Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oscar Piastri prided himself on two things: his grades and his peace.

He wasn’t the type to throw wild parties or stay out until sunrise. He liked structure—his books stacked in clean rows, his notes color-coded, his bed made before breakfast. Some people thought he was uptight. He thought he was efficient.

So when he was assigned a roommate for his sophomore year, Oscar had hoped—prayed—for someone who shared those values. Quiet. Respectful. Mature.

Instead, he got Lando Norris.

The first time Oscar saw him was move-in day, and he knew immediately: his peace was over.

Lando burst into the dorm like a storm, arms full of clothes that weren’t folded but shoved into duffel bags, a skateboard tucked under one arm, and a grin that stretched wide enough to make two girls walking past the door giggle.

“Roomie!” Lando said, dropping his bags in the middle of the floor with a dramatic thud. “You must be Oscar.”

Oscar, who had already unpacked and neatly arranged his desk, looked up from aligning his textbooks. “Yes.”

No handshake, no smile. Just yes.

Lando didn’t seem to notice. He spun around the room like he owned it, pointing at the empty bed. “That one’s mine, yeah?”

Oscar blinked. “They’re identical.”

“Not true.” Lando flopped onto the mattress, bouncing on the springs. “This one’s closer to the window. I like natural light. Also, easy escape route if I ever need to climb down the building. You never know.”

Oscar stared at him for a long moment. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Lando wiggled his eyebrows.

Yes. Absolutely. Oscar turned back to his desk and silently prayed the semester would pass quickly.

By day three, Oscar realized he had underestimated the disaster.

Lando was loud. Not just conversational loud—singing-in-the-shower, blasting-music-at-midnight, narrating-his-own-life loud. He dropped his backpack wherever he felt like it, tossed his hoodie on the chair Oscar used to study, left empty energy drink cans on the counter.

“Could you not?” Oscar said flatly one evening, picking up a crumpled t-shirt from his bed.

“What? It’s clean,” Lando replied from where he was sprawled on his mattress, gaming headset on. “Mostly.”

Oscar held it between two fingers like it was toxic waste. “Then put it away.”

Lando snorted. “Yes, mum.”

Oscar inhaled slowly through his nose. Patience. Control. Breathe.

He wasn’t going to let this stranger get under his skin. Except Lando had an infuriating talent for making that impossible.

The first real clash came a week later.

Oscar was at his desk, typing out a lab report, when Lando burst in with three people he didn’t recognize. Two girls, one guy. All laughing, loud, carrying snacks and sodas.

“Game night!” Lando announced, throwing his arms open. “Hope you don’t mind, mate.”

Oscar’s hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at the clock. 11:07 PM.

“I do mind,” he said evenly.

Lando blinked, as though the idea had never occurred to him. “It’s just a few games. We’ll keep it down.”

“You don’t keep anything down.”

That got the attention of the guests, who glanced between them awkwardly. Lando laughed it off, clapping Oscar’s shoulder like they were best friends. “Don’t be such a grandpa, yeah?”

Oscar turned slowly, meeting his eyes. Calm. Steady. Controlled. “Lando. I have a 7 AM lecture. If you want to play games, fine. But not here.”

For the first time since move-in, Lando faltered. Just a second. Then he grinned wider. “Damn. Didn’t know you had a spine.”

Oscar didn’t smile. “You’ll learn.”

Something flickered across Lando’s face—amusement, maybe curiosity—but he held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll go next door. Don’t wait up, roomie.”

The door shut behind him, and Oscar exhaled, tension curling in his chest.

He told himself he should hate Lando Norris. He told himself he did hate him.

But Lando’s laugh still echoed in the silence, bright and irritatingly infectious.

The snowstorm came three weeks later.

Classes were canceled. The campus café closed early. Roads iced over, trapping students inside dorms.

Oscar didn’t mind. He liked the quiet. Snow muffled everything, a perfect excuse to hole up with his work.

But Lando? Lando paced the room like a caged animal.

“This is torture,” he groaned, flopping across Oscar’s bed without permission. “I’m gonna die of boredom.”

“You’ll survive.” Oscar didn’t look up from his laptop.

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m realistic.”

“Same thing.”

Oscar finally sighed and shut the laptop. “Do you ever sit still?”

Lando turned his head, chin resting on his folded arms. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, and his grin was lazy. “Not when I’ve got a roommate who glares at me all day. It’s intimidating.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re not intimidated by anything.”

“True. But you…” Lando tilted his head, studying him. “You’re hard to read, mate. I can’t tell if you secretly want to murder me or if you just… like being in control.”

That landed heavier than Lando probably intended.

Oscar met his gaze, steady as ever. “Maybe both.”

For once, Lando was quiet.

And for once, Oscar didn’t look away first.

That night, the storm howled outside, rattling the window. Lando was curled in his bed, scrolling on his phone, when he broke the silence.

“Hey, Oscar.”

Oscar hummed, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

“Do you ever… like, loosen up? Ever?”

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Why?”

Lando shrugged, voice softer than usual. “Just wondering what it would take.”

The room was dark, shadows dancing on the walls. Oscar thought about all the ways he could answer. He thought about telling Lando it would take silence, order, maybe an entirely different personality.

Instead, he said, “You’ll find out if you push hard enough.”

Lando’s breath caught, just barely audible.

Oscar closed his eyes again, a faint, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Let Lando think he was in control.

Oscar knew better.

Chapter Text

The storm hadn’t let up.

By morning, the snow outside had piled against the dorm’s windows like a barricade, muting the world into white silence. Inside, the radiator clanged half-heartedly, barely keeping up.

Their room felt both too small and too charged, every inch thick with unspoken tension.

Oscar was perched on his bed, laptop open, his expression unreadable as he typed. His posture was clean, upright, disciplined—everything about him carried that same sharp precision.

Lando sat cross-legged on his own side of the room, watching him out of the corner of his eye, restless energy rolling off him in waves.

And boredom.
Terrible, gnawing boredom.

“Are you seriously just gonna… sit there and type?” Lando finally burst out, flopping backwards against his pillow with a groan.

Oscar didn’t even look up. “Some of us use unexpected free time to get ahead on coursework.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Lando muttered, then leaned up on his elbows with a grin. “Come on, what’s the point of a snow day if you’re not gonna enjoy it? Throw a pillow at me. Tell me to shut up. Something.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled. He exhaled slowly, clearly counting to ten.

That only made Lando’s grin widen.

He swung his legs off the bed and sauntered closer, deliberately knocking his knee against Oscar’s desk as he leaned on it. “Y’know, you should loosen up a little. Bet you’d be way more fun if you did.”

Oscar looked up at him then, dark eyes cool and assessing. “You’re trying very hard to annoy me.”

Lando feigned innocence, widening his eyes. “Me? Nah. I’m just… bonding.”

Oscar arched a brow. “Bonding?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, leaning closer, testing the invisible line between them. “You ever hear of it? Usually involves talking. Laughing. Maybe even a bit of tickling if you’re unlucky.”

