Work Text:
The house was unnervingly quiet that night, the kind of silence that set in after voices and laughter had faded. Downstairs, the faint trace of music from earlier still lingered—muted bass reverberations carried through the floorboards—but the crowd had left. Oscar lay sprawled across his bed in the half-light of his room, the glow from his phone screen casting shadows up across his features. The blinds were only half-drawn, and the dim spill of a streetlamp outside filtered in across the floor, cutting soft golden slats into the mess of discarded laundry and textbooks stacked unevenly on his desk.
Oscar shifted lazily on his stomach, scrolling without much thought, bare shoulders pressing into the crumpled duvet. He was dressed simply—just gray sweatpants and nothing else—his skin still faintly warm from the shower he hadn’t bothered to dry off properly from. The still air in the room carried the faint scent of laundry detergent, mixed with the sharper tang of his body spray that clung to the sheets. Outside the closed door, the silence stretched almost too far.
That was when the door creaked softly on its hinges. Oscar didn’t look up, didn’t notice—too absorbed in the endless scroll—but Lando stood there in the frame. He leaned against the wood with the careless air of someone trying to disguise hesitation as nonchalance, arms folded over his chest as he studied Oscar silently, his gaze unable to resist flickering down the bare line of his spine. The bluish light from the TV flickered against his features, throwing his thoughtful expression into shadow.
“Don’t you think it’s a little risky to wear that when your roommate’s friends are downstairs?” Lando’s voice broke the quiet like a match struck in the dark.
Oscar’s head turned lazily. He glanced down at himself and smirked at the sight of his own shirtless state, stretching just slightly so that the hard lines of muscle caught the light. “As far as I’m aware,” he drawled, “they left.”
Lando pressed his shoulder harder against the doorframe, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from letting his gaze linger somewhere it shouldn’t. He kept his chin tilted high, feigning disinterest as he spoke. “Yeah,” he said, voice pitched low. “But I’m still here.”
The silence that followed stretched, soft and charged. The faint hum of the TV filled in as background noise.
Oscar arched a brow, smirking as he rolled onto his side. “So they ditched you again? Poor Lando Norris…” He drew out the words teasingly, though his eyes betrayed curiosity. “Too uncool to go out to party?”
Rolling his eyes, Lando finally pushed away from the doorway, each step across the carpet heavy but deliberate. He sank onto the edge of the bed, letting the mattress dip slightly with his weight, shoulder brushing Oscar’s. “Fuck off,” he muttered, and added with the ghost of a laugh, “I’m not in the mood tonight.”
Oscar chuckled under his breath, propping himself against the headboard. The faint flicker of the TV danced across his bare chest as he folded his arms loosely. “Yet you came here.”
The quiet settled thick again. Lando’s gaze slipped toward the window, then back, curls messy from the night. He dragged a hand through them, his words quieter than before. “Yeah, I know. Always the last one picked, right?”
The air in the room shifted. Oscar’s teasing expression softened, and after a beat, he slid across the mattress, nudging enough space open beside him. “My roommate’s an asshole,” he replied simply. “Don’t let it get to you.”
The lamplight caught against Lando’s profile as he hesitated, then finally gave in, climbing further onto the bed with the awkward defensiveness of someone unused to open comfort. He sat next to Oscar, his arms crossed as though to protect himself. “He’s not an asshole, he’s just… popular.” His mouth twisted. “I’m just not cool enough to hang out with.”
For a moment, Oscar said nothing. Then with the easy familiarity that rested in all their late-night conversations, he reached across the sheets, picked up the TV remote, and handed it over. At the same time, his other hand settled on Lando’s forearm. The gesture was steady, quiet reassurance.
The tension in Lando’s posture eased beneath it. He exhaled, and instead of moving away as he normally would when teased, he leaned a fraction closer, as though the nearness itself steadied him. “I don’t get it,” he whispered, his voice low and edged with something vulnerable. “Why am I always the odd one out?”
Oscar let his arm wrap tight around Lando’s shoulders, his skin warm against the hoodie fabric. The weight of his voice was softer too. “You don’t have to be friends with them.”
Lando’s body tucked close, head leaning tentatively into the crook of Oscar’s shoulder, his arms folding inward almost childishly as if it was the only safety he trusted. “But… look at me.”
Oscar’s eyes softened. His hand rubbed reassuring circles across the span of Lando’s back. “Oh, Lando.”
