Chapter Text
It was a hot spring evening in early June, and Oscar Piastri was alone. He stood in the kitchen of his Monaco apartment, washing the last few dishes he’d dirtied while cooking a meager dinner. It was a rather plain meal, but it was in compliance with his trainer’s requirements and Oscar hadn’t had the energy to be creative within those limits.
Oscar’s mind was far away. He was thinking of many things—of the championship battle he was currently locked in and the races he’d already won, of his family and far away his true home was, of how quiet his days could be when it wasn’t a race weekend. He found himself angry, suddenly, that it wasn’t a race weekend. The Montreal Grand Prix was only a week and a half away, but that felt like far too long. He found himself craving the energy of it, the days of tense buildup before the race and the exhilarating feel of the car around him. He wanted an excuse to see his fellow drivers without having to actively seek them out. More specifically, he wanted to see two specific drivers. He thought of Lando Norris. He thought of George Russell.
Oscar finished the task at hand, and absentmindedly dried his hands off. He drifted out of the kitchen, still deep in thought, and made his way to his racing sim. Sometimes, when he had this sort of excess mental energy it helped to get some good laps in. It relaxed him, in a way. He’d practiced thousands of laps in the sim, and much of it was muscle memory at this point. Without much thought, Oscar selected the track of the Belgian Grand Prix, undeniably a favorite of his. He let himself fall into the familiar pattern of sim racing, feeling his body both relax at the familiar sensation and tense in concentration.
In some ways, the practice did help distract Oscar. He rerouted his restless energy into something practical. But considering that every aspect of his life was intertwined with racing, even something like this reminded him a hundred times over of what he was trying to ignore.
No matter how hard Oscar was trying to avoid directly thinking about it, it was a lost cause. Once again, Oscar was pining .
He had been pining for months, really. Since the unfortunate, painful start of the 2025 season in Australia, where Oscar’s race had gone horribly wrong and he’d finished an abysmal ninth. He’d been miserable and heartbroken, and it had hurt even more considering that Lando was the one who won instead. Oscar had been jealous, bitter, and angry that it was him—yet, Oscar had also been overjoyed, euphoric, and grateful that it was him . Oscar had been falling in love with Lando slowly and painfully for years. He’d idolized him, watched his races with starry eyes and followed his progress on social media and in news articles. It had only gotten worse when they’d become teammates and he’d gotten to know the real Lando, not just the one in front of cameras. When Oscar had realized how genuine Lando was—whether in public or private, he was the same—he’d really and truly fallen for him. It had hurt far more than Oscar ever would have guessed, but he was unable to move on from it. Being around Lando made Oscar feel as though there was a constant, dull ache blooming under his ribcage, with tendrils of painful desire reaching into his stomach and throat.
Oscar simply grew used to it. He’d become rather skilled at hiding how Lando made him really feel, and as he was already naturally better at looking neutral than most people, he liked to think he was rather good at not looking like he was head over heels for Lando Norris.
That wasn’t the issue that had begun in Australia. Being in love with Lando was an issue that had spanned years, and Oscar had somewhat learned to cope with it and hide it. That pining was already so natural to Oscar, so expected . No, the newer issue wasn’t about Lando at all. It was about one of the other men who had been on the podium that first race of the season, who had worn a very flattering black racesuit, with his vibrant blue eyes sparkling and a blinding, brilliant smile on his face.
Oscar hadn’t realized it at the time, but in retrospect that was where he first began to feel something unusual for George Russell.
He had always found the Mercedes driver attractive—it was hard not to, with his lean build and handsome features. But Oscar had never really thought about it, and previously he’d been too busy admiring Lando to really appreciate the beauty of anyone else on the grid. Somehow, this season was different. Oscar had asked himself why this was a hundred times over, and he still was uncertain of what had made the change.
George was beautiful in a very dramatic, regal, and almost overexaggerated way. His cheekbones and jawline were ridiculously chiseled, and his eyes were wider and bluer in person than Oscar believed pictures could truly do justice. He was princely , almost, a statuesque and royal figure. Naturally, this illusion was shattered nearly every time he opened his mouth—besides being gorgeous, George Russell was also one of the most ridiculous people Oscar had ever had the privilege of meeting. He adored that part of him too.
