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No, Oscar wouldn’t consider himself a devout fan of Lando Norris, popstar princess with a set of golden pipes so sparkly that he is actually rumored to be a fairy.
Oscar definitely did not spend hours of a day scrolling through what people had to say about Lando on the Internet. Nor did he freak out in his own calm, collected way when tour dates were released, only to freak out again when he was placed at number 814 in the queue to buy tickets for himself and his sister, who is much more of a fan than him.
By far.
Hattie wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if she knew that Oscar has every single one of Lando’s lyrics memorized, or that he has post notifications turned on for Lando on both Instagram and Twitter so he doesn’t miss a single photo taken of his beautiful, beloved face.
So maybe Oscar is the textbook definition of a devout fan. Just one keyboard warrior account away from being a stan.
(He might be there already. God knows even Lando’s haters can’t get enough of his pretty smile, and Oscar isn’t going to hold himself back from a snarky comment.)
But he’s only one in a crowd of thousands cheering and screaming for Lando.
“Oh my God,” Oscar mutters under his breath, resolutely ignoring the smirk his sister shoots his way. She’s doing him a solid by recording Lando’s entrance, so Oscar is free to grip the armrests and witness the first moment that his idol—and he’s man enough to admit it—steps out onto the stage with his own two eyes.
Oscar nearly forgets to blink as he watches Lando saunter out from beneath the lifted panel of the backdrop in a silky black outfit and gaze out at his audience. Not for the first time, Oscar wishes he managed to snag a seat closer to the front, even if it meant a larger dent in his wallet. Anything to see Lando’s face from up close without relying on the massive screens on either side of the stage.
He would love to gaze wistfully into Lando’s pretty eyes and admire the length of his lashes from below.
Instead, all he can do is fiddle with the freebie bracelet that another fan handed his sister, who promptly handed it to him. It’s cute. Alternating fluorescent yellow and black beads spelling out Lando’s name, completed with a little heart.
Hattie reaches over and thwacks Oscar’s back to snap him out of his Lando-induced stupor.
Uncalled for, jeez.
Especially since he goes right back to staring the moment Lando opens his mouth to begin the first song. It’s an electropop number, upbeat yet entrancing. Perhaps the fairy rumors are backed by evidence after all.
Lando’s slinky shirt and pants that somehow cling to his hips so perfectly as he executes the choreo certainly help make him look ethereal. Untouchable, even.
The first song melts into the second, and Oscar, much to his own embarrassment, sings along. Quietly. At a respectable volume. Because he doesn’t want to ruin the experience for the people around him and because hearing Lando’s voice takes precedence.
At the end of the third song, Lando breathes a little extra loudly into his signature yellow microphone, cheekily miming exhaustion. Oscar can’t help the smile on his face as Lando waves at the crowd with both hands, nearly sending his microphone flying in his excitement.
“Melbourne! It’s been a while since I’ve been in this corner of the world,” Lando says, grinning. Oscar swears his heart skips a beat.
He hates to admit it, but he’s had a massive, incurable crush on Lando for years. And witnessing Lando smile like that—the tiny gap between his teeth, the dimples, the way his eyes curve—only has him sliding further down in his seat.
Onstage, Lando looks a little surprised and then incredibly amused by the sudden barking coming from the crowd.
“Uh… meow?”
Feral. The crowd goes feral.
Oscar can already smell the edits coming. He grips his armrests tighter until his knuckles go white.
Someone in the audience screams in the middle of whatever Lando’s saying, abruptly causing him to stop. Jokingly, he asks, “Are you okay?”
How can he be so… silly onstage and then slip back into his persona as a performer so easily? One moment, he’s interacting with the crowd, and the next, he’s adjusting his in-ear monitor and singing like a siren luring a ship’s passengers to their watery graves. In a good way. He can lure Oscar anywhere anytime he wants.
And the way he moves. He’s fully clothed, but the slow undulation of his hips oozes more sex appeal than most can hope for. Oscar swallows thickly. His tongue feels two sizes too big in his mouth.
Just seconds ago, Lando was meowing at everyone.
Now it looks like he’s doing his best to get pregnant on the collective desire in the venue.
“Oscar, I know you’re not thinking normal thoughts,” his sister hisses, poking him. “Get it together.”