Oscar set his laptop aside with deliberate calm. “Do you want me to throw you out into the snow?”

“Ooooh, is that a threat?” Lando teased, his voice dropping into something sing-song, daring. “You’d have to actually touch me for that.”

And there it was—that flicker in Oscar’s jaw, the faintest tightening of his mouth. Victory, Lando thought. He’d found the crack.

So he leaned even closer, bracing one hand on Oscar’s desk and letting his voice drop low, deliberately provocative. “Go on, mate. Lose that control for once. What’s the worst that could happen?”

It happened so fast Lando almost didn’t register it.

One second he was smirking, the next his back hit the wall with a dull thud, Oscar’s hand fisted in the collar of his hoodie. The force knocked the breath out of him, eyes going wide as Oscar stepped in, pinning him in place with terrifying precision.

Oscar’s face was close—too close. His voice, when it came, was low, steady, but sharp enough to cut.

“Stop pushing me.”

Lando’s pulse spiked, heart hammering against his ribs. He swallowed, lips parting as a shaky laugh slipped out. “Okay, okay—damn. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Oscar’s grip tightened just enough to make him shut up. His body was a line of restrained tension, holding Lando there like it cost him something to stay controlled.

“You think everything’s a game,” Oscar murmured, eyes boring into him. “But you have no idea what happens when you play with fire.”

The air between them crackled. Lando’s bravado faltered, replaced by something heavier, something that made his stomach flip in a way he didn’t want to admit.

For the first time, he couldn’t think of a joke.

Oscar leaned in, his breath brushing Lando’s ear, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Stop testing me, Lando. Because if you don’t, I won’t stop at pinning you.”

Lando’s breath hitched. His whole body was buzzing, torn between panic and… something else.

Something dangerous. His laugh came out softer this time, almost uncertain. “Maybe I want to see what happens if you don’t stop.”

That earned him a pause. Oscar’s grip flexed at his hoodie, knuckles white, and for a moment Lando thought—hoped?—that he might actually close the distance.

But Oscar pulled back instead, slow and deliberate, releasing him with a shove that wasn’t quite gentle.

“Careful what you wish for,” he said flatly, turning back to his bed as though nothing had happened.

Lando stood frozen against the wall, chest heaving, face flushed. His heart wouldn’t calm down, his mind spinning like wheels on ice.

He’d wanted to see Oscar mad.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

And for the first time since they’d met, Lando wasn’t sure who was really in control anymore.

The power cut happened without warning. One moment, the dorm was filled with the hum of the radiator, the faint buzz of Lando’s phone as he scrolled TikTok too loudly, and the soft rustle of pages from Oscar’s textbook.

The next moment, everything dropped into silence. Then — darkness.

“Uh… mate?” Lando’s voice was already tinged with unease.

Oscar sighed, setting the book aside. “Power outage. Probably the storm again.” His voice was calm, level, the same tone he used when correcting Lando’s messy piles of laundry.

But then he heard it — Lando shifting on his bed, the unmistakable sound of someone fidgeting. “You’re fine,” Oscar added, softer this time.

“I hate the dark,” Lando blurted. No joking lilt. Just honest, unguarded.

For a second, Oscar didn’t know what to do with that. He blinked into the pitch-black room, his brain processing the words slower than normal.

Lando Norris, chaotic hurricane of a person, the guy who once blasted Mamma Mia at 3 a.m. for absolutely no reason — was afraid.

“I’ve got something,” Oscar murmured. He stood, calm movements steady against the shrieking wind outside, and rummaged through his drawer.

His fingers wrapped around the handle of a small emergency lamp he’d kept from home. It flickered on, filling the room with a pale golden glow. Not much, but enough to soften the sharpness of the dark.

When he set it on his nightstand, he finally turned to see Lando.

The younger boy was sitting cross-legged, hair mussed from nervous hands running through it, eyes darting toward the weak glow like it was the only star in a black sky.

And before Oscar could even settle back on his bed, Lando was moving.

“Don’t—” Oscar began, but the mattress dipped beside him anyway.

Lando had climbed onto Oscar’s narrow single bed, pressing into the small space with no hesitation. Well— maybe some hesitation, considering how his shoulders were tight and his lips pressed together.

But he was close. Too close.

“You’ve got the light,” Lando muttered, eyes avoiding him. “And I’m not— I’m not staying over there alone.”

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it again. He should’ve pushed him back to his own bed.

He should’ve made a sarcastic comment about personal boundaries. But instead, he just sat there, rigid, feeling the solid warmth radiating from Lando’s body.

And then— the scent hit him.

Sweet. Too sweet. Like citrus and sugar, undercut with something warm, like the faint smell of Lando’s shower gel mixed with his skin. It was distracting. Dangerous.

The kind of scent that made Oscar’s usually neat, compartmentalized thoughts trip over themselves.

His pulse picked up. This wasn’t good.

“You smell like—” Lando suddenly said, breaking the silence. He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded in the dim light. “Like books and coffee. Figures.”

Oscar swallowed. He wanted to laugh, wanted to deflect. But instead, his chest felt tight.

Because he could feel the shift happening — the air between them wasn’t just thick with storm and shadows anymore. It was something else. Something alive.

“Lando,” he said quietly, warning threaded in the single word.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t sit here.”

“Why not?” Lando finally met his gaze, challenging, teasing even in his fear. “Scared I’ll annoy you more?”

That was the problem. He wasn’t annoying Oscar anymore. He was undoing him.

Oscar’s hand twitched against the sheets, wanting— aching— to move closer. To press against him.

To close the sliver of space their thighs already brushed against. His body screamed yes while his mind shouted don’t you dare.

Lando leaned back on his palms, far too relaxed for someone who had claimed he was scared of the dark.

His curls fell into his eyes as he grinned, lopsided, sharp with mischief. “You look like you’re fighting something in your head,” he teased.

Oscar turned his face away, jaw tightening. If only he knew.

Because Lando’s presence was intoxicating.

That sweetness wasn’t just his scent anymore; it was the way his laugh lingered in the air, the way his eyes gleamed even in faint light. Oscar wanted— and wanting was dangerous.

The storm rattled the window, a reminder that the world outside was brutal and cold.

But here, in this cramped bed, with Lando pressed close and whispering little nothings, it was warm. Too warm.

And for the first time in a long time, Oscar wasn’t sure how long his control would last.

Lando tilted his head again, curiosity sparking like fire. “You’re thinking so hard. I can hear it.”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay still. “Go to sleep.”

“Bossy,” Lando muttered, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he curled his knees up, his shoulder brushing Oscar’s arm. “Fine. But I’m staying here.”

Oscar closed his eyes, trying not to notice how their breaths mingled in the small space. Trying not to notice how every second stretched longer than the last.

And when Lando finally rested his head lightly against Oscar’s shoulder, murmuring, “See? Not so bad,” Oscar thought he might actually lose the war he’d been fighting all night.

Because Lando wasn’t just annoying anymore. He wasn’t just messy or loud. He was magnetic. And Oscar? He was already caught.