Somehow, George’s comically heavy and posh, perfect British accent had gone from amusing to endearing to Oscar in a matter of weeks, though he didn't realize it immediately. Their first shared podium that year was in China, at the second race of the season, and it had felt strangely electric. It wasn’t just that Oscar had won the race, it was also the two men who stood to his left and to his right on the podium. He’d loved it. Oscar had felt drunk on adrenaline and exhilaration. When he found himself particularly hypnotized by the way George looked in his racesuit, with sweat and champagne dampening his hair, he’d tried to chalk it up to his emotions being mixed up post race. After all, he’d looked at Lando and George that day, and felt the same aching need for both. Still, Oscar had pushed it all out of his mind. George was simply a handsome man, and Oscar had eyes. That was all.
Then, Oscar’s next win had been nearly the same situation. On the podium in Bahrain, instead of having Lando to his right and George to his left, now George claimed second place rather impressively and Lando rounded out the podium in third. The details mattered little to Oscar. He was too lost in his own happiness. He gained a slight advantage in the championship battle, and he had exactly the two people he wanted beside him, celebrating their shared podium. Oscar remembered looking at them both and wondering at what about those two drew him to them—the two British men were so different in so many ways, though they certainly both had their charms. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Oscar let himself celebrate and he let himself look, knowing his already flushed, sweaty face grew redder while doing so.
Oscar’s next win had been in Saudi Arabia. To his great disappointment, Lando and George finished fourth and fifth, and he didn’t have as many chances to be in close proximity to them both. It had felt like the strangest wake-up call in the world, realizing just how much he’d wanted them both there with them. It felt like a betrayal of his own self, in a way. Lando was his rival. George was even fourth in the standings, so he could be considered a more minor threat as well. The last thing Oscar should have wanted was their success. And yet, he couldn’t help but miss their presence on the podium and in the driver’s room. And this confirmed what he’d been doing his best to ignore—he had it bad for them both .
The Monday after that victory, Oscar was in a panic all day—he’d thrown up twice and his hands had trembled whenever he thought about what he was now aware of and yet afraid to confront. His feelings for Lando, impossible and frustrating and near dehabilitating—Lando was Oscar’s greatest rival, and a formidable opponent—had not waned in the slightest. And yet, accompanying them was a newfound affection for George Russell , of all people.
Oscar had failed to delude himself into thinking these new feelings were mere affection or physical attraction. No, Oscar felt too strongly about the tall British man for that. George’s every glance and smile made Oscar feel like his face was on fire. His ridiculous, dry jokes made Oscar laugh much harder than he should. He had been going out of his way to spend a few extra moments with George—short conversations during the driver’s parade, longer offers of congratulations than were strictly necessary, even going out of his way to protect George from the weather during race weekends by carrying an umbrella when there was clouds in the sky. Oscar had known he wasn’t exactly being subtle, but he also knew that most people were unable to read him even when he was trying to make himself painfully clear. He’d struggled throughout his life with performing certain social cues in a way that made sense to others, and he knew it could make him come off as awkward or as unemotional. It was rather frustrating at times, and knew that his tentative attempts at flirting would fly completely under the radar. It was likely that the only people who would recognize his version of less than subtle affections were his sisters.
These newfound, overwhelming feelings towards George didn’t lessen the amount of time Oscar spent with Lando, or dampen the feelings he had for the older McLaren driver. He felt somehow torn, like he was betraying Lando—who had never clearly expressed interest back (though he had given Oscar some looks )—for George. More than once, Oscar thought that the amount of emotional torment he was experiencing was going to lead him to an early death via heart attack.
But there simply wasn’t anything to be done. Formula 1 was a small world, and the drivers were an even smaller community. There just weren’t that many of them, and they would likely have to get along for many more years. It wasn’t worth risking untold hours of discomfort and the possibility of being outed as queer for a chance that either Lando or George would feel the same way about Oscar. It simply wasn’t. So, Oscar didn’t do anything but wonder and dream and pine .
Sometimes, Oscar allowed himself brief daydreams, indulgent but quick. Sweet, soft things that made his body relax and his face flush.
His nighttime dreams were another thing altogether. They were entirely out of his control. It was shameful, what Oscar had dreamed about his own competitors. It made his heart clench and stomach twist in guilt. Early in the morning, before even the birds were awake and singing, Oscar would sometimes wake from such dreams with his heart in his throat, body stiff and mind hazy. In such moments of quiet and weakness, Oscar wanted to just text Lando, tell him to come over so he could pour his heart out and get the weight of loving the slightly older man off of his chest. In such moments, Oscar wanted to call George in the middle of the night and tell him that his existence was magnetic and that Oscar badly and constantly wanted to be around him. No matter how badly that was what Oscar wanted in those intense, private moments, he would never act on it.
