile wasn’t the same. He kept dancing a bit more, sure, but he wasn’t fully there anymore. Every now and then, when Franco wasn’t looking, he glanced back toward the bar.
Oscar noticed. He felt it.
And that only confused him more.
Carlos interrupted his train of thought with a gentle elbow nudge.
“You know you can go, right? You don’t have to stay here if you want to be over there.”
Oscar shook his head, just barely.
“No. I don’t want to… interrupt.”
“Interrupt what? A choreo?”
Oscar laughed briefly, without joy.
Carlos looked at him again with that mix of patience and mischief he used when he didn’t want to push, but wasn’t going to let him keep running away either.
“Oscar, seriously. You can go dance. No one’s going to kick you off the floor. No one’s going to get upset if you’re there.”
Oscar shook his head again, more firmly this time.
“I don’t want… to see them that close. Not right now.”
Carlos watched him in silence. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His tone dropped, becoming more sincere.
“Is it because of Lando?”
Oscar clenched his jaw, trying to hold back something he could no longer hide. The glass was still in his hand, but he hadn’t felt it in a while.
“I just can’t take it,” he blurted out, without thinking. “I can’t stand seeing Lando with Franco. It drives me crazy. And not because of silly jealousy… it’s just that I like him. I’ve liked him for a long time. And I wish I were the one who made him laugh like that. The one who had the right to touch his shoulder without needing an excuse.”
The silence that followed was different. Heavier. More revealing.
Oscar blinked, as if only then realizing what he had just said. He looked at Carlos, almost in a panic.
“I didn’t mean to—” he began.
Carlos raised a hand, stopping him with a half-smile, not mocking, but full of understanding.
“Oscarcito… everyone knows. Except Lando.”
Oscar frowned.
“What do you mean ‘everyone knows’?”
Carlos shrugged casually.
“It’s not that hard to notice. The way you look at him, the way you talk about him, how your voice changes when he’s around. The thing is, Lando lives in his own head. He never notices anything unless someone spells it out. And you spend your life waiting for him to figure it out.”
Oscar looked down, swallowing hard. His cheeks were burning. It was ridiculous. He was trained to handle the pressure of millions of people, to drive cars at 300 kilometers per hour… but he couldn’t handle this.
Carlos leaned in a bit more, like he was sharing strategy before a qualifying lap.
“Let me be clear, just in case it wasn’t: you have a chance. A good one. But you’ll be waiting forever if you don’t make a move.”
Oscar hesitated, still caught between fear and desire.
“And what if I’m wrong?”
Carlos smiled, now with a touch of brotherly tenderness.
“Then at least you were brave. But something tells me… you’re not wrong.”
Oscar looked back toward the dance floor.
Lando wasn’t dancing anymore.
He was standing still, like he was waiting for something.
And he was still looking at him.
Franco was no longer by his side, Oscar spotted him near Pierre and Yuki, chatting casually with them.
Carlos silently watched as Oscar lowered his gaze, caught in that whirlwind of emotions he barely dared to name.
But what Oscar didn’t know —or refused to see— was that Lando looked at him differently too.
Carlos had noticed. He noticed it all the time.
In the way Lando’s voice changed when Oscar spoke. In the way he searched for him with his eyes after every race, even before getting out of the car. In that awkward smile that only came out for him, different from the one he gave everyone else.
Yes, Lando felt something too.
But Carlos didn’t say it. It wasn’t his story to tell. He only hoped that, for once, those two would dare to truly see each other.
So he simply smiled, patted Oscar’s shoulder one more time, and murmured:
“Go, before the night wins.”
And the younger man looked back at the dance floor, where Lando was still waiting for him, without realizing he was also waiting for himself.
He took the last sip of his whiskey —it was horribly warm and watery because the ice had long since melted— but it helped him gather some courage.
He set the empty glass on the bar and looked at Carlos with determination.
“Thank you,” he whispered with a small smile.
“Make it count, Oscarcito.”
Oscar took a deep breath and forced himself to square his shoulders as he crossed the dance floor, heart pounding in his chest. He walked toward Lando, who was waiting with a different smile, one Oscar could’ve sworn he’d never seen before.
Or maybe he had… but had never allowed himself to notice it.
“Dance with me?” he asked, with a nervous, slightly shaky smile.
“I thought you didn’t know how to dance,” Lando replied, tilting his head with an amused look.
“You could teach me.”
Lando suddenly leaned in, so close that Oscar held his breath. He stood on his toes and whispered in his ear, his voice brushing against his skin with unexpected warmth.
“I’ll let you in on a secret…” he murmured. “I don’t know how to dance either.”
Oscar let out a soft laugh, almost incredulous, and the tension that had filled him turned into something heavier, more electric.
“Then,” he said, with a barely-contained smile, “we can learn together.”
They moved even closer. Their bodies didn’t touch, but they were dangerously near, close enough to feel the heat radiating from each other, close enough that one wrong move would result in contact. The music was upbeat, completely out of sync with the emotional weight settling between them, but neither of them cared. They moved awkwardly, out of rhythm, inside a bubble that seemed to shield them from the rest of the world.
They didn’t need the moment to be perfect.