The storm hadn’t loosened its grip. Outside, the wind howled against the glass, and inside their room, the shadows from Oscar’s emergency lamp swayed like something alive.

It was well past midnight when a restless whisper broke through the silence.

“…Oscar.”

Oscar stirred, groggy, dragging his eyes open. “What?”

A silhouette shifted at the edge of the room—Lando, half-buried under his blanket, voice low and uncharacteristically uncertain.

“I need to piss.”

Oscar blinked, sitting up. “So go.”

“I can’t,” Lando muttered. “It’s pitch black in the hall. Come with me.”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. This idiot. It’s just a hallway, not a warzone.

But Lando’s tone wasn’t his usual whine; it was softer, almost embarrassed.

And the thought of him stumbling around in the dark—of Lando needing him, even for something this small—made Oscar push off his blanket without protest.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

The corridor was worse than the room. The dorm had been swallowed in blackout, no exit signs, no sliver of moonlight through the windows.

Just void. Lando brushed closer as they walked, their shoulders bumping more than once. By the time they reached the bathroom, Lando had practically pressed himself against Oscar’s side like a shadow.

When they returned, the single emergency lamp painted the room in its same faint glow. Lando collapsed straight back into Oscar's bed with a dramatic groan.

Oscar turned toward his own—but froze.

Lando’s head was tilted, his curls messy, eyes barely open. “Can I sleep here?”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “You’ll be fine now.”

“Can I sleep here?,” Lando repeated, softer, almost pleading. And before Oscar could argue, Lando patted the space beside him. His single bed was too small for two, but Oscar’s legs carried him forward anyway.

He sat. He shouldn’t have.

The mattress dipped, bringing them close enough that Oscar caught it—Lando’s scent, warm and disarming, something sweet that tugged at instincts he’d buried deep.

Too close. Too much.

And then, it happened.

Lando shifted in his half-sleep, turning toward him. The move was careless, unconscious, but his face brushed dangerously near, lips almost grazing Oscar’s cheek.

Oscar’s breath caught. His pulse thundered in his ears.

He could move. He should move. But for a suspended second, Oscar didn’t.

He just sat there, every nerve screaming with the heat of proximity, the temptation of what one tilt closer would mean.

Lando murmured something inaudible, brushing even nearer before settling back down, his breathing evening into sleep.

Oscar stayed frozen, jaw tight, hands clenched in the blanket. Dangerous. This is dangerous.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

Chapter Text

Oscar woke as he always did—sharp, instinctive, and too early for a normal university student.

Six o’clock, his phone screen told him. The storm still rattled faintly against the windows, though less fierce than last night.

His head felt clearer, but his body told another story. He was stiff, sore, and not from the narrow bed.

No, it was from the way he’d spent the entire night aware.

Lando had managed to claim nearly the whole mattress, one arm flung across Oscar’s middle like it was his right.

His hair was a ridiculous mess, curls sticking every which way, mouth parted slightly in sleep.

The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—like even in dreams, Lando Norris was laughing at him.

Oscar sighed softly. He should move. He should. But instead, he just…watched. For a minute. Two. Ten.

Something softened in his chest, loosening a knot he didn’t know he’d been carrying. He told himself it was the storm, the tension, the fact they were trapped. Nothing more.

Finally, carefully, Oscar extricated himself from Lando’s hold and padded to the kitchenette.

Small, cheap cabinets, one portable stove, and a bag of supplies they’d both raided yesterday. He busied his hands—because if he kept still too long, he’d keep remembering the feeling of Lando’s lips brushing his cheek.

Breakfast was surprisingly… normal.

Oscar had managed to piece together something simple from the supplies they had—toast, jam, and coffee that tasted better than he’d expected.

Lando, of course, had made a whole performance of it, teasing Oscar about acting like a “proper househusband.”

“Careful,” Lando had said with a grin, “I might start expecting this every morning.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the twitch of a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

The banter was easy, softer than their usual sharp edges. And for a fleeting moment, Oscar thought maybe—just maybe—being trapped here hadn’t been the worst thing.

Then both of their phones buzzed at once.

They froze, exchanging a look before scrambling to check. A new email flashed on the screens:

Classes will resume tomorrow. The storm has weakened. Campus activities return to normal.

Oscar almost laughed out loud. Finally. His prayers answered. No more isolation, no more strange tension building between them in this cramped room. He could breathe again.

Lando, on the other hand, practically bounced in his seat. “Yes! Finally! I can see the boys again, hit the gym, grab a proper coffee—god, I’ve been dying stuck in here.” His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, his relief spilling into every word.

Oscar nodded, forcing himself to match the mood. “Yeah. Good news.”

But deep down, something twisted.

Because while Lando was already dreaming of his freedom, Oscar realized a quiet truth he hadn’t expected:

Part of him didn’t want this strange little bubble to end.

By evening, the storm had eased, leaving the streets blanketed in snow. Manageable now, though still lingering in heavy drifts. The university buzzed with life again, voices echoing down the halls, laughter spilling from open doors. It felt like the world had switched back on.

Lando was already halfway out the door when Oscar looked up from his desk.

“Don’t wait for me, yeah?” Lando grinned, tugging on a ridiculous patterned jacket that looked like it had lost a fight with neon paint. “Dinner at Max’s place. Probably gonna end up staying late.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Right. Don’t get lost.”

“Lost?” Lando laughed. “Mate, I am the fun.”

Oscar snorted, turning back to his notebook. Pretending not to care was easier than admitting the tiny sting in his chest. Of course Lando had somewhere to be. Of course the moment freedom returned, he’d sprint straight to his friends. Why would he stay?

When the door finally slammed shut behind him, the room fell into silence. The kind of silence that reminded Oscar he hadn’t chosen this company—it had been forced on him. And yet, for a strange second, he almost missed it.

With a sigh, he grabbed his jacket. Instant coffee wasn’t cutting it anymore. He didn’t need neon lights or a room full of people—just something warm, real. Maybe the café down the corner was still open. Something about the thought of sitting alone, nursing a proper coffee, felt steadier than letting the walls close in.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped into the cold evening air, telling himself it didn’t matter where Lando was or what he was doing.

He’s free. I’m free. That’s all there is to it.

So why did it feel like something had quietly shifted between them—something that didn’t disappear with the storm?

The sound of the door unlocking jolted Oscar out of that soft half-sleep where he’d been hovering. He kept his eyes shut, forcing his body into the rigid posture of someone already long gone to bed.

A waft of cold air and faint alcohol drifted into the room as Lando stumbled inside. His footsteps were uneven but still light, like he was trying not to wake anyone. A low chuckle slipped out of him when he looked over.

“Always sleeping like you’re in the army,” Lando murmured, voice slurred but warm. Then, softer, almost tender:

“Goodnight, Oscar.”

Oscar’s heart gave a traitorous thud. He didn’t move. He didn’t dare. Only when Lando collapsed into his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, did Oscar finally allow himself to breathe again.

By morning, any trace of last night was hidden under sunlight streaming through the blinds. Oscar was already up, tugging a sweater over his head, when Lando groaned his way upright.