Miami had been the most recent podium that both McLaren drivers and George got to share together, and it had meant everything to Oscar. Lando had been radiant in the light, his tan skin almost glowing and his curls perfectly messy. Oscar had always found it irritating how Lando made the brilliant papaya color of McLaren actually look good . George, still far too close to Oscar in height even while on the third step, had looked beautiful in the pink and maroon floral Mercedes racesuit, and Oscar had once again found himself awed by how good he managed to look with damp hair and sweaty skin.
He realized then, as the Australian anthem played and he reveled in the joy of his win and the two drivers he got to celebrate it with, that this was exactly what he’d always wanted. It felt like everything in the universe had aligned itself for that one perfect podium. I want it all, he’d thought to himself with both devastating realization and deep satisfaction. I want wins and world championships. I want Lando Norris and George Russell celebrating with me, celebrating me . I want this every race, forever . It was the hungry, all-in mentality that had pushed Oscar to championships in F3 and F2 in his rookie seasons, the mentality that was pushing him now towards a world championship in F1. I want it all .
Race wins. Championships. Lando Norris and George Russell.
Naturally, Oscar hadn’t had his ideal podium in the following races. But Oscar would hold out hope for it again as long as they all had seats in F1. Podium celebrations with Lando and George entered his dreams. He kept pushing harder than ever in training, letting himself think about Lando and George in the exhausted quiet after a good workout. He began to notice bright orange, silver, and turquoise everywhere.
At that present moment in his apartment in Monaco, after trying all evening not to think about Lando or George, Oscar ended up thinking about them as he turned a hard corner in his sim, braking slightly too early. He swore under his breath, irritated. That mistake was one he would’ve sworn he hadn’t made in years. It was the mistake of a rookie , but Oscar was in his third season and had moved far beyond that kind of thing.
Oscar was about to begin another lap when his phone buzzed from across the room. He hesitated, glancing from the sim to where his phone sat. He was tempted to ignore it, but something in his gut told him to check, just in case. He stood, stretching his limbs and approaching where he’d thrown his phone onto an armchair. Oscar sank into it and turned his phone on.
It was a text from his teammate.
Lando : hey u at ur apartment?
Oscar exhaled slowly. It’s just Lando , he reminded himself—as if that did any good. Lando had been making him feel insane for years. Just because Oscar was used to it didn’t mean it didn’t effect his body and drive him crazy.
Oscar : Yeah, what’s up?
Lando : mind if i stop by?
Oscar : Sure. Boring night?
Lando : smth like that
Lando : On my way!
Oscar rolled his eyes at the sight of the autocorrected phrase in the last text. He immediately found himself wondering why he’d said yes, why he hadn’t just lied and said he was out or busy or something . Then again, Oscar and Lando really were good friends as well as cooperative teammates. It wasn’t like they hadn’t hung out alone many times before, whether on purpose or due to circumstance. Just because Oscar remained horribly enamoured by Lando didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend to feel nothing but friendship. He had to constantly remind himself that it was true, too. He did really enjoy having Lando as a friend, even if that wasn’t the older driver’s only role in his life.
Oscar absentmindedly tided up his apartment as he waited, but he didn’t have to make himself busy for long. Only a few minutes after Lando’s last text sent, there was a knock on Oscar’s apartment door. A slightly uneven rhythm echoed from down the hall, and Oscar sighed softly, pushing his hair out of his face. Need to get that trimmed soon , he thought to himself as he approached the door.
Oscar swung open his front door. Lando stood there, body hunched in on himself in a way that made him look slightly smaller than normal.
“Hey, Osc.” Lando’s eyes shone and his mouth twitched into something like a small smile. He was beautiful, with his dark eyelashes and tanned skin. Even the way his ears pointed looked endearingly elven to Oscar.
At the sight of Lando, Oscar couldn’t help but feel a wave of joy, and for a brief moment they both just stared at each other with soft half smiles. “Hey, Lando. Come in.”
It was far from the first time that Lando had been to Oscar’s Monaco apartment, so when they made their way into the apartment it wasn’t entirely shocking that Lando’s entire body seemed to relax a little. Oscar noticed that he even seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Glass of water?” asked the taller Australian man as he gestured to the kitchen, ever the gracious host. “Did you already eat?”
“Water’s good.” Lando nodded appreciatively as he sat himself down at Oscar’s kitchen table. “Already ate, though. Don’t want to break the diet plan, you know how it is.”
Oscar smiled as he turned to get out cups. “Yeah, I know mate. Still, if you’re hungry…”
“I’m okay.”