“I’m so normal,” Oscar croaks back.
He’s normal when Lando all but grinds on his backup dancers. He’s normal when Lando teases his fans for their silly dance moves, looking stupid as he does so but also incredibly endearing. He’s normal when he finally forgets about the cringeworthy parts of being a fan and shouts for an encore along with the rest of the crowd.
Oscar is so normal when Lando comes back out, wearing a hoodie that he swears he’s seen before.
On his bedroom floor.
Um.
Hattie pokes his arm again. “Wait, Oscar, is that your-”
But he isn’t listening, too busy swooning over Lando’s voice when he should be touching grass.
Lando meows at his audience again right before he disappears from the stage, causing the crowd to titter at his antics. And then it’s over. Oscar remains rooted in his seat for a moment, feeling both floaty with elation and sad about the finality of it all. Maybe if he stares at the empty stage hard enough, Lando will appear again and sing or make fun of the partners of his fans, who spent the entire time cluelessly bobbing their heads along to his music while wishing they were playing Call of Duty instead.
Nobody in their right mind would choose video games over Lando’s concert.
“Come on. We can meet him out by the entrance. Post-concert depression isn’t a joke after all, is it?”
“Reckon it isn’t.”
Extracting his phone, Oscar fires off a quick text, mentioning the whereabouts of his university hoodie, and a short while later, he startles when a small hooded figure latches onto his arm. It takes him a moment and a familiar tuft of curly hair poking out before he relaxes. “You know, it’s really weird to wear sunglasses at this time of day.”
“Oscar,” Lando whines, clinging tighter. “It took me forever just to escape Jon’s evil clutches. M’not taking any chances of anyone recognizing me.”
Getting recognized? At the aftermath of his own concert? His logic is so strange.
But then again, that’s probably why he’s wearing the sunglasses and hoodie.
Lando mashes his face into Oscar’s bicep. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” He pokes his head back out and grins at Oscar’s sister. “Hi, Hattie!”
“Hey, Lando. Oscar didn’t tell you because he’s an idiot and wanted to drop a whole paycheck for the experience. And to surprise you.” Hattie rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you both at home. Don’t get too lost in each other’s eyes.”
“I could’ve gotten you VIP seats for free if I’d known you were coming,” Lando mumbles, pouting. The jut of his bottom lip is so cute that Oscar has no choice but to lean in and kiss him discreetly.
The perks of being his boyfriend.
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”
Lando grumbles some more, not once letting go of Oscar as they navigate their way through the parking lot. If one or two people recognize him by his voice, they don’t make a great deal out of it, instead choosing to stare, awestruck, when Lando winks at them, and nodding dumbly after he brings a finger to his lips.
“Quick warning,” Oscar says, unlocking his car, “Mum’s really excited to finally meet you. Apparently the videos and articles I send aren’t enough.”
“Aww, Osc, you send your mum my interviews?” Lando coos as he slips into the passenger seat and immediately curls up. “It’s cute that you’re such a big fan.”
Oscar glances over at his boyfriend. At the man he fell in love with long before he achieved worldwide fame and stardom. Lando looks completely at home here, in the dim lighting of Oscar’s car as much as he does under the bright spotlights onstage, and he’s so close that Oscar can count the moles dotting his cheeks and watch him blink in slow motion, the fan of his lashes brushing the tops of cheeks.
Lando might be perfect in front of a crowd of thousands, but he’s tangible and real next to Oscar.
He gasps when Oscar suddenly leans over the gearshift to tug him into a deep kiss. Others can only dream of being lucky enough to taste the post-show chocolate coating Lando’s tongue.
Oscar pulls away, only to wrap his arms around Lando to the best of his ability. Lando melts against him, snuggling closer and humming happily.
Fuck, Oscar can’t get enough of Lando, and he literally just watched him perform for hours. He slips the bracelet off of his wrist and onto Lando’s, nestling it within the many already there.
Lando looks up at him in surprise, lips parting, and Oscar silently promises that he’ll surprise him with something more significant than a beaded freebie bracelet down the line. For now, though, he starts the car and laces their fingers together over the middle console as he backs out of his parking spot.
Post-concert depression doesn’t even exist when his idol is in love with him too.
“Don’t you know? I’ve been your biggest, most devoted fan.”