“Seven a.m.,” Oscar reminded him. “We’ve got class.”

“Correction,” Lando said, rubbing his face. “You’ve got class. I could technically roll in late and still charm my way out of it.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Then why are you getting up?”

“Because,” Lando said with that infuriating grin, “you’d look lonely walking in by yourself.”

Oscar blinked, thrown off balance. “We’re not even in the same faculty.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lando stretched his arms above his head and grabbed his jacket. “Come on. Walk me to mine, I’ll walk you to yours. Deal.”

Oscar didn’t answer, but he didn’t protest either.

Halfway across the courtyard, the morning buzz of students building around them, a voice called out.

“Lando!”

Oscar turned his head just as a tall figure approached.

“Carlos!” Lando broke into a grin, immediately clapping the man on the shoulder in greeting.

Oscar slowed his steps, recognizing the familiarity. Of course. Another friend. Another person Lando belonged to like second nature.

Social butterfly, Oscar thought, shoving his hands in his pockets. He shouldn’t feel out of place—it wasn’t like he wanted to belong in that circle. And yet, watching the easy way Lando lit up, the way his smile widened, Oscar couldn’t help the tiny pang that tugged inside him.

Carlos’s eyes flicked past Lando, landing on Oscar who stood just a step behind, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Morning,” Carlos greeted with an easy smile, accent rolling smooth.

Oscar hesitated only half a beat. “Morning,” he returned politely, then looked at Lando. “I’ve got class in Building A. See you at the dorm later.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just gave the smallest nod and headed off through the crowd.

Lando watched him go, an odd warmth tugging at his chest. His lips curved before he could stop himself.

Carlos nudged his elbow into Lando’s side. “So that’s him?”

“Him?” Lando blinked.

“Your roommate,” Carlos said, smirk sharp. “The one who apparently makes you want to peel like an orange?”

Lando nearly choked on air. “You—you remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Carlos laughed. “Who even says that about another guy? You sounded like you were describing a fruit salad and a crush at the same time.”

Lando shoved him lightly, face burning hotter than he’d like to admit. “It’s not like that.”

Carlos raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm. Careful, Lando… you’d be surprised how many people already fall hard for their own roommates. Happens all the time.”

Lando stiffened. “That’s not—”

“I’m just saying,” Carlos drawled, grin only widening. “You’re already halfway there, mate. Don’t act like I didn’t see the way you looked at him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to wag your tail.”

Lando groaned. “Shut up, Carlos.”

But even as they walked toward their building, Carlos’s teasing lingered, gnawing at Lando’s thoughts. Because for once, he didn’t have a snappy comeback.

Chapter Text

Oscar pretended not to notice the damp curls clinging to Lando’s forehead after his shower.

He pretended even harder when one droplet slid down his temple, trailing toward his jawline before disappearing into the collar of his hoodie.

It was nothing. Just water. Just Lando being… Lando.

Except Oscar’s book was open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes, his eyes following the same paragraph over and over.

Meanwhile, Lando was across the room, legs sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone like nothing in the world was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

Because the night before, Lando had made him tea without asking. Not just any tea—Oscar’s tea.

The one with a splash of milk, no sugar, brewed a little longer because he liked it strong. He hadn’t told Lando that. Ever.

And yet Lando had slid the mug across the desk, shrugging like it was nothing, muttering,

“Thought you could use one.”

Now every small thing felt heavy. Too heavy. The brush of their shoulders when they crossed paths in the narrow dorm room.

The way Oscar had started knowing Lando’s footsteps in the hall. The way Lando’s laugh had somehow become the sound Oscar waited for at the end of the day.

The silence pressed in on them, almost daring one of them to break it.

Finally, Lando dropped his phone to his chest, staring at the ceiling. “This room’s too bloody small.”

Oscar turned a page he hadn’t read. “Then stop leaving your shoes everywhere. That would help.”

A huff of laughter from Lando. “Not what I meant.” His voice was quieter now, softer in a way that pulled at Oscar’s chest. “Feels like… too much.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened on his book. He didn’t ask too much what. He didn’t have to.

The room suddenly felt even smaller. The air thicker.

One of them would have to break first.

But not tonight.

Oscar closed his book, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “Lights out?”

Lando didn’t move for a long beat. Then, “Yeah.”

The darkness didn’t make the tension disappear. If anything, it made it worse—two heartbeats echoing in a room too small for feelings this big.

Lando doesn’t announce it. He just… changes.

The first weekend, Carlos texts him about a party downtown—big DJ, free drinks, the kind of thing Lando never turns down.

But instead of his usual be there in ten, he types: nah, staying in tonight.

Carlos calls him immediately.

“Did you slam your head or something?” he teases.

“Since when do you skip parties?”

Lando laughs it off, says something about being broke, or tired, or not wanting to deal with drunk freshmen puking in the hallway.

It’s easier than admitting the truth, he doesn’t want to leave the room. Doesn’t want to leave Oscar.

Because lately, their room doesn’t feel like a warzone anymore. It feels… safe. Quiet, but not in that suffocating way.

He likes the sound of Oscar’s pages turning while he scrolls on his iPad, the way Oscar will sometimes read out a random fact without looking up, like it’s normal that Lando’s the only one there to hear it.

Oscar notices the change, of course. He notices everything.

“You didn’t go out last night.”

“Yeah.”

“You always go out.”

“Not always.” Lando shrugs, acting casual. “Guess I like it here.”

And then he sees it—the flicker in Oscar’s eyes, quick and sharp, before Oscar looks away like he’s trying not to think too hard about what Lando just said.

Every night after, it gets harder to keep the act up.

Harder to ignore that his heart beats faster when Oscar’s glasses slide down his nose and Lando has the urge to push them back up.

Harder to pretend the silence between them isn’t charged with something else.

Carlos and Charles keep pressing hi, "mate, what’s going on with you?"

But Lando just brushes it off with a grin.

Because the truth?

He doesn’t want to be anywhere else but inside that tiny dorm room—with Oscar.

Class ends and Lando barely has time to breathe before he’s ambushed.

Carlos loops an arm around his neck, Charles grabs his backpack so he can’t escape, and Max just grins like the devil himself.

They drag him to the cafeteria corner booth, the unofficial interrogation chamber.

"Oi! What the fuck?!" Lando trying to run himself.

“Alright, mate,” Carlos says, smirking. “What’s going on? You’ve been… different.”

“Different?” Lando feigns ignorance, fiddling with his phone.

“Yes,” Charles presses. “You’re not out every night anymore. You actually do your homework. And you—” he points accusingly, “—said no to beer pong. Who are you?”

Lando shrugs. “Maybe I just matured.”

Max snorts so loud half the cafeteria turns. “Matured? You? Nah, you’re definitely seeing someone.”

The table erupts . Carlos bangs his fist against the table, eyes wide. “I KNEW IT! I fucking knew it. It’s Oscar, isn’t it?”

The entire booth goes silent for a split second before bursting into chaotic laughter. Lando chokes on his soda.