Oscar nodded, and joined Lando at the kitchen table with two glasses of water. He gently slid one over to the British man, finally letting himself fully take in Lando’s appearance as he did so. Lando was wearing a plain black t-shirt and no jewelry. His curls were slightly messier than normal and Oscar couldn’t help but notice that there were slight shadows under his eyes. Nonetheless, he was a lovely sight to Oscar. Even in plain clothing and visibly tired, Oscar thought Lando looked just beautiful. His dark curls looked ridiculously perfect even when they were this messy, and Oscar wanted desperately to wreck them further.
“Feeling ready for Montreal?”
“Of course,” responded Lando immediately. “I’m always ready. Rest is good, but all I really want is cars back on track.”
Oscar laughed softly. “I get it, mate.”
“Sometimes, racing is the only thing that makes real sense, y’know?” Lando took a drink of water with a backwards tilt of his head. Oscar tore his eyes away from Lando’s now exposed throat and the line of his jaw. He scolded his own heart for the way it thudded a little harder in his chest. He was too distracted to dwell on what Lando’s words could mean.
“Hey, um. It’s a bit hot inside.” Oscar knew his cheeks were flushed from trying and failing not to admire Lando, but it really was warm for early June. “Is it alright if we move to the balcony?”
“Sure, Osc.” Lando flashed Oscar a quick grin before he got up, and Oscar felt his stomach constrict.
The two McLaren drivers moved to the balcony in comfortable quiet. There were two pleasantly cushioned chairs already positioned on the balcony, so they both simply made themselves comfortable. The moon overhead was bright, nearly full, and the streetlights of Monaco never seemed to turn off. Between moonlight and streetlights, Oscar opted not to turn on the balcony light. It was already so peaceful.
A light wind blew through the city, and it brushed tufts of Oscar’s hair into his face. He pushed back his light brown hair with a soft huff. Oscar missed how Lando smiled at the sight. When Oscar did glance back over at Lando, the British man’s gaze was trained on the sky above.
“The moon is beautiful tonight.” Lando’s voice was unusually quiet, and his comment was strangely pensive. “The stars, too.” It wasn’t normally like Lando to comment on the moon and stars. He tended to show his appreciation for wilder things, for more energetic and adventurous pursuits. Oscar loved that about him. But he also found himself moved by Lando’s quiet observations of the night sky.
“They are,” agreed Oscar after a moment. He’d had to pause briefly to steel himself and keep his voice even. If he’d responded immediately, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to prevent love and affection from bleeding into his tone. “The stars seem so much farther away here, though. In Monaco, I mean.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Too much light pollution. Where I grew up—before I came to England for school—the stars were so bright. I miss seeing them without all these city lights.” Oscar smiled, feeling a lump rise in his throat. It felt like so long ago that he and his sisters had stargazed out in the lawn behind their old house. Oscar heard Lando shift slightly in his chair. He didn’t give a response at first, and just sighed softly.
After a long minute or two, Lando broke the silence. “You should go back for summer break.”
Oscar scoffed at the suggestion. “What, to stargaze?”
“Yeah.” Lando didn’t hesitate, seemingly undeterred by Oscar’s unimpressive tone. He turned slightly towards Oscar, head still tilted back against the headrest of the chair. “It sounds nice.” The sincerity in Lando’s voice immediately softened Oscar again.
“I think you’d like it.” Oscar spoke without thinking, and he looked over at Lando quickly, anxiety spiking within him. The two men made eye contact, and Lando smiled, a soft and private thing that made Oscar’s face grow hot.
“I think you’re right, Osc.” Lando’s smile crinkled his eyes slightly as he said it. “Maybe, one day…” Lando trailed off, and he turned back to looking at the night sky.
Oscar followed suit, heart drumming against his ribcage as he bit back the urge to ask what that could possibly imply. Oscar felt a stab of relief and gratitude for the fact that he could contain his own emotions and desires, but he still felt a bit crazed. He wanted to shake Lando and ask if he had just tried to invite himself to stay with Oscar in his hometown? But that couldn’t be. Oscar swallowed and pushed the idea out of his mind.
For a few long minutes, Oscar and Lando simply stargazed. It was quiet, but for the sounds of the city around them, and peaceful regardless of what they heard below. Oscar did his best to push his own anxious thoughts out of his mind, and just let himself enjoy this quiet, beautiful moment with the man he’d loved for years.