When Lando lifted his eyes, all the bravado was gone. His expression cracked open, filled only with raw hesitation. “I’m just… I’m not cool enough. Not good-looking enough. Not popular enough…”
Oscar sighed faintly and pressed his palm gently against Lando’s stomach. “First of all—who cares about being cool. Second…” His voice dipped into something unflinchingly tender. “…you are beautiful. And third, popularity doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”
The words made Lando falter, blinking as though he hadn’t processed them. “You… think I’m beautiful?”
Oscar smiled, warm and sure as moonlight. “I do.”
A flush stained Lando’s cheeks. With no witty reply to grasp at, he ducked his head into Oscar’s chest, arms circling instinctively around his waist. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice muffled. But his hold was unyielding.
The air stilled around them, broken only by the flickering noise of the TV and the faint creak of wood outside the window. Lando pressed close, inhaling slowly, chest rising and falling against Oscar’s skin. The scent of Oscar—fresh soap, warmth, the faintest trace of musk—wrapped tightly around him.
And then, against all reason, he tilted his face up. The kiss came like instinct—soft, fleeting, uncertain. Their lips brushed once, then it was gone, too quick.
Lando recoiled instantly, flaring red. “Fuck…”
Oscar froze, his lips parted, chest hammering. His heart tripped, and then a small, stunned smile tugged helplessly at his mouth. “Lan…”
But Lando had already pulled back, scrambling across the covers. “I-I didn’t mean to… That was stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.” He dragged his hands up over his face, hiding.
Oscar acted without pause. He crawled closer, catching one of Lando’s wrists and gently pulling it down, his other hand settling firm on his waist. “Hey,” he coaxed, soft but steady. “…darling. No.”
Lando’s glassy eyes lifted—uncertain, ashamed, trembling. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, pulling faintly to escape.
Oscar only caught his other hand and guided it down, pressing his palm against his own cheek. The touch lingered, his thumb stroking small circles. His voice was low but resolute. “Don’t… apologize.”
Something in the air shifted. Lando’s breath hitched, eyes scanning for ridicule and finding none. He gave a nervous laugh that cracked faintly. “You’re not… gonna make fun of me for trying to shove my tongue down your throat? Or push me down the stairs?”
Oscar chuckled softly and leaned their foreheads together. His breath came shuddering before words followed. “Of course not. I…” His voice faltered, then firmed. “I liked it.”
The words struck deep. Lando’s cheeks flamed, his chest blazing in tight, clumsy flutters. “You… liked it?” His voice broke quiet. “Actually liked it?”
Oscar answered with a kiss placed feather-light at the corner of Lando’s mouth. “Yes.”
Lando trembled, eyes wide. “…I-I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Oscar smiled faintly, curling both arms around him. “I don’t either.”
Lando laughed nervously, his hands creeping forward to rest against Oscar’s hips. “So we’re two clueless idiots kissing each other.” His lips tugged upwards, hopeful yet shaking. “Do I… get another try?”
Oscar’s blush thickened. He nodded, almost shy. “Yeah. Please.”
Lando’s next kiss was steadier, held a little longer, his lips warm as his eyes fluttered closed. A hum rose in his throat, deep with some softer feeling.
Oscar exhaled through a quiet sigh, slipping a hand beneath the hem of Lando’s hoodie, drawing slow, deliberate circles. When they parted, his lips curved into an unguarded smile.
Lando pecked him again. And again. “You look cute like that,” he whispered.
They tumbled easily into the pillows, laughter mixing with giggles when Lando kissed Oscar’s jaw, his neck, tracing playful trails that left Oscar’s breath hitching. Between kisses and laughter, eyes met—and each time, the weight behind them grew heavier, steadier, certain.
“You’re so cute,” Lando whispered again.
“And you,” Oscar murmured, blushing scarlet, brushing a hand along his jaw, “…are so damn pretty.”
Lando rolled his eyes but leaned into the touch, murmuring faintly. “…Shut up.”
Oscar only smirked, fingers darting to his sides in playful defiance. “Stop putting yourself down.”
Lando yelped, dissolving into laughter beneath him, squirming helplessly until he was pressed right against him. “Stop! Stooop!”
When Oscar finally relented, he gathered Lando tightly against his chest, his lips pressing firm to the curls on his head. His words, though soft, struck louder than anything else in the room. “Do you maybe… want to be my boyfriend?”
Everything stilled. Lando froze, halfway through shaky laughter, his chest heaving. And then he buried himself into Oscar’s chest again, holding him with desperate, unguarded strength. His voice cracked, but it held absolute conviction: “Yes. I want that. So much.”
When he lifted his head again, his eyes shimmered in the dim light. Oscar gazed back at him, and in that moment the entire world seemed to compress to one room, one bed, one person.