“Wha—Oscar?!” he sputters, voice cracking. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Come on, mate.” Carlos smirks knowingly.

“You spend all your time with him. You’ve stopped partying. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you remembering his stupid tea order.”

Charles grins, leaning forward. “That’s kind of… cute.”

Max, ever the menace, props his chin on his hand. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Lando groans and buries his face in his hoodie, praying the earth swallows him whole.

Lando was sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, thumb lazily flicking through memes.

The room was quiet except for the occasional chuckle he tried (and failed) to stifle.

The door clicked open, and Oscar stepped in, flushed and damp from his evening run at the gym.

His hair was darkened with sweat, shirt clinging, and his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.

Lando looked up—just for a second.

Just enough to notice the sharp line of Oscar’s shoulders, the way his running shorts showed off way too much leg, the glint of sweat still clinging to his skin.

Not his fault. Not his problem. Except, suddenly, it was.

He coughed into his fist and quickly looked back at his phone, scrolling harder than necessary.

“Good run?” he asked, voice pitched awkwardly casual.

Oscar tugged his shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the chair.

His biceps flexed in the movement. And yes—Lando’s eyes absolutely followed before he could stop them.

“Mm,” Oscar hummed, rifling through his drawer for a clean top. “Six kilometers.” His tone was nonchalant, but when he glanced sideways, his lips curled faintly. “You’re staring.”

Lando choked. “I’m not .”

“You are,” Oscar said simply, pulling the fresh shirt over his head but deliberately slower than usual, as if testing something. “Distracted?”

“By your weird obsession with cardio, yeah,” Lando shot back quickly, heat creeping up his neck. “Who runs for fun?”

Oscar didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took his time grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his arms, smirking faintly. Then, casually:

“Funny. Because you look like you were enjoying the view.”

Lando’s phone slipped out of his hand, landing on his stomach with a dull thud. “Excuse me?”

Oscar finally turned to him fully, brow arched. His expression was calm, infuriatingly so. “It’s fine. If you’re going to ogle, at least admit it.”

“Ogle? ” Lando sputtered, sitting up. “Mate, I was just— I wasn’t— you’re literally—” He cut himself off, groaning, dragging a hand through his hair. “God, you’re insufferable.”

Oscar smirked, satisfied, and finally sat on his own bed with a book in hand as if nothing had happened.

“Endorphins,” he said matter-of-factly, flipping to his marked page. “Running does that. Makes me a little bold, I suppose.”

Lando narrowed his eyes, cheeks burning. “Bold? That was provoking .”

“Was it?” Oscar asked innocently, without looking up. “Or did you just want it to be?”

The room felt too hot. Too small. The air too charged for two people who were definitely not supposed to be looking at each other that way.

And Lando, for once, didn’t have a comeback.

Chapter Text

The door banged open, sharper than usual. Lando startled, nearly dropping his controller as Oscar stumbled into the room.

“Jesus Christ—” Lando sat up, blinking. “Oscar?”

The guy wasn’t steady. His usually sharp posture was loose, swaying. His eyes weren’t glassy, not completely gone, but the faint flush on his cheeks and the sloppy way he kicked his shoes off said enough.

Lando’s heart jumped. In all the months of living together, he’d never once seen Oscar drunk.

“Oi, what the hell happened to you?” Lando asked, springing off his bed and rushing over.

He grabbed Oscar’s arm before he could topple into the desk.

Oscar chuckled low, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Lando muttered, dragging him toward his bed.

“Since when do you drink? You’re Mr. responsible, mature, lectures-me-about-hydration…”

Oscar let himself be steered onto the mattress, dropping onto it with a heavy exhale.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his brow, then muttered softly, “Just needed to get away from something.”

Lando froze.

There was something raw in the way Oscar said it, nothing like his usual clipped, measured tone.

His voice was rougher. Quieter. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Get away from what?” Lando asked carefully, crouching at the bedside.

Oscar’s eyes flicked to him, half-lidded, and for a second Lando swore he saw something break through that unshakable, composed mask.

Something tired. Something vulnerable.

“Doesn’t matter,” Oscar murmured, turning his head to the side. “Don’t… don’t make me talk about it.”

Lando clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to push, to dig until Oscar spilled—but the way he looked right now, muscles drawn tight like one wrong word would snap him in half, stopped Lando.

So instead, Lando sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Fine,” he said softly. “I won’t.”

The room fell quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the radiator and Oscar’s uneven breathing.

“You should sleep,” Lando muttered, grabbing the blanket and tugging it over him.

He tried to make it casual, teasing. “Can’t have you drooling on the pillow, mate. Bad look.”

Oscar’s lips twitched faintly, but his eyes stayed shut. “You’re loud,” he whispered, voice drowsy now.

“And you’re bossy,” Lando shot back automatically, softer than usual.

The silence stretched again. Lando thought maybe Oscar had fallen asleep—until he shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face Lando, eyes still closed.

“…Thanks,” Oscar murmured.

For what, Lando wasn’t sure. But the word landed heavy in his chest, lodging somewhere he couldn’t ignore.

He stayed sitting there long after Oscar’s breathing evened out, fighting the urge to reach out and brush the damp curls off his forehead.

Instead, he muttered to himself, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Piastri.”

Lando cursed under his breath. For the hundredth time that night, he flipped to his other side, yanking the blanket with unnecessary force.

Sleep refused to come, his brain running in stupid circles.

He blamed Oscar.

Seriously—how was he supposed to rest when his roommate was sprawled out on the other bed, calm and steady like nothing in the world could touch him? Even drunk, Oscar managed to look untouchably composed.

Lando pulled the blanket higher over his head, then peeked out again.

“So he can drink,” he muttered, as if testing out the words. A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself.

By morning, the sleepless night had left him restless and twitchy. He clattered around the kitchen, making breakfast mostly to keep his hands busy.

The smell of toast and fried eggs filled the air, kettle hissing.

Then, from the hallway, came a low groan.

Lando grinned instantly, setting down the butter knife. He grabbed the cup of tea he’d prepared, leaning against the counter like he had been waiting all along.

“Well, well,” he called as Oscar shuffled in, hair a mess, wearing the same shirt as last night, “someone’s awake.”

Oscar squinted at him, wincing against the sunlight streaming through the curtains. “You’re loud.”

“Nah,” Lando said cheerfully, holding out the tea, “you’re just fragile.”

Oscar took it with a muttered thanks, fingers brushing against Lando’s for half a second longer than necessary. The warmth lingered even after he pulled away.

And Lando? He was cursed. Completely and utterly cursed.

Oscar sat slouched at the table, cradling the tea in both hands. He took a sip, his usual calm expression back in place, like last night hadn’t even happened.

Lando leaned against the counter, scrolling mindlessly on his phone while sneaking glances. He was ready for Oscar to complain about his headache or collapse back into bed.

Instead, Oscar spoke out of nowhere.

“What’s your schedule today?”

Lando blinked, lowering his phone.

“Uh… only one class this afternoon. Why?”

Oscar took another slow sip before setting the cup down with a soft clink.