They just needed each other.
From a nearby table, Charles and Max watched them with a mix of curiosity and quiet excitement. A few meters away, Carlos had joined George and Alex, murmuring between laughs about who would make the first move. They were making low-stakes bets, speaking in hushed voices, as if afraid to break the spell that had formed around Oscar and Lando.
But there, in the middle of the noise and lights, they only looked at each other. No more nervous smiles or empty words. Just trembling closeness, a charged silence begging to be broken by something more than the movement of their bodies.
Oscar looked down for a second, fighting the smile threatening to escape. His hands were trembling, even though they still hadn’t touched. It was ridiculous how nervous he was, but what shook him most wasn’t the closeness, the music, or the possibility of a kiss. It was the memory that, just minutes earlier, the same Lando who now looked at him like no one else existed… had been dancing with Franco.
And laughing with him.
And shining with that same smile Oscar secretly treasured.
His jaw tensed at the thought, though he tried to hide it. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Not now that Lando was so close, that he could see the flutter of his eyelashes with each blink, that he could hear his uneven breathing between songs.
“You okay?” Lando asked softly, almost as if he could read his mind.
Oscar nodded, though he avoided answering with words. If he spoke, he was afraid he’d say something he shouldn’t.
“Is it about Franco?”
Oscar’s heart skipped a beat. Lando was looking at him intently, with a seriousness that clashed with the chaos of lights around them. It wasn’t a casual question. It was direct. Uncomfortable.
“No,” he lied, looking down again.
Lando smiled, tinged with sadness.
“It’s just… you seemed off when he showed up. Before that, we were doing so well, and then your eyes looked sad.” His hand itched to brush Oscar’s cheek, but he held back. “Franco and I are just friends.”
“Yeah, I know. I just… needed a moment,” Oscar murmured, lifting his gaze. Their eyes met again, and this time, he didn’t look away.
They were so close now that the slightest lean from either one of them would be enough. The silence became heavy, almost unbearable. The music continued, the others kept laughing and dancing, but inside the bubble they’d created, there was only the two of them.
And the tension, pulsing like a second skin.
Lando didn’t move, but his eyes dropped slowly to Oscar’s lips. It lasted just a moment, a breath suspended in midair, but Oscar felt it like a jolt straight to the gut. Something inside him shattered and lit up all at once. Jealousy, fear, desire, all crashing in the same place.
“Lando…” he whispered.
And for the first time, it was Oscar who leaned in.
He closed the distance between them, his hands shaking violently, his body on high alert in case the older one decided to pull away or dodge him.
But he didn’t.
Lando closed his eyes and let himself be kissed, lifting his arms to wrap them around Oscar’s neck, just as he had wanted to do so many times but never dared.
The room erupted in cheers. All the drivers had their eyes on them, as if they were the main event.
“It was about time!” someone shouted from the crowd. Oscar would swear it was Esteban, but he wasn’t completely sure.
George and Carlos high-fived, celebrating that they had correctly guessed Oscar would be the one to make the first move. Alex just rolled his eyes, though a smile danced on his lips.
Laughing, the two protagonists pulled apart slightly, and Oscar wrapped an arm around Lando’s waist in a possessive gesture that made him smile.
“Does privacy not exist in this place?” Lando asked, his cheeks flushed.
“No,” Max replied with a shrug. “We were all just waiting for you two idiots to stop flirting already. It was painful to watch.”
Laughter broke out again, and Oscar and Lando looked at each other with a matching mix of blushes and relief.
Little by little —and to their great fortune— everyone returned to their own conversations.
Then, as if someone had read the moment, the music shifted to a slower tempo. Lando suspected one of their friends had gone to talk to the DJ to request it, but deep down, he was grateful.
Now they swayed gently, body against body. Oscar’s arms wrapped around Lando’s waist, and Lando’s rested around Oscar’s neck.
“And now?” the younger one asked softly.
“Do you want to leave?” Lando replied playfully, earning a mock-annoyed look and another eye roll from Oscar.
“Idiot.”
“And that’s how you like me.”
“It’s true,” Oscar said with a smile. “A lot.”
Lando hid his smile against Oscar’s neck, realizing he was just the right height to do so.
And he loved that.
“We don’t need to rush, right?” Oscar murmured.
“No,” Lando replied, slowly pulling away from his hiding spot. “I… I’ve never felt like this with anyone. And I don’t want to mess it up. Not with you.”
Oscar had to hold back the giddy sigh that nearly escaped him.
“I feel the same,” he confessed, shrugging slightly. “Just so you know.”
“God… I’ve fallen for a man of few words. Poor me.”
Oscar rolled his eyes again, amused by the comment.
“And I fell for the most dramatic person on Earth.”
They both laughed, completely enchanted by each other’s words, and what they meant.
In love.
They were. And that was almost too much for anyone’s heart.
They kissed again, this time with the peace of knowing there was nothing left to hide.
Another round of applause and cheers erupted around them, pulling another laugh from their lips.
“There really is no such thing as privacy in this place,” Lando murmured, just inches from Oscar’s lips.
“Definitely not.”
The difference was that this time, they ignored everyone else.
And took much longer to pull apart.