After a while, Lando took a deep, slow breath. Out of the the peripheral of Oscar’s vision, he saw Lando’s head tilt forward so he was no longer staring at the night sky. His gaze had shifted to the balcony railing directly in front of them.
“Oscar,” Lando said with a soft sigh, his voice strangely gentle and somehow far deeper than his usual nasally tone. Oscar felt strangely immobile, as if his body had turned to stone. The silence stretched out between them again, a stifling stillness enveloping the balcony.
Oscar couldn’t stand it. Before he knew he was speaking, Oscar was saying the very words that had been on the forefront of his mind ever since Lando had texted him asking if he was at his apartment. “Why are you here, Lando?” He hesitated—he hadn’t meant to speak. But he needed to know. At that moment, it was clear to Oscar that Lando was holding something back. “Why right now?”
Lando turned his head towards Oscar, and Oscar looked over to meet his gaze. Lando’s light, hazel green eyes looked unusually dark and sad in the shadows of nighttime. Oscar wished he had turned on the balcony light, if only so he could better read Lando’s expressions. “Why now?” Lando repeated the question, quieter and sadder than Oscar had.
“Yeah.”
“I came over now because I needed to know—” Lando cut himself off, hesitating for a moment before pushing on. “I need to know if it’s too late. If I’m too late.”
Oscar felt an indescribable rush in his chest and stomach, a push of feeling that branched into his limbs and swirled inside his ribcage. His heart leapt into his throat, beating hard and loud. Half-formed, incoherent thoughts immediately rose to Oscar’s mind.
He had no idea what Lando was actually referring to, but the words had sounded soft, vulnerable, almost pleading —they had sounded something like a confession. And oh , Oscar had dreamed up a million confessions to Lando, from Lando, cruel ones and kind ones and ones he couldn’t define or describe. He’d imagined how one day Lando would really see him and want him, would walk him home in the rain, would make him dinner and kiss him goodnight. Too late . He didn’t know what too late meant. Too late for what? he wanted to plead. I have waited too long for there to be an end because of waiting. Waiting cannot have been for nothing . Simultaneously, he wanted to scream. Too late! It’s been years. It’s been years of hurting, of wanting without end. You should be forced to desire and suffer for years before you have a chance with me.
But Oscar’s thoughts were a blurred, barely articulate mess of feelings responding to a false impression. After all, that couldn’t be what Lando meant.
So after a long minute, Oscar collected enough of his wits to speak levelly. He couldn’t look at Lando. His gaze rested on the city skyline, and he knew his voice was even. “Too late for what?”
Lando shifted in his seat, tilting his head back until he was staring at the stars again. “I’m not an idiot, Osc. I’ve always known how you felt about me.”
Oscar’s stomach dropped and he felt dizzy. He’d never thought—he’d been so sure Lando hadn’t known. He’d been so sure that he was too difficult, too strange and particular, to read. He hadn’t thought anyone having that realization was possible, not after years of being ostracized and misunderstood for the ways he expressed himself. But Lando , Lando had always understood Oscar better than the younger man ever anticipated. It turned out this was even more true than Oscar had originally believed.
Lando continued. “It took me a month into your rookie year to be sure. But, mate… I’m not even two years older, I know, but it just happened that I was starting my fifth year when you were starting your first. Everything was new to you. I couldn’t interfere with that. I couldn’t see you like that. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have… It was so soon. I didn’t know you enough, though I suppose you knew me more…” Lando was rambling, his voice quiet and a little shaky. Oscar’s head was spinning and he squeezed his eyes shut. His face felt hot. “And that, too, was why I was worried. But this season, things have been different. I feel like we’re truly on equal footing now—I mean, even in a literal sense, we’re fighting a championship duel—but also in our friendship. That changed things for me. But right as I began to… to see you, early this year, you seemed to stop. You don’t act like you used to around me. I don’t know why, but I can only assume it’s because you no longer see me the same.” Oscar blinked hard, and he could feel Lando’s gaze burning him. “But I want you to. So, I need to know if I’m wrong. I need to know if I missed my chance.” Lando paused, and Oscar could hear his own heartbeat. “Am I too late?”
“I didn’t know .” Oscar hated how shaky his voice was. Even at his most frustrated and emotional moments in the paddock, he’d conditioned himself into maintaining a level tone. Somehow, Lando took that ability to regulate his voice away entirely. “That you knew. I’m—shit, Lando, I’m so sorry.” Oscar had been pining after Lando for years, but Lando’s confession felt more like a punch to the gut than like a kiss. It was something about the fact that Lando had known , a fact so humiliating and so significant that it was retroactively changing what their every interaction had meant. It was the fact that as Oscar had finally gotten more used to how Lando made him feel, he’d become even better at hiding it, and yet that was the only detail that Lando had failed to pick up on and understand.