His eyes flicked up, steady, unreadable.

“Okay. Accompany me at the library after this.”

Lando’s jaw almost dropped. The library? Of all places. He never willingly stepped foot in there unless it was exam week and he was desperate.

“I—wait, what?”

But Oscar’s gaze stayed on him, not demanding, but… hopeful. A quiet request layered beneath the calm tone.

Lando swallowed. His first instinct was to laugh, to come up with a hundred excuses why it wasn’t his thing.

But those stupid brown eyes… they were doing something.

So he just nodded, trying to act casual. “Yeah. Sure. Library.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched into the faintest smile as he returned to his tea. Lando turned away quickly, cursing himself for giving in so easily.

He never liked the library.

But maybe, just maybe—he didn’t really mind if it was Oscar asking.

Lando was already regretting every life choice that led him here.

The library was… silent. Too silent. He could hear his own breathing, and it was driving him insane.

Oscar, meanwhile, was in his element: calm, composed, flipping through a reference book like he was built for this environment.

Lando slouched in the chair beside him, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling.

Why did I agree to this again? Oh, right. Those bloody eyes.

“Stop fidgeting,” Oscar muttered without looking up.

“I’m not!” Lando whispered back, only to realize his leg was bouncing like a drumbeat under the table. He froze.

Oscar sighed, dug into his bag, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pen. He slid them across the table without glancing up.

“Here. Draw. Do whatever. Just don’t distract me.”

Lando blinked at the paper. “What am I, a toddler? You’re giving me crayons next?”

Oscar didn’t even react. His eyes skimmed another page, cool and unbothered.

Lando rolled his eyes but picked up the pen anyway. At first, he just doodled random shapes.

Then a stick figure. Then, somehow, the stick figure started looking suspiciously like Oscar—neat hair, straight posture, holding a book bigger than its head.

Beside it, he drew another stick figure with messy hair and a crooked smile. Obviously him.

Then he gave Oscar-stick a speech bubble,

“Stop fidgeting.” And Lando-stick replied: “Make me.”

Lando smirked, proud of himself. He slid the paper slightly toward Oscar’s side.

Oscar finally looked down, saw the drawing, and his lips curved—just barely—before he shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey,” Lando whispered, leaning closer, “I made you smile.”

“Shut up, Norris.” But his ears were turning the faintest shade of pink.

Lando grinned wider. Maybe the library wasn’t so bad after all.

Oscar had finished his notes ages ago. His stack of books was neatly closed, his pen capped, but he still hadn’t moved.

Because Lando was asleep.

Head resting on the table, curls falling over his forehead, lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly.

His cheek pressed right against the doodles he’d drawn earlier, the ink smudging faintly against his skin.

Oscar told himself to look away, to pack up, to leave it alone. But he didn’t.

Instead, he found himself leaning closer, eyes tracing the curve of Lando’s lashes.

They were ridiculously long, curling against his skin like they had no right to be on someone so annoying.

Before he realized what he was doing, Oscar’s hand twitched forward—just enough to brush his fingers lightly across them.

Soft. Curly. Unreal.

His heart thudded. Too fast. Too much. He knew this feeling. He’d known it for weeks now, maybe longer.

But then—

CRASH!

Oscar jumped, hand snatching back instantly as two loud yells echoed through the quiet library.

“CARLOS, YOU IDIOT—!”

“I TRIPPED—”

Oscar’s eyes flew to the side just in time to see Carlos sprawled dramatically across the floor, books scattered everywhere, with Max standing behind him, smirking like the menace he was.

“Seriously?” Oscar hissed under his breath.

Lando stirred awake, blinking groggily, curls sticking out even more. “Wha—? Did the building collapse?”

Carlos scrambled up, brushing himself off with zero shame. His eyes lit up the second he spotted Lando.

“Ohhh, so this is where you’ve been hiding!”

Max leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, smirk widening.

“Busted. We thought you had a secret boyfriend or something, mate. Turns out you’ve been nesting in the library with Piastri.”

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. “You two are unbelievable.”

But Oscar? Oscar just sat there, heart still racing, praying no one noticed his hand had almost been somewhere it shouldn’t.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before they make a bigger scene,” Lando muttered, cheeks hot as he grabbed his bag.

Carlos was still laughing on the floor, and Max gave a mock salute like he’d just caught them mid–secret date.

Oscar just nodded, calm as ever, sliding his notes into his folder. He didn’t need to say much—Lando’s red ears said enough for the both of them.

By the time they stepped outside, the sky had begun to soften into evening shades, the sun dipping low.

The crisp air made Lando’s stomach growl loudly enough that Oscar glanced at him.

“You hungry?” Oscar asked.

Lando gave him a sheepish grin. “Starving. Want to grab something?”

That’s how they ended up sitting side by side in a tiny burger joint just off campus.

Grease-stained wrappers, half-full soda cups, the smell of fries—it was loud and busy, but in their corner booth, it felt like their own bubble.

For once, it wasn’t Lando filling the silence.

Oscar was.

“So, your friends are…a lot,” Oscar said, lips quirking slightly.

Lando snorted. “You’re telling me. Max thinks he’s a comedian, and Carlos—well, he thinks he’s my mum sometimes. Always sticking his nose in.”

Oscar hummed in response, taking a bite of his burger. Then, after a pause, he surprised Lando again.

“Still. They care about you. That’s obvious.”

Lando blinked. Oscar usually never strung together more than a sentence at a time unless he was irritated. Now his tone was steady, maybe even warm.

Before Lando could joke about it, Oscar went on.

“When I first moved here, I thought my sisters were loud. Three of them, constantly in my space. I used to think, finally, peace and quiet at uni.” He gave a small, dry laugh.

“Didn’t last long.”

Lando smirked, leaning on his elbow. “And then you got me.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his. “Then I got you.”

Something in Lando’s chest twisted. The words weren’t loaded, not really. But the way Oscar said them—steady, no hesitation—made it feel like more than just a comment.

On the way back to the dorm, Lando shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, trying to ignore how his heart still beat too fast.

Oscar walked beside him in his usual calm silence, but for the first time, the quiet didn’t feel heavy.

It felt…safe.

It was late afternoon, and Lando had his headphones in, bouncing slightly to whatever playlist he was butchering under his breath.

Pedestrian street, plenty of space—he wasn’t worried. He waved at someone across the street, grinned to himself, until—

WHAM.

Something slammed into his side, jarring his arm. The impact knocked his phone from his hand, earbuds yanked out, and suddenly Lando was on the ground with a sharp sting shooting up his wrist.

“Bloody hell!” he gasped, clutching at his hand.

The culprit—a freshman on a bike, cheeks flaming—stammered out a useless,

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t see you!” before wobbling away in panic.

“Mate, are you serious?!” George’s voice cut in, sharp and exasperated. He’d been just behind, thank god.

Now he was crouching beside Lando, hands hovering.

“What the hell happened? You okay?”

Lando winced, sitting up slowly. His palm and wrist ached from taking the fall, knees scraped red through his jeans.

“That idiot ran straight into me,” he muttered, trying to laugh it off.

“Think my hand’s gone, mate. RIP gaming career.”

George rolled his eyes, though his grip was surprisingly careful as he helped Lando to his feet.

“Come on, drama queen. Let’s get you back before you actually pass out.”

By the time they made it back to the dorm, Lando was still clutching his sore wrist and muttering threats toward freshmen cyclists.

George pushed open the door for him with a flourish.

Inside, Oscar was at his desk, typing quietly. He turned at the sound, brows knitting instantly at the sight of Lando limping in with George behind him.

“What happened?” Oscar’s voice was calm, but sharp around the edges.

“Idiot freshman,” George said quickly. “Bike hit him. He fell. He’ll live, but you might wanna check his hand. He won’t shut up about it.”

Oscar stood, already crossing the room. His hands were steady as he reached for Lando’s wrist, ignoring the way Lando flinched.

“Which one?”

Lando swallowed, holding out his right hand.

“Hurts like hell, Osc. Think I’ll have to retire from PlayStation life.”

Oscar didn’t even roll his eyes this time. He inspected Lando’s wrist carefully, turning it in his hands with surprising gentleness.

“It’s not broken. Just bruised. Ice will help.” His jaw was tight, though, like he was keeping something in.

Lando blinked at him. The concern in Oscar’s eyes was different from George’s teasing—it was sharper, deeper, almost enough to steal his breath.

George, of course, didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, nurse Piastri is on the case. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” He smirked and slipped out before either of them could yell.

The room fell into quiet, save for Lando’s soft hiss when Oscar pressed against a tender spot.

“Seriously, Lan,” Oscar said slowly, not looking up. “Pay more attention. You can’t just walk around with your head in the clouds.”

Lando laughed weakly. “What, worried about me?”

Oscar didn’t answer. But the way his thumb lingered—so carefully—on Lando’s wrist said everything he wouldn’t say out loud.

As soon as George was gone, Lando let out a long, theatrical sigh and flopped face-first onto his bed like the world’s most tragic hero.

He clutched his injured wrist to his chest as if it were hanging by a thread.

“Oscar!” he groaned into his pillow, voice muffled. Then he rolled over so dramatically that his hair stuck up in every direction.

“It hurts like hell, how am I supposed to do anything now? Should I apply for medical leave from uni? Yeah, maybe three months of rest. Minimum. For recovery.”

Oscar, who was already digging an ice pack out of their mini freezer, stopped dead and gave him a look so flat it could cut glass.

“You’re not pregnant, Lando.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest with his good hand like Oscar had just slapped him. “Excuse me? This is a serious injury. Look at it! It’s purple already!”

“It’s barely red.” Oscar tossed the ice pack onto Lando’s stomach. “Hold it there.”

“Ow!” Lando yelped, but obediently pressed the cold pack to his wrist, eyes narrowed like Oscar had just sentenced him to cruel and unusual punishment.

“You could at least be nice about it. I’m your injured roommate. Where’s the bedside manner?”

“You’re not my patient,” Oscar said, sitting back at his desk. His voice was maddeningly calm, as if he hadn’t just spent the last five minutes checking Lando’s hand like it was made of glass.

“You might as well be my doctor at this point,” Lando shot back, sighing again for emphasis.

“If I can’t game, can’t write, can’t—”

“Eat burgers?” Oscar interrupted dryly.

Lando sat up halfway, scowling. “That’s cruel. I’m already suffering.”

Oscar only arched a brow, but there was the tiniest twitch of a smile on his lips.

Lando noticed. Of course he did. And suddenly the room felt smaller again, the silence heavier than usual—not just because he was sulking, but because he caught that fleeting softness in Oscar’s expression before it disappeared.

“You know,” Lando said after a beat, dropping back onto his pillow, “you’d make a really hot nurse.”

Oscar groaned. “Go to sleep, Norris.”

Lando sat cross-legged on Oscar’s bed like a wounded prince, his wrist wrapped in an overdramatic bandage he’d insisted Oscar help him tie. He held it up like a war injury, sighing loudly every thirty seconds.

“Os-car,” he whined, dragging out the syllables until it echoed. “I’m hungry.”

Oscar didn’t look up from his laptop. “There are biscuits in the drawer.”

“I don’t want biscuits. I want fish and chips.”

That got Oscar’s attention. He slowly closed the laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s midnight.”

“Exactly,” Lando said, like it explained everything. “Perfect time for a midnight feast. Come on, you can’t say no to me. I’m injured.” He wiggled his bandaged arm for effect.

Oscar gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “You do realize it’s not broken, right? You’re just…bandaged because you insisted I do it.”

“It feels broken.” Lando let his head fall dramatically onto Oscar’s pillow. “I can feel the trauma radiating through my bones. My body needs fish and chips to heal.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer for patience—and got up, tugging on his hoodie. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll go fast.”

Lando perked up immediately, grinning like a kid who just won. “Knew you loved me.”

Oscar froze for half a second, hoodie halfway over his head, before muttering, “You’re impossible,” and pulling it the rest of the way on.

Lando watched him go, cheeks hurting from how wide he was smiling. Impossible, maybe. But Oscar was still walking out into the cold night for him. And somehow, that made Lando’s chest ache in a way no fish and chips ever could.

Oscar didn’t know what cruel joke the universe was playing, but apparently, it loved throwing Lando’s chaos straight into his lap.

All he wanted was to buy greasy fish and chips at midnight, get back before Lando could text another dramatic “dying of hunger” message, and maybe—maybe—salvage his night.

Instead, he found himself at the counter, hoodie pulled up, ordering everything extra—extra salt, extra vinegar, extra chips, because of course Lando wanted “enough for an army.”

And then he heard them.

“Oiii, isn’t that Oscar?”

Oscar froze. He didn’t even need to look. He knew. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned—and there they were. Carlos with his hoodie pulled low, Max grinning like he was about to cause trouble.

“Oh, God,” Oscar muttered under his breath.

Carlos raised a brow, fighting a laugh. “So? Does our friend survive?”

Max leaned against the counter, smirk practically glowing. “He said his arm was broken. Was it?”

Oscar let out a long sigh. “It’s not broken. Not even close. He tripped into a bike and now he thinks he’s on life support.”

Both of them burst out laughing, Carlos actually clutching his side. “That sounds exactly like him.”

Oscar tried to ignore them, grabbing the paper bag the cashier handed over. “If you two will excuse me—”

But Max wasn’t letting him off that easy. “Wait, wait, so you’re the one running midnight errands for him? Carrying food, wrapping bandages, putting up with his whining?”

Oscar deadpanned. “Apparently.”

Carlos whistled low. “Careful, mate. That’s exactly how it starts.”

“Starts what?” Oscar asked, more defensive than he intended.

Max grinned wider. “The fall. Happens faster than you think.”

Oscar’s ears went hot under his hoodie, but he ignored them, clutching the warm bag of food like it was his only shield. “Goodnight,” he muttered, turning on his heel.