“Please don’t be sorry, Osc. I was never upset with you.” Oscar took a shaky breath, calmed at least slightly by how gentle Lando’s words were, how tender his tone. He sounded like he really cared, like he really had meant what he said about seeing Oscar the same way the younger had seen him for so long. So Oscar closed his eyes again and tried to think of what this could mean. Him and Lando, together as a couple , not just as teammates or friends or colleagues. It was exactly what he had dreamed about countless times. But now, something profound and impossible to admit had changed. His feelings for Lando remained, but they had also grown in different directions.
“I can’t,” Oscar managed, voice wretched and scratchy. “Lando, I—it wouldn’t be right.”
“It wouldn’t be right ?” There was an almost hopeful note in Lando’s voice, as if he’d realized with only that choice of words that Oscar hadn’t lost all feelings. He was leaning over the side of his chair slightly, body drawn towards Oscar. “Do you mean because of the championship? Because I’ve thought about it, trust me, and it’ll be hard because I know we both want it so bad, but I really, really care for you, Osc, and I think we could—”
“Lando.” Immediate, deadly silence. Oscar’s voice had been harsh, colder than it had been all evening. Lando slowly pulled away from where he’d leaned against his chair towards Oscar. Oscar felt like sobbing, but he tried to keep his voice level. “It wouldn’t work. Not now.”
Not now, when I’m not only in love with you. This was the overwhelming, primary cause of the immense dread that had seized Oscar’s body. He had realized with an unfortunate quickness that he could be happier than he’d ever been before if he had the privilege of loving Lando, but that now he would always be looking across the paddock at the Mercedes garage too. I can’t help it, Lando. I want it all. It wouldn’t be fair to you .
Lando was silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Oscar. That I was too late.”
Oscar wanted to scream. He wasn’t too late for Oscar to love, only late enough that Oscar’s eyes had wandered. But he knew with certainty that it didn’t matter who else he found attractive—when he fell for someone, he was a goner. Lando and George would both be on Oscar’s mind forever. No matter how dramatic or unrealistic it sounded, Oscar felt that this was undeniably true. This also, of course, meant that he could never be truly happy in another romantic relationship, not unless he found a way to completely forget about Lando Norris and George Russell. That was a bit difficult when they were both his competitors whom he saw frequently—it would be impossible to move past either man at this point in his life.
Oscar couldn’t tell Lando all this. He felt shame , devastating and painful, overwhelming his body. “It’s not your fault,” Oscar managed. He felt the older driver’s stare burning a hole in him, but Oscar couldn’t make himself turn and meet Lando’s eyes.
“Then I’ll—I’ll see you next race.” Lando’s voice was strange in a way that Oscar couldn’t read, and he felt a stab of frustration. Others had said before that Lando was an open book, but Oscar felt he’d never fully understand him. Lando stood, stepping to leave the balcony. He paused at the doorway, though he didn’t glance back. “We’ll act like this never happened.”
That’s not what I want! Oscar wanted to scream. But Lando was gone before Oscar could muster the courage to speak his thoughts aloud.
Oscar stared at the stars of the Monaco night sky, so much paler and sadder than the views he’d had in childhood, back in his home country. Oscar blinked hard, and realized that at some point he’d begun to cry. Tears had gathered in his dark eyes and were now spilling down his cheeks, and a sob suddenly wracked his body.
I can’t believe it. All those years spent waiting and as soon as I looked away he wanted me. Oscar was both angry and hurt. But I couldn’t tell him I still love him. I couldn’t do that to him. I want it—I need it all, if I’m to have anything at all. Nothing or everything.
For a long time, Oscar stared at the stars and cried. When he finally went back inside his apartment, it was because a wave of nausea hit him hard enough that he was sick.
As Oscar sat inside his apartment, trembling and willing himself to keep the rest of his dinner down, he found himself wishing more than anything that he had someone there to take care of him. Lando would be squeamish and awkward, but Oscar knew that he’d be even more concerned and caring. George would probably crack a lame joke at the same time that he’d fetch a glass of water and dig through the medicine cabinet for something to help Oscar feel better. These thoughts, which had risen to Oscar’s mind involuntarily, left him heaving once more.
When Oscar was finally able to drag himself into bed that night, he fell asleep with tears still wet on his face and his body aching.