Behind him, he could still hear their laughter, echoing through the street.

By the time Oscar shoved open the dorm door, the smell of fried food filling the small room, he was greeted not with silence but with whining.

“Finally!” Lando shouted from his bed, sitting up with his bandaged arm dramatically propped on a pillow. “Do you know how close I was to starving? I saw my life flash before my eyes, Oscar. It was sad.”

Oscar shut the door with his foot, expression flat. “You’ve been without food for forty minutes, not forty years.”

Lando gasped like he’d been personally attacked. “Forty minutes in pain! My arm’s useless, my stomach’s empty—what if I wasted away right here in your absence?”

Oscar dropped the bag on the desk. “Then it’d be blessedly quiet.”

“Rude!” Lando pouted, scrambling off the bed with surprising speed for someone allegedly on death’s door.

“What’d you get me? Did you remember the extra chips? Wait, no tartar sauce, right? I told you I don’t like tartar sauce—"

Oscar shoved the wrapped parcel into his chest before he could spiral.

“Yes. Extra chips. No sauce. Now sit down before you injure your other arm.”

Lando plopped back onto his bed, unwrapping the food like a child on Christmas morning. He made a dramatic noise with the first bite, half groan, half moan.

“Ohhh, God, this is heaven. You’re heaven. Marry me.”

Oscar froze halfway through taking off his hoodie. “…You’re unbelievable.”

Lando grinned through a mouthful of chips. “Unbelievably charming, yes.”

Oscar rolled his eyes and sat at his desk, opening his own portion. Across the room, Lando kept going—commenting on every bite, sighing dramatically with every chew, until it wasn’t even about the food anymore.

“Why do you even put up with me?” Lando asked suddenly, voice softer, though his grin still lingered.

Oscar glanced at him, almost caught off guard. “Because if I don’t, you’d probably starve to death, or annoy someone else to the point they’d throw you out a window.”

Lando laughed, bright and loud. But when his eyes lingered on Oscar a little too long, it felt less like a joke and more like something unsaid.

Oscar cleared his throat, pushing past the weird warmth curling in his chest. “Eat your chips before they get cold.”

“Bossy,” Lando teased, but he obeyed, shoving another handful into his mouth.

Morning came, but not the usual loud bang bang bang of Lando’s alarm clock (because yesterday Oscar confiscated it after almost throwing it out of the window). Instead, it was Lando’s groaning voice echoing through the dorm.

“Ossscaaaar… it’s morning… but I can’t move my arm. Do you think the hospital has wheelchairs for people like me?”

Oscar, already dressed and ready for his first lecture, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lando, your arm is literally fine. You’re the same guy who begged for fish and chips last night. Don’t act like you’re in a war movie.”

Lando shifted on his bed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like some tragic hero. “I’m not acting. It hurts. And you know what? I’m not going to class. Can’t. Impossible. If I walk there, I might collapse in the hallway. Imagine the trauma for the freshmen—witnessing my downfall!”

Oscar stared at him. He had three options: ignore, argue, or… give in. Of course, against his usual disciplined self, option three suddenly felt easiest.

“Fine. I will stay,” Oscar muttered, shoving his notebook back inside his bag.

Lando’s eyes widened. “Wait—so you’re staying with me?”

“No. I’ll—” Oscar stopped. The way Lando’s face dropped, like a kicked puppy, made his chest feel… heavy. Damn it. He sighed, sat back down on his bed, and pulled his hoodie over his head again. “Yes. I’m staying.”

Lando instantly lit up like a kid getting candy. “Oscar, you’re the best! I swear this is true friendship. You skip class for me! Oh my god, you’re corrupted now.”

“Yeah, thanks to you,” Oscar deadpanned.

Minutes later, instead of listening to lectures, they were walking to the park nearby. Lando insisted on fresh air being “crucial to his recovery.” He had his bandaged arm held close to his chest like it was shattered, even though Oscar tied it last night only to stop Lando’s whining.

“See, this is better,” Lando said, plopping down on a park bench, squinting at the late afternoon sun. “I heal faster with nature. Maybe I should write a book about it. ‘The Day a Young, Handsome Uni Student Almost Lost His Arm but Found Life in the Park.’ Bestseller.”

Oscar sat beside him, silently opening the reference book he carried along, trying to at least read something. But it was impossible. Lando was already leaning closer, nudging his shoulder.

“Oscar, do you think if my arm doesn’t recover, I can still play PlayStation? Maybe I’ll have to hire someone to hold the controller for me. Maybe… you?”

Oscar shut the book. “You’re insufferable.”

But there was a small smile tugging at his lips, one he didn’t let Lando see. Because deep down, it felt… oddly nice. Skipping class, sitting here with Lando, even listening to his over-the-top nonsense. It was chaos, but not the kind Oscar hated.

“Alright,” Oscar muttered, finally looking at him. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

Lando smirked, victorious. “You won’t. Trust me.”

Oscar wasn’t so sure.

The park, for all its quiet greenery, was not ready for the chaos named Lando Norris.

He had already bought bread (with Oscar’s money, obviously), torn it into chunks, and was enthusiastically feeding the ducks with his “good hand.” Oscar sat beside him on the bench, half-embarrassed, half-amused, watching as people slowed down just to witness the scene of a curly-haired idiot shouting,

“Look at them, Oscar! They love me. I’m basically their king now.”

“You’re scaring them,” Oscar replied flatly, though his lips betrayed the smallest curve.

Lando ignored him, of course. He hopped up from the bench, tossing another chunk dramatically like he was in some heroic film. Oscar followed behind reluctantly, muttering something about how is this better than class again?

The ground near the pond was damp, slippery from the rain earlier. But Lando, ever overconfident, strutted forward without a second thought. One second he was standing like a proud duck monarch, the next—

“Wha—whoa!”

His foot slid out from under him, his arms flailing. The bread went flying into the pond as Lando let out a panicked yelp.

Oscar’s book clattered to the ground as he lunged forward on instinct. His hand caught Lando’s hoodie just in time, yanking him back before he smacked into the mud. For one dizzying moment, their bodies collided, chest to chest, breaths tangled.

Lando’s wide eyes stared into Oscar’s—

Oscar’s grip still tight on his hoodie—

Too close. Way too close.

The air froze. The ducks quacked loudly in the background, but neither of them moved. Lando’s heartbeat thundered against Oscar’s arm; Oscar’s hand still pressed against his chest like he didn’t realize he was holding him upright.

For a second—just a second—it looked like they would lean in.

Then Lando, voice low and nervous, whispered, “Guess I… almost died again. My hero.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering down before snapping back up. He let go, stepping back quickly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket like nothing happened.

“You’re impossible,” Oscar muttered, his ears pink.

Lando stood there, frozen, still feeling the ghost of Oscar’s hand on him. He grinned, slow and mischievous, to cover the fact his stomach was flipping inside out.

“Careful, Piastri. Keep saving me like that and I might actually fall for you.”

Oscar didn’t answer. He just picked up his book, muttering something about going back to the dorm. But his ears stayed red all the way there.